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Àŧùl Jan 2016
Andre Andre Andale Ariba!

So do my fingers slide up,
And they slide down my guitar neck,
Getting hurt is imminent.

These guitar licks will hurt sweetly.
My HP Poem #1002
©Atul Kaushal
ekaj revae Nov 2014
I’m driving laps around
Urique’s unpaved streets
with Arnulfo, the world’s fastest
ultra-runner up front
Chugging tesguino disregarding
Young son, Mateas in the back
Handing us the 2 liter Coca-
Cola bottles, full of the mashy
corn brew.
The cholos are drinking
Tecate, mumbling under the palms
stalking the river, watching us
break down at ever lap.
Arnuflo heaves the truck
from behind, alone,
screaming and pushing.

I snap it into second gear
Mateas trembling,
and off we go. Arnulfo hopping in
smoking more cigarettes
passing the tesguino around shouting
Rapido! Poco a poco! Andale!

Rancherra bumps full blast, the
Eternal bumping,
beem, boom, up and down
Beem, boom, beem, boom
Tubas and brass echoing through all the adobe walls
meandering all the way
down the arroyo
to God know’s where.

The cholos challenge Arnulfo
to a race in their harsh stares
under flashy hats and shiny mustaches,
Ed Hardy models with sharp pointed
snake-skinned boots
Ayyeee, Arnulfo says, He won’t race
gainst Oscarine who they say
is the fastest young Chabochi
better than the elders
who used to chase down deer,
gently twisting their necks
after  tracking them to
an ending exhaustion.

Arnulfo tells them I can win
as Oscarine snorts more from the bag
they pass around from his pocket

Off we go twenty yards
Around the farthest tree
And I win because of
Arnulfo's ancient
assurance
Classy J Apr 2021
This the doom patrol,
If you know, you know.
Might be your friend,
Might be your foe.
It all depends,
Whether or not we,
Busting down your door!

It seems some things,
Don’t always add up.
Not even bugs bunny,
Knows what’s up doc.
Fiends distributing zyglon b,
In the hood through lean cups,
Think I’ve seen enough.
Every day another drive by,
Don’t be a wise guy,
Or you’ll end up a dead guy.
Just another food for fodder,
Capitalism at this point should be called,
Sergeant Slaughter.
Quick better hashtag that ****,
Thoughts and prayers without actions.
Can’t stop the madness.
Literally doing the white cops job for them,
Oh **** he went there,
I had to, because it’s still a ******* problem.
Life may not be fair,
But I refuse to be seen as a goblin.
That needs to be slain in order,
To maintain privilege and superiority.
But I refuse to be ashamed of being a minority.
Orderly, orderly we got a run away.
Better andale, andale,
I’m may not be a Mexican,
But I am treated like a chupacabra, ese.
I just don’t comprehende,
El gobeirno es muy demente.
Bunch of el pollo locos,
Puede chupar mi pene.
I’m a human ******* being,
That demands to be respected accordingly.
Before I shove my boot through you anally.

This the doom patrol,
If you know, you know.
Might be your friend,
Might be your foe.
It all depends,
Whether or not we,
Busting down your door!

Boy you mad bruh?
Of my gift of gab son?
Go buy yourself a ******.
Cause you be cramping,
My ******* style.
That is so versatile,
I’m like a ******* lyrical crocodile,
Just chomping at the bit,
Yawl ******* make sick,
If we cannot coexist,
Guess I got no choice,
But to bust out my extended clip,
As you already perceive me as violent,
Trying to keep me all quiet,
But my glock is the only thing,
That’ll ever be on silent!
For I’m ******* tired,
It’s about time we rewire,
This ******* system,
Where a division,
Based on racist traditions,
Either kills what they determine as problems,
Or just lock us up in prisons.
I said it once but imma say it again,
**** the system!
That looks at resistance as terrorism.
If only they’d listen,
To the wisdom,
Instead of tear gassing demonstrations.
Trying to ***** out the light,
To Doctor Kings dreams and visions.
But we won’t let that happen.
As long as we have the breath to keep fighting!

This the doom patrol,
If you know, you know.
Might be your friend,
Might be your foe.
It all depends,
Whether or not we,
Busting down your door!

— The End —