"chauffeured" poems
The streets are clear, we're hydrophobic
Hoods propped by hats and socks pulled high;
The rain brings peace to the agoraphobic
Puddles form moats and clouds fill the sky.
Splash, droplets hit the window,
chauffeured by the gale outside.
Squint your eyes and flash back
boats tilt starboard, with the tide.
The captain shouts to the decks, paranoid
'Clear the decks and brace for impact'
Without turbulence we are disenfranchised
Boredom becomes us when we're boring.
Shake it off and stare at the dot to dot
the residual carving of water as it slides
Another droplet falls beside it, parallel
it aligns, growling thunder overhead.
Without stirring we are robotic workforces
Without awaking we are left inside
The constructs created for us, by corporate-
conglomerate elitist-psychopaths.
Two drops of water on the window
simmer red with burning anger.
Crash lightening sears the sky
Rage becomes you, girders melt.
The starry night undercurrent, flings
us backwards, never up, as democracies
which seek to serve sink into a sea of
stocks and shares, the wall street journal
sits atop the captains lobby, economies
were meant to tumble as the working classes
fumble for bread, men in suits gaggle
and toast to the millions they left for dead.
Resistance is futile, when eighty-five
of the richest suit owners sit on currency
that was meant for the three point five
billion who aren’t driven by gluttony.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
In dreams
he loves me ~
he looks at me with those seductive eyes
that take me on flights along emerald skies
In dreams
he touches me
and I melt with desire
his hands and his kisses light me on fire
In dreams
he takes me
on trips to France and Italy ~
we dance the night away and
dine on the finest cuisines,
sipping champagne
in chauffeured limousines
Then I awaken…
…and have to get ready for work.
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC
**In this world.
Hate-driven acts are applauded
And the hunger for power
remains deep-rooted in our hearts.
Disregard for life; ****** and war,
All in search for what will one day end us.
To each his own, left alone.
Every man for himself.
Peace; OUR corrupted illusion,
The Forbidden Fruit takes over.
As pain constricts our joy
We are left out in the storm.
Tears of a mother for her lifeless young
In her unnatural arms.
Copper hairs, metal burdens haunt
Her mind.
Vivid divisions between The Rich
And the poor. The serpents chauffeured in black greed through
poverty-ridden streets.
Gun shots. Duck, pull, dodge, ****
Endless Enmity.
We are.
It.
Decaying skies, Black Murk.
Falling Heavens. Remnants of beauty
Stolen by hell.
Blind destruction. Burning cold.
Wingless Doves, Hoodlum Pigeons
And Voiceless Parrots.
Stolen freedom,
inHuman.
Darkness reigns from dawn through dusk. The sun has died, leaving the
Moon in mourning. There is no
Morning left in this night.
Painful truths, heartbreaking lies.
Bitterness consumes every breath
Calamity at every corner.
There is no history; only history's repetition.
Let the story
Of our ruthless ruin
Be known.
How We Have All Been HIT.**
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC
me and collie took the town by storm,
black man and white man
drinking buddies? what a rarity.
uncle didn’t join us the old ghanian,
we had drunk sentimentalities, of course,
but when russel the schizoid rudolf came
up and told us the tottenham man city score
i went into the alley and almost ****** myself
prior shouting h and a into an ivory rattle of teeth.
but what a night, collie’s girlfriend i also met,
i remember kissing her dry brown skin
on the bone of finger, before being chauffeured home;
but of course, before all that, staring into
the gape of being centralised by the passerby’s eyes,
a lot of english pyjama beauties walked the talk
getting their score of **** -
if not more.
but as i pointed out to the white colt - the jeans below the knees
with... calvin kleine - ‘mate, you need flashy underwear to
walk with your **** exposed - primani ain’t gonna cut it for the hoes.’
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 8:56 AM UTC
There has been so much turbulence
It took me a while to find calm skies to finally be circling
Obstacle after obstacle
My body was fatigue off the hurdling
Only thing that kept me going
Was the good memories
But even those were in jeopardy
As I found the nightmares more nourishing
I found myself not wanting to drive no more
Rather be chauffeured by all my demons
Who manipulated my feelings behind closed doors
Hard to argue when they were always better on the track
Even though stops signs were ignored
But I was down for the ride
Seatbelt unbuckled
Doubts I had a couple
Quiet was the tunnel
Loud was the collide
My life rolled like film right before my eyes
Out of body experience
I was delirious inside
And I was disgusted on what I saw
I mean the tickets were free
But I wanted to refund it all
So many regrets piled on regrets
Playing Russian roulette with my life's crystal ball
Just because I was too weak to form a fist
Too spineless to stand tall
But that was the old me
A *****
It took a near death experience to final wake me up
and push me
And it felt amazing to revolt
To take the noose that strangled and dangled across my throat
And use that piece of string to find footing
Like touring on tight ropes
The same monster that tried to **** me
Now gives me hope
The same place that broke me
Now shows me the truth through the smoke
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 5:10 PM UTC
I'm sorry I threw up
On your Louis Vuitton sneakers
In the back of your chauffeured BMW
Driving through the crumbling streets
Of Mexico City
On the way back
To your immaculate home.
Something was not sitting well
In my stomach.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
The Desperate Princewives in Toronto
On Christmas eve a lineman hoists herself
Far up into the blowing ice to mend
The power that keeps our children warm at night
While waiting for good Santa Claus to come
On Christmas Day a cop patrols the streets
Alone against snipers with ‘47s
Keeping us safe while we grumble about cops
She’s left her children with her mom to watch
The morning after Christmas another mom
Jump-starts her ten-year-old car so she can drive
The slushy streets to her shift at Dairy Queen
For her career ladder at the deep fryer
In a studio in Canada two men
Well-guarded by their secret services
Well-fed, well-dressed well-chauffeured in their ‘zines
Escorted, piloted, guided, scripted
Express their happiness that working folk
Are wealthier and healthier than ever
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC