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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
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
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
The sun shines through my bedroom window, catching all the dust
According to my weather app -
the real feel is hotter than the temperature -
beautiful
Wake up coffee work smoke repeat
what’s the problem?
I find the time to laugh
and to write poetry
and I’m not dead yet
and it will be spring soon

I almost ran over a rolling hub cap the other day
the other driver didn’t even notice
and yeah I got high last night
and spent all of my money on pizza
so sue me,
I pay my bills on time
working for dollars getting paid in change
but I’m not dead yet
and the children are getting out of school soon

Yeah yeah - the good buzz did turn into a whole handle
I blacked out and fell in the snow
tried to sleep in the doorway of the musical equipment store
and my friends did have to drag me home
we laugh about it now
sitting in my dark living room
looking at a dead TV
dripping wet
I’m not dead yet
and it’s all going to be fine
Harry J Baxter May 2013
I've always had a thing against
people who come across as sappy
but that being said,
you make me the sappiest sap
in all the land,
where do you get off,
acting like that?
so **** cute,
pretty,
****,
beautiful
whichever word you prefer
they're all for you anyway,
you've never read them,
but they're yours
so I'll go on
being sappier than tree blood
and you'll go on
driving me nuts
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
draw it into my lungs
feeling the buzz
the electricity
of an alien substance
vibrating in my chest
and I'm dead
but nobody seems to notice
words like bullets
fully automatic questions
Why?
Why me?
can't you tell
can't you see
that I'm floating away from this
and if I'm lucky
I won't ever come back
unless somebody rescues me

Sleep is miles away
and who put this room
spinning on an axis
my vision is travelling
faster than the speed of light
which explains why
everything is so dark and blurry
no more night skies
no more summer days
it feels as if
this empty bottle is my grave
but there's a corner store
just down the block
which sells forty ounces of happiness
for only two fifty
falling deep into my bed
still fully clothed
I'm scared of the day
when I hit the ground
shattered into thousands of pieces
hoping you will put me back together

king sized sticks of escape
the best chaser
without it
I feel without an escape route
which to me
simply won't do
there's too many obstacles
and I'm out of shape
I tire easily
and I know that one day
I won't be able to climb them
a long drawn drag
they're toasted
and i have walked a mile for a camel
was it worth it?
I don't know
all I know is that
if you don't come soon
there will be
nothing left to save
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
Say something
Say anything
Please
For the love of God
don't be silent
there's too much already
put the phone down
better yet toss it
as far as you can
step away from the computer
and don't stop until
you meet somebody
who draws the words out of you
and you them
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
alright kid, listen up. They’ve been calling you ****** for too long. Ignoring your humanity for too long. The first thing you need to do is study up on your state’s gun laws. Waiting period? Hand guns? Age restrictions? You might be from the south - in which case you are in luck. A neighbor will have a rifle or shotgun, probably not locked away too well either. If you still can’t get your hands on a piece there is always the gun show loophole. Everything is legal if you buy it at a gun show. Now you’ve got your hands on a weapon you’re going to need some ammo. How mad are you? Remember to account for human error. Now you need to work on concealment. They’ll see the weird little *** with a cop killer from a mile away. Trench coats don’t work. Who the hell wears trench coats nowadays, you’ve gotta think. The night before you should sketch out a birds eye floor plan of the school. Mark the exits and choke points. You’ve seen 300 right? Make sure to leave a copy of your manifesto for a perfect utopia on your bedside and eat a good dinner. Get your eight hours. Tomorrow is the big day. Getting shot only hurts for the seconds it takes you to hit the ground.

The school yard was quiet. First period slowly meandering along. Outside the sky is grey and the birds perch atop telephone lines in judgement. It goes Bang, Bang, and Bang then silence. Then screaming. Ears ringing and sweat dripping.

This just in. A shooting at could’ve been you high school has left thirteen dead and six injured. Let’s shove the camera in their face and ask them to relive how awful it all was. That’ll get ratings for sure. The shooter was sixteen year old could be the weird kid in your neighborhood. He got a gun from insert political belief here and brought it to school that morning. He opened fire in the middle of shut up and listen class. Now we are going to show you every page of his crazed manifesto on repeat for the rest of day. You can also find it online on our website or on Amazon.

