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Poems that tells some kind of story. Any style or form. I guess I should get the ball rolling with this not very good narrative about going to buy a pizza. How lame a subject is that?
Seven o'clock on a Thursday night And all of us needed food. Friend Turned to friend, then they all turned To me. "Go, get a pizza," one said. "And buy us some beers, too. We Need drinks." I was quickly out the door.
I hopped in my car and took off. My windows down, loud music blasting From my newly installed sound system, And little children shielding their ears From the rockin' guitar sounds as I speed past them doing seventy.
Down the road is a large shopping Center with an old Wal-Mart, a Food Lion, and a freshly painted Pizza Hut that seems to get robbed Daily. Most of the time, cash isn't The thing that is stolen, but those Buffet pizzas. I guess people can't Help themselves. Go to Wal-Mart, Buy a shirt and jeans, maybe a hat, And stroll down to the Pizza Hut and Steal a slice of deep dish pepperoni.
I pulled into the parking lot and Found a perfect spot in the space In front of the set of glass doors. I cut the ignition off. The music Stopped playing and the ringing In my ears began. I stepped out Of my car and breathed in the Evening air. I passed through the doors and into the restaurant.
A nice looking young woman Greeted me from behind the Counter as I walked in. She Gave me a cute smile and asked Me for my order. The world stopped. Timed ceased to exist. What Was happening? I tried to talk, But couldn't. She asked again. I took a deep breath and said Something. I don't remember What it was. It came out garbled.
She nodded her head and stepped Out from behind the counter. She Understood. We left together. We got into my car and I drove away. I Never did get that pizza, but I got Something much better, a sweet Woman who I knew was the one for me.
Aw, Rob. So in love are you. I think it's cute. This one I've got is called "Watch You Try to Love Me" about a girl who obsesses over a celebrity who will never know or care who she is after he signs his autograph for her.
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Watch me surrender myself to you.
Watch your oblivious form in front of me fit squarely into a box on a stand no taller than my knee.
Watch me ever so calmly move you into my room... Watch my heart pound steadily doing so.
Watch the two of us involved with others.
Watch me sit quietly with him. Watch you make love to her... and her...and her... and not me.
Watch my eyes burn green with envy.
Watch my fountain pen dance across a blank page.
Watch it ecstatically scrawl your last name next to my first as I write you a love note I wait for you to read.
Watch me remember when we’ll first meet.
Watch you pull me toward you in one heavenly embrace Watch it end too quickly. Watch you forget my name two minutes after you sign it on your own 8 x 10 glossy.
Watch my sadness replace your empty footsteps.
Watch my heart physically break in two. Watch me say I can no longer take this... the way you make me feel knowing already I cannot have you.
Watch my eyes try not to notice you. Watch me file you away under “f” for forgotten
Watch me paper over your pictures on my walls.
Watch me no longer surrender myself to you. Watch your fifteen minutes elapse to fifteen seconds Watch your failing attempts to stop this clock.
Watch you try desperately in vain, though.
Watch you guest host “Talk Soup” and play golf with people no one has ever heard of. Watch you go from trendsetter to spectator. Watch you think you remember me.
And while I'm on a roll, here's one called "The Customers" about a disillusioned woman involved and still deeply in love with a guy who would rather still be playing the field.
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Water. He knows I love water. Free flowing, shapeless, aqueous Transmission sent Blue, clear - quench my thirst I have been here all night Not gone anywhere And where is he
Ah, yes I see him in the bottom of a martini glass Apple He beckons for another and one for the girl he romances at the bar she smiles - he is so funny she thinks i'll smile another little while just until he gets us out of here.
I stare through the walls thinking they need a newer, more opaque color oh shit that was weird I just got dizzy for a minute Must be a bad pill
He slinks off from the bar two girls on his arm not love but not bad they'll do for now so I assume Think I recognize one oh yeah that's me
lovely lovely sitting by the phone falling asleep with the ringer on head down eyes closed silent sigh
Don't wait up he always says it's utterly and completely pointless just so I know
It's not a problem in no way a habit just sex that's all
at what expense not a habit look at yourself i fail to see it that's why you look harder
You are on a roll. Wow. You're very talented. You really are. Some of the best poems I've ever read, you wrote. I'm not lying. Here's one about how I met my wife.
Recess at the elementary school. I Stood under a basketball hoop, Watching friends play ball, waiting For my chance to jump in and show Them how good I am. Out of the Corner of my eye, I saw a girl Sitting on a bench, by herself. I didn't recognize her. "Who is She?" I thought to myself. "Why Is she there all by herself? She Should be having fun."
The ball hit me in the leg, snapping Me back into reality. "Wake up, man" My friend Michael said to me. I asked Him if he knew that girl. His response Was typical of the friends I had then. "I don't know. I don't care. She's not Bothering us, so to hell with her." Usually, I would shrug my shoulders and forget About it. Hell, I was young, in the Fourth grade and not the nicest kid In the world. Some would say that I was the meanest.
As much as I wanted to forget about This girl I saw who I didn't know, I Simply couldn't. Something, a feeling I cannot describe, was pulling at me. What was happening to me? Who is This person? Why can't I turn my head?
The pull was too overwhelming. I Had to go up to her. I left the court And slowly walked towards the bench. I saw plainly that she was not happy, But looked like she was crying. I Sat down next to her. She paid me No attention. "I'm Rob. Are you okay?" I asked her. She composed herself Like a pro. "I'm all right," she responded.
I sat there for a minute or two And nothing else was said. Job Done I thought. Now, I can leave And play some ball. I got up from The bench to walk away, but she Grabbed my arm. "Please, don't Leave," she said with her trademark Soft, angelic voice. I sat back down And we began to talk. We talked till It was time to go back to class.
After school, I waited for her. This More than anything, I cannot explain. When she walked out of her class, She saw me and smiled. I walked Her home. Coincidently, she lived Very close to my house. We talked Some more and got to know each other a little. Quickly, we became The best of friends, life long friends.
As the years go by, there we are. Friends came and friends left, but We were always with each other. We endured hardships together And the loss of loved ones. She Changed me. Once I was the Mean kid who didn't care. Now, I'm the one people go to for Support and kind words. I Became the friend people could Count on when they needed Anything. I learned to care.
The one constant is our Relationship, ever strong And ever loving. Our meeting was not by Chance. I don't believe In chance. It was fate.
Hey, thanks for the compliments. I agree you are one of the nicest guys I've had the pleasure of meeting. Wow, that one was really like a short story. I wonder if I could condense a short story I wrote into a poem? Well, I like this topic, so here goes:
"I Lost You Somewhere"
You’re not so great...
You wake up five minutes before you fall back asleep which is when I loathe you the most: drowned in the light of a flashing TV screen, hidden in darkness. You always feel sick.
You’re a pathetic remnant of your former self. You think no one remembers, but I remember. You were beautiful once. I remember. You had these beautiful bright smiling eyes. Eyes full of life. Intriguing eyes, equally both of mischief and wonder; eyes that caused me many a meltdown.
Oh, I wish you could know.
I used to hear my breath catch, right before my heart took over and started beating its way through my chest. And back then you used to shave, because I hated your beard
and especially how messy it would get after a few days... I would say it didn’t look good. And even you would look at yourself and smile ruefully, agreeing. You hated how the blade scraped away your skin, because there were cuts you would sometimes get (in all your haste to get it over with), but you would do it for me.
Or you would let me do it for you. I was gentle. I never cut you. Do you remember?
All for smooth skin, which you know I loved the feel of. When you rinsed away the cream and toweled off, my lips would begin at your neck, slowly grazing your cheeks and ears, stopping only when my mouth crushed yours and our tongues intertwined for what seemed like an eternity at that particular moment.
Every occasion would have the same effect on me. Pure soft and smooth skin. Smooth like your beautiful hairless chest. You told me when you were younger you wanted hair to grow there, so you could say you were finally a man like some of your friends, but it never did.
And maybe at the time this bothered you, but I was smiling when you told me. I was glad. I don’t like you with hair. Unless it’s on your head but right about now you could use a haircut. I’d love to see you in more than just a dirty t-shirt and crusty old underwear.
Damn. What’s the same? I’m looking hard at you. I’m still trying to figure that one out. Why is it you never move? I know you say you don’t have the energy, but then you never have the energy.
Come on, I say rather listlessly. Let’s leave this place. It rains too much here. And you look at me. You don’t say anything though. Not even a “Go on ahead” or “I’ll catch up with you”.
It’s useless, really. And I’m tired. So I guess you can catch up.
I’m closing the door... I’m going out and I don’t expect you to stop me.
Outside I stare up into the sky: gray and heavy with seemingly endless buckets of water. I can’t look up without flinching. It looks as though I’m crying. But I’m not. I don’t cry.
It just kind of feels like someone shaved a bald spot in the back of my head. There’s not very much I can do about it.
Maybe put a hat on my head. Hope it will go away really soon.
Shel Silverstein was the best at these. Especially his raunchier adult poems...Check out the devil and Billy Markem. An entire rhyming one act play. AWESOME!
The Devil walked into Linebaugh's on a rainy Nashville night While the lost souls sat and sipped their soup in the sickly yellow neon light. And the Devil, he looked around the room, then got down on his knees. He says, "Is there one among you scum who'll roll the dice with me?" Red, he just strums his guitar, pretending not to hear. And Eddie, he just looks away and takes another sip of beer. Vince, he says, "Not me, I'll pass, I've had my share of Hell," And kept scribbling on a napkin, some song he was sure would sell. Ronnie just kept whisperin' low to the snuff queen who clutched at his sleeve, And somebody coughed -- and the Devil scoffed -- and turned on his heel to leave. "Hold on," says a voice from the back of the room. "'fore you walk out that door. If you're lookin' for some action, friend, well, I've rolled some dice before."
And there stood Billy Markham, he'd been on the scene for years, Singin' all them raunchy songs that the town didn't want to hear. He'd been cut and bled a thousand times, and his eyes were wise and sad, And all his songs were the songs of the street, and all his luck was bad. "I know you," says Billy Markham, "from many a dark and funky place, But you always spoke in a different voice and wore a different face. While me, I've gambled here on Music Row with hustlers and with whores, And, Hell, I ain't afraid to roll them devilish dice of yours."
"Well, then, get down," says the Devil, "just as if you was gonna pray, And take these dice in your luckless hand and I'll tell you how this game is played. You get one roll -- and you bet your soul -- and if you roll thirteen you win, And all the joys of flesh and gold are yours to touch and spend. But if that thirteen don't come up, then kiss your ass goodbye And will your useless bones to God, 'cause your goddamn soul is mine!"
"Thirteen?" says Billy Markham. "Hell, I've played in tougher games. I've loved ambitious women and I've rode on wheelless trains. So gimme room, you stinkin' fiend, and let it all unwind. Nobody's ever rolled a thirteen yet, but this just might be the time."
Then Billy Markham, he takes the dice, and the dice feel as heavy as stones. "They should, they should," the Devil says, "'cause they're carved from Jesus' bones." And Billy Markham turns the dice and the dice, they have no spots. "I'm sorry," says the Devil, "but they're the only dice I got."
"Well, shit," says Billy Markham. "Now, I really don't mean to bitch, But I never thought I'd stake my roll in a sucker's game like this."
"Well, then, walk off," says the Devil. "Nobody's tied you down."
"Walk off where?" says Billy Markham. "It's the only game in town. But I just wanna say 'fore I make my play, that if I should chance to lose, I will this guitar to some would-be star who'll play some honest blues, Who ain't afraid to sing the words like damn or shit or fuck And who ain't afraid to put his ass on the stage where he makes his bucks. But if he plays this guitar safe, and sings some sugary lies, I'll haunt him till we meet in Hell -- now, gimme them fuckin' dice."
And Billy Markham shakes the dice and yells, "Come on, thirteen!" And the dice, they roll -- and they come up blank. "You lose!" the Devil screams.
"But I really must say 'fore we go our way that I really do like your style. Of all the fools I've played and beat, you're the first one who lost with a smile."
"Well, I'll tell you somethin'," Billy Markham says. "Those odds weren't too damn bad. In fourteen years on Music Row, that's the best damn chance I've had."
Then, arm in arm, Billy Markham and the Devil walk out through Linebaugh's door, Leavin' Billy's old beat-up guitar there on the floor. And if you go into Linebaugh's now, you can see it there today Hangin' from a nail on the wall of peelin' gray Billy Markham's old guitar . . . That nobody dares to play.
This one's a little risque, but can't say I didn't warn you. No title. Also, I liked Marla's reprint of the poem above. that's cool....
[i'm sorry, but this one is forever deleted - posted only here with no copies saved, a shame because i did like it the couple of times i read it over - i just had second thoughts about posting it and whenever that happens, i know it was a bad idea on my part.
I got a couple. I'll go from one extreme to the other here, I'm a little twisted like that.
SANATARIUM
Time is absorbed through the shadows of another night's sleepless sleep. As her demons calculate news ways of torture, lying on her bed of thorns, she weeps.
Her mind is twisted and shackled, souls of the damned laugh in her face. Their voices call out to taunt her, "There's no God or Holy place".
The first light of day is dawning. Darkened eyes stare down the sanaitarium wall. Days, months, years have passed, no mortal pays her a call.
Alas, a woman dancing in a field of dasies. Arms bound to her belly, she begins to sway, then the Devil, himself, swallows her whole, and belches out his words of distaste, "There's no God or Holy place!"
FAIRYLAND JUBILEE for my grandchildren
Sprinklings from twinkling stars awaken her. Under moonlight, glistening unicorns at play. The little one stretches her wings. Nighttime is the beginning of her day.
The magical night is calling her, for what fun, without her could there be? Tonight fireflies light the way to the Fairyland Jubilee.
From pillows of clover she springs, like a dainty doll on display, joining other fairies - fluttering wings, spreading happy dust before light of day.
Toads on toadstools commence to leaping. A rainbow tickles a tune across the brook. The wind nudges the willow, still sleeping. Hungry picnic ants, anxiously begin to cook.
Dancing, then gracefully floating, fluttering, then whimsically soaring until night's beam graciously greets morning's ray; creating a happy time in a most wonderful place.
Award winning screenwriter Available screenplays TINA DARLING - 114 page Comedy ONLY OSCAR KNOWS - 99 page Horror A SONG IN MY HEART - 94 page Drama HALLOWEEN GAMES - 105 page Drama
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