#beef
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.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 12:22 PM UTC
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.
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC
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?
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
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!
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 6:55 PM UTC
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 sh!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 sh!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!
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 6:18 AM UTC
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.
Jul 22, 2017
Jul 22, 2017 at 6:50 AM UTC
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.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
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
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
The ranch-bound bovines, in dehydration,
yet wary of Kool-aid, declined to drink.
They grazed in wonder, cowed rumination:
where does “beef” come from? A herd tends to think
of pasturage, water, and basic needs.
Ranch-hands assured them all was in order;
privileged guests enjoy the finest feeds.
Cows, content on this side of the border
try Buddhism, yoga – or simply gaze…
though things in the distance loomed ominous
(those lots at the edge of the well-hoofed ways)
– and a stench wafted into their consciousness.
Yet calves frolicked on while the bulls mounted heifers –
dreamed vegan dreams as they nibbled grasses
some earned doctorates, others went clubbing;
all loosed sustainable methane gases.
Soothing their calves with fables and stories
where cows are the measure of pastured life
they deflected the gist of the young ones’ queries,
affirming that Truth means avoidance of strife.
“It’s best to just graze. Don’t ask questions dear.
We’re on this planet without any clue.
We evolved. From just what is a little unclear –
but Cow Science has proved that it’s true.”
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
The firelight was fading
The shadows grew in size
In the distance if you listened
You could hear the faintest cries
Of coyotes and of timber wolf
Signalling the end of day
Howling at the growing moon
Keeping night spirits at bay
The last piece of the sagebrush
Was burning to it's core
The flames that danced as quicksilver
Now, they danced no more
The fire, once was blazing
It's flames a dangerous height
Was now a nest of coal chunks
to warm us through the night
Four days out and three to go
We'd be in two days ahead
The scheduled trip with this years herd
And we'd be back in our own bed
A smaller group of beef this time
But, that's the way it goes
At least we'd leave the mountains
Before the early snows
Coffee from the morning meal
Was still sitting in the ***
Two minutes in the embers
And it was steaming hot
The first round of watch was up
And the coffee was re done
The second watch, for wolves and things
Needed coffee and a gun
Two went down the first night out
We heard the wolves, but missed them all
They'd been following us for three days now
And at night you'd hear them call
They signalled that the day was done
And that the herd was staying still
The darkness was their element
It was time for them to ****
The fire was near finished
The flames were all but smoke
but that cup of cowboy coffee
put life into this old grey cowpoke
If the wolves kept at a distance
And just kept howling at the moon
We'd lose no more beef tonight
And be home two days from noon
The fire spit and crackled
The night was damp and cold
The stars were silent beacons
To the wolves so quick and bold
We heard them in the distance
Howling loud as if to say
Will you make it through till morning?
Wait until we come to play.....
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
I don't write because I can,
or even sometimes because I want to.
I write because words surround me
in the air; glistening, screaming and needling
into my being--
infecting my crimson and azure paths
with their ( { ( { electric cacophony} ) } ), ( )
vibrating sacred whispers of musical patterns /<+>\
dripping directly into my spirit aglow with creation,
imbuing a certain serenity of past, now and future cuneiform tattoos
unto my mind--
high as a shooting star gliding in midnight moonbeams...
It's like when a fish stops moving it will die.
Every day it is a glorious struggle to keep up with myself,
these words,
so as not to drown in the insanity.
These words once inhaled by ancestors, whales and grass
hurl through space, time and the infinite creation
slamming into me;
a mercurial, rose watery doorway portal conduit transmitter
typing bebop lightning striking your match stick soul,
buzzing and manifesting rainbow jazz steps connecting us!
Dishonor would chew me from the inside out
should I not comply.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
It was about six in the evening
Six in the evening when juvenile lust is tumescent
And Anne McKilroy made her lips available
To mine
In the back of the choir outing charabanc
She did not mind the smell of corn beef
Lingering from my lunch time sandwich
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC