"baddies" poems
These are the hard times,
the long stretch of coal-shed days,
the corrugated nights of the antinomian.
I retch at the old doubts and the panoply
of dustbins clattering bright,
their watchers simian in the morning ****
I dress as though dredging up greys,
monotone deep in the GB tradition:
now sandpit tea with oil stain floats
silt dreads the mass of a seven year clay.
Four weeks of shadows drown wind in a storm.
And dreams of my cottage
in days of such calm and late summer happiness
as brought cut corn and strawbs
and horse manure in hugs
until like Zulu tribesmen the birds appeared.
Hunched with expectation
Spears smiling like baddies they rushed me.
I woke pouring sweat like a workhorse
the weakest of defences laid up
my face pulling cellophane over French windows.
Feb 6, 2012
Feb 6, 2012 at 2:07 PM UTC
There are some people,
Who will always do the right thing.
These are the people, though,
That seem to judge others, so harshly.
good people, you see things so clearly,
Too clearly.
Surely, one mistake, however monumental
Doesn't warrant condemnation, evermore?
I want to be with the baddies, right now, because I am one.
I feel like a pantomime villain.
I want to hang out with Snow White's evil stepmother, or the Ugly Sisters,
Down tequila with the Wicked Witch of the West.
Fit company, for me.
Not really,
I don't believe that, but in my darkest moments,
I do feel like a monster.
Whose moral code did I defy?
And does it matter? What does it matter,
I don't care what matters, any more.
Just call me Cruella, and **** me to Hell,
It's nothing I'm not doing to myself, already.
Drop a house on me,
(The ***** is dead)
Ding ****
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
A man of no age
See this world be his stage
Subservant his number
This badge be his honour
His country to serve
In sacrificed love
These stories be told
A plot to unfold
A hero so British
This tune we still listen
A fighter of evil
His Q for distinguish
Sweet ladies a plenty
On rocks drinks martini
A drive in an Aston
Gadgets to walther
All baddies behind him
A win every time
As sunsets divine
A lady reclined
The music..........his line
The names Bond
James Bond
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 11:53 PM UTC
Arise Great Britain, swell wi pride
this is no time tae split, divide,
a hero needs us on his side
a man apart
Brave Osbourne comes wi manly stride
and lion heart
When danger ca’s, he stauns and fights
He’ll haud the baddies bang tae rights
Nou in their een he sees the whites
and yells, “Attack!”
He’s got oor mojo in his sights –
He wants it back!
Let’s cheer his valour tae the roof
Condemn the wans wha’d cry him couff
And pray oor Geordie’s bulletproof
As on he flies
Then fit him wi a parachute
and wave guidbye.
This GM perfect Tory clone
need not rely on un-manned drone
He’ll tackle ISIS on his own
their fight dissolve
His pores squirt pure testosterone
his eyes, resolve
Just watch the baddies turn and flee
as George, wi patriotic glee
wreaks vengeance for democracy
a one-man dojo
And cries, “Come, Britain, flock to me,
and feel my mojo!”
Or mibbes we should check this twice.
Although the image may be nice
The blood we risk on his advice
may never stop -
But Geordie will not sacrifice
one ****** drop
These profiteering pinstripe ******
wha ken no life but politics
Are no the first tae play these tricks
while deals are made
Why no just wave a crucifix
and shout “Crusade!”
So hooses burn and horror grows
A stream o misery outflows
While braggard Geordie struts and crows,
"Ye want a fight?"
I’d dump him on Damascus road
tae see the light
Ye plot the death o innocents
Tae score yir points in parliament
Yir fascist mocking o dissent
it suits ye well
George Osbourne, ye're a proper gent
**** ye tae hell.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
we all remember
where we were
watching the towers
burn and fall
knowing that things would
never be the same at all
disbelief at first, or
had an action movie
slipped into the news
no, it was real
and then twenty years
of vengeful repercussion
of military posturing
of suffering for many
we watched
the baddies being painted
good and evil
being redefined
virtue confused
impotence and power
conflated
lies and spin
consecrated
truth
alternated
idiot rich guys
promoted
tax for the poor
promulgated
democracy
desecrated
climate destruction
accelerated
by denialist
complacency
inequality
more concentrated
goodness and morality
infiltrated
by posturing political
pus weasels
venal vultures
of self interest
grasping for
short term dominance
and then ..
complacency pervaded
as absurdity
was accepted
as our new state of normal
and the height
of compassion
was owning a dog
and tut tutting
as refugees marched
across our news screens
and now we
bemoan being isolated
from being contaminated
we are mostly relegated
to stay in our mansions
while dinner is contemplated
have you been vaccinated?
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
The trip would be flawless -
water splashing, echoed shrieks in chlorinated sunlight -
except for these baffling creatures
patrolling the pool
Up and down they go,
up and down,
staring daggers straight ahead
and daring you to get in their way
Rubber hats and plastic eyes,
folded skin, wrinkled
like deflated dinghies
doggedly paddling
their pointless journeys.
A bit like clockwork bath toys,
but not as entertaining.
The safety notices are wasted on them.
No petting?
I should ****** well think not.
Bombing? Ducking? Anything fun at all?
Up, down,
up
and down.
Relentless as the baddies
in a ZX Spectrum game,
stuck in their lanes,
joyless.
They were there when I was six
and they're still there, you know,
a few more wrinkles now,
up
(and down),
spilling out their black slick second skins.
Whatever it was they were looking for,
the search
isn't improving their moods.
Jan 18, 2012
Jan 18, 2012 at 11:40 AM UTC
after years of being told how good my body was
i went through puberty.
after years of being asked how much time i spent at the gym
i grew hips
and disconcerting looks from grown men who thought my fifteen year old thighs were too thick to be sexualized.
after years of wearing sundresses
and being applauded for being the first girl in my grade to grow *****
my metabolism slowed down
and i was made to feel like a cowbell in the least practical sense of the word.
i was thirteen and hunched over a porcelain toilet bowl when i told my friend i had purged and she called me gross as if it wasn't because of feeling "gross" that i was there to begin with.
and i'd grown used to my good-gened friends with their tiny waists and size 32 jeans telling me they wanted to join a gym in hopes i'd run along and lose some weight.
because when i was 13 and weighed little enough to turn heads i felt empty while looking whole.
and when you're fat you can't have an eating disorder, because illness can be seen so how good of a job my ana was doing depended solely on how faint i felt by midday.
in a world where nobody buys magazines it's easy to pretend we don't care for skinny bodies anymore, but when every smartphone is linked to an instagram page and every newsfeed is filled with "slim thick baddies" you can't help but wonder.
if i were to feel physically full why am i so empty?
i cheated myself.
she probably went and cheated on me because my body wasn't slim-thick enough to eat.
and it's easy to say this doesn't apply to me when you see the pictures on the beach but you don't see me scrolling through pinterest at 2 in the morning looking at "How To Lose 10 kgs in 3 Days" posts.
if i were so lucky i'd be a success story and could probably post before and after pictures of my body but you can not hear the ache in my belly screaming at me that it'd rather just be cut off.
when i was fourteen i could no longer wear shorts in public because grown men with wives would turn and watch my thighs clip-clap together as i walked with my dad.
i was asking for it.
i resented summer and the fact that i'd run out of clean pairs of jeans to sweat in.
but if i dare love myself, what then? do i apologise to the girlfriends of the boys who visit me for coffee? do i drink coke light with my whiskey? do i start writing poetry?
Sep 4, 2016
Sep 4, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
My eyes are roving, clever and playful
In the tensest moments I don’t lose my cool
From my fingers the bullets fly
I dive deep and jump from the sky.
I do hide behind occasional beard
I want my martinis shaken not stirred
My mantra is only one word ‘win’
The only car I ride is Aston martin.
My name turns my enemies morose
They’re pinned down by my gizmos.
Women just madly fall for me
Clad skimpily in alluring bikini
Chiseled figures slim and tall
I choose the good but go for all.
I am pressed for time so much
I can’t do without my omega watch
Though I’m not stuck in a brand or two
Rolex and Seikos will also do.
I feel instead of lengthening the list
It’s time for me to clear up the mist
A suave smart and fearless guy
I also happen to be a timeless spy.
I play with the villains dangerous games
Love to be called Bond without James
With me the baddies can never get even
You know the world knows me by 007.
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 8:12 AM UTC
There’s a superhero protecting the city,
And when the sun goes down he fights
To keep his friends and family safe
On treacherous, deadly nights.
He uses his marvelous super strength
For lots of things, it‘s quite practical.
And he uses invisibility
To be supremely sneaky and tactical.
Each and every night he goes to stop
Bad people from doing bad things
The city loves their superhero,
And treat him as their king.
They know him well and they can tell
That he’ll always treat them with care
They know they can call at any time,
And that the hero will always be there.
But many long and sleepless nights
Begin to take their toll.
The hero’s getting tired
Night after night on patrol.
And the battles fought aren’t easily won,
The hero’s decorated with scars
From poison darts, and fisticuffs,
Falling from buildings onto cars.
But no one else can protect the people
Whom the hero love so dear,
So the hero cannot take a break,
Not one day off because he fears
That as soon as he’s gone the baddies will come
And wreak havoc on his friends
And the hero cannot allow that to happen;
He could never make amends.
Though he’s growing quite weary, the hero keeps fighting
Because that’s the way heroes are wired.
But his strength doesn’t work like it used to,
And his invisibility tends to backfire.
His strength only works around other people,
He grows weak as soon as they’re gone.
He’s invisible almost all of the time,
So people can’t see something’s wrong.
It’s now to the point where the hero dreads
The sun sinking into the west
Because he knows that once the sun goes down,
He’ll be put to the test.
He’s so tired and weak and he’s ready to quit
But he knows he must go out again.
Isn’t protecting the city week after week
Worth any amount of pain?
He’s reluctant to go out, and almost dares to do evil,
To show that he’s in control.
But he knows he never will, his reputation’s at stake,
And he prepares to go out on patrol.
The city is asking to be saved once again.
And he cries as the sky turns red,
Maybe the city won’t expect to be saved
If the hero himself is dead.
For the hero feels so very alone.
He knows he can’t go on forever.
How many more super villains and monsters,
He asks, can this poor hero weather?
The hero knows that he can’t go much longer,
That he only has a little while
Before the people figure out he’s hurt
But for now he saves with a smile.
Though his bones are weak, and his skin is bruised,
Off to save the city once more, he goes.
He’s pushing himself far past his limit
As he brawls ‘gainst countless foes.
He wants to keep his people safe,
Though he may be going to his grave.
For no one ever taught this hero
To save others, first himself he has to save.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 5:03 AM UTC
Kind words
Full mind
Modern Athena
In a Christian arena
Dominated by daddies
Along with other baddies
She's beyond and behind
Her time and her kind
She's an oddity
Of space and time
A pure mind
From an impure kind
She's Athena
Up in the air
Here I am
Name's Crowley, Alastair
I am the beast you ride
Anger, frustration
Society's deviation
I am the body you hide
Bloated and rotten
Tainted by your thoughts
And the rusted knife
That anger that bleeds then rots
I am the monster
What holds the power
She's an oddity
Of space and time
A pure mind
From an impure kind
She's Athena
Up in the air
Freedom within
Under the skin
Ideas ferment
Dry off like cement
She sees so clear
Words of opacity
An animated shadow
Pure tenacity
An angel
Here's a demon
Not even an equal
Just all the freedom
Gone wrong
Here I am
Name's Crowley, Alastair
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 12:42 AM UTC
She is
the Ethereal Wonder
and I am her trusty sidekick
Dream Boy.
Her obsequious protégé,
I chop at the shadows
of the baddies
and glass ceilings
to which she delivers
swift kicks and merciless punches.
In the Dream Mobile,
my eyes are at her hand
on the stick shift,
her thumb flipping the
oil slick switch and pressing it—
the sounds of cars screeching and
careening off cliffs
fail to deter me from imagining
the gloved hand in mine.
Off she darts into the fray,
and I hear
the shocked public
gasp,
and the narrator expound,
“Faster than men less qualified but
more likely to get the job,
as powerful as histories
of suffragettes and debutantes,
able to leap over the confines
of impressed domesticity
in a single bound!”
Into her arms fall
the thankful victims
at the last second,
and the baleful embrace
of malevolence
gropes at thin air
where the Ethereal
Wonder once was.
She receives thanks
with a wave of a gloved
hand and bounties
of humility.
She is no damsel in distress,
she is no mere love interest,
and to be her partner
in this great dangerous adventure
will be the most heroic story
ever told—
And perhaps one day she will need saving,
and I will rise to the occasion—
owing my strength, wisdom, and ability
to all she has ever taught me
of being a hero.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 7:13 PM UTC
It was Shlomit
who fell from the seesaw
in the park
and grazed her knee
and elbow
Baruch who
was on the other end
jumped off
and helped her up
trying to console her
patting her
on the back
as she leaned over
dabbing at
her bloodied knee
and crying said
look at the hole
in my jumper
o my God
Mum’s going to **** me
o look at my knee
Baruch took her
to the old dame
who took shelter
in the first aid place
and sorted out
minor injuries
there there
the old dame said
we’ll soon put that right
and took Shlomit in
and sat her on one
of the chairs
and got out
her first aid box
and cleaned off
the dirt and wound
with some yellow stuff
which made Shlomit
cringe and cry
o my my
said the old dame
its hurts
but it cleans out
the baddies
Baruch watched helpless
taking in
the lopsided
hair band
on Shlomit’s head
the blood red
jumper sleeve
the grazed knee
the old dame
wiping it clean
Shlomit in tears
looking up at him
her glasses crooked
o my God
what will Daddy say?
she uttered
o he’ll understand
the old dame said
don’t think he will
Baruch thought
he isn’t that type
of guy
leather her
most probably
he mused
watching the old dame’s fingers
putting on white lint
and placing pink plasters
over the top
to keep it on
now the elbow
the dame said
pulling up
Shlomit’s jumper sleeve
the elbow was badly grazed
the hole of the jumper
stuck to the wound
take hold
of her hand
Sonny
the old dame said
this might hurt
so Baruch took hold
of Shlomit’s hand
and watched
as the old dame
cleaned up
the elbow
with the yellow liquid
and cotton wool
Shlomit’s small hand
grabbed his own
the fingers
with bitten nails
clung tight to his own
he noticed she swung
her legs back and forth
under the chair
the plastered knee
came in and out
of sight
the window brought in
and allowed to fall
upon her knees
the bright morning light.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Qualified Abstinence
I’ve decided - though not wholly -
As of morning’s bath - to put on hold
The daily custom, habit’s viewing -
NCIS, Dr Phil - suspecting as I do
That they are doing me some harm
Engaging, charming
as they are.
Mind as thought and mind as stomach,
Turn to worry, churn with fear
As states of things in world and home,
Play out the clearer,
Signs maturing in their chaos,
Ever growing, ever baiting;
Making brilliant, analytical dear Phil
Ever more mouth-watering.
Well-loved NCIS plays its part,
Portraying nations torn apart
With ever cleverer technologies
And cleverer–type baddies
Getting ‘theirs’ from even smarter good guys.
If then, strong enough to not back off,
The morning TV staying off,
Then maybe, only maybe
This old belly
Can restore its tranquil peristalsis,
Family squabbles turning babble to a kiss.
Phil, dear Phil, continue to be wise and kind!
NCIS’ cast: brave, cuddly and seasoned -
Flag unfurled, continue to engage yourselves
In world salvation!
Stationing my thoughts in action,
I must leave you both
To carry myself into truth
As cellular Arlene conceives, perceives,
Inherently achieves it.
(If, of course, l don’t fall back into the -
(crude, ill-mannered rude word) shit!
Qualified Abstinence 7.20.2014
Pure Nakedness; Our Times, Our Culture II;
Arlene Corwin
arlene corwin poetry.com
Jul 20, 2016
Jul 20, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
~~~ @ ~~~
hush, hush, hush a bye
while we sing a song
don't you weep
no, don't you cry
we'll help you
to be strong
we're the stars
outside your window
rainbow colored on your sill
can't you see the
curtain billow?
hush a bye now
child be still!
the night is
strumming us a tune
in gold across the galaxy
can't you hear
ol' Billy Moon
playin' his guitar for free?
*the stars are your
nighttime blanket
keeping you safe!
don't be scared
chase the baddies
AWAY!
sweet dreams to
you child
the twinkle to keep
you safe
to remind you of
all the love
and memories of
~~~@ TODAY @~~~*
(C) Sye
(C) soulsurvivor
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
It will be a hot day in July.
the kind that cuddles you.
like a padded cell.
insulation.
ill have lost maybe another 20/30lbs
i still wont have a good excuse in McDonalds
but these morons, who even cares what they think.
its just dust between their ears.
ill take my scotch and my cigarettes
with me.
we'll have our usual 8 hours of
non-stop
drinking.
Tequila.
*****
Scotch.
Wines.
Fishbowls.
Cocktails.
kissing laughing *** drugs
flashes of scars from a flare of a skirt but
people are too polite to save anyone's life.
Tonight.
Tonight.
Tonight.
she told me a few months back that i should see someone.
we fell out.
because she knew.
and i couldn't make her crazy too
i love her too much.
the best friend i ever had.
Ill tell all my friends i love them.
Ill say goodbye to him.
and that ill love him
forever.
no matter what.
ill take some more pills.
all the pills you could dream of.
50? Maybe 100?
like a kid in a candy shop.
ill feel my escape route appear
like a tunnel the baddies would use in Scooby Doo.
it will appear
and tunnel through my veins.
i wont cry.
ill watch the stars until they disappear.
and that's my plan.
The Rest Is Silence.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC
**** Morecraft said
about joining the Scouts
who used
the church hall
good venture
he said
we do things
tie knots
and learn
about nature
how to start a fire
with two bits of wood
and sing songs
around campfires
and so on he went
walking home from school
you wanting to join the scouts
like you wanted diarrhoea
listening half heartedly
thinking of what
was for tea
or what to do
after school
and where to go
and we learn how
to put up tents
**** added
the last straw
ok
you said
I’ll think about it
see you around
and so off he went
along Newington Butts
and you went down
the subway and along
whistling
hands in pockets
when you saw Ingrid
up ahead with bent shoulders
and lowered head
what’s up? you said
and she showed you
a tear
in her school dress
a rip in the side
showing
her white vest
my dad’ll **** me
(not quite you knew
but he’d beat her
black and blue)
what do I do?
she said crying
wiping her eyes
don’t go home
just yet
you said
my mum’ll sew it up
like new
we’ll go to
my place first
that’s what we’ll do
so you walked
up and out the subway
and across the bomb site
and up Meadow Row
(her mother or father
needn’t know)
and up the concrete stairs
to your flat and in
and you explained
to your mother
what was wrong
and she said she’d fix it
with needle and thread
and so Ingrid
took off the dress
and gave it
to your mother to sew
and sat there
in the sitting room
in her vest and underwear
fiddling with her fingers
looking around
the room shyly
arms and legs
carrying badges
of black and blue
go get Ingrid
a glass of Tizer
and biscuit
your mother said
and don’t gawk so
and so you went
to the kitchen
and poured
a glass of Tizer
and got a biscuit
from a tin
and took them in
Ingrid wide eyed said
thank you
and took the biscuit
and glass
and nibbled
and sipped
and you told her
about the scouts
and what
Morecraft said
about tents
and tying knots
and lighting fires
with sticks
and such
(not caring much)
and all the time
eyeing the bruises
and welts on legs
and arms
and your mother said
don’t stare so
at Ingrid in her
white( near grey)vest
and underwear
so you changed
the subject
to the cinema
about some cowboy film
where the good guy
twirls his gun
and goes pop pop pop
you said
and gets the baddies
dead
just like that
and how after
the boring bit
where he kisses a girl
he twirls
his gun again
(you need
to practice that)
and she listened
as she sipped her drink
and nibbled the biscuit
sitting there
with her badges
of blue and black
in her underwear
and a red line
across
her skinny back.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
below are notes from various people (all imagined) to Karma...
NOTE 1
Dear Karma
You're doing a great job -
*people are in deep **** as they deserve*
But what I don't understand is -
why me too?
NOTE 2
Dear Karma
I've got a hit list
of people
you've missed
NOTE 3
Dear Karma
I can see so many ambitious
becoming downright failures
as they justly deserve to be -
but how come
I'm still at the bottom of the ladder?
NOTE 4
Dear Karma
Life's not fair -
I punched the guy next door
straight on his tummy
and he broke my arms and legs
NOTE 5
Dear Karma
You're somewhat erratic
I invited the beggars into my house
and they stole everything
Is that how it's supposed to work?
I don't see my reward in this;
I don't even get to be famous like Mother Teresa
NOTE 6
Dear Karma
All the baddies
are doing well
but why does a good guy
like me fare so bad?
NOTE 7
Dear Karma
You can do no wrong
as you're keeping things exactly
as they should be -
I'm doing superb;
everybody else is ******* up
That's the way I like it
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 6:24 PM UTC
You need the low angle for the camera
to zoom in on my frame: I can scale
the skies, jump down cars, beat
the baddies and romance girls
by age by half: I'm the hero. I defy
everything. Age included.
Look up close, there are no wrinkles;
Muscles, better than gymbuffs';
Hair, not a strand grey, and
skin, as elastic as young. Yet
I've been around for a good quarter
of the lives of you the commonfolk .
There is no start or middle here:
I know no crises, I know no end.
Touch the screen, feel
the sparkle! I'm the polestar
of the ordinary life, I defy
everything. Life included.
In the secret chamber of my private
existence, I sometimes peep
out of the looking glass, but
the glimpse you saw of my eye
blown up, is all you can catch
of the tears that line their tips.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
This world was gripped by a puppeteer. He saw us all but deemed me our William Shakespeare. I was the poet, the world had to blow it. I was the artist, they weren't the smartest. I was the dreamer, they weren't believers, and I was the inventor, now they're no longer in the center.
The world was gripped by a puppeteer, but he looked at me and deemed me his sightseer. I was the psychic, the rest of the world had gone a little seismic. I was the vision, they couldn't come to a decision. I was the future, they needed some sutures and I was the wise one, but oh this world's a loaded gun.
The world was gripped by a puppeteer. He was their commandeer. He ordered the world to drown in flames, but they thought he was just playing games. Then he pulled his invisible strings, and from his chessboard began pulling corrupted kings.
Gold and silver rained upon the world, and blood and bones piled in the underworld. The little children just up and curled, and the madness hidden in the world began to just unfurl.
Gray skies couldn't hide the lies, broken kingdoms fell to the flies. The puppeteer had gripped the world, and oh how their sanity just twirled, oh, welcome to the new world. The world was gripped by a puppeteer, now all the baddies have to disappear.
Save us all, oh save us all. That's exactly what you'll do, my dear little puppeteer. 'Cuz as long as I'm pulling the strings, you'll always be doomed to stay here.
Save us all, oh save us all. That's exactly what I'll do, my dear little puppet. Oh it's gonna be you, you'll save us from the corrupted, but it's really me.
It'll be me, I'll be the one to save us all. I'm the real key, you're all under my thrall. 'Cuz as long I'm here, I'm pulling the strings. My little puppeteer, oh it's me, I'm the king of kings.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 9:28 AM UTC
~~~
"Fact about me: You design me"
line from a poem published here on Nov. 30, 2013
part I of a trilogy
nml
~~~
6:33am
9 minutes left
in the AM hour of my tribulation,
the re-design time,
redoing my outer shell
legs pounding,
towel sodden soggy,
soon return to home
do my morning ablutions
followed by a frosty walk
to the multiple screens
for trading things
makeover, do-over,
but you can only easy
shed and cleanse
exterior surfaces,
shape and appearance,
the inside stuff,
that's the gut wrencher
don't be so hard on yourself
kid!
nah ain't gonna
kid
myself
too old, too much a wise guy
to show much forgiveness to self,
of untruly yours,
whose design was only 50% mine
someone is dying,^
my cocktail of
words and emotions
more muddled than my
usual abnormal,
while sweating off
the golden baddies
to the golden oldies
so where exactly is the
truth burden?^^
somewhere between sad
and a curt "no cares"
my physical reformation,
is part and parceled,
of my regeneration,
the one who gave me
the desire to die before my time,
is dead before her time,
and I don't know the clear water truth
of my variable emotions
design me?
she is deigning to
design me still
with her untimely death
so I cycle even harder
to release the anxiety of
mis-everything
regretting what was lost,
now missed,
that too was, and is,
part of my design,
part of
burden of truths
that design who we
were, are, and yet
may be
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 5:01 PM UTC
Now don't get me wrong,
This whole time that I was trying to understand
What you wanted, I couldn't help but notice
That I can't make sense of it all along.
This and that, blind tales, you have my full
Undivided attention, filling my head with
Strange and odd promises, telling me that
Although it seems unreal, you could just
Let them all in. If I took your "sound" advice,
If I'm alone, I could sleep with people on the street,
Put all of my food and drink upon
The ground, drag food around, your obsession
That I should feel fine to just pick it up and eat,
To try to defy my "religious" obsession, always
Try to be the one in charge, look for opportunities
To go off and put away or slay the "baddies" at large,
Become the person of the hour, or a follower,
Get a job where I can sweep floors and wipe tables,
So that I'll really be excited for the first time doing
What I do for a living, even if I'm not really able.
Who cares if this life throws everything bad at me,
I'm ready to attack all of the things that hold me back,
Even go for the things that don't interest me, instead of
Letting them be! YES, I believe "everyone" should work,
Even if they are really lost, psychologically unwell,
Major transportation issues and other real
Problems, No matter what we've been through,
No matter the actual real life hell,
We were all brought into this world to be
JUST LIKE YOU as well!
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 3:45 AM UTC
Falling upon a crooked stone
That lent itself some space
In the highest tenements
A malevolent elf smelt.
In the borders of mistrust
Where the baddies grow
Getting fat on mincemeat
Trying not to show.
A scraping of butter
To put on salted bread
Was never brought
To justice, no whistle said.
Love Mary x
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
I slide the silver painted six shooter
into the holster on my right hand side.
I stand there arm arched, hand ready
to go for the gun. I push my cowboy
hat back away from my cool forehead.
The bad guys are circling me. Today
I’m Wyatt Earp, the day before I was
Bill Hickok, shot in the back while
playing cards with some blonde ******
One of the bad guys goes for his gun,
I go for my gun before his is out of
his holster, I’ve got him between the
eyes, then the other before he can say:
What the heck, then the other before
his gun reaches to his eye. I blow along
the barrel as they do in films, put it
back in my holster. My mother irons
clothes in the other room. My sister
plays with dolls, in the long hallway.
None heard the gunshots inside my head;
all bad guys are dead. I light up a
thin sweet cigarette and light it on an
imaginary match struck on the wall.
Half hour later I see Ingrid on the
balcony. She talks of going to the
park to go on the swings and slide.
She has her brown hair held in place
with hair clips, mild buckteeth, brown
gravy eyes gaze at me. What you been
doing? she asks. Cleaning up the West.
West what? She says. Wild West, I reply.
She nods, uncertain, uninterested. Shot
three baddies. Bang, bang, bang. I push
back my thumb and point two fingers.
I am Wyatt Earp today. You were Bill
Hickok yesterday, she says, looking at
my two fingers aiming at her narrow chest.
What happened to Hickok? She asks.
He 's dead. Oh, she mouths. I put my
fingers away in my trouser pocket. Swings?
She says. I guess. So we walk off together
down the stairs, she wearing a red flowery
dress, white ankle socks, black plimsolls.
I look down the stairs well for any bad guys
lurking, gun ready in my trouser pocket,
Bowie knife in the belt around my waist.
She talks of a new skipping rope her mother
has bought her, I see no one lurking, no baddies
waiting with guns out. We walk through the
Square, out in the open, my two fingers posed
for action, my Bowie knife ready to throw,
off we walk towards the park we slowly go.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 2:52 PM UTC
Turmoil, breathing fast
Shackles of a sinful past
Run, you idiot, run
All you can do since you've been outgunned
That ought to teach you a lesson
You might grow, but there are parasites in the world of indiscretion
Shouldn't have revealed so much to her
Some things ought to never be unearthed
So now you run from the baddies
That's the cost of for once feeling you might be happy
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 7:57 PM UTC