"jonny" poems
I am a ******* broken radio that my grandpa wouldn’t even bother fixing
I got a thousand channels, and all of them overlapped in every second
You came to me and said you wanted to enjoy the 90s
I knew what I had and believed this time I was gonna make it right
“Sir, this is location 328…”
“Love is wonderful…”
“Oh, Jonny! You can go **** your own ****
All the channels got mixed up. Like the cereal that I had this morning
Uhm, It was more like the **** cake you slapped in my face on my birthday last year
I wished you would stop tapping me with your beautiful finger
At the same time, I loved the new crystal nails you just did yesterday. Your soft skin against mine and nails stuck on my back, left me marks and joy
Stop leaving me
Don’t give up on one tap or two
My frustrations attacked the balance of the stupid sound system
I was either too loud or too quiet
You finally left the room
I was still on the table
intermittently playing the 90s
Trying to find the perfect volume
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 6:05 AM UTC
She holds for dear life to the ends of the sleeves in her hands,
Covering up lies that she wrote with a razor sharp pen,
And the sting of the blade is no match for the pain
Of the loneliness she's going through,
But we've all been there too.
Praise God we don't have to hide scars
They just strengthen our wounds, and they soften our hearts.
They remind us of where we have been, but not who we are
So praise God, praise God we don't have to hide scars
You can still see the mark on his hand where there once was a ring
He watched decades of history dissolve when she wanted to leave
And the hole that it left there inside of his chest
Is a canyon a thousand miles deep
We all know how that feels.
So praise God we don't have to hide scars
They just strengthen our wounds, and they soften our hearts.
They remind us of where we have been, but not who we are
So praise God, praise God we don't have to hide scars
There once was a King who so burdened with grief
Walked into death so that we could find peace
He rose up with scars on his hands and his feet
By them we are healed, by them we are healed.
So praise God we don't have to hide scars
Yeah we know His are covering ours
Praise God we don't have to hide scars
They just strengthen our wounds and they soften our hearts
They remind us of where we have been, but not who we are
So praise God, praise God
Oh His are covering ours
So Praise God we don't have to hide scars.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC
What a strange title
When I went to Aden (South Yemen) in 1964
It was to fight infiltrators from North Yemen
How to spot where mines had been laid
Where ambushes could take place
Trained in how to **** at long and very close range
But nobody mentioned the bugs
Camel spiders almost four inches across
Now they gave us great fun because we would catch them
Then bet big money on the outcome of a fight with
Another spider or a big scorpion
Most times the spider would win but would then die
But by then the bets had been paid
Stephen E Yokum and Jonny Angel
And thousands of American and British ex military
Know about bugs
Centipedes 9/12 inches long and stinking like you'd never believe
Get one of those crawling on your skin and pull it off the wrong way and bingo
You end up with a permanent tattoo
Because their feet dig in
We did have the good ones though
Chameleons, we would keep them in our tents
And feed them crickets and in return they would keep the flies down
We learned to live with BUGS
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 4:21 PM UTC
The girls, the dames,
every petty thing.
The skirt, dress,
every pretty scene.
The way they tap toes
at the throws on the floor.
How bobbing their head
plucks doubt into the rhythm,
they miss the point,
but their clothing dons precision.
I'm up on stage.
They watch me from below.
Like the kneed posture pleated jeans,
patella to the floorboards.
“I saw your show.”
“No you didn't.”
But people saw you staring blankly
past.
hands me a drum stick.
“Can I have your autograph?”
“I'll do you one better.”
I stick the drumstick 6 inches in my ***
“You sounded great...”
“No I looked like I was fake”
I acted, I stressed, I posed,
and I played.
“Lets have ***
I say “No.”
It was just a show.
The act is done now the curtains
boast.
I don't bow.
I walk on out.
Through every living zombie
permanently in the crowd.
Put your ******* back on.
You will never mean anything to any of those stupid ************* girls.
Instead they will put your nudes on the internet and ruin your life.
You will think you did something great.
You were used.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 5:50 PM UTC
The last time I wore a suit was
my high school prom. A
grateful world has left me,
without funerals to attend.
The last time I wore a jonny,
I danced the wind in dad's room.
Machines that beeped and whirred
were somehow keeping him alive.
When I finally picked the phone up,
we'd already talked, two hours.
The person, your disease has curtained,
read my poems for the camera.
The last time we got high, I wanted you
to hear that Strokes song, and
listen to you list objections, to our
sharing a kiss.
I'll take a dare, and tell the truth
to you, over phenomenal music and
exhaust. I'll be desperate if you promise
to stay as vulnerable as you know how to be.
The last time we took the car together,
I remember you weren't so afraid.
The next time you try being alone with me
I'll insist I shouldn't be driving.
The last few times I'd felt brave enough,
but courage never serves me. If the
Queen's decided not-to, it's as
sure as our demise is.
And all-Earth smells like a lake town,
hurts, just like a headache, can't get
all the ink-out, blinking
at the sky.
The last time I felt so alive we
were driving some way, that you
realized, halfway-there, you're
sick-of.
On a runaway ride out from trouble
the passenger seat always
seems to be
empty.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 6:48 PM UTC
"If only they were that kind; It's our suffering they want." ~ Jonny Vincent
The view of one---
is one of many.
I, you
You, I
Us, he, she,
She, her, him
Him, we, they
Where there is ruin
exists no difference
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 2:47 PM UTC
The day was for England to look solid
South Africa were happy to play slow
It turned out that England wanted squalid
Opposition gave us nowhere to go
Andrew Strauss was done in by a shooter
Jonny Trotted past a full one today
Collingwood survived ***** past his ******
Ian Bell gave us most cause for dismay
Now Kevin played nicely for a while
But Colly got out to leave us in fear
Prior left us too soon for a smile
So for Broad and Swann the plan was clear
Jimmy hit them for the SIX of the game
But for glory Graeme Swann was the name
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 11:29 PM UTC
witches adorn the front covers
of ecofeminist zines
in an anarchist bookstore
nestled on the Left Bank
of Seattle's waterfront
rare rays of sunlight
filter through sheer curtains
photons glimmering
through fading droplets
clinging to cracked panes
refracting multicolor
i sit in the window-seat
listening to a homeless
balladeer's somber renditions
of Jonny Cash and Woodie Guthrie
serenading the locals bustling
down Pike Street Market
while the Olympic Mountains
keep their vigil
across a lonely bay
Emma Goldman whispers
for Alexander Berkman
and i balance on mismatched cushions
considering Proudhon's insistent
inquiries while Bakunin smirks
nursing secret heresies of insurrection
colorful posters are paper-machéd
across the walls with slogans of struggle
scrawled in sisterhood and solidarity
stickers plaster the narrow halls
encouraging visitors to Smash Capitalism!
or *Read A ******* Book*
as jam-packed patrons chance
sly peaks at the black flag
suspended in the back room
a faint breeze flutters intermittently
drifting across the open threshold
lifting spirits as if sifting
through grains of sand
not unlike a child
digging for answers
armed with one
monosyllabic question
why?
the banner
cheerfully pirouettes
for a revolution
without dancing
is not one worth having
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
Beware of falsehoods
That's what the cards told me
Now the curtain is rising
And it's not pretty to see
The bridges are long gone
But the evil still breeds
What's going to happen to us and me?
Where is our Shepherd
When we need him dear?
Isn't there much more to life
Than just blood and tears?
A hot steel rhino
Drowns a city in its screams
What's going to happen to them and me?
The accursed notebook
Earns its stars and stripes
The eagle is grounded
While the magpies take flight
A young grim reaper
Brings his scythe to a sheen
What's going to happen to him and me?
Here lies Jonny Boy
And his fall from grace
All his strings are breaking
And he realizes too late
Forgive me Claudine
For the bitterness I keep
What's going to happen to you and me?
Brains are frying
And hearts are spilled
The more we hurt now
The longer it takes to heal
Have I still a long way
Before I lay down and sleep?
What's going to happen to all and me?
Where are you now, dear Shepherd?
Can you hear me?
Can we save ourselves?
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 6:05 PM UTC
Otis told me about this cool
brand new swanky dance hall place,
said it was full of pretty-lookers
with baby doll faces
not the sleazebag rough
hooker-types, the scary kind.
So I pulled on my best blue jeans,
scooped on a little dab of gel and
checked myself out in the mirror.
I thought, man you look swell,
somebody might say, you're fine
and with those thoughts,
I stepped out
headed on down to the party club,
hoping someone would notice me, too.
I walked on over to the servery,
to sample some dip and savories,
out of the corner of my eye
I saw a pretty little babe,
she sashayed across the dance hall,
to make herself known to me.
In an instant, there was electricity,
we got to talking about how nice,
it would be, to get together
more regularly.
I knew there and then,
we were going to be real close friends,
she oozed class and she had me rapt,
my heart beat climbed high,
like, I'd scored a drop dead gorgeous
piece of sugar pie.
I thought yeah!
She'd be the ideal girl for me.
And she would be,
if she could dance the Watusi
she'd be fine with me.
Well, I'm not one
to beat around the bush,
I cut to the quick,
so I sauntered right up to her
and in my smoothest Southern drawl
asked the lil' darling,
"Sweet Darling would you like
a cup of Chardonnay?"
And she, in the most playful way,
smiled coyly and replied,
"Why Mister, surely I would,
I can't resist a fine wine!"
As we sipped on the wine,
there was a warming glow
between us two, we were starting
to cog, like in sync watches.
I thought to myself, I can play
a part, in her every dream,
my lil' darling and I dancing,
to the beat of a lava stream.
We took to the dance hall floor,
expressing our close body simmer,
the Watusi sounds,
had us all a glimmer.
Then we pulled closer,
the gravity was electric,
a sacred feeling,
I could feel between my hips
and she,
she had a primordial fragrance,
I could smell beneath her
fashionable clothes.
Reasonableness was fading
quickly with the pace,
I held her face
and we fell
into another dimension.
A flow of passion ignited,
there was no containing,
the flare,
our lips burnt with an excited
and intoxicating fervor,
our skin to skin contact,
was like an ember.
Eros, had my sugar pie and I
in mind,
when he wrote the script,
to the sensual Watusi bind.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
Nolan...a gift for stories.. He still sings of her glories.. From the folds, a soul cast out...of a family for his doubt.
Gwen...a mom for us, who lost her own....she was 14, not nearly grown...she hurts for work she was forced to do...ignoring her own needs, she'll focus on you...
Brenden...is there a more caring man? He watched over us as a mother hen...He could not keep us each from harm...no matter his love or old-soul charm...
Kelly...a shy girl; she was me, refected in all of my poetry...she watched the grief seize her world...cut off from herself, she spun and twirled...
Shannon...my heart my little sis...she bubbles with smiles I sorely miss...she gives away love and is so very cute...she is the reason I am no longer mute...
Jonny...he was so small...around his heart was built a wall...he speaks as one who is lifetimes old...inspiration moves through him body and soul...
Bob...he was just a babe...was not held long by arms that save...but still clear on how good it would feel...to be himself; to be free and "real"...
We are her seven, her work of art...each our own story, the music of Judith Anne's heart.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
I find you-
( extraordinary
relatable
moving
desolate )
Heartbreaking.
Your poems are-
( poignant
beautiful
elegant
stunning )
...(sigh)
"I still want
her blackness,
to taste her magic,
to kiss
the devil inside her."
This is poetry I dream of. This is what is inside of me that you have words to make beautiful. This is extraordinary.
I hope you realize that.
I believe that each of us must do three things.
We must explore.
We must find home.
And we must make the world a more beautiful place.
This is the hardest thing to do.
Yet you make it look easy.
Keep writing.
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 12:55 AM UTC
Billy's ******* Pennies
Dont tickle Jenny's Kitty
But Jonny's Fifty Milli
Make ******* Pennies silly
And Jenny's Filthy *****
Loves Jonny's Harry Milli
Even Tho Jonny got A Milli
Other Jenny's
But Billy's Lonely Willie
Only Longs for Jenny's Kitty
But Jenny looks so Silly
Chasing after Jonny's Milli
When Jonny's Chasing Billy's ******* Pennies
Aug 29, 2012
Aug 29, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
Aghast in the AM
as my friend from youth ago
reminded me of what I know,
and know I’d forgotten
my impulse is to call all:
ragtag and happy,
still on the
line
them good girls gonna go bad
hey Jonny?
snug tired is enough for now
Sep 25, 2021
Sep 25, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
I’ve often wondered
what my associates would
think if I went completely off the graph.
I mean, like if I went into the workplace,
knocked on the boss’s door
& cold cocked his fat ugly face,
sat down at his oaken desk,
kicked my feet up,
lit up a cigarette &
told Becky to get her nice ***
in gear for some dictation.
Wouldn’t that
throw my
stuffy-shirt mates
for loop.
I’d be the biggest scoop
in the company paper,
“Jonny Goes Nuts in Sector B!”
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
"you used to be so pretty
but now you're just tragic
believe in something
you're full of horse ****
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
So follow down the twisted paths
that lead us to the aftermath
these fields used to be beautiful places
their beauty's been tainted
they touch like cold faces.
He closed his eyes
he closed his eyes
he keep them closed tight
and he said it was a sign of the times.
We closed our eyes
and we waited for the night
but no one was ever looking
when it came time for Jonny to go down.
I've been thinking of leaving
I've been tied to the ceiling
been awake while I'm dreaming
I've been counting to one
I've been bottling daydreams
I've been thinking up maybes
they sold each other when they ran out.
The metronomic ticking of my watch that follows me
breathes tepid breath down my spine
now I'm ready to leave
these devices used to be thrones
they've crumbled again
I think I'm overgrown.
So follow down the twisted paths
that lead us to the aftermath
these fields used to be beautiful places
their beauty's been tainted
they touch like cold faces.
He closed his eyes
he closed his eyes
he keep them closed tight
and he said it was a sign of the times.
We closed our eyes
and we waited for the night
but no one was ever looking
when it came time for Jonny to go down.
I think I'm overgrown
These devices used to be thrones.
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 3:34 PM UTC
You see Tim McGrath was getting teased by Mark and Ryan whilst jonithan was filming the whole thing on his iPhone
And Tim said **** off I don't deserve to be treated like this
You see I am trying to enjoy life
And you **** are trying to push me down and then Tim said I don't wanna get teased like this because I am a family person who doesn't deserve this inappropriate teasing
Ryan said how about I give you a nice kick up the *** whilst Mark said as I pass by your head I will knock your brains right out of your head and Tim said I don't want this awful teasing to keep going because I do a lot of good for this country
You see everyone presumes Tim hates people partying but nothing could be further from the truth because Tim was the party animal a bit like me I guess and Tim hated people treating him like someone who is against partying and like me Tim said he was the party animal of the world a bit like Brian Allan but Mark and Ryan was having fun teasing Tim whilest jonithan filmed the whole thing with a big smirky smile on his face and Tim was sad because nobody likes him
And they want him an object for social media and Mark Ryan and jonithan were laughing as they humiliated poor old Tim
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 7:06 AM UTC
He withered away slowly
Folded in, let go and relaxed
As time began to play tricks on his body
They say he used to tell stories
The old man
Stories of magic and sunshine showers and warm rain
Blue grass and white sand and endless oceans of flowers
They say something changed him
And whatever it was,
it began as something subtle at first
Nobody said a thing
Time passed &
his behaviors became stranger,
people murmured
He no longer yearned for his dreams
to come true,
becoming reclusive,
he rarely ventured outside anymore
to count the stars or
to sing rhymes,
play in the rain or
to catch butterflies
His taste for fine wine
disappeared altogether
like his pets
And if anybody knew
the pain he held inside,
they would have traded
their own world for his.
Sometimes you can see him
Sitting alone amidst the crowds
His eyes open, but not seeing
Lost, they say
Or perhaps, misunderstood
His hands fold gently across knees that once held children
In all their excitement for a new tale
His shoulders, once proud, carrying the air of glory
Now slump under the weight of
Something heavier than sadness
He's only a shell of who he once was
His lips no longer speak
of kindness nor gentleness,
there is something deeper,
a madness of sorts,
something burning,
hellfire flickers behind black irises
Some say he lives on the fringes,
survives on his broken heart,
could become unhinged at any moment
Keeping their distance,
nobody has the courage to ask,
they just go about their business,
as if his life doesn't matter
If there is a horizon to depression
Certainly, he has found it
The void extended an icy grip
Sealing him cold and bitter
He is entwined within a mess of his haunted past
Who will ask?
An eidolon stalks him
Begging to be released from sealed lips
Stamped together like a letter, never to be opened
Spoken of
Silence is laid across him like a blanket of despair
Cares of a better life
he discarded early,
the hands of the ones he loved
strangled all hope,
his bitterness lay silent,
crushing spirit
creating a hatred deep within
his heart,
so strong was this,
not love,
not a million kisses,
endless affection
could fix it,
he was too far gone.
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
It is both beautiful and haunting
To open up to someone so daunting
When life has been a swirl of blades and forgotten days
To take comfort in a stranger not so strange.
Jul 10, 2015
Jul 10, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
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Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 7:12 PM UTC
Everybody
should carry
their own business card
someday.
They are definitely icebreakers
& can certainly give a person
a sense of pride.
And what a great way
to spread personal information
about one's true worth.
Perhaps, they should all
read something like this:
(Front of Card)
Jonny Angel,
A Human Being
(Back of Card)
Wannabe Poet
Lover of People
Idealist
Now, if we could find a way to spread them globally...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
The man slips a gun into his waistband
because its cold embrace makes him feel
protected. In this country,
a few pieces of lead are more powerful
than words. (Not that the man can read anyways).
He watched his school disassembled brick
by brick. (Not that he learned anything anyways).
His teachers used class to sleep
and rumors say a boy, Jonny,
got jumped for opening a book.
Twelve people walked by before
calling the cops, who responded an hour late
because they were on lunch break.
The only math worth knowing
is that of the street: how much to buy,
the price to sell.
The probability of making it to supper depends
on judgements made
in the slice of a second and the block you walk.
The probability of supper depends on what you
are willing to give.
Everybody has a price.
Billboards advertise change
but the only thing that changes for him
is time.
In a country with so much
promise, the man is hidden in crevice,
pushed between cracks of the system,
where promises are scattered
glass on the streets he walks.
He is forced to gamble
with odds against him.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 3:33 PM UTC
Lucy was majorly bummed,
looked seriously glum,
said her Daddy had taken
her T-Bird away,
wasn’t have much fun
anymore.
I said, “Are you freaking kidding me girl,
clearly you could buy a ‘Vette
& have just as much fun!”
Then she smiled with
that Lucy-gorgeous-smile
& replied,
**** straight Jonny,
think I’ll head down to the dealership,
check thinks out,
there ain’t no way
Daddy’s gonna rain on my parade!”
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC