A mob boss for president…
Yikes! That's what we've got--
One who profits from crime
Without a second thought;

Who keeps his family close by;
Who's close to each paisano;
Who looks less like a Lincoln,
And more like Tony Soprano;

Who praises convicted felons,
And pardons them as well;
Who cares less about country
And more about his cartel.

Loyalty is his mantra.
His underlings owe him all.
He sounds like a mobster when
His back's against the wall.

He'll rip you a new one if
You ever decide to flip
And prove that you're a rat,
Or try to give him the slip.

"Flipping should be illegal,"
He brazenly repeats.
Without it he knows there'd be
More crooks on the streets.

A power-hungry bully:
It's his goal to be one.
Listen to his rhetoric:
"I know a rat when I see one."

His fixer threatens reporters
And does the boss's bidding.
But when he seeks revenge,
The boss isn't kidding!

Driven by ambition,
Egomania and greed,
He lets mob ethics guide him
To always take the lead.

He's the kind of guy
You read about in books.
Watch how he surrounds
Himself with other crooks.

Those who cooperate
With law enforcement will find
That he retaliates
If ever he's maligned.

Top decision maker,
He gets such a thrill
Promoting or demoting
Anyone at will.

Having a no-good mob boss
As leader strikes a nerve
Because it's hard to accept
That that's what we deserve.

-by Bob B (8-25-18)

Look at you
Look at what you've become
You think this is happiness
Her under your thumb
Her resolve breaking down
The parts used to fix your life
Her medium of release
The blade of a knife
This is abuse
In its emotional sense
Using sadness and anger to manipulate and hence
It doesn't take much
To bring a state of vex
This relationships a cycle
Of pain and ***
*** only providing a temporay relief
Before our eyes are opened
To the strife and grief
Yet she defends you
Once said its problems at home
With each word in your defense
I think Stockholm, Stockholm
Since her resolve is crumbling
To ashes and dust
I ask myself whether its love or lust
Lust its loss
A fear of losing control
Like you did with another
Like you did as a whole
Thats why she"s your second
Thats why you're with her
A girl who never argues
Retaliates or infers
So you can remain in control
Keep her in a drone like state
Where her spirit is in your hands
Where you decide her fate
So I write this poem with the hope
That she will find
That a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind

You say I'm
'Too nice' to love.
What kind of farce is that?

How mean
Do I have to be
To earn your affection?

Should I insult you?
Should I **** you?
Should I beat you?
Should I nearly **** you?

These are harsh words.
But these are what you want.
You'd forgo loving
A protector
To let
A Threat
Beneath your sheets.

No matter how many women say it,
'Too nice'
Does not exist.

Let me ask this.
What is
'Too mean'
To you?

You obviously want someone unlike me.
You want someone who holds grudges and retaliates against you?
That's not me.
You want someone who verbally threatens and insults you daily?
That's not me.
You want someone who'll bash your brains out?
That's definitely not me.

Try those out if you want.

Come back to me
When you need your wounds tendered.
There's no way you're coming back whole.

I'd grab a knife and let it tear through my flesh
to rip out this inner strife if it wouldn't lead to my death.
My soul shivers he beats on his chest in fact that's why I breathe
on this ****** to try and relax. My mind is stretched to the max
my head needs to detach, my soul needs to eject.
Hotheaded armed with an icepick.
Hacking away at this ice that my spine grips.
My thoughts are confined in a space as small as my iris
and I'm behind iron bars of anxiety that I constantly have to fight with.
I've become a mass murderer, locked in a psychiatric ward as I **** my parts within, erasing my kin, the ink from the teardrops darkens my skin.
Fallen to sin. My world in the dark. A void shaped like a heart.
Yet this Tinman retaliates against the wizard of Oz!
My torch an everburning question mark
answers? That's the past but Life throwing hooks so I HAVE to dodge.
Hits exit Pause-my-world which I create so I can spit back in the face of God!

You awoke a sleeping giant, a savage beast, a lion
My soul roars everytime you see me sighin
I won't ignore these tidings
A frozen force is rising
Close to war my broken core redefines defiance.

So I will stand my ground and fight
go bar for bar with life.
Proudly wear these battlescars
you'll be astounded by my might
A star upon my sky
My reach is long and wide
You see I'm strong you're weak and wrong
I no longer hide
Because I don't have a mind
I am guided by the light
my sight set on my rage
replace my blood with hate
bleed and rust and easily crush
this tyrant in my cage.

I arose to the scent of ashes.
A quick peak out the window and I see the sun.
It's closer to the earth than the moon now.
The giant orb in which it forms watches;
haunting me.
Telling me to come closer.
I shut the blinds and it retaliates.
Bursting from the soft yellow
to charred oranges and blacks,
the beads of sweat between its pores
yelling at me.
The shock in my face that I am playing roulette,
that I am playing with fate, never fades.
And in those few seconds between then and now
I realize that I am in the middle of death.
My life cycle is just another inevitable sorrow,
surrounded by two barriers leading to pain.
So I step back,
From the window sill.
I crawl back into my dreams.
Where the time seems to disperse
at all of my requests.

Having been lost in eyes not meant to be found
Bound tightly emotions not meant to surround
The margin that fractions insaneness and Love
That outlines and contours the one I speak of

That borders the patterns defining her face
That playfully teases a careful retrace
That courses her body through each of her curves
And serves now as comfort for unsettled nerves

For now feeling lingers eager to embrace
The space it was once deemed unfit to encase
Through chance and through cryptical forces above
Love's passion retaliates through Destiny's shove

And the push with its knowledge finds in second round
Only loosely leashed are emotions unbound
And with unfirm restraint, and her tentative sighs
Surprised both are we to be lost in our eyes

Dream.
Scape.
Escape.
Elevate.
Plunder.
Function.
Reload.
Miss.
N­o order when chaos retaliates so swiftly.
Guiding hands into the venomous pits.
Where a soul once was housed.
supposedly.
Its only in this abyss.
This land was supposed to be...
Anything but what it is.
When did the guidelines for creation becomes so blurry.
Wicked temptations.
Impregnate even the most righteous.
One of the fallen nights has come to take the warmth.
For this son shall never rise.
A slumber that stretches beyond hindsight.
And digresses into.
Paralyzed Resistance.

I would like to wrap my words around this page-
outstretch my arms so I can hold up the stage below me
tell it-
tell everyone
things will not be this bad for too much longer..
But I've never really been much of a liar
just a melancholy toned razor tongue
with a quick wit and keen punchlines
I am all and I am nothing in the same breath.
Breathe. I try to track how many I take
but there's too much breathing and not enough oxygen
these arms are now making me choke
held too tightly around this stage
that has become my throat
these words are slipping
they have become my will, my oath
my proof that something exists
and as it is all drifting and drifting
I am reminded-
nothing does.
My mind plays tricks on itself
my left brain likes to tie a lasso around my right
until all of the creativity is squeezed beneath my toes
under a microphone,
in front of a laptop,
for everyone to see
and laughs when it realizes this is all I have.
Then my right brain retaliates
excellerates into oblivion
and becomes one with my anxiety
it speeds up everything in my thinking process I own
until I am the one-
spinning and swerving and crashing
until I am the one-
manic and crying and thinking about death
and it laughs when I'm clutching my legs again
when it thinks it's won the battle
and see I wake up everyday and fight.
There is no beautiful music to play-
no genre to this madness
You can spin me like I'm on a record player
and watch me slowly turn.
There is no going backwards for me
only forward and repeat
and my history sounds a little like
a skipped disk in the CD slot
because you keep replaying the same parts
over and over and o-over and o-o-o-o-ver again.
This cycle plays on repeat for days on end
until eventually everyone gets tired of it
and it's thrown away-
These arms let go.
I am left speechless again.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting
for the soft spoken tap of the keys to reel me back in
whispering a string quartet of desire and longing
only to watch my mind begin the game again.
Gaining only scratches on my surface-
Skip me.
I don't wanna play anymore.

An imagined being,
The mitigated reality,
Beset on all sides,
Makes you wither,
in comparison,
to the deception,
To enhance the enviournment aboutnd,
that fits upon themselves the wworld,
Under watch,
kept under lock and key,
the universal truths,
hidden under their *******,
the single timeless entity,
That turns the world over,
in onto itself,
keels into oblivion,
touching back to the abdominal,
fact that it retaliates,
fought behind reason,
Love behind common sense,
The world undone,
By the limitless one,
The being that lasts,
Something,
Beauty,
In repetition,
Found to be prevalent,
In excessive inquiry,
What's and Who's and Why's,
It means no difference,
When facts speak for themselves,
Examples are found in the outside,
Shuddering ample reflections
In the tide pool,
Spiraling.

Take your strong arm
And blow your horns,
Every man is a bunker
And each battle - a war

The choice is yours,
You can’t hide,
The choice is yours,
You will die,
The choice is yours,
They will lose,
The choice is yours,
Your life is used

You and me,
It’s a matter of utility,
Your burning flesh
Lights the straw
Leading to our barn,
This choice isn’t hard

Carry us away,
Our torn bodies
Manipulate,
Our collective grave
Retaliates,
Let your mask
Be your face

Mexico has greasy tacos & Charo, the prince of England has the royal Will (with a capitol W) that comes from being the son of the queen of England. Mexico needed a dose of English reality. The prince of England decided to visit Mexico in person as Mexican operative Spiro T. Lopez. The rain was hot & wet when “Spiro” burst into the president of Mexico's bedroom. “Who are you?!” The president demanded to know in Mexican. ~ “I'm the prince of England and I order your immediate surrender so that you can stand trial in England for war crimes against everybody!” Spiro answered. ~ “No way,” the president said as he committed suicide.
   The prince of England eulogized the president 3 days later: “Though as prince of England, the president & I had our disagreements, I know that he's looking down from heaven as an angel.” ~ The Mexican people voted the next day to give all their money to the queen & to the prince of England forever because it's what Jesus would do if He were alive today.

Only words will keep my head above water as I drown in my thoughts and feelings. When does the vicious cycle of words turning into wounds turning into spears that stab your heart and your voice then retaliates with words that turn into wounds... when does it end? I keep these feelings of defeat to myself because they need not be spoken in order to be heard. Just look into my eyes and you will see behind the tears that my heart has been robbed of the love that it has given so selflessly, never to have gotten it back in return... For love I would not give my life but for the one I love would my life be turned in for.
I would lay down my life if only my words would be heard because they are what give me my life and had I not have words with which to articulate my heart, so I would not have any life worth living. If my words were as lost as I was, I would be nothing, but it is because I am lost that my words have merit. Should I be found and in my words find myself, then my words and therefore my life will be of worth.
But if nothing comes of it, then I know that I still did my best to convey the messages that pass my mind on a daily basis and the fact that I even transposed my thoughts onto a piece of paper will be worth something. So if something that was lost is now found to never have been lost before, it only simply needed to be discovered, then these words will find purpose and break that cycle of the ones that constantly get caught in the whirlpool of water and broken glass and be arranged in a stained window that the sun will shine through and give just a little bit of clarity among the chaos.

A voice speaks...

You hate me.
Yes.
You do not play with me anymore.
You do not think me *worthy.
You do not recognize yourself.
Do you not see what is inside You?

You answer, 'I do, I choose not to give you power.'

And yet you spend your days in the decadence of war, sorrow, suffering, jealousy, anger, death,
and with all that, I grow inside you.
Bit by bit, breath by breath, every single second...
I flourish in the dark of your heart.
The abyss where you stack your loneliness.

Know your true self.
Face me now, in this dark hour,
or I will devour you.

The light in you retaliates...
You protest, 'You are not a part of me.'

I am a part of you, a part of all that lives.
Why do you hate what gives you power?
You do not think me worthy...

You brace yourself to face this self,
a part of you...
The flame in your veins burns brighter;
A new resolve...
You say, 'I do recognize you..
Yes.
You are a part of me.
But you have no power over me.
Through patience, compassion, courage, bravery, serenity, and all the light that flows to positivity,
I gather my strength and I control you.
You do not control me.
You are that dark part,
deep inside, where you claim to stay;
And you will live there always,
For I reject you.

You are a mere reflection of my hubris
and the shadow of my soul.

*The beast is me, and I am the beast.
To deny you simply gives you power.'

why do men die for other men ?
what compels them to give up their lives for the lives of their fellow men ?

is it love ? is it duty ? or is it just plain madness ? is it that bond of blood ? or a promise to be better ? or is it simply what being a human is ?


the same men capable of destroying a million lives in pursuit of their own ideology ? the same men who for the purpose of their own greed and need can ignore the very definitions of civility and liberty and justice.


can we still call them men ?


what is happening at this hour in this nation, a nation which is thousands of years old and in making; isn't different from what has happened in the past and unfortunately that is going to happen in the unsuspecting future.

people are turning to an ideology that not only imprisons the free bird in the sky, but also retaliates if it so chooses to lay on a different branch.

diversity isn't celebrated anymore, but rather is frowned upon by the masses, who believe that past holds no relevance over the future.

acceptance, and the very creed upon which the great men who came before us, and made us who we are today - their legacy and wisdom is being demolished, like cards in the winds; and just like the structures of the ancient, for they no longer are painted with the colours we are familiar with today.


sheep and wolves alike, are being chased by the blood hounds, cornering every whisper with words of the system, a system that has been diseased from the inside, infecting the very veins of this great nation that has stood the test of age and it's many a poisons for millennia and more.


bit by bit the great walls of knowledge and of the enlightened spirits are being razed down by a mere fool in different costumes, performing in a circus build upon the ashes of the innocent and the innocence of the communities that now long for blood.


the very nature of this great and grave divide, is unnatural, passed down by the same set of hands that once pulled the chains and carried with them - forcefully, a plight of millions, suppressed and then set aside fanatically, all in the name of a devotional creed.

lizards in boxes pretending to be voices of the free and humane, casting their spells on the fragile and a blind audience, numb by all the back and forth between the gods, and as always, only the peasant suffers.


how many more homes must vanish before we realise there's no magic in the disappearing of colours, and the despairing remains of the one's gone, painted across the streets in black and white, begging for somebody to give them their proper funeral.

it is men who take life, animals don't **** for their sins, they never have, for they don't know what it's like to be tamed by fire.

they'd rather burn, than become more like us.

maybe that tells it all, and maybe that is why, the devil may have horns and hoofs, but it never haunts and hunts the wild.


we are what we love, but we become who we hate, always - in the end, until something worse comes around to make things better.

I constantly talk to myself. Calming myself down because I am at that point: the breaking point.
I gradually shift between reality and fantasy as though I was a trauma patient dipping in and out of consciousness.
I drug myself yet my body retaliates back like a bush fire, I am so lost. So alone.
I can’t even breathe: I can’t think. I can’t sleep. I can’t live.
I wonder....... how did I get here? I used to have everything under control. I used to be sane.
I now feel like I am a failure, caught at this crossroad where loosing is my only option.
I look back and see people cheering me on, I look to my side and I see my own ghost.
With my mouth agape, I gaze at the pale figure, distraught and condemned.
I see disappointment. I am engaged to failure and married to death.
I no longer see the thin line between hate and fate.
Looking back I think I want to play god, I want to be god.
God in this moment, in this era that I am facing. I am like the scorched earth.
I cry out for a single drop, a single drop of faith, hope and redemption.
Dear god if you ever existed, this is me calling out: this is me giving me up.
If not then let me call the angel of death, let me die from this dark cloud.
Let me die from this wonder. Let me die before I get to meet my ghost.
Let me die before disappointment says his vows; let me die before I die.
I am tired of dreaming a dream that is an illusion. Even dishonesty couldn’t sell the lie to me.

amniotic caves. brushing up and flavors darting round your tongue.
     dancing and
          fresh soft and smelling like snow they
               melted in the sunlight of your eyes.

                                       eye am sound.

a birth a vacancy pushed. major arteries walled surrealist retaliates so often shot subtle and then rearranged.

can you hear me?

                               from out of the ooze eye return.
begin.

I start to wonder if you're really here,
if these times you treat me nice
are because you can't do it with her.
I try to hide the fact it is ingrained inside of my retinas
and the words you painted on that screen for her-
I wish they were mine.
Subtext and undertones tell my mind
to be cautious of these nice words you feed me.
I'm afraid I'm just your comfort,
your backbone because she used to be yours
but she broke you and left you crippled
and now I'm afraid of being your crutches.
If she ever comes back,
I am worried I will not see the daylight anymore
worried your smile will be
the light at the end of my tunnel
and without it I will be wilting and withered away.

It would be nice to think it a dream,
it would be nice to pretend it's just anxiety
but I feel it in my gut when you're with me
the pangs in my stomach remind me
of words you never said to me
and feelings you've never felt for me.
It would be nice to think it a dream.

But the reality of it is
the weakness in my bones
retaliates on my strength
and my mind becomes the biggest
contender of my downfall
and then there is you
and then there is her
and somewhere in the middle there's me.
I'm never where I want to be
with you is where I want to be
but in your mind I'm the next best thing.

safe to say it's sinking in-
reality has caught up to me
and I don't think I can be this person.
Wilting and withering at the thought
of those words not being mine.
You made it up to me-
but I haven't dove in.
Seems more like I'm jumping ship,
seems like I forgot to swim.
Save me
I'm not sure I exist anymore.

I write a piece remastered as though
To make love. It is when my poem engages
And at the same time disengages,
Where the reader keeps wanting, and
Bare, barely, retaliates.

So the poet was a man
And the reader was a woman.
When I write, I hold
And hold her hips.
And the pull was the pull
Of the lips of our kiss.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The challenge of identity
is the blade with two sides
labels meant to illustrate
turning back to decimate

revelation splits the veil
slicing barriers that separate
what was concealed is now revealed
when the knife expands a life

the other edge cuts the hand
when the world retaliates
rejecting the acknowledgment
asking glove now ****** print

at the end the Valkyries
will decide the battle’s end
when the sword seeking peace
turns to fatal injury.

© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180607.

On the move
warily
there are tigers out there
watching me,

flames that flicker in
tigers eyes
build into
bonfires.

But suddenly it
becomes a desert
still,
just waiting

I eat honey for
energy
the bee sees me
and retaliates
angrily

stung by this
I slink
home.

I took a swig of too much of something
And in my veins, it retaliates and swirls and
Stabs and yells quite menacingly,
Quite vigorous, quite furious and happy,
Delusional mostly but too sober to ever
Doubt, deny,  or chastise:

Girl, what have you done!

You’ve rocked this ship and now it’s
Sunk.
Or if not so then nearly so!
Or about to!
Or if not those - then it set aflame.

Girl, you made a big mistake!

You’ll pay for fire in your blood.
You’ll pay for me,
Your desire - and infamy.
I bask in it, I am it.

Your love - like poison in mud.
It seeps, it’s swallowed,
Devoured,
And once done,
Becomes one.

I'm shy to shiver, cry me a river, but deliver my silver, it was my company shunning me in the month we had slithered, this Earth will quiver, but I bicker to eliminate quicker, though it retaliates by gravitating traps till I'm sicker, so it gets richer, I picture me alone with a hitcher, I wish to ditch her, never kiss her, glitch, stitch and then ***** her, but who's the tricker?, my scripts or just the fact that she's thicker with all my flickers, predictable, this chick is just slicker.

D.T.:
"All of this impeachment talk
Is really getting on my nerves.
My strategy to thwart it doesn't
Get the attention it deserves.

"Let's see….What can I do?
Ah, yes! Create a distraction.
If I can start a war somewhere,
That would surely get a reaction!

"A war with China, North Korea,
Russia? No! Out of the question.
A messy war with Iran might do it.
Now THAT would be my best suggestion!

"I'll take out the number two
Person in the Iranian scene.
Then I'll get my staff to help me
Oil my propaganda machine.

"Bush succeeded in making up
Stories of weapons of mass destruction.
I'll convince my base at least,
For I'm an expert at seduction.

"We will say that Soleimani
Was a dangerous, imminent threat.
If Iran retaliates,
That is something they'll regret.

"So if hundreds of thousands die,
To me my plan has great appeal.
In any war there's bound to be
Collateral damage. No big deal.

"It's time for me to make a decision,
For we're approaching zero hour.
It's amazing what you can do
When you have tons of power.

"Impeachment talk will fade away
After I start my war with Iran.
But first I have to make a call
To see what Putin thinks of my plan."

-by Bob B (1-7-20)