"gunn" poems
* *The Dragon steals the waters of life,
The Dragon steals the waters of life,
The Dragon steals the waters of life,* *
* a Hydra eats those who lie. *
*This is the story of
Darr-en Gunn,
His life was a
short-en-ed one.
While hunting some snakes
having no lucky breaks.
Found himself consumed by a
gi-ant one.
Was warned of one snake,
the seven-headed Drake.
Found himself consumed by a
gi-ant one.
In Old Foggie swamps lies a place
he haunts.
With a hunter digesting in a
Dra-gon!
*The Dragon steals the waters of life,
The Dragon steals the waters of life,
The Dragon steals the waters of life,* *
* a Hydra eats those who lie.
All children should learn
of a swamp that churns.
In a place where they say
the wa-ter burns!
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:14 AM UTC
Maa teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,
Yaad hai mujhe aaj bhi wo pal maa
Bimaar mai hoti thi taklif tujhe hua karti thi,
Tu kabhi na bhuli mere khane ka samey maa...
Qki maa tu hi toh khane ki plate mere aggey piche ghumaya karti thi,
Wo teri aloo, pyaz wali khaniya maa
Jisko sunn k sach mai maan liya karti thi,
Kya khub sundarta thi tere bhole se chehre pay maa...
Jo meri saheliya bhi gunn tera hi gaya karti thi,
Maa ...qki teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,
Jab pehli baar un chote se hathon se chai bnayi thi maine
Yaad hai , tu sab rishtedaro mai yahi gaya karti thi,
Har baat k liye zidd bht ki Maine tujhse
Par aakhir mai meri khushi k liye haa tu hi bharrti thi,
Bht ladai ki sabne mere liye tujhse maa
Lekin har pal sath khadi tu hi mila karti thi,
Maa teri meri yadein boht achi thi
Tu jo bhi kehti thi boht sachi thi,
Bht si horror movies bhi dekhi tere sath maa aur tu kahani ka pehlu phele hi bta diya karti thi,
Bht hase bhi sath mai roye bhi sath mai
Aaj jab dekhti hu toh ansu apne aap nikal k beh jate hai,
Bachpana samjho ya nadaniya samjho
Par tere hi aggey hua karti thi,
Tu Maa thi ya meri dost thi
Qki tu bhi toh bacho jaise harketin kiya karti thi,
Aaj bhi wahi tera chehra dikhta hai mujhe maa , teri wahi awaaz sunayi deti hai,
Lekin bevas tu hai ya mai hu aisa mnn mera kehta hai maa,
Qki maa teri meri yadein bht achi thi
Sach mai Tu jo bhi kehti thi bht sachi thi.
Wapas se wahi samhe jeena chahti hu tere sath maa..
Par sochti hu tu yaha ayegi ya mai waha au maa,
Sach Drr lagta hai duniya se maa ab
Jee paungi ya tut jaungi mai ab,
Kitni bholi thi maa tu humesha se
Qki jhuti ya sachi sab maan liya karti thi,
Yaad hai mujhe aaj bhi jab scooty meri band hoti thi
Toh kick tu hi mara karti thi,
Wah kya paranthe aur rajma banati thi maa tu
Jo saheliya hi sabse phele khaya karti thi,
Itni sachi aur achi maa thi tu
Warna mujh jaise nalayak bache ko tu hi sambhala karti thi,
Maa dubara se wo maa sabd tere aggey tujhe bolna chahti hu fir se
Kya tu dubara janam legi milne k liye mujhse,
Ek baar toh ake gale lga le maa mujhko
Fir se wahi pyara bacha bnke dikhaungi tujhko,
Yaad hai maa mumma's lil girl ka tattoo maine bnwaya tha tere liye
Lekin jab ghar pauchi toh dekhte hi dil baith gya tha mere liye
Maa tu sda zinda rahegi dil mai mere
Qki Sach keh rahi hu mera wajood hi hai tere liye,
Maa bharosa kar mera
bharosa nahi todungi tera
Ab aa hi jana maa bacha hu tera.
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 12:18 PM UTC
Brothers!
And some sisters too...
It’s time!
It’s time to step forward
And proclaim to the people
We love ***
We adore ***
Don’t be offended
It’s just a compliment...
I’m an *** man
That’s who I am
***** shorts are like Spidey Senses
Yoga Pants are letting people know what you haved
Sundress Season makes me incoherent
I don’t give a ****
So many, so little time
If you got a big one, you're considered a dime
I’m not a rapper
But I can rhyme
Some call me perverted
I call me observant
Is that a big crime?
When I stand behind her
And she grinds on me at the time
Don’t trip
Y’all do it too
Some chicks act like it’s a big taboo
It’s really not
It's because you’re hot
Whoops
I forgot, they get told that nonstop
But that *** though
Make it bounce
I want to tap it
So juicy
So bubbly
So yummy
On top of that, literally she’s a beauty.
Put your hands up like Billy Gunn
If you’re like me
It’s time
To step forward and say
I am an *** man
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 6:22 PM UTC
We sat stupefied with the expats,
eyes wide open telling lies
between repeats of
La Bamba & Lady Grinning Soul.
Peter Gunn screamed sax
through the hypnotic-haze,
the place was a ******* rat hole.
Sticky seats smelt like
**** burnt toast & dead feet.
A one-ton greasy bartender
sat on a low stool,
drooled on his cigar
rather than smoking it.
He counted his dough
about every six minutes.
Shadows of waifish tired-women
floated by us like wispy-clouds.
With tricks hand-in-hand,
they moved in and out of
the proverbial back rooms,
an odor of primordial-slime hung.
This was what they called
the tropical-island high-life,
a swanky place where ten bucks
could get you an hour of whore-thrills.
It was actually a cheap-ass brothel
disguised as a night club,
tucked away somewhere
in the middle of nowhere,
the skankiest
of Never Never Lands.
It was by far,
the saddest place
I've ever visited on Earth.
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 8:24 PM UTC
Seven born to a home in the hills
Lost in the waste that time kills
Each segregated to a different day
Or so at least some say
Anthony couldn’t help but fall
Built too tall
As he hit his head upon a door
Running adjacent to the floor
Young Mr. Cooper took form
And quickly ran to his scholarly dorm
On the way he transgressed to
A fellow who
Used to dwell in the same domicile
Until he felt the environment was too vile
Fled the scene in the matter of a moment
Not knowing there wasn’t an opponent.
Reluctant to turn around
With no answer found
Another division began to develop
One, which was quick to envelope
Everything the boy thought
And freedom sought
The new guy Stephan sold the car
Got a job at a bar
Cleaning up there every morning
While other livers were still in mourning
He had to remove the lingering drunks
Still caught up in their mid life flunks
One always takes a swing
Ben Gunn wakes up feeling the sting
In panic he flees
Watching passing tress
Tracing the trail of something known
The place he called home.
Once in sight
This personality takes flight
Out steps Dewey Dell,
Who looks like a glimpse of hell
Takes a nap to restore
His body, which felt quite poor
He had expected to awaken
The boy was mistaken
Waking up on the cliff
Was a boy named Winston Smith
A devotee to a righteous cause
He just didn’t know what it was
Spent his days inside a pew
Surrounded by slim to few
As answers ceaselessly taunt
Halls made to haunt
Without hope he grew less attached
And quickly became Anthony Patch.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
~
**Wesson gives a lessen with a .357
David slings rock
cop holsters a glauk
Lizzy Borden packs an axe
Mac he packs the knife
Billy battles with a club
Tommy's gun is a sub
Kelly's got one too
Bazooka Joe is gum
Peter Gunn is not
Smokey has the right to "bear" arms
or did we just arm bears
don't let my gun become undone
never stifle my rifle
hear the whistle of my missle
think next I'll bring the tank
after that what do you bet? i'll come flying in a Jet**
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
We’d moved on in to a clifftop house
When our babe was very young,
I had to ***** a barbed wire fence
To keep our darling at home,
For Ellen was a precocious child
With a beautiful, smiling face,
But for all our efforts to tame her down
It was hard to keep her in place.
She would bounce about, would run on out
The moment we turned our backs,
Many a time I would see her climb
And she’d give us heart attacks.
‘She’s halfway up the chimney, John,
She’s climbed right up to the thatch,’
The wife would cry, and I’d almost die
In bringing our daughter back.
She’d stand awhile by the cottage gate
That led on out to the track,
That wound its way right down to the bay
On a narrow, winding path,
I wired the gate, and I thought it held
Till the day she broke on through,
And made her little way to the bay
Before we even knew.
I found her at the mouth of a cave
That sat just up from the shore,
And breathed a sigh of relief as we
Embraced, like never before,
But she pointed in to the darkened cave
With her tiny little hand,
‘I want to go in the cave with him,
That funny old sailor man!’
‘There isn’t a man in the cave,’ I said,
‘You must have been seeing things.’
‘Oh no! He asked me to follow him
And he showed me lots of rings.
He had a black patch over his eye,
And a ponytail in his hair,
I want to go where the sailor goes,
Will you let me go in there?’
I carried her back up the winding path
Though she clung to me and cried,
‘That cave is simply an eerie place
And it’s cold and damp inside.’
I should have taken more notice then,
I thought it was just a rave,
For days, young Ellen would speak of him,
The man who lived in the cave.
I went to check at the library,
The history of the town,
And read that smugglers used that cave
When nobody was around,
And long before there were buildings there
A smuggler on the run,
Had sheltered there in that dismal cave
With his daughter, Ellen Gunn.
I raced on home to the clifftop house
To find young Ellen gone,
The wife was having hysterics there
And I was overcome.
I ran, pell mell down the clifftop path
It was such a deathly scare,
And searched to the end of that awful cave
And I found her Teddy Bear.
A fisherman on the beach had seen
Young Ellen on the sand,
Then watched as a sailor took her in
To the cave there, hand in hand.
‘I thought that he was her father,’ said
The rustic fisherman,
‘She seemed quite happy to go with him
And he looked a kindly man.’
I must have searched it a dozen times
And I called, and cursed, and cried,
And prayed to god that I’d find my girl
Hid somewhere deep inside,
When out of the depths, she toddled out
Stood still, turned back to the cave,
And that’s when I glimpsed that sailor man,
Who stood at the back, and waved.
David Lewis Paget
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
old saint bob
whacks a hefty tune out on a beer barrel
full of noise and nuance
like a dammed version of samson
tearing down these city walls
and like a blessed version of delilah
walking in mystical light
saint bob has a penny opera vocal
on his thin mans frame
but all the pretty girls say he's got a voice like sin
and the eyes of an angel
they are all a-flutter at his nearness
hes there just off shore if you look with care
old saint bob and elston gunn
had taken to the waves hoping
to be saltwater henchmen in such grand style
only to be shipwrecked in the strip malls
of suburbia with the catholic schoolgirls and
the paint by number sinners and saints
old saint bob and the charlatans of love and loathing
sit with a *** runner and swap sea stories
on the deck of an english privateer called penance
hoping to salvage the folly of their youth
but they have drank themselves to a fitful slumber
and the *** runner has fled with the gold
while all good sailors romance ladies of spain
old saint bob held out an old tin cup
and a hooligans song
by the sunbelt highway
one of the lover girls by his side
she so in love with his rough jester lost and lonely style
he will make it home someday
but he will only come if it can be
with a peg leg and a parrot on his shoulder
in grand style
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
Terry Maguire was fond of a fire.
He was a kilnman in days of yore.
But not he's changed to drawing cream
To Tugmans of Teemore.
When Terry gets up in the morn'
he eats his crumbs.
He tackles the mare,
There's no time to spare
Till he reaches Doonans and Gunns
And when he reaches Tugmans
He's in an awful plight.
He says "Be jeepers the horse is mad,
I'll not get home tonight."
There were ***** carts and horses carts
And carts from all around
But none to compare with Terry Maguire
The pride of sweet Milltown
(author Gerry/Shem Gunn)
May 15, 2017
May 15, 2017 at 1:10 PM UTC
Two o'clock in the morning
and again I can't sleep
my IPod's playin' the internet's callin'
I wanna indulge, I wanna just weep
when you can play out your fantasies
of sordid lust and rough *** through
a video player on your phone, all on your own
or get the real thing with a text
midnight conversations of the perverse kind
desperate ***** hookers whispering in your ear,
Tommy Gunn licks Rosie's behind as she
burns your libido with that naughty sumptuous leer
as a teenager it was fun, apparently normal
but you know it's become a problem when
you're calling lights-out at twelve
but falling asleep at two-thirty AM
once you had to pay, now it's free,
festering in the crevices of the Web
swollen, bloated and growing
from its dank hiding place it begins to ebb
a drug manufactured from
the vilest sins of the mind
prefabricated drool, a vice blackened and cruel
forbidden but not exactly hard to find
---
now here I lie
my flesh blistered and rubbed raw
fat tears run down my face
but not knowin' what it is I'm crying for.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 8:45 AM UTC
I'm beautiful
Exuding soul
Protruding bold
Diluting cold
Until I fold
Once beauty is sold
Biting remarks
Made by sharks
Create sparks
Where it was dark
Displaying pain that is stark
As part of my character ark
They mug me
Until I'm ugly
Then suddenly
They're done with me
It must be some disease
Of a numbing freeze
From stunning thieves
Taking what I believe
They're not impressed
When I'm undressed
So I'm the stressed
I must confess
From this test
Of who's best
And who's less
A blue guess
That brews pests
This hall of fame
Dismal game
Is to blame
For the shame
In our brain
And our name
Fanning flames
Of social stains
I'm a coyote battling
With lonely howling
Until phonies scowling
Are all that powers me
Through what had been
Through what grew
I see you
Through the views
That light my fuse
It's you I choose
Flatter my vanity
To guard my sanity
Conjuring the man in me
More so than I planned to be
But became apparently
Through ****** gratification
You give social validation
You send a pal elation
That causes salivation
Until the callous nation
Invades my phallus station
Text me
I'm ****
To protect me
From the injecting
Inspecting
Dissecting
Directory
Next to me
That begs to see
The beggars seethe
Don't destroy my body image
With your haughty grimace
Applauding penance
An ungodly menace
You've become
Like Tim Gunn
A judgemental one
That fabricates fun
By blocking the sun
Incoherent
Interference
In the clearance
Of my appearance
Not knowing nearness
Outside your austere fence
You flippantly
Didn't see
The death of me
Or the mess I bleed
When my chest can't breathe
While you're blessed to breed
With a superior steed
The eye of the beholder
Is behind their shoulder
That keeps getting colder
From insurgent soldiers
Throwing boulders
Becoming molders
Of the boaters
With no motors
Who float through life
And drown in misery
From societal strife
Of subjective mysteries
To act on the behest of me
Say that you've met me
Say that you've let me
Enter you gently
To a centrifuge ending
For relationships pending
With perceptions tending
To be needlessly upending
By comparisons impending
No matter what they're intending
There's no way they can mend me
When my social rank bends me
To be something pretending
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
I will not shrink myself for you.
I will not search for the sun in your shadow.
I will let my anger rage.
I will let it fill me up, every empty space that you created.
It will rush through my veins and into my mouth a metallic taste, words loaded like bullets.
My rose red lips will not be silenced around your ****
The gun you placed in my hands to point at myself down your throat, cocked!
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 7:26 PM UTC
Imagine living in a world where you can’t leave your house without your life being in danger, where you couldn’t go to school, work, or even to the grocery store to pick up some friggin’ milk!
A world where you aren’t just judged for what makes you different, but killed for it.
This is the world some people live in, A world of hate, fear, and death.
A world where they can’t walk down the street holding their loved one’s hand, they can’t go to school, they can’t even leave their house without fearing for their lives.
We look back at history and think, **** look how far we have come.” But have we really progressed that far? Are we really making the progress we so desperately need? Where is today’s Harvey Milks and Martin Luther Kings when we need them most?
What about Matthew Shepard, Lawrence King, Trayvon Martin, Sakia Gunn, James Byrd, and those are just the one’s who made the news. What about the thousands of people who are injured and killed for who they love, the pigment of their skin and where they are from?
It is 2 thousand 14, not 1920, so grow up people, and realize that what make us different shouldn’t be the reason we fear for our lives. Human shouldn’t be a death sentence. Because we are all pink on the inside, or at least that’s what I’ve heard, and we all bleed red or at least that’s what I have seen...
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
fender amps spread music around town
the music in your room is turned up loud
pop rock, indie or punk
suddenly your mood has sunk
a bottle of Jack Daniels and then your drunk
crying unknown to what you've done
listening to the words that are sung
understanding the feelings of Lynn Gunn
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Our world shudders
with network
Plasticity
But we few
In our Happy Sweet bubble
gunn Barbie Life
We Live on
The revolution
will Be televised
in faded Technicolor
In spirited
Super star Life
We Wake in
Gethsemane
boxed in
In a box Garden
We Heirlooms to
the Revolution
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 5:16 PM UTC
the last we heard you were purchasing a fcking bb gunn
Jan 1, 2017
Jan 1, 2017 at 11:22 PM UTC
Choose days.
They said the forecast was for Sun
Ben Gunn had kit bags full of Sun
I've had some
I mean the Sun
just in case
you wondered
where I've wandered.
Heatstroke,
and I like to be stroked,
think that in a former life
I lived quite like a cat.
So
I'm rambling
scram if you don't like it.
Tubes.
one million ideas
on their rears
ready to depart
and the standing few
who firm up the queue,
what would we do
without the few?
the smell of perfumed sweat
can it get better than this?
I suspect that it can.
Girls with buns in their hair.
I have never had a bun up in my hair
seems to me that there must be
another place to put them,
like on a plate
with jam,
Oh it can get better
it just did.
Getting off is as simple as getting on
once you master the reverse
psychology.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 1:22 AM UTC