"sling" poems
Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.
My rough peasant's body digs in you
and makes the son leap from the depth of the earth.
I was lone like a tunnel. The birds fled from me,
and nigh swamped me with its crushing invasion.
To survive myself I forged you like a weapon,
like an arrow in my bow, a stone in my sling.
But the hour of vengeance falls, and I love you.
Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.
Oh the goblets of the breast! Oh the eyes of absence!
Oh the roses of the ***** Oh your voice, slow and sad!
Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace.
My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting road!
Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.
129k
( i )
I lucked out
on table 4 last night
window seat
baseboard heat
with intimate passages
from Ginsberg
in his purest
and most evident form
Cover-all Carl was draped
in his usual garb
(turning pages
of yesterday's news)
animating, culturing, bantering
on the fate of the
Greek barber
(in an accent of which
I'm not so sure)
His cronies
looked on
(with a twisted conviction)
countering
with their own tales
of ingovernance and woe
*did you know that Panasonic
lost 5 billion last quarter?*
The evening moved
in time lapse...
with painted winds,
streaming lights
and a host of
high school girls
running cold
Maleah passed
on her late shift
(checking the pile and trough),
patronized the boys
and called it a night
( ii )
The bald man
is back at it again
bickering at the till
(something about
a cold free coffee
or 99 cents
or the coloured guy
behind him who got it hot)
a kind Filipino
is trying to get it done
(at 8 bucks per)
losing her cool
and shedding a quiet tear
Wonder what the Purewals
or Haitians or Cossacks
would have to say
about this grim public reminder,
wonder what
this sad f*ck
will do tonight...
without his
bus pass
or sling sack
or broken Turkish stems
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
Awakening will find me
through the daily mundane
faith's step in front of tiny step
for the sake of Christ's great name
Even David the brave did not set out
with a lofty ambition to see the giant slain
but walked forth instead with a servant's heart
obediently for his father, carrying cheese and grain
and as he went in faithfulness about this simple errand
God raised him up with sling and stone to champion His fame
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
Flown Away . . .
Mom tweets; Dad Twitters
The children sling angry birds
Poultry words are shared
A gap, Agape . . .
With desks connected
And sharing a power strip
We exchange e-mails
Cellacious . . .
Discourse is lacking?
Digital Intimacy!
May our Smart-Phones touch?
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
Hood isn't getting money and chicks
Its not what they show on the flicks
Its pain, death, and the struggle to survive
Its waking up
And praying to god that you stay alive
That walk down the street
Could be your very last
It could easily be taken
By someone wanting your cash
Y'all may not even read this
Y'all may not even care
But if you do
I'm just trying to make you aware
So before you sling dope
Thinking its cool
Remember there are real gangsters
That won't think twice about ending you
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC
you never know how much
you truly suffer
until you’ve caused your
own sufferings
Aug 27, 2019
Aug 27, 2019 at 10:44 PM UTC
Canned latte, water, fruit punch Rip-It
Gulp it, down it, chug it, sip it
In the gunner's sling, sway side to side
240B in the cradle, M4 right side
Talk of ***
Talk of food
It's all allowed
Nothing's too crude
Sometimes you talk
Sometimes you listen
Don't talk later 'bout what's said on mission
Check alleyways, balconies, traffic, rooftops
At five miles-an-hour, this convoy never stops
Red Bull, Gatorade, citrus Rip-It
Gulp it, down it, chug it, sip it
In the gunner's sling, sway side to side
240B in the cradle, shotgun left side
In the distance, flashes of white light
Watch them bloom throughout the green night
Was it dust lightning? Was it a bomb?
Don't matter to us, this mission carries on
Two hours to dawn, eight hours 'til we're done
Check balconies, traffic, alleyways, rooftops
At five miles-an-hour, this convoy never stops
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
*break
astonishment at perception
of
a third-world child making it
up that totem-pole
amidst paltry conditions
even
beyond the half-way mark*
1.
a standing man
in silent message
and the woman in red
with thin-sling shoulder-bag
holding lipstick, weekly-ticket and purse
oh, how she frightens honchos out their skull
draped round her sister's head
shroud eternal
coughing
sore
2.
grannies recount lively griot-tales
where hope is never barren
young boys play in swamped dirt-trails
drawing absent father-figures in the sand
the wind has carried them off to mines
deep in the crust of earth's ire
adolescent future sits on labour-farms
where keen spirit is dulled with worthless hops
keeps the sly farmer happy
and he tells them the fruit is free
yet they've already paid for it
manifold
when she reaches twenty
she will have at least two kids
whose lives lie in the granny's luxury
while she runs off to the golden city-lites
to jump through higher hoops
for ****** spoils
all cheapened by long-term neglect
3.
there lies hope
unlost
in every girl-child
who goes to school
who finds encouragement
from words kindly given
if but from a stranger
*no hand-me-outs
no forlorn begging*
she...
the empowered mother of boys
will
help them to grow
into young men
of such sensibility
as to keep their hands
to deeds of honour
who, in turn
become fine fathers to daughters
they love and cherish
raise to be
luminary
*each step up
from that totem-pole
such a steep climb
strengthens invisible wings
and unworldly rewards
and when final rung is reached
heralds
untainted take-offffffff*......
S T, 27 aug
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 11:01 AM UTC
The big angry things sling vocal feces
Fleshy phallus-pumps close at hand, cooing
Guzzle guzzle ethanol
Inebriated petrol-baby
"Smash the atom!"
"We're too late, we're too late!"
Tar (quick) sand *****
Big angry things drown
"We gotta gotta drill!"
Penetrate the Mother with a steel ****
Oedipus laughs
As the boulder, finally
Crushes Sisyphus.
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
Did you know
you can dance
even when you're sad?
It may seem inappropriate
to shake your hips
while your heart is exploding
But I swear-
some of my best dances
I did with my heart in a sling
and my soul in a cast.
Draw an invisible circle on any surface,
turn up music that flies in the face of your sorrow
and give it up to the sky
The worst that will happen?
you'll break a sweat
The best?
try it for yourself
moonwalk through your despair
and get back to me.
Dance.
Even when you're sad.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 4:02 PM UTC
Please, do not touch me.
I am fire, and darling I burn.
Do not stand too close or you will be consumed by my flames.
Because I have grown tired of being restricted to just this pit of self-doubt.
I am tired of failing at being adequate in a mold that I was never designed to fit in.
I have let my self-worth be defined by those whose only aim is to put me out.
My flame has been kept for years locked inside of myself
Losing the oxygen it takes to keep it growing
Fighting, surviving, growing dimmer so that I would not shine.
Because the brighter the glow, the more attention it attracts.
And it is was easier to just be invisible.
But this light of mine has taught me that no matter the circumstance,
It will keep glowing.
For years I told myself that if I could only put the flame out I would be safe;
Never having to worry about what they had to say.
Eventually, fire would become ash, fading into the background.
But I realized that no matter how dim the flame, as long as there is chance for a spark, they won’t be satisfied.
In the heat of the moment I rose up from the ashes.
The pressure finally broke and I let myself become who I had always been too afraid to be.
More brilliant than ever before.
A force to be reckoned with.
I broke through the pit and burned down every insecurity.
Growing only stronger
Forever.
My friends,
Do not let them smolder you.
Every word said out of hate,
Out of envy,
Out of lack of humanity
Do not let it run like ice through your veins.
Consuming the fire within.
And if you believe you are too far gone,
Don’t worry.
Fate has taught me that even ashes can rise up again.
It only takes a spark.
To ignite the flame that has been burning your whole life.
It is there, everyone sees it but you.
If they didn’t why would you be such a target?
Use the words they sling at you and use them as kindling,
Relighting the fire inside of you.
Because you are capable of being brilliant.
As passionate, strong, and self-willed as a forest fire.
Escape the pit.
Let your light shine like the sun.
And burn like nothing will ever put you out.
Because unless you let it
Nothing ever will.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
I’ve been labeled with a term that begins with P and ends with oet
But I owe it to to those listening to explain the steps I’ve taken
225 days of mistaken tippy toes and battles fought arresting a demon to keep him caged thirsty
He stays thirsty
Drips of thick liquid that bring cure to others make his body sick but his mind goes at ease
The random shocks of pain that jolt throughout my body telling me to get more is a reminder that this struggled battle will never be over
This devil on my shoulder is whispering terms of endearment while the angel is tirelessly hanging off my biceps trying to whisper his words of truth
There’s no other way around it
I live by the standard ‘once an addict always an addict’
I am an addict
Before that fact jumps down your throat to join the heart that jumped up in it, let me explain
Addicts like me work long *** days breaking their back to break bread and emerge victorious in their ocean of mistakes
Instead of treading H20, it’s theraflu and pepto,
I used to be drowning but now I’m only waist deep
Slowly, day by day, the drain taking it away makes the level of pepto low
Soon, maybe I’ll be able to say I’m in a puddle getting my tippy toes wet in OTC’s
Then it’ll dry
My tongue shall stay dry
Like that of the demon that stays
Caged
Thirsty
Waiting for a day that my mentality meets frustration so great that I’m attempted to sling that syrup down my throat so suddenly that my stomach acid is left in wonder
Silently slipping into a comatose state that no soul may recover from
To prevent this, I’ll pin praying hands to my nose and speak to a God that I’m not even sure is listening
As I apologize from straying away from the path he’s set for me, I’ll look forward and realize that the hurting is gone
Indeed, more will come
But there is no fear in these eyes
My mother’s soft touch on my shoulder
Friends cementing their hands to my spine to make sure I stay standing
I feel safe and secure to stand on a cliffs edge while the oceans muddy water rushes at it’s walls
I will not fall
Because I just showered
And I intend on staying clean…
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 8:03 AM UTC
The Will-of-Strength, firm and subtle at Peak
Sought to follow his Elder and charge his Day
With Weight-Lifts and Fork-Bells conquer Relief
Took a Sling from his Semi; Shot the Green Elf
Who flew around the House and tampered his Rage
To learn such Programmes like Responses and Growth
But Confident as he was to draft his Age
Shot the Green Elf again; His Candles grew Old
The Candles! Left there on a Muddy-Cream-Cake
Waiting to be puffed by a Cold, Moral Bite
Till the Drogbas arrived and brought their own Bake
Then the Party resumed; Screams sparked in Delight.
And the Green Elf, sleeping, spoke in the End:
"Manhood be your Goal; First make me your Friend."
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
i have one foot in the grave
the other in an abandoned bathtub
i light a cigarette and
stare into the void
buddy holly is rolling lumpy black cigarettes
over the sound of grown men crying
five bunnies crawl out of his eyeglasses and
maggots are anchored to his chin
you cannot disturb the gypsy bathing
in her own river of tears
you cannot break the silent wonder
i have one arm in a sling
the other in a windmill
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 7:47 AM UTC
Writing
Synonymous with a drug
Miming the story in my head
Does not take the edge
Off.
No,
I must physically take a swig
Sling the pen on the paper
See the words in their truest form
Word-vomit on the page
Drunk with laughter, tears and rage
High on prose
People
And places
I must create
Or I'll die
Just one more sentence
Maybe two
And then I'll find my way
In this bed I'll stay
This will be the last time
I write at 3am
...
I promise...
Feb 17, 2022
Feb 17, 2022 at 3:49 AM UTC
I sat on one of the park's two swings
With my left arm plastered; in a sling
I pushed the ground with my feet as I gazed at the sky
Through the air, wafted the delicious smell of fish fry
'twas the month of June and monsoon was upon us
Children were frolicking in the mud, as they got off the school bus
The sky was filled with clouds waiting to wash the earth clean
Hanging in the sky as if by strings unseen
A flock of birds flew down to peck on the scattered grain
To not run towards them and watch them scatter, it took much refrain
The lonesome dog seemed blissful, his stomach full for the day
Barking like mad and running in circles, on his own tail did he wish to prey
The trees swayed gently, their leaves still wet from the morning shower
I wonder how they've managed to withstand time's fearsome power
For millions of millenia, they've stayed rooted and spread their seed
Only to be turned to timber by man's single deed
I snap out of my thoughts as you place a gentle hand upon my shoulder
In that moment, I forget that the gaze I reserved for you was meant to be colder
You stand in front of me, frowning slightly and pleading with guilty eyes
I stand up, smile and walk away. I've never been one for goodbyes.
Nov 12, 2013
Nov 12, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
I asked the question but may never know
But let’s give it a go
I ask the question again, how does Mary Poppins angle her umbrella?
It seems precise
Maybe Magic is the advice
It seems the winds are always in Mary Poppins favor
But too some of use with ordinary conventional umbrella’s that’s hard to savor
Mary Poppins seems to just glide through the air and her umbrella stays in tact
Actually, could be more than fact
With these so called conventional umbrella’s, people would be lucky if our umbrella’s didn’t turn inside out and became stems of its former self
But Mary Poppins umbrella is not like everybody else
When a breeze comes along, the ordinary conventional umbrellas simply bend
What was an umbrella always comes to an end
They just can’t seem to take the wind
I guess Mary Poppins can
Magic controls the umbrella on when
But we really don’t know how Mary Poppins umbrella stays straight
However, it’s Mary Poppins story of fate
Yet that is something only Mary Poppins can appreciate
As for us ordinary people can associate
It’s definitely a magical thing
The Mary Poppins name having a bling
She’s like a Queen who masters her own sling.
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 2:23 PM UTC
Friend Rockstar,
Listen, yield to a robust think-tank,
earlobes skidding against wheat and grain.
Terrible story, yes, what happened to that little girl.
Sterile teddy nightgowns weeping in the squad car windows.
Teacher – Teacher, do you harken my yodels for grace?
I’ve never been maternal.
Put the game on. Abortion.
That’s what I’m about.
Grab a bra. Sling some weight.
That’s what I’m about.
Some housefly wings on a weathered corn cob.
Some downhome, homegrown twang for those fancy, fussy britches.
Muddy workboots. Sweat-soaked collars.
That’s what I’m about.
Him done made me read, sir.
What sacraments did we write today?
I can still remember my first broken bone.
I can still remember my first broken *****
That could be what this is all about.
Mary, Mary, you can be contrite,
so knife – so critter – so laze – so stalked.
Who fertilized your seeds? Who reared your sprouts?
Cockle shells and silver bells, honey,
can’t grow up
to be pretty little maids all in a row.
Sterile teddy nightgowns – green bells in gaseous gardens.
Friend Rockstar, you may have to sleep.
This restless harbor is a shivering anecdote spilled from a belly,
a vast, deep cavern with love notes written in milk.
Your fried, stern smile was a flaking fingernail adjacent to the crack in the flowerpot.
Some garden, I say.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 7:12 PM UTC
How will we progress today?
Will we risk life attending Mosque,
Or have an affair with our spouse's boss?
Will we take the dog out for a walk,
Step on a landmine, use plastic straws?
Perhaps we'll play with our kids today,
Or call Amber Alert, wait scared, and pray?
Will we defy authority with a righteous tone,
Or leave our tail tucked, like a dog with his bone?
Will we gauge goods today for our Vegan menu,
Or show a distention as millions today do?
Will we drive around town for cheaper gas,
Or choose our pickings from picked-over trash?
Do you sling eggs and sausage for sub-minimum wages,
Or attend a visitation in a tortured MADD rage?
Will you tee off at eight, or do a spin class,
Or sit solitary watching the hourglass?
Did we place our script at the shiny drugstore,
Or wade across water to Jordan's fair shore?
Will we question the teacher at our kid's school,
Or play Avatar falling off our bar stool?
Did you set a reminder on your AI phone
For chicken delivery to your suburban home?
Will you lift copper tubing from construction sites,
Proclaiming your station in life gives you right?
Do I recline in my La-Z-Boy for a nap with a book,
Or teach someone to live with a line and a hook?
Will you take out your family,
Are you last on your list,
Will you reciprocate a handshake
Or raise a gloved fist?
Our words can't bind all our wounds,
Few are born with silver spoons,
We're not wrapped in silk cocoons.
A metamorphosis is coming
To this world of gloom,
A rousing group flight,
And it can't come too soon.
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:36 AM UTC
she hovers over the handwritten letter
with maniacal grin gripping her face
as she devours his texted words
with weeping eyes
and she sings in unnatural tones a child's lullaby in some
forgotten french dialect
delightful reflections in song of the garden gate
leaning broken onto the rough hewn path
where the soulless cherubs cherish their seed
in haphazard rows cherub faces sling silent tears
and labour at the desires never felt and
the dark soils never fertile
seeking redemptions in the rebirth of the harvest moon
which decorates the far wall of the tomb
the cherubs brief delighted laughters
soon sputter and fail
as in the dying light of day
reveals that they must labour yet another day
to no useful end
she lives in this place
a cottage of straw with dark windows
and a wood stained door
she sits on its porch with knitting in hand
weaving futures for her beloved cherubs
weaving pasts for her own
she devoured him like she did his words
and came home to roost
like her innocent faced dragoons
she will someday march forth with this army of doom
but today she is content to be contrite
knitting porridge and whey wall hangings
from the tables of the
steampunk princess
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
When you shed that chrysalis of clothing
Releasing the dragonfly wings of your longing
Wholly among the sanctity of your skystrung ribs
Your hips gyrating on the revolutions of the moon
The astronomer in my belly burns to look up to the sky
And see you spreading yourself among the singing night
My fingers, matches skywriting
The contours of your body
With the lingerings of fire
Nails soft scratching the runes of desire
Among the hidden temples of your skin
A secret language you twistup and rumble
In like the sea swallowing a storm
Inviting me to wade in your waters
Till the lighting comes
To reunite you with the heavens
Let me lick a long crusade
From summit of spine down
The long whirling dervish of your legs
Relight wildfires only to douse them in all
The tsunami of your wet
And wash you in the convergence of thunder
As it rumbles among the fault lines of your bones
Till we rattle the pearly gates loose
And quake the caverns of hell
Grind yourself upon me into
Something so much
Sweeter then stardust
Break your body open
Into a firefly and ignite
Upon the rough embers of my wings
This friction will elicit a diction
Spoken only in vowels and the
And in the crescent arch of your spine
As we sling ourselves skyward as fireworks
To rupture open the night
Suffocate me on the whirlwind mane of your hair
There is a lioness behind those lips waiting to devour me
A sacred hunting upon moonlight to take me in the dark
Don’t you see
All of this is yours
The rumble of the earth
The heavy breath of the heavens
The match
The candle
And the sweet rush of the burn
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC
Sling me under the sea.
Pack me down in the salt and wet.
No farmer's plow shall touch my bones.
No Hamlet hold my jaws and speak
How jokes are gone and empty is my mouth.
Long, green-eyed scavengers shall pick my eyes,
Purple fish play hide-and-seek,
And I shall be song of thunder, crash of sea,
Down on the floors of salt and wet.
Sling me... under the sea.
2.9k
Laughs and screams,
Smiles and tears
A newly found love,
And "the boy I was gonna marry heartbreak".
You yell at your parents,
Hit your little brother,
And for what?
Because your mad at some high school boy,
Who couldn't keep it in his pants?
You should be yelling at him...
But ohh no...
You could never do that.
"It was a mistake."
He says,
"I love you, and I promise I'll never,
Ever, ever, ever do it again."
And then tops it off with a dazzling smile,
And runs his fingers through your hair,
Kisses your cheek,
And says,
"I gotta run, love ya babe."
Yeah...
He's gotta run...
Run to your bestfriends house,
Because he's bangin' her tonight.
Liar.
Ooops...
He did it again.
It was an accident..
Again.
But you forgive him,
Because you love him,
And he "loves" you.
You throw your friend to the side and proclaim,
"Its all her fault!"
But then one night when yall are hanging out,
He goes to the bathroom,
And leaves his phone sitting on the bed.
BUUUZZZZ
New text message,
From some girl named Brittany?
"Who the hell is Brittany?"
Not thinking,
You open the text.
It says,
"We gotta talk, now."
"Why is this chick wanting to talk to MY man?",
You think to yourself.
"What's going on."
"It broke..."
"What broke?"
"The ****** you idiot."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm pregnant."
There it is.
He did it once again,
And ******* up big time.
Can you forgive him?
There's physical,
Living,
Evidence this time.
You do what any rational teenage girl would do...
You throw a tantrum,
Scream "I hate you.",
And run home to daddy.
You tell daddy...
Daddys mad.
He runs out of the house,
Gets in the truck,
And races down the road,
Without a word.
You go up to your room,
Because what else can you do?
You go to your desk,
And see your drawings,
A beautiful art,
Thats always been your outlet.
But hows it gonna work for you this time?
What are you gonna do?
Draw him on top of the name Brittany,
With his **** in the middle of the A?
You sling everything off your desk.
The pencil sharpener hits the wall,
And breaks,
Leaving the metal blades exposed.
You pick it up,
And begin to draw.
But this time,
There isnt any pencils,
And there isnt any paper,
Just metal and skin.
You hack away at your teenage soul,
Going through your "emo" phase,
Wanting to feel normal,
And trying to make a time machine,
With your blood as the key,
To get rid of all the hurt he had caused.
"How did you handle the pain of all that?"
People at school ask when the word gets around.
"Drawing is my outlet."
You say,
And then walk away,
Pulling down your sleeves,
So your broken teenage soul is encased in last years sweater.
A teenage soul.
At 13,
So alive,
So new.
By 18,
Its dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 4:08 AM UTC
Behold the tyrant that we've come to uphold!
He's holly and jolly but his intention is a fold!
An act you see? Like the holiday scene!
Giving gifts, sharing feelings all on the drop of a ring?
That's the way you might tell me. Tradition's the thing!
...No just misguided and mislead, you're a sheep in a sling
Forgive me for caring just a little too much when my brothers around me have brains leaking mush
It's the buy-in's I tell you they've rotten your brain
Like the sweet allure of candy causing cavity pain
It creeps up in bulk bins then swarms you in herds
Over-bearing advertisements have become the word
But this is wrong! Don't you see?
All this holiday greed!
"I want this, I need that, does that suit come in black?"
I'm sick of it all and I don't give a ****
I don't want any presents off that red fat man's sleigh!
I'm going to tear down my tree and set it up when I say
Not on some specific, planned out, or traditional day
I'll set it up a week from now or on a Tuesday in May
That's the sort of holiday I think I can brave
No unwanted gifts and forced smiles denied
Cause' the music is chill and the feeling sublime
They would leave with full bellies and a carry home plate
That is... if we did holidays all run my way
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 7:12 PM UTC
Why the sudden alarm I ask?
Because you've eaten a horses ***
For years we've eaten all kinds of meat
Mixed with things you find in paint
A list of E numbers a sentence long
Who knew if they where doing wrong
Colouring from crushed beetles shells
Or other insects as well
Artificial raspberry sounds yum yum
Yeah it's made from beavers ***
So here's a tip to help you shop
Look under the bar code at numbers lots
This may stop you getting cross
If it starts with 5 sling it out !
Its Asian chicken bleached and vile
From roadside **** or any source
boiled in salt of course
So we now protest at a bit of horse
Years to late we've eaten worse.
On holiday you eat bulls *****
Your hotdogs could be his other smalls!
Sweetbreads eyeballs hooves the lot
So diced, reclaimed or added in
You've no idea what's gone in
Mad cow mad horse or confused pig
I wonder if I've eaten each
The veggie options just as bad
With GM foods Monsanto's bag
MSG enhancers to to stop the food from tasting goo
So wine or beer for me tonight
As foods now a depressing sight
Bacon butty anyone?
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 2:25 PM UTC