"uppercase" poems
Starbucks for the beach sleeper,
cigarettes for the cruise ship worker,
around the world a further three times more
with a six-a-day job, one on shore.
She smiled with Gatsby glare.
She smiled with fair, tied back hair.
She smiled.
And how her love for Poe and Wilde
found its way to my ear a mere three year veer
around time itself.
Turkish delight is not a food nor a sweet
but a lady who gives a discreet smile to those she meets.
My cafe in my street has you across from me
and the books I read have you printed in an uppercase key,
black on the white and bound by the spine
for you are the cruise ship lady, the lover of mine.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
Enticing us in, sugar coated doors
for sticky fingers,
Doors of mystery, keep out, staff only
nettled in barbed wire.
Half open doors full of promise,
chocolate soft centred
Exciting doors, silk covered
in lace suspenders
Inspiring doors, Leonardo bold italic,
uppercase only
Lonely doors all shuttered in silence,
cobweb covered
Sad doors, tear stained
and umbrella wet
Happy doors,
candy striped in laughter
Forbidden doors, Pandora boxed,
best kept locked
Revolving doors covered
with the same sticky mistakes
Trap doors crocodile sprung
to catch you out
Doors that slide on tram like runners,
buffered into walls with imprint of face
Secret doors of camouflaged chameleon
Troubled doors
thunder clapped in turmoil
Doors enticing us.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
english teachers detest me
because i never capitalize my i’s
but they never once bothered
to come and ask me why
uppercase is a privilege
at least, it is in my mind.
it’s reserved for war heroes
or a painter who is blind
i have done nothing remarkable
i have hardly even tried
everything good i’ve done
is eventually cast aside
why do i deserve an uppercase?
or for that matter, why do you?
we’ve done plenty of bad
when there’s plenty of good to do
english teachers detest me
because i never capitalize my i’s
but i will have reason to someday
and i hope that is not a lie
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
Sometimes the case of the letter
makes all the difference.
God or god.
An important personal I or a misplaced letter i.
Summer the girl or summer the season.
The uppercase letter delineates between importance and the ordinary.
Perfectionism is a haunt of mine.
It is a ghost that follows me
And does not stop no matter what I'm doing.
It kills a day in a blink.
It turns anxiety inside/out.
It takes away my care for something good;
Even the smallest of outcomes.
F@#k it.
That is perfectionism in two simple words.
If I cannot do it right then I refuse to do it at all.
How dangerous is that?
Or rather... how stupid is that?
I see my world in black and white.
Absolutes.
You are either right or wrong.
Good or bad.
Smart or stupid.
I have a ridiculously logical brain.
Logic is the glue that holds the shards of me together.
Without this reason,
I probably would have landed in the crazy house a long time ago.
Logic is my reality.
If I can reason it; it exists.
If I cannot; it must not be.
And there is the problem.
There is nothing logical about my past.
Although it seems that abusers have a handbook;
the logic chapter is always found
To be ripped out, shredded, and burned.
They left that part of it up to us to figure out;
To understand their evil.
That is what makes us crazy in the first place.
So the harder I try to understand;
The crazier I get. Literally.
I cannot reason what was done to me
And so sets in denial.
I can't understand it;
I can't make it right.
So f@#k it.
The abundance of f@#k its has really slowed me down.
Nearly to a halt and I'm not just talking about my mental healing.
This is my real life too.
Housekeeping, taking care of myself,
Dieting, exercise, blah blah blah...
you get the picture.
If I can't do it right and perfect;
Then I won't do it at all.
All great thoughts to live by.
This thinking is not something easy to change.
It is a deep part of who I am.
It is also something that makes me feel normal.
Normal exactly long enough until
I realize that normal people don't do math and physics problems for fun.
But I digress because my weirdness belongs in a whole other post.
I have steps to take.
One at a time.
Crying just one time worked for me.
And then I did it again.
Getting up early once
Led to me getting up early again AND working out.
It doesn't have to be all or nothing
Sometimes it's alright to be somewhere and in between.
I don't have to be completely healed or entirely wounded.
I'm still crazy;
Even with the steps towards tears and feeling.
But I have progress now
Because I have downgraded letters;
Even if it is just one.
Now I'm just crazy.
crazy with a little "c"...
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 6:44 PM UTC
i never have liked uppercase i's
i know it's absolutely stupid
but they always make me feel more important than others
like i'm always saying I, I, I.
see even that was weird
way too many eyes
so i spend half my days, proofreading my lines
to make sure that i'm exactly the same size
as everyone else
when i first met you it absolutely blew me away
to find someone else who lowers their eyes
i'm serious, it's amazing to find someone who wastes as much time as yourself
hitting backspace, and
cursing auto-correct for not allowing this behavior
but after a while i noticed you stopped with the i's
maybe it was around the time **** got weird
maybe it was a fad; or i have some absurd superstition
but it's cool
You always were the bigger person, anyway.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
Deconstructing a Kafkaesque
amphitheatre of the absurd,
Easy wallows she in their hypocrisy,
Son of a gun grabbed on
to the gold that fed his infant
self, doesn't dare let go, won't ever,
Dev breaks the bottle he hits,
scrounges, discards the last scrap,
the rat scurries in, devours, heads
back into the smoked corridor,
the auction goes on, so does he
showering petals and pity upon the
middle road more travelled, bumpy,
potholes full of acid and bile,
the stupidity of the tyrannical majority
and an underwater civilisation consumed
by mind-numbing, mildly shocking TV,
undercurrents of power drowned under.
Uppercase Him, uppercase He,
they hoist a red flag, set it afire,
stomp out the flames, wave a black
rag till the ashes turn to naught,
the Dionysian petit bourgeoisie proceed,
spew, ***** spew, repeat.
The voyeuristic rat has front row seats
gaze fixed, piercing centrestage
auction-house by day, amphitheatre by night,
the bids shall resume when
the morning bells toll, till then,
Dev's hungry for more,
the rat enjoys the show.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 3:20 AM UTC
death would be easier than dealing with this.
or would it?
i can't be trusted with this decision.
it'd be comforting to know for sure that my life is being controlled by something else.
my veins are aching, leaking out through tiny holes you poked with your teeth
my once full energy supply is now depleting,
battery life draining down to 5%
warning, warning. connect to charger.
1%.
i'll shut down, soon.
hopefully in your arms.
how difficult is it to understand
that people like me never sleep soundly?
i'm sick of you(r) people
and your UPPERCASE letters
UPPERCASE standards
UPPERCASE expectations
you, better than me?
hah.
please.
whispers drawn from scratchy throats,
whispers being the loudest they get,
coated in alcohol and ash.
you try to scream
but your voice is muffled by
the weight of your decisions
i told you to stay with me forever
no way to say no
you're stuck heading in one direction
promises are promises, dear.
you told me you'd rather die.
i'm feeling cold
no shivering, waves of frost wash over instead.
they're much worse.
i keep on tucking my hair behind my ear
it won't stop falling from the perfectly made groove
curved to perfection
signed and dated.
it falls how my best friend "accidentally" fell off of a balcony
mom always warned me about balconies.
why do you think i always walk with one hand against the opposite wall?
it's reminder that you can stay away from the gravitational force that is Earth.
at least, for a bit.
why do spaces matter, anyway
jus ta wayt odi st ance
things that should be,
that belong,
together.
the boy who sits behind me in class
plays with my curls, and then
one day,
he cut them off.
i trusted him.
kinda still do.
trust is a weird thing.
trusting someone not to look when you change is hard,
they could turn around and you'd never know.
somehow,
trusting someone not to tell everyone that you want to die is easy.
i'd trust you even if you held a gun to my temple.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
A text message with uppercase letters.
He could of been an auctioneer "YUP".
Instead he works inside eyelids.
My caukerspaniels ears look like **** carpet tube socks.
Im dreaming of women and dogs all over my one pillow matress.
The same ones who ruined couches and charmed the mail man.
He ran off like a dobermen unaware she extened the leash button.
If im lucky the mornings are reliable (they usally are)
The man upstairs our heavy metal enthusiest
Tap dances away the land words aspestoce flake by flake.
Hes proud of his roman garden (its really greek).
Business as usual,
I take a deep breath and loose fifty pounds all over again.
The fountain gets hot and my dollar store shampoo
makes my hair smell like juicy fruit.
The kitchens old.
The antiqicated refridgorator farts like a unrully bachlor.
And the microwave was upenheimers favorite way to nuke a
cold cup of coffee. I regrett the things I did to save time.
The sizzling eggs cry "you dont know how good you got it".
The toast smashes the yoke.
A head line reads:
over four hundread civillians killed from drone strikes.
The radio bleats "waking up..... welcome to the new age"
"Welcome to the new age".
I thought of the boy in the bubble and paul simon.
"These are the days of miracle and wonder"
"These are the days of miracle and wonder".
Outside my double pain window I look for women in jogging shorts.
Its still not warm enouph. Instead I find an army of children waiting for
Their yellow bus. A boy drops his lunch and a girl picks it up.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 7:26 PM UTC
i am not important.
i do not deserve to be uppercase.
i'm not that important.
i shouldn't stand out.
so insignificant
i'm so fake sometimes,
i don't deserve to call myself me.
i'm just who i try to be.
i'm not Me.
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 7:40 PM UTC
Serving time
Doing lines
Making prison bars
Out of razor blades and credit cards
The only clean thing bout me are my arms
Cuz evreything i do harms Others or my self
Yelling for help
Where no one can see me
Tappin out S.O.S's
Who's gonna hear me
Swingin back and forth teeter and totter
Don't like myself
Wish i were hotter
Wanna be like thotties
i mean hotties
Rotting inside out with silicone gel
Maybe then i'd love myself
Don't even know what's real and what's fake
Cuz the emotions i hate
Don't even exist
It's just some ********
i created for attention
But what was the question?
When will i write "i" in the uppercase
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 9:13 PM UTC
I.
To imagine and to colour in the universes ocean
They are kindergartener’s painting of the sea.
A quarter of circles spread over the space lines.
Off set, an uppercase ‘F’ shaped triangles covering the skies,
playing the role of FREE spirits, dolphin.
II.
He feels you, countless transparent mute wishes hidden at
the area composed by messes of oranges and pink. He is your day and night
Sunrise follows with dark dusts, that time has allowed and moments flow.
Listen. A sorrow broken guitar in an alley intensely flayed.
The spaceship’s magic fingers twisted with universe’s strings
III.
Enjoy dancing at an enchanted evening,
Space wings set up for lovers. He’s attached with symbols of variation
Desires are viruses. One worlds spins with two tragic worlds;
Lonesome. Ice and heat. Global war,
All those mysteries,spells, absurd truths
We are in one place.
Aug 4, 2021
Aug 4, 2021 at 8:54 AM UTC
Latin purifies.
And so do the other languages
That ring foreign to my ears.
And prayers sound lovelier
When they are honest.
When honestly,
There is nothing to be understood—
No silent covenant.
When "God"
Is but an uppercase letter
Uttered with the utmost clarity.
Or if not,
With the utmost sanctity.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
forget the uppercase
forget the capital
forget the emphasis
forget the apple
forget the operating system
replace forget with something else
replace everything with everything
replace replace with something
something something something something
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:45 PM UTC
If fusty galaxies twirl like Shakespearian poetry,
is astrology a tragedy or a comedy?
Are there clusters of tumbling uppercase in outer space,
the remnants of conceit metaphors that broke up like meteors?
My scattered universe is full of orphaned verse.
Why do terse alien names all have hyphens?
Quatrains swirl in fiery hues across the ecliptic plane,
and sonnets streak by, like sparkling comets.
Argh! Where’s a pencil - too late - the thought’s gone.
Ever lose something essential - cause you couldn’t find a pencil?
It’s ok though, it’s not just me and not just you.
Black holes are swallowing Haiku too.
.
.
Songs for this:
Hypnotized by Fleetwood Mac
Theme for a **** Beach by The B-52's
.
.
I saw a line with something like, “universe of orphaned verse,” in a poem a few days ago. The idea of celestial words rhyming with writing terms ‘mused’ me. I’ve been looking for the author to credit them (hello, computer searches). If you know the guilty party, please let me know.
.
*No, this is NOT a sonnet, it’s just the name
Aug 9, 2024
Aug 9, 2024 at 9:13 AM UTC
For him my heart races
Wearing nothing but laces
I wait for his embrace
It’s written all over my face
I want to go places
No airs and graces
I want it all in uppercase
‘Tis time to unlace...
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
NEXT YEAR
next year is a whisper
on the horizon;
out of reach, out of earshot,
too surreal to imagine
but it's written all in
uppercase, bold, and it screams
from the paper, punctuated by
a string of invisible question marks
no longer secured in the safety net
of adolescence, set loose into the world
with basic knowledge: how to ride a bike,
howto drive a car, how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide,
but what does it help?
what does it help when there's a largely uncharted
world waiting to be explored? when there's anxiety,
and fear, and a lack of confidence to hold one back from exploring it?
when there are so many options, but none of them appeal?
it does not help, and that's the thing;
we're unleashed into adulthood, equipped with nothing more than a
flimsy sword, swinging blindly but making no contact
soldiers fighting with no cause, burning embers that never
grow into flames, caterpillars that have not completely
broken free from their cocoons; we are foolish, and naive,
frightened of a world we know little about
what i am to do, they ask,
but how do i answer a question i can't even comprehend?
NEXT YEAR is not real, it can't be, not when it makes my
head spin and my stomach twist and my brain explode
it cannot be
it cannot be
it cannot be
but it is
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 3:28 PM UTC
be careful
when you
invite new
metaphors
into your
fresh built
box of a poem.
a small
house is
perfect
or a poet
that has
few silver
words left
in their
pocket.
lower case
is cheaper
than uppercase.
as you nail
penny-nails
with your
wobbling
flat head
hammer;
simpleness
into
all your
lines.
be careful
metaphors
can act
like
miniature
tigers.
some
of the
metaphors
want to start
problems
to scratch
at your
floorboard
& swing from
your curtains
with their
sharp
retractable claws
& climb
on your
window panes
& leave
their nose-prints
impressed
on each
window
in each
of your
stanzas.
take the
broom
& chase
the troublesome
ones out
past the door jams
of your poem.
keep the
few
metaphors
that are
asleep
at the
hearth.
the similes
you scattered
as a homecoming
blessing
turn into
see-through
butterflies
& flap
their wings
in symmetry
of beats
up the
wainscot
the sparrow
of your
voice
awakes on
the swinging
perch of
your small simple
birdcage
& begins
to chirp
& the
symbols
hiding in
the nooks
& crannies
come to your
table to steal
crumbs & slices
of green cheese
that you
have sliced
quietly
from
the moonrise
slowly
forming
like onion skin
in the
lightbulb
you keep
dutifully hidden
in your head.
symbols squeak
and the metaphors
dream
of goldfish
swimming
in the periods
the little bowls
you
place
in kindness
at the ends
of your stanzas.
Dec 8, 2018
Dec 8, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
I stand
I clutch the ground
the same ground that you and I
once walked together.
and a month ago
if you could've asked me
what life was
without you,
I would've said
"impossible."
and that was the answer you wanted.
a week ago,
if you were to ask me the same question,
I would reply
"bitter."
for I did not understand
that the ground
we once walked on
together
was a path paved
for me
so, instead
I let you take my hand
and pull me through
a terrible maze
that was not crafted
for you.
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 12:14 PM UTC