"richmond" poems
here I am
in the ground
my mouth
open
and
I can't even say
mama,
and
the dogs run by and stop and ****
on my stone; I get it all
except the sun
and my suit is looking
bad
and yesterday
the last of my left
arm gone
very little left, all harp-like
without music.
at least a drunk
in bed with a cigarette
might cause 5 fire
engines and
33 men.
I can't
do
any
thing.
but p.s. -- Hector Richmond in the next
tomb thinks only of Mozart and candy
caterpillars.
he is
very bad
company.
5.9k
Rub these eyes.
What a misspent night.
I cast one die, tumbled through to light
aimed away from
where I left you
on a corner, towards a ******
...You know...
Hung my hat
on these stupid hopes,
tried to steer us two on an icy road.
Slid through stop signs,
you stopped speaking.
Anyway, I'm flying out tomorrow.
*Tired as Hell
switch planes in Minneapolis
On the way from Richmond to Montana
This far North,
the snow is never far away.
Last one through
the gate
and still sleeping.*
Slug this Fall
down in airport bars.
A snowbound move, but I got disarmed.
so I aim to
where I came from
Gift myself with what's familiar
...You know...
Out here there's
not a lot of noise.
A few pinned dots between the bullet points.
Here it gets cold,
just a few miles
from the real Continental Divide.
*Head dipped down,
and shoulder leaned windward.
Take two steps, try calling in the morning.
This far North,
some flights can get grounded.
Not much
between
here and Seattle.*
*Heavy coats
and fortified spirits
keep us warm between our vacations.
This far North
no Saints to preserve us.
Not much
between
here and Seattle.*
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 11:19 AM UTC
Hi my name is Briano alliano and welcome the Jupiter early Christmas party
And the first song is this
Santa Claus came through the computers
Through the computers
Through the computers
Santa Claus came through the computers
Every Christmas Eve night
He will drop presents down cyber space
Cyber space oh cyber space
Making Johnny and frank and tommy and Ryan and many more kids to count
Santa Claus came through the computers
Through the computers
Through the computers
Santa Claus came through the computers
Briany is a cool boy
Who is trying to be good
But nowadays it is harder to go down chimneys because nobody has one no more
But how about sending Santa’s sleigh
Down through cyber space
And and and send
Santa Claus through the computer
Through the computer
Through the computer
Santa Claus came through your computer
Each and every year
Cause daddy has a brand new computer
Just for you this year
Yes daddy gave me a brand new computer
For everybody to see this year
And now here is my funny jingle bells 2020
Dashing through the year
Was the covid 19
Yes the coronavirus has been making
Everybody sick
Victoria copped it bad
And footy started and finished late
I was unhappy that Richmond and storm won but at least Christmas will be cool
Jingle bells jingle bells
Party on at home
Covid 19 is keeping all the people from having fun yeah
Jingle bells jingle bells
Please find a vaccine
So we can go out and party again
Without worrying about touching
You see when you take the kids
To see good ole Santa Claus
You have to book online
And social distancing
So what you have to do
Is stand back and say to Santa
I want a book and a toy to play with
And then get our photo taken
Jingle bells jingle bells
Santa still will come
Covid 19 is really bad
But it doesn’t spoil the hype
Jingle bells party on
At home to be safe
Singing Christmas carols on YouTube mate
Party party party yeah
That was covid jingle bells and now here is
We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
We wish you a merry Christmas
In these covid 19 times
The party will still be on
No matter what is on
We wish you a merry Christmas
In the covid 19 year
Party on dudes
Thanks and I will see ya next time
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 6:43 AM UTC
hi dudes
i am in a good mood, i am doing the bbq tomorrow
and i tipped
kangaroos over essendon kangaroos won
adelaide over st kilda adelaide won
hawthorn over melbourne hawthorn won
GWS over carlton, GWS won
sydney over geelong, sydney won
west coast over gold coast, west coast won
and if fremantle beat western bulldogs
and collingwood beat richmond
and port adelaide beat brisbane
i have tipped all the winners of this round
i am doing the bbq tomorrow in kippax
hoping i grab the second full winner
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 8:37 AM UTC
I didn't sleep again last night
my yesterday is still taking place
as my fingers gently press these keys
so as to not wake my brother
restless,
I realized,
I've seen a sunset
but never a sunrise
the streets were still asleep
the only ones about
only the down and out
the poor black folk
the aimless hipsters
the homeless
the single mothers with three jobs
who wait alone
under a flickering street light
for the bus which will take them
to their deadpan jobs
the puddles from last night's storm
rest with not a ripple
and the pretty little birdies
start finding their voice
restless,
I realized,
after the sunsets
the world opens up her eyes
periwinkle horizons
blend easily with the grey skyline
and the line between man and God blurs
the sky is tropical mango cocktails
and pillows of white Caribbean sand
the smell is left -
like a residue -
chasing after the tail of a storm
but the air is wet to the touch
hinting at repeat of the downpour
and I would've sat on the arm of that denim sofa
hour after hour
until the world was ready to wake up
giving me a chance to sleep off their insecurities,
only,
I felt like writing this poem
only,
I felt like a sunrise
or maybe a sunset?
or just maybe
a god **** supernova
I felt good
brimming with peace in my gut
like a warm fire
restless,
I realized,
that after all is set
I will still love the sunrise
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 6:08 AM UTC
I arrive at the barbers
for my weekly, my usual,
and you are there,
sitting in my seat
crying. I lift you up,
cape and all,
take you round the
corner, where you tell
me you are sorry
but we have to go to
Brighton now, even
though it is 6pm on
a Friday and we won’t
be done until 2pm
tomorrow. Is it a ruse?
I think so, because
suddenly we are in a
part of London that
looks like Montmartre
(or it could be Richmond
masquerading as Venice)
and we meet a man
called Tricks who says
he’s the new chief now
because he knows the
location of all the bones.
And then there are
scanners at airports,
walk-in health centres,
families in North Carolina
with names like Kayleigh
and Shauna. And when
we are done meeting
them we are back, you
in the chair, glowing blue
under barbicide lights.
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 4:10 AM UTC
High school was a breeze
I mean forget the braces years
and the glasses and the acne and the bone crushing awkwardness
it was a breeze
rolling around in Mark's beat up VW hippie van
Smoke trailing behind us as we tore through suburban Richmond
worrying about Mom 'n Pop's more than the DEA and Cops
and finding empty houses to drink what we thought was good alcohol
if no houses were available
we'd just wait for the parentals to fall asleep
singing pop punk at the top of every lung
rapping along to gangster rap
hopelessly Caucasian
class was a joke
homework a no go
and we'd worry about the consequences later
talking about how we couldn't wait to be grown
well I'm growing now
and I can tell you
no bed time is awesome
but it isn't all it's always cracked up to be
Nov 6, 2013
Nov 6, 2013 at 3:29 PM UTC
Pbr,
A Richmond hipster
Hip checking sobriety
And being hip in a social rivalry
Alcoholic tides to me
Nothing I can hide from me
****** American beer
Nothing but
Loathing and fear
Directed towards self
A reflection on the shelf
Left alone
With nobody else
Sinking
And sinking
And sinking
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
I met an old man today
I was trying to write in the sun
and was sitting downwind from him
and judgung by the smell
I thought he may have soiled himself
He was sitting with his wife
and they had about fifteen teeth between them
he heard me speak
and asked me If I was from England
yeah, I moved here seven years ago
we're from New York
that's cool, I've always wanted to go
Oh you have to,
There's no city like it in the world
So why are you in Richmond?
New York Is too **** expensive
I remember one time
I was held up by a .38
the poor ******* didn't know
I only had 75 cents in my pocket
Let me give you some advice, kid
If you ever go to New York
Never look up
only tourists look up
you gotta keep on looking forward
oh yeah
and if you have a ***** pack around your waist
and a camera around your neck
you might just get your *** kicked
oh and if you ever get lost In New York
all you gotta do is ask a mailman
they're like the kings of the city
they know everything
I wished him a nice day
told him It had been a pleasure talking to him
and walked home
only looking forward
because I'm no tourist
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 6:06 PM UTC
It's rare you'll find me in my home town
straw in mouth
**** on shoes
i'm a country boy loving this acid washed city life of "Ima get what's mine"
but don't call me bumpkin
while I'm sitting out on a back porch
jameson and RJ Reynolds
I have a tendency to spout off words like an unattended hydrant on a ghetto summer day
not all of them make sense
not all of them are in good taste
or right
but whether it be suburban Midlothian
farming village Drax
or downtown Richmond
I find my home on page
beneath the low chattering of keys
scratching of pens
Each word you never had the heart to say
is my place of residence
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
You awake in me the same excitement as the sound of the coffee *** bravely bubbling up something inside like the elixir of life that makes day-to-day, tedious trials more bearable.
Thousands of cups of coffee shared with you, talking out problems and people, with one rule: No pity parties at Purdy's, so we'd take walks.
Walks and talks and walks and talks, getting to know you, and me. Getting to know the feeling of Richmond beneath our feet, and we were free. Save, one passing comment on the adrenals and caffeine.
And unknowingly, you taught a broken girl how to trust. Taught her that growing together with someone, like good coffee, is not something that should be rushed.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
lived
the life
you have to hand it to him.
lost that
cottage on the
santa monica beach
to the sharks.
the sharks always win.
the sharks built this ******
richmond
addicted to ****** and the poem.
sharks
don’t understand poems.
although
some sharks
are addicted to ******
they will
never get
the poem.
richmond
evicted and homeless
retired to a small room.
the
poem
had dried
up
like a
discarded
apple
core.
fruit
no more.
empty
toothless
abandoned
steve richmond died.
no pilgrimages
to his grave.
in the darkness of the sycamore tree
the sharks
count stacks of money.
this is
how they got
judas
too.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 12:18 PM UTC
He had been on the road for a while
trekking from city unknown to city unknown
in a cloud of dust kicked up
by a Greyhound bus
he used a different name in every city
he wasn't a criminal,
but he was on the run,
he simply enjoyed anonymity
enjoyed being everybody's imaginary friend
He took magic mushrooms in Richmond
and rode the image of his grand spiritual quest
like a drug induced steed,
rode it straight to San Jose
where he met some migrant workers
who drank cheap mescal
beneath the stars of the dead pan landscape
wasters of the great American wasteland
and in New Mexico city
he was given a tab of acid
which dissolved under his tongue
in an explosion of hypnotic torture
his life reflected as a visage
as hallucinogenic as the walls which rippled all around him,
Portland was ******* and oxy pills
his humanity stretched tight like a drum
ready to snap at any given stimuli
he made it to California
dreams of LA
he became addicted to the limelight,
pretty hipster chicks who were foolish enough
to sleep with him,
simply because he introduced himself as a writer,
simply because he could work the word,
and he settled in San Diego
where the whiskey poured freely
and the *** was enough to blow your ******* head off,
in a small one room apartment
where the rent was cheap,
he drank and smoked himself in a stupor
with the windows open -
enjoying the soft pacific breeze which washed him of his sins
he had been all over his forced continent
looking for a place to call home,
but he never found what he was looking for,
and with grit and determination
and a hunger for the freedom of the American dream
he packed up again,
and left for the road,
a thief in the all encompassing night
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
Of place we'd been and things we had seen
Memories of a snowy day and a big white dog towing a sled
The sand dunes in the pine woods
When shreaks of joy rang forth
As we hurtled down the those slopes
Then came the saddest day when we said our last goodbyes
To that old white teddybear dog
Trips round Yorkshires lovely hills
Of you in a seat on the back of my bike
And the long haired highland cattle in Bedale park
A photograph I still posses of you sat by Richmond castle
A thousand memories remain
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
Circles, they walk around in them
at the mall, at the bus stop
like a hybrid human/chicken
one winged cocked
in the air
cellphone tight against cranium
to block out the noise
of the other half dozen
hukens
doing the same
At times I will
hold my phone against cranium
to mingle with the flock
snippets of information
orbit my position
in diversity
"la perra me dijo que no mueva..."
"yeah man I got a lead on a job..."
"que el infierno que ella piensa que es ...
"it don't pay worth a crap
"and it's in Richmond..."
"She don't tell me not to move..."
and so it goes
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 7:47 AM UTC
I moved to this country
when I was thirteen or twelve years old
My Dad was semi-proud, semi-sorry
"I've been promoted...
the only thing is we have to move to America"
but all of my friends
but then again... it might not be raining all the time
but I'll miss the rain
don't lie
okay but where in America?
".... Richmond, Virginia."
where?
What state is Virginia in?
"It is a state, near D.C. - the head of the south"
oh great the south,
it was like moving from a farm village
filled with fat xenophobic racists
only to move to an even bigger farming village
filled with fat xenophobic racists
"Well you don't have much of a choice."
So we went on a pilgrimage
to the land of slavery, cowboys, and McDonald's
they didn't have a monarchy
but there were a lot of kings around
JFK airport wasn't much
compared to London
and the traffic down from DC
was absolutely ridiculous
This many people can not possibly
find use out of a truck
why so many traffic lights
and raised cars
We got lost
and drove through a DC ghetto
where I saw TV depictions of "The streets"
for the first time up close
quick close the windows
drive drive drive
We made it to Richmond
in the dead of night
and even then
the skyline across the James
was like low hanging stars
and in the mornings
the James looks like a scene
from a Jack London story
and now I've been here for almost seven years
and the place has grown on me
it's a good balance
of obnoxious redneck republicans
and obnoxious hipster democrats
and some of the prettiest landscapes I've seen
and yeah I'll take Richmond on a summer day
over any other city
Because RVA creates
is on every street light banner
and the feeling permeates through the city
like electricity in the air
making your hair stand up on end
as if to say
Welcome to Richmond
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
On the way to Kew,
By the river old and gray,
Where in the Long Ago
We laughed and loitered so,
I met a ghost to-day,
A ghost that told of you--
A ghost of low replies
And sweet, inscrutable eyes
Coming up from Richmond
As you used to do.
By the river old and gray,
The enchanted Long Ago
Murmured and smiled anew.
On the way to Kew,
March had the laugh of May,
The bare boughs looked aglow,
And old, immortal words
Sang in my breast like birds,
Coming up from Richmond
As I used with you.
With the life of Long Ago
Lived my thought of you.
By the river old and gray
Flowing his appointed way
As I watched I knew
What is so good to know--
Not in vain, not in vain,
Shall I look for you again
Coming up from Richmond
On the way to Kew.
1.3k
All of the Richmond Hipsters
and time killing smokers are killing me
The hobos with broken thumbs
They just barely catch the bus
Late nights under the eastern stars
The City of almost-angels
beards and gauges and butts
Tatted up art chicks with more skin than clothing
Invite me over your threshold
Make me some supper, the coffee is in the ***
River tides carrying away the used condoms of the confused
Liquor breath, joints and e-cigs
Poets, painters, photographers
The air reeks of art and death
fist meets face meets pavement meets God
The good times are killing you, and I’m showering until the water runs cold
cough up my phlegm, it tastes like love
grinding against a stranger’s *** all night long - like it was all we knew
We couldn’t feel so we tried to touch
we fell short and drank from the puddles with gasoline rainbows
The bricks and cobblestones all have names that I will never know
Does anybody ever actually listen?
Life versus fun versus life versus death versus boring
Stack them up like tetris
The sun is sick with stories, the moon full of lies
And all the graffiti in the world won’t change that
snow sun rain sun blank canvases
hear the thunder of arrhythmic heartbeats
sweat drips and it tastes like ****
Black eyes on Bowe, black eyes on Goshen
Mad houses filled with gifted pianists
Ghetto driven dreams of another shot
Play that same acoustic guitar tune I like so much
I lost my harmonica in a storm drain
I lost my Mind in Richmond
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
Forget Portland and Austin and Santa Cruz.
Those famously strange places,
where the tourists gawk at local weirdos.
Here is not there.
Here is the place of advice such as:
“When life gives you meatballs put a wig on a dog.”
—True story.
Here is the place where:
“With all good things in life you just have to wipe the bird **** off.”
The place where steel and marble Confederate ghosts,
watch the wealthy renovate their westward homes along a cobblestone road.
Where paintings are propped to rot up in alleys,
and buzzing twenty-somethings on their way back from a show,
shake it and tilt it and carry it home.
—Gilded frame and all.
This is the place of painted concrete where walls are canvases,
and red bricks pop out of the ground,
the tree roots poking through to trip you.
Here’s where the People’s Beer comes from Milwaukee,
but we replaced the R in ribbon with here,
and sell it by the caseload when it rains and when it’s Tuesday.
Where young people go to find themselves getting lost becoming someone else,
remixing history to not admit naivety,
before they’ve been sandpapered through experience.
—To a core.
This is an ink-stained but not splattered place.
Where lines are careful, permanent and abundant,
and on Fridays can cost 13 bucks.
Here is the place where people roam like that restaurant rabbit:
listless and nomadic and stuck.
Where there’s a wild streak in its heart that follows the tracks,
and cuts the city in half.
This is the place that Carvers itself out into cultures,
and you can be from the Bottom,
or proud to be a Rat.
Here is where you night-drive over the bridge,
see the skyline and feel restlessly content.
Here is home.
—For now.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 12:50 AM UTC
Beneath roaming white coulds of the morning time,
A boy can find his joy without costing him a dime.
He looks innocently at the coulds
Around which the golden lines are drawn
By the smiley shiny sun in the sky
Who kills darkness of the night
With his inspiring golden light.
The sumless clouds he sees in a glance
Make his naive heart happily dance
For what he sees are not just the clouds.
On that majestic sky,
A Beagle chases after the other one
Until catching the tail is done.
They combine into a plane flying to nowhere.
But the boy manages to think of the destination,
And he says his wishes to the plane.
Before the plane is gone into an enormous cloud,
He joyfully shouts out loud
"Yes! That must be the destination!"
-Kryde N.B. Richmond
4/10/2013
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 1:25 PM UTC
Da queste parti .siamo tutti circa il vestito bianco;questo non è un segreto .Ma oggi ?Stiamo celebrando i nostri ragazzi !SMPers .lasciate che vi presento clothier personalizzato .Alton Lane.Dotato di abiti da sposa on line sposi e dei loro ragazzi un processo di adattamento e di divertimento senza stress .sta preparando per il grande giorno è appena diventato infinitamente più facile !
C'è così tanto per amore di Alton Lane;iniziando con laid-back .appuntamenti privati per gli
sposi + i loro ragazzi dove ognuno si misura e montato .il tutto sorseggiando un drink .sdraiati su un comodo divano e guardare la partita sul grande schermo piatto .Con showroom a Dallas .New York .DC .Boston .Richmond + più a venire .Alton Lane.riduce la necessità di raccordi con l'uso del loro top di gamma tecnologia 3D body scanner !Un consulente personale farà in modo che la misura è giusta e avrete consigli su opzioni di personalizzazione come il taglio .sfiati .pieghe .monogrammi e colore rivestimentoètutti che è incluso nel prezzo base!Con camicie a abiti da sposa 2014 partire da 89 dollari e abiti abiti da sposa on line a solo $ 595.personalizzate non è mai stato così conveniente .
Con una straordinaria selezione di colori dei tessuti e pesi .Alton Lane.ha coperto se stai andando cravatta sulla spiaggia casuale o nero.Head over qui per suggerimenti personalizzati della Guida look e donè èperdere alcuni dei Alton Lane ' matrimoni reali presenti !
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Jul 18, 2014
Jul 18, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
The well groomed professional takes a sip
from his Styrofoam twenty ounce coffee
He glares at me - his eyes green with disgust
the night before I walked beside the moon
that morning I rose anew, born in flames
The well groomed professional takes a sip
from the corner of my eye I see her
standing waves of gold, porcelain smile
I glare at her - my eyes red with my lust
dancing to the flickering glow of bulbs
she pauses, a breath, Red Eye anyone?
The well groomed professional takes a sip
glaring at the mirror - his eyes black with
fear
I take my coffee and walk out the door
adrift in the cold Richmond winter air
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC
You could have reached here Wednesday by last choice
Perhaps your mood shifted. All the calm nights
you had now lay awake. You explore the city
built by the perfect people, white cathedral
stands upright on a slant, a compass buried in plain sight,
the gibberish of art students from painting lullabies as sirens.
Only children are asleep. The university
grows younger each year. The best teacher
is always late, not realizing her impact.
The person I’m most comfortable with
stays in bed. Security found indoors
the couch allures, security in the capsule,
The deafening whispers, the genuine friends
who live nearby and can’t talk straight. The blessed temple
building worshiped by advertising majors.
The lucid potential, morning sprints round the track,
a library sustained by crushed Adderall —
glowering orbs rotating back counter clockwise,
out of chimneys the black spirits climb,
detectives bicycling, the honor students rummaging
for class notes in the deep end of the dumpster.
So this is college? That frontier plateauing
before you can dive off a cloud? So this utopia
was a dollhouse, the daily on the doormat
camps in the hallway: waits while the child watches
a sit-com?
Don’t apartments stand still? Are abstract paintings
and basketball supposed to nurture a city,
not only Richmond, but also other lonely cities
of misunderstood brunettes, dank **** and dubstep
the weekend will seldom put out
until the city you moved to shuts its eye?
Just tell yourself, “live.” The best teacher, eighteen
when she moved to the university, still grins
even as she coughs out fiberglass. Any day now,
she sings, I’ll take a drive and leave this place.
I pull her close and say. You haven’t slept in your own bed.
The boy who you’ve always loved still thinks about you.
The books you read before breakfast,
whoever the author may be, inspires
and your least favorite student who raises her hand
is judged but her posture never falters.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 4:29 PM UTC