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Sacrelicious May 2012
The Bad News Bears
may bring a
flash flood
tear storm ,
to the
beach-rockers
by the bay.

But that won't stop them.
They're
just.
stuck in the mud.
Cause some people
had
to
spill their problems
on your
calm beach.

The world is
a
cynical/circular/cycle.

But time doesn't exist.
You'll always be here.
In the web
or out the cocoon.

So smoke a joint
and
check your weave.

Youz actin' a lil'
cray-cray,
Bay-Bay.
CK Baker Feb 2018
lines cut heavy
on a button stretched brow
thick rubber shoes
and dragon canes
fill out the closet floor
gospel sounds
and narratives (drowned)
apparitions set sullenly
amid voices from the past

finger pins
and crosswords
find the favor list
point men and preachers
tip up their tuscany caps
twitching and sign gazing
with spectacles held firm
recurring evening news
and beadledom views

clappers and caregivers
raise a crooked foot
grips and rockers
settle in on the front porch
gertrude grimaces
at an untimely turn
as the gooseberry pie
(with a smidgen of cloves)
chills by the night watch
Mike Hauser  Mar 2013
Hippie Sale
Mike Hauser Mar 2013
Over a cup of morning java
Scanning my daily mail
I came upon an advertisement sheet
That exclaimed in BOLD rainbow pastel

Grand opening of a store that has everything
On the corner of Daisy and William Tell
The one thing I saw that interested me
Is they were having a back to "60's"  Hippie sale

Of course I stopped what it was I was doing
Hopped in my Lexus and left right away
The excitement had my heart all in a flutter
This I guarantee is going to be a good day

They weren't kidding when they said they sold it all
I'd been wandering the store for quite a while
That's when I came to what it was I had come here for
Before me in trippy little colors, the hippie aisle

So I bought me a couple colorful hippies
With my 25% coupon I was able to save
The Hippies even  came with a bonus
Fresh cut flowers and Jefferson Airplane tapes

When I got home I showed them to their room
Black light posters and colored beads hung from the door
As luck would have it I bought an Indian hemp rug
From Pier One just the day before

They taught me transcendental meditation
While I taught them both how to bathe
Their lessons broadened the mind
My lessons the nostrils saved

I soon had a groovy little hippie pad
In which organic vegetables and enlightenment grew
We'd sit around crossed legged in a  purple haze at night
Playing psychedelic tunes on our Kazoo's
And I was pretty good too! Who Knew!

Yes, a house of happy hippies
Is a happy hippie house indeed
Especially when Wendy Crystal Sky...Yes, that's her name*
Brews her famous dandelion tea

I highly recommend the purchase of hippies
I couldn't be any happier with mine
Sure beats the punk rockers I got on close out last year
*But that my friend is another tale for another time...
I'm not a fan of sailing Optis.
But right now, we're just sitting under a grey sky
with no wind to blow life into
the sagging sails.
I glance across the boat, right into the
accusing eyes of Myself.
She has her arms crossed and so do I.
We're the same person, thinking the same thoughts.
I stare into my green grey hazel eyes,
which are cold and hard like concrete before snowfall.

"What?" she asks, her sharp words like knives, piercing me.
I look down and say,
"You know what."
"Yeah, I ******* know." I look up again, to see her eyes flash pale green grey, the color
of the water we rest on.
"What's your problem?" I yell at her. It's not really a question. My nose tingles, as it always
does when I get upset. I see her tug at her nose, too.
She answers quietly. "You're my problem."
"How can I be your problem when I'm you and you're me? We're obviously stuck, Gen."
She lowers her eyes, and pulls at her eyebrow. I do the same.
We're creatures of habit, she and I, I and she.
Me, myself and I.
I, myself and me.
She shakes her head. "I don't know what to do."
"Neither do I. Obviously."
Then suddenly, we look up at each other, a new light peeking behind our irises and dripping onto our cheekbones.
We both stand up, the boat still completely motionless.
"You know we can't swim," I mutter, looking into the murk.
"Doesn't matter."
She looks at me, and I at her. Something in her eyes tells me that it'll be okay.
Maybe.
Bobcat Feb 2018
Put on my pants
Put on a show
Fake a smile
No one will know

Don't show weakness
Fake my emotions
Bury my anxiety
Just go with the motions

I gotta play fast
Need to sing out of tune
Because don't you know
Punk Rockers Don't Sing The Blues
Politics have no place on this wood porch ... This veranda
was made for welcome , red hued Dawns and indigo Dusk ..
For watching the colors of a Georgia Fall , for counting Red Winged
Blackbirds , listening to the chatter of ground squirrels ...
This old stoop is for lively conversation , for the sound of the Grand Ole
Oprey on Saturday nights , making strawberry ice cream and bragging
about my tomato plants ...
Singing babies and grand babies to sleep , for reading good books with hot tea ... For anyone to sit a spell and "Chew the fat with .."
For any man to rest awhile and be at ease , for being in love and shootin'
the breeze* ....
Copyright February 22 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
loric Jan 2013
How many chairs have we parked ourselves on,
side by side
in these 6,205 days of marriage?
Side by side at our wedding reception
principals’ offices
school graduations
courtrooms
funerals
new baby nurseries
counselors’ offices
new cars and
bars.

In lawn chairs
pews
rockers
couches
backseats and
airline seats.

The size and shapes of the imprints
we leave behind
changing over time.
The faces of others seated with us coming and going.

Always, we have tried to leave a trail of love,
like the slime of slugs and snails.
And for each other, an extra measure.
Trevor Gates May 2013
Welcome to tonight’s show

Allow me to introduce myself.

I go by many names


Some of which, you may know
But those do not need to be mentioned
a howl, a moan, a scream, a summoning
Let’s keep this interesting.


This is the midnight calling
This is the raven cawing

This is the shadow lurking
And the jackals slurping

The demons wailing
While Charon is sailing,

The Acheron
The river
The first

The Eternal song
Of dripping livers
and Thirst

Stop

This is all confusing
And amusing
To some
And many
But to me it is painful

Demeaning
Putrid
Repugnant
Detrimental
Disturbing

And

­A subjective simmer of passivity
A pious dose of sheer calamity

Once upon a time

In a land past the desert
Was a neon capped city
Devoid of hope

And shaped by
Casual nihilism

And too much money

A powerful portrait in all its brevity
The display of sweltering people melting against the asphalt
The mucous sunscreen and coarse sand between the toes

And crooked nails
And bleached hair
And coffee stained teeth
And pink nails
And Gucci purses
And Versace dresses
Shutter Shades
Corvettes
$5 lap dances

And promiscuous preteen slaves
To MTV
VH1
Pop sensations
Internet ****
Social networks
Smart phones
Model rock stars
Models
Interviews
Auditions
Mundane seductively
For him
Or she
The nepotistic aficionado

of  

Delicious, robust, superb, disdain  
*******: Nose Candy
******: Snake venom
After Parties: ******* adrenaline
***** Film tryouts: Garage studio
LSD: Acid
Plastic: Lips, skins, *******.
24/7
Hits of E
X-T-C

and

Do you have change for a hundred?
Or a change for a life?

Cites in Dust
Thank Siouxsie and the Banshees; A carnival.

Shout
Tears for Fears, they’re Head over Heels

Love will Tear Us apart
From Joy Division, who claims she’s lost control

Los Angeles
“X”
Exene and Billy Zoom’s Wild Gift.

The perpetual rise of sunset rockers and Neon knights.
Teens crawling through the muck of socialites and incubator nightmares
Civil borders wired by racial slurs and salivating bigotry
Water replaced by blood
Spit interchanged for souls
And fire traded for icy methamphetamine

Warriors and survivors

Poets and dreamers

Shooters and inhalers

Geeks and groupies

Burnouts and Dropouts

Sweet dreams are made of this



Such a show, such a show! Bravo Bravo! Thank you, thanks to all I have time to thank: Martin Sheen, Julius Ceasar, Fender Guitars, Randy Marsh, elbow pads, Chuck Berry, Al Green, X, Joy Division, Tears for Fears, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Less than Zero, Alucard, Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelly, Daryl Dixon, George Harrison, Brad Pitt, Rooney Mara (Love you), Belstaff, Emma Watson (Love you too), Laure Heriard Dubreuil, Manolo Blahnik, Hannah Murray and Michele Abeles.

So many to mention, so little time. We’ll be back.
This is one of my favorites I've done so far in this series. I had just finished reading Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis and watch Gregg Araki's films, The Doom Generation and Nowhere, which all three sum up the existentialism and merging rampancy of living in Los Angeles, California. An experience I will never forget.
Raffael Delacroix  Nov 2015
Teen
Rock and Roll and Rolling Rockers
Her eyes shine like wet graffiti paint
slow motion emotion
showing dubious devotions
You own nothing right now
cause you can't handle anything
Teenage mouths babble
Teenage minds travel
in fast cars driven carelessly
words fly by
Doge
Doge
Don't collide
With a mouth a spitting out words
they add up
pile up
till they become their own little world
you don't won't to hear that
or even see
yet all the time you are wondering
where is a little world for me
Aa Harvey  Apr 2018
Apathy
Aa Harvey Apr 2018
Apathy


Don’t tell me how to feel, when I feel like this;
Don’t tell me that you’re happy, when I’m so depressed.
Don’t sit there with your girlfriend, giving her a kiss;
Because I just don’t care, about your life of bliss.


I do not care for your sympathy,
Because I live in a town called Apathy.
The town of no-hopers and the town I’m in;
The ****** little town called Apathy.


So don’t sit there with a smile upon your face.
Don’t dare utter those words:
‘The world is such an amazing place.’
Because I live in the rain and I feel like ****.
The sun never shines down on Apathy.


So I do not care for your sympathy,
Because I live in a town called Apathy.
The town of no-hopers and the town I’m in;
The ****** little town called Apathy.


If you feel the same as me;
Or you live in a town like Apathy.
A town of losers; a town of ****!
Then come with me down to Apathy.


Let’s take it over and change a few things.
Let’s welcome only rockers and eject all the trendies.
Let’s all sit down and smoke a spliff.
Let’s drink tequila and rock a few riffs.


I do not care for your sympathy,
Because I live in a town, called Apathy.
The town of no-hopers and the town I’m in;
The ****** little town called Apathy…


Yeah, I live in a town called Apathy,
And it has become like home to me,
For I never want to live outside Apathy,
Because I only care about, the cool people and me.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jonny Angel Apr 2015
The beat seemed toxic,
rapidly jumping
alcohol-fueled beings
with shellacked hair,
bouncing off the walls
under the spinning disco ball.
But it wasn't disco,
they had moved onto industrial,
trying to make sense
of the wasteland outside,
the wasteland
they called home.
angel headed rockers with devil horns in their pants
strong tasting whiskey and thick blood to match
my god baby
you're such a catch.
pull up on your black motorcycle
take me to the 70's
lace *******, ******* angel
daddy's eyes starring straight at me.
the weight of a lovely, crushing reality.
******* eyes, green blue, blue
red and brown hair
finally no more twos.
white dolly dress strolling in the secret garden;
you pull it down swiftly
ravish me.
kissing the wounded parts of you,
i make you ***
a soft, somber release
identified pleasure, well earned glory.
poems scattered on the floor, all noise but my favourite is the sound of your happy heart-
grown man hands on fragile, naïve backs.
blissful.
lovely.
extreme.
a passionate fire between pants, minds and hearts,
a sudden hard kiss on my lips...

-ravish me

conceptcollection
Bill murray Dec 2015
The year
1966.
Manson was on his spree
Hippies chilled the breeze.
Chicks dancing with rubies on hips.
Then came 1967
Hendrix wowed the crowd
Janis Joplins soul came out
Music splashed
Hallucinogenic heaven.
1968, patterns of clothing
Seemed to be from faraway.
It wasn't American to the main stream
Still wouldn't be today.
1969, Woodstock, the time
Of all togetherness, and weightless
Rockers heads filled with dust and buds.
Cities broke to riots
Gangbanging quiets over colors lust!
1970, met grandmammy
Touched the farmers scene.
Found the happy
In the sixties baby in me.
Today, now a mountain boy
On a machine that cuts down anything
In its way.
The farming hand
Making a living off of dirt and hay.
Spit and clay.

— The End —