"snorting" poems
iN & Out Of Rehab
iRelapse
Then Collapse
iNever
Commited To Sober Living So Why Are People Tripping?
Drug Programs
Are A Waste According To My Case.
im Never Going to Stop
unless i O.D And Drop
But Even iN Heaven Thats iF iRise.
With the Angel
imma Continue Tweaking Cause iM A ****** Tweaker
Or iN Hell With Fallen Angels.
It'll Be Better,
Since iSold My Soul To The Devil.
He Never Asked
iJust Gave iT Up.
iFell iN Love With A stimulant Drug made up Of Chemicals ****** Poison But idgaf il Keep Dosing.
Went From Snorting To Smoking
Methamphetamine
iLet iT Get The Best Of Me.
Part 2
Out & iN
2014 iTs Krazie
iM Back To This Dope ****
Its been Already 4 years and
Im still Addicted.
In & Out
Of Rehabs, Different Drug Programs and Sad That iStill
Havnt learned ****
Got Out November 19 2014 For The 3rd Time
And im Still Twisting, Getting Lit
Ilove Living Twisted
Im on a comedown
Im irrated right now wanting to take
Another hit.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
Let me tell you about something I saw the other day,
when I was out walking through a field of hay.
The night was quite pretty, the air crisp and clear,
when I suddenly encountered a cat who was drinking a beer!
I walked a little farther and encountered some mice,
sitting around a card table, all playing dice.
The mice looked quite serious, they all dressed like thugs,
I was dumbfounded, and simply stared down from above.
Then I saw something that completely blew my mind,
it was a variety of animals, dancing in a conga line.
For hours and hours and hours they danced,
more animals joined in, even deer came to prance.
This party was larger than any I’d seen,
a couple of badgers were even smoking something green.
“Innocent” deer were snorting lines off of snakes,
and a couple drunk farm dogs were fighting with rakes.
A cat and a mouse were sitting in a barn,
entirely too drunk, they took turn telling yarns.
From across the field, you could hear an owl retch,
while a gaggle of geese slurred “Benny and the Jets.”
Sheep laughed, “Bahaha!” while dancing on tables,
the horses were getting it on in the stables.
This party was crazier than any I’d attended,
a pig even ended up losing an appendage.
As the sun came up, things started winding down,
all the cows went home, and the "Keg King" took off his crown.
I took this as my cue, it was time to depart,
so a couple mice and I hitched a ride on a farmer’s cart.
"Sayonara!" I yelled, "It's been lots of fun!
Everybody get home safe, try not to hurt anyone!"
But enough about me, let's talk about you.
That was my weekend, what did you do?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
Perky ******* & Pouty Lips
Now I'm thinking I am, your typical male
who loves beautiful women, and all they entail
tall or short both, make my heart do flips
but the things that I, like for sure
it's alright if, they're somewhat demure
are perky ******* and pouty lips
a personality, is a wonderful thing
it would be cool, if she can dance and sing
don't mind playin poker, and bettin those chips
a sense of humor, with a snorting laugh
always willing, to give you half
umm but I crave perky ******* and pouty lips
I love watching them, when they come and go
swingin those hips, to and fro
make my heart beat do, a couple of skips
but look at those ******* and that **** mouth
causing a disturbance down to the south
god I love perky ******* and pouty lips
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
I really never use the word hate
But boy do I hate when people ask me if I’m okay
Mainly because I can never gather the words
To tell them how I really feel. But if
You’re looking for my answer to that question
It goes a little something like this.
“No I’m not okay. I’m breaking into a million
Pieces right in front of everyone and no one notices.
I’m losing weight and it’s not from working out.
My thoughts are creating a hurricane in my brain
And I can not calm the storm.
My heart is a battlefield at war with my mind
And I’m afraid I’m losing this battle.”
But wait there’s more...
“My nose hurts from snorting to many lines of insecurity, my arms are weak from trying to pull myself out of all this self doubt and worry, my wrists are wounded from the cuts I allowed others to make.
My smile has been playing hide and seek for awhile now and I’m still searching for it... by the time I find it I may just be 6 feet under.. which doesn’t sound like
A bad idea... I’m tired. I want to sleep.
I think I’m going to take the rest of this pain medicine
Because this pain is to deep, the wounds won’t heal
And hell im tired of feeling. So I think I want to sleep.
Yeah. That’s what I want to do sleep and be at peace” But instead I’ll smoke this blunt filled
With fake I love yous and it’ll be alrights, to numb the pain for a little while. Instead I’ll drink this whiskey until I’ve drowned out all this feeling. Instead I’ll just say goodnight and sleep to forget about being alive for a little while. But trust me “I’m okay”
Nov 14, 2019
Nov 14, 2019 at 6:58 AM UTC
We laugh upon this empty rock
We smile as we run our circles
Giggling rats
Lice swaying in unison to our meaningless song
The black ground heaves
with laughter
Let’s go waterski
above the empty sea
You’ll find me snorting and choking and twirling in a hailstorm
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 3:19 AM UTC
I
This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the cheque and the postal order,
Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The shop at the corner, the girl next door.
Pulling up Beattock, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.
Past cotton-grass and moorland boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,
Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.
Birds turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from bushes at her blank-faced coaches.
Sheep-dogs cannot turn her course;
They slumber on with paws across.
In the farm she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.
II
Dawn freshens, Her climb is done.
Down towards Glasgow she descends,
Towards the steam tugs yelping down a glade of cranes
Towards the fields of apparatus, the furnaces
Set on the dark plain like gigantic chessmen.
All Scotland waits for her:
In dark glens, beside pale-green lochs
Men long for news.
III
Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday snaps to enlarge in,
Letters with faces scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to Scotland from the South of France,
Letters of condolence to Highlands and Lowlands
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The typed and the printed and the spelt all wrong.
IV
Thousands are still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying monsters
Or of friendly tea beside the band in Cranston's or Crawford's:
Asleep in working Glasgow, asleep in well-set Edinburgh,
Asleep in granite Aberdeen,
They continue their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
Without a quickening of the heart,
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
4.7k
Mother superior had dropped the gun,
Seeing the victim was her very own son.
There a saint was made to run
Drowned before the rising sun.
Messiah born on the first day of June,
Posing as a religious boon.
Preaching that the end is soon,
All in a tone resembling Sinatra’s croon.
Superiority held in the form of prayer,
Faith maintained at the behest of a dare.
Professor Lodz has lost his bear.
The Omega deemed this loss as fair.
Tammuz is smoking all the vegetation
Asherah has stopped all gestation,
Coming from a fit of ************
Working on a new form of taxation.
Jesus just took one huge dumb,
In the sink after snorting a quick bump.
The man had reached quite the slump.
Catching HPV from Fergies’s ****
Mohammad is eating all the pork.
Using hands, forgetting the fork.
******* chicks, with all kinds of torque,
Misinterpreting the path of a wayward stork.
Dinning on delicious swine.
And the finest forms of delicate wine.
Prophets of the world align.
And drink from the deceased Christopher Reeve’s spine.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
(Smoking on that drill*2)..., Yeah ***** that kill2)..(Smoking on that drill3)..Yeah..(nigga that kill2)..I stay smoking on (that kill2)..Yeah..I stay smoking on (that drill2)..Aye nigga..(that kill2)..(Aye Im smoking on that drill*3)..Yeah ***** (that kill*3)..Uhh..
I ain't popping no pills , I ain't snorting nothing man, I ain't injecting myself, Im just rolling no mollies, I stay smoking on that drill, Yeah I stay smoking on (that kill*3)..nigga.. I'm getting straight to the business my ***** what's the deal, Uhh,Yeah, what's the deal with all of these buster ***** *** made fakes that's in the rap game mane, yall giving them **** ****** praises , that ain't Gods, they Satan peasants, Uhh..
I only give praises to the Heavenly Father & Jesus Christ , you should too, homie, I'm just giving out good advice, don't Idolize me my ***** I'm not a God, even thou I'm fly, even tho I ryhme so nice, dude you can be fly too, you gotta have confidence within you, look up to yourself my ***** you gotta encourage yourself, when nobody else isn't..
Uhh, Aye I stay smoking on that drill, Yeah I stay smoking on (that kill3)..So what man, Yeah mane,I'm smoking on that drill..(it helps me2)..be a better me, it medicates all my pain , it helps me meditate all of my depression away..So why the freak they got it illegalized for mane..Aye
The government is so evil homie, they the Occult , they so Satanic mane..The government been tryna destroy my reputation.. I know they after me,Yeah mane..They after me homie, wanna take my life away, Yeah they wanna put me 6 feet under with a closed casket service, mane, because all I rymhe about is the truth homie, Aye I ain't running ..noo..I won't stop tho, no I won't dawg, if death do comes then, Imma fight death all the way back where it camed from, They can throw me how much money they want to, but I won't take it,noo My soul is worth more than gold, All I need is Jesus, he saved you & me from ever being defeated, so he's the only Idol to me man..Aye..
(I stay smoking on that drill Yeah2)..(I stay smoking on that kill,Yeah2)..(smoking on that drill2)..nigga Yeah (that kill3)..(Uhh2)..(Yeah2)..my ***** this ain't no gangster music & I ain't no gangster Imma King Imma real ***** & , Imma Rebel too mane,..Ayo, I bet I could rap some **** that every hood ***** will blast & feel tho homie..Aye..I ain't no **** either, but I'm thugging against America..Fuck em Uhh..
I'm so g, my ***** I'm me Yeah ***** , I'm who I always wanted to be my nigga..so **** what a doubter & a hater gone think about this one...because
***** I rise3)..(nigga I strive3)..Yeah ***** (I rise2)..(nigga I strive2)..(nigga I ride*2)..for OFTR only & my ***** (thats Fo life3)..Yeah..(nigga I rise3)..(nigga I strive3)..nigga I rise..(nigga I fly2)..(nigga I rise2)..(nigga I strive2)..nigga I rise ***** I fly Aye..
(Smoking on that drill*2)..Yeah ***** that kill*2)..Yeah nigga..I stay smoking on that **** Yeah I stay smoking on that kill..nigga I'm (smoking on that drill3)..(nigga that kill2)..
Aye *****
/(I strive 2)..(I rise2)..(I fly2)../3
Smoking on that drill,..
(Yeah ***** that kill..that kill..Uhh*3)
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
Cock-a-doodle doo.
Pigs snorting and grunt.
Bleat baa the sheep.
Hidden in the trees squeak the squirrels.
Gobble gobble gobbling turkeys.
Low oxen moo the cows.
Hohi-a-hohhle hi
Bray donkeys so similar.
Rolling on the red dust.
The village.
A swallow-tailed bee-eater.
Calling and singing.
A green barbet, dark brown head.
Answers the call.
A red-capped lark, black bill.
Entertains the morning.
An emerald-spotted wood dove.
Seated lonely somewhere.
Coos to the extravaganza.
The village.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 5:20 AM UTC
Snorting Line
White snow piled high broken up into single filed lines, across her coccyx and snorted of her ***
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
Tick Tock goes the clock of wanting to hit the pipe again
Tick Tock goes the clock of wanting to be numb again
Tick Tock goes the clock of the flame burning against the glass
Tick Tock goes the clock of the drug melting away
Tick Tock goes the clock of inhaling danger into my lungs
Tick Tock goes the clock of exhaling the smoke
Tick Tock goes the clock of the high warming my body
Tick Tock goes the clock of desperately wanting more
Tick Tock goes the clock of crushing more danger
Tick Tock goes the clock of rolling the dollar bill
Tick Tock goes the clock of snorting away my problems
Tick Tock goes the clock of a rush of euphoria
Tick Tock goes the clock of redoing everything again
Tick Tock goes the clock of coming down again
Tick Tock goes the clock of endless sleepless nights
Tick Tock goes the clock of hearing my mother and father cry
Tick Tock goes the clock of the haunting silence in my room
Tick Tock goes the clock of my heart beating inside my chest
Tick Tock goes the clock of picking up the pen
Tick Tock goes the clock of the tear hitting the paper
Tick Tock goes the clock of wanting to be numb again
Tick Tock goes the clock of the trembling hands
Tick Tock goes the clock of folding the paper
Tick Tock goes the clock of whispering one last goodbye
Tick Tock goes the clock of me hanging in the belltower
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 10:05 PM UTC
I hate school
because teacher Giraffe is always
picking on me
in his high and lofty manner
He's always pointing at me
with his prehensile tongue
and snorting: *"Maybe you'd
like to stop laughing
and share your joke
with the rest of animal class?"*
But I don't know no joke;
I just laugh
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
dissuaded seamstresses seamlessly string
together thoughts throwing out convention
and convection ovens hold the bones of history
hot air blows through them and out
the mouths of bloated politicians red faced
with misplaced values and encouraging
a broken caste systems’ continuation
as classism hides beneath value menus
radically altering the fabric of not only society
but also the genetic code in which we all stem
wilted flower petals stick to flattened tires
wired children snorting Ritalin pick locks
placed by scared parents
frightened by Fox news and Vioxx side effects
stashed cash smashed in mattresses
waits for the next prescription election
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
2003, where did you go?
My Scene dolls and All Time Low
Red Jeeps and glitter cheeks
Thirteen and hip hop beats
Tube tops, pop n lock
Don't forget your frosted lipgloss
Butterflies and Blink's First Date
"Forever Yours" on a silver keychain
Belly rings, snorting pills stings
Tiered skirts and ankle bling
TLR, Summerland
South of Nowhere, Degrassi: The Next Gen
Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton
Travis Barker and Ashlee Simpson
Fall Out Boy and Timbaland
Pete Wentz almost ended it
Promiscuous, Grand Theft Autumn
Jeans hung low, and girl you got em
I wanna live there over again
Everything was better then
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
A lone wolf;
Solitary soldier.
Too comfortable you have become
stumbling down a path
for one.
Blinded by
eyes closed
to the world that truly lays
beyond
your chosen screen
of wool
woven, cross-stitched with
Denial.
Hands you refuse to hold
as you boldly
trek
down the dusty trail;
howling out silently
so no one may hear.
Sporting a
mask
made
of self-loathing
and fear,
vulnerability the
enemy you choose to slay,
for surrendering to
a state of
naked, raw
passion
seems more frightening
than the darkest dungeon,
stormiest night.
Gulping down
another shot
of loneliness on the rocks,
not even a splash
of soda,
for you like the way it burns.
Inhale solidarity,
snorting your
line
after
line
of
self-destruction,
acidic dispelling of
feelings
chosen not to be felt.
Sometimes, though,
in the quietest of the night,
sitting on the lip of a deep
substance-induced-slumber,
you may whisper
in a tone you would hate
to be called sweet,
and the mask comes off;
till 2 PM,
waking and at it again,
alone, a lone wolf
howls
at emotional
sobriety
and takes another
drink.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:46 PM UTC
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week! , which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
But presently up spoke little dog Mustard,
I'd been twice as brave if I hadn't been flustered.
And up spoke Ink and up spoke Blink,
We'd have been three times as brave, we think,
And Custard said, I quite agree
That everybody is braver than me.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 5:15 AM UTC
Larry, the man who terraformed Mars, has a scar over his left eye.
Maggie, his younger sister, could not make up her mind.
Her brother was a Star Man. She was left behind.
Maggie swam in the ocean
Larry paid a fine.
Maggie liked tequila
Larry was back on Earth.
He liked snorting space rocks
By the basement furnace hearth.
Larry got a parking ticket
Maggie passed out in the sand
She did not feel a single thing
When she was ****** there by a man.
The baby was coming in April and
Maggie went to the clinic
Larry thought about Venereal tides
While he was out having a picnic.
Larry, the man who terraformed Mars, has a scar over his left eye.
Maggie, his younger sister, could not make up her mind.
Her brother was a Star Man. She was left behind.
Maggie swam in the ocean
Larry paid a fine.
Maggie is now a single mother
In the house with a furnace hearth.
Larry never came back down
The last time he left Earth.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
Overview:
-Birthday: ∞
-Studied everything at The School of...
-Lives in ∞
-Gender: Seriously?
-Religious Views: Tolerant Chaos
-Political Views: Ambivalently Apathetic Anarchy
Family And Relationships:
-Relationship: It's complicated
-Family Members: Everyone Ever
Details About You:
*I am. We are. It is. Impossible to forget but hard to remember. Remember that time you found some money on the ground? That was me. Remember that time you got so sick you thought you puked your actual brains out? Sorry about that.
I love you go to hell.
To be honest I'm still surprised I'm alive after all the crazy **** I've done to myself over the years from nuclear ****** bombs to snorting the ground up bones of warring people and all that jazz. Oh yeah, not to mention those times I've caught asteroids with my face.*
Favorite Quotes:
Wind, Farts, ******* Laughter.
Life Events:
Shit...where do I start?
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC
You pick every word I say
With rapt attention.
So I tell you about tangerine skies
In Vermont, how I shape them.
I tell you my dad invented Cuban cigars
In Argentina.
You heard about the prawns,
The ***** and the lilies. A story only I could tell.
I could tell it in fluent Yoruba.
You watch me sleep like I don't have a care in this world
Snorting away while chasing dragonflies and seahorses
In my oblivion.
You watch me walk in the shadows
My gait like gridless frames of a restless gate
blown open by the wind.
(If I was the night, I would be bright.)
Finally you see my hands well adapted to cutlasses and owes,
Irrespective experienced with oriental oils
and manicures.
'One day I will be king', I thought I said.
But you heard it from my mind.
You heard it alone.
Yesterday we owed this to ourselves.
Tomorrow we will be lovers
Today let's be friends.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 5:24 AM UTC
And then it hit me;
it had nothing to do with the fact that I tripped over a rock
fell and scraped my knee, crushed orange leaves and marred
them against me-it'd be tricky to get this off in one wash.
I was caught by an overdue epiphany;
it had been chasing me since the beginning of everything but
I promise it was not the reason I jogged each and every season
back and forth-which I suppose also was metaphorically.
Nothing was going to change;
I got up and brushed my raw hands on my ***** pants,
mud stuck to the heel of them and trickles of sweat fell down and
made everything that much colder-windy city.
If I kept waiting;
my breath came is white puffs, rapid and elevated,
the sun broke through the thin barrier of gray clouds and I swore
just a bit at the state of my ripped pants.
For someone to come and alter it;
my legs were burning at the sudden discontinuity of motion and thus
I got up and stretched once more- my knee was bleeding- inhaled deeply
the scent of crushed leaves and began my journey home.
It was me all along;
Children played,undisturbed by the chilly breezes of Autumn,
they fell and laughed merrily as though falling was just a sanguine
thing to do.
And it wasn't easy, I know;
The wind took the tiny tangerine hats off trees, blowing, howling,
the leaves soared at the mercy of nature's cycle-death and rebirth-
and suddenly my excuse of “what's the point? I'll die anyway.”
seemed petty and amusing.
I needed to change to change things.
A child, unafraid of pain, dove unto a pile of gathered leaves,
disappeared in a midst of orange and red after emerging
flushed and jolly, snickering and snorting. I crossed the road
and reached the door.
And after I let water fall and take away the dirt, a stray leaf had
made its way to my hair and I did not throw it away but kept it
as a reminder of the tumble I took to fall to this conclusion.
Autumn fell unto my world, feathers bright like the plumage of
a Phoenix bird in flight.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 3:47 PM UTC
Heh! Walk her round. Heave, ah, heave her short again!
Over, ****** her over, there, and hold her on the pawl.
Loose all sail, and brace your yards aback and full—
Ready jib to pay her off and heave short all!
Well, ah, fare you well; we can stay no more with you, my love—
Down, set down your liquor and your girl from off your knee;
For the wind has come to say:
“You must take me while you may,
If you’d go to Mother Carey
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),
Oh, we’re bound to Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!”
Heh! Walk her round. Break, ah, break it out o’ that!
Break our starboard-bower out, apeak, awash, and clear!
Port—port she casts, with the harbour-mud beneath her foot,
And that’s the last o’ bottom we shall see this year!
Well, ah, fare you well, for we’ve got to take her out again—
Take her out in ballast, riding light and cargo-free.
And it’s time to clear and quit
When the hawser grips the bitt,
So we’ll pay you with the foresheet and a promise from the sea!
Heh! Tally on. Aft and walk away with her!
Handsome to the cathead, now; O tally on the fall!
Stop, seize and fish, and easy on the davit-guy.
Up, well up the fluke of her, and inboard haul!
Well, ah, fare you well, for the Channel wind’s took hold of us,
Choking down our voices as we ****** the gaskets free.
And it’s blowing up for night,
And she’s dropping light on light,
And she’s snorting under bonnets for a breath of open sea,
Wheel, full and by; but she’ll smell her road alone to-night.
Sick she is and harbour-sick—Oh, sick to clear the land!
Roll down to Brest with the old Red Ensign over us—
Carry on and thrash her out with all she’ll stand!
Well, ah, fare you well, and it’s Ushant slams the door on us,
Whirling like a windmill through the ***** scud to lee:
Till the last, last flicker goes
From the tumbling water-rows,
And we’re off to Mother Carey
(Walk her down to Mother Carey!),
Oh, we’re bound for Mother Carey where she feeds her chicks at sea!
2.8k
Boudicca, long hair tangled and bunched; fiery flame red hair.
Warrior queen of the Iceni, daughter of these isles of tin.
Defender of freedom, leader of men, slayer of legions.
Through the mist the Britons, Celtic in origin; saw the legions.
Row upon row of tightly packed troops, shields locked together!
Flanked on either side by cavalry. Above the silence orders could
Be heard echoing across the field, the leather harness’s creaked
Metal chinking, horses stomping and snorting, in the stillness.
Through the mist came the first rays of sunlight glinting on sharpened
Swords and spearheads; horns began to blow as the steady
Stomp of the legions moved forward in formation.
Boudicca’s eyes peered out from a face of blue woe. Bow strings
In turn began to creak death, as archers pulled back on their bows.
A slow chant from the Iceni, slow at first, began to build into a crescendo
Of noise, as the boom, boom of sword and axe rapped against wood shields.
Boudicca flame haired warrior queen stood proud and fearless on her chariot;
Daughters on each side of her, defiant against Gaius Suetonius Pauline’s
And the might of Rome.
Oh what a sight it must have been!
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 10:51 AM UTC
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
The smoking and drinking and snorting and fighting and drinking and crashes and drinking were not good for him.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One summer, when he was 16, everyday he would take a bottle of wine from his mother's liquor cabinet, buy a pack of cigarettes at the corner store, meet up with his friend Mario, who also stole a bottle of wine, and together they would ride down to the river and smoke and drink and swim. Everyday, for a full 1970's summer they did this.
And now he tells me, that at the time they were having fun and they were not worried about money or addictions or the future.
They were just having fun.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One day, in the dead of fall 1981, he and his friends Mario, Mark, ****** and John all got together at Mark's apartment on the corner of 51st and Diablo boulevard. They hit the town, drank, snuck into movie theatres, harassed girls and had a good time. They returned to Mark's apartment at 2 am and thought it a good idea to steal Mark's mom's new car. They decided to go to Reno.
Driving, as my dad put it, well above the speed limit on Highway 49, they collided head on with a big rig. There were no fatalities but my dad broke his shoulder and suffered a minor concussion. Mark's mom chose to not press charges nor did the driver of the big rig. The next day my father was back at work, refusing to adhere to the doctor's orders of taking it easy and wearing a soft cast, entrapping his left arm against his chest, climbing under cars, changing oil, and repairing engines.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
One cold winter's day, in December of '82, my father's ever faithful companion, Mario, picked my father and his dog, Wimpy, up and they drove over to a small burger joint named Big A's. My father ordered two bacon cheeseburgers and a large rootbeer. Mario got the same, only with a single bacon cheeseburger. My father father gave his second bacon cheeseburger to his pitbull Wimpy.
My father was better to his dog than he was to his own body.
Now, my father coughs himself to sleep every night, and has chronic bronchitis. His liver and kidneys are shot and he plans to not live passed sixty. He will be turning fifty in two weeks.
My father was not good to his body when he was younger.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Its about one in the morning
I know I have to get up at 7
I wish I was knocked out snoring
I told myself I’d go to the gym at 11
I guess I can never keep a promise to myself
There are so many things I should do
But I just put **** off and keep it on a mental shelf
Why can’t I ever follow through
I told myself I’d tell you I liked you weeks ago
But then I figured that you wouldn’t care
You’re always with your friends for all I know
If I told you I bet you’d just stare
I told myself I’d get in shape this year
But surprise I actually gained weight
Being fat again is the worst thing I fear
This week I’ve tracked all the calories I ate
I told myself I’d try to stay in a relationship
But two weeks in I freaked and ended it
I got too annoyed kissing your lips
I can’t pretend to be interested in this ****
I told myself if other people are happy dating
Then I could probably be happy too
But I’m not comfortable with anything more than a fling
Monogamy just isn’t something I can do
I told myself I’d get my **** together this time
Yet I’m snorting addies at a Philly party
Then proceeding to cry about how I’m
Such
A
Piece
Of
****
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
the carousel played
in the carnival park
bright music to lure
tinkling lights in the dark
spirited ponies, animals quaint
all snorting and rearing
colored with paint
the spinning floor stops
for us to get on
we choose our mounts
it starts with a song
up and down go the horses
the calliope sings
as we go 'round we reach out for the rings
sometimes we miss them
they go on by
but there's always a chance
for the second try
the turning seasons
so very like life
you get your good job
your husband or wife
your car and your boat
your kids and their stuff
you go 'round and 'round
but you can't get enough!
then all of a sudden
death cuts like a knife
and you discover you've wasted your life
the scenery, the colors
just a smear. just a blurr
the music passed by
your heart was not stirred!
you didn't smell seabreeze
feel the wind in your face
you didn't seek God
missed out on His
GRACE
LIFE IS THE JOURNEY
but you forgot
you passed up the beauty
without a thought
LIFE ISN'T ALL GOLD
it don't mean a thing
so reach for the
Rose
as well as the
RING
reach out for
GOD
He's important as well
when you take your ride
on the bright
CAROUSEL
SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/15/2015
c
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 12:08 AM UTC