Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
jeremy wyatt Jan 2011
Goats and skinheads try to boast
they say they do it more than most!
Musk ox have a mighty try
Bang! A crash to split the sky.
Alpine sheep, buffalos too
all decry "the rest are poo!"
But they see stars around their nut
when they receive a Dragon ****.
No run up or deep breath required
**** all day long , they're never tired.
Oh how the jealous ones desire
a headbutt fuelled with dragon fire!
Stu Harley Aug 2015
in
Tanzania
where
migrating herds of
wildebeests, gazelles, zebras and buffalos
stampeding across
the
vast Serengeti Plains
ignite the world
then
write
their names
in gold
ignite
the
skyline of earth
create
a painted
watercolor sunset
Pierre Ray Mar 2012
Chronic, demonic, eccentric, magic, poetic, tragic! Dreams it seems of comical or unusual! Visual sights of many sites! Plenty fights, heights, nights, plights and lights! Dreams it seems of chimes, crime, gleams and grime. Moonbeams, rhymes, screams and times. Dreams it seems as they attempt to tempt with contempt! Some become exempt
and unkempt! Dreams it seems of afros, arrows, buffalos, rainbows

and sparrows! Ample, purple-apples hung from chapels! Dreams it seems of hurdles and simple people as pimples jumping from steeples! Dreams it seems of the begotten, forgotten and rotten. Dreams and themes of cotton candy clouds! Crowds in shrouds! Dreams it seems
of the dandy and handy! Glories and gory stories of the holy or unholy. Dreams it seems of crud and mud! The loud and proud! The

vowed and wowed! Dreams it seems of blood and floods! Dreams it seems of amazing, crazing and gazing! I’m phrasing; “Is this a dream a scheme or hell?” Well I couldn’t tell! As I began to scream and
yell! Those streams of dreams that I dream… Dreams that I may, these dreams that I say. Dreams it seems in dreamy dismay.
Martin Bailes Feb 2017
Because in my day dreams
& in a heartbeat,
the Coke brothers
would be re-educated
digging deep wells
in Flint Michigan
till they found pure
clean water.

Kobe Bryant's wife
would have her
million dollar ring
expropriated & broken
down for drill bits
to use in the digging
of Flint wells by the
same Coke brothers.

All Kardashian holdings
everywhere & anyhow
would be seized by
the state & sold to the
foreign precious stone
market & the proceeds
used for funding
school book buys.

Trump Tower would be
occupied and stripped
of all its false veneer
while Barron's gold
baby carriage would
take pride of place
in The People's Museum
of The New Dawn &
groups of school children
would field trip to marvel
& learn.

Fox News executives
would be arrested along
with Limbaugh, Hannity
a multitude of talk-show
hosts as enemies-of-the-
people & re-educated
digging canals from the
high Rockies through to
San Luis Obispo to help
water the farms which
would now be unionized
& minimum waged & there'd
be taco trucks on every
corner for free workers
lunch & luxury campers
for naps from the burning
midday sun.

History lessons would
be for real this time,
buffalos would be
encouraged mightily
to breed and roam the
western lands where
Indian tribes would
return to pastures
of old & they'd house
themselves in teepees
hand-sewn by bankers
& hedge-fund managers
lodged in converted
L.A. mansions with armed
guards for the duration.

The NRA leadership
would be hog-tied &
immediately put to work
in foul prison conditions
producing ploughshares
from swords in blazing
merciless kilns & every
Sunday they'd be cuffed
& 'compassionate-leaved'
to the closest cemetery
where they'd visit the
graves of the fallen
children & granmas
taken by ricochets.

Prisons would use
psilocybin cure-alls,
golf-courses would turn
into adventure petting-
zoo play grounds,
Syrian children would
move into Hampton
mansions,

Detroit & West Virginia
would be declared
emergencies & the
entire overseas hidden
off-shore accounts of
the top 1% would fund
roads, bridges, schools,
doctors & nurses,
teachers, professors
& crossing guards.

Trump himself would
have to restore all the
gravestones in all the
Jewish cemeteries in
all the States,
& then,
& only then,
could he have
his lunch hour.

Because in a heartbeat
I could be far worse
than that & perhaps
in some ways it's a
good thing I'm not
the boss.
James Alai Mar 2016
Cats are evil
Dogs are good.
Pigeons are winged rats.
Pigs are food.
Cows just stand there
except when it rains
Crickets are annoying
And goldfish lack brains
Mice are cute
Rats are not
Bears are fat and lazy
Deers are shot.
Polar bears seem lonely
Wolves work in a pack
Foxes are silent
Parrots talk back
Rabbits eat your garden
Termites eat your home
Turtles win the race
Buffalos roam
Hippos will **** you
Panguins can't fly
A hen is a girl
A rooster is a guy
So many creatures
Each so unique
If I was to write them all
This poem would last a week!
The United States on many levels is a messy affair. Often this plays towards its strengths - a heterogeneous glob of skin colors, backgrounds, opinions, personalities, and characters over the past 240 years has helped shape a cultural, political and economic haphazard semi-benevolent, oft-belligerent empire not seen on this planet before its creation.

We would be idiotic to think that these past two centuries, and nearly a half, have been without some outstanding contradictions. We could pornagraphicly chart how glorious words from the Declaration of Independence have been ******, again and again, including “all men are created equal” and how people have the right to “throw off such Government[s], and to provide new Guards for their future security” when such governments do not serve the will of the people.

We could start with how a great portion of the founding fathers were slave holders, then we could move onto less touchy subjects like most were rich and all were white (and had penises). Sure, we could write that stuff off - you know - the times, the course of history, blah, blah, blah. And all that is true. America has had its Frederick Douglass, its Martin Luther King, its Sacagawea, and Chief what's-his-name, along with all those famous Latinos and Asians they teach us about in grade school we remember so well.

But then, we turn towards those other two hundred odd years where the United States’ culture and politics hung black men and women from trees like strange fruit or burned them alive atop hateful lumber, committed genocide against Native Americans and buffalos with guns and blankets, while also overtly and covertly murdered and overthrew leaders and regimes in Latin America, Asia and the Middle East for resources, power, and influence. Then there was that whole thing where we herded Japanese people into pig pens before we massacred somewhere around 200,000 of them on some island in the pacific with big bombs we had immigrants create for us. To be fair, they started it.

We could write that stuff off - you know - the times, the course of history, blah, blah, blah. And that’s true.

Lean in a bit more and you’ll smell a bit more sweaty *******. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps kinda stuff.  Just like how the current President started off with nothing but a multimillion dollar loan from his daddy to kick off his economic empire. Just like how anyone can succeed in America as long as you work hard, which is why minorities in this country control a majority of multinational corporations, hold a majority in both the Senate and House of Representatives and why every white kid in America grows up aspiring to be either Black or Latino because their parents say “it's for the best.” Just like how America has the best health care, that’s why America has the lowest infant mortality rate and the healthiest people who never ****** each other with 2nd Amendment guns or commit suicide after killing their families or classmates.

Are you writing this down? I am.

Perhaps we could turn to ourselves (I’ll play the overly judgmental overlord who doesn’t give a **** about your feelings or my own personal hypocrisy) ready? How about the shallow puddle of desire we hold in our hands that we mindlessly scroll through and tap and caress and coddle and cling to like an obsessed sociopath? That thing that connects us but deletes us from the here and now? That thing that traps us into a circle of impersonations of ourselves?

Hold your head just this way, smile just like that, clench the jaw just so, a little less cleavage, a little more flex and tuck, bribe the kid for a smile  and - SELFIE! I am a happy, successful, wealthy, witty, charming, sassy, badass ******* genius party hound, bound for success and glory and please like this post or photo or confession or rant or meaningless comment about my mundane life. I need to stay connected.

Let’s drop the phone. I’m still the overlording hypocrite. How about we talk about the polished mirror we strap to our heads by leather, stick, and string and leave dangling before our every step and twinkling eye? We ***** and moan about the drive to work, the long flight, the uppity moronic ******* at the office. On the other side of the mirror a drone strike just killed a mother’s son. Did you vote, do you care? We bemoan the ****** pay and mindless work we’re given in a corporate service driven economy lorded over by overpaid ******. Move the mirror and look in the distance, a dictator just mass murdered his own people. We wallow in self-pity, no one sees our potential, our worth. At the stoplight downtown, hold the gaze of your fellow American asking for a buck - what’s he worth? What’s yours and why?

Okay, how about this? We stroke the ***** and ***** of our own deflated morality by inflating the stupidity of others. Mr. Jones lost his job and slept with a woman not his wife - oh, my. Mrs. Jones chopped off his ****, how unladylike - oh, my. This might be where we avoid the mirror we’ve strapped to our heads by stick and string. I’d never do that, never done anything like it. He deserves what he got and she’s off to the psych ward for sure. Yet, we guzzle down the *** of lurid stories steeped in “other” people's faults. We’re all in the **** video now, and everyone’s acting *****.

Let’s not pretend anymore. Humanity is America and America is messy and often ugly. But there, in the chaos, gleams an oxymoronic hope to do better. To be better. I am as small as my mistakes and shortcomings but as towering as my dreams and ideals. We cannot change or erase our past stupidity, but we can be so much more tomorrow. I want to be an empire of hope, a mountain of kindness, a river of acceptance, a field of peace. A good father to my daughters, a loving partner to my wife. A man that lives.

Let's not write that future off as blah, blah, blah.
am i ee Sep 2015
Manly cowboy,
wherefore dost thou art come?

Dashing in you come,
to village so small,
riding your steed,
quaffing back the mead.

Six gun shooter
at your slim hip,
gallantly giving to every young maid,
your hat, a slight dip.

Tall and manly,
maidens do swoon.
you most certainly not,
the typical cowboy goon.

Wild and western,
visions so free,
hailing from spaces,
so large and so rare.

Buffalos and bears,
never muss your hair.
Ever, so debonair.

Roaming foreign
countryside,
taking time to hear
a tale from a guide.

Your horse is awaitin',
so don't be a takin',
too much time,
writing silly ole rhyme.
Tales of a Manly Cowboy - more to come.

if you have a hankerin' to read from the beginning... see the Collections,  The Manly Cowboy & Chronicles of a Big Fat Yellow Bootay
Shelby Hemstock Jul 2013
The clock has rolled again,
Time for a new year to begin
Time for change to rearrange
Set a path a new filled with plans to do
The year is finally here, the year I can legally buy beer
Kiss my fake I.D goodbye,
No more will I lie to buy
I'm growing, I'm aging, my future I'm wagering, on myself
I can write, I can sing, play guitar and I can tell you of the stars
I can film, I can draw, I can tell jokes to y'all
When it rains I'm out, when you're in, I'm writing with the howling of the wind
When my pack of buffalos decides to roam
Then I'll leave this home
For when they ride I'll be by their side,
As we journey north we cried,
"If we would have stayed in that town we would have aged our hide and died!"
James Tee Dec 2014
On the italian alps
a blizzard in a gail
the lands are cold see
its all seems so numbed and frailed

I’m out a’ walking down
an icy river road
theres a bear hanging round
i think my breathing slowed

Im off to summer land
where the children run free
where the sun is open
in blue sailing country

I'm a walking down this road
off around a white bend,
a might just see a star
a tree on Jupiter
i might friend.
White teeth, gold,
banquets, handsome green hills,
buffalos, rainbow brass knuckles and the frills
let my mind play all night
in the moon on that street
in that leather world babe
under the pearl light well meet.

I’m out a’ walking down
an icy river road.
ri Jan 2016
I think eight is my lucky number
eight lies all within eight months
or maybe eight is my unlucky number
it feels like I've been surrounded by your negativity for eight straight years
being around you was like playing Russian roulette with a loaded gun
if I made one wrong move or said one wrong word it would trigger you to **** us both
I had to tip toe around the sleeping monster for years  
for years I had to fake so many smiles to please you
all your problems were also my problems if you got knocked down the next thing I knew I was right beside you
it seems like I was bleeding more than you it's like I was a bruise that never seemed to fade
one day I knew I was done with these games I knew I had to take control of the gun and wake the monster
it's like I unleashed a herd of buffalos because who knew I wanted to be my own person
you would have thought you were a magician pulling all your tricks on me to try and win me over
you played nice and showered me with empty apologies
then you turned cold and let the ice freeze over your heart
you threw hateful words in my direction trying to hit me with every sharp dagger
you played *****, tossing rocks at my window when all I wanted was a break
you would have thought that I would have broke under all the pressure you put on me over these years
even though it seems I'm free of your deadly habits I sometimes still feel a tight pull in my chest of all your lies your fed to me trying to take over me
never would I think that eight months  later I'm still afraid to turn corners because I think you might be there
I wrote this last month but I'm still emo about it
Stu Harley Apr 2015
clouds
are
wild buffalos
stampeding
across
grandfather
blue sky
wild
buffalo clouds
are not alone
The brownish Yukon April first
passing bisons and buffalos herd
slowing down to quench their thirst
and  moving on on April third .
walking clouds are mountain sheep
the sheep are fluffy as clouds of June
 you see the mountain stabbing so deep
the sky and sheep crowding the moon
The moon of Alaska is the biggest moon
Mark Wanless Oct 2021
i listen and lay
in the tall grass waiting to
start buffalos ****
i hope i do well
Cozyflowz Mar 2020
Taken Away By Cozyflowz

Momma momma it's sunny out there,
The predators shall be awoken, go out not,

No daughter I shall be fine, we need some foods, the basket is empty, thou shall go fetch something to feed

I shall return in Dew
Momma momma please I beg of you, thou shouldn't take this risks,
I shall endure thy little I eat, I want you closer than ever,  daughter worry not, my guard is embodied

Momma left for the forest, the woods were drained, leafs scattered around thy forest, thy evil birds squeak, the forest gasps for thy tornado,

Momma was a little scared,  the wind was lite, and the sun was hotter,
Momma picked as much foods as she can, on her way home,
She passed the forbidden empire for shortcut home,

In the empire lives a scary demons called the hyenas, strong teeth are a sign of their carnivorous diet, able to hunt buffalos,

Momma walked timidly,
fears of the evil empire scared her to ground,
Momma mistakenly stepped on a dead prey bones, that awoken the evil hyenas,

Laughing, laughing
Here you dare pass the shortcut, how brave you are,  momma tried to run as fast as she could, unfortunately for her,

She was stripped off by the hyenas, and was plundered mercilessly,
Daughter was worried and scared, she tried coming outside to run a search party, but the windstorm scares her back, night, morning, over morrow she never saw the face of her mother, she wept all day.
Talks about death of a mother.
Uma natarajan Aug 2019
Blanket of ripe blackberries is spread out
In the empty courtyard smelling about
The village girl sits squatted
On the floor matted
With chapped skin and cracked feet
With attires neat
Mingles with chapped soil
Near by water boils
Wild dogs just keep howling
Wolf far off move growling
Cows about to  return home
Buffalos on the muddy soil roam
A lad swims over the pond humming
Sweet pea flowers lay on sunlit roof smiling
Head hidden in his hood
He’s in there somewhere
Underneath the skin and blood
Awaiting learning and special care
Lies a brain full of thoughts
A mind crammed with dreams
But with more crosses than noughts
All bursting at the seams

Head hidden in his hood
He’s in there somewhere
Operating differently than he should
The ignoramus persons nightmare
A boy of few words
Whose actions speak a bit more
Like buffalos running in a herd
He brings destruction to the floor

Head hidden in his hood
He’s in there somewhere
The eyes work like a spy’s would
Impossible hearing behind the stare
Don’t be fooled by his quiet
He’s smarter than you and me
Capable of a mini riot
My boy little Master C

— The End —