Submissions by m_abbott1999 (Madi)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
It all goes in cycles; I just hitch a ride from phase to phase.
SELF POEM
Published
23rd Jan 2015 2:43am
23rd Jan 2015 2:43am
Chompers
Numbers don't stop life
From acting like a dog
With it's tail cut off,
Bleeding all over my
Cashmere sweater,
Humping my leg.
Cleopatra came over
And gave me some sex tips,
But those Roman numerals
Keep getting in the
God damned way.
Test 'em on slaves.
¡Qué te den port culo!
Know what I'm saying, ese?
You be acting way over your age.
Head over heals with a pole
Cast in the Great Bay.
Too bitter for fish to bite anyway.
From acting like a dog
With it's tail cut off,
Bleeding all over my
Cashmere sweater,
Humping my leg.
Cleopatra came over
And gave me some sex tips,
But those Roman numerals
Keep getting in the
God damned way.
Test 'em on slaves.
¡Qué te den port culo!
Know what I'm saying, ese?
You be acting way over your age.
Head over heals with a pole
Cast in the Great Bay.
Too bitter for fish to bite anyway.
637 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Jan 2015 10:34pm
21st Jan 2015 10:34pm
Bloqueador
It's the gentle pain
Of dancing in the mirror,
Performing for yourself,
Alone in your house,
Because you forgot
To fill out invitations.
Humiliating initiation to
Children Who Had A Dream,
Because you only matter
When you're pretty
Or dead.
This time God didn't bless.
Must've forgotten about the people
That can't afford church clothes.
He didn't give me the
Blessing of long arms
To cradle everything that needs cradling.
In the here and now.
It's not the death part that saddens me,
No worse tourment than...
Of dancing in the mirror,
Performing for yourself,
Alone in your house,
Because you forgot
To fill out invitations.
Humiliating initiation to
Children Who Had A Dream,
Because you only matter
When you're pretty
Or dead.
This time God didn't bless.
Must've forgotten about the people
That can't afford church clothes.
He didn't give me the
Blessing of long arms
To cradle everything that needs cradling.
In the here and now.
It's not the death part that saddens me,
No worse tourment than...
732 reads
5 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
21st Jan 2015 6:15pm
21st Jan 2015 6:15pm
Original
My letters look like yours,
And our phonetics match up.
Like yellow ducks in a tub,
We are bound to share a bump,
Tangle our masts,
And squabble til I've won.
Buy a book off amazon
And the wrong people get paid.
I'm a poet and I know it,
But this shit won't get me made.
I write because I'm a little insane.
More of a time killer than
How I spend my time.
Spend my money.
Mediocrity is where I dwindle,
People don't steal shit from the
Middle of nowhere.
How do you know I didn't steal
Sergei Parkhomenko's diary...
And our phonetics match up.
Like yellow ducks in a tub,
We are bound to share a bump,
Tangle our masts,
And squabble til I've won.
Buy a book off amazon
And the wrong people get paid.
I'm a poet and I know it,
But this shit won't get me made.
I write because I'm a little insane.
More of a time killer than
How I spend my time.
Spend my money.
Mediocrity is where I dwindle,
People don't steal shit from the
Middle of nowhere.
How do you know I didn't steal
Sergei Parkhomenko's diary...
783 reads
5 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
11th Dec 2014 10:59pm
11th Dec 2014 10:59pm
Not So Brillo
Ammunition,
Ornate glass,
Shot gun shells.
Just smoke.
Mouth to mouth.
Resuscitation.
Smoothe lips,
Butane,
Medicated Blistex.
Just resin.
Cashed my check.
Bankruptcy.
Wool sweater,
Blue steel,
Wash machines.
Just foil.
Tongue in cheek.
Pharmacy.
Narcan Man saved Grace,
Shot her on the sofa.
First responders rollin' out
Stretcher lady in a coma.
Ornate glass,
Shot gun shells.
Just smoke.
Mouth to mouth.
Resuscitation.
Smoothe lips,
Butane,
Medicated Blistex.
Just resin.
Cashed my check.
Bankruptcy.
Wool sweater,
Blue steel,
Wash machines.
Just foil.
Tongue in cheek.
Pharmacy.
Narcan Man saved Grace,
Shot her on the sofa.
First responders rollin' out
Stretcher lady in a coma.
812 reads
4 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
18th Nov 2014 1:40am
18th Nov 2014 1:40am
Boulder Wagon
Sunset at a halo past three;
Race against daylight
To winterize the yard.
Leaf blowing against the wind
And raking on the tar.
Gain and gasoline
All on my sweatshirt.
Smells like home, sweet home.
Thirty five degrees too cold.
Thirty five degrees.
Overdose epidemic
Hittin' the hard-hitters hard.
No equilibrium on the
Supply and demand.
Can't even mourn the dead.
I have to count on
My fingers,
My toes,
And a handful and a half.
But even then,
Tremors take over sometimes.
Trying to hold the...
Race against daylight
To winterize the yard.
Leaf blowing against the wind
And raking on the tar.
Gain and gasoline
All on my sweatshirt.
Smells like home, sweet home.
Thirty five degrees too cold.
Thirty five degrees.
Overdose epidemic
Hittin' the hard-hitters hard.
No equilibrium on the
Supply and demand.
Can't even mourn the dead.
I have to count on
My fingers,
My toes,
And a handful and a half.
But even then,
Tremors take over sometimes.
Trying to hold the...
761 reads
2 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
2nd Nov 2014 8:24pm
2nd Nov 2014 8:24pm
A Thousand and Thirty Three Days
Today's the day.
First snowfall
And crying when
The bathwater runs cold.
Wondering when I won't be
Stuck between the rock and hard place.
Lying, cheating, conniving, thieving
Maternal instinct.
Munchausen by Proxy
Because someone's been
Downing Klonopin and Vyvanse
That doesn't belong to them.
"Don't know where it went,
Just know that I'm at the doctors again."
And I know I'm stuck here for the baby.
Can't bring myself to leave
When someone still has a chance.
Techniques are batting, next, and on deck.
Please,...
First snowfall
And crying when
The bathwater runs cold.
Wondering when I won't be
Stuck between the rock and hard place.
Lying, cheating, conniving, thieving
Maternal instinct.
Munchausen by Proxy
Because someone's been
Downing Klonopin and Vyvanse
That doesn't belong to them.
"Don't know where it went,
Just know that I'm at the doctors again."
And I know I'm stuck here for the baby.
Can't bring myself to leave
When someone still has a chance.
Techniques are batting, next, and on deck.
Please,...
689 reads
3 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
26th Oct 2014 1:53am
26th Oct 2014 1:53am
Eye Jive
The stable doesn't hold the horses,
The rock isn't big enough to share.
Hunny, I'm falling slowly,
And sticks are catching onto my hair.
My nylons aren't in my drawer,
And my lighter collection is gone.
My stack is short a few Bens,
But no one thinks I've been counting.
Baby, you're cold and turned out.
Inside is where you'll never be.
Humor me and jive a minute,
Do you mind if I borrow your shoulder
While it's tilted?
At slight and ten percent,
Cumberland farms has cheap gas.
Gonna take me out, Hunny?
My lips...
The rock isn't big enough to share.
Hunny, I'm falling slowly,
And sticks are catching onto my hair.
My nylons aren't in my drawer,
And my lighter collection is gone.
My stack is short a few Bens,
But no one thinks I've been counting.
Baby, you're cold and turned out.
Inside is where you'll never be.
Humor me and jive a minute,
Do you mind if I borrow your shoulder
While it's tilted?
At slight and ten percent,
Cumberland farms has cheap gas.
Gonna take me out, Hunny?
My lips...
729 reads
3 Comments
SPIRITUAL POEM
Published
23rd Oct 2014 1:21am
23rd Oct 2014 1:21am
Are You Sticking to The Script?
1189 reads
7 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
15th Sep 2014 9:01pm
15th Sep 2014 9:01pm
Interstellar
I'm mad all over
With a sixth sense
Of gamma rays.
White dwarfs,
And black dwarf theory.
It's all racist.
Ran home from the game
Cause he's always saying
'Bad things can happen'
They do; shit happens.
Now leave me alone.
Got a switch blade lighter,
It's a nifty little thing.
I keep it in my make-up bag.
A spade and a compass
And two more lighters.
I'm rehearsing corny pick-up lines
So that I can prepare
Witty comebacks
And avoid giving them the callback.
Fathead is getting...
With a sixth sense
Of gamma rays.
White dwarfs,
And black dwarf theory.
It's all racist.
Ran home from the game
Cause he's always saying
'Bad things can happen'
They do; shit happens.
Now leave me alone.
Got a switch blade lighter,
It's a nifty little thing.
I keep it in my make-up bag.
A spade and a compass
And two more lighters.
I'm rehearsing corny pick-up lines
So that I can prepare
Witty comebacks
And avoid giving them the callback.
Fathead is getting...
1178 reads
8 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
15th Jul 2014 5:11am
15th Jul 2014 5:11am
Nimbus
Pleasure takes form
Of raindrops
With a quaint disposition
That fall onto my hair,
And soak into my head.
I could feel his breath
In the whispers
Of the recordings he sent,
Caressing the curves
Of my mind.
I like to run
My calloused fingertips
Over my fantasies.
It gives them texture,
But keeps them in reach.
Clouds roll out
And take with them
My raindrop fancy.
Until the next storm,
When I'm caressed again.
Of raindrops
With a quaint disposition
That fall onto my hair,
And soak into my head.
I could feel his breath
In the whispers
Of the recordings he sent,
Caressing the curves
Of my mind.
I like to run
My calloused fingertips
Over my fantasies.
It gives them texture,
But keeps them in reach.
Clouds roll out
And take with them
My raindrop fancy.
Until the next storm,
When I'm caressed again.
1104 reads
13 Comments
DRUGS POEM
Published
9th Jul 2014 4:49am
9th Jul 2014 4:49am
The Green Fairy Has My Eight Ball
He told me I smelled so nice
And asked what scent I was wearing,
I call it humid nights and exhaust fumes.
It's a certain kind of burn.
He poured me a drink,
It looked like toxic waste.
I'll remember it as The Green Fairy.
It's a certain kind of burn.
He dropped some of his eight ball in
And said "don't worry about a kickback,"
And sat down next to me.
It's a certain kind of burn.
We got to comprehending as much as we could,
But there isn't intellect in shattered glass.
And asked what scent I was wearing,
I call it humid nights and exhaust fumes.
It's a certain kind of burn.
He poured me a drink,
It looked like toxic waste.
I'll remember it as The Green Fairy.
It's a certain kind of burn.
He dropped some of his eight ball in
And said "don't worry about a kickback,"
And sat down next to me.
It's a certain kind of burn.
We got to comprehending as much as we could,
But there isn't intellect in shattered glass.
847 reads
9 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by m_abbott1999 (Madi)
