On The Button
A sweet talker went out for a nip
At a bawdry pub where he’d get to sip
From a gal’s belly button
Of which he did cut in
But she sassed and said ‘don’t give me no lip’
May 2, 2023
You say I must be brave
but how ?
Trembling,
with dry throat and lips
Pressing on the button
in the middle of the panel
The door closes automatically
a voice says "16th floor"
Intense fear,
palpitations, heavy breathing
an sensation of suffocation
I should have chosen the stairs
... suffers from Claustrophobia
05.02.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
* The poet does NOT suffer from Claustrophobia
I loved her so much;
I pressed softly
on the button of her heart
and stood patiently
for the gate to the Eden to open wide
but a Hell was inside
The way
You look at me
Every time
You flash
Your mega-watt smile
Or your flirty wink
Is like oxygen
Going into the lungs
It feels like
A powerful love
That could floor me
Like a pugilist's punch
Baby, yes...
It does hit that hard
If my heart
Were my chin
I'd be out...
Cold!
Date written: 07/03/2019
Through a bullet point
A harpoon was sharpened
By boom
In gloom
Switch on the button
You jump
I jump
Into a Russian roulette
You look at me
I look at you
Cross one’s arms
Under arms
Sit together
With the masquerade
This world has come to an end, divide and conquer is the new law, sending those back from once the came, buliding a wall to keep out the shameless mind of a coward. As you ordered troops to fight a meaningless war while troops lay their lifes on the line, you sit in the white house watching the show. Your finger on the button to end the show, but many have lost their lives serving a better president. Racism ceased to exist until you won election. riots, deaths, shooting while your in office. Those who are incapable of working are now suffering so money is saved. Arresting those from job to job because the true coward is the one giving orders. The rich continues to strive off your fame, while the poor wish we never knew your name. The world was fine until we knew your name.
All this while things will be better
That is what we heard from our forefathers
Exactly from our elders
In our turn, the same thing on the button
When will we stop this affliction?
Africa cessation power from the
White to have full control of their country
Everyday Billions of money is going out
We only heard of it
Without know it payback
Our companies die down of token amount
Our schools is shack
Lantern to light
Our roads is down at heel
We own fuel yet we are still
Suffering for it
Poverty rampant the country
Derelict house is unaccountable as well as vagrant
Everyday they are receiving medals for serving their country
With all their might
Yet it is lie upon lie
They are riding exotic cars and living in mansion
They are using the interest of all as their own gain
When will you stop putting your people in dangers?
Very soon you will fall, you that are
Taint to our nation
The sea of true is as high as mountain
No matter how fast your lie can run
7/6/2015
When buying clothes with buttons
Often they include a spare,
So if you find one missing
You’re all set for the repair.
It’s quite a handy custom,
For a button often pops
And usually we’re unaware
Of how and where it drops.
Providing extra buttons
Is both prescient and astute,
Preventing people’s wasting time
In matching-up pursuit.
I wish that other sellers
Would adopt this policy;
I’d never miss an earring
If each pair instead had three!
for Black Eyed Susan's Button Contest
mom says she can’t wait
till’ the election is over.
mom says she’s sick of
hearing them talk.
mom says they’re reading from
the same script, only using different
words.
mom says she’d rather they both
just walk.
mom says that dad is scared of
the man who believes in joseph smith,
having his finger on the button
telling us all that being poor is not his
problem.
mom says dad’s sick of hearing the
president talk of problems instead of
solving em’.
mom says it will get better, that it
won’t always be this insane.
mom says she’ll be dead sooner than
later,
so she doesn’t care
anyway.
s/he was a dreamer
resting in the practical arms of a lover who
stayed safe &
happy within the context of which
s/he had been born into---
no cards switched on the table
no getting up to take a piss during the game &
the hand dealt
was the only hand that mattered,
whilst the big dreams of the other lover
spewing from her/his mouth
filled the room with the kind of thoughts that can put out the
fire---
for what is present is never enough for the dreamer &
when the dreamer starts to swim around in the cocktail of
“love,”
their heads can come really really close to
exploding,
wanting the whole enchilada
(whatever the **** that is),
wanting a hollywood romantic comedy
with a happy ending that would bring sappy tears to the eyes of
a homicidal maniac
waiting in the wings to take office
with a finger on the button &
the middle on the other hand
flipped up at the surrounding world---
so the practical lover counts the days
because the timer has only a few left before it dings &
this is all over,
since you just can’t satisfy the
unsatisfiable.