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Z Aug 2018
Too many thoughts, too many feelings, too many faces

Yea, what’s the feeling of success?
Achieved so many things, but all I feel is regret,
I feel alone inside my head what don’t you get?
Wake up every morning like it’s still my set,
Reminisce on where I come from so I don’t forget,
Been to rehab a dozen times, they called me a vet,
You thought you knew me, I haven’t opened the curtains yet

Alcohol destroyed all my relationships
Forgot most of my life - except for the video clips,
Poisoned my brain to forget the pain, on the daily I feel insane
I’m above the ground though I can’t complain, god relieve this pain
I feel like I drank the blood of Cain,

Every day is a surprise, my brain tells me I’m so wise,
But he’s a master in disguise, while I’m the one who cries,
He’s the one who lies,
To me in my own voice watching my demise,
When he’s in in control anything flies,
It scares me, I built a fortress to disguise,
This out of control mind, I want to cut the ties
A Broad perception, in a beautiful world, through these eyes,

Try to express my feelings, no one can understand
**** it no one can, this experience is mine god had it planned
Just hope I can grow up to be the man,
The one he created to do whatever he can,
Yea, whatever he wants, his drive his will he can make a stand,
A visionary, Socrates his thoughts are grand,

Who do I trust, who I am or who I want to be,
It’s confusing with a devil living inside of me,
Loving spouse, family man what I try to be,
This bipolar got a hold of me,
Blindfolding me I can’t see,
Please doctor doctor set my mind free,
I thought I knew everything with my degree,
The lessons I learned from the things I failed to see,

Mommy and daddy got divorced when I was a kid,
I think I was 8, I can’t remember, who am I to kid,
My first blackout in life, daddy’s about to lose his wife,
So much anger, “he’s” telling me to find the knife,
Take it to the artery just a little slice,
Life’s not as nice, as people make it seem,
No one hears me scream, from the pain,
Inside this brain, some days I feel insane,
110 on the freeway trying to stay in my lane,
Drunk driving no I’m not sane,
Getting high to alleviate the pain

One day I can be the man, goals, driven, and full of will,
The next be full of sadness, regret, life stands still,
I can remember anger that drove me to ****,
You don’t know how I feel,
People probably thought I made a deal,
With the devil to have all this skill,
I write all these thoughts, hoping there’s a heart to fill,

Hope someone can relate,
I hope my pain makes you elate,
My perceptions not up for debate,
Here is my life there’s no room to understate,
The reality of my life and the things on my plate,
Strive to be in a mentally stable state,
Sometimes life’s not so great,
My minds locked in a crate, and he is the key holder of my fate,

My life feels like an afterthought,
Stepdad thought love was something that could be bought,
Used to get in trouble every time I got caught,
Only if they knew the realism of what I did, or maybe they ought
Not to know, but for the sake of the flow, I’m going to let go,
Put on a show so they finally understand what they missed long ago,

Let’s start as a little boy, all the love you showed was a decoy,
For the truth that mommy and daddy were ready to destroy,
Split us up, brown moving boxes was it all momma’s ploy?
I still don’t know the truth, I don’t want to ask or annoy

They say they fell out of love, how can you fall out of love,
Unless you gave up? Don’t you realize who’s above,
Poor American white family, three kids and divorced, man the stereo type fits like a glove,
Never got physically, but always received a verbal shove,
Psychologically I wish I could dispose of,
This garbage that’s left behind, in this mind how am I supposed to give away free love,


One day at a time, one fight, I’m going to give it all my might,
Serenity prayer please give me the light,
To accept my life and guide me right,
Some days things are out of sight,
God comfort me so I feel alright,
I’m shrouded in darkness, call me the dark knight,
Noble I’m my cause, daily life’s a plight,

As a teenager I survived off my drive,
Then there was the day I didn’t want to be alive,
Locked those feelings deep in the archive,
Padlocked in the deep parts of the brain so they don’t thrive,
Questioning the purpose of life when I was five,
Asked about space and God, curiosity already took a dive,
Most people and me don’t really jive,
One instinct on my mind is to survive,
Mania kicking in putting me in overdrive,
Found out when I was twenty-five,
I’m mentally ill, my life took a nose dive,
Time to wake up and revive,
It’s time to deprive,
The addiction and the **** I do to connive,
God im going to work on my life until arrive,
To the kingdom, hopefully I live to see thirty-five,

Todays a new day, no telling what I might do,
Try to hold my family together, backbone and the glue,
Just accept my view, everything’s not about you,
Been self-reflecting, I’m having a break through,
This story is contagious, call it reality flu,
Knocked on deaths door, Alcohol blood volume .492,

What was I thinking? Pores stinking, breath wreaking,
Family and friends shrieking, at all my drinking,
Woke up surrounded by the medical team,
Asked me if I was suicidal, I said what do you mean?
I’m a genius, with a good job, had one since fourteen,
Worked hard my whole life, why am I here confused as hell - creating a scene,
Needle in my arm, threatening to restrain me,
God please set me free, right now you’re the only one that can help me,
Ready to fight the doctors and nurses, now they’re going to petition me,

When I opened up my eyes,
Seen my momma with tears in her eyes,
Most painful look I’ve ever seen on her face,
Now I feel like a huge disgrace, wish she knew gods grace,
My hearts racing at a fast pace, anxiety took over freaking out in this place,
The realest hug ive ever felt was from momma while I was in that room,
Time to clean up my life, time to clear my mind and get out of the back room,
Where my thoughts are locked, time to forgive and bury the in their own tomb,
Most think they know me, and its dangerous to assume,
Most my life you seen me in my costume, hiding behind the monster of doom,
Spent so many hours in my bedroom, drinking so much leaving behind an ethanol fume,
Days later it’s still hanging around, how the poison turns everything into a darkroom.

12 days locked in the psych ward, hopefully I can move my life forward,
Dr. says I had an episode of major depression, I forgot to tell them about my secret obsession,
These words are the closest thing I have to a confession,
When I die take my brain for a case study dissection,
Don’t let my evil said lead you to mis-direction,
When im aware I can make the correction,
What an elusive lie, chasing perfection,
Life is about love and a real connection,
God im tired, give me a symbol give me direction,

Therapy sessions for years, did nothing to help these tears,
Still react with impulsion and anger, watch out for the danger,
the biggest fear ive ever had was the fear of myself,
and the things I was capable of to destroy myself or secure the wealth.
So many secrets it’s a masquerade, im hidden behind my stealth,
The lies created to maintain this alter-ego destroying my mental health,

My biggest pains in life are when I had it all and left it all,
My depression after mania was the biggest fall,
I felt like I was the king of the world, king of the jungle; hear my call,
My ego inflated from my achievements, made me feel tall,
Daddys dream was his oldest boy would play college ball,
Just like the song boys of fall,

Daddys dream wasn’t mine to live,
But that wont stop me from giving all I can give,
Im sorry for the night I was drunk and we got combative,
I shut that night out its not something I want to relive,
Please daddy forgive, now you’re so corroborative.

Now momma I know we do not speak,
The real issue is we don’t want to feel weak,
Why are we so strong, the ones who cant take critique,
Maybe we are so unique, and live life with such technique,
The type of thoughts people think are antique,
Their arguments bleak, our common point is its our mind we speak,

Im ready for the conversation, a common destination,
Where we live in harmony, and actions don’t lead to causation,
I hope my dictation, and the acceptance of your creation,
Allows you to accept me and the ground I call my foundation,
Rebuild our family, together we can create a formation,
Our time and love the only donation, mix em together titration,
It’s a ruination of the family, its everything I wanted it to be,

Ive struggled with every relationship,
With anyone I let close I seem to lose myself and flip the script,
Those evil days I hide in my mind, security equipped and encrypt,
I feel like im writing a manuscript, a story of a man who slipped,
On the struggles of life, and opportunities that have been stripped,

Went to college on a full ride, paid for room and board seen the debt and just about cried,
350 a month to the government talk about a life hurdle that broke my stride,
Since graduation I noticed im the new dr. jekyl and mr hyde,
Success in my life was implied, mental health hit me on my broadside,
Missed my grad school opportunity, I should have applied,
Had love going for me, turned into a landslide,
All I want to do is have a good job and be able to provide,
Im not the only one suffering this epidemic is worldwide,
I just want to sit by the lake side, retire and reside,
Somewhere peaceful where a simple life is implied,
The only downside, is the demon inside me that takes me on the regular for a joyride.

Worked 80 hours a week, drinking a fifth a day,
Most people don’t even know what to say,
To me it was just another day,
Its about to get nasty watch out for the word play,
Life not black and white live in the grey,
Area, mass hysteria, my mind runs astray,
Enough liquor in my blood to make me sway,
One wrong move may be my doomsday,
I write about my life like a final exam essay,
Giving it my all no halfway,
Yea, im making headway, opening the doorway,
For all to enter; serve up my experience like a fine dining entrée,
Living check to check, cant wait for payday,
Maybe someday, ill be on the golden walkway,
To the kingdom of god then ill be okay,
Impulses so strong its hard not to obey,
The other side of me that’s so hard to portray,
When hes manic I get risqué,
Let me paint a picture, get your tickets to the screenplay.

They say its not what you go through, but what you became of it,
My lifes not a stereotype, those stipulations don’t fit,
I seem to get back up after every hit, I couldn’t write this skit,
Im trying to use my ****, my mind feels split, I cant take this ****,
I just want to quit, go to therapy to learn skills and what to omit,
From my life, its hard ill have to admit,
Elementary school I realized I was a misfit,
Dreams in the stars, illuminated and moonlit,
Building a legacy without a permit,
Try to live life so im not a hypocrite.

Shocked by the responses to voice and gods word,
You can say in high school I was a nerd,
Football MVP and valedictorian man that’s absurd,
Wanna know my secret, ask me the password,
Stand on my own, not a part of the heard,
Forgive me for all my problems and troubles that have occurred.

The darkest secret you don’t know,
Is that im not motivated by the dough,
It’s the times where Im feeling high and low,
Sometimes it feels like time is slow,
The biggest crush to my ego,
Was when I had a 20-gauge ready to pull the trigger and blow,
Racking the shells, playing with the ammo,
The rest of my life I was about to forego,
I wanted to let go, because I wanna know
I write to share my story of experience, strength and hope.
In Recovery mentally and Recovering from substance abuse
VD Lee Jul 2017
Baby why you hit me up
At three am?
Greet me with a lazy sup
And break my heart

Oh
Darling did you think this through
Darling didn't you know I'd miss you

And for all this time
I thought we'd still be in love
All this time
I thought we'd never be done

But life carries on

And now I can do things
I couldn't do before
I can pick my nose
And slam the door
You may not be here
But I still can breathe
You may not be near
But I am still me

So I'm dancin' on my own!
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
And I know more than I've ever known
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
See me dancin' on my own
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
My heartbreak has made me grown
(Charleston, swing, salsa)

And baby!
I'm puttin' you in a corner
And baby!
I ain't gonna be a mourner
When sunrise come knockin' on my door
Baby, you won't be on my mind anymore

Got my mind on an electric buzz
Got me drunk on a dizzyin' high
I'm spinning dusk to dawn
And I'll forget we'd ever said hi

So I'm dancin' on my own!
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
And I know more than I've ever known
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
See me dancin' on my own
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
My heartbreak has made me grown
(Charleston, swing, salsa)

And baby!
I'm puttin' you in a corner
And baby!
I ain't gonna be a mourner
When sunrise come knockin' on my door
Baby, you won't be on my mind anymore

Oh, anymore

Baby you took my heart
Ripped it apart
And I'm just pickin' up the parts
Part of me wishin' that we'll be together
Another part knowing that we shall never speak again

But now you can do things
That you want to do
Hit up that girl
You'd always talk to
Hope she eat you well
Like I use to
Hope she is just as good
As I was to you

Still, I'm dancin' on my own!
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
And I know more than I've ever known
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
See me dancin' on my own
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
My heartbreak has made me grown
(Charleston, swing, salsa)

And baby!
I'm puttin' you in a corner
And baby!
I ain't gonna be a mourner
When sunrise come knockin' on my door
Baby, you won't be on my mind anymore
Julian Jul 2016
Fragile egg-shell mind on dawn’s highway bleeding the segue between times traversed only in momentary dreams or in enduring excursions

We drag our droll and quaint 60s baggage like the luggage of a safari made of concrete girding a cavernous expanse of unheralded ground

With our ears oriented to the floor, we leap out of body never to deplore….never to ignore….never to miss the blue bus of our drafted imaginations, so carefully culled from brash elitism

I trounce the intervening time between being friendless and an ironic end, and an irenic comrade becoming the dearest amazed but always aplomb friend

We simper in our glorious traversal, and though bedraggled through an ornamented cavern we linger just long enough to be celebrated

Then a blues riff emanates from a vapid bar, and finally someone heralds my exhumed memory still rusty with the pavement of encased concrete on an empty or full tomb

So I wander in my mind to that roughshod Paris glassy tincture a romanticized gild of proper sensibility crafted in the tongues of lizards emulating the tongues of serpentine Anglicans

As the power of love transcends the love of power, both are afforded serendipitously upon the stately occasion of a fitful revolt where heads literally rolled and deaths still unfurl from the slippage of a violent malevolent eternity, crafting a new creative way to expedite the smite of preventable scourge

So Jim, I see your picaresque side and your wide-eyed love for a listless ship anointed of a crystal blip just detectable long enough on RADAR to become the statistic to crack the slim WHIP

No wigs are needed at this formality, no figs grow from trees forty-five years buried and almost a full month unsung

Pitiable cretins of an invented insanity, they scoff at my ravenous and portentous heart for its excess and for aligning with an upstart verging on only a specious insanity

Why in all humanity could a month be mustered with every defense of history and yet for it to be so widely flouted as a risible exercise in futility

The irony that the artistic glamor of a past vogue becoming a revival that is often toked only to one song but never to the memorial of great cavernous and commodious imaginations, staggers with dismay where otherwise the mayday would be a disaster but still a great day

Then I look at a triggered-fingered omen of a death so ominous yet so brazenly confronted as the ambassadors of time provide plaudits to a fearless martyrdom

Why such a sad spate, why such a stringent but malevolent fate a malediction on a family whose crest is not crestfallen like rolling waves but ornamented with gravity impounding its own weight

A fugacious tomb, an eternal flame, a swan song announcing an independent authority on a prescient demise mashed and deprived

A single shot rippling through the broadened space between clasped eternity and a histrionic disgrace as a psychological confederate pays lip service to a reiterative applause

A cousin hardly American in a defected record of incendiary plumes of a hoarse hatred of waxen discs and flying discs alike,  climbs out of a bonfire mounted purely out of vindictive spite

Then upon a great white buffalo a wrapped package of Californian love before California ever alighted like something beyond an avaricious dove, saw a rocky park and a hearth of illuminated darkness the singular spark

Captain Morgan knows the jackknife applause of a botched deal morphing into a disbelieved spiel. A shibboleth of enormous mystical weight crashing down from an ethereal abode and heaven heavily saddened cannot hardly appeal

Then a loving spoonful of crystal blue persuasion led me to Ethel’s regimented keepsake and for once in my life nobility and I became a grateful waif. But temerity laughed, splintered spacecraft, and the wooden paws of a bearish applause led to resurgent clarity

Blinking stars shattered by knighted and raw applause punctured the liberated might of a sentient hortatory savior grasped by the internecine wrench of a waxen time

An indie track slides by unnoticed in an aleatory time, and the threadbare whine of centuries of lament becomes a dastardly barn set ablaze with the fury of ancients and the scurry of faineant patents

Perfidy slides in recess, and in gentle forbearance the winged angel lingers like a halo on conifer and spring above a remedial ring

I dial frisky celerity tingling the dangling claws of a raven’s screed and in plunder of all history’s pilfer secrets I eagerly weave a tapestry Indiana Jones himself would be proud to watch

Not the riotous ruin of a mystery tour of verdure crippled by genocide but overcome by the revived life of raised rain razing the moments of indelible pain

But the culmination of a proffered time taken at its word for its every careened bird, for its every brazen gird. The manger of proctored stars calls us home tonight and home forever. Life in quaked timorous stumbles suddenly no longer so fitfully absurd.

The quixotic plundered of pirates and emperors in direct emulation of some crooned pastiche of whittled integrity, surges above any encased blurb and any vain testament to a pyramid rigid in destiny and ragged in desultory and sturdy sincerity

Multiplying the ineffable by the division of arable divorced from edible is too creative to be eaten as pabulum when sparks curdle flickered moonlight crimson and that become golden only to the last laugh of ennobled ragamuffins

Frankly the desert of melliferous gorillas abetting the lark of a heavily vetted camarilla engaged in the sinecure of a rigged wall on a main street to block the tall from the lame bleat. Stocks grazed, costs engaged on a littoral beach at the end of a Bossy promenade

This prayer is a cutthroat collapse of a merry spare, a ribbed ****** waiting to plunge into the antithesis of female despair, but sincere in its restraint that vixens courted in love aren’t courted in litigation of a wagered dare

Ambulances chase Deloreans through the desolate moon-stricken skies of a time agape with fleets of phantasmagoria on a Cliffside too wise to ever mince words or excise cries

Skulking the red-teared caverns of entombed films and lampooned tinctures on a passion vetted only for certain and utter deracinated disguise, I wallop with winged men in a single soul armed to the teeth with inveterate tithes to eternal internments of poached and endangered gazettes

As growth older in wizened skin bets on epithets rather than epitaphs for rinsed peace and triumphant clefts we leap above in orbit of only the bellowing nether of blown tolls and untold souls aggregating the esoteric grasp of Alexandrian tomes

The denumeration of certainty is a carousel of wonder, a splurge of time ripped asunder with majesties of paparazzi scuttled impacts a throttled iniquity of regalia’s indicted blunder frenchified but still clean with inestimable sheens

With twenty-five dollars, a dime an assist and a nickeled reiteration of currency already so personable it is divine and sublime in crazed desist I watch the embroiled natives clash in denatured violence with the warriors of a crossed repast hearkening to an old land much of ire but too much of grandstand to ultimately last

Itching for a holy field husk of peerless ties listed as rumpus and beer, a two-packed smoked by bludgeoned blokes careless in irascible sputters of a muffled doom, a Vegan becomes the author of too many sacrosanct homilies becoming defiled witchcraft brooms dead on arrival too many lionized tombs

In plaudits and the scause of an amplified “what if?” of an olfactory nightmare of petrified fog of effluvium bogged in Wade and in heat it is always clogged, sinewy libations of toasted preemptive revenge become a powerballed hog

A castle in the sky founded on Franklin but scourged of wineskins brimming with a distilled time, a swift repartee becomes the whispered ladder of saints blather becoming not rather other than a Dan Rather spatter

A door breeched by a broached inconvenience of amphigory beyond common reach, I clamber excess and whisk the lingered love into destiny beyond any word other than a beseeched preach of nothing tired but everything inspired of noble love with abundance often to teach

Fireworks of turned tides of fallow tithes to aliens beyond any conceivable bribe the bushwhacker writhes but survives staying alive without even a hint of garbled jive a 27th floor glass elevator is quite a resplendent ride

Wellsprings knowing radical rolled tides of errant dice also themselves guilty of confessional tithes to the monolith of avarice at the nooked cranny of an evaporated time we whine as the police sting the album rained with songs too lugubrious to sing but in their elegy every lonely heart has a propinquity phone of souled resonance ring

Iterative mastery of a mathematics of love, loss decay and the dross of a dental Occidental floss, the sweep of screened queues become questions of inestimable importance to foreign dues on a horse with no name but so consumed with fumes

A fright occultist thriller prowls in a waylaying daylight, masquerading an innocent confection for a rescued triage of a dawn stabbed with knives in our last dying days of trembled plight

He resurrects only the wraiths of detest, squinted at by the putrefaction of summoned cardiac arrest and littered with bullets that somehow can penetrate even impregnable bullet proof vests the wrapped carcass of the mummified husk of ready despair offers itself a ghoulish and raspy prayer

Synchronized in a low roaring swathe of rollercoasters too immersive to ride, the terpsichorean obscurantism of deliberately shattered fragments becoming blurbs dismissed with hijacked deride the carnival of a summer sun becomes the ocean of limitless love becoming endless fun

We forget the drawl of the droll old tales that haunt like specters in the closet and beneath the bedridden valetudinarian of an effrontery of shackled fright, we sprawl the innumerable caverns of prophetic insight afforded by the pantheon of history enter stage left, depart stage right

And with their insight I write and write, I grasp the tusk of democracy and wage an insurrection against the doubt of plodding limitations in otherwise immaculate sight

*** and tyrannosaurus rex, of litigable offenses leading to pardonable arrests, the gated entryway of a poetic splurge leads to the demiurge of a demotic enlightenment and suddenly the frank becomes the frazzled retirement and that haunting hounding bunny transmogrified by a shattered eye averts the car crash that careens ponderous engines out of limitless twilight blue skies.

Diamond lightning in pristine skies escorts the telegraphic totems of riddled modems from 1967 to 2016 and suddenly all venerable personages converge on a teeming scene of a union unified by a universal dream. To become everything and yet nothing and out of light and darkness to become a beatific beam
Send me away to some Dixieland town,
to some one-bank, water-tower, small-time town,

with simple backwoods thinkers,
and boys playing hooky with sinkers.

Send me away from these weak city girls,
with their sleek plastic looks
and their chic, stylish curls.

Give me instead those natural ladies,
in hand-me-down calico skirts.

Give me the girls who brush their hair twice,
then frolic with dogs in the dirt.

I will always strive to impress
a woman in a home-made dress.

But I will never apply my modest ploys
to the wooing of ladies
who thrive on city joys
and the jive of city boys.
Megan Sherman Oct 2018
Meeting in the canteen at lunchtime
Laughing at our immature jokes
The girls in room five
They know how to jive
You know they were the most unusual folks

Lord you know we were lucky
You know blessed we were
The way we were happy
Oh sweetest Lucia

Went to college in different cities
Mind disorders ate me alive
Lucy P called to say
I hope you're okay
You look like you forgot how to jive

Lord you know we were lucky
You know blessed we were
The way we were happy
Oh sweetest Lucia

Got the train to Kent to see Lucy
Lady enrolled in the arts
If we weren't friends
I'd go round the bend
Jealous of her marvellous smarts

Lord you know we are lucky
You know blessed we are
The way we are happy
Oh sweetest Lucia

Grown up now we rare see each other
Buried in our separate lives
But when we meet up
We swig from the cup
Yeah soon we remember to jive

Lord you know we are lucky
You know how blessed we are
The way we are happy
Oh sweetest Lucia

When we are old we'll be married
Maybe having tea in the day
Those girls from room five
Who knew how to jive
Yeah I think they really turned out okay

Lord you know we are lucky
You know how blessed we are
The way we are happy
Oh sweetest Lucia
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
In the faraway land,
trees smiling and nails
Not the escargot snails
Booming business sails
His name Rusty nails
Super rich paper shredding
Destroying fine print
paper and nails affair

Those hot leads faxing
The heart opens up than bleeds
What a mess misleads to
More hoarders
Trying so hard to get
over the U-S-A border
When you least expect it
Being searched papercut body

Like Honey Bee without
Hair like a beehive
foxy lady
No Jive rock paper scissors
Twisted sisters also drying up
All lines and spot
like a dark romance
Cheetah
Not the Samson and
Deliah race
Millionairess place
Became a swamp
Forest of racers
Super moon Gump
Lady and the *****
I am Instagram Disney Pixstar
Getting looks by far
Superwomen nailed her
With Starwars
European fellows

Soft clouds daze-like fun yellow
Emotionally their crying
Broken one scattered piece
of glass, please I see something
to smile about
Super rich why do they get
the VIP pass laughing
He's the roundabout
Someone with love handles
Can we handle all this
Getting drinks and hot lady
winks hit or miss
Racing their motorcycles
Dark glove handles
What Harley Davidson cycles
Is that your best reaction trying
Mirror my mirror on the wall
I am not buying it super
rich mechanic
The only one chosen mirror
She feels ******
Love can give you tumors
Dissect you who will direct you
You don't feel this is your time
The sunny side of the street
Sunnyside eggs over easy

The Speakeasy
Your hair of ringlets **** wavy
Did he nail your darker side beat
Bird up your nest feeders heat
Don't break me up to fall
The phone rings dingaling
Spiritual candles witch is dead
Your mind is somewhere else
instead
Just make your silk ties of the bed
Tied to your ankle I love you
How your hearts just dangle
"Having a nail full because you're single"
Were all linked into something
Yodeling, not the business
of smuggling
Knocking on heavens door
Super rich marble black and white floor
Hammering nails in the cabin
He's fishing the hooks how it fits together
hugging
Going up the staircase to heaven
What a big cliff-hanging nail diver

Zippety Zepellin*
Songs whole lotta love
How you've been nailed in
the blackout
Not a piece blackout cake
Canarsie at the pier
Out of nails, the darkness hits me
Bend over nails like the devil more rivals
Never to be resentful
Always pray to be needful
Her face value of her smile
Being poor her soul
stepped on

Too many men, not enough nails
But they got their thrills
New York City construction
worker
He's wiped out being hammered
nails hot drills
Such poorly written emails

Her heels got stuck
No stars to shine *Rusty bar
Starbucks

Her mind was a
bulletproof vest  
"Jane and *****"
"Plain Janes" movie cut
Of paper dolls
Being Nailed Bunny hunt
of tricks
But all weapons he nailed her the best*

Blood stem thorns
Italian love horns
Robin Redbreast tweet text
What holds us together
French **** nails
Fountain of golden coins

Lion heads or tails the door
Back to spam ham of emails
Super rich we may never be
But New York will always
be my kind of town
He nailed it so
many times

New Yorker super rich talker
Like a perilous time super
rich food delicious
Pygmalion how we nail our nation
Super Rich, I rather have a rich blend of my coffee and savor all the rich tones  I tune who wants to hammer the nails that not a girl wanting to have fun flavor my music all sounds. So much higher than anyone with money I love my honey on my face to the Spa Tra La La that's super rich it sticks
Isabella OBrien Jan 2013
Whispered body types
replayed melted melodies
Do you feel the jive above your head?
Stick, stick our toes
Where was that porcelain face in that cup, so bitter?
Trick them with polished giggles,
I know you.
Little, Insignificant, give me your
bones to crush and huff.
Forgive me. Not.
Candid rush of paint
retake, retake, retake.
That girl should have been a
reindeer, she's road ****.
We are soft grunge.
Play it by fear.
Julian Oct 2016
Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded dark side of the moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to crack the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison
Michael Briefs Mar 2018
Sophie sits quietly, soaking in the sounds.
This Jazz club suits her perfectly,
As she swallows spirituous rounds.
The music is hot, with Latin-flair, and
Pulsing, staccato, percussive drive.
The air on her shoulders is moist
In this Parisian summer jive.
Sophie tastes the twilight culture,
She lives for the buzz.
She won't accept the ordinary, she
Vibrates with bohemian blood!
She loves her music live in her
Sultry summer jive.
Alice Penny Mar 2010
I feel the world has no place for me,
Let me go back to '63,
When life was a thrill,
With The Beatles and all.

Let me feel alive,
With the power of the jive,
Let me party in the 70's,
With the rock 'n' roll,
*** and drugs!

I need to rave with Bon Jovi,
In the year of '84,
I need to rock to Queen,
In the year '86.

Let me feel alive,
With the power of the jive,
Let me party in the 70's,
With the rock 'n' roll,
*** and drugs!

I need to cry at Freddie's funeral,
Back in 1991,
I need to be born in the 50's,
When life was good and fun.

Let me feel alive,
With the power of the jive,
Let me party in the 70's,
With the rock 'n' roll,
*** and drugs!
annh Sep 2019
Subway skip jive,
Off and on,
Up and over,
Been and gone.

Mind your wallet,
Watch your step,
Take your seat,
Turn right, lean left.

Token trav’lers,
Quick, quick, slow,
We’re underground,
And on the go.

‘I loved the abandoned subway stations, rushing past the darkened platforms, the sprawl of graffiti like old letters. Letters left by ghosts.’
- Hannah Lillith Assadi, Sonora
Nat Lipstadt Jan 2014
why and how should you know?

behind beneath in between the teeth

my fingerprint whorls and whirls

under other's names and
my secret identities

a word a phrase a hatchet a blade a
pruning knife,
a confession of confusion,
relieved by my cutting saves.

my stamp secreted my ***** implanted

my style unseen yet bidden,
my name hidden, my children born
but still is my heart,
like the parent that
has given up the child.

but you love my
screamed and un screamed, and my undoing of
the doing you not see me named

nature in paces and means
admit pleasure at my scrivinings
there but for the grace of whom

but to me

for am I but the
editor
o'er my bones that
*nobody knows
nobody sees,
nobody knows,
but me^

you tread,

crunching my invisibility
to smoke and smithereens,
the pimple on the poem
lifeless turned luscious,
yet, gnome gone the next day
^ Lyric from "long black veil", always give credit to the dew.


here a period, there a comma,
a phrase truncated,
a work saved, nay,
reimagined,
in the forest's silence
who can tell,
who swung the axe,
who grew the tree?
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2018
disclaimer: unedited rambling and overly long and frankly, Scarlet, don't give a **** anymore...

Thus spake and quested
another, younger poet to me,
a far better one than I,
but obligations thus provided,
are serious business,
to those who understand
poetic responsibilities, and
under his own Rules of Order,
an answer,
though long in coming, AR,
must be provided.

Well well well
all is not well,
the faucets offers choices....
chrome hot
chrome cold

there is no such thing as
lukewarm truth in
clear waters that
run run,
yet never
run stilled,
birthed at turned-on conception,
to drain death removal,
another daily poetic miracle,
unappreciated by most,
overly consumed by their
own passage on this Earth

peddler wayfarer,
passing through with truth
poem pots and rattling pans
(nowadays, mostly panned),
a historic factoid,
and not what Amazon delivers...
truth is a genetically modified
bitcoin currency, misunderstood,
prone to sometimes useful,
but never ever, to stick or stain,
for I got excuses and who gives a ****,
yesterday is forgotten instantly

The coldest truths,
the confirmation of same
by mirrored image text sent,
(immediacy a necessity,
for though poor, it is 'real')
the twitter that methodically
A-lists your major crimes
B-lists your petty,
hope-you-didn't miss my
exposé of latest misdemeanors

the hot truths,
only whispered,
merely mint hinted
in a hot cuppa,
the heat itself
a cover up,
for what you do not
wish me to plainly speak
or plainly sell,
is accursed truths,
won't sell, even if free

Can't write about moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies

The way I write is
just the way I think, believe,
from my eyes to paper
there is no misdirection,
just silent labor conception

Poor poor real truth
is out of favor these days,
because there is nothing
no one won't cease or hesitate
to expose himself,
flaunt the anguish,
copy other's jive,
but that is real,
but it is not truth

Had a bad day,
You need to know about it
Right away!

Though I meander and excuse,
there is one state of truth,
I need yet to annotate

Too oft when tapped turned on,
it is rusty water and rusted truths
expelled and this, my stuff, my days,
not in vogue, or a top seller

I love the color rust,
overused in my poems,
but compulsion is not a
conditional, but a must

This then is the form
they spill in these,
my final days here

You might think that rust implies
lack of use,
a non-caring
for his voice,
his well practiced instrument

Au contrarie, amigo!

My rust is from overuse,
my eyes don't see
what the popular want nor
could I provide it
even if
it was demanded,
which it is not....

Rusted but unvarnished,
undisguised by fancy words
or silent cries, what you read
is what you get
until I find
a more "authentic" voice,
one that satisfies the world
not just me...he sneers....

Feel for me in the summer breeze,
from whence my best stuff
has always been plucked
sent on its way, to you,
in self-same wind,
to kiss your cheeks,
slap you alert

I used to write
on both feet
upstanding,
then Hillel was asked for
the whole truth
while standing
on just one leg

His reply:
"Love they neighbor as you love thyself"

So I switched
and now compose,
in quiet ignorance,
a wrong footed poet,
left only with his what's left,
and to put his left foot truths
first, forward and foremost,
is what he got, and
what I got, you'll get....

But a cautionary note,
drinking riposte rustys,
bad for the body,
but kindly
for your mental
wealth,
if your have the
only other element
most needed,
in your pocket posses,

courage
Rambling, unedited, and yet fresh so off to the presses..and at 4:21am,
I frankly, Scarlet, don't give a **** anymore...
jeffrey robin Jul 2015
)(                                                            


­

                                  ( on a Real Road --- on a Real Day )



(                                                
          ­                       )
(.                          
                    )
(                
)
\/
/\
/    \

##

( do you know one ? )                                                                ­          

<>

Beyond the

                                                               God  & Goddess ... Jive

Beyond the Tarot Card images

Or the poetic vision of an ornately described

Mystic Sky

//

Is a real man

And a lovely girl


Trying to love

And keep the World alive

//

Just a ..... real man

With human sight

)(

The moon is just the moon

( it feels right )

The lake is just the lake

( and thirst quenched is a sacred thing )

ain't no naked myths  floating by

//

Just a real man

A real woman

And they're talking about a real child

( A child who needs

A real humanity )

:::

Oh YE poets

Who shame the WORD

who wander in between

Lust and blasphemy

///


Come !


Sing the real song

Calls us to the hills

Where the last of the living

Are gathering

///

( it is the end of the World

It is the end of days )

;:;.

And everyone is waiting

For you to become

  """""

A real man

On a real road

On a real day

;;((

:::

Yes ! Yes !

THIS very one

//

A real man

;;::

( I knew you'd come )
LordxWilliamson Dec 2014
Yo soy *****

**** immigration and the racist white tèjanõs, please tell me how the hell would they ever know what I know, shout out to my Mexicans Hondurans and black Cubanos shut the border down call it the no fly zone. Adios Americanos me and my amigos are stealing ya women and playin em like pianos, vocal terrorist this lyrical revolt should be your primary interest. Public enemy number one the domestic hectic terrorist I'm influencing your white son, right to bear these nuts I'm taking the tea parties guns stealing your freedom from right up under you, all your jobs, and way of life, your point of view. I'm the original black power ranger hide your right winged minds if not I swear they'll be in danger. I am the broken brick the stone left unturned the rhythm of the wind the willingness to learn and the desire to fight and get what you earn. I am the individual placed on the no fly list with my hand balled into a fist cause my turbin is too tight and my beards to thick. I am the man choked to death by nypd for selling cigarettes now I'm rioting with my words doing lyrical pirouettes.  Yo soy ***** spitting jive like lingo I want a Pam Grier keep your Marilyn Monroe, from the 6th borough buckin like bronco they said finish em I'm educated and black had to hit em with the combo.  I'm non fictions Huey Freeman battling congress and their demons catch me flexing on the law lookin like the black He-Man Standing up for what I believe in writing in my notepad I stay steady schemin with my head up in the clouds I stay steady dreamin. Yo soy ***** freeze em like sub zero not concerned with dolores or the dinero yen or bills yo, I'm still waiting for marvel to make a Mexican superhero.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
it's so middle-class it almost deceives the idea
of a functioning economic model,
if this woman gets to write this for
rent and grocery money, i'd rather stick
it out on bread-and-butter puddings in india
mid the squalor, as honest as there is
or there isn't a god -
she's basically trapped with a hamster ontology
of the treadmill -
she's discussing "emoji" (ditto regarding
correct pronunciation), i.e.
emo- -gee                              or
                        the emotional Jinn -
or the emotive genie - Aladdin somewhere -
i mean emoji and jive? **** don't pair up!
the journalist is clever in dismembering feminism,
girls get *****, X to patriarchy,
but we need to sort out...
this emo jive **** is worse than caveman material...
i'll take an oath on it: i can't run 100 metres in
under 10 seconds...
my bone density is lighter than what the general
practitioner prescribed the africans
at the paraolympic games -
**** swam like the partially limbless -
the medal ceremony was taking place
but still the ivory and sclera at midnight visible
swam, and swam...
throw a ******* rhino or a horse in there
and it'll beat the cheetah... moor boor! moor boor!
b'oh! if this is the prime concern of
feminism i'd be abhorred by the excuse of
expression per se... come on! emotional jive
instead emotional gee? what's this, an Oliver Twist
sub-plot revision?
i'm surprised women are buying into
feminism at this stage,
she's a womb and she's a house,
he's a vector and he's the return -
take her from nesting and he does not care
for being nested, he's out in the open,
when all these girls turn to what Darwinism taught them,
after all Darwinism is feminism's only compatriot,
take the spider nursery on the back of the mother,
the polar bear single mother abandoned by
the male raising her dues,
the politicised Islamic harem of monkeys
serving as argument for both origin and no origins
(you can't be as noble as the swans
overnight caring for the practice of
widowing, unless it be as quick
as black widow's or mantis' -
after all Darwinism taught us to not thieve
but to borrow, and look where borrowing left us) -
feminism only emerged because of Darwinism
being popularised, it was perfect because of its
overt use of images and a lack of salon literature of
aristocratic ladies listening eagerly while
Balzac farted into a page and the supper was made
and served by the house-staff -
never mind the sheikhs and their Lamborghini collections;
i'm careful of the spine and the half-horse-power
of my legs than the shiny wheelchairs.
Ira Aug 2018
The day is bright and blue,
While the night hails the universes true view.

The sun, hailed as the giver of all life and the first true fire,
As the moon is considered all of deaths lyre.

While life is given power by the sun,
The moon is the cloak for all it's assassins.

As the sun is fiery and passionate,
Are moon is quite and loves maleficence.

As the day gives only the bare truth,
The night covers all that who are to sleuth

Sun and moon,
God and Satan,
Earth and sky,
Truth and jive,
Life and death,
Fire and water,
Dusk and dawn
Diverting Martyrs


Two things that can explain everything,
The sun and moon are life’s most important worshippings
Lycanroc is pretty BOOLIN. So here's a poem that is all about a duet that they would sing in a church for other pokemon
duane hall Nov 2018
Your riding on empty, your riding on fumes
Aint it about time you started paying your dues?
Hey snowflake move out of daddy's  basement
Aint it about  time you started paying your rent
It's been years since you've earned a red cent
Hey snowflake move  out and live in a tent
The cronies you adore are taking you for a ride
Aint nobody here that's digging your jive
You have no concept of wrong and right
News flash: You're just a young parasite
You have this idea  you're better than most
The sad Truth is you're nothing but toast
It's about time you owned up to it
You're nothing but a societal misfit
Hey snowflake you're on the wrong path
Hey snowflake start doing the math
Nobody seems to be safe from your wrath
Do us all a favor by taking a bath.
Olivia Robinson Jul 2015
I don't apologize for my blackness and your fear seems like this beautiful melanin enriched skin is a blessing and a curse. police offers using our young men's as target practice ripping our rich black roots from the ground and scathing them  them all over the cold blood stained concrete streets that my people paved.they just want us to dance sing and play ball to entertain them. they don't want us to succeed and move on to bigger and better things so sinister grins creep upon their faces as they watch us slaughter eachother in the streets. they watch us struggle to get out of poverty they say we're all on welfare and ain't **** but how can we move up in the world and get out of poverty when this system wasn't built to benefit us? we are more than the stereotypes. we are doctors lawyers entrepreneurs nurses designers filmmakers activist.we are intelligent intellectual beings with knowledge that surpasses all understanding. they don't want us to open our mouths and speak our truth...they want us to shut up and chuck and jive and kiss their pasty white ***** to the bone they want us to ignore the blatant racism and discrimination we face everyday and be content that we aren't enduring as much pain as the ones before us have. but we will not shut up. we do experience racism. we do experience discrimination. and our people are dying everyday from it.how dare you utter the words respect yourself and well respect your from the same mouth that slandered my ppl and taught us to hate ourselves with? we were taught to love everything that was white and hate everything that was black and love blonde long straight hair and blue eyes and hate our chocolate skin and ***** hair but these ***** roots are deep...no matter how much you try and destroy them they are deep and run through us all. so my brothers and sisters... be proud of your roots take care of your roots embrace your roots love everything about yourself from that ***** *** hair that breaks all the teeth of your comb to your chocolate skin that glows in the sunlight and those strong minds and powerful voices because black is beautiful, black is powerful black is brilliant, black matters.
poem I wrote a while ago around the time of the Mike Brown case. it's not finished.
Butch Decatoria Jun 2017
Condoms, oil burners, shattered glass

The homeless homies homemade shizz

Now Chris can't sit still in class

Pounding the pavement with kisses to heaven

All hustlers sell

Dippin Dots

Wrapped in latex

Liquid to vapor overkills

The loss of will

From after parties after hours

Romancing the ******

On the corners

Quag **** hits schism

Asphalt littered with

Shattered flowers

Them chicks on the streets

Ladies of the night

Its matter of fact

Mr. Hightower / boulevard's class

For the hard ***

**** poor "G" learning how

To trample through his ghetto

As she masters each one

******* hand / jive and mashed

Chris and his gang

Up for sale (hot-**** **** jello *****)

For white hyperions and

Black mellow

Cached

Out / yellow bellied / thin

Such barefooted souls

Marrow

Easiest to break

When already hollow...

(Guilt and shame is a gun

To the temple

And heart

Chambers

Such souls all hollow)

Those Outs Within...
*written just before my move to the Philippines* --stayed tuned to this new islanders series, experiences in poetic form ...
Waltzing through the chaos that life’s left for today,
Dragging along my battered horn in case she wants to play
‘Scuse me, Ms. Bartender, but I’ve got something to say
Ain’t nobody listening to the radio anyway

I don’t need a soapbox, no suit or microphone
Just a space to spread the truth wherever I may roam
I speak straight from the bottom of a bottle left at home
The night is not much easier when you take it on alone

Hear ye, hear ye, gather round to hear a tale
Of dreaming big, working hard, but destined still to fail

Shredding that loopy little melody,
The craziest cat you ever did see
Make you feel so alive, ladies screaming, “Wow boy!”
I jump and I jive, cuz I’m a bebop cowboy
"Jazz is dead."
~Anonymous
K G Jul 2016
Born from a carrion crow, a secondary soul
A stumbling first step can get both high and low
Our fall are others inner joy, and inner meaning grotto
Life is a jungle filled with snow, life is a story over-told
It'd be lies without our mouth's constant need for ammo
Let's slide senseless into a fictive reality rather than candid
Where a billion stars all around that seem to think we're attractive
Without assuming they're antic
Lets waste our time on cheap talk and wine
For shallow compliments we need a shirt and tie
A long slow drive, drugs to whirl and jive
Without quivering the sky
Lets pretend that we're beautiful to get something in return
Only to be garnished with coffee stains and cigarette burns
Bewailing about how we enjoyed our youth
We wither irrelevantly, slowly we discern
Slowly we're concerned
Lets drain our energies for over eight hours straight
Burning the faded floral wallpaper to laminate
Lusting feverishly in the tumbled bed to truncate
This isn't for fulfilment, at least it doesn't start that way
Klaus Mar 2013
Encapsulated;

Pin drop atom bomb sparks

an incise, rasping raw hiss.
the instantaneous buzz ignites a crescendoing, numbed fuzz belonging to no known octave
If you wanna lose your rebel cherry,
never give away your rebel cherry.
The Man, he is slippery
as a cat called Quantum Gravity.

I never wanna hear your rebel yell
was tracheotomised by trials of a rebel.
The Eternal Yes made in Madison Avenue.
We don't always win but rebels never lose.

If you wanna lose your V-sign
V-plates, you gotta frig the system.
The Man, he is a jive
turkey of received wisdom.

I never wanna hear your rebel yell
was tracheotomised by trials of a rebel.
The Eternal Yes made in Madison Avenue.
We don't always win but rebels never lose.

What we gotta lose
except for our chains?
Our workfare & zero hours?
What we gotta lose
except for our chains?
And our flowers
to Che Guevara?
Neville Johnson Jan 2019
Sue Venir loved Hugh Biquitous, but he was unreliable, so she confided this to her friend, Di Namic who confirmed he’d been seen with Penny Farthing and Miss Chevous. Then she ran into Ken Tucky, who’d just broken up with Jen Erator, and was known to hang with Mel N. Choly. Together, they and Dan Ube went to a party thrown by Perry Winkle at the house of Dana Point.

Con Valescence introduced Sue to Marine Layer who asked Mr. Tucky to join the conversation, and they’ve been conversing ever since. Lou Kemia couldn’t make the party as he was ill. This was confirmed by Nick Knack who’d been informed by Conrad Alert.

Penny Saver left early, heading over to the home of I. Stan Bul, who was throwing a celebration in honor of Hazel Nuts and Grant N. Aid, who were to be married by Will Power, though Miss Givings, his former girlfriend, did not approve. Celebrants included Buzz Saw, Ma Larkey, Ben E. Diction, ***** Pack and of course Ann I. Versary, who deemed it worthy of being remembered. Tom Foolery was always good for a laugh, which was appreciated by Art I. Face, Dee Vice and Tess Osterone.

Some chose to dine alfresco, notably Flora Fauna, Heidi **, and Ed U. Cate. Barb Ituate was a downer, though Ma Larkey tried to cheer her up, watched by Cliff Hanger who wanted to see what happened, until a dispute arose between Ana Conda and Ann Ticipation, who’d both been vying for the attention of Billy Goat.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, Terry Dactyl was in a dispute with Billy Club over Lilly White because of something Miss Conception had reported after hearing from that duo, Caesar Salad and Reuben Sandwich.

Junior Mints tried to mollify the situation with sugary statements, but was interrupted by Yuri Nal, who said he had to go, and then left with Jay Walking and they were off to congregate with Diane Tomeetya.

At the next table General Jive held court in a warlike mood,  that Cary Cature tried to lighten.  With them were Tex Arcana, whose accent was amusing to Bill Collector, Al Gorythm, Tim Buktu and Marv E. Lous, who always had a great time wherever he went.

By then, Bobby Pin, the luscious seamstress, had given up on Peter D. Out, after seeing him clowning around with Butch Wax and Slim N. None, all of them malcontents and disrupters.

In walked Daisy Chain, newly arrived  from the Southern Hemisphere, along with Sydney Australia. Klaus Trophobic had initially agreed to travel with the two of them, but said he had to stay at home. Frank O’Phile overhead this and confided to Phil O’Sophically that there is sometimes merit to such position.

The restaurant was owned by Ty ****, managed by Chuck Wagon, with the food delivered by waiters Clay *** and Terry Aki , assisted by busboyTara Misou.

The next morning, everyone gathered at the home of Dawn Patrol, who was there with her new husband, Earnest Money, after divorcing Perry Mutual. Deb Enture was her maid of honor.  Nick O’Time was nearly late to the party, driving in with Stu Debaker, via a shaky Uber driver named Manuel Shifting.

Al Acrity was his usual sunny self, but not when Den O’Thieves interrupted his conversation, which was shut down by Kay O.

Sherman Oaks and Van Nuys were late, having gotten mixed up on the location. Cliff Hanger was worried about the falling stock market, and as a result was getting drunk with Jack Daniels. Stan Dup was his usually assertive self, but was overshadowed by the always munificent Cy Pres.

Claude Hopper was dressed in yesterdays’ styles, but that didn’t matter to Dov Tail who  was going into business with Matt Chabox, known for his incendiary personality. They had two other partners to round the group out, **** Ular and Ben E. Fit.

Gar Gantuan loomed large, and was unstable when paired with Mo Mentum, who said in such situations, they needed to involve Otto Matic.

Terry Cloth was wrapped around Jan U. Ary, ogled by Barbie Queue and Coleman Lantern.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
Thus spake and quested
another, younger poet to me,
a far better one than I,
but obligations thus provided,
are serious business,
to those who understand
poetic responsibilities, and
under his own Rules of Order,
an answer,
though long in coming, AR,
must be provided.*

Well well well
all is not well,
the faucets offers choices....
chrome hot
chrome cold

there is no such thing as
lukewarm truth in
clear waters that
run run,
yet never
run stilled,
birthed at turned-on conception,
to drain death removal,
another daily poetic miracle,
unappreciated by most,
overly consumed by their
own passage on this Earth

peddler wayfarer,
passing through with truth
poem pots and rattling pans
(nowadays, mostly panned),
a historic factoid,
and not what Amazon delivers...
truth is a genetically modified
bitcoin currency, misunderstood,
prone to sometimes useful,
but never ever, to stick or stain,
for I got excuses and who gives a ****,
yesterday is forgotten instantly

The coldest truths,
the confirmation of same
by mirrored image text sent,
(immediacy a necessity,
for though poor, it is 'real')
the twitter that methodically
A-lists your major crimes
B-lists your petty,
hope-you-didn't miss my
exposé of latest misdemeanors

the hot truths,
only whispered,
merely mint hinted
in a hot cuppa,
the heat itself
a cover up,
for what you do not
wish me to plainly speak
or plainly sell,
is accursed truths,
won't sell, even if free

Can't write about moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies

The way I write is
just the way I think, believe,
from my eyes to paper
there is no misdirection,
just silent labor conception

Poor poor real truth
is out of favor these days,
because there is nothing
no one won't cease or hesitate
to expose himself,
flaunt the anguish,
copy other's jive,
but that is real,
but it is not truth

Had a bad day,
You need to know about it
Right away!

Though I meander and excuse,
there is one state of truth,
I need yet to annotate

Too oft when tapped turned on,
it is rusty water and rusted truths
expelled and this, my stuff, my days,
not in vogue, or a top seller

I love the color rust,
overused in my poems,
but compulsion is not a
conditional, but a must

This then is the form
they spill in these,
my final days here

You might think that rust implies
lack of use,
a non-caring
for his voice,
his well practiced instrument

Au contrarie, amigo!

My rust is from overuse,
my eyes don't see
what the popular want nor
could I provide it
even if
it was demanded,
which it is not....

Rusted but unvarnished,
undisguised by fancy words
or silent cries, what you read
is what you get
until I find
a more "authentic" voice,
one that satisfies the world
not just me...he sneers....

Feel for me in the summer breeze,
from whence my best stuff
has always been plucked
sent on its way, to you,
in self-same wind,
to kiss your cheeks,
slap you alert

I used to write
on both feet
upstanding,
then Hillel was asked for
the whole truth
while standing
on just one leg

His reply:
"Love they neighbor as you love thyself"*

So I switched
and now compose,
in quiet ignorance,
a wrong footed poet,
left only with his what's left,
and to put his left foot truths
first, forward and foremost,
is what he got, and
what I got, you'll get....

But a cautionary note,
drinking riposte rustys,
bad for the body,
but kindly
for your mental
wealth,
if your have the
only other element
most needed,
in your pocket posses,

courage
Rambling, unedited, and yet fresh so off to the presses..and at 4:21am,
I frankly, Scarlet, don't give a **** anymore...
Sy Lilang Jun 2014
It tastes sour in my skin
The water diverts his eyes upon the curves
I rub them with my fingernails
The tips cried for disturbance.

The pebbled stones in purity
Spit out their dirt with every moist
The need to exhale the longing days
The desolation of their own race.

It stinks with the cover of my skin
No vinegar to pour on the occuring reds
No tablet nor capsule to jive the tummy
There, I'll groove with the ratio of water.

I left the leaves on the dirt
And yes, those gravel and mated things in the sack
Alone am I, here in my own nest
Watching the faded stars and grasping the air.

Neither can I reach the ultimatum
The shutters in me were all aware and trained
The body in rest be put in silence
For the war of itch diverts the angle.

(6/13/14 @xirlleelang)
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2012
Sights and sounds of the sixties

Soon you will be going to the class reunion I over exaggerate as you head for the door I think my kids
Think I not only read ally Oop in the comic strip they act like I knew him personally. Here is what they
Don’t know let’s start easy when you’re setting in the country club and there is a lull listen with your mind
It not that far to the end of the golf course from the west south corner to the first road that is an eighth
Of a mile every hot rod man or girl already knows that. Play the song GTO in your head going to shut
Them down GTO. Listen to Jims engine howl he had it stroked and bored out in Taylorville you can do
that when daddy owns a bar to bad howl will turn to sobs really. Glen’s driving a dodge cornet with an
automatic on the floor sixty six factory line job you wouldn’t know it by looking Glen blew him away
coming out of the hole never touched or came close at top end Glen was a lone well I told you what Jim
was doing.
Strain a little more you can hear a fifty five chevy leaving the Dog & Suds headed for Elvers Skating rink
he floors it finally he lets it back off what a sound as that glass pack muffler rips the night air see any
Dinosaurs got rid of that old feeling yet. Out on the street here comes the bad with a capital B Lee miller
Is driving his fifty five Chevy burnished brown all the chrome plus the door handles are gone inside and out it is a
Dream are you getting it yet I’m talking about your achievements. Kenny Krivage is over at Rocks burning
cigarettes through five dollar bills on his arm before he was just a good looking kid then the sixties got
Him you were either at rocks or hiding from those that went there. Lot safer drinking cherry coke with
Janice at the hometown cafe even Karate didn’t protect you at rocks the Neece kid even taught it but
when you got a fist of fives coming at your head it not time for theory its time for action. Who can forget
the pied piper Jim Handy was the shortest guy in town unless you were in the first grade but the gang of
six foot behemoths that were his constant companions were hard to miss it must have been how the
poles felt when they saw the Germans on the march. They had a menacing sound long before they laid a
little love on you, your life’s last moments filled with terror until you realized they turned the corner and
went another way how selfish you felt as you sang someone else is going to die today give me a fire
breathing dragon any day. Poor oh pop sinnard never got any business just one kid drinking a vanilla
shake his special thin hamburger I bet that guy could get a hundred burgers out of a pound of ground round
well the pin ball machine was wide open I guess the kid got even for the hamburger there was a certin
Song on the juke box something about eighteen miners scrambled from a would be grave there he stood
all alone Big bad John. Let me tell you Pop knew it he heard it every day I think he stated crying for the
miners one day or was something else on his mind.
Well I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you about what was going on in the other part of the country west
coast on 101 going to Frisco going south 101 on the other side Jan and Dean the Beach boys came a live
for a mile and a half every blond guy and girl and all the hot rod chromed out zooped up cars of every
Description was headed to Laguna Seca to the races all the while we were in a Volkswagen bug military
haircuts civies on we looked like a bunch of confused narks like were going to fool any one in that car
And garb we were wearing not to worry hippies are not long on thinking especially when they stood on
the corner in the height and Ahbury in broad day light selling *** for a nickel a lid slang for five bucks you could get
small glad bag of Royal Gold hashish or do what the winos do get a bottle of thunderbird or ripple what
ever know this Wolf Man Jack is blasting the air waves from Mexico since he violated the rules our hero the
man could talk jive and if you were high you thought he was divine I guess you surmise I wasn’t a
Christian at this low point in my life but the Monterey Pop festival was in full swing. The line up Janis
Joplin Jimmy Hendricks mama and the Papas Otis Redding of Dock of the Bay fame and a cast of
Thousands of hippies you couldn’t find a bare spot down town Monterey sidewalks grass the kind you
walk on doorways every where a hippie and not a bar of soap among them. Know this you have been
tamed by time and age but to duck your head forget it this world won’t see your kind again.
Poetictunes Mar 2016
My amusement comes from the music.
Every riddim that flows freely.
The bass go boom boom boom.
Every tune blooms open like flowers in the summer.
The sound of the drummer; and the tempo from the bass
The mellow vibe vibrations soothes all frustration.
Relaxation.
Its live and jive.
And it makes my hips sway.
I'm talking about di gud ol reggae.
Meg B Jun 2014
One of my favorite hobbies
is watching people
on the train.
Some on their
daily commute,
dressed in suits,
hurriedly sipping
coffee,
checking their
wrists with
frequency,
ensuring they
arrive not even a
minute late.
So many,
myself included,
travel along to
their own
soundtracks,
earbuds helping
them to tune out
the cabin noise
around them.
Bodies swaying
back and forth,
movement in sync,
limbs dancing
the train's tango,
left, right,
forward, and back,
and for the encore,
we all jolt and jive hard
as the wheels
screech to a stop
halfway down the
green line.
Chuma Komani Oct 2013
Right or wrong
Short or long
Agree or disagree
When singing a song
Ape or kong
Blunt or kong
When you're high
Its like you're living a life of a person from Hong Kong

Persuasive talker
Convincing stalker
Both of these are mind players
But I'd rather choose to ignore them with a bottle of Johnny Walker
Subconscious mind
Left behind
Likw a hypnotist I'll pursue this until I find

Blame it on the left
Decision making
The oven of thoughts
Busy opinion baking
Anxiety is close
Hands are shaking
All of the mess I made
I'll be out there raking

Mostly its pressure from your peers
Flowing through your ears
Seems like you've conquered most of your fears
And then peers begin to cheer
Sensors begin to hear
That you were wrong to listen to them,dear

Its...
One thought to another
Disrespecting you mother
Ignoring your father
Cause' you'd rather...
Party till the morning
Drink while you're yawning
Get drunk until you sleep on the lawn and...

Drink and jive
Drink and drive
An accident happens
Then you're no longer alive
But you thought you'll survive
That's because death gave you a high five
Poetoftheway Jun 2014
This morning,
I walked with god and man

I've come to believe,
no other possibility,
He denies me sleep
as His insurance policy

some One wants to be sure,
someone sees His sunrise poem,
He selected this ancien regiman
to be His admiring audience,
with deer, squirrels, rabbits, a red fox, an osprey
complaining why did they get
the cheap seats

so up at five,
no jive,
gotta get there early,
for a good seat,
on the dock by his name

watch the color blue transgender
from feminine elegy elegant pale
to peacock royal male,
the water,
a contributing editor,
phases in with a steely grin,
with ermine whitecap hints
and an orange marmalade sky homage,
I cannot try to describe

and here is where man comes in...

as the tableau reveals a still life
come to be,
a painting enlivened,
come to me free,
bursting with
effervescence and
animal life tribunes,
paying on...

strange...

my Pandora app
back to back
plays for me
Gershwin's Rhapsody In Blue,
hard upon it comes
Saint-Saëns's
The Carnival of the Animals

and I
enfeebled amateur,
needy for a
word titan Titian,
can think only
this trite thought:

I know not who is the
instrument and who
is the
artist,
but virtuous us,
We,  now capital buddies,
now all well color capitalized,
god and man and animal
crooning a chorus of appreciation

let this "accidental" miracle,
this collaboration,
enthuse me
to live happily with anticipation
for just one more day...

June 2014
Taru M Dec 2012
I sat in a cypher of minds
beat boxing with insanity
listening to words vibrate off lenseless glasses

they got you trapped in capitalism, my *****

runaway slave sprinting on treadmills
     you ain't going nowhere
nowhere they don't want you

you think 1984 is the future?
that **** was bred in your grandma's placenta
fed off lacerations curled around this nation

life is a trap, my *****, and you fell for it

let me school you for a sec
come
       s s s ****
            with the fat cats

you've been whipped
don't be ashamed
society has a strong grip

try to escape it by dressing different
but
     you're
          still
               the same
                    *****

chained to a gang of tapdancers
keep dancing, my *****
hustlin' for fool's gold
keep that jive smile, my *****

but we in Harlem
       twisted
and we know the truth

unscrew potential and find a tunnel from the ocean to the sky
my *****, we infinite
living in sleeping eights
     we got the Itis

ain't never waking from this American Dream
where money is cream
     and sugar
and they got you Xtra-Caffinated

Malcolm X Blvd is where they breed revolutionaries and martyrs
tell 'em
     keep your mouth open
          and your mind closed
we'll wean you on Olympus Thunderbolts

you don't want that early rose
       preach sanity
  preach rational
            preach possible

all that other **** is outside the beat
and you can't tapdance without rythm
blackface taught us that
So proud...wrote this whole thing in the span of a few hours. I was in the zone- alcohol was a muse, amused lol Enjoy
Jon York Jan 2013
Life takes many
strange turns and sometimes
we just never seem to learn
as we keep making
the same mistakes
over and over again
seemingly enjoying
the burn.

So much pain
but sometimes the pain
feels so good
leaving us to wonder
"how could that pain
be turned into gain?"

If it doesn't **** you
it makes you stronger
and allows you
to live a little bit longer
so just relax
and don't do anything
that might hurt you
until you have all
of the facts.

I choose to write poetry
to ease the pain
and to block those memories
of having played along
with those stupid
little games from all
of those no names
that I am trying to forget
and replace with
thoughts of a  new love
and new memories
that we will create
in the future.

I am still alive
despite every ones
******* jive and stupid lies
and realize that if
they didn't **** me that
they only made me stronger
and as a result
I am going to be around
for awhile longer.                          Jon   York          2013
Laboriously beleaguering hypercritically meticulous hypotaxis apomixis strive
Rainbow mare aura roan exude emote derive
Syntactical propinquity habitation harbinger harangue stoic hive
Colloquialism vernaculars prurient adage jargon idiom clichés jive
Mirador bartizan panorama stalwart bastion bulwark tableau live
Canny cleaver crafty cunning furtive sneaky stealthy connive
Poignant cogent piquant ephemeral effulgence  temporal refraction arrive
Paradoxical dichotomy greaves gauntlets gamut catalyst abstracts survive
Hectic mayhem , proximity parameter perimeter peripherals , annihilate rive
Zingy zesty zany zenithal azimuth entity zeal alive
The flowering
death of an
earring wrapped
around the neck
of an elephant
stomping on a
snake that ate
the mouse
sitting on a
potato.
(12/22/12)
The tiny town's
talented tailor
swiftly sews silken suits,
in his shop he plays the Wailers,
Bob Marley fills his boots.
Beside his shop
sits Susie's Sushie,
she serves him lunch
every Tuesday,
he leaves a tip because
she treats him well,
he's got a crush
and she can tell.
After lunch
it's back to work,
measuring here
and stitching there,
everything is done
just savoirfaire.
All the town folk
say he is the master,
he smiles at this
and works all the faster.
Then on the corner
the clock strikes five,
with the last suit hung
he says enough of this jive.
He shuts the light
and locks the door,
nine bells tomorrow
he'll be back for more.
Petal pie Mar 2014
Prancing prawns jive on
Rainbow trout salsa in streams
Salmon riverdance! :-)
Becoming... hmmm...
what am I... becoming...
is this the enlightenment
of my trip? hmm...
journeying through the seasons
of inner time and place...
therein which lies... a space....
not that sort.... not the sort of the
spicky icky spacky... space...
it's the... hmmm... sleepy space...

I sit and wonder... this place is where I... ponder...
fabric... the fabric of this life...
I AM FLOATING INTO THIS CHAIR
CONCEPT BANDS
CONCEPT ALBUMS
THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO SEE I AM JUST LIKE TIMOTHY LEARY
... but that... that is only a character.. the outlook I assume in..certain moods...
that state of worry... that's what I mean.

I am the wind
the sea
...
speak friend,
enter...
speak...
speak to me.
'I see we meet again... hmmmm...'
The music keeps changing my moods, you see...
Subconscious... I must be more mindful...
'Increase mindfulness'
I must bring the feelings... out
don't shove them away...
don't shove me away...
on this normal
squashy day

Love your dark shadow love the wolves
streams of consciousness I must cut up all of these streams
I worry too much about the future... am I crazy? or just afraid of being...
telepathy

Here's this concept that I have that represents all of these feelings that I have that I tell
to you and you receive as whatever feelings you associate with said concept
and hope they match up

I only write when I have something to preach... a sermon, you see..
yet I write every day...
to preach a sermon to me

'Does it make me bad?' this way I am?
does it make you.. mad?
mushy swampy bog filled mushrooms
I sag into the soppy plants in me
this world is my swamp
and this swamp is me
into the swampy swamp I romp
All day I ravage roam
I stomp
jive my vibe...

Exotic exodus execution
into the deep reeds
paddling the little cellophane canoe
Must... move...
Must... go...
preservationman Jul 2014
Trucking on the country road
Welcomed citizens waving in behold
Trucking wheels making the hill climb
Checking my rear view mirrors at the same time
Country music playing on the radio
I am observing families having a good time on their patio
I am blowing my trucker’s horn
It’s the cars I want to warn
Driving at 65 miles per hour
I have a tight schedule, and must be on time in arrive
I have very important cargo and that’s no jive
I stopped at a diner for a little bite
As it is going to be a very long night
It will be my trucker’s headlights
But to my fellow truckers I must be polite
It will be driving through towns and pass cities downtown
A moving highway into destination bound
But smoky will be on my tail
So I can’t speed being the trail
As my truck heads into the sunrise, it’s the flashing lights that make my wheeler’s wise.

— The End —