"preston" poems
If I were an elephant
I know just what I'd do
I'd pack my trunk with all my junk
And move far from the zoo
I'd bring with me my monkey
Best friend and sidekick Preston
If memory correctly serves me
He's a **** at giving directions
Cause I'd like to move to Timbuktu
Either that or Kathmandu
One thing is clear as long as it's not here
Any old place will do
I'd then open up a doughnut shop
Run by Preston the monkey and me
Where we would toss sprinkles on top
With banana creme in-between
We'd be known far and wide for our doughnut delights
Oh and fancy schmancy eclairs too
Yes if I were an elephant
That's exactly what I would do
Wouldn't you?
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 1:08 PM UTC
Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic Metropolis
June 13th, 2021
Esteemed Readers and Writers, Gangstapoets and Hangarounds,
Gangstapoetry proudly declares that CREATION 96 is now the second unit of our Global Movement.
We are welcoming our new members. You are now a part of us. Much Love.
Tizzop
GANGSTAPOETS
**** 13.8 * MIKEY DA STREETWISE * EAZY LEGS * ADORABLE GREGGIE * MONICA MATADORA * SLY BOOTYGIRL * COLLAPSIN CHAOT * THE LADY REVENANT * BEEN * WOOZY WIZARD * TELLY * CRATERSKATER * CHEYENNE IS STARVIN * CASPER THE PSYCHOTIC GHOST
GANGSTAPOETS
DESERT SAMURAI * PRESTON * ALBOW * SNOWBLADE MUTANT * SAMBA *
UNKLE OF DOOM * PLAY * ANTWONE *
BOBBY BUTCHAH * TINA * JOEY * DREAM SEEKER * TRANCE DISCIPLE *
* MOTH * DR. **** * KOBA COBRATONGUE
GANGSTAPOETS
SVETLANA * GUNJAHTOOL * LOUIS ORTGIES * MISHU BRAVE BEAR * GÖKHAN TATCHOUOP * DESOCIALIZED KID * WIND DIGGER * SABIÇ * JUAN * DEAL * LUCY TARANTULA * TEXAS HOLD ME * SOUTHSIDE DRILL ASSASIN * SHAWN * JAMMED JAY
GANGSTAPOETS
THCO * TIMMY ROTTEN * PLATIN ZIPPO * WORLDWIDE WAGGING * ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR * BUTCH * KWAME'S LOST SON * TRANCE24/7 * JIMMY * JOSE, FELIPE & CATHERINE * LAST OPTION PHIL * KIAN * MAX NEWMAN * MAGIC GOON
Jul 28, 2021
Jul 28, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC
#sweet lord, girl..
I like the way your brain moves its thoughts into its own deeper
realms with each thing said. You have that rare gift of being able to
be your own internal/external Muse.. even while midstream within
the process of writing it all out.
Alone.. maybe more than you may think you want to be, you are
never lonely. A very rare thing indeed in the modern world, kid.
Very unique, and very very special.
(It is very much the truth..)
I would always hope for the gifted ones such as yourself, that you
would always and ever-increasingly be able to see your own
worthiness in yourself in being chosen to be a bearer of such a
wonderful gift. Kierkegaard was a chosen recipient such as you
(your rare mind's unfolding thought processes are in ways, much
like his), and through his own beautiful self-love, became.. through
his stewardship of the gift, the father of Existentialism. He felt the
Living Word within him, causing his wonderous mind to feel also,
through thought.. which in turn, churned deeply his
forever-goldmining heart, which in turn, mused his mind into deeper processings of the deeply-felt word's expressions--
ever-cycling.. ever churning within him, until every cell within his
electrified body became fully lit..
And out onto paper it all went.. as what was so beautifully
self-Mused within him was brought out from an internally-lit
darkness and into the full light of day. The deeply-searching, in you
is in relationship with the gifted Magical in you,
(which is also so very much you [the gifts are irrevocable]),
bringing out words and concepts/thought processes pretty much
previously unknown here in this world. Make your own self-Love..
self forgiveness.. self-acceptance, and self understanding.. all your Art..
And it will be your art that most blesses this world down here.
You've already got the goods, kid.. watch them become greatly
clarified in you as your own self-Love becomes your own finest art.
The gift, you already have-- clear as clear can be. Shame and
condemnation are powerful enough down here to make even the
most purest of pure, become obscure.
Mm.
Yeah, kid..
*"In the end..
The Love you take (in)
Is equal to
The Love, you make"*
Make your own self love, your goal-- surround yourself with
loving truthtellers who will love you for who you truly are.. rather
than what they want you to be (or think you should be) for them.
Clearly you are worth every single bit of it all.
~Paul
*(preston
M Vogel
F Unting Somethingoranother)*
#
Jan 28, 2022
Jan 28, 2022 at 9:38 PM UTC
Tell me,
Tell me how,
Tell me how I’m selfish,
Tell me how I’m selfish for planning my ending.
Explain to me how, though you can see the ropes tied to my limbs,
and you can feel the itch of my scream in your ears,
and ignore it,
that I am selfish.
“They took their own life”
As if it’s a surprise.
They finally retrieved the ultimate prize.
The right to their own life.
A life spent on somebody else,
as I often restrict myself,
“I can’t leave, there’s too many people relying on me.”
Explain to me how YOU are selfless,
when day after day,
at any opportunity you remind me that I made a MISTAKE.
How dare I try to abandon YOU?
Was my mistake ever trying in the first place,
or not having tried hard enough?
How is it that a right to my life that doesn't belong to me,
negates my right to a death,
the only thing, that will ever be recognised as my own.
“Here lies, Libby Preston, a girl who felt the need to take her own life.”
I apologise for my ‘wrong-doing.’
I apologise that I took control of what should have been, mine.
I apologise that you can’t think past what you feel inside your head.
I apologise that you can’t accept mine.
I apologise for the fact that the human race feels it has the
right to end the life of another living creature,
but do not have the right to do what they would like with
their own.
A death can rattle the planet.
It will cause upset, naturally.
However- emotions fade.
Reality does not.
We can dive into irrelevance,
I will decide not to live a life taped to the sole of somebody else’s shoe,
I will decide to live for me, and to die for me.
Lecture me about consideration, go on,
I dare you.
Hypocrite.
I’m ‘selfish’ for wanting a right to my life.
You’re ‘selfless’ for stopping me.
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 7:38 PM UTC
Thursday morning and I board
the Preston train, a dumpy DMU,
but less of a cattle-truck today.
Over the bridge or beneath
lines to Platform 5 to wait:
Branson's Scarlet Pendolino
will glide in soon bound
for Birmingham - wonder
who I shall meet and share
travelling moments with ?
At the caverns of New Street
I must wend to Moor Street
and a Chilterns train trundling
me south for Warwick's 1,100th.
birthday weekend and 100 years
since trains of Lancashire PALS
cattle-trucked themselves to
Flanders fields never to return.
(c) C J Heyworth June 2014
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
The air was chill and darkness fell as bells rang and the rabble gathered.
A British sentry had struck a lad; some said his jaw was shattered.
Some four hundred Bostonians were milling about his station.
Eight Redcoats, each with rifle cocked, tried to defuse the situation.
The crowd was in an ugly mood; they would not let this slide.
The soldiers were pelted with rocks and snow, but as yet no one had died.
Private Montgomery was knocked down And muttered **** you, Fire.”
He discharged his weapon into the ground, and that shot provoked their ire.
Captain Preston never issued the command, but a ragged volley was fired.
Eleven colonists were hit, three of them expired.
The crowd in panic then dispersed, and the troop of men retired.
A black man, Crispus Atticus, was among those who had died.
The mood was tense in Boston and those troops were charged and tried.
John Adams won acquittal, he was brilliant in defense.
But the crowd still felt injustice, and there's been no peace since.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
Towards the edge, of the pool
I, was running bare.
Not very brave.
There already, in the pool,
swam the others, as nature made.
All my skin was a showing,
such a scary, sight to see.
But the others, kept on cheering,
so that they, could get a peek.
Running bare, into the water,
never again, not on your life.
Running bare, into the water,
embarrassment, I won't survive.
I couldn't find, secluded water,
nor a floatie, wide enough.
I couldn't find, any shelter,
that would hide, all my stuff.
In the sunlight, they could see me,
splashing water, so to hide.
As my cheeks, were getting redder,
others swam, to be by my side.
Running bare, into the water,
never again, not on your life.
Running bare, into the water,
embarrassment, I won't survive.
With all the splashing, in the water,
they thought, I was drowning.
They all swam, out to help me,
just to find, me sitting there.
In just a few, inches of water,
with the sun, strong, beating down.
After the laughter had subsided,
I got a sunburn, lotion rub down.
Running bare, into the water,
never again, not on your life.
Running bare, into the water,
embarrassment, I won't survive.
Inspired by the song:
Running Bear, by Johnny Preston
Aug 8, 2010
Aug 8, 2010 at 11:20 AM UTC
I need to figure out this whole "alone" thing.
Because every moment away from you,
feels like an eternity.
I am sick with a cold, and cannot take care of myself.
And as tired as I have been all day,
This twin sized bed is too big without you.
This relationship will last.
If even just to prove wrong all those people telling me
that none of my relationships are a serious thing.
I want nothing more than to share you with everyone in my life.
I have moved on from my own past. Why must the people around me dwell on it?
In one group, you are the celebrity.
Everyone looks to you as the nice guy, the funny guy, and the awesome guy.
To me, you're my hero.
You make me the person I've always wanted to be.
Together, we are invincible.
Around my group, you are the 'other guy.'
I'm supposed to be with Preston still, and I just can't be.
He changed as soon as I dumped him.
Apparently I wasn't important enough for those changes to happen earlier.
Or he finally has discovered the log in his own eye.
For all the splinters he accused I had in mine, maybe now he won't be blinded by his own ignorance.
Yet, you are punished for all of this.
For everything that happened between Preston and I.
I am happy being with you, and you are hardly allowed to set foot in my room here,
let alone stay the night.
It infuriates me how my own roommates would rather me be alone than happy,
because I proved them right.
Both of them told me I was too good for Preston.
They were secretly the votes that helped me decide to move on.
But it wasn't their way.
So why must you be punished?
Please come back home soon.
I need you beside me, whispering in my ear that everything will be okay.
I need you telling me that we are invincible together.
Logan, I need you.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Its perspective skewed,
the lie of this land
is all tilts and angles.
Black-thorned hedges
rise in white clouds
to the hilltop farm.
On this Damson Day
it is a damp-mist morning,
the horizon a grey smudge.
Up forest trail and fell-ward,
on the left, a winter-laid hedge,
to the right, a mossy wall.
A riot of new growth lies
at the feet, by the hand:
wild garlic, wilder strawberry,
fresh ferns, and the tiniest violets
hiding on this old path.
Steep steps climb
to a four-acre orchard
primrosed under the pint-sized
trunks of its wiry trees.
There’s the blossom, white as snow.
*Hard to imagine
five months hence,
fully plummed and picked,
Bullace and Damascene
driven by the cartload
to Kendal market.
250 tons they’d reckoned
once, taken by train
to the Preston canners.
Nearer home the fruit
was gined and beered,
cheesed and chucknied.*
Then into the forest,
a plantation girdled
by a dry stone wall
tall on the moorland edge
where beyond
the grey limestone shards
have broken through what
little grass is left
for absent cattle.
Wild with wind
up here today,
so down to reclaim
the forest’s shelter,
and down through fields
to a farm en fête
all cars and crowds.
This, a damson day of best-judged jam,
with artisan breads, Morris with swords,
fiddling folk, agility dogs, St Kilda sheep,
blue eggs and tents of crafts galore.
In the mist and drizzle
homeward and facing west,
there across the valley lie
outposts of blossoming,
fields embroidered,
and the farms necklaced.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:18 PM UTC
I thought it would be a good time
Just a good time with friends
But it went way too fast.
I started with 3 sips.
It led to a drink
Then another
Then another.
I'm stumbling, trying to find my way.
I swear, it's a straight line.
Don't take it, I can have more. I'm really fine.
No, my sober friend wants a word.
She is going to ruin my fun, I just know it.
I walk outside, bracing for her yells-
But I can breathe again.
The air is so much better out here.
I realize, I have no idea what I'm doing, and I have had way more than I realized.
I'm so sorry that I got this way.
I want to sleep, but I can't fall asleep.
Must...Stay...Awake...
"Are you okay?"
No, I need to sit up. Help me sit up.
"Let's take you back to your room..."
And I walk outside, and I walk up the stairs.
I take a few steps, take a few more,
But no, I need to stop now.
I see the trashcan and I need to stop.
I feel the burn in my throat as my body rejects the poison inside of me.
Now I can walk more.
My roommate takes care of me because I can't myself.
But now, she must help others.
I'll be fine.
No, I'm not fine.
I sprint to the bathroom
And it's burning again.
I call my Preston, and he helps me through it all.
All these sober friends are loving me more than I deserve.
He talks to me, keeps me awake,
click goes the receiver, because the burning has returned, and I'm too ashamed for him to hear.
I'm almost crying, because I'm just so, upset at myself.
How did I get this bad?
I never thought I'd drink so much, that I threw it all up so violently.
I call back, and then go to bed.
Trashcan handy
Trying with all my might to stay on my side.
It was so much fun before it all kicked in.
Being drunk is fun
But being wasted is a nightmare.
A night full of shame and regret and helplessness.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 10:38 PM UTC
As I lie awake at this lonely hour
I discover just how much you are to me.
I can't sleep knowing that you are out there,
Trying to reach goals that can never be reached.
You work towards the impossible:
Perfection.
I long for your warm body beside mine
And your gentle yet firm embrace that keeps me warm.
You need sleep more than I, yet I am wrapped in my blankets
while you continue to work.
You don't realize that not only do I want you now,
But I need you later.
I need to know that you will live to see a lifetime after this.
That you will not waste yourself now,
and decay from the lack of daily rejuvenation your body is craving.
You need to realize that I worry for you for us.
I need my Preston more than I need anything else in the world.
With every moment you lose sleep, I feel like I lose part of you.
Please don't detach from me.
You know I love you,
more than anything else in existence.
I die without you.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 4:51 AM UTC
I was late for school but it was cool, my chauffeur took the wrap
I even blamed the butler for the absence of my cap
My cravat was always crease-less and my slacks were really snappy
My shoes were always shiny, which made my pappy happy
Lesson one was cookery, but not for me today
So I sent our chef, an hour ahead, to make a nice soufflé
He usually does a marvelous job or when his mood permits
For Daddy signed him on a whim, after dining at the Ritz
Lesson two was Polo or Gymkhana if you must
So I chose fresh clothes and donned my hose as Polo’s upper crust
Oh I wish I’d brought my pony for the school ones just won’t do
They are barely fit for peasants, they are barely fit for glue
Morning break was late to take and the Polo match was drawn
But if you pleased, they’d bring cream teas to be taken on the lawn
I really didn't fancy Maths, so I stayed and sipped my char
For who could bear, and hour with Blair and his dreadful algebra
Lesson four was falconry with Mr Preston Love
His birds were plump but deadly and so quick off the glove
I loved to watch them soar and dive, a spiffing show for all
Reminds me of my gap year, hunting foxes in Nepal
Lesson five was cancelled as Mummsy wrote a letter
She felt that English won’t suffice and elocution’s better
So Wilson rolled up in the Rolls and whisked me off to class
I hope tomorrow’s much improved, for today was oh so crass
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
how to react
to an uncomfortable remark:
think yourself dressed
in stars and stripes crepe
red white and blue
with top hat and white beard
why, you are Uncle Sam !
you have two bright sparklers
in your hands and you high step
parade through the confetti
that floats in the air marching
to the tune of a brass
band that has suddenly appeared
you apply a Robert Preston grin
why, you are the Music Man !
happy forever to strut with purpose
in an endless carnival
that’s how you react
to an uncomfortable remark
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
Your conservative stance lacks progression
Yet what we consider good, fair, and democratic: A turmoil of mess built for profit.
Your ancient religion lacks moral conviction
Yet look at the heart of them all - Same.
And so it was written, so blindly accepted.
Don't just accept. Read. Re-read. Analyze. Understand.
Ideals built by mad bricks melt by the heat of each new day.
Direct the inferno to keep what needs to remain.
Solids back to liquids. Innovation, restructure. Morality intertwined.
Everything is already at your disposal.
Buried within the confines of your cosmic being.
Let it surge and you can become you - Happy.
America: the Mecca, progression within the question.
What needs to be done?
What is our progression?
Does 'America' need to fall?
The holy trinity: mind, body, soul. Understand?
Understand? All three?
I cannot even get my mind to understand my mind.
The greatest powers: the most complex
Eye cannot say anything, but you will do
I will say.
My words will power action.
Full force that no one will be able to reckon with.
It takes patience and a mind for you to realize the 47
So stop investin' in the Wesson, more your fellow brethren.
Patience. Not this month, this week, this day, right now...
This year?
This decade?
This century?
I'm willing to work, bring morality back for my brethren.
Do what is possible, it will surprise the masses.
Shock the masses into beneficial impact.
The fear of chaos, the unknown, exists only in the past.
Organize the Chaos.
Written April 26, 2013 in collaboration with Jack Preston. http://hellopoetry.com/-jack-c-preston/
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
Lately, I have been dreaming the same dream over and over.
Our lives are a poem in a lightless room.
My morning appeared like the sunrise breaking through the clouds of the darkness.
You are so close to me, you are the freedom of sunlight!
How I wish you could be with me all the time!
We miss each other so many times in my crossroads, you and I,
and yet I can only see your smile in my dream.
Translated by David Preston
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 6:29 PM UTC
once while driving a long stretch of road, I came across a field of dead colts. not mauled, but asleep. I spent the day arranging and rearranging them. first in a straight line. then a circle. then a cross. finally, I piled them up and lit them on fire. I waited for the fire to burn out. I waited through night. I waited for several days. I never slept. just sat there. waiting.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
Could you be loved,
Like those clouds in the sky?
Could you be loved even if
Death passed you by?
Could you be loved by another
Both giving your all?
Could you be loved
When your back is against the wall
No i couldn't.
Because nothing from nothing brings nothing like Billy Preston said, and though i sincerely and soberly wish this fact never entered my head, inside i feel as if my soul is dead
The spark of joy not gone but fading and love clearly isn't enabling
Me to get up and get started on making myself even better than what i was
So maybe I'll stick to crying like those doves
Dec 24, 2016
Dec 24, 2016 at 1:57 AM UTC
Night raids on Salt End
were legendary… It were a
giant chemical works with ship docks,
silos, storage tanks, fuel dumps,
an ideal 'drop off point' for Gerry…
But Salt End plant’s night raids
on Hedon Road
weren’t gonna daunt our lot,
they lived a mile or so down the lane to Preston
and seemed unafraid of gerri’n shot.
But they built a shelter across’t main road
in a field… On the outside It were a haystack
within the walls, six foot thick… proper beds
on hay bails to the front and back... cosy.
Down the middle was a ‘lounge’ with chairs,
lights, a radio - electric run from’t big ‘ouse
It’s better than being at’ome our Charlie used to say
For the eldest (and the architect) he’d not much nowse.
Me mam (then 19) told me she bussed it into Hull
****** the Doodlebugs” She needed Jitterbugs…
and they still danced at City Hall.
******** to Gerry and his mates.
Margie & her pal René,
dauntless, they had a right ball!
Last Bus to ‘Withernsea’ from town
dropped her off at the junction
by the Speedway on Hedon Road.
Just as her way was lit by fire bombs - all about
when Gerry dropped his final unaimed load
Maybe ack-ack’d sort him out.
She was 2 miles from home… every few seconds another blast.
Scuttling …dodging whistling incendiaries,
running fast, whippet like…
any second could’ve been her last
anything too close she’d have to jump in't ****
She couldn’t mek it t’t shelter or house so picked
the coal shed - instead… threw herself down
on coals…noise lifted - silence dawned… all clear
heavy breathing - not hers - she wan’t alone
What if it’s one of them - a downed ***** airman.
Nervous, terrified more like she let out a little shudder
a gentle cough… to test her nerve
“Is that you Margie?… You daft ******
It were brother Tom… He’d been t’t Nags Head
and he’d run the opposite way from the village instead.
Sep 7, 2021
Sep 7, 2021 at 12:25 PM UTC
And so he ran
Power coursing through
his
legs gasping
for air that
can't fill his
lungs fast
enough to out-
run his
demons
Nov 13, 2011
Nov 13, 2011 at 2:47 AM UTC
[https://twitter.com/i/notifications]
Notifications: (3)
--------------------------
Oren Mills liked your Tweet - 8m minutes ago
Preston Tweeted after a while - 3h hours ago
Twitter would like you to log off our website. You are relying too heavily on the fleeting single-click validation of your half-peers. Your perception of self is an infinitely valuable thing and you are stomping it down the drain with a boot heel. Go outside. - 5h hours ago*
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 11:26 AM UTC
Joseph Preston Kirk Nov 2013
From yesterday to tomorrow and today we find our way
When my eyes can not see I will listen to her heart
When my soul begins to feel what hers cannot express
when my tongue is tied and can not speak
to what sometimes my arms might not be able to reach
when a loving embrace can not cut quite as deep
when the fire burns yet yet the path is steep
when direction has become a mystery and has no place
and time has forgotten everything but this place
when destiny calls but has been delayed
and life has left you feeling tricked or betrayed
when sadness has blinded you in distress
and everything seems as if it's a mess
when the troubles of the world have fallen upon your path
and wont let up till it leaves an aftermath
when our words are clouded and didnt quite come out right
and paradise is missing and were alone somewhere in this night
when fear has hidden what truth is already made known
and 2 souls carry what cannot be shown
It is then I will be reminded love withstands throughout any storm
because with a little rain everything is made clean taking its previous form
when passion rises and love withstands
sadness can never withhold from love's demands
and the beauty of for better or worse
isnt what some say is a blessing or a curse
the truth is that no matter what today might send
tomorrow were still lovers and together in the end
sometimes life might bring you flowers or maybe a memory of some forgotten discourse
but cast aside your fear and remember love is the strongest and most powerful awesome force
if today was tomorrow or even tomorrow was today
I might even know what it is I have to say
but since sometimes our words might not come until tomorrow and not today
Ill just love you in silence kneel down and pray
because the Lord already knows what we want to really say
'I love you baby and its all going to be OK"
Lets just chalk it up to one of those days.
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 3:59 AM UTC
It's that time
or
sometimes it's this time
but
one time at this or at that time
it'll be my time
the communion wine was drugged
the Methodist chapel was bugged
and the man on the 'rugged cross'
couldn't give a toss about me.
Bobby robbed the offertory
so
no hope or hymns for him.
Death has possibilities
not meant to be
but definitely
true.
The boys in blue caught Bobby
threw him in the clink
***** *****
went the coins as they rattled
in his pockets which were as deep
as the hole he was in
and still no hymn for him.
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
this is your least favorite part
two weeks later we put our clothes back on
two weeks later i'm not in love
because i don't know love but i'm
enamored with you.
i think it will be hard to forget a boy who
filled me with fluorescent light,
someone so electric
so alive.
two weeks later you're on a plane to chicago
and i'm laying in bed listening to the empty
sounds of my body without you.
i never even got to see you drunk or see your hair
in the morning still matted
from sleep.
two weeks later i ache from the absence of you
this is my least favorite part
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 12:47 AM UTC
a Hills Hoist
holds aloft
singlet's blue
and a small child's dreams
on a quarter acre in Preston
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC
Stopping at
Lancaster
Preston
Wigan
and
Crewe.
all aboard.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 4:51 PM UTC