My socks don’t match
My tattoo ain’t got a catch
My bellybutton ring
Simply ain’t the new thing
My pants are inside out,
My lungs just wanna shout
I’m feeling kind of feisty
Just like mister Imondi
You might think I’m crazy
But I’m just not that lazy
To try to act cool
During spirit week in school
Toe socks and flip flops and pears, OH MY
Make up all the things of my own apple pie
So scrumptious and tasty and yummy, OH MY
They’re not really foods though, sorry tough guy
They’re truly real people, dressed up as fruit
For a day of school spirit, oh, how cute!
If you were to have a bite of that big shiny apple
Cannibalism would inflict the new funeral chapel
Arjun is weird, we all know that
But Eric is weirder, now that’s a fact.
He comes from an island, so far far away
When tigers and bears make bowls out of clay
If I were you
Holding the world right in my hands;
The first thing I’d do
Is thank the stars for all that I have
And do everything that I wanted to.
My pants are inside out,
My lungs just wanna shout
I’m feeling kind of feisty
Just like mister Imondi
You might think I’m crazy
But I’m just not that lazy
To try to act cool
During spirit week in school
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Sisterhood of Traveling Pajamas (Pajama Day Poem)
They have one goal.
One purpose.
To find humans and protect them against the nudity of the moon’s glow.
Occasionally, on days like this, they are able to overcome their fear of daylight.
But usually, they are abandoned when the sun rises and reinstated when the sun sets sail.
Oh, Pajamas. Pajamas.
Wherefore art thou Pajamas?
Hiding amongst the clothes on my floor.
Covering the shiny hardwood floor below thy feet.
They imply that you’re lazy
And tell girls you like it cozy.
They say you’ve gone crazy,
And have a friend named Gabby.
Though I only own one pair,
A giveaway from my friend's Bat Mitzvah,
To find another pair of pants as comfortable would be extremely rare
These things are too comfortable to even share.
Ps.
Hi Yoni. You are a salsa-sensation.
Wearing Pajamas like a diva’s creation.
The invasion of Asians is simply a nation
Who wants to own fascists like a communist Playstation.
One purpose.
To find humans and protect them against the nudity of the moon’s glow.
Occasionally, on days like this, they are able to overcome their fear of daylight.
But usually, they are abandoned when the sun rises and reinstated when the sun sets sail.
Oh, Pajamas. Pajamas.
Wherefore art thou Pajamas?
Hiding amongst the clothes on my floor.
Covering the shiny hardwood floor below thy feet.
They imply that you’re lazy
And tell girls you like it cozy.
They say you’ve gone crazy,
And have a friend named Gabby.
Though I only own one pair,
A giveaway from my friend's Bat Mitzvah,
To find another pair of pants as comfortable would be extremely rare
These things are too comfortable to even share.
Ps.
Hi Yoni. You are a salsa-sensation.
Wearing Pajamas like a diva’s creation.
The invasion of Asians is simply a nation
Who wants to own fascists like a communist Playstation.
Trackies (Sports Day Battle Poem)
they say it’s a sport for them sissies,
them unathletic scrubs,
them wannabe studs.
they mock them running in circles,
jumping over bars,
flying over hurdles
throwing a thirteen pound ball
a distance so close-
yet so incredibly far-
they mock them sprinting a distance
so short, yet so fast.
they mock the wind,
blowing through their hair
in the last 100 meters
of their painful affairs
they question their motives
and begin to get they themselves to question
their own inspiration.
they doubt their dreams,
disregard their hopes and aspirations
and cause they themselves to doubt what they believe in,
the essence of their family
because it’s not just circles they’re running in,
it’s not a lost cause they’ve become too caught up in.
it’s reason to strive-
the wish to succeed.
it’s an experience beyond words,
a desire to feed.
it’s a reminiscence of youth
and a collection of truths.
a test of your spirit-
let ‘em hear it?
them unathletic scrubs,
them wannabe studs.
they mock them running in circles,
jumping over bars,
flying over hurdles
throwing a thirteen pound ball
a distance so close-
yet so incredibly far-
they mock them sprinting a distance
so short, yet so fast.
they mock the wind,
blowing through their hair
in the last 100 meters
of their painful affairs
they question their motives
and begin to get they themselves to question
their own inspiration.
they doubt their dreams,
disregard their hopes and aspirations
and cause they themselves to doubt what they believe in,
the essence of their family
because it’s not just circles they’re running in,
it’s not a lost cause they’ve become too caught up in.
it’s reason to strive-
the wish to succeed.
it’s an experience beyond words,
a desire to feed.
it’s a reminiscence of youth
and a collection of truths.
a test of your spirit-
let ‘em hear it?
A Tossed Salad Of Perspectives (Other Poem)
An idea diverted,
A thought incomplete-
Due to the nature,
Of man’s greatest feat.
The feat of distraction,
A well known contraption-
A plague of the mind,
That creeps up from behind
He travels the world
With a mission so pure,
So simple, and innocent,
Yet dangerous.
He’s inherited the
M i s un der stood.
The illusion of fear,
An image so clear-
A likeness that makes
His essence of life
So dear.
Though she speaks through lyrics
And cries through chords,
Thinking what she meant,
Pondering how she felt-
Contemplating what she meant to me,
Told me her presence had already overturned
my world.
She’s left that footprint, that mark
She’s the irrefutable spark
She brings the sun out
When the day turns dark
She walks into your world
When the world walks out
She’s always there for you
Despite the deadly drought.
A thought incomplete-
Due to the nature,
Of man’s greatest feat.
The feat of distraction,
A well known contraption-
A plague of the mind,
That creeps up from behind
He travels the world
With a mission so pure,
So simple, and innocent,
Yet dangerous.
He’s inherited the
M i s un der stood.
The illusion of fear,
An image so clear-
A likeness that makes
His essence of life
So dear.
Though she speaks through lyrics
And cries through chords,
Thinking what she meant,
Pondering how she felt-
Contemplating what she meant to me,
Told me her presence had already overturned
my world.
She’s left that footprint, that mark
She’s the irrefutable spark
She brings the sun out
When the day turns dark
She walks into your world
When the world walks out
She’s always there for you
Despite the deadly drought.
A Rambling Solution (Other Poem)
No clue how to start,
How to begin?
How to proceed with a rant,
That comes from within.
Perhaps if I stand on my head,
The ideas will come flying down-
From my toes and down my large intestine,
All the way through the alimentary canal.
Maybe some brunch to accompany lunch,
Some French toast or almond?
Dried Mango on the side of some tango?
An added spice of dance on the side,
Might spark a little linguini-tastic light?
Do the meringue, the salsa,
Allow yourself to get lost down the path of least resistance,
Until your legs tire out and your ship hits shore.
Then again, possibly a nap could do it?
Falling asleep on my Chemistry textbook,
Allowing Hess’ Law of Heat Summation,
Quantum numbers and the activated complex-
All to imprint in the dearly moist clay I have set as a brain?
May I suggest ceramics?
Wedging the clay, feeling it squeeze through your hands,
Compact the molecules and allow them to abide by the laws of nature.
Draw out an idea from the pretty pinch pot,
The mere creation of your deft fingers and hands.
Perhaps you could hit up the Lotto store,
Draw a mega million and possibly go for the powerball?
Allow those fools on television to pick up a random ball,
Awarding the victory of chance that faith has,
All upon the whimsical shackles of mankind.
All in all though,
Ideas come from within.
They can’t be found, or looked for.
They can’t be seen, or stolen.
Ideas,
The innovative solution.
How to begin?
How to proceed with a rant,
That comes from within.
Perhaps if I stand on my head,
The ideas will come flying down-
From my toes and down my large intestine,
All the way through the alimentary canal.
Maybe some brunch to accompany lunch,
Some French toast or almond?
Dried Mango on the side of some tango?
An added spice of dance on the side,
Might spark a little linguini-tastic light?
Do the meringue, the salsa,
Allow yourself to get lost down the path of least resistance,
Until your legs tire out and your ship hits shore.
Then again, possibly a nap could do it?
Falling asleep on my Chemistry textbook,
Allowing Hess’ Law of Heat Summation,
Quantum numbers and the activated complex-
All to imprint in the dearly moist clay I have set as a brain?
May I suggest ceramics?
Wedging the clay, feeling it squeeze through your hands,
Compact the molecules and allow them to abide by the laws of nature.
Draw out an idea from the pretty pinch pot,
The mere creation of your deft fingers and hands.
Perhaps you could hit up the Lotto store,
Draw a mega million and possibly go for the powerball?
Allow those fools on television to pick up a random ball,
Awarding the victory of chance that faith has,
All upon the whimsical shackles of mankind.
All in all though,
Ideas come from within.
They can’t be found, or looked for.
They can’t be seen, or stolen.
Ideas,
The innovative solution.
Twisted Romance (Sonnet)
Looking inside the translucent window,
I saw the image of her hopes and dreams.
I saw her head resting on the pillow,
Her world upturned by the hideous screams.
Her faith and desire crushed by the fire,
My vision blocked by self-abiding truth.
My own heart aching with great desire,
For the endless ties of her naive youth.
Aha, sadly, the truth is truly no.
A world of food is where we wish to go,
To live among the fruit that doesn’t grow
On the Earth that only makes Pizza dough
Of which is grown on South Asia’s big toe.
Reality exists in the humbled foe
You know?
I saw the image of her hopes and dreams.
I saw her head resting on the pillow,
Her world upturned by the hideous screams.
Her faith and desire crushed by the fire,
My vision blocked by self-abiding truth.
My own heart aching with great desire,
For the endless ties of her naive youth.
Aha, sadly, the truth is truly no.
A world of food is where we wish to go,
To live among the fruit that doesn’t grow
On the Earth that only makes Pizza dough
Of which is grown on South Asia’s big toe.
Reality exists in the humbled foe
You know?
Aspire (Villanelle)
To be who you are in the world today,
Is in truth, less than the top of a pin’s head.
A mere leaf of a tree; oh how cliché?
Consider marshmallows more valuable,
Than your lethargic presence from your bed-
To be who you are in the world today.
You might as well go trudge and haul dog sleighs-
You’re nothing more than a book unread,
A flea drowning in a large load of hay.
You’re but a speck of sand in the desert,
A star among space’s milky white bed.
To be who you are in the world today.
Nevertheless, if your legacy stays-
If you do a good deed to lead the misled,
To destroy the karma that tends to betray.
Saving one life is in a way portrayed,
As saving the world, a glass sphere on a thread.
To be who you are in the world today,
Has a value no man could ever repay.
Is in truth, less than the top of a pin’s head.
A mere leaf of a tree; oh how cliché?
Consider marshmallows more valuable,
Than your lethargic presence from your bed-
To be who you are in the world today.
You might as well go trudge and haul dog sleighs-
You’re nothing more than a book unread,
A flea drowning in a large load of hay.
You’re but a speck of sand in the desert,
A star among space’s milky white bed.
To be who you are in the world today.
Nevertheless, if your legacy stays-
If you do a good deed to lead the misled,
To destroy the karma that tends to betray.
Saving one life is in a way portrayed,
As saving the world, a glass sphere on a thread.
To be who you are in the world today,
Has a value no man could ever repay.
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