"bans" poems
We pride ourselves on being ‘America the Free’,
But how are we free when a he can’t marry a he?
Homosexuality is found in over 90 species,
but homophobia is only found in one.
If you want to blame someone, blame the straight people.
They’re the ones who keep having gay sons.
Not one Disney princess is a lesbian,
Not one superhero is gay.
Not all girls want a prince charming.
And not all men want a heroine someday.
They say, "Love is blind."
So why are we so blind to fact that love is love?
What has America come to that we’d rather see men holding guns, than holding hands?
Until recently, in the US military, admitting that you’re gay, had bans.
Homosexuality isn’t a disease.
You can’t catch it, and you can’t cure it.
Please.
Tiger Woods can have 19 mistresses,
Britney Spears can have a 55 hour marriage,
Kim Kardashian can get married for publicity,
But GAYS are corrupting the institution of marriage?
Closets are for clothes, not hiding.
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
Parents will warn;
Family will mourn;
Those friends who were lost;
To 'Stranger Danger'
But what they don't mention;
Are the Strangers;
Who don't mean any Danger;
The ones with a story;
Behind the scary looking scars;
And the bans from the bars;
But the pain;
The pain of being afraid;
Being ignored and spat upon;
Maybe you're the ones who are;
'Stranger Danger'
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Once upon a time, a long time ago
There was a little boy with a grimy flow
I used to hear him rap in Chicago everyday
And this is what I heard him say…….
He say **** like, he be like….
Ah! and I'm a *********** biter
The size of the incises inside ya might surprise ya
You might need rewind to decipher my cyphers
Ain't nothing on this world worth more than my saliva
I go so hard when I'm flowing
So cold my flows frozen
I'm a rowboat rowing in an open ocean
And I'm hoping, to blow up with no promotion
But dam, those explosions are so slow motion
So, I need some honey bees to pollinate my money trees
Cause fuckery of companies, accompanies that come between
A couple bucks and me, turned my orange juice to Sunny-D
Hide the cash for food stamps, no way i'm funded publicly
I'm hungry, but not for sandwiches I'm ambitious
A panhandler with gram plans and last wishes
Ask for the last table scraps you can't finish
Sell em back when you digest, and I repackage it
Abracadabra, I'm an alchemist, my magic tricks are acting as contaminates
I damage this establishment
They enacted bans on urban camping
If you ask them how they sleep at night the answer is
Happily on mattresses
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 12:43 AM UTC
We pass laws about things we don't like.
Or don't want in our community.
But when you look through the microscope you amazed by those you see within the lenses.
Oh, we protest the strip clubs and that environment.
But pay attention to the visitors or clientele.
Always seems to be someone we know so well.
The businessman.
The police officer.
The minister.
Hosts of others
You know, those important fellas
Especially , a few elected ones.
The same ones supporting the bans on things.
People, even protest Walmart cause of the small family's store facing competition.
Oh, forget about the jobs for those unemployed.
Forget about customers to get a slow economy back on the path of recovery.
We, don't want the street walker disturbing visitors going to the store too.
After all, they have secrets to create several havocs to a happy home.
Again, when you look through the microscope or witness the news.
You shocked by their clients too!
Same, with the dealers of drugs.
Who?
When arrested we amazed that his clients might be teachers/ministers/politicians/judges/famers and the hard earn worker.
Looking through the microscope reveals the sinners controlling us.
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
I dressed my core in flannel garb
Even though its 90 out
Shaded my eyes with thick rimmed, large framed Ray Bans
Because I can
I’m wearing skinny jeans
But I bought them before they were cool
There’s a hole in the knee where I was burned with a parliament at a poetry club
It didn’t hurt
I spell Vintage U-R-B-A-N
My shoes look like I pulled them out of Fred Astair’s closet
Because I did
I am too cool to care.
But do not call me a hipster.
It’s too mainstream.
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 7:38 PM UTC
Just found my
honest to god
vintage 1963
James Dean Ray Bans
in the garden where
I must have
dropped them
last summer.
Even as an old man
they make me feel
like Steve McQueen.
Now I can pretend
to be cool and smooth
again; but I doubt
my Lady will be fooled.
~mce
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
All I smell's Hawaiian Tropic
My vision seems very myopic
Bikini girls my visions topic
It's time to hit the surf
Lime and salty margaritas
Hot and **** senoritas
Bikini girls my visions greeters
It's time to hit the surf
Sitting here upon the beach
These women are just out of reach
In my mind I'd love to teach
But...you're the one I love
Tanned, long limbed and in the water
There's one beauty, I wish I'd caught her
Still, I think she's someone's daughter
I wish that you were here
Sitting here was all unplanned
Where all I see is surf and sand
It's heaven in this tropic land
I wish that you were here
Sitting here upon the beach
These women are just out of reach
In my mind I'd love to teach
But...you're the one I love
Ray Bans cover up my eyes
As I stare upon their oiled up thighs
I hear them yell and hear their cries
Youthful beauty at it's best
A boat drink full of Cuban ***
Brings me back to why I'd come
It leaves me feeling rather numb
I'm glad I'm here alone
Sitting here upon the beach
These women are just out of reach
In my mind I'd love to teach
Now I know why we split up.
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 7:09 PM UTC
I stared at my phone screen,
Waiting for you to reply.
With the soft winter breeze blowing through my heat filled room,
I could almost mistake this day for summer.
With you in your ray bans,
And me in my aviators.
I want to sit in a meadow of daisies
by the river,
watching you pick the petals from the stem.
And hear you laugh like sunshine rays tumbling down my skin.
It isn't only until just now,
That I realized that this is not
Summer,
and we are not laughing anymore,
And nothing is easy.
It is hard and I miss you..
Jan 20, 2014
Jan 20, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
since when did anatomy become strictly a school subject and not a ******* art? Stop practicing "oh no that's too much skin" "oh man she's a **** "aw dude you can see her ******* poking out" "she must be asking for *** with this picture/outfit/gesture/whatever the **** it is" well I want to say I'm TIRED of the shaming, the judgement, and harassment of people, not just women but people, being themselves and showing their bodies. we are all the same, we are all human. We all have the SAME. BODY. ******* PARTS. And if you can't handle that, a fact of life that is in your face every single day, then what the hell are you doing? Skin is and will always be strictly skin; it is an amazing thing, protecting our insides and keeping us sheltered, so why are we ashamed of it? Why do we place bans and judgements and assumptions on something so beautiful and substantial to living? Why is it so sexualized that a woman can't even breastfeed her child in public without saying "ew gross I can see her ******* Who ******* cares? EVERYONE has ******* and ******* for that matter. I bet people weren't saying that in Rome when people were always naked because it was considered "purity" but now that is the opposite in today's terms. So many wonderful pieces of history are being watered down or suppressed simply because *** and ****** are too "touchy" of subjects. Well I will not let such an artistic, beautiful, and innate thing such as my body be limited to what someone has to say about it or who it offends.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
At the party,
I saw faces
painted passionately
In smiles and laughter;
Eyes sparkling
like Crystal
In every hue of inebriation;
Hands clapping
Extended waves
Of cheerful celebration;
Lips smearing
lavish layers of
Love on captive ears;
Friends toasting
The Life
With Ciroc, Moët and beer;
Hollywood wannabes rocking
Bootlegged Ray-bans
In the dark;
Buzzed ex-lovers
waging battles
Of the heart;
15's smashed
into 10's,
Flashing rolls of flesh;
Uncle Johnny
in his Walkin' glory
Stumbling way past 'when';
'83 Hustlers
in furs and fedoras
Feasting on free treats;
Soul Train rejects
moon-stalking
On two left feet;
iPhones and Samsungs
Making memories
For the curious web;
PotHeads
in the smoky loo
Getting bloodshot red;
At the party,
The living colors
of life
Piqued my creative core...
And
I saw
poetry
in motion...
~ P
(#AtTheParty)
3/3/2014
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Aye think o this
When winter breezes blaws aroun'
whare silent thochts are filled wae gloom
and drifting words,they echo past
frae fearful man an fearful lass
In haunted hooses and misty lans
whare Ghosties an gobblins an unco bans
Pass atween this an theirs, that form
amidst tha thunders crashing storm.
Aye tucked up aroun yeer mithers apron
wae teeth a nashing an voices wailing
Fine ye ken this unhaly nicht
tis filled wae all unGodly licht
Craw tha Banshee frae tha Ben
like howlet song throughoot tha Glen.
Satan, Auld horney casts his lots
for innocent bairnies fresh frae their cots
An' ancient stories there arise an fly
Like shooting stars that fill tha sky
for here in tales tha croonies dae rattle
in haunting airs and fiendish battle
leagons arise tae tha masters calling
This nicht hell awakens, aahhh tha heevens are falling.
Here in blackened darkened skies
whare lichtning flashes weaves an cries
An mortal man fears fa his soul
against that heelish burning coal
Ministers intae their beds are fleeing
wae ranting verses fa all their Dealing.
Whare auld worn hags an witches cast
upon tha waters that blaw an blast
drooning mony tha ship an sailor
all fa tha glory O their Demonic tailor
when cauldrens stir in bubbling brews
An damnation demands its richtful dues
tha lan' it heaves and haws
devouring all within its jaws
A Blood red Moon casts her lot
whare evil men have Died an fought
tha Earth auld an worn frae tribulation
demands the blood of every nation.
Here within the fields o life
brither against brither in war an strife
hae released all this fiendish nightmare
fa all their guilt,fa all they share
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 8:05 AM UTC
Were you ever in love with someone not
Listed as an approved relationship
By roaming mobs of false analogies
In either-or assumptions basely masked?
Friendship and love are regulated now
Not by a written fiat of the state
But by the decibels of imbeciles
The bellowed mandate of the club and fist
The law of love is now the law of bans -
They’ve politicized even the touching of hands
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
the slow kisses that turn into hot breaths exhaled into each other's throats
biting at your lips thinking i can pull out your words. stuck in your head. with the blood i draw
the marks i make are war wounds, baby, and i am proud of each vessel i pop
purple looks good on you. what a ******* color.
beat beat through the silences and internalizations. the anger and the insecurities.
************* trample that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach that makes you feel like you are nothing but the skin on your stomach.
you are not just the skin and tissue and chub on your stomach.
lovely, you are more than your stomach. and your ray bans. and your binder that does such a good job at pushing in what is unwanted and pushing out the breath from your lungs-- your very sustenance.
my dear, you are more than your eyeliner, or lack thereof.
you are more than the way you ****** me last night. and this morning.
pretty ,darling boy. i want more slow kisses that turn into hot breaths. more lip bites drawing enlightenment. blood slicking the tips of my fingers from exploring.
i want morning breath dreams still entwined with your exhale onto my neck. bickering mom and daddy.
who knew we had voices other than moans. who knew gender theories would cross our lips and *** analyses would be common car topics.
the "fffffffff" you make in bed also start the sentences of your fury. yelling at the gas station ****** who misgenders you.
**** YOU ************ I JUST WANT MY **** CIGARETTES.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
If I could extract the
evergreen envy from
the eyes of friends.
I would paint it between the lines
of the Sugar Maple tree limbs.
Tainted red orange leaves
of such trees is the end
of the sweet summer pollen.
For the apricot forests
and chilled mornings,
dipped into pumpkin spice lattes-
Leaves me knowing that
the everlasting sunsets
that we once held
is slipping through the cracks,
of our now frozen fingertips
and chapped lips.
From tank tops to
sweaters with holes
that my thumbs peek through,
as I grasp my tea where
the warmth of
your hands should be.
Traded midnight blues eyes I fell into
and engulfed in the beautiful galaxy
that was hidden behind Ray-Bans.
To blank stares that I've learned to trust
but they don't glisten like us.
Can I please,
fish through my purse once more,
aimlessly wander the street corner,
dig between cushions
and hear the click of the hours reloading
as I fill it with orphan coins
and rewind?
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
My neighbor and I still hang out our wash,
(I, each Thursday, taking my chances.
She, according to weather forecasts, I think,
or maybe by what she feels in her bones).
We laugh at StarTribune's report of some suburban bans
against clotheslines.
We wonder out loud whose tomatoes will first turn red,
and whether cucumbers will make it at all;
this year, it's been too cool and dry
for normal progress to the fall.
Tenacious dandelions, spread as stars across green-earth skies,
drive in spike-like roots, take hold of earth, and won't let go.
Kids squeeze bunches of stems in tight fists
that will open only to release the buttery bouquet to Mom
who hurries to put them in water, in a crystal vase,
wondering how soon she might mourn both flower and child.
While hanging bright, white unmentionables (some somewhat tattered)
on our clothesline, I, unembarrassed, remember my mother:
with one clothespin held in her mouth
and half a dozen more in her apron pocket,
(thus needing not to walk over and over again
the east-west path to the back door
where full supply of pins hangs on the ****
she does her woman's task with flair,
spacing each garment so as not to block the sun or air.
You'd think she'd held some tool to calculate
where the sheet would best allow the breeze to circulate
or where to place each pillow case and sock,
so each would recognize and meet their mates!
And I know she theorized regarding how to hang those socks,
always with the toe pointed upward, so as not to show,
when dried and worn, a crease or ever-so-slight evidence
of the pin's pressure displayed for all to see
on the exposed ankle,
as if that might be a matter
worthy of shame.
Jan 7, 2012
Jan 7, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
i woke up this morning ****** off from the night
before about something petty
my ***** itched from sweating all night
forgot to turn the heater off
passed out drunk, didn’t really forget
work called me in early
so i missed my morning **** off and ****
coffee was cold; who am i kidding the coffee was old
******* in korea with more threats, government bans
something else, electric is due and i’m tired as ****
work sent me home early
said i stunk from last night, who are they kidding
i’m still drunk
bomb went off in boston, who ******* knows who
did it, bunch of ******* wack jobs living in this country,
gun lovers, gun haters, baby lovers, baby haters, *** lovers,
*** haters, very few lovers of love but even they fight at
night when the shower runs out of hot water
all i know is my ***** are blue and stink with pain
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
SO WHAT.
Deal with it. It won't stop
probably so deal with it or
haha nevermind silly, just
move on to something else.
Who gives a **** about headphones
advertisements in the middle of
hypnotizing music from her stores?
The larder is – behind that door – you
can't enter no matter how hard you
try, that is music there. There's nothing
physical, no floors no walls no just music and you can open the door.
What you hear won't make sense and it will blot out all other
senses but there she is striding past me and walks
inside.
because that's where she belongs. This is not my comprehension. In she went,
and I will never see her again but hear her as she has infiltrated the
realm of organized sound to contribute to the beautiful lustful chaos. She
has only just begun, I realize. There is no end, though there was a beginning;
she has fractured infinity casually as sipping water from tea cups in faux-innocent
sunlight filtered through a hangover on something you're pretty sure was called a
veranda but that's more a polite curiosity than a serious one so you content yourself to take in
this retrospectively invented image of her in Ray Bans and anything but pants with her scars
embossed and tattoos in a rare moment of silence preceding the moment of sound where she asks
why you're looking at her like that, and you hadn't realized you'd done it again, shifted to the
future you reflecting on the present moment to grasp the intangible, to outline the undefined to
alter the fixed and whatever other paradoxes you happen to be causing at the time because you've
accidentally, temporarily transcended again, so you're really just along for the ride with your
pretty little thoughts of her and this veranda or whatever while she's smoking a cigarette you
offered her so enjoy it while it lasts. Whatever you do, enjoy it while it lasts, and go easy on
yourself, you're just a kid after all, remember. Remember. and don't forget
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
He's a rather proud man
Rather proud of his appearance.
Crisp suit
Bowtie just right.
Ship-shape shined shoes.
Lapel aligned.
Hair slicked left
Right hand tucked in his pocket.
Ray Bans perched on the bridge of his nose
And the slightest little grin
Almost trying to say
"I told you so."
He's a very precocious man
A man who knows.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
I rue the day I lost faith in myself,
let negativity take over sober thought
and say to me my chances are shot,
to be content at a morose trot fowling maps of my life that strangers plot.
Is Life just a spinning gun? , a game of luck.
Revolving on, in endless loops leaving me stuck in the muck.
Waiting for my turn to tug the trigger as the steak gets bigger
and my goals and dreams are self-dammed,
the fires that burn them self-fanned.
My mind imposing dark bans on self-success as I tell myself “I’m a mess”
what would happen if I focused and give my best?
What would happen if before I play i open the magazine and abandon the bullet?
Would I do better if I wasn’t so worried I’d shoot myself?
If before I play i dare to prepare and tell myself I will win because the bullets gone and that negative voice binned.
I Think I could.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 9:42 AM UTC
He's tending the garden.
Earth on his hands
Sweat on his neck.
Sprinkling seeds
From freshly spent flowers.
I can't see his eyes behind his Ray Bans
But I know they're focused, delighted
Observing the occupants and visitors
In his cultivated oasis.
To keep the garden nurtured,
protected,
is critical.
He worries when the storms roll in.
How will they fare?
But he does what he can.
He rids the area of weeds
And cares for slender stems.
It's a promise kept
To tend and till.
In the garden he's a father too.
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC
We roll
on the magic carpet into the outward reaches
to wrap abound bodies in communal hugs
atop magical tye-dye mountains and black and white rivers
of Peter Max the hushed whisper of
red bird hair ***** into a conversation
flying further into the horizon that is my dawn light glowing chest.
We roll
over each other on the floor sofa laughing,
like you see in the movies
of delinquent bohemians celebrating life with beers and
pills you swallow. Feels like the puppet strings
on our wings have withered; free to flail.
We roll
our bodies & eyes
backward-forward-sideways together with the music
wryly dancing as the world turns into a desert--
every molecule in our bodies warms--slowly,
like a hot bubble bath,
the earth takes its time spinning....
unlike our Sufi brains still rolling
rolling
and rolling like a stone down a hill betwixt a meadow
between two excited lovers in a cliched scene where
they are running toward each other--
naked with tattoos on their arms
and a smattering of neon orange and blue paint speckling their bodies
while they wear a native american headdress and Ray-Bans.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:05 PM UTC
On a Pan American traverse,
we skirted across the Altiplano
somewhere near Titicaca,
worked our way
through the chicken bus line
up to the lone road stop.
A mere shack
with government thugs
hiding inside,
suits wearing ray bans
& checking tourist-bags,
as if they were
making a difference
with the war on drugs.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
Sitting in my red Lambo
the wind breathing down our backs like a perve
I look to my right after working up the nerve
She's sipping that malt like nobody's business
Her hellcat smile barely containing a playful tongue
Funny, I never thought I'd be jealous of a straw
My Ray Bans refract the setting Sun's spit onto her shades
We play tag with it before tossing the light through the windshield
Doctor Dusk gave us the full dosage
The tires grind on the gravel of our asphalt Neverland
I Peter Panic when she sheds her masquerade
She's got stunning mocha eyes frosted with truthful lies
I see her spirit phasing into my chest
A pair of luscious lips giving my heart a crimson kiss
She tells me I carry the scent of leather and sorrow on my sin
On hers, I discern daddy issues and untapped sin
The girl's as broken as I am
Sure, I might occasionally be smarmy and sick
by no means, though, a consistent ****
Her giggles wash all the bad days away
so my Lucifer impressions melts her ears with a
"Baby, wanna play?"
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
Giulani ...
looking much like
a radiated & mutant tortoise
from the walking dead,
& the always golden-hearted
Judge Jeanine Pirro
casually chat
on Fox News
all chuckles & smiles
about Muslim bans
& refugees,
while youngsters
languish in camps,
die in cities,
get cold
in mountains.
Chuckle on
you two
chuckle on.
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 9:39 PM UTC