"pipped" poems
When our names were smeared
with dust and kicked
butt-naked into the streets
tramped upon, squashed by dancers
revelling on the song of our shame
We take all in saintly fate
Poverty has diverse chairs
all which are glued
to the heart of hell
upon which we sit
pipped with jears
Our pains for the tithe
we never paid
untill our lives are almost spent
We aren't bearing with us
our sack of shame to the land
were we shall endly rest
Laugh not out of you breathe
we shall mend our broken past
and pick up the moon we left behind
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
Here I go again fallin',the rabbit hole calls
I'm a lost soul wandering through marble halls,
calls screams and doubts fill my mind like static
react uncontrolled rage flows automatic
*politics,religion,faith fate love/hate
lose pieces of my self they fall into the grate
of the cattle grid rat race place I face
every time I make some headway it gets erased
displaced into hate,a state of no grace
disgraced by my feelings for the human race
face headlong,trace my nobility's ghost,
in the human race we get pipped at the post*
**by the most with the boasts untrustworthy folks,
desire for votes,all handshakes and jokes,
like a piece on a chessboard board,moved for kicks,
time to get jacked in,reboot the check matrix**
*check matrix,ruler's like to play games,
time to send the whole board up in flames,
check matrix,the cycle ends and begins,
it's called a revolution,it spins round again* x2
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
I say fell more like
getting washed down a pipe
Will she survive?
skirts covers her eyes
each step on her ****
sort of retime beat
skirt flots down
in the pink again
with brakes puts out her knees
man I hate these fancy dress *****
and this is nothing like I dreamed it
yet it was
ok if it was, i will see that that there bald man
then there he was
Dear old slappedhead
if you want tea said the white rabbit
turn your cup upside down
but down was then up
and Alice stopped
and sat down on a seat
is this a party she said
the two twins
at the fare end
sang in harmony no
and both asked at the very same time
why are you here?
at that the tigger opposite said
here, here
**** Alice exploited
her dreams
and replied
sort of fell.
Sprinkle gold dust into eyes
there the magic goes on
to feel this way
I give you Alice with a very sore ****
if conflict
we can not leave her here alone.
The Tigger put a revolver at his head
pulled the tigger twice
Klick Klick the revolver said
the tigger slapped gun on the table
and said when?
when, when, will man know?
Alice blinked once or twice
and said
know what
it was at that the pig piped up
well at least it not me this time
and flopped back into a muddy puddle there.
There is an electric kind of teapot there
try to sell back to the electrical people there
whom will have none of it
think this is not real eletricals
Alice still had a sore **** all the same
and disregarded all this
At that
polly pipped up
polly was the cook
and asked what can I slop up
What day is it? Alice asked, smart girl
Monday
then Alice said soup
polly looked at her
the sort of look
that in init's own way could ****
at that Alice's hair curled
but all the time knew
her underwear was white than white
and she bathed in breeze
but polly would not have it bang her spoon down
and when that spoon hit
it could take anywhere
so put your rose tinted specs.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 5:47 PM UTC
Cigarette smoke lapped at
my finger tips
late in the wee hours of the morning
when, without warning
you walked by at the front
of a small herd
of just ex-high schoolers.
The dark kept your face hidden
and I hope mine as well
because after you passed
an amigo pipped,
"Wasn't that your old girlfriend?"
I chain smoked the last three
hardly believing
that moment was the first
glance I'd had of you in a
year.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 5:37 AM UTC
Autumn drops from the spit of summer.
It is brown, well-mealed,
perhaps a little burnt;
its plush resplendencies are gone,
its fruits are split.
That spring, that summer
grimace in a scattering of husks, a wizened apple,
is unbearable;
and at the core:
pipped deaths, abbreviations, futures going hard.
Jul 10, 2016
Jul 10, 2016 at 4:00 AM UTC
The love I had
never again to be found.
The heart in my chest
forever bound.
Broken am I,
a wretched soul
drifting upon an endless sea.
I break upon the shore line
shattering into thousands of particles,
spreading across the earth.
My heart is cold
my lungs wont hold,
my tears freeze
floating on the slightest breeze.
And yet all I can think of
is the smile
that had won my heart
pipped me asunder,
right from the start.
Made me whole,
taught me to love,
gave this life a reason.
But never more,
never more.
My destiny
is to forever be
cast apart from your love,
floating eternally
on the waves
of the endless sea.
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
She pipped
a gypper
when she
was arterial
motion that
favor law
not crap
in our
legislature while
her isolation
in craft
are the
same families
with Getty
on Thanksgiving
if Serengeti
whir machine
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
I sat and I sipped
On your words as they lay
Intoxicated, my mind at play
Burning wild
Fuel for my brain
My imagination pipped
I'd be thrilled if you'd stay
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 10:18 AM UTC
Monday
and I'm shuffling in to work
so
let the week begin.
Do you remember when it used to feel real?
and when back then it was no big deal
to
be a man and earn your keep,
now
I wonder if it's better just to stay in bed and sleep.
The mirror looks the same
but
it's a different face I see,
what's going on outside
reflects inside and
poisons me.
Bow Road is a slow road
the way I go to work road.
that is coming from the East
and going to the West.
and the end smokes cigarettes
quite calmly so as not to disturb
me.
Thinking it's all about
the cues we use.
are you in a queue?
do they use you too?
There's still time,
hidden between the
decaying buildings
and
clogged in the cracks
I buy
two more packs
of
lucky strikes,
nails
to seal the coffin lid.
At Aldgate
I wait
for
Thomas
who tells me tales
of Canterbury
and speaks
of Henry in
hushed tones.
Did you hear the pad
of footsteps on the sidewalk?
history come talk to me
but
there's only the future here
to walk with me and
presently
I join in,
let the week begin.
My time nears me
and I weary,
clearly
something is not right
written out of the script
popped in by being
pipped at the post
and that's the most
we can all look forward to
step out of line or
stay in the queue?
it's up to you
isn't it?
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 1:26 AM UTC