"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.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC
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.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
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.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:32 AM UTC
****** 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
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
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 5:14 PM UTC
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
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 12:12 PM UTC
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?
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 2:45 AM UTC
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
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
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.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 8:37 AM UTC
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.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
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.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 5:21 AM UTC
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.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 4:56 AM UTC
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
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
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.
Jul 9, 2010
Jul 9, 2010 at 2:59 AM UTC
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
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
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
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
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
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
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….
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
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.”
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 4:00 PM UTC
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
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
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
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 7:46 PM UTC
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.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 8:46 AM UTC
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..?..!
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 4:16 AM UTC
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
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 7:10 AM UTC
*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
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC