"boogy" poems
Dance if you wanna.. dance the night away
dress like ya mean it.. dance the night away
boogy on the boogy ..day and day after day
dance dance dance
feeling so so right
boogie boogie woogie
dancing to the right
sing like a superstar ...driving in ya car
sing to the beat ...tapping down your street
hum hum didi dum ..words dont know the means
but dance if ya wanna ..dance the night away
dance dance dance
feeling so so right
boogie boogie woogie
dancing to the right
dressing ike ya dad ..laughing on the beer
not like ya lad ..cool and pierced his ear
hat ..not cap you say ..cos that aint right round here
but dance if ya wanna ...dance the night away
dance dance dance
feeling so so right
boogie boogie woogie
dancing to the right
dance .....dance .....dance !!!
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:21 AM UTC
Tread carefully as you go
down the path before you.
Feel your feet roll over moss,
as your tarsals adhere to sap.
Let the breeze seep into your pores,
and sweep away the daily struggles.
Watch the leaves boogy in the sunlight,
and join them in the festivities.
Accept your surroundings
Accept the awareness.
Release your inhibitions...
Synchronize your freedom...
with the tree bark...
melting...
away...
Love & let go.
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
Soul: ( to the self)
If you'd just let me in
you'd know what I've been
through, on and in
lower a bit that chin
Desires need be kept within
silent stay, don't you grin
nothing heard, dropped a pin?
Remember these just to begin
(Devil) Deceiver: (to the self)
Know that's you, you're the king
above your head lies no string
Evil? What's that a thing
There's no bad luck to bring
What keeps you so running
know that he's bluffing
he ain't that cunning
See, the dark's quite stunning
Soul:
Graspeth, the light before ye fall
the boogy knows how to crawl
before makes he dark the hall
Hurry! answer the Devine's call
(Deceiver) Manipulator:
What? the dope's back again
manipulating you to refrain
being dug under my crane
Apologies, allow me to start again
Sep 10, 2017
Sep 10, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
There are no hammers in my room.
No tactical advances which need enhancements.
no broken bits of furniture in need of further
assessment.
There are no screwdrivers.
no holes filled with crack filling nothing willing to be cut.
destroyed.
nothing blotchy or broken.
or to say this house is less than homely.
There are no hammers.
no holes filled with crack filling nothing willing to be cut.
destroyed. Deconstructed. Detonated.
No little lines on the carpet, no rusty pipes beneath my sink
There are no razors in my bathroom
nothing which brings blood from my retinas
nothing stinks of mold, nothing sinks in the carberater
escaping excavation
measure the short comings of my
makings, and takings, and tasks.
There are no dust mites beneath my bed
there are nothing but soap and cleansing masks.
sleeping with the boogy man, sharing his head
space,
no naked, termites in my walls.
skeletons in my closet.
nothing that would appall an exterminator.
nothing which says this house is less than
homely.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
It was aboot ten miles away from your fate,
when Taco bell and pigs decided to gang up,
and you didnt realize it till it was too late,
Oh, you knew what you had did,
trying to pour back what is already drank,
like winning the lottery, only to realize there is no money in the bank,
The Mormon Virginia City had struck again,
and took me down to a feeling of a non-man,
where the screaming, the anxiety and the screaming anxiety all met,
the moment you realized you lost the bet,
between you, the devil, the universe, that one friend, the boogy man, God, and the lady down at the farmers market,
you are an easy target,
with a tough bullseye,
and a sly,
liar's smiling lips,
it wasnt till that cold floor touched you,
and your mind's lack of institutional control,
had been realized,
life had surmised,
that the chances you had were faulty tests.
Big John had taken your car with vanity plates,
a joke you want to tell your mates,
but realize the build up is all wrong,
he was the picture of a folk song,
but withoot the music and any good lyrics,
a tow truck mentioned in poems you have never heard,
telling him to hold onto that paper you signatured,
"You're going to famous like everyone else when they go?"
"I wont, but I'll be nice in the poem everyone will know"
He laughed and kicked you out.
A new song that has a ****** tune,
starts to sound nice soon,
and you will appreciate it by your life's noon,
rough memories turn into life lessons, that turn into rough memories,
but you dont know you are in an ocean till you passed some seas,
so you drive away from the town that built the great ****
with a face of weather, guilt, and an unknown nostalgia for the future.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
Fell asleep thinking about the old house yesterday
And the adventures in the backyard where I used to play
Three acres might seem like a lot for little kid
But I knew those woods better than my parents did
My wooden teepee served as a safe haven
When the world didn't feel like a suitable place to be in
I dreamed about Max my old best friend
Who kept me safe from nightly creatures and boogy men
Just a dog who still has a special place in my heart
A great dane who was five when the world made us part
I thought about the overlook where we dumped our leaves
I remembered the long days just me and the trees
These days those woods have Max and Phoenix too
The Golden retriever who got me and my sisters through
Much of that thing we call childhood
I didn't know it then but now I would
Give anything and everything to go back
And run wild through those backyard paths
Then I was free, I did not care or notice
That things weren't exactly how they were suppose to be noted
Now I reside in this fowl world where I can't spare a minute
Take me back to the time when my world had no limits
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 10:50 AM UTC
before
we
know
kindness
we are silly moons
a primal scream
ids
gaggle of wants
having not yet understood
our own vulnerability
and its connection to others
the agony of self
uninitiated
by the sacrifices yet to come
in effect a criminal mind
as a child growing up in brooklyn
my friends and i would
make a mad dash
out of ching-a-lings
chopsuey restaurant
after eating sumptuously
with out paying the bill
electrified with terror and excitement
at the thought of being grabbed
by a chinese boogy man
and laughing breathless
when finally
out of harms way
sadistically delighting
by the panic
we caused
as some red faced hyperventilating waiter
caved trying to catch
five little hell boys
fury fast
all adults
were filthy rich
compared to us urchins
idling in the darkness and tenements
sniffing glue
in a number 2 brown paper bag
hole in the pocket poor
slow starters
uninspired
pressing through
the dragging weight
of a barren world
not yet knowing
we too will toil endlessly
worry sick for loved ones
and quake at endless indignities
trying to eek out a living
like the waiter we robbed of his pittance
on this Sisyphean rock
our lives
stretched out before us
a white knuckle ride
between hope
and quiet desperation
struggling not to be swallowed
through pitted black holes
and fake floors
into downward mobility
our pin ball souls
like small metal *****
jarred and knocked
from one ringing bell to the next
in a turbulent game
player or not
without an inkling
of the fated
dark signature
written into our genes
by deaths hand
before
we
know
kindness
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 7:42 PM UTC
When i first met you
you told me you could do a 360
on a wave
with your boogy board.
I told you i liked to paint
because you looked like a painter.
First of all i was lying.
I can't paint pictures
but i love to paint souls.
I love to splatter them with vibrant memories
and to add on to your mind with soft strokes of pastels.
I would love it more than anything
if you were a painter of souls too.
I need someone to paint my mind
something other than dark moody red and browns.
It would be lovely if you could paint me with yellows
and teals and pinks.
Maybe ill even let you paint my heart
Maybe ill even paint yours.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
Laying here on my death of bed
a thought just came to me
what if I could start again
a new life ...life for free
I just dont know where my past has gone
so come tomorrow I'll have some fun
for let today become
to a present lost in yesterday's yesterday
for tonight I'm gonna rock the night away
see the light see the day
beer in my head
a fuzz all around
time to go boogy sing to the sound
rock the night away
sing to the sound
rock the night away
dance out loud
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
It's color is Black.
It never stops. Ever.
It'll take everyone without regret.
You thought you'd be together forever.
You were wrong.
It sings it's deathly song. Taking everyone you know.
Taking everyone's lives without a second glance.
You have no chance up against the deadly reaper.
It gets nearer and nearer with each passing day.
But it won't take you.
But it will break you.
Until you're broken and done.
This is no monster or boogy man.
This is Death.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 5:39 PM UTC
The beauty I see is distorted
I cannot explain why
The markings around this fence
Tells me to go in one direction
But I choose to jump over it
And go my separate way
How well does that work out?
Well, it brings heartache and pain
I think I know better
But what I know amounts to ****
It doesn't save me from the real world
I'm protected by what I write
But I'm not safe in how I do things
My actions are gaunged on how I feel
So I run with that
Instead of thinking about the consequences
How pathetic is that
I fight the demons inside
But fail so many countless times
Keeping them at bay
They win quite often
Should I be concerned about that?
Should I fall to my knees?
Many days the answer is yes
Cause I'm just a fool
Making things worse inside my head
Thinking I'm not a good farther
That my girl could do without me
But then she hugs me
And tells me daddy I love you
So my guilt is just the boogy man
And my perception about life *****
I need to follow direction
And keep my head in the clouds
Maybe I won't **** things up
And just maybe God can forgive a man like me
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC