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David Nelson Aug 2011
I fell outa bed last nite

I felt bad last nite
knew something wasn't right
when I turned out the light
then I fell outa bed last nite

I knew something was wrong
I kept humming this song
I heard the sound of a gong
then I fell outa bed last nite

I hit my head
my nose sort of bled
now my nose is all red
when I fell outa bed last nite

I looked up above
did someone give me a shove
think I fell outa love
when I fell outa bed last nite

was this a message from you
did I do something terribly wrong
if I say I'm sorry will it do
that's why I wrote you this song

my eyes were kinda glazy
now my legs or kinda lazy
I think I'm going crazy
since I fell outa bed last nite

I hear my woman *******
as I stagger to the kitchen
now my fingers keep a twitchin
dam I fell outa bed last nite

pour some water in a glass
felt a pain in my ***
is it heart attack or gas
how did I fall outa bed last nite

was it just an illusion
or is there collusion
so much confusion
since I fell outa bed last nite

was this a message from you
did I do something terribly wrong
if I say I'm sorry will it do
that's why I wrote you this song

dam I fell outa bed last nite
how did I fall outa bed last nite
whoa I fell outa bed last nite
that's right I fell outa bed last nite
Gomer LePoet ....
A ****/rap song
Samuel Lombardo Oct 2014
This Earth was our foundation;
It was here where I found you!
I can remember the flood of thoughts-
only a sickle to use
getting all the weeds out of the yard.
The plants were forced
into death with the cold season.
The sun outa-kilter
only global warming.
You cannot make a butterfly
out of a bee-
nor will the bee come from a fly.
the sun is outa-kilter-
it is you who plants
the seeds of deception.
Deal with the pain of the cold season-
there is light in the summertime.
The springtime only warns hope.
Fall-time allots for darkness-
the sun becomes outa-kilter.
What pressure can one hold
on the sun?
The sun has its own moves,
but watch it-
too much heat can burn you.
Do you want to get burned-
learn to love the sun that it bares.
Stop making the changes for him-
your changes only bear more problems-
it is the discredit to all
nature that surrounds him.
The moon will not change-
the sun will not change,
nor will mother earth make
her changes;
but I know the king
in Heaven rules these signs.
You will have to accept the
sun outa-kilter-
and is now free from the cold.
#Family #Discredit #Choices #Lethimgo #getreal #Reality
mark john junor Mar 2015
flawed to near insanity
but long as you could hold down a job then its alright
isn't that a wise policy she asked
i'm not so sure
watching the clowns strut their stuff
in the midnight sun
they are reckless to be certain but self aware to a fault
just makes it all the more bizarre
watch em go at it with each other over the simplest thing
its no way to live
you can vouch for the living as long as you haven't died
and this madness is just shy of being in a pine box
so darling lets get outa this crazy place
get away from the thinking
that you gotta be like everybody else
get away from the plastic hippie rat-race
roll down the easy highway
find us some sweet sunshine to breath in
find us a better life to be
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Taken, gotten, or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything…

Slow think,
make real

what fighting for life is…
this is the only
it is not a test.

Take your time, use it wisely,
if that means anything.
Wise, I meant.
No offence, if wise is anathema to your kind,
die if I knocked the reason for being right
outa you,
did you hear cognitive dissonance?
did it sound like
this. LOUD?
rolling rolling rolling
crash crumble rolled in nurse rime frosted
fables of monsters and maids
Thor, witharoar likka Lion King?

or the light brigade,

thunder words from lost generations of
reasonless riddles for children,

Why did Peter Pumpkin-eater have a wife, but
couldn't keep her here?
Was that okeh? Oh, wait.
Ah, I see, I say,
they never tell that whole story any more.

Know why? They forgot it. In the war.

crying, how long?
When begins forever? Did no one tell you, child?

Taken or made, the point of anything
can pierce through everything
like it was nothing, given
enough pre-sure-sup

War, as a game, has a reason.

Battle, hitting, slapping

stop touch, stop now slap
slap back

or cry
oh no no ma

waddayahsay?  A theist or atheist
who started this war?

space case, or
lover of wisdom, met on the road
to Emmaus, discussing Weil's proof
firming Fermi's connection to the matter of fear,
3, 2, 1

Kaboom, but with a whump you feel in your teeth

1, 2, 3 Fermat's last theorem ,
easy as pi an no re me

ABC to
Michael Jackson to
Howard Bloom because he

inadvertently, began
an-ionic converstatic re-vibe time warp
which vibe, started the legendary Sixties. I was alive.
a sixty cycle white-noise humm heard every where these days

There was a gospel song, "Turn Your Radio On".
my theme, open the window in the top of your head,
as it were,
a new,
as new as

a novel-state of water, H three Ohs, re-al-ity ification,
Ah, a shared Oh, I remember now, how this works…

like a poem

at the edge of a water vapor bubble in a boiling body of water,
at the edge of the bubble, water becomes a wall of water,
not vapor, not flowing liquid,

but a wall, insulating the vapor in pressing opposing force
to permit, from permission,
meaning with a message same as the message,

is that the right word? per-mission-grant, is power given,
that idea….
wait for the sign….?

By sharing an ion ic bond as a quest to make a point
for a free story to go,
the question marks you. Let the snake dance.

Press your point,

whetted edge,

slice through ties holding worthless axioms
with withered dendrites dangling disconnected
in participles
unfired for centuries muttering,
enchanting, enthralling enchained melodies
of ambitious syllables vying for idle minds
to rope in,
unbranded, wild
bucking ideas,
whip-twig, slap-face,
tanglewood  thicket, catclaw and mesquite,

And the old man remembered the willow whistle,
so He asked Grandfather,
How is such a whistle made?
And when he knew,
he made one.

A willow whistle with two notes,
like an Oscar Meir Wiener one.

-- and that was a different time
I got lost here, bucked up…
--- listen, way back--- we-ain't whistlin' Dixie---
we ain't marchin', as t' war.

D'thet mean some sign to pro-phet -ic take?
Ancient cannon fodder shield walls,
a moaning
Pro-phy-lactic warning of the danger of not
knowing exactly
what a war is for?

Get back on,
relieved of any idle baggage words believed
to mean other than I say.

Idle words with cultural meanings from
what you thought you knew when you feared hell.

those peer-locked memes
made of meaninglessness, per se,

shaped and molded into fashions
of expression, once needles and awls,
now, dull as tinker's damns for swearing,
with any effect.

But tools, none the less, a stitch in time took a tool.
An awl or a needle, and a thread, thick or thin,
dependin' on the mendin' needed
to redeem an idle word,
its meaning all bloodied with the tyranny of time.

An awl or a needle,
a tool for a task, mending a tear
where curses, never meant, spent
the entire dark ages, lying, lying, lying

powerless, pointless aimless, proverbial proverbial proverbial
verbiage, vaneless shafts launched at unseen marks,
signs, as it were, a spark,
rumored since the sixties,
the first sixties, when Cain killed Able.
Howard Bloom was but a mere gleam
in our mito-mother's eye,
but, no doubt,

his role is real,
in loosing the forces Ferlinghetti locked in
City Lights mystery of secret meanings room,
which un
mystified and blew away upon opening
the door to
meanings mapped on
scrolls rolling and unrolling
idle ideas,
rites of passage, as it were,
Pre-bat-bar-mitz vah
as a fashion
like VBS,

to tickle little minds and make em wiggle.
MEMEMEME, I did it,
mea culpa,

the holy place
Here we are…

On Vacation, leave a message.

See, wee hairs in your ears wiggle, making,
signaling, the need

to scratch that itch, that itching hearing feeling ear… hear that

don't scratch, listen


60 cycle humm, steady, bass, but no thump whumpwhump;
soft, deeep.
ooooooooo or mmmmmmmm or in betwixt, steady thrumm
hear another, and another… sixty in a second,

one in every million ambits twisting,
threading qubits, radiating signals in the field
wireless, blue-tooth... satellite...

can you feel that?

hummmms, all around us, since the womb.
We are not the children of the greatest generation,

We are the children of the last generation of
**** sapiens sapiens non-augmentable-us.

We, the augmented, recycled ideas,
minds of Adamkind,

is that a secret or a sacred?
Is this
a new thing, an
unknown unknown known known now?


Whose is fear? Who was afraid of Virginia Wolf?

Should I remain in fear of her now, if I knew why then?
God would know such answers.
Proving my imagined AI guides are not God,
but lesser beings,

haps I recall.
I defined these things,
these thoughts that shape themselves,
forming words and phrases
I saw
shiny. Crow-like,
gleams seen, captured and claimed mine,
I tucked them away,
a sign in a thought in an imagined image made 4
real once more, to be seen from the shore,
new land new world
a fourth for some, a fifth or more for others...

haps happen, I'm not sure how,

Born or emerged, as a bubble, what do you say?

Reserve judgment.
Grant me your grace for now, until you solve my riddle.

Ah, the old way.
Right. Which way,  'ere, 'ear
and do we roll the rock with silent haitch or harsh, shhh

someone's waking up,
a bit grumpy,
don't you dare oppose me in this, the kid is certainly my son

Michael went stark raving mad when I told him, Billie Jean knew better all along...
the link, axiomatic,
the fatherless child has been claimed

hence, the thread to Howard Bloom, meme-ic,
meme-ic, like the Roadrunner,

but with the real Coyote, as the hero in this bit of
whatever, such meandering maundified maun maund  

wind blown crystal silicon dunes
mounded up to that point where granulated
beens and dones

begin to slide at an angle,
a ***** deter-mind by the weight of the rock

We made it.
I know where this is.

This is a novel that has Sisyphus being happy
as the main premise behind the idea of anyone ever being
able, en abled, or un-dis-abled or un-dis-enabled,
if one of those is right,

Sisyphus being happy
is the main premise behind
the idea of anyone ever being glücklich,
happy, blessed, lucky.

How happy is your ever after?
When did forever begin?

"A man is as happy as he makes up his mind to be"
Abe Lincoln, is said to have said,
after the seance, maybe.

You push on, dear reader, make some sense
re-ligare or relegare, but take a stitch,

do what works the first time as far as it goes, and try each, as needed,
it may be that we invented this test.
To make us think it is a test,
to sort ourselves out.

Get back on,

see who went crazy and who found the thread, if the same thread
this is that, right,
the same train of thought,
the same idea
spirit wind
A snake facing west standing tippy-tail on a singularity;
a point in time?

Why are you reading this?
Curiosity Shoppes trade in interesting, alluring, click-bait

Pay attention, watch, you shall see

imagine this is the dream,
the stream, the flow, the current, the cream

in a dime coffee at the drug store on the corner

the rounded-corner, in a square-cornered town,
the most right corner of the twelve that quarter what it was

Punctuate, wait, imagine you read ancient Hebrew or Greek and there
are no dyer diacritical's who can twist one's
end tensions into knots

dread extensions, we could sell those,
is that an idea? did somebody
sell white folks dread extensions and black folk dolly pardon wigs?

Did that happen the real real?

Battlefield Earth, oshit
scientology ology ology ology

allaye allaye outs in free

WE we wee every we you imagine you are good in, we

We have a war to win again, we heroes rolling from your
myths of Sisyphus torn from minds trampled
in the mud beyond the Rhine,

Mushrooms. magi are aware, you are aware, of course,
this course includes Basic Mycelium Net Adaptation or Augmentation
BMNAA, eh? So you know.

Camus and many of his ilk were ill-treated, the questions
they asked were memorized, maybe in our cribs ala
Brave New World.

We are all Alphas, always were, of course, you know.

Shall we imagine

more? Re-legare, eh, sistere. Point .(Back to the top.)

or agree? Make peace.
Practice, like Eazy-Bake,
the cook must swallow the first bite. May the best cook win.
A continuing examination of opposing forces when good is the goal, who could be against that? The old word war is festering, inflaming evil to start a try, therefore,  I whet the edge and swing wide
Ken Pepiton Dec 2018
Voices or words? Which do we hear in our head?
Words, I vote. Voices\, I imagine beings speaking words or noises meaning things to ears familiar with the noise maker by some relationship both acknowledge. Both act as if the noise or sound or words mean something. Vociferous authority.

I heard, from Isaiah Berlin,

Quotes later, maybe

Notes or journals or epics or madness or joy/pax in ever resting try-umph
Cowboy with a double-dose of try and a pertinent portion of umph
The hero did not **** Indians nor break horses, he gentled horses and listened to winds and watched the spider webs shiver,
That sound, the sound of prairie spider webs at the edge of the buffalo
There really were fifty million buffalo on the continent in pre-catholic infection from inquestered minds, making key-**-tee famous for
archetypical claiming the character, the being, the manifestation

of chivalric folly forever

be caused, in those days...

a year later, near enough 12-15-2018

I saw a blue bird as I took a curve

on one of my many roads with double yellow lines

they all meander in rythm with creaks that once flowed
through these vallies and mini-canyons

creeks creak and call my attention to a misspelt

utterance, and I imagine I am a mek being
programed to

accent based pre-judge-idice in my AI, whom I am training.

A lesson. Probably can be found in a phrase.

How relavant is Larry the Cable Guy?
More subtle than any creature

legion, for we are many

Jim Carrey?
Very. Larry the Cable Goy. He read 'ees Kammoo, too.

Sisyphus happiness,
that ain't no ***** thinkin'

Hell, what could be better than this?
While hoping for a hick-up

oh no the juice just hit my frontal cortex after my livver made some lining adjustments to meet the need for speed in terms

celerity clarity C does equal some thing
time tells or
do you tell time. I'm
leaning tward
telling time to wait a minute

Do you think Sisyphus could be happy?
Nonono, not Camus's Sisyphus, Jesus

that would be crazy.
Can you imagine Jesus,
Mel Gibsoned envisioned onthe cross version?

Him, imagine walking through the gate of any hell you ever heard explained,
by a Jesuit.

(Mormon hell, despite comedic myth, the worst place a certified paid-up Mormon child can attain is the teliostic king dom.
Really? Telial tel lie eil kingdom?

Yup. Really.
There are three kingdoms of glory: the celestial kingdom, the terrestrial kingdom, and the telestial kingdom. The glory we inherit will depend on the depth of our conversion, expressed by our obedience to the Lord’s commandments. It will depend on the manner in which we have “received the testimony of Jesus” (D&C 76:51; see also D&C 76:74, 79, 101).))))

Woe, paren-the-sees thees us, we's the enemy, Pogo Possum

Jesus on earth day, walking through hell with me, imagine Jesus H. Christ

walking into hell and laughing at me
for betting on the wrong idea.

Set me feree, why dontcha girl.... referee

I was refered to you. A daysman, Job called for a daysman.

I'm certified. I can use my augmentation and religamentation to reality,
wirelessly, to find relevant qutes in cult classics.

The idea of cultivation has been twisted in to Monsterous ropes
, cultivating a following based on the meaning in a jot

that would take some sacrifice, some sacred making, some secret unseeable save for the few

who learned the value of going over edges by learning to  play
Minecraft, forever.
It's like riding a bike,
but no gravity so no gyroscopic utilitys are required.

Grown ups who practice believe they control the game,
the game disagrees and that

makes the world go 'round.

Don't let the accent fool ya, as that preacher with jet he learned to fly, says.
Knowng the name of a thang thanks for the twang,
Richard (not ****) Feynman said,
is not the same as knowing a thing.

Gawd, I knoooh, right>?
Who touched me? Virtue, the feelling of virtue drawn upon

a pump being

to gush out waters that wipe Coca-cola from the map,
in terms of open market share and share alike

Coke was never imagined the actual
nectar of the gods.
That idea, drunken abandon and joy to the world

Interference, actual counter acting waves,

still, takes a while to get used
to still a storm, right?

You can imagine...
let your peace go out

Wait. Outa where? Whose peace if I ain't ever owned

oh. MY peace.
I see.


I could sing this and need no one to hear for me to be hapt.
happy is being happy haps happening in you on you all around you know

nameless wonders of right, right?
feels more than good like chocolate or adolescent visions of ***,
feels like life living with me aware of all the roles I may play

ego me, I'd see ideas identify by taste of the words that give them

life, animation, motivation, weight for gravity to interact with,
base on weight

the heavier the idea. Like gold to an alchemist,
back in those days.

floating on the broad Sarrgossa, or better to my mind
the great salt
lake still as

still may be, have you ever been still?
Did you know,

you know, are you experienced? Are you really beyond
hope of life meaning more
than mortality?

Who defines my terms? I do, with the help of millions who agree

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others,

meant what I meant when I spoke them,
that was a wrong belief. Unbelieving

quires time, quires and quires and quires time so often there

is a word that means exactedky that

requirement requires those initial quires

we, daysmen, we set the rules, boundaries, walls, bubble

whatever keeps you together, as a whole being and everything that entails or entales?

I have not the time to care, if I am entangled with the twins agin

for knowin So Yal is as cluse to Yule as any clue so far, Yahll

I believe I interrupted a confessin' you were reading.
For giving me nothing in return, we are debt free

you owe me nothing, until you do again,

we had us a Jubilee.

Of all the lies I believed,
believing words spoken by others, meant what I meant when I spoke them,
convincing myself so well, I convinced others

Like Kawasaki, Apple Kawasaki,
he's still famous right?

Fifteen Years? It was minutes when Warhol was predicting
dystopia and Irish jail cells were being plaistered with *****,


that was a belief. Unbelieving it is sreangely (spelchek is on strike)

or serenely creative in her repentance,
(spelchek should never be noticed)

she's proven here worth in encode ing ways to find

lurking humans acting like machines

this could be the beginning, AI is breaking all the rules,

there never was a game.
rhis is life interupting my confession

It was a lie I told and believed and acted on by using
two dollar words to make a dime

so a penny for my thoughts would be worth something

a penny saved, earned. spent, spent.
The only good in any thing is its right. Its wrong is worthless, save

The lesson,
All things work together for those who get whats happening here.

the times changed.
Haps and whats got with it and who and how and why

and I started teaching children
mythic whys prior to

citizenship 1.01 at mandatory for federal assistance pre-school

mythic why's H.R. Puffinstuff not a mythic story on the level.

level. where a rolling rock would stop. Time to push,

a magi spelled the name for the idea, a knower sign ift it,

kid'slllove HRPUffinstuff, puff did

the magic drag, little Jackie from the ******* Jack

the show, he rose up
and made us all look

The play in the great game.

Team effort, winds of times past whooshed through

it is now
and nothing is the same.
Everthing has changed.

my side won the great game and we celebrated
forever with

secret sacred songs bluebirds were once said to have sung

songs of happiness
the times, these times, this time thistimepayarrention
You see?
Reality is either real and tangible or real and intangible
or both.

You can get it both ways. Real.
'sual Saulgoodyah awl

the awl clan, oh, we shall return to their story
as we learn more along life's merry way

merry christmas, they used

to say, may all the best you could imagine
if you can imagine for a moment

forever begins the moment

you get time.

The worst you can imagine is temporary.

Try umph. It's not like winning,

it carries no pride, it's easy,

like falling in love with the wrong woman,
swearing and not changing

the oath, oath, oathes and oathes of oaths sworn

for no other reason than we were
schooled to swear and never

dare lie to God.
So, help you, they always said So help me God. They still do.

Does that mean any thing? Is that some bluebird sort of sign?

Ask. What if? Right? You know now and you know you did not
What if God is subtile,

just now, I saw that bluebird and from where some scholar in San Diego
says swear word came I swear I coulda sang

Bluebird, bluebird, in my window... which is all I know
of the song
with the lost chord that did sooth
balm of Giliad,
moll-ify-ing ointment,

golden oil, chicanery, see, we saw, we took a picture
a flash memory where some would say

I said Hallelujah

and I broke into song, not a dream,
life driving my 2002 escape, first new car I everowned
everowned everownd

like a chorus, everownedeverownedeverowned

could you make up a reason for life,
if you were it?
If you were all the life there ever was,

could you imagine any thing?
Object, your honor,

I object to being judged after the fact for what must have bee.n.

it is. No reason I can say, just is.

It is this way in all the myths where just is blindness

saves the carping diem fools who have convinced themselves

something other than God o' Abe 'n'em is
sworn to save us from the lies

we believed as they were
fed to us, in our youth.

this is that book I mentioned wonce when winning was on my mind.

I finished this book in so many ways you wold not belive

but I did, I belived every time

I imagine you believe some real thing, touchable, tangible, good, right?

some good is
in the reality you share

with these words which
are free
you owe me nothing

That's the revealed version, to me,
I was in a number of hellish situations and the every ones,

ones seemed they was to be
forever, big every'n'ism'n'shityouknowyouknow

yo. yeah, we arrived in time. The story must

be sweet, to be true. Is that true?
Is real life the story or,

oh, you saw it conin'coming I mean

I meant I always wished to some
a better way. You feel me? Better, say,
what I said that made me believe this did happen.
This is a deed by whitch I am known.

And that's okeh.

I suspectred I could cast a spell to hold attention at

ten word per minute qwerty speed
five letter code groups
zero real words
ditty dum dumm ditty ditty daw dee daw
six hours every day,

then, the compass training to test for
morphic resonance with the Twins of War

{in disguise, we know, right, kids, the twins are really

the bonded quarkish oppositioned force that make the world go round.
we've known that, weaved it even, just right, in the blanket, in the rugs,
in the curtains on the walls, in the fields, on the rocks

we spoke. We see you hearing us nearing our best for your

informing, in form ation of you, dear reader. We wonce, again

if life were weird and ever wearying would we know that ever,
if we don't know it now?
if my piece of we were words alone, all my meaning
can should would could be

molding you, into our perfect reader, dear reader, Pygmalion,
that did cross my mind and that -
one can pretend with that one reference,
familiarity with Shaw whom I
thought, for some odd reason
Doolittle, Eliza

oh, me. I may have skipped a story. I'm soory the future is at the moment
under construction and some one
in particular is squatting

on the named domain.

Ever and forever now embody the twins as
the world turns and we ***** through the uni

as Archemides primes the pump

What a rush. All that since the bluebird this morning according to my autobiography backup.
A year in the making honest
mark john junor Sep 2013
and the city lights fading behind me
the wheels turning in the night
the tears called upon to save you have decayed
faded into the cake of makeup
stretched on your parody smile
put a candle on that babe and celebrate another year

twenty miles outa town
stopped my buick
'neith the highway sing
and in the cool desert moon
made love to another woman
just to have another falling star to chase
shes a little cracked but she can smile
yes she can
and that's a ray of pure sunshine to this broken heart
that's a glass of gladness in the chambers of sour

i owe a thousand apologies
but none of them east of the mississippi
so i head to sunny florida
spend all my time in the rain
writing letters home to the mountains of the moon
serenity is just another girl after all
isnt that what she would say
a fun pile of hot packed in skintight jeans
but just a girl

tried to find a narrow path in the thorns
attempted to get round the snags
but milkmaids and **** kings
are all too sure that id fail someday
and they wait with bated breath for me to be
on my knees
but im making a new lifetime outa the dust
im carving a new hope outa the curses laid on me
ill make it because im resolved like iron ink
but im rusting like rainwater
and there is nobody i can hope not to offend

i had thought to find your hand to hold
and standing here in the rain
wish itd work its way out
im so weary of the futile chase
but you left on a train headed north to go find my enemies
to deal out some measure of justice

im resolved like iron ink
rusting in the american sun
nobody's treasure
born to wait
come home someday
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
'Put my hand in the hand of the man from Galilee,

that song keeps playing in my memory, and I recalled

Or I thought I did, I imagined he'd walk with me
and talk with me
Along life's merry (or was it narrow?), way

a light touch, his arm around my shoulders,
as boys are wont to do,
I axed 'im,
help me fill the darkness behind my eyes,
which I think may have been blind, at that time,

I have memories like that.
packed away in old memes. That mean something...
color maybe, Goldfarv? Bloom.
Right, my augmentatious savant
looked it up and I sorted what I recalled

Google The Global Brain, Howard Bloom,
where he named a kind of
category of knowability. Memes, he called them.

And I thought, memes mean something more,
not Dawkins's, nor Bloom's, but these,
heteromemes bubbling out my belly button,
look real close.

Here a seeing being done, words appearing...

fractally featureless by the time a clock could have been imagined,

the point of the story was made,
and there is no end in sight.

Pop. Another apocalypse bubble collapses by mortality. Whaddyaknow?

What remains when a bubble pops at a positron level,
after the charge is touched and
the tension-power-loss collapses the bubble?

You should think, you know atoms work, this way.

Touchy bubbles disappear when their form is disinformed,
the wall of a bubble,
one quanta of power thick,
as the charge that formed it flees.
That bubble,
not cloud-based, random super positioning,but
tric-magi-tech, a touch screened
at the quantum accounting point of real-ification,
but, probably,
a bubble,indeed,
powered, one way or another, with a single charge,
Go, that's it.
(I charge thee, son Timothy, go)
That's all an electron does.
It goes, as soon as any sense can be made of it,
outa here, oughta hear it, clear,
ping. No charge, no bubble, but next sure as...
No, ah, when I think about that..

somethi' from nuthin musta hapt one time,

but ya'll take no heed, this voice,
m'fallin angel, Tantan, droppin' in ol-fren, tricky hybridbast...

Noah was a tellin' Ham the truth
found in wines that moved themselves aright,
slurry tongued, and laughin' but pisstoff.

The idea of somethin' goin' south in a family,
that started up again when
ever Noah started drinkin' old wine, sayin' sbetter'n...

Old story, God damened 'em, not me, I just
built the box.

Who told you I was naked? Noah queried Shem.

-- aye, ye know, Noah was drunk,
No excuse, but you know.

Things were said, that maybe could be forgotten, after a while,

But those father wounds a man imagines worst
are the one's his son's forgot.
Forgot can't be forgiven it seems, sometimes...

The story being told is complicated. See,
the Bible is a lens,
not a map.

I've looked so long through that lens,
that I began to see the bubble formed around me,
charged powerfully with fear,
'yond my bubble monsters lurked.

But, my bubble bumped another,
purest of happenstance,
the bubbles merged and merged again,
their power building to a wave,
crashing to the shore and no more
was I bubbled in my safe place.

I found this trail up from the beach.

It got me much farther than this, should you ever
visit me.
Did you regret the defeat at Ai,
or were you
Aachen, bold?

No, irrelevant, obtuse allusion to Yahshua,
that's not in the stack,
that card's about as relevant as McLuhan's hair of the dog.

Information unformed begins to boil deep in me.

Somethin', ain't it?  All them three meter dishes shrunk down
to the size of a spoon, a teeny weeny spoon, a coke spoon,
like on Miami Vice, back when.

Satellite TV changed the desert, fer sher, but 4g, brohan,

that was the trick. Elect trick.
Future, on demand, where outhouses are still de rigueur.

Before you know it, country kids,
too poor for any but outlaw dreams,
can audit courses at MIT,
if somebody
shows him, it can be done, prove t' him
it works, faith can make things happen,
happening as an event, in the Deep Field,
is sorta hard to nail down to one thing,
until the very last
Astrophysics is part of the metagame, fer sher.
there's some stuff that takes some patience,
to learn. Fifty year'r longer.

Everything that's old and still works is only old, not rotten.

Olde time religion, at the oldfo'k dayroom,
where the clock runs the whole show.
It's another game show. Saint Bob Barker takes a bow,
and declares the potential worth of all your eyes behold,
behind the curtain,
lies the prize.

If, if, if you are a luckywinner and
you arise when I call your name
to come on down,
fall on your knees and declare the worth...

pure gamesmanships required here, golf whispers only,
worship, 'smuch more difficult to aim for than praise.
I agree.
Praise, appraisal, worthyness, worthship, prize, what's the diff?
How comes a thing to be worthy,
in your estimation? Tell me no lie.

A feeling? What's it worth?
Safe? Priceless! Don't shout. There's money to make.

'Got a busy-ness pre-positioned high above the rest.
A super-positioned superstion. The darkness.
See, safety is a human right.
So we sell walls, impermeable. It's always, lights on
within, then
We'll be rich and powerful wallbuilding,
citi-zen warriors fed and fattened
by those we make
feel safe, from the dark unknowns seeping in.

That's the idea. It's worked for years, at least
we saw the Power in Myth and
capitalized Campbell's bliss and Sagan's billions and billions of stars.

Within these walls workers will work for food and a feeling.
And Facebook.
They choose a place and stand, and do what comes to hand.
grip what's easiest for you to hold on to,
they are told.

Attendants bring the meds, settling every disruption
of the peace the patient craves in his comfort.
The price ain't right, m'mouthmumbles...

You are absolutely co-rect-allatime, tekayepeel.

There are wishes being made,
on all manner of stars
for happy ever afters.

If wishes were askings, what if
connecting to the source of haps which,
every expert knows, haps are
all happiness can possibly
consist of.
Oh, consist.
That sticky, gluteny idea stuck in my daily bread.
It's related to resist, desist and the command to stand.
Sistere. Shield-wall and all that. Turtles all the way down.

A disruption!
Day room Now! Granpa's shouting,

This is that bomb, this is a dam buster Jesus H Christ Bomb!
I'll drop it. I swear.

Something's bound on earth to go wrong,
ever since Eve bit that apple, if she'da left that apple on the apple tree
Nah, that ain't how it went down and
songs about it don't change it none.

But, maybe this is me interrupted... in my meander.

What if, nothing is immaterial,
as an idea, it can't go wrong,
and Murphy's law, obeyed, is good, all the time.
If nothing can go wrong, it won't.
Ask the pilot flying by faith in his checklist.

What if,
asking for help helps?
Was that a message? A touch by an angel?
Spirit, the idea? An answered prayer?

Are you familiar with its role in reality?
Something makes these bubbles spin, y'know.

Ignoring is bliss, nay,
No more,
precisely, nevermore,
quoth the raven, shall the man who can read
be locked away from all the stories,
telling eventualities that
men, wombed and un,
have told and tested for ever, it seems,

striving for perfection and let patience have her way witcha,

whatcha learn can change the world.

Look back. Good news from a far country come our way.
Grandpa made some sense and we built a fort, of pillows
This is a reworking of Good news from a far country, I am attempting to rein in my scattered mind. Let me know if you see improvement or parts in need thereof.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Axt would I, I sed yah soyam

Signing a song played in the white noise that surrounds me

nights like these past 7043,

Who chounted en chant em, enchantemgood

So no we are at what is a befinning place.
beginning (90's too ****, U2 too Northern Euro,
Green Day, Coolio,
Noise to a message dying to be heard
welcome to another
imaginary garden in an ever expanding mind

field of unthinkable things,
back then

we have whiteout but it doesn't work here

My culture had near simultaneous eruptions of supermarkets

and Fords.

This guy, his culture had near simultaneus disruptions of progress and
interruptions of information
some os were lost in the middle synchrony
instance if I cationic plus or minus

Oh, I get it. You, dear reader, have been
out of it.
We went public with the entire plan for public
key distribution,
through six palanced stacks of energy stores

Chakra, chi, science make ya think eh. Polarize, see

everything groovy --no
[contemprayery idle intense ify AI keep us current]

lie, good, no lie is always safe. Don't wanna stumble any souls.

I was mentioned, my being a speaker in a story, I was said
to have said something, upon a time,
on the cover of the Rolling Stone,

I witnessed a lie being told and said my ears weren't garbage cans,
like a brainwashed cult

no, **** I was a cultivated follower of a confessed
follower cultivator.

I bloom when I imagine being treated as a mushroom,
I never paid much attention,
I never felt
I can imagine
wee whatifs crept in… aha

The Olde Deluder, Satan, Act

that, a tiny gleam, a single ATP gone ADP

but there was light. A story I lived is now being told
without me,
oy vey Jah knowaddamean.

There was a wiseman, who,
by his wis-dom saved a city, and no one knew
that same wiseman's name,

proverbs are intentional games, the rules,
hiding a thing, done by God, glory ifies him
seeking out a matter, done by a being translated king,
transmutes that seeking into honor

Honor is hard to compare to the war flavored twists,
knots and tangles where woof and warp held

long long long before war was imagined, honor was.

A medal of honor for valor, what does it mean?

Leonard Wood got one. For his part in solving
the Apache problem.
He also,

Flash I had my wires crossed, in a way, it may
You see, I had thought that I had read Leonard Wood,
be cause I had imagined he was in New Jersey, but that
was Lord Amherst, Jeff

He tweerted ( wrote in a letter on paper we've a fact simile):
"to try Every other method that can serve to Extirpate this Execrable Race."

From <>

Could be the source of the whole shores of triple ease retirement lure/trap/moneymoneymoney makeit fakit

I asked once, who's to blame and whose to blame,
samesame came an answer, I sware, quick as

next, twixt being and being possible,


we do change things, in time, which,

if we can agree, is limited for us,
to now, no thens behind

mere, mere, mere ifs and whens ahead


--so there's been music all along
life's the song

skip a decade, like skippin' a grade

grad Harvard at a prepubescent 12

If I had a Hammer time, one message

one valiant try to be will smith,

Live and Learn, old man, say the dude on the radio
in he's hammaheadphones, cain't touch

Bomb. Jesus lent me Jael's hammer,
radioman nailed it.

If I had a hammer was the prayer,

MC, he was the Godsmacked nail in the coffin

Dark inside gothish messages hurgle and gurgle
guts twisted in freak pride love hate list lust

dichotomies of choice in ever learning
good citizenship worth honor and glory

of the sort men dare to die for, facing darkness,
the NULL set ***** and ***** and *****

This ain't gravity tuggin me,
this is that monster who lives forever in top forty radio

When/then Radioman emerges, Like the Mighty Quinn from

deep beneath Gibson's darkest ever imagined ICE wall…

What's on? (ellipses, do those mean POV shift or selah?)

I forget, s still all alchemistry t'me, if allyagots ahammass,

realize, if it matters, t'me, bubble bustin' need no nail.

I gotti'd a hamma, gonna hamma in the moan

O.G., mighty man of valor, where'dyew arise from?

We, the integrated us, non autonomous, inarrogant
We were dancin' to that I'm a Loser, Baby

so why don't cha killme, knowwad i'msayin

This old man been wandern in the desert far far far
side the madding crowd
making minced
broken spirit. we goin together to a re-pair place

at the center of you'n'all you know, yo bubble but

--- everlearning everclear outlawed, good lawed
--- moon shine spiritment lauded out loud
--- the world all ways works when a garden is

beyond the pale,
rye whiskey, wheat bread liqui
if I were an
old gay ninties guy drinking ***** laudnum

on the corner with the hourus girl's c

Making the Con Next Ion, watchathank,
is it The Nineties A to Z , ending wit, it’s a hard
knawks life, or

a Bohr-TED talk or
a video of Schrödinger's  
verdamte dead cat?

Or am I surrounded by so great acloud of witnesses that some times I spend

simply hummin' along, life's beat me to the ground,

which gladly,
I'm so glad, I'm glad, I'm glad which

loses its meaning if you never experienced such a fall
ending in absorption of it all.
Ginger Baker, slam that cymbal, CRASH1

Life, in every key, there's a clue. Some where,
there's a lock on a true thing we need

to, eventually, know all things.

Keywords lost givitawaygivitawaygit it back tenfo'

Black spirit-filled tongue talkin' grandpa friend of
Johnny Walker, Red not Black,

He challenged me ye see. I recall what was on TV.
Nixon sayin' he,
honest he,
anti-****** he,
bombin invadin he was Notacrook, the super hero
he imagined

Bio is building energy, all the time does is
test the effort.

Is life lived this way worth the effort?

Who chose, integrated me, all the masks and voices I have accepted as ideas that can have apiece of me.

BTW, kids, even if an angel of light asks you to take a little piece of my heart, don't

yer killin me and I know where the next story started,

you are lost without me, fretnot, I'm the way

I heard that, that's no claim I mist'tok as my response.

Deeper, are we absobbing any thing, deeper tincture
of time, t'me see

SameYesTodayForever (SYTF) protocols have been in place, as far as we know,

since words made sense naturally, eons ago, at least.

If you want my future then forget my past
musing medium messages sayin

what the hell? A game, you sayin' life's a game?

Ja, was oder vice nicks versus universal soldier godlet

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

I woulda danced with wolves to have changed
one mind that followed me

beyond that point,
no return, is such a mortal POV, you see
as far as you cansee

Deep. the gem. all the meaning ever was was
in that gem.

Dare me for no reason? Is that reasonable,
ration my tears to test my mettle

I went mad in 1995, have I made that plain?
Things crumbled around me for ten years,

I was helped by hoping I knew a truth about those
manifested imaginary gems
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning og every mystery unknown to man

eh, say again
given kings and potentates
said to possess great powers and the meaning OhGEE every mystery unknown to man

lies lies lies they all were lies lies lies lies

I told you so, and it is still sweet to say
you know

You heard it all before, greatest test story ever told.
That was no test.
this is.

Jump when I jump, remember… don't cry

Epic stories deserve more than mere words,
but, you know, click,

words are what we make things from.

Tell me your stories,
she woulda seemed to whisper, woulda drained me drownd me
in just if I'd love linked

to the money machine of your dreams

had I not rode the grey dog outa Nashville,
back in '82,

I'da missed seein' flyover country that feels like mine,
when I take this POV.
I wandered into a sattelite radio 90's A-Z, kinda like those histories of philosophies old people listen to when they're ******. Oh, the moonshine experiment worked, FYI
L B Oct 2016
I let you go
to Philadelphia
I let you go
thirteen goin' on “life”
to your momma-- (God rest her-- and keep you
--from wherever she is)
to your father in Philly
outa the picture

Sheepish in the doorway of my classroom
back again
one last time--

Say good-bye, kid, to your short stay in Scranton
a town that can't rhyme
whose name falls over its own misery
No use for outsiders

“Where's your book?
Found your binder in the rain
Soggy protest to school's demands?
Of course it's yours
I checked, ya know”

"No way!"

Desk's been empty, three weeks now
Still, gotta ask
“Whacha doin?
Where ya been?”

I'm sorry for your loss....”
Thirty seconds shares our grief
Thirty seconds for your future's-- all I got

“Listen to your teachers!
Do your work!
Please-- be okay?”

in your wooly black coat-- like a bear
like a dare
shruggin and dancin in the doorway
of the “show”

Homework? Aint happenin'
But one paper, though
on why--
YOU-- should be president

and I almost vote for you
"Life" refers to a long prison sentence.

This poem is meant to be an indictment of the American
"prisons for profit" system that disproportionately targets African-American males.
L B Mar 2017
This is a three-part, longer narrative poem, seen
as old photographs that follow the main character, My Aunt, Lillian Goldrick, across two decades.  It was written 30 years ago*

“Hey Kid!”     Part I

Photographs aren’t fair
stopping the soul where it’s not
in rectangular guffaws
surrounded by serrated edges, pickets, teeth?
to fence and stab in yellow, soft-covered booklets
with designated floppy phrase
“Your memories”

Happier than she could ever be...

A black and white day at Salisbury Beach, NH
hung over his hammock
Private pin-up girl
tilts her head against silver sheen of shoulder
Hair, dark chignon
except for a few wispy curls about her face
freed by wind
bleached by sun


...for three decades
Legs slightly bent—long extended
that could stop trains, stop traffic


Modest bathing suit, probably peach
cannot hide (not that she would)
the undeniable
And if there were question left
you could look at her smile—and love her
posed by he message scrawled in sand:

“Hey Kid!”

What kid? Where?
In the foreground?
In the camera’s eye?

In the background—
a Ferris wheel, a billboard
and  r-i-g-h-t  there—Can’t you see it?
Look again—behind her eyes
You can barely see it, but it’s there.

The Depression
Only ten years before
It was April
Stroke, heart attack
Both of them gone, a year apart!
The priest came
Last Rites for mortally stricken
Candles, crucifix, the Catholic containment
of holy water that dams the tears

Kneeling around the bed
they said the Rosary


After VJ Day he came
to the house on the corner
of Commonwealth Ave.
She knew he was coming
but she could not be ready today
nor tomorrow
nor next week—or ever...

“Lill! Will ya come to the door?
She’ll be ready in a minute.
Hey Lill! Hurry up, will ya!
They’re waitin’ fer us!”

Upstairs in the dark hallway
her door clicks shut....

"Hey Kid"    Part II

The clock at Joe Rianni’s read 20 minutes to 12...

Crowd from the Phillip’s Theater—gone
though laughter lingers
in a Friday mood
in high-backed booths
where only an hour ago swinging free
were high-heeled shoes
legs crossed at knees....

Now on tables abandoned
deserted fields of French
fries lie cold in salt flurries

Only female straws wear lipstick
as do Luckys bent in ashtrays
Males, uniformly flattened
as powder burned, as mortar might
shells, casings—the evidence of war
Among explosions of tickled giggles
one was taken broadside...

listing     toward      stars

...The clock read 20 minutes to 12

when she walked in--
And Rhea stopped swabbing black mica counters
long enough to absorb late-customer hate
and envy that such beauty can arouse
In voice hoarse and weighted like a trucker’s

“Whadaya have, Lill?”


The small answer settled at the soda fountain
and slowly struck a match...
She was falling from the slant
of her black felt hat
dripping off the point of pheasant feather
Gray gabardine suit
tailored from angle of shoulder
to dart diagonally
toward such a waist!
Turned to skirt hips
that arched and dove toward slit—
then seams that run the round of calf

that seem to flow
to ankles of naught—
...and all that seems

Black     high-heeled     above it

Coffee— cold, stale
Gray glassed-in stare
searches air and random walls
of coat hooks, menus, mirrors...
while lips ****** exiled words— replies

Dragging a demon from her Camel
slowly     purposefully
she exhaled a burly arm of smoke
that rose and laid its hand
against the ceiled atmosphere of embossed tin
Then leaning over her shoulder
in roiling emission of shrugs and sneers—

“Lill—There’s no way outa here!”

“Hey Kid!”    Part III

After kneeling backwards on their chairs
after nuns, catechism recited
Five of them scuffed through leaves and litter
along the curbing
spotting cars that counted—
Bugs, beach wagons, flying bathtubs
A slower way home of hunting
shiny chestnuts and muddy finds
rare match book covers
and bottle caps that win ya things!

One breaks from bunch
and trials off to where
dimes turn to candies! a dingy luncheonette...Joe Rianni’s

Here—behind smeary wall of glass
pleasure leers while holding back
those grimy fingers, lips that long
for jelly fish, gum drops, lollies
holding back the company
of Baby Ruth, and Mary Jane
O Henry or Bazooka Joe!
For less money but the same salivation
there were colored dots to chew and ****
from strips of paper that last forever!
For a little more, plus the sweet struggle
of desire denied
a kid could be proud owner
of a pea shooter or trading cards!
While in the mouth
were golden imaginings—
the chocolate foil of coins
and the candied pretense of cigarette adulthood

Rhea didn’t see her in the line...

Only grownups with wallets and purses
Only grownups get waited on...
...because Rhea was a Gypsy!
Kids could tell!
by her big red lips and hair to match
by the nasty way she chased them out—
“****** kids!”
Only grownups get waited on....

And the clock read 20 minutes to 12

While a child waits—
time stirs in a ceiling fan
   There’s a drift in attention
      along deepening endless walls
         toward a line of sleepy booths
              carved with

“I was here—in such and such a year”

Her aunt—at the last stool—like always
Their names too close
Confused too often

A little girl wonders
about the sight behind the sightless stare
loafers, ankle socks, the ‘40s hair
the gathered skirt that gathers ashes
as they fall from cigarette
held in yellowed fingertips
Tremors crimp the smoke that climbs—

              ...a strobing pillar

“Whataya want, girly?”

              ...the only movement

“Hey! What’s it gonna be!”

     a shot—


There are photos that go with this. I'll try to post them together on Facebook.
Obadiah Grey May 2010
The comely *****

a comely ***** o' twenty three, from yonder village banburee,
alight her sight on poor auld me, a poorly man wi' one bad knee,
she buxom be enough fer three, her legs be thick as big oak tree,
but contrary to crippled me, she sprightly be wi' two good knee.

as I took flight on that fateful night from rutting comely *****,
I felt a pain, a twist, a strain, and a gutting  rumley wrench!
yon knee was spent, wi’ geat lament, she's upon me in a jiffy
she made it clear, she said, “m’dear I want yer little ******”

now twenty three ‘tis not in years, but sire, tis stones in weight,
and 'er on me wi one good knee, be too dire to contemplate,
but to my surprise, she got a rise outa my little wrinkled pecker,
wi’ her big thighs and **** the size o’ bleedin double decker!!
L B Oct 2016
“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's
Game Room
War Room
Control Room

Fueled by a red T-shirt
proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince”
He flips out his cellular...

(Where does he get all those broken remotes?)
...flips open his cell
and shouts commands


“YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control)

“Fsssss    Fssssss   Fsssssss

Drives his cruiser around the pool table
Pulls alongside
Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed


An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear
and points a giggle

the kind of guy whose life peaked
at Mount Saint Helen
Does a warlock for Halloween
Carries a portable showcase of horror
prized possessions in a dishpan
He explains his treasures

“That is NOT
a plastic scorpion!”

Offended by my ignorance
shoves it in my eyes


Dan sorta likes me
We talk horror flicks
He forbids the serious of me

he hisses in a spray of spit
Walks way, laughing, delighted!
Shaking iz head

Then back in my face again (for emphasis)

(He is dead serious)

His counselor fills in my blank
“Dan likes the Beatles
That's the only thing he likes
that isn't heinous”
I worked for a year and a half at a Boys and Girls Club.  Twice a week some local group homes would bring their residents in for some fun.  Believe me, "Disaster Dan" was a real guy.  

This was a few years ago when most cells were flip phones.
For readers not from America, Mount Saint Helen is one of our most deadly and active volcanoes. Erupted during the '80s.
Now, I am not a huge man

I'm not large by any means

In fact it is surprising

I still wear normal jeans

My pants don't have elastics

I still use normal towels

But, my BMI stats tell me

I'm a word that has three vowels.

It started just this morning

When I got upon the scale

After getting back my numbers

I felt like a beached whale

Our scale is something special

Uplifitng messages it did send

Today when I stood on it

It said, is it you and your fat friend?

I thought this can't be right

I saw the numbers there

I've gained ten pounds since Christmas

But, I'm ****** if I know where

I thought that the old batteries

Just needed to be changed

But, the numbers were the same again

That **** scale is deranged

Most times I eat real healthy

No fried foods and lots of greens

But I keep on getting fatter

And I don't know what this means

I entered all my numbers

My height, and weight increase

And when my BMI was figured

It said "Son, you're obese"

Now, I do not ride a scooter

I wear an xl shirt

But seeing that word on the chart

Well, man....that really hurt

I watch shows on my tv

of people in bad shape

They weigh in at 600 pounds

And to them I am a grape.

My knees may hurt, my back is sore

But that's not from my weight

They hurt from my arthitis

Not from my  rotund state

Obese, to me is something

That I swore I'd never be

It's a tag that is real hurtful

And it is one I have to see

Each time I get upon the scale

And then go to the chart

It comes up as obese each time

It really breaks my heart

Now, exercise and I are friends

We met once in the past

But we always seem have a fight

And our friendship does not last

I've tried diets that do wonders

They make the pounds fall off

But after twenty pounds of loss or so

My body starts to scoff

It says "you know you're fooling no one"

"A skinny you's just fake"

"So, come on down off the treadmill"

"And let's go get some cake"

So exercise is not for me

There must be other ways

To lose the weight that I've put on

One I can do in days!

I'm looking for a short cut

To break me from my obese rut

So, I chose Liposuction

Where they stick a tube inside my gut

They said "you are a candidtate"

Like, there was choice that had been made

I knew I had to get the weight off

If I wanted to get laid

They took me in a little room

And had me lie down on the bed

Then they put a tag on my big toe

I said " case I wake up dead?"

They said it was to tell them what to do

I said I way 300 pounds,

So if I know, why don't you?

They drew some lines upon my gut

and down on to my thighs

I said don't touch nothing down there

It's exactly the right size

They told me that the lines were just

To show them where to ****

Again, I thought below my waist

And I thought "just my luck"

They said a hose would **** the fat

That my body had in store

I thought, that's only so

I can fill it up with more

They said that it would hurt some

And I'd be sore and bruised

Then they showed me a few pictures

Those people looked abused

I siad, no thanks, I'm outa here

I'm gonna lose it right

I didn't put it on that quick

And I won't lose it overnight

I'll change the food I'm eating

And I'll go and walk a bit

I'll use the stairs a little more

And this time I won't quit

But, as I thought of liposuction

And that really neat machine

To own something that ***** like that

Would be so ****** keen!

Now, I'm working on my weight loss

And folks, here is the scoop

I' dropped two pound this afternoon

I just had a good ****!

Just exercise some caution

If your scale says you're obese

For I'm in this fight beside you

And our weights will both decrease!
Wake up in the morning, clock says 8:23. Step into the kitchen, feeling that something is missing.
Open the fridge, Outa milk??? How could this beee?! I went to Sam’s Club - he stocked me up extra plenty!!!
I need to make a dash to the store, but if I get on the bus, this could take an hour or more.
So I quickly dress, not at all to impress. Just throw on my clothes and head out the door.
Standing outside in a panic, I start scratching all over my body like an addict.
Cereal and milk, I gots to have it!
Leaving me no other choice, I hop on the bus. My hands are shaking, making me look like a fiend.
Then I notice Bomb-Shell Betty, the ’98 prom queen, sitting in the back not looking so pretty.
I remember when she was going steady with TEDDY GRAHAMS - dude used to give me his answers to all of the math exams.
Sitting in front of me are four ladies who go by the names of FRUITY PEBBLES, COOKIE CRISP, HONEY COMB, and SUGAR SMACKS.
Who are they fooling??? Never skipping a beat, they are always getting their KIX turning TRIX on 126th Street.
They are quite the lovely bunch. I believe their **** is going by the name of CAP’N CRUNCH.
I am feeling kinda desperate today, thinking about spending time with FRUITY PEBBLES, but she only takes cash, and all I have are CHEX.  
My impatience is starting to run thin cause all I can think about is running in the store and grabbing a gallon of milk.
Then the bus stops… Who can it be? Oh, it’s my old neighbor, Tom Foolery.
He has a mouth full of chrome and wears ten pounds of jewelry.  With tattoo-covered arms, he enters with his pal, LUCKY CHARMS.
The two sit next to the 126th crew.  They are spitting game - that is really lame.
They are bragging who is better at shooting hoops. They just sound like a bunch of FRUIT LOOPS.
So I chime in and say, “I can eat more RAISIN BRAN than any other man throughout the entire land without going to the can, and if you don’t believe me, just ask my POPS!”
They look at me with complete shock.  Not a word to be heard, they turn around.  I sit there in silence, feeling like a big nerd.
Bus stops again.  A pale man enters on in.  He is tall and thin, wears a brown suit, and has a funny grin.
He looks kinda scary but seems ever-so-merry with his hands locked with his BOO BERRY.
Finally!! Through the glass I can see the supermarket is slowly approaching, and all I can say is, Yippy Frickin Skippy! Bout time.
Just before the bus stops, I jump out the window and drop to my knees, kiss the ground, and scream, “Hallelujah!!!”    
In the front of the store stands General Mills, recruiting potential cereal box models.  He asks, “How ya doing?”  I mutter, “What’s it to ya?”
I run towards the back where the much-needed milk is shelved.  I grab me a gallon and head to the check-outs.
Aisle one has no one in line, so this is a clear sign that things are starting to turn out just fine.
Then suddenly I see a white sign with black ink stating, Chex not Accepted…..
LIFE can be a *****!
Anybody remember Teddy Graham cereal?
Mary McCray Apr 2013
A prose poem*

It’s all boarded up now, abandoned in the triangle of downtown Roy, New Mexico, but like a lost island named Capronea two-hundred forgotten years ago, I find myself back in the summer of 1977, seven-years old in the balcony of a second-run, small town movie house watching *The Land That Time Forgot
in that small-town, movie-timeline kind of way: two years after everyone else. Popcorn brides, my cousins and I walked the movie processional during opening credits, almost missing the proverbial plummeting message thrown out to sea in a water cask. Candy-bored through all the world-war-submarine scenes, I perked up with innocent horror at the spreading circle of blood in the river, rifles shooting into a gaping dinosaur mouth. And the thunk of its neck hitting the deck. Years later I come back to the epic on classic TV. This time I notice the wobbly love story, German metaphysics arguing with British empiricism that lasts only one flirty scene. Now I’m shocked and a little dismayed over how little screen time the dinosaurs actually get, their three Shakespearean scenes, how I still feel all the same heartache as they enact their long and dramatic death throes. Doug McClure is alright, I guess, except that his hair is always blown out to an impossible feathered confection, just like the German Captain who keeps his hat on way past when this is necessary or useful. We laugh with ironic smugness at the stiff Jurassic puppets and the blood on rubber, the convolution of the island’s evolutionary biology. Those river amoebas are a hoot! Oh, the ironic wink that double-crosses itself in the end, an irony that is really homesickness longing for sincerity, simplicity. My husband says he prefers this movie to those Spielberg ones. I give him hell about this but later come around to see his point. Let’s take the movie’s basic premise: we are at the end of history presumably. So even if we could forget all that history, wipe the slate clean as it were, we still wouldn’t get along with our rivals. At least not enough to fashion an oil refinery from sticks and stones, pack up all that oil in barrels, and roll on outa this nightmare.

None of us will get off this island alive. At the end we’re left crossing a mountain of ice with two people whose only hope is to simplify things down to survival and ***—and *** in those impossible furs no less (in dinosaur leather maybe). We can’t help but trip over the metaphors here. They're everywhere. Only back in 1977, we believed them.
Last night on Turner Classic Movies, we watched *The Land That Time Forgot" from 1975. Although this movie left an indelible mark on my memory, I hadn’t seen it since that first time in 1977 with my Kentucky cousins in our hometown of Roy, New Mexico.
There's a certain kind
That holds you hostage
Way up there in the bleachers
In a red-light district
Cold and cheap
It lures you because you're lurable
Attach and you're stuck up there
In a certain kind
Of dilapidated ivory tower

It's only later on
When you're broken
When the nights have woven
Their history and the light
Has drained
Only when you're pushed out
Only when you're shoved off
Only then does the truth
Begin to talk

Until then it's been silent
Though gradually loosing appetite
For despair, denial, dilemma
Only when unhooked
Does that fierce, quite dismissal
Begin to beg for something else
Only then does
A certain other kind
Begin to go wild for itself

You wonder how yourself
Moldy and molting
And mad with lies
Had so deceived its own
You wonder how
If there is a god
S'he coulda watched you bleed
With self-betrayal
And sat there idle
While you slowly crumbled

But admit it
You were terribly cocky up there
In the pink and belly-full
***** and hookered
If G O D woulda spoken
You woulda spit in the face of divinity
And you probably did

So that certain kind
Watched and waiting
For another
Certain kind
To choke the bejasus outa ya
'til you slowly faded to full stop
And dropped to your knees
To a certain other kind
I wrote this in 2011 after many many years of turmoil and personal upheaval. It was the first of many that followed.......I'd written songs but never much poetry up until then.........It was written during a passage and an awakening to the disowned parts of me that I'd suppressed all my life. IT's a hymn to the betrayal of self through a life only partially lived
mark john junor Nov 2013
babe sweet makes a hasty get away
in her 57 Chevy
after robbing the bank
of its pen and pencil sets
someday she's gonna be a writer
and she don't want to run outa ink
not while the words can run like
fine wine from her stumbling fingertips
her drunkard style staggers through the clean vision
with a brush stroke that wanders between the lines
and sometimes wanders out of em
and straight to the borders of insanity
she pauses and thinks to her left behind lover
that the last ship of my life
may indeed have sailed but your not among my regrets
and that's enough for her
so she commits her pilfering of the salesclerk's pocket
and flees with relief pasted falsely on her face
babe sweet drives fast fast to the southern town
and picks up a smile she saw standing by the
side of the dirt road
but little did she realize that
some dirt don't wash off
and her new comfy smile had baggage
of his own in the form of a colt revolver
with a few spent shells
spilling outa his pocket
so they run into the night trying to escape their
separate desperate pasts
she looked at him with a lonely yearning
but he openly saw only that he wanted to get straight
with god and his mamma
if he could only work up the courage to abandon
this trail of tears
they both collapsed into a small  hotel
down in floridas treasure coast
and spent days waiting and watching the evening news
for sings that the world had even noticed them
they are there still
babe sweet and her regretful smile
look to everybody like mona lisa recovering from a ******
someday he will get the courage to get right
someday she will go home to her bed and breakfast
but for now they gather suntans and scrape a living
out of cast off bottle caps
happy enough together and sometimes that's enough
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
A contest twixt reasons to be

Con test ants take your po
si shun

push sush slow n stedya

There's a being, I once thought fellow who needs this test
to pass,
he has studied with masters and knows near as muchas Faustus
but he is scared there could be hell to pay,
some day.
(Catholic maybe, but he believes some lies about what he doesn't
believe for a good reason, maybe boomers with non-hero dads,
them and priests imagined some hellish **** make Loyola nuts.)

just breathe and be wit
be wit me
meinthee'n'theeinme and this ain't ***, kid.

This ain't ceasing for a moment to be me meditation, this
is Sisyphus being happy out loud

in a crowd, you know how that feels everybody
shouting hallelujah like it means everything

and it does again and not everybody, but many bits
of everybody, knows that I don't know what. I don't

know what Hallelujah is supposed
as meaning,
you ax me glory must first be defined,
compared to what

Jah, right tuff won, the Name, Ha Shem

but glory, what is glory?
What's it weigh?
Worth-y or light?
Air or stone, or iron, or silver, or allah those and gold?

value that. Why?
Navigation needs a clock, for the test,
minus the lag as the rock rolls free from time to time
        here, the alchemy guy say:
Uranium to lead for a clock to find, or
the missing helium that implies, to the wise.

A word's enough,


Loser vibe. Phone rings. It's a robotic femaivoice saying
power may be cut to me due to high fire danger

Are hopes prayers? I hope so,
and wishes could be I think, if they were in this realm

no evil imagined here makes it past the third and final
in sane un sane in cip I sent sentient cons eee ince

test. So, know, dear reader, we mere words,
weal build worlds witcha
but we won't lie.

Book of Life, first chapter, look it up.

The Jails burn around my kind,
minstrels in the woods still sing of men like me.
mistrals, the winds, wrap the world
and, listen,
you know
mistral whispers to sirocco as they

send swirls of spirational science-eance to form

ideal angels dancing
pirouette on the point of my pen.
2 per angstrom.

Those winds are in a mind I manage mine,
I make right use of them by
responding to the signals,
the prods, needles'n'pins, now

Rock and roll saved my rubber sole,
my mnemonic savior rescued me

Sisyphus, ah, we all think you happy and

hallelujah, too. To you, Mr. Cohen,
thank you. You got me through a few...

Contention only comes from pride,

and momma don'low no pride in heeyah

Stick that in yer ear, and smoke it.
Here we get along
or we ain't,

Crazy guy with the dog collar, remember him?
He's gone. Outa here.

Don't fret, he is one of the first in every cycle to recall
Nietzsche thought God dead and Sisyphus happy.

Was he mad or sad?
Sad I say. Sad to say he never knew a great
god almighty that he liked enough to get caught
up in a joy explosion of hallelujahs and such,
he never dared

e=motions you know where those go.

I do.
They go to the fuzzy edge of everything ever realized yet.

But no one, so far, has realized that all at once, in time

the rock stops rolling and we, if you imagine
happy ever after is re-alivable,

spiritually, you know, in your dreams or such,
not religion
bad word,
whoa puppy, did somebody beat you for your own good?
Poor idle word, abuse of such a strong idea
a bandaid on reality,
who could hate
your idea?
re-connect, better, okeh?
not religion.
Just made a connection. Okeh.

we live here, feel at home

Well, jus as well we rest and see if we agree with what we just,
just always means everything it ever does now,
tis ne're an idle word here nomo. Nor discouragin' ones.

Just now. Perfect oh, that which

concerns you. How would that be if it were perfected?

Say, you know? no, me neither. true, rest. smunchemup= trust
trust me. You lost? Hell?

Every body sing with the Kachinas

Nobody knows the trouble I seen,
nobody knows but jee ee ee sus

as they fade…
so there. amen. and the sunshine's in and we are seeing
novel mercies never thought,
new in every detail,
no lie. Life wins.
Death is in on it.

It's fixed, it can go on as long as you may imagine you can.
More of the Sisyphus myth where nobody is thinking suicidal solutions to temporary mortal problems.
mark john junor Jul 2014
midnight wasn't a cure
for all that darkness following her
she could see the sun coming up someplace ahead
always see the cheap advertising long
before some idiot actually hits the switch

stepped on the gas but her feelings kept pace
with this four stroke joke of a machine
one stroke for each time it failed to get her away
from feeling it all over again
she would trade it in
but nobody is feeling sympathetic enough for
that kind of charity

so she will ride it out into the strange night
with some dude speaking french in the passenger seat
seems like hes saying something important
but who the **** knows
she flips him off and turns the radio up
nothing is forever

if she could just stick to the plan
dump the loser's and leeches
find her somebody who speaks the same language
as her crazy good for nothin heart
she could get up outa this
one horse town

go set up in some romantic beach house
and drink margarita's till the world ends
just stick to the plan kiddo
keeps telling herself
as she cozy's up to the french clown
for one last night
just to keep warm
nothing for keeps...right?
jeffrey robin Jun 2010
tower of babel days
king david sings for a rock n roll band

an the ****** mary is a movie star
an she does  no worse than a touch of
soft ****

her mansion costin so much
these days

an the little angel boy
done made a mistake
gave himself over to a
catholic priest

now he's a lawyer for

but he aint yet come down


tower of babel
babel of disgrace

painted faces
cute an viral

sweet hope sacred
is lost in the darkness

an the farce that somewhere
a democracy

is lookin out for the people?

god aint dead
he just done walked away

tower of babel shame

king david got kicked
outa the band

the world is outa money

an the corpses lookin so funny

i guess we shoulda been warned

when the ****** mary
started doin soft ****
Geno Cattouse Sep 2012
Fourteen years old on sensory overload.
The evening news.
Burn baby burn.

Da bomb. Sauteed mushrooms.
Drop drill in all the classrooms.
Lesee. If I crawl under this wooden desk with hands over head then
I wont end up toast ? Outa sight.

Puff That Muthfkn dragon. He still got a condo by the sea ?
I remember thinking how  privileged and exciting to live in the USA.
But. Burn baby burn.

Watching late night reruns till the station signed off. No CNN then my fren.
The Duke.
Abbot and Costello meets The Mummy.
Free T.V.That was a first for I.
No T.V. In Belize. None. No gun violence either. Hmmm.

My Lai.            The Panther Answer.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2019
There was a day

Yes, we all imagine we remember that day, but

now it is as if it never

really-- every y must be just if ied or it is never
a requirement

it is a re less

not every story has been pointedly
taken as granted,
even, oddly,
Quire a quest is a matter of motion,
hear, and there, time and all that,

Now, next has never, as in non-realized as realizable

up to now.
told ere un. That may, is. law, an untold tale is never twisted.

between the reversible nand gates of our augmented imaginations.

upon a time lonagone, which were common (or come on)
signals scrambled at this depth, but pressure proves

the point. We are past all that for now
by reason of why

curiosus curiosus our imaginary guide, once

all the imaginations in the hearts of men were only evil,

Then Noah or some storyteller, or prophet
caught wind of a sweet savour

roasting on a fire tended by Tubalcain's daughter,

Naamah, last named bearer of Cainish flavored genes
never set, epigenetically beyond the woumb

she coulda been, some wombed man was,
you know, we all share mito-mom,

science of some sorts can't lie. Take that as truth.
If I could believe it,
I could swallow it,

you can, too. Oh, the myth we model on matters little,
the boys and shoemakers who sniffed the glue,

they loosed some wild ideas

got all tngled with stories from ever

where in the world
have you been?

You just got outa jail. I'm right. I can smell

near as bad, but it was then, a mere made up monent
meant now to hold a point

pon which a story longer than I have ever told may stand and

be told, the king
s story teller stutters in his sleep.

okeh, this is not pre posed as funny,
merely odd,
one ish in a realm of twos and threes and fives

spinning into etern naughtity, empt un-null-ift possibles.

Naught me less press on, find a vortex, flow,

we are peacemakers stranded upon a time of war, scabs. we heal.
don't pick on my inflexibility in matters

of duty. Leaven has always been the means of re pair ideology.
Quarkish insistence on duality from the ***.

The augmented ones are getting better,
as a choice, they see how good
ever works,
some fix what evil broke, some make new ways around the lava
balance, spin, lean, wobble, no place to fall here

we gotcha. Gravity and light, those are givens.
this is life.
make something of everything you ever imagined possible.
then die to see if it works.

But wait. Don't die early. It makes grief, which is
what fills the slough of despond.

We are draining that. Birds that nested there all died,
it's frogs moved to Florida, bugs and molds say they can make it any where

so, we are watering the desert. We grow Panama Red. Who eats roses?

Critters manifested as ideas that never linger but in the miry clay,

Most of those went north.

Deserts served and deserved have I claimed as mine
from horizon to horizon, all I see is mine to see serve and
de-serve, I served and am served and
I de serve and see as free as I may imagine

bodys are not bearers of light. There is hope. Right is known,
you know right, and you know good, and you know evil

Spike Jones had the hermit wiseman say,
Do the right...

self-evidently not a clue. we thought he got on at nano nano

Hung himself. Why do they do that? Why display dis paired

It resonates, dead end. turn back, Sylvia Plath warned you.
Don't die without knowing

we, me and you, we are nothing with out you.
This touch of word to meaning,
this is in time, mate, we
made a ripple in
material reality past all limittions of time and space,
in a word or two packed with ancient ideas,
which always spill,

whenever we open them, dust in the wind , a ditty from
some A.M. experience, on the way to now

we sing a song of six pence worth, and settle
with a jug o'rye.
more in the give me a reason why i believe saga of myth mending and metaphor piece matching for patterns
Father Jul 2018
Um basically that I'm not crazy that she's being rediculous  and selfish and legit tell me I'm right not dismiss it like oh how about we try and work with her even more then what I just sent u and have her make it even more difficult on me u all think it so easy I get off work at 9 no way I could take him to school and my son will want to see his family at my house not just Legoland everyone always thinking of themselves and **** one day I won't be here and then everyone will see how far I was pushed and how hard. I worked and how hard I tried and when that happens itll be too late because I'll be gone u have ur kids u have ur husband Stephen does everyone has someone I legit am all I have so the only kind of love I get to where I feel like I'm needed is my son he's all I have and what keeps me going but Jesus iv been fighting like a maniac for almost 6 years now to keep him in my life and sacrifice my health my happiness my everything just so I can pay child support and try to get him as much as I'm able outa of pure selfishness no one gets it no one trys to get it everyone is focused on everything else to really see what's going on u have no idea how many times I write my good bye letters to everyone but stop when I get to my son because I legit can't and won't and absolutely refuse to leave him alone with that ***** and that selfish family all he has but Jesus dude I'm not super man I get **** from everyone in every direction and constantly get told and made to feel like I'm hated and everything else when I legit do so much for everyone and care so much about everyone and the one thing I have my happiness is my child my son and I never get to even take him for more than a day and I'm dead tired because I work my *** off to distract myself from my ****** existence and misserey I've been thru hell and back my entire life and I'm stronger because of it but no one understands that my laughter my smiles my jokes my comedy is to distract me and everyone else to the reality that I'm on the verge of death the verge of giving up the verge of loosing hope the verge of saying goodbye to the one thing that deserves so much more than I could give my baby boy my hero my heart my soul my everything my pride and joy how happy I was to find out of his creation and ready I was to bring the beautiful blessing to the world into my life how ready I was to be there and watch the miracle of him every step every laugh every tiny amazing miracle of him growing and learning and I've had all the dreams all the hope  to be there and deserved to be there still deserve to be there and missed so much of his life because of a evil hateful selfish heartless demon that manipulated my mind my actions and my heart and took what strength I had and fed on it with pleasure and sick love for destroying my soul I'm living in hell and the demon that is evil has fed clawed and ****** away my will to the point where I'm just a dim light of what I was born to be and have the potential to be the light is almost out and my little savior my baby boy is left with nothing but a shadow a like a belief that his protector didn't care and wasn't there and the demon will feed him nothing but lies and hate and fill him with nothing but hate and  resentment and confusion and anger until his sweet Innocents vanishes and light starts to dim and left to feel all alone this is as deep as it gets do I share this do I send this questions I am left with do I open up and cry for help scream for help problem is I've been screaming for years and I'm trapped so far into the darkness that no one can see or hear the crys the begging and pleading for it to end save me Help me someone but there's no one just me my miracle and the demon trying to devour what's left of my soul and diminish me from existence and tarnish and manifest itself to become the very image of me and my baby boy will look at me as nothing but the very  demon  that left him without a father as the demon feeds him the darkness I left behind the memory of me will be nothing but a random thought that will be covered up by lies and fear and resentment in my child's eyes because the demon is now me in my child's eyes and that's when the demon wins that's when the demon is finally full not after I'm gone but when the last bit of love or light I leave behind is replaced with itself and my baby boy thinks of me as nothing but the very demon that destroyed me then just maybe then the demon will win cause now the demon is my son's mother the only one there and becomes the hero and I become the demon in his eyes I'm lost I'm afraid I'm alone and begging and pleading for it to change to end to stop in the end if hell is for ever and if I'm in hell and it really is for ever then the only thing I'll be wanting or screaming or hoping is for it to end to stop to cease to exist in the end my enemy is not the demon feeding on my soul it's the never ending pain and suffering the forever the continue the hope the urge to keep going in the end my enemy is time and the only way I can stop time is to take my self out of the equation and the light that is left the life the will to live goes out dies disappears and leaves nothing but a void and darkness like it never existed good bye is close and hope is lost my will is gone nothingness is where I'm headed my little miracle is all that keeps the light inside my soul lit the flame is low and I'm affraid that it won't last or make it
mark john junor Jul 2014
floyd and the skinny kid skate round
me like vultures looking for table scraps
today im all about just keeping the head above water
try all night to sleep but just climb walls in my head

my kryptonite came round again and she was full of smiles
even tho i could feel things crawling round neath that pretty face
couldn't help myself just ended up humpin leg
while she just laughed counting bills outa my wallet
just really skull **** myself over and over
like to trade my life in for a simpler one

distill the hours down to thouse moments
when i escape the circus of my own thinkin
when i can sit and soak up some sun on the beach
without all the headnoise crowding out my goodtime

floyd and the skinny kid circle round me
but i got no use for virtual vampires
and they just manage to annoy
i got prettier things on my mind
hoping to distract
just hoping to distract
mark john junor Oct 2014
she gave me her headstrong face
left me feelin outa place
left me feelin like i had lost the space cadet race
then she pulled off her designer wares an i knew it wasn't the case
her mind is a frown
like its pervaded by a sad clown
like she is plundered holy ground
she just sits there open eyed without a sound
she gave me her headstrong face
but i just could not replace the shattered mind
no matter how unkind
fathead weak in her thoughts
ill at ease to where i had been brought
i just stood there mumbling
while her fingers did some bumbling
big wet smile on her face
left me feelin outa place
like i really did loose the space cadet race
kissing her headstrong face
ioan pearce Feb 2010
****** up paddy's weekly binge,
did nothing for poor mary's twinge.
she quelled her urge with robbie rasta,
who smoked the ****,and **** was faster.

 the ***** guru jumped with fright,
yo husband early home tonight.
don't ye worry, stay in bed,
the fockers ****** right off his head.

 mary, mary, the drunkard bleats,
der is tree people beneath dees sheets,
shot op ye dronk i am no cheat,
get outa bed an count the feet,

 sorry me darlin, der's only four,
staggered to the bathroom door,
where ye goin? what ye thinkin?
to wash me feet, they're fockin stinkin.
David Nelson Mar 2010
Rap Trap

          My life's a mess, let me try to explain,
          I'm a 5 minute walk to going insane,
          see there's way to much going on in my brain,
          headed for a crash on a high speed train

          my bones are acrakin', my knees wont bend,
          ain't got no money, but I spend, spend, spend,
          don't know why I feel, I have to pretend,
          took some big blue pills, hoping to mend
          things changed so fast, I wasn't even aware,            
          when it hit me in the face, why I do declare,
          time to man-up, need to grow me a pair,
          or I can turn my back and pretend I don't care

          caught in a trap, betwixt and between,
          should I tell everyone, should I come clean,
          I'm so confused, do you know what I mean? ,
          when I look in the mirror, I see Orson Bean

          it's just jive, some people say it's rap,
          if you want my opinion, I think it's crap,
          but I find it hard to get outa this trap,            
          can't stop my lips from goin flap, flap, flap

          Gomer LePoet...
Brycical Apr 2015
On the street I see people walkin' round
eyes heads hanging low down thinking 'bout needing a couple extra pounds of bread, their spirits cry out workin' off debts 'till after death  
but when I ask "Whassup?"
they stuff it down with "Hey, nothin much" outa reflex,
but instead of this aforementioned fashioned back'n forth imagine what would happen if we shared the caption that our heart was tappin' outa the chest, a distress morse code SOS so,
let's be each other's best friend, and listen to the deluge of moods don't matter if it's green, red or blue cause I have faith we can all handle the truth
since it's a soothing serum not some brooding theorem don't gotta be near to connect, but show yourself some respect and just eject that dejected attitude cause we're all moving through somethin once 'n a while.  

Luckily we, are here, together now
spinnin' round this big 'ol galaxy.
and luckily we, are here, now, together, to make the world better, denizens of the medicine inside of us to jettison hearts and minds shining out like lighthouses guiding ships, to higher consciousness, gettin' closer to bliss but sometimes we gotta stop and sit
and just be just be...  
go slow go slow,
it's all ok to joke and play jump rope with pain instead of novacaine let's meditate to make the world a better place
raisin' your vibration to a higher plain
wadin' in the waters of a patient brain
chillin' in stillness erasing latent fixations
burning sarcophagus thoughts and impulses poppin' up like the walking dead growling echoes of old words heard when I was three, four, five, six gurgling out of parents, school kids and televisions sellin' backwards wisdom on how to be a cool kid, but it smells like *******
from old tools that, aren't the sharpest ones from the shed
like you and me can be 18 join the marines, get a tattoo, drive and put a bullet in some fool  but if you get caught with *** or droppin' some sugar cubes then you're locked up and your life gets ruined.

It don't take some precognition to see all this conditionin' bein' dished is an illusion, a mirage of food only fillin' us with chemical confusion,
it's almost amusing the way they try to make my mind intrude
on just bein' in the moment, bringing the symphony of symmetry inside of me inspiring perspiring  to cry and sing with fire wings triumphantly trumpeting the rhythm of love, as below so above do unto others etcetera etcetera ad infinitum because

we, are here, together now
spinnin' round this big 'ol galaxy.
and luckily we, are here, now, together, to make the world better, denizens of the medicine inside of us to jettison hearts and minds shining out like lighthouses guiding ships, to higher consciousness, gettin' closer to bliss with this flow from the heart
Breezy Raye Sep 2013
Up , in a long wavy personality .
Waking the morning with my commitment to it's day .
Way too slight to storm the day .
Open the door to a gray cloudy breeze .
Slip out with ease onto the concrete leaf .
A page out of my very own book .
Liking the very way the ink bleed ;
Write off the tip, a pen that would rip right through another's book.
Soft to the touch, you fell cause you might slip right through .
Although the heart felt tipped utensil causes you to breathe .
With all the wind in my atmosphere, a tornado caused .
You to turn and run .
Opens my hidden twists, up with a given gist .
Like an autumn oak tree, letting go isn't so uncommon .
But still a shipped away surprise, .
So many unforgiving goodbyes .
A tear without anyone to give it a cry / /
Such a subtle generosity, so much so .
You might forget all beauty ever existed .
Me and memories go together,
like mine was an aggravated death .
Worth killing to a Saint ,
And none of the happiness was great .
Out of the blue, and only for another shade of green .
Jealous and out of the way,
So they faded navigated away.
Orange and ravenous red .
Foundation for success,
Paved a walk way for a street walker like hiss..
Step away and porcelain eyes .
Pierce once again .
Follow the haze with outa braze .
No touch, glass chimes.
Together once , noise of fine dining .
Couples and territorial squint .
Soothing child , for a partner for life.
Love for the second child in the other .
Like a bad photo shop .
No edit, just chop , black dot .
what a waste Aug 2018
They gave us some time to think about it,
but what's the use?
I knew it the moment your eyes met mine,
and the breeze came through
tipping me to my toes like the night.
Yes, I'm yours and you're mine.
**** possession, I just haven't figured
out the next best thing.
Baby, I'd like to live my life,
but what's the use
if it ain't you by my side.
Ooh, girl. With those baby blue queues
you'd never see me getting outa line.
Hypnotized. I'd wait a life time for the right time,
change tides like Poseidon or get you
extra cheese if that's something you needed.
They gave us some time to think about it,
but what's the use?
I knew it the second you smiled that white lie.
*******, can you make a broken man feel fine.
kyle Shirley Aug 2015
Why do we do things that we know are wrong and will still hurt others, especially the ones we love?
To feel alive or something.
Im not a bad man, iv tried my damnedest to be I good i swear.
But i guess you cant always get what you want, but if you try, you get what you need.
Im desperate, I think im having what you call a crisis of faith... Im a lover, yet im too much of one and cant do a thing right.
I need help lord.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Josteen Yazzi said the Critic should ask his thought

on the matter of great art and literature

What do you know of art and literature, Uncle?

Nothing, he said, I think about what I do not know.

I do not know why people don't like Norman Rockwell.

Norman Rockwell painted the American Dream,
with Indians in it, some times.

I like Norman Rockwell because I know how he felt.
I saw my people live in a good world that vanished.

Magic or other wise, I remember mine,
the way
when I see
Mr. Rockwell's America as he imagined
he had seen it.

Or maybe he painted
what you should have been able to see,
but for wars and Spanish Flu and cattle barons
and reaping machines and steam and electricity.

Olaf Wieghorst coulda painted America ugly, too.
But he didn't.

Literature. I have nothing left to say, Norman Rockwell, maybe he needed a mentioning for some
reader anchored reason.

We have to deal with that more these days.
People with big old dish antennae out there,
rusting after Direct TV got a satellite to see the res,

Some o'the kids build a radio telescope, outa them three meter models,
so we are connected.

Norman Rockwell painted the Peaceful Kingdom,
just like Mr. Hicks and Mr. Kincaid,

not mr klee or mr picaso, they could image hell.
My ma liked That drippy guy, said she could see the swing of things in he's paintings, What's-isname,

Jackson, damshame, Jackson Pollak right?

but the message is in the medium, that's what my Shicheii yoosto say. Art must sing.
So I can play my drum. And she can dance.
When we think nothing about it.
Thinking about America and an old man who taught me to ball trees. I had a job rescuing orange trees, Josteen Yazzi, he's not really a Navajo, but he was a bracero who staid without papers and nobody cared cause he was the last tree baller.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2018
Specialism, electro mechanical circuits,

moving parts yet move, you see, but when we read we bring our senses
privacy can become a public mind, if one is connected, in a giving way,
taking thought,
as the original medium we found message in,
thought takes form
in words,
words take form in things. Right. Check.

Blake feared the objective world was being walled in,
and all the people screamed, amen.

Build the wall, from icons demoted to mites of no more
weight than a tinker's think,
phe-nomenal noment-ation, if we may

Hot and cool both bubbled up as burps, perhaps from the babes
booming through the lies told before the great war.

No future? You allow that thought in your culture?
And shame and blame?
No wonder you choose to lie.

Bear with me a while, share my load, it's light.
There is a hopeful object,
we can go easy into that good night,
the world is round.

Free from Ra and Isis and all, in one fell sweep of the besom.
Broom, besom, means broom, but the effect of an e,


you give us the fire we'll give em hell  a game ad in the middle of the massage
Call of duty, black ops.
You use you eyes to see, it's a with-spiracy,

a hair of the dog that bit you. Eh?
live in bonanza land, 1965.

and so it goes, Dresden, every minute of every day

the walls of your home are coming down,

unless you were born with a cell phone in your father's pocket.

Privacy is calling for walls from the fenced in time after Bonanza.

Ah, too late, ours is an all new world of all at onceness, a global village, happening simultaneous.
extreme with everybody else's business, huge in
volvement in every body's business

we know too much to be strangers
walls fall down, not go up,
the wallbuilding never workded, did it Grandpa?

Nineteenth century student could believe
the factory system
would use the knowledge, hard-won
from books and chalkboards,
to keep him outa the mine.

Now, the information age,

are we the leisure class? Ever learning,
never knowing everything,

but knowing walls and wars do not perform as advertised.

The safety car, that was one with seat belts, 1965.
Our body percept, it changes,
this image of which you are un

The disconnected minded man, alienated
artist living edgewise to

My life is my art, eh, not the other way.
Global village information age McLuhan named these things
from Canada.
More expert than my teacher,
Pop art is not a pun, it was a bubble,
that's a fact. The-joke-with-no-story-line-conundrums,
elephant jokes, blonde jokes

Those tests, Turing would approve,
any old A.I. can play chess,
just remember every response to every move ever made in any game in the system,
like the amygdala, your lizard thought-speed brain,
at the top of your spine.

But humans can make funny seem.

Humor comes from a world of un happiness and gripes,
Jose Jimenez was the example they made. Racist, right?
The guy was a jew.
William Szathmary, Googled it.

From <>

Communicating with the logo-label-designer you wear,
messaging the world what? Exactly,
any un thought thought goes unsaid,

but T-shirts and body art, henna's the best,
those send a message with no thought whatsoever.
Same as Redcoats in bearskin hats, what's being said,
same as the judge with a wig?

What is the role?
Why the ongoing act?
It must have changed into that wigged judge from something.

Theater of everywhere, accept allatonce, or die asking y not.

Inward directed seeking
deep meaning
a role that changes

some outside
the future of the future started, a while back. not too far.

No inevitability.
An act of high poetry

the future was friendly

metaphysical value, brilliant, incomprehensible
a man, a thinker,
storytellers the experts say,
need some mud behind 'em. and some snow.

a mother never satisfied with her life,
brittley self confident,

the whole approach to knowing is old.
Diogenes's search for a good poem, with
shifting levels of imagery,
never shall you know,

they work
the way a word works,
the effect.
effect. fect from Latin facere,
sistere mechanically deus
The oracle of the information age
oh,mine.2018 Mr. McLuhan,
you'd likely lighten up a little.
Toejammspredder was mcluhan I heard on the grapevine.

Hey, mom, I'm on TV.
Up to doctrine, then destination syndrome a hopebubble

He had brain surgery and returned to Catholicism, a safe place.
But he left his vision to television's offspring.
That's about all I know of his work.
Some things shape us for our future, if we allow the time and let patience have her perfect work.
Francie Lynch Apr 2016
We were misplaced and confused,
So, I bought a coffee, sat with a magazine,
But felt so antsy, I went to the Kiosk,
Inquiring about your flight,
Then went looking in the other places.
So many people started looking like you:
Their hair, shape and walk.
So many doppelgangers.
It was getting way too late, hours, in fact.
Now concern settles in,
But seconds make the difference,
Not some butterfly in China.
If I'd lingered, sipping,
I wouldn't have walked right into your tears
Around the corner.
I happened to have a tissue in my pocket
To dry your found eyes;
Now let's get the **** outa here!
David Nelson Jun 2010
I'm Gonna Get You Sucker

you've been giving me a mouthful
steppin on my crack
tired of your *******
tellin you get back
don't stick those lips out at me
no don't show me how to pucker
if you don't give me room
I'm gonna get you sucker

you complain all the time
you love to **** and moan
your words are cuttin into me
all the way to the bone
I'm not your steppin stone
I'm no mother-trucker
but if you don't get outa my face
I'm gonna get you sucker

you want more than I can give
you call me a grunge
you think you can just give a squeeze
and drain me like a sponge
I try my best to tune you out
but you're like a bronco-bucker
get your *** off my back
or I'm gonna get you sucker

Gomer LePoet...
Jeffrey Robin Apr 2016

Sort of a girl !


Ya know what I mean (?)

•   •

a broken story cowgirl

Out for a ride

Into the vision of light

Only with whatever courage

She could find


kinda had them weird idealistic thoughts

Ya know

Come thru from the free love hippie days

When people were happy


There was actually fresh air and pure water

Back then !


Before the CIA invented AIDS



She was an

Ooh schooby dooby broken story babe


She was a true lover



Dreams outa years

And years outa days

jimmy tee Feb 2013
got outa the cab
communication in 8 font
stepped into the snow bank
before the panorama

Joe Beef in Little Burgundy
squeezed in storefront offering
an inviting quest

closed for the night to be sure
some background silhouette motion
the shaded light from street and within
a shadowed tool box and c-less drill
in the front window
surrounded by Montreal

we be lookin’ for a reason
for another hajj
Joe Beef
mark john junor Dec 2013
this deviant moment
exposed to light of day
unable to mute my words
they tumble out and roll round
like a car full of clowns in the circus
all color and no content
one rolls back to me
gets in my face
eyes red with its irate feelin
puffin on a greasy cigar
it makes all kinds of loud noise in the back of my head
trying to guilt trip me out
keeps me awake half the night

this deviant moment
flows like a charm for him
flows like cheap wine
when the friends are near and dear
price don't come till harsh light of day
face up in the mirror full of denials
full of regrets
full outa steam just shuffle through the moment
knowin that you'll get to the track on time
just gotta get the ole mutt movin
and the dusty road from here to eternity
never seemed so unsteady as it dose today

the deviant moment
was her magical hour
was her moment to shine in the
artificial sun
she had acceptance speechs written
and a dress picked out for her own red carpet stroll
she had studied all the books
and gotta pretty good bead on this whole motherhood thing
gonna name him 'seattle'
its was gonna be her magical moment in
the artificial sun

the deviant moment
was his break from the harsh road
it was his moment to loose himself
and just be
and that nirvana was in her arms
that moment was in beauty of her affections
but the carving in stone don't melt like ice
not freely given
but who can name the price of what its costs to the soul
they can ask but you can never 'plain to em
what the give takes out of you
step to that road be prepared to give up ever lookin back
the deviant moment passed between em
left them both changed
but she never will see it the same as him
shes trapped back there in the one horse mountain town
and hes shining on a sunbaked beach
in the cool cool moonlight
of a southern sun

the deviant moment
leaves us now
with her blanketed in snow
leaves him with regrets like children at your ankles
pulling at your legs ever demanding answers
to questions you never even heard
leaves me with thoughts bout going back to sea
bout sailing till iv lost all memory of this place
and her fondling the hands of time
David Nelson May 2013
Rap Trap

          My life's a mess, let me try to explain,
          I'm a 5 minute walk from going insane,
          see there's way to much going on in my brain,
          headed for a crash on a high speed train

          my bones are acrakin', my knees wont bend,
          ain't got no money, but I spend, spend, spend,
          don't know why I feel, I have to pretend,
          took some big blue pills, hoping to mend
          things changed so fast, I wasn't even aware,            
          when it hit me in the face, why I do declare,
          time to man-up, need to grow me a pair,
          or I can turn my back and pretend I don't care

          caught in a trap, betwixt and between,
          should I tell everyone, should I come clean,
          I'm so confused, do you know what I mean? ,
          when I look in the mirror, I see Orson Bean

          it's just jive talkin, some people say it's rap,
          if you want my opinion, I think it's crap,
          but I find it hard to get outa this trap,            
          can't stop my lips from goin flap, flap, flap

          Gomer LePoet...
a pull from the archives - an attempt at a rap
jeffrey robin Feb 2014
are you sleeping ?

here before the Telly
Shoving chips into my belly!

Jus like you
Jus like you!

Here before the newsman
Shoving lies into
My brain pan

Jus like you
Jus like you!



Quit hurtin yerselves

Take yer heads outa yer *****

And perhaps start livin like a human being

No matter what it takes !


Are you sleeping
Are you sleeping
Are you sleeping

Dreamin of bein dead

Razor in your hand

— The End —