"ramped" poems
In ruck and quibble of courtfolk
This giant hulked, I tell you, on her scene
With hands like derricks,
Looks fierce and black as rooks;
Why, all the windows broke when he stalked in.
Her dainty acres he ramped through
And used her gentle doves with manners rude;
I do not know
What fury urged him slay
Her antelope who meant him naught but good.
She spoke most chiding in his ear
Till he some pity took upon her crying;
Of rich attire
He made her shoulders bare
And solaced her, but quit her at cock's crowing.
A hundred heralds she sent out
To summon in her slight all doughty men
Whose force might fit
Shape of her sleep, her thought-
None of that greenhorn lot matched her bright crown.
So she is come to this rare pass
Whereby she treks in blood through sun and squall
And sings you thus :
'How sad, alas, it is
To see my people shrunk so small, so small.'
7k
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
5.3k
When I was a windy boy and a bit
And the black spit of the chapel fold,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of women),
I tiptoed shy in the gooseberry wood,
The rude owl cried like a tell-tale ***
I skipped in a blush as the big girls rolled
Nine-pin down on donkey's common,
And on seesaw sunday nights I wooed
Whoever I would with my wicked eyes,
The whole of the moon I could love and leave
All the green leaved little weddings' wives
In the coal black bush and let them grieve.
When I was a gusty man and a half
And the black beast of the beetles' pews
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of *******
Not a boy and a bit in the wick-
Dipping moon and drunk as a new dropped calf,
I whistled all night in the twisted flues,
Midwives grew in the midnight ditches,
And the sizzling sheets of the town cried, Quick!-
Whenever I dove in a breast high shoal,
Wherever I ramped in the clover quilts,
Whatsoever I did in the coal-
Black night, I left my quivering prints.
When I was a man you could call a man
And the black cross of the holy house,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of welcome),
Brandy and ripe in my bright, bass prime,
No springtailed tom in the red hot town
With every simmering woman his mouse
But a hillocky bull in the swelter
Of summer come in his great good time
To the sultry, biding herds, I said,
Oh, time enough when the blood runs cold,
And I lie down but to sleep in bed,
For my sulking, skulking, coal black soul!
When I was half the man I was
And serve me right as the preachers warn,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of downfall),
No flailing calf or cat in a flame
Or hickory bull in milky grass
But a black sheep with a crumpled horn,
At last the soul from its foul mousehole
Slunk pouting out when the limp time came;
And I gave my soul a blind, slashed eye,
Gristle and rind, and a roarers' life,
And I shoved it into the coal black sky
To find a woman's soul for a wife.
Now I am a man no more no more
And a black reward for a roaring life,
(Sighed the old ram rod, dying of strangers),
Tidy and cursed in my dove cooed room
I lie down thin and hear the good bells jaw--
For, oh, my soul found a sunday wife
In the coal black sky and she bore angels!
Harpies around me out of her womb!
Chastity prays for me, piety sings,
Innocence sweetens my last black breath,
Modesty hides my thighs in her wings,
And all the deadly virtues plague my death!
4.9k
On winter nights beside the nursery fire
We read the fairy tale, while glowing coals
Builded its pictures. There before our eyes
We saw the vaulted hall of traceried stone
Uprear itself, the distant ceiling hung
With pendent stalactites like frozen vines;
And all along the walls at intervals,
Curled upwards into pillars, roses climbed,
And ramped and were confined, and clustered leaves
Divided where there peered a laughing face.
The foliage seemed to rustle in the wind,
A silent murmur, carved in still, gray stone.
High pointed windows pierced the southern wall
Whence proud escutcheons flung prismatic fires
To stain the tessellated marble floor
With pools of red, and quivering green, and blue;
And in the shade beyond the further door,
Its sober squares of black and white were hid
Beneath a restless, shuffling, wide-eyed mob
Of lackeys and retainers come to view
The Christening.
A sudden blare of trumpets, and the throng
About the entrance parted as the guests
Filed singly in with rare and precious gifts.
Our eager fancies noted all they brought,
The glorious, unattainable delights!
But always there was one unbidden guest
Who cursed the child and left it bitterness.
The fire falls asunder, all is changed,
I am no more a child, and what I see
Is not a fairy tale, but life, my life.
The gifts are there, the many pleasant things:
Health, wealth, long-settled friendships, with a name
Which honors all who bear it, and the power
Of making words obedient. This is much;
But overshadowing all is still the curse,
That never shall I be fulfilled by love!
Along the parching highroad of the world
No other soul shall bear mine company.
Always shall I be teased with semblances,
With cruel impostures, which I trust awhile
Then dash to pieces, as a careless boy
Flings a kaleidoscope, which shattering
Strews all the ground about with coloured shards.
So I behold my visions on the ground
No longer radiant, an ignoble heap
Of broken, dusty glass. And so, unlit,
Even by hope or faith, my dragging steps
Force me forever through the passing days.
3.8k
Your actions
speak like knives
that carve away at the soul of my being.
They stab the tender flesh of my faith.
Your words force their way
through my heaving chest
From the fork of your tongue
and rip out my battered heart,
Leaving a gaping cavity
of tangle arteries
that ooze out scattered emotions
from deep within the shredded
bloodied tissue that remains.
Exposed and vulnerable
to the elements of your
ramped terror,
the wound quickly festers
from the stench of your
infectious hatred
that slithers it's way into
the detatched arteries
and consumes any thought
of compassion.
And is diseased with
progressive revenge
and retaliation
that becomes the driving force
of strength that remedies
the forgiveness
that unconditional love's
natural immunity produces
and is temporary remedy to
the heart retching incurable
depression and permanent
lifelasting pain.
That haunts me
it taunts me
again and again.
...... And so begins the plague
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 8:15 AM UTC
We sit on the edge of conversation
Hands clasped, feet shuffling anxiously
Eyes darting across the room like
the stars in the night sky
You lean back with a sigh
and I catch you.
Hands together, knees bent
fingers touching skin
Tracing outlines of mountains on the map you offer me
You look up from my gaze and a calmness falls across your face
The corner of our eyes don't wonder but meet
Times entangled in the feast before us
I raise a leg and your knee greets my feet.
Waters greet these feet,
Waters that rage on and under us
Washing over our bodies like the light that’s wrapped itself beside us
Bodies become one in the heat of the den that we've made
In the depts we've paid
The depths we've obeyed
The trust we've displayed
Down by the rivers where the whomping willow weeps,
where the waters run ramped, and the wild things wonder
wonder about life, wonder about death
run through your mind son, be absent, be bold
just don’t forget that the water man reaps
reaps in what is sown, sold and told
whispered. whispered like silence on the edge of the wind
the wind that howls through the corner of beauty
there where it stays and sits for a while,
as the man, he stands, waiting watching on duty.
I look back to you, your face changed by the cut of a smile.
A smile.
That smile, that warms my soul like summer breeze,
Wraps me up and takes me in from the cold
You don't even realise, you do it with such ease
You do it now when we're young and you'll do it when we're old.
We sit, once again, as we used to, but more alone
Hands together, fingers crossed, in utter isolation
It’s such a wild thing, wild life that we’ve known
And none of it is ripe for an explanation.
Feet dancing on the edge of contemplation
This information that we use for the source of our meditation
Imagination sparks conversation but also speculation
So, what are we to do when there’s no confirmation?
A shout shuddering in the darkness of creation
Thinking of the combination, representation and motivation for these words when all I ever wanted was a simple conversation.
Jan 1, 2022
Jan 1, 2022 at 12:13 PM UTC
We have fallen in the dreams the ever-living
Breathe on the tarnished mirror of the world,
And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.
W.B. YEATS
* * * * * *
My soul looked down from a vague height, with Death,
As unremembering how I rose or why,
And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,
Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,
And pitted with great pocks and scabs of plagues.
Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire,
There moved thin caterpillars, slowly uncoiled.
It seemed they pushed themselves to be as plugs
Of ditches, where they writhed and shrivelled, killed.
By them had slimy paths been trailed and scraped
Round myriad warts that might be little hills.
From gloom's last dregs these long-strung creatures crept,
And vanished out of dawn down hidden holes.
(And smell came up from those foul openings
As out of mouths, or deep wounds deepening.)
On dithering feet upgathered, more and more,
Brown strings, towards strings of gray, with bristling spines,
All migrants from green fields, intent on mire.
Those that were gray, of more abundant spawns,
Ramped on the rest and ate them and were eaten.
I saw their bitten backs curve, loop and straighten.
I watched those agonies curl, lift, and flatten.
Whereat, in terror what that sight might mean,
I reeled and shivered earthward like a feather.
And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan.
And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid
Its bruises in the earth, bur crawled no further,
Showed me its feet, the feet of many men,
And the fresh-severed head of it, my head
2.1k
It's all an act,
The smiles I send to those that pass me in the hall,
The ex girlfriends I once said I loved,
The laughs and chuckles,
Almost any conversation that someone holds meaning to,
It was all an act,
There is only one person in this god forsaken world;
A single person I didn't have to put on an act for,
That person was you,
But when I took off my mask,
Showed my true face you turned the other way,
In silence you left me naked with no mask to hide me,
All the truth came out and I'm left in silence,
Still loving you through this pain,
Still there when you are in trouble,
Always thinking of and loving you,
With my emotion loose,
Running ramped through my heart,
Like a wild animal through a burning jungle,
My mask broken now,
The act must go on,
I will go on...
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
Not sure why yard sales didn’t make the Stress Scale ‘cause the uptick in adrenaline, the ramped-up apprehension of letting stuff go, especially stuff that's been around for a while, the feeling of loss, picturing someone with your old stuffed pony, it’s painful.
This saying goodbye to things brings an emotional dilemma, a mixed-up sense of knowing it's high time for the thing-a-ma-bob with no actual relevance, to be dumped while some queasy feeling of unexpected meaning to the thing erupts.
And an inner kid sputters, "No, please not my wacha-ma-call-it, no, I’m not ready yet.” or your favorite uncle's favorite chipped ashtray along with the obnoxious bric-a-brac, knick-knack, from; who was it again, suddenly becomes the Hope Diamond.
Yep, yard sales are tough, your private junk out for all the world, to ****** to turn upside down and sour-faced putting it down, as you breathe a sigh of relief the bozo didn’t take home your treasured, dusty paper weight with the faded shamrock inside.
Seriously, yard sales are like putting your whole life on the front page, exposed to strangers, because friends with your best interest in mind, tell you to simplify, clean out, move on, start anew after they’ve witnessed your life fly apart…
Like a paper napkin flies up into a gust of wind, swirls upwards catches forever on a branch and these self-same, well-meaning pals are incapable of your need to keep the rusty tea kettle, the one you boiled water in to make tea for your sweetheart every day.
Then, when finally you’ve sorted through it all and it’s laid out defenseless in the grass, beside the “House for Sale” sign, you spot some **** fool, your dead mother's "Old Faithful" trivet held high, the one she got on the only vacation she ever had, yelling, "Hey sis, will ya take a dime for this?"
And the raindrops begin to fall.
Sep 5, 2011
Sep 5, 2011 at 10:26 AM UTC
As I lay myself to bed
Monsters roam my head
Thoughts run ramped
No disregard
To morn
Slumber hides away
Heart pounds like a drum
Light will greet before
Dreams come
My aching head
My sorrowing heart
My glistening eyes
The question
Why
The answer
Silent as the new moon
Death has no voice
Life has no answers
Tic tock, tick tok
Times up
On life's clock
Copyright©2015 Kelly Chase
All Rights Reserved
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
Burning and popping still Lingers in my minds eye, I look down to see a crinkle in time. I walk through seeing flashes if gleaming memories. Smoky gray glass silently floating, wondering, but forever still. Blue twisting and spinning through all thoughts, like everlasting bruises of the sea. Gut retching anticipation of silent questions always answered, paused and stilled. Never again to be caressed by the silent husky laughter of memories past. Light begins to reappear through the memories of black and white photographs. Loneliness suffocates me as if all those years ago with water filling my veins.
I had been so lost, so alone. I was drowning in it. The effort it took to smile like I cared was so minimal. I scared myself with how much I didn't care. Voices running ramped through my mind. I was falling farther and farther into oblivion. Two hands reached out to scoop up the remains of me.
Silent and still I say there till I crumpled as if to be thrown away. Birthday wishes never come true if no one if wishing for you. Tears held in, hair pulled on with dead inside hands like a toddler in the night. Until a shy smile came into sight. Timid and warm but is there more?
Time pasted, wounds began to heal. Words became fewer till non were spoken at all. Pain searing. Water calling. The sinking feeling was all I was missing. Sights and sound faded till all was blank. Pain all I felt, love betrayed. Torn and beaten till nothing remains. No smiles, no silent laughter, no words to ever to be spoken.
The water beckons.
The feeling of water flowing around me, never stopping. Hands that once has held me up now push me under. Circulating, pushing out pain. Searing life on the brink is all that's left. Black oblivion rushes in like the mistress of the sea's tide. Warm salty water flows as if from a broken facet. Till it all stopped.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
I got real "gems" within
with my heart so polluted
obsolete genes making 'em so deluded
fighting among self
while ringing thy bell
turning my inside into live hell.
High rankers behaving like bankers
cranking up on money
weak got taxes ramped up
feedback mechanism didn't got me backed up
my hand's burning
it's more interested in drugs cranked up.
world within, so bizarre
worshipping 9 days
on 10th exploiting the avatar
immune system's malfunctioning
exterminating none entertaining all
stand up for something, "Nah dude, they'll make me crawl".
condition's critical need some dode
ain't working to flourish, all they do is corrode
making my core scrambled as a puzzle
suppressing every positive struggle
my existence's that of a mine
mining glitter degrading divine.
Sep 5, 2021
Sep 5, 2021 at 2:13 PM UTC
I survive off Energy,
not negative vibes,
but Positive watts
it sustains my life force,
and uplifts me
to the highest of heights
high above the ceiling,
venturing pass the stratosphere,
until i find myself conversing with celestial beings,
the feeling of feeling,
leaves me open
to all manners of interpretation ,
We are who We are,
when you become vulnerable,
Emotions run ramped explosive like
The Birth of A Dwarf Star ,
anything outside the realm of good intentions ,
I back track , and revert to that of a hermit turtle incased in my shell,
NO ONE ALLOWED !
In the sanctum
not until i can tell the outsider means me no harm
They just want
my charismatic company
& electric charm
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
They are watching my every move in the night
Quietly looking at me like a rabid raven.
If you could see deep inside my head
It would look like a movie made by Wes Craven.
My methodical homicidal ideas running fast and running ramped
Trying ever so hard not to get caught
I have no choice but to top the last at what I just did.
My mind is pounding hard and my heart is racing
As I am dripping with sweat back and forth I am pacing.
Studying about all the others hoping now not to get caught
When they had finished what they had done, I often think,
What was it that they had did they did thought.
Keeping secrets buried locked deep inside
When they questioned me with their questions, I lied.
I am the king of given many a death wish
Pushing you in with handcuffs behind your back
Now you’re sinking to the bottom forever chilling with the fish.
Verbally murdering you with these lines,
When I’m in my death bed, I’ll confess, all my death crimes.
Till then question me all you what I don’t care,
No how many times.
(SirCARSr 10-10-13)
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Just got robbed another time,
And I
Wish it was something as simple,
As someone taking my bike.
But life throws me
for a loop
I'm a f-ck up
And I'd like to just
for once, die
I'm a train-wreck
About to lose it
Near platform five
and Self-Pity Avenue
Someone get on the phone,
And tell them what I've done,
Because only others can
tell my story
Take out all the fun,
and leave me staring at
the sun.
I'm a f-ck up,
I know **** well
What I've done.
I'm not dead and
gone.
Roll the cameras,
3, 2, 1
Fade to white
Pan to the right,
And now I'm in sight
Read the paper today
And
The report says
I'm a wreck
What's new, today?
Interrogated again,
They asked me some
questions and took
some photographs
Long story short,
i was truly f-cked.
Looking almost gaunt,
I'm looking around,
And everyone's looking at me
(Am I alright?)
It seems they
Better call the doc
Because they just captured
The day I almost went dark.
Believe me when I say this,
I've seen better days,
and this isn't it.
Not by a long-shot.
And so, I end up
flipping through
the pages and I
See the reckless
Behaviors and antics
The hospital stays,
Complete and total
havoc
I'm tired of it all,
and it's all
So f-ckin' tragic.
Used to be up at 4 a.m.
Kept myself going
Hyped up on hard drugs
And ramped up in overdrive.
Not even wanting to quit.
Now I'm up at night,
****** one habit to the next
And all I do is cry.
I'm a mess, I'm a wreck
And sometimes, I just want to die
But today,
Just for you
I'd like to, for once
Stay alive, not give up,
and try, honestly
Aug 17, 2023
Aug 17, 2023 at 6:26 AM UTC
i
The inner sanctum of my mind
is sick and twisted locked in time
thoughts run ramped, congealed and sour
I'm lost among you...
ii
A darkened realm of oblivion
a door to nowhere, to many keys
wrong choices, chaotic voices
a dead man strolling a black rose garden...
iii
You live your life, the wife, the cash
I live in fear of death, drowning, electrocution
a cutters way from rafters sway
you can find it, any given day...
iv
The pain, the sadness
the empty shell
life is sometimes a living hell
a little deeper and blood will flow...
v
Come what may on dismal ears
live your granted time, full of fears
staggering through with thoughts of mayhem
hold yourself in contempt...
vi
Why harm myself, I find that strange
inflict on others my hate and rage
I wont cut you, not at all
I'll drive it deep to the hilt...
vii
Walk among the fearful masses
a killer born every minute
I pulled the number
lucky me...
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Sweet symphonic shades of blue
sweeping down the avenues.
Harsh melodic tones of red
running ramped in my head.
Green Lilly's floating in the pond
all of which the frogs are too fond.
White rabbits jump between the trees,
along side birds and bees.
Orchadia sits upon a swing singing
canorous tunes of spring.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 2:56 AM UTC
I wake up alone in a dark empty space,
time moved so quickly what is this place?
I've discovered me demons run ramped around this place,
And so I run until I find a familiar face,
One of few warm lights in a world cold as ice,
Other forces pull me away from the comforting light,
It thinks that its doing for me whats right,
But I'm lost int he dark when they pull me away,
Alone in the darkness, no way to **** them or escape.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 7:06 PM UTC
Seeking redemption in the shadows.
Flaunting forgiveness under street lights grown from a concrete jungle.
Fall on my knees muttering to deaf ears.
Searching for a kind soul to listen and share.
A comforting piece of mind while letting my insanity go ramped.
I took back self created anguish holding onto a 40oz of malted sorrows.
Slowly pouring into the misguided gutter that flows along life.
Suppressed only in limitations put forth by another chewing on my heart.
Feeding my empty soul bites
of love.
Echo's back in regurgitated hate only followed in silence.
Cold sweats and vivid dreams take over the mind.
As Illusions of a fix breaks my inhibitions.
Numbs my caged demons.
Into the depths I sink only to gasp for another life bettering breath.
I just want to go back.
Back to a time of innocence and the honest laughter..
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
Tik Tik
Here's my stop
Feet planted
Heart running ramped
Only one thing to say
Do I run or do I stay
The more I think the harder to make
The decision that I'm to take
Your life is made of time
There is no rewind
Do you fly and soar
Or stay as you were
The choose is up to you
What would you do
Tik Tok
Make it stop
The ticking in my head increase
Worse than any disease
The choose is made
I couldn't have stayed
Bang
A life is taken as the sound rang
The ticking decreased
All that is left is the deceased
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
Blood Lines“Blood alone moves the wheels of history”
History’s light had barely dawned the bright carefree light of Eden was to darkness trimmed
Perfection the center of all created wonders all that was required live and be enthralled
Children of man cast into a realm birthed by loneliness from greatest genius this was stemmed
Love so pure so large its natural course would devise the only able recipient worthy morning children
All existence funneled into a body of clay the emergence of all thought and achievement had begun
It wasn’t by trial and error ultimate perfection produced his own inducement for open view to all
The crown of creation had only its benefactor as a higher equal now freedom quietly instilled now run
Match the wild Arabian horse he knows what courses through his veins he carries no other strain
What a time to distill this beginning all knowing ramped through this fresh clean mind what promise
In every plant stone even the water as it began to grow the earth in concert with the Sun’s rays
It too would surge follow a course far from its garden home great rivers its natural home all to comprise
The earth set to flourish man kinds own heaven on earth his domain only limited by a small imagination
With these reins in hand he set in motion to be the monarch that was is legitimate rightful claim
Nothing would not be touched without his mark and approval he harnessed the world to his design
Colors every known object would owe to him their specific rendering to all other creatures what acclaim
The dream lives just as the heavenly father spoke it into being by blood sacrifice it would be redeemed
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
(Before you read this, this is a fake event. It was a piece that I did for my Psychology class.)
I was dumped by my girlfriend today
It was sad some might say
But to my surprise, I felt no sorrow
Only anger entrenched me, filled me with hate
For now was my mental debate
I only saw two ways for this to be solved
For me to forgive, or for her to be absolved
I saw nothing that was in between
It was time for dear old Jean, to be my queen
In death she shall be mine
Jean and I shall dine
In death we are as one
Our journey has just begun
So I headed for Jean’s
With a mind so keen
She will be my queen
Jean was asleep
So in the house I must creep
For I must not make a peep
I went to the kitchen
My plan nearly envisioned
Jean is now dead
Or at least they have said
The doctors tell me I’m insane
They say I’m not right in the brain
I cry at nights in this here tomb
For what I’ve done that brought her doom
I don’t know why I killed her
My emotions ran ramped
Just one little thing and I snapped
I wish I could take it back
For now my mind has turned black
My emotions are fragile like an egg
And this is my plague
Sep 8, 2011
Sep 8, 2011 at 12:39 PM UTC
The spoon's side jumped
Between moon shaped glasses,
He jip jived dipped and dived
Forward more toward something resembling music.
A fresh song and dance.
New tunes through an ordinary water holder,
Nestled between plate and napkin.
The sound got his mate all jazzed up,
So he joined with his own swift swinging tune.
Who knew that dining things could own a beat?
They found a new way to show
They had a rhythm from their fingers to their toes.
It was them together.
Hearing things they thought they would never.
So they skedaddled downtown
Piddle paddling through the streets.
Clanking their feet into light poles until their soles were sore.
Smacking hands on drums where knees used to be.
They threw nonsensical sounds around that made sense together,
They flowed like a bird’s song to its dear old Mrs.
Common sounds with a unique meaning.
They were loud and crazy with a vision slightly hazy,
For they didn't see the sheriff approaching.
The sheriff caused a bigger scene then they ever were,
Yelling and wrestling with them.
He stopped their show saying, "There ain't none of those nonsense words on my street, especially not from your kind."
How kind they were,
They left without a question.
There was no need to fuss and rush
They were goin'.
They thought that with sounds like these
There was no use wasting them on empty streets
And park benches.
Back to the club they ran
Eager to hear their cheering fans they had left behind to show the streets their new found sound.
That stage is where it started
And stayed for a while.
On that stage their imaginations could run ramped on an empty canvas of ears.
But on their stage they had to stay.
Hidden.
For a little while,
You see the streets weren't ready to be shown these beats,
This wasn't Joe Schmos show put on every Thursday afternoon near the salad bar,
Quiet enough not to disturb the guests but just enough to give a nice background noise to their chewing,
Oh no, no, no.
This was jazz.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 3:32 PM UTC