"dishing" poems
This ... Disrespect thing ...
is ... OUT OF CONTROL ... !!!
from work to ... Street Corners ...
to ... most peoples' ... " Homes " ... !!!
My Poetry .... Roams .............................
just like ... " Mobile Phones " ...
to send out ... " This Vibe " ...
Disrespect ... NEEDS TO ... die ... !!!!!
We NEED TO ... " Respect " ...
This Thing ... we call ... " Life " ...
LOVE ... One Another ... !!!
RESPECT ....
is what's ... Right ... !!!
Take things ... in your stride ...
DISMISS ...................................... foolish pride
cos' ... Pride like they say ...
comes before ... A Fall ... !!!
and next thing ...
You've guessed it ...
You're facing ... A WALL ...
A wall ... FILLED WITH ... Bullies ... !!!
just ready to .... BRAWL ... !!!!!
But bullies ... are Dummies ...
whose thought waves are ... "small" ...
Like those who believe ...
in avoiding ... School Halls ... ?!?
That line's ... for those kids ...
with ... SLEEPLESS ... Eyelids ... !!!
ALWAYS ... think of ... THIS
A Bully is .... weak ... !!!
So Don't ... lose your sleep ... !!!
cos' bullies ... DON'T THINK ...
of the ... " Sows " ... that they reap ... ?!?
OKAY ...
Yes I mean ...
They'll reap ... what they sow ... !!!
Well ... ?
Maybe I don't ... ???
But ...
One Thing ... I KNOW ... !!!
IS ... most bullies ... Don't See ...
that the ... Sickness ... they keep ...
is REALLY ... A Sickness ...
that slowly ...... just Creeps ...
A Sickness ...
That'll give em' ...
YES ...
One ... " FINAL " ... Sleep.
and this may be ... " Why "... ?
Our Youth ......
Die on streets ..... !!!
The Cycle's ... Complete ...
from Rappers who talk ...
about ... Killing Emcees ... ?!?
to crimes some ... " Commit " ...
Against ... " Humanity " ...
I'm looking for ... " Peace " ...
in places ... I be ...
But let's get things ... STRAIGHT ...
Don't come ... Pushing Me ... !!!!!
Be ... Nice ...
and ... Believe Me ...
I'll be ... Nice to you ... !!!
I may ... turn my cheek ....
if you give me ... Abuse ... ?
But .... !!!!!
That's cos' I choose ...
NOT TO ... act the ... " Fool " ...
but .... Anything's Possible ...
I've got ... Two Hands Too ... !!!!!
I put that verse in ....
to PROVE ... Peace ...
Can Be ... COOL ... !!!
But everyone's temper ...
has Boundaries Too ... !!!!!
So ... what do you do ... ?
when THUGS ... approach you ... ?!?
Well this ...
I CAN'T ... tell you ...
cos' ... I am NOT ... You ... !!!
I'm simply ... Advising ...
Fighting NEEDS ... " Downsizing " .... !!!!
But .....
This thing ... RESPECT ...
Really NEEDS ...
An ... UPRISING ... !!!!!
cos' Violence ... INFECTS ...
and ... CANNOT ... Protect ...
The world and ...
It's ... People ...
So take time and ... " Check " ...
The thoughts I ... " Collect " ...
and take time ... Before ...
Dishing out ....
" Disrespect " ....
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 7:02 PM UTC
We women fold linen
some believe we live solely in the kitchen
we are a force of nature,
we nurture children, we are driven,
we kiss things better, we matter.
We women hold opinions
we women mould opinions,
where else but in the kitchen,
nurturing, washing, listening,
dishing wisdom with love.
We women are cloaked
in many roles,
politician, clinician,
villain, lover, mother, cook
smothering all under our cloak.
We women suffer more
due to our nature, we're also tougher
than a right hook!
Duck next time women are driven
to anger.
We women are the ignition
of life, love and understanding
we go by many names,
Mother, sister, aunt, wife and nan.
Our own name lost to time.
Would I want to be a man?
No.
We women are fruition,
we are magicians,
we are are giants in our own right.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
SCARED
SCARED of losing your place, SCARED of being pushed back.
SCARED of missing the bus, SCARED of getting the sack.
SCARED of your colleagues, SCARED of your boss.
SCARED of being late again, SCARED of losing your job.
SCARED of feeling the fool, SCARED of being a joke.
SCARED of being a loser, SCARED of what you just smoked.
SCARED of what was in it, SCARED of what you were given.
SCARED of what they gave you, SCARED of no longer living.
SCARED of not knowing;
SCARED of knowing too much.
SCARED of commitment;
SCARED of being able to trust.
SCARED of a horror movie, SCARED of spiders.
SCARED of not being beautiful, SCARED of what's inside us.
SCARED of being thought ugly, SCARED of being thought plain.
SCARED of being thought stupid, SCARED of trusting your brain.
SCARED of telling her, SCARED of her knowing.
SCARED of your feelings, SCARED of them showing.
SCARED of pain, SCARED of hurt.
SCARED of her, dishing the dirt.
SCARED of showing emotion, SCARED of crying.
SCARED of showing weakness, SCARED of dying.
SCARED of losing a pet, SCARED of losing a child.
SCARED of losing a loved one, SCARED of being too wild.
SCARED of the consequences, SCARED of what you might do.
SCARED of who you may harm, SCARED of them harming you.
SCARED of being a father, SCARED of being a mother.
SCARED of being cheated on, by your lover.
SCARED of being threatened, SCARED of being hit.
SCARED of pressing charges, SCARED no-one gives a ****
SCARED of their reaction, SCARED of what they may do.
SCARED of them? Or SCARED of you?
SCARED of forgetting, SCARED of a lie.
SCARED of the judge, not being on your side.
SCARED of accusations, SCARED of being called a liar.
SCARED of them not being punished;
SCARED of getting any higher.
SCARED of being too happy, SCARED of always being sad.
SCARED of being optimistic, SCARED of feeling so bad.
SCARED of depression, SCARED of sadness.
SCARED of joy, SCARED of happiness.
SCARED of being so happy, you feel you can fly.
SCARED of losing your wings, SCARED of falling from the sky.
SCARED of being another Icarus,
SCARED of being another Moses.
SCARED of lying in a coffin, covered with roses.
SCARED of lying in the ground, SCARED of being buried alive.
SCARED to be like the stories, too SCARED to try.
SCARED of not being strong, SCARED of not being right.
SCARED of being proven wrong, SCARED of losing the fight.
SCARED of getting it wrong, SCARED of failing the exam.
SCARED of not getting in the army, SCARED of failing uncle Sam.
SCARED of being stabbed, SCARED of being shot.
SCARED of them taking, all that you've got.
SCARED of being held prisoner, SCARED of torture.
SCARED of dying in a war, SCARED of losing your only daughter.
SCARED of losing a sibling, SCARED of losing a friend.
SCARED of your parents, SCARED of them meeting their end.
SCARED of living forever, SCARED to death.
SCARED of the end, SCARED of taking your last breath.
SCARED of being a memory, SCARED of being forgot.
SCARED of nobody caring, SCARED of losing all you've got.
SCARED of losing your memory, SCARED of getting old.
SCARED of alzheimer’s, SCARED of being put in a home.
SCARED of being buried, SCARED of no one knowing your name.
SCARED of your wife dying, SCARED you'll forget her name.
SCARED of nobody being there, when you finally die.
SCARED of being cremated, SCARED of being burnt alive.
SCARED of being dissected, SCARED of being cut up.
SCARED of necrophilia, SCARED of that wooden box.
SCARED of being a fable, SCARED of being a myth.
SCARED of just being a story, SCARED you didn't exist.
SCARED of being made up, SCARED of not really being here.
SCARED of what you've been told;
SCARED of what you didn't hear.
SCARED of facing God, SCARED of having no answers.
SCARED of going to Hell, SCARED of having no more chances.
(C)2005 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
I could call you Molly
With the way you came into my presence
as an orchestra that played the melancholy lullaby of a cello and the sweet pings of a piano
with the velocity of sound waves filling up my head
But as the grains of sand fell and the seasons brushed along our skin
you became a drowned out child’s rhyme
A whisper in the eve
Truth is all perspective
As is friend and foe
But to say,
at best,
your words could be perceived as anything less than the hot air of an air balloon would be a stretch a contortionist would struggle to achieve.
(C) Tiffanie Doro
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
The soft texture tickled her toes
And she was quick to replace her bare foot,
Searching for a place free of the
Delicate petals
That fell from her hands.
Twelve more fragile futures fell to the ground,
Collecting in an indecisive heap
Whose beautiful, red hues
Played tricks with the sun,
Filling her head with illusions
That all will be alright.
She slashed at the other flowers
Standing tall and proud around her,
Dancing with the wind
To heart stopping lyrics
Sung in a language she could not understand.
Tearing them up from the roots,
She cursed their peaceful attitude
And cold, heartless souls
That continued to exude radiance
As they teased her fragile heart,
Dishing out good and bad news
With a lovely toss of their golden center.
It began to rain on their flawless figures,
Yellow drops burning imperfect circles
Through the otherwise perfect surface of their petals.
For minutes, it continued to pour on the flowers,
The large bottle held in the girl's trembling hand,
Marked kerosene,
Seemed to never run dry,
Drowning the roots in a deadly poison.
"He loves me not!"
She shouted,
Tossing the bottle aside,
Only after showering herself in the
Polluted rain,
Becoming momentarily fixated on the way she reflected the light
With dozens of drops clinging to her skin.
The lighter was ruby red,
Just like the petals who told of such a gloomy future.
She had purchased it at the drug store because of its color,
Her reflection bathed in red hid her uneven skin tone,
Making her for the first time an image of beauty.
Flames took to the parched earth
Like a teenage girl to dreams of happily ever after.
Petals turned to ashes
And skin to a yellow, melted liquid,
Which fueled the inferno better than the yellow rain.
Blistered fingers still held the lighter,
The only thing visible in the dark,
Smoky air.
She clung to the image of her reflection,
Staring at the face that had never been loved,
And never would be,
Long after flames took her sight.
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
It's an animal beastly thing wrapped up warm in stigmas headlines daydreams sleepdreams ice cream headspin. pain.
Sirens call in my upper chest or my abdomen, maybe. a ****** sea. fish of mens' hooks eels and seaweed wound around aorta blood pumping mind squeezing toes cracking new blister dried fluid. cracks and flakes a flushing cycle, not over the **** yet.
salty eyes heavy chest silver parcels unending quest not shiny particles. Head spin crack of dawn hey look the moon is gone. observed the craters they were my neighbours a hole in my heart like the one......
Don't play mean i try and try green bean carrot pencil brush pen, still here? Run! too hard. Curdling scream turns sour on my tastebuds my tongue has been dissatisfied. Add it to the list! lately I know these things should not have been acknowledged. Bed. No. Kitchen work? Yes. Hurts me through and through and I know it's because it is me and it cannot be handled but it settled in the pit of my stomach and it made itself a happy home. I HATE IT.
BLOOD:
*juice
gore
cruor
claret
hemoglobin
sanguine fluid
clot
plasma
vital fluid*
why would I ever use blood?
Porous salt bruises help mind chooses slugs and moths but i want insects like ladybird bees. Keep me weak and feed me lies because not once did you see me you only looked right past me. how does it feel, little peach, to be dishing out bowls of dinky lies. i ate it you were trusted you were good there's just so many people coming.
when the moon rises and the sky twinkles lights about you its easy to be sad but its time for you to blossom
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
When we see what some people are dishing out,
we know what Bertrand Russell was talking about:
"The stupid are cocksure, the intelligent full of doubt."
When you meet someone who thinks he's clever,
but seems much too confident in his endeavour,
and talks to you non stop and forever and ever.
When he acts like a prophet defying convention,
never admitting a lack of comprehension,
promptly has a cure for everything you mention.
When he hands out his advice on a silver platter
convincing you that his opinions matter,
you can be certain, he's as mad as a hatter.
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 3:53 AM UTC
Some days I swear my brain in burning....
Just can't ignore it, it's too distracting
& honestly quite disturbing
But the mother ****** just keeps on occurring
FUCK!!....See I can feel it now, it's returning
I don't know what the **** is going down in my brain
It's so intense & twisted, I wouldn't even begin to know how to explain....
....I suppose, maybe, it's like you're trippin' on acid while listening to Black Hole
Sun or Acid Rain
There's so much going on, it's more than I can handle, too much to contain
& this happens daily, pretty soon it'll be all sanity ****** into the drain
Now see.....there it went, just as quickly as it came
It's a complete & utter mind **** game
Just when I start to enjoy it
It tells me, JUST KIDDING, I QUIT!!!
I'm getting ******* tired of its ****
Either go away & don't return
Or ******* stay & commit
But this come & go
None sense I'm beginning to really ******* hate
I'm not interested in what you're dishing out upon your plate
Because every time I attempt to sample off it, I end up in some twisted mental
state
Locked away for not two, three or four days double that!!
YUP ******* EIGHT!!
After finally coming back to reality
& clearing up my damaged mentality
Yup, there goes a little more of my integrity
Before you know it, I'll be judged by the eyes of society
But you know what....
**** IT, it will only make better & I'll remain, still, with my sick ***
personality
So bring it on random feeling
Throw your worst at me,
You'll get 86'd like Al Kapone
I'm now in savage mode
Nothing's going to mess with me, not even your tightest hold
So tell me.... "How does it feel to be shut out in the cold?"
I've figured out your evil mission & it sure as hell will be made
IMPOSSIBLE!!
Because this girl right here is simply unstoppable
So hurry up & hop back on your little tricycle
You wouldn't want to freeze up now, like a popsicle
&& that's how you win a fight without once getting physical
So here I'm left to sit alone
All I'm left with are pupils noticeably dilated
After my brain was rudely invaded
Like it was a trap house getting ransacked & raided
But I was done being mind ****** & violated
With all I had in me I fought & I can proudly say I MADE IT!
So the results are in....
&& guess what bitches....I WIN!!
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 9:01 AM UTC
Everyone around me
I guess I’m at the center
Is coughing, coughing in the warm sunny day
The blue bright happy day
They cough like they dig at life
They cough the toy-factory worker’s cough
The cough dressed in summer dresses
In high heels and red shoes and tuxedoes
Cough up wine cough up cheers and congratulation
Cough out their
“don’t worry about it” sickness
cough out pop songs, cough up boppin’ along
cough out vows and Hallmark poetry
cough deathbed knock-knock jokes
“it’s me, Death, coming for your blue-eyed boys”
cough out laughter like phlegm
cough up black bile as a party trick
cough up recollection of stuffed animals
(you and I are in there)
gasp for breath, their faces filling up with blood
going from apple-red to royal purple
eyes dishing out tears
a pat on the back
and everything is okay
people are wrong
about the center holding.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 10:17 AM UTC
The internal battle..eternal....(one from the vault)
Lucifer and Jehovah dancing some mad bossa nova
While angels on horse backs fought devils with black jacks
The white dove of peace had surrendered his lease
So God ripped off his wings.. he no longer sings
Then the Devil ripped out his heart so it could end at the start.
Wagner and Chopin got frightened..
..and off they ran.
But Beethoven and Bach were sat in the park
Composing arias to fight Hells hot fires.
While Chekhov and Handel burned coramandel
But the smoke from that pyre stank like a byre.
Socrates was sat dispensing the ethics
Hippocrates swore while dishing out medics
The Muses were musing one or two were enthusing
Oooh look.. the good against sinner
Let's go down the bookies and have a bet on the winner.
Cometh the day cometh the morn
Cometh the hour cometh the dawn.
Here is Joshua blowing his horn
And here comes Gabriel but all that he meets
Are the countless dead lining up on the streets
And the wounded and deathbound far far below
I feel sorry for Gabriel I wish he could go.
But Picasso arrives and cries
My God it's my Guernica I'll do a pastiche
Oh F*ck it he says and has a pastis (or two)
Then Pollack turns up totally ******
Picks up a paint and says what I have missed?
What a fantastic sight.. angels flashing demons crashing
The hounds of Hell with teeth a gnashing
Then Neptune arrives astride his watery chariot
Scything through Demons and sat beside Judas Iscariot
Mermen and mermaids mercilessly slayed
By Beelzebubs prototypes
Those that live in the black nights.
But as the dawn breaks God knows what it takes
So he sends for his legions calls out to all regions
Take arms and do battle
Till we hears Satans death rattle.
And the heavens rip asunder to the sound of the thunder.
Satan rings on Hells bell.. tells them all is not well
Then disappears from our sight as if he's turned off the light.
Then I awake with a start knowing that I've been a part
Of something vast something grand
A spiritual war being fought in this land
I am alive and I shall survive.
PRAISE BE.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
It’s simply amazing what phrases pop into one’s head and stick - and as they stay there they develop, and as they develop the inner life takes over and what started out a superficial bit of twaddle turns into poetry of some substance, proving anything can become anything with a little bit of reflection.
I Am A Housewife
I am a housewife.
Organize and deputize,
Buy and cook,
See that everything’s delicious,
Making dishes at my best,
Matching wish of man and guest.
Preserving and conserving, I economize,
Hunting down the clever buys
So there’s savings at year’s end.
Mix and blend creatively,
And when I shop
I stop and hesitate; contemplate
And seldom buy on impulse.
That said, I occasionally fall and do.
But mostly, shopping for our food’s
A yoga. So’s the
Washing, cooking, dusting…more;
The most and best health giving chore:
Hands cleaner in the water,
Waistline smaller, reaching up and for…
No breadwinner,
But a winner baking bread.
Cakes and cookies all included.
For, of course, the friends and husband
Whom I feed,
Try to supply each need
Not because it is ‘the done thing’
But because it is the fun thing.
Then there’s me. Filled with creativity.
Actually, a private soul
With my own needs to feel whole.
I do not underplay the housewife role
As many in society
Who downplay tractability and duty.
For to me it stands for beauty,
Not for slavery.
I am a being who serves house,
Deserves the house, My house! Our house!
No mouse by any means
But combination heroine
And superstar,
Dishing out the wonder
Of existence
With insistence and persistence
For a comfy coexistence
Dishing out the dishes
And a family’s wishes.
I Am A Housewife 12.23.2018 Circling Around Woman II; Arlene over Woman II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 6:18 PM UTC
The Anti pesticides have lost their true function, they have denatured and have been deprived from all working authorities.
They have guarded the garden with dignity and devotion.
Pests around my garden. They surround it like infected pimples oozing pus of jealousy , gossips and animosity.
The flowers wilt ,leaves turn brown and ashy. Pests drains its soul, they absorb all the lively juices it has left. And has left it with thousands of wrinkles.
Pests in my royal garden don't make sounds anymore. They speak the language of the innocent and say we're "related". Some say we're best friends.
They crawl and wonder around with no purpose. When it's flowers bloom and spring has come for a festival of celebration, they gather around and smile. Dishing out compliments like it's open season.
Behind the walls, they multiply and transform into the green snakes they are.
They hiss silently, all dressed up in skimpy dresses, expensive quality hair and designer shoes.
Their scent is similar to that of a corpse.
Pests in my royal seem to be highly educated, they even utter words like "I love you" and "I'm so happy for you".
They slither around my garden like wondering demons on an impossible mission to destroy.
-pests in my royal garden.
Oct 23, 2018
Oct 23, 2018 at 3:16 PM UTC
The memory of you may fade someday, just as the scars on my body. Equally the pain you left behind may never be seen to the naked eye, but you don't need a microscope to decipher the origin of my torture.
The moment I decided to begin to forget you, my body began to fight back. Attempting a last ditch effort to stay committed to you. It continued to taunt me. Reminding me time and time again that resisting the urge to love you was an ugly futile effort that most likely acted as the key factor to my demise.
You are a part of me. No matter how much I fight it. You moulded me into something so vile and vindictive, yet so passionate and loving.
In breaking me, you taught me how to love. And what to avoid. And how to reject someone.
This is brainwash I'm spewing. I still believe that who you made me to be is actually someone I need to be. Consequently I'm lost whenever you are around because without you I cannot function.
My thoughts are tirades. My emotions are garbage. You might as well give me a name tag that says Oscar because day by simple little day I still wallow in the filth you created through the mind games and the mental torture.
You abused my gullible delicate soul. My fragile heart couldn't bare to watch me suffer so I broke off a part of it and left it behind as a parting gift. For you and only you.
How ****** up must I have been to deem you the only recipient of my good byes. I was only dishing out what you wanted hear... What you trained me to do.
I may have gotten rid of you, but what you left behind were the unbearable scars of your love.
I can't breath through the PTSD.
I can't breath through the foggy memory of your love.
I loved you, but you broke me.
Your love is a torture that I don't have the luxury of abandoning.
You bled me dry. Every fiber belongs to you.
To this day, I still strive to please you.
That is the sick truth of our love.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
i'm dawning
i'm dashing
i'm dancing
i'm dwelling
i'm dying
i'm digging
i'm dishing
i'm diving
i'm dozing
i'm dragging
i'm dabbling
i'm drawing
i'm dropping
i'm dosing
i'm dredging
i'm dreaming
i'm drifting
i'm drinking
i'm driving
i'm delaying
i'm drowning
i'm dumping
i'm drilling
i'm dandy
i'm doleful
i'm delicious
i'm dapper
i'm daring
i'm dangling
i'm dangerous
i'm damaged
i'm ******
i'm daily
i'm david
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 6:53 PM UTC
Linking the spotlight into the dark score
Rutting out the jagged envelopes that
Refuse to be opened, clinging onto their
Sticky tape with a passion; Don't ask me for
Release, I'm shuttered up, swathes of emotive
Blankets worn out from their duty to keep me
Warm; to blot out the morning light from
Penetrating my skull. Shame.....sorry self
Introduced to the firing line. BANG....the snaked
Tongued 'Medusa' who entangles her mind
With vipers, serpents dishing out their forked
Shots of maggot infection, generating wormy
Warriors burrowing into the ruby red warmth
Chewing and bubbling neuron to neuron
Exploding at boiling point into a vast mix up
A collision on course, snapped in two, vibrating
With sheer panic, wrapped in destruction.......
Utter bilge.......built this bridge
So I'll knock it down..............
to start anew
And so I smile.......
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 8:10 AM UTC
What is my mother like?
Perhaps she is a bespectacled story weaver
knitting tales that stretch the imagination.
That would explain my itch to write.
What if she is a food critic wielding a pen
dishing out opinions and parrying rebuttals.
That would explain my desire for food.
What if she is a state- of-the-art Neurologist
stretching the frontier of the dream state.
That would explain my desire for sleep.
But what if she isn’t.
What if she sleeps all day, drinks sake all night,
doesn’t miss me, forgets to kiss her husband, doesn’t have a husband
needs her sons help, is throwing away another child.
One of my siblings.
How many sisters do I not know? How many brothers have slipped between the cracks?
My yellow mother
won’t ever know me.
I don’t want to know her.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
how hard can it be to love someone filled with a chronic emptiness in the place of emotions
and eye lids that stay open long after the lights have dimmed because they are
swimming in intrusive waters belonging to a diseased mind
always wondering when you will leave
so they push you away even when their heart demands that you stay
demands that they will pay for
over and over and over
in the form of playing the villian in the relationship
by unintentionally tearing the two of you apart
until the only thing left to do is leave
the one thing that people in their life excel at
how hard can it be to maintain a friendship with someone who wants to abandon you
before you abandon them
playing tug of war with the thought of just never speaking to you again
even though you are one of their favorite people
trying to make the inevitable "easier"
because nothing lasts forever in their world
not even when they want it to
"best friends forever" is hard to cling on to
when they are convinced that the person smiling in their face
is also plunging knives into their back at every turn
how hard can it be to be the person dishing out all of these punishments
knowing that she is only punishing herself
punishing anyone who tries to get close to her in the twisted belief that she is saving them
from her gravitational personality
and her stellar smile
that can only end in disaster
because there is no beauty at the center of a black hole
only the absence of being
j.e.m (1/14/2016)
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:55 PM UTC
I have information channeling in from the past through my DNA
i am an open portal to receive the teachings of ancient tantric left hand paths ,
my mother accepted her teaching from an aged midwife with no daughter , she taught her the power of intuition and the secret ways to move between realms without being detected
And this teaching is so secret that only now do i see the lessons,
She wove them into games we played and how she dressed herself , held herself
I run quickly with the tumbling lessons falling out of pasts giant lips painted in the sunset sky ,
i can read the clouds for messages , they never fail , the moon too sends her cool wisdom
i can read people quickly and see through to their highest self , but it takes energy so i must cultivate myself
i am a garden and flowers burst through my skin and out from behind my eyes wild roses grow , to fall into the pit of my stomach and be burnt by the roaring sun inside
after a while the alchemical process subsides and i distill the free magic scent
from which i add a whiff or two to my wrists before i leave home , this is a protection shield of the highest order
take heed if these words talk to your soul , because then you will know i have a message to deliver
The collision of two planes will destroy both ( metaphysically) giving rise to a merged existence that holds qualities of each parent,
yet,
totally new aspects from our current mentalities , thus the cycle can only be compleated when we are ready , each one will find their own turn and preahps a path they would do well to learn is the path of the soul , mind and body
The collapse of ridged belief systems and debt binders ( physically) will mark the border lines , the doldrums where the weak are prayed upon like a pastor dishing out blessings to the congregation
And my friend , in amongst the mess there will be those who would do well to lead you astray , hold fast , as long as you know your own heart the ripples will only fuel you instead of decay
We are speeding up to convergence , can you feel it?
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 11:40 AM UTC
dark and darker #2: the audio of innards weeping
some long ago scribbled and scribed and now just
a stumbled on this phrase that was then and is now again against
a sad Good Friday with plenty of spare time to review and
listening to busted love songs, the written but not imprinted,
of the anthology of good gone girl poems,
a yesteryear of a decaded decaying life recorded in poetry
my innards weep for me us her -
we were perfected as
perfect could have been
designed-dreamt by humans
this poem by design cannot rhyme
for the rhythmic audio
is gone and now it is only soundings of
my innards weeping self-condolences
of which I write
it just happens - even disney movies have to have
assorted sometimes sordid endings where people disarray
the dreaming of get away schemes where the
absence of this eroding dishing out of little cuts
seems the better of the unwell-being of being love-in-absentia
and the sad love songs blockchain seems to have no ending
and the audio of my innards weeping are the now the
only perfect chorus of human imperfections
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 10:59 AM UTC
The seeker the loner the lover the keeper
The thrower the catcher the leaper
The believer the stoner the beater
The busser the cleaner the waiter
The water the sinker the caster the bleeder
The runner the stunner the teacher the preacher
The heater the steeper the meeker the feature the
Sliding the slipping and sloshing and
Crawling and creeping and cutting and kissing
Dishing and wining and dining and hissing
Looking and seeing believing and breeding
Heaving mashing heaping seeding
Feeding flooding fretting keeping
Shining a lining flowing and flipping
Tripping sipping showing shipping
Beating the beat of the poem of the people
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
But our blood
will spill
Just the same.
It's not about the headless
victm.
Nor will it ever
be. So.
Just chill.
And enjoy the thrill
of the ****
The blessed expedition.
Hunting the Hunter.
Is a most wonderful feeling.
Going postal
On the ones giving you
All these letters.
The mail carrier.
Is positive for swine.
Flu.
Cause the news.
They keep dishing us.
Is tainted.
Rotten.
Like the word.
This **** is rolled.
Gold.
Put that in your straw
And snort it.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 10:00 PM UTC
Well you wanna go out dancing.
I don't wanna leave my pad.
I won't loosen up this necktie 'til my head falls in my lap.
Then you'd be lapping up my words
that are
curdled,
soured,
absurd,
purchased with inflated currency
and sold off for a herd
of sappy sentiments
for worn-out, bought-up malcontents.
Yeah, you're believing anything these days...
And I'm far too good a liar
selling real estate
on toxic, poisoned ground.
Filling in all of these forms
and putting dumpster fires out.
Standardized.
Attracting flies...
Follow darkened circles down...
To my parlor. Find me cutting up and dealing
out my cards
and doubling down on all the reasons
I've been feeding you.
Repeating 'til it's my turn
to start eating plates of crow.
Now you won't take any chances.
I'm a golem made of ash.
I won't fire up the big band. You won't come sit on my lap.
I've been dishing out these words
that are
used up
barren,
burned
far too long. The chafing dishes cooled
and all our vittles turned.
Buffet line sentiments
for naïve, hungry malcontents
starving to believe in anything these days.
Well you wanna go out dancing...
I'm not gonna leave my pad...
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 2:18 PM UTC
I, the poet wears many hats to adorn self at any given time.
Musician, orchestrating with instrument of pen, expressive words upon page.
Artist, painting with beautiful colorful jargon, to open eyes and hearts inside grace.
Gardener, planting seeds of thoughts for them to bloom inside readers mind.
Chief, dishing out many a line, filled with delicious words to tantalize reader.
Landscaper, constructing scenery as beautiful as a mountain, or deep as an ocean.
Sculptor, molding craft of words sometimes soft and light, other times sharp as steel.
Teacher, enlightening one with information to open their consciousness if they choose.
Sailor, guiding ship-like eyes across a sea of words to move into calm waters for peace.
Laborer, picking just the right phase, to get a fresh new perspective inside a poem.
Singer, using one's rhythmic voice to echo inside vibrations of a sonnet that goes viral.
Doctor, becoming a wordologist aiding the reader to receive insight to help them heal.
Secretary, to self who writes and transcribes many an ode so reader and poet has peace.
I, poet has a wardrobe quite extensive to pull from, on a creative journey of sharing.
StarBG © 2017
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
Can we talk?
She said "Sure, give me a minute"
Wait a few seconds, that minute turned to ten,
Now one hour later,
She was ready to begin?
"What do you want to talk about?"
she yelled from
across the room.
Silence, I was sleeping.
But just then, she was about to hear the boom
So.......
She came at me like a wartime poet,
dropping bombs on my head like
I didn't even know it,
Ripped holes in my shirt
and I couldn't even sew it.
She busted rhymes in my mind
even CeLo couldn't own it.
Words flying so fast,
I coulda swore they were stolen.
She moved one step closer
and boom, I was falling.
Each time my mouth opened
I couldn't even answer,
Each word that I stut t t tered was
like lyrical cancer.
I ran around the room like
a Soul Train dancer.
Side stepping her questions
like I was her little **** prancer.
**** you, *****
my words just got a little fancier.
Whoah!
"Who do you think you are,
are you done spitting it yet??"
You began this little battle,
but I'll be the one finishing it.
My words are louder than gunshots
Cuz, I'll be the one killing it.
I'll just turn my *** around
Cuz you'd be the
one kissing it.
This is only the beginning,
and I'm not finished dishing it
Shhhhit!!
She just broke in with a loud
"OH!! YOU DONE YOUR TIME"
So you can get on outta here with those wasted lyrics,
stupid rap, and busted rhymes.
This is my house, boy,
and you ain't living off this welfare dime.
Now, go cheat with some other hoes
and sip on their Boone's Farm strawberry wine.
Oh and one more thing, you might
want to call 9-1-1,
Cuz I am about to commit
****** on your *** and a misdemeanor crime.
See you were nothing to me
but my little, poor "boy toy"
and when I say "little" ..it wasn't
very much of joy joy.
The only time I got real excited and wet
was when you were walking out
my front door, door.
So, now carry your sorry ***
on over to your ex's house
cuz she was the real effin' ***** *****
Oh, that 65" flat screen is mine, so is that X-Box,
touch one more god **** thing in here or I'll
double tap your ***
with the pair of my triple chromed 9mm hollow point custom made Hello Kitty Glocks.
Your time is up,
so say good bye once and for all
count it 1, 2, 3 or I'll punch your ******* clock.
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
Prophets of doom,
dishing out sorrow and gloom,
glorying in their knowledge,
tying weights to burdened souls,
receivers of blackened light and soiled truth,
if they only knew,
there are many others just as they,
spewing lies in God's name,
leading sheep
to a fiery hell.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 1:33 AM UTC