"gunning" poems
**I urge that we make ourselves proud… of us
I urge that we go into and come out of these polls sober minded, responsible, uncorrupted, without ‘fight’ or ‘fuss’
Uncorrupted
I urge that a joyous feeling of an evolving nation moving forward be the only thing we can, in hindsight, say erupted… this upcoming Monday, the following Tuesday
I would like to state that a people gunning for peace in these coming days is the only topic I would like to be following in the news today
We should see what’s coming as the change of guard it is… and not as a dreaded doomsday
You may be black… I may be white, or vice versa… and that’s alright
We shouldn't even be asking ourselves “Who’s grey?”
I will vote with one heart for one country… my country
A country in which I’m confident can keep the peace, you see, we’re kind of good at this
I know this because we've had quite a bit of practice
I know this because deep down we all want to make peaceful transitions be the Kenyan way
I know, I hope… and whenever necessary, I pray
Happy voting.**
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
Long time coming
Long time gunning
Man dead on the ground
the soul still running
Flamed too ashes
Like a cigar filled with tree
Flamed too ashes
So there’s no more misery
Atleast that’s what he thinks
But to his surprise
He’s got grave problems
On the other side.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 8:53 AM UTC
this night has
melted into too many
casualties trying to reach the
edge of dawn
where beaten voices
still believe in summer
dreaming about ages in the sun
w/ loaded gunning thoughts
tomorrow will never fade
painted hands broke the ground
stones reflecting off sapphire
bombs always explode
at the most random times like
when memory is sleeping..
(my memory is wide awake)
& sometimes it screams so loud that I
can remember everything
what would it be like?
just a second of silence?
maybe it's like being thrown in that bomb of
gemstone safety..
smiles for yesterday,
the future is running toward
its own shadow:
a new song in this vein..
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 10:32 AM UTC
--And do not be indiscreet or unconventional. Play it safe.--
Listen here. I've never played it safe
in spite of what the critics say.
Ask my imaginary brother, that waif,
that childhood best friend who comes to play
dress-up and stick-up and jacks and Pick-Up-Sticks,
bike downtown, stick out tongues at the Catholics.
Or form a **** Club where we all go
in the bushes and peek at each other's ***
Pop-gunning the street lights like crows.
Not knowing what to do with funny Kotex
so wearing it in our school shoes. Friend, friend,
spooking my lonely hours you were there, but pretend.
2.7k
they want me to be serious, to take it seriously. To look at sunrises calmly and seize coals and watch over red-blooded, man-fueled wars about bravado, integrity, and land. To look at money, a simple representation of labor, and see what it drives other to do, to do for me.
to crush cigarettes and testicles under my boots,
to crawl through mud and barbed wire, smiling
with grit in my grimace
salt rolling, sweaty brows
twisted locks of dark hair
tobacco-brown spit, ground
and filthy, caked in mud
teeth bared like an animal
white eyeteeth crunching
**Scorching earth where my feet touch down.
A cigarette put out on a tongue. No more talking.**
They want me to see and that, in the dark of the night, in the light of the day, when the sun rises and sets, there is pain, always, elsewhere and everywhere. So I will not tarry or joke or be frivolous with the battered souls of others and to think, to think about applying anything I know, to run along with the vigorous social constructs they ask me to dissect and then revolutionize, because I am young, and I will sprint faster, against accusations, and only briefly.
They want me to look at the world like a runner looks at the red track,
with their toes and sinews coiled as hard as steel, a pinnacle of human
at the height of athleticism and possess the ruthlessness of a rabid dog
drool rushed into foam and mad from dehydrating, my brain swelling
with my hormone driven
red, hazy, athletic rage,
gunning my ambition
for some organization.
No.
I will fight, yes, but I will not fight for a name on a card, shield, or building.
I will fight for the sake of fighting because I am contentious and I am wrong.
I side against hero and villain, because I am the ambiguity,
that languishes, resides in no-man's land, antagonizing both.
Being disliked in purgatory is sometimes more easy than chomping at the bit,
for blood and the power of cracking a black bull whip, so I can avoid this terrible avarice and corrupting beauty that comes with working hard, especially for the greatness
that I did not ask
to be ****** upon me, while I wished to remain enigmatic.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
Straight outta Ex Dee,
Crazy mother f@cker named Blatchy
Dropping sick beats, rolling hard in the backstreets,
Watch him roll dough as he hailin' a taxi,
Fancy f@cken suit, he's livin' in luxury
Fedora tipped-top on the tippy-top head
Gunning bad gangstas, better red than dead
Shooting spree, smilin' with glee
Don't wanna f@ck with a guy straight outta Ex Dee!
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 4:19 AM UTC
A slight quiver from the bow in your back
I come on strong like a fatal attack
Hunting you down
A hushed whimper in your throat condemns
The subtle undertones of shameful whims
Cutting you down
A silent breakdown in the guise of guilt
Laying waste to a temple built
Crumbling down
A lucid dream where you all four come
Expecting nothing, but for me to run
Gunning you down
So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit
Self-soothe with a fading bruise
All there is left of you
Leaving you down
Tip off the cops in this ****** plot
Left unpursued with a final thought
Burning you down
So, it has come down to this
Sinking further between your lips
Holding your hips I aim to fix
This memory with another hit
Erase her graceful face
Erase her staying taste
Erase her hopeful trace
Erase her
Erase her
(Ich möchte sehen, dass Sie sich für Ihre Unwissenheit brennen. Ich will sehen Sie spucken Blut, du verdammte Hure. Es gibt nichts, ich will in meinem Leben, außer dich leiden sehen aus erster Hand. Ich könnte glücklich sterben wissen Sie nahm das eigene Leben, also, wenn Sie wirklich wollen, mich glücklich zu machen, dann gehen ******* do it. Ich werde weinen gottverdammten Tränen der Freude, wenn du weg bist, dass eine Garantie ist. Gehen Sie weiter und hassen mich, weil ich krankhaft bin, aber dieses realisieren: Sie wissen nicht, Scheiße, und du wirst nie, du Fotze stur. Ich werde dich in der Hölle zu sehen.)
Dec 16, 2010
Dec 16, 2010 at 3:21 AM UTC
watching lightening
rip through the tenebrous sky,
anger-filled thunder scorns
the midnight hour.
We only came here to watch...
to breathe in cool night air.
I couldn't distinguish the shock
of your touch
from the wave of currents striking
the window of this sundance
crossing the blackened sky.
A feather-touch:
my lips, your lips, ours;
soft, seductive shivers.
Touches so electric,
we were unaware
of the youth-filled
dodge gunning
towards the embankment...
teen kisses, too innocent.
(They see our mirror image.)
In excited jolts,
like those of lightening raging
through the mountains,
we seek refuge
to thrill-seek
the precarious union
we are.
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 7:27 AM UTC
They broke his bones in a bathroom stall
with pipes and left cigarette burns
on his eyelids and I
washed my hands, cleaned the blood
off of my shoes and shrugged.
Some days is all you can do to throw
your body on a cursing poor *******
but most days you seem like you know
humanity is going to eat itself alive
so you just close the door and stay
in bed for a few more hours.
They say his lies have gone too far
and they know they don't know
whether he's gunning to give up
or run away and try again somewhere
where freaks on the inside stick
out like circus sideshows.
Home is not where we belong.
Christ got nailed to a cross
and I stared and said, "So what?"
that day and every day since
I've been cursed to give zero *****
I tried and it almost killed me too,
if you know whats good for you
keep to your own.
This world isn't made of flesh,
it's made of dirt and fire,
you'd do good
to keep that in mind.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
After one night of many nights all rolled into one
You shoot me through with one pass.
It’s a clean break as I fall into consciousness
Tumbling through unfamiliar seas of painful candor, sovereign guilt
And reckless bliss.
The weighted bullet around your neck reminds me of your careless aim
And my selfish craving to be its target.
The metal is cold against my lips and unforgiving beneath my fingers.
I cannot help but cry when it touches me, weeping with longing from one eye
While the other flows with regret.
Three pulses rust now, as my commitment turns to ash
And a scarlet phoenix blooms from the blood of a union sacrificed
Yet the irony is taunting me, as I see clearly
That I’m gunning for salvation as you engulf me in temptation.
What a dangerous pair we make, we two, the Silver Bullet Brigade
Firing round after round into the establishment
And ruining our souls as we shake to set them free.
Your newly empty chamber is still hot from its release.
I’m unstable. My exit wound is ragged.
But the smoking gun is not held in one pair of hands.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
i see the fire raging
in your belly
&
the steel gunning
down your back.
i will not run from the danger,
i want every piece of you.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 12:32 PM UTC
A rolling stone, hurtling down a hill;
A smoke-blowing rogue, with infinite skill.
A bearer of ill will,
Tumbling down, in these demons I drown -
I'm just hunting for a thrill.
I am a man fully grown,
With a depth of thought previously unknown.
In touch with the void,
Cold like an android,
Floating through emptiness like an asteroid.
Open your ears if you want your mind to be blown;
Spoken word and a gaunt face is all I own.
Nothing to lose, went through years of abuse,
My body is a slave to my muse,
Helpless, an illiterate knave trying to read the news.
Wilderness incarnate, running amok -
Gunning with no luck, giving no *****
I'm just here for the drugs and the carnage.
Hidden pain, glossed over with varnish;
The soul is deeper than the oceans and the seas,
Yet it lives in shallow bodies, heavily garnished,
In narrow alleys governed by the Grim Reaper.
Kick your ego off its throne,
Realise that the time we have is merely a loan.
From realities we cannot see in any degree,
Our souls have flown.
And thus, the stone stopped rolling.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:49 AM UTC
1
He leant down
Quietly carving his name into the sand;
The pursuing waves,
Repeatedly rippling forward, with
The force of a motorized modern army
Gunning down civilians,
Dragged it clean.
Flies loquaciously buzzed around his head,
As, crushing down seaweed,
He carved his name again.
2.
The roots dug deep, pushing against
The soil. The particles spread apart
With sexless ardour. The man,
Of a tolerant disposition, wrenched
The roots free with drenched hands.
Nothing lasted forever.
3.
The yellow and green of the sunrise
Turned swiftly into unpretentious browns
The light changing shape as the
Morning matured and the sun
Rose further in the sky. Pumped up
Clouds rolled sinuously along, combining and separating
Like fantastic amoeba.
4.
And so it continued
Under the burning sun; more spiteful from year to year.
The man said nothing
As he climbed into the salt water,
Gulls circumnavigating above his head,
With nothing to say or remember
Except the lines in the sand.
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
N64 Flow
Controllers Rattling
Mario Battling Bowser
Solar Traveling
Star Foxin for hours
Toy Boxes, Trinkets, and World watches
Sipping Soda fizzing
Eating crunchy Frito Snippets
Watching ***** Wonka
wishing I had a golden ticket
Scraped knees, Bicycle Tracking
Wilds woods equal childhood
Blueberry & cheery picking
Kisses from a girl who was
older are still vivid
No witnesses were present, but presents were still given
In the form of innocence
It's was nothing but child play
Assorted memories
Become a part of my current day
Who's to say that I've changed?
As I reminisce, my past was forged of oddities, deceptions of tall tales and everyday Odyssey's
Pictures of wild women, explicit ***********
Disney diluted story's and fictional prophecies
Depictions that lacked religion
Late night Toonami dreams
Insights from other youth
that didn't make sense logically
Visits to the water fountain periodically
Teacher said there's no such thing as dumb questions
but they never answered honestly
Everything I've learned from life
I've already learned from Monopoly
I'm always landing on GO,
therefore I'm moving with the green
House rules obviously
You can interpret that as currency
in our current state physically
But I just see it as a
constant stream of positivity
To create is a state that is channeled by electricity
Childhood memories is my youths ticket for authenticity
Those days were full of fun and madness
This excitement couldn't have been replicated by a smartphone nor tablet
Sunshine & green grass actual outdoor access
Inhale curiosity, exhale the astonishing
Running at full speed, gunning at high velocity
The excitement was never ending
a continuous lottery
Summer books I would never read
Instead, I drew in the summer breeze
Illustrations of disfigured stick figure's and murderous scenes
I realize that I have no idea, who I'm destined to be
I don't know where my next travels will lead
I am but nomad upon a land with no wagon or steed
**** these contraptions for my actions speak louder then screens
An N64 and one controller is all I need
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 11:58 PM UTC
Five thousand miles
Wandering the desert dry
Yearning for purpose
For some venerable way to die
Grinning gal with silver dollar eyes
Head lost in endless reveries
Searching for a way out
Blonde hair rustling in the breeze
Two paths entwine
Haphazardly passing by
Sore souls searching
Answering each other’s cry
Talking for hours,
He ignores her every plea
Mere inches between them
Each one the other’s tease
Through smoke and gunfire,
She grabs him tight
He’s gunning for the end
To go gently with the night
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 6:09 PM UTC
my neighbors still slept
as the zombies crept through town
they awoke undead
mom threw a grenade
the zombie blew up, alas,
blood got in her mouth
gunning down zombies,
my arm was bitten. weeping,
i hacked it clean off
later i saw mom
dead-eyed, moaning, and ******
and slit my lone wrist
nora burned the stairs
zombies piled up beneath her
rotten hands grasping
nora stayed upstairs
after five days of terror
she starved to death there
dad was cleverest
he fled to the Atlantic
to escape by boat
wading through driftwood
he found a russian u-boat
full of gnarled corpses
not dead as they seemed
the kremlin zombies leapt up
and ate my dad's brains
Jun 6, 2010
Jun 6, 2010 at 10:58 AM UTC
I will not hide despite the cameras in the sky, nor will i fear the satellites or Internet spies, and i will fight, and i will fight, as to not comply to the lies that co-hearse the norm, into standing idly by, in malformed, and twisted histories, twisting history, into a pearled vision of ministries giving eulogy, to enemies of the light, using light to blind the masses, before the flashes of infertility begin emanating from the cities, under the unity of, We The People, turned predator, under better sedatives that are better delivered, straight to the dream, or belief, of, or in anything.
Dare to dream, turn a blind eye to everything, or just something else, assigned children, or stolen wealth, while warmly held, in foggy hostilities, of those you rarely see, while soldiers of the peace, protect the streets, with covered faces, and powder burned fingers, lingering just out of reach, from the stones that burn the armored cars SAWing through the crowds, with the pulsing sound, of a million hell hounds, hell bound, machine gunning the bodies on the ground, for the pale riders, feeding on the dark horse, on course for a four course meal, leaving hopeless poses, of crying corpses, ashing in the wind of their trail.
Its our blood of defeat that lines the streets with the feed for the beast, as well as that same blood that feeds our victory, as we shall be exactly on time for the end, and the beginning.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
Deep throat of boat engines, gunning,
raid the silence of my perched open window.
They have their ways, fisher folk, and who am I to deny their tables food. Nets, full of brimming silver.
I guard solitude jealously, the absence of demanding voices.
Love can be found in such seeming desolation,
the prayer for friend and foe in equal measure.
I do not mind the sound of boats coming and going,
the deep blue a highway for whales and men and fish and stars.
The throats of bird and boat calling out, into the silence.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
The Christian imagination is captured
by the idea of the rapture
where Jesus comes to save us
like he shouldn’t just shame us
because no one is blameless
for this great mess.
It’s a dangerous mentality
to say our vitality
is based on morality
the rapture is that emphatically
where Jesus is battling
the forces of the ****** darkness
who are those I deem heartless.
The rapture can be Christian revenge ****
or their way of explaining this death storm
either way it prevents our best form
which is what Jesus was sent for
but now the student is the mentor
twisting words that meant more.
War is pushed to the side
it’s viewed as a sign
we’re living in the end times
like we’re in a hopeless ******
and tentacles just went by.
Nuclear proliferation
and global warming
bring them elation
for the rapture’s forming
so if the wars get gory
and match their prophetic story
they’ll practice diminished mourning.
God loves everyone individually
so it seems silly to me
what billions before us have seen
isn’t the same fate we’re deemed
why would we be
treated differently?
We must all walk through death’s door alone
I wish I could take everyone in my home
but that mentality is murder-suicide prone
yet when the comfort of company
becomes too much for me
I say quite lovingly
the rapture is coming
to drown out war drums drumming
I say the rapture is coming
to drown out more guns gunning
I say the rapture is coming
humanity’s mental growth is stunting
I say the rapture is coming.
May 28, 2020
May 28, 2020 at 2:33 PM UTC
Wait for it wait for it wait for the noise, let it build up build up from the ground up, can't shut it up, you not loud enough, tough enough,
you can't fight it, bite it, no slight of hand to deny it, defy it.
Don't shy away, stand and stay, don't fear the fray, there's still time to pray that you won't become the prey.
There's no running for a runner, no gunning for a gunner, no stunning for a stunner.
Ride hard or ride high, die hard or just die. I lie but I'm no liar, **** but not a killer, steal but not a stealer.
I beguile for the thrill, **** with skill, and steal with ease. Life's no joke but death is a breeze,
live ****** and get sleazed, die grimy get clean. This is no scan no scheme, up my sleeves nothing is seen.
No tricks for sick kicks, relax. stress is taxing take a deep breath and step back. Okay I've lost track.
Of the bars and the cars, the stars, and Mars. My thoughts are now in a different language, ego speaking spanish, Jorge can it.
**** it now its in Italian , I may be a horse but I'm no stallion. Shake my head, I'm going to bed,
let these words die, bury them dead, but make it shallow, just in case my thoughts aren't fed.
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 10:12 PM UTC
-iced coffees and knife tattoos couldn't justify the broken glass glinting off your back, so water down the orange sadness in your grey eyes and start pulling apart the summer nights' convenient secrets
- the gas station 6 minutes from home can teach you a thing or two about energy and mileage but no matter how far you go, the moon will always being its stars along to remind you of brand new ideas and bright eyes; don't blink or you'll miss a gunning thought
- with the loose thread on your hat's embroidery, stitch together 24 dandelions and swallow the ink that runs from the moments that you put you on a golden high; speeding down the highway on the road to a fresh, green burst of adrenaline on the coast is one that turned into silver
- your walk to the white laundromat down the street required a soft cold slurpee that would quench more than just your summer vibe but you picked up a medium iced hazelnut coffee instead and called it 'starting over' so your best friend would be proud of the way you handle new beginnings and stale cookies
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
staple a gun to your heart and call on the sun to melt the silver pieces into one, what i'm trying to say is put yourself back together and let the warmth radiate from your body like it used to, once i saw flowers pouring out your ribcages, now i see icicles freezing over your eyes but don't lose colour in your paints because at least when your brush hits the surface it carries something more than a gunning fresh start and less than a silver burden
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC
A distraught mother with her daughter
ventured too close to the flame.
Her erratic driving provoked panic;
The police reaction was insane.
What justification can there be
for gunning down an unarmed foe?
What cause for use of lethal force
When she had nowhere left to go?
By some miracle her child was spared
though 15 bullets pierced their Lexus.
She’s too young to recall this day
or her Mother’s final nexus.
Suicide by cop, most likely,
will be the Media’s diagnosis.
She was not some terrorist-
just a victim of psychosis.
The officer who gunned her down-
And saw her body at his feet-
Might not like his mirror much,
Might need medicines to sleep
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 8:18 AM UTC
With lifeless eyes he forms the south side hand sign
Represent his neighborhood is all he know
No remorse for his actions banging on the other side
He got his dope in his pocket and his pistol in his waistband
He pulled his pistol aimed and fired shots with his left hand
Hot steel spiraled out the barrel of the gun
Empty shells and bodies hit the pavement
Elevating the crime rate he celebrates with his homies back on the south side
Lines of ******* being snorted off the stomachs of *****
With bloodshot eyes they scream south side
North siders come through gunning automatic weapons being fired
Screams of ****** echo through the night
Unable to return fire south siders lay dying
With lifeless eyes they form the south side hand sign
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 5:40 AM UTC
They say
Where there is hope
There will be life
I say
What is life without
Happiness & fairness
What is life without
Proper funding
To buy even the
Basic Things
In life
I say
In hope
I see our children
Starving
In hope
I see our children
Gunned down
Everyday on our
Streets, and even
Inside their classrooms
In hope
I See too many
Heart broken
In hope
I see our blue Angels
Gunning down
My brothers, just
Because
Of the color of
Their skin
In hope
I see our elected
Officials
Corruptions at a
Different level
In hope
I see racism
Evolved
In hope
I see the world
On the verge
Of collapsing
In hope
I see pastors
Appearing
On television
Defending
The wicked
In hope
I see too many
Tears
From our
Mothers Eyes
In hope
I see nothing
But a path of
Thorns towards
Peace
In hope
I say
I am hopeless
And in
Hopelessness
I am lifeless
Yet
I’m still holding
On to hope
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 4:49 PM UTC