"upped" poems
When I was just a little lad
I never knew my mom and dad
My big brother was my hero.
He raised Pidgins as a hobby.
One day he upped and promised me
a pidgin of my own. Oh goody.
One day a storm blew into town and blew his pidgin
coop aground.
The sole survivor of the storm was one pathetic squab.
Here little brother says my sib.He's yours.
so I fed him,and built a nest for him, and
hugged him, and pet him, and loved him.
He was me and I was he my little buddy Pete.
and every day I wouldn't stop to play but run
home to my Pete. Oh my brother George is my hero.
One day I ran home to my Pete and found no sign of him.
I asked George where my Pete boy was. He said he had no clue.
I found out later That sum-bitch sold Pete.
That rat ******* sold my pidgin.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 4:05 AM UTC
Wicked nether-land. Nether world, white, askance. Capitulating mangroves, verdant trees spliced with hyperbole, onomatopoeia, and manilla envelopes; her world is stuffed with secrets, she listens to gorillas cracking mussels a kilometer away, near a rill. Never she thought. Nothing that could provide....providence. Mangled heliographs sprayed all over the everywhereworld.
"Don't be S.A.F.E.," she whispered. A bouquet of gorse, cistus, and pimpernels squished in her small fingers. She climbed her way through the pedimented stairway, then collapsing on the porch. Legs spent, and spread out upon the desiccate grayed four by four planks of the portico.
And as time elapses, the shuttering shake of the hemlock, which writhes through her skinny nimble dactyls, upwards straining the heart as its toxic bends appendages- crisp cerise lumens bend on the Titanium White walls, where only shadows bend time. The hour, still nine. Every adornment, furnished with red and its hues. Not purple, periwinkle, or any masked enhancement.
These are the symbols that reticulate splines, that curve temperatures, perverse hemispheres and debunk worlds. Upped antes, verbs that terns flirt worth, birth words. Ooh. Aah. Camera. The forest wraps her in its verdant pasture, where at last the moribund tamarisks disperse.
While at the plateau she is quiet and longing. Arms astride, dangling. Vaunt with highs and bliss- a kiss of withstanding pleasure serves her the cure for a lifetime of whining. This, yesterday where her body rattled through crooked vines. Square ships toasting her vocal melancholy in the sweet-waters of Time. So that all of her ripened limbs could grow, no more sheepishly than the magic she knew as a child. Stress free. First among the Earth-words, verbed-up and made jealous by pronouns that encompassed her joy-brimming hide. Closing down her voice and hugging her from behind.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:44 AM UTC
Alone but together
over the Christmas days
time was not running out
for once the kitchen clock
had stopped looking at him
meaningfully and she
today a thing of beauty
of gathered curves
flowing in and from
that special frock
bought for an opening
(and perhaps worn once?)
she was lovelier then
than any woman
he had known or seen.
Earlier that morning in place of falling
ever falling towards passion’s state
he had lain peacefully beside her
and from his pillowed space in bed
had gazed . . . instead
They did the usual things
but with an unusual care
taking time with presents’ paper
savouring wine between sips of water
cutting into that well-iced cake
and sensing from a distant room
the scent of candles glimmering
On St Stephen’s Day
they’d upped and offed
into the glen that rose above the town
that held her world of work
of children house and home
walking up through bare winter trees
where far below a stream rushed valley-ward
undrowned for once by the traffic’s noise
and the sudden rush of the railway's train.
About to turn for home
he saw her stoop
to look to gather to pocket
Some sixth sense told him then
an idea had formed itself
when as between her fingers
she held five acorns from the path
not squirreled-perfect shiny ones
but damaged and in need of care
these cups and fruit garnered about
with slivers of broken oaken bark
Later she left them lying
on a sheet of card
their winter colours
true but hard
in the kitchen’s light
objects suddenly
removed from all disorder
of a woodland way.
An hour or so perhaps later
still with her small fingers
she had stitched until . .
no not stitched she said
darned with blue and red
and silk-golden thread
in between and then around
these fractured acorn shells
picked from the path with
the cracked and shattered
broken bark now made
good as new and mended well
Her smile expressed a triumph
and a joy of a doing done
and from laughing eyes
and heightened voice
he sensed something
stretch into time’s distance
something wholly private
she would guard
and hold and own
to be only hers
and only hers alone.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
Uniformed and re-upped,
We are the mind sweepers,
The navel gazers moving lint,
Waiting for the image to strike.
We are the missals
And the launchers,
Looking through cross-hairs
From think tanks.
We captain verse vessels to shore,
Unload and return for more.
We are the Romantic
Ancient sub-conscious mariners
Stitched in hammocks.
We are rocketeers.
A force
To reckon.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 9:26 AM UTC
Coffee stains on these lips you stained
Your breath I can still feel, whispering
"I'll never leave"
But promises are feigned to be broken
Deigned with trust, words that matter unspoken
Fate played its twist, karma hit me like I deserved this
Past loves I slaughtered, they'll be laughing now
"I hope he'll die a loner"
*These lips are stained
With more than just coffee
They are stained and tainted
With the ghost of your memory.
I still recall, last fall,
When you took the words
I love you and
Breathed life into them
As you whispered them gently
In my ear
And stamped your name
Underneath my rib cage
I remember how sincere
You sounded,
How so willingly
I plucked them from the air
And surrounded
Myself, in their warmth.
I'll never forget,
The yield of regret,
That comes with not
Building up walls
And putting up a safety net
For all of those times you
Let me slip
Between your fingers
And the pain it still lingers.
Your promises were made
Empty and broken
The lies and deception
Apparent yet unspoken.*
Life's expectancy to decree what I believed
That our love was bound by fate
If only I didn't get my coffee that day
We would never have met
And I won't be dealing with this heartache
I hear but I can't see
Blinded by your Iloveyou's
Those 7 letters, three words will be the death of me
Clinging on to hope, hoping you'll be my last
But like the others you left,
For the first time, leaving me broken
Helpless and leaving me wanting more
Was it even real for you at all?
*I thought that maybe
I had finally found the one
But past lovers
They too, had upped and gone
And I'm left thinking
And wondering*
***Is there something wrong,
With me?***
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 11:55 AM UTC
Strong is the foundation,
but renovations needed
Signs of wear from past involvements
Darkness settles, absence of power
Then an unexpected luminescence
Out of the fog and into the light
Broken, healing, mending
Like an emotional carpenter,
She begins to repair his wounds
New relationship is formed
But scars from the past causes doubt and fear
Stubbornness, insecurity, irrational immaturity
Relationship agreement null and void
Heart dipped in liquid carbon
Shattered across the slab
Alone again, button of
Self destruct almost activated
But a change is brewing
God is present, never alone
Lessons learned, heart at ease
Sharp is the mind, priorities clear
Calm and peaceful, open heart
Confident, self worth known
Fixer upper upped and fixed?
Only time will tell
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
She was a lovely looking thing,
A beautiful young blonde girl/woman
She hadn't been with us long... at
work
She was smart and sassy, even a little
scary
Held strong opinions on some things,
She lived close to where I lived, only
a few miles away
So I was sitting amongst them one
day, the girls/the ladies
They were a little bored that day and
for some sport
Were trying to draw me out, to get me
to open up a little
To reveal some more about my ways
and my life
So I thought I'd have some fun with
them
I told them I did some painting as a
hobby
And that my speciality was 'the
female Nude'
But alas! I had a problem, I had no
one to sit for me
"If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented
And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her
a longing look,
Then of course, someone upped and
said the obvious
" Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him "
My face it lit up and I smiled
"No! I would not!!! she said
emphatically, disgusted
Now I knew from the Christmas party
she liked to drink Gin
So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a
few bottles of Gin"
"I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!",
" But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me
'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on
being in the **** myself as well
So as to make my Sitter feel more at
home, more at ease
Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde"
(said with a devilish twinkle in my eye)
Still she resisted my painterly
charms
So as to further entice her I said
"I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages".
I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot
right in her face
But still she wouldn't take the bait.
I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if
she had of (agreed)
I would have had to have learnt how
to paint Nudes real fast
And how to cook sausages and other
breakfast repast.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 9:38 AM UTC
Trick or treat
Hide and seek
Ring around the rosie
Battleship
Candy Land
Trivial Pursuit 2
Basketball
Truth or Dare
Multilevel Beer Pong
Strip Poker
Slot Machine
Russian Roulette Gun Play
As We Age
Bolder Games
Someone upped the ante
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 4:45 AM UTC
Feeling bold, I walked into the garden
- where i saw the fireflies, the light posts, the moon shining down
- the moon gave a direction, the lights upped the way, fireflies spiraled through me in the wind
- seeing a bridge illuminated, two koi directly under it had been circling each other in a dance
- i walked across, and through my footsteps, did the rain droplets in that pond ripple time
- the fireflies fell first, the light posts shorted out, the moon left orbit
|dimming|shrinking|flickering|
Fading. The koi were disappearing, my footsteps slowed to a halt before the coming darkness. And before I forgot what they looked like - they all merged and flashed.
Bursting white, hot, light,
+ bleeding gold, the sun broke the sky
Jan 8, 2024
Jan 8, 2024 at 4:47 AM UTC
All I have left is her silver spoon
and in the corner her high chair
I wanted to watch her grow up
had all her schooling planed
but she upped and crawled away
all because I confessed that I was gay
she was too small to realise
that when I said that I meant happy
but it looks like now
that I won't be changing any nappies
no more goo goo gar gars
no more sunshine in my life
for she's upped and gone
just her silver spoon in my hand
she's finished with me I understand
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
By NeonSolaris
© 2011 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Did you not take my breath away
The one gift
you can not give
and still stay
Tethered born
from belly
connect
and belly torn
Did I not thrive for life
suckling sure
gulping love
sipling strife
Were we not
all apples
before what eyes
Before the fall
of yours
and mines
Sorry apples
nuts and rut
would ***** come
poured down
the thriving throat
What is regurgitating
other longing
re urging
swallowing
submerging
To diaphram
disruptive
falsely claiming
urgent distractions
What is to liver
becomes malaise
all jibberish
Shoot me
some adrenal-ish
before i get in
or get out
of that monster
fish
Fry me
in your pan cre-ole us
to the suet of your filet
digest me
your way
Something in this burpling
will no longer
pass thee usurping
Hick upped
or gassing passing
selling poses
of the sweeter
smell of roses
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
I’m that girl that no one likes.
The one who tries so hard to be liked.
I’m the one who goes to lunch alone.
The one with no one to call.
I’m the girl who always gets one-upped.
I can never just bask in my own success.
I’m the girl who feels like a burden who can’t see through all the ********
I’m the girl who’s never had a boyfriend.
I’m the girl that no one wants to date.
I’m the girl that is seen but isn’t.
I’m just that girl.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
Like a drummer playing base
my heart beats
Most of my life it has been playing a slow tempo
but recently it's upped the pace like a song at a club
If you listen quietly you can hear it echo
Like a singer singing
my heart sings
not Pop or Rock but Opera
in the beginning it sang a slow tempo
but recently it's upped the pace like a song at a club
If you listen quietly you can hear it echo
Like a drummer playing base
my heart beats
Like a singer singing
my heart sings
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
Frisked at customs...sphere-d Muzak...
upped and away...rife, with non address.
Photonic personification...perceptible, yet...
imperceptible gestures Godspeed-ed--
sheer forgetfulness...the genius of remembrance--
Expiration Dates.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
life flows in
odd and beautiful
ways
the divine moving
through the manifesations
experiencing through
each
time comes when
the wisdom
of the creation
seeks
to alter course
indiiferent to the
play, to the events,
it will however
whisper gently,
"a correction is needed
my little manifested one"
deaf to the subtle
requests and warnings,
the ante is upped,
the impetus for correction
is increased
some hear early
& alter course gently
others learn only
under more difficult,
harder ways,
louder ways
circles of hell
on
earth
we wander
we wander
some caught forever
in a circle
some moving in &
out among them
sometimes with ease
sometimes with much
difficulty
sometimes alone
sometimes with
a multitude of support
the end is the same
the course of life
is corrected,
altered.
whether
here & now,
or some next life,
for death does make
the final correction......
die to yourself now
in this life
the little you...
realize you are
so much more than
this
so much more
than what you
think you are
for you ARE only
what you think
you are....
set yourself free
from the thinking mind
find out Who YOU really are...
Who Am I?
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 6:50 AM UTC
I saw these neighbourhoods
I grew up in these neighbourhoods
I saw these streets
I grew up in these streets
I lived passed them… sort of
I didn't end up in jail, a ****** or deceased
Still, whenever I walk through them today... I feel at home
A sense of belonging
A nostalgic longing…
To remain here forever
But realize that forever would be too long
I would be fed up by month number five
Getting high every day… getting into fist fights
That was no way to live a life
It was just about getting through the day…
Survive
Exist
Eat
Be alive
These things are very different from living
Because the devil that gives you certain heights… compliments them with issues
And he just keeps on giving
I see the junkies, a hardened lot
Taking their ‘cut’ from the public service vehicles plying their route
And woe be unto the tout that refuses to pay
For these scavengers get vicious, they scratch, punch… and loot
I call them scavengers because that’s what they seem like… true
But as I look into the crowd, their ‘gang’, I realize that I know one of them… actually two
They cross over to me; we bump fists… a way of greeting
We’re still ‘boys’, but if I were to describe them now as ‘wayward’?... Fitting
I cannot do that though
We may have taken different paths in life, but there was a time when we hang together
A time when we were young, running around these streets and I called this place home
Now, what sort of man would I be if I just upped and forgot where I came from?
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
I never folded the hand dealt
facing your ice cold poker stare, feeling mine melt
as I knelt
in the pools of water, jeans soaked through
There was always an ace up my sleeve, until I gave it to you
gave you the innermost intimate memories that I held as my last ditch safety net
I never folded the hand dealt, only upped the bet
in false hopes this bluff was enough
to call you all in on your false love...
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 4:39 AM UTC
It ***** when you struggle
Because someone always has it worse than you, and you know that
But on your worst days you just want someone to talk to
And everything you have to say falls on deaf ears, or gets one upped by people who have it worse.
I know that I don't have it bad, I know that I am lucky.
But it doesn't mean that my problems are less real. It doesn't mean that I can throw my feelings under the rug.
Tell me how it feels to be second class because your life feels and seems so put together when your glue is melting at the seams
Tell me how to avoid drowning in the deep blue of your feelings that are overtaking your chest
Tell me what happens when your only friends don't have time for you anymore
And your complaints can't fall on the ears of the infant who didn't ask for a mess of a mother
Tell me how to live the way I'm supposed to in my glass house filled with dark corners of hiding away my needs to better serve the needs of others
Tell me how to survive
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 8:07 PM UTC
Just when I think I've seen it
All throughout this land
They went and upped the anti
On the classic can of Spam
Those with the higher power
The ones that run the show
The Spam men of the hour
In a bunker buried way down low
Have added different flavors
To this meat of mystery
From Teriyaki to Tocino
That's bacon to those who don't speak Philippine
They heat it up with Jalapeno
Helps to liven up the slime
Those bunker boys as they're fondly known
Have really out done themselves this time
Aloha from Hawaii?
Imagine Spam in a Hula skirt
As they pull out the Leis and go all the way
Adding pineapple to those Spam burps
Exciting rumors have it
They're in talks with Oreo
There's no place in this universe
That a good slice of spam won't go
The only thing they need to work on
Is the dipping in the milk
They have yet to solve the problem
Of the massive oil spill
Yes they've taken what the rest of us
Never thought could be improved
Just goes to show what ingenuity
And a touch of crazy genius can do
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 10:32 AM UTC
You don't know what you want
nor know what you'll become;
but in the years that'll drum on
you won't know what you'll have
before it's upped and gone.
Let palms and backs of hands
burn with pain, the wound of the twine.
Keep your kite from landing within the lambs,
break you back, but not your spine.
For your ambition is an anchor
in the deepest of seas;
it'll reel on down through the
breeze, past the knees,
collecting and acclimatising,
running towards your needs.
But only are they realised
when you're down on your luck
struggling to breathe.
No longer are you dynamic and living,
but a soul sat down
quietly remembering.
So keep your kite close
to your heart
and that anchor in the sea,
for no one knows what you'll become,
nor where you'll end up and leave.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
there was a time when everything
was important
things that were huge, ginormous,
in proportion,
importantly huge..
then there was the little things...
like the walks in the summer rain
where you never cared that I was wearing
my best dress, you preferred me naked anyway
Dinner at Antonios,
getting caught in the snow
I didn't have gloves to warm my hands
you didn't either so you tucked me inside
your jacket and held my frozen fingers
to your chest, I didn't protest
but you told the passerby's that we were
conjoined
and when we were caught on the train
without a ticket you closed your eyes
and I lost my voice and confusion reigned
We walked home for miles after being evicted
*you couldn't stop looking at me
and I couldn't hold my tongue*
Then you left...
just upped, to walk another path
one you said you swore an oath to
but solitary a road still
but you may come back for me
but it doesn't matter, you see
Everything that was important
is no more
and everything you taught me
about Love
doesn't matter anymore
because you aren't here
to share the unimportant moments
with me
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 4:51 AM UTC
Enter down concrete steps
To the basement flat
Iron railings
Black door
Red painted hall
Condensation on the floor.
Two up, two down
The basement flat
Scrunched together
Back to back
Three sisters, mum and dad
Then the brothers quickly had.
Grandad's face always stern
Impeccably dressed
In shirt and vest
Roast dinners
were the best
Plates on a dresser rest.
Out the back a concrete patch
To play a cricket bat
Across from that
These tenement stacks
Elm trees give a screen
To this suffocating scene.
Street life was the choice
It gave freedom a voice
The boys gathered out late
Playing football with their mates
Fathers called from indoors
Time to stop that ****** noise.
A mile or so stood the hoards
Of Wormwood Scrubs' prison floors
Then there was the track
White City and greyhound backs
Chelsea loved by all the boys
Arsenal just upped their score.
The skyline filled with birds
The trains go rattling by
And yet from this place
My father took himself a pace
Up the street and far away
On a bright and sunny day.
Mary x
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 10:16 AM UTC
Yesterday's lies fell like the cards
from the sleeve of a dying gambler
clutching a pair of deuces to his chest
while kings and aces littered the floor.
He was dealt a decent hand
but played her badly.
When she upped the anti
He should have folded
but foolishly raised the stakes
hoping to call her bluff.
A big mistaken
At the flop he showed his hand.
Claiming honesty as the one-eyed jack
She flushed him out,
but didn't celebrate.
The *** was full of chips
each one shattered from her heart.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC