"bopping" poems
i wanted to write
a poem
that rhymes
but revolution doesn't lend
itself to be-bopping
then my neighbor
who thinks i hate
asked – do you ever write
tree poems – i like trees
so i thought
i'll write a beautiful green tree poem
peeked from my window
to check the image
noticed that the school yard was covered
with asphalt
no green – no trees grow
in manhattan
then, well, i thought the sky
i'll do a big blue sky poem
but all the clouds have winged
low since no-Dick was elected
so i thought again
and it occurred to me
maybe i shouldn't write
at all
but clean my gun
and check my kerosene supply
perhaps these are not poetic
times
at all
May 17, 2013
May 17, 2013 at 1:24 PM UTC
Blues Haiku
Freddie King’s guitar
Waits for a big leg woman
Fishnets adorn mine
Self Portrait LIII
Reading street hieroglyphics
comfortable in it’s dark caress
Buildings like promises
Broken and lost
The wheels spinning
My mp3 jazz loop
Sing that skit skat baby
The things I tell my pillow makes it blush
Self Portrait 54
Weekend
Books at half mast
Reading a book on Af Am essays
Wondering what happened to
The ‘Dream”
Monday
Listening to Bob Segar and Snoop
Tatas at attention mode
Bopping to the
Unemployment office
to see a lady about a check
and a “Dream Deferred”
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
I don’t even know where all of this insane energy came from.
I’m sitting here going completely ballistic.
Off
The
WALL!
People ask me if I’m ok…
I look like I’m having a seizure.
I’m fine.
More than, actually.
I can hardly focus on anything.
The sensation keeps ripping through all of my fibers.
I’m being confined to my seat, and I’m going MAD!
I want to just run away with all my energy.
Stand up on the table singing “I’m the Tops!”
Scream all around the Grand Canyon to hear myself.
All I CAN do is sit in my chair.
Bopping my head,
Tapping my fingers,
Jittering my legs,
Slapping my feet…
I don’t know what to do…
All of this energy came rushing through my body.
Who knows where it all came from.
Help me.
Before
I
crash…
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 6:48 PM UTC
This is a Bleeping Bopping Boo.
Bleeping Bopping Boo lives on the biggest bandana in Boston.
Bleeping Bopping Boo eats big black butterflies, blankets, blue bananas and bears.
Bleeping Bopping Boo likes beating up babies, belly dancing, bouncing on buffalo's back and abducting bananas.
Bleeping Bopping Boo breaks into buffalo bodies, blame babies for bad stuff, and blabber all day.
Bleeping Bopping Boo banged my back against a box. Oy the Bleeping Bopping Boo./Users/mlackritz/Desktop/Screen shot 2012-05-22 at 3.22.47 PM.png
May 22, 2012
May 22, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
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.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 1:55 AM UTC
little pills
to cure your ills
prescription fills
the bottle spills...
not to be catty
you're being bratty
rolling a fatty
and getting chatty...
you are crunchy
getting the munchies
getting chunky
like a monkey!
how's your wallet?
workaholic?
did i call it?
get the gold
you were once bold
now you're old...
don't get huffed
but
have you enough
STUFF???
losing vision
reclined position
TELEVISION
always scheming
never doing
you're pretty boring
there daydreaming...
see her bopping
'til she's dropping
out there shopping
the door is shutting
you're alone
to the bone
while you're cutting
what's YOUR thing?
will it bring
you
everything?
it's SO nice!
any vice
will entice
TAKE MY ADVICE!
don't be idle!
take the BRIDLE!
IT'S AN IDOL!
there's an award
when you've scored
with the LORD!
don't applaud.
we're all sod
HE IS GOD!
SøułSurvivør
(C) 9/2017
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 2:02 AM UTC
There is a wave of basslines rotating and vibrating in the landscape, smoking vowels splashing and cracking in diamond depictions.
Heartbeats thrum in dizzy formations, lost in the beat bopping
and flow rocking.
Heads spin in faraway galaxies, further than eternal Earth,
seamless Saturn, flaming Mars.
Secret stars burst with electrifying energy and trigger blazing consonants.
Hips divide into multiple equations in a series of grinding rhythms.
Over the top sensations spiral high in the sky across the jazzy
frame.
Muscles popping, feet hopping, arms dropping in breaking beats,
as sweet sistas and groovy fellas gyrate in timeless dimensions.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 10:30 PM UTC
The ring around the rosy has
stopped spinning.
The dizzy blurs sharpen each blade
of grass into a wit-sharp weapon,
each grain of sand into a
contented sigh, hands
in pockets free from posy.
The pigtails have stopped bopping
up and down, the red balloon
not popped but slowly
floating round. In a corner
of a tree with clearly defined
edges, Charlotte’s daughter’s web
glimmers with dew and some
small lies but mostly caught flies
that can be eaten or cut free
with that weapon, wit-sharp,
not as shiny as it used to be but
rather dull like ashes, as
we all fall down.
You could ask, at this point,
about the purpose of slowly carrying on,
but you’d find yourself swathed
in sticky silk— this spider takes
that from no one.
She hopes your far-flung hopes
and dreams your improbable dreams,
and sometimes it seems that
being quiet is easier than being honest,
but we do our best.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
It is an ancient Poet
and he stoppeth me.
“Beware of poetry, my son,
She’s a gold digger.
She’ll chew you up and spit you out,
leave you penniless and lying in a gutter,
drunk on absinthe,
while the rich novelists and scriptwriters
step over you, laughing.”
“Hold off! unhand me, greybeard loon!”
Unheeding, I slunk off to my garret
to compose a villanelle,
heavily derivative of Dylan Thomas.
I only wanted to get girls,
but before I knew it
I was roaming with the Romantics,
bopping with the Beats
and cruising with the Classicists.
Popping some Pope, shooting some Stevie Smith
or hitting up Heaney,
I was hopelessly addicted.
And I never did get the girl.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
Walking back barefoot
through summer's empty barracks
on the outer, upper edge
of my homework home.
Feeling the freedom of my feet
beneath a damp and gentle breeze,
the moon reveals the room
through which I let them roam.
With solitary silence,
I can pause and light a fire,
watch the ember enter in,
setting thoughts ablaze.
Holding a holy ounce of hope
below this tightly guarded soul
that there appears a stair
between our summer days.
The dancing dewdrops
sparkle and coat my feet anew,
and splash my every other over
with the starry skies.
Taper the tales where I'm detained,
creating paths to doors and gates,
to find a place to shine
like glitter in your eyes
a million little mirrors that flash and blink
and capture my imagination
as it floats on the clouds of a single flutter
and flies away through the river breeze
bringing all at once a peace and a fervor
and a reason to believe in the feeling
for this beacon before me
we frolic through flocks of freaks
to find a vacant space between them
and create our own vibrations
between the mad machine music
alive with beats and fidgets and dripping sound
bravely bouncing to blips and whirrs
to find our bliss within the instant
you stand there bopping smiling glowing
shining brimming sparkling flowing
rattle my heart like the limb of a tree
the girl on the rope swing attached underneath
and as witness to your swaying grace
it just can't help but palpitate
one by one i count the miracles
you
here
beautiful
and beside me
i am with you
my pocket's treasures are intact
and you're enjoying them
the music is masterful
the weather is wonderful
and there's a smile pasted on your face
and everything comes easily
and nobody's ruining our fun
and there is nothing that stands between me
and my hope
that someday
you will see as i see
our paths intertwining
like strands of dna
encoded through our souls
a beautiful future
worth risking a thousand lives
just to brush my fingertips against
worth the worst hurt in the world
just to try and climb for the summit
and even if i collapse en route
and even if you shoot me down
and even if a landslide unites me with the ground
i will rest in peace
because this time
i *******
tried.
I'm not in love.
But I am in love
with the idea
of being
in love.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 8:56 AM UTC
Let us not argue anymore
About who'll walk to the corner store
We've had this row many times before
It's your undertaking to do the chore.
If you wish to eat fish pie for tea
You'll get your feet going in a hurry!
Stalling and prevaricating won't wash with me
Hop to it you dawdling fuddy duddy.
I'm ****** fed up with all these rows
Are you women always such cows?
Always on the who's and how's
You make me feel like a little girl's blouse.
It's a woman's job to do the shopping
Again you've got me really hopping!
We really should be out there bopping
Although my dancing is really shocking.
We've not been out on the town for years
This corner store walker is now filled with jeers
It may be my job to get the groceries at Sears
But our dancing and romancing have been in arrears...
I'm pretty sure you'll have the last word
But here my argument must be heard
You always treat me like a ****
And claim I'm as mad as George the third.
Darling I've treated you as a sow
Why don't we bring an end to our row
Let us hug a little and make up now
We'll enjoy an intimate pow wow.
What's done is done is what they say
Okay, okay I'll earn my pay
I'm on my way!
(C) Paul Butters and Elizabeth Squires 25/04/2014
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:42 AM UTC
psychic infantile bopping
play silent drum kits in ear canals.
screeching like whales
in caverns of sea and stalagmites.
servantile shrapnel leaking into abyss:
feeding on skin and bones,
parasitically.
eating through biting cries,
viciously.
gumdrops streaking sidewalk
in musical rhythm stain glass windows
and blurry red eyed sun high in the sky
shines down crystalline tear drops
over your singularly secular shadow.
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
Little lashes
Bopping on heads
Off goes one
In drool and
Headphones
The big green monster
The mousey placemat
The heavy breathing of congestion
The one lullaby
The one mother
Your little boy world
I love him through
You
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 9:11 PM UTC
Where were you when you heard
First heard some legendary song?
Does it get permanently hooked
To that time in life as it went along?
When I was twelve years old
I was coming home on the bus
A car radio playing Elvis singing
That’s “All Right Mama” passed us.
Freezing my *** in a weapons plant
When I first heard “Everybody’s Talking”.
I had no money and no good car
But I almost started walking.
All the time I was driving
“Light My Fire”, was always playing
With that bridge you couldn’t ignore.
I always link going west on I-40 to
My introduction then to the Doors.
T’was almost fifty years ago today
Sergeant Pepper and his band did play.
I was working as fry cook in KC
Wishing I could afford to run away.
I heard Yes singing “Your Move”
In Hollywood on Sunset and Vine.
I had no idea who that group was
I only knew they were new and fine.
Bopping down Hollywood Boulevard
And fashionable in Frankenstein shoes
I was styling with my pleated bells
Singing “Staying Alive” as I would cruise.
Music changed for me again, for the better
With the opening of Yellow Brick Road.
Elton made that dramatic opening bit
Opposite of a country horny-backed toad.
Barbra and Donna in great duet called
Were wailing out “Enough Is Enough”.
I was thinking finding a better team
Than those two divas would be tough.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
i don't have a low self-esteem,
or precursors to justify
usage of internet paraphernalia;
i don't have a phone,
i don't use dating applications;
if anything i'm looking
at the hurts of globalisation
from a village perspective;
and to me, it all just looks like:
cow took a **** cow didn't take a ****
cow bowed on all fours to sleeps
to keep a patchwork of grass
dry from the rain... cow slept standing...
back then you just had to walk to
the next village to ***** in the gene pool...
now you're expected to travel to paris
for genetic diversity and a love story
worthy of the boredom of writing
hunting the digression of dating:
is monday the 12th of July good for you
and the imaginary caveman? no?
i thought so... watching rain in England
in sunglasses kinda precursors
naturalised use of sarcasm, given
the Great Wall of China and Hadrian's:
an army of Scots just jumped the wall
like 110m hurdle sprinters! what we to do?!
what we to do?! wait for the Mongols...
ah ha.. all in all.. good luck
and *cheerio(h)! ol' chap! bowler hats ahoy!
bop bop... like bloated frogs bopping along
to Sherlock looking at an aquatic snail trail
deciphering Cluedo.*
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 3:14 PM UTC
There's a girl bopping her head to the music,
A boy wanderin' 'round with a guitar
Who don't know how to use it.
Traffic fills my ears and eyes,
Onions and smoke and fries.
Beat up sneakers and flip flops
Bandanna people with orange tops,
Hipsters, tricksters
Hustlers and saints
Empty, wandering, full of complaints.
Broken, discordant conversations
Elaborate, intricate exaggerations
Dusty, ugly sidewalk
Happy, ugly small talk.
Sighs and trees...
Silent pleas
From the lost
Who couldn't pay the cost
To belong:
An aria for the wrong.
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:26 PM UTC
good feeling vibrating all through my bones and flesh
you know i'm big, i'm bad, you know it
shoulder shaking, head bopping, foot tapping, fingers snapping
who's bad?
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 5:41 AM UTC
Did you know it would be so fast for me to love you?
Not fall in love, because there's no rush,
But the lush crushing that I trust,
That tells my gut,
As a complete Human,
You are more than enough?
Yes, when I see you
Bopping along to our favorite songs,
Biking Mission Bay,
Reveling the day,
No tracking of time to relay
Which direction we shall sway...
I know You are showing I,
Who You are Inside,
We are like reflections in our eyes -
I see I in You, and You in I,
It almost makes me feel most alive.
We're Spirituals, undeprived.
Everything you say is Poetry & Comedy,
You bring roaring laughs out of me,
And giggly coos, such feelings you ruse,
Admiration, Respect, Joy, Entertainment ensues.
You may think it rash,
Or rather uncouth
For me to say that
"I love you";
Take it from me,
Before I plant the seeds,
I challenged it too -
But simple love for all that is You -
I could not refute.
And so, I told myself first,
And now I tell you...
I love you.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
Singing high to Fernando and dancing down low in Orlando
When ecstasy suddenly turned to tragedy
They were just out bopping, then he came out just popping
The pulse was beating, while he was out cheating
His wife new about his scouting
But she never thought 'bout the victims
That the families would be counting
Forty nine were just out to dine and wine
Fifty or so, still lying so low, feeling not so fine
He tried to crawl out, just after his last shot
Popo's saw him on the floor and said no more
Put a bullet in his *** the same place he liked it, that's for sure.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
The rhythm of his firm body
excites my brown eyes, his
curly afro running through
my mind, his forehead full
of lustrous designs, his cheeks
a glorious valley of bright hues,
the poetry inside my soul that
shines across the vivid oceans.
I love the depth in his words,
how his soft languages of love
curl in the air and illuminate
in the midnight. His ******
appeal entices my dreams,
the shimmer and flowing
creations of soft melodies
over nighttime chemistry,
taking his clothes off
piece by piece, embracing
the magic in his dynasty –
the late-night sensual vibes
hovering in the jazzy
sky, the bopping beats
pounding inside his chests,
the blazing blunts and
hypnotic Cîroc. Ice Cube's
song, Today was a good day,
circling the stars above.
The stroking fascinations,
the vivid vibrations, the
immense elevations, the
amazing equations of
escape captivating his
heart.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 1:01 PM UTC
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Dancing by age of three.
Dancing for the feel of joy,
What a happy sight to see.
Jigging, jogging, boogywoog
Like folks six times his age.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
He became the local rage.
As soon as music played
His feet began to move
The rest of his tiny body
Bounced with the groove.
He’d get that happy look, then
He’d slip and slide and wiggle
And anyone around him would
Smile and then begin to giggle.
He was so young to do it
To have a style this cool
But nobody ever argued
They’d be a purentee fool.
The Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Was cool and smooth and clean.
He was the dude, the man;
The pint-sized dancing machine.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Dancing by age of three.
Dancing for the feel of joy,
What a happy sight to see.
Jigging, jogging, boogywoog
Like folks six times his age.
Iddy Biddy Bopping Boy
Becoming all the rage.
Jan 24, 2016
Jan 24, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
They say that times were tough then
That money was very tight
But I remember my childhood
And I know that can't be right
Mom would cook our dinner
Dad came home at five
We were all sitting at the table
Waiting for him to arrive
We wouldn't eat from a microwave
Or a restaurant down the street
We all ate Mom's home cooking
And boy that can't be beat
We didn't eat in front of the TV
Or with a phone in our hand
We weren't plugged into a stereo
bopping to the latest band
We would all sit at the table
Everyone in their place
There were never any surprises
We recognized every face
Brothers to the left of me
Sisters to the right
That's the way we ate dinner
Every single night
We laughed we joked we talked we ate
We were a family don't you see
Though some may have been raised poor
You can see it wasn't me
We ate collards we ate biscuits
We ate fatback and blackeyed peas
We said yes sir we said no sir
We said thank you ma'am and please
So when you talk of family life
Or how it used to be
Though many had more money
None were as rich as me
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
*etymology extract: as was said, they'd read my poetry
on the front, among the billions, a few might tread,
from everyday Monday through to Sabbath,
thus said, archaeologically bound: Egypt, Josephus,
the nativity play, xylophone, and too much
indoctrination acquired to walk like a peacock,
and indeed more strut likening to a crow;
for indeed the waterfall of skulls, the dead sea
which reaches depths higher than peaks of architectural
adventure in man levelling mountains,
exploring sea depths and excavating depths
of the prized orbits: such restlessness never once
but countless times before; so soon forgotten
among the revision of partitioning, that nearer
Israel's resurrection on a foreign continent
than a neighbour's resurrected breath on the continent
concerned... leave unto Persia that book,
and unto Africa the judgement over Egypt...
but so your toying in global affairs is gluttonous in
sugars of hoped for sweeteners in applicability,
paying remnants of the economic enrichment i too remember,
20 to a room... 20 to a room... with baked beans soup
and white bread to send breadcrumbs home...
oh but my scottish compatriots haven't felt the full
**** of immigration, they haven't!*
why not talk of Kazimierz Prószyński
like you do concerning Auguste and Louis Lumière?
oh, i get it, ******* in the hood...
Europe is really foreign accepting the existence
of the once famed commonwealth,
as the present time, with the resurgence of
Israel, which can't be split equally, fathered
and equally brothered among the constituents
from the Baltic to the Black Sea...
from the median to the red...
best keep the sea lions bopping along with dear tourism
in the over-salted sea,
should the dead sea attract more sacrifice than the
touristy hill outside Jerusalem.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC
*i don't mind the precision of such quests of investigation, i hardly think you constantly think to keep scientific facts afloat, for me thinking and scientific factual itemisation is like an iceberg, the former above water, the latter beneath the water... snorkelling beneath the water will not change your thinking as such, the upper part seen will still remain the same sized self that you are, readied for the new experience and the closing of all scientific books... you're hardly the ghost thought of libraries, you're the living body among cookbooks and bars; the iceberg's torso and other limbs will remain beneath water, encountered by medical students - if i were you i'd care for the titanic about to hit that head of yours bopping above the waterline, much smaller and smaller even still, while shrinking with all those theories concerning a single sound so italicised as the ego for grandeur of "theories", how about sesame street alphabetical arithmetic? if only the verse, an ***** of kindness in your head where knowledge of chemotherapy actually is in someone else - under the grand curtain of life's theatre... selfish ******** selling crap and islam; what? he came from the merchant class... what's he selling me? i didn't even buy a crucifix or an icon of a saint from the tourist shop in the ******* vatican!*
slavic eyes are reminiscent
of the mongol conquests
and reintegration via copulation
with the germans.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:27 PM UTC
HI DUDES
I JUST UPLOADED THIS WEEKS VERSION OF MY CHART SHOW, WHERE MY MOTTO IS
PLAY THE OLD MUSIC, COUNTDOWN THE NEW, AND I UPLOADED TWO SONGS FROM
ANGRY ANDERSON FROM YESTERDAYS CONVOY FESTIVAL AT GUNGAHLIN
PRETTY RAD ISN’T IT, I USE MY CHARACTER, BERNETTE PETERS, WHO IS MY LITTLE GIRL IN ME
THE ORANGE HAIR WANNA BE, THIS ISN’T STRANGE BEHAVIOUR, THIS IS COOL BEHAVIOUR
PERFORMING ON YOUTUBE, AND THANKS FOR GIVING ME A FEW VIEWS, I LOOK AT ESTIMATED TIME WATCHED
AND I THANK YOU THERE TOO, DON’T STOP BEING ENTERTAINED BY ME, I WILL BE A YOUTUBER TILL THE END
WHICH I HOPE ISN’T FOR A LONG TIME
WELL DONE TO THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS, BEATING SEATTLE, 4TH WIN THIS CENTURY
I AM BOPPING BERNETTE PETERSON, AND I SHAKE MY HEAD TO TOE, I SHAKE ALL OVER TILL I ROCK ‘EM ALL OVER YEAH
I PARTY RIGHT, YEAH, I PARTY RIGHT
YEAH, IF YA LIKE ANGRY ANDERSON, CHECK OUT MY VIDS OF ROCK AND ROLL OUTLAW AND WE CAN’T BE BEATEN
I WILL UPLOAD MORE IN THE FUTURE, ESPECIALLY THE PARADE
SORRY FOR MY ONES THAT DIDN’T MAKE IT, MY COMPUTER ONLY ALLOWS A FEW QUICKIES A DAY, OK
AAA YOUTUBE TV, IS WHERE THE NEW UPLOADS ARE OK
THANKS TO TWITTER FOR FAVOURITING MY WE CAN’T BE BEATEN UPLOAD, OK DUDES
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC