"gunpoint" poems
I think we stayed at every good hotel in the West.
Big suites
Hot tubs
Room service
We were really living the good life.
Nothing like a little drug money to help you indulge in
the finer things.
"Easy come Easy go"
Only people who have never sold drugs can say that.
Easy.......Yeah, Right.
Dealing with whackos
Getting robbed at gunpoint
Driving across the country with enough weight to get you
Life in Prison.
Stressful. Very stressful.
So we'd stay in Fancy Resorts.
Knowing one day it would all end
May as well enjoy it while you can
Because eventually you get caught
And if you make it out alive, all you have are the memories.
Like that time we were staying at the Royal Palms
Next to the former President's family.
Getting up from the pool, smoking crystal behind the cactus
While the former first lady swam laps.
She still looked pretty good in a bathing suit.
Old gal.
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
relaxing? relaxing would be a sin against myself. see God spun and wove golden bits of wisdom in these curls that are mine. see these curls spring loud with
songs of my Nubian
mothers and war cries of my Rasta fathers. see these curls bounce proud to the rhythm of tribal drums and the foot prints of my sisters from Manila reside
there as they roll
lumpia between the coils and springs. see these curls have moved sandstone bricks cross deserts, building divine architecture so perfectly aligned
with cosmos and
planets until Moses told Pharaoh to Let My People Go. these curls have traveled cross oceans and triangles packed like sardines squalid below the decks
of ships. see these
curls have been ***** by the nasty ***** in the big house and suffered sun strokes in cotton fields. see these curls sing loud and strong. See these curls
were branded and forced
at gunpoint behind ******** barbed wire fences gassed to death in the name of so called purification. see these curls bleed the pain of fire hoses and dog
bites and whites
only signs. see these curls wont back down gainst no burnin crosses gainst no swastikas gainst no elephant ******** talkin all that jazz on fox and cnn. see
these curls dance
wildly off beat to straight rhythms that drone on in 4/4 time c major sixty bpm. see these curls are Mas and my Grammas. see my curls are too proud to sit
back and chill and won’t take no **** or heat or hot air. see these curls cannot be contained in braids or scarves or jars of creamy crack. see
these curls dare you
to force them to
coerce them to
straighten up
their act. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls. my curls.
my curls will not
******* relax.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
Restless hungry, found a tiny scrap of a brownie in the back of the refrigerator, wrapped in plastic about the size of a large 35 cent quarter.
Gobbled up and gone.
Eye had purchased it a week ago, maybe more.
Actually it was more like eye was held up at gunpoint by a sad young face for a large and green single dollar Bill.
In return, was bequeathed said brownie eye dropper-ful.
The apartment I live in a big city, many apartments were recession empty for a long time. But in the last few years, the empty apartments in the building were almost all sold to foreigners.
Now the bldg is an amulet melted of the lucky overseas fortunate, those overseers overseas seizers, who come to reside in the most fabulous site in these United States...and buy a piece of the dream away from the be-headers, secret police or governments that decide you are now an enemy of the state, as of this morning. No judgement.
anyway, this doe eyed child of estimated six or eight years of age accosts me in our large lobby, proffers me the brownie scrap for a Bill.
me a sucker of a salesman myself, and an eye affician-doe, well those doefuls, those eyes, no one could resist!
so eye asked her name,
but all she could say in
Anglais was...
"Brownie One Dollar?"
laughing out loud for no apparent cause,
the hanging about lobbyists looked at me staring...
Why was eye laughing?
laughing cause eye realized
this elfin child had become
fitfully but fully Americanized.
and I loved her eyes in mine, and when I see her periodically, I say:
"Hey! Brownie One Dollar, How are ya!"
and everyone snicker smiles at the old man with the even stupider grin upon his eyes.
That would be eye.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:02 PM UTC
Chance gave me a taste
Of a slice of a life
That isn't the one I'm used to.
So I'm going to
Hold life's bakery at gunpoint
And take the entire ******* cake.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 2:19 PM UTC
Everyone keeps saying that I dodged the bullet
And they wonder why I never wanted to say
Actually, I was held at gunpoint
And the trigger was pulled anyway
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
What if sound was robbed,
Held at gunpoint
And smuggled away
From me
Into a duffel of contraband.
What if songs became nothing?
What would I
Do? As the bus
Bounces up and down,
When the sun hasn't
Yet stolen it's kiss.
The window yields
Bland scene
And I would recognize
The silence
In the detestful
Way I do
When I forget the wires.
What if his voice
Was gone?
Could I remember it?
Could I fill in sound as his
Lips moved,
God
All I'd ever see
Would be lips.
And I don't like mouths as it is.
But maybe
They'd be my new wires
And my eyes would follow
Their parted
Movements, enamored.
What if instructions were silenced
And I was left to guess at
What to do?
Emergency situation
Stealing my life away
Because I couldn't hear
Anything about
The oxygen supply
Above my head.
I'd perish in silence.
Would I speak?
Or only write?
Would I feel heard
If I could barely fathom listening?
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 10:43 AM UTC
Through my lungs to my heart , smoked you like a volatile joint ,
Your love proposition , holding my impotent life at gunpoint.
As you embroided my life with lacerate scars of pain and deceit,
Which I merely clothed myself hemming my love pleat by pleat .
Stripping me down you flung me like half smoked cigarette ****
That’s when I knew you created that crater deep till my gut
But life is a drama backstaged with chances,
Once again it would rain on you a downpour of judgement,
Then ill be the sky to judge with a turbulent temperament.
I want the thunder to clap in approval and gain ,
The darkness to blanket my self inflicted pain .
But again you breathe I love you into the air …and I melt my life once again before you .. because simply I love you.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 4:32 AM UTC
The peace of this small neighbourhood, is shattered as the door caves in
As masked marauders seek with guns, the criminals that hide within
But they find no deadly drug baron, Nor killer, or ****** animal
But a grey-haired lady, small and frail, in terror as she beholds them all
At gunpoint then her hands are tied, and her walking stick cast to the floor
As she is marched by mighty men, to the waiting van outside her door
Her heart skips wildly and her breath is tight, as she is bundled roughly inside
Her dignity and rights of law, are swept away and cruelly denied
And across the town there sits a girl, with kindly, smiling joyful eyes
A teen who spends her youthful zest, bringing hope and joy to other lives
But little does she know this day, that her future days are to dwell
Not in delight and dancing halls, but in a dark and lonely prison cell
And elsewhere stands a local hero, a man so honoured by decree
Acclaimed by peers and politicians, as a citizen of kindly deeds
Yet on this day, he is torn away, from his family who are left in tears
As this father and devoted husband, is imprisoned now for seven years
Who are these ones snatched by the state, and treated so unjustly
Held without cause or consideration, and despised so bitterly?
They obey all laws and pay their dues, and love their neighbours when they can
And share a hope of a future bright, even though their hope is banned
They are young and old, black and white, and gathered from diversity
They wage no wars, won't steal or lie, but treat all people with dignity
For their crime is not of violence, nor abuse, or fraud or robbery
But of being Christians and trying to show, Christ-like love to you and me
And what of those who terrorize them, the land where this grim drama is set
That mighty nation, so paranoid, that it considers them a threat
This pretender to the throne, bedecked in red and white and blue
Is a jealous king who hates the ones, who, to Christ their King are ever true
But as they languish in prison cells, awaiting justice from the King
The one whose commandments they obey, is smiling down and proud of them
For their hope is not in men of law, nor international decree
But their just and loving King, Christ Jesus, and in God- Jehovah's sovereignty
Dedicated to Jehovah's Witnesses imprisoned in Russia
Jun 26, 2021
Jun 26, 2021 at 7:26 AM UTC
Broken, life seeping.
Gutsy and lawless:
Gunpoint switchblade
Only seeing, never sleeping.
Groan and crawl, muck and mud
Run and **** Push my luck, down over.
Over and over again. Head over heels
Brain splatter banana peels.
Spacey air, musty sight.
Cold nights in the cold earth.
Bent and spent, came and went.
Statement of your rebirth.
Voices drowning down salt streams.
Craters on Retna Moon; green beams.
Too many visitors. No hesitation.
Sleeping beauty, my proclamation.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
If I am honest, I would not know where to begin.
I fly by the seat and pray for a soft landing.
Life can be rough, I'm pretty tough
Hit or miss, all I seek is my best first kiss..
Tough being me ha
It's tough being me. This is why I never pretend. Can't say I have been holy, in a world full of sin.
I know what's it like to be without joy. So, this why my undying love reaches in volumes which never ends.
Flying by the seat
My eyes replay
All of my memories
Graphic in the form of movies on repeat.
Plummeting down faster than the speed of sound
Remembering grace will embrace me after
my crash-landing, just wish I was in a more stable place.
Where we were able to sit down and talk.
I would bribe the world for more
than just borrowed time
Our words might fly off course, clash and collide
Patience never mixed well with pride
What could have been everlasting
Was forgotten and abandoned.
Even at gunpoint, never would I place you
In a position to be perplexed or stranded.
Throwing myself against the wall
Because I rather take hurt, before seeing you fall
will you still make effort to have an understanding?
Moments before the impact
Remembering it was too late
To turn back (time)
What more can I say?
It's not easy being me.
Ha
Miss & Descovia
Feb 23, 2021
Feb 23, 2021 at 8:59 AM UTC
"I saw you eyeing this"
I wasn't.
"It's my writing journal. I'm a poet, In case you were wondering"
I wasn't.
"I don't know if I'm any good. I mean, people say I am"
Probably not.
Finally, I handed him the question he was fishing for:
"So what do you write?"
"Oh, well, I did recently complete a poem
comparing life to a game of chess"
He had the smuggest most punchable face ever.
*...seriously?
You and every other 8th grader who got that prompt in Language Arts.
**** you.*
Is what I should have said to him.
I don't know why he ****** me off so much
Maybe because he reminded me of a younger version of myself
Always pushing my writing in people's faces
demanding they have an opinion on it.
Hell, I still do that from time to time.
Who was I to judge this poor guy?
but I did.
After a few years, I forgot about him entirely.
I couldn't recall his face even at gunpoint,
and all that is left in my memory of him
is that stupid comment about life and chess...
Chess takes strategy, and skill.
If you're gonna compare life to a board game,
It's more like chutes and ladders,
pure chance
Like Battleship,
dumb luck
Like Solitaire,
all too often you're playing with yourself.
But when you aren't it's Charades,
you're always trying to guess
What the other really means
and it's always simpler than we're making it.
It's Clue
In that no one has all the pieces to the puzzles
But if we work together,
maybe we can solve the mysteries.
Scrabble
It's a bag of incoherent consonants and vowels
Having no inherent purpose,
Developing all meaning through your design.
And yes, a little like Chess,
In that I never learned how to play it.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:56 AM UTC
I'm subtle like an atomic bomb
keep my words laid back and calm
my heart is a glass grenade
feel it crack when my love fades
but still, I stayed
but still, I stayed in this charade
and built around a barricade
you know I'd rather talk this out
spent a decade to you devout
by your side through the drought
so quiet we would never shout
but still, I doubt
but still, I doubt the chosen route
and if I'd prefer to go without
(your tongue a jacketed hollow point
we've never gone to bed angry...
but regret, guilt, and empty sadness
is a fragile yet different parallel)
(I suspect my veins course with
plutonium and uranium...
I leak radioactive decay,
my half-life disintegrating)
there's a stillness when I explode
for a moment, time is slowed
you're in disbelief that I'd reload
the same feelings, the same road
but still, I bowed
but still, I bowed to your code
and stayed despite what you showed
my atoms begin anew to divide
no longer stable, can I abide
I feel a part of me has died
when to leave, I must decide
but still, I cried
but still, I cried by your side
until the day I walked out in stride
(your love is a weapon
I've been held at gunpoint for so long...
I never wanted to hurt you
but I can't keep hurting myself, either)
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Expectations of others still holding me at gunpoint.
Everyone and their mothers, I know I'll disapoint.
Not everyone can win if this internal battle continues.
But everyone could win if we stop the abuse.
The abuse of others, the society around,
Could become productive if we listened through the sound.
Listened to the people but not the words they say,
Because everyone communicates in their personal way.
If we listened to ourselves and followed what we feel,
Maybe everyone in this world could go home to a meal.
Maybe someday we will love and the fighting will cease,
and maybe someday we will be people of peace.
For now Im alone and considered slightly mad,
For straying from the norm apparently Ive gone bad.
Someday we will all stray from the norm.
We will all become "mad" rather than conform.
When that day comes the norm is gone for good.
People will be free and I will be understood.
With just a free spirit you can help to release,
A whole new world for the people of peace.
Nov 21, 2010
Nov 21, 2010 at 12:49 PM UTC
anxiety kicks down the door
and holds you at gunpoint-
he, who is the most unforgiving of all,
does not care where you come from,
what you’re doing, who you’re with.
he hijacks the system. he takes over
the plane you were trained to fly. he
is a terrorist who you cannot escape
from and you cannot imprison.
you are not safe in your body.
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
You Are low,
show me your petals.
She lives life like the
silence of falling snow,
or like the smell of
fresh rain on her skin.
Pretty pink petals pull
open for me to taste
her sweet nectar,
let us pollinate.
I'm losing my souls
a step at a time.
My ears get hot when you
**** me at gunpoint.
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 9:31 PM UTC
A glow in the dark,
Spilling.
Organs with edges and cross traffic with the lights living assumed.
Happy pockets fill with stolen thunder.
Gunpoint robs the room eyeless,
And curves me to mercy.
Please, preserve that satchel of blood; so neon, so flaunted.
On the rocks.
Smooth.
Dec 29, 2012
Dec 29, 2012 at 2:48 AM UTC
Picture-perfect spectacle, splattered upon the canvas
White canvas polka-dotted, splashed, smacked
With an ensemble of colors partaking in lively dances
Artistry exemplary, simple applause apparently apt.
It was this artist’s one shot
The proof was in the painting
The piece ; joy is what it brought
The other piece, other joy, exhilarating.
Reds, violets, blues
Pinks, greens, and orange hues
Rainbow splats and careful flats
Certain clusters of paint make me glad.
Though, like every painting painted
A hidden passage creating vexes
Faint sadness ; happiness tainted
The mind of this creator perplexes.
All the while I’ve been feeling his art
And touching the surface
Deep below was his heart
Well crafted mask that hugged his face
I shall pick his brain
Quite literally, though it’s repulsive
For this painting was his last, ashame
His retirement is messy, but in an eye of an artist
This gunpoint suicide was one that held artistic fame.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
A lit candle illuminating the room as shadows darken the walls
The little schoolboys and schoolgirls chatter loudly in the halls
The smell of pumpkins, uneasy cold air, in this season of Fall
Woman, recoiling away from my unholy punches of Satan
Simon's inferno has begun!
There would be men robbed at gunpoint, children being stabbed
Cats and dogs are being skinned and women being grabbed
Elderly man is sobbing, wanting to die once and for all
I shall end it all for him, no teardrops shall fall
My stormy disturbed eyes reveal it all...
The men used to be strong, for now they are weak
These skies of an unholy red, continue to cry it seems
I must go home now, let me out of this dream
Satan's sadistic smile continues to gleam
To the cries of women being *****
And the children continuing to scream
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
Genuine just doesn’t cut it,
Genuine, but still great at wit,
Wit, but still fair and kind,
Kind enough she’s stuck inside your mind.
You don’t mind when you disagree,
Because you know that she’s right,
And with time you have come to see,
That pretty sight, with your ****** sight.
Her eyes are an enticing brown,
Warm, inviting, providing delight
Never fail to get rid of a frown,
And like fires, provide warmth in the cold of night.
Her smile is genuine and soft,
Could give life to the lifeless,
Makes you forget what you’ve lost,
And like the rarest diamond it’s priceless.
But the killer is her god **** laugh,
It’ll fulfill your entire soul
Knowing that no other girl compares to half,
Of the girl that makes you whole.
And well the sarcasm is on point,
So when you say something witty,
She’ll use her words to put you at gunpoint,
And make a comeback somehow pretty.
And yet it’s something you never said,
Because you didn’t want her to go away,
Because without her your world would be dead,
And for her company, you would pay.
So the best way to describe it,
Is a way that is personal to you,
And although it’s rushed and ****
You want her to know that every word is true.
Because Genuine just doesn’t cut it,
Genuine, but still great at wit,
Wit, but still fair and kind,
Kind enough she’s stuck inside your mind.
And you want her to stay.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 3:56 PM UTC
i thought i'd never step outside
lightly, without haste again.
how is it possible to stand in your air
without wool, new england?
it's the vitamin d sliding off
my skin into another ***** i
try to tell myself.
today someone i admire said that
i am dharma.
and i thought, he must be
confused, because i cannot
sleep until the birds converse, i cannot
read until someone holds me
at gunpoint, i cannot
do laundry until i am drip
drying in -4 degrees at wide eyed
3am. how does one who teaches me
claim i have done the teaching?
also, i thought i'd never watch the celtic
wolf pup with any woman
calmly, that my exotic fires will always
blaze your landscape when you
inspire my first love to lay eyes on
another, new england. i know you
favor the irish girls, i thought
i'd never lose that finger. but last
night when he kissed his
new blonde girlfriend in my
dream i didn't feel like fire,
nor ice, nor the typical acid bath
i expected to turn into.
it was more like the very
last snowflake gently swayed
her hips down to the peak of
mount olympus. the final atom to
complete a solution suddenly switched
to soft frothy white. i stared
at them a moment, puzzled while
the piece clicked in, your frigid
breeze irrelevant, without consequence
and the way laid out ahead of
me, cavorting down the mountain.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
It's September 2013.
A Coronal Mass Ejection scorched the Earth,
collapsing the Global infrastructure.
Those that weren't fried up in the killshot
traverse a world nearly foreign to them,
devoid of any form of luxury.
They make their ways to the FEMA camps,
setup all over the United States,
because that's what their TVs told them to do,
just days before the blast.
But they knew since the Remote Viewing program began in the Cold War.
A teenage boy,
now forced to be a man,
leads his Mother through the terrain,
avoiding building fires and roving gangs.
Finally they arrive,
the camp like a shimmering oasis
in the burned out barrens.
They stand in line at the gates,
poor and huddled masses.
When it is their turn,
they present the IDs they were informed to bring.
"Sorry son, your name's on the list,
you can't get in."
"What do you mean? What list."
"The list of people who didn't know how to keep their mouths shut on facebook.
So, you're out, but your Mom can come in."
Another guard approaches and squires her in at gunpoint.
"No, I won't go, not without my Son!"
To which the guard interjects
"Shut the **** up..
take your clothes off..
we're going to pour powdered sugar on you."
"Noooo! Mahhhhhhhm."
"We're gonna **** your Mom kid." the gatekeeper laughs.
Insert Whale sound
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 12:58 PM UTC
Lamentations and a trigger
Questions and closed walls
Loneliness is a dark place to be
When you're a riptide in the sea
We are the hunters and the terror
And we give ourselves away
To every strobe that once brought euphoria
Cascade into the darkness of the day
At gunpoint no lies survive
As they walk the weary wastelands
As you think dog days are over
Knives find peace in hollow hearts
Darts and an anchor
Death by December
Sealed with a kiss and
Promise to deliver
Roses thriving on the remains of the night
Trampled by a stampede of prides
Crags that congregate for catharsis
Fossilised into the ground
Dusk and dawn
Dust and pawns
Lust and taunts
And we give ourselves away
One December morning I found my feet in the deep water
After a storm
As I brewed and brewed trouble
In the form of marble shards
In the innards of a porcelain cup
The holy grail of languor
Skin meets teeth
Placidity greets
Habits die hard
Victims live vicariously
Through rose-tinted glasses
Waiting to be saved
Sinners can't be brave
Like broken ocean waves
The darkest days are over
So rejoice
For the worst is yet to come
But there is silence
Silence in our downfall
Even with nine suns arising
Caressing the canvas that shrouds the clouds
Even as the firmaments fade to black
Sinners can't be brave
Sinners can't be brave
And we need someone to save us all
Save me
Here I lie beneath the rubble
With my mind in a mess
And my heart in a storm
Save me
Before I become brave again
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 11:42 PM UTC
Soon this short Icharion flight
Is coming to an end
And on that day you'll mourn the rights
You chose not to defend
Passing on the plight of patriots
We piddle on their graves
Play sad songs and hold our hearts
While the blood spattered banner waves
But the cries of a billion tiny voices
As they cry themselves to sleep
Can't be heard above Lee Greenwood
As the tears streak down our cheeks
It's awfully sad to see such things
In such a sorry state
But ignorance is only bliss
Until it's your head on the stake
Our eyes attract to shiny things
Bright lights like fishing lures
Robbed at gunpoint before we're paid
We're either soldiers or we're ******
As these toxins trace my tiny veins
And seep through every cell
I can't help but taste distain
And think that this has to be Hell
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 8:32 PM UTC
I have alot of opinions, this particular one I am about to share with you today is a seemingly less popular idea amoung the masses.
Let's take it back to right after the first world war- soldiers coming back from battle were ailed physically, but what drove many of them sadly to the points of insanity and suicide were the things they had witnesses on the battlefield. Scenes of people infected with festering diseases that eventually took their lives, some with arms and legs completely taken off- still walking around in the shock of it all, and most of all- the death, the brains and blood and insides of what used to be living breathing people now splayed out across the landscape or piling up in the trenches. The mere thought of it is absolutely horrific.
Today, we can turn on our various screens and witness the horror in high definition, excruciating detail. Human being desimating human beings. Killing each other for fun, taking another life for fun.
I know I am mostly alone on this, every single man enjoys his brutally violent video games, gore movies and zombie thrillers are the biggest thing right now.
Personally, I feel its disgraceful. A total disrespect for the dead and human dignity. Think of your grandparents, your parents, all of your friends and family. Would you be so excited to see them fall victim in the zombie apocolapse? Already dead, reanimated, rotting corpses of your loved ones attempting to take your life. Would you be so thrilled to have them pinned at gunpoint, because to the shooter- its a game?
This numbed human experience is insane.
I don't believe in it, and I refuse to live by it.
Yes, I have been exposed to blood, guts, gore & war
But I certainly don't absorb it for fun, or as a silly past time.
These are peoples lives.
Feb 8, 2015
Feb 8, 2015 at 11:43 AM UTC
he's asked for
a cigarette
but he doesn't smoke
turns out his pockets
and is shot dead
in a pool of misplaced caution
tinged red
veins expelling
voices garbling
until there is darkness
because there is no heaven
and there is no hell
there's only the misplaced caution
of a man who never smoked
in a world of gunpoint and demand.
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 5:02 PM UTC