"robberies" poems
I remember the history well:
The soldiers and politicians emerged
With briefcases and guns
And celebrations on city nights.
They scoured the mess
Reviewed our history
Saw the executions at dawn
Then signed with secret policemen
And decided something
Had to be done.
They scoured the mess
Resurrected old blue-prints
Of vicious times
Tracked the shapes of sinking cities
And learned at last
That nothing can be avoided
And so avoided everything.
I remember the history well.
2
We emerged from our ******* mounds
Discovered a view of the sky
As the air danced in heat.
Through the view of the city
In flames, we rewound times
Of executions at beaches.
Salt streamed down our brows.
Everywhere stagger victims of rigged elections
Monolithic accidents on hungry roads
The infinite web of ethnic politics
Power-dreams of fevered winds.
The nation was a map stitched
From the grabbing of future flesh
And became a rush through
Historical slime
3
We emerged on edge
Of time future
With bright fumes
From burning towers.
The fumes lit political rallies.
We started a war
Ended it
And dreamed about our chance.
Fat fish eat little fish
Big ones arrange executions
And armed robberies.
Our ******* shapes us all.
I remember the history well.
The tiger’s snarl is bought
In currencies of silence.
Eggs grow large:
A monstrous face is hatched.
On the edge of time future
I am a boy
With running sores
Of remember history
Watching the stitches widen
Waiting for the volcano’s laughter
In the fevered winds
Hearing the gnash
Of those who will join us
At the mighty gateways
With new blue-prints
With dew as seal
And fire as constant
And a trail through time past
To us
Who remember the history well.
We weave words on red
And sing on the edge of blue.
And with our nerves primed
We shall spin silk from *******
And frame time with our resolve.
________
Source:
http://www.universeofpoetry.org/nigeria.shtml
17.4k
If I could,
I would pick up my ink pen
and drown an ocean into you
instead of drowning you in it.
Extract these rotting feelings
for the sake of your ignorance.
Carve scriptures into each delicacy of your brain
so you wouldn’t have to dwell in such misery every day.
Wire faith
to your blemished heart.
Imbue purity
to your sullied soul.
If I could,
I would write you through all depths of insanity
without any harm
so that your
mind no longer persists the thought of death.
There was a time I thought you were dead.
Only you were painted red
in a black and white world.
Like you have been walking barefoot on a broken road
your whole life.
Your demons imitate life
And life imitates the demons.
You are the one being tied down by invisible, nonexistent chains.
So unaccepting of help that has come for you
Watch
the sun touch the horizon
reach the meeting of sun and ground
and
Find further still,
The limits you would like to reach only run from you.
You have such a murderous tongue
for society
people.
But one day I hope to see you write yourself into existence
Rather than to let yourself drown in it.
Why has you dying become something so habitual?
Darling, death is not a friend of yours
Nor are you a friend of his.
But I know of your frequent dates with death
Tell me
Does his neck feel like happiness
And do his lips relieve you of your suffocation
Now
are you lost?
or are you found?
Do you recognize the irony
Of the most terrifying things happening in the most angelic places
Charm yourself upon that bridge
Whose lights light up the city in golden arrays
With a glazed look
you’d think.
In sadness seen go by
You are charmed by either war or hope.
These occurred robberies have taken much
But they left opportunity
Important people
And a moon in your window
A future that only you know the ending of
And a slice of the midnight sky.
So it goes.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
Cause I can't be
Your restless refugee
On the run
Baby I'm not the one
And I can see
Endless possibilities
Without your guns
Baby your lies are done
And I'm ashamed
Ashamed to become astray
Lost at all cost
Unable to maintain
This time fourth
And forever more stuck in parlay
Proceed to ones greed
Greed of today
Cause I can't be
Your restless refugee
On the run
Baby I'm not the one
And I can see
Endless possibilities
Without your guns
Baby your lies are done
Hallowed life
Life full of grief
Sacred sacrifice
upon a thief
Hobbies of robberies
Nightmare full of dishonesty
Lust for guts and glory
Never bothered me
Cause I can't be
Your restless refugee
On the run
Baby I'm not the one
And I can see
Endless possibilities
Without your guns
Baby your lies are done
Both hunger and thirst
Plundering lies
Lies came first
Followed by the cursed
Wasn't for the rain
The pain would never hurt
Coming undone
Just a negative sum
Cause I can't be
Your restless refugee
On the run
Baby I'm not the one
And I can see
Endless possibilities
Without your guns
Baby your lies are done
Harvesting hateful desires
Disgraceful taste
behind his gun to expire
blast comes the wrath
before the fire
Fountain the blood
thick as mud
dresses his attire
Cause I can't be
Your restless refugee
On the run
Baby I'm not the one
And I can see
Endless possibilities
Without your guns
Baby your lies are done
Jul 13, 2022
Jul 13, 2022 at 2:06 AM UTC
Dr Manmohan Singh is the most honest Prime Minister
Ms Sonia Gandhi is his dearest sister
India is proud of Her Silvery Himalayas
And her Inestimable super scandals
If She is able to progress with such a large scale corruption
Which is as vibrant and furious as volcanic eruption,
Every foreigner must be jealous of her glorious future
If the politicians become a bit patriotic in nature
G2 spectrum is the greatest scandal in India of incredible magnitude
The politicians and the bureaucrats need to be complimented on their fortitude
Mother India is a benign Goddess of great treasure
She can withstand any arson , looting,robbery or exploitation beyond any measure
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:18 AM UTC
Look What We've Become!
SOO SCARED to Live On! WHY?
And Yet Even Much More Scared To Give Up And Die.
Scared of our ourselves making failures; Scared of Others.
Scared Of War(s), Oppression & Victimisations.
Scared Of the enemies, scared of Hate and Hatred;
Scared of Evil; Scared Every Single Day, Even More Scared at Night.
Much too Scared to to trust anyone-Even So called Friends or Family.
Nearly Always Scared; Forever Scared....though feeling Sacred.
The Feeling Will Not Go Away.
Too Scared To Sleep, Scared to awake to another day.
Scared to lose friends , or loved ones'
Scared friends might turn on Us,
Scared to Trust anyone.
Scared of the Hypocrisy & Double Standards;
Too Scared to go for a walk at Night.
Scared of the Young gunslingers.
Scared of Viruses & Corona.
Scared of the Murders and Robberies andCrimes.
Scared To even watch a movie.
Scared to eat; Scared of Becoming fat.
It's So Soo Scary!! Too Scared!
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 6:46 AM UTC
607
Of nearness to her sundered Things
The Soul has special times—
When Dimness—looks the Oddity—
Distinctness—easy—seems—
The Shapes we buried, dwell about,
Familiar, in the Rooms—
Untarnished by the Sepulchre,
The Mouldering Playmate comes—
In just the Jacket that he wore—
Long buttoned in the Mold
Since we—old mornings, Children—played—
Divided—by a world—
The Grave yields back her Robberies—
The Years, our pilfered Things—
Bright Knots of Apparitions
Salute us, with their wings—
As we—it were—that perished—
Themself—had just remained till we rejoin them—
And ’twas they, and not ourself
That mourned.
2.1k
Ashamed to become astray.
Lost at all cost unable to sustain.
This Time forth and forevermore in a parlay.
Perceived to one's greed of today.
Hallowed life full of grief.
Sacred sacrifice upon a thief. Hobbies of robberies.
Haunting Nightmares of dishonesty. Lust for guts and glory never bothered me.
Both hunger and thirst.
Plundering lies came first followed by the curse.
If it wasn't for the rain the pain would never hurt.
Coming Undone.
Restless refuge on the run.
Harvesting hateful desires.
Disgraceful taste behind his gun to expire.
Fountain of blood thick as mud dressed his attire
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 3:23 AM UTC
I turned on the news today,
And realized
*We live in a really ****** world*
Four robberies
A ****
A ******
Oh hey look;
There's someone supporting cancer
Oh wait;
It's because their baby died
More robberies
A mugging
Child abuse
And I learned all this,
Before the first commercial break
This is what the news teaches kids:
*We live in a really ****** world*
Yet we wonder
Why more kids are depressed
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
We're so many yet so alone,
We live in a prison and call it a home..
Only if I could die, I could be well,
Since over 7 billion people on this planet,
And not even a single has time for me,
What The hell...
whenever I cry, I just have a blanket,
My friends - they're so busy,
I feel like John Cena -
Saying you can't see me..
Somebody has a life to make,
Somebody is busy in the life already made,
And somebody's somebody has problems from me..
That's what the world's population sounds to me!
I want to die,
I want to end my life,
Maybe a dagger, a bottle of pills,
A gun or just the kitchen knife..
Or else,
Maybe this world could be made a better place,
And this Earth can too have better grace...
Where all are the winners of the same race,
Where there's no religion, no gender and no race..
Where the news isn't flooded with - murders, robberies, corruption, abduction and ****
Where people love humanity, and equality,
Where people love animals and are against them the cruelty,
Where mother nature is treated with all the novelty..
And where people don't live for money..
And where there is no liquor, no smoking pipe,
All humans, living a peaceful life..
No army - fighting for borders,
No policemen killing innocent 'cause of orders,
No terrorists no racists,
And humanity has no horrors...
I know that world is kinda impossible to create,
But maybe this does happen,
If a little step we initiate..
*We're so many yet so alone,
We live in a prison and call it a* home..
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 2:46 AM UTC
__I__
alone and happy on the 14th
i rise to the occasion; as it's
beautiful rose
__II__
roses that are red, and violence not so
new. sugar lips of a nightmarish diabetic kiss,
but what stops a love sick fool
..i sit back, and watch the view
__III__
a heart made of steel
someone stole your heart easily, cos you're
leaving the windows of your eyes so open;
there's going be a lot of robberies this
Valentine's day
__IV__
here's to a valentine red:
red as the flags of one you
should avoid with caution
red as the daring run of emotions
being chased by a bull
red as the tomato of a terrible first
kiss, causing acid reflux
red as the overdrawing of your account
all to prove you value someone for a day
__V__
"would you be my Valentine,"
he asked her on his knees
A chuckle she gave, "tis these only
few times I have a man on his knees,
afterwards spoiling me with dinner and
eating out"
_wink, wink._
Feb 10, 2023
Feb 10, 2023 at 3:58 PM UTC
when the word ****
resonates from the lips of
any teacher, i cannot
help but perceive
how many students' heads
fall downward, staring at
their disquieted hands. i am
wondering how many people are closing
in on themselves, lips pressed together
in thin lines, burying themselves
six feet under into graves
constructed however long ago.
somewhere within the catastrophic enclosings
of their minds, they are the people
reminiscing violent robberies, not
of television sets or radios, but of
innocent souls. they are suffering
from the post-traumatic stress
of feeling naked skin and cracked
ribcages and heaving lungs
never burn in the turbulent
wildfires left
behind in their burnt
lives; a simple word
is enough to have them
reliving the mournful
affair forming their
empty chest. i glance around the
room for students whose
memory gnaws at their
scarred skin, and
the problem is
is that there are too many.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
He was known as the roof top poet
He was good, but he wouldn’t show it.
He wrote about everything on the streets
While listening to the Latin beat.
His upbringing inspired him
To write about crime and sin.
He wrote about street drugs everywhere
And ***** needles that they would share.
He played the conga and bongos too
This is what he had learned to do.
There was not a topic that he would not touch
For he loved life much to much.
He wrote about robberies, muggings
And ****** prostitution, gambling
Corruption and all the rest
His talent for street writing made him the best.
But there was a soft side to him
That people did not know
And where ever children needed him
He would go.
He was a volunteer in the children s hospital
And the orphanages too, which was
Something that nobody knew.
He would give them love, affection, and laughter
Wealth or fame he wasn’t after.
He gave them the key elements for the
Children to survive, HOPE, LOVE, FAITH
With hope in their hearts and faith in GOD
There was nothing that they could not do.
If to themselves they would be true.
Now if we could be such as HE
The world would be better for the children you see.
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET YOURSELF FREE
louis rams :
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
a curious family of raptor children, a lake of caterpillar carcasses (boulder soup), a grocer for the taliban, gas powered anything, the exposed midsection of a tree, bank robberies or bear maulings in progress, triangles, an irascible bus driver thinking in isosceles, the itinerant story of a mama mammoth, starquakes and extinctions, massive roaches, a neck bath in hot breath, sudden abeyance from behind, the way gravity kills caterpillars and spares us because all angles of gravity make 180 degrees and this is stillness. fear running a straight line from behind us, through us, and in front of us. what i consistently get caught up in, the third point might be my final resting. this is why i ******* hate triangles.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 6:33 PM UTC
He was known as the roof top poet
He was good , but he wouldn’t show it.
He wrote about everything on the streets
While listening to the Latin beat.
His upbringing inspired him
To write about crime and sin.
He wrote about street drugs everywhere
And ***** needles that they would share.
He played the conga and bongos too
This is what he had learned to do.
There was not a topic that he would not touch
For he loved life much to much.
He wrote about robberies, muggings
And ****** , prostitution, gambling
Corruption and all the rest
His talent for street writing made him the best.
But there was a soft side to him
That people did not know
And where ever children needed him
He would go.
He was a volunteer in the children s hospital
And the orphanages too, which was
Something that nobody knew.
He would give them love, affection, and laughter
Wealth or fame he wasn’t after.
He gave them the key elements for the
Children to survive, HOPE, LOVE, FAITH
With hope in their hearts and faith in GOD
There was nothing that they could not do.
If to themselves they would be true.
Now if we could be such as HE
The world would be better for the children you see.
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET YOURSELF FREE
Aug 7, 2010
Aug 7, 2010 at 2:18 PM UTC
Homelessness to evictions to robberies,
Why all the poverty and violence?
Why can't we share wealth, peace and love?
Is it that hard?
It shouldn't be so hard,
It's actually pretty easy,
You eating while your people starving,
What kinda person are you?
We can all eat not just you,
Treat our brothers and sisters as equals,
Not treat em like peasants.
It has to get better,
We gotta treat our brothers and sisters better,
If you eating then feed your family,
Never let your family starve,
There's more love to be shared than hate.
Our way of living has to change,
Things only change when we change them,
Change doesn't happen on its own.
Feb 9, 2021
Feb 9, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC
it wasn't like we didn't know what was right or wrong
but sitting under abandoned structures at two in the morning,
talking about work, money and betrayal felt like neither.
i held the big bottle of beer for the first time
while stretching it out to her.
"Add ciga join oga", was her next response.
so i pulled it out from inside the pack. her pack.
"who you be? you be pastor?
why you come? you dey n.g.o?
abi you dey dea dey form good boy
siddon dea!"
so she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
blew what was left out of her nostrils
took another sip from the green bottle
some spilling off the side of her mouth
she scratched her back and waited for the next line
we managed to talk about what we did in the day.
i, a popular janitor, for better job to hang on to.
she, trader in Brazilian hair, owed by all her friends.
but i admitted being jobless at night
while she pleased other men for cash.
so she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
blew what was left out of her nostrils
took another sip from the green bottle
some spilling off the side of her mouth
she scratched her back and waited for the next line
"teach me facebook", she said
putting the sudden silence to shame.
so i grabbed her phone with in disgust,
but with plenty of curiosity,
while wondering what i was doing here.
"na ikenna send me dis fone"
so she shows me ikennas picture.
a young man with another woman beside her.
i quickly flipped through other pictures and messages.
some were about fights, some about clubs,
the others about robberies.
she blew out some smoke from her mouth,
i stand to go. so she asks, 'you go come shrine,
fela shrine tomorrow?'
with a smile only familiar friends can read, i accepted.
afterwards, she told the security men to let me go.
'na my friend'. a wicked smile scratched on the faces
of these men who stood for balogun street's security.
and we were friends. familiar friends.
many months have passed,
i blow the heat from my lungs with a sigh
i scratched my back and wait for this memory to erase.
what was i doing there?
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:27 AM UTC
*It
feels good
to not levitate
beneath your "broad,
wise"
wings. Where the weight
of the world--
or who won the
argument--
while missing parents
canoodled their partners
or pole dancing classes
swept them from their
normal floors;
and kids
fought with sticks
and warpaint
for fun;
until it was war
and the kids
battled kitchen
knives
on the
floor
and the weight
of the blame
fell to the
little girl
who stood watching
from a safe distance
while her
two best friends
fought over tator tots.
{whose side would she
take?}*
*Those tator tots sadly evolved
into **** packs
and late night robberies
& unfortunately the
kids on the block
become thieves--
and the weight
of this economy
this system dancing
on the knapsacks
{as the kids ransack
and abandon for dead}
on the briefcases
{as the adult clones
corrupt til dead}*
*And it
feels good
to not hover
beneath the
view
of chemical dusted skies and factory worked
feathers.*
There is a world
in the sky
where none of this
has happened--
It's a place where humans
don't exist--
{where we cant crush the earth
with our weighted machines}
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 2:54 AM UTC
That night, you stole,
Something precious from me.
One glance, my heart,
Couldn’t disagree.
Everything was fine until
I walked in on your last ****
Even though the signs all showed, I didn’t know
That you’re just evil.
I catch you sneaking out at night,
I knew something wasn’t right.
I thought that I knew you.
It’s always robberies in progress
Or some threat you made to Congress.
By the way you got some blood on your shoes.
Don’t try to distract me,
You always side track me
Your outfit does attract me, let’s get back to my point.
Thought it was love at first sight
But you just want to plan heists.
Am I just someone you see you can exploit?
And she said
“You’re my minion now.”
Jan 22, 2020
Jan 22, 2020 at 3:02 PM UTC
The Harbor freeway was without the congestion and the gridlock that made this highway famous.
Empty freeways demand speed and in Los Angeles everyone's in a hurry with somewhere to go.
It was a rare sight in a city full of men and their machines
A rare sight that was quietly becoming normal.
The lack of cars made the otherwise thick layer of ***** brown smog become a minor smear on an otherwise beautiful blue Southern California day.
With the changing of the guard the nameless planes with their exaggerated white lines across our skies magically returned.
There's more of us noticing things today than any other time before.
To the far West Venice is dying and the beach has become a refugee camp full of tents and blue tarps all wasting in the wind.
Handball courts now occupied by old bikes, tents and an array of useless garbage someone calls their property.
And the California girls' no longer come here to tan.
The girls on Figueroa stand half naked on 64th street waving like debutants at the lonely men as they window shop for *** from the safety of their vehicles.
The girls here never tell you their real name and all the men are called John.
The Gang members in the Hoods on the West side and in the Varrios and the Projects on the East all use Graffiti as a way to convey their threats to one another.
The Taggers bright, bold pieces bring colors to the otherwise grey concrete freeways.
Downtown is nowhere you want to be without a million dollars or a side arm and a reason.
They gave Skid Row up to the people and the graffiti then watched in horror as it grew into what it has become today.
South Central continues to bleed red, brown, blue and black.
Curbside motive candles dot the city corners like mile markers along the highway.
There's been far too much death to ever mention peace here.
Hollywood is slowly dying and Melrose is at 50% capacity with robberies happening almost everyday on Rodeo.
The Cranes along the Harbor stand like giant monuments to a God no one prays to anymore.
And there's a lot less Cargo trucks on the road today then any other time before.
Yet we are told to "Stay home ,we'll pay you to do so".
While outside our city is dying and there is no where to spend the money we're given anyway.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 11:48 PM UTC
When the sun peaked down behind the frown of the clouds,
He smiled.
He had no choice!
What else was he going to do?
Wallow in the worlds new-found darkness?
When the bullets didn’t stop, and the guns didn’t drop,
And the murders and robberies still occurred worldwide and on top of it all,
He smiled.
He had no choice!
What else was he going to do?
Wallow in the worlds greed, idiocy, and blatant barbarism?
When his phone rang at the dinner table, and he discovered that his wife was emotionally unstable, and he got electrocuted whilst plugging in the cable,
And he discovered the real-life truth to the story of Cain and Abel,
He smiled.
He had no choice.
What else was he going to do?
Wallow in the fact that the past can’t be changed, or a previous series of events cannot be re-arranged, or that he would rather die than have his wife exchanged?
No.
When the world had its hands around his throat, or he misplaced his coat or remote, or fell victim to an arrogant mans gloat,
He smiled.
What else was he going to do?
He didn’t feel like falling into the same misery trap that you do,
Because he knew that trap wasn’t truth, and that misery is aloof, unlike happiness,
So… He smiled.
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 7:20 PM UTC
Blue eyes
And strawberry skies
What else is there
To think of?
Fuzzy peach dreams
And candy store robberies
I run to you
But I am unable to reach
Through broken features
And torn art
Our hearts are ripped apart
I try to forget
But still
All I can think of
Are those blue eyes
And strawberry skies
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 4:48 PM UTC
the **** kids gaol episode 1
today the **** kid met up with billy marcus, who was the most evil serial killer in
this country and this was mighty hard for him to figure out the right reforming tool, because
despite killing all these people, billy showed no remorse for his victims and the **** kid got
on the computer to search for ways to make billy perform to reform, and that made the **** kid
so devious and cunning in his plan, yes, the **** kid thought, billy will host a game show and
each week he will meet the families of each of his victims, and boy they were so ****** off with billy, the
**** kid had to nail down the furniture and when the first episode of the show came, the first guest was
margaret roe, who was the aunty of harriett roe, who was the 12 year old girl billy bashed and murdered
and to revenge the death of harriett, margaret threw 25 tins of spaghetti all over billy, and the second guest
was rodney palmer, who was victim’s louise hines best friend, and everything he wanted to do to billy was illegal
so rodney threw red paint all over billy, which made billy stink of turpentine but there were many more victims, but
the **** kid said, that is it for the day, and then the **** kid brought out george and brad, who were the brotherly love team
who robbed banks all over melbourne and sydney, and the **** kid put them in a drama group so they can learn how not
to be antisocial, and this was a fun time for the terrible two as the **** kid got them to write their problems out of them
and there was a lot of fake nice in the stories and the **** kid knew they were fake nice, just for reading it and then said
how about next week you act these stories out, and i will edit them and put them on AAA TV and we’ll start the day with
brad in the morning and i can see you should prepare your work and then robert noristine who killed 44 people in various bank robberies
was brought in and straight away the **** kid thought straight away that he could do the weather for brad in the morning and while
brad read the news, robert did the weather, telling each person know the weather forecast and brad had some great guests
like the lord mayor, yetta timpson and at the end of each show brad and robert were pelted with oranges and lemons, and boy did
they hurt, and it got so wild, the guards had to break it up and the **** kid took the prisoners back to their cells to get ready for dinner
and talk about life behind bars being famous, the **** kids way
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 8:19 AM UTC
Penelope is sitting at the kitchen table.
She has a large manila envelope spilled
out across the red plastic surface.
There are about 50 blank greeting cards,
the fronts of these have pictures of butterflies,
palm trees, puppies, strawberry patches, assorted
flowers and birds, and artist’s renderings of quiet places
in nature.
Penelope is writing things down on a yellow legal pad
and contemplating the art on the fronts of the blank cards.
Penelope is working.
About once a month, the Renaissance Greeting Card Co.
sends one of these manila envelopes full of blank cards for her
to ponder.
Sometimes while she ponders,
she drinks wine.
Other pondering sessions require ginger ale
or coffee.
She tells me that the wine is the best lubricant for
the ponderings of wholesale sentiments and she writes
one down on her legal pad.
When she has turned each blank into, what she believes to be, a
suitable greeting card, we will sit together and number the blanks
with black marker, I will type up the sentiments and match them to their
corresponding blank, we will stuff these into the supplied return envelope
and mail the whole mess back to Renaissance Greeting Card Co.
A few weeks later, Penelope will receive a check in the mail.
I am in the bedroom.
I have a little corner desk set up in there.
On this desk, is a typewriter, an ashtray, and a tennis ball.
Sometimes, if I run out of ideas, I’ll chuck the tennis ball at the wall
and catch it on the return bounce for a while.
Usually, I drink coffee while I do the chucking, sometimes it’s
whiskey.
I write stories about bank robberies, diamond heists, or other
tales of daring do.
Sometimes I write prose poems
about what Penelope and I do
on a Wednesday afternoon.
When I have enough of these to fill a manila envelope
or two, I send them off to various editors/publishers of
magazines/rags I have found that serve a particular
audience for these sorts of writings.
Sometimes I get a check in the mail,
sometimes I don’t.
But, there’s always another Wednesday afternoon.
***
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications; 2016
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 3:22 PM UTC
If you fit the description of those upon the news.
Than realize that's all certain factors know.
Upon the news you'll find that young black male connected to robberies.
And mainly because of the news reporters.
Than it's all cause of a certain element of truth.
But if the shoes fit.
Don't wear it.
Change it.
Don't promote it.
For others will believe it.
We hear not about the cars robbers.
We hear not about the element of truth.
Than we are the minorities constantly shown upon the news.
If the shoes fit.
Don't wear it.
Don't let others buy into it.
Notice when certain politicians get busted the excuses they uses.
I mixed champagne with medication.
I had an reaction to certain medication.
And they win than they have judges as political friends.
One bad excuse is a good excuse.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC