"jordans" poems
Oh you a gangsta now?
Let me guess cause you got those "hard" tattoos
Jordans as shoes
And blow more green in your in between time
Oh you a gangsta now?
Cause you fight a little bit
Stay on that corner and quick to pollute your nation
With the wicked ways of degredation
Oh you a gangster now?
Cause you roll with a clique
To weak to stand on your own
But there validation gives you the courage
To steal without hesitation
Peddle drugs with no reservation
Take life as quick as a minute passes...
Well I hope those tats come with teflon
Cause while you out here playing the don
There's plenty associates that'll aim at your head
For your place just to save face with a few so called good men
I hope that corner has insurance or at least comes with benefits
Cause as past gangstas before you predicts there are only two outcomes present
Lifetime in a 6x8
Or 6 feet under while your soul patiently waits the outcome of where it will spend eternity
I guess this is what our forefathers gave their lives for
For this ignorance of the so called gangasta
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 9:08 AM UTC
Money melting in a spoon,
let's shoot it into our veins.
Flashing Kardashian lights,
streaming into our brains.
Donald Trump! He's our man!
Mark Muslims is the plan!
All-you-can-eat-
Pile. It. The. **** High.
When you walk or
When you talk,
let the words squeak out
like they're between
Your thighs.
Thighs. American thighs,
Dreaming next to our Calvins.
Our slacktivism, our regurgitated ideas
spitballing out of our McDonald's mouths
into our peers' ears, distilled by years
And years of "almost-knowledge"
that we quasi-ascertained,
if we knew what that meant --
but we've been left behind!
No child left the **** behind!
We were left behind and there's no
possible way we slacked off, that we're dumb,
that we aren't the movie stars destined for
Lamborghini cars, five-star bars, designer bodies
for designer you and designer me:
the most special of the unique, the
Pearls that have been made in the
darkest parts of the sea, the darkest parts of
origin. Origin. ****** ****
American **** virginal ideals sliding around
the muck of a marketable **** fuckfest,
******* of the American mind, the
congratulations of the American ego,
the proud mother and father tears associated with
buying and lying, "trying" and frying our food,
our ideas, our friends, our neo-impressionistic
children in Jordans, skinny jeans, on tumblr:
the unknowing cousin of Fox News, surprised
by its own wit and wisdom: they're ******* twins.
Carbon copies, unknowing, unwilling, un-un-un.
The romanticism of mental illness.
The close-up of reality-tv emotion.
The manipulation taught to servers
from managers.
The manipulation taught to customers
from society.
All we care about is **** image, and ***
Self-preservation: **** Donald Trump
and **** you.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 12:39 AM UTC
She never made it
To Morocco
Rode ’cross the desert
With her Bedouin lover
Shopped for bargains
In the Souks of Rabat
Sipped mint tea
From a frosted glass.
She never went sailing
In a catamaran
And on a moonlit beach
Made love in the sand
Or drank espresso
In a café in Lima
Or danced the flamenco
In Puerto Rico.
She married a man
Cause no one else offered
Had three kids
And moved to the suburbs
Wrapped up her dreams
In brown butcher paper
Tied them with twine
And shelved them for later .
She never made it
To Morocco
Her life was four walls
Plastered in stucco
And she sighed as she thought
Of the things that she lost
The dreams that she wrapped
And shelved in the past.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 9:32 PM UTC
I wonder if they're happy.
They sure do seem so.
They're always talking about stealing their daddy's Jaguars and having beer blasts and getting in to fights and being bros and getting tan and buying new swimsuits and getting a call from different modeling agencies and crashing cars and smoking cigarillos and drinking fancy wine and going to their beach house and deciding between Harvard and Yale or Porsche and Mustang and did we win the football game and making new friends and oh my God Stacy actually said that and dude, I totally ****** her and my math teacher is such a ***** and my parents are putting me into boarding school and check out my new Jordans and did you watch the sunset last night?
I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.
*I wonder if they're having fun. It sure seems like it.
They're always talking about hitch hiking to the next city over and going to shows and drinking PBR and sneaking out at night and yeah dude, that party was sick and my tumblr is so famous right now and check out my new denim jacket and smoking **** and getting in to fights and lifting cigarettes from stores and Austin and Katie slept together and Kyle broke edge and I'm still working at McDonalds and yeah I'm still driving my '93 Ford Ranger and smoking hookah and watching Mean Girls and yeah I love the ocean and check out my new Kicks and did you watch the sunset last night?
I don't know if they're having fun, but it sure seems like it.*
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
My first pair,
Limited edition ‘05 altitude 13’s
The black mesh upper and the green sole
The stares I would get just for having them
There’s a story behind every pair
From 1’s to 23’s
The anticipation of getting close
to the release date
Feeling the actual shoe on the foot
for the first time
The feel of the leather, the suede,
The nubuck, the netting
and the carbon fiber,
The color way and the uniqueness
Oozing from every little detail
Owning a total of 20 pairs of Jordans
At once feels like nothing.
It becomes an addiction owning them.
Taking care of them as if one little smudge
Will be the end of the world.
The way the laces link together with the shoes
Like a spider's web
The sneaker talk with another sneakerhead
It flows off the tongue like sweet honey
I will forever have a passion for my sneakers.
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
whats up
comin at cha
from a different perspective……
I
don’t have to be a gangsta
pack heat
rock jordans
300 dolla feat
ice coated nines
blindin muthafukkas
actin all hard
causin a ruckus
I roll wit style
my own I made
not actin like a *****
still getting paid
I
been married 10 years
still eatin that same salad
real love is better
than ******* tryin to act valid
see if fake *** **** is what you sellin
my crew see threw
be handed out honeydew melons
I’m a new kind a rapper –
See I
help ya move
and loan cash
same friends
since way back
roll deep
smoke ****
life cheap
retire neat
buy a yatch
drive a jeep
grow my own
still a freak
I’m a different kind of rapper –
you can call me Sammy T
or MCDJPJS, if a please
i bring it hard
put ya on your knees
have ya starin up, mouth all agape
but when I still don’t touch ya
you be callin ****
try to knock me
down like Cosby
***** I’ll trap ya
sell ya *** to Pauly
feed ya mushroom
set you in a field
play some grateful dead
watch ya spirit yield
Im a different kind of rapper –
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 1:09 PM UTC
Saturn = Satan = Death Cult
Michael Jordans number was 23.
(2x3=6)
Saturn is the 6th planet from the sun.
Michael Jordan played for the Chicago Bulls. C(3)× B(2) = 6
Saturn's planetary symbol is a bull.
Michael Jordans nickname was "Air Jordan".
Saturn is the god of air (A.K.A. The prince of air)
Michael Jordan also has "6" championships.
Michael Jordan played 15 season (1+5=6)
Do you see the world around you?
Sep 28, 2021
Sep 28, 2021 at 6:17 AM UTC
(CHORUS)
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.
(VERESE)
now i done went and set some goals for my self.
i'm out to go and get this dough for my self.
no hypeman needed i do shows by my self.
there's moves to make so i don't know how yall stand still
i keep moving forward.
can't stand still cause i'm too important.
passing all the rest i'm like the newest foreign.
they wait in line for me like i'm the newest jordans.
cause i was on my job while you dudes were snoring.
i keep your girl amused cause you dudes is boring.
when i dunk i hear the thunder call it blue and orange.
i'm the king of the hill like im choosing lauren.
where i come from ima' be the first on the map.
i remix your face and i murk all your tracks.
cause your **** hand weak you need to work on your slap.
gave your girl a high five when she twerked on my lap.
now at this rate you gon' be the last on the seen.
and if i choose to follow ima' pass all my dreams.
then i'm gon' take the lead. i do that for my team.
if you know what i know homie that's all you need. lets go.
you got that 24 hour mouth its never closed.
(not me) i hear no see no speak no evil i don't know.
(that's right) and i got more things than what u know cause i don't show.
(watch this) yall in for more than a surprise watch where i go.
(BRIDGE)
i know you know that i'm the man i know you know.
i know you know i'm with the plan i know you know.
the earth itself gon' be my land i know you know.
i know you know i'm bout my bands. (yeah i know)
(CHORUS)
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.
(VERSE)
man everything i do is better than ok.
my team be drowning competition we don't play.
thought i was working hard before but you was wrong.
i had my feet in i was tryna' test the waves.
i'm bout to really jump in for the pay.
i know you know i'm with the plan its still the same.
your girl don't give you what you want on your birthday.
she only with you cause she wanna take your cake.
i'm truthful with the flow because u needed it.
i'm tongue twister with the flow i bring the speed with it.
my peter piper pickle poked a puerto rican chick.
the word was only uminati till' they realized i'm ill they need me in it now lets go.
(BRIDGE)
i know you know that i'm the man i know you know.
i know you know i'm with the plan i know you know.
the earth itself gon' be my land i know you know.
i know you know i'm bout my bands. (yeah i know)
(CHORUS)
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.
(CHORUS REPEATS)
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
tell shorty worry bout her man when i'm gone.
my love is only for my fans in them shows.
I know you know i'm with the plan get that dough.
I'm only worried bout my bands when they low.
while yall be doing what you can i do more.
and everything i do is better than before.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Mother taught me flight.
Father, hover.
I learned haunt, whine,
bother,
From looking at men
stripped down to their tidies
in those Avon magazines, I found out
I liked them. Look at that paunch.
Also that crotch. And the studio light twinkle
on skin & eyes.
I looked at the ***** You have to know:
this was no sin. I covered my head
with lace antimacassar as I traced
this man’s junk with my fingertips;
I was covered.
Save for that,
I did right by rules,
most of the time.
Scraped knee, split lip,
didn’t cry at those, no,
as so ordered.
We never tell girls this, but did
you know us boys have a rite of passage
supposed to be kept secret? It goes:
Your father takes you to a hardware store.
You ask why, and he only says “this is day,
the mark of the man.” You nod.
He takes you to the aisle
with all the blades:
shears, scissors, awls, ice picks, whatever.
He lets you pick one. He pays for it.
Father takes you home, gives you the cutting tool
of your choice, and tells you to go to the bathroom,
face yourself in the mirror, and
“aim for the tear ducts.”
It’s kept secret because
it doesn’t work. Not always, anyway.
I’ve heard about other boys that missed,
both eyes damaged.
Not all, not all.
My gentle father didn’t:
he bought me Flu Game Air Jordans,
the one with maroon slithering around black.
Boys always got expensive basketball shoes.
I suppose he loved his boy, is all.
Father’s not that bad. Mother, neither.
Only clueless, maybe.
One time I came home too happy,
head-drunk thinking about this schoolboy crush,
and they never knew.
The first time I jacked off I felt the entire sky
strike my pelvis with a typhoon fizz,
and they never knew.
During prom a boy slashed my heart with a
scalpel (his cutting tool?),
and they never knew.
You can’t teach boys some things,
like how to whisper to another boy
when the light is out.
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
twofist head muscle: kineval.
but really iz jus 2:15
shoelacegazing in a prefab park gazebo.
texty fingertip slinger.
chase that dragon.
kickin fake jordans
in a tomb called Khufu
diffuse serial NOONSDAY scenario:
always
cut
the
pixelated
rainbow
wire.
yuh know, that
jejune
box
hero:
from alphabet soup news to
netfizzle huludoodoo,
twiddling its Neros.
V iz for silent
in the actual voodoo
that’s been silenced
with dogooder silencer.
blap.
blargh.
this is all so
hashtagical.
prolly. so
follow me.
anyway resistance is feudal, ‘cause
evil doth hearts a good fight.
“evolve?! nevar!”
quoth the flat noted, dorsal
Dept. of Unkindness
Dec 10, 2017
Dec 10, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
Inscribed, in my heart..
bible verses, in cursive i know my purpose..
cursed are those who lay curses, and purchase purses that cost more than the life of a person..
But its all Gucci..
New Jordans on my feet, so they might shoot me.
Ironic huh,? after all the shots Michael took...
seen so much misery i might write a book..
Name it: When Life is Shook...
battle depression, my blades sharper than my foe though..
Yet they wonder why i never tend to smile in my photo,
they wonder why i hate social media, and society..
they wonder why im so mysterious, maybe its the Mayan me,
maybe its the eye in me..
i used to think God himself was denying me..
now i know that God never lies, he just lies in me.
not religious though, this isn't my confession to faith..
I've sinned to much to get passed the heavenly gates,
Besides, i saw heaven once, splitting an 8th..
probably the reason why im up still, riddling late..
*** truly my lifes a riddle,
So i write what i live...
So glad at 22 i havent had me a kid..
*** i barely know myself, and i still have to grow up..
how dare i ever preach truth, and be a father that dont show up?
But now im just rambling, i vent so i could sleep..
i know this isnt poetry..but poems take me deep..
in my mind, and my emotional ocean i hate to dive in..
but currently im swimming, ill tell you when i've arrived in..
-afj
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 12:40 AM UTC
She loved rolling L's,
I'd plop down on her bed,
she'd have A$AP or some
OFWGKTA on,
she was a New York girl
in skinny jeans
and camo Jordans
with them gold doorknockers,
a transplant
both from there
and into my life,
she'd run her pink nails
long as needles along
the Swisher,
and I swear
she had to know something
about internal anatomy,
cause she'd do that ****
to my belly button;
how long have you been practicing?
How many bodies have you split open
and left for dead
in the ashtray?
You rolled a tight L,
and I hemourraged
for five minutes,
it became a local anesthetic
until the procedure
was over.
The woman could do more
than just lick the insides clean,
she was humane,
she'd fill it back
with something you could burn.
She could roll L's
to Webster
all day,
not even the big L's
like love, lust, lascivious
more like
loner, longing, and live.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 6:41 AM UTC
Still puffin' cigars in my sixty six jaguar
Made a hood star from climbing a far
**** the drug games I made my name
Through lyrics of pain easing ya migraine
Words pure as Columbian *******
That's means you'll go insane
Tryna hang with the dark Knight Bruce Wayne
Which means ya mentallydrained going
derange
My smiff n wesson lays a nice range
From the Midwest to the south of Central Texas
Get love from my barrio we stay thorough
Haters get marked like zorro so follow
The leader beat pleaser turn ebenenzer
Once I spit vocals take over ya locals
Can't Max me out my own **** hardest to hit
Ya swear it's back in the year of nine six
Slammin' all of the these industry clowns like Jordans did the Knicks
A Timely essence
Even if I'm chillin' with the dead residence
you'll still feel my presence no hesitance
To foes stained ya calicos wake ya up with a cup of
Flow
and I stay smokin' girls ******* holes setting fires to their mentals
My flows set on auto pilot causing riots
Baltimore rage untamed had to put my rhymes in a cage
Seen the guage
Cocked back ain't no taking away from that
Deaths in progress only blessing you seen
Is stress so take another hit of cannabis
Before you enter the eternal abyss hang ya body over the
cliff
Like Big Red record every word I said
And still can't get a word to the feds I'm the black
Hoover
got flats from Houston to Vancouver
Let me show ya who's the real bruiser
Spittin' rhymes that lay more bodies than Fallujah
Cruise right through
tha
My rhymes is tank shootin' missles with no
thanks
I'm only here to live out
My fathers prank
Though the devil keep me above all levels
Tryna stay from the goods I was made rebel
Fools thought they was Cain til they found out I was
abel
Killin' em with microphone cordless cables and
turntables
Read between my eyers n you'll see visions of many
halos
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 8:01 PM UTC
Now I've faded so far I'm already gone...
I've faded so fast I'm just a shadow to those I've forgotten...
I'm so far gone feels like I'm sinking...
How can they see, how can know what I'm thinking...
Lost, feeling it until late tomorrow
Feet swallowed by this sorrow
Just like the truth it's hard to swallow
With these demons in brain
You know I can't complain just know I'm going insane, you know I'm with it, I'd wait a whole year or maybe its just 10 minutes so lost keeping up with your feelings, the parchment of hate I'm not granted, I just want real love, admitting it's not enough, though I question it and say **** these feelings, I think I'm running a race and ain't winning, I'm insane, mental deranged and I love it but I can't complain, life might be a mistake but at least it's far from fake and at the end of day everyone's the same, Air Jordans stained with heather, this girl must Satan if she thinks I'm the devil, turn the heat up might give me something to marvel at, now take a step back and give me some space, first and last thing I wants you in my face....
Now I've faded so far I'm already gone...
I've faded so fast I'm just a shadow to those I've forgotten...
I'm so far gone feels like I'm sinking...
How can they see, how can know what I'm thinking...
Took my first steps at age four, already running from my family, running from the law, thoughts already lost and that was before, before I knew where to look, my hands keep shaking, my reputations so shook, why do I keep fighting when I know it's forward I should look, yet still I retreat back, back into the pages of my books, a fictitious liar sinking farther then they can see, every task I've undertook, misunderstood, lost the will get out of bed, lost the will to even wish that I could, so I just lay here, swallow my lies with a side THC, when closed eyes picture my death to foresee, gone with the wind but I'm caught in the trees, holding me backs easy, my head keeps pounding, the noose and me forever... and possibly... maybe in time... maybe they'll see...
Now I've faded so far I'm already gone...
I've faded so fast I'm just a shadow to those I've forgotten...
I'm so far gone feels like I'm sinking...
How can they see, how can know what I'm thinking, thinking...
How could they know...
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 11:39 AM UTC
You are truly magnificent; you're great, you are marvelous, you're expansively strong, you are out of this world!
Be courageous, be humble, give back and build up, be dynamic, a student, and teacher, be BOLD!
I'm telling you this 'cause you don't hear it enough and I know you're unique and can impact the globe.
You have dreams and high hopes. Though negativity surrounds you,who you want to be fervently burns in your soul.
Hey beautiful and dedicated! Hey handsome and strong-willed! Don't let this life pass without honing your skills.
See success is not businessess, money or boats.
Established is not a doctorate, true wealth is not in notes.
Those "Yays" can't compare to the gleam in your eyes.
Those True Religion jeans are just fabric for thighs.
Those Jordans may be hot, all these things show you're paid but don't matter 'cause you're already beautifully made.
Do what you enjoy.
Fight for what you believe in.
Don't take "No" for an answer, please realize your dreams.
Reality is relative, no goal is impossible,
The prowess you subsume can create NEW extremes!
I love you and I believe in the positive change that you can be to the community and this world, but it's more important for you to believe in, respect, and love, YOURSELF.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
When I grow up
I want the world to be happy
Because as of now
It is not
For you see
This world is shrouded in hatred
And love can be bought
All around conveyed love is being traded for physicality
As the players get stronger
And the girl
She cried out to a diety
She doesnt even believe in
Because he left her
Broken
Bruised
And
Pregnant
Leaving her for another girl
One with a bigger rack
And ***
Even though she shook hers
Every night on stage
Baring her body for strangers
Only so when she goes home
He can unleash his rage
So she gives him her money
And he loosens his grip on her
Freshly
Dyed
Hair
Then he'll pretend to care
As he invests her money in his new Jordans
Instead of rehab for his
Crack head lover.
because he never loved her.
If he did He wouldnt be saying
"That baby isn't mine."
So he can spend more time
With the new girl by his side.
A girl who's snorting coke
And lets strangers hands
Travel up her bruised thighs
I Cant be happy seeing this world in this disgruntloed state
Because A young boy hangs up
A flowery dress in a closet full of
dusty skirts and heels
His moms attempt at making him
"Normal"
Because what you don't know is he was born a She
But she wants to be a he
And he doesnt know somewhere out there
A he wants to be a she
But they feel more alone
As their parents threaten to send them to camps
In failed attemps to make them
"Okay" In the eyes of
Their God
So he lays in bed
Blood pouring from his
Self inflicted wounds
One for every missed label
As they call him a her
Or he a she
But they don't see it
"It's just a pronoun right?"
Maybe to you
Because you haven't fought
your whole life
To be called something few
are open eyed enough to see you as.
But he can see it clearly
as he pins back his hair
and puts on his binder
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
When kids write their birthday lists,
They want the newest Iphone,
A certain brand of jeans,
Or the best Jordans.
Is this what growing up is,
The moment you realize those
Things don’t matter?
Because if I made a true
Birthday list now, I would want
World peace
An end to world hunger
A way to make college more affordable
Better patience with those I love
A way to deal with my insomnia
A man to hold and cherish for life
And for the world to have more compassion
And destroy all traces of hatred.
I wish I could stop all my worrying;
I wish I could write birthday lists like I used to.
Jun 30, 2018
Jun 30, 2018 at 12:44 PM UTC
I ask you,
Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out?
God I saw your prophet at that festival
I think they bought him up a house on the Western Coast
Who Want It
I see men speaking of love and they’re speaking of god
But when those profits are to low they’re on that radio dial
Who Want It
You Get It
There’s static in their melodies, some are moving backwards,
You ain’t making breakups songs? You ain’t moving to Calabasas
What you thought you were making change?
Music about the money in the long run never pays
Who’s gonna be the ‘man’ when the money runs out,
Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out,
You’re gonna buy those Jordans with that Nike swoosh?
I may never be a prophet but at least I ain’t you
Who Want It
I ask you,
Who’s gonna be a prophet man we bought them all out
We Want It
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
A religous freak is what they called me
well i say this is not religion
this is the safety net i fall to when all other things fail
this is hope
the fuel that keeps me going
long after all of my friends have stopped
this is not religion
this is a relationship with someone who will never fail me
this
this is the never ending love i will feel till the end of time
while you spend your days feeling
empty
empty becuase wont live knowing his love
his grace
the things he does to make your life great
and dont say it isnt
because there are people out there
worse of than you
who would die to have a pair of Jordans
or any type of shoes
this is not religion
this is knowledge of whats out thier
realizing what you refuse
taking blame for what you do
instead of hating the person who tells you what you do is sin
Love the God who gives you a way back from it
he makes you whole
helps you let it all go
but no matter how much you hate your soul
he can show you love
more than you deserve
make you feel better than the drugs that leave you wanted more
or the person who leaves you crying on the floor
God will never leave you
its as simple as that
this is not religion
its the love that keeps my soul intact
keeps me whole
God will never let me go
this is not a religion
its a raltionship that only me and God know
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 9:41 PM UTC
She want them converse cause all stars are gorgeous.
Dude don't buy her Jordans,not even Air Forces.
Her sneakers in every color from blue ones with 2 tongues
To leather with Diamonds.
She got red,green and orange,her favorite leopard ones foreign.
On that 5 star shit,Her shoe game don't quit.
Her own canvas she affordin.
Them boys they not important when it come to what she sportin.
Dec 9, 2012
Dec 9, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
Sweet bass and hello poet
Treble planes that flys on it.
Head phones that hold music,
But open up and let me do it....ha!
That's ******
Gutter mine Im blowing kisses
Missle toe my feet tappin..ha!
That's new Jordans
Sanctified my hands are clapping,
Reader prolly like is rapping?
Just join the dance
DANCE
Uncle Sam!!
I am pointing like his hand..
Watch the man
Watch the man
I'm just saying lift your hands
Lift your hands.
Put your song on and join the dance..!!!
Join the dance
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
The car horns toll the knell of parting day,
The toxic fumes creep slowly o’er the park,
The traffic homeward plods its weary way,
And leaves the world to joggers and the dark.
Now fades the shimmering lakescape on the sight,
And to the air the dusk its stillness brings,
Save where mosquitoes wheel in droning flight,
Ross River virus loaded in their stings;
Save that from yonder television tower
The besieged magnate to his “mates” complains
The A.B.T. has exercised its power,
Sent him packing without ill-gotten gains.
Beneath those tiled roofs, that mortgaged shade,
Where heaves the serf in many an exhausted heap,
Each of the dole queue mortally afraid,
Whose forefathers once rode upon the sheep.
The wheezy cough of beery-breathing morn,
They swallow Berocca for their straw-filled heads,
The clock’s shrill clarion, or their arguing spawn,
Once more shall rouse them from beloved beds.
For they no more have savings in their banks,
Both busy partners toil to meet their ends;
No children run to lisp their heartfelt thanks,
They clamour for Air Jordans like their friends.
Oft did their annual jaunt to Bali yield,
Their furrows smoothed by oily massage strokes;
How jocund were their Customs trolleys wheeled!
Their cases bowed by extra grog and smokes!
Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife,
Their media-fed dreams have learned to stray;
The Holy Grail of the Lotto life
Has taken free out of the word Freeway.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
Once I saw
a cat laying in a cardboard box.
She was young and motionless,
a pool of red beneath her fur.
Soggy box, red Jordans,
a hardened body trying to cry.
She was cold and soft.
So soft.
No one looked
at the cat laying in a cardboard box
as we moved down the sidewalk
on that hot summer morning.
I kept my hand on her body,
on her youthful fur.
we're almost there
I'd whisper
I'd whisper
I cried that day
for the cat laying in a cardboard box
who I never knew or named,
but I loved her
on that summer morning.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 5:44 PM UTC
I would like to go to a place,
where people want to be,
the roads running
and bleeding notes
in the gutters,
a place
where people
want to remember they've been,
and fold their music
to be pushed across a rivulet
to someone across the street,
a place that could be called
a lime of abundance
or a lemon
of love,
someplace bitter
but sweetened
with just a dab
of sugar, a place
where I could become
a crystal
and dissolve
without pain,
I would like to move
out of the US
to a place
where people
learn how to talk
again
because they don't know how to talk
when they are at home,
I would like to live
in a place
where I could talk candidly
in a bar,
where I could yell
about the things
I want to yell about,
I could go somewhere
and stand in the street
and read poetry
and you would walk by,
I would be invisible,
I would be
unknowable.
I want the wheels to come off,
I want to expect
to be blindsided by a bus
and wrap my arms
around broken headlights,
as I feel
love in her arms
in a place I have never been
and a creaming love that does not fit
into Jersey dresses
or bleached Jordans.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 8:06 PM UTC