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"randal" poems
You sit next to Randal By the river. He brings Out the postcards he’d Bought. Best send one To your mother, he says, Don’t want her worrying About you and how you’re Doing. You take the offered Postcard and put in on your Knees. Amsterdam. Randal’s Been here before, he knows The place well. Came last Year with the French girl. You wonder why he dropped Her soon after their return. Maybe she wouldn’t let him Or maybe she did too often And that put him off. You Look at the picture on the Front of Amsterdam at dawn. Ann Frank’s Haus yesterday. You remember that. Haunted You; you felt some aspects Of her were still there. What To write to Mother? Why bother? Part of you thinks, she’ll look Between the lines, see things That aren’t there, imagine things, Suggest you did this and that. She never trusts. Randal writes His scribble fast, usual crap: Weather, food, whatever. He’ll Not write to say he shafted you Twice the other night between Hot sheets. His parents don’t Know him; think him so sweet And clever. Shaft girls, smoke **** Never. You take a biro From your bag and neatly write. Dear Mother, we are well and Enjoying the sights (guess what We do at nights? Leave that out) And the weather’s fine and food Is plentiful and yes, I do change My underclothes each day and yes, We have separate beds in the hotel. (Lies are cheap) you pause. Randal Has done, he licks a stamp, presses It onto the back. Finished? He asks, Placing his hand on your knee, giving A squeeze, sending a buzz between Your knees. You smile, nod, and Hand him the card. He reads and Shakes his head and grins. All lies, He says, and all those hidden sins.
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Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
ALICE IN AMSTERDAM
You sit next to Randal By the river. He brings Out the postcards he’d Bought. Best send one To your mother, he says, Don’t want her worrying About you and how you’re Doing. You take the offered Postcard and put in on your Knees. Amsterdam. Randal’s Been here before, he knows The place well. Came last Year with the French girl. You wonder why he dropped Her soon after their return. Maybe she wouldn’t let him Or maybe she did too often And that put him off. You Look at the picture on the Front of Amsterdam at dawn. Ann Frank’s Haus yesterday. You remember that. Haunted You; you felt some aspects Of her were still there. What To write to Mother? Why bother? Part of you thinks, she’ll look Between the lines, see things That aren’t there, imagine things, Suggest you did this and that. She never trusts. Randal writes His scribble fast, usual crap: Weather, food, whatever. He’ll Not write to say he shafted you Twice the other night between Hot sheets. His parents don’t Know him; think him so sweet And clever. Shaft girls, smoke **** Never. You take a biro From your bag and neatly write. Dear Mother, we are well and Enjoying the sights (guess what We do at nights? Leave that out) And the weather’s fine and food Is plentiful and yes, I do change My underclothes each day and yes, We have separate beds in the hotel. (Lies are cheap) you pause. Randal Has done, he licks a stamp, presses It onto the back. Finished? He asks, Placing his hand on your knee, giving A squeeze, sending a buzz between Your knees. You smile, nod, and Hand him the card. He reads and Shakes his head and grins. All lies, He says, and all those hidden sins.
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who knows who rows a boat afloat somthing is in my throat i think its a boat il just use the best medication around oo is makin dat sound??????????? o wait, me just high as de sky my could fly to Janice meri's ouse but me wont because me to lazy relax, it aint halifax its remax max get out of here mon and take your stupid wax candle me dont like wax candles dis be a big scandle? no mon its just me, raldal sorry randal dis tin look like a guitar
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Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:28 AM UTC
ow many fish is under de ice?
This was something fun I wrote in high school: Everyday of school is boring Except when you're in H's class Usually he's singing Britney really loud Or making sarcastic jokes But the thing students love about him Is that he makes fun of everyone There's; Randal, Cassius, and Shorty And some who can't take a joke What I like most is my last name And how no one I know can pronounce it But when someone says it right, it just annoys me Not Mr. H, no not him He says it wrong, Just to make me happy
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Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 9:37 PM UTC
Names
Remembering the game I couldn't tell you. But the hot dog, peanuts, ******* jacks and soda was there. I didn't understand the rules as I listened to the commentator. The calming voice and discussions between each pitch. Remembering the game I couldn't tell you. But being able to go to Ozone Park to see my grandparents. I didn't understand the rules as I listened to the commentator. As I sat on the floor in their living room with grandmas chocolate pudding. Remembering the game I couldn't tell you. But being able to watch my friends play softball at Randal Park. I didn't understand the rules and there was no commentator. As I was nominated to be the catcher for just a moment or two. Remembering the game I couldn't tell you. But as I once again can relax somewhat in my head laying in bed. I didn't understand the rules as I listened to the commentator. The calming voice on the other end was just as calming too. CMH
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May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 5:50 AM UTC
Remembering The Game
As she swayed to the tide of music nobody heard The ghostly rhythms of my own forgotten soul caught FIRE Tap dancing tenaciously on the tightrope of the void Calling forth cascading cataracts, callousing over the mind, a cacophony of Mallards, flying south for the winter, NEVER AGAIN TO SEE THEIR MOTHERS. She tied my brain into a rope and swung across the chasm Laughing like a Mameluke who had just discovered his feet. The camel was left behind at the gate The Babble went on till the break of dawn Till it stopped. And collapsed. And felt weak as a Sunday Noon Tide Carolers Bunchcake, Fun and Dry, Severing again and again the Hair twine Randal Slappy Blimp map candy man Cadillac attack A BOTTLE OF WINE AND TWO LEFT FEET LATER A scumaladdoodalla frigate-splayed poodle-cups When finally she agreed to let me into her preschool I had already given up the hope of ever having a career in the arts. Bean friends. Are the only friends. That accompany you. To heaven.
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Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 3:50 AM UTC
A dance for Two
Is it ******* cold in here or is it just the lies they steer your mind to fear with know you cannot see it or believe this truth I spit sounds too familiar to the pulpit calling Satan the culprit of lust ego sin all of it you just fall for it like that's all there is not realizing that all of creation is His YHWH is His name so the scriptures say though you may think it's been passed down falsely to your dismay there's a side differing see Titus did write this history Roman in a tome and he talked of Jesus Christ getting hung up on the cruc-a-fix He walked with how Pontius talked with high priests over Passover feast to hand over the seed sower heavenly kingdom grower the only One to the Father show-er even Jewish Scribes describe of Yehoshua's vibe was in their eyes that of a magician so don't be dissin miracles or call the Holy Spirit unclean at all that's the biggest sin of all If I recall any of you cowering away from this Jew because of what I say just pipe up so I can brush off the dirt from my sandals and walk along His way Know I ain't no snitch Randal just a vandal making candles you can't handle light too bright blind your sight like right away back to the cave so your chained brother's you can save Just in these waters making waves I can tell we ain't quaint by how you behave
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Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
Untitled
I see thou walking over there, With a single rose in thine hand, Hafst thou loved another, Just as I hafst loved thee? Why, Randal, must thou leave me so? I hafst been nothing but good to thee. I prepare thy food, watch thy children. I hafst done everything thou hath asked of me. My heart aches for thee. Thou hafst pricked it with a thorn. For thou hafst cast me aside. I guess thou hafst never truly loved me. Thou know me the best. All my dreams and fears. What I value the most. How shall I live without thee?
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Nov 15, 2018
Nov 15, 2018 at 10:56 AM UTC
Love Scorned