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"peddled" poems
In nineteen hundred forty-nine China was won by Mao Tse-tung Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday Supported by the CIA Pushing junk down Thailand way First they stole from the Meo Tribes Up in the hills they started taking bribes Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan Collecting ***** to send to The Man Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday Supported by the CIA Brought their jam on mule trains down To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town Sold it next to the police chief brain He took it to town on the choochoo train Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day Supported by the CIA The policeman's name was Mr. Phao He peddled dope grand scale and how Chief of border customs paid By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D. The whole operation, Newspapers say Supported by the CIA He got so sloppy & peddled so loose He busted himself & cooked his own goose Took the reward for an ***** load Seizing his own haul which same he resold Big time pusher for a decade turned grey Working for the CIA Touby Lyfong he worked for the French A big fat man liked to dine & ***** Prince of the Meos he grew black mud Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood Communists came and chased the French away So Touby took a job with the CIA The whole operation fell in to chaos Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan All them Princes in a power play But Phoumi was the man for the CIA And his best friend General Vang Pao Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars It started in secret they were fighting yesterday Clandestine secret army of the CIA All through the Sixties the Dope flew free Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky Air America followed through Transporting confiture for President Thieu All these Dealers were decades and yesterday The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks "Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away Till Colby was the head of the CIA January 1972
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10.1k
Allen Ginsberg
CIA Dope Calypso
In nineteen hundred forty-nine China was won by Mao Tse-tung Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday Supported by the CIA Pushing junk down Thailand way First they stole from the Meo Tribes Up in the hills they started taking bribes Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan Collecting ***** to send to The Man Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday Supported by the CIA Brought their jam on mule trains down To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town Sold it next to the police chief brain He took it to town on the choochoo train Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day Supported by the CIA The policeman's name was Mr. Phao He peddled dope grand scale and how Chief of border customs paid By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D. The whole operation, Newspapers say Supported by the CIA He got so sloppy & peddled so loose He busted himself & cooked his own goose Took the reward for an ***** load Seizing his own haul which same he resold Big time pusher for a decade turned grey Working for the CIA Touby Lyfong he worked for the French A big fat man liked to dine & ***** Prince of the Meos he grew black mud Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood Communists came and chased the French away So Touby took a job with the CIA The whole operation fell in to chaos Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan All them Princes in a power play But Phoumi was the man for the CIA And his best friend General Vang Pao Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars It started in secret they were fighting yesterday Clandestine secret army of the CIA All through the Sixties the Dope flew free Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky Air America followed through Transporting confiture for President Thieu All these Dealers were decades and yesterday The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks "Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away Till Colby was the head of the CIA January 1972
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61
The old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime; that there is One Man, — present to all particular men only partially, or through one faculty; and that you must take the whole society to find the whole man. Man is not a farmer, or a professor, or an engineer, but he is all. Man is priest, and scholar, and statesman, and producer, and soldier. In the divided or social state, these functions are parcelled out to individuals, each of whom aims to do his stint of the joint work, whilst each other performs his. The fable implies, that the individual, to possess himself, must sometimes return from his own labor to embrace all the other laborers. But unfortunately, this original unit, this fountain of power, has been so distributed to multitudes, has been so minutely subdivided and peddled out, that it is spilled into drops, and cannot be gathered. The state of society is one in which the members have suffered amputation from the trunk, and strut about so many walking monsters, — a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an elbow, but never a man. Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing beyond, and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on the farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject to dollars. The priest becomes a form; the attorney, a statute-book; the mechanic, a machine; the sailor, a rope of a ship.
0
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC
insufficient
Excerpt from: "The American Scholar" -Ralph Waldo Emmerson
The old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime; that there is One Man, — present to all particular men only partially, or through one faculty; and that you must take the whole society to find the whole man. Man is not a farmer, or a professor, or an engineer, but he is all. Man is priest, and scholar, and statesman, and producer, and soldier. In the divided or social state, these functions are parcelled out to individuals, each of whom aims to do his stint of the joint work, whilst each other performs his. The fable implies, that the individual, to possess himself, must sometimes return from his own labor to embrace all the other laborers. But unfortunately, this original unit, this fountain of power, has been so distributed to multitudes, has been so minutely subdivided and peddled out, that it is spilled into drops, and cannot be gathered. The state of society is one in which the members have suffered amputation from the trunk, and strut about so many walking monsters, — a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an elbow, but never a man. Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry. He sees his bushel and his cart, and nothing beyond, and sinks into the farmer, instead of Man on the farm. The tradesman scarcely ever gives an ideal worth to his work, but is ridden by the routine of his craft, and the soul is subject to dollars. The priest becomes a form; the attorney, a statute-book; the mechanic, a machine; the sailor, a rope of a ship.
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2
The autumn sun slides low against the hours, peaking over the day as if barely begun and almost finished. There is something familiar here in the half light, not quite vertical yet bright enough to see the path I ride is not as rough, the wind is not as strong and my heart is not as hard nor encumbered as days since passed where in hind-sight I peddled for sanctuary; sanctuary from a morbid kind of half-sight held tight by a half-life of loneliness and lies now long lost and finally made right.
0
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 11:11 AM UTC
v_V_v
Bicycle
The autumn sun slides low against the hours, peaking over the day as if barely begun and almost finished. There is something familiar here in the half light, not quite vertical yet bright enough to see the path I ride is not as rough, the wind is not as strong and my heart is not as hard nor encumbered as days since passed where in hind-sight I peddled for sanctuary; sanctuary from a morbid kind of half-sight held tight by a half-life of loneliness and lies now long lost and finally made right.
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22
Funny how we woke up in the morning and pretended that tomorrow never happened— strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth, laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same. We borrowed our arms from the fridge and peddled bicycles with bad breath— trading war stories ‘cause we knew if we came back alive life would still be the death of us.
0
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 4:27 PM UTC
ugochukwu-charles-onyewuchi
Tomorrow never happened
Funny how we woke up in the morning and pretended that tomorrow never happened— strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth, laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same. We borrowed our arms from the fridge and peddled bicycles with bad breath— trading war stories ‘cause we knew if we came back alive life would still be the death of us.
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9
In Rome on the Campo di Fiori Baskets of olives and lemons, Cobbles spattered with wine And the wreckage of flowers. Vendors cover the trestles With rose-pink fish; Armfuls of dark grapes Heaped on peach-down. On this same square They burned Giordano Bruno. Henchmen kindled the pyre Close-pressed by the mob. Before the flames had died The taverns were full again, Baskets of olives and lemons Again on the vendors' shoulders. I thought of the Campo dei Fiori In Warsaw by the sky-carousel One clear spring evening To the strains of a carnival tune. The bright melody drowned The salvos from the ghetto wall, And couples were flying High in the cloudless sky. At times wind from the burning Would driff dark kites along And riders on the carousel Caught petals in midair. That same hot wind Blew open the skirts of the girls And the crowds were laughing On that beautiful Warsaw Sunday. Someone will read as moral That the people of Rome or Warsaw Haggle, laugh, make love As they pass by martyrs' pyres. Someone else will read Of the passing of things human, Of the oblivion Born before the flames have died. But that day I thought only Of the loneliness of the dying, Of how, when Giordano Climbed to his burning There were no words In any human tongue To be left for mankind, Mankind who live on. Already they were back at their wine Or peddled their white starfish, Baskets of olives and lemons They had shouldered to the fair, And he already distanced As if centuries had passed While they paused just a moment For his flying in the fire. Those dying here, the lonely Forgotten by the world, Our tongue becomes for them The language of an ancient planet. Until, when all is legend And many years have passed, On a great Campo dci Fiori Rage will kindle at a poet's word.
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3.6k
Czeslaw Milosz
Campo di Fiori
In Rome on the Campo di Fiori Baskets of olives and lemons, Cobbles spattered with wine And the wreckage of flowers. Vendors cover the trestles With rose-pink fish; Armfuls of dark grapes Heaped on peach-down. On this same square They burned Giordano Bruno. Henchmen kindled the pyre Close-pressed by the mob. Before the flames had died The taverns were full again, Baskets of olives and lemons Again on the vendors' shoulders. I thought of the Campo dei Fiori In Warsaw by the sky-carousel One clear spring evening To the strains of a carnival tune. The bright melody drowned The salvos from the ghetto wall, And couples were flying High in the cloudless sky. At times wind from the burning Would driff dark kites along And riders on the carousel Caught petals in midair. That same hot wind Blew open the skirts of the girls And the crowds were laughing On that beautiful Warsaw Sunday. Someone will read as moral That the people of Rome or Warsaw Haggle, laugh, make love As they pass by martyrs' pyres. Someone else will read Of the passing of things human, Of the oblivion Born before the flames have died. But that day I thought only Of the loneliness of the dying, Of how, when Giordano Climbed to his burning There were no words In any human tongue To be left for mankind, Mankind who live on. Already they were back at their wine Or peddled their white starfish, Baskets of olives and lemons They had shouldered to the fair, And he already distanced As if centuries had passed While they paused just a moment For his flying in the fire. Those dying here, the lonely Forgotten by the world, Our tongue becomes for them The language of an ancient planet. Until, when all is legend And many years have passed, On a great Campo dci Fiori Rage will kindle at a poet's word.
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64
All day long I begged you To let me ride your brand new bike.As soon as the guests were gone,And the party nothing but scattered gift-wrap,I snuck outside and snatched your big kid bike.My face still covered in cake, and heart racingI jumped on, I peddled down the hillSoon the cement walk ended, gave way to grass.I slammed the breaks, they failed and I went on.I was airborne, going over the stone wall.I let out a screech and mom came running.My arm twisted, the bone sticking out.Mom screamed and auntie came running
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Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 5:10 PM UTC
jessica-giles
Broken Arm
All day long I begged you To let me ride your brand new bike.As soon as the guests were gone,And the party nothing but scattered gift-wrap,I snuck outside and snatched your big kid bike.My face still covered in cake, and heart racingI jumped on, I peddled down the hillSoon the cement walk ended, gave way to grass.I slammed the breaks, they failed and I went on.I was airborne, going over the stone wall.I let out a screech and mom came running.My arm twisted, the bone sticking out.Mom screamed and auntie came running
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1
i given nothing i abandoned i adopted i dropout i garage i Apple i NeXT i Pixar i Apple i pilfered i i invented i i produced i i market i i retail i i am i i am i i tech beauty i consumer fetish i whom you love i sleekest widgets i Toy Story i Macintosh i macbook i Lisa iTunes iPod iPhone iPad i more i rebel i genius i visionary i entrepreneur i world changer i exceptionalism i capital market hero i bigger then business i cool capitalism i myth i "the man" i worker i employer i boss i thief i savior i billionaire i venerated i vanity i Buddhist i prophet i redeemed i 1 in 300 million i America i sing the pathos i am the creed i define the ethos i Steve Jobs i amassed riches i accolade crowned i ingratiate world i virtue i success i creativity i favored i Midas i bedeviled i tested i afflicted i retire i human i mortal i succumb i eulogized i leave legacy of i i am an MBA case study i employed workers i peddled intrepid product cycles i subject of amusing anecdotes i am heroic corporate folklore i grew pods full of music i incite kids to thumb phones i captivate consumer imagination i built rock solid balance sheet i erected toxic Chinese factories i enriched investors i am the cool corporate brand i inspired a million unused i apps i hipster capitalism i imposed my will i insisted i am that i am i cannot take it with me i leave blue jeans i leave NB sneakers i leave black collarless shirt i will be asked what i did with the time i was given? i did the best i could i played the hand dealt i parlayed it into a royal flush i filled it up with i i ask why i am no more? i leave the world i am no more Godspeed Beloved Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs (February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011) jbm Oakland 10/6/11
0
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 10:40 PM UTC
james-bradley-mccallum
iBook of Jobs
i given nothing i abandoned i adopted i dropout i garage i Apple i NeXT i Pixar i Apple i pilfered i i invented i i produced i i market i i retail i i am i i am i i tech beauty i consumer fetish i whom you love i sleekest widgets i Toy Story i Macintosh i macbook i Lisa iTunes iPod iPhone iPad i more i rebel i genius i visionary i entrepreneur i world changer i exceptionalism i capital market hero i bigger then business i cool capitalism i myth i "the man" i worker i employer i boss i thief i savior i billionaire i venerated i vanity i Buddhist i prophet i redeemed i 1 in 300 million i America i sing the pathos i am the creed i define the ethos i Steve Jobs i amassed riches i accolade crowned i ingratiate world i virtue i success i creativity i favored i Midas i bedeviled i tested i afflicted i retire i human i mortal i succumb i eulogized i leave legacy of i i am an MBA case study i employed workers i peddled intrepid product cycles i subject of amusing anecdotes i am heroic corporate folklore i grew pods full of music i incite kids to thumb phones i captivate consumer imagination i built rock solid balance sheet i erected toxic Chinese factories i enriched investors i am the cool corporate brand i inspired a million unused i apps i hipster capitalism i imposed my will i insisted i am that i am i cannot take it with me i leave blue jeans i leave NB sneakers i leave black collarless shirt i will be asked what i did with the time i was given? i did the best i could i played the hand dealt i parlayed it into a royal flush i filled it up with i i ask why i am no more? i leave the world i am no more Godspeed Beloved Steven Paul "Steve" Jobs (February 24, 1955 – October 5, 2011) jbm Oakland 10/6/11
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113
For love,he puts on a forced gait So he moves into her beautiful gate Sure to him to have their first date He peddled hard but arrived late Hoping for the best,He never knew his fate Sure enough,she had to wait For she died to see her new mate Who happened to place the wrong bait Therefore all molested into a big hate.
0
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
kfc
Force of Love.
For love,he puts on a forced gait So he moves into her beautiful gate Sure to him to have their first date He peddled hard but arrived late Hoping for the best,He never knew his fate Sure enough,she had to wait For she died to see her new mate Who happened to place the wrong bait Therefore all molested into a big hate.
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9
Aye, Montecelli, that's the name. You may have heard of him perhaps. Yet though he never savoured fame, Of those impressionistic chaps, Monet and Manet and Renoir He was the avatar. He festered in a Marseilles slum, A starving genius, god-inspired. You'd take him for a lousy *** Tho' poetry of paint he lyred, In dreamy pastels each a gem: . . . How people laughed at them! He peddled paint from bar to bar; From sordid rags a jewel shone, A glow of joy and colour far From filth of fortune woe-begone. 'Just twenty francs,' he shyly said, 'To take me drunk to bed.' Of Van Gogh and Cezanne a peer; In dreams of ecstasy enskied, A genius and a pioneer, Poor, paralysed and mad he died: Yet by all who hold Beauty dear May he be glorified!
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2.6k
Robert Service
A Canvas For A Crust
Aye, Montecelli, that's the name. You may have heard of him perhaps. Yet though he never savoured fame, Of those impressionistic chaps, Monet and Manet and Renoir He was the avatar. He festered in a Marseilles slum, A starving genius, god-inspired. You'd take him for a lousy *** Tho' poetry of paint he lyred, In dreamy pastels each a gem: . . . How people laughed at them! He peddled paint from bar to bar; From sordid rags a jewel shone, A glow of joy and colour far From filth of fortune woe-begone. 'Just twenty francs,' he shyly said, 'To take me drunk to bed.' Of Van Gogh and Cezanne a peer; In dreams of ecstasy enskied, A genius and a pioneer, Poor, paralysed and mad he died: Yet by all who hold Beauty dear May he be glorified!
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24
I draw on lilac cigars through my mask so her journey in neon stays safely as a highlight in gas filtered clouds the faulty starter judders the light flora scented and in the flickering clouds an attempt at landing reveals her girdle red in a flash of steely eyes and suddenly mine were blinded just as she rubbed against the dark combing her strands wildly apart she shook blonde roots and brunettes alike I'm a sucker for hair turned hydrogen peroxide mixed with air to make stars startling amidst malefactory dye metal booms swung away at each other in the distance building her model oxygen tanks for pin up flower cuttings and garlands on picket fences she kissed the ground and I gas peddled a stomp on the glowing end to the stub only to drop like a skeleton with lead hands to follow any seeds ******* burnt rain
0
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
anthony-williams
Hindenburg
I draw on lilac cigars through my mask so her journey in neon stays safely as a highlight in gas filtered clouds the faulty starter judders the light flora scented and in the flickering clouds an attempt at landing reveals her girdle red in a flash of steely eyes and suddenly mine were blinded just as she rubbed against the dark combing her strands wildly apart she shook blonde roots and brunettes alike I'm a sucker for hair turned hydrogen peroxide mixed with air to make stars startling amidst malefactory dye metal booms swung away at each other in the distance building her model oxygen tanks for pin up flower cuttings and garlands on picket fences she kissed the ground and I gas peddled a stomp on the glowing end to the stub only to drop like a skeleton with lead hands to follow any seeds ******* burnt rain
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31
A late night phone call awakes the teen. The voice calling elicits sweeter dreams. She's asking for a late night rendezvous. She says she misses his eyes of blue. The boy stealthily sneaks down the hall. There was no way he would ignore the call. He opens the door and feels the autumn chill.   And he smiles thinking of the upcoming thrill. He jumps on his bike to begin the journey. Even the long ride can't ease his yearning. As he pulls into the alley at the back of her place. He sees a beautiful and innocent face. They make some small talk to break the ice. But her sweet perfume smells way too nice. So he leans in closer to steal a passionate kiss. And she accepts him and grants his wish. Their breathing was heavy and hands explored. There was a certain need that couldn't be ignored.   But before the heat could engulf the night. There was the sound of a door and suddenly a light. He made for his bike like a lightning bolt. And he peddled away like a run away colt.   The last thing he heard was angry father's yell. If I ever see you again I'll send you straight to hell.
0
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 1:49 AM UTC
greg-obrecht
15
A late night phone call awakes the teen. The voice calling elicits sweeter dreams. She's asking for a late night rendezvous. She says she misses his eyes of blue. The boy stealthily sneaks down the hall. There was no way he would ignore the call. He opens the door and feels the autumn chill.   And he smiles thinking of the upcoming thrill. He jumps on his bike to begin the journey. Even the long ride can't ease his yearning. As he pulls into the alley at the back of her place. He sees a beautiful and innocent face. They make some small talk to break the ice. But her sweet perfume smells way too nice. So he leans in closer to steal a passionate kiss. And she accepts him and grants his wish. Their breathing was heavy and hands explored. There was a certain need that couldn't be ignored.   But before the heat could engulf the night. There was the sound of a door and suddenly a light. He made for his bike like a lightning bolt. And he peddled away like a run away colt.   The last thing he heard was angry father's yell. If I ever see you again I'll send you straight to hell.
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24
She ran a boarding house in Boston, But they used her size to terrorize men And lead them to the lock-holes. Or was she a lady clad in black ruffles, Presented to the Queen in 1844? Perhaps she was a racehorse Foaled in Harlem and won a prize. She had peddled drugs and run a gang In the chaos of Civil War, Black Mariah escaped from the darkness Of Edison’s studio to roam the world, But in it found herself re-imagined. They named police wagons after her It’s said, but no one knows the truth. Did she cross the battle lines again, To tread on civil rights? Or swing the batons in Chicago And fire rifles at Kent State? She seems to take time out to charm Gruff-voiced men who sing her praise. She prowled the streets of Brixton, In 1983, with truncheons at her side. Through gas clouds, dragging men to jail. Black Mariah is with us still, Helping to create tyrants and traitors, To stop the mouths of those who defy She’s an accessory to the killing.
0
Jun 30, 2023
Jun 30, 2023 at 7:09 PM UTC
sharon-talbot
Black Mariah
She ran a boarding house in Boston, But they used her size to terrorize men And lead them to the lock-holes. Or was she a lady clad in black ruffles, Presented to the Queen in 1844? Perhaps she was a racehorse Foaled in Harlem and won a prize. She had peddled drugs and run a gang In the chaos of Civil War, Black Mariah escaped from the darkness Of Edison’s studio to roam the world, But in it found herself re-imagined. They named police wagons after her It’s said, but no one knows the truth. Did she cross the battle lines again, To tread on civil rights? Or swing the batons in Chicago And fire rifles at Kent State? She seems to take time out to charm Gruff-voiced men who sing her praise. She prowled the streets of Brixton, In 1983, with truncheons at her side. Through gas clouds, dragging men to jail. Black Mariah is with us still, Helping to create tyrants and traitors, To stop the mouths of those who defy She’s an accessory to the killing.
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27
You are Sherlock Holmes; cold, unyielding I'm here just praying to be your Irene Adler We match in intelligences, looks and laughs I keep up with you while you spit theories and deductions   Even when you poke holes in mine You make me better smarter faster stronger ....I make you soft... There are alot of poems about unrequited love This is not one of them This is not one of them I knew you loved me; Since that day on bikes Well aware of how the sun shone Through my hair But... Backed away at your advance The rejection, to hard for you to handle And as you peddled, away, uphill...fighting With each pump of your legs I wanted to say I can't Because just one kiss and I'll explode with love for you I saw through your reasoning and never tried to fix you This is not a poem about unrequited love. This is a poem about when to realize some characters and some ideals are fiction for a reason
0
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
jennelle-rivera
Sherlock
You are Sherlock Holmes; cold, unyielding I'm here just praying to be your Irene Adler We match in intelligences, looks and laughs I keep up with you while you spit theories and deductions   Even when you poke holes in mine You make me better smarter faster stronger ....I make you soft... There are alot of poems about unrequited love This is not one of them This is not one of them I knew you loved me; Since that day on bikes Well aware of how the sun shone Through my hair But... Backed away at your advance The rejection, to hard for you to handle And as you peddled, away, uphill...fighting With each pump of your legs I wanted to say I can't Because just one kiss and I'll explode with love for you I saw through your reasoning and never tried to fix you This is not a poem about unrequited love. This is a poem about when to realize some characters and some ideals are fiction for a reason
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24
//// • || <> / \ /\ ### Police towers mar the sky and insult god and all creation • You are a slave drugged into the insane feeling that you are free • Trapped in loveless flesh amid other lost souls Promising vainly not to hurt each other real bad • Reading the peddled lies And believing them ( why not ? ) • Slaves in a police state Slaves in a police state Slaves in a police state ••• This Like everything else Don't mean a thing To those who don't want to be free
0
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
jeffrey-robin
apple pie it's all apple pie
//// • || <> / \ /\ ### Police towers mar the sky and insult god and all creation • You are a slave drugged into the insane feeling that you are free • Trapped in loveless flesh amid other lost souls Promising vainly not to hurt each other real bad • Reading the peddled lies And believing them ( why not ? ) • Slaves in a police state Slaves in a police state Slaves in a police state ••• This Like everything else Don't mean a thing To those who don't want to be free
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24
We played with words and peddled euphemisms, as we hid behind veils. We had reality twisted and bent. We chided and spat into the winds of coercing gales.
0
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 9:12 AM UTC
ryn
Wordplay
We played with words and peddled euphemisms, as we hid behind veils. We had reality twisted and bent. We chided and spat into the winds of coercing gales.
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8
Today’s key stroke painted tale started a few short days ago When his father found him on the bathroom floor and with no blood flow Why are your lips blue and why is that belt again wrapped around your arm? O’ My God son, look at what you now have really done You just got out of jail days ago, I been all alone and it wasn’t fun You promised me you would clean up and stop all that body harm You’re gone now and with no return, who’s going to help me now run the farm? An old street friend years ago, he was someone very well, I used to also know I had to give up that life because I have a much better place I now want to go Earlier today before I got done slowly processing you, my second ever autopsy case I vowed to your father, he made me promise and say I would bring you back home safe And to your brother I’d play all your favorite songs at the start on the ride back You are now back in your town and inside the best ever made Funeral Parlor I unzipped your bag so I could see you one last time; I was the last to ever see your face I then put a letter in your hand so you can take it with you forever into space Last night after I talked with your Dad and Lil’ J all about your stories While sipping on Don Julio Tequila I also sniped and saved till today, And in your other hand you also hold, a piece of the family cactus a rare peddled flower Slated plan Monday morning is, I’m taking you to your next process After that, because you were a surfer in CA. growing up as a kid, Lil’ J Is flying back with your ashes in his arms and then strapping you down onto Like a surfboard he's helping let you ride the waves in the Pacific Ocean And that is what you will be doing forever and ever more, As you always requested, your special never ending moving motion. R.I.P M S, 2013 (SirCARSr. 3-23-13)
0
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
curt-a-rivard-sr
Entrusted
Today’s key stroke painted tale started a few short days ago When his father found him on the bathroom floor and with no blood flow Why are your lips blue and why is that belt again wrapped around your arm? O’ My God son, look at what you now have really done You just got out of jail days ago, I been all alone and it wasn’t fun You promised me you would clean up and stop all that body harm You’re gone now and with no return, who’s going to help me now run the farm? An old street friend years ago, he was someone very well, I used to also know I had to give up that life because I have a much better place I now want to go Earlier today before I got done slowly processing you, my second ever autopsy case I vowed to your father, he made me promise and say I would bring you back home safe And to your brother I’d play all your favorite songs at the start on the ride back You are now back in your town and inside the best ever made Funeral Parlor I unzipped your bag so I could see you one last time; I was the last to ever see your face I then put a letter in your hand so you can take it with you forever into space Last night after I talked with your Dad and Lil’ J all about your stories While sipping on Don Julio Tequila I also sniped and saved till today, And in your other hand you also hold, a piece of the family cactus a rare peddled flower Slated plan Monday morning is, I’m taking you to your next process After that, because you were a surfer in CA. growing up as a kid, Lil’ J Is flying back with your ashes in his arms and then strapping you down onto Like a surfboard he's helping let you ride the waves in the Pacific Ocean And that is what you will be doing forever and ever more, As you always requested, your special never ending moving motion. R.I.P M S, 2013 (SirCARSr. 3-23-13)
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26
scribbling through pain of wrist and tensed forearms brought bettered by repetition thru peddled death of calves and ruined bowels of pre- cancered prostate. constant film of excreted toxins and another cigarette only suffo- cates these already humid- battered lungs. another trip out of doors only brings realization of the heat inside, buried deep beneath time- pressured skin. some heart forcing beats even though cells have hardened via emo- tionally evolved polysaccha- rides. perhaps times' gain of addiction finds lack of release of toxins, perhaps the devel- opment of a superior being detached. lies, and realized, wholly-owned and flawed chitin formed of prior life, formed of shared chemicals of plasma-like water shed. and called abrupt ending, and lack of self-perspective found lead-in to ending the reign of self. ending some reign of I the Destroyer.
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Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 11:53 PM UTC
townsendfm
summer sweating pt. 5
scribbling through pain of wrist and tensed forearms brought bettered by repetition thru peddled death of calves and ruined bowels of pre- cancered prostate. constant film of excreted toxins and another cigarette only suffo- cates these already humid- battered lungs. another trip out of doors only brings realization of the heat inside, buried deep beneath time- pressured skin. some heart forcing beats even though cells have hardened via emo- tionally evolved polysaccha- rides. perhaps times' gain of addiction finds lack of release of toxins, perhaps the devel- opment of a superior being detached. lies, and realized, wholly-owned and flawed chitin formed of prior life, formed of shared chemicals of plasma-like water shed. and called abrupt ending, and lack of self-perspective found lead-in to ending the reign of self. ending some reign of I the Destroyer.
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31
Trump is upset about what he calls Fake news being spread-- News which has the soon-to-be President seeing red. An unverified dossier Claims that Russia has power over him. Fake news or not, it still appears That Trump's memory is growing dim. For years he peddled a birther myth! So, Mr. Trump, please let us put A question to you: How does it feel To have the shoe on the other foot? - by Bob B (1-11-17)
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Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
bob-b
Fake News
Trump is upset about what he calls Fake news being spread-- News which has the soon-to-be President seeing red. An unverified dossier Claims that Russia has power over him. Fake news or not, it still appears That Trump's memory is growing dim. For years he peddled a birther myth! So, Mr. Trump, please let us put A question to you: How does it feel To have the shoe on the other foot? - by Bob B (1-11-17)
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13
Surrendering the blood... Drawn by dull, rusty syringes. Manipulated by villainous fingers. Promised elixir but peddled drugs.
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Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
ryn
Elixir
Surrendering the blood... Drawn by dull, rusty syringes. Manipulated by villainous fingers. Promised elixir but peddled drugs.
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8
Maybe I don't have a One This isn't meant to be depressing although I agree it may come off that way I just want to be realistic Maybe I don't have a One People die for no reason all the time I don't mean to be somber these are just facts do think they had all fallen in love? do you think their lives were fulfilled? Maybe I don't have a One We're force-fed fairytales peddled parables of Princes and Princesses love is just a product no different than chocolate or straight to DVD CDs of Dumb and Dumber Not everybody has a bicycle Maybe I don't have a One Don't get me wrong I'm as hopeless a romantic as the next guy I'm sure people do find love and a couple consists of two people so they very well may make up the majority but as obvious as it may sound to say 50 is not 100 some is not all and everybody might not have a somebody Maybe I don't have a One This wasn't meant to be sad I just feel like we're all fed a certain narrative that may or may not be true which is fine I just don't think it's crazy to admit that perhaps possibly Maybe I don't have a One
0
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 2:48 AM UTC
tark-wain
Maybe I don't have a One
Maybe I don't have a One This isn't meant to be depressing although I agree it may come off that way I just want to be realistic Maybe I don't have a One People die for no reason all the time I don't mean to be somber these are just facts do think they had all fallen in love? do you think their lives were fulfilled? Maybe I don't have a One We're force-fed fairytales peddled parables of Princes and Princesses love is just a product no different than chocolate or straight to DVD CDs of Dumb and Dumber Not everybody has a bicycle Maybe I don't have a One Don't get me wrong I'm as hopeless a romantic as the next guy I'm sure people do find love and a couple consists of two people so they very well may make up the majority but as obvious as it may sound to say 50 is not 100 some is not all and everybody might not have a somebody Maybe I don't have a One This wasn't meant to be sad I just feel like we're all fed a certain narrative that may or may not be true which is fine I just don't think it's crazy to admit that perhaps possibly Maybe I don't have a One
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37
I gave a red rose away My love is peddled in that flower. Stemming from the depths, the depths of an aortic man Blooms a beautiful weakness. For it leaves him vulnerable To a raging red river of tears Flowing with every rose He’s ever given away. He could fill so many boquets A florist would be floored. He could put them on display In an elegant display case They still wouldn’t be worth a say. Dumbfounded by an illusion Asking himself ‘what am I doin?’ Trying to fill this void With his acts of confusion Only to find the one answer The one he’s not looking for. That all these love stories He grew up listening to Have left his ideas skewed. That love can be found In the heart of someone else, Happiness can be tasted On the buds of another tongue Without using your mouth. But little did he know That none of it was true, All this time he never knew. Behind that shimmering smile Is a mouth that is empty. His ears never hear church bells, And his eyes never see stars. His hands never felt the sand, His feet have never frolicked, And his roses were never red. Searching for happiness Before he even had it himself Led to the self-destruction Of all the love he’s ever felt.
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Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 9:19 PM UTC
benny-the-jet
Red Felt
I gave a red rose away My love is peddled in that flower. Stemming from the depths, the depths of an aortic man Blooms a beautiful weakness. For it leaves him vulnerable To a raging red river of tears Flowing with every rose He’s ever given away. He could fill so many boquets A florist would be floored. He could put them on display In an elegant display case They still wouldn’t be worth a say. Dumbfounded by an illusion Asking himself ‘what am I doin?’ Trying to fill this void With his acts of confusion Only to find the one answer The one he’s not looking for. That all these love stories He grew up listening to Have left his ideas skewed. That love can be found In the heart of someone else, Happiness can be tasted On the buds of another tongue Without using your mouth. But little did he know That none of it was true, All this time he never knew. Behind that shimmering smile Is a mouth that is empty. His ears never hear church bells, And his eyes never see stars. His hands never felt the sand, His feet have never frolicked, And his roses were never red. Searching for happiness Before he even had it himself Led to the self-destruction Of all the love he’s ever felt.
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42
I'm not a manufactured cowboy Don't you dare call me one I'm just a simple man A tattooed hellbilly from a small Illinois town I know of loss, sorrow and woe And I don't give a **** about tailgates or daisy dukes Too many folks talk too much Throwing words around, saying they're outlaws You ain't no outlaw and that is plain as day There's many dues that you haven't paid Country radio all sounds the same Not one true, blue word in anything they say When did so many people lose their soul Become cookie cutter, and not care anymore I miss the sound of real guitars and fiddles being played Not interested in the trash that's get peddled these days I'm not turning coat, not softening my stance I'm a real **** hellbilly, and real **** proud
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Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 8:02 PM UTC
CoreyK
Hellbilly
I'm not a manufactured cowboy Don't you dare call me one I'm just a simple man A tattooed hellbilly from a small Illinois town I know of loss, sorrow and woe And I don't give a **** about tailgates or daisy dukes Too many folks talk too much Throwing words around, saying they're outlaws You ain't no outlaw and that is plain as day There's many dues that you haven't paid Country radio all sounds the same Not one true, blue word in anything they say When did so many people lose their soul Become cookie cutter, and not care anymore I miss the sound of real guitars and fiddles being played Not interested in the trash that's get peddled these days I'm not turning coat, not softening my stance I'm a real **** hellbilly, and real **** proud
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18
and quite dully dutifully the mk-ultra manchurian candidate brain-washed children enter the "MIND OF THE WORLD!" matzel-tov! matzel-tov! sing sing sing and play naked in the school yard fantacies of fame and money and glamourously vile freedom from all responsibility being peddled as the amerikkan dream or you can (can) can wake up and go free but its dangerous around here in the mk-ultra homeland security world we have allowed to fester and swarm here while we were busy watching the manchurian candidate brain-washed under-aged children dance naked before us so psuedo-seductively
0
Jul 14, 2010
Jul 14, 2010 at 3:48 PM UTC
jeffrey-robin
and here we are again
and quite dully dutifully the mk-ultra manchurian candidate brain-washed children enter the "MIND OF THE WORLD!" matzel-tov! matzel-tov! sing sing sing and play naked in the school yard fantacies of fame and money and glamourously vile freedom from all responsibility being peddled as the amerikkan dream or you can (can) can wake up and go free but its dangerous around here in the mk-ultra homeland security world we have allowed to fester and swarm here while we were busy watching the manchurian candidate brain-washed under-aged children dance naked before us so psuedo-seductively
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10
-The wind was seething, heavy. -After waking, and gazing at the pummelled window -I pulled my patchwork desert gear into a bag. -I borrowed some sandals, a bike, and ate a healthy bowl of noodle. -Then peddled scowling at the wind. -In the town, in the open maze of buildings, -The sands were kept at bay. -But i rode out. North and west and then south after a bit. -I pushed through the stinging screaming, -Past great shallow rivers, dust roads, donkey carts, snipped and snatched dialogues. -A cloth cap pulled low -Sunglasses -A palistinian checkered scarf -On the night bus out -We stop and i leap out for a spliff and to relieve myself -The night wind so much more terrible -It bit down stubbornly (i'd stupidly left my desert gear on the little bed.) -And pellets of rain added mockery to the situation. -The line of shiverers excited to get back on the bus is slow and quivering -So i let the cold become a numb cool -So as to stand it -And when the doorway appears to me in a dark warm glow -I leap again; this time in, -Then dig myself deep in the cosy alcove. -Just then, my brain slowly/grinningly explodes. -The short little fat man across from me -is a picture of pleasantry.
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Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
johnny-zhivago
My last day in Oasis Town, desert.
-The wind was seething, heavy. -After waking, and gazing at the pummelled window -I pulled my patchwork desert gear into a bag. -I borrowed some sandals, a bike, and ate a healthy bowl of noodle. -Then peddled scowling at the wind. -In the town, in the open maze of buildings, -The sands were kept at bay. -But i rode out. North and west and then south after a bit. -I pushed through the stinging screaming, -Past great shallow rivers, dust roads, donkey carts, snipped and snatched dialogues. -A cloth cap pulled low -Sunglasses -A palistinian checkered scarf -On the night bus out -We stop and i leap out for a spliff and to relieve myself -The night wind so much more terrible -It bit down stubbornly (i'd stupidly left my desert gear on the little bed.) -And pellets of rain added mockery to the situation. -The line of shiverers excited to get back on the bus is slow and quivering -So i let the cold become a numb cool -So as to stand it -And when the doorway appears to me in a dark warm glow -I leap again; this time in, -Then dig myself deep in the cosy alcove. -Just then, my brain slowly/grinningly explodes. -The short little fat man across from me -is a picture of pleasantry.
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28
your lame body stretched out skinny elephant in a pink dress trapping my legs under your head i couldnt drive i could not swim i could not be anything her heart will circumsize the **** of every man who doesnt fit her preference a rose deep inside no peddles her nose upturns the hopes her hips a barren dance club cosmetic intellect unintelligent strips the pleasure from the moans this other one is different in the right ways but her age disgusts me like i disgust the righteous
0
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
frances-lazarus-blackheart
on peddled roses
your lame body stretched out skinny elephant in a pink dress trapping my legs under your head i couldnt drive i could not swim i could not be anything her heart will circumsize the **** of every man who doesnt fit her preference a rose deep inside no peddles her nose upturns the hopes her hips a barren dance club cosmetic intellect unintelligent strips the pleasure from the moans this other one is different in the right ways but her age disgusts me like i disgust the righteous
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17