"heist" poems
the infant
would get
so angry
siblings
would blow
on its face
it would start
breathing
and a biblical
sigh
would usher
itself
into the nursery
of the infant’s
mind
where
vehicle
to a mother’s
heist
a child
of present
fathers
would happily
****
on whoever
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
i
give me my lifes´
the day crowded bright
and the night sumptuous..
give me my pretty wife
where love at first sight
bind us..
give us two souls blithe
fused as light within light
sweet bounteous..
let us soar and dive
like content swallows might
time in lost happiness..
( and let trouble and strife
bind-us the more tight
like our first kiss..)
give then to two one life
white to white
whole as stars
as love unto death
might break apart
and ride the cosmos..
ii
the jonah by james herbert
a heist goes wrong and a colleage
is shot..
just another debacle for our hero
in a long list
that has him transferred to the
drug squad and east anglia..
to live in a caravan..
keep his eye on the locals
and drink strong beer..
ellie his partner
makes him eat
and they fall in love
though various tentions rise
due to his troubles..
some flash backs
a left baby in a toilet
sadistic stuff at the orphanage..
bullies and dodgy collars
his step father is strict
he is an ornothologist..
there are drug related incident
a dead vole
a us pilot bites the farm..
some little boy thinks he
can fly..
the water supply
some pilfering
some heavy knocks
some bad lies
some kitchen
small potatoes
but all part
of mr herbert´ s charm..
a huge storm
the spooky old mill
a wild trip..
and regression
bad men
bad men..
lot´ s of struggle
the raw products
towed in by trawler
assembled by the knights
torn
and a lost twin..
a monster in the flood
where others die
a maitre d..
a ***** salesman and
his girl in a caravan
the fishermen..
helicopters and
victory for
the forces of good..
and the jonah
gone and all
is light..
the end..
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Wisdom teeth- you're out.
Sneaking four, about to commit a heist- no doubt!
Fuzzy and tingly- then darkness consumed the high.
Awoke, the sting of absence felt.
I've taken my drugs- cried and iced.
I caught ya. Wisdom teeth.
I will plead for sleep.
Gone now, but if I ever lose my molars?
How wicked would that be?
My wisdoms couldn't aid me!
I'll accept the philosophy of Candide.
For "all is for the best" arguably,
In "the best of all possibly worlds" supposedly.
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Grand edifices, seem pretty nice
Hoarding up money, such a heist
Pockets full, everything to boast
All that luxury, all that toast
Curtains of wealth, over those eyes
Trapped in such a state of vice
Stockpiles of silver and gold
Deal, a sign, everything sold
Wealth in reality, zero a price
Counting em, this year x thrice
Pretending to be above n bold
The stiff heart you couldn't mould
Crawling over body, ants and lice
Scorpions too, it's nothing nice
Shivering with fear and cold
The pain, agony, all foretold
In the grave, horrendous mice
Game's over for the rolling dice
No one to tell, weren't you told
To that paper now grab a hold
May it be Burj khalifa, all those malls
The huge tall towers, everything falls
Sabotag shall suffer those proud walls
(Awaits!)
The vast stage, superior than all halls
Oct 4, 2017
Oct 4, 2017 at 2:04 PM UTC
hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
a break
and take
a breath
digging holes
taking pills
sliding down
murderin'
fillin' hills
the chills
my thrills
no bills
countin' kills
ten fingers
smell lingers
hell bringers
not singers
give me that...
bring me there...
–
shovels
the troubles
my doubles
be bubbles
black moths
white veins
no money
hopping trains
you blame
the rain
for pain
insane
to think
a drink
of water
taught her
brought her
to the edge
nothing left
to take
so...
give me that...
underground....
hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
a breath
ahhhhhhh
give me that...
bring me there...
we're going underground
–
your games
my flames
the names
we tame
the light
breaks night
we slide
we hide
in
the
dark
so take
a breath
Underground...
hip-hop
split my mind open,
hear me flip-flop
happily irritated
watching your
constipated
face break
heavy tears
you shake
you ache
so take
take me
bake me
shake the dirt
from my bones
love's
no longer
got me
in a
choke hold
feeling bold
stories told
so grab
a hold
as we unfold
underground
no longer bound
by fear
my dear
the present is clear
growing and sprouting
underground
–
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
Donald Trump's presidency
Is one of the greatest achievements in art I have ever experienced
And Trump is a true artist
He takes words from the page
Like corruption, disenfranchisement, xenophobia
And brings them to life
Highlighting fear and paranoia so clearly
Contrasting the blacks and whites
Emphasizing anger
While reminding us we're mere infants
In the digital age
And warning us of our seniority
And capitalism's
We all like to think life has meaning
Until we hit an animal with our car
Then that's just the way things are
And I'm staring at an absurdist painting
Of a child driving a car
Through a herd of sheep
As I watch a heist film
Where the robbers turn their guns over
To the mentally unstable guy in the group
Trump is a national artist
Placing riots on the map
And drawing infernos on the Internet
His art forces an opinion
Everybody has something to say about him
And it's all true
Even the pages he ripped from his own cabinet
Tried to villainize him in their script
But he was already an anti-hero
The humor is that the mud slung onto him
Is dirt kicked up from his own tires
I guess if you surround yourself with hateful people
You're surrounding yourself with people who probably hate you
Trump's art is deeply conflicting
He reminds me of the people who want me to live in shame
Yet he embodies the individuality that separates me from that shame
His insecurities remind me of myself
High school is the White House in the eyes of a kid
And I had secrets I wanted to share
But felt I couldn't
I learned things
That changed my entire perspective
And didn't think people would understand
Afraid of being assaulted for my indiscretions
I hid behind a boisterous personality
And a nonchalant attitude
Trump's art evokes sympathy and hatred that feels so strong
When he holds a mirror defining our worst qualities
To a man viscerally opposed to his own reflection
The confliction of emotions
Is the hallmark of great art
We are all artists
The lines we write or the strokes we brush
Are in our actions
And Trump's canvas displays
A life filled with accomplishment
Inspiring me to live my own life
But I still wake up in cold sweats
From the American dream
That anybody can be president
Sep 29, 2017
Sep 29, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
Just one bat of her lashes, and every neuron in my brain was conspiring to steal her heart. So I became a thief. I become a lot of things in an instant, the way a chameleon changes colors. Her heart was reduced to a jewel, courting became a heist, and possession was just the *** afterwards. She was nothing more than a crime. A terrible thing that I committed.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
When ranchers decide to do a thing,
Sometimes they just go through it.
What follows is a little fling
A neighbor did...don't do it.
The clearing of the land requires a little fortitude
Some ingenuity, and luck, and not a little courage.
So A.D. Volbrecht's story, though a little crude,
Is only strange to those who eat milk toast and porridge.
Rather than tear an old house down to clear a farming space,
A.D. enlisted help from his oldest son to haul the thing away.
Together then, the two grown men took on a moving race
To see if they could jack the house and move it in one day.
The morning saw a Donahue, low slung and meant to haul,
Waiting as the house was raised, (unsteady on new legs)
Then slowly lowered down again. T'would make a feller bawl
To see the old home place prepare to pack its bags.
Son Zane began a steady pull to move the old house home,
And A.D. took his place in front, flashers and flags to warn.
Slow going was their pace, and traffic stopped up some;
The actual move was tougher than the plan they'd formed.
So seven miles became a half a day, and challenges arose
How ever would they move the thing through town?
The power lines and traffic cops were obstacles; who knows
What kinds of tickets they'd be writing down?
Up ahead the airport gleamed, the tarmac shimmered black.
"Aha!" old A.D. cried, "I've found the way around!"
Hard left he turned on a county road, and cut the fence in back
And guided Zane and the old home shack to airport ground.
Western Airways flight was due sometime that afternoon;
Old AD rattled on up Runway One, old pickup running fast,
To find a gate to let the old house through, (and none too soon);
The tractor and its load sputtered through the parking lot at last.
In June a few years back, a farmer and his son pulled off a heist.
Stole some runway time and cut their journey short...
No harm done, though they'd never do it twice
Without winding up defenseless in the county court.
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
There were once men, playing a lying game.
They had no heart, they knew no shame.
Like Sirens, what their songs told,
were stories of flesh on beds of gold.
Merely this, is what their songs were about,
for wine and flesh they lusted sparing doubt.
For all their bubbles, fizzle, show and gleam,
true love for them was but a funny little dream.
Some, it is true, had the voices of blue suede kings.
Yet, danced on rubble, coughing smoke, 'n' kissing rings.
Thankfully, their lyrics were quite naturally cold,
faintly sparkling true hearts, despite their gold.
No songs can, in the spirit, ever remain,
or one's path meaningfully ingrain,
unless dotted by a hearty blood stain.
Still, some blind and sleepy were enticed,
those who dropped their heart, who'd lost their *****
Much like a robber, who rests his gun in a heist.
Others, scrambled to plug their ears
wishing to avoid both song 'n' tears.
They knew not, that when fighting fear,
'tis not enough to keep it from getting near.
Simply stuffing their ears with wax,
failed to fade the hottest new tracks,
cause tanks groove on these tracks.
As tanks, they pop 'n' roll till you die.
Therefore... relax, pick your time, and lie,
not to your conscience, but on the ground,
so they pass over you, leaving you safe 'n' sound.
"You cannot fear what you haven't tried."
Remember, Odysseus wasn't deaf, only tied.
He, chose to fight and listen to the Sirens' songs,
using threads of logic, to keep from snapping their thongs.
Tightroping on wrong, he but fell to the song.
He wailed and spat, yet, somehow grabbed the gong.
And after a short but needed rest, after this soul defining test,
he did not lament the virgins lost, but carried on with his quest.
He, knew the lying men and their calls were real,
but to forms he didn't kneel, nor aimed to cut a deal.
He, stuck to his dreams doing his best to warn and tell the rest,
that though Sirens charm, they harm. "'Tis Ithaca who gives zest.'"
So, next time you see the chanting men of lies,
and their enchanting plastic bunnies in bow ties,
know that rhyme and shine may polish coal,
but listening to your heart should be the goal.
*"With a twist of logic to correct your steer,
you will run through fear, and forever, keep it rear."*
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:27 PM UTC
It was long ago,
When the competition wasn't tough,
Whenever he went in the field to show the people who's buff.
Then came the down fall,
He shot on goal,
Yet he missed the target,
Seemed like what moved was the pole.
Heart broken he went on to find other recreations,
Hoping at least that would last,
Unlike his non glorious past,
It was like he became a knew caste,
Yet destruction came in the way as an exam he didn't pass,
So he had to attend another class that would cut down his mass,
And take him to the pitch a last.
He finally got in the team,
Life was great,
Or that was what it was like to seem,
Guess sadness is written in his fate.
The competition was cancelled,
Heart broken getting over it would take a while,
That's when he shed his last tear and his last smile.
Then came a time when he could've cheered up,
His wounds would've healed,
As usual he ran out of luck,
It was a scar and not a wound that his heart yield.
He didn't get the captaincy he deserved,
It was the hardest blow he got,
There's was nothing more he could've suffered,
Then he began to not care a lot.
Living a careless live he opened social media to looks at some good ol' memes,
Not knowing that over here he would find the girl of his dreams.
He didn't try really hard to get her,
But there was nothing that could make him forget her.
Then a shadow came as usual to steal his dream,
She was the best girl he said without being biased,
She stole his heart like an unplanned heist.
But somewhere down the line,
When everything's gonna be fine,
He should know with the perfect girl he's gonna dine,
With the perfect goal he's gonna shine,
Because he should know one thing for sure,
God isn't gonna be quiet no more.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 9:35 PM UTC
For I believe you to be a thief, my dear.
As I believe for all that come into my mind.
And perhaps, the thought of you still lingers,
As if to wistfully remind my bones,
That I must chase you,
To regain the part that you have so gracefully stolen.
Perhaps that is why you are so inescapable.
Because you have escaped,
And I lie, so desperately trying to avoid that realisation.
You have had such a grand heist on my heart,
And it is only in your wake that I have realised its absence.
How foolish of my indeed,
To leave it so unguarded.
Perhaps that is why my knees quiver when I hear of you,
Because I want to run,
To follow you.
Yet you are already so very far away.
And I fear, in the mist of the failures of distraction,
That I shall never make the distance.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 11:56 AM UTC
Dear Ms. Di Prima,
I really,
Really,
Think that Alchemy—Alchemy--Al-Chem-EEEEE
Is a
Nifty
Topic.
But,
My mother has a ring
Of gold.
Standard Gold,
No lead. None.
Or had,
Until our house was
B-R-O / K-E / N
Into
By some lowlife scumbag with
Too much ability
And
Not enough intelligence.
With Alchemy
I could make a shitload
Of Gold (wasn't that the point?),
Provided I had the
Lead,
And not that
IMPOSTER
Crap in pencils (Graphite. My childhood was a shambles.).
But it's only valuable
Because
We're willing to pay so much.
Like with Diamonds.
Or Japanese Akita.
Or Wagyū.
It's not a lie.
Just a trick.
Making you think you want things that you don't need because it helps someone else who you've never met make more money than they'd ever be able to use in a legitimate way
(HOOKERS AND BLOW).
All of these things are synthetic.
With the exceptions of
Gold
And
Graphite.
So,
Maybe,
Alchemy did work out alright,
Just not in the anticipated way.
We can make all sorts of things.
But they become coveted only when they exist.
Just ask Swipey McStickyfingers.
It actually wasn't gold.
You just got a bunch of painted junk,
And passports.
No rubies.
We weren't international crooks,
Renowned and beloved
By jealous zealots.
It was purely sentimental.
But you can't understand.
You can't fondly look at the earrings as the last reminder of a deceased parent.
You can't flip through the identification booklet and be flooded with memories of your first trip out of the country.
You ****** You can't even cash the savings bonds that were bought to put someone through college.
No. He got a box of documents and some cheap jewelery.
But still. Probably called for celebration. A successful heist
Because his brain is still in his head.
We create people as well as objects.
Ms. Di Prima,
In the end,
Some people will always be
Clasping ********
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC
Standing Rock
The pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,
Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’,
Standing Rock,
is not a photo op,
it’s not a festival,
it’s Indians and Cops,
more correctly,
it’s Native Americans and Corporate Hitmen,
it’s the crossroads,
where environmental defense intersects with big business interests,
it’s getting intense,
water cannons and flash grenades,
mock democracy and a Trump presidency,
military disguised as cops,
and cops disguised as military,
as the original defenders of this land,
continue to make a stand,
at Standing Rock this is not a photo op,
this is indirect imperial tactics meets Direct Action,
highly ironic,
that I write this on Thanksgiving,
the day before Black Friday,
tell me what you do that’s worth livin’,
Quite fitting,
that I’m writing this on Thanksgiving,
a “holiday” in a way,
but really just a heist by villains disguised as pilgrims,
well then,
where does that leave us now,
several hundred years later,
at Standing Rock having a powwow,
how,
have we gotten here,
and how,
as so little changed we’re,
still in this sticky situation,
battling hearts that are as black as oil,
still ******* the blood out of Mother Earth,
still battling Two Headed Serpent Dragon as it coils,
the pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,
Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’.
Defendin’,
the Sacred,
with Love,
over Hatred.
Water Is Life.
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
www.amazon.com/Aaron-La-Lux/e/B00ODPJAOK
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
this beautiful heist
of each other's soul,
blind to what she stole,
oblivious to her core.
Yet it was her own being,
that helped me in fleeing
each day,
but we never crossed paths
since the dawn of may.
The blind mademoiselle,
there's no way she could tell,
it was she who gave me eyes,
reason to wander in the world
looking for her
as each waking minute dies.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 6:18 PM UTC
“scer- what now?” says another curious passerby yet again.
deep down inside, i resent the attention i gain.
for most peers of mine don't often know the pain.
“it’s scoliosis.” i retorted,
but in reply, they only snorted.
i cant believe they had the nerve,
to jeer at someone because of a mere curve.
it all happened that one faithful day,
after a p.e. lesson when we went into the water to play.
as everyone returned to change, i was left behind to stray.
“i hope nobody notices me”, i thought as i would pray.
to put it simply; it hadn't gone unnoticed,
i had begged for them to to tell, but that had not sufficed.
the cat was let out, it all felt like a heist.
my secret was robbed, when it supposedly ceased to exist.
i was ten back then, had no clue how to handle it.
life was tough, but i’m glad i never quit.
though my torso now has a slit,
i’m safe to say that i'm over with their ********
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 1:34 PM UTC
In the swirling zephyr,
The grass dances weakly
I heard an escort,– Awaits my way to the Wolf Hall.
A triumphant sinister;—
My broken pleasure,— How lovely to see thy scraps again..
Such a bounty hunter
What the gods want now?
Doth not turn me around!—
Doth not hang me!
If thou loose my ties,—
Thou wilt be a murderer of all vines!
Spare me!— I am not thy prey;
I am not one of Greek's peccant,
Please, off loathing my purity!
This predator devoured me..
The ****** of his dark matter, stabbed me..
The mob held me captive,— by net traps
The culprit lies next to me—
Acted one alike raw; then I was sacked,
I felt the bethel was mocked,—
But my Lord won't despise me.
A paralyzed arrest screeched me
I was stroke— by a vermin quenched for meat..
Thou art the most cherished
It is still me..
Scattered with mud,
Dressed in a blanket;
Hoping to kiss thee
Bend for belief,— and not forgiveness
Wherefor thy body shivers?
Thy cup is condensing,
Lips ill-looking;
Red flames changing blue—
Am I still the hue?
I sensed—
Thou fell into the pit
My shreds, thy lust
The roots art on the tip of thy nails!
An ancestral plague poisoning whoever sits,—
And bridesmaking is a promiscuous habit—
To grasp a braided hair,— for an accessory
Behold, the lineage of romantic paintings,
Whence the bonds turn to heist
Looting innocence and staying in history...
May 8, 2020
May 8, 2020 at 4:13 AM UTC
To the once blooming violet, is it true?
Will she succumb her petals to the burden of time?
Will I be witness to the ripples of this crime?
Is the storm to drown her in skies darkened blue?
Why is the savior the one to endanger?
Why is the heartsease the one heartbreaker?
Why is the kind spirit the true soul shaker?
Why is my best friend to become a stranger?
How can she lose against the clutches of temptation?
When was the divine cursed with humanity?
How could the listener speak with inanity?
When was our friendship twisted into damnation?
Will an invasive **** be victorious in his heist?
Is the **** to convince her of his illusive might?
Is he ******* her salve, to my abysmal fright?
Will I rot of envy from the disgraceful tryst?
Why is life’s story a destiny written in stone?
Why can’t I change the demise plagued within?
Why should her scent become my eternal toxin?
Why shall it degrade me from my flesh ‘til my bone?
How was I yearning for the bliss of her design?
When was I seeded with this addiction?
How was it dreamt into endless affliction?
When did Violet and Lost Girl begin to intertwine?
Epilogue:
And did the lost girl tiptoed through the darkened fields?
Was her in search of the warmth of the sun’s yield?
Did she reach the water? Was it her escape?
Was a giant lily in the wait?
Was it a doomed attempt? No heat, no win?
Were her burdens too heavy? Did she sink in?
And forever bound, was this betrayal to restrain her way?
Or was it a promise of the past to save her day?
Jan 14, 2021
Jan 14, 2021 at 8:46 AM UTC
This actually happened pretty much as I have told it. It happened on a weekday afternoon in summer on 60th Avenue in the Queensboro Hill section of Flushing, NY. The Mister softeee trucks still roam the streets to this day playing the same jingle as in my youth. For some reason they have adopted a sensible pay first policy. The Pioneer was the name of the local tavern at the foot of the street. it now serves bubble tea to the asian elite.
Our ice cream man on Queensboro hill
was a curmudgeon, to put it kind.
I'm pretty sure he hated those
who paid in quarters, nickels and dimes.
Ritchie was a "special " kid
He was a big kid for his age.
To put things gently he was slow,
Half a wit and not a sage.
We heard the Mister Softee Jingle
from a good half mile away
It must haven driven the bald guy mad
to have to listen to that all day.
Ritchie went up to the window
He got a cone then refused to pay.
Mister Softee left his station.
Ritchie made to run away.
It was like a Chinese Fire Drill
Ritchie jumped into the truck
The keys were there, the engine on.
He displayed considerable verve and pluck.
The softee truck rolled down the block
with Mister Softee in hot pursuit.
His bald head gleaming in the sun
wishing for his long lost youth.
The truck crashed into the Pioneer.
Ritchie was cuffed and led away.
Mr. softee nursed his vanquished pride.
His truck sold no more cones that day.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 8:35 PM UTC
the greatest heist was pulled
when you stole my heart.
when you said my name
i lost all my senses,
which is when
you took my heart
and scribbled your name.
thankfully,
you gave back my heart,
but now all i think of is you
and to be honest
im not one bit mad.
when i close my eyes,
i see your inviting smile.
when i close my eyes,
i feel your warm embrace.
when i close my eyes,
i hear your joyous laugh.
when i close my eyes,
i smell your flowery scent.
when i close my eyes,
i taste your loving lips.
Nov 7, 2021
Nov 7, 2021 at 10:50 PM UTC
YOU SUMMONED YOU BELLOWED ME INTO THE DARK
MY THOUSAND SUNS BURNED DAY AND NIGHT FOR YOU
YOU CALLED MY NAME REPEATEDLY TO DISINTEGRATE
ONE INSOLENT LOOK KILLED MY DEMONS UNREST
FROM YOU TO ME DISTANCE GREW INVECTIVE
YOU STOOD NEXT TO ME TO WATCH ME FALL
IN THOSE INERT SOLEMN EYES I STUMBLE
FLOWERS AND SUNSHINE HIDE BENEATH YOUR FEET
RESTRAINED YOU PUSHED ME TO GALLOWS
THERE I PERISHED INTO INCOMPLETE REBIRTH DEMISE
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
She robbed me, untill
There was nothing left.
I too did the same while
She was busy at it.
Who did first, or what exactly,
All that are immaterial.
I could vividly member
What her eyes did magically,
Bringing us to
The point of convergence.
Then a haze did spread
Our hot pursuit started,
On planes higher and higher.
Then there was the
Request from her inner depth
Without any word uttered.
"Oh! take it all" a blanket permit,
No doubt,
I heard my heart echoing it
With a fervour to outmatch,
When it got back to her
We were fighting the fire
Our hearts set on with desire,
Isn't it she who first
Sobbed with pleasure?
No! we both vied with each other
To make it a sonorous chorus.
In this heist who did what
Could never be charted
In any order,
Time and space got jumbled
During the course of this heist!
Suffice to say, it happens
Mostly once in a lifetime,
If lucky you really are, that is.
What more can one ask for
To recount to your kids
On the ritual of passing the baton?
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 7:29 PM UTC
We would need a ton of luck, and maybe
half that weight in dynamite and guns and such.
We took some photographs,
hiding behind the tall grass
on the knoll. You had never
stolen a thing, but I wasn't going
in alone, so I told you to grow some stones.
They were staring at the clock
when the bank blew up.
It didn't happen over night,
weeks of planning, a couple conflicts
of interest. Nothing that a few hundred
dollars couldn't solve. We'd be in the
money soon enough anyways.
Keep bleeding, its a great distraction.
Lock and load, time for action.
Hell, if we pull this off,
we'll be living easy,
maybe even acquire a little fame.
Honey, I've got one in the chamber
because danger is my middle name.
Oct 3, 2011
Oct 3, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
I love that line
'I'm a prima donna'
christ it's
like a Bonny and Clyde
bank heist
almost
perfect
always suspect,
use that raw ***
get away.
Another Sunday on the sauce.
In the realms.
My kingdom for a council flat,
keep the horse
can't live in that and
Marie Antoinette
will she forget me? not
as yet as if she ever would.
A Hyacinth in Hounslow
down low
avoids the flight paths
like the plague.
Apr 3, 2016
Apr 3, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC
Behind your back, my love, my sweet cheat,
My mind, a wily bandit, in phases
Plan a series of thefts, culminating in a heist.
The shoplifter mind wants to steal a kiss quick,
"Take her heart, hold it to ransom"
My psyche, the robber, demands,
*Your soul in this heist, will be the captive-
Ultimate of my pining wounded soul.*
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 7:42 AM UTC
In the time before,
I was empty, miserable inside,
A wretch whose every smile was war,
Whimpering for a curtained place to hide.
The day, desolate;
Night, in its black stillness much the same.
Pitched pain, itching for an exit,
Legs set to cease the heaving hate and blame.
Now, I feel my heart
Beating love-blest power through my chest.
Before unfelt, its bucking start
Divests the owner, all along mere guest.
Symphony, rise, crest,
Condescend to my low-sighted view.
I sleep to wake, straight-up obsessed,
Eight letters and a period for you.
Careful now, don’t jest,
Lest my past peers profitable heist,
Dethroned selves sing out through the mesh,
Anguished, set to vanquish their sole poltergeist.
So, patch; never cease
Paragon of love’s delightful dawn,
Persisting for the barest piece
Of you, the whole of why I am not gone.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC