"deputy" poems
My mother grew up in a small town
and she married in a small town
and she lived in a small town
and she passed away here.
And our neighbours came with their casseroles
And the florist gave my family her best violets
And there was a discount on the casket.
My sister grew up in a small town
and she married in a small town
and she lived in a small town
And she works at the high school as an English teacher.
And she takes her kids to the park every Saturday,
And her car never uses more than a liter a month
And there is always a booth for her family at Sal's Diner.
My brother grew up in a small town
and he never did marry
but he never did leave.
So now he lives in this small town.
And he only ever takes his job as a deputy seriously
And every Sunday he tends to his geraniums,
And there is never any mail in his mailbox
And his coffee order has always been the same.
I grew up in a small town
and nothing ever changed
and so I left.
And I will never manage to travel to all the bus stops
And my barista never ever remembers my face
And the librarian is stern, always, instead of friendly
And there is never ever a dull moment
In this little world I've created in my big town.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
[b][url=http://www.christianlouboutin4usale.com/]Christian louboutin[/url] [/b]Small and medium-sized enterprises suffered most during last year's credit crunch. [b][url=http://www.christianlouboutin4usale.com/]Christian louboutin shoes[/url] [/b]Unable to secure funding from big banks, they turned to private lenders. [b][url=http://www.cheaplouboutins2011.com/]Christian louboutin[/url] [/b]At the start of this year's NPC and CPPCC sessions, the government said it would expand this type of lending.Low deposit rates, [b][url=http://www.cheaplouboutins2011.com/]Christian louboutin shoes[/url] [/b]real estate restrictions and poorly performing stocks markets over the last few years have left Chinese investors with few options.[b] [url=http://www.christianlouboutin4usale.com/]red bottom shoes[/url][/b] During last year’s credit crunch, many individuals lent money directly to small businesses who couldn’t secure loans from the bigger banks.[b] [url=http://www.cheaplouboutins2011.com/]red bottom shoes[/url][/b] Some experts say it’s time to legalize these types of loans. Ding Yifan, deputy director of Development Research Center, [b][url=http://www.cheaplouboutins2011.com/Christian-Louboutin/Christian-Louboutin-Ankle-Boots/]Christian Louboutin Ankle Boots[/url] [/b]Institute of World Development said: "Chinese private capital is huge, some over trillions of RMB there. [b][url=http://ukchristianshoess.com/]Red bottom shoes[/url] [/b]So if we don’t create some channels allowing them to join some interesting projects, they will lead to everywhere to create bubbles. [b][url=http://www.2012louboutinsale.com/]Red bottom shoes[/url][/b]" Small and medium sized companies were hit particularly hard by the credit crunch, as they had more difficulty securing loans from the big banks.[b] [url=http://www.uslouboutin.com/]red bottom shoes[/url][/b]
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 3:10 AM UTC
Uncle Christmas was mucking out happily mucking in and wondering what might have been had his twin not been sneakier and the first to emerge to claim the 'Father' moniker.
Uncle found to his surprise he was quite content to be the deputy and not have the pressure at the top of the Christmas hierarchy. Rather he was happier working with the reindeer, being grubbier, a little smellier, leaving his brother to bear the fur lined mantle that was heavier.
However,
at each and every Christmas dinner when the family all got together to enjoy the post-advent breather, Uncle would still insist with his Christmas pudding grin that compared to his older twin he was far harder working,
a little better looking
and definitely
relatively
slim.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 4:13 AM UTC
1192
An honest Tear
Is durabler than Bronze—
This Cenotaph
May each that dies—
Reared by itself—
No Deputy suffice—
Gratitude bears
When Obelisk decays
3.3k
The casket was coming up, swaying and wobbling
Like a novice skater’s layover spin,
The workings proceeding apace,
The stillness of the August heat
Punctuated by disinterested growl of the backhoe,
The occasional out-of-place jocularity by the excavators
The creaky jingle of the chains holding the muddied box
As it proceeded skyward in its clumsy poor-man’s Resurrection.
The affair was being observed by an elderly couple,
Old enough to be of no particular age.
Their car had Carolina plates,
But their inflections, their casually-tossed idioms
They noted that ruefully The grass needs mowed)
Marked them as natives.
They’d returned (Last time, most likely,
The wife uttered mournfully)
To take their son with them; he’d drowned when was five? six?
(The years will do that to a body, apparently)
In Kinzua Creek some half-century ago,
Back when little boys weren’t under a mandate
To be safe from themselves, as it were.
He was our boy! We’ve never forgotten him!
The old man said, the words snapping off
In a manner that spoke of something else altogether,
How the whistle at the Montmorenci
Went off at three and eleven for second shift,
And your *** had better be there,
As those were good jobs that didn’t wait for bereavement leave,
Because there was always someone
Just itching to take your spot on the line,
And anyway life went on,
At least in the sense that television screens went all to snow
And tires went flat and fuses blew
And eventually a dead child
Is not always in the forefront of your thoughts,
Only tiptoeing in when the Press ran a picture
Of the Montmorenci Area Class of whenever,
Or there was an item about some other family
Who opened their front door
To a grim sheriff’s deputy with his hat in his hand.
Eventually, after some time
And in defiance of both the odds and gravity,
The casket was settled into the back
Of the undertaker’s huge old black Caddy,
And the couple cane-toddled back to their car,
Following out the through the old spider-like gates
And onto the main road.
The brief procession fading from sight,
Until there was nothing left to see
Save the hillsides covered in old growth pine.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
/ praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.
her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.
look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.
new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.
there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.
lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.
the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?
guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
"Shelter From The Storm"
Bob Dylan
'Twas in another lifetime one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue, the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
And if I pass this way again you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Not a word was spoke between us there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Now there's a wall between us something there's been lost
I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Well the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker he blows a futile horn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
I've heard newborn babies wailing like a mourning dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
In a little hilltop village they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation and she gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence, I got repaid with scorn
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Well I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge someday I'll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 10:20 AM UTC
The night before, she whispered,
"The quickest way to break a heart
is to pretend you have one."
Howling,
like you've never heard before.
And she sat next to me, radiating.
Her body jumped with every bump,
as foam blossomed out of her mouth.
And I promised her
that I would get her there in time.
And her dealer promised me
he didn't give her anything.
Howling.
I was howling,
like you and I have never heard before.
And her glazed eyes would open.
And my eyes were wide shut.
Her body lain crooked,
like the antenna of the wrecked car
my grandfather left me.
And I wondered if the planet
was moving too quickly
or if I wasn't moving fast enough -
before I decided the only time
that was real, was now.
Howling.
The police sirens were howling,
like the suburbs have never heard before.
The wails were begging me to pull over.
And the flashes of red and blue
danced across her ivory skin.
She mumbled to her deceased grandma,
and I asked her to stay.
And in that moment,
I tried to numb myself.
I tried to detach
and let the river carry me.
Howling.
I was howling,
like the deputy
had never heard before.
I begged for an escort.
I begged to go back into my car.
He looked at her knotted body
but didn't see her like I saw her.
And he told me to remain calm.
He told me to stop yelling -
but I couldn't express enough.
I couldn't release enough desperation.
And the river carried me
to the rocks before the fall.
At the bottom, I knew she was dying,
and this killed me, most of all.
Howling.
I was howling her name,
like she had heard before -
but not this time.
No, not this time.
The night before, she whispered,
"The quickest way to break a heart
is to pretend you have one."
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 5:33 PM UTC
Uncle Christmas
was mucking out
happily mucking in
and wondering
what might have been
had his twin not been sneakier
and the first to emerge
to claim the Father moniker.
Uncle found to his surprise
he was quite content to be
the deputy
and not have the pressure
at the top of the Christmas hierarchy.
Rather he was happier
working with the reindeer,
being grubbier, a little smellier,
leaving his brother
to bear the mantle that was heavier.
However at each and every Christmas dinner
when the family all got together
Uncle still insisted with a jocular grin
that compared to his twin
he was far better looking
and definitely
relatively
slim.
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 5:14 PM UTC
you said on facebook you hate cops
so i put a pig's head in your bed.
the deputy said, before i killed him dead:
"i have a wife,
i have a wife!"
with a sigh,
i grinned, replied,
a glimmer in
impassive eyes:
"so will i,"
and then i took the bastard's life;
swung my axe until he died.
anyway,
you wanna get married?
nah?
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
Pocket full of clacking around benzodiazepines
Xanax, Klonopin, and ******
Am I late for class? Am I late for work?
Am I late for my own life? (truth)
Is this really any normal kind of respite or relaxation?
Chemistry really has come a long way to introduce
us to induced relaxation(?) pills.
My Mr. Dr. says it should help with my anxiety,
but it only seems to cloud me in my depravity:
I steal, I lie, and I wake up naked in unknown
bedrooms in unknown cities with unknown
women. Who…did they steal my wallet?
And where the **** are my car keys?
Better yet, where in Allah’s name is my car?
OH! Lord Jesus Christ OH! God of the Jews I cry out,
Forgive me (lie) for I hath sinned.
I suddenly want to do every drug (truth)
ever made, you name it, I’ll try it,
just this once, of course. I don’t have an
addictive personality (lie)
The Dr. says it is OK if I take 4mg of Xanax a day (truth),
hence it must be safe (lie), right? A Dr. can’t lie, can he?
Wait! Where am I again? And, what are we doing here?
Oh…that’s right, we are kids going nowhere (truth), how
silly of me to forget. If this is Prozac Nation,
then I am the ****** State. My governor is the late
William Burroughs (lie) and my deputy is the late Kurt Cobain (lie).
We are not in this for the fame (lie), a state run by the deceased.
So, how dare you point a finger at me in blame.
This is Drug Nation, America-home of the sedated and land of the overdose.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 8:13 PM UTC
**Shelter from the Storm
by Bob Dylan**
'Twas in another lifetime, one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
And if I pass this way again, you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Not a word was spoke between us, there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
I was burned out from exhaustion, buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes an' blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile, ravaged in the corn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Suddenly I turned around and she was standin' there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Now there's a wall between us, somethin' there's been lost
I took too much for granted, I got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Well, the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much, it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker, he blows a futile horn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
In a little hilltop village, they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation and she gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence I got repaid with scorn
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Well, I'm livin' in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge, someday I'll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
Come in, she said
I'll give ya shelter from the storm
Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
I was in another lifetime one of toil and blood
When blackness was a virtue and the road was full of mud
I came in from the wilderness a creature void of form
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
And if I pass this way again you can rest assured
I'll always do my best for her on that I give my word
In a world of steel-eyed death and men who are fighting to be warm
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
Not a word was spoke between us there was little risk involved
Everything up to that point had been left unresolved
Try imagining a place where it's always safe and warm
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
She walked up to me so gracefully and took my crown of thorns
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
Now there's a wall between us something there's been lost
I took too much for granted got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on a long-forgotten morn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
Well the deputy walks on hard nails and the preacher rides a mount
But nothing really matters much it's doom alone that counts
And the one-eyed undertaker he blows a futile horn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
I've heard newborn babies wailing like a mourning dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love
Do I understand your question man is it hopeless and forlorn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
In a little hilltop village they gambled for my clothes
I bargained for salvation and they gave me a lethal dose
I offered up my innocence and got repaid with scorn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
Well I'm living in a foreign country but I'm bound to cross the line
Beauty walks a razor's edge someday I'll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm".
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 8:00 AM UTC
walking through the big flea market
off of highway 19 north of Tampa
looking for whatever and something
curious and kitsch or campy
merchants selling in the parking lot
used blenders and old cameras
burnt out or faulty devices
DVD cases and game cartridges
old rednecks shout out opinions
in a cacophony of drawled signifiers
representing visions of despotic rulers
reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline
old glass containers and windshields shine
scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky
sitting and resting used and content waiting
waiting for the wear and reduction of time
the market continues into indoor aisles
criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure
plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing
an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one
people wrapped in worn fashions
whites in Ts and denim
muslim women in headscarves
a black deputy strapped down in uniform
the deputy enforces commerce laws
around the alternative marketplace
a variety of commodities are still available
bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****
parakeets cry out down one aisle
a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum
the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters
reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps
all is right in America’s America
the flea market is the floorboard of that promise
an opportunity for anyone to begin
or start again and over and over
a liberal conservatism can be guarded well
with rifles or tazers at bargain rates
a conservative liberalism is applied openly
in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything
the dream of the flea market
a black market and a carnival
all of America’s cheap art on display
its people swirled into one
equal in their struggles and desires
reaching for resources and derivatives
buying low and selling higher
stealing and selling short
walking through the big flea market
on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon
looking for whatever or something
it’s a fun thing to do
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
Another haunt is arriving, feverishly fast tonight.
Somehow I managed to delay the feeling, briefly,
as it usually takes the manageable Subway and begins to fester around high noon, but today I skipped lunch,
and the feeling didn't go underground for her mode of transport.
"Maybe I hit the lotto?", I secretly questioned,
and the haunt would forget her requiem, passing over me
like those lucky "Kennedy Husbands" during the sixties' draft.
But I was getting divorced while all the other couples
were on a faster track heading in the opposite direction.
Tonight the haunt is traveling 248 mph,
on the Fùxīng ** bullet train from Beijing to Shanghai, en route to Vietnam.
The conductor yelled, "All Aboard."
and as if that period denoted a punctual mark,
everyone manically crammed into the narrow vehicle.
The first influx of lovely passengers to board were,
Missus Anxiety, Sir Prior Transgressions and Dr. Heartache.
Unlike Dr. Feelgood,
They had been waiting in line from the previous night,
like those idiots for last week’s black Friday sale.
Mr. and Mrs. Payments Past Due cut in front of
Bills Esquire and Judge Job Insecurity,
for the Belmont Superfecta win, I guessed the right horses, just didn’t box my bet.
Congressman Careless and Deputy ******* nearly trampled Senator Surrender on the way through the turnstiles,
while Mayor Moan was flagged by security for groaning
and pulled aside for a pat down and wheelchair inspection.
The Mayor was found to have ******* residue on his sleeve, but legitimate prescriptions for his aches and pains,
so TSA
wheeled him through the crack rocks
Analog veins pump analog blood to my analog heart;
traveling for the journey and not its hasty destination.
My analog heart will eventually be shelved,
as it still salutes the Subway on its journey to my soul,
but like dusting off an old Coen Brothers flick,
my analog heart is still entertaining its vintage tick.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 9:23 PM UTC
I'd rather watch the unevenly tall grass sway in an awkwardly flimsy wind
Than watch Jerry Orbach monotonously crawl his manicured tongue to an acting Deputy
"There goes my beauty sleep."
Or watch Ricky and Bubbles scribble words in the air over **** jugs and cement a post-modern cynicism of the world as a great big piece of trailer trash.
I'd rather watch the moisture accumulate on the synthetic brown border between wall and roof in an overcast runny-nose rain
So I guess what I'm saying is
Television took my vision
So I took my vision back.
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 5:57 PM UTC
Fake rhyme, cut your lines, drop your electricity cost,
Such a crime, give you time, from my spitfire; sharp claws,
Doing time, make your mind, well done or raw,
Cuz' I'll make you mine, tame your kind,done? clean your paws.
Ecstasy, what you're feeling? my Legacy, after that i'll make you the deputy, even tho you're my enemy. Give you a lil' recipe, jealousy for my rhymes, my destiny. It's alright, while you're climbing up desperately, I'll be improving; endlessly.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
It's funny to live in this place
Where integrity definitely takes second place
And be lead by people who don't even have the courtesy to attempt to save face
Prancing around like nothing happened
Recently they were mentioned all over the television
As part of a major collusion... a grand conspiracy
Well, not really grand as such, for there have been bigger ones
We just saw the tip of an iceberg
That could sink this ship
And they don't even bother speaking in nice words anymore, for their tongues may slip
So they say nothing now... no comment
And pretend they didn't hear or see that
Deaf and blind to public uproar
These people would gladly be that
To see the Armenian... Russian... Kenyan 'Deputy commissionary of police'
Speak so casually and name names with such ease
Made me laugh out loud at these jokes we have for leaders
But it stops being funny when I think about all cuts we've had to make... financially
And these vampires still have the audacity to bleed us.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 12:20 PM UTC
Another visit to
Med Psych;
the withdrawals are
horrendous.
I’m emaciated and malnourished.
With the exception of
one meal every few
days, I’ve dined on ***** and
wine for my sustenance.
I check out a lap top from
the patient library, and
try to get the poems organized on
my flash drive.
Concentration is elusive.
The psych doctor decides
to have me committed.
She’s concerned about my
worsening health and depression.
I guess I can’t
blame her, but what
bird likes a cage?
I try to talk her
out of it,
but she’s resolute.
The next day, just
as the deputy is
serving me the
committal papers, I have
a seizure—a bad one.
My lips turn blue.
I **** myself.
The doctors pump me full
of Ativan. Everything is a
blur for the next
week.
Slowly, softly,
my mind comes back.
I get a room-mate;
turns out he’s an
artist, a fantastic
abstract painter,
his name’s Chris.
Chris gets the activity
director to bring
him some paints and
other art supplies.
He goes to work;
stabbing the paper
with his brush—
makes it bleed with
color. He’s a young
drunk;
a madman and a
genius.
I have my notebook and
my sword.
I pound out the word, the line,
my highway through this
silly society.
Chris and I talked
long into the autumn
night, locked in a
cerebral prison.
The room we were in
was more like a Greenwich Village
beat pad than it was a
hospital room.
Mar 6, 2023
Mar 6, 2023 at 5:57 AM UTC
Silver Medal
Runner Up
Understudy
2 I C
Other woman
(just in case)
one number off
second place.
Not quite out
Almost not in
Deputy and Vice
11th out of ten.
Pepsi, Burger King
Futurama, Wings
All some of our
second favourite things.
Lazenby's Bond
Troughton's Who
Samsung, google+
Buzz Aldrin too
Just missing out,
'they made me choose'
Always coming second..
the first one to lose.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 10:00 PM UTC
my mother was a **********
(the greatest honor
on the tree)
--
i always wondered why
"after shooting the sheriff"
he
DIDN'T
"shoot the deputy down"
--
fig-ments
and
fact-ments
a dollar a day laborer
poisoned rain
--
at the
"end of the day"
the day ends
busted children remain
in jail
eating popcorn
i learned that
from teevee
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 10:28 AM UTC
Listening to “The Chieftains” again,
Their Long Black Veil CD: a gift to
Marijuana smokers. N'est-ce pas?
**** Jagger singing the title track,
A sweet, lugubrious ode to black widows.
Could there be such creatures?
Women you would **** for,
Offing your best friend for?
She had better be as good as it gets.
Could such women exist?
Beautiful & toxic;
Duplicitous, cunning,
Cunnilingus-worthy.
*********** | *** Risk and Prevention | HIV/AIDS | CDC
https://www.cdc.gov/hiv/risk/oralsex.html has a low *** risk, but it is not zero. Learn ... Involves using the mouth to stimulate the ****** *********** (www.ads/right/in/the/middle/of/fucking/poem.com) $$Ka-Ching! Ka-Ching$$
**** would have licked her **** as
They led him up the scaffold steps,
She was a woman worth dying for, to be sure.
And Sinéad Marie Bernadette O'Connor?
Isn’t it time we forgave her?
So she shaved her head.
So she shredded the Pope’s photo on SNL.
He was, after all, the Polish Pope,
The one that kissed the ground
Whenever he got off an airplane.
How could you not love the guy?
Shot while riding in his Pope Mobile,
He later visited Mehmet Ali Ağca in prison,
Forgiving his would-be assassin face-to-face,
Exonerating the Bulgarian kreplach, for all
Special Victims Unit “especially heinous offenses” &
Proto-Islamic terror.
Surely, he could forgive the little Irish ****
Can’t we? Leading by example?
I don’t know what you’d call it.
In any language: powerful.
Oh, Sinead, my sweet Sinead,
We miss your sweet sad dulcet tones.
Consider yourself exonerated.
Consider yourself free to be loved again.
And let’s not forget Tom Jones,
Come on ladies: you threw your sopping
Wet ******* to the stage for him.
His “Tennessee Waltz” breaking my heart,
Losing my wife to my best friend.
No wonder I shot the Sheriff.
Surprised I did not also shoot the Deputy.
And “The Chieftains” themselves,
Transporting us to the Coast of Malabar.
We are all Irish sailors
Infatuated, hopelessly enchanted by a
Swarthy Dravidian shiksa.
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
The funniest thing about the Andy Griffith Show.
He had an aunt that he loved so.
Which took time for Opie to know.
He had a deputy with one bullet.
Give him more.
Then you were in for a show.
But, he also had a famous phase.
Like "Nip It In The Bud".
Which every now and then, he spoked.
In truth Bernard P. Fife was vital to the show.
Yes, the funniest thing about the Andy Griffith Show.
He was a good parent first and fore most.
He was fair and firm.
When it came to his son.
After all.
He only had one.
Unlike that , of My Three Sons.
The men seems to gather at the Barber Shop.
Which , we still see today.
And like Flyod, many talked before they cut.
And many times.
He would cut too low.
Yes, this was part of the fun of the Andy Griffith Show.
Who doesn't remember Otis?
Who could teach many drunks today's a lesson.
He personally checked himself in.
Just to sober up and leave again.
Who doesn't remember that adult kid Ernest T. Bass?
Who many of times was sneaky and smart?
Or wanted a uniform just to wear it with class.
Of course the black and white shows are better than color.
All because they are so much funnier.
We admire Thelma Lou.
Still trying to figure out exactly what she did do?
We remember even Ellie.
Who wouldn't give a senior citizen?
A sugar tablet.
Yes, this was part of the fun of the Andy Griffith Show.
I could go on.
But I stop for now.
Least until, I see the show when Bill Bixby learn a lesson.
From visiting the town.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
the old cruiser sat in his drive
tires as tired as time, the whole car speckled
with bird droppings from his oak
back seat still the same:
scarlet blood dried black from
the boy's brief ride
justified use of force
the grandest jury decreed; still they made him
put up his sword and shield
the sullied car part of his severance,
his Crown Vic replaced by a fat SUV, and he
replaced by his own deputy
he knew it less was a blessing
than a curse, the cruiser turned hearse
gifted to him
the men had tried it scrub it clean
but the boy he felled was eighteen; his blood
copious, stubborn, and a condign reminder
of the sheriff’s last night as the law,
of his frenzied futile attempt to save
the boy, the “deceased”
whose last testament was scrawled
in the bowels of the car that now sat still as stone,
alone with its red written tale
Nov 30, 2016
Nov 30, 2016 at 10:48 AM UTC