"lumping" poems
**** masterminds
steer clear of this man
He's relentless
a pitbull
Lumping up Pinkman
for no logical reason
He's a madman
Massacres Mexican
kingpins and button men
Knocks out Keith Jardine
in a barfight
initiated as a ptsd
relief valve
Maddog brothers
Axe murdering elite
eliminated with a bullet
a fender
and a little help from Gustavo Fring
The only man
to walk away unscathed
from the exploding head of Danny Trejo debacle
Houndog Hank
the sherman tank
is hot on Heisenbergs trail.
Its almost guaranteed
One of them will die
Heisenbergs Bad
But Schrader
is badass.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 6:09 AM UTC
If I keep still
For much longer
I'll disappear
No,
I won't vanish into thin air
Like a blow of a cigarette
Or a cry of dispair
I'll stay,
Pinned to this bed
A petrified marionette
No longer attached to the strings of this net
So you ask,
What trick do you play
To fool your own self
To step out on this day
As lonely and grey
As it might come your way
Or as you may portray?
Sometimes,
A touch of oneself.
"A sheepish remedy!",
You might complain.
"You should feel shame!"
What can I say...
At least,
It gets the heart pumping
As I go out lumping
To tick the boxes on this never ending list
Hoping to find unexpected bliss
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 1:38 PM UTC
“I think that I shall never see”
a tree thin as phylogeny,
looks poor, no fruits nor leaves for tea,
Yet means so much as Darwins see.
rooted, unrooted, a weird tree,
well, Nature, too, selects weirdly.
No other tree much affects me,
keeps changing my taxonomy,
splitting-lumping, lumping-splitting,
because more data keep coming.
“Poems are made by fools like” you,
but cladograms, don’t make me blue.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 5:19 AM UTC
you're like barely lightning
stumbling angelically of that frosty womb
dangerously you are flakes of minute cold
crumbing deftly cheeks pale as
sleep. who is a club of kind
fantasy or sometimes a plush terror
reckoned in pleasing symmetry.
i know only your valleys and your pastures
the breathless yawning landscape
my lips are hithering or withering
about to imbue with every effort
of my love your perfect vessel my ardor
in lumping crunches of delicate
kisses, , , , , , , .
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 11:03 AM UTC
***
Open mouth against burning back sun
spotted and adored. Phantasia fills the
whole screen.
***
I urged the flamingos,
create!
See where
BPA Free bottles prism out,
where heels on concrete cut to a heron stepping through the morning fog-
shadow box and a cell phone.
Don't they love me
with my beaded sombrero,
lumping elephants into ant lines, clipping
the hawks wings?
I want this tree applying anti-aging cream in the scene where we off the ******
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 9:17 AM UTC
why the **** would you set fire to a ******* university, starting with its library,
all in the name of what they would like to call "democracy"?
this is a situation you have all seen so many times before,
with exactly the same perpetrators,
by exactly the same means
for exactly the same ends
and you have the cheek to call that man a dictator?
a man who worked solely to improve the lives of those around him who were in suffering?
a man who would work up to 18 hours a day, day-in, day-out for 18 years to actually democratize his country and tried so hard to lessen the wealth gap
a man who went on tv every day to communicate with those he represented, listening to their concerns and grievances and actually addressing them?
you complain about the lines outside the shops, and **** right you should.
you complain about the violence and the destruction of communities, and **** right you should.
but if you dare say one more time it was his fault, or it's the fault of his successor you can shut the **** up right now.
it's who it always was, acting on the motivation they've always had: accumulation of capital.
people have died at their hands for centuries, hundreds of millions of innocent civilians' lives exchanged for your wealth
and you have the cheek to call him a bad man?
he is in the league of people who put their lives on the line for what they knew was right,
who were so committed to that vision of
purity,
of equality
of beauty
but you tarnish their names by lumping them together with whiny children, privileged brats who know nothing of the world but are bored,
all because you know these figures
these freedom fighters and heroes
are right,
and are thus a threat to your piles of gold
(each pile covering another pile of bodies)
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:07 PM UTC
Hey ... Out there
I'm worried about my wife
Could somebody please take her a message
Tell her everything will be ok
Man I don't know
This has just been a really weird day
That much I can truly say
Because I lived it
Let's see... I got up as usual at 5 a.m.
Like always I kissed her cheek
She never knows I do it ... I've asked
But I like it because she mumbles in her sleep
What she says or doesn't say matters not
Is the little smile that appears that I'm after
I catch it in my cortex and then slowly let it seep
Into every fiber of my being
As I deal with my working day
Sometimes it's like it's a 3D image
Floating right out in front of me
Usually when some wackadoo corporate ****
Is making it extra hard for me continue to be
A puppet
Yeah that's right
Then if you don't understand it
Chances are you're probably White
Now I'm not lumping you all together
Though I can say this much for sure
You will never understand my existence
And what each day I must endure
This day has just been plain stupid
I know of no other word to express
The way a simple stop to pick up milk
For my twin girls breakfast can become such a mess
Put your hands above your head
Get on your knees
Don't move or I'll shoot you
Get down on your knees
For a Split Second Abbott and Costello
Flittered through the Kaleidoscope behind my eyes
And I think it was that little smile that that created
Was what sealed my eternal fate
Those cops just shot me I said
So why do I not feel any pain
The slow staccato echo of gunshots
23 times I counted - again and again and again
Crazy man - this is just crazy
So I say again to the man pushing the Gurney
Just before they load me into the ambulance
Just after they pull the blanket over my head
Hey you out there I'm worried about my wife
I don't know...what
she and the girls will do now... Now that I am dead
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
god i cant think of anything
i, lonely and vulnerable could do
without the quiet accompaniment
of a song i like to call, you
for i, little lonely and vulnerable me
used to play with the birds
and chirp to the trees
until a cloud came to past
and don't rush me please believe,
the sun was still around
but days became overcast
for even i, little lonely and vulnerable me
could notice a slight difference
and the dust could agree
that the now wilted grass
and old lumping trunks
would soon swift away
and fade into the ducts
oh but yes i, little lonely and vulnerable me
believed that the sun
kept engraved but a tiny plea
a song full of life
that fought with what was left
to the break in the clouds
held a verse to a knife like a theft
for yes i, little lonely and vulnerable me
that used to play with the birds
and dance in the trees
soon saw the crack
which was there all along i plead
released into the shadows
was the breath from which i lacked, from which i need
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC