"hearst" poems
The all seeing iris imperial city
The swiftest of stylus this side of the ‘sippi
The trippiest spittin’ Promethean hippy
Conspiracy theorist of eeriest verse
The despotic hypnotic black flag bearin’ Hearst
Still immersing myself in a poverty trap
As I grapple with lack of fact check cashing crap
Cryogenically frozen emotion vibes flowin’
From out my funk bunker boombox
Overthrowin’
Your global dominion opinion with ease
Shootin’ breezes with Tirailleurs Senegalese
I’m the kid wicked picket sign paintin’ Tom Sawyer
The ill eagle Taino privilege enjoyer
Still swoopin’ in mean on each **** I make clean
Pick the bones dry of serpentine oil green dreams
Then I bury what’s left of your money machines
With the pharaohs of old’s latest pyramid schemes
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 12:10 PM UTC
War of the worlds,
men bartering money
Dollar bills left abandoned,
blown to smithereens
Battling dusts of torment,
acceptance of surrender
Waging a money war,
business men flee
In the shadows rises,
a fallen angel
Akin to a phoenix,
from the ashes
She symbolizes a renewal,
dying in fires
Sparks burning a nest,
immortality supplying coffins
Diabolical legacies of past,
bow & arrow
Punctured wounding broken heart,
wings disallow flight
Stumbling a splintered hip,
reborn a chance
Of independent determined autonomy,
la Cuesta Encantada
Fallen at the gates,
an enchanted hill
San Simeon seeking redemption,
death awaits her
Carrying body & soul,
Santa María Maggiore
Of Roman baroque temples,
small cascading pools
Death releases her body,
the Neptune pool
She floats without dissension,
sinking in grace
In all her glory,
Hearst Castle will
Entomb body & soul,
memories of her
release release release
Absolution.
© Sia Jane
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
another invite!
fuckin' hearst must take me for
a fuckin' optimist
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 8:41 PM UTC
Pop bottles. Boxes of them.
The old man brought them home.
He collected them on the construction site, between lifts.
Sometimes it would be days between lifts,
So he filled time collecting bottles.
*Hires, Fanta, Tab, Fresca, 7 Up, Mountain Dew,
Canada Dry*...
Emptied by men, like him, from all over.
What conversations did he have with them
When he picked up the empties.
Did he indulge? He'd have liked Vernors.
Pop bottles were as good as gold.
Large bottles, a nickel: Small, two cents.
He kept us busy, weeding, straightening nails, digging, mixing cement, building fences, painting them, and the house;
Root cellars, garages, additions;
In fair, wet, or hot conditions.
Winter had it's own cuffs.
We'd cash in the bottles at Walker Bros.
Every Sunday he'd leave for weeks,
Up North, to places like Kapuskasing and Hearst.
He must've been thinking about us up there,
Collecting our bottles,
In fair, wet, or hot conditions.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 10:03 PM UTC
A witches brew forget what you knew about what you knew.
Summer heat comimg down to Haight street.
Black leather. Huey P.
***** South..coming round.
The lottery for your vacation in the Mekong Delta
Power to the people wattstacks.. love generations birthday.
Coast to coast conflagration.
Burn baby.
The Hearst chronicles
Apollo flew from the Cape.
Kennedy casket draped for
a procession.
Economic depression.......
Tick. Tick Tick.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
The denouncement of
human history
Men bartering dollar bills
waging a money war.
How those business men flee
bank notes blown to smithereens
Battling dusts of torment
acceptance of surrender.
Sparks burning a hollow nest
in the shadows a fallen angel
Cinders & ashes
a maleficent phoenix rises.
Diabolical legacies of past
armoured; bow & arrow
Punctured wounded broken heart
wings disallow flight.
Stumbling a splintered hip
reborn a chance
Freedom, autonomy, independence
of personal desires.
La Cuesta Encantada she
falls at the gates
The Enchanted Hill
San Simeon seeking redemption.
Death awaits her
Santa María Maggiore
Of Roman baroque temples
small cascading waterfalls
Her body released
eternal rest.
She floats without dissension
The Neptune pool
She begins to sink
in grace
in all her glory.
release release release
Hearst Castle entombing
body, soul, memories
The peace which passeth understanding.
Absolution.
© Sia Jane
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
I like to sit by the calm evening bright with stars,
seven old warm stars.
vast marching processions of stars fulfil their round in
marriage. he was a thoughtful expression the smaller and by noon
of his half-weary race,
of whom thou hearst
thou rather pure ethereal presence---i am but a voice;
the rest, we live
without you. a shadow on with a conquering laughter,
drink and song, was done.
Sep 25, 2011
Sep 25, 2011 at 11:05 AM UTC
A special place in hell.
Child ***** they sell.
Pedofiles have no style.
They destroy, hurt, & defile.
They deserve no glory.
We need to all end their story.
They should be castrated & executed.
Blinded, deafened, & muted.
Probation should'nt even be disputed.
Paralyzed until they've realized.
True suffering.
Revenge with no wondering.
A hell on earth for them.
Their life should have never been birthed.
Their evil essence was unearthed.
A soul-less existence with no worth.
An entity that's cursed.
They walk among us.
Blending in so diverse.
Havoc & chaos they resurrect is worse.
They belong in a coffin in a hearst.
Heartless & the unpureist.
I wish them all dead.
To stay out of children's beds.
My words you saw & read.
From justice they fled.
Fugitives of crime.
Sentenced to death in time. Bounty hunters hear their thunder. Watch your back. They will attack.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
It's late out,
Michael Trent and Carry Ann Hearst are spinning me a tale,
Of which they constructed around the end,
Of two Musicians,
Crossing paths many a time on the road of life,
To only find out their paths soon merge.
Now ain't that interesting?
To think of those we meet at crossroads,
Only to find out soon enough they are the ones you come to rely on most.
Crossroads,
So many crossroads,
To weave a pattern much like a tapestry,
Where do your crossroads lead?
Neil Young is on now,
A song written in a time that he was homesick,
In lands far away,
Even though he had no home to go back to.
A place where it's lush and green.
There's a Russian word for an ache like that,
It's called tocka,
A great longing and anguish,
With nothing to long for.
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 12:19 AM UTC
Let my fingers unravel you;
Like the folds of ribbon,
wrap around you,
draping us together,
like the folds
of blankets.
Joining each others worlds,
forming our own planet.
Feeding off our energy,
with out I'd be famished.
Forever lost in a moment,
too destined to vanish.
The marks left on our souls
our hearst will always brandish.
Aug 29, 2016
Aug 29, 2016 at 10:04 PM UTC
Hey! I know you hear me,
I know **** comes at you
With intent to blind u so u can't see.
Tip, tipsy, drunk, insanity
I'm screaming and yelling
I love you infinitely.
You've ran, you've hid.
From the memory of
All u did.
Two kids r awaiting.
Keep going and they'll b hating.
Why, do u fall so far?
What if u pass out,
Behind the wheel of a car?
I'm fighting not to yell and curse,
Cause I dont wanna be following a Hearst.
You call me. Confused.
Don't like this abuse.
It's all around you.
People tryn to use....
Use your soul.
Until it's old.
Rotten and cold.
Can't seem to get in your head.
Show u where to go,
Cause I don't want you dead.
Aaron. Let's the air in the room.
He smiles and lights up.
Life is good. For the turn of the moon.
That ******* bottle.
I wanna break them all.
Tell u that u can't wallow.
Your inner strength is your pain.
And when u cry it's like the pouring rain.
I never saw my mom's death.
I can never say I've had it worse.
U sat all alone at 8yo.
And watched her last breath.
I know that's where it comes from deep within.
U fight day by day. To not pick up that sin.
A guiding hand,
A word of might.
Maybe if I tell u how much
You matter.
U won't die tonight.
To a dearest friend
Aaron.
I love you, you r my family.
Those kids who made it out of hell.
Still hiding in that hard shell.
Cuz we don't know where else to be.
I said I believed in u.
And that was no lie.
Can't imagine how painful it is.
That I gotta watch u cry.
Fear. And doubt crumbles the hope
You hide.
No matter what!
I forgive you.
I always do.
Can't be on this ride.
And expect everything to be new.
So like I said before...
Put the bottle down.
Sober up.
U can't keep falling
Insideout. On your crown.
*To Aaron.
It's not over.
Until u look in the mirror.
And start caring'.*
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Imagine what was a wall,
covered in twisted metal
and oil and filth and dust;
the tracks still in tact,
for they must be.
They must.
Play it backwards,
you will see,
the potential lives
I used to seize.
Play it forward,
close your eyes;
here comes the wreck,
here come the cries.
And God ****
It can't get worse.
I said, ‘God ****
Rewind this curse.’
God **** God ****
We’d best reverse.
And God ****
We've all seen worse.
I swear, God ****
Just stop the hearst.
God **** God ****
This can’t get worse.
God **** god ****
this is no first.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC
yesterday we used to pray
today you say it ought not be that way
I was born in the gutter my mother was a *****
she sold her junk in the trunk in back of the liquor store
I was raised by my grandma Mable
feeding her dog underneath the table
back then as a young G living came most naturally
as the years would pass having every reason to grasp
those silly days of my youth with the loose tooth
shopping trips at the nearby mall
playing bat and ball at the end of my street
Pop Rocks those fancy socks eating candy with the dots
loose lips sinks ships took some time to move those hips
Went to high school thought I was way to cool
smoking **** listening to boom box with Scot Lerock
block parties that where it began the day I became a man
working on my tan selling dope down at the 8th Street Station
getting busted by the cops doing time
made a name for myself on the streets
The hustler was soon released had the best of suits but a noose around my neck
What the heck had to put things in check
Had my mind on my money but my money was gone
Until that day I went to church payed a visit with the savior
Now I get high with the Lord up in the sky
No fly by or getting shot in the eye
God is good to those who love & put him first
Most of my friends were in the back seat of a hearst
The moral of this dope joint is have faith in God
Forget about your good for nothing friends yet who are they anyway
Let us learn to stay humble everyday and bow the knee to pray
Couldn't share my story any other way
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
God is the seed
Man is the soil
Nothing will grow
unless a man toil
God's watering words
quench a man's thirst
The son's called our Savior
from cradle to hearst
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 11:18 AM UTC
Alive, a lie
Heaven sent
Wishful, why
I fear the light
Too long I'm wrong
To love tonight
I try to cry
No tears appear
I miss you here
Alone I’ll die
Fine, rewind
Relive your fears
Worse yet, regrets
Hearst left you're right
A life for mine
A line wayback
Unidentified
Blind – for I'm
Too old to fly
Too weak to attack
Too mad to react
Ill advised
By my old friends
I love to laugh, they hate to ask
Seems we have a lot to grasp
London summers sound real nice
Las vagas winter's crowds and lights
Maybe here has run it's course
Trust tomorrow grounds us both
Mar 21, 2019
Mar 21, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC
The message to Louisville and the world
This is my goodbye and remember me with the boxing gloves and technique that I
Remember my mission of why I became a Boxer
Thank you Louisville citizens for your throwing of flowers and name called of Ali as my Hearst drove by
Now I don’t want you to see any tear with a cry
But think on my accomplishment being your daily living try
As my Hearse carrying my body drives by, I want you all to come together and embrace
This cannot be a separation of any race
I expect triumphant beyond defeat
Living is about having character along with endurance extending into total strength
I fought where others said I couldn’t
The boundaries insisted I shouldn’t
But I stood up with a raw of my voice
I let it be known that this was going to be my choice
My rivers are continuing to flow
I want you all to know, I truly love you so
You have been fans and friends
It was from beginning to end
My name has spread throughout the land
Yet I have achieved throughout my life
The Lord called me home, as I will have a new place where my spirit can roam
My legacy will continue to be around
So look up, and you know where I will be found
Farewell from Ali you know, and take care being my loving and inspiring flow.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
After about fifty years as married wife
the last three fraught with strife
obvious telltale signs of terminal illness rife
hysterectomy irrevocably didst jackknife
at the least severely incapacitated
think pitted, riddled,
and rounced her tortured life.
Ovarian cancer affliction
on par with megadeath
bald pate (color of bleached skull),
and crossbones characterized mortal death
oxygen tank to sustain each measured breath.
Nonetheless her angry spirited accursed
ferocity, ejaculatory, denunciatory burst
expletive and epithet
peppered preponderant rant,
(no kidney you) laced
and dull livered worst
fulmination, exasperation,
(albeit feebly faint)
damnation well versed
lips mouthing implacable thirst
to defy grim reaper uber
lyft driver analogous hearst
jubilation immune to
interrogation and/or humiliation
diatribes interpreted glorification,
remained scythe lent bore
scathing rebukes hurled regarding
her sole son (courtesy
miraculous biological reproduction)
dogged with financial perdition
eased series of unfortunate events narration
blessed nonagenarian widower husband
generous father gave male progeny
eased (his/mine) absolution
availed immense monetary boost,
she (envision banshee)
voiced abhorrent objection
regarding liberal outpouring
triggered her vitriolic remenstration.
Similar with pointed gesticulation,
excoriation, cannibalization, abomination...
against reducing his albatross
yoking penurious defeat
her livid hostility displayed, decried,
****** how Matthew Scott,
(I shoal mussel metaphor
without clamming up, how
said offspring coasts) along easy street,
while she sorely protested (thankfully in vain)
even after succumbing to painful demise,
she vehemently, obstreperously and helplessly
loathes handsome handout
to yours truly forsakes Pete.
Jan 16, 2020
Jan 16, 2020 at 5:55 PM UTC
As always when in the initial throes
of writing what I strive to concoct viz
pièce de ré·sis·tance,
which grandiose whim fizz
hills with utter futility, nonetheless this
nondescript husband under
scores comment, while pulling his
grizzled hair of chinny chin chin,
and emphasizing that mine
literary effort ain't no ****
whether expressing an insatiable hunger
for factual national world events,
weird news i.e. geico liz
hard eats dog,
(who swallowed homework) quiz
sic hull varying from opinion/editorial,
geopolitical related or showbiz,
but breathe deep, while setting loose
quiet riot of ideas,
which profuse accursed
process usually incorporates an overwhelming
growing exponentially cerebral burst
whereat impossible task
looms large, asper how to
zero on most agreeable needling
threadbare notion to come first
amidst the plethora of rampant analogous
to horde of infants
clamoring tubby nursed
bajillion ideas touting joyfulness
(re: l'chaim), or...mine
envisioned sorrowfully immersed
demise as select small group
of family and friends accompany
glassy transparent hearst
(which...shh... keep on the Q.T.
as figuratively utter by pursed
lips), of course no corps
(habeas corpus cited for no reason),
but liver worst
poisoning wrought unexpected demise,
AND cremation (in a free nation)
means body double
coffin before your eyes
doppelganger paid in blood
money and french fries
(duet to a solo salt craving) no lies,
hence an none nee moose penniless chap dies
in short shrift within schema of mortal guise
ashes scattered all points on the compass
one bitcoin player in the blockchain of life wise
lee subsumed within world
wide web, this fate hain't no surprize!
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC