"rams" poems
They look out from the terrace.
At the borders of sight
live rocky hills behind brown
and golden and olive crop
under a cloudless sky.
BANG!
An artificial cloud.
“Mira,” she points, “Venga!”
They fly down stairs,
diving like sparrows
into the street.
Boys sprint across pavements and climb;
men vault over fences in time
for news to reach ears.
"¡Ya vienen!"
Excitement and fear.
The rattling of cow bells
and galloping nears.
Men bait and dodge horns
and escape through doors
and up and over
red wooden bars.
Sticks beat on the concrete ground
and closer, louder, gallops sound.
Seconds away –
until the last,
he side steps into a house;
indoors,
apart,
he runs through the foyer
and up the stairs
around a corner
with long strides
too fast to follow.
She chooses left and
sings soprano
when doors won't budge
and
it
crashes
in.
She turns and the fear is paralysing.
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
"FERMIN!"
He hurdles the stairs
and explodes
but it rams her
to and fro,
thrashing her head
against the wall
where horns
sin and gore
cement and brick.
He clasps the tail
and heaves its hide from
side to side as
hooves smash
crates of wine -
they slip and slide
in fractured glass;
he finds a horn
and yanks the head!
He's yanked instead
near dead before the men
arrive down stairs
to punch and kick it;
strike and stick it
smack and hit it;
'til it
fits and quits
and flees the foyer,
fast and frantic,
flying flustered
by the frenzy,
finally finding
pattering
paves
it
peters
off
down
the
street.
"¿Que ha pasado?
¿Quien ha sido?
¡El Balbotin
y la Chicha!
¡Que una vaca
les ha pillado!"
"¿Estas bien?"
Dizzy she's there
with searching hands
and scolding.
"Podria haber sido peor"
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly
Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.
Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.
Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,
Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,
Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We
Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking
Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!
We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,
Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:
We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door.
20.5k
(1/15/13)
the human trafficker sells your body , sells your soul
they keep you under their control.
to them you are just a piece of meat
for humanity to sit and eat.
the younger the victim the easier to control
by the time they're teens- their spirit is cold.
no longer do they have the will to fight
it's become their way of life.
they never had a childhood or a family to love
or to even know what love's about
for their hearts and minds have been turned inside out.
fear is the only thing they know
and in their face it will show.
many are bought and put on the streets
if they don't meet their quota - they don't eat.
then there are those who are sold privatly
those are the ones that you never see.
most are girls - but there are boys
and they're all used as ****** toys.
we have to let all countries know
human trafficking has got to go.
(C) L . RAMS
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
(10/13/12)
At the beginning of “64” - I packed up my uniform
And walked out the door- it was the beginning of
The Vietnam war.
By August of that same year
President Johnson started the draft
Under protests and jeers.
Then he made it a full scale war
And sent our soldiers to Vietnam shores.
The Beatniks in Greenwich village
With their long hair, beards, and
Flip flop sandals - wrote their poetry
About this undeclared war, and why
Our men were going to those shores.
This created a new generation called ‘HIPPIES”
The hippie generation was groups of protesters
Against everything that they found wrong
The draft , the war , pollution
And loved to stay high with *** hashish
Coke and acid (lsd) which kept them blasted.
This also created the “ flower children”
Who like the hippies loved to be high
And on certain flowers they would fly.
But they spoke of loving one another
And gave out flowers as a sign of peace
Which to the president was a relief.
They all started painting this “53 Chevy impala”
With the words “ flower power”.
Now the “ flower children and hippie movement
Was in full swing, and everyone was doing their own thing.
They had Greenwich village under their control
And not one coffee shop would ever be sold.
Every coffee shop had a poetry night
And going there was such a delight.
Then in AUGUST of “69”
The WOODSTOCK festival was on the rise
Over half a million people drove to that farmland
And set up tents , hammocks, sleeping bags and such
And the police found it was much to much
So they had no choice but to see it through
Because there was nothing else that they could do.
The WOODSTOCK festival had become world wide
And to this day it still thrives.
© L . RAMS
Oct 13, 2012
Oct 13, 2012 at 11:17 PM UTC
(1/22/13)
a house is not a home- but just a place to rest your head
a house is not a home- when your heart and soul feels dead.
you go to that empty house with no one to greet you at the door
and with all the riches that you have-" you still feel poor".
riches don't buy happiness or fills that empty heart
it just makes you feel worse as it tears you apart.
you look around at the people who have so much less than you
but they have their loved ones and they know just what to do.
so you walk thru your empty house and you go from room to room
and in each one -all you feel is gloom.
you know that you have a heart-otherwise you would not feel what you do
and you know that you'll have to search for a love that will be true.
you sit on your chair and the tears flood your eyes
you're trying to be a man- you're trying not to cry.
but heartache has no preference as to who it will come to.
heartache is there to leave you sad and blue.
a house is not a home - you found that to be true
now the search begins -for someone to share their life with you.
(C) L . RAMS
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 9:31 PM UTC
The wheel of the quivering meat
conception
Turns in the void expelling human beings,
Pigs, turtles, frogs, insects, nits,
Mice, lice, lizards, rats, roan
Racinghorses, poxy bucolic pigtics,
Horrible unnameable lice of vultures,
Murderous attacking dog-armies
Of Africa, Rhinos roaming in the
jungle,
Vast boars and huge gigantic bull
Elephants, rams, eagles, condors,
Pones and Porcupines and Pills-
All the endless conception of living
beings
Gnashing everywhere in Consciousness
Throughout the ten directions of space
Occupying all the quarters in & out,
From supermicroscopic no-bug
To huge Galaxy Lightyear Bowell
Illuminating the sky of one Mind-
Poor!
I wish I was free
of that slaving meat wheel
and safe in heaven dead.
7k
they are soldiers fighting a war
across the ocean,
but their hearts are at home
seeking love and devotion.
love from our country,
devotion from their family.
that is all that they need.
they joined the military to
fight for what they believe
to defend from foes, seen and unseen
in their hearts we are the greatest nation
from the farmlands to the greatest plantations.
it does not matter if they're black or white
they will never give up freedoms fight.
we have people here from every nation
fighting for americas salvation
women have been the backbone in every war
death they've seen by the score.
the plains indian women who fought
alongside their men
it became a common trend.
joan of arc- who lifted the seige
in only nine days
the greatest role a woman could portray.
the uniform does not necessarilly
make her a soldier, but her heart
and strength that make her bolder.
bold enough to cover your back
and pick up all the slack
she will always be there in command
and pick up the rifle from the sand
she will do whatever she must
for in her you put your trust.
she is the female soldier, she stood her ground
of that we should all be proud.
give credit where credit is due
this is what i say to you.
louis rams :
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:46 PM UTC
(3/6/12)
His future had been laid- for he was a carpenter by trade.
Just as a carpenter can mold anything out of wood
He could mold mans hearts and souls into good.
He would mold mans hearts with accurate precision
For this was his fathers decision.
He came to mold all the hearts of mankind
And open the eyes of the blind.
The world would come to know him as the king of kings
And see all the love that he would bring.
Throughout the centuries it will be told
He is the master craftsman of the heart and soul.
Now when we feel a tingle of sensation
And a wanting to get more of inspiration
Look for the craftsman who could mold
The hearts and souls of man
To give you a helping hand.
when he made the heart of man
He left a corner deep within
Where the love for him can forever grow
And his love you could show.
Let all who know you - know this carpenter man
Who from evil he took his stand.
He has entered in you to mold you from the inside out
So you would know what loves about.
© L .RAMS
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
The morning finds the young lasses milking
And the young lads in the fields cutting
Rams, ewes, and lambs eat and grow fat.
The hens lay eggs while the roosters are strutting.
The sun rises up for his daily walk,
Drawing the day across the sky.
He takes his daylight with him to another place
Because the moon's time is nigh.
Evening falls across the heather
And the stars come out to dance.
The faerie folk come to life
And fill the night with their lyrical chants.
The mists on the moors swirl and caper about,
Taking rock and tree to embrace.
The faerie folk make merry and dance about
'Neath the silver of the moon's face.
They dance to music as old as time,
Melodies and rhythms from long ago.
Verses sung in ages long past,
Songs only faerie folk know.
They sing and dance under the moon and stars,
As long as the night covers them about.
But the moon and the faerie folk must go their ways
For 'tis time for the sun to come out.
Jul 17, 2011
Jul 17, 2011 at 3:48 PM UTC
they took my man off the street
the other day
he wore an L.A. Rams sweatshirt with
the sleeves cut
off
and under that
an army shirt
private first class
and he wore a green beret
walked very straight
he was black in brown walking shorts
hair dyed blonde
he never bothered anybody
he stole a few babies
and ran off cackling
but he always returned the infants
unharmed
he slept in the back of the
Love Parlor
the girls let him.
compassion is found in
strange places.
one day I didn't see him
then another.
I asked around.
my taxes are going to go up
again. the state's got to
house and feed
him. the cops took him
in. no
good.
4.3k
If you do a little housework every day
Then on the weekend you’ll have time to play
A housewife s work is never done
Working from morning to setting sun.
Sweeping, dusting and mopping, always moving
And never stopping.
Washing clothes and ironing too
So many things that you must do.
Then the cooking and doing the dishes
Picking up in back of the kids and feeding the fishes.
Then trying to look pretty for when your husband gets home
So at your tired appearance he won’t throw stones.
Then when your day is through, a CALGON bath is what you do.
(Calgon take me away)
Just lying in the tub to unwind, and in another hour you’ll be fine.
The comfort of your bed is looking so good
And you’re wondering if you should.
Then your husband has that gleam in his eye
And you’re hoping that he doesn’t try.
Then the comment was all it took, of how good you always look.
Then he holds you in his arms and releases all his charms
And makes all your aches and pains go away
And this ends the housewife s day.
© L. RAMS 032515
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
it does not matter if you're male or female
in the mind of a abuser
they will always prevail.
when you allow the abuse from the start
in you life, it becomes a part.
whether it's verbal or physical, it matters not
you let it start, and it won't stop.
the verbal can be more damaging than the physical
because it becomes daily.
like a sculptor chipping away at its mold
until it becomes the way that they want it to be.
and if you don't stop it
you will never be free.
they do it because of their own inadequacy.
which is something that their mind won't see.
how much abuse should you take
before it becomes much to late?
the verbal abuser will always put you to the ground
and expect you to not make a sound.
they will tell you that you was put here to serve.
and to make a move, you have no nerve.
that you must obey their every command
and that you are the **** of the land.
if you have no - or low self esteem
it is something which will be seen.
and when an abuser has you in their sight
no matter what you do, it won't be right.
STOP the abuse, before it's too late.
for this can not be your destined fate.
the verbal abuse will always start first
then from there, it will get worse.
YOU must walk away, so that they can see
a victim you will not be.
(abuse is like a broken tool, it could damage whatever is good)
louis rams
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 2:04 PM UTC
he Was an abusive man and led her by the hand
Took her to a room and beat her till she was black and blue
In fear she didn’t know what to do , so she called the
ABUSIVE HOTT LINE – they told her to come in and she’d be fine.
With this group there was no hesitation
They filled out the reports and took her to the police station.
A restraining order was filed to protect her and her child.
He had done this many times before and they let him walk out the door.
No others had filed charges against him and he’d walk out with a grin.
But with her he could not be within fifty yards
Otherwise he’d be charged.
The ABUSIVE LINE is open to everyone
Don’t wait till they have a gun.
The abuser wants to be in control of your mind, body and soul.
To them it’s the greatest power to control your every hour.
And put fear in your mind and keep you meek so you stay in line
No matter where you live you will find an ABUSIVE HOT LINE..
Reach out while you can and get yourself a helping hand.
© L . RAMS 041415
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
I saw her on a cold winter night
Her beauty made my heart take to flight
The loveliest woman my eyes had ever seen
She was my beauty – she was my queen.
Her eyes shone like the reflection off of the water
Blinding , hypnotic, putting me in a trance
All of this at first glance.
Her hair flowing in the wind
Like the beauty of an eagles wings in flight
Covering the sun from my sight.
She is a rose blooming in the winter snow
How that was possible – I’ll never know.
She is the rainbow high in the sky
Extending her beauty from one end to another
Like the love of a mother.
She is like the ocean – deep, dark, mysterious
Treacherous and yet calm and can take you
Deep into the depths of her soul, where she will keep
You and take hold.
Her beauty on that cold wintery night
Drained me from all my will and my might.
Beckoning me to join her in the snow
Freezing my heart with nowhere to go.
Her hands calling me to come to her side
And telling me:” my love is as pure as the white of this snow
Can’t you see it, please don’t go “.
I walk into the snow with my arms outstretched to her
Feeling her love pulling me in like the ocean pulling the sand
Taking me deep into a wonderland.
FINDING TRUE LOVE AT LAST!
© L. RAMS
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
Poets go blind from writing by moonlight,
But my artist smites the moon with her luminance,
I write by her subtle, cyan, rays
And would gladly go blind for, with her, my eyes find their fill quickly,
She is the unexpected wind bouncing off the water’s surface,
And my chest is the sail,
Lifted, pushed, expanded and fulfilled to its most righteous purpose,
If the world is a stage than she is the red velvet curtain,
Commanding a sway so slight and savory
That other rags rent and burn,
No matter how mesmerizing the performance is,
A sudden hush or vibrant ovation is demanded in her wake,
A sultry swirl of goddess and girl,
Too precious to be stored with other jewels,
Elegance with every hinting glance, every rowdy inhale,
And every placement of those sinister legs,
That rams would think twice to scale,
The bend in her back is the stroke of my oils,
The pout of her lips is scarlet meat to the lions,
And the feel of her hips sum up my surreptitious desires,
Like good jazz things seem to pull back
Before the cathartic crescendos,
But to put it bluntly dear, the next time you’re here,
It may pay to freshen up with a Mentos.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC
Lovers Passions (explicit)
We were lying naked in bed, covered in sweat
From feet to head.
The ********** we shared
Was far beyond compare.
Our bodies had become as one
In a fast rhythmical beat
Sending waves of passion
Ever so sweet.
Like the sky meeting the ocean
And you can’t see where one begins
And the other one ends.
For we became lovers
After becoming friends.
We was exhausted, and our minds
Became as blank as can be.
But our souls was released
And our hearts set free.
We never knew how beautiful
********** could be
Till I found you, and you found me.
It had created a passion deep inside
A passion that we couldn’t hide.
And as I laid on top of you
I knew just what I had to do.
I kissed your lips once again
As I caressed your face
I felt you tighten your warm embrace.
If I wanted to be inside of you
Then I would have to marry you
For we was meant to be
Living together eternally.
louis rams
Jul 11, 2013
Jul 11, 2013 at 8:14 PM UTC
do you like the feeling,
walking ahead quickly,
moving forward, loosening limbs.
pushing through wind,
through water, rain slanting.
shouting, counting the rams,
shadowing shepherd. wee
mouse on the path, beady
eyed. these are the hopeful days,
weak sun aching to shine.
these are the days, the marches.
after
idly chat to neighbours, to fetch
the dog, to dawdle, to wind
slowly down.
the snowdrops are out.
sbm.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
NFL Cleveland Rams
*They started out in Cleveland
Just some news for you
The Cleveland Rams the were called
Before they even moved
L.A. is where they grew up
Then Saint Louis they called home
But Cleveland was the very first
Just wanted you to know
The sports shows say they're going home
But we know that its not true
We sure do wish they'd come back
So we can win a game or two*
Yes the original L.A. Rams were actually the Cleveland Rams.
Poem by: Carl Joseph Roberts (Joe)
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC
Let’s stand up to those bullies who think
Gay bashing is fun.
If it happened to one of your family members
Would you stand up and fight? Or would you run?
If you found out it was your mother
Who liked the same gender.
Would you say something to offend her.
A 13 year old in Texas shot himself for being gay
Another 13 years old also hung himself.
And now a freshman from
Rutgers college jumped off the George Washington bridge
Because two people thought it was funny, so they
Taped him that day.
Gays have been around since the beginning of time
Open your eyes, you’re not blind.
They live, they work, they play, the same as you
And their lives they’ll give for their country too.
They don’t tell you who you can and can not love
These all come from up above.
If GOD had made us exactly alike
Then we would really argue and fight.
You would be making love to yourself
Because there would not be anything else.
How many more lives must be taken
Before you are really awakened.
Bullying doesn’t only apply to gay bashing.
People who talk down to you because
You may not be as smart, or as good looking
Or as slim as them.
Don’t you feel like they offend?
We are all at the bottom of that totem pole
Even the ones who think they’re in control.
Is Roy smarter than me? does Sheila
Have a better body than me?
Everyone has their doubts, but that’s
What life is all about.
So before you start to put anyone else down
Turn and look around
They may be talking about you
The same way that you want to do.
(c) LOUIS RAMS
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 12:29 PM UTC
this is for the graduation classes
homework again?
will this drudgery ever end?
what do they expect from someone like me
when i don't even know my a, b, c, s.
teachers tell me that i will fail.
and that they see me going to jail.
that i have no ambition.
i can't afford college tuition!
but i know that i must learn
otherwise my life will forever turn.
in this life there is no other way
so i must listen to what they say.
i must take away this negativity
just so that the teachers can see
that there is some hope for me.
everyone says that my future is in my hands
if i learn to take a stand.
so my nose i did put to the books
and paying attention is all it took.
my grades have started to soar so high
that my head i can put to the sky.
now i can finally see, that the
education is the best thing for me.
homework is still a drudgery!
and i may still complain
but my life will never be the same.
THANK YOU TEACHERS FOR KEEPING ME SANE.
louis rams :
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
The Poetry Barn wasn’t really a barn
It was merely an old farm house,
It sat on the acres of Eddington’s Farm,
Surrounded by sheep and by cows.
But Poets came over from Stuttersby Dell,
Drove over from Scatabout Wood,
To write in the air of the Poetry Barn
About things, when they ought and they should.
They came from Great Orton, they came from Rams Well,
They came from Glenn Wheatley and Grey,
The best and the worst of the poets you’d find
At the Poetry Barn, every day,
The rooms had been empty for many a year
So they all sat on bundles of straw,
And when they ran out they would send up a shout,
So some would go out and get more.
The mornings would see all the Elegies worked,
The Epics, the Odes and Quatrains,
The Poetry Barn would then grumble and groan
As the Dirges would enter the drains.
By noon the fair Sonnets came into their own
With just the odd wanton Lament,
When poets would seek out the culprit to find
One grinding his verse in a tent.
By evening they’d work on the Pastoral,
The Sestet, the Roundel as well,
And those at a loss after losing the toss
Would be stuck with the old Villanelle,
They’d all settle down when the Moon came up round,
And the stars twinkled boldly in rhyme,
When one asked the other, ‘pray, what rhymes with brother,’
And he’d say, ‘your Mom, all the time.’
The poems would stick to the inside walls,
Would tear at each other like knaves,
They’d fill up the aisles and lie flat on the tiles
And would damage the old architraves.
At night you could hear all the horses hooves
As they carried the good news to Aix,
And in came the wedding guest, him with the albatross
Counting his many mistakes.
I saw that they’d burned down the Poetry Barn
With one sad, incendiary rhyme,
A poet called Glover who wrote to his lover
‘My candle, you light all the time.’
The straw caught alight in his lover’s delight
And they fled from that bastion of verse,
I just penned this missal for someone to whistle,
The one that he’d written was worse.
David Lewis Paget
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 6:25 AM UTC
She bore no children of her own, because her insides
Were turned to stone.
She had been abused so much before, till she walked out the door.
A woman who was as timid as a mouse, beaten and abused by her spouse.
How much more can you take, before it becomes much too late?
He was abusive in every way and she knew she could not stay.
She recalled the threat that he had said
If you leave I’ll hunt you down and bury your bones in the ground
She had to beat him at his own game; otherwise her life would stay the same
And she had to put a plan in action that would meet her satisfaction.
No one believed that she was being beaten for he was able
To leave her with no scars or black and blues, and she knew just what to do.
She saved her money and had camcorders put all around that
Could record every move and sound
When he came home drunk that night and started to abuse her and fight
All the recorders were at work recording every punch and ****
When he left for work the next day, she took it to the police
So they could watch it play.
That was all that they needed to arrest him on site
With the news she jumped with delight’
She filed for divorce and started a new life
Remarried and is living a good life.
© L. RAMS 120614
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
You trapezoid my heart
While I'm a spider who gets caught
A rhombus who rams butts...
A square who has perfect sides
A rectangle who is tall
A triangle who sometimes can cave in has pointy top
A hexagon a guy who can be edgy
A circle that has an endless loop of love care & passion
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 6:03 PM UTC
*Love is like the wind,
So just keep rushing in.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 12:07 AM UTC
I put the dream catcher at the head of my bed
Where bad dreams dare not treed.
It captures just my good dreams and hopes and prayers
And with the angels it is shared.
What better carrier than an angel with wings
Who can handle most anything.
Your prayers and dreams have been seen and heard
Every dream and every word.
The dream catcher must start again
Because your dreams may never end.
© L. RAMS 020415
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC