Baby blue balloon,
looks like a globe,
topped
with a girly, pink bow.
It’s floating up
with pop music;
with key tines,
our hearts dropped.
The dulcet drum spins;
the lyrics heat up.
A male performer being a Pop Music Star
From start to finish
This is what makes a Popcorn Man distinguished
There’s more
A Male Pop Star can take music to different levels in the lows and high’s
Popcorn quality entertainment
Flavor of attire
Performances that never seem to expire
Music lives on
Tone and rhythm
Talent of its own
Full Blown
Popcorn Man that has arrived and never depart
A true stand alone
Boredom. B O R E D O M!
It encompasses the brain and swallows it up.
Your vision becomes altered,
you imagination takes control
and the world becomes an unmanageable mountain
of wet clay.
Unable to be delt with, the boredom lies heavy over
your body restricting you of any logical function.
T.V. commercials have newly discovered depth,
and Pop music lyrics swim uncontrollably
through your head: "do you want to ride in my Mercedes boys?"
Gravity becomes magnified,
the weight of your own body is pushing you
through the floor, and the thought
that Elvis may still be alive breaths hope
into your lifeless world.
I went to a rave in Belfast, and it was barbie-themed. The girls dressed in all pink and the boys pretended to be feminists (in that typical Ken fashion). It was a whole thing, you know. I went with a German girl who I didn’t quite know, but she invited me because my hair was pink and hers was pink and we figured that made us kin. I painted my face in glitter and put on the only nice perfume I owned. I wore shoes that protected my toes. The DJ played 2012 pop music—Taylor, Miley, Demi—you know, the kind that reminds you of your parent’s divorce but in a way that doesn’t hurt too much. I bought a beer because I was homesick. I danced because I never wanted to go home again. I went to the bathroom, not because I needed to, but because that’s where drunk girls go. (I love your dress, your shirt, your hair, do you have a vape?) I danced the whole time, and they danced too. The whole room danced and I could not see my feet. There was so much pink and it really is my favorite color. My mouth never closed, my head never fell, and the lights flashed pink. Every girl in that room was my best friend: “I love you” “I love you” “I love you” “I love you.”
I always wanted to work with job and bob at my dream job as a cop writing parking tickets near the shop with a badge on top listening to pop music with pods stuck in my ears. Armed with my stop watch I signal motorists to stop and watch the traffic lights.
Canadian Avril Lavigne
Let Go debuted the pop music scene
Frenetic beat, lyrics simple and tight
As exercise jams, suit me just right
They're taking over the music scene
These acapella groups are everywhere
Popular as perhaps
The Beatles or Elvis or Whitney
Are they trying to appeal to girlie crowds
Of course the quartet groups of the fifties
Each era had it's own sensation
Five-man acapella groups
Are now the rage of the two thousands
Long live the pop music scene
Empath
A rookie poet,quote lover,business oriented,college student
Who loves her pet dogs,fond of Korean pop music and addicted to reading manga
Concomitant of someone’s joy is your joy,Art is a dormant talent in all,Love is life
I feel safe in my own space,content with my loving family,thankful to my creator
Terrified of snakes,the unknown and being forgotten by those I cherish
I desire to make my parents proud & happy,explore the world,eat kimchi in Seoul
Resident of a village cushioned between diamond mines,my country’s finest!
Pluviophile
Diamond star that glitters above,
Creates the lengthening shadow of...
Pop music.
Glimpsed in top hat/ clothed in mist,
The phantom turns illusionist...
Pop music.
He peers from modern works of art;
Sings the lyrics that arrest the heart...
Pop music.
A gentleman debonair/ so chic;
Whose timely message is exotique...
Pop music.
Skyscrapers of steel/ glass;
Fresh, sensuous concert in the grass...
Pop music.
Rosebud in the climax of slumber,
Opens to the beat of summer...
Pop music.
Pop music...
POP MUSIC!
Rebellious hearts won fame and infamy,
And knew black nights of burgundy.
Then resisted we the merest tyranny;
For we'd so long longed to be free.
So hip and wild and young--
We touched tongue to tongue.
And to our dreams fiercely clung;
Children of the flowers we frolicked among.
In an age of such degeneration,
Blossomed the youth of my generation;
Who had a penchant for creation,
And caused very much diversification.
We graced museums with pop art,
And sang pop music from the heart.
Memories of scarlet evenings won't depart;
Naked lust never kept lovers apart.
All the world was young when I was!
Seems even the bluebird had a cause.
Our actions gave authoritarians much pause;
We broke the most rigid rules and laws.
Breath to breath, flesh to flesh, toe to toe;
Baby, tell me, where did the years go?
Of smoky rooms, black nights and disco,
And the rosy mornings of love's afterglow?
You Fall ...
the ground of your reality dissolves in this
stream of distraction, this inconvenient passion
the mawkish pop music you mock
is now singing your story, as
your thoughts, your breath, your blood
all consumed by his eyes, his voice, his words
all the moments of his notice of you
painting your gray paper with extrinsic purple
and lavish green, filling your thirsty cup
with intoxicating attention, until time
is measured only by your meetings
You Stall...
hitting the invisible, inimical wall
penalized and ostracized
for presuming the right to ask why
for waking from complicit worship
for retaking your will and your mind
for staining his golden idol
with faith of the atheist
You Call...
for all his proud proclamations
he is a needy, greedy child
your adoration is his sun
your life force he feasts on
disenchantment is your release
from the prison of submission
his hollow heart, his churlish charm
all merely a false alarm-
9/10/18
I earlier saw a pixie,
small and pointy, thin
and cute, but the People
sauntered freely as
they crushed it
with their boot.
I later saw a mushroom,
home to many tiny things,
but the People, hardly seeing,
took the ground when
they had wings.
Just then, I heard bright
laughter, sounds of sparkling
chandeliers, but the People
liked pop music, poorly chosen,
for their ears.
I finally ceased my hearing,
shut my eyes so I fit in,
became one of the People
who crush pixies thick and thin,
those People, treading lightly
as they burrow in their screens,
People who have no idea
what any of this means.
The Paratrooper
I was falling through the air couldn’t see a thing, opened up
my big black umbrella and descended in an orderly fashion.
A scythe of a moon gave enough light so I could see the coastline
and the dark, menacing sea just waiting to fill my lung with water.
By manipulating the umbrella`s ribs, I landed safely on the beach,
folded the collapsible and got away as foam and horrid sea tried to
drag me under. To get home I had to walk through a monocultural
nightmare of pop music, endless Fado, and orange trees the bore
nothing, but yellow fruit no one bothers to pick up as the land
is drowning in sticky juice and no gin. Anyway, supermarkets sold
virtual orangeade. I was walking uphill now, downhill too, but
mostly uphill. From a hilltop, I could see my cottage; noticed the yard
light was still on and hear the desultory din of an aeroplane circling
looking for a lost passenger
This land of black boxes and sharp eyes
where everything is in underground cellar
lives in ardent luxury of persons that are
saints by day and pirates by night
When the sun comes out from her bedroom
saints rise with it clumsy to forge active life
one can see acts of charity escape their fingers
but the heart lies in protest of the wastage
Good tidings squat on their lips in public
notebooks are published to popularize them
songs are chanted with intent to beautification
to elevate the persons for great holy sacrifice
But let the sun go to sleep in its rosy bedroom
saints by day spring into pirates most lethal
as they hold waists of fat women of joy
and dance pop music in their names’ glory
Black boxes, black wine bottles are broken
contents shared and celebrations made
cameramen climb down from planes in haste
to cover sacred event in honor of saints by day
But no one has the courage to speak out
about these saints by day and pirates by night
though the high seas they sail and loot
have scars inscribed on victims’ foreheads
Nothing secret in this world
hatch any plan and share
your co-planner is the public
close all doors, window, ventilators
think and plan alone, mime it
God already knows your plans
and the great adversary watches
from the window in silence
tomorrow it is a pop music
in the streets of life
Nothing in this world, none at all
is confidential, secret
lie not to yourself at no moment
nothing is secret and totally hidden
nothing has immunity of disclosure
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