"theaters" poems
Many times I get asked what anime is. I wear anime t-shirts, I watch it with glee, I fantasize about it and have conversations about it as well. I go to conventions, I discuss it with my friends nitpicking at strong foes, and I even supported toonami coming back. Yet this question of what anime is always makes me pause. What is anime? I always think about it and I am always unsure of it. It's almost like theaters and movies, anime has many genres such as drama, romance, and even tragedy. Yet sometimes people argue that anime is nothing more than a cartoon. I could say that cartoons are only meant for kids but anime includes that as well. I could say anime has different art styles, but the same could be said for cartoons as well. I could say anime is more Japanese oriented but anime has no limitations. People question it however the same could be said of theater. Why do people love tragedy? Why do people wish to see a girl die from cancer? Why do people wish to see a couple being put through a lot? Why do people enjoy death? Anime has many genres like theater, anime has death, tragedy, and yes even **** Do not judge anime by it's differences, do not say it's simply a cartoon. Because to some people it is their theater, their muse, their life, and their dreams and inspirations.
Dec 21, 2014
Dec 21, 2014 at 12:59 AM UTC
people **** people
with nothing but fingers and hair
and their very heavy breath.
their breath like a crow beak
before crucifixes of straw. like a tightening banishment of a lung.
remember when we would blow it
onto our car window and create that
consistent mirth of fog to
begin in?
the bodies riddled with bullets that flank
the highway are no such thing.
the schoolchildren lying face down in the corner of the closet are no such thing.
they are just winter coats with schoolchildren to fill them
for the time being.
no amputation of what’s mine
will aid them into the grave.
no mass communication grief. so
why would you call it a mass grave when in truth it was just a pit i dug to fill with crowds of people who died under the pretense that they had previously done so,
that nothing was new under the sun.
and when people **** people like people
do with their instruments
as ways of extending themselves into the world and into the marrow of our body
obliterating organs of people with their stretching of the muscular rib, shoulder.
one eye closes firmly.
it’s nothing but a hand gun
as if to say a hand eats the gun
and makes it whole.
as if to say the reinforced metal door
exit plan for people who are being killed by other people clicked shut and locked
15,000 years ago and i can’t quit slamming what’s left of me into it.
your kid is very dead.
but then again so is mine.
suppose they killed each other.
suppose they both made the mistake of dragging their small, stupid bodies through the trajectory of another body in the first place. in the chip aisle of a gas station maybe. in theaters this christmas.
in the midst of a good song that began playing on the lobby radio
just a minute before,
oh yeah before,
things really got going.
i saw people killing people
on television the other day
with their
whole bodies,
devouring themselves like surgical gloves
slick with oiled consumption
and bleeding out
and i could do nothing.
some kids died just because
and they told me so and i was told nothing could ever help them because they were just people and they were dying.
“breaking news” ended up just being people again.
in those moments, i was eating breakfast.
our houses were very quiet and needed me in all of them, grandfather clock over CNN, clarifying what has already been
committed and committed again.
the cipher was others lost blood.
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 12:24 AM UTC
I learned on the Saturday I met you that "love at first sight" is a serious illness.
It infects the body and consumes it whole, leaving nothing but happiness and affection in place of the empty, hopeless shell it once was.
I learned on Tuesday that good music and Star Wars references assist the speeding up process of a first kiss,
And just how good knowing that it would be your last first kiss ever felt.
On Wednesday, I learned how hard it was not to say "I love you" out loud.
Instead, I resorted it to silently mouthing the phrase when your head is turned.
On Thursday, I learned that you like to swirl the New York Cheesecake and Red Velvet Cake flavors of frozen yogurt, just like I do.
It reminded me of the concept of being soulmates. Our secret dance reminded me of a movie from the 1920s. Thank you, Louis Armstrong, and the lake in San Angelo for providing the perfect atmosphere.
I learned on Friday how easy it is to talk to the person you love for seven hours.
I also learned that I don't care how tired I look in the first photograph we took together, because I've been a different person since last Saturday.
On the second Saturday that I met you, I learned how hard it is to watch a movie alone with you while your lips are so close to mine.
I learned a lesson on willpower, and also that it's easier if we watch movies in theaters. But even theaters can't keep us from sneaking kisses every once in a while.
That day I learned how easy it is to dance beautifully with the soulmate you've known only for a week.
I also learned that I'm not the only person who sees the beauty I see when we are together. I glanced over your shoulder during the Jimi Hendrix guitar solo, only to see our group of friends staring at us in awe. It didn't distract me from the butterflies I had from your arm being around me.
Later that same night, I learned how anxious I feel, slipping love notes into your pocket, and saying goodbye, if only for two weeks.
That week, I learned that two Saturdays is all it takes to make you certain of whom you want to spend the rest of your life with.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
he spends his time
rowing through the
rugged, blockaded channels
of my catharsis,
the bitter staccato
of ****** habit.
his love
can be as jagged
as gashes in an
Elvis Costello record
thrown against the wall--
the frayed words of the last love song
Billie Holiday ever uttered.
he is two
exclamation points lit on
fire, kerosene pumping through
tautly wound muscles and
caressing our funny bones with
sandpaper.
he is
dulcit woodwind melodies
and jilted viola strings,
epic poetry and grindhouse theaters,
McQueen gowns and thrift store bargains,
the kiss on the forehead
and the nudge for a *******
he is a double helix.
he is the beginning
and end of every sentence.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 3:45 AM UTC
they
travel
overseas
seeking surgery
the cost is cheaper
in those destinations
yet medical tourist
can acquire those many unforeseen
infections after operations
the theaters of surgery lacking hygiene
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
our health services need to act quickly
surgery should be made affordable
then folks from here wouldn't require
cost saving operations
in countries overseas
those staph infections
would cease pronto
our jets not
landing
there
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 7:18 PM UTC
When my daddy leaves me,
I will sleep in his button-down, collared shirt.
I will smoke one cigarette each year on his birthday.
I will always sit in the last seat of the row at the movie theaters.
I will set a pack of junior mints down on his grave religiously.
I will learn how to play 'Stairway to Heaven' on the guitar.
I will always address my waiter or waitress as Sir or Ma'am.
I will become lifelong friends with perfect strangers.
I will always keep a pack of minty gum in my car.
I will watch National Geographic documentaries on how the universe works.
I will learn how to make delicious, impeccable chicken fried rice.
I will never, ever spank my children.
When my daddy leaves me, I will remember him
With all the little things I do.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
Nero was not worried when he heard
the prophecy of the Delphic Oracle.
"Let him fear the seventy three years."
He still had ample time to enjoy himself.
He is thirty. More than sufficient
is the term the god allots him
to prepare for future perils.
Now he will return to Rome slightly tired,
but delightfully tired from this journey,
full of days of enjoyment --
at the theaters, the gardens, the gymnasia...
evenings at cities of Achaia...
Ah the delight of **** bodies, above all...
Thus fared Nero. And in Spain Galba
secretly assembles and drills his army,
the old man of seventy three.
4.4k
SpongeBob SquarePants is an American animated television series created by marine biologist and animator Stephen Hillenburg for Nickelodeon. The series chronicles the adventures and endeavors of the title character and his various friends in the fictional underwater city of Bikini Bottom. The series' popularity has made it a media franchise, as well as Nickelodeon network's highest rated show, and the most distributed property of MTV Networks. The media franchise has generated $8 billion in merchandising revenue for Nickelodeon.
Many of the ideas for the series originated in an unpublished, educational comic book titled The Intertidal Zone, which Hillenburg created in the mid-1980s. He began developing SpongeBob SquarePants into a television series in 1996 upon the cancellation of Rocko's Modern Life, and turned to Tom Kenny, who had worked with him on that series, to voice the titular character. SpongeBob was originally to be named SpongeBoy, and the series was to be called SpongeBoy Ahoy!, but these were changed, as the name was already trademarked.
The series was previewed on Nickelodeon in the United States on May 1, 1999, following the television airing of the 1999 Kids' Choice Awards, and officially premiered on July 17, 1999. It has received worldwide critical acclaim since its premiere and gained enormous popularity by its second season. The SpongeBob SquarePants Movie, a feature-length film adaptation, was released in theaters on November 19, 2004, and a sequel is currently in production, with a projected release date of February 13, 2015. On July 21, 2012, the series was renewed and aired its ninth season, beginning with the episode "Extreme Spots".[2][3]
Despite its widespread popularity, the series has been involved in several public controversies, including one centered around speculation over SpongeBob SquarePants' intended ****** orientation. The series has been nominated for a variety of different awards, including 17 Annie Awards (with six wins), 17 Golden Reel Awards (with eight wins), 15 Emmy Awards (with one win), 13 Kids' Choice Awards (with 12 wins), and four BAFTA Children's Awards (with two wins). In 2011, a newly described species of mushroom, Spongiforma squarepantsii, was named after the cartoon's title character.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 4:22 PM UTC
I learned on the Saturday I met you that "love at first sight" is a serious illness.
It infects the body and consumes it whole, leaving nothing but happiness and affection in place of the empty, hopeless shell it once was.
I learned on Tuesday that good music and Star Wars references assist the speeding up process of a first kiss,
And just how good knowing that it would be your last first kiss ever felt.
On Wednesday, I learned how hard it was not to say "I love you" out loud.
Instead, I resorted it to silently mouthing the phrase when your head is turned.
On Thursday, I learned that you like to swirl the New York Cheesecake and Red Velvet Cake flavors of frozen yogurt, just like I do.
It reminded me of the concept of being soulmates. Our secret dance reminded me of a movie from the 1920s. Thank you, Louis Armstrong, and the lake in San Angelo for providing the perfect atmosphere.
I learned on Friday how easy it is to talk to the person you love for seven hours.
I also learned that I don't care how tired I look in the first photograph we took together, because I've been a different person since last Saturday.
On the second Saturday that I met you, I learned how hard it is to watch a movie alone with you while your lips are so close to mine.
I learned a lesson on willpower, and also that it's easier if we watch movies in theaters. But even theaters can't keep us from sneaking kisses every once in a while.
That day I learned how easy it is to dance beautifully with the soulmate you've known only for a week.
I also learned that I'm not the only person who sees the beauty I see when we are together. I glanced over your shoulder during the Jimi Hendrix guitar solo, only to see our group of friends staring at us in awe. It didn't distract me from the butterflies I had from your arm being around me.
Later that same night, I learned how anxious I feel, slipping love notes into your pocket, and saying goodbye, if only for two weeks.
That week, I learned that two Saturdays is all it takes to make you certain of whom you want to spend the rest of your life with.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:10 PM UTC
banana skin salad in
artificial lemonade
peacocks salivating
mushy rooms belly aching
Oreos are okie dokie
ocean breezes open up me
analyzing any eyes
evaluating coffee grinds
a manifesting apple in me
apple in the Snapple leaking
sticky salamander fingers
static on a broken speaker
attics over broken theaters
salmon eating taco teachers
teaching choco taco preachers
preaching at Chicago creatures
opal rings and oval things
are focusing on yodeling
a social need for opening
in total global offerings
and in a soup or telephonic
happiness in playing sonic
gently speaking thick Ebonics
sickly tonic
Let's be honest, boys
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:26 AM UTC
You know... sitting can become very tiresome
and boring.
You sit in the car,
you sit on couches,
you sit on tigers,
on houses,
in desks,
on the floor, in tire shops, at school, at home, at Ally's house,
on computers, at computers, by computers, next to computers, in computers,
at movie theaters...
i just can't name them all.
I've been sitting all weekend... and it's pretty boring and tiresome...
I don't understand why people sit down to take a rest... I'd rather lay on the floor and look
up at the big white
puffs of cotton candy floating through the
silent air.
Nov 5, 2011
Nov 5, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
This is the quiet hour; the theaters
Have gathered in their crowds, and steadily
The million lights blaze on for few to see,
Robbing the sky of stars that should be hers.
A woman waits with bag and shabby furs,
A somber man drifts by, and only we
Pass up the street unwearied, warm and free,
For over us the olden magic stirs.
Beneath the liquid splendor of the lights
We live a little ere the charm is spent;
This night is ours, of all the golden nights,
The pavement an enchanted palace floor,
And Youth the player on the viol, who sent
A strain of music through an open door.
3.2k
With worthless words
In his throat
And on his tongue
He sits a thousand miles across
Through earth’s hard calluses atop bent-knuckle mountains
And soft, golden hair growing in the soil
Through lakes full with tears
And forests filled with hands and fingers...
He sits a hundred blinks of the sun
And watches drive-in theaters disappear
Along with the ferris wheels
Spinning into nothing
Dances going mute
Bodies moving soundlessly through the air
He watches lights go out in carnivals
And hands letting go
THE SUN BLINKS
With worthless words
In his throat
And on his tongue
He stands and shuffles
Through undefined shapes of colour
A brilliant array of blurred blues
And greens
And yellows
They move so
Fast
Through his eyes
THE SUN BLINKS
With worthless words
In his throat
And on his tongue
He sits
Through the drone of voices in his ears
And nods
To mask his heart
And smiles
To mask the obvious
Pull
On his soul
Dragging it down
Trying to keep it from being pulled
Out
Through the soles of his feet
A mask on his face
To hide the struggle
To keep it from
Slipping
Away
THE SUN BLINKS
With worthless words
In his throat
And on his tongue
He writes with his thumbs
Words he hopes
Can be felt
Like winds that whisper love
Through ears
And cold water
That reaches through
Skin and freezes bone
And the words return
Like rivers do
Sometimes
Missing
A few drops of water
Sometimes
A little less happy
And a little more
Tainted
With sad things
Like broke down carnivals
And quiet dances...
Ferris wheels that stop turning
And drive in theaters that stop playing movies
It becomes a little more polluted
With sad things
Like closed curtains over the sunset
Through the window
And tea that goes cold
A little more
And a little more
Until the words that return
Like rivers do
Are missing
More drops of water
And
They
Dry
Until
No
Water
Runs
Down
The
River
THE SUN BLINKS
With worthless words
In his throat
And on his tongue
He sits with lips closed
Under the mask of a smile
A mask of calmness over the worry
In his heart
Sadness masked by happiness
Tears masked by laughter
Fears masked by confidence
A mask
For every
Emotion
That his brain triggers
Except one
Because to him
No mask can cover
What she makes him feel
Such pure
Perfection
When she
Holds
His
Hand
THE SUN BLINKS
And no words come to his tongue
Or pass his lips
Silence, masked
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 1:56 AM UTC
Ghost Relics
Downtown,
where Main intersects Main
you'll see the last living tissue
of a breathing bazaar.
They weighed down her chest with bricks and girders.
It's a wonder she breathes at all.
-
Wander too far in any direction
and you're sure to see the husks
of once proud and bustling businesses.
Abandoned sanctums of mortar and majesty.
Scars of the Midwest etched as constants in our mind.
Dusty and silent since the cradle.
-
The theaters are bedeviled with dolled up haunts
who just wandered over from Greenwood to catch the matinee.
Management still leaves the lights on for kicks after hours
to throw off their sleep schedules while they wait for the feature to start.
Up all night, sleep all day; they read by neon and slumber under Sol.
Here I am, left lounging in The Devil's Chair. Crickets keep quavering.
-
Underneath the Franklin Street overpass sleeps a family bound by naught.
They watch in dawn's light as the few pedestrian that traverse Cerro Gordo
advert their eyes as some sort of silent symbol of respect for their situation.
It's as if the very stare of a privileged man could drain 'til depleted.
They never ask for anything, they just wade it out and listen to
the cars overhead, the train-clock's trumpet, and the heartbeats in between.
-
Leaks are patched, potholes filled, and yet
we're still loosing blood; becoming beguiled.
So many stray cats in the civilian savanna,
aimlessly seeking names and second chances.
"This premises is under police video surveillance" -
hanging like ornaments from streetlamp poles.
-
Guarding the gates
of a dwindling dominion,
as the armies of Union and Grand
wait in their camps
for the rust to take hold
of her iron veins.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 12:52 AM UTC
The tundra drips Wild West like bad cinematography in theaters emptied out like popcorn bags
Desolation finds me staying warm
My blood may be the only boiling hope in this land
Trails of DNA on old bandages asking someone to look at my scars to prove my time here
My time is measured with broken wind dial microphones
Screaming for AED support bands
Artificial shock therapy reminding me there is still time
That this life is not leaking moments of divided glory
This moment right now...
Will never happen again
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
I was raised on Pixar,
Toy Story, I saw that in theaters
Toy Story 2, I saw that during Thanksgiving break.. In theaters
Toy Story 3, guess where I saw that, the theater, and I cried
If you were born in the early 90's and didn't cry at the end of Toy Story 3, you are a robot
If you didn't tear up when Sulley had to say goodbye to Boo, then you are a droid clown
If thou defy's to muscle a drop of moister when Nemo reunites with his father, art thou really human?
If a tidal wave of sympathetic sorrow doesn't crash into your heart during the first ten minutes of Up, then you're going down, in history as one sorry sad sack
And as for Cars.. well I didn't really like Cars that much..
Pixar gave me a Woody
A monster that scares
A fish that talks
And an old grumpy man with gray hairs
Oh and the cars..
But it also gave me, us,
The gift of compassion
Which I ardently appreciate
Thanks for all the wicked good times Pixar
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
This is Detroit
and we ignore
what the rest of the world
has to say about us,
we wear our stink
like a badge of honor
and we laugh
at the fear on your face
knowing where you are
and what youve heard.
This is Detroit
the motor-city
which means
you better own one
because our public transportation *****
our roads aren't much better
and our gas prices are high
which means
the speed limit is unacceptable in the fast lane
in fact,
anything thats not 10-15 over
is not acceptable
treat our highways like the autobahn
This is Detroit
and any Coney Island you go to
you shouldn't see any fries
underneath the chili and cheese
regardless how small It may be
This is Detroit
and its a city that refuses to die
because of its artistic output
from Motown
to Eminem
and our failures
that catch the eye of the world
yet we live on
through the hardship
that builds our character
as they scoff
This is Detroit
and every pothole
every decaying building
every makeshift
into a new business
is a character trait
where banks become pizza shops
and theaters parking lots
This is Detroit
where we still show up and party
for a football team that has never
won a Superbowl
This is Detroit
we are dangerous
we are lawless
we know our own
and we wouldn't want it any other way
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
It was supposed to be the both of us and our mutuals,
But it ended up being just the both of us going out.
Watching a romantic film for two people in a weird relationship,
It was not as friends nor lovers.
I wore my best clothes and make up just to impress you,
Which in the end I did.
We took a couple of pictures and we both went to the theaters together,
Sat next to each other.
In the car you and I sat in the backseat,
You gave me your jacket, played with my hair.
And you put your face 10cm away from mine.
And you still pick her over me.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
I don't like cold technology,
I'd prefer bulky computers,
I don't like kindles,
I prefer books,
I prefer blue eye shadow,
To contouring.
I,
Was born in the wrong time.
I wish life was like the 80s,
When children still played outside.
I like old 'scary' movies that aren't scary at all,
But today's 'horror'
Is,
Not even laughable.
I wish I could've watched Star Trek the original series on tv,
When I came home from school,
Or at least seen the original Star Wars, in the theaters.
This generation just doesn't do it for me at all.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 1:17 PM UTC
We were so small,
But we felt galaxies within us—
Miles and miles of open road, splintering off in all directions.
We'd talk all night about how one day
The boys would come running and we'd pick them off like flower petals, humming
'He loves me, He loves me not.'
We'd dream about having our hearts broken,
Just like in all of those movies,
Hoping to one day be shattered so beautifully
Our hearts would become kaleidoscopes
When the light hit just right.
We'd stare at the old women in the theaters who talk too loud,
Ask too many questions.
We swore that'd be us one day,
Kids grown up, husbands at home,
Laughing at the little girls wearing high heels and bright lipstick.
But you found a boy, and he has a car—
He says you must be the prettiest girl he's ever seen.
And I'm not even a single star, much less a whole galaxy.
Time doesn't fly away—it dies,
And I've come to realize that we die with it.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Thorns in the hearts of millions and fear in the minds of billions.
Heard across the whispers of machines, spoken to the minds of onlookers.
Entrances carved into the souls of children by myriad opinions.
Young ones engraved with a memory, reared to despise terror as one would hookers.
Advance the agenda. Propaganda distributed; phones, theaters, televisions alight.
Losing our souls to the terror, we huddle in our whining and dining rooms.
Lips loose and battering what we don't understand, they're the terrors! Don't you understand?
Destitute is reason in the fanatics worlds away, yet in our very homes.
Encouraged to make poor our own empathy, as we seek them out.
Solace lost on our tongues we devour them, mercy removed from our bones.
Everyone knows we have to get them first, right? Right. There's no other route.
Right is confused with fear. They've made us just like them. Just like them.
Vie for change! Do it all you want, but you can't change them, not with sinful might...
Entrance them with modernity, educate them, sequester them, it's a farce, a problem.
Aren't we the beasts? Shooting missiles from a, "Wicked City," televisions alight.
Grand mess we've made, hypocrisy ten miles high, sin ten miles deep.
Right. Where were we? Who shot last? Compare past to past, continue the fight.
Already we're planning, where to strike next? Whack the hive, make 'em weep.
Vanishing like shadows in all-encompassing light the terrors disappear.
"'Enraging us again,' coming soon!" the sequel should be good next year.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
it is easy to become lost in the blinding lights of new york city
and the deafening sound of yellow taxi cabs and screaming
neighbors and the chatter of mundane conversations between
people who are ghosts in every sense of the word with
their paper thin hearts and transparent minds and the inability
to feel something other than the heavy weight of coffee
in their stomachs
it is easy for people to say that when new york city was made
God himself struck down and said "let their be light" but all i ever
see is the blur of motion as everyone runs to jobs they
all hate working with people they despise and then spending
their money at stars that don't even shine in poorly lit movie
theaters when the real ones are in the sky and in new york
every expensive restaurant is vegan friendly and boasts animal
rights and shames everyone who doesn't but no one
ever wonders what happens to the ducks in central park during december
it is easy to fall in love with new york city.
with the magic that it spreads with the euphoria that you feel being
surrounded by others with it's almost frightening ability to
take away your loneliness and manipulate you into thinking you
are happy, it is easy to fall in love with new york city.
it is also easy for you to say that you lost yourself in new york
because even when you say it no one will hear you
over the sound of madison square garden and it is easy to
call new york paradise it is easy to call it the city that never
sleeps because everyone stuck there is paralyzed
(h.l.)
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
Inspiration fails me,
my pen refuses to move from
its place on the page,
leaving a splotch the
size of the
thoughts I wish to write.
I wish I could fill
ten notebookes with my
sociopolitical nonsense
and whinings of every
trivial romance in my
young life.
I want to dry up pen after
pen, wake up
hungover from writing late
the night before,
cover each and every slip of
paper in alliterations
and onamonapias.
If only I could be a
real artist, one who
carries her notebook and
pen to libraries, coffee shops,
and movie theaters,
finding inspiration in ever
face and street corner.
But no.
I'm just sitting here,
pen in midair,
staring at a blank page.
Jan 9, 2013
Jan 9, 2013 at 3:59 PM UTC
The sun is bursting apart frightful apparitions surrounding me
its coming as always but not to theaters because they are closing down.
Plastic and plaster making it stay fresh for awhile because it always has, why stop? It might be ok to not think about it for just a short time-forever. And thats ok with me, guy over there is distracted by some **** chica...hes hopped up on latina.
and we almost all like to chomp on M&Ms; and sink our nails deep down in. Those uppity ****** up little pieces from the peanut ones drive you mad but u still eat them. Cracked up like beheaded musical singing monkey skulls.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 11:05 PM UTC