"nicked" poems
(March, 1919)A LIAR goes in fine clothes.
A liar goes in rags.
A liar is a liar, clothes or no clothes.
A liar is a liar and lives on the lies he tells and dies in a life of lies.
And the stonecutters earn a living-with lies-on the tombs of liars.
Aliar looks 'em in the eye
And lies to a woman,
Lies to a man, a pal, a child, a fool.
And he is an old liar; we know him many years back.
A liar lies to nations.
A liar lies to the people.
A liar takes the blood of the people
And drinks this blood with a laugh and a lie,
A laugh in his neck,
A lie in his mouth.
And this liar is an old one; we know him many years.
He is straight as a dog's hind leg.
He is straight as a corkscrew.
He is white as a black cat's foot at midnight.
The tongue of a man is tied on this,
On the liar who lies to nations,
The liar who lies to the people.
The tongue of a man is tied on this
And ends: To hell with 'em all.
To hell with 'em all.
It's a song hard as a riveter's hammer,
Hard as the sleep of a crummy hobo,
Hard as the sleep of a lousy doughboy,
Twisted as a shell-shock idiot's gibber.
The liars met where the doors were locked.
They said to each other: Now for war.
The liars fixed it and told 'em: Go.
Across their tables they fixed it up,
Behind their doors away from the mob.
And the guns did a job that nicked off millions.
The guns blew seven million off the map,
The guns sent seven million west.
Seven million shoving up the daisies.
Across their tables they fixed it up,
The liars who lie to nations.
And now
Out of the butcher's job
And the boneyard junk the maggots have cleaned,
Where the jaws of skulls tell the jokes of war ghosts,
Out of this they are calling now: Let's go back where we were.
Let us run the world again, us, us.
Where the doors are locked the liars say: Wait and we'll cash in again.
So I hear The People talk.
I hear them tell each other:
Let the strong men be ready.
Let the strong men watch.
Let your wrists be cool and your head clear.
Let the liars get their finish,
The liars and their waiting game, waiting a day again
To open the doors and tell us: War! get out to your war again.
So I hear The People tell each other:
Look at to-day and to-morrow.
Fix this clock that nicks off millions
When The Liars say it's time.
Take things in your own hands.
To hell with 'em all,
The liars who lie to nations,
The liars who lie to The People.
10.5k
i woke up this morning
locked myself in the bathroom
with whiskey beer and netflix
a hot steam shower and
aching thoughts for a cigarette
they said be strong you'll make it in time
but all i see is a negative sum numbers game
ad infinitum forevermore on & on & on
another day another nicked nickel through my fingers
so instead of being a "productive" member of society
i'm drunk at 8:00 am and wallowing in self pity
but hey the shows are free
but this shower's gunna cost me
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 8:21 AM UTC
I shaved my head this morning.
The sun hadn’t yet conquered the horizon
But the birds outside the window cheered for me
As I pulled the shaver from my forehead to my crown.
My tiny fingers gripped the electric razor,
Holding on for life,
As it were much too big for my nervous hands.
I cut my skull three times before allowing myself to cry.
I peeked at the blonde clumps of hair that rained
To the cold bathroom tiles and puddled around my feet.
After finishing, I went to lay in the arms of my blankets,
While my pillows kissed the back of my head,
Healing the nicked wounds scattered over my skin.
I left the hair to sleep in the sink and over the floor.
Welcoming the sun rise, it felt warm against my bare skull
And I wondered if this was how heaven felt like,
Walking up to the gates.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Santa sat and looked about the mess that lay before him
"How will I get these gifts all wrapped and gone by Christmas morning?"
The workshop looked as though it had been hit by a Tornado
But instead it was all the fault of *** he brought back from Tobago
A little shot in the elves egg nog would make them all work faster
But, as he saw the end result was short of a disaster
The more they drank the more they all got up and danced on tables
And in the end elf Juniper was left wearing only labels
She looked quite good despite her age, she was just about six thirty
And what she did with candy canes...well, you can say it was quite *****
The paper stretched from room to room, many miles were unravelled
Santa looked at the mess again, and thought "It's high time that I travelled"
He left the North to make a trip to hire cleaning staff
But , turned the reindeer right around, because he knew they'd laugh
How do you tell a person that you are about to hire
That the mess that they will soon clean up, is because my elves were wired
Santa thought that magic would be just the way to go
He would use it to clean up the mess, and nobody would know
The only problem with this stunt is that magic has a rule
He can only use it Christmas eve, it was not his private tool
The toys were strewn everywhere, and most were broke or nicked
He would have to wake the elves all up and to start things getting fixed
So, if you wake up Christmas morn and there is nought beneath your tree
Don't worry, Santas late, he should be there by three
He left a little late this year, but he will be by real quick
And he swore to never serve elves ***** or his name is not Saint Nick!
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 3:08 PM UTC
A dying girl
hung her heavy head
over a carpet
aged to smoker's gray.
She collapsed on a floor
covered in crumpled clothes,
stripped off and
tossed aside.
She knelt beside
a bed that once held
goodnight kisses and
rosy morning cheeks,
now full of tears that
dawn turned to braille,
spelling slow defeat
beneath mourning fingers.
Pulling her curly hair
taut in tired fists,
she freed every bit
swiftly from her scalp and
nicked her tender skin with
tiny rusted blades until
there was nothing left
but raw flesh.
She caught a thief
moving in the mirror
with body bags
beneath her eyes:
a ghostly girl,
a stolen soul,
a blank mask,
a hood of bone.
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 12:07 AM UTC
BOX cars run by a mile long.
And I wonder what they say to each other
When they stop a mile long on a sidetrack.
Maybe their chatter goes:
I came from Fargo with a load of wheat up to the danger line.
I came from Omaha with a load of shorthorns and they splintered my boards.
I came from Detroit heavy with a load of flivvers.
I carried apples from the Hood river last year and this year bunches of bananas from Florida; they look for me with watermelons from Mississippi next year.
Hammers and shovels of work gangs sleep in shop corners
when the dark stars come on the sky and the night watchmen walk and look.
Then the hammer heads talk to the handles,
then the scoops of the shovels talk,
how the day's work nicked and trimmed them,
how they swung and lifted all day,
how the hands of the work gangs smelled of hope.
In the night of the dark stars
when the curve of the sky is a work gang handle,
in the night on the mile long sidetracks,
in the night where the hammers and shovels sleep in corners,
the night watchmen stuff their pipes with dreams-
and sometimes they doze and don't care for nothin',
and sometimes they search their heads for meanings, stories, stars.
The stuff of it runs like this:
A long way we come; a long way to go; long rests and long deep sniffs for our lungs on the way.
Sleep is a belonging of all; even if all songs are old songs and the singing heart is snuffed out like a switchman's lantern with the oil gone, even if we forget our names and houses in the finish, the secret of sleep is left us, sleep belongs to all, sleep is the first and last and best of all.
People singing; people with song mouths connecting with song hearts; people who must sing or die; people whose song hearts break if there is no song mouth; these are my people.
3.6k
Brackets
Your mum picked you up in daddy’s BMW,
we had to wait an hour while they scrubbed the brains of another son off the roof of the 125
(Why they built a multi storey car park on top of the bus station is a mystery to me.)
You carefully colour coordinated your files and scrutinized your revision schedules,
we watched nicked CCTV footage of two blokes smoking crack and burning down the bowling pavilion next door
(the old boys never did raise enough to repair it.)
You snubbed each other because of different tastes in jumpers,
we watched acid casualties talk politics with football hooligans
(a hastily rolled joint bridged the obvious gap.)
You lounged in the common room in your study periods,
our lesson got cancelled because John had been smashed in the face with a fire extinguisher
(and our tutor used to be a lifeguard.)
You worried about fashion and discussed the injustice of last night’s X Factor result,
we watched Neil’s head crash into his keyboard after he’d scoffed all his methadone in one go
(again.)
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 4:56 PM UTC
In to the mystery of the night, i wander
the tangled tarantula garden
canopied with prophesies of light,
Lit windows are making
overtures to desires
night unleashes at these hours,
hear the buzz in the air
its time to make love,
darkness forgets hurt and embraces light.
i walk alone,
but an enchanting witch wait
for me somewhere in a garden bench,
to take me by my hand to her secret haunt
filled with thick smoke of ****
where she will remove the drapes
to let me see the truth.
On her quill and cactus bed,
she would make me understand,
how far is pleasure from pain
why darkness stalks light,
a jilted lover, walking a few steps behind,
I've heard her, once whisper
to wind in her husky voice
"A life written off by those
who measure out life with coffee spoons,
as spent in vein; this life of mine,
could have its secret treasures,
no charlatan could ever guess about
a serpent's diamonds
very few get to see,
its dangerous to pry, i forgive their ignorance"
Words induced by her dark power
has layers of meaning
but to many it was just meaningless jabbering,
just magic mushroom blabber
She nibbled and nicked my earlobes,
in between intoxicating purrs,
told me the meaning of caterwauls,
**"Its not pain, its not pain,
once you get in to the stream
you only want to drain,
in to the vast blue ocean"**
I recognize now, it's Walpurgis night,
as i walk in search of my witch,
i see dancers around bonfire,
revelers totally out of their minds,
carouse at the heart of the night.
And i see them all, witches in marine blue dresses,
enchantresses in blackly black,
coquettish red or groovy green,
I wait for her to appear,
the only one in resplendent white.
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 9:49 AM UTC
Time went by as it's wont to do
It passed by without a trace
But, as the years transpired
He could not forget her face
He met her in the park one night
An offer from her lips
She could make his whole night special
She would use her woman's hips
She burned a mark onto his heart
A face he'd not forget
But, he sent her on her way again
Like others that he'd met
A ticket back to Georgia
To the home from where she came
He declined all of her offers
He didn't even know her name
Since then he'd had more offers
Fed more girls and brought them home
Many left before redemption
They would rather fight alone
But, she...somehow remembered
Not for her actions left undone
But, for the fact she took his offer
Left before they saw the sun
He never knew how long she'd
Been residing in the night
Never knew just what her reason
For leaving home and taking flight
To him she was a question
Left unanswered to this day
Did she use the one bus ticket ?
Did she venture on her way ?
He took her to the station
Left her waiting by herself
Never saw her board the Greyhound
No luggage for the shelf
He'd been back to the town park
Hadn't seen her since that night
Not that he'd been looking
For he knew he'd set her right
But, without proof of her leaving
The question gnawed at his insides
Did she take the chance he gave her?
Did she board the bus and ride ?
He was often at the diner
Eating meals with those he picked
Those he felt would take his offer
would try to heal the wounds he nicked
He'd get them all to open up
A mental knife slice to their brains
Make them see that they were worthy
Try to release them from their pain
Some would go and some would not
Still, he would venture back
To the park so full of vices
Where so many were off track
One day while he was waiting
For his dinner to be served
He saw across the table
A face that left him quite un-nerved
He swore he'd seen the girl child
The one whose name he did not know
She was in the diner with another
Inside, protected from the snow
He caught a glance, and that was all
He looked again, she was not there
He looked around the diner
Where she went he knew not where
He really wasn't certain,
If it was her he saw that night
But, it raised that certain question
Or was it just a trick of light
Did she go home back to Georgia?
Or was she still there in the park?
Was she at home with her parents?
Or was she hooking after dark?
I guess he'll never know the answer
Nor, will we without much fuss
Is she still waiting for redemption?
Did she get upon the bus ?.....
Aug 9, 2012
Aug 9, 2012 at 7:22 PM UTC
This pencil
This paper
Looks just like coke and razors
I write so much I can't feel your kiss
I'm not attached to humanity
Except through this bleeding heart
That I'm slowly whittling away
It's taking shape of something so ******* beautiful
But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own ********
This apathy
These scars
Tattoos of times I've been torn apart
I ache for human touch
But every nerve has been severed
I close myself inside
Your ****** up mind
And watch your memories in silence
What we made is so decayed and rotten
We denied life to what we'd forgotten
I can't look at my reflection without slitting its throat
I remember what you told me and I quote:
But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own ********
This love
Those emotions
Can't find which hole in my heart they go in
I balance my life on the edge of a blade,
I get cut and nicked
No matter which turn I take
I'm teetering, watching myself bleed
It leads me to believe that smile was always fake
There was no right time to deny the lies I regretted
Self destruction was the first defense I hated
As I see all these lines blurred in my head
Thinking back to what you said...
But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own ********
Aug 8, 2015
Aug 8, 2015 at 7:10 PM UTC
i don’t want to be a hooligan, i used to get get yelled at at the pokies, I HATED THAT
i used to be pushed to being a shy person a shy old dogie, I HATED THAT
i used to get yelled at in the towns centre tavern I HATED THAT
people used to say i am shy, I HATE BEING SHY
young dudes used to hide bullying me so mum and dad don’t find out I HATED THAT
i hate people treating me like their mob, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE
you see the guy who nicked my lunch was an iditio, I WILL NEVER GO NEAR HIM
I WILL NEVER TOUCH ANOTHER POKER MACHINE, WASTE OF FUCKEN MONEY
i feel people are trying to take my fun away I HATE THEM
PEOPLE ARE CALLING ME A WOOSEY, I HATE THEM ALSO
peop[le are treating me like a ****** I HATE THEM
i was getting teased at work, ya see i was told i was getting a job at tuggers ACTEW
and without explaining to me, they gave the job to someone else, I HATE THEM, ***** THEM
people want me to behave like a mature adult, I HATE THAT
i am expressing myself, i want a break, PLEASE GIVE ME A BREAK
support workers tease at work and when i tease, ya know just a small tease i get in trouble I HATE THAT
a man was telling me i forgot to clean the hubcaps, when he could do it himself, I HATE THAT
I hear voices that people are truing to get me to do what i used to do, in every stretch of the imagination, I HATE THEM
i hear voices of people trying to get me to be an itchy hooligan, I HATE THAT
every time i hear a car or motorcycle i hype up by blowing my legs up, I HATE THAT
i hear my voices saying, your not a family person brian, or your still a shy person brian yer mate, I HATE THAT
i don’t want to get itchy feelings, I HATE THEM
the reason why i am not treating lyle like a mate, because he was crazy enough to put me in domestic violence, I HATE HIM
he had anger management issues HE’S AN IDIOT
someone called me a great big ugly snout, I HATED HIM
you see i hate being involved in domestic violence, I HATE THAT
I HATE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
I HATE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
I DON’T WANT TO BE A YOUNG DUDE WHO LIKES DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, CAUSE I DON’T LIKE DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
so in hindsight, i prefer to be a little young dude as opposed to someone who likes domestic violence
i hate violence in any way, i think i would know
don’t tell me to shut up, cause i won’t, got it, good
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
I WANT TO TEASE YOU, TEASE YOU I SHALL, YOU ARE SPASTIC, DUDE I HATE YA
HANG ON, YOUR NOT LIKE YOUR NANNA, LET’S TEASE THIS SHYPERSON, BUDDY
HE IS FALLING ASLEEP, TEASE THIS SHY PERSON
I SAID, I WILL FALL ASLEEP, YA SEE, I WILL FALL ASLEEP, AND ALLOW YOU TO TEASE ME WITH THE COSMOS
YOU SEE, LET’S TIE THE SHYPERSON UP, AND THROW HIM TO THE ALIENS’
YEAH, I AM HAVING FUN TEASING BRIAN ALLAN DEAR CHILD
YOU SEE, I CAN SEE THE MEDICATION MAKING YA TIRED
YOU SEE, ATHENA CAME UP AND PUT METHANE IN MY MOUTH AND TOLD THIS DWEEB THAT
YOU REALLY CAN FIX YA TEETH IN THE COSMOS, IF YA TAKE THE RIGHT MEDICATION
I SAID, I AM WATCHING SOME SNACK OFF COOKING SHOW, IT’S PRETTY RADICAL
IT’S ABOUT THE LATE NIGHT SNACKS PEOPLE HAVE, AND WHO CAN MAKE THE BEST MEAL
THE TEASER SAID, TRY AND BE LIKE YOUR NANNA, CAUSE YOUR NOT LIKE YA NANNA
YA LIKE US, CAUSE YA HOUSE IS MESSY, I AM SURE OF IT
BRIAN ALLAN SAID, CAN YOU LET ME GO, AS HE WAS TIED UP IN THE NEPTUNE PUB
BY OSAMA BIN LADEN AND THE GUY WHO NICKED HIS LINCH IN THE 1970S
IT’S THE ONLY WAY TO GET HIM, REALLY, WELL, IT’S NOT, BUT NOBODY WANTS TO, YA KNOW DO HARM
YA SEE BRIAN JUMPED UP AND SAID, **** OFF, YA NOT GETTING ME, YA ****
AND THEN THE GUY WHO NICKED MY LUNCH SAID, NO BUDDY, YOU ARE WITH ME FOREVER
WE’LL MAKE YOU TIRED, AND THEN SEND YOU TO HELL, WHICH IS THE SUN
BUT EVERYONE SLEEPS THEIR WAY TO FIGHT THE PERSON WHO IS KILLING BRIAN WHERE THEY WANT HIM
YOU SEE THEN SLIM DUSTY SAID I GUESS IT’S LONESOME AWAY FROM YOUR KINDRED AND ALL
FROM THE DUSTY OUTBACK TO THE GREAT CONCERT HALL,THERE IS NOTHING QUITE LIKE A DRINK WHICH
IS MORBID OR DREAR, IT’S SITTING PLAYING POOL IN A PUB WITH NO BEER
I AM GOING BACK AGAIN TO NEPTUNE PUB, YEAH, NEPTUNE PUB, YEAH WHERE WE HAVE FUN, YEAH
WE’RE GOING BACK AGAIN TO NEPTUNE PUB, THE PLACE WITH THE MOST METHANE SMOOTHIES, YEAH
I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BRIAN, I WOULD LOVE TO DRINK BEER WITH HIM
WE DRINK IN MODERATION, DUDES, AND NEVER, NO NEVER, GET ROLLING DRUNK
WE DRINK ALL OVER THE COSMOS, WHERE THE ATMOSPHERE IS SUPERB
I WOULD LOVE TO HAVE A BEER WITH BRIAN, CAUSE THAT’S FAR FROM ABSURD
AND THEN BARRY ALLAN CAME UP AND SANG 1 2 3 4 YOU SCHITZOPHRENIC, FROM YA FIRST DIAGNOSIS TO YA CURRENT SITUATION
WITH MEDICATION, YOU CAN GET REFORMED, OH YEAH MATE YEAH YOUR SCHITZOPHRENIC
DAD SAID, I AM NOT GOING YOUR LIKE ME AND MUMMY, ANYMORE, DON’T BE SHY BRIAN, TEASE MY NEXT LIFE’S NAME
I CAN UNDERSTAND WHY YOU TEASE, ME, BUT DON’T FORGET THAT GIRLS AND BOYS ARE EQUAL, OK
THEN THE GUY THAT NICKED MY LUNCH SAID, OK, WE’LL LEAVE YA ALONE, YA NOT LIKE US, BUDDY, OK
JUST REMEMBER, ME, IF YA EVER TRY TO BE LIKE US, YOU WHEN YA LIVED IN WOODBERRY, I’LL TEASE YA AGAIN, OK
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
there’s a semblance
of order
in the pink eye
of the street man
(that messianic soul
caught deep
in the binary)
glancing on
with rose colored glasses
and magical spoons
skimming whimsically
(and cocksure)
dancing on the
crab grass
with his
home grown *****
and cheroot
lost in a dialogue
(complete with
wink and jest)
embracing
the day with
spontaneity and cheer
grinning profoundly
(an incomprehensible grin!)
covering a nicked
and scarred
ear to ear
summer drought
or winter rain
are indifferent
in this mind
(culling on his own terms
with a honed discretion)
pundits would say
that he spoke
in a broken crow
or nigerian slang
(but only he knows
that eloquence)
cloaked, and head steady
behind whispers
of tavener
(he had always
said they were enough)
he gets on
with the rosary
to find
comfort lost
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 1:58 PM UTC
I am a murderer.
Clenching my fists,
I made a bed
And killed myself in it.
Sheets that once held goodnight kisses
And rosy morning cheeks
Fell victim to restless legs,
Twisted in agony.
I am a hunter.
Following my own track marks,
I shot myself down.
I kissed each vein
With the tongue of a syringe
And purged its belly
Until a brown river
Emptied into my blood.
I am a dying woman.
Hanging my heavy head
Over crumpled green towel,
I collapsed on a carpet covered in clothes
That were hastily stripped off and tossed aside.
I knelt amongst the tattered tees
And the grass stained denim
That reeked of slow defeat.
I am a prisoner.
Pulling my curly hair
Taut in tired fists,
I freed every bit from my scalp.
Running blades across my skull,
I nicked my tender skin
Like dancing through a rose garden
Until there was nothing left but raw flesh.
I am a thief.
Staring at a stranger’s reflection,
I saw body bags beneath her eyes
And lids that closed like coffins.
A ghostly girl,
A stolen soul,
A blank mask,
A hood of bone.
©Jenna Allie
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
Drinking *** to reminisce about fun times drinking *** and talking about dumb lines where a sociologist posed as an astronomer and took the moniker to heart claiming forbidden foolish nonsense of black holes and super novas and the Goddess that is Neptune. But he also forbade the odes of the old testament, he nicked the hold on my head and soul and feet until I couldn’t walk because I was too busy kicking my *** and licking my teeth with thoughts of dinner stolen from the solemn souls in the coral reefs – those that Neptune created and nurtured with nursing fingers and eyes that hid cruel truth from the water, the creatures that didn’t suffer the bite that God’s daughter took so long ago, but the flow of the current never ceases it never reaches the bleeding feet connecting repeatedly with the bottom that serves me to sit and think or **** about the gospel spilling from the hostel of the professor’s mouth. And I doubt the drought that lifted my spirits out of the well with the spout of Neptune’s ***** These days I’m on it with a sense of self-flagellation that only makes sense in the dimension of my imagination pondering the nation of the brotherhood of stars and heavenly bodies that weigh so heavy on Mars with the clingy core dragging desperate attention from divine inventions of intervention with rats and cradles. Neptune, who’s cradled in fables and left to such imaginations as those. Invention allows the suspension of disbelief and spite if one might rest in humility in face of such things as humanity where miracles are mistreated and under-recognized and falsely advertised as products of greedy eyes that lie in wait to shake the foundation and tune it to the stellar station or broadcast populated by the whispers of holy apparitions misconstrued as static.
Jacob is the heathen with reason to grasp his brother’s heel and deceive him. The treason to sit up to stand down to kiss the hem of the gown of whatever clown performs a pretty act while he’s in town. The frowns expound and expand for the man whose body spans the sand of the holy land.
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 11:34 PM UTC
(The sun is somewhat dimmed, as though I'm looking through a film.)
Losing myself in the crinkles of your eyes
As you smile carelessly into the camera
I remember
The way you scrunch your nose a little
The way your lips remind me of cherry blossoms
(It's a little cold here. The temperature is falling.)
Even as I lay in bed shivering and battling my fever
I remember the nights you wished you were here
The nights you work as a bartender, carelessly picking up girls over the counter
Do you serve them all poisoned holy grails?
(A hollow whirring. That's the sound I hear when my ears are blocked.)
Your favorite song plays in the background
I remember
When you said my voice was soothing
When you said I meant something
Ed Sheeran probably didn't mean it
But now I cringe with every note of his
(The brightness before me is blurring. Are those my tears or is it just the water?)
It was beautiful, really
But pink sakura petals do not bloom in this region
Even the colour pink is distressing to me
Since we matched in winter through spring
(You nicked my heartstrings. How do I mend it?)
I find you in all the little things
Cigarettes, temples, business trips, huskies,
Harry Potter, Radler, Netherlands, salmon,
Macaroons, banana man, an 18 grand television
Round and round, the second hand runs on the face
The sun goes down and down, signing off the days
Round and round, you're running in my head
I go down and down till I reach the seabed
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
The sign said no entry,it meant me,I know it,I rode on right through it and thought that I knew it
all.
The policeman in a court date said that I, just would not wait for the lights to go green and he'd seen me do eighty in a thirty mile zone.
I was sent to a home for the wayward and flighty,a light sentence upon me,could not believe I was not free.
See me, on a saturday and I'm back on the racetrack,known as the M thirty motorway and I'm clocked at a ton by the feds in the lay by,who with sirens mad blaring came a tearing along after me,nicked,apprehended me and again,I could not believe I was not free,
I got four months in Dartmoor which get a poor recommendation,it's no picnic park for the youth of this nation,released in September,though it should have been May and soon after that in a 93 Fiat with go faster stripes,I was striped up quite rightly by the boys in blue and tightly,
handcuffed and roughed up and locked up again.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
Sometimes I think I can avoid the problems of life
I act like it’s not going to happen to me
That stuff only happens to other people
I don’t have to pay because I want it for free
If feels like I’m living in a war
There are casualties all around
I get nicked every now and then
But not enough to make a sound
I don’t have a bad life
I just have bad moments
I see the bitterness in others
As they breathe between torments
Success seems so random at times
Every day I wake up in the same place
My work has become my life
But still I wear an anonymous face
The extremists are taking over
Most of us have nothing to say
The politicians take us all for granted
They say spend your money and then go away
I don’t have a bad life
I just have bad moments
I see the fear in others
As they await life’s judgments
It’s a strange thing watching the news
I see our heroes dying every day
Nothing ever changes
Yet another baby will be led away
The more I think the less I believe
The less I believe the more I see
The more I see the less I need
The less I need the more I am free
I don’t have a bad life
I just have bad moments
I see the hopelessness in others
As they accept their punishments
They say what doesn’t **** you makes you stronger
I’m so strong now that I have lost the thrill
I don’t need any more near death experiences
One more and my heart will soon be still
I spend so much time doing nothing
Like waiting at a light or being stuck in traffic
I wish I could gather it all up
And relive the hours I’ll never get back
I don’t have a bad life
I just have bad moments
I see the pain in others
As they endure their disappointments
I think about *** all the time
But I want to live alone
I don’t want to explain myself
My mind will always be my own
There is an oasis where we all exist
But sometimes it’s only as we sleep
As soon as it passes you know you missed it
So we wait even as we weep
I don’t have a bad life
I just have bad moments
I see the struggles of others
As they can’t make their payments
My daughter couldn’t wait for Christmas
She still believes and was so impatient
I wonder if a woman could love me
Like a child opening a present
I need your love just as you need mine
I know you want me to settle down
I see it in your eyes and hear it in the songs
That float around this lonely town
I don’t have a bad life
I just have bad moments
I see the heartache of others
As she tries to understand my resistance
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 8:38 AM UTC
i’m not getting teased, cause i’m a hooligan
you see i remember getting teased by all the families
and it drove me pretty mad, i hated it,
and the only way to rid this evil teasing
is to be evilly myself, by saying, you are still
a family person and i am a hooligan
and if you don’t stop teasing me, i will slit your throat
you see you are a loser, a total and utter loser
i told them, i will come and grab you, and grab the other teasing young dudes
and then i say, i will say, i am a hooligan and you are a family person
my mate and i are planning to grab you
and throw you in the bin, and i will go ha ha ha ha
you have been trapped by us hooligans
you are going to suffer for teasing me, cool boy
i am going to show you, if you tease me, i will **** you
and get rid of your corpse, in the sea
make your body all itchy, and us hooligans
will tie you teasing boys up and i will say ha ha ha
you see you will never escape from me, ever
you say i am shy, but if you keep calling me shy, i will come
and tie you up and say i am a hooligan and i will **** you, right now
and then i will sit down and play cool for you, because you are a family person
and i am a hooligan and i will **** you and play cool for you and every family person on earth
and when any teaser teases me i will go ha ha ha and lay a knife right to their head
you see i will **** the guy who nicked my lunch because he treated me like a queer different person
and as soon as i met my mate, i kept myself hidden with the hooligans ready to pune on him
saying,you are going to die, you are going to die, because i am a hooligan and you are a family person
and you are getting played cool for, with your crazy trying to be a young dude
and i will sit there saying ha ha ha, you family people are going to be a part of my little gang
where i will play cool for you and terrorise you
you see you will never escape from me, you cool boy, you will n ever escape from me anymore cool boy
i will throw cricket stumps on you and you will be scared of me, you little cool boy
i will go out and have some fun, putting you cool boys into the lockup and i will feed you dead rats and spiders
and if the spider bites your inners, i will yell ha ha ha ha saying i am the hooligan, keeping the family people under wraps
and i will attempt to **** you all if you don’t fucken leave me alone, ********
you see i am getting sick of you, teasing me, and every time i touch you you go crazy
but i expect that from a family person such as yourself
i will **** you, i will **** you i will **** you, you will be dead from us, forever
and in 3 weeks all the family people are dead and us hooligans are playing cool for future family people
to make sure the cool boys who tease don’t exist anymore
i said, i am not getting teased, i am a hooligan
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
Sitting a corner booth by herself,
sipping on a Long Island Iced Tea
and reading Keats.
Hands down, she's the most
captivating person in this bar.
Fingertips calloused, and hands nicked and scraped
like she'd been in a fight with experience
and went down swinging.
Eased into her seat like slipping naked into a hot bath.
Smiled with all her teeth
like no one was looking.
Left her phone at home,
in pieces on the kitchen floor.
Tonight was the night she was going to forget all about the custody battle
the bill collectors
the late night fights about who was right
and who was left in the room with all this shattered glass to clean up
the long sobbing nights with her pillow and her secret shame
the regret for time poorly spent looking for love in bars and cold blue eyes
the years that separated her from twenty-two – when she was young and delusionally happy.
With her body language, she unknowingly spoke to me:
Tonight, I came to drink and dance.
Don't bother me with pick up lines.
Pick up artists, go find another canvas.
Mine's been painted over plenty.
I don't have the time to save anymore white knights from their mother's ***
That fairytale story always ends in Shakespearean tragedy.
Plus, the **** horse leaves scuff marks on the dance floor.
I take one last sip
and slip the bartender an extra twenty-
tonight the nightingale drinks for free.
I leave before she can thank me.
Jul 6, 2011
Jul 6, 2011 at 11:56 AM UTC
Cupid, you fool
You devil in disguise
You are not the god of love
Torture is your tool
You shot your arrows
and hit me but the rest
Hit him not, and you didn't want to waste another
So he doesn't love me but I love this fellow
He loves me not and you could have made him
You could have nicked his heart like you did mine
But No, Cruel Cupid, You ignored my pleas
Ignored them with no attention
Can't you see this love does shine
If he cannot love then spare me
Cupid spare me from this torture
Spare me from this unwanted wanted love
Take my heart and undo your magic
Spare me, Cruel Cupid
undo what's done
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 3:42 PM UTC
JABOWSKY'S place is on a side street and only the rain washes the dusty three *****
When I passed the window a month ago, there rested in proud isolation:
A family bible with hasps of brass twisted off, a wooden clock with pendulum gone,
And a porcelain crucifix with the glaze nicked where the left elbow of Jesus is represented.
I passed to-day and they were all there, resting in proud isolation, the clock and the crucifix saying no more and no less than before, and a yellow cat sleeping in a patch of sun alongside the family bible with the hasps off.
Only the rain washes the dusty three ***** in front of Jabowsky's place on a side street.
1.3k
A dying girl
hung her head over
a carpet covered in
crumpled clothes
hastily stripped off and
tossed aside.
Her bed sheets once held
tourniquets and flecks of
splattered blood
that dawn turned to Braille
spelling slow defeat
beneath her bruising skin.
Nine months passed since then.
Those ties cut,
new blood flowed freely through
her ravaged veins.
She knelt beside her bed,
the mattress cloaked in clean sheets.
She shaved away her tangled hair
as if to free the knots from her stomach,
to free from her skull
the ache, the craze,
the hushed torment of
loving ******
She sliced and slipped
and nicked and bled
to crack her shell of a body until
a soul slipped out
or anything remotely human
but nothing ever did.
She caught herself
moving in a mirror,
body bags beneath her eyes,
a ghostly girl
a stolen soul
a blank mask
a hood of bone.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:52 AM UTC
He never taught me
how to perform
the art of the jump-shot.
I simply watched.
He would dribble down
the clumsy circle
of our carport, back up
behind the exomaed bicycle
and detach his body
from the world, against
gravity’s insistent pull
and fade into a legend,
his wrist becoming a swan
pecking toward the sun.
He never taught me
how to arc a blade,
the gripping bite of a razor,
against my cheek.
I simply watched. He would
lather his face with foam
and I sat conversing with him
as the blade giddily glided,
graceful as a demi-god
reaping the crop of auburn
from his then young face.
When I tried, as a teenager,
I nicked my upper lip and
only harvested my own blood.
When he grilled, he flipped
the meat like an ace of spades,
magic in his wrist revealed.
When he drove, his hands
and feet became extensions
of the car. When he drove
a bus, his eyes sought all angles
of the road, chatoyant caution
in the flicker of his iris.
When he fiddled with our old,
beaten, mellow-toned guitar
he was articulate though
he never knew a chord’s name
nor what song erupted from him.
He read the Bible, but kept
the gospel in his eyes, at the tip
of his green thumb. He read
the Koran, the Torah, the words
of Gotham. I read how he
sought truth, beauty, in all
people. I simply watched him
traverse the dividing line
between saint and stubborn,
between sinner and relinquish.
If there was ever a man
after some God’s heart, he was
one who asked questions
and lived into the answers.
He kept his hands clean, kept
his chin high and mind
was always lofty and companioned
with a world of dreams.
He would often stare out windows
sitting at the dinner table, and I
knew he was living into a prayer.
I never asked what he was doing,
never asked how to do what he
could do. What my Father taught me
was to listen to my own inner voice,
no other’s, and if I wanted to be
a man, I was to simply watch
what a man did for that spoke
a language more fluid than air.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC