"russ" poems
Ni zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Sathon russ gayi ae peed marjaani
Zakhman nu fer chhil jaa
Beh ja ankhiyan'ch ban ke paani
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Vekh mere bul'chandre
Fer hansde ne dard bhula ke
Haaseya naal pawe aadiyan
Dil honkeya ton ankh ji bacha ke haaye
Fer mere muhre khad jaa
Taza hoje koyi yaad ni purani
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Sathon russ gayi ae peed marjaani
Zakhman nu fer chhil jaa
Peh ja ankhiyan'ch ban ke paani
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Langh ja ni rooh vich di
Agg fer ni lahu nu lag jaave
Hathaan utte kar totka
Meri zindagi di leek mitt jave haaye
Ankhiyan'ch neend radke
Ankhiyan'ch neend radke
Langhe chees koyi haddan de thaa ni
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Saathon russ gayi ae peed marjaani
Zakhman nu fer chhil jaa
Peh ja ankhiyan'ch ban ke paani
Zindagi'ch aaja fer ni
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 7:47 AM UTC
Who, or why, or which, or what, Is the Akond of SWAT?
Is he tall or short, or dark or fair?
Does he sit on a stool or a sofa or a chair,
or SQUAT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he wise or foolish, young or old?
Does he drink his soup and his coffee cold,
or HOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he sing or whistle, jabber or talk,
And when riding abroad does he gallop or walk
or TROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a turban, a fez, or a hat?
Does he sleep on a mattress, a bed, or a mat,
or COT,
The Akond of Swat?
When he writes a copy in round-hand size,
Does he cross his T's and finish his I's
with a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Can he write a letter concisely clear
Without a speck or a smudge or smear
or BLOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people like him extremely well?
Or do they, whenever they can, rebel,
or PLOT,
At the Akond of Swat?
If he catches them then, either old or young,
Does he have them chopped in pieces or hung,
or SHOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Do his people **** in the lanes or park?
Or even at times, when days are dark,
GAROTTE,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he study the wants of his own dominion?
Or doesn't he care for public opinion
a JOT,
The Akond of Swat?
To amuse his mind do his people show him
Pictures, or any one's last new poem,
or WHAT,
For the Akond of Swat?
At night if he suddenly screams and wakes,
Do they bring him only a few small cakes,
or a LOT,
For the Akond of Swat?
Does he live on turnips, tea, or tripe?
Does he like his shawl to be marked with a stripe,
or a DOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like to lie on his back in a boat
Like the lady who lived in that isle remote,
SHALLOTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Is he quiet, or always making a fuss?
Is his steward a Swiss or a Swede or Russ,
or a SCOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does like to sit by the calm blue wave?
Or to sleep and snore in a dark green cave,
or a GROTT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he drink small beer from a silver jug?
Or a bowl? or a glass? or a cup? or a mug?
or a ***
The Akond of Swat?
Does he beat his wife with a gold-topped pipe,
When she let the gooseberries grow too ripe,
or ROT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he wear a white tie when he dines with friends,
And tie it neat in a bow with ends,
or a KNOT.
The Akond of Swat?
Does he like new cream, and hate mince-pies?
When he looks at the sun does he wink his eyes,
or NOT,
The Akond of Swat?
Does he teach his subjects to roast and bake?
Does he sail about on an inland lake
in a YACHT,
The Akond of Swat?
Some one, or nobody, knows I wot
Who or which or why or what
Is the Akond of Swat?
3k
Dear Karen,
It is seven years this month when you left us.
I miss you everyday. In the car, seeing the passenger seat empty, but can still hear you telling me to slow down. When I see Russ and Mea, I smile, knowing that our grandchildren, Evan and Emily, would not be here if not for you.
Not long ago, at one of Evan's hockey games, I turned to Mea and said, "I hope Karen is watching this", for Evan(goalie) was playing exceptionally well. Mea put her hand on my shoulder, "she probably has a better seat than we do." I don't doubt that at all. The same goes for Emily and her activities, whether it be soccer, basketball, softball, or who knows what else, I know that you keep that protective blanket around both of them. Yes, there will be scrapes, scratches, bumps, and bruises. perhaps a broken bone. But when the game calls for a "clutch" player, is when the power of the angel, you, leaves the bench, strengthening the confidence of all the players, not just one, or two, but all. Like all things mortal, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. But most of all, they learn. A most important result.
Love you, and miss you!
Richard
copyright: richardriddle 01-07-2015
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
In August, 1977, My wife, Karen, and son Russ, moved back to Texas after eight years of being away. Back to Dallas, Karen's hometown. A house which just happened to be next door to her parents was going up for sale. However, the owners decided to rent it to us, with an offer no sane person could refuse.
Now the neighborhood was a long- established residential area. The majority of the residents, like my in-laws, had been there from its inception, which made the move easier, for we knew most of them. But, there is always one, whose antics over time, become legendary.
Joe, a Scotsman to the nth degree. Every new years eve, at the stroke of midnight, he would appear on his front porch dressed in his kilt, with his bagpipes, heralding in the coming year with supposedly,
"Auld Lang Syne ". At least that's what it was supposed to be, but with bagpipes, how does anyone really know. He didn't stop there; never ceasing to take advantage to publicly play that over-sized vacuum bag, he would often welcome newborn children, puppies, kittens, etc.
The day the moving van arrived, there he was, out on his porch wearing that plaid kilt, bagpipes clutched against his chest. Except, there was an unexpected "twist." After every two or three bars he would stop and yell out, "Stay away from the moors! Stay away from the moors!" Some of the neighbors stepped out on their porches just to see what was going on now. Even the crew unloading the van seemed to enjoy the entertainment and it helped the time seem to go faster.
Within ten days after somewhat settling in to our new place, Karen and I realized that the "moors" of which Joe spoke, actually were the "Moore's" who were our next door neighbors. Needless to say, it was an interesting neighborhood. That could be "another story."
copyright: richard riddle-august 03, 2015
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
Last night my mom and dad got into a fight
Because my dad wanted to watch fights on the DVR
And drink beer in the basement all night!
My mom asked him to watch TV with us
And watch his fights later
But he was mean
And he said no.
So my mom said
"You might as well sleep down in the basement tonight too"
My mom says my dad is so selfish,
And he always leaves things where they don't belong,
And he tells silly jokes, and doesn't like to do dishes.
But, I woke up in the morning, to the smell of crispy salty bacon,
And brewing coffee.
I went to the kitchen
And my dad was cooking eggs, bacon and pancakes
And he was chopping up fruit salad.
The only meal my dad cooks better than my mom is breakfast
And my mom says he's the only man that a can cook her bacon, just right.
I helped my dad put the eggs, with yummy gruyer cheese, and black pepper,
And a little cup of ketchup on the side
Because my mom doesn't like it on the plate,
On the breakfast tray.
And I snuck a piece of bacon, when I put that on the plate,
And the pancake plate with butter and sticky syrup
And then the fruit salad mixed with yogurt.
Then we brought it into the room, and my mom
Went from mad to smiling when she smelled the bacon.
She kissed my dad when he gave her the tray
And said "Don't think your off the hook, Russ."
And my dad did his sorry puppy impression.
"But" my mom said,
I forgive you."
We left her to eat her breakfast,
And as me and dad went to wash the dishes
He said
"Remember, Alice..breakfast in bed fixes almost anything...
Until you ***** up again, and then...there's always chocolates"
Aug 18, 2012
Aug 18, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
Dear Karen
Dear Karen,
It is seven years this month when you left us.
I miss you everyday. In the car, seeing the passenger seat empty, but can still hear you telling me to slow down. When I see Russ and Mea, I smile, knowing that our grandchildren, Evan and Emily, would not be here if not for you.
Not long ago, at one of Evan's hockey games, I turned to Mea and said, "I hope Karen is watching this", for Evan(goalie) was playing exceptionally well. Mea put her hand on my shoulder, "she probably has a better seat than we do." I don't doubt that at all. The same goes for Emily and her activities, whether it be soccer, basketball, softball, or who knows what else, I know that you keep that protective blanket around both of them. Yes, there will be scrapes, scratches, bumps, and bruises. perhaps a broken bone. But when the game calls for a "clutch" player, is when the power of the angel, you, leaves the bench, strengthening the confidence of all the players, not just one, or two, but all. Like all things mortal, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. But most of all, they learn. A most important result.
Love you, and miss you!
Richard
copyright: richardriddle 01-07-2015
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
I've been asked by our son and the grandchildren, Evan and Emily, "Granddad, what would you like to have Santa bring you for Christmas?" A stock answer with grandparents nearly everywhere is, "Don't get me anything, for I have everything I need or want, so save your money."
Although this is a true answer, I usually give some kind of a rediculous answer like, "A pair of horseshoes would be nice." They smile, laugh, but it wouldn't surprise me if they bought a pair.
When I say, "I have what I want", I mean just that. For you see, my family, our son Russ, daughter-in-law, Mea, Evan and Emily, and my "Guardian Angel", "Brie", are my Christmas gifts, 365 days a year.
I can't ask for more than that!
copyright: richard riddle- 12-21-2015
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 9:52 AM UTC
The coca-cola truck was outside today.
I had some free time so I stole it.
I rolled through the streets of my ****** island,
causing some well deserved destruction.
I may have killed a ******
but it was probably for the best.
Who wants to live with one leg anyway?
I had swerved into a hydrant,
freezing water pounded a ferel cat into a storm drain.
But I had too!
Otherwise my neighbor Russ would have become a pancake.
When I finally learned how to control the truck
I stopped at the local liquor store.
I grabbed a sixer of Rolling Rock
and payed with 28 quarters.
I told big Pat to please keep the change,
I Knew she saw the damage I had done on the way.
But she's an old timer,
These things don't phase her.
She just smiled and asked if-
I wanted a brown paper bag or plastic?
May 21, 2010
May 21, 2010 at 9:54 AM UTC
I hear soft music
haunting sitar riding the low wave of a synthesizer bass
I am perplexed by the choice I must make
be taken by the song
or fight the twisting pain in my chest
'In search of the lost chord'
that Moody Blues title
I've found it!
here in the between space
'Visions of Paradise'
'Steppin' in a Time Zone'
I'm dying
and I can't stop listening
can't stop
the pain subsides
and I am crossed
I think
the music and vision now clear and strong
George is playing the sitar
and the synthesizer is not a synthesizer
but the wave itself
the beach I return to each Summer
Vincent hums along as he paints a wheat field
that fades in and out over the horizon
and the Sun is blazing
there in a white suit I see him
"The Lucky man..."
John says to Marilyn
as he turns toward me
..."you've made the grade"
the Sun suddenly falls behind the horizon
the music fades
I begin moving back to the center of all there was
and for a moment there is nothing
no sound
no light
then a voice
"It looks as if he's decided to return"
I awake to see a man in a very long beard,
dressed in white
with round spectacles staring down at me
"I'm Dr. Wall...Russ Wall"
"You're a lucky man! looks as though it's just another day in the life of...
what was your name, friend?"
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 9:18 AM UTC
K: "Good morning, and Happy Father's Day!"
R: "Thank you! Hoping I would hear from you, and, before I forget, Happy Birthday to you, tomorrow!
K: "Time goes by fast, doesn't it."
R: "Yea, too fast."
K: "Are you doing okay?"
R: "Yes, but I miss you, wish you were here."
K: "I'm there, always will be."
R: "Yes. you will."
K: "Evan and Emily are really growing, look older than they are."
R: "Don't you know it. Evan is nearly 6'3" at 15 years old, Emily is 5"10, and only 12. Evan's getting ready for the upcoming hockey season, not sure what Emily wants to do."
K: "In a few more months you will be 75."
R: "Don't remind me! At least, I've stopped growing!"
K: "That's funny! You could always make me laugh."
R: "Tried to, miss that!"
R: "Any new rumors floating around up there?"
K: "Nope, just watching, waiting to see what's going to happen, other than what has already been said by you know who."
R: "Guess He's the only one that knows."
K: "A very well-kept secret."
R: "I'm sure it is."
K: "Tell Russ, Mea, Evan and Emily 'high' for me, and that I love them and miss them."
R: "I will, and they know that. You take care, will talk to you later."
K: "Sounds good, love you, bye-bye!"
r.riddle: June 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 11:02 AM UTC
K: "Saw that you're still up, can't sleep?
R: "Noticed that, did you?"
K: "Is everything okay?"
R: "Yes, I'm fine. It happens occasionally."
K: "So, I noticed. I see where Russ, Mea, Evan and Emily went down to South Texas."
R: "Yea, sort of a "pre-back to school" trip for the kids. They'll be back Wednesday."
K: "How's your arm, healing okay?"
R: "It's fine, no complications. You don't miss a trick, do you?"
K: "Kind of hard not to from up here."
R: "I bet!"
K: "Just wanted to see how you are. Go to bed, you go back to work tonite!"
R: "Sounds like a plan! We'll talk again in a few days.
K: "Love you, miss you!" Good nite!
R: "Love you and miss you, too!" Good nite!
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 4:20 AM UTC
For Sheri and Russ
the thing about love is
that you cannot plan it
or describe it
or put it into words
the thing about love is
that you cannot own it
or possess it
or keep it for yourself
the thing about love is
that you can’t predict it
or restrict it
or make it play to rules
the thing about love is
that you cannot seek it
or borrow it
or put it in a cage
the thing about love is
that you cannot paint it
or write it
or describe it in a verse
the thing about love is
that you can’t demand it
or supply it
or find it in a dream
the thing about love is
that you can’t practice it
or teach it
or know it inside out
the thing about love is
you cannot master it
or limit it
or make it sit quite still
the thing about love is
that you can’t ignore it
or expect it
or deserve its warm embrace
the thing about love is
that you can’t bottle it
or label it
or place it on a shelf
the thing about love is
that when you find it
you'll know it
and you’ll recognise its face
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 11:46 AM UTC
May 2007
Warm summer evening. Long family car ride.
Heading back from Aunt Gertie's with the moon shining bright.
Slouched in the back seat staring up at the stars
Just happy to be living while Dad drives the car.
Thinking' how much I loved him how funny he could be
He could always make me laugh and feel good about me.
CHORUS:
*Memories of Copetown, Old Binkley's Side Rd.
Our little house in the country when I was eight years old*
Summer vacation I'd walk to Inksetter's Pond
Thinking of Joanne Dallman so pretty and so blonde
Dreaming of holding her soft hand in mine
Ah but it never happened 'cause I was so ****** shy
But when I look back on days like these
I think if I'd asked her she would have been pleased
CHORUS:
Playing war in the backyard with Russ and with Steve
We'd pretend to be shot and fall down on our knees
Ah but we knew the difference you didn't **** for real
No and you didn't swear and you sure didn't steal
Sometimes we’d go fishing down at Mueller's creek
Ah but we never caught much; least not much we would keep
CHORUS:
Every year in the Autumn we'd have a corn roast
With a great big bonfire and the ones we loved most
I got to stay up late after everyone was gone
And I'd stare at the embers while Dad played a song
His harmonica drifting on the sweet evening breeze
He played "You Are My Sunshine" and I thought he meant me
CHORUS:
In the winter they'd close down the old ravine road
Where we'd toboggan for hours never feeling the cold
And when we got back home the old fire was lit
Mom would give us hot chocolate and we'd sit and we'd sip
Ah we knew how to play then. We knew how to have fun
But then we never worried where the money came from
CHORUS:
Ah now that was so many, so many years ago
Where all those years went I… I swear I don't know
But when I let the mood take me I'm back there again
With my parents, my sisters and old neighbourhood friends
and it's taken me a life time to see how lucky I was
to have such a childhood and to feel so much love
CHORUS:
Memories of Copetown Old Binkley's Side Rd.
will always be inside me no matter how old
Memories of Copetown Old Binkley's Side Rd.
Are more precious to me than all the diamonds and gold
James H. Webb
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
The balm of sun and charcoal smoke
instantly evoke lost togetherness
from the very first time in the eighties
when beguiled by a well fired banger
and Russ Abbot opined a party
Hold fast to the Proustian rush
as soon enough the dim seasons will return
and the muted, sterile days withhold
all but a sense of cold and pause,
so revel in the glut and sing
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 12:48 PM UTC
.
Russ
RussRussRuss
Russ Russ Russ
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss
RussRuss RussRuss
RussRussRuss RussRussRuss
RussRussRuss RussRussRuss
Russ Russ Russ Russ
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
roses r red
pinky promises r us
ur such a great friend
do it again Russ❤︎
-love lily
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 10:22 AM UTC
When my wife, Karen, passed away nearly eight years ago, our son, Russ, and the grand-children, Evan and Emily, wanted me to move to the town where they live, about 20 miles north of Dallas. I agreed it would be best. It is the best decision I ever made.
After scheduling the moving day, Russ, Evan, Emily arrived to help me pack. In the process I pulled out the box that held my private documents which contained my will and insurance policies. I turned to Russ and said, "while I'm thinking about it, you keep these in your files", and handed them to him. Obviously, his mind was on watching the kids, and he replied, "why are you giving them to me?" I looked at him, " now think about it, I'm not the one who's going to need'em."
So far, they remain untouched.
copyright: richard riddle June 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
They came in droves; they came to see the body of the beast – Full dressed, immobile mystery, peaceably deceased. In life this person mortified the body politic; In death his visage could not hide those deeds that made us sick..
Who have we here on a simple bier laid out for all to see? Someone whom everyone would fear were Death to set him free. Alas, the wicked do not last beyond the chains of death; Nor do we need a fresh forecast ..........as evil relives breath.
This person was poison to young and old; ...........Rich and poor were hoodwinked; In many matters he seemed bold, His crimes were clearly linked.
At his wake the tears shed were tears of thankful joy, Glad we were this man was dead, no longer to annoy.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:08 AM UTC
It is a requirement, embedded by nature, incurable, no antidote known by mankind, and only affects-"Grandfathers!"That uncanny, mysterious malady, yet awe-inspiring talent of-"B S'ing the grandchildren!" Tall tales of heroic deeds, sprinkled with a dash of truth(okay, so it might be a small dash), to totally making something up. After all, it's what "grandfathers do, did, always have, and always will.
Frustrating, perhaps a bit irritating, to their parents(your children), you bet! Which is probably one reason we do it, without any signs of remorse. But, choose your subject matter carefully. Let those B S genes flow like the Mississippi, carrying the imaginations of those priceless gifts to places unknown.
My son, Russ, said to me one day,"Dad, you have to stop feeding them that stuff!" "Why?", I responded,
"after all, that's what grandfathers do."
copyright: richard riddle October23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 12:28 PM UTC
This is a man I just met that has now acquired
Sentient contract.
As prophet of virtue.
Who tells the script of angels lore
Love and prosperity of will soul and self love
Russ your on
From breach of eternal time.
Self love is global will
It is your children with self love who meditate
That inherit self esteem is with right standing with God.
Satan put a reciprocal mirror in hell.
To be the mark of the story
That is figuratives
That pales to Jesus obligation.
Culture of a morphing reality
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 10:18 PM UTC
In this little
alley I passed by.
as a young
little lad...
I saw some men,
dressed and in.
Blades at hand,
men of kings.
*Widows sit by the fireplace,
atop their little house on par.*
**To look down, upon
this alley**
of trash and splash.
Now this man who has a mare,
who he cares so much
He dares not to touch!
Oh,
He sells fish
from the bay
and by and by, fish is cut
splattering blood on the table spot.
Like the butcher he is,
his anger flares up
to a child who dares
touch his little mare.
This child is slaughtered
to the will of the blade
of a *man who has gone
oh so mad!*
In haste to escape
of what my eyes had to see,
I seek the walls of those roofs atop
where ladies
and the cheeky widows
sit by the fireplace,
to fatten up their stinging bums.
I peek to one door
of rouge and red color.
This lady talks to the other
with great detail with a slobber.
**"Oh yes, oh dear. The poor girl's mother.
She has gone to elope with her dearest father."**
And in the russ for more detail
the widow by the window
asks for another.
*"Oh bless her soul.
She surely will
oh surely will,
Have the world look down her
and she shall scream -oh dear!-
This is foul!"*
"Ha! She deserves it!" The lady says.
"Ha! May she meet her maker!" The widow says.
They both say
as the **saints they think
they were.**
Now the words of another
widow by the window
**** the presence
of good will and faith
left by that lady*
and in distress I leave
*to run away
from a lady's
treacherous words
of ways.*
Words are more cunning
than rumors spread
by senile widows
inside window panes
and chimney tops.
**Blades move to ****
Born, to maul the soul
it touches like fire.
Like a monster...
Equipped to ****
Wielded to ******
*Controlled to end
the life of man.*
*Gossip doesn't ****
Oh, but it does.
**When little lies
turn to twisted truths.**
And
To the weak at will,
To the saint by heart.
The woman who
befriends
for the sake of malice...
Intentions and conversations
that **** a fellow woman's
sanity.
Words are flat
Cannot be felt
Cannot be held.
But words cut through
deep in the chasm
of souls
As death takes over
a defeated conscience
and a defeated will of heart
to stay from death apart.
To live on.
What is more murderous than words?
It bewilders the old senile
and cuts a blow
by the soldier's throat.
As the little butcher man
is gone for the run,
his little blade
taken from the raid.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
russ drove down memorial drive
in his powder blue 1950's dodge wayfarer
the sun might not have been shining brightly
at that exact moment, since I was on the school bus
on my way home, it would have only been
an afternoon sun,
but in my memory it was the brightest time had ever been
because i sat in my black school bus seat
and looked out of the school bus window
at russ in his powder blue 1950 dodge wayfarer
with his green hair in carefully shaped statue of liberty spikes
russ was smiling at something
i would never know what
but russ's windshield was so clean and clear
that it just looked like such a colorful world
i was going to do my best to be a part of it
so excited about the life
i was going to end up
throwing away
such a wasted beautiful life
for the far-gone to forgo
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 3:03 AM UTC
Sentient husbands
The seed and pa jo Rogan
Fear factor. Steve stabwell honey
Something slumming Logan
And Michael as the mass hell coming
*** Steve is Michael
Logans Gabriel
Russ is prophet of the higher word
Titles bright. Angel saved from hell
The lord is blessing.
Morph. When russ lights his spoken torch
Without the **** ingestion
Or the sentiment slowing porch fire
Torch wired for the divorce of his flames
I'm investing
Divorce from angels title demon
Screaming.
Saving dreams from spoken reasons.
Satan was a being of greed and seeming
Prosperity. In finding need
To bleed for Jesus to be seen and
Hell to keep its disease.
Steven your seed will be breath.
Not to breathe with out his greed for your eternal strength and peace.
Logan knows his approach to baby wit
Ma will be slow but holding.
Boasting golden shields.
Jo Rogan terrified. Square lives.
He won't be allowed kani
Manta and his needs spared to nines....
For four square sentient wives
*** he spared shared lives.
Chris pratt.
No history his tatts.
Reveal shape-shifting gifted vision.
Spector. Television
The seed has intelligent
In medicine. He shall have seven children
Omasku Niskani will be with me in the veteran.
*** his younger will be indifferent to time.
With six with the 9.
Russ is signed to sentient contract.
With selling symptoms
He spits like Ali hits in prime.
The seed is god in his high. Try rhyming
With.....
As russ speaks he says
(Not in rhyme)
Timing. His ducks 7 sliding
Call him prophet giant.
Call his logic defiant. But his word is is his ****
So **** the truth.
It still sticks
The truth ***** but he's sick.
Jun 1, 2021
Jun 1, 2021 at 9:12 PM UTC
what can¿
be {un}done
when ^ i ^ can ^ trace
my loves
by the | books |
that. rest.
on _ my _ table
waves & seeds
Pablo & Angelo
russian classics
Ne₩ ¥ork
& pursuitsofhappiness
some [kind] of organized mess
@paper pages
fra. gile in their manner
hold/my/ghosts
<all those> lost whispers
have. moved. along.
[for me] words
al>ways> meant
so much =
#more
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
Let's play and run and skip and fall
Let's see how long, it takes to crawl
The grass is green and it's on our pants
It's on our shirts because of the plants
Check out that dirt that's waiting for us
Can I get there first or will it be Russ
I have a new bike, it's a Sting Ray
High rise bars and a banana seat that's gray
Flying kites is fun if the wind is just right
We fly them so high they go out of site
The creek down the street sometimes has some fish
We can't seem to catch em, no matter how hard we wish
The tree at the corner is a blast to go climb
The highest and fastest changes all of the time
Hide and go seek is something we play
If we could, I think, we would play it all day
For some really strange reason, the street light, we hate
Cause when it turns on, I guess that it's late
We hurry and scurry to get up and get out
So we don't get in trouble and nobody shouts....
Brian Hill - 2019#87
Inspired by remembering playtime...!
Apr 8, 2019
Apr 8, 2019 at 9:08 AM UTC