"surefire" poems
amidst Jeffersonian opulence
the Prez broke bread with his
GOP poker face friends
to solve government gridlock
and sequester predicament trends
citizens of the republic
hopeful for nonsense to cease
sat at the table asking
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Obama perused the wine list
boldly choosing a luscious Merlot
senators ordered the finest hors d'oeuvres
the guests were all aglow
numerous delectable dishes
were liberally splayed on the table
revelers sipped flowing vintages
wine a surefire icebreaker
sparkling crystal Lennox flutes
tinkled with convivial release
while America’s disenfranchised
voices ask
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
chutney meat, curried hens and
sweet walnut rainbow trout
the table a horn a plenty
the guests gorged on fine cuisine
a blessed nations bounty
the feast consumed
the Senators sated
said it was some
of the finest ever served
but the taxpayers only
got a peak of the banquet
a whiff of senators nerve
and asked
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
the dessert cart was rolled in
with custards, cakes, creme brulee
cordials, cognac and VSOP tastes
rounded out the wholesome feast
when the check was presented
for payment all guests headed
for the door with haste
they told the waiter the bill of fare
was covered
by the guy asking...
“would you pass
the biscuits please?”
Music Selection:
Andre Williams:
Pass The Biscuits Please
jbm
Oakland
3/7/13
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
Veasna Ta Kvak recording
playback
over Chinatown cafe again
while recounting recent events
to journal pages
muddled from frequent
exchanges bag to bag
(Been to Taipei airport, Bali, Vancouver, most
recently)
blind fate
blind fate
shower me with Indian daisies
and photographs of Railway
New Delhi!
Hanoi Old Quarter/
Vietnam monsoon/
evening on balcony/
Darjeeling water boiled
and filtered anti-malaria
golden drink for honeylungs and
spring-soul morningtide
under moonlight canopy
of Avalokiteśvara
the fruitful
Bodhisattva!
English lessons
and future
hourless
comely chimera
in sleep phenomenon
Benares phantasmagoria YELLOW
(near Mata Anandamai Ghat)
speaking to Aghori
prophecy
Kala Bhairava
FIERCE ILLUSORY APOCALYPSE FAMILIAR
WHERE IS YOUR NOOSE?
the Ganges is full of lice and flowers
candlewax melted into holy water
sickness
equal to
harmony & jubilant
eyeclose and mouthcurl.
The future mysteries in
Mexico City poorboy
$2 mystic orb jade green
reflective underneath
dirt now in North American
bottom white four floor house
basement suite coffee table.
Visions indivisible
from the Viridian roundly haze
but surefire in their accuracy
I'm absolute
and universally formed
for the next few cacophonous
decades!
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
So many people are living lives that they're not in love with, && I've just never quite understood that.
How much exactly
did it cost to sell your soul?
At what point did you decide,
"this is now my life until I'm old"
The truth is we're all invincible,
until the day we're not
We've got to live our lives to the fullest,
for it's only one that we've got
To go about our days,
meandering in the mundane
Is surefire the best way,
to drive ourselves insane
We're meant to be free thinkers;
artists, writers, && musicians
Making the world a better place
should be our only aim && mission
Be kind to one another
We're all in this together
It's funny how the things that divide us
Are also the same ones that tether
Us to this forsaken planet
Feeling like we're broken
When at any given moment
Kind words can be spoken
Falling from our lips
&& lifting others' hearts
We all have the capacity to make a difference
It's just a matter of choosing to start
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
A word gathering dust on my internal junk shelf,
Inseparable, it would seem, from my ego.
Assuredly it seems just a threat to my health;
It's a surefire harm to my heart, this I know.
But once given the chance to examine my state,
As impossible as it seemed to let go,
I saw glimpses of wisdom, redemptions of fate,
Which swore to this word’s worth, its quo.
For when read alone, on a page in my mind,
The “him” was the syllabic gong that rang twelfth.
But I took a fresh gaze, and upon my collate
Saw its syllabic partner alone; saw the “self.”
My “self,” I then saw, was discovered through “him;”
Made naked, and shivering, and new.
He’d unveiled hottest passions, and fears, with great stealth.
So “him” I can thank, now the word’s split in two.
Driven apart by an unlikely shim,
I have his remains, but see more clearly my “self.”
The dust I will likely now brush off my shelf,
For uttering the loveliest elision since “him.”
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
Been there
done that
check out the scars
Obliterated ear
Bullet wound swiss cheese
old heads die hard
Been there
done that
Fiberoptic cameras
phone taps
and surefire headshots
ensure the survival of the family
Gustavo would give you his coat
if his brains weren't covering it
Heisenbergs head
better be on a swivel
Mike will be back
and he'll be looking for work
Need money
to buy ice cream for his granddaughter
old heads die hard
Blue ice calls you back
green cotton is addictive
Been there
done that
Coming back
to get his.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 1:29 PM UTC
which came first,
the chicken or the egg?
a century old question
with no forthright answer
the chicken,
whose regal presence
defines
the world is his abyss
the egg
in meek stature
remains a gift
to its ceasing world
the chicken stands proud
a surefire bet
the world-
its audience
the egg
afraid of itself
the world-
its personality court
all the world is a stage
every saying- a game
you know how the story goes,
the chicken never gains
(b.d.s.)
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
There once was a guest at my door named surprise
It told me 'Get rid of that fear in your eyes,
The world's a big place, with plenty of space
I'll always be here if the moment should rise'
So the clown and the wallflower danced
A strange dervish and buffalo stance
Till one disappeared, the other lost ears
And both wore a thin mask of chance
To rebel (to excel) (to rebel) To excel
To go your own way alone is a surefire hell
But a changeling's tight bind an instinct's soft mind
Bloom too late to sense the obvious spell
Caught on the wings of a nine
But somehow still lost on the eight
Stuck on the circuit with no end in sight
Waiting for the hourglass to break
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 7:32 PM UTC
Little Ms. Bleach-Jean-Jacket
With the pixie cut high boot style,
Rolls her eyes sarcastically behind
Glasses, and a flirtatious desire
And wonders if the professor
Likes what he sees
At the smallest two person table.
Reading willing and able
To **** his student raw
Although she knows this,
That’s the plan;
Academic battle strategy,
She thinks it a talent
Double-talking with her hands to ****** him.
Wrist bones whispering
“No one else here has to know”
She shyly smiles and laughs in her mind,
“Sad fool thinks some day ill go home with him”.
“Sad fool just game me that extension”
The sad fool checks an email defeated,
Ms. Bleach-Jean-Jacket has won.
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
*Yes! Yes! It's a great "Barry Hodges" memories poem involving *** and degredation!*
O Croydon, dormitory town of happy memories
With your delightfully sixties-style Ashcroft Theatre
And your many enchanting concrete underpasses!
O delightful borough so deservedly renowned
As one of the major English centres of wife-swapping,
That quintessentially bourgeous weekend pastime
And surefire antidote to inevitable marital ennui!
O gracious queen of the central south London suburbs
And gay paradise of semi-detached commutersville
O I cannot sing your praises ******* loudly enough
Nor can I deny the charms of your public toilets,
Where I have oft times enjoyed a **** with a gayish stranger!
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Morning caresses my lips
With a squalid kiss -- the taste of last
Night’s stale liquor, a greeting most
Usual and unwelcome all the same.
Sated beyond means, I still am
Stricken by thirst, dry lips parting in
Consternation, heavy hands
Fumble aimlessly for old reliable, that
****** bottle of advil that may as well
Have its name etched in my dresser drawer
The morning after may be ripe with regret,
Hazy recollections draped in uncertainties --
But at least one thing remains surefire and
Constant --
Thump -- clank
My head, the door, my achy feet
Taking their first apprehensive steps
Into their habitual walk of shame
The mirror salutes me with the
Visage of a woman worn, tired and wildly aged --
There’s no way we’re the same person
Or are we?
Feb 2, 2021
Feb 2, 2021 at 4:48 PM UTC
It started with a one-liner,
Now here I am can’t get over,
Not because I want it
But because I can not.
It is a sure silent affection
For, maybe afraid of rejection.
But you can’t blame
A prosaic girl that will never your like.
Tried to halt many times
Yet your charisma surefire.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
I wish i were a weapon======
Given a choice
I'd surely be a harmless bow and arrow ===>>>
But a surefire one...like those of Cupid's ===>>>
When released==>>>and aimed==>>> towards your body
My feelings ===>>> my energies ===>>>
Shall ride with its trajectory=====>>>>>
To be implanted in your body
Like a micro chip, buried inside your flesh...
Inconspicuous, as a coin on the ground...lost in
A mesh...or the bullet of a magical laser gun,
No sounds....no pain, ===
Targeted towards your heart <3
My face...my love...my smile
Would be resting deep inside,
................occupying space
...................to claim your love
Deprive me not of your precious love,
I aim not, to deprive you of your precious life,
I mean to enhance our lives, for our hearts, to jibe<3
<3 <3 <3
Sally
Copyright February 11, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Feb 10, 2017
Feb 10, 2017 at 10:59 PM UTC
first you need to pick a red flag of a boy.
make sure he's got beautiful eyes,
and a smile you can write poetry about.
actually,
make sure he is poetry--
find metaphors in his dimples and
similes in his crooked teeth.
the catch is, he can't be a good one.
he must have a tragic flaw,
something your friends can't stop pointing out to you.
for now, ignore those warnings and just focus on him--
talk to him whenever you can,
think about him,
write about him.
become drunk off his voice and imagine what his lips taste like.
fill your daydreams with phantom thoughts of him,
months & months flying by until
you can't imagine life without
the beautiful boy in the grey sweater.
now remember--
you're not actually with him yet,
yes
this builds the suspense
makes you wonder
if you'll ever actually taste his lips.
so keep your comfortable distance,
give him time
to make up his mind
if he wants to date you.
yes,
you've heard how he is with other girls,
you've heard what he's done to their ****** hearts
but oh never
could this boy do these horrendous things
he's too pure
says all the right things
but oh always
is the question banging in the back of your skull, now you MUST
give into those urges,
do it
feel it
ask it, ask him if he's
ever
going
to love you.
but you'll wish you hadn't,
because the hesitation will already be out of his mouth
before you can take it back,
his next words along the lines of:
"i thought we'd maybe just
have some fun together, if you know what i mean"
and the broken angel he's been hiding from you
for months,
the monster your friends have been warning you about
for months
will finally be brought to the light.
and that splitting pain of betrayal will come flooding in--
i'm telling you
this is a surefire way
to break your own heart.
-a.c.b
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 7:47 PM UTC
The tongue is lethal,
A sweet coating for a rotten core.
Every shift of the tide
is another lie.
The tongue is lethal,
a small dose of poison for the chronically ill.
Every promise is broken
and my heart becomes frozen.
The tongue is lethal,
a silent drowning in shallow water.
Every attempt to demoralize
the psyche brings tears to my eyes.
The tongue is lethal,
an eye wide open as my mind drifts to sleep.
This tongue of mine
is a weapon for surefire demise.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 10:34 PM UTC
When I was a child
I can remember being excited
When I could finally color
Inside of the lines
It was such an achievement to be able to do
What the adults had deemed
The way it was done
Color inside the lines
Think inside the box
Follow the rules
Do as you're told
But those are just surefire ways
To keep you from writing your own story
To live you must let creativity take hold
To untie your tethers
To guide your hand outside the lines
To show you how to think outside of the box
To remind you, it's not always about doing as you're told
To write your own story
You sometimes must color outside of the lines
Don't be afraid to have an original thought or dream
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
The surefire way
To cure a rainy day
Is a cup or a ***
Of one Earl Grey.
Jul 11, 2011
Jul 11, 2011 at 8:53 AM UTC
Decisiveness is a surefire way to know that I'm upset
If you ask me a question
And I don't linger
Prepare for a later moment where I yell, cry, or am completely silent
I am decisive out of necessity
I am decisive because taking my time is a luxury and I sink into like a bath
I wrap my hands around the bubbles, make myself a hat and ask you: "How do I look?"
If I'm decisive, it's because you've hurt me
And even though I want to take off the seriousness of my desicions like jeans at the end of the day
I risk losing my momentum
I risk losing your respect
Because you don't take me seriously when I'm indecisive
Because that's when I'm most like my myself
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 1:28 AM UTC
Your words are kind,
they are not nearly enough.
I need comfort- not advice.
I can try to look through muddied waters myself,
I just need you to grab me before I accidentally fall in.
I need to know that I will not drown.
Your words are comforting,
but I need your touch.
I need you to kiss away the tears like you usually do,
keep my face dry.
Tell me that everything will be okay.
Tell me it's not my fault.
Make me smile,
I'm not sure I know how to anymore,
but your touch is a surefire way to make me smile,
forget my problems for a moment,
to be happy.
But you are hundreds of miles away,
offering me your words.
I am sorry.
They are not enough.
Distance is to blame,
not you,
you're trying, that's admirable.
You just won't be able to fix me from hundreds of miles away.
All I need is your touch.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 12:14 AM UTC
Nimble foe you've taken plenty o' life,
Condemned spirits of right to disdainful strife,
And illness of absence at that of departed,
Wrongfully beseeched at what you'd started.
And here with these twigs, I abolish at once,
Unable to return to these lands for months,
And shall we meet again at the glimpse of eye,
Let it be known that thou be sentenced to die -
Employed upon you ever so swiftly,
And might you remember such last moments stiffly.
Here I warn you once, no more,
And command you away from this land you'd tore,
For your existence has given thee such shame,
It is all but you, you are to blame,
And for once might you realize in agony, in fame,
Your callous actions have set surefire to name,
Alas, may you conclude tis' not a game,
As you walk among a blaze, for you are the flame -
At once, which all, seize to burn out,
Shan't you menace and retort with incentive to spout,
Rejection, forevermore, your friendly bloom,
Yet now even disgust stay wretched in Moon;
So that one day might you seek to learn,
That dissenters hereby are condemned to burn.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
For the first time,
I realize I'm breathing.
Then I wonder if it's a fluke,
Sometimes the mind is deceiving.
The pain my chest once carried,
Gone with the wind.
I fear it'll come back,
So I wait-
levels of anxiety rising within.
When I look up,
I see that the cloud is finally gone.
But I'm still in disbelief,
because it's been there all along.
I can't remember a day that it didn't rain,
Until today.
Where is the pain?
I was consumed in it,
As it was the only surefire thing in my life.
Constant.
Never fleeting.
Til today.
Good riddance.
I'll still wear my rain coat,
keep a hand on my chest,
count every breath,
but for now I'm blessed.
Mar 11, 2022
Mar 11, 2022 at 7:16 AM UTC
"your flow is off; they have you beat!" Boarish cough let, the ref's presumed seed. Righteous in rhythm reels the ref in, why can time be so timid, is that a sin?
I really don't know, colors are so - surefire, concept's core dire. Bound to flow is hollow, found a collar to follow?
Full of paint, the same words faint. The rhythm dies, as their cries. Atop that flop, they will stop. "leave me as is, leave me alone! I am happy like this." - snappy, a drone.
Climb the ladder from nether, whatever the weather. Clear the skies, drop disguise. Be rigidly real, heart strings of steel.
How does this flow?
Laving the first row,
A lamenting show.
En fin, a lavish yo
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 5:22 PM UTC
It’s quite a common practice as many can testify
To be compared to our fellow no one can ever deny
Passed from one another either subconsciously or intentionally
It ought to bring out the best that a person is expected to be
They say it’s the driving force and it’s only for a good motive
And against every other person we have to be competitive
But what of the side effects of the act that are usually overlooked?
Within one’s self doubts, anxieties, and negativity end up getting hooked
Some overcome it although the inner scars will always show
And to others, it even takes a longer time to recover from its blow
Making ones light dim by the one who should be beholding
As hard as the butterfly that can’t even see the beauty of its wings
Being led to success is said to justify the act itself
But what of those who fall short and end up in oblivion's shelf?
With uncertainty eating away their own self worth
Indeed, it would seem miraculous if their confidence gets a rebirth
Tis not to say that the act no longer has any good to offer
It just needs to be aimed at something else to be seen clearer
No one else but to who or what someone was in their past
An almost surefire way to make the appreciation of it last
Realizing that one’s past shelf should be that which we must rise against
The right fuel in which the fire of betterment should be incensed
Remembering that like the sun and the moon shine according to their time
Refusing to yield to certain pressures isn’t always a crime
For each one there will always be that appointed moment
Which one sees their visions fulfilled like an act of bestowment
It may not be at the point on which it’s expected
The coming will always end up as something commemorated
Such thought is a reminder of the ever present good intention
When one finally knows how to best use comparison as motivation.
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
you emerge, dripping
in your last
suckled drops
of youth
i envy your
handsomely/striated/limbs
each step in your
-surefire- stride
light, but loaded
eyes w i d e r than your mind
mouth agape
i can only wish,
"just one drop"
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC
Do what others need.
Bury yourself in work.
Brush until you bleed.
Drink until you're numb.
Cry until you're shattered.
Then sleep may come.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC
As though you know
I am somehow whole
and as though you know
I can stand on my own.
but my stance is shakier
and my voice is not quite steady.
both a weakness
and a strength,
my love for you is.
with you I am stronger than before,
and much more myself.
without you,
I am much more gone.
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 8:05 PM UTC