"nite" poems
MY COMPUTER IS INFECTED WITH A VIRUS
FROM SURFING TEEN AGE **** SITES LATE AT NITE
SOME OF WHAT I'V SEEN, IT LOOKS QUITE NORMAL
WHILE OTHER THINGS THEY JUST DON'T SEEM QUITE RIGHT
I'D JUST STARTED CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
WHEN I LEARNED THAT I'D BEEN HACKED
THERE APPEARED BEFORE ME QUITE THE PHOTO
OF A REINDEER WITH **** ELF FOLK ON HER BACK
AS I LOOKED MORE AT THE PHOTO
AND I LOOKED DEEP IN THE TREES
I SAW JUST A HINT OF SCARLETT
THAT LOOKED JUST LIKE MRS. SANTA ON HER KNEES
AS I LOOKED MORE AT THE PICTURE
SHE HAD A LOOK, BUT NOT OF PAIN
AND I SAW WHAT SHE WAS *******
WAS NOT AN ALLANS CANDY CANE!
AS I TRIED TO LEAVE THE WEBSITE
A NEW PHOTO CAME MY WAY
AND I STARED HARD IN AMAZEMENT
THINKING, CORR I NEVER KNEW THAT ELVES COULD BEND THAT WAY
ONE WAS DOING **** GYMNASTICS
WITH HER *** HIGH IN THE AIR
SHE HAD SOMETHING IN HER "OUT" HOLE
AND I THOUGHT, "I DON'T THINK THAT THING BELONGS IN THERE"
SO I SHUT DOWN MY COMPUTER
AND THE SCREEN FADED TO BLACK
I THOUGHT I'D LOST ALL MY FILES
AND THERE'S NO WAY IN THE WORLD TO GET THEM BACK
I'D BE OFF LINE WELL PAST CHRISTMAS
AND THERE'S NOTHING MORE TO SAY
I'D BEEN BURNED BY SURFING **** SITES
SEEING THINGS YOU SHOULDN'T SEE ON CHRISTMAS DAY
WHEN MY HEAD DID HIT MY PILLOW
I SWORE FROM **** SITES I'D REFRAIN
BUT I WOKE UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
AND FOUND A HALF SUCKED STICKY CANDY CANE
I COULD NOT HELP BUT WONDER
WHO HAD LEFT IT HERE BESIDE
BUT I KNEW DEEP DOWN IT CAME FROM
SANTA ON HIS ONE NIGHT YEARLY RIDE
WHEN I TURNED ON MY COMPUTER
I KNEW I'D KEEP IT TO MYSELF
NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE IT IF I TOLD THEM
OF **** SITES FULL OF DEER AND NAKED ELVES.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.
the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.
recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:
do not self-chain,
let the words take you
where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.
I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.
<•>
People stop rhyming...
When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for a
Rooting tooting writing of a
**** good poem
or a barrel of
crackles
If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine
And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A
In your Teacher's pet grade book
My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me
And I hope
Someone kicks his or her ***
That Ain't No Poem Neither...
And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue
extremely indiscreetly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings
intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself
You think you can write?
Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout
**Hallelujah *******
Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?
Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)
G' nite!
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
I don’t know where you fly to at nite.
I’m certain to all that I love.
Do you glow with the moonlite?
Or float in the heavens up above?
Do you hang with the stars in the sky?
Or gaze at them from the meadow below?
Do you give me a kiss goodbye?
Or just in the morning to say hello?
Maybe you grow with the tree garden,
Or sleep with the lions of my sign,
Where is it you go wanderin’
Little soul of mine?
I wonder if you go back
To the dawning of your days.
I wonder when was that?
Or were you here always?
Maybe you go to my future,
Setting it straight for me,
You’ve had great judgment so far
As the holder of my life’s key
Do you mingle with other souls?
You must be looking for your perfect mate
So you’re not lonely on such twilight strolls
Wherever it is that you go so late.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 2:31 AM UTC
When one thousand years has passed us by,
I hope mother earth is still beautiful
And there's fruit trees and grass so green,
And fresh air to breathe that's clean
There's animals alive of every variety,
fireflies, ladybugs, and honeybees
I hope there's an amazing blue sky,
with songbirds together flying so high
And I hope most of all flowers still grow,
and there's a winter with falling snow
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 1:14 AM UTC
It feels good to know how the head looks like
I have a green pencil
The head is the eraser
In the nite time she picture the future
She painted them green
There are plenty pencils but different eraser
This pencil is breath taking,full of life
With the pencil it feels good that anything is possible
Yes!!! anything is possible
Let's make a new kind of pencil, so that anything can be possible
We can decide to erase the old one,
With a new kind of pencil
We can believe in the new world of ours
Ours is a generation of unending love
Let's stay all night designing a new kind of pencil
Let's be creative, let's be green.
Though we are going to be misunderstood,cause people don't like trying new things
The universe is waiting for us down the lane
I hope we do it right. . .
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
The gates of Hell opened wide.
Six million souls stepped inside.
Beaten. Shot. Starved to death.
The words of God still on their breath.
Screams of anguish.Cries of pain.
Abhorrent laughter of the insane.
Mother's beg.Their babies moan.
They smell charred flesh and smoldering bone.
Cords of bodies in a row.
Frozen corps in the snow.
Gas clouds creep across the floors.
Hinges creek on oven doors.
Idle boxcars sit on tracks.
Inside lie bodies, in gruesome stacks.
The S.S. soldiers earn there pay.
They stoke the furnaces nite and day.
To the insidious cruelity
Of a madmans hate.
Six million Jews met there fate.
Remember them! Remember well!
Those souls who entered
The gates of Hell.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 9:09 AM UTC
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
3.9k
Running on empty tiered for sleep my brain is fried my limbs now creak.
I went to bed or so I thought to get some kip and recharge my bones.
Well that wasn't how it ended up and my mind was racing with well "just stuff".
The stuff you just cant explain a film! What was the actors name?
A song, a tune stuck in my head another hour of wasted bed.
Then to try and top others all, the ghost of a child throwing a ball prolongs the nite in another's hall.
No dreams no peace, I'm withered now the body aches but won't shut down.
Tomorrow I guess it's panda eyes and heavy lids, I could cry !
I just want sleep it all to stop and please dear brain
"WILL YOU JUST TURN OFF!"
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 10:04 AM UTC
nothing flights these skies tonite
nothing burns above our heads
or crackles in the air
or glows in the houses about us
as we pace the cool and empty
the alleys and the meatless streets
and the clean scaleless cobbles
carry our patternless birch-bare feet
a sail less nite
but a kite to the imagination
a bringer of new
lighter beings
osmosis
through our faultless immigration
Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:05 PM UTC
Mirage
I sit up in bed and rub my blurry eyes
is that you I see coming towards me
no it's just a shadow on the wall
it was nothing more than a mirage
walking down Cypress Avenue I can't believe
there you are across the street looking my way
wait oh no it was someone else completely
it was just another wishful dream I see
buying my groceries for tonites dinner
wait is that you I seen turning the corner
I rush to the end of the aisle to find
it was your memory playing with my mind
I was sitting at the stoplight on Maple Drive
I glanced over at the car in the lane next to me
I can't believe it must be you sitting there
I waved and you frowned it was just a mirage
I see your face in every little thing I do
I just can't get you out of my mind
maybe I should check myself into the ward
I think I still have that doctor's card
last nite you told me that you would go
to the prom so I bought you a nice corsage
but you weren't really there were you
it was just another dam mirage
Gomer LePoet ....
Aug 31, 2011
Aug 31, 2011 at 7:19 PM UTC
Those of you who sleep at nite,
Maybe unaware of the riff raff
Of poets who, two if by night,
Riff each other All Night Long,
Trade barbarous compliments,
Hipping and dipping, jiving & shucking
(Yes I am outdatedly old, yes I know)
Slipping in scepters of sly verse,
Interspersed with an occasional curse,
Riposte and repost each other,
Always seeking a word edgewise,
Or the last word
(Even better)
Whipping, sticking and licking
Each other's poems
With jabs of kind words,
&
That seldom are heard,
In fact a never-land rule,
A contemptuous thread,
And it's off with your head,
And you gotta be there,
To believe,
But its ok, sleep well,
And leave the S(word) play
To those who live and die
By the coda
Only the young-at-heart-poets
never get olda,
So there!
Jul 19, 2025
Jul 19, 2025 at 3:35 AM UTC
**Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice **** Poets)**
Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?
**** poets!
Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.
**** Poets!
Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:
*I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet*
Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******
Yo! Yo!
Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!
Yo! Yo!
Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!
**I am a ****** poet.**
*The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,*
My drug of choice.
5:07am
June 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
a man gave me that phrase as a gift today.
quiver of constant smiles
for well he could,
yet little did he ken
the nature of the present
because
I read the smiles as the
tween the spaces,
in between the words of
anguish that never goes away
how can this be,
how to make sense of this
well I am a father too,
of words and sobs
and ownership of sins
between sons and fathers,
who inhabit
the unfilled spaces within,
the drawers with their name
on masking tape attached
Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Show me a man-father
whose lips
have not quiet quivered
when hearing those words sung
we ease the grip of
carrying them on our shoulders
when they are five at the
Macy's day parade,
running alongside their first
solo bicycle ride
we ease the grip of
the vise of
not seeing them for years,
or never again,
cause they hold you guilty,
responsible for their confusion
have too, ease the grip,
cause we got more than one
singular responsibility
so we dad draw,
a smile from the quiver,
that like those of the elves,
replenished magically,
strap it on wide,
mile high and move on
oh you teenage children, you babies,
with your endless angst and bravado
of drunken scar talk,
first love lost
and the hard course
of being sixteen
put down your tiresome blunt pens
that revel only in Self-intensity glorious-galore,
read of the self destruction
of love pains thirty years in the making
and fifty in the undoing
write of ancient inescapable feelings
decades in the vat, aging, but drunk in the
moment quick searing of
every life breath you take
and it's Sunday nite
and the work week hell begins
but it is no compare to the other,
but **** you can't understand
so chant these words,
reflect on them well,
for soon while you dream sleep,
in clean, dry sheets and safe bed
a man will come for a peep,
to make the checkmark
on the all's well list
so chant these words,
a sad violin melody,
the single sole he ever hears,
*Your fathers's hell will slowly go by
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
"MOONSHINE"
On a starry night moonshines beautifully as equally as you're. Hone, you **** gorgeous when it comes to your sound, sweet and soothing one's heart. I'm sending this to you wish I could sing you a lullaby to comfort your sleep and angels to guard and guide your dreams path. Sweetest girl. G-nite honey.
#c9_fm
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 6:40 PM UTC
To my dear son, Boaz in distant Idaho,
Saturday nite, the whole of New Zealand waited in apprehension for the All Blacks rugy team to play the resurgent Wallabys @ Fortress Eden Park.
The previous week at Suncorp Stadium in Sydney, in driving rain, the All Blacks muddled through a painfull draw with the Wallabys, 12 points each with no tries.
The Wallabys had fancied their chances and had wanted an emphatic win on home soil.
Both teams took that score as a loss and the gauntlet was thrown for the second match…..
A brilliant evening, clear and fine , 50,000 people crushed in to Eden Park and you could feel the apprehension, the rest of the country sat in front of their TV willing the team on.
The Haka was given a brutal rendition, you could feel the determination, the passion emanating….the Ozzies glared their defiance back…it was all on!
10 minutes into a titanic struggle with the score three all Captain Ritchie McCaw had a brain fade and was yellow carded off for ten minutes by the French referee.
The crowd roared…then murmured their worry like you’ve never heard before.
The Ozzies mustered a huge scrum which the All Blacks countered with one man down…. The counter ****** pushed the Australian scrum back 15 ft.
Every man in New Zealand was on his feet roaring, you could feel the spirit of nationalism soaring….the moment was a watershed.
The All Blacks counterattacked showing a brilliance in attack and defence we have not seen for years… and from that moment on the game was won.
Final score 51:20 The Bledisloe Cup was ours.
As the match finished the TV camera panned across the solidly black clad crowd…. I have never, ever in my life, seen so many, simultaneous, sets of white teeth grinning!
The trip home to Australia would have been… a very subdued affair.
Thought I should share this marvellous moment with you Boaz.
Luv Dad.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
The Sukhumvit Rap
by David John Clare
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Well, she come in to Na Na town on dah midnight sky train, anonymous esan girl she a mysterious Bangkok dame
Out of the nite shadows she will walk and magically appear, I'm telling you fresh forang you got some awful things to fear right here
She can slave your mind in a minute without talk so lyrical, she's a modern Thai freak, a ****** miracle
First She opiates his mind then double you'll see
will loose all sense of time and then the trouble will be
She knows what she is doing, her instincts are cold Forang men they surrender and just do what they are told
Beyond the like of a dibbie girl as you are a sucker for her date
she will leave your mind and body in a wicked deadly state
A jealous girlfriend could now completes the scene as you walk back to your short time room near Pat Pong
soi cowboy libertine...
If you get near her you hear the voice of a Thai Siren
Don't you look at her don't you touch you'll start cryin'
If you dare embrace her fool you will think you found a rare Silom Road Jem or Jewel?
She can tear your heart out and she will do it with your own **** tool !
Tell The brothers not to look the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
You can tell by her moves and the slit under her dress she is a one trick thai pony ahead of you by her breast
She got a photographic smile Greta garbo movie hair
She can tear any man down with that Siamese cat like looking stare...
Don't look into her eyes she'll control you blind
you want to wine and dine her? ha, it is your mind she will sixty nine
Shell try her best to allure you so now don't concede cuz if you touch her now boy your heart will bleed
It is a hell of way to take a Thailand vacation but remember this; there is no way of ever stopping this ****** man killer creation.
Tell The brothers not to watch the wink of her eye, tell all of the brothers not to watch her WINK!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
Boom boom bah smoke yaba bah bah bah boom!
WINK!
(c) 2010 Clairvoyant Music / BMI Los Angeles CA USA all rights in perpetuity by the author
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 12:08 PM UTC
intro:
teddy bear teddy bear turn around teddy bear teddy bear touch the skyyyyy....
chorus:
i sleep with my **** like its my teddy bear cuz its my teddy bear like it like it my teddy bear
i dream of those leaves they are everywhere they they are everywhere
V1:
i wake up and the smoke disapate
i was so high last nite but now its a different day
if i were ****** tested it would be to there dismay
i cant wait till the cash bounce back my way
order some more kush its mi main entree
now here bad ***** smoke some john deer
we dont gotta be hicks to take a couple hits
got tht **** burning like a wick oh **** i cant feel my face
drip....
chorus:
i sleep with my **** like its my teddy bear cuz its my teddy bear like it like it my teddy bear
i dream of those leaves they are everywhere they they are everywhere
V2:
my teddy bear alwas got me feelin safe
im in the air like will & grace
hahahahahaa ***** i spit in ur face
come here baby come get a taste
i never knew green was a flavor
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 1:27 PM UTC
were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...
you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...
by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:
chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing
then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:
*"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."*
hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:
~ the miles davis nonet ~
featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet
'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
riffin'....
boppin'...,
poppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins
the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...
and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...
~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
The Magical Date
Last nite was a celebration!
And before it all begun
He held me by my hand so close
We were off to leprechaun land!
The naughty elf with his impish pranks
His sinful teases and wanton ways
His playful gestures, fractious delights
He rushed me off to his wilful fays
We found ourselves in a Keatsian bower
In 'embalmed darkness', 'mong 'white hawthorns'
It was fragrant with the jasmine veils
That covered the roof of rosy thorns
we laughed and sang old happy numbers
we talked our hearts out gleefully
After aeons of blue moon we'd finally met
A magical date it had to be!
And so when i looked up to his eyes
It held mine in a purple gaze
In a trice of a second he was off with me
Speeding through the verduous maze
Help! i cried but held on tight
Our windswept hair, our amorous plight
His fervour, vigor, force and power
Was all i felt that wondrous night
Elf or gnome, genie or sprite
A naughty brownie or the nisse vampire
Bogie, goblin, fairy, nymph
He carried me through the forests dire...
So just wen I can close my eyes
Just when i feel im missing him
He's there as he says hes there with me
Off we go into the woodlands dim
We dance a waltz, a salsa true
A foxtrot, a ballet in embrace tight
In white moonshine, in purple rain
When dewdrops catch the morning light.
And then again with every dawn
The magic wanes, the elf resigns
To mossy groves and sylvan lands
And the elfin grottos of my mind.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 12:37 AM UTC
Midnight Queen! Midnight Queen! How I grieve for thee.
Alas! That thou in thy garment white,
Should but show thy splendour for a night,
And then sink back into earth away from me!
Alas! Thy beauty once shown departs forever,
Tho’ it remains in the human mind,
As visions may eternally shine,
Thy sad departure remains also in mind!
This is life! This is life! A glimpse of splendour,
Like the fragrance of flowers blown away,
Life passes after a glorious day;
Life comes but once and then departs forever!
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 3:47 AM UTC
He yearned to conquer her fort,
she resisted and gave a good fight
it ended with exhausted tired breathless souls
resting on messy spoiled sheets all nite.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
No more komakazee crows
No more angry nehibors and
Their apple guns.
No more slow winks.
No more toilet bowls
And no more ham.
No more wet hair after a shower.
No more drooling on my face.
Remember that **** dog.
Remember you and him kissed like eskimos.
Remember sleeping in my train tunnel.
I wish I still played with trains.
I wish I still played euphonium.
I wish we never lost our house.
My old friend, is it time for me to go away.
You were the last.
The last pet mom ever will own.
She told us no more animals.
She cried tonite,
She said im so sorry soxy.
A longntime ago
A longtime 6 hours in school felt.
A long strected out cat
Waited for us on the steps.
I rubbed my face in his glossy chest.
I rubbed my third grade nose up and down
His body hoping for a play bite.
His tongue licked my ears three times,
Three times until he took a bite.
My hands resembled the bird,
The bird he never killed.
He turned me into a contortinist.
He made my leggs cramp.
He made my matress his middle ground.
His middle my yoga sleep.
After showers he hunted my head.
He layed on my face.
He licked my dripping buzz cutt.
He licked the milk off of my first mustache.
He ruined the left over ham.
He made my favorite sandwhich
A challenge.
He could smell me open the can and mix the
Mayonase with pickles.
He left me a dead mouse on my train tracks.
He had white drops of paint on his paws.
White furry paint,
Mom told us he had sox on his feet,
He was born with the name we gave him
Sox not socks,
Not the socks you get tired of wearing.
Not the socks you get mixed up durrning laundry.
Our sox kept us on our toes.
Our sox.
The **** cat
That really owned our house.
Hell always be sox,
The **** cat,
The **** voice my brother made up.
The **** drool I let rub against my face
Will never go away.
Ill kiss him like an eskimo.
Ill biuld him a eskimo fire
And hope he chooses to
rub noses with My dog J.C again
I hope he goes gently into the nite (Dylan Thomas).
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
Here in Holden I forget all the memories acquired in sun
They all tumble and I could stop it if I wanted to stop
Pouring ***** in my head as a song before bed
Two-fisted whiskey drinker caught in the present,
Displaced in time. And another and another til
she upgrades to doubles at no extra charge cause
she loves how my face 'round means she's safe at least
til I leave and she's sweet and pays me in drinks I
don't need as bad as money and a stable place.
Here in Holden B-Block I play games with my memories
I tumble hard and I could stop it if I wanted to stop
Too fun to open a door and fall through the floor
to the blackness of past as you stand from your stool
to play pool in the back as you can't keep your cool
so you retreat. Always retreat.
Here in Holden, underground, I **** on the memories
I made under sun now
bathed only in krypton light
scaring cats from the cans
behind the brush as I
rush to get it all out.
Spit it all.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Seems like the nite claimed another homie ........
When did life equal " ***** you owe me!"
Youth blasted difference over a current narcotic debt.....
What is the pain we haven't seen yet?
I hugged mothers..father's. ... sisters..... brothers......
Seen kids crying alone underneath there covers......
I learned later colors no longer shine.....
If there not flaggin the right one they're no longer mine....
The terrible thing is I got out with a grin...
Like being away absolved all my sin.....
We gangsta we hard we don't give a ****
That is till one of our loved ones finally gets hit.......
So while you gain respect and become a baller.....
Take the ones closest too you and price them a dollar.....
Because every move you make will make there lives cheap....
Is it worth the painful nights you hurt so much you can't even sleep?
Fast money and hoes lifestyles of the ****
Only put you further into the grave you proudly dug....
I don't have an answer I'm not wise enough to get out.....
But read these words and you'll know what it's all about.....
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Hamlet texts:
"2B r..."
Ophelia texts back"
"...NOT 2B babe!"
Then a text following on
her just sent text
"G'd nite sweety prince!"
she minces irony with sarcasm
"Yo, bitch...get thee to a nunnery!"
Hamlet always direct and cruder.
'SOMETHING'S ROTTEN IN THE STATE OF
THEIR RELATIONSHIP!"
THE NEWS OF THE WORLD
proclaims the next day.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC