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Chuck Jan 2013
Do not utter a syllable
For the reaper lurks at the door
Dim the lights as our eyes are widened  
Sit in a desperate, huddled mass
Feel the shivering, helpless creature on the left
Hear my traitorous lungs exhaling, surrendering my position
My heart pounding, screaming at my body
Ordering me to run, to fight, to ****
"Do not go gentle into that good night,"
As Dylan Thomas so elegantly stated
Yet it is not a time for romantic visions of heroism
Beowulf's idealism will not save us here
Sobbing, shivering, ***** stained American Eagle
Sweat drenched Under Amour Tees and hoodies
Feet ironically quivering in red and orange Nike Shocks
A 243 pound lineman blubbering under his breath
He wants his mother, his daddy, his pillow, to go home
Another boy, Darrel, clenches his fists, readies for attack
Cassidy sits silently, emotionless, statuesque, frozen in time
And I . . . What do I do? . . . What do I do?
Do I flinch like Sir Gawain in the face of death?
Or do I . . . . . . What do I do?
God, may I never discover the answer to this evil query
God help us stop the violence consuming innocent children
Render CODE RED obsolete
Yet, CODE RED will parish not
For society feeds on fictional fame
Fifteen minutes that Warhol never could have painted
Now it will be duplicated like so many Campbell's Soup cans
CODE RED    CODE RED    CODE RED   CODE RED  
And . . . What will I do?
What will I do?
Upon practicing safety drills in a high school
Will Mercier Aug 2012
Everyone wants to just stick it in the hole,
And pound the pin in,
Ask them to tie some nylons with their hands,
And they're all pinkies.
Kids these days,
Can't even play an F chord,
Three string chords
And verse chorus verse,
It gets worse every year.
Thank the lord above, that guitar geeks are born periodically,
To make that thing neigh, like a Bad Horsie,
And prove, a three piece garage band can still rock the block.
For every one hundred and fifty parttime power chord players, hiding their lack of practice behind digital effects,
And excessive distortion,
There's one Jimmy Hendrix or Dimebag Darrel born.
I see the brows furrowing now,
As you wonder, how does this geezer know about Dimebag?
Just because I prefer the feel and vibration, of a classical guitar in my arms,
Doesn't mean I don't Listen to Sabbath,
and I was a Dime bag fan in the seventies.
Power chords are fine by me,
It makes my tutoring sessions, much easier,
I don't even bother trying to convince them that there are more chords,
Unless, they have that thing about them.
That little floating sign that says
"You are special",
Or the eight year old,
Who mysteriously has thick callouses on his fingers,
Even though he never picked up a guitar before.
What I'm trying to say is,
There is nothing wrong with the kids these days.
I hated learning my scales too.
Rock and roll is here to stay,
As long as the next Hendrix isn't
Aborted.
This isn't meant to make anybody feel bad. If you have gone through an abortion, that is your own choice, and I'm not judging nobody. Just saying, you never know who that child may become.
Peace and Love to all.

Will
Darrel Weeks Jul 2020
My name

D is Destruction
A is Atrocity
R is Redundant
R is Reckless
E is Egotistical
L is *****

i have no middle name thank the lord !!
Nowhere child keep on running , in your time you'll find something , in the Everlasting nothing - Beck
PearPoetry Mar 2021
I don’t think it was ever supposed to happen this way. We met at the same time as the world started to go insane.

I don’t remember giving you permission to rummage though my brain until you found the light and switched it off. You were never supposed to do that X, you were never supposed to light a fire inside my stomach. I am burning, I am burning, and I was never meant to be burnt. You went John Darrel on me, and now I don’t know where to hide. X, you were supposed to share the flowers in my garden, but I guess you never understood what that meant. It makes sense, because even when I was hungry, you took away the scraps. You found home in my sadness, and X you know that’s not right, you know.

X, I am burning, I am burning and you’re supposed to put me out, where is the hose X? Where is the extinguisher? Did you swallow all the water to quench your thirst, did you drain the dams into your blue water bottle for your walk back home? And leave me here, burning?

At this point, I’m unsure of what to think. I am scared of being this alone, yet I am more scared of being by your side and loosing you at the same time.

Is this who you are? Jumping into peoples arms until the weight has pushed them into the ground, stuck. I never saw you as an acrobat but it seems like you never want to come down and touch ground.

But X, love, you might jump fast, you might even learn how to fly. But fire spreads, and I am burning, and everyone knows what happens to a forest when the flint is hit – it becomes wildfire.
Extract from a my journal - Narrative approach which I really enjoy.

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