"swiped" poems
as you gazed upon the roses, beautiful, blooming wide,
exposing themselves for your eyes alone, petals scattered,
you spoke to me. unsatisfied.
strewed their precious worth across the dull pavement,
i began to wonder.
if i truly burst open for you, would i suffer the same fate?
if each of my petals shed away, one by one, revealing a bare stem, would my beauty remain?
every rose wilts with time.
as you looked upon the sunset, magnificent, drooping low,
dipping beneath the horizon with a final display of light, heavens shimmering,
you spoke to me. unaffected.
swiped the bristles of a blackened brush across its fading glow,
i cannot help but wonder.
if i began to fade, would your starlight illuminate my beaten path?
or would you only cast a sheet of unforgiving darkness over my vibrant, faltering hues?
every sunset fades to night.
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
I sometimes take words that were first used by others
(I'm About to admit I'm a bit of a crook)
Re-hash and re-use them, and make my own covers-
Stealing little known lines from an eloquent book.
I've stolen from Shakespeare, yanked words off of Yeats,
And pilfered from Plato and Brown;
I've probably swiped stuff off all of the greats,
And many of zero renown.
There's more to be heard in the wise words of Wilde
Or took from a Tennyson line
Or the thinking out loud of an inquisitive child,
Than could spill forth from this pen of mine.
So if I've stolen from you, and perchance have offended,
(Yes- I'm about to steal Shakespeare again)
Just think but this, and all is mended;
Nothing original came from my pen.
Which means that, eventually, all that I've ever done
Will be lost in the shadows of time,
Skipped over, or lost, and simply outdone
By your works original shine.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:05 AM UTC
I took a quick peek
At the golden baked dough
They slept in the jar
From what I see afar
So defenseless at night
I swiped them without a fight
It was a beautiful sight
The chocolate was sweet
I could still feel the heat
I hear the crunch and the munch
And now they are gone
All that’s left are the crumbs
From the cookies who are dumb.
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
*So I went to the campus today, for the first time in a long time. I smoked cigarettes outside of the the lecture hall with some kids from the eastern block whose names I could barely pronounce. They were talking about McCarthyism in a language I couldn't understand - snippets in English - an American history exam. I cut class again, for a reason I can't quite trace, just lost sight of it all I guess. Or maybe I was wishing it could have been a little easier. They never gave us a course in what it means to try, you know? It just seems as if the only thing that stops us from doing the things we love is a fear of failing at them. Thinking about this on the walk home made my head sick and my heart sad, and so sleeping through the rest of the daylight seemed like a good way to get by.
I met up with the friend, later in the evening, he was at the local venue. He had his hands in his hoodie and his Adidas were swinging over the side of the stage, head bobbing, and rhyming in time to the beat of an electric bass drum. I asked him to buy me a beer and he slid his last two dollars over the counter like he always does when he notices my lower lip quivering. I didn't ask him about the doctor's and he didn't ask me about my black eye. I told him to tell me the story again, the one about the cool kids he met in the East Village and he did, he told me about the whole encounter in the snow, with the lights, and how badly he was shivering. I smiled that type of smile, the one that ends up with your lips curved the wrong way and wished I would have went with him.
The waitress that hates me gave me a ride home again so her uncle could close the place down. I offered her one of those Ukrainian kids' cigarettes that I swiped but she said no thanks, and I was glad I had more. She knew this wasn't going to be the last time she did me a favor, the way my track record was but I like to think she doesn't mind too much. I invited her inside but she said she had to run, maybe next time. She told me to try and hurry up and finish school so I could give her the world, and then she giggled and winked at me before she sped off. Back to bed, I had a long day of bullshitting myself ahead of me when I awoke.*
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 4:11 PM UTC
I wove my own web and netted my prize,
I cold-pressed my words and refined my disguise.
I goggled at life and faced up to that book,
I tumbled and tweeted and baited my hook.
I blipped and I blogged, I bantered and blushed,
I followed and friended, I grovelled and gushed.
I doled out the instant, ten grams at a time,
To fuel my addiction for caffeine and rhyme.
I reshopped my pic, I swiped left, I swiped right,
I pinned and I posted deep into the night.
I gloated and gossiped, I chatted and cheered,
I logged in and logged out without favour or fear.
For is it not fun - this mad media storm?
Viewing and voting from dusk until dawn.
Yet love me or like me, let it never be said,
That despite how it seems, it’s gone to my head.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 6:17 PM UTC
Off she went all dressed up to meet the guy she swiped left upon.
Five feet 10 his profile said but that's where all the lies began!
In she walked in her killer heels, eyes wide and bright to look for him.
But not a sign of him to see had he stood her up? How dare he!
Then at the bar worst for wear she saw his face and balding head.
How had he aged so much, so soon from the photos that made her swoon.
Well the truth aired and shots were fired, Napoleon's descendant had clearly lied!
The CEO of a successful business would be up at 5 for the newspaper deliveries.
His holiday home was a caravan, in the **** of Wales where no one went.
His hair had gone south long ago and his belly was chasing it now as well.
But in all of this, had she lied? Was she 48 or 55?
Had those lips been rendered too? With botox and the wrinkles smoothed.
At 48 or 55 that dress had some riples inside.
The parts Spanx can't control, where age and love handles roll.
She stayed they drank. Then drank again and laughed and talked of other things.
They danced made shapes for all to see like watching a form of epilepsy.
They left at one her shoes in hand, holes in her tights, lipstick smeared upon his cheek and a room to find to seal the deal.
Promises made to meet again and drink and dance and meet their friends.
Next week he was sat at the very same bar, watching the door for her enterance!
She? Oh no, nowhere to be seen. Across the town at another scene. This time an accountant, chartered too!
But we all know it isn't true.
Fairytale endings nowhere to be seen. Just nights of ****** and living the dream.
All in all is this all that they want? Repeating the cycle over again.
With another fool in fancy dress?
Viewed from the bottom of an empty glass.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 8:49 PM UTC
The music plays and the espresso machines steam and hiss
Feet tap. Fingers type. Phone screens ******
Skinny lattes and peppermint teas. Soy chai teas extra hot.
Peppermint soy latte. New names for familiar poisons.
Flat whites. Cortados. Espressos and macchiatos.
When I grew up, it was just a cup of coffee…
Hipster coffee shops serving to the hip, the wannabes and the lonely
The woman in the leopard skin coat and the man with acne.
Credit cards are swiped and cash machines ring
The business of poisons is thriving in the city.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 4:15 AM UTC
Don't trust Tinder, Never found a winner
She's a Only Fans beginner
But us men have compliments but we're a Thirsty sinner
Just false hope and a haunted app full of ghost
Thirsty Only Fans and stupid ********
Tinder never felt right so I left
Super liked my own business
What's a commitment?
Tinder has always been a joke
Caused me to be broke
I've so paid for the gold and found some Diggers
Full of preps and Only Fan strippers
You swiped right and then left
Account deleted for the 30th time
My dumb *** pays every dime
Tinder gold, one real joke, I'm hopping off Tinder boat, I've got my life jacket and off to land
Tinder so fake like you don't understand
Jan 10, 2021
Jan 10, 2021 at 5:19 AM UTC
There’s a brilliant world of words and wine
Hidden behind the curtain:
A barrier of stares and smiles
Shyly given, modestly strained.
Each subtle push
Met with an even gaze.
Tell me more about yourself -
Your secrets
Your lies
Your favorite memories
Your darkest times.
There’s much more here
Than society allows we breach
On a first date meeting
In the middle of the week.
Sure, you swiped right
And that means you think I’m cute
But do we have a connection
Deeper than this Champagne flute?
I don’t want to talk about the weather
Or what your roommates do.
This isn’t an ad on craigslist,
You have nothing to prove.
Now you’re checking your phone
At every silence
*** we’re hardwired to our handheld
Asylum.
And if we aren’t leaving together
The night's been a bust.
No gain, no loss, no truths to wrestle -
No point finding a soul
In a hollow vessel.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 3:51 PM UTC
I was shocked, confused, bewildered
As I entered Heaven's door,
Not by the beauty of it all,
Nor the lights or its décor.
But it was the folks in heaven
Who made me sputter and gasp --
The thieves, the liars, the sinners,
The alcoholics and the trash.
There stood the kid from seventh grade
Who swiped my lunch money twice.
Next to him was my old neighbor
Who never said anything nice.
Bob, who I always thought
Was rotting away in hell,
Was sitting pretty on cloud nine,
Looking incredibly well.
I nudged Jesus, 'what's the deal?
'I would love to hear Your take.
'how'd all these sinners get up here?
'God must've made a mistake.'
'And why is everyone so quiet,
'so somber -- give me a clue.'
'hush, child,' He said,
'They're all in shock!
'No one thought they'd see you.'
Unknown Author
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 9:03 AM UTC
You wrecked me, you made me a mess.
I can't believe its been over two years since we met.
And over a year since we stopped talking.
I ended it, not you.
Well, I guess it was kind of mutual.
But nonetheless, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
You told me I was special, that you wanted to be with me.
Played me with your words, tortured me with your lies.
What else should I have expected?
We did meet on Tinder, but that means nothing, does it?
But here we are, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
I was swiping left and right a few months ago and you popped up again.
New picture, still attractive, still the same **** I knew before.
I immediately swiped left, but did you swipe right?
I searched you again on Facebook, to see how you're doing.
It just reminded me, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
I'm glad we never ****** I'm glad it was just fooling around.
Obviously I wasn't anything you actually wanted.
Maybe you just wanted someone to **** with their emotions.
If that's so, you're **** good at it.
But what else is new, you wrecked me, you made me a mess.
Go ahead, treat the other girls like they're worthless.
Taunt them with your lies.
Tell them you want to be with them the same way you wanted to be with me.
So here I am at 11:37 thinking about you because;
You wrecked me, you made me a mess.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
There in the corner resting silently the old wooden bench
reclines beneath the billowing sky. Peeled and pale much
the worst for wear.
"A couple of young fellas down at Kitty Hawk flew like wounded ducks". Did you hear?
That was a humdinger. "Somebody swiped the Mona Lisa right under their noses"
Tick
witness to it all has heard the deepest of dark secrets whether tumbledown in solitude
or passed about in chatter.
"The Titanic went down last week ,What a pity." wasn't that thing impossible to sink"
well I'll see you later The Trolleys are running slow today.
There's this young upstart playing at the picture show this week. Chaplin I think his name is
Moving pictures,oh what will they think of next.
I got a letter from William fighting in The Somme. Dont know when or if he is coming home.
Nights are cold in the rain. Tick
Bathtub gin. A little nip every now and then can't be a sin.
The Lucky Lindy is the latest swing.
Tock.
Mickey mouse meet sliced bread. The birth of a nation
Bring the kids out on Saturday The can play awhile.
Heard That ****** Trotsky got shot. What do you think that will bring
Guess Adolf bit off more than he could Chew cause that big air war in
Britain made him tuck tail.
Tick
The greatest generation has come and is all but gone
The park bench sits and awaits the dawn
past Y 2 K and on and on
till today, this very hour
waiting for another story to tell
like a morning flower at sunrise
Beautiful petals and leaves
No one grieves for the passing of time.
The park bench sighs and
Then reclines.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 10:00 AM UTC
Finally
I catch a break
from the clattering chatter
of complaints
To melt into this cozy chair
and rediscover my own thoughts,
myself,
who I have lost
somewhere in the noise
Finally
I catch my breath
and slowing its pace, I embrace
the silence
This temporary peace I seldom
catch hold of these days
And just as I finally start to see
myself...
It's taken
Shattered and scattered
like a cars side mirror
side-swiped
by the haphazardly cluelessness
of another
My reflection
My inner self
Gone
Once more
Dec 27, 2022
Dec 27, 2022 at 1:21 PM UTC
You were like breadcrumbs
left unpurposely by my digestion during breakfast
You stayed on the kitchen table 'til noon,
'til Mama swiped away the remaining crumbs,
and I have lunch
with another dish--a different meal.
Something else, but not
you.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 8:02 PM UTC
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Before bed,
first thing in the morning,
when you randomly wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep,
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
In the beginning it's almost like a new toy or a car,
the excitement when you first download it,
the careful precision with which your profile is created,
how into it you are all day all night,
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Then slowly a pattern emerges.
You get the insanely sporty ones,
running, jumping, swimming, lifting freaking weights,
and you think if I were looking for a personal trainer I would swipe right but no thanks.
Then there are the travelers,
on a world tour since the beginning of time with no permanent address, let alone any potential for a relationship, so you swipe left on instability.
Then there are the 6 packs and no heads,
making you wonder when muscles and treasure trails overrode eyes,
and cringing at the sight of those semi shirt lifted body shots, you swipe left.
Then there are genuinely you're not attracted type,
too much baggage type,
too good looking making you skeptical type,
standing too close to girls type,
reptiles as pets type,
really bad grammar or purging emoticons type,
alcohol is a hobby type,
no ambition or future type,
on all which you keep swiping left.
Every now and then there's the just right type, with the right amount of words and smiles,
sincerely looking for something more than *** or just good at pretending they are,
so you swipe right.
A match...
You never end up talking anyway so swiping on, all day long,
and you realize this is bull ****
The only thing that's getting anything is your right index finger,
and there are much better ways in which it too can be put into use.
You realize even after expanding the age limits to highly questionable numbers and including the maximum area in distance,
and proactively lowering your standards,
you still haven't swiped right on Mr. Right.
You realize you aren't looking but rather searching for that one face, that specific personality who already escaped between your fingers like that one cute guy you accidentally swiped left on a super drunk night while eating peanut butter out of the jar,
or that one guy who you thought was perfect so you super liked but never liked you back.
You realize you are searching for a specific person who doesn't have a Tinder profile but lives in the same building as you, who'll never swipe right for you even if he had the chance.
So you unmatch all those stupidly silent, mute, mistakes of matches, reset the preferences to more respectable limits and...
Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--Swipe--
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
I have had two opportunites to meet Muhammad Ali, once in Oklahoma City(1972) while working for KWTV Channel-9, and the second time in 1975,working for WAVE-TV Channel-3, Louisville, Kentucky, which is his hometown. On each occasion he was in town for some type of benefit appearance. At Channel 3, the sports director was Ed Kallay, who was to do the interview, and who just happened to be Ali's mentor when Ali was much younger and involved with "Golden Gloves", a youth boxing organization. I was a 'director' in the production dept. and it was my job to set up and direct the cameras, etc., during the taping.
He was a fascinating man, eloquent, extremely intelligent, charismatic, approachable, with a great sense of humor. When I introduced myself, he looked at me and said,"I've met you before, in Oklahoma City." Needless to say, "I was stunned!"
During the 'pre-taping' conversation, the three of us were having a cup of coffee. I made a comment on the size of his hands. I placed my right hand flat against his left, thumb to thumb, finger to finger.. He curled his fingers over mine, nearly hiding them. I sure wouldn't want to get hit by him.
He was, admittingly, also a 'bit' of a 'self-promoter.' During that conversation, he made the following comment: "A few weeks before a fight, I start shooting my mouth off, make a lot of people mad, but come fight night they really lay it down, (then took his thumb and swiped it across the open palm of his other hand, simulating the money bets being placed with the Vegas bookies.) let the 'show' begin!" And, did it ever!!
He was also a great humanitarian, donating to various charities, youth organizations, and never forgetting his roots.
A remarkable man! God Bless You, Muhammad Ali!
richard riddle: 06-05-2016
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC
we went to Little Blue
that summer in a bum'd car.
riding in extravagance
we couldn't afford.
camping in the Oklahoma ozarks,
we brought liquor. the two of us
drank a half-litre honey whiskey
and twenty-eight of thirty Pabsts.
your chick only nab'd two.
we were sunk from that point on.
i vomit'd behind the car, and
there were left retched handprints.
left were a phantom's handprints,
having been drown'd by their hedonism.
the bikers partied along
with us apart from us.
they ask'd to use our hatchet,
that's the way we met.
men share tools, and that was
the only instance of civility
for two days. we ran feral.
rip'd shirt to ribbons,
wrap'd them 'round a stick,
soak'd citronella,
commenced adventure.
returning,
two hours time gone;
returning,
scratch'd and bleeding;
returning,
we lit their paths with
torch burning a primal fire;
sleep,
pass'd out by fire in lounge chair.
been in this spot before,
knew to bring a quilt
and mine was the only one.
startled awake,
fire nothing more than nightlight embers.
raccoon, sitting upright,
stared from his high perch of a picnic table.
apple in paws, nibbling,
he mock'd and monitor'd.
i swiped at it with a stick,
missed. said **** it.
slept in the car that night.
Jan 12, 2013
Jan 12, 2013 at 7:23 AM UTC
Hit after hit
head under water (inebriated)
unable to swim,
I choked,
unsure if by God's hands or my own.
But by God I swallowed it all
then begged for more.
I sank until my feet hit the bottom
stirring the sand around my legs
then upwards.
The ocean floor obscured,
my vision obstructed.
Desperately I swiped
in vain,
and swiped again,
but still the obstruction remained.
And God laughed
and I choked
either by God's hands or mine,
by miracle or design.
Am I Him
or Him me?
Seething with questions
sung and unheard,
then yelled and ignored,
I finally lay myself to rest.
A deep sigh escaping my breast,
I surrendered to rest.
Sleep overcame me
and I dreamt of pearls,
that one day this heaviness
would give birth to pearls.
But alas I awaken
and in my night terror
I had stirred the sand again.
I do not remember.
God let me remember.
I dream of pearls
and of pearls I dream.
Yet still am I to awaken
to this dream.
The sand begins to settle
but the hand stirs again,
never lain to rest,
the obstruction remains.
Sometimes I see glimmers,
gleams and glistens
of the pearls I've only
seen in my dreams.
And by God's hands they gleam
as they always did.
But my hands became rough
from the sand that stirs
and I fear to ever touch,
a pearl,
to ensure that I never
grind her back to sand.
For God shall laugh
and I shall choke.
"Stay sleeping, little one.
Dream of pearl,"
He said.
And deliver He did
oblivion and pearls.
Apr 2, 2022
Apr 2, 2022 at 3:49 AM UTC
John Brown died in 2019, it's sad and it's true.
If he hadn't died, today he would've turned 52.
We met at Bean Station Elementary School in 1979.
We quickly became friends, he was a buddy of mine.
But during the last few years of his life, he caused a lot of grief.
He didn't want to pay back what he owed and he became a thief.
When my back was turned, he swiped twenty of my pills.
I wish that it was just a bad dream but sadly, it was real.
I didn't know that John would turn to drugs when I was a kid.
mark my words, if you do drugs, you will die just like he did.
Sep 9, 2022
Sep 9, 2022 at 7:41 PM UTC
For you I broke my own laws
when I was with you I saw my own flaws
I had to work hard for a pointless cause
you swiped at me with relentless claws
You cheered me up when I was down
you made me smile, you made me frown
after all the love I tried to drown
your carelessness made me shutdown
I came to you with open arms
Vulnerable to your endless charms
and even though I heard the alarms
I let you cause me deadly harms
My brain is all crisscrossed
emotional death was the cost
while I waited for my icy anger to defrost
any love for me you had, you seemed to have lost
So now I stand here, tears on the floor
broken and crumbled to the core
you could not have hurt me anymore
you looked at me and closed the door
So if becoming my friend is something you want to do
the walls around my heart won’t be so easy to get through
I have suffered and cried and been broken too
still every time I think of you
No matter how hard I’ve tried
no matter how much you lied
even though I try to hide
still, I die a little bit inside
Jun 6, 2012
Jun 6, 2012 at 7:32 PM UTC
Great fades to gray
where commonplace turns to decay
where the abnormal becomes negatively neurological
which leads to the ingestion of government sector sedatives
and we wonder why segregation of brain and mind is prominent
promises never kept and mind that never gets better
but before we fix the broken we must make you broke.
Objects in the mirror to fit society's standards
E news, TMZ, fox- all the new cancer.
Throw your money at it
make it go away
and watch in awe as the auction of your autonomy accelerates-
your mind is money to the highest bidder
and they don't budge when they watch your wallet quiver.
Quiet in the courtroom-
little Kyle's got a drug charge
searched his car without consent
convict at the age of sixteen
which is sickening to see.
Kyle was just depressed and needed a little THC
the only thing that would help him with social anxiety
and now he's facing a charge for not taking the meds
marijuana manipulation of the municipals
and now little kyle won't be able to go to a good school
18 the record will be swiped clean
but the debt of the courtroom creeps into his credit.
Society's white lies will tell you you'll be fine
debt from the courtroom turn to slanging dope-
dealing with depression while dealing in possession
pulled over, twice moreover propaganda's progression.
They feed us the same lies we go out of our way to buy-
news channels, channeling bias views for more views
sitting idly by as our lives pass through
changing channels as we become the chattel
slaves to our own brain waves from the manipulation
we love to bow down to this free nation
led by puppets- controlled by intimidation tactics.
It's just backwards, the backbone of the nation doesn't have one
Columbine happened because little Kyle could get a gun, run-
repeat until it's done, dictating your discrimination
it's fun until everyone has to run away from the shooter.
Bangs heard throughout the world
talk of how his head was on backwards smoking on these backwoods
But he was off the marijuana and on the medicine-
FDA approved turned into a bullet to the head.
BANG.
Sinister structure of society-
**** america why did you have to lie to me.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
I think,
I'm dreaming right now,
Ensconced in a deep sleep
Just dreaming somewhere
Away from here
Where people just watch me sleeping.
I think,
That when Einstein said universe could be twisted and turned
He meant those labyrinths were an escape to the real world
The world we live in
Is just a simulation
All our work, all our sins,
Are just an examination
We are somewhere, detained and prisoned,
(Humanity is so bad thus that's my imagination)
Ony to speculate us
And decide if we deserve to live in the real world.
I think
There is a world of justice,
Different from our own
What we do here is what we get
We get flowers of the seeds we've sown.
I think,
What infants talk
Is a language of the real world
We're all given a second chance
Our thoughts have been swiped off,
We are in deep trance.
I think,
The reason why we fear God
Is because our God really watches us
Born and gone,
They have powers in their hands
It's those people on whom our judgement depends on.
I think,
We all come from hell,
No one's 'granted' a good life
We made mistakes, that's why people tell,
We're just equal
That there is heaven and hell
We've lived hell and now we aim for heaven
We don't want our lives to be torn
At last but not the least,
We'll be given the flowers of the seeds we've sown.
I think,
That you think it's useless to think of it,
But there's no wrong in fantasizing,
About a world fairer than this one,
But actually,
There's nothing left but to fantasize,
About a world better than our own,
That when we at last wake from our slumber to our judgement day,
We'll get the flowers of the seeds we've sown.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
my skin
is thin and
swimmingly scrim.
the moonface
pushpulls me.
i am
moved
too much.
i am
not enough
mover.
i am *****
given,
all too often.
i am
not
me -
i am you
in your supine
palm.
i matter
little.
my
molecules
are
fast
becoming
transparent,
vibrating with the sound
of your voice, which
seems real
-so real-
real
like
when
the kitchen
sink
disposal
runs.
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC