Ode to the Barricade
i wrote a poem this morning.
about our lives.
it is the...
ode to the barricade
Ode to the Barricade
Looking into the dark, a sea of bobbing approval
Save for the floaters and their forceful removal
Clinging to the metal like it’s our claim to land
Did we mean a thing or were we a one-pen stand?
That’s not even half-true, as we don’t ask for a scribble
Just an exchange of half-assed mindless drivel.
We don’t know what we’re saying; you don’t know what you hear
And we’ll probably chat more with the guy lugging your gear.
Don’t feel too bad, it all blends together for me
I can’t recall last night nor what you did on night three;
That’s why those sticky lists with their black dusty stamps
Hang triumphant on my wall, tattered like a champ.
You played darts for us without hesitation
As pittance to our meager donation.
We fund your lifestyle, we gas your cars-
So why is it that she bought you a drink at the bar?
Again I’m mistaken, for that was the other like you.
You all are the same; slight frame, fags and brew.
We sneak and we scheme, we make plans for the night
Asked if you’re coming, the response is “they might”.
Ribs, hands, shoulders, necks all throb with deep strain
From pumping the air to the closing refrain.
Feet, knees, hips and legs anticipate what will ensue
As we strip off the sweat before initiating phase two.
We wait in the rain, we wait in the cold
We wait in the car until we are told
That we can sneak in, run quick to the door
And head upstairs for the end of the tour.
Our eyes seek you out; our love holds us taut
Resigned to watch you pick at the kabob someone brought
And seeing those girls from the show lick your face
We know that this is not exactly our place.
But we stay and we drink out of sheer determination
And to judge those others on pitiful flirtation-
Where the conventions of wit are conversely related
To the acceptance or denial of perverse limitations.
Not all of you are like this, and I know for a fact-
That one over there calls his wife in the back.
And that one will chat for hours, crouched under the table
Until we hear the call and the end of this fable.
And the end for us, too- the white moon guides us back,
Surviving on grief, guilt and stolen band snacks.
Documenting it all locked in night shot plus
Debating whether or not we should follow the bus.
We should’ve stayed, should’ve gone, it circles for hours
Our tirade of favors granted is the ultimate power.
Fond looking back on this long, drawn out loop,
As we traverse the earth for our selected group.
Where band-aids masquerade in an elaborate charade
To the men who have played a toothsome serenade
And we invade to persuade with jaded crusade of pre-paid
And this, an ode to our fine barricade.
about our lives.
it is the...
ode to the barricade
Ode to the Barricade
Looking into the dark, a sea of bobbing approval
Save for the floaters and their forceful removal
Clinging to the metal like it’s our claim to land
Did we mean a thing or were we a one-pen stand?
That’s not even half-true, as we don’t ask for a scribble
Just an exchange of half-assed mindless drivel.
We don’t know what we’re saying; you don’t know what you hear
And we’ll probably chat more with the guy lugging your gear.
Don’t feel too bad, it all blends together for me
I can’t recall last night nor what you did on night three;
That’s why those sticky lists with their black dusty stamps
Hang triumphant on my wall, tattered like a champ.
You played darts for us without hesitation
As pittance to our meager donation.
We fund your lifestyle, we gas your cars-
So why is it that she bought you a drink at the bar?
Again I’m mistaken, for that was the other like you.
You all are the same; slight frame, fags and brew.
We sneak and we scheme, we make plans for the night
Asked if you’re coming, the response is “they might”.
Ribs, hands, shoulders, necks all throb with deep strain
From pumping the air to the closing refrain.
Feet, knees, hips and legs anticipate what will ensue
As we strip off the sweat before initiating phase two.
We wait in the rain, we wait in the cold
We wait in the car until we are told
That we can sneak in, run quick to the door
And head upstairs for the end of the tour.
Our eyes seek you out; our love holds us taut
Resigned to watch you pick at the kabob someone brought
And seeing those girls from the show lick your face
We know that this is not exactly our place.
But we stay and we drink out of sheer determination
And to judge those others on pitiful flirtation-
Where the conventions of wit are conversely related
To the acceptance or denial of perverse limitations.
Not all of you are like this, and I know for a fact-
That one over there calls his wife in the back.
And that one will chat for hours, crouched under the table
Until we hear the call and the end of this fable.
And the end for us, too- the white moon guides us back,
Surviving on grief, guilt and stolen band snacks.
Documenting it all locked in night shot plus
Debating whether or not we should follow the bus.
We should’ve stayed, should’ve gone, it circles for hours
Our tirade of favors granted is the ultimate power.
Fond looking back on this long, drawn out loop,
As we traverse the earth for our selected group.
Where band-aids masquerade in an elaborate charade
To the men who have played a toothsome serenade
And we invade to persuade with jaded crusade of pre-paid
And this, an ode to our fine barricade.