Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
You held all the putty knives
Twisted-time arrows made of 40 oz dreams
Silken ropes used for belts
Just to hang me where I stand

I saw your popsicle stick ****** rifle
A ****** scout wearing a sandstorm veil
I can hear you whisper in the wind
As you crept into my heart

I hope your pink-haired clown mask fit
Never reveal your true identity
Never let them see your true intention
As you cut out my heart for feasts

Just because you bring flowers
Doesn't mean they can't turn
Into blood-covered razor blades
As you made all your decisions
She spoke in tones of innocence,
The heart makes you defenseless,
Her anodyne smile,
Could stick around awhile,
As we bask in our reticence

She spoke in a soft tongue so foreign,
A place I could not determine origin,
Her words, they killed my pain,
Driven from madness to sane,
Listening to her covert chorus
Here's the word challenge of the day.  This one was a little difficult, but I think it's nice when someone is able to lull us from aggressive posturing, dulling the war we weave in our head.
Vans come and vans go
Through godless streets of violence
Through angry crowds who thirst
For blood

Eat the weak on Easter
And feast upon the poster
Children in the garden of Eden
Or maybe rest upon the rock
In Babylon

Freedom isn't free
As we line up, cattle feed
Imbibing of the hate machine
A big blue F that desiccates
Human experience
And makes it bite-size
To represent the life-size
For our ******* pint-size
Pea-brained attempts
At *******

We all stand alone
Atop the heap of corpses
Left in our wake
And smile for the cameras
In our pajamas
Weak-willed
Like those who came before
I'm back in the psyche ward again.
It's my home away from home,
next to jail and the emergency room.
I sat under the bridge the other night.
It was January, and extremely cold.
I was jonesing for a drink—I knew what I had to do.
I had only been out of jail for a
couple of days for another public intox.
I narrowly avoided going back to the can today.
My nut-job girlfriend said,
"Why don't you get us some wine? " "Sure, " I said.
Shaking and sick, I walked a mile to
my favorite store that I steal ***** from.
I arrived, and had a bad feeling, but I
don't pay much attention to feelings anymore.
In and out is always the plan.
A bottle of chardonnay down the front
of the pants, and one in the coat.
I thought I had it. I was wrong.
A customer saw me and snitched me off.
I went with the manager to his office.
A cop showed up shortly afterwards.
I engaged the store-guy with talk of literature.
It turned out he was an
English major.
I wrote down the title of my book,
and slipped it to him. He put the paper
in his wallet. He told the cop that I was very cooperative.
Instead of taking me to jail,
the cop gave me a citation with a
court date on it, and let me go.
Sometimes, providence smiles on me.
On my way back to the apartment,
I was already planning the next store to hit,
I needed a drink.
The cop, from the store, pulled up along side of me,
and said,
"Your girlfriend called, she said she didn't
want you at her place anymore.
All your stuff is in front of her door."
I felt like I'd been run over by a rhino.
The cop said,
"I'll give you a lift, jump in."
When I arrived, there were two loosely
packed bags of clothes weighing around 100 pounds.
There was no way in hell that I could
have carried all that crap eight miles to Iowa City.
I grabbed a back pack, and stuffed it with a pair
of jeans, two shirts, my writing, and a copy of Don Quixote.
I went outside and waved to the cop, then headed towards town.
I finally made it back to the bridge.
I waited to get the nerve to make
my next move—steal wine.
I did it, and with no cork *****,
I opened it with a broken ink pen.
I'm not complaining, it was the needed elixir
and it went down like nectar of the gods.
I drank it quick, it was three degrees out.
Life had to change.
This was getting real old.
Here's an older one revamped.
I grew up so poor,
Ketchup sandwiches,
And never much more

Papa always said,
"I'm coming home late"
Today, tomorrow, every day;
Since now until
The future,
He still works the long shift,
27 years later

From high school,
It's elementary, dear Watson
I'd kept my grades up,
Until I noticed the girls,
Or more accurate,
When they noticed me

Basketball was all I had,
A tall white boy,
With good hands,
I always timed the rebound,
Just so...
3-point at the buzzer

When no recruiters came,
And the buzzer,
Had long been silent,
I joined...

And man, the Army
What can you say about that?
I walked through hell,
And high waters,
For people who will,
Never appreciate the sacrifice,
Who will never know the truth,
Rolling up conspiracies,
To smoke,
Placid in their stupidity

I was already long,
In the tooth,
And salted in my pepper,
Before I hit the books

College is the hardest,
How do you learn,
What others deem appropriate?
But I love the challenge,
I love the people,
And I love the work

I broke my back,
In faraway deserts,
And raising two girls,
The most beautiful kids
They're the only girls,
That look at me now,
Full of irritation,
At how fast I finish the waffles

But they're the only ones I need,
I won't let them,
Climb the same,
Pile of garbage,
That I climbed

I smile at them,
Every day,
And say,
"Daddies gonna be home tonight"
Every failure will eventually lead to triumph.  This one is for my two beautiful girls.  13 and 8 are magical ages.
What is there
To expect
Of a man
Who's bred with thieves

Villainous
And desperate

Left behind
A cruel legacy
Of bloodstains
And
Empty pockets

I sleep
With one eye
On the door
You used
To walk through

I can't
Rebuild
Another shack
For you
To burn down

Again
Next page