"mclaren" poems
You might be driving a McLaren,
But if you're fully bearded
And your name is Mohammed,
Darling it ain't gon' happen
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 5:30 AM UTC
Contemplation is like fishing.
Often my reason fails me
and I cast out into the waters
hoping I can catch that vital energy
feel its power, its resistance, its strength
that is elusive
but I know is there
and those moments of connection
with that mysterious force
give me energy.
I am alive
so I keep castings into the ocean
knowing the elan is there,
the verve that takes me from my mind
to dance, to move, to swerve
in that moment of now.
Author’s Note: I bow in gratitude to Brian McLaren and Barbara A. Holmes for their wisdom that inspired this poem and kneel in awe and thanksgiving to all the fish I have caught over the years, for the excitement and nourishment – the life they gave me.
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 12:51 PM UTC
Cute little thing,
Two rows down.
With her dark locks
Encompassing her caramelised skin.
Those pretty eyes above her pretty lips,
May sell pretty dreams and witty lies.
But beauty,
A man’s Achilles heel,
Has my heart racing like a McLaren wheel.
If only the erratic beats within my chest she could feel.
Her skin without blemish,
At least unto mine eyes.
Her legs without ending,
Forever locked in a dance
That only I can see,
The way she walks she speaks my language,
The way she writes she speaks my language,
When she smiles she speaks my language,
When she sighs she speaks my language.
When her guards fall,
She falls,
Into my love filled arms
A whittled down version of my masculinity puts up arms
And emasculation rears its head.
We lie within this room of red.
Satin silk sheets,
Icing on the bed.
Ultimate fantasy --
Visions of falsified ecstasy
Holding her lying next to me,
Sitting two rows down.
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 10:08 AM UTC
if this line is last line
know it was a victory lap
rari, 'cedes AMG (ya brazy)
commercial life dream rabies
make fun of commercial rap
still want that mclaren,
yea you starin' baby
uhhh please, you broke
talkin' bout the red cross town limo (OCTran)
'po lika baby momma didn't even know
save me yuh (87 baseline yuh)
808 boom bap clap snap (sound here)
never joke bout straps (round here)
ace in my cap (down here)
never pretend to trap, white as **** (blind seer)
pass the puck without the ruckus
down the range with the shiv stuck us
gotta strong poker face tryna bluff yuss
knock wig back gut stuffin if you rushin us
boy i dust the rust off my metal alloy pen
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 10:35 PM UTC
To be in McLaren MTC,
That really would be cool,
I hope this competition's real,
Not an early April fool.
A dedicated petrol head,
Who's driven an F1 car,
A Benetton in Spain last year,
Not a Prost, or Jaguar,
Would love to see the inside track,
See inside a first class team,
To sit and sip the atmosphere,
Would fulfil a long held dream
To be sat there in race control,
Just as the race is run,
Aside from being a privilege,
Would really be such fun.
So in picking out a winner,
It's very clear to see,
You need to look no further,
The one to pick is me !
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 1:48 PM UTC
Zoom and डी Fire Case; A **** एंड blonde dress with a dog, a dog with a dog, John Thomas. Cancer Blah Blah Has Made Women With Thumb Toes; Fetish Pantyhose पेडल पेडल पेडल पेडल ... | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ............ | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | | ................................ Your copy include: McLaren हंटर's Box, John विलियम's Box. | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ............ | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... .... Dalton Trumbo Award || Gregorian | With the image of Joseph कौनराड and Eli, July 27, 1953, a quarter of the बजट for Audrey Hepburn in १९५३; prostitutes could sell for $533 million and $ 5 million to $ 12 million to $ 5 million. Only when Gregory ordered the smell of Rome to provide better education in the area's schools. In addition, on December 19, 2011, the transition was completed; the director of the incident in 1950, legal problems for blackboards with bones in Dallas, Los Angeles and Las Vegas, two pairs of global presentation असिस्टेंस; office public conference; 70 years ago Jack Cohen and Ruth देव्; 60 in Texas where I killed in my husband and others. The power of prostitution "Slap" and "Better" 20 years of AE power is taught today in the cities of Jane Club Hotel, City and Deck Company. Of course, this example is related to everyone, "TS Eliot" is the best customer ... **** operator and other contact material. George is safe but we can talk about black people: student ... guilty, Nigerian number, Russian classes 20: 80: 8 in church? STP University Central Box, South Africa 9 July 481.8 Rob, David Jones, Jordan Women 2.2 0.50 14.4) and 48 Women's Education, Xiaopur, Russia, No. 40 9 41 37 41 21 52 73 W, although the garden is a new established state: June information about animals, humans, prostitutes for 2110 and the history of the political status in the United States since 1910 and the first factor in the first I am an integration unit [3] Between 1960 and 1945, major cities in the United States, in particular the १९६०स; in the 1960s women in many parts of Asia and Africa. the United States, Latin name, the women's name, the major cities of Africa, the United States, especially the moment इन थे political campaign ... | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ............ | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ............ | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ............ | | | | | | | | | | | ......................... ........... ......... .. ..... ........ | | | | | | | | | | | |
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 1:42 AM UTC
When pop was a boy
Iz pride and joy
Was just to have wheels wiv a mota
Tricked up didn’t play, not in their hood
Even though you could
End result wouldn’t lift the skin - off a rice pud
Real quick in that day
Only came by the way
Of serious a serious wedge of pay
Aston, Ferrari, you could take to the bank
Hemi, Stang and Vette for the yanks
For most just wall posters and wanks
These days it different, back from the dead
Universal balance has got out of bed
And delivered justice for the poor petrolhead
You can strut your stuff, in your supa caa
But the kid in a Rex or an EVO jam jar
Gonna embarrass you, you fucken rockstar
We quikka N you - its no pop quiz
These days turbos and nitrous is the biz
Nuffink about the money just how big your ***** is
Want to put up your half million Mclaren
Thats just a few tenths quicka, than a subbie wagon
Equipped wiv a teenage ****** called Darren?
We quikka N you - even with your cash
One real aspect in life, where design and dash
Triumphed over money and flash
We quikka N you
And don’t you forget it
Now get out of my way
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 1:34 AM UTC
Poor little Johnny boy loves monkeys and Shakespeare.
He sits and taps the tattered typewriter glued to his chair;
When he is not hiding under the polka-dot blanket in fear
Of the bogeyman that his ex-wife left for him to deal with.
It’s tea-time now, and through a broken kitchen shutter
Johnny sees a young couple in the park beside McLaren’s bar,
Kissing passionately upon the glossy green grass underneath.
He sips his coffee more sensually than the lover smooches his date
And duly returns back to typing, oblivious that the cake he just ate
Was licked by good ol’ Marley, his Capuchin pet;
And so Johnny types on in search of his Shakespearean sonnet.
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC
The lost seas of writhing souls
Deep and the darkness, bucolic peasantry carrying a basin of mud
Protesting for better wages, in the bruised bulls of Wall Street
Seeking pursuit of happiness, and finding the answer
With each proceeding need and the greed just stops being a word
Mirrors and global skyscrapers, objects, all forecasted
We know what we will build for the future
A future of objectivism, and plants with books overlooking New York streets
Dreaming of better living in extravagant Manhattan
Teaching others about the poetic license, how you can lie
Blues and ***** and the breaths of the cold morsels
Murky hills, carrying pitchforks in boreal forests
Barking and biting, these are now chilly pine peaks
The heart seeks what it seeks, and omniscience and ubiquitous Gods
Like modern infrastructure, and precarious progress for the army recruit
There are plenary structures and assemblies of kitsch Kilimanjaro, replicas of mountains and wax models
Romancing each stone, and feelings of someone you once loved
You thank heaven, that she walked into the right bar
Sometimes, you hope she walks into the wrong seat and meets you
Greets you at times, as an alarm for the correct time
Tresses of eve-teasers lay ******** on great cars, some of them even make haste with purloined convertibles
Purring cats walk through Plainfield and Mclaren streets, foraging for serendipity
You'll be glad that heaven brought you to the right bar, to tell you are the right desire
In this sea of lost souls, thinking they are struggling
But, actually, they are tied to the confabulating and changing climate
Blaring horns of the bungholes and dungeons of bald men spot the madness from afar from the humble abode
All of them dying peptic ulcers, cirrhosis and drinking themselves to illness
Indemnified by their art, art is the way to explain these insecurities and voids of despair, we are a civilized bunch, right?
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 5:08 PM UTC
How many worms have
Made a home
Out of the
Bits of rubber tire
And tree bark in the playground
At the Sunday School
Where I first learned Hebrew
Can I fix this rip in my jeans that
Keeps getting a little bigger
Every time I slide my leg in
And my toe gets caught in the
Negative space
I started a collage
Of ripped out pages from
Fahrenheit 451
And a Highly Classified
Army/Navy Manuel
Specifying the different threat levels
And codes
And Troop Commands
During a Nuclear or Chemical Attack
On American Soil
I stole it when I was removing debris
From homes destroyed by a hurricane
On the Barrier Islands with my brother
A few strangers
And a lizard I called Little Eyes
Is the big picture starting to come together
I’ve been listening to a lot of
Swedish
Trash Punk recently
Maybe I’ll give myself a tattoo
That says
Anarchy Dies With Me
Right across my neck
And a Safety Pin earring
The consulate was acting strange
After I drove through the glass doors of the
Embassy in my McLaren
I said
I’d like to immigrate to
A Clockwork Orange
Drink Milk and be
Ultra Violent
Next time you come home
Make sure you bring zip-ties
A tire
Your old hair
An apology note
Three bags of flour
A harmonica
And some bribe money
For our favorite elected official
I have an idea
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC