"subscription" poems
I had no idea how terrible it all was
Until I matured a bit and opened my eyes
It cleared the mist that I often now miss
From the eyes of an unwilling devil
Seeing the tragedy unfold from a first-person level
I remember it all from that god awful view
The bad things I’ve done, over which I had no control
The outcomes I hoped with the manifestation of some
Who am I kidding - I’ve been among a fortunate few
Except for the fact that life dealt me an ace with a ****** *****
Not quite like anyone - an outcasted sole
With depressive thoughts - eating them straight from the bowl
Until euphoria strikes - then I’m a lightning bolt
These emotional storms - they strike me as cold
Who am I to cry and complain about life
Everyone is united by the suffering light
The random subscription to a life with a set rhythm
If only I could command my heart not to wither
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 3:48 AM UTC
open the door
a man stands there with a smile
the package he passes
is not on my Christmas list
that doorway sure is no chimney.
shaking, frightened, it's finally time
alone, i unfasten the bag,
as if it's the first brithday
that my grandma is no longer with us.
this was the most expensive present
i have ever received
although the grantor is no ******* Santa Claus
&
that instant i recognize
my existence
lies in these jars.
i outwitted mother nature
if i begin consumption
i live
if not well.....How Will It End?
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
Face after face after face,
they stare out at me.
I look into eyes
full of hope and pain,
fear and courage,
longing and loneliness,
and the faces,
the voices,
the yearning
are all my own.
How are we to find
the one who is looking
for us,
with that unique blend
of terror and anticipation
that makes us
their "perfect match?"
We each want to
change our subscription
to the romance channel.
No more docu-dramas,
please!
So much history,
so many angry
silent nights
The full moon mocking,
cold and distant.
Please care.
Talk to me.
Hold my hand--
Dance with me!
Be fun!
Make me laugh--
Don't hurt me.
Please,
don't hurt me!
We smile bravely for the camera,
affecting a nonchalance
that is gone forever,
and we show our friends that
we have recovered--
the surgery was completely successful!
See?
The scar is barely visible,
true.
But tell me honestly,
can you really feel life Now,
through the scar tissue of
Then?
Dec 25, 2010
Dec 25, 2010 at 3:05 PM UTC
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Is eating a chore?
Do you weep from lack of flavor?
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Is it salty? NO!
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Are some of these BONEs human? Maybe...
It goes on anything, Savoury, sweet...
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It comes in 5 cool colors: white, grey, light grey, [REDACTED], and blorb,
Each with its own unique BONE-y flavor!
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BONE SALT: the taste of the future.
The only taste.
No life, no death, only ΒΟΝΕ.
Mar 18, 2021
Mar 18, 2021 at 9:30 AM UTC
Your blood flows like ink
And your words taste like *****
Each look makes me feel
as if I am stuck in a storm
of knives.
I don't need anyone to tell me I'll be okay.
Or that everything is just
fine.
And I certainly did not order a subscription
for your ********
The fly in my room reminds me
that all will be forgotten,
eventually.
Especially
you.
The bruises that decorate your pale skin,
greet me with a
"you were never mine",
yet,
I was always yours.
The flowers you picked for me sit
and decay,
much like
my kindness for you.
Another tooth falls out everyday.
Which I no longer care about,
Because no one ever listened in the first place.
Her obsession is eating you away,
you're simply
a cooked vegetable
now.
So this time,
close your eyes
when I go
to
hide.
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
Tuna sandwiches on white bread
Carried in a paper bag
Josh Groban on the CD player
Season Three of 2 broke Girls
Matching shoes and purses
Vacation in the Pocanos
Subscription to People Magazine
Pennies in a piggy bank
Silver-beige 4-door Accord
A little college but no degree
Always ten pounds overweight
Celebration meal at Sizzler
Artificial Christmas tree pre-lit
A mole that wants removing
Off white walls, pale green carpet
Outfits from mail order catalogs
Paydays with no yearly bonus
Jeopardy and Wheel of fortune
Polyester perm press everything
Bic Stik ball point pen
Swanson's TV dinner
Flip phone with no camera
*** two times a week and Sunday
Writing verse nobody reads
ljm
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC
When the music's over
When the music's over, yeah
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights, yeah
When the music's over
When the music's over
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
For the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
Until the end
Until the end
Cancel my subscription to the Resurrection
Send my credentials to the House of Detention
I got some friends inside
The face in the mirror won't stop
The girl in the window won't drop
A feast of friends
"Alive!" she cried
Waitin' for me
Outside!
Before I sink
Into the big sleep
I want to hear
I want to hear
The scream of the butterfly
Come back, baby
Back into my arm
We're gettin' tired of hangin' around
Waitin' around with our heads to the ground
I hear a very gentle sound
Very near yet very far
Very soft, yeah, very clear
Come today, come today
What have they done to the earth?
What have they done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her
Stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn
And tied her with fences and dragged her down
I hear a very gentle sound
With your ear down to the ground
We want the world and we want it...
We want the world and we want it...
Now
Now?
Now!
Persian night, babe
See the light, babe
Save us!
Jesus!
Save us!
So when the music's over
When the music's over, yeah
When the music's over
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Turn out the lights
Well the music is your special friend
Dance on fire as it intends
Music is your only friend
Until the end
Until the end
Until the end!
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 3:35 PM UTC
This morning
I went to the kitchen
Opened the pantry
Found my elephant missing
Along with my favorite coffee mug
And my Better Homes and Gardens subscription
At first of course
I thought of the worst
Elephantnapped
Is what came to mind
And me right here
Playing into my fears
That's the end
Of that friend of mine
But then I thought of the refrigerator
Where I know he goes to cool down and relax
And that's where he was
Between the yogurt and mustard
Lounge chair, second shelf in the back
With magazine and coffee mug in hand
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 5:03 PM UTC
I wake up to a repetition,
The constant strive for approval.
A simple undying rendition,
Ideas in my head, hoping for removal.
A subscription for success sign me up,
One hefty fee of-not enough.
Same old texts, asking what's up?
This is not something that should be that tough.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
YOU gave, but will not give again
Until enough of paudeen's pence
By Biddy's halfpennies have lain
To be "some sort of evidence',
Before you'll put your guineas down,
That things it were a pride to give
Are what the blind and ignorant town
Imagines best to make it thrive.
What cared Duke Ercole, that bid
His mummers to the market-place,
What th' onion-sellers thought or did
So that his plautus set the pace
For the Italian comedies?
And Guidobaldo, when he made
That grammar school of courtesies
Where wit and beauty learned their trade
Upon Urbino's windy hill,
Had sent no runners to and fro
That he might learn the shepherds' will
And when they drove out Cosimo,
Indifferent how the rancour ran,
He gave the hours they had set free
To Michelozzo's latest plan
For the San Marco Library,
Whence turbulent Italy should draw
Delight in Art whoSe end is peace,
In logic and in natural law
By ******* at the dugs of Greece.
Your open hand but shows our loss,
For he knew better how to live.
Let paudeens play at pitch and toss,
Look up in the sun's eye and give
What the exultant heart calls good
That some new day may breed the best
Because you gave, not what they would,
But the right twigs for an eagle's nest!
December
2.2k
Everyone in town knows
Philmon is a mad scientist
It's not his little hunchback buddy
Or the crazy smocks in which he's always dressed
It's not the lighting clouds over his house
Or the strange sounds from which his basement grew
No, it's not any of those things
That gives the town it's clue
It's not all of the darkened birds
That hang out on his fence
Or his subscription to weird science weekly
And on what it is his time is spent
Not even when things always turn up missing
Down at the local graveyard
*No, it's the "HONK" if you love Mad Scientists sticker*
On the bumper of his car
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
thin. paper thin.
here is a bonus. (or is it bogus?)
the order of release.
the order of dead pages gliding in the wind.
advertisements for adopting a lonely asteroid or building fire extinguishers in your spare time.
the rain of acceptance comes with dark clouds of shipping and handling.
just check the appropriate box and send it in. send it in now!
Aug 7, 2023
Aug 7, 2023 at 12:36 PM UTC
I dreamed a dream , inside the dream
It seemed to say , 1 more hit for one more day , heavenly maiden with devil like beauty , lay out your evil insnare the mind , so I can unleash the beast that sleeps inside , awake from this creative slumber to walk the hall and fantasize ****** , join my hand , witness the Christ the raptured being , from a golden cloud with life's hidden meaning , cancel my subscription to the resurrection , send my credentials to the house of detention , watch the alcoholic Navajo shaman fuel my soul , awake lizard king from your coffin of gold , Paris is where you lay while light my fire resounds on the surface above . My music lives on although I do not . Skin rots to wood , wood rots to earth , earth grows to trees , trees are cut to make the pencil , pencil writes these words taken directly from your creative soul , the lizard king is dead , so i am told
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 2:02 PM UTC
They want bodies.
Warm, compliant bodies. Moving parts.
Hands that open doors and flip switches.
Spines that bend but don’t break.
They want eight hours of labor, plus the commute,
plus the side hustle,
plus the ever-present smile that says,
"I’m lucky to be here."
But bodies need rest.
And there is nowhere to rest.
No shoebox. No storage unit.
No couch, no floor, no friend with a spare key.
Just asphalt and backseats—if you’re lucky.
Just parking lots and fear and pretending to be fine.
We’re told to buy the things that prove we’ve made it:
the ergonomic chair, the smart toaster,
the streaming subscription that numbs the noise.
But where do we put it?
Where do we live with it?
They expect us to consume while we disappear.
They want machines
—but with human elegance.
They want efficiency
—but with soul.
They want labor without the laborer’s needs.
We are the product and the producer.
The face and the function.
They demand dignity at the front desk,
but deny it in the zoning map.
We work full time,
and still live in our cars.
If we have one.
If it hasn’t been towed or repossessed.
If there’s a safe place to park without being harassed.
Why?
Why can you clock in at dawn,
and still sleep under stars you didn’t wish for?
Because they want bodies.
But they do not want the burden of keeping us alive.
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 6:41 AM UTC
The familiar complaints, the cozy ones.
Ambling through the hedges of grievance.
I never know what I'm feeling at any one time.
Usually more of the same. Bragging my inadequacies.
Winter is coughed from the addled coalsmoke sky.
Chimneys chugging ash. Clumps of duress.
Blake's choir of children lying in a heap.
Noontime streetlamps regaled in holly and poinsettia.
A ***** moss enters from the vacant lot, cautiously.
The homeless have been scraped from under the bridge.
Geese call and flee. The snow is flakes of ash,
the sun finally burnt itself down.
Disused meanings are flushed. A carefully wrought
vocabulary we have disabused ourselves of.
Crumbling monologue.
A new grammar forms. Light and Motion dances
from the screen. A panoptican of laughs and serenades.
Sometimes there is a magazine no one has a
subscription to. It is the digest of a human heart
dressed to the nines in thorns and flame.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Back in the day when I first started writing poetry
I was writing just to pass the time
Because at the time things weren't all too great
and the pressure came crumbling
What I wanted and hoped to gain from it was always there
In the subconscious of my mind
Though back then I wasn't thinking of it
Because like many others I was just writing
To relieve myself of years of emotional pain/abuse
What I really wanted from writing poetry
Wasn't just to write and never share with the world
Wasn't just to revel within fits of insecurity and manipulation
What I wanted from writing poetry was fame
That's what it's always been about for me
Though as I stated earlier I didn't know it at the time
But it was always the fame, the power, the popularity, the respect,
The admiration, the love etc...
And in my opinion poetry did bring me a small amount of it though to others it may seem like a bit of a larger slice of it but compared to other poets I really wasn't doing **** lol but yet I received numerous accolades.
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2013 By Rating
#13. "+ America Walking -"
#45. "Passing Clouds"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2012 By Rating
#12. "Wonderwicked"
#13. "Download"
#14. "Evergreen Suite"
#15. "Pixel Juliet"
#16. "Coffee Fashion"
#28. "Vanilla Amour"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2011 By Rating
#28. "When Two Poets Fall In Love Pt. 4"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2010 By Rating
#41. "7 Years"
#50 "Extraordinary"
MyPoetryForum Top 50 Poems Of 2009 By Rating
#5. "Spontaneous Desires"
#13. "A Thousand Words Of Beauty Pt. 1"
Today's Writing February 2011 Black History Month Writer Of The Month (Prior to defunction)
People in different parts of the world using my poems in their videos, in their photo captions, on their blogs.
Poetry featured in a few anthologies etc...
Wrote and published my own poetry books
Ran my own poetry club at my local library
Hell, I even had subscriptions to about five different poetry/writing magazines at once with my subscription to POETRY magazine spanning nine years because I would by a ******* subscription every paycheck so I would never have to worry about renewing.
I pretty much got what I desired but then I suddenly woke up and realized that I yes I do truly and badly want the fame but I want to obtain it through another medium.
Poetry isn't my passion.
Music is my passion.
So stop ******* asking me if I'm still writing poetry!
I don't and I don't ******* desire to write!
**** off!
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 1:51 AM UTC
odorless bathing salts
undissolved
in calm
water
with ashy skin
two cheeks
filled
with silver milk
swollen
with odorless
feeble
attempts
to at least
be
forgettable
nausea ,
counting
the beads on a chain
attached to a rubber plug
wearing concrete shoes
face-down
in placid
murk
Passes the Time,
even at a fraction of the speed limit
ulcerous enamel
leeching rust
into a pointless bog
of manganese
and zinc
candle
burning
bees wax
on the
sink
where
she left her
brush
she left hair
instructions
on how to recover
from losing your
head
a box
of wooden matches
can't seem to
get on
with a crumpled ***
of spent tissue...
a waste basket
that needs therapy
with yellow lungs,
eating a can
of pork & beans
thinking wrinkled hands
are like
house cats
lounging
over the lip
of a submarine
with clawed feet
brass proud
clashing
with empty
beers cans on the floor
sleeping off
the misadventures
of a reckless
binge.
my wallet
splayed prone, under
a slow leak.
admiring the linoleum
seen
better days
in a magazine
a
picture
of a well appointed
villa
it was furnished
with opulent
symbols
they were
empty
on page twelve.
i thought
they
had
a
point
.
i knew
i would cancel
my subscription
even if it
thrilled
me.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 5:21 PM UTC
Love's Subscription
Oh garden of love, grant me lifetime membership,
Ignore the other subscribers as I offer my passion.
Scribe who tends to the garden hear my plea,
Add me, for here my heart wants to be.
To sing the songs of love's sweet eternity,
While basking in the flowery garden.
Scars of painful wounds healed and forgotten,
Scented roses and petunias fill my senses,
Caressing my mind and heart in peaceful solace.
I seek to dwell here for an eternity in love,
My subscription has no expiration forever slotted.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 12:47 AM UTC
Just another day
In these endless days
Watching the clock tick time away
Alone with myself for company
All the voices have gone silent
Leaving me here with no one
But myself for company
Can't cancel my subscription
To these prescriptions
I need them to deal
I'm not good enough to do it alone
And myself for company
Just isn't good enough
To make it thru these days
Another time
In a different place
The situation stays the same
It's never ending and unchanging
The only sound is my heartbeat
Slipping
Alone in these four walls
I'm blind to the outside
Ignored on the in
When will it all end
I'm slipping
Can't cancel my subscription
To these prescriptions
I need them to deal
I'm not good enough to do it alone
And myself for company
Just isn't good enough
To make it thru these days
I'm not good enough to do it alone
And myself for company
Just isn't good enough
To make it thru these days
And myself for company
Isn't good enough
To make it thru
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
I'd ***** your mind
if I could get my hands on it
Your words are my pornographic video
with no subscription needed
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 6:11 AM UTC
I'm not going to be a teenage wasteland forever
Someday I'm going to stop polluting my body and hating my mother
I have an addiction to those
toxic remedies
like hair dye
nutmeg
and bleach.
I'll be taking calcium supplements
for dwindling marow
and for once I'll actually care about politics.
Daddy had a habit of calling me a
super-feminist
just because I wouldn't bring him his slippers
when he got home
from retrieving the mail.
I've always hated dogs in the house
so I became vegetarian.
My subscription to Cosmopolitan has long
been expired.
Instead I stick my fingers inbetween the crevices
of the fan
There's a secret to resentment:
Hang it up in the closet
on the hanger
next to the apron.
It's wanting to pour wasabi down pants
so they feel the kick
so they can hear
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC
Our Facebook, who art online
Hashtag be thy name
Thy fan-page grow
Thy tweets be pinned
On blogs as they are on Reddit
Give us this day, our subscription e-mail
And forgive us for our down thumbs
As we forgive those who down thumb against us
Lead us not into MySpace
But deliver us from false avatars
For thine is the internet and our time
And our souls
Forever and ever
Amen
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Stop right now and NUT IT OUT
Which way you wish to go,
Do you want the wealth and stressful strain
Or blithely flick and throw?
Do you preen yourself with smiling pride
Owning shining chattels new,
Whilst shallow OTHERS OGLE
With those envious eyes on you?
Or do you seek the clean four winds
Untrammelled by concern,
With sleeping bag, a crescent moon
Whilst crackling bonfires burn?
Have you thought to chuck it all
The car, the house, the boat
And cause your superficial friends
To snigger, leer and gloat?
To simply live in HUMBLE CIRCUMSTANCE
To wake without a plan,
To greet the day with unconcern
And breathe a new, fresh man.
Is the courage there to TAKE THE CHANGE,
Can you make the first big move,
Or does convention stay your hand
To stray from comfort’s groove?
Have you thought about what others think,
Reactions from the crowd,
The clamorous cacophony
Of objection rendered loud?
“Absolutely NOT, my dear”
Pygmalion my ****
To throw it all away, Silly,
Simply would... betray your Class!
“It’s all so rudimentary
This thing of living rough”
“Reminds me of the great apes,
And other basic stuff!”
There’s loads of reasons why YOU CAN’T,
The mortgage at the bank,
Insurance is essential
And while we’re being frank...
There’s the tennis club subscription
And the afternoons I’d miss
Sipping lattes with the ladies
..though, the gossip’s SO remiss.
Perhaps we’ll put it off for now
Another day perchance,
When devilment and joi le vivre
EFFUSE another prance.
When the dream of having freedom
With the cold wind in my hair,
Will drive me to release
The inner WILDNESS hidden there.
Marshalg
Victoria ParkTunnel
4 March 2011
Mar 4, 2011
Mar 4, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC