"natty" poems - Hello Poetry

"natty" poems

Look here. I've been admiring the spectacle of Ng’s bare **** Yes, this is simply because I have to say Ng’s bare **** is magnificent. It’s not a bouncing Botticelli but it’s a slim, firm bottom, subtly rounded, real split peach and cream stuff. And Ng at the other end is a real nice girl, too! She's my friend, see? But back to Ng’s bare **** Let's stay focused. I contemplate this vision, along with the meaning of life, quite often in broad daylight with a slash of sunlight across her little buns. This is more profound than the Tait, the Louvre, the Met, the Frick, the Neue, the Helly, the Hermitage or even the Natty Portrait Gallery all bunged in together. Ng's bare **** is also better, by far, than anything you'll see at the Bolshoi or La Scala. I’m amazed at how much I’m amazed by this work of art. It’s awesome. And I betcha the most famous galleries would fall over themselves to display this finest little **** that is, if the world wasn't so hung up with hypocrisy and hysteria, yeah, it'd be heaps more famous than the Mona Lisa. Mike T Minehan

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Mar 20, 2013

Mar 20, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC

Look here. I've been admiring the spectacle of Ng’s bare **** Yes, this is simply because I have to say Ng’s bare **** is magnificent. It’s not a bouncing Botticelli but it’s a slim, firm bottom, subtly rounded, real split peach and cream stuff. And Ng at the other end is a real nice girl, too! She's my friend, see? But back to Ng’s bare **** Let's stay focused. I contemplate this vision, along with the meaning of life, quite often in broad daylight with a slash of sunlight across her little buns. This is more profound than the Tait, the Louvre, the Met, the Frick, the Neue, the Helly, the Hermitage or even the Natty Portrait Gallery all bunged in together. Ng's bare **** is also better, by far, than anything you'll see at the Bolshoi or La Scala. I’m amazed at how much I’m amazed by this work of art. It’s awesome. And I betcha the most famous galleries would fall over themselves to display this finest little **** that is, if the world wasn't so hung up with hypocrisy and hysteria, yeah, it'd be heaps more famous than the Mona Lisa. Mike T Minehan

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tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars, diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray, birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines, occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures, sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar *not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling, many voyages of indeterminate measuring length, leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations, each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated, without critique or commentary, the numbers are the gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination, terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute* a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced, notated but not annotated, just numerical truths, (sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie) and today my calculator app informs, that I am now 19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected naturally this provokes a natty, spirited, self-inquiry, lessened, lessor, for better or for worse? have the physical alterations accompanying this reduction mean exactly what, if, it should be, a greater lesser? here is the hard part. your have always been a mirror~poet, laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied, the external never denying the interior “less~than,” a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions, counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections, of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am *gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue, the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:* I, am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds, my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man, there, internal infernal too…

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Apr 9, 2023

Apr 9, 2023 at 2:12 PM UTC

tattoo ourselves in electric ink memorializing calendars, diaries of observantional digits, black on white, no gray, birthdays, anniversaries, dates of passing, starting lines, occasional achievements, departure dates, even glaring failures, sundial mundane records of diurnal habitude…even defining self by, bye, byte marks upon flesh, upon our calendar *not my first trip-tracking, he ruefully rues, wry smiling, many voyages of indeterminate measuring length, leaving litter of arrays of hopeful estimations & destinations, each unequal, any or all possibilities, each day notated, without critique or commentary, the numbers are the gaols (jails) of goals, target, indeterminate determination, terrific, horrific, introspections, inverse images resolve, resolute* a year ago, +/- a few days,, new travelogue commenced, notated but not annotated, just numerical truths, (sans comments for the divine nature of numbers don’t lie) and today my calculator app informs, that I am now 19.4 % lesser, but that clarifies less than expected naturally this provokes a natty, spirited, self-inquiry, lessened, lessor, for better or for worse? have the physical alterations accompanying this reduction mean exactly what, if, it should be, a greater lesser? here is the hard part. your have always been a mirror~poet, laughing, bemoaning the unvarnished, unshaven AM sightings of a human perpetual dissatisfied, the external never denying the interior “less~than,” a J Peterman catalogue of weathered ****** expressions, counter-parted by multiple Venn diagram intersections, of experiential labeled bits & pieces of emotional empirical less than good, not even close to perfect, so now that I am *gaunt, spare, lean, grayed, narrower, again ruefully rue, the even more visible truth reflection eye~hidden:* I, am the sum of the weight of my history, my deeds, my disbeliefs, murderous deeds, weak choices and that hasn’t changed nary an ounce, no matter many times examined, indeed I am forever a lesser man, there, internal infernal too…

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~for immortality~ well, wow "busy with academics." what an annoying nuisance this living life's growing up activities, just to keep you busy, so much nicer to couch and read 41 of ole natty's poetry, in one humongous sitting! now, take a for real break, go for a walk, pick five words a shopping list of five of life's things that make you smile, make you weep, and intertwine them or define them separately, best to spend your time a-writing, alighting, upon empty pages that plead for fufillment, that only you, you, you, you, you, you can provide, the data original, the knowledge keen, the internalities that you secret within, and spill ever so carefully, what we await, most anxiously... the truest path to immortality nml 6:00 am

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Aug 20, 2025

Aug 20, 2025 at 6:06 AM UTC

well, wow...now go and...find immortality

~for immortality~ well, wow "busy with academics." what an annoying nuisance this living life's growing up activities, just to keep you busy, so much nicer to couch and read 41 of ole natty's poetry, in one humongous sitting! now, take a for real break, go for a walk, pick five words a shopping list of five of life's things that make you smile, make you weep, and intertwine them or define them separately, best to spend your time a-writing, alighting, upon empty pages that plead for fufillment, that only you, you, you, you, you, you can provide, the data original, the knowledge keen, the internalities that you secret within, and spill ever so carefully, what we await, most anxiously... the truest path to immortality nml 6:00 am

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I want to be a hippie, join a small commune, set up my camp way out in the woods, near the back forty & the railroad tracks. I want to swim naked with them pretty chicks, braid natty dreads, go tubing on the river, make beeswax candles & tie dyes. I want weave dream catchers, paint glitter on Venetian beads, sing happy songs, create new stars, eat whole wheat bread & make Tabouili salads. I wanna dance, circle the blazing fire, shout out at the moon, splash myself in patchouli, smell weed-smoke in the air & indulge in tantric things. I don’t wanna hurt anybody, break any laws, just wanna spread love, blow kisses to butterflies, ride double-rainbows on magic carpets & be a hippie.

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Feb 6, 2014

Feb 6, 2014 at 7:54 PM UTC

I Wanna Ride On Magic Carpets & Be A Hippie

I want to be a hippie, join a small commune, set up my camp way out in the woods, near the back forty & the railroad tracks. I want to swim naked with them pretty chicks, braid natty dreads, go tubing on the river, make beeswax candles & tie dyes. I want weave dream catchers, paint glitter on Venetian beads, sing happy songs, create new stars, eat whole wheat bread & make Tabouili salads. I wanna dance, circle the blazing fire, shout out at the moon, splash myself in patchouli, smell weed-smoke in the air & indulge in tantric things. I don’t wanna hurt anybody, break any laws, just wanna spread love, blow kisses to butterflies, ride double-rainbows on magic carpets & be a hippie.

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Joe wants to know how'm I doing? an innocuous query, little can he know, bye bye is my merry, marooned on a skerry, noxious fumes in the aerie, currently inhabiting my foreheady, worry waves, rolling thunderous tides, have myself beside thus the answer to your toll, something bad, on me, got a hold Joe, life is, more than a tad concerting concerting? surely you meant converging, or perhaps, concatenating, or concaving? discombobulating, or more likely, plain ole disconcerting? indeed, all of the above, fit like a glove, but best combinated in steaming mug of concerting "to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise" the world is secret contriving, the world is secret devising, a plan for my demising, forces are concerting re me... most concerning, as trends converging, concave hollow chains clinking, a concatenating chorus voicing their displeasure, at my happy existence, which now gone, its loss, wept for, in great measure life dissing me, in a manner concerting and dis-concerting, my composure, decomposing, the ides of depression, hip hop discombob- (undu)lating throb but then again, what's in a word, what's in a rhyme, jes that old timey R&B;, rhyming and blues, of a verbal kind so, Joe, how'm I doing? now that you are knowing, as men of distinguished letters, students of history, part time poets, Your Reply must only be: "Oh no, Natty, say it ain't so"

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Jan 18, 2014

Jan 18, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC

R&B: Joe wants to know

Joe wants to know how'm I doing? an innocuous query, little can he know, bye bye is my merry, marooned on a skerry, noxious fumes in the aerie, currently inhabiting my foreheady, worry waves, rolling thunderous tides, have myself beside thus the answer to your toll, something bad, on me, got a hold Joe, life is, more than a tad concerting concerting? surely you meant converging, or perhaps, concatenating, or concaving? discombobulating, or more likely, plain ole disconcerting? indeed, all of the above, fit like a glove, but best combinated in steaming mug of concerting "to contrive or arrange by agreement: to plan; devise" the world is secret contriving, the world is secret devising, a plan for my demising, forces are concerting re me... most concerning, as trends converging, concave hollow chains clinking, a concatenating chorus voicing their displeasure, at my happy existence, which now gone, its loss, wept for, in great measure life dissing me, in a manner concerting and dis-concerting, my composure, decomposing, the ides of depression, hip hop discombob- (undu)lating throb but then again, what's in a word, what's in a rhyme, jes that old timey R&B;, rhyming and blues, of a verbal kind so, Joe, how'm I doing? now that you are knowing, as men of distinguished letters, students of history, part time poets, Your Reply must only be: "Oh no, Natty, say it ain't so"

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All day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating crests Against the palisades of adamant. My boy, he went to sea, long and long ago, Curls of brown were slipping underneath his cap, He looked at me from blue and steely eyes; Natty, straight and true, he stepped away, My boy, he went to sea. All day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating crests Against the palisades of adamant.

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All day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating crests Against the palisades of adamant. My boy, he went to sea, long and long ago, Curls of brown were slipping underneath his cap, He looked at me from blue and steely eyes; Natty, straight and true, he stepped away, My boy, he went to sea. All day long in fog and wind, The waves have flung their beating crests Against the palisades of adamant.

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In the kitchen you were trying to remember the words While I was trying to remember how to act cool Everyone was dancing and I felt old, at 18 something You were sitting at the island, toasting with a Natty Light While I raised my Diet Coke towards the candle wax splattered ceiling Everyone drank and I felt old, at 18 something You beamed your bandaid of a smile in my direction While I locked my eyes with yours, silently accepting your first aid And I felt old, at 18 something.

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Mar 20, 2014

Mar 20, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC

In the kitchen you were trying to remember the words While I was trying to remember how to act cool Everyone was dancing and I felt old, at 18 something You were sitting at the island, toasting with a Natty Light While I raised my Diet Coke towards the candle wax splattered ceiling Everyone drank and I felt old, at 18 something You beamed your bandaid of a smile in my direction While I locked my eyes with yours, silently accepting your first aid And I felt old, at 18 something.

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(Ain’t “They” Great!) Now watching 13 year old grandkid live-on-streaming-Internet, playing Little League baseball in California, pleasantly surprised, No, not by the amazing technology, or his super great play, but the laugh-out-loud accommodation to the “au courant” Game announcer, a soulless robot machine, stupid-smart, without exception, employs THEY pronoun for all, which after 10 seconds thot, of serious reflection is a brilliant deflection, a solutionary salutation! We come to see kids play ball, care not a whiff (double entendre), re identity politicized insanity, machine makes everyone truly equal, robbing stupids of a phony, proclamation of self-righteous “individuality” God Bless No-Brainers! Ain’t They Great! ~Postcript~ Introducing a newly Recomposed Natty: still an OWG (old white guy) but now a Proudly, a gaily machine-made, in the USA They.

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May 30, 2023

May 30, 2023 at 10:46 AM UTC

Ain’t “They” Great! (I RE-compose myself!)

(Ain’t “They” Great!) Now watching 13 year old grandkid live-on-streaming-Internet, playing Little League baseball in California, pleasantly surprised, No, not by the amazing technology, or his super great play, but the laugh-out-loud accommodation to the “au courant” Game announcer, a soulless robot machine, stupid-smart, without exception, employs THEY pronoun for all, which after 10 seconds thot, of serious reflection is a brilliant deflection, a solutionary salutation! We come to see kids play ball, care not a whiff (double entendre), re identity politicized insanity, machine makes everyone truly equal, robbing stupids of a phony, proclamation of self-righteous “individuality” God Bless No-Brainers! Ain’t They Great! ~Postcript~ Introducing a newly Recomposed Natty: still an OWG (old white guy) but now a Proudly, a gaily machine-made, in the USA They.

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Ace is a waterfall And I should never let you go first Two is you And you always pick me Three is me And I always drink up Four, floor And you're always last Five, guys And I smile as you drink Six, chicks And you laugh Seven, heaven And I'm never as close as you Eight, date And you're always mine Nine, rhyme And I take your favorites Ten, categories And you pick cars Jack is Never Have I Ever And I know how to get you Queen, questions And you know I always lose King makes the rules And on my numb lips I only taste stale Natty Instead of sweet words To make you love me forever But then If it was a rule It wouldn't be real Just forced Like my laughter At your friends' jokes So I finish my beer Crush the can in my hand Like you with my heart And continue to play The game

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Jul 15, 2015

Jul 15, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC

margot-grace-rankins-burd

Ace is a waterfall And I should never let you go first Two is you And you always pick me Three is me And I always drink up Four, floor And you're always last Five, guys And I smile as you drink Six, chicks And you laugh Seven, heaven And I'm never as close as you Eight, date And you're always mine Nine, rhyme And I take your favorites Ten, categories And you pick cars Jack is Never Have I Ever And I know how to get you Queen, questions And you know I always lose King makes the rules And on my numb lips I only taste stale Natty Instead of sweet words To make you love me forever But then If it was a rule It wouldn't be real Just forced Like my laughter At your friends' jokes So I finish my beer Crush the can in my hand Like you with my heart And continue to play The game

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for the ones who write me messages of & in loving trust short and sweet, and I knew it complete before I even thought it in my wide awaken rain-brain somewhere tween 1 and 4am and maybe it doesn't have a cute twist to close it up this curse of worry for family and people I have never met pushes down the bile of my ego, my selfish vanity, what goeth before the fall, and whispers natty go back to sleep, you're ok and when you groggy rise in two hours to open the shuttered store, you be reassured, you are your own best customer and so are they and u laugh quietly, so as not to wake the world 7/20/17 3:46am

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Jun 20, 2017

Jun 20, 2017 at 3:50 AM UTC

you are your own best customer

for the ones who write me messages of & in loving trust short and sweet, and I knew it complete before I even thought it in my wide awaken rain-brain somewhere tween 1 and 4am and maybe it doesn't have a cute twist to close it up this curse of worry for family and people I have never met pushes down the bile of my ego, my selfish vanity, what goeth before the fall, and whispers natty go back to sleep, you're ok and when you groggy rise in two hours to open the shuttered store, you be reassured, you are your own best customer and so are they and u laugh quietly, so as not to wake the world 7/20/17 3:46am

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Meaning of Requiem: A mass for the dead. Winter's bidding; Deep snow here, muddy pavements there. Then, a procession of Roman Catholic members. The big cross, the hymns and the dress codes are a huge give away. The all black is a sharp contrast to the white snow covered country, Or maybe it just serves to complement it Like those little black poker dots that make white shirts appear natty and casual at the same time. I struggle to watch the procession from above. My office is on the third floor and I'm out for a smoke break. I don't smoke, I just use that to get away from the drudgery that is my work. The procession below reminds me of my co-workers - drab and solemn, all at once. May the dead never have to confess how they truly feel about the burial rites that we perform at their funerals. ... I was out till late last night; Another citizen in the district, Another observer minding his own business.

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Nov 28, 2016

Nov 28, 2016 at 4:54 AM UTC

A poor man's Requiem.

Meaning of Requiem: A mass for the dead. Winter's bidding; Deep snow here, muddy pavements there. Then, a procession of Roman Catholic members. The big cross, the hymns and the dress codes are a huge give away. The all black is a sharp contrast to the white snow covered country, Or maybe it just serves to complement it Like those little black poker dots that make white shirts appear natty and casual at the same time. I struggle to watch the procession from above. My office is on the third floor and I'm out for a smoke break. I don't smoke, I just use that to get away from the drudgery that is my work. The procession below reminds me of my co-workers - drab and solemn, all at once. May the dead never have to confess how they truly feel about the burial rites that we perform at their funerals. ... I was out till late last night; Another citizen in the district, Another observer minding his own business.

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That first loss a crushing blow from amazingly high to a devastating low. You played fantastic but was not to be because of the Cardinal there will be no Natty.

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Nov 17, 2012

Nov 17, 2012 at 11:51 PM UTC

The sad day the Duck's fell.

That first loss a crushing blow from amazingly high to a devastating low. You played fantastic but was not to be because of the Cardinal there will be no Natty.

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You Facebook messaged me today. **** it’s been a month or two! I remember at Velvet I tried to be like Lennon to your friend Roxy! “dance?” I said, raising my arms; eye contact; smile. She smiled and said, “Oh no that’s ok…” “Ok, I’m not John Lennon haha…” Twenty mins go by. I lit a jack. You and I geeked about Murakami. I was three Natty bo’s deep. I glanced up; rain fell Your friend Sara pushed up her huge [ellipses] umbrella. You mentioned your boyfriend is a Deejay at Flash. You Facebook messaged me today.

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Oct 22, 2016

Oct 22, 2016 at 1:47 PM UTC

R-Status a.k.a How to make awkwardly make Friends from U-Street

You Facebook messaged me today. **** it’s been a month or two! I remember at Velvet I tried to be like Lennon to your friend Roxy! “dance?” I said, raising my arms; eye contact; smile. She smiled and said, “Oh no that’s ok…” “Ok, I’m not John Lennon haha…” Twenty mins go by. I lit a jack. You and I geeked about Murakami. I was three Natty bo’s deep. I glanced up; rain fell Your friend Sara pushed up her huge [ellipses] umbrella. You mentioned your boyfriend is a Deejay at Flash. You Facebook messaged me today.

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This one is for the mothers For the sisters of yesterdays husbands For the girls I'll never know This one is for the stranger In the grocery store Slamming down the apples Hoping they bruise as much As he bruised her Because we're all just Rotten produce in the long run Anyway This one is for the CEO of Corporate America That cheats at the office And at life That skips the basketball games Of sons that weren't really his In the first place To work extra hours Triple over time Which is really just code for Bonking the receptionist On the table in the lobby area And she'll think slyly While he pulls her hair *Enjoy the ****** ******* This one is for those sad eyes I pass every day Holding out a tin can Jingling to the beat Of copper plated plastic Or whatever the **** Our money is made from, These days Screaming for change And I always saunter by With a pocket full of pennies Thinking I wish I could give him The kind of change He really needs This one is for the alcoholic Better known as my brother This is for the man that still tries To drink away his heartache With a case of Natty Ice For the man who can't Hang on to a dollar More than a minute Because he can't take the money With him to heaven Or to hell, probably hell, And tomorrow was never really Promised to us, Was it? This one is for the woman Who spent thirty years Behind a register Pretending it wasn't really All that her life Had to offer This is for the woman With the thinnest skin I've ever seen The woman who let the world Break her On a daily basis This one is for My mother This one is for that ****** up girl Who is beginning to think That love and hate Are the same emotion With different masks For the girl who always wanted A drug addiction To blame her problems on For the girl who never gave up On anyone But herself This one, this is for the girl That writes to no one This is for the girl with no goals No ambition No dreams This one is for the girl With a broken heart And a broken smile Wondering what she did To deserve this life This one, this poem Is the only one I've ever written For me

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Apr 13, 2012

Apr 13, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC

For the girls I'll never know

This one is for the mothers For the sisters of yesterdays husbands For the girls I'll never know This one is for the stranger In the grocery store Slamming down the apples Hoping they bruise as much As he bruised her Because we're all just Rotten produce in the long run Anyway This one is for the CEO of Corporate America That cheats at the office And at life That skips the basketball games Of sons that weren't really his In the first place To work extra hours Triple over time Which is really just code for Bonking the receptionist On the table in the lobby area And she'll think slyly While he pulls her hair *Enjoy the ****** ******* This one is for those sad eyes I pass every day Holding out a tin can Jingling to the beat Of copper plated plastic Or whatever the **** Our money is made from, These days Screaming for change And I always saunter by With a pocket full of pennies Thinking I wish I could give him The kind of change He really needs This one is for the alcoholic Better known as my brother This is for the man that still tries To drink away his heartache With a case of Natty Ice For the man who can't Hang on to a dollar More than a minute Because he can't take the money With him to heaven Or to hell, probably hell, And tomorrow was never really Promised to us, Was it? This one is for the woman Who spent thirty years Behind a register Pretending it wasn't really All that her life Had to offer This is for the woman With the thinnest skin I've ever seen The woman who let the world Break her On a daily basis This one is for My mother This one is for that ****** up girl Who is beginning to think That love and hate Are the same emotion With different masks For the girl who always wanted A drug addiction To blame her problems on For the girl who never gave up On anyone But herself This one, this is for the girl That writes to no one This is for the girl with no goals No ambition No dreams This one is for the girl With a broken heart And a broken smile Wondering what she did To deserve this life This one, this poem Is the only one I've ever written For me

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Now..... When It Comes To How I Think... I’m Just A... REALIST... So Don’t Deal In Fallacies... I’m Real Like... REALITY... !!! So Reality’s What Feeds... My Use of Poetry... That’s Born From Big V.. Or Yes That’s Right Big Virge... A True Word Connoisseur... of... REALITY Verse... !!! And Truthful Spoken Words... That REJECTS The... Absurd... And Unlearns What’s Been Learned... That Makes Some Humans Turn... Into People Who Hurt... As If... It Is Their Work... To Deal In What’s Fake... Instead of What’s Real... And Embrace Things Like Hate... Like It’s Some Tasty Meal... ?!? Like What Is These Folks Deal... Are These People For Real... ?!? You See I’m Just A REALIST... Whose Poetic Thesis... Believes That MORE TRUTH … Will Be What Is Good... For Us All To Improve... Our Unbalanced New Groove... Which Is Why When I Move... I’m Aware That My Hue... Is Too Dark For Some Crews... So Always Stay Attuned... For Those Quick To Hate... Who Start To Make Claims... That I’m In The WRONG Place... Just Because of My Race... Natty Hair And Dark Face... !!! I’m Just A... REALIST... When It Comes To Such Things... Like Why My Writing Talents... And... Poetic Patents... Are Not What The Masses... Are Talked Into Having... By Those In The Business... Who Claim To Want Realness... You See I’m Just A Realist... So Yes Do Catch Feelings... When It Comes To Women... And Seeing Our Children... Taught To Use Thinking... Logic And Visions... To REJECT Divisions... !!! But I’m... Just A REALIST... Who Prefers... REALISM... !!! And Sees That These Isms’... And Divisive Prisons.... In Which Most Are Living... Are Indeed UNFORGIVING... !!! And Have Been... Since Systems... Have Been Money Driven... !!! Realism In View... Like This Corona Flu... Is Fuelling Conditions... Mandating Positions... For Working Transitions... But Certain Restrictions... Are NOT Yet Forbidden... Like Seeing Racism... On Our Televisions... !?! That SHOULD BE But ISN’T... !!! How Much Realism’s... BEHIND These Petitions... To Stop Racist Killings... ?!? Well Here’s My Opinion... And I’ll Keep It SIMPLE... !!! If Governments Want... Racism Extinguished... When A Male Is Convicted... of A... RACIST Act... !!! Cut Off His Nut Sack... And Keep Him Imprisoned... And For These Racist Women... DENIAL of Children... And NO CONTACT With Them... And NO BAIL Conditions... Just LIFE In A Prison... Where Blacks Are In Vision... !!! Then Racists Might DIE QUICK... Or Might Just Start To QUIT... Acting Like Foolish Kids... !?! So You See How I Think... Deals In Being HONEST... NOT Resorting To Tricks... Nonsense Or Falseness... !!! My Poetic Scripts... And Lyrical Twists... Simply Represent THIS... When It Comes To Our Lives... And How We... Co-Exist... ... “ I’m Just A Realist “...

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Sep 27, 2021

Sep 27, 2021 at 10:16 PM UTC

“I’m Just A Realist” ... A Poem written by Big Virge 2/7/2021

Now..... When It Comes To How I Think... I’m Just A... REALIST... So Don’t Deal In Fallacies... I’m Real Like... REALITY... !!! So Reality’s What Feeds... My Use of Poetry... That’s Born From Big V.. Or Yes That’s Right Big Virge... A True Word Connoisseur... of... REALITY Verse... !!! And Truthful Spoken Words... That REJECTS The... Absurd... And Unlearns What’s Been Learned... That Makes Some Humans Turn... Into People Who Hurt... As If... It Is Their Work... To Deal In What’s Fake... Instead of What’s Real... And Embrace Things Like Hate... Like It’s Some Tasty Meal... ?!? Like What Is These Folks Deal... Are These People For Real... ?!? You See I’m Just A REALIST... Whose Poetic Thesis... Believes That MORE TRUTH … Will Be What Is Good... For Us All To Improve... Our Unbalanced New Groove... Which Is Why When I Move... I’m Aware That My Hue... Is Too Dark For Some Crews... So Always Stay Attuned... For Those Quick To Hate... Who Start To Make Claims... That I’m In The WRONG Place... Just Because of My Race... Natty Hair And Dark Face... !!! I’m Just A... REALIST... When It Comes To Such Things... Like Why My Writing Talents... And... Poetic Patents... Are Not What The Masses... Are Talked Into Having... By Those In The Business... Who Claim To Want Realness... You See I’m Just A Realist... So Yes Do Catch Feelings... When It Comes To Women... And Seeing Our Children... Taught To Use Thinking... Logic And Visions... To REJECT Divisions... !!! But I’m... Just A REALIST... Who Prefers... REALISM... !!! And Sees That These Isms’... And Divisive Prisons.... In Which Most Are Living... Are Indeed UNFORGIVING... !!! And Have Been... Since Systems... Have Been Money Driven... !!! Realism In View... Like This Corona Flu... Is Fuelling Conditions... Mandating Positions... For Working Transitions... But Certain Restrictions... Are NOT Yet Forbidden... Like Seeing Racism... On Our Televisions... !?! That SHOULD BE But ISN’T... !!! How Much Realism’s... BEHIND These Petitions... To Stop Racist Killings... ?!? Well Here’s My Opinion... And I’ll Keep It SIMPLE... !!! If Governments Want... Racism Extinguished... When A Male Is Convicted... of A... RACIST Act... !!! Cut Off His Nut Sack... And Keep Him Imprisoned... And For These Racist Women... DENIAL of Children... And NO CONTACT With Them... And NO BAIL Conditions... Just LIFE In A Prison... Where Blacks Are In Vision... !!! Then Racists Might DIE QUICK... Or Might Just Start To QUIT... Acting Like Foolish Kids... !?! So You See How I Think... Deals In Being HONEST... NOT Resorting To Tricks... Nonsense Or Falseness... !!! My Poetic Scripts... And Lyrical Twists... Simply Represent THIS... When It Comes To Our Lives... And How We... Co-Exist... ... “ I’m Just A Realist “...

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Man I swear she's just like tons of girls, she expects the free drinks I go to your room every weekend It's been this way for As long as I can remember And we hang out And play drinking games And I play "beertender" For the both of us Pulling almost cold Natty's Out of your alphabet patterned fridge And I fall more in love with you And I think you fall more in love with me And we take another sip *Drinking whiskey, she likes ***** strong* And your girlfriend hates me With you When you put your arm on my waist Or you pull me so close And then let one hand linger On my *** when you pull away Or rapping in each others' faces Or stealing your snapback Just to make you Steal it again And she can't stand when you push my hair Behind my ear To whisper song lyrics to me My clothing's on, we both did wrong, I gotta go that's what I told her And none of the Three of us Ever do anything To stop it

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Nov 9, 2014

Nov 9, 2014 at 2:14 AM UTC

margot-grace-rankins-burd

Snapbacks and Tumblr Girls

Man I swear she's just like tons of girls, she expects the free drinks I go to your room every weekend It's been this way for As long as I can remember And we hang out And play drinking games And I play "beertender" For the both of us Pulling almost cold Natty's Out of your alphabet patterned fridge And I fall more in love with you And I think you fall more in love with me And we take another sip *Drinking whiskey, she likes ***** strong* And your girlfriend hates me With you When you put your arm on my waist Or you pull me so close And then let one hand linger On my *** when you pull away Or rapping in each others' faces Or stealing your snapback Just to make you Steal it again And she can't stand when you push my hair Behind my ear To whisper song lyrics to me My clothing's on, we both did wrong, I gotta go that's what I told her And none of the Three of us Ever do anything To stop it

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doves fly out from under my tarry skin tearing out globules of thick black ooze ***** birds, symbols of purity hope and harmony when did I let them in? I write this poem and light breaks over my natty head stimulation of every cell that turns yearns bleeds revival of the circle my stem in awakening becomes malleable and un-ordinary no longer shall i sit stagnant My being reaches solar flares for your psyche we flimsy beings only want a soft touch the heat of proximity whence our bones collide it is only a passing glancing of the skin yet my cheeks redden. Touch is but one more way we become one

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May 1, 2014

May 1, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC

when a feeling is expressed

doves fly out from under my tarry skin tearing out globules of thick black ooze ***** birds, symbols of purity hope and harmony when did I let them in? I write this poem and light breaks over my natty head stimulation of every cell that turns yearns bleeds revival of the circle my stem in awakening becomes malleable and un-ordinary no longer shall i sit stagnant My being reaches solar flares for your psyche we flimsy beings only want a soft touch the heat of proximity whence our bones collide it is only a passing glancing of the skin yet my cheeks redden. Touch is but one more way we become one

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~for old, recovered, & new tunes ‘n friends~ Lord I’m one… <> the lovely old tune ease on in, infiltrating, harmonizing, my soul with just-the-ice of another glorious sunrise, inching over the North Fork soon enough, the body~mind continuum, will ask me to slide~glide, move over, make room for a new tune, here, asking you to call me, if you need a friend, find place, a chair & navy cushion, to We observe as one mine own carnival of animals, do their morning exercise, jumping from here to crazy, squirrel~crazy, the flitting flighty birds, back and frothy forthing, pointless lyrically zooming from tree to tree, their AM calisthenics an ancient crooner sings of knowledge of how lonely life can be, and I soft retort, this morning forbids lonely, come to me, you my dear ones, who welcome me into your hearts… kiss my words with affection, stating everything will bring a chain love, a tear of joy, & everything is and will be alright yes there is something happening over here, so when you ask, what’s it all about Natty, my reply is easy, how sweet it is to be with you, my words unrehearsed, and I brim with anticipation of Us together, sipping our coffees, giving Our silence to be part & parceled out to the superior quietude of our surroundings, where the sounds, well, they infiltrate our conjoined beings, I think~sing-enjoy deeply, that old tune “Lord I’m One” 800am Mon Aug 12 2024 by the Sound…

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Aug 12, 2024

Aug 12, 2024 at 8:32 AM UTC

~for old, recovered, & new tunes ‘n friends~ Lord I’m one… <> the lovely old tune ease on in, infiltrating, harmonizing, my soul with just-the-ice of another glorious sunrise, inching over the North Fork soon enough, the body~mind continuum, will ask me to slide~glide, move over, make room for a new tune, here, asking you to call me, if you need a friend, find place, a chair & navy cushion, to We observe as one mine own carnival of animals, do their morning exercise, jumping from here to crazy, squirrel~crazy, the flitting flighty birds, back and frothy forthing, pointless lyrically zooming from tree to tree, their AM calisthenics an ancient crooner sings of knowledge of how lonely life can be, and I soft retort, this morning forbids lonely, come to me, you my dear ones, who welcome me into your hearts… kiss my words with affection, stating everything will bring a chain love, a tear of joy, & everything is and will be alright yes there is something happening over here, so when you ask, what’s it all about Natty, my reply is easy, how sweet it is to be with you, my words unrehearsed, and I brim with anticipation of Us together, sipping our coffees, giving Our silence to be part & parceled out to the superior quietude of our surroundings, where the sounds, well, they infiltrate our conjoined beings, I think~sing-enjoy deeply, that old tune “Lord I’m One” 800am Mon Aug 12 2024 by the Sound…

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they rip me, and I love it they cut me open in batches and bunches, tumbling into me staccato rapid machine gun fire this crew, my friends, they don't read my stuff, and say very nice, natty, and move-along-little-doggie nah, they pick me up kick three, four, five poems back at a time - eat me, drink me, in batches and bunches, then pick me apart, then kick me out, spit the pits on the floor the way it's supposed to be done poems - rip n' write them in batches and bunches, ******* torn from my breast, fight me every step of the day, "Is that all ya got" "yes'" I answer, **** you, that is indeed, all I got - not!" take a rag and wipe off the amniotic fluid, throw 'em up against the wall, and let them stick and maybe they'll stain your DNA, and your fancy wallpaper, well and proper That is how I want to be read, my body, my head all at once, not a droplet here and there, but a rip tide where we drown in each other, side by side That is how I will read you will rip you and replace in that empty cavity that was created when I ripped myself open with what I rip from you. I won't repost you. but, consider yourself posted.

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Apr 22, 2014

Apr 22, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC

they rip me, and I love it they cut me open in batches and bunches, tumbling into me staccato rapid machine gun fire this crew, my friends, they don't read my stuff, and say very nice, natty, and move-along-little-doggie nah, they pick me up kick three, four, five poems back at a time - eat me, drink me, in batches and bunches, then pick me apart, then kick me out, spit the pits on the floor the way it's supposed to be done poems - rip n' write them in batches and bunches, ******* torn from my breast, fight me every step of the day, "Is that all ya got" "yes'" I answer, **** you, that is indeed, all I got - not!" take a rag and wipe off the amniotic fluid, throw 'em up against the wall, and let them stick and maybe they'll stain your DNA, and your fancy wallpaper, well and proper That is how I want to be read, my body, my head all at once, not a droplet here and there, but a rip tide where we drown in each other, side by side That is how I will read you will rip you and replace in that empty cavity that was created when I ripped myself open with what I rip from you. I won't repost you. but, consider yourself posted.

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nearly "with close kinship, interest, or connection; intimately" ~~~ it's n-early for natty, dressed for gym penance in his dress blue sweats but instead of working out, he's working out a gymnastic, mental, laboring problem, that the muse mistress musters him out to out, and to attend to the birthing of t-his composition a re-erupting volcano that has gone and got him good, now he's a man intimately possessed, with completing, recording, an unabbreviated log of oh so long ago's, a list of the oh so many nearly line items in his life's lineage nearly went a whole life lessened by being love less, which always calculates as a life lived forever insufficient nearly was intimate only with tears self-shed, on a single pillowcase in a double bed, that was unfulfilled, no intersecting humanity nearly permanentized kinship as a dictionary definition official for a sunken vessel, a drowning one man scull, racing toward a finish line that had no visible finish nearly lost both sons, lost years, lost friends lazy living in the slow, low heat of a burning hell of zero connections, thinking the proper cost/benefit solution was always, never to be greater than, always less than one nearly packed it in, while overlooking a temptress river, calling me out swiftly from the slow lane of loneliness, offering a nearly certain final outlet sale, a mark-down event, for clearing the heavy, overladen shelf of over-weighty al-one-ness, a sale of singular single cell marks upon human flesh nearly died a miserable man, and still may, from who knows what pestilence consumption but ***never from never knowing, for the lacking of, the unadulterated love of a good woman*** and that is more than, greater than, > all the unknowable nearlys and more than any other nearly, life may yet deny me, or curse me by ~~~ 6:45am Jan. 18, 2016 NYC

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Jan 20, 2016

Jan 20, 2016 at 4:35 PM UTC

nearly "with close kinship, interest, or connection; intimately" ~~~ it's n-early for natty, dressed for gym penance in his dress blue sweats but instead of working out, he's working out a gymnastic, mental, laboring problem, that the muse mistress musters him out to out, and to attend to the birthing of t-his composition a re-erupting volcano that has gone and got him good, now he's a man intimately possessed, with completing, recording, an unabbreviated log of oh so long ago's, a list of the oh so many nearly line items in his life's lineage nearly went a whole life lessened by being love less, which always calculates as a life lived forever insufficient nearly was intimate only with tears self-shed, on a single pillowcase in a double bed, that was unfulfilled, no intersecting humanity nearly permanentized kinship as a dictionary definition official for a sunken vessel, a drowning one man scull, racing toward a finish line that had no visible finish nearly lost both sons, lost years, lost friends lazy living in the slow, low heat of a burning hell of zero connections, thinking the proper cost/benefit solution was always, never to be greater than, always less than one nearly packed it in, while overlooking a temptress river, calling me out swiftly from the slow lane of loneliness, offering a nearly certain final outlet sale, a mark-down event, for clearing the heavy, overladen shelf of over-weighty al-one-ness, a sale of singular single cell marks upon human flesh nearly died a miserable man, and still may, from who knows what pestilence consumption but ***never from never knowing, for the lacking of, the unadulterated love of a good woman*** and that is more than, greater than, > all the unknowable nearlys and more than any other nearly, life may yet deny me, or curse me by ~~~ 6:45am Jan. 18, 2016 NYC

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Crazy Guy Sends His Poems to a Dead Guy ~for Joel Frye,and yes it’s true~ ah another trivial pursuit of trivial nuggets bout yours untruly, that is a truly truly, poets that I’ve known here, but who have moved on, it’s my obligation to keep them posted on the au courant, so slip them a poem or two, when you ain’t looking to make one wonder even more, what makes a man a nutty Natty.? well if you don’t know the answer to that after two t h o u s a n d plus poems, you are not getting me but Joel Frye, mutual enjoyed our scribblings, yeah, he got me, so via social media, keep him posted of my latest écrits, fancy french for scribbles, of course he gets them before me, in so far I assume my thots are known to rise or more likely drop, even before they traverse that narrow passage between my ears… but really, just in case, in the peace and quiet of the hubbub above, with all them comings and goings, he, God forbid, (ha!), he may overlook my inane insanities, and the weirdness of my compositions, real, ethereal and in between~al, that’s a great whew~relief knowing, at least some one! is reading my stuff… natty

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Dec 17, 2023

Dec 17, 2023 at 5:58 PM UTC

Crazy Person Sends His Poems to a Dead Guy

Crazy Guy Sends His Poems to a Dead Guy ~for Joel Frye,and yes it’s true~ ah another trivial pursuit of trivial nuggets bout yours untruly, that is a truly truly, poets that I’ve known here, but who have moved on, it’s my obligation to keep them posted on the au courant, so slip them a poem or two, when you ain’t looking to make one wonder even more, what makes a man a nutty Natty.? well if you don’t know the answer to that after two t h o u s a n d plus poems, you are not getting me but Joel Frye, mutual enjoyed our scribblings, yeah, he got me, so via social media, keep him posted of my latest écrits, fancy french for scribbles, of course he gets them before me, in so far I assume my thots are known to rise or more likely drop, even before they traverse that narrow passage between my ears… but really, just in case, in the peace and quiet of the hubbub above, with all them comings and goings, he, God forbid, (ha!), he may overlook my inane insanities, and the weirdness of my compositions, real, ethereal and in between~al, that’s a great whew~relief knowing, at least some one! is reading my stuff… natty

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in the midnight hour desperate men do desperate things, this a tale of one man facing down a terrible challenge in the city that never sleeps, NYC, especially this sleepless natty resident, (of that fact, the bible speaks) when there is nothing left to write or say, could pick up the phone and order penne alla ***** delivered to his bed better yet, hot and direct not sure which I prefer, the penne or the ***** but in the absence annually of my master mistress, all bets are off, she communes with nature, I, with pasta really? really? Frosted Flakes for dinner was not well and sufficient? have you seen you waist line lately, or is that a physical impossibility? drat rat will forgo my pasta orange creamsicle, but you will be sorry too, cause instead you have to share, to eat, this awful poem in bed next to me 12:34am

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May 14, 2014

May 14, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC

penne alla *****

in the midnight hour desperate men do desperate things, this a tale of one man facing down a terrible challenge in the city that never sleeps, NYC, especially this sleepless natty resident, (of that fact, the bible speaks) when there is nothing left to write or say, could pick up the phone and order penne alla ***** delivered to his bed better yet, hot and direct not sure which I prefer, the penne or the ***** but in the absence annually of my master mistress, all bets are off, she communes with nature, I, with pasta really? really? Frosted Flakes for dinner was not well and sufficient? have you seen you waist line lately, or is that a physical impossibility? drat rat will forgo my pasta orange creamsicle, but you will be sorry too, cause instead you have to share, to eat, this awful poem in bed next to me 12:34am

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The carpenters want a raise just to ***** the roof beams, for whom do they toll if not for their grapes of wrath, for me it's mutiny on the bounty, I'll see them all forty leagues under the sea, oh, the good earth, the rising sun, it's a leather stocking tale, Natty Bumppo, It's a wonder Alice, a pure wonder! Give me deliverance, from the common crowd that implores me to go tell it on the mountain, with the weather up there, i'd be gone with the wind as sure i'm a hand full of dust. a bride's maidenhead revisited, no, native sun, never let me go, for i am the power and the glory of the ragtime rabbit run.

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Jan 15, 2011

Jan 15, 2011 at 8:38 PM UTC

Titles, don't get me started

The carpenters want a raise just to ***** the roof beams, for whom do they toll if not for their grapes of wrath, for me it's mutiny on the bounty, I'll see them all forty leagues under the sea, oh, the good earth, the rising sun, it's a leather stocking tale, Natty Bumppo, It's a wonder Alice, a pure wonder! Give me deliverance, from the common crowd that implores me to go tell it on the mountain, with the weather up there, i'd be gone with the wind as sure i'm a hand full of dust. a bride's maidenhead revisited, no, native sun, never let me go, for i am the power and the glory of the ragtime rabbit run.

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I. They say, Those who won't learn the spirally past are doomed to walk its re-coiling paths again, and I can't argue with precedent. I can point out, my present and future doubts, kneeling down with guttersnipe gifts and a candle lit up to appease history's stalking ghost. What I really want is to ***** it. II. They say, This world's gotta date marked expiry and it's all set to go sour with a big bang or a small bust out from the fridge of twenty-twelve's wintry chilling. Lately, there have been jumbo packs of weirdness spilling onto every last shelf, but things got strange long before the Mayans began tying knots. III. They say, you can take the brutish and dress them up natty, extolling their hirsute vices in basso profundo voices till we all queue back to ****** them. I've heard the jingle, but I'm drawn instead to wisdoms spoken by officials not officially allowed to speak. Their off-the-record's nice and scratchy.

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Apr 26, 2010

Apr 26, 2010 at 4:31 PM UTC

francis-scudellari

They Say, Times 3

I. They say, Those who won't learn the spirally past are doomed to walk its re-coiling paths again, and I can't argue with precedent. I can point out, my present and future doubts, kneeling down with guttersnipe gifts and a candle lit up to appease history's stalking ghost. What I really want is to ***** it. II. They say, This world's gotta date marked expiry and it's all set to go sour with a big bang or a small bust out from the fridge of twenty-twelve's wintry chilling. Lately, there have been jumbo packs of weirdness spilling onto every last shelf, but things got strange long before the Mayans began tying knots. III. They say, you can take the brutish and dress them up natty, extolling their hirsute vices in basso profundo voices till we all queue back to ****** them. I've heard the jingle, but I'm drawn instead to wisdoms spoken by officials not officially allowed to speak. Their off-the-record's nice and scratchy.

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