Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
dmperez Feb 2017
me ignoring you
    ignoring me.

Big, juicy, red
Sneaks up upon unsuspecting
A terrible fight ensues!
Tomato or tutor?
Tutor or tomato?
Tomato knows no math.
Tutor has no seeds.
A standoff.
Tutor and tomato growl menacingly,
Circling one another
Like two pieces of meat
On a microwave turntable.
Suddenly, their rhythmic dance of Hate
Is broken
By the rhythmic sound of incoming
Tutor and tomato are trampled
Like a TV dinner
On the freeway.
Grey  May 2016
The Chicken Boy
Grey May 2016
You look me in the eyes and spit,
          And I kick dust on the wet spot on the ground.
This is how we are, a conversation; you never cared to call me something like my name.
           I never cared to see you in any way but under my boot with blood on your teeth.
               There is no moon above us, even when the sun’s gone to hide at the nearest bar.
This is not a war that can be won with pickets and strikes.
The only way to end the battle
                                                Is that someone has to die.
        A standoff only ends when one is left standing, it’s the rules,
but you never did care for rules, and breaking is easier than bending.
               You never apologize and I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth.
            The sun’s gone to hide at the local bar and it drinks whiskey shots like water.
It has seen us fight.
            The moon doesn’t want to come out, stays tucked safe in its bed.
It has heard stories.
                         Only the stars act as referee, calling out which one of us died better.
            It’s all an act, a ******* contest, and you sure are good at wetting the ground.
                 I’m better at covering up where the bloodstains were,
                         stain chicken feathers red as the sunset, Please, I ask you,
Let him win one last time.

                               The hourglass broke, the sand mixing with the red clay,
And you claim to know that his time is up.
                 I claim to know that you’re a lying ******* who takes what isn’t his.
                        And you claim that I’m just a child,
                                           but children don’t know why their knuckles are
                                           and children don’t get why their jaws hurt
                                           and children only bleed when summer is restless
                                           and children never pull real guns anyway.
          You brought a knife to a gunfight,
                 a gun to face the firing squad, a one child firing squad,
                    knees stuck together with blood and chicken feathers.

Please, you ask me,
Let me win one last time.

                     And I learn that breaking is easier than bending;
And I learn how my name sounds on your lips.
Sirenes Feb 2016
A Mexican standoff is a confrontation among two or more parties in which no participant can proceed or retreat without being exposed to danger. As a result, all participants need to maintain the strategic tension, which remains unresolved until some outside event makes it possible to resolve

Now I don't know what
You are waiting for
But all you need to do
In my book
Is speak the words.

There's no need to mend things
God knows that if it wasn't
For Karmic responsability
I would've spoken those words
A long long time ago.

I don't need anything from you
Just wish you'd come clean
Your foal mood has been going on
Since last Thursday
And for all I care
You can just say it

give him time
Says a whisper of compassion
Yes, even now, there is compassion
he needs time to mend himself
take this seriously
everything else has checked out*

You learn your lessons in high speed
But I certainly wish
It wasn't just because
You're waiting for me to pay the bills
I'd pay them either way
Have I ever been anything less
Than fair?

C'mon. Spit it out.
I'll be here doing my nails while you gather your *****.
SKelly Woz  Nov 2012
SKelly Woz Nov 2012
Little Sheriff walks around these parts after school,
shooting invisible birds or bandits
with twin finger guns and magic bullets.

Little Sheriff talks like an old Western in his pre-pubescent voice,
even up in these here northern parts,
and tells passersby to stick their hands way up in the sky.

Little Sheriff wastes his enemies with four even shots to the chest
to restart their hearts and make them his friends.

                                                               ­                                                  Until Real man walked by one day,
                                                                ­        caught off guard and alarmed by cheek exploding gunfire,
                                                        ­                                      and sunk one real slug into the Sheriff’s brain.

S.Kelly Woz '12
A Mareship Oct 2013

My father and I sat
In our timeless silence
That brewed away beneath the lights
Like a sweat that never breaks.

Sister and the Stranger
Sat flanked by pillars,
With two full glasses of
Blood-lit wine
Simmering warmly like
Lamb's hearts
Dropped into bowls.

Never do I love my sister more
That when she wears that little fishhook
Of a smile,
A grim refusal of her lips to flicker down,
Making mincemeat of photographers,
Men in bad jumpers,
And garrulous psychopaths.
It was crueler than any frown.
Far more efficient.

The Stranger buttered her bread-roll all at once,
(A damning thing to do this afternoon)
And dinner turned to coffee
Without a hitch.
I noticed that the whole evening was
Done in a deliberately cut-glass way -
Two siblings painting themselves
Into the people they never wanted to be,
To make a ******-minded point.

She’s not one of us.
She’s nothing like us.
She’s nothing like mother -
Absolutely nothing like mother!

And as we stood waiting for the car
My sister turned to me and said –
“I thought my expectations of daddy were low.”
She swiped at her flapper-girl haircut,
“Turns out my expectations
Have a basement.”

We only notice class
When we need to shut someone
We only notice class

When it's all we've got.
spysgrandson Aug 2018
the green grove a magnet to my eye
on these sun baked plains

I enter the glade to take shade with the cicadas
and vampire mosquitos

then I see it, Eden’s villain, coiled and rattling,
red ready to strike

I raise my staff, I too programmed to survive, do to what millennia
have taught

still we are in this staring standoff—silent save its rattle, deaf
I am to the chorus of insects

neither of us moves for an eternity of seconds, until the snake lunges at my feet

where its fangs find a field mouse, and devour it while I watch, an unwitting witness to expiry other than my own  

I leave the copse, whole, content another creature has, for today, taken my place in the bloodletting
Stanley Wilkin  Nov 2015
Stanley Wilkin Nov 2015
Catastrophic end in sight,
light bends, her eyes contrite;
a shaking phantasmagoric dispute
making both husband and lover mute;
revelation upon revelation,
hatred in each exhalation;
exasperated rivals stand apart,
one soul exultant, one twisted heart.
the dirty poet Oct 2018
as i was playing my ***** at a sidewalk cafe
three bums who’d monopolized a table for an hour
exchanged belligerence with a guy boarding a harley

i don’t know how it started
i was busy with my unfinished symphonies
but i felt the violence in the air

"get off the bike," said one of the mooks at the table
the biker jumped out of his seat and took off his helmet
a hollywood handsome moviestar stud

"come over here," said the seated blowhard

"oh, i’d love it if you took a swing at me"
the biker announced to the whole street

staredown; poseoff
the fools at the table didn’t rise
no thanks
the biker was winning just by standing there
bragging about how he’d love a punch in the nose
he didn’t have to approach
only wave his arms in bring-it-on jerry springer motion

then he overplayed
"my lawyer would love it if you hit me"

a roar went up from the table
"the guy rides a harley and when it’s time for a fight
he hides behind his lawyer"

it was a complicated macho standoff
an intricate defensive moment
the bums had backed down
but the biker had blown it

he climbed back on his bike
"yeah you’re real tough guys"
while the table which had stiffened in NO
taunted him with his lawyer


***** music incites violence
John F McCullagh Nov 2011
For every aging boomer
there are one or two they've known:
Heroes of the battlefield
Who never made it home.

Some classmate who was butchered
in a fire fight in “Nam.
A sibling who had perished
in the standoff at Khe Sanh.

Perhaps the Tet offensive
left some friend's blood spilled and spent.
Politicians speak of glory-
It’s the grunts who pay the rent

From the walls of Hue to Can Ranh Bay
from Tonkin to Saigon.
there is a wall in Washington
with their names inscribed thereon.

The lucky ones who did come home
recall the name and face
of some heroic eighteen year old
who perished in their place.
The Traveling Wall. The mobile version of the Vietnam memorial came to our town back when I wrote this poem. It is a companion piece to my Poem "The Butterfly"

— The End —