"distributor" poems
Sometimes he was like f+ck it
just went ahead and stuck em
let em fall where they stood
crack another bottle and brood
hysterically on the ridiculous
he had a meticulous knack for belittling the serious, berating feelings and imposing his will in a furious fashion. He liked knives and passion, and will cash in on your lashings. A vigilante, stealing antes to match the chips. The missing teeth of split lipped grinns bidding his amends to the dense. sent to cleanse, the fences on the perimeter. a distributor of disasters.
contributor to the laughter in the stoical spleens of nerdy teens, always cheering for the away team.
He was the benefactor of traction-less tractors rotting in the mud. He was a slacker, smothering the world in love. He was above all else, on drugs.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
He prowls around like a hungary lion
Looking for his bait
Be alert of sober mind
Don't let him be your fate
He is the prince of darkness
This is his world of rule
The leader of temptation
Deceit his favourite tool
He's arrogant he's boastful
Satan is his name
His followers the Antichrist
Destruction is his game
The master of disaster
The distributor of fear
Be on your guard
He'd like us all
To believe that he's not here
I used to walk in darkness
His path I walked along
I told fortunes by reading tarrot cards
Then realised this was wrong
Through ouija board I met him
And spoke with his spirits too
He spits deceit to all he meets
Including me and you
His aim is of destruction
Many ways he'll surely find
To annihilate abolish
The (love ) of all mankind
To all who don't believe in him
Just Look around you'll see
So many in his image
( There's only Christ can set us free ~)
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 7:17 PM UTC
Sitting in my easy chair
By the double windows
Happy just to be here
In my ratty old bungalow.
But happy doesn’t cover it.
It’s really dreams come true.
I have my own place here.
No roommate to suffer through.
It’s Saturday afternoon now
The sun slowly going down
Painting my walls colored
Like the face of a happy clown;
Reds and whites and yellow
Bouncing off the green lawn
And making art of my home
Until the sun at last is gone
Yet I still remember every tone.
Some days I sit under my tree.
I ate the avocadoes you know.
And I planted it right here
No idea that it would grow
Into this magnificent tree
It is twenty five feet or so;
A beauty that calms me
Just watching it grow.
Rain on the roof
Distributor of peace
Of rest and sleep;
A blessed release
For what better to do
What stronger proof
Than taking a great nap
With rain on the roof?
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
When you look at him
You see a violent man ready to attack.
When I look at him
I see the guy who carried me around Disney World on his shoulders.
When you look at him
You see a possible drug distributor in the state of Florida.
When I look at him
I see the guy who LARPs in his front yard with his friends.
When you look at him
You see a ****
When I look at him
I see the guy who held my hand before I got on my first rollercoaster to comfort me.
When you look at him
You see the man you shot because he, "charged."
When I look at him
I see an innocent man killed in cold blood.
When you look at him
You see suspect white male early 20s wearing basketball shorts and a tshirt.
When I look at him
I see Derek Cruice.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:18 PM UTC
Dumping my heart into dreams I would love to see if they are trying to **** me
•
The fuel that’s keeping me going can spark up a hood, in gulf the steer into flames
•
Distributor rings pop and all I have is a hand full of hopes and new spring days
•
But the deep blue paint chipped off the sea now rotates away from the rear view
•
Purple projects a new drive burnt into the ground from the heat of hell from the six feet we stand apart
•
My eyes peel back to to a blue face being a frame for just numbers and cloud chasing
•
So I place it in gear and then push fear into the mirror spreading orange and red solar flares in the headlights guiding the purple blue skies that backdrop the tracing rear lights of the fear in the past of our lifes
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 10:36 AM UTC
what do you want to be called
A one non proffessional
that corns the intelligent
out of position but endowed
with ideas.
Married as a victim of misfortune
many times you walk away free
but time will shape a day
when the sun will shine from north
No one is sensible to you
only your word is taken as a breath
many are in severe injury of
your toxic thoughts and
malicious efforts.
Nothing works by your senses
all seems wrong with you.
A distributor of calamities
and a conquerer of peace
your not worth a name in
fear of killing its meaning and destiny
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 4:16 PM UTC
Ancient wisdom
lies in
Bones
The StoneAge
didn't end
for lack
of stones
monster ~
monsters . .
everywhere
whisper
in a many ear
loud enough
to stoke our fears
playing games
of truth or dare
monsters
and
their
concubines
corrupt . .
before
we realize
monster ~
monsters . . .
telling truth
the many
branches
are the root
the leaves . .
that fall
aren’t
leaves
at all
but ~
the devil’s call
to sacred fruit
monster ~
monsters . . .
play
and
hide
at . . .
sleight
and
hopscotched
truth
in
dead of night
monster ~
monsters . . .
held ~
my breath
so I
can't breathe
and
blind ~
my eyes
that I
don't see
they
come
for
me
I'm alone . . !
all ~
the monsters
are at home
when:
every
blessing
is
a curse
every
word
becomes
a
verse
souls ~
have
fallen
where
they
stand
in . .
ashened
grey
of
no
man's
land
all my colours . .
deeper shades ~
of
sombre thought
and
darkened
days
intent . .
designed ~
just
to
survive
lies . .
contrived ~
to
multiply
atomized~
in
the atmosphere
as dust
oxidised~
in
the minds
of men
like rust
monster ~
monsters . .
promises . . . .
camouflaged truths ~
that’s
all
it
is . . .
The American Dream
ain’t
what
it seems
it's just . . . .
another
****** up ~
monster scheme . .
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the Writings of Mingoáo Inc. is the exclusive agent, publisher-distributor of the Writings of Mingoáo. No part of the Writings exhibited herein may be copied, transcribed, reproduced nor transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, not by carrier pigeon, pony express, smoke signal, slingshot, sled dog, not even by alien spacecraft, nor stored by any information storage and/or retrieval system, past, present or future, nor translated, without the expressed written consent of the Author and Publisher. ~ Not to be Copied, Forwarded, Distributed, Shared Nor Transferred.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 7:05 AM UTC
The silences comprised in the beautiful rhyme.
And repentance which are running out of time.
Defending the rebel against the predator.
Realize with destructive path and amity distributor.
Deliberately mixing selves in the awful lies' lime.
Affecting with falsehood doing self defined crime.
Until when? the untold utterance will be the interrupter.
Nails are stitching the daze and it remains only motivator.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 10:34 AM UTC