Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Mar 2013 · 540
inkslinger
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I'm an old western gunslinger
but in my old big irons
slung low down on my hips
I don't load metal slugs,
I load slugs of apathy
ink, irony, and bitterness
and I always keep one bullet
tucked away for myself
but as for the rest of them?
well, it's people season
and I'm one hell of a shot
Mar 2013 · 415
ignorance is bliss
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
a light breeze on bare chest,
while the sun bakes the sweat on your back
a deep breath of ocean air,
while the energy of a city runs through your veins
a moment of bliss,
while the world crumbles all around you
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
there is a man
sitting in front of me
drinking some fruity coffee drink or another
with three cellphones
laid out before him
a different color case for each one
pink, yellow, blue
and ever minute or so
one starts to ring
an obnoxious ringtone
but aren't they all?
and he has to figure out which one is ringing
he then talks on the phone
for a few blunt sentences
in a language
which sounds middle-eastern
and I'm thinking
this guy must be
one hundred percent
out of his ******* mind
nuts
because I've always had trouble
keeping up with one cellphone
let alone three of the ******* things
Mar 2013 · 455
things
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
if you look too closely at something
for too much time
the lines and details begin
to bend and blur
into inconstant fragility
and if you avoid looking at something
it becomes so large,
so all encompassing
that it takes over your life
people need to learn to walk the edge
of observation,
reflection,
introspection,
to see things for what they really are
we are always too caught up
or too naive
we never just see things
as just things
Mar 2013 · 863
On Broad and Bowe
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Endless cars rush by the window
in flashes of silver, black, and white
and almost like clockwork
the bus stops just outside
in regular intervals
and endless people
hobble by the window
in flashes of middle, lower, and no class
and outside the addicts
try to turn the very air they breathe
into gun metal blue
puffs of cigarette smoke
and inside people read newspapers
and try to talk,
to think,
to work,
over the rough din
of coffee machines competing with
beautiful jazz trumpets and saxophones
and there's an old black man
and a slightly less old white man
they are friends, and they sit next to me
talking about money and work
and how they wonder
if Joe ever moved into his new place
and it made me wonder too
the old black man
has his eye on an old
antique Spanish coin
he's just waiting for the price to go down
and there are people
their faces obscured by the screens of their laptops
who flutter between
their work and social media
there's an energy about the place
that we all seem to share
as if we are all a part of a bigger community
even if we don't recognize it
just a rag tag group
of transient people
who don't really have
anywhere else to be
Mar 2013 · 6.5k
Sacred Cow Slaughterhouse
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I am a man
of no flag
no God
and no party
but this offers me
certain freedoms
like freedom from offense
and freedom to offend
I've always found the most
"offensive" jokes to be the funniest
like a sacred cow butcher
and if you are offended easily
this might not be the poem for you
that being said
here we go

Did you hear the one
about the last pope
who actually did any good?
yeah me neither
What did the pilot say
when the Muslim man
walked on his plane?
"This is flight 216
we may have a potential
security risk on the plane."
America: Land of the free
home of the brave?
where a vast majority
of the population
are wage slave cowards
and don't get me started on England
a hot nest of xenophobia and racism
which almost makes me glad
to not live there anymore
and it doesn't matter
if you are a democrat
or a republican
because either way
you are wrong, and dumb
did you hear the one about
the anti-gay republican in the gay bar?
He took the most drugged up man he could find
for some fun in the bathroom stall
because the chances are tomorrow
he won't remember enough to break the story

I live in the sacred cow slaughter house
(you can't spell slaughter without laughter)
and the only food that really satisfies me anymore
is USDA prime choice sacred cow beef
Mar 2013 · 2.2k
So you have a passion?
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
A lot of the kids I went to school
were so **** sure of themselves
they would prattle on about
how macro economics was their passion
or how a major in accounting
is their dream
and there's nothing wrong with that
but would your would be passion
be your passion if you were homeless?
if you were terminal
I'm talking like
one year left on the clock
is your passion what you'd still be pursuing?
so you have a passion?
then go out and get it
Mar 2013 · 416
Charles
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I wanted to write this
As an ode
To my oldest hero
Charles ******* Bukowski
But the thing is
Sometimes genius
Is impossible to ignore
Mar 2013 · 303
I am forever untitled
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Hey
When you feel down
Just remember
You aren't dead yet
So you just do your job
And keep on ******* living
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Isn't it very strange
That the majority of humans on this planet
Are right handed?
I mean seriously
Out of seven billion people
Over three and a half billion
Are right handed
And I wonder
What part of our genetic coding
Dictated that
The norm
Was for people to rely
On their right hand
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
The title didn't lie, this one is not a poem, but a promotion of the expansion of poetry. Do yourself a favor and look up "the poet is ******" by Cecil otter on YouTube. Warning - it is a hip hop song, but it is also one of my favorite poems.
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Don't let your kids grow up to be poets
because poets are a messy bunch
poets are the worst influences
they live in the thick of things
suspended in their own minds
and they are by a very large percentage
worth less than the clothes on their back
and they are all crazy
they all have to be
these mentally unstable babblers
they'd talk at anybody who'd listen
more like drunken tramps
than artists
so for the love of God
please don't let your kids grow up to be poets
because it's a rough time
you'd be better off keeping them in academia
that being said
upon reflection
would I have done it any differently?
not a ******* chance
Mar 2013 · 517
kill them with smirks
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Don't **** them with violence
because they will still win
don't **** them fast
because lord knows
they deserve pain
don't **** them with your words
they are too valuable to waste
on such ****
no if you really want to hurt them
then **** them with your smirk
every time they **** with you
raise a corner of your mouth ever so slightly
an "is that all you've got" smile
because everybody knows
you are stronger
smarter
better
than all of them
and it ****** them off
so **** them with smirks
and if that still isn't enough
well you can always just
**** on their graves afterwards
Mar 2013 · 626
I don't know what this is
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
It's been a long and strange trip. but don't fret - it isn't yet at the end point. I've always loved the morning, but I'm far from a morning person. Which seems pretty symbolic to me, but I'm an English major so it's kind of my job to be overly analytic. The hardest part about growing up is keeping track of who you are, and trying to figure out if who you are going to be matches with who you want to be. The smell old Bukowski's ashtray clings to my clothes. and everything that I don't have the courage to say out loud can be seen in my eyes and the lines of my face. And I know this will sound absolutely ******* ridiculous - but in modern society it's hard to be a man. gone are the days of Clint Eastwood kicking *** and taking names. All we have now are morons and ****** bags. I read somewhere that we are the quitting generation, and that ****** me off. Because the faults of the current generation are always due to the previous generation. But people are ******* by nature who can't take responsibility when their plants begin to wilt. And my Dad quit on me - not the other way around. And I know that this probably isn't fun to read - but frankly I don't give a ****. This isn't something which is going to be published - more so some much needed venting space. And I'm trying to figure out how to bring this thick wall of rambling text to an end, but endings don't really exist. Just unknown places which can not be followed. so instead of assaulting your eyes and your poetic sensibilities for another ten lines I will say this: If you read this and didn't immediately think of killing me or yourself, then thank you. If you did, then feel free to pretend I never had the gall to write such an ugly, boring, self-indulgent piece. And I hope you all have a nice a day
Mar 2013 · 500
take this as a warning
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
take this as a warning
college life is like
treading a tight rope
yeah it's easy street
but consequences
are put in the back of mind
and getting black out drunk
on a thirsty Thursday
with your boys
is fun
but Friday morning
with four cigarettes left
from the pack you bought the night before
isn't fun
and neither are lonely hangovers
and it's a slippery *****
to say that
you aren't an alcoholic
until you're done with college
so take this as a warning
go to college
and have the time of your life
but just make sure
that you don't lose yourself
Mar 2013 · 689
the plastic generation
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
the world is wrapped in plastic
and our feelings can be found
through a binary language
in the internet web of deceit
and the only thing we feel strongly about
is our own apathy
and maybe our phones
the culture's obsession with Zombies
makes sense if art mirrors life
we walk around looking through empty glass eyes
and make fake relationships
with people
who barely even exist
we grow up
and fill the shoes
which were left for us
at different points
on our journeys
generations of Russian nesting dolls
the few of us who want to live
are drowned in debt and ***** looks
and Jesus Christ
one day we'll be in charge
of the entire ******* planet
just think about that
Mar 2013 · 578
She was no more
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
her mouth
was a mouth
full of apologies
her forearms
are bruised
with misunderstandings
her mascara runs
with storm cloud rain drops
her brain
echoes over and over
you made me do this
Oh Daddy,
these dark rooms
can't hide me from you
her friends all just think she's clumsy
nobody thought to ask
nobody dreamed of it
she found an old .38
in a shoe box
under the stairs
it was cold and heavy
like every single breath taken
she couldn't **** him
she loved him
which is more than she could say
for herself
with a gun metal click
the calm before the storm
before the end
of all things
bang bang
she's dead
a lone bullet in her head
no more apologies
or misunderstandings
no more sad thunder storms
she was no more
Mar 2013 · 938
Hitting the Road
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
The man on the phone
told him that rent was due
by five o'clock
rent which was not there
but five was seven hours away
and he had this feeling
that seven hours was a good distance
to put between him and Richmond
so he packed up his clothes
his old jeans and plaid button downs
and his typewriter
that old clunky *******
which made such sweet music
he stuffed it all into a backpack
and left his keys in the apartment
as the door closed for him
for the last time

He left Virginia behind
and headed west
he spent a night or two in Memphis
drinking cheap bourbon from a plastic bottle
and dancing with some pretty little thing
as Johnny Cash played over the radio
He took his car
and passed through
Fort Smith Arkansas
but he didn't stay too long
He made a few bucks
cleaning glasses in a ****** old bar
in Oklahoma City
sleeping in the small room
upstairs
He made it to Amarillo Texas
and thought that he might just stay
under the dead pan
Texas sun
but he was restlessly being chased
by his memories and fears
His car broke down
in Albuquerque
so he hopped on a train
heading to Phoenix
but Phoenix was tough
and alien
and he got footloose
real quick
He hitched out of there
with a ****** cardboard sign
which read simply
"West"
and he met some strangers
and made some new friends
before he found himself
in fallen angel country
Hollywood heart breaks
and smog covered starlight
with no more road left to travel
he'd been coast to coast
he settled down
like the pioneers who came before him
and burned his maps
just a *****,
road weary,
traveler
with a typewriter
and dusty worn jeans
a traveler who made his way home
Mar 2013 · 848
no such thing as a mad man
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
to preach insanity
screaming blanks in the streets
twisted limbs
hang from twisted bodies
malnourished and dangerous
the edge people
they live life
balanced on their tiptoes
in a bathtub
choking on their sins
sins which they didn't commit
an old rocking chair
sits in a wooded clearance
forgotten and mossy
hopes and dreams
stripped layer by layer
until the marrow is all gone
to preach madness
that's what they want from me
to call us mad men
but there's no such thing
there
is no
such thing
Mar 2013 · 5.2k
Roommates in Hell
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Little girls with their hair in pig tails
old men chatting away over a game of cards
the endless clapping of heels on concrete
madness
business men in suits and ties
faces melding to iPhones
catholic priests ******* kids
they know his name
danger in a lightning flashed smile
panic in a thunder clapped laugh
they know his name
but it never leaves their tongues
he dances in the gaps of their teeth
and chips away at our heart strings
incessant whispers in our ears
telling us what we want
what we need
he stands off in the shadowed corners
of every forgotten room
in every one time family home
as we watch our worlds
crumble around us
if Christ lives inside of all
then he has one hell of a roommate
Mar 2013 · 474
the drug dealer
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I know this guy
who deals *** out of his apartment
and yeah you can probably guess
how I came to know this guy
but you know what?
I'm a bad guy, so what?
but anyways
this guy has it all figured out
he takes a couple of classes
at a community college
and he travels the south
following jam bands
not my thing
but to each his own
and every time he returns
he brings back a lot of product
and when the summer sun graces this city
you can see him
getting high on the hammock
which he strung up on his balcony
what a life
Mar 2013 · 809
The wolf who cried boy
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
There was a wolf once
majestic and noble
lone but for his disciples
and he owned his territory
from the edge of the forest
all the way to the outskirts
of humanity
But he wasn't content
the people in the village
shunned and shooed him
he could taste their fear
and didn't know why
"cant they see it?
I am no different from them
yet they call me a liar
I couldn't be one of them
just a primordial beast"
So the wolf went on being a wolf
knowing it wasn't right
but every time
the moon grew full
the villagers could hear
the howls of the wolf
as he cried boy
over and over again
into the empty darkness
Mar 2013 · 472
I prefer Maybes
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I prefer maybes
over the real thing
every single time
so give me a maybe
instead of reality
because sometimes
reality can ****
but a maybe is nothing
just a maybe
so don't give me your troubles
and taboos
and issues
no,
just don't
because my favorite place to see you
is in my imagination
when I wake up alone in the morning light
with a smile on my face
thinking maybe I'll go see you today,
maybe...
Mar 2013 · 2.0k
Don't Try
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Don't try
a wise old man told me that from his grave
well **** old man
that works for me
i have been a master at not trying
since I failed out of Algebra in the ninth grade
because people are at their prettiest
when what they're doing
bursts forth from them
its the same as how
a pair of fake *****
will never match up to their natural counterparts,
So stop trying to be something you're not
because somebody once told you to
instead don't try
until you find something
where you don't have to
Mar 2013 · 512
an ode to the sinners
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
people seem to forget
that for every "good" person
there is an equal "bad" guy
just like night to day
yet nobody thanks the sinners
they go on,
knowingly corrupted
self sacrificed souls
they challenge the good
to step up and hold them in place
the universe runs off of balance
so for every brilliant man
who killed without heavy heart
who stole, begged, pillaged, lied
I offer up a thousand thank yous
because if it wasn't for you
Jesus would have just been a carpenter
so keep on sinning
and keep on losing
Mar 2013 · 556
nothing like the first time
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
"I shouldn't be drinking really,
my family is full of alcoholics
so I try not to drink"
It was the first thing she had said to me
then she downed her ***** cranberry
and smiled devilishly at me with her eyes
a demon girl for sure
best to keep my distance
but I'm coming down from the mushrooms
and I'm well on my way to being **** drunk
So I asked,
"what's your name sweet thing?"
and she smiled
and shook her head
"my lips are sealed"
then she kissed me on the cheek
fill up my cup
because teenagers and sobriety
haven't been on good terms for a while
and yeah it was kind of annoying
when you called me Harry Potter
but at the same time
I could already tell
that soon enough we would be sharing a bed
and sure enough
a couple minutes later
you whispered in my ear
"let's go to bed"
and we did
and it was my first time
and it was more than a little awkward and clumsy
and I'm sure it wasn't good
and to be perfectly honest
there were so many drugs inside of my system
that I never quite made it to the finish line
but I was relieved
because in high school it was a big deal
which I had finally gotten out of the way
and tossed to the side
to rot in the gutter
and I never saw the demon girl again
never even learned her real name
and if you asked me today if it was worth it
well I guess I'd say no
but deep down
I'd say yes
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
the orange glow from the fire
partially lit the man's face
catching each crack and valley in a shadow
"Gather round if you'd hear a tale"
a voice of gravel and coals
and too much moonshine
"once there was a young boy
the type of young boy,
who never leaves home
without his skinned knees,
and oh, what a boy he was
brave and good
yes once there was a boy
who was well and truly lost..."

once there was a boy
who had a thirst for adventure
that only young boys have
and there was an old forest
in his small village
ancient and mystic
possessing untold wisdom
it was said to be alive,
mothers told their children
to give it a wide berth
but some kids
just can't be told
the boy walked past the forest every day
and felt some great force
humming from deep inside
calling to him
enticing him,


One day it was too much
he packed his supplies
of bread and water
with his shoulders back
his chest puffed out
he walked on into that forest,


In the low afternoon light
the forest was pleasant
and the air stood sober, serene
shafts of light came down like spears from heaven
breaking through the clouds
and the thick forest canopy
but it was all a mirage
an oasis in the desert
and as the sun dipped below the earth
the forest began to change
and the boy stood true
foolishly thinking
that the dark is nothing to be scared of
how little he knew


The branches took on twisted new shapes
and the little demons came out to play
the wind in the trees
a groan of death
a groan of ******
the forest creek turned to ice
and the pathways all twisted
and formed circular paths
and before long
the boy was lost
now this was before telephones
and the boy was deep in the forest
he knew it was trouble for sure


Now the boy wasn't much good with directions
and he wasn't much good
at telling the time
and the canopy was so thick
that the north star was lost
but he still felt that humming
drawing him deeper into the forest
and he had no choice but to follow
so he walked
and he walked
and he walked some more
for many days
and many nights
his shoes were battered
his clothes,
***** and torn
and he grew skinny
from foraging nuts
but he climbed up hills
and crawled through thorns
and went deeper
into the forest
the humming was growing louder
with each wayward step
until it split his skull like a shriek
and he brought his palms to his temples
and carried on with a grimace
because the forest had filled the boy
with **** and grit and steel
and just when he thought he could no longer take it
he came upon a small pool
more like a natural well
of the clearest water he had ever seen
the world went quiet
only the vibrations of humming birds were heard
as the boy hunkered down over the water
and what he saw in the reflection
was strange and troubling
for it was no longer a boy
who returned his scowl
but a man
a rough man with a scraggly beard
so the boy no more
stood up,
turned around,
and went to find his home


"Now I know what you're thinking
old man you drank one too many drinks
and that's true,
my mind isn't what it used to be
but I know that forest
like an old friend
and mark my words
in the eyes of the Lord
I knew that boy once
a long time ago
and as for the man
well now he's an old man
sitting at a camp fire
telling tales to strangers
missing the adventures of boyhood
oh once there was a boy,
but no more,
no
more"
Mar 2013 · 540
rainy day
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Walking in the rain
it has this cleansing quality about it
so I walk with my face pointed up
and open mouthed
hoping to wash away
the sins of yesterday
with a one two step
I march down endless concrete sidewalks
counting each drop of water
as it splashes against my untied shoelaces
laughing like a little kid
splashing in the puddles
because rain means new beginnings
Mar 2013 · 858
Mr. Invincible
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Mr. Invincible
Mr. Unkillable
Mr. just walks away
I wish I knew the exact percent
of how close I came to death
or how close I came to ******
it seems as if
there is a God out there somewhere
who had different plans for me
The EMT's were shocked
by how little was wrong with me
and I signed the refusal form
and walked back out into the night
Mr. Invincible
but for how long?
Mar 2013 · 1.2k
crash
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
You texted me last night
telling me to come over and hang out
and I was real excited
and kinda nervous
but I tried to clean up as best I could
got in my car
and headed over to your house
and then turning left onto your street
I barely saw it coming
Crash
trapped in my flipped car
It was my first crash
and the cops came
and the EMT's
and the firemen
and somehow I walked out
completely unscathed
and I know I should be thankful for that
but my first upside down thought
was that I wouldn't be seeing you tonight
and that maybe it was some sort of sign
but I've always been one to ignore signs
Nobody was answering my phone calls
and I was freaking out
vibrating in the midst of an adrenaline earthquake
but you came
when I texted you what happened
and you brought me a little juice box
and gave me a hug
and even though my car was destroyed
it was still nice seeing you
so this happened last night
Mar 2013 · 590
The Diner
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
There's this small diner
across the street from my apartment
a small segment of culture
suspended outside of time
they serve good coffee there
by the ***
and they serve cheap breakfast food
which is greasy enough
to absorb even the sharpest of hangovers
I was in there
the other morning
sitting at the bar
spending my last spare change
on that old diner coffee
and the people around,
the beautiful strangers
they talked and laughed or read from paper backs,
the man next to me at the bar
ordered a Budweiser in a glass
at ten in the morning
and you just don't see that as much anymore,
the waitresses had a strut about them
like they were straight out of an old New York movie
and the cooks in the back could be heard
laughing rambunctiously over the sounds of the kitchen,
it's a small diner
suspended outside of time
and it is a place you could get lost in
a place you don't want to ever leave
Mar 2013 · 401
stars in the sky
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
When I was still a young kid
following dad's job all over England
My granddad died
and I could only have been eight or nine
but I remember my Mum told me
sitting on the windowsill
of that old house I miss so much
"Do you see that star up there Harry?"
I followed the vector of her finger
gazing up to a diamond cluster sky
because this was the sticks
so the stars came out in numbers
But I thought I saw the star she was pointing at
I nodded
"That star is your granddad
there's a star up there for everybody."

Now being a young boy
I of course took this as the whole truth
and now that I'm a slightly less young boy
I figure
why can't it be the truth
Standing in the vast field
that was my back yard
I remember talking up at the night sky
Talking to granddad
knowing he was too far away for me to hear him
I just wanted to know if he was okay
and what it was like being a star
and maybe I will never get my answer
I just hope that when I go
when you're feeling lost
you can look up
at the stars in the sky
and I can tell you
that everything is going to be
just fine
Mar 2013 · 499
cut the crap
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Sometimes you just can't hide behind jokes
and sometimes you have to realize
that every time we feel overwhelmed
and reach for blunt or bottle
that we are being cowards
a life driven by fear
but who can blame us?
from the moment we came into this world
fear has been our third parent
so technically we're all related
Sometimes being a coward doesn't cut it
sometimes you have to stand up tall
and take it on the chin
over and over again
and turn it into the chattering
of keystrokes
or whatever it is
that calls to you
sometimes you just have to look in the mirror
and cut the crap
Mar 2013 · 592
being alone
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
it's a curse
it's a blessing
unlike any other
to be so all alone
solitude is the key
and it is also the cell
given enough time
to work with ourselves
the visage shatters
and in each reflective fragment
we see the face of strangers
and old friends
flames past future and present
and oh,
now would you look at that
it appears as if human company
seems desirable,
no,
a necessity
but there's no way out of here
you signed your deal
a key
and a cell
right?
so you just go on
being alone
until you no longer have to
Mar 2013 · 797
types
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
he's the type of guy
who wears the same pair of jeans
for months at a time
wearing them down to frayed seams and cuffs
The type of guy
who shops at the Good Will
comfort over style
familiar with familiarity

She's the type of girl
who doesn't know where her clothes came from
She picked them all up at one time or another
The type of girl
who doesn't spend multiple morning hours
in front of a mirror
It's about what she puts into the world
her body's expendable

They are the type of couple
who preemptively **** away their arguments
because real conflict would surely break them
so they refuse to look at it
until it becomes so large and obtrusive
that it comes crashing down on them
like a breaker
and washes them away
Mar 2013 · 318
a perfect nothing
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
It's funny but
for all of the times I talk about you
and get all romantic and what not
now that you are here
five minutes away
and I haven't even seen you yet
I don't know what I'm waiting for
maybe it's that perfect movie moment
where we see each other from afar
and run lovingly into each others' arms
or maybe
we were just meant to be
a perfect nothing
Mar 2013 · 1.5k
church girl
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
A southern belle
the only men she's ever loved
are her daddy and Jesus
and every Sunday
I see her walk out of that Church
with her flowing white dress
like the clouds
she's a lover
a server of the Lord
and she lives to save
her voice is a choir
and her long brown hair
is silent pews
her eyes are like first time prayers
and a cathedral smile
rests upon her face
when it's bathed by the warm Virginia sun
Mar 2013 · 906
itchy footed girl
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
She was a small town girl
visions of suburban angels
she had big dreams
and itchy feet
she packed her bags
and her guitar
gave herself to the wind
like a summer tune
she had the California dream
so she left that small town
shrinking in the rear view mirror
and she drove west
until the gas ran out
and the pennies were spent
so with her bag
and her guitar
and her thumb
and her itchy feet
she hitched a ride to Santa Barbra
and she still resides there
making her music
just a small town girl
with itchy feet
and a guitar
Mar 2013 · 1.1k
thick skin
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
wear my thick skin
like armor with my heart
on my sleeve
because I love to give it out
but I'll be ****** if I'll take that **** back
so I guess I'm just one way traffic
a conduit for a confused Confucius conveying crap
poems of purple prose pretentiously purposefully pretty
self loathing can be as strong as love
because we love to hate ourselves
maybe it's just extreme modesty
and you always called me a wolf
because heat seemed to come off my body
in waves
even on the coldest night
I think it's just the kinetic energy of the words in my head
playing bumper cars
at a million miles an hour
and I always have an idea of a poem
when I sit down
and then it gets away from me
and runs circles around me
just like you when we argue
the only difference is
I would always tell the poem
that it was right
so I don't know what that means
Mar 2013 · 464
old age
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Maybe I'm just an *******
but I kinda wish
people would die
before they hit sixty
I know I hope I do
because from what I've seen
You only get more bitter as you go along
and people are always going on about
how children are the future
but it seems that people
try to hold on to the future for as
long as possible
but maybe I'm just being cynical
I don't really know
Just putting it out there
Mar 2013 · 457
It's not fair
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
It's not fair for me
to hand you my broken pieces
with puppy dog eyes
and to ask you
to put them back together again
while the entire time
I'm trying to sweet talk you
into coming to bed
it wouldn't be fair
but i'm going to ask anyway
Mar 2013 · 273
Forgotten youth
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Girls girls everywhere
But not a one to thank
Mar 2013 · 715
instruments
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
You are a guitar
with strings which
are the slightest bit
off tune
an old acoustic
which is more like an old companion
then an object
varnished to reflective perfection

Me?
I'm more like a grand piano
gathering dust
in the back of a thrift store
accustomed
to telling the tales
of the down and out
empathetic tears shed
leaving water stains
on the ivory keys
Mar 2013 · 1.3k
Renaissance man
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
He's a renaissance man
a lover of jazz
and swing
and old **** kicking
pub anthems
He lives by his own code
and outside of the law
hopping trains
and leaving his mark
all over the country
a renaissance man
he drinks Irish whiskey
straight from the bottle
and smokes like a chimney
a closet romantic
the closest thing to a knight
he loves women
because they could love him
and he would protect them
from the bitter winter winds
A renaissance man
just living
in the wrong place
in the wrong time
Mar 2013 · 1.7k
The Sun Also Rises
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
We may have lost
whatever it was we had
but we still need each other
though it's hopeless
but it could have been so pretty
but that's all
just a hypothetical
and I've been drunk for a week now
looking for us in bottles
but no matter how long
and how dark
the nights can be
the sun also rises
my favorite book by one of my favorite authors
Mar 2013 · 570
I know
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I know I shouldn't smoke
a pack a day
I know how bad it is
and how much money
the whole shebang

and I know I shouldn't drink
more days of the week
than not
I know that I do stupid things
like loosing in a drinking game
and being forced to sprint
up and down 6 flights of stairs
I know that I get all sappy
and promise girls
things I can't give
I know it's bad
that at the end of a day
I crave a drink
but sometimes
you just need to
get good and drunk

I know that I shouldn't smoke ***
spending most of my day high
up in the clouds
taking a nap
but it relaxes me
and it makes everything
seem so **** nice
and I know it's bad
to not be able to sleep
without toking up
I know it shouldn't be okay
to be bored
but hey
it makes ****** movies
a whole lot better
which is huge service
to people everywhere

I know the lifestyle's not too hot
and trust me
I know you know
and that you only want
what's best for me
but sometimes
you just have to make
some really bad decisions
Mar 2013 · 395
behind your ribs
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
What is it
that lives behind your ribs?
it beats all night long
keeping rhythm with songs
which have never been sung
keeping me up at night
wondering if at times
we find synchronization
in the pulse of our passion
because nothing is more poetic
than that moment
when I realize
that what's behind your ribs
and what's behind mine
are one in the same
Mar 2013 · 853
Dirty bird
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Look at you
you little ***** bird
hopping on nimble legs
between the outside tables
of that coffee shop
that I like to write in
you dart this way
and that
with a fluid grace
which reminds me
of the body of a beautiful woman
you little ***** bird
picking up crumbs of bagel
from the cracks in the ***** pavement
taking cigarette butts
back to your nest
where ever that is
Monroe park maybe?
oh ***** little bird
I admire you
for being able to possess
such a natural beauty
in the midst of this city
Mar 2013 · 572
I hate to leave
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I could stay with you
I could give myself to you
put my tender frame
in the palm of your hand
like a newly hatched bird
you are the only one
I could ever be vulnerable to
yeah
I could stay with you
but It would **** me
far too footloose
the curse of a nomad
with no where else to go
and it's not you
I hate myself for not
being able to commit
but I think I have a responsibility phobia
or a fear of letting you down
I don't know
and try as I might
I can't change
and I'm not sure I want to
we live in different worlds
and I don't know when I'll be back
so I'm going to leave you
and it won't be the last time
and if you were smart
you'd throw me to the curb
for good
and you are smart
but love is blind
all I have to give you
are moments
which I will always cherish
and bittersweet memories
to wash away
the pain of the day
I hate to leave
but trust me
I don't have a choice
Feb 2013 · 260
When the words won't come
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
When the words won't come
I always have you
to refill my well
when the ink runs dry
I need only
dip my pen in your blood
when the paper is dead
the thought of your laughter
breaths new life
when hope is lost
you give me courage
you make me
a better me
Next page