"raider" poems
An agent of assonance,
An army of alliteration,
A conquistador of climaxes,
A fighter with form,
A marksman of motif,
A mercenary of metaphors,
A ninja of nuances,
A raider of rhyme,
A soldier of synonyms,
A vigilante of voice,
I strike with the fiercest of sentences,
With such clarity and no false pretenses,
I assail with the mightiest of swords,
I am a warrior of words.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC
I'm going out and get something.
I don't know what.
I don't care.
Whatever's out there, I'm going to get it.
Look in those shop windows at boxes
and boxes of Reeboks and Nikes
to make me fly through the air
like Michael Jordan
like Magic.
While I'm up there, I see Spike Lee.
Looks like he's flying too
straight through the glass
that separates me
from the virtual reality
I watch everyday on TV.
I know the difference between
what it is and what it isn't.
Just because I can't touch it
doesn't mean it isn't real.
All I have to do is smash the screen,
reach in and take what I want.
Break out of prison.
South Central homey's newly risen
from the night of living dead,
but this time he lives,
he gets to give the zombies
a taste of their own medicine.
Open wide and let me in,
or else I'll set your world on fire,
but you pretend that you don't hear.
You haven't heard the word is coming down
like the hammer of the gun
of this black son, locked out of this big house,
while ***** looks out the window and sees only smoke.
***** doesn't see anything else,
not because he can't,
but because he won't.
He'd rather hear me talking about mo' money,
mo' honeys and gold chains
and see me carrying my favorite things
from looted stores
than admit that underneath my Raider's cap,
the aftermath is staring back
unblinking through the camera's lens,
courtesy of CNN,
my arms loaded with boxes of shoes
that I will sell at the swap meet
to make a few cents on the declining dollar.
And if I destroy myself
and my neighborhood
"ain't nobody's business, if I do,"
but the police are knocking hard
at my door
and before I can open it,
they break it down
and drag me in the yard.
They take me in to be processed and charged,
to await trial,
while Americans forget
the day the wealth finally trickled down
to the rest of us.
5.2k
I stood on the ledge of my sleepy blue sorrow
back from the edge, guess I'll see you tomorrow
can't lie, not the first time I'm thinking of you
but the night bugs are out, life's distractions will do
I looked to the west as the day slowly faydeedid
turned up the volume of cricket and katydid
rhythm rubs life in the darkness outside
steer clear of the blue light or get yourself fried
With the zapper you took out the skeeters and flies
while spiders and ants faced the raider's demise
yellow jackets and wasps, you chased from their hives,
but these night bugs are here for the rest of our lives
bittersweet bugs for the rest of our lives
Back in the house now, I roll down the screen
protecting myself from the lurking unseen
from the critters, which drawn by the lure of the light
make feast in their famine on food, flesh and fright
we handle the things that intrude in our spaces
the bugs in the dark and the unwanted faces
we roll down the screens and we listen to voices
those sweet summer sounds, and this night bug rejoices
With the zapper you took out the skeeters and flies
while spiders and ants faced the raider's demise
yellow jackets and wasps, you chased from their hives,
but these night bugs are here for the rest of our lives
too many months have passed without hearing
the music which blends with the night bugs I'm fearing
I nearly lost hope for those sounds in my life
but these night bugs revive good ol' summertime strife
bittersweet bugs, for the rest of my life
Stood on the ledge of my sleepy blue sorrow
back from the edge, guess I'll see you tomorrow
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC
Stood on the ledge of my sleepy blue sorrow
back from the edge, guess I'll see you tomorrow
can't lie, not the first time I'm thinking of you
but the night bugs are out, life's distractions will do
I looked to the west as the day slowly fadyded
turned up the volume of cricket and katydid
rhythm rubs life in the darkness outside
steer clear of the blue light or get yourself fried
With the zapper you took out the skeeters and flies
while spiders and ants faced the raider's demise
yellow jackets and wasps, you chased from their hives,
but these night bugs are here for the rest of our lives
bittersweet bugs for the rest of our lives
Back in the house now, I roll down the screen
protecting myself from the lurking unseen
from the critters, which drawn by the lure of the light
make feast in their famine on food, flesh and fright
we handle the things that intrude in our spaces
the bugs in the dark and the unwanted faces
we roll down the screens and we listen to voices
those sweet summer sounds, and this night bug rejoices
With the zapper you took out the skeeters and flies
while spiders and ants faced the raider's demise
yellow jackets and wasps, you chased from their hives,
but these night bugs are here for the rest of our lives
too many months have passed without hearing
the music which blends with the night bugs I'm fearing
I nearly lost hope for those sounds in my life
but these night bugs revive good ol' summertime strife
bittersweet bugs, for the rest of my life
Stood on the ledge of my sleepy blue sorrow
back from the edge, guess I'll see you tomorrow
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
lovers forgo their faces
defacing in the act
mammering their information to unreadable smudges
they slur in kinetic fluctuation
experimenting material forms fray
each the others face is vented away
betray being human
no separated being
and then...
to return in the tender moments following
a bumbling landfall
then they are athletes
enamoured and praising of the other
flushed and radiating
having rushed the life from their breath
they heave in its return
Later in a **** trip down to the night kitchen
they forgo they faces in a foxes forage
hers ; over-lit by the fridge light
face thrown into a mask by extreme shaddows
his ; beyond this light in the dark
they are bodies
sneak children
the raider and the lookout
after many years make the familiar relation
her face disappears into a hand mirror
and his is pulled out
into a middle distance beyond the dresser
durred in thought and waiting for 'go'
to the restaurant tonite
or that career social that neither wishes to attend
- fell shy of Eden
Sep 11, 2022
Sep 11, 2022 at 8:48 PM UTC
**Deceit is in the air, beware!
the stench of dead birds,
mysteriously perished,
is it caused by the weather change?**
I witness feathers change color
beyond recognition on many birds,
both young and old,
i usually used to see on my walk
now they don't smile,
or even send a casual look as before.
Monsoon clouds, expected
aren't dark, or fat, as usual
obscene white, like cotton wool,
Had it been in other times,
i would have eulogized,
"So white and pure"
Drought is predicted,
we are living in hard times
should one remind that often?
would you hold my hand?
we need to stick together,
now, more than ever.
Luscious looking grapes, but wait,
I've seen them bath those in
thick soup of insecticides,
death lurks in salacious and sweet garbs,
eschew that grapes, they are sore,
be like foxes , that are clever.
The apples? rotten to the core,
forbidden, though entice
polished by poisonous wax,
don't eat those rotten eggs,
dame salmonella displaying her bare *******
would be ready to ****** don't budge.
soon you will be down with illness.
Don't walk alone,
guardian angels have fallen in to bad days,
their wings are fragile,
vampires with fangs long enough
to draw blood, till the last drop
have come out in the open,
from the legends, where they slept.
The piranha, in the water closet,
has been starving for a week,
butterfly with psychedelic painted wings,
really is an evil thought,
out to attack on a masquerade,
Inside the cupboard there is a masked raider,
have you heard the hungry tiger,
growling in your cluttered backyard?
a bear is prowling in the garden,
searching for hidden honeycombs,
did I see a python, licking a girl's naked breast?
*Keep all the doors closed tight,
remain quiet inside*
)O(
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 1:57 PM UTC
Nestled in a pencil case
And snuggled up in fluff
There snoozed a tiny pirate man
Of legendary stuff
He'd spied the hidden secrets
And trod the haunted shore
Blu-tack Beard the buccaneer
Scourge of the open floor
He stole a shoe-box galleon
And sailed the carpet blue
With pencil mast and paper sails
And crayons as his crew
They forayed on the crooked tiles
And crested every ridge
Blu-tack Beard the scallywag
The raider of the fridge
When moored up in the kitchen
With all his crew around
The captain showed to one and all
A treasure map he'd found
It bore a chart of distant parts
And quite a course it plot
It pointed to the bathroom lands
And tip-ex marked the spot
They crammed the hold with cornflakes
To feed them on their trip
They pulled hard on the piece of string
And weighed the paperclip
The crew they dragged their boat aloft
On neatly woven hairs
Blu-tack Beard the privateer
Surmounter of the stairs
They heaved their vessel restlessly
Atop the final brow
The crayon pirates caught their breath
And leaned against her bow
Then scaled tiny ladders
And each took to their post
Blu-tack Beard was at the helm
And watched the foreign coast
Through countless minutes voyaging
There loomed the bathroom door
They slacked the sail and went below
And each took to an oar
They pulled a mighty rhythm
Till their waxy arms were numb
And Blu-tack Beard the plunderer
Was beater of the drum
But though they pried in every nook
And each last inch of grout
They skirted round the skirting board
They tapped each silver spout
Illusive was their bounty
And they grew ever the crueller
They took their skipper angrily
And made him walk the ruler
He landed glum and ruefully
Amid the ***** socks
He heard the merry spiteful sound
Of laughing, taunting mocks
And saw the sight of mutiny
With waxen little smiles
Blu-tack Beard the cast-away
Alone among the tiles
He commandeered a washing cloth
And weaved himself a rope
He scaled the dreaded washstand
And stole a bar of soap
He carved himself a coracle
And set his sights on home
Blu-tack Beard the wanderer
Awash amid the foam
He slithered down the stairwell
And landed with a plan
For warmer climes and restfulness
A cocktail and a tan
And so he met his final port
Right then did he retire
Blu-tack Beard the pensioner
Of the warm spot near the fire
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
Chasing the dreams to touch the sky, shaking the roots of feminism;
Happy to shoot for the Vogue, Cosmopolitan and Gia's plagiarism-
All for her superstar Angel, she lived the attitude of lesbianism;
From Philadelphia to New York she sold, her fraternity and parental prism-
The ambitious gal, the ambition gal felt addicted to ******* and heroinism.
Climbing the hills in Beverly was not tough enough, shredding chastity for mean;
Hallowing for her Tomb Raider, she swallowed her city of sin-
All in her attempts she brewed her habits, she tattooed destiny for her queen;
From abortion to scandals; she breathed to see her prolific akin-
The injured gal, the pitted gal still nearly was not doomed to grin.
Succumbing like the serpentine in salt, still longing to meet her dream star;
One fine morning she was found half-dead down the alley, waging her life-war-
All the fever she had, yet not looking to get out of the foxfire;
From one hospital to another, she was taken and was declared a patient of cancer;
The lucky gal, the ******* gal was lame enough to meet her jester.
The tumor had eaten her bones, like the steroids that made her a body-
Donating a million dollars in charity, made a brief appearance by Angelina Jollie;
All in her graceful charm, she penetrated hope to fight the disease folly-
From a life directionless to the motive of her strife, she kissed her cheeks and regretted being silly-
The ambitious gal, the ambition gal had just a single day to cherish her so called glory.
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 4:15 AM UTC
i.
drunken in my pockets,
the day whispers to the trees that
pin to you, albatross
of a wind-swept sea loosening
feathers and heart-beats in
short, death-caught seconds.
ii.
gorgeous girl of height,
your caves are bright mysteries
your light an elephant's graveyard
of grey.
iii.
bitter note of earth,
you anchor birth
to our eye sockets, unwrap
mint and honey from the hills.
iv.
uneasy mistress,
dark daughter of sight,
sunk into all the corners of the world
you break like string,
you break and i break with you.
v.
vignette of ivy-coloured dreams,
sunny trail, you break my heart and
glue it back, sigh and sigh like a viking raider
conjured out of porcelain
and rose-water.
vi.
warrior of distant planes,
dense harbour of a lonely city,
landscape of water, unravelled
in an instant, a velvet
ribbon tied into a bow.
Dec 13, 2017
Dec 13, 2017 at 11:15 AM UTC
She was
fascinated by the way the beard floated across his face and disappeared without a trace into his ears and thought it was a camera trick.
The camera doesn't lie is a lie, though we still believe what we can see,no longer polaroid the humanoid is now devoid of all reality,
the photoshopper shops and crops,lops the tops and bottoms of his pics,sticks in bits that don't belong,digitised, giving verbal to the lies in view and finding few who disagree with the elements,reformed and shaped, the new caped crusader,tints,tone raider,
I saw Douglas Bader with two legs but peg a negative and hold your tongue,I like to watch the colours run on the drip dry line,processing time.
I don't like the fact that numbers attacked this art in forms of decimals it makes us vegetables
relying on the cut and crop of photoshop must stop.
I told her that it was no trick,he had the beard but the camera was sick,she listened to me in disbelief and from her briefcase took out a camera and snapped a picture of his face,
and now I'm fascinated in a way as to whether we can photoshop a rainy day and turn it into something good
I wonder if we could or not,must
take a look at
photoshop.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:43 AM UTC
the raiders show, full time report, 21 march 2015, we ****
as we draw the final curtain, the raiders **** again
it was a great start but then they faded away
just like they usually do
you see the raiders were woeful, especially in the 2nd half
no i am discusted oh yeah
it was the worst match, back to the old drawing board
johnny’ thanks and what a woeful performance in the end, by the raiders, and it actually is a hard
job picking the raider of the match, only one raider scored in the second half, but here is sue longways
with the raider of the match, horrible effort
sue’ yeah, johnny, it was a horrible effort but the raider of the match goes to brett austin, now brett what went wrong
brett’ well, sue, we were woeful in that second half, and the dragons were just too good
sue’ yeah, were you thinking victory, at half time, maybe too over confident so to speak
brett’ yeah, maybe we were over confident in the first half, but the dragons got 8 points before the break, and
then another 14, well, anyway, terrible match
sue’ anyway here is the raider of the match medallion, congrats and now here is bob from gordon
bob’ and now we draw the final curtain, the raiders **** again
it was a really terrible game, buddy a terrible match for the raiders team
yeah the raider, ya know they do **** it was a woeful game
what happened to the hopeless raiders, ya know the raiders ****
what is wrong with the mighty raiders, they didn’t look so mighty tonight
why couldn’t the raiders win it, i think it’s just that their hopeless
sue’ and now here is johnny brown with his jingle, not our johnny brown, johnny from duffy
johnny’ we are on the rocking horse caused by the raiders losing
you see we rocked all day long
they are sitting on the rocking horse, all day long, my love
i wished our raiders won
you see, the raiders had a bad match, good start, but hopeless finish
really the raiders faded, yeah, what a woeful effort, yeah woeful effort woeful effort yeah mate ****** yeah
sue’ thanks johnny brown, and now back to our johnny brown
johnny’ thanks sue, that was a terrible match and to make matters much worst, we play the roosters next game
and i say, we’ll lose to the roosters next week and here is micheal with his jingle
micheal, go the dragons, we kicked some ****** ***
go dragons, we showed some fucken class
yeah the mighty st george, oh yeah, yeah they were great in the end
go dragons kick some ****** *** go dragons, show some ****** class
go the dragons go the dragons, dragons won true blue, GO DRAGONS
johnny’ ok now everybody it’s beer o’clock and the raiders were given a football lesson, a rootball lesson
and we have the reason to give canberra much credit, except for the first 18 points
CATCH YA NEXT TIME raiders show fans
DRAGONS OVER RAIDERS 22 - 20
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
Of terrible storms that broke through the town
Strangling, uprooting trees, slicing away
Homes, a gurgling pulsating fury of air and rain
That lasted four days. Unremitting,
It brought huge waves in its wake
From the tormented sea. All along the assaulted
Coast people choked and drowned,
Their corpses tipped
Onto beaches huddled between ravaged furniture
And drying plastic shopping bags,
Swollen limbs nibbled at by fish and *****
And scattered throughout the streets
Picked at by dogs,
A feast that set them up
For the coming cold weather. Fleeing birds
Squalling overhead in clamorous flocks, plucked
From the sky and shattered on rocks;
The cats had a field day until
Becoming engulfed too in marauding waves
Deluging the land. Foxes screamed from the hopeless
Shelter of water saturated dens;
Only jagged ruins remained,
Futile gestures to a once-only god.
Towns inland were wrecked by the hurricane bursts
And all fell silent as the storm
Fled like a Viking raider back into the sea, dragging its
Spoils.
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 5:31 AM UTC
After leaving port
in March disguised
as the Norwegian freighter Rena Norge,
the Leopard set sail
its mission to disrupt
Allied commerce.
On the 17 March it was stopped
in the North Sea by the cruiser
HMS Achilles and ordered to proceed
to the boarding vessel
HMS Dundee
for inspection
Heavily outgunned
Captain
the raider's commander
Hans
von
Laffert
had no option
other to proceed
to meet
the boarding vessel.
Captain
Selwyn
Day
of the Dundee
dispatched
a launch containing a boarding
party
with an officer and five men
to investigate
the mysterious ship.
Hans
von
Laffert
realizing he was about to be discovered detained the party and after about an hour opened fire on the Dundee with a salvo of two torpedoes.
The steamer manoeuvred out of the way
barely in time
and the torpedoes missed
Captain
Day's
ship by twenty feet.
Day ordered
his guncrews
to open fire and a hail of shells struck the Leopard
damaging a gun
and setting fires.
The Achilles hearing
the sound of gunfire
returned to the scene and opened fire
on the raider as the Dundee withdrew.
Shortly after
the Achilles's arrival
the Leopard sank with all 319 hands
going down
with the ship.
Damage to the British
vessels was light
and the only casualties consisted of the six boarding party members who were trapped in the Leopard when it sank.
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 8:26 PM UTC
In the dark quiet woods
Grizzly bear climbs a tall tree
To harvest honey
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 11:47 AM UTC
*the new deconstructionism will focus on how you become a humanist after studying science into maturity, you will deconstruct being enmeshed in spider-webs and cobble-stones: moths in my wallet scenarios of complex greek alphabets given scenarios of constants - the circle of π (~∞°: well, approximate but i can still enclose a shape and not bother undermining the practice of architecture by bewildering myself over the geometry of the universe, it's a substance like water, a vacuum of infinite mirrors / black holes are two-dimensional objects in three-dimensional space, like in the first tomb-raider, the two-dimensional ferns and other objects on close inspection rotating) - randomised infinite negations of decimal digits in the spinning vortex beginning with 3.141... let alone state nothing as a necessary compounding of adjective purification of nouns or verbs - e.g. pure mind, true / undiscovered self, higher being... none of that crap. come back to π = ~∞°, well, that's because the shape becomes in transit, hence the "illogical" perpetuation of decimal points after 3, the shape is too useful to be a closed-case of Pythagoras.*
everyone knows the famous case
of the writers' block,
that big fudge-like-turd
of a blank page...
but no one really cared to mention
writers' claustrophobia,
resonating in the court of law of
proofs with such books as those
entitled: collected letter 1975 - 1992,
proof that writers who idolise
and champion isolation can't
handle the strain of filling a room
with so much of their own excrement
they have to whip the leash like
a horse jockey directly into someone
else's mind - mind you, that's better
than regurgitating facts, the now
famous form of journalism reciting
all the health parameters to basically
live on air and science, speaking out
the mechanics of someone's liver
with that tut-tut index finger pendulum
of whimsical scorn.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
The space between each breath and beat,
is vacant now, a hollowed nest.
Where once wings fluttered soft and meek,
dust now settles down to rest.
The raider knew not of my plight.
With twisted key, she opened wide
the place where butterflies take flight;
the cage in which my heart resides.
The butterflies they danced and flew.
Some filled the mouth with words unsaid.
But lips were sealed, so numbers grew;
the crowding forced them out instead.
The ripple of their wings fell still,
their sprightly quiver fled my chest.
She drew them out, with time and skill.
I spat out love; truth wrapped in jest.
When all was said, the flutter waned
From love to hate, the din grew weak.
Though her hold lessened, her face remained
in the space between each breath and beat.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 6:04 PM UTC
Spent, tired across waters unknown,
Driven from your old, warm nests,
Biting winds, bone-clinging, unyielding snow,
This is not your home.
Who sent you here, where we live and die?
With your head held high you stay in my lands,
What do you come as?
A raider from the desert, slave to the sand,
Where mountains you made dust with the wind in your wings?
Ran away from the sun, like
A refugee running from war,
With your lands burnt, scorched by someone you knew,
Who meant you no harm
What did you hope to find so far away,
In this stark stretch of cold that never ends?
You may want to live, but we preserve
This is not that village in the hills,
With a green lake in a sea of white banks
Where you perch in the temple when the sun goes down,
Worshipped like a faceless god by a man of many shapes
and a broken heart he hides from you
Here, it's cold.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:44 AM UTC
Nighttime is upon us
the kids are all in bed
thoughts of sugar highs in the morning
now dancing in their heads.
But what's on my mind
isn't of the family friendly kind
I'm thinking of her soft flesh
against my body, in a seductive grind.
Laying on my bed with her controlling my body
Rewarding me when I'm good, spanking her when she's naughty
I must be a tomb raider because I intend on exploring her body,
I want to touch and caress every inch
of those dangerous, treacherous curves
Give her ******* a slight pinch
and feel her body tingling and stimulating all of my nerves.
After the 4play is done the real fun can begin
I want to go down on her and lick every inch
I want to be inside her
my god she's driving me mad with hormones and desire
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 2:52 AM UTC
pattering softly
kitten mittens against
waxed linoleum
barely audible
yet, transcendent
carrying thoughts along rivulets
blending with currents
seeking the sea –
invading raider
giant droplets
crash against lily pad leaves
sending fish frantically
to darting
leaves, pummeled
give up the fight for life
and fall
drowned in the deluge –
it felt as if I had been running
August in Alabama
visibility grossly limited
coated and covered
in only shorts and sandals
a thin vail shrouded the coastline
distorted images played in the mist –
t’was the rain this morn
sending ideas twirling
splashing against the window frames
giving rise to waves of creativity
and inspiring this write –
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 10:32 AM UTC
well im the funky hocus pocus
emcees loose focus
cuz they know when i step to a show i blow
harder than Gillespie
aint none stoppin me droppin' me
uh true southern playalisticadicallic music
ya cant abuse it
ya thiught we was dead but resurrected injected
ya brain with a high funk overdose no syringe no pretend
our flows leave ya bent
competition just blowin'in the wind
my flow stings like misquito
enticin' west nile virus sound the chorus
dirtu ***** is what im about
we fight neva pout the gun in to snout
one shot no shout we all about
dollaz n cents i see you instense
but naw playa dont hate me
hate the suspense
as my money gettin' thicker
and thicker
richer and richer
and ya know foes try to roll.with ya uh
yosef don't play no games
when it comes to fame
I say **** the fame
n the shame
I love black people
but hate ****** mane
detrimentAl for out mental
tv's paint a tainted reality no positivity
in the black community
they told me
if I wanna be a star performing artist
I gotta sellout
Naw never that I like raider hats and baseballs bats to gats
quick to watch ya blood splat
**** the records execs
cuz I'm a threat poetic terrorist
this ain't the summertime
but I'll show ya porgy and Bess blessed from the sessed
so I can manifest
this beautiful lyrics
so foggy you couldn't clear it
I'm on ya conscious like bad nerves
twitchin forever lynching
mind of those who ain't listening
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 1:38 PM UTC
Tell me in ways of desperation
She's saying my name a **** from the raider nation
Under the sun rays of sin city waste land
We could've been made but u had me pacing
Im taking all fades like the time Im facing
Tell me in ways of desperation
She's playing them spade's Trump in hand never changing
She's looking away but I had her craving
Pmoney my game and I'm never waiting
Could've made you my main but I'm always taken
Tell me in ways of desperation
Tell me in ways of desperation
Hated the fame but the money raked in.
They called u insane throughout your training
They put you in chains until your breaking
Now your stuck in those reins steered by satan
Tell me in ways of desperation
Could've been my brain that's always tainted
The look of shame on his face was painted
Dead I remain cause Im always hated
Was it the pain you retained that keeped u naked
Tell me in ways of desperation
Moments are stainded missery created
Your leaving me to blame and my life was slowly shaded
Were you feeling the same as we became separated
These clouds will rain as our love was faded
Tell me in ways of desperation
Tell me in ways of desperation
Jun 7, 2019
Jun 7, 2019 at 2:55 PM UTC
Tomb raider movies
The Titanic
Men on the street who look like knives and cars
Cigarettes
The smell of cigarettes
The taste of cigarettes on someone's lips and tongue
Wooden stairs that descend into the ocean
**** smith
Tea (especially Earl Grey)
The smell of his room
Someone with the same name
The movies
Car kisses
Neck kisses
Casual thigh touches
Chess
Classical piano music
The corner chemist
The Greek restaurant we never got to go to
The underneath of bridges
Anyplace we kissed
Baskin Robbins
Goldstein's
Sherlock Holmes novels
The word beautiful
Rose St
Those ******* shoes
Iron Maiden
Christmas songs
Sometimes I don’t even need a trigger
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:56 PM UTC
Such a busy day at work I remember
must have been last November.
It was a happy evening with my wife
a late dinner no tension or strife.
A glass or two of our favourite wine
and the *** was truly divine.
Falling asleep at around midnight
leaving on the bedside light.
Outside a heavy frost began to lay
no need to get up Saturday.
Something aroused me it was bang
followed by a clang!
Fearful it was intruders in our house
certainly not a noisy mouse.
I picked up a baseball bat by the bed
quietly on the landing with dread.
As a hooded figure came up the stairs
eye to eye glares!
In the dim light I saw their arm swing
then in my shoulder a sting!
At that time not realising I'd been stabbed
the burglar I grabbed.
But they broke away instinctively I swung
stupidly I bit my tongue!
With an unknown strength I suddenly found
a hard object I did pound.
The wooded bat vibrated in my shaking fist
down the stairs we fell with a twist!
I heard distant screams muffled shouting
my sanity I was doubting!
Footsteps then running out of the door
a body below me on the floor!
Realising the bat was still in my hand
would the authorities understand?
I was arrested for attacking the intruder
the questions getting cruder!
By my actions treated like the privacy invader
accused of murdering the raider!
Just a man protecting his home dwelling
the truth I tried telling.
A terrible experience I could not forget
the future of eternal regret!
After weeks of worry the charges were withdrawn
it can't alter memories now torn!
The Foureyed Poet.
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 8:34 AM UTC
Hey yo!
From that valley
but i haven’t seen the sunset
not playing,
I got game that could make a nun wet.
Pump that!
Art in my veins
at the bottom but i'm the hottest
so call me the blue part of the flame!
man in college I changed,
Remember first stepping on the soil
I was an innocent boy
Extra ****** like an olive oil
Gave my brain to a half Asian
amazing
gave it back now i’m finally graduating
Yo i’m a raider
no greater
than your average hater
He gave me a hand, the brokest!
I had a better chance getting cake in Hostess
Focus!
bacon, stop losing it
here’s the ball
and there’s the net
homies keep asking me why I ain’t made it yet,
I plan my moves so carefully like it’s a game of chess
This is my leap year no more taking baby steps.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC