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Will Apr 2018
I grew up in the Bronx, rough neighborhood.
Times were tough, my mom didn't know what to do.
She worked long nights, all week as I struggled in school.
I failed every class, didn't make it too far.
Where'd I end up?
Strippin' at some bar.
Every night men would look and stare.
I used my body for money, but nobody cared.
Where'd it get me?
What good did it do?
But through all of my struggles, I made it out on top.
I've made it, I've succeeded, I rose up from there.
Now I'm a rapper, come on.
Go ahead and stare.
I was judging my roommates taste in "music" the other day, and told him that Cardi B unnecessarily used profanity. He said "The only way for Cardi to accurately tell her story is with swearing." Oh well, I decided to try and "tell her story" in a powerful way without swearing.  I personally believe swearing can be used beautifully within poetry and writing. When used correctly, and not every other line. If you haven't heard Cardi B's music, check her song "Get up 10", since all of her music sounds the same, and has the same "plot".
Daye May 2018
I tried to be Insta-famous
Insecurities celebrated
Half naked, for the attention
High on pillies, money, vacation
With every notification
Filling the void behind my left breast
I worked for it
With body goals like this

Rock solid abs
Icon: fire and 100%
A whole snack
A girl that don't crack

Strip on that pic
Like Cardi B on that pole
Dancing around men
With the only goal of getting rich

Hurt them
Slight curl at the corner of my pillow lips
Ruin them
Feed the feed with self-admiration

It was the meds
or was it?

Inner ego
Remain incognito
Only every other photo
Only then you can show
How you could work that camera phone
After taking/tripping on Zoloft and other Anti-Psychotic drugs I was prescribed after my divorce, my ego blew threw the roof. I thought I was the hottest ******* the block -- this is not in my normal personality and it's insane that RX meds can make you into a person who you are not... or are you... lol
Ankita Dash Jun 2020
You scroll through your social media where people have sworn not to show what they feel like so their 'profiles' can be aesthetic to look at.
You look at dog videos and swear not to think about your dead dog with whom you never got to cuddle one last time.
You walk through streets you've never been to hoping that it'll lead to a story.
You kiss boys and girls you don't really like and pretend you're waiting for the three-days-later call. You constantly listen to Cardi B because you can't take another Bon Iver song.
You fake a smile, an ******, a brave face.
You look at where you're staying and pretend not to long for that one little park in Paris where  you could spend your entire life.
You unblock the ones you lost and feel a fleeting sense of comfort in knowing that they're not happy either and block them again, to feel 'powerful'.
You look back at your journey and sigh because you haven't done enough. You curl into your uncomfortable bed.


And then you realise you're not done.


You realise your journey is just starting. There's so much left for you to say and do and teach and feel. You realise that the best part about yourself is that you're hopeful, despite it all. You realise that despite all the bad that has gotten to you, there's still good, and you can create it. You realise that you've places to go and people to fall for. You've learnt to become your own teacher and your own pupil. You realise that the sky is not the limit for you. You think people calling themselves a work in progress is a cliché, but you know you're one yourself. You're not magnificent. But you will be.


So you light up a cheap cigarette and play the Bon Iver song. And you wait.
This is obviously not a poem, but prose. I just wanted it to be up here.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2015
IN THE AFTER-TIME

" Alice thought she
had never seen such

a curious croquet
ground in all her life; "

It was somewheres near
Roswell

18 something and something
there or there...abouts

& Billy the Kid &
the boys have just

...paused:

in their croquet
for a tintype photo.

Billy's the guy
in the cardigan sweater.

Him & his gang
( the Regulators )

are posing like
they were a prototype

for
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

or the band
THE BAND.

Pure Americana.

Billy the cardi-cowboy and
his gang of croquet playing outlaws...

Not exactly how
one would have  somehow

imagined them
. . .passing the time.

One of the outlaw...eh...gentlemen

points out that
Billy

" . . .the Kid has spooned
his shot!"

A ricochet of tobacco coloured
spittle hits a spittoon.

Silence congeals
about the accusation.

Now, whether Billy has
merely pushed the ball

silently through rather than
soundly hit it

is:
neither here nor there.

A cold revolver
clicks &

"I says I hit it...I hit it
get it?"

The other gentleman outlaw
begs to agree.

"Ok, Billy boy...keep yer
cardi on!"

And so, we leave them
there

in the croquet craze of
1878.

Time like a yellow ball
hit through hoop after

hoop until: it arrives
at this

present...NOW!

And a photo found in a store
for a dollar or a few dollars more

repays the expense
by morphing into

the 5 million dollar
photo.

But I hit the ball
back through hoop after

hoop after hoop

until it arrives back
at Billy's boot.

And a voice cries:
"Ok, kid...play!"
purpledandelion Jul 2019
I luv it when you say,
I Don’t Want Your Money ,
give it to other H.E.R s”
Just wanna tell ya,
All the diamonds, silver or gold
would be useful when you’re old.

Now you are 28,
twenty years from now,
when it only costs 50 Cent for an Eminem CD,
would you Remember the Name of the guy who wrote you this piece.

When November smiles, you would be South of the Border
at the doors of Melbourne
and then to the Wellington gates,
go exploring something foreign.
Don’t forget your Cardi gan when you meet the farmgirl Camilla.
Don’t ride solo on Friday nights.
Listen to Travis, the cab driver next-door who’s gonna tell ya,
Don’t be Anti-Social and beware of biker gangs.

Put It All on Me,
Your tantrums, temper and ill moods,
I’ll mix them into a cocktail called Ella Mai.
I try to be strong, so I eat demons. It feels evil, those little devils.
Bada Boom bada bing, you’ll knock me right off my feet.
I Don’t Care if Leann never _Feels like listening to me, but do hear out Justin the Canadian barber.
Be wary of Young **** s and J Hus tlers.

You are right, there is Nothing On You that I dislike.
Paolo does his laundry at Dave,
Leann finds her bravery, be safe.
I know you don’t do beef or coffee,I’ll board the Stormzy Airlines to Take Me Back to London just to buy you toffees.

YEBBA black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yebba, Yebba three bags full,
One for Ed,
one for his dame,
and the Best Part of Me is meant for you.

It is all fun and gluey when we BLOW bubbles on the floor,
munching a Mars snicker while chatting up Chris tina.

The only Way to Break My Heart is not by a Skrillex drill,
but by seeing you ill.
For your good health,
I’ll run a 1000 Nights over Gasing hill,
with a cat called Meek Mill
till the day time stood still.

No matter what you say, didn’t say, what you do, didn’t do,
it will never Cross Me but I do mean to do what I say..a Chance to bring you to Budapest to see a stone called PnB Rock.

Auckland beckons, I reckon. My friend Khalid will bring you to meet all the Beautiful People ,
lots of glitz and loads of blitz
but I would still only have eyes for you, carelessly whispering to your ear,
“You look stunning, dear”
rebecca hunter Oct 2014
Summer heat, cool relief

Clucking sounds, juice dripping down

Sticky dirt, no more thirst


Put the wrapper in the bin, wipe the sticky off your skin

Merry walking down the beach, paddling back in the foamy sea


Chilly wind, sun going down

Time to get a cardi on

To the car, set off home

Lovely soak, wash off sticky and foam!
Clem Nov 2016
Nothing is more chilled
than slanted sunrays through pines
trembling with want

Nor nothing worse than
the young cardi’nals trilling
out to the white trees

Voices unfalt’ring
answered only by echoes
of forgotten spring

Cold, thick powder snow
blithely reminds us of the
small, white spring hen eggs

that, forever lost,
cracked among the ****-strewn straw,
oozing into earth—

and I think of you,
whispering back to the birds,
just as lost as they

waiting for pre-spring
dew to unfreeze from the grass
that you may lap it

with painful blue eyes
like black-stripped and impish jays,
looking down on all.
haiku. partially inspired by the Mountain Goats song of the same name.
Anais Vionet Apr 2022
My pose is gathered this Saturday morning because I made a pancake and bacon breakfast. We're listening to a Britney Spears song, off one of Leong’s playlists. “I remember when I was about 8,” I say, “I was drawing and singing a Brittney song and I got to the line - “I make no apologies, I’m into phonography,”” and my mom sharply says, “Don’t say that!” And I’m left trying to figure out what I said.”

“People are harsh with her, but Britney is timeless,” Leong says.

“Everyone at Yale fancies themselves a music critic,” Lisa says. There are numerous vocal agreements. “I’m like, “Ok, Pop-off then queen, go complicated,” but in my opinion, you need to have fun with music - that’s the main purpose - just to have fun.”

“That’s like the difference between Cardi B and Niki (Minaj). You can just stroll a Cardi B song, you don’t have to interpret,” Anna adds, “but with Nicki I feel I have to listen to see the point.”

Lisa, surfing on her iPad asks, “Did you guys see that Jojo Seawall wasn’t invited to the kid’s choice awards - because she came out as lesbian?”

Sophy says, “Nickelodeon’s been trying to seem MORE accepting, working in more black artists.”

“Yeah, but they’re fake.” Anna pronounces. Everyone nods agreement.

“He hasn’t called all WEEK,” Sophy moans, holding her iPhone up to her ear like she expected to hear ticking, “I made a ghost of him,” she says, flopping the phone on the couch.

“Should I call the Po-po?” Anna asks, distracted as she searches the kitchen cupboard to be sure the pancakes were gluten free.

“I had a dream,” Lisa begins, “I was a child in a family I don’t know. We were criminals. We stole a car and robbed a store. My dream mom ran the operation. And wouldn’t let me watch TV until I emptied the loot out of the car. Then the police arrived, we saw the flashing red and blue lights through closed venetian blinds, then there was a banging on the door, in the dream, that woke me up.”

“That’s way off track but It’s fine, so fine, I see how it is.” Sophy said, “I’m bleak and no one CARES.”

“Is love something you find, or something you believe?” I ask no one in particular.

“That’s a coffee-cup inscription.” Anna pronounces.

“Aaggh,” Leong says, “An email from my professor - it’s TLTR.” We think it's a policy that professors at Yale have to send incredibly long emails - almost too long to read (TLTR).

There’re only three weeks left of our freshman year, so emails are flying and everyone’s trying to nail things down for a smooth ending.
BLT word of the day challenge: Timeless: Classic, eternal or ageless.

Slang:
Stroll = groove
Po-po = the police
Marcus Tate May 2019
You told me it was over like this horrible hangover
I got heart full of pride
Playing the games like I’m supposed to be one of these lames
Enough with the gun smoke, don’t crack like this broken yolk
Folk in this plate before it’s too late
Learn to stand tall not to crawl
➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
No baby girl, no baby girl now you don’t have to call
Cause’ these feelings are showing like your actions
Pretending you don’t need me but you do
Find another man in your world
And feel cold girl, ice coffee
You feeling cramps in your stomach
Call me when the break is over 1-0-0
This ain’t no emergency
Cause this right here is a sense of urgency
That ring was a promise not a I DO
You acting things are good suddenly
I’m a good man, watch me take a stan
Here’s my loyalty, bet that on my speed dial
➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖
You used to be stuck on my mind
On my DM’s all the time, yeah
Marriage was something but nothing
Like he did you wrong when like the time he didn’t have for you
You know it went through your head, I'm only arrogant when something not right
I just love to know if you fix the time with me instead
Now you all caught up in the past , yeah
You all thought  up and you done let the feelings hurt you, yeah
Im fed up with cops on me and our arguments
Moved on and met me, wanna be on your side
Slide through quick, I just miss the old thing we had, baby
That’s all I want
-Tate
Babatunde Raimi Feb 2020
Exercise like Billy Blanks
Then punch it like Anthony Joshua
Meander like Lionel Messi
Drive it like Chrisriano Ronaldo
Play around like Neymar da Silver Santos
Swim a d swim like Michael Phelps
Whatever you do?
Never loose your mojo like Zlatan Ibrahimovic
Eyes on the ball like Serena Williams
Hit it hard like Rafael Nadal
Or do you prefer Tiger woods?
Until you hear her sing like Beyonce Giselle Knowles
Twerk like Cardi B
Don't stop cruising like Michael Shumacher
Except you are in a hurry to meet your ancestors
No need for aphrodisiacs
When you have natural smoothies
Above is how to keep her
Repeat these lines over again
And she'll love you forever
Oka Apr 2020
Skinny jeans, black cardi
Iphone 8 with that cracked screen
Eyebags from assignments overdue
Longing for a natural view
Outside the screens and books too
I need to ask "How do you do?"
First time using modern refrences really
Sky Mar 2018
Sing from your diaphragm, she would say to me
sing low, sing low.

I think of
the subway system of my body,
of mice and men,
its systematic chaos and
deep rumbling, as
long silver serpents ricochet off endo,
cardi,
metrium (repeat)
(endo, cardi, metrium)

I am the whale, I told myself.
I am the whale that swallowed the city
in all its alabaster glory and
underground *******,
the Joes and ***** that ride them.
Since that door slammed
I been a ram
Running through *****
Like Todd Gurley
Rocking Hurley
And traveling worldly
Yet I still remember your giggle
When Cardi would wiggle
Next to offset like a fiddle
Being played but the riddle
Where Corey Smith came from?
I thought you liked ****** dark as ***
Ok I get it upgrade and get a six S
I’m going to the supreme alphabet like SZA
Success
More like isosceles mess
But I still wish you best

I been in your dms
To see what you say
If I type “duck me?”
And you reply “Lick before you see
ogdiddynash Jul 2023
man cave versus she-sheds.

A man I know, finished his basement,
a skilled builder, he built it himself and
installed the masculine items prerequisite,
recliner and pool table, refridgerated mugs etcetera.

When asked how
he was enjoying
his privy isle
he replied, it’s ok,
but haven’t been down
there much lately,
seeing as the pool table
is used primarily
for folding laundry,
and the recliner
reserved for her
unmentionables.

he has
shed his man-cave secondarily to
she that rules,
Cardi-be-Cleopatra,
she rules, the empire,
now it’s her she-shed,
he openly cried
real manly tears
to me, fellow member
of hu-man-unkind.

one more,
just another
finished man,
a home & cave-less
bro…
lovelywildflower Nov 2018
"i’m ready to be with this man. forever. that’s why i’m getting married because i want it to be forever."


- Cardi B

O cipresso, che solo e nero stacchi
dal vitreo cielo, sopra lo sterpeto
irto di cardi e stridulo di biacchi:

in te sovente, al tempo delle more,
odono i bimbi un pispillìo secreto,
come d'un nido che ti sogni in cuore.

L'ultima cova. Tu canti sommesso
mentre s'allunga l'ombra taciturna
nel tristo campo: quasi, ermo cipresso,
ella ricerchi tra què bronchi un'urna.

Più brevi i giorni,
e l'ombra ogni dì meno
s'indugia e cerca, irrequieta, al sole;
e il sole è freddo e pallido il sereno.

L'ombra, ogni sera prima, entra nell'ombra:
nell'ombra ove le stelle errano sole.
E il rovo arrossa e con le spine ingombra

tutti i sentieri, e cadono già roggie
le foglie intorno (indifferente oscilla
l'ermo cipresso), e già le prime pioggie
fischiano, ed il libeccio ulula e squilla.

E il tuo nido? Il tuo nido?... Ulula forte
il vento e t'urta e ti percuote a lungo:
tu sorgi, e resti; simile alla Morte.

E il tuo cuore? Il tuo cuore?... Orrida trebbia
l'acqua i miei vetri, e là ti vedo lungo,
di nebbia nera tra la grigia nebbia.

E il tuo sogno? La terra ecco scompare:
la neve, muta a guisa del pensiero,
cade. Tra il bianco e tacito franare
tu stai, gigante immobilmente nero.
Even as adults we are still learning things about ourselves. If you would have told me that if crossed I devour, I would have laughed.  I have never been a mean person. It seems that things get built up within us and we can only take so much. Once we get to a certain point some of that anger must be released.
Normally, I have the ability to release in a positive way. Ha…with you I wanted to destroy you. Not take your life. But hurt you until you begged for mercy. They knew that I was not a nice angry lady. I could be quite dangerous if you ask me. Someone one asked me, “do you get back at people when crossed.” My answer on the spot was no! I did not even think that way. Yet once you pushed me it all came out. I scared myself….even though no lies were told no life threatening danger was to unfold …cringing pain was coming. As time went on…I mocked you by calls. You answered as if we were friends. How could we be friends after all of the things that we just went through? I was not your friend.
As Cardi B says, “Be careful with me.” It seems that you did not heed the warning.
You went undercover hiding from everyone. Months later popping up in pictures with people that have a venomous, vengeful dislike for you. I no longer desire to harm you in anyway.
By the way that you are living you are harming yourself. I am going to take time to work on myself. I don’t like the fact that I am not a nice lady when angry. But while I am working on me…my advice to you is to stay away.
Not really mean...who wrote this...different sides to everyone ...love heals all wounds. -FLB-Sweetlemon
kain Aug 2019
To Sunglasses
For letting me try them on
$275 and silk pajamas
Apologies
We were never the same
But when we were
We were

To the third eye girl
For opening mine
Letting me into
A world beyond what I see
Showing that there's little
Distance
Between you and me

To my banana nails lover
For being my Jupiter
And letting me be Neptune
For answering my letters
For letting me
Let you go
And not coming back

To Lacy
For being my rock
For not patronizing me
When I cried
Or trying to solve my problems
You were just there
That was enough

To D
For smiling at me
And doing your best
Inspiration
Even when
It wasn't what
I needed

To Cardi B
For trusting me
Your painted toes
And bodycon dresses
You were never my obsession
But you were also fair
I didn't give you credit

To my cowboy
For looking at me
Your silly dance moves
Are engrained in me
Your childish lore
Is nothing
Compared to who you really are

To the ADHD
For befriending me
Laughter and your
Boots on a bike
Riding in sunshine
Forever on my mind
Perfect in my eyes

To Tido
For being the goodest boy
Rollercoaster dives
After footballs
In the the afternoon
Cold and crisp
Alone with you

To Crywolf
For looking at me
Your breathing
In my bedroom
Is never going to fade
And I'm never
Going to stop waiting for you
Oh boy. This brings back memories.
ConnectHook Apr 2021
Afrania, deficient in decency,
took her freak to a very high frequency.
Though not quite Cardi B,
she continues to be
the vile Roman, opposed to all quiescency.

Let’s compare and contrast: Maurice White
and his players took funk to the height
of all excellent altitude:
(Listen to Gratitude !)
Afrofuturism bright.

The perfection of Earth, Wind & Fire
shall continue to awe and inspire.
But in truth, all I see
in that foul Cardi B.
is a *****-mouth puta for hire.

In the end, Afrofuturist soul
Should consider its ultimate goal:
to alarm or inspire ?
Invite praise or satire
Of its cultural value, in whole . . .
Afrofuturism  (n.):
a movement in literature, music, art, etc., featuring futuristic or science fiction themes
which incorporate elements of Black history and culture

Afrania:
a Roman matron, who frequented the forum, forgetful of female decency.
(p. 58,  Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary)
2D World Dec 2017
That was only chapter one did I forget to mention that I wasn't done things just started to get fun so relax and sunbathe in the sun
Lets cut out all the hullabaloo *** now we're in chapter two its time to get buggin like fuu and turn you around until you get *******
You heard my story so lets stick around for his after party and try not to b so cardi or a playboi or else you could get this poetry in motion like a hardy
He thought he was the kid of karate til he got stuck doing a jazz pilate all because Santa said he was naughty since his mouth was like a *****
But he was fearless with no fear God fearing but things still weren't fair just like the maiden who left him broken stole his keys and left him looking for bus fare hoping for a miracle like "******* why won't you appear"
He held the wheel but couldn't steer with death giving him a death stare and he only had to climb up that one stair but why would anyone think or care about someone who had no flare
But lets take a look at reality but through the oculus and watch the apocalypse settle down in his mind where the monstrous demons from the unknown started to make him feel anonymous
He was in his prime like optimus but he kept running in a zig zag line the people thought he was nauseous and no matter how mich he tried to be cautious he couldn't make his destiny autonomous
He thought he could strike lightening like laxus and he tried to bolt tackle like pikachu but everyone just kept asking him "Are u-sain?"
All his efforts were in vain he wasted all his time behind scenes with no name his life was like a planetary devastation filled with pain and he didn't have an umbrella to walk through the rain
He was in love but got blue ticked, wanted to ride her waves and listen to her hearts acoustics, but learned he wasn't the only tooth picked and in the end still couldn't face the music
This is the end of the chapter and I thought I couldn't lose it, his hearts going through a punic and he can't save his documents because he lost the rubric so he started burning tulips and there was no cure for his state of mind he was incurable the opposite of therapeutic
#TheFinishLineIsNothingButAMirage   #Life'sAnEndlessCycleWithTooManyPagesToTurn    #ItsAMixtureOfRapAndPoetry
Babatunde Raimi Jan 2020
A Poem: A Dose Of Vanity

A dose of vanity
What you call vanity
Might not be vanity at all
What is poison to one
May be pleasure to another
How yummy and sweet it is
The sweetest of all pleasures

Come with me to sin city
Bring down the walls
When you come over
No need for hang-over
Just bend over
And I will take over
Afterwards, we can changeover

Give me a dose of vanity
Without any iota of sentimentality
Let us define our territoriality
With a sense of responsibility
Before we engage in vanity
That leads to ecstasy
Be advised, proceed with protection

Now, the moment has come
Before we "*** our ***"
Let us "talk the talk"
This moment is intended for pleasure
No doubt, the best form of exercise
Ours not intended for procreation

Did you sign an oath of celibacy?
Are you virile and adventurous?
Let's play with the oil that never dries
Let me give you a trip
To a city that never sleeps
Don't we all need a dose of vanity?

Slowly, lift up the veil
Start from the periphery
Input the play head
Twerk like Cardi B
And enjoy a dose of vanity
Before you get tipsy and engaged
But remember *** is real
Have you been tested?
Spread the news, not the virus

Babatunde Raimi
Author/Life Coach/Poet
08178827380 & 08035063895
Juliana Oct 2019
Static.
Wind blowing.
Lines passing
and passing
and passing.

Freedom.

He turns on the radio.
David Allen Coe.
The perfect country song.
The new country is ****
he says.

We get him a Taylor Swift
album for his birthday.
He laughs, but I love it.
She's fun, she's happy.

And then it starts.
First with Taylor.
Then the Jonas Brothers,
And One Direction.

And then, it's my turn.
Troye Sivan, R5,
James Arthur.

The radio is no longer
Filled with comfort.
Cardi B, Sia,
Endless DJs,
and names yet to
Be heard from again.

Some, yes,
I come to like eventually,
But most,
Foreign noise in a
formally safe atmosphere.

No longer is the wind
messing up my hair.
Now the windows
are barricaded,
Refusing to let the
melody be silenced.

But every so often.
I will go back into that safe place,
Into a different chair,
The windows down,
Music so loud that
I can't even hear him singing,
And I will sing along too,
To the perfect country song.
Babatunde Raimi Jan 2020
If you've ever flown
Carry bottled water about
Charter Uber or Taxify
Usually don't finish your drinks
Leave droplets of food at restaurants
Congrats, you made it!

If you are a Soldier's wife
A Lawyer or a Doctor
You use i-phone 32
Ever snapped "pinshure" with "Whity"
Or attended private university
Congrats, you made it!

You are in charge of party food
Borrow a car to pick your date
Snapped inside a car for Facebook and Instagram
If you love to sit in front of danfo
Or work as a Marketer
Congrats, you made it!

If you are course representative
An MD in any firm
Your brother is a politician  
Snapped inside a Airplane
Or fair like the daughters of Job
Just add it to your resume
You already made it!

If you wear gold Romanian curls
Would you rather do Brazilian or Indian hair
You already look like Khardashian
Or have "Arsenal" like Cardi B
Can I get your autograph?
You are already a star

If you have a customized plate
A double chief in your village
You love ******* and foursome
You abuse siren as an ordinary Spy Police
You are already a big boy!

However, if you are street smart
You have a skill set with your education
If you went to a finishing school
You never allow pride overwhelm you
If you are your own Boss
And you pay salaries
You are the real VIP

Many are victims of identity
Living in prisons of their imagination
Forming Slay Queens and Marlians
If you don't mind yourself now
Your future might be a repeat of the past
Don't be poor and proud!
It is highly cancerous...

Babatunde Raimi
Author/Life Coach/Poet
08178827380 & 08035063895
O cipresso, che solo e nero stacchi
dal vitreo cielo, sopra lo sterpeto
irto di cardi e stridulo di biacchi:

in te sovente, al tempo delle more,
odono i bimbi un pispillìo secreto,
come d'un nido che ti sogni in cuore.

L'ultima cova. Tu canti sommesso
mentre s'allunga l'ombra taciturna
nel tristo campo: quasi, ermo cipresso,
ella ricerchi tra què bronchi un'urna.

Più brevi i giorni,
e l'ombra ogni dì meno
s'indugia e cerca, irrequieta, al sole;
e il sole è freddo e pallido il sereno.

L'ombra, ogni sera prima, entra nell'ombra:
nell'ombra ove le stelle errano sole.
E il rovo arrossa e con le spine ingombra

tutti i sentieri, e cadono già roggie
le foglie intorno (indifferente oscilla
l'ermo cipresso), e già le prime pioggie
fischiano, ed il libeccio ulula e squilla.

E il tuo nido? Il tuo nido?... Ulula forte
il vento e t'urta e ti percuote a lungo:
tu sorgi, e resti; simile alla Morte.

E il tuo cuore? Il tuo cuore?... Orrida trebbia
l'acqua i miei vetri, e là ti vedo lungo,
di nebbia nera tra la grigia nebbia.

E il tuo sogno? La terra ecco scompare:
la neve, muta a guisa del pensiero,
cade. Tra il bianco e tacito franare
tu stai, gigante immobilmente nero.
Mia Mcdaniel Jan 2021
Men
Radio plays *** sound
I hear let me pull your dress down
Though I was taught roses, candles, dinner dates
But the boy next door talks let me blow her out
The boy in high says her jeans are tighter
Though I was taught sweet compliments... but group of men talks how his girl moves
My innocents leave like melting butter
I question myself as a girl is this what I’m for?
for ***** words that comes out of a mans tongue to slander me?
For them to debate whether I’m pretty or not with their judge mental minds....
My parents never told me the reality as a female
What are we to them..objects?
Though Cardi B is no good example
I don’t belong to anyone I say
I say I belong to me, myself and I
O cipresso, che solo e nero stacchi
dal vitreo cielo, sopra lo sterpeto
irto di cardi e stridulo di biacchi:

in te sovente, al tempo delle more,
odono i bimbi un pispillìo secreto,
come d'un nido che ti sogni in cuore.

L'ultima cova. Tu canti sommesso
mentre s'allunga l'ombra taciturna
nel tristo campo: quasi, ermo cipresso,
ella ricerchi tra què bronchi un'urna.

Più brevi i giorni,
e l'ombra ogni dì meno
s'indugia e cerca, irrequieta, al sole;
e il sole è freddo e pallido il sereno.

L'ombra, ogni sera prima, entra nell'ombra:
nell'ombra ove le stelle errano sole.
E il rovo arrossa e con le spine ingombra

tutti i sentieri, e cadono già roggie
le foglie intorno (indifferente oscilla
l'ermo cipresso), e già le prime pioggie
fischiano, ed il libeccio ulula e squilla.

E il tuo nido? Il tuo nido?... Ulula forte
il vento e t'urta e ti percuote a lungo:
tu sorgi, e resti; simile alla Morte.

E il tuo cuore? Il tuo cuore?... Orrida trebbia
l'acqua i miei vetri, e là ti vedo lungo,
di nebbia nera tra la grigia nebbia.

E il tuo sogno? La terra ecco scompare:
la neve, muta a guisa del pensiero,
cade. Tra il bianco e tacito franare
tu stai, gigante immobilmente nero.
IN THE AFTER-TIME

" Alice thought she
had never seen such

a curious croquet
ground in all her life; "

It was somewheres near
Roswell

18 something and something
there or there...abouts

& Billy the Kid &
the boys have just

...paused:

in their croquet
for a tintype photo.

Billy's the guy
in the cardigan sweater.

Him & his gang
( the Regulators )

are posing like
they were a prototype

for
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

or the band
THE BAND.

Pure Americana.

Billy the cardi-cowboy and
his gang of croquet playing outlaws...

Not exactly how
one would have  somehow

imagined them
. . .passing the time.

One of the outlaw...eh...gentlemen

points out that
Billy

" . . .the Kid has spooned
his shot!"

A ricochet of tobacco coloured
spittle hits a spittoon.

Silence congeals
about the accusation.

Now, whether Billy has
merely pushed the ball

silently through rather than
soundly hit it

is:
neither here nor there.

A cold revolver
clicks &

"I says I hit it...I hit it
get it?"

The other gentleman outlaw
begs to agree.

"Ok, Billy boy...keep yer
cardi on!"

And so, we leave them
there

in the croquet craze of
1878.

Time like a yellow ball
hit through hoop after

hoop until: it arrives
at this

present...NOW!

And a photo found in a store
for a dollar or a few dollars more

repays the expense
by morphing into

the 5 million dollar
photo.

But I hit the ball
back through hoop after

hoop after hoop

until it arrives back
at Billy's boot.

And a voice cries:
"Ok, kid...play!"

— The End —