#flop
It's like moving in slow motion
While the city lights
Br in the fast lane
Cutting me off
Cutting me off
And then
They burn my eyes
While they cut me off
As I rocked to the top
Higher it rose up
But I never stop
I'll never stop
It's all I know
And all I've got
Long live the hard flop
So I'll roll with the punches
And see what I've got
Way to go
Small fry
You're in the big leagues now.
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 9:44 PM UTC
We fight with all we have,
We lose the things that we never had.
Life is one submission after another,
We aim for one, but achieve the other.
We are all here standing,
Ready to take our number,
Completely unaware the we are all going under.
The will to fight is nothing but illusion,
The want to continue is born of confusion.
We all stand strong,
Yet in the end we fold.
We all talk a big talk,
But only our words are bold.
We can give up now,
And be forever content.
Or we can continue,
And be further broken and bent.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 5:27 AM UTC
Do you write it on a paper
With black ink
That doesnt bleed
Slip it into your pocket as you walk away from me
Do you shout it from the highest rooftops that touch the clouds or the balconies that stand before you towering those frightening hights
With a voice so fragile it
Can break like stained glass
And a roar so loud
It's heard in every crevice of the land
Do you type it out
With taps of your nimble fingers
Urgent like the constant need to tell
Press send, shut the door, and throw away the key
How do you tell
With a whisper just before you get whisked to sleep
Gentle and soft like the tip of a feather
But passionate like the brush of an artist
How do you tell
Do you write poems that elude to the words
The feelings that burn and beg for release
The skips that my heart does everytime I see you
Do you write songs
With a treble so high the birds can sing
But a bass so low you feel it thumping with your pulse
Lyrics that trap themselves in your mind so you'd never forget
How do you tell
Do I Trace it out on your side
When we lie together at night
While the crickets are chirping
And Mars so bright and red glowing like a lantern in the night
How do you tell
In days where I get these constant reminders like shocks to the arm
Or months where I think of the worse and it yanks me by my feet at night
What about years when everything is bliss and your there to protect me
I can't hold it in
But I can't let it out
its like an
Ulcer on my side
It burns and itches
when I am with you
I want to pick at it and will it away
I want to douse it in water
To scratch till it bleeds out
Spread aloe vera and nurture it to health
Please write the book with happy endings to make your heart swoon
Write that book that I leave on my night stand dresser because I read it so much
Write the songs that get stuck in my head and I listen to on repeat
Paint the canvas that we will hang on our bedroom wall with every color on the spectrum
Paint that canvas to remind me there is never a dull moment with you
Choose a chord with melodies as sweet as peaches and humming bird hum
I need to know
How to tell you I'm in love with you
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:20 PM UTC
To compensate for (A -Z)
ineradicable alphanumeric
character flaws (i.e. mutations
of body or mind,)
and avoid amass
sing wracking up vexatiously
undesirable threatening class
action lawsuit against
Matthew Scott Harris,
which preliminary measure
taken to avoid disembarrass
sing said individual as
a majorly flawed individual
literal shortcomings of body,
mind and spirit,
the metier of writing doth encompass
a creative realm to trump
geomorphology, sans groundmass
at the unsolicited expense
(mine alter ego i.e. worst critic)
will gleefully find,
and expose grammatical,
misspelling, spelling,
et cetera errors to harass
glommed together with isinglass
hop, skip and jumping
to appear as a *******
whereat no respect
able collegiate lass
would give a fig about me,
one totally tubular royal morass,
which expert anthropologists
stumped asper nonclass
if eye able ****
sapiens mutant ninja turtle
case in point being his
wanting in height not e'en pass
sing the six foot mark
plus mental illness
perhaps traceable to
besotted cognitive damage
inherited predecessors
quaffing an overdose of quass
made obvious peering at resulting
Ct scan results viewed
via microscopic spyglass
revealing abnormal amygdala
automatically designating
his aptitude underclass
among average human
with mettlesome Zeusian brass.
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Can’t get my head round the email
“Help me get it right”
“It’s why you do what you do”
“What you do best”
“This will wipe out the opposition”
After much soul searching he took the role
A fugitive who lives with an urban family
An honest story that comments on our times
Or an expensive risk?
It’s a case in point
I could tell you stories you couldn’t print.
A deal was made
Much needed publicity
This one can’t miss
A sure fire winner
Lavishly budgeted?
Almost everything was shot at the ranch....
I Remember the poster in the foyer
“The Goal of the assassin”
“Two ****** hours”
Initially the subject of media ridicule
An eyesore trashed traded or hauled away
Luckily fast forgotten
It died a humiliating death
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
You never know
How long the
Next one will last
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 8:16 AM UTC
Tiny feet taking a walk
Small and steady steps
Careful not to trip down
Still not sure of which foot goes where
Sometimes right, sometimes wrong
Busy strolling around
Little baby in momma's big flip flops
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 4:28 AM UTC