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Brad Lambert Oct 2013
(I)

Whose coat is this? Sure as hell isn't my coat. I ain't got no coat with this parka ****, it's *******. I ain't no furry flamin' ******. I ain't no ****** chochy Molly-May-Ze-**** chokin' down chickens and nasalin' a'sniffin' snortin' nasty-*** choch; that ain't me. That ain't me. Look at this coat– I'm like an Eskimo *****. I'm like a butch-**** bull-**** crotch-lappin' a'swimmin' laps in that guy's swimmin' pool. Who's that guy? Who owns that guy? 'Ey, anyone here the owner of this guy– guy ain't got no owner? Whose coat is this? It's nice, real nice. Bet she said, "Does it come from France? Where do I buy one?" I want to buy one, I think I need to buy **** more. I sure as hell need to buy one of these. "And I need one these too and one of them too and I need a petticoat and a tipper-tapper and a whimpratic garfielder and one of them new bartlemores, I need more of them bartlemores. I need more, more, more, more, more, more..." That ain't enough. ****'s from France. ****'s from Paris, that's romantic. You think I'm romantic? I eat hearts for dinner, I chew down nails like nuts for my midnight snack. I smoke cigarettes and spit on concrete slabs, you think that's ****? I'll show you ****. I'll show you Paris, New York City, Rome, romance you in Rome. I'll get real ******' Roman. I'll take you to the desert and make love to you. That's how a free man does a woman, and I'm a real free man. Who's ownin' this guy? It ain't you, it ain't me. I don't own you, you don't own me. I'm a free man:

I said,
"Fire and wood, fire and wood, fire and wood. It is late, it is late, it is far, far too late."

I set
fire to wood, fire to wood; feel that fire fired fresh from that firewood.

I dug the pit,
he gathered the wood,
she started the fire.

She really does make that fire start.

O' how she makes that fire burn,
O' how the wood's wrapped in white hots,
O' how they smoke their smokestacked pipes,
O' tobacco teeming teenagers, tormented by and through youth,
O' adolescence, trending topics, and forget-me-not flowers,
O' old age, Floridan coffins, and coughing  cancers,
O' writers in the mountains writing to be,
O' painters and **** bodies in studies by the sea,
O' thinkers in their mindset, mindsetting the table for dinner,
O' tables set to bursting,
O' wallets so thick,
O' community,
O' society, our social games,
O' hope,
O' peace,
O' that I may be at peace,
O' that I may be content and pray only for peace,
O' how about them true believers,
O' how about that love at first sight,
O' sandstone. My sandstone. That guy sittin' on sandstone.

That's my guy. That's my guy. I own this ****.

Is a man breathing on a mirror the sum of his breaths?
Breaths foggin' a'mistin' my view,
my view of a body and that face,
you're a body.
You're a workin' day's bell,
you're my chill in an Icelandic draft,
you're my spare in a Middle Eastern draft,
you're my pawn in chest-to-chest chess.

You've got this. You've got this. You own this ****.

And it is ****, too. I'd be set, real ******' set, with someone like you. I'll make you a woman, check this parka ****. Coat's mine. I'm a classy igloo runner, runnin' a'ragin' a'czebelskiin' meriteratin', I'll be reiteratin' your points. Check the time, it's late! It's late! ***** was in the grassy knoll turnin' trap tunes on her turntable. Would you listen to that? She sounds late to me, does she sound late to you? I like the music; I like the music. What happened to Woodstock? Where's my watergate, Nixon? Where's my generation, Ginsberg? Where's the meaning? This music's too loud! We're so profound! O' profundity!

Tell me something I didn't know, I'm craving' the new.
Give me the new while I spit on the old,
while I spit on this fine art finely art'd by and for fine artists–
******' fine artists. ******* fine artists.

(You can realize radical-realist realism but you can't be real with me?)

O' fine art!
What fine art!
Which fine artists are dead?



(II)

Looks like they're dead.

Looks like them ******* choked out all them ghettos, choked out all them rednecks, chokin' a'stranglin' by-God-oh-God straddlin' the breeders. I sure did like them babes– babes with their laughin' a'lackin' o' cynicism. They don't know the word "****."

I sure am forgetful–
I forgot that smoke doesn't dissipate,
I forgot how to smell autumn leaves,
I forgot to check the heart against the fingertips,
I forgot why my fingertips went numb,
I forgot to cue in the meaning when the sentence was complete,
I forget to complete my sentences,
I forget who you were wanting when you said, "I want you."

I got as much depth as an in-depth discussion, high hats and electropercussion have got me going. I'm goin' downtown, uptown bourgeois tricked me out, johns and yellow Hummers laid me down and cussed me out. That's not a discussion. That's not my scent scenting my towel, this breath reeks of wintry air– my fingertips went numb.

"I want you."

"Oh would you look at that moon?
Take a look at that moon.
Look at that moon with the ******' mountains.
I love that moon.
That's my moon."

I love darin' a'dusty dareelin' derailin' your dreams, whose dreams are these? They ain't my dreams– ain't no dream derailin' a'nileerad radiatiatin' some hint of joy or Jamison Scotch Liqueur. Drink that ****. That's my ****, I own that ****.
I'm sittin' on this stoop like I own this ****, like this **** owns me; I owed me. I don't own me, you owe me:

Pay up man, feet off the stoop.
Pay up man, be real with me.
Pay up man, you ever thought of a man as a man?
Pay up man, give it in.
Pay up man, give in.
Pay up man, I need you to do me a solid. Do me solid from crown-to-toe, we're toe-to-toe let's do-si-do bro-to-** I'm ready go, **, jo, ko, lo, get low… Now I'm ramblin'. You say, "Ramble in to the stoop and tell me a story."

What's a stoop– who's a stoop? That **** ain't stoop– you ain't stoop. You're stupid. You're a joke, check out the joke. Hey ladies, you seen this joke– joke ain't been seen by them ladies? I'm a joke. We ain't laughin' with you, they're laughin' at you.

O' hilarity!
Such hilarity!
What hilarious histories have passed?



(III)*

"I said I loved him once. I only loved him once."
(
And how long once has been...)

I sure did like them hand-holdins,
them star-gazin' moments,
them moon phasin' nighttime nuances,
them fingertip feelin' a'findin',
them sessions o'meshin' limber legs unto steadfast *****,
heads cocked like guns toward the sky,
beyond the horizon
but well
below the belt.

Them star-gazing moments seeing stars seemin' small, I love how they gleam- gleamin' a'glarin' comparin' shine to shine, shimmerin' a glimmer shone stumblin' her way home from the bar. She's drunk. She's brilliant, brilliance of whit and wantin' a'wanderlustin' gypsy nomads- that ***** gyp'd me, no mad man would take a cerebral slam to the face lest them moving pictures are involved. Read a ******' book, it'll last longer. Kiss me on the collar bones, clavicles shone shining with slick saliva pining for my affections. You're clammerin' to feel me, clammin' up (Just feel me.) I want to run my hands through long hair and peg the nausea nervosa to the wall. The writing's on the wall:

The sun bent over so the moon could rise, chanting,
"Goodbye and good riddance,
I never wanted to shine down
on them seas o' tranquilities anyhow."*

O' what a day. What a day.

And the wind ruffles leaves and it ruffles feathers on birds eating worms in brown soil.

What a day. What a day.

And the men under the bridge gather in traitorous conversation of governments overthrown and border dissolution and poetry with meters bent out of tune.

What a day. What a day.

And the billboards are dry for all the consumers to consume, use, and review.

What a day. What a day.

And hearts break messiest when you're not looking.

What a day. What a day.

And the ego and the id and the redwood trees are talking. They're sitting **** in the marshes, bathing in the bogwater while fondling foreign fine wines and whisperin' a'veerin' conversations towards topics kept well out of hand, out of the game, nontobe racin' in races, rampant radical racists betting bets on bent, bald Bolshevik racists wagging Marxist manifestos in the bourgeois' faces, yes. Make it be. Nontobe sanity as the captain creases his pleats, pleasin' her creases and the dewdrops of sweat trailing down the small of her back– down the ridge of her spine forming solitary springs of saline saltwater in the small of her back. Aye-aye, guy's pleasin' a'makin' choices a'steerin'– government's a'veerin' a hard left into the ice.

'Berg! 'Berg!
Danger in the icy 'berg!
None too soon a 'berg!
Bound to bump a 'berg!
O' inevitably unnerving 'berg!
Authoritative 'berg!
Totalitarian 'berg!
Surveillance of *** and the sexes 'berg!
O' fatalist fetishist 'berg!
Benevolent big brother 'berg!
Homosocial socialization 'berg!
Romanticized Roman 'berg!
O' virginal mother 'berg!
City on a hill on a 'berg!
Subtly socialist 'berg!
Nongovernmental 'berg!
O' illustrious libertine 'berg!
Freedom of the people 'berg!
Water privatization 'berg!
Alcohol idolization 'berg!
O' corrupt and courageous 'berg!
Church and a stately 'berg!
Pray to your ceiling fan 'berg!
Biblically borne 'berg!
O' godly and gorgeous 'berg!
Ferocious freedom fighters launching lackluster demonstrations far too post-demonstration feeling liberty and love, la vie en rouge, revolving revolutionist ranting on revolution tangible as
an ice cold 'berg.

'Berg! 'Berg!
O' the 'berg, the ****** iceberg–
You'll be the death of me.
Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
just this old guitar and a bottle of *****.
Now I don't blame him because he run and hid,
but the meanest thing that he ever did was
before he left he went and named me Sue.

Well, he must have thought it was quite a joke,
and it got lots of laughs from a lot of folks,
it seems I had to fight my whole life through.
Some gal would giggle and I'd get red
and some guy would laugh and I'd bust his head,
I tell you, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.

Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean.
My fist got hard and my wits got keen.
Roamed from town to town to hide my shame,
but I made me a vow to the moon and the stars,
I'd search the ***** tonks and bars and ****
that man that gave me that awful name.

But it was Gatlinburg in mid July and I had
just hit town and my throat was dry.
I'd thought i'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon in a street of mud
and at a table dealing stud sat the *****,
mangy dog that named me Sue.

Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
from a worn-out picture that my mother had
and I knew the scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old
and I looked at him and my blood ran cold,
and I said, "My name is Sue. How do you do?
Now you're gonna die." Yeah, that's what I told him.

Well, I hit him right between the eyes and he went down
but to my surprise he came up with a knife
and cut off a piece of my ear. But I busted a chair
right across his teeth. And we crashed through
the wall and into the street kicking and a-gouging
in the mud and the blood and the beer.

I tell you I've fought tougher men but I really can't remember when.
He kicked like a mule and bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laughin' and then I heard him cussin',
he went for his gun and I pulled mine first.
He stood there looking at me and I saw him smile.

And he said, "Son, this world is rough and if
a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
and I knew I wouldn't be there to help you along.
So I gave you that name and I said 'Goodbye'.
I knew you'd have to get tough or die. And it's
that name that helped to make you strong."

Yeah, he said, "Now you have just fought one
helluva fight, and I know you hate me and you've
got the right to **** me now and I wouldn't blame you
if you do. But you ought to thank me
before I die for the gravel in your guts and the spit
in your eye because I'm the nut that named you Sue."
Yeah, what could I do? What could I do?

I got all choked up and I threw down my gun,
called him pa and he called me a son,
and I came away with a different point of view
and I think about him now and then.
Every time I tried, every time I win and if I
ever have a son I think I am gonna name him
Bill or George - anything but Sue.
I been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
   Snow has friz me,
   Sun has baked me,

Looks like between 'em they done
   Tried to make me

Stop laughin', stop lovin', stop livin'--
   But I don't care!
   I'm still here!
Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Loaded down with swag, you could say I got some baggage
Now tag me in your post - host server overload with traffic
Havoc, I smashed it I'm smokin on that hash **** its magic I'm laughin,
***** where the **** my brain go?
Oh I know **** I got so braindead before I wrote this
I'm monumental, moving boulders
Deport this *****, jumpin borders
Spit my lyrics so hot just like you was sippin Folger's
Burn your tongue? I burned my face,
You in a race?
Huh, ***** don't even try to run

Your nightmares are my fantasy
I make your dreams rip at the seams
Best believe it I'm the reason
You be losing sleep
Unfeasibly
Freddy who? Man **** that dude
This ain't no ****** "Elm Street"
11-12 Better check yourself
**** with me I killed it
You're in my world now *****

And grab your crucifix
Ha! AND PRAY TO GOD *****

Oh ****, break in the beat
I can't be defeated so don't leave your seat
So many drugs my heart feels complete
Lungs replete with the cloud of a thousand burning trees
Smokeapalooza, my brains on vacation
maybe it's a factor, all the inhalation
Snoozing you loser?
Got it going on,
Got more bombs than a marathon in Boston
AND IF YOU THINK THAT **** WASN'T A FALSE FLAG GO BACK TO SLEEP

I'm a self confessed bongaholic by definition
Cro-Magnon, I'm stone-age in terms of cognition
though hopefully I can get some ignition, generate some sparks
My colorful rhymes stand in stark contrast
against this black and white palette
all these so called artists paint with
Oh and blunts are great, ******* Wiz Khalifa
pearl another one and I'm feelin golden
withholding nothin, so I'm puffin til I'm huffin

straight baked like space muffins
something you can't relate or replicate,
so don't defame, or deface my status as
realest ***** in the rap game
no malarkey;
you have a better chance swimming with sharks b

breaking bad
take a line of that Walter White to my head
til my brains are frying like eggs at breakfast
hear just a little sizzling
**** bro I'ma wake up dead

David Banner he don't know swag
Lil' B holla that he own swag
Overflowin with all these newfags
I /b/ like :bitchplease: I ******* made swag

I'm beautiful man super cool
and all all the ******* love me
most popular boy in school
I have everything I want
it seems -
in my dreams,
******* **** me
My ADD is so infuriating
which is at least partially
why my primary hobbies
are screaming rapping and smoking ****
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
    I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
    Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
    In the jingle-jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

    Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

    Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,

It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seeing' that he's chasing

    Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
Gold-something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
vanishes
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
elect
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

Hell,
somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
but
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Planc-sec.  
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
But
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Depends.
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
since
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
Heartily
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

Stop
striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows
This is a reworking of Good news from a far country, I am attempting to rein in my scattered mind. Let me know if you see improvement or parts in need thereof.
A note of seeming truth and trust
                      Hid crafty observation;
                And secret hung, with poison’d crust,
                      The dirk of defamation:
                A mask that like the gorget show’d
                      Dye-varying, on the pigeon;
                And for a mantle large and broad,
              He wrapt him in Religion.
                   (Hypocrisy-à-la-Mode)


Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
     When Nature’s face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn
     An’ ***** the caller air.
The risin’ sun owre Galston muirs
     Wi’ glorious light was glintin,
The hares were hirplin down the furrs,
     The lav’rocks they were chantin
          Fu’ sweet that day.

As lightsomely I glowr’d abroad
     To see a scene sae gay,
Three hizzies, early at the road,
     Cam skelpin up the way.
Twa had manteeles o’ dolefu’ black,
     But ane wi’ lyart linin;
The third, that gaed a wee a-back,
     Was in the fashion shining
          Fu’ gay that day.

The twa appear’d like sisters twin
     In feature, form, an’ claes;
Their visage wither’d, lang an’ thin,
     An’ sour as ony slaes.
The third cam up, hap-step-an’-lowp,
     As light as ony lambie,
An’ wi’ a curchie low did stoop,
     As soon as e’er she saw me,
          Fu’ kind that day.

Wi’ bonnet aff, quoth I, “Sweet lass,
     I think ye seem to ken me;
I’m sure I’ve seen that bonie face,
     But yet I canna name ye.”
Quo’ she, an’ laughin as she spak,
     An’ taks me by the han’s,
“Ye, for my sake, hae gien the ****
     Of a’ the ten comman’s
          A screed some day.

“My name is Fun—your cronie dear,
     The nearest friend ye hae;
An’ this is Superstition here,
     An’ that’s Hypocrisy.
I’m gaun to Mauchline Holy Fair,
     To spend an hour in daffin:
Gin ye’ll go there, you runkl’d pair,
     We will get famous laughin
          At them this day.”

Quoth I, “With a’ my heart, I’ll do’t:
     I’ll get my Sunday’s sark on,
An’ meet you on the holy spot;
     Faith, we’se hae fine remarkin!”
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time
     An’ soon I made me ready;
For roads were clad frae side to side
     Wi’ monie a wearie body
          In droves that day.

Here, farmers ****, in ridin graith,
     Gaed hoddin by their cotters,
There swankies young, in braw braidclaith
     Are springin owre the gutters.
The lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang,
     In silks an’ scarlets glitter,
Wi’ sweet-milk cheese in mony a whang,
     An’ farls, bak’d wi’ butter,
          Fu’ crump that day.

When by the plate we set our nose,
     Weel heaped up wi’ ha’pence,
A greedy glowr Black Bonnet throws,
     An’ we maun draw our tippence.
Then in we go to see the show:
     On ev’ry side they’re gath’rin,
Some carryin dails, some chairs an’ stools,
     An’ some are busy bleth’rin
          Right loud that day.


Here some are thinkin on their sins,
     An’ some upo’ their claes;
Ane curses feet that fyl’d his shins,
     Anither sighs an’ prays:
On this hand sits a chosen swatch,
     Wi’ *****’d-up grace-proud faces;
On that a set o’ chaps at watch,
     Thrang winkin on the lasses
          To chairs that day.

O happy is that man and blest!
     Nae wonder that it pride him!
Whase ain dear lass that he likes best,
     Comes clinkin down beside him!
Wi’ arm repos’d on the chair back,
     He sweetly does compose him;
Which by degrees slips round her neck,
     An’s loof upon her *****,
          Unken’d that day.

Now a’ the congregation o’er
     Is silent expectation;
For Moodie speels the holy door,
     Wi’ tidings o’ salvation.
Should Hornie, as in ancient days,
     ‘Mang sons o’ God present him,
The vera sight o’ Moodie’s face
     To’s ain het hame had sent him
          Wi’ fright that day.

Hear how he clears the points o’ faith
     Wi’ rattlin an’ wi’ thumpin!
Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath
     He’s stampin, an’ he’s jumpin!
His lengthen’d chin, his turn’d-up snout,
     His eldritch squeal and gestures,
Oh, how they fire the heart devout
     Like cantharidian plaisters,
          On sic a day!

But hark! the tent has chang’d its voice:
     There’s peace and rest nae langer;
For a’ the real judges rise,
     They canna sit for anger.
Smith opens out his cauld harangues,
     On practice and on morals;
An’ aff the godly pour in thrangs,
     To gie the jars an’ barrels
          A lift that day.

What signifies his barren shine
     Of moral pow’rs and reason?
His English style an’ gesture fine
     Are a’ clean out o’ season.
Like Socrates or Antonine
     Or some auld pagan heathen,
The moral man he does define,
     But ne’er a word o’ faith in
          That’s right that day.

In guid time comes an antidote
     Against sic poison’d nostrum;
For Peebles, frae the water-fit,
     Ascends the holy rostrum:
See, up he’s got the word o’ God
     An’ meek an’ mim has view’d it,
While Common Sense has ta’en the road,
     An’s aff, an’ up the Cowgate
          Fast, fast that day.

Wee Miller niest the Guard relieves,
     An’ Orthodoxy raibles,
Tho’ in his heart he weel believes
     An’ thinks it auld wives’ fables:
But faith! the birkie wants a Manse,
     So cannilie he hums them;
Altho’ his carnal wit an’ sense
     Like hafflins-wise o’ercomes him
          At times that day.

Now **** an’ ben the change-house fills
     Wi’ yill-caup commentators:
Here’s cryin out for bakes an gills,
     An’ there the pint-stowp clatters;
While thick an’ thrang, an’ loud an’ lang,
     Wi’ logic an’ wi’ Scripture,
They raise a din, that in the end
     Is like to breed a rupture
          O’ wrath that day.

Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair
     Than either school or college
It kindles wit, it waukens lear,
     It pangs us fou o’ knowledge.
Be’t whisky-gill or penny-wheep,
     Or ony stronger potion,
It never fails, on drinkin deep,
     To kittle up our notion
          By night or day.

The lads an’ lasses, blythely bent
     To mind baith saul an’ body,
Sit round the table weel content,
     An’ steer about the toddy,
On this ane’s dress an’ that ane’s leuk
     They’re makin observations;
While some are cozie i’ the neuk,
     An’ forming assignations
          To meet some day.

But now the Lord’s ain trumpet touts,
     Till a’ the hills rae rairin,
An’ echoes back return the shouts—
     Black Russell is na sparin.
His piercing words, like highlan’ swords,
     Divide the joints an’ marrow;
His talk o’ hell, whare devils dwell,
     Our vera “sauls does harrow”
          Wi’ fright that day.

A vast, unbottom’d, boundless pit,
     Fill’d fou o’ lowin brunstane,
Whase ragin flame, an’ scorching heat
     *** melt the hardest whun-stane!
The half-asleep start up wi’ fear
     An’ think they hear it roarin,
When presently it does appear
     ’Twas but some neibor snorin,
          Asleep that day.

‘Twad be owre lang a tale to tell,
     How mony stories past,
An’ how they crouded to the yill,
     When they were a’ dismist:
How drink gaed round in cogs an’ caups
     Amang the furms an’ benches:
An’ cheese and bred frae women’s laps
     Was dealt about in lunches
          An’ dauds that day.

In comes a gausie, **** guidwife
     An’ sits down by the fire,
Syne draws her kebbuck an’ her knife;
     The lasses they are shyer:
The auld guidmen, about the grace
     Frae side to side they bother,
Till some ane by his bonnet lays,
     And gi’es them’t like a tether
          Fu’ lang that day.

Waesucks! for him that gets nae lass,
     Or lasses that hae naething!
Sma’ need has he to say a grace,
     Or melvie his braw clathing!
O wives, be mindfu’ ance yoursel
     How bonie lads ye wanted,
An’ dinna for a kebbuck-heel
     Let lasses be affronted
          On sic a day!

Now Clinkumbell, wi’ rattlin tow,
     Begins to jow an’ croon;
Some swagger hame the best they dow,
     Some wait the afternoon.
At slaps the billies halt a blink,
     Till lasses strip their shoon:
Wi’ faith an’ hope, an’ love an’ drink,
     They’re a’ in famous tune
          For crack that day.

How monie hearts this day converts
     O’ sinners and o’ lasses
Their hearts o’ stane, gin night, are gane
     As saft as ony flesh is.
There’s some are fou o’ love divine,
     There’s some are fou o’ brandy;
An’ monie jobs that day begin,
     May end in houghmagandie
          Some ither day.
Some say I'm an animal
No mercy rent through flesh
Like Hannibal a cannibal
Got that super chronic turn super sonic
Light speed fist make your
Mouth bleed indeed
I stay drunk hardly ever sober
I don't stop til the war iz over
No one survives it's the coming of the Jehovah
even though many passed along
Now Im christenin' the **** implantin' songs
In my head it's my daily bread it's bloodshed
All in my neighborhood black on black
Still can't find good it's understood
Everyday I read the obituary
Got **** how many of my peeps
Is in the cemetery ?
Everyday every hour I'm feelin' sour
Losin' power but somehow I still devour
Enemies crush they whole epitome
I set the foundation of gangsta
Others is siblings
I could swallow a whole nation will hallow
And watch how many troops will follow
That's right

So I talk a little crazy
Ain't nothing to it
Gangsta rap made me do it
If I flip it ruthless
Ain't nothing to it
gangsta rap made me do it
If I smoke a little Herman
Ain't nothing to it
gangsta rap made me do it


so many quick to grab the mic
Talking all hard like they can write
When I'm in the studio
Laughin' at these chumps
Soundin' like culos putos
Everybody gotta mixtape
Can't make an album
Tryna emulate the next man
Make ya own style youngin'
Like fools gold they see the fame
Stripped of manhood and they name
Rather go for the fortune
Learn the rules to the game
Ceos playin' you like dominoes
He say so I say no I want the imperial
then I show them the barrel
Gotta real killer named Darryl
That's my gun we go one on one
Battlin' the corporate moguls
Who think you can fool?
Leave there head busted like a ******
I'm a conundrum
No evidence found reignin'
As the victorious one

If you see me killin ain't nothing to it gangsta rap made me do it
If I drop real **** ain't nothing to it gangsta rap made me do it
If i cause a lil gory riot ain't nothing to it
Gangsta rap made me do it
If you end up on the early bird story
Ain't nothing to it gangsta rap made me do it

Uh sitting on the last verse
I said **** the curse
Broke out the French Cognac
Reminiscin' about the dayz
Of wayback
**** i miss that boy Eazy believe
Me money is the root to all sorts
Of evil
Ask them.nigguhs sittin' ina cathedral
They say im wrong but im right
If ya black they look at you funny
But white girls undercover
Are curious "snow bunnies"


So if i make ya upset ain't nothin' to it
Gangsta rap made me do it
So if i talk a lil **** aint nothin
To it gangsta rap made me do it
If i **** yo ***** ain't nothin' to it
Gangsta rap made me do it
mark john junor Sep 2013
the long day
has given itself into evening
she and i lay in eachother's arms
beneath the traces of stars
watching the lights  of passing ships in the sea
listen to the waves rock our skiff
taste the salt air in our every sense
and slowly the rest of the worlds  fades from view
to just us
as our soft talking drifts through the hours
she caresses my arm and laughs
i breath her hair and all the scents  of her womanhood
and  i feel like i could break with all the love i feel inside of me for her
like a window to all the hopes and dreams i ever had
telescopes into one moment

any moment she and her hippie girlfriends are gonna
roll in with sandwich's and green tea
for the hungry masses
and smiling they will pass the time talking
and laughin with young voices
and my neighbor catches them in watercolor
a bright flowing device and masterpiece
his old fingers dart over the canvas
and you can feel the sunlight in his images
you can hear the sweet laughter

we wander long the back street
with the open air market
they are callin out in happy voices
in the strong trade winds
and don't cha know that its so easy to forget all your troubles
and leave the whole world behind
here in the ocean breeze
here under a tropical moon
they all end up sleeping in a pile on the bed
i slept there too
one hippie chick is living on a carnival ride with lifetime
supply of cotton candy
a couple of hippie chicks
is nothing short of
well....everything you could have ever wanted
rolled up on your bed a tangle of dreadlocks arms and legs
Dougie Simps Sep 2013
AYE,
I’m about to take ya back in time
A heartless little boy with a beautiful mind
A diamond in the rough, society been trying to find
Gives his mama a hard time but she the reason why he grind
Never worries about stress…PSH, sorry for lying
A place in action, they all constantly ask him, “Why you write with so much vigor? So much passion?”
Try to unmask him, but he locked like Rikers
He’s not selfish with his thoughts
He’s just a silent writer.  
Who puts his words on the line, but writes like he’s fine…
If simplicity is a crime
Put him down for a lifetime
Talking sunsets, no regrets, kinda mindset
Can look at a beautiful woman and not only think ***, weight on his shoulders but heart beat works the pecks
Yearning for future earnings
Drive to be New York Cities next
Even at best, puts everything into one quest…gives everything his all and not an EFFORT…less (haha)
He’s use to the people just sleeping on him. DEAR GOD! The lord just beating on him
Cause he aint went to church in…lord who knows?
He just sips for the highs and makes music on the low,
Red light, Green light, Dougie, it’s time to go!
Ya seconds to fame started about an hour ago
You need to cut the bad habits if you want ya flower to grow,
Stay humble in your journey, that’s good for your soul,
Ya never too old to make a new goal, just remember life if a highway and we all gotta pay the toll.
Spreading love with each verse, even if haters start to curse
Cause they best efforts can’t compete with you at your worst,
No reason for bragging, in they face laughin…use they words as motivation, hard work is everlasting (echo out)
LEAVE THE WHOLE WORLD, "WHEN'S HE COMING BACK?" THEY KEEP ASKING! (EXPLOSION EXIT)**
-Dougie Simps #LostLoveWriter
OLD Kanye beat
Dylan May 2015
Won't you take my saddle off, and rest it on my grave?
Won't you take my saddle off, and rest it on my grave?
'Cause if you take my saddle off, and rest it on my grave,
we can walk down the street goin' our own way.

Don't you leave me lonesome 'round these parts no more.
Don't you leave me lonesome 'round these parts no more.
'Cause if you leave me lonesome 'round these parts once more
I'm lacing up my shoes and I'm runnin' out the door.

I love to see you laughin' in the morning light.
I love to see you laughin' in the morning light.
'Cause when I see you laughin' in the morning light,
I forget all my problems and I think feel alright.

Won't you stop playin' these games with my head.
Won't you stop playin' these games with my head.
'Cause if you stop playin' these games with my head,
I'll sweep you off your feet and I'll carry you to bed.
L B Dec 2016
The Holy Family?
In a box
with the angels upstairs

Shepherds?
In search of their sheep
lost in newspaper

Somehow I sit on a bag...
     of glass Christmas *****
“Must get my vacuum!”
That dead animal, coated by dust
and buried in laundry--
has tangled itself in its own cord
and tumbled headlong to the basement

Crooked photos of daughters
watch me...
smiling (Can it be?)
from a hundred miles and years away?
Waiting for me to make
that miracle again--
What moms do at Christmas

Phone rings
    “Jing-a-ling, are ya listening?”
     It's the bill collector's recorded
     “This is inexcusable!” message
      Charities are legion
      I say, “There is a line”

Later--
seen only by the peaceful stars...
the donkey of Bethlehem
stumbles in-- laden with groceries
dumping them on the bed/couch
...and back outside for the next load
...and back to the bed again
Why bother making it?
Not as if the cat cares
He likes his blankets niched and lumpy
Not as if some modern home magazine's
planning a photo-shoot!

The mailbox, meanwhile
is preggers  with glossy catalogues
...and bills...and
“Wouldn't your whole family enjoy a sunroom?”

Dropping the bags
searching for a light
turning up the heat--
     gas bill
     sewer bill
     “Tis the season for a new Toyota!”
I try to understand the point
of a Christmas card with printed signature
Can I stuff myself in with the recycling?

Then, back outside for the single-woman drama
     “Hauling in the Tree”
Storm door catches the hem of my coat
Pine needles, leaves, snow and mud
mark the end of the trail

On my belly twisting screws
       “Son-of-a-******* tree stand!”
Knocking my daughter's picture off the wall
       “Serves 'er right fer laughin!”
**** thing's crooked and dripping
with melted snow

It's 8:30 PM

The cat is hungry and crying
I hit the bottom-- and the button
for the background of a human voice
Three naked chickens are waiting on the counter

At some point, I will take off my coat...

Right now--
I drink a beer while standing

To get a better view....
I'm sure there are more than a few parents among us poets, trying to make the holidays merry and memorable for their families despite the ongoing demands of work, loneliness, loss and the season swirling around us.  It can be pretty hectic.  Some will struggle more than others.  This poem is for them.
Ryan Jakes May 2014
Dog lies baskin'
music blastin'
barbecue cookin'
beer chillin'
friends laughin'
kids playin'
Sitting on my sweet ***
procrastinatin'
no scarf, no coat
no socks, no shoes
These are the cures for the summertime blues.
Party at mine BYOB :-)
Carla Marie Jan 2012
Just wonderin’… if surrounded… as you are… by the ramblins… of visitors… and the offerins… of hangers-on… and the jokes… of the wanna-be-funny… and the excitement… of your beloved basketball… and the rowdy…  of your down-and-***** football… even tennis… when it’s Venus… and her earthy growls…  and ya girl Serena… with her thigh-strainin’ swing… hell… even hockey… if that’s all there is... playin’ in the background… mixin’ just fine… with children laughin'… and he still flirtin’… after all these years… talkin’ a little *****… after all this water… under the bridge… makin’ you smile… coaxin’ you to…  hang in there baby… to take…  just one more bite… to take…  just one more sip… to smile…  just one more time… I’m just wonderin’… how are you gonna do… when they put you in that place… for sick people… with no loud children… no beloved husband… no bad jokes… no fried chicken in the air… no sports commentators… no big band drums… no somebody screamin’ TOUCHDOWN… for you to… if only for a few precious minutes… wake up to… how are you gonna do…in all of that silence…?
mark john junor Mar 2014
mook was a strange old fella
could blown him over with a breeze
thin as a train track rail and just as rusted
he drank hard but his heart was soft
never had nothing but a kind word
always gave a helping hand

mook was down by the old platte river
fishing with an old line
lazing in the hot summer sun
when lucy happened upon him
now lucy was a fast talking girl
loose with her wares and cared not for a single soul
good lord never carved something as cold
as that woman's heart
mook wasn't no rich fella mind ya
but he always managed to keep his pocket full
and lucy laid into that poorboy with a vengeance
laid him low from behind
never saw it comin

lament the poorboy gone to rest
gathered like spoilt wheat before his time
can almost see him with his old
rucksack and a bottle of wine
laughin like the sun
dancing on summer lake
dancing like you was truly free
his was a time of life to see
always put a feast to the table
even if it was pork-n-beans an sour dough
never let a man go hungry at his table
lament the poor boy now he's gone

fool lucy went into town to the ***** house
laid about with cursing and braggarting her dark deed
she laid him down low with her cold hand
shes laid up in the old jail now
theres nothing to be learnt from this sad affair
nothing good ever comes  from dark deeds
but at least 'ole son is resting easy now
walking up the river road with his rucksack and bottle of wine
smiling like the sun
and holding love in his heart for everyone
(for "mcdonald's mark"...an old friend from miles past who is in a better place)
Dante Nov 2011
I got a
      Crackhouse of mind
I got a
      square root of thyme
I gotta
      Trebek of head
I think my
      girlfriend is dead
I'm goin to
      find somethin free
Goin on a
      job hunt for me

Lookin for a
       Square peace of mind
Lookin for a
        high point in time
Thinkin ill go and
       drive to the beach
come here and
       extend your reach

I'm here to
     cut off some head
           fill a man with lead
     free up the joint
get to the point
     find a place with no disgrace
     then walk until i bleed

I don't got no gloves on
I appear to've lost my brain
      Got a flag on my arm
      Lookin for some men to disarm
Flick a fat double chin
Find a real quiet place to sin
      learn to play the guitar
      watch myself i'm goin far
Gonna sing about my work
Make a joke, and circle ****
         Make it last &
         make 'em cry
    Slice some apple pie
Goin to call Americana
        Scare the **** out of yer mamma
I hate what is here
Love to flash on the fear
Like to sing about the void
      stab the hearts outta little boys
Feel a fine sharp sensation
Beatin fuel out of the nation
       Light the embers of my fire
       Dodge the wind of my desire
And the bubbling flesh
Screams the songs of wit & death
       And if i die before i wake
       I pray the world my soul to fake

Shatter my brain cells
       lost in a fog
I've got to keep scarin'
      Wave a flashlight at a dog
Write down words too wicked fine
      I will be laughin' all the time
Just to make my day worthwhile
      While i keep it all on file
In company & crest we
     Stare at my blooded hairy chest
Where i inject my mescaline
      'til i look so ****** thin
Gonna reach into my ribcage
       Drive a car into the roadrage
Pour your blood into a fountain
       Make it mean all love's a mountain
                                                                  top
of
               One handed work for you to
                        look to the skies and smirk
I got to seizure on this table
             get down and write my wicked fable
          I can't can't write what I'm thinkin
                         less i break the law or start drinkin
I will tell you my emotions
Eat the acid
drink a potion
              I'll hold a candle to my name
              Push my ******* in the flames
Make you watch til i cry
Paintin glass onto my thighs
I'm a mad red eye patch
i got a bag of **** to match
I've got a match and cigarettes
I got a knife take it to the pets
Who can smash & love & cry
Take a blender make it mine
til I bleed on the gloves i received
               Tattoo a notebook on my life
Find a witness make a wife
               View the world through
Dark colored goggles So I can
               fight over anorexic models
Spend the nights in british flats
                makin sweet love for you cats
Hunt the vampires all day
                 So I can waste my life away
I got a ****** up state of mind
                in this quiet garden of mine
     where i just
plant weeds and smoke
& call all this life a joke
          til i waste away completely
or I could dig a hole discretely
          I could make coffee or tea
& wonder what this means to me
                            Who cares if there's blood on the table
                            Engraved with horseshit from the stable
And I'm gonna find a way to end
this wicked fable for the trend
                                                      **** a poem for the prose
the end of all this
                                                   the beholder shows us
                                                          the patterns on the wall
Judy Ponceby Nov 2011
I was 'bout a haf mile down Shadow Holler, lookin' for my dog Jack.  I rounded the bend long the river and thar he sat just lookin' up at the moon that was back dropped behind him.  I was so entranced I stood stockstill in the chill evening air.  He raised his head and let out with that beautiful soulful baying only a huntin' dog can make.
Then he took off tearing through the woods like his tail was on fire.

Well, I commenced chasin' ol' Jack down, but I swear evra tree in that holler was out to get me.
My clothes, they was ripped up and my feet were on fire from being torn by briars and such.
I finally, upped and caught up to Jack.  He was pacing the bottom of a Sycamore that was glowing white in the moonlight.  I heard some cacklin' up in that tree and I looked up to see a sight that I nev'r saw afore.  They was a **** up in there just grinnin' down at Jack like he was playing with him.  Now Jack was in a right tizzy over that ****.  He leaped up the side of the tree as high as he could, barking treed as though his life depended on it.  That **** was doing a bit of glowing in the moonlight itself.  I'd never seen a Cinnamon colored **** before, but thar 'e was, bigger 'an life.  And while it was grinnin' it was busy collecting some twigs.  Next thing ya know it was chattering to beat the band and throwin' sticks at ol' Jack.  Well, I can tell you, Jack didn't appreciate the humor in this sitcheation.  He backed up and made a leap so high I thought shore he was gonna take flight, but he got nothin' for his trouble but a whack in the head as he collided with a big ol' twig thrown by that ****.  

Thinkin' that Jack had had about enuf I tried coaxing him home, but he was havin' nothing to do with it.  So, I told Jack I was heading home and he could come if he had a mind to, but I wasn't staying out in the woods all night while he made an *** of himself over a **** that was makin' fun of him.  I started off and then heard a loud yelp.  All of a sudden Jack came blastin' past me, and not far behind was that old Cinnamon **** giving it all he was worth.  Well, as he was headin' towards home I followed along.  Just at the mouth of Shadow Holler, and not to fer from home I found ol' Jack.  He was up a low slung tree whimperin' like a puppy.  That **** was pacing the trunk, back ****** up, teeth bared and laughin' out the side of its mouth.  As I walked up on this pathetic scene, ol' Jack took one look at me and started crying fer help.  Well, I took pity on the poor fella and walked up on that **** with a right big stick.  And right afore my eyes it just faded into nothin'.  Scared the bejeebers outta me!

Took me an hour to coax ol' Jack outta that tree.  And then I couldn't keep up with him once he headed towards our cabin.  At home I told Pa all about our lil adventure, and he bout whooped me fer even goin' into Shadow Holler.  He said, "Son, I tole you to stay outta that holla.  They's ghosts and spooks down in thar.  Old Lady Jalson disappeared never to be seen again until the Smith boys saw her wanderin' a trail down there.  On'y problem is they cud see through 'er.  They's all sorts of stories 'bout shadows roaming free and playin' tricks an' worse on folks."  

Well I never seen my Pa so scairt as when he was tellin' me that, so now I just keep away from that holler.  And, ya know what?  I ain't never seen ol' Jack even turn in that direction since that night.  Musta learned himself somethin'.
This is what comes of visiting my family in very Southern Ohio... :) And I did actually see a taxidermied cinnamon raccoon at a person's house once.  It was kinda eerie.  Did pass a sign to Shadow Holler while I was down there too. :)
jeffrey robin Nov 2010
love come easy

easy as the laughin child

laughs

--

love come pure

pure as the lovely child

loves
--

we are so afraid
of the moment when

eye to eye

love come

and love come easy
so easy

--

love dont need you

you just here

love is power

love gives you life

love come easy
easy easy

we buy
we sell eachother

we dont come easy and love is gone

--

love come easy

easy as the laughin child

walks thru the Park

and all the children come together
Michael Jun 2021
I just hate bein a goomba, if you couldn't tell.
I get stepped on all the time and hit by koopa shells!
Bowser's always yellin at me and telling me to go,
but he can't even stop that Super Mario!

King Koopa's laughin high up in his tower,
as he's pointin down at me.
Here they come with Fire Power!
Super Mario and Luigi!

I could'a been a man eater,
or even a koopa troopa.
Might'a  been a bottom sea feeder.
I just hate bein a goomba.
JMo Jul 2013
hugs
life  
love  
new  
true  
moment  
open  
step  
just  
hop­e  
god  
like  
breath  
friendship  
wait  
forever  
complete ­ 
day  
time  
dream  
chooses  
music  
dance  
far  
way  
danc­ing  
ok  
oh  
experiences  
end  
met  
heart  
world  
picture­  
know  
dreams  
truth  
friends  
lets  
understand  
making  ­
beginning  
leaders  
ya  
thought  
blah  
friend  
story  
loo­k  
haha  
page  
passion  
sitting  
everyday  
came  
establish­ed  
remember  
real  
work  
great  
noise  
understanding  
hea­r  
make  
brings  
arises  
walk  
flow  
value  
saw  
comfort ­ 
taken  
stepped  
near  
inside  
hello  
song  
experienced  
­living  
brought  
away  
number  
meet  
crowd  
hey  
sorry  
w­aiting  
jesus  
alive  
searching  
oops  
strength  
body  
wro­ng  
right  
people  
honest  
difference  
limits  
sit  
taking­  
treasure  
discovering  
absolute  
desire  
extreme  
browsin­g  
begins  
normal  
untold  
minds  
alike  
center  
spring  
­release  
service  
closer  
fame  
rough  
movements  
cluster  ­
unfinished  
jump  
prevails  
finish  
improvising  
provide  
­capture  
active  
adore  
exchanged  
amazing  
traveling  
thin­ks  
racing  
cool  
embracing  
crackle  
subdued  
listening  
­pop  
crumble  
bells  
everlasting  
movement  
lying  
limited ­ 
giggle  
beginnings  
boundaries  
character  
unlike  
silence­  
finding  
reverie  
pulse  
laughin  
gonna  
direction  
reck­less  
finished  
wider  
umm  
conformity   
discoveries  
resid­e  
repetitive  
maintained  
whoa  
boredom  
ultimately  
trans­ition  
hi  
completed  
major  
scrambled  
recent  
winners  
c­ompletes  
differences  
plows  
responded  
10  
gtg  
say---  
­yesterdaysinging  
foreverpraising  
todaydrawing  
bang-crunch-b­reak  
arm  
symphony--  
quack  
exiting  
complimenting  
uniqu­ely  
c'mon  
any'  
--  
move--  
lyricality  
ugh  
anxious  
s­tops  
creator  
understood  
creative  
encourage  
rhyme  
chat­ter  
guard  
talents  
wow  
reaching  
thousands  
celebrate  
­cramped  
perfectly  
mess  
group  
stanzas  
symphony  
doubts ­ 
epic  
hehe  
pursues  
stepping  
await  
expecting  
spaces  ­
anxiously  
revealing  
profits  
conversations  
react  
postur­e  
challenges  
counts  
ambition  
comments  
forevermore  
dis­covery  
action  
sky  
change  
emotions  
pure  
instant  
feel­ings  
laugh  
grabbed  
try  
years  
pray  
start  
family  
di­minishes  
surely  
different  
continue  
truly  
warning  
old ­ 
having  
memories  
smooth  
fails  
minute  
hearts  
breeze  ­
standing  
miss  
broken  
wondering  
wave  
expressions  
futu­re  
shadows  
learning  
joy  
able  
leave  
beautiful  
starin­g  
really  
hold  
forgot  
watch  
live  
ready  
whats  
arms ­ 
battle  
mouth  
breathing  
got  
light  
conversation  
maybe­  
minutes  
moments  
fun  
want  
set  
faithful  
say  
thank ­ 
reading  
night  
anxiety  
good  
dark  
course  
need  
choic­es  
drink  
room  
stand  
poem  
written  
push  
peace  
white­  
apart  
wide  
notes  
awareness  
clean  
steps  
countless  ­
purpose  
aside  
cherish  
ears  
sleeps  
beating  
hour  
mee­ting  
expression  
gives  
draw  
soon  
lil  
travel  
roll  
s­tarted  
connected  
common  
acknowledge   
wants  
spoke  
triu­mph  
board  
sung  
secure  
agree  
relief  
quiet  
known  
so­ught  
lovely  
boom  
month  
sing  
ending  
order  
hidden    ­
embrace  
wealth  
lives  
placed  
running  
looking  
precious­  
shared  
figure  
endless  
loved 
walking  
furniture  
stop ­ 
ahead  
glory  
yes  
ring  
wind  
special  
free  
daily  
op­ening  
drawn  
security  
loving  
finds  
second  
stairs  
cor­ner  
blast  
fully  
moving  
tree  
flows  
wonder  
early
hugs­
mark john junor Aug 2014
brokenhearted
but still you took
this rusty nail you call a heart
and slammed into my head

you said you would be a friend to my darkness
you said you would break bread with my rage
so heart beating faster
sweat breaking on brow
still your silent
still your liars book remains unburnt
still your liars house has life
while the twin razors of your eyes stare at me out
of my history
and out of my pain sweet pain
now when you finally did speak
you poured gasoline on my heads fire
and then you ran laughin

it wont be enough to watch a pack
of wild dogs pick your bones clean
their fur matted with your stain
it wont be enough to burn your house to the ground
i'm gonna break its bones in my teeth
i'm gonna eat your world whole
can you feel my teeth on your mind
i'm eating you alive from the inside of your skull

brokenhearted this rusty nail you call
a heart is covered in my innocent blood
your filthy lies dance laughing in my eye
my ***** burn to see your house destroyed
to see your filthy book burn

this rusty nail you call a heart
i'm gonna drive it like a jackhammer into your love
like gods eyes on the hand on the wicked
i'm gonna eat your world whole
break its bones with my teeth
with my darkness
with my rage
("gods teeth" is a curse from the elizabethan era)
Tom Gunn Jul 2012
You pass the flume. You pass the time.
Waiting in line, Reading signs by flickering light
Cozy and vaguely threatening
You may get wet!
A clatter, screams,
a flash out of the corner of your eye
like southern lightning (with no big thunder) down into the bottomless abyss.

Based on a movie (not available in the gift shop)-- a retelling by whites
of a story written down by whites
told by black
slaves born South

You're a brare, like Rabbit
Prey to Brare Fox
Under the darkness you pass under dim lights that take you back to a time that was, but never way,
Logs that were never trees
Moving through the canal like a slave, sluicing through the swirling sluice
Prettygoodsureasyerborn Prettygoodsureasyerborn

No interaction here in the dark outside-inside
Nobody borne dry, bone dry, unbloodied
By water or unclaimed by the canal full of logs which were never trees
Moving like a slave on display for white birds who, smiling blinking singing, extend
their white wings to show you off to their cartoon friends—a conversation
which you can never be in on
though they look at you.

And then you dip into dark and doom
Quivering rabbit children cower
--clatter, flash, scream--
You begin to suspect your time is coming
And your log, now defying gravity, leaves you without doubt

So, you're trying to find your lauighin place. If only you could. We've
got your laughin place right here.

The mouth opens wide for you
A mouth with briar teeth
A flash like southern lightning
And big thunder fills your ears

Zippadee-do-dah, Zippadee-ay
Your pain will stick to you like wet clothes as you float, swim in the clear swirls
and back into the dark where there's light and singing alligators.
Zippadee-do-dah, Zippadee-ay
They look at you with mechanically blinking eyes
that cannot see you, another guest—another stand-in
for Braer Rabbit, a character who looks nothing like you but who sings
for you and speaks for you.
Zippadee-do-dah, Zippadee-ay
His voice is high and cloying with a Huck Finn twang and a Shirley Temple cry.
He's relaxing at home and you are wet and he is warm in home's golden light.
Yet he speaks for you, sings for you, but he does not see you.
A cast member made of person who has no lines to speak will pull you from your log.
You will laugh as puddles form at your feet and as you find your
photo—your moment of unbridled, child's
horror now passed, past

You'll pass the flume on your way home—clatter, flash, scream--
You're dripping, drying, the salt of the day now washed away
But there's brine in your sensible shoes, squishing between your insensible toes
And making your feet heavy as you leave.
Braer Rabbit is home and cares not for your troubles.
Zippadee-do-dah, Zippadee-Ay
Magic words, shrill, laughing tragic words
You will remember when you look at your souvenir photo
And smile.
This is part of a cycle in progress of poems inspired by Disneyland.
Axiomighty Nov 2013
I'm a poet full time
I serve these sentences; they're my bloodlines
These killer rhymes got me behind iron bars
It's ironic because these bars save me from myself, rub' em together and get a spark
My self-expression serves as an anecdote to it's opposite act
Harm can't touch me when I don't react
I'm not playing, when I'm on fire like this you better take a picture, and frame
Because my ingenuity could snap, and fall short of fame
This prison jumpsuit is plane
And I'm about to jump out, in fact
I feel like I'm fallin', with no aim
But, I'm really flying, posing for headshots; I can’t be shot down because they’ll always underestimate their window of time as I escalate to higher panes
It's all perspective; everything ends up dyeing somehow
But why describe a story by its finish with the multi-personality mayhem
When you could define it by the ******, elevating like hemp, laughin, but they’ll know I’m not kidding at the end
'Sept I'm just sprouting up like its may
ahem listen up because this is just the beginning, elementary, first day
And I'm already spittin like I should be exspelled,
Kicked out, never schooled, hell
Just take over the game like I got a monopoly held hostage
Got Scotian Power, I'm overcharged and tired of these sellouts ******* the page
This ainte a hoes stage
By *** I mean any tool who never dag
Never worked and got their hands ***** for little pay
So step aside, or a circle, surround me like sharks
Try and tare me apart, and I'll just write about it
That’s art, you'll self destruct in your jealous rage
You're baked if you think you're stopping me, when you were born they said, "this pie sees"
*****, I'm a Pisces, this is my age
Too late to stop, already took out the cleaver and pulled up my sleeves
******' getting my peace
And don't be shocked by my curse words please
There's a reason my poetic heart monitor goes beep, beep, beep
Because to peak, I have to express these things
It's called my life line for a reason, I use it when I need the audience to know
That I'm going to deep
To the microscopic level
So you can see the demons that keep this ***** beating
And you'll know I flat lined
When I leave something unsaid
Because I don't shoot blanks until I've done my time
That is why I never make the last sentence rhyme
Because I won't stop writing until I die
So, as long my poem ends like this, you'll know I haven't yet served my life sentence.
mark john junor Feb 2014
her car was painted neon green
had stickers from places she been
and places she dreamed of
the backseat was a bookshelf
and laundry hamper
James Dean has been sighted back there
on nights when she was running the back roads
at a hundred and cup of coffee in her hand
speed talking over the radio playing too loud
you can hear them laughin miles away
shes got a neon green little car
filled with a world of sunshines
filled with a universe of wonders
and a few McDonalds wrappers
few over due books
and a cat named Steve
been up and down the I-95 corridor
living off the beach Hollywood Florida
chilli cheese dogs and coke
and they share the world with the smiles
she has a little neon green car
you don't need much when you already got everything
Bartholomew Aug 2018
When I look at you I see more than beauty, more than elegance
I look deep into your eyes and picture your right element
You heaven sent,
With all the stress you get,
in ya life though it made you, it should be irrelevant
Cuz as pretty as you are, you don't deserve tears you deserve me tryna pleasure it
“It” as in you, though you are not an object
You are a diamond in the rough, a treasure with no measure, I'm tryna show u your worth and to them haters I object
But when you catch me starring you think I'm nasty
but really I think you a Mona Lisa, a masterpiece
And even if my thoughts are ***** I ain't too proud to beg so I'm asking, please!
Please know ya worth, know what you deserve, know that I know what you are
You’re perfect in every way, in every sense I make a wish cuz I see a shooting star
I see u laughin with me
I see unforgettable memories and me I'm happy to see........
That when I look at you theres a slight chance that you’re happy with me
Inspiration/ Dedication:

To Sonja; wherever you are.
ceara Jan 2011
The story of you is a picture to my ears
of you being a bit of a pup,
wearing headphones to mass,
driving the same priest mad
who later showed you how to play a bodhran in an empty church.

Imagine the happening of it
of you, standing in an empty field
looking at a well, wondering hard
how the water got to be there
or your eyes circling wider
in memory of seeing
and touching girls yonis for the first time
                              
you'd say “Ah Mam,
I don't want to go to Greaney's for shoes”
was Mr Greaney's dark and cold
with shelves packed thick with damp boxes,
white labels marking styles and sizes,
N for navy, B for brown, brogues, sensible,
that would have all the boys in school laughin at ya,
your ma pressin ******* the toes
to make sure you've a bit of room to grow into?

you talked to me late at night,
of young ones and of passing the seed.
any suggestions to the lay out of this poem will be gratefully received, its driving me mad !!
jeffrey robin Nov 2014
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                                                              ­                       unicorn
                    000000
                  
so there we was

ME AND MY GIRL !

when her old boy friend
( a big ole biker dude ! )

Comes from NY for a visit

••

So the 3 of us is walkin  from the bus stop
And he says

SO HOW YOU 2 GETTIN ON ?
And I say

WHY / DO YA WANT HER BACK ?

And he says

NO ! NO ! SHES YOURS !!!

And I says

PLEASE ! PLEASE ! TAKE HER BACK !

and he falls down bangin his fists on the sidewalk
Screaming

YOU CANT MAKE ME ! YOU CANT MAKE ME !

And the girl turnin redder n a beet

And we keepin it up

But soon she too is laughin

And we're all laughin and screaming

And becoming the best of friends

And it's 40 years ago that was

And we've all gone our ways

But in our minds still

The best ( the VERY BEST ! ) of friends

Who still love each other fully and sincerely

///

And that's what I think of all this jealousy crap
Gemma Nov 2010
i stepped on toasty autumn leaves
following shadows of honey bees

while test tubes filled up with rain
i counted the miles between us again

you washed your hair in peanut butter blues
licked raspberry jelly off the top of my shoes

laughin your way up until
i drank the breeze through the window sill

i did all i wished with our time
in bed and out of line

our story began in a sunday dream
while i did my laundry
Bardo Oct 2019
Awash with ***** I peed all over me
   shoes
Well Storm me if I ain't a bad sea
   Captain
I'd had a ton of *** and a whole
   barrel of porter
Now the landlord he's shouting "Last
   Orders"
So where's me Crew, me Swabs, me
   Hearties ?
Yea! where's me Aces and me Deucies
.......Nowhere to be seen, not a one,
Just a pack of feckin' Jokers,
Find me the Fox and show me the
   Shirkers!!!

I'd drunk too much that's what I'd
   done
Well tie me to the mast and chastise    
  me severely for such unseemly
     behaviour
All I wanted, just some fair company, to be lavished by a couple of lovelies
But No! they wouldn't have it,
   wouldn't entertain me
Snobs! Stuck up cows!! *******!!!
We nearly had a Barney
I'd rather wet me ***** in a Jar of
   cold Jellies.

Standing there outside in the cold
   night air
Trying to get me bearings, yea! trying
   to take a reading
Me Northern Star, he must have
   fecked off to the Northern Bar
And my compass, he's whirling
   around like a Dervish,
Well ***** me sausage in a jar of
   malt vinegar
We're sailing blind tonight me boys
Keep a sharp lookout atop of the
   Crow's Nest won't ya!

And so, we ventured out, a brave man
With ***** as big as the bold Hercules
   himself
A wee bit tentative at first I'd concede
Lurching about from side to side, all
   over the place
But not to worry, with me there at the
   helm, both hands on the wheel
Solid and salty as any old sea dog
Singing away to meself a wee shanty
" I'm no landlubber me!
  Just give me the dark and the rolling
    sea"
Steady as she goes me Hearties!
I thought we was doin' alright till one
   of my feet
It trod in a space with nothing there
   in it
And my Ship it goes tumbling
   sideways over
Hell's britches!!! I'd trod in a pothole
   the size of a manhole
"Man the lifeboats Lads, we're going
   over" I cried.

Next thing I know I'm lying on my
   back
And the Moon she's blowin' me kisses
And at the end of the Bar, there! me
   Northern Star
And Him smokin' a cigar and sippin'
   Brandy with some *******
Looking like a Dandy at Christmas
"Hey Judas!" I shouts over, "where's
   me monkey?"

And then suddenly, this woman, this
   woman out of nowhere
Out of the darkness, this Spectre
An old Sea Witch for sure, by thunder
She starts bawling laughing at me and
   pointing her crooked finger,
Well dent me dagger on a cold
   woman's heart
If she doesn't cut the legs right out
   from under me
Every time she opens her big Gob, the
   squeals of her
Makes me feel two feet tall she does
   with her cruel laughin' & sneery
       banter
And her drawin' a big crowd around
   her
(And me! a Giant!!.... a feckin' Whale, a
   Walrus!!).

Well lash me Luger and wake me up
   with a poker
I wasn't wobbling, that was just me
   swagger,
And I ain't lying down here no longer
   either
Heave ** the ropes me lads and haul
   me up me Hearties
Till I stand once more at a proper
   angle,
Yea! Hoist me up like a mast and watch me sails billow again in the
   breeze
Watch me belly bulge out and me eyes
   roll around in me head
Now we're back afloat, buckle up me
   sword on me belt
And roll out me cannons
For the name of this ship, if it isn't the
   Great, the "Great Defiant ",
By the two Horns on Hell's Gate
What am I doing here at all in this
   place, with ye folk
I'll wave me ***** at this world, yea! I'll dangle me dibbler
Did ye not hear, did no one tell ye
I'm off yea! I'm off to Australia.

                       II

For Sweet Destiny, she visited me this
   night, she kissed me
She came like a gypsy when I was a bit
   tipsy
So exotic with all her bangles and
   beads and her charms
And dresses all the colours of the
   rainbow
With her big crystal ball eyes of grey
Like the Moon she mesmerized me
   completely
And then she kissed me with lips
   sweet as whiskey
And she whispered in my ear a magic
   word. " Australia ".

You see this was how it was
I read it some place,seen it somewhere
A sweet wee lass, a fellow girl poet
   from Australia
She said, she lamented " Poetry, it isn't
   very big over here
The people their not inclined, their not
   of that mind"
Said I aghast, I'll change their hearts
Their hardheaded folk, those folk
   down there
It must be the snakes and the spiders
   down the toilet
So hoist me up onto me pulpit
Them heathen folk they need
   convertin' badly.

O! Give me a Ship, give me a Galley
And like Columbus I'll start a big
   rumpus
We'll sail off over the horizon, and
   keep turning on the globe
Till we sight the shores of that Sweet
    Island
And that lovely Queen of the South
   reclining
Beautiful and wonderful Australia!!!

There's gold in their hearts even
   though they may not know it
And jewels in their eyes big as
   diamonds
Treasures by the thousand
So hoist up me trousers boys,
Me! I'm off to Sligo
Wait a minute, No! No I'm not,
I'm off.... off to Australia.

So gimme a wooden leg and hoist me
   parrot up onto me shoulder
Arrrr! Jim lad.....now where's me
   soldiers
Are ye with me lads
We'll plow through the sharky seas
Then I'll plant me flag on their
   beaches
And claim this Land for Posey.... yea!
   for Poetry,
And if they don't like it
If they string me up by the ***** and
   spit on me
Sure I'll just smile back at them and
   tell them
"I'm just..... I'm just Jim Dandy".

                       III

Alas! It wasn't to be, next morning
   they found me
Upended in someone's garden
The Sergeant he shook me, " What are
   you doing down there? " he said,
"Ahoy there shipmate Sir" says I, like a
   true shipwrecked sailor,
"I had me a dream last night,
I dreamt...I dreamt I were bound,
   bound for Australia.
A bit of fun for Halloween. Always been an ambition of mine to do a wild rip roaring Pirate poem. They have such wonderful free spirited colourful language and you can make up great sayings with great sounds. I think I read on the site here, an Australian writer actually said poetry wasn't all that big in Australia, so that gave me a story to hang this drunken pirate night on. By the way I don't drink like this, not anymore LoL, and I wouldn't advise anyone else to, it belongs to a bygone era now. Hope you enjoy and Have a Happy and safe Halloween! Me Hearties!
Jeremy Betts Sep 2022
The hardest battles fought are against the chaos found within the rubble of the broken.
Any continuation of this experimentation on the human condition hangs on the theory that an upcomin' breath will allow itself to be taken
Gift or not, presently present solely due to the repeat of a heart beat, reminded constantly it's never a given
Many a complication with said blood pumpin' mechanism ribcaged in, to many components either broken or straight missin'
Naturally raisin' an interesting question, does life support support life or allow it to get one last minute jab in
Seems it's a personalization and ******* of the punishment fitted for the crime of lyin' about livin'
Seein' right through the Facebook filter projection, doom sets in without the monitor screens protection
Actin' like spoiled, undisciplined children, often throwin' a tantrum cause we're all on the spectrum
All of us? Yes, everyone.
A nonsensical state of frantic desperation overrides conviction, dignity the next to leave the station
No thought put into what's bein' said even, flippantly askin' for more calendar pages to be added in on the back end
Wildly missin' the irony of spendin' life in line for the next death bed to open, prayin' the priest is well spoken
Choosin' then to allow the soulless prayers to begin, hopin' to pull the wool over the eyes of the creator of all creation
He's up there laughin' and judgin' from heaven, he ain't sendin' help because it's entertainment first, then maybe fit in a lesson
Feels like bein' held in a hostage like situation through a self inflicted condition with a loved ones permission
Ignorin' the DNR written up to eliminate confusion and limit any guessin' 'bout what the dead is thinkin'
Wishin' they'd let go, knowin' they won't though, love can make the right decision impossible to determine
It was always a bogus mission, there's never been no mention of direction much less any talks about a realistic destination
An unorthodoxed tug 'o war, doin' both the pushin' and pullin', can't recall witnessin' a win, I only recognize losin'
The matrix is glitchin', the vale finally lifted as nightmares come to fruition, crowdin' an already distorted vision
Depraved of nutrition, lose sight of ones self in the fog of sleep deprivation
IT'S THE SLEEP THAT LETS THEN IN
In a never endin' hesitation, becomin' one with the comman background vegitation
A threat of slippin' into a comma is beginnin' to look like my very real and inevitable conclusion
The Illusion is crackin' and the illustration behind the fusade is to heavy for some to take in
And if I'm not mistaken it will only worsen for here and we're only here cause you took for granted what will now be taken
WHAT WHERE WE THINKIN'?

©2022
JVPC Sep 2010
you always made me beg for it
thought i was special when made me work for it
but now u spread your legs to the whole world
like them white wiggas and muthafuckin gayfishs
the fake *** muthafuckas hit it and quit it type riddas
buffalo wild wings muthafucka, laughin to the bank
cuz he hit the jackpot and went runnin from u, u *****
muthafuckin bros thought he was
but now i know that faulty is all it was
what the **** were u thinkin
choosin to ***** your friends ova
not thinkin bout nothin but yourself
whos gonna want u in the end
to think that "I"...
used to love you,
used to let u spend
used to hold your filthy hands
now i know it was just pretend
handed u stacks cuz i cared for you
made u dinners every night and i swore to you
that i would love you foreva
and now i'll let u know its my pleasure
to say ******* but now who u gonna run to
cuz in the end its only you
all by yourself...
so cliched but chillin with all your cats
is all that you'll ever have
and when i say cats
i really mean cats...meow *****
see when u called i came runnin
to make sure that you'd be okay
i see now its only a game u play
now that i know what i know
now i know your just another **
so bite your face off and slit your wrists
cuz the game of life is full of twists
u stupid *****, thought u were sav
i tried to give u the world to have
glad im not associated with u anymore
cuz to me now ur just a trifilin *****
I'm comin' home Maggie, fightin' no longer!
They're sendin' me home from that hell of a war.
I've given me best, now I'm done with the fightin'.
There's nothin' can take me away anymore.

It seems like forever that I've been a-travelin',
by air and by boat and by train and by car,
Me heart has been achin' to be here beside ye,
to see ye and kiss ye and hold ye once more.

'Twas once we went laughin' and once we went runnin',
up to the high hills, and down to the shore,
oh do ye remember, we used to go dancin'!
Everyone watched as we burned up the floor!

I'm home again, Maggie, home at last, Maggie!
Wi' only a stump where me leg was before,
I'm home again, Maggie, oh my sweet lassie,
Death's all that can take me-- I'll wander no more.
This is meant to be spoken with an Irish brogue. I welcome any help making it truer-- and is the revelation of his amputation too abrupt?
Copyright 2011 by Michael S. Simpson.  All rights reserved by the author.
Jonny Angel May 2015
Dem white egrets
sure are skittish,
dey fly wildly
away.
But nawt
dem blue herons,
dey gawt bigger *****,
stay fisin' right dare
along da shoreline.
You should hear
dem gulls
laughin' at
all of dem,
and dat risin' sun.
Kimberly Nov 2017
There's a spiritual realm and there's this physical plane...
In the the spiritual realm, I'm a super hero, but in the physical- I'm just plain Jane...
In the spiritual realm, I brandish huge, shiny weapons, but in the physical- I'm a homemaker, making sure that my daughter gets her school lessons...
While y'all are tucked in, snug as a bug at night- I'm on another level, fighting for dear life...
I know some of y'all are gigglin and laughin-and that's quite alright...
But you need to be aware, because we super heros...we save lives.
We see, feel, and know things that you don't even know exist
Cause bwai, if you knew what I knew? You would throw a major hissy fit!
By day, I'm Clarketta Kent...
But at night, I kick demonic *****- with an artistic bent.

#TrueStory
#WarriorPrincess
#KiCotheConqueror
Margaret J Brown Oct 2012
My day is pretty simple
Walk by the beach and whistle.
Read a book and listen to music.
Read some quotes on how to live it.

Lay on the grass and think
Of all that is unreal.
Dancing mice that wink.
And of laughing steel.

My drunken Munchkan friend.
Mumbles stories with a funny end.
Sings of good ol' days
Where the garden had its way.

But this only happened
When I was about ten.
And parents found me laughin'
Thinking of me around the bend.

But those were simple times.
Where I'd **** on limes.
To mess with my mother.
And punch my brother.

Now I work with the same mind.
As the one from a kid.
With color in wine
And grey as a mid.

But as long as I see.
The imaginary bees.
Life would be good.
Life will be good.
ekaj revae Oct 2013
outer banks #1


down to the outer banks
where the water
and the dunes
reflect the wild east coast

we had to drive
to where its not commercialized
where the sand is actually
really occupied

ya gotta a dig a hole burn some coal
just to even eat a fish
grab a spear for a crab where the
shallow waters clear

ya gotta go, you gotta roll where
the old wind blow
ya gotta go, you gotta roll where
the old wind blow

watch your back girl
butter flies flyin outta your skirt
fly off the waves like dirt

were hidden out in the sand dune land
protected from patrol
by mountain sand

while the elders passed a joint
laughin, not carin and
so i soak it in
soak soak soak it in

cause you gotta roll, you gotta go
where the old wind blow

crabbin and a surfin
unknown land
im just campin out
and followin my dad

and camper dave
he's my other dad
we got the seafood
the surfers wish they had

so you gotta roll, you gotta go with the flow
where the ocean is remote
dont need no boat

its the best **** feeling
id ever had

cause ran around
the old wind blow


u gotta go where the old wind blow
so you gotta roll, you gotta go where
the old wind blow


you gotta gooo oh
where the old wind blow
Jon Tobias Nov 2011
Rhyme in my poetry is the kid in me

Having fun with the things

I’m supposed to take seriously

Since when was anything sacred anyway

I’ll let you watch me bathe

If that is the kind of naked game you wanna play

Like *** is sacred

I mean your body is no chapel

I’ll pick your shrapnel with my teeth

And yodel in the caverns of your canyon

Till your hips jive-talk my mouth a mountain

I mean you’ve got the youth-iest fountain

Woman

This is ***** talk

Why you laughin’?

No I don’t remember last time

I slipped myself the roofie

Didn’t think this’d happen unless I was loopy

Not that I’m a catch

Or that me getting you’s a stretch

Or that thing I asked you to do

Is really all that far-fetched

Just don’t ask me to take you seriously

Because like this ***** rhyme

And what we do on any given night’s a crime

And because when these clothes come off

You meet the kid in me

Who can’t take you

Or anything else all that seriously
First three lines donated by the amazing Toffer whom also asked me to make this poem rhyme. I love you my good sir. Read this fast.
mark john junor Feb 2014
his baby blue buick
and ten gallon cowboy hat
made him the lonesome rodeo star
of Nantucket beach
but it was when he would sit by
the Charles River and play his banjo
for all the kind folk walking in the
summer sunshine hand in hand
walking neath the sycamores
and laughin sweet and free
that boy really shone true and beautiful
his played that banjo like it was part of his soul
it played him like it was alive
together they made such a lonesome sweet sound
that'd chill the hardest heart
he would sing till the summer moon had run its
trail chased by the stars in innocent game
he sang of the girl who had stole his heart
gone to Vegas or some such to be a showgirl
and live the bright lights and cheers
he sang of his mamma who cried for her wayward boy
he sang for the pretty girls
sunning themselves there by the banks of the Charles River
sweet sweet songs carefree and lovin
as he should be
he's there still
if you listen real close to that gentle stirring sound
of the trees in summer breeze
you can hear him sing you a sweet song
just to see you smile

— The End —