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"branson" poems
Independent Grammy Ameripolitan Billboard CMA Triple Play Indigenous K-Love Fan Austin YouTube Loudwire MTV Video GMA Dove iHeartRadio Canadian Country Stellar BBC Music Magazine Americana Blues Tennessee Songwriters Association Soribada Best K-Music Texas Country APRA Western Heritage Texas Sounds Academy of Country Music Wine Country Carolina Teen Choice Pulitzer Prize Latin American Unsigned Alternative Press International Western People's Choice American Tejano ASCAP Country Soul Train Soribada Best K-Music Texas Country American Songwriting Branson Terry Nashville Industry International Bluegrass
0
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
And the award for the best poem about the excessive amount of music award shows goes to...
Dear America, I was built on a loose foundation A table with three legs to sustain the load of a table with four. To make nothing from something but For something to come from nothing you need some thing. The most terrible thing to waste The superlative of Man’s tools What makes us as individuals unique, On the contrary defines us as a social order The mind, The M.I.N.D. My Intelligence Nurtures Divergence Always accepting of the opposition, A bloodthirsty cheetah digging its fangs deep into the flesh of a wildebeest, my mind feeds off of their ideals, Further amplifying my intellectual power. Expansion within the human intellect, builds on experiences of failures and success Be afraid of failure, but unafraid to learn from defeat The world is a frigid place, and even colder when you squander your most valuable weapon. “A weapon? What beats an M16, double barrel shotgun, 9mm, Smith and Wesson, or Desert Eagle.” Young blood, the divine power is in your head Gandhi, Malcolm X, Socrates Gone too soon due to minds considered Weapons of Mass Destruction, Weapons of Mass Enlightenment to others Since 1992 I’ve embarked on a journey A journey to educate myself A journey to realize the man I want to be A journey to reach my full potential Universally familiar words of my grandmother “You can do whatever you put your mind too” The future poses as an unknown force, But within me fear is absent as my MIND is fully equipped for the ongoing battle of life. I was built on a loose foundation Tupac Shakur, John D Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Chris Gardner, Christopher Wallace, Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Henry Ford, Bill Gates. Expected to come from nothing to something but had that one thing to become something Utilize your strengths and bury your weaknesses For with a strong mind the word weak is without purpose
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Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
The Letter
Dear America, I was built on a loose foundation A table with three legs to sustain the load of a table with four. To make nothing from something but For something to come from nothing you need some thing. The most terrible thing to waste The superlative of Man’s tools What makes us as individuals unique, On the contrary defines us as a social order The mind, The M.I.N.D. My Intelligence Nurtures Divergence Always accepting of the opposition, A bloodthirsty cheetah digging its fangs deep into the flesh of a wildebeest, my mind feeds off of their ideals, Further amplifying my intellectual power. Expansion within the human intellect, builds on experiences of failures and success Be afraid of failure, but unafraid to learn from defeat The world is a frigid place, and even colder when you squander your most valuable weapon. “A weapon? What beats an M16, double barrel shotgun, 9mm, Smith and Wesson, or Desert Eagle.” Young blood, the divine power is in your head Gandhi, Malcolm X, Socrates Gone too soon due to minds considered Weapons of Mass Destruction, Weapons of Mass Enlightenment to others Since 1992 I’ve embarked on a journey A journey to educate myself A journey to realize the man I want to be A journey to reach my full potential Universally familiar words of my grandmother “You can do whatever you put your mind too” The future poses as an unknown force, But within me fear is absent as my MIND is fully equipped for the ongoing battle of life. I was built on a loose foundation Tupac Shakur, John D Rockefeller, Oprah Winfrey, Chris Gardner, Christopher Wallace, Richard Branson, Steve Jobs, Walt Disney, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson, Henry Ford, Bill Gates. Expected to come from nothing to something but had that one thing to become something Utilize your strengths and bury your weaknesses For with a strong mind the word weak is without purpose
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41
Your home in White Rocks Marina you sat; always there to greet your crew before a voyage. Your red sails standing out among the rest. Silently awaiting your Skipper, our own George Hay Kain, as you rested in your slip, anxious to get underway. You wouldn’t make a sound as you patiently waited for your crew to load their gear down below. After quick yet thorough engine checks your Yanmar engine would roar to life, never failing to put a smile on your Skipper’s face. Your stern lines would come off. Your excitement would rise but you would remain still waiting to be completely free. Your bow lines would come off. You then would gracefully back out of your slip, ready for yet another adventure. Onto the Bay you’d go, wondering where you’d end up next. No matter the challenges you faced, whether in the open ocean, or in the Chesapeake Bay; you always brought your crew home safely; you always prevailed. My personal experiences aboard never left the Chesapeake Bay, however, the Bay was all I needed. Each moment I spent on board; each trip I attended; will remain with me always: My First Voyage with our Skipper, Branson, DJ, and Sam; Chestertown; simply preparing you for the winter; Long Cruise; Hurricane Irene; Your Final Voyage. So faithful you would be for your crew, for your Skipper; harsh conditions or not. You may not be resting in your slip in White Rocks Marina, anxious to get underway, but you will always be in the memories, and the hearts, of Skipper George Hay Kain, and the crew of Sea Scout Ship 25. May you now sail freely across the horizon, out on the open ocean, Kuan Yin.
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Dec 10, 2012
Dec 10, 2012 at 2:43 AM UTC
From Pasadena to Annapolis, One Last Time
Your home in White Rocks Marina you sat; always there to greet your crew before a voyage. Your red sails standing out among the rest. Silently awaiting your Skipper, our own George Hay Kain, as you rested in your slip, anxious to get underway. You wouldn’t make a sound as you patiently waited for your crew to load their gear down below. After quick yet thorough engine checks your Yanmar engine would roar to life, never failing to put a smile on your Skipper’s face. Your stern lines would come off. Your excitement would rise but you would remain still waiting to be completely free. Your bow lines would come off. You then would gracefully back out of your slip, ready for yet another adventure. Onto the Bay you’d go, wondering where you’d end up next. No matter the challenges you faced, whether in the open ocean, or in the Chesapeake Bay; you always brought your crew home safely; you always prevailed. My personal experiences aboard never left the Chesapeake Bay, however, the Bay was all I needed. Each moment I spent on board; each trip I attended; will remain with me always: My First Voyage with our Skipper, Branson, DJ, and Sam; Chestertown; simply preparing you for the winter; Long Cruise; Hurricane Irene; Your Final Voyage. So faithful you would be for your crew, for your Skipper; harsh conditions or not. You may not be resting in your slip in White Rocks Marina, anxious to get underway, but you will always be in the memories, and the hearts, of Skipper George Hay Kain, and the crew of Sea Scout Ship 25. May you now sail freely across the horizon, out on the open ocean, Kuan Yin.
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5
Thursday morning and I board the Preston train, a dumpy DMU, but less of a cattle-truck today. Over the bridge or beneath lines to Platform 5 to wait: Branson's Scarlet Pendolino will glide in soon bound for Birmingham - wonder who I shall meet and share travelling moments with ? At the caverns of New Street I must wend to Moor Street and a Chilterns train trundling me south for Warwick's 1,100th. birthday weekend and 100 years since trains of Lancashire PALS cattle-trucked themselves to Flanders fields never to return. (c) C J Heyworth June 2014
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Warwick Words
**Initially it was… “Oh no! Death!... Why now?” Then it became… “Death… not you again? Not now.” And now it’s more like… “Death… dude! It’s me again, take a bow!” No one takes me seriously anymore In the era of plagues I would wipe out whole towns and villages, it would make sense now that I should be able to take many more But sadly this is not the case Nobody takes the Grim Reaper seriously anymore I find myself picking up crumbs left for me by doctors and surgeons, if only to save face This pride that has been taken from me… even a suicide bomber or a mass murderer cannot help replace I find myself, ironically, in a dark place And it kills me to admit it Medical breakthroughs, my biggest hindrance… this technology, I must beat it These humans are getting cocky… even teasing me, again holding my pride at ransom Taking unnecessary risks all in the name of thrill seeking, I see you Richard Branson! I should have taken you while you were still a ****** To take you out would give me such joy… so much joy, a satisfaction level of which you cannot even imagine But so far… you’re winning You all seem to be It’s different now from how it was in the beginning The simplicity of your ways then made the job a lot simpler for me Now you play this game, and cheat me at it… constantly You cocky little ******** I hate you Look at all of you smirking over there… toasting at me.**
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Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 6:17 AM UTC
Death shares what's been killing him...
it's elon musk his stiff, frozen corpse hurtling toward the earth looks like space flight wasn't as grand as an idea as previously thought the virgins have gone galactic branson's body as cold as his icy heart and eyes to match his lifelessness the bald headed freak's gone bug-eyed! clearly unprepared for the speed his amazon basic space shuttle hurtles at as shoddily made as the rest of their **** the cabinet begins decompressing why go to the stars what do you think it is you'll find up there peace or contentment are you trying to prove something you'd think if you'd really want to help humanity you might start on this rock before trying to jump to the next oh you'll succeed while the planet you so desperately sought to escape is in the throws of death's spiral i'm sure it stings your pride to know you'll die before that though
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Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 1:43 AM UTC
To The Stars!
Candy cigarettes And cowgirl boots She plays banjo With a scowl And small hands like lightning Dying to touch Those curves swinging by Her eyes light up Dim under the weight of church lights And expectations "I can't be the way you made me" "I'll be outside." (Smoking) Candy cigarettes Her only joy in life
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Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 4:08 PM UTC
Branson
when i was young, all i wanted was to work in record shop, i involved the nick hornby *high fidelity* bug / virus and i was all set, but them the music game changed, it wasn't tagged as -sony, ****** or some other record company... but entitled self-, see the hyphen is historical residue awareness... but there are a few music outlets open, the h.m.v. on oxford street, or the one at romford, the ****** mega-store where classical music was caged behind soundproof glass doors is gone... i guess the owner of the h.m.v. is a benevolent billionaire philanthropist... we all know richie branson sent all the artists to hell and actors to the stratosphere with income from tubular bells by mike oldfield... i get that... but what you miss with instant access is the randomness of waling into a vinyl / sly mercury (c.d. it has to be more than compact disk, it has to have a status of a vinyl, it can't remain an acronym... vinyl.... and... mercury, cosine it's silver, the end, 80's rule, or rulebook, brick sized mobile phones, it's part of history, you ******* tartan yuppies), well, as divergent as a tangent can be, all i ever wanted was to imitate the high fidelity case presented in fictional medium by nick hornby, never got the chance, did work experience at Burtons (a clothes outlet), even though i wanted to sell music... the hamster napster beat me on the treadmill... never got the fairytale godmother to wish-blink wish-blink magic pogo stick makeover; but h.m.v. is still open, and went in and played the lottery genie, i got https://goo.gl/KdB7oY: why do you why do you why do you voodoo?
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Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 7:49 AM UTC
wish of working in a music shop
when i was young, all i wanted was to work in record shop, i involved the nick hornby *high fidelity* bug / virus and i was all set, but them the music game changed, it wasn't tagged as -sony, ****** or some other record company... but entitled self-, see the hyphen is historical residue awareness... but there are a few music outlets open, the h.m.v. on oxford street, or the one at romford, the ****** mega-store where classical music was caged behind soundproof glass doors is gone... i guess the owner of the h.m.v. is a benevolent billionaire philanthropist... we all know richie branson sent all the artists to hell and actors to the stratosphere with income from tubular bells by mike oldfield... i get that... but what you miss with instant access is the randomness of waling into a vinyl / sly mercury (c.d. it has to be more than compact disk, it has to have a status of a vinyl, it can't remain an acronym... vinyl.... and... mercury, cosine it's silver, the end, 80's rule, or rulebook, brick sized mobile phones, it's part of history, you ******* tartan yuppies), well, as divergent as a tangent can be, all i ever wanted was to imitate the high fidelity case presented in fictional medium by nick hornby, never got the chance, did work experience at Burtons (a clothes outlet), even though i wanted to sell music... the hamster napster beat me on the treadmill... never got the fairytale godmother to wish-blink wish-blink magic pogo stick makeover; but h.m.v. is still open, and went in and played the lottery genie, i got https://goo.gl/KdB7oY: why do you why do you why do you voodoo?
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38
I think that I have fallen for someone new but the scars from my last attempt at romance still burn. I have to bandage them medicate them hide them. Every day I say that it will be the day. I will tell him but I don't but I can't but I'm scared. **** **** **** everyone everything that has led me to this thought that I am nit enough. People do like me. Right? We watched anime today and I thought of ways to talk about how I feel. About this train that is moving around in the railroad track of my heart and how I'm not sure if it will drop me off in the safety of his arms or in another train wreck. I was brave. I said I wanted to go to Branson. To silver dollar city and he thought it was a good idea. Besides. I need this friend. I can't. I may not be good enough for anything more and maybe I am but I'm so scared that I don't know if I'll find out.
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Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 1:25 AM UTC
Untitled
Like gaius julius caeser I've burnt the ship that brought me to this gaul Willing to fail determined to scale But I won't give up I am a start upper I see opportunities where you see difficulties I see possibilities where you see negativity I am a start upper I believe I can fly as high as the mountains beneath the sky I believe I can stand Stand the test of time cos my resilience isn't built to die I am a start upper I've dived into the ocean of uncertainty without care and I defeat my fears I go through hell without fear and I conquered the devil I am a start upper I pitch to the gods and they marvel in awe I open my mind and the world is stunned I am a start upper I won't rest till I get the best I won't stand down till I reach the top I am a start upper I've ****** the breast of Richard Branson Lived in the world of Steve Jobs Tasted the early days of Bill Gate Felt the pains of Mark Zukerberg I am a start upper Beware of my goals cos I fear no foe I'm a moving train I blaze the trail Fear my roar for I am a lion I glow in the dark I am the light I am start upper I am the solution.
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Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 12:55 PM UTC
I am a start upper
haven't seen my dad in almost three months, so he came over to talk about the weeds and the dandelions the lilacs that i haven't planted and the creepers tangling around the fence posts, he touches the leaves softly like he does with most things, circles the yard and scuffs the gravel with the heel of his boot inspecting for the usual-- How've ya been? and I nod because my dad hasn't known a single thing 'bout my life since I was 16 i'm getting a dog. I say, holding my hands out from here to there, half Shepard and somethin' else, i still expect repercussions for doing things on my own but he just smiles and goes on about dog doors and how i still don't have a gun in my house *branson was saying i should think about not gettin' a  .22* and he pulled out his glock for me to feel per the norm where've you been? around. how's work? while i pull the slide back and slip out of my sneakers *you know how you walk into a room and they treat you different?* He's leaving now, his gun back in the holster holds out his arms for a hug. they don't like you much, huh? no. and i laugh, to stop from cryin' and mask the shake in my voice it's alright, though, pays the bills and stuff. i have no desire to tell him about the things that have been happening lately about Matt and the bars and the trip to Walgreens for a two minute test i want to ask him why he didn't tell me more about boys and men when I was little but that's a silly question when I'm grown we never tell each other love you we just go, so he leaves, his bikes packed in the bed down 19th, truck grumbling the way they all do.
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Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 1:59 PM UTC
Bye dad.
haven't seen my dad in almost three months, so he came over to talk about the weeds and the dandelions the lilacs that i haven't planted and the creepers tangling around the fence posts, he touches the leaves softly like he does with most things, circles the yard and scuffs the gravel with the heel of his boot inspecting for the usual-- How've ya been? and I nod because my dad hasn't known a single thing 'bout my life since I was 16 i'm getting a dog. I say, holding my hands out from here to there, half Shepard and somethin' else, i still expect repercussions for doing things on my own but he just smiles and goes on about dog doors and how i still don't have a gun in my house *branson was saying i should think about not gettin' a  .22* and he pulled out his glock for me to feel per the norm where've you been? around. how's work? while i pull the slide back and slip out of my sneakers *you know how you walk into a room and they treat you different?* He's leaving now, his gun back in the holster holds out his arms for a hug. they don't like you much, huh? no. and i laugh, to stop from cryin' and mask the shake in my voice it's alright, though, pays the bills and stuff. i have no desire to tell him about the things that have been happening lately about Matt and the bars and the trip to Walgreens for a two minute test i want to ask him why he didn't tell me more about boys and men when I was little but that's a silly question when I'm grown we never tell each other love you we just go, so he leaves, his bikes packed in the bed down 19th, truck grumbling the way they all do.
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53
30 hours ago I saw you. 30 hours ago all you could say was negative 30 hours ago I cared more, I believed more but more than what you think can change in 30 hours. You had your chance, your chance to try... Not even commit, but try. All you've shown me is your lack of commitment and your lack of strength. I guess this is goodbye. I guess you chose money and yourself and comfort over me. I guess I choose a full life and God over you. I know you won't tell your family, why. You won't say, because she loves God and I don't. I don't want to lose Jerrik and Reid Or Lisa. Or Paisley. Or Rhalna. Or Branson. But this is the path God chooses for me I'll follow. Riley, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasted your time. I'm sorry I tried to change you. I'm sorry. I won't happen again.
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Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 3:44 PM UTC
30 Hours.
Swell cut back trace the outline of my shadow with caution tape Holy **** I'm about to die Arpeggios Metronomical beats ****** the tempo with a chorale prelude This time in Pig Latin: Oly-Hay Uck-Fay, M-Iay Bout-Aay O-Tay Ie-Day Out of key with somber inflections Press on my dear, Press on with a dog eared national geographic bookmarked to all the places I want to travel One more time for someone who cares:
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Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 10:49 AM UTC
Richard Branson is My Nemesis