My Payless shoes hit Newport ground
Stomping, scraping, scuffling
Through high society.

Talk of politics-
Our coffee is cold
Adjust the thermostat-
Our president is a hero

White walls and cars
And waves of people.
I feel my weight,
The yellowing teeth on my tongue.

I remember
Walking here
When I was a kid.

I laughed louder
And ate more
And didn't wear shoes.

Being born, you are just there
constantly crying for eating, or for everything in the air
you are constantly loved and cared for,
but you do not need to do the self

being in life, you have grown a lot, gained a bit
earning money, traveling to everywhere, talking bulsh-t
making you wealthy and famous a bit
but at a certain point in life you have to stop, just drop it.

mine poetry I love so much is of all kind
you may like it, love it all this bulsh-t
you may stop reading if too lengthy, just stop it
or pause a while,
then at any momentum, you may rewind
all the words that you have in mind
yeah, mine poetry is of this kind
adorable, many minuses and yet sublime

how simple the words, is oft thought-provoking
thinking about those words causes mind aching
mine poetry is for pleasure to treasure
and never for heartbreaking

who says if I say simple words
that you regard them simple too, that´s absurd
since these simple words in mine poetry
are seldom a brevity but oft a lengthy
lengthy makes most thought-provoking
added,  some with a wit and some with a tragedy

We have the wherewithal
To feed every boy and girl.
We also have the resources
To blow up half the world.

We have the extra cash
To let Congressmen roam
And also full resources
To give everybody a home.

We have plenty of money
To pay countries to like us.
Why can’t we make life
For our own people joyous?

We seem to be able to
Make death machines for all,
Why can’t we create for us
Medicine whose cost is small?

We can afford to give subsides
To the corporate welfare queens
So, why can’t we figure out how
To make functioning voting machines?

We buy stupid tripe every day in print
Why can’t we give up that crap for lent?
We hurl insults at non-Christians brothers.
It’s not possible this is what Jesus meant.

We have the wherewithal
To feed every boy and girl.
We also have the resources
To blow up half the world.

Greedy rich still take from the poor
seem to think they still need more
If I had one wish it would be
to try to help and make us free

I'd wish all on earth have one wish
from man to dog and from cat to fish
This one wish would come with a rule
to keep it fair and make no one a fool

You could only wish for another
maybe dad, mother, sister or brother
Couldn't share or make no deals
just to see how good generosity feels

When best of plans have been laid
all the wishes should be made
to change these people make them see
you don't need stuff to be happy!


© One man

White Interceptors illuminate, cry, and leave ribbons of red and blue,
  accelerating north on Featherbed. Streetlamps hang like midnight ornaments.

It starts to rain, turning the tar streets into slick mirrors.
  I can see my lights lead me, sweeping the asphalt.

Kent is still too dangerous to gentrify. The trashcans are spilling
  cereal boxes and empty two liters. I imagine a two-thousand year-old
mountain of trash, corroding and forming this neighborhood.

  Barefoot children walk around aluminum cakes, reaching for the rain.

Skinny cats trot across the street, green and yellow eyes,
  leaking through the dark. I name them after sicknesses.

The humming of my Camry grows louder as I squeeze by
  dripping, patting hands. I now recognize the moon.

Buildings swoosh by faster and faster. Minutes go by and I
  find myself on the outskirts; the trees sway, dodging rain.

My phone rings like a frenzied roach. Picking it up,
  'Hello.'

'Sure. Yeah, I'll be right there.
  'Nowhere.
    'I'm going nowhere.'

The phone bounces on the grey seat. A screeching.
  Coming to a stop; my chest almost touching the center
of the steering wheel. All becomes still.

  A buck with velvet antlers stands in the rain.
It runs into the dancing forest. Much like me.

Neon lights; they're taking away my rights,
advertising so bright, only capitalism in sight.
Slaving away, to make ends meet each day,
creditors barely at bay, with the same thing they always say:

"You're indebted to us,
we manipulated your trust,
and now we own you; head, feet and bust,
but it's your life and wallet that we lust."

Constant bills, money has lost all of it's thrills,
no heat; you freeze and chill, then starving; being poor kills.
Yet still it seems so, they think you have the money to blow,
on the pointless things for show,
or on knowledge you will never know.

So tell me when will it stop?
When will the prices drop?
The well's dry and farms lack the crop,
the economy is doomed to flop.
From the advertisers, the supersizers,
the colonizers, the demonetizers.

Going to pray, that I survive another day,
to light a candle to show the way, but for the light I have to pay.
Now it seems to me, that Heaven is meant for the wealthy,
and our lives; a shopping spree, in this Hell we get for free.

So tell me how long will it be,
until Jesus' sandals are Nike,
and his **** cloth is Gucci,
and they trademark the word "Holy."

So tell me how long will it be,
until Jesus' sandals are Nike,
and his **** cloth is Gucci,
and praying will cost a service fee.

life is pain.
don't cause someone to feel
if its not going to be a rebellion to
what life is.

stop hurting yourself.
stop hurting period.
for others or yourself.

even though the days are dark,
try to participate in your wealth.
try to find your heart