"edwards" poems
"I Need It"
[Intro:]
Turn it up, let me hear it
Turn it up, let me hear it, Oh DUMB
[Hook:]
I need it up in my life
Every night I get on my knees ask but
Heaven ain't been speaking back (speaking back) I need it up in my life
This goes out to every ghetto every project who know losing's not an option
I need it up in my life (yeah)
All this money cars and clothes
You know I'm balling out control, on you hoes
[Verse 1:]
They attempt to label me inhumane
I believe in God but not your God
Last ***** got outta pocket on the wrong decor got broke off What the **** is up with these A&Rs; "I Need It"
[Intro:]
Turn it up, let me hear it
Turn it up, let me hear it, Oh DUMB
[Hook:]
I need it up in my life
Every night I get on my knees ask but
Heaven ain't been speaking back (speaking back)
I need it up in my life
This goes out to every ghetto every project who know losing's not an option
I need it up in my life (yeah)
All this money cars and clothes
You know I'm balling out control, on you hoes
[Verse 1:]
They attempt to label me inhumane
I believe in God but not your God
Last ***** got outta pocket on the wrong decor got broke off
What the **** is up with these A&Rs;
Criticizing music they can't make
Poking fun at my struggles I don't find **** funny
I live in places that ain't safe
2008 I got my leg blown off
Any given day could get my head blown off
Rest in peace to Tyree Edwards
Bullet in his head got his head blown off
Tried school was a great kid
Academically I excelled in it
Grew up poor got teased a lot
Cause my school clothes had a smell in 'em
Same shirt four weeks straight
On the block grinding, got sales in 'em
Juvenile detention my case worker said I might be headed for a crash course
No father figure role models up in prison all my jump shots hit the back board
Head-on collision, not watching while I'm steering
No air bag, head hit the dash board
[Hook]
[Verse 2:]
Approaching me and wanna shoot the ****
But pretend as if they're here to help Gates
Behind my back in front of label heads
Saying "Kevin just won't cooperate"
Missed flights, showing up late
I live life didn't rap about it
No time to live, my time for them
How the **** I'm gon' rap about it
Speak the truth or rap around it
And in a wrap around I rapped about it
Tragic ending for some family members
In heaven sitting wishing I was with them
Instead I'm stuck in this hell on earth
With pretend friends who think of ways to get me
Couple ****** I loaned money
Said they got me and never get me
Tell a ***** no I'm never guilty
Still ain't got no guilty feeling
Always telling me what I should do different
But can't explain why they ain't winning
My own blood just turned against me
In disbelief I'm like "not true"
Devastated, got caught off guard
When I seen the switch I'm like "not you"Criticizing music they can't make
Poking fun at my struggles I don't find **** funny I live in places that ain't safe
2008 I got my leg blown off
Any given day could get my head blown off
Rest in peace to Tyree Edwards
Bullet in his head got his head blown off
Tried school was a great kid
Academically I excelled in it
Grew up poor got teased a lot
Cause my school clothes had a smell in 'em
Same shirt four weeks straight
On the block grinding, got sales in 'em
Juvenile detention my case worker said I might be headed for a crash course
No father figure role models up in prison all my jump shots hit the back board
Head-on collision, not watching while I'm Steering no air bag, head hit the dash board
[Hook]
[Verse 2:]
Approaching me and wanna shoot the ****
But pretend as if they're here to help Gates
Behind my back in front of label heads
Saying "Kevin just won't cooperate"
Missed flights, showing up late
I live life didn't rap about it
No time to live, my time for them
How the **** I'm gon' rap about it
Speak the truth or rap around it
And in a wrap around I rapped about it
Tragic ending for some family members
In heaven sitting wishing I was with them
Instead I'm stuck in this hell on earth
With pretend friends who think of ways to Get me couple ****** I loaned money
Said they got me and never get me
Tell a ***** no I'm never guilty
Still ain't got no guilty feeling
Always telling me what I should do different
But can't explain why they ain't winning
My own blood just turned against me
In disbelief I'm like "not true"
Devastated, got caught off guard
When I seen the switch I'm like "not you"
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
The men shout at me as they drive by
****** walk like a man!”
They hoot, shout, and laugh
As sunlight blinds their white-trash getaway.
I look around and think
How ridiculous to be unable to walk
How insane for me to think that these legs
Move on their own.
How silly for me, the queen that I am,
To think that my kingdom was
Any place I was welcome.
To be queer and visible
Is to challenge
The stained muscle shirts
“wife beaters,” strung across
Tattooed skin and handlebar
Mustaches of the “real men”
Whose siren calls
Police my step.
Most men hate us
The Children of Naomi Campbell
Men, YES MEN, too unafraid
To straighten our walk
Loosen our pant legs
And be invisible.
To be properly gay
Acceptably gay, to be
Tolerable is to be invisible
To hide, to be “real man”
My manhood is ghostly
Terrifying even
My walk so dangerous that
It is unsafe to even drive by
My community is still
Dangerous, unreal
Waiting for the next truck to drive by
To beat me, tie me to a fence and leave me
Like Matthew Shepard
A ghost on a fencepole
Unwanted, dangerous,
My people are a threat
Legs too long threatening the ability of
“real men” to have simple desires
They will do whatever it takes
To keep it easy.
Walk like a man, they yelled.
I yell back the names of my family:
Tiffany Edwards,
Zoraida Reyes, Kandy Hall
Yaz’min Shancez
Bodies that didn’t walk the right way
These ghosts were once threatening too.
Simply existing means threatening
"real men" and their women
Swinging my hips is literally deadly
To be flirtatious is to be threatening
To invite violence, attention
To get what I want, to be made a man
Real man, I am not real
As if my only job is to
Show others how to walk,
As if the rest of me
Is simply fake, fantasy, irrelevant
See how easily queer people
Are watered down to something unidimensional,
Something that is only a fragment of
“real” people – we are ghosts
Moving among you
Threatening, ******
Never just going to work
But always somehow
threatening, challenging
And forcing fantasies onto the world
Why do we always challenge
What is real? What is normal?
Why can’t a man strut? Why isn’t manhood
Something other than what swings with my
Legs?
Real. Ghostly. Fake. Invisible. Dangerous.
What I hear is *powerful, noted, interesting,
….maybe even desirable.* (GASP!)
When I walk now, I walk with an army of ghosts
Led by the fallen, queens, and divas
who threatened the men of the past.
I live their lessons and proudly
swish my hips in honor of my adopted
****** ancestors.
We Sashay however we want
Because we've realized that
a "real" men is always
Just a step away.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:49 AM UTC
The story of an actual Retired Greyhound Bus Driver
Mr. Hufford who died being 100 years old
It’s his amazement in behold
Mr. Hufford was the Go Greyhound showed with pride
His driving experience being his commitment in stride
Mr. Hufford saw an opportunity and didn’t try to hide
The 100 year Greyhound Bus Veteran logged in many road miles
His own public address announcement being his own style
At this driving for Greyhound in while
Mr. Hufford weathered many storms
He gave the passengers don’t worry I will keep you from harm
But he had a personal connection with all his passengers
Now Mr. Hufford was part of Greyhound’s own milestone of 100 years
He was the inspiration to other Greyhound Bus Drivers in continuing to preserver
Throughout his years in the Greyhound bus drove, you would often find his uniform always prepared to perform and shoes shined for passenger inspection
Mr. Hufford wasn’t a speculation, but was simply being the indication
He prospered in his years here on earth
He brings new life to people and Greyhound as a new birth
But the Lord called him home being the chosen Greyhound example
Mr. Hufford’s name was written in the clouds being ample
He was a humble old soul
Mr. Hufford’s was given new heights and not being a plight
This was a God’s promise being allowed
A spirit driving a Greyhound Bus around Heaven
All Aboard, Thank you Lord and just applaud.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
The desire to make the rest of these words rhyme
Is immense!
Alas, I cannot do it.
All I can do is read Frost’s
iambic pentameter and wonder
just what has become of Lola C. Edwards?
It’s her tome that I’ve purchased for two bits
at this decrepit, yet beloved thrift shop.
The book became hers, according to her inscription,
in the year 1970.
Now, it belongs to me in 2014.
I bought it because it’s The Complete Poems of Robert Frost;
the same that resides in my father’s library
and was greedily scanned by my hungry eyes and inspired mind.
But, what happened to Lola, some years ago?
Was it the cancer? Did it consume her bones?
Was she surrounded by loved ones?
Was she all alone?
What else but death could force her to relinquish such a text?
Surely, she couldn’t have done so willingly.
Her estate has been sold.
Her knick-knacks dusted and boxed for their final voyage to The DAV.
Turned over to uncaring brutes that couldn’t care less about
her beloved crystal cake plate, now shattered, or the book
that I hold in my hand today.
Lola C Edwards shares her life with me.
Every time I open this compendium,
I shall celebrate her, this beloved stranger!
Because, we are alike, she and I
in that we have chosen the road less traveled by,
and that has made all the difference.
***
-J. Claywell
©P&ZPublications; 2014
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
Hold my hand dear Benjamin
don't let Professor Edwards
catch me in a dreamscape
challenging me off guard
as we sit in math class
hands clasped together
for when you knowingly
squeeze my hand tighter
scribbling with your right hand
the answer which is required
to be erased so as not caught out
but today as I look out
onto drifting clouded skies
I see the changes and I lose
myself in shapes and smoke
forging out homes, characters
stories into my past, present
and what could be in the future
nothing is taken from me, distracted
in an instant I'm Vivian Ward
racing around Hollywood
with my best friend Kit De Luca
who eats cold pizza for breakfast
and crawls the streets with me
hop scotching across the
Hollywood Walk of Fame,
five star terrazzo and brass stars, names of Hollywood greats
blonde, brunette elegance
Manolo's, mink coats,
jewelled necklines of emerald stones
we'd both dreamt as kids
Los Angeles; the City of Angels
we are the winged, we are the free
inhabiting the land of opportunity
the ladies of the night, grappling onto souls of kids, shared flat
with bunk beds and a closet filled
with 80's short tight spandex
leg warmers, faux gold earrings
bright coloured lingerie, leather bomber jackets, tutus...
oh and those perms and scrunchies
fake eye lashes, an 80's kid high as hell
being courted by an older wealthier man
living fast, dying young, a fugitive
of the land
broken
The silence I succumbed to
bruised by a cacophony of bells ringing
"never change Lou lou!"
he winked and smiled
packing his rucksack
leaving for the day.
© Sia Jane
“She was the amoureuse of all the novels, the heroine of all the plays, the vague “she” of all the poetry books.”
Gustave Flaubert, “Madame Bovary”
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
Because you have thrown of your Prelate Lord,
And with stiff Vowes renounc’d his Liturgie
To seise the widdow’d ***** Pluralitie
From them whose sin ye envi’d, not abhor’d,
Dare ye for this adjure the Civill Sword
To force our Consciences that Christ set free,
And ride us with a classic Hierarchy
Taught ye by meer A. S. and Rotherford?
Men whose Life, Learning, Faith and pure intent
Would have been held in high esteem with Paul
Must now he nam’d and printed Hereticks
By shallow Edwards and Scotch what d’ye call:
But we do hope to find out all your tricks,
Your plots and packing wors then those of Trent,
That so the Parliament
May with their wholsom and preventive Shears
Clip your Phylacteries, though bauk your Ears,
And succour our just Fears
When they shall read this clearly in your charge
New Presbyter is but Old Priest Writ Large.
1.5k
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, when you wish upon a star
your dreams come true-Cliff Edwards---do they? :>
remember when you called us quits too soon
one year later in a **** same room
all the blacks and whites grayed out a little on me
but never returned the woods in thousand dreams
remember when you took that hug in a theft
burned the station down and couldn't hear a left
but things a carry a chocolate cake would never cut
all so small to you but me just a single much
remember when the ice we clanged and freed
even the cold I've missed the day you chose a fleeing cheat
all the hours and runs we held the hands and lilac
but I know again a no more a wont come back
remember the dark ages we bled and rhymed
cared and favored out on every other than not crime
all the shadows and hunts tracing the midnight sky
but the stars would never forget a lover's align
but my heart and soul would never know to draw a line
but my nights and getaways would never dim a dime
but my soul can't erase veins on violin classic chimes
but------------------------------------------------------------------
------ravenfeels
Jun 16, 2021
Jun 16, 2021 at 2:10 PM UTC
There's a box down in my basement
It's not hidden far away
It's a box that's full of history
things from, well....another day
It sits there like a statue
Never opened, all forlorn
Holding pictures and their secrets
from a time when I weren't born
It's blue with brass side stapping
It takes up two cubic feet
It just sits there in the corner
Yelling...OPEN ME....but, be discreet
Love letters and photos
unfinished projects from the past
Newspaper announcements
Lots of things you want to last
It's a box that is worth sharing
Stories living in a box
It sits there closed and oh, forgotten
It sits there closed, there are no locks
There's few around who've seen the contents
Even less who know the names
Of people in all the pictures
It's not just sad, it is a shame
The box is full of untold stories
A love story that should be heard
It's written in two lovers writing
No need to translate, not a word
It is the tale of two fine people
Parents of my wife, they say
This box tells of Margaret and Charlie
They both are gone, before this day
It's musty when you smell it
But, isn't that how things should be
There's school reports and lockets
A father lost when she was three
I think of them when I look at it
Artifacts stored for none to see
I never met them, but I miss them
They'd be proud of who she came to be
this box is Megan's life force
It helped make her strong and proud
It shows she is an Edwards
The contents scream it really loud
there is a box down in my basement
It' a box of writing, reams and reams
I look forward to our meeting
One quiet night inside my dreams
The people who filled up the inside
Are my family, though we've not met
I'd like to take this chance to tell them
Their girl is safe, they need not fret.
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 9:13 PM UTC
Life for a soul is
more than a mere,
Fast, fleeting moment
spent idly here.
Brilliantly beautiful,
lightning – so quick,
Then long ever after,
its rumbles roll thick.
So, when Heaven forever
calls a soul home,
It flees before ashes,
stacked stones, or deep loam.
Transcending the realms
of grief, pain, and time,
From this mortal coil,
it gently unwinds.
Arriving unbroken,
undying, anew,
Abiding eternally,
healthy, and true,
The spirit wields deftly
a colossal glass
So slowly sand slips through:
eternities pass.
©30Jul2016 @DracoTalpus
for the Edwards family; #inspired by Madigan
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
This is a poem I wrote for a Romantic Poetry Unit in English. This was my attempt at it.
...............................................................
My Wish, My Dream, and My Hope
by Hannah Edwards.
It is the light at the end of a dark tunnel.
It is the promise of something good and true.
It is a dream for the future,
Of a life shared between me and you.
It's the moment when you declare, "I love you".
And in reply I can finally whisper, " I love you too."
It's the moment when you ask me,
To be yours forever, to our last day.
When I cry out "yes",
With happiness so great,
No words could ever convey.
For this, morning and night, to God did I pray.
My deepest wish for everyday.
When you take me into your arms,
And I know I'm where I belong.
The moment I will finally know why everything else went wrong.
The reason I didn't give up, Trying so hard to be strong.
Because God was leading me to you all along.
Then the day dawns when we both say "I do".
Amidst tears and smiles of joy,
We will with gladness bid singleness adieu.
When we promise ourselves to each other, forever to be true.
Remembering the hard times, the waiting, uncertainty blinding our view.
We will praise and thank God for seeing us through.
Even when we didn't understand what life held for us,
God was planning, He always knew.
That is my wish, my dream, and my hope, for me and for you.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 12:05 PM UTC
The governor stated he's sorry for his love tryst.
Except with him.
It seems he's bragging.
And then he spoke too much.
The public only knew about one.
Oh, that son of a gun.
He could have stated like a president did.
Which was self denial.
That he never had an affair.
Oh, that son of a gun.
Or be like Edwards and run from the truth.
Until his mistress had a child as proof.
Oh, that son of a gun.
Just another candidate out having fun.
Mmm, I think I should run.
I might not win.
But I betcha.
I have a mutiple of friends.
We expect to be surprised.
Who hadn't met a candidate's that hadn't lied.
Oh, that son of a gun.
Even with a bad back.
We know of a politician that had him a actress.
Which supposely shared with his brother too.
Oh, those son of a gun.
Just another leader trying to find a pleaser.
And they everywhere.
We all know about Tiger mutiple affairs.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 8:49 AM UTC
Perrie Edwards hasn’t made a secret of the fact that she’s not yet ready to get married, despite being engaged to Zayn Malik for the last two years and now it seems her constant hesitation is getting to the star.
The Little Mix beauty has found her life consumed once again with promo work and touring, as she publicises her new single and third studio album and as a result it sounds like her personal life has taken a bit of a back seat.
Insiders say Zayn is getting tired of waiting for Edwards to commit to a date for their wedding and he’d rather be tying the knot sooner rather than later…..but is being put off all the time.
“Zayn wants them to set the date for their wedding so they have something to work towards,” a source told Reveal magazine. “He’s not saying it has to be soon, but he believes if they set a date then they have to get things done. Having it all drag on means neither of them is motivated to organize because there’s no deadlines.”
The source claimed that Malik is tired of hearing Perrie be so blasé about their commitment to one another and is sick of listening to her brushing off questions about their future every single day.
He’s ready to start making life long plans, especially now that they’ve found the house they want to raise a family in and the insider continued:
“Zayn is not being interviewed constantly like when he was in the band but Perrie is, especially with their new single out, and every time he hears her say there’s no date it gets to him,” they said. “He doesn’t get why they haven’t set one yet.”
While we are sure Zayn wants to marry his Little Mix fiance, we’re not convinced that he’s quite as keen and desperate as is being claimed here though. He whisked Perrie away for a romantic birthday weekend on Friday and seems to be enjoying the extra time they’re getting to spend with one another, as a result of his suddenly clear work schedule.
Leave your comments below…..
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
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Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 10:54 PM UTC
On this earth I've wandered
For nearly a thousand years
I'm tired, nothing new
Nothing left to fear
People always ask
Where they've seen my face
Well, a portrait of me does hang
In a museum in Paris place
And another in London,
Beautifully framed with grace
In Paris, my own selfportrait
With my little girl, you see
I was then known as Madame
Elizabeth Vigre Labrun
That was my favorite time, back in 1783
Then again I was painted as "Circe"
By Sir Edward Burne-Jones
That was the year 1880
God rest Sir Edwards bones
By the year 1919
When all the world was at war
I set sail for America
To see what else time had in store
I've changed my name and place
Hundreds of thousands of times
The only things that have stayed the same
Are my loves, art and rhyme
I decided on the name Amanda
To use in this day and age
I try so hard to fit into this modern book
My worn and tattered page
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC
Every night before I sleep
I touch a picture on my way
A picture of two people
Who I've not met to this day
They watch my every waking move
I know they follow me around
I try to justify my life to them
In response, they make no sound
They raised a daughter...Megan
She is the most important thing to me
The picture is her parents
Her dad's been gone since she was three
I feel them sometimes, watching
I hope they look on her with pride
I know that I will meet them
When I reach the other side
The product of their union
Makes me proud she is my wife
I thank them on my way to bed
For it was them that gave her life
I know I would have liked them
And I hope they feel the same
I know their time here was a short one
But, I'm awful glad they came
Charlie and Margaret Edwards
I'm sure you'll let me know
If I cross the line a smidgen
And if across the line I go
I know you both are watching
so there's one thing I must do
I love your daughter Megan
I just want to say "Thank You"
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 11:48 PM UTC
Do you see me as a blemish?
Do you see me as a wreckage?
Do you see us as a fleeting second?
I reckon you don’t know the shape of my hands impression
Because you hazard hold on to her lesion-lesson
Well, if you could pay attention
I’ve got twenty one pilot pairs of scissors from Edwards hands
And magic from Peter Pan that I met in Neverland
That line Narnia’s closet door
Hidden in Alice of Wonderlands floor
Do you see me as a passing sigh?
Do you see me as replacement high?
Do you see us as a goodbye?
I reckon you don’t know how your thoughts could fly
Because you got glued down by the bad guy
Well, if you allow that glue to lessen
Ren McCormack would give you a dance lesson
And I’ll teach you how to be fluorescent
Like how jellyfish bioluminescent
We would never waste a second
Only love, would we beckon
Do you see me as a wreckage?
Do you see us as a fleeting second?
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
Lejos de la ciudad, lejos del foro
clamoroso y del tiempo, que es mudanza,
Edwards, eterno ya, sueña y avanza
a la sombra de árboles de oro.
Hoy es mañana y es ayer. No hay una
cosa de Dios en el sereno ambiente
que no le exalte misteriosamente,
el oro de la tarde o de la luna.
Piensa feliz que el mundo es un eterno
instrumento de ira y que el ansiado
cielo para unos pocos fue creado
y casi para todos el infierno.
En el centro puntual de la maraña
hay otro prisionero, Dios, la Araña.
729
Just the voice alone.
Had you hooked and seeking a microphone.
Just the hand motion and the split.
Had you wishing you were apart of them.
Eddie, Otis, Melvin and Paul knew the attention.
That David Ruffin demanded.
David Ruffin shoes is hard to fill.
And that to some is a bitter pill.
Unlike Dennis Edwards, he didn't have to yell.
His vocals alone was a true sell.
From the romantic tune of My Girl.
To his proclaiming I Could Never Love Another.
Make you wants to tell your girl she's special.
We aware no man Ain't Too Proud To Beg.
Especially , if he realize he's losing her to another.
And pretty she might not seems to others.
Except he told us Beauty Only Skin Deep.
A message to the strong and the weak.
He made me wants to state I was a Temptation's forever.
As I look into the mirror.
I just pretend I'm David Ruffin.
A man that for a moment was the best of the best.
Until he was laid to rest.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
as albums go...
kiss me kiss me kiss me
will always outrank
disintegration:
...show me show me
show me how you do that trick
the one that makes me scream he said
the one that makes me laugh he said
and threw his arms around my neck
show me how you do it
and i promise you i promise that
i'll run away with you...
i was somehow always the big boy
preferring depeche mode...
but then again,,, the vampires were out,
along with the Edwards...
and... the game was played...
would have been easier asking queen Vic
to eat a ******* mango...
had Bertie scolded his son's
stutter...
maybe then Wilhelm would not have
sent the Zeppelins...
but then again...
what a boring London without
the Blitzkrieg revisionism!
a love being love,
yet a love, most painful -
like lip-reading a mouth of a nurse
while she allowed me to spectate her
talking...
on the tube to her place
of work...
lip-reading...
mouth open, penning,
death ears...
i once heard an advice...
can't get a girlfriend in england?
travel to India...
i have a shortcut...
Manchester, Liverpool,
or Newcastle...
as far as i am concerned,
the English girls up there
are no chasing Saudi Sheikhs...
and aren't too keen on
Germans, either...
might test my luck...
i'll wait for my parents
to die...
then i'll head to t he north of England
and express my fondest
thank you, outside of
Goa or Gujarat;
i'll keep the curry recipe,
thank you, very, much.
i always belonged in the north...
southern English galls were
always supposedly gold digging...
my parents die...
i'll travel north...
and have me a treat of a
northern granny to bore,
and become boorish with...
not very unlike pears or
apples...
english women?
sour grapes in the home counties surrounding
London and encompassing Bristol..
come the north?
fireworks in winter!
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:16 PM UTC
I saw David Johansen's straight boy drag queen heart bleeding for the state of being he left the scene in - the euphemisms weighing down the airwaves like bricks chained to the ankles of those selfless enough to take the plunge, the chaos of energy turned to profit margin and the makeup all cried off as the lights go out over the once holy cities
Richey Edwards' truth was carved to his flesh in no uncertain terms - this is real and this is happening and you are just as responsible for it as I am, the Prime Ministers guilty and the preachers guilty and the divine street youth guilty and that guilt was all he had to pack in his suitcase when he left them all behind forever,
They all watched Iggy bleeding from the nose on the pavement in the rain and they all walked away because they had their own **** to deal with and I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't have done the same,
The fight is not yet over, Trotsky closed his eyes believing the fight was not yet over but he never could've imagined how right he was, and the walls of the mausoleum called to me in my acid flashback dreams:
This is the gospel of collapsed veins and broken synapse - the Rapture clocked in at 0 Revolutions per minute and the message scribbled down from whatever could be picked out of the static
Take what you need from this place and go,
If you burn bright enough they will one day count your shattered visage among these lost martyrs -
But that's a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 3:28 AM UTC
These pancakes don't taste like they did,
When Mr. Edwards brought her here.
The waitress pours more coffee, says She'll ask the chef but doesn't think
He's changed the recipe in years.
I'll take 'em back, Ms Edwards. Try
A different breakfast, if you like.
No thanks, she says, don't take 'em back.
Two years now. Even coffee's not
The same as then, tastes weaker like
It's watered down, no better than
The instant kind she makes at home.
She eyes her phone--no messages--
And nowhere else she wants to go.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
She speaks to me
from the screen
of poets
passion
and poetry
The backdrop
a bookshelf
a piano
a nobel man
I listen from my couch
on the bus
from my bed on a Sunday morning
Mesmerised by the poetic of the speaker
The sound of a passing train on its way to Adlestrop
where Edwards captured a moment of ease
But moments can turn in an instant
like Sexton
lost in the obliquity of bad poetry
***
church steeples
Is poetry lost
out the window of the bus in the rain?
If I am a poet am I in danger
like Silvia
of dying in darkness
in the shade of the yew tree?
For she cannot hear me
though I speak to the screen
of my love for poetry and a dream
The silent piano
a ventriloquist
rescues the poet
and her poetry from the fishhouses of gods sea
Yet I cannot believe in a god
who leaves the beggar I see out the window of the bus
to sleep in the rain alone
In the mill
I grind words for politicians
who make the beds of stone
for the beggar to sleep on in the rain
whilst they fatten the pockets
of the privileged and the rich
I board the bus covered in flour
that sticks to me like guilt
for my part in the grinding
But once on the bus
I must follow my heart
unless it is broken
Then I must lead it to mending
through words tied together with strings and feeling
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
Picked it up
When just a kid
Found I had talent
Was just always hid
Play it by ear
No music is read
Lucky that way
It's all in the head
Whip it out!!
Is what I hear say
Whip it out!!
And let's hear you play
Blues is my music
Makes me happy
Blues is the music
My ears plainly see
Jonathan Edwards
In his shanty
Makes room for
Wammer Jammer Dickie
My Harps always there
When happy or sad
I whip it right out
Even when I am mad
My Harp is my Friend
A true pocket Pal
I love my Harmonica
Can't you all tell
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 10:47 PM UTC
My heart
Spaced with holes
Placed there by the blade
Held by Man
Jonathan Edwards believed
Man is evil
Ironic
Me believing the words of a man
Whom is not of my likes
But he's correct
Man is evil
Man is a cavity
Stuck in one place
Causing continuous pain
Man
Killing dreams
Causing catastrophes
Luring innocence astray
My heart
Spaced with holes
Placed there by the blade
Held by Man
No more
I'm saying goodbye
To hearts not of angel
To unloved touched souls
And to this world
This so unkindly world
I smile everyday
But in reality I am unhappy
I am what Man made me
And thats nothing proud to be
I am insane
Too much poison in my veins
Goodbye Man and
Hello grave
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
Quiet whispers from the awaiting sinners
as Johnny receives his penance
4 Hail Marys and 2 Our Fathers
are delivered by Father Edwards
in the customary harsh manor
to Johnny Watson
'he's been in there a long time!
musta' got caught peekin' on his sister takin' a shower!'
giggles echoed off the walls of Saint Ignatius and for a second
I thought I saw Jesus himself slightly raise his head and frown in displeasure
'Shhhhush!' came the immediate response from the pews behind us
filled with the loyal disciples who commit every Sunday morning and more
to God and his church
I was no altar boy
nor did I want to be
but the Catholic church was my guiding light you might say
it was the line between me and those mortal sins
the line that punched God should you cross
but when they wouldn't come to see my mother when she had a stroke…
(they said they didn't do that anymore)
after giving 10% of her hard earned dollars for years and years,
that line began to fade
they took her seed but returned no fruit
they fed her sermons, but disappeared in her darkest hours
left her without a line to her God
without a sinless hand to hold as she was about to journey
to her awaiting Heaven
this gave me grave doubts about the church
made me question it's motives, it's meaning
it's value
then one day I discovered that priests were molesting young children in droves
the Cardinal used the Catholic church's power
to move them from parish to parish
like unwanted guests
instead of sending them to prison
the treachery
innocent children ***** and scarred forever
in the very house of God
by those in whom they placed their trust
when the sacred **** finally hit the fan
the Cardinal was called to Rome by the Pope
this was his punishment
I believe in God
I seek his guidance not through the church
and I fear for the children who's line has disappeared
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
I am the puritan god
That dangles the puritan cross
Above their heads where they stand
At the pulpit of the ******
My brothers mouth gapes open
Chords rumble sweet honey
Shed your fear to dive in
Dawn your habit of sin
O words you have mistaken
Poor words you have forsaken
Clear as day you have created
The hand of an angry god
Sep 26, 2019
Sep 26, 2019 at 1:34 AM UTC