"puncher" poems
she described it as ice
in her chest
like
a lance that tightroped from
her chest to mine
fought over at the breakfast table
because her end was bigger than mine
or mine had more blood than hers
or she always got to look at my good side
and why couldn’t I look at her without laughing
mother always said it was a blessing
that two people were so close to each other
not through birth
but by journey
and life
and happenstance
two people that tasted grilled cheese the same way
that heard the same voices of joy
loss
despair
but always stuck to the roof of the mouth like peanut butter
and not the generic brand
no
the 10 dollar organic stuff
two people that couldn’t help but
crack jokes at the dinner table
when everyone else was talking about
death because
what is death without life?
she would ask
and everyone would go silent
and float up through the
limitless sky
while we stayed grounded in
the life that whiskey brings
sister
if you ever hear me calling
know that I’d give you the bigger half
every time and that
you may borrow my three-hole puncher
without asking
because
I love you
and love stitches time without holes
and moments without the train station goodbye
and the rocks
well
they will always be rippling the stream so you
can go whitewater rafting and I can write poems
about how you fell in and found
a fleck of gold
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 3:56 PM UTC
we're aboard the bus
me and Gus
me and Gus
we're aboard the bus
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
Stu is a great puncher
his punches are accurate
his left hook
knocks other dudes
really flat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
us guys on the rough side of town
have to know how to solidly punch
to knock those gang members down
those gang members
are tough and mean
they are the toughest and meanest
gang members
on the rough side of town
Gus and I
are going to take
those gang members on
take them on
take them on
they aren't going to give
Gus and I
no knock out gong
no knock out gong
Gus and I
will have a retinue of punches
to plant on their noses
they'll be redder
than a bunch of roses
Gus and I
get aboard the bus
to go Stu's gym
we're learning
punching skills
off him
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
Feast your eyes upon
The rag doll that you
Cleverly sew apart
In order to put her
Back together.
Nothing. That’s what she
Is. You emptied her out
Like a hole puncher
Persistently chewing
His way through,
Spreading his disease
Throughout the
Paper—a paper which
Blissful words could roam.
You wrung her out
Dry. The elixir she once
Ran on has evaporated.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 1:44 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 6:39 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My heart has gone out for all families on the street
That came out of the erstwhile street boys and girls
Kudos to your creativity as you make life from nothing
Blessed bye your bravado and sense of oblivion
With which you have held the riches of the world
In which effortlessly swim the powers that be,
Beautified be a street family in the all quarters of the world
Wherever you are kindly be ennobled
Whether in India or Chicago of Americas,
Be it Nairobi, Lagos or Jo’burg the infernos of urchinery
Good times and chances befall you children of the street.
Great beauty with you is condemnation of the tribe
In Africa where ethnicity is the bricks of tribal mall
Your names are conditional but not tribal connotation
They sing songs of exclusion but not chauvinism of ethnicity
I was in Kenya at the city of Eldoret, I visited your platoon
In the suburb of Langas, I derided not in the glory of your nomenclature;
Some of you festooned in the street emperor, as other wallow in mauverick titles
Like; Cop-puncher, weed-cooler, ****** breaker, top sniffer, hotel sentry
And many other accoladic names as you feasted me on your virtuosity.
Royal is your blood as you bivouac in the blizzards
The blood in your vein came from the state panjandrum
During the libidinous hour in the wee of the night
The teats you suckled were of your undergraduate mothers
In the high powered Universities of bourgeoisie education
Never regret in your ego for great is your genetics
It was solely misplaced priorities of your vulnerable mothers
That had you dumped on the street garbage in the oblivion of society
But great you are because 10% you hitherto make
Of the ostentations African population that is whoopingly a billion!
Time is coming for your final say, bivouac wherever you are
For your day is very soon.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
-Trampled Under Hoof-
Thick dust kicks up from this sulfur tar,
Suffocating the fools dim enough come near,
Ultra violence breeds screams from afar,
Thunder Puncher gored on a topaz field.
Trampled under hoof,
No escape from this fate,
Wishing he was saved,
Filling up with hate.
Even mutilated by nature his fists rose high,
Thunder Puncher still has the will to fight,
Standing as the warm blood still escapes his thighs,
Bloodied and muddied, fists flying with all his might.
-Trilobite-
Ripping and tearing,
Scorching and staring,
Never with bearings,
Always out scaring.
Who is he to fear,
Violently attacking all,
Sharp as a spear,
Hand held in a ball.
Now they've all fallen,
Trilobite the victor,
Blood falling like pollen,
Death the constrictor.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC