"timers" poems
Blessed are we all to live in a time
when the love of Craft beer exceeds that for wine.
Hops, malt and barley all now rule the day
When brewed up together in a nice I.P.A.
Who cares if some hipsters choose to babble away
about hints of oak in some obscure Chardonnay.
We are no longer limited to our father’s Budweiser.
The vast choice of beers would astound those old timers!
Cherry Wheat, pumpkin, and Oktoberfest
You’ll fall down on your face ere you’ve tried all the rest.
As Ben Franklin stated wittily and succinctly”
“Beer is the proof God meant man to be happy.”
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Aging is confusing
How old would you be
if you didn't know how old you are
Microwave ovens
Kitchen range timers
Updates too
Timers all around ticking down
ticking down our time
You might think of this
as you make your rounds
Sunrises
Sunsets
Good morning
Goodnight
5 minutes to go
Forty seconds
I know
Ding goes the timer
Another day is done
I guess in the end
it's
five four three two one.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 9:20 PM UTC
A ride in the metro
is always an adventure.
Getting coins for departure.
Waiting for the trains.
with baggage in hands.
Roughed up buns.
Messed shirts.
Oversized sweaters.
skinny jeans.
converse shoes.
Green bag.
Glasses on.
earphones in.
The metro runs like a bird
running for rescue
of her child in trouble.
Blows off all the hair.
trying to gather balance,as
it almost blew me off.
getting in is a mission.
for first timers like me,
we like to be polite
and let others get in
and get out
before we could.
even if it meant you have to
wait for another to come in.
Getting in was an
ACCOMPLISHMENT.
with all people staring at you.
like you are welcomed as
an angel in hell.
i manage to get a hold of a handle.
surviving till your stop is
horrendous.
ranging from
smelly armpits
to foul smelled oiled hair
to watching cheap gel
used on scanty hair,
to seeing weird chick humming songs
as if nobody;s watching them lip sync
as if they were
auditioning fro their life's
biggest concert
to people staring you
like you'll just get *****
to guys reading scandalous and
****** news
deeply interested
to people who like it
when girls fall on them.
Its a funny trip.
to girls talking about how
romantic is their friend's boyfriend
to couples getting an excuse
to get close to each other
and holding hands.
Wow.
A metro ride is
a new adventure
altogether.
everyday.New people.
New places.
New experiences.
NEW life.
NEW everything.
I liked it today.
for a change.
sigh.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
I AM an ancient reluctant conscript.
On the soup wagons of Xerxes I was a cleaner of pans.
On the march of Miltiades' phalanx I had a haft and head;
I had a bristling gleaming spear-handle.
Red-headed Caesar picked me for a teamster.
He said, "Go to work, you Tuscan *******
Rome calls for a man who can drive horses."
The units of conquest led by Charles the Twelfth,
The whirling whimsical Napoleonic columns:
They saw me one of the horseshoers.
I trimmed the feet of a white horse Bonaparte swept the night stars with.
Lincoln said, "Get into the game; your nation takes you."
And I drove a wagon and team and I had my arm shot off
At Spottsylvania Court House.
I am an ancient reluctant conscript.
2.1k
new from sat 24th april back to Sandman
into a Lycan,a Viking-a Bearsark warrior beast,
to rip the hearts from my enemies and then just feast,
run through the forest with the rest of my pack,
Howling at the moon,rolling on the snow on my back(pack,back,Pack,in the back,pack in the back ..gradually louder then quiet)...
but in the back of the red mist was a small voice,
at first I ignored this little pup by choice,
but he nipped at my hindbrain pulled on my tail,
until I listened to his reason WE CAME FOR THE FEMALE
Suddenly the bloodlust left with a bang,
no longer a Beast I felt less than a Man,
the scene before my eyes is hard to put to words,
I was blood drenched the dismembered pieces of the herd(no! GANG-you're a man)I had just been among,
lay around the damp dungeon from whence they had come
even the most hardened warrior would have flinched at the sight
of the remains,the brains,the silent ones who didn't fight,
but one body was missing from the pile of the dead,
one beautiful corpse white afflicted already dead
***** with an itch had escaped by a trap door,
now my destiny is War,and it was trapped in the floor
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 11:49 AM UTC
one--two--covered streams,
staining palms of the undiscovered,
they have holes in ears--for you--their mouths are wide--wide--open--!
yet they hide 'neath tender shield.
peekaboo, I don't see you.
for the flowers cry not for the see-ers,
but for the cut and tears.
bite into your wrist,
and watch the ache and finished work flow,
into ******* and tired vocab,
as it is merely zilch you're destined to grow.
wide--wide open,
yet you bawl not,
how will you get your food now, O dear?
simply let the ocean run hot.
they will not bother with whiners,
whose lips that starve,
the words now old timers,
and the blood that was carved.
dig deep--dig deep, my love,
and find nothing but ash.
die penniless--die penniless, O dove,
and thrive on the sunken ****
they drink eulogies,
from soft gray tongues,
and murmur carelessly,
for the young-uns.
the world won't wait--
forever moves it--
**** the weak--the hard workers,
and take up the one shot-ers.
simply how the horse drinks it's water,
and how the earth soaks in rain.
nothing--nothing--nothin' but minor,
and disappointing.
simplicity rings the loudest bell,
and thought sings drooping tunes.
for the world hides not and tells.
and blossoms melt in places anew,
merely brainless--brainless--!
and the shield slips from blue.
for now the world is clear,
and doesn't care for the sanguine ruin in those eyes,
let your work fade--let your work fade, my babe,
play peekaboo a little longer, and drag the sword between the lies.
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
Small talks,
Written in between railroad tracks,
A track going to nowhere,
At least it's beautiful,
The houses look cozy,
Behind their walls we wonder aloud,
If its football or just a get together,
Little lives playing,
Seemingly unimportant roles,
Living lives, on stairway steps,
No longer living lies,
Breathing,
Just breathe
Return to places you've never been,
And feel the love around,
At least it's hear now,
Long timers with only today,
Saying words that feel weighted,
Because they actually know,
Caravans catering to the perpetual,
One night stands,
Take the advice,
And keep the serenity,
You won't feel it till tomorrow,
As you smile at your
Forever frustrating manager,
Leave the destruction back where,
It belongs,
Take your seat,
remember to stay awake,
And hold onto the kisses in the car,
Tomorrow reality is waiting,
And you've only,
Just begun kiddo.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 9:05 PM UTC
The human being is an inherently contentious creature.
Seven billion rock-wall eyes;
Eyes staring belligerently down seven billion sharp noses;
Noses affixed to seven billion faces;
Faces covered in creases and scars,
Framed in unruly hair
And outlined in stark exactness
By the flames cowering in bipedal shadows.
Into the human heart is chiseled "inexorable".
We are an incongruence:
We row up the rapids,
Scale the waterfall
And taunt the oily heavens from atop Devil's Tower.
We will always get what we want,
Whether it involves killing the albatross
Or playing Gondorff's chess.
Whether we wrest it from Gaia's grasp
Or that of our more miserly peers.
Robert C. crystalised our resolve.
The riot gear-clad Blue and Green with timers in their throats
Stand abreast.
Chanting "Listen to Mother. Mother knows best.",
They begin the forward press.
When an impish grenade leaps our way,
We fling it back between mouthfuls of chips.
The barricades erected
By Mother and ourselves alike
Are many and implacable and incessant,
But they will be broken and overtaken.
They will be broken and overtaken by us,
The humans,
Because we are.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
Everyone knows what my name is
In this little **** town
And I'd really like to give them
More to talk about
The drop outs
The tattoos
The break-ups
And the people-making-excuses-for-me-just-because-my-mom-died
Will never be enough
Gossip
So here goes
Every barn from Freeburg to Smithton
Up in smoke
No more kindling left to burn
In the middle of the night
And here goes
Every corn field
All the sorghum
All the wheat mowed
Cut down before its prime
Grain-based livelihoods
Grain-based lives
Gone.
And here's to all the old-timers
With their shot guns out
Sitting on the porch
Here's to all the life savings
All the small town banks
I'm about to knock down
Here's to cops who are
Terrible shots
And here's to getting out
Freeburg Famous
My name on everybody's lips
Giving the lifers
Something real to talk about
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
It's like my body's going supernova.
Every abstract nano millimeter of my being is imploding on itself and exploding into this humid atmosphere - I become slivers of glass on an insignificant Saturday.
My eyes are shattered like marbles -
My fingers scattered like wine glass stems -
I am a shifting, silver star gone supernova -
In the midst of constellations spelling out your name -
There is a vacuum inside me -
My flesh collapses in on itself like aluminum -
I am incandescent like a lightbulb.
There is a bomb inside me -
And the timers gone off -
I spread like a grenade -
Every part of me becomes part of something else.
I am growing from a wasteland -
And dying from the waste -
This encompassing medicine grows within me out of barren soil.
I am a fire -
Golden plasma coins -
This poisonous currency -
I will pay for it all, for it all.
This fire burns branches -
Becomes ashes -
I inhale this dead earth and my lungs are joyous at this fire you've built me from cardboard boxes.
I love you so deeply - I am being broken and repaired all at once.
I feel so full of something I cannot fully understand - I have exploded.
There will never be enough of your lips
Your smiles
Your eyes
Your voice
Your words
Your skin
Your face
Your fingers
Your chest
Your stomach
Your shoulders
Your legs
Your feet
Your kissing
Your voice . . .
If I were walking through an airport toward you, I would not be walking for long.
How many ways can I express my love for you?
You are sunset on my loneliness -
The medicine for my insomnia -
The balm for my aching heart -
And yet my heart has never ached more.
I cannot put my love for you into words - I am without words.
God has finally stumped me -
"Make her fall in love" he said -
"And watch her try to write that".
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 6:45 AM UTC
Flashbacks of a juvenile burning curiosity like the charm of a snake, outside looking in...And all the setbacks between the two sides luring the tediosity to take some straight on the side while school is in.
Big ups, the cotton wool is pulled over our eyes, how do you shape-shift between freedom and destruction?? I pick you up through the rotten like a fool even though I know inside I can't escape a stiff one, while you lead them down that path of destruction. The comfort of Noah being a drunk is naive, I delve in your chemical name called Spirits. That's why you're a demon drug like how Eve and Adam were beguiled into this subliminal game and lost the Sphinx. Master of inebriation, you're probably the cause of an Old Man's flaws or the reason why we lost our Love for...The Answer to Liberation, seeing Old Timers and Mentors slip and fall on odour tavern floors...
Excuse me and watch your step, tomorrow they might think I'm on drugs coz' of your transgressions. Exclude me and watch you're back, you never know...they might just think I'm a **** coz' of your aggression. Exorcise in solitude and stop disturbing the peace between families and friends. Our Sisters are now exercising fortitude in the fog, curbing their dreams by imbibing in fantasies and trends.
Pains to see Good Men possessed out of success and in denial...
But then again Real Men will profess out of such stress and be the Lion.
Hear that...craziness cunning hard for a kiss of ***
"You wanna forget your troubles?"
I say Cheers to that blaziness coming hard...you can kiss my ***
"Give me another double".
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
Rocks know a lot more about time than clocks
Drive to the top of a mountain
Cinnamon gum
Noseblood
And rocks a lot older than clocks
Tell the older us we say hello
I am stuck between red rocks and a very hard place
Rockclimbing to rockbottom
I am a time hunter, rock hunter, pigeon hunter
(Let me tell you something about pigeon hunting:
Shooting clay pigeons isn’t as much fun when the pigeons aren’t clay
and their bodies shatter in midair like pomegranates in September
with red jewels sprinkling the sandstones
the sedimentary clouds and the fastfood signs)
Remember that time I tattooed the sky?
I wrote “time is a l.e.d. light” in a sacred heart
between the stars and the freckles and the ladybugs
none of their mothers were thrilled
Now I know time is a rock, a very heavy rock
A rock is a star, a star is a rock
And me? I am a rockstar
But I have all timers. Alzheimer's? No. ALL TIMERS
and a monolith growing on my sternum
Firecrackers. That’s what I wanted to talk about.
And when I say firecracker I mean fireworks
the way fire works his way between me, time and a rock
What is it with rocks?
Rock and roll
Rocked by doubt and rolled by time
Rock my world, please
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 11:45 AM UTC
Doing laundry at night
A place down the street from me
In between a liquor store and a save-a-lot foods
Eyes buried in a new poetry book
and the washing machine’s timer
In my periphery
A little blonde girl sits next to me
And says very clearly,
“I wish someone had a quarter
For some candy”
She opens every metal spout
Tries every blocky butterfly key
Repeats herself, repeats herself, repeats herself,
She is with two men who keep calling her over
Until they don’t notice
And she comes to me again
This time her hand to her ear
Whether there really is a phone there
I can’t tell
She says,
“Yeah mommy
I really just want a quarter for some candy
Uncle J won’t give me one
And daddy isn’t listening
I wish you could have stayed in San Diego longer
I miss you already
Can you tell daddy to give me a quarter?
Are you coming back soon?
Mommy
I still want to talk to you
Just a quarter
Just a minute
Don’t hang up
K?”
I know this is barely halfway between Halloween and Christmas
I also know how long that sweetness really lasts
Not nearly long enough
And as supplies dwindle
It all becomes bitter
I leave a few quarters on the bench where I was sitting
Act like I don’t notice they fell out of my pocket
She acts like she doesn’t notice them there
We watch each other like adults watch the washing machine timers
So no one steals their property when they ding
I leave
And she does whatever she does
And that sweetness
Never lasts
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 7:10 AM UTC
It’s New Year’s Eve.
Cue the colorful ads all around the neighborhood, on park benches and random building pillars, and the commercials of that big city countdown in the middle of town. Cold winter snowflakes still on palms of those trudging through the layers of snow on the streets. The day stretches into the night as half the city prepares for that special midnight moment. Lipsticks applied and makeup spilled, dresses snatched from the stores and shoes grabbed from their shelves. As the hour draws near, everyone is gathered, waiting for the party to begin.
Lights are turned up, adrenaline is rushed, people are hyped and lives are being restored in their dead bodies.
Cheerful voices of the hosts fill the air, and a band plays in the background. Instruments contributing to the life of the party.
11:59 P.M.
Timers are set and cameras are ready.
10
9
8
7
6
5
4
3
2…
1!
Sky flowers cover the stars in a burst of sparks, and the sound of cameras snapping photos can be heard among the crying and screaming.
Lips are locked, embraces are warm and photos are Instragram-ed.
The night is young and hearts are joyful.
Such is the beauty of this one night.
(lunarlullubies)
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:26 AM UTC
I pick this Earthly slide into Summertime, this season to begin, propels forward in all sense of Time, history retrograde, etched in Stone for Centuries, Coded in DNA, programed Circadian bodies, impressions applied geometric thickly glazed coat, generously slathered across my Retinal Screen.
Setup complete for me, attuned to Solar frequencies, aligned to cohesive Cosmic driving motion spiraling Syncopation with all partaking rotational bodies, all timers set to synchronous, all ties to everything celebrating their teamwork well done.
Activity accelerates, as does the heavy heat, both inseparable, together climbing ****** into sunburnt sweat, steaming, sizzling Sunday barbecue to reflect the Flesh boiling together in sympathetic Celebration of our Seasoned Sun.
Longer days accommodate for memories and fun, commemorate the Force of Season, into swing, will soon be swung, centripetal to glaze a different gaze lathered across my retinal screen, reverberate through Atmosphere, redistribute composition, smooth bottlenecking, flowing out yet emptying to take fill of what flows in.
No change of Season, nor change of Heart, no redirection ever knows emptiness, no moment leaves a Void unfulfilled.
No moment when the smooth Transition stutters to a Stop. The sync is in the constant movement bringing balance in equilibrium by shifting tides, Spinning Stars locking in, programmed by Primal Cause, the Synchronicity in Everything, so Summertime comes, this Time in which we rejoice, knowing it's all been planned, beautifully executed by mechanics of Nature.
Trust in understanding a Power much Greater is in Control, we are here simply for the Experience.
...Not to much more, just in attending to the Transitions of Ourselves.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly that night.
And even more sorry to know that you had the shock
of finding my ’not wanted on the voyage’ body.
The useless carcass I left behind.
That shouldn’t happen to anyone,
to find your lifeless partner by your side…
That’s how you’d see it anyway.
But me? I’m off now into the wide blue yonder,
never to return. Not as you knew me anyway.
These are the rules I’m afraid.
Apparently some people do come back.
****** Spiritualists & Clairvoyants… They make us all,
up here - seem like part timers.
Not that I wouldn’t… But it’s complicated.
There’s a kind of apprenticeship,
a protocol to follow…There are still rules
even in death. There has to be a trade off.
No pain… no anguish…
And, you can just dip in and out of your old
family’s life - PAs… Personal Appearances.
That’s what 'Head Office' calls ‘em
Pacifies the loved ones that you are settled.
In the dying mode of things that is.
Really what you’re doing… as a soul,
is waiting for a suitable donor body
then you're born into a new family!
That's the way it goes!
To end on a lighter note… Kind of makes you wonder
why there aren’t more child prodigies around…
Maybe only the smartest ones make it back! Who knows?
All that knowledge gone to waste… Just saying!
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 3:27 PM UTC
By day the fear defines me;
By night it envelopes me,
Perpetually reaffirming it's hold,
Refusing to release me.
Escape would be the sweetest taste,
more so than this surrender
to which I have become accustomed,
and to which I have not the strength to nullify.
We are given this inadequate kit,
of alternate emotions and yoga poses,
with which to fight the fear,
as though we have a chance.
Yet no matter how tense my anger,
how jubilant my happiness,
or how serene my meditation,
this fear has found a forever host.
From adolescence we are told
that this fear is a human construct.
Oh, the absolute worst kind;
this kind has no solution.
As teenagers we are herded into groups,
and told they are what will ease the fear,
and yet, the same emotions exist in all.
So what then is our option?
Is it to find love?
A kindred spirit whose fear mirrors our own?
I do believe so.
Oh, I do believe so.
As young adults we are told this is wrong.
We should be independent;
searching for love will certainly lead to heartache.
We must just live a little longer with the fear.
In our 30's the advice is more rushed,
as though we really do have timers.
We are now told the time spent afraid,
was time wasted.
What a sick joke,
that we are given false testimonies,
and are bombarded with warnings,
all most surely unsolicited.
I will not listen.
This fear is mine, not yours.
It has been my dearest friend for so long,
but it is now my choice to leave it behind.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Sunrise between leaves
ignites neon green glowing—
exploding the sky
the graffiti sleeps
yellow waiting for their disk
of light like mixed paint
coffee ambrosia
wakes us with eggs and sausage
to reality
Clear Creek washes us
clean of sin or innocence
blank slates for a day
Beer, tears and smiles
meant for you, me, meant for us
fleck public places
laced hands and sweet talk
interrupt clever timers
launching adventure
Margaritas drown
studying sailors at sea,
setting new courses.
lamp light turns moon glow,
wet metal bench, a warm bed,
flip-flop footsteps, dance
I pray to goddess
the divine will sleep in peace
forgetting our sins
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 5:11 PM UTC
This is for the prom queen
This is for the prom queen
who wears her crown of insecurities
with shaking knees
and sees
her body as disgusting
always adjusting
lusting for perfection.
It's for the kids who seek affection
or attention
and can't tell the difference.
It's gonna be okay
It's for the kids who always sit in the back
It's for the "Test tomorrow panic attacks"
It's for the kids on the fast track
to unsatisfying lives.
It's gonna be okay
This is for the kid with dreams set before him
that bore him.
Who wants more than
a marriage and a mortgage.
It's gonna be okay
This is for the over-drinkers and the over-thinkers
and the ones who hope one will stop the other.
It's for the mothers
whose daughters are sinking,
thinking they have to be
drinking
in order to make friends.
It's for the sleepless nights that never end.
it's gonna be okay.
This is for the kid with the bad complexion
and the invisible girl who hides her scar collection
under her shirt
amongst the hurt,
***** looks,
And her favorite books
It's okay
It's for the boy that's abusing
and the girl that's confusing
it for love
and because of that
does not see she's beautiful
It's gonna be okay
It's the for the friends we lose
and the poisons we choose.
It's for the kids that wake up late
the ones that can't wait to graduate
and for the wallflowers trying to participate
It's gonna be okay
It's for the monsters under our beds and in our heads
that wake us up at 4 A.M
And for the all stupid things we've said
It's gonna be okay.
It's for the kid who sees his face foggy in the mirror
and does not have the means to make it clearer
It's for the kids who have it all
and the kids who see their life in a ball
It's for every single brick in the wall
for the ***** words on ***** stalls
and for the brokenness inside us all.
It's gonna be okay.
It's for the kids who wear masks
made of broken smiles and empty laughs
and crack a little more everyday
it's for the way
we smile and say we're okay
It's going to be okay
It's for the skinny girl starving to be a model
and looking for love at the bottom of the bottle
with a magazine cover for a role model
it's gonna be okay.
It's for the fat girl whose proud of who she is
because she knows that beauty lies within
it's for the holy kids so afraid to sin
that they forget to live
It's gonna be okay.
This is for the kisses under the bleachers
and the schoolboys crushing on their favorite teachers
This is for the kid who drinks tears from his beer
for the football stars
and the closeted queers
It's for the late night phone conversations
for the vibrations
of infatuation
and the sensation
of summer vacation.
It's for the chronic liars
and nervous first-timers
the cancer survivors
and the poetry writers
It's for the lives we've been given
the cars we've drunk driven
and the shells in which we live in.
And it's for the normal kids
It's gonna be okay.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 3:40 PM UTC
its the rip comin' up
with much reps i keeps my eyes on the prize
g'yeah i improvised on a uprise
cuttin' all the dead weight competition
my ammunition keep suckas in suspension
or lock down when i come around i clown
with the homies and the homettes
got the wet wet to get my brain set
for a drive-by suckas slippin' 40 sippin' 4 dippin' hittin'
multiple switches laughin' at these
punk sons of ******* unload my clips
throw there bodies in the ditches
cut off they ***** n leave it in they mouth
so they know the south
aint no joke loc cuz we smoke
suckas til they wesley snipes color brothers
like me bound for the penitentiary
its a gang were all the low-lifes hang
but things don't ever change
im trapped inside a maze with much blunder
i could've have been successful maybe
if the hood didn't take me under!!!
so many after me cuz we enticed to the same
epitome rap is mind my mind is rap
can't shake the flaks
see my homie in the caddy rollin' with tha **** daddy
gangsta mack kickin' drag to all the hoes with big *****
skipped hardknock classes
went straight to hoods college gainin' knowledge
graduated with honors
from the big timers tellin' me how to make a move
and don't get caught up in the groove
u gots to play it smooth
and be vigilant on ya closest friends
cuz they'll pretend to be ya homies but after ya dividends
thinkin' this bank roll they gone spend? but i lends
my lue to no one only a gun
up in ya grill piece thats the only peace
i see you laying and becomin' one with death
heartbeats slow no hards breath
when i commence to ****** know ya never heard of
me cuz i strike unexpectedly im makin' money
by the ton thats on the one son
ull catch me rollin' in a pimped out 97 honda
maybe id be better off dead if the hood
wouldn't take me under!!!
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
October’s storm was brutal,
drenching rain and heavy wind.
Our little tavern by the beach
started taking water in.
Then, when the storm surge
breeched the wall,
the place lacked all defense.
Waves swept away our little bar
leaving us just the front steps.
The “Pour House” now a memory
for its scattered congregation.
Mostly Irish Catholics who enjoyed
its liberal dispensations.
Some people prefer brews to pews
for fighting off dammnation.
So many demons haunt our souls
and these demand libations.
The juke box played sad Irish songs,
the only sort it knew,
while disorderly Hibernians
enjoyed their favorite brew.
Here the patrons much preferred
Draft Guinness in a glass
while stealing furtive glances
at my waitress’ shapely ***
Here the women started homely
but were beautiful by close-
at least to those poor drunken sots
Who’d relieve them of their clothes,
By Christmas it was apparent
that the “Pour House” had to go.
There just wasn’t FEMA money
For an old man’s bar you know.
So word swept through the beach blocks
And it reached the subway station.
Gather at the Pour House Steps
for the New Year’s celebration.
Party favors must be had
So I bought some horns and hats.
Dry eyes and throats were disallowed
So I had free beer on tap.
That New Year’s Eve was cold and drear
When we held our celebration
Our dear old timers all appeared
for our “free beer” dispensation..
At midnight we stood on the steps
And had our photo taken.
We all hugged and went our separate ways
While inside our hearts were breaking.
The Pour house is a memory now.
I’ll miss those guys and girls.
It was a sort of Paradise,
a refuge from the world.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 8:26 AM UTC
Kafferinge på skrivebordet, hænder på gelænderet, for lange bukser, fransk om onsdagen og cigaret til frokost, AT og NG og NV og AP, krudseduller på bordet, børster tænder i bad, kold kaffe i stuen, kruseduller i mit hoved, 10 minutter i tog, 6 timers søvn, et kvarters grin og et par sekunders gab, knækker fingre, kysser kinder, skriver beskeder, hvide gummisko i støvregn, capri Sonne på stationen, en god snak, Naja Marie Aidt, søndagsmiddag, aflevering på lectio, lektion ved min computer, møde om innovation og introduktion til AT konklusion, smukke mennesker, januarudsalg, skilsmisser, nye mennesker, øhm og det er så fint.
Nov 11, 2015
Nov 11, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Looks at me
Quite pistol whipped
Cheap *****
A taste on my lips
Speeding down
United States
Federal Highway 1
I dream that I am
Dead in each ditch
I pass
David Bowie deep cut and
I want to be free like this forever
I try to explain
Using these letters
Cheapening
It just for you
Dutch courage
Nudging me
Neon Strip Bar Glowing
I'm a quiet person
Keeping to myself
But
Born a fighter
Hard fists scarred
Dirt under my nails
I never fail
To wake up
Hung over
On her words
Cautioning me
To slow down
Smoking ***
Playing darts
With old timers
And drunks
People and places
Long forgotten
Bloodied then
Whitewashed
Concrete
Wide awake
Always Dreaming
Dead asleep
In the driver seat
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
vælg at passe ind
vælg at slukke gløden
og tænde for fjernsynet
vælg et trygt miljø
med pænt friserede veje
med anlagte børn
der både kan bukke og neje
vælg labrador til konen
og fjerdreaflukkede omgivelser
fadøl med drengene
og en kattelem til at snige igennem
når det hele blev FOR trykt
vælg at fylde stilheden og stemme hende videre
som et metaforisk "tak"
for at gøre fredagen mere
meningsfuld, og for at have
noget at længes efter
vælg at græde til begravelser
vælg at mumle sympatisk med
stå og stirre på kisten
og undre dig over
"hvor blød den mon er?"
vælg fredagshygge, fælleskonto, dansetimer, rugbrødsmadder på jobbet, smurt af skilsmissehungrende kløer, vælg nabokonen og hendes ynge (og mere livlige) køkkenhave
vælg bagdøren, vælg fordøren, vælg køkkenbordet, sofaen, kontoret, chaiseloungen, solsengen, trampolinen, barnesengen - både af hendes og af dit
vælg at skændes til fodboldturningen
vælg "pastasalat",
"nej frikadeller",
"nej pastasalat"
til fællesspisningen på skolen
vælg det perfekte liv, og vælg de diskursnæssige resultat af dine GRUSOMME handlinger.
vælg at bortforklare det hele
og fortæl hende
hvordan alkohol flyder igennem
familien, som gondolen fra bryllupsrejsen til venedig
vælg at tage hjem tidligt
vælg at betvivle din funktion og eksistens igennem
den stille
9 timers lange køretur
"hjem"
vælg de svedige håndflader ved alteret
at betvivle vægtskålenes indhold
føl det blide og lette pres
fra de stirrende øjne
det overdøvende orgel
mens lugten af trygge rammer og boliglån
får dig til at gylpe et surt "ja"
vælg halvdelen af sofaen, det ene barn,
singelfyrslivet i en 33m2 kælderlejlighed
vælg at drukne tårene i endeløs ************
og nyd alle kampene på fjernsynet
vælg at bombadere telefonsvaren
vælg at smadre spejlet
vælg at kæmpe for det søde forstadsliv
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
I had tried to cover it with ink, *but it only
lasted a day before it* bled *from my fingernails.
It was a constant reminder that* death *was
Inching closer with every month that past.
The ink veined upwards like poison ivy it
Slithered, each month passing another leaf
Grew and I knew it would soon come to pass.*
*It changed depending on mood, when you
Were younger you'd of thought it magical.
Each new leaf budding and then it opened a
Colourful show for younger minds. Like a mark
Of maturity but that was so long ago. Now it
Inches above the elbow, shoulder, smiles melted
Away to how many more leafs before the fall.*
Once it has ascended the flower blood *red
Would unfold over your* heart. *Some so few
Petals, no time was assured. Then the falling
Would start. How many petals would turn* onyx,
*Culminating in thoughts of life that had many
Leafs but now the blossom was ebbing away to a
finite culmination of time. Tears fell, so many cried.*
*Watching others when that mortality was arching
Towards oblivion, some were at peace making the
Most of fading petals. Then there were the fallen
Timers, succumbing into limbos insanity. Who could
Blame them in their consumed thoughts, they were
Screaming wildly in the streets, others tried to
Cleaver the flower from their being, crimson fell.*
*My time was so complex, when the flowers eclipse
Was passing where colour became grey, Dark thoughts
Ensued but I knew that nothing would pass except
My moments of what was left. So I regained my composure
I would not be a fallen I would not be consumed
By the decaying flower upon my chest, I had time left
And I would savour the moments that fell dark.*
*I lay their family were overjoyed that this time was
Not spent alone, consumed in denied misgivings.
But that I wanted them all here when the flowers final
Moments etched to a lovely shaded flower that was
My final exhalation of life. I could feel it, I felt the
Fragrance fade in that final moment I breathed deeply
Taking in the essence of every moments aroma.*
*I died, but I past away proud that the ink may have
Started at birth and that the leafs were a monument
To my time. But in the falling I was at peace with my
Flowers blossom and its enviable fading demise.*
"We are each a leaf that has a grown,
"But life is a journey and one day that leaf falls,
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 2:33 PM UTC