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Pierre Ray Mar 2012
Capricorns, Capricorns are ruled and schooled by the planet Saturn, Saturn, Saturn. A bandit with a similar pattern, pattern, pattern. Capricorns, Capricorns are brethren from a legion; a legion of an atmosphere of the southern-hemisphere; in the equatorial region. At an
angle, angle, angle; Capricorns, Capricorns are angels of Aquarius and

Sagittarius. They’re boisterous, courageous, contagious, glamorous,
prestigious, rebellious, various and victorious-goats, goats, goats!
Capricorns, Capricorns cope, devote, note and quote, quote, quote.
They’re ambitions with superstitions and various missions, missions, missions! They’re novelties and poverties, revelations and

revolutionaries, revolutionaries, revolutionaries. Capricorns, Capricorns are theories and visionaries, visionaries, visionaries.
They’re objects, projects and rejects. They’re leaders and readers that are poetically, negatively or positively dictatorial and doctorial!  Some are historical, optical, political and radical; authentic, eccentric,

neurotic, poetic, theoretic, theoretic, theoretic. Unicorns, Unicorns are biblical and mythical, mythical, mythical; they’re ******, exotic, iconic, ironic, magic, nostalgic creatures, creatures, creatures. Their features
resembling a horse of course, of course. Furthermore, they’re fierce and a force. They’re a breed and creed of desire, fire and perspire, perspire,

perspire, perspire! They’re viral, viral, viral! This partial, sworn steed;
born awesome, awesome, awesome and too blossom, blossom, blossom. Unicorn’s spiral, crescent horn usually projecting and protruding from their foreheads. Rough and tough enough too pierce,
pierce, pierce! Unicorns, Unicorns are defendants, independents and

pendants. Hark! Hark! Hark! They’re brilliant and resilient sparks, sparks, sparks! They’re told as bold, old art, from the heart, from the start. Unicorns, Unicorns are fillers and pillars of guide, pride and
stride, stride, stride. They’re along for the long, long, long ride...
Unicorns, Unicorns are strong, strong, strong! Some as a song, song,

song, some throng, throng, throng, some wrong, wrong, wrong. As a
child, child, child; wild, wild, wild! Unicorns, Unicorns overwhelm, overwhelm, overwhelm. Their domicile realm, apparently, inherently and originally belonging from India; alleluia, alleluia for India, India,

India! Capricorns and Unicorns; two different creations. Capricorns
and Unicorns; two different relations. Capricorns and Unicorns; two
different situations and superstitions. They’re rainbows that glow, know and show. They’re of borrow, of sorrow and of our tomorrow.
Barton D Smock Nov 2013
wolf, pig, childhood.

a bit
of brother
on

the creative
side.

all in my father’s
imagination
were other
poverties

(where mother
assaulted
no one)  

(but faced)
with a poverty
of disguise
the dog
ate homework
I couldn’t
finish.
Yenson Nov 2021
I have seen the Poverty that steals from poverty
I knew Poverty that cried poor tears
and even Poverty that sells her children to live
there's even some Poverty that rob Peter to pay Paul
as well as those Poverty that beg in public
and horrors, you have those Poverty that will **** and maim
then I travelled and  Mon Dieu
I came across Honorary Poverty
We are Honorary Poverties they exclaimed proudly
we chose to make bad choices, reject or misuse opportunities
see, we are the Civilised Poverties and we are ******
we don't work, we get Welfare checks for free
we squander that
we blame those that have and hate them for doing well
and make them pay for everything
we are classy Poverties
cause we come from a civilised Nation
and we are proud to be
Honorary Poverties
Satire
Alone in the workhouse. Is where she gave birth.
The starch Parish Surgeon. A Drunken old Nurse.
The cries of a boy child. In her arms did he lie.
Gently kissing his forehead. Before she did die.

Not to be married. Mentioned the Nurse.
Was not to be heard of. Almost a curse.
No Father to speak of. Illegitimate offspring.
His Mother a corpse. With no wedding ring.

Without relations. Brought up with force.
Grown as a captive. Poverties course.
Life in the workhouse. Juvenile offenders.
Selfish providers. Fat cat Pretenders.

"Mrs Mann", Overseer. An hierarchy lie.
Starves and abuses. Would let them all die.
Nine years of age. Each picking a straw.
The boy stumbles forward. Asking for more.

Gruel knocked aside. The fat man, Bumble.
Shocked and alarmed. Off top shelf does stumble.
Dragged by the scruff. Out in the snow.
Sowerberry’s undertakers is where he will go.

Childish look. Innocent way.
To walk at the head of the hearse, they will pay.
Treated unfair. Leading the dead.
Next to a coffin they position his bed.

Insecure Claypole. With nasty remark.
Temper unleashed. Thrown into the dark.
Overwhelming silence inviting a tear.
By morning, escape. Will leave this room clear.

Seventy mile trek. Things look so bleak.
In London he lands. Dejected and weak.
The first friendly face stands counting his loot.
All wide eyed and fresh. In whistle and flute.

"Jack Dawkins the name. But you call me Dodger.
Need somewhere to stay, cause I know this old Codger."
Old Fagin insists to offer him bread.
A warm place to live. A snug place to bed.

Next mornings instruction as Fagin explains.
We live by our wits. Rely on our brains.
Its not thieving we do. We take it by slight.
If they wanted to keep it, why leave it in sight?

Bet and Nancy drop by. For a drink they are glad.
Showing concern for this down trodden lad.
Oliver’s training goes on for days.
Each time he succeeds is allotted with praise.

The day that gave Oliver oh so much tension.
When he met the man he had heard no one mention.
Gruff, rough and evil, A man no one likes.
With Bulls-eye his dog. The man known as Sikes.

The day comes around, when Oliver goes out. With Charley and Dodger, their isn’t much doubt.
The two older boys get the items they sought. Though in all of the turmoil Oliver’s caught.

Brought before Fang, the court Magistrate. Innocent plea onto deaf ears migrate.
Last minute witness brings light forth to shine. On innocent captive in front of said shrine.
The message is out, the crooks are all fraught. Nancy is allotted to spy in the court.
The boy is acquitted. Nothing is told. Nancy relays that they haven’t been sold.
The kindly old victim shows pity on boy.A quiet misdemeanour, a look in his eye.
A child of worth, should not be alone. Mr Brownlow decides to take Oliver home.
For the first time in ever, contentment and love.Poured onto said urchin from those up above.
A picture looks down on this scene from the wall. Similarity so true, most evident for all.
But outside a danger does start to lament. The signs coming out from a previous event.
Sikes and his lady hide out in the shade. Waiting in patience for mistake to be made.
A simple small errand would easily portray. That Oliver Twist is not of bad way.
Mr Grimwig suggests that the boy should be bound. With a parcel of books and the sum of five pound.
Brownlow agrees but his friend will soon gloat. Of the loss of said books and the crisp five pound note.
Surely as hell the time is upon. When onto the streets the child is soon gone.
But Grimwig still boasts that the boy they did trust. Was simply a fraud and just earning a crust.
The kindly old man does have to agree. That Oliver Twist is about on a spree.
Held up and imprisoned by this awful pair. Terrified boy removed to old Fagin’s lair.
Bill Sikes decides that the boy needs a blow. Nancy steps in, she will not stoop so low.
Be satisfied Bill for you have ruined his life. Condemned the poor boy to an history of strife.
Is that not enough to cast onto him. He has been through the mill, now he’s out on a limb.
Brownlow decides to post a reward. For information on the loss of his young ward.
Bumble arrives for the five guinea toll. As he opens his mouth the lies they do roll.

Oliver is taken, carted away.
By Nancy and Bill to the place where they lay.
No notice is taken to the tears he will sob.
For Sikes plans to take the small boy on a job.

Shepperton town is the place they will go.

To silence the boy a gun he will show.
Darkness will produce where his sights are set on.
A quick in and out and with goods they’ll be gone.

Toby Crackit and Sikes are partners in Crime.
Through a small window will make the boy climb.
But plans all go wrong and they do not get a jot.
Although in the event the poor lad will be shot.

Old Bumble is called to the workhouse for wine.
With widowed matron intending to dine.
Things interrupted the matron must go.
To visit old Sally on deathbed below.

The dying old woman does make good a wrong.
As she pours out a death persons song.
She tells Mrs Corney about a gold locket.
That she in the past had decided to pocket.

Inside it gave clues to someone’s true worth.
As owner was dying whilst still giving birth.
To a small sickened child it could of helped save.
Returned him to family as she went to her grave.

Three Cripples a pub where to Fagin will fast. A man named of Monks will throw light on the past.
The story of Oliver’s plight he does pitch. Not knowing the boy has been left in a ditch.
Giles and Brittle two servants regale. Remembering the robbery they did make fail.
An embellished story that has one slight hitch. The bloodied young man will make their story switch.
Doctor and Constable soon to arrive. While injured is taken upstairs to survive.
Upon seeing Oliver, Miss Rose does exclaim. That burglar and boy are not one and the same.
Officer’s Blather and Doth examine the scene. Oliver soon will explain his regime.
Miss Maylie house owner and her niece Miss Rose. Will not let the boy to a prison expose.
Losberne the surgeon and Rose take some time. For ways to conceal the boy from the crime.
Giles and Brittle are forced to retake. Admitting to Officers that they made a mistake.
Oliver’s life takes an healthy uplift. And lady and niece are so glad of this gift.
Tender care and love, make this young lad at home. Never again need to feel so alone.
Losberne takes Oliver to London to see. Where Brownlow and Bedwin could possibly be.
Upon their journey the news they do find. The persons in question have left England behind.
Without any warning poor Miss Rose gets sick. Oliver runs to get Losberne so quick.
On his return as he walks down the lane. He comes on a man who is writhing in pain.
Having retrieved some assistance for man. Returns towards home just as fast as he can.
Wanting to make certain of good news for Rose. Memory of the man in the lane simply goes.
Maylie’s sons Giles and Harry attend. Harry wants Miss Rose as more than a friend.
Whilst Harry is aiming for fortune and fame. Miss Rose has a sensitive mark on her name.
Although the misdeed was no crime of her own. Her parents wrongs will not leave her alone.
Harry is aiming at Prime Minister. So marriage beneath him would cause quite a stir.
With love in his heart the relentless Harry. Tells Miss Rose once more that he does want to Marry.
Although after this time he will not ask again. A tearful lady does have to refrain.
Oliver wakes up in shock from a sleep. Whilst at the window two men they do peep.
Fagin and other man, run off for their shame. Memories rekindled. The man in the lane.
Giles and Harry soon at Oliver’s aid. Searching the grounds but no trace can be made.
Away from the scene things come to an head. Old Bumble and Corney it seems have been wed.
The matron tells husband about what she’s learned. About the dead woman, money could be earned.
Chance meeting with Monks Bumble does make. To meet this caped man his new wife he does take.
For twenty five pounds a deal is made. She passes the goods for which she has been paid.
The locket from Sally, she did take and hold. Inside of locket a ring made of gold.
Inscribed on the inside the man Monks saw there. The name of Agnes and two locks of hair.
Inclined is the man, evidence must go. Weighted and thrown into rivers own flow.
Sikes is in fever and sweat it does shine. As Fagin arrives to deliver some wine.
Fagin replies he does not think it funny. The sickened Sikes still demands from him money.
Fagin takes Nancy back to his hideaway. To get Sikes the money he must indeed pay.
A visitor arrives, two men speak alone. Inquisitive Nancy can hear their drone.
Whatever she heard commits her to see and knock on the front door of Mrs Maylie.
Admitting to Miss Rose so that she should know. Who kidnapped the boy from Mr Brownlow.
She explains what it is she heard from the other. That Monks is indeed poor Oliver’s brother.
Oliver later is out for a treat. He spots Mr Brownlow out on the street.
The young man relates what he saw unto friends. Mr Giles and Miss Rose to Brownlow attend.
Oliver is allowed a visit to see. Brownlow and Bedwin who don’t disagree.
The story from Nancy is passed onto both. To keep it from Oliver they all swear an oath.
The idea to see Nancy would be a vantage. So visit they must, upon London Bridge.
Plans are drawn up things are in sight. The deadline is Sunday. The time is midnight.
Sowerberrie Robbed, Claypole the crook. To London a journey. The police he should duck.
A meeting with Fagin does help to define. The shaking of hands as this union align.
With Dodger locked up the need for a new. Association, by joining the crew.
First on the agenda a visit to court. To view on the sentence that Dodger has bought.
The sentence is in, result deportation. For Dodger a blow, Fagin some irritation.
Fagin tells Noah he will give him one pound. To latch on to Nancy and follow her around.
The midnight meeting from shadows perceived. Of talk about Monks who is not too relieved.
Spying for gentry Nancy will announce. When Monks will attend at that old ale house.
Idea as such, he will be forced to declare. The truth about all he has worked for and where.
Sikes is informed of Nancy’s concern. Anger and hatred through him will burn.
When he returns home, throws the girl onto bed. Lifts up his stick and beats Nancy dead.
Sikes will flee London the following day but tries to drown Bulls-eye who could give him away.
Brownlow captures Monks, taking him to his home. After constant question his cover is blown.
The secret of Monks they were soon to discover. Real name Edward Leeford they then did uncover.
His father he told was forced into marriage. With woman with whom he had tried to disparage.
This loveless union for the father was coarse. So he left but was not to secure a divorce.
Agnes Fleming, this lady became his only affection. The two of them seemingly lost their direction.
As a result of this loving affair. A woman alone with unborn child to care.
Fagin and Noah by police are detained. Though Sikes and his freedom still they remained.
Held up alone at his iniquitous den. Out of the way of all other men.
Bates he does follow, Bulls-eyehe will track. Calling on others to help him attack.
Murderer Sikes is forced now to flee. For the ****** he did to his poor Nancy.
He uses the rooftop with avoiding intent. Hoping that crowds will soon give up, relent.
Using a rope to air his escape. About his person the rope he will drape.
High up on rooftop Sikes does his trek. With rope still entwined in a loop around his neck.
A slip as he ran caused a rooftile to loose. Effecting in Sikes with his head in this noose.
Onlookers can see this of this man that they dread. Asphyxiated. Hanging stone dead.
They say what it is that made this man die. Was caused by seeing into Nancy’s eye.
That her ghost came along and did have its way. Making Bill Sikes forever pay.
Even though this story we cannot prove. For many a persons minds this does indeed sooth.
A Letter its told was found by another. Proving to us to be Edwards mother.
Destroying both a Will and letter. Ensuring that Edwards life will be better.
Agnes’s father found out when she left. Became broken heart and soon to bereft.
His shame and honour were both denied. Accelerated greatly the time when he died.
Poor little sister is taken we see. By good Samaritan lady named Mrs Maylie.
Bringing this child up as her own. Miss Rose as she is now, to us be it known.
Bumble and his wife confess. To their dealings in this mess.
Concealing to Oliver’s history. Never again, office be held by he.
Harry’s makes change of his life’s employ. Prime Ministers aim he will deny.
And thus open another direction. To marry her of his hearts affection.
Fagin is sentenced for all of his crimes. The Gallows imposed for his evil times.
Oliver will feel a need to beset. Fagin for proof of his legitimate
Noah is pardoned, excluded his time. For his testimonie about Fagin’s crime.
Monks travels by ship to the new world. It isn't to long until his life is unfurled.
His wicked ways again he will try. Imprisoned, eventually this is where he will die.
Oliver becomes the adopted son. Brownlow a father does also become.
Miss Rose as aunt that will often frequent. To see Olivers life gaining so much betterment,
Life now to all will be a good friend.
This story is formally now at an end.
A poetic translation of Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens..
May 28th 2011
Diab did Oct 2013
New note 
New words 
And the thoughts are too
,,,,,,,,,,,
We just think
We just do
We just plan
But nothing get done
,,,,,,,,,,,,
He does
She did 
They do
But poverties still exist 
,,,,,,,,,,,,
He said
She says
They are saying
Talk just to talk
,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Blame the word
Blame the world
Blame people 
But nothing is changed
,,,,,,,,,,,,,
He fights 
They fight
They want and he wants
But no one sacrifices 
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
My country 
Your land 
Their rights 
But injustice has it all
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
He knows 
She knows 
They know 
But still live in dark 
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Your life 
My life 
Their life 
But the survival of the fittest
,,,,,,,,,,,,,
They create 
He does as well 
She writes 
But no one really teaches 
,,,,,,,,,,,,
He complains 
She complains 
The world complains 
Where the bad ones are ??
,,,,,,,,,,,,
He works 
She works
They work
But nothing is really different 
,,,,,,,,,,,,
He pays
She pays 
They pay 
But thieves steal the money
,,,,,,,,,,,,
You wake up
Hey all wake up
People wake up
The world is in danger
,,,,,,,,,,,,,
You do something
Me do things 
We should be one hand
The world is in fire 
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Let the governments fights 
Let the regimes stay
Let the ministers do what they want
But we're the people, not them
We have the rights not them
We should live not them
One hand doesn't clap, but two do
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
Peace
Love
Safe
Repose 
And occupation
We are the people
We are the people
We are the people
Barton D Smock Jun 2015
Alien’s heaven

poems

Barton Smock
June 2015



pilot light

baby, baby talk, and pilot light.

kitchens everywhere,
god is alone.

no brain

father smokes to make something disappear. he says he’s no brain but can pass for touched each time the bug is resurrected. when he rolls out of a blanket and into the side of a building, I believe again in the man mistaken for god’s pencil. mother can’t leave him anymore than she can leave her ears. terrify no one your childhood knows.

son

it was born in a bath of milk when there was milk to burn.  it drew with daylight.  when asked for details, it pulled a shadow’s tooth.  we took it to a movie, a war movie, where it made its first noise.  its pain went everywhere.  it sold, it sold until it ran out of clothes.  its mothers had fight.      

knees

visiting hours are set by a god who knows I smoke.  leaving my mark means I’ve pressed the barrel of a cap gun into my brother’s temple because the ****** keeps scooping into his ballcap the same toad.  my two fathers are here to bounce things off my mother when she prays.  sit long enough and ***** will dry them together.        

yearly

our collective identity is a sick child. some say fever, some say welcome to the loop of the biblically speechless. people are for others. are for making eyes at the gender of the god as it oversleeps in the coma we slip from. the child prays. the child causes a stir in the pastoral urgency of a moral imagination. we pray. we miss yearly the showdown between the town drunk and the town ghost. I trace a finger to put my finger on. the television belonging to our lady of snowy reception has fallen on our little angel more than once. nothing in the world is the world.

boy and gun

it entered my heart
to take a bird
from the world.
I felt nothing.    

the recent absence
of nothing.  

vernal

when you begin
to show
say
instead
you’ve a soft

spot
for god

race

says poverty
someone
at this table
has nothing to hide.

says father
touching
a UFO
cures frostbite.

says mother
open
the stomach
of the winning
monster.

area

somewhere, the mostly boy body pretends to be explored.  we are not we.  my mother ruins a sketch of my mother.  my father smokes two packs a day because online he was called prematurely haunted.  the name of your existence

is

priest retires to make umbrella for jack-in-the-box.  (her bus

is rain)

barbaric terms

each twin
slower
than the last, she spits

over my dead body

baby
after baby
out.

as news
of the massacre
spreads, the young
call it mother
by word

of mouth.

longing*     *for Gen

the baby boy stiffens at the sight of unrolled dough.  we say he is pointing the way to god.  crippled by the sadness in her hand, his mother keeps a claw mark like one keeps diary.

closings

trespassers
shoot themselves.

your son gets hired
by city

to illustrate
a book on mirrors
for households
with one
adult.

my son
dies
before the machine
that keeps him
alive

turns on.

a doll in doll country
burns its nose
trying to enter
the future
museum
of racist
oddities.

my hand tries my hand at forming
firstborn
erasures
using only
redactions.

god is exiled
for bringing
the animal
its childlike
behavior.

I am far too animated.

your body is the notice
eyes

give.

ins

night
the land
of a single
unseen
settler  

-

father
half eye, half oil    

-

self, self panic

bloodless     for Noah

my brother was blinded by a crow.

I’d tell you the story
but know
you hate it.

*******.

brother’s darkroom
became
the crow’s.

breathing spells

I chased only
the brother
I’d dreamed
of beating.

I told my sister
she didn’t have
a tail. told mother
it’s not suicide

unless you ask
to be born. I had a hand
for the year
father

went quiet
a hand
for the year
father

went quiet
for good. had dolls
over which

dying
out of character
held sway.

intelligence

magic amplifies in my loneliness a single flaw.

a bird, a high window. sound of a brain cell.

hunger and its unremarkable kitchen.

as a doctor I hammered the baby’s knee.

bio, and the undisclosed location of god’s recovery.

harm is harm’s audience.

disability jargon

i.

when it opens the bomb
it knows
like my brain knows
what it sees

ii.

homicide grief
is a recording
god’s message
speaks to

iii.

eight years old
she leaves the trampoline
in her body’s
fearful
accounting
of self

concord

cap gun.  swag from an uncle’s suicide.  

the daughter
the ghost
cartoonist.

voodoo dolls
in isolation.  isolation

in its prime.    

altar

the baby is too light.  its mother puts it on a scale that reminds her of a plate her empty childhood couldn’t break.  its mother invites neighbor boys to punch her in the stomach.  some of the boys bail.  some don’t.  the mother’s nickname doubles as her real.  the baby is not called bricks.



zero

when I couldn’t get my head around the surrender of my body to the flotation device of an immaculate conception, I’d simply swallow a baby that had swallowed a pill.  years go by and I am zero.  the number arrested for suicide.        




basics

because he is asleep, he does not find himself sleeping in the tub.  something slides from his belly and becomes wedged.  his dream business goes under even in dream.  he makes eyes at CPR manikins.  his son, his life, pushes for legs.

preparedness

you look like you’ve just been given permission to sleep in your clothes.

it’s a **** whistle only crows can hear.

it’ll put sheep
on the moon.

outlet

depression is a non-starter.  depression is depression unknowingly cured.  it is like I have this shirt because it exists and not because it invites everyone whose shirt it’s not to enjoy joy.  I don’t want to hear you say you’re sad to say.  I ******* to reappear and think it might be why my father vanished.  it’s enough during foreplay to flicker.


viewership

my youth spent trying to see the devil as a young man.  my motherly youth.  my **** scene a return to form.  cut from yours, you have your baby’s eyes.  I went unborn.  I went beaten.  we went together in broad daylight when broad daylight was god’s elevator.



pressure

the original thought in my head was to be postdated by god until god learned he had a baby on the way.  I had children until I could only have four.  what I say to self-harm is pay attention.  my daughter raises her hand on the off chance she buried something in her teacher’s body.  (we have stopped talking

but I can squeeze her anorexia into a phone booth)  poverty myth:  I groom my sons with the beak of bird abandoned.  real time I tell my tongue it’s ******* curtains for the mouth I’m getting.  full circle my daughter surrounds those brothers of hers that mine clone.        

high

mother, in the early stages of her food fight with god.

father, I can’t bury
my face.

in lieu    
of the lord’s
dog, raise

the lord’s
bone.

the mice

the conditions for mentally composing a suicide note for his sister are less than perfect. she’s sitting on his bed with a cigarette in one hand and his baseball glove on the other. both hear three traps snap shut in the kitchen. sister gags and it makes him think about gagging. now no more, these were the heart of the note.

signal

as my face
will one day
correct
my body
I expose

the elements
to my
ugliness  

-

my son is my search

history

-

headlights
when headlights
emerge
emerge
from a period
of non
worship

-

(wave your arms
long enough
you’ll have sticks
for arms)

-

they don’t  
happen
in my
lifetime
the terrible
things
I’ve done  

observance

when drought came
to my brother
I left
for the city
where I found myself
blanketing
manhole covers
with my coat
for women
who gathered
on rooftops
with men
whose daughters
had been killed
for jumping
rope

peril

I bit my tongue
when my tongue
was a cloud.

take cover, bones,
says my daughter
dancing.

I crushed my son
like a gift
and offered
god
my tactile
outlook.

stay small, future.  

persuade
a peephole
to show
some blood.      

no devil

the knock knock joke in need of my father’s skull is all that’s left of the outside world. hell was always the preparing of hell.

inseparable

mother is watching a show that keeps her from picturing the gods who portray us.  father is choosing an ice cube to bury.  myself I am very close to stripping for the cigarette my sister rescued from a baby’s crayon box in a dream that smelled like her clothes.      

masters

I have just had it written down for me how I am not classically racist. I am alone. I am brief stay of bullet. god is using each hair on my head to scribble on my son’s thought process. when I think of crab legs I think in color of the lightning bolt it snows inside. I miss mom. gospel, gospel that I hang these rags for invisible crows.

was

ask now my father if it still believes the present to be the future of a past life.  

ask then if it unscrewed one day each inessential light bulb that my party would have balloons.  

-

violence in movies.  also, food.  my mistake.  I glue myself

to nothing.  my shyness

-

is kind of
my angel.  

-

the body invents the soul it recalls.

gauze

the boy’s mother is biting off less than he can chew.  her insomnia
has put her inside a worm
her body
tries
to fill.  her milky eyed

-

husband
revs a tow truck
to death
in a heavy fog.  it is possible, humanly

-

possible

-

there’s nothing
to see here.  that her god

-

is, in a sense,
seizure activity
in the boy’s
spirit

-

animal.  

image

and do not
believe, as such, that yours
is a body

leads god
to inquire

godless

godless
balloon
animal

root effects     for Miles J. Bell

like he’s laying
yellow
on his road
out of grief
brother
takes a drag
and keeps it
until his head
is underwater
is what they call
with apples.

his eyes
have always been
two poverties
unexplored.  he is old, alien’s

heaven
he is old
but not before
he knows it.

the alien wept but was not heard weeping

not all
drones
dream
of you
Barton D Smock Jan 2014
why did Shia LaBeouf cross the road?  because he wasn’t a chicken, he was Shia LaBeouf.  I want to worry.  it is funny to me like Patton Oswalt and Lena Dunham being flabbergasted.  I wrote once how suicides fight for position.  suddenly everyone knows they were once Leroi Jones.  some of course were and I want to be sorry.  the original thought in my head was to be postdated in birth like a present.  because of where his home is, Lars Von Trier is homeless.  imagine I lived from the age of 18 to 23 and from the age of 24 to 29 I got paid to reenact those years previous.  I will waste my time with yours and there will be a whirlwind of poverties speeding by and seemingly one.  if the great performances of James Franco say again how the unknown soldier is the eater of fame I swear I’ll call you and your double out as Lynchian.
AiYo check it
First comes the happiness
Second comes love
Greed and money goes with the above
Uh
muthaphukkaz ain't watchin' the game
Too busy tryna maintain
An image
I broke the jaws of the laws
No more grips on me I'm free
So **** lady liberty I entice treachery
To enemies at the count of three
let the pistol smoke freely
Its the shot heard around the world
Shakin' the hearts of all little boys and girls
In the ghetto **** nation
Taking over  bleed the mayors and council city halls hands
Millions starving millions dying
and everybody crying
Cuz a celebrity died but no one cries
For the innocence of souls tookin'
Got them.demons lookin'
In the poverties around the globe
Clergy preaching Jesus is God and Jesus is for everybody
Religion is one of the biggest war propagandas
They ****** your image if you change there agenda
How many Brenda's?
Out there with a baby on welfare and they don't care
As problems continue to rise nigguhs open ya eyes
Don't be baptize by the TV lies
Pressure young gs to slang keys
End up.in jail next to they father
I ain't knocking the hustle but make ya endz
Then build ya own community
Don't let the dea cia fbi lead you astray
They know money feeds a hungry soul I'm like Castro keep the cash flow
Moving silently
don't let em braille you with greenery
Art of war ain't went no where sun tzu will tell ya what to do
Use ya enemies against ya enemies
And watch em crumble mumble end up killing themselves
While you sit back and laugh at the blood bath
The last thing they want is a ***** with brain and begin to taunt
The biggest mystery is who are blacks peeps in history
And the vision occurred me I'm the chosen just like black Jesus a revolutionary at heart from form of life I gotta bad start .
I see him.in the ghetto with me puffin' **** and Hennessey
or better yet cognac
I'm.back reincarnate
Takin' the steps of ancestry tears and scorns
Through decades centuries and millenniums
I'm rockin' nigguhs cranium
See what I see niggih don't be scared of a trigger?
Hells on earth we living in the end times skin is our sin
We know better but yet show it
Knowledge is bad thing to waste
Uh im.probably gone get buried with a another case
Innocent but shown guilty by the system
Brothers doing time for the dimes the governments drop they go back home and you go off the patty wagon name is ya number cogitating in ya cell as ya in jail can't make bail
Its heaven inside hell I shed tears for many years
Through tattoos uh I know I'm.bound for a casket
I'm still gone get drastic
my murderers wherein'
Black suits and shades unload rounds in my body Killuminati
I'm dead but now resurrected
The father gave me another chance redemption for my sins
I'm trapped in the corridors which doors
WIll I open heaven or hell is just another place in a cell ??
spiritually ensnared
Only.time will tell
Yea get yo mind right homies this ain't a game
Things done changed turned for the worse break the curse
Its never to let the change the game
Just a to let you know
How it go
Been feelin' this way since '94
Pac pain i got wisdom
**** the education institution
They never got a solution
Money always boostin'
While the pistols Shootin'
Government still lootin'
Takin' us back to slavery
One world order word to my unborn daughter
She facin' tragedy and she aint even here
I hear
Her soft cries watery eyes
Baby girl hold on strong
This is yo father so i know you strong
Uh im takin' this fame wayback
Back to Solomons temple and his wives
Along with his concubines
They done perveted the line
Wake up befor we see the flat line


JS Sep 2015
Orange shaded lamp that's lit at 1 am, in the city of the angels where the homeless seem to live.
The tents are growing plenty as the poverties commence,
there's a *** for every bottle sitting in a city full of bins.

For every sin there's a bump, for every bar a new actress,
in some conversation is a liar hidden behind a foreign thick accent.
Someone hired, someone fired, by the beach are many lost kids,
some are tired, some are wired, most don't know that they exist.

Picture perfect life instead that is wanted by the masses.
All prone to life that's close to **** cause no one likes to give up chances.-JS
Random chances for advances are held ransom to circumstances
RL Smith May 2015
Chunky calloused stubs
made for wielding a meat axe over a carcass
A sweet melody struck from the wreckage of poverties storm
Were you angry because you were short?
They were shooting small animals off the walls
Imaginary noise Nov 2016
You were always jealous
Jealous that the only hardship you had encountered was a lack of fluffy pillows
Fattened from the abundance of food
Spoiled in free cars and free gas
Free
Free is the price listed next to your dinner
But it's what you claim not to be
Free
Free will and free reign
It's stamped across your forehead because you are what you eat
But like all spoiled children
You needed a reason
To cry to whine
"My mommy never loved me"
"My daddy never hugged me"
Attention is what you want
What you lie for
Creating problems that make you victim
Victim
The word of the day
Meaning
'Person who is tricked or harmed'
Synonymous to loser prey and chump
So loser
Tell me
Does the silver spoon not suit you?
You want to come out and play with the big kids?

With open arms big kids welcome broken souls
With crumpled dreams and stained pasts
We whisper comforting words to stop wet eyes
Broken bones bending to back to normal
No one ever taught us love
We found it in the eyes of hungry animals whom with we shared our warmth
We found it in the beauty of Mother Nature
The colors of the flowers sprouting from the sewage overflow is the brightest of all
Or I guess it's a ****
A plant that finds a way to survive in a place where it was never wanted

Fed nothing but *******
And stomped on with poverties giant feet
I guess I am a **** of my generation
But at least I'm not a snake
Slithering it's way through the tallest flowers
Pretending like it fits
Like it grow upwards towards the light

So chump
Tell me
How are you snake and prey at the same time?
Weaving your way through
the tightest knits of flowers
Mowing down some in your wake
A flattened trail getting larger and longer
As your body grows thicker
Fattened by the food

You may be
Camouflaged in envy green
But you can never recreate
Our colors
I hate the title.
Barton D Smock Nov 2017
the words
I disappear
to say, the circle

I can’t
finish (that devoured

is the mouth
of nothing’s
babe) the knowhow

to inherit
immediacy
StaticNSage Dec 2016
Opinion of the other side
How come people in poverties realm constantly multiply
Last year in Boston alone too many neighbors died
At the hands held that moral depression
Theres a hope in every child
I hope that answers it clearly, efforts to rebuild
Oasis in depression
Poetry in regression my inspiration needs a refill
Cussing to bullet point the finer line of the message
You get it? If not, in time you will
Real people feel the weight of real stressing
You ever feed you're family on respect
When it only takes peace signs to count you're blessings
I'm out
My family is beautiful, the type that holds you're breath
No doubt
Some days I can't breathe like word of mouth
I walk the shorties through the motherland like a daily routine
Reality is killing me, drop them off to knowledge
Beg them
Don't forget to dream
These hustlers **** you're born diamond shine
Disgusting
Watch our humanity of human race compromise, I want to Phoenix ash rise, the last man standing
You can see the future
Playing out in my children's eyes
I'm straight praying that playing field ain't too damaged
Barton D Smock Nov 2017
two boys at a rest stop

one cowboy, one indian-

also there

a mother’s
burning
car

and the mother herself

flipping open
a pocket knife

oh place, you are not
my first
language
but

it was men
created
machines
that they could tell
those machines
the little
they knew, and it was god

found god, and it was your father

that with his father

while in
their astronaut
poverties

took shyness
from a gun
Barton D Smock Feb 2015
for Miles J. Bell*

like he’s laying
yellow
on his road
out of grief
brother
takes a drag
and keeps it
until his head
is underwater
is what they call
with apples.

his eyes
have always been
two poverties
unexplored.  he is old, alien’s

heaven
he is old
but not before
he knows it.
KorbydAngyle Feb 2021
Waiting for a war could be the make up of you
Asking for the style of toasted chips chains and whips
be more you
Yet inside the tunnel of fun the banal seeking mug
is never a deference for seething inside is self forgiveness
The lights you thread states streaking faster
to satellite then to satiate the falling fist
Of all humanity's brutality the devils are well met
as you lay and decompose in sin
The messes made of ginned up country sentiment as if from dignity
Your predilection for face is only simpleton vanity
as always it's what you anchor between you and me
Here this now what now is a force as the flag up the gripping girders
Preened per pound and pasteurized by demi goddess hope here
queens who sing of flesh who're only as an entity that vows
Touch the answers for in the end the people you claim to protect
will dismiss call out and take
The last blade falls and with you all and your likeness adores accredits oh so cajoles

Desperations promises perpetual ingratiations poverties hells

— The End —