Doors swing and screech
Letting in ones off the street
Whether it be your local lawyer
Teacher, librarian
Bar mate next door from one of the local dive bars
Where you can do your laundry
Eat locally surveyed award winning
The best of the best fried chicken
Drink piss yellow beer
Then stumble in the doors
That swing and screech
Where the air permeates your nostrils of blended coffee beans
With the sun hitting your back
As you type poems or prose
On laptop screens
While listening to conversations
Stricken up by strangers
Meeting in line for coffee
Maybe an online blind date
Spilling out their lives
When they just said nice to meet you
The tones in voices mean something
The sound of judgments is unbarring
Teenagers doing jobs
Wiping down doors and windows
And letting customers wipe their own tables
Local art hanging on walls
Swirled prints and glossy
Photos and paintings
With coffee cups lined decorative
Sitting in as a permanent fixture
Hands pecking on keyboards
Hands going through hair
As a sign of nervousness
Eager to bite tips of fingernails
Losing a train of thought
Of where this write was going..
Facts and Observation/ Ashly Salmon/10/8/09
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Fifty Cents for Soy
I find it to be over rated
You know the fifty cents extra for soy
To put in your chai
It sucks for people like me who are
Lactose Intolerant
It’s like the rest of the world is normal
The they can sip some milk
Grab a jug out of the fridge
Make love to it
So thick and white
It makes my stomach hurt
Just the thought of it makes me gag
I take after my late grandmother
We would always have discussions
In how it grossed us out
Before I ever discovered soymilk
I always had the craving for French toast
But always thought “ man a nice big glass of milk “
Has to go with this sweet breakfast
Now I can drink a carton of soymilk
I can put it down like no tomorrow
Us soy drinkers are screwed in big chains
Mom and pop’s and coffee shops
Fifty cents is over rated
What do the rest get charged?
A whopping
just pay for the total
The later it seems to get here
The more they charge
Means no tip to me..
Fifty cents for Soy/ 10/8/09
You know the fifty cents extra for soy
To put in your chai
It sucks for people like me who are
Lactose Intolerant
It’s like the rest of the world is normal
The they can sip some milk
Grab a jug out of the fridge
Make love to it
So thick and white
It makes my stomach hurt
Just the thought of it makes me gag
I take after my late grandmother
We would always have discussions
In how it grossed us out
Before I ever discovered soymilk
I always had the craving for French toast
But always thought “ man a nice big glass of milk “
Has to go with this sweet breakfast
Now I can drink a carton of soymilk
I can put it down like no tomorrow
Us soy drinkers are screwed in big chains
Mom and pop’s and coffee shops
Fifty cents is over rated
What do the rest get charged?
A whopping
just pay for the total
The later it seems to get here
The more they charge
Means no tip to me..
Fifty cents for Soy/ 10/8/09
Friday, August 13, 2010
Since you have been gone
It has been almost two summers since you have been gone
Two years since I asked the the lady who brings our newspaper into work everyday
if she was going to bring me good news or bad news, she said hopefully good news
I opened up page A5 where they usually place the local obituaries
It has been almost two summers since you have been gone
Two years since I asked the the lady who brings our newspaper into work everyday
if she was going to bring me good news or bad news, she said hopefully good news
I opened up page A5 where they usually place the local obituaries
And the rumors of you , that you had died
were true
I didn't want to believe them
I called both of your cell phone numbers, they wern't disconnected yet
I called my mother crying, I was shaking tears sliding down my face like a waterfall
I was choking, cause I had just had seen you two days prior
I still think about you
Wishing I would have told you so many things
the weekend you stayed with me in my bed
and we just laid there next to each other as friends
you were my first best male friend
We met our sophomore yr of high school
The memories I have are to personal to share with anyone
The most recent one was a month before you passed
We went to a friends twenty third birthday get together at a local dive bar
we drove your truck and I asked about stopping by Wal-mart
to pick up a disposable camera , then I just said forget it
I regret it, In the 8 years we knew each other, we lost contact for
around 5, I have no pictures o f you except for the one in the yr books and the
pic in your obit
I miss you
Two years since I asked the the lady who brings our newspaper into work everyday
if she was going to bring me good news or bad news, she said hopefully good news
I opened up page A5 where they usually place the local obituaries
It has been almost two summers since you have been gone
Two years since I asked the the lady who brings our newspaper into work everyday
if she was going to bring me good news or bad news, she said hopefully good news
I opened up page A5 where they usually place the local obituaries
And the rumors of you , that you had died
were true
I didn't want to believe them
I called both of your cell phone numbers, they wern't disconnected yet
I called my mother crying, I was shaking tears sliding down my face like a waterfall
I was choking, cause I had just had seen you two days prior
I still think about you
Wishing I would have told you so many things
the weekend you stayed with me in my bed
and we just laid there next to each other as friends
you were my first best male friend
We met our sophomore yr of high school
The memories I have are to personal to share with anyone
The most recent one was a month before you passed
We went to a friends twenty third birthday get together at a local dive bar
we drove your truck and I asked about stopping by Wal-mart
to pick up a disposable camera , then I just said forget it
I regret it, In the 8 years we knew each other, we lost contact for
around 5, I have no pictures o f you except for the one in the yr books and the
pic in your obit
I miss you
In Sync
The flirtatious exchange
of sexual gratification has never been fast enough in my eyes
The sexual tension in their own mind projects
like a film roll
blinking eyes to see slides of desires and fantasies and urgency's
moving by so fast creates tension
Craving the smell of sweat
The touch and taste of slime
The bodily force of one
towering over you
thrusting their hips
drilling their hard shaft into you
Cautiously waiting for that one moment
The one that is so powerful
Bing Bang
Fireworks in both of yours heads
Spark, Crackle
with an intermission break
for only to catch breaths
to listen to your bodies
intertwine to make music
reading another's body like tablature
eagerly waiting
for the release of the song
reaching for masculine shoulders
gripping thighs
to make it such more intense
The solo
becomes a duo
in perfect harmony
the larve's both
grow their set of wings
spread wide with excitement
of reaching their point of achieving a O
of sexual gratification has never been fast enough in my eyes
The sexual tension in their own mind projects
like a film roll
blinking eyes to see slides of desires and fantasies and urgency's
moving by so fast creates tension
Craving the smell of sweat
The touch and taste of slime
The bodily force of one
towering over you
thrusting their hips
drilling their hard shaft into you
Cautiously waiting for that one moment
The one that is so powerful
Bing Bang
Fireworks in both of yours heads
Spark, Crackle
with an intermission break
for only to catch breaths
to listen to your bodies
intertwine to make music
reading another's body like tablature
eagerly waiting
for the release of the song
reaching for masculine shoulders
gripping thighs
to make it such more intense
The solo
becomes a duo
in perfect harmony
the larve's both
grow their set of wings
spread wide with excitement
of reaching their point of achieving a O
Mind Fuck
One dark evening I found myself afraid of my concious
all I saw was a glow from the street lights through twenty year old venetian blinds
from four floors down
in a 1909 classic apartment building that was on the historic register
my jaw began to clench with fright
wondering if this heaviness on my neck was real
looking down
to see if anyone was there by my side
I began to feel paralyzed
bound to my bed
afraid to move
it felt as if someone was trying to kill me
As I laid there in terror
my mind began to race as if it was on a speedway
barely breathing
anxiety
heart pumping
as fast as a gasoline pump
arms pointed straight down as if they were in cuffs
feet stretched as if I was in a mental ward facility
I always called this place I lived in
"One Flew over the cuckoo's nest"
Full of the senior citizens and mentally Ill people
and learning disabled.
I was there because of the way the building set
the way it looked
It had many stories behind it
A pub sat on the 5th floor in the 1920's through the 50's
while all the rooms were motel rooms
lined in yellow brick
it was the spot to be
old man Leo would tell me stories
since he was the oldest there and longest living tenant
How what he called a fairy boy
nowadays the term homosexual male
would bring over lots of boys
and how a lady had red lights
in the bathrooms and her living room
closet, so she could grow " marijuana plants"
he said he could smell the smell from 2 floors down
and how people have died in there
and how it was haunted
That is when I began to wonder
if these things that were happening to me
my company
were the entities that had once lived there
or it was just once again
my conscious
fucking with me
all I saw was a glow from the street lights through twenty year old venetian blinds
from four floors down
in a 1909 classic apartment building that was on the historic register
my jaw began to clench with fright
wondering if this heaviness on my neck was real
looking down
to see if anyone was there by my side
I began to feel paralyzed
bound to my bed
afraid to move
it felt as if someone was trying to kill me
As I laid there in terror
my mind began to race as if it was on a speedway
barely breathing
anxiety
heart pumping
as fast as a gasoline pump
arms pointed straight down as if they were in cuffs
feet stretched as if I was in a mental ward facility
I always called this place I lived in
"One Flew over the cuckoo's nest"
Full of the senior citizens and mentally Ill people
and learning disabled.
I was there because of the way the building set
the way it looked
It had many stories behind it
A pub sat on the 5th floor in the 1920's through the 50's
while all the rooms were motel rooms
lined in yellow brick
it was the spot to be
old man Leo would tell me stories
since he was the oldest there and longest living tenant
How what he called a fairy boy
nowadays the term homosexual male
would bring over lots of boys
and how a lady had red lights
in the bathrooms and her living room
closet, so she could grow " marijuana plants"
he said he could smell the smell from 2 floors down
and how people have died in there
and how it was haunted
That is when I began to wonder
if these things that were happening to me
my company
were the entities that had once lived there
or it was just once again
my conscious
fucking with me
Soilders and Media
Camo men get shot up in deserts
pulling triggers towards people who kill their own
brothers , sisters
sons , daughters
the heat is in deserts of their minds
fighting for unknown strangers
their families
drinking dirty water
with stains of dirt on their back
and finger tips
broadcasting all over the nations televisions
camera's in helicopters
when it seems only the camera men survive
reporters talking to fellow men
woman
who are now suffering with ptsd
maybe became an amputee
legs split apart by bullets
leaving stubs for knees
doctors construct prosthetics
hoping to get a right fit
and give them a chance to walk again
Psychiatrist's slop signatures on sticky notes
to deliver pills to cure the auditory hallucinations
or a blurred mirage of their minds eye
Again televised
factory printed
only to get the fabricated bullshit
that we don't really know nor have we seen
unless we have stepped foot and listened to the
desert of their minds
pulling triggers towards people who kill their own
brothers , sisters
sons , daughters
the heat is in deserts of their minds
fighting for unknown strangers
their families
drinking dirty water
with stains of dirt on their back
and finger tips
broadcasting all over the nations televisions
camera's in helicopters
when it seems only the camera men survive
reporters talking to fellow men
woman
who are now suffering with ptsd
maybe became an amputee
legs split apart by bullets
leaving stubs for knees
doctors construct prosthetics
hoping to get a right fit
and give them a chance to walk again
Psychiatrist's slop signatures on sticky notes
to deliver pills to cure the auditory hallucinations
or a blurred mirage of their minds eye
Again televised
factory printed
only to get the fabricated bullshit
that we don't really know nor have we seen
unless we have stepped foot and listened to the
desert of their minds
Thursday, August 12, 2010
The City
The city’s highway is lit up by bright lights and aggressive drivers
All racing on the same speedway
Taking different exits to make their landing
To the heart of downtown Portland, Oregon
Brew pubs line up both sides of the street like hookers
You get to pick one for taste
The dirty dives with neon lights
Patrons drinking Hamm’s in a can
Or the bitter sweet IPA
Filling your taste buds with class
Strangers hitting you up daily for change
Cigarettes, when your visiting for just awhile
Reality is you don’t have much of both
Music blaring through windows into the street
As people walk
Drivers pass by
Popped collar douche bags stamps inside right wrists
While trying to get a fee from photographers and their guest
VIP
Burlesque shows with beautiful women
Men
PDA is public places
Beer with a bite
Shepherd’s pie for dinner
Followed by perverted conversations
Gay friendly bars with naked bald big bellied men
On stands to dance and rub up against other men
Disco lights and bright colors
Old school and new school songs blare through
Warehouse walls
Lifting from turn tables
Drag queen DJ
Dancers dancing
People watching voyeurs
Rubbing asses against crotches
To the beats
Unisex bathrooms
Toilet paper streams on wet counters
Floors
Hoping it doesn’t stick to souls of shoes
No hand soap to wash hands
No reams of paper towels to dry off hands
Flamboyant voices and masculine
Gay bikers with shiny balds
Measuring up straight men as they walk by
Starting with the head all the way down the back side
Muscular black men
In tight white t-shirts
Greet you with a perma-grin
No ID check
Ordering yummy beers
Laughing with friends
Smoking in front
Gazing through finger printed windows
Noticing ones you went to high school with
Him coming out to say hello
Mentioning how we last saw one another
In dark alley ways of small coastal town
Saying I shouldn’t remember that
But I do
Getting shots of duck farts
Giving them to duck fart virgins
Eyes water
Heading into the night
Like Batman in a BMW
To cross borders into other states
Pulling over on freeways
To make out for a bit
Mentioned the fantasy while the night before you
Parked on an empty street with many houses
With few porch light on
Two have sex and butt sex and give blow jobs in back seats
Of a 1950 Pontiac with all original bells and whistles
All racing on the same speedway
Taking different exits to make their landing
To the heart of downtown Portland, Oregon
Brew pubs line up both sides of the street like hookers
You get to pick one for taste
The dirty dives with neon lights
Patrons drinking Hamm’s in a can
Or the bitter sweet IPA
Filling your taste buds with class
Strangers hitting you up daily for change
Cigarettes, when your visiting for just awhile
Reality is you don’t have much of both
Music blaring through windows into the street
As people walk
Drivers pass by
Popped collar douche bags stamps inside right wrists
While trying to get a fee from photographers and their guest
VIP
Burlesque shows with beautiful women
Men
PDA is public places
Beer with a bite
Shepherd’s pie for dinner
Followed by perverted conversations
Gay friendly bars with naked bald big bellied men
On stands to dance and rub up against other men
Disco lights and bright colors
Old school and new school songs blare through
Warehouse walls
Lifting from turn tables
Drag queen DJ
Dancers dancing
People watching voyeurs
Rubbing asses against crotches
To the beats
Unisex bathrooms
Toilet paper streams on wet counters
Floors
Hoping it doesn’t stick to souls of shoes
No hand soap to wash hands
No reams of paper towels to dry off hands
Flamboyant voices and masculine
Gay bikers with shiny balds
Measuring up straight men as they walk by
Starting with the head all the way down the back side
Muscular black men
In tight white t-shirts
Greet you with a perma-grin
No ID check
Ordering yummy beers
Laughing with friends
Smoking in front
Gazing through finger printed windows
Noticing ones you went to high school with
Him coming out to say hello
Mentioning how we last saw one another
In dark alley ways of small coastal town
Saying I shouldn’t remember that
But I do
Getting shots of duck farts
Giving them to duck fart virgins
Eyes water
Heading into the night
Like Batman in a BMW
To cross borders into other states
Pulling over on freeways
To make out for a bit
Mentioned the fantasy while the night before you
Parked on an empty street with many houses
With few porch light on
Two have sex and butt sex and give blow jobs in back seats
Of a 1950 Pontiac with all original bells and whistles
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