"stall" poems
My ***** is a dream come true
my ***** is for me and for you
my ***** is a simple get away
for cats and hearts that are astray
my ***** is an action star
and you are the leading lady
you can play with my ***** like a guitar
but please don't leave it off shaking
my ***** is a spectacle
all of the world's wonder in a nutshell
but if there's one thing my ***** needs
it would be time and seeds
it needs to grow because it is small
this poem was just used to stall
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 12:42 PM UTC
I'm the *****
the quiet girl in the front of the class,
according to the handicap stall in the upstairs boys bathroom, a ****
I love, and when I do I love to no ends.
But you'd never know how much this ***** loves, because there is no love shown.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:03 PM UTC
lady craighead played the blues
on a stand-up samick
in the ***** room
along side the parsons project
and squabbling dogs
and night moves
stairs creek
up the mezzanine trek
wool sheets slide
on finished floors
little angels
play late into the seventh
(a closing match nearing
the midnight hour)
croaking toads and cicada
sing in the blue moon
musty smells and mothballs
settle deep in the vault
the kettle boils
and cat coils
as the pump house rolls
its heavy drawl
the red phone rings
and bird clock sings
(behind the ruddy stall)
a sleeman variation of the ruy lopez
employed heartily
by the incomparable master jack
marble toast burning
wringer wash churning
chris craft running
near the old carp canoe
rooster calls
and west wind squalls
rustle through the porch screen door
chicken *** pies
and rogue flies linger
a rocker chair placed
near the sepia face
(softened by the intricate frame)
donkey in tow
(with a fastened ***
maggie in her dreams
of green tambourines
the nocturnes
reflections
and whispering gospel bells
tractors pull on
the grinder stone
horses lay still
in the mid-day sun
a trump card is fingered
at the furnace click
(crosswords and puzzles are next!)
while the sparrow
*and that **** rabid fox*
are drowning
deep in castles well
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 10:20 PM UTC
We used to swing under the big willow tree
We lived 3 doors down from each other
We were princesses who fought dragons
We could save the kingdom and find our prince by lunch time
Our moms laughed and talked about how cute we were
Four years old was a cute age
Fast forward a bit
We went into elementary school innocent and young
Boys had cooties
Girls had cooties
Kickball always ended with someone getting hit in the face
We would always sit out field and pick grass and shape it into a little birds nest
Life was good
Until your parents started fighting and I mean really fighting.
It scared me and I would have to go home
I would make you come with me
three doors down
Our moms didn’t laugh anymore
By Christmas break your parents were broken up and divorced
Eight years old was a confusing age
Junior high was mean.
Girls would rip you to shreds and then hang pieces of you on everyone’s lockers
Boys just wanted to make out
A whirlwind of uncontrolled hormones
We were the quiet ones
Always flew under the radar
Just trying to make it out alive
We found a little spot to eat lunch under the stairs where no one would go
We giggled and talked about boys who didn’t even know that we existed
I remember crying in the bathroom with you because people were brutal and we weren’t good enough
Our moms worried about us and how distant we were becoming
Thirteen years old was a sad age
Highschool is another story
You were put in the hospital for a month
I was left at school alone
I had to find more friends
I found most of them were fake
So I ate my lunch in a bathroom stall
Reading all the swear words that were carved in the wall
You were really sick and we grew apart
We were always close
We will always love each other
You tried to save me from myself
But I didn’t let you
Seventeen was an important age
Now we are at different colleges
I tried to **** myself while you were getting an A on your anatomy test
It’s sad
We don’t swing under the big willow tree or fight dragons anymore
Our moms hardly talk
You are a success
and I am a failure
We don’t really mesh
I miss you every day
I’m sorry I can’t be good enough for you
We were princesses who lived three doors down, we saved the kingdom.
I love you
I’m sorry this has faded
Just like everything else
Nineteen years old is a dying age.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 4:23 AM UTC
I don’t have a problem with saying too little, you don’t have to carve inspiration into a health room desk or vandalize a bathroom stall to get me to tell him how I feel. I have a problem with acting as if it’s four a.m. all day long and forgetting that you don’t need to know about my every mood swing: my Sunday highs and Tuesdays lows and Thursday nothings. I think my biggest fault is bothering you to tell me all the thoughts that have yet to cross your mind (and maybe wishing they had.) I want you to want to know everything I feel at any given moment: what I thought of this evening’s sunset and how long it took me to fall asleep last night and why track two of my favorite album makes me feel like I’m in a dream. I want you to want me to know why you painted your bedroom walls yellow and how often you floss your teeth and which day of the week you feel happiest on. But most of all, I want to know everything you feel, even before you’ve felt it.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:00 PM UTC
Torture myself religiously,
Call me a ******* martyr.
I met up with the devil,
And had no soul to barter.
Life is getting harder,
I don't see no ******* peace.
All I see are people,
Starving in our ******* streets,
Getting beat by the police
Can you stop the violence please?
I just want some silence, geez
I will not go quietly,
You will have to fire me.
Out the chamber,
Down the hall,
Through the house,
And Past the wall,
Out To the street,
And into Paul.
All because,
They made a call
So If you wish
To have it all,
Know if you run,
Then you may fall,
Don't waste no time,
Don't try to stall,
Stay head strong,
Tear down your wall.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
******
A word I have heard a thousand times
A thousand different ways
But has always sounded the same,
Like ignorance
A word that has never left me feeling worthless
Or unloved
Just misunderstood
Even when followed by being thrown into the bathroom stall of a Girl's gym locker room
Or by the few friends I had left helping me clean up my battered face and the hide the bruises
I have always been proud of the term ****** because even though it was said to be offensive
I was being acknowledged as me
But when the word was spilled by the woman who once rocked me to sleep till I was no longer scared
The woman who has always protected me
It was then that all the pain I ever should have felt
Took a hold of my heart and ran it up to my throat until the pain leaked from my eyes
I was angry
I was sad
And I was scared
Because I knew that word was always followed by violence
And I didn't think that I would be able to walk with my head held high from this one
My face turned red and my blood turned cold and I watched my father defend me
Finally I stopped him and I looked at her
And I said yes, but I'm your ******
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 1:12 PM UTC
it's the management
here to inform you
your lust has been hacked
we know what your thinking
what you hide
we are all up in your business
like cyber terrorist's
don't ruin your life with to much self respect
we are all watching you **********
to mamma mia meets a hundred shades of crimson
and fight club blood ****
while you ***
screaming
ooooooooh god
licking
holes and poles
like a pig at a trough
praying to be handcuffed and on your knees
sweating and hysterical, a red moon struck **** face
high on drugs
in a dream better then this life has to offer
life is full of yogas
***** pony position
bouncy bouncy
i'm the light in your darkness
i know what you do
i want pieces of you, you wont show anyone else
your sickness, is my own
you are my love slave
turning me *********
who loves to hurt you
who's the *****
who's the switch
your flawless
now
cry me a river
move a little bit faster and to the left
your **** is a cartoon
**** grinning emoji
bleeding shrieking
fu fu fu fu *******
your brains running out of your eyes
gimmie all your venom
***** movie poem's
*** tongue and *****
your mouth like hemoglobin jewelry
saliva diamonds
kiss that
you'll never go back
squealing smooth heat
breathing winds of perfume
love and pain
united by
tragedy and desire
by
the grotesque and the beautiful
like thirst holds stones
stop crying
you know baby
you look your best on the toilet bowl
shameless
a delicious little *******
that holds me close to life
like a baby to the womb
please
stop banging on the door
i'm using this stall
Thank you
The Management
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
Nobody chooses a bottle willingly. A pill or a loaded gun, in the end it's all the same.
We're waiting, still, hiding. In our holiest of places:
The kitchen and the office. A quiet sideways-slide into the last available stall in a casino washroom. The seat is still warm.
Teachers don't tell kids that drugs are bad. They told us that we were the evil ones for deep-throating a bottle of ***** every Friday.
They didn't know what we had to go home to.
Cancer sounded better than living past 20, and that's the thing that they'll never comprehend:
There's always a reason underneath overdose.
The only time a drug is bad is when you can't afford it, and you're sitting alone in a fetal position crying in need for a chemical bliss that you've caressed over and over; a blanket covering memories. Feelings. Emotions.
The only time a drug is bad is when you're too **** poor to grab anything better than a box of Benadryl and a dimebag of shake.
The only time a drug is bad is when you're anything but rich an' white and pretty, because then you're not addicted, you're having fun with the price of 1,000 a week at an all-inclusive rehab resort.
Drugs don't discriminate, but people sure as Hell do.
There's always a reason underneath overdose.
There's always a reason underneath.
There's always a reason.
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 1:15 PM UTC
The bitter taste of resentment
As the dish of revenge grows colder
Waiting, watching, planning
As you get older and older
You stall until the perfect moment
When he will pay for the things he's done
As the time strikes, you pounce
And after all that time you've won
Your patience has finally paid off
His breath no longer taints the air
He's gone from this world forever
It's his own fault that no one cares
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
Muted, muffled, dull thud on concrete,
Staggered, drunken, half conscious nobody,
Starved, seeking, worried about payments,
**** in hand, knocking on the wrong doors,
Fire and brimstone stoked in the belly,
Mad, strange, appetizing burlesque eyes,
Obnoxious smacking and licking of parched lips,
Rolling on half rationed legs,
Quiet, sullen, mournful footsteps,
Presently placed awkwardly one in front of the other,
Memory serves correctly, destitute, reprise,
Thunderclaps and crashing roars,
Almost forgotten, with great relief,
Soon, very soon, to be lost forever,
Candlelight, sobbing vigils, no power,
Nail, Nail, Nail,
Praise in the box, graffiti walled,
Like a bathroom stall, just as ******
Docile dissolving vessels,
Brought to the commonplace dropoff,
Settled down and greatly relieved.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:38 PM UTC
What Hope Remained?
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When putrid plumes dulled morning into night
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent,
As mortals wept and earthborn angels went
With downcast eyes to clamber heavens height.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
When panicked sirens wailed a lost lament
And backs were bowed beneath ungodly weight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent
As boots bore souls up treadmills burnt and bent
To scale a void devoid of dawning light.
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
For those in sight of angels heaven sent
Atop the world to aid their mortal plight,
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
When wingless brethren conquered feared ascent
To gift last hope to all who saw their might:
What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.
In The Fall
I chanced upon a stranger in the fall,
Cosmetic garb of office black and white
Portraying calm demeanor of his plight
As shadows panicked on a stricken wall,
And oft' I find my mind in numb recall
To look upon that helpless human kite
Who tumbled from the terrors of a height,
Yet graceful as an eagle in a stall
Before it plummets earthward -- 'Neath the pall
Of twisted steel rended by follied flight,
That stranger lives forever in the light
Suspended in iconic timeless sprawl.
I wonder, in the briefness of his fall,
Did he derive the meaning of it all?
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 7:20 PM UTC
A rainy day
A dead rose
That picture on the wall
My little sisters test
Hanging on the fridge
The project I used to stall
My Polaroid camera
A broken mug
My mom's excuse of fun
A walk outside
A kitty in my lap
The trophies I forgot I won
A forgotten poem
A silent scream
A whisper of the untold true
Little things
Little dreams
All ending with you
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 1:02 PM UTC
i'm broken spaces,
unnamed multitude faces:
see wholes as fractals.
i'm rubbed raw and sore,
i'm ***** waves on the shore:
rampant and rascal.
lost in the spotlight,
yet so defensive for fights:
though impractical.
i'm wanted by you,
yet i question what is true:
you falter and stall.
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
I am a man
of no flag
no God
and no party
but this offers me
certain freedoms
like freedom from offense
and freedom to offend
I've always found the most
"offensive" jokes to be the funniest
like a sacred cow butcher
and if you are offended easily
this might not be the poem for you
that being said
here we go
Did you hear the one
about the last pope
who actually did any good?
yeah me neither
What did the pilot say
when the Muslim man
walked on his plane?
"This is flight 216
we may have a potential
security risk on the plane."
America: Land of the free
home of the brave?
where a vast majority
of the population
are wage slave cowards
and don't get me started on England
a hot nest of xenophobia and racism
which almost makes me glad
to not live there anymore
and it doesn't matter
if you are a democrat
or a republican
because either way
you are wrong, and dumb
did you hear the one about
the anti-gay republican in the gay bar?
He took the most drugged up man he could find
for some fun in the bathroom stall
because the chances are tomorrow
he won't remember enough to break the story
I live in the sacred cow slaughter house
(you can't spell slaughter without laughter)
and the only food that really satisfies me anymore
is USDA prime choice sacred cow beef
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
On the land molded by footsteps and ruled by obnoxiously bleached clowns,
Visited by swarms of neighborhood guttersnipes and the opulent from uptown.
Allured by the traditional Irish circus music and the grinding of rusted gears,
To arrive at dawn and to leave only when the night sky is tired of fireworks and flares.
Skittish and gleaming eyes would roll on the floor, struck by daze and lost in wonderment,
At the marvel of giant steel rides and god forsaken and socially foretoken genetic mutants.
The word of a woman with two faces and the boy with a tail would make any catholic priest run.
Amusing the rational ones, alongside the man with elastic skin and the girl with the forked tongue.
The opera lady with outlandish proportions and tumorous lips sings to break a piece of cheap glassware.
Little do people know,that the magician’s red gloves are actually stained with blood of rabbit that disappeared.
Their noses get caught in the medley of fragrances from the exotic perfumes shop,
Blended with the saccharine tang from the stall that sells candy floss and soda pops.
Indulging over the overly priced confectioneries at the stall of the baker with the forbidding grin.
Try it a hundred times,try it a thousand,you’ll never get the fifth one right in the game of rings.
People will come out screaming from the haunted house,only to laugh about it later,
Little do they know,that skeletons that drove them pale and white couldn't get any realer.
They’ll jostle and struggle to make their way through the crowd to various rides and attractions.
Hustling to navigate through the maze the carnival is, encountered by countless illusions.
And once your body wears out and senses give in,that’s when you've truly entered the carnival state of mind.
Your ears stinging ,nose stifled,tongue baffled, eyes exhausted,and your sense of judgment blinded.
That’s when my masked act begins,the most profitable act at the carnival,
Diving into the heart of the crowd,to draw an act of brilliance lasting an ephemeral.
Slithering across the crowd in a different disguise every hour,concealed by stealth.
Sneaking into every nook and corner and slipping my furtive hands into your pockets for a little bit of wealth.
Only to dine with the clowns and the carnival family at the haunted house at the end of the day.
And of course, rabbits for dinner,if the baker may
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 3:13 AM UTC
He is rougher then being dumped
from the saddle of a bay mare,
but perhaps she shouldn’t be riding
******** past vineyards of red rusted vines.
And if she is on fire then she should probably roll
or climb into a hot tub on ***** Thursday
and put out the flame ignited by the thought
of hoping to God his parents can’t hear her.
She had always wanted to know what it felt like
to slaughter someone. So when he placed his palms
on the arch of her back and massacred her lips,
I imagined her smashing his skull against a brick wall.
And when she is in the bathroom washing him off
her hands, with a published poet in the next stall
she shouldn’t yell **** you, I’m not a flower
and start listing off the ten rules to **** ***
Because no matter how many times she uses him
as her own personal merry go round or slams
back beer after beer, he will never die in a coffin
so that she can say he is already dead and
buried.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
Progress is wasted here
the high street draped in uniform glass fronts
why shouldn't we play our bugle
to rebuke this shard ?
yet in a corner there's still a market street
refusing the final nail,
there's a shoe, bakery, cycle and jewellery shop,
in our hearts we will
wear pride to headline the clarion call
and shed anger at being accused of,
carrying congress with the past
at our coffee stall.
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
"Tell me gorgeous,"
He said with his finger under her soft chin
"What are you looking at?"
She looked at his face.
He could tell she wasn't seeing his face.
She knew she wasn't.
"Well,"
She started to say to stall him.
She knew what she was seeing.
She wasn't sure if she should tell him.
"Well,"
She said again.
"Yes gorgeous?"
He said patiently.
She thought about what she wanted to say.
*i don't see you. I don't see you. I don't see your black hair. But his light brown ***** blonde hair. I don't see you. I don't see your brown eyes I once drooled over. I see his eyes. The maybe blue eyes that stole my heart. I don't see your tan complexion but his reddened one. i see him. I don't see you and I never will again.*
"Well,"
She said again.
He moved his hand to the back of her neck.
He stepped closer.
He stared into her eyes.
"Gorgeous tell me. Tell me please."
She closed her eyes.
And suddenly she felt his lips against hers.
She opened her eyes surprised.
She remembered the way his lips felt.
But she didn't want to remember.
She pulled away.
He looked hurt.
And suddenly
Real fast
Everything
Poured
Out
Of
Her
Normally
Silent
Mouth
"I don't see you when I look at you anymore. You know I don't. You can tell. You know you've hurt me a thousand times. You know you've pushed me down. You know you've left a scar so deep It will Never fade.
So why are you here? Calling me gorgeous? When you know you have no right to."
He looked even more hurt.
And suddenly very angry.
She knew he felt guilty.
She knew she was right.
He let go of her neck and raised a hand behind his head.
She looked at him her eyes widening and before she got the chance to run, his hand slapped hard against her cheek.
Slashing it open.
She lay on the warm grass.
Holding her face.
She looked up at him.
And now his emotion was scared.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Tears fell softly onto the grass.
Soon she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She jumped ready to run.
"Shh it's just me,"
She saw the boy with the light brown ***** blonde hair. And the maybe blue eyes. And the reddish complexion.
She relaxed as he pulled her into his arms.
She smelt his sweet scent.
And let him dab the blood away.
"I'll always love you. You never have to worry. I'll always be here. You don't have to doubt it. I'll always protect you. You should always remember that"
She smiled and closed her eyes.
She heard the boy with the black hair stomp across the grass.
She heard a car door slam.
She heard an engine roar.
And then she heard wheels squeal.
And like that,
He was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
And forever,
The boy with the maybe blue eyes,
Was here.
Here.
Here.
Here.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
In this world, this imperfect world,
So many problems are born.
Everlasting conflict,
Which as a collective species,
we are torn.
Do animals have rights?
Is there a God?
Did we come from primates?
Is the answer to the problems war?
Everyone just shakes and nods.
We deserve to know,
What's going on in this show,
That we call life.
Is it too much to ask,
To have a chat,
With the man behind the mask?
Please don't stall,
Cause I can no longer take,
This truth withdrawal.
None of us are thinking,
We are all brothers after all.
Everyone shares the same planet,
We all drink the same water.
Can't we just peacefully share this big blue ball?
Everyone seems to want answers,
But they don't know who to ask.
Pious fools pray for the knowledge,
Citizens look towards the government,
Only to get the answer from a mask.
We deserve to know,
What's going on in this show,
That we call life.
Is it too much to ask,
To have a chat,
With the man behind the mask?
Please don't stall,
Cause I can no longer take,
This truth withdrawal.
Too many questions!
Even more answers!
They believe what they are told,
And go back to their daily routine,
Like hypothesized dancers!
That's why I just say,
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Makes more sense then the other ******** you feed us.
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Why don't you believe us?
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Your political answers are just lies,
To protect the nationalistic demise,
Of our country.
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Just tell us the ******* truth!
We deserve to know,
What's going on in this show,
That we call life.
Is it too much to ask,
To have a chat,
With the man behind the mask?
Please don't stall,
Cause I can no longer take,
This truth withdrawal.
Aug 8, 2011
Aug 8, 2011 at 1:08 PM UTC
no one knows pain
like
the ones
who
curse their beloveds
and
bleed their heart
dry
like
the ones
who
watch blood bubble up
from wounds
self-made
the ones
who
fill themselves up
just
to empty it all
in a bathroom stall
the ones
who
refuse their meals
and
live for the scale
because
numbers
don't leave
the crying poet
the bleeding cutter
the vomiting bulimic
the starving anorexic
the lost
the empty
the lonely
the unloved
the ones
who
love too much
and
not enough
no one knows pain
like
humans know pain
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 5:58 AM UTC
All is NOT well in the grasslands.
The animals are fit to be tied.
The actions of the crafty wolves
Have left the rest of them horrified.
"How will we EVER be able
To keep democracy afloat,"
The antelope asked, "if the wolves
Don't allow us all to vote?
"In many sections of these grasslands,
Shameless wolves are doing their best
To hold voter registration
Hostage, keeping voters suppressed."
"They aim to control voter turnout,"
The deer added. "That's their hope.
Their sneaky ways to manipulate
Elections push the envelope!
“They stall and seek petty reasons
To take names off voting lists.
Fair and honest elections are
In jeopardy if this persists.”
"It's so close to election day,
Our courts are reluctant to raise objections,"
The buffalo said. "Some of the wolves
Are even running in the elections!
"Humph! They stole a Supreme Court justice.
Then they rammed another one through.
Now they're still suppressing voters.
What more damage will they do?"
"Winnowing down voter rolls!
Their strategies should be illegal!"
The fox chimed in. Looking around,
He asked, "Where is our dear friend Eagle?"
The absent eagle wanted no
Responsibility tied to her name.
She couldn't stop the out-of-control
Wolves, and hid her head in shame.
-by Bob B (10-19-18)
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
Thoughts racing, heart chasing.
You're mad, I'm sad.
Can't stop shaking, there's no faking
When I see you in the halls,
I stall, hide behind a pillar, a friend, anything
Just to avoid the awkward eye contact.
I'm not good at confrontations, at the mere thought of it I flee..
You might think I'm crazy or immature,
But when you told me to stop talking to you my mind went a blur..
My friends say you're overreacting, over something so small.
I fear you'll dump me, leaving me lonely..
I'm so sorry.. Please forgive me?
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 3:56 PM UTC