Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
spysgrandson Jun 2013
we shared a camel
after my thumb stopped you
I took the first drag
before I handed it to you
you trusted my spit enough to share
and my road look enough
for me to be there,
in your new Olds Eighty-eight

you
had just come back,
from there
I was on my way,
I did not ask if that was why
your right hand had only *******
and a thumb, though you told me
of trying to close an APC hatch
and the AK-47 round that kept you
from doing magic tricks

when our smoke was half gone, we passed
the dying neon of a long dead bar
safe from its stench in your new smelling car
was then you asked
if I had “anything else to smoke”
a line from our riddled anthem,
we sang like nursery rhyme

I had what I had stuffed in my socks
since thumbs attracted cops as well
as wounded warriors in shiny new rides
I piggy lit the joint with the *** before
I crushed it in your fresh ash tray
now we were sharing our deepest breaths
and whatever else we could not forget

the **** was gone by the time
we reached the last city lights
and we, in our flying chariot,
zipped into the black desert night, it
was then your demons began to howl
maybe it was a full moon that called them out
to ride on its beams into the starry sky
where they could dance with other devils
and gods who had forsaken them, and you

I did not understand your moans, your tears
or the song you played on the eight track
that chanted about freedom which could not be bought or sold
or to whom you spoke when you wailed
you were sorry, sorry again and again,
I only knew they were ghosts
spirits kept at bay by the light of day
but there to haunt you in the dark
“Reggie, Big Mike and Cleveland”
all silent as you begged them
to forgive you for some simmering sin
I could not understand,
(not then in the desert dark,
though one day I would beseech other ghosts
to let me off the hook as well)

your cries did stop when you turned
onto a rutted desert road,
where you put the pedal to the floor
and the rocks pocked the undercarriage
like machine gun fire

you stopped,
and popped out the eight track
a half mile from highway 54
I lit another camel in the synovial silence
your tears kept streaming down your face
but you no longer called out to the ghosts, perhaps
left behind you on that black highway

I don’t know if they spoke to you
when I handed you the smoke, you did
look around, as if someone was there
before reaching over to open my door…

I did not ask why you were leaving me
with the moon and the stars and the sand,
so far from the lights and sound, or why
I could not feel my feet when
they touched the ground, the last thing
I saw was your dust filling the rumbling air
and the orange glow of the camel
flying through the blue night
**one of many late night rides I took on my thumb
Jonny Angel Jun 2015
Ross was a fullblooded
bronze-skinned buddy
from the Navajo Nation.
He was a diehard Okie,
and a machine gunner,
carried the M-sixty
with twenty pounds
of extra belted-ammo.
He was a big guy,
had brown deep-set eyes,
high cheeks and
not a single hair
on his burly body,
but some high and tight
pitch bristles on his head.
He had a weakness.
Pure Straight Whiskey.
Whenever he had too much,
he was an F5 tornado,
a wild Tasmanian devil,
to be reckoned with.
I remember when he had
his front top teeth knocked out
by some civilian bouncers
at a local drinking establishment.
He kicked the **** out of
three huge muscle guys.
It was him versus them.
A regular melee.
Ross won.
Once on a Saturday night,
drunk as skunks,
we made an illegal turn
on the Interstate south of Denver.
We ended up flying down the highway
with four hundred feet of wire
attached to wooden poles,
sent sparks flying everywhere.
I never saw a guy laugh
so hard in all my life.
He ****** himself hysterically.
We gave Ross his first Native American name.
We were out in the field,
just hanging out
in battle gear,
shooting the ****
around our APC.
We called him Prancing Moose,
Moose for short.
He loved it when
we called him that,
gave us a toothless grin.
He was a warrior to us.
In another time and place,
he might have been a Chief.
He was courageous,
fearless and
a good friend
to have in your side.
From time to time,
I think about him,
and pray he's okay,
still alive.
He was our blood brother.
We were in hell together.
I miss him, too.
Jonny Angel Mar 2014
I'd love to take this beast home,
I could drive over anything,
knock down trees,
blow like the breeze
through concrete.

In fact,
I could destroy
the whole town
with one of these
& a Ma Deuce.

Think about it,
leaving tracks all over
the rival schoolyard
would be trick,
but really,
what kind of a *******
would bring home an APC?
judy smith Feb 2016
For the past five seasons, the New York-based designer Rachel Comey has forgone a traditional runway show in favour of a more intimate dinner and presentation at the Pioneer Works Center for Art and Innovation in Red Hook, Brooklyn. This season, she is taking her show on the road, stepping off the New York calendar altogether. Instead, she plans to present her Autumn/Winter 2016 collection in Los Angeles in late March to support the launch of her first retail store on the West Coast, scheduled to open in April.

Located at 8432 Melrose Place, the store is the second physical retail presence in Comey’s portfolio; the first opened in June 2014 on Crosby Street in Manhattan, New York. Editors and buyers who wish to see the collection during New York Fashion Week will still be able to schedule private appointments and the designer also plans on releasing a look book of images prior to the show.

Comey is the latest of several brands — including Burberry,Tom Ford and Louis Vuitton — to stage activations in Southern California in the past year. (While Ford and Burberry did shows in Los Angeles-proper, Vuitton took to nearby Palm Springs.) On February 10, the Hollywood Palladium will host what might be Hedi Slimane's last men’s show for Saint Laurent. Indeed, Los Angeles’ emergence as a legitimate cultural capital and growing fashion hub has been well documented.

The exact date and location of Comey’s Los Angeles event has yet to be decided. But the designer said it would be similar in format and concept to the dinner theatre-style shows she has preferred as of late, with a live performance and a guest list filled with creative class types who reflect the brand’s point of view. (Notable Spring 2016 attendees included NPR reporter Jacki Lyden, actress Parker Posey, writer Zadie Smith and artist Cindy Sherman.) “I’ve been showing for a long time, but how many shows did Cathy Horyn come to before we started doing dinners. Maybe two over 13 years?” Comey said during a recent studio visit. “I get it. Shows are ten minutes and really what are you learning about the brand? The collaborative effort between the environment and the music and models and the chef feels very honest for us and what we are trying to do. It's something we really believe in."

There will be one significant change to Comey's unconventional presentation formula besides the location. Instead of simply showing pieces from Autumn/Winter 2016, the designer plans to incorporate current-season pieces into the line-up, which will be available to purchase the next day. The idea is to boost interest in the opening of the Los Angeles store, which will sit alongside The Row, Chloé, Isabel Marant, APC and several other high-fashion retailers on Melrose Place. “We want to use the show as a way to introduce ourselves and connect with people,” said Comey.

Architect Elizabeth Roberts and interior designer Charles de Lisle, both of whom worked on Comey’s New York store, are collaborating on the interiors of the 2,600-square foot space. Additionally, Los Angeles-based architect Linda Taalman has been brought onto the team to consult on the design.

Both the Los Angeles event and store opening reflect the quiet transformation of the Rachel Comey brand over the past three years, as the designer's intellectual, arts-and-crafts aesthetic has grown more popular with a broader audience in the United States and beyond. (Comey’s dropped-hem “Legion” jean, for instance, has driven denim trends for several seasons.) Her decision to shift her presentation format from a traditional runway show to a seated dinner elevated Comey’s cachet on the fashion week calendar, while the success of her New York store has helped to drive a significant evolution of the business. Direct retail — both the physical store and e-commerce — now makes up 27 percent of the company's nearly $10 million in annual sales. Roughly half the brand's sales are still generated by domestic wholesale partners, while the other quarter comes from Comey’s growing presence at international stockists.

“The [New York store] was such a game changer for us because of the connection to the customer,” she said. “I think people didn’t realise the breadth of the collection. When you’re a wholesaler, people cherry pick it however they want. Which is nice, I like that in a way. But it’s also nice to have our own store, our own space and do things the way we want to do it.”

Indeed, Comey, who has been designing womenswear under her namesake label since 2004, has found that her greatest successes have come out of staying true to her vision. “I now have the faith and confidence that if you do things that are meaningful to you — rather than stick to the industry standard — [things] will probably work out,” said the designer, who is also working on a revamp of her e-commerce site.

“We’ve never been championed by a celebrity or a powerful editor. It’s really always been by word of mouth, loyal customers and just keeping on.” Now, it’s time to test out that philosophy on the West Coast. As Comey put it, “California is the promise land.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com | www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Rain plummeting
like rivets.

Seated in the mud,
soaked beyond notice,
beside a fried APC hulk,
eating cold C-Rations
with my ***** fingers.

Eyes like vacant windows.

This photograph
can never fade.

  mce
POSSIBLE  Feb 2016
RUn F33lin
POSSIBLE Feb 2016
To see just how far I have come from harm
I just look down at the fading scars of my arm
the burn of the flame has cooled
and showed me what in my psche ruled
for now I’ve been schooled
in emotions
fooled
by illusory oceans
I go through the motions

as spirit shows me what’s right
and guides my poor eyes to sight
It is imperative to fight
to live
with authentic shivs
People cry and ask what gives?

Simple thought ships
neurotransmit APC clips
to be played and looped
with these blips, beeps, and boops
Cylab v2.0
this collective insaenity has brought you a show
for those who don’t know
about life and love
the difference between sharing a laugh or a shove
gazing quietly above and be grateful
not hateful
towards both spirit and shameful
This is a plea to understand the thoughts so disdainful

so let these molecules of thought rearrange you
to reconsider a few memories that stain you
tie die the stain
to transmogrify the pain

learn to laugh
learn to cry
hold your friends close
while you fly high
but most of all
never say good bye, until the day you are ready to die

these are the lessons I’ve learned
and the distance I have covered
on my journey to become
the epitome of a lover.
nick armbrister  Mar 2020
Photos
nick armbrister Mar 2020
Photos
The larger than life SAS patrol saw the explosions.
They danced and flickered and sang like a drum.
Then silence.

They know we're here.

Later, the SF men came across their enemy.
A thousand angry ragged heads.
All lined up and armed for suicide.
The SAS get captured!

World's best captured by muzzahs.

Lined up themselves, a speech is given.
Muzzah leader goes on about Allah and all.
Trooper Captain has a plan: a mad one.

A roll call will be made.

When Rollbottom's name is called, it's time.
He'll drop his trousers and moon his ****!
It'll be cold as they're so high up.

It begins.

Rollbottom?
Here Sir.
He got his chance to shine.
No longer a tour guide for no one but me.
Make us proud, friend.

Moons his **** and dances...

Later. The captured muzzahs, one thousand of them, are stressed.
In an American Gitmo stress position.
There's no escape!
Some do try in a French built Russian 'tank'.

It slides on the ice.

Tumbles off the edge of the mountain.
It's a four mile almost vertical drop to the bottom.
All eyes see the APC fall, becoming smaller.
It bounces a couple of times off cliffs.

Only stopping at the very bottom.

No fire but distant clangs.
No more escapes!
Over the edge with most of their arms.
Later. The SAS mission continues.
from GIRLS, GUITARS, GATLING GUNS
Jimmy Boom Semtex
Joshua Donald  Jun 2019
Pay pass
Joshua Donald Jun 2019
In the ****** of my grief
For a country lost in greed,
Divided by religious believe
And tribalism, i tried to relief
Myself by bathing
In bottles, while meditating
I entered my car and started trekking
With my bittered heart bleeding
My body or my soul, one was driving
But i can't tell which, because like Esau
I have sold my sovereignty to the bottles.

As i Drive pass moments
I suddenly saw a black giant
Holding the moon in his hand
With a voice like thunder he says
"stop, park and come out"
I struggled with my motor neurons
As my legs were no longer mine.
Finally the car was parked, and
I struggled to come out, but
Like Peter, the spirit is willing but
The body is weak, but
Like Jesus, i came out of
The car, to fulfill all righteousness
As the soldier holds his riffle close
I was Holding my bottle of
Peace and liberty closer
And he said "you have committed
A hideous crime for drinking and driving"
My heart danced to the Words of his voice
For i have seen a black man with a White
Heart, a true citizen of Nigeria.
Then he said "papers"
I quickly gave him my particulars
And he became furious and i became curious
As he rephrased "papers"
Then i asked myself is what have
Given to him a white board or a slate
Then with an alarming voice he rephrased  
"papers" then i decided to try
The Nigeria police policy as amended
By the check point men in black;
I deep my hand into my pocket and
Squeezed out twenty naira note
And gave to him and he said
"now u can pass" then i realized
What he has been saying is not PAPERS
But PAY-PASS.

I then asked the bottle in my hand,
If those who are to fight corruption
In Nigeria is corrupt, using the PDP or APC
Formula, find the value of corruption
In NIGERIA.
Wordfreak  Jan 2019
Limbo
Wordfreak Jan 2019
In between conscious
And unconscious
I see the things I dont want to.
Like the 37 days in Kuwait,
The fourteen hours in combat,
The two brothers I dragged
Behind the APC,
The 6 rounds stopped
By my plate carrier,
And the one that punched through
Shattering my clavicle
And ending my career.
Not to mention
My fireteam
Fused to their seats
After hitting an IED
All while I bled in a shack
Covered in blood,
Mud and ****.
The things I don't talk about.
The things nobody knows.
Because even telling the story
Raises ever more ******* questions.
And again.
I don't want to talk
About these things.
So count yourself lucky.
To be among those who read this.
To those that have heard my life's story, there's a reason the timelines don't add up. Its because I never told you the whole story. Now you know. So stop ******* asking.

— The End —