"warmers" poems - Hello Poetry

"warmers" poems

Crafty, they say, He's getting crafty crafty with my lies and my made-up meals crafty with my sound-blocking tactics crafty with hiding the burning lines of white and red. Baking, they say, He's getting into baking baking my binges baking my restriction baking my omad baking my sad-looking low-cal low-fat low-sugar low-carb high-protein 'meal'. Crochet, they say, He's getting into crochet crocheting ankle warmers to make my legs look skinny half-finger gloves in an attempt to curb the permafrost that has begun to knit itself around my bones. Healthy, they say, He's getting healthy as i workout until i faint and do sit-ups until i have bruises on my spine. fruit and veg and vitamins take priority and suddenly i have taken an interest in running.

0

Sep 18, 2022

Sep 18, 2022 at 12:40 PM UTC

Crafty, they say, He's getting crafty crafty with my lies and my made-up meals crafty with my sound-blocking tactics crafty with hiding the burning lines of white and red. Baking, they say, He's getting into baking baking my binges baking my restriction baking my omad baking my sad-looking low-cal low-fat low-sugar low-carb high-protein 'meal'. Crochet, they say, He's getting into crochet crocheting ankle warmers to make my legs look skinny half-finger gloves in an attempt to curb the permafrost that has begun to knit itself around my bones. Healthy, they say, He's getting healthy as i workout until i faint and do sit-ups until i have bruises on my spine. fruit and veg and vitamins take priority and suddenly i have taken an interest in running.

Continue reading...

With a steaming mug of coffee in hand I watched: the sun fall, the wind shiver, the leaves stand and land roll, the birds swing, yellow beams dance, and people stride in woollen warmers. She plucked a flower in fool bloom, then ambled away with a bamboo basket. The clink of steel whistled through the air, rousing sleep in the grouchy ones saddled with books and a play toy in hand walking in step with a grown man. I walked there once, trying to keep pace clasping a finger as large as my fist. His snores now fall softly, circling the room while I stand by the window, wearing his shoes.

0

Nov 7, 2012

Nov 7, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC

With a steaming mug of coffee in hand I watched: the sun fall, the wind shiver, the leaves stand and land roll, the birds swing, yellow beams dance, and people stride in woollen warmers. She plucked a flower in fool bloom, then ambled away with a bamboo basket. The clink of steel whistled through the air, rousing sleep in the grouchy ones saddled with books and a play toy in hand walking in step with a grown man. I walked there once, trying to keep pace clasping a finger as large as my fist. His snores now fall softly, circling the room while I stand by the window, wearing his shoes.

Continue reading...

coupon for Granny's Original 32% All Natural Oatmeal® cart-to-cart down aisle 48 and this man's an affront to khakis and this woman's brain runs off a child's complaints BLIZZARD 2013 according to the radar, buy 80 pounds of rock salt from The Home Depot®, more saving. more doing.™ more rock salt. more doing BLIZZARD 2013 according to the radar, buy two-weeks-worth of tuna, a pallet of Pepsi Max®, and four loaves of Baker Good's NeverMold Bread® all for $21.99 with your Sam's Club® Rewards Card BLIZZARD 2013 cart-to-cart down aisle 62 where once there was soda, now an I.O.U. and I read on the internet that the preservatives in diet cola will keep my body from decomposing and I read on the internet that these dented, discount tuna cans will give me botulism BLIZZARD 2013 one jug of water from a spring in Mountain View, Arkansas one jug of water from a spring in New Iberia, Louisiana picking between Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana the pitter-patter on the warehouse roof reassures time for eenie meenie miney mo BLIZZARD 2013 and the intercom desperate for a cart wrangler customer service now open for checkout don't leave your toddlers alone in shopping carts they're choking on free samples with an echo, raindrops strike parking lot pools just past the intersection an ambulance grumbles BLIZZARD 2013 in a room with a view wishing the windowpane weatherized beers bought by volume, candles forgotten, six months of licorice, EverFluff® popcorn, and hand warmers of chemical kind remembered BLIZZARD 2013 will not be landing in the city, watch out for that rain though if the temperatures drop below 32 degrees it could ice over and if the temperatures don't, well, it won't News 7's coverage of Blizzard 2013 brought to you by The Home Depot®, more saving. More doing.™ and Sam's Club®, savings made simple.™

0

Feb 26, 2013

Feb 26, 2013 at 2:40 PM UTC

the blizzard of 2013

coupon for Granny's Original 32% All Natural Oatmeal® cart-to-cart down aisle 48 and this man's an affront to khakis and this woman's brain runs off a child's complaints BLIZZARD 2013 according to the radar, buy 80 pounds of rock salt from The Home Depot®, more saving. more doing.™ more rock salt. more doing BLIZZARD 2013 according to the radar, buy two-weeks-worth of tuna, a pallet of Pepsi Max®, and four loaves of Baker Good's NeverMold Bread® all for $21.99 with your Sam's Club® Rewards Card BLIZZARD 2013 cart-to-cart down aisle 62 where once there was soda, now an I.O.U. and I read on the internet that the preservatives in diet cola will keep my body from decomposing and I read on the internet that these dented, discount tuna cans will give me botulism BLIZZARD 2013 one jug of water from a spring in Mountain View, Arkansas one jug of water from a spring in New Iberia, Louisiana picking between Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana the pitter-patter on the warehouse roof reassures time for eenie meenie miney mo BLIZZARD 2013 and the intercom desperate for a cart wrangler customer service now open for checkout don't leave your toddlers alone in shopping carts they're choking on free samples with an echo, raindrops strike parking lot pools just past the intersection an ambulance grumbles BLIZZARD 2013 in a room with a view wishing the windowpane weatherized beers bought by volume, candles forgotten, six months of licorice, EverFluff® popcorn, and hand warmers of chemical kind remembered BLIZZARD 2013 will not be landing in the city, watch out for that rain though if the temperatures drop below 32 degrees it could ice over and if the temperatures don't, well, it won't News 7's coverage of Blizzard 2013 brought to you by The Home Depot®, more saving. More doing.™ and Sam's Club®, savings made simple.™

Continue reading...

Bureaucrats and clergymen differ only in doctrine. But their altars steam with the blood of untold innocents. The Pope, Stalin, and ****** all canvass the people with warped visions of Paradise. (Oh, Celan, you saw it too well.) Bloodletting for peace... Pitchforks stoke the fires to make dainty foot warmers for Moloch and Midas.

0

May 21, 2016

May 21, 2016 at 8:57 AM UTC

miguel-m-castro

The Real Conspiracy

Bureaucrats and clergymen differ only in doctrine. But their altars steam with the blood of untold innocents. The Pope, Stalin, and ****** all canvass the people with warped visions of Paradise. (Oh, Celan, you saw it too well.) Bloodletting for peace... Pitchforks stoke the fires to make dainty foot warmers for Moloch and Midas.

Continue reading...

Weaknesses My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion. My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it. My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t. My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions? My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else. My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone. My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.

0

Sep 21, 2015

Sep 21, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC

Weaknesses My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion. My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it. My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t. My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions? My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else. My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone. My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.

Continue reading...

The bench Supporting cast Men of few talents The star watchers Few know their names "No skill", they say Trading tokens in the money game Roster holders for the next star Only put in to give others rest Pass the ball, set the pick, take a flop Help the star look good, give him a chance Never to take the ball and make the shot Unknown, Unsung, Underrated Until the big play The highlight reel The game winner ESPN's fifteen minutes of fame Talk of the town The hero Until the next game Then it's the back to normal Sitting on the bench

0

Jun 10, 2010

Jun 10, 2010 at 4:24 PM UTC

The bench Supporting cast Men of few talents The star watchers Few know their names "No skill", they say Trading tokens in the money game Roster holders for the next star Only put in to give others rest Pass the ball, set the pick, take a flop Help the star look good, give him a chance Never to take the ball and make the shot Unknown, Unsung, Underrated Until the big play The highlight reel The game winner ESPN's fifteen minutes of fame Talk of the town The hero Until the next game Then it's the back to normal Sitting on the bench

Continue reading...

Smirked at, ****** on, pushed around, beat down The ***** street corner is Tipsy Trixie's sin city playground. She charges cheap, because the black asphalt radiates the smoldering mid-July heat. She hums "Hey Jude" as she struts up and down 9th Street. She can't wear layers in the winter, because nobody can see the goods underneath leg warmers , gloves, furs, and hoods. Now Trixie is pregnant, 4 months...she's starting to show. The days are getting longer but the business is slow. "The Man" doesn't know. He won't know...he can never know. Trixie's been warned about the man. He'll beat her up, and slice her open, like a Chef Boyardee ravioli can. Then he''ll sew her up and throw her back on 9th street, to meet supply and demand.

0

Jun 9, 2014

Jun 9, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC

Smirked at, ****** on, pushed around, beat down The ***** street corner is Tipsy Trixie's sin city playground. She charges cheap, because the black asphalt radiates the smoldering mid-July heat. She hums "Hey Jude" as she struts up and down 9th Street. She can't wear layers in the winter, because nobody can see the goods underneath leg warmers , gloves, furs, and hoods. Now Trixie is pregnant, 4 months...she's starting to show. The days are getting longer but the business is slow. "The Man" doesn't know. He won't know...he can never know. Trixie's been warned about the man. He'll beat her up, and slice her open, like a Chef Boyardee ravioli can. Then he''ll sew her up and throw her back on 9th street, to meet supply and demand.

Continue reading...

I was born on a leap year Right before the Millenium A family of five in Mexico were stabbed Six days before I arrived And in the same month (But half the days) That Rusty won the first NASCAR race In Japan Call me a Scorpio, I don't mind I was born in the year of the rat And the zodiac says that fire's my element But I always liked my time spent in water Pearl is to the ancients What Topaz is today Though neither value much To the people on the Boeing 747 Or the Ilyushin Il-76 cargo plane That killed 349 people With the force of their collision When you look up the day That I came to be known As another member of the living They'll tell you all about the fatal, terrible crash That I was too young to remember or even witness Being born in the '90's earns me No extra respect No reverent awe No special treatment I was born too late for the long-haired peace Disco and drugs A John Hughes-like high school And only my parents got away with Sweat pants and leg warmers Or turtleneck sweaters I am just another 96 baby But they don't make them like us Anymore

0

Aug 28, 2013

Aug 28, 2013 at 11:54 PM UTC

The Summer Olympics were held in Atlanta, United States

I was born on a leap year Right before the Millenium A family of five in Mexico were stabbed Six days before I arrived And in the same month (But half the days) That Rusty won the first NASCAR race In Japan Call me a Scorpio, I don't mind I was born in the year of the rat And the zodiac says that fire's my element But I always liked my time spent in water Pearl is to the ancients What Topaz is today Though neither value much To the people on the Boeing 747 Or the Ilyushin Il-76 cargo plane That killed 349 people With the force of their collision When you look up the day That I came to be known As another member of the living They'll tell you all about the fatal, terrible crash That I was too young to remember or even witness Being born in the '90's earns me No extra respect No reverent awe No special treatment I was born too late for the long-haired peace Disco and drugs A John Hughes-like high school And only my parents got away with Sweat pants and leg warmers Or turtleneck sweaters I am just another 96 baby But they don't make them like us Anymore

Continue reading...

You step outside of the moment like a misty window bystander with your hood up and your hand warmers that you’ll put in your scrapbook so as to bless and keep this memory all your days. Sift out the sound waves as you watch the dancing silhouettes of the good old days Bringing tears to your eyes as you remember that someday this’ll be in a box wrapped and taped scotch-like for you to look at and think how lucky we were. But right now you’re pulling all your best strings to carve out scrawled negatives on the glass before the condensation of your breath fades fades away. Oh doesn’t it remind you, dear, That we live in the awareness of fleeting moments rather than the moments themselves? That we only put the remaining numbers of seconds on our dance cards and not let our time with fullness instead take our hands and waists? That we scrounge for the film that we can Mary Poppins jump into on the other end of a short while instead of running the risk of forgetting by ripping open the gift of the instant we have been personally given by God? Don’t let it pass you by because Even though it’s only out the train window if you Let it permeate your heart forever that’s the Only way you can keep it in your pocket during your walk towards eternity.

0

Dec 11, 2021

Dec 11, 2021 at 6:07 PM UTC

You step outside of the moment like a misty window bystander with your hood up and your hand warmers that you’ll put in your scrapbook so as to bless and keep this memory all your days. Sift out the sound waves as you watch the dancing silhouettes of the good old days Bringing tears to your eyes as you remember that someday this’ll be in a box wrapped and taped scotch-like for you to look at and think how lucky we were. But right now you’re pulling all your best strings to carve out scrawled negatives on the glass before the condensation of your breath fades fades away. Oh doesn’t it remind you, dear, That we live in the awareness of fleeting moments rather than the moments themselves? That we only put the remaining numbers of seconds on our dance cards and not let our time with fullness instead take our hands and waists? That we scrounge for the film that we can Mary Poppins jump into on the other end of a short while instead of running the risk of forgetting by ripping open the gift of the instant we have been personally given by God? Don’t let it pass you by because Even though it’s only out the train window if you Let it permeate your heart forever that’s the Only way you can keep it in your pocket during your walk towards eternity.

Continue reading...

"It's not for anxiety," they said, tightlipped but concerned, they don't understand that I can't pay attention if my heart beats louder than my words, The sound of my thoughts coming at me like trains and bike and buses, honking at me to say something articulate, is much louder than their confused voices explaining that the blue pill is to stop the jitters, but I've got other issues. They don't see that there is a tea kettle bubbling in my stomach that shoots hunger through its long nose, in shrill whistles that pierce my insides. It's all I can hear when the TV is on and I haven't eaten. But that little chemical spreads inside me like a blanket of silence, quells the screaming children and the little girl constantly tugging at my heartstrings, making indiscernible chords that only echo as the sound of jealousy, fear and self loathing. She tucks her self in and keeps her hands to herself for a few hours. As the blue devils shovel more coal in the bed warmers, the sound of metal clanging is muted by their powers. Chipping away at the noise makers, the inhabitants of my tortured soul- I love the empty I feel on adderall.

0

Nov 8, 2015

Nov 8, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC

Central Nervous Intersection

"It's not for anxiety," they said, tightlipped but concerned, they don't understand that I can't pay attention if my heart beats louder than my words, The sound of my thoughts coming at me like trains and bike and buses, honking at me to say something articulate, is much louder than their confused voices explaining that the blue pill is to stop the jitters, but I've got other issues. They don't see that there is a tea kettle bubbling in my stomach that shoots hunger through its long nose, in shrill whistles that pierce my insides. It's all I can hear when the TV is on and I haven't eaten. But that little chemical spreads inside me like a blanket of silence, quells the screaming children and the little girl constantly tugging at my heartstrings, making indiscernible chords that only echo as the sound of jealousy, fear and self loathing. She tucks her self in and keeps her hands to herself for a few hours. As the blue devils shovel more coal in the bed warmers, the sound of metal clanging is muted by their powers. Chipping away at the noise makers, the inhabitants of my tortured soul- I love the empty I feel on adderall.

Continue reading...

Hold my hand dear Benjamin don't let Professor Edwards catch me in a dreamscape challenging me off guard as we sit in math class hands clasped together for when you knowingly squeeze my hand tighter scribbling with your right hand the answer which is required to be erased so as not caught out but today as I look out onto drifting clouded skies I see the changes and I lose myself in shapes and smoke forging out homes, characters stories into my past, present and what could be in the future nothing is taken from me, distracted in an instant I'm Vivian Ward racing around Hollywood with my best friend Kit De Luca who eats cold pizza for breakfast and crawls the streets with me hop scotching across the Hollywood Walk of Fame, five star terrazzo and brass stars, names of Hollywood greats blonde, brunette elegance Manolo's, mink coats, jewelled necklines of emerald stones we'd both dreamt as kids Los Angeles; the City of Angels we are the winged, we are the free inhabiting the land of opportunity the ladies of the night, grappling onto souls of kids, shared flat with bunk beds and a closet filled with 80's short tight spandex leg warmers, faux gold earrings bright coloured lingerie, leather bomber jackets, tutus... oh and those perms and scrunchies fake eye lashes, an 80's kid high as hell being courted by an older wealthier man living fast, dying young, a fugitive of the land broken The silence I succumbed to bruised by a cacophony of bells ringing "never change Lou lou!" he winked and smiled packing his rucksack leaving for the day. © Sia Jane “She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague “she” of all the poetry books.” Gustave Flaubert, “Madame Bovary”

0

Jan 17, 2014

Jan 17, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC

Hold my hand dear Benjamin don't let Professor Edwards catch me in a dreamscape challenging me off guard as we sit in math class hands clasped together for when you knowingly squeeze my hand tighter scribbling with your right hand the answer which is required to be erased so as not caught out but today as I look out onto drifting clouded skies I see the changes and I lose myself in shapes and smoke forging out homes, characters stories into my past, present and what could be in the future nothing is taken from me, distracted in an instant I'm Vivian Ward racing around Hollywood with my best friend Kit De Luca who eats cold pizza for breakfast and crawls the streets with me hop scotching across the Hollywood Walk of Fame, five star terrazzo and brass stars, names of Hollywood greats blonde, brunette elegance Manolo's, mink coats, jewelled necklines of emerald stones we'd both dreamt as kids Los Angeles; the City of Angels we are the winged, we are the free inhabiting the land of opportunity the ladies of the night, grappling onto souls of kids, shared flat with bunk beds and a closet filled with 80's short tight spandex leg warmers, faux gold earrings bright coloured lingerie, leather bomber jackets, tutus... oh and those perms and scrunchies fake eye lashes, an 80's kid high as hell being courted by an older wealthier man living fast, dying young, a fugitive of the land broken The silence I succumbed to bruised by a cacophony of bells ringing "never change Lou lou!" he winked and smiled packing his rucksack leaving for the day. © Sia Jane “She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague “she” of all the poetry books.” Gustave Flaubert, “Madame Bovary”

Continue reading...

Department store leg warmers sharing the stage with thrift store achievements candle wax and I can't recognize futuristic defeat. Here in my corner red lights, behind plenty of ears and tattoos cardigans, cardigans galore. I've seen them all before, these cardboard cutouts. Lamp, desk, repeat lamp, desk, repeat. I love the view when everything dissipates into jean and jean and t-shirt I was reading when you're pineapple hair scooped up my conscious mind behind books and bags, books and bags and cups.

0

Jan 8, 2013

Jan 8, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC

isabella-obrien

15 Novemeber 2012

Department store leg warmers sharing the stage with thrift store achievements candle wax and I can't recognize futuristic defeat. Here in my corner red lights, behind plenty of ears and tattoos cardigans, cardigans galore. I've seen them all before, these cardboard cutouts. Lamp, desk, repeat lamp, desk, repeat. I love the view when everything dissipates into jean and jean and t-shirt I was reading when you're pineapple hair scooped up my conscious mind behind books and bags, books and bags and cups.

Continue reading...

I'm missing the smell of sunscreen splattered in white blotches across my wind chapped cheeks, that will soon blend in with the snow I'm missing the three layers of socks I yank on and stuffing my boots with shakeable hand warmers because my toes always freeze I miss the sound of heel toe heel toe heel toe as the hard plastic boots click against grated metal stairs down to the buses I miss the smell of hot chocolate and barbecue in the air and snow flurries tenderly kiss my face floating downwards I miss the sound of the chair lifts thud thud thud and clicking my skis together to shake off the fresh powder that has accumulated I miss the sound of my poles hitting each other accidentally, and the dots they make in fresh champagne powder between the glades I miss the feeling of relief when I ski into the four points lodge by sunshine peak and grab a cafeteria trey and get my usual macaroni and cheese I miss the feeling of watching snow flurries melt as they land inside my hot chocolate that tastes cheap and watery but so warm I miss singing songs on the lifts, especially the quads, and deciding which runs to do next, black blue or green? I miss saying mountain words like "elk head, jackrabbit, slopes, hockey stop, sunshine express, morningside, storm peak, thunder- head" the list goes on I miss feeling completely at home in a helmet, huge goggles, fleece chilis and a ski jumper I miss Steamboat, I miss skiing, I can't wait for this year.

0

Nov 10, 2015

Nov 10, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC

Missing Steamboat

I'm missing the smell of sunscreen splattered in white blotches across my wind chapped cheeks, that will soon blend in with the snow I'm missing the three layers of socks I yank on and stuffing my boots with shakeable hand warmers because my toes always freeze I miss the sound of heel toe heel toe heel toe as the hard plastic boots click against grated metal stairs down to the buses I miss the smell of hot chocolate and barbecue in the air and snow flurries tenderly kiss my face floating downwards I miss the sound of the chair lifts thud thud thud and clicking my skis together to shake off the fresh powder that has accumulated I miss the sound of my poles hitting each other accidentally, and the dots they make in fresh champagne powder between the glades I miss the feeling of relief when I ski into the four points lodge by sunshine peak and grab a cafeteria trey and get my usual macaroni and cheese I miss the feeling of watching snow flurries melt as they land inside my hot chocolate that tastes cheap and watery but so warm I miss singing songs on the lifts, especially the quads, and deciding which runs to do next, black blue or green? I miss saying mountain words like "elk head, jackrabbit, slopes, hockey stop, sunshine express, morningside, storm peak, thunder- head" the list goes on I miss feeling completely at home in a helmet, huge goggles, fleece chilis and a ski jumper I miss Steamboat, I miss skiing, I can't wait for this year.

Continue reading...

I am all for celebrating what we have struggled to recognize, but here is some critical political analysis; If you observe how politicians pervert the system in order to maintain the power they have, you will see they maybe willing to cede symbolic victories in partisan performances to prevent actual institutional and structural reforms. It costs them very little to make a holiday, giving workers a little break, while dulling some of those blades of social outrage. If you recall Shakespeare says “all the worlds a stage” Yet, I pray we do not allow ourselves to be played by those **** poor performers. We are more than seat warmers waiting to die while fresh suckers sit down to buy the same song and dance.

0

Aug 13, 2021

Aug 13, 2021 at 10:54 AM UTC

Happy Juneteenth

I am all for celebrating what we have struggled to recognize, but here is some critical political analysis; If you observe how politicians pervert the system in order to maintain the power they have, you will see they maybe willing to cede symbolic victories in partisan performances to prevent actual institutional and structural reforms. It costs them very little to make a holiday, giving workers a little break, while dulling some of those blades of social outrage. If you recall Shakespeare says “all the worlds a stage” Yet, I pray we do not allow ourselves to be played by those **** poor performers. We are more than seat warmers waiting to die while fresh suckers sit down to buy the same song and dance.

Continue reading...

Harmattan is coming! Harmattan is coming! No more grassy lawns! No more bushy paths! Get your sweaters! Get your warmers! It's gonna be a cold, dry! spell! It's gonna be a cold, dry! spell!

0

Nov 8, 2013

Nov 8, 2013 at 6:09 AM UTC

Harmattan is coming! Harmattan is coming! No more grassy lawns! No more bushy paths! Get your sweaters! Get your warmers! It's gonna be a cold, dry! spell! It's gonna be a cold, dry! spell!

Continue reading...

What did I do to deserve this? I thought not being sexually active was a good thing? Why am I being punished for not having a baby at such a young age? My body remains untouched But yet, every month you punish me with a ****** mess on my undergarments God ****** I waste money on these ****** warmers And you come, and cause me to waste even more money on a blood absorber, which doesn't even work all the time All I want is to not bleed once, sometimes twice a month **** this.

0

Nov 10, 2013

Nov 10, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC

Dear Miss Ruby Red,

What did I do to deserve this? I thought not being sexually active was a good thing? Why am I being punished for not having a baby at such a young age? My body remains untouched But yet, every month you punish me with a ****** mess on my undergarments God ****** I waste money on these ****** warmers And you come, and cause me to waste even more money on a blood absorber, which doesn't even work all the time All I want is to not bleed once, sometimes twice a month **** this.

Continue reading...

so, i saw a piece of you the other day. i found you out in the yard. and. i used to find you everyday, but, we are the inside of a silverware drawer when the lights go out. We are an old can of soda we are the underside of a frying pan.the hinges of medicine cabinet mirror.the back of a fake hand gun a pocketfull of chemical hand warmers The washing label on shrunken, favorite, sweatshirt- storeboughtstarmarketpumpkinpie. Brooding at the breakfast table. a telephone that rings when you don’t want it to. we are nylon down vest- reversible- tucked inbetween arm and oilskin hat. We are dead houseplants. homemade radiator covers, feet under the covers we are waking up we are slacking off in class.hating other people.wading into bathtubwater. I. hurt her daughter polished like a powderhorn.hurting like a can of vegetarian baked beans. like an old pocketknife. we are pantsless in the hallway. we are backyard garden. we are tripping over the recyclables on a sunday. we are good radio song. we wanted garlic.butter we got hotdogs instead. That’s supermarket poetry. It hit us. golden and radiant- as the smiles in the cereal aisle. And it was cold outside. the milk froze in the car

0

Mar 17, 2015

Mar 17, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC

someday, i saw you around

so, i saw a piece of you the other day. i found you out in the yard. and. i used to find you everyday, but, we are the inside of a silverware drawer when the lights go out. We are an old can of soda we are the underside of a frying pan.the hinges of medicine cabinet mirror.the back of a fake hand gun a pocketfull of chemical hand warmers The washing label on shrunken, favorite, sweatshirt- storeboughtstarmarketpumpkinpie. Brooding at the breakfast table. a telephone that rings when you don’t want it to. we are nylon down vest- reversible- tucked inbetween arm and oilskin hat. We are dead houseplants. homemade radiator covers, feet under the covers we are waking up we are slacking off in class.hating other people.wading into bathtubwater. I. hurt her daughter polished like a powderhorn.hurting like a can of vegetarian baked beans. like an old pocketknife. we are pantsless in the hallway. we are backyard garden. we are tripping over the recyclables on a sunday. we are good radio song. we wanted garlic.butter we got hotdogs instead. That’s supermarket poetry. It hit us. golden and radiant- as the smiles in the cereal aisle. And it was cold outside. the milk froze in the car

Continue reading...

She said I "Just look happier." She was right.

0

Feb 8, 2013

Feb 8, 2013 at 10:22 PM UTC

She said I "Just look happier." She was right.

Continue reading...

Her face suddenly turns to me with Exite - you're glittering again, you're full of warmth. Was I cold before, I ask her. No, but I couldn't put my hands in your pockets the same way I used to. Come here. I am back.

0

Sep 21, 2013

Sep 21, 2013 at 12:46 PM UTC

Her face suddenly turns to me with Exite - you're glittering again, you're full of warmth. Was I cold before, I ask her. No, but I couldn't put my hands in your pockets the same way I used to. Come here. I am back.

Continue reading...

Within my pockets warming were ten of my most golden note makers Inside my eye sockets storming were flights, frightful fleeting sheets imaging up nightmare sections And wrecking my hard earned heart heat Up in the sky, a warning Ten of a kind up high were warming on thermals Flying, getting high on the heat of the air held up by the earth.

0

Dec 9, 2018

Dec 9, 2018 at 2:43 PM UTC

Within my pockets warming were ten of my most golden note makers Inside my eye sockets storming were flights, frightful fleeting sheets imaging up nightmare sections And wrecking my hard earned heart heat Up in the sky, a warning Ten of a kind up high were warming on thermals Flying, getting high on the heat of the air held up by the earth.

Continue reading...

during my fifteen-minute break at work, I saw a sleeping bag in the dugout of a baseball field. it’s almost autumn now. too cold for whomever this belongs to. I leave a post-it note asking what his name is. my break is over so I go back to work. the next day, I check for a response and it’s in the garbage. I take it out and put it back with the sleeping bag I can wait. the day after that I check, it says “Doug”. I grab a notebook and introduce myself, “hi Doug, I’m Tanner. can I get you anything?” the next day, “anything would help.” “I’ll bring some back warmers you can use at night in your sleeping bag. they’re like regular hand warmers but bigger.” later that night, after my shift, i do this goes on for a while. I’ll ask him if he needs food, I’ll bring granola bars. I’ll ask if he needs light, I’ll bring a battery-powered lantern. I ask him what he’ll do when the snow comes I get a simple response, “I have somwhere to go.” his spelling isn’t that great. I ask, “where?” no response the next day. I think about him now. figured I’d ask him how he got to be homeless. he said he came to town when his father got sick, said he lost his job for leaving. eventually, he ran out of money. I leave a twenty in the notebook. the next day it reads, “thank you.” a little bit into winter I still saw his bag and we still exchanged notes, never once seeing each other. one day in the middle of winter, I notice his bag is gone. the notebook isn’t so I hide it under the dugout bench. winter passes, I still haven’t seen him. it’s finally spring, still no sign of him. summer comes along, nothing little league baseball is starting the kids found the notebook and ripped out every single page we ever shared, shredding each one into tiny illegible pieces thrown away in the trash can. I’ll never see Doug again.

0

Mar 11, 2020

Mar 11, 2020 at 8:23 PM UTC

during my fifteen-minute break at work, I saw a sleeping bag in the dugout of a baseball field. it’s almost autumn now. too cold for whomever this belongs to. I leave a post-it note asking what his name is. my break is over so I go back to work. the next day, I check for a response and it’s in the garbage. I take it out and put it back with the sleeping bag I can wait. the day after that I check, it says “Doug”. I grab a notebook and introduce myself, “hi Doug, I’m Tanner. can I get you anything?” the next day, “anything would help.” “I’ll bring some back warmers you can use at night in your sleeping bag. they’re like regular hand warmers but bigger.” later that night, after my shift, i do this goes on for a while. I’ll ask him if he needs food, I’ll bring granola bars. I’ll ask if he needs light, I’ll bring a battery-powered lantern. I ask him what he’ll do when the snow comes I get a simple response, “I have somwhere to go.” his spelling isn’t that great. I ask, “where?” no response the next day. I think about him now. figured I’d ask him how he got to be homeless. he said he came to town when his father got sick, said he lost his job for leaving. eventually, he ran out of money. I leave a twenty in the notebook. the next day it reads, “thank you.” a little bit into winter I still saw his bag and we still exchanged notes, never once seeing each other. one day in the middle of winter, I notice his bag is gone. the notebook isn’t so I hide it under the dugout bench. winter passes, I still haven’t seen him. it’s finally spring, still no sign of him. summer comes along, nothing little league baseball is starting the kids found the notebook and ripped out every single page we ever shared, shredding each one into tiny illegible pieces thrown away in the trash can. I’ll never see Doug again.

Continue reading...

Oh, how great the benefits of a good book; How it eases stress and clears tour head Whether it be on a beach or hammock, Or at night in a bed And then there's the genres the abundence of genres Fantasies and fictions galore Novels, and novels, and novels, oh how many novels, I can only dream of having more Then theirs the our favorites, the tear jerkers, laugh producers, And heart warmers, we cannot read without We read, and reread, and give to our friend Yet if not given back, cry, scram, and shout No Matt the genre, romance or fiction or any other kind Happiness from a book I will constantly find.

0

Apr 2, 2015

Apr 2, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC

Oh, how great the benefits of a good book; How it eases stress and clears tour head Whether it be on a beach or hammock, Or at night in a bed And then there's the genres the abundence of genres Fantasies and fictions galore Novels, and novels, and novels, oh how many novels, I can only dream of having more Then theirs the our favorites, the tear jerkers, laugh producers, And heart warmers, we cannot read without We read, and reread, and give to our friend Yet if not given back, cry, scram, and shout No Matt the genre, romance or fiction or any other kind Happiness from a book I will constantly find.

Continue reading...

Turn down the temperature because I'm feeling a bit feverish without your cold stare stalking down my skin. I got used to the depressing weather, the knitted sweaters, the legs warmers that kept myself together. Glowers felt like blizzards and I felt mad all the same. You crept through my dreams with your delicate face, your wind chapped lips smirked at my every mistake. God once sent me a vision of us heads back, hands clasped, looking as if we'd shared the most fondest memory, but a hand washed over the vision and said I needed to be taught a lesson. With every passing moment, you became increasingly more distant. Soon enough spring came and I saw the difference in the way you looked at me. I turned green at the thought and thought that maybe I had just been hallucinating, but the drugs had come cheap and you no longer loved me. This time God didn't send me a vision or tell me a story and I began to wonder if this whole lesson had just been a misunderstanding.

0

Oct 4, 2015

Oct 4, 2015 at 12:02 AM UTC

Winter Hasn't Started But It Has Ended

Turn down the temperature because I'm feeling a bit feverish without your cold stare stalking down my skin. I got used to the depressing weather, the knitted sweaters, the legs warmers that kept myself together. Glowers felt like blizzards and I felt mad all the same. You crept through my dreams with your delicate face, your wind chapped lips smirked at my every mistake. God once sent me a vision of us heads back, hands clasped, looking as if we'd shared the most fondest memory, but a hand washed over the vision and said I needed to be taught a lesson. With every passing moment, you became increasingly more distant. Soon enough spring came and I saw the difference in the way you looked at me. I turned green at the thought and thought that maybe I had just been hallucinating, but the drugs had come cheap and you no longer loved me. This time God didn't send me a vision or tell me a story and I began to wonder if this whole lesson had just been a misunderstanding.

Continue reading...