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Frank DeRose Jan 8
A stranger asked me about my political beliefs--
only, I misheard her,
thought she'd said political beefs.

So I thought I'd serve them to her
to digest
or chew on
at her leisure.

And thus I outlined the stakes--
sorry, I mean--
I set down the steaks:

Beef number one,
served well done,
tough:
the Right claims to uphold the sanctity of life,
but won't spend any money to care for it.
How leathery!
How tasteless!

Beef number two,
mid-well:
served the way they leave kids
grey and hardly pink,
starving.
Meanwhile, they turn away the drowning,
and while tears fill children's eyes,
They advocate war.

What insanity!
What sanctity?

Beef number three,
medium:
served pink and with some juice,
like bodies putrefying,
but they don't care because they're
lying,
stupefying their base--
all the while children dying--
do different colors not belong to the same human race?

Beef number four,
served medium-rare:
tenderly, but not totally rawly,
they take Pride
in blacking out the colors of the rainbow,
suffocating black lives,
subverting their skin,
bruising it
Black and Blue.
Cries of "I can't breathe" choked short,
because
Blue lives matter?

Beef number five,
rare--
served juicy and bleeding,
heart still
beating:

America claims she is the land of opportunity--
claims all men are born in equal trees

Sorry--
claims equality--
I misheard Her.

Because all I see,
are inequal trees:
crooked branches,
stunted growth.

So much depends
Upon
who cares for them?
What soil they root in?
What color leaves they bear...


Who cares?

Sorry,
I mean...

Who dares?
Johannah Jeanty Feb 2019
Let me pour my insides out for you
...
Now tell me what else you want me to do?

After all the years of bad experiences,

There's bound to be much damage.


You said you'll leave me never
You said your love's forever
You said things would get better

...As time goes by...

I'm cracking under pressure
I can't keep me together
My dead meat's so much fresher

Butcher, butcher,
Where's your knife?

Mind don't,
Won't you take a life?

It is time to cut the meat
The finites, they love their steak

Rare
They like me super fresh
Yes
They like my meat bare
Because I taste the best
When I do not get any rest.
Max Asher Dec 2018
I miss you
I do
I cant even lie
But when you looked me in the face
Like you wanted me to die
I knew that you dont miss me

So here i am
Writing this ****** poem
That doesnt even rhyme

Here goes

You looked at me
I tried to smile
You rolled your eyes
And told me to leave you alone.

So I’m doing that
I’m not gonna lie
Saying that i dont still love you
But I’m not gonna lie and say i do

I moved on
Ive met someone new
I like them
And i Think
They like me too

Talking to them
Letting loose
Feelings of happiness
I’ve never felt before

Their smile passes yours
without a second thought
Their laugh is so contagious
That’s their like a drug
I wouldn’t mind having an addiction to.

So no I wouldn’t say
i dont still love you
But i also wouldn’t say
I do.
December 11, 2018
Charlie Gnarly Apr 2018
My Olive Beef comes from my grief
Up my feet and into my teeth
In my stomach is where is lies,
Until it resides, is when I die.
My analytical exploration into life and death.
Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
Led into bed
Whats the beef?
I need to take a leak

I don't want
You
Cushioned sheets

Fantasy and anticipation
Leaving you
Would be sane

Romanced into
****** depravity
I am drowning

Toward sleep
Unsure about
Tommorrow

Never can be
Loved beside a pool
Champagne

French pastries
Morning breeze
Leaning toward my Jeep

Forcing my hand
For a getaway drive
In the mountainous haven

Mulch
Clay
Pine stained air

Here I am
There you stand
Am I glad?
nick armbrister Jan 2018
there is an old man
who has a tin can for a head
put there by a soldier
of the sas variety
for the old guy
lost his head
to an enemy bullet
the sas man helped out
with a spare bully beef tin
for he'd just had dinner
and gave the man a new head
it said best bully beef
on his forehead!
based on a true story
Viseract Sep 2017
Thought you could come up in my grill and ignite me, start beef
Well imma cook you through and through until it ruins your week
Because you're a waste of space and meat to me, honestly
I'd rather pull my teeth out with pliers and then slit all my arteries

The ****t that spills out from your mouth, no doubt
That people would rather meet the Father than live in your drought
Not sure which is worse, your words or Beck's bottled beer
When it comes to drying out my love of good things its unclear

Just for the record that ****t is liquid Vegemite
And it'll blow your a$$hol3 open like a six pack of dynamite
I'll stick by the bottles of ***** and my shots of tequila
Then whatever the f**k you call those bars, like
Terminator over being weird!
roasting the roast beef, dead to me
if these ties of cupid
however with hearsay were stupid
that she'd complicate her nature
where her ensemble was audacious
but round a hearth with her nomad
as beast were her shillings
there was her but again wore attire
so attractive but as frozen
and heartily felt as her gait was thrilling
left her gander with grinder eaten.
Cecil Miller Jan 2016
I've borne the heavy load.
I've worked all the day.
Got two children at the house to feed.
Husband's gone away.

I've a bunion on my toe,
But I've got a corn pad.
With a smile upon my face,
Swear, it don't hurt so bad.

Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky!
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.

There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.

My fingers gnarl and seize,
The handle's hard to grip.
I hope the boss don't send me home.
The kids have a field trip.

When the kids get on the bus
To travel out of town,
I might take a few days off
To lay my tired head down.

Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky.
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.

There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.

I am faithful to the work.
I don't call in sick.
I'm hardworking as a man.
The foreman calls me "chick."

I never complain about my back.
Lord, He knows, I need this job.
I can take the stripes they give.
Don't give my raise to Bob.

Don't the moonlight look so grand,
Shining in the sky.
Walking home from second shift,
Clean cars are wizzing by.

There's a light mist in the air
That gives me some relief.
In the crock *** waits at home
Hash and good corned beef.
This is one of my folk songs.
I wrote it this afternoon in about 15 minutes on the notepad of my phone.
I went to copy and paste and deleted it and had to quickly type it in again while it was still fresh in my mind.
I wrote it from the perspective of a single mother as an empathetic homage. I hope I did justice to single mothers everywhere.
12:24am p.s. The title was hash of good corned beef but I remembered we southern folk used to call it corned beef AND hash sometimes, instead of corned beef hash. Anyway, just now I modified the title to include the conjunction AND, replacing the former OF.
So much beef
And we haven't even reached the middle of the ocean with it's reefs
The world already is engulfed into too much grief
Let's be Chiefs and stop our tribing wars
You're just causing more sores
Just disorder galore
What are we stunting for?
We're the same, **** it
It's like we take one simple comment and Instagram it
It's coined savagery for a very valid reason
There's so much disdain among other poets on other websites. It just needs to stop. This is one of my funnier poems imo, and it's 69 words along with it lol.
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