"summersault" poems
When Robots ruled And “The Guardian” went into liquidation
It will be a strange quiet world when robots take over
there will be no middle-class the ranting of the eggheads
in the Guardian will cease their utterings will be quaint.
At the time when robots were perfected a pill emerged on
the market made women and men infertile until they
wanted to start a family, alas, it was irreversible and it only
Takes a generation. The poor was working for the robots
picking up trash such as screws, the streets were empty
and cars were obsolete.
Some robots that had received too much learning wrote
Books to each other – as they did now- and had literary
reviews, but since each book sounded like another down
to the ****** “,” it fell out of vogue, so much academia
and no one to buy their books. At the same time as it was
discovered by the human workers that when a friendly
robot accepted a glass of beer it made a summersault, froze
and became a piece of junk leaking oil.
The fight back began the robots had not been programmed
To tolerate Alcohol, the Achilles heel, and the workers were
Jubilant waved flags
No longer should robots- any robots with mechanical learning
whether university or not- to rule over them.
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC
Saturday,
A blank slate placed in front of an adventurous child
My imagination took me across the globe,
While my feet danced across my backyard.
Freshly cut grass grew into a weeded jungle,
Only a six year old could appreciate.
The sun was only a summersault away,
And I reached up to the sky with my stubby fingers
To form marshmallow clouds into pirate ships, and circus animals
Back when the moon was made of swiss cheese and superheroes really could fly
No one dared to whisper the word ‘impossible’
To a boy who feared nothing
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:53 AM UTC
I am barely a mineral now, not yet a woman in the ground,
not yet growing gardens and begging people to cook my peppers.
My home is dizzy from my constant re-entry, which helps me to cheat,
in life I am looking for the harvest in people. I am a thread of cotton pulling
every word like it is more porous than the next, which helps me.
I summersault through conversations rather read in sharpie,
on the last corner white space of bathroom stalls,
alone and blushed. I remember love like a tagline inviting a smile
and messages to strangers. When I look in the mirror I am always inhaling,
my mouth says O, O I am out of excuses. I tell everyone I’m tired of working,
which helps me to hide in my comet ways. I am tight-lined,
which is to say I feel love on the hairs of my arms, the wind,
the blades of fans speak to me at night when I have nothing left to say.
I am licensed to moving. In the dark in the cities public spaces and
also in alleyways I am soft like a moonbeam. I am convinced the world is a sewer,
which helps me to explain the exchange of waste and skin and the secrets hidden
in tunnels of shadows. When I move the world blurs with me like a heartbeat.
I am underground like the sewer, rotten in negative spaces, which helps me,
to hear the echo ripple swish of every piece of trash call my name.
I have no response. Some days the world is too ***** One day I will learn
to quilt and stitch together every important face, which will help me
to remember my grandmother and how she loved to balloon to the sky.
I dream she is a large magellanic cloud beaming out of the universe, the force
of believing is the word Hallelujah sung from the lips of Leonard Cohen.
It is midnight. It is noon. I close my eyes for a second and I see myself as miles
from the moon. I am running every day now and there is nothing left to see. My heart
is a kitchen door swinging and it does not want to stop.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
the morning after always hurts the worst
hazy brain
summersault stomach
and where in the hell is my car
i want a pizza
or two
it was nice to see you
i've missed your smile
and condensed stare
and the shape that your lips make while you confess your love to the beer bottle's neck
that explains the jameson
and all the beers at the bar
the beer bongs at the after party
and why i could stomach the strippers
it was all you
so nice to see you
why do i always feel guilty when the sun comes up
no one got a black eye
i didn't grab the mic
and my clothes stayed on until i was safely home
although
the cab driver may have caught a glance
to think
i'm "all grown up"
i'm not at all sorry
not for the whiskey gut
or the fire i'll throw up
or the kisses that i didn't plant along your collar
i'm still the same floral-print ship-wreck at the bottom of the bottle
my mother once said that the only people worth clinging to
are those who see all of your greatness outweighing your flaws
you still see the holes in my tights
and my falling hem line
not the honey sweet legs they shape
or the hips and thighs that the denim hides
i'll be just fine as the german genie in the bottle of irish whiskey
witty
and slack-jawed
and ready to kiss the lips off the face of the clock
and two shots away from dancing with the cops
i look great in hand-cuffs
i'll whistle the whole way to jail
small victories weigh the most
and right now
i feel like muhammed ali
thanks, babe
here's two asprin that glow better than your eyes
and they're mine
waiting to chase away the pain that came up with the sun
here's to endings that aren't a safe bet
here's to sleeping alone
here's to new mistakes
just waiting to happen
water never tasted so good to me
Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Inspired by Shel Silverstien’s “Hungry Mungry”
They’re coming. They’ll get me.
They’ll get me, and hit me, and make me bleed my young blood that looks just like theirs,
With skin that looks just like theirs, but something in me’s different.
As different as my mothers before me.
It doesn’t matter.
They’re coming.
Their dark boots clomp down the hall, begging to bash my ribs, or my face, or my shins, or--
--They’re here. They take their fists and their feet and their words, taking turns finding the soft flesh
Covered by my backpack and my shoes and my clothes and my bones.
They found me, and they’ll beat me, and they’ll **** me--
That’s what I think until--
--I change.
I grow. My shins and my fingers and my skull and my toes.
My body elongates, it stretches and lengthens.
I’m still bleeding and bleeding and still bruising and bleeding.
But the blows stop.
They back away, at least I think so, but my body pushes them farther and farther,
I’m pressed against the ceiling, pressed against the lockers, until I feel them give, and I’m free.
I break through the ceiling, I break past the rain, I--
--Stand up. My head skims the clouds, misting my face. I feel myself drift away from this place,
As my head reaches farther, my neck, my chest, my stomach, my legs.
Trees break beneath my feet.
They crack and splinter, just like the houses, just like the schools.
The ground gets farther and farther away, my feet so big they spread across the land and the seas.
I’m blowing up like a balloon, like Violet-fucking-Beauregard, from that book I read in in the second grade.
I push back against mass under my feet,
Let them feel the fire, let them feel the heat.
Earth is flying too close to the sun, as I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
The stars drift around me, popping blistering holes in my skin as I grow and push against them too.
I stick my hand in Jupiter, in Neptune, in Saturn.
I crush Mars like a dirt clod inside my fist, and slap nebulas together with a flick of the wrist.
I am the sun, and I am the storm, and the wind and the waves,
From the place I was birthed--
--The place I was birthed? Where was I? Where’s that?
I look to my feet and see naught but a speck,
I do a summersault to examine it closer--
--Not an inch from the Sun, my home withers and dies.
But still I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
Earth is now too small to hold
Still I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
I see so many things from here, but I shan’t get closer, for fear they’ll disappear.
But that’s not enough, still I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
Pushing them away like so many I know.
I hope and I dream for this ride to stop, still I grow, and I grow and I grow.
I grow, and I grow, and I grow.
Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 12:15 PM UTC
Your touch,
sends chills,
racing through,
my entire body.
Your smile,
sends jolts,
of electricity,
through my heart.
The words you say,
make my heart skip,
the way you talk,
makes my head summersault.
The worse part,
of this whole thing,
is I can't tell you,
and you don't even know...
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 8:16 PM UTC
Whenever I close my eyes,
I become a sketch of myself, on paper.
My body, and the world, is two-dimensional.
Shadows only slant, and I am without substance;
there is only one visible side of me at a time.
In these moments, I only fear
someone ripping me up
or burning me to ashes.
I feel lighter too,
like I could just
summersault
cartwheel
swan dive.
Once my eyes open again
I am weighted.
I am tired.
I am full.
I’m whole.
Jul 25, 2011
Jul 25, 2011 at 4:30 PM UTC
The looming grey stone sits eerily beside me,
whispering haunting memories in my ear.
They skip and summersault around my kneeling form,
reminding me of the time we were welcome here.
Only until that mocking wooden box violently enclosed you in its embrace,
suffocating you underneath the complaints of the green blades as they bump into one another when the wind blows.
If you were here we could face the ecstatic world together,
but I’d rather just let the musty earth ease me into slumber
beside you.
Oct 9, 2011
Oct 9, 2011 at 12:44 AM UTC
You're laying on the beach on a hot summer day. You start sweating so you decide to cool off in the ocean for a second. You go too deep and you're swept off your feet and you find yourself tumbling under the waves. You come up for air but only for a second until the next wave crashes on top of you. Water is filling your nose, burning as it travels down your throat.You struggle to regain your footing. When the waves finally calm, you surface and you see that you have traveled farther than you expected. You start to swim back to shore, but unfortunately, another wave is forming. You swim faster hoping to escape your fate, but it's too late. You're already trapped under the forceful waves and you find yourself doing summersault after summersault. You claw your way back up to the surface looking around to see where you are. You're close to shore, so you swim back, letting the current push you. You decide to lay in the sand for a second to catch your breath.
So tell me, is this what it felt like to love them?
B.S.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 6:41 PM UTC
watch me daddy!
she yelled at 6 years old
she does a summersault and he didn't pay attention.
watch me daddy?
she asks at 10 years old
she takes her first dive and he didn't even notice.
watch me, dad
she tells him at 17 years old
as she walks up to receive her diploma.
he didn't even look up not registering her success.
But she paid attention, she noticed, it registered that he didn't care.
watch me daddy...
she whispered and weeped
as she jumped of that chair with the rope around her neck and ***** on her breath.
he noticed, he paid attention, it registered he had forgotten and now he had lost his little girl.
he realized actions speak louder than words.
-been
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:25 PM UTC
It's all grey rained yesterday
Freezing cold here today
Ready to go out and play
So I'm skipping Winter
Gonna summersault to May
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 10:55 PM UTC
I am a butterfly
opening bitterly
to something
eerily comforting
intoxicating are you..
intrigued of your stance
& magnified is my love
I behold my fears
& place them
into your hands
taunted by your gracious
banter
my stomach summersault
twisting & turning
my spirit soars high
higher than a human
ever made me climb
my knees buckle
from the pressure
of your heart
I am heated
& drunk off this cloud
hoping to let go
but daring myself
to never climb down
to the person I once was
before you claimed me,
as your special,
treat..
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC
The flicker of last nights midnight memory rushed through my head
the heart gave an obligatory thump while it tried to double summersault
it was the slightest touch bare skin on bare skin but I felt it so deep
magnatised by the heat in your stare, hips arching to its target
lips parted hanging in the air sending out invitations without care
it was a moment locked in eternity and you bent your head everso slightly
I swore swore you leaned in just before your phone rang
and love had brought you back to your senses and left me with
sweet nothings and a ache gouged deep across my pelvis
that tore me unexpectedly all the way through my heart
because you texted to say hey.
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 6:09 PM UTC
traitorous
how each face you turn
is another cheek for me
to meekly reach toward
an attraction to
rate of change
the first one was coy
it held me in its gaze
and built a house of straw
for me to crawl in
the second, more familiar
a me in you for me to see
and dive into head first
familiarity scratching at the scalp
the third, half smile and half frown
the kind of face that martyrs itself
on a crown of need, a list of to dos
that cause a summersault inside me
the fourth, set in glass
fixed, permanent, fragile
one misstep and it's bad luck
seven years of wandering
away from you
Mar 25, 2018
Mar 25, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
a sea of
Scottish startling
organic soup
burst and sway
through
Indian white clouds
their
swift wings
jack knife
and
summersault
through
Solomon blue sky
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 3:17 PM UTC