"anyhow" poems
we were at this table,
men and women,
after dinner.
somehow
the conversation got
around to
***
one of the ladies
stated firmly that
the only cure for
***
was old
age.
there were other
remarks
that I have
forgotten,
except for one
which came from this
German guest
once married,
now divorced
also, I had seen
him with
any number of
beautiful young
girlfriends.
anyhow, after quietly
listening
to our conversation
for some time
he asked us,
"what's ***
now here was one
truly touched
by
the angels.
the light was so
bright
we
all looked
away.
12.3k
Depression is
"I should shower now, while I'm still feeling okay."
Depression is
Drinking water with every bite because you don't want to eat.
Depression is
Having an audiobook on while you sleep to keep yourself from waking up vulnerable.
Depression is
Taking risks to try and reach yourself.
Depression is
Vivid memories overlaying themselves on reality.
Depression is
Wanting to do your schoolwork but being unable to find the strength.
Depression is
Not answering texts because too much interaction tires you out.
Depression is
Having to work harder than everyone else for the same result, and being called lazy anyhow.
Depression is
Sleeping for 14 hours and still being tired.
Depression is
The guilt that comes with finding one person who makes you feel good, and knowing you will burden them.
Depression is
Being left by your lovers or friends because they don't understand.
Depression is
Piles of ***** laundry you wish you had the inner fortitude to do.
Depression is
Wandering the empty roads in the middle of the night because you can't sit still.
Depression is
Reading a book whenever you are in public to ease the stress.
Depression is
Not always
Visible.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
YOUR bony head, Jazbo, O dock walloper,
Those grappling hooks, those wheelbarrow handlers,
The dome and the wings of you, ******
The red roof and the door of you,
I know where your songs came from.
I know why God listens to your, "Walk All Over God's Heaven."
I heard you shooting craps, "My baby's going to have a new dress."
I heard you in the cinders, "I'm going to live anyhow until I die."
I saw five of you with a can of beer on a summer night and I listened to the five of you
harmonizing six ways to sing, "Way Down Yonder in the Cornfield."
I went away asking where I come from.
10.9k
I have nutrition in one hand and thoughts in the other
but both hands might as well be empty
they're too small to hold neither mind nor health
they're too small to hold onto anything at all
So I let them fall to my sides and I stand and wait
for someone with gargantuan hands
to hold them but I realize now
my hands are too small for yours anyhow.
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 6:36 PM UTC
This is Nigeria
This is Nigeria; presidency turns sick leave.
This is Nigeria; one-sided democracy.
Double standard constitution, everything is dazy.
This is Nigeria; police bus be calling crowd.
Enter and become cowed.
This is Nigeria; best graduating student gets a thousand naira.
This is Nigeria; I hope we can differentiate between private and public institutions.
Lackadaisical attitudes everywhere, except religion institutions.
This is Nigeria; over a year strike in our foremost sector but it's a norm.
Corruption; a living form.
This is Nigeria; education is dull.
This is Nigeria; economy problem is solved by increased school fees.
Such government still gets a second term. Madness; it's our liss.
This is Nigeria; lot of resources but we still pray for light.
Food, security and rights.
This is Nigeria; lecturers give grades anyhow.
This is Nigeria; Animal is swallowing money.
In a government with the main aim of fighting corruption, it's funny.
This is Nigeria; politicians changing parties.
Playing with our lives like they're *******
Peter Oyebanji (PIRO)
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 5:38 AM UTC
The time temple drags along a mirrors edge
It breaks itself on the window ledge
I came undone as you came to my door
The movement bleeds out to the street
Like a dancing child on tiny feet
My young belief says to follow you once more
**** me, brother, **** me now
**** me, brother, strike me down
I can't go on without her anyhow
The distance starts where the love began
A simple touch of her simple hand
Tear down these walls please, for me
It's been too long and I'm strung out now
Either come to me or throw me out
Just let me know so I can finally breathe
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 12:46 AM UTC
Our family got the news today
Our bubba's gettin' hitched
Young Daisy Mae, she's near fourteen
Got our boy bewitched
He's sayin' that he loves her
He's making her his bride
She's the first to get him this close
Though not too many tried
We've got to get things ready
Send invitations and make candles
We've got to get the good jars out
The one's that still have handles
The minister is on alert
We've got to make some shine
Grandpa says he'll make some up
But, it will not all be mine
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
This time there'll be no shotgun
Like the last time for old Ben
This time the guns are empty
Not the way they were back then
The banjos will be tuned up
There'll be music in the air
The cops won't try to stop it
I think most will all be there
The ladies will be planning
Just how to serve up all the grub
While Bubba has to find a suit
And therein lies the rub
He's never worn a suit at all
Not even for a day
He's only dressed in coveralls
And that's how he's gonna stay
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
It'll be a **** dang doodle
A hell of a good time
It'll only be completed
When they run out of the shine
there'll be singing and some dancing
Underneath the harvest moon
We can't wait for it to happen
It cannot come too soon
There'll be readings from the bible
Which the minister will read
And as good holy Christians
Everyone will heed
There's sure to be some fighting
Before the couple say "I do"
I mean, they are both cousins
I'm gonna go...aren't you?
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
by God, I don't know what to
do.
they're so nice to have around.
they have a way of playing with
the *****
and looking at the **** very
seriously
turning it
tweeking it
examining each part
as their long hair falls on
your belly.
it's not the ******* and *******
alone that reaches into a man
and softens him, it's the extras,
it's all the extras.
now it's raining tonight
and there's nobody
they are elsewhere
examining things
in new bedrooms
in new moods
or maybe in old
bedrooms.
anyhow, it's raining tonight,
on hell of a dashing, pouring
rain....
very little to do.
I've read the newspaper
paid the gas bill
the electric co.
the phone bill.
it keeps raining.
they soften a man
and then let him swim
in his own juice.
I need an old-fashioned *****
at the door tonight
closing her green umbrella,
drops her green umbrella,
drops of moonlit rain on her
purse, saying **** man,
can't you get better music
than that on your radio?
and turn up the heat..."
it's always when a man's swollen
with love and everything
else
that keeps raining
splattering
flooding
rain
good for the trees and the
grass and the air...
good for things that
live alone.
I would give anything
for a female's hand on me
tonight.
they soften a man and
then leave him
listening to the rain.
7.5k
Give me back my broken night
my mirrored room, my secret life
it's lonely here,
there's no one left to torture
Give me absolute control
over every living soul
And lie beside me, baby,
that's an order!
Give me crack and **** ***
Take the only tree that's left
and stuff it up the hole
in your culture
Give me back the Berlin wall
give me Stalin and St Paul
I've seen the future, brother:
it is ******
Things are going to slide, slide in all directions
Won't be nothing
Nothing you can measure anymore
The blizzard, the blizzard of the world
has crossed the threshold
and it has overturned
the order of the soul
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
When they said REPENT REPENT
I wonder what they meant
You don't know me from the wind
you never will, you never did
I'm the little jew
who wrote the Bible
I've seen the nations rise and fall
I've heard their stories, heard them all
but love's the only engine of survival
Your servant here, he has been told
to say it clear, to say it cold:
It's over, it ain't going
any further
And now the wheels of heaven stop
you feel the devil's riding crop
Get ready for the future:
it is ******
Things are going to slide ...
There'll be the breaking of the ancient
western code
Your private life will suddenly explode
There'll be phantoms
There'll be fires on the road
and the white man dancing
You'll see a woman
hanging upside down
her features covered by her fallen gown
and all the lousy little poets
coming round
tryin' to sound like Charlie Manson
and the white man dancin'
Give me back the Berlin wall
Give me Stalin and St Paul
Give me Christ
or give me Hiroshima
Destroy another fetus now
We don't like children anyhow
I've seen the future, baby:
it is ******
Things are going to slide ...
When they said REPENT REPENT ...
7.4k
Impatient and silly
Just two things for now
There's so much more really
And I'm sleepy anyhow
But you're handsome
You're sweet
Oh very handsome, I repeat
You're a thinker
A debater
Always arguing
A master- uh hater
Oh I can go on forever
But droopy are my eyes
Goodnight
I will speak to you at sunrise
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
My humanity's in jeopardy every single day
Do I have the right clothes?
Do I have the right nose?
Did I say what I should say?
I'm constantly worried and in such a hurry
Did I make my own meal?
Did I work or did I steal?
Should I open up or conceal?
I'm always tired from pent up desire
I'm listening to the hum
From the people and their guns
Trying to ruin all my fun
I'm being told that love won't grow old
But it's stifled and stopped
These floating heads talk
About it around the clock
I'm just weary from always being cheery
I want to be alone
Not chained to a phone
Or hearing the public groan
If I'm 21 now then I'm too dumb anyhow
To fall in love or work
I'm just a coffee clerk
Spit on my college shirt
My self-worth isn't tied to this earth
It's tied to a wire
That leaves cities on fire
I can't get any higher
I feel like a little boy playing with little toys
Why do I have a voice,
If I don't have a choice?
Am I just radioactive noise?
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
At first, I wasn’t interested.
It wasn’t a love at first sight kind of deal.
The moment he started talking, however,
I felt something real.
Hard to believe, I know–
Especially in a world of desire and lust.
What is real and what is fake?
Will someday these feelings turn to dust?
He asked me for my number.
Despite my better judgment, I said yes.
I was too caught up in my feelings.
I couldn’t make my heart beat rest.
Full of butterflies my stomach was
As we said our last goodbye.
Butterflies don’t always tell the truth, though.
Unfortunately, sometimes they lie.
To listen to your heart or head–
That is the ultimate test!
For sometimes you’re right and sometimes you’re wrong,
it‘s hard to tell what’s best.
Do I take it one step at a time
Hoping his feelings haven’t changed?
I never texted him back that day.
What if he’s hurt from the words never exchanged?
Then there’s another problem
Oh, yes, the other boy.
The one who won’t move on,
Claiming I’m his only joy.
If I were to find someone else
Would I destroy his entire life?
If I choose to not hurt him and stay alone
Then would my own be full of strife?
Too many questions and too many answers
Makes me fear my heart is wrong
Listen to your head, I beg.
It’s hard, for my heart is strong.
Give it up, for it’s what’s best.
We both know It’s true.
My heart and my head now both agree.
It’s what I have to do.
I have made up my mind.
The boy has got to go.
Anyhow, we’ve only had one chat.
I need to tell him no.
There he goes now smiling at me.
I wish he would stop.
“Hi,” He says…
Well, here we go. I’m back up to the top.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 11:05 PM UTC
THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated ********* here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.
5.5k
And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.
Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body
5.4k
Time has come and the time has gone,
Another sun will rise with another dawn,
All I have now are the traces of the missing star,
An unknowingly discontented heart or an unacknowledged scar,
Oh! If I could just know the reason why or just the meaning of I,
As if listening, “Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.
So, maybe I am laughing I cannot really see,
Or maybe it’s alright, I cannot really feel,
Anyhow I look forward to another misplaced sun,
Another beautiful day and another misleading run,
Maybe the night shall make me tough, and hope will keep me high,
And then, as if listening, “Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.
So now I finally listen, I melt into the beautiful hues,
Lost or Found? I don’t really have many clues,
Few tears escape my eyes as if they have committed treason,
Is it the dying day or the dream? I don’t really know the reason.
Few more fall as the colors fade and as the last traces of light die,
And then, as if listening, "Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
Maybe someday we could have a picnic together.
Sunlight always makes your eyes shimmer like public swimming pools
with a little too much chlorine, and I’d love to see you dance
nervously when you discover a line of ants marching up your leg.
I’d like to kiss you with the taste of potato salad fresh on your lips
with a twist of lukewarm lemonade; you’d probably push me away
self consciously, but the fact of the matter is that your mouth
would excite me even after eating ten pounds of garlic.
The red checkered blanket would bring out the creamy tones
in your skin and I’d soon find myself devouring your beauty rather than
the pre-made peanut butter and jam sandwiches.
Your voice and its stories are sweeter than any strawberries
I’ve ever tasted, anyhow.
I could plan our lunches together for the rest of our lives,
but you’re not the kind of girl to settle down for a lunch
with someone like me, let alone for a lifetime.
So for some inexplicable reason I imagine myself at your door,
wicker basket in hand, with no answer.
As it would seem, picnics aren’t really your scene.
And neither am I.
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 7:28 PM UTC
I'm starting to dream in color
swimming in Silvia red night gowns
and dancing into silhouettes of purple and crimson.
psychedelic actually,
if you take the time to think within that perspective.
it's like a toned-down rave set in slow motion by overdose.
and where are you?
are you passed out on the lawn in front of some closed down swapmeet?
did the flicker of insomnia turn you off like a light switch you hadn't paid the bill for?
who now, will answer your phone or pay homage to your quips
or late night phone calls to God?
I wish I could say that I relayed the message
but my nerves never were enough.
I wonder if the angels ever picked up on the twisted games you played on their names.
Many people never bothered to decipher it all.
But on occasion I did.
When the time was convenient,
when the moments were dull.
I delved into it.
I tried anyhow.
Forgive me for never letting you pass.
For standing arms and legs wide apart to halt the inevitable.
I wish for so many seconds
that I was there to do something,
to show something,
some inkling of understanding through sarcastic grimaces.
To you, who will read this and play dead for flair,
may you call upon me from the imaginary casket when you get this.
Fore I do see that you could never leave like that.
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 9:56 PM UTC
If I told you to go ****
You'd just snort
And take my last beer.
You're a best friend and quite cavalier
You know me like nobody
But you're still a queer.
I just want the best for you
And I know you reverse the same
But if we ever get outta this mess
I probably shouldn't know your name.
You're used to it
But I ain't gonna do it
I know you now
You're my best friend anyhow.
So tuck and ****
Fists all battering
Smash 'em good
I wanna see blood splattering.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
I love you for no reason
So it's not going to change with change of season.
I love you for no reason
I know it's hard to trust a guy like me
But i want to become a guy you want me to be
Pick out the good from me and leave the rest
Alter me into what suits you best
I will be proud to fulfill your every condition
I love you for no reason
It's you my princess that's all i need
What's in your mind i wish i could read
So that i can do everything before you say
I want to make you smile everyday
You are my desire my zing my ambition
I love you for no reason
You hair are like brown strands of silk
You are fairer than milk
Chubby chicks and baby soft skin
Pointed nose suits best with nose pin
Those plumy lips i can die to kiss
It kills me when you smile with a bliss
Your waist curves are like of a snake
Mole on your face is cherry over cake
Mind and body both you have got
I swear you are god's perfect shot
Beauty with mind is a perfect fusion
I love you for no reason
I will love you forever same as now
With you i am ready to take the vow
I wanted to be with you anyhow
After that my life would be wow
But i know you don't have the same vision
I love you for no reason
You for me is my sweetest dream
Your beauty is something i can not redeem
Best you have a golden heart
Your words hit my head like a dart
I can listen to your chit chat for my whole life
I pray to god to make you my wife
I will pamper you praise you serve you please you
I will hug you poke you curdle you tease you
It's going to b real or it's just an illusion
I love you for no reason
I know we are east and west
I m not good even and you are the best
We can't be together it will not work
How can an angel love a devil rebellious ****
One day may be you will say yes
Might be this poem works full to impress
If it's a no not a big deal
Hug me enough for my wounds to heal
I don't want to force your decision
I love you for no reason
I love you for no reason
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 11:42 PM UTC
This is a song to celebrate banks,
Because they are full of money and you go into them and all
you hear is clinks and clanks,
Or maybe a sound like the wind in the trees on the hills,
Which is the rustling of the thousand dollar bills.
Most bankers dwell in marble halls,
Which they get to dwell in because they encourage deposits
and discourage withdrawals,
And particularly because they all observe one rule which woe
betides the banker who fails to heed it,
Which is you must never lend any money to anybody unless
they don't need it.
I know you, you cautious conservative banks!
If people are worried about their rent it is your duty to deny
them the loan of one nickel, yes, even one copper engraving
of the martyred son of the late Nancy Hanks;
Yes, if they request fifty dollars to pay for a baby you must
look at them like Tarzan looking at an uppity ape in the
jungle,
And tell them what do they think a bank is, anyhow, they had
better go get the money from their wife's aunt or ungle.
But suppose people come in and they have a million and they
want another million to pile on top of it,
Why, you brim with the milk of human kindness and you
urge them to accept every drop of it,
And you lend them the million so then they have two million
and this gives them the idea that they would be better off
with four,
So they already have two million as security so you have no
hesitation in lending them two more,
And all the vice-presidents nod their heads in rhythm,
And the only question asked is do the borrowers want the
money sent or do they want to take it withm.
Because I think they deserve our appreciation and thanks,
the ********* who go around saying that health and happi-
ness are everything and money isn't essential,
Because as soon as they have to borrow some unimportant
money to maintain their health and happiness they starve
to death so they can't go around any more sneering at good
old money, which is nothing short of providential.
4.5k
The professor said
"Family therapy is like a Pie Graph
Everyone in the family contributes their own piece of pie.
When people leave
there's a chunk of pie missing
and the other members of the family
have to take on some of those roles to fill the pie."
Here's my theory:
Everyone in the family has their own whole pie.
Categorizes each housemate as a piece of it.
how they view them in their family.
how they relate to them,
Imagine a home
Mom and her four daughters.
Step dad, his daughter and son.
imagine three bedrooms.
The adults taking up one of them.
let's look at the Mother,
Her four daughters
all with different fathers
she knows how to raise children.
The daughters all know how to
Be
Children, be
Sisters, be
older or younger than each other.
The step-father knows how to have
A Wife,
One Daughter,
A Son.
Well Step-brother leaves the house.
Susie has a child at fifteen.
what does
her pie look like now?
She used to have a boyfriend,
four sisters,
a mother, father.
Now lost a brother
gained a baby.
She only knows how to be a child.
let's look at the mother.
She hasn't learned: Grandchild
but she knows how to raise a baby.
lets look at the step-father, lost his son, gained four daughters,
what's another one?
The sisters, lost their brother, a role model.
Exchanged for this this new baby.
another sister?
everyone's pie is empty in some parts.
judging by some other
dead white guys theory
when who you are doesn't line up
with who you see yourself as,
that's when people develop
Mental illness
Well I wouldn't call it ill, but let's count the bruises.
That baby is going to grow up as her mother's sister.
Suzie is going to seek the comfort of men.
Her sisters are going to constantly fight between calling themselves auntie
and Big Sis.
like tossing themselves on either side of the barbed wire fence is cause for death.
The farther we go back in each family member's backstory
the more slivers of pie we find
Georgia has autism,
Carley diagnosed depression,
Rosie an abusive relationship of 10 years.
Clover is quiet.
The Brother, schizophrenic, autistic, bipolar.
Any number of names they can slap on him.
He doesn't live there anyhow.
isn't human.
Muffle the sister that says she miss him.
hit her, cut her, lock her up.
This was a case study.
I lived with this family for four years.
unintentionally filled up parts of their pie.
I was Son.
Older brother.
Boyfriend.
Father.
When I stopped being a fly on the wall
Stopped seeing how their story was developing.
I didn't have any pie left.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
It’s a quarter past 3 o’clock in the morning
Full moon overhead , makes the mood just right
This beautiful song comes on
From my old music box
That was left unplugged
On the old coffee table next to my bed
My old music box always has a bad habit
singing on its own without warning
Even while being unplugged
Almost as if
There is a ghost sharing
The house with us
But this time
The song released was beautiful ,
Beautiful because it was about love
Or
Maybe perhaps it could’ve been
About hatred
Half asleep I really cannot tell,
But anyhow,
In between of the sweetness
Of the artist voice
Us howling at the moon
And the record’s hoarse,
Lies , violent skips
I dance, I dance anyway,
My gentle moves in my bed,
Over, under
And
In between the sheets
And
In her steady arms
And her sweet caressed
I found solace and forgiveness
Until the light of day
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 3:45 AM UTC
The leopard and the lion chose to become friends,
For they were all proud of claws on their paws
They each glorified one another for their mighty,
Ability to live on meat of other fauna throughout a year,
They each admired one another for running speed,
They each remained firm and loyal to one rule;
Lions don’t eat leopards neither leopards eat lions.
They felt warmth in their companionship without verve,
Until the time they initiated a certain joint venture;
To hunt an antelope as it was famed to be the sweetest,
Again, there had remained one antelope only in the world,
They dilly and not dallied anyhow about such glittering project,
They both endevoured to set forth by each dawn for a whole year,
Tediously hunting throughout a day, the lion doing a great part,
Setting ambuscades and arduously sleuthing to orient on trail,
The leopard severally fainted in the field due to exhaustion,
On one eve of christmas day, the lion captured the prey,
When the leopard was a sleep shivering in fevers of malaria,
Their prey was a middle aged female antelope with swollen hips.
The leopard was sparked to fire of life by a mysterious fillip,
He boldly requested work, now to help the lion in carrying,
The un-suspecting lion relinquished the carcass to the leopard,
Feat of shrewdness gripped the leopard, he took off
Running away with a lightening speed, the antelope on his mouth,
The lion again began to chase, shouting to the leopard,
To be a gentleman and stop running, for them to share the plunder,
The leopard never listened, he craftily climbed to the apex,
Of the most tall and most slippery tree, he perched at the peak
With the antelope on his muscular mandibles of voracity,
The lion remained at the stem, wailing like a toddler
His family does not climb trees, not even a shrub,
The lion wailed, using all styles of wailing,
Pleading with the leopard to donate even an iota,
Not even a small piece of antelope bone dropped
To drop on the ground for the lion to taste,
Human leopards are not good hunting companions.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
The wise head becomes a fool sans money,
While the goon with quid around to throw
Assumes a sage - the mayor of phony county.
Why should the prince of letters anyhow
Be in want - lacking in substance great,
Flourishing instead in some wretched state?
Yet the politicians who run down the economy
And men of baser thoughts that make heaven's
Hallowed eyes drop tears by their steamy
**** businesses and those of unholy deals,
Do seem to prosper much in this awkward
World,with those who daily vaunt at the Lord.
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 4:11 AM UTC
up and down the east coast
in a cheap used Honda
sunshine, clear sky
fuzzy AM radio
windows down, cool breeze
no sense of direction
road signs and carelessness
take place of a gps
no contact with the rest of the world
empty highway
scenery all around
laughter
an adventure?
nothing matters but this moment anyhow
not the next minute
nor the next hour
nor tomorrow
we're not in New York anymore
"Are we there yet?"
there is no "there", yet
no pictures
only memories
make it last
Rest up sleepyhead
You'll need it
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC