Poetry Lame-Off

So a friend asked for a poem and I was feeling a bit frisky and wrote something like this instead.

okay okay okay okay
check out my dog, her name is Shannon
watch out for me, I’m like a loose cannon
there’s the cookie jar, you got your damn hand in,
you’re in the 716, not in lame North Hampton

what I say is smooth,
what I say just flows,
hotter than hot
spray me down with the hose,
No one told ya
ya had to listen
i want a ham sandwich
get back in the kitchen

So when you read through this,
hearing all my noise,
truth is lately I’ve heard a lot of the boys,
Beasties, bitch, you know those big fat beats,
f’in damn right i got 1200 count sheets
sleep all day – stay up all night
yeah I’m 5’7, true; who gives a shit about height?

people ask for poems
I’ll give ‘em what they want
smothering facebook
in some boring ass font,
But ask for me by name,
- I give ya fair warning -
after I leave your wall
you’ll weep for days, man,
mourning.

One More Song

And here’s another.
Because I’ve been gone a while,
and it’s been some time,
and by golly you all deserve it.

I write,
and think,
and pretend I’m inching closer to some greater good.
I stay put
and move in quantum leaps forward,
while falling deeper and deeper into a poor habits
all at once.

Can’t Please Everyone.

This is running on the QuickPress,
because I get two requests and suddenly feel needed,
appreciated,
so why not eat that feeling up for a little bit?
Appreciation feels nice.

Please,
Like what I make.
I’m the one
that needs the attention.

Writing

The minute I start to write
I think about the potential audience
and nothing good comes out.

-for Linnea Brett

Delicious Thoughts

Here’s a poem I wrote and submitted for my friend’s lit mag that she publishes once a year for her college. The topic was “Delicious Thoughts.”

Let me write about experiences,
that, what’s the phrase?
“Eb and flow,” I believe, through
my mind, as ambiguous yet
distinctive as my own sentences.

I might not be able to control them,
the thoughts that bounce around, I mean,
but I have a good grasp on what
they are, I’ve run into them over and
over as I grow bored, or tired,
or even, really, the entire day save
a brief moment of relief here or there.

There’s a lot of passion in thoughts.
Here are a few of mine:

What do I think about the Yankees?
-Probably going to win this year.
And my thoughts on my job?
-Looking forward to the next one.
Can I stop thinking about that girl?
-Nope.
Are thoughts frightening?
-When you have no control, yes.

Ask for my two cents on the tastiest of subjects:

Where will you be in five years?
…

-I like what I’m thinking.

HEY GUYS, I’M BACK TO NORMALLLL

I’m pretty sure I’ve pushed
some people away
with twists and turns
I’ve made in my writing style.
Sometimes I try to get too artsy
and it turns into this slosh,
this slosh of grey BLAHHHH
that just kind of sits on the page
and rots.

Anyway, I noticed
more people live in the real world than Dean-land,
and I should try to make sense to those people, too.

Sorry for getting all freaky and out there.
I’ll try to keep my voice down.

Creating My

My poems have no
words, in the pure sense.

Grace,

simplicity,

comprehension.

Oh lord, I would be denied by a high school lit mag.

(my wit saves me.)
(I loathe my wit.)

Singing is So Hard

Singing is so hard
because most people (I am)
are really afraid of what their voices sound like
alone.

I Fell in Love with a Girl Once, Part III

Lovers
linger
and echo out of the world,
and I can never tell
if that’s something I’m happy about.

Proper Wording

Constructing words

into
patterns

that

work

isn’t for me.