"impresario" poems
'Neath canopy of paradise
Super troupers' shafts of light
Illuminate his terpsichore;
***** he struts, the impresario
Gyrating on spindle shanks;
Needle thin and knock-kneed
He dances a samba
On stage of verdure;
Midst Elvis blue-black thrusts,
Steel rimmed amber orbs
Seek admiring and desirous glances
From the dour drab hen,
Mousy in her beige twin set
And mottled tweed skirt;
With nonchalant disinterest she exits
The arena; audition over.
Jun 24, 2010
Jun 24, 2010 at 11:40 AM UTC
My eyes are beyond polluted
By the overflowing inanities
That paint wordless post-mortems
On yesterday's lost fantasies
Rolling over lifeless as dead certains
When obligations fall into disrepair
And the king of all invocations
Awaits power sitting in an electric chair
As darkness shrouds the uninspired
In triumphant ticker tape parades
While the bewildered beast becomes the feast
A million glasses in toast are raised
To the jesters unequivocally blasphemous proposal
To the queen of all frustrated converts
Who Once Upon a Time willingly surrendered
To the impresario pretender
Who fooled the world by laying siege on the empty house of cards
And with all the power granted
By the grace of obscenities triumphant screams
Separating me from reality by infiltrating my failing vision
With the polluted overflowing inanities of these cellophane dreams
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:39 AM UTC
We are Manchester. The City, The place, we’re hospitable people with a smile on our face. You can beat us, mistreat us, and blow us to hell. We have had it all before and we don’t dwell. We’re the northern powerhouse of the northwestern elite, Where the Geordie's, The Scousers, The Yorkshire’s retreat. The premier League, The Roses Cricket, The Heineken Cup Is a one way ticket. United and City two football teams with stadiums full, bursting at the seams.
We are Mancunians Of this fair City, The People, The Love, The old nitty gritty The worker, The Shirker, The Homeless, The immigrants, each one of these they are all itinerants. The Steel, The Cotton, long since forgotten the old smokey chimneys blew out smoke that was rotten. The Massacre at Peterloo. Local politicians just don’t have a clue. With all the sights this city has on show here’s something that people don’t really know. Manchester is where New Zealand Born Ernest Rutherford split the Atom.
We Are Manchester, The City, the Place, where Sir Humphrey Chetham has his musical grace a school of music with musical taste. And where a man with a paintbrush painted streets on boxes. I don’t think Lowry ever painted foxes. And A comedian from Collyhurst who was absolutely awesome, a real funny guy by the name of Les Dawson, and where a man from Chorlton on Medlock became Prime Minister back in the day. David Lloyd-George had a hell of a lot to say.
We Are Manchester and it's the place for me. And a proud Mancunian I’m glad to be. I’ll sit in a cafe watching people pass by. They are all in a hurry and I wonder why. I see a business man in a three piece suit, and the homeless guy that is counting his loot. There's the girl on the street giving out free papers she is smoking those ciggies that give off those vapours. It's pouring with rain and she’s getting wet she’s worried about money to pay off her debt.
We Are Manchester and this is our City don’t waste your time we don’t want no pity. We are Manchester we are steeped in tradition we leave other cities standing. There’s no competition. Where A man from Moss Side a Vicar not a Dean called Rev George Garrett invented the submarine. And where the great Anthony Wilson was a journalist & impresario and a man named John Nichols invented the great drink called Vimto. and so When he wrote “This Is the Place” I’m sure he did so with a smile on his face. We Are Manchester and I’ll state our case because we are Manchester and we are ace.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 9:45 PM UTC
Junkyard dogs
We play
Our PARTS
so miserably well
..
The impresario smiles
So sarcastically
-----
Dogs
-------------
Looking fierce
Tough and mean
--
Puttin on a show!
Tough and mean
------
In the junk heap of the yard
Falling in love with our pain
--
Junkyard dogs
Playing with misery
Making it our own
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 5:16 PM UTC
The suit is made by Giorgio, no, not Calvin Kline
a poetic impresario, every word, and every line
The briefcase Salvatore Ferragamo, filled with great prose and rhyme
bold, like John Wayne at the Alamo, when he, was in his prime
A Suited up stick figure, appearing to float, and climb
perusing the things he wrote, commending them, to time
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 1:25 PM UTC
You shouldn't steal when you can borrow
Didn't your mama teach you better?
No? Then get some therapy
No one's accountable for your needs
Not to any degree
But still you must've had a teacher
Deception's a perfected skill
But remember to taste-test that pill
After all you're the prince
Who never leaves fingerprints
In the end though
The vertical flow's
Gonna catch up to you
You can't go round & round forever
Spreading your slander tender
Still,
I just wanna see you suffer
At the hands of another
Just so the blood in your mouth becomes real
Now you're the one tacked to the wheel
Now tell me does that seem surreal?
I didn't think so
Parade around in mechanical cotton
Is that the flavor of the weak
Posing as Byron with a frankincense tree
Blood-letting to support your creed
Forgetting that the best grows naturally
The voodoo with the prodigal knife
The who's who of nautical nights
The tight ***** diabolical wife
Wounded a rabbit's tongue
Kept me from speaking up
But I dare you to take your servants
Into your sacred space of merchants
Lay your supper in the bedroom
See if they make a purchase
Or do they wanna see you suffer
At the hands of another
Just so the blood in your mouth becomes real
Now you're the one tacked to the wheel
Oh, what can be revealed
I sure hope so
So how's your precious golden cup
Is it half empty, or full with bad luck
Can you taste the iron in the stuff
Or is their protest practicing
Waiting to burn you on the last drop
Could have married a music man
An impresario with big hands
Till you showed up with plastic plans
An a conductor's wand made of tree bark
But you never had the guts to bite
See, unlike your faceless drones
I truly needed a home
I'm not the one who disowned you
I don't get off on selling soldiers
Wrapped in videotape
So why did you wait so long
To sell me out
It wasn't a hot summer
Guess your supply was in a drought
Poor, poor pitiful me
Just wanted an apology
But I guess I'll have to settle
For watching you suffer
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 8:08 PM UTC
With your back to these walls, Grace
You can maybe find what you’re looking for
Yourself, that is
Leaning forward to where you’re going
On such a strong-man structure
To lean on
Tell me why then, Grace
Are you still lost?
You say
No, prissy blabbering
Emotionally soaked
Out of control
Tendencied impresario
However forward leaning
Grabbed your pathetic existence
Straight shots stilled from your
Continuous frame of reference
In high definition modality
Captivating you and you and you and you
Completing the picture perfectly
Until there was you.
Yes, so true, but
Would you mind
Standing a little to the left
Of what’s left of me
The light just isn’t right
It doesn’t flatter from that
Angle of circular momentum
Your designer jacket and collection of silk scarves
Complete me
Darling, don’t you look so swell beside me
I should stay
And make you pay
For all that you have done to me
And if it weren’t for **** there wouldn’t be tats
Or tots
Babe
And if it weren’t for feet
There wouldn’t be boots
Maybe that’s what I am.
Hush
Leave me alone
I’m processing
How hard it is
To maintain a closet full of designer clothes
And you can see how they’re so me
And they keep
Me & My Walls safe
From being naked in front of you.
I’m dying and you won’t talk
I’m dying
And you won’t play
I’m dying
And you won’t fight
And I’m dying
And you want to remain a victim
Shot calling
Control freaking
Maniacal
Meanness.
Me & My Walls
Are putting up
Patterned wallpaper
Firstly
Meandering among the waves and tiles
Grace prefers ginghams
I’m thinking herringbone
With a splash.
For distance
And visual acuity
So, go away and you will know
True control.
I passed through hell
On this dizzying journey
And hell, well
The fires there
Shed profuse light
On the darkest parts of my soul
It was quite a trip
Illuminated by contrast
I saw the devil brake-dancing
With an angel on high
The angel had just
Come from an AA meeting
With God
Where God bestowed the title
The devil was quite a rascal
He had fallen from Grace
Grace was not who he was looking for
Disillusionments abound
On this end of town
As it turned out
She’s perfectly fine
A chiseled china doll
But Grace doesn’t live here anymore
Grace is an open door
And yours is shut down tight.
The shows over.
Say Goodnight Grace.
Goodnight Grace.
It’s time to go.
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 7:32 AM UTC
Fools try to bitter me
But can't stop my energy
Undercover fantasy trying communicate to me
Flex my soliloquy over my enemies
Turn into minions from my dominion
My intention
To rap the game without conviction
Formin' institutions from concoction
Of my brains infusing
Me with ideas slowly I'm bruisin'
Past centuries into another galaxy
Makin' for my analogy
Flows ufogoly blood spread like butter on bread
From powerful forces projected in his head
Spirit fled colorful voices bred
From lyrics drug em like hopheads
Steppin' through lyrical vestibule
Colossal intellectual
That could ancor any vessel
I'm special equivocal wrestle minds
Beamin' rays mysterio flows intangible
Rhyming multiple syllables
So no matter how I flow
I throw the hardest material
Follow ancient principles
**** aboriginal I be the real impresario since my embryo
Broke through hip hop umbilical
Flows is critical
Got stay true to the game
****** like Cain railin' hataz like Cranes puffin' My jane lovin' hairy strains
I can help it im stuck on spiritual highway
Passin' lanes
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 8:23 PM UTC
Changing your mind.
Forgetting.
Unkind.
In hell.
You can't tell.
In a cell.
Coiled medusa.
Brain muddling.
Befuddled.
Consumed by long term thoughts.
"Hello, do I know you?"
Confused by short.
Dementia, ******* dementia.
Sadly snared.
Used to dance on wood tipped points.
For all the world to see.
Maybe play concerto's.
Remember the steps.
Recalling the notes.
Impresario on ivory.
Gliding of the pure white swan.
Fading recollections.
Just about gone.
Once beautiful body.
Beautiful mind.
Do you know what you've become?
Poor being.
Lovely lonely,
Long lost soul.
(c)LIVVI
Oct 24, 2015
Oct 24, 2015 at 6:06 AM UTC
listening to this new rap
makes me wanna take a nap
I wish I could slap
all these mumble rappers
backwards act awkward
cuz my guns call
out cowards
soon to get showered
by my bullets no protection
ya stiff as an ********
teaching lessons
hidden like a blessing
for those who guessin?
step back before. ya get hit
like a lumberjack
split ya like a crack
yea it's yosef
on a sneak attack
black in effect reject
what society sets
jet like a ski getting busy as a bee
I know ya don't like me
but I gives a ****
competition fronting
be prepare for the slam summer jam
at the bayou classic
spittin flawless with my magic
got ya stunned as voodoo who crew ?
could do what we do?
stay fry or better yet high
just giving up the real
knocking empire down
for mass appeal
prepare for the Armageddon
no more letting
up as I bruise up
the corrupt
makin slices
like cold cuts
like jelly in the ****
naw I ain't trying
to diss the ladies
but the ladies be playing games
with ya mind g
in society
I rep the **** and the **** I rep
watch my steps
so I don't fall
victim to the game or the system
hit em with a rhytmn
that they can't deny
got ya knot like in ties word to the wise
like smoke on the rise
ya know the degrees
getting hotter and hotter
smooth as Sinatra
break em off proper
once the keys tease
to ya mind I please .with these
lyrics hard for ya to clear it
once I steer it
in ya direction make a selection
who ya choosin
them wackos
or the true rap impresario intellectual
cuz I'm keepin' it real real
knockin flakes out
claimin they got mass appeal
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 6:01 PM UTC