"diff" poems
Australia takes her pen in hand
To write a line to you,
To let you fellows understand
How proud we are of you.
From shearing shed and cattle run,
From Broome to Hobson's Bay,
Each native-born Australian son
Stands straighter up today.
The man who used to **** his drum",
On far-out Queensland runs
Is fighting side by side with some
Tasmanian farmer's sons.
The fisher-boys dropped sail and oar
To grimly stand the test,
Along that storm-swept Turkish shore,
With miners from the west.
The old state jealousies of yore
Are dead as Pharaoh's sow,
We're not State children any more —
We're all Australians now!
Our six-starred flag that used to fly
Half-shyly to the breeze,
Unknown where older nations ply
Their trade on foreign seas,
Flies out to meet the morning blue
With Vict'ry at the prow;
For that's the flag the Sydney flew,
The wide seas know it now!
The mettle that a race can show
Is proved with shot and steel,
And now we know what nations know
And feel what nations feel.
The honoured graves beneath the crest
Of Gaba Tepe hill
May hold our bravest and our best,
But we have brave men still.
With all our petty quarrels done,
Dissensions overthrown,
We have, through what you boys have done,
A history of our own.
Our old world diff'rences are dead,
Like weeds beneath the plough,
For English, Scotch, and Irish-bred,
They're all Australians now!
So now we'll toast the Third Brigade
That led Australia's van,
For never shall their glory fade
In minds Australian.
Fight on, fight on, unflinchingly,
Till right and justice reign.
Fight on, fight on, till Victory
Shall send you home again.
And with Australia's flag shall fly
A spray of wattle-bough
To symbolise our unity —
We're all Australians now.
3.5k
the warrior way is becoming anew
boiling up and down our spines
we all feel the surges
some pretend they don't hear it
the warrior knows the rules of the game
the warrior knows the way
the light always leads home.
the call is growing louder
day after day after
you call it by many names
give it energy that bounds your
warrior ways
the warrior to survive
the pump of your heart.
when we begin, we are focused
many things alter perspective
when we live we are love
the singular subject.
love can only create again
defining lines fading…
erase them, foolish time spent
focused on the diff er ence
we are warriors of a heart beat
energy forced out repeatedly,
constantly, until it stops, suddenly.
love returned above and below
to create again.
the warrior tribe is coming…
they are calling, crawling, gripping, groping,
WE are tipping and tapping
singing and dancing,
walking side by side, a long line
of warriors, walking side by side.
we're coming...
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
different strokes for different folks
different stacks for different smoke
and the words that you blow,
you never know who it can stow
when you think you lost all hope
look outside in disguise
and see behind someone else eyes
different stroked for diff rent folks and the smoke that you blow
fills up your chest, with words you repressed.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 11:26 AM UTC
Rarely, rarely, comest thou,
Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
’Tis since thou art fled away.
How shall ever one like me
Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.
As a lizard with the shade
Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed;
Even the sighs of grief
Reproach thee, that thou art not near,
And reproach thou wilt not hear.
Let me set my mournful ditty
To a merry measure;
Thou wilt never come for pity,
Thou wilt come for pleasure;—
Pity then will cut away
Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay.
I love all that thou lovest,
Spirit of Delight!
The fresh Earth in new leaves dressed,
And the starry night;
Autumn evening, and the morn
When the golden mists are born.
I love snow and all the forms
Of the radiant frost;
I love waves, and winds, and storms,
Everything almost
Which is Nature’s, and may be
Untainted by man’s misery.
I love tranquil solitude,
And such society
As is quiet, wise, and good:—
Between thee and me
What diff’rence? but thou dost possess
The things I seek, not love them less.
I love Love—though he has wings,
And like light can flee,
But above all other things,
Spirit, I love thee—
Thou art love and life! O come!
Make once more my heart thy home!
2.5k
Closed my heart for a moment
to open my eyes
& mind,
didn't realize
I was nakedly dancing
with some reprobate snakes
because I was trying to make them smile
like a stripper searching for tips.
I liked the way they rattled
through life, their *****
thoughts synced
up to diff'rent
drums 'till I felt the venom
in my veins they claimed were
love bites, despite the paralyzation
of my intuition and warmth.
I was seeking out the snake's smile
if only for a little while
cause I thought my heart could help.
But snakes can't crack a smile,
no, snakes can't crack a smile.
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 5:19 PM UTC
The topic for today's selection
Is how to deal with your ********
The price is high to get a thrill
But, it comes in a small blue pill
If your private will not shoot
Or, your soldier won't salute
There's an answer from a lab
That comes to you in a small blue tab
If you have poor self esteem
This pill could just fulfill your dreams
If your pecker seems to wilt
This will give your kilt a tilt.
So, if your manhood is slightly flaccid
Like the waters of Lake Placid
One small pill will make a diff
It won't take long and you'll be stiff
It works deep down on your projection
And points it in the right direction
It helps the package in your trousers
And makes the women all say "wowsers!"
They tried a cream, now that is gone
They couldn't get their work gloves on
They say it works and really fast
And helps to make your love life last
Your girl will love it, that's the goal
For now you've got a brand new pole
Dr. Frankenstein, he brought life
But, no excitement for his wife
She wanted more than he could give
The Doctor's "Monster" didn't live
They say don't drink it with a beer
The side effects are ones I fear
They say that if your BP drops
There's chances that your heart could stop
And should it last for say....4 hours
You should take some cold, cold, showers
Then, if it's still petrified,
I guess...go take it for a ride
Apparently, when it's like this
It makes it really hard to ****
But, if this pill should make it stand
Don't go waste it in your hand
Don't buy generic, at least not yet
For there's no telling what you'll get
It may stand up, it may lay down
It might just turn a dark, dark brown
Remember, it's to give you pride
And make your smile ten feet wide
It's not to ask "what's in my pocket"
"Well, dear it's shaped like a rocket"
It's something to improve your life
And return enjoyment to your wife
For now that she knows this stuff works
You won't be wasting it on jerks
You'll be home where there's no pressure
And having *** at your own leisure
So now, I'll end with some advice
And I don't want to have to tell you twice
The next time you go to NIagra
Take along a few ******
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
do not repeat back
to me what i just said in
diff'rent fuckin' words
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
The severity of wanting
Blessed wanting
Wanting to want
What you already have.
Feeling desire so haunting
Piercing desire
Desire desire
Love you already love.
An incomplete love lacks wanting
Cursed wanting
Not what it wants
More, less or diff’rent love.
I want a love I want to love
Love not wanting
A wanting love
This love I want to want.
Feb 12, 2019
Feb 12, 2019 at 10:07 PM UTC
I love
You
Don’t care
In-diff-er-ent
Isn't paid
Much attention
In my apartment
We’ll
End-if-her-rent
Isn’t paid
In our
Department
But who cares?
Separation
Doesn't
Always cause pain
And pain
Isn't always
The cause
Of separation
We just
Happened
To drift away
Like
Messages in a bottle
Off the coast
With no intent
Of being found
Our lonely islands
Are crowded
With shadows
Of friends
We forget the darkness
Because at least
We no longer
Burn each other
With our angst
And anger
We remember
Everything
Except rations
Of ourselves
We left
Like t-shirts
And underwear
Tangled
In each others
Laundry
Then throw
Them away
Find them
Another day
in the exact same place
We excavated them
The returnment
Of our undesirables
Show fate’s
Sense of humor
But
Only a stubbornness
Such as ours
Could devour fate
And disavow
The vows
It set out
To make...
We
Will
Never
Be
Again
Never
Again
Will
We
Be
Sums
Up the sum
Of each halves
And the total
Is something
The totaled
Hearts
Can live with...
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
Yesterdays pain is following you
sits on your shoulder 'n don't set you free.
Took the wrong footin n stepped down on those,
lookin thru eyes that di'n't want to see.
We is diff'rent in colour
but skin an' blood just the same.
I am filled up wit' anger,
you is covered in shame.
Scared to look back
at hist'ry past
unable to turn from
what you wanted to last.
Tortured and toubled,
when it came to the clinch
you bought us along
an' introduced Mistuh Lynch.
To you Mistuh Whitey
we ar' lower than low,
Mistuh Blacky does the t'ings
that you don't want to know.
I belongs to the man,
just like-the dogs.
There for pickin' the crop
an' choppin' the logs.
Yesterdays pain's not goin' nowhere
It's stickin to you all o' the way.
Fo' the evil yo' done 'tis stayin' right there.
Never t' move, never t' sway.
Yeah yest'days pain is followin you
it sits on yo' shoulder 'n it won't set you free.
Cos you took the wrong footin' an' stepped down on those,
while starin' thru blind eyes that don't want t' see.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 3:52 PM UTC
The moon is bright t'is night.
It shines a diff'rent light.
Do you wonder why?
Look up in the sky.
The moon is big and bright
Like how I smile tonight.
While thinking about you,
And sharing what is true --
I love you.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 9:10 PM UTC
Pistols
I own seven hundred diff’rent types of lovely handguns
And twenty seven thousand more bullets
I like hunting deer, I like hunting unicorns
I like shooting guys with bad mullets
This pistol is loaded
Its under my pillow
And ill blow you to bits
If you sneak in my window.
Sep 22, 2012
Sep 22, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
there are no words
for the way my ski
n electrifies when y
our smoke wraps ar
ound our bodies and
sends shivers down m
y spine because you a
re trickling your finge
rs down my ribs and s
ometimes i can not hel
p but think about how
blood felt trickling dow
n my wrists and by the
time you came around
i was so far gone that i
'm more than surprised
about how someone wh
ose smile is always six m
iles wide could love some
one who wants to be bur
ied six feet under and if i
lost the chance to tell you
that i love you, then i don
;t know where i would be
and if i make my bed in a
grave before you do i hop
e you never pick up the bo
ttle again and try to find s
olace because we both kno
w that anesthetics are neve
r any different from poison
s and if your nerve endings
remember my touch and y
our breath gets short but h
eavy when you think you j
ust got a text from me but
you remember that the te
xt will never come; i want y
ou to know that i love yo
u and that you can make it
through anything and if yo
u do just one thing in my r
emembrance then i want y
ou to never ******* drink
my taste away because no
matter how strong you se
em i still think that my p
assing will make you a lit
tle uneasy and a little diff
erent maybe and i wonde
r if you'll cry anywhere c
lose to as much as i used t
o cry on a nightly basis a
nd will you sneak out an
d walk down to the stop
sign where we exhaled a
nd inhaled smoke and we
held each other and ****
man when i laid on the as
phalt i still wished a car w
ould come speeding by e
ven though that's so ****
ed up and this isn't even a
poem it's just a ****** up
story but if you ever love
d me at all, you won't pi
ck up the bottle- you wo
n't take a shot even if it m
eans remembering the tr
igger.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
yo
need yo-self some coverage
what if you get in a ax-e-dent
I got a little something for you......
I’m pimpin pauly
a financial planner
insurance guru
no ones badder
he’s ****** with your lame rates
offerin you better bank states
better call for quote dog
don’t forget to say thanks
I’m pimpin pauly –
I’m pauly pimpin
sendin him diff-rent
clients on the real tip
lookin to save
for a dope trip
maybe you got your throat ripped
he works with HMO’s, *****
savin dollas
makin ya holla
give him a calla
no mo shoppin
middle of the malla
wont fall-a
be a balla
I’m pimpin Pauly –
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
one word. one thing
shows up on my face.
everybody knows it is a
keepsake:
*keep away from me today,
for fks sake!*
certain peculiarmornings
wake with a cross on forehead.
days when you certain,
everything worth saying
has been written, sung,
not a **** thing left to
contribute, except whining.
no way to purge, the compulsion
welling up, coursing down.
this overwhelms, my outlet store,
permanent closed, sign says
don’t ya know it’s a recession.
a one man recession.
no government intervention
gonna come my way.
the notion that I’ll never just
once more, feel the thrill of a
first love, a new born progeny,
woman, baby, poem, no diff,
wrecks me badly, worried sun consults
my animal friends, what’s to be done?
knowing the answer to my curse is,
not one wiling to courage to curettage
the lining of my decrepitude,
the end then, of no more next time.
though there is a first here. ever.
first time, every stanza writ,
closed off, finally ended, with a flourish,
a puncture of a period.
~~~~~~~~
postscript:
the closing scheduled for now,
have to change the name, says York,
it’s the common law, I’m legal bound,
gonna sign the documents as
no more love poetry.
919am Wed Jul 22 2020
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 7:56 AM UTC
not much he reasons, resonating the question,
in the resounding places where both are congruent kept
we talk of lines all the time, line divisors of our
denominators and our numerators,
but truth and secrets are 1/1
so the rational number is always one indivisible whole,
with liberty for both,
when
the glass shackles^
be broken
but let us not dance around the marshmallow fire,
while watching clocks melt as our memory persists,
so secrets and truths have a rigorous solute/solution relationship,
yet, the dividing line melts over time and the answer
in all the poems that the body worked,
with experience, you can see the works becoming
the body solution blended,
undefined admixture, defined, refined, all just fine,
for the microscopic difference is in the eye of the beholder
but requires breaking
the glass shackles^
for
one will enchain
one will set you free
when their meld is melted
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 9:37 AM UTC
Blessedly, funerals,
don't have to go to too many,
though went to one
just this day,
for our next door country neighbor,
the nicest dour-looking,
rascally dearest man
The Catholic church full,
the hymns lovely,
the priest spoke
simple and beautiful,
about the paschal lamb
and the
Judeo-Christian Heritage
and
Life Everlasting,
an interesting concept,
that I had long forgot about
Must have conjured up
three minimum ideas
for poems,
not even including
this reportage
maybe I will write some,
tho the normative jelly of
Manhattan bus shaking
mine own recipe for inspiration,
when combined with
my peanut buttered
sheltered island by the Great Peconic Bay,
both, will be my swirled
inspiration everlasting
Can't write about
moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies,
the way I write is
just the way I think
writ out loud
so to the essay at hand,
funeral of a man,
mine all planned,
the invites ready,
awaiting the correct postage stamp
of a future time and place
the date, more or less sketched,
the poems, selected, notated
for whoever shows,
pick a read,
win a free trip to the cemetery
and maybe one back to his "parlor"
where food, drink and bon mots are
vous parlez'd and his spirit,
now a parolee, will be watching
smiling, for funerals are camaraderie,
so longs and fare-thee-wells,
and the hands of friends embracing,
celebrations in their own way,
and a time to tell stories of what
treasures they have left you,
silver linings of a life well writ,
and tho someday,
they'll be time-tarnished,
even half forgot,
the stories and the love poems
are the seeds of life everlasting
Passover/Easter
March 2014
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
Twin babies were talking
Snuggled up in the womb
Heads bumping, legs tangling
‘You’re taking my room’;
‘Uh-uh,’ said the other
‘It is you in my space;
Hey, do you buy into
Life after this place?’
‘Of course,’ said his brother.
‘There is life after birth!
Right now we’re preparing
To live out on earth!’
‘No way,’ said the younger.
‘You will have to agree,
There’s nothing more after--
For what…could it be?’
‘Perhaps,’ said his roomie
‘There is leeway and light;
In here, you’ll admit
It is dark and it’s tight!
And maybe, just maybe
We will walk on our feet;
For all that we know
We will drink and we’ll eat!’
The doubting one chuckled;
‘That’s the utmost absurd,
Nonsensical notion
I ever have heard!
This is all that there is;
This is all that we need!
We’re too wobbly to walk
And the cord gives our feed!’
Then shaking his head
With a thumb-sucking snort
‘There’s no life after birth;
The cord is too short!’
His big brother held fast
With a kick to his rear;
‘I think there is something
That’s diff’rent from here!’
‘Fat chance,’ said the younger
‘There’s no more than this sac.
And what proof do you have?
No one’s ever come back!’
‘Perhaps they don’t want to.’
Responded his brother.
‘Perhaps, they’re caressed in
The arms of their mother!
Perhaps she is singing
A lullaby tune
In a soft rocking chair
‘By a big harvest moon!’
The younger twin gurgled
And wrinkled his brow
‘If there is a mother,
Then where is she now?
A mother’s a folk tale,
A legend of lore
Please read my lips brother
This is it, nothing more!’
The big brother scolded,
‘Stop making a fuss!
If there was no mother,
There wouldn’t be us!
She’s all around us
It’s in her that we be;
I’m sure there’s a next life,
And mother’s the key!
She’ll tend to our hunger
Our tears and our thirst.
I already love her
And speak to go first!’
The younger one let out
A tantrum boohoo
‘You always go first;
I’m telling mother on you!’
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 4:36 PM UTC
Super Saiyan like Goku
Japanese got Nobu
Got things to blow through
Soul searching eat soul food
Lineman said go blue
Know things I know too
Cough down got the flu
'Rona season ye they knew
Hit a lick and they rich now
Kobe shooting bricks now
Make music you call sounds
Shorty go two rounds
Henny Henny on the flip town
Jealousy they talk about
I don't really give a **** now
I just wanna blow it up now
Someone come roll spliffs
6ix God go views this
Air punching got no fists
I just feel so diff
Get rich and go dip
Pinking I go swim
Jelly jelly got no diss
****** like solstice
Don't want to lose connect
Dripping down like a faucet
I just want to be blessed
Late sleep feel too stressed
Situations go reflect
**** my ex" is a reflex
I just want two things
Big money and respect
East to side to the rex
Play smart got no decks
Aces up next
Need a queen be the best
Whip around in my X
Flex on my ex
Check time Rolex
Get "I miss you" texts
Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 3:09 AM UTC
It's funny
I was just thinking
how I used to wake
every morning
excited to see your response
to my B.S from the night before
Thanks to the 15 hr time diff.
Ah, the good ol days,
before life got in the way
I still go to the cafe
to start each day, when I can
A habit bred of
such different times
Still waiting,
hoping
for someone, something
to slap me, to wake me
from this dull dream
But every day
it's the same routine,
the same deafening
monotonous silence
The same dream,
teetering
on the cusp of a nightmare,
each day, day after day
Exactly the same
as the one before
a sick joke
like Groundhog Day
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
If those young men had looked like me,
how diff'rent everything would be.
There'd be no blood or teardrops shed.
Had they been white, they'd not be dead.
If Mike Brown had been Michael White,
he surely would have been alright.
"Don't shoot!" would not need to be said.
Had he been white, he'd not be dead.
From Ferguson to East L.A.,
we hear the stories every day.
"Protect and Serve" til streets run red.
Had they been white, they'd not be dead.
Call it racial immunity,
where skin-tone is impunity.
Don't let yourself be so misled-
had they been white, they'd not be dead.
As more and more young ones are slain,
and protests are met with disdain,
you may debate what I have said,
but were they white, they'd not be dead.
Aug 12, 2020
Aug 12, 2020 at 7:44 PM UTC
in one ohh the flightly finister
interjerk’t offorthwith united
unloosed upon the messes
who rains with string
of erring do
believe the ortho doxie
catamount the femail glory
moistens packet interfury
trump-ettes blow
the suction from their barrel oblesk
look slively tortice hand out for brood
scooch the dead **** down
impesh with dis-ire
marakesh the claim to sane
and leak brainoil smartly
for aft andall
whomake it threw
until deadneck cycoil
tweet totell interlie
the diff is how’d it hung
to a peel at the court
for reci-prostate-parity
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 2:05 PM UTC
Don't remember me for what I ain't
When death decides to still my aching heart;
Don't picture me as if I were a saint,
Or treat me diff'rently when I depart.
Recall the good, but don't forget the bad,
And remember that you loved me all the same;
Remember that I sometimes drove you mad,
Or that –sometimes– I was the one to blame.
Don't make me out to be some perfect person,
What never made an error, great or small,
Or else you'll be rememberin' a version
Of me that never existed at all.
Jun 1, 2022
Jun 1, 2022 at 6:44 PM UTC
Red silk is not what I'm used to
but it will do instead of Blue
and it feels a little diff-er-ent
and it doesn't hold, onto tears
and the name doesn't ring the same in my ears
For it's not the one my mama made
Out of pajama pants
Jan 15, 2019
Jan 15, 2019 at 11:06 PM UTC