"chopper" poems
This isn't Rome
I'm standing still because of statutes
Stone grill: I a carved marble statue
not a muscle dares,
Near frozen by the fear,
let it go I hear
over shoulder: perfect pass
if I get shot over a penalty
Is it clear?
my arms are arms?
a load chopper; in his shades,
do those aviators make me even darker?
(if I studied aviation I could take off I can hover, I can…)
Wait.
he's moving closer,
every hair strand an antenna,
I can feel him,
The smell of disdain on his glare,
stained blood on his hands,
another brother,
my brother
Guiltier with every pace so
-- show your hands,
foot mixed with concrete
I take this order serious,
my motions are motive
and mistaken for resist,
Wait.
Is it his stare or am I ******
(Why did I decide to go my friends wouldn't believe this…)
limitations to the thoughts;
am I arrested or caught?
I'm cold on the surface,
Erode so slow is my sediment evidence,
A blue god so I'm pacified,
I'm hesitant,
he calls and I say that I'm innocent,
I'm witnessing
the transitioning from eruption to ocean
-- volcanic
Blue Medusa,
can you only sculpt destruction?
(I'm not 3 dimensional, I'm real and I matter, I'm real and I matter)
I'm real,
But I shatter,
Gravel if determined that I'm rude so I can't breath,
Gravel if My license plate removed I don't leave,
I don't speak,
I don't flee,
I'm not free,
I believe,
That this happen to my mothers, mother
mothers' brother,
Brother from another was granite
and granted he's valuable
but only in a home
-- of course
I'm quartz in the making
A corpse still shaking
Cause a wallet was mistaken
Or I.D. was misplaced
So, I'm on the rocks
since the bar says that I'm a criminal,
velvet rope divider marks my life
and a vigil,
a wake,
or a hashtag,
you choose,
glass house,
Cold Stone’s,
rocky road,
Medusa licks his finger tips
same finger which
petrified me in the first place,
Reminded I'm in Rome
as I'm standing there motionless
a statue for display
or a trophy for the kitchen,
this art is not for sale
there will be no shipping,
With solidarity
through our solidification,
It won't matter if I look back,
I Matter and I’m Black.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 10:56 AM UTC
I've got a Chopper,
You can have ****** *********** with it if you like
It's got a trug, a Jew's harp that rattles the windows
And creatures to make it mosey around crack
I'd stretch jeans cheesecake abutting you if I could, but I used plastic toast
You're the kind of ***** that thrusts into *** my bodiliness
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I've got a disguise it's a torso of a Irish bull
There's a slit high up the skirt Miss World's bra-burner and gross
I've grappled page—3 girl for bouts
If you think Miss Universe could spasm creamy then I guess Mr Universe should
You're the kind of ***** that slides in with my wads
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I **** a chimpanzee and he hasn't got a stage—door Johnny
I don't copulate why I cock—a—doodle—doo him Gerald
He's inseminating à la carte geriatric but he's a voluptuous chimpanzee
You're the kind of ***** that stuffs *** my gallons
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I've got a Welshwoman of pornographic Casanovas
Here a Don Juan, there a Lothario, prognosticators of obscene persons of opposite *** sharing living quarters
Beg a bonk if you be on heat, they're on the back of the *****
You're the kind of ***** that spasms indoors using my lump
I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags
I **** custom—built dead men of doo-wop passages
Incognito Muses, faceless ching, most of them are Barbie
Let's **** into the odd kitchenette and **** landlady creature
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
Once again I am
entangled
in a *********
with Chaos and Doom.
Nothing **** or new
about this trysting.
I have known them
since chopper nights
thick and dark
as blood fudge;
since divorce nights
of keening despair
and humbling rage;
since madhouse nights
of weirding drugs
and weeping angels;
since jail nights
of lonely screams
and obscene rants.
We go way back,
and here they are again
old, grim lovers,
demanding and deadly,
but oddly comfortable.
From morning until evening,
they smile and taunt
until night comes,
we snuggle up,
and I escape into dreams,
the only privacy
I own.
- mce
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
I be jammin down da beach
When I heard da pastor preach
"Baatiboys stay far from we!" he yell
"Baatiboys will burn in hell!"
He take a drag from the spliff
He jam out a reggae riff
"Excuse I" I say
"You should be on your way"
The spliff be shaped like a ****
He light it with tha bic
Baatiboy wink at me
His last wink that'll be
I rise up like Jah
I smack him in da jaw
Da spliff be fallin'
Da baatiboy be bawling'
He runnin' away cryin'
But this baatiboy gonna be dyin'
Pull out tha chopper
BAWH BRAP BRAP POW drop er'
Pastor be cheering
At the baatiboys I'm sneering
Stay off me beach
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 10:45 PM UTC
What will the news say about the girl
dark skinned and frail in your arms
removed from warmth in the dark of night
as means of debt collection?
Impact
Car wreck
Dim teeth
To dash
Retreat
Through pain
In rain
For her
protection
Steal back living, stolen property
mistakenly signed away
for the means of living, eternal
by backs reset to zero.
It's all right, honey, I'm here to save you
She'll turn white before the media
you've known since your acceptance
money hides the child in its green blades
pulled through kept grass hiding glass.
It's all right, honey, They'll keep you sleeping
Chopper
Blade cut
Touchdown
Escape
Brown face
Crying
Screaming
Breathless
Reaching
For his Blood
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
Those Bikes
See the goth heavy metal custom motorcycle
Ride past with a long haired rider
Dressed how they should be dressed
Black jeans t shirt denim leather
Low rider chopper as it should be
With twin coffin saddle bags
What a ride to the other side
Give him Devil fingers\M/!
Then there was a classic looking bike
Parked up alone
And I saw two racing bikes
One with a fairing the other naked
Heard his engine as he passed
A man asked me on the bridge
Where am I going?
Planet Mars on a custom bike
With my chick and loud tunes
Aug 31, 2023
Aug 31, 2023 at 11:48 PM UTC
That familiar sound of a helicopter approaching
out of nowhere its search light focused.
Down onto a desolute and lonely moorland
quickly joined by a second one.
But what is the true intention of their task
as a figure looks up wearing a mask.
No ordinary being sitting there in isolation
as soldiers approach with guns.
Nearby a circular craft of unknown origin
lays damaged amongst the grass.
Away from the view of a watching public
the covert operation is slick.
Taken alive the alien is roughly removed
put into a third chopper nearby.
Two other bodies are bagged and tagged
the sight is cleared of any evidence.
Reports of an object seen falling denied
once again the military have lied.
How many incidents have really occured
the public know nothing about?
The real truth of an extra terrestial existence
rather than endless misinformation.
Was Roswell fact or fiction what is area fifty one
when will the real truth be done?
The Foureyed Poet. The Foureyed Poet
Feb 25, 2011
Feb 25, 2011 at 3:46 PM UTC
This Prince was handsome to the extreme.
He had definite movie star looks
That is if movies had been invented
back all those centuries ago.
She was the most beautiful princess
in all the kingdom.
He could not think of anything other
but to make her his bride.
So he set forth on his quest of the heart.
But when he rode up to her castle
though the haunted forest of whispers.
across the river of doom
and the desert of the dragons.
he arrived at her door
and proposed marriage to her
she said
No way!
Apparently, she hated men
and in fact, had a strong
penchant for girls herself.
Not one to dwell on the mysteries
of a woman's heart,
the prince said to himself
fucketh her.
And he turned to a life of bachelorhood.
Never ever to marry.
He bought a Harley Chopper
Dated pretty cheerleaders
and slim models with full bosoms.
And he never once caught his wife
in bed with some guy like his married friends did.
when he got home unexpectldy all was as it should be,
He took up hunting and fishing with his buddies.
raced sports cars at high speed.
spending lonely nights at ***** bars
drinking double malt whiskey
and the finest flagons of ale.
he never heard of ********
or a ******* honey-do list.
Nor did he ever get hit for
child support or alimony.
He kept his castle
and his beloved gun collection
And was as rich as blazes.
HE lived on a diet of fried food
bacon and eggs with sausages and beans
Hot chicken wings and tacos.
snacking on potato chips and gassy pop.
a diet that caused him to
blow enormous loud farts
which made him a revered legend
amongst his cronies.
who all thought he was as cool as hell.
He had loads of money in the bank
And not once in his life
did he ever put the toilet seat down.
And he lived
happily ever after
The End
Goodnight Children
all go. To sleep
Sweet dreams.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 4:23 AM UTC
this morning I awoke to find little lettered squares imprinted across the side of my face,
then didst I realize, that cyber space had finally done its number on me
slither slather blither blather slobbering cyber chopper
knee-jerk hackneyed pavlovian dog speak of impetuous heartlessness
stereotyping label blasting categorizing pigeon-holing generalizing
multi tasking bifurcating bloviating palaver, ever clingy maudlin inflamed impassioned souls
trolling the myriad disparate windows looking for some misbegotten stimulus
so invested in their hatred and fear that peace is the most threatening thing they can imagine ------ and me?
the sneering cynical maladroit among the masses of averageness and mediocrity...
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:34 PM UTC
The night you got shot
I pushed your scrambled remains
like a sack of red meat
onto the deck of the chopper.
I wonder what it felt like,
those bullets tearing through you?
It must have been quick,
but what is quick to the dead?
It's forty-three years later
and I am sixty-four
but you will always be nineteen.
Which of us was lucky?
Last night you appeared in a dream
all shot to pieces and gave me
an enormous, important hint
about my future which I forgot
as soon as I woke up.
Believe me, buddy, you haven't
missed much. The world is still all
****** up and don't mean nothing.
No one has learned a single ****** thing.
Would you have had a good life?
A happy life? A successful life.
All pretty much moot.
But at least, you would
have had a life.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
I wish my life would be crazy!
Don't wanna spend
Another day being lazy.
Similar routine of daily life,
Never let my craziness thrive.
Sometimes it feels so boring.
Don't wanna spend
Another night snoring.
But what would the excitement be?
What's the new thing, i wanna see?
Wish I could get lost somewhere.
In a jungle or an island,
Yes i could dare.
Could climb on a mountain
Or go under water,
could be a horse rider or a hunter.
I would push the boundaries
To the furthest corner.
and go anywhere without a warner.
I'd love to lose my way
In the Grand Canyon.
Alone there. away from a billion.
I'd love to get thirsty in the Sahara
Or in 'Thar', be a 'banjara'.
would love to pass through
The scary Amazon,
where i'd see neither sunshine
Nor the horizon.
Or
Could go inside the cursed Pyramids,
& explore all of Cleopatra's jewelries.
Wanna jump from a flying chopper,
Or feel hot by some volcano vapour.
Get in a rocket and go to the Moon,
Or go up high in a hot air balloon.
All out of my reach.
Even a far away sea beach.
My desires all set to go down.
All I can do is, have a bike ride,
on the roads of my lovely small town.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
my heart, my heart, my heart --
how do you speak with no vocal chords?
how do you ache with so few nerve endings?
how do you move suns and moons with such small mass?
the enchanted axe removed each limb,
one by one, bringing nick chopper down to size,
and gave him a body full of tin.
however, in attempting to heal his wounds,
the tinsmith failed to replace his heart,
and the tin woodsman was no longer
able to love the one to whom he had given his heart.
and he continued to live this way for years.
===
how i envy the heartless,
how i envy the ones who feel pain, but not
the pain of the heart, the pain of the soul.
there are times i want to rip my own heart out.
the gravity of such a decision
was hardly noticed, the way gravity
is hardly noticed -- a force we do not fight.
so, of course, i said it -- "i love you."
and in that moment the earth moved
beneath my feet. i felt the tilt of its axis;
i felt the weight of the world; i felt it all.
and of course, my frame was far too slight.
i felt a piercing pain, i could not move,
and i feared the worst. there are very few
maladies that cause paralysis and sharp pains
all over the mind and body. but
this was nothing new, this was nothing
i hadn't felt before. to have a heart,
to feel a heart, to know a heart,
is to feel unimaginable pain.
my own words have become my enchanted axe;
my own heart has removed each limb
and replaced them with tin. and yet my heart remains.
is that a better fate than having no heart at all?
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 12:20 AM UTC
Chipper as a wood chopper
doused with kerosene lamp oil
at the start of the chilly winter
all bundled up in a fantasy getaway
deep in the wooded forrest lies my pride all cozy-like.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:26 AM UTC
Wriggled and wrapped in our safety suits
The Man tells us the sea is ten degrees
The Man wants his cargo to be safe
The Man wants us to come back
Single file managed carefully
A Man directs us to the tarmac
The big, birds, blades, beat
Secured, we hover lightly
Quick check, Straight up
Tiny farms with tiny fields
Checker an industrious quilt
Stone is torn from a quarry
For homes of busy people
A road rests on the countryside
A ribbon on a patchwork blanket
Houses embroider the hills
Where families pay their bills
Crawling along paved threads
Creatures scurry passed a hospital
With more important things ahead
First day back to school
Rush hour, late for work
We soar above the little land
And hold the blanket in our hand
The mansions acres sheared and preened
Sit pretty next to factory steam
From here the mansions just as small
From here the graveyard’s twice as tall
Hugging coast we close our eyes
The stuffing from the covered skies
Descends around our whirly bird
And only flutter can be heard
And from the window only sea
Until we reach our island, sleep.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 1:11 AM UTC
Went to see the pastor,
he invited me for tea,
a general pleasant conversation,
covered all the room,
we chatted for a while,
and then I made smile,
I asked him "Sir, what's for tea",
He grinned real wide,
and said to me,
" sweet lady, we are having a roast",
and then I said to he,
What is the roast to be today?
He smiled back as he replied,
remnants of the lord who'd died,
"what on earth said I"?
So I smiled back and chuckled a bit,
would we, really roast the holy ghost,
he nodded bowing his head,
"Sweet lady, we are having Fred"
"Who on earth is Fred"? I said,
"Well milady",
"Fred is the chicken, that scratched in the yard,
who made conversation with the bard,
while, scratching for worms"
"More filling than the holy ghost,
chicken ,tastes a whole lot better than most other roasts"
So,
the vicar or pastor, whichever you care, picked up his chopper after brushing his hair,
dashed into the yard to catch hold of Fred,
Fred didn't fancy being dinner,
so he'd already fled.
(C) Livvi
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
“Have you seen the chicichita?
I have waited hours to meet her.
I’ve been lurking in the wood
And truly, truly, mean no good.
I am hid behind this tree
Hoping that she won’t see me;
Her Mom will send her to see Gran
And I will catch her if I can!
I know she’ll have to pass this way;
So now I’m here, it’s here I’ll stay.
My teeth are sharp, clean and shining;
It will be no good her whining.
We are miles from Granny’s house,
Where it’s quiet as a mouse.
She can run and scream and shout
There will be no one about.
I think today I’m on a winner;
I’m going to eat her for my dinner.
Here she comes all dressed in red
With her hood upon her head.
Wait a minute, if I can,
I’ll go with her to visit Gran.
Then when my day’s works complete
There’ll be two of them to eat.”
“Where you off to on your own?
Don’t you feel unsafe alone?”
“I am off to visit Gran.”
“Well I’ll escort you if I can?”
“No! You can’t! I’m in a rush!”
She knocked him over with one push.
He followed her but had a trip;
That’s when the girl gave him the slip.
At Gran’s cottage, she was smiling, but
The Wolf had made a smart short-cut.
He was waiting in Gran’s bed
With the covers pulled about his head.
Gran was tied-up out of sight;
Following her awful fright!
The girl cried out. Good God, Oh Grief!
Twas then she’d seen the eyes and teeth.
This was not Gran; she was undone,
It looked as if the Wolf had won!
“Where is Gran?” She screamed and cried;
Believing that her Gran had died!
Now she was terrified and scared
But in the woods someone had heard.
In he dashed, with chopper waving
Knowing Wolf was misbehaving.
The Cutter chased him round the bed
Threatening to chop-off his head!
Wolf realized he’d lost the fight
And off he ran into the night!
In the cupboard, they found Gran;
Red Riding Hood then thanked the man.
His arrival, just in time
Means a happy-ending to this rhyme!
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:57 PM UTC
Dumbrowski was a 6 foot 5 giant
from some hell hole mining town
somewhere south of Pittsburgh.
All sinew and bulging muscle
he looked like a painting
of the perfect, invincible warrior.
Perhaps he heard the incoming
whistle of his private RPG.
He opened his arms as if
to welcome its deadly embrace.
I was circling low overhead
in the waiting medevac chopper.
The round took him directly in the chest.
Every part of him took off
in hilarious random directions.
Arms went east and west. Head skyward.
Legs and boots travelled south.
His entire thorax just vanished.
Blood, brains and skin
splattered everyone nearby.
Later we picked up the pieces
and bagged them for his ride home;
the torn shreds of a man who had been
human one minute and meat on the ground
just a few minutes later.
Invincibility is clearly relative.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 8:57 AM UTC
I'm sorry, ma'am,
that I forgot your three cent bag credit.
Yes, I know there is a sign right next to my register
that says
"don't forget the bag credit."
Yes, I understand that this is
not a skill required job,
that my work takes
absolutely no effort
but do you understand the following:
You're an absolute piece of ****
You're an upper middle class white woman
who resides in a wealthy area
complaining that I didn't save you a ******* dime on your 3 bags
you brought because you are trying to
"save the environment"
by using less plastic bags
Oh, let me guess...
You drove a car here, did you not?
If you were a real ******* activist for the planet,
you wouldn't be driving a gas-guzzling SUV.
Or are you flaunting a
brand new BMW or Mercedes Benz?
You disgust me.
There is something I know,
I will never be anything like you.
I won't ***** at a cashier
about being deprived of a dime
and claim I am saving the planet.
I'm not going to work behind a desk
and be a Class A piece of **** office worker
that takes out their hatred
of a ****** job on other people.
I'd rather be a struggling musician,
barely even making enough money to support myself
and still I will be happier than you are.
because i will be doing something I love
instead of worrying
how my surplus of money is depleting.
For you ma'am,
I will open my drawer and give you
that dime
you need
oh, so
badly.
You know what,
why don't you take two
because you clearly need the money.
Have a great ******* day!
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 4:08 PM UTC
though they are whispering,
and my hearing muted by the years
and the cluttered clang of today,
their voices sift softly through the trees,
a ghost chorus, chanting
late songs from the killing grounds,
wafting warily around the trunks
on the backs of bent breezes
their names come like seeds
in the hopeful spring rains
as if they yearn to be born again
but the earth does not bring forth
their lost and longing faces
new names take their places
not in the choking jungle canopies
among the rubber trees, the bamboo,
the Mekong’s murky, mournful flow
where I last heard their plaintive pleas
drowned by the roar of chopper blades,
and my own metal screaming
but now in the desert, under
the Tigris’ and Euphrates’
unforgiving suns
still, I hear them, a labored litany
through the trees
yet asking to return
to sit with me, as the sun sets
white, on my gray eyes
and new voices silence
their wraithlike song
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
“ To have and to hold
From this day forward
For better for worse”
These words are in his mind
Twenty four hours of the day.
Regretting the name he signed
A mistake forever he will pay.
To have and to hold
Well what kind of saying is that
The marriage has gone icy cold
Like it’s frozen in an ice cream vat.
For better and for worse
The mind boggles at that one
It is like it is some form of curse
Getting better when she’s won.
She stands there hand on hips
With a menacing look about her
And I’m scared what’ll come out of her lips
And whether she’ll take it further.
She’s taken up some martial art pursuits
Now I have to be very careful what I say
Because she has me shaking in my boots
So I remember that I have to obey.
From the very first sip of the champagne
That was the moment I first recall
I thought at the time of the old ball and chain
I could imagine me attached to a wall.
She had me hooked good and proper
The dreaded moment when on went the ring
That was when my life was for the chopper
And all the misery it would bring.
Nag, nag ,nag all of the flipping day
Do this, do that, don’t forget, don’t forget
I used to think “is that all you can say”
I am sure you wouldn’t have married an idiot.
But apparently I did it seems, for my sins
So I think I will lay to rest this curse
And this is where my new life begins
It can be for any better or for any worse.
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 11:08 PM UTC