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"desperado" poems
Alam mo, ayoko na Gusto ko nang huminto sa pagpapaka-tanga Ayoko na matulala at sabay maiisip ka Kasi alam ko na matagal bago ako muling makabalik sa aking diwa Pwede ba manahimik ka? Ang ingay mo lalo na kapag ako’y matutulog na Bastos at biglaang papasok sa aking isipan Na para bang isipan ko’y iyong kaharian Hindi ka ba napapagod? Sa kalalaro ng aking pusong lasug-lasog na sa iyong kapapaikot Tuwang-tuwa ka pa at humahalaklak kapag ako’y iyong nabibiro Pag sasabihin **** “last na”, pero sinungaling ka Edi sa’yo na! Sa’yo na ang kaligayahan at kalungkutan ko Sa’yo na ang pangarap at kabiguan ko Sa’yo na ang lahat ng ako, sa’yo na ang pusong laruan mo O, ano? Ba’t tumigil ka? Bakit ka biglaang lumayo kung kailan ibinigay ko na? Akala ko ba sa akin ay nasisiyahan ka? Akala ko ba sa akin masaya ka na? Ah, ngayon gets ko na! Gets ko na na mabilis ka pala magsawa Pagkatapos ng isa, maghahanap ka ng iba Pagkatapos **** manungkit, magtatapon rin pala Ayan ka na naman at umaarangkada Parang isang sports car na rumaratsada Patungo sa mga babaeng iba’t iba ang klase Iba’t iba ang ganda Kaawa-awang kababaihan Kasalanan ba nila na natipuhan mo sila Bakit kung parusahan mo ng iyong matatamis na pekeng salita Ay parang mga batang niloloko ng isang salamangkerong desperado kumita Sana matauhan ka… Minahal kitang tunay ngunit sayo’y lokohan lang pala Sana sa paglipas ng panahon, makatagpo ka Ng isang babaeng paluluhurin ka habang nagmamakaawang patawarin ka niya.
0
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
Isang Daan **** Labada
Alam mo, ayoko na Gusto ko nang huminto sa pagpapaka-tanga Ayoko na matulala at sabay maiisip ka Kasi alam ko na matagal bago ako muling makabalik sa aking diwa Pwede ba manahimik ka? Ang ingay mo lalo na kapag ako’y matutulog na Bastos at biglaang papasok sa aking isipan Na para bang isipan ko’y iyong kaharian Hindi ka ba napapagod? Sa kalalaro ng aking pusong lasug-lasog na sa iyong kapapaikot Tuwang-tuwa ka pa at humahalaklak kapag ako’y iyong nabibiro Pag sasabihin **** “last na”, pero sinungaling ka Edi sa’yo na! Sa’yo na ang kaligayahan at kalungkutan ko Sa’yo na ang pangarap at kabiguan ko Sa’yo na ang lahat ng ako, sa’yo na ang pusong laruan mo O, ano? Ba’t tumigil ka? Bakit ka biglaang lumayo kung kailan ibinigay ko na? Akala ko ba sa akin ay nasisiyahan ka? Akala ko ba sa akin masaya ka na? Ah, ngayon gets ko na! Gets ko na na mabilis ka pala magsawa Pagkatapos ng isa, maghahanap ka ng iba Pagkatapos **** manungkit, magtatapon rin pala Ayan ka na naman at umaarangkada Parang isang sports car na rumaratsada Patungo sa mga babaeng iba’t iba ang klase Iba’t iba ang ganda Kaawa-awang kababaihan Kasalanan ba nila na natipuhan mo sila Bakit kung parusahan mo ng iyong matatamis na pekeng salita Ay parang mga batang niloloko ng isang salamangkerong desperado kumita Sana matauhan ka… Minahal kitang tunay ngunit sayo’y lokohan lang pala Sana sa paglipas ng panahon, makatagpo ka Ng isang babaeng paluluhurin ka habang nagmamakaawang patawarin ka niya.
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36
Magsisimula ako nang hindi sa umpisa Magsisimula ako kung nasaan ka Magsisimula ako sa huli Magsiisimula ako kung kailan hindi kana uuwi. Nagsusulat ako hindi dahil gusto kitang ipabalik Nagsusulat ako dahil gusto kitang ibalik Sa dating princresa na kilala ko'ng ikaw. Magsisimula ako sa huli kung saan wala na talaga, kung saan ako sayo ay umiibig pa, at umiiyak habang sinusulat ang aking tula. Sa huli kung saan gusto kitang ipabalik, minsan naging desperado ako matikman lang uli ang iyong halik. Susunod naman ay ang kalagitnaan kung saan nating ginawa ag lahat ng mabuti at masama, dito tayo naging malungkot at masaya, habang pag-ibig natin ay buo pa. At mag tatapos ako sa pinaka-una unang pag sabi mo na "mahal kita" unang oras na sinabe mo na "hinahanap-hanap kita" unang tikim ng iyong halik unang tingin na iyong ibinalik. Sana na aalala mo pa noong tayo ay ag dadalawang isip pa kung anong relasyon ba nating dalawa, pero masaya tayo na nag sasabi sa isat-isa na "ito na talaga ,mahal kita". Pinili ko'ng mag simula sa wakas at mag wakas simula. Nang sa ganun ay kahit papano ay maramdaman ko'ng maging masaya kahit alam kong patapos na ang aking tula.
0
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
"Mag-sisimula sa wakas at magtatapos sa simula"
Friday- the most promising day of all. The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall. Down on Mainstreet all the girls In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes. The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly. Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet. Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans. 'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr. 'Who are you?' he stirred, 'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow. And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies. So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck: 'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore. 'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile. That was the final chord to the "lick". He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy. 'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed. 'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?' And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly. As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
0
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
Flapper Jane (Doe)
Friday- the most promising day of all. The beginning of the weekend, but the one day that will spark appall. Down on Mainstreet all the girls In their fringed dresses, pouting their foxy lips and their hair waving in short messes. The hags frown as the winged ladies pass by- displaying their carriages a little sly. Oh, but Jane's favourite speakeasy was 'The Back Room' down on Norfolk Street: the place where the lost creatures meet. Tin ceilings, velvet wallpaper, plush thrones and back in that dark corner, there is the sound of low moans. 'A whiskey, neat, please' as a shadow in a tuxedo walked towards her and he whispered 'Hi,' in a sensual purr. 'Who are you?' he stirred, 'Oh, I'm Miss Doe' and he lept into the stool with a swift flow. And the jazz trumpets married the spontaneous harmonies and the saxophone created sublime melodies. So they sat as idle as ghouls in the dim spotlights, until Jane asked Mr Buck: 'D'you fight in the war?' And he whined 'Cambrai, Amiens and Lys' - his lips seemed a little sore. 'I'm sorry - do I know you?' His face looked as familiar as Jay to Nick. A brief pause in time at that smile. That was the final chord to the "lick". He drove her down to Roslyn- to his replica of Versailles and Jane looked intensely shy. 'Oh, do come in,' the desperado soughed. And she walked into the gilded palace which Cupid's presence bowed. 'I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Doe. Would you be as kind to wash away my woe?' And as they congressed under diamond chandeliers, his comrades gathered around the bed in amorphous silhouettes; watching disgustedly. As for Mr Buck he was an alien, skin-to-skin with a haunted beauty and Miss Doe- a labourer on duty.
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20
****** Colombiana Dressed in red Her name was Ana Leaned in close She named her price Expensive taste Aim to entice Desperado,  El Caballero Like Cisco Kid The hall was narrow Was on her knees Always prayed In his pocket Underpaid En Colombia la vida loca Slowly reached Her skin like mocha A forty-five To Ana’s head Mucho dinero ****** dead
0
Mar 2, 2010
Mar 2, 2010 at 6:54 PM UTC
******
I woke up in a Spaghetti Western Not sure how this happened to me Standing on the dusty streets of Laredo With six desperado's down the street I gazed off to my left As a tumbleweed went tumbling by There was a dog howling in the distance With an odd sheen to the western sky Can't say I wasn't trigger happy With my hand inching towards my gun Still wondering how it is I appeared here In this B-movie western Women and children were running for cover They knew what was soon to go down Truth is you can expect nothing less When you live in a Spaghetti Western town Pecos Bill was the first to draw As I shot him between the eyes Want you to know I took no pleasure in Watching the other five men die As I rode off into the sunset The credits behind me scrolled How I woke up inside of this movie Is a mystery I will never know
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Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
"Spaghetti Western"
You are Tequila shots In perfect desperado Your days heavy and long Your nights, sudden aislado. I am wine glasses In bittersweet nocturno My days short My nights, eternal inferno. We always swallowed those notes Like fire down our throats. -- Eleanor
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May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
Inferno Desperado
Thy lips of espresso gold, Convey to me, Your desperado untold. Thine eyes for your own, Merriest of forbidden Pleasures, To hold. Your supple smile upon Thine own, Reveal. Amidst only To conjure, To conceal. Parlay, if I may, To implore The keenest sense Of your fulfillment, I adore. Gently now, our merriment. . . Embarking upon salutation. No more our desire, Of infatuation?
0
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
Espresso Gold
her silent monologue inside the cage of her mind leaves fleeting expressions catapulting across her vacant face like a strange circus act the pasty face clowns in silent repetition weakly grin as they grind through the dance the lovely high wire girls seeking the perfect tuck and roll her expressions move through this deranged carnival of the mad again and again never releasing its warped players to the solace of privacy's ease over and over they dance and roll her lips stumble through misbegotten phrases ten word haiku's written by the voices in her mind written in lipstick on the mirrors of gas station restrooms and truck stop shower stalls haiku's of loves desperado warring against loneliness the heart dose not actually make a sound when it breaks her hearts deeper waters like tidal pools in moonlight the surface reflects the beautiful sky above but in its cool depths other things live some have no name her silent monologue slows and fades away the exhausted clowns of her madness laughter crawling to lay their pasty white faces in reflection of sleep the high wire girls to dressing rooms where they moan for long departed heroic villains who were last seen folding up diabolical schemes and her silverware and making for the sun coast where you can find them on beaches of paradise sipping cool water under a neon moon she slips into slumber and dreams sweetly of all these players in her silent minds story she loves her madness as she loves the rain
0
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
haiku's of a madwomans mind
You're laid out with a blank stare with dreams of becoming a millionaire on the couch where you're ensnared stuck in what you call a nightmare Sorry I have no sympathy to your muscle atrophy while you lay in envy I just can not pity so I invite you to the city to come experience poetry its what helps me feel less ****** No thanks, just let me wallow while my soul feels so hollow I will not, can not, follow I have lost my bravado go on you wild desperado to your El Dorado At least one of us has found gold.
0
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 8:37 AM UTC
Gold Dipped Poetry
A desperate desperado shivering as the sun sets, casts it's silky shadows upon the hollows below. Beneath the cascading denizens of light, a puff of smoke waltzes across the December sky, a patient without his insurance with nothing left but callous empty third-person reassurance, "everything will be better" as she said. But better is always easy when your hand isn't writing the letter. Save your proverbs for an open ear, this one is half deaf and full of itself, despite your intent, your lack of action perpetuates malcontent. After all we're all just passing moments gone and forgotten, evicted, convicted of being a gutless mime, going through the motions, minus a true notion. A confused calculator short circuiting under an oil leak spitting out numbers, complicating already complicated complexities subtracting numerals adding funerals dividing families multiplying tragedies It's just a numbers game, and we can't participate we're just the studio audience, recorded live without any life. Flashing signs tell us when to laugh and when to cry, pre-determined automated messages contrived to convince. And I'm stuck spinning in the corner, with my hands on my head. Senselessly blurting out: Why?! But don't mind me, I'm just another lost soul trapped with my head in the sky.
0
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
A Tall, Long-necked, Spotted Ruminant
While everyone was busy ******* around (Hey, she's a ***** That dude? So hot. That chick is so **** **** it's crazy I want her. I want him. Just kidding. L-O-L Dude, she was so harsh on me, like *** She was a major wannabe ***** ***** her He was ugly as sin. What the hell did I ever See in a ******* like him? I am going to ruin his/her life), I was busy ******* my own life up Guzzling up words, words, words Drinking them in, guilty as a desperado Bad, good- hardly made a ******* difference When I'd been at it for a few minutes already (whatever, hours to you) Insatiable- that's me I want more. Give me more. I want to read more-more-more Going to combust More words! More! This is too less already! More! Everyday- 16 hours straight I need to read more It's all that I have, am No one can take it away from me No one! I won't let them! I'll go at them with knives, blades, guns *I'll **** myself up* I barely give a **** I just need more.
0
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
Insatiable
prepare for the high gates to fall. for the great bowl of us to submerge under stolen soul waves & atomic guts. the seven year tribes; or fissure of statehoods and broods and brother against brother. end drenched in whisky blood, & desperado cheese. fungus. [the rebellion kids] with their drums and sling-shots, get their throats cut in the open street sweet heat & blitzkrieg. all first-born hearts plucked from atop the great pyramid, preserved, and in frosted time-capsules. yet the leopards remain healthy. while cities plunge into putrefaction &/or radioactive **** from **** to corner to tomahawk in skull death note. beaten back to the parking-lot of a best western; in the battle of sacramento; is an ammo-less infantry drummer, & a bleeding medic. they laugh and snap morphine tips in the revelry of their final formations. moon crescent slows and all the woods liven with flocks of small children. they live on plant sugars, wild mushroom and boiled water. they hide in caves of ancient etch; old time-gone man & woman & buffalo. they hunt owls with homemade crossbows & cook the meat on holy spits. grinding the little bones into tincture rubbed beneath their eyes. this, to exhume an astral essence.
0
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
tazer dream
There's a guy dressed up as Freddie Kruger for Halloween Freddie Kruger can't sing the high part during Eye Of The Tiger I murmur something to my friend Me: Freddie Crooner My friend laughs more than he needs to We aren't sure whose whiskey sour is whose anymore My roommate doesn't want to sing in front of people She'd rather hide in her glass and mingle with the ice But I make her duet a Nirvana song with me Which we scream and she starts having fun The crowd claps with relief when we're done Freddie Kruger offers me a fist bump A group of sweet plump ladies takes turns singing love ballads They all have pretty voices and work at Bubba Gump on the pier The one that sang the Adele song is studying business She tells me while we smoke outside during Wonder Wall I sing nine minutes of Meatloaf My voice cracks and growls like feedback This guy buys me a shot afterwards My throat is so dry that I have to drink it in tiny sips This guy thinks me and my friends are fun I duet Desperado with him and we knock over stools and laugh He has clearly never heard the song Desperado before Me and my friends invite the whole bar to sing an Aerosmith song together I think that this may be the only way to really appreciate Aerosmith I drive my roommate and my self back to our apartment I'm drunk but I pretend I'm sober so she won't get scared Then sometimes I laugh bizarrely to scare her a little bit But always end up lying and reassuring her that I'm sober We start talking about Lou Reed because he had died that day I guess Lou Reed didn't like when people said RIP Which I had written in my facebook status about him dying I don't really care much because Lou Reed wasn't really a friend of mine I just liked his music And he never mentions in any of his songs anything About people saying RIP When we got to the bar the first thing I did Was to look for a Lou Reed song to sing But there weren't any So I sang other songs instead
0
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
Karaoke Night
There's a guy dressed up as Freddie Kruger for Halloween Freddie Kruger can't sing the high part during Eye Of The Tiger I murmur something to my friend Me: Freddie Crooner My friend laughs more than he needs to We aren't sure whose whiskey sour is whose anymore My roommate doesn't want to sing in front of people She'd rather hide in her glass and mingle with the ice But I make her duet a Nirvana song with me Which we scream and she starts having fun The crowd claps with relief when we're done Freddie Kruger offers me a fist bump A group of sweet plump ladies takes turns singing love ballads They all have pretty voices and work at Bubba Gump on the pier The one that sang the Adele song is studying business She tells me while we smoke outside during Wonder Wall I sing nine minutes of Meatloaf My voice cracks and growls like feedback This guy buys me a shot afterwards My throat is so dry that I have to drink it in tiny sips This guy thinks me and my friends are fun I duet Desperado with him and we knock over stools and laugh He has clearly never heard the song Desperado before Me and my friends invite the whole bar to sing an Aerosmith song together I think that this may be the only way to really appreciate Aerosmith I drive my roommate and my self back to our apartment I'm drunk but I pretend I'm sober so she won't get scared Then sometimes I laugh bizarrely to scare her a little bit But always end up lying and reassuring her that I'm sober We start talking about Lou Reed because he had died that day I guess Lou Reed didn't like when people said RIP Which I had written in my facebook status about him dying I don't really care much because Lou Reed wasn't really a friend of mine I just liked his music And he never mentions in any of his songs anything About people saying RIP When we got to the bar the first thing I did Was to look for a Lou Reed song to sing But there weren't any So I sang other songs instead
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40
BILLY the Kid was truly a kid when found in the company of children. Many children of his day would go on to say how much they wished their playtime with him would never end. Good Guy/Bad Guy were one of the games Billy would play with the children in town. "Bang! Bang! You're dead Billy!" Billy would then grab hold of his chest and comically fall down to the ground. Salsa Bocca recalls her playtime spent with her playmate Billy Bonney. "He used to bounce me on his knee for what seemed like hours as if I were riding a pony." The following story might not be true but I'll still share it with you because it certainly fits Billy's profile. This young boy in dismay kept following Billy all day. Wherever Billy went he was followed by this star struck child. "Do you know who I am?" Billy asked the young lad. The child simply nodded, "Yes" was all that he said. Billy took off his hat, dusted it off and placed it on the young boy's head. The innocent young child was overjoyed and smiled and then this is what Billy said and did. "If anyone ever asks you who gave you that hat, you tell them you got it from BILLY the Kid." Billy was also very respectful of the elderly and very sympathetic towards they who were poor. Many times he would extend acts of kindness towards them. He was a true philanthropist at heart to be sure. The newspapers portrayed him as this dangerous desperado, someone to be hated and feared and appalled, but to all the residents of Fort Sumner, New Mexico Billy was very fondly adored by all.
0
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 2:59 AM UTC
09. Coming Attractions - Truly A Kid
BILLY the Kid was truly a kid when found in the company of children. Many children of his day would go on to say how much they wished their playtime with him would never end. Good Guy/Bad Guy were one of the games Billy would play with the children in town. "Bang! Bang! You're dead Billy!" Billy would then grab hold of his chest and comically fall down to the ground. Salsa Bocca recalls her playtime spent with her playmate Billy Bonney. "He used to bounce me on his knee for what seemed like hours as if I were riding a pony." The following story might not be true but I'll still share it with you because it certainly fits Billy's profile. This young boy in dismay kept following Billy all day. Wherever Billy went he was followed by this star struck child. "Do you know who I am?" Billy asked the young lad. The child simply nodded, "Yes" was all that he said. Billy took off his hat, dusted it off and placed it on the young boy's head. The innocent young child was overjoyed and smiled and then this is what Billy said and did. "If anyone ever asks you who gave you that hat, you tell them you got it from BILLY the Kid." Billy was also very respectful of the elderly and very sympathetic towards they who were poor. Many times he would extend acts of kindness towards them. He was a true philanthropist at heart to be sure. The newspapers portrayed him as this dangerous desperado, someone to be hated and feared and appalled, but to all the residents of Fort Sumner, New Mexico Billy was very fondly adored by all.
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27
she was a desperado's tale waiting to be told she had it nailed down to the cold hand drop dead eye she swaggers into the song with a loud preamble that she will brook no delay in the proceedings the fat man just laughed and broke into another barrel wine soaking his paris hewn three piece suit with jewels encrusted by the professional eye her drunken violin sweeps you along the winding road of the heroes return sends you crashing through the pearly gate and walks you through the dancing beggars their rags a fine linen their riches a feast of a frenchmans table and the sweetest and darkest of wines her drunkards song weaves in and out of your conscience with her theft of jewels too many to count with her rescue of babes defenceless in the wood she makes her rough love a lullabye she makes her hard bent hand a soft caress she is a feast to the starving mans eye by the final hours of night the fat man was laughing his way through the very last barrel of wine his soaked suit no longer such fine thread his poorman eye no long longer filled with such easy mirth he knows she will come collect her due at the end of her song the henchmen of karma are approaching with the steady thud of steel shod boot on the cobblestone and the fat mans laugh slowly dies in a puddle of regrets and well wishers sorrows her song was over and it was time to pay the piper he tries to run but as we all know you cant outrun yourself
0
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
henchmen in the drunkards song
the setting moon slips close to its watery grave and she finally appears walking slow carrying her broken shoes she says that the night jumped her and she had gotten lost in the vast differences between what she hoped and what the world always left her longing with tears spread from her still young innocent eyes i held her to reassure but as i wait for our fears to subside i see the lights approach of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet and over her soul bankers of the material world doubling as demons from hells coldest corner no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries they are dead as the souls who manufacture them she slips a pair of double a's from her pocket rocket personal massage device and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day the moon has reached its last gasp and she has romanced her way out of her dress and you out of your noble intents we all reach this impasse with our pen and page having sold off our forward momentum for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word we flounder at waters edge unable to pull ourselfs back unable to manufacture method to crawl further we make mad dashes round and round the proverbial gallows pole hanging on a single idea or ideal trying to express it clearly it need not more clear than it is in mind's eye but her face lingers in your soul urging you you recapitulate your dire love to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down the moon has reached its invisible zenith on the worlds opposite side and you have yet to reconcile your good natured laugh to her dark predictions she slips away again to seek her rightful place in her world view and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat once more sexton in hand plot your thoughts and row king james home the moon will rise soon and you need to be home when she comes in need of a hugs and a shoulder to weep on
0
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
dead batteries
the setting moon slips close to its watery grave and she finally appears walking slow carrying her broken shoes she says that the night jumped her and she had gotten lost in the vast differences between what she hoped and what the world always left her longing with tears spread from her still young innocent eyes i held her to reassure but as i wait for our fears to subside i see the lights approach of thouse who would claim lordship over her wallet and over her soul bankers of the material world doubling as demons from hells coldest corner no fleeing the version where you need to change batteries they are dead as the souls who manufacture them she slips a pair of double a's from her pocket rocket personal massage device and plugs her mind back into the need to get on with her day the moon has reached its last gasp and she has romanced her way out of her dress and you out of your noble intents we all reach this impasse with our pen and page having sold off our forward momentum for a desperado gamble at claiming that elusive perfect written word we flounder at waters edge unable to pull ourselfs back unable to manufacture method to crawl further we make mad dashes round and round the proverbial gallows pole hanging on a single idea or ideal trying to express it clearly it need not more clear than it is in mind's eye but her face lingers in your soul urging you you recapitulate your dire love to craft a better master plan for tearing yourself down the moon has reached its invisible zenith on the worlds opposite side and you have yet to reconcile your good natured laugh to her dark predictions she slips away again to seek her rightful place in her world view and you are the captain of your sinking rowboat once more sexton in hand plot your thoughts and row king james home the moon will rise soon and you need to be home when she comes in need of a hugs and a shoulder to weep on
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56
the desperado cowboy-poet awakes anxious, needing-ending relief, the craving greater than great, he begs-raggedly, with Raggedy handily Andy words, to all and anyone in the aroused surrounded vicinity, give please give, of something to write the bay, soothingly plays the would-be author, "place me, look my way, have I not droplets endless from which you've drunk exquisitely, so many more to fair share" the birds twit and flit, raucous caucus demanding to be seated by the tablet's keypad to gain entry to one more congressional natural tribute the sky and sun organize a joint session, extraordinary mission; "we are the first of your day, thus primarily, we win the primary, deserving in your recording of our nomination as the first day's sound and light show victorious" sorry folks, got a better tale to tell, natural in its way, titillating, and quite suitable for reputating Au Naturel humanity and it's a quirky, say hey tale, morning coffee fresh, a first word report from an untelivised convention of a different kind of congressing awoke to find the: *chauffeur in bed with the cook, the Poppy, beside the sleeping Nana, the poet, eyeing the lying next to him, tango dancer, the classicist eyeing the sleeping moderne, ditty ditsy Ogden Nash astride a Shakesperian sonnet, the thinning gray line defending his bedded half, from an invading horde of unionizing blonde tresses, the republican with the democrat, the conservative with the liberal, heated discussions, non-neutralizing negotiations conducting and watched by peeping tom skies, clouds, birds and waters pretending to fly flow past* wow now that, is quite interesting deserving worthy of a disrobing disputatious disreputation, very newsworthy and why not, a poem all its own? the bay waved goodbye, the birds disbanded in silence, quietly disenfranchised. the sun and the sky hung around pretending to be UN neutrality observers wearing cute blue and white helmets looking every where but not, at the line of demarcation the beggar, by his new impoverishment, enriched, another love poem writ, niched and pitched one more itch, so very well scratched
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Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
desperado desperation (an August love poem)
the desperado cowboy-poet awakes anxious, needing-ending relief, the craving greater than great, he begs-raggedly, with Raggedy handily Andy words, to all and anyone in the aroused surrounded vicinity, give please give, of something to write the bay, soothingly plays the would-be author, "place me, look my way, have I not droplets endless from which you've drunk exquisitely, so many more to fair share" the birds twit and flit, raucous caucus demanding to be seated by the tablet's keypad to gain entry to one more congressional natural tribute the sky and sun organize a joint session, extraordinary mission; "we are the first of your day, thus primarily, we win the primary, deserving in your recording of our nomination as the first day's sound and light show victorious" sorry folks, got a better tale to tell, natural in its way, titillating, and quite suitable for reputating Au Naturel humanity and it's a quirky, say hey tale, morning coffee fresh, a first word report from an untelivised convention of a different kind of congressing awoke to find the: *chauffeur in bed with the cook, the Poppy, beside the sleeping Nana, the poet, eyeing the lying next to him, tango dancer, the classicist eyeing the sleeping moderne, ditty ditsy Ogden Nash astride a Shakesperian sonnet, the thinning gray line defending his bedded half, from an invading horde of unionizing blonde tresses, the republican with the democrat, the conservative with the liberal, heated discussions, non-neutralizing negotiations conducting and watched by peeping tom skies, clouds, birds and waters pretending to fly flow past* wow now that, is quite interesting deserving worthy of a disrobing disputatious disreputation, very newsworthy and why not, a poem all its own? the bay waved goodbye, the birds disbanded in silence, quietly disenfranchised. the sun and the sky hung around pretending to be UN neutrality observers wearing cute blue and white helmets looking every where but not, at the line of demarcation the beggar, by his new impoverishment, enriched, another love poem writ, niched and pitched one more itch, so very well scratched
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Ate a plate of whey, with the weight of the nation on my shoulder blade, away from any destination so underpaid, my paychecks archaic not even a quarter to go to arcades with it’s outrageous! misery must be contagious haven’t seen happy faces in ages It may just be time to vacate break out like rosacea to the golden gate every swig of this whiskey brings me to a bolder state like Colorado i weighed my options and hopped in my Silverado like a desperado full of bravado with the bottle, feeling tipsy now though singing in staccato **** an intervention’   time to get uncertain, speed full throttle towards the intersection   laughing and swerving through the red light cursing and yelling interjections with a bottle of bourbon horns blaring, it’s deafening my middle finger ascending just struck a deaf person no ***** giving i’m out of my mind, livid get hired and fired in 5 minutes from any job i was given i’m tired of living no one even knew i existed until i started whizzing through traffic causing collisions, now i’m forcing decisions on residents w/ moral convictions who’d rather see me oral constricted then remain mortal in prison got these ******* endorsing petitions to have me executed by poison injection shot, hung, electrified, the above all mentioned and did i mention- My backseat looks like a knife convention there’s an array of switchblades i had since fifth grade’s declension Sketching art on the desk while serving detention some kind of wonderful, no eternal reflection i’m reflecting as i smashed into a connection and see my reflection in the water as i’m descending slow motion like deception my body is in all different positions of flexion this is met with favorable reception hear the crowd’s exhilaration i’m unwilling to indulge in anymore retrospection just waiting to hear the splash and waves crash then….
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Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
dRUNk drivINg inTO deaTHs evErglowing LIGHT
Ate a plate of whey, with the weight of the nation on my shoulder blade, away from any destination so underpaid, my paychecks archaic not even a quarter to go to arcades with it’s outrageous! misery must be contagious haven’t seen happy faces in ages It may just be time to vacate break out like rosacea to the golden gate every swig of this whiskey brings me to a bolder state like Colorado i weighed my options and hopped in my Silverado like a desperado full of bravado with the bottle, feeling tipsy now though singing in staccato **** an intervention’   time to get uncertain, speed full throttle towards the intersection   laughing and swerving through the red light cursing and yelling interjections with a bottle of bourbon horns blaring, it’s deafening my middle finger ascending just struck a deaf person no ***** giving i’m out of my mind, livid get hired and fired in 5 minutes from any job i was given i’m tired of living no one even knew i existed until i started whizzing through traffic causing collisions, now i’m forcing decisions on residents w/ moral convictions who’d rather see me oral constricted then remain mortal in prison got these ******* endorsing petitions to have me executed by poison injection shot, hung, electrified, the above all mentioned and did i mention- My backseat looks like a knife convention there’s an array of switchblades i had since fifth grade’s declension Sketching art on the desk while serving detention some kind of wonderful, no eternal reflection i’m reflecting as i smashed into a connection and see my reflection in the water as i’m descending slow motion like deception my body is in all different positions of flexion this is met with favorable reception hear the crowd’s exhilaration i’m unwilling to indulge in anymore retrospection just waiting to hear the splash and waves crash then….
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The jig is up for us who know each dawn delivers A renewed sense of dread, despair, disillusionment; another day in, Day out slog, the persistent, insistent fear of, fill in the blank, An absolute knowing in the end, nothing really matters. A tranced-out going through the motions at a meaningless job, The mechanical everything's fine exchange, the pasted on smiles, The inevitable, "How ya doing, how's it going?", Muttered absent mindedly on the work-a-day-rat-wheel. One thought that saves the day; the ride home, the solace of The burn of the ***** the quick numb out effect straight into the  Blood brain barrier without a hitch, the fear lifting, down into the dark Chamber of no real care and slowly, surely, relief arrives. And deep inside this numb town, a desperado appears, calls the shots, Schmoozes slyly, "Hey compadre, give me your fear, and I give you my self-righteous willfulness in return, and best of all, I’ll deliver you your very own smothering mother of oblivion." Awakened, head pound, brain fog, dry as a desert, need water now, And Like clockwork, a barely audible patient inner voice asks, “Is this the really the life you want?” and without hesitation, The regular repetitive retort, “Yup, one more day at a time.”
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Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 4:00 PM UTC
One More Day at a Time
a desperado of stolen kisses she plots her next theft with a loving care she desires the hope she hungers for the intimacy missing in her life the feeling of the strong man in her arms she walks past me with a furtive glance but the road has spun me down and i smile for her but leave the fable unsung a desperado of stolen moments he lay with the photographs and sketches dreams captured by the dreamer incantations of a lesser god are the discipline of his studys but his passion lay in the slow motion studies of life around him a woman brushing a wisp of her hair behind one ear slowed to a symphony of delicate beauty a child's balloon in the crisp spaces between the child's hand and the blue sky slowed to a broken field of glass under the dust of years they are all films played out in miniature on the minds eye they are all photographs and sketches dreams captured by the dreamer's dream a desperado of the greensward in the dark of night on mid-summers eve steal away to the center of this quiet place and hear the worlds silent spinning over a field of star the world a bauble tied to a cosmic string feel the warm grass beneath you and its green fresh cut scent fills you with romance for the moment there is something magical in this place even if its just in the memory
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Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
cotton haze
the hard face sunburned remnants of a man allways loudspeaker for his intent announces to the empty room of his arrival his field of landmines eyes wander the crowd in the empty chairs looking for the face that will conquer or capitulate looking for the ever present weak link most days you can find her in some park feeding ducks some real some not so much dont really make much difference these days most days you find a smile in her heart all of em real but not always so quick most days nothing changes but sometimes everythings gotta go and she got no fear putting it on the line he walked the carpet hall with the framed pictures of three piece suits and the victories they had over the outside the line desperado's sunburnt remnants of a man he walks with his shadow upright hand in hand he walks in the darkness of the bright sun looking for a face in the crowed emptyness looking for someone that will conquer or capitulate hes looking for her but shes looking for you cause she loves you and the kitten you carry on your shoulder most nights shes on the hood of her plymouth drawing pictures in the dust of the road sketching echoes out of the nights song most nights shes driving a backroad with rockabilly smoking her speakers most nights you can find her in your arms but not tonight not this rainswept night where we goin why should this kind of thing happen why take from someone never done you wrong why do such things is it any wonder you never see my face no more is it any wonder im far away most of the time
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Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
sunburned remnants of a man
the hard face sunburned remnants of a man allways loudspeaker for his intent announces to the empty room of his arrival his field of landmines eyes wander the crowd in the empty chairs looking for the face that will conquer or capitulate looking for the ever present weak link most days you can find her in some park feeding ducks some real some not so much dont really make much difference these days most days you find a smile in her heart all of em real but not always so quick most days nothing changes but sometimes everythings gotta go and she got no fear putting it on the line he walked the carpet hall with the framed pictures of three piece suits and the victories they had over the outside the line desperado's sunburnt remnants of a man he walks with his shadow upright hand in hand he walks in the darkness of the bright sun looking for a face in the crowed emptyness looking for someone that will conquer or capitulate hes looking for her but shes looking for you cause she loves you and the kitten you carry on your shoulder most nights shes on the hood of her plymouth drawing pictures in the dust of the road sketching echoes out of the nights song most nights shes driving a backroad with rockabilly smoking her speakers most nights you can find her in your arms but not tonight not this rainswept night where we goin why should this kind of thing happen why take from someone never done you wrong why do such things is it any wonder you never see my face no more is it any wonder im far away most of the time
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Genocide of a velvet mind. A fine tooth comb, Jekyll and Hyde. Killed all his brain cells with window panes, Now he’s a desperado, with the curse of Cain. It slowly sank in, like when you found out she died. It’d be far to cliché to rhyme “died” with “cried”. But if you hadn’t cried then I would’ve lied Funny how it works out sometimes. The strange get stranger shape-shifter, imminent danger until your own self is a stranger in your own ******* world, you’re your own ******* danger. Your mind plays tricks on right and wrong. You make your exceptions, but really you’ve been wrong all along, marching to the beat of an off beat song. Realizing it’s imminent nature, this feels naturally natural, not like imminent danger. you knew it was coming from that hour in the manger. So fear is a waste, time for a game changer. Time to meet your maker, whoever that may be. Close your eyes, I promise you’ll still see.
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Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 8:46 AM UTC
Velvet Mind
BIG time. HOW can time have size? Now I'm..... I AM Greater than expectations predict, I know how they are & how they always sayin' their **** But it's..... It is not ANYTHING TO ME Not like I buy into it- silly! & So there I is & therefore there I always shall be; See? ...... ***** folklore a bore, GALORE! ..... Too SURE is the FLOOR underneath and ceiling above, & This is how bored I get, Love. So what? I got better things inside me - Bide my time - ennui**, Just wait here day by day by day for you to come and find me...... JUST wait for you, wait every day.... Waiting for you to come and- Come and find me - find me! C'mon now- I am tired of waiting I.am in need, NEEDING FOR YOU TO COME FIND ME! Time is now &you; better hurry... COME AND FIND ME. .......please..?..!
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Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 4:16 AM UTC
Desperado
A desperado can’t feel the pleaded for life, They won’t allow a life to breath today, Their strength to see a soul in mourn, They grow under the sea of blood, But can defeat them through not to foreboding! By: Nida Mahmoed
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Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 7:10 AM UTC
Can't feel the Pleaded for Life
*december 10th 1982 1am* sleepless in the the neurotic wastelands she has fifty two cards each has a face none of them are mine but the jack of hearts is there and with her childbearing hips they could pump out a couple of rug rats start their own little civilization here on the backwaters she gives me a ride to the edge of the glades and drops me off at a truckstop in the rain december 10th 1982 4:22am the salt of the earth diner on route 1 with the waitress chewing gum at the counter staring off into the distant light of highrise miami a sheen of sweat glistens on her deep tan but its not as sticky or deep as her mind thats wandering out in the Catskill mountains looking for Johnny Appleseed december 15th 1988 10:00am doves take flight in the soft white afterglow of day with a stir of wings and her tender lips let slip of her longing for innermost peace her eyes seeing nothing but the golden glow of some distant day some half remembered day the time i wait for summers sweet song has been far too long this is a winter world december 15th  1993 1:00pm leaning over the balcony rail she shouts her smiles down to the regular faces on the rows road petticoats of fine linen and her hair up shes a sea of smiles as they all shuffle in to see the show Broken Bernie and his girl Christa who snowbunnys down to the neon Florida sun round this time of year december 13th  1996 6:00pm desperado's gather in the setting sun hunger in their eyes between the rock and hard place and with a hard eyed thought they move into the town she pours him a cup of coffee and lays a hand softly upon his shoulder urging him to stay and leave such things to lesser men but he knows he must rise to the call to do less would be treason to his nature to do less would betray everything he has stood for today, now the words waiting on lips as i stumble out of sleep make little sense at least to the waking mind but the world makes little sense when fully awake so this dream fragment hardy seems out of place wearing a stove pipe hat chewing on a whales tail and chatting with Abe Lincoln my guess would be he wanted his hat back
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Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
and Abe Lincoln
*december 10th 1982 1am* sleepless in the the neurotic wastelands she has fifty two cards each has a face none of them are mine but the jack of hearts is there and with her childbearing hips they could pump out a couple of rug rats start their own little civilization here on the backwaters she gives me a ride to the edge of the glades and drops me off at a truckstop in the rain december 10th 1982 4:22am the salt of the earth diner on route 1 with the waitress chewing gum at the counter staring off into the distant light of highrise miami a sheen of sweat glistens on her deep tan but its not as sticky or deep as her mind thats wandering out in the Catskill mountains looking for Johnny Appleseed december 15th 1988 10:00am doves take flight in the soft white afterglow of day with a stir of wings and her tender lips let slip of her longing for innermost peace her eyes seeing nothing but the golden glow of some distant day some half remembered day the time i wait for summers sweet song has been far too long this is a winter world december 15th  1993 1:00pm leaning over the balcony rail she shouts her smiles down to the regular faces on the rows road petticoats of fine linen and her hair up shes a sea of smiles as they all shuffle in to see the show Broken Bernie and his girl Christa who snowbunnys down to the neon Florida sun round this time of year december 13th  1996 6:00pm desperado's gather in the setting sun hunger in their eyes between the rock and hard place and with a hard eyed thought they move into the town she pours him a cup of coffee and lays a hand softly upon his shoulder urging him to stay and leave such things to lesser men but he knows he must rise to the call to do less would be treason to his nature to do less would betray everything he has stood for today, now the words waiting on lips as i stumble out of sleep make little sense at least to the waking mind but the world makes little sense when fully awake so this dream fragment hardy seems out of place wearing a stove pipe hat chewing on a whales tail and chatting with Abe Lincoln my guess would be he wanted his hat back
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