"vcr" poems
i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
*"uh oh, ****
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
*"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"*
1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says *"why don't you joke
about something like your family?"*
so i say
*"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"*
i say *"what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"*
before he has a chance
to answer
i say *"1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"*
2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
*"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."*
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
iPad, computer,
VCR.
Television, cell phone,
Movie star.
Clash of clans, minecraft,
COD.
Pokemon halo,
PVP.
Having fun, all day,
Disaster strikes.
Red bar, 0%,
Battery dies.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 10:43 AM UTC
O how
I remember you
pretty darling,
my crazy superstar,
making lovely
water bed waves
on the VCR.
But Dear Lover,
that technology's outdated,
we've got to try,
to try something new.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
my heart rejects you like a stubborn VCR
your name sticks to my throat like it's in hot summer tar
i want to say
i miss you
i want to say
i care
but our future looks so empty as i'm grasping for some air.
we knew it wouldn't be easy as you held me that last night
but at least then i could hear your heartbeat, now i only hear your sigh.
"I'm yours forever", I once said
"I see us together", You replied
will the distance overcome our promises? will heartache leave us dry?
emotion makes a cruel companion
like our curse, our cure is time
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
So, dope young fellow
With your pretty boy swag.
With your SnapBack on.
Pants so **** low.
Every girl just waiting in line just to give you a blow.
You're royalty around here, but this is still high school.
Taking every girls cherries and jewels.
You think that you're raising the bar but I've seen this before:
Call it VCR.
And then there's me:
Who don't get no ladies.
Because I'm the type of person who actually treats females as actually human beings.
Not toys.
I'll put them before myself.
I care about their joy.
You know what's dead: chivalry.
And it can never be reborn.
Not like Call of Duty: zombies.
Boom, headshot.
But there's another ten coming your way.
Then it gets to the point when you're just blown away.
But I'll be your player 2.
Girl, I'd give up all my perks just for you.
So you guys out there with the pretty boy swag.
Who just zip it all up cuz they think they got it in the bag.
I'm going to fight.
I'm going to step up for the voices not heard.
Cuz you've drowned them in depression, you've choke them with cruelty, and you've slapped them with sadness.
Unable to act.
Like a flightless bird.
I'll let them out of their cages so they can fly once again.
So you can't weight them down:
Call you Anchormen. Ooo, **** em'
So, pretty boy, nothing close to fantastic.
I just wanna say:
That I know I'm swagtastic.
S- saving
W- women
A- against
G- guys
T- that
A- abuse
S- sensitive
T- tender
I- innocent
C- companions.
Shorten that: swag.
S- she
W- wants
A- a
G- gentlemen.
So now boy,
Lets just see which one of us got that "Pretty Boy Swag"
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 7:41 PM UTC
Welcome to my home, oh won't you come in?
Allow me to show you around, would you care for a drink?
Tell me your poison, maybe a highball of gin?
I keep it in the kitchen with the coffeepot by the sink,
or maybe you'd prefer a tumbler of crown?
Whiskey is right in the foyer by the doorstop,
there's nothing like a nip right before I bounce.
And if it's wine you crave, it's in the living room atop
the tube television beside the VCR in it's place.
But if you've a tongue for peach schnapps
then make your way to the crawl space.
Whilst your up there I say, would you do me a fave?
Look in the attic for the bourbon, it's beside my baby pictures,
and bring it down for me. I'm sure that I saved
some from the last time I was up there alone with self-stricture.
Oh you don't care for bourbon, then maybe some brandy?
The cognac is somewhere down the basement,
but ignore the rope and the candies.
You're unsettled you say? Then rum's how to spend
drinking the night away with me in the den.
OH! Just send a beer your way?! you should've just said!
A six-pack's in the bathroom, right next to the head.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
Set the cheetahs on the loose
There's a thief out on the move
Underneath our legion's view
They have taken Cleopatra
Run run run, come back for my glory
Bring her back to me
Run run run, the crown of our pharaoh
The throne of our queen is empty
We'll run to the future
Shining like diamonds in a rocky world
A rocky, rocky world
Our skin like bronze and our hair like cashmere
As we march to rhythm
On the palace floor
Chandeliers inside the pyramid
Tremble from the force
Cymbals crash inside the pyramid
Voices fill up the halls
The jewel of Africa
What good is a jewel that ain't still precious?
How could you run off on me?
How could you run off on us?
You feel like God inside that gold
I found you laying down with Samson
And his full head of hair
Found my black queen Cleopatra
Bad dreams, Cleopatra
Remove her
Send the cheetahs to the tomb
Our war is over, our queen has met her doom
No more she lives no more serpent in her room
No more it has killed Cleopatra
Big sun coming strong through the motel blinds
Wake up to your girl for now, let's call her Cleopatra
I watch you fix your hair
Then put your ******* on in the mirror, Cleopatra
Then your lipstick, Cleopatra
Then your six-inch heels
Catch her
She's headed to the pyramid
She's working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Working at the pyramid
Working at the pyramid tonight
Pimping in my convos
Bubbles in my champagne
Let it be some jazz playing
Top floor motel suite twisting my cigars
Floor model TV with the VCR
Got rubies in my **** chain
Whip ain't got no gas tank
But it still got woodgrain
Got your girl working for me
Hit the strip and my bills paid
That keep my bills paid
Hit the strip and my bills paid
Keep a ***** bills paid
She's working at the pyramid tonight
You showed up after work I'm bathing your body
Touch you in places only I know
You're wet & you're warm just like our bathwater
Can we make love before you go
The way you say my name makes me feel like
I'm that *****
But I'm still unemployed
You say it's big but you take it
Ride cowgirl
But your love ain't free no more
But your love ain't free no more
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
In this household there’s far too much noise!...your mobile, your pager, your palmtop, your laptop, your desktop, your land-line, your radio, your plasma screen, your mp3, your ***** driver, your GPS, your audio-books, your lawn-mower, your toothbrush, your stereo, your play-station, your VCR, your hairdryer, your podcasts, your DVD player, your digital clock, your analogue clock, your juicer, my ******** your drill...
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 10:11 AM UTC
Guida & Me drove up to the ***** D
In my whip there was co-pilot Bryx and Captain Sleezy E
We rolled up to my yerp bro Brad D's
Next were greeted by Dino whos drinking a 40
Labatt Blue bonging and ponging like were competing for beer drinking glory
Then its onto asweome fries, saganaki, and telling funny stories
That night was crazy and a definite blast
Woke up the next day to see Dino's Dad's spot and gasp!
Walk into the kitchen to see Grandma Rontondo cooking homemade marinara
Smelling fresher than the lobby inside of a Panera
Next it's downstaris to the "Thunderdome," mindblow is all I can tell ya!
The food was amazing with Uncle D on the grill
Sammy the Bull said "Plastic Cups!" so that was the deal
Party was wild, popping bottles in other words unreal
Zoo was great, conductor swag was for real
Tigers beat the Twins, and that night it was freestyling, speeches, and Labatts on chill
Like the words of Willie Nelson the ***** D stays on my mind
I'll never forget that trip like my brain is a VCR and has the element of rewind!
Sep 19, 2011
Sep 19, 2011 at 7:00 PM UTC
O Babylon! Your God is a sport-utility vehicle, a VCR, and a two-car garage!
You delight in images of killing and artificially-large-breasted women!
Your arteries are clogged with Big Macs and a thousand pieces of Kentucky-Fried Chicken!
Your God is Technology. Your God is Progress.
Your skyscrapers rise to the heavens! Your astronauts fly to the moon!
You clone sheep! alter genes! make a mountain into a parking lot!
Your fields flower! Your grain-bins groan under the weight of the ripe corn!
But the land of your soul is a desolation.
O God of Henry Ford, the Wright Brothers, and Bill Gates,...
All the nations adore Thee!
(Pretty soon they'll be ordering Papa John pizza by cell phone in New Guinea....)
Your God is Mammon.
After the movies, after the Quarter-pounders-with-cheese, super-size fries, and a large Coke,
after the evening news, the Hostess cupcakes, golf, beers, and swimming 20 laps,
the hunger will be the same as the day you first felt it, O Babylon!
the thirst of the soul, O Babylon!
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC
Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars
my mind implodes in Malimar
where Naiads bathe in caviar -
I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.
The captive kiss of Princess Mars
(who talks in tongues at seminars)
burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -
I writhe within Her pale peignoir.
Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,
bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,
serve teas beside the reservoir -
I sip them from a samovar.
Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar
Her Genies gender gold dinars,
evoking flames in ginger jars -
I plea before the Commissar.
At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,
white shadows slip through doors ajar
to drape my dreams in ash and char -
I long await the Avatar.
Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)
paint pretty scenes on VCR’s
while sailing ships to Zanzibar -
I strum the strings of warped sitars.
Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars
else while at each and every bar
to speak of space and time bizarre -
I pass my pride for small pourboires.
Her Necromancers trace in tar
tall tales of wisdom flung afar,
transported by the Registrars -
I hitchhike on their handlebars.
Her seers conjure repertoires
where She and I are on a par
in infinite surreal memoirs -
I sometimes sense the void is ours.
My Princess never sees the scars
cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -
I often wake to ask ‘who are
these Gods that sail the distant stars?’
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
Was watching Disney's The Lion King on VHS
Got it from the thrift store for a dollar
When it started up
It was halfway through
That realization made me wonder
Someone somewhere started this movie
But they never finished it
They stopped it
Took it out of their VCR
They never picked it up again
Except to pack it in a box of old forgotten things
I wonder what made them stop it
Was it a child who went to play outside with his friends?
And when he returned
Was he grown with no desire to be a child again?
Did he find a better movie to watch?
Or did he find the movie boring and never bothered with it again?
Was it a Mother watching it while feeding her baby?
Did she leave to get more food?
And while she was out
Did she come across the new and improved DVD player?
Did she find it on sale and thought it must be better than VHS?
Maybe it was an old man reliving an easier day when he was younger
Was it the last movie he watched
Before the paramedics stopped it
And took him away to his final resting place?
Was it his daughter who took it out of the VCR
Placed it carefully in its casing
Put it with all the other VHS tapes she found in an old box
Gave that box to the thrift shop
Where I inevitably found it and brought it home
Why was this VHS forgotten?
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 5:38 PM UTC
I often think back to the times before school
Times when I was 3
When my mother would stand in the rain with my big brother
Rain boots and umbrellas keeping them dry
I remember getting scared of the thunder and I'd wake up in a panic, because she wasn't next to me.
She always came back inside,
Tossed a movie into the VCR
And stroked my hair
Promising me it was just God bowling
Celebrating the new angels he's welcomed home
She always mentioned that he was sorry for being so loud, but couldn't contain his excitement.
Now I'm almost finished with school
And it's never phased me, when I dont wake up to her
I don't wake up to her at all
She left.
And I dont think much of the thunderstorms anymore
Its just rain
And I just feel empty and anxious
Petrichor always arrives at my door step
Welcome home petrichor...
Maybe I'll throw a bowling party for you since my mother won't return...
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
I don't remember
Let's go back in time then
Rewind the mind
Like a VCR
Remember those?
I was 17, maybe
Like a baby
basic and small
a simple kind of life
Not this staggering strife
He & me
21 with no job and a place of his own
"Cool."
We we're cool.
And it functioned
And my cellphone was always close-by
And everything he said echoed nicely
And we we're "us"
And it was "what we're gonna do"
And it's dead now
What?
Yeah.
We might not have a gravesite
But I swear I visit it anyway -
And I think it's cool
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
1. Your cornflower blue eyes crinkled and laughing, sometimes flashing like the storms you love to chase
2. Your strawberry blond mop that smelled nothing like fruit but instead of sweat and grime, clinging to your brow when you removed that Pepsi baseball cap
3. Easter egg hunts on your birthday, like plastic flowers in melted snow and you up trees and on the roof of grandma's garage
4. Rare compromises that built tree forts or wound up the tire swing until it bounced and whirled its passenger like a spinning top
5. When everything you did, I wanted to do too--whether it was rescuing the princess or flying an X-wing
6. Diddy and Dixie Kong headlocked and tangled in armpits, wrestling for the Super Nintendo controller or for the remote for the VCR until Donkey had enough and made them both watch Barney
7. The laughter of you and your friends from the basement or slipping around the corner, back when I said “Me too” and meant “include me”
8. Games of war crouched behind the couches when the only war you dreamt about was the one in Narnia
9. The cliff in Hawaii over the smoking volcanic ocean water and Mom screaming for you to come down
10. When you push me, like the dominoes you used to line up and watch devotedly as they toppled over, one after the other because sometimes general incivility is the very essence of love.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 12:05 PM UTC
Heads revolving around topics and unanswered questions,
And questions about a lonely fan
Staring at us, revolving its three pedal shaped figures,
Not creating any new air,
Just transcending what we already have to us
Which I find pretty ironic…
But we can’t live without that fan can we?
I lost track of time not because I am lost, but because my phone died on me
Along with all the other people around ;
The unity between material and man…
My coffee, is black
And so is her sweater now half wrinkled half folded over,
Because she can’t seem to figure out a way to sit,
A way to think
A way to sink in the thoughts of the whole universe within one glace of her beautiful eyes-
Bumping into mine;
And our eye contact couldn’t stand longer than two seconds,
But in those two seconds,
I met her,
I got to know her better,
We went on our first date
I created a whole scenario about us living together and having a child running to me saying
“dad, how did you meet mommy” but child I never did…
Smiling faces, joyful faces
Shape the vibe of the coffee shop that has been my sanctuary for the summer;
The summer of “enchanter”, blue silver and white lights
Long walks on the shores of my chores,
And thoughts that were once yours
Until you sent me those messages
And from that day I realized I am alone.
I am alone for when I met you,
You told me the story of how once you were a child
Growing up between warheads and air headed brothers,
And fairy dust brushed off of the VCR tapes from your favorite movies
Which are now nothing but old 90’s classics.
When I met you,
You talked to me of how you want to become a fashion designer,
And visit france and sleep in paris
Stopping time right at the moment when you find your prince charming,
Because if time passes by and you grow old
You lose track of things and time and not cause your phone died on you
But because you are lost.
You are lost in space and time for when
I met you, you told me about past crushes and crushed hearts,
Future plans and undiscovered parts;
But you never told me about you now…who you are…
As if it was my job to discover that,
As if I was obliged to read the signs in your desperate eyes
And come up with a full analysis of the thing that is you
On a white sheet, same as the one I was writing on
Before I cried poetry upon it;
And poetry becomes fire when in contact with the air I breathe,
And so I choke on ashes every time I see you
For the poetry I wanna write could not be spoken so I just keep it inside;
I just keep it inside and choke on it…
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
My mind resembles something like
a rabid VCR—baring its teeth,
foaming, unapologetic, at the mouth,
rewinding and replaying and repeating
all of the small cuts of two people
I swear I used to know and love.
Rerunning a patchwork reel of the scenes
I can stand to remember—
(which is all of them when I’m feeling
particularly masochistic).
Rhythmic static travels from
top to bottom of my mind’s eye—
a familiar flaw, cracking and popping
as the picture struggles to come clear.
I try to stop it—all of it.
Rip plug from outlet—
throw this snarling archaic beast
against some unsuspecting wall.
But it’s made in the good ol’ US of A
and runs on something
a bit more complicated than
any energy they can send me a bill for.
So I'm stuck
in this cyclical hell,
where there is no fresh air,
and the only oxygen I can get
has to be ****** through
a barely functioning dollar store crazy straw.
And, really, my only anger is directed at Dante
for not including this part
in his little ditty about the Inferno.
I swear I’d take
trying and failing
to escape a river of boiling blood
over whatever it is that causes me
to create a dramatic VCR metaphor
any day.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC
Capture my ocean side.
Surf my skin like you'd trace
your fingers on
VCR tape.
Wrap your hands
around my neck,
until I fade to black--
looking into your eyes.
Capture my ocean side.
It feels like a diamond
is sinking into my chest.
I want to hit myself,
repeatedly,
until I can't feel anything
but my blue skin smush
underneath my knuckles.
My fingernails
kissing my palms.
Capture my ocean side.
I cannot face what I have
drawn onto my mirror.
What I found measurable,
has lost scale, has lost
purpose,
immensely, breathless.
Rewind the tape
around my neck.
I'd rather not see through
the film
or you.
Capture my ocean side.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 9:50 PM UTC
Wireshell trash can sweep-brushed
by Fusion, Alero, Chrysler Something.
They’re filled to the brim like sepia-stained
skyscrapers with swivel chairs and water cooler
pow-wows. Boss’ talking fax machines
and projections for the second fiscal quarter,
flipping a stock EKG reading on its *** We’re
all millionaires. All up like the NYSE at seven o’clock
in our living rooms watching the fireplace
playfully threaten our investments while CNN
sends money through the VCR slot. Cars, no
garbage trucks, cars, cars, scraping hubcaps off
the high sidewalks like beautiful harpsichords.
Neighbors. Suitcases and dresser drawers
packed tight with meat tape, paper towels,
and coffee mugs/fine China make heaped trash bags
seem obsolete. There’s no garbage here.
Downtown’s neon district makes enough
that they could afford a glowsign on every window,
every square inch of every lunch special, gallery opening,
or Salvation Army bell-ringer.
Forget New York,
we're the city that never sleeps.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
I want to rewind it all.
I'm watching the snow fall out my window and I can't help but daydream about catching it on my tongue all those years ago.
Back when I'd breathe onto windows so I could draw pictures, back when the whole world was my canvas.
It seems the whole world's already been colored in though, like there's no more room left for us dreamers.
I read a poem in junior high asking where dreams go, but now I care more about where the dreamers went.
I want to rewind it all.
Back to when I thought the sky was another world's ocean,
Back before I had ever heard the word stratosphere or had failed a biology test.
I want life to be recorded on a VCR, little green and red buttons putting my mind at ease.
Then again, I haven't owned a VCR in years...
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
He was always warm
Like his coffee colored skin
His smiled hugged you
Brought you into submission
Until your bones wrapped under his
I'd play with the outlines of his anatomy
The way his muscles protruded
And relaxed when my fingers traced his
His laugh echoed like violins
Symphonies playing wildly in my ears
And when I'd undress
He'd always stare
Singing how he won a master piece
That was only his
And no one else's to share
The summer heat burned us
Yet only the summer knew
The conversations that filled that room
He held a scar on his chest
I'd kiss it everyday to remind him how beautiful pain is.
The way his hair curled
And felt like silk when I'd run through it
The way I'd look down and kiss him
The world stopped
But so did the day he left
And like a VCR
I hit replay
A memory so vivid
Yet fading each and everyday
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 12:17 AM UTC
Do you remember those old VHS tapes?
The predecessor to dvds,
which were the predecessor to blu rays,
and it goes on and on.
Anyways back to the VHS tapes,
I don’t know I’ve always loved them.
I know it’s weird
They were such a hassle
You’d have to stick it in the VCR,
rewind it,
fast forward it,
so on and so forth.
DVD’s are so much easier
Yet I’ve always loved the VHS tapes.
Maybe it’s because they remind me of my childhood.
Or because they contain the finest films to ever grace the silver screen.
Or it might even be because,
no matter how long ago I last watched them,
they ALWAYS pick up right where I left off.
I think that’s beautiful.
The Mary Kate and Ashley and Rugrat VHS tapes,
sitting in my basement haven’t been placed in that VCR for years,
but it’s comforting to know that someday
when I’m feeling nostalgic enough
to watch one of them,
once it enters that VCR,
it will be in the EXACT spot I left it 6 years ago
when I watched it last.
It would be amazing if life were like those VHS tapes.
All the people you haven’t seen in years,
are just waiting there for you to arrive again,
just to pick up right where you left off.
No need to rewind or fast forward.
It’s not quite that easy though.
There are people in this life,
that I know are just like those tapes.
I may not have seen them for months,
but once I do it’s a straight shot back to where we were.
Then there are people like DVDs who don’t wait,
they don’t stay just where you want them to,
they keep moving and moving,
until one day you’re not sure where they’ve gone.
So you have no other choice then to restart,
and find someone new.
I know that there are people in this life,
just like the people in the films
on those VHS tapes.
There are people in this life that see the loveliness of it all
They understand the beautiful gift they’ve been given each day
They know that people are sacred,
living,
breathing,
feeling,
beings.
And then there are people like me,
who look at life with confusion,
and concern,
and wonder everyday,
what the hell is going on.
Who know that life isn’t like that VHS tape,
but wish more than anything that it was
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
coming upon this photo of us I hadn't seen
(pre-mortem, my blind happiness)
my breathing stops, my uncle in the other room stops yelling about the VCR
appropriately. I can hear him bounding down the steps,
leaving the upstairs for me alone, a place to sit and stare at this.
I am standing behind Spencer and you are beside me
but you look more as if the slushie in your hand could bring you more excitement.
you look blank and I look blind and everyone else is background to
my realization and your arrogance in everything from your
dead-pan eyes to your arm lingering at your side, not holding
mine.
I can see the tops of your stupid shoes that I told you to throw out
and I would pay for another pair. I can see all of the things I ate that day
heaved into a toilet later that night and you
were gone by the 18th of October.
It's funny how I can tell we are not puzzle pieces and we do not fit.
Sure there are crooks and crannies where an elbow can rest
and a head may lay but
most of the time arms will fit around you only
if you want
them
to.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 9:07 PM UTC