"slammer" poems
By Arcassin Burnham
Like I said,
There is no need to hide
Ripping out your entrails,
Punished for your betrayal,
You will prevail,
To be an enemy of Mine,
now thats pErfect grammar
Cause I'm actuaLLY attending to care to diss you,
The ******** unfit mother you are,
You should be in the slammer,
Your kids wouldn't miss you.
Now Thats Perfect Grammar
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
Straight out of prison
Wondering what I've been missing
Right out of the gates I stuck out my thumb
A van load of hippies
All from Mississippi
Stoped and asked, hey dude...what's going on
I'm here for adventure
Well hop in then Mister
Adventure is what we're all about
Now where we're all going
There's no way of knowing
A van of hippies and parolee freshly let out
We ended up in Disney
Me and all of the hippies
Where we had caboodles of fun
We met Mickey and he saw it
When I lifted his wallet
Now we're in the Magic Kingdom all on the run
We split in different directions
To throw off detection
It's A Small World is where I made my mistake
With that song stuck in my head
It's a fate worse than death
Prison now sounds like a wonderful place
We rendezvoused in
The Pirate's Of The Caribbean
Where soon after, in came the law
We all jumped from our boats
Splashing around in the moat
And had ourselves a good old fashioned pirate brawl
We soon made our escape
Out of exit door 88
Finding ourselves in Frontier Land at night
Where in the middle of the street
Were Mickey, Donald, and Goofy
All with guns strapped to their sides
We ran into a shop
And bought guns on the spot
All with Mickey's money...he's a mouse of a man
Mickey squeeks we're going to ruff you up
As Goofy holds up the cuffs
And Donald says something we can't understand
We had a shoot out
With cap guns no doubt
After all Disney runs a safe place
Ran out of caps in our guns
Which stopped our lives on the run
The wrath of Mickey we all now would face
After justice's hammer
I'm now back in the slammer
This time I made my own prison bed
Now I cry every day
What more can I say
With It's A Small World still stuck in my head
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 8:02 AM UTC
The rainy season is at
The door once again,
And loneliness has
Brought me a new pillow,
But who is to defend
My repugnant soul?
Can it be the Gods?
Hear this! The rain has
Began knocking at my
Slammer door gradually,
Oh no, it is knocking
And wailing so heavily,
With his icy voice
Of storm and cold
Arresting my hearty dreams,
But I will retch at his smell
And hurry for my handkerchief,
Where is my lantern?
May be, the native doctor
Has the answer to the
Cylindrical jar containing
Her eternal juniper organs,
Indeed, it is my misfortune
To go about with the priest,
For even the child of
The priest even dies at noon,
Ah, I thought she was
Vigilant and ever-ready
To make the debtors
Chew the palm kernels,
But she became the
Portion of the exterior of
The *** that skin can cover,
I have lost my heaven,
Oh no, I have lost the
One whose neck is like a
Bunch of small-fingered plantain,
I have lost the whetstone
On which I sharpen
My thirsty sword to
Perform deeds of valour,
Let the Gods weep!
Let the ancestors wail!
Let the people of Africa,
Give me condolence of
The talking drums,
For their child is gone,
The wise woman who cut
Her thumb in order to get
A wise husband is dead,
Mother, the Okro full of
Seeds of children and literature,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
The toad likes water, but not
When the water is boiling,
Send me something
When someone is coming,
Efua Sutherland, the queen,
You and I exchange gift.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 5:58 AM UTC
If you know the tale of El Chapo,
You know then what will befall
Even the person who's known as
The most famous drug lord of all.
Exporting more drugs to America
Than anyone else in the past,
El Chapo lived like a king
On the millions of dollars he amassed.
You didn't mess with El Chapo.
Woe betide you if you did!
Not only would you suffer,
So would your spouse or your kid.
Back in the 90s El Chapo
Found himself in a scrape
And landed in a Mexican prison,
But he found a way to escape.
A protracted stay in the slammer
For him was not in the cards:
He bought his way to freedom
By bribing the prison guards.
For thirteen years El Chapo
Evaded capture and hid.
He kept up his shady dealings
While trying to stay off the grid.
Authorities in Chicago
Gave this man on the run
Notoriety as Public
Enemy Number One.
In 2015 the drug lord
Was back in prison again.
This time he fled through a tunnel
Dug by some of his men.
One day marines closed in.
They thought they'd caught their man.
El Chapo held a child
In his arms as he ran.
Soon El Chapo got sloppy.
No one could catch him, he thought.
Alas, the marines tracked him down.
Back to a cell he was brought.
Now the Americans want him.
Extradite him, they say.
El Chapo will be an example
To show that crime doesn't pay.
So, say good-bye, El Chapo,
As you sadly wipe your tears.
We hope you like your new home;
You're going to be there for years.
Yes, say good-bye, El Chapo,
To your Sinaloa Cartel.
A maximum security prison
Will be your new citadel.
- by Bob B
Oct 2, 2016
Oct 2, 2016 at 10:41 AM UTC
Hey Harvey Wallbanger
I’d like you to tie me to the bedpost, baby
And press your fuzzy navel to my *slippery ******
Give me your white angel kiss and I’ll lie down like a brown cow
While between the sheets you play the Italian stallion.
Like a kamikaze pilot head for my pink squirrel
Then give me your ol’ Alabama slammer
And pack a *** punch* into that screwdriver of yours.
I want a *screaming ******
That’ll send me to blue heaven. Wu Wu!
So, don’t mention that ****** Mary*
With her devil’s kiss,
Or you’ll find I can give a snake bite that’s as deadly as a B-52.
Instead let’s ride into the tequila sunset in our golden Cadillac
For *** on the beach*
And on the sea breeze we'll hear an old love song sung by a ‘salty dog’ with a Gibson
And watch a tropical storm over Manhattan
We'll go to Peppermint Patti’s café
And order an Irish coffee and a large slice of cherry pie.
Happy, after dark let’s drive home for a *sloe comfortable ***** with satin pillows*
And fall into the sweet surrender of a summer dream.
Mar 6, 2010
Mar 6, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Bumming your fat knobs and insert your helmet naked and unashamed
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Kicking off kick-off, cyborgs brought face to face
Tartan sunstroke and may Mumbo Jumbo's **** all lie among you
Nine, eleven, seven, thirteen, six, quinquereme, ******** ********* Tweedledum and Tweedledee, unsocial person, erectoffensive!
This is Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
You've really ****** the naval officer
And the hatchet faces want to know whose blouses you abuse
Now it's time to evacuate the ******* if you have a free hand
This is Lance Corporal Tom to Masticated Ectoplasm
I'm fancy dress dancing through the cat—flap
And I'm groping inside a swollen grotesque sailor
And the plums look gigantically unusual nowadays
Ergo from Land's End to John o' Groats am I piddling in a crumpet slammer
Telescopic hindward the lump
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
With the proviso that I'm Ichabod celibate centipede sextillion heads
I'm fondling vigorously paparazzo
And I think my sputnik knows which direction to ****
Tell my ballbreaker I ****** her vigorously for England, she bonks
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Your menstrual cycle's kaput, there's oojakapivvygizmo spleen
Can you smell me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you get to the bottom of me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you delve into me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you...
From Land's End to John o' Groats am I vibrating ring my crumpet criminal lunatic asylum
Telescopic hindward the groupie
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
three's up
i'm throwing my life away
throwing my three's up
three **** summers in a row
three nights in the slammer
three days getting drunk
been thinking about all my exes a lot
been thinking about you a lot
and how we'd spend the night doing homework
and then sleeping together
used to get me chicken nuggets afterwards
and now you know what goes on in my brain
*** programming and chicken nuggets
from mcdonalds
Oct 24, 2017
Oct 24, 2017 at 3:22 PM UTC
Ah, Pinocchio--povero burattino°--
Always in a scrape; always in a jam.
The irresponsible, wooden-headed numbskull
Couldn't help but fall for every scam.
A walking, talking stringless marionette,
Pinocchio really would have had it made
In a modest home with babbo°° Gepetto.
But, instead, the foolish youngster strayed.
Ignoring the advice of the talking cricket,
Pinocchio EVEN smashed it with a hammer.
That right there should have been a reason
To throw the little rascal in the slammer.
The Fox and the Cat had no trouble
Dissuading the puppet from going to school,
Thus involving him in a series of adventures
Which often made him look like a fool.
The Fairy tried to be a good influence,
But Pinocchio's lies caused his nose to grow.
Constantly ignoring responsibilities,
The misguided boy, suffered constant woe.
(Swindled of his money, hanged on a tree,
And saved just in the nick of time
From being eaten, Pinocchio had
Too many adventures to fit into this rhyme.)
Fleeing with his lazy school chum Lucignolo
To the Paese dei balocchi,°°° there Pinocc
Turned into a donkey. Of all his follies,
This one had to be a masterstroke.
Once again a puppet, Pinocchio was swallowed
By a giant Pesce-cane,°°°° and then guess what!
The foolish boy was finally reunited
With babbo Gepetto in the fish's huge gut.
NOT until Pinocchio thought about others
And proved he was an honest and caring boy
Did his fortune start to change for the better,
And the stringless puppet became the real McCoy.
Does Pinocchio by any chance remind you
Of any politicians out there at all
Who fail to listen to expert advice
And thumb their noses at common protocol?
And speaking of noses, we can also see
Politicians' noses grow as they tell lies.
Lying to themselves and to others as well
And ignoring our best interests and flouting compromise.
Such politicians--unlike Pinocchio--
Have strings to pull when performing for the masses.
The more they avoid solving REAL issues,
The more they end up looking like *****
They also love--these clever burattini--
To sell a bill of goods and promise many things.
But someone out there--or some corporation--
Is slyly and cleverly pulling their strings.
Do you ever wonder if these same politicians
Ever think about or care how you feel?
Will they eventually--as did Pinocchio--
Prove they have what it takes to be real?
°(burattino/i) - poor little puppet
°°(babbo) - dad(dy)
°°°(Paese dei balocchi) - Playland
°°°°(Pesce-cane) - shark
- by Bob B
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
Sunday Morning blues
RIO DE JANEIRO all nights or LAS VEGAS nightlife
After two-three glasses of twisted Ice lemon
Or was it an Alabama Slammer which cut like a knife
My days and nights felt like a freight train ride
And that no lie!
I remember the Cuban Bulldog who bite me
three years ago, in Kissimmee;
which left me more than a little weak
those feisty drinks
Or was it that wicked, wacky Long Island Ice coffee
Which almost has done me in?
After, watching a news clips of Momar Kadafi
or was it an episode of Friends
Luckily, for me I met my sweet Marlin Brando
And it was hallelujah and amen in Key Largo
So many bartenders, so many smokes filled rooms
So, once again here I am nursing
Another Sunday mornings blues.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
I'll killa chawawa
Sell it for a dolla on Alibaba
Exchange for a Kawala
Black range red impala
Rocking nirvana pre Madonna
A Chubby monkey eating chunky monkey with ice cream and a banana
Bo bama Ina pajama spinning a spammer after a root beer slammer an alabamer and a cheese platter I slide off in a subtle manner like a salamander to empty my bladder in a place that doesn't matter
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
Sing me a soft song
To send me to sleep
I can’t stand another night
Hearing this lullaby: weep
There’s a monster inside
You fought for years
But now it’s multiplied
Fueled by fear
It swallows the good
And nourishes the bad
Never have I hated
Something so invisible to my eye
I can only imagine what it’s doing to you
On the inside
Universe’s sweet irony
The baby dies first
Not a day goes by
That can quench my thirst
Longing for justice
For the underdog family
When will it be our turn?
They say ‘what goes around comes around’--
How come we keep getting burned?
We’ve served our time
And a little more too
But we’re thrown back in the slammer
Does that sound just to you?
When does the world stop spinning?
When does the pain end?
Why does it strike as soon as we’re on the mend?
The more the merrier,
But it sends evil’s ratio askew.
The choice wasn’t ours
It’s what we were born into.
Still I wouldn’t trade it
You can’t know love without loss
Still I wish I could save it
My family in a locket,
Not for God to toss.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 1:35 AM UTC
Miss me
Missed me
Now you've got to kiss me.
If you kiss me mister,
I might tell my sister.
If I tell her,
she might tell my mother
and my mother,
she might tell my father
and my father,
he won't be too happy,
he'll have to come up from the city,
And then we both can't be happy,
so I wouldn't miss me,
if you get me, mister see?
Missed me,
miss me now,
If you kiss me,
you must think I'm pretty.
If you think so,
you must want to **** me.
If you **** me,
it must mean you love me.
If you love me,
you would never leave me
it's as simple as can be!
So Mister, now you've got to kiss me.
If you miss me, mister,
why do you keep leaving me?
if you trick me,
I will make you suffer,
and they'll get you,
mister,
put you in the slammer
and forget you,
then you'll miss me won't you,
miss me?
Missed me, missed me,
now you've got no chance to kiss me.
if you kissed me,
mister, take responsibility.
I'm fragile,
mister, just like any girl would be
so misunderstood
so treat me good,
so treat me delicately.
Missed...
now you've gone and done it,
hope you're happy in the county penitentiary
it serves you right for kissing little girls,
but I will visit,
if you miss me.
Say you miss me!
How's the food?
they "feed" you?
Do you miss me?
Will you kiss me,
through the window?
Will they ever let you go?
I miss you mister,
so....
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
How Much Gets Me On A Bus? to the City?
(I live 30 minutes away)
more than this ever will - POETRY
I’ve been writing ‘poems’ ever since I remember
ever since 11 –
reciting these phenomenal words of wisdom
to any and all who would listen
forcing family-members & friends
that’s the thing about poetry,
it makes you feel like it’s important,
makes you think the words you sling together
aren’t really yours
it comes to you, through you, needs to come out of you,
and when its over you’re just as amazed
as they should be.
but they’re not, I mean
they like poetry, admire it,
even enjoy it sometimes,
but they could honestly
give it up in a heartbeat,
live without it.
You know what I mean?
I’m like you
like all the people who come here
I'm part poetry as poetry is me
A Dodge Poetry Attendee many years –
my arm once around Gwendolyn Brooks,
cried in a church with Lucille Clifton
talked Newark to Baraka –
know the honorable Slammer, Patricia Smith!
I’ve sat many years with the Lords of Literature - my professors
who all seemed to know “whose got it”
the intellectuals of American prose who seem to be searching for a rookie,
the next best troubadour college-student that will grace their faculty-doors…
The poetry I read here is incredible
Some of the best stuff on the net,
poignant, painful , honest, raw, sensual, serious – provokingly real
words I read here startle me, stun me at times
so clear in meaning, well-crafted, chosen words
unusually strong
They’re the kind of words the got-it people have,
the poet people (probably all people have)
poetry is just another way of finding an infallible song –
(I still say we should go sing it on the bus!)
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
-------
Regurgitated dreams
and a handful of hopes
slipping grain-like through my fingers
promisisng the earth
as it cracks withered and drying.
desolation and anticipation
brings the threat of pleasure
like the seed of hope without
the chance of bursting open.
Endless gurantees of endless possibilities
and your stupid God **** provisos.
**** the last drop with insistence,
take all you can,
Im already dead inside.
with all the graciousness afforded
you'd think you could at least
turn away when I cry?
Instead you watch,
a look of abomination
carved into your hateful eyes
and ice cold detachment
running down your spine.
no matter,
I'll be fine;
you were only ever a sympathy case
that grew too wild.
all that tender love and care
without pruning
has a tendency to create monsters
you sting my rosy buds
a sadistic wash of passion red
I'm tangled in your mess,
you might as well lick the salt as well
the tequila slammer hit hard.
I can't seem to locate my vanity
its still missing after that
last masochistic kiss goodbye.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 9:52 PM UTC
Naked
Found naked on the streets,
cuffs on my hands and feet.
They wouldn't give me any clothes,
couldn't even pick my own **** nose.
Walked naked to the police station,
two miles of total frustration.
One hour of pure hell,
I'm hot, sticky and I really smell.
People laughing from their front yard,
I looked like an unstable ******
***** bouncing left to right,
my big ***** should be held every night.
***** flopping up and down,
not even sure the name of the town.
They don't even give me reason,
maybe it's naked man in street season.
Police station filled with reporters,
my ***** has never been shorter.
Hundreds of flashes before my eyes,
I see my mom, nervous as she cries.
I was arrested for **** street sleeping,
millions of people are now peeping.
I got booked and thrown in the slammer,
somebody please, hit my head with a hammer.
They actually even threw away the key,
how dare they do this to someone like me.
Don't they know who I am,
this must be some kind of sham.
I'm only the most famous man in America,
not some cheap imitation replica.
I hope no one gives me an Allen *****
then I won't know what to do.
No phone call or allowed any bail,
looks like I'm stuck in this ****** jail.
After a week I was finally let go,
I was the star of some sick reality show.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Everybody called her
her baby's momma
She could never see so straight
always crooked
winding up in the slammer
apologizing all over the place
She's got a handle on it this time
moved into a clean and sober house
going to those meetings five days a week
But her eyes they burned,
You know
Her eyes they burned
Made a mistake
Went to see her ex old man
Got strung out again on that ******
Thrown out of the house
for nodding out,
coffee cup in hand,
never spilled a drop
She's back out on the street
Looking for the woman's emergency night shelter
Texting with her daughter
trying to repair their relationship
saying
"It'll be okay this time"
She's got her brand new teeth,
a two day voucher to The Days Inn
It'll be okay.
Always the nut house
if the night gets too cold
At least until the Psychiatrist figures it out
And throws her back out into the night
It's tough being human
You know
You know
Her baby's momma
She's in despair
Looking for help everywhere
Detox filled
Got a blow job for anybody
somebody named Joe
Sometimes that's all she knows
Gather's herself against the cold
Swears that tomorrow
she'll get it together
she promises you
You know
Doing everything except what you're supposed to
Deal with it tomorrow
Everybody called her
Her baby's momma
When she sees you
She's in sorrow.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
gaga and gall are walking down the street
gaga sees some bling, gall goes in and steals
they end up in the slammer and gansta's
there to greet
gall punches gangsta and naturally gore appeals
gaga wakes from the dream, guts tries to console
he offers her an option and they both get outa' da hole
now gall, gangsta and gore while in solitary
meet with goner and good ol' grouch
glory hallelujah comes up with the key
all escaping sideways from sleeping gangeree
they keep running into gutter, introduced to giddy
all on this gollywoggle jolly hallow night
all whipped up and painted by yours truly
gimmicky.
(halloween 2016)
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 6:55 AM UTC
The wrapes of Grath adorn the path that slammer klingks had tread
when turning spades in everglades to flosticate the dead.
Along the way the snorbels bay at freebled sprutelned
that boogeymen had once again uphove above the shed.
The buildings tall that housed the krawl are pictured carved in stone
and all that’s left is now bereft of wrapes that might atone
for scabs that feed our wrinkled breed, distraught and lying prone.
Yes, flonk replaces merpeled traces deep inside, alone.
There’s no retreat from incomplete, so durbies never dared,
but streaped instead beneath their bed with franjent fangs unbeared;
they knew the past could never last although the trumpets blared,
for doogies, stripped, were ill equipped, no longer bald or haired.
Like cavaliers with gougejent spears, well triggered for a tiff,
slank vankulures with silver spurs embussed for grimp and griff
(no question why, for “we can’t die”, the oft regleated riff);
with little fuss the blunder bus krunged glimpfly off the cliff
and fetid breet of grim defeat gave Grath its final whiff;
the catapult had one result, all life lay lazelled stiff.
The plastic waves that washed the graves, now homeland for the rutch,
though faring worse when quenching thirst with warples in the hutch
were nonetheless, as frunks confess, so pleasant to the touch
exturbing sinks that watered wynx and onetime life as such.
Like burning blotters slurping waters, skindles sipped their fill
from koozing cracks between the tracks inhumed beneath the hill,
then spawned the spores of Grathic wars that profit from the ****
their victory tales, like crimson crails, reside in dung and dill.
Those scrilly clouds that cowed the crowds neath radiation snapes
left little less than watercress beneath their coffin’s drapes;
yes, those unborn cannot adorn the pallor of the prapes
so scrundlemun tinge bibberun, we ones who reap the wrapes.
Yes, now-abandoned hetzelspan were once in time embroiled
with merikained that firps extained until the weather roiled.
What more, perchance, can happenstance inflict upon the koiled
when pendlesnips are in eclipse and wrapes of Grath are soiled?
Jul 1, 2021
Jul 1, 2021 at 5:07 PM UTC
A book lay open
on the table
by her bed
I looked
at the cover
blue
well worn
named Byron
a friend gave me it
Julie said
can't make head
or tails yet
the ward was quiet
blinds
were pulled up
sunlight came in
blue and white
over duller white
she in a flowery gown
pink flowers
small
on white cloth
tied at the waist
leg crossed over
the other
slippered feet
thin ankles
not read him
I said
died in Greece
she said
who?
I asked
Byron
she said
she pulled a cigarette
from an open packet
and lit up
I’ve read Shelley
I said
he drowned in Italy
I think
she inhaled
smoke rose
grey
white
lifting ceiling ward
thin fingers
held
fingers parted
slightly curved
as if sculptured
I sat
on her hospital bed
firm
blue blanket
white pillows
solid
Guy's in the slammer
she said
drug taking
and selling
I said nothing
looked at her lips
holding the cigarette
opened and closed
hair untidy
won't see him
in a while
the parents
will be glad
didn’t like him
have class of course
his parents that is
she said
I studied the cleavage
where the gown
lay open
small valley
darkness sinking
when I get out of here
she said
we must meet
in London again
I looked away
from her cleavage
outside
the sound
of hard
falling rain.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
Straight out of prison
Wondering what I've been missing
Right out of the gates I stuck out my thumb
A van load of hippies
All from Mississippi
Stoped and asked, hey dude...what's going on
I'm here for adventure
Well hop in then Mister
Adventure is what we're all about
Now where we're all going
There's no way of knowing
A van of hippies and parolee freshly let out
We ended up in Disney
Me and all of the hippies
Where we had caboodles of fun
We met Mickey and he saw it
When I lifted his wallet
Now we're in the Magic Kingdom all on the run
We split in different directions
To throw off detection
It's A Small World is where I made my mistake
With that song stuck in my head
It's a fate worse than death
Prison now sounds like a wonderful place
We rendezvoused in
The Pirate's Of The Caribbean
Where soon after, in came the law
We all jumped from our boats
Splashing around in the moat
And had ourselves a good old fashioned pirate brawl
We soon made our escape
Out of exit door 88
Finding ourselves in Frontier Land at night
Where in the middle of the street
Were Mickey, Donald, and Goofy
All with guns strapped to their sides
We ran into a shop
And bought guns on the spot
All with Mickey's money...he's a mouse of a man
Mickey squeeks we're going to ruff you up
As Goofy holds up the cuffs
And Donald says something we can't understand
We had a shoot out
With cap guns no doubt
After all Disney runs a safe place
Ran out of caps in our guns
Which stopped our lives on the run
The wrath of Mickey we all now would face
After justice's hammer
I'm now back in the slammer
This time I made my own prison bed
Now I cry every day
What more can I say
With It's A Small World still stuck in my head
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 9:21 AM UTC
Anna lived in 3 walls and iron bars,
Put down for; as if she were rabid dog.
Pleaded virtuous to the homicide up the park,
Veritas is what she spoke; her mind was in no fog.
Anna struggled in the slammer; an easy target,
Holly was the girl who made her "life" a living hell.
Day in; Day out; she obliterated the passion to live through it,
And started to dream of a Rose Cottage; outside her cell.
Anna was cocksure of a way out; a one way ticket,
So she lacerated her bed sheets at the crack of dawn.
"Morituri te salutant" read the ticket,
On the Rose Cottage train; or as some call "The Morgue"
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 1:19 PM UTC
There's something about my wife that astounds me.
She won't use any appliance unless it's made by GE.
I bought her a washing machine that was made by Whirlpool.
That was a dumb decision and I soon learned that I'm a fool.
My wife got so mad that she caved my head in with a claw hammer.
Now she's holding a grudge because she spent a year in the slammer.
General Electric appliances are the only appliances she will use.
I'll remember that in the future because I don't like to be abused.
She demands GE appliances because GE brings good things to life.
From now on, I'll buy nothing but GE because I'm scared of my wife.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Daniel raced some ****** in the year of the monkey
For a brand new set of vintage strings
Beat the ****** real easy, took the vintage guitar
And smiled “hey man it’s just one of these things”
Placed the guitar over his shoulder, like a baby he held her
Closed his eyes and played some chords
With the chords came some lyrics, in the darkness he sat
In the center of Jensen Grand Concert Hall
The ghost on the piano, she preformed a haunting solo
Behind him was a phantom band
In front a phantom crowd
In the pre-warm up show, he rocked the empty old concert hall stand
Outside some kids from Coltman,
Drinking some beer and just smoking some crack
He and the phantom band headed home
Past the house of the Pocatello Nymphomaniac
Daniel walked up the stairs, sat on his chair, pulled out his guitar and played
Next door the neighbors sat with their ears to the wall listening to the midnight serenade
The old boy across the road in Jasmine Street opened the window, to hear the guitar crying
Listening to the sound of the junkies strings and the, silent neighbors smiling
In the morning he was still playing, his fingers red, they were getting tired,
The audience next door exhausted on the floor but, still smiling
Now back to the grand concert hall for his first ever gig, and the posters all around the town
Read Daniel and his 6 ****** strings are going to bring the house down
The local poet society, were reciting poetry to me, empty chairs in the hall, I stand on the stage looking for familiarity,on this day I’ve waited for
The first ones through the door were the neighbors who made love to my music
Tears still in their eyes from last night’s show, they took my gift of music and abused it
And the man from down the block he’s here too he shouted “Daniel this world needs more **** musicians like you”
Fat Shane from Mobile Alabama who’s just come out the slammer on day release to just see me
Soon the hall’s filled with 1200 faces all crowded in this space but there’s just 2 empty seats
One is for my mother who’s 3 years passed and told me son always follow your dreams
And the others for the ****** and the Monkey who lost the race and gifted these vintage strings to me
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:06 PM UTC
You introduced me to a game that neither of us can ever win,
So let's just stop rolling the dice.
I no longer have the moves to bring me to the home square,
And I've used my only get out of jail free card,
Next time, it's the slammer for sure.
In strategic thinking, he can beat us both hands down,
So put away the playing pieces,
Fold up the board,
Let's declare a stalemate.
Joint losers,
Game over,
Time to call it quits.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 8:20 AM UTC
Many of the world's greatest Leaders throughout our tumultuous history have;
Many of the insightful Revolutionaries in stink hole and glory hole countries have;
Many of the oppressed, disenfranchised and cheated also have.
Look to Lenin, Mandela, Gandi, Nehru, Havel, Bhutto, Ceausescu, Charles I, Papadopoulos, Lady Jane Grey, Louis XVI, Marcos, Milosevic, a pile of Mohameds, Mussolini, Nicholas II, Pinochet, Saddam, Marie Antoinette, Pope Clement V, Selassie, Baghdadi, Duvalier, and, let's not forget the author of Mien Kampf, Adolph the Tenderizer.
And what do they all have in common?
Some, before they became boldly notorious, and others, after they became criminally notorious.
Some, looked out their window and saw platforms being erected.
Others witnessed gallows, guillotines. posts and walls.
They all got some time in:
PRISON. GAOL. JAIL. COOLER. LOCKUP. DUNGEON. KEEP. PEN. BASTILLE. CLINK. STATESVILLE. SLAMMER. STOCKADE. THE BIG HOUSE.
You get the idea.
His time will come.
Nov 21, 2020
Nov 21, 2020 at 9:50 AM UTC