.
We stalked and ran with endless time,
Knee deep in rains of muck, grew lost
In tails of the always new, overreached
By trammeled spots, dotting, red wings
From black birds, knobby toads, garter
Snakes that shocked, marigold swamp
And we bolted above ruddy moccasins,
As ever wet, holey, dying for new days,
Gleaming in the swelters of the horse-
Fly sun, in the giants' grasses, we were
Heroes by the falls of light, glow, dusky
Bold, joys travail and dewy eyes echoed
With sprite flashes by the flies that fired.
And all our conquests— writ in the wind.

Stanley crawled along the shore
Holding the ocean in his hand
Bearing the words "Nevermore"
He was quite justifiably mad.

He had without, a coin to his name.
Nor the age of someone wiser.
Stanely, without thinking met a dame.
Who shared his love of a ****** writer.

I refrain from telling you so thusly.
But I authored this text thinking of me.
In my room, on a bed.
Too bad no one likes reading about poor people.

Stanelys dame had given him hope.
And tore it slowly without a sound.
Crushing, to his very soul.
He refused to swim, preferring to drown.

But I dare not say where stanely ends.
Or where his story dared to lead.
He did not drown within those depths.
How poetic that must have been.

Stanely looked upon the beach.
Feeling four winds at his heels.
His writers note had overreached.
And stanely cried, forgetting that girl.

We stalked and ran with endless time,
Knee deep in rains of muck, grew lost
In tails of the always new, overreached
By trammeled spots, dotting, red wings
From black birds, knobby toads, garter
Snakes that shocked, marigold swamp
And we bolted above ruddy moccasins,
As ever wet, holey, dying for new days,
Gleaming in the swelters of the horse-
Fly sun, in the giants' grasses, we were
Heroes by the falls of light, glow, dusky
Bold, joys travail and dewy eyes echoed
With sprite flashes by the flies that fired.
And all our conquests— writ in the wind.

We stalked and ran with endless time,
Knee deep in rains of muck, grew lost
In tails of the always new, overreached
By trammeled spots, dotting, red wings
From black birds, knobby toads, garter
Snakes that shocked, marigold swamp
And we bolted above ruddy moccasins,
As ever wet, holey, dying for new days,
Gleaming in the swelters of the horse-
Fly sun, in the giants' grasses, we were
Heroes by the falls of light, glow, dusky
Bold, joys travail and dewy eyes echoed
With sprite flashes by the flies that fired.
And all our conquests— writ in the wind.

I’m proud of where I call home
I live out where the crops are grown
where we can live, without a phone
and we can make it on our own
where you break a sweat, when you work
and you give all, just to make a buck
we ain’t afraid, to dig no ditch
out here we don’t, sit and *****
we jump on it quick, lend a hand
work on through, and get r done
But how much more, can we take
of the stealing, from our plate
we have given in, and given up
it’s like we just don’t, give a ****
but that won’t work, that won’t win
we got to see it, to the end
so stand up tall scream and shout
let the flag wave about
let em come on down my gravel road
and see the place I call home
where the white tail roam
where I'll make a stand
to defend this land
from dear old uncle sam
when his out stretched hand has finally overreached
I’ll lay’em out at my feet

you never had permission
a false authority
fidelity? are you serious?
I owe you nothing
not the spit from my rage nor the dust from my shoes
you have overreached

#thisjourneyofdays

By: Cedric McClester
 
Everything that Trump touches dies
And every day Sarah Huckabee lies
To keep her job if I had to surmise
Even though she should go and cut ties
What will she do after he’s impeached?
Be a stay at-home-mom who’s overreached
Because obviously decorum’s been breeched
Like a whale stuck on shore she’ll be beached
 
That brings us to Kellyanne Conway
Lying to her is merely child’s play
She tries her best to have the last say
While keeping the press safely at bay
Though her reputation will not be in tact
That’s not conjecture, it’s an actual fact
Not an alternative hatched to distract
But a reality that can be backed
 
Now if you want someone who is iller
We can begin with Steven Miller
Who could have been cast in MJ’s Thriller
He’s definitely not a lady killer
I guess we could call him a policy wonk
If you agree with me, let me hear you honk?
Were he a horse he’d be a bronc
And if he played cards he’s lose at Poker and Tonk
 
Everything that Trump touches dies
Cuz he is surrounded by the unwise
Who cling to him like family ties
They’re addicted to power no one denies
Let’s look at all of the president’s men
Like Manafort, Cohen and what about Flynn
And let’s look at all the doo doo they’re in
But I’m at my wit’s end as to where to begin






Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved.