"docket" poems
If I could simply overcome
Possessive nouns and vowel sounds
I would not need to study ******
Heavy lies’ beheaded crowns
But you make martyrs with your charter
School exclusive service sector
To systemically condemn me
To the destitution nectar
Of the corner story ******
Potential Cinderella caged in
The statistics of the mathematic
Overdose equation
Comatose’n like a Holy Ghost
Of tranquil ranking party skanks
Whose tanks plan out the projects
For the boys still shootin’ blanks
And then the slavers liberate
Some nation-state of god forsaken
Oil barons salivate
To taste the poison Apple’s stake in
Stock in stuffer markets takin’
All the products people makin’
Privatizing profit-docket lawless
Mother Nature rapin’
For some scarcity disparities
In wealth I can’t attain
You keep me feeding on the bottom
From the top, you make it rain
So as the brains continue drainin’
In amenity dependency
I tinker with the inner-machinations
Now the enemy
You’ve made me out to be you see
My generation’s future’s bleaker
Than the past in full HD
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC
The courtroom was buzzing,
Deals were struck,
Before Her Worship
Heard from the docket.
Will Luke be saved.
A line of roguish consorts
All on Legal Aid,
Paraded before Her,
In judical chains.
And the lawyers are asking
About The Game of Thrones.
There are too many cops,
All creased and shiny,
Carrying file folders,
Outling the crimes.
I was a spectator,
Small in my corner,
As Luke went to stand
Before his maker,
Before his deal breaker.
All charges dropped,
As if a matter of course;
Except for the charges
From the laswyer and court.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 5:54 PM UTC
To rivit and gaze abrrantly
Your visually sick behind retina
Processing on whimsical stammor
Docket’s of false telltale pouring from hundreds of mouths
All while one gamming sheray from your eyes says enough
Those worn graying-blued bags underneath;
They show a hard working bluff
Devised; let’s embellish our stares of evil on outward crowds
Let us pick out other bagged eye crevices, and not moving blabbers’
Nothing but the time they’ve gave; those wise ******* dabblers’
We glance the demon out for thrill
We are the visually ill.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 8:37 AM UTC
A vinyl record makes the rounds, dust attached loose to the needle, imperceptibly
breaking
off
making
short
homes
for each
molecule
in each
black
groove.
Your hurricane breath will send them subatomic-
Superdomeward on your next mad quest
to convince your girlfriend that you are neat&clean.;
You sit crosslegged, Buddha on the brain,
corporation on the docket.
Which
one
do
you
dream
of?
And more importantly,
which
one
should
you
dream
for?
The twenty in your pocket will get you one-fifth of a silver ring
or five turkey sandwiches.
“You can’t have your cake and eat it too”—it wasn’t Buddha who said that, but
it’s Buddha’s smiling voice in which you hear it now, between your ears.
“What the **** does that mean, Buddha?” you sigh, and there is no answer.
You move, and move, and you keep on moving. You leave a little molecule
on the subway, and on the bar, and on the sidewalk without feeling it, losing them to
short
homes
vulnerable.
The hurricane breath or the sunshine or the invisible rubber glove of
Buddha, or Carl Solomon, or Walter Cronkite or God or whoever does the universe’s spring cleaning
will send them subatomic-Superdomeward
and you’ll never even know you missed them.
Your girlfriend thinks it’s realcool you have a record player,
but it’s a little dusty, she says.
You touch her lower back and smile. You get eye-level with the needle,
and you blow.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 11:39 PM UTC
We've had enough
we want our boys home
there's no need for more dying
on battle fields all alone
These wars stealing lives
and not just of the soldiers
broken hearts of their families
dealing with new burdened shoulders
Dead, disabled
body and spirit
the families cry out ENOUGH
but our leaders don't hear it
Playing their politics
doing so for their profit
the war machine must continue
and reelection first on the docket
They've forgotten the people
the little guy no longer matters
since Citizens United
allowed these politicians new handlers
The ballot belongs to the rich
it's money stuffing the box
and one of these days
we'll find our country on blocks
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 7:24 AM UTC
I knew this pretty rave girl
Always thought about her
The way she danced,
The way she purred.
Her skin tight red dress,
Offering no resistance.
Knocked out and gagged.
Red leather and chains,
A flattering position.
A scene so serene
As the red splashed
On white canvas with
Stroke of brush and blade.
I turned those crimson tears
To roses.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
Red lips
Scarlet scarf
Sitting in the park.
Innocent, sweet pigtails.
Beacon in the darkness.
Screams with no answers,
Ecstasy in red water.
With rope and rusted hooks,
Posed like the divine devil.
Forty lashes to the front
Paints her black and red gown.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 5:55 PM UTC
Galleria Santa Monica,
White wash walls,
High ceiling, dim lights.
Bunch of ******
In black and glasses peruse.
Three feature pieces,
Tamed Dames of the big city.
A bit gruesome, but they love the realism
Or so they say as they cringe.
Wine, almost as sweet
As the nectar of life fills the room.
Licking my lips, gaze drifting
Her smile crashes into me.
Sweet cherry blouse hides
A golden badge.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 5:57 PM UTC
Sometimes in life, you have to cope with your challenges.
Some of our challenges are flammable challenges.
When you try to burn them, they burn you too!
When you try to bury them, they bury you too!
You end up asking yourself, what kind of challenge is this?
Indeed, you end up asking yourself, what kind of sheet is this?
Unstoppable stack of sheets, until they slap you with a docket.
Indeed, an unstoppable stack of sheets, until they slap you with a blanket.
Now is fun, because even marriages have their secrete stack of sheets.
Never mind, most of them have their secrete stack of sheets.
A man with no flammable challenges is the man you do not know.
Better trust a man, with flammable challenges you know.
Lord of Joseph, be my savior in this game of flammable challenges.
Lord of David, be my conqueror in this life of flammable challenges.
Written By: The Senior Date: undefined
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 2:24 AM UTC
She was a child once. A child young
And innocent and full of energy and she
was hurt. Cuts and scrapes can be recovered from
easily. Mindset cannot be replaced. Now,
she wears a neon sign that flashes: Broken.
That screams: Help me. That pleads: Save me.
And yet, her face is a page full of smiles and lies.
She is the girl that every boy wants and every girl
wants gone. She is lipstick smears and
morning after pills and [she is cutting herself in the bathroom
again] She is beauty at the point of dissolve.
Her mask of make-up cracks and in those cracks,
You can see a wall of tears. She was a child once:
a child young and innocent and full of energy.
And now, now she is on the evening news.
She is the daughter every mother is ashamed of.
Docket number 7356. A DUI added to the mix. She
Is the one at the high school reunion everyone says:
what happened to her? And her answer? What is it?
"I grew up." She was a child once. Then she grew up.
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 6:38 PM UTC
I have boarded the train
(I've snuck in with no ticket)
And there are thoughts that won’t leave me alone.
I wish for the day when the driver will say:
"You're not meant for this ride;
You've no money, no manners
You're a poor excuse of a man;
Fix your collar, keep your chin up,
Get a job so we won't suffer
Because this ride's a luxury.
If you have any qualms
and/or disqualifications
Then walk.
I have left the station
I have dropped off the docket
So please just leave me to hang and to carry.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 9:38 PM UTC
As the sun passes a million brighter stars, there seems to be no illumination, for space is all black, but when the curtain is pulled back, we can see as if we produce a similar articulation. And as galaxies collide, and gloriously divide, into life more vibrant than ever, to see a nebulae derived from the very death of those bodies.
But then back on a small planet, the most ridiculous enchantment, this third rock that travels so precarious in its position. With what seems like little transition, but always on the brink of extinction, although never any closer then the day before.
The endless hopes of irresistible dreams, often holding us till we scream, till we breath the air of reasoning, wisdom, truth to find the greater meaning which is offered up as proof. Cause no matter the tools you trade with, or how you chew the fat, the space around you remains black, until the curtain is pulled back.
We search the world for meaning, for universal truth, but we forget to look in front of us, its underneath our boot. The ant that moves your dirt around, the cockroach that shares your food, you shouldn't search for meaning when God treats you like a stool.
A black hole will take the light and never give it back, and this is the same as when murderers attack, for they steal a life and never give it back all things are found in nature, just check your docket stack. But then people are as bright and warm as the sun, and some have the gravitational pull of the largest planets, giving us balance.
The sun was the start and is the end of our glorious existence, which we will never see in our blink of a pittance of life. But the spirit, the soul, that will journey on to systems more bright, we see there is no curtain in sight and we are on an endless flight, where we rise above our spirit.
To a harmonious place with love as the only exchange rate, and hate is left for obvious reasons, but often annoyed, that people have so little joy, in merely gazing up into the ever after. And while ipads are fun, and google sky map has it by the ton, your eyes...are the best judge of amazing.
Look up!!
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 1:33 PM UTC
Buck up son, you'll do just fine
School will break you down
And you'll move on the next line
What, you think you're special
What, you think you're real
Honey let me tell you
You're only whatever we need
You're not a president's offspring
Just a son off the street
Why would you ever try to think
You could be whatever you dream
Slow down, bucko
Oh, you'll do just fine
If you'll just stand in line
Oh, just take some time
And you'll be cookie-cutter fine
'Cause you're only whatever we need
And if you're thinking any different
Then you're living to a fool's creed
You'll only ever have a few dreams
Living what you're living, oh
You'll only ever be what we need
And I just couldn't believe
What they wanted me to be
What they wanted from me
Oh, it seemed so obscene
But I put down the baseball
And I picked up the bat
Fighting battles on the streets
Easier to die young like that
Don't forget, watch your tone, boy
Mind your filthy tongue
And there isn't a real method
No, no method to move on
You just gotta hope it ends
And that when it ends you've done no wrong
'Cause you're only whatever we need
And if you're thinking any different
Then you're living to a fool's creed
You'll only ever have a few dreams
Living what you're living, oh
You'll only ever be what we need
And here at the end
With the daughter that you've raised
Shutters made of white steel
And the lawn's gone all ablaze
Your life's pulling punches
While the world's so full of rage
Fear's on the docket now,
Yeah, this is worst case
But don't worry boy, you'll do just fine
We taught all of this
And we taught you just in time
Man, this is the world that you made
We raised a bunch of killers
And we based it off of shame
'Cause you're only whatever we need
And if you're thinking any different
Then you're living to a fool's creed
You'll only ever have a few dreams
Living what you're living, oh
You'll only ever be what we need
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
She passed me on the street,
My next masterpiece that is.
Five foot eight, brown hair, baby blue eyes.
Darling angel with a big smile.
She deserved nothing less than a
Dark alley flash of steel lights out.
Pure simple, quick.
Sitting posed against the wall,
Red letters spell her fate.
What she is many will know,
What she gave me I will show.
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 5:56 PM UTC
Head smacked
With an abrupt thwack.
Nose aggressively shoved in the corner;
Followed by the crazed rant
Of an old school rhymer;
Unaware their current act....chant....
in the Future be court docket tabled....
Labled...
And designated a "child abuse" crime:
Breaking news at prime time
"How dare you speak to me?
Didn't your mother...
Or father teach you proper manners?
Look here, look listen! Directly into my eyes see!
So... I may know you understand clearly.
Little girls (and boys) are to be 'seen and not heard.'
You disrespectful ****
" thwackity thwack"
A hard double hit reverberates
(Emotionally terminates)
As a forceful chalked blue
Cue
Smacks...
Cracks...
The backside of the child's red
Pigtailed Head
(Thrusting it forward in an eight ball call shot
Designated for the left corner wall slot).
Nose banking the wall with a hard ******
Dripping blood
(In full crimson flood),
Invading her mouth with copper waste
(Mixed in with the salty taste
Of tears falling in silent haste).
Destined to dry with a tinge of rust
and crust.
Followed by a loss of parental guidance trust.
Daring not a single peep--
In weep.
The child covers her bloodied mouth
(With trembling hands)--
Muffling emotional cries at an alarming rate--
(In a fearful state),
Dreading a forced follow foul stroke:
That a single sound could provoke.
Contemplating her prelection:
In extreme sudation.
She wondered why her mother....
Father..
Encouraged her ranting chatter
And told her that all questions matter?
Didn't they know that bubbly banter...
Chatter...
Would cause her
Disciplinary stature
(Possible nose fracture)
And a guaranteed position in the corner
(Under the care of an old timing
Rhyming....
Bitter....
Head splitting
Sitter)?
Marie Moldovan ©️ 2021
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 4:49 PM UTC
I have so many poems in front of me
That may never see the light
Would I have wrote had I known
They'd be laid by the wayside
All with the best intentions
To bring them to fruition
But alas today's the day
Of more subtraction than addition
Sitting patiently in the docket
Awaiting on their turn
A turn that never seems to come
Another lesson to be learned
But still a hope in hand is held out
For the day my thoughts run dry
And I'll go back to where I left them
On the wayside of poetic life
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
Docket Time
There is always something more on the cards
You think you have a full house and your enemy
Does something unexpected from his bad script
Written by amateurs and paid for by lunatics
Doing all they can to harm you and your interests
No more book files they deleted them due to that
The action I dared do against them the other day
For I carry my ******* ***** in my bag ready to go
Oppose them in all ways possible fit to lose
Just takes one chance to win be weak to be strong
Over the edge and loop back all’s fare in business
Or was my moan too big making my cards copy type?
Rip off rain runny ink degrades after three goes
I only need one attempt to lower your company
No longer top three number four busts you up
Not printed cash that’s so 20th Century!
Now its stocks shares interests and bonds
Ledger money written in real ink or electronic
All that wanga belongs to the big elites and NWO
Certain families run the world so we are all fine
Living in **** running up bills rent deposits finance
Nothing to help the working person except maudlin
Sombre poems by the gal before she kaputted
She’s my sis by a different mum you wankers!
Revenge will be mine so discreet creeping in
Like the new dawn you think its night when it’s night
Over to you come and see my sing live
I’ve no security my show is for you alone
What will you do when the end grabs you?
I dare you to be serene or actually react…
Nov 30, 2021
Nov 30, 2021 at 9:21 PM UTC
He loved me
and that set me free
In account of my flaws
he embraced my claws
I attacked and I fought
all in response to gifts he brought
He loved me
but I didn't love him
We fought and we had silence
while trying to build resilience
But the world is cruel
and a lot like high school
I wanted to give you more
but I had nothing more in store
There's always new stock in the market
Beautiful men have always ben on my docket
I thought wed have a chance at forever
but the inevitable is never
Playboys and drinks
spinning in cycle like the roller rink
I've let you go now
but I'm not sure I know how
I wanted this to last
but our feelings were vast
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 11:24 PM UTC
During my high school days
I was a fat kid afraid
of making any ****** advances
I never went to any school dances
because I knew this fool's chances
were lower than evergreen branches.
My definition of try
was hair that was dyed
and apparel fly
I bought some **** clothes but they were 4XL
now I only spread sheets that far for Excel
because it reminds me of my ex hell
when my enthusiasm for *** fell
because of how weight impacted my mobility
and society negated my nobility
just for the food filling me
which was admittedly killing me
with cholesterol and restaurants billing me
because I was addicted to eating willingly.
Then I started counting calories
for purely cosmetic purposes
which gave me more of my salary
canceling extraneous purchases
but it mainly stopped my self hating
I started meeting people and dating
which feels like competing for ratings
which can be quite grating
but my chances for love are fading
so my life can no longer be about delaying
finding someone who's interested in staying.
Now my docket
shows **** licks
and crossfit
no longer frost bit
by locked lips
I got this
advantage to not being lonely
but now I gain no new homies
when no one wants to know me
just blow me
showing
I'm not really growing
just getting laid
but that's a decent trade
for the life I had made
getting food filleted
to a lower grade.
Feb 11, 2022
Feb 11, 2022 at 4:34 PM UTC
Empty pockets
Gather dust
And children’s toys
And other stuff
I reach inside
And never know
What will come up
And what will grow
Turned inside out
The pockets reveal
A history
The things we steal
Many things that gather
And find their way
Inside my pocket
It’s all okay
One day I think
I’ll write a book
Of pocket stories
Will take a look
A Herstory
A gathering docket
Of all the stuff
Inside my pocket
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 7:25 AM UTC
I have my choice of amazing woman but yet I feel pain
Is it because they love me but yet I don’t feel same,
About her or her or you or you
Please I wish someone would just tell me what to do
Yet rather how to feel, about this pain in my chest that I don’t wish to reveal.
For I love only one so all my ex’s want an appeal.
Docket after docket on how I should be with them
Just want to shut them all out and fall into my REM
You see that's Rapid Eye Movement but my eyes only moved for you
On this ship of relation that I would have forever stayed true.
But for you it wasn’t the same, for the heart wants what it wants
If that wasn't me then why was it a future you would taunt
But I no longer feel guilt, pain, or obligation,
For I have come in terms with being an abomination.
I am such a fool for relishing in your eyes and caving to your temptation
You are my greatest regret when you should have been my greatest salvation
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
Love is now illegal.
No longer may you empathize with the broken.
You must never talk to strangers.
No more spontaneous hugs.
No more finding common ground.
Divisiveness is a requirement.
Joy is no longer to be found.
Tomorrow's docket? Argue over nothing.
Hate your neighbor because they're different.
Politics is all that matters now.
Do you hear that silence?
It's a deafening sound.
Judge everyone from a pale horse.
Religion brings a sword to strike them down.
Nothing left is meaningful.
Don't hold that door for that woman.
That's ****** harassment now.
Don't use that bathroom.
Handicap is a gender now.
You may not own a gun.
If you do you'll **** children.
And become the talk of the town.
What have we become?
What happened to fearing fear itself?
I'm tired of chain-smoking.
I'm tired of the now.
It's not about amendment rights.
It's not about trump cards.
It's not about those clowns.
It's about each other.
It's about being understood.
When we become empathy..
There's no room for any blood.
In Love be lost and found.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 11:16 PM UTC