"crocker" poems
[Verse 1]
Monster sized swag; not modest bout my splendor
Marvel at the flag and I'm the ultimate avenger
Buck Rodgers, D-Bird yep I'm the number one contender,
So I gotta uphold this rep of bein uncontrollable
so I'll take the lead, I hold the world beneath my feet
I'm a fiend, elite
Haze so cloudy cause I be blowin Swisher Sweets
Drug addiction is my disease
It's my expertise
See here's the masterpiece:
Raps lobotomize
I'm traumatized since 1993
[Verse 2]
Victimized by the lies
of this trifilin enterprise
You can front but you can't hide
There's no fault behind your eyes
So I hope this insult will suffice
It should come as no surprise
A grin will spread across my face
From side to side
My ***** mouth will mesmerize
hypnotized, memorize
the words that escape my lips
I'm a degenerate unabridged uncut
You're a ************* ****
Go hang yourself from a bridge
Here's a rope, I hope you choke
******* ******* smoochie smoochie
Only chains you got is Gucci
Y’all basic brothers rep that set
But fake like that 2chi
[Verse 3]
man I get so high,
Now watch me get higher
Watch me take flight
As my wings soar skyward
You know I'ma fighter
So watch me take my place
As I eat this rap game up
and then spit it in your face
Now pass me a lighter
see me rollin while I bake
I mean I'm not a pastry maker,
but I still bake for the sake
My rhymes are so ill
They're gonna make you sick
I be tweetin on my twitter
While Betty Crocker ***** my **** uh
[Verse 4]
Reid between the lines son and please proceed with caution
Alien splittin kilos, I be one tweaked ****** martian
I'm five steps ahead and these haters ****** forfeit
You four feet tall and I'm so high I'm in ****** orbit
Make these snitches sleep with fishes
How ****** vicious spittin mischief
****** trippin out these hypocrites
Dishin out these disses which
Bein inconsiderate
in this fast paced game of chase
But if I wanted to catch your drama
I'd just go check my facebook page *****
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 3:30 AM UTC
so
here we Are:
Arnold......Shortman,
Shorty......Meeks,
Mr......Meeseeks,
Ezekiel......Whitmore.
Morphine,,,,,,Morpheus,
Neo......Geo,
OG......Sour,
Sour......Diesel.
DeeDee's......Brother,
Cousin......Vinny,
Vinny's......Lover,
Brothers......Grimm.
Grim......adVentures,
Billy......Madison,
Hansel,,,,,,Gretel,
Chelsea......Grin.
Grimace,,,,,,Misery,
Mister......eBonic,
Bonny,,,,,,Clyde,
Kyle,,,,,,Kenny.
Kenny......Powers,
Powder Puff Girls,
"Girls Girls Girls",
Girls Gone Wild.
Wilee......Coyote,
Coyote......Ugly,
Ugly......Betty,
Betty......Crocker.
Doctor......Parnassus,
Doctor......Krieger,
Doctor......Horrible,
Doctor......Evil.
Evil......Knievel,
Felix......the Cat,
Captain Jack Sparrow:
"Captain......my Captain".
Tinman,,,,,,Scarecrow,
"Rowrow Rowyer Boat",
Bo......Burnham,
Earnest,,,,,,Vern.
Verdict,,,,,,Votive,
deVotion,,,,,,Vengeance,
aVenging......Evey,
V,,,,,,Vendetta.
Denace......the Menace,
Crystal......Globes,
Snow,,,,,,Aesthetics:
Skeletal......Shedding.
Head,,,,,,Tail,
Sally,,,,,,Jack,
Jack......Rabbits,
Magic......Hatters.
Shattered......Glass,
Glasgow......Smile,
Guile,,,,,,Vega,
Akuma,,,,,,Ryu.
You,,,,,,Me,
Beneath......the Bleacher:
Jeepers,,,,,,Creepers,
Reapers......of Seeds.
Seeds......of Chucky,
Chuckie......Finster,
Principal......Muriel,
Yuri......Gagarin.
© Copyrighted Jesse James Adams
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
Wide countertops speckled with vanilla sugar
plant vines ink-sketched along blank walls
flour clouds hover, ossify edges of brittle Betty Crocker’s
printed sunflowers, herbs peer between stacked spices,
plant vines ink-sketched on blank walls
leaves tremble where window breeze battles oven heat
printed sunflowers, herbs peer from between stacked spices
look down on three generations, Best 2 Egg cake
leaves tremble where window breeze battles oven heat
flour clouds hover, ossify pages of brittle Betty Crocker’s
look down on three generations, Best 2 Egg cake
and wide countertops speckled with vanilla sugar
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
My brothers and I, sat on the front porch,
as cool sweat beads trickled
from our foreheads
to the bottom of our chins.
My mother swatted
the screen door open.
She stood, with the hem of her pink apron drenched
in flour, looking like the neighborhood Betty Crocker.
She was holding three bomb
pops for three darkly
tanned children.
We ripped off the parchment,
revealing the frozen crystal
beads latching on to each pop.
We looked at each other
as we concealed our childish snickers,
and on the count of three
we started our favorite competition.
We began licking our pops
Like dogs lapping
water on a hot day.
Twenty licks in, my tongue,
started to lose speed,
and my world, temporarily,
played
in slow
motion
and I was left with a throbbing pain in the middle of my head.
My pop was almost gone,
When I licked it so hard
it did a somersault
in mid air until it reached
the cement ground
and formed a patriotic puddle
around my feet.
We looked at each other,
faces stained with blue raspberry artificial flavoring,
as our boisterous laughter filled the air.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Curtsey, Clean, Cook Nice.
Betty Crocker, Ball and Chain
Girlfriend is better.
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:08 PM UTC
In the gray light of this late autumn morning
a young mother with holiday bags on her arms
and another set underneath her eyes, carries on
– assuming with positive intent – the American
tradition of some overweight man crawling
through chimneys. Stepping out unscathed by soot.
Her son, barely three and giddy with trust, hungrily
eats this up like a peaceful Thanksgiving meal.
These lies that we carry cautiously like gifts
and pass onto our children like genes who
then pass them onto his or her friends always
(in the end) come back unpleasantly to hurt us.
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
on our first date
(15 november)
you held my hand through the corn maze.
as we were getting lost in the stalks of corn
i was actually getting lost in you,
in the way your fingers felt curled next to mine,
in the deep bass of your voice,
in the way you could never remember which pocket your keys and phone were in.
i have never felt happier than i did when we made it out of the maze
and both agreed that it was too early to go home,
that we wanted to stay together a little longer,
and so we sat
for three hours just talking about everything.
i could sit and talk to you for hours
even if the topic is boring, it becomes endlessly fascinating
when the words are coming from your mouth.
i want to learn more about your uncle
and how he was called betty crocker as a kid because he baked so much,
i want to hear about the things you are building in robotics,
i want to know everything about you.
i feel happy and comfortable around you and
want nothing more than to be with you,
standing next to you,
our hands intertwined,
facing the world together,
as one.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
Crocodile scars
Teeth enlarged
Drinking bars
What did the croc say to the cattle? Mooooooooo
What did the cow say to the croc-man
Wolf
As really the croc-man
Was a dog with scales.
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 3:56 PM UTC
Heat oven to 400ºF. Place paper baking cup in each of 12 regular-size muffin cups, or grease bottoms only of muffin cups.
Cleaning hands of the grease
excitement in the release
anticipating the taste
forget, the roll on the waist
Stir all ingredients except blueberries just until moistened. Gently stir in blueberries. Divide batter evenly among cups.
The smell of heavenly batter
nothing else in the world, too matter
moist and gooey, so dreamy
the texture so smooth, and creamy
Bake 13 to 18 minutes or until golden brown.
From the oven returning
my want and my need, a yearning
too hot to touch, I want them so much
my tongue and lip, are now burning
I'll eat the entire batch
no breath and no train to catch
fat dumb and happy, taking a *****
a carb dream, I made them from scratch
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 9:37 AM UTC
There is a feeling in the air
It’s dense but harmless
Kind of like Betty Crocker frosting
It just sits there in a thick lump
Smell the sugar from 15 feet away
It makes me want to walk up to it
And put my bare hands to the bottom
Fling the **** out of it
Sticky clumps of pink
All over every thaaanng
It’s that feeling
It’s in the air
I breathe it in
Exhale it everywhere I go
Spread it to people
Like a contagion
Like a I don’t care if you don’t like it crazy sensation
Oh wow - just try and get in the way
Get drunk for days off this swirly freaky rampage
It’s that feeling
It’s in the air
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 11:59 PM UTC
why be great
when you can
be mediocre
celebrate your birthdays
drunk
a cake your step-mother
baked for you
Betty Crocker
add eggs & water
while the good die young
find a stray dog
bring him into your meagre
home
week-to-week
while unknown numbers
ring ring
atone
learn to sleep alone
write alone
seasons and calendar gods
numbers
bones
turn away
smile alone
share with a stranger
arch-angel of one
forgive yourself
play the lottery
(if you like)
lose and lose
ache and ache
embrace
come undone
out of gas
miles from home
a few more steps
grown
Dec 25, 2017
Dec 25, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
Upon prima facie first blush
me mind's eye all atwitter,
sans long forgotten
"FAKE" ****** exploits
set mum (chrysos anthem) all aglitter,
boot like short order cook I hapt tubby
quickly realized trumpeting collusion,
a near fatal collision course
with Matthew Scott's antimatter
caw zing friggin insomnia
finding ma noggin scrambled
likesome lithesome cockamamie critter
whipped into frenzy
like battered butter
holy grits, alm manned in fight of ma life
cause I haint acquitter
baa (jaw edge), ah woe cup feeling
hedged hog extremely bushed 'n bitter,
this raging red bull inside me mind,
now body wheeling wickety wack,
lichen to moss elf gut seasonal litter
bitta asthma - insides
got balled into wah racket
like quietly rioting unfetter
herd plain tennis (see) hens,
gone south tub bespatter
ear rilly jawboning jabberwocky
reducing gray matter,
and all flesh sundered
into meaty platter
to pulverized, irradiated,
cremated... faux fluffernutter batter
analogous tummy Aunt
Jemima's famous flapjacks,
she fantastically fashioned better
than Betty Crocker
tossing spatulated glommed
**** suitable as bonesetter
high as the Taj Mahal,
while she merrily jabbered,
her native patois singsong blatter
all this inaudible clatter
muffled 10,000 maniacs mad as a hatter
madly clangorous dinner cowbells
aroused bacchanalian sybaritic skitter
ring jitterbugging fantasies
of barenaked ladies doth splutter
as bedraggled, frazzled, grizzled...poetry
like cocky rooster that did stutter!
Mar 5, 2019
Mar 5, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
To The 70%
Thank you for twiddling your pens,
and straightening your ties.
Thank you for playing red light, green light
with little buttons on podiums and your sausage fingers.
Thank you for making decisions about my body
so I don't have to.
You have wrapped yourself in the American flag like
it is a blindfold.
You are smiling as you place another brick onto the tower of the patriarchy
making it easier for you to claw your way to the top of a temple to a false god.
I bet you pump Betty Crocker and Tide Laundry Detergent into the veins of your wife.
I bet you stuff her like a rag doll and throw her around like one, too
I bet
you own her like a trophy,
a symbol of your triumph as a 'man'.
You sit her on the mantle,
next to your shotgun,
and the picture of your daughter at her christening as a baby.
Her puff pastry dress and bracelet of pearls serve as indications that
the sparkle in her eye will always be a pink one. That
she will glue her legs together in the name of shiny, Christian abstinence. That no one will rip them apart for the shade of her lipstick or the size of her chest.
Though it was not her fault that you were late to pick her up from school again
Though it was not her fault that she smiled back at the boy leaving basketball practice
Though it was not her fault that he opened her like a present three days before Christmas
You shut the destroying thing inside of her until September when
it had the nerve to crawl out and stare her in the face,
all of the naivety sprawled out in front of her
surrounded by a ****** mess
you expect her to clean it up,
without even helping her off the stained sheets of the hospital bed.
Think about that silver frame and the child that graces the inside of it.
Look into her eyes and see that promise,
an unopened gift under the tree.
Doesn't it make you wonder why you
are the one telling her when she should grow up?
Doesn't it make you wonder why you
could ever blame a woman for her own ****
To The 70%:
Stop using the flag that's supposed to represent my freedom
as a blindfold.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Here I sit in thoughts all are you
My ingredients make a Devil's Stew
No cook or Crocker, this is True
Coal black caldron, Indigo hue
My Kept Still Keeps...
My Truth's still True
No eye of nuet, nor Fish sun su
Abstracts sour this Witch's brew
Stirred my Triumph getting Ov'er you
Just like that, the Devil knew!
Appeared before me in nothing "To Do"
A different vessel for this Witch's pour!
Devil I seek an Alternate store-
A witch's which a Knew no more Tongue's vile taste in haste born clues
Empty voids and 'Nothing new's
Like
A Magic Trick -or-
I Owe You
The Devil made me do it! The Devil's due
Measured vessel prepared for you with heaping spoon's of Devil's Stew
So it Tis!
To Come it was...
Our Flame lit Fuse
My Twin Flame Devil
My Mystic Muse
Our Flame Fire Forged
One Wicked Tune
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC