"jackie" poems
The ultimate Dragon Poem and a childhood favourite of mine which still sends shivers to this day...
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Little Jackie paper loved that rascal puff
And brought him strings and sealing wax and other fancy stuff oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Together they would travel on a boat with billowed sail
Jackie kept a lookout perched on puff's gigantic tail
Noble kings and princes would bow whene'er they came
Pirate ships would lower their flag when puff roared out his name oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
A dragon lives forever but not so little boys
Painted wings and giant rings make way for other toys
One grey night it happened, Jackie Paper came no more
And puff that mighty dragon, he ceased his fearless roar
His head was bent in sorrow, green scales fell like rain
Puff no longer went to play along the cherry lane
Without his life-long friend, puff could not be brave
So Puff that mighty dragon sadly slipped into his cave oh
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 10:39 AM UTC
Photography,
Photo journalistic,
Everyday, realistic.
Commercial, architecture, landscape, artistic,
Industrial, fashion, ethnographic, pornographic.
Big Brother, fallace, stealer of souls, vouyer.
News seller, instant gratifier, man pleaser, woman abuser.
Barthes, Sontag, Cindy Sherman,
Virginia Woolf, Warhol. Weegie, Francesca Woodman,
Leibovitz, Adams, Arbus, Tina Modotti,
Nan, Evans, Hoffer and even the Paparazzi.
Cheap ***** digital manipulator, image poser,
Center fold, coupons, Jackie O and Marilyn Monroe.
Where did they go:
Lifeless paper product, painter's picture mess,
C-type, digital archival,
Sepia, black and white, hard drive retrival.
Image addict,
Image taker,
Image maker,
image seller,
image buyer.
Newspaper, magazine, graphics and ads,
TV, dreams, even the trash.
Billboards, subways, phones and buses:
Utopia:
Surreal, crop, stretched and air brushes.
Modern ideal.
Surface manipulator.
Brain conditioner.
Consent manufacturer.
Oh Photography,
I got you in my eye.
A few thousand dollars,
A BFA, A critical scholar.
Or maybe a nerd,
Just boys with toys.
Telephoto genitals, with motor drive action.
Studio lights, umbrella traction.
Oh Photography,
You proprietor of obscene.
Detailed, de-sensitized.
Court ordered, jury analyzed.
Click, image, copy, edit, paste, print or post.
Myfacespace, twitter, flicker,
An internet media overdose.
Pry, spy, your friend's friend's acquaintances.
Parties, picnics, reunions and shows.
Visits, vacation, style, shoes and clothes.
Pics, photos, images, jpegs and giffs.
Snap shot, portrait, panoramic, Kodak kiss.
Exacerbate:
Divorce, break-ups, jealousy, envy, love and fears.
Devour and captivate society for years.
Slaves to Western and Capitalist desires,
Destruction of Earth with psychological, monetary empires.
Jan 11, 2010
Jan 11, 2010 at 7:05 AM UTC
Oh Jackie
Do you think it’s easy
To fall in love with just a kiss
Now every day I miss that natural
Curl of your lips
I can’t explain your beauty
Maybe it’s just a kink
Something I saw in a dream
Of beauty Aphrodite esteems
And maybe some ancient time
You’re shape was aspired
You were molded like clay
And heaven laid the lines on your face
I so admire
Every glowing smile
And forever linked
In a web of my little kinks
I fall hard for beauty
Carved like a goddess from maybe another life
When I’m drunk I wanna call you up
And say, **** it let’s go elope
Be my wife
And I’d never say these things to your face
For all you know I’m just another disgrace
A missed connection, you could never give a ****
For every text and every kiss that I miss
And you can find something else?
I wish I knew what it was
Cause when I met you
I just wanted to run away in the sun
And find you a place that I can truly say
The beauty only compares
To the curl of your lips
And the rose of your cheeks
And the soft, caress of your kiss
Forever imprisoned
To find something comparable
This feeling has taken me over, it’s unbearable
I can only lay, here, here in the sand
And hope to god a love like hers
Will find me somewhere?
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
The already preset disposition of being Asian.
I must've been accidentally mixed in the wrong laundry basket,
because they tell me I'm white-washed.
Born with foreign looks but a native tongue
my birth certificate calls me *****
I would be the blonde-hair-blue-eyes of a country on the other side of the world
but here,
I'm still considered an immigrant
in my own home.
When you are Asian-American,
you are also the stereotypes that trail your title.
You are sushi
You are jackie-chan
You are karate
You are good grades
You are the slant-eyed pignose supporting character
WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
LAND OF THE FREE, HOME OF THE BRAVE
WHERE UNITED IS TRANSLATED AS DISCRIMINATED!
BUT DON'T GET IT TWISTED, ASIANS ARE PRETTY COOL!
Excuse me straight misogynist white male,
your Godzilla type of Asian,
or my culture?
When have I
as an individual
played a character in these quote on quote American movies?
Hmm oh yeah, that's right!
I was in Fast and Furious!
Didn't I also make an appearance in Harry Potter as the cute innocent
Cho Chang?
If this also applies to you can I please have your autograph
because I'm pretty sure I've seen you star in every movie
I've ever seen.
Or at least your people, right?
Don't try to tone down the damage
I already know I'm categorized in this Asian fetish
that all you'll ever see in me is rice and anime,
nothing more, nothing less.
And if I were to become an author instead of a doctor,
I'd be considered as a social unnorm
a disgrace
but isn't it already disgraceful that in this bleached-colors world
I have lost touch of my heritage,
my roots replaced with a skeleton idea of who I'm supposed to be
I wear a mask.
My friends speak to my mom in their native language.
Sitting there,
disoriented,
lost in pronunciation
I ask my mother why she did not teach me her natural tongue.
She says,
"because you are American."
And I still do not believe her.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Puff the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
We know him from our childhoods
Living down in Hona Lee
Little Jackie Paper
He loved that dragon puff
But, he's grown up and he's moved away
He's too old for all that stuff
What happened to the dragon?
What is Puff doing these days?
Few children come to visit him
He's still swimming between the bays
Puff is writing stories
Of his time so long ago
He uses a computer now
For his writing was so slow
Little Jackie Paper
Is a doctor in Duluth
He doesn't think of Puff at all
He won't accept the truth
His imagination
Disappeared as Jackie grew
Puff was not a living thing
As far as Jackie knew
Puff is making money
But, longs for old pursuits
Like sealing wax and other things
And kids in rubber boots
Jackie came to visit
He brought his family to the beach
Puff was there in hiding
And he stayed just out of reach
Jackies son, he saw him
told his dad of dragon Puff
Jackie said, it isn't real
"Of this talk I've had enough"
Puff the magic dragon
heard this and he did cry
He missed his Jackie Paper
He never said good bye
Jackies son kept wanting
To see the dragon by the shore
So, Jackie took him down again
To find the dragon friend once more
Puff, he saw them coming
And he made his way on out
And to his little Jackie Paper
Puff, gave out a shout
He shot fire from his nostrils
He splashed water with his tail
He even showed Jackies young boy
How he could harness wind and sail
Puff the magic dragon
still lives by the sea
One day Jackie will notice him
And his mind will then be free
A child's imagination
Must be nurtured as they grow
Harness it as they grow up
Maybe they'll put on a show
Never, tell your children
to stop playing around
Play along and you will see
Puff is there still to be found
Puff, the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
He still frollicks in the autumn mist
In a land called Hona Lee
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 11:33 AM UTC
~ dad said she'd be famous ~
*"...a doctor
or diva
like lena horne,"* he said
he'd been doing odd day jobs
and driving cabs deep into the night
through these mean city streets
since ella's debut
at the apollo
and his smile
grew wider than
jackie o's
reservoir in central park
when this bouncing baby girl
made her grand debut
into his world
the dimples on her
cherub caramel cheeks
were irresistibly pinchable
and those twinkling eyes
knew she'd be spoiled infinitely
like a fruit-fly in a box
of rotten apples
~ reality check ~
....if you look closely
you might still see one dimple;
but the twinkles departed
back in '75
....and the burns
on her fingertips
and blistered lips
....and the bones....
jutting like the bones
of refugees and anorexics
....missing flesh
...and the tracks
on her forearms
and filthy jeans
.....and the eyes....
shifting like the eyes
of senators and thieves
....telling lies
.....and the rotting corpse
in a black garbage bag
in fresh kills
multiple choices removed
from the doctor
and diva of daddy's dreams
hijacked by dream-killers:
*smack
crack
and addiction*
~ P (Pablo)
(8/1/2013)
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
Ozzie Smith, Yazstremski,
Dave Stieb and Robin Yount
these men were of a special group
It's one I'm proud to count
There's players who achieve a goal
While others just achieve
They set a standard for the rest
In their heart they just believe
The game is full of heroes
Men depended on each game
They all have certain attributes
And we all know them by name
Kaline, Ripken, and Wade Boggs
The Carters, Joe and Gary
They're men who inspire us
They have a reputation tough to carry
To be a man of character
You must be better than the rest
You have to be a leader
If you ***** up, you must confess
Baseball doesn't make you one
For character's within
You just learn how to channel it
Bring it out from where it's been
Now, Cobb, Ruth and McLain
Were characters as well
But, not the kind of characters
That we are here to tell
They had a reputation
One that is not lost upon the game
But, to say that they had character
Then you would not speak their names
Tom Seaver and Clemente
Thurmon Munson, Sparky too
Were men who set examples
Of exactly what to do
To build a reputation
One that shows character and heart
Is something time consuming
It's built of many parts
To do the right thing once
Is not the thing I want to see
But to do it right consistently
That defines character to me
There are so many examples
Of players in this group
But there are ten times as many
Who miss the homer with a bloop
Baseball brings it out in you
It doesn't put it there
You show what you are made of
By definition....to be fair
Williams, Maris, Dimaggio
Robinsons, Jackie and Frank
They played with an integrity
You could take it to the bank
If you want to be a winner
Please do this if you can
Be a man of character
Not a character of a man.
..
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
Jackie Robinson is exalted
as the first Black man to play,
but far fewer fans remember Glenn Burke,
the first ballplayer openly gay.
Like Jackie, he played for the Dodgers-
(different coast and a different time.)
Glenn came up to the Majors
In the summer of 79’
Burke was strong and tall and fast
And some teammates called him “ King Kong”
Though he roomed with Reggie Smith on the road
most nights Reggie Smith slept alone.
Burke befriended Young Tommy Lasorda
which was why he was traded away.
Old Lasorda couldn’t deal with the rumors,
Nor acknowledge his own son was gay.
Glenn Burke rode the pines while in Oakland
Billy Martin never gave him much chance
When Burke injured his leg in Spring Training
That ended his time at the dance.
He drifted, his playing days over,
He used, he stole and did time.
An accident left him a *******
Unprotected *** ended his line.
No shock was the A.I.D.s diagnosis-
His sister had long known he was gay.
When she took him in he was dying
when all others turned him away.
Sandy Alderson, with the Athletics,
took pity on Burke in despair.
The team paid for his A.I.D.S. medication
and covered the cost of his care.
Sad is the fate of the Athlete unsung,
dying apart from his team.
Glenn Burke showed that a gay man could play,
That a Gay Athlete also can dream.
Glenn Burke passed a long time ago
But his story deserves to be told.
He said when your suffering, dying of A.I.D.S.
Even days in the summer are cold.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
Is there someone out there that can make the insecure, secure?
The lost become found?
The weak become strong?
The introvert extrovert and all things in-between?
The ugly more beautiful?
The headedness and nightmares become more of a joke?
The sounds in the background become solid and free
Chuck out the garbage
The ties that bind thee
Those that put you in trouble of the deepest kind
The ugliest of mothers hellbent on revenge
Taking out pennies from someone else's den
Is there someone decent and cool
To help get along in the life of a fool?
I am the pest the irregular verb
Adjectives, hyphens the comma's full stop and nerds
All comprehensive found sometimes expensive
So you'll never know what kind of gift wraps inside
Quaky, Jackie, Stumble bunny and fall
Am running amok for the sake of it all
Sinderella what a fella
He went to the garden zoo
Played hokey cokey
Oh what a jokey
He even drank the soup
Happy Halloween you creeps!
© Bernard M Coldwell all rights reserved
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 5:44 AM UTC
When you paint houses
bring your little brother
Hoffa couldn't keep his mouth shut
Mannlicher Carcano carbines
cleave off
the tops of skulls
Cosa Nostra prove
The idiocy of convertibles
Pretty boy politicians
sprayed across Jackie's face
Kennedy never should have rocked the boat
Bufalino brotherhood born for bloodshed
Irishman knows that
.32 goes in but doesn't come back out
Turning grey matter into brain sauce pudding
Hoffa couldn't keep his mouth shut
Got what he wanted
kept demanding more
Stupid Sicilian stooges get sliced up in pork store backrooms
limbs spread to the four corners of Michigan
Irishman painted his house
Hoffa couldn't keep his mouth shut
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 6:22 AM UTC
Bang bang
**** ****
Aw ****
I work it through a hose
and **** out the deluge
Cardboard houses
and razor **** straps
And my eye is dilating
as my heart races
I explode in a rage
Of wind and acid
A blow tube in my vein
A blackened eye
A cigarette between two lips
A train exiting the station
'All aboard!
**** **** yeah!
I do k-k-k ******* and k-k-k crystal **** and k-k-k ******
Blasphemous cheese
Black holes
Brown eyes
Poopie trim
Unwinding ecstacy
Driven by speed anger and vengeance
Running behind the booming
Urination of oil and sludge
From my tail pipe
Blue Velvet
Black cake
Purple hoses
Red tubing
Nose bleed
Big cheese
**** me
Venom
Cruelty
Sage wisdom
Magic sage
Marijuana
Marijuana
Marijuana
I am not jesus
I am just a ******
I am just a ******
I am just a creep
a ******
a cheat
a lie
a ****
a cheap little ****
****
**** away.
Blow up!
AHHHHHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
All play and no work makes Jackie boy lazy.
Rage
Rage
Death
End this brain flow!
BANG!
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 8:33 AM UTC
Its a **** shame that she had such a pretty picture
Cause when we finally met she was such a ***** - Her
Mouth kept running round the clock
She ******* about her life non-stop
I said "girl, I don't care about your ****
Stuck up privileged little rich girl
Its a shame that shes such a beautiful disaster
Cause her pretty smile wont let anyone walk past her
Pay attention and you'll see
She thinks she's Jackie Kennedy
That stuck-up little bitch-girl
Dont waste my time
I dont want to hear it anymore
You hate your dad
And your sick of being bored
Maybe that means something
To somebody else
You think that you're the only one
Looking for a way out
Some day she'll wake up and she'll look in to the mirror
And she will find out that theres no one near her
What do you expect
When all you care about's yourself
But there are some nights that I still miss her...
My privileged little bitch-girl.
Sep 28, 2011
Sep 28, 2011 at 1:42 PM UTC
I closed my eyes.
Felt the warmth of the sun on my face.
All the grief and pain
Was simply too hard to erase.
I could smell the ocean in the air.
I opened my eyes only to see you far off in the distance.
I knew it was you there.
I called out your name
As I ran to you.
My prayers had been answered.
It was all too good to be true.
Beautiful as always
You smiled and held me so near.
This moment was happening
It was all perfectly clear.
You laughed and said
"I'm happy you're here. Welcome to my beach in the sky,
But you can't stay forever."
As a big sister always knows why.
"You see there is a little place at my beach in the sky.
It's called Heaven and that's where I live.
I am happy and content
And have no one else to forgive."
"I dance in the sun and play in the waves.
I collect seashells as I watch the sunrise and set
All of my days".
"I know no more hate, sorrow or grief.
I only know love and peace.
And I stand firmly with my God on that belief."
"You have not yet learned what it takes.
You can't be with me on my beach in the sky.
Just because you think you have faith
You still have not learned why."
"Go back to your world and do what you can.
Be kind and gentle to each and every man.
Have a compassionate heart.
Remember my words as we now must part."
"Little things matter.
Be the best you can be.
Take great care with others
As you would a seashell at sea.
Be helpful, be strong
And never ask why.
That's all it takes
To reach my beach in the sky."
I opened my eyes
And felt the mean Spring Winter cold.
It was all an illusion
Everything I had just been told.
The snow flurries fell.
I was not on a beach
But was back in my hell.
It could have all been a dream
Until I looked down
And discovered a seashell.
Jackie Bush Holcomb
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
‘Your voice,
I feel sedated whenever I hear
its dark caress
Yet it invigorates me enough
for it to be my work song
You took me from Eden
to the church that is
you
I entered its ancient confines-
to meet another you,
someone new
and Wilson you said:
*“Be my Jackie,
let’s steal a child from creation
for I don’t want to be alone
like real people do
who run into the woods somewhere ne'er to return to humanity"*
I wallowed in the heat of your
Auburn cathedral
and got seared by the heat of your *****
and I hear your voice
as sweet
as cherry wine
And as I hear the trickling of fire
I realized that it is the arsonist’s lullaby.‘
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
Less violence
More silence
A tear rolls from my eye
As I silently wonder why
This aching pain
Of which you are to blame
Consumes me on this day
On this bittersweet bed on which I lay
No words can keep my sadness
From flowing from my fingers
Onto this platform on which I type
This poem,
this writing,
these chicken scratches
Will serve as nothing but ephemeral reminiscences
Of what joy you used to bring me.
We can't (couldn't) keep going
We have no one to blame but ourselves
It is time to keep on trucking
Move on
And hope for someone/something new
It is a brutal, grim, meat hook realization that we are not good for each other and it is very hard to accept.
I think, 10 years from now we may either look at this point in our lives as either nothing but a flight of fancy or something we had that we were not able to contain very well that was at times equally magical and horrid.
A deep Fear surrounded our relationship and there was not enough Support from either side to make it last.
Things fade.
Time has a way of showing how Stupid and Miserable everyone was.
You fell in love with a drunken *******
I fell in love with a **** disguised as a fallen angel.
Looking back one year, we never would have thought this is how we would be spending the anniversary of our first kiss.
Our first moment.
We were crazy.
We still are.
I don't want resentment anymore.
I don't want your love.
I just want acknowledgement today.
I want you to find someone in your school that reminds you of me in one form or another and give him a hug, because you need it, I need it and judging who he reminds you of, he probably needs it to.
I will acknowledge you today in the only way I know how.
Inebriation whilst listening to Elliott Smith.
May I never do it again.
This is my send off.
Jackie
Be careful.
I still care about you.
I wish you nothing but the best.
If I didn't I wouldn't have written a poem and a brief essay today.
Have fun with life.
Now I can be happy.
This is a fitting end.
Resolution is mine.
No violence
Just silence
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 6:31 AM UTC
November in Quebec.
Almost winter, dull wet snow
And clothing never warm enough
To keep the dampness out.
Nothing like Dallas it seems
Where, even though the television says it’s cool,
She wears a light-weight suit of pink and navy blue
And matching pillbox hat.
November in Quebec.
On a day that seems to go from grey to grey
And grey all in between,
We sit in heated classrooms
With the first damp smell of mothballed wool,
While black and white New England nuns,
Banished for their sins to northern, foreign cold,
Talk about their hero (and now ours)
As if he were alive:
Alive enough to step up from the grave,
Alive enough to kiss the snow-white blonde,
Who squeezed into a dress that shone like freezing rain
The night she sang her birthday tune.
I watch for tears from the widow’s blank-stare eyes:
They don’t show through the sheer black veil
That drapes her pillbox hat.
It’s ’64 and winter in Quebec.
The ground’s so hard
That grandma has to wait for spring to lie down in the ground.
I think of her as if she were alive:
I feel her hold my feet again,
I see her smiling at the door.
On this sad and sunny day,
In my grey wool coat and matching pillbox hat,
I watch a dark brown box get rolled away.
Looking down at the new white snow and my new red boots
I blink and blink and squeeze my frozen tears behind my blank-stare eyes
And think I might be Jackie.
Jan 7, 2014
Jan 7, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
A baseline that you feel in your chest,
Humming thick in your ears,
And your mouth,
You just want to live in their blur of impactful words,
That you don’t understand,
Because it’s just a baseline to you,
But have you ever felt so proud of someone?
That what they’re saying, or what they’re playing or who they’re being,
Becomes the only thing that’s keeping off the rain,
And you can see every tooth in the room,
Every heart that becomes unbroken and
every heart that breaks,
Well it’s a shooting star,
Baby it’s gold dust,
Because his gaze is tattooed on your body,
Under your sweater,
Under your skirt,
Yours is a crime scene littered with his fingerprints,
But you’re no ****** victim,
Jackie,
Jane,
Joan,
Wife,
Mother,
Daughter,
Survivor,
Protector,
Warrior,
Woman,
Know when it’s dark,
And subtle shadows are all that remains of your bodies,
Finding all the bones in your shoulder,
The piano strings that move your fingers,
And each indentation of your spine,
Is a bible,
But God won’t give him strength,
It’s your skeleton that is fortitude,
You’re the dragon protecting the castle,
You’re Rosie the Riveter,
You can hold up the world with perfectly manicured hands,
You will listen,
And you will care,
Let him breathe in the fractions of your soul that you exhale,
That way,
Every standing ovation and
every wound that heals,
Is saturated with the influence of you,
Though you don’t understand,
That baseline you can feel in your chest,
It is your to be proud of too.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 5:38 PM UTC
If my face were on a milk carton, who might say they know me?
Family Trees were hell, but I got Bruce Lee for a dad.
Almond-shaped eyes and yellow skin don’t flow with a white name.
Heritage was anime and soy sauce, my attempt to grasp childhood.
Khakis and button downs smother a kimono;
good thing I knew my third cousin was Jackie Chan.
Exemplary English scores, mediocre math were my sentence,
the honorable ACT presiding. All rise for the boy with no history.
Science might prove otherwise but until then. . .
Orphans don’t have happy beginnings
the birds and the bees sit better with both parties in a normal family.
Paper can’t lie, but parents sure can.
Fantasy-cursed for eighteen years
until Truth finally came, the coward.
All rise for the boy with no history.
All rise for the ******* son.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 2:33 PM UTC
you talk like a kennedy.
east-coast americana.
salt spits from your
weaponised mouth.
go back to your compound
and lie on the surf
from whence you came.
chunky sweater man.
i’m not your jackie,
nor will i piece your head back
together. your old-world
dreams return to the sea.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 11:03 AM UTC
October 1968
Strange day away from a war,
in a bubble
with the liar who was my friend
who wore a shirt with
a combat aviation badge
a dead man had earned,
first stolen glory
I ever saw.
We are awol, but nobody knows,
then a doughy white guy with a camera,
asks the liar why we are
in Saigon,
at the zoo, in the middle of a war.
A Stars and Stripes reporter,
gathering
the opinion of warriors ( right, in Saigon) re
Jackie Kennedy marrying the Greek
He took our picture, asked our names,
we were awol,
but what the hell, how many losers
ever see their picture
in the Stars and Stripes?
Lesson
send a boy to fight a war,
never tell him who wins, if he lives.
As an old man,
like that tiger, in a cage,
not San Diego Zoo Eco-accurate Habitat,
a cage, concrete floor, old-time
cowboy movie jail barred
cage,
waiting,
like that tiger in the Saigon zoo, 1968.
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 1:49 PM UTC
me and you,
we're sisters,
in more ways than one,
though, no one would would ever know.
when all is said and done.
maybe it was all of the damage,
that made everything so hard to manage.
& made it so easy for me to run.
sorry, it's not easy for me to forgive you,
and to have a better relationship with you,
but i love you deep down inside,
andwe've both made alot of mistakes through the years,
but i know that you tried.
maybe someday,
we'l be, just like the sisters on tv,
and you'l call me just to see how i am,
and we'l be closser you and me,
just like jackie and roseanne.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Jackie read from my grey iris prompter.
With dew covered eyes, she explained
the suffocating moss of her past life.
Jackie told me she was ***** at thirteen
by her brother.
"I didn't know you had a brother."
Jackie then said, "I have a half-brother."
Jackie told me she cut her wrists to feel alive.
"I thought you said you had never handled a knife."
Jackie then said, "I handled shaving razors."
Jackie told me her father was a drunk.
"I thought he was a minister."
Jackie then said "My father is a drunk minister".
Jackie told me she had an abortion.
"I thought you were abstaining."
Jackie then said, "I've had *** and those times didn't count".
Jackie told me she loved me.
"I thought you moved on."
Jackie then said, "I'm allowed a past and present."
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 3:21 PM UTC
Your cause for concern is
a cause of concern for me
Its greeted very suspiciously
I believe it to be fictitious you see
Projecting your issues onto me
Like I'm some wide screen tv
Go sort out your own "problems"
Before you come and preach to me
And I'll do the same
I'm tired of the hypocrisy
Neither am I easily deceived
Asking "are you alright?"
When really you're
Asking "are you alright with me?"
But I don't work in-security
Guards up, words no matter how deep
No longer move me
Your fault lines
Causing tremors
when there's no need
But not to worry
I'm lucky
Got those that
support sincerely
And know me well enough
to go about it surreptitiously
Pancake hiding the healthy
Mmm yummy!
Ninja motive, Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee
I aim to Inspire through action (movie)
Cause Advice is the biggest vice (city)
And we're all guilty
Talk the talk
But when it comes to walk the walk
Everyone must be claiming disability!
But Life is no Game-Boy
No cheat codes, No PS3
Bond over passions not problems
And BE Happy
Its your own responsibility
So don't look to me
This isn't Advice, or a Preach
It's a rant, wrapped up in
a Vent-rilloquist, Dummy!
You do you,
I'm just doing me:
Seriously, Silly :)
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC
It might be painful
It might be disdainful
It might be lightning
It is so frightening
Could be the thunder
That has my number
It could be Jesus knocking
concerned about my mocking
It could be my future
or my lack of culture
It could be those fried reasons
maybe it's Jackie Gleason
It could be the hollow
that always seems to follow
me into the night
so black without any sight
It could be a light
from my star at height
tumbling through the heavens
or bread that is unleavened . . .
All I know is it just happened
while I was here just napping
Dec 21, 2016
Dec 21, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
The pink Corvette - driving madam |
in Jackie O shades & pink pillbox
hat getting photographed
pulling up to the townhouse
for the Page
Six pin-up : : her girls from
the Midwest, trained & groomed,
crowned & titled; every one
wearing their own diamond tiara;
only the best of the best dolls, dames &
dishes get served
[working
girls] work Barbie's Dream Brothel; bouffant & hoop earrings
& a silver slit skirt;
timelessly retro (the one sixteen,
the other fourteen)
where the hell do u think u're going - -]
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC