"greenbacks" poems
she had an uncle who spent
twenty years in the ring,
landing solid blows until
he landed
in a downtown Oakland hotel,
older than he, wrecking ball got it
in the dawn of the cyber age
but for ten droning years,
it was his cage
he never had a title shot
but he kept his belly full
and had cash for the women, the drink
never drove a car, cabbies knew him
and knew the smell of gin meant
“keep the change”
when his legs got weak
and his left eye went to blur
the money stopped rolling in
but he still thirsted for the gym, the gin
he got himself a gig at Big G’s
just enough hours to clean out the showers,
to keep the johns from smelling of ****
and a few greenbacks comin’ his way
he would end each day
alone in his room, inhaling the gloom
that seeped over the transom
like smoke from a smoldering fire
but there was no fire left in the ancient hotel
or Parrot’s burned up belly
only fading memories
of a wounded warrior
who taunted his opponents
by mimicking every word they said
in the ring, where he earned a bird’s name
but never its sweet song, before time
took its tattered toll
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
Lush mango groves
where the musky scent of mango blooms
once wafted making the
bulbuls sing in ecstasy
from morning till sundown
are reborn as gated communities,
where grim seriousness parade.
In sun drenched vineyards,
shadows of dreams,
wanting to dress up as IT parks, spread.
Bangalore barters its medley of colors and smells
for prosperity in terms of greenbacks,
as people learn to be 'smart' players,
and more and more get 'Bangalored'*
from around the world.
Corn fields that danced to the tunes
of the songs of toiling farmers
go missing within days.
To match with the new mood,
nature, in this green paradise, till not so long ago
shamelessly wears the unnatural with style.
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
You need to pay a sin tax
for the way you talk smack,
calling me your property
your syntax is making me
over. the. hill.
I’m heels over head with
you
making me crazy
the way that you speak
your diction’s too weak.
“you’re so nice”
how boring, I choose more
elegant words
to describe your glory
I could write
a five-page double-spaced
essay about you
and get accepted to your ivy league
I could wrap my
arms around you
like ivy on stone
hang you up to dry
on the
clothesline
til you answer the
telephone
I could cling to
you
like static
on your sweater
you better
not
flick.me.off.
Hell, my poetry ain’t free
it’s about as free as
slaves
I have confines, rules
bats in caves
It costs me thoughts
and time
and frustration
costs me more than just greenbacks
and a vacaction.
you need to pay up
talk isn’t cheap
your words cost you
attention
even if
my love don’t cost a thing
I train you like a golden
retriever
you retrieve my orders
like a wide receiver
my language is figurative
but your actions are derivative
you’re confusing me
like
trigonometry
love triangles are not my thing.
our
l θve i ∫ a sin(x)
cos we go off on
tangents and don’t know where to
begin
first we’re infatuated
then we’re done
next we’re inebriated
then we have some fun
happens so fast
then we come together at last
This rollercoaster of emotion
has me puking again
I’m trying to calculate this algorithm
in my head.
its so complicated
I’ll need something else instead.
in this kaleidoscope
I see
many sides
of you and me
I spin it round to try to understand
all I see is a blur of colors
even when I hold your hand.
I wish I could see
the thoughts you hide
from me
I want to understand
you’re radioactive
your face is glowing
even in pitch black
your smile is showing
but, I never get to see
your eyes
make me crazy
hazy
they trip me up
and pull me down
periodically, you’re in your element
and everything clicks
then we stick and the chemistry’s quick
but then you open your mouth
garbage spurts out
I think it’s about time
I take you out
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 2:06 PM UTC
make a move
that’s what we
the busy bodies
are tryin to do
quick come ups
hittin licks
catchin people slippin
not workin
to build wealth
instead we flash
little riches that bring
those groupie *******
floatin through life
livin off your riches
givin that hot applause
leavin u wincin while u ******
cause u quick to pop off
in all these breezys
wit no latex
**** the safe ***
you like it raw when u beat
so does Millie the freak
babe had her eye on you
from down the street
knew you were gonna cheat
got u sippin on some potion
gettin them emotions
down below in motion
if you slowed down
you would have noticed
her track record
4 for 6 wit 5 kids
left the other 2 clappin
now they ***** need bibs
like that 6th baby
you just slid in this lady
yeah u pulled out
but the precum
got her period lazy
its not comin back
till after yo son's arrival
congrats gangsta
you a daddy now
10 yrs later
U Still aint slowed down
you lived fast enough
for two lifetimes
hood ****** get jealous
they say its your time
they don’t slump you
they want the next in line
cause u stole his timeline
puttin a tragic end
to another brothas bloodline
from them greenbacks
that brought green eyes
that lead to hot heads
who shoot that hot lead
to slow you down
so they can get ahead
slow down young men
the fast life soon will end
with black suits and tears
a eulogy from your peers
no child should die like
a pawn in a chess game
played in the streets
by the blood and crip gangs
dealers who sell dope
and shoot guns
cause they too scared to bang
my advise is
wise up and do right
or fall victim to this life
and crash in the fast lane
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 4:19 AM UTC
Thatcher vacuum seals nicotine
Slurps cigarette like mosquito
Ravenous lungs gnaw and grind for the slow pander,
Thatcher’s just another name for the labeling
We plaster and pine for an out,
Stitch that finite lie beneath squeamish child skin,
Thatcher’s the black lung paradise,
******* infancy coddling cigarette stifle,
The caloric crack of his canines fletching out lust and sickly groove
As he’s scopes out fiend and vexed vandals,
Clutches the sick theistic **********
Cuddle those bruise licked hips
Give God the gross percent,
Cause heaven’s in those greenbacks
and God’s in the ******* kick,
Suckling bout the American tip
The Christian capitol,
Seething on shadow puppet ****** and American dream,
Gods got nothing to do with the slickened crinkle of gain and glamour,
Thatcher’s just the candy man give and cult,
Cough the crutch of contagion greed
And clutch the cuff of your porcelain sleeve,
Thatcher gleans your blackest suite tight,
Struts raven blade shoulders perched on American made spine,
Thatcher does as Thatcher please,
Thatcher thinks as Thatcher bleeds,
And Thatcher bleeds venereal blend,
Gout with the American veneer of broken girl and scabbed moral traumatic,
Trauma tastes as the hollow pixies give out the get out,
Bandaged baby girls,
The teenage horror show,
Just another blazoned hit of one two take the hand me down generic give away,
Desensitize the humanize,
Girls got to get the days glossy puff and sniff,
Thatcher’s content to satisfy,
Callous coroner a spectator suckling Marlboro lick,
Lodging thick smoke and toxin between spittle slick lips,
Albino plumes clotting and unfolding,
Thatcher clicks back the cartridge
Filter and cigarette,
Thatcher gulps back the need because brain’s got a favoring kink for the buzz,
Thatcher sings with the screaming in his straggling lungs,
Hums the western creed
Laughs fickle with God at his need,
Thatcher’s the true American dream
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
White american men with
gold retriever dogs
smoke black hatred,
not recognizing a grey smog.
Scared of black, brown --
all atheists are ill --
but not afraid of greenbacks
or guys named Bill.
Okay.
Here's your day job. Here's your pay, Bob.
America the great.
If terrorists equal Muslim
then Christians equal hate.
You say it's not victimization.
You say it's not a hunt.
You say it's not intimidation,
but sometimes I think you
see people as witches, ****
Christ is the answer, indeed.
Without Him we're all lost
and our souls will never be freed.
Like tears frozen in the frost.
Bibles, crucifixes to fix the diseased mind.
How much does a prayer have to cost
to be genuinely kind?
Chemtrails stain pages
and bleed as curses.
Gay rights to be denied,
according to bible verses.
Nursery rhymes and cult games,
all in the good old King James.
Archaic and inane,
like an alter sheltered brain.
Here's your day job. Here's your pay, Bob.
Use the check to pay
angels and evangelists.
Protect yourself from ideas,
and buy a white picket fence.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 12:22 AM UTC
Passing judgment is subjective,
it’s in the eyes of the beholder.
You know it, don’t do it.
It goes something like you point a finger at someone
& they're four pointing back at you.
Like who makes anyone a judge & jury?
That’s right, arrogance.
It’s usually themselves,
spilling volumes about how righteous they are.
They’re what some label a smokescreen character,
a ******* flimflam artist,
holier than thou, you know the type.
They wouldn’t last ten seconds in a firefight.
Bottom line: trust no one, not even yourself.
I saw family members
give up their relatives
to make a buck.
That’s right, greenbacks.
A regular family-affair.
Imagine selling out blood for paper.
We called it a war on terror.
They called it Jihad.
It didn’t matter what anybody called it.
There was no God involved.
Just human nature & people pointing fingers.
The same old show,
the same old ****
dogs & ponies
one upping each other.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 8:27 PM UTC
Image based, and
position placed,
to keep society spaced,
image of peace erased.
Individuals put in groups,
separated by bodies,
as Congress lobbies,
preparing forbidden fruits.
People told to turn a blind eye.
Focused on the one atop the pyramid.
"Spend greenbacks, don't sigh!"
These are government truths!
Not a marketable lie!
Human soul for sale;
morals thrown out to no avail.
Industry infiltrates and states:
Conformity: You'll win, not fail.
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
alarm clock set for early morning
wails and peels without fair warning
rub my eyes in an effort to see
surprised to wake up in the state of VT
what is this, where did it go
whats a po’ boy doing far from buff’lo
where be the park, the lake and da’ strip
where are the people with the stiff upper lip
why leave the breeze, the squalls, the kimmelweck
the taverns where gran’pa drank anisette
that sycamore growin’ on Franklin street
the angst that consumed a community beat
the grimy grey skies to summers impossibly
what happened to lead me to the state of VT?
{not right to accuse others of conceit
why play handball with self deceit?
far better to accept the things that be
and apply my emotions, stoically}
for one place is much like the other
careers are for greenbacks, that’s why the bother
of numbers and lawyers, of panels of priests
up north, out west, down south and back east
I am dissolved in a prelude that leads to eternity
with so many points available, might as well be VT
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 10:02 AM UTC
At times I sit
Back and relax
from the daily disappointment
of another failed attempt
to make a milli
out of 2 greenbacks
and a shiny penny
so money i lack
due to employers
not callin a brotha back
"dont worry Wayne"
"i dont care about that"
"im really feelin you"
"i got yo back"
her name was Elaine
beautiful black woman
skinned the finest brown
kept my head off the ground
facing up to the sky
with all the confidence
of a grown *** man
till the week my luck
ran out like
our well ran dry
i was victim of nonsence
moms got word that
i smashed in the backseat
snatched back the keys
havent seen ol' girl since
lookin up to ask
what more can happen
i recieve a call
that put me on my ***
my one thang from
around the way
was seen at the mall
hugged up wit women
i put the phone down
cause im mad as hell
turned to the liquor
tilted the bottle
maybe i can find
that hidden message
pour up the brown
so i can sip
till i cant tell
this ********
aint just in my mind
Courvoisier or Hennessy
Remy Martin too
when i find my
next one thang
the brown got my back
when im in the groove
kissing the lips
of that beautiful child
born of kings and queens
of kingdoms not crack
workin a 9 to 5
not depending on
the next coke move
relieving her stress
while breaking that back
blast off at 9
cause her love
might taste so divine
scratch me up
then we goin till 5
i know i wont
be that 60 second man
and let her down
cause the brown got my back
i figured out my problem
just gotta lay that
brown **** down
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 4:37 AM UTC
Twice the light burns heat.
Submarine finds the mind in a deep sea sleep.
If only.
Lie still and silently cry out to the dark.
Listen to the drip drip drop of the faucet.
A pocket watch.
You plead for the pulse thump to stop.
Agonizing over greenbacks and life plans
Paralyzing thoughts of What’s next? And where now?
Questions void of answers.
Answers crammed with doubt.
The red sticks re-arrange once more.
Bargaining with time declines result.
She has it in for you friend.
A million memories churn and wrestle
While each flickering moment blurs away.
Straining to relax,
Exhausting yourself to find peace.
And there it is.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Tomorrow.
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 7:07 PM UTC
The monetary balance has gone crazy
In this world we call our home,
The fiscal market's shot to hell
Stock collapsing like a stone.
The hedge deals are un sellable
Most banks refuse to loan
Good real estate is valueless
The roof's a "Plummet Zone".
Oh yes the suits are stepping out for air
And falling like a stone,
Termination of their worries
Beats explanations on the phone.
There's always a dependable
To help clean up the place,
And oblivion's a better option
Than awkward questions and disgrace.
Capitulating companies,
Whole nations in default
The piggy banks are bulging
With the greenbacks from the vault.
The banks refuse to part with cash
Lines of depositors do queue
And the finance houses shut their doors
Explaining, briefly, "Well...Fuck you!"
Heads of Government meet and talk
The photo ops are really grand,
Banner headlines in the daily's
Report resolutions that seem bland.
The fanfare and the hoopla
Announce the remedy is payoffs....
And global confidence is sprinting
For the trees...In panicked chaos!
But the C.E.O's are catered for
Their future is secure,
There's several million tucked away
In the Cayman Island tour.
Unfortunate about the desolation left behind
But these things are bound to happen
When the blind do lead the blind.
There will be some opportunities,
Some bargains coming up
And the prudent keep the check book close
For when the number's up...
Of all those struggling little people
Who bravely slave away
And collapse before they realize
Their firm's capacity to pay.
So What's around the corner?
Do we hide our heads in sand?
Do we kiss our **** goodbye
And join the suits in splatter land?
Or do we bravely hoist our trousers
Hitch our belts another notch,
And convince ourselves that someone
Higher up has got the watch
And the ability to work out
What the hell is going on..
And deliver us from evil
Before the world is ****** gone?
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge.
8th October 2008
Oct 23, 2009
Oct 23, 2009 at 2:54 PM UTC
With graduation behind us, my friends, thus began an epoch of slow anxious waiting filled with wonderful times. We ran rampant keeping third party mothers alert and sleepless, while our parents rested soundly knowing we were in good hands: our own. Thoughts of the impending college cold bath swam excitedly in my head, causing soft building of an expectation of golden years.
“””” Part 2
The summer came to an end and I was off to the university, five minutes down the road. It was a weird day. No opportunities came to play out the wonderful situations I made up in my head, months ago. So I felt down in the bouts and, staring at the road, I must have found a million dollars in heads up pennies. So I thought I should lift my head up, like Lincoln, but then I remembered what the history book said. Old Abe was a lawyer without any schooling, and he had the other job too. O yeah, I think he was president. Sitting in class I know I could learn much more than this drunk bro next to me, who will be my doctor someday. Learn more by just lying on the floor at home reading a book or two. But still I have to stay to earn our little paper licenses that say “thank you for your time and your money too. Now here’s some of your money back, over the next 70 years. But, you’ll never get back your time. In fact, we want more of your time if you ever wanna see some of your precious greenbacks again.” And you need a microscope to read all those words cause they want to save money, paper, trees, and all of our gleaming plasticized hopes and dreams.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
My kid is better than yours
We live perfect lives
on our spotless floors
with our noses so high
they touch the vaulted ceilings
in our perfect house
on a perfect street
We are the Jones's
except I cry myself to sleep
My husband and I don't even speak
unless it's about our perfect darlings
who can do no wrong
We are a nuclear family
I'm just waiting for the bomb
Johnny's a bully and Mary's a brat
But no one will notice anything
but our greenbacks
I lost myself so long ago
I stopped keeping track
It's a beautiful life
And I'm the perfect wife
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
Lake Erie Blues
alarm clock set for early morning
wails and peels without fair warning
rub my eyes in an effort to see
surprised to wake up in the state of VT
what is this, where did it go
whats a po’ boy doing far from buff’lo
where be the park, the lake and da’ strip
where are the people with the stiff upper lip
why leave the breeze, the squalls, the kimmelweck
the taverns where gran’pa drank anisette
that sycamore growin’ on Franklin street
the angst that consumed a community beat
the grimy grey skies to summers impossibly
what happened to lead me to the state of VT?
{not right to accuse others of conceit
why play handball with self deceit?
far better to accept the things that be
and apply my emotions, stoically}
for one place is much like the other
careers are for greenbacks, that’s why the bother
of numbers and lawyers, of panels of priests
up north, out west, down south and back east
I am dissolved in a prelude that leads to eternity
with so many points available, might as well be VT
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
Isn’t it interesting how some people are caught up in their dream world?
Broadcasting “Life Is Good” …unaware of those living in the real world.
Self indulging humans only thinking of themselves,
When there so much they could contribute to those that lack wealth.
For God sake, get off Facebook and make a difference in someone’s life.
Share your heart with them and help them wipe the tears from their eyes.
Put some greenbacks in their pocket; be there often to be a mentor and a best friend.
And maybe someday you’ll help them ascend to the life is good trend.
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
Invisible chains clang in silence.
No way to unlock the grip.
Allowed to breathe,
but not aloud.
The tourniquet of legalized *******
Freedom.
Inhale a plant to ease the pain.
Consequences of breaking rules.
The twists of the oppressor,
constricts choice.
The tourniquet of legalized *******
Freedom.
Working automaton.
Wages suppressed.
Military might all around,
to keep the greenbacks flowing.
The tourniquet of legalized *******
Freedom.
Screaming in quietude,
Not freedom... Prison.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 3:47 PM UTC
You've got snakesnakesnakeskins
dripping from your sickeyessickeyes, guy,
and you've got blackblackblacktar ******
caked on your chuckle chuckle grinnygrin.
Your words are a dragon I can chase over foil
for fickle sizzle pop forever.
It's a rusty hammer death sickle
sweet smoke smile shiver and
I'm nodding out to your sentences.
Sicklesaysigh
I'm sentenced to silenceness and
you're a scalped and skinned pegasus.
You've ripped out your own spine and
your promises are gold dust greenbacks
flowing through my fingertips and
melting into **** that useless ****
I'm a damselfly ready to cry.
Please, please just roll those dreaded die
See me sigh down down coo cooo lullaby.
Fly, fly my up up me up up and
I'm gonna transcend this mess.
I'm gonna transcend this madness.
Think nine moves ahead
this is chess and you're
a linguistic hurricane.
You're a tornado of
uncontrolled desire.
You walk through walls of fire now.
You let your actions burn you
like you did your bridges.
Hell is here on earth,
but don't let it get to you.
Be of water and spirit and
let it flow through you.
From the ashes there is life,
you know you're carbon based.
Fuckin' coal trolls.
Be a bridge,
quit hiding.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
1.2 million tickets
each minute
@ 2 bones a pop
a nation in crisis
gambles for ½ a billion
while claiming that jihadist
extremists
are crazy –
I bought two
spent 4 greenbacks
for a shot
at financial solvency
the ability to help
my fellow man
family and friends
have the dream built
with oak and mahogany –
seekers freaking out
as the jackpot grows
no winners
no turkey dinners
just a mass
of humanity
desperate –
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:27 PM UTC
Hollywood didn't have to spend
tens of millions of greenbacks
on a fantasy feature
about apes ruling a planet.
All they had to do
was make a documentary film
about the world's current leadership.
It would have been
much cheaper
& a hell of a lot
more realistic.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 3:07 PM UTC
it’s a Lincoln penny love,
a Washington dollar,
an Eisenhower dime,
or is it a Roosevelt?
a Jackson twenty,
‘what’s money?’
its the scratch, the dough,
some cheddar
fifty cent, hell bent,
greenbacks,
smackeroonies, baby
‘daddy?’
a buck darlin’,
a Hamilton,
a ***
some Franklins,
a hole in your pocket
‘in my pocket?’
a deuce, some beans,
some jingling nickels,
rocks in the bank,
a stack in the kitchen
‘daddy, tell the truth’
its a diplomatic swindler,
an accidental cruelty
manufactured in holy casinos
called capitalism
‘I don’t know those words’
its a carrot that puts down riots,
fights, I mean,
a fortress of glitter and cyanide
we fight for and within through lonely
comas of obedience
‘let’s talk about something else’
its the mint that grew
in the temple of Juno,
goddess and protector of
the Roman state
‘I like mint’
me too
‘is money mint?’
money is minted,
so, kinda
‘but you can’t eat money
like mint
and you can't make tea’
that’s very true...
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 5:42 AM UTC
**** the Poor
And eat their soup
Trample on the small folk
They are always broke
**** the poor
And eat their soup
Rake in all the greenbacks
I tell you its no joke
**** the Poor
And eat their soup
Cause I want more , more , more
Six feet under you must snore, snore, snore
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 10:55 AM UTC
Midori trees and
Verde fields, no greenbacks on
Emerald Isle
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 2:09 AM UTC
With
all those
Russian tanks
advancing
why are boys at
Lockheed Martin
popping corks
and dancing
like there's
greenbacks to
be gained...?
Mar 14, 2022
Mar 14, 2022 at 2:11 AM UTC
I'm just waiting for that mail,
One delivered post-haste,
To cure me of my malaise,
It'll tell me that my greenbacks weren't a waste,
and that everyone is waiting on me to dust myself off,
and that they weren't ungrateful.
I'd be relieved and go for a little Smirnoff.
Jul 15, 2017
Jul 15, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC