"pvt" poems
*(this poem don't matter much
unless you balk with ***** to essay upon,
thyself, thy valentine failures,
children and ex's who have ex'd you out,
sad love songs
one more time,
even joyous ones,
foolishness human,
then this intro source code,
is an unnecessary winter weather advisory)*
a phrase, song~played, scratches,
brain self-commands
via electric synapse
To: the current in-resident body
extrude denude private places
riff,
get to thy work,
decompose on them words:
in the private places
play with the lowly lowest ranking,
private, who by nature, sees
finer the dirtiest,
privy to the privy,
privilege them
to the most personal,
spit/spill/weep/deep
some or none of it all,
cause the scratch is the
poetic salvation to that
bitch~itch, write
the best you get,
dispossess the beastie best
in the pvt. places,
ain't much/no difference
tween beastie and all the crapper rest
draw from the private places,
cast up to light,
revelations devaluations sensations
impolite,
well kept secrets
if you can say it good,
then draw it up from the well
where the private places
were|where sent to drown,
and if you can't,
no bother brother,
after this exculpation excavation,
I'll go back with you
to adding a rock to the
bottom of the pile,
the mountain of superficial crap
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
Do you remember the year 1861? I was just ending my practicum of nursing, and you were being drafted to war. Oh, the day we met on that rain-washed Thursday while you were dodging the doctor from a scratched cornea, I admired you from across the medical tent.
Noticing me quickly, you half smiled. War was quickly setting into place, while you and I plunged head first into love.
We woke up to a conked labor union and our whole base blowing to hell.
My ears, my ears were engulfed with vibrations of cannon sounds.
Then and there, a bullet committed one's self to the center of my chest.
But you found me, slipping into utter darkness. You culled me back towards consciousness.
Flower, Flower, you said. And here I stand beside your plot in the necropolis, knowing my name could have been here just as easily as yours.
eternally yours,
Your Flower.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:07 AM UTC
Nothing has changed ,when they ended this law game .
Before its Negate,it had just remained a name .
Still young is Ousted, knocking the doors for a job.
They had become feeble ,day and night they only sob.
Dread in the people ,if they Distle for their Right.
In the prison,how they can be out for a day light .
From home to office ,Nowhere they are seeing their fate.
At all ending ,dither of youth is going to be so bate.
Going to Pvt. schools,by set down a resume there.
All is good,but we can not give You 1500 above here.
Everyone is praying for Us,Officious for us to be alive.
Love from the family ,they never ever let us to Drive.
Hope the "Head" will feel,the youth as their own.
Will do for them ,a great ,as for and very soon
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
I can feel it.
It pounds in my blood,
Resides in my very being.
I've taken the oath,
Signed on the dotted line.
I am a soldier now.
If I should die,
Bring me home.
Lay me to rest in a field dotted with willows.
Hand my flag to my sweetheart.
Give my insignia to my mother.
Tell my brother I'm in a better place.
Bury me with my rifle.
But most importantly,
Never forget.
Remember what I stood for.
The people I helped.
Because,
That structures my legacy.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC