But one day when futures are bright
And school children dress in Sunday best
Great Machines will rise above the smoke
Great Buildings will rise above the smog
Great Minds will remain buried deep in humming labs
Scientist and machines
Gears and cogs
Rusting in the fluorescent
Glow
Of progress

Boys will
Girls will
Fight the good fight
Of human being
The Kissing on each other
The Drugging with each other
Afternoons and jumped fences
Just to feel each others secrets


Boys will
Girls will
Be just as wrong
And just as bad
And will grow to say
Good boys and Good Girls Never do those things

Waiting, sitting patiently
For the days end whistle
Then, I'm gone out to my truck
I'm like a human missle

The final hour of the day
My only thought I'm thinking
is getting gone
And getting out
To go and do some drinking


Boys are waiting
Beers on tap
It's Friday night
The weeks a wrap
Amp the music
Chill the beer
Cue the crowd
The weekend's here

Two beers in
And there she was
I didn't know her
I was at a loss
She asked me nice
To have a dance
I thought here I go
Here is my chance

I can't two step
I can't waltz
It's just that I
was never taught
But at that moment
On the floor
Holding her
I wanted more

Boys are waiting
Beers on tap
It's Friday night
The weeks a wrap
Amp the music
Chill the beer
Cue the crowd
The weekend's here

My buddies said
Let's move along
I told them all
"just one more song"
I wasn't leaving
Not tonight
I'd found my girl
And things were right

We talked and danced
And danced and talked
My dancing,
Still was bad
But at the end
When last call came
To end it made me sad

Boys are waiting
Beers on tap
It's Friday night
The weeks a wrap
Amp the music
Chill the beer
Cue the crowd
The weekend's here

Time flew by
Like it's wont to do
When things are going well
We made a date
To meet again
That's a good sign,
I could tell

I'm waiting for the day to end
I'm waiting for that whistle
I'm heading out, this time to dance
I'm still a human missle
The boys have lost me for a while
I even cut my hair
I think I'll see just where this leads
And I'll be dancing my way there.....

By; Cedric McClester

There goes another missle
In the North Korean sky
Which he  dismisses summarily
But he hasn’t told us why
All we hear from him
Is how much he loves the guy
The fact he is being played
Is something that he’ll deny

He talks about the nice letters
That his lover writes
‘Cuz he knows how to bait the hook
And also what excites
A dotard like his lover
Whom he envisions in tights
While he luls him to sleep
On those restless nights

South Korea and Japan
Understandably have concern
Because they know that the doltard
Is the type that will not learn
His hand is on a hot stove
But they'll probably get  burned
Once his lover reveals himself
And the table has finally turned

He hasn’t gone ballistic
As far as the doltard knows
But that’s not necessarily
What our intelligence shows
But he regularly ignores them
So we’ll have to take the blow
Perhaps he could think more clearly
Without ******* up his nose




                      Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2019.  All rights reserved.

Getting serious my friends
The first cruise missile hits
Middle East will explode
The President I have supported
Needs to rethink this
Grow some cojones
Realize he is stuck between
A rock and a hard place
But we shouldn't cherry pick
Which bad guys to go after
Enough blood and treasure spilled
On sticking our noses in where they don't belong
But is GB and GD and VX
Worse than starving your nation
Want to go after bad guys
Go after that crazy ****** in North Korea
Ask yourself if Iraq and Afghanistan
Are better now than before
Plenty of bad guys here in U.S.
Time to stop being the policemen of the world
Listen, CINC
Let us worry about home
Yes, killing children with poisonous gas
Is despicable
But will missle strikes
Change the picture
Syrias as serious can be
Best to let war take its course
Than trying to change history
Another Rubicon
We don't need to cross

Not quite white
Not quite spanish
Hungrier than both
Mad as a hatter
Revolve around the periphery
Of an institutional reality
Never wanted in
Just want to be the loudest
Soldier in my name
Myopic like a cruise missle
I will exist
I will resist
My front door was a portal to guayaquil, ecuador
And every morning
I would travel back to the states
On a yellow school bus
Singing songs
Watching the white kids play
Silent like a penitent altar boy
Realizing all at once
That i was not the same
I am not the same as you
Though my eyes are green
And my skin pale
You know nothing of my heart
Or the battles i've fought

My brother, Sean,
Had a pitcher's arm,
His catcher said
It was his only charm.
He could aim
With radar sight,
Used speed and curves
To get three strikes.

One summer day
I stole his bike,
He spied me,
Eyed me in his sights.
His first pitch,
Like a guided missle
Whistled past my head;
Aimed for my jawbone,
Missed the strike zone,
I headed straight for home.

His second pitch,
A screaming fast ball,
Barely missed my pate,
I felt that I was safe.

His friends made fun
With a Ball two call,
Sean took aim
With his dropball;
He wound up
Then released.
He threw high,
And I cried:
Bring in the Relief.
His pitch lived up to its name,
It dropped,
I felt the batter's pain;
Sean had worked his charm again.
I wasn't talking,
I wasn't walking,
They called me Out
On the neighbour's lawn.

~
**Wesson gives a lessen with a .357
David slings rock
cop holsters a glauk
Lizzy Borden packs an axe
Mac he packs the knife
Billy battles with a club
Tommy's gun is a sub
Kelly's got one too
Bazooka Joe is  gum
Peter Gunn is not
Smokey has the right to "bear" arms
or did we just arm bears
don't let my gun become undone
never stifle my rifle
hear the whistle of my missle
think    next I'll bring the tank
after that what do you bet?  i'll come flying in a Jet

I cough up
your menstrual blood
when I hear his voice.
His fuckn words fall
with a thud.
I don't listen 'cause
I have that choice.
He's a weasel
wheelin' around
to push his ware.
When you want him
he can't be found,
he ain't nowhere.
I cough up
your menstrual blood
and that's no lie.
He ain't a missle
he's a dud,
the farthest thing from dope,
'way too far from fly.
The moral of the story is...
if you can be free from Scott
you can be scott-free.

© 2012

The ear,
The oil, resists
Stubborn word water

She locked her neck target
Like a missle mother

I chimed in
Like a dusty daughter

But she loaned attention
To someone further

Away I go
To ground control

So my flighty feet
Embrace the mold

Of the runways and get-a-ways
For which I've packed

Will busy mother
Want me back?

He has a voice for an empty night.
When no one else is up or interested,
He crushes out the words of his pagan love song
And the blue hasn't answered him yet.

What must it be like?, is the thought
Burrowing its way home to the secret core.
What must it be like to be one inside another?
The veins for the tempest of beats in a man's shape?

Too many thousands of days have rendered him
Lazarus but brave, champion of Hours in the lake:
Without the missle of the mission,
Nothing lasts but the foolish story.

The one. The two. To one again, but always
The desperate search. Heat and the rustle
Of body and body seems like the primary theme.
But the two hasn't echoed back yet.

Then the one hits the mark, as he watches apart
From the crowd that produces the crown.
Someday I, is the thought, will be part of a whole.
And sinks back to the evening streets.

Sweet bass and hello poet
Treble planes that flys on it.

Head phones that hold music,
But open up and let me do it....ha!
That's ******..

Gutter mine Im blowing kisses
Missle toe  my feet tappin..ha!
That's new Jordans

Sanctified my hands are clapping,
Reader prolly like is rapping?
Just join the dance

DANCE
Uncle Sam!!
I am pointing like his hand..
Watch the man
Watch the man
I'm just saying lift your hands
Lift your hands.
Put your song on and join the dance..!!!
Join the dance