"tiki" poems
Look at him,
paper-mache angel wings
stapled on an empty
toilet paper tube,
preacher of the gospel
of selective misanthropy,
mourned by shredding
secular holy books in
tiki-torch candlelight.
If you must remember him,
and pray, you needn't,
do so in truth,
as a simpleton's martyr,
no more, no more.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 1:30 PM UTC
The first enchilada was created in the summer of 1968
In a small house near Seal Beach
In Southern California.
The house was owned by a friend of my dad's
Or my mom's
And we had gone over for dinner
I was eight
I would like to say that it was a cool beach pad
With wood paneling, all the rage back then
And an Eames recliner in the corner of the living room
I only remember the paneling
but since I am writing this
The Eames piece stays
We had gone for dinner
And the owner of the house had made enchiladas
Beef ones as I recall with sauce from a series of Old El Paso cans
I can still smell and taste them
They were the first world food I had ever had
Besides canned Chinese food from the supermarket which doesn't count
And because I loved them with their ground beef and sauce
Their hot oil softened corn tortillas, sour cream, cheese and green onion
And little tiny bits of black olive
They became the prison guards
Throwing open the gates of my suburban Connecticut upbringing
Letting me leave the confines and walk freely in the sunshine for the first time
They were followed by many other firsts
Sushi, Crepes, haggis, tiki masala and sea urchin to name a few
All of which owe their very existence in my life
To that first enchilada.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 7:29 AM UTC
A neon glow,
a flourencent daze,
a shine of the sun’s rays upon a rose display.
The shade felt from a midnight ****
or from fire around tiki poles
in a field.
Some say it’s a recognized face
that makes one feel home.
But it’s a familiar light
that makes us
feel welcome.
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 11:07 PM UTC
I was reminded of you this past weekend
I drove by your old place
Where you first let me see you naked
Yet I only stared at your face
And that just made you feel more timid
I saw it as I was driving to Spoonriver
Just to the left of the Guthrie
It was for Mother's Day lunch,
Yet it was her who payed for me
She said that she wanted this moment to be happy
Instead of something that might ******* me
She said to just hold on to all my money
Because it finally looks like I've stability
I think that what she meant to say
Was that everything's going to be okay
Instead of awkwardly denying May
... I mean me
On the way to drop my mom off
I drove back past your old place
The one up over in Nordeast
Where we would buy volcano drinks
At the tiki bar of ****** Suzi
We would walk the mile from your living room
Beneath the quiet winds of spring
And hand in hand with our pre-game buzz
Was a disregard for everything
Almost exactly a year before today
I was in a fist fight there
The bartender said, "At least it was for your girl"
and that they didn't even care
I think that what he meant to say
Was it might be time to call it a day
Instead he gave more drinks to you and May
... I mean me
The rest of that night had been a breeze
We walked back to your old place
A crooked grin,
Attained from gin,
Was sprawled across your face
We found our way inside
We found our way into your bed
Like shedding pedals, you undressed yourself
And took the flowers from your head
It took you all night just to say
That you had never felt that way
And that you thought you were in love with May
... I mean me
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
it rained the day after Christmas and
you said you’d prefer snow.
it reminded me of London
so I kept my mouth shut and pushed your hands
further between my legs.
“eat my pineapple,” I instructed
as the *** coated my tongue.
“carry me through
the tiki bar and do pushups in the empty
space while I brush my lips on your temple.”
we were married on the corner
of Queen and Dunn;
our officiant on one knee, clad in blue knit
I
never thought I’d be here.
across oceans you recessed
further into my insomniac brain.
your eyes are green, right?
turn around:
it’s less romantic if there’s no eye contact.
track our distance across my sternum --
I’ve never been to Azerbaijan.
I took advantage of the fact that you were wearing black
and forgot to outline my
shape in chalk.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
I drew pants out of my backpack
like a well bucket brimming pennies.
Legs upon legs tied together
in a campfire circle and sitting
on moss'd rocks, listening to rock
music, drinking Rolling Rock,
and nothing else. I pulled up
on inseams to a single black
pocket liner sixteen cents richer,
but the fire. Oh, that fire, flames whipping
weaker than slave drivers weaker
than the wind bailing low-lying
lake water to the faux Dover beach
mound of sand by the mud shore
like the crayfish were drowning.
The sand was like trampled
"welcome" mats worn-in by sidestepping
horseshoe players setting down
their tin cans by the mound.
A pitching machine on the pitcher's mound.
Machines have made the big leagues.
I quit baseball when Coach Seth castrated
my half-friends with a robot.
Some took red stitches to the face,
the lucky ones. But the fire—if you could consider
a Bunsen burner-esque flame a fire—turned
our burnt sienna bottles into burning-out beacons,
tiki torches between pine trees, street lamps
kicking off in four hours, a box of matches,
and a lightning bug's ***
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Throwback dissonance, results in future social dystopian conversations. Tormented lives swept under rugs, in between the cracks of floor boards. Dust and filth, years of names. All scratched into the bathroom stalls of so called neighborhood's, subordinates of time and "hush-hush" the city to the suburbanites. Shocking to them eating dinners still in the 1990's, fastened tight in seat belts of self esteem, MTV news and 50 inches of reality. You must be joking, not ever knowing, folly box dwellers, why they say all "white".
The back doors were shut and locked when you looked left and double took right; as jokes from the safety of your water stained walls and cigarette burned carpets, to joke hatred like art and we must pretend not us though? Wall to wall, our prison starts here and ends in our front lawns as the country shouts "white man" and we must remain silent.
My father's land, nearly 20 year cultural hiatus that split our family in two, came back from time, in a paperclip, over the wall, east to the west side of Berlin and delivered in a rebel DeLorean with bumper stickers of second amendment speeches and pro-life Bible out of contextual arguments. These retrospects, taking advantage of sales on tiki torches while stealing phrases from my great grandfather class of 1933. And the whole country shouts "white man".
No, my country,
not white men.
In skin yes, in history, no.
They were never men.
Never did my father speak of men.
I heard the gang rapes of Gypsy's.
Stories of slain Catholics.
Murders of homosexuals,
The bones crushed of opposing parties.
The staple mascot of pain, Judaism extermination that swept through culture like a bad advertisement tune.
Gassed.
Tortured.
Worked.
They come for us all.
Not as white men.
They come as their own.
This is not man.
They maybe white, but not man.
I am a white man,
but it's always been human, first.
That's black.
That's white.
That's purple.
That's life.
They come for our progress, not our skins.
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 11:51 AM UTC
i walked into the tiki room
of some resort hotel
to find a guy most gloom
who'd been caught by some woman's spell
when i said that "she's not worth it",
i got the strangest look
but when i asked this misfit,
if it felt like love
the fella' knew that he'd been rooked
while all feelings are indeed real,
a product of our brain,
whether star-crossed love, raw deal,
perhaps poor timing,
or doing something one might deign.
but, if some day, you do find me
in the tiki room of
some hotel, please guarantee
that you will be kind,
when i cry about my lost love
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 11:01 PM UTC
If You're constantly in a rush to go nowhere...
How will you even know when you get there?
You BerenstAined my cloud but I don't care bear
As the skies turn grey and Earl once again is there
And Sigh With Tea... feet up,Tiki torch relaxing on the back porch
Her Lonely wandering fevered heart, Oolonging for a counterpart
Coffee shops invade the streets, with free wifi, and no empty seats
With each and every ground up bean, the owner's eyes bleed green
Another dirt water date and guy, when all she really wants is Chai
And Sigh With Tea... A cup of Afternoon delight, halfway to the night
I was supposed to give a speech, but you could say I dropped the ball
Because those who can't teach, Can crash a test.. dummy into the wall
Fingernail scrape upon the Blackboard, because she's all out of chalk
Smoked a heavy Herbal Supplement, now we can all barely even talk
Thank god for NonVerbal conversation as my brain's got writer's block
And Sigh With Tea...Evening's here, one more drink just so I can think
Shoes are off,as you finally made it home, but you came down With
A nasty cough,perhaps a syndrome,called a Hypochondriac's Myth
You worry too much, coat your throat and Gingerly plead the fifth
Sleepytime, may you have dreams free of the Grim Reaper's scythe
And Sigh With Tea..with each tasty sip your An.xi.ety begins to slip
Nov 7, 2017
Nov 7, 2017 at 2:53 PM UTC
Lounging, today, on Your back porch
I saw America's men
Holding their tiki torches
Toward all they had been
I saw all of America's men
Wade angrily out into the icy upper bay waters
Toward all they had been
Through the tears of their mothers and daughters
Wading out into the icy waters
Holding their tiki torches
Through the tears of their mothers and daughters
Lounging, half-drowned, on Lady Liberty's back porch
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 4:32 PM UTC
don't give me clouds
and pearly gates
apple cheeked cherubs
and glorious holy bugles
give me warm white sand
as far as the eye can see
give me me sapphire oceans
give me tiki torches
and string me up a hammock
give me life sculpted around peace
give me her
give her me
make it so her eyes
are the first thing I see
and her closed eyelids
the last
on a daily basis
give me an audience
who I can try to show
how even the ugliest things
have enough beauty
to steal your very oxygen
to make your heart
take a moment to observe
hot passionate blood
standing still
in the vessels of your story
this is all I ask
of an afterlife
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Holding hands, we’ve got a reason
To be together.
Taking a stand, for a moment in time
And forever.
We’re all here,
Because we care,
About something.
We each speak,
but together
One voice matters
Sickened by the news,
Hate against Blacks and Jews.
Schoolchildren aren’t safe,
Tiki torches in our face,
their light shows, we’re all one race.
No one wants your view,
But I do,
And the women scream,
“Me too!”
Arm in arm, defending our rights
For each other.
Sound the alarm, have we stopped caring
For one another?
Thoughts and prayers
Are all we hear,
We need more.
If we all,
speak together
Our voices matter.
We can’t feed our poor,
But the rich keep getting more.
Instead of bridges,
We get walls.
When did we go blind, to the suffering
Of the stranger,
who’s our neighbor?
I can’t just be for me, if I’m free,
So people, follow me.
Open your eyes, staring down power
For freedom.
Time to rise, pray with your feet.
We need you.
Speaking up,
Because silence,
Grows evil.
If we all,
March together
Our footsteps matter.
We spend more on defense,
But we never invest,
In those we most need to protect.
Land of opportunity?
Shutting doors?
What future is in store?
Now is our time.
Get in line.
Your voice,
Is mine!
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 5:17 AM UTC
Swastikas and tiki-torches
marching down the streets
Golf corse khaki and white polo shirts
the new uniform of thoughts of hate
It's stupidity at its finest
and ignorance in full bliss
Swastikas and tiki-torches
and I know, I know...
racism and violence are no laughing matter...
But look at these ******* ********
With their swastikas and tiki-torches
Aug 13, 2017
Aug 13, 2017 at 9:18 PM UTC
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.
I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET, EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.
I WANT TO RIDE ON DUMBO, CLIMB IN ROBINSON'S TREE.
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE TAKE ME.
IF I MUST SPEND MY HOLIDAY IN THE MOUNTAINS, PLEASE MAKE IT SPACE OR SPLASH.
I'LL HOLD MY ARMS ABOVE MY HEAD, AND SMILE FOR THE CAMERAS FLASH.
I'LL SEARCH FOR HIDDEN MICKEY'S WHILE I STAND IN LINE.
OH' WHEN IS THE THREE O'CLOCK PARADE, I MUST BE THERE ON TIME.
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.
I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.
I WANT TO RIDE IN A TEACUP, DID THOSE PIRATE'S GET THAT KEY?
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE TAKE ME!
IF I GO ON A CRUISE, IN THE FRIENDLY JUNGLE, LET IT BE,
AND LATER HAVE A PALE GREEN GHOST, SITTING NEXT TO ME.
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS WITH THE PRESIDENTS IN THEIR HALL,
AND MY FAVORITE FRIENDS, MICKEY, GOOFY, DONALD, AND THEM ALL.
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.
I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.
I WANT TO RIDE A SPORTS CAR, LISTEN TO A STORM IN THE OLD TIKI.
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR, WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE PLEASE TAKE ME!!
IF NO ONE WILL TAKE ME, I'LL HIDE IN SANTA'S SLEIGH.
HE'S ALWAYS IN THE CHRISTMAS PARADE, SO HE MUST BE ON HIS WAY.
I KNOW I WILL GET THERE, IF I HAVE TO RUN, WALK, OR CRAWL.
I WILL PROVE TO EVERYONE, IT'S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL.
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.
I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.
OH' PLEASE MOM AND DAD, WHAT'S GRAMMA'S AND GRAMPA'S NUMBER, MAYBE UNCLE DONNIE'S, OR AUNT KATHY'S.
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, TAKE ME!!!
Dec 25, 2021
Dec 25, 2021 at 11:36 AM UTC
Judas is in the White House
Putin put him in
trump says our White House is a dump
The job’s too much for him
The Arms Industry bankrolled
To help elect trump
The nra buys congress
Tells them how to jump
Charlottesville a turning point
One death you don’t mind?
Chanting with tiki torches
trump declared they’re fine!
trump never mentions weapons
Military grade
Hidden guns-arm the teachers!
Hopes debate will fade…
Weapons of war on our streets
The gun culture rampant
More important than our kids?
THE 2ND AMENDMENT
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 12:27 PM UTC
All night long I hear you picking up pebbles,
******* the micro-organisms off it,
You don't have teeth to eat the good stuff,
Soft patters put me to sleep,
Something else alive in this room,
Not just me,
With a heart beat,
& that's so comforting,
I don't need a man to protect me,
Just a gold fish named Larry,
Who doesn't know much,
Other than the inside out of his tank & tiki hutch,
I told my mom I had replaced you with a fish,
But each time I hear a pebble drop,
It reminds me of your paw prints,
Skimming over the top,
I miss you.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
We told citronella secrets
Under the summer stars
When the Christmas lights burned
Out of the airy tent
The tiki torch tradition
Was newly begun.
We told laughing love stories
As we walked the phantom dog
Down the silent, midnight road
Occasionally lit up by giggling headlights.
We drank soda from crinkling cans
Sipping down our suppositions
Rehashing the year and all
Our misconceptions by the
Light of the tropical
Tribal flames.
We told citronella secrets
And shared our autumnal fantasies.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 10:16 PM UTC
How desperate is the sun to stay afloat,
the sullen burning orange. The gulls
are not yet sated here,
quarreling for scraps and tidbits
clinging to the crusted foam
at water's edge. A buoy stands alert,
the bay's floating sentinel. Nearby,
an angler, struggling in the gloom,
strains to pull his tarpon in.
The harbor master knocks the rosy embers
from his pipe and, shrugging,
wipes his salty chin. In the water
by the tiki bar, a manatee disturbs
the surface, bobbing for rainwater
engendered by a sudden storm.
Refreshed, she spies a drunk, and disappears.
How quickly even purple fades to grey,
to twilight, and then the eager nothing.
Still, insufficient creatures that we are,
we feel the surging in our marrow,
pulling us further, further out to sea.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 9:22 PM UTC
see...
(sniffing sound) -
the problem with tiki torches
when compared to flares?
you haven't experienced
football hooliganism...
one has the assumption
of being menacing,
the other? an assertion
of being menacing...
oh i know a football chant...
ooh ah! cantona!
and ł.k.s.! jebał pies! -
even though i originate from
an insignificantly small town,
we still managed to play
with the "titans"...
hooliganism...
hmm... a type of mafia, right?
a group effort not riddled
by bloated ego?
which is the exact point
why tiki torches are funny...
and a crimson flare so menacing
in comparison...
you can't nuance conviction...
appearance is politics...
Louis XIV knew that all too well...
foolery, double standards,
and the must of every earthly court
to boot: a jester to serve
compliments of ridicule...
the sort of punching bag
that punches some sense back
into the lead head...
given: heavy "hangs" the crown.
i can't believe that i lived
in england for over 20 years
and spent most of those years
rummaging between the irish
and the scots...
the only english person
i've had "intimate" time with,
is probably mummified
by a t.v. screen...
i'm actually jokingly
convinced that the english
are not even existentially valid,
in the sense of: lurking in shadows;
it has also become a "game" of:
and who the **** would want
to **** this pyjama party of
walking Madonnas with
their exuberance into faking the fashion
of 15 minutes later:
trash in hand, donning
cling hair rollers
(10 minutes trying to find the correct
term... how autistic of me)
buying a bottle of *****
yeah, really,
no wonder i drink
to define excess...
about as desirable as a
penny on a pavement...
mate with what? that?!
make it short,
i'm done with dramatics that
have no memorable quote.
flares still feel more authentic than
tiki torches...
then again,
american football is so stupid
that cricket makes
sense, and
there's no need for a hooligan
making a stance.
seriously... american football
is the most idiotic game in encompassing
the need for a coliseum!
i'm authentic
in my bewilderment at the complexity
of cricket, that, i get,
american football makes
about as much sense as
american foreign policy outside
of the poker face of f. d. Roosevelt;
i must be ******** or something,
or, something else, i just don't know.
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC