"sprints" poems
*Dust on the ledge, before me, magnified
Smell of gun oil in my nostrils and cramp in the calves
The boredom of the wait intensifies,
Stale air in my loft is full of must
With the failing light I’m grateful it is almost time to stand down.
Through the cross hair sprints a target
An ordinary, everyday, running target,
I know not who this target is,
I know not why it runs across my sights,
But because it is, where it is,
It becomes my enemy.
In a microcosm of time
the loud bang alters things forever.
The buck of the rifle’s recoil,
The immediate sour stench of the shot washes back across my face.
The intoxication felt, in being the one who caresses the trigger.
The satisfaction earned in deservedly making the ****
My target spirals in mid stride,
Contorts in agony
And collapses to the rough tarmac
To lie dishevelled, an insignificant, dishevelled item.
Checking the **** through the telescopic sight
I see the rough stubble of the chin,
The nicotine stain on the fingers,
I see the colour of the eyes are pale blue.
…I know well, it will breathe no more.
With descending twilight
I trudge from my tower perch
With the long ****** rifle slung across my weary shoulders
The crones in the street glare as I walk by
There is a loathing in their aged eyes, It is a tangible thing.
I know they have no knowledge of the target,
But they know, however, that there has been a killing made for the cause.
A cold beer would be nice.
God! how I hate these young punks with purple hair.*
Marshalg
Gaza, Palestine/Mogadishu, Somalia/Kabul, Afghanistan/Tehran, Iran/Cairo, Egypt/Islamabad, Pakistan/Soweto, South Africa/Dier El Zour Province, Syria/Beirut, Lebanon/Baghdad, Iraq/Tripoli, Libya/Pristina, Kosovo/Grozny,Chechen Republic/Veracruz, Mexico/Guatemala City, Guatemala/Sao Paulo, Brazil/Moscow, Russia.
27 November 2012
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:17 PM UTC
She remembers the day the stick turned blue, “wow for **** up the spout”
He remembers her smile when she told him. Smile, really?
Then there was telling her parents, “okay we'll make this work”
Then there was telling his parents, “You threw your scholarship away for this ***** you're a dumb ***
She remembers the morning sickness
He remembers the hangovers
She felt warm inside when he said it was her choice
He felt like dying when she said she was keeping it
She framed the first ultra sound photo
He deleted his Myspace page
She noticed the day she started showing
The same day he noticed the legs on the waitress
She was snickered at behind locker doors
He quit the team
Her mom brought home baby shoes
His mom circled the classifieds
She got peanut butter cravings
He got hand gun cravings
It's a girl
It's a girl
She remembers finally talking again after four months
He remembers being cornered after 3rd period
She wanted to pick names
He wanted to hang up
She remembers their second first date
He remembers how nice she was
This could really work please kiss me goodnight
We'll see how this goes please don't kiss me
The doctors say the shadow on the ultra sound could be nothing
What if the thing on the picture is something
She prays for the health of Amelia
He begs God to do something about this
They have such a bright future ahead
He had such a bright future ahead
She goes to Goodwill for maternity clothes
He rings her up at the cash register with a kiss
She remembers buying baby clothes at the mall
He remembers how cute the onesies were
She sees him smile
Amelia...good name
She's due next week
He packs his cleats to make room for the crib
She packs to move into his house
His dad packs for a motel
She's still craving peanut butter
He's still craving the waitress
She ate peanut butter
He ate the waitress
She's in labour
He's in traffic
Hold my hand
Ouch...Okay breathe honey...ouch
There's no crying
Nice, quiet baby
Amelia's dead
I'm not a father
She cries into her shirt
He leaves the hospital
She cries into the onesies
He returns the crib to Wal Mart
She burns the ultra sound photos
He grabs his cleats
She gets a hair cut
He quits his job
She returns the diapers and shower gifts
His new Myspace says “single”
She shops for a prom dress
The waitress finds out he's seventeen
Her mom hugs her as she falls asleep
His dad pats him on the back after wind sprints
She can't stop starring at him during prom
He wonders if she went to prom
She writes Amelia in bubble letters on a piece of paper she hangs on her wall a reminder of what's important
He buys a Costco pack of condoms and tacks one to the wall a reminder of what's important
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 10:17 AM UTC
He sprints across the field
Navigating obstacle after obstacle
Addiction, illness, depression
Bits of him flying off into the distance
His hope, dreams, will
He's falling apart, getting smaller
Propelling himself forward regardless of his destruction
The finish line is a bullet
There is no applause
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 2:46 PM UTC
Pods routed back and forth
Inside
Cells linked to the central nervous system
Soulless
The cry of a sapling
Lush, primal sounds
But deaf to the neighbours
All distracted by a stream
A tweet
"Doors closing..."
Repeated beeps
Launching sprints
Rivalling Olympians
But not all pass the finish line
The end of the line:
School
Work
Leisure
Three modes activated
Upon the opening of pod doors
A hurry
Never stopping
Never hearing
Never open
Of hearts
Wallets
A song from yesterday
The flower withers
Pulp for pennies
The flower withers
Only so much could be done
Outside the system
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
Rolling hills and sprawling trees
Easily lost in expanses of green
We lose all our troubles, worries and cares
Sometimes ourselves in the frost-bitten air
The smoke from the fire rises and curls
The quick flowing stream tumbles and swirls.
The tent in the meadow, my humble abode
Like these old mountains, my problems erode
The sun sprints west as nighttime steals in
I hunker down to escape the cold wind
The fire and I swap stories and smokes
He tells me the stories of long bygone folks
When the cold is too much, I call it quits
I take a quick pull and crawl in my tent
Out here I can't feel the weight of the world
My shoulders are free, my mind is restored.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 10:47 PM UTC
It was half past noon as Professor Lynch came barreling into the drive way in his hunt for the unknown. His actions so urgent he forgets to even close his car door. He sprints up his steps and swings the door open to his house and there it was.
Why was he is such a hurry? Well this goes back a little over a week prior when he had some guests over for the first time since he bought his new home. It was the day after he had finally unpacked the last box. This was a gathering to celebrate his new job as a History Professor at the University of California and his beautiful new home. The gathering was going as planned till he heard a strange noise coming from the basement.
The guests didn't hear this noise and continued having a great time as Lynch went downstairs to check it out. As he opened the back door he heard some things fall over as if an animal had skirmished to the noise of the door. As he continued down the stairs after this so called animal his heart about hit his stomach. He has a small door in his basement he figured was used for child’s play made by the family before him. So in his unpacking process he had left it alone. Well he could of sworn he seen the door **** to it turn. Too afraid to check it out on his own he ran upstairs. Trying not to embarrass himself he quickly ran up the stairs into the main room and continued the gathering as if nothing had happened.
Once the guests left he found himself sitting in his living room saying to himself “it was nothing, you’re just seeing things.” He talked himself into believing this because he hadn't slept much in a few days with all the unpacking trying to get ready for the new week. So he finally decided to go to bed and get some rest. It wasn't for another week till he had started to notice some strange occurrences. He came home from work that day and noticed his refrigerator was left open. Lynch however was uncertain on if it was him who left it open so he shrugged it off.
Another day had passed and again he came home from work and his refrigerator was open again. This now struck an uneasy feeling; he had made sure he closed it before work today. As he continued through his house with caution he had seen nothing unusual nor seen anything more out of place until he walked by the basement. He once again heard this skirmishing sound of what seemed like an animal trying to escape the basement. As he entered the basement the sound stopped. He was frightened but hadn't been threatened in any way, so he continued throughout his day although not in ease. He was uneasy about this happening a second time so he decided to come home early from work and see if he could catch whatever it was in action.
So at work the next day as he planned he left work early, about half past noon. “Professor Lynch came barreling into the drive way in his hunt for the unknown. His actions so urgent he forgets to even close his car door. He sprints up his steps and swings the door open to his house and there it was.” This was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Something so frightening, so terrifying his jaw hit the floor. Before Lynch could speak a word, he was snatched and drug into the basement through the little door he thought was used for “child’s play.”
-Joseph B Schneider
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
A feeling is a thought that sprints through your head and you realize its meaning and so you exaggerate it by showing it through body language and it all happens in a split second
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
It dances through the morning
With its thoughts all smug and loud.
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain,
Oh how my brain sings aloud.
It controls the mirrors
Right through its glass
Any reflective surface
The brain is what it asks.
It prances onto noontime
With its judgmental stain
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain
Oh, how my brain sings my pain.
It glances at my edges
It smirks at my thighs
Oh the brain is a torturous man
Filled with degrading, hurtful lies.
It sprints into the evening
With its cocky glow
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain,
Oh, how my brain sings so low.
It breaks me down quickly
As if it doesn’t care at all
That I’m sinking into nothing
Or that my heart’s about to fall.
It creeps into midnight
With its final remark
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain
Oh how my brain sings so dark.
It goes to hurt me once more
But I’ve changed up the game
I’ve broken all of the mirrors
To make my monster more tame.
I crawl into dawn
With my brain at my side
Oh, my brain, my brain, my brain,
Oh how my brain’s songs subside.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 4:31 PM UTC
Spirituality without religion, politics without opinion
My knowing soul blinks into the ebbing light
Outrunning the plodding clockwork:
My inner intrepid sprints into the hazy night
All at once, the arc slits the velveteen,
The searchlights are pounding
Their harsh silence crashes in my ears,
My beatnik – she’s drowning
The magician holds a rope ladder
Spun of parotted truths and ink print thoughts:
My knowing soul blinks,
And stays its lonely course
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 6:24 AM UTC
cracked out
humble with heaps of pride
braggadocio Pinocchio
I haven’t slept in days
so watch the hours turn into haze
blown out of barely open windows
hide me from the world
I’m making a pristine machine - unbreakable
foreseeable as a weapon of poor taste
chasing wasted with chasers
are you shaking?
only with excitement
rage
hunger
My dad says get a job, get an education
so I chose a dead vocation with no hopes of vacations
and everybody is talking about the future as if it exists
it only exists in clenched fists and endless lists
of all the wrong turns you made on the journey
from then to now
I’m eating sacred cow meat - medium rare please
coming up with ways to scare these dumb ******* kids away from apathy
to put the shield over their hearts and the rifle in their hands
but wah wah nobody understands blah blah blah
shut the **** up for once
act like you actually have a pair of *****
even if you don’t
back in the day when we used to rob neighborhood garages of beer
and played with pills like candy
nobody threw tantrums about how unfair it all is
so you think the world owes you something?
the only thing it owes you is one death
so why are you wasting all of our time with your I could have saved the world
cry baby ********
I’m looking for slutty girls
pearl necklace on her checklist
so I can slam her on page verse
me versus the world, right?
left out by all the cool kids
drinking boohoo flavored kool-aid
so I made myself a parody of pretension
cunning, coming, ***********
you are the joke so I guess that makes me a punchline
I’m running sprints from the baseline until I’m throwing up the right choices
so continue with all of that angsty impotent sadness
so long as you stay out of my part of town
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
“some say love is a burning thing. that it makes a fiery ring.”
so kiss her.
or don’t.
and always regret.
always bike home thinking.
always think of love.
she’s in a parking lot somewhere drinking cheap wine,
balancing on the bumper.
he’s on the river somewhere drinking cheap beer,
balancing boulders.
a dog sprints by and forgets all heartache.
he is happy.
the town and the people and the job and the dreams.
the nothings
and the everythings.
and the little life this is.
to slipstream years gone by.
one fire in the sky, or another in the hills
just west of town.
something said about the smoke.
we take a weekend to spool through the story of your folks.
film cans or video cassettes,
or home re-sets. rewind.
words and faces scrawled in a tome of note.
spoken little memories,
little mysteries.
stories to tell no one.
stories to tell those who will listen.
the boys with dirtbike brothers.
the brothers with drunken fathers.
the fathers with dead wives.
the wives with ancient mothers.
the mothers and their children.
and the children living well enough.
living calm, then free.
far away, then close.
an empire.
of highways and histories.
of songs and the souls they swing.
of old money/new money,
betrayal on the horizon.
blacktop jamborees and assassinations.
driveways and nicely neighborhood lit-upon lawns.
well-trimmed trees.
a never-ending tree of lovers,
grasped and gasping for the sky.
listen and wait.
for the sun to kiss the moon goodbye.
[a family and their dog.]
this chrysalis.
this coincidence that is us, on one good gust.
from heart to hand to sons and daughters.
synchronized to die and revive and imbibe along the ride.
a tableau of animalia.
feasting and sleeping and awoken
by the wide little world all around.
“we are fires in the night. let us bathe you in our light.”
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
You are no more than
A cow’s foot
Up my mouth
Down my throat
You tread down roads
Long forgotten
Yet foreign
To an unknown being
Left standing
In the middle.
You are no more than
A lion’s paw
Landing on an antelope’s
Fury, yellow skin
But when it runs,
It sprints with the wind.
You plunge like a fish
And waters purge you.
You are no more than
A fly
On someone’s back,
Settled restlessly
Skin deep, pores open
For maggots of deceit.
You are no more than a thumb,
A peck of sand,
A bliss too distant to pursue.
I curse the hours you became
The mist of a Virtue.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 8:52 AM UTC
Words cannot just escape
Out of her thoroughly sealed mouth
Everything in time changes shape
So she finds a way to let it out
The gate is almost shut
With only two keys left
The other’s lost suddenly
Swallowed accidentally
while hiding from a hostile
The only thing left to do
Is to give a parchment
There lies a cue
Its goal is to leave someone
Whose mood is in need of enhancement
The keeper of the key sprints to the gate
Before everything is too late
Every day, in front of it, lies a letter
Often to make him feel better
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 11:15 PM UTC
My restless soul wanders
through the deep fog,
and the night storm,
and the white beaches,
and black cities.
It sprints through
the terror
and blindness
and pain,
in an uneven,
never ceasing,
path of curiosity.
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 12:57 PM UTC
Knuckles clenched
Knees bouncing
Fingers twirling
Step
By
Step
Watching his feet travel
With the ball leading the way
Time ticking
To the beat of my heart
Bending the knee
Like a bow and arrow
Pull it All
The
Way
Back
and Release
Ball is flying
Breath is held
Time is silent
Sudden roar
Smiles and hugs
Finally
The game has been won
His smile brighter than the flashing score
He raises his hand and moves it side to side
I do the same plus make a fist and let my thumb stand tall
His feet start to jump
Sprinting up
Two steps at a time
Closer
Coming
Closer
To me
Grinning wide
Extending arms
Ready to congratulate him while holding
His body
In mine
But it never happens
He sprints past me
His feet keep traveling
Higher
Up
The
Cold
Metal
Stands
Heart slowly falling apart
As his arms fall around
Her
Hugging
Smiling
Laughing
But
Not
With me
Softly kisses
Her
Cheek
As he softly
Breaks
My
Heart
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
Sleeping commuters leave
Ghostly auras amidst
The foggy plastic windows.
They slumber through
The booming snore
Of exhaust-pipes, choking smoke.
Silence. Or closest to.
Even stopped, the Bus roars,
Patiently brooding, growling,
As a wolf in the underbrush
Watching the crimson lights, sharp
Like blood on a pavement.
A small cat, uncollared,
Sprints across the road
But is pounced upon.
The wheels creak,
Commuters stir, and the Bus
Stalks away into the night.
Nov 26, 2018
Nov 26, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
She sprints through towns, night and day.
Her beauty from afar, her cruelty up close
She will stay, she will play
Flee, until she weakens, it might take night and day.
When she passes, destruction follows.
Broken Hearts, Broken Minds,
Houses empty and hollow,
Sadness will deteriorate you, I find.
Recovery from your broken mind will fix fast,
But your fragmented heart, I sit here and worry.
As it will stay, as it will last,
But that is a scar from Tracy, that I hope will stay in the past.
May 11, 2017
May 11, 2017 at 7:36 PM UTC
Vicinit vicinit the gamut go round
Progenies excogitate faster
Ode to no eminent thing
We all morph into matter.
The atramentous inky and blackest dense;
sprints and weaves in and out.
Tenuring twains over head, under toe;
Absconding ways in which we've never known
A paramounted heretic defeat.
Darkness that foliole footprints sooted deep;
Seeping stenches of fowl un-scented reminiscent in attire of the welkin;
Vastly sly making a skullduggery indent.
CR2X let us pseudonym by hex.
"No nomen no nomen for I matter dark"
"Matronymic nix hold's my fine lark"
"Nongermane logics are behind you and left"
"I am not your scientific pet"
Not a test, nix preliminaries"
Matter of all is of all existing quarries"
Spoken gallant and wise
Need not ever a compromise
"Matter dark matter dark it is you we embark!"
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
we stopped running sprints a while ago
each 100 yards traded for a pack of smokes
our sweat smells more like gin and *****
than it does hard work
Gave up ball control so we could get higher
Agility for hangovers
the only things we stretch are our wallets
Running with the forward
in a last ditch effort
I fall to the ground
They call it a slide tackle
It's more like an "I give up tackle"
and it hurts more now that you got that drunk tattoo
right on your *** this past 4th
taking shots from the halfway line
because we've taken too many shots to run any farther
and each goal means more
like we fought harder for it
and endurance is all but forgotten when I ran up to my brother
picking him up in the air as our team cheers and pats his back
the final whistle blows
and we are victorious
despite the fact our muscles are so knotted they feel like stone
high on an endorphin rush we shake the losing team's hands
not trying to hide our winners only smile
just because we are no longer athletic
doesn't mean that we forgot about our inner athlete
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
Dear friend, I am afraid you were right from the start,
We are but foolish beings holding onto foolish hearts,
Grasping and clawing for that one true soul,
An entity we blame for our lack of self control
And here I am, the worst offender in every case,
I treat love like marathons and sprints; an endless race,
I fall in, I fall out and it all starts at the sound of a gun,
But I fear my dearest friend, there is nowhere left to run.
From adolescence to rebellious youth,
I've held this silly type of love as ultimate truth,
But I have now faced all my demons and fears,
And my fairy tale has crumbled on pages soaked in tears,
So here I lie a breathless Juliet,
My story telling is ending, the sun is set,
Bruised bones and broken hopes,
Love lost in a dream now tangled in heartless ropes.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
A young man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
No one cares who he is now
No one will remember him when he is gone
Whether he was a grade “A” student or not
He will be replaced if he falls
He is a solider of America
His unit drives strait into an ambush
His friends killed by his side
Death everywhere he looks
Someone starts to yell fall back
But is stopped in mid-sentence
By a bullet through the heart
Someone manages to spit the words out
Once they finally fall back,
He looks at the ragtag group around him
A man from Georgia
A couple from Tennessee
Their leader didn’t make it
Nor the man who finally yelled fall back
He is the last of the officers
Nothing in his training could have prepared him,
For this
Now not only is his life in his hands
But those around him
He breaks down and cries
An aged man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
Now he is all that stands between home and death
His next move could be his last or his best
He has a choice between life or death
He has a choice between waiting or fighting his way out
Waiting they could be ambushed again and all die
Fighting their way out they could all die
Only seventeen remain
He chooses to fight his way out
They break out the back entrance
Only to find more enemies
After a brief scrimmage they continue adrenalized
They see a Humvee and a troop-transport that look unscathed
He sprints followed closely by his men
Halfway he hears gunfire
His only target is the 50 caliber on the Humvee
Running through bullets and crossfire he makes it
His men low on ammo
His enemies coming by the thousands
He yells to get in as soon as he is shooting
They escape barely losing only one guy
But as their code says,
No man left behind even his body comes
He continues shooting over a hundred yards away
Even though there are no pursuers
He finally climbs back in
He looks over his men checking for wounds
Only to see the color drained from their faces
He begins to see black
He wonders if this is what death feels like
A dying man with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
A Purple Heart recipient
A Medal of Honor recipient
A Medal of Valor recipient
A man now decorated with honors
An army veteran with a family back home
A wife and a little girl back home
A survivor of Afghanistan with a family back home
A wife and a little girl
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
Hide me away
Lock me up and throw out the key
I’m hardly considered free
Bound by the shackles and chains
Pulling on the reins
I wanna be like the birds and the planes.
Flying.
Flying high up out of this place
Into space
I’m not going to chase you anymore.
Your feet are carrying you
Far away
And you say you hate running
But that’s all you ever seem to do.
They say people run to see who will follow
But have they ever stopped to think about the ones left behind
What it does to their mind
I’m stuck here thinking.
Wondering why you push me away
What am I supposed to say?
I’ve poured out my heart
Practically wore it on my sleeve
You made me believe
But all you ever did was leave
I guess all those sprints paid off
Cause you left so fast
That no matter how hard I run
Or how long I chase
I will never get you to face your fear
Of falling in love
You’ve hidden your heart so deep
Deeper than the darkest chasm
That skims the entrance of hell
You’ve got everyone under your spell.
But T-R-U-S-T
Is the word that you will never let be
Because it’s hard to trust someone you’re always running away from
Like a lifelong game of tag
But when do I get to stop chasing?
My legs are tired
But my heart’s even more
I’m losing a love that’s shaken me to the core
It’s 11:11 and if I had one wish
I’d take it back to the way that it was before
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC