"ziplock" poems
a love poem, of new & old,
why I am the summer-man!^
summer is winding down,
sky’s multi blues freezer safe stored in ziplock see thru bags,
marked and named by hue, the where and the when,
so when the eyes finally fail, when the squinting don’t help,
when the good things those good blues aroused,
poems, lush and morning thanks for being alive come-not-at-all,
quite the opposite, these cold blues
may help, to recall why it was worth breathing
summer is winding down,
so am I, the synchrony no accident, time,
the Pharmacy kitchen calendar
claiming another victim, willing or not,
those cars and the blue eyed models,
are now but blurred wishes and hopes, even these words, spoken,
not finger scribed, for the keyboard a
jumbled jungle of alpha-numerical
of confusion hellish and
my sons don’t come to clean up my pathetic messes, sending
their little children, beloved concubines of my heart
the daytime watcher, spanglish her native lingo,
tho single words she’s pretty good at too, but that don’t help much;
the grands, toddlers to pre-teens, the eldest a womanly eight,
tries but soon frustration bored, slips away quiet like
replacing her with her two year old sister, who knows her alphabet
which ain’t an exactly a help, but her five pencils stored^ nearby,
tagged with her name, awaiting her poems, her one true legacy
try to imagine her as a grandmother, farseeing the day when she
occupied this too too hard to-get-out-of-by-myself “easy” chair,
making rhymes with her next-next generational descendants,
faint remembering the silliness sorcery that I secreted in her brain;
zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo,
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes, gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!
which she acts out with giggles galore,
adding a teacup embellishment,
a creme fraiche pearly teeth smile topping,
the day watcher agrees, verrry verrry funny,
but time to me *** and take a needed morning *****
no poppy! no poppy! no poppy!
no nap, no *** no *****
thinking the call out is for her,
stomping her feet in an alternating rhythm and rhymes
I, happy poppy, ecstatics drooling out,
foreseeing the rhyme is strong in her,
get wheeled away crinkled and crackling,
*zingo, bingo, lingo
tango, ginkgo, jingo
** ** oh no, oh no!
ashes gray hairy poppy is a silly,
when he is not a grumpy,
old man all fall down!*
a new genre me of gibberish summertime love poems
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 5:11 PM UTC
It twas a chunk.
A bootleg papertowel, ziplock baggie, hairband combo
Allowed me to continue
Cutting and subsequently cooking
Perseverance? Check.
Being a bad ***** Check.
Maintaining a sense of humor while I'm gushing blood? Check.
Jamming 90s alternative rock with my nineteen year old brother? Check.
No ******* this time though..
He wouldn't allow such.
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
save breath for later
lungs in a tupperware
container
ziplock baggies full
of sounds
the ones, the words
I'm too tired to make
hang my eyelids
on the clothesline
to dry, leave the weight
behind
pull all my teeth
plant them in the ground
grow some new ones
place them in my mouth
and let them fall out
that's not how to smile
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 2:42 AM UTC
Two Children fell in love
After they colored the squares
And shaped the circles
And fit their hands around the lunchbox
Firm and slipped out the plastic
Ziplock bags
An fought over what was inside
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
Two Children fell in love
After they colored the squares
And shaped the circles
And fit their hands around the lunchbox
Firm and slipped out the plastic
Ziplock bags
And fought over what was inside
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 11:08 PM UTC
Today, I want to sink my chest into yours.
Your heart pumping blood through my veins for a bit, mine doesn't want to anymore.
Let's trade.
I'll put my brain on ice.
Wash this skull cavity with some minty fresh chemical while my wrinkled pink mother board discovers cryogenics.
When I place it back Into my tingly, almost numb now, chemical washed head
I will still feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
Just a spirit, weightless.
Let me live as electricity, like that spark you felt .
Like that spark they all felt.
Place me in the power lines so I can power houselights and televisions.
Let me be usefull for something again.
Don't convert my head though.
Keep that on Ice.
Better still, creamate
everything but my heart.
Let the ashes get caught
in carpets and drain pipes
Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Tucked in a wooden box,
Kept back seat of my mothers car,
So she can hold it once in awhile.
Until she parks her car in a bad part of town
And a homeless man breaks in
Doesn't steal the gps, or her wallet on the front seat,
But snorts me three hours later
Thinking he just hit the jack ***
That's where I want to be.
In the lungs of some car burglar
Where his addiction should have been,
coughing on my ashes.
He won't get my heart though.
Keep that frozen in a white room.
Smelling of copper, by a tray of tools,
Latex gloves and paper masks.
One day, thaw it out
bring life to someone.
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
We all wear clothes,
and lick our lips
against the cold.
As a child things close
with a ziplock zip, and grass
made you a woodland nymph.
A sentiment arises on the first
day of school—and you say: never
let me go or let me go at once—
With a stubborn tug
in the passionate bones
long gone by lunch
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:39 AM UTC
poetry isn't just for white people, Vivian
isn't a girl's name, and I will
wear these white jeans past Labor Day.
we forget that we could
touch the stars if we *******
tried, but instead we are
here, drowning in atmosphere,
choking on our inhibitions.
there are ten pills tucked
in the very back of your desk;
you love them but
they're about to become a
crutch, and you are frightened.
I don't **** with that
new ****
but it's not like you care.
I'm still the same *******
idiot, total trash, I
deleted your number
and I won't send you
snapchats,
I wonder if you
deleted my dickpics.
lost intimacy, windowsill
cacti, a Ziplock full of ******* stuffed
inside your pillowcase;
I went for a run, your
name traipsing about my
prefrontal cortex, smashing
memories, beheading roosters,
screaming incoherently about
subprime mortgages and
credit derivatives.
the government is lying about
9/11 but no one really cares;
the government is arming oppressive regimes in
Missouri but white people don't care;
would that I had such
willful ignorance, the right to
ignore the slaughter on our
front lawns.
my parents started from the
bottom, they survived in
America, decapitated birds on the doorstep.
I do not have their strength and I am
washing Xanax down with Gatorade and
refusing to apologize.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
We watched three DVDs of Elvis
on the Ed Sullivan show,
Just to find you waving in the crowd
for a quarter of a second
It was brief
But to see you so young
And gentle and light
Was worth the hours
Of black & white tv
And jokes that are no longer funny
The first night I met you
You asked me if I was a writer
And I asked how you knew
You said it takes one to know one
I read your poetry for three hours
In Indian style on your living room floor
While you ate crackers from a ziplock bag
And talked about the love of your life
And the way his chest felt
The first time you used it as a pillow
You told me not to cry
When Elijah dumped me
You said pain is everywhere,
I'll miss out on life
If I let it consume me
I turned to leave your room
On a random Sunday last December,
It was cold and wet and dark,
And I was tired,
You grabbed my hand
And stopped me in my tracks
You said "learn to relax"
And then you held me still
Until you saw the anxiety
melt out of my eyes
I asked you why you
Bother to keep the car
Even though you know
You'll never drive it
You asked me why
I bother to love the sick
Even though I know
They're dying
You told me "don't close the blinds,
The world is beautiful"
Last time I came to say goodnight
You kept making plans,
Where you'd go after you left here
Even though "here" was certainly
The last place you'd be
I never understood
Why you kept pretending;
Pretending there was more
I get it now, Peggy
I know
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 11:38 PM UTC
When I was a kid, and all of my friends were kids, and all of us kids lived down the same street that I still live on as a not kid that none of my kid friends still live on as not kids, there was a day in the summer, or the spring....
my not kid brain has a hard time conjuring up my kid thoughts, I just remember walking outside and it was so hot
And we fetched our bikes from the shed and walked them to the blacktop only to find the greatest gift nature could bring us: a thousand tiny caterpillars crawling on the road. We couldn't ride our bikes in the street or we would squish them so we dropped them where we stood and did the only thing we knew we should: ran inside and asked mama for the ziplock bags and collected as many as we could. We thought we were saving them from any cars that might need to go down our dead end road. We didn't know what to do with them so we kept them in the bag and left them in my kid friends parents living room, sealed tight so nothing could get to them.
The next morning we went to check on them and the bag was empty.
Looking back now, I realize we probably deprived them of oxygen, starved them of nutrients and space, and probably separated them from their families.
I feel bad about that, but that's not the point. The reason I am recalling this memory and putting it into words is because I've had an epiphany.
They were robbed a chrysalis, they never flew away as beautiful butterflies.
They slept overnight in a bag with many others, waiting to puddle and flutter before they chewed their way through plastic or they died.
What we did as kids to those caterpillars, it's how I love..
Sometimes I find caterpillars in the pits of people's stomachs and my intrigue is spiked like a child's with wonder, but I always pluck the caterpillars before they get too far..
Maybe I'm a secret sleepwalker and I unconciously let them go.
I sure hope so.
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 1:21 AM UTC
The people to the left of me want to get married, but not to each other. Mawwiage is a funny word. Gopher? Potato. Crawdad. Wobble. Jiggly bits. Harmonica. Put your arm on it, cousin. Guzzle. Doozy. An ornery snool. Troglodyte. Haysoos was a troglodyte, that's one of the most hilarious sentences I can think of. Dudebro and ******* are nice. Dankrupt. Barbie. The urban dictionary gave an example sentence using Barbie: if Barbie is so popular why do you have to buy her friends? Perhaps if I memorize that line and say it, I'll get a half second of laughing, showing I have the value to entertain others for about two seconds. That'd be a nice feeling. I'd feel peach-fuzzy. A woman is standing with a rainbow of candy in a ziplock bag. I can't make this stuff up. Life is so incredibly fascinating. Just kidding. But really, that's some bright stuff on display in her transparent bag.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 4:17 PM UTC
Dear underclassmen,
You will learn so much.
You’ll learn that when seniors tell you the main stairs are only for upperclassman they’re lying, that freshman Friday isn’t a thing, and elevator passes aren’t actually real.
You’ll learn WWII started in 1939 and it was the bloodiest of them all.
You’ll learn that sometimes, things don’t have to be ****** to be painful.
Sometimes sterile wounds heal the slowest.
High school will teach you to love with a vigor you didn't see coming and to hate with a passion you never saw possible, and you’ll find that after feeling them both so deeply, it sometimes becomes impossible to tell the difference between the two.
You’ll learn about drugs- that they don’t always come in little ziplock bags or orange pill bottle.
You’ll learn that often times, they don’t come in powder or pills at all- they come in words on a page or in blue eyes staring at you through wayfarer glasses that are so clouded you find yourself wondering how they can even see the world around them.
You’ll find your drug- everyone does. You’ll know you’re addicted because to you, it's what keeps the earth spinning on its axis; it's what puts the stars in the sky; it's what you see when you hear the word love.
You'll get addicted to something, and you’ll lose it, and you’ll move on.
You’ll learn that things can change in the blink of an eye, which is just as fast as we are to post our emotions in 180 characters or less, just as fast as we are to scrutinize others for who they love, what they wear,
and what they’re addicted to.
Things change as fast as the speed of sound: 186,282 miles per second.
I learned that in chemistry.
I also learned that Fleen Dog wasn't kidding when he said if you lean in too close to a Bunsen burner your hair will catch on fire.
I've learned that if you don’t stay in the inexhaustible realm of school dress code, you’re a delinquent, but if you wear hoodies everyday, you’re a scrub. If you don't, you're a try-hard.
I've learn that for some reason the word try-hard is an insult.
I've learned that stares can be so heavy you can physically feel the weight of their eyes pushing down on your back as they watch your every move, but more importantly I've learned that those stares only matter if you actually let them.
You’ll learn that often times- there is no correct answer and sometimes you just have to choose what you believe is the most right option because it’s better to guess than to do nothing at all.
You'll learn that even in science, not everything is black and white,
that sometimes the best way to learn is by diving in head first, and if you feel your skull crash into the bottom of the pool, know that you will resurface.
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
you are waiting
waiting
waiting
suited up in your spirit of self-loathing,
eating a full helping of anxiety every day for lunch
mucking your ears with the wax of negative self-voice
making it hard to hear the whisper in stillness
as for me, I will live
live
live
even on those days when you can’t come along
I won’t wait for spring and every dream I’ve ever had
to happen before my heart can be light
before I can sing and exude sunshine
and if my warmth can open your tightly
closed bud, I will shine until we bring forth color
this exact moment will never happen again
our closets could be filled with maps
books and autographed vinyls
but if you put a picture in a ziplock bag
remember
the life in that bag already ran out of air
whether waiting for tomorrow or wishing for to-day
the only heart that’s beating strong is right now
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
Ziplock tie,
a piece of skin caught in a jean
fabric stained, sticky sweat
under a cool breeze. A little wind in
between; hanging cause
Shaving necessary for release from
pores
Bumps and scrapes
awkward looking, and ingrown hairs
blades of grass—pasture flesh land
Sprints of watered perfume, and
the only time man has a tender hand
Cleanliness; cleanse of appearance
to look and feel good in the end
_...do play ball in taking care of your *****
Nov 29, 2022
Nov 29, 2022 at 3:24 PM UTC
I’ve sat in throngs of people,
between seas and seas,
knowing there’s a small chance
salt gets called by its name
CaCl2 instead.
I’m constantly aware
I am one compound;
full, contradictory,
Knowing people will find
In the ocean of things
More salt as oceans evaporate,
Lifting to clouds,
Till only enough is left for us to swim in.
A little girl,
collects the beautiful things,
the Seashells people always want
—conversation,
joy,
money—
In ziplock bags,
with water and the
handful who can handle it,
And we,
Undesirable
stay in the sea,
Brushing from horizon
to horizon,
until we’re swept up,
Or drown someone.
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
Today, we have surgery
I sink my chest into yours.
Your blood pumping through my veins for a bit,
I feel heavy.
I want to turn to a whisp.
Like the Night Elves in World of Warcraft.
A floating blue orb of energy
weightless electricity,
Spirit in the power lines, like that spark we felt.
Tealight in a gas stove, left on for 6 months
When I am cremated
My ashes will be Kept in little ziplock baggies,
Filed away in the back seat of my mothers car,
Until she parks in a bad part of town
You break in
Leave the quarters for the tolls
Leave the GPS cupped to the windshield.
Then snort me, in my mothers backseat.
Thinking you just hit the jack ***
That's where I will be.
Charcoal cave painting your nasal cavity
coating the inside of your lungs like a cigarette.
Replacing your addiction.
This surgery
The Aorta of copper perfume,
Scalpels summoning blood,
I, scavenged from the wreckage
my heart inside you,
the rest scrapped in a kiln.
If they botch the surgery
cold Iron will be the last thing you smell.
I, a spark
grounding from your chest.
Heart still beating.
Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
June took root in the same way you learned to scream
but now it's fall and you're trying
to sing.
It slipped away from muddy lids like lifting a veil,
like stepping into a bath,
(toes, sole, calf. toes, sole, calf.)
and crawled unseen behind apartment-light echoes;
crooning sultry half-truths,
weighing down vascular walls.
My heartstrings aren't laundry lines but the conversations
we never finished (last night, last week, last year)
hang from them; pinned to sheets, unbothered.
It's pulling on my sleeves; heavy and damp.
The wind isn't howling but
I don't want to hear about the dream you had
where I was a Priest,
where I was hitchhiking,
where I cut off my hair in a taxi's front seat,
and gave it to you in ziplock bags.
A hazy sky; slow and sweet,
coats my traipsing moods like honey
and sticks to the bottom of your favorite mug
(yes, that one, with the chipped rim and your rival
high school's logo.)
We're still here, springing forward and listening.
It's growing, humming cold verses in a new language
while we watch his name take shape in the mist accidentally.
You don't mention how fiercely I'm blushing and I'm grateful I don't have to laugh it off. Some days laughing feels worse than puking.
We are still here.
We are still.
We are.
I'm looking for something important and I won't know it until I see it.
It's morning, it's warmer and we lift our chins to coastline.
I blow smoke upwind;
today physics is purely speculation.
Today I feel like secrets are extinct and I'm certain the day is so much clearer through my Atlantic eyes than their protesting embrace.
You can keep June, I'll take the sky.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 10:30 PM UTC
you are a child
opening presents at 6:34 PST on a
Sunny Christmas morn in PASADENA, CA
while her parents look on in
feigned interest
razor scooter abandoned amid
crushed scrunched wrapping paper as you
tear apart a box of Legos
for the plasticky viscera contained therein.
you are a teen,
finding marijuana at 15:34 CST under a
bed in BOULDER, CO
while your parents shout at your brother
feigning sympathy
simply to ****** it back
and you are wrenching open ziplock
to swallow a chunk of his stash
and you find yourself
enamored with the aroma.
you are a woman,
fighting for equality at 10:26 EST wielding
picket sign (paint and sharpie on cardboard) and megaphone in
MANHATTAN, NY
while your parents
turn over in their graves,
uncertain what you are
fighting for.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
how soon do we forget
how we felt?
dealing with emotions
that never left
playing with the hand that
we were dealt
in this game
maybe i'm a sinner
and you're a saint
we got to stop pretending
what we ain't
why are we pointing fingers
anyway
when we're the same?
break up
make up
total
waste of
time
can we
please make
up our
minds
and stop
acting
like we're
blind?
if the water dries up
and the moon stops shining
stars fall
and the world goes blind, boy
you know
i'll be saving my love for you
for you
you're the
best mistake i've ever made
but we hold on
hold on
there's no *** of
gold in the rainbows we chase
i guess time's wasting
tick-tocking
lip-locking
how can we keep the feelings fresh?
how do we ziplock it?
wear your heart out on your sleeve
watch out for pickpockets
i guess to go to distance
we might need to pitstop it
i know love can be a beach with no shore
i count to 10
lost my temper
went back to 4
i know sometimes it's hard to realise i'm the one that you need
i had a dream we branched out
started a family tree
i feel like that everything we do is overdue
you ask why i love your dad so much
he's the older you
i wish that you were happy
i guess that's the one thing i should be providing
couples are only human
except you
i'm only lying to you
when i lie you down
just being honest
when you start as friends
it's hard to say you're never going back
if i'm not the one then i'm the best mistake you ever had
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
Today I went to a bookstore
A grief observed by C. S. Lewis.
Into a ziplock bag went this book, and
A quote from C Raymand Beran
--what is a friend?
I will tell you.
I drove the forty minutes along the dull highway
Lamposts like hovering, ghostly figures,
And slipped this package under the windshield wiper of your car.
Why is it that my own words can't express
What I'm feeling, so well as others do?
A-
For the tenth
-a friend
Those were my only words.
Your mother died eight months
Ago tomorrow, and here I
Sit. Selfishly hoping you'll speak
To me again.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
I'm not defined by names or tags,
Or what I carry in ziplock bags,
I am what I try to be,
Not what this world labels me.
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
why do we
wrap things so tightly?
pushing and p u s h i n g out
all the air?
longevity revealed by
creating a void. _?
(the light in the
treehouse is tweaking)
and the cat is drinking.
an all the air is gone.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
need somewhere
for shampoo
on the go?
put stuff in ziplock
cut with hot knife
pods!
unwanted texts?
SMS: SERVICE ERROR 305: MESSAGE DELIVERY FAILED. FURTHER MESSAGES WILL BE CHARGED TO ACCOUNT.
bad day?
google snakes in hats
Aug 2, 2019
Aug 2, 2019 at 3:50 PM UTC
Please hold on to my dreams for me
Put them in a ziplock bag, carry them wherever you go
But don't give them to me
I lose them so easily when they are alive
I only find them once they've died
I'm sorry for my recklessness, but know that I've tried
I want to hold my dreams the closest to my heart
Inside my passions and within my hope
Swirling feelings of bliss hide with them
I want to keep them safe from my doubts and insecurity
But I can't be trusted with such fragile things
In my hands they tangle and fray
Falling victim to procrastination and vanity
Tattered and bruised they lose their shimmer
Like pyrite and nickel they lose their shine
What happened to the glitter and blinding glow?
As my belief and trust in myself fades
All I see in my dreams
Is someone drowning at sea
Oct 22, 2019
Oct 22, 2019 at 6:13 PM UTC