"cokes" poems
Daddy liked his whiskey
Momma liked her smokes
Momma cursed like crazy
Dad told ***** jokes
To all the people 'round here
They was ordinary folks
Momma puffed on camels
Dad drank whiskey cokes
I dropped out of high school
By the time I was fourteen
I had no direction
And I got mighty mean
Sis, she had two babies
But neither one was seen
And to all the people 'round here
We were just both normal teens
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
You do not want to grow and be like me
Listen to what I tell you, don't you do the things you see
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
Nope, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
When ever there is fighting
Folks 'round here go blind
They all have got their secrets
they don't want us to find
That apples in around their house
Are not quite as designed
It's best to look at others
For the truth, it isn't kind
Momma kept on smoking
Daddy drank his rye
sis and I both left here
No one ever asked them why
Nothing changes ever
so nobody will try
and all the folks around here
live inside this little lie
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
You do not want to grow and be like me
Listen to what I tell you, don't you do the things you see
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree
Nope, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
Leashed by loves lynch till I’m dropped by my lack of respect for the beauty’s presence
Thank god she wasn’t curbside taking tips with perked lips for a stranger’s ****** fix,
But I needed to feel the evidence that the pieces fit,
That’s why this is about me and a barstool princess
Getting close enough to taste the moans of vodka’s venom
Get close enough so I can know my needs can be fulfilled
Like a lunar eclipse this species keeps grinding its teeth when teased
Time and time again we’ve been taunted by,
The mistress our ancestors once described as the serpent of Eve,
When procreation was preached as an STD
Yet we’ve been perpetually pivoting,
To defy the chastity of a species
Grandfathered misconceptions relating to why you and I exist
As wickedness warms in the covers of the lustfully parallel
So let’s drown in this bliss,
From head to toe, eye caught, grazes at the nose,
From the bar stool to a lonely man’s home,
From one dollar tips for two *** and cokes
To the bedroom of this writing,
The nights like this, that remind me I am alone
But this isn’t about me loathing the fact that I won’t hear her whispering for more body warmth,
Nor am I looking for you to pity me because I’ll be sleeping solo
Enough is enough since we are humans seeking ****** catacombs
I’ll try to be an adult about how the human molds but it started me at childhood,
When those that conceptualized love gave me this world,
And now I no longer have to listen to what I’ve been told
This is about how to perceive something we can never truly control,
Lucky enough to avoid a contraceptive despite unable to remember the doctor’s pull,
Its night’s like this I get to question,
When will my sheets meet the perfect fit?
When will this be more than just a humanizing fix?
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
Skinny like a Starbucks drink with zero sugar, zero guilt and full of almond-milk joy.
Skinny like a microwaved meal, perfectly portioned and easy to count.
Skinny like two diet cokes and a cigarette for lunch.
Skinny like Adderall, a high dose for higher grades.
Skinny like late nights and random *** with strangers.
Skinny like virginity.
Skinny like binge-purge-repeat.
Skinny like perfection, like mints and sadness and tight little swimsuits.
Skinny like a disorder.
Skinny like control out of control.
Skinny like a diagnosis.
Skinny like suffering.
Skinny like her.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
That time we went to Fez
and you said
it's like Biblical times
all these fecking donkeys
and camels and people
dressed like Jesus
I said to Miriam
so it was my first time
and we had to leave
the vehicle outside
the gates of the city
she said
we were sitting
at the Moroccan bar
of the camp base
sipping cokes
and had French loaf
sandwiches on plates
beside us
but it was good
I said
and that mosque
I went in was great
I had to take off
my sandals mind you
but hey the site
inside was good
I didn't go in
but that market
was out of this world
she said
she sat on a stool
beside me sipping her coke
she had a pink tee shirt
and red shorts
-I loved red-
and bare feet
I looked at the feet
recalling mouthing
her toes that night
in Malaga after
the shower
at the camp base there
and well the rest followed
I bit into the French roll sandwich
lettuce
cheese
cold lamb meat
and some kind of pickle
those women wore
those black gown things
she said
could only see their eyes
I don't think I could wear
one of those
I like to be seen
and why bother
to wear make up
or wear something skimpy
if you've got one
of those on
she said
they don't I guess
that's their religion
I said
she bit into her French roll
and was silent
she smelt
of apples and hay
and I could have licked her
but we sat and ate
and thought of the beach
and moon and stars
and ***
if not too late.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:02 AM UTC
sitting in a car
two cokes in the cup holder
too busy wondering how I got here
because you're so much cooler and older
we've stopped the car but the music playing
I'm finding it hard focusing on what you're saying
I'm too busy looking at your lips
we both reach for our drinks,
brushing fingertips
you look at me in a way you haven't before
I don't feel like such a little girl anymore
I hear the sound of your seat belt unbuckle
I can feel our bodies getting at a closer angle
and we kissed in a car heatedly
only stopping for breaths repeatedly
and once we broke we were both breathing heavily
I looked into your brown eyes
they remind me of dark nights
but I didn't feel alone
I kissed you and felt at home.
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 11:26 PM UTC
I have been singing for forgotten things,
beer bottles hidden in the hedgerows.
The opera singer, the strangled vibrato,
ash-filled cokes cans; the afterparty sunrise.
This recovery has been long, fickle.
Reckless optimism and the science of failure
collide into the colour
of a Daniel Johnston cartoon,
or a songwriter's sense of humour.
Disused pencils stand as monuments
to old dreams of grass-roots art,
the fragility of neurotic *******
drawn with innumerable straight lines
that composite a woman's naked body.
I have been drawing on memories
and hoping for a brand-new image;
dissolution of old borders - a strangled voice
in a room full of opened tongues.
The Hawaiian shirt made light of depression
in darkened hours and wax smiles.
Plastic cocktails, the pending brides;
desperate men - the post-work demise.
I have learned a lie ever since.
This recovery has been imperfect, a fraud.
Swollen truths to satisfy the concerned,
only myself left to fool.
I have found the early morning
but cannot reach a sober conclusion.
Redundant habits mildew my mind
with the backwater of yesterday,
familiar street names to mourn
those who became strangers,
the negative bias of my mind's eye.
I have been writing words of action
from the safety of my desk;
all that the desk-lamp can illuminate,
all of which words can make sense.
This half-lived recovery is bunk, irretrievable.
Working poverty and untied knots
are co-morbid in meaninglessness;
chains to hold me in Plato's Cave
whilst her skin freckles in the sun.
Disused and living outside of love,
morning curtains open to a sheet of light
that obliterates loneliness
in the presence of shared heat,
only for it to return again, come night.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Give me a Coca Cola party number 1
And boot conservos up the ***
All they care is their 4 bedroom house yeah mate yeah
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 2
As we watch the singer do the boogaloo and then we crack open that bottle and spray it on
Their uncle oh how cool
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 3
Simon finally puts up the Christmas tree
First he puts the tinsel and then the bells and an angel to go on top ph yeseree
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 5
After those 5 cokes I feel alive
I jump up and down to every song I heard on the radio
Nice and high
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 6
The nice Coca Cola will give me
A nice sugar fix
As I slam it down, it goes through my body
Yeah if also rots my teeth
Give me a Coca Cola party number 7
Coke is so bad for you I want to send if to oblivion
But the more I see santa or Sydney swans or the big Coke truck red and white is the key
Give me a Coca Cola party number 8
Instead of roast dinners I prefer Cola lollies on my plate
You see as I ate each one
I sank into a garlic naan
The lollies gave it a sweet taste
Give me a Coca Cola party number 9
I would take my Coke and walk around the party introducing myself saying hi, my name is Brian and I told one man I hate the liberal party
Cause they don't like the poor
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 10
While doing your tapestry you have your 2 litre Coke near you like your one of the real men
But people say cokes a kids drink and I say to you this
****** oathe I am a cool kid
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 11
If you keep drinking that stuff
You'll end up in heaven
But not in a good way
You will be with tony Grieg
And Norman may
How cools that
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 12
Have a few quite cokes with santa and his elves
After Christmas Day
When they load all the presents into the sleigh
Party party party
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 13
If the Coca Cola party was a kid
He would be finally in his teens
But he will say to his uncle
Have I got the muscle
To enjoy drinking Coke oh yeah
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 14
Every kid was nice to people
But me mate I was really naughty
So santa gave me no presents
And scounged around my house for money
To buy a nice 2 litre bottle
Of Coke
Give me a Coca Cola party
Number 15
When I go for a run I feel tired
And a bit sweaty
The Coke slows me down mate
Please don't lose your entire
Top row mate stop drinking Coke
Merry Christmas Coke lovers
Past and present
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 7:51 AM UTC
As you sit in the cafe
in the shopping mall
you see Sophie
and her man friend
smooching across
the table
he with moustache
and thinning
combed back hair
and she
with dark black hair
straight to the collar
of her white blouse
they purse their lips
he closes his eyes
leans forward
she likewise
as if
in some French cafe
in some 1950s film
you sip your latte
watch the show
he once worked
pushing trolleys
in some super store
she unsure
but with a carer
sometimes seen
walking the mall
or in the bank
or shops
and some days
she’ll come up
and say hello
in a loud voice
as if she’d not
seen you
in a thousand years
other days not at all
or she’ll tell you
some news
about her life
or some small trouble
that’s got her down
today she sits
and kisses
and converses
with the man friend
and he’ll laugh
and maybe she too
and hold hands
over the cokes and cakes
you sit back
in the chair
and watch them there
repeat their kissing
or holding hands
the Romeo eyes
now open
leaning near
mouthing words
you cannot hear
she lips still pursed
says loudly
of a love
she feels
or how hot
the weather is
or how his scarf
untidy looks
or unbuttoned shirt
others who do not
know them sit
and gawk
and make snide comment
behind their hands
make judgement
in their bourgeoisie world
but you like others
who know them of old
sit and drink
and make no judgements
of what they say
or do but watch
the kissing
and holding of hands
like in a B feature
at the cinema
waiting for
the real thing maybe
but content to see
the movie through
having no where to go
or other things to do.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
Where are all the carnival rides
The Ferris wheel with bright lights
The fairy floss and cherry cokes
and the warm sultry nights
The call of the racketeer
encouraging all to take a chance
Where's the monkey you carried
just so we could hold hands
Where are all the park benches
that used to ring the pond
Where are the acres of green grass
where we sat as you sang me our song
and where have all the ducks gone?
Where has gone the soda shop,
the big band dance halls
and the local Ihop?
There stands the apartment block
where our little house once stood
Where have all the children gone
that we once watched from the stoop
Where are the endless games
of hide and seek and peek a boo
Where's the night gone, the fires out
Where is the heartbeat of our intimacy we shared in our bedroom?
Its all there in the asbestos ceiling
and in the plaster that is cracked
it crinkles beneath fingers
of cold cotton bed sheets
sterile of comfort and it lacks
the vibrancy of emotions
from another lifetime
Laying still, awaiting the ground
It drifts like fog in an ageing mind
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 4:29 AM UTC
For Pennsylvania is the Land
Where Men with Hearts may Understand,
And much the nicest part must be
The County of Montgomery.
And in that district I most like
The town that ends the Pottstown Pike.
For heaven's blessings rarely stick
to folk who live in Limerick,
and you would be the worse to know
the crimes that they commit in Stowe,
and heaven's wrath comes raining down
on men who live in Boyertown,
where sins are strange, and stranger still
are secrets hid in Douglasville;
they'd slit your throat for twenty pence
in frightful Lower Providence
and rumour tells me true that no men
are virtuous in Perkiomen.
But Pottstown, oh, but dear Pottstown!
Why, there a person may lie down
upon its riverbanks so stony,
or paddle in the Manatawny.
They laugh and love their life so well
They're purchasing a carousel.
(And when they get to feeling old,
A thousand senior Cokes are sold
with super fries and apple pie:
McDonalds, Hanover and High.)
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 1:20 PM UTC
Some people make it seem so romantic and some would probably say I'm guilty
of exploiting it as well.
Well let me be the first to tell you there's no glory in burning out.
I live my life and to excess of course but it's not my mission to overdose or end up splattered across
highway.
Death isn't a choice it's a promise and to fear it is to worry over breathing its just part of the game folks.
The **** I write about isn't a fantasy or what I believe its like I've actually lived it.
And out of a handful of people I know I'm lucky enough to say I'm still here.
I cant tell you how to live your life and honestly I don't ever give a **** how you do.
I've done most every drug known to man and some of them are rather overrated
to be honest that's why I prefer booze mainly because I really don't trust putting **** in my system made by people who look like they haven't slept or washed there *** in two weeks.
Yeah cokes real good **** you stay paranoid as **** and if you get a good taste for it
it'll **** you bank account and your heart but it is good to have on hand for picking up strippers.
Hey I'm just saying if you go to the woods to hunt animals you probably use bait.
Well my hunting ground is probably a lot more comfortable than yours but hey
whatever gets you off.
Where all checking out sooner or later but don't ever fall for that delusion that
getting out early is ******* romantic **** if I had pulled the trigger when I was a miserable ass
teen I would have really missed some overrated times and some hot chicks who just
happened to lower there standards yes be used is kickass especially when you get a
happy ending out of the deal.
Live it as you will not as others would prefer cause only a spineless candy ***
plays it safe.
I write a lot of crazy **** cause I live a lot worse crazy ****
But at least I have ******* fun.
Sure you can say **** it all to this world.
Or you can really **** the ******** off and shake **** up till they put your ***
in the dirt.
Me I'm going to go down with the ******* ship.
A drink in hand and laughing like a madman the whole way down.
Cause nothing ***** with the ignorant worse than a son of ***** that just wont
stay down.
Cheers hamsters.
Gonzo
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 3:42 PM UTC
DDK; ***** Dank Kush
I light it up like arson to a bush
I paint the town red just like my eyes
If my mom knew it would be a surprise
I fall down, I don't know why
I see my life before my eyes
I realize that this kush laced with coke
I pray for saftey I pray for hope
Then I realize cokes ******* awesome
I punch a kid, I punch a possum
I go home and **** my *****
Not realizing that it was actually my landlord, what a ****
I think that coke and me will be alright
I ride into the sunset all night.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Riding bikes
Skinning Knees
Time spent climbing
All the trees
Sit back and feel
the summer breeze
Remember how it was?
Swimming pools
Baseball games
Every kid had
funny names
The times they just
don't seem the same
Remember how it was?
Summer time was glorious
You only had a kids concerns
No school until September
You didn't care if you got burned
Summer time was heavenly
A pirates life , you led
You were out 'till past the sun went down
Then it was dinner, bath and bed
Marbles, swimming
At the creek
A hundred kids
playing hide and seek
Cadging smokes
Of which none would speak
Remember how it was?
Building forts
And running wild
Outside all day
where sunshine smiled
Living the life
Of every child
Remember how it was?
Summer time was glorious
You only had a kids concerns
No school until September
You didn't care if you got burned
Summer time was heavenly
A pirates life, you led
You were out 'till past the sun went down
Then it was dinner, bath and bed
Baseball, soccer
cards in spokes
Blood brothers
and ***** jokes
trading cards
and drinking cokes
Remember how it was
Running fast
and walking slow
A few weeks left
To school we'll go
Tag...you're it
Friend or foe
Remember how it was?
Summer time was glorious
You only had a kids concerns
No school until September
You didn't care if you got burned
Summer time was heavenly
A pirates life, you led
You were out 'till past the sun went down
Then it was dinner, bath and bed
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 12:15 PM UTC
a tree did grow
in Brooklyn. it was June--
our third-- and the summer weather
hadn't turned yet:
school was just out, Prospect Park was never full, and the nights
were still cool.
it was summer in the city before it comes unglued.
i had yet to resent the F train terminal
or its crowds
or its sweat. i hadn't grown bored
of 23rd St. on one end of the day
and Church Avenue on another,
or of the cost of cigarettes
or coffee or of the FOODTOWN sign
at the top of the subway steps.
it was a beautiful month
because it was doomed barely to last
its 30 days.
and there were too so many long hours,
sitting barely shaded
on your stoop,
fending off the landlord's sister and the bugs and waiting
for the fall.
each time i've gone back
since then i've sat
on those slow steps;
that summer it was no different: three months to crown three
years,
moving so timelessly
by
that next month the heat bore down,
not the heat only of the sun and the air but the wet,
***** heat of the city,
steam forever rising from underground, the oil spills
in the gutters beginning to boil.
but still it was New York
and summer. the roaches and rats hadn't yet
eaten all the fireflies.
i grew to love routine
disquiet: the long car rides to Queens,
the Mets games and their pretzel smell and riding back,
inevitably discouraged,
my homemade tank top leaking Magic marker onto my chest;
the trips to the beach at Rockaway, sullen and determined, and their return
to Manhattan, tasting like salt (and you, once,
like blood) and my hair stiff
with brine and feeling the sand in our shoes grit
against the ***** sidewalks;
those quick walks
from Smith&9th Streets,
sipping Mexican Cokes and rationing our time
by cigarettes:
all of July was exhausting,
but familiar by then.
in August the tornado came,
first Brooklyn'd seen in 30 years. we two
slept blissfully through it, woke only
for the aftermath.
we went outside almost giddy, certainly
unbelieving,
holding hands.
and the tree
which had stood outside so
serenly
was uprooted,
having missed the bedroom window
by only a few feet.
[it was June--
cool.
barely shaded
so timelessly
beginning to boil
all the fireflies.]
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
They heard she was a poet
who shocked the open mic
Friday nights with tight skirts
and loose words
that slid off her teeth
over her whiskey breath.
Truck drivers,
who rode hard,
daily listened
for ******** screams
and honking horns,
came to see her. They
balanced on rustic chairs,
drank *** and Cokes,
and hoped she wanted
a ride to Reno.
She heard they were drivers
with sharp eyes and taut *****
beneath blue denim.
She didn’t mind
weather beaten beards,
calloused hands or that
they would leave in the morning.
She was a poet who
gathered words from interludes
among pillows and sheets that
aroused tomorrow’s verse
of wanton words and enticing skits.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
Be with me in ****** footprints / in your mom's silverware sets / in stucco walls
I want to sleep on dark leather couches with you.
Tell me more about cable:
I want you to introduce me to damp grass on football fields that we skateboarded to underneath the stars that I was with when i was away from you
Hello, earthling!
Let's do normal Earth things together (I could be a person for you)
I fixed the thermostat so that my bedroom can be habitable for human beans such as yourself
Drink six Diet Cokes with me so we can put six dead ladie bugs inside the bottles and BlowThemUpWithFire
"Yes, I know about fire! I've seen it all before OK! And I want to pretend I haven't so that i can ooooh and aawwwhhh when you show me !!!!"
I want to be a person for you.
Spray paint my bones gold when you're done crafting my skin into a turban so that I know it's real - I made this for you
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 9:32 PM UTC
What brings me here are multiple *** and cokes
and my lasting impression on so many of the
cool kids and the following broads
who think this is a cool thing to do.
Me? I feel my eyes start to fall red
and my face starts to resonate heat.
***** No, I'm not at that point.
Yet.
But I can see spots of light and feel my ears pop.
This is my life in a bunny costume.
In a Deadmau5 head my roommate crafted,
I DJ a basement of partyheads.
I smoke my cheap cigarettes and think
"wow, what would my mother think?".
I have never thought how this would spin my world upside down.
But this is Spring Weekend. And the dance floor is open
to new adventures and brilliant encounters with strange people.
I can only imagine how God is looking at me now.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 1:39 AM UTC
two orders
black pepper chicken
with fried rice instead of white rice
also
one order of General Tso chicken
and Crab Ragoons
with 2 cokes
and I’m using cash
forty minutes?
okay, thank you.
Feb 28, 2012
Feb 28, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
In sweet water
we fish and swim
When we are finished
We give it back
To Pachamama
This music is good
And hunger is our attitude
Diagonal winds
Further our stories
Hundreds of copies
Are made each day
Before we've awakened
Cities taste like fried rice
And we wait on lines
For cokes and coffees
Relativity tries to explain
What it can't deny
That we are unstable and often high
You are gullible like the night sky
As single women
Drift along your incision
It's a mission to not hunt them all at once
Juggle the waterfall and pay for her dinner
Gifts are abundant
And some are seeking you too
Kindred spirits kindle our fire
As tired hands hug their mother
Love is burning with desire
Cool down and we can begin to dig
Listen to the sounds that are far away
Beyond your mansions
Into the woods
We drove for days
And still no one
Understood our need for silence
And sometimes our dramas
We were in need of laughter
So i attached a pair
Of jumper cables
To the inside of your pajamas
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 1:54 PM UTC
The moonlight deprived
those couples of an Asian slum
as if herded together in a plastic drum
who lived in a roofless brick- less shove
much like a Mal- functioning, Primes-stove.
It also deprived those, whose
tin- sheet- roof bore gaping cracks
as the results of heavy monsoon downpours
as the result of
unruly monkey- like clouds’
aqua- missile- attacks.
These youngsters were robbed by the silvery - mask –clad
bullies of the moonlight
who shackled them in their homes and held them tight.
It robbed them of the throbbing- pillows of arms
of caressing balms, of cuddles, of charms, of lullaby- songs.
As a giggling newlywed bride pointing index- finger at sky, said
" I am scared of the full moon,
as I proceeded the other day to hug my man
he stared from above , like a mischievous goon. "
It denied privacy to the folks
who sobbed in embrace together in pain.
Their elder son was, in a religious frenzy stabbed
and the middle was crushed under a streaming train.
It denied the anonymity to the bald tooth-less woman
who was caught sipping coke from the fridge
and who, by her grandson was whisked
from the kitchen Store- room
--- which she shared in her late husband- built- house,
with a jumbo mouse--
and asked to sleep on the fan- less Veranda.
Where she lay reminiscing the crate- fulls she stuffed,
-- as she smiled and coughed--
into her fridge,
in her youth
of Cokes and Miranda !
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 2:50 AM UTC
Chaotic neutral lighthouse sirens.
The spirits of sailors lost returning from sea.
Ethereal beings and what not.
Insert sappy and haunting intro here.
It's 1941 and we are writing love letters,
Tucking them into a big oak tree
To retrieve on our way to and from school.
Cherry cokes and late night smoke breaks.
My downstairs neighbors are fighting,
And I'm watching snow land on the ocean.
I don't feel special.
Uncharted waters and peeling wallpaper.
"Vinyl is better baby,
Trust me,
You must have lost your edge."
Drop Dead
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
We wish, we wished, we knew,
how the peace we make lingers,
magical thinking must not work,
but we were reared to really pray,
unceasingly, never failing to expect
to have, even as we uttered our amen,
peace enough to share,
by our own will
making our agreement amenable
in spirit,
and truth, as two parts
of all that ever may be, you and me,
in the way life happens where you and me live.
It is written, any judgement begun, where
ideas form words
to hold them in common, any truth
can be tested by its effect on a satisfied mind,
so when I say, spirit, you assume I speak of nothing
tangible in the natural, just something like a will
we let be today's good
in our local mind,
at the time,
to make us think,
before we use pre judged worths,
a dime, or a penny, today, ain't worth a wooden nickel,
-- I just remembered
when I was thirteen… Coke machines in Texas
sold bottled Cokes in six ounce bottles, for a Nickel,
and two empties garnered six cents, enough
for a soda pop and a piece of bubble gum.
That's how much things change in the space
of one measured neighborly Jubillee.
Whittling kindling is what honed knives are for,
I watched old men do it, and found it works,
look ahead to a winter fire easy to revive,
with shavings from summer whittle sessions,
making peace where none was when I woke up,
the whole world under old war rules running on,
but, while Jubilees are, done while considering,
just imagined, how debt erasure functions,
allows us freedom from
wrong reasons past.
We have all seen the size of Earth,
we all know our only neighbors are here.
We are a chosen planet, not a chosen people.
And on this planet, good people, make useful peace.
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 2:50 PM UTC
Sipping
on my cup of tea.
Down it travels.
Clear and smooth it
slips as I swallow.
Chilling
coolness strokes
like beads of diamonds
down my throat.
Flavour blossoming.
Morphing hollow.
Unlike water with such
lucid simplicity.
Light shaded fragrance
of flattered flowery.
A twinge of texture
silky and sleek,
coaxes your mind.
Distinct yet tasted
so gentle and meek.
Unlike coffee it
does not choke.
Nor fattening like
lattes, sodas and cokes.
Now here comes the part
I loved most.
Its aftertaste that lingers
bleak, bitter and cold.
Just like my soul.
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
Ain’t seen you in ages
Let’s get married in vegas
Lunar phases, lunar ******
Space **** with a built in dongle
Stars at night super fast internet
Watch your favourite movie
Fastened onto a turbojet
Pornstars in your eyes
Scarlett Skies
Supermassive slack hole explicit
I’m just giving you sound bites, apéritif
Cosmic ****** if you must
Hot to the touch I’m growing up
While you’re looking down gasping
Hands clasping, rocket launch
Houston this missile is staunch
Better turn the lights off
Things are about to get ******
So is it written in the stars?
Or do I need to text an explanation?
Your eyes are reflecting the light
Stars twinkling so bright
So now you’re full of rocket fuel
Engines ready isn’t ******** cool?
Deep space walking, space dazzle
Starship cougar from Newcastle
Tell me all your secrets
The ones that cause you hassle
Those stockings look nice
Northern tights
Blasting them off into unknown heights
Outside the atmosphere air is light
Unidentified arousal phenomena
Explore her Andromeda
The Milky Way sprayed on her front
I must be blunt, space passport scan
Tells star bureau I’m an OG spaceman
Space duty frees large Toblerone
Radiation sickness and no suntan
Cosmic ****** if you must
Light speed chat up lines
In stardust I’m gonna draw you signs
Baby can’t get enough of my ***
So I showed her in IMAX
Double ***** cokes with treble ******
Jelly legs.
So is it written in the stars?
Or do I need to text an explanation?
Your eyes are reflecting the light
Stars twinkling so bright
Can we just take a moment
To admire the cosmos
With a cosmo
Can we just take a moment
To admire the cosmos
With a cosmo.
Apr 22, 2025
Apr 22, 2025 at 4:27 AM UTC
These things we do, we who feel too much.
We who the world tries to crush every day.
We who have to fight for every breath.
I have no problem with a joint
A glass of wine or port. Even a forty in its brown paper jacket.
I have known many who partied.
And many who partook in secret or just alone. I have known. Many who spread their skin with blades,
A vent for excruciating pain.
And often times I sit alone, watching.
I've been called naive because I don't see the world as a thing that necessarily has to e ****** up. I choose to hope for the best rather then give in to the critics. And I wish to eliminate the victims.
Victims are those who have stuff done to them. Terrible stuff. All over the spectrum. I don't want us to be victims.
Everything has its place. Even as a warning sign. I believe cannabis was created for a reason. But my friends, that reason is not for you to exist in a sad state of numbness that allows you to keep yourself from taking action. It's not to numb the side effects of a broken heart a broken spirit a fractured soul.
I have gotten softly drunk in Italy , sipping on white whine and nasty ***** and cokes and called our host a non specific Italian name. Whiskey can be used to numb injuries. To prepare soldiers for amputation in primitive times. But my friends, alcohol is not there to make you bold or keep you unaware.
To the sorrowful souls who have so much pain they have to slice themselves , starve themselves , harm their selves to survive, I ask you to be strong. You are not a slave to the blade. You are strong enough to change your life
To my dreamers, we must stop numbing ourselves as to not have to deal with reality. I believe so many of us do that the that real
Change of ourselves and others and the world is pushed even farther away. And we are what humanity needs. The need people who feel and hurt and need and love and create.
They need Someone to help
Someone to offer a better choice.
This is rough and not well written
But the dreamers have been on my heart tonight.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC