"reworded" poems
all of
America’s
gubmint hatin
yahoos, pining
to get their
country back,
should grab
yer rifles, stock
up on ammo
and giddy up
down to Texas
to join the
secessionists
headin out
of the Union
Rick Perry
promises to
keep his promise
to close all the
gubmint departments
he can't remember
the names of
Ron Paul will
finally be liberated
from the tyranny
of his federal
paycheck and
can return to
his district to
practice medicine
unencumbered
by the acceptance
of medicare
payments
Ted Cruz will
move to coronate
his Cuban born
daddy as Viceroy
for life of the
western hemispheres
newest banana
republic
the last act of
of the Compartment
of Education will be
to turn every
public school
into a Holy Ghostin
Jehovah meetin
house
Judicial magistrates
will criminalize
poor people
or just make
them slaves
and all prisons
will be turned
into profit driven
plantations,
overseen by
the local
Sheriffs who
will be paid
time and a
half and 15%
of all profits
unfortunately
the Cowboy’s
will lose it’s
moniker as
America’s Team
if rattlesnake
booted
Jerry Jones
can’t make a
deal to turn
his stadium
into a sovereign
independent
territory as a
protectorate
of the USA
To assure
national purity
Texans will
build a Jericho
style wall to
define the boundaries
of their heavenly
kingdom and outlaw
all trumpet playing
within earshot
of their perturbed
borders
The Eyes of
Texas as the
state anthem
will need to
be reworded
The final stanza
will be changed
to "Until Gabriel
blows his nose"
keepin the ungodly
out and the chosen
people safely
insulated within
the shining
Lone Star State
will rise again
as a solitary
confederacy
of dunces
Music Selection:
The Eyes of Texas
Oakland
11/18/13
jbm
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
My spirits to attend this double voice accorded,
And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
Which fortified her visage from the sun,
Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
The carcass of beauty spent and done:
Time had not scythed all that youth begun,
Nor youth all quit; but, spite of heaven's fell rage,
Some beauty peep'd through lattice of sear'd age.
Oft did she heave her napkin to her eyne,
Which on it had conceited characters,
Laundering the silken figures in the brine
That season'd woe had pelleted in tears,
And often reading what contents it bears;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd woe,
In clamours of all size, both high and low.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:56 PM UTC
prayer of hope, for young and old, who suffer from the slings and arrows sadness and the loss of love; I offer up this prayer of hope and offer you my hand around your shoulders until you no longer require it
more than once,
for lengthy periods,
by events, other people,
my self was eradicated
and limping from day
to night, and J faced
absolutes, choices choking,
alternating alternatives that
offered zero, or even less
than zero, and the inkwell
wasn't refillable, and I could
point to nothing yet encouraging a mystifying purposed existence
then came a woman
who asked nor proffered
conditionals
pre, prior post or otherwise
and
offered up the miraculous
drink, human kindly notice,
snd it
drained the bitters,
began fluid replacement,
and slow resuscitation
and then
poems rebirthed me,
liberated the angry sacred
gory sadness words devoid of glory,
with a reworded score, and
the eyes could write without
a patina filter of jaundiced hatred,
and whispered private internally
many times a beloving
hallelujah
and when ever the remembrance of
the near misses are crackly occasionally appearing, the surge dissipates intact quick
into a netherworld for suppressing
and bid "away with you," and a
thin lipped smile part sneer
for having survived
even
prospered when
then came a woman
and the self, the my self,
returned
after an absence of destructed
decades...deadening decades
and I smile when
the grandchildren tell me
knock knock jokes
and gently knock me on the head,
to make sure I'm alert,
then came woman
who had already~all ready
knocked me on the
heart
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 9:32 AM UTC
I wasn't always good with words
until I learn they can be manipulated
stripped for parts,
treated,
reworded and planted as if sod,
sound the same,
rebuilt like a cars:
thesauruses are essentially junk yards,
they allow you to play tennis with your mind
they can replace signs,
are intimidated by the weak
yet rejoiced by the blind,
and --
in the end
I know words can do more than just rhyme
they chime in during chimes and relate simple parking tickets
to fines,
politicians use them as smoke screens
with words
I can metaphorically call them ninja’s
the way they evade questions and attack with their sharp tongues
so I won
well -- I'm winning the battle with words,
just know I can curse you now
without saying a curse
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
prayer of hope, for young and old, who suffer from the slings and arrows sadness and the loss of love; I offer up this prayer of hope and offer you my hand around your shoulders until you no longer require it
more than once,
for lengthy periods,
by events, other people,
my self was eradicated
and limping from day
to night, and J faced
absolutes, choices choking,
alternating alternatives that
offered zero, or even less
than zero, and the inkwell
wasn't refillable, and I could
point to nothing yet encouraging a mystifying purposed existence
then came a woman
who asked nor proffered
conditionals
pre, prior post or otherwise
and
offered up the miraculous
drink, human kindly notice,
snd it
drained the bitters,
began fluid replacement,
and slow resuscitation
and then
*poems rebirthed me,
liberated the angry sacred
gory sadness words devoid of glory,
with a reworded score, and
the eyes could write without
a patina filter of jaundiced hatred,
and whispered private internally
many times a beloving
hallelujah
and when ever the remembrance of
the near misses are crackly occasionally appearing, the surge dissipates intact quick
into a netherworld for suppressing
and bid "away with you," and a
thin lipped smile part sneer
for having survived
even
prospered when
then came a woman
and the self, the my self,
returned
after an absence of destructed
decades...deadening decades
and I smile when
the grandchildren tell me
knock knock jokes
and gently knock me on the head,
to make sure I'm alert,
then came woman
who had already~all ready
knocked me on the
heart
Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 9:57 AM UTC
I was able to fool myself there for a little bit
The fraudulent thought was constant
However, my penmanship captured a consistent internal beratement
But every new piece is the same 'ol shiit
It just pours out different
Duplicate content no matter the faucet
But it's only ever water coming outta the spigot
Forming from the origin of a recurring script
With only a singular way to interpret
You're only going to get one thing from an unchanging mindset
Just gets reworded before print
"Maybe they won't notice it"
"If I rearrange it it'll at least look different"
But the retreating interest is evident
Leading to the realization that was destined to hit
"They've found my secret"
"This pony only has one trick"
Should have paid closer attention to it
I lie and say it's wit,
Which I know is bull shiit
Because I couldn't and wouldn't argue if you called it redundant
The absolute of my failure is pungent
On my best day I'm still repugnant
Any new muse goes out of its way to be absent
Mostly due to the subject,
That's me,
Becoming complacent
Setting anchor in what was my escapement
Befriending my replacement
I wouldn't suggest it
But I ate it
So now I gotta ingest it
©2024
May 18, 2024
May 18, 2024 at 1:42 PM UTC
.
Nights don’t change…
Perhaps just the stories
they weave in infinites
from the fires of stars
and embers of hearts…
Or perhaps it’s the way
they were captured
and deciphered;
Reworded and retuned
to the song and dalliance
of the hand-wielded ink.
Sep 13, 2022
Sep 13, 2022 at 5:02 AM UTC
I want to be the words that flow from your mouth
and the unused syllables that run under the skin of those
who say much about me
but little to me;
I want to be the vibrations that flow through the blood
of a warrior who lost the one that they loved or the prince
who found his Cinderella through a starry eyed beggar;
you see,
I want to be every word that wasn't even thought about
and every sentence that was paraphrased or reworded time and time again.
I want to be things that aren't things until they come alive.
because what about those thoughts? huh?
where do the thoughts which were never unsought go?
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 8:53 PM UTC
You woke me up in the darkest hours of the morning, before the sun had even blinked those sleepy eyes twice, with a question that I'd been waiting for.
I'd thought about this question. I thought about how you would ask it. Where. When. Why. What I would say. What you would say back. But I never thought about it happening while I was still asleep.
I rolled over to see you. You saw me and said, "I have to ask you something."
I knew the question before it slipped through your alcohol flavored lips, and it still knocked the wind right out of me.
I wasn't prepared. Despite all the times I'd planned and reworded.
So I started to say, "Sometimes I think I do. But then.."
And you, so drunk and stubborn, you were not having it. You rolled over with a pout and proceeded to fake sleep.
And I rolled over behind you, put my lips to your ear, and I whispered it.
For the first time, I admitted it.
"I love you."
s.mndi
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:37 PM UTC
I find faults in my own actions,
I try, but I’m miles away from perfection.
Although it seems to be a fictional word,
After so long, it still has so many definitions.
As ages pass, they’re reworded, rephrased; but
Time seems so irrelevant to me,
Just a useless measurement of our life.
With no actual control, it rules us.
I find no safe state of mind
As I sink into my own misery.
I’m drowning in my own sorrow...
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 7:52 PM UTC
Four hours of sleep,
Laughter and tears,
Philosophy with hidden fears,
And shaky hands
From too many coffee sips;
How else do I describe your
Invincible aura?
Are there really any words
To explain the floral imprint
That springs to life
With every thought of you
In my muddied mind?
Am I worthy of that otherworldly smile;
The one that lingers on your full lips
For longer than it takes to glimpse possibility,
Just so you can see its results
In the eyes of both friends and enemies?
I swear there is mercury
In your glossy eyes-
And I think I’ve reworded it a thousand times,
But they will always be
A poisonous brilliance of dual deadliness
That my demons cannot help but admire.
And amidst all the beauty,
There is glorious ugliness
Which I cherish in these deteriorating hemispheres of mine-
I always did envy the soft pillows beneath your eyes,
And how even your blemishes looked to me like patches of light.
Every fleeting thought of you
Is a glowing orb of searing vitality-
Like lightning flashes of opportunity
And sometimes
The only sparks that keeps me crawling
Through this never-ending tunnel of suffering.
But most of all, it is more, much more
Than anyone could ever deserve.
To simply call you Human would be an understatement;
In your case, I believe,
Masterpiece is a fitting supplement.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 7:34 AM UTC