"rally" poems
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago
You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen
There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif
But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey
There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death
But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:
he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
Hindi naman ganid ang administrasyon
Nagkataon lamang na may mga punto
Na walang humpay na nag-iiwan
Ng tandang pananong.
May mga eksenang hindi literal
Pero kapag bayan ang bumasa’y
Ni isang letra’y hindi man lamang nasimulan.
Hindi masisisi ang mga modernong bayani
Kung patuloy pa rin sila sa pakikibaka
Kahit nakamit na kamo ang kasarinlan;
Ang hustisya raw ay napagtagumpayan na
Bagkus, nilalatigo ng kapwa nasa ekonomiya.
Marahil hindi pa lubusang nararadyo
Hindi magkanda-ugaga
ang leksyon sa Senado
Eh kung uso pa ba ang tele-radyo,
Kaya bang tapakan ng saksi
ang demokrasyang makasarili?
Doon nag-rally ang iilang katauhan
Wala naman silang napala
Pagkat binagsakan ng pintuan
Ni hindi nakakilos kahit sila’y nasa kilusan
Saklob ng gobyerno’y
sila’y bisi sa nasasakupan.
Hindi mabilang ang dugong dumanak
Ang boses na sumigaw
Ang tonong paulit-ulit pero hindi naririnig
O baka naman ang may pandinig
Ay mas nais magwaglit.
May mga platapormang tila langit
Bagkus dilim naman ang hain
Sa maliwanag dapat na paligid.
Ibabato nila ang kinamkam sa madla
Pero dahil ang binato’y mukhang tinapay,
Walang pakuwari ang iba
Manhid nga ba ang tao
O talagang kurot-sabay-pikit lang?
Heto na naman tayo sa estante ng kaguluhan
Sana nga matapos na ang pahinang ito
Pero nasa simula pa lamang
Pagkat ang propesiya’y
Nararapat na mamalakad
Ihahain ng Higit na Hari
Nang maitaas Kanyang Ngalan.
Kung may mga bumabatikos
Sa gobyernong kinagisnan
Marami pa rin ang tatayo
Pagkat kaytayog ng kanilang dangal.
Hindi naman dapat
Tumingin lamang sa kawalan
Pagkat may pag-asa pa
Itong ginintuan nating bayan.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
I'm a Barbie Girl,
in a Barbie World.
Life's fantastic: I
feel like plastic,
aiming for an eighteen-inch waist because I can afford to throw my internal organs away.
I feel like plastic,
having to choose
between eating and breathing with not enough space for two tubes.
I feel like plastic,
a thirty-nine inch bust and three times the forehead.
I feel like plastic,
a size nine squeezed to a three, spending
three to nine avoiding mealtime because my weight loss book says
'Don't eat.'
I'm a Barbie Girl,
in a Barbie World.
Life's fantastic, but...
I'm not plastic.
I've sat here listening while you complain about society but I don't think you realize that
society is made by you.
You complain about masks but you're masked by your poetry and
trust me,
it's trendy:
Psychiatry.
A bottle of capsules captures your soul and your dreams,
fading
reality.
I cannot be defined because a definition leaves no room for change and I
am a flame,
ready to burn the cardboard box of priority you put over me.
All the cool kids are lesbians and thespians on about repressions
and I care,
I do,
I mean... I'm standing here among you.
But words are just air.
You can stand on this stage and tell me I'm beautiful, but
I am more than my face so
disregard my mild distaste for your
inspirational speech.
Now, this...
This isn't a call for help.
This is a call to arms.
This
is a battle cry because
I
am sick of waiting for a future that should've happened yesterday.
So use this air to live the words you say and
rally.
Do not soothe, because we've already been cocooned by soothed reality in
Shawnee,
Johnson County.
I'm a real girl,
in a real world.
Life's fantastic, and I
refuse to be plastic,
aiming for generic weight range based on content, not scale number.
I refuse to be plastic,
a neck moulded perfectly for both eating and breathing so I don't have to choose.
I refuse to be plastic,
a bust that you don't need to be sizing
when I've got eyes
a green not of romanticized meadows but of drunken
puke.
I refuse to be plastic,
a size nine foot in a size nine shoe,
spending three to nine
enjoying my meal times,
because my weight loss book is
chucked down the chute.
I'm a living girl
in a beautiful world.
Life's fantastic,
because I'm not plastic.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
There are so many roots to the tree of anger
that sometimes the branches shatter
before they bear.
Sitting in Nedicks
the women rally before they march
discussing the problematic girls
they hire to make them free.
An almost white counterman passes
a waiting brother to serve them first
and the ladies neither notice nor reject
the slighter pleasures of their slavery.
But I who am bound by my mirror
as well as my bed
see causes in colour
as well as ***
and sit here wondering
which me will survive
all these liberations.
8.3k
Civil disobedience is not a moral obligation. Moral obligation is an act of belief and self values. So if you feel the need to break a little law to fight for what you believe in , then yes, go for it, but obeying the laws may also be part of your morals. After all the police brutality that we have heard about on the news, some people decided to stand up and protest. Even I wanted to protest downtown because I found it absolutely ridiculous that people were being killed without extreme cause by police and they only got a slap on the wrist. There are always two sides to a story. So am I obligated to rally because of inequality displayed on the media? No, not really but due to my values I would love to. "But through the other method of combating injustice, we alone suffer the consequences of our mistakes" which was said by Ghandi. It can be applied to the protests, to me it means we can scream our opinions and we can make an impact, but some will be damaged and some will be arrested in the process. Sadly, the thing we were fighting for in the first place will be served and protected. So what is justice? What is civil obedience when our enforcement can't even comply? I guess we aren't obligated to anything.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 3:44 PM UTC
Brass plays a sad tune
Over the motors of the pontoon.
I was lost; now I'm found
Rescued from
The dog pound
Mama! Mama! Go get a doctor!
Send forty days of rain
And a kettle of copper.
Ride that train! Hurry uptown!
That ol' blue norther's pourin'
At the dog pound
Well, it's hard to be humble
In this land by the sea
But it's so easy here to stumble,
Ain't it hard livin' free?
Hear that train? How sweet the sound...
That Burlington's a-blowin'
At the dog pound
Rally! Rally! Creepin' up the alley!
Rope that heifer! No slack on the dally!
Make her now become a cow
And milk the puppies
At the dog pound
And with the storm well on its way,
Back and forth the breakers sway;
Fools rush in, makin' their rounds,
But the muzzle has 'em puzzled
At the dog pound
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
In school I never understood
No, I never could
what the point of it was.
What is the point?
I learned about math and science;
Good God, why am I so defiant?
So call me lazy.
Tell me my IQ is below average.
Well here's an image:
I'm actually smart I just hate
being a slave
to the system.
I almost missed 'em.
But they caught me
and now they got me
and all that I intended to defend
is left on the side of the street.
I'm rebelling
while they're trying to compel me
to stay put in my seat
like a ******* robot.
Well, I will not.
I gotta break outta this prison
but where's my bailsman?
This is my decision
and I've chosen
not to be broken.
My mind will escape unscathed
while yours will continue to be lathed
by those mechanical words
that they feed to you like birds.
And what's worse:
Is that you eat it.
You accept them.
You swallow down that indiscretion.
What a burden
but I don't feel sorry
for you tainted mind
because you chose it
when I warned you
that they'd change you.
And now you've become a slave to their holocaust
and you're so lost.
You can't even think your own thoughts.
It's despicable.
And it's not permissible.
You're stuck in their Utopia
and you're praising their allah.
Well God knows, it's not right.
So you gotta ignite
all your original thoughts and morals
cause honey they aren't your idols.
They are so pretentious
and utterly blinded.
Stuck under their bibles
but they aren't angels.
Break free from the system
come join my anthem.
Let's start a rally
and get more allies.
Join me in my plea
to be all that we can be.
To stand for what we choose.
I promise we will not loose.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:49 PM UTC
Silently the social media hero strikes again
The swift and ruthless keyboard warrior
Crushing political correctness
Debunking liberal drivel
Overpowering the opinions of the obsolete
He grows and grows
With every post
And tweets make him feel
Like the torrent of thoroughness
Raging through a landscape
That needs to be cleansed
Outside lies a hostile world
With prying, judging eyes
Online, a world of possibilities
Where virtual battle cries
Are the prelude of a rally
Between the devoid and the deluded
But through his own gaze
Focused on the reflection
On the computer screen
A social media hero rises
While outside, the world passes him by
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 5:26 AM UTC
I will write myself to sleep.
I will write long, pathetic
poems instead of texts to my
ex. I will write
the novel of my life
instead of asking you
for attention.
I will write
the new bible
on isolation, chronological
volumes
on loneliness.
I will write ten million
haikus before I write
you again.
I will write love letters
to myself until my fingers
bleed, until I
believe them.
I will write the handbook
on neglect, the idiots guide
to dealing with it.
I will write vague
fortune cookies about
self-acceptance and
self-forgiveness.
By the time I'm finished,
I will have exhausted
my depression.
I will write Shakespearean
prose about this
rejection.
I will write suicide notes
on my shield and armor for
protection and I will
save myself with them.
I will write angry, violent speeches
to rally the voices
in my head.
I will write a pledge of allegiance
to myself and recite it daily,
after coffee.
I will pray to the Gods of
"move on," and "get over it."
I will baptize myself
in holy water
that makes me
stop caring
completely.
Holy water, oh well, whatever
move on. Hallelujah.
I will write the ten commandments
on how to be
abandoned.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 3:10 AM UTC
Deeds not words!
They cried in their protest
Marching on Parliament
Intent on their quest
To the corrupt politicians
Who recorded their struggle
But denied them the vote
And left them to juggle
Their lives that equaled
Less than their brothers
Where they had no rights
Not even as mothers
As wives they were thwarted
Their wages their spouses
They worked long hard hours
And still kept their houses
Tea on the table
Washing hung out
The children looked after
To their husbands - devout
They stood up for their choices
The injustice they faced
Were imprisoned & tortured
And fired in disgrace
Children were taken
Away from their mothers
Who were labelled as mad
Their opinions were smothered
Yet still they continued
To rally & fight
Secure in the knowledge
That they deserved rights
That equaled the men
That ruled their world
So they took up arms
And fists were curled
When one was killed
That brave young girl
Who in front of a horse
Her body she hurled
Votes for Women
Her banner announced
So simple & honest
The message pronounced
To hundreds of people
Who just stood & stared
As her breath left her body
The women prepared
To fight their fight
Be true to their cause
Take down the men
And change the laws
So thank you to those
Brave women of old
Who did what they did
Without being told
We now have the right
As women, to fight
Without risk to our freedom
And stand up for our rights!!
(C) Pixievic 2016
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
At the Bernie Sanders rally on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in Alabama, a middle-aged woman in the crowd fell to the floor from illness. The entire rally silenced. All 7,000 attendees turned their focus to her welfare. When the medics arrived, the crowd erupted into cheers, a heroes’ welcome. The people then applauded the ill woman once she regained the ability to walk out of the event.
Two weeks prior, at a rally for the authoritarian populist Donald Trump, three white men stomped a black man. He’d worn a t-shirt that read 'Black Lives Matter.'
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 5:57 PM UTC
"O day! he cannot die
When thou so fair art shining!
O Sun, in such a glorious sky,
So tranquilly declining;
He cannot leave thee now,
While fresh west winds are blowing,
And all around his youthful brow
Thy cheerful light is glowing!
Edward, awake, awake--
The golden evening gleams
Warm and bright on Arden's lake--
Arouse thee from thy dreams!
Beside thee, on my knee,
My dearest friend, I pray
That thou, to cross the eternal sea,
Wouldst yet one hour delay:
I hear its billows roar--
I see them foaming high;
But no glimpse of a further shore
Has blest my straining eye.
Believe not what they urge
Of Eden isles beyond;
Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,
To thy own native land.
It is not death, but pain
That struggles in thy breast--
Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;
I cannot let thee rest!"
One long look, that sore reproved me
For the woe I could not bear--
One mute look of suffering moved me
To repent my useless prayer:
And, with sudden check, the heaving
Of distraction passed away;
Not a sign of further grieving
Stirred my soul that awful day.
Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;
Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:
Summer dews fell softly, wetting
Glen, and glade, and silent trees.
Then his eyes began to weary,
Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;
And their orbs grew strangely dreary,
Clouded, even as they would weep.
But they wept not, but they changed not,
Never moved, and never closed;
Troubled still, and still they ranged not--
Wandered not, nor yet reposed!
So I knew that he was dying--
Stooped, and raised his languid head;
Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,
So I knew that he was dead.
3.5k
Road Trippin, with my click
Excited as all hell
Blaring Beats through Bama
Salty ocean I can smell
We reach the main strip
Find the Days Inn
First we eat our fill
Now where’s my gin
The beach is a constant party
Sunup to sundown
We have three rooms connected
Hailing from T Town
Many more friends are here
Joining our festivities
We spent more money on *****
Then any other amenities
Man after man begins to drop
Who will last the night
Incorporate the puke and rally
Get back in the fight
The week has reached it’s close
Ready to head home
Yet once we leave I know to well
I’ll miss the sea’s white foam
Well so long my dear Panama
Another trip I will make
For I had the time of my life
On my first spring break
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
Fields stretch, of paper white
And grey as day is losing light
Alone I rally muscles fight
So I be home before the night
Wind will chill me gill to gill
As ice will render muscles still
Sheltered not from cruel chill
So I will make my journey still
Long I jog, through howling clatter
Jaw wont move, unless to chatter
Hearing sweat drops frozen, shatter
Movement warms my sleepy matter
Locomotive losing speed
Juggernaut has lost the need
Lifeless muscles need to feed
Yet still i beg them, "forward heed!"
In the distance- lights are lit!
I call, but silenced in a fit
My throat is scratched by icy spit
As I collapse in snow,
that's it.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
O Christ—Thou rarest flower of hearts—Thou didst sail on the storm-tossed lake of prejudiced minds. Its evil-scented, gloomy thought-waves lashed Thy lily-tender soul. They crucified Thee with their evil. Yet Thou didst shed the aroma of goodness and forgiveness, and didst help them to be purified by remorse, so helping them to become attractively sweet-scented with Thine all-loving Flower-Soul.
O Thou Great Lover of error-torn brothers—an unseen monument of the mightiest miracle of love was established in each heart when the magic wand of Thy voice uttered: "Forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Thou hast healed the cataract of hatred, and now we have grown to see: "Love thine enemies as thyself, for they are thy brothers—though sick and sleeping."
Thou hast taught us not to increase their delirious kicks of hatred by battering them with the bludgeons of revenge. Thine undying sympathy hath inspired us to heal and wake our brothers, suffering from the delirium of anger, by the soothing salve of our forgiveness.
Thy crucifixion reminds us of the daily crucifixion of our fortitude by trials, of our wisdom by ignorance, of our self-control by the scathing hands of temptation, and of our love by misunderstanding.
Thy test on the cross proved the victory of Thy wisdom over ignorance, of Thy soul over flesh, of Thy happiness over pain, and of Thy love over hatred. So are we heartened to bear our crosses bravely and pleasantly. Teach us to pour out sweetness when crucified by harshness, to bear with calmness the assault of worries, and to give understanding unceasingly to those who unjustly hate us.
O Shepherd of Souls, wandering hearts are of themselves seeking the one fold of divine devotion. We have heard the ever-calling music of Thine infinite kindness. Our one desire is to be at home with Thee, to receive the Cosmic Father with joyous, open eyes of wisdom, and to know that we are all sons of our own One God.
Teach us to conquer the Satan of dividing selfishness, which prevents the gathering of all brother-souls into the one fold of Spirit.
Calling to one another by the watchword: "Love him who loves you, and love all who love you not," let us rally beneath the canopy of the universal sense of Christ-Oneness. Amen.
Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition
3.2k
Maria Ressa, ano'ng problema?
Ba't hanggang ngayon, mukha pa ring lamanlupa?
Nagkakalat-lagim sa mga balita
Mayro'ng yayari sa'yo.
Ito'y kuwento ng....
....isang BULATE,
TUKMOL sa umaga,
TUOD sa gabi,
Pisngi man niya'y punuin ng kolorete
Mukhang BANGAW pa rin, walang silbi
Ibaon na ang IMPAKTA.
Maria Ressa, ano'ng problema?
Bakit mukha pa ring nayuping pugita
Mga galamay mo panggulo sa media
Mayro'ng yayari sa'yo.
Ito'y kuwento ng....
....mga payaso
fake news sa umaga,
fact-check sa gabi,
mukha nila ay sintigas ng adobe
bungo naman laman ay kamote
Ututin pa ang bunganga
Maria Ressa, ikaw ang problema
Hilig **** magkalat ng maling balita
at kapag sinita biglang magpapaawa
#DefendPressFreedom kuno?!
Ito'y kuwento ng....
....mga bulate
walang voter's I.D.
banyaga kasi
bida-bida, sumasama pa sa rally
wala namang bilang, hindi noypi
i-deport na sa kangkungan
Maria Ressa, walang problema
kahit maglaho pa tulad mo sa media
Marami pang ibang magbibigay ng balita
Walang manghihinayang sa'yo
Ito'y kuwento ng....
....mga bulate!
Jul 17, 2020
Jul 17, 2020 at 10:50 PM UTC
We wear our helmets
Together with our suits for race
I am the driver
You are my co-driver
Buckle up! Seat belts on
We're ready to race
Radio's on, I let you decide on which station
Ready? Get set. Let's start the chase!
We start smoothly
Our gear's not even on three
I step up the gas
Let's speed up and fast!
I don't really see the need to rush
But since we're on the track
Better give it our best shot
Or else we'll lose the bout
Also, there are competitors
Whose pace we can't help but to compare
They have such high scores
Which subconsciously became our goal
Then came rough roads
I swerve from left to right
We go off road
Several times
A **** after a ****
Seems like an under-construction ramp
"Watch out!"
And then a bump
Blood and bruises
Filled our faces
You looked at me with so much blame
But, hey, isn't this a tag-team game?
Sure, I was the one holding the steering wheel
But you were my co-driver, sitting at the passenger seat
You were the one in charge to navigate
To follow your instructions was all I did
I admit I had troubles as well
Insecurities, jealousy made me tremble
I felt I made an impossible gamble
But, I am very sorry, I am human after all
I cannot see your tears
You're not that easy to read or I'm just bad at it
But I have to take a guess
You're very sorry as well
We looked into each other and we had the hint
We had to change our views for this trip
Ah, I know what action would fit
We smile as we said, "In this race, we quit."
I started the engine
And we buckled up again
We quit the race, but we didn't quit our journey
We'll continue slowly but surely, as we enjoy the sceneries
We've had enough of contests
Championships that never had any winner
Championships that only brought stress
It's not the destination, but the journey which matters
If ever in case you resign as my co-driver, however
I'll probably hire another
After forever?
Or I'll just also quit as a driver
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:20 AM UTC
****
mit ein(e)
gernierung
of... ******
MACDONALDS
for the protestants
MCDONALDS
for the catholics...
and **** the rest of it
whoop di do d'ah
whoopsie!
**** it...
i always called the IRA
the ginger ninja brigade...
******* *****
ha ha!
is that even permitted?
like...
oopsies?!
oh ****
the steam-roller is
giving it a shot at reading
the earth,..
flat...
map on paper?
**** me... no app....
****** you ever navigate a car
through the German Rhine roundabout?
what's in it?
Dortmund.. Essen...
you know that constipated
part of the road map of Europe...
ever navigate that trippy
conundrum ******** of navigation?
beside me...
can't speak german,
won't navigate in german,
no matter how many
Mercedes-Benz they pump out
from the Henry Ford institute of
the reclining chair,
supposing
die krupps to be squidgy clean...
i think the european translation
reads:
die Dortmund Ringe...
das Rhine Ringe...
**** allocating yourself to a rally car...
navigate through that sort
of German ********
achtung achtung...
autobahn ende!
vorwärtskreis
might as well salute for a second
coming of... hítlear!
shaking Stevens?
huh?!
knee on the no contra
the know: bother...
the english won't know...
isn't that nay?
i listen to too much lawyer
jargon...
i'd love to listen to
poetry...
but... i figured...
lawyers play the slight of
the sly of hand that poets
exasperate into toying with words
to accomplish art...
lawyers? the impasse of
judgement?
**** me!
apparently the argument
goes:
down syndrome...
psychopaths...
'ere by god's grace...
much grace, my lord...
too much grace...
two salvation pointers:
(a) i won't drink with them...
(b) i won't eat with them,
(c) there is no "c" that isn't
a "d" that isn't an "e"
"f", etc!
you get a zebra...
you get a null bonus!
a ******* safari of an automated
anti hamster Boston outfit!
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 8:23 PM UTC
Grateful for my boys
Worried. Worried mind.
Keep them moving forward
To strive, to seek, to find
O ye protective spirits!
Rally round and round
Yes to T.S. Eliot
No to Ezra Pound
Amen.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 5:03 PM UTC
Flames licked his skull as the fire took its pleasure.
Hell was the only one to seem like a redeemer.
He layed in the lake of fire
Condemned by Christianity.
He was called a ***
He had a boyfriend
They found out
The church
Ripped them out like cancer.
They never wanted
A **** to worship their god.
Anyone else would be forgiven
Murderer
forgiven
******
forgiven
Thief
forgiven
Homosexual
send em to hell
They are supposed to love all
But they rally against them
And bring violence to the front.
Christians
Follow what you preach
These people dont deserve your hate.
God tells to love all
Yet you hurt lgbtq
And you wonder why
Less and less followers
go to church
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 12:29 AM UTC
Quiet are the fields
with ghosts
from pennants past
the aces
and cutters
set idly away
from the maple
spread fall
soft sounds
of Sunday
(chilling on the boneyard)
telling tales of
validated stars
and wheel house legends
the rally cap sluggers
with mahogany eyes
Mustard colors
in floating mists
give a hallowed glow
to sublime skies
scattered walkers
trip to the hole
their spit buckets
and spigots
pressed loosely into
pure life form
bikers and loners
and curious coffee goers
mill about the horn
whispering numbers
from an old
Keelman heaving
Alley lookers
and Mendoza lines
screachers, bleachers
from years gone by
dancing fingers
and cracks at the bat
moonshots
(from the big time Timmy Jim)
the 9th inning gunner
with sinker
and slider
and imposing
brush back ballz
the game day citizen
and dugout warrior
who lit it all up
in Rockwell fame
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 11:28 PM UTC
Where I grew up
We didn't celebrate celebrity
And weren't slaves
to the cattle-drivers of the masses
Where I grew up,
We were just young
And free
We toiled on train-tracks
Inventing troubles requiring
A daring escape.
With our stick-strapped-satchels
We foolishly mocked the local bums
Jealous of their freedom.
Ignorant of their pain.
Imitation is the hallmark of love
And yes, we loved the bums
And we were thorough through it
Where I grew up
The incandescence of the late afternoon
And early morning suns
Drew in a vibrant orange
Cast as paint on pale walls
The apartment... and eventually... the house
Shone brighter for it;
Though it seemed to struggle less in a house
That was considerably more empty
Especially around the holidays.
Where I grew up
We were taught racial and radical equality
Exacted with extreme prejudice
At every pep rally and presumably PTA meeting.
And while neighboring towns held race riots
We were racing our bikes, well...
I do miss my rollerblades
Where I grew up
Every girl was pretty as a movie star
And chased the bad boys
Like in every story I'd ever heard
And those boys won by popularity and power of presence
Girls they never deserved
Where I grew up
In winter we built massive palaces
From the winter's teardrops that huddled together
For warmth after the plow
Where I grew up...
I grew up too soon.
A little more than a little at a time
And it became clear
I had to move.
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 5:59 PM UTC
Don't blame the lion for the pride
Don't let yourself whisper those insults
Don't see the bad and push away the good
Realize there's more to the pride than that
Because even though the Alpha Male
May not be who you'd choose
It's not up to you
Or me
Or he
It's up to the fittest
And his mighty roar may petrify the gazelles
Who ignorantly graze on the pride's land
Who sheepishly bolt away from danger
But the pride should have no fear
The pride should rally around the fearsome roar
Not be scattered around like gazelles
And when one member
Leaves the pride
He steps off the captain's seat
And begins to eat the grass
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
If one heart breaks too many times, the outcome is severe,
This is my first-hand account, and why I’m standing here.
I was not protected, believed, comforted or heard
To expect I’d rally differently, or better is absurd.
Who the hell do you think you are?
Creating demons, and inflicting scars
Never showing me affection, and rarely being kind
Really does a number on a child’s simple mind.
I slid a razor over my skin, the first time when I was six
The cuts have healed just fine, mental anguish ******* sticks
The problem is, the six year old, you tortured has grown up
Turns out I can be loved Frances,
so I filled my own cup
You mean nothing to me Frances.
Ivan, **** you too!
I hope you know, in many ways,
I've killed the both of you.
Sam I ******* hate your stupid *** for what you did.
Do you feel remorseful now, or are you still ******* kids?
My wish for you… suffering, much more before your dead
If I were you, I’d **** myself, just like the voices said.
Eric you aren't worth a single word from me or a wisp of air,
You could die today in fact and nobody would care.
Ivan you’re the disappointment, you aren't even a man.
Get in my face you ******* coward and I’ll drop you where you stand.
Judge not, lest he be judged himself; old man I wouldn't dare
You should have ******* stopped him Ivan, after all, you were right there
Instead you did what you do best and hid under a hood
You probably think we'll meet in hell, but me and God are good
Keep yourselves away from me, I am better than y’all
My heads held high, were toe to toe, I’m big now and you’re small.
Those of you reading this might think I’m being mean
Trust me though when I say this you ain't seen anything
Heidi Shavill
2013
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
progressively irrelevant, i write.
each strike comes, reverberating chords
in chambers all my history reveals--
voices forge a living thought, steam quietly;
truth is spent confronting hidden dangers
that, when alight between the flicker awe
our fire-starting letters linger still
to question ashen marvels of, phoenixlike
enveloping that subtle being-as
annulled to meaninglessness tolled.
a bare encounter with the void leaves off,
no symbols rally convalescent winds
for shaping form amenable to time--
rather, my lostness leads to this, and dies.
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC