"burglary" poems
Spt 5-- domestic dispute inv alcohol + firearms Hawkins Terr. area-- Spt 7-- burglary purses stolen from 3 cars Wipple St-- night of Spt 18-19-- vandals untied shoes of large statue Center Park-- Spt 20-- mugging homeless suspect young woman cheeseburger Rt 8--
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 11:36 PM UTC
*Feelin’ like a new model keepin’ thoughts in a safe
Nothin’ but new beginnings while maintainin’ the faith
Of better days ahead, walkin’ away instead
The world on my shoulders while walkin’ on eggshells
Difficult steps lead to redemption, no need for attention
Dowsin’ my sorrows in drinks with a fear of reinvention
Weakened souls lackin’ ambition – ones that we attend to
Distracted by the means to makin’ profit
Pharaohs and kings reach Ozymandias
Castle of the manliest reduced to rubble
Inspiration's a privilege, the uninitiated struggle
Lookin’ to the stars closer to Mercury
Celebrating longer than a single anniversary
Build the padlocked building blocks of the brain, preventin’ burglary
Intellect protection needs remedial advancement
Followin' the lessons and morals of real testaments
Crimson waters divided by Moses, halving the sea
Aidin’ people across, the shepherd leadin’ the sheep
Heated cycle of violence by disciples
De-escalated by the sacred teachings of the bible
Able to color-code their understandin’ with a cipher
Gifted in nature, minus robotics turnin’ sentient*
WE MARCH!
*Hand-in-hand in unison! A unit full of sin
But we protect the world from Judases,
Our doubts are in the wind
A state of peace we feel the crew is in
The rest will follow soon,
Our inner voice of hate is ludicrous
It sings a hollow tune.
Leavin' this place without askin' just where the exit is,
Keep a steady pace as we're headin' right into exodus.
Lessons are taught to help you rise from the fall,
Nirvana awaitin' – you better answer the call.*
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC
On chain they did put me,
tied up to the burglary protector,
handcuffed and battered.
Tortured and meant to be broken.
Poisoned but survived.
Marked for assassination,
and shot twice,
bullets flying around,
resilient and unflinching,
was ready to confront them.
Dead or alive I must choose one.
Must find a way out of this mess,
to escape was on my mind,
but how do I get out of here without
jeopardizing the lives of my family.
Courage summoned I revert to plan B,
the art of fighting without fighting.
Intelligence and wisdom must come into play.
Must outwit them to survive.
Cunning and craftiness must be used,
the uncanny ways of the spirit is amazing.
Become like water,
be flexible,
Yielding but still immovable.
Stealth in action but remain like the firefly.
Understanding their intent
and misdirected anger,
their aggression towards me was contained.
Tranquilized and overpowered,
their capture became imminent for
i am more than a conquerer,
for the greater one lives in me.
Today I stand here to testify of that victory against
the intruders and assassins with a grateful heart.
©2018,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:26 AM UTC
DRESSMAKERS to the stars J’Aton have turned designer detectives after one of their most valuable couture gowns was stolen from a bride’s home last week.
The one-of-a-kind gown, which was stolen from Leanne Bartucca’s Greenvale residence along with other valuables, is estimated to be worth more than $40,000.
It weighs more than 18kg, and features intricate 100-year-old vintage French lace that has been carved and sculpted onto leather and layered tulle.
J’Aton designers Anthony Pittorino and Jacob Luppino, who also made the wedding gowns of Rebecca Judd, Nadia Bartel, Jodi Gordon and Yvette Prieto, wife of Michael Jordan, are appealing to the public in the hope that if it goes for sale online, someone will recognise the distinctive dress.
“We are so devastated for our dear friend Leanne; that dress has a special place in our hearts and is so sentimental to us all,” the pair said.
“It’s a dress that we created especially for Leanne, it has her and her husband’s initials embroidered into the train and we just hope that if anyone recognises the distinguishable design for sale on websites or social media, that they report it to the police.”
Ms Bartucca, who wore the dress in March, 2014, says she has been devastated by its theft.
“It’s such a sentimental thing; my family and the J’Aton boys have been checking the internet daily in the hopes that we will see it for sale,” she said.
“I had dreams of using the fabric from it for my children’s christening gowns, and even framing a section of the fabric for our home.
“[The thieves] definitely knew what they were doing. As a former fashion buyer, I was surprised how much they knew — what they left behind was just as telling as what they took.
“They could tell the difference between real and fake jewellery, they left certain shoe brands behind and obviously went straight for the J’Aton dress, which was covered in tissue paper and in a white box at the top of the wardrobe.”
Police said they were investigating whether the burglary was in relation to another in the same area.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/white-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
When the thieves broke in,
They broke my mother’s heart,
They broke my naiveté,
They broke my maternal lineage,
By making her closet bare,
She stood barely recognizing it,
Stared at her safe,
Her
Bulletproof
Fireproof
Apocalypse proof
Safe
Code c r a c k e d,
Deadbolt door eerily open.
“It’s just jewelry,” she muttered,
[Passed down from one generation to the next,
Dating back to an invaded India,
Surviving six hundred soldiers,
Smuggled within folds of saris through seas,
Stories etched in souvenir gold].
“At least we’re all safe,” she stated with conviction.
[Yet I couldn’t help but feel,
A physical furthering,
From my immigrant ancestors,
Who passed along secrets with every pendant,
Who whispered hopes in every ornate hairpin,
Who stored their aspirations in every accumulation:
Real riches knit with poetic prospers from the past].
How funny
To imagine the thieves
Pricing a priceless object --
Ironically making it worthless
Because the burglary left behind
The heritage.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
Lip locking over the fishhooks in our cheeks.
I would have bled for you
Even if you never asked me to.
You love feels less like torture
And more like a special type of ****
A type that transcends a fleeting ****** high.
You keep me high.
We are poisoned harpoon heads
Biting into each other’s flesh.
We are swords clashing in battle.
We are refracting magnets,
Opposing armies holding atomic bombs
On our tongues.
My ribcage is Hiroshima.
Your hands are Nagasaki.
When we come together we make Chernobyl.
Your radiation setting my broken bones.
I just can’t get enough of your
Post apocalyptic voice singing funeral songs
Over the snapping of embers.
Your teeth clacking together like wind chimes
Reminds of the steady pop-pop-pop of machine guns.
Your eyes are the barrels of snipers.
We love in red and black,
Black and blue.
We love in cracking knuckles.
Scars like constellations telling lost stories in the sky,
You reminded me of a vampire
With the way you licked the blood from my lips.
You told me I was the sweetest thing
You’ve ever tasted.
A raspberry in a basket of blackberries.
We just can’t shake this red and black haze.
Remember when you tore my vocal cords
Out of my throat with your teeth?
Remember when I screamed horror movie
‘I love you”s into your mouth?
Remember how it echoed until you swallowed it
Along with my bleeding heart?
You left me ****** and broken,
Do you remember?
Do you remember your baseball bat arms
Breaking my ribcage?
Committing the burglary?
Do you remember the lacerations?
The scabs blooming in the shape of chrysanthemums?
Our love is a car crash.
Crazy and messy and deadly and sad.
But we just can’t look away,
Just can’t walk away.
Our love put me in the hospital
And I’m happy to pay the bills
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
Your fingers burned me
So when they asked me for proof
I lifted up my dress.
They dusted my thighs for
Fingerprints
Like they would a burglary.
They told me to explain again
What had happened.
I told them how you
Pried me open like
The doors of a
Closed convenience store
Gutted me like an
Abandoned house
Left me for dead like
A deer after the
Headlights
They said there was
Nothing
They could do
I told them how you
Emptied me like
An alcoholic at the bar
After years of sobriety
Stained me like
The glass windows
In your church
Broke me like
The mirrors you
Can't bare to look into
Anymore
Anymore
Anymore
I can't look in the mirror
Anymore
They asked me for proof
So I lifted up my dress
They dusted my thighs
For fingerprints
I swear were there
I see them
The third degree burns
Covering my legs
My neck
My chest
I told them how
You made me into a
Museum of art
I don't want to be a part
Of
You made me into a
Museum of mosaics
And tragedies
And other broken things
I told them how
You made me into
Railroad tracks
That I lie on and
Wait for a train
That never comes
I told them about
the burns you kissed
into my skin
the blisters that
throb and
pulse
like the heartbeat
I used to have
They asked me for proof
So I lifted up my dress
For fingerprints I swear
Were there
They dusted my thighs
Like the crime scene
They were
Like the crime scene
They are
They asked me if
I had any other proof
I told them about the
Flashbacks
About how any hands
On me feel like your
Hands
About how you
Stripped me
Both physically
And mentally
About how I begged
You to stop
About how you didn’t stop
They said there was
Nothing
They could do
They said they were
Sorry
I said
Me too
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 1:03 PM UTC
this time something feels different
this time i'm an angry toucan spitting eager saliva & i want you to rip my plastic beak off & whisper secrets into my slippery face
this time i'm an open book & i want you to place your fingertips on my soft worn pages & read me between the lines forever
i want you to be a magnifying glass mirror to show me my inconsistencies made of stretched wool fibers and hemp and wood held together by shiny clots of ink oil and glue
this time i'm an open door numb with apprehension & i want you to surge into the threshold of my bare bones like a molecular flash flood burglary polishing my darkest stained corners with spiraling velocity
this time i'm an oak sapling planted in your backyard spinning & dazzling in the sunlight & i want you to water me daily so i can grow
with you to unbelievable heights & suddenly sprout flowers from my sinewy arms
this time i'm a babbling brook cascading over slick brown rocks on a lush hillside & i want you to stir the moon like the wind & listen appreciate my serene grace
because this time i need someone whose lips
can be a tissue to the tears on my soft cheeks
before they turn cold & calloused
i need someone to sink their teeth into my
shoulders & collarbone to wake me
from this superfluous daydream
i need someone who beds naturally
into the ribcage nest of my plaid flannel shirt
i need someone who will dance with me
across an empty landscape into
something bigger & deeper
than just the starless sky above us
i need someone who wants to learn
the overlapping language of my eyes & hands
someone who will lounge with me
like an odalisque on the birth-bed of aphrodite
drenched in the shivers of the moon canopy
someone who can blur the lines
between my cerebrum & theirs
so that we become a stitched together
quilt of soft memories in our imagination
someone who has been in a trainwreck before
& knows precisely where to kiss
to make it all better
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
Guess I'll be postponing December's reconstructive surgery
There's nothing like being delayed from your own burglary
It had potential too, well maybe if it wasn't so ruthful
I'll still tentatively deem it as successful
I started to shed the lingering fatigue
I began to think of my completed protocols
Triggered the realization I need the reconstruction after all
Jul 8, 2010
Jul 8, 2010 at 10:05 AM UTC
*
*A robber slipped inside my heart's abode
And deposited a treasure trove of SOUL LOVE
A burglar slipped outside my soul's spirit
And took away the treasure trove of my SOUL LOVE
Both the things happened simultaneously
Without my knowing
By doing that - since that day
The robber and burglar have
Became integral part of my life & living
What has happened to me now?
Now I am responsible for
Robber's SOUL LOVE that's inside me
I also want back that SOUL LOVE
That is taken away by the burglar
I am in an unique state now
I think I am in LOVE now...
My eyes are running after
Cajoling the robber and the burglar
Who even though seems
Physically away from me
Are residing inside my being -
My Heart & SOUL
Thus I am attempting to search for
The same robber and burglar
Inside and outside my being
I was surprised and shocked
When the police came to arrest me
Mistaking me as a robber & a burglar
Interrogating me for
Days, weeks, months and years
For robbery and burglary of
"SOUL LOVEz"
I said:
"I am just a LOVERz who is
Safe guarding a SOUL LOVE of a robber"
I said:
"I am just a LOVERz who is searching
For the SOUL LOVE that's taken away by a burglar"
Need I say anything further?
I was made a LOVERz by fateful destiny
And I am suspected as a Robber and Burglar
Oh my BELOVEDz
The one who has
Deposited SOUL LOVE in me
Oh my BELOVEDz
The one who has
Taken away my SOUL LOVE
Can I say this to YOU?
"Let me keep your SOUL LOVE with me
Please keep my SOUL LOVE with YOU"
By the way if YOU do not mind
Let us deposit both of our SOUL LOVEz
Into "ONE" LOCKER of
"ETERNAL UNCONDITIONAL AGAPE LOVE"*
*
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 12:01 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
i witnessed a burglary today.
kids were seating at the back side of the jeepney
***** feet hanging,
snot running down their noses
the one beside me says,
“these kids will be thieves one day.”
and i look at these
little mud-eyed ones
filled with silent anger
and confusion.
if this is how we cast them
how could they change something
that was molded in stone for them?
we are responsible for the next generation
and yet we rob these children
a chance to create their own identity
and blame them for things
we should’ve
done
something
about.
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 6:53 AM UTC
Visions of ****
And burglary
Dance around in my head
As darkness creeps over me
And I turn on all the lights
In my empty apartment
When you're not here
I toss and turn
Through the night
Popping sleeping pills
Just to catch a wink
Daydreams turn into
Night terrors
As the dog barks
At every little noise
Making me aware
Of all the scary things
Outside my window
Someone knocks at my door
But I'm not expecting company
Even with the deadbolt
I don't feel safe
In this big empty bed of mine
As I sleep alone
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 11:43 PM UTC
The dreams of yesterday linger,
They mock and torment my
Sad shattered shell,
You whom I loved, you torturer of my heart,
You violated my pure love to one I truly loved,
I thought the very angels themselves gave you innocence,
The red rose your deliciously curled locks and lips,
The early morning dew your sweetly curved body,
The delightful sky your eyes,
But...
This heavenly beauty was skin deep, you
Lied, despised, cried, tried
And succeeded in the burglary of my heart,
Many innocent hearts have you stolen thief,
Do you never think of
The train of pain
You have made me a passenger of?
I am not alone on my lonesome journey,
There are many others,
Your victims,
One way ticket to Nowhere,
Oblivion.
©Rangzeb Hussain
Jan 29, 2010
Jan 29, 2010 at 8:16 AM UTC
Chaos hearts,
Chaos hearts,
Don't come to me,
I am not your sanctuary,
Nor will I ever be.
Chaos hearts,
Stop asking for me,
Do not commit a burglary,
A lover never will I ever be.
Mar 15, 2021
Mar 15, 2021 at 10:36 AM UTC
Clouds go through my flesh,
As I feel my mind elevate high into the atmosphere
Steering clear of rain clouds
All the negative energy gets me down,
This smoke is thick and its loud
Inspires laughs like a clown
I can feel the vibration of life
When I’m on the ground.
In the air there’s not a care in a world for me
No untimely emergences impeding on my life
Like a burglary, stealing my time and my essence
At times my presence is a blessing
When I get with Mary Jane the game changes
She’s no regular Dame she invades my body
And promotes changes
Can even make me forget my name
Insignificant is my pain in her eyes
When she blows my mind
My problems whisk away in the wind
She heals my mental and physical ill’s
Without me popping a pill filled with poison
She is part of the Earth so for what it worth
I try to preserve the dirt, that’s where I will go
And that’s where she will be
So one day in her seeds I’ll be
And maybe someone will get high off me.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
Pencils
And papers
And fancy erasers
Rubberbands
And soda cans
And ratty old pairs of Vans
This and that
Or 'maybe' something
Equaling all sorts of nothing
And then I met Winona Ryder...
Jan 25, 2020
Jan 25, 2020 at 7:08 PM UTC
I can hardly remember your face,
left here in a chair,
room aglow with the muted television,
drunk as hell.
A man becomes a pigsty without a woman.
***** stains on the sports sock,
a battleaxe hangover,
bills piled by the toaster
and **** over the kitchen sink.
The bailiffs came.
I cried like a child through the burglary,
drank the Ganges in stout when it was over.
I have been drinking ever since
the Christmas lights turned on,
the town bathed in absinthe, teenage smokers,
Lithuanian women;
no chance of collision with you.
Eternal ashtray, brick upon brick,
cylindrical beams - an empire of ash
and odour. I can't smell you anymore.
How senses die, yet you remain,
stubborn as a **** on a concrete street,
stubborn in your deceit,
my old crutch, my faded ***** in heat.
I am a mess of old exchanges
whilst porn-stars **** on screen.
Fantasy is dead
as my first dog, defunct,
birthing colonies beneath the ground,
frozen over in winter.
I feel nothing. No thing.
Urges clamour for attention to keep me alive,
vague hunger, the need to bleed.
The paramedics came.
I cried like a child through the gift-wrapping,
drank from a plastic cup as they covered your face.
I can hardly form a sentence
in this fast world
of slow days and long aches in silence:
this is hell.
A man becomes a pigsty without a woman.
I see you in my ridiculous moments,
the insanity that stands in your place,
fractured light in the doorway-
my obsessive state, your forgotten face.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 12:04 PM UTC
So you got robbed. Don't think of yourself as a victim. Look at it as an expression of the robber's occupational and social deficits. Don't let it traumatize you for life. After all, can you compare it to being murdered? We need to have some appreciation for scale here. We don't want to go back to the Victorian notion that people are fragile flowers who can't handle having a gun pointed at them and losing a few dollars. That's a form of condescension, after all.
You're complaining about a burglary? Some men see a mere doorknob lock as a flirtation. And surely we don't want to see the end of flirtations and seductions! Must we all now install deadbolts and security systems? What's next--chastity belts? What happened to joie de vivre and devil-may-care?
So a drunk driver hit your car. Do you really want to have him arrested? It was a misunderstanding; he didn't realize that four cocktails and driving are technically illegal. And should they be? Do we want to criminalize ordinary reckless behavior? Haven't we all done something a bit foolish or clumsy in our younger days? Do we want a society in which everyone has to be careful what they do, all the time? A society in which people must count their drinks before getting behind the wheel? We are moving away from the ideals of a liberal democracy and toward totalitarianism!
So you were murdered. You can look at is as an opportunity to learn more about what happens after death. Your career was ended and your earthly form deteriorated, but that's not the end of the world. Now you live as a memory, and people appreciate you more. What doesn't **** you makes you stronger, and what kills you enshrines. There is honor in being dead. It is time we brought back the old virtues!
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
Clouds go through my flesh,
As I feel my mind elevate high into the atmosphere
Steering clear of rain clouds
All the negative energy gets me down,
This smoke is thick and its loud
Inspires laughs like a clown
I can feel the vibration of life
When I’m on the ground.
In the air there’s not a care in a world for me
No untimely emergences impeding on my life
Like a burglary, stealing my time and my essence
At times my presence is a blessing
When I get with Mary Jane the game changes
She’s no regular Dame she invades my body
And promotes changes
Can even make me forget my name
Insignificant is my pain in her eyes
When she blows my mind
My problems whisk away in the wind
She heals my mental and physical ill’s
Without me popping a pill filled with poison
She is part of the Earth so for what it worth
I try to preserve the dirt, that’s where I will go
And that’s where she will be
So one day in her seeds I’ll be
And maybe someone will get high off me.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
I may be young, but I think I'm wise for my age.
We are the lost ones, they're ready to rage
And I spit venom with my tongue, ready for a stage,
But I'm overstrung, so I'm locked up in this cage
Of uncertainty, normally I'd enter your heart like a burglary,
but conservatively, to help myself reach serenity
before my heart changes to a dark shade of burgundy
The urgency of your love is more valuable than currency
Together, a joint enterprise, I just need your company
Help, the urge to off myself is increasing in intensity
Now please hurry, it's an atrocity, edging the ledge of insanity
Stop me before I slaughter double you's (W's) with ease (E's)
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 1:58 AM UTC
And the spiders will never stop dancing
And I am twelve years old again
In the summertime
Dragging sharp objects across my hips
And pen is just not the same
And I feel the stares
Of all the people
And I feel my blood rouge my cheeks
And I am fifteen years old again
In the wintertime
And the bedroom floor feels too familiar
And I’ve been sleeping for fourteen hours
And my lips are always chapped
And he looks at me like I’m a diamond
And he’s a pretty good actor
And I crumble under the weight of his eyes
Which are not unlike diamonds
And my hand begins to cramp
And the spiders are taking a break
And their little legs still move
And I don’t know where this fear of centipedes came from
And I am a gutted pumpkin,
A Jack-O-Lantern in June
And my hair is turning white
And I can see my breath
And he stares at me like I’m an anomaly
And I am anomaly
And my ribcage is broken
And there has been a burglary
And my stomach is being pumped
And I am lying on the shower floor
And my head just missed the edge
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 9:56 PM UTC
spiritual burglary
delicious minutes
unlovely products of a puritanical conscience
alcohol taken as a club with which to bludgeon into a state of insensibility
words seemed to clothe genuine honesty , they prove to be the veriest nonsense
epiphanic amorphous mind and its stream of consciousness
I imagine a neural interface that could record dreams
not brainwaves, but images
phantasmagoric films beset by the florid mind
sorry echoes in the verbosity
Too bad love has fallen out of style
now that squares rule the world
I can't express "why" in words
so unrealistic a view of themselves and the world that they become most difficult to live with
little wonder I dwell alone
everything is really fragmentary
analyzing the analyst
tripping over my words
instantaneous administration
mesmerized by the minutiae of sensations
tangles of terminology writhe in his brain
collating and sorting
assigning vectors
in hopeful sectors
where heart and love abides
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:40 PM UTC
I have mistaken love for 12 nights of forced entries
I should have called the cops on this burglary because I can't find my innocence
the last time I saw it it was driving away in a gray F-150 spewing dirt from the tires
I think he lost it in the dust as I ran after him
but he doesn't want me with out it
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC