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Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
    I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
    Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
    In the jingle-jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

    Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

    Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,

It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seeing' that he's chasing

    Hey, Mr.Tambourine Man, etc.
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
© 2011 (by Jim Sularz)
(The true tale of Frank Eaton – “Pistol Pete”)

At the headwaters of the Red Woods branch,
near a gentle ***** on a dusty trail.
On an iron gate, at the Twin Mounds cemetery,
a bouquet of dry sunflowers flail.

In a grave, still stirs, is a father’s heart,
that beats now to avenge his death.
Six times, murdered by cold blooded killers,
six men branded for a son’s revenge ….

Rye whiskey and cards, they rode fast and hard,
the four Campseys and the Ferbers.
With malicious intent, they were all Hell bent
to commit a loving father’s ******.

When the gunsmoke had cleared, all their faces were seared,
in the bleeding soul of a grieving son.
Ain’t nothin’ worse, than a father’s curse,
to fill a boy with brimstone and Hell fire!

Young Eaton yearned and soon would learn,
the fine art of slinging lead.
Why, he could shoot the wings off a buzzin’ horsefly,
from twenty paces, lickety split!

Slightly crossed eyed, Frank had a hog-killin’ time,
at a Fort Gibson shootin’ match.
Upside down, straight-on and leanin’ backwards,
he out-shot every expert in pistol class.

By day’s end when the scores were tallied,
Frank meant to prove at that shootin’ meet.
That he would claim the name of the truest gun,
and they dubbed him - “Pistol Pete.”

In fact, Pistol Pete was half boy, half bloodhound,
a wild-cat with two 45’s strapped on.
In District Cooweescoowee - bar none,
he was the fastest shot around!

Pistol Pete knew his dreaded duty had now arrived,
to hunt down those who killed his Pa.
He vowed those varmints would never see,
a necktie party, a court of law.

Where a man is known by his buckskin totem,
in hallowed Cherokee land.
There, frontier justice and Native pride,
help deal a swift and heavy hand.

Pete was quick on the trail of a killer,
just south of Webber’s Falls.
Shannon Champsey was a cattle rustler,
a horse thief, and a scurvy dog!

Pete ponied up and held his shot,
to let Shannon first make a move.
The next time he’d blinked, would be Shannon’s last,
to Hell he’d make his home.

With snarlin’ teeth and spittin’ venom,
Pete struck fast like a rattlesnake.
Two bullets to the chest in rapid fire,
was Shannon’s last breath he’d partake.

Pete galloped away, hot on the next trail,
left Shannon there for a vulture's meal.
Notched his guns, below a moon chasing sun,
and one wound to his soul congealed.

There’s a saying out West, know by gunslingers best,
that’ll deep six you in a knotty pine casket.
One you should never forget, lest you end up stone dead,
“There’s always a man – just a shade faster.”

Doc Ferber was next to feel Pete’s hot lead,
“Fill your hand, you *******!”
With little remorse, Pete shot him clear off his horse,
left him gunned down in a shallow ditch.

After getting reports, Pete headed North,
to where John Ferber hunkered down.
A Missouri corner, in McDonald County,
filled with Bible thumpers in a sinner’s town.

Pete rode five hundred miles to shoot that snake,
with two notches, he welcomed a third.
He carried his cursed ball and chains,
to **** a man, he swore with words.

But John Ferber was plastered, and he didn’t quite master,
deuces wild, soiled doves and hard drinkin’.
Someone else would beat Pete, the day before they’d meet,
sending John slingin’ hash in Hell’s kitchen.

There’s a night rider without a father,
under a curse to settle a score.
In all, six murderous desperados,
Three men dead - now, three men more ….

Pistol Pete was now pushin’ seventeen,
just a young pup, but no tenderfoot.
With two men in the lead, he was quick on his steed,
to **** two brothers who killed his kin.

Pete rode up to their fence, with a friendly countenance,
spoke with Jonce Campsey, but asked for Jim.
“There’s a message from Doc, that you both need to hear,”
Pete readied his hands – both guns were cocked!

Pete continued in discourse, and got off his horse.
all the while in an act of pretense.
Jim came to the door and Pete read them the score,
and shot them both dead in self-defense.

With the help of the law, they verified Pete’s call,
then gathered any loot they found.
Laid Jim and Jonce out, in their rustic log house,
and burnt them both and the house to the ground.

Might have seemed kind of callous, but weren’t done in malice,
that those boys were burnt instead of swingin’.
They just sent them to Hell, sizzlin’ medium well,
besides, it “saved them a lot of diggin’.”

There was one man to go, he’d be the last to know,
that a hex is an awful thing.
That a young boy would grow, with a curse in tow,
to **** a man, was still a sin.

Pete garnered his will, with the best of his skills,
to take on the last of the Campsey brothers.
It would be three to one, Wiley and two paid guns,
Pete knew his odds were slim and he shuddered.

At nearly twenty-one, Pete knew he may have out-run,
his luck as the fastest gun.
This would be the ultimate test of his shootin’ finesse,
only a fool would stay to be outgunned.

But Pistol Pete weren’t no liver lilly,
and he loaded up his 45’s.
He rode into town with steely nerves,
maybe no one, would come out alive!

Pete knocked through that swingin’ bar-room door,
Wiley stood there with a possum eating grin.
He said, “Hey there kid, who the Hell are you?”
and Pete shouted, “Frank Eaton! You killed my kin!”

All four men drew quick, with guns a’ blazing,
Wiley got plugged first from two 45’s.
The bar-room crowd dispersed in a wild stampede,
everywhere, ricochetin’ slugs whizzed by!

When the shootin’ had stopped, there was just one man standin’
all four men got plugged, includin’ Pete.
But only a shot-up boy rode out of town that day,
and a Father’s curse, that played out complete –
was a bitter mistress to bury….

At the headwaters of the Red Woods Branch,
near a gentle ***** on a dusty trail.
On an iron gate, at the Twin Mounds cemetery,
a bouquet of morning glories flail.

In a grave, still deep, is a father’s heart,
that lays quiet in a peaceful sleep.
And six men dead, who now burn instead,
compliments of Pistol Pete!
This is another one of my Historical poems.   A true story about Frank Eaton, an eight year old, who witnessed the shooting death of his father.    Frank Eaton was encouraged to avenge his father's death and by the time he was 15 years old, he learned to handle a gun without equal in Oklahoma territory.   You can read about this man by obtaining a copy of his book  -  "Veteran of the Old West - Pistol Pete (1952).   Born in 1860, he lived to be nearly 98 years old.   My poem describes the events surrounding Pistol Pete hunting down the outlaws that killed his father.    I hope you enjoy the story.

Jim Sularz
David Nelson Jun 2010
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...
punk rock hippy Jul 2014
When I look at you,
I see the frustration in your liver,
I notice the lack of fight in your lungs and I see stutter of your heart.
You don't deserve to die, so stop trying to. You don't see it but I stare right through you.
Unload your weapons
before your lungs stop swinging.
Ronald D Lanor May 2013
What's up, Chicken Little? Whatchu think you know?
The sky is fallin', Skittles droppin’ out the rainbow.
Don’t hate me cuz I’m fast. Don’t hate me cuz I’m keen.
Hate me cuz I got more tiger’s blood than Charlie Sheen.

My rappin’ is a skill, wait, matter fact a habit.
This rhyme is so rare I threw a Masterball at it.
Ima get you to the point when you done think you had it
then keep on chuggin’ through like the Energizer Rabbit.

Runnin’ this game since I was born in 1990.
Ball so hard like Waldo everybody wants to find me.
Watch me as I fly free, practicing my Tai Chi,
soarin’ through the sky like Ben Franklin with his kite key.

I slay wicked verses like they fire breathin’ dragons.
Always down for an adventure so they call me Bilbo Baggins.
You got your feet draggin’ from all your pithy laggin’.
Chokin’ on my farts, left you in my dust gaggin’.

My girls be elegant while yours be nothing but ******.
No diamonds in my ears cuz I don’t like to be flashy.
You just can’t get past me, kilo in the backseat.
NOS tank in the front so them piggies can’t get at me.

Lyrics like the plague so they call my **** Bubonic.
Sittin’ at the bar gettin’ drunk on gin and tonic.
Blowin’ on that chronic, so fast they call me Sonic.
Watch me transform as I go Megatronic.

Is my **** too fast? You need to stop and smell the flowers?
I am just a human, I ain't got no special powers.
I could go for hours. The rap game I devour.
Like Frodo with the ring takin’ down the Two Towers.

My rhymes are heavy duty while yours be made of plastic.
Better call the Doctor cuz this **** is getting’ drastic.
Snap back like elastic, I made an instant classic.
Light the roof on fire with a flick of my matchstick.

I’m tellin’ all them haters that I’m wicked sick nasty.
Dissin’ all they want to but they too scared to come at me.
I go where the cash be, rappin’ makes me happy.
Don’t wash my hair for days cuz I like that **** *****.

All I really wanna do is have a rap battle
cuz my rhymes are so disgusting they’ll make your head rattle.
You’re in a boat with no paddle, on a horse with no saddle.
It’s lookin like you’re gonna hafta ******* straddle.

I know I have the sickest flow that you have ever felt.
There’s nothin’ you can do it’s just the hand that I was dealt.
Killa Kraig will make you melt, yes it matters how it’s spelt.
Get it right the first time or I’ll leave you with a ******' welt.

My game will give you chills from your head down to your feet.
Sittin’ on the couch cuz I love to chill with Pete.
I’m the man to beat cuz I bring all the heat.
Grew up in the burbs, didn’t grow up on the street.

They gave me a gold medal when I scored a perfect 10
cuz I got the versatility of an erasable pen.
Singin’ like a ren, no need to pretend.
Murkin’ rhymes like zombies like my Asian friend Glenn.

Honesty’s a virtue so you know I never front it.
Always swingin’ for a homer, ain’t no need to ever bunt it.
Now you really done it, watch me as I run it.
I made it to the center of the Tootsie Pop in one lick.

Crusin’ round town in my green 6-4 Impala.
Drop so many bombs that you think I worship Allah.
Dolla’ after dolla’, cute as a koala,
but ruthless as a renegade Viking in Valhalla.

My lyrics kick you in the nuts now you talkin’ like a munchkin.
Drop you to the floor like some Mohammed Ali punchin’.
Where is Conjunction Junction? Do the number crunchin’.
Get you home by midnight so you don’t turn into a pumpkin.

Stickin’ to the game like some universal duct tape.
Give you three tries while I nail it in one take.
I'm the sugar on the cornflake, the reason for an earthquake.
I'll toss you like a salad or a chicken in some Shake n’ Bake.

Now grab a pen a paper cuz here’s the final lesson.
I know who’s on first so now tell me what’s on second.
I did the number checkin’, I’m the best I reckon.
While you standin’ at the wrong end of my ******’ Smith & Wesson.
Hey man, I was just down at the club, and I heard some swingin' blank verse.
Lou Sasol Feb 2015
****** if i
don't have it made,
porch swinging with some lemon aid,
bobber twitching there in the shade.
Weber smoking our ribs are laid.
warm peach pie cause we just got paid
last my Martin on which I serenade
Monk tinks tonight
fine glasses clink
convivial banter
bubble pop blink

in breathing rooms
bit woofed and stirred
the smoke mint sound
we dare exhale

Monk swings about
a bell do ding
the huey blues
bird bops on wings

hips juicy moves
rubby mounds wet ****
slow drum rolls blow
dance steady bump

Monk rocks the house
the clock do tick
me feets be tappin
gonna busta trick

key ******* bounce
mouths all agape
we gettin down
like crazy apes

Monk’s muzik rides
a sonorous beam
levitatin hipsters
to places unseen

gosh groovy tunes
a **** good gig
we all stoked up
Monk we do dig  

Monk played alright
some swingin tunes
Happy B Day Monk
you over the moon

Thelonious Monk
(October 10, 1917 - February 17, 1982)

Thelonious Monk
with John Coltrane
Trinkle ******


10/9/13
Suffern
jbm
bruises bronze my hips
from swing:set lip:lock leaving
weightless blister kiss
arsenalofwords.com
Sam Barger Aug 2014
Hot air balloon
+
Noose
=
...?
The Princebles Office better known  as the Dragg queens lair.

This time it's it!
You demented twisted drunken *******.
from the veins that shown so easily from Sir Eltons  neck i could
tell it must be a bad hair day.
That and  he was trying to butter me up with all the compliments

****** harassment,Encouraged drug use,Public displays of insanity,
******* indecent act's with a animal oh wait that's the artist formely known as jack horner.

As this sad little dwarf from a strange planet called London ranted and rubbed the fact in my face that yet there was one rule i hadnt broken
****** man whats a girl gotta do to get some attention?

It's it ive gotta list of angry sensitive people who are friends with benfits  who  want you gone!
How could this be?
Had the world gone insane or caught some std that slowley eats away  
your brain slowley making you think that Justin Bieber had talent?

Dear lord it was reffer madness all over again.
Well Frodo theres only one solution I exclaimed.
His face red eyes mentally ******* me jesus man must have been
missing happy hour at the shire.

Well pippy  they'll all just have to go  im mean what would
funhouse be without a ***** old pervert  to feel up the costumers?
Dam you  Francis Ford Copela
What the hells wrong with you?

The question hung in the air like a **** in church
So many things made one Gonzo.
Not enough hugs  to little wild turkey.
And not using protection.
Remember kids always fasten your saftey belts get your heads outta the gutter.

The list read like a who's who of people who really needed
to get a life  or laid maybe even by there wife.
After hours okay maybe the rest of my bottle of wild turkey
it was decided  once again  i was the black sheep and no one
wanted to play anymore oh well i'll just do what the staff of the drag queens lair does and play with myself.

But enough with the foreplay children.
so many things i had learned  like  well ummm?
Okay maybe nothing at all  i knew i should have tuffed it out and
got through   kinder garden.

As I cleaned out my desk I reflected apon old times.
The laughter  the time i set fire to grandma's cat  and blamed it on my
little brother eventhough i didnt  have one.
Wait wrong memory.
  
The road ahead uncertin my mind unclear.
My inner child hurting in need of a really hot comfort cuddle maybe
from someone with a inner ****.

As I began my long walk of shame much like a woman who relized
she made a big mistake with her boss lastnight.
It's hell working in the family  business.

I passed old faces  all  pretty much thinking i was full of it as usal
turned and in my grown up ****** with a heart of gold voice said.

No one puts baby in a corner!
Sometimes you gotta  stand up for things  or do like me and blame it on others   and I cant belive  not even a single  free bottle of ***** or a concert  or maybe a lap dance  yeah  it's really went down hill
girlfriend oh snap.

Guess i'll just go  dont try to stop me.
Hmm tuff crowd   well  stay crazy amigos.
And as i closed the door i could feel the sadness.
There was a great racket coming from inside.

I knew it the heartbreak was so terrible these people were destroyed.
Why even as i opened   the door and saw them swingin from the hey what the ****?

All eye's turned  the music died.
Dear lord people  really?
Even my 50 pen names?

Im okay  well  the cake saying good riddance hurts a bit
But it taste great and the margarita's nice touch.
After such a outrage I was left with only one choice
steal as much **** as could  flip frodo the bird.
spike the punch   okay maybe  do a little dance make a  little
Gonzo once later  id demand  a blood test for and shut the hell up for good tonight.

The door slammed shut like my wifes legs after she relized her sisters baby  really had a strange fondness for wild turkey.
All sat around wondering will this long *** write ever end ?

Chris looked at the artist formely known as Jack Horner.
Speaking in that slow **** seductive  voice of his.
Ya think the crazy ******* is really gone.
To which my crazy amigo across the pond replyed.

**** no he does that every other week.
And besides  thats the door to the janitors closet.
Hey I know theres a millon jokes in that one dam you R Kelly
When it comes to crazy theres only one Gonzo.
Thank God stay crazy.

And if I offended anyone ya really need to download
a sense of humor.

I write what I want and no matter if ya love or hate me
ya dam sure wont ever forget me.

Drink laugh and enjoy it while ya can cheers my friends
EC Pollick Jun 2012
Cool kid euphoria with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on is what we all are in the basement of the 50’s house.
Our phones blowing up while we sip whiskey and wine.
Trying to get the attention of the cars on the main road
By handstanding and flashing and cheersing our beers
And we receive our victorious honks.

Guitar clock radio with numbers around the fretboard and Sir Paul smiling and crooked, acid-trippin’ guitarist/violinist/celloist looking product of orange and gold look down upon as our patron saints.
Swingin’ low, Sweet Chariot words stares up at me from the 70’s floral carpet.
Ralph Stanley and Eric Clapton singing solos and duets in my head keep me company as the boys play and figure out key changes.

Painted screen hiding the Etta James microphone stands forgotten in the corner—
As I take in the teals and roses and golds.
Give me a heart shaped box where I can store my love
I fly so high in the world above
I’ll come back down eventually.

Lava lamped water stain engulfs the ceiling. As fingers go up frets
And they go down frets
And they go up frets
And they go down frets.
As you don’t enunciate when you sing.
We all mourn  our fallen brethren, the base of the telecaster with no strings and no head and it weeps silently from its place on the water pipes, hearing his cousins WAAAIIIIILLLLLL.

As Cool kid euphoria is created with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on in the basement of the 50’s house.

We work all day so we can drink all night
Getting high off the drug that is each other
Chain-smoking Pall Malls like it’s our job
Listening to oldies as we shoot the eight ball in the corner pocket.
Garden tools and Lawn Mower parts as a sweet, creepy décor in the dank basement
As we breathe in mold and dust and cigarette smoke.

We are gloriously young.
So *******.
We still think we can change the world.
Not through politics or through fear or by means of war
But by doing just enough to get by and loving everybody for who they are, even the parts or religions or particular ways of life we don’t like,
Because people aren’t what they do or what they believe
They’re who they are.
We still think we can change the world
And Maybe one day, we will

But for now
We’ll just be here,
In the basement of the 50’s house with our pastel colored pants and our Raybans on.
Danny Valdez Jan 2012
We were just laying there
her in front of me
my arms wrapped around, holding her tight.
It was one of those modern cushy porch swings
as comfortable as a couch.
Kissing behind her ear
that one special spot
it got her worked up real fast
she grabbed my hand and slipped it down
beyond the elastic waistband of her pajama pants.
It was so cold outside
felt like she was steamin' on the inside.
She reached around and unzipped my pants
taking it out and rubbing it against her ***
the moon giant sized, yellow, and rare
above us
as I slipped it in from behind
still laying down, her in front of me.
It was such a relief
after months of no lovin'
on account of her Christian pre-marital *** guilt.
With each ******
the swing moved more and more
just swingin'
rockin & rollin with the *** beat
we had goin.
That's when we both heard the front door of her house
slam shut.
It was her mother.
From the backyard we could see the entire house
through the numerous windows.
Her mom was a real miserable *****
from China.
She hated my guts
hated everyone
especially herself, it seemed.
She was headed straight to the backdoor
we were frozen stiff
too terrified to move
my **** just sitting inside of her
our pants around our ankles
hidden beneath the blanket draped over us.
Her mom set down her bag and was coming right for us
we were caught.
And my pecker was about to get cut off
with a Chinese sword.
Then
not two feet from the backdoor
she was about to bust us
when my girlfriend's little sister
grabbed her mother's hand
and pulled her
led her back to the other side of the house.
We scrambled to pull our pants up
pulled the blanket back over ourselves
and sat upright.
I pulled her close to me
and gave her a soft kiss,
whispering
"*******. That was close, huh?"
"Yeah too ******* close. Oh my God. She would've killed you Danny..."
And she kissed me again
both of us cracking up and laughing in mid-kiss.
I put my arm around her and breathed a sigh of relief.
Her mother's voice boomed into the backyard
as the door swung open, hitting the wall
"HEY! GET YOUR ARM OFF OF HER!"
Whatever you say lady.
Whatever you say.
JM Romig Apr 2015
Old gentle vague dark sea
stars uncoffined above
my drummer grave
blind of age,
meet Mr. Numb Feelgood
he is dying - chasing smoke,  
following a blind parade
wanderin’ anywhere forked like Yes
at every dusty, homely, strange-eyed landmark
until driven deep down dead

Dear old diamonds,
my sleepy southern song spell fades ,
my past was a young clown
dancing, swingin' my magic heels
raging and cursing death’s grip on time

Now, I feel that morning’s fierce burn
vanishing into a tambourine memory
and I’m caught madly dreaming
against the ragged anywhere
to return green tomorrow
This poem was composed primarily from words found in Bob Dylan's "Tambourine Man", Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night", and Thomas Hardy's Drummer Hodge

NaPoWriMo
Nathaniel Munson Jan 2013
Rock Stock the Engine Block

      Let’s Get Swingin’

                    ‘Cuz When the Moon Starts Sinkin’

We’ll Be Lettin’ Our Hips Roll All Night Long.

We’re all greased up

Like the T-Birds under a T-Bird,

            so let’***** these lights, Baby,

       and rev our engines tonight.

We’ll roll around town

                 with our rock n’ roll blaring

       and maybe later

                             we’ll catch each other staring.

Let me have a peek at what’s under the hood, Miss Pink Lady.

Dying to cruise down Thunder Road

                    let’s let our guards down

                              and see where this goes.

Rock Stock the Engine Block

      Let’s Get Swingin’

                    ‘Cuz When the Moon Starts Sinkin’

We’ll Be Lettin’ Our Hips Roll All Night Long.
"Ah took a swing."
He said.

His profile raised,
he drops his head to his left, to face me with his lazy eyes.
I was becoming forgetful second by second
of the dull bulb that hung over my nerves; our skin.

He bared his teeth intentionally, it seemed.
"And cracked open his skull."

His eyelids would always droop down.
But he had wild eyes.
We had a description once,
"Satan's eyes." she said. Right before having another seizure.
T'was a god-crazed epileptic; just our luck.

"But ah didn't see 'at.
Y'see, it ull 'ent black. But ah wus swingin'.
Ah know ah was.
Ah felt'et."

He was lying. Those hits were too spot on.
Intentional. Angry. Mad.
Ravishing.

"Ah know y'like me doc. Ah c'n see it in ye face.
Ye legs.
'Ey shake when ah speak 'bout how they bled."

My legs shook..
His voice trailed off into a raspy ending, a whispered sound.
"How they begged."

The inside of my mouth was flooding with saliva.
..How embarrassing..

He smiled.
"'Ee should be ***'nis, ye know. We'd make a pretty couple."

There was a pause, almost too long, before he blinked slowly
and opened his eyes to observe a crack on the wall to his right.
He had complained about it before,
"'Tis too ******' noticeable." He'd say.

He wanted it to be like the other walls.
He wanted it to be neat and gray.
So it wouldn't be excluded, so it wouldn't stand out.
So it wouldn't be treated differently, wrong.
So it wouldn't suffer the injustice of the majority.

He hated things being out of place.
Mostly because he was sick of being out of place himself.
Ironic, I'd say.
He had a passion for making a mess out of his victims.


Ring..

The timer.

Ring..
Ring..

"See ye t'morrow doc."

Ring..

My legs were planted to the ground he smiled on.

Ring..
Ring..

..I think I love you.

Ring..
Ring..


Ring..
Yo I got skillz by the millions
With tons of ammunition
Who ******' with the commission my mission
Is to control the rap game blow fish tactics
From ******* who **** quick my **** stick
Slick leave em with one eye patch cookin' up another batch
Can ya catch
The madness of real ***** with multiple figures money surpassin' the aurora
Hardcorer grim explorer non could ignore tha
Deadly pedigrees sheddin so beautifully
Im feelin' like Mango Slade cuts through like a blade
Lyrics colder than the words from Chuckie
Coastin' spells I do it well it ain't hard to tell
While ya souls fail another body destined to hell
It's Yosef ninth gate chillin' over ya crates
Like a demon intervention got ya nerves
Penchin' and itchin' soon to be twitchin' and inchin'
My every move I'm takin' ove the earthly ground
Bow down what's that it's the Southside
Breakin' em down so ya bound to drown


My armed men stack men from the guns
That back bend to the roads ya
End
No longer boys to men to deaths I comprehend
Takin' on deadly sins seven to chose from
I'm makin' chaos from USA to the New Jerusalem
And who's dumb? Enough to **** with me
While I'm on my Crazy *** leavin' ya stunned
And outdunned and who can
Come?
Against my magnificence layin' hellish scents
In the forms of an emodiment
Who could stop it
Since adversaries are culprit let the snakes
Shake and take away these painful memories
Yeah I'm dreadin' ya head missin' the feds
*** I got more bread than Pillsbury dough
So quick with the skills and I
Know
Suckas don't wanna go toe to
Toe
**** mics worse than Exodus who can plex with us
The coldest strong as a swingin' boulders
Knockin' ya head off ya shoulders I thought I told ya
Southside stay running with hidden
Soldiers
Ma Cherie Aug 2016
Let me tell you who I am
I'm an American Born girl
Proud to be here
I wouldn't want to live anywhere else
I've enjoyed my freedom...still do, and you?

Used to love running through the Barns and playing in the hay
I wear a dog-eared well worn baseball cap
most days
Some kind of faded ol' denim jeans and a fun
t-shirt...
and if it isn't ***** I might even wear it to bed...
I use homemade oatmeal and lavender soap, a little pink shiny lipgloss, maybe espresso mascara...dark red chipped painted toenails in flip-flops or work boots
hair in hat...keys in hand
all kinds of weather, I'm prepared

Yes I've hunted for deer!
Skinned and gutted one for a high school paper...
quite a caper..

I can change my own oil  
or a dang flat tire
break into my Volvo with a piece of wire?
Did I say that?!
And...I can drive just about anything
including...so true,  backing up a trailer into a boat launch

Oh ..my redneck side?
Come on let's go for a ride...
I've ridden on four-wheelers and snowmobiles
out in the glorious midnight
freezing breath is close to heaven on those mountains

Spent summers at the camp
on the lake
Swimmin'
cookin'
swingin'  and singin'
off from the the bank
crystal clear blue waters run deep
flyin' from a rope
holdin' on to serious hope
not to be pushin' daises
we were a bunch of crazies !

Raisin' kids...
Some people think I'm a hippie chick
and that's true too
I eat mostly organic food
I love to cook my hopes and wishes
in amazing dishes...
and sharing that with good people

I like interior design
I drink a bit of wine
And I LOVE dessert...
We are just like a
Strawberry & Blueberry Shortcake
Fresh fluffy white whipped cream
and berries
Homemade biscuits...
like a flag waving

I love road trips...
    getting high
... watching the world go by....
it's so wonderful I could cry
and I went so fast on that crotch-rocket
of a motorcycle
I thought I could even fly!

Why I love every kind of music
hard to stop me from dancing
and prancing through life
singing...poetic songs.

I am probably one of the most genuine
and honest people you'll ever know
come along I'll show you...
I hope to be like the Salt of the Earth
like my Father...
He valued this place
and I have some of his face

It's not that I can't avert the truth...
I can
I'm just not capable of lying...
not being truly dishonest
I mean if you ask me something
straight out ...
look me right in my eyes
I would have to tell you honestly
that I feel this overwhelming love for everyone and everything...

You know that it troubles me
going to a landfill and seeing all the waste
left in carless choices and hurried haste
hello, the Ice Caps people!!!
Those poor Polar Bears...

I swear...
I've resorted to trash collecting
in my town
All that is going to be buried in the Earth!!!
What the heck was it even worth?
I recycle or compost almost
everything!

Well it makes me sick...
time is ticking....
now is definitely the time

People are dying....
why am I crying?
...over my broken heart?
No, I can't
because the more horrible events
and floods of  information I see
word *****
on the internet or the news
different views
as NPR is bleeding through the radio
about how bad this world has become ....

And so many people with it so much worse...
So...I have this curse anyway,
wanting change...
trying to create it,
just makes me wish
I could go somewhere else...
run away?
no.... I stay

I fight
do what is right
this is my land, your land...OUR land
take a frickin' stand
to fix this country!

We need real effort...
a movement
and I would like to do anything
to make it spread...
before I'm dead...
so...
what can I do? And you?

Some people say you can move mountains...help please?
The people like me...you see
they always say I'm a beautiful mess
those Sensitive Souls
we get wounded really easy
and I get kind of queasy
though I've learned to have a thick skin,
every time they take me down
I come back around again
it is still harder for me to come back up
time is always short...

My face is bearing more freckles
these days
and the suns rays see my hands
a bit more weathered
though I'm still tethered to you
I still feel young...
have to tap into that,
Put on my baseball cap
n-play...
carryin' a big stick walking softly

So my body does not feel old...
even when it is...very cold
I fight for my kids, and your family too
I look to the blue
the sky
tenderly asking why?
I can see the heavens
They are consoling my heart
I've been to the very...
very bottom
And I always got a new start
don't give up...
we still have work to do...
yes me ...
and you too

Hey, I still believe in fairy tales
and miracles
In shooting stars
healing scars
The butterflies in your stomach
on that very first kiss...
sent out on a wish

I still believe in love
and angels from above....
I have Faith
This world...the Earth can heal
I feel my heart,
well it will heal right too
I can feel
it ...so can't you?
Tell me then ...what I can do?

Don't know how many times
a heart can break
 but I will help you heal
so....do we got a deal?
cause this thing,  well it's for real

...just take my hand..
maybe if we plan
to take a stand
say our demands?
as one...they'll listen?

 We can do it together
regardless of the weather
jump in your truck
and my beliefs might be
different than yours
I might be much farther to the left
than you are
we all want the same things
to be happy and free
To be
Whoever we are
I'm still waiting for all these answers
and I hope I will still find my soul's mate too...tell me? What else can I do?
Try listening to country music while you read this I think this is for someone who is failing to see the bigger picture in my life and others maybe? We are more then our perceived failures... and we are loved.
LS Mar 2018
i'm at a party
there's people all around me
a girl is puking in the bathroom
and her boyfriend is rubbing her back
someone spilled something red on the floor
and a boy is passed out flat on his face

there's a group of people in another room
screaming and laughing
drinking concoctions that taste bitter and gross
just so they can feel something

ping pong ***** cover the floor and the music never stops playing
i'm sitting with a red solo cup in my right hand
i haven't spoken in hours
nobody has even noticed
i'm surrounded by teenagers
who are supposed to be my friends
but they're too busy slurring their speech and dancing
to notice that even in a room full of people
i am alone.
Cydney Something Oct 2018
When the carrot finally snaps,
And covers the world in mushrooms,
And the thoughts and dreams of billions cease-

We'll be where that sacred spore takes hold,
Waiting for it to bloom,
Patiently waiting while making love

Sacred spores with sacred purpose!
Find your targets well!
Find us! Find us!
We are fertile soil!

How delicious would it be,
For spore and seed and egg to meet?
A life beginning,
And ending
In one spectacular flash and roar!

****, we'll go down swingin'
To every movement swayin'
Your hips and mine, sweet slammin'
You know what I'm sayin'?

And as the flash and roar subside,
We will be mushrooms
And tar
And ions
And eons
And eons
And eons

We will be gone <3
Reece Jan 2014
It was social experimentation
To be locked away, windowless
Four walls, perpetually fixed
- as his figure in a lightless room
Ears removed, mouth sewn closed
Eyes blinded, no light, no sound
Muted humanity, no dignity

He happened upon a laughing child
before the procedure
and that sound echoed inside
Deep within his bowels it reverberated
Through his blood
Distorted in his stomach
Youthful innocent laugh,
it grew monstrous
It began to talk
and the beast within was personified

Day one he lost his mind
Day two was still day one
(how irresponsive time becomes)
Day three the laugh became a growl
Day four the voices started
Day five in absentia
Day six he was done
Day seven, bizarre interim
- that between life and death

Profoundly lost in swingin' psychosis
Met by the devil in detailed cerebellum
Watched memories deteriorate
like some reel-to-reel burning, spluttering
His wife now only a hydrogen hallucination

Do you, the reader, know true loneliness?

The observation deck was packed on day eight
Muted, yet guttural screams of anguish
from deep within his throat
Were haunting reminders of the damaging effect
of psychological studies and the fragility of humanity

The cataract voids in his stoic face
they betrayed fear, and begged captors
for some respite from this hellish dream

Until in a tormented blinded haze, the voice was clear
His ears still dead, though this voice was true
Spoke but three subtle words
The subject experienced simultaneous neurological
Joy and fear
He had heard the de facto vocalisation of some supreme

he spoke them aloud
his only utterance

and the teary eyed scientists gathered
sterile needle
no words
dead.
tricia lambert Feb 2014
I'd like to eat a mango
As I glide through a Tango
My bubbles would pop
While doin’ Hiphop
I’d soothe my soul
Swingin’ Rock and Roll
No time for slumber
While doing the Rhumba
My blood would pulse
To a Viennese Waltz
Dizzy’s how I’d feel
Skipping a Scots Reel
I’d dance Ballet
With my valet
I’d cut a rug
Doing jitterbug
I’d be happy as
Improvising Jazz
I'd like to swing a Fire Poi
In exotic far away Hanoi
I’d fly to San Francisco
To indulge in Disco
I’d as soon not talk
Sliding through a Moonwalk
I’d wear a yarmulke
While doing the Polka
I’d get the gist
Of doing the Twist
I could unwind
With a Bump and a Grind
I’d take off my wig
For a fast Irish Jig
I'd be a hot Mama
Performing the Cha cha
My heart would sing
To a Highland Fling
I’d step up the tempo
To stamp a Flamenco
I'd feel alive
Just doin’ the Jive

Now the ending’s your choice
For better or woice!
One is glad One is sad
Pick one and it’s done-                                      

I’m off to France                                 It’s the witching hour
For a chance to dance                        And I’m a wall flower.


Tricia Lambert
ConnectHook Oct 2017
Bright light city gonna set my soul
Gonna set my soul on fire
Got a whole lot of money that's ready to burn,
So get those stakes up higher
There's a thousand pretty women waitin' out there
And they're all livin' the devil may care
And I'm just the devil with love to spare, so
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas
How I wish that there were more
Than the twenty-four hours in the day
Even if there were forty more
I wouldn't sleep a minute away
Oh, there's black jack and poker and the roulette wheel
A fortune won and lost on ev'ry deal
All you need's a strong heart and a nerve of steel
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas
Viva Las Vegas with you neon flashin'
And your one arm bandits crashin'
All those hopes down the drain
Viva Las Vegas turnin' day into nighttime
Turnin' night into daytime
If you see it once
You'll never be the same again
I'm gonna keep on the run
I'm gonna have me some fun
If it costs me my very last dime
If I wind up broke up well
I'll always remember that I had a swingin' time
I'm gonna give it ev'rything I've got
Lady luck please let the dice stay hot
Let me shoot a seven with ev'ry shot, ah
Viva Las Vegas, Viva Las Vegas,
Viva Las Vegas, viva, viva Las Vegas
"Viva Las Vegas" is a 1963 song written by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman and recorded that same year by Elvis Presley for his Viva Las Vegas film vehicle, which along with the song was set for general release the year after. Although Presley never sang the song live, it has since become widely known and often performed by others.
Koggeki Jan 2016
Shades on
'Brella
Swingin'

Merry
Is the
Rain that
Falls on
My head
Listening to Katy Perry's "This is how we do" in Portland, Oregon. Jammin'
Jordan Farelli May 2012
Pickin' up my pants
From her bedroom floor
Lookin' at my latest victim
From the night before

When I was drinkin' everything
Like it was going out of style

I was drowning my sorrows
When I saw her fire up a Marlboro
She was
Swingin' her hips left to right

I've had this feeling before
Although,
It's been awhile
As she cranked that volume dial

I saw ***** cut off shorts
Raining fabric to the floor
Wearin' a low cut top
Givin' everyone a show

She had ***** blonde hair
But, I bet there's none down there
I'm thinkin'
I might give it a go

Because, she's the town ****
And, I'm in a rut
I'm gonna
Give it to 'er tonight

I throw her on the bed
So she knows her place
I rip off her clothes
Adding a little slap on her face

Because, she's the town floosie
It's gonna be a doosie tonight

As I finish her off
She lets out a cough
And I just
Watch her there

As she lies in the wake
Of a psychopaths fate
She knows
She ain't goin' nowhere

Because she was the town hussie
And my mood was a little fussy
I just
Had to release

Myself unto another
And see the blood sputter
As I
Watched in peace
trf Dec 2017
Those West Texas *******,
Sure look pretty good to me,
On the way back home,
to Nashville Tennessee.

I don't wanna hang out,
to the east, west, south or north.
Gonna write me a song,
swingin on my front porch.

Crickets sing in the background,
while feet stomp this here oak,
Pass me the slide and I'll take you on down the road.

My woman says I drink too much, and I agree with her,
Tie the devil round the bottle, make me a fishin' lure.

This Road's mighty ******* poor souls, especially the likes of me,
Take your candid pictures now, drown your worries down by the sea.

From where I stand today,
At sixty three years old,
I've lived twice the life,
of any man I've ever known.

No makeup, I got real scars,
All from after hour bars.
Read my poetry palms girl,
tell me If I'm near or far.

Played every stop along the way,
Sometimes got out for free.
Look at this face child,
Don't reckon I owe a fee.

Leaving those West Texas *******,
easier than it seems,
Gettin' back to my front porch is where I Wanna be.

_trf WPbumblefoot
Two notes and a bottle
I be illin'
The bones in my body be chillin'
The dope that I'm slingin' be killin'
Zig Zag fillin', 40 zoner swillin'
I got twenty...got a five, bro? I'll cut you in!
I got twenty...got a five, bro? I'll cut you in!
I've bought plenty on the live wire, where you been?

I'm walkin' too straight 'n' I'm eatin' my mashed potatoes
L.A. hoes you don't wanna know
Keepin' my toes warm
See how they swarm
They're like bees when they tease me
With their slingers, humdingers
My epiglotis is a-stingin'
And my uvula is swingin' back and forth

Twenty, son, back to four twenty
I get away with a wounded knee massacre
I say what I please, Lenny Bruce on da juice
I ain't no racist
I'm a future born Papist
You got to listen to me
C Feb 2011
Your weltering words do not interest me
with its lack of true clarity.
Just your tongue
and all the inhuman noise it can make
Oh' schlepped out- sleeping son
you are the ever tediously coveting one
ungratefully burdened by soft sin
as if it does not alter the personality within.
Scrape gingerly the bottom of a bottle,
in despair carelessly compare disease
to your displeased humor, wash logic
along with blood from lacerated hands;
broken bottle pieces rasping like last words
empty of regret- with every sweep.
In blind acceptance with little malice
you slice ties cleanly as memories of allowance
have barely slipped and
menial wage paychecks become the sole script.
Only little things are still swingin'
but no longer with style,
limply dripping you are simply pathetic and
knowing this is the first step toward the corner mart,
wallet in pocket and to- locking all cold thoughts away
but you continuously fail to remember,
total absence is equivalent to suicide.
Jaimee Michelle Aug 2013
Just 9 years and some months ago, I thought I made the best choice
And for the best reason
You weren't father material
And I refused to have my child grow up with an ******* father like I did
So that right there, took the choice off me and ultimately you made it for me
Now I've come to terms with the fact that No One but me, made that choice
Back then on some level I knew....
Because I cried, screamed, went through every bottle... And most of all
I hated you

Why I stayed for so long, I'll never know
Beside the loss, you were horrible to me
Always scattered bottles at your feet, and lines across the mirror
And my bruised reflection
Was it being only 20?
Was it you being my first serious boyfriend?
No
I hated being alone
But, I hated being around you almost if not more
Which started a lot of our fights
I'd go down swingin
But, I always went down
Constant questions about my appearance
About my mood
About the broken heart I wore on my sleeve
There is most definitely a fine line between love&hat;;
I'm not sure I actually ever loved you
But I knew for sure I hated you, I couldn't get further away from you in the bed at night
If I came home at all

I got away from you
You finally pushed me too far
And every bottled up emotion and angry word rose to the surface
I snapped us like a twig and I never looked back
No matter how much you begged
I tried being your friend, I tried having patience while you moved out your things and moved away from me
But, it wasn't enough, and that same sad face made an appearance here and there in that mirror
Until I smashed it to pieces and just told you to leave me alone for good
You took every opportunity to throw MY loss in my face
"You took away my choice." This would blind me with rage
On the day I told you, you were so ****** up that you didn't even skip a beat with going on doing your own thing
Leaving me and the question alone
I saw my future that day
I could've and should've tried another route
I didn't need to pay and neither did the loss
Now I worry, my karma will prevent me from feeling that tiny, tight grasp on my finger in the future

I've made peace with what choice I made
What choices I didn't make
They were mine
You played a part, but I coulda fought harder
I don't think I could admit I was scared shitless
Not that I couldn't do it, I would've had help
But, that I couldn't have protected the loss from you for forever
I wished I'd tried
I'll always miss you little lost one
Every February I'll shed tears for what was your arrival
I hope you've forgiven me
I just wanted what was best for you
I probably made a mistake or didn't think it through long enough
Idk where you are, but I hope I somewhat did the right thing
You'll always be my first
You'll always have a tiny, tight grasp on my heart
Always little lost one

Mommy's sorry....
I know some will think I'm a monster. I live with my own guilt, but am still pro choice. You just never know what you'll do in that or any situation.. Til your in it.
Carley Aug 2014
All us teens live for
Is crazy Friday nights
Filled with drunken confessions
And flashing lights
Swingin records

And fights with our ex
Dancin, liquor
And mind boggling ***
-CsR
Franco Palma May 2012
You look into the mirror, what do you see? Beauty
I look at my reflection and see the people that knew me
The new me, is the same, cause I couldnt scrub the stains
Scratch the surface and you still uncover the same dead man
And thats fine, all I ever wanted was money through rhyme
The road less traveled by, the road to roam alone
Blisters from the pavement, the bone, I sold my flesh and soul
To touch the throne, leave as smudge and mark music with my love
But **** it, I'm inconsistent, you've seen the punch that I've missed with
Assisted? No not I, all I see is my demise
And my girl talkin to other guys, I ****** hate these lies
And I ****** hated these eyes, and I ****** hate what resides inside
Me, myself, and I who else to think about besides myself?
Since day one struggled on the rope in which my life was held
Swingin, I get dizzy, and dread all those near me
Compare my thoughts to all, and then everyone will fear me
But still, I'm still unseen, to live a life in chase of dreams
I work too hard sometimes and all I want is some sleep..please.
Addison René Nov 2016
i'm swingin in slowly,
entirely and wholey
like my mother used to tell me
i'm just trying to figure out where i belong

i'm homesick for a home
i've never known
and a home is not a home
when you're on your own

i'm crawling in quietly,
softly and slightly
like my mother used to tell me
"you won't get far by just stringing yourself along"
cheesier than a grilled cheese
David Nelson Mar 2010
“1968”

          We were headed for disaster,
          our hearts were beating faster,
          we were set for action,
          everybody knew we were out of control
          
          Braced for a collision,
          there was no sane decision,
          they were circling the wagons,
          like fire-breathing dragons,
          they let out a roar

          the smoke was rising higher,
          just like a funeral pyre,
          everything was burning,
          the wheels just kept on turning,
          history would record it all

          They came with sticks swingin',
          it kept our ears aringin',
          tempers were exploding,
          lives were imploding,
          was this the end

          the dust didn't settle for almost 20 years,
          if your waitin' for a medal,
          keep your foot to the pedal,
          remembering is was 1968
          
          Now it's just a distant memory,
          If you want to make it clearer,
          take a look in the mirror,
          remembering it was 1968

          Gomer LePoet...
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
You can say that again, later, it is -time
lace up the daily bag and pass it
for all private interpretation
removal, from the rumen, to the next
- gaseous we, Huxley called us, 1957

No, this ain't show business, this
is living, made in a made up mind,
being finished doing, just
living.

Making up reasons to dispute liars.

Maybe not a good living, but it's free.
Or paid for, any way.
Bought with a price
my grands won't be forced to pay.
- divided attention makes
- ads obliviate into the mercantile
- classification, in attention econ 101
It's free - this living
in the way well fed children do,
in America, outside the cities;

Joy pursued and grabbed in happy
fistfuls that fill laughing memory bubbles
to store for when these become
the olden days.

No, this ain't show business,
its sacred duty,
work of a thing,
made from a boy who looks
into flies eyes, gazing up
from the bottom of the cup,
a little glazed, perhaps,

owing the fly an easy escape, look away

Tricae,
tricae
"perplexities, hindrances, toys, tricks,"

The collections of thoughts,
the access to held thoughts, knotted
messages
to you
private moments,
time alone, as a mortal human being,
humus built, auto-repairing thing being

being, eh?
One-like, only, or
on-like, only going on and on and on,

becoming fruitful
becoming useful
becoming less and less useful, but
becoming more and more curious
becoming full enough to become superfluous.

Lay preachers can create cushions
for lazy wishers wishing to be comforted,
but the weighing of the worth of comfort,

lay preachers seldom do, to my knowledge.

Terminus gnosis, all I know, my bubble of knowns;
this is it…
a thousand stacks of sensible lines, atop precepts,

strewn beside the trail.
Heavy
heuristic heretical how-to do as I dones,
published by faith in the thousands, litter
the little hills the psalmist asked,
why they writhed and twisted,
as in a dance of anger wishing,

clear channel, me and the truth, today,
just/instance, this/ now.

Free am I, by the faith in me, but you
already
knew that,

don't you?
Don't you know, there is a musing mind,
we wear to bed, some nights,
we lay on memory foam, some nights.

Thinking sorted thoughts, untying lying links,
links to educated guesses fed you as new reasons

to be ever vigilant, ever ready to defend the faith,
the laughing faith of a child, leaping
into the sky

- my grandson, I just learned,
- asked for more math.

No class common man, that is what I am,
on the cusp of next, looking back,
at the mess I left, like a cyclone,
randomly distributing seeds of kindness, specs
by which an idle word can activate troves
of ancient autoresponders, each guessing
what if, what if not,
what if, what if not,
what if, what
if
not now, when. Pop.
Bubbles of been, leave go, go on, think it

through, and passed through, into
the now
where we formed, letters, letting words wait,
sit still, ready
for the reader, ready
to steady the quivering fearful thing,
lost in thought,
stuck in stacks of holy orders, hearer only,
only ordainded doers do the trick,
intricate, folding to make not a paper swan,

too, easy. Make a protein. With no model,
just the idea in the word applied to science,
proper pose, super knowing, proto-life-ish thing,
that is digestible using an infantile nourishing node.

What tricks do you know?, the magi aske Moshe.
Snake from a staff.

From the crozier of goatherd, sure,
we can all do that. What else?
---
Allusions to ever knowing, knowing as old
as knowledge given girls at their flowering,
as old a mystery as any orphaned mother may tell
her great grand daughters,
nobody told me any thing,

but I took it as normal,

As the patient potency prefecting
effectual
fervent
prayer, dramatized, made big as all
art
any
bubbled artifice holding essences,

essential bits of the daily grind to gloss
the leading intellect's reason for being
so shiny,
Klimt golden, as that one kiss I recall,

yes, a facsimile, a memory evocation,

a kiss, golden in that moment, infected
with a feeling
dramatized to be offered to all who see,
intricacies,
khipu twists and loops and bundles and beads,

accounting for dues,
instructing kaballah, pass it on

Excuse me, are you in the right realm,
we feel pluralized,
but you don't fit,
we are uniform,
uninformed,

excathedra, listen up, all eight billion now living, are destined
for certain death,
it is a matter of time, dying once,
can happen anytime,

and if there is a second death, so far,
I never saw any body do it twice,
once truth makes what I am free,
we stay free,
amen,
reception accepted kaballah, et al,
take that greasy grace, feel it,
as the oil ran down Aaron's beard,

and there were no poor denied
starship rations,
until the comet hit and all
but a single mind
blew, into this
a complete fiction,
or another compleat guide to fishing

Imagine the magic of the sailor's accounting book,
envision the magic of levers, and pulleys and cogged
wheels feeling the weight

ping
2023 Gravity driven or gravity powered, is it
one
or the other, when it come be to inspire
first fears
to frame wisdom pools,
at depths we learn
to believe,
prove each participant,
worthy of keeping,
the secret.
Salt of the earth, deep down dehr dat
Caribbean Sea,
shore line fracture,
follow the riverwise road,
any thing you think you must bear,
don't blame,
sometimes it pays, to bend.
Grasshopper Locust practice, for the mind
of an ant.

Wisdom harnessed the fear of God,
put it down,
in other words,
when there was nothing
but E, mass and time being assent
esse, sentient, in sentient and ex
insentience, sapient over lay,
- honeycomb tripe pattern, say
- why not ruminate enclosed
- in a beauteous inner digestive
- recluse-exclusive-sub-science con
ified, tied ligously, fi,
to witty means, and ways we prove
gravity is our friend, driven power for all life,
strong as earth itself, but, we are

in the burning phase,
let me bring you down,
cause being accused, does that
to a stranger
being
entertained, or entertaining, on an aitia
let me
reason,

have you come for more, or do we have
too much
of too many things
to make too much
sense
of any particular reader/writer ifery algorithm,
if then,
else is this, current, slow, nodding, flux,
capacitance
loading axially,
if each mind thinks right once,
today, we have enough,
let's save the world.
- that easy, eh?
global restoration, Christ, yes,
that is the plan.
As the planet was.
Prior to Peleg's days.
Intended to have a single
dry land mass,
Wisdom pushed
for plates meeting
and using ice
at the top
of the world, as seen polaris up,
spinning
in a slow wobble
through four
seasonal positional hot-cool-cold-warm
gyre drivers, saline liquid epicycles, sisters
of the four winds
as a flywheel effect
in the telling times… a little imbalence leaning helps
with the wobble,
in the event,
slim to none,
the odds, but,
Don't Look Up. It could
reoccur, and shall, if
Nietzsche's epicycle

has wheels. Graham Hancock, on clocks…cosmic

Mindspacetime, the elite flight,
secretshitistic, it is, most certain, it is
fantasmic imagining
E not equal any thing, mere words
-jello-timingoooisht
between me and thee,
no point, not one, between the we
we become,
in the final analysis, if you wish,

might
you wish,
long, lazy river readers, re-mind
their lost selves, how innocense felt.

The worth of an unsold story, given
as a gift, as a poor artist might
attempt
a portrait
of their daughter's children

- "that little thing"
Done. As best he could, he believed,
at the time,
as it is
with
everything being as is when we arrive,
we adapt
or become the insane opposition,
to anything,
just
be the counter weight on the pendulum,

keep things swingin'

feel time slide
into the real deal,
at the crossroads
in the wayback seat,
sayin' honey, you ain't here
after what I'm here after,
y'gonna be there, after I'm gone, as  asong
that was
once a joke ended you gonnabe here
after I'm gone, but

seemsayin' eye
squint, see,
way back
when,
we were otherwise involved, affirming
sacred oathes, we swore as children learn
IT being life, whatever,
it don't mean
nothin'
is not a joke, it's ahint, to readers, ready
writing is key to reading,
vertical eyed
qwerty keying is learned,
phone wide,
natural, feels familiar
style adaptation
as cuneiform once was,
years of hearing the same words,
said and resaid, story after story stacked
in
time, measured by stargazers, called, by god,
eyes like eagles, these minds expand, and see
the order of the cosmos,
and the chaos of the collective sub-science

locked by a generational curse on oathes
under the God those kids had in mind,
September, 1954, first day of school,
all across the Wyatt Earp of Nations,
each child not religiously exempted,
stood, right
hand on heart and repeated, as a national
student body, K through 12, a pledge,
local time 9 a.m. nationwide,
not unlike
a true Tenant's pledge of fealty,
as recorded in
The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
- buzz nod what instance… seven seconds
Sorry, Under God, was added to the pledge
that year, that affectionizes those exposed,
we meander under god, think it not strange.
It’s a legendary trait, we'll all be remembered a bit.
- default modemod is always beguiling temptation
- for temptation sake, win a game, get the rush.
of chasing hares
to where the conies hide,
feeble folk, but they live among big rocks,
reason enough,
use what you know is right,
hide from things that eat you,
that evolves
in nations
with no elders, constant defence mode
peace makers seem
feeble folk,
who knew,
and fell away, impossible to renew,

whoah, zeke play me that riddle,
'bout scrublands being humbly blissed
so long- wayback, anchoring the authority
17
that's me, I
fiddled around
and blew the clearwater revival
to kingdom come, Muddy Waters, aight
and there was hippies, ever whar, swanee,
so I do, I swan no no no no mo
lie like the devil for the sake of church heritage,
holy warrior sworn, heart torn, tears shed, tongues
spoken.
You know, when gravity is taken
in, your weight, sunk
into the reasoning
swung wide
in progress, no aim, past the cloud,
for crying out loud, this is louder than ever,
listen, no
silence
all that
noise, is natural
to persons genitivally, ok, cross
shadowed animus anima imitation,
in your cultural genes, cowgirl
seeing the world a yingyang thang,
with gravity and the E-magnetic shields
allowing systems to com-uni-cate locally,

scarey
indeed

too much,
the scope
of any thing one might think
or ask,
as in what was that rule
of LAW once?
I read
Compleat Fisherman's Guide U recall led
to , yes, The Compleat English Copyholder:
Common and Statute LAW of
England, relating to Manors
and Lords of Manors Et c.
is on Google books, masterfully typeset

Feel free to learn all you will, 'tis all in the Common.

as, by now is much that may have been, otherwise,
in needier times,
less riches, more sorrow,
less sorrows, more riches, peace.

Made that my after all battlefield task,
no mas win or lose.

My side, on the scalar models is gravity empowered,
heavyweight, ancient concept,
gradient slopes
with long lazy loops
on the downhill side,
listening
to kids make all the noise they wish,
two chalk walls away,
in the bubble we all breathe.

To this day, whatever it took, it worked.
Life gets as good as you can make up a mind

to accept, as
this is it,
this is my bit. My close up. To the exact point
where I breathed that bubblierised wedom-opinion

opinion opinion opinion okeh, settle years ago, okay
we all say okeh here, holy ground,
entire collection of recollection on that victory alone.

Okeh, is still the proto voice model, ok.
If you like it, I'd love if you shared it in whole or in part, it is a whole chapter in a novel form of literature, native to the internet age,
type set for vertical receivers

— The End —