Death came quicker than he thought it would. Suicide by a police officer is honestly very efficient. with each bullet unloaded on him it was like slipping into a dream. No more eating lunch alone with his crippling social anxiety. No more name calling. No more absentee parents. No more PE classes getting hammered in touch football. No more loneliness or anonymity. At least now they would all remember his name. The feeling of getting punched in the chest and the taste of iron on his lips were his best memory to date. Darkness now.

We make monsters
and don’t go to their funerals
everybody living with survivors guilt
I was never mean to him
who saw that coming?
everybody wants love
but nobody wants to give it
so instead we capitalize on tragedy
and lament our own foolish ways
too little way too ******* late
Don't really know what to say about this. I wanted to try something different I guess.  If this upsets you please do me a favor and keep it to yourself. I'm not forcing you to read anything of mine.
Harry J Baxter Aug 2013
the smell of a cold breeze
reminded me of school
the fall leaves
colored by academia
fall on the grass
of Monroe Park
when football season has started
and jeans and flannels
dot the horizon
like buoys
and fast paced walks
against the racing clock
cigarette after cigarette
to make it to world cinema
201
or something
and doing homework in starbucks
and eating bad dining hall food
and getting drunk on the weekends
weekdays too
and high enough
to warrant eating
that bad dining hall food
but the memories aren't the same
something amiss
like memories of Christmas
before the folks split
or the dog died
or grandma
or whatever else
must have happened
it's school time again
but I'm not sure if I'm ready to learn
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
this life
can sorta pile up on you
so much so
that you begin to feel like Atlas
waking up every morning
complaining about your sore back and shoulders,
sometimes it gets to the point where
you feel it rising up inside of you
thrashing it's way upwards
from the pit of your stomach
and you feel like if you don't scream
or curse
or break something
that you will go truly mad,
I was on my way to either being mad
or having a very sore throat
until I decided to write in an old school notebook one day
and it all changed,
I still need to scream,
I just scream with my fingertips
Harry J Baxter Oct 2013
call this college drop out a cab
to take him back to the good path
and find some gauze to stuff that mouth
because it's full of too many
**** its
but the thing is
it's easy to worry about the things which don't matter
when you're searching for a reason for the spawning of your matter
and I've never had that problem
I used to wonder why I wasn't born
some poor African kid with a bloated stomach and a war lord
then I figured that it's because I'm real freaking lucky
but it's funny
to see so many people
hopping around like bunnies
worried about the fight between what's good and evil
when all I'm thinking is
holy mother of God
that girl has a nice ***
or Jesus Christ
is it really four O'clock already
I think I sold my soul
not to the devil
he's a real *******
I think I sold it
to the people born in the shadow of the hill
because they really could use it
then again
I probably just dropped it in the toilet
when I was taking a ****
so ***** my soul
and ***** yours too
because we are all about to die
in the grand scheme of things
and nobody one hundred years from now
will probably ever say
*at least he had a good soul
Harry J Baxter Dec 2013
Walking down the street I pass
a girl walking in her bundle of flannel and warmth
strut strut strut
I blow smoke from the corner of my mouth
to spare her the danger
of my second hand smoke
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
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
Selina grew up in an orphanage
she was a *******
her father disappeared
after the Great War
her mother
dead from poverty
She was a Catholic
of the highest devotion
she loved Jesus
and Saint Joseph
and after she was
past schooling age (14)
she went off
to serve as a maid
for a good Catholic family
she wanted to be a nurse
but circumstance dictated
that she never could be
not enough school,
then, when she was 17
the 2nd Great War came
and women were needed
to work the steel mills
and shipyards
of Stockton England

she got a job
painting bombs
she signed little things on them
like,
take that ******,
but the job
caused her asthma to flare
so she was reassigned
as what was then known as
a postman
clopping around the streets
happily delivering mail
She met a man
named John Hartley
and she intended to marry him
her friends warned her
he's a bachelor,
a woman hater,
but he was also
quite the handsome soldier
they married
after the war
and had five children
three of whom
became nurses
proud tears falling
like rain drops
a life of hardships
which she batted away
with Christ as her shield
summed up
by her
giving her children
what she never had
My grandmother died in 2004, I recently read about her history in a journal, I never knew anything about her
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
I love the way she pretends to buy my lies
love the way she smirks and nods her head along
to the beat of the stories
that I pull out of my ***
I love the way she pretends they smell like roses
I met you a while ago
but I'm a silent observer
so I pitched my tent from a distance
I like the way you are the anti to my venom
and when I walk through a field of snakes
you know how to make it all better
and we both love the line from that one favorite song I have
"love can make suicide seem so cool"
but you told me I'd have to **** you
because you would probably mess it up yourself
and the way you laughed when I said i couldn't do it
then there was that one time
where I didn't have the courage to tell you
that you make my depression
seem kinda alright
or that I would have followed you
wherever you went
if you just held a dog treat in your hand
and whistled,
"here boy!"
my tail wags when you walk through that door
and when you walk out that door
I'm sure it's going to be forever
and that scares the ever loving **** out of me
so don't be a stranger
because if you do
I'm probably going to **** on the carpet
and claw the leather off the reclining sofa
Harry J Baxter Sep 2013
Time is the enemy and the instrument. Time's hands always ticking away like laughter. It was that same laughter which led me drop out from college. The same laughter which keeps me up to the early hours of restless nights.
It's hard to live a life of uncertainty. It scares me to think about the breaking point. Even though I don't know where it is. Will rock bottom be made up of steel or quick sand?
I feel the need to connect with other people. But other people can be fickle, annoying things. It doesn't matter. This life I've found myself in requires solitude.
I fantasize a lot about piling my clothes and belongings into my car and skipping town. where ever you want to go ahead of you. All troubles, responsibilities, and worries behind you. Just you, the gas pedal, and the roar of the black asphalt rushing beneath you.
strange times are ahead. Good and bad. tragic defeats and well earned victories. And all of the kickings which come with. I am **** excited
Harry J Baxter Sep 2013
Five days. It has been five days since I've wrote anything down.It's typical that inspiration comes when I'm furthest from the pen: driving, working, high, drunk. I'm drowning in excuses when all I need to do is attach my lazy *** to the chair and keyboard. I still haven't fixed my typewriter.
I prefer the company of girls because I've always felt distant from my father. Funnily enough - people compare us all the time. Even I can see it now, as I am writing this. I don't want to fault him. He worked hard to make my life relatively easy. But the disconnect is there.
These colt 45 cans aren't treating me very well. Neither is my empty stomach. Who cares? not me. Apathy is the plague of the millennial generation. And I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by sanity. Props to Ginsberg for that line.
The night is early and I have work at nine.
I'm going to keep on drinking this awful beer and see what happens.
Harry J Baxter Sep 2013
Hungover
too tired to move
too anxious to stand still
the taste and smell
lingering
as malt liquor pours through pores
the sun is daggers
and every step upsets a new joint
the customers at work -
******* with dollar bills for faces
the surgeon general wouldn't advise you
to operate that motor vehicle
hungover
because some nights
have a harder time saying goodbye
than others
Harry J Baxter Sep 2013
I'm sitting in my empty old house alone. Just me and the dogs. The air is heavy with nostalgia. I miss all the times I cursed out loud after stepping on bricks of lego. Somewhere earlier on my timeline I veered off the highway. These back roads are too dusty to always see the markings. It's not great for gas. But I think I get pretty good mileage.
It's funny how who we are can be so different from who we thought we would be as children. The drugs, the passive rage, the fear to do what must be done. I still haven't let it grip me - there's still that.
Whether it is good, bad, or ugly - **** happens. We have to learn to deal with it before we drown
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
I was told once
that I should take things
just a little more serious
and I seriously considered it
for about a second
before the realization came to me
what's there to be serious about?
we live in a world
in which
the human experience
has been mass produced
packaged
and shipped off
to millions of televisions
around the world
They took serious away from me
without even asking
they made this life into a farce
we spend it all
racing to see who can dig the deepest
like children
until we dig too deep
the soil walls around us
give no footing
and are closing in
faster then calculated.
how can I be serious
when being serious
means a life spent
digging my own grave?
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 Jul 2014
Hey hellopoetry people,
I recently had a poem of mine published in the Ezine: **** Art Let's Dance which is published through Nostrovia Poetry. I will also have two more poems published in issue #5 which will be live this August. Tell me what you think and give Nostrovia and FALD your support and readership.

http://www.nostroviatowriting.com/issue-004.html

Keep scribbling,
Harry J. Baxter
She
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
She
she taught me how to love
an angel from up above
who came by chance
to put my demons in a trance
to make me stop and think
to take it all in
like a drink
when I'm lonely it's her name I'm calling
falling
awoken from my dreams
her absence rings like screams
the only person who made me feel like
I could grow to love me
potential shining like a light
she told me what I could be
But I'm too scared to approach
too scared that
maybe I'm a cockroach
feeding on the fat
I can't let you in right now
I'm afraid I would fail
because I don't see how
I could give what love entails
she taught me how to love
but never how to forget
Harry J Baxter Oct 2013
She wasn't alone on the stage
she had her nerves
she had her sweaty palms
and shaky fingers
her rapid breath
she had the spot light
the audience
and her busted old
acoustic guitar
she had the limelight
drinking from it greedily
she had the limelight
that she was allergic to
recklessly taking it in
she had the limelight
and she had me
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
Harry J Baxter May 2014
they say the working man gets a good night's sleep
well I haven't much use for sleep
see, in this jungle of a world
you have to be sharp
your wits a finely honed machete
to cut through thick overgrowth
to reveal the salivating predators
waiting in ambush
so the old saying gets a little warped
everybody has to sleep once they're dead
and everybody has to die
these lines all have final destinations
so I'm trying to convert my train car
into a roaming idea factory
with somewhere by the open window in the corner
where I can kick my feet up and drink a cold one
these cigarettes and cups of coffee
are fighting valiantly to keep these eyes of mine from falling shut
but already I feel myself drifting as these words stream through me
flowing off to some distant stranger's dinner plate
my body is made of heavy wood
not much in the ways of joints and movement
but I beg you
to crack open my skull
and siphon out these silly little poems
from the swirling wreckage
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
They say that a shooting star
is another angel cast out from heaven
and we make wishes
upon their damnation
hoping against hope
that somebody is looking out
for all the fallen stars
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.
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
I swear to God
This girl made me feel like I was 11 again
at the school disco
back in *** **** England
asking for a dance
like a real gentleman
only to be given an eye roll
and a pair of freezing cold shoulders
She was standing over by the fence
smoking on a cigarette
looking as disinterested
in this party
as I felt
I asked her if I could *** a smoke
she said she didn't smoke
said that **** will **** you
then she took another drag
and blew a mouthful of smoke vaguely in my direction
well ****
isn't this a pickle?
because now if I pull out a cigarette
I'm going to have some 'splainin'  to do
but I heard the female folk sometimes
appreciate persistence
so fighters touch gloves for round two  
so what's your name?
I don't like guys who dress like that.
Whoosh Smack
it was a hay maker
I was down for the ten count
One last shot
did you know I'm from England
My Dad is Scottish.
well that was it then,
I was well and truly shot down
I'd just go and find a girl
who thought that my English accent
and my name
are "So cool,
just like Harry Potter"
how fun
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
You are the storm which ushered in the summer
bare limbed trees swaying in panic
straining against the anchored weight of their roots
with war drums constantly pounding against rib cages
hangovers and lactic acid induced cramps
a pack a day for every mistake made out of cowardice
slip in the oil slick of too little too late
we live only for continuity’s sake
these dreams are being swept away by a river of blood
diluted with poison
so break the cameras
keep on avoiding sidewalk cracks
keep on looking for escape at the bottom of the toilet
these cold tiles feel like childhood
this ***** feels like love
this costume feels like respect
and all of this ****
tastes like your kiss
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
The rain fell in buckets that night
hair slicked to weary faces
and gazes which condemned the stars for shining
the gaping maw of it’s almost over now
is rapidly approaching
and we chew the cud of *****
until we ***** all over ourselves
arms ending at the wrist in ****** stumps
which spurt arterial confetti
so that the stray cats which wail at the moon
can stay fed for another day or two
how dare the sun burn so bright
in the face of such darkness
snub out the smiling masses
and cover them in soot and crude oil
the man behind the clock is laughing
between a pair of ******* aching with regret
but maybe after just one more run at it
we can pull ourselves free of salvation
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
The world had just rolled out of bed
remember the time I woke your mother up
with my sentimental talk and Kamel 100’s?
I do. I remember. Things like love and happiness
passion, *****, ****, and blood
the sounds the walls made against the bustling of life
we were inebriated on the endless possibilities
we didn’t want to see the trap looming above
until it was already upon us
Isn’t it silly to think of that now?
Drunk breakfast at three AM
coffee which kept us up longer than fragile moon beams
rinse and repeat
green paper envelopes
a citation for living without fear
we could’ve made the world stop in its tracks
if only we hadn’t ****** it all up
so badly
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
None of it really matters anymore
the amount of time I spent contemplating time
is maddening
I gave it a shot
the good life
but all I got were nicotine stained fingers
and a few shreds a few loosely remembered good stories
we’re all dead now anyways
just waiting for the boatman to come
calling our names
as we pay the toll of clocking out
I have senoritis
I have writer’s block
I have ****** stumps instead of fingertips
you have your own life now
your own looking glass to pass through
and this sigh
says infinitely more
than I ever could
Harry J Baxter Apr 2013
The next time you see a girl
who is wearing a T-shirt
with writing across the chest
and she gives you a ***** look
for trying to read it,
just wink,
and tell her you're illiterate
happened to a friend of mine
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Pbr,
A Richmond hipster
Hip checking sobriety
And being hip in a social rivalry
Alcoholic tides to me
Nothing I can hide from me

****** American beer
Nothing but
Loathing and fear
Directed towards self
A reflection on the shelf
Left alone
With nobody else

Sinking
And sinking
And sinking
Harry J Baxter Oct 2013
The road I take to get to your house -
the long way because last time I rushed I woke up in my upside down car -
winds in tight turns
banks left sharply
only to snake back right
barely wide enough for two vehicles
up the hill and under the railroad bridge
right by that patch of grass
the precipice of a cliff
your legs hanging over the edge
me sitting Indian style a few feet back
wishing you wouldn't sit there like that
a year ago on that frigid December night
before I picked up a couple more drunken scars
"I'm cold. Come here."
and certain fall to my death or no,
I've never been good at saying no to you
so I moved closer
hearing the screams of men who lost their footing
and I let you bundle up against my gigantic hoodie
one strong gust of wind
one false move
and that would be it
but I didn't think about getting up
and that says the most
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
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
It's appealing to steal treasure from right under the dragon's snout
a taste of ambrosia so sweet
but the thing they never tell you about
mythical dragon treasure
is that it doesn't last forever
dragon treasure don't pay no bills
but it gives courage
and a taste for more
take another chest
more and more frequently
that dragon always sleeping
snoring in billowing rings of acrid blackness
the smell of bonfires and gasoline
people go mad
raving naked in the streets
for that **** wooden chest filled with it's ****** gold trinkets
and once the child is grown
the treasure only becomes heavier
no more impish laughter following the daring theft
just a sore back, a head ache, a lot of burnt bridges, and an empty apartment
The only company the calls from collection agencies
and the funniest part is
we thought the dragon was sleeping the whole time
only to find that dragons don't sleep
they wait - hungry and patient
another soul swallowed whole
by the sleeping dragon
that ******* dragon and that ******* treasure
a temptation suspended in a moment of twinkling light
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
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
I think that sleeping with somebody
(I actually mean sleeping)
Is so intimate
Because,
Your partner
Could wake up
In the middle of the night
And **** you,
But you trust her
Not to
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
The kids are in the backroom
trying their hands at whiskey and ****
and lung cancer
with one too many ideas of glorification
but look at them -
watch them all try to be mean, hurt souls -
they all sound the same
the same post-rockstar lamentations
of the “Oh-so-cruel-world”
they’re fine with playing the victim
Now watch them cut horizons across forearms and thighs
This cry for help isn’t quite loud enough
to drown out the laughtrack soundtrack coming from my TV
I’m slow dancing with the Devil
in a candle lit room
romantic as all hell
I think I should lunge in for the fiery kiss
the Devil is one pretty *** chick
her belly full with all the reckless children
but I am wary -
I’ve always had issues with intimacy
and the great temptress is no different
we played a game of cards and became fast friends
as her tarots told me everything I wanted to hear
I asked her if she wouldn’t mind keeping my angst for safe keeping
so I can dip my pen in on occasion
but she jet set for the back door with my ego
and left me, Screaming through the night sky
back across the river of souls
Standing me up for the big dance number
the Devil is one mean *****
Harry J Baxter Jan 2014
"No.
No you absolutely can not go to the store to buy some beer
you! you are too young
just stay inside and watch some TV
beer is for losers
no go and make your dad another G&T;
during the commercial break"

Feeling thirsty?
Want to be liked and respected?
want to be fun?
life of the party?
want to be swarmed by a slew of half naked vaginas with legs?
then get yourself a Bud

"Why can't you be happy with what you have?
you know we never had much growing up
and look at us now
a pair of reasonably comfortable adults
don't you want to be reasonably comfortable?
can't you just be yourself?"

Hey you! Yeah you!
what the hell are you just sitting there for?
It's a Friday night why aren't you out partying?
no invitation. ****. Wait I know why -
What's that you are wearing?
you don't know!?
you need some Polo
and some Nike, just do it
throw in some brooks brothers
don't you want people to think better of you
don't be THAT guy in cargo shorts
unless you like ******* alone at night
and here's some Beats by Dre headphones
so you can hear us better
Now I no it's pricey, but don't you want to be happy?
we've got your happiness right here
and it will only cost you
your parents' credit card

"We just don't know what's wrong with you
why are you in such a rut?
get out of bed, go and do something
we got you what you asked for
why can't you be satisfied?
a lenovo 2 in 1?
what the hell is a Lenovo 2 in 1?
A laptop and a tablet?
Why?
Oh, you just have to have one
well I'm sorry, but money has been tight
maybe you should get a job
your birthday is right around the corner..."

Look at this cool guy
Look at how great his life is
you want this. We know you do
what you'll need is some more swag
just a little bit
and some cough syrup, expensive liquor and some ***
plus you'll want some *******
how else can you party this hard?
Maybe get a gun, or a knife
no. Definitely get a gun. A big one
that way nobody will say anything to **** your buzz
carry that big stick and walk tall cool dude
oh yeah, here's a secret for you
keep it to yourself alright?
women really like being treated like ****
we told them to

"What's that?
a gun? For what?
oh so now you're going to **** yourself?
well I'm sorry but we don't do that in this family
you'll just have to be ground into submission like everybody else
what makes you so special, huh?
why do you get to punch out early
shut up, keep your head down, do your job, buy some ****, have a family
then get your kids started with all the **** you buy.
brand name baby clothes and such.
now be a good boy
and pay your taxes
but shush, the TV is on"
Harry J Baxter Jun 2013
the piece fell in the James
floated away to lands unknown
off on its own adventure
and we were just ****** to see it go
if you fill up a room with enough smoke
you start to see the things in people
which writhe, twist, and turn like snakes
the poisonous reaction sending up cries for help to an empty throne
and the fuel we run on:
nothing more than chemicals ****** out of the long **** of corporate fat cats
and we drink it happily
and wear the clothes they say we look good in
but in that room,
slowly filling with smoke,
we were trying to take it some place else
somewhere naked and honest
and full of the shame and secrets
that the youth of America have been carrying with them for years
like bowling ***** sitting in our gut
in the smoke filled room lies become prophetic wisdom
and like dominoes
our flaws and false beliefs
all fall down
one at a time
and when the room is completely full
we suffocate
only to disappear when the smoke clears
Harry J Baxter Jul 2013
little poet man
like Robin Williams you can hear them calling
"O Captain my Captain"
but I'm not dead yet
sweating buckets off iced coffee
hiding from this hot American weather
otherwise I'd be nothing but an alcoholic
with a terrible case of sun burn
and a twisted tongue
unwrapping itself slowly
until the winter
when it gets stuck to street lights
curiosity killed the cat
but I introduced the two
all I want for Christmas is to knock out these two front teeth
so maybe then I could whistle at the pretty girls
who don't own designer jeans
or the greatest genes
i have fun with this junk
smiling pitcher with a blown out arm
my eyes open up
and life rushes in all directions
I'm standing still
under the sun
and my personal rain cloud
trying to find the *** of gold chocolate coins
at the end of my streaking color rainbow
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?
Harry J Baxter Feb 2014
no longer am I afraid of my own ignorance
nor am I afraid to lie
every single ******* poem
has to be so **** enigmatic
that I tire of reading
the same whiskey stained, cigarette smelling
blocks of text
I hate poetry
and I hate poets
I hate myself
and I hate you
so sue me
pretentious young people so concerned with life
pretentious young people all looking for a crack at the limelight
me oh me oh me oh my
read my pain drenched musing
feel the depth of my soul
because I have no other hopes
of ******* above my weight class
Me so touched and artistic
Me drunk and high -
a raving mess of hormones and emotions
where do we go from here?
which breakthrough is waiting to be made?
are we doomed to ape the beats and Bukowski
until the day that writing is made obsolete by tweeting?
**** oh **** oh **** oh ****
see? I’m edgy, couldn’t care less about P.C. and good taste
I’m wearing the same black shirt
as everybody else
but mine is different - see?
why be  a poet
when you can be anything else?
who chooses the bullet to the head
over the winning lottery ticket?
Harry J Baxter Nov 2013
Her backbone is a long stretch of American western highway
I trace my fingers eastbound/westbound across the slats of her ribs
pressed against the skin ready to pop
She left southside Midlothian Virginia as soon as she was old enough to make her own bad decisions
sick of being looked at
eyes grading like the big fat red D's stamped on her math homework
She left by foot
bus
plain
train
that grey jetta with the scratch down the passenger side from where she parked too close to that ugly Subaru
she left me
but she needed to breathe some air that wasn't stale with mediocre pretension and the frat house odor of stale beer and sawdust
so run wild
fly free
may your lips utter cliches without fear of derision
go make your life an incredible story
beautiful
ugly
hard to look at
can't look away
make your life a story
and I'll record it
want more? find me at hbaxter94.com
Harry J Baxter Feb 2013
no matter how well
he thinks he knows her
he always can find
some mystery
when he looks into her eyes
they change from brown
to hazel to green
like a mood ring
he loves her crazy
so much so
that he is far from sane
so unpredictable
she kills him again and again
only to revive him
and he loves it
loves the way
she looks back at him
and he isn't sure
if she'll kiss him
or set his bed on fire
say what you will
it's always nice
to have
some mystery
Harry J Baxter Mar 2013
Including this one
I have wrote
My last nine poems
From a cell phone
And if that ****** you off,
I don't care
Harry J Baxter Jul 2014
For every single time I stumbled on loose sidewalk brickwork
I have allowed a so what? smile to cross my face
this is no roadmap
flat as the earth was all those years ago
this path is uneven
and littered with fragments of the lives of others
others who at one point may have walked down this same sidewalk
only to stumble on loose brickwork
so what?
and each parked car
that I may have kissed while backing up
has its own life
maybe the owner spends hours in discussion
how the hell did I get that scratch?
well you are welcome -
so what?

and just maybe
if you call that number
stenciled and fading in the weathered concrete beneath the bridge
you will have a good time
so what?
the homeless man I saw one morning
taking the cans out of my recycling bin
and putting them in a duffel bag
was once a ten year old boy
who did things that every ten year old boy does
so what?
and maybe every single dumb poem I pen
makes its way into the heart
of just one person
and maybe they just fly upwards
into the atmosphere
where they dissolve into wind
*so what?
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
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