"spotter" poems
"You're always moving forward.
Just sometimes, the road gets bumpy as ****
The road may get bumpy,
but I'm ever so clumsy.
Give me a spotter
otherwise I may break
something along the way.
I'm not saying I need to be saved,
I just need someone
to make sure I'm okay.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
I have a college degree,
no money,
an idea in my head,
and that is all I can see.
Make money, be happy,
made out to be,
the simplest thing.
But when dropped like a fish out of water,
into the so called social society,
without you I am a lifter with no spotter,
and the cure to my sobriety.
So let us see if I can swim to shore,
and get the breath of fresh water,
and you can be there like you swore,
to save me from the slaughter.
You will be my anchor to hold me under.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
Christ is actually a Freemason,
I am busy tree-chasin'.
An alligator is flying through the water,
Sin is flying through a thief's spotter.
Clair is flying Bush's stealth bombers.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
S-togene er proppet af en stivnet mænge
På perronen splintres glas som et vandfald af reflektioner
Øjnene skjult bag briller, stiger han af toget
Han møder én på perronen
De spotter hinanden fra lang afstand
Kvinden i sort og med solbriller skyggende for øjnene af glas
En øredøvende larm får dem i trance hånd i hånd
Ventende på S-tog og med briller for øjnene
Scanner sig ind og ud og undslipper den frosne forsamling
Skrider i gruset
Hvorom alting er, er de to brillebærere forelsket
I en tid fuld af S-toge og glas
Kan man være forelsket i en sådan tid?
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
I'm not benching 290 for nothing
It's easier than cutting cake
More natural than breathing
Yet recently my shoulders
Are bearing to much
Unloaded all at one time
I'm caving in from head to toe
I don't need a spotter
I need old friends
The ones I turned to
When times got rough
When weights were over bearing
When I just wanted to rack the weight
Take a shower and drink a powerade
Yet they're gone
Nowhere to be found
Guess I'm all alone again
Suffocating tonight between the weight
And my blood stained pillow
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
To speak with movement,
as if our words were water.
All the hours you've spent
as the plotter;
the spotter of splits,
hiccups and missed bits
of info that slipped
out of sight
while we were
dancing.
Every spark flying from fires,
every dark moment conspired,
by those discerning,
rising higher
in the burning
of books,
last looks,
and the things you took,
so as to
give them back again.
Drop your guns
but don't run.
Keep your feet
met with the deep
feelings that keep
you tethered
together.
Love like drums
is humming
inside empty buildings
with broken windows,
waiting.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 6:10 AM UTC
I would value you
I know you must have hard that a lot
and have grown accustomed
to it not being true
I know that trust is like a spotter
at the bottom of a ladder
and that you've been climbing Everest
and not the wall to a roof
so the comparison isn't apt
No I don't know anything you
and so my words ring hollower
than an Oak tree on a dry summers day
I would value you
not as price on a tag
but as a bird on a nest
because your presence makes being here
worthwhile
and when you're keen to fly away
please heed my plea that's true
I Promise I would value you
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 1:58 AM UTC
It Would Be a Cold Day in Hell
by Mutasem Amayreh
You heard my story
Tongue-tied
My crowning glory
In a World-wide
Eye-folded
Yet in a cottage
tied
One day
The owner scolded
The bushy eyebrows
Frowned
On the scent of treason
Yelped the hound
During the peak season
Different colored Inks spilled
One iota of sound reason
The Mantle it pilled
What follow that I
detest
While sight-blinded
Began the Rorschach test
The process, long-winded
I didn’t hesitate
That one-sided picture
Of the issue
Started to imitate
Composed a tissue
of lies
Didn’t freak
Cut my ties
Promised Ink won’t leak
Believed the wiseacre
That talent spotter
Never become a risk-taker
But a life-long voter.
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 6:19 AM UTC
Space is black, so as too it why can't you win a race.
Face it winning, is my honor you are like gum sticky and silly only filled with envy for you will never become a winning.
Know, I was just kidding your "OK" at getting second place, when im looking back your head bagging to my style.
Slow down pal forward, only no slow motion because as is sacred gemetic shapes see to it I'm the out line of gold.
So yes you now can behold, you are a silver me is of gold so be better next time and don't forget to become bold.
Cuz heating thang's up is my cup of gold low and bewilder of change and flow.
So, watch out as spring become's of snow and your feet get stuck in the soggy cold.
I will laugh, with glee as you become of fever you should have wore a coat you dreamer.
Im, a thinker slaying reason of flaws we shall talk of winning.
Winner winner points on board is the defender.
Loser loser you are sad and clueless.
The options where not fixes as to your believing them to be.
When we raced im a spotter of flaws.
Calcated your movements and pace.
Sure too glance, before the race to Duluth your out looks at 1st.
Now you seem, to think back nodding do you understand it was my plain at hand.
Not to say I cheated using methods unknow for my win.
I just Foget basic Principles of thought and see all points of reference.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 8:58 AM UTC
Sent to fight as part of a ****** team
Viet Kong are awfully mean
They made hidden door traps
Made my buddies' bones snap
The spotter is with me on this day
I'm going to make the Viet Kong pay
A sniper's duty it is to ****
I won't do it this time
Our Father in heaven gave me a sign
He is not the enemy
They will not push me to a sin
The greatest enemy you will ever face
Lies within
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 11:29 PM UTC
You need to get stronger on your own.
How?
Even body builders need a spotter.
Someone to take the pressure off when the weight just gets to be too much and threatens to crush them.
Help me, please, I can't hold my own anymore and every second I'm doing all I can to keep from letting my strained fingers slip.
But I can't bear this much alone, and when I inevitably let it fall upon me don't ask why I was so weak.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
We barged hard against the old door and managed to get in
Dark corridors led to a back alley where fantasy met reality
There they were, hundreds a shiny boxed small windows waiting for us
Richard picked up a stone, pulled his home made catapult and released.
Bam, a broken window now more broken
You have a go
I took it and hit a window, amazing sound and joy
The windows were in our sights
Left a bit, right a bit...
Patang, reload, hutchuck, dut, snnuuuck,
Missed
Adjust scope a little to the right
This time a hit, no movement from the crow
A small troop are marching up towards our house
Door bell rings
dad looks concerned
'There's a report of a youngster with a rifle?'
It's the UDR
dad looks very nervous
'Its just my son with an air rifle'
dad brings the rifle to the door and the gun licence he had
Firkin wee Duffie the headmaster has seen me with his binoculars
The wee sneak ..I rumble under my breath
'No problem sir, we're on our way out of here'
Wee Duffie had me in his sights
Returning from England the green walk up the Dungannon road is a fresh change from the hustle and bustle
Passing a bungalow on the right a man stares out at me, hands by his side
I take a left up a hill past Derek's place
We rode his white horse bare back in that field
Suddenly a car pulls up with the man and he winds the window down
'What's the name?' he growls
'What do you mean what's the name, I'm just out for a walk?' I retort
He reaches for the glove box, I stop
'What's the name?' he shouts again
I ignore him and continue walking
He accelerates quickly forwards stops and manages to make a U turn
Walking back home I'm confronted a small troop of soldiers marching the other way
A car pulls up
'What's the name?'
'Turner' I say
"It's the bank manager's son, stand down'
On reflection I processed this situation years later
The big man Stewart had thought I was a 'spotter' from the IRA spotting him an off duty policeman in his home so that a shooter could take him out
He had his hand on his pistol in his glove box with a view to pull the trigger
He had me in his sights
Feb 2, 2024
Feb 2, 2024 at 4:28 AM UTC
My husband headed out
With chain saw, maul, and wedges.
I accompanied him as his spotter,
Just in case.
He cut down two trees in fifteen minutes.
After they fell, he made his way to a third one:
An oak,
dying on the embankment,
bowing downward.
I looked to the now thinned crown of the tree,
Noticed a few leaves attached to thin branches.
Some were still green.
The tree was not ready to let go
And I told my husband so.
Two hours later, the tree was still not down.
My husband practically killing himself to make it fall,
Pounding in wedges that would pop out.
And me, I was standing above it all,
Tasked to check the tree for any directional movement:
Right, left, straight on.
This one would not be moved or dispatched in fifteen minutes.
It was still on the edge of living.
Of remembering—
That drought of 1989 when its roots ****** up any droplet of moisture;
That winter of 1996, snow and ice almost bringing it down;
And the beautiful year of a warm winter and a temperate summer.
But then—from the top down—it felt
Something coming on, invading it—what it did not know.
Now, the choice.
To hang on.
To let go.
My husband stopped pounding and made another cut.
The choice—taken away.
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
Loaf with dignity
and stretch out with long elegance
Rest with intentionality
and stop with full confidence
Pit stop with tenacity
and pause with perfect poise
Lie with all honesty
shut out the demanding noise
and soak in the inner stillness -
for your rest is essential before activity
your meditation before mobility
your self before any sway
over the crowd's frenetic insensitivity.
And oh, the clouds!
Look,
you have the clouds!
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:00 PM UTC
craning my neck to the never-ending ascent
cemented stairs narrowing into dizzying consent
flickering, dull neon lights,
my shoes tapped as I puffed
above the steps of flight
the air was cool,
posters plastered on the gloss
sharpie scribbled pertaining messages
historical analogies, flashback memories
creak, the heavy metal door opened
place a stopper, shush my breath away
before me splayed an array of shafts
wooden beams and rotating lighting crafts
silent and dark, empty and stark
I tiptoed and clung to the ladder
tasting like metal and smelling of riddles
I finally sit, spotter vibrating in hand
the piercing white light following my
every trail
headset fastened, murmuring conversations
the show is starting in
3
2
1
go
actors file onto the gleaming stage
vibrant hues and melancholy shadows
each element working in unison
my hands spotting the beams
flashes of color
ringing tones of vocal chords
musical, theater performance
and I sit in my booth
hands tingling from light's heat
watching the show unfold,
behold, transform,
beneath my feet
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 11:34 PM UTC