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Mike Hauser Aug 2013
Straight out of prison
Wondering what I've been missing
Right out of the gates I stuck out my thumb

A van load of hippies
All from Mississippi
Stoped and asked, hey dude...what's going on

I'm here for adventure
Well hop in then Mister
Adventure is what we're all about

Now where we're all going
There's no way of knowing
A van of hippies and parolee freshly let out

We ended up in Disney
Me and all of the hippies
Where we had caboodles of fun

We met Mickey and he saw it
When I lifted his wallet
Now we're in the Magic Kingdom all on the run

We split in different directions
To throw off detection
It's A Small World is where I made my mistake

With that song stuck in my head
It's a fate worse than death
Prison now sounds like a wonderful place

We rendezvoused in
The Pirate's Of The Caribbean
Where soon after, in came the law

We all jumped from our boats
Splashing around in the moat
And had ourselves a good old fashioned pirate brawl

We soon made our escape
Out of exit door 88
Finding ourselves in Frontier Land at night

Where in the middle of the street
Were Mickey, Donald, and Goofy
All with guns strapped to their sides

We ran into a shop
And bought guns on the spot
All with Mickey's money...he's a mouse of a man

Mickey squeeks we're going to ruff you up
As Goofy holds up the cuffs
And Donald says something we can't understand

We had a shoot out
With cap guns no doubt
After all Disney runs a safe place

Ran out of caps in our guns
Which stopped our lives on the run
The wrath of Mickey we all now would face

After justice's hammer
I'm now back in the slammer
This time I made my own prison bed

Now I cry every day
What more can I say
With It's A Small World still stuck in my head
When a potter raise crunch
though with a hunch
soon will be a bystander
they eye a ricochet cyst
round skin that summon Alexander
the glaze cleave an arm
and this idle their crafts
let inside hand again stroll  
that wing a cafe by night
and purpose their hutch
still in a penitentiary
near a dock by parliament it charm
an aft-glow where melancholy
heart departing the moon
here yet a parole by noon
though still it ample tonight
with auxiliary light it toll
but debt show this dolor
they won't tolerate anymore.
Nat Lipstadt May 2014
Been off stubbing repeatedly,
my toes,
on the raggedy twisted
sidewalks of a sinking city, not mine,
where here, my own metaphor,
is being hand delivered,
to me, for me, by me

too many cayenne creole paroles,
none of them getting me any freer
none, as of yet,
making me a free parolee

been off studying some
of what I cannot yet do,
parole in libertà,
a language cosmopolitan
of creation, via creative writing
remolding all of the dix senses

been drawn and french quartered,
drilled down, found no unknown
solace deep bedrock grown,
so doing a redistricting of the map personal,
exposing my gardens, my Doric columns,
to any passerby with the
audacity so sheer to look me
in the face direct and say
laissez le bon temps rouler!

looking to liberate my words,
looking for liberty in my words,
in a different melting *** where here
I am a semi-low semi-free
person of color called
Old Fashioned White,
looking for a seasonal hurricane
to move me along,
push me to write in a new style,
developing cayenne words
smothered in jazz à la mode

multi-flirting with multi-fluency,
searching for Experimental
mellifluous words
stolenlen from, and built upon
a thousand years of languages,
river wide delivering its mountain deep
cargo of silt, a city of words, upon it built,
just like the great Mississippi,
changing course every one
                                               thousand years

my mouth, a river opening wide,
catching both salty and fresh,
god's love delivering,
doing the best I can,
writing real fracking poetry for poetry's sake,
not text messages of asstags
kissing nobody's ads of sad dead #hashtags,
following nobody noticeably,
but thrusting your good stuff into my orifices,
most pleasurably deep
                

but never parrying,
                   

      I am a poet social only in this:

my devotion to my crew
                                   stronger every day
for and
                           of that particular poetry,

           I can write better than anyone,
              so big,
                                    sooooooooo easy,

and that's, Steve, Bala, y'all,
how and what I'm doing
and by the way,

Putain Zang Tumb Tumb

you could look it up
In Nor'leans, studying alternate forms of poetry and discarding half-started poems on the street, arrived as a mate on board a steamship, standing on my only good left foot....
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2014
Blessedly, funerals,
don't have to go to too many,
though went to one
just this day,
for our next door country neighbor,
the nicest dour-looking,
rascally dearest man

The Catholic church full,
the hymns lovely,
the priest spoke
simple and beautiful,
about the paschal lamb
and the
Judeo-Christian Heritage
and
Life Everlasting,
an interesting concept,
that I had long forgot about

Must have conjured up
three minimum ideas
for poems,
not even including
this reportage

maybe I will write some,
tho the normative jelly of
Manhattan bus shaking
mine own recipe for inspiration,
when combined with
my peanut buttered
sheltered island by the Great Peconic Bay,
both, will be my swirled
inspiration everlasting

Can't write about
moon and June,
alabaster is a fine word,
but white suits me fine,
don't know the diff
tween dragon flys and lullabies,
the way I write is
just the way I think
writ out loud

so to the essay at hand,
funeral of a man,
mine all planned,
the invites ready,
awaiting the correct postage stamp
of a future time and place

the date, more or less sketched,
the poems, selected, notated
for whoever shows,
pick a read,
win a free trip to the cemetery
and maybe one back to his "parlor"
where food, drink and bon mots are
vous parlez'd and his spirit,
now a parolee, will be watching

smiling, for funerals are camaraderie,
so longs and fare-thee-wells,
and the hands of friends embracing,
celebrations in their own way,
and a time to tell stories of what
treasures they have left you,
silver linings of a life well writ,
and tho someday,
they'll be time-tarnished,
even half forgot,
the stories and the love poems
are the seeds of life everlasting



Passover/Easter
March 2014
written a few months ago, but fermenting till this fall day on my sheltered island.
Karissa Chiaris Jul 2013
Here I am told that I can’t practice what I believe
That’s like telling me not to breath
That’s like telling me not to eat
Or giving me sustenance and pulling all my teeth

What happened to being free?
Or am I just missing something?
Last time I checked, being free from practicing my faith isn’t free…
It’s *******, control, deceit…

I understand I’m not supposed to try to force on others what I believe
So why is it ok to force me into disbelief?
Why is it ok for me to be forced to be “clean”
Like I’m some drug testing, weapon bearing, outlaw parolee

Everyone has God or Darwin, something to believe
Everyone has some church that they follow, some theology
I just don't get why mine is "wrong" to practice openly
Because being told that I can’t pray in school isn’t really free
*Side note: "Separation of Church and State" is not actually in the constitution. It actually came from a 1947 judge ruling that took the phrase out of context from a letter of Thomas Jefferson that was intended to keep freedom in the state to practice religion, not ban it. View this article for more info:

http://www.truenews.org/Religious_Freedom/separation_of_church_and_state.html
Mike Hauser Mar 2018
Straight out of prison
Wondering what I've been missing
Right out of the gates I stuck out my thumb

A van load of hippies
All from Mississippi
Stoped and asked, hey dude...what's going on

I'm here for adventure
Well hop in then Mister
Adventure is what we're all about

Now where we're all going
There's no way of knowing
A van of hippies and parolee freshly let out

We ended up in Disney
Me and all of the hippies
Where we had caboodles of fun

We met Mickey and he saw it
When I lifted his wallet
Now we're in the Magic Kingdom all on the run

We split in different directions
To throw off detection
It's A Small World is where I made my mistake

With that song stuck in my head
It's a fate worse than death
Prison now sounds like a wonderful place

We rendezvoused in
The Pirate's Of The Caribbean
Where soon after, in came the law

We all jumped from our boats
Splashing around in the moat
And had ourselves a good old fashioned pirate brawl

We soon made our escape
Out of exit door 88
Finding ourselves in Frontier Land at night

Where in the middle of the street
Were Mickey, Donald, and Goofy
All with guns strapped to their sides

We ran into a shop
And bought guns on the spot
All with Mickey's money...he's a mouse of a man

Mickey squeeks we're going to ruff you up
As Goofy holds up the cuffs
And Donald says something we can't understand

We had a shoot out
With cap guns no doubt
After all Disney runs a safe place

Ran out of caps in our guns
Which stopped our lives on the run
The wrath of Mickey we all now would face

After justice's hammer
I'm now back in the slammer
This time I made my own prison bed

Now I cry every day
What more can I say
With It's A Small World still stuck in my head
Taking a break...Rerunning one for fun!
mari Jul 2018
they all tell me i
should leave you there,
but i'm too attached to go.
you loved me once on
the siesta key beach and
you promised me things
on my living room carpet
after we made love.

what happened to the man
who called me beautiful and
stayed up to see the sunset smile
on my golden flesh?
where did you go, my love?
i don't enjoy the slow
saturation of nectar tears
that trickle down my
cinema blue beaten face.

if i wanted to be used like
a piece of average teenage garbage
i would've stayed with the
drunken football player
or the alcoholic parolee
that loved me on a sheet next to
the street barely hidden by cars.
you're so worried about my past
that you can't see the blinding present.

my biggest regret was slipping you
into my ****** kiss the first time
i snuck out into the velvet night
to get a glimpse of you.
tell me, what makes you different
than ------ or ----- or ------?
you're just the same and as much of
a creep as ------- was.

you make me feel like i'm dreaming,
like i walk in a haze and i'm
tired of feeling crazy, summer stranger.
your threats don't frighten me
'cause they're emptier than your hollow ribs.
i'll call you when the moon rises and
the sun rules the tides or the bible parts
the seas the way you once parted my thighs.
don't lie to me.
Kaitlin Evers Jan 2018
I get the feeling you want to leave me
In the past where you found me
But I guess that's just how life is
Never a guarantee

Funny though
How we never did disagree
Now you're gone
Like a parolee

It seems you never once looked back
I hesitate to third degree
I want to ask
But that's beneath me

I wish you well
Though I must tell
...I'll miss you on Sunday
Lm Bernal Oct 2014
We've tried this not so merry go round on this what you see-saw
Yet at the pique you grasp my hand and laugh as I fall
In broken bones humpty dumpty chuckles at my sights
Pants of magma you set the pace and read me my rights
A criminal of love a parolee of despair king of isolates
Turn back to a time when time couldn't be turned its you I hate
Mike Hauser Apr 2018
Time is a tiger
With you as the meat
Prowling your forest
Baring its teeth
Moves along quickly
Not skipping a beat
Only to stop
When it's done its deed

Time being a wave
Pounds at your sand
Till it deteriorates
Every inch of your land
And brings you into
Its ever present demand
If you think time is a bully
Please raise your hand

Time is a storm
That blows in your face
The wrong end of the pencil
Set to erase
The grandmother on edge
With a can of mace
A Sunday prayer
Without the grace

Time brings to mind
What it wants to be
The officer in charge
With you the parolee
Making sure that you do
What it wants you to
Taking into account
You haven't a clue

Time in its haste
Brings you along
Sings harmony
To your 3 minute song
Comes with a debt
You'll never pay back
By the time you figure that
You've already left
Bob B Jul 2022
I'm not at all desirous of Heaven;
Nor do I have a fear of Hell.
That we end up in either place
Is--to me--a very hard sell.

Some believe in purgatory--
Another place that lies in between
The other two. End up there
And you are given the chance to come clean.

Many people long to know
That a certain sense of justice prevails--
That we must pay for any wrongdoing.
They try to spell out what that entails:

Doing good and having specific
Beliefs will help you secure a place
In some heavenly realm where you
Will suffer no longer and live in grace.

But if that isn't the path for you,
Then, oh, no, heaven forbid!
You will have to face punishment
For all the evil things that you did.

It's both a lure and a scare tactic.
That's what the concept seems to me.
It's almost as though we go through life
Behaving like a parolee.

Is human nature such that we need
To receive a punishment or reward
For being bad or good, which applies
To everybody across the board?

Wouldn't it be enough to say
That being bad is wrong for you,
While doing good is appropriate
Merely because it's the right thing to do?

Is human nature also such
That people feel that by and large
No one should reap the benefits
Of anything out there free of charge?

And good and bad--for goodness’ sake--
Are relative, to say the least.
And ludicrous it is to think
That anyone bears the "mark of the beast."

After we die, returning to what
We were before we were born makes sense.
Ultimately, since no one knows
For sure, we all remain in suspense.

-by Bob B (7-5-22)

— The End —