Like Harry Potter, the sorting hat (my mom)
has placed me in a bloody, crimson colored school.
It’s disorienting, as I go about, the logos are wack.
Poor little rich girl
no beachside lovers
this interminable, scorching summer.
I’m swept up by scholastic spirit.
Can you hear it? Cause it’s deafening me,
on this cool, dry, Boston orientation day.
As we finished our morning 8k jog,
the sunrise blossomed, painting hot lava clouds
with hues of yellow, orange and pink.
We’re traipsing unfamiliar paths,
It’s not what we’re used to, the roads are uneven
and the architecture’s all boxy and wrong.
.
.
Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
Better After All by Jonatha Brooke
Now At Last by Feist
Categories:
boxy, daughter, education, humor, morning,
Form: Free verse
Credit Card
Put it on the credit card but pay it off quick
nothing hurts more than high interest that sticks
If you don't need it but buy it anyway
remember to enjoy it cause brother you will pay.
Morning Pepsi
Drinking a Pepsi to start off the day
make it diet and caffeine free feels okay
That white label Pepsi taste pretty good
drink another just because you could.
Gold Coca Cola
Caffeine and sugar free yes it is diet
taste is indeed golden love to buy it
Drink em guilt free without a buzz
sometimes you want mellow suds.
Old Ford Flex
She got an old Ford Flex it is really big
has up to three rows of seats for all her kids
Long and boxy car reminisce of an old wagon
with road respect for its' size like driving a dragon.
Categories:
boxy, poems,
Form: Rhyme
When he was born, for a while,
he was placed in a plastic box;
thereafter as an adult
he moved into many a rented and boxy room.
As he matured, he filled his available space
with the accoutrements
of a hastily gathered together life.
He mostly wanted and pined to be -
a cowboy,
a buckeroo on a far roaming horse
for hunting the far flung.
As he gazed from his boxed in mind
upon the blue yonder
he would sing lonesome songs
knowing only the God
of faraway places would hear him
and not tell.
He knew that if were ever to escape
his own boxed-in existence
he could never
go back then to his four cornered homes,
in the cramped and crowded towns,
for that would surely
hurt his wide-open heart.
Ironically, and not so incidentally,
he had long made a living making
boxes in such places.
Perhaps this alone can be said of him:
That his limited life grew larger
as he filled every box with his hopes,
visions and dreams.
Categories:
boxy, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Xylometry zaffre zacaton swirl on hyaloid "penumbra phylum".
"Magniloquent melodic" apodictic vinculum survey.
"Wandering wispy whooshes" by wisps of weird warbles.
"An augur awash" in dew shrivels grapevine burst.
"Chapter claim crafted" up by chimera once called an alibi.
"Baud beat" of boxy beauty, barren trees with fuzzy bark acoustic.
"Unsustainable vastitude whips" to leave an open sky.
"Myrsine moon marble", magical gem idol aroma.
"Ritzy rag ravisher" mesh shining in a flame with an azure
saw.
"Sumptuous Sirius in somber" spell mixed glory to find my
pattern.
Written: September 14, 2022
Categories:
boxy, analogy, beauty, creation, fantasy,
Form: Verse
Some say that some gains are not worth the risk,
and that their pursuit causes far too much pain.
They say that some things are better left the same.
They say that if it's not broken, don't fix it or make a change.
Sameness is boring and robs us of creativity.
In a quest demanding liquids not to stay,
ROOF-TOPS of buildings were mostly SLANTED.
Rain, sleet, snow, and ice had to fall to the ground.
Moreover, the interiors of facilities are not fond of sameness.
Living Rooms now have a twin sister known as THE GREAT ROOM.
The elevation, more windows, and OPEN CEILINGS let the sunshine in.
FLATNESS is out, recessed ceilings are in, and the changes look terrific.
There was a time when car makers were far more concerned with mobility.
Energy was cheap and combustion engines had no concern about the wind.
Aerodynamics were yet to be utilized in land travel, and the CARS were BOXY.
OVAL corners and slightly CURBED bodies in vehicles became the SHAPE of things to come.
050922PS
Categories:
boxy, change,
Form: Verse
Not long ago after Christmas Eve
A prince was born with heavenly peace
In the city of Bisang-Don so cheerful
With a boxy smile and so playful
The innocent boy with grandma's love
Was very kind, sensitive, peaceful as a dove
Living in a farm with soft mild wind
He was raised by his grandma indeed
Years passed day by day
Grandma left the boy alone to stay
With all sorrow rooted in his heart
Went along with music from the start
With his six ever loving friends
Who love him as own his brothers
Seven together as a colorful rainbow
Cannot be broken with a sharp arrow
When my life is just Blue and Grey
You colored my soul with a purple ray
He taught me how to love myself
And to achieve goals of life
If he is a ship of the purple ocean
Then I will be a little drop of water
If he is a planet in the purple universe
Then I will be a shinny little star
Categories:
boxy, crush, cute love, happy,
Form: Bio
The sweet bird songs heard at the break of dawn
Mixed with the sound of sprinklers on the lawn
Neighbors readied boats for bobs in the bay
Morning papers landed in each driveway
Boxy air units were wedged into sills
A mailman in shorts delivered the bills
I rode my bike downhill to feel the breeze
Getting vitamin D was done with ease
Voluptuous housewives gloved in the garden
Black barbecue grills covered in carbon
Thirsty drooping plants on blazing back decks
Lobster red shoulder blades and sunburnt necks
Lunch was a sandwich and chips in the shade
Washed down with a glass of pink lemonade
Money was made from the grass I would mow
Listened to baseball on my old radio
On towels in backyards lounged sun seekers
Chlorophyll stained the tips of my sneakers
The mower’s blade spun like a propeller
Musty scents wafted up from our cellar
Plump purple mulberries there for the pluck
The beckoning sounds of the ice cream truck
Mom cooked supper and the heat was obscene
Hamburgers, tater tots, and cowboy beans
I ate with gusto like a death row man
Napkins aloft from the rotating fan
Symphony by crickets under the stars
Blinking fireflies and candles in jars
Categories:
boxy, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Rhyme
My ancient Underwood typewriter, dusty, boxy, charmingly obsolete
Missing p, x and m - still, imperfectly complete
Kept for its craftsmanship and for nostalgic retreat
I wrote my novel (unpublished, unshown) at sixteen
Upon this unwieldy, cranky, clunky, behemoth beige machine
No complaints on the convenience of the screen
But millennials will never know what it means
Feeling the tingling rush that vibrates and sings
The music of the keys striking the paper
Lifting your muse, and words, like a skyscraper.
7/10/18
Categories:
boxy, appreciation, dedication, memory, nostalgia,
Form: Rhyme
Windows
Windows and drapes,
Colours and shapes,
The world outside
Has nowhere to hide.
But ceilings and floors
And tightly shut doors
Witness me still
In the shadows that spill.
Sunrise knocks
On windows and clocks,
Time, old fellow,
To bathe in yellow,
But the boxy and grey
Remnants of my day
Keep my eyes shut tight
In perpetual night.
The sound of laughter
And happy ever after,
Through windows natter
Like birdsong chatter
But in silence I lay
With nothing to say
About the smoking gun
To the pitying sun.
Summers and springs
And beautiful things
Through windows and blinds
As the day unwinds,
But autumns and winters
Like thorny splinters
Pin me to bed
Where I lay dead.
© RJVHorton2016
Categories:
boxy, suicide,
Form: Rhyme
she's in the whoosh
feel her span through time
it's all relative
across dimensions
and into space
bigger on the inside
smaller to the seeing eye
walk around her
you'll see
but step inside
and the venture begins
she's an old girl
stuck in the form of boxy blue
past her prime yet still as sturdy
she'll dematerialize at will
speeding through rifts
explore her corridors and discover her anew
enter other realms, pasts and futures
she's been at the beginning and to the end of time
her companions many
yet the one who's steady is a mysterious man
one called Dr
but no one knows Who
except her for they've been together through ages
only to get to say hello toward the end
she's a reliable old girl
who's traveled many worlds
she's seen thing and heard tings
you'll know her by the sound of her whoosh
as she comes and goes.
Categories:
boxy, black african american, dance,
Form: Free verse
The black bird rests in the air
gliding over wasteland parking lot.
His wings flap once, twice
he opens his mouth to cry out
in the cold frigid air.
Glossy dark feathers shimmer
in the white sunlight of winter.
His looming shadow passes swiftly over ground
a contrast to sparkling iridescent snow.
Landing atop a lamp post
haughtily surveying the scene:
His kingdom is littered with remnants of human lunch
and cluttered by boxy cars;
the domain of the raven.
Unblinking eyes stare out into the woods.
His realm safe
he takes wing again, aloft in air.
The regal shape of bird flies off
in crisp sky.
Categories:
boxy, animalsbird, bird,
Form: Free verse