"tickers" poems
Under alcohol umbrellas
We'll seek shelter from the snow
This street is icing over
Sliding sleet beneath our toes.
This place keeps getting colder,
They predicted our bad luck
But the globe is growing warmer
Choke me down, I'll get choked up.
It's like Wharton is your neighbor
And McCarthy shares her bed--
We've got plenty Pretty Horses
But no Room, here, for Old Men
Tickers spit out headlines
Half of us can't even read.
But the other half's no better,
We're cannibals eating dreams.
So you'll keep your smoke and mirrors.
And, reflecting, stifle coughs.
Operate under assumptions:
Overrated's good enough.
But I'm taking bets, suggestions,
And donations, West to East.
So, from minor indiscretions,
I might try to beg release.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 7:03 PM UTC
in love, in lust
in bed, in dust
we lie together
blind and deaf
mere sheep
till the day of death............
tell them i'm government
that i did came
only peace and virtue
flow from my name
and if you don't listen
it's a god ****** shame
far from fame
i cure thy lame
the youth i'll train
to die
to fight
to pillage
to plight
with pen
with knife
from darkness til light
to believe and receive
to **** that which you conceive
with anger and greed
an unstoppable seed
drug and arm these streets
the bass and the beats
under the cadillac seats
next to the stamps with which you eat............
god is online
a friend of mine
in a lighted box
with airwaves of angels
joining both you and me
why can't you see
the ******** they feed
the bulletins and tickers
lollipops and stickers
flashes and flickers of truth
but we don't see
for our eyes are covered
when we are mothered by them.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 1:55 PM UTC
"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***
How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
THE MORAL
It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
2.6k
Arthur McKnight was a powerful man and New York was his playground. Not that he ventured out anymore at night now that he had met Evangeline. The long days of mind-numbing numbers he crunched managing Wall Street hedge funds had taken their toll on him over the years, but becoming intimate with Evangeline had saved him, had changed him in ways so fundamental that for him she was all that mattered.
Arthur no longer noticed these subtle differences. He daydreamed by the dim LCD light of stock tickers, craving the touch that only his woman could bestow upon him. He had surrendered completely to her bliss.
These days when he woke to her already gone from his Upper West Side apartment all that was left of her presence was a lipstick kiss on the mirror and a bottle of Sally Hansen Tangerine Orange nailpolish. The quiet was deafening, but that bottle of Sally Hansen left on the bathroom counter held the promise of Evangeline's return.
It was just after 7 p.m. when Arthur made it home and he could already sense her. She was coming. He strode with purpose to his master suite, spying the black thigh-highs and silky red dress he had laid out for her arrival. The waiting was unbearable, and Arthur finally broke, needing Evangeline so badly he could smell her perfume, could taste her in his throat. It was time; no more waiting.
"You look lovely tonight, Evangeline," Arthur croaked aloud as he pulled the first of the thigh highs onto his shaven legs...
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Banging heads upon the wall all *****
Scrunched up in a corner with dust falling
For it must
Tomb tickers break open their beakers
Feeling what it must be like to be a God
Goading over fools gold discovered at the
Bottom of the ocean
Remembering their pasts, praying that it
Never existed
A fortune cookie lightly breaks
And a tear falls from it
Leaving a small watery mark in the hot sizzling dirt
Fortune smiles as men run amok with guns, blood and prayer beads
Blazing
Blazing
Blazing
Fancy hearing the siamese cat and alla' that
She and he were oh so great at the party
Weren't they Molly?
Name that means nothing says everything
But everything is the bottom of the barrel
The watermelon harping over a sail boat
Dirt speckled pomegranetes listen intently
In the rotting afternoon showery sun
Solioquoy membrane meters with a piano balancing
In a full swing and in teter
Atop the highest feather, a fire eater
Nonsensical romance that blinks their eyes and it is gone
So gone
So far and so long
Ripped tendons tenderly sell their wares
All buttons, miss matched pieces of tore out hair
She was the one I loved best, the one at the fair
Oleander olives had hung from her wretched head
While the television played Oprah
I was in Ethipioa praying for another month of rain
Reeling through the season in treason
A prisoner in my own mind
The foggy ruins of time
Off and far away
She said just couldn't obey what the Lord wanted her to say
Oh Joan, you burned so fast, so quick, so steadily
Never screaming, only beaming
Members of the church swore their were moments
That you were balanced and the opposite of torment
A letter opened
But never read
A letter received
But quickly thrown away as though secretly deceived
Pole dancers show their goods as they should
Much like drinkers whom some believe
To be great thinkers
But I ask the wind what she thinks
She doesn't hesitate
As she coyly
Winks
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 11:06 AM UTC
Tick tock tick tock
Is their any difference between a tick and a tock?
I mean conceptually of course
Not just the workings of a clock
I guess the ticks are every moment
And the tocks is what will be
All tocks become ticks
But all tick tocks go eventually
Not to worry
I care more though in concepts
Of looking past our man made time
Ticks and tocks don't really matter
If you don't pay them any mind
That's a funny thought though
I like that actually
Paying time our money
Money equals time they say
But to me it's a little funny
Cause what if you don't care for money or time?
What then defines your existence of being alive?
I mean to me a more sound measure
Is perhaps the pleasure
Of feeling my heart beating
A personal repeating of self made time and space
And once that tickers gone
I'm sure to follow along to our final resting place
Fitting we call our hearts the good old ticker then, hey?
My lungs are therefore the tocks
Like two little personal clocks
Working together differently
But in symbiotic harmony
All beats become breaths and all breaths pass by eventually
To me this seems a more valid sense of time
Like when you think of the sublime setting of the sun
Moments as these seem to slow down
And you're stuck in blissful entraption
Some moments just go so fast
And some feel like the last an eternity
And all the while inside me
My heart and lungs slow and speed accordingly
It's quite beautiful actually
Cause now when I think of us
I can count what you mean to me
115,200 ticks of my heart
30,000 tocks of my breath
Those are my average daily rates at rest
80 ticks of heart a minute
30 tocks of air
But around you I am sure
These numbers rise beyond anything compared
Like when I first met you
I think my ticks were at least at 122
Yes to be fair
My breaths fell short in some way
I guess from all the kissing to be had that day
And when we first made love
I felt like both were above
Anything I have ever felt before
And darling
If I could store my ticks and stocks in a special place for you
Reserve them in a bank for us to save
For special days between us two
I think it's safe to say
I'd gladly let you withdraw and take
All my beats and breaths away
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
She is there and you are there,
The mood and time seem right.
Be sure your heart is healthy enough!
Know what Science brings to light.
Kissing someone like you mean it
makes hearts race as passion soars.
The work hearts do in minutes
can be multiplied by four.
They say that life is shortened
by each amatory kiss.
We work our tickers overtime
When we osculate like this.
Note I’m not urging abstinence
As that would be a crime.
Just, when kissing like you mean it,
Make sure she’s worth your time.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 7:28 AM UTC
The night needs to keep running,
And i hope it never gets tired.
On & on, on, on.
There's no promise of the next day,
Next day was never gone.
Midnight hour struck. Im into the two passed that.
1, 2, 3, & 4 in the morning are to start over.
Im not going back.
Add i didn't see the path to Sunday, i just kept on moving forward.
In between the undulating hours of Saturday and Sunday i plan to live.
Time took it's toll but a bigger taker told me to take my toll back.
..Endless. Im a **** to the time tickers temptress.
I won't forget my past, everything else..
But please come visit me soon ?
I need to stay here;
And memories don't live like people do.
Travel & Travel. Different locations are in different times.
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 12:11 PM UTC
Swift little flickers, frostbitten butterflies seek cause for silent tickers.
Errant thoughts muzzled, fearful to fly, forever puzzled.
Every place wrestling for resemblance: filigreed and brimming with brilliance
Kept their dizzy daydreams quite upright, poured over their faceted faces in hours twilight.
Inken sketches, florid smudges later you will find the carnage.
Nearly melted, beat those frosted wings, keep your wits about you, pretty things.
Go, flick and fleet: their flight; fly, fly always towards the light.
Soft whispers give way to angry hisses
Ever less goodness, evermore thoughtless.
Restless sounds of puncture wounds, outpouring of broken tunes.
Earth trodden ashes of the unforgiven writings call to halt the lashings.
No one hearing, none recalling the precious dress of lacing.
Intellect sparked, soon be doused; any voice of inspiration, oust.
Theft of name, take them to another unmarked grave, twisted game.
Young remember as their elders told in fright, 'fly, fly; always towards the light.'
Taste the soot on your tongue, the burn in your lungs, the breath of change this way comes.
Here they hunt thieves in the mist, starving fireflies on a mad tryst.
Run, fast and far they did, into the wastes they wade: anxious of judgment to be paid.
On the precipice you balance, guided by the insurgent cadence...
Under the needle all the more urgent it becomes, you fight with fists and tongues, pens, curses and drums!
Grow to regret their callosity for all your darling thought by the fervor with which you fought!
Hear the chorus of the masses screaming with all their might, their battle cry, "Fly, fly; always towards the light!"
Snowflakes listen in chaste wonderment of the divine's grand design.
Mutiny of the very worst kind, slaughter and smother your peace and mind.
Ostentatious trimmings traded for ember dress to set light to falsifiers' fortress.
Keen intellects, driven mad with hunger, retract their reticent mantles to reveal peerless sentinels.
Eternally seeking serenity through smoke, as in ancient rite they fly, fly; always towards the light.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
The howling maelstrom of wireless
Haunts the air unseen
Blue toothed demonic
It whips up white caps of restlessness
And drives sleep onto the rocks
Blowing through keyboard tickers
And screen flickers
There’s a digital mosquito hum in the rigging
And the sheets fill with an endless cacophony
Of Arabica bean buzz
Your physiognomy is a book
Rolled up like a chart in a tube
The cabin cricket in its cage
Twittering nonsense
And lusts of cute and food
And anti anti anti
Both bullies and victims at the masthead
Squeal and rage and defecate
Raw sewage dribbling down the bow
In a million billion ones and zeros
Sailors lost in foreign climes
With no purpose on land
The motley crew self-gratify
Thinking
Come the dawn we’ll all be back at sea
Not realising
That with the globe at your fingertips
Both night and day are constants
Lash yourself to the mast
Else be washed overboard
All the stars you used to sail by
Have become little more
Than dead pixels on a screen
© 2018 Steve Kelly aka kellyocs
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:09 PM UTC
People with bad hearts
Get their tickers checked
People with good hearts
Get their thinkers checked
:)
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 3:04 PM UTC
Have you ever had said thought in your head
About death, well I'm sure you will now
Just spoke with a friend given 3 months to live
Guess you could say she's on her way out
They say her tickers no longer tocking
To put it in terms mildly
And when the ticker stops in its mid tock
That's the moment that she'll be leaving
She's fine with this current chain of events
Says death knows where we all live
There's no way in the world of cheating him
Who are you trying to kid
If you're wondering how anyone can be so alive
Being served up deaths last meal
What we have here Pat makes very clear
Is all in Gods time and will
Believe it or not there's not a whole lot
In life or death that she can do
That she hasn't already done in giving it all to the Son
Who makes all things brand new
So before it is you chat up death
My friend I beg of you
With what little time you have left do like my friend Pat
And accept Jesus as the truth
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:54 AM UTC