"jeeps" poems
A barraster at law no less
I wouldnt trust I must confess
Looking down your pointed nose
seductively holding pose
Your linkedIn profile
who could see
just how you get your
filthy fee
Perverted farming
Filthy creeps
In Hi ace vans
and blacked out jeeps
Gratefully they pay their fee
In return for an STD
Heres the justice overflow
For Nank and **** and ******
I'm returning him to you
When I scrape him from my shoe
For you my dear a final fact
His STD is still intact!
Enjoy!
May 13, 2011
May 13, 2011 at 3:43 AM UTC
A good wife will always care
Always make her husband happy
Accept him for who he is
Love him and cherish him
Believe in him and stand by him when no one else dose
A good wife never mind when she sees her friends hoping from high class cars, jeeps rang rovers to another
She hold him and take a walk with happiness and love
She is contempted with what she and her husband has
She always pray for her family before going to bed at night
A good wife
Even if storms come she still remain faithful
She know how to quickly forgive and forget
She will always stick with her husband no matter what
No matter how bad things are, she will always stick to him and believe in him
No matter how much her husband argue with her she ll stick with him till they work things out
She marry for love and not what she can get from her husband and never cheated on him
A good wife
Inspires her husband to greatness
She knows when her husband is not happy and also know how to put a smile on his face
She always know how to quickly say am sorry
Always turn her husbands bad day to a better day
A good wife is the best gift a man can ever get
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
'We were killing pigs when the
Yanks arrived.
A Tuesday morning, sunlight
and gutter-blood
Outside the slaughter house.
>From the main road
They would have heard the screaming,
Then heard it stop and had a view of us
In our gloves and aprons coming
down the hill.
Two lines of them, guns on their
shoulders, marching.
Armoured cars and tanks and open jeeps.
Sunburnt hands and arms.
Unarmed, in step,
Hosting for Normandy.
Not that we knew then
Where they were headed, standing
there like youngsters
As they tossed us gum and tubes of
coloured sweets'
5.3k
As a ginger, I'm inclined to say fox. I've always had an affinity for those cunning, red canines.
But if it's just for a day then perhaps something a bit more adventurous. I suppose I would choose to be a cheetah.
Fastest land animal in the world, agile, and speckled.
Nobody messes with a cheetah. Not because they’re so hulking or intimidating— just more fascinating than terrifying.
We travelled to South Africa once, my family and I. As a tribe we chased wild creatures down with cameras in jeeps in a raucous yet hushed thrill.
The cheetah was one of the few animals that eluded us. Perhaps having never seen one up close is partially what draws me to them.
Mysterious, as well as evasive, with an "I don't give a **** attitude.
They only eat every so often because catching food is such a feat. When they do hunt however, it's one of the most spectacular things in the natural world.
It's why places that sell tv's show footage of cheetahs running in slow motion over and over on a dizzying loop; demonstrating how clear the pixels are in the plasmas. It's mesmerizing.
Their feet move too fast and fly over the dirt, honed in on whatever poor gazelle or kudu they're after. If you're a cheetah that is your body, your thin bones, your rapid heart and beating paws that make you move in such a blur.
To be a cheetah for a day is feeling and knowing the difference between machine and muscle. Humans have found ways to fly, and people regularly move faster than a top speed of 75mph.
But how sublime it would be!
To be solely and purely responsible for that unparalleled speed just for one day.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
I went through the sidewalk on Pedro Gil and Taft
The blaring red and green traffic lights
Sort of obscured the view through my spectacles
In the early Manila evening
The smell of cancer in the air
Complimented the noise of the jeeps
That raced through the intersection
As the sun slowly sunk at the sight of the moon
I saw faces less and less
As the broken street lamps flickered
Some people were minding their own business
Others shouted and laughed in the street
I saw people gripping onto their bags
Like they gripped onto their lives, because the city is never safe
Especially at the dusk
Where all the thieves come out to play
The noise may reach above heaven
And the air may be as ***** as the sewers
But there is no other place
That I would consider home
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 11:43 AM UTC
2003, where did you go?
My Scene dolls and All Time Low
Red Jeeps and glitter cheeks
Thirteen and hip hop beats
Tube tops, pop n lock
Don't forget your frosted lipgloss
Butterflies and Blink's First Date
"Forever Yours" on a silver keychain
Belly rings, snorting pills stings
Tiered skirts and ankle bling
TLR, Summerland
South of Nowhere, Degrassi: The Next Gen
Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton
Travis Barker and Ashlee Simpson
Fall Out Boy and Timbaland
Pete Wentz almost ended it
Promiscuous, Grand Theft Autumn
Jeans hung low, and girl you got em
I wanna live there over again
Everything was better then
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
They hailed
and prostrated on the dust
as the monstrous jeeps passed.
Chants of praises
in loud native phrases
all for one man with deep pockets.
White man would look and say,
" Africans "
Black man would look, smile
and shake his head.
We say Nigeria is distressed
We say there is no money
We say all our leaders should face the firing squad
We say alot of things.
Churches are increasing,
Spiritual leaders are prophesizing,
Intellectuals are holding conferences,
Analylists are investigating,
Ministers are budjeting
and yet nothing is changed.
Still that black man on
the presidential seat wants
a second term.
Another term of nothingness.
I know everyone deserves
a second chance,
but ruling Nigeria
isnt a dice game.
We are in a state of nature
where every man is a danger
to the next.
Even body parts can not be guaranteed
to remain in one piece,
even in death
because of these ritual get-rich quick individuals.
Just like a mathematical equation,
Nigeria's solution
is " no solution ".
But, because there is no answer
doesnt mean it can not be solved at all.
I would not be the first to write about Nigeria
nor will i be the last,
but let history record
that at least i verbally cared.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 4:45 AM UTC
They show me vast expanse of virginal lands.
They tell me words like breathtaking and lush.
They gaze at dusty trees and sprawling sands.
They point and gasp and they hum and they hush.
They show me all of Uganda at once,
Holding the globe in their palm and their whim;
They capture it with their drones, blazing guns,
Riding jeeps that cut jungles to a trim.
Their mirrors shine brighter than all the suns
They show me with praise and awe to the brim.
They rant about how clean, and how unbound,
How pure, as they yell and laugh and drop their
Trash, but not their attitudes, to the ground.
They cut through grass and leave cracks in their wake.
They screen their footage and their findings on
Flat-screens and talk of wonder and splendour,
Five-stars in forests and lights blinding on,
Massacring on hot days in December.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 12:47 PM UTC
(i see) two scions dance in traffic: sun and moon,
sky and stars; God’s two heirs
dancing in traffic as if they weren’t demigods but
small maya birds - transfixed
mortals, fighting to keep away from the blinding
might their status affords them.
as His children their world and its light is for their taking,
of which they can feed - or not:
they go on instead like hungry wolves, next to I, rising
(sidelined, falling) flagging down jeeps
in the thick of the Vinzons Hall jeepney stop. They bark loud
and cheerily to keep idle; from unravelling
their wax-worn strings. They are birds guided by concrete routes,
those yearning to feel its bleakness
in each syllable creeping up their gold-and-marble throats:
the soft choke of exhaust smoke
and the rosiness of their gaunt in the face of all-knowing fate:
that of snatching from death
a world not theirs. They declare: “Perseus we are not, and
Janus we choose.” They shuttlling
commuters obscure and without fuss and without end
to and fro, where they come
they spit on the universe in baggy basketball shorts
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 10:42 AM UTC
Toad sand and frog pebbles,
warted rocks kicked and toed.
Tease the ocean with chocolate dipped feet,
spiced and salted teas.
Taper off mid-sentence, paragraphs tepid
long arms and zebra stripes, a crosswalk tepir.
Tocsin alarm clocks poison innocent bystander’s sleep,
slipping things in their drinks, filling their ears with toxin.
Tie a scarf around the forehead
of the middle child. Teach them beginning syllables of Thai.
Throes and spasms of overachievers
motivate for longer strides, faster throws.
Tense shoulder muscles
hide in sleeping bags, badly pitched tents.
Told injuries snuck in when the door opened,
we heard the miniature silver bells as they tolled.
Ticks count every second second, punctuated by tocks.
With each, a twitch, conscious nervous tics.
Titan tool boxes hold spare screws,
on Coeus’ threaded axis, we spin and tighten.
Terne sardine cans filled with mercury,
pollute our science tests, killing tern.
Tied red string around our pinkies so we don’t forget
when to go to the beach looking for clams at low tide.
Tacks pin talented teens to cork boards,
alongside instructions on regretting the harmonised sales tax.
Tire prints border the country,
left by jeeps that never tire.
Tails directing orchestras,
swarms of swan swim, tattling and telling tales.
Jun 19, 2013
Jun 19, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
Your huge hands,
a pool champion’s sausage fingers
carving roast dinners.
I rarely think of you now
but memory lingers.
It’s leaves return every year;
they rustle in the rain.
The walnut tree
with the swing.
You’d push me so high
rush of wind and air,
chunks of cherry bough
caught in my hair
and I thought I would never come down.
Your skin wrinkled in the sun
like an apricot.
And me and Elisha would run
and race electrical jeeps
in the garden fetching you walnuts.
I was afraid of your pond,
you said there was a shark in it,
dangerous like the
cancer in your body,
I was afraid of
the pig skin patch on your arm.
Considered too young for the funeral,
my memories look like the photos I look at afterwards.
Jun 12, 2010
Jun 12, 2010 at 4:12 PM UTC
Never knew how many there are
I see them now, and notice no other car
and compare them to his: the red jeep in the exact same
parking space, every morning, as clean as a cup out of the dishwasher
and I noticed the modifications he made
and now he travels, away from me
and I know he'll never come back to me
And someday I won't notice anymore jeeps
and I will know deep down to my core
that I didn't really like him
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 5:42 PM UTC
it's hard to believe what I have seen
in the steeples, they fill the seats
claiming to love the most and the least
they leave church and their love fleets
these creatures are just killing machines
seemingly demons of in between
people sleeping in deceiving dreams
never seeing what Jesus means
self-appointed reapers for the beast
grievous destroyers of the peace
driving jeeps with a sticker that reads:
we support our troops in the middle east
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
I passed the homeless man again today
in the university library
He walked past me, and I
stood there, clutching myself
He wore a green striped shirt I wore the
other day, but it was wrinkled
I stared at the muted wall of foreign
television channels
you need headphones to feign comprehension
or imagine travel
I saw...
The Indians dance in brightly colored clothes
The South Americans advertise libido enhancers
and Europeans replay explosions in South-Western Asia
or watch soccer
Africa was just a dusty road with jeeps and pickups
and guns
I wore that wrinkled shirt I wore the other day
to the library
I walked past the 24 year old
watching the world go by
hugging himself
in this way that assures me
he, too,
knows loneliness
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 10:09 PM UTC
I can't write so don't expect something decent. Jeeps. If there is one thing in this world I couldn't live without, it would be my jeep. I have a 1998 jeep TJ with a 3.25" lift on 33x12.5x15 BF goodrichs, but that means nothing. The reason I couldn't live with out them is because when I'm driving it I'm free I can go just about anywhere at any time. For most people when the pavement ends, the road is over. For me the roads just getting fun. If I'm having a **** day or I'm feeling depressed I go out and go for a drive. Not one time have I ever been sad when I came back. My jeep cheers me up and allows me to be Independent and let's me let off steam. Nothing can ever replace the calming feelings I get when I drive and if you don't own one you will never know that feeling. In my opinion they are the very best vehicles on the road and as long as you treat them right they will kick *** for the rest of your life. And like I said when I opened I'm a shot writer but I'm just saying what I want to say and I don't need anyone telling me how to do it better because to me the words that come from my mind to the page are perfect in every way.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
I saw this video
Of a T-Rex chasing a Jeep
Through a parking lot
And I laughed.
No. I threw my head back and guffawed.
Because it was so ******* funny.
And my first thought was
"She'd love to see this video!"
But before I could finish that thought,
I began to cry
Tears I didn't know still existed in my eyes;
Because I instantly remembered
You're not here anymore
To laugh with me about
T-Rexes chasing Jeeps
Through abandoned parking lots.
And that isn't ******* funny
To me.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
I have thought of you for five hundred and thirty one kilometers.
You have sat next to me, and passed me by the side of the track
In rich linen clothes, carrying water in yellow plastic bottles.
You have waved to me, smiled at me with bright flashing pearls,
And peered through wind tickled maize to meet my absorbing eyes.
Under shaded boughs, you have played the locals at their own game.
A game more ancient than trees,
As ancient as you.
I've seen the back of you, huddled in apathetic crowds
Standing round broken down jeeps.
Your essence flowed down the Nile towards me.
Your fragrance has breathed across townships,
Rattled past glass coke bottles on sun-kissed tables an hour before dusk,
Below ashen grills and above glowing hot coals,
Through my open window, as i race past an infinite world of senses.
You scream down dust-tracks and over sparse hills,
Chasing my soul, haunting my memory.
In my contentment, you pull me back,
Rushing through The Conditional, and all the Verbs -
Rushing- racing, loving- tasting, testing one another.
I have though about you for three thousand two hundred and eighty kilometers, but reality is daunting.
I ignore it. - we roll, instead, through long grass -
Between white sheets - through each other's hair,
In Equatorial Heat.
I lie on a faded green windowsill
And sweep eyes across lakes the size of oceans.
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
Brownwood, Texas is the place
Where we go to give game chase
Deer, Turkey, Dove or Quail
That’s where we track them on the trail
From a ground blind or a tree
This is where we feel most free
Drinking whiskey by firelight
Or sometimes it’s Cold Coors Lite
Hot, Cold, wind or rain, we don’t care
To fill our tag is our prayer
Rifle, Shot gun or Bow
To fill our freezer, with, bird, buck or doe
Sometimes we go just to camp
In the morning it is damp
Horse licking dew off the tent
Sometimes this is how night is spent
Flashing lights and UFO’s
No one believes us but we know
Taking Picture’s in Bluebonnets in spring
Lots of Stories about everything
Driving across condemned bridges
Chasing Deer across Fences
Busting bottles on the Sign
Driving through the River that winds
Multiple Jeeps, wheelers, Trucks of all Kinds
But Polaris Ranger is head of the line
When it comes to getting around
Smoothest ride on the ground
Kids, chase rabbits, and lizards galore
Collecting bones, climbing trees and more
20 years on this lease
Sometimes it is good for Peace
Of the soul and of the mind
A great place to escape the grind
Miles, Years, Family and Friends
It has paid in dividends
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
Which has lead me to crush on a LOT of adults. Because they do the following:
Having a good conversation that doesn’t end up in some fight. So it can be having this really hard conversation about death and he won't jump to conclusions. He won't assume I'm suicidal. And he sure as **** won't assume I need to go to the hospital. I love him for that.
Telling me when I’m acting like a ******* Like last night. "Just because something happened between us doesn't mean you get to isolate in your room." Thank you for helping me get my head out of my *** I love you for that.
Sharing a cigarette. I love you for sharing addiction with me. You know addiction, you get addiction, you are an addiction. Man. I love you for it.
Buying me coffee. Meaning, you bring me in a good bag of coffee that actually doesn't need creamer to taste good. I love you for actually having taste.
Giving me compliments or calling me beautiful, even when I don’t have a bra on and look like I well, just woke up. I love you for speaking Spanish to me, because no one is that **** but you are.
Telling me the truth. Like, “hey Dylan, you’re being stupid. Don’t kiss him.”
Sharing interests. Whether it be poetry, or movies. Cats, or jeeps. Even kinds of cigarettes, or coffee drinks.
Telling stories about our past. It can be “hey I used to drink a lot...” or it can be “I was abused as a child”
OR it can be “I was put in the foster care system.”
All of it makes me fall irrevocably in love with you.
Because you somehow become relatable with that experience.
And, at the end of this day, friendship confuses me.
I don’t know where the line is between friends and soulmates.
I just don’t know.
Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 7:26 PM UTC
I had a vision once
jeeps and dust
an apocalyptic America
and I was scared
this morning I stood in the shower
thinking
maybe I should tell my daughter
to let her hair grow
to pretend to have a boyfriend
our system of checks and balances
is being stomped on
civil liberties
and inalienable rights
are extinct
psychic vision
is poised to become reality
and I never imagined
it would be our own government
holding us hostage
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 8:36 AM UTC
A group of tourists are on the savanna
three jeeps full of families with cameras
they stop to take some pictures of lions
a few minutes later one fool dares to get out
He wants to take a closer look
wants to get that wow snap
but unbeknown to him
a lioness sneaks up from behind
Suddenly mayhem erupts
the lioness jumps on the photographer's back
claws around is shoulders
then biting if like gentle at his neck
Children are screaming in the jeeps
the adults are shouting in despair
as two other lions rush to bring him down
then they all do start to rip and tear
All in the jeeps watch helplessly
as this poor foolish man is devoured
eaten alive
eaten alive
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 11:24 AM UTC
Welcome to the militarized police state
Big military vehicles
Armored jeeps and tanks
U.N. troops and U.S. troops
Riot troops
Military men on megaphones
People being whisked away to FEMA camps
I'll be in the mountains
Hoping to survive on protein bars and water
To the globalists you have no rights!
They have ruined our nation
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
**head for
the jeeps**
i'm scrambling and
crawling through
bushes over the
sand dunes
**head for
the jeeps**
just in front of me
a potato masher
detonates and both
the jeeps explode
**head for
the jeeps and
if you don't
make it try
for the half
track on the hill**
but before i
reach the half
track they've got
me surrounded
and i'm alone
with the enemy
**in war there
are only winners
losers
and prisoners.**
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
there's this way things slip into the past,
quicker than it feels like;
I miss old brown jeeps and something
to do all the time. these same walls,
breathing but just barely,
sleeping, waiting. you seem
forever ago but showers at one am seem
fresher than when they actually happened;
I don't know which way it is to that restaurant
anymore, and I watch people change all around me
it's this irritating feeling of feeling like I've been there,
and wanting to escape,
or wanting to live,
and I swore I heard my brakes squeal tonight right
when I passed over the same railroad tracks like always,
flickering lights and I feel there is something significant here,
though it is probably my overactive imagination
and no one to ponder with.
do you know how last week I laid in those purple flowers on my lawn
and listened to the bees buzz around my head
like I was in the center of the universe
or a highway, everything streaming past on both sides
something extraordinary but
most likely just a star in with about a billion others.
just like the ones you have to put
binoculars on to see.
didn't you lose those in your attic?
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 6:26 AM UTC