"rookies" poems
Joe of to the poky.
Joe off to the pen.
Joe of the ***** wagon again and again.
Joe fit shased and sailing, three sheets to the wind.
Joe swearing and cussing.
Joe in the back seat.
Joe sits on wrists. fingers all numb.
Joe tossin his cookies. Joe real no count ***
Joe know all the coppers
And breaks in the rookies.
"Hey rook" asks Joe " "can you loosen these up"
My hands been asleep since Henry was a pup.
Joe Bangles they call him and erbody knows.
That Joey cant get lit up and keep on his clothes.
Institutional homeboy.
Going back to the house.
Three hots and a cot.
and wild stories to tell.
slippers and tooth brush in an eight by ten cell.
Mr. Joe Bangles Dance.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 12:05 AM UTC
Handed a drink
Smells of grape
Clear strong liquids
Black plastic cup
***** robed priest
Fair Snow White
Queen of hearts
***** canteen Indian
Hollister tall guy
Jeremy Matt Jake
Beer pong games
Intense with time
3 hours later
Winners and losers
Rookies against all-stars
My big mouth
"Flip cup anyone?!"
Four on four
Too intense now
Every round played
Too much beer
Way too fast
Louder and louder
Crazier and crazier
Drink after drink
Chug faster chug
Lost count already
16? Or 23?
Not slowing yet
Out of mind
Last game now
One on one
No more beer
Liqueur in cups
Don't even kno
Tap down up
Chug chug chug
Flip cup once
Winner me winner
One more game
Asks a stranger
What's one more?
Okay I say
Lost this match
But that's okay
Leave the room
Pop a squat
Not a couch?
But it works
Spinning room spins
Blurry figures there
Not too sure
What's going on
Black out hard
Can't hear anything
Can't see anything
Every once-in-a-while
"Are you okay?"
I can't feel
I can't answer
Black out again
Lost in deep
Seas of waves
Awake for seconds
How did I
Get on the
Steps to upstairs?
People drag me
Up and up
Black out again
Black black black
Dark dark dark
Oceans of drunkenness
10 o'clock a.m.
Holy ******* ****
What is this?
A soft pillow?
A warm blanket?
Someone was nice
I look behind
Me and there's
3 strangers sleeping
Next to me
What's that smell?
Puke on my
Jeans and clothes
Pillow in puke
How do I
Not remember puking?
I do not
Remember a thing
After flip cup
Lay for a
Few more minutes
Gain enough balance
To sit up
I see Mary
In the hallway
"Liiisaaaa!!!
How are you?"
What the ****
I feel okay
Not bad actually
Until I stand
Make my way
Down the steps
Bathroom is trashed
Sink ripped off
Of the wall!!
Beer, bottles, shots
Everywhere ******* disaster
I feel fine
But the smells
Make me puke
Think, never again
******* crazy night
Stories of me
Retold to me
You went hard
You're so little
You drank alot
You played every
Single game of
Flip cup dude!
I saw you
With your head
In a bucket
Puking so hard
I couldn't leave
You like that
So me and
A few people
Dragged you upstairs
Hahaha thanks guys
Blah cupcake blah
Pizza ******* blah
Apple pie moonshine
Stale white bread
Memories kinda lost
Everyone had fun!
The ******* end
Till next time
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
No one saw it coming,
that warm September day-
Not the workers at the pudding shack
Who mixed sweet treats for pay.
Not the Rookie at the pressure valves
Not the people in the town
It was the Rookies’ rank incompetence
That set in motion what went down.
Nine vats of Snack Time pudding
Exploded with a roar
Nine hundred thousand gallons
Went oozing out the door
The workers never had a chance
On this, their final day
Ending up like Easter bunnies
For a giant’s holiday
That mighty wave of chocolate.
Like a Tsunami hit the town.
Sweet creamy death swept over them
Deliciously, they drowned.
Others turned and tried to flee.
They ran for all their worth.
The swift were lucky to escape
This scrumptious hell on earth
The survivors of the snack slide
Lost all they owned in town
It was a diabetics’ wet dream
Everything was chocolate brown.
It was the worst snacktastrophe
Our land had ever seen.
Obama sent marines with spoons
The air force dropped whipped cream
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 10:50 PM UTC
There are some pro wrestlers
Who always have to get all their **** in
There are people who expect things from them
And they give those things to those people
But for the rest of us
The match becomes predictable
As we await their signature moves
Which is why I think we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
He never had to get all his **** in
He served the story
Not his glory
He displayed the petulance of man
And showed us how we can say the right things
In the wrong way
Yes, we need more wrestlers like Chris Jericho
Someone who can host a talk show or headline Wrestlemania
Someone who can be comedic or vicious
We need people who understand the importance of looking foolish
As well as the obligation to maintain an edge
And people who can mentor the rookies
While hanging with the veterans
Yes, wrestling needs more people like Chris Jericho
People who don't depend on wrestling
He makes music
And has a podcast
Avenues being paved
For the crossroads many wrestlers face
Between business, art, physicality, and mentality
Where the road being left behind is physicality
It is hard to watch people hang on for the business
Yes, the world needs more people like Chris Jericho
He never cured a disease
Neither did he make one
He's a performer who creates
He creates for the benefit of himself and others
He's not a wrestler who has to get all his **** in
He understands signature moves can become crutches
On the path to a boring finisher
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 4:37 AM UTC
Do you have to get high to feel more fly?
Soft *** stoner
I'm more blunt when I'm sober
Excuse me to the real dudes who use ****
I know how it be
But if you only smoke because it's trendy
Right now your life is pending
Because you not downloaded
You buffering
Losing connection
I can't respect it
Your life isn't hectic
You had to use other folks addresses
Just to get public school lessons
Never got a suspension
Detention because you wasn't paying attention
You wasn't throwing pencils
Or raising up dresses
Or erasing the "warm up" messages
Or guessing during benchmark testing
Word I heard you was a nerd
And that's cool
But don't have tape in between 'yo glasses then grow up to gain bad habits
That's backwards
Thought life was all about progress
You have a background which is flawless
But for acceptance
You start making exceptions
I do it for the breathless
And of my God I don't question
Exclamation
To all perpetuation
But hesitation
I don't condone perpetration
Why dissemble on some **** that isn't providential?
Everyone who practically had no choice now want a way out
Little *** kids you didn't even weigh in
How did you find your way in?
That's from real men being pliant
For all you cats who trying
Stop 'yo lying
When I'm around Amateurs come in silence
Like what's a scavenger to a lion?
About time for all of you late bloomers to become compliant
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 8:49 PM UTC
The college kids still pump out poems;
my heroes haven't published a book in years.
The academics are moving to visual arts
kerning letters on the page, adding artist statements.
Fuego en juventud. Sabiduría en viejo.
Passion fades with age, I suppose. A symptom of
the cult of happiness.
And I love to read poems
from twenty-somethings who just want to get ******
I picture my red pen exciting them as I destroy
their fine-tuned metaphors, all muddled with conflicting allusion,
as if juxtaposition alone adds meaning.
In school, it was all Cezanne and hydrogen jukebox birdsongs,
and equally interesting but useless adjective strings.
The academics are doing the same, but with form.
It bores us, don't they know?
Fuego en juventud. Sabiduría en viejo.
**** these kids for having such easy means to publication.
I read their journals, their magazines, their "editions"
online, vivid, vomiting color and opinion.
I long for publishing classified ads and
scribbled chalk portraits of the women I loved
and the twenty-somethings who just wanted to get ******
and reflections of how I never mastered either craft.
I long to rub the ink off newsprint in my fingers,
smudge the words on the page and ***** my hands,
watch the chalk run into the red brick
during ten-minute monsoons, smell the library's adobe,
light a cigarette and remember that the stacks are filled
with ages of greater work than these ******* kids...
and these ******* academics.
Greater than me.
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 5:04 AM UTC
You looked me in my eye
So cold, so sweet you lied.
How could you do such a thing,
All those beautiful things you wrote, i thought you were a king.
But see you were so rare, I wouldve never assume otherwise,
Like definitely perhaps your nothing like these other guys.
See I don't know why you tried to bring me into your ****
Talking bout love and loyalty, man thats ********
Said youre not gonna hurt me you're different,
Yet you lie so fiercely with a grin.
I still can't believe it , you don't seem like the type,
But you can't put nothing pass nobody , i thought you knew what was right.
Caught feelings, actually wanted dealings
But you were too high on your **** shift lowkey,
Thinking i wouldn't have figure out, all you ****** is rookies .
But this always happens to me right?
Didn't even expected and still got hurt,
Somehow i'm always ending up feeling like dirt.
So tired of the same old thing,
Focus on myself, get good grades, stunt cous i don't have a ring.
Noone know what loyalty is,
Everyone just wanna run game,
But i love the players , i'm just getting better with the team.
It always turn out this way,
Such a disappointment , i don't want to hear what you have to say.
So sad to see it gone,
But life goes on.
-dpk
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
Phil you told Hercules best,
That dreams are for rookies and prepare to fail life's test,
No matter how hard you try,
Your parents are wrong.. Your dreams will never touch the sky,
So just shut up and take a seat,
Maybe it's time for you and reality to meet,
Thinking you can achieve your dreams isn't right,
You're just Waisting time and pushing away everything in sight,
I'm done thinking my dreams are wild,
Cause I was stupid and acted like a child,
If you're smart you'll listen to me,
And know dreams belong to HA the people that "believe"
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
uh my clan be ***** as the Taliban
with illegal contraband
got more heat than desert stand
one man stand on the mic
i rock im as hard as a ****
in between a ***** legs
gettin' ready to knock
ya out with flows i expose
the industry closed
once yosef pours
out the blessin got me foes guessin no stressin
**** and henney sessions
new lessons
daily sip irish creme baily
they cant play me but pay me
listen to styles p or bump biggie
or maybe 2 p a c
host aks at birthdays
im al caponin' it runnin' ****
like diarrhea
yall just need ta
sit the **** back while i count benjamins stacks
which be
in bundle king of the hip hop jungle
and im
going to **** puffie diddy
He soft as a nestle cookie
Make mysteries
no rookies
cant play with me in this deadly game
lite a match for the flame
burn the fame
infamous is how i keep it man
hol up
I see the hate excite of the critics
Gimmicks leave with they headsplitted
And backs more open than parachute
From the guns that shoot 21 salute
Dont ya know im soldier
I keep glocks hot as folgers
In ya cup i interrupt the scene
Once i puff red hair greens
Ya drivin a limousine
N ill throw grenade in ya sunroof
And watch it land inbetween
Ya legs
So ya can blow ya own head
Get it naw forget
All i see is yellow tapes chalks
And you being admitted
To the hospital in critical
Condition no intermission
All ya memory left is ya see is my face
Im like the son of man
Leavin competition running
Marathons cuz im the biggest don
They call me the Holy one
Cuz of the way my guns
Put holes in one
The rawest spit flawless
Talk **** we'll leave ya jawless
Throw ya remains in the death valley
With the rest of the restless carcass
Facing eternal darkness what???
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 7:03 AM UTC
by a proxy delivered
a days sour face
its painted eye fixed on jacob's ladder
and salvation's cherubs
who seven times sevenfold tell the tale
but the tale is threadbare by the time they have spun the spin
all call each other rookies as they verbally fistfight
over the breadcrumb leavings
charred remains of her melted mind
smoulder weakly in the
interment rain
she would sit in the dirt
sketching beautiful things
known for being pretty for all the eyes that don't see
leaving the brick and mortar life
for everything imagination tells you
is so beautiful
you don't want to change the world
just want your world to change
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a computer mouse
All of the people and pets
Were nestled in bed
Waiting for a fat man
In a flying -reindeer sled
Just as I ventured
To slip off to sleep
A noise -- maybe a clatter
Was heard from the street
I ran to get me a view
Opening the window
I put my head through
Down on the corner
Across from the jail
A fat drunken bearded man
Was singing off key
Merry Christmas to all you boys
I hope ya all make it out without fail
The kettle had just enough money
To make my own flippin bail
I was annoyed so I yelled down
Go home you soppin santa --you stinkin clown
GO HOME-
So the real Santa might actually appear
F*** off you a** hole he yelled back
As he popped open a beer
I am the real santa you **** head
Then he sorta suggested
My reindeer flew off when I was arrested
Mrs. Clause is so cold
Them elves is lucky they don't get molested
But if you're worried ya won't get your gift
Then get your dumba** down here
And give me a lift
Hastily dressing I wondered
If anyone else might have heard
But the way they were snoring
Obviously they heard not a word
Grabbing a jacket I picked up my keys
Went out to take this crazy drunk home
So that he won't freeze
When I finally found him
It way back behind the dumpster
Where he was tossing his cookies
Being eyeballs by two coppers
Who looked like a pair of rookies
"COME ON " I pleaded " lets get you home"
He peered at his wristwatch"sh** he exclaimed
I'm supposed to be delivering gifts in Maine
He clumped into my new Volvo --stinking of *****
"A Volvo" he sneered why couldn't you drive a Ford ..comet
Then he mumbled some words below his stale breath
And my car floated up in the air -- scaring me to death
He yelled out commands as my car shot forward
"Rides pretty nice" he muttttered" but not as nice as a Ford"
"On Volvo .. On Volvo .. On ..oh heck .. Just hook a left
No nonono I mean right
Then he yelled out the window
MERRY(buuurp) CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD EFFEN
NIGHT. ** ** Cough cough Hoooo!!
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
Swoosh!
Uh! Why, thank you!
You may know by now
I am weightless so
I'll help you
levitate, too, okay? and
Ommmm...meditate!
(and I'll kiss you like so, too)
Hooray!
Boy and girl paper dolls in
3-dimensions!
I can't point to which ears
heard which stampeding rumbles
from minimal eye gazes,
my vigilantly mind plotting on a chess board,
six moves ahead,
rooks to rookies,
overtly naive to trump
Freudian slips
(here's where Forer will see his effect),
a density practiced since
crushin' La Rosa,
an unfurling heroine,
compiling names to
ever-growing lists,
I pushed it to the test,
immersed in
metacourse
and passed in
supernova bursts of
spiralling colours!
Mr. Movie sends his waves asking,
Alice killed the Jabberwock with a purple sword, didn't she?
And making his request,
Make sure the hyenas get rid of Scar so that he Never! Comes!...Back!
As well as his warnings,
(Captain Gutt will threaten)
*I will destroy him and everything he LO-OVES!
You destroyed everything I had!
I'm just returning the favour!*
Reassuring,
*No, he won't.
Uh uh.*
But I wouldn't know anything about that.
I live in the post-post-postmodern age.
Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
Ref blows whistle: (Full Time Out)
Me-
My man curled, screen, then tried to do a slip.
Size you in, and hit you really good in your lips.
No calls guaranteed, from these wack funky referees.
I’m ready to turn up on the court, bro, down with me?
Juice-
Hell yeah my guy! ****** off and attitude kinda tight.
What a mess, Aye, Zay let’s put these boys to rest.
Me-
Straight facts! Next play they’re running flat.
The next time he do that, we’ll lay him on his back.
Time to respond. I'll get the ball, hit a crossover, and pass it through.
Hit your shimmy dance, shoot and move, shoot and move.
Juice-
***** you ain’t got to say -ish!
I been ballin’ since 5th grade with the same tricks!
With the ball gripped, and a fake little drive.
Average 14p-10r-5a + an OG can still fly.
Just observe, I’m about to send these boy my regards.
Have the crowd singing, “Oh my Lord!”
Me-
Bet fam, love your crazy attitude!
We gone gang up on these rookies and beat them by 62!
Abuse them, with the upmost tempo vicious.
Dunk, score, scream and shout make them feel like quitting.
On Defense, guard #2 the short chubby dude.
I’ll guard #32 that look like a raccoon.
Go man to man with the little peasants.
When it’s all said and done, give these fools zero leg room exits.
Juice-
I'm dunking on chumps like O’Neal , offense-defense real!
Got ice in my veins from the thrill when I block and steal!
These little boys can’t stop me for -ish!
With my corner 3-pt nasty wet jumper, they gone have to recover.
Yup, make them suffer. We dangerous!
Whole team will lose confidence dawg, big trust!
Now let’s just chill, relax, stay focus no relapse,
watch our backs, but aye fam… where the ball at?
Ref blows whistle: (Ball in!)
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
You portray, your stain so as to the page's of this book are turned to frost.
Seeing past your plot's I do not think in the way of plural many different stations.
As tracks move in a foggy, manner with oval tears and harder looks.
Rookies and bookies on shelves when did they lose there best.
Now, as you leave for Italy, your body turns to higher vibrational, feed needing only muse to retreat musical corectness.
Only you do not seek sensational, when your vibration's are keyed upon high quality success seek it no more.
All is love, all is great!
Apr 1, 2017
Apr 1, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
Fake it if you must.
Let's pretend to have a soul
just to make sure
I'm not alone in this.
Just to insure a shelf
for you to place all your grief upon.
You can fill a glass, call it half empty.
You could blame it on the voices,
Let them speak for you,
because you've lost your own.
I'm asleep on your floor again.
The warm spot,
you left before I had a chance to say
something.
Jan 31, 2011
Jan 31, 2011 at 6:42 PM UTC
They tell me to watch my weight
But how can I?
When I love my spanish.
The gondules, the rice, the meat
The repollo with the olive oil dressing my mami makes me
Oh so much mixture in my spanish!
And I stroll these streets with the mixture in my walk
And the taste of sazon in talk
The boys, they can't seem to look away.
And can they?
with all this red meat on my bones
With the beans in my hips
All this spice in my soul
Oh, please save me one more bowl
These plantains aren't mashed enough
And i got the special recipe of my aunti's mangu
So I switch my way to the kitchen
To show these rookies what i can do
My hands smell of onion
My hair is tied
My hips move to the beat of the steel bowl tapped by the wooden spoon
I cook from morning to noon
But what do i care?
As long as I got spanish on the table
They won't worry about who said what
Who got how much
Or how everybody is "Fulano"
Because I serve it well
So let me feed you and show you how much I love my Spanish.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
I dream of a world which is perfect
a world with nothing but respect
where i am a small but important part
where love and joy ain't miles apart
I dream of a world where politics isn't a game
it has people with might and vision but no dismay
Where in every aspect girls are better than the boys
oh, who am i kidding?
They're already better than these rookies
who eat, sleep and both with noise
i dream of world where religion is just a path
where people know they'll reach the same destination
and not a strath
I dream of a world where everyone is just and unbiased
love, joy, difficulties are shared by all, even the shyest
where people die, but are never forgotten
where friendships are never, never rotten
I dream
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:00 PM UTC
The past doesn't last.
The mole stole a bread roll & ran down the tunnel hole.
A giraffe poked a can of coke.
The defiant giant roared.
The bird landed a ****
A joke for a poor bloke.
The troll dropped his bowl on the bed like lead.
Then came the blame....who ate my baklavas?
Candy apples & fruit cakes.
Gingerbread man & fortune cookies.
Food that's adaptable.
Goodies to bake.
Eat it because you can.
Snacks for rookies. Taste the treats.
Don't waste in a haste.
I bet of that you'd regret.
Pink frosting in the sink.
When you drink *** you act dumb.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 4:34 PM UTC
Like a puddle of conciseness I gazed within, I saw something,
not of reality, was this a nightmare in a teacup of reflections?
But as it evaporated I saw that wondering gaze among the
blind effigies that looked into nothingness.
I wondered my view upon the multitudes of shaded white,
what I hadn't seen as my overlook of what was inner most
close to my perceiving. Then I saw it, how did I not envision
this before? Was my gaze swollen with the shallow husks of
those clambering around me. Like an afterimage fleeting.
It was as if it was jumping in shallow puddles, for just a time
not to make waves in a sea of nothingness. For even the slightest
motions collected on the shores of others perceiving.
I was in a chess match, in a board of rookies..
Where those before me once me? I collected myself.
*"Was I a pawn or another player in a field
of knights who had fallen,*
I was weaving like spider silk, afterimages of where I
had once been. I had become accustom to the intricate
notions of what could and could not be grasped upon.
The blank ones even though of momentary emotions,
when it or they perjured upon them.
Then I noticed, they became more than just chandeliers of
static light. Emotions were collecting in the corners of what
were vacant sockets of vision. I was no longer alone in this
place of shaded memories. Knowing that they were not of
the purring kitten collections, more of the great white playing
in a kinder garden of seals.
I watched as they consumed each pool, that which was
vacant now fell dissolving into tears of memories fading
beyond there contemplation. But as each painting of
memories was dissolved they were smirking as if they
or it knew I was watching the destruction of their actions.
Knowing what I had seen, I was the knight on a field of
pawns. They were innocence in playground of land mines.
Each step was unconditionally their continuation or the
inevitable disillusion to extinction. My morals were as in
life as in death, never to let harm befall those of needing.
To Continued in the final part 4
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 11:52 AM UTC
uh my clan be ***** as the Taliban
with illegal contraband
got more heat than desert stand
one man stand on the mic
i rock im as hard as a ****
in between a ***** legs
gettin' ready to knock
ya out with flows i expose
the industry closed
once yosef pours
out the blessin got me foes guessin no stressin
**** and henney sessions
new lessons
daily sip irish creme baily
they cant play me but pay me
listen to styles p or bump biggie
or maybe 2 p a c
host aks at birthdays
im al caponin' it runnin' ****
like diarrhea
yall just need ta
sit the **** back while i count benjamins stacks
which be
in bundle king of the hip hop jungle
and im
going to **** puffie diddy
He soft as a nestle cookie
Make mysteries
no rookies
cant play with me in this deadly game
lite a match for the flame
burn the fame
infamous is how i keep it man
hol up
I see the hate excite of the critics
Gimmicks leave with they headsplitted
And backs more open than parachute
From the guns that shoot 21 salute
Dont ya know im soldier
I keep glocks hot as folgers
In ya cup i interrupt the scene
Once i puff red hair greens
Ya drivin a limousine
N ill throw grenade in ya sunroof
And watch it land inbetween
Ya legs
So ya can blow ya own head
Get it naw forget
All i see is yellow tapes chalks
And you being admitted
To the hospital in critical
Condition no intermission
All ya memory left is ya see is my face
Im like the son of man
Leavin competition running
Marathons cuz im the biggest don
They call me the Holy one
Cuz of the way my guns
Put holes in one
The rawest spit flawless
Talk **** we'll leave ya jawless
Throw ya remains in the death valley
With the rest of the restless carcass
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:52 PM UTC
When you fixate on the petal of a flower,
Time moves off beat in waves of an hour,
Time bent,
And money spent.
All to impress someone who impresses you without trying.
You send me flying.
A scepticism
Proves all old mysticism.
You wear on top dark,
And your bottom light, like a shark.
I'm the wader in the dangerous tide,
And if I said you weren't worth it I lied.
You remind me of the sweet smell of baking cookies.
Remember getting treated like one of the rookies?
Ever since we met my knees grow weak,
I'm afraid my feelings have sprung a leak.
Something harder?
There is nothing, I'd barter.
For the affection I hold,
Must be met by you also, I am told.
So I must earn it, take the time to bond and learn,
Only then can the chemistry between us burn.
I don't feel desperate toward you,
Not at ease, the butterflies in my stomach still make me feel blue.
But it's OK, because in your eyes something has me go red,
While most of it is in my heart, not head,
I still feel a great interest here,
There is something special I don't yet know, dear.
Many adore you, as would more with the chance,
But rather than having them all the opportunity with you to dance,
I shall offer myself first,
Hoping that in matters of this love I am not cursed.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Nine hundred and sixty two miles from home,
a monk's touch reverberated, instantly taking root
in the spirit of one alone in a sea of alien ideas.
4:30 a.m.
A gong signals it's time to rise in silence,
prepare for morning zazen with the rest of the rookies,
file into the meditation hall,
settle awkwardly onto cushions.
No words are spoken; just watch and do.
Then, suddenly, hidden behind the silence,
he reaches down, gently takes my fingers,
rearranges them just so,
teaching only through touch.
Electrifying!
Thirteen years later, I can recall that moment
in detail--all thirty seconds of it--
when a monk's touch transferred compassion
and knowledge from him to me, a stranger,
and I was transformed somehow,
never to be exactly the same again.
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
AFTER THE ROW
Built an over large
snowman
on your front doorstep
&
hid behind it.
Rang your doorbell
until you were annoyed
by it.
“Yes...yes! ”
you flung open the door
to be confronted
with a snowman
telling you
he loved you
until slowly
your heart
began
to melt.
****
SNOWBALL WARS!
Use a shiny blue megaphone
to magnify the menace
in my voice.
My snarl barks curt commands
as authentic as
any movie scene I've seen
with a Rod Steiger fat ugly cop
tone.
'We know you're in there! '
'We've got the house surrounded! '
'You don't stand a chance! '
'Give yourself up & come out with
yer hands up! '
And, it's true:
I have ringed the house
with an army of snowmen
(some better trained than others)
others a little shaky
nothing more than half-made rookies.
Their nasty little coal black eyes
trained on the door
a snowball in each of
their twitchy twiggy fingers
more for effect than
actual firepower.
I command
from behind the line.
My little pyramid
of snowballs at the ready
waits eagerly at my right hand
longing to be thrown.
A tense suspenseful
second that seems to last for ever
then suddenly
you emerge
a human blur
dashing from the door
like the last freeze frame from
BUTCH CASSIDY & THE SUNDANCE KID.
My army of snowmen
are caught on the hop
frozen to the spot
not expecting the unexpected.
'What now...boss? '
they scream
losing their nerve.
You are armed
to the teeth
with snowballs
frozen from the fridge
one or two snowmen
have already lost their heads
another has his snowball
shot from his hand
as you break through
the cordon
determined to take me
down.
Get me
(you reckon)
& all the snowmen
will just cave in
turn
& run.
Your lipstick
yells redly
(voice made visible)
I take a snowball
to the heart
fall in almost
slow motion
as you leap upon me
kiss me
...to death!
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 11:13 AM UTC
They tell me that I'm not going to make it.
That my dreams do not have the potential
to become realistic, and that I don't have
the power to do anything more than average.
They underestimate what I am so capable
of doing because I so desperately need to keep
my goodness locked up away from them.
To them, chasing my dreams is like chasing
after a train I'd never be able to catch.
Arriving just a minute too late, and my effort
to make it wasn't enough even if my all is
put forth. To them, they believe that dreams
are for the hopeless and I ain't never been that.
So I push forward and fight for what I have
always wanted, for what I know I deserve.
To me, dreams are for real and are the closest
things to sweet victory. Knowing that I've
made it and can live my life peacefully is
what I need. I deserve the world and everything
good that's in it. I've been to hell and back too
many times to not achieve glory. Too many
times being kicked and put down and shut out.
Too many times being told "no". Because
my dreams -- my dreams "aren't meant to be
real". According to many, dreaming is for
rookies that know what they believe will never
come true. I've never been that type. My
spirit is larger than life, and I will prove to my
doubters that dreams are more than real.
91914
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
Kiss my.
Oh, not that part.
But my lips.
And make me feel every feeling within it.
You know how.
You have the skills.
And have done it for years.
Rookies needs practice.
While veterans needs nothing.
No slob.
No spit.
Those kissers are complete idiots in need of an instructor
Cause a simple kiss should be an expression of a person love.
It's different than a friendship smooch.
And the approach of the ways to do it must be known.
Before you proceed because of the responds.
Or you might face some reprisal and harm.
Don't kiss my hand.
Don't kiss my neck.
Cause things might get started.
But that can happen too.
If you just kiss my lips.
And put that special feeling within it.
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC