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Bob B Sep 8
(Do you know the 1958 Sheb Wooley song "The Purple People Eater"? Here is a poem/song version for 2024.)

Well, this strange phenomenon came walking our way
With a deep orange glow. Boy what a day!
'Twas the weirdest creature you ever could see.
It looked like an orangish freedom hater to me.

It was a big ol', foul-mouthed, lyin' orangish freedom hater.
(Big ol', foul-mouthed, lyin' orangish freedom hater.)
A big ol', foul-mouthed, lyin' orangish freedom hater.
NOT so fun to see! (Loud mouth?)

So he came to this land to spread all of his hate
And he told people here that he would make them great.
He also said he's the chosen one!
His first time here was a mere dry run!

It was a big ol', foul-mouthed, lyin' orangish freedom hater.
(Big ol', foul-mouthed, lyin' orangish freedom hater.)
A big ol', foul-mouthed, lyin' orangish freedom hater.
'Twas so weird to see! (Big old?)

We asked the orangish freedom hater, "What's your plan?"
Then HE said, "Doing what it takes to be a moneyman.
But what's more important is to meet my goal:
To kick out non-loyalists and be in control."

Well, boogeyman, Putin fan, lyin' orangish freedom hater,
Addled-brained, unrestrained, lyin' orangish freedom hater.
(He wears golf pants) lyin' orangish freedom hater.
Looks so strange to me!

He said he HAD many friends who could help him succeed,
And he asked us why we had a problem with greed.
He said that greed's a virtue and it must be clear--
That the government shouldn't stop a profiteer!

Well, boogeyman, Putin fan, lyin' orangish freedom hater,
Addled-brained, unrestrained, lyin' orangish freedom hater.
(He loves golf pants) lyin' orangish freedom hater.
Strange? You must agree! (Freedom hater?)

There's a problem with him, and, yes, it's sad to say:
It looked as though he would be here to stay.
"Move to Russia," we said--"a perfect country for you.
Let the Russian dictator make all your dreams come true."

-by Bob B (9-7-24)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=67tKNEsJjTI
Brent Kincaid May 2019
Have you never told the truth
Even in your untrustworthy youth?
Did ever make a habit of saying what you mean?
You’re the biggest fake and loser many have ever seen.
When you look into the mirror, what is it you see?
Can you tell how far you’ve fallen from humanity?
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.


You make up crap so fast you can’t keep track.
So much sounds like it came out of the other crack.
You cheat and brazenly brag about your cheating.
At the Devil’s table you needn’t worry about seating.
You’ll be right there at Beelzebub’s right hand
And you’ll have friends there, won’t it be grand?
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.

The way you look and dress, and your awful voice
Makes me change the channel if I have any choice.
If the gym I go to has you on the cable TV
I switch the gym I go to as quickly as can be.
I never take kindly to liars and to bragging thieves.
I hope your crimes will match the penalty you receive.
You’re always lyin’, lyin’, lyin’!
So shove it where the sun don’t shine.

Brent Kincaid
5/20/2019
jeffrey robin Aug 2011
war
talkin to a soldier
talkin a war
.......
aint no talkin a peace
cause there aint
no peace ta talk a
.........
aint no love ta talk a
aint nothin good
to talk a
round here
only is war
..........
***** all the stinkin
lyin politicians
da stinkin lyin judges
a  da stinkin lyin supreme court!
da stinkin lyin business men
da stinkin lyin
"citizens"
and da stinking lyin journalists!
all is war!
........
is  a person out there
or is it all a figment a the imagination
that any one is even here?
........
hey you!
wake da f--k up!
quite stinkin da place up
with your lazy stinkin
warring ways!
you aint no puppet
you is real....
--------------
--------------
maybe
Ken Pepiton Aug 2018
A pocket of thought, ideas.
Impulses, has beens

epi-phenom-enal-con-currencies-synchron-icity
sorting places, thens and nows vying for attention

you see
we till stories in search of true tomorrows
not true
yesterdays (till, I said, not tell)
we **** the hard rows no one else will ***
so seed lies sown are never lies told, if the lies are never taught
or if the liars are caught before convincing the
intended crop to lie and swear a common liege Lord,
or die
for lack of knowing. Non-nascence, simplest
symptom to not see.
Whose death is yours to respond responsibly
to? My child's, or yourn?
In the early days, we knew less than we know now
about how knowing and growing were all
intended
to cost time. Ticks, ono motto whatever, the sound
gears and spiral springs pushing cogs
tick, one tooth tick at atime make

this rough, un polished, un glossed, is it wrong or

as I imagine a diamond in the rough must seem to a share cropper
experienced in diamond hunting, diamond prospecting,

prospecting expecting inspection to permit
seeing a 3.52 specific gravity,
specific
specify

species or spectacles,
spectators or special-if-eye-cation
value-en-abled. Weigh your mind in balance
with mine. I claim the mind of Christ.
What are the odds?

A wandering path, injoyable enable if-i-abble,
pacing is

everything, timing is everything, time is the test.

Time is the metagame.
Take your time. One word formed sylabble at a time.
Babble on, your confusion makes you mortal, to my mind.
Tick.
A quanta of time. Does time come in bits and pieces cernible,
but undiscernible from reality?

Babble.

Of course, time will tell. We learned that in our sleep, did we not?

Aesop taught us more than Moses, no,
Aesop taught us less than Moses.

But, we could learn to walk bearing the weight of knowing what
Aesop taught,
while we could not stand under the weight
Moses was said
to have taught.

Caught you, Jewboy. Whatchewknow?
The moral of the story.

THE IDEA is to win.
Beware the concision decision.
incisive devices, witty inventions.

Flip the shell, roll the bones, cast the runes and,
as luck might have it, die before your time.

Why factors are lies more oft than how factors.
Benefactors rule malefactors or
how or why would we invest our time in seeking reasons
to believe?

Is this the polished piece, the gemstone of specific gravity
(which currently means nothing to you. Here, you find too light
or too heavy, too weighty on the scale of specific value.)

Hard. Value hard, diamond hard, on Mr. Moore's scaled model of
Knowing exploding for reason's sake, raison d'etre, eh?
Too hard?
Not Mohs,
don't get me wrong.
We been Moore's law breaker all along.
We be manifested destinatory stories of heroes gone wrong.

Outlawed
knowing exploding to be reasoned with, by kind
children destined to become
written in stone, scarred by lies

Diamonds cutting diamonds, iron whetting iron
on eternity's edge.

Babylon, was it Bel's gate or fusion from below rising?

Magma fountains with diamond claws tearing the lands asunder
Is asunder still a word?, let me, allow me to define...
"into a position apart, separate,
into separate parts,"
mid-12c., contraction of Old English on sundran 
Middle English used to know asunder for
"distinguish, tell apart."
From <https://www.etymonline.com/word/asunder>
----

mumbler's humbler PIE, bowing before the knowers who
know nothing of my work.
Set apart, art thou holy aware?

Hermit me, meet the rest of me. The true rest that remained.
We live, you and I. Trust me, next is worth the wait.

Suffer needs no pain to make its point. Waiting is.

Grokk. WHO would believe that idea could live
through telegraphese to be tweet meets for the
Cosplay clans. How never grokked a rock,  why even less.

Strange, not be long in this
place. if
place this be. Odd
set aside
torn asunder
blown away.
Awake, little birdie, tell me true,
what's a man like me to do?

Did you meet the famous Mr. Blake?
I cleaned his chimney, way back when, chimbly's whut
we called em. Smoke stacks belchin' black
makin' black moths invisible to voracious
gulls.
Now the peppered moths are free
to be white-ish, for better or worse.

----

right, now, do right or

miss the mark,
the specific mark you made, maybe,
imagining, abstract obstructions missed
by the skin on Job's teeth as you run past

right now to more. You know?

----=

Story telling was the same as lying when I was a child, to me.

Telling stories was my gift I never took. Or am I lying? or mad,
in the old way.
Chailot's rag picker was my best friend.

No noble thought ever found it's home in my head, once
I thunk it, it stunk to high heaven, for me stinkin' thinkin' it.

Po' ems sang sour to fiddles wit' one strang and drums with no
cymbals
Screamin' he owed m' soul the comp'ny sto' bang bang thud.

I died, he lied, and lived to tell this story, ****** if I know,
****** if I don't.

True as true can be. I am lost, but once was found,
lyin' rough, uncut in acres of unseen gems.
----
* Voltaire refused to teach me any thing I could not define:
late 14c., deffinen, diffinen, "to specify; to fix or establish authoritatively;" of words, phrases, etc., "state the signification of, explain what is meant by, describe in detail," from Old French defenir, definir "to finish, conclude, come to an end; bring to an end; define, determine with precision," and directly from Medieval Latin diffinire, definire, from Latin definire "to limit, determine, explain," from de "completely" (see de-) + finire "to bound, limit," from finis "boundary, end" (see finish (v.)). From c. 1400 as "determine, declare, or mark the limit of." Related: Defined; defining.

So, imagine facets unseen, I am at least a meme, a bubble rising on the tide. Think, as you will. Amen?
Incorporating radical (root-related) definitions via cut and paste is my way of acknowledging that I have no ex-uses left for using words in a wrong, thus lying, way.
Aditi Dec 2013
I found God
On the corner of First and Amistad
Where the west
Was all but won
All alone
Smoking his last cigarette
I said, "Where you been?"
He said, "Ask anything".


Where were you
When everything was falling apart?
All my days
Were spent by the telephone
That never rang
And all I needed was a call
That never came
To the corner of First and Amistad


Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lyin' on the floor
Surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me


In the end
Everyone ends up alone
Losing her
The only one who's ever known
Who I am
Who I'm not, who I wanna be
No way to know
How long she will be next to me


Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lyin' on the floor
Surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me


Early morning
The city breaks
I've been callin'
For years and years and years and years
And you never left me no messages
Ya never send me no letters
You got some kinda nerve
Taking all I want


Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lyin' on the floor
Where were you? Where were you?
Lost and insecure
You found me, you found me
Lyin' on the floor
Surrounded, surrounded
Why'd you have to wait?
Where were you? Where were you?
Just a little late
You found me, you found me
Why'd you have to wait?
To find me, to find me
Jeremy Betts May 2022
(too long version)

Life indeed pushed me to the edge of the cliffs end but the jump was my decision, no one there could ever be bothered to care enough to even explore the simplest question much less begin thinkin' about askin' what I was thinkin' when I settled on the option I ultimately, on more than one occasion, failed at miserably while attemptin', like the byproduct of rabbits ******' my faults are multiplyin' as my spark goes dark at the same time my shine went dim, not worth restorin' this vessel that sits as decoration in a white trash front lawn deterioratin', startin' from the back end then devourin' the engine

One step forward, two giant leaps back pedalin', that was the general motion of regression, lookin' like I'm plagiarizin' Michael Jackson when he's on stage performin', masterin' that classic moon walkin' he's known for doin', never as smooth as him but you get the picture I'm paintin', losing track of my destination as it began droppin' out of sight behind the horizon, followin' the trail the sun was blazin'

Can't see the forest for the trees and vegetation, could have heard the pre-lumber fallin' if you would only humor me and at least pretend to listen, but that there is somethin' you have zero interest in which is interestin' cause if the past has taught me anythin' about what you find pleasure in it's that you're lovin', above everythin', the chance to keep pointin' out and highlightin' how I'm a terrible human bein', a garbage person but not a man and no CDL license, I'm not pickin' up the trash I'm metaphorically dwellin' in only then to have it pile back up again times ten, ultimately creatin' my own land fill location within, wilfully lettin' recycled misfortune to continue hittin' me on the chin, it's due to inadequate trainin', not for the lack of tryin' to defend

No direction just a lie practiced to perfection too keep 'em from noticin' my state of depression, leave 'em guessin'. But to keep the honesty rollin' in I have a confession, I'd loan you the money to pay attention but you'd never take that good for nothin' offerin' and I ain't even placin' blame, just sayin', I know my position, I'm fully aware I'm on the losin' end of this game of tug-a-war life and I are playin', though I think it's cheatin', countin' cards to ensure a win, gamblin' that I'll give in and fold before noticin' I'm the mark bein' taken, the journey of life is a rigged expedition

What am I doin' besides losin'? Why am I here became the daily question, how do I get out this mess of confusion that's drownin' me to the point of extinction? It's an impossible equation even for a mathematician with years of education, so you know for certain I'm lyin' when, for no good reason, I have a go at answerin'. The slipknot is workin' just as I was expectin', slippin', goin' taunt, slidin' into its final position

I should mention, if you're thinkin' this has taken place solely for attention you're sorely mistaken, you never come to that realization, dodgin' conversation in an attempt to avoid confrontation, leavin' me noticin' there's no one standin' by and extendin' a hand to help and lookin' back there's never been. No one attendin' my lonely execution by decapitation in an effort to stop the spreadin' of harmful misfortune I feed myself, bad for my mental health, a deadly addiction that's become somewhat of a tradition through repetition, turnin' a weapon on myself, worsenin' my condition, that's a fact based observation not an opinion

No resolution in the hard hitting revelation that there's no salvation for someone who's gone and done what I've done and gone on livin' in a web of fear that I first spun for protection but couldn't stop the infestation from gainin' the traction it was needin' for the completion of my complete elimination

Cravin' anythin' real to place my faith in, I'm bein' told the hate and pain I'm bathin' in is of my own creation, I can see the connection as I sit broken down in the intersection of real life and fiction, I've lost control again and once again there's no mulligan. Am I seein' the glass half full or half empty or maybe it's all an illusion regardless of perception? Lost my vision, can't see through the pollution and corruption runnin' rampant with no solution comin', I'm a simpleton so this ***** gettin' confusin', a complete brain malfunction

I've awoken the beast within and just as I was predictin' we instantly began battlin' to the death, fightin' for position and a quicker end to the situation I'm always findin' myself in then findin' out for myself that it's always been my own reflection startin' back in my direction, the ugly inside is finally outwardly projectin', can't even pretend to be my own friend, enough is enough, I'm saying when

Its lurkin' just under the skin, waitin' for the moment to strike and beat me down to nothin'. When will it end? Never I'm guessin'. I'm gonna have to try to put an end to it all myself again, tirin' of the repetition to the point I usually take no action, sometimes due to exhaustion but still just lettin' it all happen like that's what I was plannin' from the beginnin' but that makes about as much sense as quittin' ****** right after the needles insertion or waitin' till after overdosin'

Frustration givin' way to aggravation and aggression leavin' little satisfaction even if I could squeak out a win, but I'm no longer wastin' time waitin' for that to happen so I'll probably most likely be caught sleepin', dreamin' about what could've been had I listened to my gut feelin' and put in the same amount of stock I place in what my treasonous mind and heart are always sayin'
and not let doubt creep in and claim top billin' as it's permanent position, knocking out compassion and reason, replacin' both with the hate and weight of a nation

It's a fools mission, I WILL be beaten' into submission, the last thing I'll hear as my energy gives up on existin' is the mortician statin' then time stampin' my expiration, that and the body bag zippin', family left pickin' out a coffin from the bargain bin, not worth payin' a fortune, only payin' little respect to the fallen then quickly forgotten at the drop of a pin

You're sayin' I have a purpose but I'm witnessin' me wastin' every minute of the earths rotation and never reachin' the conclusion that I was slackin', far to laxed in the preparation for a home invasion of this mental prison I'm caged in where I'm servin' a life sentence and I'm mentally and emotionally starvin' while my vision of any kind of future begins to darken

No open invitation, but that's not stoppin' my personal demon from just walkin' right in and startin' the killin' spree up once again, focusin' first on positive motivation just for existin', of course that's just my imagination, but could you imagine? A horrible vision to the average pedestrian, I know, but I still crack a grin at the thought of it happenin', the devil on my shoulder is at it again

My light fractured through a prism and some went missin' and I never got around to lookin' so no chance of gettin' it back into my possession, there's no raignin' it in, goin' from a fools errand to a search and rescue mission seemingly overnight but for what reason, just to teach me a lesson? I don't test well, I won't make it to graduation

Choices made out of desperation got me lookin' and feelin' like a felon, to survive I had to become the villain of the biography I'm narratin', this isn't livin', at best it's just barely holdin' on for dear life and weakenin', a measly attempt at survivin', forced into an intimate relation with the unforgivable, each of the sinful deadly seven

The line not to cross was paper thin, walked it like a drunk person in front of a couple corrupt police men, heathens but feelin' better than, lost control long ago, before I fell off the wagon, I ain't talkin' about drinkin', it started way back when with prescription medication, ones that were suppose to be helpin' but then used for wreckreation and that's when it began draggin' me down to an underground parkin' garage elevation

I didn't have a break down, like I said, it was a break in home invasion with the assumption there was somethin' worth takin' to begin with but everythin' inside is broken and you can see the corrosion of the foundation built on sand, makin' this temple worth nothin', even self worth is fadin'

Graspin' at the air and yet again findin' nothin', grapplin' with the notion I'm nothin', prayin' my emergency flotation device will suffice cause the water is ragin', feelin' the undertow currant strengthen in it's concentration, I think it's attackin' and there's no escapin' so I began blinkin' SOS in old fashion morse code hopin' you don't need help with the translation, if that's the case then I'm done for, why bother debatin', I'll take myself out of the equation, preparin' my soul for the comin' evacuation

You begin lyin' just to raise my spirits but I ain't buyin' into what you're sellin', counterfeit concern bein' spoken with no emotion or conviction, after the extensive evaluation I see it's no garden of Eden I'm livin' in, again, someone's been lyin', I'd be wakin' right into the den of a rabid lion shrouded in original sin, I ate the fruit knowin' full well it was forbidden, straight up poison but zero ***** were given, so this was bound to happen, the writin' was on the wall, who am I kiddin'?

You have my permission to begin the process so let's just go ahead then and get this over with so I can silence the voices within, I've eliminated every complication, layin' on the tracks at the crazy train boarding station, awaitin' the unavoidable, provin' I was correct in the assumption that this is the right time to initiate my endin', a personal Armageddon...oh, well hello, you must be that Satan guy I've been hearin' so much about from everyone preachin' directly in my ear then going out the other, it's still hard not to listen, I'm just tyin' up a loose end or two then I'm yours for the takin'

...alright, thanks for waitin', now then, let the journey to my endin' begin shall we? I'm takin' the lead on this one cause I know where we're goin' and I'm no good at followin' direction...obviously, it goes without sayin'

©2022
One picture puzzle piece
Lyin' on the sidewalk,
One picture puzzle piece
Soakin' in the rain.
It might be a button of blue
On the coat of the woman
Who lived in a shoe.
It might be a magical bean,
Or a fold in the red
Velvet robe of a queen.
It might be the one little bite
Of the apple her stepmother
Gave to Snow White.
It might be the veil of a bride
Or a bottle with some evil genie inside.
It might be a small tuft of hair
On the big bouncy belly
Of Bobo the Bear.
It might be a bit of the cloak
Of the Witch of the West
As she melted to smoke.
It might be a shadowy trace
Of a tear that runs down an angel's face.
Nothing has more possibilities
Than one old wet picture puzzle piece.
"i don't wanna have to be the one to tell you this,
but you're no foodie; you're just a fat-***
who's too cowardly to take an honest look at yourself.

It's okay to be whatever you want,
just don't lie to yourself proclaiming to be a foodie
to justify late-night trips to Jack in the Box four days a week,
or eating a whole jar of Tostitos 'Salsa con Queso' every two days.

Are you trying to mummify yourself with all those preservatives?

Y'know,
just because you blow most of your paychecks
on gasoline, **** food and overpriced coffee
pulled to the most pretentious of standards
doesn't at all begin to mean that you've got any class, taste, or style,
let alone that you're a foodie.

At least recycle all the paper products your pseudofood comes in.

Moreover, your thighs aren't ******* gluten,
they're all that other junk you eat habitually
while watching your oh-so-edified selection of films
before sleeping it off until 3 in the afternoon.

No wonder you're so full of ****:
you are what you eat, I suppose.

Pull your head on out your ***.

All that fat and cholesterol isn't for the faint of heart."
A bit of a rant. Sorry, but not really.
I'm a better man for leavin'
Than just staying here decievin'
Myself into believin'
That we've something left worth fighting for

I couldn't stay here lyin'
Inside I would be dieing
It's best I give up trying
There's nothing here worth fighting for

I still must thank you baby
For showing me to stay'd be
More no instead of maybe
We've nothing left worth fighting for

It's time to get a move on
In the morning I'll be long gone
I guess you lose and I won
We've nothing left worth fighting for
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
God you're pretty and
you got such lovely hair
your clothes are *****
but we don't even care

and rich boys walk by
and see you lyin there
they try to say hi
but you don't even care

some say you're crazy
well maybe that's true
but how I'd love to spend
a lazy morning with you

so blow by me barefoot
please show me your smile
to see you all made up
would really be worthwhile

just a girl


©1987 Lyn
Hi. this one was written about
a young woman who I would
see often in and around
Peoples Park,
Berkeley, California.
it's actually a song.
I lived february til may in
that great town in 1987.
jeffrey robin Apr 2015
in this the hour of

The last and the final

Song of love

••

Hope YE got it down

Hope you got it right

Hope YE mean it

••

No
More
Lyin

No more playin games

••

It's the final hour

The last song

Oh love !

Hope we have stopped

Lyin and playin games
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
Me Nose knows da way she goes.
Da smells herb throws,
me Nose just knows.

Da smell kush gives.
Da way me lives.
Me Nose just knows.

'avin a ****
with a **** lovin' bloke.
enjoyin' da incense.
But me losing da essence.
Me Nose knows, but me eyes don't.

Me **** lovin' bloke,
who me was 'bout to ****,
was not a gurl,
just a lyin' shmuck.

He was not a chick
'cause he had a ****.
Me eyes now know
what me Nose knows.
By Herb I Mean Kush
pat Mar 2015
I'm standing on the icy head of a barge, all rusted to ****. P.J. (the lead deckhand) and I wait patiently with frozen line tearing at our shoulders. We're far away from the buzzy, groaning engines of the Mary C tug, and all I hear is the water being pushed out of our way.
        "What direction is that?"
         "Up river?"
         "Yessir".
          They call rope line. To me it's always been rope and I don't care to call it something else. But they've made it clear, "it is and will always be referred to as line". It'd be nice if terminology was the only thing that ruffled these country boys feathers. Who knew they'd be so strict?  And do I really need a question mark if it's rhetorical?
         I'm on a boat. It's 6:30 a.m., or as they say back home "early as ****". Sun's poking through the trees and it makes that gentle floating snow a bit more detailed. I stick nervously to the rim, but only because I'm new. It isn't worth pretending to be comfortable, at least not on that thing. Besides, falling in the water is basically equivalent to dying here. The safety videos stressed that. Although, they also swore that a crew will alert you to "watch the bump!" whenever hitting up against something. That's not a real thing though. A lot of the **** we watched isn't real. I'm indifferent. After all, I didn't chase a boat to feel comfortable.
          In my heavy-hearted moments, pessimism takes a whack at everything I put faith in. I reject myself and challenge every step that lead me to unhappiness. Big, big questions toss and turn inside my head, and they try to convince me to run home.  It happens.  
           But I'm happy right now, just seeing the sunrise and being surrounded by all these strange factories puffing out clouds.  It's probably all bad, toxic stuff.  Sometimes it's not worth digging into negative realities. For now, they're factories that make clouds for us to enjoy.  P.J. and I both lit up a cigarette and he asked me why I was smiling.  
           "This is a pretty cool job. I mean, what a way to wake up".
He spit casually off the side, down into the water.
            "You aint lyin".
homeland security
on these nuts
home land security
in your butts
home land security
look but don't touch
it's too much
for 'em to understand
***** jacker
**** in hand
hatin' big wacker
on tha attacker
i like 'em blacker
she's a ***** packer
don't like 'em battered
spell bound brain washed
what's tha matter?
Homeland Security Act
homeland security
tryin' ta scare
why can't tha government care?
socialist ideals
not tryin' to hear
hippie gal tryin' ta spread peace
until the cognizance cease
down with tha ****
come in your hair
tryin' ta do me long
they can't take it down
ya know they messin' around
neo-con trick
tryin' ta make brunette sick
don't they like the way i hold my ****?
maybe i wanna take a lick
lyin' *******' wichin' cryin'
like a man's supposed to be dyin'
look at 'em fryin'.
sorcery zap to the court-ordered goofs
snitchin'
doin' bad things
mad federal schemes
they all occultic fiends
with yo mama church
as the ball swings
** **** on me
mother **** the holy see
what ya tryin' to be
....holy?
goons, screws, pigs and spooks
sayin cognizance aint to use
poor court ordered goofs so-abused
papists vowed in their delusions of grandeur
all you supposed ta think
...is white cop
expendable masses they say aint allowed ta know
while they call the pope pop
guardian protectors of tha white bred
they wanna make tha people brain dead
feds frivolous threats
tha number on your badge says zero
what you tryin' to be?
A super hero?
http://chocolatefantasies.com/Dicky-Chug.jpg
Maria Imran Dec 2016
you stop playin'
stop tellin' it's their fault
cuz it's not her fault
and I am innocent
just cuz I told you
I was tired of your lyin'
doesn't mean I deserve you
to ******' tell me I am wrong
I am wrong cuz I put myself
before a ******* for once
doesn't mean I am wrong
if I tell you I wanna quit
I just wanna breathe.
sometimes you need to bear it - for better
I'm lyin under the stars.
Talking to myself
And suddenly I remember you
I remember all the scars
The years up on the shelf
The lines you tied to me that pulled me through.

But you never knew the lion
You only knew the lamb
And maybe that's for the best
But I remember how you were cryin'
And I'll never understand
Why God always makes us fail our last test.

And I'm lyin' under the stars
Counting the scars in the ceiling
I'm trying not to think
You might have never made it through
As far as the earth is from the heavens
My thoughts are chasing after you
And as I wonder where you are
Suddenly the stars fade from view.

You lulled me to sleep
With stories I would keep
Even if the details kind of blurred
And I remember I heard
In more than just words
That love could over come a broken world

And I'm lyin' under the stars
Counting the scars in the ceiling
I'm trying not to think
You might have never made it through
As far as the earth is from the heavens
My thoughts are chasing after you
And as I wonder where you are
Suddenly the stars fade from view.

The hand that held me up
Shivered as it fell
And I just stood there saying it would pass
I never should have let that moment pass

And I'm lyin' under the stars
Counting the scars in the ceiling
I'm trying not to think
You might have never made it through
As far as the earth is from the heavens
My thoughts are chasing after you
And as I remember your eyes
All the sugar coated lies
I remember your smile
And those long homeward miles
I remember how you cried
Years after grand pa died
I remember holding your hand
And me trying to understand
How something once so strong
Could shiver too
I prayed but I could not believe it was true
That you...

I remember your eyes
And suddenly the stars blur from view.
Evangeline Ashe Aug 2015
Fahnd 'im lyin' int middle o' t'street
bruised an' battered from t'tramplin' feet.
Ee'd crawled aht from some gutter
an' them cries tha' ee did utter
almost like a knife through butter
cut mi quick an' deep.

'Is broken wings ah tried to treat
gently praying that ee'd be reyt.
But when 'is cry became a stutter
t'world rolled dahn its shutters
an' rahnd mi someone muttered:
" 'is prospects ain't 'alf bleak".

An' that poor lost little 'eap
ah cradled but coun't weep,
til mi arms discerned a flutter.
So in mi chest ee'll see the summer
from that 'ollow haven like no other
where ee can safely sleep.
Terry O'Leary Jun 2013
A cruel Jack Frost blows icy floss
          (in front of spring a’ burstin’)
while shiftin’ sheaves of withered leaves
          near freezin’ streams a’ thirstin’.
A pack reviled runs roamin’ wild,
          the alpha wolf wakes howlin’
then scents a lean and lonesome scene
          while on the lurk a’ prowlin’.

A cloud revolts with spangled bolts,
          and starry skies start closin’
as wild geese soar beyond death’s door
          neath naked moon a’ posin’.
Electric shafts, like fractured rafts,
          sail night’s cathedral caldrons –
their cracking curse makes herds disperse
          in random splayed and sprawled runs.

A she-wolf sighs with hungry eyes;
          the ancient wolf waits, bayin’ -
with weary back, he’s lost the track,
          his bandied legs betrayin’.
The brood’s somewhere in shrouded lair
          with mama left to mind ’em -
the wolf, a’ drag with empty swag,
          is on his way to find ’em.

The pack rejoins with weary ***** -
          perhaps its days are numbered.
In evening’s night, he’s feeling tight,
          with aches and pains encumbered.
As morning nears, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over)
he’ll set the course with renewed force,
          for, yes, he’s still the rover.

When snow enshrines the timberlines
          and skies are ripped asunder
though young, lupine, they’ll stifle whines,
          as gullies fill with thunder;
mid echoes in the mouth o’ death,
          they bid farewell the lair
while panting puffs o’ crystal breath
          float, hanging in the air.

Their path is black (they can’t look back
          for herds long gone a’ missin’)
as dusk profanes the snow-bound plains
          the sinkin’ sun was kissin’.
Neath northern lights, with barks and bites,
          he keeps ’em all in motion –
the speckled scars of fallin’ stars
          display the night’s devotion.

The sky’s a’ blushin’ in the east,
          and hollow wind’s are sighin’
while buzzards freeze in gallows trees,
          a’ roostin’, rapt and eyein’.
These ghouls of prey, they’re spooked away,
          like tumbleweeds a’ blowin’,
by tilted head, white fangs tipped red,
          and warnin’ wail’s a’ growin’.

With snout upturned the moon’s discerned
          as well as wafts a wendin’
and muzzled growls and shriekin’ howls
          mark wolves in quests unendin’.
With fragrant hint, the wolf’s a’ sprint,
          the pack begins t’ rally –
in swift descent they’ve seized a scent,
          that’s flowin’ down the valley.

The wolf moves on behind the dawn
          and shades the pale horizon
as she-wolfs vet his silhouette
          each time they lay their eyes on.
With trek discreet, a trail is beat
          across a river frozen –
when day’s complete, just mice to eat,
          a choice despised, but chosen.

A stillness jeers the shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over),
while caribou, with much ado,
          drift, seekin’ blades o’ clover;
the wearied pack picks up their track
          (with stony stomachs pangin’)
through endless seas of barren trees
          with ice like daggers hangin’.

The wolf invades forgotten glades,
          the pack stays close behind ’im;
the caribou, in his purview,
          seem far too far to mind ’im.
Above, a baleful moonbeam wails,
          “oh god he’s gonna’ catch ’em”;
the scene is grim, the Reaper dim,
          the night has gone to fetch ’im.

A moanin’ mynah’s crying loud
          as birds of prey are preachin’
to cravin’ ravens prayin’ proud
          and wide-eyed owls a’ screechin’.
The wolf, unrushed, is breathin’ hushed,
          his hollow eyes a’ narrowin’
and focused hard in fixed regard
          on herds they'll soon be harrowin’.

The morning breeze is ill at ease,  
          a surge brings sudden silence –
then haggard swarms launch poundin’ storms
          and hurricanes of vi’lence;
the herd’s surprised and paralyzed
          all over hell’s half acre –
the leadin’ buck’s run out of luck,
          he’s soon to meet his maker.

The old wolf creeps, the old wolf leaps
          on prey he’s been a’ trackin’ –
a deer adorned with branchin’ horns
          is torn by beasts attackin’.
The morning quakes, a shadow shakes,
          tined antlers left a’ lyin’,
and spattered spots and scarlet clots
          repaint the point o’ dyin’.

A magpie flies with frightened eyes
          (on ebon wings a’ wavin’),
spies wolfin’ jaws and sated maws
          of wolves no longer cravin’.
The snowdrift clears, a cool wind veers,
          a dying breath, moreover –
a wraith appears, with shaggy ears,
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).

Dawn’s sunbeams crowd, ignite a cloud,
          its threaded strands a’ weavin’.
The pack awakes and twists and shakes,
          for soon it’s time for leavin’;
it’s bleak, it chills on shallow hills,
          as she-wolfs come a’ nuzzlin’,
but north winds scold, the wolf lies cold,
          the pack stands back a’ puzzlin’.

On crimson snows neath perchin’ crows,
          the pack abides a’ guardin’;
while nights are tight with Harpy kites,
          the she-wolves wait an’ harden,
until a groanin’ blizzard stones
          the barren forest stowin’
his shaggy ears beneath the weirs,
          with icy hails ’a blowin’.

The storm abates and terminates,
          the glacial wind’s subsidin’;
the past is past or passin’ fast
          and life goes on abidin’.
The herds, today, roam far away,
          not thinkin’ of the dyin’;
the pack’ll stray from day to day,
          ’a stalkin’ hard and tryin’.

As spring sneaks forth upon the north,
          they’re lean without their leader.
A she-wolf (bound with belly round)
          strains neath a budding cedar.
Upon the morn a whelp is born
           (the future forest drover)
in new frontiers, with shaggy ears
          (one droopin’ down, hung over).
Deadwood Haiku Mar 2015
you ain't right, Jimmy
lyin' causes cat **** smell
thievin' *******
Victoria Aug 2018
Disney didnt lie
You just haven't found the right guy
And I don't mean that "nice guy"
You know the one
That always wants to have fun
But always expectin sumin'
And sleeping beauty lyin in bed
Rattlin her head
Like Disney said i was a princess
But I feel like a Pauper instead
Because I havent found that kiss that opens up my eyes
And all these players out here are frog just tellin lies
In disguise
But I want a prince eric that goes into the ocean
I want me Aladdin that knows how to fly
But ofcorse Disney didn't lie
And I just haven't found the right guy
3 days to find love
But that ain't enough time
And im tryin to find a healing flower
That heals my broken heart
A genie in a bottle that would set me apart
Maybe one day I will turn in to a mermaid and live a life with music and art
But thats a farce
Maybe I will end up like elsa
Queen of the singles
Not needing to mingle
With the common folk
Sometimes I feel like Disney is a ******* joke
But I keep hearing that Disney didnt lie
And I just havent found the right guy
The guy that will give me all his time
The guy that isn't in it for the money
Or the glory
Or the crown
But im looking around and all I see are these clowns
And John isnt around to save his Pocahontas
Theres a long list
Of reasons I get ******
That flynn's not out here trying to give me a kiss
And I feel like my opportunity was missed
And I'm on the ground in some mist
Waiting for the dwarves to put me in a glass casket
And i just hear the same fact
****
That Disney didn't lie
I just havent found the right guy
This is a rap sorta
I MIND him well, he was a quare ould chap,
Come like meself from swate ould Erin's sod;
He hired me wanst to help his harvest in-
The crops was fine that summer, praised be God!

He found us, Rosie, Mickie, an' meself,
Just landed in the emigration shed;
Meself was tyin' on their bits of clothes;
Their mother-rest her tender sowl!-was dead.

It's not meself can say of what she died:
But 'twas the year the praties felt the rain,
An' rotted in the soil; an' just to dhraw
The breath of life was one long hungry pain.

If we wor haythens in a furrin land,
Not in a country grand in Christian pride,
Faith, then a man might have the face to say
'Twas of stharvation me poor Sheila died.

But whin the parish docthor come at last,
Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes-
They looked straight into Heaven-an' her ears
Wor deaf to the poor children's hungry cries,

He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw:
'She's gone!' he says, and drew a solemn frown;
'I fear, my man, she's dead.' 'Of what?' says I.
He coughed, and says, 'She's let her system down!'

'An' that's God's truth!' says I, an' felt about
To touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark;
An' in me hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,
I felt the kindlin' of a burnin'spark.

'O by me sowl, that is the holy truth!
There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,
An' Mickie's eyes are bright-the craythur there
Died that the weeny ones might eat their fill.'

An' whin they spread the daisies thick an' white
Above her head that wanst lay on me breast,
I had no tears, but took the childher's hands,
An' says, 'We'll lave the mother to her rest.'

An' och! the sod was green that summer's day,
An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;
But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,
An' sent their cruel poison through the air.

An' all was quiet-on the sunny sides
Of hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,
An' thim as lacked the rint from empty walls
Of little cabins wapin' turned away.

God's curse lay heavy on the poor ould sod,
An' whin upon her increase His right hand
Fell with'ringly, there samed no bit of blue
For Hope to shine through on the sthricken land.

No facthory chimblys shmoked agin the sky.
No mines yawned on the hills so full an' rich;
A man whose praties failed had nought to do
But fold his hands an' die down in a ditch.

A flame rose up widin me feeble heart,
Whin, passin' through me cabin's hingeless dure,
I saw the mark of Sheila's coffin in
The grey dust on the empty earthen flure.

I lifted Rosie's face betwixt me hands;
Says I, 'Me girleen, you an' **** an' me
Must lave the green ould sod an' look for food
In thim strange countries far beyant the sea.'

An' so it chanced, whin landed on the sthreet,
Ould Dolan, rowlin' a quare ould shay
Came there to hire a man to save his wheat,
An' hired meself and Mickie by the day.

'An' bring the girleen, Pat,' he says, an' looked
At Rosie, lanin' up agin me knee;
'The wife will be right plaised to see the child,
The weeney shamrock from beyant the sea.

'We've got a tidy place, the saints be praised!
As nice a farm as ever brogan trod.
A hundered acres-us as never owned
Land big enough to make a lark a sod.'

'Bedad,' says I, 'I heerd them over there
Tell how the goold was lyin' in the sthreet,
An' guineas in the very mud that sthuck
To the ould brogans on a poor man's feet.'

'Begorra, Pat,' says Dolan, 'may ould Nick
Fly off wid thim rapscallions, schaming rogues,
An' sind thim thrampin' purgatory's flure
Wid red hot guineas in their polished brogues!'

'Och, thin,' says I, 'meself agrees to that!'
Ould Dolan smiled wid eyes so bright an' grey;
Says he, 'Kape up yer heart; I never kew
Since I come out a single hungry day.

'But thin I left the crowded city sthreets-
Th'are men galore to toil in thim an' die;
Meself wint wid me axe to cut a home
In the green woods beneath the clear, swate sky.

'I did that same; an' God be praised this day!
Plenty sits smilin' by me own dear dure;
An' in them years I never wanst have seen
A famished child creep tremblin' on me flure.'

I listened to ould Dolan's honest words:
That's twenty years ago this very spring,
An' **** is married, an' me Rosie wears
A swateheart's little shinin' goulden ring.

'Twould make yer heart lape just to take a look
At the green fields upon me own big farm;
An' God be praised! all men may have the same
That owns an axe an' has a strong right arm!
Jai Rho Jan 2014
When I got to the hospital, the nurses told me he was still recovering from surgery for some internal injuries and this and that, but I could go see him for a bit. So I went up to his room and realized that I didn't really know what he looked like, other than blood and bruises, but I could still tell it was him by the way the bandages were wrapped around his head. "Hey Chief," I said, "howya doin'?" This time I knew he was conscious but he didn't say anything. He just gave me this look like he was saying, "Who are you?" and "How do I get rid of you?" at the same time. So I replied, "I know your name is Mitchell, but I figured the only way you'd remember me is if I called you 'Chief,' like I did before." That got his attention and he threw me this sudden, glowering stare for what seemed like a real long time, like he was trying to make up his mind about something. I thought I had ****** him off with that "Chief" crack, but then he said real soft,  "My name's not Mitchell."

     That suprised me a bit, so all I could say was, "But that's who's room this is, according to the nurses."

     "Maybe so. But that's not my real name . . . It's just a name I made up."

     "What, you on the run or something?"
    
     "Something like that."

     "And you ain't a Marine?"

     "How'd you . . . ?" Another stare, and then, "Nope. Not now. I was though."

     "I don't get it."

     "Mitchell was a name I made up when I joined the Corps . . . "

     "So, why did you make up a name? . . . You got a record?"

     "Nothin' like that . . . My real name is Irniq . . . It's an old Inuit name. When I joined up, I thought I was puttin' those days behind me."

     "Inuit . . . What's that, a kind of Indian?"

     "It means, 'People' . . . but you prob'ly think of us as 'Eskimos.' We don't like that name, so we don't use it."

     He stopped looking in my direction and kinda tilted his head back and rolled his eyes back before closing them. Then he took a few real deep breaths, and said, "I grew up in a village that was mostly hunters and fishermen. It was fun, when I was little, kind of like goin' on an adventure all the time. But as I got older, I realized how dirt poor we were and how we seemed to catch less game every season. And then I learned that our tribe owned land that the oil companies wanted to drill, and that the oil money could end our need to hunt, and get us modern, comfortable lives, but the tribe kept clingin' to their old ways. My father said it was oil that wiped out the herring habitats, and caused the seal population to crash, and was keepin' the ice away. I didn't care and thought he was a fool fightin' a losin' battle. I thought I saw the future and that he was goin' down with the past. We had terrible fights and I believed that the man who had once been this mighty hero of mine had turned into a pathetic has-been, and I didn't want to get dragged down with him. I thought that by leavin', I could somehow be part of the future. I didn't have too many places to go, so I joined the Marines."

     "Then what are you doing here?"

     He dropped his head forward, opened his eyes, locked them right on to mine, and said, "I left the Corps a couple of months ago. When I joined up, my father told me he no longer had a son. I guess I didn't really hear those words until I went back home and he shut the door in my face. My mother came out and tried to welcome me home, and get me to stay, but I knew that my father had been right all along, and that it was me who was pathetic. So I got on a bus and went as far as I could until my money ran out, and here I am."

     "What do you mean, about your father being right?"

     He closed his eyes again, brought both hands up to the sides of his face, and said, "When I was in the Corps, I got sent to Iraq. I was pretty gung ** at first, and thought I was fightin' for freedom and the way of life that I wanted, but then it just seemed to get pointless. Day after day of cat-and-mouse with an enemy hidin' in plain sight and no real purpose other than bein' there and gettin' into firefights. Then one day I was on this mission clearin' some homes of insurgents. I was leadin' a squad goin' door-to-door and not havin' much trouble 'til we went to this one house and there's this woman screamin' and tryin' to get past us. A couple of my guys had to hold her down while the rest of my squad got her family to kneel down beside her. The woman kept on screamin' and we didn't have an interpreter, so I went up to her and tried to calm her down. I told her in as soothin' a voice I could that we weren't goin' to hurt anyone, we were just lookin' for bad guys, when I saw this blur out of the corner of my eye. The woman started screamin' louder, and I turned and yelled, 'Stop!!! Stop!!!' a couple of times, but it kept movin' fast and I just reacted . . . I didn't have any time to think . . . it just kept movin' . . . and I was yellin', 'Stop!!! Stop!!!' . . . but it wouldn't stop . . . it wouldn't stop . . . it just kept movin' . . . . . . and I reacted . . . I just reacted . . . . . . and then there was my muzzle flash and this red mist . . . . . . this red mist that just erupted . . . and kind of hung there . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and then the woman wasn't screamin' . . . and I wasn't yellin' . . . . . . . . . and there was just this little boy . . . . . . . . this little boy, lyin' on the ground . . . . . . with this mush where his face used to be . . . . . . . . . . . and it was quiet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . so quiet . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . until I heard this sound like nothin' I ever heard before . . . this kind of moan . . . this deep, hollow, primeval moan that kind of rumbled at first . . . . . . . . and then it grew louder . . . and louder . . . and the pitch got higher and higher . . . . . . until it turned into this ferocious gut-wrenchin' shriek that filled my head and reached way down and ripped my insides out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and every day I try to put that boy back together in my mind . . . . . . I try to see his face . . . but I can't . . . . . . . . . . . . I can't see his face . . . . . . and I can't get that sound out of my head . . . . . . . . . . . . every single day . . . . . . . . . . . . and all I can see is my muzzle flash . . . and that mist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . that godawful red mist."
Third Eye Candy Jun 2014
in the park where squirrels peep and gibber
and the grass is brown, where the green died brownley...
there's a mark
on the world -
where we never fetched turtles
or lay languid in the shade,
but a place removed
and a day
wasted.

i see your charms as a heap of bleed.

and i forgive you all I give for ...

but i mark this place.

i brand it and sear my name
in the flesh
of our fresh regret, and stammer
in the sunshine
of our irredeemable
suns

the suns
that moons mock
and orbits abandon
to get on with the business
of sleeping through
a dream.

and you approve.

and i remain
unsleeped.

like a withered fruit
unpeached.
Anon C Aug 2018
Stuck in time I remember your eyes are like glass in a barrel
I realize now time seems fast but it's been a while
I avoid the question while you avoid the answer
It pains me deep down to see we're going nowhere

I keep on tryin' while my heart is lyin'
I want to run to you but I think now that I'm lost
It's simpler to hide away and let you forget me
I can't turn away I'm stuck here without me, without you

I wanna see you, then I don't I'm stuck in the fear of it all
You're a mystery through the haze when I reach you then I will fall
Afraid to come near you, then you can hurt me
Afraid you will see me and then I will burn you

I keep on tryin' while my heart is lyin'
I want to run to you but I think now that I'm lost
It's simpler to hide away and let you forget me
I can't turn away I'm stuck here without me, without you

I'll keep on tryin', while my head is lyin'
Perhaps I'll run to you when I find my way out of the fog
I don't wanna hide, I'll never forget
That I turned away and I'm stuck here without you, without me
As it is sung
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpIHDgLXwDI
Half a million dollars moved
by political giants
say our chimera hearts
are lion about some parts
look about my parts, see fur
see teeth, see claws
Lions? that's right,
We are.

Pounce on scorn
for these gender norms
we're pressing eulogies in binary's
for transcribing our identities
to hetero70's minded
heredity enemies.
fixated on tellin' me
my parts are prescribed
like sedatives, sleepin' on it
'till I'm good and dead,
like the rest of them.

I love a lion
Son of a lion
daughter of a lion
daddy was a liar
mommy was a fighter

but I'm not lyin'
I've been rhymin' since third grade.
back than I said I was a lesbian
to try and get laid
nobody knows who they are that young
Our personalities grey
and unsung
media does an oli-oop
propaganda elected a spoof.
a Caricature opposite from any revaluation
Who was it
that wanted to watch Disney villains
start performing Macbeth
wrapped in a flag, carrying a privileged crest
white owls, burning bathroom signs on crosses
Tinder deleted her account
For the wrong parts,
used the wrong Lions stall.
They viewed her as lyin'
Aren't we all?
Aren't we fake for six months?
Jack-o-lantern carving out
new masks to try on?
The tea lights stay the same
keeps flickering sin
and shout.
If the wind blows just right,
I watch them sometimes,
burn out.
MKF Nov 2014
You got that plastic smile
And that painted facade
Showin off your guile
You think you're ****** god
Your minions bow
To the poster child
To the spokesman now
For egos gone wild
But when you step off stage
And that mask comes off
You're just filled with rage
Cause you been slackin off
You stand for nothin
But you preach it all the same
Now people know you're bluffin
And its destroyin your fame
They're callin you fake
They're callin you out
It makes your heart break
Yeah it makes you doubt
If your friends are really friends
Or if its all a scam
If they're goin to all ends
To see that you sank instead of swam
So you're repainting your face
And com in back to your pulpit
Joinin a new race
Where you're no longer a culprit
But soon enough its all the same
A whole new group
Has figured out your game
Quick as if the last one  gave em the scoop
Now you're developin a rep
And kid it ain't a good one
Always behind half a step
Its been so long since you've won
So now you're lookin deep inside
Tryna figure out what's wrong
Tryna figure out what to hide
But you've just been lyin all along
Lyin to yourself
Lyin to your crew
But now you're dropping lies on the shelf
And becomin someone new
So when you look in that mirror
You'll like what you see
Now that person's gettin clearer
Yeah that person's breakin free
Nothin' says nothin' like nothin'.
Nothin' smokes harda than somethin'.
Twinkle in his eyes, da room bout' to cry,
Nothin' says nothin' like nothin'.

Mouth fulla smoke, I ain't smokin'.
Room fulla blow, I ain't blowin'.
Walk out da door, me **** feelin' sore,
Nothin' says nothin' like nothin'.

I wanna stay tru, but I'm lyin'.
I wanna stay calm, but I'm dyin'.
**** fulla *******, ne'er da same,
Nothin' says nothin' like nothin'.

Dank fools, comin' at me all hood.
Wish I could fight, cause I should.
An island boy would, if he thought he was good.
I can't believe how ******' high I am.

Ba-da-ding-ding-whooooooa!
Just say no me broddas.
Raj Arumugam Feb 2014
got myself a donkey yesterday

got myself a donkey yesterday

and tethered it out there in the yard;

but when I looked out the window

I noticed
it looked glum, moody and testy

so I went out to see what I could do
I tickled my donkey 

and he cackled and laughed a lot

and he hee-hawed aloud -

but yeah, you can bet your ****

I got the bigger kick out of it


my donkey died

You remember the donkey

I bought some time ago? 

Well, I stopped feeding it for a week

and the stupid animal died 

just as it was finally learning to survive

on clean air, positive thoughts and vibes


that's a donkey on the table

so my donkey died

and in my grief I lay it on the best table

and I drank and drank



and people who came to mourn

brought some hay

but some of them said, after two days

(and I was still drinking-mourning):

"You can't just leave that lyin' on the table

"


"That's not a lion, you idiot!
"
I barked at each one of them
"That's my donkey on the table!
"
And so I'd demonstrated my ability

to stay sober

and retain my ****-picuity

in spite of days of grief

and like me I am sure you too

cannot but marvel at people's inability

to distinguish between a lion and a donkey


donkey ride

now that my donkey is dead

it makes me reminisce

about the good times we had

____



We were in the car

my donkey and I 

as I took it for a weekend ride

which was my habit



And a traffic cop stopped us 

and he said:

“Hey, what you doing 

with a donkey in the car?

Take it to the zoo”

*

The next weekend that same cop

stopped us

and he asked me:

“Still with that donkey?

I thought I told you to take it

to the zoo"



“Oh, I did,”* I replied

“and we enjoyed it so much

That was an excellent idea, thank you

Now we’re going to the beach”




donkey at the cinema*

the other time 

my donkey insisted

I take it to the cinema

and so I did - 
not that I got a kick out of it

but just so that I *didn't
get a kick



anyways 

we were watching the movie

when the guy seated next to donkey

said: "Hey, you're a donkey. 

What 'r' you doing in the cinema? "

*


And donkey replied:

" I reviewed the book;

now I'm here to review the movie"
...for those who want to read my recent series of donkey poems on one page...and in memory of the donkey that has trotted off to Donquay Heaven...
HB Oct 2010
Dead dog sleepin',
Lyin' down.
All limp, and melted
On the ground.

A twitch, a snort
A slurp, a *****.
Seems to me,
You've got it ruff.

On rocks or mud
Or feathered-down,
This dead dog's sleepin',
Lyin' down.
Jason Cole May 2015
pray
somebody pray for me
why don't you pray
just bow your head and pray for me
done went and lost my direction
i wander 'round aimlessly

got one foot in my coffin
the other's in the grave
get so sick of livin'
'cause i'm tired most everyday
please pray
somebody bow their head for me
i'm lonely as a prisoner
my heart is shade 'neath the tree

pray
somebody pray for me
why don't you pray
just bow your head and pray for me
when i look at my reflection
my eyes are filled with misery

Mama she ain't lyin'
when she says what's on my brain
but i can't stop her cryin'
she sees right through my pain
Mama pray
just bow your worried head for me
you know i ain't been forgiven
and i'm so scared i'll never be

pray
somebody pray for me
why don't you pray
just bow your head and pray for me
i just turned my head up to Heaven
midnight's all i seen
Another song. Slow tempo. Mournful blues ballad in minor key.
*Note: Mama prayed and the Lord delivered me from on high...
Filmore Townsend Dec 2012
[ final, before flight ]
learnt through dusty feet
and stomachs growlin’ their
dyin’ growls. days and weeks
with leakin’ roof, and
nature’s bountiful army
marchin’ on and through.
candle-lit synthetic canvas
absorbin’ fired raditation,
*** upon baked ground
starin’ at drunken fire pit –
conversed two hours, and
with dawn one side meld’d
in the dancin’ orange and reds.
walk’d macadame, in full June
the tar bubbled to the surface
and patch’d holed soles –
surfaced skin, turn’d black.
graveyard of gypsum;
burnt out child’s playground;
horse protectin’ territory, or life;
pawnin’ everything not bolt’d down –
death of materialism,
birth of a ******* mentality.
bought Black-and-Milds so to
reroll a few cigarettes,
save wood tip for later use.
save everything for later use,
stash everything for later use.
stab’d in stupidity and
made to mend the wound with
worries of:
   will i use this hand again?
[ C ]
cryin’ for Annie, cryin’ out,
knowin’ she will return without
my concern. knowin’ she’s
probably rummagin’
through some neighbor’s house.
cryin’ out. cryin’ out.
lyin’ down on pallet’d floor,
gettin’ usher’d out so
she could ****.
[ A ]
mouse detectives on VHS,
an awkward glance at left –
all the signs, none of the glory.
misdirectin’ for no reason,
reappearin’ without reason,
disappearin’ for every reason.
[ T ]
road impart’d day’s heat
through all the night, and
moon lit unknown paths.
cryin’ out, peddlin’ faster,
carryin’ weight in
hope at final penance.
no penance.
[ O ]
an artist’s rush,
turn’d paper to masterpiece
with seemin’ lack of effort.
stole heart, keel’d in, cast off to
placebo girl in roomate’s bed.

- - - abrupt ending

— The End —