A PLAYER
Booked for a film for one day.
I rehearse my line and wait until the
crew is ready for me.
It’s a cold night shoot, but the hot
spotlights flood the set with
achievement and attainment.
I perform. Hot and sweaty. I derig.
I exit, never seeing the crew again.
The rest of the night is waiting for
me ; the night is young and the city
is new.
To celebrate, I go to a night club.
Make out with a man twice my age
and half my talent. I perform again.
I cast aside the desperate man.
I book a twink who takes me to his
place. I derig. I perform again.
Hot and sweaty for the second
time tonight. I exit, never seeing the
twink again.
The joys of being a player….
Shattered dreams—isn’t it strange
That they cannot leave me once and for all
And continue to live within me as a separate entity
As if awaiting their fulfilment.
Their presence is particularly noticeable in the mornings
When I wriggle out from under the duvet
Sit on the edge of the bed
To get up the very next second
But I suddenly sit there in a daze for a while
Inside me, the film is ending
And the credits are already rolling too fast,
So I can’t make out a single word
Who starred in it and who supported
Even though I’ve only just watched this episode.
I still remember how I was rowing a boat
To some unknown destination, but then,
A few minutes ago,
I knew the place and the time exactly
When I was due to arrive somewhere
Where my love was waiting for me with joy
And I was filled with a joyful anticipation
But then everything seemed to fade
As if wrapped in a transparent bag in the rain
Only raindrops were visible on the blurred screen
If I’d ever see anything more poetic.
I peak here, I think to myself,
my stride hastening unconsciously
as my eyes follow the path of the page,
as if I could make out the scripture,
knowing good and well Sunday school
was the only school I wasn’t the top of my class.
I thought it followed me
all the way to the crêpe shop—
come to find out
there are more than one.
The sky rains Bible pages down on me,
no longer do I have to focus to see
John,
Matthew,
hell even Ruth’s here.
The absurdity of the situation
would make you believe I’m embellishing.
i’m not.
It’s just a sign I refuse to acknowledge
And as a poet,
I'm inclined to write.
Sometimes I wonder if I look like her
In low light
Just bright enough to make out features
But not enough to notice it’s me
Maybe it’s the way my eyes gloss over in the evening
Holding the same simplicity
But mine are blue
And hers were green
We shared long, messy blonde hair
That always tangled in the wind
She had such beautiful hair
But I cut mine
And these days people say mine looks more red than blonde
Sometimes I catch my reflection
And see her for half a second
And for that half second
I let myself believe
I’m as beautiful as she was
But the older I get
The more I change in ways
That pull me further from her image
Still, for that brief moment
I can feel her living within me
Things haven't gone my way
I put two years in the mix
But luck wasnt on my side they say
There is now too much to fix
Too many lost expecatations
"Just a disappointment"
Starting over
was not my intent
It hurts
More than anything
Looking at all of them
Succeding
And still pretending
To smile happily at everything
How do I make out
A silver lining in this cloud
It has swallowed me whole
I want to scream
There's nobody to hear
Empty chaos runs inside me
The volcano is ready to erupt
I can't control it
An awaited catastrophy
My face wants to break
Into a thousand pieces
My wrists want to bleed
Save me for the stichtes
I have pulled out all my hairs
My head is swollen
Slammed into a wall
Outside a smiling face
Inside a broken doll
I can't do it
I don't deserve happiness
I am happy with regret.
Back in the day it was exciting to make out under the stars now I blush at the thought of my nakedness
Whenever I sleep beside you
I wish I could touch you
Whenever I touch you, you go off in no time
I thought it would never be a crime
Whenever my heart burns for your enclosure
It brings instead an overexposure.
Whenever you are far my side
Little emmets retried
I wish they are far gone
As they make out my compulsorily learned turns
I wish the atmosphere is cool
My duvet should be a tool
Aren't it good enough a follow up
And sometimes; alarm's scrap of a hyssop
Found in fabrics designed to actively regulate temperature
Mattresses and bedding that feature Outlast pleasure
Perfect for couples as they absorb excess heat
Release it as you cool, store it
Thanks be to thee
What used to be shall stop to be
A great weird help
That would simply put a stop
To unwanted pregnancy
Hesitancy creating exigency
Though for the time being
And maintain common care keen
No more "hold me, I am cold"
It's now "shift, I am hot GOLD"
It isn't about the result
Or be it the outcome
But what you make out
If nothing goes wrong
But you have the poor glee
Saying sorts craze; your tongue
While you don't cherish yourself
Others are out in jealous
But choose to mock and laugh
You let them paint you scum
By giving up to agree
To such mixtures you surpass
Paints through tools; read with logical reasoning
Change conventional beliefs; abandons traditional probability
Coordinate figures in league with attributes; Polished audience inquisitiveness
Challenges the aside; make out the take of possibility
Poets are never ashamed
To own we have been wrong
It is a way to be glad
We are strong
As a poet
Making out fortunes off problem
I become problems alternate
Advanced clown of Adam
As I'm always hoping
To be improving
Agreed it is of fact
I have become wiser in act
This pen will not seize
Not to the quest of phase
The height of my dreams' gees
Making it go ablaze
Treat people well
With what you tell
Save yourself out of hell
Peradventure you fell
Life is strange
It flows off wish
But permanent is change
Cherished may turn devilish
To be rich
Is not all of money
Or being funny
But the treats you bewitch
The least
May turn the most
From the unexpected
Favour most times arises
Congratulations!
People are not always glad
Paint misfortune
Their emotions are awaken
Soaring higher
Things get tougher
Gradually going high
Everyone with you like to identify
Just assume it isn't a falsehood
You may turn a philosopher
Just don't bargain with a bluffer
Take it 'all is good'
Revenge is far off
When embraced
Both make out scoff
Rather get circumstances aced
Ice, what do I imagine.
So far away, I’m floating.
At a distance, I see
the problem, but can’t
make it out. Will my lights
go out; will I freeze?
Blanketed by ice, arctic
circulation - thank the Lord
I have another body
to keep me warm.
Ice falling from frigid sky;
the tempest of crystals.
Will I survive this attack
to the South as the North
L A U G H S!
Stuck in ice, on T O P
of a hill, with curvy driveway.
New car underneath cover.
Here comes the ice, the bite
from a monster storm -
the North laughs with
twinkling eyes. The shelves
are empty in the stores.
But see me, cousin, with
icy brows, frozen fingertips,
no lights, no television.
I’m floating on the sea;
can’t make out what
will become of me. Woe
is me. I’ve eaten chicken
fingers in frozen form.
I’m an animal. Electricity.
This tempest hasn’t even warmed,
but the warning from my dreams
is on fire; glacier imaginations
inside my head - icicles form.
Survival of the fittest Southerner;
a crack of thunder, ice, ice wonder.
Floating, at a distance, cousin.
With children, she do LOFT the lawn SOFT
Please the BOYS and girls of different JOYS
No wonder it's not HARDEN to care her GARDEN
Let us BLEND with good time FRIEND
Her DAY has come; each should have a SAY
Sing a new SONG, I guess it won't be LONG
But now.......
She sits in SHADE, happy and not AFRAID
Of the MOON waving the day bye SOON
Yet gives gbòsà in THREE to all under the TREE
You all make your HI silent supposed SIGH
What if you don't SHOW UP, think of such BACKUP
Sing a new SONG, I guess it won't be LONG
And so.........
She HOOK up, make new friends with her COOK
Definitely STRONG and YOUNG with people
Unimaginable WEAK trying to SEEK for whom
But hers is not of SUCH rather an awesome TOUCH
Created some NEW memories of TRUE label
Sing a new SONG, I guess it won't be LONG
Well............
I wrote these LYRICS but couldn't sing in PHONICS
Though I dey GALLANT for whoever got such TALENT
To help me fine-tune IT and make out a HIT
Out of THIS and his own inclusion at EASE
Saying HAPPY birthday in style so SNAPPY
Sing a new SONG, I guess it won't be LONG
Ah, yes! College ‘road trips’ bring back memories fond
of toga parties, and booting on sorority lawns
Of pimple pus oozing out from one’s cheeks at ‘make-out time’
or asking your date if you can score another nickel or dime…
Ah, but today! Ho-ho-ho. To hoary old traditions we say a loud NO!
We ‘road trip’ to protest-rallies, to NYC, LA and Chicago
Bringing ‘paraphernalia’ we stash in our ‘toolkits’
Masks and kaffiyehs, bullhorns and live ammo
Stirring up trouble is what we do best
Road trip’s not over ~ 'til we’re under arrest
delicate ladybug faerie was lady like and fine
so tiny, you could barely see her wing or outline
she rode around on ladybugs, so this tells you a bit
About how tiny she is, but she has a fine wit
She has to use a megaphone to speak to the other fey
because she is smaller than most of them, her name is Linda Lou Kay
She talks about love, and wants everyone to be friends
When you hear her stories, you hope they will never end
Ladybug faerie is upbeat and positive all the time
With a magnifying glass I can barely make out her outline
She is tiny but sassy; her ideas are wonderfully sharp
In the evening, she becomes a musician and takes out her harp
Alligators break the dark circular water,
later, a guy with a big belly and low belt
will grandstand while throwing half-frozen
chickens at them.
This early I’m still surfacing,
last night my legs got jailed
behind lidless dreams; the back of my neck
tingles now, as old sweat refries itself.
I’m waiting for the ‘man’.
A breeze combs damp hair
while I make-out with a Michelob
inside a soda bottle.
He’ll show-up in sockless Crocs,
baggies bulging
from the pockets of
his camouflage shorts.
I and Frick and Frack over there
fake an interest in the egrets
as the morning sun flickers through
snowy spread out, translucent wings.
The ankle-deep mist rises
revealing clearly
that we are simply here
as another form of park life,
waiting to be fed
one more far-out evening.
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