"quentin" poems
Frank Sinatra
En mi casa
Copy pastarino
Wearin Prada
Russian opera
Quentin Tarantino
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
Random Sampling
Coughing up a lung,
sticking out my tongue.
Looking up her skirt,
dropped my pencil in the dirt.
Watching movies just for fun,
I will never own a gun.
Cat **** on the floor,
kicked it out the door.
Jake The Snake and The Macho Man,
will forever be a wresting fan.
Heavy metal and hard rock,
Skid Row's singer was Sebastian Bach.
New Jersey's pizza is the best,
it would beat New York's in any taste test.
Slept with girls, I didn't like,
soon after, I made them take a hike.
Never slept with a man,
if the money was right, I guess I can.
Love all my family and friends,
mess with them and I will defends.
Done some killer drugs,
stuck screwdrivers in some plugs.
I love paper, I love pen,
I'm more smart than the Three Wise Men.
Pina Colada's in Margaitaville,
then I take the bitter pill.
I still love eighties music,
it's relaxing and therapeutic.
Baseball is my favorite sport,
the Phillies, I will always support.
The next Super Bowl will be held in San Quentin,
***** girls take it on the chin.
I had a few nervous breakdowns,
I've put on a few to many pounds.
Allen does what Allen wants,
how's that for my final response.
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
How did it feel when you took her and made her
Understand that you were the one who cared and
Showed her more compassion?
How did it feel when you've noticed all her
Imperfections letting her go off into the sunset in
A paper town?
How did it feel?
Oh! How did it feel?
Watching over her like the hawk, making sure she'd text back,
Back......
How did it feel when you told her all of those things
Before she ran off and never came back?
How did it feel when you looked for clues and letter boxes
Going on a journey just to see if she'd turn up,
How did it feel?
Oh! How did it feel?
Watching over her like the hawk, making sure she'd text back....
One day, one day.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 11:05 AM UTC
The man decked in blue
sits quite content
on a sofa
and observes wealthy offspring
waltz in flashing their brilliant teeth
glossed with potent peppermint.
These teens
don't know love,
lust is all it is.
While the Jazz bops away,
more whisky is poured
and they zip out to get jammy.
The man, mid-twenties,
kind of blue, dapper apparel,
has one on the rocks.
Sees them
walk in most evenings,
cute blondes with flawless skin,
guys in suits, bow ties, the works,
gaze into each other's pupils.
There are regulars,
Robert, the chap from Yale,
Quentin, sly guy at Harvard
and Carly, still at school the man believes,
who's coquettish, fresh,
these two want to have her
but she's astute,
knows just what she wants.
They're all after her in fact.
Every male in the room
turns their head,
can't blame them,
she's like Candyfloss,
all the men want a taste
but there's not enough for everyone
and they don't look like the sharing kind.
The man in blue
just grins to himself
thinking how grand it is
that he's single, sensible, secure.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
one with a pick, two with shovels
all with stories
passing them around
stories, pick, shovels
taking turns
not a single earthworm in this ****** soil
plenty of rocks.
Don is the oldest, at eighty-plus
a good man with a pick
breaking, pulling clods of clay.
After thirty years in a
San Quentin prison cell,
he’s walked across the USA
three times. Big guy, gray ponytail,
not one wrinkle on that copper body,
power of a bronco
behind gentle eyes.
Terry is bald, seventy-plus,
in the Air Force he was trusted
with nuclear launch codes,
then thought better of it and hit the road,
dirt-bike racer, merry prankster,
grinning beatnik, psychedelic dancer,
always good with tools
wields a shovel like a pencil
writing the hole
as a poem.
David is almost seventy,
bearded like a prophet,
wizard of China
raised like a farm boy,
adventures in Alaska,
heroic high school English teacher,
telepathic with animals and teenagers,
can speak to horses
in haiku.
Digging is therapy.
A hard job, the work of death.
A time for muscle and sweat,
our language of grief.
We joke, I’ll dig your grave
if you’ll dig mine.
We agree, each canine
has an individual personality
but also each carries
dog spirit. As one leaves
you welcome another
different, individual
but the dog spirit renews
rejoins your life
making you whole.
On this land already
I’ve buried four dogs, two cats.
Dakota will make five,
good company.
Terry says “When Dakota arrives
in doggy heaven or wherever
dogs go, she’ll report
there are good owners here.”
A good review
on doggy Yelp:
Fear not, next puppy.
Four old men, digging a grave
on a hillside
among spirits.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
I read a comment from a friend today
She said she liked my note
It was a poem about 4 certain words
A quick one that I wrote
She said she liked Old Fairy Stories
I didn't have a clue
Was she talking gay old pooftahs
Or just fairies dressed in blue
Liberace, Quentin Crisp
Have lots of tales to tell
But, was she speaking of these fairies
Or of ones that cast a spell ?
I wasn't sure of whom she spoke
Which fairy tales she liked
Was she a big fan of Tinkerbell
Or of big, princesses named Mike?
So, I figure I'll just wait and see
I'll write one for Eileen
It'll be the strangest Fairy Tale
That she has ever seen...
Once Upon a time.......
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
Andy loved a girl named Sandy
Bill saw a horse standing on the hill
Cory told his mother a made up story
Dave dug many a grave
Eddy loaned his teddy to Neddy
Frank bought a Sherman tank
Greg had a wooden leg
Hilton was related to Mrs Wilton
Ivan strolled in the park with Jan
Jack scratched his own back
Kyle's hair style also suited Lyle
Lance couldn't obtain a bed valance
Max paid a hefty lot of tax
Neal earned a reputation for his *** appeal
Oscar drank at the Crown and Stag bar
Paul gave ten shillings to Saul
Quentin found a silver tin
Roger was a work dodger
Sam enjoyed a portion of Virginia ham
Timmy sure knew how to shimmy
Umberto listened to the concerto
Vlad priced an inner city pad
Wing put his arm in a sling
Xain often rode on the express train
Yule took a picture of the farmer's mule
Zeal looked forward to his evening meal
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:11 PM UTC
‘t was nice till now.
I’d be a sad fool to complain.
There are others that deal with
much more **** then I can ever imagine.
There are happy homeless chums
that don’t give a **** about sadness but, unfortunately,
their madness is voiceless
and, sadly, our ears get numb after 3-4 minutes of elevator music.
It was cool and everything but now it seems that you’re only
showing the back of your head, as you’re kneeling down in front
of everybody.
No spine. No dime. No nothing.
Death lies hidden in your breast pocket,
just waiting to bite your hand or that of your loved ones,
in a blink of a blind eye.
My inner black dog chased away the black and white cats
and all that jazz is just not enough for
a healthy restart of the brain membrane.
Get closer and hear me out.
I’m speaking through my heart – this yellow bellow fella’s almost done.
I’ll whisper and you’ll understand my stubbornness,
like an unlit candle in the wind,
like a simple quiet rocket/piano man,
like the unlikely event of crashing in a brick wall.
‘t was nice.
All the dreaming
and drinking
and smiling
and crying
and cringing inside my head.
Oooooooh, what a match!
The crowd goes wild and that’s so unlike them to do – clawless, fangless, white tigers.
You might not recognize this day as being amazing and wonderful and all,
but trust me when I say that you’re in a blind spot right now and
as soon as it will be over, you’ll see it.
You’ll understand.
Those were not drops of desperation but exquisite fine wine left unattended.
Hear the echo inside this caveman’s body.
Look in this broken mirror and admit that you cannot see the eyes.
This generation of morons will stay put and eat macarons all day long.
It’s just a burning house, as Robin nicely put it in his song.
There is still hope for this silly antelope.
There is time for the timeless universe that we live in.
You’ll eventually get tired of seeing everything backwards,
of going against the stream, like a red herring in a Quentin T. dark alley.
You’ll get tired and admit that
you’re the ******* queen of everything wrong in this world.
Stop complaining.
Get over it.
For now.
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
When again in Joyous MAE
where Weeping willows bow and sway
and Martin swoops from hollowed eave
to where Victoria bids us leave
down railway track by home bound Duck
and motion sickness makes us Chuck
smelling salts from moonlight blossoms
as Marian asks what's a possum
Hilda and Tim try to explain
as Bala steps onto this train
he greets with smiles sweet Linda there
as Edward offers him a chair
Thoughts Forgotten as we chill
my Dry Sapphire Gin I knock and spill
cussing Profanity too loud
I shock so many of this crowd
Sammi Sweetie red of face
covers the ears of Madison Grace
Jerelii turns to poor Prabhu
and asks him soft what can we do
Frederick hands to her a tissue
and Vijay says good luck I wish you
Rena Em and poor old Quentin
have not returned when they were sent in
offering advice and gentle aide
and Lee and Jimmy knelt and prayed
Harlow ran and Blackmire followed
both too afraid their courage swallowed
Floaters pointed to Anon C
and said aloud you come with me
Something we knew was ours has gone
but look his Sisters just got on
So Daytonight spoke I'll cuff his ears
to stop him swearing now my dears
Embers knew shed blow her top
so quickly Rose and said ... My stop
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC
Roses are red, violets are blue
My bones are broken, my skin black and blue
Why do you keep beating me on the head with that shoe
You tore out my eyes, intestines and testicles too
Let me bleed for a while, then made a *** of stew
You’re so dam crazy, it’s too late for me, if only I knew
How you like to perform lobotomies, after you sniff glue
The last one oozed brain mater, which you began to chew
It seems that Quentin Terintino has nothing on you
Some things so scary I can’t mention, they are very taboo
Beware all you naive boys, she’s the devil in a tou tou
She’ll **** on you more than what can be found at a Zoo
Her lies filled my head, stretching it till it popped and blew
Wait! Or was it the explosive poisons she put in my shampoo
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
Blank man......
Mind full of emptiness..
Aqua man..
Mind full of water...
Bat man...
Mind full of wealth...
Super man
Mind full of Lois Lane...
Speeding stoping amtrak trains...
And she still on his brain
Do you want that love
do you desire that love
Well my name is Clark Kent
And I can acquire that Love
Super human love
Kind that God sent
and save you from it all.
You just be yourself
Dont ever have to change
And I'll provide you wealth
For nothings out of range
All the creatures in the sea
Will envy you and me
Cuz they will never have
this love that makes us glad
This super human love
speeding train feeling
Polar bear hugs
No baby your not dreaming
As I stated once before
My name is Quentin Briscoe
And Im your superman
Your one and only hero....
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 9:07 AM UTC
The sixties changed our countries ways,
Gone was the time of June Cleaver days.
Vietnam and protesting, divorce and unrest.
Family's unraveling, that era's not the best.
Out around LA, communes were in vogue,
Welcoming all, the beggar, thief and rogue.
The one commune, around Topanga town,
Was home to a family, that brought the world down.
Charles Manson, and his motley crew,
Were plotting and planning horrible things to do.
The drinking and drugs, had warped his mind,
The war was coming, the world in a bind.
Gathering arms for the fight of their life,
Blacks vs Whites, getting ready for the strife.
Funding is needed, for any good war,
Arms and supplies, always needing more.
So after a party, featuring mind altering drugs,
A robbery was planed, the family now thugs.
The first attacks, were directed at those,
Oblivious to Charlie, they had no foes.
Sharon Tate was a pregnant Hollywood beauty,
An aspiring actress, she was a real cutie.
Watson and Krenwinkel and other sick folk,
Tortured and killed, with a fork they did poke.
A horrible crime, what were they thinking?
Even lower they dropped, their ship kept on sinking.
The LaBianca castle was next on the list,
Beaten to death, with a hammer and a fist.
San Quentin and the gas chamber, to be their fate,
Sentences commuted to life, the reaper must wait.
To collect up those souls, and bring them to hell,
God may be forgiving, but this horror doesn’t sell.
Manson and his cronies must remain locked away,
New souls for the devil, in hell they will stay.
Please visit poemsbypaul.com
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
whenever somebody reminds me of you, i consider how our roles
were like margo and quentin from paper towns. you loved mystery
novels so much, i'm sure you became one yourself. at one point, i
wholeheartedly believed you were this unattainable celestial being
completely confined in your paper skin. then i realized something,
do you remember that day you called me your best friend as a joke
and the same day, you talked so much **** about me? it made me
realize you were right. you are a part of the ****** people living in
their **** houses burning **** to stay warm, since you like to talk
**** what was i expecting? of course, you're a high schooler. to
think that before my 21st birthday, i was quentin in the way i
admired you from afar, idealizing you as a god and dismissing
everybody else as animals. i preferred to let our paths cross in
my dreams. there were many times our strings crossed, separated,
and then came back together. although i don't have the drive to
chase you across border lines, i would skateboard miles after miles
of desert terrain just to have that opportunity to see you. realizing
it now, being friends with you was a ******* trap. to portray myself
as someone you would prefer to be friends with was difficult, since
you didn't really seem to like anybody all that much anyway. our roles
were strictly platonic, but the days stretched out seemed almost phantasmagoric. our strings that were knotted together so tightly broke
through and through, and none of us would have expected that i'd be
wanting to drive across border lines to stretch the distance out between
me and you, kind of like the way you stretched me out. as i'm slowly
undiscovering you, little by little, i'm realizing the way you think about
a person isn't the way they actually are. people are different when you
smell them and see them up close. now i'm addressing everyone that i
previously ignored because of you, and dismissing you as an animal. i
would rather live in my paper house than have to live with your ****
- kra
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 9:05 AM UTC
The best things happen after autistically
planning, but doing something else, as
long as it keeps handing me sunlight and
some feet to walk, I'll keep walking.
It has always been my dream, but, secretly,
shamefully, I will never dare, losing things
dear to me and ideals. I walk across
a waterway and find my luck in the sudden
movements of two ducks, refreshing in that
very water. Neighbours working, greeting strangers,
children disobeying their mothers.
And old man on the bus comments, I sit
I read, look up, search for the right words and
stop reading.
Quentin felt infinite, so I wanted to let that feeling last.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
This flim maker,
this idol, this obsession,
to be like him,
better then him.
He is why I write to you, to practice.
Quentin Tarantino, if I could meet with him and speak, that would be a dream come true. But to direct a flim with him, to share a piece of his magic with me and I learn... that would be the wish of my life. I want to be better then his genius mind in flim... but thats a pipe dream. To me there is no one greater not even myself. Its not about money to me, its about people seeing my vision and sharing it with as many people as possible on a huge scale. Then one day the money will be there, till then he will just be the god in my eyes
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
Fact is stranger than fiction.
Quentin sits for days trying to think of a plot,
As dazed and twisted as his.
And should the Tiger King take Quentin under his wing,
I am sure that Quentin's mouth will be searching for teeth.
(but then again, don't you think Quentin is a tad bit
old?)
Benevolent monarch, with peasants made of fur.
Boldy he strays upon a kingdom never his.
And the peasants,
They have no choice
Have no voice,
Nothing but the strength to look the Tiger King's
Advisor in the eye
as they say
"Goodbye".
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 1:54 PM UTC
April Seventh, 1928
Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.
Luster searched the rough, amongst the grass, doing his own bidding.
"Here Caddie," a man shouted before he hit.
Images came back and I entered a fit.
Weeping and wailing I stood, a 33 year old male.
Soon to be reminded of being hooked on a nail.
My sister Caddy treated me well, though mother won't agree.
She thinks I'm pampered by the girl sneaking down a nearby tree.
Caddy ruined the family name.
Or so mother says, but I don't think she's to blame.
The girl lost her scent.
The Compson name is on the descent.
Caddy held me. She smelled like trees.
And not the kind that make one sneeze.
Maury was supposed to be my title.
My uncle's indiscretions made its worth idle.
So i was given something new to be called.
As Uncle Maury's and Mrs. Patterson's relationship stalled.
Miss Quentin picked up after her mother.
Looking absentmindedly for a wayward lover.
She sat next to a man with a red ascot on a swing after supper.
Luster wandered up and picked up something rubber.
...
I have no sense of how things occur.
My illness makes things easy to obscure.
The ticking of a broken watch beats on.
I, for ignoring such nonsense, have been deemed wrong.
Colliding events of different times.
Blurring together dateless lines.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
uh
yo im back again rippin' through the flesh within'
casted by hail mary broken through fire
im at a higher journey burn the
tystick slow once i split the blunt pull stunts
money endeavor too clever no one could sever
me and my destiny through crime or dope rhymes
i gotta get mine cocked the nine someones bound for a flatline
heart my foes like Valentine i was a **** livin' the dream
of a rock star movie star looked afar and what did i see?
I seen a brother like me askin' me where my heart at?
i told 'em my hearts gone broken bruised soulless restless
when i see caskets close grieve follows its hard to swallow
life cuz it's a big pill got a will but im in the game for the love of it
**** sellin' tales put my soul on the table
millions dollar label pretentious lifestyle buckwild
cold knuckle head im still revengin' for the lynchin'
of my nigguhs servin' time in Clinton Max to San Quentin
im takin' on traditions evil adversaries waitin' to bury
me but im too smooth smoke em like Sun Tzu
behold the pale white horse of course im still Searchin'
in the Skies bawlin' to the Heaven but the Lord don't hear my cry
eyes watery no love for foes or hoes givin' elbows
to those blockin' my way then back to the highway
gettin' high smokin' on that fry i guess ill be a **** til the day that i die '
livin' this life of crimes its hard times
gotta do what i gotta do so ya know where my hearts at
somebody **** the four-five and put me on my back
open up heaven's door with much gore only to be sent back
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
I promised myself I wouldn't drink
This morning, but
Ring of Fire was playing on the
Radio as I showered.
I guess we shared some demons, J.
Well, here's to us. To how
My father played your songs
For me when only my mother's
Skin and bones were between us.
Here's to you and me, John.
How I cried when June passed, but
Drank to your joining her. To
How you boom-chika-boomed to
The taste of the ice cold beer on her
Warm lips in New Orleans
As we stopped among the piles of
Katrina rubble just to take it all in
(Including each other);
That we were there. Together.
Here's to you, John. To how Rick
Rubin was a prophet sharing your light
One last time with the humble masses
Before it went out. As it should be. As it
**** well should be. To
How my father loved you his whole life
And never got to shake your hand
(But I brought him to meet Willie,
Which was almost as intense to the old man.)
No rest for the wicked, John. So I'll
Never pray that you rest in peace.
I pray that you rock on -June at your
Side- Going to Jackson, when it's
Springtime in Alaska. Remembering
Forks wedged in the walls of San Quentin
And gritty glasses of water served.
I'm putting on my black shirt after
This drink. Then guitar, boots that could
Kick out the foot lights at the Grand Ole,
And an attitude I've adopted with honor.
Here's to us, John.
Walking the
God-
******
Line.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 5:19 AM UTC
Get out or peel
Cause the sunken place is real
Even at a family meal
My passion for isolation
Isn’t wrong
try being Bambi
And the gun
Then tell your son
Why you always run
But let me rewind
Cause Nas needs a retake
My passion for isolation
Needs a dissertation
So you can get my full explanation
Simply put
my deer and I
Going to put you snakes in a ninja
Now ****** hit the blender
And tell that ginger with the shakes
That your cyclops can die
like a great scott
But back to the plot
The blood in my veins
Is full of spaghetti lanes
Cause at every junction
Is my destruction
My last name is stained
So I will break the glass
Then piece it back
With a x cause my family tree
Needs a axe cause
They act but only on a razzie level
So lets give the gremlins revel
Cause I know the devil
Fires and brimstone at home
Y’all see why I rather be alone?
I didn’t have fans like fran
Or friends like Ross
So why do I feel lost
Since in friendship I always get
Mossed
They have a Patton on my name
So they **** at it to drain
My money always generous with bands
They bless hands
but y’all don’t stand
Like your a Kaepernick man
Cause y’all see me as Stan
So let me help you understand
Dear my friends that always had my back
I hope you eat this kinda like snack
Cause once you see this you might here
A smack
Let’s hop in you hoopty dare or die?
I was being weird but so what
I’m careless guy
So let’s drive to train track park
Then see my reply
Cause I wouldn’t even had killed them
That’s for it Hennessy to decide
Last is Venus which ruled my penius
But ruined my genius
I had life by the throat
but its me too now
So I have to listen to her and not poke
Curves are fun and breast are too
But what happens when they crash into you
Not a Emmy more a semi
Cause I wrote the screenplay
that got you remi
That got you furs coats and houseboats
But you keep taking tokes
Welp I hope you choke
I take 4 branches from my tree
Then add 12 fallen leaves let’s see
That’s 16 but I need 2 nuts to roast
That’s 18 then add 2 more let’s toast
That’s 20 or lions a dream
Then burn it down cause
I had to Barry them to save my team
So my conviction
is pick up your eviction
I’m already past it like Drake after Quentin
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
Warm, cold, rain, sleet, hail, snow. Fire.
No matter the condition I would always see you.
No matter the weather, no matter the storm.
You can't stop my love.
Don't even try.
A pointless effort.
But you can slow it down.
My heart is yours, as yours is mine.
But sometimes I think.
Back in time.
To the time with Kody.
I warned you, I did.
"He's a good guy.. Just misunderstood."
"Oh people make rumors about him."
If it's true then it's not a rumor.
At the time I longed for your love.
You had another. I didn't bother with it.
Just let my mind race on, my heart beat on.
Then one day. A 'Bing' from my phone.
*** Quentin, what do I do?"
I didn't reply. Not for days.
I knew what you did, at the time.
I could care less, I didn't pity you.
You didn't believe me, so I saved my breath.
You almost went all the way.
I was shocked, broken.
Even if I didn't Show it.
Four years ago.
You made a promise.
Forever and always.
Well that always didn't happen.
It took FOUR YEARS.
To get on the right path.
You kissed another guy, then another.
I couldn't get mad. We were not dating.
But you've changed, I can see it.
I don't understand why people don't believe me.
**** your flaws.
**** your past.
**** the negative feelings.
**** anything to put you down.
This is not My love story.
But Ours
And it's gonna be great.
I'll pave the road.
Make it the smoothest ride.
Ever.
Mar 26, 2015
Mar 26, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
You are my home,
I am still tangled up in you.
It was not the Last Embrace,
I ain't no Quentin.
Apr 16, 2020
Apr 16, 2020 at 5:12 PM UTC
The river knows everything,
The river is time.
Restless thoughts come,
Flowing from the river,
The river that knows all.
And if you listen,
You may attain a very great happiness,
A life, a vitality.
Listen to the river.
Listen.
Listen with attention,
Listen with blind loyalty and
Listen with blind strength.
The river flows softly and gently
Yet, with such great tenacity.
Do you hear?
Do you hear the voices?
The voices of the enlightened.
Become one with the river, and
You and the river will both flow to the end.
The end of obstacles,
The end of desire.
The river will flow to the goal.
Enlightenment.
Listen.
Do you hear?
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 8:23 PM UTC