"dea" poems
i will be
M o ving in the Street of her
bodyfee 1 inga ro undMe the traffic of
lovely;muscles-sinke x p i r i n g S
uddeni
Y totouch
the curvedship of
Her-
….kiss her:hands
will play on,mE as
dea d tunes OR s-crap p-y lea Ves flut te rin g
from Hideous trees or
Maybe Mandolins
1 oo k-
pigeons fly ingand
whee(:are,SpRiN,k,LiNg an in-stant with sunLight
then)!-
ing all go BlacK wh-eel-ing
oh
ver
mYveRylitTle
street
where
you will come,
at twi li ght
s(oon & there’s
a m oo
)n.
80.3k
my test results showed divergent.
but she told me not to talk about it,
at least not here, or anywhere. ever.
he told me i could not be found about. never.
but they did, they eventually did.
they injected me- with serums, different kinds of them.
and i became their ultimate little experiment gem.
one of a kind.
every stimulation- every serum injected, i denied.
i was useless.
but then he came - my love. my Four. my Tobias
to my rescue.
i promised. not to put myself into danger,
like as i always did.
but i could not let him die. Caleb. my brother. my blood.
i had to save them. all of them.
death serum.
i could. resist.
but before that- he picks up a fight -
wounded in his wheel chair. paralyzed.
but still manages to, that little twa -
stab.
pain.
i see bloo-
thick red blo-
mom? but you're dea-
it's okay sweety, she says.
where am i?
in a better place.
you gave up your life Tris- for them.
i died?
yes honey, you died, an allegiant.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
May all those who fear me find friendship with me here.
May all those who disbelieve feel my commanding presence.
When they need love, let them in and I will nurture them.
When they hunger with desire, allow release in my audience.
They who tire will rest with me in my palace.
They who long for peace can have it in this place.
©Copyright 2014 Written and Edited by Racquel Davis
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
Watchin' bikinis as they stroll,
they show a lot of skin, but not much soul.
You're out of your league boy, but that's OK.
Tomorrow could be your lucky day.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together,
till my skin turns into leather,
down on the Redneck Riviera.
"4x4s" sportin' bars-n-stars.
Ball caps and tank tops, their hittin' the bars.
Tattoos gettin ********* scarin' "tourys" away.
It's alright Ma tomorrow's a beach day.
And if you ain't a "toury"
you're runnin' from your past.
FBI, DEA or maybe the IRS.
Past wives, past lives, AWOL.
Everybody knows you here, but no one will tell.
Non-com fly-boys with their Amerasian wives,
bringin' 'em to America, given 'em better lives.
Some stay together, but others will roam.
They'll hit the street for money like they did back home.
And you'll find me in that sunny weather,
I'm gonna get myself together.
Frankly Scarlet I don't give a **** about Tara.
I'm down on the Redneck Riviera.
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
tunnel vision life
everything happening far away
backwards telescope
high school prom
pink & blue balloons
I walked through those doors
off the devil's wagon
like a poltergeist I was either
invisible
or a painted blood red target
Alone in the hallways
they laughed at me
a wasp-like
******
entombed in toilet paper
spit & magic marker
they didn't hate me,
they got me to hate me
everywhere I went their
gummy bioengineered shadow stalked
it was stuck on me all those years
like a bucket of pigs blood to the head
that I could never wash off
but I'm not that loser anymore
Don't worry, dea r
Lo ve me.
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 3:50 PM UTC
Before sleeves fight off chills, leaves begin to pour
Onto the raw ground, outside the window, as if they were tears
That belonged to the trees. Inside the glum house, their star
Is placed on the fridge with a glitter border to catch every eye,
But their own. They try turning away from her making the winning shot
At the basketball game, last season. Below the urn, the firewood burns
To thaw the bitter home, as the light providing candles burn
Out from exhaustion. The mother tip-toes to the kitchen to pour
Away her independence—maybe she’ll come back after the next shot,
Then I’ll stop—into a glass. Since the disaster last winter, silent tears
Can be heard only within oneself, but can be seen in their eyes
By those throughout the town. Not even a wish on a shooting star
Can bring her back now. The father only peeks up at the stars
When he goes for his evening strolls, his faithfulness has burnt
Away since she’s been gone, and everyday gets harder for his eyes
To process his vacant house. The town looks on and prays for the poor
Family, as they drag their feet to church; their son permanently in tears;
Forcing his memory to destroy the images. He ignores everything, but the shot
Echoing in his ears. He saw the blood embracing her after the shot;
Her body sprawled out on the red snow. Their basketball star,
Gone in an instant. This is all he sees—he tries to save her, but the tears
In his mother’s eyes tell him she’s already gone—as he stares into the burning
Fire. He hears his mother clink the bottle to the glass as she pours
Herself another round. He can hear her ask herself, “Why wasn’t it I
Who got struck by that bullet? Why would God even consider the i-
Dea that is was her turn? God, why didn’t you give her another shot?”
The mother takes the last gulp; she reaches for the bottle to pour
Another, but her eyes land on the photo of her fallen star.
She looks away and begins to cry. The fire continues to burn,
Keeping the house warm, as the son stares into the flames and tears
Continue to roll off his warm cheeks. The mother stands there, tears
Run down her face, her husband begins to hug her. In the corner of his eye,
The son sees his parents embracing, as the fire slowly stops burning;
He joins them. They all embrace each other and the echoing shot
Diminishes in the son’s ears. The struggle is not over, and her star
Is not forgotten, but that midnight drink was the last that she would pour.
Years go by, but that night stays burnt in their memories. Not so many tears
Are falling from the trees or eyes, this time of year; only the rain pours,
And at night all that can be spotted is the shot of a shooting star.
Aug 27, 2012
Aug 27, 2012 at 1:25 PM UTC
High school was a breeze
I mean forget the braces years
and the glasses and the acne and the bone crushing awkwardness
it was a breeze
rolling around in Mark's beat up VW hippie van
Smoke trailing behind us as we tore through suburban Richmond
worrying about Mom 'n Pop's more than the DEA and Cops
and finding empty houses to drink what we thought was good alcohol
if no houses were available
we'd just wait for the parentals to fall asleep
singing pop punk at the top of every lung
rapping along to gangster rap
hopelessly Caucasian
class was a joke
homework a no go
and we'd worry about the consequences later
talking about how we couldn't wait to be grown
well I'm growing now
and I can tell you
no bed time is awesome
but it isn't all it's always cracked up to be
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
She comes forth
like waves slipping over
the sand
again and again
delivered from darkness
coveting the light
And light is her signature.
A conundrum.
Light erasing light.
How can this be?
I will tell you.
Light is the companion
of the dark
trips joyfully in its shadows
And this dance
weaves a potent tale
of a two-faced goddess
one face peering intently into the dark
one lit by the morning sun
Yet darkness rules the day
hastens the twilight
gives measure to the
dimming
and finally
captures the last of the light
in a sea green bottle
We are drawn into that night
valiantly
or not
weeping for lost opportunities
or not
but at the end
waltzing into the unknown
Yet I do not suppose
darkness without light
according to my theology
a life that ends in simple extinction
cannot be
it is a null set
The fundamental equations
do not permit it
nor can my simple mind
fathom such depths
So in my dotage
I repair to wine and song
to ease the pain
of these uncertainties
and then to poetry
to catalog the human condition
and leave a trace
that yet might sparkle
in the instant of my demise
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 7:30 PM UTC
the ringin g in my he ad doe snt stop
it is so lou d
a const a nt dea d s i lent soun d
eee e e e e e e e e e e e e e e e
e e e ee e e
b w w aa a a a a
a a a a a
w a a
a a a a a a a b b
i fe el w eightl es s
im no t m y se lf
p l ease le ave m e alo ne
i wa n t t o be f ree
i t hurt s so mu ch
i ca nt h ear
i am n ot m e
i dont wa nt to c ry
a ny mor e
i m sor ry
i h ad to te ll the m
.
.
.
y
o
u
s
h
o
u
l
d
n
t
h
a
v
e
s
a
i
d
m
y
n
a
m
e
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 4:04 PM UTC
The letter puzzle.
You find these days you have a puzzle if you need help.
You have the FBI, CIA, NSA, HHS, DEA.
You have DSS NAACP NBA NFL NBA NHL
If you don't have a book to see what each one stands for.
You're *******
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
vyvanse, at last, my chance to be
alive, to do, to finish all my
projects, **** I love this job,
I want to dig it all day long
ritalin, my only friend, you'll be
there till the very end, I know
that I am happy now, I
think that I have meaning now,
I wish you wouldn't bring me down, I wish I weren't
running out
adderall, yeah that's my ****
when addie's there, agree with it,
I'll never stop this addie binge, I know that
I don't have to quit,
my doctor tells me "this is it",
my dealer tells me "this the ****
I'm happy now it's safe to say the
war on drugs will end today,
amphetamine's the bread we break, the
wedding band that's been exchanged
between this government-sanctioned
pharmaceutical cartel
and the DEA
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC
standing in line
for mail
at the homeless shelter downtown
get a stamp…or
two?
letters
that fill her hand she’s writing
to the FBI
writing to the CIA
the DEA
perhaps the NSA
wonder
what she wrote?
some days
she tells
of shadow people who plot
and scheme
she hides from
ghosts
and their attacks
they track her
she hides
inside a dream
or more accurately, constant nightmare.
she talks to people in the air
rambled words
furtive glances
she listens
what are the words that are being said
but then
who cares
no one knows those words
just Crazy Mary.
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 6:52 PM UTC
My life is a mess
no metaphor
could ever mean
My ambition
is being held captive
Lost
in the chaos of logic
Like a game of chess
I need to be saved
by the Queen
Wishful thinking
For divine intervention
Summoning
The Goddess of this machine
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 10:19 PM UTC
There is a deafening inarticulateness here;
Among the Living-
Though I always anticipated the Dead would prevail.
Perhaps it is to let us think-
But do we really think here?
The Comprachicos of the psyche enable our free thought.
Bringing clemency to an abrupt and mutilated end.
Unlike Dea, we shrink from Gwynplaine's grotesque glasgow smile.
Unable to be enchanted by the spirit,
And unable to adore the soul.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 3:10 PM UTC
it wasn't like we didn't know what was right or wrong
but sitting under abandoned structures at two in the morning,
talking about work, money and betrayal felt like neither.
i held the big bottle of beer for the first time
while stretching it out to her.
"Add ciga join oga", was her next response.
so i pulled it out from inside the pack. her pack.
"who you be? you be pastor?
why you come? you dey n.g.o?
abi you dey dea dey form good boy
siddon dea!"
so she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
blew what was left out of her nostrils
took another sip from the green bottle
some spilling off the side of her mouth
she scratched her back and waited for the next line
we managed to talk about what we did in the day.
i, a popular janitor, for better job to hang on to.
she, trader in Brazilian hair, owed by all her friends.
but i admitted being jobless at night
while she pleased other men for cash.
so she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
blew what was left out of her nostrils
took another sip from the green bottle
some spilling off the side of her mouth
she scratched her back and waited for the next line
"teach me facebook", she said
putting the sudden silence to shame.
so i grabbed her phone with in disgust,
but with plenty of curiosity,
while wondering what i was doing here.
"na ikenna send me dis fone"
so she shows me ikennas picture.
a young man with another woman beside her.
i quickly flipped through other pictures and messages.
some were about fights, some about clubs,
the others about robberies.
she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
i stand to go. so she asks, 'you go come shrine,
fela shrine tomorrow?'
with a smile only familiar friends can read, i accepted.
afterwards, she told the security men to let me go.
'na my friend'. a wicked smile scratched on the faces
of these men who stood for balogun street's security.
and we were friends. familiar friends.
many months have passed,
i blow the heat from my lungs with a sigh
i scratched my back and wait for this memory to erase.
what was i doing there?
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
if I am elected president of this great country,
next month will be a month long
holiday, a celebration of blacks
whites yellow red brown cellophane
imaginary characters, superheros,
invisible mystery movie stars
country western, Rap stars, long haired rockers
Disco even ( among the most reviled)
rhythm and blues, blues reds
those with accents, those without,
homosapiens and bisexuals lesbians thespians the gay and those happy
foot fetishists, my subscription to wow toes lapsed,
biologists psychologists street pharmacy dudes
Marilyn Monroe (oops my freudian slip, there)
women men boys girls , old young two and four legged
disabled American vet or not
truck drivers , doctors nurses garbage collectors(I gotta give them cred)
machinists secretaries liberals conservatives socialists ummm
communists?, maybe not so much,
waitresses even bill collectors,
lawyers the clergy and those elected,
maids kings queens prostitutes pimps
bad weak , rednecks Santa , I seen him today at the seven eleven
he works construction this time of year, the DEA
the Armed Forces, probation officers
the unemployed , the guy in the suit at the grocery in front of me buying Ribeyes with food stamps, teachers, septic tank pumpers
.......whew, I gotta take a break. I left many out , but this month long holiday is going to be inclusive. No one left out behind.
All colors all sizes all sexes all religions.
Gotta for once stop dividing this country into us
and them, see us all as Americans.
Feb 27, 2016
Feb 27, 2016 at 1:28 AM UTC
regional dissidence marked by ****** exchanges
tempered anger lends itself to psychotic episodes
and the children lay in gulley’s attempting to remain hidden –
shattered glass crashes onto unpaved streets
complete with ditches dug to expedite waste removal
as the filth of a nation runs freer than the citizenry –
enter technological gods bringing stories of prosperity
visions of democracy and unity begin to shape in the heart and minds
or so they tell themselves so sleep will find them –
battered emotions bubble to the surface of faces
pressed hard against stained glass doorways
fleeting images of food strewn tables and shoes un-holed
dance across impoverished and diseased brains
incapable of self-supporting, they line tourists spots
holding shabby signs and juggling rocks for pennies
brandished with the gentleman who claims slave freedom –
desert boarders separate families languishing for acknowledgement
true Americans generationally linked to the very soil
toil in agricultural hell as whites get fat
on the backs of today’s slave system
immigrant workers bury loved ones on the edges of factory farms
saying Catholic prayers to a corporate god
most well known for being the root of child molestation –
cartel kingpins hire babies to mule ******
DEA agents load them into vans destined for the inner city
As the forever war against minorities takes yet another turn –
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
To the top you gotta go far
Shortcuts only lead to cut short
Couple drops to the bottom I left the local bar
Another day another night fire burns like a torch
I know the thrill is a sport
To many wrong turns on the wrong path and I'm in court
Plus the ref ***** ***** rigged now its got me all outta sorts
Can't quit a mission James never hit abort
Bonds when i swing
White when I sing, a young lion like Barry wit a 40 on the porch
I don't give a **** about a thing
Stressing over every little thing
Really just wanna spread my wings
**** being cliche **** playing safe each day you can't live free this way
So it's my way or you can hit the traffic on the freeway
See my vibes a cool breeze wit a lil Hayes
Soul man wit a shaft that'll make em say
**** the DEA and the CCA
Perfect GPA, so shawtys high grade
Give her protein to build the muscles in the brain
...9 lives but I leave the ***** slain
Mastering this lion in a cage that's untamed
Thought I was insane til I learned bout chi
**** meditating to get free
See we're all the same but all unique
I've been in a daze for 9 months and weeks
Smacking myself to see if I'm asleep
The NSA surveilling all the sheep
Stand your ground law but what about peace
Eric Snowden was just the slightest breach
Gotta do this to heal the soul i dont preach
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 6:18 PM UTC
.
daemon
daemon dae
mon daemon d
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon
daemon daemon daemon daemon
daemon daemon de amon daemon dea
daemon daemon dae mon daemon daemo
daemon daemon daemon daemon
daemon daemon
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 9:35 AM UTC
Dea iz dis hot chic I waz hooking up some yrs bak. Evrtym I aprchd her she turnd her back on me.I tried callng her a multiple taimz bt she hngd up on me like I waz useless...I nvr lost hp 4 2 wks until I rlzd dat she wz plyng HARD 2 GET 4 me which waz vewy silly! Dhea4 I gave up n gave her some space 4 about 3 dayz,dats wen she realizd dat I waz 1 in a million guyz!! Ges wat, she startd callng bak n textn me dat she waz sorry n she didnt know wat got in2 her etc...she kept beggin 4 us 2 giv t a try bt un42n8ly t waz 2 l8...! Da pain of her ignorin me left a sore in ma heart dat i dared not du otherwise but jst ignore her 2. I simply changd ma line n muvd on wit ma life. I thnk where she iz 2deh she must hav Learnd a lesson..!! NOW TELL ME GUYZ, DID I DO DE RAIT THING???
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC
I’m afraid to die.
There, I said it.
My greatest fear is dying.
What the hell kind of fear is that,
it’s like being afraid of a sunrise,
or of black eyes,
Something that’s gonna happen,
and something that doesn’t hurt after.
For years I convinced myself it was gonna miss me,
but this ain’t kickball, and gettin chose last is the same as gettin chose.
"I could die right now, I could die while reading this."
It’s terrifying, don’t you think, that we could die at any time?
There my heart goes on its Zanzibar drum solo.
And it’s crippling too.
Because you can’t move past that fear and do something else,
what’s the **** point of even thinking of anything?
We’re gonna die. We’re gonna die. We’re gonna die.
What should I do now?
Doesn’t matter gonna die.
What about my dream?
Doesn’t matter gonna die.
Will I be remembered…
… doesn’t matter, still gonna be dead.
It makes every other fear bearable, no, romantic.
Living alone, being unloved, being unremembered: how the hell is that scary?
Each offers insight into character, the beautiful motivation of self reliance and self understanding is what led to that deep understanding of humanity, these thoughts drove
Thoreau,
dead
Whitmen,
dead
Dickenson,
dead.
dead dead dead dead dead dead dea.
they are all dead!
and what the hell did they do to deserve it—what will I do?
Nothing.
I'm still paralyzed.
Nov 10, 2015
Nov 10, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
We know what it is to be
Be a producer
A nurturer create in dirt
Being from the place we create
The people who slaved
The people who consume
Infinitely those who profit
We have been
The slave
The owner
The profiteer
Our luxuries have been
The sun
Dirt
Air
Satisfaction
Power over life
Death or growth
Mining and stripping
Tearing down and barreling
Towards an infinite goal
I give back to you from whom I take
Softly I sob praying it isn’t too late
In peace I go
Not to some good night
But to some hell
Where I feel upon my being
That which I have done
To the ground I give my body
To the sky I give my soul
May what is left be
Let it be
Let it be used
Used to foster life
From what I took
Magna Dea
I return what was never mine
Do what you will
In hopes that self sacrifice does
What I never could.
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
Mi Lu
mi lubidulia
mi golocidalove
mi lu tan luz tan tu que me enlucielabisma
y descentratelura
y venusafrodea
y me nirvana el suyo la crucis los desalmes
con sus melimeleos
sus eropsiquisedas sus decúbitos lianas y dermiferios limbos y
gormullos
mi lu
mi luar
mi mito
demonoave dea rosa
mi pez hada
mi luvisita nimia
mi lubísnea
mi lu más lar
más lampo
mi pulpa lu de vértigo de galaxias de ***** de misterio
mi lubella lusola
mi total lu plevida
mi toda lu
lumía.
857
Marcus' Homeland wave said the source of suffering was Mad Max's flexibility in the area of the New Museum; The world is in error, and the delight of my work be done; John. . . John, if you are a good soldier, Newly Risen Dawn is the youngest of the cereals; And in general, the shadow of the light at the end of the United States is the shadow of death; women, now totaling six, highly clothed with strength. Satan stood up, raised up for the sake of the tree of life by Irinka as a seething mass of light; the waves of the fish, as it were of the six lakes of Asia, and the black ants of Africa at Allen's service; and turning to the women with every right, that is, from his exploration of the variety of their fantasies, the abuse of drugs, and her eyes, as the source is according to Mad Max; A ****** and the toes, and mouth to mouth, mouth to mouth, and the mouth of the mouth to mouth, and speaking face to face to face, and she loveth not knoweth not; the name of the feet, and she besought the people go, that they may not merely be in one oven; and showing a red color, indeed, it is his work, all the problems of the world of the high-priest of a fever which is la-la-la; The discourse with the Holy Spirit, named Carlos, who is the fountain of bread and one from us, drunk in the night, when the weather is very clear, as in Isaiah, the Breath of Freedom! In recent years, the image is of the girl singing the song as good as the song exchange; 1 Go the Cam, she tells them! The letters speak of the world next to this world in the next case, and another voice from the prostitutes and learning their culture are the shadows of the others; The Reforms of the DEA are limited to the crowded sands of the US, which at the end of the day includes jewelry, ornaments and decorative accessories. § If it is not, as is true, the competition is in the form of the exhibition; global players, and as it were, Maecenas paying much for most of the pages, and it came to pass from Asia to Cicero, and that was the history from the common people of the mountains and the hills, to the provinces of Asia, that is all the way around the world, and they will not be in the memory after the destruction of the hill, is the plan of Haman for the city that opens onto the broad places of the Jews, who were out in the restaurants where a stranger with a very little **** teaches that the way of God into the belly is the way of destruction, but whose end, however, he will bring to pass.... for he is he who doeth, and has made the signs and wonders, and with his Aussie lass and other drugs only to be known to _him_ ...
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
Light up the hash, we goin' get real high
While the smoke blows to the flows from Half Life of Phi
This is a beat for all the ****** freaks
Smokin the keef til they get wide cheeks
Yo we got them blunts rolled proppa
With a fat core of shatta, even Big Poppa
Would hit it, then hit it again, spit a refrain
About how that **** smoke makes the brain
Feel so sane, goes with the grain, healing pain
I'm the DEA's bane of existence,
All because of my dank scents
But all we tryin' to do is make rents
For my friends, choppin ends
Put it in a crock *** but not too hot
Leave it in the spot for a while
Light up the hash, we goin' get real high
While the smoke blows to the flows from Half Life of Phi
Spend the time with a fat pile
Of hash, spittin that medicated style
About the cash that
We goin to make from the batch
Once this plan hatch
Time's up open up the hatch
See the green butter be quick to ******
It up in the cheese cloth
While it's still nice and soft
Strain out the chaff from the grain
For a better product better do it again
Cause you wanna have the fame in the game
Light up the hash, we goin' get real high
While the smoke blows to the flows from Half Life of Phi
Known by the name of the green baker
Risk taker, Swimmin in money lakes-er
Don't ***** wit the shakes
except for personal bakes
Only keef rinses sinces
you don't chinces
Keep the potencies
Gotta keep pounds around
One from each corner of town
Keepin your inventory down
Most diverse selection **** elections
With all that and the dope sound
And nobody around to **** with your crown
Light up the hash, we goin' get real high
While the smoke blows to the flows from Half Life of Phi
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC