"jockeying" poems
a shake weight table steak
powdered sugar cigarette
break burning in alcohol
and corn flakes
a big ********* cluster-fuck
of broken noses and carefully
crafted poses posting pictures
of processed hipster's and blisters,
shit-stirrers and culture twisters
jockeying for a spot
all melting in the ***
quiz show **** beads and
fleshlight teenage dreams
soaking through entitled
suburban screens choking
on plastic screams
chocolate dipped cancer fingers
city bus exhaust lingers
prescription bottle salvation bringers
and underneath it all the bible
belt girdles the gurgling masses
of glazed diabetes and frosted
faith pooling in the belly of
America
a fat flabby mess of
snake oil boiling
in stomach acid
and pesticide
"welcome, honey! grab a seat
anywhere you'd like --I'll be
right with you!"
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 11:51 AM UTC
I see the varying yellows and reds
of leaves dancing to the ground
after a slight wind
I see bluejays, cardinals and robins
jockeying for position on the birdfeeder's step
I see deer walk across the field
as I peer from the kitchen window
they seem at home in their freedom
I see the distant mountaintops fading as the Sun yields
to the approaching night
I see the emerging stars and the glow of the moon
as it begins it's nightly watch
then I see you
secure in the maple frame
I gaze endless
until the call of sleep awakens me
my home is wrapped in beauty
but all the beauty I see
begins in this frame
in this face
so far away
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
A flood of teen hormones and sappy drivel YAY
Hooray for no talent !
Religious sycophants are like flies on ****
Sad nasty little things with no wit .
Muslims and Jews are the worst
non stop psychosis self afflicted curse.
Flapping and buzzing and jockeying for **** ******* position.
All the while lusting for and denying the inquisition.
They have always been the walking dead among us
brainless shambling automatons making such a fuss.
Hungry for brains for they find none in their mosques or synagogues.
Rooting ceaselessly and wallowing in their stupid **** lies
like wild feral ethnocentric hogs.
Barking and yapping and threatening
fighting and ******* like Catholics
like dogs.
And like flies on **** every time you take a break from shooing them away you find more have gathered raving.
Hollow lies and promises of here after.
Truly nothing worth listening to yet so , so much to say.
Away , Away Away.
Lest you fools and unquestioning idiots think you are welcome and try to make a home or find a place to stay.
Go preach please to the semi trucks in the middle of the interstate
they need salvation now and truly cannot wait.
Sep 22, 2025
Sep 22, 2025 at 1:23 AM UTC
Thousands swirl
sending signals,
garbled-voices taking pictures,
criss-crossing above us,
jockeying for position.
In our efforts
to rule the universe,
we've even junked up space,
it's a wonder
we can still
see the sun & blue skies,
or the face of the moon
between the stars.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
Opulent,
Decadent,
Almost vicelike.
The people grovel,
Teeming among the city that sinks
Under the weight of its own
Infestation of the self.
The glass reflects the leering eyes of the masses.
The stench of the water rises,
Cloying.
Languid in obscenity
The shadows rot, unseen.
A graveyard of moorings past.
A woman falls.
We crowd around,
Vultures
Jockeying for view.
Guitar strings vibrate in the square
The sun beats down.
It was beautiful here,
Once.
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 2:36 PM UTC
WALKING FROM THE RISING SUN TO KILDARE TOWN.
I take up
my stick &
walk:
back into my past.
Planting the countryside
of my youth
with each step
the years falling away.
The young me unfolds
into being.
The flag of self unfurls
snaps into the lost moment.
My shadow strides
ahead of me
impatient with this
flesh and blood man.
My shadow stops
waits for me to
catch up
catch my breath.
He stares at me
with broken dandelion eyes
a green milk bottle top
mimics a nose
a leaf acted
as a smile.
I laugh at this me
created by chance
and happenstance
step once more
into my shadow's footsteps
let it lead the way.
A tree which had been
there since I had been three
sarcastically remarks" "Oh, is it
yer self that's...in it?"
"It is!" says I
addressing the sky
spread before me
a vast blue field.
Furze blazes
with yellow.
Horses turn to
the gallops.
The sudden thunder of hooves
jockeying with laughter.
I left here to
make something of myself.
I, then...a nervous nobody
returning now
a mere nothing
a success only at failure.
I recite Hopkins
to a straying sheep.
The sheep suspiciously
regards this poet
hitting his stride now
"Nothing is so..."
The sheep coughs.
"... beautiful as
Spring!"
I tell a passing cloud
who is in too much of a hurry.
The poet's proud words
falling by the wayside
as me-then and
the me of now
stroll down
(cane nonchalantly in hand)
memory lane.
The Future hiding just
up around the
corner.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
The end of an era. ….
If these walls could talk…..
there are certain places
Places that come alive
just before the moon reflects brightest
And out come the creatures of the night
Until the cranes and wrecking ***** put an end to the parties full of passion and misery
Fueled by fuel from Mexico and now China and the occasional trailer which escapes explosion in the Arizona desert
And just like the destruction of the rainforest
A different sort of habitat,
yet one just as natural
is destroyed
Where do these creatures go ?
In a country
Where adapting and social jockeying
has become harder and harder.
At least from the bottom.
Everything is harder from the bottom.
Just ask someone who’s there.
But somehow nature finds a way to survive and a place to go
And Like the barnacles and clams taking over the great lakes
so come to plagues on Massachusetts Avenue.
Development .
Progress.
The incandescent red light bulb just went extinct on US 1
Jan 12, 2024
Jan 12, 2024 at 1:56 AM UTC
The ancillary argument is an asclepion which is anaphoric to anathema, anointing anecdotal evidences as an asymptomatic astonishment, assumptive of an averring the verbiage unwavering used to auxesis an auxiliary found aiding the circular back to an autonomy, assuaged in its entirety, appendant to an irony, giving appurtenance to astronomy yet astringent to all company of asters in the wovenry.
A sweetened ingredient in life’s vermouth, is a lesser known but still common truth, resounding voice a sound so routh and unforgiving of jockeying jocose uncouth but the greatest parts of life we know are sorely wasted on the youth and so fundamental is this truth or verities vivacious muse that some might say we light a fuse when using such verbose abuse that angry are they who find our use an anathema to amuse?
To wit so that I must abjure the painful notion there is a cure to a playful mind’s language of slur not meant as such but thus obscured the difficulties so inured on my ment-al-lity of thought a crime, a retching twist of someone’s time thus wasted on a poem blurred, a freedom though has just occurred; my mind a paradise, my thoughts a bird...
You wonder why I wrote this po-em,
Think on your life and about your ho-eme,
Look back at youth’s wondrous days,
When life was new and full of plays,
And ask yourself is this a maze?
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
WALKING FROM THE RISING SUN TO KILDARE TOWN.
I take up
my stick &
walk:
back into my past.
Planting the countryside
of my youth
with each step
the years falling away.
The young me unfolds
into being.
The flag of self unfurls
snaps into the lost moment.
My shadow strides
ahead of me
impatient with this
flesh and blood man.
My shadow stops
waits for me to
catch up
catch my breath.
He stares at me
with broken dandelion eyes
a green milk bottle top
mimics a nose
a leaf acted
as a smile.
I laugh at this me
created by chance
and happenstance
step once more
into my shadows footsteps
let it lead the way.
A tree which had been
there since I had been three
sarcastically remarks" "Oh, is it
yer self that's...in it?"
"It is!" says I
addressing the sky
spread before me
a vast blue field.
Furze blazes
with yellow.
Horses turn to
the gallops.
The sudden thunder of hooves
jockeying with laughter.
I left her to
make something of myself.
I, then...a nervous nobody
returning now
a mere nothing
a success only at failure.
I recite Hopkins
to a straying sheep.
The sheep suspiciously
regards this poet
hitting his stride now
"Nothing is so..."
The sheep coughs.
"... beautiful as
Spring!"
I tell a passing cloud
who is in too much of a hurry.
The poet's proud words
falling by the wayside
as me-then and
the me of now
stroll down
(cane nonchalantly in hand)
memory lane.
The Future hiding just
up around the
corner.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 10:07 AM UTC
I honestly doubt
that he is capable of
love or compassion
if you could only just see
what is apparent to me
you would be running away
so my lady please beware
at this moment what you see
is all his best behaviour
for his eyes are on the prize
jockeying for the big win
Oh, and could you please give him
a little message from me
that if he ever harms you
in any way big or small
I will wring his neck
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 11:50 PM UTC
WALKING FROM THE RISING SUN TO KILDARE TOWN.
I take up
my stick &
walk:
back into my past.
Planting the countryside
of my youth
with each step
the years falling away.
The young me unfolds
into being.
The flag of self unfurls
snaps into the lost moment.
My shadow strides
ahead of me
impatient with this
flesh and blood man.
My shadow stops
waits for me to
catch up
catch my breath.
He stares at me
with broken dandelion eyes
a green milk bottle top
mimics a nose
a leaf acted
as a smile.
I laugh at this me
created by chance
and happenstance
step once more
into my shadow's footsteps
let it lead the way.
A tree which had been
there since I had been three
sarcastically remarks" "Oh, is it
yer self that's...in it?"
"It is!" says I
addressing the sky
spread before me
a vast blue field.
Furze blazes
with yellow.
Horses turn to
the gallops.
The sudden thunder of hooves
jockeying with laughter.
I left here to
make something of myself.
I, then...a nervous nobody
returning now
a mere nothing
a success only at failure.
I recite Hopkins
to a straying sheep.
The sheep suspiciously
regards this poet
hitting his stride now
"Nothing is so..."
The sheep coughs.
"... beautiful as
Spring!"
I tell a passing cloud
who is in too much of a hurry.
The poet's proud words
falling by the wayside
as me-then and
the me of now
stroll down
(cane nonchalantly in hand)
memory lane.
The Future hiding just
up around the
corner.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 5:29 AM UTC
Sundays smell of intimacy
The initial easing in
The slow meandering journey to x marks the spot
Circling
Round and round
Anticipation building
Bodies sweating
Momentum heaving
The right timing
The right configurations
Jockeying positions
Hands grip and pull
Finding and riding the sweet spots
Exertion. Discipline. Determination.
My compass rose
navigated
Another salty Sunday sailboat race
Jul 24, 2022
Jul 24, 2022 at 6:27 PM UTC
Chess.
Reflecting.
Reflecting
life.
Endless
moves
to be
made.
Subtleties
then
attacked.
Catching
unaware.
On guard,
constantly
on guard.
Less your
flank be
down.
Making
ripe for
the ****
Moving
for position.
Always
on the
edge.
Life,like
chess
reflecting.
Jockeying
for position.
Stepping over.
Knocking
down.
Life like
chess a
sophisticated
game.
Deadly
to the
end.
Jun 28, 2021
Jun 28, 2021 at 7:26 AM UTC