"shinola" poems
We are the fine cut...line cut..
..potatoe face on Irish lace.
We are the here..we are the place.
And just in case
You fail to understand.
We have become the wall art..the new start..
..the baby grand has grown.
We are the music you've never known but you know it now.
The anyway we can be anyhow.
This is the step that walks out on the street
Get out and meet it...it's something you cannot ignore
Not something you buy in a la de da store
But the free in your ears and the world in your eyes.
Prise yourself away from the dusty thoughts of yesterday and look
This is today and a new kind of book has evolved.
That talks as it turns and revolves as it burns and the ash of the script..
..strips layers off your skin..and should you want to dive in..
..Go ahead.
The start of a thread of whatever you've ever read disappears
And the years drip away.
This here is the place and today it's your face on the pack
Get up on the stage and attack..
Lay them flat on their back with a salvo of sound
Bring it down to the ground.
A penny buys a pound..we'll be outlawed
They'll call us flawed characters..
..embarrassing chapters.
But let's capture that thought..write stuff and not like you've been taught..
..but be brazen and ***** to the 'Man' who tells you.."OH NO"
He just ain't got the rollocks to be in the show.
Let it go and you're lost
You'll be reading shinola that you bought at cost from the stall in the mall.
Be a pal..break the mould..don't do as you're told but do as you do
Look inside of the you..and bang it out..put it down on a sheet
Spill out your words to those people you meet..you've got one chance..
..which is no chance if you don't take it.
Get out there and
Make it
Happen.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC
I can write like Don DeLillo in Americana.
I'll show you your personal Patrick Bateman. How childish Palahniuk is. I'll show you advertising matters. Brands. My brands. Shinola. Dire Straights. Colour TVs. Refrigerators. Blisters on your thumb.
I'll show you my shoes, this shirt. These pants. My hair.
Fist over knife. Forks over food. Jerking off into a wishing well with next month's bonus.
I'll show you when enough is enough. I'll show you what it means to be hungry. Thirst. Blood. Sweat.
I'll give you an idea and take it out of reach.
I'll find your consumer segment. I'll find your scalpel too. I'll show you who you should really be.
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
These swords leave scores
of sores of course.
And scars that rise by and by .
Beat out lines in Braille and Morse,
to that overwhelming force.
Of fine on coarse
then coarse on fine,
and in the wind
all fine, all time.
Though we wine and dine
And polish til shine,
it ain't all Shinola.
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 8:20 PM UTC
My mother is a password,
my father is a desk.
I am a pen that moves across
the blue lines of this page
or
the clatter of the keyboard
on which these words are typed,
transmitting their collective zeros
and ones into the blue-black light of
the text that appears unabashedly unmonitored
on the monitor, the screen, the scene
of this machine
that wages wars on my melancholy,
destroys the depressive states,
guerilla tactics,
computer-guided, cruise missile
ordinance.
Ordinary?
No.
A one-man Civil War.
An opinion-piece, op-ed
megaphone manifesto.
Rights?
Rites?
Writes?
I’ve got ‘em all,
down the the most
microscopic minutia,
a miasma of Most-Holy
**** or Shinola.
My mother is a password
my father is a desk.
I am a pen,
the mightiest of swords,
a war within a warrior,
no better
or
worse,
just different
from the
rest.
***
-JBClaywell
© P&Z Publications 2019
May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 12:17 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Under the AHCA
Once it gets unstuck
Wise people say
The poor get ******
In the usual way
But the president says
We’re gonna be okay
Because he’s the prez
We’re being sold ****
Like it was Shinola
The rich will be okay
The poor - like I told ya
As they point the way
We’re gonna need a shoulder
For us to cry on
As they move that boulder
If they repeal Obamacare
With no concern
How the sick will fare
I’m warning them
They better beware
Cos’ we’re gonna rise up
And give ‘em
Quite a scare
As I write this
They’re counting votes
If they make it
According to the quotes
They have to know
They’ll be rockin’ boats
And taking on water
Until nothing floats
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 8:17 AM UTC
our fuck-ups
even reek
of meant-to-be
it's all so
I can't even...
but
I will find
a way to say
how our
dominoes tripped
over each other
flicked from
the synchronic fated one's
luminous middle fingers
yours, left
mine, right
colliding in
the in-between
I've been knowing
for quite some time
and yet,
my brain still
tries to deny
it's all so...
no fuckin' way
but
yes way
it
- truly -
sure-as-Shinola'd-shit
did
go down
like so
Jul 28, 2017
Jul 28, 2017 at 1:32 PM UTC