Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Brody Blue Aug 2017
High on the mountain,
I’m all alone,
Sittin’ by the river,
Water splashin’ on the stones;
As mornin’ fills the valley
Where before, the night was hung,
I wake up from the wine
But the pines block-out the sun

And the rain ain’t pleasin’,
And the cold is on the ground,
And strung-out on the byways
All the highwaymen stand round;
And above the crooked timber,
All the whippoorwills fly blue,
And they sing a song so lonesome,
Can’t you hear it comin’ thru?

Or did you decide
That you’ve gone deaf and blind
And I’ve been on the job so long
Who knows if I’ll survive, you just sigh,
As I wonder why I keep on
Tryin’ to get to you;
it’s no use…

There at your window,
Leanin’ on the ledge,
Y’got ‘em tryin’ to beat the blade
With a nine-pound sledge;
Y’got ‘em workin’ on a building,
Ev’ry carpenter in town;
Well if I had it my way
I would tear that building down

But it won’t get done
All I could ever win’s been won;
And I’ve been on the job so long
Who knows if I’ll survive, you won’t cry,
But will you try, if I die
While tryin’ to get to you, to
Bury Me in Georgia
Next to you

After all that I’ve been had
You’d think that I’d go mad,
But my anticipation
Outweighs my lack of patience;
‘Cause I’ve been on the job so long
Who knows if I’ll survive, so
Bury Me in Georgia
Next to you
A song about peaches
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
© 2011 (by Jim Sularz)
(The true tale of Frank Eaton – “Pistol Pete”)

At the headwaters of the Red Woods branch,
near a gentle ***** on a dusty trail.
On an iron gate, at the Twin Mounds cemetery,
a bouquet of dry sunflowers flail.

In a grave, still stirs, is a father’s heart,
that beats now to avenge his death.
Six times, murdered by cold blooded killers,
six men branded for a son’s revenge ….

Rye whiskey and cards, they rode fast and hard,
the four Campseys and the Ferbers.
With malicious intent, they were all Hell bent
to commit a loving father’s ******.

When the gunsmoke had cleared, all their faces were seared,
in the bleeding soul of a grieving son.
Ain’t nothin’ worse, than a father’s curse,
to fill a boy with brimstone and Hell fire!

Young Eaton yearned and soon would learn,
the fine art of slinging lead.
Why, he could shoot the wings off a buzzin’ horsefly,
from twenty paces, lickety split!

Slightly crossed eyed, Frank had a hog-killin’ time,
at a Fort Gibson shootin’ match.
Upside down, straight-on and leanin’ backwards,
he out-shot every expert in pistol class.

By day’s end when the scores were tallied,
Frank meant to prove at that shootin’ meet.
That he would claim the name of the truest gun,
and they dubbed him - “Pistol Pete.”

In fact, Pistol Pete was half boy, half bloodhound,
a wild-cat with two 45’s strapped on.
In District Cooweescoowee - bar none,
he was the fastest shot around!

Pistol Pete knew his dreaded duty had now arrived,
to hunt down those who killed his Pa.
He vowed those varmints would never see,
a necktie party, a court of law.

Where a man is known by his buckskin totem,
in hallowed Cherokee land.
There, frontier justice and Native pride,
help deal a swift and heavy hand.

Pete was quick on the trail of a killer,
just south of Webber’s Falls.
Shannon Champsey was a cattle rustler,
a horse thief, and a scurvy dog!

Pete ponied up and held his shot,
to let Shannon first make a move.
The next time he’d blinked, would be Shannon’s last,
to Hell he’d make his home.

With snarlin’ teeth and spittin’ venom,
Pete struck fast like a rattlesnake.
Two bullets to the chest in rapid fire,
was Shannon’s last breath he’d partake.

Pete galloped away, hot on the next trail,
left Shannon there for a vulture's meal.
Notched his guns, below a moon chasing sun,
and one wound to his soul congealed.

There’s a saying out West, know by gunslingers best,
that’ll deep six you in a knotty pine casket.
One you should never forget, lest you end up stone dead,
“There’s always a man – just a shade faster.”

Doc Ferber was next to feel Pete’s hot lead,
“Fill your hand, you *******!”
With little remorse, Pete shot him clear off his horse,
left him gunned down in a shallow ditch.

After getting reports, Pete headed North,
to where John Ferber hunkered down.
A Missouri corner, in McDonald County,
filled with Bible thumpers in a sinner’s town.

Pete rode five hundred miles to shoot that snake,
with two notches, he welcomed a third.
He carried his cursed ball and chains,
to **** a man, he swore with words.

But John Ferber was plastered, and he didn’t quite master,
deuces wild, soiled doves and hard drinkin’.
Someone else would beat Pete, the day before they’d meet,
sending John slingin’ hash in Hell’s kitchen.

There’s a night rider without a father,
under a curse to settle a score.
In all, six murderous desperados,
Three men dead - now, three men more ….

Pistol Pete was now pushin’ seventeen,
just a young pup, but no tenderfoot.
With two men in the lead, he was quick on his steed,
to **** two brothers who killed his kin.

Pete rode up to their fence, with a friendly countenance,
spoke with Jonce Campsey, but asked for Jim.
“There’s a message from Doc, that you both need to hear,”
Pete readied his hands – both guns were cocked!

Pete continued in discourse, and got off his horse.
all the while in an act of pretense.
Jim came to the door and Pete read them the score,
and shot them both dead in self-defense.

With the help of the law, they verified Pete’s call,
then gathered any loot they found.
Laid Jim and Jonce out, in their rustic log house,
and burnt them both and the house to the ground.

Might have seemed kind of callous, but weren’t done in malice,
that those boys were burnt instead of swingin’.
They just sent them to Hell, sizzlin’ medium well,
besides, it “saved them a lot of diggin’.”

There was one man to go, he’d be the last to know,
that a hex is an awful thing.
That a young boy would grow, with a curse in tow,
to **** a man, was still a sin.

Pete garnered his will, with the best of his skills,
to take on the last of the Campsey brothers.
It would be three to one, Wiley and two paid guns,
Pete knew his odds were slim and he shuddered.

At nearly twenty-one, Pete knew he may have out-run,
his luck as the fastest gun.
This would be the ultimate test of his shootin’ finesse,
only a fool would stay to be outgunned.

But Pistol Pete weren’t no liver lilly,
and he loaded up his 45’s.
He rode into town with steely nerves,
maybe no one, would come out alive!

Pete knocked through that swingin’ bar-room door,
Wiley stood there with a possum eating grin.
He said, “Hey there kid, who the Hell are you?”
and Pete shouted, “Frank Eaton! You killed my kin!”

All four men drew quick, with guns a’ blazing,
Wiley got plugged first from two 45’s.
The bar-room crowd dispersed in a wild stampede,
everywhere, ricochetin’ slugs whizzed by!

When the shootin’ had stopped, there was just one man standin’
all four men got plugged, includin’ Pete.
But only a shot-up boy rode out of town that day,
and a Father’s curse, that played out complete –
was a bitter mistress to bury….

At the headwaters of the Red Woods Branch,
near a gentle ***** on a dusty trail.
On an iron gate, at the Twin Mounds cemetery,
a bouquet of morning glories flail.

In a grave, still deep, is a father’s heart,
that lays quiet in a peaceful sleep.
And six men dead, who now burn instead,
compliments of Pistol Pete!
This is another one of my Historical poems.   A true story about Frank Eaton, an eight year old, who witnessed the shooting death of his father.    Frank Eaton was encouraged to avenge his father's death and by the time he was 15 years old, he learned to handle a gun without equal in Oklahoma territory.   You can read about this man by obtaining a copy of his book  -  "Veteran of the Old West - Pistol Pete (1952).   Born in 1860, he lived to be nearly 98 years old.   My poem describes the events surrounding Pistol Pete hunting down the outlaws that killed his father.    I hope you enjoy the story.

Jim Sularz
Ken Pepiton Jun 2019
If peace were a state we all agree to imagine, a state
we
envision as uni-
versal in any song, peace, calm, flowing deep, state
of being
in any man, wombed or un,
in any family, any tribe, any deme of agreements unbreakable,
any hermit cell

any bubble of believing generating proper people to fit
tradition and mystery myths without

re-tying truth to may, the verb. That's vainity.  
Religion.
(re-ligamentation,
like muscle to bone wit sinyew,
same stuff strangs a bow, for a fiddle ora arrow,
y'know)
that's somethin' else.
Religion could mean read the instructions, too.
All together
----
stopping to live. slowing, not stopping. pre-stop.

whisper,
say, earth,
hey, earth,
can you hear you now?

---
the dictator dictated the dictionary,
he/she/we/me

learned to speak as spoken to, in the boss tongue.
Ma or pa,
or whosover was fustus wit d'mostus
taught the good ol' boys.

But wisdom saw a way. We've been woven in a story.
We are in the code. Ethos, Pathos, Logos.
Those old Greeks examined them some life, I'd say.

Language rules the iron fist's grip,
meaning empowers
laxation, re
loose
gut brain pain fraught fear of the iron fist crimping
the flow of solidity
punch in the gut

Knock thashitoff! Now, flush

in ifity, boo, be bop, I'm an ice cream cone,

like those alien ones, mebbe,
moving stones the weight of 737s,

my cones of power defy your hour of suffering patient
per fection of...

what, wait, allusion to "Let patience have her perfect work"
what is her perfect work?
Quote that San Francisco band. Oh. Did that. Love.

you ask. The reality I see, you say, no, I say, me.

I am patience, the feminine form, 's perfect work.
Patients must put up with me,
you see

----
fear is terror's weapon, am i right?

And it is written, the fear of the LORD (KJV)
yhwh, in the unsayable way, God's name, only name, eh

is why that started?
Old Job let out a yelp, hey, earth is great, but you have no idea
how this feels.
You know lots of stuff I don't know, but mortality is not one of em,
as far as I can tell.
How 'bout a referee betixt us?

Hey, sus, pect me a spectacle

of the great contro
verse un ifiable, unif, once possible now, nullift.

got it.
Every other direction known. Take a fearless, peaceful-
feeling
path past all that.
Peace, be unto  you, earth. For my part.
The examined life is worth the living. You are in this one with me,
a very important part, an object, an aim to see what

could be there, a like mind, washed ashore.
----

A.P.I. Art Pax Intel

act as if they are listening with interest, paying
actual
attention, add pieces
of life stuff

I am 71, my window is my horizon, or
better said,
my horizon is my window. I have mini-horizons,
i think
like this... chromebook attached at finger tips,
I can and may be making some counter wave that clears
the crypto frost from my window to your
realm.

Who took your may? Do you recall the day?

It was a teacher who took my may,
but I won my can, That's a plotted point, I
ponder on my porch
partaking in curds of ways to do so saline a work

Fantasy education system U of old dudes like me,
tired old dudes who have no desire to argue,

but, really, don't tread on me.

the old greeks were at rest, the slaves were under control
but we old American men in twenty nineteen
we have A.I. and pensions enough,
my examination can go far deeper than Aristotle's.

Part taker, trope positions, anonymous wisemen's roles in
this generational take on
we, the people, by realization, not revelation
of the
traditional worth of wisdom found under hoary
or shiny-fringed heads and grey beards and
amplified through ear hair
like antennae.

Admiring and worth. Hmmm.
Mira, look upon the ozimandian heir and
wonder, why am I a part of this, an eight billionth of this

interesting time of changed time,
time duration,
it is known relative now,
a precocious child of twelve can explain the paradox.
But time travel, imagine...
The ships,
The captains venturing where... slaves and would-be thieves
would, or could be made to, row or man the ropes,
whether any sweating soul endured to the end,
or not,
Who cares-- we recall only the history of kings.

Aha, there were teachers paid to teach
Admire-alty of the strong who keep us free within our walls.
That was the meme, be like
obediant to
the man on the horse.

Extreme Narcissist rises as the needed leader, least meek
of men morphs materially into the Nuclear God?
the opposite of peacemaker becomes hero?

Endure. In your patience, you possess...

Here's the deal. Life ain't fair. No war ever worked to settle
the mixup over the actual reason
for con fusion. Fusion sticks stuff together that has a pro

pensity to repel.
En-trope, we wrestle that, we fight it with
weapons un-carnal on any fractal level where matter matters.

Settle down, we say, by being at rest, fretless.
Let my peace, you say, come in me,

now, in your bubble of peace,
where no damnation can exist, begin
to grow, feed on knowledge proven no lie.
Start with one, unproven
reason you have for laying down or taking lifetime from anyone,
or for anyone.

Plus and minus, up and down. Mere words.
Confusion is mashing things together to make stuff

like earth. You look close, **** augmented us,
we inherited the only biosphere in the known universe,

and some ******* hell's angel wannabe...

Nope. Fractally can't happen, time being duration, not
an arrow on a gravity bound arc.
From "it is finished' going viral,
Nailed it,
no contest.
Yep, peace makers won. Deck was stacked.
The idea of the act of
Nuclear war launched the tyranny of phobias,
including an old idol word bound fear.
Logophobia
fear of God idea is the beginning of wisdom. think this, what if

wisdom began in you when you imagined the evil
men have realized from their shared imagings,
Logos imagined it first. What if that?

for lack of vision,
my people perish. AH, fractal up
about a thousand Mandelbrot tics, okeh.

Did we come away with treasure, or are we lost in the war game?

---
how many is enough to make the effort,

ef fective effort to learn.... check. didit, still am. one's enough.

ef fective effort to use the learning right ... check, workin' on it.

Whee gotta cut some traditional slack to the clowns
who keep the poor man happy for the hell of it,

y'know, life's hard at the bottom.

but it ain't
no fun.
And happy minds bounce. No lie. Bi-polar on demand, kinda.

K'mon down. The price is right. Got moonshine in the evenin',
after-the-cool-of-the-day, unquiet late spring night,
Stars aplenty,

laid back, leanin' on the tree of all I can ever know or
ever know
already. Ever knowing, you know. Feels good. Starry night,

in focus, with our shared augmented eyes beyond

the base-bubble of life, where I fit.

---- bored old man? is that pathetic, or what?---
Is this a good that you can do, asked, but I allowed no quest to form.

The point of any story in my mandlebrot set of stories never imagined,
is why I make the daily efforts, find the point, mark it a peaceful
place at the end of a hard row to ***.

Making the point in ever, where you notice your role,
this is the peacmaker's privilege, for the prize of playing your role,
the rest that remains, is mine to use right, examing life
amidst confusion you may have stirred up on your own way here.
Joe Rogan 1041, Dan Carlin, in the background, sittin' on the porch after tearing part of the roof from the garage because it leaked all winter.
Looks like
I took a turn for the worse,
I hit a fork in the road
and caught some kinda Voodoo curse.

If you box the ace of spades
you know your luck is going to change,
it's going to change for the worse.

I got the Devil in my doorway
just a leanin' on the bell.
I know he's not going away
'till he's sure imma going to hell.

These February blues
I do detest, they've taken away
my 'happy-go-lucky' and put me under House Arrest.

So you know, if you box the *****
you're liable to play until you empty your purse.

My Muse she flew
out the back door and she's on the run,
screaming over her shoulder
'It ain't a crime to be unhappy but it isn't any fun.

What's it called,
when you know your place?
Keep calm behind those dark glasses
that hide your oh so easy to read.. poker face.


© 2014
BacciaGalupe Nov 2012
I spoke to your Guardian Angel,
He Said you were doin' just great,
He said I could visit you sometime,
But I can't seem to fit through the gate.

I want you to know I miss you,
I think of you a lot,
But since you're not here
With me, my dear,
There are lots of things,
I'm not.

I'm not out there workin the corner
Leanin against the wall
Waitin for cash, fixin the ash,
On a pipe I'll smoke in a hall.

I'm not dope-sick and pukin out on the porch floor,
Worried how long till you come through the door.
I'm sorry I couldn't have stopped you
I admit, I didn't try hard,
I wasn't aware when you left me there,
Death was waiting downstairs, in a car.

I know now I couldn't have stopped you,
Or even have made you wait,
Destiny knocked on the door that night,
And told you,
You couldn't be late.

I spoke to your Guardian Angel,
He said I could stop in my mind,
Blaming myself,
Or anyone else,
You were part of God's plan
The whole time.
Dedicated to the memory of Lori L. Delgado, taken from life in a senseless act of brutality, inspired by the monster of drug addiction. RIP Lori, May your story save at least one life.
Eera Dec 2018
You've been on my mind,
Since a very long time.
You've got no clue,
How much I'd loved you.

But then, last night
When I saw you;
I saw you with
Someone new.

You were with her,
Almost all the time.
Oh, I thought
I would lose my mind.

I saw her leanin' on you;
As if you were  h e r  boo.

And slowly as you kissed her,
I unlearned your name;
And now it's all a blur.
Mark Oct 2019
They once had Auction and ***** Sale signs, just up ahead
******* were sold dirt cheap and were going home bled
Branded them slaves, even made ‘em dig their own grave
Southern folk, had bragging’ rights, but not all brave
Did a whole lot more, than work the plantation cotton fields
History dare not repeat, that of which, the past conceals

They were once leanin’ towards a war path
They were paid, if they worked on da railway
They were laid, if they worked on da good day
They were beat, if they were to ever disobey
They were hung, if they were to ever astray
They got strong, then blew the white trash away
They got slack, then inhaled the white gangsta pathway
They are now lookin’ forward to the sunny daze

They then had war and peace signs, just up above
Groupies were told rock hard and don’t go falling in love
Branded them playmates, even made ‘em find more babes
Rock superstars, had bragging’ rights, but not all spades
Don’t know a whole lot more, about what Woodstock reveals
History dare not repeat, that of which, the past feels

They were once leanin’ towards a war path
They were paid, if they worked on da railway
They were laid, if they worked on da good day
They were beat, if they were to ever disobey
They were hung, if they were to ever astray
They got strong, then blew the white trash away
They got slack, then inhaled the white gangsta pathway
They are now lookin’ forward to the sunny daze

They now have entry and exit signs, just up there
Wealthy were told to gate up and don’t go walking anywhere
Branded them snobbish, even made ‘em buy brands online
Ghetto gangsta’s, had bragging’ rights, but not all offline
Don’t know a whole lot more, about what society dreams
History dare not repeat, that of which, the past achieves

They were once leanin’ towards a war path
They were paid, if they worked on da railway
They were laid, if they worked on da good day
They were beat, if they were to ever disobey
They were hung, if they were to ever astray
They got strong, then blew the white trash away
They got slack, then inhaled the white gangsta pathway
They are now lookin’ forward to the sunny daze.
I'm.....
leanin' in to kiss you
feelin' your heart beatin'
squeezin' your thigh
movin' in closer
runnin' my hand along your chest

You're.....
reachin' for me
pullin' me near
playin' in my hair
caressin' my cheek
nibblin' at my neck

We're.....
cravin' one another
searchin' to be close
achin' for that moment
joinin' the other in oneness
movin' together
takin' us both higher
achievin' that incredible passion

I awake...
I yawn....
I stretch.....
I moan......

"oh ****! yet another sweet dream of love makin' with you~"


2007

COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
yo the homie Juan C
pass the mic to me
so i wreck this beat
like SPC protege of k rino
hos call me mandingo poppin' ***** tapes demo
never rode a limo
only smokes primo n got pitches in otcos
8 bars make ya see the star im far from soft
f them boys in the nawf
woth south side ****** til we die
we ride with the hardest regardless
if they try to break our clique
we still gone spit ****
like a cobra ya know its over
once the venom in em then couple.of minutes later
finish em
mortal combat **** all the rats
despise chit chat call my youngest ** ***** cat
pack a black gat
we push loot in the golden regal
every thang we do is illegal
lethal
as gibson they don't want none
boys crackin' rhymes til the crack of dawn
then wake up next day just
to bust another one
my OGs rollin' with Don Key n Pokey
hardest in the pit
and if you disagree we make haters **** our ****
sloppy **** no ****
them ******* can lick the pigment off a ***** stick
but i play it safe n cool
cuz hos try to burn you
got it played smooth groove
to the sound bound to get down
if ya down bow down listen to the gun shots sounds
now ya leakin' where ya be speakin'
now ya body tweekin' n geekin'
soon to crossover
like epmd mic check ya know me my crew be
fascinating minds with our hocus pocus never lose focus
my raw raps got them nervous
got Juan C next to me
and got the tech services
and no playin now from the htown
still holding top with no crown
dont need a status we the baddest
turn the lane three wheel leanin' with bird chirpin'
still smokin' up the scene
with clip fully loaded magazine
glock cocked we aint gone stop
sip the prometh to the day i drop
dont stop
the music cadillac funky so ya know im gonna abuse it
drip up drapped out know what im talking bout
deep in the south we put guns in ya mouth
no flappin' we stay strappin'
like willis ya know whats happenin'
and we aint gone stop the rappin'
mad at us cuz we bring the real
o so real make every nation feel
what them southern slangers do
dangerous as the Bronx Zoo
what ya wanna do
with stay with more than sun tzu when death comes to you
them boys n blue
cant save u
on the mic i gets wicked after a meal ticket sadistic
as charlie manson
got a twenty two mansion
followed a long benz with the big blue lens
zero percent window
so i can smoke my indow
what they dont know wont show
follow the peckin' order my game smarter
jaun n yosef isthe real hip hop martyrs
and we ready to battle
sogo ahead and shake ya rattle
cuz we'll be quick to slaughter


yea man let me come through
versace with the blue
jeans coming clean sip lean
with an ounze of promethazine fiends
be on the look out
cuz ya know im about
to clown harder than Corey Holcomb
boys gettin' dumb dumb
got hos thats chewin bubble gum
shakim' *** too fast
make a ***** urge for a ***** lick
yea im rollin' with the *******
up clique we sick
as a muthafucka
enticin' all types of diseases
cuz the lyrical content pleases
many foes and hoes
i wear baggy clothes with jabos
dont ya know
im rap don vito stack chips like frito
lay i parlay
on sittin on the dock of the bay
jammin k
or that *****
htown is how we do?
ride ***** with the bulls
euro grills caprice with pipes made of steel
o so real still
got every nation on they feet
they cant feel
this uh coming down on ya blvd
ya can see me on tv or 60 inch screens dvd
**** blue rays i rock ray ban shays
like Mj ya can catch me on a fade
doing what i do in the paint
with a Styrofoam cup full of drank
grams of dank
smoke so much we cant think
eyes cant blink im on the brink
of an overdose
ya suppose to rock the flows like me
im like biggie
spittin the classic mr magic
girls call my **** game fantastic
stretch ***** holes like elastic
leave her visions plastered
like she drunk as ****
im pushin luck six flat riding a black truck
40 oz in the gut gangsta strut
im the best ***** whatttt?
im ina rage one luv to homies
in the cage
when i hit the stage
ya know the crowds gone get wild
im flagrant like a fouls problem child
use my cash bills to fans thrills
no spills on *******
ya know the deal
hos be reachin' still teachin'
n im all about mass appeal
Messy, 'specially on Sundays.
Feet a'shamble from stumblin' drunkhappy.
"It's all good, baby," Blakey yells over the drums.

Bourbon flavored women hard to swallow
with their jagged softness. Smoking section (whites) stares
down dance floor (everyone else) with guilt induced jealousy.

Coltrane's back in Philly studyin.'
Pinstriped chuckle from the Rosenbergs;
kinetic energy giving birth to the cool.

The trumpeter's high turns his tool into a weapon.
The sound briefly stealing him from his demons.
"I'll find a guy when I finish my set."

Black and white televisions: blacks in white suites
Smiling china white for an all white audience.
The movers, to this point, have only been black.

Little hero Harry thinks
  blacks and whites should die on the battlefield together.
Everyone's starting to get it.

"That guitar sweeter than my old lady."
Charlie and Miles holding each other's needles
while Thelonious and his hard candy go bad.

Leanin' on bricks in a back alley.
The circle passes the joint around like the good times.
"Just keep em rollin."

The skirts expand and deflate wildly to the rhythm.
Pure sweat melting into the floors like drops of water on roots.
A melody never heard before.
Jeremy Betts Aug 2023
(Extended)

An authentic smile defeated then deleted long ago, zero chance of winnin' stretchin' all the way back to my beginnin'
It was a genuine expression that slowly melted to an unrecognizable reflection
All pigmentation givin' way revealin' a secondary, ghostly stand in walkin' in my skin and it's handed some demands in
Granted, it happened in my formative years, a couple of years before the realization hit, I was an abandoned abomination
But the impact has been felt through forty somethin' calendars and countin', often wonderin' just how many more of 'em I'll actually be needin'
A true representation of life's failed evolution, my opinion, it would've helped to have known the mission
At the very least I coulda been shown at least one possible destination
Instead of being teased with this mystical American dream while always wakin' up in a nightmareish situation
Or hell, just vaguely point me in the general direction I should be travelin' in
Oh and where I should begin because I'm sure I'll be back here again, spending a majority of me time going back to the beginnin'
Then, after that you can get back to not givin' a **** about your creation, can't be bothered to even check in too see how we're all doin'
Refusin' to even call it in with a simple "how's it goin'?" Completely stopped showin' up for some reason
What happened to all the love and forgiveness you're supposed to be dishin' out according to your words, king James edition
Bigfoot and god, both bein' heaven and earths undisputed hide and seek champion
Ignorin' all the cries for help you've been hearin' while dodgin' every little question
Eliminate guessin', can't find the answer if you can't formulate the question
Still wouldn't say it's been a waste but the needles strongly leanin' towards an awfully vague reason for existin'
An overall lack of an adequate position, doesn't really seem like I was even designed to fit in
That is if my life has been any indication
I manage to make it to, AND THROUGH, the proverbial one more day but where's the lesson?
Was it in the bull shiit I kept slippin' in before crossin' off and finishin' anythin' deemed worthy of doin'?
This just feels like non-monetary extortion, a life-sized portion, takin' far more than what's ever been given
How do you think that's gonna end? This is not a rhetorical question, I'm looking for answers and forever waitin'
I'm still in competition with myself, the prize, livin', the compromise, loosin' myself in a portrait I've broken
Or durin' the transition, stumblin' across the realization that everyone's been right, I am the problem, that's no longer opinion
Find it in the nonfiction section
The eradication of an inner companion, replacin' compassion with aggression, smooth sailin' with frustration, no direction, no validation
The transition to curmudgeon happened earlier than expected, drawin' parallels from the curious case of Benjamin Button
Not for nothin', the infestation of negative thoughts caused a mutation inside and out, completely loosin' what it means to be a person, never was a good one
Probably no longer a shoe in for team human, my demon is all high on my supply with a gargantuan appetite for fear and hate eggin' it on
It's not a lose lose situation, and it sure ain't win win, and any other option, I'm guessin', got lost in translation
But I'm pretty sure somethin's gotta end in order for another somethin' to begin, at least that's what I'm hearin'
Still can't find a reason that justifies the conviction
Is what I'm feelin' damnation?
Is what I'm seein' my own creation?
It could just be that no matter what I'm not goin' to be happy with the conclusion
Only recently discoverin' life is not a choose your own adventure, you're not allowed to be pickin' your preferred endin'
A mustard seed of faith in myself ain't doin' nothin' but turnin' a mole hill into a mountain
No fat lady singin', just a whole lotta screamin', just a band playin' as I feel myself sinkin' into oblivion
Who the hells idea was it to make me captain? Given the keys to the ship but zero trainin'
Pardon me for givin' up on salvation but if you've been payin' even a little bit of attention
It should go without sayin' but you're waistin' away waitin' for divine intervention
Be careful what you look to for inspiration, maybe get a second opinion before goin' full send, divin' head in without practicin' the landin'
A recipe for disaster cookbook in the kitchen, irony gone missin', passin' overhead, no one's even lookin'
It may not be your intention, but there's no hate like the love of a christian
I'm just sayin', that's a world I lived in, I wish this was a work of fiction, then I could benefit from all this wishin'
Even presentin' it as an exaggeration would be lyin', if I'm lyin' I'm dyin', we're all dyin', they're all lyin'
A livin' contradiction by their own admission, rid them of bullshiit with a little sanitation
Keep an eye on the who you're prayin' to every day, it may not be the one, or at least the only one, listenin'
And there's no mulligan, no snooze button, no rewind function, no wake me up when it's over discussion
A conversation on morals is just opinion, life's not a given, it can be taken but if you can't take it, please, don't give in
With a questionable foundation any moment construction can slip, unnoticed, into destruction
Countless lessons on dysfunction, an influx of confusion, temperaments risin', no inner peace on the horizon
Please have your opposition choosen before the match is striken allowin' the dumpster fire lifestyle to begin
Fuelin' suspicion, a growin' unease between both neighbor and friend, the end will come as no surprise then

Just pay attention

©2023
jeffrey robin Apr 2013
me
That *** in the rickety ole chair over by the alley?
THAT'S ME
----
The kid leanin gainst the wall with his bicycle leanin gainst his leg?
THAT'S ME
------
The lady with the scared child secured in her arms?
THAT'S ME
----
I could go on and on
But....
No need

Look around

I'm always there

&

I
Think
You'll know
Which one
IS ME
Jeremy Betts Aug 2023
(First draft)

An authentic smile defeated then deleted long ago, zero chance of winnin' stretchin' all the way back to my beginnin'
It was a genuine expression that slowly melted to an unrecognizable reflection
All pigmentation givin' way revealin' a secondary, ghostly stand in
Granted, it happened in my formative years before I was abandoned due to the mutation
But the impact has been felt through forty somethin' calendars and countin'
A true representation of life's failed mission, I'm guessin'
Not necessarily my opinion but one every other person is holdin', no question
Still wouldn't say it's been a waste but the needles strongly leanin' towards no reason for existin'
An overall lack of position, doesn't seem like I was designed to fit in, that is if my life has been any indication
I manage to make it to and through the proverbial one more day but where's the lesson?
This just feels like non-monetary extortion of a life-sized portion
Take far more than what's given, with or without permission
I'm still in competition with myself, the prize, livin'
The compromise, loosin' myself in a broken system or durin' the transition
The eradication of an inner companion, replacin' compassion with aggression, smooth sailin' with frustration, no direction, no validation
The transition to curmudgeon happened earlier than expected, drawin' parallels from the curious case of Benjamin Button
Not for nothin', the infestation of negative thoughts caused a mutation inside and out, completely loosin' what it means to be human
It's not a lose lose situation, and it sure ain't win win, and any other option, I'm guessin', got lost in translation
But I'm pretty sure somethin's gotta end in order for another somethin' to begin, at least that's what I'm hearin'
Still can't find a reason that justifies the conviction, is what I'm feelin' damnation? Is what I'm seein' my own creation?
It could just be that no matter what I'm not goin' to enjoy the conclusion, not allowed to settle on your preferred endin'
No fat lady singin', just a band playin' as I feel myself sinkin' into oblivion so pardon me for givin' up on salvation
It should go without sayin' but you're waistin' away waitin' for divine intervention, be careful what you use for inspiration
It may not be your intention, but there's no hate like the love of a christian, I'm just sayin'
Pay attention, who you're praying to every day may not be the one listenin'

©2023
Unlife Jan 2013
ive been starin a long time at this body mine
ragged, alien, hollow, watch me give a ****
shattered frames leanin walls, been and gone
talkin times too long
before my shoulder glance got permanent
he says that now i cant quit
starin up from in his pit
i done been done writhing with
but hes right aint he
dont like bein told
where to be

aint heard him since, aint no one
aint none my goals done
hesitate and die, son
it aint about you
bout the goods
lemme getcha eyes pretty blue

got a whole stash upstairs
sleepin with the *****, nightstand
ima take advantage of all this rain
playing the game
and ill see you shakin, chained
to ya fear, past choice, belated invoice
shoulda kept ya ride clean
Kado MacMurphy Apr 2017
im chiseled like prismarine
even my contemporaries gleanin
got me leanin
on my doses
part ya brain waves like moses
separate me from fantasy
you get me bad
down so bad from actors
tv mackin on my lean
its so painful
the madness consume ya
wipe the sweat from ya cheek
ya in my ball pit boy
i got ya by ya underwear
so if ya dare
scream if ya dare
i bare my fanging fetish
make ya scream even louder
and louder little lungs fillin with water
even chumps be leanin over
fetish freakin overloader
keep me creepin
company secrets come a leakin
six score sound beacon
head turnt up for what we seekin.
ConnectHook Apr 2020
Patricians have our best interests in mind.
Administration is impartial, kind.
Keeps us laughin’, keeps us singin’—
And I’m Hildegard of Bingen.

She gets it like she gets the working class;
My head is nodding, up my Marxist ***.
White woke wedding bells are ringin’
Happy Hildegard of Bingen.

Government will gladly redistribute.
As our paychecks sing eternal tribute.
Gangsta-leanin, frontin’, blingin:
Chill with Hildegard of Bingen.

Icecaps, like medieval saints, are HOT.
Climate is in crisis when it’s not . . .
Global warning: winter’s springin’
Heating Hildegard of Bingen.

Intersectionality has meaning.
Hormones lie, biology’s demeaning .
Genderfluid queens are kingin’
Checkmate, Hildegard of Bingen.

Transnationals are cleaning up the mess;
Their CEO’s have little to confess.
Silver in the till, ka-chingin’
Profits Hildegard of Bingen.

Hildegard, the Moorish maiden, lauded.
Wokeness smiled. Diversity applauded.
Flames ascend and seraphim are wingin’
To the throne of Hildegard of Bingen.
Prompt #15: write a poem inspired by your favorite kind of music.
That could mean incorporating refrains, neologisms and flights of
whimsy, or repeating/inverting lines or ideas –
whatever your chosen musical form would seem to require!
Chris Bev Jul 2015
The feeling of ecstasy.
That feeling when ur next to me.
Our bodies touch, I must be floating on a cloud.
U make me feel aroused.
I'm so high and I'm never coming down.
This Angels got my heart.
This was the plan for the start.
I'm from a different planet, but u done make me apart.
Of ur ways.
I prayed for better days.
But now I'm cool, like Fonzi on happy days.
Hey, what more can I say.
I'm faded by ur love.
Ur scent is so intoxicating.
Ur smile so breathless.
My addictions lose, when I'm with u.
They say the variety the better.
But with u, ain't no one better.
U belong on the the cover of variety.
Ur radiant skin, on display for the world.
The world in my hands, I'll take u wherever.
Rome, Paris. Whatever.
It may take a few years but we'll be there together.
Cuz I feel (eiffel tower) for u.
U had me leanin (tower of Pisa).
Couldn't get myself together, u picked up the pieces.
But ur love was so sweet, like I'm eating Hershey's kisses.
Ur worth it all. I'll even pay ur tuition.
Me and you together.
We will always pass.
But these love stories ****.
So I guess it's f**k u.
A metaphor of being on drugs, it all feels good till the end when ur back to reality.
Just like a new relationship, it all starts good until things get hard and then you call it quits and become enemies.
Mark Apr 2020
Chop n ***** it to bits
Just mix a little, then taste all da blenz
Dolby two sided cassette re-mix
Plastic record kinds, always my frendz
Trippin' like now, da way dat we do
Ya ***** nor crew just can't explain
Absolute phenomenal my man, whoa!
Leanin' on da switch, gave us instant fame

Doin' it on a regular, everyday
Even city folk can relate, in sum strange way
Slab kings rising from the dead
No motor, no nothin', nothin' but crew
Yellowstone candy, if dats wat ya fancy
Or black, bolly boyz, colored candy
Black sheriff riding *******, along da Southside
Giddy up, Giddy up, never you mind

Drinkin' drank, scissor or lean
Know dat we really can be mean
We in da ***** house, not in **** lockup
Get ya cups, then take a seat, backup
3'N da mornin' we ****
Sippin' on da syrup, smokin' on ya dope
Yo *****, Candy, lick it all up
Wat it does, is it gives da hood hope
jeffrey robin Nov 2013
Old Man

••

Chair leanin back

••

Watching

(You know where)

••

Days are painted pictures

We are the stories
Written there

We like the shadows

Our lovers are the lost hurtin ones

In the alleys

We prey upon them

Upon the weak

••

Old man

Ain't THE MAN

He watches and knows

••

Our tiny souls

Our morbid fears

••

Rivers of blood

••

(We ain't really here

We got no story !)

••

The painted fabric of Day

Fades as we embrace Oblivion

••

Old man

he gone!

.••

A new child is playin

On the roof of the tenement over yonder

Sees the alley and  the mountains far beyond
Arcassin B Oct 2015
by Arcassin B & Wolfspirit


AB: You're So special in every way,
And I could bet your bottom dollar
your single,
can I see you
from day
to day,
and you wouldn't want to go
party and mingle,

WS : saw you leanin' against the bar
sippin' apple martinis
lookin' like a star
brothers making those googley eyes
and starin' at those powerful thighs
each one schemin' and buyin' you drinks
wonderin' what a goddess thinks
cruised up slowly with my best strut
talk to you like a lady, not a ****
caught some interest in those big doe eyes
and you took my hand....to my surprise
led me out to the dance floor
popped like passion and encouraged me more
held me close for that one slow dance
now, you got this man thinkin' sweet romance
baby, you look so good in those spandex pants
now i wanna get wit u for another dance,

AB: You're So special in every way,
And I could bet your bottom dollar
your single,
can I see you
from day
to day,
and you wouldn't want to go
party and mingle,

WS : later, you said it was time to go
asked for my cell down on the low low
looked into my eyes and stroked my dreads
kissed my cheek and turned and said
"now listen, playa, don't be runnin' no game"
keyed in her number and her name
smiled and walked her to her ride
she had a gold Lexus sittin' outside
knew right off she was no pigeon
but then, i ain't no scrub ....we be largely livin'
then she kissed me warm and deep
said
"dream about me when you sleep
treat me right and i promise, boo
i guarantee i'll be dreamin' of you".
Wolves in the Ark
donia kashkooli Jul 2016
the only reason i met him was because i was leanin' up against the blood pumping, deafening, wall shaking heartbeat of one of the speakers amongst ceiling lights that looked like gleaming crystals hanging from the top of a cavern with drops of water trickling from them. we might as well have been in a cavern instead of a show in some guy's basement. he snapped me out of my late night daydream with one look and one shot of whiskey and we went upstairs and out to the front porch to the 4 foot tall grass in the front yard.

we sat there for a real long time.

and he had this voice that reminded me of the way it felt to sit on the golf course all night just to watch the sun rise, his eyes were like the jungle and the ocean and a tornado sky all in one and they widened and he grinned and kinda tugged at the edges of his sweatshirt as we talked about random things it turned out we both loved... lefty pitchers, astrology, horror movies, conspiracy theories, how rain feels on bare skin. he was kinda twisted and he was a sagittarius and he smoked turquoise american spirits like me. as far as i knew nobody in the world could replace the one who never left my head for 394 days and 394 nights. *******. here we go again.

i drove off at 1. i was the only girl there and since the day i came out of the womb i have been overly cautious of the fact that i can't spend the night even if i might fall asleep at the wheel and **** myself because i am a medium rare steak in the eyes of those boys and it's better for me to hurt myself than for one of them to hurt me.

"goodnight, spacey" he whispered as he softly pressed his lips against my cheek and i watched through the ***** windshield as he disappeared into an impenetrable fog. i never got the name of the most perfect human i'd ever came across. i wouldn't let it bother me. i wouldn't let it bother me. ****. i hate infatuation and what it does. so help me god.

-*z. vega
Wk kortas Feb 2017
There was plenty cats who could ****** a quarter offa backboard,
They used to say up at Happy Warrior,
But the Goat was the only one
Who could float so long that he could leave change
,
And then they’d slap each other on the back,
Laughin' until they couldn’t breathe.
Some folks still tell the story, old timers—hell, old men now,
But they don’t laugh much no more, because they all know the story;
Ain’t one of those things where people ask Whatever became of...
Like a Boobie Tucker or Funny Kitt, because Earl was a myth, see,
A neighborhood Icarus, but one with moments of doubt
The pusher, all loud clothes and soft smooth voices,
Played Earl and played him to his weak hand.
College coach ain’t gonna push for no brother
Who ain’t got the grades,
No matter how much lift he got.  
Then what, man?
You gonna hang outside the park, leanin’ on the fence,
Some old man whose name used to get you respect?
****, man, you think you can fly?
Man, I got somethin’ make you fly.

The pusher baited and Earl hit the hook hard;
Wasn’t long before he was noddin’ on corners
Like some old **** wino,
Pretty soon a stint Upstate after he botched robbin’ some bar,
Then a long slow slide until he died.
The Hawk, Alcindor, The Pearl—they knew he was the man,
Best ever according to Lew, and man how he flew,
But the streets have their own peculiar physics
And the rim ain’t nothing but ten feet off the ground.
John Sep 2017
Dreamless sleeps and dreamin' all day
Wondering where this stops
Leanin' on you, screamin' from the bottom of me
Thinkin' that's all I got

Knocked down again, but I was made for this
The lifting up gets easier with practice
Feels like I'm floating at this point
Noise drowned out with noise
Devon Brock Aug 2019
Sharp edge of a coldfront
stands west of Dells,
a rigid lead line on a ridge
where the leanin' broke-roof barn
stands ready to take in buckets.

Ain't been scavenged
for old wood yet,
for picture frames,
sold,
where the upwardly mobile,
shop for the quaint, rustic things,
reshaped for authenticity,
and a clipped last year
wall calendar
image of a red barn
in a yellow field,
below a blue
cloudless sky,
following
the perfect rule
of thirds.
Mark Aug 2019
I asked the question, where ya bounce?

My mami was lazy peepin on the new big tymer, cruizin' thru town

She said he was crunk, like out of this world

They were just poppin' the trunk and keeping it real

My boys were sketchin' and should've just chopped it up

My favourite souljas, now goin' to Angola for a 187 on the third coast


You think she's all that

But ya girlfriends so stupid

Da first time she used a *******

She cracked her two front teeth



The third coast is where people get crunked up, be grilled out and ride on slabs

Down in Texas where they wear those big belt buckles and jam to *****

Those cowboys just pop and splash everywhere, over the hood

That's what ya don't know, 'bout da ***** south 3rd coast



They have some crazy **** parties

Drive some fine ******* and cars with gold grillz

As well as sporting huge silly fat **** rims

Backwash swamps and even some back alley gators



I get my corner boys to sell da home-made ice cream

I'll make sure they don't come anywhere near your cut

I also sell on eBay, a little one kilo of high flyin' kite

I've also tried to sell the sweets on corners of my streets

But the boys try the  **** ****, before they sell and get so really cromp

I can't have em leanin', ya all know what I be meanin'



You think she's all that

But ya girlfriends so stupid

Da first time she used a *******

She cracked her two front teeth



After the show we caught the dude that slapped my sista and made her face hot

But before we wrecked him, we visited the famous White Castle burger spot

Where we ate those famous but small burgers that only cost 35c, cheaper than ***

The popo said, is you trazy, we just smiled and kept on eatin' the lot

The cops tried to grab us, but they didn't have nathan on us. What ya got?



They have some crazy **** parties

Drive some fine ******* and cars with gold grillz

As well as sporting huge silly fat **** rims

Backwash swamps and even some back alley gators



Ya gotta love southern hospitality

Depending on where you go in the south

It could be a, ‘Hi, let me get that for you dear’

To, "If you don't stop staring at me I'm gonna shoot you in the face"


So I know the ledge and have got an edge
Over all the other big tymers down in the ***** south 3rd coast.
Yeah I be from the south so watch ya mouth
Before you get duct taped ***** by deaths draps ya verses wack as Drake
To Meek Mills skills I drill til ya feel my flows oh so real slam ya with a force harder than Shaquille haters claim they real?
Til they see ya shine appeal then try to steal
Cuz they got no flows to spill so ya better chill
Before my guns raise and blaze leave you in a eternal daze pastors giving praise
As casket lays flesh soon decayed
As ya tooken away from the death angels that stayed
Preyed over ya body I be the Illuminati risin' kundalini hang with shorties who pack shotties quick to make dead bodies
It ain't nothing to a playa so stop bluffin' before you get a snuffin' htown roughin'
Up the bids put that on my kids look what I did?
Shook the game attached my hooks country as Garth Brooks still gettin' looks
From fine black latinas mamacita senoritas stickin' to my pita
bread cuz my **** lines red
Nothing but hardness instead style like Frank Lucas blowin' hookah with a stash of Buddha
Trap the game triangled like Bermuda
Death made from those I slayed this ain't no charades just a taste of my rap alcollade
Another haters throwin' shade I'll fade still leanin' sittin' sideways like them boys in the days
Sippin' purple lemonade with a fresh fade
......Mayne Htown holding crown knocking out clown you'll drown
With no water so don't try to slaughter *******



Southsia fo Lia Nia

While I'm sittin' clean I'm flickin' off hataz like Mr Bean autos aim for ya peen still stickin' for cream livin' out my dream
I'm biggie layin' sigils led to sequels street general turnin' hard rhymers minimals
Role with mobster criminals an animal guns eat though ya flesh like a cannibal true intellectual my flows phenomenal
I'll stretch ya Abdominals for the coroner down the spiritual corridors as the blackness pours
See me gold plated breast in armor coming to swarm ya
It's legion of demons plottin' & schemin' like Keenan
Ivory Wayne's I'm stuck into ya brains
With no syringe suckas pretend I don't get wins? Never seen L only when spit phrases like Big L pockets swell while I'll give heat hotter than Hell
Kin to Satan so that should tell I don't dwell
On goodness cuz in genesis I was kicked out and landed in Exodus
Into the underworld blessed by Osiris mother earth givin' me birth layin' words that hurt reverse the flirt now suckas layin' in dirt
Found later like a fossil this for a ***** name Fussell I see you loosin' muscle
Step into my arena my flows meaner I'll lock jaw ya harder than Hyena
From the guns that'll grease ya into a freezer
Ya body displayed  cuz you had to pay
Ya soul up ya living foul since you a problem child
I gave you a taste of my omen owls *****....
brooke Jul 2017
breathe a little
with me,
open up that chest
a bit, you have time
but not for this,
i can see you coming
back, a ways out
around the bend
with that pretty smile
I've missed,
an' no one out there
as happy to see you
as me, your arms
are leanin' up
a few weeks
done you real good,
so keep walking
keeping on coming
i've been scared to
have you back under
this roof but you never
did care much for theatrics
come home brooke,
come home.
(c) Brooke Otto 2017
Jennifer McCurry Jun 2020
Let me start by swearin my attraction to an occasional dusty ol juke joint was no cliche preachers daughter rebellion.    
A good American girl, loved my Daddy, Jesus,  and both their good names.      
But the appeal and anononimoty of the sin and frolic rockin 'n rollin out those doors! Too much.      
Was just the temptation to do me in.      
At least i had respect enough to scratch that itch three counties away.      
I had needs to be met.      
      
And ****** those needs.      
**** the need for the whine and moan from the likes of Hank Williams and Patsty Cline.      
Double ****** the need for the warm thrill and taste of gin.      
And triple ****** the need for a spin with a good ol country boy gone ornery!      
      
Pardon, a necessary preface to my hot and bothered at him walkin in the door of my good Daddy's store.      
And now i go on to the gritty of the nitty..      
      
It started a dull thing of a day, was doin payroll, startled by the chimes announcing someone comin in.      
      
I recognised him immediately from my last carouse about.      
A deep blush risin and sweatin the thought of my cover blown, i tried very hard not to stare.      
But good God he was ****, all blue jeans and swagger, he strode right up with a wicked **** eatin grin.      
      
"Hey baby i remember that shakin!"      
He says.      
Prayin my resolve would cover the weak in my knees i answered, "I'm sure you dont!" fightin hard the smile curling up the sides of my mouth.      
He laughs "Yeah, what time you want me to pick you up?"      
"Are you kidding!? Not on your life." I heard myself sayin, unconvinced.      
The white hot flash in his devastating blue eyes nearly melted my ice *****.      
Then he turned around laughin said "Alrighty ***, i can read the hours on the door."      
      
The rest of the day went by in a haze of tryin to focus vs. the tickle between my legs every time i thought of him.      
      
Finally it turned time to close, hatin how scared i was at the thought of him not bein outside in that parking lot.      
      
But of course there he was. Lookin so cool 'n tough. Leanin up against his rusty red pick-up truck.      
Said "cool baby, hop on in."      
      
Wasn't much talkin on the long bumpy ride to his place. Dirt roads can seem endless.      
That one sure as hell did.      
      
There was certainly no ceremony upon arrival, just a "Baby hop on out."      
He was off, no help with my door.      
      
Greeted by the blackest dog you ever saw, sniffin at my crotch and nippin at my skirt. Guess like dog like owner. I was seriously doubting my judgement at this point.      
      
The insides of his trailer left no stereotype untouched, of your corn fed Ozark's man.      
Prise fish mounted on the wall, Budweiser cans as far as the eyes could see, and a guitar laid out on the couch.      
      
Thinkin to myself, good thing this was just a ****. I mean, this dude would play a precious Montegue to my Capulet.      
      
Opening the door to his bedroom he pointed me the way, says "Get ready sugar,  gonna make you squeal!"      
      
And after things got goin, it wasn't too long, until like a stuck pig, squeal i did!      
You can't  imagine the sounds comin outta that room. Like thunder scared livestock, huffin and pantin and snortin. ****! There may have been a whinney! He did ride me like Seabuiscuit. I mean rode hard and most definitely put away soakin wet.      
      
Then suddenly he shouts "Glory!" and it was over as fast as it had started.. He grinned at me and rolled over. I lay there stunned and spent.      
      
I sat up on the edge of the bed. Not sure what to think. Then noticed my name on the top of a piece of paper on the nightstand. I picked it up and immediately read.      
      
It was the fumbly beginnings of an actually quite poetic love song.      
Quadruple ****** the pounding in my now softening heart.      
      
I lay back down, spooned up behind him, and kissed the back of his curly dark head.
Billie Marie Jul 2020
enter ego
tainting, tinting, spiking
now with its foreign substance
always to manipulate and alter What Is
already natural is only good

One did not think one could improve on God?
Did one think this lie?
Did one account for one’s own blind ignorance?

as if one created something new
within the realm of What Is

Step aside and see your own insignificance,
if you can stand to look -
stand the inferno of your own gaze.
And, if you cannot,
how could you believe you are a king?
A king of what?
The lost.

busy the days working in time
making some nightmarish world

You think you are making paradise?
You are building your own funeral pyre!
Must you go to the bitter end,
dragged and gagged and beaten?

it isn’t a giving up

What have you taken?
In order to give something up,
you must have taken it in the first place.
You have not.

only think it so,
making all suffering seem real.

What is this you have made?

don’t know
can’t see
won’t stop and tell
just keep spinnin
and rollin
and truckin along
leanin in and gettin ‘er done …

To what END?
purpose intention life itself
Mark Apr 2020
I assed da question, where ya bounce?
Mama waz layz peepin da new big tymer, cruizin' thru town
She said, he waz crunk, like outta dis world
They were just poppin' da trunk and keepin’ it real
Da boys were sketchin' and should've just chopped it up
My favourite souljas, now goin' 2 Angola 4 A-187 on da Dirtee Sth 3RD Coast

Yo think she's all dat
But ya girlfriends so stupid
Da 1st time she used a *******
She cracked her 2 front teeth

The 3rd Coast is where da peepole get crunked up, be grilled out and ride on slabs
Down in Texas where they wear, those big belt buckles and jam to da *****
Those cowboys just pop n splash everywhere, all over da hood
That's what ya don't know, 'Bout da Dirtee Sth 3RD Coast

They have sum crazy RRRS partays
Drive sum fine RRRS ******* and cars wid gold grillz
As well as sporting huge silly fat RRRS rims
Backwash swamps and even sum back alley gators

I get my corner boys to sell, all da homie made ice cream
I'll make sure they don't *** anywhere near ya cut
I sell on eBay, a little 1 kilo of hi flyin' kite
Also tried 2 sell da sweets on da corners of mistreets
But da boys try da **** ****, before they sell and get so really cromp
I can't have em leanin', ya all no what I be meanin'

Yo think she's all dat
But ya girlfriends so stupid
Da 1st time she used a *******
She cracked her 2 front teeth

After da show we caught da dude that slapped misista and made her face hot
But before we wrecked him, we visited da famous ‘White Castle’ burger spot
Where we ate those famous, but small burgers dat only cost 35c, cheaper than ***
The popo said, ‘Is you trazy’, we just smiled and kept on eatin' da lot
The cops tried 2 grab us, but they didn't have nathan on us. What ya got?

They have sum crazy RRRS partays
Drive sum fine RRRS ******* and cars wid gold grillz
As well as sporting huge silly fat RRRS rims
Backwash swamps and even sum back alley gators

Ya gotta love Southern hospitality
Depending on where ya go in da Sth
It could be a, ‘Hi, let me *** dat 4 ya, midear’
2, ‘If ya don't stop staring @ me, I'm gonna shoot ya in da face’
So I know the ledge and have got da xtra edge
Over all da udder big tymers, down in da Dirtee Sth 3RD Coast

— The End —