"scrapping" poems
They live in huge houses, drive fancy cars
Most know poverty only secondhand
So how can they fix a problem... They don't really understand
Given the role of a leader
However, I'm convinced they are confused
We live in worlds too far apart...
How can they lead with similar views
Their children go to private schools
Only the finest and elite
Their children will never need public education
So they allow funding to deplete
Their children will succeed
I believe it's part of their plan
To ensure that high society
Will forever lead the average man
The evidence is no secret
They don't seem to care if we agree
They know they hold this power
So it doesn't matter if we see
Our taxes keep going up
Unemployment is at an all time high
Life keeps getting harder for those just scrapping by
The people making these decisions
Of course they find it easy enough to do
They're not deciding for themselves
They decide for me and you
The truth of the matter is...
This country is ruled by hypocrisy
They disguise this, however, very cleverly
Today it's what we know as Democracy
"A political government run by 'The People' through 'Selected' officials"... Democracy defined
Compare it to the way it was truly designed
Sure we get to 'select the official'
But the one thing they seem to neglect
They pick the people
Many, that corruptive politics help select
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
Your skin wasn't so soft
Not the softness you'd find
In great love stories
You didn't always have the
Words to say something
You fumbled with them
While I babbled
You snored -
Only a little, I promise
Yet in ways I found
Them so endearing
Perhaps it was just you
And I find myself
Tripping and tumbling
And scrapping ideas
Of not needing love
Or just not being aware
Because I'm just yearning
To brush against that arm again
Stories be ******
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 4:43 AM UTC
What! the What!
was that which I think
were syllables
perpetrating from the sewer
of their open commentary
on my life.
As though it was a live play.
And they were the voice over
scrapping at my thoughts.
Well if I were you!
When did I ask this magpie of gossip
to intrude on my daily reflections.
But no you stain that window
I want to stare outward too.
Mind your own business, I know yours
went bankrupt long ago..
Never paying dues to what you paid out.
But never counting the cost of what
every word cost you.
Now its time to change that channel
to white noise.
All the persistent vocals drowned out.
Now I can watch my life without commentary.
Others should watch themselves not others
just because your is a repeat of a dull life.
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 5:00 PM UTC
The Empire State Building is a giant middle finger
Concrete is broken, NYPD, taxis racing, red light green light
I enter the hand of the city through it's capillaries breaking mad concrete
Warm gusts of **** grime, and transportation swallow me
The city feeds off dreams and hope which we personally, willingly give up
We all somehow learn to accept this fate
The passerby no longer human but broken mirror
The hand inundates my eyes from breezes of tomorrow
The spacy apartment, and the affluent career and the acquantanceship
Of the handful of New Yorkers that run the hand: all questionable plans today
It's as if the hand's grasp, although sharp and brick, would venerate your intellect, guaranteed
If that's the case, I see wizards of wisdom everyday snoozing on concrete and cardboard and plastic
Bearded, black with dirt and skin, threads ripped by a world inferrior than the one in thier minds
Empire "Middle Finger" State of intellect, scrapping billion dollar clouds
Sardine can subways, escalators, elevators, high on crack **** speed of sound
The cash nerve system meltsdown into golden chips to feed the pigeons
Glass and steel craft spaces for modernity to be sold like a Washington Heights *****
You can feel the growth of the hand at the end of your intestines
It's a warm, uncomfortable vibration revealed in your ********
Foreign tongues buzz through the air, through your hair for 19.95
New York needs a haircut, some profound discipline so we wake up from this bizzare life of welcomed pain
You once charmed me with hopes of culture, open minds, connections, real connections, love and laughter
Yet, Today I am hungry in Murray hill
I am cold in Chelsea
I am broken in Union Square
I ***** in SoHo
I have fallen in the East River
And I bleed on financial monoliths
Someone have mercy on my wills
It is an intention trying to be fulfilled
But failed when it became self-aware
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 11:44 PM UTC
As kids we were close,
Pushing each other on a swing during humid afternoons,
Scrapping over the biggest piece of cake,
Singing and strumming old rock songs on a video game,
Cheesing in the odd school picture together,
Hiding the family dog upstairs, cartoon shows on the tv,
Volume at its highest, all to drown the rows vibrating the walls
From downstairs,
It seemed back then we had each others back,
Sobbed for the same reasons at night,
Nervously bit at the skin around our nails over unknown noises,
Shook a knee with every thought of fleeing our hometown,
Yet now we don’t even know each other,
The distance runs thicker than blood,
He said she said infiltrating a possible recovery of a bond,
I often wonder how it can be, two people from
One home, both living on different planets,
Almost generations away from beliefs we once shared,
Pinching at each others emotions from another continent.
I found a journal from when I was my angsty teen self,
Words of fury coated most pages,
Some rhymes of regret,
Plenty of mischievous essays,
Page 94 had no explanation, just a date, some doodling
And one sentence,
“You were the first one to break my heart.”
As kids we were close,
But what do kids know.
Apr 10, 2021
Apr 10, 2021 at 9:36 AM UTC
Skinny is a feeling.
The feeling of a necklace scrapping protruding collarbones,
The feeling of rings slipping off thinning fingers,
The feeling of sharp cheekbones slicing into skin,
The feeling of hunger scratching stomachs,
The feeling of jeans becoming baggy around pencil legs,
The feeling of bald patches covered with wooly hats in summer,
The feeling of sharp ankles balancing on scales,
The feeling of needles in arms,
The feeling of hospital blankets,
The feeling of cold.
But there’s no feeling in death.
Jun 4, 2017
Jun 4, 2017 at 5:59 AM UTC
When you decide to wash the car, make sure of your stability
Don't lose your footing, or any form of your own credibility
Some driveways are a dangerous place, they can be a liability
Knees get grazed through carelessness, but that's your responsibility
You've slipped down the embankment, you wasn't banking on a stumble
Coming into contact with the concrete, giving you good cause to grumble
Is it possible that your garden, has got loose parts that crumble
Or was it due to clumsiness, that made you fall and tumble
Water splashing on the car, but it wasn't that translucent
You ended up with ****** knees, from your unruly movement
Bucket dropping did not help, with your clean car improvement
I can't say that your actions, didn't cause us some amusement
We had a laugh at your expense, because your knees got scuffed
Spilling water on the path, is when your legs we're stuffed
You didn't look too happy, so I guess you wasn't chuffed
Because you fell, it'll be some time before the car gets buffed
One thing I will mention, we would not have seen you fall
If you didn't have that camera, that you wanted to install
But it has served it's purpose, cos we have seen it all
You was not completely focused, and you wasn't on the ball
Security has now been viewed, splashed water not in stealth
Is it worth the hassle, when you clean the car yourself
You don't want to trip and fall, and damage your leg health
Take it to the car wash, cos it doesn't cost much wealth
Your unfortunate leg scrapping, we hope it was not deep
But we nearly ****** ourselves, when you fell in a heap
We laughed at your misfortune, it almost made us weep
Cleaning cars come at a price, when it's done on the cheep
Some Ideas are valid, and most of them go far
Set backs are not wanted, make sure that your on par
Be aware of your surroundings, if your washing the car
Trips around the garden could result, in a blooded scar
Dec 11, 2018
Dec 11, 2018 at 8:41 AM UTC
A large penny for the mysterious sweet shop and
A wooden tray of treasures, for my paper twist,
Fingers sticky with sugar, giggling at the silliness
Of a younger sister with a boys haircut
Silver milk bottle tops on a frosty winters morn
Pierced by hungry, pecking tits,
Finger nails scrapping frost from window panes
Revealing the dim day dawning before simpler eyes
Listening to the breakfast radio show for latest releases
Above a chattering bustling kitchen
Shouting, a little sister curling her hair, that we’d be late
Pelting towards school bus, with Camus stuffed in a torn pocket
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
the scrapping of rubber shoes
on the pavement alarm me
frantically gliding as if
in search of something
the halls are suddenly
narrower than yesterday
and all the other days before
this always happens
whenever i am rushing
and i am always rushing
so i wonder why i'm always
surprised to find myself this distraught
when its color isn't pretty on me
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 11:13 PM UTC
And the emptiness now
lets the memory howl
and bang its head
off the sheer walls of never—
Engulfed in consequence as it rolls in
fog or smoke?
In any case—
lonely
looks like this--
numb and cool and slow-moving
grayish-white fingers
reaching for molecules of air
while the reign of suffering comes like fine drizzle
over
springtime over....
Desire perishing in a crisis of will
In the thickets of panic—
bronchial spasms expand seconds
at an open window
Choking, congestive, failure of heart!
in the face of what it means to be...
not being
...as I came into this world
breach and not breathing
to my mother’s horror!
Alone
Scrapping, gasping, grappling for breath
I love life
I LOVE-- life!
Love—
inexpressible, inessential fool of a child
Love ripped apart at the v
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC
I used to carry two buckets
It was easy, each swing weightless
I filled them with thoughts of the day and put them on the shelf at night
People began to fill them with their favorite things
At first I liked the kick knacks
Bibles, shards of scrapping paper, handicap stickers, elephants and stars, kids menus, empty party bottles, movie reels and a wadded up half finished confession on the back of a napkin.
The weight began to grow
I enjoyed it, the build of muscle, the struggle of hard work. I could feel the sweat on the sides of my forehead and I was proud. These buckets were a sign of success
they were my trophies
and I polished them every night
the sweat began to pour
into my buckets
I hated the sloppy stains left behind, legs bored with the gain
no longer willing to put in the time
my buckets. my little spits of treasure
I wanted to tip them over the bridge like a butcher chucks his slimed waste into the dump
I let things go
Into the river. let the buckets settle into the slush at the bottom of a cool drink.
If I want to hold something, I'll use my hands
and if over my palm all things drop- I'll know I'm only human
Sep 10, 2012
Sep 10, 2012 at 3:14 PM UTC
There's always a beginning
There'll always be an end
And no matter how you play your cards
You won't see round the bend.
For tomorrow is another day
The morning sun will shine
And the layer of potentialities
Is arrayed for yours and mine.
In looking back a long time
A little boy in jeans,
Check shirt on a pushbike
Amid the in betweens.
Nothing really mattered,
Each day came and went
and before the realization dawned
The infancy was spent.
Mother died of cancer
The agony in eyes
Just 43 years of age
In alcoholic lies.
The Old Man was likewise
Collapsing in my arms
He passed away at 43.
Evaporated charms.
Adolescence came and went
Forced to join the race
Of madness in the unknown
The world's a violent place.
Decision ****** upon in spades
Cut and ****** in life
It's Papua or Vietnam
Instead, I took a wife .
Disaster in the making
A sidestep in the way
I left the complication there
And coldly strode away.
Changed the whole complexion
Altered how it planned
Ended up with knapsack on
Afresh in New Zealand.
Strangely how it re-aligns
The order falls in place
Confusion dissipates to let
What clear defined, creates.
Somewhere I turned the corner
Took it all in hand
Built an actuality
Of promise in this land.
Pride and hard ambition,
defy the odds and graft.
Visualize a rainbow
From inspiration's craft.
Build it with your own two hands
With sweat upon your brow
And know, within your very depth
You're on the right path now.
Lady luck was with me
Somewhere along the way
I found myself a sweetheart
In chance creation's way
Then ragamuffin boychilds
Scrapping on the rug,
Engendered that which matters
In life's eternal shrug.
You touch upon the beauty
You taste the honeyed wine,
You walk on fields of flowers
In the nectar of your time.
Tenderness and kindness
Essential to the mix
Should you wish to be of value
In the blended world you fix.
Some you win, some you lose
Sometimes you just laugh
For as the years meander
There's humor in the task....
And a gentle satisfaction
In the way it all pans through
And in my eighty year reflection
I'll just throw a smile to you.
[email protected]
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC
monday: putting ***** plates aside
tuesday: ignoring the ***** plates
wednesday: being bothered by the ***** plates
thursday: intending to do the dishes
friday: forgetting to do the dishes
saturday late afternoon: meeting a woman in a pub who tells daddy that she has a dirt allergy
saturday evening: arduously scrapping off fatty chunks from the dishes, groaning about such a hard kind of labor and thinking about easier ways of cleaning ***** plates.
from saturday night until sunday morning: making love to the woman from the pub; putting ***** plates...
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 4:13 AM UTC
Someone left a black leather briefcase
at the bus station sometime earlier this week.
They called in a bomb squad
from over in Springfield
after the thing sat there for hours
emitting an aura of chilled sweat;
it took them just as long to get their
from what I've been hearing.
They blew the thing up.
Right there in the bus station,
they blew that ****** briefcase
to Hell and back after an X-ray
found wires and a circuitry board.
This is not a big city,
it's not a small town either,
but here we have a place
that I arrive at twice daily
getting pseudo-bombed
and I can hardly scrape up
the dollar for bus fare at times.
A warehouse over on Jasper street
caught on fire a few days later;
an inferno in close quarters,
so they knocked the old Bess over
so the flames didn't spread.
There is still a giant pile of rubble
at the site; bricks with masonry companies
imprint on the sides, rusty bars that were either
too heavy, or too stuck for scrapping fiends,
and a hell of a lot of odorous char.
This is a winter of fire in Decatur,
but the bones still chill.
The starter is going out
in the 91' Cutlass
that sits in my driveway
braving the winds.
I can hear that grinding noise;
the expensive one.
The one that says,
"Your savings is low!"
every time you think
you're going to have
a stable ride to work.
The bus is reliable,
the route is what will drive
a sane man off the edge.
You start to get sick
of seeing the same ****** places,
the same ****** turns,
the same ****** bumps, and
the same ****** passengers.
Plus, the radio makes Monday
just a little more tolerable
when you get the option
of stopping for breakfast.
I like that car.
Friday seems like a back brace right now,
and I've had just enough caffeine
to where I don't think I can stand a nap.
I'm just glad to have my shoes off, and
the reassuring calm of an uncashed check.
I'm starving.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:50 PM UTC
These storybooks woven with leathery imbrication
Filling my palms with vile indication
Detailing such wickedness and strife
What ethereal threads cling to life?
Such labyrinthine desires scrapping in my mind
My soul from body; that body which isn’t kind
To delve deeper within the wounds that sever
To fellow wolves, demons and toothless beggars
Unholy martyrs preach from a podium underground
Ablaze in hellfire, monsters of the ravenous mound
Black tongues and cheeks full of worms and leeches
Coals flung and burning over deafening speeches
Sumptuous in eloquence, these tossers and man-boys
Evocative displays of violence, hushed by silence and toys
Beseeched, reprimanded in city squares with common folk
Feeding dogs in heat slop with a pail and tote
Children waving hi to people in cages, smiling indifferently
Don’t they know what this is? Yes and no, forever in shame
Don’t they know there be wickedness afoot?
There be shadows of molestation
And whips of industry
Eyes removed and replaced with bar-codes
There be devils amongst the valiant
And dark angels amongst us
The few and proud
Recite aloud:
“Darkness brings uninvited guests
And our bodies are bare
Give us a blessing, a crumb or drop
Of life that we all can share.”
Veins full of rubies and auburn sapphires
Creepers laced in the cowls of cadavers
Red water thicker than mud and spit
The fatherland sicker than a rotten ****
There be dark angels amongst us, telling tales deep-seated
They be grave and weary, their lives left defeated
Now in the wilderness they give slothful lectures
But it’s only fools who listen to these rambling specters
And soon no one listens
Save for the moon that glistens
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
Solitude helps me find shelter in pain
the inspiration comes as a form of retaliation
against the incertitudes of the heart
interludes of interwinding moments.
Words only write themselves
if there's suffering to be had;
ageless solitude is immortal
like ghosts of loves past.
Love in the time of cholera
love in the time of aids
uncertain loves in the times I live
I roam the Earth without being part of it
only certain of my own existence
in any given moment, time or place
I live where I don't belong
and yet I don't belong where I live.
Solitude has bonded
with what is left of me
scrapping together the remains of my soul
becoming one with my bones.
Like a mortal disease
and yet its bitterness
taste better than any sweets
I wouldn't trade it for anything that breathes,
anything that touches the Earth
anything that sees the Sun.
My notepad becomes
engulfed with it's aroma
and it's aura escapes through my pores
turning this pen into a sword
stained with my revenge
there is nothing I wouldn't dare to say
if my heart is ravaged with pain
painted with disdain
repossessing my very being
that it wouldn't dare to lose;
Solitude feeds my spirit
better than any muse.
Anything that ever needed
to be said or written
has seen the light of day
Solitude finds a way
to re-arrange the alphabet
when words are scarce,
when nothing comes my way
I will take these scribes
when my flesh only knows darkness
not seen by the sun,
but in one with the Earth.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 2:47 PM UTC
I sit in stillness,
My soul scrapping at my skin trying to break through.
No matter the self care or the nourishment I feed my soul,
It still resides.
My flesh just a blanket for what lies within.
I sweat,
I eat,
I smoke,
But I will never be able to escape the forever sugar rush.
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 8:54 PM UTC
Tiresome he choked
Scuffling on the cold wood floor
Waxed thoroughly, his eyes meets the cracks of another him
An alternate view adjacent and new
Conquering the present with its futuristic view
Wounds appear, slapping, scrapping, and screeching
He doesn’t want this life
It’s not his for the keeping
Gliding across, fingers numb and broken
His tears fall too loudly, rudely outspoken
Another him gleaming and cunning
Wraps his wrist with grips unreal
Forcefully pulled, head first into another him
Unwillingly christened, knees bandaged and bruised
New, He stands up tall, forgetfully leaves behind
The now scuffed, raw ***** cold, wood floor
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
We swim only in shallow waters
Breakable limbs scrapping the surface
Of the thousand mile deep oceans
The bottom layers are wordless
You never cared enough to explore
Sunlight shines so scarely
Only illuminating what we want to see
Somehow we keep up it's illusion
It's all we've ever tried to believe
You never dared enough to explore
Waves roll over the turquoise surface
Their familiar motion puts a mind at ease
Big ones crash down, calm is disturbed
This is when we choose to leave
You never loved enough to endure.
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
skater kids doing flip tricks
motion of a jelly fish
they glide
they move faster then space and time
in thier minds
there rulers of this city
and how they make it look so pretty
they tremble with excitment
carvin there names into history
twish twish the sound of there shoe laces rubbin the pavement
they roll front and center
spray paint cans in hand
tag there names across the land
bandanas cover there faces
they leap the staircases
they are merely a imagination
swoop in grab a few cases
drink while they ride
taking pictures of the night sky
with no camera
but plenty of eyes
oh how they move
the wind carries them in a silent groove
how do we understand this nature
of kids kicking and pushing into a future
full of trial and error
they have there own flavor
a taste of danger
aromas of marijuana lingure
in the crisp air
the wind flows through thier hair
they have not one care
they have there own melody
metal clinking
wheels scrapping
car horns screaming
as they come flying into traffic
because that gap could've been tragic
when they land it
they know that it was some kid of magic
they kick on pushing
wheels creaking like floor boards in the attic
tired they ride till the sun brings its shine
when all there wonders can be seen by any traveling eye
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 7:00 PM UTC
Inside I rattle like there's lose change in my rib cage
And as a tin man I wonder round waiting to rust.
So she stole some shiny parts
and pried me piece from piece.
She placed my head on her shelf
with a mirror to my side so I'd look at myself
and sang me sweet little lies
'til I opened my eyes.
With each night she spoke to me
she'd tease me with a lit cigarette
so I'd beg her to breath
Smokey life back into me.
Now armed with everything
from hands til torso
I feared the day she'd let me go...
But she'd build me up no more.
On our last day she left
with my feet on the floor
at the end of wide open door
and a note in the hall so I would find her.
A shelf now seemed a cliff
but I fell for her
Scrapping along I picked myself up
And pulled myself together.
With a wobbly walk
I reached her note
"I'm so proud of you..." She wrote
"But now I'm the one who needs building".
On a pile I found my former self
pried it open and saw some change
and used it to buy the paint
that still shields me from the rain.
Wondering round again
a life time later
I'd see a familiar silhouette
I wasn't able to forget.
And brought her head inside...
Jul 3, 2023
Jul 3, 2023 at 6:41 PM UTC
You feel like there is an empty void inside you,
And every night you get depressed without a clue...
You start to lose track of time,
You feel a guilt but dont know your crime...
You'll sleep alot to escape the lies,
Still you'll find yourself always tired...
They'll ask you if you are okay,
You'll say "I'm fine" like you always say.
But deep down you know there is something wrong,
Life has no meaning and you are scrapping along...
All your emotions slowly fall apart,
Until you can only hear the beating of your heart...
And there is no blood shed just ice shards,
On the floor Splintering apart...
At that time I want you to know,
Live your life with a flow
I wont tell you that you are wrong,
Because we all have been there somewhere along...
Dont lose yourself in your fake smiles,
I'm able to notice those empty lies...
And when you want to let it all out,
Get up and call me out...
So we will stop time from dusk till dawn,
And I will be a shoulder for you to cry on...
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
Scrapping by without a lending hand
The rent raised, they’d never understand
Streets to wander with hearts heavy laden
A carefree spirit, hopes to have made it
While piles stack up with unpaid bills
They wish for freedom, to run to a hill
Without the trivialities and endless payments
To be well-off enough, not even famous
Toiling work and nights unslept
A bucket of savings slowly kept
And the climb and perseverance away from being poor
Gained them the freedom out of the door
Of sleepless nights and unfed stomachs
Their pitiful despair gave way to a plummet
Mar 9, 2021
Mar 9, 2021 at 5:05 PM UTC
I saw her on the side of the road
Her thumb was scrapping the sky
I couldn't believe what I was seeing
She was standing where love goes to die
I asked, "Where you headed hon?"
She just smiled and climbed on in
I put my love life back into gear
But she was just lookin' for sin
"This is as far as my heart will go"
She made it clear to me
"I just like the honeymoon
And that's all it's gonna be"
She was ready to double-down on love
Even though she had no idea what came next
It didn't matter if she won or lost
Her heart was used to writing that check
I was maybe just the next ace
But gambling was her life
She just liked the excitment
She didn't care if she became my wife
This is as far as her heart will go
She made it clear to me
She just likes honeymoons
A beauty queen won't settle down for free
For a moment I thought I saw it
She was telling me she's been hurt before
Just when I thought she might settle down
She started looking at the door
This is as far as her heart will go
Just to the next stop
She'll ride with you for a while
But soon you'll be alone on that blacktop
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC