if you're lost without               direction
i will be one of maybe             just a few        
i can be    your  own                compass                  
let me        encompass          you, when
direction       is unknown       my arms
are a                 place to                move,
come                    in enjoy the warmth
for i                           will always face
north                            straight true
                          
when your life is all recessions
and really all  depressions  too
let me be
your
compass
let me come encompass you
your Longitude and Latitude are
all thrown
in a muck
let me get you to a place,
where you wont feel so stuck


               The tropic of cancer
       Is not a place for one to linger
  if you need to             grab my hand
hold on like i'm               your stringer
   when you cant                
       gasp another
           breathe and    
               there   isn't
                   anything
                       you  can do
come, and          let me be your    
compass,                let me come  
  and                        encompass you
   every sigh                  you relieve      
     will help                    find you on
          the map,                 and every
             time you             squeeze
                my hands, will help
                      you to relax
                      

this world is                     full of                     problems, one
thing that im                for sure, so                lets forget all
  the complacent           and replace               them with
    something               more,      wipe           away your
       tears you              wont         need        them where  
          we are          going.             if your    lost ill be
           your paddles                         we can find the
            way together                          and just like
              a little                                   compass ill
              be here                                     forever

The man to my right was more than eight feet away. I was going to have to move closer to him to catch my limit of four trout. I halved the distance between the two of us and noted the sideways glance he shot me. I apologized immediately and asked if I was crowding him.
     “No, you fine,” he replied within a thick Serbian accent.
     “You’re with them?” I asked, pointing to the crowd of people on the bridge some 30 feet upstream from us. I had heard the crowd of eastern Europeans talking earlier, and their accents were unmistakable to me. He nodded and we continued fishing.
     With my new angle I was better able to pick my fish in the water, so that’s what I did. I spied one and tossed my jig toward him. It took five casts but eventually, he took the bait. As I netted it in the swift, ice-cold spring water the man beside me congratulated me on the catch. I thanked him and added it to my stringer. This made three, and I only needed one more.
     “What’s your name?” I asked him.
     “Ivan”.
     “Have you been in the states long?” I asked, after the pause following his short reply seemed to invite more questions.
     “Since ‘96, my family live here. It is good.”
     “You like living here?” I wondered aloud.
     “Yes, the fishing is good. It is like back home in Serbia, or in Germany. We have this fishing there.”
     “You mean trout?”
     “Yes, trout...and some other fish like these, in water like this, but I can’t go home now.” He looked away momentarily. His lips pursed, and his brow furrowed. I pulled my line in, wanting to ask him more and not wanting to be distracted.
     “Were you in the war?”
     “Yes, I was in the Serbian police force.” My heart pounded. “When I was in the Serbian police force, we did what you see on the news. We went into villages and we killed them. We killed them all.”
     I cast my line back into the water, spying another trout. Ivan shrugged and cast his own line. I couldn’t tell what he was using but it looked like cheese of some kind. “I was drafted in Serb police when I was 15. I had no choice. If I refuse, they **** me. I did what I had to do.” I nodded, and ****** my line, missing a fish. “Before the war, I fished. After the war, there were not so many people, so fishing was very good.”
     The air around me was alive. The trees were greener, the water was colder and clearer, the sun was brighter, and the sky was bluer.
     “I’ve been fishing for a long time as well,” I responded. My father used to bring me here as a child. He nodded and continued.
     “After the war, all the fish come back, no one fished during the war, so there were many of them. You just had to be careful of the mines.” He grunted and gazed skyward.
     “The mines?”
     “Yes, during the war they mined the water.”
     I watched trout number four take my jig and I carefully reeled him in. Ivan congratulated me a second time, and I thanked him in return.
“You’re a good fisherman,” he said turning back to his own pursuit of the four-trout limit, as I left the water to clean my catch.

When we first met
They said you were a *****
And I didn't believe them
You seemed intelligent
(Well, intelligent enough)

The days of silence between us
Grew to weeks and months
I was almost done
Chewing on thoughts of you

How pathetic of me (Why?)
Because you're a ****
Truly a disgrace to your gender
A waste of my time

A smile meets my face
When I know
You'll wake crusted over
With a man who couldn't care less for you

A Hung parliament sounds ideal,
shoutout for carpenters and ropemakers.

I want to see lady to ladette
set in Baltimore
with Omar teaching drug theft
with the finer points of gun cleaning
calibre selection and event planning
as his curricula.

I want Jimmy and Bunk
teaching the dos and don’ts
of alcohol intoxication
the art of shot and stubbie mix
the singing and drinking anthems
to stir the blood
and the strategic gutter chuck
before the final whisky chaser.

I want those girls out on the corners
playing police bingo
speaking drug lingo
and developing their drug-fuelled irony
of WMB, the Icicle and Pandemic.

I want Clay to teach them elocution
and elongation in the word “Shiiiiiiit”

I want Avon Barnsdale to teach them gangster codes
of respect on Sundays for stoop people
and Sunday crowns
on everybody’s grandmother.

I want Kima to discuss sexuality
and the Other
I want them to talk change and reform
with Cutty, Colvin and Prez.
Daniels will show how love and loyalty
can be made to work in reality.

And I just want
I only want
Stringer
for myself.

© M.L.Emmett

Whats wrong with your matter
why do your thoughts seem to shatter
and splatter all silence into waves
of static chatter
Let your mind faulter
sitting silent under the calm water
Bubbled constant blabber jabber of
topics and thoughts and things that really dont matter
Fill the days with more than one hour
of silent inner and being stiller
giving power to the brain flower
Ignore the distractor the interactor
and the teacher thats molding young minds
with some kind of ego attractor
use brain conditioner applyed twice a day
by a liscensed practitoner
asleep at the wheeler
thoughts that act as some kind of leader
attracted by a stringer
unaware of the silent danger
mind of alter hidden
right above the shoulder

The wind growls at me
and I scowl back,
*** for tat.

This and that's okay if it
helps you make it
anyway that's this boy's
view
but you
must make your own way
and every day you'll own.

Never been down to
'Red River Valley'
but it sounds a real
homely place.

You'll have to stop me when
I wander to far from the pen
and poem,
bad habits are good at times
but hard to break.

This and that's what'll take me
to the corners where conspiracy
is fused into the stones.

The wind'll growl and
I'll still scowl
nothing ever changes.

There are more than enough
on not enough
and more than enough
on too much,
when enough is as good as a feast
the least they could do is to share.

Q:
What's green and gets you drunk?
A:
your Giro,

the old joke spoke volumes.

We might as well be unemployed
we could enjoy it more,
at best we'd find the food we need
down at the mission store

Its funny how I can be dead in the brain
Only four hours sleep but still slaying stupid games
The people expect trust when its all turned to rust
Faulty; and your fault for letting it settle in the dust

Like hold up, wait a minute, you ******* me over
That logic you used there; are you certain you're sober?
Don't you dare try to pin your **** onto me
Just because I wont take a drink from a stagnant creek

I didn't come down in yesterdays rain
I know the difference between real and fake
I know when you're brewing an earthquake
I know enough to start making a change

I have the experience of a thousand words
Hidden behind bust lips, sounds left unheard
Vocal chords not humming, no six stringer strumming,
And buzzing like my phone does when lips start running

You could make a change too, stop and think
This relation is parched and needs new drinks
You've brought it all down, suffered in a drought,
Concocted some confusion and forged brand new doubts

I won't buy false gold no more, I'm no fool
Imma fix it up, but I need my tools
Stop acting like one too, start being a solution
You want me back? Well stop toying with my trust for your amusement

One windless evening the bass started biting
just before sunset as I glided along
the bayou in a pirogue with a ******
of the paddle here and there for direction.

I was casting a topwater up against
the bank among the cypress trunks and stumps
and overhanging limbs and shrubs and twitching
and popping the bait until the fish struck.

To see and hear and feel the violent burst
of each strike and to set the hook firmly
in each jaw and each battle kept me out
until the mosquitoes and the gator came.

At first a bumpy head at least a foot wide
and three feet long with big shiny black eyes
inched toward the pirogue and me as if we
were just what he had in mind for dinner.

I dropped my rod and thought I’d better paddle
fast and hard before Wally got too close
but Wally sensed panic and to my horror
I saw the swish of his tail fifteen feet back.

The gator accelerated smooth and quick
and locked its gaze upon the very spot
the paddle broke water to push me away
as the jaws snapped shut and cracked it in half.

I slid away watching as the gator shook
its monstrous head free of the broken splinter
and I realized now he’d be coming again
for me down the bayou with half a paddle.

The pirogue rocked on the wave Wally made
during all the commotion and sure enough
he came again stalking the little boat
now stalled and adrift so I had to act fast.

I untied and lifted my stringer of bass
gasping and wet like a shiny green fleece
and hefted and hurled it aiming precisely
at the slashing jaws of the reptile beast.

The gator struck at the fish with a splash
of his big toothy head and chomped down on three
huge bass and swallowed them whole in one gulp
then snapped up three more that were still on the string.

So Wally was happy for now as the sun
went down and I wondered how to get back
to the dock half a mile away in the dark
with Wally nearby and perhaps hungry yet.

Then I got an idea and picked up my rod
and cast the old topwater past Wally’s head
and chugged it back popping in front of his face
where soon he attacked it and hooked himself good.

Wally went down with a **** and a swirl
and made such a wave I grabbed the boat rail
with one hand while holding onto the rod
which bent almost double as the line stretched tight.

The pirogue took off like a rocket boat
as Wally swam up the bayou to flee
the pressure and drag and the alien hook
underwater and then on top with me.

In no time I neared the dock in the dark
and slackened the line until Wally shook free
then glided right up to the dock and *******
and got out fishless but at least in one piece.

Grief on wings of the White Dove
With an olive branch hanging
From her beak.
  
My heart expanding
Yearning  to burst open
Into expressions of mourning.
Grief expanding into mourning  
I lost you!

My inner feelings crying
Thoughts, punctuated with deep sighs.  
Tears, watering the branches
Lying at my feet.

Crying, outside of my self
Longing for you...
So, many tones of agony...

Pouring out of my heart.
The songs  of longing
Music welling up
From deep behind my eyes.
Writing, sharing, feeling, expressing
Art of the heart seeking release

Each anniversary
The day you died
The month afterwards
Each month…2, 3, 4, 5...
Your birthday
The first day, of the sixth month.

The usual Christmas tree celebration
Did not happen.
No popcorn stringer
With gummi bears and gum drops
No snow man soup
No gingerbread house …
My heart so heavy
My limbs were numb.

Oh, I miss your quite
Knowing humor
The gilt in your eyes
One year…two years
7 months & 19 days ago
Around 10 pm….
I still feel the sting
Of  hearing the news
Brother, speaking, describing
I not wanting to hear, " ... he's gone ..."

It just did not feel real!
No, it can't be…
NO! Not STEPHAN!!!!!!!!!!
Lord, NO! Please no!!
I picked up my pen
To scribble the notes…
I needed to see!
I needed to read!!!
I needed to write it all!!!

And when I reread it
I cried! …Sobbing…..
It became the way
To express my grief
My sorrow
My pain.

As the pain poured out
Out come what was left unresolved.
It helped to quiet my soul.
I could feel you
As I asked questions
And the answers
Poured and poured outward.

Pain flowed out
As understanding
Entering my heart.

Flying this path
Healing in my way
At the helm of my love
I reach toward you

Issue by issue
Understanding by understanding
Through rain, sleet and storm
My heart, calming
Though, a little unsteady...
Shaking
Hold on to me
I am a little unsteady.

Through their Misconceptions
I affirmed that  - grief is okay
Yet when mourning
Some still say,  "Just get on with it."

No orderly stages
Neither up or nor down?  
It Spirals round
In and through.
With the hand of Understanding
My heart, now stands in awe..
So this is compassion!

As the  key to the lock
Opens the door
The Dove flying freely
A fledgling peeks above the edge
Of the mud
Of straw and twigs.

I thought he few away
My spirit left mourning
The light dimmed
On this plane

Yet he lives!
My son lives!
His Light Shining
As the Inner Compass
Points the Way.

Now forever
Heart to heart
I embrace my son

It is much deeper now
All the unresolved floating up
As White Feathers Rising
Toward the Sun.
Toward the  Light

And the White Dove her sang of joy
Honoring the Red Rose
Of our Serenity.

How long before
'Parliament'
the musical?

If Trump is elected President I'm going to get up at six and feed the hens , plant a row of okra come Springtime and grease the tractor that same evening .. Should it be Sanders I'll build cages for Big Boys , go to the lake for a stringer of bluegills and walk barefooted the whole time I'm doing it .. In case it's Clinton I'll be plowing from morning to Noon , stopping for a few figs and a cherry tomato or two ...
If it's Cruz you'll find me picking the blues on a brown guitar , eating Spanish olives like their going out of style , shoring up chicken wire to fend off 'critters' , nipping on Wild Turkey to ease my blisters ....

My heart beats to the rhythm,
It dances like a butterfly,
In tge glimmering glory of His love
Which flows like a waterfall from above

Oceans way from home,
My destination lost in the hazy horizons,
Engulfed in loneliness I still find peace,
My mountain of hope and belief still stands

The beat of His love makes my heart dance
A song of hope even in blues
I feel revivified like drenched leaves
After a midsummer rain

And I forget all the pain
I soar and dive like ocean tides
In the golden sunrise
When He commands dark storms to be still

Nothing can bring me down
To His name only I bow
He's the stringer of this song called life
The pianist who makes my heart to dance

I'm stronger than twisted mother ***** who have no clear idea who they want to be.
What limits do I should show. My evil side of me has a mind of its own.
My anger turns your vision into blindness.
My evil side has no heart only twisted lies scars wounds that never singe.


My evil side plays games like a oijia board gone horribly wrong.
Your ideas become twisted games  turning dangerous with no way to turn back and run.


My evil  side is stronger when you manipulate  break take every thing of me. My evil side feeds on your misfortunes it feeds off your own stupidity it feeds on all your horrible remarks insults lies. My evil side only grows stringer from your twisted bul **** and your stupidest ucks

I will be caught
  in the end
  and chastised
  if I write
  to be recognised
  for in that guise
  a victim I will fall
  to silly pride

a  simple stringer
of words and thoughts
through the tumble
of life
a scribbler
a dabbler
a story-teller
on the insignificant side

let the real bards sing
I'll listen in deference
in humility abide

for a small voice
am I
that truth
I shouldn't deny

The stark beauty of winter sets in
Shown in the bare trees, the sharp blues of a winter sky only cold can reveal
The cold cruelty of its shows the reflection of a dried out and damaged soul
The magnificence of winter, and the root of its beauty
Is in knowing to to shall pass
With spring comes what was once dead
Alive again to thrive
Just like a cruel dark soul
With times loving nourishment it to shall pass
First it must endure the storm though
Between death and life
From that a new stringer beauty will manifest
One possessing all the brilliant color and variety of spring
Luck shall have the newly awakens soul live
So it can burn bright in an unending Indian summer
Capable of going out in and out
With the ocean tide
Finnsly at peace!

Its hard to pick yourself up after being shattered into broken pieces of stained glass
Theres not really anyone to show you how to fix yourself because no one bothered to stay around     something so broken
How is glass supposed to fix itself?
When you break something in your own home you clean up the mess dont you?
I guess it doesnt matter to you if its not an immediate danger to you
But never forget that glass can cut after its broken
And glass is a lot more likely to cut you if youre what broke it because anyone else would stay away
So keep a close eye out  because maybe one day this glass will find its way deep in your skin agaiin and before you know it the pain will come
And maybe you cant get the glass out and youll see how no one will help you because they wont want to get their nice white clothes stained with the deep red of your blood
Youll see how the other people wont help
And maybe youll begin to realize how it felt when you broke me and i was left all alone
Im not really one for revenge but if i were that is how it would go
I would make you realize how i felt and not any worse
But i know that it hurts and im not going to be a person that causes others to feel such a pain
I will instead larn to fix myself with glue and take until i am pretty again and when everyoen loves me again you will be jealous
You will see that i came out stringer and more beautiful and the fact that you lost me will **** you
Maybe youll feel alone like i did all those days
And maybe you wont feel anything at all
But either way i will come out better than you and i will be happy without you becuase i now realize that i can be
So think what you want because i may not try to hurt you but i will certainy never allow you to hurt me again

Ya Know......

These Days I’m MORE Discerning....
When Studying My Learnings...

of How Some Minds Be Working...

Because To Me...
It’s Quite DISTURBING... !!!!!!

From TWERKING To Jerking...
Most Now Seem QUITE CERTAIN.... !!!

That SWITCH LANE Type FLIRTING...
Is Just A... NEW VERSION...
of ****** Type YEARNINGS... !!!!

Well These Days I’m Smirking...
From Things I’m OBSERVING...

Cos’ I’m MORE of A THINKER...
Than Those Who Wear BLINKERS... !!!!

And These Days TOO MANY... !!!
Are CLEARLY... UnSteaDy... !!!
And Seem To Be READY...
To... ARGUE Their Point...
Like Some Kind of OINK... !?!

By This I Mean... WELL...
Heads That Now SWELL...
With Thinking That Dwells...

Somewhere... UNWELL... !!!
And I DON’T MEAN Hell... !!!

Somewhere MUCH WORSE.... !!!!!
Because Their Heads HURT... !!!

From Thought Waves That SMELL...
of Somewhere Where THINKING...
Is CLEARLY Left... SINKing... !!!!!

... TITANICALLY TRAGIC.... !!!
And Harrison... " FRANTIC "... !!!

These Heads FOR SURE...
Just... CANNOT Afford... !!!
To Let Their Thoughts RUN...
Because Their Blades CUT...
Like Their Thinking Is DUMB... !!!

FINITE Like Tom Thumb... !!!!!
And FILLED With ***’... !!!!!
... BASTARDISED Sons...
CHIMPS With NO CHUMS... !!!

Whose Thinking Functions...
Up On... HIGHER LEVELS... !!!
Than These Thoughtless Devils... !!!

But TRUTH Is... THESE Heads...
Even HADES... REJECTS... !!!

Because Their DEFECTS....
Would CLEARLY INFECT...
... “ IGNORAMUSES “... !!!!!!

HOLD UP And Just... CHECK...
… What It Is I Just Said... !!!

If They’d INFECT THEM... ?!?
Then They’ve Got REAL PROBLEMS... !!!!!

BELIEVE IT Hell Yeah.... !!!!!!

You See THINKERS Present...
..... BETTER Arguments..... !!!

And Therefore RESPECT...
Is Something THEY GET... !!!!!

But NOT FROM These Plebs...
Whose Thoughts Bring DISTRESS...
To Them In Their Beds... !!!

And Cause Their Heads STRESS... !!!
Like Headz That Are... “ METAL “...

When They DROP Instrumentals...
Where Vessels Go MENTAL... !!!!

UNStaBLe... And UNABLE...
To Sit At Round Tables...
Where Rhymes Are Designed...
By Knights of DARK TYPES... !!!!!

Whose Mind’s ALWAYS PRIMED...
For THINKING To... SHINE... !!!

That BLINDS CRIMINAL Minds... !!!
CRIMINAL... “ Thinkers “...
Whose Blinkers Wear BLINKERS... ?

You See When You THINK...
You... DISMISS Weak Links...
And The Need To See Shrinks... !!!

Because You DEFINE...
A Mind LESS Inclined...
To Let Your Weak Side...
OVERRIDE How Your Life....
Is Shaped And Designed...

MY MIND Like Dark Knights...
Is... ALWAYS Inclined...
To Be On The RISE... !!!!!!

So DEFIES Those Whose Minds...
Hold Thoughts That Make STANDS...
Where IGNORANCE Lands... !!!

BELIEVE... I’m THAT MAN... !!!!!!
With BATMAN Type Vibes... !!!

My Thinking You’ll Find...
Delivers TIGHT Rhymes... !!!
That PROVE I DON’T LIE... !!!!!!

My Thinking DENIES...
DECEIT From It's Tries...
To POLLUTE My Mind...
With Thinking That’s TRITE... !!!!!

And Speaking In Riddles...
That TRY TO.... “ Belittle “....
Thinking That’s MIDDLED...
Like A Viv Richards SIX... !!!!!!

You See I FLIP SCRIPTS...
With Thinking Like THIS... !!!

And CLEARLY FLIP Heads...
When Thoughts I EXPRESS...
Leaves Their Thinking FOR DEAD... !!!

Cos’ My Thinking DIVESTS....
Like Bullets Do VESTS.... !!!!!!!!

With... HEAVY ARTILLERY... !!!
That RUPTURES CAPILLARIES... !!!!!

So You See My Mentality...
Will NOT COURT Insanity... !!!

And CALAMITIES GLADLY...
I BYPASS Like Bradley... !!!...
Cos’... LIMITLESS Thinking...
ENSURES That I’m WINNING... !!!
While Others Are SINNING... !!!

From End To BEGINNING...
So Are... Mentally Sinking............

INTO.... “ The Mire “....
of STRINGER BELLS... WIRED... !!!!!
To Be Soon RETIRED... !!!

Like... “ Spensers’ For Hire “... !!!!!!
When Facing The FIRE...
of Truth Cos’ They’re LIARS... !!!

Whose Thoughts DEFINE FAKE... !!!
Because of Their Ways...
And How They Relate... !!!!!

Through Things That They SAY...

It’s TRUE Nowadays... !!!!!
From OLD HEADS To YOUNG...
It’s CLEAR That Some Humans...
Have SADLY... Become...

A BREED Who Wear BLINKERS...
Who Are MOSTLY... NOT...

..... “ Thinkers “.....

Columbia fishing pants netting my *****,
the waves are crashing, hear the Seagull calls,
casting and working a wiggler ball tail,
plum and chartreuse, give the sea trout hell.

Wading the cut, yeah, the boats on the beach,
haven't gone far, the coolers still in reach,
the sun's beating down, pick from some Gatorade,
need a cloth to wipe the spots off my shades.

Stringer of trout, all fifteen inches plus,
hung a flounder and snook, but they got off I cussed,
me and my buddies are fishing all day,
feel like a kid with no school so come on let's play.

Back at the dock, cleaning fish by the dozen,
filet after filet the electric knife is buzzin',
on the dock now catching mangrove snapper,
making lots of memories none could be happier.

Margaritas on the rocks, eating Brittany's dip,
watched the Astros beat the Yankees, hell of a trip,
fished all week with the guys had a ton of fun,
loaded up headed home on a 12 hour run.

A red bikini,
in trout green water,
a beauty like the sun,
yet so much hotter.

Texas star ball cap,
in hand, rod and reel,
glistening in Coppertone,
she is the real deal.

Floating stringer,
clipped to hip tied strings,
I'm just hoping,
a shark wants that thing.

She sets the hook,
reels a big trout in,
but I have thoughts
of original sin.

She wades on by,
gives me a smile,
then heads on down,
the tailwater miles.

Ya Know CERTAIN Dudes....
Have Told Me... “ That I’m Rude ! “...

Well Now If This Is TRUE... ?
My Response To You FOOLS...

Is THIS... “ **** WOOD !!! “...

Now I’ve Also Been Told...
By... IGNORANT Thinkers...
That I’m... “ Just A ****** !!! “...

By Asians And Wiggers....
And Black Joes Like... “ STRINGER “...

This Ignorance Lingers............................    ..........
And Rings Just Like BELLS...
Now WIRED To Cells... !!!!!

That’s RIGHT... Cellphones... !!!

Ya See I’ve Also Been Told...
That... “ I am TOO BOLD,
And Just TOO ******* ! “...

Now That Argument’s POOR...
Cos’ I... Just KEEP It RAW... !!!
And ARTICULATE War... !!!

I’ve Been Told A LOT of Things...
That Have Proven To STING... !!!

From Chicas’ Who Think...
That Dem’ ***** Don’t STINK... !!!
of The Latest *****... !!!
That They Let Part Their Lips.... !!!!

While I Have Been Told...
By Girlies Who KNOW... !!!

That My **** Is Quite BIG... !!!!
And FAR TOO THICK...
For... **** Bizness... !!!!!

By... Stupid White Chicks...
Who Claimed To LOVE IT.... !!!!!!

You See This Is A Piece...
That Will Simply REVEAL...

The Talk That Some RUN...
When They Should SHUT Their Gums... !!!!!

I’ve Been Told DIFFERENT Stuff...
That Was CALLOUS And ROUGH... !!!

Sandpaper Flavoured....
By Those Known As... “ Playas’ “...

Who CLAIM To Be GREATER...
Than... BRUTAL Dictators... !!!!

The Kind of PROCLAIMERS...
Who CLAIM To Be SLAYERS... !!!
of The... Great Debaters... !!!!

I’ve Got Words For Them TOO... !!!!!

… “ Stop Playing The Fool ! “...

Cos You Just AIN’T... “ The ONE “...
You PROCLAIM To Be Son... !!!

I’ve Been Told That I’m COLD...
By Those Who LACK Soul... !!!

And That... “ I am ANGRY ! “...

Because of My Speech...
And Use of Poetry... !!!

I’ve Also Been Told That I’m....

.... “ OPINIONATED “....

Simply Because of TRUTH I’ve Related... ?!?

Now The Point of This Script...
Is To WARN Those LOOSE LIPS... !!!!!!

That You NEED TO THINK....
Before I Start To FLIP....
Your IGNORANT Quips... !!!

And Choose To SINK... !!!!
Your... " Battleship "... !!!!!

It Can Happen THAT QUICK...
If You TRY To Diss...

The Lyrical KING That Big Virge IS... !!!!!
  
Cos I’ve Been Told This TOO... !!!!

“Big Virge, it is true !
You’re a talented dude !
and a very clever fella,
when it comes to using letters !
The V in your case,
goes way beyond space
and Lizard Vendettas !
Too sharp for most heads,
because when you express
you’re far from generic !
In fact your flow,
comes like antiseptic !
Authentic and clean,
with a cure that’s poetic !”

But Wouldn’t You Know...
These Days I’m Told NO... !!!!
By..... Studio Pro’s.......

Who CLEARLY Can’t Take...
What I Flow In Prose...
And Rhyme That SHOWS...
That My Style Is DOPE...
WITHOUT The... “ Coc’  “... !!!!!

It’s A TOUGH Ol' Road... !!!
When You KEEP Getting Told...

That You’re...
... “ This And You’re That !!! “...

By Mind States Now TRAPPED...
By This Simple Fact...

That Speaking TOO FAST...
Just PROVES You’re An ***... !!!!!

Who Moves Just Like DARTH... !!!

So DON'T Get A Pass...
To Get Past... GO... !!!!!!!!!

Cos’ You Dig BIG HOLES...
That IMPRISON Your Soul... !!!

And That Is THAT.

I’ve Been Told A LOT of CRAP...
By Woman And Man... !!!

And That’s Just The Way....
That My Story Goes...  

When It Comes To The Things...
That......

......... “ I Have Been Told “.......

Harry Stringer thought
of a great idea during
lockdown, guitar lessons
on line.

He bought 2 dozen pegs
and hung the chords up
along the cable between
his back fences.

Crows liked it but the locals
were confused because Harry
was a left handed dyslexic with
Charles Bonnett Syndrome.