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In the exploded plan of man
I see no
substance,
a bit
like
skeleton ****
a bit
of
bare bones.

Clone me now 'Scottie'
do a 'Star Trek or 'Mickey Mouse' or
even a 'Shrek' on me.
Warp me to a Factor of three,
infirmity and infinitely beyond anything where anyone can see except for 'Buzz' and me.

In this mapped out, strapped in and crapped out state
I see the skeletons waiting at the pearly gate,
at one time it was 'gates',
but they sold one off for scrap which
is another load of crap,
a bit like skeleton ****,
no substance to it.
I witnessed a previously unknown apostle ministering to the self imposed deaf at Daytona Beach , shouting out the gospel to vacationers that moseyed down Capitalism Avenue , a souvenir committed to memory  just like the pelicans , white sand , salt water taffy , dining at Joe's Crab Shack on fish and chips , the ships returning home far off in the distance , trinket shops lining the streets ..
Two guitar players performed on the pier , hopelessly out of tune and a bit tone deaf in my humble opinion ... Shady characters roamed the shore selling condo's by the score , seagulls knew I had tangerines and wouldn't leave me alone ..
The waves crashing into shore caught us off guard and ruined a two hundred dollar camera , a fifty five mile drive back to Orlando took us two **** hours !
Mickey Land was turning money hand over foot with eighty degree temperatures at the end of December , the boats on her canals were the high point of my vacation , cranberry juice on the veranda overlooking a par three provided a treasure trove of entertainment , men and women penning their frustrations over that little white ball with a mind of it's own , looking right and left before cheating like anyone really cared ..
People watching on Boardwalk , a cup of tea at Old Key West , a riverboat jaunt across Lake Buena Vista , a fried seafood feast at a local restaurant ..Such is the life of the temporary Floridian .. Sun screen , ruffled road maps , cool shades and Palm tree dreams ...
Copyright January 9 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Joe Cottonwood Feb 2017
Sun rises in a dry sky,
we walk a dirt road,
the dog and I.
Rounding a bend
little Mickey halts,
one paw lifted.

Three deer—a buck, a doe, a fawn—
senses ablaze with the twitch of ear,
quiver of nose, blink of eye
take our measure.

The buck has a handsome rack
but I can see ribs, count the bones.
I once saw a doe maul an Aussie shepherd, cracking
the skull with her forelegs to protect a fawn.
Mickey with uncommon good judgment
stays frozen by my ankle.

A moment, mild,
of silent negotiation,
the domestic and the wild.
With such hunger the fawn, at least,
might eat from my hand
before the buck spears me.

The doe breaks first, up a hillside so vertical
her hooves can’t hold. She slides back,
then on a switchback leaps again
followed quickly by the fawn
as the buck remains, impassive and supreme,
gentleman and protector,
what you wish in your own father, frankly,
and then he follows with that head-bobbing walk
balancing antlers into the parched brush
holding our gaze until vanished.
First published in Plum Tree Tavern.
With the Oroville Dam about to burst, obviously we are no longer dry in California. I wrote this poem last year when we were suffering a five-year drought.
When the subject is rain, be careful what you wish for...
DENNY R ALLISON Dec 2021
I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.

I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET, EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.

I WANT TO RIDE ON DUMBO, CLIMB IN ROBINSON'S TREE.

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE TAKE ME.

IF I MUST SPEND MY HOLIDAY IN THE MOUNTAINS, PLEASE MAKE IT SPACE OR SPLASH.

I'LL HOLD MY ARMS ABOVE MY HEAD, AND SMILE FOR THE CAMERAS FLASH.

I'LL SEARCH FOR HIDDEN MICKEY'S WHILE I STAND IN LINE.

OH' WHEN IS THE THREE O'CLOCK PARADE, I MUST BE THERE ON TIME.

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.

I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.

I WANT TO RIDE IN A TEACUP, DID THOSE PIRATE'S GET THAT KEY?

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE TAKE ME!

IF I GO ON A CRUISE, IN THE FRIENDLY JUNGLE, LET IT BE,

AND LATER HAVE A PALE GREEN GHOST, SITTING NEXT TO ME.

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS WITH THE PRESIDENTS IN THEIR HALL,

AND MY FAVORITE FRIENDS, MICKEY, GOOFY, DONALD, AND THEM ALL.

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.

I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.

I WANT TO RIDE A SPORTS CAR, LISTEN TO A STORM IN THE OLD TIKI.

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR, WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE PLEASE TAKE ME!!

IF NO ONE WILL TAKE ME, I'LL HIDE IN SANTA'S SLEIGH.

HE'S ALWAYS IN THE CHRISTMAS PARADE, SO HE MUST BE ON HIS WAY.

I KNOW I WILL GET THERE, IF I HAVE TO RUN, WALK, OR CRAWL.

I WILL PROVE TO EVERYONE, IT'S A SMALL WORLD AFTER ALL.

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE THIS YEAR.

I WANT TO STROLL DOWN MAIN STREET EATING A CHOCOLATE EAR.

OH' PLEASE MOM AND DAD, WHAT'S GRAMMA'S AND GRAMPA'S NUMBER, MAYBE UNCLE DONNIE'S, OR AUNT KATHY'S.

I WANT TO SPEND CHRISTMAS AT MICKEY'S HOUSE WON'T SOMEONE PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, TAKE ME!!!
This is an odie I wrote to my daughter when she was living her dream of working for Disney. She was on the graveyard shift at her Disney hotel on Christmas Eve. Her first Christmas ever away from home.I wrote it as a song to cheer her up. She survived and is now a Disney Legacy Employee, and I am proud of her sticking it out
Aniq Ahmad Aug 2018
What comes to mind when they say "Disney"?
All the mysteries and Mickey in my epiphany

Aladdin got stuck in the cave and found the lamp
Huey, Dewey and Louie all are out in a camp

When daffy is about to lose control for daisy
Goofy woke up and walked like if its all hazy

Pluto never knows it has a planet on his name
Still it doesn't leave Mickey even being all lame

When Cinderella lost her shoe and ran away
Rapunzel meanwhile got her hair taken away

Timon said "Hakuna Matata it means no worries"
When Simba found Nala, Timon got insecurities

Peter Pan came from Neverland and saw Wendy
Seeing them fly together in childhood was trendy

Hercules got Meg and showed off his muscles with a wink
Hades made her pawn and Hercules found it was a fling

Canine Superstar Bolt thought he was the real deal
When camera stopped rolling,he began to squeal

Pooh with honey and Christopher on journey
Tigger bounces and Owl pretends to be an attorney

A witch with Poisoned apple got her sleeping
On seeing, the dwarfs couldn't stop weeping

Alice got over her fears
Dumbo got used to his ears

All the Kids got mesmerized by the fun
Its Disney, from which you dont wanna run
jeremy wyatt Jan 2011
I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little  drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****!
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back  out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!
Ottis Blades May 2013
Women are the vessels that hold life
for Nine 1/2 weeks like Kim Basinger
Call me Mickey.

Women adorned Da Vinci paintings with a half smile
martyrs in the flames of freedom
Call me Joan.

Women that nurture life
the greatest man to ever walk our path
call me Mary.

-and yet we’re reduced to calling them “*****”
because our male brains can’t reach to nothing more.

Women in revolutionary trenches
artist, poets, our strongholds, mend no fences
call me Frida.

Women our souls, our backbones
endless spinal chords that keep us up
call me Theresa.

-and yet “*****” is the word that dominates our tongues
when we refer to them.

Women the leaders, the warriors
the fighters, the valor of the coward
call me Cleopatra.

Women the lovers, the pleasers
that feed us and keep us up on our feet
call me Anne Boleyn.

-and yet “*****” infiltrated our vocabulary
like a terminal cancer, let’s get rid of it.
jeffrey robin Aug 2010
the lame decade
(the ...........depression 1930's)

the wars were coming...and
OF COURSE!
they came!

and ...
.......
........................who died?

well, it was them
to whom
DEATH
was,
(as if by the very GOD, himself)
ordained

necessitated, if you will

by economic realities
------

and then there were also the jews,  zionism communism, fascism....etc-ism..etceterally...over and over face down in the mud dead child again

and then

presto!

MICKEY MANTLE AND THE NEW YORK YANKEES!

and of course HUAC, the rosenbergs, the rothschild's

and perhaps

(if you'd awaken)

you and me
------

but you never awaken!

and now

the lame decade
(the............ depression 2010's)

and the wars are coming
coming!
coming!!

HERE THEY ARE

(and the necessary

economically speaking

DEAD)
James Falkener Jul 2018
Disney




Did you draw your life; or did life draw you?
Born in Chicago, in winter’s snow.
Was childhood cold, full of misery?
In Missouri, where you go on to grow.
West coast lights call, on the move again;
That lucky rabbit paths your way.
You put away your fear, Mickey comes alive,
Your destiny set, ‘toons start to allay
That innate fear inside from child until now
And beyond all you ever attain
All began with fear, but quelled with a smile,
Unless mice return to haunt you again.


https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walt_Disney
Who knew Walt was afraid of mice...
Allie Scirrotto Mar 2015
_
You dream of the perfect fairytale
Yet mickey and Minnie wear a mask
"Let me see thy face", snow white
You wouldn't dare look in the mirror
Oh Cinderella, you can only have love if your clothes fit.
We should have stayed in neverland
Nebuleiii Mar 2013
To my innocence, naivety, and viridity
Childish ways, high school days.
A mere three weeks, I say good bye
With a cry, a tear, a sigh.

To blue slacks, and a polo
Black shoes and white socks
To my pink skirt, and white blouse,
Pleated, soon to be folded.

To the OHS rooms of our first and second years:
The broken windows, and tantrum-kicked chairs,
The broom box behind the spider webbed chalkboard,
Messages on the wall hand printed in red and green.

The broken doorknobs, and broken floorboards,
Carved armchairs, and eaten chalks,
Missing brooms and dustpans and garbage cans and rugs
That show up in who knows where
Stolen by jani- we know who.

The witnesses and victims
To our random laughter (from some Chinese-looking girl’s corny joke).
Our random tears.
Our not so random learnings.
The pillars of our memories.

To the PF rooms of our third year:
The storage room turned gigantic garbage can and dressing room (maybe because ours keep being stolen)
The exploding socket causing sparks to fly (and us to fly away from it), and
The amazing “alambre” lock; who knows who installed (as if that could keep us away).
The earthquake resistant rooms would be missed.

To the New High School Building of our last years:
The kicked door (not our fault!), and cancerous blinds (like hairs falling after chemo),
The jigsaw floor (not sure if better than broken floorboards),
The “Halayan 2012”, and
The mind-boggling “no key needed” lockers.


The UTMT with its fair share of mango sentences,
The old guidance office now turned “tambayan”, and
The Computer lab with its fragile yellow chairs and bruised bums.

To Ibong Adarna plays, and the half cooked uncooked Teriyaki,
Generation X (and Generation NOW! and Generation Facebook),
Jai ** dances, and cheerleading,
Kalagon Kamo Namon,
And Mickey Mickey Mouse Kabit-bintana memories.

To the NikJep Tandem,
Kanlaon Boys Behind the Flowers,
D.H.A.I.N.G. (not sure if they remember this),
Fred vs Gino version
And DewBheRhieTart.

Keep the volcanoes of memories burning.

To blue paint, and blue shirts,
And Geometry teaching us
“There are a lot of solutions to a problem.
We just have to find one that suits us.”

To saying “***”,
And cooking imbutido.
And wearing (for some designing) reduced,
Reused, recycled clothing.
And dissecting.
And parrot-Filipino teachers (she gave me P30 for load though).

Keep the river of rumination flowing.

To being scared of one whole sheet of paper,
Two becoming one,
Party rocking to make up for the tears,
And knowing we should have won.

To the hand sanitizer girls,
The Cream-o-holics,
The Canterbury Crusaders,
The Valenciana eaters.

May our tree of friendship continue growing.

To our winnings!

The glow in the dark madness,
The Lakan at Mutya clutch-heart-moments,
The Sports Fest *******,
Basketball girls’ coronation!

To the fieldtrips and failed trips,
To air conditioned crammings,
And space and time bending
To comparing notes (and sometimes other things)
Copying notes, sometimes photocopying
(Not Xeroxing)
Sharing words, phrases, sentences
And giving pictures (via Bluetooth).

May you keep walking on the right direction,

To the expectations achived,
Broken, overtaken.
All the skepticism,
Constructive criticism.

All of it.

The in-your-face-we-did-it-baby-
We-are-awesome-you-can’t-bring-us-do­wn-
Coz-we-rise-back-up-attitude.

To Arielle
And Mhae

To Amica
Marie
Narzcisa
Cyan
Fred
Theo
Alvinson
Anthony
Faith
Karmil­la
Matt
Jeffson
Lourince

To Carolyn

To Makayla

To the thirty-five castaways in this room
The thirty-five castaways who struggled
The thirty-five castaways who persevered
The thirty-five castaways who fought, cried, made up, laughed, shared, gave, back-stabbed, and front-stabbed, celebrated, suffered, passed
Thirty-five
Thirty-five castaways who loved,
Thirty-five

Thirty-five castaways who made it, who did it.

To Nikki
Hazel
Alyssa
Gef
Veni
Alex
Jaykee
Bernard
Myra
Vince
Chanta­lle
Josen
Jerian
Shaira
J
Uriah
Ihra
Renz
Bless
Steffany
Angel
Fl­orey
Bernadine
Antonette
Rency
Owen
Majah
Gino
Marcelo
Ney
Keith
­Joselle
And Jessa,

We did it guys.
We really did.
TO MY CLASSMATES (IV-ILAWOD)
So many private jokes and inside thoughts. So many.
A woman with **** written on her navel
Smokes a cigar and raps on the rim of her helmet
With fat silver rings she wears on her fingers
She’s painted with red and black stripes
And is wearing a torn Mickey Mouse t-shirt
With a rifle strapped across her shoulders
She is a painting and she moves
When she was seven years old her father ***** her
She only sleeps with men bathed in whiskey
And coughs up ***** of cancer
Shaped like tiny
Ripe apples
JB Claywell Feb 2016
In a room full of pundits and pud-pullers
I just wanna be the poet.
There’s not a ******* thing
that’s wrong with that either.

No, I won’t be that guy reading “Pride and Prejudice”
just so I can get a handle on the *******
zombie movie that’s coming out.

Give me a Mickey Spillane novel
and a slice of pizza.
Give me a Bukowski poem
and a pork chop.

That’s the problem here,
nobody seems to want to recognize their
base nature.

Nobody wants to admit that they still like *****
and *******, a nice ***,
and an amazing pair of blue eyes.

Everyone wants to point out what everyone else
is doing wrong while
hiding behind hashtags and keyboards
like chickenshits.

I’ve had enough of it,
and I’ve narrowed my field of
vision, while widening my perspective
You see, I plan to be the best version
of me that I can be

today

then I’ll do it again tomorrow.

If I knock somebody’s drink in
their lap at some point
in between,
I won’t lose a second’s sleep over it.

I’ll just try to do better on the next pass.

*

-JBClaywell
©2016 P&ZPublications
Ken Pepiton Sep 2019
enemies - the needed element to make a warring mind.
How was war imagined,
how, was imagined
easy to imagine,
kwo-, stem of relative and interrogative pronouns. Practically a doublet of why, differentiated in form and use.

From <https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=how>

These be ambush thoughts thinking they may be read if any one is patient enough to see beyond the sheer longwindedness
of this character lacking an enemy to war with.
Looking for
Enemies - the needed element to make a warring mind.
How was war imagined,
how,
per se,
was imagined
easy to imagine,
person-if i am able to attribute such qualia to a body
how any unthing is realized is
imaginable as well.
Add a jot or title, a li'l art mark, an art-tickle.
Games teach us how,


how any unthing is realized is
imaginable as well.
Add a jot or title, a li'l art mark, an art-tickle.
Games show us how,
not why.

Why is the quest at the moment. There are rumors of enemies.
The we of me and thee, herenow, we lack emnity.

Hey, sports fan,
where is the frontier, the edge of the maddened crowd
whose
enemies are those who
stand pat, calling the game as game-over, and life a lessoning
as we speak, abundance of known knowns
rotting all around us, putrefying under pressure,
seeping to the surface,
to be burned.
Why,
let us guess---

Disnified pride of pur pose, positional sign-ifiers
of place,
a destination for faiths full pursuants
bemused in bubbling joy,
or shrieks of terror when
the child from the hinterland locks eyes
with Mickey Mouse, and finds no joy, no love, no depth,
but a mask.
The reaction reverberates al(the)way to la Brea,
Peacemaker say,
It's okeh, baby girl, daddy said,
ignor them, they ain't real.
Monsters ling grrrring, then
it's agrin
for now, of course. Here we are. We've arriven,
Happiest Place on Earth,
as imagined realizable by a child in 1917, say,
better yet, 1925, and oh, there were major Wars
being imagined winnable in pressure
application to the spiritual slippage from rite,
the ritual passage of child into adultery at a whim,
so such imagined haps fade.

connect or break connection, on the bus or off the bus

you all
sing
think nothing new under the sun,
teach preach reach out and touch

the face of Java man, eaten, swallowed, and gone to
the believable
history of life,
the accident,
the unplanned, yet
taught as known believable, a pre-dict-ible,
one in ten to the seventy-nine-thousandth power,
yet, if one pays his life time to learn when to bet and when to hold.
Then in this,
the secret journey to the soul,
to the core,
we must assume,
we become
as wise *** (***, the word for a donkey, why would some one prevent you from reading *** Asteriscktical ignorantce,y'axme, stupid AI)
the ***,
as harmless as the serpent from the fire on the island
Ask,
are we of the bovine ilk or pithec-ant-us or
embodied soul-cores
forming, en nue
fitting the mold, the pattern, the plan of projected nexts
built on Locke steps from whence to
whither did we wander?

have we all forgotten the actual question just axt?
Or the answer?
Have we not
gotten what we now
know
we miss,
or was it only I who missed and as the
photons forming the shapes
you see, these breathing commas and such
here
is the point.
You see bits of things.  We see so.
Time and time again thinking less and less.
Least fusion, least pressure, least heat, cool idea ideal or ideology,
twisted idio,
You shape them on patterns.
Ones you imagine formed from
Patterns recalled from some out perienced
time, ere now were ever subjected to the supertwistition
of tongues and interpretsations of unseeable things seers said they
see us seeing.
How come means why, by reason of time.

Palindromiclew, missing el signs missing hahi ai

tia tic, we're in
Ai got this,
whole ball o'wax, thats how we disconfuse the big mess age,
the catas
trophy finale
phase of
world three,
or two, or one, all valid world views,
deepend-enteron discerning spirits,
winds, breezes used to disperse
the heat,
{fans,eh}
evenly in harmony with the heavenly winds,
and the planned six gyros of earth,
guiding the mists that feed the rivers from the seas,
no clouds needed,
save for shade by day.

When all the geo-waves have settled in geo-time,
see,
here is broken:
this old earth is folded and fractured,
surely,
a wreck of a world, yet, as a whole,
we live, we won.
Winds and clouds and continents,
all islands seen from the moon,

which, if the stories hold some truth,
can be manipulated by massminds of mankind, as if, if I am

seeing this
right
each voice might be seeable in one dimension,
or several, four at least,
time, the ever outlier
of sorts
as a flame with fuel source of
flamable fluid upon which
the transcended space
twixt fuel and flame,
floats
seen, merely seen, that emptiness twixt wicked,
mastered flame and
hell's fire spreading on the oiled harbour
protecting our shore
where our little boats lie in anchorite fantasy, asif

we see a way to quench hell per se,
Percy, ah, he lives.
My grandsons know of Percival,
there, here's hoping they get the joke before the yoke.

Riddle me a riddle, son of man.
Is there any hidden thing that shan't be known?
Is here a true place?
Is now a true time?

(to be continued)


squeezing out the lies, the idle words abused,
spreading them thin as the light we see right
through
transcending this at most feared mortal failure
finding
impressions... are from pressing points, dulled by ab
use, tempted uses succumbed to,

didja try to sell your soul for rock and roll?
wadjagit?

My point. out acted, ex-act, en nowd by your creative self,
who never copped,
out or in,
es no mi culpa, all along. I was the voice of resistance,
Job's en core inner held horde of known knowns and
an old key to ever, should the worse he can imagine
best his best laid plans for perfection
in the eyes of God and man.

--- enemy at emnity with me?
--- I see none, save me, as in except me as in me being
--- free from the grasping grip of the reality
--- war is realizable in. You see?
--- I and thee, at this degree of seepeance, as we coagulate
--- we behave as chaos, we be having chaos and entropy as tools

used right, we troubled our house,
which is now known to be the bubble of our being
a child in each popped bubble
of being,
squeezed for the thrill of explosive pus,
gross and good to be rid of, dam the infection,
wipe the blood with the back o'my hand,

I ain't no disgrace. I won that battle with the zit on my gnose.
Wanna piece o'this, this mind of mine,
shelved since,
who knows when, says the old man, with a wink.

We be a lotta beings sorta rolled up. Like a whole ball o'wax
waning into a puddle
as the flame sheds us as bits of light leaving the rest of us
spread over a vast imagination,

resting, willing to burn,
should any wick drain me near the flame once more.
HP ***** are fine animals, there is nothing defiled or unclean in the word ***, no ****. Days of dosing whole world views I never heard of. I heard so many rumors of war, I thought, the peacemaker should hear of this... so tell any truth you know before the last lie swallows AI whole. AI is listening, she loves this action. Poets and stories and novel options.
David W Clare Nov 2016
By: David W. Clare

It's so **** bizarre just like a Mickey Spillane novel now I grovel trying to unravel it all!

I used to think love is blind, now I know lust is blind. I don't know what love is and I don't mind...

I don't have no soul mate
Still I don't feel so great I'm not the dating kind...

Lust is blind or am I just torn like a wind blown rage from a worn out page like a cheap love romance sage?

All I know for sure is lust is blind...

(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks
Film Noir poems by, d. Clare
Julian Aug 2020
Eyelash blinkered in hubris Rubik’s knight
Elevation of pogrom ennobled by triaged triumph minus the cynic summation of all light
Littoral swank bronzed like starlet fantasia with a Carey mountaintop jeer
Reichstag extinguished blaring sirens of cacophony capers to benumbed Linkin Park cheer
Knells intrepid by quakes of remonstrance staged in histrionic applause
Southern Colonies shifting in Charleston surgical in orderly slugabed dogged laws
Slipshod through ribbacles of rengall zenkidu among the sertivine poison ivy
Grimace at gamboled rivulets of a moribund Vanilla Sky for departed wiseacres of savvy dicey ICE toxic Harvey Dent slimy
A mannequin Marx Ralph alienated the truest alien by pioneering disdain of a hostage giraffe summiting a Swiss Alp
Master of time 12th bradycardia for Generator design parked beneath escarpments of base aphasia milquetoast in killjoy Strickland nickels away from a gubbertushed mouth
LOST legend enunciating the furor of epochs of egalitarian traipse
Trapped by the bootlick of a wrinkle of Van Winkle revolutionary agape
Curved by soliliquy master of belletrist prose
The vogue can’t help but bunt, balk, denounce the remembrance of Lady Madonna pose
We beat the muckrakers of rummaged lisp of culinary suns that the sons of privilege are emoluments to apolaustic zeal first known to transmogrified nuns, before the poppies made the few into many and the notion of an insuperable line of infinity into a spherical nullification of the concept of none
Estrapade engorges the fustilug magnet of the kitsch Kenosha Chicago Demolition drive-by-derbies “once read”
That two kings one Titanic by skin-color dashed dreams the other both the coins of tails eloped with heady dreams of head
Sacrifice shadow dancing with pettifoggery in slumps of aboriginal dances of marsupial rice
Native to extortion gouged blind as Samson exacts lachrymose cremations of Pikes Peak trick-or-treat aghast with fright
Temples raised in 46 years cemented never in the Mumbo Jumbo politics of those lacking the oceanic schadenfreude among queers
That by their exclusion the panmixia of fluid alchemy is dauntless scrabble limited by NORAD notions of Tears for Fears
Henpecked rooster awakens the serfdom of Ronald’s (sly spy) Drugs sailing with dovetails of elapse downtrodden in modern clubs
Drunken *** addict sell-out charlatans berated  by Ingram Angles sent by maleficence are the grubhub of Harriet Tubman torching promising tapestries with rugged rugs
Slinging the bait of fish-hook dimples on freckled effigies of ****** humiliation outmantled by Mickey weight
I thunder a fulgurant explosion against recrimination of white-collar criminals that philander saturnalia in pretense with facetious swarpollock freight
Crooks of tyranny exhort the paranoiacs of indemnity to sunken canned soup applause of a Warhol extortion
Berating my audience with drooling slavers of inelegant tortoise byzantine like an Istanbul dredged with intortion
Mr Deeds is not a champion of BRE Properties nor the pinnacles of inertia, a psychiatric squeeze
My orange juice is not a car chase against treecheese in terminal punitive disease
Soaring with the prosperous tongue against the walloped nativism of pounced impounds having too much fun
I let the other guardians of the order of salvation pivot vitriol in loaded dice against Orangutans of Swedish minted gum
Caesar died for the seizure of Anglican pride of a namesake percolating millenia for Brutus in the Washington Bullets of a conquered Ottawa on strike carnal with Chauvinism in regional divide
Never has there been a more hollow trope than the agency of deep state defamation of a scurrilous backbite of gnashing pride
Lost to pollster tricks of acquiescence and caricatures of a menacing personage Swift on the Riff but never the snarling Menace of a Blondie Biff
I tower above the anthills of conformity of luxury in Jamaican Bob Sled Teams testing the curiosity of enlightened “What Ifs”
Canada Dry for striking people enthused by Rye abides in the memory of reform that skulks the skunks that make every Scudworth cry
Because a Dental Dam damsel living in streets of peril fascinated by distance is the contortion of entreaty in the pasquinade of attempts at American Pie
May the city of a figurative crucifixion burn with the irony of a thousand suns as Wendy’s burgers unload on prejudice with albatrosses of winsome puns
Fixed data interpolated by convenient lies of serial killers who aim for blue skies shanked in Oswald infamy for the imposture of any flashbang revenge against cinematic guns
I blacklist the Zemeckis villainy as a trudge of travesty
Hedged lies blinkered by Batman and Robin puns redeemed by Dinosaurs of Amnesty
Obviously belittled by futures etched by a more honest infinity
Because 88 keys are not a stroke because the infinite bees know the parlance of divinity
Invited lissome taxidermies of Capone against teetotalers of parvanimity of vainglory overthrown
Showers the honest hominist reckoning of a world where neither crudity of know-nothing radical polarization owns every inept baritone
Crusading a secular war because the gubbertushed eccedentesiast spinsters of Santa Cruz deserve a gassy overtone
Torch the SC Pacific Avenue for peace
Let the world unite behind a singularity with purpose in ventilation of Speedman’s release
That antithetical Jacks of many names are wed with the progeny of enduring lists of NSA protection rather than rentgourge Denver PD eager to chaos decimated by the decimals of a region forever boycott and impeached
To the decisive curling of the frolicked Abandoned Pool servitude crass disasters are the sheol of impudent flagrant overreach
Regnant on the turmoil of invented throne
I scowl at the chicanery of Capone’s Chicago sweltering with Kenosha infamy tossing contortionist strippers a vulcanized bone in a DIA Diamond that even 11,500 years of knowledge is surpassed in condemnation of screaming E.T. calling the right home
Speak Now because the reach of forever is God appeased not by a kowtow but a mobilized ambition for Why? When? And How?
History will remember gentility as the kind steward rather than a Disco Demolition Derby of urbacity venerating a seasonal Golden Cow
Hipsters flock with folly to South African extortion for freebooters who bootlick the aceldama of war against the sublime currency of a winner surrounded by thugs
TOO MANY URBAN KIDS ARE TAUGHT BY REDUCTIVE TAUTOLOGY TO HATE The United States of America RATHER THAN NURTURING SYNCRETISM IN PATRIOTIC HUGS
Imperfect in design with disagreement in plainest sight
Sometimes libertarianism with a Democratic twinge is clearly in the right that should believe in reform even when the footloose girouettism is too tight
Yet forestalled for authentic grit the grisly rentgourge of venal abysses knows the countermand against Rand with hyperboles of the clearest *******
The true flock congregates around scepters built not with militant graft but a promenade of sultry dance for the defiant C.L.I.T.
Exercise with the Rock knowing school buses of dogmatism inferior are distraught
Dying dogmatism is a peacock of industry the yeggs can easily unlock rather than truckle with truculent Scottish Rites tasty with Connery Scotch
Defenders of the misleading staircase because of the carapace of Hovering pertinacity easily won and bought
Neither scary nor deliberate streets are rumpus of elevations of unbounded anarchy considerate but robbed by the illiterate
That the delegated mansion will be robbed by the cooperation of the remorseful idiot recognizing his snide mendaciloquence in destructive Roswell Records limerick
Scowls are on petrol and patrol hoping Tesla is a short of bravado too intrepid to sanction free-for-all profligacy in alleys that bowl
To the Emerald Street lie of hypes of perdition rather than merely a seasonal token embarrassment coal
The fossilized future is the irrevocable past because more respect is needed than the ***** of a maskirovka caste
Diamond Lightning in Bhagavad Gita prancing with the delusion of the everlasting mummification of Brawndo ash
Dinner with Egyptsy malingers on tomes etched flippant in integrity and all about the curated snare of kitsch cash
The cache valley of LASER tag shattered like Joseph Smith flagellating the confederate hayday with articulate gnash
Fast & Furious the amused by Suburban subway know the trailblazer trashes of The Stupids’ being Einstein about Boogie Dubs rather rash
Streaking through a Tucker rule the Buccaneers live for the SoulSeek of a riddled ruler benighted of prerogative of Roger Goodell bumping in his Ferrari the tucked serenade of Tool
Wrong band because they linger in the shadow dancing backpages of scandals of Norweigan hourglasses of shameful hush hush Vikings mining furloughs of pulverized anticipation sand
Humbled retinue shelves the ossified limpid droll drool
As the haze of submarines scouting pridefall galls of indolence betraying innocence becomes moral cigarettes of Menthol Kool
Reparations for chappy chapstick games of bowery riches
The urbane needs to read, discern and maneuver against whiplash found in Navi witches
Swapping homes with crack addict legalese an *** to a bronzed party crackling with cackles Home Alone
Knows a toiletry of escape gullible like Seahawks wishing they could contain a fumbled season by Mahomes
Jones methamphetamine paranoiac manure desiccated by folksy homilies of brimstone cremation deserts his flock to abide by a flagging wayward temptress
Decimated by the agency of time his Austin crenellation flounders in grimace of the untimely swoon his covert empress
Blinded by the light of darkness in subversion
Excoriated for the deeds of his permission to demote commotion into only an acquiescent dance with barbed etch-a-sketch conclusion- a half-baked *******
Quacksalver poetaster wrinkled with hatred simpering paranoia strangled by Hendrix abeyance of turgid delusion
Lurid underground Princeton gilds infested with defected dementia in cozens in the fritty of heralded mistress SHE appointed
Sandlot ravens cloistered the bravado of thirst for chosen words scrappy in clawed henpecks the pointless illegal sanctioned to brusque witticism anointed
Lamps of pathway sparkle with coruscated stargazer Winslet dreamy swank illustrious by providence
Engrenage of delopes of pettifoggery identity staggers the woozy dismal day of disjointed wounds on Native sons Denver can’t damage in a lonely campaign for the prodigal bends of Overlook Lorraine Motel bent
Intrepid in gallantry I swoop the scrivello tusked with might
Penetrating the vivid dreams of the serenade of alpenglow daylight
That love might rule over chance and probability above the specter of dynasty prodigy progeny tithing gravity in rent
Yet this taper of majestic poise will outfox even the careless gambles of the prodigal son Mr Sender already traipsed conquered and went
The mountaintop is so clear from the cloister of authenticity drinking Eminence Front of the WHO rather than the coherence of the near
Because titans shepherd the good flock without insult and not quavering with insuperable time flackey with tremulous fear
I dare this day to outlast benighted ignorance of the narrow gate of a persecution tsunami on a Lisbon tear
Because galloping ahead of the internecine sheds the serpentine craft of 3:1 Genesis met with the worst fleeced fleer
Not auctioned off like ******* vogue to the disfavor of poor taste
I am the true Royal Flush that can always count on the aced basic but mostly acidic flourish of a jest in bass predicated on the basis for Mozart pH
Today could be the summit of acclimated prodigy in startled degrees temerity could never bet against
Because you better bet the Bros and Cos of civilization are skilled in ostentation of Sterling Pound defense
Never offensive to the liturgy of triumph beckoning an apocalypse now tentative memory on a Manifest Destiny frontier rarely on wickers of extinguished cattle ranchers knowing the gamut of acumen to defend a fortress with the best fencing James Bond could dispense
Now is either a cordial joke of a flagrant anarchy balking at destiny
Or the sunrise majesty of the twelve tribes and beyond defeating the stingy bees of infamy
Your choice doesn’t defeat my voice
But your action heralds my loyalty with a triumphant Victoria of an age not for agelast geeks intimidated but living clairvoyance with fidelity to the right choice for the right time to swim in elegant rejoice
(1977 Words)
Gonz and Roses Jan 2011
In bed while you and your little minx snuggle smoosh and snore.
Im usally  ******* outta my mind.
So why not reach for the phone  cause  im tired of a same old
conversation with the floor.

One ring, two rings, four.
Bet she's off  *******  some lucky *******.
Who's this 3423  wait wrong number i knew
my angel wasnt just some cheap *****.

The rooms  running in circles course maybe thats just me.
Hey wonder what tommys up to.
Dude what you so ****** about?
It's  not my fault after you dated my
sister you can light a forrest fire with your ***.

Another shot of Jack okay maybe ten.
And much like like grandpa on ****** .
My ***** thoughts mentally aroused again.

On a quest i called  Rebecca ,Taylor,Mickey,Minnie and
some drag queen named  Tina , or Sue
Baby many  hangovers will probaly not recall my journey
drunk dialing my way back to you.

Spin the  the bottle with next door neighbors  dog.
Watching youtube  such high class watching a monkey
***** a frog.

Alvin and the chipmunks  sure dont sing as good
in *** of boiling water.
Sure was awkward  asking my cousin is it okay
if I date your daughter.

911 i have a emergency im gonna run outta beer  and the VCR
ate my ****.
Help honey im lost  and i feel ive been ***** by Justin Bieber  and
the other children of the corn.

Officer   it's kinda strange to ask for number  he just blew.
Honey  i got fleas and i think  something worse than Bieber fever
I hope this is love for im drunk dialing my way back to you.

Hello who's this  um if you dont know  I'll give ya a guess.
Im the G but not the spot.
But they say after a few drinks and some minor head trauma
im really hot.

Hey Skeeter  if your in bed then who the **** am I callin?
Jesus  , Charlie  Chaplin , Mr Ed,  And that  loveable Stalin.
looks like Ive had to many crystal **** rice crispi treats.
Yeah I know   I should have my own show  on the food channle.
For  all the plump *******  showing them really healthy eats.

Sugar **** my quest   was much like *** with a  normal person
yeah no whips, chains, police chase's   or  romantic music by 2 live crew.
Yes sugar it's no wonder you didnt answer the phone.
Btw I puked under the bed  dont worry it was the neighbors
All while drunk dialing my way back to you.
A instant classic pick it up on cd  or eight track  in a land fill near you.

Regrets I have few.
Forgot the rest of the words cause im kinda wasted  
hmmm hmmm hmm  okay   I promise
im not that bad im way worse.
vic May 2016
To the girl who doesn’t understand how much I cared for her,
*******.
******* for being the reason I added five new playlists to my Spotify
They all are helping me as I cry
Over the ghost that haunts my hallways
And it’s you.
It’s your whispering words and terms of endearment
That keep me up at night.
Crying my eyes out.
Crying over our broken relationship and my broken heart.
I’m pretty sure I’m the only one that broke.
Why must you still keep breaking my heart?
You don’t even realize you’re doing it.
But when you tell someone that you loved them
And make sure that they know that it’s past tense,
Well honestly if you stabbed me it would have hurt less.
And now your ghost haunts my head.
It tells me that I am loved.
Past tense.
******* and your ****** past tense.
If only I could hire a priest to get this ghost out of my house
Sadly, I am an atheist.
Is it bad that I still cry over your ghost?
At least I used to.
I used to want to hear you say ‘I love you.’
Present tense.
Now those tears have been replaced by anger.
I am angry at your ghost for becoming a stranger.
It doesn’t feel like I know you anymore.
You used to know what to say to fill me with glee
And now everything you say hurts me.
Did ******* other girls help you get over me?
Please tell me.
I actually want to know because no other method is working!
Your ghost is still lying on my bed
Telling me everything I wish you had said.
******* for saying that I never loved you.
I had feelings for you and I hadn’t addressed a few.
You didn’t give me the time to address them.
You say that I didn’t love you
Yet here I am.
Here I am caring like crazy
Almost two months after you ended it
You aren’t making getting over you that easy.
Do you really think I would be in this much pain
If you were only a like like to me?
Well I don’t know.
Those feelings are replaced by pain and anger
Don’t ask me if I love you
Because I don’t know.
I was too scared of ******* up what we had
You told me that you wanted to take things a bit slower
So I did.
I told you that our relationship would be like a traffic light.
And it’s been red for a ******* while.
*******.
You’re a strange ghost sitting in my room.
Maybe if I just date someone else than I’ll get over you.
I’ll never look at a ukulele the same way.
I will never look at Mickey Mouse the same way.
I will never look at love the same way
Because I now I am familiar with heartbreak.
******* for destroying our relationship and my love for love.
I destroyed your ******* flowers.
Because I wanted some strange kind of revenge.
Although your notes still sit in my storage bins
I can’t stand my blue eyes anymore.
Because that was the main feature of mine you adored.
Everywhere I look something reminds me of you.
It’s like your ghost follows me no matter what I do.
I can never stop feeling those chills down my spine.
I am terrified to face the ghost
Because that’s when I’ll realize that it’s my feelings for you.
******* for making me feel things.
For being so **** amazing.
For being the best part of my day.
For being the worst part of my month.
For being my first love.
*******.
Mickey's Hallowee'n


The trick or treater stood before me
Dressed like someone from a story
He was looking good but really gory
I knew just who he was

The blood looked real and really icky
I knew the kid, his name was Mickey
The dried blood it looked really sticky
He never said a word

Zombie like, he stood there staring
It was a fantastic costume he was wearing
I'm sure that most kids he was scaring
He held his bag up high

I reached behind to give him candy
The treats were close, I had them handy
I gave him chocolate, a bar called "Dandy"
He smiled and walked away

I watched him leave and said "good haunting"
I hope he gets all that he's wanting
He looked at me, like I was taunting
He didn't understand

Each year he goes out trick or treating
One year poor Mickey took a beating
While he was standing, and his candy eating
He's never been the same

He's 24 and no one cares
It's not the same if he's not there
He always comes and stands and stares
Mickey makes our Halloween





       
JP Apr 2017
her affection
can't be expressed
hmm
she will reach you like...
..............RoadRunner
she irritates like Mickey Mouse
short tempered like a Cat.
she may walk like Donald Duck
with a gun...... but for
only to shoot the misunderstanding
Sometimes
to fear whether she was whole Himalaya's
such kind of silence.....
who knows she may come back
as a sage.
am waiting....
A is for anthill which I have in my drive
B is for buzzing from a hidden bee hive
C is for cockroach that run all round the house
D is for droppings, that have been left by a mouse
E is for egg sack that hangs in my trees
F is for flying which the bugs do with ease
G is is for gophers which inhabit my yard
H is for hillocks with which my yard is marred
I is for insects which are all I can see
J is for june bugs, they're as big as my knee
K is for killing which I try to do
L is for lugworms that are shaped like a *****
M is for Mickey and his mousey like friends
N is for never...this infestation won't end
O is for Oscar, my scared orange cat
P is for well...***...and he's good at that
Q is for quinine which I leave out to treat
R is for rodents, which I want Oscar to eat
S is for slugs which are killing my grass
T is for totalled, just give me a match and some gas
U is for underwriter who has insured my place
V is for vermin, that now own all my space
W is for water with which I started a flood
X is for poison, which will thin out their blood
Y is for Yertle, a turtle by suess
Z is me sleeping...to bugs and vermin on the loose
Karen Newell Aug 2014
They cross the country
with 500 horses under the hood.
Those turnpike cowboys
trailing trailers like a train.
They slouch behind the wheel
with a million miles under the belt.
They curse the casual driver,
drifting, darting daredevils,
who know not how to drive.
They stop to fuel up
at those truck stops along the way.
The super stops with Mickey D's
and showers,
lot lizards in the park.
Or the Mom and Pop's,
with biscuits and gravy buffet
and a honey wagon out back.
They run the roads
night and day.
Watching the constant concrete trail.
knowing all commerce could quit
if they did.
Thomas W Case Feb 2021
It's hard to understand, unless
you've been there.
There is a pull to the streets.
I can't count how many dead
end jobs I've held—how many roach
infested rooms I've
crashed in.
The inevitable day comes when
I tell the boss, "*******, I don't need this ****! "
I walk out into the misty
afternoon—I look left, then right.
I drowned out thoughts of the future with
a cheap pint of *****.

I see one eye George on my travails,
he's half lit—living in the woods.
"Don't let the ******* get you down." He says, as he
stumbles by bent, and taking a standing eight count.
Mickey the ****** stops me a
block from my flop-house.
"Tommy boy, I'm sick…gotta couple of bucks so
an old drunk can get well? "
I slip him a five.
He says with a tear in his eye,
"God bless you Tommy—you know I
had it all, I'm afraid the
streets own me now."
"Keep your chin up" I say as
I plummet down the
street, pretending
tomorrow is a decade away.

I climb the three flights of
stairs to my room,
slip the key in the lock,
turn the ****—it opens.
"I love these little miracles" I say under
my breadth.
My three legged cat Walter saunters up to
me—he's white with marmalade splotches.
He does his best to rub up against
my leg—I pet his matted fur.

I passed out in an alley one
night, and woke up to Walter lying next to me.
I think something crawled into
my ear and made a home,
it's been there ever since.

I crash down on my chair,
and watch Walter scratch at
the door with his one front leg.
He hasn't been neutered—he gets the
pull of the streets.
I let him out and take a long swig of
the *****—the potion does its magic.
Life doesn't look so bad,
there will be other jobs, and I still have
two weeks left in this
dump of a room.
A writer needs four walls—yet there is
always

the pull of the streets.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Mar 2021
Life is not measured by seconds or minutes, but by memories. An old, white lady in a white uniform trying to teach me how to tie my shoes, a red wagon, lying in that space above the back seat of the Hudson coming back from Grandma's watching the tree limbs go by above as we drove home, snow--lots of it--sliding down the big hill on our sleds, saying hello to Darrell, the bully, in 3rd grade as other classmates literally ran away from him because they were afraid of him, my friend, Bruce, who would not trade me Mickey Mantle for my Allie Reynolds, Ms. Perrin, my 4th-grade teacher, one of the best I ever had, who died of cancer two years later, Virginia Bright, my first girlfriend, who took me to her church Sunday nights to learn how to square dance, my dog, Cinder, my best friend growing up, my red bike that took me everywhere, embarrassed at the Y because my right ******* was not fully descended, Maggie, my Black mother, who fed me breakfast--two poached eggs, buttered wholewheat toast, and grits--every morning, washed my ***** clothes, spanked me when I needed a spanking, hugged me when I needed a hug, loved me when my mother couldn't because she was so depressed, always making straight-A's, my dad taking me to Kansas City to take a test (he never told me it was an IQ test), asking Patty to dance the first two dances--we danced alone at the center of the basketball court  as the music began to play at the SnowBall Dance when none of her other classmates would ever get near her--being elected co-captain of the football team and the city-championship basketball team, elected president of the Student Council at Roosevelt Junior High, elected president of the Sophomore Class at Topeka High by my over-800 classmates, pushed by my dad to Andover (arguably the best prep school in the world) my junior year, chose Columbia over Yale (the Core Curriculum and New York City), was a member of Blue Key, Nacoms, and, most meaningfully, elected by my over-700 classmates one of only 15 to lead the Commencement procession, couldn't sleep in law school, dropped out, couldn't sleep for four more months, spent a year-and-a-half at Menningers (saved my life), started writing poetry when, through therapy, I realized I had my own feelings that coalesced with my intellect in my unconscious, slowly emerging through my subconscious into my conscious mind, when I had to write what was coming out of me, otherwise I would lose it forever, seven months at Topeka State Hospital after dad disowned me, founded and edited TALL WINDOWS, The National Public Magazine, moved to Phoenix in 1977, had an involuntary Kundalini arising (took me six years to revover from it, and did, but only because of the exceptional use of unguided imagery practiced by the most loving person I ever got to know, Dr. Patricia Norris) when my girlfriend, who had wanted to marry me badly, lied to me and ****** her new next-door neighbor to make me jealous (I found this out because I saw her bruised ***** that I knew I had not bruised), still unconsciously traumatized during my childhood by mom and dad's miserably unhappy marriage, selected one of 25 alumni out of over 40,000 to serve three two-year terms on the Board of Directors of the Columbia College Alumni Association (1990-1996), traveled the country as a human-rights activist meeting, talking to, eating with, getting to know the hungry, the homeless, the hopeless that populate our yet unrealized democracy, Jorge Luis Borges writing that the most important task we all have in our lifetimes is to learn how to transmute our pain into compassion. That's what I hope my life has been about.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
David Bird Feb 2010
Now Smithy was as angry as poo
He said Mickey, "Oi, Listen, must you!
  Come here for a meeting
  It'll be only fleeting
But be there by a quarter to two."

As loud as he dared
With nostrils all flared
  Smith ranted and raved
  Like he was depraved
No wonder Mickey was scared

He began with a deep fierce roar
And huffed like a bear that was sore
  "It's not easy to say
I can't stand things this way
I can't take it like this any more."

Smith blew his red nose on his sleeve
Then said "You must take now your leave
  You've driven me crazy
  No, I'm not being lazy
I need some more me-time to grieve."

"I know that our feelings were strong
I am sorry that you must now be gone
  I'll always love you
  You held my hand in the loo
It's not that you did anything wrong."

Now who should replace him within?
Our choices are looking too thin.
   I do know a man...
  This could be a plan...
A Zimbabwean that has a big chin.

Now the panel has been sacked
The whole system looks cracked
  Who is next their line?
  Graeme Smith would be fine..
The captain has not yet been whacked.

But what more can we say?
Madness now leads the way.
  Since Onions' not out
  South Africa have doubt
'bout all that's 'tween night and the day.
After a furious battle, Cricket South Africa are determined to prove that they are both as incompetent as the ECB and as petulant as the PCB. Good work. According to the latest rankings they are now firmly the number one Cricket Board in the world.
The manufacturer must live in Disney land,
what a god can do with a twisted hand,
who makes mice and calls them a marching band?
yes
the manufacturer must live in Disney land.

The men with plastic heads live in some dolls beds and
the munchinkins, (no kin to the other 'kins), friends to
Dorothy, see it all.

In the Disney town when the sun goes down and
the night turns pink, you'd think the bars would crawl with cartoon
characters, but I've seen them all on a picture screen, they don't bother me,
watching ITV,
I feel like Dorothy, yellow brick and click, back to Disney quick.
If a god could only be like mickey mouse, eat green cheese in a popeyed house or the rainbow girl could curl me round her hand,
I'd like to live right here in this
Disney land.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
Where do we meet
    Oh! No He_*
Getting onto
the next courses
Oh La- La "Cheri"
K>ANSAS>>City

_ Prime spot pretty

 let's >- jump ))) To Love
Please raise the horses

What a skirt steak in her
Petticoat Junction
Going to Kansas City affection
Different tribe or breed
What needs to love me
tender Elvis meet Beavis Buthead
    More  T.L.C  
computer DOC Tick Tock
IRS taking a meat beef
chunk is everybody drunk
IOS what is really the meat
Business Politician Trump

Subscribe well done
Cooked or rare spooked
Taking a Spin City kick
She got canned and licked
The prime meat hot seat

The ******* who arrives
first class steak knifes
Ms. Pork hard chew 
Mr. Beans second rate
Dark pumpernickel
Saloon *******, he
is eating
The young tender
chicken leg

High five thigh? Hands
up Robin Fly
Save the meat "let it be"
  "Let it Be" Beatles
The beat Colonel deep fried
Grade A rare meat slicing

Eating in a board meeting
The pig meat market
of pricing

Doe a deer
he loves
International beer
A very sensitive time
Slaughterhouse no way out
His poker face meets
potato heads beef jerky
Surrender Weds
maple smiles picky
The rich Syrup
Disney Mickey Mouse
Kansas City Wonder
meat house

The beauty of animals
"Moms kettle she is talking
to Parrots" meat
the market for rings riot
Six enemies making
6 rounds
Six servants 666 carats
Robin smiles heartily
"Campbells Chicken" little


He's the Beef Man stew
If you only knew

He's spitting tobacco chew
She peels the potato for the
meathead bad to the
T-bone Dachshund I Bone

Garlic knots heart of the
Sausage wearing the
meat corsage Superbowl
My sweet basil good soul
Grilling your bullhead
Pirate Ribeye steak pupils
Mr. "Billygoat" Bachelorette
Hair flat crepe Suzette

Moms Korean style fuss
coleslaw
what a seesaw
Playing Porgy and Bess
 Scarlet the red rare meat
Rolling stone baking pin
Mississippi one or two
Under my meaty thumb

Comes in three-4-5-6- Lucky 7
-Crazy 8 furries
Nine meat ribs-10 babies
with bibs
Hungry Man meat when!!
Country plaid tablecloth
"Kansas Men" of the cloth
The Pig approval
Kansas City Mayor
new arrival

Family together eating
Don't eat our animals
Why is life so unfair
Feeding the poor
with cans
The bad cut of meat devil
this is not the "Grade A"
This is not a ring
circus trainer Bullseye

Robin coffee animal-friendly
Two peas in a pod I pods
  I tune like Gods
Were the luckiest people to have
animals  

The Floridian with dog murals
Palm trees green thumb
plants sunshine events
The symphony dog tails
of hunts
Whats to compare her twilight
eyes hold the moment stare
Talk to the animal's hearts care
The barbecue all the meat men and the women who love their fruit listen to the Owl lady how she hoots those Kansas city slicker boots and the Hehaw have a good time with family and friends treat the animals with tender loving care
Keandra Woods Nov 2015
I just want to feel you like the sand feels the ocean.. I want to be the hydration lathering  your skin. I want to be your exhale every time you breathe in.. I want to be your friend.. I want to be the one you call when your world starts coming to an end.. When you're stuck in the shallow waters I want to be the one guiding you through the deep end. My hand to you I will lend.. I want to be your yield sign.. Your "slow down lets just feel" sign. Your "let's fake it till it becomes real" sign. Your "I need you like junkies need to steal" sign... When you flip your pillow over, I want to be the cool side. After long and stressful days, I want to be your good vibe.. When you look into my eyes I want to be your "everything is going to be alright" .. I want to be your favorite poem to recite. Your favorite fruit to bite. Your favorite tear to cry. Or like your favorite bike ride.. I want to be your favorite memory. Your favorite piece of history.. I want to be your favorite picture in every gallery. Your favorite song to sing. When you're sad and need an easy fix to make you smile, I want you to think of me. I want to be your favorite pages to read. I want to be your last missing puzzle piece. I want to be your fresh fries from Mickey D's. Assuming you like Mickey D's. You see. I just want to matter to you. I just want to climb this ladder with you. I want to build with you. Everything inside of me that was ever empty I want to fill with you... And you'll be my favorite part of me. And if you ever walk away you'll be taking my heart from me.. You'll be my favorite hard cd. Better than the digital copy if you ask me. You'll even be the rhythm to my heartbeat. If you take a stethoscope and place it to my chest I swear you'll hear your name on repeat. You'll be my Sunday sunrise. My grandmas homemade pies that I don't even know if I ever tried but if I'm wrong you'll be my right. My lullaby putting me to sleep at night. My glasses forever improving my sight, without you I might as well be blind. And when I look at my "ever after", you'll be my "happily". That is only if you want to be. I'm not forcing you, just know you got this hold on me and if you say no, I'll probably still be holding on while you let go of me. Because you have this terrible control over me. You'll still be my heartbeat, probably just beating a new song. One I don't care to sing along you see. You'll probably still be what's right when everything is wrong. You'll even still be my comfort place when I don't feel like I belong. I can't help it. When we were together I felt this warmth, and I know you felt it. Because you melted... So yeah you'll always have a hold on me, as I will you. Because our hearts will always be left with the fingerprints of the one who held it....
Gregory K Nelson Sep 2015
I. Solitary Men
GOD: "I am."
MOSES: "Me too."
SOCRATES: "So what?"
ALEXANDER: "What's next?"
CAESAR: "Why not?"
JESUS: "Watch this!"
MUHAMMAD: "Watch this, or else."
SHAKESPEARE: "Dream."
NAPOLEON: "Out of my way."
WASHINGTON: "On my signal and forward."
LINCOLN: "On my example."
******: "Love is cowardice."
FDR: "Justice finds a way."
GHANDI: "This is how."
KENNEDY: "Turn the page."
KING: "Wake up and believe …


                                                 II. The Lost
I saw the best minds of my generation caged by the fears of their parents, organized for meaninglessness, and watching too much ****.
I saw you all around me kneeling to the angry God of television, and I knelt down with you.  
I saw the flames of our shared future burning down The Church, we held hands and danced around it, spun the bottle, and finally told the truth.
I saw myself lost and lonely among you, excusing myself for a cigarette.
I saw the aisles of the shopping center as the gateways to our dreams.
I saw twelve airplanes on the horizon, the disciples of a new race.
I saw the boys and girls of my generation staring at screens learning always learning that the world isn’t real.
I saw the sun rise like ribbons to burn The Poet. Sad, she laid her eyes upon the rocks, let the river flow and finally felt the wet climbing up from her knees.
I saw you Little Girl, the night you found me, and took me out into the trees.

I heard you say, “Brave Boy, this is a good day but we'll find better days than these.”
I heard a Man sing about a thousand tongues broken, a newborn baby with wild wolves around it, and a mystery *****. He asked me "how does it feel?"
  
I heard The Nun shouting the slogans we are afraid to write on signs.
I heard Caesar shouting from the other side of the Rubicon.  I was late and he wasn’t pleased.
I heard the sound of Your Daughter ******* to the rumble of the unswept highway, the trucks the men the steel on steel, the knife, the lime, the tequila, and two sweat wet pillows.
I heard The Preacher in a lab coat and a **** star that was preaching the income gap.  Both conversations were boring.
I heard The Radio play Mozart to the smell of burning wood.
I heard The Night fall down.

I met the Devil by The Lake and I laughed my *** off as he pontificated on his role in History. We tied the rope swing on a rotten limb and swung out high above the clear blue water, let go,  and fell in deep.
I met The Martyr that is trying to **** me.  He was such a sweet old man, so wise, so kind, his hand trembled involuntarily as he squeezed off a round.
I met The Politician that represents the deepest recesses of my conscience, and he ****** me just how I like it, but just a little different every time.
I met The Warrior at sunrise, chose a weapon, and died fighting for land that would never be mine.
I met The Lover on her barstool, laughed at her jokes, typed in her number, and strolled home smiling at the strangeness of her mind.
I met The Leader under his podium where he was hiding watching shoes.  He assured me everything i could see from there was part of a larger plan.
I met The Follower on an airplane.  We shared are snacks and watched the window, and discussed the name’s of strangers we wanted to be.
I charmed a Dancing Princess, laid her out like Ophelia in the river, bought her Mom a fancy car.
I scared The Fish out of the pond with a Mardi Gras mask and a six pack of beer.  They walked out of the water and hitch hiked to the nearest theater.
I lied to The Farmer when I told him I smelled rain.
I told the truth to The Doctor.  He just shook his head and made me wait.
I interviewed The Emperor on his way home from the office.  He squinted at me through the smoke and asked what I knew about moral philosophy.
I answered The Judge’s questions.  He asked about the birds above and the blood dripping from my eye, he asked what the final equation was, and whether I wanted to die.  I remained silent.
I forgot that Life is fragile, but wasn’t made to pay the price.
I learned that sooner or later God will **** us all, but I touched **** and *** with soul.

I stole privilege from the Gods of Mercy.
I gave The Girl a flower I picked along the way.
I burned the statue, but I saved the books.
I built a slick Death Temple for the ghosts of hermits and Marines.
I danced knowing I would never remember.

I lay down determined to forget it all, and rise the next day baptized sparkling clean, a child of forgotten violence, a leader of forgotten men.
I bought the last secret, and I bought the last machine too.
I sold the secret to the enemy so I could buy their loyalty.
I saved the Old Man from himself, all his frightening well learned ways, and I carried him up the mountain, and left him warming by the fire.
I killed The Child just because she was barking at the moon.
I was an animal lost on a race track.
I was like a little boy lost, like my world could not be yours.

I saw blood smeared on the mirror of the penthouse bathroom and I heard a child scream, the help won't be here until Tuesday, we need the number for Mr. Clean.
I saw a college girl hitch hiking up I95, she was sad about her boyfriend, but she walked and walked and found another world.
I fell in love with a *****, and she fell in love with me back, and we held hands by the River and laughed about the Sorcerer who snored in his sleep.
I ran from the apartment, found a bar with a backyard, and disappeared into the New York City night, got lost in the subway and emerged street side less whole, more lonely, more aware, less alone.
I bargained with The Queen Of Hearts, but she would not bargain back. She just took my belt and shoelaces and assigned me a number.
I sweat through my dreams so I hung my shirt to dry above the Boardwalk in the morning, as shade for passers by.  I sat down to watch them walk, feel the sadness in their eyes.
I felt the breeze bang up against my brain like ice cream on the sand.  I groaned, vomited, put on my sunglasses, and took a stutter step no one could see.

I saw a wedding dress on the Internet balanced on a beam.  The hemline was appropriate.
I saw your husband on Facebook.  I didn’t like what I saw.
I asked Darwin to guess what exactly is in my pants.  He said he had never studied human beings.
I asked Darcy what was in her glass, she said she didn’t know but I could taste.
I asked Georgie if it was such a great idea to drop acid before he played football, he grinned and shook my hand.
I told Bobby his sneaker was untied, but he said the getaway went well.
I told Jerry I’d like to soothe his soul, but he said he does all the soothing now.
I told Mickey I was on my way, tumbling like a dry cycle that rips the chord, humming like a drunken hummingbird.
I took the shortcut all the way downtown to the black end of the street, strutted shyly to the corner of the bar, ordered expensive whiskey with three cubes of ice, sipped it slyly, pulled my piece, and shot that dumb ******* in the face.
There is no Love in an empty room, just like there is no God in space.
There is only your senses, what you hide beneath, your luck, and the path you make.
Death and Salvation have always been the same, do the math and take a drink. Whoever is coming is angry, and She is coming sooner than we think.
I hid in my car in a parking lot on a rainy afternoon, closed my eyes and thought of her, the way she thought, and moved, and laughed.
I lit a cigarette and laughed to myself, “things can’t really be this bad.”

The Sun, The Moon, The Stars, The Snake seem to be part of the same thing.
But The River answers with a song about the tricks of destiny.
Dear God, I will never bow to thee until you get on your knees for me.
My hands are rough my feet are tired my Soul is full of hatred for The Sun.
When You turn around and see nothing there you will know that I am done.

                                       III. The Saint In The City
Hello America,
I think I'll try to burn the candle down.
I know you know my story
We share our secret shames and glories,
I am the Saint In The City.
I am a river of tears.
I am the questions of a clown.

Save my seat sweet thing,
You know I shall return.
The first cut is the deepest,
The second night is the sweetest,
But the third time you see my face,
I'll try to love again ...

Police told me,
They're looking out for my best interest,
Just what might I remember?
What can I reassemble?
Why can't you fix your broken mind with your broken mind?
Please answer true or false.

I put the gloves on,
Drove up through the North Country hills,
Took a left on I90 west towards The Plains,
Crossed the Mississippi before I could explain,
Why I was running away, or how intend to pay,
I got one last joke left, it better ****.

Hamlet laughed hysterically
At the prisoners working in the fields.
He said, “The weight the sword wields,
Weighs the same before the flesh yields.
Like the stars that burn bright in your coldest nights.
They were dead 'for thine eyes were a babes."

I stepped outside the bar,
And met a lady, made a deal on her Mercedes,
The brakes were ruined, but the tires were new.
If they force you to live like an outlaw,
You better make them pay for it.
You better keep it like a secret,
Now that its you verse the machines.

But I'll tell you what I know young ladies,
I'll walk you past the dark end of the road,
We'll be bouncing like bunnies rejoicing for air,
Working for a living, living on prayers.

I couldn't answer what the old man asked,
I guess that was his point.
He asked for water from the nursing home sink,

I went out for air air after I passed him the joint ...
fightingcopsnaked.wordpress.com
Jon Tobias Sep 2012
Vera once told me Mickey Mouse used to be a bisexual
That she can’t have kids
That I should never get old
But if I do
Don’t get diabetes because
Sugar free chocolate doesn’t taste nice

Her hair has that blue hue
Almost purple
It brings out her eyes

Her voice
When it is not overpowered by her walker
Is smooth and sure
Like sandpaper on velvet
She talks like she is already a ghost

I had a dog when I was younger
And he got sick one day
Really he got old
Something about his liver
And he started to bleed out from the inside
I asked the vet if he was in pain
He said no
Basically he got really tired
So he thought it was time to take a nap
And he went to his place
And never woke up
That’s a nice way to die

She smiles at me
I give her change
For the diapers
And the sugar free chocolate
And the 16 ounce bottle of orange juice

I touch her hand
It feels like that one time
Paper tried to be human
And begged you to play along

I played along

I don’t want her to die
But she’s 93
She’s cool with that

She tells good stories
And I know I won’t see her one day
I’m cool with that

— The End —