Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Bo Tansky Oct 2018
Hotshot
Potshot
Fool shot
Cool shot
No shot
Yo shot
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Hey hotshot
Can you tell me who’s the shot caller
You’re lookin pretty dreamy
Didn’t mean to be a meany
Some things come so naturally
Shots are ringing from your balcony
So come on Romeo
Take a *** shot
Hotshot
And
Please tell me if I have a
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Hotshot
You’re such a cool shot
Badass
You can call the shots
You can shoot the shots
You got the elevated status
But, you ain’t got no action
You always know what's going down
You nowhere to be found
Because you're the shot caller
And I don’t have a shot
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Do i
Do I
Do I
Hey, hotshot
Can you see
I’m down on my knees
Beggin you please
For a
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Hotshot
You know I’m such a cool shot
And this is so out of character for me
Can’t you see
I can see
You’re laughing at me
For being a fool shot
Please tell me if I have a
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Hotshot
Will I ever see you at my door
Is this it
Nothing more
Looking pretty dreamy
This time, promise
Not to be a meany
Please tell me if I have a
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Dale had a friend
His name was shot
Because he was
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Who lives and who dies
Doesn’t matter when you’re a lifer
You run the prison
Make the decision
That’s not, not, not, not what I mean
Didn’t mean to be mean
So please
Won’t you tell me if I have a
Shot, shot, shot, shot
I’m down on my knees
Beggin you please
For a
Shot, shot, shot, shot
What I really mean is
Who’s the shot caller
What I really mean is
Well I know I’m unrehearsed
But quite well versed
I think you’ll agree
Always with me
I’m never home alone
Don’t pathologize
Just Apologize
For being such a ****, ****, ****
I know I don’t know how
But I’ll hold your hand
And you can show me how
Then I’ll quickly get off stage
Before it goes to my head
And all I want to do
Is be a deadhead
I mean it quite literally
Always looking for meaning
And that’s what I’m trying to say
My reflection seems to inspire perfection
And that’s not what I mean
Seems I’m always ******* off everyone  
With my off the cuff remarks
That set off sparks
And I think it’s quite a lark
But, I’m the only one laughing
So please tell me if I have a
Shot, shot, shot, shot
Before I’m
Dead, dead, dead, dead
Yo shot
Jeremy Betts May 2023
Enjoy the mocking tick after tock from the clock as the hands race monotony just to land on a preoccupied spot, no over shot
Reality not taught, reason is a subplot, lost in translation was the caveat, what's the grand plan for this life span time forgot
Avoiding deaths cousin, the sandman, only shortened the journey to the grand finale at the bottom of a grave plot, a hateful fate fought
Thought I ought not move to avoid falling through the bottom of all rock bottoms due to the dry rot, a quicksand sandbox in back of Salems lot
Rescue or recovery a long shot, no one within earshot but there's an onslaught of inner dialogue piercing the void like the scream of a red hot teapot
As is common with the distraught I sought help from the cold embrace of a slipknot that grew taut through the progression of this thrown together plot of a should've been cancelled pilot
Don't ask me what I see in this blind study of an inkblot, any sanity you got would crumble if caught up in the web of nightmare fuel my own mind went ahead and brought
Forced to boycott my being, can't connect good story lines, lost a dot, popped a squat in a thousand watt recliner like a pre-programmed self destruct robot
Self-preservation an afterthought, miles out to sea before I realized I've not yet bought a yacht, treading water in a tough spot
Messed around and got so high I got caught in the sky like a drifting astronaut lost in space, tethered to a dead cosmonaut
A crackpot juggernaut of supreme disappointment, walk the walk and take a potshot at a what not to do mascot
Cross my i's and dot t's with the underutilized comic sans faunt that don't nobody want, awoken by the taunt of a witching hour haunt
"Fuuck the record and fuuck the people!" like you heard from Snot, you'll probably be hearing it from me a lot
Before I become a forget-me-not long forgot but go or stay, either way, still dangerous as a traveling blood clot
The good fight was not fought, this life was not sought, everyone seems to have it together, I'm the biggest have not on the block
Do with that what you will, I'm going on a long walk down a short dock with a giant rock in each sock
Then the plan is to mock god to his face and see the shock on his face as I say I could do better and see if I get the morning stars spot

I mean, why not? It's worth a shot

©2023
Gloom as thick as Karo syrup drips from a sunless morning.
Despairing winds blow hopeless dust in swirls
That stick to it and function as a dimmer.

The sound of heartbreak echos in the empty air,
As other lives roll by on leaden tires and disappear
Into the darkness of my outer limits,
Making shadows that would glisten if there was a sun.

Someone took a potshot at the sky and it went out,
And shows no sign of ever coming back.

Music is what’s called for - only that can lift a mood-
But it lies shattered on the parquet floor;
It’s only sounds a whimper and a moan.

Comfort food calls 911 to order Mac ’N Cheese
While the stash of year-old beer is suddenly appealing.

The only way to save this day is **** it
And pray for resurrection on the  morrow
When wings of hope will fly
And bring the tiny olive branches
Of a new beginning.
                  ljm
Some days the blue filter is firmly in place.
I asked them for Tramadol
they gave me some Panadol

you don't always get what you want.

but I subdivide while waiting for the pain,
to subside and now there are more of me
than ever.

anyway
the doctor said,
can you *** in a cup
and I replied,
yes I suppose so
but I usually use the
toilet.

The bell will ring soon
either for playtime
or praytime
I wonder which one it
will be.

The doctor's still laughing
the patients are waiting
they'll need some more staff in
to manage the queue.

It's Sunday
the sky's looking bloodshot,
someone took a potshot?
or perhaps it could be
my eyes.
IC Jun 2018
O Oriens

O morning star, east rising—splendorous eternal light and sun of justice;
come, and shine among those who sit waiting in darkness, in the shadows of death
— “O Oriens,” Vesper 5 of the O Antiphons

O, when the sun crowns and births,
     when the potshot
          lights, torn through
the east, flood the black earth:
     passing through fenced lots,
          gazing on open sores;
turning over wearied thoughts
     and knocking on locked doors
          while the eyes of men—
sons of Man—remain
     closed,
          like a fist,
or a grasp—so desperate—
     you drown,
          we all drown—
in our own throats, enthralled—pelagic,
manic and churning—the rage
     of the Trojan prophet; your precious parrot’s
          fresh and precious white waste—
may I feed the flies?
     cried the mottled jester, aggrieved
          and underemployed—
decapitated—
     with gusto, as it were—
          in the off hours,
any afternoon—
     when the flies are finally fed—
          when a prophet, rouge
smeared, stirs:

already
          the light  
                   has departed

yet how desperately some cling—
         and how weighted:
                 the wilting reach
of wisteria—
         still
                 waiting.

— The End —