"felonies" poems
We assignment felonies, who got no melody
It be a blessing to breathe but mans can't find the remedy.
School work got us incubated, well tubed in
Hospitalize for ages.
Penned in these cages
A constant grind on the daily.
Once a man emancipate
8 to 5 is gonna hit him with a straight.
From a frying pan to the fire
He's been stuck in a sticky state.
******* in a system that's meant for retire
That's what he gonna inspire.
Beware to those who tryna finesse the system
Life is gonna hit them with an intricate plot.
If you can't Euro-step them in quick time
It gonna be raps, just watch.
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC
My phone buzzes with a text
His eyes dart over, blood shot red.
The angers coming out, palms start to sweat.
I always begged him not to do ****
"Who the **** you textin! Let me ****** read!"
This is how it starts, manipulating my heart,
And beating till I bleed.
I say ***** you don't even own me.
You barely even know me!
Your a ****** fiend and a ****** who claims to only smoke ****
but I know youll never get clean.
Youre an unemployed mommy's boy at the age of 23.
Stop slapping me around and be the **** you claim to be.
If your so ******** then why don't you **** me?"
Suddenly I've got a rope around my neck being dragged across the floor.
His eyes go black as he dishes out more.
Now I'm in the middle of the street,
how the **** did I get here?
I never moved my own feet.
He tackled me to the pavement and I started to scream.
There's a man on the sidewalk ignoring my pleas.
The cops showed up but I denied all these things.
He's sitting in jail but I'll never press charges.
He's got a couple felonies and they found needles in his apartment.
I know he's dangerous but deep down he's sweet.
He only hit me a little, and never put me towards death.
Everyone hates woman that stick up for their beating so I'll lay it to rest.
Maybe my minds just distorted from trying to save a monster on ****
Sep 8, 2015
Sep 8, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
The
***tilt of my seesaw
is decidedly downward facing dog:
and there’s no rush to judgment,
for the powers that be,
be delighted by slow-walking,
making the waiting
max-tortuous,
but am of an age when everything,
even the long buried sins and unkept promises, poke and **** nonstop,
and the formulae once relied upon
to ease incipient self-deception,
to temporize and salve the consternations
of unkempt aggravated remorse failures,
as aged misdemeanors be matured felonies,
I blurt and declare guilt to all, alas,
and yet,
always an
and yet
in the ultimate crushing of
tardiness, knotted by an indignity of silence,
no one is desirous
of taking my***
confession
5:10pm
Thu Jan 28
2023
Jan 30, 2023
Jan 30, 2023 at 3:41 PM UTC
In God We Trust, For He Invented Reasonable Doubt
In Courtroom of the State of New York, Part 62,
where the only decoration extant,
in gold leaf letters,
a magnificent joke,
In God We Trust.
Words so incongruous
to the real time drama,
a poorly acted Law and Order episode
of which I partake,
(as Juror No. 1,
ergo you may address me as
Mr. Jury Foreman),
they stun me into stupefaction
every time we enter and the
Bailiff pronounces with much gravitas,
"Jury Entering"
A potpourri of a dozen Manhattanites,
with wisdom acquired
by the singular virtue of
having attained the robust age of 18,
noteworthy for being free of
criminal record,
having been nominated
to sit upon the jury that will decide
the fate of one Eric B.,
for what he may have done upon West 11th Street
one Summer night in
June Two Thousand and Eleven,
If adjudged guilty,
New York State can take,
incarcerate him for up to
15 years of his life
Predicate felon by the age of twenty seven,
Eric's resume consists of
four felonies,
two misdemeanors
a wife and two little children,
and a partridge in a pear tree.
Facts turgid and muddy,
Eric tells a story
one juror calls a confection of lies,
no one murmurs
much disagreement in the
tiny, overheated room
we have been sequestered to
replay
the 2012 version of
Twelve Angry Men.
But I am not his peer,
nor am I a seer,
common sense says
if appearances are what they seem to be,
he aided and abetted
in the forcible taking of
a nice Connecticut lady's cell phone
with his brother who just happened to be
released from prison earlier that day
A convoluted tale
ripe with inanities is told,
upshot is our defendant's tale,
his robust defense,
portrays him as the unluckiest man
in the whole world,
a good Samaritan,
*{chasing after the thief,
** ** his bro}*
against whom events have conspired
In Manhattan can be a harsh place,
where the natives
a tough lot,
tougher than the Indians from whom
they stole it all.
Our bridges we sell to out-of-towers,
all it takes is one to say,
what the heck,
reasonable doubt is
a ***** to overcome
so let him go
Jan, 2012
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 4:45 PM UTC
why keep people in prison
for their whole life wasting away
when they could be going through
mandatory flight training
for a one-way trip to deep space
who wouldn't want to do that?
people would commit felonies
just to be chosen; & everyone
would understand: like, why did
he **** his whole family? -
he wanted to go into space; oh..
no volunteers will be accepted:
[I've been trying to get into solitary
for years, but they won't let me;
seems u can't just walk up to a cop & say,
I'd like to go to jail please; doesn't work;
u might get into the nut house,
which is okay for bed rest, narcotics & casual ***
but if u want to relax & just read,
it's annoyingly rigid;
solitary confinement would be more spiritual;
isolation, darkness, light, self, emptiness;
living inside a stone cube, just meditating;
day in day out night after night of pure consciousness -
one-way space travel would certainly build character;
if u want to live;
& not self-destruct;
the longer u're out there
the more advanced earth technology becomes
until one day when u're so far out
u can't see the Milky Way, a Space Agent arrives
to check up on u & bring much desired supplies;
"What's **** look like now?"
"What?"
"How much time has passed on earth?"
Temporal equation: the mechanical man speaking
in computer code replies: translating light
into quanta, distorting time so the curious prisoner
can see in virtual 3D artificial reality; so much time
elapsed he can't understand a thing; language purely
visual, people silent;
moving & not moving
but drifting in & out, coming
& going; transient shadows
indistinguishable from the
advertising background;
back in the comfort of cramped life-support,
wide electronic-data screen
windows, mechanical man implants
the virtual reality device all creatures
have now; download completely liberating
the body from mind functioning in its own
sphere; ****** functions taken over by
nanocurcuitry imparting semblance
of spacial autonomy, electrified zombies;
as one after another pulls his plug.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
Astonishingly! This poetry analogy is partially of a prodigy poet! It is of his endearment and endeavorment in our great Government that desecrated, medicated, sedated and segregated him. Doped! Desperately copping and hoping he made it! To add, no dad! An artistically rad-lad through the bad, the glad, the sad and mad. This destiny of a poet is also of apologies, felonies, formalities, legalities and theories.
Furthermore it’s of mournful and scornful-laughter! Capture and rapture, dreamingly and seemingly, chapter after chapter... Pondering and wondering is there a happily ever after? This destiny of a poet is heavenly, randomly and religiously, tellingly of lots of many thoughts! Some adventuresome, awesome, burdensome, fearsome and gruesome! Some loathsome, lonesome and wholesome!
Some of dreams, schemes and many themes! Some deemed and seemed differently, discriminately, indecently or racially true, from some views. Some askew and blue! Some of clues, of Jews, of taboo, tattoos and voodoo! This destiny of a poet; stunningly who could’ve and would’ve thought once, twice or thrice of this price? Of the cheers and peers, the jeers, the leers,
the tears and weary years... Therefore I say, some artist’s
clever art may create, dictate, relate and translate similar-thriller craftsmanship with negative, positive or relative penmanship. However, typically some probably will publicly criticize as a travesty. Some will harmonize, some will publicize or socialize, some will disrespect as imperfect, some will neglect, some will respect as perfect! Hark! I remark; brethren, children and women keep and upkeep that
creative spark! For in the dark or as you embark. Literally, morality and reality is in my poetry and story. Expect excellent, brilliant, decadent, resilient talent and testaments! Basically on final note! I positively devote, quote and wrote these eccentrically optimistic, rhetoric and theoretic poetically lyrical rhyming notes. Finally and bluntly, do not negatively amend, bend, pretend or transcend this end. Amen...
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
Homicide bomber through trial and error
The epitaph moniker scours my name
A sacredot comes to abduct unseen felonies
But you and I will never ever be the same
We neglect the olive branch
We are poles apart
Catacomb undercroft, catacomb deposit box
The cabinet mourns for me
My stigma is lost
Big chill runs through our vertebrae
It can surely be precise
Don't contemplate but ruminate
Extinction will suffice
We respect the villain
We lock horns
Catacomb undercroft
Catacomb deposit box
The cabinet mourns for me
Our stigma is lost
Diuturnal explication
Evanescent predicament
Fabricated blade incision
It cannot be over yet
Diuturnal - explication
Evanescent - predicament
Fabricatedbladeincision
It cannot be over yet
Homicide bomber - trial and error
Epitaph moniker scours my name
Sacredot comes to abduct unseen felonies
You and I will never ever be the same
We neglect the olive branch
We are poles apart
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
Yessir I have felonies
and melodies both melancholy and miraculous
paragraphiculous and ridiculous
stole some shows and some thunder
thighs like two day old pudding slap 'em and ride the waves
sike
drink up some dishwasher detergent chased with lead paint
not for the faint of heart just the stupid as ffffffffuuuuuu when under the right noises
and boyses and girlies all singing their swirlies
and twirlin' 'round like pinwheels of tin steel
ten feet off of the ground
hillsides like pill boxes full of coins and coincidences
unmeasured instances of grief and shame without a blame
no face to force hate just mirrors to show fate
and the stars in the sky with their winking teasing ways all
fall to the ground
will be dead within days
but they are not forsaken, maybe only spared
to avoid seeing the moment when sunny didn't share
and all went dark like absence of creation
animation of fears all mixed and respun into dope dubstep
to be grinded and mashed
and spat back up into the trees
May 29, 2012
May 29, 2012 at 7:19 PM UTC
The sheep are swimming in the Nile; they must be living in denial!
Denial is our best friend, the constitution we must amend!
Guns are our mortal enemies; their only use is to commit felonies
To stop these tragedies, we must impose harsher penalties!
There is no wolf, we will not die; there’s no need to put your life on the line
Sheepdogs are for the paranoid, those who live in a void
Remove the sheepdog and the enemy goes away, to happiness this is the true way
Ban the wolf with a no trespassing sign, surely we’ll be fine
Respect and common courtesy, the wolf will live in harmony
Close our eyes and he goes away, all we have to do is pray
Our herd used to be bigger; we don’t ask questions as long as our denial can deliver
Until our children are in the fire, then the sheepdog we require
But the sheepdog is out of practice, we fired him for “malpractice.”
Ruined by us, he looks no better than us – but he’s not like us
The sheepdog is weak; his sheep made him an antique
But his mind is strong and he’s eager to **** the evil and wrong
Wolves are predators, feeding on the weak; it’s denial they seek
The sheep will never fight, but pray the sheepdog is able to take up their plight
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
Thy blowing blue breakers
sweep overboard,
take color away from
the faces of the men,
washed in white walled foam
and cyanotic sapphire
speak novels in seconds
no well placed punctuation
such is the way of the sea
*I'm searching the heavens
for happy notes
over sour tones
and mis-pitched harmonies.
As I stargaze, I'm trampled
by depressive episodes and felonies.*
Now,
your bold bone breakers
bring drought and salt
but nothing savory here.
Nothing ventured and
nothing gained,
streets washed of life, weeds,
wear and tears
the only water to be found
wasted on self expression
instead of survival.
Such is the bane of our fathers.
Women's feet shuffled like playing cards
and men's backs bare a striking resemblance
- striking? stricken -
to the laugh-lashed shaming
of their own emotional dilapidation.
And might your mind be free
from weather and tears
you have but to hear/see/smell the broken
to become undone
Like so many pages, dead dry leaves
nestled inside leather-bound luxury with a broken spine.
Thy mindless diction fixes
namebrand problems to
hot button topics,
trafficked into pipelines
down polluted broadcasts of
girls girls girls...
Your voice bellows and breaks.
We are nothing.
Whatever color or shape you take,
We are nothing.
Whenever you go and
whichever language you abuse,
remember in your heart that we are
nothing
like
you.
Women's feet shuffle on hardwoods
bringing heart to the beat
as men's whitewashed canvases carry
the quintessence of quixotic movements
in and about key changes
the same as we paint our love
around the fringes of each other
and frame unfamiliar faces in lip-locked sepia
blushing, brushing
we carry the color of previous strokes until
we are each our own historic hue
staining others for future use
in cobalt, mauve, maroon, chartreuse
We harness our pain
in the alchemy of experience
to create beauty.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 1:29 PM UTC
She smiles like a Cheshire Cat,
And it makes me laugh to think of how she sways her hips, walking away while looking back, like a professional acrobat.
"Live with me! I'll cook for you!"
The cologne
of her ex
on her skin,
as she coos
into my ear,
"Oops,
dropped my phone."
She bends her neck to let me see her *******
(which jiggle as she giggles at a joke I never said)
I don't trust her. Not at all.
But I'm flattered by her clear attempt to sell me in the mall.
Maybe it's Maybelline,
Maybe it's methamphetamine
(Or the bruises on her arm)
Or her pupils stretched with a line,
Of black paint past her felonies,
Past the "no trespassing" sign.
Past her oceanic iris,
Curving to her brow,
Like a coy, reserved, egyptian lynx,
Poised while on the prowl.
Maybe it's her melancholy glance,
Sent off towards some memory,
Of a redwood where she kissed-
How she looks away when she sits,
To my left,
her eyes, motioning
to some tempting offscreen thing...
I don't know what drug she worships,
But it's got her shivering.
"I love you like I love rock music
(But keep your clothes on)
I love you like I love the Steinhart aquarium,
(But keep your clothes on),
I love you like I love the cinema,
(But thanks for the compliment)"
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:37 AM UTC
Life as a kid not thinking about much
Nothing about sadness, pain, and such
Little did she know that drugs would soon become a stress-relieving crutch
It all started simple; teen rebellion; all for fun
Nothing too serious, nothing really done
Years passed and life became more intense
Happiness now costing hundreds, and no longer cents
She started to realize that things were slowly getting worse
Scared, confused, and far too deep into everything
She blamed god for the curse
Her eyes gazed upon the sky, while tears streamed across her cheeks
And slowly fell off of her face
Wondering why she had become such a waste
So frustrated with her actions she decided to ease the pain with a knife
This river of blood revealed a new low in her life
She came to realize that ends do not always meet
So felonies were committed in order to pass defeat
All of her funds were for fun, whose duration was only measured in brevity
Distraught over the shortness, and the time that had been wasted away
Now realizing that dogs are not the only strays
Walking down the street she is passed by
Many stares from strangers due to the power of her cry
Vacant and empty without a feeling or remorse
Distraught about her actions, and their inherent course
Envisioning her family and loved ones alike
Makes each step and each breath a more painful might
Too close to the lives she has hurt and destroyed
Too angry with herself and far too annoyed
Thinking about her so-called life makes her sick
That it all ended with prayers, regrets, and a single click.
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
Disregarded, no thanks.
I no longer fall for the pranks.
I withdraw my cash from the bank.
On a scale of one to ten how do I rank?
Poverty stenches & stank.
Stale & untrusted.
Broken, abandoned, & undusted.
Defeated, hobbled, & now rusted.
Felonies & misdeameanors busted.
Lawbreakers, corruded & crusted.
Marry a man with a job & a van.
Who does all that he can.
My secret wish on a shooting star.
To stop getting drunk at the bar.
A walk to his momma's house isn't far.
Work ethics get my kiss.
Employment was my wish.
Success is our bliss.
Like jawbreakers dangerous & senseless.
Civilization settlers & makers.
Pioneers, homemakers, waiters, bakers, & Quakers.
The towns folk are usually broke.
Different walks of life is no joke.
Occupations & professions of a wife.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 1:22 AM UTC
At first I did love you,
but then the rain caught up.
Always thinking of you,
laying dormant on your crest.
To drink until you blurred,
until as velvet as the mist.
When I grow up, I'll be cool.
Smoke until my lungs float.
Drink until my body's a pool.
Think of people with three felonies,
singing the same penitiary melodies.
Think of girls that said no,
love that diminishes
while a fetus grows.
I'll think of my dad growing up
under a different circumstance.
Think if my mom could hear,
she'd probably like to dance.
Think of my grandpa and my brother,
one isolating, one with too much love--
I wish it'd smother
me, under a Christmas tree,
whispering, 'I wish I could give more,
but all I have is me.'
At first I did love you,
but the frame spills metal guts.
Always thinking of you,
the way your eyes, wide shut.
To think of a turn,
I watched it blur,
the glass shattered.
The paramedics mimicked me,
lifting me up,
'What's the matter?'
When I grow up, I'll be dope.
Find a nice blond and maybe elope.
Shake into her what was stirred into me,
and tell her not to mistake it for chemistry.
And bleed no more, so she doesn't believe,
that there used to be a weaker me,
but it's hard to control a certain circumstance--
like, what if my mom wished to dance?
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
On my way to the attic,
each step creaks
protesting.
I’ve worn this path smooth.
I reach the landing
and turn.
You sit there
on top of a stack of boxes
easy-access
composed, legs swinging
insouciantly
I brush off the light
layer of dust,
open you up to the dark room
and take out a golden trophy.
After reminiscing, I return it.
You put your clothes back on;
I fold you shut and walk away.
You don’t bother taping your seams
you never did.
What we do isn’t pretty.
We aren’t two starlings
in our own murmuration;
we are a ****** of crows.
Our dance is getting away with felonies.
Take it from a jail bird
a trophy is no occupation.
You watched as I was polished and shelved,
captive after a year
of looking for a champion.
She had me cast
at the start of that long year
well before she clinched her title.
I was touted around, then passed on.
She never dusts me off, dear.
That is why I smudge your sheen
I have no shimmer left myself.
That is why you stay
you seek the heft
of my cast-iron company,
the weight we have borne
six years without touch
sixty ****** crime dramas
six hundred batches of half-baked cookies
six thousand nights in.
You are my memorabilia.
I just don’t want your dust to settle as mine has.
I want you to dance, gilded, on the sky.
On my way to the basement,
each step squeaks
inviting.
I’ve worn this path smooth.
I reach the foot.
Brothers greet, glasses clink,
plumes build, couches sink.
The ceiling dances with golden trophies
all with your composure
gleaming
legs swinging.
Nov 16, 2012
Nov 16, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
At a glance, she stole my breath away.
A word then took my heart.
But I love her for these felonies,
As they are surely art.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
Do u love him
Like I love him
Is love like attention
Indivisible?
My love is not spread
Deep water I know I tread
Do you love him
Like I love him?
You have thoughts and memories
I have hope and felonies
My son is my son
my one and only
Here I stand unboldly
Wondering if coldly
you love him,
Like I love him?
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
The flicker of a cigarette lighter
cheap cardboard against each other
it ignites, radiating warmth and danger simultaneously
lit up this whole world to display it's true colors
ones that are astringent and brusque
colder than what our eyes absorb in the darkness
Seconds dwindle and off it goes
extinguished in facades of shame
a smug expression it leaves behind
knowing that it has escaped.
However the wisps of smoke breeze past
as evidence of it's felony.
| felonies - m.m |
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
Keep your heart blank,
Get up, let’s get drunk,
They take you for granted,
You shouldn't be so frank.
You heart wants another love
Mind says, no!!!, no more,
Don’t be piece of their puzzle,
Keep her ego at the door.
Look ahead, erase your memories,
Redundant episods and felonies,
Set each neuron of your brain,
To bless you with festive melodies.
Your life should be a fortunate roll,
Keep your head up, no more of a fall,
In whomever your heart wants to believe,
Escape that feeling, make her crawl.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
Good friends hard to come by
I ride and I die for mine
Names kept ananymous since we have the same enemies
But we gradually grew
Caught the same felonies
They are 24 in their young kobe stage
Me 23 in my Jordan era at 26
The peak of my career
Never blamed the game
Just the situation
I want to shine with those I was dimmed with
I want to eat with those who I starved with
I want shop with those who I robbed with
I want to laugh with those who I cried with
Water that is thick as blood
Those is who I swimm with
We've done lied
Blew trial and scape town with each other
Friends like mine you'll never find
Bring out the good and the bad in us at the same time.
Though I learned from each one
Middle one dropped out of high school
Oldest one dropped out of college
I finished both
So I gained books and street knowledge
These are my brothers
We started at distant cousins
Now inseparable like two magnets
One nephew two nieces
How God blessed me
Next year it might just be me
That's JI and KD
We aren't friends no more
Nor distant cousins
We thick as blood
Brothers
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 10:12 AM UTC
I was one who was entrenched in that rugged terrain,
feeble minded surrounded by pain
I thought using and selling drugs was my life in totality
little did I know I was getting closer to fatality
I don't know why in this life we become so asphyxiated
meaning I could not breath in a world that was fabricated
3or4 felonies would have you living in a facility without a destiny,
now that is a travesty
God it is you that my heart is relying
I can't go know more because my spirit is dying
Give me the keys to open up the gate
I'm sick of the struggle, hostility and hate
As I look inside to rid of some my pain
God I ask you to help me maintain.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC