"burnside" poems
I'm a dark and twisted guy
Who wants to shred El Burnside
With a bullet shot by *******
Like Erik Clapton best said it.
I'm on the Dark Side of the Moon
Smoking Pink Floyd listening to Cudders
Smoke anything to hyphen my mood
I'm a conartist who laughs at everyone's misadventures
But cries when something bad happens to my ancestors.
I listen to psychedelic music to put me on the Devil's Swing....so I can let my soul and spirit sleep.
A dose of ecstasy in any given music festival.
Sasquatch! Lollapalooza, a river dressed as an animal.
But I'm acting like a citizen of planet Jupiter.
Because of the way I've been living.......
I can't get any stupider.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 3:17 PM UTC
“Clear the way, boys, clear the way” said Meagher astride his steed.
The fighting sixty- ninth stepped forth, they were not afraid to bleed.
Upon St Marye’s heights Cobb’s Georgians waited, behind a low stone wall.
The lads attacked that stout defense – how senseless was it all.
There were Irish too up on the hill and they saw the Emerald flag.
“Oh God, what a pity! Here come Meagher’s fellows” one Irish rebel said,
But all obeyed the order given; to fill the air with lead.
The sixty-ninth could not reply, they all carried antique stock.
Muskets are no match for rifles at the distance they attacked.
They climbed that rise into a storm of canister and shot
They got as close as 40 yards before their surge was stopped.
Sixteen hundred had started out from the little town below,
They took the fight as far as any of mortal flesh could go.
As darkness fell upon the field there were wounded men and dying.
Some muttered prayers in their foreign tongue, how pitiful their crying.
It was a dark December for the army Burnside led.
Fourteen assaults in all repulsed with eight Thousand Union dead.
With eighty percent casualties Meagher’s boys had it worst of all:
Fewer than three hundred were left to answer the roll call.
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
Her halo is brightest in the dark
Something about the way the gold
Just reflects the lingering rays
Of a turned off light bulb
She can see into your soul
And know if your worth saving
Before you see it in yourself
To find a better way
She doesn't help people who already have help
She doesn't contribute to lost causes
She goes where the support groups wont
Finds the people who don't know they need help
In a room full of bullet holes
This angel keeps out the rain
In an arm full of track marks
This saint lets out the pain
She doesn't ask for permission
Doesn't look for those looking for help
Says if they're looking
They'll find it within themselves
Somewhere deep inside of her
God saw fit to come back to Earth
Shes a messiah without a gospel
A prophet without an agenda
She's not running for office
She's running from cops
She's not asking for donations
She's begging for change
This angel of mercy
Only survives because of it
This harbinger of love
Lives without it
The invisible hand slapped her in the face
And she kissed the blisters it gave him
God asked her to build an ark
She said, “No, I can't afford it, but I'll fill it if it's there”
Under the star light her halo glows bright under the Burnside bridge
Her voice is the silence between discharging of shells
Her lullaby's to the villagers sounds like opening empty wallets
Her tears fall like shooting stars letting you make a wish every time she feels your pain
Dec 17, 2009
Dec 17, 2009 at 10:08 AM UTC
Every drop of blood slaves shed
beneath the lash and rod
was repaid in kind at Sharpsburg
by the terrible swift sword.
Twenty three thousand Sacrificed
in joint sanquinity
to debate the principle
that all men should live free.
At Burnside's bridge,
on the sunken road,
The Landscape dripping red.
The wounded called for water
as they lay among the dead.
At the Whitewashed Dunker church
the Dutchmen stood agog
as the fearful toll was paid
by brave souls on either side.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 2:05 PM UTC
he spit the little baggy from his mouth to his hand
I took the prize and dropped it right into my own mouth...
turning to leave the filth of the lower Burnside Bridge,
as I walked away I developed a plan;
I would take my little baggy a few blocks down south,
spit the prize back into my hand, and start to cook...
place the little baggy delicately into a syringe
spit drooled from my mouth as my prize took
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
The needle reflection
glowed like a beacon
underneath
the streetlamp.
There I witnessed
the urchins
inject her concoction
& at once,
she floated right on past me,
higher than a kite.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
I learned of a love for treehouses,
And 8 mile.
Both the Detroit and Farmington sides.
I gave up deepthroating and cigarettes for New Years.
I developed an attachment to bridges.
Morrison, Hawthorne, Burnside, Steel, Tilikum
All pacing my afternoon runs.
Ambassador.
My favorite thing about traveling is coming home at the end.
I met another soul mate, one I don’t kiss.
We read our poems between English classes,
Scrounge up quarters for midnight subway runs,
Bond over an old love of car rides and vampire weekend.
She says
Life is excruciatingly painful,
And as your best friend I’ll let you know
“I only smoke **** with you, on tuesday evenings.”
(“And I only cry in public bathrooms at noon.”)
I learned home is where the heart is,
And my heart is always with my mother
I inked our love onto my skin in June.
I know now, that ******* is less scary and more of a sad college kid thing.
(But ****** is just as scary as it seems on TV.)
I met the pigeon man on 6th and Yamhill,
Swarmed by hundreds of grey flying rats
Kissing each one on the head before setting them back down.
I finally lost my father.
It didn't hurt half as badly as I imagined it to.
I invited too many girls to stay the night.
And one too many boys.
But I never regret holding you all close because friendship is ****** magic.
Thank you my little pony.
I learned no, you can't flush toilet paper in Asia
And yes, elephants are incredible.
That spinning on a pole makes you an artist before anything else.
That embarrassment is worth it.
That therapy is worth it only sometimes.
I learned a language where I can finally be quiet.
Admitted to
Guilty pleasures
In pop music
And fried food.
My body is a temple that can handle some mac and cheese.
And beauty is much more loving your current state than anything else.
I love my current state.
Rain, and no sales tax,
and a candlelit home.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 1:53 PM UTC
loneliness lays in the back of
his car in a stranded parking lot
with a *** stained blanket in the backseat.
he hasn’t noticed that i can’t look him in the eye.
hes too busy enjoying himself.
depression sits on cushion chair in
mr burnside's office,
watching him fiddle with his tie
with a worried look on his face,
as if he would say the wrong thing
and i would fall apart right before his eyes.
“you been wearing that sweatshirt all day?”
yes.
“lift up your sleeves”
no.
anxiety takes a daily trip to the nurses office.
i’m okay, i just don’t feel well.
“here’s a mint, try to go back to class”.
oh great, a ******* mint. i feel better already
hopelessness is curled up in a ball on
the bathroom floor
with the door locked. i can’t hear
my mom yell at me anymore
about how i have no direction,
how i need to try harder,
be better,
go to the gym.
abandonment walks outside at
2 in the morning with no shoes on,
-9 degree wind chill nipping at her toes.
i am crying too hard.
please don’t leave me
is all that echoes in my brain.
teen angst rolls her eyes at ms allen
“im worried about you”
one minute,
the next minute embarrassing me in front of the whole class.
I don’t know how to ******* graph an exponential function
because i spent my night at bethesda north
answering the nurses questions.
“how many pills did you take?”
“are you okay to go home tonight?”
“how long have you been dealing with depression?”
this high school is supposed to look
like a castle.
that makes me laugh.
not once since i’ve been here have i felt like a queen.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
Drained of rights and wrongs; I hugged a musician
today on third and Burnside, bought him a doughnut
and gave him the change. Some faces, some melody's
catch me, prove me wrong. Just like her voice, its
key in my favorite tone.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 9:02 PM UTC
If I went to sleep at night
would it be alright
If I closed my eyes
To the truth that I denied
Lifelessly laying there I cried
For a father whom I despised
Abused and afraid I wondered why?
You broke my heart and you alone did
How could you leave your first ******* kid?
Trapped in a mental cage and one I cannot rid
And ill be honest it still hurts me till this day
When asked about my father I have nothing much to say
You chose another family, another life over me
Made a child and forgot about her so easily
FIGIVENUS
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC