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"bums" poems
Summer heat summer sweet With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt Birds n tha bees escape the trees Please don't plant your seeds But throw the leaves Up n up To get down and drop Where the dirt pops Ken keseys ashes Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small Tough love Tough life Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks Swisher wraps over the curves Got me feelin lucky like a charm Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine Till we hit the caribbean Then Jack's got me headin for tides end Early Flush the bile outta your system And spiral out of controls iron hand **** responsibility, Apathy rules all. Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey *** In n out, fast n slow Nicotine dominates My senses are lost at Molly That ***** finger ****** my life Made me *** every time This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far I mean What do you expect? A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions. Peace my brotha Dandy danny says theres a way out -side with the rap culture Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill The glass Is too cracked to be see-through West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders Forever green is my state Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your *** Equality's the goal **** race **** sexuality I see soul Open up Show me your beat I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us Quit Obeyin the brand
0
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
sofia-von
Summer Heat Summer Sweet
Summer heat summer sweet With a wealthy nature, rich pheromones erupt Birds n tha bees escape the trees Please don't plant your seeds But throw the leaves Up n up To get down and drop Where the dirt pops Ken keseys ashes Edible umbrellas turn rainy days on their head spinning pupils wide void of discontentment Fairies fly off clouds and stars fall at day Impossible, feelings are blown in and out of proportion to fit a screen thats too small Tough love Tough life Slick surface don't let me fall off the boat as it rocks Swisher wraps over the curves Got me feelin lucky like a charm Cheef all day got me smellin dank as a Rastafarian Only stoppin to sip my Captain Morgans moonshine Till we hit the caribbean Then Jack's got me headin for tides end Early Flush the bile outta your system And spiral out of controls iron hand **** responsibility, Apathy rules all. Paper crane ******* get all superficial but yellow bones make my brain go fuzzy in smokey *** In n out, fast n slow Nicotine dominates My senses are lost at Molly That ***** finger ****** my life Made me *** every time This unhealthy relation in action doesn't phase me yet, I'm too young to think that far I mean What do you expect? A Teens crowded perceptions can be judged like a bums intentions. Peace my brotha Dandy danny says theres a way out -side with the rap culture Shots of rebellion pour through the cracks we each fill The glass Is too cracked to be see-through West coast vibes kick back lax attitude I carry on my shoulders Forever green is my state Wash that **** off your lawn crack *** haters I'll spray paint your *** Equality's the goal **** race **** sexuality I see soul Open up Show me your beat I'll count bars as we spit elicited slurs drizzled to drops leaving the cops to stop us Quit Obeyin the brand
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52
I should not have blamed only my father, but, he was the first to introduce me to raw and stupid hatred. he was really best at it: anything and everything made him mad-things of the slightest consequence brought his hatred quickly to the surface and I seemed to be the main source of his irritation. I did not fear him but his rages made me ill at heart for he was most of my world then and it was a world of horror but I should not have blamed only my father for when I left that... home... I found his counterparts everywhere: my father was only a small part of the whole, though he was the best at hatred I was ever to meet. but others were very good at it too: some of the foremen, some of the street bums, some of the women I was to live with, most of the women, were gifted at hating-blaming my voice, my actions, my presence blaming me for what they, in retrospect, had failed at. I was simply the target of their discontent and in some real sense they blamed me for not being able to rouse them out of a failed past; what they didn't consider was that I had my troubles too-most of them caused by simply living with them. I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even stupidly happy almost without cause and left alone I am mostly content. but I've lived so often and so long with this hatred that my only freedom, my only peace is when I am away from them, when I am anywhere else, no matter where- some fat old waitress bringing me a cup of coffee is in comparison like a fresh wild wind blowing.
0
17.2k
Charles Bukowski
a wild, fresh wind blowing...
I should not have blamed only my father, but, he was the first to introduce me to raw and stupid hatred. he was really best at it: anything and everything made him mad-things of the slightest consequence brought his hatred quickly to the surface and I seemed to be the main source of his irritation. I did not fear him but his rages made me ill at heart for he was most of my world then and it was a world of horror but I should not have blamed only my father for when I left that... home... I found his counterparts everywhere: my father was only a small part of the whole, though he was the best at hatred I was ever to meet. but others were very good at it too: some of the foremen, some of the street bums, some of the women I was to live with, most of the women, were gifted at hating-blaming my voice, my actions, my presence blaming me for what they, in retrospect, had failed at. I was simply the target of their discontent and in some real sense they blamed me for not being able to rouse them out of a failed past; what they didn't consider was that I had my troubles too-most of them caused by simply living with them. I am a dolt of a man, easily made happy or even stupidly happy almost without cause and left alone I am mostly content. but I've lived so often and so long with this hatred that my only freedom, my only peace is when I am away from them, when I am anywhere else, no matter where- some fat old waitress bringing me a cup of coffee is in comparison like a fresh wild wind blowing.
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42
It's like a diamond stake pushed through the silence of my brain It's like a thunder of voices coming down like a hurricane It's like a forest of gunfire blowing past my bedroom door It's like the force of a god pushing down on my floor Whip smart, by all accounts, but lost beneath the sheets Forced out of a comfort zone and pushed out to the streets Spastic changing voices like a record out of line Just speak like you always do and don't **** with my mind I'm like a tidal wave that only gets halfway there No shore to erode with no Taiwan to even care I'm like a promise left on the kitchen table after dawn Someone will find it but it will be thrown out on the lawn Born without a spoon but there is silver in my teeth I'm made out of as much spirit as a plastic, clearance wreath Dust beneath the stars cancels out the dawning sun Shine on the bums, the prophets, everyone
0
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
jordan-rowan
Worn Out By A Hurricane:
It's like a diamond stake pushed through the silence of my brain It's like a thunder of voices coming down like a hurricane It's like a forest of gunfire blowing past my bedroom door It's like the force of a god pushing down on my floor Whip smart, by all accounts, but lost beneath the sheets Forced out of a comfort zone and pushed out to the streets Spastic changing voices like a record out of line Just speak like you always do and don't **** with my mind I'm like a tidal wave that only gets halfway there No shore to erode with no Taiwan to even care I'm like a promise left on the kitchen table after dawn Someone will find it but it will be thrown out on the lawn Born without a spoon but there is silver in my teeth I'm made out of as much spirit as a plastic, clearance wreath Dust beneath the stars cancels out the dawning sun Shine on the bums, the prophets, everyone
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16
between the concrete river & the park where the bums share a bottle wrapped in a brown paper sack, there is a cul-de-sac of plastic houses holding hands & sharing manicured lawns wooden cars that don't even make any smoke drive down gray asphalt streets. fathers that tell mothers they have jobs wear down street corners sharing beers with the bums, like they already are one. all these paper families rubbing shoulders until everyone has paper cuts. going home to dinner around a table full of paper love. suburbia is flimsy paper towns shining white smiling neighbors & shared lawns paper people slowly falling apart. couples with their tongues down each other's throats, midnight in supermarket parking lots dribbling beer in the backseat they bought off the bums.   they say, I love you, I love you, I love you. until she leaves for a paper husband & he leaves for a paper wife. now they live on two separate cul-de-sacs with the same cutout love, as the parents they despised. & when they have kids one day they will tell them *never kiss before driving, never befriend bums, or guzzle cheap beer in backseats, or on park swings. & never settle for a paper husband or a paper wife.* remembering the love that was flimsy, but never paper. 100,000 miles away from where they grew up & 3,000 miles away from each other 3 kids each & plastic houses rubbing shoulders & sharing lawns living in a paper thin suberbia chafing under their paper love.
0
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 3:09 AM UTC
emghost
paper thin
between the concrete river & the park where the bums share a bottle wrapped in a brown paper sack, there is a cul-de-sac of plastic houses holding hands & sharing manicured lawns wooden cars that don't even make any smoke drive down gray asphalt streets. fathers that tell mothers they have jobs wear down street corners sharing beers with the bums, like they already are one. all these paper families rubbing shoulders until everyone has paper cuts. going home to dinner around a table full of paper love. suburbia is flimsy paper towns shining white smiling neighbors & shared lawns paper people slowly falling apart. couples with their tongues down each other's throats, midnight in supermarket parking lots dribbling beer in the backseat they bought off the bums.   they say, I love you, I love you, I love you. until she leaves for a paper husband & he leaves for a paper wife. now they live on two separate cul-de-sacs with the same cutout love, as the parents they despised. & when they have kids one day they will tell them *never kiss before driving, never befriend bums, or guzzle cheap beer in backseats, or on park swings. & never settle for a paper husband or a paper wife.* remembering the love that was flimsy, but never paper. 100,000 miles away from where they grew up & 3,000 miles away from each other 3 kids each & plastic houses rubbing shoulders & sharing lawns living in a paper thin suberbia chafing under their paper love.
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45
It lies in my skin, It makes me who I am, It makes me beautiful, You saw and see me as lesser, You look down at me with displeasure, My big lips and *** were seen as ugly, Now seen as a trend broadly, My natural beauty has fallen in the category of fake, My melanin aches, My blackness sheds tears as my sense of beauty once hated, Now brought into the public eye, now everyone all bums and lips inflated, Something once that was seen as characteristics of my people, Now a trend. So sorry if I don’t follow a trend that is sickening, But I won’t stop my smile from glistening, Cause there are things you can’t take from us, Our freedom, our pride, our melanin.
0
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
Black_Roses
Not A Trend
It lies in my skin, It makes me who I am, It makes me beautiful, You saw and see me as lesser, You look down at me with displeasure, My big lips and *** were seen as ugly, Now seen as a trend broadly, My natural beauty has fallen in the category of fake, My melanin aches, My blackness sheds tears as my sense of beauty once hated, Now brought into the public eye, now everyone all bums and lips inflated, Something once that was seen as characteristics of my people, Now a trend. So sorry if I don’t follow a trend that is sickening, But I won’t stop my smile from glistening, Cause there are things you can’t take from us, Our freedom, our pride, our melanin.
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17
I am nature I am open and wild and free I am the wind rushing down canyons and the hollering in banyans I am a bird that sings I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am civilization. The trapped, fluorescent lighting in a library basement. The cake walks and small talks and forced conversation. I am the beeps and hums and dirt on bums. I’m the faraway cell phone that rings. I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things. I am exuberance A child giggling loud sounds of joy Puzzle completers and Christmas toys Smiles and laughs and leaves of grass The casino machine that dings I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am anger. Tears, scares, and not fighting fair. I am the red in your eyes as you cry. I am a ghoul that comes out in the night. I am the cut that won’t cease to sting. I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things. I am ideas Originality through and through Creations of my own evolve in my mind Great sinewy thoughts searching for actions to bind Mister Cleans and Daedalus wings I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am silence. Quiet. Tight. Composure. Open. Weary. Closure. I am the stillness of being. I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.* I am alive I set Rube Goldberg machines into action I contemplate, gravitate, and try not to hate I breathe and I heave and I believe I use my eyes to see I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am dead. I’m a sideshow reflection of the man I could be. I am lazy cold and clammy. Hopefully I can get my heart beating again. Then I could be me, molecules upon cells upon bones against things
0
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
poet-5068
I am
I am nature I am open and wild and free I am the wind rushing down canyons and the hollering in banyans I am a bird that sings I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am civilization. The trapped, fluorescent lighting in a library basement. The cake walks and small talks and forced conversation. I am the beeps and hums and dirt on bums. I’m the faraway cell phone that rings. I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things. I am exuberance A child giggling loud sounds of joy Puzzle completers and Christmas toys Smiles and laughs and leaves of grass The casino machine that dings I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am anger. Tears, scares, and not fighting fair. I am the red in your eyes as you cry. I am a ghoul that comes out in the night. I am the cut that won’t cease to sting. I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things. I am ideas Originality through and through Creations of my own evolve in my mind Great sinewy thoughts searching for actions to bind Mister Cleans and Daedalus wings I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am silence. Quiet. Tight. Composure. Open. Weary. Closure. I am the stillness of being. I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.* I am alive I set Rube Goldberg machines into action I contemplate, gravitate, and try not to hate I breathe and I heave and I believe I use my eyes to see I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things I am dead. I’m a sideshow reflection of the man I could be. I am lazy cold and clammy. Hopefully I can get my heart beating again. Then I could be me, molecules upon cells upon bones against things
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45
Making love in the sun, in the morning sun in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun making love by a carpet redder than our blood, making love while the boys sell headlines and Cadillacs, making love by a photograph of Paris and an open pack of Chesterfields, making love while other men- poor folks- work. That moment- to this. . . may be years in the way they measure, but it's only one sentence back in my mind- there are so many days when living stops and pulls up and sits and waits like a train on the rails. I pass the hotel at 8 and at 5; there are cats in the alleys and bottles and bums, and I look up at the window and think, I no longer know where you are, and I walk on and wonder where the living goes when it stops.
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7.1k
Charles Bukowski
Layover
Making love in the sun, in the morning sun in a hotel room above the alley where poor men poke for bottles; making love in the sun making love by a carpet redder than our blood, making love while the boys sell headlines and Cadillacs, making love by a photograph of Paris and an open pack of Chesterfields, making love while other men- poor folks- work. That moment- to this. . . may be years in the way they measure, but it's only one sentence back in my mind- there are so many days when living stops and pulls up and sits and waits like a train on the rails. I pass the hotel at 8 and at 5; there are cats in the alleys and bottles and bums, and I look up at the window and think, I no longer know where you are, and I walk on and wonder where the living goes when it stops.
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26
is it cute if i twirl my hair on my fingers and talk at you with a sass in my lip and tell you i think you're intimidating when you're the boss? tell me how it's cute how i puff my cigarettes and kick my feet in the rocks and maybe when you get tired of telling me you can show me how cute i am and how cute you can be with eyes closed and bums spanked
0
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 1:20 AM UTC
bakedgoods
cute
is it cute if i twirl my hair on my fingers and talk at you with a sass in my lip and tell you i think you're intimidating when you're the boss? tell me how it's cute how i puff my cigarettes and kick my feet in the rocks and maybe when you get tired of telling me you can show me how cute i am and how cute you can be with eyes closed and bums spanked
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11
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH.  ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER. BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME. ........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
0
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
warner-baxter
SPAMMER SMACKDOWN
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH.  ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER. BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME. ........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
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4
Many were their numbers Living in city streets and slums Brothers and sisters torn asunder Gathered up like bums Nineteenth century’s answer Created by Children’s Aid Society Indentured servants to farmers and ranchers Shipped in cattle cars like  propriety Struggling in their suffering Confused used and oft’ abused Terror in their wayfaring For being parentless accused The disruptive ones placed in chains Scattered to the winds across the land The far west and the Great Plains North to Canada and south of the Rio Grande Billy here, Danny Boy there, and Sally who knows where The Children of the Orphan Trains r  13 Nov 13
0
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
r-2
Orphan Trains
Many were their numbers Living in city streets and slums Brothers and sisters torn asunder Gathered up like bums Nineteenth century’s answer Created by Children’s Aid Society Indentured servants to farmers and ranchers Shipped in cattle cars like  propriety Struggling in their suffering Confused used and oft’ abused Terror in their wayfaring For being parentless accused The disruptive ones placed in chains Scattered to the winds across the land The far west and the Great Plains North to Canada and south of the Rio Grande Billy here, Danny Boy there, and Sally who knows where The Children of the Orphan Trains r  13 Nov 13
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19
I ******* rock it Then I lay it down I am not a quitter, sick spitter **** I just flow in rounds atmospherics an ******* stellar sounds Lyrics of astrophysics, like chemistry I just shape the ground just huddle But do not make a sound I crush a cypher, decipher words into crooked nouns Instant reaction to actions, My riddles break the crowd I've adapted to hard labor now Can't **** with the vision I'm here to **** it and change the sound Bicycle wheel spinning, I'm grinding I need to get around Flow soulful, for the soul like I'm the golden child Y'all so so, I go super sayin No super wild No delaying, I'm not evening playing You're played out Penetrator is coming through now Left-over flow ******* better eat their food now 2016 fiend, ***** this just a new style I hit the restart button, say **** the hard drive, bike peddling to work say **** the hard ride, living life is easy I say **** the hard times I'm choking the game, I'm looking to ******* hog tie Business this you can **** on my long tie... Young killer been spittin it for a long time Past due with my ******* come up Ain't nobody ******* with the vision I'm blowing up Cutting all these lames like division So I can it add up All of the positives, at heart I'm an optimist, don't **** with my oxygen You can't breath what I breathe, **** your accomplishments, I will squash all of them I just abolish bums Don't **** with my vision, I will **** for what is mine and do it with precision All these hoes just multiply I divided with the quickness All these fakes just want to try don't try cause your missing **** all of the rules ***** I am a misfit I am just a ghoul, no goblin, no riches The world is full of fools Who can't **** with my vision
0
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
stellarhero
Can't **** With The Vision
I ******* rock it Then I lay it down I am not a quitter, sick spitter **** I just flow in rounds atmospherics an ******* stellar sounds Lyrics of astrophysics, like chemistry I just shape the ground just huddle But do not make a sound I crush a cypher, decipher words into crooked nouns Instant reaction to actions, My riddles break the crowd I've adapted to hard labor now Can't **** with the vision I'm here to **** it and change the sound Bicycle wheel spinning, I'm grinding I need to get around Flow soulful, for the soul like I'm the golden child Y'all so so, I go super sayin No super wild No delaying, I'm not evening playing You're played out Penetrator is coming through now Left-over flow ******* better eat their food now 2016 fiend, ***** this just a new style I hit the restart button, say **** the hard drive, bike peddling to work say **** the hard ride, living life is easy I say **** the hard times I'm choking the game, I'm looking to ******* hog tie Business this you can **** on my long tie... Young killer been spittin it for a long time Past due with my ******* come up Ain't nobody ******* with the vision I'm blowing up Cutting all these lames like division So I can it add up All of the positives, at heart I'm an optimist, don't **** with my oxygen You can't breath what I breathe, **** your accomplishments, I will squash all of them I just abolish bums Don't **** with my vision, I will **** for what is mine and do it with precision All these hoes just multiply I divided with the quickness All these fakes just want to try don't try cause your missing **** all of the rules ***** I am a misfit I am just a ghoul, no goblin, no riches The world is full of fools Who can't **** with my vision
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52
Nobody got anywhere in this life throttling bums, and robbing hotdog vendors, but a Saquatch eating a knish on top of a flipped bus is a sight that sticks to the roof of your minds eye. Let's eat caramel apples down by the seawall, trade tall tales, and lizard scales, run for the hills, but settle down in the shadow of the valley. Prickly pear and agave nectar, nopal cactus fruit, blended together, you can hardly taste the tequila. I'll boost you onto the roof, and hand up my guitar, and you'll help me climb up, singing and chanting till the sun knocks us off the room, we'll go pool hopping, with ski masks on, and steal lawn ornaments, and eat churros, and drink egg cream. and kiss under the Brooklyn bridge. I just gotta go throttle this *** and rob this hotdog vendor. If there isn't a sasquatch I'll be home by the apocalypse. Then we can get naked, and set off the sprinkler system, and dance in the halls. Until the sun explodes, and 2+2= 37.
0
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
will-mercier
2+2=37
Nobody got anywhere in this life throttling bums, and robbing hotdog vendors, but a Saquatch eating a knish on top of a flipped bus is a sight that sticks to the roof of your minds eye. Let's eat caramel apples down by the seawall, trade tall tales, and lizard scales, run for the hills, but settle down in the shadow of the valley. Prickly pear and agave nectar, nopal cactus fruit, blended together, you can hardly taste the tequila. I'll boost you onto the roof, and hand up my guitar, and you'll help me climb up, singing and chanting till the sun knocks us off the room, we'll go pool hopping, with ski masks on, and steal lawn ornaments, and eat churros, and drink egg cream. and kiss under the Brooklyn bridge. I just gotta go throttle this *** and rob this hotdog vendor. If there isn't a sasquatch I'll be home by the apocalypse. Then we can get naked, and set off the sprinkler system, and dance in the halls. Until the sun explodes, and 2+2= 37.
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26
Hold it! whole *** whale fitting room bowing walls expanding spandex seams stretched out of shape lurid – disturbed images play across the screen biggest loser season MCMXVII American dream with heavy cream and spleenwiches cleaning the crumbs, bums long for an extra morsel gnawing on dorsal fins grinning, toothless, at least they have their figures that figures says the emaciated diet queen leave it to the homeless to be the only group worthy of the runway – starvation date only the grumbling cuts the uncomfortable silence empty bellies howl for nourishment instead are fed meds and red licorice which is immediately vomited for fear of caloric inconsistency – breathing adds blubber to thighs and midriffs marital spiff over the last cookie sugar substitutes substituting themselves for love and compassion lashing out at the one above fat girls with teary eyes cry for just five more pounds the dress fit in 1978 –
0
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
s-lyman-temple
tirade against obesity
Hold it! whole *** whale fitting room bowing walls expanding spandex seams stretched out of shape lurid – disturbed images play across the screen biggest loser season MCMXVII American dream with heavy cream and spleenwiches cleaning the crumbs, bums long for an extra morsel gnawing on dorsal fins grinning, toothless, at least they have their figures that figures says the emaciated diet queen leave it to the homeless to be the only group worthy of the runway – starvation date only the grumbling cuts the uncomfortable silence empty bellies howl for nourishment instead are fed meds and red licorice which is immediately vomited for fear of caloric inconsistency – breathing adds blubber to thighs and midriffs marital spiff over the last cookie sugar substitutes substituting themselves for love and compassion lashing out at the one above fat girls with teary eyes cry for just five more pounds the dress fit in 1978 –
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34
Dream Catchers, egg hatchers, baby Snatchers, **** wackers, lip smackers, online hackers, ***** slappers, hand clappers, exotic flappers, lazy slackers, suitcase packers, & back stabbers. Hate & defeated, cheat & feel the heat. Too weak & petite. Tales of hell, wishes on a well, thoughts are things you can't always sell. Sometimes words can be lies liars tell. One day to your death to you fell. Pass it on. I don't belong. Some people are wrong. Die. I won't cry. Pakrat hoarders, pro choice aborters, two faced home wreckers, voodoo curses, retired lazy old nurses. Deaf & Blind, racist & unkind, poor & unemployed. Broke & exploited. Dumb, old, ugly, & fat. ***** stinking rat. Piles & piles of crap. College professors, real estate investors, coaches, cockaroaches, poachers, perverts & ****** meat eatting caravores. Bums & addicts drunks & fanatics, obsessive compulsive, stalkers too possessive, insane aggressive. Author Notes : Partially true, could be your family. © Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
0
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
harmony-sapphire
Family Values
Dream Catchers, egg hatchers, baby Snatchers, **** wackers, lip smackers, online hackers, ***** slappers, hand clappers, exotic flappers, lazy slackers, suitcase packers, & back stabbers. Hate & defeated, cheat & feel the heat. Too weak & petite. Tales of hell, wishes on a well, thoughts are things you can't always sell. Sometimes words can be lies liars tell. One day to your death to you fell. Pass it on. I don't belong. Some people are wrong. Die. I won't cry. Pakrat hoarders, pro choice aborters, two faced home wreckers, voodoo curses, retired lazy old nurses. Deaf & Blind, racist & unkind, poor & unemployed. Broke & exploited. Dumb, old, ugly, & fat. ***** stinking rat. Piles & piles of crap. College professors, real estate investors, coaches, cockaroaches, poachers, perverts & ****** meat eatting caravores. Bums & addicts drunks & fanatics, obsessive compulsive, stalkers too possessive, insane aggressive. Author Notes : Partially true, could be your family. © Harmony Sapphire . All rights reserved,
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9
Lust is a sin everyone will enjoy, from the bums in the courtyard, mingling and thrusting ***** privates, to the chaste; to you and me, and celibate, The celibate lust for self-recognition, for their gods, for a higher purpose, To strive is to lust and to lust, it is only human to lust for comfort, for control, for order. Goals of every sect are prized, Sought after are the lusts that guide us, that energize the batteries in our backs, tells us to do crazy things, some promote devastation.
0
Nov 14, 2013
Nov 14, 2013 at 3:38 PM UTC
wack-tastic
LUST
Lust is a sin everyone will enjoy, from the bums in the courtyard, mingling and thrusting ***** privates, to the chaste; to you and me, and celibate, The celibate lust for self-recognition, for their gods, for a higher purpose, To strive is to lust and to lust, it is only human to lust for comfort, for control, for order. Goals of every sect are prized, Sought after are the lusts that guide us, that energize the batteries in our backs, tells us to do crazy things, some promote devastation.
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17
A satisfied appetite is a simply joy Overlooked and simplified Like a growing urge, a salivating need That is entrancing and glorified. Everlasting for moments we call meals Forgotten in time, lingering above But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center Halved and topped with mascarpone crème The man with a skin of caramel glaze Caressing and savoring With a fragrance and scent Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin In the pursuit of a brief love affair What oral sensation did my taste buds want? My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff Generous portions and humble pies Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce A robust aroma and savory appeal Basil leaves with garlic strips Olive oil to top the surreal Hubristic meatball aborigine Elysian cuisine or many dreams Teasing the senses, warming the pit Of flowing pleasures And tingling fingertips Without moral measures And succulent wines Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone Seasoned with Sicilian herbs And paired with broiled asparagus Drizzled with lemon juice And a glass of Merlot Spices I hardly know Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows With love there is pain, passion endured through the names Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure. Forever my endeavor Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin red-painted doors with cedar trim crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread devilish rounds of crumbling rum-swirl bread Smells and wonders, tastes so ... oh god Divine and sublime.
0
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
trevor-gates
Lachrymose Taste
A satisfied appetite is a simply joy Overlooked and simplified Like a growing urge, a salivating need That is entrancing and glorified. Everlasting for moments we call meals Forgotten in time, lingering above But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center Halved and topped with mascarpone crème The man with a skin of caramel glaze Caressing and savoring With a fragrance and scent Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin In the pursuit of a brief love affair What oral sensation did my taste buds want? My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff Generous portions and humble pies Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce A robust aroma and savory appeal Basil leaves with garlic strips Olive oil to top the surreal Hubristic meatball aborigine Elysian cuisine or many dreams Teasing the senses, warming the pit Of flowing pleasures And tingling fingertips Without moral measures And succulent wines Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone Seasoned with Sicilian herbs And paired with broiled asparagus Drizzled with lemon juice And a glass of Merlot Spices I hardly know Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows With love there is pain, passion endured through the names Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure. Forever my endeavor Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin red-painted doors with cedar trim crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread devilish rounds of crumbling rum-swirl bread Smells and wonders, tastes so ... oh god Divine and sublime.
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56
The Creator looked at the elephant and said: I made you big so you could be gentle To the mouse he said: I made you small so you could walk tall But over millions of years you two could exchange places and one become the other. I know I shoved the lot of you in an Ark Because Noah was being a pesk asking for rain when his washing machine ran dry So I had to fill the oceans to stop that old man from complaining all the time. Besides I needed the bark from the trees of the Ark to make me a small tug boat to carry some DNA samples of my own, in case, the lion ate the cow, the tiger chewed on the cat and the fox tricked the rest with his cunning ways You see, my friends, there was no grass, or snakes or bird cages, or trees for the monkeys to swing on. I thought of many things before I gave the building plans to Noah and his sons. Only one was a builder the rest were bums, who never held a hammer or learned how to tie two bits of trees together, leave alone building an ark to hold the worlds whole creation.Thankfully there were no real estate agents pushing the price up or bankers charging interest. The mafia thought of charging an entrance fee for each pair, but before they could do that the rains came pelting down and the tickets got washed away in the storm. So you see the Ark was a joint venture between The Americans and Chinese and Indians because they were willing to multiply quicker than the rest once Mt Sinai rose up to meet the oak leviathan from underneath. And so my dear elephants and mouse and fox and snake and bird and lion and tiger. Noah and his wonderful Ark was a script written well ahead so that Russell Crowe could get a part playing Noah in a computer generated extravaganza where only the actors and actresses who could afford to pay a price to be in it - were involved. The rest of mankind be ****** Author Notes Quirky. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
0
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
marshall-gass
Quirky
The Creator looked at the elephant and said: I made you big so you could be gentle To the mouse he said: I made you small so you could walk tall But over millions of years you two could exchange places and one become the other. I know I shoved the lot of you in an Ark Because Noah was being a pesk asking for rain when his washing machine ran dry So I had to fill the oceans to stop that old man from complaining all the time. Besides I needed the bark from the trees of the Ark to make me a small tug boat to carry some DNA samples of my own, in case, the lion ate the cow, the tiger chewed on the cat and the fox tricked the rest with his cunning ways You see, my friends, there was no grass, or snakes or bird cages, or trees for the monkeys to swing on. I thought of many things before I gave the building plans to Noah and his sons. Only one was a builder the rest were bums, who never held a hammer or learned how to tie two bits of trees together, leave alone building an ark to hold the worlds whole creation.Thankfully there were no real estate agents pushing the price up or bankers charging interest. The mafia thought of charging an entrance fee for each pair, but before they could do that the rains came pelting down and the tickets got washed away in the storm. So you see the Ark was a joint venture between The Americans and Chinese and Indians because they were willing to multiply quicker than the rest once Mt Sinai rose up to meet the oak leviathan from underneath. And so my dear elephants and mouse and fox and snake and bird and lion and tiger. Noah and his wonderful Ark was a script written well ahead so that Russell Crowe could get a part playing Noah in a computer generated extravaganza where only the actors and actresses who could afford to pay a price to be in it - were involved. The rest of mankind be ****** Author Notes Quirky. © Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
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41
Drawing things I cannot see, Listening, Keenly, Too the strange things, Coming from, the albino dressed pavement smoothed, Bedroom walls, Braille textures, slipping like termites, or a strange smell, dancing from the dusty old lady haired vent, on the ceiling, Braille raindrops, escaping from your, soul window sill, fog, gets in the room, and we light cigarettes, purple scented totem poled candles, with out near future, melting, and dripping on the wooden counter-top, which we dip our fingers into, sticky like petroleum, sticky like the sap from a forest broken snapped, tree limb, which we tasted, which we ran danced hollered and orgasmed, like the melting candle, like the sapped, broken kansas public tree limb, and i, took off your, orange dress that you stole, though only a few dollars, i called bonnie, you called me paradise, though we danced gleefully, in the slums snout snarling broken home windows, pot-holes,untied shoes,untied fathers,lovers planning paradise, inside the blue 80's oldsmobile, with the stereo turned low, low like the quiet hummingbird song, of making love, in the cold night, under trees, that was old, and had probably seen many lovers, come and go, as its Fall leaves grew wings, as its, winters balding scalp, scattered away, like a field of dandelions, or the birds, that flew from nests, only to fly south, or like wise boxcar boxcar dharma bums, sat on telephone wires, at the intersection, where two lovers planned paradise, in the back-seat, of a blue Oldsmobile, and the night, holy night, and i, **** mind wonderer without wings, or sad singer leather boots harmonica whiskey drinker, and Her, white as stars, dancing in a blind choreographed orchestra, in the sky, far, far, far, even the highway, has no exits, to see this performance, So i sit on a rock, smoking a cigarette, with a Fools smile, as I, watch beauty, from the Key-hole, that is, Solitude.
0
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
savio
On the typewriter
Drawing things I cannot see, Listening, Keenly, Too the strange things, Coming from, the albino dressed pavement smoothed, Bedroom walls, Braille textures, slipping like termites, or a strange smell, dancing from the dusty old lady haired vent, on the ceiling, Braille raindrops, escaping from your, soul window sill, fog, gets in the room, and we light cigarettes, purple scented totem poled candles, with out near future, melting, and dripping on the wooden counter-top, which we dip our fingers into, sticky like petroleum, sticky like the sap from a forest broken snapped, tree limb, which we tasted, which we ran danced hollered and orgasmed, like the melting candle, like the sapped, broken kansas public tree limb, and i, took off your, orange dress that you stole, though only a few dollars, i called bonnie, you called me paradise, though we danced gleefully, in the slums snout snarling broken home windows, pot-holes,untied shoes,untied fathers,lovers planning paradise, inside the blue 80's oldsmobile, with the stereo turned low, low like the quiet hummingbird song, of making love, in the cold night, under trees, that was old, and had probably seen many lovers, come and go, as its Fall leaves grew wings, as its, winters balding scalp, scattered away, like a field of dandelions, or the birds, that flew from nests, only to fly south, or like wise boxcar boxcar dharma bums, sat on telephone wires, at the intersection, where two lovers planned paradise, in the back-seat, of a blue Oldsmobile, and the night, holy night, and i, **** mind wonderer without wings, or sad singer leather boots harmonica whiskey drinker, and Her, white as stars, dancing in a blind choreographed orchestra, in the sky, far, far, far, even the highway, has no exits, to see this performance, So i sit on a rock, smoking a cigarette, with a Fools smile, as I, watch beauty, from the Key-hole, that is, Solitude.
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86
Arrrh, here we be again at "Talk like a Pirate day" we'll spew our gaffs and have some laughs slappin wenches bums, while we're at play We'll have some grog mockin the captain's log reading lines of sea bound times and cabin boys, he's flogged When the eve be ov'r and drunken we'll awake it's out to sea, we'll all be nursing our headache Our love for wenches stowed miseries bandon'd in the hold mainsail's set, we'll not ferget we be pirates, young and old
0
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 8:55 AM UTC
TemporalFugue
Arrrgggh Pirates, revisited
Arrrh, here we be again at "Talk like a Pirate day" we'll spew our gaffs and have some laughs slappin wenches bums, while we're at play We'll have some grog mockin the captain's log reading lines of sea bound times and cabin boys, he's flogged When the eve be ov'r and drunken we'll awake it's out to sea, we'll all be nursing our headache Our love for wenches stowed miseries bandon'd in the hold mainsail's set, we'll not ferget we be pirates, young and old
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16
Burning bodies in salted seas. Pinching ***** along the dead beds. Wet winds carrying the sharp flavour, Of overcooked hot dogs and slutty beach bums.
0
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:52 AM UTC
aparna
Summer
Burning bodies in salted seas. Pinching ***** along the dead beds. Wet winds carrying the sharp flavour, Of overcooked hot dogs and slutty beach bums.
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4
.*in the end days?! you charge against the snowflakes... and make a ******* snowman! he... he! i still can't comprehend how these personalities made money from lifestyle choice... they were basically internet bums, internet "lazy people"... bums... become supporters... engrossed in the internet homeless people... bums... i ate a custard pie, and devised a poncy-scheme to become paid for an opinion without a dialectic.... homeless people, bums... seem like philosophers by comparison... and now the bewildering quest... of how / why the internet died.* **** it, the gloves are off... about time to punch this ***** silly-dead... **** it... all the internet content creators, that are women: are giving off nervous voices... shoe on head... whoever...   here's where said people... start looking for, ahem.... "real" jobs... jobs plagued by the study of psychology.... oh they're scared... because whatever the internet was... from 2007 through to 2016... in the time of the zenith... hello new t.v., hello internet banking... hello internet online shopping... what?! you want edgy?!          come down to the forest, or the shady back alleyway with the new teens...    come come...       you wanted edgy... such a shame though... to think of your comments becoming as redundant as the plight of sending off your C.V. application... sorry....    what? you have finally arrived at what you wanted... why are you looking at me for with that dumb-"found" look?!              do i look stupid? or are you pretending to not be?!          ******* internet bums... you know it was coming... it was coming...            i never asked for money... i'll never ask for money... but you did...   you begged... you dog begged...            you...              begged...       you're still going to beg, when the internet is reduced to nothing more than a 2nd t.v., internet banking, and internet shopping... and... that's about it; you're joking, you think there's more?! ha ha... good luck. p.s. because, believe it or not, look at what you gave me? i didn't ask for money, i didn't ask for time... but what you gave me is best expressed cryptically, as both time, and money.
0
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
internet bums
.*in the end days?! you charge against the snowflakes... and make a ******* snowman! he... he! i still can't comprehend how these personalities made money from lifestyle choice... they were basically internet bums, internet "lazy people"... bums... become supporters... engrossed in the internet homeless people... bums... i ate a custard pie, and devised a poncy-scheme to become paid for an opinion without a dialectic.... homeless people, bums... seem like philosophers by comparison... and now the bewildering quest... of how / why the internet died.* **** it, the gloves are off... about time to punch this ***** silly-dead... **** it... all the internet content creators, that are women: are giving off nervous voices... shoe on head... whoever...   here's where said people... start looking for, ahem.... "real" jobs... jobs plagued by the study of psychology.... oh they're scared... because whatever the internet was... from 2007 through to 2016... in the time of the zenith... hello new t.v., hello internet banking... hello internet online shopping... what?! you want edgy?!          come down to the forest, or the shady back alleyway with the new teens...    come come...       you wanted edgy... such a shame though... to think of your comments becoming as redundant as the plight of sending off your C.V. application... sorry....    what? you have finally arrived at what you wanted... why are you looking at me for with that dumb-"found" look?!              do i look stupid? or are you pretending to not be?!          ******* internet bums... you know it was coming... it was coming...            i never asked for money... i'll never ask for money... but you did...   you begged... you dog begged...            you...              begged...       you're still going to beg, when the internet is reduced to nothing more than a 2nd t.v., internet banking, and internet shopping... and... that's about it; you're joking, you think there's more?! ha ha... good luck. p.s. because, believe it or not, look at what you gave me? i didn't ask for money, i didn't ask for time... but what you gave me is best expressed cryptically, as both time, and money.
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70
I don’t want to perpetuate the produce – consume loop but when I don’t, I feel like such a lazy moocher Could I play guitar near after dark bars for $23 an hour? Victor and I did that once, for $11.50 each Untaxed, that’s better than my dour real job So, if I really made my place at a street corner, I’d be a smart earner But then I’d be a fixture, like the accordion man and the bums with PVC buckets The bar goers would soon hate me for chumping them out of their cash with three gritty “Heart of Gold” covers Then soon the mediocre bums would jump me and Riot, my guitar She’ll smash into the walk under a Irish flag in front of Murphy’s Law, while drinkers whoop and punch the air The bucket goes over my head and the accordion bellows squeeze round my neck
0
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
kageysage
Bar Busking
I don’t want to perpetuate the produce – consume loop but when I don’t, I feel like such a lazy moocher Could I play guitar near after dark bars for $23 an hour? Victor and I did that once, for $11.50 each Untaxed, that’s better than my dour real job So, if I really made my place at a street corner, I’d be a smart earner But then I’d be a fixture, like the accordion man and the bums with PVC buckets The bar goers would soon hate me for chumping them out of their cash with three gritty “Heart of Gold” covers Then soon the mediocre bums would jump me and Riot, my guitar She’ll smash into the walk under a Irish flag in front of Murphy’s Law, while drinkers whoop and punch the air The bucket goes over my head and the accordion bellows squeeze round my neck
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14
As Captain Jack kisses of the last roach Lavender's in the boathouse window shouting that she's grown wings that she's gonna fly over Old Casey's boat above the painted lake past where the music surrounds permeates with the pulse of noise Green Hat pulls me over says my name is Corey or Kelsey Kelly's a **** name I tell him back home people call me Blow Enter Tennessee the cinnamon sipping reds smoking sonofagun Are you Kevin? I ask the fingers that familiar flight of touch leading me down and down and down towards our game "Never have I ever" howls the young Indian chief, scarf draped in madness the fearless warrior Peepeeohpee Someone has trapped the moon behind the window the house on the hill someone has fed the fire with its secret light This stranger this enigma this Laura I am her cousin and everyone I touch is Kevin Then with the sun Tittas steps off the boat as Jesus sacred palms slashed from last night's ritual Bums a cig from Drew or Not Drew with the thousands out west and the lotus flower arms Floats on her back French exhales As I look at our feet stained red with ink all slow spirals soft wind ***** flowers then to the shore the fireflies still dancing through the dawn Flying high Secretly praying to each outshine the fade
0
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:42 AM UTC
krissy-schiller
Blow
As Captain Jack kisses of the last roach Lavender's in the boathouse window shouting that she's grown wings that she's gonna fly over Old Casey's boat above the painted lake past where the music surrounds permeates with the pulse of noise Green Hat pulls me over says my name is Corey or Kelsey Kelly's a **** name I tell him back home people call me Blow Enter Tennessee the cinnamon sipping reds smoking sonofagun Are you Kevin? I ask the fingers that familiar flight of touch leading me down and down and down towards our game "Never have I ever" howls the young Indian chief, scarf draped in madness the fearless warrior Peepeeohpee Someone has trapped the moon behind the window the house on the hill someone has fed the fire with its secret light This stranger this enigma this Laura I am her cousin and everyone I touch is Kevin Then with the sun Tittas steps off the boat as Jesus sacred palms slashed from last night's ritual Bums a cig from Drew or Not Drew with the thousands out west and the lotus flower arms Floats on her back French exhales As I look at our feet stained red with ink all slow spirals soft wind ***** flowers then to the shore the fireflies still dancing through the dawn Flying high Secretly praying to each outshine the fade
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26
Some say anger is a wasted emotion, Id argue that anger is why we are free from Hawaii to the Atlantic Ocean Some say anger only breed’s violence and hate, I disagree; anger is the reason for every revolution to date Some peoples anger burns hot and takes control, Mine kept chilled, a reptilian soul A warm blooded mammal with a cold reptilian soul, Trying to make sure anger is used correctly from the far east to the close to home west. Einstein dared to solve Mc squared. So I will teach y’all to be angry, sharpened teeth bared Then you will be taught, How to teach. For anger with out purpose is for naught I fight for change, Till I stand limp on the big bad mans firing range Some say anger is for those with nothing left I say anger is the beating behind this planets chest Some say anger is for outcasts and bums. Yes anger is for outcasts. The too short the too tall, the too smart the too dumb The too fat the too skinny, the too poor the too rich Anger is for outcasts and bums. Some say anger is a wasted emotion, yet for me, anger drives me when I write these poems
0
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
selena-irulan
What is your meaning of anger?
Some say anger is a wasted emotion, Id argue that anger is why we are free from Hawaii to the Atlantic Ocean Some say anger only breed’s violence and hate, I disagree; anger is the reason for every revolution to date Some peoples anger burns hot and takes control, Mine kept chilled, a reptilian soul A warm blooded mammal with a cold reptilian soul, Trying to make sure anger is used correctly from the far east to the close to home west. Einstein dared to solve Mc squared. So I will teach y’all to be angry, sharpened teeth bared Then you will be taught, How to teach. For anger with out purpose is for naught I fight for change, Till I stand limp on the big bad mans firing range Some say anger is for those with nothing left I say anger is the beating behind this planets chest Some say anger is for outcasts and bums. Yes anger is for outcasts. The too short the too tall, the too smart the too dumb The too fat the too skinny, the too poor the too rich Anger is for outcasts and bums. Some say anger is a wasted emotion, yet for me, anger drives me when I write these poems
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20
There's been a disruption in your body's p a  tt  ern, b-r-a-n-c-h-i-n-g river ways                                                                            form a road map,              a maternal              mosaic, z i g g z a g g i n g                                   a   c   r   o   s   s peaks . . . and valleys, ******* >            bums ~                    hips ~                          and (~) tummies. Vividly hued in pinks or reds or silver threads. One-of-a-kind, universal at the same time. Glitter                                      stria,                  shiny, sparkly, oh-so                                     pretty.   Worn with pride!                                                                       Or do they hide? They test you,                       like any child, REFUSING to alter their behavior, REGARDLESS of how nicely you ask.                           Baby's left her mark on you! Love those lines as artistic souvenirs, acquired on the long journey                                                                        to becoming a mother.                                     Like                                     Love                                     Letters                                     they always have a story.   What does your story tell?
0
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 8:34 PM UTC
Carlo-C-Gomez
Mark of Motherhood
There's been a disruption in your body's p a  tt  ern, b-r-a-n-c-h-i-n-g river ways                                                                            form a road map,              a maternal              mosaic, z i g g z a g g i n g                                   a   c   r   o   s   s peaks . . . and valleys, ******* >            bums ~                    hips ~                          and (~) tummies. Vividly hued in pinks or reds or silver threads. One-of-a-kind, universal at the same time. Glitter                                      stria,                  shiny, sparkly, oh-so                                     pretty.   Worn with pride!                                                                       Or do they hide? They test you,                       like any child, REFUSING to alter their behavior, REGARDLESS of how nicely you ask.                           Baby's left her mark on you! Love those lines as artistic souvenirs, acquired on the long journey                                                                        to becoming a mother.                                     Like                                     Love                                     Letters                                     they always have a story.   What does your story tell?
Continue reading...
51