"rammed" poems
My family is a bunch of animals.
My mother is a lioness,
strong, brave, and full of pride,
with claws sharp as knives,
for anyone that harms her cub she will strike.
my father is a hyena,
foolish, never serious, and a lazy scavenger,
that doesn't do anything but eat the crap that he creates.
My grand parents are elephants,
big and strong during the day,
blind and helpless during the night.
My aunts and uncles are the herd of gazelles,
they graze when they can,
but when the lioness comes they silence and run away with fear.
My dogs are the shade that comforts me from the burning sun of life.
The day has come when the lioness shall not roam the tall grasses of the Serengeti.
Without the lioness the gazelles are persistently grazing,
depleting the grass,
grazing and depleting until there was no grass left for me to hide in,
they rammed and bucked at me like I had no right to grieve.
I was a helpless cub on that day and I still am,
wondering when the lioness will show up to be my heroine again.
But as the gazelles buck and ram,
a kangaroo and a zebra rush in,
embrace me,
and take me in,
I now have a second family with:
a savage tiger,
Italian chipmunks,
boxing kangaroos,
kick-ass monkeys,
elderly turtles,
burly bears,
religious zebras,
and untimely rabbits.
My second family is diverse,
but they never do the worst just as my first.
This is a story that I usually don't tell,
but this my past life so I must tell, tell, tell...
This is what God raised me to be,
This for me and only me.
One day the light will show for me,
and me and the lioness will forever again be free,
to roam the plains in the skies above,
just like a dove.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
All is NOT well in the grasslands.
The animals are fit to be tied.
The actions of the crafty wolves
Have left the rest of them horrified.
"How will we EVER be able
To keep democracy afloat,"
The antelope asked, "if the wolves
Don't allow us all to vote?
"In many sections of these grasslands,
Shameless wolves are doing their best
To hold voter registration
Hostage, keeping voters suppressed."
"They aim to control voter turnout,"
The deer added. "That's their hope.
Their sneaky ways to manipulate
Elections push the envelope!
“They stall and seek petty reasons
To take names off voting lists.
Fair and honest elections are
In jeopardy if this persists.”
"It's so close to election day,
Our courts are reluctant to raise objections,"
The buffalo said. "Some of the wolves
Are even running in the elections!
"Humph! They stole a Supreme Court justice.
Then they rammed another one through.
Now they're still suppressing voters.
What more damage will they do?"
"Winnowing down voter rolls!
Their strategies should be illegal!"
The fox chimed in. Looking around,
He asked, "Where is our dear friend Eagle?"
The absent eagle wanted no
Responsibility tied to her name.
She couldn't stop the out-of-control
Wolves, and hid her head in shame.
-by Bob B (10-19-18)
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
*How much do you have to hate life,
to not be scared of death?*
- ThePoet
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
Because I really am afraid
But life has only sharp things
Wonder if death is willing to trade...
Longing
...a splinter
Embedded in the recesses of my core
Nestled deep, this tiny thorn
The source of my disconcerting sore
Need
...a shard
That stabs itself deep
Extract it I will not
Think it's worth the keep
Miss
...a knife
With never a dull blade
Stabs itself right through
Pain that will never fade
Want
...a syringe
Injecting the good and bad
Side effects loom
Driving me quite mad
Love
...a stake
Rammed into my heart
It doubles me over
It rips me apart
Life
...a spike
Impaling without fail
Siphoning my soul
Through the holes in my mail
These are the few sharp things that I own
The only things I've learnt to savour
I've nurtured them large; now fully grown
Always wondered what death has got to offer...
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC
Casper was ****** in the *** by fifty Muslims.
He was ****** twenty-five times on top.
He was also ****** thirty-seven times bent over a wheelbarrow
And eleven more times at the bank.
He was ****** at night in the ***
His *** was a bit ruptured.
He was born for getting ass-rammed!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper got ****** in the *** brutally
And the fifty Muslims' ***** was ****** on his tonsils.
He was up to his eyeballs in Muslim ****
He was so full of *** he had to ****
This guy really took a **** pushed away the Muslim ****
And took his own ********
And started ******* himself in his *** brutally.
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper was taken to a hospital by an ambulance.
At the hospital, he told the doctor to say ******* licker".
After the doctor said ******* licker".
He got on top of Casper and started ******* him in his *** brutally.
So far, Casper was diagnosed with holy freakaholic
And became loose for super duper maneuvers!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Rock over London, Rock on Chicago!
Western Union: It's the Fastest Way To Send Money!
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
In your past, this past
they weren't valued
no one said they were members of the family
what walks on four legs and is furry and cute is only
to last as long as nature intended and then to be disposed of
Veal calves in crates, taken from mothers on the day of their birth
to make more milk for humans, horse slaughter for glue
and foi gras, ducks and geese locked in a vice grip of their cages
metal tubes rammed down their throats and force fed until a liver disease
develops, painful, but given no respite
and served as a delicacy and
fur coats from animals skinned alive right here in America
still when mink farms are outlawed in the Netherlands and
two million dogs and cats skinned in China every year not to mention
other horrors and no one cared or looked their way because they are
only animals, and voiceless and helpless and no one cared to give them
a voice or advocacy
"that's why they're there, for our use, people still say" who profit from an industry
of suffering
And today, there are people who try to give them a voice and there are veterinarians who will try to help you with your member of the family, as he suffers, in his old age
a bag of fluids hangs from my exercise bike, and intermixed with my medications
is the painkiller and anti-nausea pills for my dear old friend
whose pancreas is failing
and father, this is foreign to you
you pretend it is a crime
silence is the only thing connecting us now
I hope you enjoyed your last barrage of unkind words
I think you did. The saddest thing I've learned about people like you
is
you feel better after such an attack, to see me reeling, bleeding on the ground
and you feel better, calmer and purged.
A kind of misbegotten peace settles over you
an exploitive peace from another's tears and pain
And yes, father, there were no agencies to give a voice to children
when you were young
no CPS, to aid my nine year old ***** friend
as a code of silence enveloped her attacker
to protect him, the one who destroyed her
But today there is a small brigade of a modern kind of love
to give a voice, protection, soothing to the ones who can
only suffer at our hands and not protect themselves from
our wrath and exploitation
and it is a better world for that, father
for my furry pancreatic friend and for any other
nine year old **** victims here
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
There's this guy who constantly gives me grief online
as if I need a reminder that I am not funny or smart
that I am incapable of posting any story without his remark
as if he should impart and bestow all of social media
with his divine and seraphic academia:
what is with that?
He posts comments about how illiterate my poetry is
how it doesn't follow the rules; the do-nots and the do's
pontificates how its not properly punctuated
as if I should give up altogether and just shine shoes
and forget trying to construct sentences
just wander in the carousel of nebula's
eternally seeking the tentacle of enemas:
what is with that?
This guy enjoys winding me up like a persistent hobby
the reverent devilment of sadistic entitlement
pushing my head under water for a digital baptism
that I should thank him for his rhetoric enlightenment
as if he was blessed with a correspondence talisman:
what is with that?
This isn't even a poem.
I am letting off steam like an overused kettle
fed up of his mortar forever rammed in my pestle
the temples are raging and my brain is just draining
to explode on cue on the next digital heckle
the cracked and broken vessel
into a vengeful steam-driven projectile:
what is with that?
This, < here > , is my only escape
and creative cathartic vent
I'll post this lament
with the stench of discontent
and tag his name and then just wait
for his feverish malcontent
that I should dare to
prevent his God-like dissent:
memo to self
to a digital antagonist
and his verbose verbal cyst
and the keyboard of twists
when you push
sometimes you get
a big shove back
so don't be surprised
by my riposte
and this poetic attack.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
Walking down the lane at 10 past 8
Increasing her pace as it's getting very late
Today is finally the night
She knows it's her only chance to get it right
She finally reaches the house on Avenue 5
The house is lighted up but it's not alive
Surprised she looks at the house again
She makes her way to the door after saying Amen
She knocks but the door is already ajar
Inside is a room with an abandoned bar
She wears her mask and gets in the room
Unaware of her impending doom
The lights go off and the door is clicked shut
"Run for your life", says her gut
But the killer is smooth and makes its strike
It feels like her head is rammed by a bike
Counting her last seconds she looks surprised
The killer now no longer needs its disguise
She looks up and sees her own face
There's a smile up there and down a grimace
"You brought it on yourself" said her reflection
She stops moving, the last thoughts, her suicidal perfection...
Karma is something you bring upon yourself
If you throw the book, you'll definitely break the shelf
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
i swallowed the sunset like a pill;
and drowned it with a bottle of nyquil;
so my dreams involve stars instead of your hands;
and my brain contains gradients in place of your arms.
i clawed my own eyeballs out, mistaking them for yours;
and what i thought was your skeleton i rammed with my car;
was actually just a mailbox.
i’ve screamed at the top of my lungs;
but you are still jammed in my throat.
i’ve opened up my skin;
but your poison is stuck to me like a sunburn.
(a.m.c.)
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC
I dreamed my genesis in sweat of sleep, breaking
Through the rotating shell, strong
As motor muscle on the drill, driving
Through vision and the girdered nerve.
From limbs that had the measure of the worm, shuffled
Off from the creasing flesh, filed
Through all the irons in the grass, metal
Of suns in the man-melting night.
Heir to the scalding veins that hold love's drop, costly
A creature in my bones I
Rounded my globe of heritage, journey
In bottom gear through night-geared man.
I dreamed my genesis and died again, shrapnel
Rammed in the marching heart, hole
In the stitched wound and clotted wind, muzzled
Death on the mouth that ate the gas.
Sharp in my second death I marked the hills, harvest
Of hemlock and the blades, rust
My blood upon the tempered dead, forcing
My second struggling from the grass.
And power was contagious in my birth, second
Rise of the skeleton and
Rerobing of the naked ghost. Manhood
Spat up from the resuffered pain.
I dreamed my genesis in sweat of death, fallen
Twice in the feeding sea, grown
Stale of Adam's brine until, vision
Of new man strength, I seek the sun.
2.1k
STRETCH towards the moonless midnight of the trees,
As though that hand could reach to where they stand,
And they but famous old upholsteries
Delightful to the touch; tighten that hand
As though to draw them closer yet.
Rammed full
Of that most sensuous silence of the night
(For since the horizon's bought strange dogs are still)
Climb to your chamber full of books and wait,
No books upon the knee, and no one there
But a Great Dane that cannot bay the moon
And now lies sunk in sleep.
What climbs the stair?
Nothing that common women ponder on
If you are worrh my hope! Neither Content
Nor satisfied Conscience, but that great family
Some ancient famous authors mistepresent,
The proud Furies each with her torch on high.
2.1k
That smile will be with me forever
on the day it all went wrong
the two of us trying to be clever
our journey was too long
deciding to take a different trail
thus must recount the tale!
That smile will be with me forever!
Desperate to try and save our marriage
after both drifting apart
had we passed that irreversible stage
our love was there a start
yet the tension high I drove to fast
and our destinations cast!
That smile will be with me forever!
Into a tree we rammed I was powerless
to avoid the collision
the anger had created this foolishness
shaping the final decision
my side undamaged just shaken
realising I was mistaken!
That smile will be with me forever!
Why had I been such a stubborn man
had shock awoken me
you the only one in my earthly plan
at first what I did not see
there hurt with that angelic smile
how bad I was in denial!
That smile will be with me forever!
Somehow got a signal to call assistance
talking more than before
why now could we seem to be consistent
doing my best to reassure
that any problems we would transform
our love overcame any storm!
That smile will be with me forever!
As the rescue team arrived we tenderly kissed
such a magical moment
how such tenderness for so long I had missed
she had been sent to me
that smile I shall never forget or guilt fade
too late true feelings displayed!
She died from her injuries soon after!
that smile will remain with me forever!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
It’s thirty years since I travelled back
To wander my childhood home,
To check out the trees I used to climb
And the fields where I used to roam,
I remembered the friends that used to play,
Wendy and Paul and Mark,
And the local bully that had his way
Back then, in the Boating Park.
We’d go up there on a Sunday, pay
Our money and hire a boat,
That fourpence each to the gatekeeper
Saw the three of us afloat,
Each boat had paddlewheels either side
You could turn, and stop or start,
Or spin around in a circle, just
For fun, at the Boating Park.
The Park, laid out in a rectangle
Took an hour to paddle round,
Once out of sight of the gatekeeper
The banks would muffle the sound,
We’d scream and shriek and laugh and beam
As we rammed each other’s boats,
I often thought it a wonder that
We didn’t puncture the floats.
Then over beyond the halfway mark
We lay in the shade of trees,
The sun would sink, it was getting dark
And we’d hear the murmur of bees,
We had to pass there under a bridge
And duck, for the bridge was low,
And that’s where the bully McPherson stood
On the bridge, those years ago.
He’d jeer, throw stones and catcall as we
Tried to get under the span,
Then climb and drop into Wendy’s boat
He wouldn’t have tried with a man.
He’d paddle over the further side
And make her get out of the boat,
Then paddle it back the way we came
Get out, and leave it afloat.
One Sunday I sat under the bridge
With Paul and Mark beside,
While Wendy came along on her own
As if on a solo ride,
The bully tried the very same thing
But we each pulled on his coat,
And when he came up, he couldn’t scream
For the water lodged in his throat.
He splashed about and he tried to grab
The boat, but his clothes, like lead,
Were trying to drag him down, while Paul
And Mark, they stood on his head.
Wendy had clambered up on the bank
Controlled, and well in command,
For every time he tried to get out,
She’d stamp and stomp on his hand.
The paper said it was very strange
That he must have put up a fight,
But hadn’t the strength to pull himself
Up out of the cut that night.
His hands and fingers were shredded, where
He’d tried to climb up the bank,
But the weight of his heavy, sodden clothes
Were the demons he had to thank.
I went to visit the Boating Park
It was just the way I feared,
I met up there with an older Mark,
A man with a greying beard,
He told me Wendy and Paul were dead
Weighed down with a sense of sin,
And the gatekeeper at the Boating Park
Had gone, when they filled it in.
David Lewis Paget
Sep 30, 2013
Sep 30, 2013 at 5:05 AM UTC
The hunting of the shark was an annual excursion,
It was a Rite of passage ceremony for thirteen year old boys.
30 of us left that early June morning,
the skies were cloudless, the waters calm.
But only 17 of us returned, 17 of us witnessed
our friends being mauled by tiger sharks,
they rammed our small fishing boats.
17 of us will never forget that day
We went without harpoon or gun ,
we went with just some home made knives,
fresh water and sheer nerve.
We returned with no shark ,
we returned with just the wounded and the brave.
Life abandoned the 13,
we abandoned the 13 (we had to)
but, will they always be boys ?
Feb 13, 2013
Feb 13, 2013 at 9:42 AM UTC
The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.
Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -
between the rocks that form his cage.
His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.
Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…
unfettered.
Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.
Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep
“Is this victory, or defeat?”
Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.
Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.
Ceaselessly.
Senselessly.
The
sentinel
streaks
down.
Aug 30, 2018
Aug 30, 2018 at 2:20 AM UTC
You wanna know what it's like to love?
When you feel so lost in time and every second that's passing feels so unreal?
You wanna know what it's like to feel like choking on tears at 3 in the morning?
When time refuses to pass and every second feels like a ticking atomic bomb?
You wanna know what it feels like to be ripped off your sanity?
You wanna know what it feels like to have *** for the first time?
You wanna know what it feels like to try so hard and fail?
You wanna know what it feels like to fall out of love and experience the kind of sadness you never thought you'd feel?
You wanna know what it feels like to be kissed in every spot that drives you insane?
You wanna know what it feels like to have someone talk about you behind your back?
You wanna know what it feels like to smile like nothing has happened?
You wanna know what it feels like to get wasted on your birthday?
You wanna know what it feels like to have cigarette smoke filling your airways?
Then you **** right feel it.
Then you **** right experience it.
Then you **** right give yourself a chance.
By the time you're 20,
No one gives a **** if you're a ******
No one gives a **** if you were the top student in '09
No one gives a **** if you were so drunk you couldn't remember your own name
No one gives a **** if you were so choked by cigarette smoke you thought you were suffocating to death
No one gives a **** if you almost rammed into a tree on your 16th birthday
And sure as hell,
No one gives a **** because let me tell you this.
*It is your **** life,*
*So you **** right do whatever the hell you want to do.*
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 10:09 AM UTC
betrayal is the beginnings of pure agony and heartbreak. betrayal is the feeling of loneliness inside your stomach, clawing and ripping, letting the acid into your blood stream. it burns. and aches. betrayal is the sensation felt when a dagger is placed ever so delicately against your back and then proceeds to be rammed into your spine, paralyzing you with misery. these daggers shoot at your closed wounds, reopening them, re-exposing them to the cruelty of the world. betrayal is the feeling of a hand wrapped tightly around your trachea, restricting your breathing and forcing you to just sit back and take it, and let it happen, because there's nothing you can do about it except take the excruciating pain and close your eyes. time cannot heal betrayal. time cannot replace the damaged inflicted by betrayal. regardless of forgiving, betrayal is permanent.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 6:41 AM UTC
The Lion and The Wolf met in the Dark
The Lion said that all the wolf could do was bark
But the wolf ignored The Lion as he got closer
The Lion felt like he would get rammed over by a bulldozer
However The Lion said hear me roar
It was loud and it scared, the stag, dragon and also the boar
The Lion is The King of Creatures
Golden pelt is one of its majestic features
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 7:49 PM UTC
Rammed into an ill fitting life
like a cheap suit,
bursting it's seams,
it's ripped open fabric falling to the floor,
like the tears that flow from my eye's.
So here I stand, naked,
no more clothes left on the rail,
no vestiture to hide my shame,
just the coitus interruptus,
as the day slips out of my soul.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
She surrenders her joys
A-line highway what ploys
Per- day 2 B or not to Be
B for breakaway
Windy- seaway everyday
endless living
Stay to the right tossing skirt
Gossip throwing unwanted dirt
Smoky bear mountain no harm
Losing one valuable gift charm
His name in honor
feeling complete
Highway for justice and absolute
The right way
Aroma apple pie putting on
Your husbands
Graphic artist highway- tie
How many people on the highway
Never to confess and lie
Highway doesn't have any privacy
True saint of shrubbery mountain tops
curved figure highways
Reckless cliffs skirt ruffles love
feeling rammed
Turn of the century traffic jammed
Your skirt flew up like wild goose chase
You rather of went Big- City marathon
bike race
By- way time -may be- silent have
nothing to say?
Performance piano Steinway
Skirt highway waving flag winning everyday*
Your skirt drenched rooftop concerts
Nest of Blue Jays no highway
Serenity sky draw the deviant
But words can heal even on a highway
My lips are sealed?
Jul 23, 2023
Jul 23, 2023 at 2:05 PM UTC
He called to straighten her out,
To announce his disappointment.
In no uncertain terms, he rammed it home,
Her failure to notify him was inexcusable.
He blasted her, recounted his disappointment,
“You were supposed to visit, you said you’d stop by.”
He shrieked, “Our friendship is a ruse, a joke to you,
You fooled me, I thought you cared.”
Overwhelmed, wordless, she, lost in his pain,
Was defenseless, knew no proof would suffice,
Understood the meaning, guilty as charged.
She listened silently, finally, felt a shift,
His rage discharged, breathless, indignant,
He awaited her pathetic excuse.
With a shallow breath she illuminated him.
A single, empty, cabin,
On a distant island,
Barren, cold, alone,
Marooned.
***** you!” down he slammed the phone.
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 9:14 AM UTC
Jolly good friends are we
Only because of “Raf-Rod” pain
Happiness when the assignments were complete.
Not far off is
Sonic,
Our favorite activity, but,
Not with out Dan
Best friends forever
I repeat,
Best friends forever
Leave it or take it
Everyone’s a hater
Crammed in the truck
Only Dan, Stan and Kendra
Leaving behind the haters
Loving our route 44’s and
Eating out taters
Getting all dressed up
Everyone in this city be jealous of us.
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 8:57 AM UTC
My stand is portable, affordable and neat
Sits on the southwest corner of 42nd Street
Can't beat my delicious, nutritious, expandable frank
My dogs are divine! Now, take that to the bank!
One twenty-five for a dog loaded or bare
Mini-meals readied with caution and care
Merciful and kind, my dogs nourish the broke
Fuels children and seniors and cold 'n drunk folk
I've served sages and I've served nuts
My clients range from brilliant to putz
Usually I keep the screwballs away
But now and again I have a ****** no-good day
Like the time two thugs took off with my cart
They rammed it right into the Super Mart
Weenies went flying and relish SPLAT!
Stunned I saw my dogs were eaten by cats
Two weeks down, my new stand revamped and nice
Maybe those thugs wanted red beans and rice
But dogs are my passion and my life’s big scheme
So buy a hot dog and support someone's dream.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Who knows if Werner Heisenberg
rammed his head into the wall
after discovering the uncertainty
of the electrons of his lover.
Imagine having a brain the
size of Utah and not knowing,
with certainty, where to find
her nucleus.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Rapidly beating
your heart against my ear
as Han Solo's son
rammed a lightsaber
through his chest
I could hear
the beat-beat-beat
reverberating through
layers of blanket, cloth, and skin
sitting next to you
on the couch
thumping loudly and steady
without fear
so let's begin
on a star searched journey
where the spaceships hovel
and the robots swivel
in a galaxy not that
far away from reality
it's like swallowing starlight
or slicing through dark trees
heavy with snow
hearing them crack-crack-crack
from a buzzing vibration
of the blue lightsaber at hand
watching the trees crash, then
clash against red
a struggle unsaid
but when I rested my head
against your slight frame
something within me
melted.
(I guess my heart was tamed.)
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC