"hellcat" poems
She is the Devil
Standing in the Doorway
Constantly reminding me
of the Debt I've yet to pay
She looks like Heaven
Divine and Catastrophic
Hellcat and Rogue Apostate
Tells me,
"There's Hell to Pay."
Gotta find a way
Gotta get away
I'm in deep too and there's Hell to Pay
She is Satan in a Red Dress
and Six-Inch Stilletto Heels
Crimson-Colored Lipstick
With matching Sharpened Nails
Her Clawmarks in my Skin
Remind me every day
That my soul belongs to Her,
and there's still Hell to Pay
Gotta find a way
Gotta get away
I'm in too deep and there's Hell to Pay
She is the One Unholy
She is the Queen of Time
Her Love Burns on Eternal in the Furnace
of my Mind
My Spirit is her Claim
From now until the End of Daze
Ours are the Hearts of Evil
And still there's Hell to Pay
Gotta find a way
Gotta get away
Running outta days until there's Hell to Pay
Leviathan Cross
Forever in Her Flesh
Her Eyes, Ablaze with Hellfire
Gaze into the Abyss
No Matter how Savagely
I Ravage Her and Damage Her
She always Returns
for yet another Massacre.
Gotta find a way
Gotta get away
Running outta days until there's Hell to Pay
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
In my office me and Gonzo waited speaking on deep issues
with no true meaning as usual.
Bastardo's heart had been broken for Drew had left him a beaten and
love bitten luchador slash attorney.
Senior Gonzo speaking endlessly to the hat rack had reminded me why
I never dropped acid anymore.
Poor gonzo had just been served with divorce papers to which
his only response was ****** amigo i never knew i was married.
As his attorney i belived a trip to mexico was outta the question for i had just got back do to some well a misunderstanding its legal
jargin you couldnt possibly understand.
His deadline was near and without my solid advise this man wouldnt be able to pull it off so being we had been in the bar for more than
eight hours we decided to make a exit through the mens room window.
Front doors are over rated.
In my legal office slash camper hey eveyone starts somewhere
okay.
I was reminded of my loved hellcat Drew
she had left many items here a satanic bible her boil cream.
how I did mis rubbing her webbed toes.
How was i to work Gonzo was a mess hidding under the table
so the ginger bread people couldnt find him
and return him to there bitter talentless leader
Kate Perry i swear if you stab me one more time senior gonzo
with that fork in my maracas im going to get medevile on your ***
Oh how i missed my tag team partner drew.
i should never have introduced her el man donkey who
resist such a uhh personallity.
But now here I sit with a madman under my table tripping his
***** off insisting I contact Simon Cowell to inform him
man tities are so yesterday.
If only I had gotten the Lindsy Lohan case I would finally have gotten my brake or maybe just a std.
Oh well theres always hope Mel Gibson will need me.
The road warrior was a true classico and he seemed so well
balanced compared to my reallity challenged cilent.
Remember kids if ever you have a chance to trip with senior Gonzo
its probaly best you hide all sharp objects.
adios Bastardo
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 8:10 AM UTC
The scene was chaos almost like black friday at El Wallmarto.
people being pushed around by gringo's who didnt
even own a pair of spandex tights.
Or even know the glory of winning a no holds barred naked lumberjack
with a ***** splintter match.
The people needed a hero.
they screamed for the legends return please poppi
save us from the ordinary.
My amigo's were persecuted and i sat helpless traped across the boader do to a bogus lack of green card.
I must have left it in my other tights.
but once again like a old man on crystal **** and ****** the champion has returned to claim his crown.
And to shake his groove thing all over Hello once again.
With the strength of a small well shaved bear.
And the eye's of a low flying seagull I shall drop some splatters
of wisdom apon my fellow amigos.
Chips and salsa for everyone .
no longer heartbroken from my hellcat seniorita Drew
yes her bite marks i wear proudly in places I need to tan.
Let the little gringos sing like pretty little birdies
and senoiritas run through the fields like in thoose not
so fresh comercials.
Go tell amigos everywhere pour the cervesa
For El ******** Rides again.
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
That coquettish *****
has starlight filled eyes,
It's only natural,
that she is a rage among the men.
one night in the bar,
she raised hell,
danced naked,
called everybody names,
such a racket it became,
looked like a hellcat's play time,
the cops came rushing,
siren wailing, lights flashing,
but enjoying her burlesque,
one stayed put with her,
she held him close,
as if she was his girl.
he lost his turban,
while she mind ****** him,
making him promise
to keep her out of jail,
by hook or crook, even
bending rules in the book,
*glinting starlit eyes had
such an aphrodisiacal effect!
he threw his lot with her
and decided:
"My deliverance is her"*
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 10:15 AM UTC
brewing potion with ritual
reciting chants, merely verbal
niching these little caviar
a mixture of gravitas and war
such ladle so long enough to combine
a virgin's blood with a spoon of wine
perhaps adding a buckskin would suffice
this hellcat's hellacious bliss
a bushel of a misogynist's intestine,
must not forget to hitch gobs of sharks fin,
augment a pair of an old man's sight
then smatter the hogs' teeth bite
sing song this dark lullaby
you ought to hear plead and cry
smell and smear this fatal brew
any life it shall take and shoo
death will come and it will reign
blood will begrime and it will stain
thoroughly toting the daring deathly hex
seeking a prey who must be next
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 10:52 PM UTC
I am but a horned boy,
I need no compassion,
Still afraid of shadows,
Still quivers in the wind.
The jersey devil called me brittle,
“A brittle, crumbling fool you are,
“But don’t worry Lucas,” he said,
“I’ll be with you forever,
“Under Mother Moon’s stars.”
I trembl’d at that,
Hoped he wouldn't notice,
‘Twas the Fates who cruel,
Me, the Hellcat.....and shadows.
Seething silhouettes,
Wielding daggers,
Squeezing thy pulsing heart.
Mine own fears fill thy mountain stream,
Brittle, now timorous,
Struck with afflicted dreams.
Confusion, rapturous, the wind whispers in a niche,
Tales of vengeance to remember,
Conceived I a plot,
Look out Hellcat!
Fear I, and the word: dismember.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
Sitting in my red Lambo
the wind breathing down our backs like a perve
I look to my right after working up the nerve
She's sipping that malt like nobody's business
Her hellcat smile barely containing a playful tongue
Funny, I never thought I'd be jealous of a straw
My Ray Bans refract the setting Sun's spit onto her shades
We play tag with it before tossing the light through the windshield
Doctor Dusk gave us the full dosage
The tires grind on the gravel of our asphalt Neverland
I Peter Panic when she sheds her masquerade
She's got stunning mocha eyes frosted with truthful lies
I see her spirit phasing into my chest
A pair of luscious lips giving my heart a crimson kiss
She tells me I carry the scent of leather and sorrow on my sin
On hers, I discern daddy issues and untapped sin
The girl's as broken as I am
Sure, I might occasionally be smarmy and sick
by no means, though, a consistent ****
Her giggles wash all the bad days away
so my Lucifer impressions melts her ears with a
"Baby, wanna play?"
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
[Hellcat]
By the bubbling stream,
Lay your head down,
On my lap of reeds.
Oft the lyre was struck,
Flatt’ring music,
Ne’er ceasing, ne’er circumscrib’d.
My horned boy give in,
Sleep in this lea,
Under secret bow’r,
Beside stream,
Under imagin’d ivy-mantled tow’r,
“It’s time.....for the rite,” I whispered,
“Sleep shall bring you no pain.”
Come, leave thy clothes here,
To be washed, like the tow’r, by the rain.”
Your lithe body was warm,
Rub’d against my chest,
Creating a ling’grin feeling,
Sweet,delicious friction,
Sending my eyes reeling.
My sweet catamite,
Still unfathomed are your feelings,
No revenge shall you be granted,
Oh yes! I know, but we may not tarry,
Mis’ry awaits,
And glimm’ring moon,
Welcomes us, th’inevitable mates.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC
Two sozzled viragoes,
hurl spiky squeals, at each other;
a third, true hellcat,
stops it all, with one stern word!
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 10:32 PM UTC
Tarac Ridge Warplane crashes February 8-10 2018 write up by Nick Armbrister
I have had an interest in aeroplanes and history ever since my dad got me into planes back in 1980. He took me up to air crashes on the Pennines/Peak District/Manchester/Yorkshire/Lancashire area of England in the early 80s. There are over fifty crashes alone here ranging from the war years and later. We also went to wrecks in the Lake District and Wales.
In 2014 in the Philippines I went to more wrecks. I Googled Bataan warplane crashes and found out about the LT Stone P-40 Warhawk and Sgt Kurosawa Ki-27 Nate dog fight and subsequent crashes. This read like something from a Battle or Warlord comic.
Over the coming weeks I put together an expedition there. I talked to Kevin Hamdorf who was one of the group who found the P-40 wreck. He gave me much info and introduced me to the guide, Noel. Without his help the trip wouldn’t have been possible.
We went to the crash area at Tarac Ridge on February 8-10 2018. This was the 76th anniversary of it. We went to the P-40 on Feb 9 and the Ki-27 on the 10th.
The crashes are over a kilometer up altitude wise. We had to hike many hours through the forest/jungle and mountain to the area. We camped at the lower campsite. There is an easier site at the top of the mountain near Kurosawa’s Nate which is less than a hundred feet below the area. Because we never camped there we had to ascend the final hour to the summit each day.
The Warhawk site of Stone is hundreds of feet below Kurosawa’s in the forest on the mountain side. Little remains today but bits of alloy, Perspex, glass and other small fragments. We found these. Lt Stone is still listed as MIA Missing In Action. One of our group, Mike, searches for MIAs. We took hundreds of photos of the area and of our search.
I ventured up to the Nate site of Sgt Kurosawa on the last day of our three day stay. It was at the summit. We had to go through thick brush/jungle to the location. Kurosawa hit a rock face and his plane was fragmented. The engine used to be there but has since been removed. There is less at this site than at Stone’s P-40. We found bits of metal, Perspex and bits. Looking at the closeness to the summit, I realized that Kurosawa almost made it.
Nobody but God and the pilots know who shot down whom and who was on the other’s tail that day. The result is the same: two warplanes wrecked and two pilots dead. Maybe more answers will be found on future expeditions. It was a great experience to go there to Tarac Ridge, Mariveles, Bataan. In time I hope to return. This was my first international warplane trip. I want to go to a Grumman F-6F Hellcat at Capas next.
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 2:51 AM UTC
To stare at the ground and wonder when,
To prance about looking for the wring'd necks of wrens,
To die, but wake a next day,
‘Twas how the Hellcat lived,
Up in the mountain garden,
All alone,
His face broken.
He sings each day,
Until final light,
When he drowns with a bray.
The tears streaked from eye to lilac sodden ground,
Where he curls into a ball,
Skin wrinkled,
Grey hair falls.
Mother Moon’s light comforts her child.
She bid the tears away,
Strong-willed, she watches his soul sway,
Her hand extended, catching light,
Warm, kind, soft it felt in her hand,
She smiled, tears well, swallowing fright,
The soul entered his mouth, when her hand came hither,
The light returned to her child’s face,
Very bright, growing, without fear,
Too bright even for her.
Mother Moon took flight,
Not looking back, hearing baby’s first laugh,
Good, true songs of night.
She sat in the dark clouds,
Resting, awaiting the morrow,
Waiting for his tears, his songs, his death, all dreadful sorrows.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 6:05 PM UTC
You’re struck by thoughts that zip like raging electricity
Charged wholesomely by the eye snatching power of curiousity
There’s that hefty knapsack of guilt constricting your back
A tear stained jacket olive green and not so fresh off the rack
Typical attire adorned by an untamed hellcat hellbent on the attack
You’re always eager for flimsy fellows with paper mache names
Too bad they catapult you back into prewritten tales of ill-ridden fame
You seem to entice the astral glare of scorching stars
To unwittingly interrupt Nature’s frolicking soundtrack at all the key bars
You’re Alice’s protégé adeptly meeting learning goals
Far surpassing her mentor at the art of slipping reality and falling down rabbit holes
A spirit shedding her blouse of light and taking a dip in the lake of souls
Writing new mythologies amidst the morbid company of witches and trolls
You’re burned letters and missed calls on the phone
A slowly sinking stone
Filled with grey from every ***** to bone
Wilting words spoken monotone
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
Like the deep, slow, hum of many voices, I hear it.
Softly crying in the darkness I have encased it in.
A sliver of my true soul, I cannot help but fear it,
It whispers to me a ballad sweet, on my forehead written…
“This was never the real you, your decay is not complete.”
For you, the one who cares, I have a confession.
I, a man of fear and sorrow, my heart drips black.
My sight bleeds gray, as I witness my reflection.
A gaunt sentinel of hopelessness, it stares back…
Smiling all the time.
Underneath the grim and slimy casing, my heart beats a song.
One slow note in rhythm, its message is clear.
To my knees I slide in the silence, no longer strong.
Exhaustion, chills ripple through the atmosphere…
As I fall through the floor, into another world.
My angel before me stands, his glowing saber drawn.
His radiant figure defending against the shadow,
Against the black animal that prowls beyond,
Its milky eyes fixated on where it wants to go…
Staring deep into my chest, at the cage it used to call home.
The shady hellcat lunges, as I sit staring.
My defender parries mightily, but in vain.
The lion turns to face me, ****** fangs barring.
As the sword fades next to the slain…
As my vision recedes to black.
Lucid again, I sit introspectively in the dim space.
My Father beside me sits, laying a hand on my knee.
“I showed you this for a reason, do not lose face.
You alone can choose, my child, and so hear my plea:
Your actions have consequences in this war for your soul.
Please weigh your actions carefully, salvation is the goal."
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 6:22 PM UTC