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Semihten5 Aug 2017
a  grifter's job
a piece from the shore is disappearing every moment
in front of the eyes of witness
silently

it doesn't leave any fingerprints
such unprecented ever since

maybe there is no appeal of the coast
because grifter is someone coast's loves

this relatioship goes on
since the world was

grifter not worries at all
My morals are a patchwork
Stitched together from various other minds
A well worn quilt I wrap myself in for security
For blameless justification of a deformed belief system
Twisted and gnarled with an arthritis of the spirit
A hollow vessel made into a crock ***
Full of someone else's *******
Stirred by resentment
Stewed in fear and
Served with anger
To mask my ignorance and indifference
I have a reputation for trivialities
Snippets of soundbites
Subliminally soldered
Onto my sub-conscious
Where they acquire the character
Of authoritative wisdom
More pious than a prophet!
Holier than an ancient sage!
I am a 21st century shaman
A guru grifter
Embryonic episodes
Aborted for mass consumption
Over cocktails and hor dourves
Garrett Lydecker Nov 2012
What are we search for?
Up sleeve cigarettes and better living through chemistry.
Looking at the stars, inaction we fall for the grifter's pitch
Didn't you hear? The search is over
A man in white found the stone
The elixir

Promising perfection the politician pours pompous profanities while princes pause for prudence and the purser pushes prophetic pleas of profit. Pure precedent presented fresh to the world.


And we cry "what say do we have in these matters?"

I will cry no more
No more will I feel helpless
For I have all the power in my world
If the heavens would rain fire
I shall command the seas to rise
I will stretch out my limbs
roots growing deep, deep down into the raw earth
And when the star appears in the heavens
Reach to chant its praise.
N E Waters Jan 2020
Here you are
*******

water ways
you reached the gate

but broken strings
and boken wings
left no coins upon your eyes.

Oh I'm sure you're not
to blame.
I'm sure you'll say
you're not to blame.

Can holes break
like hearts
or are you just
the waves
swerving
moving
claiming mysteries of
the moon
but predictable
in patterns
with fits
not far apart;
your spill fills
holes
but do they break
like hearts?

Or are you here
to pull him down
sailors sail but
sailors also drown.

You feel so low
so you pull them down.

No rest for the wicked, so
no rest for the rest

I know you say
you tried your best

But even the river
moves on
in the end.

Sucker hole
stuck at the gate.
Now unpaid
blank eyes
always.


The cost of the world you alienate
is now you're gone;
just wakes of hate.
no one cares to pay
your toll.

No rest for the wicked, so
no rest for the rest

I know you say
you tried your best

But even the river
moves on
in the end.

Even the river moves
on.
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Looks like we're headed for mean season
I gave you rhyme when you needed reason
And it's a shame our ways have shifted
Passive clown, unknown grifter

Burning bridges ain't as fun as it looks
Head of bricks and a heart that cooks
Spin the top, board the pirate ship
Lobotomy's botched and so are my lips

He said, "You're riding for a terrible fall"
But stone cold statues always stand tall
How many roads till you find the right path
Everybody dies, do the math

Looks like we're headed for strange reasons
To a place that never has seasons
And it's a shame our heads have shifted
Mature clown, widowed mistress
julian Sep 2010
we lived in the same house once-
he showed me how to break into my own room-
that's why i think he stole sixty bucks off me-
i guess it was a pre-installment-
a payment for a time somewhere down the line-
he swallowed his pride in order to swallow food that day-
yet he lied about his name-
i knew it-
i call him "the grifter"-
spring night crept in-
i hung out with him for most of the day-
i did not want to show him my sleeping spot-
i tried to make a break for it-
he followed-
in the end-
it was him that shared a sleeping spot-
we snaked ourselves into the transport-
quiet cozy i may say-
warm also-
i dreamed that he stole my last five bucks-
it was just a dream-
i don't think i have seen or talked to him since-
maybe i just walked the other way-
third part of the homeless series...all of which are based on my homeless experience...true story...
:0
Vivek Sharma Aug 2016
who broke you?
a lover,
a stranger,
a drifter,
a grifter,
a bolt
of lightning?

now,
get back up,
brush it off
fix yourself
and walk.
a reminder to self
PJ Poesy Jan 2019
If I told him once I told him a million times. I said to him, " Manny, this is not a magical kingdom and your name's not Mickey. So, get out!" You think the message would sink in but noooo. Manny being the stubborn sort just kept ignoring me. Well, a good couple of months have passed and I'm nearly at wits end with him. Rotten little rodent. I tried spring traps only to find the bait cleanly removed and no spring sprung. I put steel wool in every conceivable crevice and notch he could possibly enter. Somehow that mouse would find his way. Now my flat happens to be a three story walk up and it's no easy task for me getting up those stairs, I just can't figure how a short stubby grubby little grifter like Manny might manage it or even bother. There's plenty more morsels to be found down at street level, especially with Sister Dawn's Soul Food next door. Yet Manny seems to always have a hankering for whatever I might be stirring up on my stove top. Can't say I blame him after the two times I've eaten Sister Dawn's greased grime. I guess I really only have myself to blame for the second plunge into that gastronomical wreckage. So, how could I blame poor Manny for wishing to elevate his senses for more refined dining? Not that I see my own sorcery in the kitchen much finer than Sister Dawn's, it's just it is. In any case, I'm pretty sure Manny might have been pushed out of an all too overcrowded family affair next-door anyhow. I certainly wouldn't want him bringing in any others. His gal Ethel Vermen and his cousin Ratzo are no more welcome than Manny Mouse himself. So I remind him daily, this not being a magical kingdom and all business. Got some glue traps and upped the ante with peanut butter for bait. Does he bite? Well, you know Manny, too clever to be caught he is. Until, that infamous night of revelry, when no creature is silent, and the music is maddening, and the drunks are drunker, all awaiting that New Year's babe to be born. And after months of chasing, after months plotting and planning, keeping the cupboards under lock and key, after midnight raucousness chasing a furry grey bitty beast from under the fridge to under the stove then under the sink, turning over tables and chairs, stomping like a madman, finally Manny and I come face to face. There he is run into that glue trap he managed to avoid forever seemingly snickering as he always got away, but now I had him. His head cinches between the double-ended prongs of my Ginsu serrated twelve inch knife. Finally Manny will pay for all his pilfering. There he is looking so woeful as his beady reflective eyes sear a plea of mercy into mine. I draw back the curved ergonomically designed handle of my Ginsu blade and with a fast flit of one prong slit cunningly into his ribcage. The squeak is short. I see his chest swell, a tiny heart pumps its last two beats. It is over. It is a new year for man.
Miri Kane Jul 2010
Time and circumstance exposed their twisted bodies,
Not caring to ask if I were ready.
I didn’t ask to empathize or recognize a feeling,
That may be leaving as soon as I taste it.
I didn’t ask to be something the wind could have it’s way with,
Someone that hangs on a word and can be debilitated by a look.
I remember welcoming the ground, in search of pennies on the sidewalk.
The way my granny taught me to.
If I had a care, I didn’t feel it there or where it ought be.
All of my concern was in getting back home,
because my feet grew tired,
and my eyes weary of the sandstone;
I wasn’t ready to not stare at the ground.
Somewhere on the dismembered pavement,
I grew up,
looked up,
to see someone locking eyes on the same track,
something was felt and I cannot give it back.
I wish I could.
This feeling,
that I surely did not inherit,
is not interested in my betterment.
I want to be a grifter.
jingle my cup,
make a quick buck,
and say good luck to any fool who dare give me that stare,
that screams for me to give it back.
Because I won’t.
After the last one who dared,
I can’t say I want to be paired,
Impaired,
lost in a circular pool of equivocations and ambiguity.
Forward not backward,
Trusting that I can trust trust.
Or I can trust the sidewalk,
since it will not cease to be,
like you or her or him or me.
I much rather look for pennies,
knowing they won’t look back.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2017
****** rednecks and tabloid editors,
Choosing a big-mouthed wussy,
Voted into office a ****** predator who
Brags he grabs women by the *****.
He goes on and on about himself
Blows that he is highly educated
He only tells lies, braggadocio, or
Unpresidential rot that is R-rated.

He boasted he could shoot
Someone dead in the street
Even that ugly deed would
Not cause his defeat.

It turned out to be
Unfortunately true!
That’s the kind of thing
Ignoramuses will do:
They vote some dingaling
No matter how disgusting
And decide this grifter
Is definitely worth trusting.

He's just bright enough to see
That suckers love a good show
So he’ll dance and sing to them
For three and a half years or so.

He said he keeps the best
People to back up his boasts,
And when he chooses one
His accomplices all toast.
It won’t be very long until
As his TV show has inspired,
He’ll open that ugly mouth
And snarl out “You’re fired!”

He knows he can keep on
In his lucrative term of office
If he just keeps the rich happy, and
Fools who can’t see he’s bogus.

He’s busily going about
Taking the rights of the poor
And wadding all of them up
Then kicking them out the door.
The only people he wants to succeed
Are him and those ***-kissers
Who hang with him out of greed.

He's just bright enough to see
That suckers love a good show
So he’ll dance and sing to them
For three and a half years or so.
wichitarick Nov 2021
SLOW HOBO

Many memories come or go fleeting thought of once moving fast

Living in the present not always a gift, beige or bland nowhere to make a stand

Take another piece of me, got locked in lost soul never again to be free, once saw everything with open eyes unfolded maps world so vast

Prefer to roam without a home, unsaddled no bit or bridle always on idle, time was a scam never wore a watch upon my hand

Completing hitch hikers guide a source of pride, thumb out or cheap greyhound ride, memories fade left to rely on what was photographed

Always wondering where a river went or raindrops are sent, wayward youth a highway sleuth Unlimited vision with no mission, wandering soul enclosed white pickets complete that demand

Inner strife from hiding vagabond feelings wanting to get lost again in past misdealing's Length of Layovers timed by hangovers, now life outside bottles or baggies a more realistic blast

Born in the parking lot so always been on the out, Set to roam with a spin of the globe, coast to coast beach to beach now stuck behind a hidden line in the sand

Vagabond looking out across new land, unsettled not ready to make a stand,Leaning on an edge split inside with a wedge, held back by new wisdom of my past

Designated drifter part time grifter forgetting to nurture a future, realizing wisdom can come slower, much to gain with pain, internal freedom not always planned

Dreams from a past trickle out carrying much clout, what weight so great it was to slow the hobo, settled in with a new grin becoming my own life's greatest enthusiast R.C.
Maybe sitting to long brought out a few memories? started as from third person but drifted into first person.accepting change is often the real obstacle in our own growth :)  Thank you for reading Your input is helpful Peace takes Practice. Rick
Robert Ippaso Jul 2023
Why would I do this
What was in my head
My charmed life of bliss
Perhaps irreparably dead?

Yes I'm a fighter
A grifter of old,
I deserve a fate brighter
But on this I've been rolled.

Politics such a foul game
They claim I'm the one crooked,
But these hacks put me to shame
With actions deceitful and wicked.

Still you know what they say
When you're in the arena riding that bull,
Hold on tight and don't sway
The harder it bucks the stronger you pull.

Melania's not happy,
The kids out of sight,
While I may sometimes get snappy
It’s when I’m alone in the dead of the night.

Truth socials' my outlet
Where I vent and I rage
An invaluable asset
With my fans to engage.

For despite all my troubles
I'm still leading the pack
Supporting my struggles
They all have my back.

Biden is scheming
When the guy remembers at all,
In most polls I am far leading
Now he's praying I'll fall.

The media is gloating
With me as their lead,
In money they're floating
When Trump is their creed.

So maybe it's worth it
This journey of pain,
The path to outwit
And put these connivers to shame.

With me as your President
The US will be great
My abilities so undeniably evident
I’m clearly your best Head of State.
Stephen Moore Sep 2019
Heaven was 1977.

See how the Vauxhall Viva rusts aside shooting rhubarb,
How the shed tumbles in golden creosote,
A gate latches with a clunk and there I stand on pebbledash shed tile,
Pushing red Raleigh Grifter to shed with  the family rides.

A cat slinks towards a Whiskas tin a rattling under winding can opener and I am back in 1977.

Heaven was 1977.

Vicky Kingsford was by my side.

Sun played on my home and I was in heaven.
Graff1980 Dec 2017
It is the only salt water
that eclipses the sea,
****** sailing grifter
that took a dump on me,
the cold breeze
that does not chill
or even freeze
but stops all things
permanently.

It is the shuddered breath,
dripping drool
from the tripping fool
who fell to fast
when he found out at last,
a shade of red
not dropping crimson pools
but stiff sniffles
that require tissues
for us to use.

It is the one thing promised
for as long as we live,
as death comes to claim
the ones we love.

Until, time takes its turn
and our loss
makes others burn.
Andrew Rueter Nov 2018
Time is fleeting
Winter is weaving
Coming and leaving
Stunning the seething
Gunning and bleeding
Running from needing
Honeys for breeding

The rabid and bitter
Look for a babysitter
But find Hades’ River
In a shady grifter

A timeline
Sidelined
By bribe buys
And tribe lies
Of pride cries
Decides why
Defiled guys
Have wild eyes
And exile ties
With bile tides
Of vile vies
For a piece of the pie

Those who worship aggression
Follow their idiotic impressions
From charismatic rally sessions
Of one-sided lessons
Based on dejection
Contracting an infection
Preventing self reflection
Halting their progression
With thought deflection
For emotional protection

So the recent challenger
Is the event calendar
Becoming a pal ender
For the scowl senders
Who’re foul lenders
Or growl at tender
Tower menders

My debt’s share
Of fresh air
In death’s snare
Is best spared
But pests stare
With test glares
So I get scared
And let blare
My fret fair
Nightmare

This emergency
Of an inferno sea
Must be urgently
Purged from me
So I can see
The way to be
Hate free
And not flee
From interacting

But the clients and buyers
Are tyrants and liars
While times are dire
The pirates set fire
And hydrants retire
As the world perspires
And starts to expire
The heart of the empire
Has parked the choir
And sparked this mire
Into a funeral pyre

So I can only hope
This lycanthrope
Likened trope
Will not poke
The bear we host
Who cares the most
Of the scares of ghosts

This reason to sell
Season of hell
Treasonous spell
Deletes the smell
Of seeds that fell
Who need to tell
Their creed is well
Yet we see the intel
Warning they’re bitter incels

The dimmer mention
The sinners’ tensions
And interventions
As an interception
Of their own reflection
Not passing inspection
Like a class in detention
They mask their perception
With political inventions
To explain the inception
Of their constant deception

Alone without friends
They follow the trends
Of political bends
As they like to pretend
They’re here to defend
But our country descends
Into a dead end
Of a red blend
When the ref spends
All his time deafened
Bitter
Jennifer McCurry Jul 2020
Silent Bell

I cannot feel here at all
No touch in this space
No sight sound
Or ability to taste remorse
...
When the roaring stops
Done God deafening
And the sine qua non silence
The after the moment
Moment
Of a crushing vacuum of pause
Pre denouement
The infinity felt in the silence
There
...
before fate arrives sure footed
Black boot stomp
And fortunes imprint
...
So deep this track
How many have laid it
...
And here is mine
It shows my drag and limp
Curving artfully in the mud
To be shown and traced by hands of the living curious being
That would care to escape palmistry
Cut out the hustler
the convict
the grifter
...
As they stoop to find the lines and ways
That history arch’s and would bend their bright future
...
It would be a tragedy
They think
Finger curled to unsmiling face
To flatly increase a pensive face
...
And so the hum and swoop
Of approaching infamy
This heady swirl
And no sound to its definitely draining source
And no horn to sound an end
No violent or shocking alarm
To herald what will happen
And stick
...
To yellowed pages filled with flowery stroke
Script that burns my name into useful algorithm
Or other words
More apropos
ConnectHook Apr 2023
Thou Ethiopian muse of mine: attend.
Now let my words wound souls and after, mend.
It’s time to slay some golden calves and knock
Some gods from off their pedestals. Let’s rock.
(I’d like my veal in gold-dust, with a side
Of injured Afrocentric racial pride.
)

Moses cut an oppressor down, who bled…
Moses buried him in the sand, then fled.
(Every ****** son of Adam bleeds out red.)
Midian offered shelter to the killer.
I hope you like my prefatory filler . . .

Remember in the desert how the tribes
Put up with Moses’ scolding diatribes,
Yet quickly fell for Aaron’s baby bull?
They paid for it, the half and then in full
By wandering around for forty years
And drinking bitter waters (Moses’ tears).
They even whined about his sultry bride;
Not Zipporah—his later, darker ride.
Let Ethiopia rise. She still is blameless
And Moses’ second wife here lauded nameless.

Discerning Israel means: there once were slaves.
Egyptians know the God of Hebrews saves.
Yehudah is no more the chosen clan
Than Joseph is old Pharaoh’s right-hand man.
And who is freed from *******, and who’s not
Should make us pause—observe . . . then think a lot.

Some tribes are pale-faced, others darker still.
And none can claim to grasp God’s perfect will.
Let **** haters rise—and leave the room.
Black racists too, be gone; and I’ll resume
My question: who’s oppressed, and who’s a grifter . . .
And how a curse descends, and what’s the lifter.
Perhaps you are a Hebrew . . . yet, some curse
Is evident in how you make things worse
By raging over long-past wrongs and rights
(Passive-aggressive lovers’ quarrel with whites…)
While Indo-Europeans watch the fun,
All Asia sighs, and prays God’s will be done.

Noah’s second grandson, Canaanite cow,
Oh golden calf, toward whom we’re forced to bow,
You sure can DANCE, and jump, and chant bad rhymes,
Cashing that blank check for slavery’s crimes.
The state commemorates your orator;
Content of character must come later (?)
You crack us up. Pure abomination
Promoted as artistic creation.
Your tag, your name—like ***** sprayed on walls.
Your neighborhood? Wherever garbage falls.
You’re born in freedom. Now you sample beats
Enslaved to violent nonsense in the streets.
That silly slang, new sneakers, dumb fashions
Showcase well your underlying passions.
Egypt’s kings? More like bad dangerous clowns
Revealing thuggish souls in sullen frowns;
Slurring unintelligibly your words
Which leave your lips like Lucifer’s own turds.
You’re laughable in your provocation;
Begging us to adulate your nation.
We must (MUST we?) celebrate your culture
And venerate what spawns from sinful nature.

You say you have it bad, you’re still enchained;
The Civil War unfought and and nothing gained . . .
You claim to be oppressed this day and age?
It seems you’re just excusing childish rage.
Go liberate yourself then, loudmouth slave.
Prove to the world that JESUS cannot SAVE.

Victims exist, others play the Race Card,
And seek a foe to blame when life gets hard.
Or worse: demand race-based reparations
Lining bank accounts with their frustrations.
Such money has been ransomed, in the form
Of public schools and welfare. Bring your storm
Of virtue-signal cries that I’m a bigot;
But spades will be called in spades—so DIG it:
Hope you can keep those Liberals on your side,
To con them as you take them for a ride.
Don’t compromise their cluelessness. Stay woke
To keep us laughing at your ethnic joke:
Ratcheting up the destructive drama.
Hate this whiteness? My reply: Yo’ mama.
For any son can knock up any daughter
Regardless of the racial myths they taught her;
We are one species. Sorry, but it’s true.
(Wish it were not, observing some of you…)

Muse of mine, Kushitic damsel, don’t leave.
You’ve heard me out thus far. I still believe
That there’s a remnant of Man’s fallen race
Who yet can be restored by God’s own grace
Regardless of their smarts, or style, or hue.
Fear GOD and live . . . for such were some of you.
Bob B Dec 2022
(This poem could be sung to the melody of "Frosty the Snowman" by Jack Rollins and Steve Nelson.)

Donald the showman
Is a miracle they say,
For it always seems that despite his schemes,
He always gets away.

Donald the showman
Is a grifter and a con.
Though a real nutcase, if you ask his base,
He's their "father"; he's their don.

His recent big announcement was
New digital trading cards.
Supporters bought them up and then
They all sent him their regards.

Yes, Donald the showman
Has been conning all his life.
People shout out "Wow!" and they wonder how
He could ever keep a wife.

Donald the showman
Wants to win a second term,
But as walls close in and as ice grows thin,
You can watch the con man squirm.

His picture's on his trading cards;
His ego knows no bounds.
The more he speaks, the more he rants,
The crazier he sounds.

Donald the showman
Will invite you to his pad
If you make the news with extremist views.
That will surely make him glad.

Donald the showman
Looks for folks to string along.
He thinks he'll stay free with impunity,
But let's hope that he is wrong.

Trumpity-Trump-Trump,
Trumpity-Trump-Trump…
Will he ever see…
Trumpity-Trump-Trump,
Trumpity-Trump-Trump…
Accountability?
­
-by Bob B (12-18-22)
incestuous blankets
cover thy body
somebody is here
when you are long forgotten
brand-name sovereignty
shoddy craftsmanship
candy covered copies
of loose apostrophes
dangling from false pretenses
the portable economy
is a grifter's game
of refrain and manageability
i am magnanimous like a spark
captured in dark rooms
and in your binary libraries
like tiny memories
always fading on an ark
Bard Feb 2020
Heart seen in fragments
Life is losing its fragrance

Blood spilt to a new year
Time brings new fears

Surrounded by so many
And I think its so funny

That people are taking advice from me
When I drown in vice, I cant even see

And all these little people all alone
Will die alone and I'm gonna die alone
Still when they ring my phone
I speak as if we aren't alone

Together for a time
Everything is fine

I'm a liar, a grifter,  and a thief
Giving people life and belief

My price is cheap just a bit of time
I rob the worry and make it mine
I'll be just fine I'll be just fine

But their not satisfied and neither am I
Depressed unable to let go its okay to cry
Give me your tears I'll let them dry
And then I'll say goodbye

So I can let my own tears fall alone
Cause my tears are all my own

I'll never share with them
My scars and my sin

Selfish, I keep it all to myself
Loneliness and aches are my wealth
All that I have ever had to myself
All I ever had is myself
when held spellbound courtesy grifter

Flim-flam man left lasting emotional whiplash
his derelict perfected artifice
to hijack every last cent
smarted me with indelible smash;
living daylight delivered I kidney you not
envious affliction affecting
last named member and founder of the Byrds
with crosby, stills, young and nash
entire corporeal being turned to hash
condemned state yours truly relegated,
cuz cremation unaffordable, though pulverized
and transformed into powdery ash;

Impossible mission to conceptualize
transmutation into cremains, the brain
lodged within me noggin
ill equipped to envision mine gray matter
even after asking mister Google to explain
that cremation takes place
in a specially designed furnace,
referred to as a cremation chamber or retort,
and exposed to extreme temperatures –
up to 1,800 degrees Fahrenheit–
leaving behind only ashes.

Following the procedure,
a cooling period required
before the remains can be handled.

Yours truly can best attest,
when succumbing as victim to virtual heist
I most likely flip flopped
into one percent atavistic Neanderthal state;
a surprising revelation
23andme genotyping results
yielded said presence of proto human
after analyzing DNA
courtesy saliva sample from eldest sister.

No other logical satisfactory explanation doth chime
lapsed consciousness, hence reasonable rhyme
whereat one twenty first century mortal man
virtually travelled in time
cast into nasty, shortish brute
obliging deft inducement
outsourcing valuable dough.

Though aforementioned far-fetched notion
smacks of high skepticism,
yet no more ridiculous than
hominids over bajillion years springing forth
from flotsam and jetsam in the ocean
I may as well broach another theory of creation
(just came to my mind),
that divine omnipotent wizard
sprinkled magic potion
across primordial sea
after watching an advertisement promotion
claiming said product
contained the seeds of life and white lily.

Convinced that snake oil salesman
wrought deleterious influence
triggering a debacle that rocked
the financial market,
(albeit constituting one singular naked ape),
an attorney general based in Philadelphia
believes I presented a convincing case,
which hopefully witnesses
recouping all or most of my funds.
Rew Feb 7
That crazy Jack Smith is gunning for trump
and me, for one, is sure cheering Jack on
Jack's gonna deliver the knockout thump

And knock him flat on his fat orange ****
then flush him away down some public john,
that crazy Jack Smith is gunning for trump.

Serve grifter trump right for being a chump
the world will sure cheer when this thing is gone
Jack's gonna deliver the knockout thump,

He'll make sure trump's for the highest of jumps
when he jail's his man Jack should get a gong
that crazy Jack Smith is gunning for trump

Jack's revving up for one hell of a dump
then *** offender trump will truly pong
Jack's gonna deliver the knockout thump

I hope trump's biz is heading for a slump
then let  bells peal out ding **** *** long gone
trump, crazy Jack Smith is gunning for trump
Jack's gonna deliver the knockout thump

— The End —