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martin Oct 2012
( To the tune of Jailhouse Rock )

Party night came to the hp site
Singing and dancing till late at night
Friends dropping by said count us in
Man you shoulda seen them poets swing
     Let's rock
     Everybody let's rock
     They all got together in a flock
     Rockin at the hp hop
Well I didn't know you played the saxophone
Frank Zappa Davis on the slide trombone
Along came Embers with a whole brass band
Man that thing was getting out of hand
       Let's rock
       Everybody let's rock
       We were rockin and we couldn't stop
        Boppin at the hp hop
Music getting louder as the night wore on
Hands clap feet tap sing that song
Grab hold o' somethin just to play a tune
If you don't play the piano play the wooden spoon
          Let's rock
          Everybody let's rock
          We were givin it all we'd got
          Boppin at the hp hop
Someone made a speech, said we're all friends here
We all shed a happy little single tear
Then she said oh for goodness sakes
I love everybody in the whole **** place
            Let's rock
            Everybody let's rock
            Keep it up y'all don't stop
            Boppin at the hp hop
Paul Butters May 2014
It’s time for a rhyme
I hear you chime.
It’s time to hit the beat.

We’re ready to dance
Without a glance,
Pick up those Tyger feet.

Those drums do thump,
Dancers grind and bump,
The party’s in full sway.

Don’t feel like strolling,
Just want to be rollin’
In the scattered hay.

Them guitars are twanging
I’m really panging
To twirl you round and round.

Some like to fight;
I’d rather dance all night
To that raucous rebel sound.

Let’s go.
Listened to some Oasis, then Chuck Berry, and the latter got me rockin'
Hi, my name is briansies the older sibling, oh yeah



You see I am a bit different to the rest of the world
They like drinking themselves silly, and I simply don't
I want to sleep while others are still out
I never took off to another city at the heat of the moment
Because I worry about what could happen
Instead of actually playing proper sport
I will just settle for backyard sports
And I will enjoy that a lot, oh yeah
My highest score in a single cricket innings is 846 n.o
And I try to keep my score above my younger sibling
And he will say Briansies, what are you doing
And I would say, I just want to be more popular than you
And he would hit me with his rhythm fist, hit me oh yeah hit me
Hit me slowly, man and hit me quick, oh hit me hit me hit me
I would say, do you like hitting me
And he will say, I hit you all night long
I hit you baby, all night long, and if you can't take it, man
You are a baby, waaaa waaaaa waaaaaa
Then I said to him, hi, my name is Briansies, the older sibling, oh yeah
Then me and my sibling, and my father went for an early morning swim
And we body-surfed and splashed each other, yeah we had fun
My sibling would say, this is unfair, and dad would say
Oh, poor little baby, our splashing is making you very tender and weak
Ooh we had better stop, don't you reckon
And I wanted to be a friend to my sibling, so I said
Hi, I am bop, Briansies and I am ready to bop with you, oh baby ooh ooh
I want you to be happy, because I like boppin' around going bop bop bop
And I go right to the shop, yeah, I am bop, the guy down the shop
My sibling will call me a ****, but it doesn't bother be, cause my name is
Briansies, the older sibling, oh yeah, and I am so cool, dudes
And that is what we want, just Briansies,
were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...

you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...

by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:

chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing

then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:

"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."


hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as  the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:

~ the miles davis nonet ~

featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet

'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
          riffin'....
boppin'...,
          po­ppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins

the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...

and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...

~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)
- for Miles Dewey Davis III
JR Rhine Jun 2016
Thomas, Tommy baby,
you are both hot,
and sweet.

Tom Cat you’re red hot--
when I catch you in your Tom Cat Strut,
sauntering across campus,
strolling like it ain’t no thing,

cuz it don’t meant a thing
if it ain’t got that swing baby.

So dig this, Tommy Gun,
you groove with the best of ‘em
when I spot you strollin’—

Your head, teetering left and right like a seesaw, boppin’ baby,
arms hangin’ loosely, swinging freely, wildly, go! go!
legs scooping forward in boisterous trombone slides--
Groooooove Tommy baby!

You’re Louis’s best blows--
ten feet from the mic and the Fives baby,
you’re hot, red hot,
any closer and I'll burn up!
Go!

But you’re cool, real cool,
and oh so sweet.
Super sweet--

in your beard like a pepper and salt shaker tossed across the table,
I look to see those rosy lips part,
and peep those pearly whites shinin' like the bell of Louis’s cornet
brandished in the air, under those ballroom lights--
you’re screamin’ Tommy!

Let me hear that laugh that shakes the room,
punches like Blakey’s bass drum,
thumps like Mingus--

T-Bird you’ve got that hard bop in your soul,
you’re gonna bop to the top TB,
into the third heaven where the angels fall in line to your swing,
that incessant strut that keeps the devil at bay,
Blow! Blow! Blow!

And I see you now Tom Cat,
up there in the clouds,
digging your way across eternity,
bopping and jiving, swinging and blowing,

in your faded khaki pants and worn tennis shoes,
loosely buttoned collared shirt,
tight rectangular glasses that glistened the bell of your eyes even more--
I gotta stand twenty feet away Tommy baby!

You glance down at me and wink,
rearing your head back to let loose that Mingus and Blakey
bottom-end laugh,
guffaw guffaw guffaw!!!

--so hearty and rich,
the backbone of every nervous first-year classroom,
and the sniggering seniors you continued to befuddle and dazzle
with your mysterious ways
and insatiable swing.

So blow, Tommy Gun, blow!
Go Tom Cat go!
Dig T-Bird dig!
Let loose Tommy boy!

Swing for us, swing swing swing--
Hot and Sweet, Tommy baby,
hot and sweet.
For my professor, mentor, and dear friend, Thomas Barrett. You're hot and sweet Tommy baby, rest easy. Keep boppin. Thanks for everything.
Freds not dead Mar 2011
Everyone around me
      I guess I’m at the center
Is coughing, coughing in the warm sunny day
                        The blue bright happy day
They cough like they dig at life
They cough the toy-factory worker’s cough
The cough dressed in summer dresses
In high heels and red shoes and tuxedoes
Cough up wine cough up cheers and congratulation
Cough out their
“don’t worry about it” sickness
cough out pop songs, cough up boppin’ along
cough out vows and Hallmark poetry
cough deathbed knock-knock jokes
“it’s me, Death, coming for your blue-eyed boys”
cough out laughter like phlegm
cough up black bile as a party trick
cough up recollection of stuffed animals
(you and I are in there)
gasp for breath, their faces filling up with blood
going from apple-red to royal purple
eyes dishing out tears
a pat on the back
and everything is okay
people are wrong
about the center holding.
Emmy Mar 2018
Sweet little eyes black and shiny.

Curious with my work, he's chirpy.

Hops and bops about, I trace a smile.

Beak, now agape, sings for a while.

'Rotund little Robin won't you dance some more?'.

'Skipping and pipping upon the forest floor'.

'Red little tummy containing your words'.

'Lost on my human ears, yet not unheard'.

'Little Robin, so happy, why am i not so?'

On little Robin I focus, my mind is sewn

"Be happy with your job" says Robin

"And fret you not of my boppin'"

"There's work must be done so dont you be a'stoppin'!"

"Though i might flutter from twig onto branch"

"My home is left decided by human chance"

"Should we build here or should we build there"

"Words of men against Robin, no matter how fair"

"Sweet little song you qualify my shouts?"

"Without ever considering what they're really about?"

"All I've ever seen of humans is their louts"

"So this boppin' Robin needs a'helpin' out"

"I see in thee good it is true"

"Hope; that never shall you see green land in gloom"

"Yet in back of your mind i see thoughts of doom"

Robin flutters away and I am left to wonder.

Should I leave this world now will I be thought of fonder?
L B Jul 2018
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers
   I was small then
   She had a parakeet that landed on my head
   and a bathtub too
   with water so deep!
   and legs and claws!
   **** thing nearly chased me down the stairs!

She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks
   where bugs hung-out in the haze
   of teenage August
   I played in the tall weeds
   with a shoeless Italian boy
   who ate tomatoes like apples
   and cucumbers right off the vine!
   He was ***** free and foreign!
   We played— reckless, abandoned
   behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn  
   and through the endless fields
   I didn’t know....
   His name was Tony
   I ate pizza with him—the first time

At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight
   but I could watch night flowers
   bloom on wallpaper
   She came in to say good night
   slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open
   and I peeped her *******!
   like Tony’s cucumbers!
   I had never seen my mother’s wonders....

Night spread its wings from the old fan—
   a bird of tireless exhaustion
   whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage
   tireless exhaustion
   tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock
   stretched out on the whine
   of the overland trucks
   Route Five through the night of an open window

In the grape arbor below—
tremulous incessant
   crickets    crickets    crickets
tremulous incessant—insides of a child
   a summer child
   not yet ready for the fall of answers

Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen
   I followed her everywhere I could
   I was small then--    
   do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit
I followed Maureen through my dreams
   of being sixteen
   and woke to Peggy Lee’s “Fever”
   while she tied her sneakers
   against the mattress by my head

I followed Maureen (in my mind)
   tanned and bandanned
   to work in the fields of shade tobacco
   with all those Puerto Rican boys!
   She knew where she was going!

I was small then
...do anything for a stick of  gum

“Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”
   ...through the goldenrod of roadside
   through the smell of oil that damped the dust    
I followed Maureen’s white shorts
   and chestnut hair...to the corner store
I followed the way the boys smiled
   the way the screen door slammed
   on her bright behind
   the way her lips taunted and took
   the coke-bottle’s green
I followed Maureen

I swear, I tried for hours to get that right!

Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever”

Maureen ties her sneakers in my face
Flaunts her years above my head
She has that look—
“We kids don’t know nothin”
(Little turds” that we be)

…followin’ Maureen
through the goldenrod of roadside
tic-tockin’, be-boppin’

“Fever— in the morning
Fever all through the night….”
_


Peggy Lee's Fever:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4hXyALR9vI
I was seven years old, but I somehow got this.
JM Jan 2015
I'm not quite sure what did it...

It could have been watching
Mother being beaten
or knowing Father was the one giving the beatings.
It may have been
when it was my turn
for the beatings.

It may have been the first time
I experienced the futility
of existing
here and now,
there and then.

It could have been
the first time I felt an
irrational fear of
climbing under the porch
with all the spiders and dark places,
or the subsequent shame imposed on me
because my little sister was
the one who
saved the stuck kitten.

It might have been the time
I rammed that same sister's head
into the side of the stove
and then threatened retaliation
if she told on me.

It may have been
thinking as a child
I was destined for
mediocrity, even though
I knew I was
born
to be great...

II.
Knee deep in thick muck,
******* and fuckery,
we trudge on and on
and through it all....

III.
Everyone is dying.
Some, quicker than others.
I'm going to
ride this out
for a while...

IV.
Hi
Hey, you look cute

Fat. You look ******* fat poured into that stupid dress. You are not seventeen anymore lady, jesus!*
...

V.
I can hear you breathing while doing yoga;
a slow inhale, pause, controlled exhale.
Your body is a....

VI.
Another ten hour shift
with the crew of ******* *******.
If I wasn't the boss
I'd have cracked some
****** heads
wide open
by now.
These ******* don't
know ****...

VII.
My plants need watering, wilting next to grandmas paintings...

VIII.
So, you think you know me...

VIIII.
Spare parts.
Lots of folks out
there made from spare parts.
Pieces that almost fit.

My knees were laying
around out back somewhere;
they were beaten into place.
They got most of the dimensions
right but the joints are tight...

X.
It takes two weeks for your kisses to reach me,
and two seconds for my blood to fill the empty spaces...

XI.
Wait...just wait. Don't go.
I was only kidding. ****...

XII.
Light. Bouncing all over the place.
Light.
Reflected into you...

XIII.
These giant guardians on the boulevard,
My friends, these tremendous sycamores, have been keeping watch my entire life.
They tried warning me...

XIV.
Two years later and your taste is gone but your smells still linger in the dark folds of memory...

XV.
This is going to be offensive to most.
Inappropriate? Some might say.
I wouldn't...

XVI.
These so called poems from
these so called poets about
cutting yourself and suicide really
can wear a guy out.
My tendency towards empathy and
compassion, tested daily, wears incredibly thin.
I've been there, not my thing, this cutting.
I'd rather burn flesh.
We've all got our thing right?
Except self harm isn't my thing.
Not a thing I do,
just a thing I did.
I wonder if these tortured
souls make it through the
next hour after reading
one after another cry for help.
I wonder if some do it just
for shock value, some just to goad
their creators.
I wonder if I am reading a poem or a
suicide letter.
It's unnerving.
I'm all for suicide; I suggest everyone try it
at least once.

Just quit with the incessant
*******...

XVII.
Cut my throat and leave me to the jackals for
I would rather drown in desert sand
than submit to the will of anyone
I do not
trust...

XVIII.
****** clamps, lead weights.
Paddles, restraints...

XVIIII.
I sat alone,
from nowhere a warm, blue light surrounded me.

**.
Balancing these monkeys on my back with the demons in my mind and...

21.
I smell ******* a mile away *******,
and you stink.
I see you shuckin' and jivin',
be-boppin' around like you are some kind of
badass...

22.
And now there are no flowers on the table and no long, dark hairs on my pillow...
It all makes sense to me...
monk jumps
trinkle ****** trane
criss crossin time
aboard idiocentric planes

whacky Hackensack moods
near my mysterioso home
round bout midnight gleaning
brilliant corner poems

hummin blue monk blues
i surrender dear
Bemsha swing cast away
Friday the 13th fears

melancholy ruby swigs
straight no chaser shots
just let's cool one
at the red hot 5 Spot

rollins and griffin jammin
hudson riverside house
Weehawken royalty bows
to a spiffy charlie rouse

we remember mintons
a vast creative flood
monk be boppin on stage
when in walked bud

red rooster clucksters
raising town hall roofs
consecrating spaces playing
Monk's hallowed tunes

"pianos don't play no wrong notes"
we heard Thelonious once say
his utterances on the upright keys
ingenious music maestro on display


Music Selection:
Thelonious Monk:
In Walked Bud

Marking Thelonious Sphere Monks Centennial
10/10/17 - 10/10/17
Orlando
9/28/17
jbm
The centennial of the birth of  Thelonious Sphere Monk, master musician and composer, creative giant in the creation of modern music is 10/10/17
Logan Moore Oct 2010
Electric pulse
dreamed imagination shot through my ears
reminds me of my dreaded fears
the growing reality to my eyes comes tears
vanashing sourounding
waves shattering, boppin to the noisen'
music so magic, brew me up a poison
forget all this motion
exploding sound, be my healing potion
Bardo Feb 2022
At a funeral recently, a cremation along with my young niece
Whose a Vegan and very environmentally conscious
I was telling her "I wouldn't like to be cremated, it's too much like 'going to hell' to me"
Then she says she'd like to be cremated herself, that it'd be her preferred choice, that it'd be the most environmentally friendly way to go
I said to her "Would you not like to be buried in one of those nice wicker basket type coffins that the environmental people like
I thought that's the kind of thing you'd be into"
She said No! I wouldn't like them, the thought of worms and other creepy crawlies crawling in on top of me, all over me Ugh! I couldn't bear that.

Oh I said, No! just give me a nice quiet church graveyard, lovely and peaceful
With the yew trees nice and shady and the birds singing softly, somewhere lovely and quiet way out in the country
It'd be so relaxing
"Well", she said,"you won't know, sure you'll be dead".
"My soul it'll be reposing", I corrected her cheerily.

Then I said "Y'know I think I saw this TV programme  once where you could have music playing in your coffin
Something over in America, could only be in America LoL
I went on dreamily, "Y'know I think I'm getting younger as I grow older
I've put away all my old Black Sabbath records
Now I've started listening to Taylor Swift instead, she has some great songs that girl, great videos too
I think I'll have Taylor Swift singing to me in my coffin
I'll go boppin' into the next world, the next life with Taylor, hand in hand
I could even put some posters of her up on the inside of my coffin.

Look! I said to my niece pointing to a few hairs on the front of my head
I think my quiff it's starting to grow back again. Elvis here I come!!!
Graves and funerals and the Sabbs LoL. Death is a part of Life, it comes to us all eventually.
aar505n May 2015
Wander through the city
Stray of the streets
Stay down the lanes
Going to where ever is boppin'
Follow the music that's poppin'
Don't be defined by the main street
Find divine alley ways
Far from the sound of feet
Play pool with no white ball all night
Or board games by candlelight
Walks along the harbour
With friends for armour
Do what you want, I suppose
But don't be afraid to oppose the common
Go where you want and
Find your own lane to haunt
ConnectHook Apr 2018
Beatniks got hip until hippies got beat
by their own rock’n’roll and by riot cops
as they made love and war in field and street:
spoiled rebel children, psychedelic flops
who thought their youth made them immune
to lies from gods that pipe that tune.

Beatniks leaned first toward hip existential,
breaking out of the fifties mental mold.
Culture’s Petri dish turned pestilential;
drugs, deviance and rebellion: dull as old.
Yet novel did it ever seem
to souls exploited for their dream.

The Hippies took that bongo tea-house scene;
added acid’s naked technicolor:
freak-outs, love-ins, the normalized obscene;
politics of outrage, now made duller.
Impulsivity their passion.
(Sin is never out of fashion.)

Youth’s dissident victory incomplete
they glimpsed on flowery fields of battle
kaleidoscopic visions of defeat:
the psychedelic baby’s death-rattle.
Allen Ginsberg’s perverted freak.
Now reached its Himalayan peak.

Trace back in time this cultural malaise;
the poisoned sources where doubt first enticed.
In retrospect we diagnose their ways:
anti-God, anti-family, anti-Christ.
Oh no, you say; that was just youth—
we had to follow our own truth.

What did we learn in your San Fran cafés
poetically dense in plume-clouds of smoke?
That arty nihilism’s just a phase
and transgression of morals a tired joke.
(The Man will always make a buck
off fools who live to smoke and ****.)

That mystic idols are not Truth . . .
blown minds will never save a soul;
Faith and Wisdom, both alien to youth,
in child’s-play, play a minor role.

That beats burn out and hippies age;
we’re no wiser for their excess.
Unwashed ravings, Bohemian rage
contain no truths—much less, success.

What did they teach us while tripping and ****** ?
Could it nourish at all, their cosmic brew—
their cult of youth, their dying gods bemoaned,
their howls, their road trips, their breakings on through?

Only this, Daddy-O — now dig my writ;
my be-boppin’ speed rant, my acid rock:
that drug-addled rebels who scrawl half-lit
fumble with a key that cannot unlock.
I wonder sometimes
How Haiku got popular
When it is so DULL
Butch Decatoria Jun 2016
Edging (*******) : Refers to ****** stimulation, especially of one's own genitals, and often to the point of ******, which is performed manually; by other types of ****** contact (except for ****** *******), by objects or tools (or *** toys), or by some combination of these methods.
Also see definition of Edging at Www.Orgasmedging.com.*




I'm ready to nut.

An hour before dismissal from this dismal
paycheck to paycheck
every few minutes looking up at the clock
not ticking fast enough
J.O.B.
wishing for an emergency
to relieve me - early enough
before the bank closes...
money is burning in my pocket
as well as the rising tide
the eminent swell and wave-curling
rocket... fueled
by the constant rubbing against my thigh
'cuz you know a brotha (from a flip motha)
goes commando
although a fetish for underwear
on the bottom
dresser
drawer, hides a collection
g-strings, jocks, and leather...
just in case  of a turn
in the weather...

I'm ready to nut
cocoa-nut sized milk pools
until my insides are outside
and my eyes pop
slinky boppin' tool
flacid from receding tides
sensational libation without licking shots
drunk on release
stuck in my seat, and naked
sweaty celophane skin
sunk in a *******' rut
like i said
I'm ready to nut...

The clock is cruel to conspire
against an innocent man's need to perspire...
to reach heaven here
earth heavy with flesh & gravity
not near like hunger - this is a deeper desire
thirsty carnality like a lion's snarling
roars from depravity
I'm ready to get the-****-out of dodge
I'm craving for more than a simple squirt of my ***
I'm ready to nut
is it wrong to pray for this
to God??
Yeah htown flow here we go so check it



Yo they call me big Yosef
The most explosive
As a land mines check the rhyme
Cuz I'm
The coldest you know this my style ludicrous
Number one spot rhymes fornulated into a sentence with no dots
Don't smoke *** don't do thots
Most enemies play like a hot
Potato which way did he go
There he is flippin' my kabbitz never clown for show biz
Not a Stephen Fetchin' haters only catchin'
Heat from.me ya see I be from the three
Better known as the tre vicinity
And any
Body who gotta problem face my shotty
Now ya body outtie 5 thousand G
I keep it smooth as rap in '93
Hip hop back on a rise reclaimin' dynasty
No fantasy it's just the man in me makin' reality
So ya know ya can't battle me emcees
Stand in line only to served like volleyball
Give it my all too **** smooth to fall

Slippin' rhymes from my tongue above and beyond
Who can hang with the Don the only one
Coming down swanging lower than chariot
For girls who wanna marry us we say it's just a lust
Cuz they see the way money clings to us
Straight notorious hypnotize y'all with the bars
That glisten like stars none could par
Me from my voice that meet the beat
Boppin' ya head while cruisin' down the street
To the flows you know I'm cold as nitro
Gen better bring oxygen too much carbon
From poisoning the stage once I let my rhymes exit the cage
Of my mind gotta grind thoughts blast like a nine
But I gotta keep it smooth hot and funky
Got ya stuck in a psychedelic groove
Fish The Pig Apr 2018
I fell in love with the man runnin up the stairs
I fell in love with the man with the yellow satchel waitin for the train
I fell in love with the man with the golden voice
I fell in love with the man in the blue coat boppin in the rain
I keep fallin in love
with every pretty soul that passes me
I keep fallin in love
with men that belong to a girl I'll never be
I keep fallin in love
with masterpieces I can't touch only see
I keep fallin love
with the idea of a man that can set me at ease
Fresh cut, with the gangsta strut,
Ladies looking, saying what,
Who that is, looking like he giving the biz,
And I'm just a cool ***, playa,

Can't knock the beat that's rocking, got em out of their seats, boppin' toppin',
Looking for my Mary to be Poppin, ain't no stopping, this smooth *** playa,

Yo baby let's get on, make love til we touch souls, in the horizon,
Let by gones be by bones, and I'm just vibing the song, like a playa,

That I am, that I am, says like Sam, match the slam, bring crowds of mayhem,
******* on the team, of nothing but true *** playas,

I keep it cold, like the phlegm in your throat, icy darts is what I wrote, not many can quote, a true lyricist, sticking this,
Pik style, the noble slayer, just a playa,


Everybody clap ya hands, fellas grab a girl, and just romance,
Save the last dance, play cool on ya chance,
And make moves like a...

Straighten it out, never chase the clout, really doe, real only for the dough,
Ya know, how it flows, straight *******,
Only for the real ......



Ladies y'all know I'm just a....
All my families is just some....
Me and sons some...
Man this song is so....

And we out y'all
jb Jul 2018
i used to be a diamond,
aligning with the light,
polished by the heat and flying high just like a kite,
a diamond full of style algorithms were in order,
boppin’ to the rhythm dancing closely to the border,
everyday i smiled,
running miles in a dream-like false reality i guarantee that i am happier in my mentality,
where everything is diamond-like,
everything’s electric and eccentric as i’m taking flight,
everyday’s adventurous when dawn arrises after night,
everyday is better when i stay within my sunken mind,
/
everyday is monotone when i’m alone within the night,
dusk appears and grabs me by the ear into the reaping night,
now i’m here and i can hear my fears all mixed up in the night,
now my tears are failing to adhere against my melanin,
now they fall into the dark and ripple like it’s gelatin
elegantly moving, throwing chills against my skeleton,
then again i feel as if reality is menacing,
so i stay within my mind and all my stress is lessening,
artificial fantasies seem to be my remedy and glorifying memories seem to bring serenity,
so now i will return.
back to writing about fantasies i guess, although i don’t have a problem with that.
Travis Green Mar 2023
**** the **** out of my mouth
With your chunky chocolate cigar
****** it down my throat
Until I choke on it
Rub it against my jaws

Let me feel the boldness
Of its thick-veined muscled machoness
Taste the suckable tip
Embrace the lickable base
Press my face against his treasurable bush

Cherish him like hot off the fire kush
My top-hole close-cut Romeo
He got me floating in his ghetto glowing galaxy
The more I slurp on his big luscious lollipop
The baddest splashiest smash that has mad hot *** appeal

I am so tender towards his rare gangster swagger
The cleanest keenest supremeness
I love the infinite strength
Of his delicious steel meat
He is the speed that I need to enliven me
Everything that bleeds my inhibitions

I stare in wonder at his rugged, sculpted architecture
I gag on his yummy humongous cucumber
As the world around me disappears
I savor his crunkness in my tummy
Like Jamaican *** punch

I focus on his amorous bodacious showiness
Devour him like a strawberry pink lemonade milkshake
His ****** cosmic sauce streams
Through my sensual perfumed innerness
He sheathes me in his heavenly electric ****** magnetism

My lustful tasteful lover boy
He takes me away to a magical and unfathomable paradise
My passion mounts the more I give him that good good
Young and hunky, he takes my breath away
I gotta have it my way, just gotta go at it

Have a blast while he smashes my mouth
With his incredibly megalithic shaft
Work it slow and fast, so deep into his craft
My hands clasp his bouncy bean bags
I keep it rocking with his flawless heart-stopping chocolateness

Have a wild, electrifying party
With his prominent unconquerable wonderment
Make me lose control
Make me lose my composure
Rule my attitude

I’m such a sucka for love
Such a scrumptious voluptuous *******
So high off his perfect matchless thugness
So lovestruck by every ****** thing he does to me
So in the zone with his big beefy bone in my chops

I show him my freaky side
Turn things up a notch
Give him mind-blowing ferocious throat
**** it ardently and never stop
Be his sexually arousing head doctor

Put him in a frenzy
****, I can feel his fiery and tireless energy
Never miss a beat, keep it boppin’
And flossing my fierce, fresh sauciness
Make his savage *** snake stand
Make him squirt out a lavish amount
Of milky man batter on my glossy, gorgeous lips
Ryan Sep 2021
they help you fight the sunday scaries
go forth and ignite the metabolic fairies
the team of fruits always needs a carry
the answer is the RASPBERRY!! YEAAA!!!

blueberries? blackberries?
those are the colors of bruises!
when it comes to the great berry test
the raspberry never loses!

can't recant my chant to demand the freshly farmed organic plants however scant they're worth the transplant from stem to plate to
shoo-*** doo-woppity bippity boppin mary poppins, man!



RASPBERRIES YEAAAA!!
i like raspberries
Despite the temperature being five below...
these fingered handy limbs
awash with profuse sweat
dripping palms analogous
to a ****** busted gushing water main.

Mein kampf analogous
to a self made prisoner
who cannot escape being terrorized
and tortured within invisible
hermetically sealed walls of air tight prison
regularly hunted down
courtesy malevolent daemons
blood curdling deathly silent screams
echo within the sound of silence.

Earlier today some jokester
(like a batman out of hell
came round boppin
like some robin
after their diet of worms)
riddling mine psyche
into a war torn zone analogous
into a veritable no man's land
heavily strewn with deadly explosives

detonating deafening explosive
rife with volatile anxiety,
I felt hunted and targeted
like a common criminal
forced to scuttle
meager barebones existence,
and gladly plunge into an abyss
unbeknownst to me
on par with Dante's inferno.

Hours after grueling life and death battle
keppie (in Yiddish a lighthearted
and endearing way
to refer to a head or forehead)
severely suffered bruises and lacerations
courtesy familiar enemy
(known to me donned
as trumpeting evil
doppelgänger barren of virtue)
relentlessly sadistically and tyrannizing
mutilating corporeal flesh
until flayed muscle and tendon
abandoned as ****** heap.

Visitation of cruel taskmaster
(omnipresent every waking
and sleeping moment of hellish
fiery brimstone existence)
repeatedly brutalized yours truly,
no matter I did plead for mercy
for spirit who usurped eminent domain
to please cease and desist
punishing life lessons
making a cameo appearance

after a reprieve of temporary truce
to drive me towards the maws of death,
yet stopping just shy of beating
the living daylights out
generic lovely bones genetically assigned
to one frazzled sexagenarian,
whose hellish existence
nearly brought to an untimely end
when victimized fellow
subjected to a maelstrom

of suicidal ideation
when a mere adolescent lad
and days, weeks, months...
years, decades, scores
of ragged orbitz round the sun
chock full of accursed torment
barely alleviated courtesy
nine prescription medications
authorized by credentialed nurse practitioner
predicated on symptoms of social anxiety,

dysthymia, obsessive compulsive disorder
absolute zero relief
against wanton depredations
rendered ineffective today
the seventh of June
two thousand and twenty four,
hence a feeble intent to communicate
insufferable beast of burden
wracking one figurative rolling stone.

I managed to drive to and fro a short outing
dodging, hedging, lunging away
from slippery grasp of nemesis
attempting to pull
at sorry these excuse for legs
nevertheless seriously lacerating epidermis
only to realize, the horrific killer
left his tell tale signature
with ****** phalanges
dangling from wrists linkedin to my arms.
Robert Oliva Sep 25
Thelonius Reborn as the Dee Oh Double Gee

If we rhyme metaphorically , reach back historically, spit out new styles  just like Miles, compose tunes that Trane, John Coltrane, would be proud to compile, or like the Bird, Charlie Parker, bravely brake rules, take take take, the music apart, do you  honor Darwinian progress? Do you demand excellent art? Then you might might be from Hip- Hop,  yeah, that's where many geniuses start. The way each style, with its own honed sharpened edge, achieved unique prominence,  it’s just Chi Town Commonsense.
It's simple, it's like nature, there is no fakers, take Kanye West or Chet Baker. Satchmo begets Biggy, Tupac was influenced by Dizzy. Our Discerning ears are blessed each time new evolutions arise, that redesign and define, unleashing musical highs with no conpromise. Parallels and similarities to cool people like you should be no suprise. Stretching art just for art's sake, eyes eyes eyes, on no other prize.
They got Words and Chords fired with a furious frenzy and a ferocious fluidity. Lines and rhymes scatted so scathingly slow they create this surreal serenity. It Might have you boppin to Hampton, Sir Duke , or Miss Ella? Or tip you to trippin on Twista,  Tribe Quest, Rockafella.
Monk and Snoop, Thelonius and the  D. O. Double G ,they both got game.. Basie the Count, The Clan of Wu Tang, the same. Dedicating days, weeks, even years carefully, lovingly crafting perfection. Giants, and I do mean Giants,  of Hip- Hop and Jazz,share that improvisational connection.
But alas, amidst greatness we are graced, and humbly  each day,I say, Let's embrace the soulful caress that each genre conveys. That Cool Cat may take hip- hop, that Pretty Lady may take jazz, or you can twist the order around. Cause each delivers a pleasure that is non- stop, and that, my amazing people,  is How Music should Sound!!
Bobby O





Travis Green Apr 2022
One moment with him would change my world
To see him shimmer as he pleases
Standing valorously
With a passionate, ecstatic personality
An immaculate majesty
Spectacular snazzy fashion
Unmatchable fresh J’s
Mesmerizing masculine fragrance
Flawless hot sauce in his veins

He is an enormously gorgeous glory
Hot, poppin’, and resplendent
With supereminent dreams
He rocks me with his dopeness
He consumes me with his thunderous crunk soul
I flow satisfyingly in his intense hunky ardor
All rapturous swagger and caramel charm

His electricity moves magically through me
His supreme affection blesses and caresses my flesh
He pulls me into his dimension of dazzling light
Makes me so overwhelmed, full of luscious searing fever
By his side is where I pine to hide
Slip into paradise with a captivating
And exhilarating prince like you
A head boppin’ and showstopping prodigy

He wrecks my body with his blazing replayable jams
He enters the center of my feminineness
Makes me scream and tingle sensually
With his shining hands all over my hot rapt craft
Too explosive to control
The way he leans into my supremeness
Strokes his sumptuous monstrous chest
Against my dancing tantalizing *******

Grip my rock-hard tips with his teasing fingers
Tongue them sexually, glide his teeth against them
I want to drift into his great flaming danger
Taste his amorous magicalness
His mesmeric mouth all around my sweet sizzling physique
His breath traversing over my delectable legs
Making me quiver as he kisses me romantically
He is like a sensational saxman playing
Smooth moving tunes in my land

He feeds my soul, guides me to where I need to go
I love the seamless succulent stare in his eyes
His enduring blossoming strength
He makes me spin around wantonly
Wanting so much more of him
Spark and squeeze my bones
Travel his fingertips over my feral feminine shoulders
Bite the bottom surface of my sweet ****** lips
Set me  ablaze, punctuate his world with mine
Robert Oliva Aug 20
Thelonious  Reborn as the Dee Oh Double Gee

If we rhyme metaphorically , reach back historically, spit out new styles  just like Miles, compose tunes that Trane, John Coltrane, would b proud to compile, or like the Bird, Charlie Parker, bravely brake rules, take take take, the music apart, do you  honor Darwinian progress? Do you demand excellent art? Then you might might b from Hip- Hop,  yeah, that's where many geniuses start.
It's simple, it's like nature, there is no fakers, take Kanye West or Chet Baker. Satchmo begets Biggy, Tupac was influenced by Dizzy. Discerning ears are blessed each time new evolutions arise, that redesign and define, unleashing musical highs with no conpromise. Parallels and similarities to cool people like you shud b no suprise. Stretching art just for art's sake, eyes eyes eyes, on no other prize.
Words and Chords fired with a furious frenzy and a ferocious fluidity. Lines and rhymes scatted so scathingly slow they create this surreal serenity. Might have you boppin to Hampton, Sir Duke , or Miss Ella? Or tip you to trippin on Twista,  Tribe Quest, Rockafella.
Monk and Snoop, Thelonius and the  D. O. Double G ,they both got game.. Basie the Count, Clan of Wu Tang, the same. Dedicating days, weeks, even years carefully, lovingly crafting perfection. Giants, and I do mean Giants,  of Hip- Hop and Jazz,share that improvisational connection.
But alas, amidst greatness we are graced, and humbly  each day,I say, Let's embrace the soulful caress that each genre conveys. That Cool Cat may take hip- hop, that Pretty Lady may take jazz, or you can twist the order around. Cause each delivers a pleasure that is non- stop, and that, my amazing people,  is How Music should Sound!!
Bobby O





— The End —