"marty" poems
matt’s hats tom’s tools & tobacco lou’s liquors fred’s beds dale's doors frank’s planks bill’s drills jane’s drains & panes chuck’s check cashing cheryl’s barrels hank’s tanks tina’s trucks & tractors walt’s asphalt sean’s pawn rick’s rifles mom’s guns terry’s tires charlie’s harleys rhonda’s hondas jim’s rims art’s parts gus’s gas mike’s bikes frank’s feed gwen’s pens ann’s cans nancy’s nursery joes‘s clothes jess’s dresses bert’s skirts steve’s sleeves paul’s shawls michelle’s shells & bells al’s pails & snails sam’s hams & jams patty’s pancakes phil’s chili don’s donuts betty’s spaghetti bob’s burgers alycia’s quiches jean’s beans jerry’s berries anna’s bananas andy’s candies cathy’s taffies tony’s ponies roy’s toys ron’s batons kim’s whims marty’s parties jill’s pills rick’s tricks alice’s palace debbie’s disposal dave’s graves
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 5:53 AM UTC
Listening to George Jones.
Or Mel Tillis.
Or Maybe Mickey Gilley.
I'm just a country boy listening to a country song.
Good loving.
Or a good feeling.
I'm just a country boy listening to a country song.
Listening to the original Statler Brothers.
Singing Flowers on the Wall.
Or Marty Robbins singing My Woman, My Woman, My Wife.
There's nothing greater then a good country song.
Whether it's by Johnny Cash.
Or Johnny Paycheck.
Or Roger Miller singing Dang It.
There's just nothing like a good country song.
Sure they reminds you of the blues.
Or the blues reminds you of country.
Either way the message is cleared.
There's nothing like a good country love song.
Throw in some Tammy Wynette.
Or Loretta Lynn.
Or play you some Dolly.
And you'll see the story happening.
Cause there's nothing like a good country song.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
hi
I don't know what 2 say
Im marty and I am a man
I live in plymouth
and I drive a mini van
my fav things are
pizza friends music and my dog tracy
I play games online alone
and I am a paperboy
and my family lives overseas
dating is not my thing
so I am on this site.
and I want to fall in love.
and my fav movies are
**** bill jaws jurasic park and **** bill 2
I don't know what 2 say
maybe you liked my profile
so send me a msg or
cyber-roses or a digital chocolate box
or click the flirt button
I like to talk sometimes
when I get lonesome.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
Happy Birthday to me!!
Can’t believe I’m sixty!!
neither can the bumblebee
or that nine foot oak tree.
Too bad if they can’t see
or wish that they could be,
able to escape and flee
from thyme inside the pantry.
Happy Birthday to me...
inside my soul is glee.
Figure out the fantasy
of you, and me as we...
May play nine with Marty,
kayak in the fake sea,
have some cake and party
as long as it is free.
I prayed my sister Sandy
could be here and be happy..
and celebrate our history
of her, and me, and we.
Happy birthday to me.
I need a cup of coffee,
a little bit serenity
and lots of you and me.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 5:55 AM UTC
The smell of grandma's porch was wonderful
but not in the clothes on the line or fresh apple pie on the windowsill kind of way.
Grandma's porch smelled of old paint
of winter even in the summer and of
damp wicker, an ancient outdoor rug, oxidized aluminum siding
and dust from the cars on First Avenue speeding to,
or from,
the Post Office on Main Street at the bottom of her street
These were not necessarily "good" smells
We'd wash them off of our hands before we ate lunch in front of
the TV with grandpa, watching Jeopardy
but the old one not the one with the Canadian guy
But they were good smells to us because
they reminded us of a grandma who allowed her grandchildren to build massive forts
from blankets
and every chair and sofa cushion in the house
TV tables too
As long as they were dismantled before Noon when Jeopardy came on
and grandpa would want his lunch
and the vapor rising from his bowl of Campbell's chicken noodle soup
would wash away the smell of grandmas porch from our noses.
Aug 13, 2012
Aug 13, 2012 at 4:37 PM UTC
Here you have gone and hit your head.
The heart beating like a clock makes the rivers run red.
Eating makes you grow fonder.
Drinking makes sink much further.
I can only imagine what garden awaits your grand design.
Seeing it out to the end makes it very fine.
Here you are again.
You are seeking out your friends.
Who awaits you at this party?
Your grandma, uncle, and your cousin Marty.
As you can see;
“No party of your own” they plea.
Maybe meet someone down at the beach.
“Ignorance is bliss” is the only bliss they teach.
Now here you are in king’s court.
“I am the queen” they snort.
Here you are again now with your blood roses.
What you did right as rain; they know you did, and you know this.
So let us take a walk through the forest.
This is the only place no one is trusted.
What you want to see catches your eye.
Nothing about the chain smoker and the other guy.
Because now you are seeing yourself look back.
The kind of quality some people lack.
Now as the beast draws near.
You wake up; it was playing on your fear.
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 12:54 AM UTC
Out in the West Texas town of El Paso I fell in love with a Mexican girl. Night-time would find me in Rosa's cantina Music would play and Felina would whirl.
Blacker than night were the eyes of Felina Wicked and evil while casting a spell. My love was deep for this Mexican maiden I was in love but in vain, I could tell.
One night a wild young cowboy came in Wild as the West Texas wind. Dashing and daring A drink he was sharing with wicked Felina The girl that I loved.
So in anger I Challenged his right for the love of this maiden down went his hand for the gun that he wore. My challenge was answered in less than a heart-beat, the handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor.
Just for a moment I stood there in silence, shocked by the foul evil deed I had done. Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there I had but one chance and that was to run.
Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran Out where the horses were tied. I caught a good one It looked like it could run Up on its back And away I did ride just as fast as I Could from the West Texas town of El Paso Out to the bad-lands of New Mexico.
Back in El Paso my life would be worthless Everything's gone in life, nothing is left. It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden My love is stronger than my fear of death.
I saddled up and away I did go Riding alone in the dark. Maybe tomorrow A bullet may find me Tonight nothing's worse than this Pain in my heart. And at last here I Am on the hill overlooking El Paso I can see Rosa's cantina below My love is strong and it pushes me onward Down off the hill to Felina I go.
Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys, off to my left ride a dozen or more. Shouting and shooting I can't let them catch me, I have to make it to Rosa's back door.
Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel A deep burning pain in my side. Though I am trying To stay in the saddle I'm getting weary Unable to ride
But my love for Felina is strong and I rise where I've fallen Though I am weary I can't stop to rest I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle I feel the bullet go deep in my chest
From out of nowhere Felina has found me Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for One little kiss and Felina, good-bye
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
corporation against company,
train rider against commuter,
the animal's instinct is to destroy
and somewhere between a beer and 2 hotdogs,
cigar smoke and chatter,
joe got hit,
his legs bent,
and his *** hit the canvas.
...and somehow through the roar of a 1000 voices
I can see and hear
the ref
counting
chanting into joe's wondrous brown eyes
"1,2,3...
"oh shit," joe laughs a bit bemused
perched on top his vertebrae of stairs,
"oh shit,"
and he climbs back down those bones
into the quiet night...
there is distance were a building once stood
and the field that was the farm
that made way for a factory
is a field again
where no wheat will grow.
I kick the ground trying to unearth
the ashes of joe's fire
but the angry earth just bleeds dust...
...and down at Marty's grill
the shadows lean forward
and with one quick stare
drink up the dreamer and his dream...
when I leave Marty's Bar
there's a boy beating a dog
with a baseball bat.
the yelping, howling dog
and another swing of the bat...home run.
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 10:43 AM UTC
There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.
Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".
Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldman keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".
At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.
Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.
Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball
Oct 26, 2011
Oct 26, 2011 at 6:37 PM UTC
Blokes in the bar sure do say some weird stuff
Like "love to **** her ******* and eat her ****
Seem to have animals on their mind all the while
"I'd like to see her ***** or do her doggy style"
What does all that mean? I'd really love to know
And how does a woman have a nice Camel Toe?
If a woman comes close and she's a real **** one
One of them may say "I'd like to give the ferret a run"
A bloke went to the toilet seemed quite annoyed
Said he was gonna shake hands with the unemployed
"You mean syphon the python" asked one of the men
"Not really, just shake hands with the wives best friend"
He said he wanted a ***** to his wife late last night
"Gee mate you shoulda seen it, I had a mongrel alright"
Apparently she said "no" and he threatened to leave her
Said he wasn't hanging around if he didn't get any ******
Fred said his wife was gorgeous and he had always adored
But lately she was off *** didn't want any more pork sword
Frank's wife was the same and she hardly left the cottage
Would never let Frank touch her or play hide the sausage
Max, reckoned he'd nearly had more than a man could take
Couldn't get near the missus with his one eyed trouser snake
As for Gerard, He said "think my wife's taking me for a sucker"
"Told me to keep away with the blue veined custard chucker"
A **** dark woman walked past, Marty said "I'd give her a ride"
The barman just laughed and mumbled "they are all pink inside"
Jack joined in saying "leave it alone Marty or you'll get blisters"
"Besides, if you turn them upside down they're definitely sisters"
In the bar I heard a bloke say "I'd give her the old Wham Bam"
"Sure would like to get the old love muscle up her bearded clam"
As the bar closed Jerry joked " If the flags are up at my place"
"I'll put my ***** between her ***** give her a pearl necklace"
All these men laugh and joke as the barman says to the group
"You buggers won't get any because you'll have brewers droop"
As I finish my wine and leave someone says "on ya bike ya miser"
Do you know what they are on about? because I'm none the wiser
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
Reverie remember me
Dreams like penitentiary
And they just won’t let me go
It’s my ego, it’s montego bay
It’s hard to say like “anemone”
Another day another Hennessy
and i’m drowning away
Craving useless euphemisms, i’m still lost at sea
Haunted by consumerism, the ghost of Ronnie McD,
Mr. Clown meet mr. Clownfish
Mr. Marty lost his son
So i ain’t the only one actively and theatrically
looking for “no one”
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 12:26 PM UTC
The basketball says thump thump thump to the concrete
Two black kids play a hoopless game. The rules? Intuitive.
The top stair railing of the apartment is a three pointer
Both of the walls along the side are an approved backboard
The grass is out of bounds, the door opening is a time out
The constant rattle of the railing assures without doubt
That they’re draining those shots like Ray Allen
It is the first day over 60 degrees all year and the boys
Smile like the sun granted permission for happiness
They are young and carefree and pulsing with life
But they will grow out of that fickle, temperamental joy
And they’ll rent a room or two in a brick apartment
With a red railing on the third floor, so they can listen
At times annoyed, at other times enchanted, I know this,
Because I am in a brick apartment, and I know the rules
(c) Marty Schoenleber III 2013
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 7:30 PM UTC
We are always running
These streets holding us
As we hold hands
Your hand in mine,
We are running
We are running,
Not following anyone
Not following anything
We are unique
We are pioneers heading west
Not chased but willingly chasing the sunset
Where the horizon and the sky meet with a seamless kiss
We are hoping that they aren‘t the only things that love
each other so much they can be together without
leaving a mark
Not tearing or wounding or cutting or finding any cracks
and fault lines, perfectly matched
One falling into the sea
One rising into the clouds
And on and on and on forever
Dripping off the edge of the known world
Who can know our world
Who could have chased us this far
We are alone in the wild
This rushing and running
Running from the streetlights falling away far behind us
Our hands tight like a taut rope from our shipwrecks
We are pulling one another from the depths
Neither an anchor
But both anchored together
Sinking
Sailing
Storming seas of sidewalk puddles and pavement bleeding
together
No edges
No seams
No feet
No legs
No bodies
All running heart first shoulders back, eyes closed
Winds whirling around us
Running not following
Holding not falling
Chasing and ending somewhere in that kiss of sky and sea
Finally finding rest
Wrapped in a peaceful footstep folded-up asphalt blanket of
each other‘s peace and preface
The only unstitched and perfect seam is the horizon that
God wakes up and puts to bed where we find our
heads were tucked in
But our hearts weren‘t allowed to end
(c) Marty Schoenleber III 2012
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 6:12 PM UTC
Marty the Mellow Mushroom
Far out in left field
Growing ever strong and tall
With cow manure his favorite meal
Everyday he contemplates
Life under the sun
That is until the fateful day
The hippies all showed up
They took Marty out to party
Now the only part of Marty left
Are the trippy little colors
Inside the happy hippies heads
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Hold on beleaguered artist
Though your ebullience is fleeting
Do not linger for that leisure you’ve been seeking
Now hunt down your horizon
Dare to impel your hurting heart
Before this onyx evening tears it all apart
It is no mirage you chase
No voyage lost on empty sea
So, if their curses rip your sails, know I believed in thee
(C) Marty Schoenleber III 2013
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 5:33 PM UTC
Hello coastline
Hello winter
Hello solitary moonlit drive
I'll be enchanting blank pages with poetry
as you waste away city-side
Tragic and lamenting but fading as I moan
You are my empty ***** liter as I glide
I'm the dawn breaking through your curtains as you roam
Goodbye afternoons
Goodbye white lies
Good bye little lace ivory dress
I'll be slashing through the semblance of symmetry
as you ask the bartender for yet another splash
You'll be beautiful on the pavement and novels of mystery
as my overdrive desires and loneliness inevitably crash
Hello bloodstreams and ****** Marys
Goodbye falsified kindness and sorrow
Hello sparrows and destiny's bone marrow
Goodbye Hudson views and embraces on the ferry
Hello empty skylines and generalizations
Goodbye comforters and pillows side revelations
You were so crimson in your shining armor
You were so elegant as love's fine soldier
I was so isolated in the stone and glass of the tower
The lake sparkled like a diamond in our final hour
Goodbye romeo,
hello sad song's flow
goodbye april
hello unfaithful.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:20 PM UTC
There's a party going on upstairs,
your invited, to come and have a scare.
H.G. Wells, will meet you at the gate,
costumes required, hurry don't be late.
Vincent Price will be tonights D.J.
Halloween is his favorite Holiday.
He's spinning "Thriller", while dressed up as "Kiss".
Watching Claude Rains do the "Transylvania Twist".
Steve McQueen came dressed up as the "Blob",
he's serving up the zombie shish-ka-bobs.
Elsa Lanchester placed real bats within her hair.
While Marty Feldom keeps yelling "Frau Blucher".
At the stroke of the witching hour,
St. Peter amps up all the power.
A disco ball drops down from a cloud.
Out on the dance floor, forms a massive crowd.
Michael Jackson then leads them all in dance,
while Lon Chaney and Karloff take their chance,
to join the angels in harmony,
While "Monster Mash" is sang by Lugosi.
Even the Devil made it through the door.
He's the one sporting an Elvis pompadour.
So much fun is had by one and all,
at Heavens Annual Halloween Ball
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 5:12 PM UTC
I'm not into Tim Mcgraw.
And might never be.
I'm not even into Faith Evan although country is a vital part of me.
Some might say, I'm missing a lot.
It's just not country music to me.
But acts trying to be rock stars.
Now, name the Statler Brothers or Mel Tillis.
Or Loretta Lynn to Reba then you talking directly to me.
I was country long before the change.
Can name legendary acts that others stars can't name.
Marty Robbons, Roger Miller and others isn't hardly mention today.
Unless someone's doing a tribute act to them.
But these was artist that contribute to the country music today.
They might have worn glitter suits and played guitars.
And yes, some probably was too conceited to be a true star.
I was country long before the change.
I remember Dolly singing upon the Porter Wagoner show.
Yes, long before she had her own personal show.
I even remember those artists Waylon, Willie and others being called outlaws.
And I guess this is when this field beginned to change.
Still I was country long before the change.
But in truth nothing ever remain the same.
We all must accept growth.
Simply for the facts it brings a growth to us.
Even if I'm listening to Carrie Underwood and that Jason dude.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
I dig Joe Rogan
Suheir Hammad
And Alix Olson
Truth seeking
Artists
I dig Howard Zinn
And Noam Chomsky
Dead intellectuals
Truth seekers
I dig Marty
McConnell
And Jason Carny
Poet lovers
Of Humanity
I dig Shakespeare
Mark Twain
Edgar Allen Poe
Emily Dickenson
John Keats
Percy Shelley
Ginsburg and the other Beats
Writers and poets
I will never meet
I dig The Daily Show
The Colbert Report
The John Oliver Show
The Young Turks
News and fake news
Comedy Shows
That expose
Deep truth
I don’t dig me
Always
But I like you
And all the potential
You hold
You are not a black hole
But a blazing star
Waiting to blow
Waiting to be born
The only good form
Of a hydrogen bomb
That reminds me
I dig Einstein
Tesla, Da Vinci
Gandhi Thoreau
Bruce Lee
Great Minds
That are dead
My list goes on
Forever in my head
So instead of
A dissertation of love
I would like to know
Who do you dig bro?
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
I once knew a little man
Who kept at a job he did not understand
And day after day
He’d go off to work and he’d say:
Today I’ll learn who I am
But Monday came
And then it went
And Tuesday came
And it too was spent
Like Wednesday and Thursday
And then at last Friday
While he sat in a confused lament
And week after week
His office chair squeaked
Until finally he made up his mind
He’d quit, he decided, and just in time
For that very night he died in his sleep
(C) Marty Schoenleber III 2013
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
Tricks, treats, taffy, tutus, timber, and trees.
Night time arrives, and the children come out.
Ghosts, ghouls, witches, and even bumblebees.
Readily running round, rugged, rough route.
Mandy and Randy get lots of candy.
Meanwhile, mom and dad are at a party.
Playing charades and sipping on brandy.
By the way, whatever happened to Marty?
Mandy says she lost her in the graveyard.
Scared, spooked, shivering, she slowly saunters.
Marty makes her way to the boulevard.
With red bite marks on her neck, she falters.
If Marty’s parents had not been toking,
They could see it was Jared just joking.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
There's something brutally honest about
A dog in heat ******* your leg.
I'd like to explore this theme with you,
But I can't right now.
I just got home from my
Nightly walk inside the gates
Of my over-55 lunatic asylum,
And I gotta get this down on paper,
VERBATIM.
I'm wearing sandals tonight, unlike
This morning's power walk in Skechers.
I'm strolling around the turn
At the corner of Don January & Lee Trevino,
And look clearly into a curtain-less,
Shade-free living room. BAM!
Poleaxed, gobsmacked, am I.
She's sitting in a Barcalounger,
Spotlighted by a pole lamp.
Naked, her legs spread &
********* herself.
Stunned dead in my tracks, am I.
By this time she's standing in her
Open doorway, calling to me:
"Hello Dere!"
She is a silver-haired sireen,
A granny Marty Allen.
"Take me," she demands.
Sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake,
But there was no mistaking that invitation.
"Wait right here," I say.
"I want to go home, shower &
Brush my teeth."
"No , you idiot," she answers.
*"Take me now."
"I want to be ravished by a brute,
***** by a savage,
A mountain man from Boulder."*
I assume she means Boulder, Colorado.
Now, I can't promise that this is a
Daily occurrence at Del Webb Alegria,
"For Active Adults"
But it happened to me.
Walking home I see a crowd.
Some neighbors admiring the
Asian couple's landscaping prowess.
For weeks they've been pulling off a
Green grass to drought-tolerant
Xeriscape switcheroo.
"Bravo!" I yell. "Nicely done!"
Finally, I am home.
Exhausted, I flop down in
My over-stuffed leather armchair.
Pen in hand. Notebook open.
From across the room,
My dog sidles over
A glazed look in his eyes.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 12:11 AM UTC
I used to listen to Winehouse in the greenhouse and the windows cried in pain.
I had Gillespie in the conservatory and Kitt in the kitchen, but I saved Brenda Lee for the bedroom see 'cause she was the queen.
I had them all running recordings in my head, Dave Dee, Fats Domino, Bono, Callas for a touch of class, Des and Bygraves, slaves to the sound spinning around in my mind and now I can't find a song that's familiar, can't make out the words, don't know the artists, missed out along the tracks, no vinyls, no needles, no tables just racks of CD's
oh please tell me it isn't so
this can't be the way to go,
where's Slim and Kim and Marty gonna go now that the party is over?
In the greenhouse where I listened to Winehouse and watched the pickup pick up the beat,
I take a back seat and eat a tomato while nothing else is going on.
Dec 11, 2015
Dec 11, 2015 at 6:21 PM UTC