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1.1k · Jul 2013
A Poem For The Once Athletic
Harry J Baxter Jul 2013
we stopped running sprints a while ago
each 100 yards traded for a pack of smokes
our sweat smells more like gin and *****
than it does hard work
Gave up ball control so we could get higher
Agility for hangovers
the only things we stretch are our wallets

Running with the forward
in a last ditch effort
I fall to the ground
They call it a slide tackle
It's more like an "I give up tackle"
and it hurts more now that you got that drunk tattoo
right on your *** this past 4th
taking shots from the halfway line
because we've taken too many shots to run any farther
and each goal means more
like we fought harder for it
and endurance is all but forgotten when I ran up to my brother
picking him up in the air as our team cheers and pats his back
the final whistle blows
and we are victorious
despite the fact our muscles are so knotted they feel like stone
high on an endorphin rush we shake the losing team's hands
not trying to hide our winners only smile
just because we are no longer athletic
doesn't mean that we forgot about our inner athlete
I joined a summer soccer league after not playing since I played for my high school team. We won our first game somehow, we are the sorriest bunch you'll ever see.
1.1k · Feb 2013
finding me
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
Duality in life
i live this life
but I don't know
whose life it is
hiding from mirrors
and reflective surfaces
afraid of my own face
face to face
with the fact
that I don't really like me
it's the worst phobia
looking
I mean actually seeing
the person you've become
as a kid
I was confident I'd be in the movies
then came puberty
the skin doesn't seem to fit right
and I don't remember building this wall
too high to scale
too thick to break
I found words
I took them in
stole them
shaped them
and spewed them back out
These poems aren't for you
they are mine
but if you like them
then great
it's just the first step
on looking myself in the face
and learning to like what I see
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
I first saw you walking down the street
I don’t know when you first saw me
maybe at home
in the mirror of your memory
maybe in the pages of the book
you were reading outside in the winter
at that cafe
You had me all smiles
and I had you
all similes
a pretty little thing
to stroke my pretty little thing against
You in your fashionista bombshell outfit
me in my childlike excitement
as I walked on past
and I wonder
if later that night
you were in your bedroom
which is just as messy as mine
I wonder if you thought to yourself
“well hot ****, that was one hot ****** guy”
if not that’s fine
my words are subjectively an object of your subject
Does that make sense?
I seem to do that a lot
rambling over myself and over myself
as if you caught me in a lie
I hadn’t yet told
I hold on to the belief
that You caught me in the corner of your eye
and decided to save me for later
It’s the only thing us passing strangers
have really got
1.1k · May 2014
Falling from the Nest
Harry J Baxter May 2014
Take in a few more gulps
swallowing your pride
the only time this world makes any sense
is when the room is spinning
poor little baby bird
fell out of the nest all too soon
the ground is hard with tall grass
where predators lurk
listen up, kid
you need to learn to aim true
find ways to smile through pain
and yeah, it's okay to cry
just leave the door to your heart open a crack
do not forget to stand tall
the night sky is resting in your palms
each star a cosmic reflection
of every sleep laden dream
you've been smoking up all of my punchlines
that you didn't get
******* for the temptation
of somebody kind enough
to maybe love you for you
listen, little clubber
before this long winding road grows open
you need to make friends
with the man trapped in the mirror
1.1k · May 2013
The West
Harry J Baxter May 2013
There is something within the heart
of western society
a voice of sorts
a frothing, thrashing, screaming voice
which knows only one word,
west,
for some people it's god,
the west is the American holy land
a brand spanking new Canaan
it reeks of hard work
and tastes like the dust
kicked up from an eternity of tires and wheels and spokes
it smells like fresh prairies
and feels like a worn leather belt
and emaciated happy xylophone rib cages
and it looks like  how adventure feels
the west, the endless west,
spurs and sunshine and simple life
always calling
always howling away in the warm humid south eastern nights
1.1k · Feb 2013
Hell
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
I have seen hell
and let me warn you
don't pack for warmth
hell
so cold
that even the ice cracks
breath comes out
as diamond spears
tearing apart innards
to shatter
among rubies of blood
Hell is every child
who ends up in an office
In fact hell is offices
countless numbers of them
for as far as the eye can see
soulless
lifeless
greedy
Every child who was told
that he was crazy
that in this world
the dreamers
are synonymous
with the failures
and so they sleep
millions of them around the world
sleeping restlessly
dreams which will never come
inside each one of these
dreamers turned adult
you can hear him laughing
idle hands...
you know how it goes
and eventually
when they are finally broken
when death seems as if it's a treat
he shows them
He shows them years spent
poor and hungry
he shows them
endless rejection
and alienation
But
he also shows them
love
passion
satisfaction
A lifetime of dreams
which will never become reality
1.1k · Feb 2013
regulate, repeat
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
we **** our creative forces
ancient cultures believed
that creativity
was a divine entity
which assists certain people
from a far
so basically we **** God
every time a teacher
tells a child
that his or her talent
is worthless
that their passions
are futile
every struggling soul
who prostitutes their mentality
for another escape route,
pills which regulate
alcohol which regulates
coffee which regulates
drugs which regulate
and a regulation nine to five,
which regulates...
**** regulation
1.1k · Aug 2013
Father & Son
Harry J Baxter Aug 2013
dear son
how you doing
hopefully fine
I don't know you yet
but in case we never meet
I just wanted to say
whatever you do
in your life
just know
that you will be my proudest achievement
no matter what
I love you
from the past

Dear Tim
how you doing
I know we grew apart
you were the best
and only Dad I ever had
I never quite forgave you
for the whole Mum thing
but I know why you did it
and I understand
and I didn't turn out like you
I know I made you proud
maybe for that reason alone
but I love you
and we'll talk more
and soon
until then
love,
your son

Dear Harry
what's there to complain about today?
Me most likely
but listen up
for every **** up I gave you
that's another thing
which nobody cares about
it's your life
do what you want with it
and any failure
or any success
is on you
so stop hating yourself
and the rest of the world
and do what I know you can
forget making me proud
make you proud
Love,
your father
1.1k · Apr 2013
Throw Away Nights
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
The night was spiked with energy
like the charge of air
after a lightning strike
each and every one of them
had their own motives,
to drink,
to meet,
to experience,
to try,
to do,
to ****,
to love,
to live,
to let come what may,
it was a night of suspension
freedom not from consequences
but the fear of consequences
a chance to relish in what their pastors' frowned upon
a chance to make their parents' disappointed
and for some,
just a chance

One was a pseudo-intellectual
he was a college learned man,
a phony philosopher
who was good at passing off trivia
as honest to god thoughts
trying to impress
some impressionable young thing
hoping for validation

One was a romantic
hopelessly addicted
to the fairer ***
with misplaced ideas
that he was
some sort of poet
and not just a spout of
pretentious,
whiny venting
just looking to get hopelessly lost

Another was an on the way sociopath
enrolled in the fraternity of the machismo
with every other word being
***** or ***** or ****
he wanted action
experiences to shape and harden
to be a fine edge
blessed with a fatal sharpness
he was looking for something
to prove his vulnerability

They all came together
people of all types
intolerant in the passing of time
their lives like so many grains of sand
falling in sand timer opulence
fear and inhibitions
slowly fading
like mixing whiskey and pain killers
they could live the night
to the beat of their own passion,
drives,
desires,
the night bent around their will
like moss creeping up fiber glass suburban houses
what did they care?
it was just another throw away night
in a long list
of thrown away nights
1.1k · May 2013
Skid Row: Bum Alley
Harry J Baxter May 2013
I stepped out of my apartment
into the easy breezy morning heat
it was hot,
but not late enough for the sun
to have properly baked the earth
I lost three cigarettes
almost immediately
lost them on skid row:
*** alley
a small strip of city
which stretches from 5th to Jefferson
and from Broad to Franklin
something about that place,
maybe the empathy of the inhabitants
draws them closer
the homeless, hobos, bums, wastrels, ruffians, and scoundrels
sitting cross legged on the pavement
or idly kicking on the stoop of curbs
or in hidden alleys,
hiding from the wind
They live there
and for the most part
they're good people,
not hurting anybody
not proud enough
to not beg
1.1k · Feb 2013
never ending
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
there's those certain tales
which are older than any city
never ending, always growing
and every generation
has a brave few
who wish to give parts of themselves
to that thriving monstrosity.
each tale
gracefully
bluntly
violently
mockingly
holds the elements of humanity
and are laced with honest expressions.
each tale outliving their authors
and nobody can remember
their names or faces

it's a seductive habit
**** and cool
edgy and real
intelligent and spiritual
all encompassing
a suicide mission
we all have our own blood on our lips
and we use it
to leave messages
cries for help
damnations and manifestos
or maybe just
a silly little poem
we just don't want to be forgotten
we just want to be
a never ending tale
1.1k · Feb 2013
glass house guests
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
there were always people staying with us
in that house
it was a real dump
too many transitory tourists
and drug induced lack of motivation
but there is Jake's girlfriend
frail and weak
like a *****
although she was mostly clean
she drank every now and then
but she was just sick
and she left
once Jake went to take the infinite sleep

And Martin never had trouble
bringing stray women back to the house
for days at a time
before he got bored
and went on to another
tossing the previous to the side
without a second thought
I stopped even trying to remember their names
those poor broken souls
like most girls who Martin coaxed into a world of loathing
frustrated self-destructive details
of a life headed no where

And Mia stayed for a while
a friend of mine
whose vices were klonopin, ***, and music
but she was far too smart
got out of there before the walls closed in
there was Sarah
just looking for truth
and love
but she never loved herself
and it was hard to love a pill head
who paraded her womanhood
to all of the drug dealers around town

There was Chris, smoking like a chimney
never sleeping
always running from his boyhood
we had to ask him to leave
when we found him
sailing the seas of golden brown

But these people
weren't built for this life
they are too easily destroyed by the ugliness
they haven't yet learned
how to shape them
into forms which are far more acceptable
so they flee in terror
from the glass house
their marks are marks of their impermanence
1.1k · Feb 2014
the stars are long dead
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
fade away from sunlight
the dogs are keeping the neighbors up
a shadow is cast from God's smiting hands
it looks like heaven
Watch me slowly drip down the storm drain
one nerve ending at a time
I saw a crib in an alleyway
by the big green dumpster
and the story behind it
is too terrible for me to ruminate on
cracked brickwork reveals the ****** history of these streets
Monroe Park Campus used to be all nightclubs
and crack spots
the coke was good - I hear
I'm snorting up lines of cigarette ash
high on hypocrisy
high on self-loathing masochism
and mirror checking narcissism
megalomaniac with a chip on his shoulder
watch all the pins line themselves up
only to wave at the gutterball
motive? intent?
these words don't concern me
I'm just trying to keep this fire alive tonight
so I can ward off all the moonlight predators  
these stars will be long dead
by the time I reach them
1.1k · Feb 2014
Survivors
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
people operate under the wild belief that
survivors are strong by nature
strong is a weak word
adaptable is better
The meek shall inherit the earth
the strong will die trying to save it
Me? I’m a survivor
an actor master of disguise
playing the part of a self-righteous anti-hero
but when the bombs start falling
you aren’t coming in my bomb shelter
hell no
and when the mobs are chasing us
I’m tripping you for a few more precious seconds
too stubborn to die quite yet
but don’t worry
when the dust has settled
and the cults have left their caves
to repopulate this rock
I’ll tell the story of your heroic sacrifice
1.1k · Feb 2013
back road stories
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
there's a million dusty back roads
which tell a million
dusty back road stories
sinners and saints
redemption and judgment
retribution and love
and there's a million alleyways
cobblestone or brick
where a million
dusty back road people
tell tales of travel
in the glow of a flaming trash barrel
and there are a million bridges
which have been layered
with poetic inspirations
street preachers
spraying their words
from aerosol cans
and a million dusty back road people
sleep beneath those poems
almost every night
I have a million blown out pairs of shoes
and I wouldn't get rid of one of them
because each one
tells my dusty back road story
1.1k · Oct 2013
The Pressure
Harry J Baxter Oct 2013
For as long as I can remember I have always been haunted by what I now refer to as "The Pressure". This hideous beast contains all that is wrong with the world - doubt, restlessness, greed, anger, love, hate. The Pressure is what makes me vibrate impatiently at the thought of standing in one place for another moment. The Pressure is cripples me with sly thoughts about rent and food. The titanic thick blackness waits just out of view at every turn - waiting to envelop me at any sign of vulnerability. The way your eyes vibrate within your skull and how your vision becomes nothing but a mess of colors and shapes in times of great rage - that's The Pressure.

The Pressure is not a purely malignant force - in today's world of ceaseless gray one would be a fool to assume that anything can be described by such flimsy words as "good" or "evil". The Pressure made me who I am today and even as these words leave my fingertips it is still shaping me. Molding me. The Pressure allows us to see the true nature of our structural fortitude. Perhaps - like the countless others in this world - I am sedimentary and thus destined to be crushed into more and more smaller pieces until I resemble sand. But maybe, just maybe I am a piece of coal just waiting to turn into a dazzling, unbreakable, diamond.
1.1k · Feb 2013
Just One More Poem
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
just one more poem
it's a frantic rush
peripheral vision blacks out
pin point visions of tunnels
voices meld together and become music
the keyboard
or pen
or pencil
are instruments of conduction
that seem to match your heart beat
Just one more poem
you feel it bubbling within
it will die if it doesn't escape
so you write and write and write until
you get it out
crying in the new world
and you love it
until you realize
that there is still one more poem
trapped somewhere deep within you
so you try to save it
you have to save them all
because one day
there won't be time for
just one more poem
1.1k · Dec 2013
With Extra Room For Milk
Harry J Baxter Dec 2013
The well groomed professional takes a sip
from his Styrofoam twenty ounce coffee
He glares at me - his eyes green with disgust
the night before I walked beside the moon
that morning I rose anew, born in flames
The well groomed professional takes a sip
from the corner of my eye I see her
standing waves of gold, porcelain smile
I glare at her - my eyes red with my lust
dancing to the flickering glow of bulbs
she pauses, a breath, Red Eye anyone?
The well groomed professional takes a sip
glaring at the mirror - his eyes black with
fear
I take my coffee and walk out the door
adrift in the cold Richmond winter air
1.1k · Feb 2013
brother
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
you were a brother
not of blood
but of choice
we had each other's backs
but I couldn't see
that the lifestyle we were living
was slowly trapping you
I heard about you skipping school
alone in some woods
getting drunk
in the middle of the day
when you were high more and more
until sobriety surprised me
when the medical cabinet
became a candy store
I saw this all happening
and did nothing
paralyzed
I looked away for just a moment
and suddenly there it was,
the monkey on your back
I'm sorry that I never intervened
I just didn't know how to
now you are in the New York countryside
having it out with that reflection
getting your **** together
I haven't seen you in a couple of years now
but I never forgot to hope
to hope that you can beat this
and come back to me, brother
1.1k · Nov 2013
Be Legendary
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
I could type this in all caps
to show you I'm screaming
I could live my life behind a fist or switch blade
to show you I'm desperately close to falling off the edge
I could treat you like a *******
to show you I'm only talking to you for one thing
I could cut tic tac toe into my wrists
to show you my own spilled blood is just a game to me
I could be the person they want me to be
I could be the person I should be
But I'm not
I don't
I won't
I live behind a mask made of keystrokes
and one too many silences
waiting for the ropes binding me to fray enough
where my getaway isn't front page news
but a part of a much bigger legend
1.1k · Apr 2013
Rich and Famous
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
if it's about being rich and famous
then go **** yourself
I'd do this **** if I was homeless
if it's so you can live large
I hope you fail
I hope you crash and burn
harder than entering the atmosphere
If it's for women
then I hope you get them
and all of the STD's that come with fame *******
if you say you do it for the love of it
and then come across
as a pretentious pretender
then please don't talk to me
This constitutes
100 percent
of my work
and 100 percent of my play
it's not about being rich and famous
it's about being who you know
you are meant to be
1.1k · Mar 2014
sleep now
Harry J Baxter Mar 2014
Sleep on me like memory foam
never forget like September eleven
snow flurries are the forecast today
with a little bit of hopelessness
a new nasa study which I read on facebook suggests
that modern civilization will crumble upon itself within the next two decades
so the cold wind blows across the dusty plains
and the litter strewn streets rest easily like guerrilla militants
pay homage to the blazing skies
another day waiting for the bite to come
another day praying like mad men
the nostalgic characters we created are haunting us
we are all being called home
supper is getting cold
and we are all in need of a solid night’s sleep
before what is to come
1.1k · Mar 2014
Just Be Yourself
Harry J Baxter Mar 2014
just be yourself
unless yourself is a ****** ***** *****
unless who you are
rocks the boat
because we don’t to get splashed
unless who you are makes us uncomfortable
climb down from that edge who do you think you are?
this isn’t a movie. grow up
as long as that is who you are
just be yourself
as long as who you are wears the same uniform
with the same lapel patches and flare
just be yourself
unless whoever the hell that is does better than me
the only thing more dangerous than a mob
is an envious mob
so who you are better be modest and humble
and mumble those bumbling opinions
because we don’t want to hear anything
we want to be told
just be yourself
unless you are afraid of social pariah exile lifestyles
be yourself but keep that trap shut
because this is a game of respect
and we are all your elders so stand up straight and tuck that shirt in
listen up kid you’ll never make it with that attitude
so shut the hell up and eat your vegetables
just be yourself
here’s ‘being yourself for dummies’ just to help
one tip - yourself better not be top shelf
talented is another word for targeted
so be yourself -
so long as yourself is a commodity we can sell
for high profit margins
to kids who are just trying to figure out
how the hell they can be themselves
1.1k · Feb 2013
Poet for hire
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
Poet for hire
will write for
cigs ***** or ***
please tip in the form
of microwavable food
because at this moment in time
I have a negative number
in my bank account
no job
no school
no smokes
no beer
and no ***
I don't remember the last time I ate
and living like this
can drive you kinda crazy

Are you a man
I'll pen you an ode
to your handsome heroism
and ****** conquests
woman?
I'll write you pretty little love poems
all **** day
which tell you just how
beautiful you are
and smart
and meaningful
and unique
whatever
Lesbian woman?
I can write about
patriarchal tyranny
(after all - I'm a white man)
and living somewhere
where you don't feel like a citizen
(because I'm not a citizen)
for ******* days

To contact me
you can find me
slowly losing my mind
in front of a typewriter
in my apartment
but until then
words words words
and a few more
was feeling like writing a good old fashioned stupid poem
1.0k · Jan 2014
The Comedian
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
She said
“Oh you’re such a ******* comedian”
and I laughed at her face
I believe the term is
more than kinda *******
did I ever tell you the one about the
cynical poet with a substance abuse problem?
I know I have a punchline somewhere
in between all these smudged lines of ink
and then she said,
“You over think too much. Just shut the **** up and live.”
and I didn’t say
I live to think of you just shutting up and letting me *******
but instead I went with -
you are probably right. Let’s take a shot
it was a shot in the dark
no I shot the dark
for all the nights I spent barricading my closet door
because I am vindictive at times
and you are so full of vitriol at times
I call you little miss snake bite
and I’m allergic to antivenom
“again with the jokes. When was the last time
you said something actually real?”
when was the last time anybody said
absolutely anything?
“Sarcastic remarks again, huh?”
you’re **** right smarty pants
Then we got drunk
a risky proposition I found myself facing
you swaying to music I couldn’t quite hear
THAT made me nervous
I’ve always been terrified of turning ******
then you said,
“What music?”
and that made me feel a little better
knowing you were possibly
a little ****** too
did you ever hear the one about the
probably in way over his head love struck
funny poetry guy?
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
The apartment was covered with ash and dust. It wasn’t a big deal, only it made them self conscious of the filth. Matthew and Steve were used to the filth, but nobody else was. Dust hung suspended from sunlight like a death sentence.
“What are you doing tonight?” Steve said.
“Drunk. High. Who the hell knows?” Matthew said.
“What about Katie? That girl you’ve been talking to?”
“What about her?”
“Are you seeing her tonight?”
“No, not tonight. Tonight is for getting drunk.”
“so get drunk with her. She’s probably lonely thinking about you.” Steve said.
“We both know it isn’t that simple.”
The platter before the two of them carried salt, tequila, and sliced limes. They split a shot of tequila and sighed out their discomfort into the dead air. They downed another shot.
“listen man, I’m done with the dumb drunk girls, that’s all.” Matthew said.
“Shut the hell up man. You know she isn’t like that. Just text her.”
“what do you know.” The air settled between them. Matthew felt inside his breast pocket for his cigarettes. Lighting one he said,
“It’s not like you and that girl Danielle are making progress.”
“You’re right. But you actually like her.”
“Okay Dr. Phil.”
“All I’m saying is I’m going out tonight. If you spend another night bull ******* alone, I’ll kick your ***.”
“Okay. Yes sir.” Steve stood up and put on his backpack, ready to leave for the night.
With the apartment empty Matthew felt more at home. Stephen was a great guy, but he was naive about a lot of things. Things which really mattered. Like the disposition of other people. The only judge we have.
Matthew stood up and poured himself yet another tequila shot. Grimacing as it went down, shaking his face left and right to shake off the alcohol.
Matthew wrote some shity poems, waiting for the online responses to flow in like they always did. The 1800 tequila was empty, but he still had a whole litre of bourbon left to slug down.
“Here’s to me.” He said as he drank a shot by himself.
He felt the stress of the night’s potential weighing down on him and became alive.
“Let’s see what’s going on out there.” he said to himself as he tightened the belt around his jeans. He left his ****** apartment feeling ready to take on life.
Pulling out his cellphone he dialed Bernard’s number.
Ringing, ringing, ringing still.
“Hello” Bernard’s voice said.
“Yo, It’s Matthew. What are you doing tonight.”
“Going to some party with Cornice., You should come.”
“What’s the address?”
He sent the address and Matthew walked into the slowly cooling night.
Grace street is lined with legions of homeless. They post up at bus stop after bus stop. All the way past the police station. Matthew gave out a few cigarettes before he made it to broad and belvedere - the location of Bernard’s apartment. It was warm in there, the scent of pumpkin spice lattes permeated through the air with the central heating.
“How’s school going B-rad?” Matthew asked.
“How’s being a worthless drop out going?” Bernard said.
“Same old same old.”
“Well, how’s Cornice doing, anyways?”
“I don’t ******* know. Alright I guess?”
“**** I know the feeling man. Oh well. We’ll get drunk as **** tonight right?”
“You know it dude.”
The two young men gathered themselves and then left the apartment on a quest to find out something more about themselves.
1.0k · Nov 2013
Real Nice Time
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
The car got towed last night
while I'm in the kitchen
greasy feasting on your side dish
would ya like fries with that?
putting spoons in spaghetti plates
when I go home and roll into taco bell
like an Egyptian pharaoh
buying all of the cinnamon twists
with a wallet flapping empty over the plastic and latex rings
condoms in my wallet from last summer
still optimistic
The gas light is on
and I just got a ten spot
with tobacco in my teeth
and house dressing on my jeans
I'll smile through the *******
and have a real nice time
1.0k · Feb 2014
Mr. Self-Aware
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
Mr. *******,
Mr. Oh here comes another pretentious cry for attention
I know self-deprecation babydoll
like you know his bedroom ceiling
Mr. International
jetted out from UK to the land of the silent heroes
where the grass isn’t green enough
and everybody was seemingly either
addicted to donuts, bacon, and cheese
or 5K’s, yoga, and weights
they don’t sell **** by the ten pack either
Mr. Liar Liar pants on fire
masochistic almost autistic
Mr. High or Drunk
Caffeinated thrift shop hipster
loves the girls until he has them
scrooge McDuck
I do believe misanthrope is the word
but always first to crack the whip of jokes in bad taste
if he were homeless he’d hang a sign around his neck
it would read:
Will somebody, for the love of God, please Validate me!?!
Mr. Rational thought secretly praying in the back room
Mr. Intellectual Dropout
don’t judge me judger
Mr. I’m brave for doing this
Jesus I am terrified
Mr. I could be great
if I could just find a ******* desk chair comfy enough
1.0k · Jan 2014
Honesty
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
Beware the honest man
For honest men have nothing to hide
1.0k · Feb 2014
I Lost My Mind In Richmond
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
All of the Richmond Hipsters
and time killing smokers are killing me
The hobos with broken thumbs
They just barely catch the bus
Late nights under the eastern stars
The City of almost-angels
beards and gauges and butts
Tatted up art chicks with more skin than clothing
Invite me over your threshold
Make me some supper, the coffee is in the ***
River tides carrying away the used condoms of the confused
Liquor breath, joints and e-cigs
Poets, painters, photographers
The air reeks of art and death
fist meets face meets pavement meets God
The good times are killing you, and I’m showering until the water runs cold
cough up my phlegm, it tastes like love
grinding against a stranger’s *** all night long - like it was all we knew
We couldn’t feel so we tried to touch
we fell short and drank from the puddles with gasoline rainbows
The bricks and cobblestones all have names that I will never know
Does anybody ever actually listen?
Life versus fun versus life versus death versus boring
Stack them up like tetris
The sun is sick with stories, the moon full of lies
And all the graffiti in the world won’t change that
snow sun rain sun blank canvases
hear the thunder of arrhythmic heartbeats
sweat drips and it tastes like ****
Black eyes on Bowe, black eyes on Goshen
Mad houses filled with gifted pianists
Ghetto driven dreams of another shot
Play that same acoustic guitar tune I like so much
I lost my harmonica in a storm drain
I lost my Mind in Richmond
1.0k · Mar 2013
a dumb blonde in a sundress
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
sometimes
a beautiful girl
is only beautiful
until she opens her **** mouth,
stupidity is this generation's plague
1.0k · Apr 2013
just be cool
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
as long as you are
one cool *** *******
you're untouchable
think about it,
guns liquor and cigarettes
surely do more bad than good
but you are a liar
if you'd say
that guns aren't bad ***
that liquor isn't cool
that smoking isn't edgy
so be cool
and as bad as you want
and they'll do whatever they can
to make sure that you
don't go anywhere
1.0k · Mar 2014
Putting You On Hold
Harry J Baxter Mar 2014
You said that satire is not your favorite flavor ice cream
well sweetheart that is too **** bad
the broken clock on my wall
is right more than you’d think
and this broken record may make you seasick
but I wouldn’t trade it for all the pretty girl smiles in the world
you said I dress like a poor man when really I’m a smiling white faced teen
well you dress like one of my wet dreams
so who’s really winning?
so my lines are played out? Washed up? Dried up? Flat?
So my howl is more of a yawn? My leaves of grass more like turf?
well crucify me to your canvas little miss art
I look good in red and blue
you said I take things too personally
or not at all
you said that apathy isn’t really that attractive
well neither is *******, but somehow you pull it off
you said you think we’ve still got a few weeks of winter left
so how come I can feel the clouds beginning to break over head?
you’re right. I am wrong. You are wrong. I am wrong. You are right.
would you pass me the ashtray please
I think I may have gotten ahead of myself
this headache is too large for advil to tame
and my throat is itching again
so, just for a while, I think I’m going to put you on hold
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
when it becomes more about
how ****** up can we get
how far away from sober can we fall or rise
when the see saw always has the neighborhood fat kid sitting at the other end
then it might be time to evaluate your life
but,
then again,
there's still a half case of PBR in the fridge
and marijuana's hiding behind every single corner
exciting until it gets too boring
then you can always search for that gateway they prattled on about so much in health class
walking down a straight edge only leaves you with ****** feet
and you need those suckers for running,
right?
1.0k · Feb 2014
Enjoy It
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
Cherubs wrestle animals to death
and shoot arcing arrows across the sky
it’s a love poem
about love
aww
every car parked on the street
has an owner
and that owner walks around the same city streets
looking for the same answers
standing on rained out rooftops
cherishing the brief respite from the grind
another person
whose fingers intertwine with their own
so perfectly
they must’ve been conjoined twins
separated at birth by chance
I could ramble on about the look of innocence
in a child’s eyes, but spare me the gushy stuff
it’s more about the chase than the checkered flag
and we’re all in the race
and there’s no such thing as last place
just those who take it at their own pace
so enjoy it
you’ll be dead within seventy-five years
1.0k · Sep 2013
Confusing ideas
Harry J Baxter Sep 2013
Angry young kid
Angry young ideas
Who gets to claim heaven?
When heaven means hell?
We split words in half
To measure the value
Only to find
We know nothing
In a world
Made of
Fragmented ideas
We are the blind men
Circling the drain
1.0k · Sep 2013
wasters of the wasteland
Harry J Baxter Sep 2013
greatness once stood here
drinking the spilled blood
of the winos and dope fiends
as they crashed
wings useless
from voyaging too close
to Apollo's fury
this vast wasteland
endless concrete
and stores which stay in business
for months
before being replaced
with the next Mongolian themed restaurant
the streetlights flicker
before burning out
like the candles of so many
extinguished too soon
this wasteland is all encompassing
be wary of the passer-by
they have a grin where their mouth should be
and a purse with a hole in the bottom
they salivate greed
and scream
at anybody who will listen
These are my beliefs,
they may not be right,
but **** it you'd better follow them

the wolves are hungry
out to get you in every drunken
way too high dark alley
that runs rank with beer ****
the elders feed on the young
spiders on their world wide web
******* the life out of the youth
until they themselves
are free of this
free of anger and drive
determination
but best of all
free from the endless torment
of untouched dreams
lock your mind, heart, and soul
in a cage made of razor blades
and swallow they key
because times are hard
in the wasteland
and if you want to make it
you're in for a hell of a journey
1.0k · Oct 2013
a smile of defeat
Harry J Baxter Oct 2013
My first rejection Email arrived today
during a rainy day at work
My phone vibrated once in my pocket
We are sorry to inform you
due to an influx of submissions
we will not be publishing your piece
we wish you luck in your future writing endeavors
the staff
of course,
me being me,
my first reaction was to be *******
a child not allowed that really sweet action figure
because
"We need food"
but after stewing on it a while
I realized
I need this
because it's not success which defines us
a lucky guy can succeed
it's how we respond to defeats
the big ones
the small ones
the oh my god why don't I just quit
failures
that they'll write in the book of judgement
long after we are just dust
trapped inside of a coffin
1.0k · Oct 2013
Driven
Harry J Baxter Oct 2013
The sun hasn't risen yet
the black hatchback opens up on the Lee Bridge
in the rear view mirror the city shrinks minuscule
as I forge forward at a steady pace of fifty
No matter where My destination is
the reason is always the same
escape
like a thief in the night
trying to put some distance between me, myself, and I
daydreaming ceaselessly as traffic flows on every side
the front tire has a slow puncture
the door panel barely hanging on
in much need of an oil change
driving alone below the aspersions cast by unwanted eyes
as the rain slowly comes down to blind and cleanse
I never got to say half of the things I wanted
and I know that I won't write half of the words inside me
so I'm impatient
laying on the horn
and flipping old ladies on their way to church the bird
faces not seen enough to be memorized
hands not felt
laughter never shared
these things haunt me
holding their flickering candles to the bottom of my feet
Driven now
the sun hasn't come up yet
which is good
because before it does
I have some things that I need to do
1.0k · Apr 2013
cowardice
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
Scaredy cat
Scaredy cat
what was all you were good at?
making her feel like
less than she was
riding her like a bike
to feel more on top
What are you scared of
scared of a lovely job
loving somebody
who loves you back
too scared to be
too scared to act
a coward
1.0k · Mar 2013
8 year old me
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
****** beer
Flows through my veins
Easier than blood
Sorry 8 year old me
We grow up to be
Everything we never wanted
1.0k · May 2013
The Rat Pack
Harry J Baxter May 2013
They spoke jazz
the words trickled from their tongues
like magic
they weren't rich
or famous
or connected
but they were **** good people
tongues like metronomes
they spoke in flashes of music
music music
not just sounds layered
atop other sounds
but soul and heart and fire and passions,
aching sadness
heartbroken longing
and the taste of danger
and ***
they were broke
scratching and hustling
for nickels and dimes
and forty ounces of freedom,
if they save up long enough
they can score a nickel bag
but they never do
and they still somehow get their hands on the stuff
malt liquor hangovers
wake them in the morning
and they smoke loosies
given to them by the over-privileged college kids
and their nice clothes
and undeserved smiles
they are the rat pack
hearts beating to the sounds of saxophones
and in my book
they're alright
1.0k · Nov 2013
RVA-lution
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
yeah we're getting drunk at four in the afternoon
we don't have anywhere to drive to.
we have no class
no responsibility
my city's filthy
I live in the art district
nobody else anywhere else in the world can say that
Richmond knows how to lay it down
how to make the children feel invincible
how to make the women feel like super models
and the men like long lost kings
don't like my poems?
that's fine
we flow to a different drum beat
yeah we are a bunch of
PBR swilling hipsters in our non corrective lenses
but we know how humanity dances back and forth
like the flickering of candle light
and I've never felt out of place here
only just as weird as everybody else
we are pathological liars and sociopaths
our apathy is only matched by our endless empathy
My Mum thinks I am a hell of a writer
endless support
but the anonymity never ends
a scroll from God to lead us to death
and the transvestites are polite enough
boy you smell ****\
they blurt out as I walk past in a cloud of old spice
the art school chicks make me feel validated
when I find myself sneaking out of their houses in the morning's yawn
come to Richmond if you want a good time
if you're fake you'll make it
but if you're bitter and jaded
you might pass out of interest
like cartoons to a 15 year old
I could talk **** on this city all night
but truth be told
I love what I hate
and truth withheld
don't tell my English friends
that my heart beats
solely for that
RVA-lution
998 · Jan 2014
Percussionist
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
percussion pounds painfully pleasant
boom ba dum boom
there is a certain rhythm
to the way people speak
skip across the plains of this globe
and you’ll hear it
at times when I am at my most idle
I can find my hands
going rat tat tat rat
we listen to hip hop
the scratching sound of a needle drop
enough to catch the breath at the top of the path
making your heartbeat stop
I always fancied guitars
strumming your pain with my fingers
but instead i found that words
pop pop pop
out of my mouth
like faulty machine gun fire
I’ll be your rhythmic drum for hire
waiting at the tail end
of all your punch lines
ba dum tish
angry kids pound graphite graffiti onto their desks
which say things like
SOS
Mike was here
School *****
for a good time call X Y and Z
make me an alarm clock
tick tocking in the corner
like your personal circadian metronome
see, people like we
don’t need a megaphone
we just open our mouth
when we knock our messages out
and let them find a place to call their own
a home for the percussionist
997 · Feb 2014
Clinging
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
Do not fade into the anonymity of everyday life
Find the avenue in which your voice echoes
Cling to the thresholds of any success
And never let go
994 · Apr 2013
I've Been To Paris
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
I've been to Paris
seen the city
unwind in flashes of art before me
but do not be fooled
by the amateur writers' ideals
for Paris is full of stores
with neon signs in the windows
which read
******,
*** toys,
bisexual,
gay,
videos,
and lubricants
in perfect English
Paris is full of
hotels and hustlers
African men,
met us off the ferry
and tried to sell us lighters
and fake watches
And the homeless line the street
like unfortunate corpses
and there are areas
of great dangerous people
full of edge and hate
but at night
the cathedrals
Notre Dame
and the the landmarks
are lit up like supernovas
and it is enough to make you forget
forget all that is ugly
and wrong with the place
so if you wish to seek Paris
just remember,
you have to see beauty
through the ugly
993 · Apr 2013
A Girl Called Mary Jane
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
He met a girl called Mary Jane
she made his fears become
either ghostly apparitions
or waking nightmares
he didn't prefer one over the other
he knew that there was no difference
He met this girl
the summer before ninth grade
and she showed him a life
full of unseen wonders
the beauty of apathy and laziness
He didn't need anybody else
only that beautiful girl
she made him good,
made him better,
made him calm,
made him him
Dancing beneath a flickering street light
he soaked in the peace of the world
until it rose above him
a shaking mass of bleak nothing
which at least hid the world
of even bleaker negativity
Mary Jane was a good girl
but he had outgrown her sway
he would miss her
but truthfully,
he also
would not
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
Everybody's got their own words
You quote mine
Everybody's got their own story
I wrote mine
Everybody thinks I'm ******* nuts
Wanna hold mine?
The last lines of a song by underground hip hop collective The Orphanage (Rhyme Sayers Entertainment). I've been a huge fan of hip hop for as long as I can remember and some of the first writing I ever did were ****** little raps when I was about 11 years old. These lines speak to me specifically because it says that regardless of what other people may think, everybody has something of value to say that others will be able to relate to. You just have to find your own voice and work on honing it to a sharp, powerful edge. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbkYlpz7kHI Thar's the link to the whole track if you are interested. Keep on keeping on scribblers
- Harry J. Baxter
986 · Feb 2014
Highkus
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
the same toothless chatter heard always
bruised biceps scratched with defensive wounds
too hungover for spanish class
so it’s a bowl of kief for the remedy
I’m singing in the rain
only it’s sunny out
and the toads are all escaping
hop up on another high
and scrape up against a new low
are we there yet?
Rock Bottom looks a lot like your apartment
forge filigreed with fools gold
black eyes and sore knees
soaking wet sleeping in a doorway
so long as the DMT is purple and not orange
then we’ll soon be biblical prophets
touched by God so that we could better understand
that the dishes aren’t going to do themselves
ever tried to pronounce psilocybin when you’re tripping?
cough medicine has another meaning
it’s just like the music videos
only my heart is exploding
my chest caving in
and the hurricane inside my head is blind
spark up another sweet
and pour another glass of sour
be well rested
tomorrow you’ve got another spanish class to not go to  

I just took too much
all of these walls are still spinning
******* I’m high
Harry J Baxter Mar 2014
With great power comes the shirking of great responsibilities
I am the super zero
so **** justice and right and wrong
the track is stuck on a loop
and it sounds like insanity feels on fingertips
in our hedonistic heathenism we tore the palace walls down
only to make room for something far more beautiful
she taught me that
behind closed eyelids we all look the same
and the floor rising up to meet us
feels more like flying than a crippling fall
our time here is flying out the window by the second
like paper debris in a car going sixty with the windows down in the summer
my source of most frustration stemming from my own warped principles
let them all go
because we’ve all got life left to live and as nice as dreams are
the concrete of the pavement outside is always real
always there
consistently mundane
so make an adventure out of macaroni paintings
and smash all of the clocks and wristwatches
let’s act as stupid as we did in middle school
lets burn our caution at the stake
and say ***** to your paranoid thoughts
the paint has to dry before it can chip away
charity the most prototypical example of how self-serving
and alms aren’t always mutually exclusive
so keep on driving outraged fist into the metaphoric faces of all of your excuses
and keep on burning at your own fiery temperature
you owe us to try and shape this world into a painting of pure beauty
and **** all of the other irrelevances
she taught me that
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