"clark" poems
I'd like to think that she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
As she sits on the corner of her bed,
Listening to the soft buzz of his battery-powered toothbrush.
I imagine her,
Running her fingers through her clumsy, coagulated hair.
Glancing at her chipped, crimson toe nails,
Then looking to her class ring,
Made entirely of imitation ingredients,
Wondering when is the proper time to trash it.
When she was still a friend of mine,
I never saw her wear make up,
I never saw her show off in tight jeans
or low-cut tees.
But as he spews the toothpaste into the sink,
Skinny jeans lay tussled on the floor,
Next to the side door
that leads to his sister's side room.
The make up she wears
is from the night before.
It's skewed and shows evidence of running,
Like a wasted watercolor.
I'd like to think he isn't that handsome,
And that he's obsessed with Paul Walker.
I'd like to think when he re-enters the room,
He's in grey sweatpants,
He's wearing a black tank top,
With a Confederate flag backdrop,
With two barely dressed babes looking ******
in the foreground.
His hair, unwashed and greasy.
He rubs his belly,
And bears an idiot grin
on his face.
Looking like he just learned how to smile
at this pace.
"Did it feel good?"
feel good.
After he asks, he scans her body,
Beginning at those crimson toes,
And Ending at that clumsy hair.
Every second he scans,
He still wears that drawn-on
Idiot grin.
I'd like to think at this point she thinks of me.
Of my warnings and prophesy.
Her eyes start at the chipped toe nails,
Course over her tanning bed-inspired legs.
And finally reach the only thing she has on,
A t-shirt that belongs to his sister.
A t-shirt, when given by him,
It was mentioned, "thanks, mister".
Though she didn't satisfy all his redneck intentions,
During last night's expedition.
He still paid her back with a morning
one-sided session.
"It felt good" she says.
In reference to the ten minute **********
When her body was strummed and plucked,
Underneath his sister's Terri Clark T-shirt.
As she sits in the filth and the ****** fallout,
On a bed that is six days *****
While he is grinning,
Being everything but wordy.
I'd like to think she's thinking:
"How far have I fallen?"
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 10:31 PM UTC
Like superman to your batman
I actually got power
Power with ink,
Power with flow
Don't even blink
I'll make your mind blow
Like my cape to your batmobile
How does it feel?
Knowing I can fly,
You just spinning your wheels
Throwing around money
While I'm saving the world
Like my Lois Lane to your Robin
I'll actually get the guy
You sitting there cryin
Cause money don't but happiness
Neither does fame
Just writing what I feel
And you'll never be the same
My Clark Kent to your Bruce Wayne
Might as well just give up
Cause you'll never be me
I'm just made of stronger stuff
Its the end of the line
Especially for you
Maybe it's time
To figure out what else you can do...
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
I.
Time passes, another
batch of refugees and migrants. Cities turn into
new houses of gambling and vicious cycles.
Some say only machines can speak clearly
and most humans have lost what they have earned
throughout all this time, just right on schedule.
To own our language,
and the relationships it sets into motion,
we learn painfully, repeatedly like sunrise
and sunsets.
Claiming our own spaces and demons
hidden in our conveniences and reflex routines,
and learning the tricks that has kept peoples
from fully healing from broken promises
and betrayals throughout time.
We own up to our language and its demons
every day and night that we toss and turn
into something feasible, edible, livable.
II.
Iba ibang uri ng digma.
duguang kasaysayang binabaong buhay
binubura ang lakas at memorya tulad ng siyudad
ng Songdo sa South Korea na ang ibig sabihin
ay "city with no memory".
Ito din ang isa sa mga modelo para sa New Clark City
na tinatayo sa Luzon. Sa dalawahang mga pamamaraan
ng mga naghahari-harian, nakikibaka ang anakpawis,
nakikibaka ang kamalayan ng pagpapasya at pagwasto
sa mga pagkakamali, na paulit-ulit na sinusubukang
patayin sa iba ibang mukha.
Mula pa sa panahon ng mga lolo at lola noong 1940s
hanggang ngayon, patuloy ang mga pag-eexperimento nila at paggamit ng panlilinlang at dahas, sa ngalan ng kalusugan, edukasyon at batas, upang ipain ang buhay sarili, lasunin ang lupang kinakain ang sarili. Kung hindi tayo mag-aaral at mag-iingat din, tayo mismo ang papatay sa mga sinisimulan. #
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 2:58 AM UTC
*I'd love to be your hero
Your knight in shining armor
To take all your pain away*
**I'd love to be your damsel in distress
Your Lois Lane, Daphne Blake
Because you're my Clark Kent, my Fred Jones
You're my everything
And, thanks to you, there is no pain**
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC
Be my Clark Kent,
My superhero,
The one who saves me from myself
Be my Joker,
My Partner in crime,
The one who loves my crazy side
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC
dear clark,
rip off your suit and save me already.
i'm lost.
love, lois
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
PARNELL'S FUNERAL
UNDER the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?
Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
A woman, and an arrow on a string;
A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
Cut out his heart. Some master of design
Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.
An age is the reversal of an age:
When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
It had not touched our lives. But popular rage,
Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.
Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
I thirst for accusation. All that was sung.
All that was said in Ireland is a lie
Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
Whether it be an animal or a man.
The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.
Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
Had even O'Duffy -- but I name no more --
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.
7.7k
Instead of a red cape is a plain T-shirt and shorts,
Accompanied by a smile that can make a heart fly;
Beneath all this is my superman.
He may not be unbeatable in all sports,
But he doesn't even have to try.
Because no matter what, I'm still his biggest fan.
Laser eyes and X-ray vision,
Or even eyes that could see the future;
These are nothing, compared to his eyes.
Just staring at them gives me satisfaction
Than staring at any other picture.
Because in his eyes, I can see that love lies.
His hands aren't bullet-proof;
They can't stop a crashing plane,
Nor can they bend gold.
But my reasons are way over the roof,
That even through a hurricane,
It's still his hands I want to hold.
Super strength or super speed,
The ability to fly or to travel through time;
All of these, he has none.
But there really is no need;
I'd still write him poems that rhyme
Because his power on me, will never be gone.
So who cares if he really isn't a superhero?
Kryptonian or not,
Still, on Earth he was sent;
Not to be everyone's superman,
But to be my one and only hero.
He's the best weapon I've got.
Lois Lane may have her own Clark Kent,
But I have my own superman.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
I am a grounded explorer:
I dream of travelling the stars,
but alas there are few tickets to even Mars.
I romanticize the explorers of yor,
who roamed the oceans to explore.
Oh to be with Captains Lewis and Clark,
an expedition through the wilderness to embark!
The maps are made and the earth is mapped;
The Final Frontier is barely unwrapped.
It is not a do-it-yourself sort of thing,
I cannot just into space my body fling.
To explore the unknown would yield such glee,
But I console myself: at least the world's new to me.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
This song it ain't bout country things
Like pickup trucks and cars
You'll never find me writing
About getting drunk in bars
There's no mention here of Taylor Swift
or The Charlie Daniels Band
I wouldn't write of how the banks
are taking our farmland
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
I don't know **** 'bout Redneck stuff
like hunting dogs and guns
I wouldn't write of Daisy Dukes
showing off some hot babes buns
I won't write 'bout the Opry
I don't know all that stuff
Of Minnie Pearl and Grandpa Jones
And Mr. Roy Acuff
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
There's nothing here 'bout Bourbon
or of Racing through the fields
I don't know much about farming
or crop futures or of yields
I listen to The Rolling Stones
Trace Adkins I don't like
Lady A can go away
Kid Rock can ride his bike
You won't hear much about Zac Browns Band
or of food thats Chicken Fried
I might go to a hoedown
If I'd just up and died
My music, it fulfills me
It makes me who I am
But I'll stay away from country
songs, Cause I don't give a ****
No Oak Ridge Boys or Hee Haw Here
Hank Williams I won't buy
I'll never buy a Dixie Beer
It's a drink I'll never try
I won't sing about Kentucky
or of a Texas Yellow Rose
you know this aint no country song
Good god I hope it shows
There's no mohter, dogs or applie pie
no fishin' in the dark
No Everything is Beautiful
No songs by Terry Clark
I'm really open minded
My friends they are the same
We won't buy country music
To us it's just so lame
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
I won't mention stuff you'll find
in songs by Nashville bands
There's nothing here about
watching football in the stands
I'll never write a country song
Cause country just ain't fun
Oh crap I just read this thing
And I think I just wrote one
This Ain't a ******* Country Song
You know I love my Rock and Roll
I wouldn't write a Country Song
'Cause that's not how I roll
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 10:33 AM UTC
#
*
My mother lied to me today
When I found out I had to say
Oh Mother why’d you tell a lie
and from me this thing try to hide?
With a coy smile she looked at me
and spoke in a voice so softly
My dearest son it is my job
to keep you safe, away from harm
At times that may in fact include
in order to hide or seclude
the things in life you should not see
because you’re simply not ready
You may discover on your own
Much later in life when you're grown
But when you're underneath my wing
Your one concern is just to sing
Life’s worries I will take for you
The stress and hurt I will shield too
Life asks a lot and has its pains
and slowly these things you’ll be trained
But in due time; Have patience son
Life's not a race, no need to run
So take your time; stop and enjoy
One day you will not be a boy
Out in the world; learn on your own
Keep with you all the things I've shown
And piece by piece on each you'll build
For you I wish a life fulfilled
There is still much you need to learn
I shield from you all the concerns
It's somewhat understandable
You might be slightly gullible
Because you're simply not aware
So many things from you I've spared
Allowed you distance as you grew
But always kept an eye on you
I gave you room to let you fly
To stretch your wings; explore the sky
And you may not have seen me there
but I did not just disappear
No matter the heights you could reach
I always had more I could teach
So even though at times it seemed
Untethered and were not a team
Could not be further from the truth
Clark Kent changing in a phone booth
When needed became Superman
If duty called I lent a hand
Free range to fly all on your own
Solve problems with the skills I've shown
A carpenter; I gave the tools
But up to you how you would use
My hope that given in due time
the skills you had would exceed mine
And there you'd fly so high above
As I look up; heart filled with love
Amazing heights I know you'll reach
This life we live is up to each
of us deciding what to do
And I'll always believe in you
And just remember as you fly
Wherever you go or how high;
Into the world I've sent you off
to learn life's lessons as their taught
So when you look you might not see
Think I have gone; Can not find me
But whether up or down below
I just want you to always know
You are my son and I love you
No limit to what you can do
The distance might be further now
But since your birth I kept this vow
That you would be under my wing
To keep you safe and watch you sing
*
#
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
She wears t-shirts of the Beatles
And she loves the Rolling Stones
She wakes up to David Bowie
And she dreams of the Ramones
She goes out to dance clubs nightly
Till her ear drums both get blown
But, she has a deep dark secret
That her friends will never know
At night when she is by herself
When the room is nice and dark
She slips beneath the covers
With Johann Sebastian Bach
She's a closet classic ******
And her name is Amber Clark
She just loves orchestral music
The rock and roll is just a lark
Her friends think something classical
Is something for your folks
They cannot play an instrument
They cannot read the notes
They think that chamber music is
What people play on boats
But she has a deep dark secret
She loves the stuff that Chopin wrote
At night when she is by herself
And her friends have gotten ******
She slips beneath the covers
And she listens to some Liszt
She listens to it many times
In case there's things she's missed
She's a closet classic ******
She has "Baroque" upon her wrist
She listens to the music
That her friends like to be cool
If she told them what she listens to
They'd laugh her out of school
So, when they go out clubbing
She will join them as a rule
But...ah that deep dark secret
This girl is no ones fool
She listens to Beethoven
And she knows each piece by heart
She knows where one bar ends
And another one will start
She can play most every instrument
And she knows most every part
She's a classic closet ******
But she still knows Boyce and Hart
She has cds in her library
And most sit there untouched
When her friends are gone they don't get played
She doesn't like them much
She would rather hear a symphony
By a composter who was Dutch
But there's that deep dark secret
And she won't use it a crutch
At night when she is warm in bed
She listens to Mozart
She needs a little Nacht Musique
To open up her heart
It's a piece that sets her mind a blaze
It hits her like a dart
She's a closet classic ******
And she keeps her worlds apart
By day she sings Bruce Springsteen
At night she listens to
Composers that her friends don't know
They're so old they're new
So she keeps her world a secret
For she knows what they would do
If they found she didn't know
Where were you in sixty two
But at night she is a ******
And she listens to Mozart
She needs that piece of music
To shoot an arrow through her heart
Eine Kleine Nachmusic
She conducts every part
She's our Closet Classic ******
shhh.....the song's about to start...
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
The gentle drawl of Guy Clark's voice
beckoned me from sleep,
saying that when his father died
he'd found no tear to weep.
It wasn't that his dad was mean,
nor that he didn't try,
Guy couldn't find a worthy tear--
he wasn't yet ready to cry.
The blade was broken off the knife
a half inch from the tip.
He could almost feel its jagged edge,
recalling that camping trip
His dad had let him take the knife
to a Boy Scout Jamboree
it was there he broke the blade tip off
throwing at a tree
That knife had served at daddy's side
when he went off to war,
saving his life in combat.
Of that he'd say no more.
His father never said a word--
put the broken knife away.
It rested in a dresser drawer
until his dying day.
It was only when Guy's hand had found
and closed around the handle
that he knew, amid the sudden tears
Dad had loved him more than Randall.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
(for John and Teckla Clark)
Ours yet not ours, being set apart
As a shrine to friendship,
Empty and silent most of the year,
This room awaits from you
What you alone, as visitor, can bring,
A weekend of personal life.
In a house backed by orderly woods,
Facing a tractored sugar-beet country,
Your working hosts engaged to their stint,
You are unlike to encounter
Dragons or romance: were drama a craving,
You would not have come.
Books we do have for almost any
Literate mood, and notepaper, envelopes,
For a writing one (to "borrow" stamps
Is the mark of ill-breeding):
Between lunch and tea, perhaps a drive;
After dinner, music or gossip.
Should you have troubles (pets will die
Lovers are always behaving badly)
And confession helps, we will hear it,
Examine and give our counsel:
If to mention them hurts too much,
We shall not be nosey.
Easy at first, the language of friendship
Is, as we soon discover,
Very difficult to speak well, a tongue
With no cognates, no resemblance
To the galimatias of nursery and bedroom,
Court rhyme or shepherd's prose,
And, unless spoken often, soon goes rusty.
Distance and duties divide us,
But absence will not seem an evil
If it make our re-meeting
A real occasion. Come when you can:
Your room will be ready.
In Tum-Tum's reign a tin of biscuits
On the bedside table provided
For nocturnal munching. Now weapons have changed,
And the fashion of appetites:
There, for sunbathers who count their calories,
A bottle of mineral water.
Felicissima notte! May you fall at once
Into a cordial dream, assured
That whoever slept in this bed before
Was also someone we like,
That within the circle of our affection
Also you have no double.
4k
homage to Wallace Stevens
I - My Focus pistoned up the rise
and all at once, the Rockies -
silhouettes against the western skies.
II - On the road to Boulder
a pleated ridge crawls north
like a blue whale bound for the open sea.
III - Appalachia's intoxicating verdure
never fails to induce in us
a certain mellowing of the spirit.
IV - You 'conquered' my North Face, did you?
Why, I should skewer your arrogant ***
like a holiday lamb culled for the sacrifice.
V - Lewis and Clark looked west
surveying the Bitterroots' frigid expanse.
Farewell Northwest Passage!
VI - Pueblos stranded on Enchanted Mesa -
their rock stairs crumbled to the valley floor.
Should they dive to their death or starve?
VII –Touristas at Big Bend Park
wonder at its pastel window -
its romantic haze a toxic gift
from stacks across the Rio Grande.
VIII – The once mighty Ozarks humbled by age,
dwarfed by the youthful Rockies.
Listen up, youngsters, your time will come!
IX – We de-bussed to seize the dolomites
with our hyper-kinetic shutters.
Pausing for a draught of Italian air,
I felt the whack of an Alpine snowball.
X - Before Oregon's crater had its lake,
the mountain scorched the village below.
Today its azure waters preach only serenity.
XI – Looking down from Shissler peak
to the golden meadow below
where the elk herd calmly grazes.
XII – Do mists veil the Blue Ridge Mountains
or are there really no mountains at all -
only clouds decked out in mountain attire?
XIII – They say that peaks more steep than Everest
soar up from the ocean floor.
Who will scale their sunken heights?
May 28, 2010 – Boulder Colorado
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
When I say hero you
look for Superman
Flying through Metropolis or
Batman slinking through Gotham’s shadows.
And when I say heroine
You can think only of needles
Poking through skin like the shell of a beetle.
When I say hero
Everyone looks skyward for capes and spandex
Or a symbol lighting up the clouds.
But Clark Bruce and Peter
can’t save you from yourself.
These suit-clad saviors are fantasies.
Fairytales put before us so we can have something
to believe in when the ordinary people fail us.
I have seen people around me, people I love,
crumble like weakened plaster.
And I have met people who were already lying
in a pile of dust and debris at my feet.
I’ve seen them **** asbestos into their lungs
and draw tic tac toe on their arms in crimson
I have seen someone become their own villain!
But I have seen these people get up again,
Pick up the pieces of their glass hearts,
And glue them back together for the sake of their sanity.
I have seen villains become heroes.
These heroes, MY heroes are the ones with the scars on their wrists
but no tags on their toes, the ones that heave into the porcelain bowl
but still try to eat each day.
These are my heroes.
My heroes are the parents raising kids and battling demons old and new,
the abuse victims who got out, or are stuck but still fighting.
These…these are my heroes.
Broken survivors, living despite everything that keeps them from wanting to,
Despite all their scars and battle wounds they are alive and they are trying.
The ones who are not saving others but saving themselves.
These are heroes.
Some people look down on the wounded, the broken, and the insecure
like they were the cause of their own problems and refused the simple solutions of **** it up”
and “get over it” because they were too lazy to get better.
Don’t you dare tell me that they don’t want to fix this,
That they don’t wake up each morning and wish
With every fiber of their being that they could look into a mirror
And finally, finally, love what they see.
Don’t tell me that these people aren’t strong
Because they go to bed each night with eyes red and raw from crying
And they wake up with bags under their eyes but they.
Keep.
Going.
**** your superheroes.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 8:32 AM UTC
Don't be scared to sneeze in MATH105
Blow these numbers off the page, so I can finally have an excuse to
Blow off some time with you
I want to memorize what that sneeze sounds like, unique to the individual
Each sound varies upon sneezers voice,
allergies, voice box, larynx, even personality
If that's all true, I bet even you, sneeze as **** as a mother ******
The only thing that I want more wet and slimey than the inside of your elbow,
Is the way we make love
"Oh baby, that's it!
Sneeze for me! Sneeze harder!
Sneezed like you've never sneezed
for a man before and then sneeze
harder!"
Don't EVER hold a sneeze back!
You're not only killing brain cells
But killing me as well!
I want to see what kind of tornados
you can throw when a dust storm
gets at you
What demons are you hiding,
not letting Christ expel
Don't be ashamed!
Are you scared that just you're sneeze
Will create tsunami waves of attention
If so! I'm buying a front row ticket wearing
nothing but arm floaties and a rain coat
If you get sick, kiss me with your breathe
And well get over this cold- feet together
I want to know your sneeze so when we
Are cooking dinner, you can be half way through inhale
And I'll have a tissue and the words
"Bless you"
Already trotting outta my mouth
I want to be the blessed one
To be within hearing distance
Be able to bless you back
See you come outta your shell for .237 seconds
There to catch the science of your anatomy jumping off the cliff of your nose
I want to be in the bookstore,
Reading super hero graphic novels
And hear you in your boredom two floors up at Starbucks, sneeze,
And be able to say
"YES! THATS MY MAN!!"
You hear that one Peter Parker?
Try to dodge your spidey-sense around that one!
That's a sneeze that'd make the phone booth go inside Clark Kent!
We'll have two kids, named
Gesundheit and Salud
The cat's name will be Ah-Choo
Unless you're allergic to cats
Then scratch the kids, we'll have
A cat zoo! So I can hear the symphony
Of your nostrils on the daily
If you think this poem is gross
Wait tell you see the way I sneeze
When I'm thinking of you
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Put on the old LPs tonight, Alex,
from a time long before you were born.
Top of the queue was Petula Clark
belting out Don't Give Up,
defiant as an alley cat in a street fight.
Remembered how in her heyday,
she'd been forced to conceal
the fact that she was married ---
all performers being mysteriously
virginal in those days.
Thoughts segue several years
to my time in the service and
a female lieutenant who was my OIC.
Served a 20 year career,
but never knew a finer officer.
She realized leadership was saying
the things that made you want to follow.
Just after making captain,
due to pregnancy, she was forced
to terminate her service career.
Today, women routinely travel in space,
perform extreme surgeries,
design skyscrappers;
one just might become president.
And somewhere in the tenements of NYC
a young poet spins metaphor
straight from the streets and the cosmos,
constructing a world in lines
we'd all wish to enter.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 2:22 AM UTC
I just want to feel closure
I want her to close the gap that separates us from getting closer
But there’s canyons of trust issues that become the biggest issue we face
Echoes from past relations along with your unfaithful accusations which leaves us in this abundance of confrontation
But I only wanted to feel closure
I just wanted her to come closer
I'm not trying to fast forward time it’s just life is short so I'm sitting here just trying to pray and debate these feelings
Because I ****** up and caught feelings for her
It was her eyes that caught my eye
The first night she laid her head on my chest and cried because yet another guy got into her mind
Now I’m sitting here with your head on my chest
My shirt drench with a mixture of her sweet aroma and tears realizing I'm just the guy she runs to when some other man runs from her
Thinking maybe it’s my status
Maybe the latitude of my reputation doesn't meet the longitude of her popularity which is why the coordinates of us being together cannot be found on this map of love
But I guess I'm just not high enough to fly with your social standards
It seems like she can't really grasp the thought of a good man
She just wants to exhale the good feelings and inhale the countless amount of pain and strain from ******* guys as her lungs become black holes due to the many hoes she's been replaced by
But if he cheated on his previous boo with you then who the hell said you wouldn't be victim number two?
See I was a little too late
Fate wasn't on my side as I was in a race not even knowing it and I lost because I tried to be a gentlemen and give her something she wasn’t used to but she refused me as she returned to what she was used to
She just wasn't used to me
But she always said she was waiting on her Superman not realizing she’s been passing up Clark Kent every day
And I wasn't going to contemplate with the thought that I should change my ways just to get her
Because I know that even if I get her I'll already be tired of her because I've used all my energy just to get her
Running Boston marathons and getting bombed by my competition just for her attention
I was tired of hearing your voice miles away I wanted it to come closer and reveal your tender exposure
I just wanted your closure
I wanted your presence closer
I had your friendship now I just wanted to feel the whole experience
I was tired of your friend zone
I was tired of working your part time position
I was tired of only feeling closure from you when you needed someone to be close to you
It wasn't even me you wanted you only thirsted for the essence of a human touch
It’s like you used me
But on some real ****
I really just wanted some real ****
I just wanted some closure
I wanted to feel her closer
I wanted her mind body and soul to come closer to me
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 11:32 PM UTC
So, our hero of tha day waz DJ Herc
He b driven’ lil Mizz Dazze ‘round, in a pimped out Merc
Queensbridge waz tha birthplace of Hip-Hop
Red alert, it just won’t stop
It will hurt uz a bit
No more than a **** wid a hit
Wee all thank Merc 4 puttin’ on dat show
Smokin’ sum **** n angel dust, wid sum real blow
A bro named, Coke LA Rock, waz also a financier friend of mine
Handin’ out goodies 2 tha children in-line, all tha time
Nickel bag half n ounce, quarter pound pow, now wee poppin’
Az long az tha music izn’t stoppin’ and tha rocks r still droppin’
If champagne waz still a flowin’, then tha freaks wood b steppin’ in line
Hotel, Motel, u don’t tell, wee don’t tell, one-time root 9
There’s notta man dat can’t b thrown, a horse dat can’t b rode
A bull dat can’t b stopped, a disco dat can’t b rocked, can u decode
Were u @ dat famous house party, thee dope
Spinnin’ tha holy crates of hip-hop, wee hope
A1 B-boy from every known neighborhood, wid a scent
From JC, Tony D’, Sweet n Sour, 2 super DJ ‘Fcukin’ Clark Kent
Sellin’ nickel bags of cannabis, 2 miss layD hoes to mi crew
Made mi coin roll into notes, helping outta few dat I knew
Hip-Hop waz made 4 peace, love, unity n fun
Still b countin’ mi riches, retired n still layin’ in tha hot sun
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 1:50 AM UTC
Going left a smile
green* bluesy* drift___
Getting out of debt
The heartedly so flowery
rosy ring around
Gifted box
Valentine Rosy
I box heads over
puppy tails
cozy firey
Love diary doing the
Cutesy
Bow Wow parade
Those red hot lips
cascades
she's... the... lie...
The hue (Anchor- Blue)
Gotcha "Eyes Baby blue
Clue"
To cross my red heart
And hope not to die
The Lady's
finger (Godiva)
I-spy finger*
Heartless Diva
The fork of the road
Lies of the
dead ringer
He points his finger
Face to two face
facelift?
Boom-Boom___
a car crash just a dash
Her beats and hearts
What a crush to her
___left
Tell me sweet lies
I box gift
Oh! Yes you're___ right
Like the scoundrel
The damsel in distress
sweet morsel
I sir box like spots spread
Like the (Chickenpox)
Hearing lies tons of
squirrels
Like Botox Plastic
Rascals
I-box ties
Hallmark, I love you lies
Superman Clark
Outfoxed the ballpark
Little lies blue
big shark
Smartphone I Sir bark
Red Valentine love walk
People are the luckiest
I- wish
Close your eyes sweet lies
Sweet I-Box in Trio
CEO Watching "TV FIO"
Podcast little lies turn
into big lies
Ballot Political list
Romantic cutout card lies
Tell me, Little Lies he trips
Electric lips music chair
Open eyes full shut lips
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 8:35 AM UTC
A thriving port
A declining port
A potential port
Cliches
A dockland
A wasteland
A stones throw
From my home
A docker
A carter
A clark
No vacancy
USA
EEC
A History
Our dockland
A grain store
A butter mountain
A starving world
An unused fountain
A dock village
A flower show
No work for
A dockland
copyright/all rights reserved Joe Fogg 2011
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
What are they to do with their hands if they no longer care?
if they would rather take an iPad over fresh air?
If it’s auto-correct teaching them how to spell words?
when raising your child: is Nicki Minaj doing a better job?
It’s because they now live in that neon-green X-Box glow
blasting strangers from all walks of life online playing Halo.
While Smokey the Bear goes around lighting matches
there are no more sandwiches left in our pic-a-nic baskets.
It’s the Kids!
Because the only toboggan they go through is YouTube
because there are no such things as books in Facebook.
Because it’s behind a shiny screen their ingenuity goes to waste
because it’s the equivalent of dropping Simba on his face.
So lets just Skype instead of meeting up and going for a walk!
140 characters or less to dictate the way we communicate and talk!
Because Clark Kent is not Superman unless his Twitter feed is verified
and behind close doors there's no room to grow a child’s mind.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC