"burglars" poems
We, the people of this country, in your eyes are:
babblers, bachelors, bafflers, baiters, barkers,
beakers, beaters, brawlers, blamers, beggars,
bloaters, bloopers, bombers, boozers, blunders,
bruisers, bafflers, bluffers, burglars and burners.
That's why you feel compelled to keep your foot on our heads
keep us down, put us down, push us down
subjugate us, belittle us, berate us.
We, the people of this country, in our eyes are:
butlers, bouncers, bakers, buyers, barbers,
cake-makers, delivery-takers, cocktail-shakers,
taxi drivers, cancer survivors, employers and hirers,
music makers, entertainers, window washers, foster takers,
plasterers, carpenters, scaffolders, sparks and builders,
boxers, carers, coaches, tailors, shoe makers,
designers, illustrators, multi-language facilitators,
dog walkers, dog trainers, bikers and cycle couriers,
doctors and nurses and all the emergency services.
We are the People, the reason you are where you are now
you sometimes forget that we exist as people, somehow
locked in your ivory towers with gold plated showers
and MP expenses and investment banker pretenses
this is not theater, its real life drama, its not just a bluff
its time to stand up
and say enough is enough.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:54 AM UTC
No one is perfect
Or expected to be
Unless you happen to share a gene or two with this sort
And as if their generation was completely right
(the pattern of perceived perfection is a long lineage)
They pass their judgment
One generation to the next
The gossip makes its way across state lines
The tale of manipulation and corruption
Bred within our borders
Finds its place with mythical tales
Of mobsters and cat burglars
On cops
You work your magic
Sweet-talking people out of money
Not even Satan’s speech was so smooth
Talent for memorizing numbers
Credit card
Pin
But not your grandmother’s
Stuns all
If she knew of your antics
Pallbearers would have a heavy load
But fear not
Keeping secrets from the old and feeble
Is our talent
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
Cascades were dripping outside of this moving vehicle
White noise, patternless and arrhythmic
like magnified sounds of nails on a concrete wall,
made by souls desperate to cleave their way to dryness
This public utility vehicle holds spirits successful in finding this temporary heaven
Weathered, soaked and almost drowned
like panting dogs that managed to swim ashore from a shipwreck
caused by the iceberg that is the eye of the storm
This safe haven holds champions in a world of misshapen men
A woman clutches tightly on a bag of lime and her ever waning youth
Tired, but not eager to face Death
still closing her windows to his cat burglars
that come faster than the downpour of Typhon's tears
A homeless child comfortably sleeps on the far end of this ride
His innocence tested by fate
Too experienced for someone his age
instead of just playing in the streets he calls home
The jeepney driver has eyes on the road painted by Van Gogh
Unabashed, industrious and assiduous
determined to serve,
provide for a family whose stomachs hunger not but they hunger for his return
This other dimension nurtures alien thoughts and parallel thinking among beat down men
I do not know them but I can hear the cries of their emotions,
their longing to be felt and empathized with
Their voiceless cries are guns with a silenced nozzle
shooting at anyone ignorant who curiously stare at this minefield of a passenger jeep
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
Sometimes I wish I didn't feel
I wish my heart was made of stone
That I was immune to all this ****
Of being on my own
My world is full of cockwombles
Fuckwits & ***** trumpets
**** burglars & **** puddles
**** stains & **** nuggets!
And those are just the few
That I've had the joy of meeting
I'd like to dare the rest to meet
Somewhere - however fleeting
Stand up and be counted
You liars, cheats and cads
You wazzocks & jebends
I'll grab you by the ******
Because I've simply had enough
Of being treated like a tool
Of believing all the **** you spout
Like some poor pathetic fool
I cannot shake the feeling
That the stupidity I feel
Is down to the betrayal
Of all the lies that you conceal
So I'm giving up compassion
To empathy goodbye
And to trusting blindly what I'm told
Farewell & fuckety bye!
(C) Pixievic 2016
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:42 PM UTC
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer were a very notorious couple
of cats.
As knockabout clown, quick-change comedians, tight-rope
walkers and acrobats
They had extensive reputation. They made their home in
Victoria Grove—
That was merely their centre of operation, for they were
incurably given to rove.
They were very well know in Cornwall Gardens, in Launceston
Place and in Kensington Square—
They had really a little more reputation than a couple of
cats can very well bear.
If the area window was found ajar
And the basement looked like a field of war,
If a tile or two came loose on the roof,
Which presently ceased to be waterproof,
If the drawers were pulled out from the bedroom chests,
And you couldn’t find one of your winter vests,
Or after supper one of the girls
Suddenly missed her Woolworth pearls:
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a very unusual gift of the
gab.
They were highly efficient cat-burglars as well, and
remarkably smart at smash-and-grab.
They made their home in Victoria Grove. They had no regular
occupation.
They were plausible fellows, and liked to engage a friendly
policeman in conversation.
When the family assembled for Sunday dinner,
With their minds made up that they wouldn’t get thinner
On Argentine joint, potatoes and greens,
And the cook would appear from behind the scenes
And say in a voice that was broken with sorrow:
“I’m afraid you must wait and have dinner tomorrow!
For the joint has gone from the oven-like that!”
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a wonderful way of working
together.
And some of the time you would say it was luck, and some of
the time you would say it was weather.
They would go through the house like a hurricane, and no sober
person could take his oath
Was it Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer? or could you have sworn
that it mightn’t be both?
And when you heard a dining-room smash
Or up from the pantry there came a loud crash
Or down from the library came a loud ping
From a vase which was commonly said to be Ming—
Then the family would say: “Now which was which cat?
It was Mungojerrie! AND Rumpelteazer!”— And there’s nothing
at all to be done about that!
2.8k
"My cousin's out fighting dragons, and what do I get? Guard duty."
i get it, there's nothing to me
but you don't need to grind it in either
i see nothing in me already
"You hear that? I swear, there's something out there. In the dark."
and I look good in person
but i think nothing of my shimmer
i don't expect people to like me
it's all opposite
"Only burglars and vampires creep around after dark.
So which are you?"
I've expected people to beat me
It's what i've known
and have to watch for
"Gotta keep my eyes open.
**** dragons could swoop down at any time."
so no, i'm not what you seem to think
i am
or yes, I don't know
you'll listen to your own opinions about me
over anything I have to say:
"Watch the skies, traveler.”
Oct 23, 2022
Oct 23, 2022 at 2:31 AM UTC
Two inches was the measure, of young Stevies blunder,
Digging out concrete, not knowing whats under.
He felt a nugget, that wouldn't yield to the Pick,
So he used the Jack-Hammer, until he got that "kick".
Caught fire on the spot, looked at me, shocked,
Died in flames, got a days pay docked.
Cut the main cable, Fifty millimetres, metric,
I know you hate to ask, but Friends aren't Electric.
Dennis stepped back, pleased with his graft,
Fell two hundred foot, down an unguarded shaft.
Been on the Grinder, cutting out steels,
So the Elevator boys could fix , their cogs and their wheels.
Never said a word, no shout or no fuss,
Dennis died like he lived, just one of us.
Me and Baz on a roof, we knew was asbestos,
Brittle like toffee, temperamental as Kate Moss,
Had no crawling boards, so we tip-toed like burglars,
Clinging on tightly, think Ivy on Pergola's.
I heard the crack, leapt to the hip-tile,
Baz clawed and scraped, resistance was futile.
They spread out the sand, where Baz hit the deck,
To mop up the blood, from a broken neck.
Health and safety, if's and but's,
Shoddy workmanship, taking short-cuts.
We have no say, we try our best,
Hard hats, harder boots and high-visibility vests,
Are all that we leave, not Time-Shares or Merc's,
Just daughters in tears, Dads not home from work.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
Hey remember that night when we chased the burglars in the front and back yard
and you almost kissed me?
God, I wanted you to.
I submitted a Post Secret of two young French lovers kissing in the rain
and I wrote “This will never be me” over the woman.
******* Parisians.
Once upon a time,
I bought flowers for myself just because I wanted to.
It was the most empowering thing I could have done.
But for the two weeks they sat on my window sill,
I was constantly reminded no one bought them for me.
Long ago, in a land far, far away,
I used to believe in miracles.
This one time, We sat at the Spanish Arch,
the one the Conquistadors built,
comprised of ancient old stone that caught the tears of the heartbroken,
heard the tales of the old salty men coming home from the bar,
and saw the transformation of an old Irish city into a new, artsy town.
We looked up, saw a shooting star, and wished on it I would be with him forever.
I was 19 once, and he sat on the beach with his flicky blonde hair
and a Corona and his oversized tee shirt hanging off his body
and we sat on that beach for hours, in the eye of the storm, soaking it all in.
It was the first time I realized I could love.
We were 22 and he was in love with somebody else and I loved his soul,
but I wasn’t in love with him and we found out we’re in the same boat.
We will always love each other but we can never be together
because we cannot give each other what we need.
He’s the only man who has never let me down.
As a child, I thought I could fly.
Not physically fly, but Peter and Wendy inspired me,
and I knew I could fly as a dreamer, and soar through the skies
like the hawk or the raven or the finch or the ******* pterodactyl if I wanted to.
And I wanted to. And I did.
I wrote a story once about a girl who ran several miles at two am when she couldn’t sleep
and the personal demons kept haunting her and taunting her
and the whiskey wouldn’t shut them up.
Every once in a while, I clean the house naked.
Sometimes, I kinda wish the UPS guy would catch me.
Every day, my life is filled with sullen, sunken, exposed regret.
I wish I did what I didn’t do.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:14 AM UTC
Here’s to girls who laugh at your jokes
And don’t want you to **** yourself.
Here’s to the grind, and all it’s soul-sucking.
Here’s to weasels, and
Possums and rodents of all sorts.
Commence, the hallucinations of
Cream-colored wheat fields, and
Their straw guardians,
Harkening to the inept and
The inadequate, to try their product.
It’s why their older stuff is better,
It’s why the alternative is the standard,
Because you’re too **** much
Like everybody else,
And inside, it’s killing you.
Like every spelling mistake you
Forgot to correct, and every
Fallen soldier, with pop-top wounds,
Whose blood, you never lapped up.
Buzz-to-Buzz.
You can’t play the victim, when you’re
Already the villain.
And the “S” on your chest doesn’t
Stand for your name.
You can try, but anyone with
The good decency to wear
Sunglasses can see through you.
And then the acid kicked in.
And
The amusement park of your
Unimaginable, becomes obvious.
And there’s a leather belt wrapped around
Your restrained eyes, lest their be any
Burglars, out to climb through those windows.
When you’d rather scar up your
Arms than let them be the
Better half of an embrace. When the
Clouds are a few more shades of
Gray darker than they were the
Day before. When your life is as
Disposable as your coffee cup
Or your college education,
Come find me.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
Hey Mr Big Nose harassers
Thieves, Bullies and Morons
Look how many years you've had
Still can't break him or shut him up
You are thieves and criminals
No good lowlife degenerate scums
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
You are thieves, cheap common criminals
can't do better in life than stealing from others
You stole and I called you out, Your are thieves
plain and simple, stinking useless criminals
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
I will not shut up, I will not be gagged
You are thieving scums you and your paid thugs
You have tried putting the frighteners on me
You want to break me and discredit me
I am still here and I won't shut up
Do your worst
Enlist the whole world
Hound me from pillar to post
You are nothing but stinking low life scums
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
White thieves and burglars
Stealing thieving Racist scums
Wanna shut me up
Wanna bully and terrorize me to gag me
Wanna break me and **** my spirit the cowards they are
Come do your worse white thieves
yes I'm in your country and there are more of you
I ain't scared and control all you like
I will still say it to your faces thieves!
Your are stinking thieves and crooks
No good scums and lowlife
I ain't scared of you, come and **** me
I will not be broken by scums, degenerates and lowlife
You are nothing but stinking criminals with connections
Underground the lowlifes call themselves
Proud of criminality, white thieves makes a profession
out of burglary and stealing, Shame on you!
You scums blatantly burgled me because I am quiet and gentle
you thought you will meet no resistance
then I stood up to you
you swear you'll take me out, destroy me
Cheap shameless criminals
With all the civilisation and advancement in your Nation
All you can achieve is going around burglarizing
Cheap scums and degenerate, now come shut me up
I ain't scared of you and your underground
You can't terrorize me,
you can't pressurize me
you can't fraternize me
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
First gelid dawn
of the dying year.
A crescent moon
shivers above
achromatic frost.
Four crows perch
like fluffy black
lumps of ice
on taut power lines.
Hungry sparrows peck
the severe ground.
The old poet
fears the cold.
Chilled eyes notice
bare ruined trees
and windshields
waiting to be scraped.
The earth has pulled
the covers up
around its neck,
wakes stiff and slow,
but stays in bed.
Cold's bony fingers
probe the old house
like burglars seeking
points of entry.
Still, the chill roads
point toward the
inevitable return
of warmth;
spring sits
silent as a cat waiting
for a door to open,
bidding its time
to counterattack.
Even on the most
algid morning
hope slumbers,
but never dies.
~mce
Nov 21, 2015
Nov 21, 2015 at 8:41 AM UTC
January 26, 2015 6:22pm
there's always chaos within the walls of the needy
burglars of beauty and energy
striving to find themselves in someone else.
it's more sad than poetic,
the way humans appear to be hollow shells.
if you put an ear to their chest
you'd hear the sound of the ocean
that's really just an echo of your blood rushing
in the emptiness of their ribcage.
-newportsmooths h.g.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
Where’s the dog, where’s the dog?
There are burglars in the house
But the dog sleeps oh so quietly
As quietly as a mouse.
And so the husband, he takes charge
It’s the middle of the night
Reluctantly creeping down the stairs
He’s our hero in full – fright.
Of course – there was nobody there
It was one of those ‘sounds in the night’
And our hero couldn’t have seen him
He’d forgotten to turn on the light.
The hero thus returns to bed
Not to welcoming open arms
His wife has drifted back to sleep
Oblivious to his charms.
Oh well he thinks as he gets in bed
And then he falls himself to sleep
Meanwhile below, the hidden thief
Leaves for his home with swag to keep.
©JRW2014
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
When I was young and I did not sleep, my mother told me to count sheep one by one
Needless to say it didn't work
I still stayed up night after night terrified of what lurked in the dark on the streets
Even back then I knew of the monsters who were human: kidnappers, rapists, burglars
And as I got older, the doctors handed me pills
They told me: it'll make you tired, they'll help with your depression, it's for ADHD, ohh and don't forget your mood stabilizer, that'll make you better!
Yet, I spend night after endless night awake until early hours into the morning
I am no longer afraid of the kidnappers and rapists or burglars
I'm simply afraid of the demons that haunt the darkest spaces inside my mind
And so, I do not sleep
And I will not dream tonight
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 11:47 PM UTC
The burglars had been observing the bungalow
set in an out of the way place.
Smart expensive cars parked on the small drive
but they didn't observe well!
Certain this would be a profitable break in
their planning could begin.
The bungalow down a long narrow track
owned by a middle aged couple.
Few knew they were devil worshippers
this gang failed to find out!
Not digging deep into the victims past
this job would be the last!
In the community locals kept well away
from this evil bungalow!
The thieves were only focused on money
they had blinkered vision.
Confident they would not be disturbed
and certainly not heard!
The large dark van was parked out of view
hooded men approached.
It was after midnight now in the garden
quietly making an entrance.
And dealing with the expensive alarm
it was going like a charm.
Though it all changed when they heard a sound
noises came from below!
Ignoring it they proceeded to search and steal
robed figures came from nowhere.
Overwhelming them and taking each by force
dragged to the sounds source!
More robed figures chanted from every corner
dimly lit by black candles!
It was some sort of temple with a central altar
the first was put on top!
Gagged so they could not shout or scream
something bright did gleam!
The bungalow looked peaceful in the morning
nothing looked out of place.
Guests staying had already gone before light
the couple left for work.
The van was removed from its parking spot
smoke blew from a chimney ***
Unless invited nobody visited the bungalow!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 30, 2012
Jan 30, 2012 at 9:19 AM UTC
Discredit paranoia
After the first time
The new paranoia
Is preparedness
Aug 4, 2018
Aug 4, 2018 at 8:08 AM UTC
While sitting home one night, I hear burglars fiddling
with the lock. This is what I've been waiting for!
I run around to the back and open the door, invite
them in, and pour some drinks. I tell them to relax,
and I help them off with shoes and masks.
In a little while we are fast friends, and after a dozen
toasts to J. Edgar Hoover, they begin to carry things out.
I point to the hidden silver, hold the door as they
wrestle with the bed, and generally make myself useful.
When they get the truck loaded and come back inside
for one last brandy, I get the drop on them. Using Spike's
gun, I shoot them both and imprint Blackie's
prints on the handle.
Then I get in the van and drive away,
a happy man.
"Moving Day" by Ron Koertge, from Making Love to Roget's Wife: Poems New and Selected. © University of Arkansas Press, 1997.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
Drip
Dropping
Tick
Tocking
Time bleeds
From the sky
A beautiful grey
A half-closed eye
Rain filled fountains
Spill over our shoes
The Moon is a plum
A tender soft bruise
There are little killing words
Hanging on a string
Stiff and starched
They cut and they cling
To the skins of liars
And the skins of thieves
Pretty petty burglars
With pocketed sleeves
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
As a child
We see ourselves
As important
As the centre of our worlds
Pursued by burglars
and murderers
Always in the centre
Of an exciting story
Making cities in dirt piles
And castles in trees
Running from house
to house
Like they're kingdoms
And we're kings
And not so different are our adult ways
We control our own destinies
And we alarm our homes and equip them
Because "it could happen to you"
Making buildings from dirt piles
And building cabins from trees
Driving from city
to city
Like they're different worlds
And we're different people
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
In all the craziness of life, in all the haze that comes with sobbing people and cruelty, there comes a home.
This home is not a structure. There is no wood, no carpet, no windows.
Instead, the walls are flesh and the bathtubs ooze blood.
When you are near this home, vines erupt from the ground and tie you down, keeping you in the present.
You know that even if you lost them, you would be eternally grateful to have known them. To have walked through their halls, knocked on their door, and slept in their bed.
They feel like they belong in your arms. You want to keep them clean, safe from burglars, and broken windows. If something breaks, you would get on your hands and knees to clean it.
I found home. I pray to god I do not lose this home.
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
"My cousin's out fighting dragons, and what do I get? Guard duty."
i get'it, theyire's knowthing twoo me
but yea'don't knead to grind it heithere
i scene gnomething oin mean owlready
"You hear that? I swear, there's something out there. In the dark."
and ire looks gold in pearsin
but i thinks knot-keen of my shimmer
i done't acspect peep'les to too light-key me
it's hall'opposite
"Only burglars and vampires creep around after dark. So which are you?"
hi've acspected spleenpoles twoo b-eats me
it's what i've no'n
and halves tune watsch fuohrer
"Gotta keep my eyes open. **** dragons could swoop down at any time."
sew know, i'm naught which'ya seam toon thunk
i'm
or yea, i no'n't, naughts
u 'le glisten to your ownpunions' bouts me
over antsynthing i chavsed to say
"Watch the skies, traveler.”
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 3:23 AM UTC
You're safe
Locked up in your safe
No one knowing the combination but you
Feelings in safe deposit boxes
Padlocked just to make sure
I tried to sneak in the dead of night
Hoping to find a crack
But I never was good with subtleties
I attempted to hold you hostage
But you never even bothered to ask about a ransom
I even tried to blow you up with dynamite
But only lost pieces of myself
You're safe now
Locked up in your safe
Safe from burglars in the dead of night
Safe from being held at gunpoint
Safe from being in a war zone
No one knows your combination
Or has the keys to your padlocks
I hope that she has a wrecking ball
Smashing open your steel door before you even see it coming
I hope that she has a stethoscope
Pressing her ear against your chest as you hold her close
Each beat of heart is a click closer to cracking the code without you even knowing
I hope that she frees you from yourself because I sure as hell couldn't
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
We're all born with dreams, with gifts, and passionate hearts.
& just like Bella we all often imagine a rice covered path to the finish line right from the start.
Some choose to lay their hearts open but Bella, she chose to lock it.
Some of us are born on rainy days destined to see grey clouds, some to stare at celestial sunsets; you're either born staring at a broken mirror or with a clover in your pocket.
She fell, stumbled, she couldn't control it.
The locks she had in place served no purpose, he charmingly broke in picking through her fearful security with warmth and stole it.
Sometimes burglars can be intruders that you want inside because being locked up alone is no life at all.
Life seises from being short when you're loved by someone, you don't feel time at all.
Well, actually, maybe you feel it all at once the day you stare into their aged eyes at a youthful fire, but you never hear the clock tick.
A life in love is truly a roller coaster, feels like an eternity to get there but once you fall, the thrill, the rush, flashes by oh so quick.
Poor Bella. She wasn't a believer in such a ride until she woke up a top that hill.
Realizing she was ready to dive, to fall and scream. Heart racing, palms sweating, she realized his deepest dreams had become her priority will.
Sadly, something happened as she stepped into that cart.
He had no interest in sitting next to her, he was on his own climb to an enchanting fall & he walked away crumbling her already fearful heart.
Bella wasn't born with the clover, she was born during the storm, born staring into the mirror and trying to ignore the hurtful cracks.
Be grateful if you're born with that clover because you're lucky & you have a chance. & if you're the luckiest person on this entire planet the person you love decides to love you back.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 4:11 PM UTC
You call me
A poet and a thief,
So let me indulge thee
I'll make this short and brief,
We're all alike you and I
A tooth for a tooth
And eye for an eye,
Makes us thick
As thieves in a booth
No lock to pick,
If the door is open
Why still do we break in
To steal a heart
Is this a sin?
If done with poetry
The rules are faulty,
Meant to be broken
Golden token
Means; there's not a ruler
That can't crack
A diamond jeweler,
So we find ourselves back to back
Meeting on a level plain
Stealing syllables from the insane
We interpret and manipulate
All vowels and consonants in prose
Burglars thorns and words a rose...
©okpoet
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 4:17 PM UTC