bitsy the poet
bitsy the poet
Feb 22, 2016

My mind resembles something like
a rabid VCR—baring its teeth,
foaming, unapologetic, at the mouth,
rewinding and replaying and repeating
all of the small cuts of two people
I swear I used to know and love.
Rerunning a patchwork reel of the scenes
I can stand to remember—
(which is all of them when I’m feeling
particularly masochistic).
Rhythmic static travels from
top to bottom of my mind’s eye—
a familiar flaw, cracking and popping
as the picture struggles to come clear.
I try to stop it—all of it.
Rip plug from outlet—
throw this snarling archaic beast
against some unsuspecting wall.
But it’s made in the good ol’ US of A
and runs on something
a bit more complicated than
any energy they can send me a bill for.
So I'm stuck
in this cyclical hell,
where there is no fresh air,
and the only oxygen I can get
has to be sucked through
a barely functioning dollar store crazy straw.
And, really, my only anger is directed at Dante
for not including this part
in his little ditty about the Inferno.
I swear I’d take
trying and failing
to escape a river of boiling blood
over whatever it is that causes me
to create a dramatic VCR metaphor
any day.

© Bitsy Sanders, February 2016
#hell   #dante   #inferno   #circle   #vcr  
Feb 12, 2016

Injection of love has no limits,
Diminishes bad habits, only traces of a worthy candidate.
We ride the wave of feelings and serenade our ears to the rhythmic beats of our hearts.
How often do the least get rewarded, unseen and unblemished by the horror of life.
This world is paved with gold, pity those treasures are covered by things stale and old.
But not this awakens the soul and traces back the lies we were told.
Capture my runaway train of thought and reign my wishes,
Drowning in my blushes, if words were permanent and memories paintings.
They would create what's never seen...write a story using the strokes of colour displaying my thoughts.
This pie in the sky feeling is blowing up the dust off my feet,
Keep my eyes smiling and inspiring me to always appear neat...spit in the face of defeat,
For after brokenness comes something sweet.
It's me again...leaving behind what was and forgetting there is such a thing as pain.
We keep moving, this love keeps sowing, and unaware of the growth underground, we keep growing.
I love this love. It looks appealing...something out of your dreams which comes alive before your eyes.
It looks great and fun, anticipating excitement and never being out done.
Time...I picture it sitting in a corner with its legs crossed and watching from a distance. It knows when and even know and even beyond the now.
The human heart carries so it can carry hate and love together is hard to imagine.
How does it do it...carry such strong repelling emotions yet still survive...I choose the latter.
There is no darkness in it nor is there despair...
See when you let love take welcome a gentle peck from the heavens.
It warns your soul and melts the concrete that had engulfed the finally you can hear your soul mates knock.
Laughter and long walks, sunsets and crazy talk....
This image might not be for everyone, but love invites everyone.
I love sees no faults, just purity on the eyes of its viewer.
It hurdles you when the world batters you...keeps you sain.
How can I not love love, when it rescued me in my most deepest and brutal pain.

homeboy, we was jess lookin to rip it up
Sam Temple
Sam Temple
Apr 21, 2016

yo, dawg
I remember this one time
we was straight chillin
I fell out and was sleepin hard, dawg
my homeboys was actin the fool
smoking that tea
wildin out
like they was straight mad
party was of the hiz-ook
then this little blond tramp rolled in
takin bout whitey
o’ some shit
I was tore up, dawg
sleepin in a muthafukkin teapot
this ho flappin her gums
bout this and that
like we give two fucks
homeboy, we was jess lookin to rip it up
out of the blue this trick
says ‘cat’
dawg, I jumped up
running across the table
moving furniture
up in this here muthafukka
my homeboys lit out after me
hollerin like big dawgs
one a’ those fools
we like to call the Hatter
went to rubbin a bit o’ jam on my nose
a little on the gums
you how we do
that shit did the trick
and I fell out
hard like a muthafukka
passed. the fuck. out.
hit the bricks and skid my chin
you feel me?
bout that time this little trip rolls in
talking about being late n’ shit
that Hatter straight destroyed his rolex
send homeboy to cryin like sissy
dawg, that shit was the craziest party
we still talk about the madass shit
…..never knew what happened to the blond
chick was a trip ---

poetry month prompt 21
Next to mr. homeboy
Sarah Jean Ashby
Sarah Jean Ashby
Aug 4, 2011

The DOT: Where dreams go to die
And people go to wait in line
Sit in plastic chairs for hours
Next to mr. homeboy
And some chick that never showers

I'd like to finish this poem,
But they just called my number

Peace out, Bitches.

Took my brother to the DOT and got bored. This place will drive you crazy. Hence "Peace out."
he rides back seat, no lube he got his homeboy up in him too, which I am calling it Mu
Andre patterson
Andre patterson
Nov 28, 2016

Got these dudes out here with secret agendas putting up fronts and hating there black brothas,
(I am calling that murder!)
but always at home behind close doors ass up getting all bent over  

Clearly killing people vibes clear as day we know he rides back seat, no lube he got his homeboy up in him too, which I am calling it Murder (Murderer)

DownLow Brothas
Homeboy was sure of his assurance
James Brian Ker
Feb 24, 2013

Home boy thought he was a killer
Kept a necklace round his neck

In a villa near manila
A strange accurance
Small body found dead
Little homey died underneath the currents

Homeboy was sure of his assurance
A good swimmer
His name was probably Laurence

He was just a few feet from shore,
When this Alligator about six feet or four,

His eyes went wide, bug eyed and crazy
This is when it all got a little hazy

Shine on, homeboy.
Ralka Fay Skjerseth

Shine on, homeboy.
You're my fast-paced resonating crust; whirlwind overdrive; distinctively soaring fuzz thrashing against the walls of sound.
High octane stoner rock god up in the skies of a means to an end, yeah I'm the one. Stay
gold, for austerities shall never outpower us. Thy soldiers will rise, lest they have outpowered the flames. And then you will
inhale the smokes of my dope and you
will stare at the vacant road where
all the relentless nights come; wolves out.  
Death match
is pretending that I'm alright and
the world's fine as it is.
Check mate, I have never seen you alive. Always on the
run but never with a reigning
head on the clouds. Things grow
obsolete and I have learned to
be a seizer of all things gold—
today I
am the indestructible master
of war. But homeboy,
what am I without your distorted riffs and
solemnly poignant lamentations. I
am irresistible and indestructible but you
are way more than that. I
would love my favorite dopesmoker
beyond words; standing up on the mountains that envisage
voices of hollow forces. So tell me,
is it that I love(d) the ones I don't deserve or is it that I love(d) the ones who
don't deserve me? Today I
heard about you and the fact that
you're leaving the underworld— the world that has caressed and nurtured us dearly. You said it
was over. You loved me so——
that you would prefer cutting the streams of our days than having the
scythe of death disintegrate
us apart. It would give a
foretaste of lifetime
desolation, you said. If you were
the only one who had to die faster.
Bold as dead, I am.
We both will shine on because I
was brave— and I fought for what I believe in. But, again,
you're way more than that.

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