"angeles" poems
Look at all these wannabe gangsters
Terrorising our streets
That one's wearing camouflage trousers
Just wait till you hear him speak
'Dems bear skills mate'
'Can you lend me fifty bar?'
He sounds like he's from Los Angeles
Doing time in the yard
But he's not
He still lives at home with his mum
And his pregnant girlfriend
And he's under the thumb
You see them outside Tesco
But they're not shopping for pesto
Let's go
They've seen the old bill
He's known around this town
For selling dodgy pills
Guns, knives and slang
That's what you need
If you wanna be in their gang
No education
Just a stolen Playstation
And don't forget the ****
Even on a school night
They're out doing speed
You'll see 'em in the park
With a bottle of cider
Then they'll start
On a poor old-timer
Tracky bottoms
And a Burberry hat
Chav fashion
Cause they think they're all that
But the funny thing is
They don't have a clue
They don't think like
Me or you
They think that they're rap stars
Dreaming of fast cars
But they're just wankers
More like 'wannabe gangsters'
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:38 PM UTC
There's a yellow green gas,
You can't see in your glass.
Sometimes you can tell,
It's there by the smell.
It does a great job removing bacteria,
Like Diphtheria,
Or even Listeria.
But what do you think,
Happens to the chlorine in your drink?
I don't want to alarm,
But there's a chance it might harm.
It protects at a price,
Attacking our bacteria that are nice,
And I'm sure it excels,
At killing your own cells,
Forcing new ones to grow,
When a mistake could cause woe.
Some studies have found it an enhancer,
Of bladder and bowel cancer.
Whether old or young,
Do you want it in your lung?
You have the power,
To remove it from your shower.
It's rather grim,
To have to breathe it when you swim.
You're more likely to wheeze,
Or sneeze.
Do you think it will please,
Your inflammatory bowel disease?
Perhaps it's the key,
To why there's Crohns and UC.
Do you think that your skin,
Might become a little thin,
And be filled with dread,
As it starts to turn red.
Can you not feel,
How it's harder to heal?
It makes our tissues grow old,
From what I've been told.
Our cells can only divide,
A few times before they're stupified.
With asthma and chlorine on a map,
You can see they overlap.
Sadly in the West,
Not everyone has guessed,
That there may be a link,
With the gas in our drink.
“But!”, I hear you cry,
“Without it people will die.”
Let go of your dread,
We can use something instead.
The answer is well known,
It's called 'ozone'.
Made from pure water,
It's gone when it reaches my daughter,
Unlike chlorine it's life is brief,
What a relief.
There's many a city,
That make it with electricity,
Splitting water into hydrogen,
And best of all, oxygen!
For ozone is made from O2,
Yes, it's true!
Imagine if you had,
Water with nothing they add.
Already there's Paris and Nice in France,
Where people can dance.
San Diego and Los Angeles in the USA,
Have water that's ok.
And Osaka in Japan,
Now use this plan.
But you don't have to be rich,
To make the switch.
Ask a clever committee,
To stop chlorine in your city.
See if you can arrange,
To have your water change.
I hear you shout,
“Can 'I' get this chlorine out?”
If you leave water in a jug overnight,
What's left will be slight.
Boiling will send it away in the air,
So there's no need to despair.
You can also remove it with a filter,
Or a water distiller.
To learn more have a look,
At 'Question Chlorine' on facebook.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
i could be that girl
whose voice is low and melodic
and coats your mouth with
acacia honey
whose eyes are the color
and depth of
midnight
whose presence is thick like
new york summers
rosy like
los angeles in early spring
if i braid flowers into my hair
if i write enough poems
if i learn to show the skin of my essence
but remain an abyss—
i will stop making art
when i become it
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:39 PM UTC
As a college freshman
I find myself time traveling.
I close my eyes and
I appear
in the classroom where a group
of over-confident, lazy, too smart
for their own **** good
students stood on the precipice
between leaving and staying
regretting and dreaming.
Leaving would give us freedom
Leaving would fill the creases of
our palms with sweat
We kept our palms outstretched and empty
not daring to grasp anymore of home
because the weight would only
anchor us to the vines
we spent 13 years unraveling from
our ankles.
Maybe we should not have been
so eager to leave, maybe this is a mistake.
The girl with the mermaid hair
The boy with books stacked in
a corner of his desk
They both, we all, sat dreaming
about the same thing while
Ophelia drowned herself in the river
Shores of the ocean and city skylines
Classrooms that did not feel like cages
and eyes that did not reflect a memory
every time you glanced into them
In a high school English class,
a group of over-confident, lazy, too smart
for their own **** good students,
stood terrified and mystified
stood united in there persistence to become
something more than test scores and
the ability to memorize facts.
Fact:
Some mornings I walk to class
and I can feel the girl with the mermaid hair in Los Angeles
walking beside me and when I sit down
I can see books stacked on a corner of a desk somewhere in Berkeley.
I wonder if they wake in their bed and hear airplane engines roaring
somewhere above a valley.
The engines roar with warning.
sometimes it sounds like hope.
Baby, something is coming, we promise
We all began at the start,
dreaming as one and fearing as one
Today, she is five spaces forward
He is ten spaces forward
The others are halfway down the **** board
and I find myself back at the start
every few weeks.
Four spaces forward then three spaces back--
I don't know where I am going.
But I know where I have been.
I open my eyes.
A college freshman.
I hear the engines roar above me.
Something is coming.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 8:42 PM UTC
keep scrolling through iTunes,
can’t seem to find anything to download,
even though I can download,
any song that I want to,
keep scrolling through my timeline,
Facebook lines & Instagram posts,
but can’t seem to find anything of interest,
which doesn’t make sense since I love everyone,
got everything we want,
but nothing that we need,
traded in our dreams,
for some fantasies on a screen,
here forget you used to be free,
have a seat & take this TV,
it’s amazing how we make miracles,
seem so easy,
it’s like,
these machines gave us everything we ever wanted,
without,
giving us anything that we ever needed,
& it’s strange because I’ve won every battle,
but still I feel defeated,
it’s like I’m sitting around,
alone with all these toys around me,
feeling like a Prince without a Kingdom,
or a King without a throne,
or a Princess without a wishlist in her Queendom,
with a magnificent house that’s missing a home,
are you missing your home,
that home you never had,
are you missing that feeling,
that feeling that you can’t quite grab,
and that’s,
exactly why you keep scrolling through iTunes,
& that’s exactly why I keep scrolling thought iTunes,
we’re both missing the same thing & searching in vain,
it’s eerily ironic how we can feel so alone in the same room,
& I feel your pain because I feel my pain two,
pardon me,
maybe I’m confused,
maybe we,
wanted to get attention instead of getting used,
& there’s so much more I want to mention,
but then again I guess what’s the use,
why start something that’s only definite is an ending,
but I’m your friend so if you want to begin it’s up to you,
I’m willing to relax,
I’ll answer all your questions,
let’s trade facts,
truth or dare until we express all our intentions,
in the pursuit of passions,
listening to intuitions,
remembering what it was to be human,
before we gave in & gave them our emotions,
I swear something doesn’t feel right,
like most of these humans are just Programs,
who look like they are moving with intention,
but are really just going through the motions,
keep scrolling through iTunes,
can’t seem to find anything to download,
even though I can download,
any song that I want to…
∆ LaLux ∆
Los Angeles, CA.
October 8th, 2018
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
How strange it must be,
to live in the countryside -
to fall asleep to the sound of crickets under your window,
and bullfrogs croaking in the creek.
So far from the sirens -
the Los Angeles Screamers -
tearing through the floodlit nights,
picking us off, one at a time,
huddled in our houses,
alone, together.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
Her mind was in Hawaii,
Dancing under waterfalls,
Wandering through rainforests,
Picking tropical flowers and
Braiding them into her hair,
Simmering on sandy beaches,
And gazing at the stars.
Her heart was in Normandy,
Eating crepes and sipping lattes,
Strolling through spring green fields
And along lazy river banks,
Kissing the walls of castles,
And scooping up scallop shells,
Soaking up French syllables.
Her hands were in her pockets,
High-fiving friends and
Running through her lover's hair,
Sewing, cooking, washing,
Punching, tearing, scratching,
Caressing and confessing,
Catching the very first drops of rain.
Her feet were on the streets of Seattle,
Tapping to the rhythm of the bass,
Shuffling in and out of the rain,
Dodging puddles and strangers,
Observing art and sculptures,
Chasing down a taxi or her dog,
and embracing the crisp autumn air.
Her lips were on the edge of a soda can,
Singing along to her favorite songs,
Whispering sweet nothings into the air,
Empowering the impoverished
And scorning the injustice,
Kissing a forehead, lips, and hads,
And stonecold silent as her mind does the work.
Her eyes were fighting back frosty tears,
Swallowing scarlet sunsets,
Painted in yesterday's make up,
Tracing your stoic silhouette,
Rolling like thunder before the storm,
Lapping up dizzying moonlight,
And buried in words, and words, and words.
Her body was in Los Angeles,
But, she was on a metanoia,
Breaking free of past and future
To find herself a presence
That would always be worth fighting for,
To reach sophrosyne, namaste,
And to put her frantic body to peace.
Jul 29, 2015
Jul 29, 2015 at 2:53 AM UTC
~
*alone and an imposter,
deep in syndrome.
she absorbs the frost of seasonal ghosts
and hopeless feelings
of death and darkness.
she only shows one side of her every time.
she calls a random number
from a bar in the middle of the night,
seeking to confess
or find solace in the voice of a stranger.
but any stranger might just happen to be
a lie detector.
still she lays bare all the duplicity
and fragmentation of self:
prescription bottles with two different names,
elaborate façades in Los Angeles
and in New York,
so complicated she creates
something she calls the lie box.
inside her purse there's a collection
of file cards. "I tell so many lies," she says.
"I have to write them down and keep them
in a box so I can keep them straight."
alone she waits for either
sweet apricity or identikit:
each a memento of her faces.*
~
Feb 26, 2023
Feb 26, 2023 at 3:57 PM UTC
he
him, miralo
he has nothing special
he gets lost among crowds
she
her, mirala
she swears we're beyond racism
sexism, citizenism, heterosexism
classism,
and many other isms
they have something in common...
they think they're free
which is very different to
they think (therefore) they're free
because indoctrination has infected their thoughts
they call themselves patriots as they proudly wear the american flag
on small pins
they even have a yellow "support our troops" sticker on their bumper
i'm telling you
she thinks she's free:
mrs. successful latina
"embraced" by america's corporate world
she "broke through" the glass ceiling
(then sealed it again)
no... other latinas would be too much of a competition
they need to have their own merits
have it as hard as she had it
she feels good about being tokenized
she's glad that "America" gave her such opportunities
"Why her?" out of so many others
she's so lucky
so why bother
**** the rest
as long as "she's free"
He thinks he's free:
"What's with this feminist ******** he says
he raises his fist
but not in an empowering way
instead
he threatens to land it on a woman's face
"that's what she gets
for trying to be a man"
They think they're free
"we're over homophobia
they're just isolated cases of intolerance..."
"i mean as long as you go about your business
and don't bother no body
i mean
don't preach it to everyone
don't show it
don't say it
you're free to be who you are
but just hide it...
why do you want to get married?
it doesn't make sense
i mean it might only be a phase..."
we think we're free
"we do the jobs no body else wants
this is not our country you know,
we need to follow the rules,
be good citizens,
don't ask for too much,
make sure we don't make them uncomfortable,
keep the status quo,
stop...they're starring...
we should wait...
let them set the rules"
today:
they think they're free
but one day
they'll think
and therefore
they will be truly free...
xtp
los angeles, march 3 2008
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and **** and hand
and ******* holy!
Everything is holy! everybody's holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman's an
angel!
The bum's as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the *****
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!
Berkeley 1955
4.3k
It has to be better than this
The lemonades are turning to dust
Silverlinings have all rained down
Life's got to be bigger than this
The flower that once was
Now a thorn sharper than dead dreams
Stabbing all hope
This dark vacuum is ******* me in
I'm holding on to the last beam of light
But my grip is slipping and I'm scared
Aren't things supposed to work out?
Well begun is now all undone
(Los Angeles, Aug 22 2017)
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 3:43 PM UTC
I had walked miles that day.
Finding myself in these old
Los Angeles side streets,
was to travel back in time.
Bougainvillea, overflowing
with color, festooned the
weathered cedar cottages.
Heavy trumpet flowers,
sleepy in the filtered light,
stirred beside huge green
leaves, in the easy marine air.
I walked on.
Evening had come, and with it,
a few stars shone over the ocean.
After a perfect dinner, I still
craved a bit of sweetness
on my tongue.
Walking back from the end
of the pier under deep
cobalt, the night sky held me.
Just ahead, tiny birthday candles,
and warm, kind faces, welcomed
me into their midst.
Softly, they sang 'Las Mañanitas'
in one voice, and I sang with them.
Someone's hand
reached out to me; a
thin paper cake plate,
heavy with treasure,
was silently offered.
Tres Leches, soaked
with tender love
and milky sweetness.
Heaven could only be
more of this.
Aug 27, 2015
Aug 27, 2015 at 6:02 PM UTC
This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world?
Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day.
I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
Need adventure Helicopter not included
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 6:25 PM UTC
Fireworks were cool. Framed metal chairs with woven nylon Americana on watered lawns on the outskirts of the edge of Los Angeles. Hairy neighbors, Miller Drafts and dog **** Sally ****** Jim on the corner, and Jim drank, or started again and wouldn’t stop, but was good with a flat tire and chain adjustment. His kid had a glove like a vacuum. His daughter was a ***** Sally afforded a Mexican gardener.
Tim always had fireworks. He had gasoline and willed fireworks into his driveway. He had rope and a keg.
Schatzky keep her cool. She had to. She worked the 5th and taught everyone’s kids. She taught their parents too, 10 years ago.
Her son Donavan and her husband Keith lived for the 4th. Little pink houses and Jack and Diane kind of **** So they watched fireworks on flag hill while their neighbors ****** and got ********* and burnt their eyebrows. Donavan was ecstatic.
Each year the hill was gilded in gold for Donavan and Keith and and Schatzky, because each 4th brought fire and explosives in a way they could never afford.
Keith was more patriotic than most. He waited and enlisted and became a hero. Donavan watched on TV. Schatzky watched too. We won the first gulf war and everyone knew it: https://youtu.be/4gNhs2SRacs?t=1m10...
They celebrated the fourth in baseball stadiums. They celebrated life and heroism and purpose, and they celebrated with F16s and the best explosives the peacetime nation offered.
And Keith celebrated and embraced purpose. He even became a leader in the 2nd gulf war.
Sally stopped ******* Jim. Jim wasn’t married anymore. His kid lowered Tim’s basement and didn’t steal the copper.
Tim’s house was worth a fortune but it had a radon problem.
Schatsky was accused of drowning her dog, but she didn’t do it.
Jim still drinks; he’s smarter now.
They all meet on flag hill every 4th. The fireworks aren’t as good. A lot of build up for a finale that feels like an accident.
Water seeps through my jeans and no one can see my face as I limp home with a broken rubber sandal and a bucket of ice, a dog tied around my legs, and a kid face first on the grass, a wife whose friend drank our last beer an hour ago, a phone with two-percent battery left and my mom wants to show me what fireworks look like in California.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
I mentioned before California is like cereal it is full of fruits nuts and flakes well add Larry to the list he
Found himself out in the yard in a lawn chair and the unthinkable happened he come to the conclusion
He was bored now that just won’t do not in Los Angeles so to solve the problem he dashed down to the
Army surplus store bought a bunch of weather balloons stopped along the way got a tank of helium
Brought them home filled and tied the balloons to the lawn chair then tied the rope to his jeep went in
Got his pellet pistol sat down in the chair so with figuring at release he would float up thirty feet one or
Two ways to get down use the pellet gun shoot a couple of balloons float easily to the ground or if not
That you’re just about even with the top of the house surly you can get the house underneath you to
Jump Off on the roof now Larry wasn’t mechanical so anything to do with engineering was out what was
Is that wonderful feeling of being up there so he pulled the rope there was a slight difference in the
Expected feet not thirty but he shot up and leveled off at sixteen thousand feet ever feel your rope
Might be missing some length well if the thought ever crossed his mind about the pellet gun idea two
Things he was certain about he wasn’t bored and he didn’t want to shoot any balloons deceleration the
Other Way was not an option so what’s a not to bright Californian to do well besides holding on for dear
Life and freezing you added yourself into nature mixed bag nothing left to do but let nature do her thing
So eight hours later he drifts into the Los Angeles airport corridor of all people you would meet a pilot
Trying to land three hundred people calls the tower with this message I passed a man setting in a lawn
Chair with weather balloons and by the way he is at sixteen thousand feet and he has a gun to scrabble
F-16 would be too much even for California so good news for Larry they sent out just a Helicopter and
Brought the lame duck back to safety just another day in the state it’s hard to be surprised in but some
Still succeed
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
White light, white dress.
White line, white mess.
Royal blood, royal taste,
waiting around to be betrayed.
Isis comes to down to me,
she brings her heart full of greed.
Isis comes down to fallow me
off to the blue noise cast at sea.
London dreams and London flings.
my London heart on my Los Angeles sleeve.
Red hearts and red fate,
I've seen the lonely souls from every state.
Lovely Isis shines so bright
wallowing around in all her plight.
Lovely Isis sings all night,
Misty songs of losing fights.
I called her a witch, I started the hunt.
My lovely Isis, don't you run.
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 5:38 PM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Rejoice and praise
in all my voice He bestowed
-music upon thee
in shores were the seas meet
-and mountains reached
were the valleys peaking feat
He treasured a song for me
and every day I'll keep
-just as I'd sing
A song only Jesus give,
-comforts my woeful soul
blissfully of His forcing Lo
Nineteen in a world I never
-dreamt
people in strife, unbridled-
broken in the midst of life
hide away in His wings,
-As I find my peace of mind
Thieves strive, a callous ****
to ****** the song I sing,
but of all in all between,
a Cross He carried for lives
to save and shall not parish
a tomorrow for me to sing
Cling as He promised He be
His heavenly touch,
-reaching a thousand as much
Angeles came in joy
as I keep singing this song,
The song of my Savior & Lord
Amen...
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 10:28 AM UTC
~
*i have never particularly cared for him or for his style of play. there is a fine line between knowledge of one’s talents and arrogance and i have always thought Kobe walked on the downhill side of that line, when doing so was unnecessary. of course it did not help that a Lakers / Blazers rivalry cost the Blazers at least one NBA Finals berth… most of us are, after all, most likely to gravitate toward our hometown team.
but on seeing this post from Kobe in the Player’s Tribune, i found that i simply must acknowledge the classiness of his retirement penning...
instead of a letter, the guy writes a poem. how can i not embrace this?*
~
BY KOBE BRYANT
LOS ANGELES LAKERS
Dear Basketball,
From the moment
I started rolling my dad’s tube socks
And shooting imaginary
Game-winning shots
In the Great Western Forum
I knew one thing was real:
I fell in love with you.
A love so deep I gave you my all —
From my mind & body
To my spirit & soul.
As a six-year-old boy
Deeply in love with you
I never saw the end of the tunnel.
I only saw myself
Running out of one.
And so I ran.
I ran up and down every court
After every loose ball for you.
You asked for my hustle
I gave you my heart
Because it came with so much more.
I played through the sweat and hurt
Not because challenge called me
But because YOU called me.
I did everything for YOU
Because that’s what you do
When someone makes you feel as
Alive as you’ve made me feel.
You gave a six-year-old boy his Laker dream
And I’ll always love you for it.
But I can’t love you obsessively for much longer.
This season is all I have left to give.
My heart can take the pounding
My mind can handle the grind
But my body knows it’s time to say goodbye.
And that’s OK.
I’m ready to let you go.
I want you to know now
So we both can savor every moment we have left together.
The good and the bad.
We have given each other
All that we have.
And we both know, no matter what I do next
I’ll always be that kid
With the rolled up socks
Garbage can in the corner
:05 seconds on the clock
Ball in my hands.
5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1
Love you always,
Kobe
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
I’m white and black
I am Belizean
I remember feeling like a prisoner
Locked up inside my own mind growing up
I believe in God because,
He saved me from major surgery a couple of months ago
I value trust and honesty because;
I didn’t see much of it in my family and neighborhood
I am from Belize City and Los Angeles, California
I come from God, He knows me better than I know myself
I learned how to fight through boxing class,
Now I back up what I say
I am ambitious because,
I am the loser that slipped through life’s cracks
I’m like an Octopus:
I multi task, I’m persistent and clever
About how I peruse things I want
I’m filled with joy and when I wake up every day
I am a work of art,
Chiseled from marble and granite
Shannon Pollard
©May 2012
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
fifteen hours.
fourteen, depending on
where in australia you are from.
but for me, it is fifteen hours.
los angeles is fifteen-hour flight from melbourne.
fifteen hours on a plane, and you’ll be in america.
you’ll be in a ****** country, where it almost seems like
the new craze is to be a shooter,
and you only get noticed if you get shot.
they are begging, pleading,
“please stop them from killing us,
our families, our friends!”
and the others say
“oh, but i really love my gun.”
“and i care about my gun more than i care about you.”
“and i care more about my machine made to take life than about you
getting to keep yours.”
and that’s just that, i suppose.
i am fifteen hours away from a ****** country,
and i can’t tell if i’m too close
or not close enough.
i am fifteen hours away from a ****** country,
and for some reason,
that’s just fine.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC
I've been experiencing life
through 1 oz. of meltage,
and a smile that's fading with the moment.
I pick up my drink in lieu of
making trivial conversation
about the weather, sports, life in Los Angeles --
searching for clues of anything you like,
so that for a mere moment
I can be the one that makes you smile.
Not that cookie-cutter, customer-pleasing smile
that cracks around the ears,
but the type that makes the restaurant roof split open
a bit more every minute your heart beats;
the type that makes you feel
like you're not working,
and that a smile is never necessary
if only for the sake of another.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 11:06 PM UTC
I find comfort in the static of the record player humming,
the crackling of vinyl against its holding
your arms tucked tight around the curve of my spine
and waking up to the corners of your lips widening
this is a sunday morning
that I could relive
7 days a week
this is a feeling
I am near terrified of
but in a way that I need to be
see,
I have never been one for writing love poems
and when it comes to writing love
good endings aren't my specialty
I'm not one for spilling vulnerability
to then have to clean up the mess
after it goes without catching
I'm not the best at predicting future
and letting go
is an art form I am still mastering
I have never been one for writing love poems
especially not for those
who don't stick around
long enough to hear them
but for you
I am willing
to take the risk
to set aside hesitation
for the chance of lasting
to sacrifice my fear of heights
for the possibility of a smooth landing
I don't know you well
but I know you enough
to know you're exactly what I want
so I'll talk about your smile
how your dimples have quickly become
my favorite half moon to stare at
or the way you look at me
like a single star
in the middle of a busy Los Angeles sky
being enfolded in your grasp
feels like sun peeking through grey
how lightness makes itself known
even in the midst of rain
I want my skin
to find a home in your palms
and my laugh
an echo in the crook of your neck
for routine
to settle on the map of your body
from collarbone to knuckle to wrist
making a transparent dent in each earlobe
to be missed by my lips
to crave the caress of my hands
when they have other obligations
and I'll hope
that I can waste
as much time with you
as I intend to
although I'm sure
that any time we spent together
would be anything but wasted
I hope
that we can stretch these two nights into two hundred
weaving a weekend into something we can wrap ourselves in
this is me saying a prayer
the only way I know how to
I have never been one for writing love poems
but for you
it is all I want to do
to listen to the silence
and from it
form a symphony
to take this coincidence
and call it fate
to give out all of my honesty
and hope that you stay
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 2:23 PM UTC
Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
Somewhere, someone still believes
the promise of prosperity
the American dream
but not much really lives in Lost Angeles
**** roaches and coyotes.
Police spotlights eye-ing up dilapidated
housing developments like a ***** show.
Cops driving slow on streets
that form lines like dope trails
like they're looking for crack
on skid row
or *****
on Hollywood Boulevard
or someone to talk to
on the last train to Union Station.
Helicopter blades chop through arid air
sirens fill space off in the distance.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 9:29 PM UTC
The Sukhumvit Rap
by David John Clare
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Well, she come in to Na Na town on dah midnight sky train, anonymous esan girl she a mysterious Bangkok dame
Out of the nite shadows she will walk and magically appear, I'm telling you fresh forang you got some awful things to fear right here
She can slave your mind in a minute without talk so lyrical, she's a modern Thai freak, a ****** miracle
First She opiates his mind then double you'll see
will loose all sense of time and then the trouble will be
She knows what she is doing, her instincts are cold Forang men they surrender and just do what they are told
Beyond the like of a dibbie girl as you are a sucker for her date
she will leave your mind and body in a wicked deadly state
A jealous girlfriend could now completes the scene as you walk back to your short time room near Pat Pong
soi cowboy libertine...
If you get near her you hear the voice of a Thai Siren
Don't you look at her don't you touch you'll start cryin'
If you dare embrace her fool you will think you found a rare Silom Road Jem or Jewel?
She can tear your heart out and she will do it with your own **** tool !
Tell The brothers not to look the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
You can tell by her moves and the slit under her dress she is a one trick thai pony ahead of you by her breast
She got a photographic smile Greta garbo movie hair
She can tear any man down with that Siamese cat like looking stare...
Don't look into her eyes she'll control you blind
you want to wine and dine her? ha, it is your mind she will sixty nine
Shell try her best to allure you so now don't concede cuz if you touch her now boy your heart will bleed
It is a hell of way to take a Thailand vacation but remember this; there is no way of ever stopping this ****** man killer creation.
Tell The brothers not to watch the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
WINK!
(c) 2010 Clairvoyant Music / BMI Los Angeles CA USA all rights in perpetuity by the author
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC