"pushers" poems
In nineteen hundred forty-nine
China was won by Mao Tse-tung
Chiang Kai-shek's army ran away
They were waiting there in Thailand yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Pushing junk down Thailand way
First they stole from the Meo Tribes
Up in the hills they started taking bribes
Then they sent their soldiers up to Shan
Collecting ***** to send to The Man
Pushing junk in Bangkok yesterday
Supported by the CIA
Brought their jam on mule trains down
To Chiang Rai that's a railroad town
Sold it next to the police chief brain
He took it to town on the choochoo train
Trafficking dope to Bangkok all day
Supported by the CIA
The policeman's name was Mr. Phao
He peddled dope grand scale and how
Chief of border customs paid
By Central Intelligence's U.S. A.I.D.
The whole operation, Newspapers say
Supported by the CIA
He got so sloppy & peddled so loose
He busted himself & cooked his own goose
Took the reward for an ***** load
Seizing his own haul which same he resold
Big time pusher for a decade turned grey
Working for the CIA
Touby Lyfong he worked for the French
A big fat man liked to dine & *****
Prince of the Meos he grew black mud
Till ***** flowed through the land like a flood
Communists came and chased the French away
So Touby took a job with the CIA
The whole operation fell in to chaos
Till U.S. Intelligence came into Laos
I'll tell you no lie I'm a true American
Our big pusher there was Phoumi Nosovan
All them Princes in a power play
But Phoumi was the man for the CIA
And his best friend General Vang Pao
Ran the Meo army like a sacred cow
Helicopter smugglers filled Long Cheng's bars
In Xieng Quang province on the Plain of Jars
It started in secret they were fighting yesterday
Clandestine secret army of the CIA
All through the Sixties the Dope flew free
Thru Tan Son Nhut Saigon to Marshal Ky
Air America followed through
Transporting confiture for President Thieu
All these Dealers were decades and yesterday
The Indochinese mob of the U.S. CIA
Operation Haylift Offisir Wm. Colby
Saw Marshal Ky fly ***** Mr. Mustard told me
Indochina desk he was Chief of ***** Tricks
"Hitchhiking" with dope pushers was how he got his fix
Subsidizing traffickers to drive the Reds away
Till Colby was the head of the CIA
January 1972
10.1k
There is an image
Working to free my mind
From violent dawns
It probes at the backs of my eyes
It tells me I am prostituting myself
Here in my bedroom
In incestuous union with myself
I hallucinate and fantasise about
Doctors sons, butchers boys
Teenage thieves, deserters
Drug pushers, scandalous rent boys
Vagrants, pimps, prostitutes
And silk lingerie and don't care.
I sit destitute of thought
An insonce dissonance of macabre music
Playing out melodies of an image in my mind
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 4:42 PM UTC
hickory nuts
and wind trees
are keeping
at the old buckle bay
light house corners and
shaker church craft
slip anchor on the southern tip
secret legions
and phenolic board
tuck in at gout dock
bands and nations
and miracle speak
fill in the center hall
sand hooks
and water domes
cover wharf road
***** bay toppers
and seven horse chugs
scatter the swollen upper deck
packards and pushers
and rusty back rails
skirt the night
lanterns and sterns
and navy gulls
steady on task
sand cakes
and drift wood
held tight on
the mystery tour
yellow tails
and tide pools
flat line
at royal reach
paddles
and cables
find ripples way
smugglers and smitties
take cover
from a
northern gale
down on
pocket shoal
there’s a graceful hue
~ they’re serving up
belons and xan…
it's time to get in
for a fill
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 2:12 PM UTC
I've been trying to poet off and on
now for awhile - but it's hard for a guy
like me, born and raised in small towns.
I've never really learned to swear,
not like a poet anyway. Not like Bukowski.
I mean, what kind of poet would
the world expect me to be? Except that
I'll admit I can drink with the best.
A Huffstickler I'm not, or a Bukowski,
or Etter, or Kerouac - guys who knew the
big towns, the ***** the dives, the rehabs,
the back alleys, park benches, soup kitchens,
flop houses, drug pushers — Humm, come to
think of it, we got all those here. But not
the all-important big town poet attitude.
I'm just this hick, delusional perhaps,
trying to fill a blossoming hole inside
of me that grumbles and claws for more,
and there's gotta be more to life than this crap.
In poeting I used to try and rhyme, like as
in "poor" and ***** but there's
no rhyme to life, just grab it and clench.
Just life, death, burial and maybe a little
something for the dog afterwards.
The preacher says there's more,
the devil tells me to forget it,
(I'll listen to him occasionally).
So, for me, I'll probe a little deeper and
scrutinize a little harder, perhaps drink a
little heavier, and maybe find a plug
out there that'll fill the hole inside me.
Maybe even put it in words.
Become a poet.
--
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 4:53 AM UTC
The pounding of the drum
was sheets of white paper
Each clap falling to the floor
Settling slowly
Like geese alight to water
We were there for this landing
Nosily, gracefully
The geese were
Ourselves
The drumming of the drum
Was a shell around us all
And we all spiraled in
Till the casements of the
windows shook
Till throughout the basement
And up the stairs
Was the sound
Lifted up again
Like the geese
And the paper pushers
And the polished
thrumming,
drumming,
humming
of
our
hearts
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:39 PM UTC
Vacant, empty, bottle corked
sour
followed
shadows
stalked
billboards, ankhs, purple peace
fever
groupies
slow
release
pill pushers, drunkards, hollow wholes
pimps and
******
broken souls
black, white, all in tune
sunsets
rising
wednesday's moon
nothing inside
nothing out
listen how
silence
shouts!!
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 2:13 AM UTC
It’s only Rock n roll baby, so heavy
Listen to the words
Don’t they tell you something
They say I was wrong
Hear me baby, cos I die tonight
Rock n roll baby, so heavy
Roll me another joint, and I’ll tell you about my life
The story of my death
But don’t fret baby, it’s only Rock n roll
So heavy, listen to the words
They say, give into hell and sin
Make believe people go insane
Take a few pushers, Rock n roll
Listen to the words of my final epitaph
But don’t fret baby
It's only Rock n roll.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 6:23 AM UTC
I'm not religious.
I'm not even spiritual.
I'm just a cold, soft Vulcan.
The system of the down
has isolated me here
to think, which is what a Vulcan
does all the time.
It's really pointless.
It is desert, hot and cold
served in deprivation,
meditation, and
solitude.
The system has been doing
this for eons.
It's called increasing
systemic risk when stressed.
I make a cognitive chunk
for you to cogitate
over coffee.
Picture this.
Wandering Boy Scouts (BS)
in their pickup trucks,
helpful, strong,
vicious when aimless,
efficiently cruel,
mechanized abattoir makers
mass pit diggers,
merit badge takers.
Smell the BS.
It all goes into baking
gooey brownie BS,
repugnantly pungent,
and redolent of sweet
burning flesh.
Stressed, the down system
spits BS out
randomly to nucleate,
and procreate if possible.
Breeding a new Brand,
with Cult leader Classes
and all the -isms.
Visionaries with their caries;
Pushers with agendas hidden;
Leaders steadfast in conviction,
taking a nation, against
all odds, in Battling Bulges,
****** lines hidden
within clean, pleated
leather skirts
that still reveal penciled
seams up straight
shaved bare legs.
This is how the system
shakes itself; auto
****** asphyxiation.
Vulcan's never shake
the bars of their cells
because there's no barring
except Great Walls
forbidding, with a wink,
killing each other.
To be thy Greek brother's keeper,
is to cut not that brother man,
but the other brother man
down with BS fervor and S&M;
madness, before bondaging
his wounds in mummified
State, taped shut
with a healing kiss.
To have dominion
over the animals
means a bludgeoned
pleasure, or
transplanted
desire.
Dominion to exploit
blunted, unconditional,
emotional resources,
until the system
gels again, vaginally
or astrolly whole.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
What kinda flowers would you like to have?
besides my own tulips, I have
I honestly don't know much about the garden or the seeds
I know not every day is greeted by dandy lions
Or as fertilized in the fruits of its daily labor
No one owes your favor
We're all petal pushers
Waiting to blossom from the buzzin'
Not everyone has the will to stem tall
Some may wilt away; Some may brighten the day
But, I just want to floret
And never look back
Dancing on the breeze like a leaf
Forgetting the roots
What a relief
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 3:22 PM UTC
Though the; core of the earth can be measured in Kelvin
What happens on the surface is a negative hell man.
Its a; cold world that we live in
From the government, law enforcement, and politicians.
Everything you do, where you go is like your swimmin’
Piranha on you tail take everything you've been given.
Through the gutters we roam in search of new beginnings.
Man; is this life we live really worth livin’?
Just to find out the when, where and how of your ending?
It’s a; cold world that we follow.
Pushers giving you pills and telling you to swallow.
The pills of conformity, we all had a taste.
Some just got addicted so they feigning for that 8.
Nose stuck on the internet searching for conspiracies.
Illuminati, JFK the whole entire industry.
The media’s agenda is the way we all proceed.
People tread the tail cause they all afraid to lead.
Probably afraid to bleed, to impede on the culture.
Well now it’s time to feed, swarm down hungry vultures.
It’s the; cold world that got us dying.
Fight for your beliefs and end up in an asylum.
You ain’t even gotta riot, to be quiet is a sin.
Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir. Amen
That’s the story that they preach.
Subliminal, under the surface.
Nobody knows the truth so it all seems perfect.
Well...
Does it all seem worth it?
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 12:49 PM UTC
You see a few years ago
I was part of define fitness yeah
And I thought it was weird the way
They treated me
They wanted me to be a rich ****
They wanted me to sell my art
Basically on the road at trash and treasure
They pushed me around like I was a piece of meat mate
They didn’t care about my safety
They just wanted me to just
Enjoy being slim
Maybe I do but in my own way
Not drinking salty water or beef stock no way
Just eating the food I like you know oh yeah
You see it is hard to be like them
If they treat you like a rich ****
You know taking you out wiping
The poor man out of you
You see I had it made
Before I joined define fitness
I enjoyed doing things
And having fun yeah
Making me lift weights
Heavier than my own weight
Define fitness is an organisation
Full of rich ******
You see I had it best
Before I had them
I had to do two squats after one pull of vacuum
Eating everything with 10 shakes of salt on
Putting salt in my water
Like I am drinking out of the sea
I had it best
Before I had them
I could’ve broken my back
You see I was slack
I won an award but if I wasn’t good
The next session
He would say I will take your medals away
Which I think they are a bunch of rich ******
Sure it is good to exercise but mate
Were pushers
I hated them they made me feel like a ****
You you you
I had it best
Before I had before I had before I had them
Time after time I wanted to leave them
And go back to solo exhibitions in
The art hall
And not sell them at trash and treasure
Like a loser does
I had it best I really had it best
Before I ever had define fitness
Treating me like a rich ***** of an adult
And not just a nice adult I want to be
**** YOU DEFINE FITNESS
Jul 31, 2021
Jul 31, 2021 at 6:29 AM UTC
Yet homeless happy people without thrive ability
party pushers posting pictures with such jive hostility
acting out with rational it's like sporting politically
Obama's on my starting team with poll pushing agility
I Got two Clintons on my backup fantasy league
don't watch local games or who's selling off senate seats
not all are frozen but most have chosen illiterately
on the block taking tokens steady smokin and broke and
no matter for realities that are steadily approaching
call me young in notion but I can't stand for lack of motion
late nights to early mornings I'm writing in search of potion
like Juliet rests in pieces I see the gauntlets broken
YOU can't save the planet **** IT so Janet pass on posting
Nothin new under sun we **** for fun and Whales **** in the ocean
as if Ape won't **** Ape Mother Earth will keep her motion
Wu is Me now I see I've been
Sipping on Too Wrongs Lefty
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
So you know I wasn’t raised in the hood,
But in a beautiful place in Surrey enclosed by woods,
Had quite a nice childhood,
Until the age of ten, everything was all good.
It all changed when my Dad went away,
Couldn’t cope with my Mums Bipolar state,
When he left I have a photo memory of that day,
‘Promise you won’t get divorced, I want you to stay’.
Then that kid had to grow up quick,
When mum had an episode, breakdown psychotic.
Held the family together through all this ****
Then lost the plot myself couldn’t handle it.
So I left home very young, let down by pen pushers.
Dumped in and out of care, social workers?
Isn’t it a wonder how I became an alcoholic toker,
Stress of my life turned me into a chain-smoking joker.
A year I slept in my bus stop,
Stealing food to survive from various shops,
Helped to sleep with prayers and alchopops,
Checked on by ‘Rosy cheeks’ the local cop.
Apr 30, 2010
Apr 30, 2010 at 2:42 AM UTC
One night in December,
The streets were army gray
And hurrying strangers
Rushed home for the day.
Nimble legged salesmen
Sold flowers by the street
And rhythm was the rumble
Of voices cars and feet.
The young were dressed for parties
Some sang with radios
And over-friendly women
Assumed their favorite pose.
Trashcan colored beggars
Searched gutters with their hands
While uniforms saved sinners
With sermons songs and bands.
Patrolmen sang the pop songs
From slowly cruising vans
As nighttime changes faces
Pushers change their plans.
The movie marquee lightning
Put movement to the sound
As nameless children squabbled
For pennies they had found.
Uptown they're making movies
For Hollywood L.A.
They listen to the sirens
Downtown far away.
The Civic Center phantoms
Are easy to forget.
Folks simply close their eyes
And they haven’t seen them yet.
They haven’t seen them yet.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
For now a soul for sale
If I'm lucky, I'll get enough
For something to drink
For now a soul for sale
Or perhaps something to
Get me high
For now a soul for sale
It truly depends on the person
Looking for one
What they would pay
For now a soul for sale
Or do the bartenders,
Pushers,
One night standers,
Hopeless romantic weekend questions unanswered
Own it?
How can I sell something I no longer own?
Wouldnt I remember doing this?
Or did I lose it?
That seems Like something
I would remember doing too,
Like losing your wallet
Or virginity
So that's out of the question
So for now a soul for sale
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 2:04 AM UTC
24 begins with its cruel rule:
"No sustenance or quenching of thirst
until the sad/happy day passes."
Caring women with initials enter
Poking, prodding, asking the same questions,
While loved ones nervously watch.
Close friends, friends, and strangers
Phone and visit, offering their comforting words.
"We love you." "We're praying for you."
"Make a pact with God." "Chin up!" "Happy Birthday!"
Their messages intermingle with disquieting thoughts
Of hopes and dreams left unfulfilled.
"Why me?" "What now?" "I knew it was too good to be true."
As hunger gnaws, and expectation is postponed.
A caring woman with initials enters one last time,
Poking, prodding, asking the same questions,
As the pushers of the bed arrive with their benign smiles.
Unwanted darkness returns,
As uncommon mortals work at their bizarre craft,
Opening the golden bowl,
Exposing its precious contents.
East and West Coast loved ones,
Separated by time and circumstance,
Carry on their prayerful vigil.
As 24 continues,
Surrounded by love,
Sustained by hope.
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 11:41 AM UTC
Momma took a lot
of stuff to get where
I'm at.
Momma took a lot of hits
and lived with a broken
back.
Momma still works like
a dog,
Momma walked through
rain, and fought through
fog,
But trust me when I say
still to this very day,
even though I stand
as a broken man,
been knocked down
more times than
Mike Tyson.
I'm not bulletproof
or ten feet tall,
but best believe,
I'm as strong
as a brick wall.
I stomp around
with pounding feet
and Momma can always
count on me.
Til the day I die,
with every waking
breath I try.
Pushers and pullers
need to beware,
when ever Momma needs me,
I'll be there.
Oct 3, 2009
Oct 3, 2009 at 6:14 AM UTC
Oh tell me where has England's glory gone,
Lost golden days of beef and lukewarm beer?
Now it's polenta in a gastro-pub,
Chilean Chardonnay, Tequila Slammers.
Her Empire proudly pink on schoolroom maps;
India, Afric, source of plundered loot galore.
All gone, all gone, black faces back in charge
And black drug pushers stalk old London's streets.
Fat huntsmen dressed in pink, all banished now,
Their yelping foxhounds ripping prey apart,
Celebrating sick English country ways
Before returning to their mortgaged homes.
City yobbos yelling down their mobiles,
Fatcats slurping up their creamy profits;
All the public cares about is football
And the *** lives of the media's darlings.
So where has England's honour gone today?
Up the American military ****
Our government showing its smug disdain
For what decent people care and think.
We've sold out to baseball caps and burgers,
And imported TV shows for the mentally ********
A visitor attraction for obese rich yanks to drawl
"We're real glad we saved these Limey's ***** in two wars".
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
Its sad,
how everyday is a reflection of how ignorant of a race we've become.
Humans are discusting beings,
respect is a thing of the past
and chilvalry is dead.
What happened to days when men would kiss your hand
or open doors for you?
women were more respected when they had no rights
now their considered equal yet they still groval at mens feet
and are refered to as ******* and ******
Then again,
whats equality
it lost its meaning long ago,
for a free country theres not much freedom here.
If an atheist speaks of their beliefs their said to be mocking chrisanity
beacuse chrisanity is the norm.
Its going to **** us
the demise of this world is going to be caused by what its built upon.
Organized relgion is nothing more then power hungry people
trying to steer the young,naive, lonely and afraid
into doing " whats right " by inflicting the fear of the unknown upon them.
There is no " right and wrong "
nothing but centuries of branwashing by bible pushers and jesus freaks.
Were not thankful for anything,
were slaves to the economy,
never content with what we have
always glutton for more.
People who say money can't buy happiness are full of ********
and have never gone without food or cloths because they can't afford them
The main cause of misery is lack of money
ask anyone going without what would make them happy
i bet you all the money in the world i know the answer.
We dont even appricate the fact that were alive
it takes a death or some drastic event for us to even take a second and be thankful for life.
We judge everyone without reason
when in reality were all the same
everyone of us are fighting demons
hiding a part of our past
and running from something.
People sicken me,
were going to be at fault for the sucide of our world
were all born monsters
we all die the same
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
with my feet on the ground
and my head in the clouds
I try to survive this trip stepping around
every stranger in the strange crowds
dreamers have no place in this world
so my heart fights my day job habits
my creativity shot from cannons is hurled
while I run down holes chasing white rabbits
have I lost my mind?
where was it before I asked?
did all the drugs politely turn down all the questions of my kind?
did every line of coke spell answers to my lifelong pain masked?
with my tie on to make a dollar
I can shake your hand with the fakest of faces
but the relief I need to loosen the collar
always leaves little strung out traces
but isn't life made to never count one person?
isn't that why we marry and breed?
so we have misery's company as the days worsen
and an excuse for the green bill greed
you think I fear the conference room meeting?
I'm more afraid of Captain Hook
because as I grow down I realize the stories
were precious distractions from all the beatings I took
**** you wear my life for a day and try to endure the hurt
I've learned the pain killers that go down like spoonfuls of sugar
I've learned to suture when the blood spurts
and the bars and friends with compliments will always be my pushers
so with feet on the ground where the killers carry all the keys
I keep my head above all that's you spell out as real
and I'll never take another **** on my knees
because the pushers and the wonderlands make sure I never have to feel
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:08 PM UTC
When I go to school,
I see them, the cool,
The ones out the back,
The ones on crack,
The pushers of nerds,
The killers of birds,
Without a care,
No moment to spare,
But secrets they hold,
The weak and bold,
They're lonely and scared,
They tease the visually impaired,
Without their posse,
Or the glossy,
Without their 'friends',
Their group ends.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:47 PM UTC
Saw it happen.
Witnessed it. Did not experience.
Yet, left with a more interesting outlook.
An objectivity can rise above. Settle down. Rework, reword, reward, rewarm.
WHY DID I SEE THIS. WHY WAS I CHOSEN FOR THIS RESPONSIBILITY.
Screaming in the large end of the megaphone.
Screaming for the world to let you down.
Clutching at the door handle, hoping to emerge into a forest of rifles, a city-hive of pollen pushers, an oasis of blood.
Suddenly it makes sense...communication without contact.
Words on a page, worms on a plate.
Wards an’ a cage, words in a place.
This is our medium, through which I can love you, for better or worse, the medium that is.
The medium carries a meaning without judgement.
The judgement, if and when the word is received, is irrelevant.
The last dead deer rises, taking back his rightful place as the last living deer in a dying world.
The green world empties its poison, sheds its thorns, ***** out its parasite.
The glass is half empty.
Now its half full.
The glass is empty of meaning.
Now its full of ****
My skin is raw and bleeding.
My love is as real as rifles.
They both hurt.
In different ways.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
penny pocketed pencil pushers
mutton chopped smash mouthers
salad tossers and *** washers
tangible tap dancers dancing
tea timing tofu fools spooling threads
dead men walk fed up with funeral talk
experimental drug takers bathe them
Meat cleaving beefeaters teach their kids to chop down
cedar
cockroach feeders jot down things
crossing their eyes they dot their T's
tea drinking spider creatures fight for meals
lightning buggers squeal
lighting up bellys and sharp teeth with a surreal glow
God knows I'm only trying to brown my nose
though, by ironing my clothes
it should only show that my clothes are ironed
My foes are inspired
and my friends are tired from all the walking
we go on, talking
and joke about the things that we saw
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
Pushed?
Pull until they fall with you.
Shushed?
Make a silence so deafening it drives them insane.
If evil strikes your right cheek,
slip that right hand so fast he falls on his face.
Be aggressively passive.
Because fire plus fire just burns down the house.
Be the negative space
Invisible to everyone
but those who are
looking.
And if that maddening silence makes them scream,
(which it very well may)
reply calmly,
but give no ground.
not even an
inch.
and you will do more than win;
you will baffle them.
Because all the
pushers
know to do
is push.
They’ve never seen someone like you.
someone so
avoidantly
direct.
so deafeningly
quiet.
so precise in chaos.
You’re like negative space.
and you baffle me
because when I push
you pull
until I fall over myself.
When I roar a lion’s roar
you are a mouse
Yes, you are a puller
and I am a pusher
and I am so
astonishingly
fascinated
by you.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 7:16 PM UTC