"broads" poems
I always assume
that kids know how to be kids.
I'm sure we weren't taught the skills, were we?
No-one pointed to a tree and said,
"See that? Climb it."
And if Craig or Chris or Jamie pointed a finger
and said, "Bang!",
no referee had to discreetly whisper
"You're supposed to fall down now."
But something as natural as breathing
is falling by the wayside.
These small humans aren't kids -
not like we were.
Company is a chore for them,
screen-seeking solipsists,
and I worry for their future, constantly.
If my six-year-old self
were to appear amongst them
he would stand, baffled,
full of useless power
Like Spiderman
on the Norfolk Broads.
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 5:13 AM UTC
Quincy Valero
Everybody’s best friend
Jet black hair
Shiny brown eyes
A boyish smirk
Standing six foot something
Coming out of catholic school agnostic
Attending state college
Every word that came out of his mouth was a riot
A funny story of a bad situation he was in that he can laugh at now
An awkward moment with a girl he tried to get in bed
God awful train rides with a clueless conductor
Quincy Valero
A wanna-be Casanova
The irish-italian self-proclaimed “Don Juan of Dumont”
Roaring down the suburb streets in his bright yellow mustang
From Bergen county to Trenton
Edgewater to Ewing
Bumping R&B; from the 90's
A main girl
A side chick
And a few back pocket broads
Leading them on
To where?
I’m not even sure he knows
Quincy Valero
My best friend since I’ve been here in Purgatory
My lifelong cellmate
My hetero life mate
My brother of second thought
Our token white boy
He’s had his ups
Wild ragers until day break
A four way with me and two girls in my four door sedan
He’s had is downs
Falsely charged with domestic abuse
Community service, endless court room hearings, suspensions and a whole bunch of nonsense
Quincy Valero
The quintessential example of the modern day male
Stays up all night
Sleeps all day
Opportunistic
Egotistical
Miserly
*****
And hungry
Always aching to put in his two cents
And leaving everyone in a howl of laughter
An Adderall popping
Seasoned drinker
A professional *** smoker, coached by yours truly
Fast talking baritone voice
With a half serious tone
Yes, Quincy Valero
The tight plain white t-shirt wearing
Chino sporting
Nostalgic, slightly racist, sexist, anti-semitic
Bust usually honest, friendly and apologetic
Good hearted dude we all love to hate
And hate to love
Bed-headed
Pajama bottom ***
Talking about his Svedka regrets
And we laugh and laugh and the stupidest things
Then remember events that seem so long ago
And then make plans for tomorrow
Yeah, one of my best friends
My oldest friend
That’s Mr. Quincy Valero
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
There was never before heard
Such a cacophony
As the day I witnessed
The vegetable medley
'Since you've bean gone'
They blasted out
The runners and broads joined in song
They could have rocked it all night long
But it was Taters turn
They rocked the stage
The veggies went wild
The 'monster mash' was all the rage
Then was petit pois chance to shine
He wowed them with a dance
Then made the broccoli sway and weep
With 'Give peas a chance'
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
"Tout aux tavernes et aux filles."
Suppose you screeve? or go cheap-jack?
Or fake the broads? or fig a nag?
Or thimble-rig? or knap a yack?
Or pitch a snide? or smash a rag?
Suppose you duff? or nose and lag?
Or get the straight, and land your ***
How do you melt the multy swag?
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Fiddle, or fence, or mace, or mack;
Or moskeneer, or flash the drag;
Dead-lurk a crib, or do a crack;
Pad with a slang, or chuck a ***
Bonnet, or tout, or mump and gag;
Rattle the tats, or mark the spot;
You can not bank a single stag;
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
Suppose you try a different tack,
And on the square you flash your flag?
At penny-a-lining make your whack,
Or with the mummers mug and gag?
For nix, for nix the dibbs you bag!
At any graft, no matter what,
Your merry goblins soon stravag:
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
THE MORAL
It's up the spout and Charley Wag
With wipes and tickers and what not.
Until the squeezer nips your scrag,
***** and the blowens cop the lot.
2.6k
Golden sand tickling your toes
Pebbles gleaming, glistening, slushing
When the tide comes back to shore.
Sand dunes hiding wildlife,
Multitudes of migratory birds,
Safely returning every year to
This beautiful, marshy paradise.
Skies so orange, pink and red,
An artists palette of natural art
Greet you at sunrise and sunset.
***** kippers, cod and plaice
Shrimps, cockles and whelks,
Mushy, minty peas and chips,
The show at the end of the pier.
The lifeboats and their hardy crew
Risking their lives to save others,
When visitors run into trouble
At the mercy of the cold North Sea.
Crumbling coastlines, cliff walks
And nature reserves full of the
Scent of wild garlic and herbs,
Norfolk lavender. Steam engines,
Fishing boats, river boats,
Paddling boats and cycles
Take you on journeys
Around the Broads or
Past the famous Castles.
Tigers and leopards peer
Through the bars of their
Zoo homes by the sea.
Easterly winds that bite your
Fingers as they whistle and
Howl through the City.
Guest houses closed for
The winter as you stroll
The lonely promenades
Breathing in the air.
Queen Bodicea, Normans,
Vikings and Romans all
Marched through this
Historical landscape
And yet we remain
Stalwart and strong
Proud of our heritage,
Our roots, our birthplace
There's only one place
Better than Norfolk,
And that's the
Beautiful Ozarks.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
Her fingertips loosed the glass
bottle, which had
of late
gathered rain like the
hands of paupers.
Glitter in a heartbeat.
to be collected by old battered shoes
or car tyres
and streetwise magpies.
it joins a city evensong
this oceanic roar of nothing
fusing chords of cars and smoke
and lonely dogs
with hacks
and throngs
of perambulating suits
and suitors
trampling athwart broads of concrete
As swifts in summer.
We swim in it
through open atriums
and barren rooms of
magnolia and magnolia and magnolia.
All the while if you look harder
you see through chinks a sepulchre
in each greying tower
ranging higher and higher still.
Machines and machinations
stacking life upon life to
build pyramids
to gaudy kings
in pinstripe or herringbone.
Flumes of fumes ***** like floods
Into and out of train stops
and bus stands.
Circling lungs like hungry crows.
Crows which haunt
Bombed out chapels made new
resuscitated with waxen ivy
and ivory lilies.
And the leaves of saintly oak trees
chatter in shrinking crevices of green
story telling
Of how people and things grow old.
And you can walk these streets
And dive too like cormorants into
The platitudes of city living.
Soaked to the skin in sound
to tell your story
like the shards
of a broken bottle.
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 6:10 PM UTC
Gallant knights sweeping forth
A brave war they seek ahead
They can't seem to shake the feeling of stress forming storms that wish them dead
//One dreams of a life with the "perfect" girl
Another ponders a life of endless wealth
This one wants of food and clothes
That one wants to just be known
//But what none could see
And what none could plan
Is that world would come crashing in
//The vivacious boat full of ***** and broads
Seemed also to be full of snakes and frauds
//With every laugh and hearty drink
There seemed to be an equal thunder clap
They couldn't hide from the beast outside
That wished to swallow them whole and be satisfied
//Enemies can be hidden, and enemies can be shown, but not all trials and tribulations can be faced on your own
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 4:52 PM UTC
A Husk of Thule brew..
A Fjord born tang of Fenrir cold
To yawn the must of comet tails
In rings, around the naked oak.
That broke the spineless whims
Of reed, that set the Heron folk to flight
From scrivened rims of frosted pools.
To run in footless constellations
About the broads of bitter miles
And, there to spill the coffered frays
of Autumn’s final standing.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 12:20 PM UTC
A man known as "The Master"
came to speak to our small town
He was revered as a wise man
And he always dressed in brown
He answered every question
Though his answers did confuse
He was more of a rainmaker
A charlatan, a ruse
For twenty bucks he'd let you in
To hear him speak about the world
His hair, was just a birds nest
And his beard was braided, twirled
I went to see this magii
Find out answers about life
I asked him if he knew the truth
He said, "I see you've met my wife"
I asked him what his answer meant
He said "she always asks me the same thing"
"like, when I've lost the rent"
"Master, all I want to know
Can true happiness come to man"
"If you've money, ***** and three drunk broads"
"Then son, I'd say you can"
"Master, that's not what I mean"
"Then, just why did you ask?"
"I didn't mean that happiness"
He took a sip from his small flask
I sat and looked about me
At the crowd around his feet
I was more confused than ever
And was getting dizzy from the heat
Another man stepped forward asking
"Master, tell us about love"
"didn't you read about the broads
"About thirteen lines above"
"Love..it is confusing"
"It's always different every day"
"If you want love that never changes"
"Then my boy, you'll have to pay"
"I'm not sure that's what I need"
"To hear, Is it the truth?"
"I see you've met my wife as well"
"A big girl, red head...Ruth"
"No master, I just need to know"
"Before I choose a bride"
"Well, make sure you can see the tv"
"When she's lying on her side"
"Always mark the ***** bottle"
"Just in case...you know..me thinks"
"That way, you can always prove to her"
"That you haven't had three drinks"
"Master, this is way off base"
"I think you are a fraud"
"Young man, I know of what I speak"
"I see that you don't have a broad"
He too, sat down, head spinning
The master was confusing as all hell
But, we all sat here in his presence
Under this strange man's spirit spell
"Master, I have one more thing"
"I must know before I leave"
He said" it's two doors down and to the right"
As he wiped his nose upon his sleeve
"No, not that, I don't need that"
"I just need to know what's real"
"Do I believe in all around me?
"Do I believe in what I feel?"
"Christ", he said,"you are a pain"
"I can't answer things like that"
"I just know, who won last nights game"
"Do these pants make me look fat?
"You speak to me of truth and love"
"I know of broads and trucks"
"The only truth I know is that"
"You've wasted twenty bucks"
"Master, you're a ripoff, sir"
"I guess this is a lesson in my life"
"You really do not know the truth"
"Are you sure you've not met my wife?"......
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 7:36 PM UTC
It bothers me to see friends at odds
bros over hoes
then they change the odds
dudes start acting like broads
what's the odds?
cover girls - making up,
acting; odder that odd
use to have your back
you trip, they drop the ball
just to watch you fall
karma willing; get’em all
the hands of time circling
until fate makes the call.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
What brings me here are multiple *** and cokes
and my lasting impression on so many of the
cool kids and the following broads
who think this is a cool thing to do.
Me? I feel my eyes start to fall red
and my face starts to resonate heat.
***** No, I'm not at that point.
Yet.
But I can see spots of light and feel my ears pop.
This is my life in a bunny costume.
In a Deadmau5 head my roommate crafted,
I DJ a basement of partyheads.
I smoke my cheap cigarettes and think
"wow, what would my mother think?".
I have never thought how this would spin my world upside down.
But this is Spring Weekend. And the dance floor is open
to new adventures and brilliant encounters with strange people.
I can only imagine how God is looking at me now.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:39 AM UTC
I've had the same view
here in the city
for awhile now
the banks of the schuylkill
the art museum
rocky balboa himself
its been 6 months
the same window
the same view
so many lights
always on
occasional cars
I can hardly see
last nights snow
littering the ground
7 stories downward
one hell of a fall
the glass is too thick
don't worry
no cleanup today
only me
watching the snow melt
and the cars pass
and the life
of everything
drudging slowly onwards
as it has for six months now
here on the banks
of the schuylkill
the tempo is all off
a terrible pace
in a terrible place
Kerouac did a year
up in New York
6 months more
then maybe I'm out
of here
on the road
to mexico
cheap liquor
and cheaper love
the heart beats
quicker there
stooped up in
some backwards
bordello
paying dime a dollar
for another round
then off to san francisco
where the beat stomps
and stutters under that
spotlight
or maybe the blood red mesas
of el paso
where the young broads
dark as honey
can taste just as sweet
but only just a while
its that thrill
you long to have
one more time
breaking a sweat in
the backyards
sneaking love
under fences
and desert floors
just to be anywhere else
where the beat is quicker
than here
I'm growing deaf to it
here in the doldrums
here in the city
of brotherly love
on the banks of the schuylkill
watching the same view
from the same window
as rocky balboa stands tall
moving faster than me in
that forever celebration
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
He was a sad sort of man
And we let him exist
On the corner of our consciousness.
ignoring all his nastiness
And jokes calling women broads
And how he wanted to ******
And pinch them and stare
At them when they were naked.
We giggled at his ugliness
And displays of tacky wealth
And how he has so little
Of anything called class.
We called him an ***
And wrote him off in the seventies
As a silly arriviste fool
Who played around in school
And dodged the draft.
He was a joke fore and aft
But we underestimated
The danger of a snake
Slithering in the silence.
It can bite us just because
We were not looking at it.
And it is no help to ignore it.
No matter the excuses we make.
It is still a slithering snake.
We forgot to take into account
That some people like snakes
And take them as pets
Despite all the epithets
Of their neighbors and family.
They do so happily
Because there is something wrong
With people who handle snakes
And they usually shout about Jesus
Which I am sure he would hate.
But no problem, it seems of late
To them, Jesus was a bigot, a hater.
They must have read later
Some Bible we never saw
With a different set of laws
And advice. Really not nice.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
I smack babies with my wrist watch
**** washers in the backseat
mad talk about battle broads and coke hogs
I'm outside of town
out of coke. out of **** smoke
I binge on some coffee grounds my girl found between the seats
our sheets soak in blood behind the back seat
there's mud between my teeth.
my mothers grief, it cannot phase me
I'm lazy
I'm drunk
I'm going 90 and I can't see
but, there's people all around me
shouting things
I wring my socks out in the mouths
of all the people tied up in our car
I start to say "you're welcome" but I can't help but be distracted
by the Spanish girl in the middle
jaw unhinged and dripping spittle
she says "come a little closer"
I say "Jesus, take the wheel"
I stretch up close and smell her teeth
we close our eyes and start to breathe each others breath
I read her mind
she'd like to slice me like the swine she thinks I am
but I'm just glad
that I have cigarettes to burn her with
we'll happily take our turns with her
then we'll ditch her on some curb without a note
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC
There's a magical trail up in Marin county....it runs from the coastal mountains down to the sea. Many moons ago 15 ****** fools embarked on a journey to celebrate the coming union of my Berkeley hippie to his New York queen.
Yes this was his wish ..his bachelor party! No broads, no **** and *** just 15 fools drinkin beer each with an ounce if grass...it was the best party one could have.
I fell behind....mesmerized by something that intrigued me....a Little yellow slug staring up at me. So ugly it was beautiful...I studied as it slowly trudged across the trail. The eyes the color the hypnotizing tail. I wanted to pick it up and put it in my pocket...but this kind of beauty is meant for all to see. So I spoke to the slug and said farewell...I love you so much I'll set you free.
It's been more than ten years but if I ever return....that banana slug will be looking for me.
Sep 29, 2018
Sep 29, 2018 at 7:20 AM UTC
I like to get hammered,
I mean I work with hammers,
and nail lots of broads,
I mean nail lots of boards.
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 5:30 PM UTC
Was ah problem child ese always in trouble
Ese I'm the black sheep while my fam stay Humble e could rumble ese toe to toe
Where I could get you in the street and fill Your *** full of holes
I'm the boulevard of broken dreams
Ese white boy slipping I'ma ****** them rings
And take em home slap em on my ****
Ese dope fein bugging put his *** in ah ditch
Then I switch to ah different scene
Ah different time ah different scheme
I was with my team homie Venom and Bugz
And ******* they was ******* they was ******* with us
Notorious for taking your broads While the enemy squad it would lightly rise
She came to get me but he shot his wife
Then put the gun in his mouth and he took his life
I was at the wrong place at the wrong time
I gotta get away go straight to my shrine
To meditate and ask for ah sign
To fall back in place everything go aligned
I was at the wrong place at the wrong time
And I don't give ah **** I was pushing the line
The Bottom line I had ah rapid clime
I'm just trying to live my life it end up being ah crime
The joint burnt slow right after the show
We made it to the back gotta stay for some More but I ain't got time to sit and chatter
Ain't trying to hear some **** about who's ***** is badder
Cause mine the baddest running every city
Two of us pull up and she flashing her titis
The ******* on the pen shot real far
She make you feel like home wherever you Are I hit the **** once than I had to bounce
Had ah Nextel Chirp for my L.A spouse
She know I'm grinding so she passed me the kids
Goodnight daddy miss you mom's give em ah Kiss the next gig we ******* up the pro mode
Ah few G's short we confiscated the Rolex
He threw ah bonus it was ah fifty desert
Someone called the cops but nobody confessing
I was at the wrong place at the wrong time
I gotta get away go straight to my shrine
To meditate and ask for ah sign
To fall back in place everything go aligned
I was at the wrong place at the wrong time
And I don't give ah **** I was pushing the line
The Bottom line I had ah rapid clime
I'm just trying to live my life it end up being ah crime
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:35 AM UTC
26, diminished and beaten. The day was May 29th in Los Angeles. I’d seen too much at a much too young age. I had just done three hits of acid and was beginning to trip. The world flashed in front of me as if it were the first encounter of alien life form seen by man. I took three more to make sure I get the full experience. There were two naked broads at my bed foot. *** appeal was out the window and I could only think about how small I was in this god forsaken earth. ****** both of them, but can’t remember their faces.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
This seems to go double for people and art.
I can say words backward
I love
War
Movies
(And a DOG Named Parker)
**ALL THE ******* TIME**
You know,
Someone once told me. . . . .
I like to drink
My life consists of
(I go to college for web design)
Working out. And going to school.
I like to play in the rain.
Strictly broads.
No more dudes please.
I do my best not to act it.
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
I have a tendency to give up.
Not because I don't care, it's just because I don't care enough.
So when I sit some 10 rows back, curtains open, fade to black,
and I see your gams creep from stage left like that,
there's a symphony that runs through me when I see the spotlight.
Something like, with hypnotizing might, you take me elsewhere as I gaze at your sight.
The power you have over me, and you don't even knows it.
Makes me grin that I'm safe for now hiding this secret but truth is, I want to expose it.
Keep dancing. That's all I think when I think of you.
Two powerful words that describe the truth and how to get it through.
Life is as you take it. And your constant flash of whites reminds me to never forget:
'There are two sides to everything", but I haven't seen the greener grass yet.
And it's probably on your side of that picket fence.
Devil smirk, woman's worth, with a child innocence.
Of course, I mean, I trip over the right words to dish out,
Haven't been too fond of broads lately and you're one of which I can't miss out.
See, you're that I'mgoingtoregretnottryingharder type of dame,
oozing with beauty like you can't keep it contained.
But if that were radioactive waste, I'd still want a taste.
Let me bathe in that divine cesspool and show you how to drown,
I don't mean it literally, I just mean I'll hold you down.
Don't feed me sympathy, simply tell me don't come around,
And I'll pack my thoughts within poems that are internet-bound.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:41 PM UTC
Lost in the shrill hiss of the wind
A figure approached the site
Masked both without and within
A black mass looks down his sight
Opened fire, suppressed at close range
No will or wanting a change
Just dying to watch rotting slaves
Under his servitude, fill his domain
Lost in the shrill hiss of the wind
The wailing of children in graves
Dig, dig, dig into skin
Pull out the rotting remains
Their fate will be the same
A **** without the shame
No ductape, so no screams
Their mothers would be pleased
Lost in the dead night
Two busted up broads
*** pays real right
After you met that rod
That met the side of your face
Who would pay you now?
Not even your own son
And for him you make it free
Apr 9, 2010
Apr 9, 2010 at 8:56 PM UTC
As you sit down
Poised to write a
Poem on your
Sister’s old black
Typewriter, a
Ghostly Mr
Bukowski comes
And puts his hand
On your shoulder;
He’s puffing hard
On a phantom
Cigarette and
Leaning, scanning
The page and what
You’ve written so
Far. You’ve written
Nothing about
***** broads or cats,
He says, dropping
Ghostly ash on
The new carpet,
Not a word here
About *** or
Bets or getting
Drunk, he adds, then
Inhaling deep,
Coughing, wheezing,
Squeezing your thin
Shoulder, letting
Off a puffy
Phantom **** You
Need to tell the
Reader things to
Get them to turn
The page, get them
To want to drink
Or **** he says.
It’s my poem,
Bukowski, you
Reply, but he
Has gone now, the
Room is chilly,
The carpet has
Ghostly ash and
Your glass of white
Wine is empty.
You sit there poised
Over the old
Typewriter, the
Poem half done,
Half waiting to
Be written, the
Fingers itching
To be done. If
Bukowski comes
Again, he can
Write the next new
Poem, he can
Write the next one.
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
First they like you cause you're different,
then they hate you cause you're different.
But it never made a difference,
I’m the same through all this distance.
There's different ways to live within this,
world that we have all been given.
My intentions never change,
because my brains been consistent.
Throwing blame until I listened,
to my problems cause they're ********
No ones here to solve em,
so I got em till I ditch em.
Flying thru the rain,
just to prove that I’m still lifted.
When I'm shifted into gear,
I get rear ended by resistance.
The proof is in the pudding,
Jello stole my whole existence.
I lost my ******* way,
the day that broads became consistent.
Applause for all the twisted,
they make art without restrictions,
The way it’s meant to be, you see,
the system loves conditions.
Comfort is a privilege,
without it we would pillage.
In the ******* streets,
unleash the beast of the whole village.
If you’ve got a hole then fill it,
with **** or ***** or pill it.
Or if you’re feeling soul,
then go, re up on all your sinning.
Confessions just to fix it, and
lessons you just missed it, *fam.
I guess it never mattered,
cause the battles never finished, ****
I started as the villain
and got caught up in the vixen’s plan,
that'll change your whole perspective
on this introspective image, man.
I'm into lots of women so I've learned
that I can listen.
But choose to throw the words that hurt,
while working like a cynic.
Business it was booming,
kept it moving with no limits.
Man, my lifes been like a movie,
cause this this truth seems like its fiction.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC
The boat was moored
In a place in Norfolk
When Summer came
It was renovated
Ready as were the broads
For the sunny season
And trips taking places
Quietly,quaintly.
A favourite spot
To visit and find surprises
A boat of singular, solidarity
Splendouredly
Painted in the colour
Of a great philosophy.
Love Mary ***
Love Mary ***
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 8:32 AM UTC
"Where do you find
these
broads?"
I don't know.
But i find them
so that I can love them.
So that I can love them
until it hurts
and I am left with a stinging
pain.
So many wasps have stung me
before.
I have placed the royalty of their stingers
in the waste
of heart break.
The knives are finally out,
I swipe at a million hives,
until I have finally cut the wings
of one.
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC