Poems to Distract You

Here's two poems with no name

that I'm presenting instead of blogging.

Look forward to another post this Thursday.

Til then, enjoy.

Here’s the truth

I did love you

False, I lusted after you

Words are hard for me

You know my public school education

Never taught me what television really meant

But I longed for you

Lesbians, L words, libations

I was drunk on you

Like spiked punch

While you kicked and pulled

Until you were free from my gaze

I was like an owl

My eyes full of you

You must have felt invaded

As I tried to land on you

But you let me fall

Allowing me to see the truth

And the floor up close and personal

But just like the old lady who bangs her ceiling at me

I’m over you

My imagination of you

Overshadowed the shallowness you stand ankle deep in

Your personality is Quasimodo’s face

And I know I’m exaggerating

But I have to

You must be demonized if I’m going to find

Someone like who I thought I knew

~~~~

I break your bubblegum machine!

You old fool.

You old abandoner.

I break your bubblegum machine!

You encourager of my childhood.

You man-child.

I break your bubblegum machine!

You comic book reader.

You comic book giver.

You comic book sharer.

You comic book hoarder.

I break your bubblegum machine!

You job loser.

You world shutter-outter.

I break your bubblegum machine!

You poor example setter.

You poor self-nourisher.

I break your bubblegum machine!

You mama’s boy.

You mama mourner.

I break your bubblegum machine!

You brother mourner.

You brother hoarder.

I break your bubblegum machine!

You non-consulter.

You family shutter-outter

I break your bubblegum machine!

You niece and nephew enrager.

You violence inducer.

CRASH!

I broke your bubblegum machine.

Word

How Poetic: Pardon My Ignorance

After going to the Andrea Gibson reading last night,
I was inspired with 3 good ideas for slam poetry.
Since I failed to flush any of them out yet,
here's my first attempt at slam poetry
written about two years ago.
Enjoy.



Pardon my ignorance, however blissful it may be.

I’ve yet to become enlightened in affairs of such air and flare.

It bursts bright at my sights.

Where are my shades?

Ah, my pair of trees,

guard me from these foreign ministers

so sinister in their ways.

They wade in tainted holy water,

attempt to bless me falsely.

Yet cautiously, I bet like a beggar;

I give it no chance.

I’ll live to dance another day,

no way to die,

much rather I’d fry.

But I am no chicken,

no last name like Dickens,

but I spin tales so tall,

they seem as feathers 64 feet high.

Flock to them, dare not block them.

They form not as opposition but as propositions like 8.

All for rights, for all rights, rights for all

to adore me a more.

Love for myself high on a shelf,

unreachable by anyone else.

Fact rather false.

Wrong turn on route 22

and ended up rather untrue.

So blue above the garden of reason.

But please, pardon my ignorance.