"mugged" poems
i am seven and in your living room
with antiques & photographs
of family that are more like strangers
and handshakes at christmas
there is a jar of circus peanuts by the armchair
and i remember being told that these are here because they are never out of stock
and that *they are the only things
children will not want to take from me*
i still do not like the color orange.
i am eight and round the bannister
to an upstairs that reminds me
of heaven in that
place i can't go sort of way & i am
knuckle deep in your pumpkin pie
wiping it on my uncles suede jacket
our hands still shake but the jury is still out
on if he looks at me and napkins the same
i hope you do not sleep
with my apologies under your fingernails
i will not say them out loud
i know i should have mowed your lawn
i should have been a home
for second hand smoke
if i could go back i would be your ashtray
i remember the day you forgot who i was
i bound into the room and throw my arms
around you like an armistice
and you ask who i am
we are not in church
but everyone stops singing
i am passed from child to child
while we all laugh
but my lungs feel like
they've been mugged in an ally
who's son does he look like, mom?
my father says like gospel
you pull on your cigarette
sip from your watered down wine and shrug
and i am neck deep in forgetfulness
i imagine alzheimer's
as being born again every day
so, we will spend ages
looking at captions to photographs
telling your stories to strangers
as my father begins to forget
and when i imagine probate
an unfamiliar hand unfolding a will
to be read to wayward angels
i want to burn down the house
and sleep in the ashes
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Tonight I stayed at work until 7:00.
It was dark when I locked the front doors.
Winter approaches again, soon the great coat
huddled like a rug around me. The streets
were active as usual, block residents
hanging out front steps. I said goodnight
to Nydian Figueroa, after school counselor.
I bought a beer at the deli on Third Ave.
from the Arab owner. He’s a bit upset about
the bottle bill.
Collecting bottles from small groceries
could be a useful youth employment enterprise.
I walked down Fifth along the park in the dark
drinking my beer and looking at women. I need
a good **** badly. I tried to decide whether
to go to the movies, a Hopi film Howard recommended,
or just go home, watch tv and light a candle.
Maybe I’d meet someone at the film.
Can I handle
the malady of going home tonight? If I die,
I die alone.
I turned west toward the subway
past the museum, through the park.
I can’t look at the myriad lights in buildings
large enough to hold a small town. It increases
my anxiety and anonymity to the breaking point.
I hoped to be mugged, for the human contact.
Two big guys looked me over, but I lowered
my center of gravity and they passed quietly.
Survival proves I am alive.
The white pines
in this corner of the park hold a cool, earthy air
reminding me of coming winter, that mortality
is restful, of the black bear and swollen river I saw
500 miles away and only one day ago.
Jul 6, 2022
Jul 6, 2022 at 6:30 AM UTC
This is the very first of my "Barry Hodges' Memories" poems.
People think that Amsterdam is an exciting city,
Full of life, full of fun, full of cheap beer and drugs
And easy to buy thrilling ******** **** films galore.
But there is another side to this Dutch metropolis
Believe me, I know, I have been there, squire,
And I have seen it in all its drug-filled horror.
I was there one balmy eve, just off the Leidseplein,
With my older brother, a kind and gentle man
(although physically not very pretty),
When a gang of Surinamese youths,
Sky-high on crack ******* or whatever filth,
Attacked us, mugged us, use what words you wish,
It doesn't matter, the result was the same.
And they left him lying there in the gutter,
His skull cracked and seriously brain-damaged,
And for what, I hear a myriad voices query,
Well only a few hundred lousy over-valued Euros.
He dragged out a miserable half-alive existence,
For a few Hellish months in the city hospital;
Dear God, I shall not be going to Amsterdam again
(with or without a Dutch cap, may I add tentatively).
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
it's my fault
i was too careless
and brought my
precious items
it's my fault
i got mugged
it's my fault
i was too daring
that i wore so-called
provocative clothing
it's my fault
i got *****
it's my fault
that i got preyed upon
it's my fault
i became a victim
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 11:10 AM UTC
*If we went any "gayer" I would be **** free.
Peace, put down your guns and stop firing,
k, make more luv not war! Let it be, let it be...*
Why is it that when there is a war
Everyone has to run and join?
I guess this doesn't sound right,
Perhaps I'm just going blind?
Where is Uncle Sam when I'm mugged
Running through an alley for my life?
Where is the honest soldier when these
Drunk military "saints" just hit their wives?
I am always here, my heart is just the same,
I know there is always war, but why can't
We at least try to make a change?
Just because it's always been, doesn't mean
It must always and forever remain!
How are you military guys so sure
That you're part of the cure, not the pain?
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
Moon is getting red
as if it's being strangled
my legs are proving the struggle
the night belongs to a scream
scream of a sparrow
in a gut deep stab
by some homeless from the country far far away
who stomps his feet every time you ask his name
she was rather painted differently
or interpreted differently
but the melancholy woman
I saw in the street selling goody bags
with a huge smile on her face
as I turn around the block
it was alley of the gunshot
people talk here in gunshot
gunshot carols
gunshot lullabies
gunshot romance
gunshot cry
gunshot memories
the subtle is the step you take
the subtle is every trigger you pull
bite you lips and
you are accused of being a communist
sad howl wakes up the city
the feeling of being mugged is haunting every lamp
every star
every eye
everything that glows
and
in a quiet distant direction
voyage continues
on a day
slipping into a moonless night
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
-Houston Chronicle, 10.1.2018
A robot wandered the mean streets alone
While lighting up and smoking his last transistor
Remembering an IBM long gone
“Buy me a WD-40, mister?”
A ****** thermostat took him to Radio Shack
And talked about some Texas Instruments she knew
A Compaq sent them to a room out back -
“Do ya wanna undo my phillips *****
He paid the thermostat some gigabytes
And then…
He was mugged by a relay who put out his lights
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 7:23 AM UTC
You
Are not a man.
You are not worth
My mercy
Or my words how dare you
Touch him
With your hands filthy
Threaten to beat the **** out of
My lover?
If he doesn’t give you his cell phone you
*******
Or else he could give you
A ten minute *******
And escape with his life
And his bones intact
But not with his dignity
Not without ***** rising in his mouth and pain shooting through his body and reaching deep into the cracks that I have slowly been helping him heal
You are
Not worth my mercy
Or my words and
If I had my way you
Would be
Sitting pretty under my knife
If I had my way I would have my
Sadistic revenge.
Your bones
Are going to look so good
As earrings.
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 12:53 PM UTC
They say that love hurts,
But it's the pain that tears us in parts.
Unable to make if it's a memory
Or nightmare, we see silhouettes of ourselves in the dark.
She pleaded and cried no,
All that fell deaf into his ears.
He wrecked her, in his spirit reckless
Like torn petals she was drenched in her blood.
Her fights in vain,
Her resilience silenced.
Pinned against her will,
Like a picture hung on the wall
She laid there as he armoured.
Down it hurt like a weapon ******
Her eyes welled with pain and hate,
In muffled screams she cursed the beast-
No cry or plea helped his haste.
Her hand reached out to the knife she was mugged,
Slit his throat and blood gushed out.
Then he lost and succumbed to the ground,
Stained with blood she could now gasp for breath.
Oct 17, 2020
Oct 17, 2020 at 1:45 AM UTC
I am like that passerby
Who sees a drowning man,
Thrashing in the water.
Yet completely unable to swim.
I am like that passerby
Who sees a man getting mugged
Clamped in those brawny arms.
Yet not strong enough to defend.
I am like that passerby
Who sees a child crossing a dangerous road
Walking as the car zooms by.
Yet too scared to save.
I am like that passerby
And I will always only be a passerby.
I see but I do not do.
Helpless
But always forced to
Watch.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 4:01 AM UTC
Alright fella, how’s you mate?
Just heard back from the hospital innit.
They got you that liver now?
Yeah man, sorted. Ahh yeah-
did I tell you ‘bout the other day?
There was this ******* mug
by the chippy and he mugged
me off. And I was like mate,
don’t mess - you’ve picked the wrong day
to be a ******** innit.
And he was all like, “Yeah?
**** off, mate.” And right, now,
well, I’d had enough by now;
I wanted to teach this mug
a Life-Long Lesson, yeah?
So I said, “I’m not your mate,
and I will end you if you don’t **** off, innit.”
Ah man – this was not his day.
You remember back on Tuesday,
when I got that knife that I still use now?
I had it on me, and I shanked him, innit!
Serves him right for being a mug;
*sounds like one less ***** on the estate, mate.*
Too right blud. Was well funny too, yeah –
cause he was just round the corner, yeah,
I just walked into the chippy like any normal day!
Just like, “Nah, no vinegar please mate.”
There’s never any filth around here now
so we can just shank mug after mug;
and we’ll make it a better place to live, innit.
Oh yeah, and I can get smashed now, innit!
We’ll get some pills and that, yeah?
Have us a party, but don’t invite Gaz, you mug –
he shagged Tracey the other day,
so it is gonna be well awkward now.
*Ahh **** I am well excited, mate.*
And mate, make sure you bring some fit girls, innit.
You wanna come round now? Nah, got a check-up. Yeah,
but it’s not gonna take all day! Shut up, you mug.
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
please note: t/w: violence
-
dear mister life-changer
how have you been?
i know you never answer
but i wanted to try again
introducing myself for the fourth time
i'm a small girl with big dreams
my dad walked out when i was real young
my mum hopes i'll have an easier living
i'm in kensington, philly
it's not a nice place to grow up
with drugs, gangs, and guns
my older brother once even got mugged
i'm writing from my little closet
my mum said it's for me to be safe
but i hate being alone in this place
it's such a small, empty space
a couple of gunshots outside
it's like this every other night
brother's not home right now
but i sure hope that he's alright
there's a clicking noise
it doesn't sound very nice
i hear footsteps down the hall
they're not mum's, they're too light
mister life-changer, i think that might be my brother
he told me you could make things right
but why don't you ever write back to me?
why don't you ever reply?
i want to tell you my dreams
i heard you can make them come true
just give me one chance, sir
it's worth it, i'll show you
i dream of a big wide world
where i can walk outside and not be afraid
a world big enough for every little brown girl
to skip down sidewalks and enjoy the day
i hope to move to the suburbs
buy a big house for mum one day
buy her leather bags and pretty dresses
and not a single cent she'll have to pay
-
dear mister life-changer
i'm sorry there's blood on this paper
mum's bleeding out in the kitchen
someone shot her at the counter
mister life-changer
they told me to wait
i called the life-savers
they said, just wait
i don't know what to do
so now i'm back to writing to you
will you ever make a change?
will you tell me to wait, t—
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 9:26 PM UTC
I feel scared to leave my house to go for a walk
Because I'm worried I'll get mugged or *****
Any noise in my house sets off
The myriad of alarms in every cell of my body
Whether I think it's a person or a ghost
The fear fills my limbs with electricity
I feel anxious about going to the gym alone
Because I feel like everyone is staring at me
Sometimes I'm afraid to text my ex who's now a friend
Because I'm preoccupied with worrying
About what they're thinking of me
When I work as a delivery driver
I won't go into backyards at night
Anytime I am around other people
I am afraid that they will hurt me
So I keep my guard up high
Hypervigilant to any animosity
But when I think about facing real danger
I get extremely overwhelmed
If I feel this unhinged by basic life experiences
How would I ever survive a real crisis?
My fight or flight is set off so often
That it's basically become my new baseline
I know it's the PTSD that causes it
And I know that I can get better
But sometimes I just feel so hopeless
Because I want to go for simple walks
I want going to the gym to be an easy decision
I want to spend time with people
To connect with people
Without worrying that they'll hurt me
Or that they secretly hate me
I want to live my life wholeheartedly
Not constantly in fear of something unseen
I want to be able to feel and exist openly
And really have a chance to be myself
To live a life that makes me happy
And I can't do that if I'm constantly
Running from shadows and
Hiding from reality behind doors and screens
I want to break out and be free
But behind any and all of my emotions
Lies a thick layer of fear
And I just keep running
Feb 28, 2019
Feb 28, 2019 at 1:57 AM UTC
Yesterday evening,
As I was traveling,
We hit the river styx.
The bussers got to scattering,
And a man made out of twigs
Sat next to me with a swish.
With teeth all a'chattering
Through a stutter-ridden lisp,
He blubbered and he spit
As he asked me for a kiss.
I said "that's quite flattering,
But you smell like stagnant ****
And I don't have any patience
For this attempted tryst."
With a devilish twist
Of his knotted, wooden wrist,
He handed me a Twix,
And said "eat this piece of candy
And I'll grant your every wish."
I knew it would be handy
When I packed some liquorice,
And though he was too handsy,
His promise seemed legit.
I traded him my sweets
And I ate his offered treat,
Then I feel asleep as quick
As a widow starts to weep.
I must admit
I was shocked
To find myself a heap,
A pile of trash
Cast aside
To be swept off of the street.
Lesson learned,
Ingrained deep:
Never trust
A timber creep
You meet upon a bus,
And never eat
Offered sweets,
Or else you will get mugged.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
Thu. Aug 11 2022
7:16 AM
~ for Julia and Joanne~
good neighbors
<>
a renewable habit apparently, again, a first poem of the day
(FPOTD), comes early, this old practice, me-bedded and mugged, with music ear installed drowning the noises of television blah,
iPad rests on left leg, left hand pointer finger ejects capsules
of letters, charmed into existence by the Barber adagio.
the Weather Channel forecasts morning-rain and my window
to trample and shuffle this deteriorating body rapid closes,
and the sun, weak, in concession speech, begs pardon, throws
off a few miscellaneous rays by way of apology, fooling no one,
except for the hopeful, itinerant poets, & the bunnies-neath-the deck.
know now you understand the poems entitlement, as is my wont,
you’ve been invited inside, sharing eyes and senses, you journey
today from a vantage no one else possesses, just you and me. Later,
we will drive to the Parrish Museum, studying modern painters,
each will inquire, a poem for me please, I nod sure, perhaps?
promise little, deliver less, is this your best? A travelogue of the
mundane, the little things, that do not stir your heart, smile tears,
and make you think wish I was there, or this, being
just too-me-boring?
The brain growls, no one making them read this perfunctoriness,
nonetheless, you apologize, pardon the no-angst trivia of daily life.
like the acid reflux bile, swallowed and returned to whence it came.
before it invades, tarnishes the peace of our surroundings and
the pleasure of your company, as I read your writings,
*worth so much,
filled with so much angry pain,
I want to easy-soften the everything,
if this missive, takes you-nearer, to the calmer~closer,
this poem, you transform it from perfunctory, to just, simply*
perfect.
8:18 AM
Shelter Island
Aug 11, 2022
Aug 11, 2022 at 8:37 AM UTC
The Rubber Bunny flew through the air
The Rubber Bunny gave me a scare
So I punched it in the face
It turned around and sprayed me with mace
I lay on the ground quivering with pain
The Rubber Bunny must be insane
I got up and ran
And Man oh Man!
That rabbit ran as fast as he can
The rabbit got tired and that slowed his run
I was about to grab him when he pulled out a gun
I got the gun out of his hand and my hand on his neck
He pulled a knife, I said 'what the heck!'
That rabbit was armed
And I was alarmed
He ran back to his hole in the ground
I was mugged I found
I didn't have my wallet
And when I looked inside his home, I saw it
I reached down into the ground
It was my wallet that I found
All of the sudden a sharpening pain
From the teeth of that rabbit so insane
I pulled my hand out with the rabbit too
I tried to think what to do
Once again I whacked him in the face
This time he did not turn with mace,
But with a grenade
Before I could stop him he yelled ?raid!?
Millions of bunnies came into sight,
I thought to use all my might
But they had overwhelming power
I thought I’d be dead within the hour
Grenades, mace, guns, knives
These bunnies will destroy many lives
Before I reached the edge of pain,
I realized why they were so insane
It turned out to be something funny
All they wanted was my money
The bunnies were about to attack
I had a stick and I gave it a whack
Blood squirted and I heard a scream
I thought I wiped out the entire team
But just when I thought I won the war
There was another, and more, and more
At about that time I had lost a thumb
A finger or two, or maybe some
I saw a rabbit go by with my toe
I think it was the rubber bunny but I’ll never know
And then with his teeth he pulled it apart
And all of the sudden he struck for my heart
At about that time the police showed
And now on my chest a stitch is sewed
And now I warn you to look out
He’s still in America without a doubt.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:46 AM UTC
7:00am
Shelter Island,
Sat Sep10
on the south west edge of the isle,
the slowrise sunrise just behind the trees,
so early day yet, no full frontal of a sun
bathing to wake up woman, babes asleeping, but the
animals know exactly this hours early
perfection.
indeed, the crazy squirrels are random
hither and dithering in spurts of energy,
only stopping to observe a viewing of the humans
nest~resting through the glass doors with their
inquisitive, self-possessed, bedside reckless manner,
perfected.
the suns pealing gleaming gleanings picks
out any shiny reflective surface that enhances
its low-rise greeting, with a chorale of living objects
singing “Hallelujah orb, what’s in store for us today,”
river~bay, wake-less, its becalming, marbling surface, again,
perfected.
me?
I’m mugged by the perfection intersection of
my eyes-scape, first coffee, the holy quietude, only
the regular soft breaths beside, lend a counterpoint
to these thoughts and the litany of chores the iCal happily, annoyingly, prematurely but with certainty lists, resistance (Walk!)
perfectly ok.
ok not to move an inch, watching this daily movie rerun,
that energizes hope, a contemporary localized contented without the
humdrum of blaring headlines, talking heads, and the
infiltration of the guilty unfulfilled responsibilities demanding a due,
then heavens signal me, Donovan, earbud singing Colors, confirmed
perfectly ok!
“*Yellow is the color of my true love's hair
In the mornin', when we rise
In the mornin', when we rise
That's the time, that's the time
I love the best*”
Sep 10, 2022
Sep 10, 2022 at 8:21 AM UTC
in the penguins luck the furnace begins
at reprograming the news. Picture frames on 2 x 4s , three
photographs and glass bottles in the most decadent of matrimonies.
Three-hundred million dollars.
And the race riots show 'em who'll take the dampit from the mound of
Soot stained elements, canvas, trash bags, electric guitar riffs, giraffes, bingo, the drip-drop on the drop cloth. Easing into the new processor.
She who settles the wages of crickets with ether and single-barrel vanilla buckshot and maple. Incisors and cynical stereotypecastes and the shadows of the other mugged and loose canonical charades the worser and worsening play their ad keywords at in the sketchmakers many movements her dactyls fine and her fingertips many. Sweet lines of breathing and setting.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:24 PM UTC
I feel like I’ve been mugged, and your weapons, are your words. They penetrate deep into me, like a ****** with 1 foot bullets. Why **** when you have everything in snap, and when you clap, you have that, and everyone at your knees, ready to please. So I asketh of thee, what is your reasoning?Why have me travel farther up the string, when YOU know, there’s nothing at the end of it? This poem, why should I even finish it, if you already caught, the drift of it? But Ima keep the title because best friends are opportunist too, now I have no clue, when to make the next move, but I promised myself if I wait for too long I better get the practicing on the thot walk because that’s the gay move. And I ain’t no gay dude just a good guy making all the wrong moves. So trust me when I say, I need you to guide my every move, cause currently I’m taking baby steps in a marathon race heading to the moon. So if you need a friend now, I’ll be your friend down, all the way to a pen pal. But don’t forget about, the forbidden intentions, that friend, ship, more than a friendship that I am quick wit to rid of, for you Because Best Friends are Opportunist Too.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
I gave them all of my faith
because the alternative
was death.
I was afraid of God because
he loved me and I was his
- his imperfect child, in need
of divine intervention.
Did he watch
when stress caused
my hair fall out,
gathering on the drain,
by my eighteen year-old
feet?
I have been spiritually mugged;
giving up my faith to a
weaponized religion, created by
men, who wish to enslave.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 3:50 PM UTC
It was the year
man first walked
on the moon
but the third year running
you and your brother
walked the streets
of Edinburgh
and stayed
at the guesthouse
where the Yank guy
told you how
he was mugged
in some bog
at Waverly Station
I was in the stall
on the seat
when there was a banging
on the door
and someone yelled
open up I’m going to puke
so I did the
Yank said
and some guy
stole the wallet
from my pant’s pocket
and ran off
your brother sat
at the breakfast table
bemused
why did you open
the door?
you asked
well I guess I thought
it would help
the Yank said
holding his coffee cup
with both hands
you know
kind of threw me
off course
I’d have told the guy
to go puke elsewhere
your brother said
but he seemed desperate
the Yank said
looking at your brother
with a Humphrey Bogart gaze
won’t do that again
he said
sipping his coffee
you studied the guy’s plump face
his bulky frame
his sausage size fingers
the gold ring
on his third
right hand finger
his I LOVE AMERICA tee-shirt
his blue shorts
no matter
guess we all learn
from our mistakes
you said
next time
someone bangs
on the bog door
tell them
go puke on the floor
the Yank nodded his head
his Bogart impression
faded
to a saggy dog face
and you thought
gazing at
his blonde hair
there
but for the grace of God
go I
and your brother smiled
and winked a blue eye.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 3:21 PM UTC
The idea of living without you terrifies me so much
that I have to do it.
I want to tell you but the words sit in my stomach
like bombs.
I don't want to lose who I love,
just to get a temporary satisfaction,
but after a while my pain went numb.
We'd fight and your words became knives that
no longer cut.
I no longer felt the need to baby your feelings,
didn't care what was up.
Yet a familiar love has kept me around.
Because our love is like walking down the same alley,
getting mugged 8 times in a row,
hoping there will be something different
about today.
And today,
thoughts of you are like a pinch
in a numb place under my heart.
And I'm not sure if I should stay.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 12:10 AM UTC