"sylvester" poems
Michael Louviere was a man of the people,
Who held in his hand a book of the law,
And outside his belt a gun for his safety,
But never would he have used it for ******
I'm told he helped many but never killed any,
But Sylvester Holt did not believe it,
He said the actions of one create a whole guilty people,
And he took the matters into his own hands,
And killed poor young Michael for serving his people.
So I'm sorry young man, you been born with white skin,
In a world with the permissions to ****** and to maim,
But just to have freedom depends on your name,
But if you think its good I suppose ill let you,
Work for a cause that is just out to get you,
And keeping in line with the others before him,
Sylvester took the bait and the hook nearly gored him,
But the worm could've lived it was just his misfortune.
Sylvester laid down with a bullet in his chest,
And the gun in his hand had a burning hot barrel,
He assumed death was better than life and life only,
But in his last second he pulled out a small knife,
And cut in his gun small violent furrow,
It was then that he realized this all wasn't worth it,
He saw those two notches and handed himself in,
To a lifetime of no pain and and unwoken rest.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
Granite plaque in a tulip bed, end to the Oregon Trail.
Teminus for ordeal by ox and prairie schooner,
where slight survivors began rejuvenation,
the wretched fortunate refusing a backward glance,
children with ancient faces set atop skeletal frames
tried desperately to remember what it meant to play.
Manifest Destiny's broken terra incognitae rested.
Swamp Mama Johnson's concert in the park,
a blues-to-the-wall celebration of life and love,
was a saxaphoned shibboleth for offbeat orphans.
Homeless youth played hacky-sack in time;
a baglady danced with the little girl with Downs;
a camera rocked on the shoulders of the PBS man
--- Olympia gave hommage to ghosts in the gazebo.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:59 PM UTC
You saw by panes held by thin wire.
Two-ways seeing crumbled fire.
I remember autumn
Checking at the bookstore
In your vans on film you wore
No conception of bottom.
A kid from Mexico, 15
Convincingly my age unclean
Walk summer down West Sylvester
Powder sugar walkway, tester
The ******* **** is blue
Wild eyes tell me you knew.
Back across the fairchild lot
He slid to drive; I told- we bought
They'd taken off without their lights
He barreled lone known route recites
As I scream STOP
IT ISN'T WORTH IT
I'LL GET YOU BACK
PULL OVER, ****
No one taught us how to quit
We rotten without teeth to grit
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 3:51 AM UTC
I wrote a tribute to Maya Angelou in 2010 that I would like to share today in memory of a great poet. Please excuse the dated references.
I Know Why the Twitter Bird Tweets
The free bird leaps
on Google’s back
and scrolls down page
till the browser ends
and dips his wings
in Facebook rays
and dares to claim the internet.
But a bird that stalks
down his narrow page
can seldom see through
his lists of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his claws to tweet.
The Twitter bird tweets
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tweet are read
on the distant hill
for the Twitter bird
tweets of freedom
The free bird may watch tivo'd Glee
And order up some good Chinese
and laugh as Sue Sylvester drones
On and on of kids off tone.
But Twitter bird stands on the grave of tweets
Getting “trends” for Trick or Treat
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his claws to tweet.
The Twitter bird tweets
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tweet is heard
on the distant hill
for the Twitter bird
tweets of freedom.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
"I think he started
his Sylvester's a bit
early" my father jokes, as
the motorcycle swerves
in front of us. "Stop," I want
to scream. This
is insanity. Three tons
of steel under your command and
a man on a motorcycle
is so vulnerable. We continue
blithely on, my father won't
see how his jokes
paralyze me.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
Loony Tunes
Bugs Bunny is my favorite rabbit,
watching him became my habit.
He was smart, funny and two steps ahead,
his popularity was very widespread.
His best friend was Daffy Duck,
he never did have the same luck.
Rabbit season, duck season,
rabbit season, duck season,
watching them, I needed no reason.
Speedy Gonzales was so very quick,
this fast mouse was also a *****
Owned his own pizza place,
won a gold metal, at the local rat race.
Yosemite Sam was a short tempered man,
killing Bugs and Daffy was always his plan.
He's a liar, a cheat and a sore loser,
maybe he should have been a drug user.
Tasmanian Devil was a tornado of destruction,
he never needed any kind of introduction.
Foghorn Leghorn never saw a negative situation,
I say, I say boy was his favorite quotation.
Pepe Le Pew was a French skunk,
women loved his smelly *****
Marvin The Martian was from Mars,
his laser gun would leave you with scars.
Tweety was an antagonizing canary,
lived with Granny, and flew like a crafty fairy.
Sylvester was Granny's pet cat,
him and Tweety always went *** for tat.
Road Runner was so very fast,
said beep beep as Wile E Coyote he passed.
Never fell for those Acme supplies,
getting blown up was his ultimate demise.
Porky Pig was just happy to be included,
the, the that's all folks, is how this will be concluded.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
S is for Seduction, a vast verb saved for flesh,
But in her outer-worldly tune, my thoughts become enmeshed;
Like at the great Salamis, where strength sought strike the feeble,
Seduction marked our birth, their fall—an end without a sequel.
L heralds in some fifty lads, of whom mere five would pass,
Bugsy, Daphne, Sylvester, and Tazzy, above their peers compassed.
The tests were long, the trials were tough, from nothing we had fostered
A team of lucky, noble lads to fight these migrant monstærs.
A is the assault, outnumbered and outclassed,
Our heroes boldly braved their foes until their stalwart last.
Despite their lead by tyrants, such Nawt of Hispaniola,
Our foes were forced unto retreat, costing us Lady Lola.
M is for the ones who’ve fallen, for them mourn reminiscence,
For those who proudly placed their names for our petty subsistence.
The fight is done, the beasts beat back, denied all loot and hoarding,
And so a statue is ***** Honorum Mikael Iordan!
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
blekk, this ******* ragoon man
crab paste yuck
my stomach is festering in wounds of American Chinese
they put poison in my foods and I indulge and this is the result
final laid down rest
it feels
as
if
blekkk
the white rice is nice and the lo mein, don't even get me started
i Love it
noodles and rice covered in grease
spied on from a box of spare ribs
they saturate in Sat Fat, check the label 781 SAT FATS PER SERVING
Looper was good, and I was stuffed through all of it
grease traps, formed from my age of 5, filled to their brim this evening
starting a day with number 10 from Macdoe's: poor choice
smoke some grass and write a bit
that settles the swoosh of pirates fighting in my intestines
i give bloating a 75% definitive yes
25% maybe
reality is
I poisoned myself
don't do take out
don't eat what is not from its own country and made the same way
you know those ************* who make it are not eating the same **** thing
point is, I feel like Wesley Snipes and Sylvester Stallone are DEMOLISHing within.
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
I tried to write a lullaby
With a 70's theme of sorts
Kids drinking Sunny "D" in their jammies
Girls in Mindy, Boys in Mork
But that's as far as I could get
This dried up crinkly brain stays in a daze
So I picked up the phone, dialed up some friends
In hopes of a friendly Friday night game of charades
Of course Sylvester brought his Ouija board
He thinks with the other side he's in tune
I hate to break it to Houdini here
But I think he's inhaled to many fumes
My friends say that I'm just paranoid
Like a jester without a court
So I turn and apologize to Sylvester
Okay dude, pull out the board
We place our fingers on the Doohickey
Or is that the Thingamajig
Redrum, Redrum, Redrum, is all that it spells
As Sylvester has a fit
He knocks the game table over
And screams it's that movie, The Shining all over again
This is ****** spelled backwards people
As the smell of the dead blows in on the wind
In all of the dark spirit world excitement
I think I even pee'd myself
I suggest in a manly way with a wet spot on the front of my Bell Bottom jeans
That we put the Ouija board back up on the shelf
I really wasn't expecting an evening
Of doom and gloom and tombs and such
I think I'll go back to writing that 70's lullaby
If you don't mind...thank you very much
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
A changing pillow, so soft with its yellowness.
A freshly laid outfit so fresh with the sweet smell of babies.
A cowboy swinging with the joy of Christmas morning.
The aroma of baby powder dancing in the air.
The sound of a fist banging the wall.
A cabinet filled with a collection of toys.
A white Pooh Bear smiling at the chair with cowboys on the side.
A rainforest setting singing italicrock a bye babyitalic.
Tweetie, Sylvester, Bugs Bunny, and Daffy Duck swinging on a merry go round.
The sound of a baby happily talking to angels.
A happy baby laughing as he watches angels dance before him.
I close my eyes and count to three.
I open my eyes.
Never will it be.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 12:55 AM UTC
Road Runner is my all-time favorite- I like the song by Junior Walker too.
He, Road Runner, that is , reminds me of mentally ******** friends of mine who always strut around in a huff.
"It"'s a scream.
Bugs Bunny and Mel Blanc (Mel, one of Jack Benny's sidekicks) voice for him - Bugs was frothy with my kind of sarcasm.
Mickey Mouse I thought of as a kind of a put-on for guys that look like that a little who were always cutting up.
I used to get that song Hey Mickie by Toni Basil read piped in loud in my mind, it seemed when it played on the jukebox at that sports bar I used to hang out at.
Yosemite Sam is like some of the severely mentally ill guys on my geriatric psych ward who are really abrupt, loud, and whose bark is bigger than their bite.
McGruff - I wrote a piece about him - he's not of course from a cartoon - but from my yesteryear, who was under the weather, hence the crime wave.
Just like Smokey the Bear, he was a lovable character.
I like King of the Hill and Family Guy at night for yukks.
On Sat morn back in the day I guess when I had enough time I used to get a bit of a kick out of Fat Albert cartoons and the Jackson Five stuff on lonely, for me, Saturday morning to perk me up for the rest of the day.
Back in the old days, they reminded me of figures I knew like them in real life.
Sylvester the Cat, Felix the Cat, Hekyll and Jekyll, Daffty Duck, and Might Mouse tickled my little boy sense of humor.
In comic Books, I was impressed with the sense of humor of Little LuLu.
In the newspaper, Hagar the Barbarian and Beetle Bailey tickled my funny bone a little.
That's all, Folks.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
Marley Brando
So many options,
can’t say too many options,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”,
You stare at me with those infinite eyes,
“I feel exactly the same way.”,
then you shift your gaze,
and stare off for eternity,
as that fire inside keeps burning me,
something simmering inside is burning me,
anxious and pacing,
all out of patience,
feeling like a Patient in a Psycho-Ward society,
yes I’m fine so please don’t bother me,
I won’t sign over royalties and no I don’t need notoriety,
I’ll leave that for the words,
and all the flabby flack from the flock of ruffle feathered haters,
waiting in the wings I fly by & leave that for the Birds,
word word word,
words are what we scribe as a Writer of The Times,
words to explain when I’m gone,
words to explain when we’re gone,
when the memories have all faded,
because unless a Tyrant burns the books,
we’ll have our history scribed onto these pages,
lopsided but liberated,
feeling like a rat in a cage,
or a canary in a coalmine,
consumed with the thought to “Just get way.”,
just get away,
I’m already gone anyways,
don’t be fooled by this shell of a body,
I’ve been through Hell so now I’m in The Hills where I party,
Heaven can wait I’m on the Guest-List anyways so I won’t have to waste time at The Gate,
ready to party,
with Jim Morrison and Bob Marley,
and Brando but no Commando,
yeah I’m talking to you Sylvester sorry,
Charlie,
Chaplin for certain,
Sheen well we’ll see,
Janis, Jackson, Kurt and,
Pac and it don’t stop,
does it,
what’s in,
your wallet,
Rest In Peace,
Christopher Wallace,
smoking a chalice,
on Cloud 9 with Marley Brando,
cool as an Ice Cream Sundae,
relaxing watching the world go bananas,
B-A-N-A-N-A-S,
shout out to Gwen,
Steph,
I spin around and ask,
“What is this,
I meanI know it sounds cliche,
but does any of this really exist?”,
“Oh and where’d my mind go?”,
So many options,
won’t say too many though,
but honestly what do you do,
when even too much is not enough?,
“What?”,
“Were you saying something?,
I feel like I’m in a dream,
I’m asking for affirming,
because I don’t feel a thing…”…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of 3 #1 Best Sellers,
& The Poetry Trilogy
∆
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
Sure we have fun
One time though
I wished we watched more movies
And the wishmaster would ruin it
As usual
And we'd end up roommates
In a hospice ward
Watching a Sylvester Stallone marathon
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
Defined by society where
rigidity meets elasticity and
Destiny is some girl you see
with Captain Scarlet on
black and white T.V.
Cartoons might be the
new line in hereditary,
the daily dose of
Sylvester could be
the cat that gets the cream.
Everything falls apart
the moment that I start
to be serious.
It's a failing in the gene pool,
I drawl and drool and snort
I ought to be on
the T.V
with Muffin the mule
but
I am in bed with rings that run circles
around my head,
A Saturn of a satellite,
which seems alright to me.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 4:21 AM UTC
*islam provided a change of etymology,
ha satan is no longer
a matter of definite or indefinite accusation;
more a case of the accusing
deceived, for it it now know
that the downfall of israel due to king solomon
was due to an accuser indeed,
but its resurrection could only be
incremented by a deceiver.*
p.s. a philosopher that does not meddle
in theological nouns will continue, time and time
again, entrenched in whether
hydrochloric is true to qualify
rather than already lose to the aristotelian
quantification parameter of naming, cf., properly;
apparently there's an atom spare
and it justifies socrates uttering he
knew nothing while being paradoxically engaged
in the previously un-discovered dialectics
to undermine rhetoric with a methodology (i.e.
knowing something).
before they pulled my upper madible wisdom teeth out
i was asked a question by the anaesthetist
to which i replied quo vadis, odd, because i
should have said qua vadis, meaning in translation
not where are you going, but in second in command:
*what is your manner of travelling the path being fulfilled?
by foot or by hoofed trot?*,
which would make up a chiral momentary inertia
where i, a poet, about to have his wisdom teeth pulled
out, and he, an anaesthetist induced a coma on me;
so it made sense, basically.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
kikki obadoo bird in a
kikii obabdoo tree just
sitting there shooting the leaves,
mocking all the trees all up in the air,
no reason to run around town, and no reason to leave.
I'm amazed at it's song.
It has no burden or work to do. It does not toil or spin
and yet is clothed in that finest cloak. happy happy happy,
Like a second semester named sylvester the molester
there is so much I could do.
It's all a little fuzzy and I feel kinda dumb all of a sudden.
I just think I know, which is silly.
It's a good lesson in humility,
but since I am not
sufficient and you
are
please show me
what it is in your
word that I should know.
That we should show ourselves.
I love you God.
I love you with all I am.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
I was quite content
Amid the struggles around me
the car that nearly ran over me
people so busy to make something
out of nothing
cosmopolitan, am I
you must know, can't be shy
In another land, a non Christian one
Christmas doesn't happen, or Thanksgiving
I lived like that for years ignoring it
forgetting them or looking at them from a distance
like an odd right performed by some other people
who dance around a tree
have made it into an industry
that powers an economy
I forgot our holidays, and now I'm back they come along
I remember that sense of duty and obligation
I had before I lived in other worlds, to make them happen
and do what must be done
and now, I don't care and today I spent doing as I pleased
and I was perfectly happy and the"beginning of the year"
will now come and I know it is only St. Sylvester's day
there are so many options about what to do
and one of them is nothing
You may feel sorry for me, that I am so jaded
and I think I should feel wrong for what I do or don't do
but actually, I am happier now, and more free
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 11:04 PM UTC
Hannah said to meet her
at her flat
so I went across the Square
to where her flat was
and knocked at the door
Mrs Scot stood there
Hannah is it?
I nodded
Hannah's it at th' shaps
she said
o right can I come in
and wait?
I said
she stared at me
for a few seconds
as if I'd made
an indecent proposal
ah guess ye can
she said
and she stood back
to let me pass
I went to the passageway
and it smelt of yesterdays
dinner and boiling washing
sit doon in th' livin' room
she said
I sat down
looking around the room
and she went off to the kitchen
the radio was on low
playing Victor Sylvester music
there were black and white photos
on the sideboard
and a big photo on the wall
of a wedding
then the front door opened
and Hannah came in
I'm back
got your shopping
and she walked past
the living room door
o you're here already Benny
she said to me
good just putting this lot away
and we can be off
aff whaur?
her mother said
Benny's showing me
his new school
Hannah said
what's sae special abit 'at?
she said
coming out of the kitchen
like a warrior for battle
his new school in September
I want to see it
Hannah said
her mother pulled a face
and stared at me
is it a wee jimmies skale?
yes Mum a boy's school
Hannah said
I felt out of place
and stared at the wallpaper
right we are off now Mum
see you later
Hannah said
and we went out the door
and into the Square
don't mind her
Hannah said
she's always that way
and I mused
good start to a new day
so we walked off
to where my new school was
about a good mile away
glad to be on our way.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 3:06 AM UTC
Hood boy
Wear sweaters all the time that’s why people call me a hood boy but it’s all good for I grew up in the hood boy so no wonder that I never had a proper boy hood. So why does society expect me to attain manhood? It’s hardest being an artist, so focused on everything thing else but regardless. I hope you understand me, and I don’t know what you expect of me. Why do ya always got to glare at me, for I’m just like you but the way I grew up keeps a distance between you and me. Just because I ain’t got currency you expect me to get things by burglary or end up in the penitentiary for battery. Don’t get mad at me I’m just working in a system that you created, just a hood boy that got everything confiscated. Just my ascribed status not much I can do, just my undenied madness must need some medication to seem sensible to your upper class white man view. But ignore me I’m just a hood boy on the wrong side of the tracks, so don’t try to reform me for your just like ted to my Lorax. **** me over and it wouldn’t end any differently even if I found me a four leaf clover. Cloven in garments and jewels yet the system is rigged for the rest of us but no matter if we play this consumerist game or not we are still deemed ****** fools. Fools for thinking we can attain the American dream for that ***** just an evergreen pipe dream. On the other hand we fools for not making something of ourselves in society, we just deemed lazy *** people bumming welfare just a burden on the notoriety. Cause someone needs to pay for taxes some how and why aren’t anyone raising their eyebrows. Maybe they just cover it with their hoodies, for we to scared to cause a ruckus for those upper class piggies. For they may squeal and whimper, and we don’t want to deal with those spoiled brats tempers. And ain’t no body really understand it’s like them trying to pronounce worchester, so ******* despicable you think I was cat Sylvester. But whatever it’s just a pointless endeavour, and I would be better if I had the chance to show that I’m clever. But whatever I’m just a boy who loves wearing his sweaters, but whatever that our different cultures can never be two birds of a feather. But whatever matter we better off, but whatever maybe we continue to shrug it off.
Feb 22, 2018
Feb 22, 2018 at 2:48 AM UTC
My Demons are trying to taunt me mum, I constantly feel them pushing through. Maybe it's caused by the way I feel, maybe it's because I miss you.
I miss you every day mum, with every beat of my heart. Although I always knew the day would come, the day we had to part.
I never thought you would leave so soon, I wasn't even 30 and you were gone. You never should of left mum, it's here where you belong.
You will always hold a place in my heart, please believe that this is true. Ill always hold a happy place, I can go to think of you.
I cannot seem to grieve mum, nearly two years I have tried. My pain won't seem to get easier mum, it's still as sore as the day you died.
I wish I could stop the pain mum, and just remember the great memories so true. Of love and laughter and dancing round the house, the crazy times just me and you.
I'd love someone to help me, make the bad thoughts and Demons go away, and help me focus on the good memories forever every day.
There are days I have good thoughts, from memories over the years. The ones that make me laugh and smile, yet still bring me to tears.
Before I go on I have to share, a few memories that make me smile. One's that help me through a bad day, even just for a little while.
I remember snowball fights in winter, back walking in the summer. Coming home soaked and covered in mum, then going back and doing it over.
I remember you shouting and laughing at me, soaked and covered in mud those days when I came home. Making me sit outside til I dried off, looking like a little garden gnome.
I remember being in Scarborough and walking with you and dad, making sylvester speech sounds making you laugh so bad.
I remember you lent over, laughing so hard out loud, those days we had were magical, u always looked at me so proud.
You're other little girl is getting married mum, I can't believe it's true, she knows you will be there with her mum, she really misses you.
She knows you will be with her, when she walks down the Isle, she knows you're there in spirit mum, watching with pride and a smile.
I'm trying to push my life forward mum, I hope that you can see, and when the day comes that I get married mum, I hope you are there with me.
I'm going to write off now mum, i really need to sleep, ill see you in my dreams mum, with the memories I keep.
Goodnight, godbless, sleep well mum.
I love you oh so true,
Sending love and kisses to the stars,
Sent from me to you.
I love you mum xxxx
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC
valentines is today? odd, i don't feel anything. sylvester's is more depressing anyhow, that catholic name for new year's eve gets me, rough; now for a boxing match; the first kiss went to the bone, we clipped our buckteeth going beyond the lips: clumsy kissing paved the way to quote her, on our first date, buying an edward hopper book in which she wrote: dearest mateusz (mateush in english), thanks for a wonderful day in london! i doubt you'll end up like any of the people in hoppy's paintings. your to good looking, lots of love, a promise with the dot above the i signed with a morphing into a heart.
these days i laugh for two people,
i'm happy for two people,
my diabolical laugh
like a magpie's cackle call
resounds with searching depths,
and such contentment is only
reserved for the few
who rather show a singularity,
a monohumanism, akin to monotheism,
of a man isolated from his peers,
who sometimes plays a broken
guitar to raise the dead, and subsequently
haunt the living, with him alive,
but the living not allowed entry,
merely a distance of shutting up
in a nestling hope of counters
of providing more, not akin to
mozart and the others in the + (plus)
category, but in the x (multiple) category...
of seeing in near proximity a thousand
dramas of themselves in grown sperms
outside the ova: innocently they craft
the tale of the bees and the birds thereafter.
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
It wasn't funny,
I'd used every spare sock.
Every newspaper that had past my letter box..
I couldn't use my ******* magazine
as the pages had mysteriously
stuck together??
So I walked like a crab
into my back garden..
My hose pipe connected,
I know how Sylvester Stallone felt
In demolition man,
three sea shells..
F##k this S##t,
but no morality machine
for spare sheets....
F#########ck....
Ok lets get the water pressure just right,
I turn it on and my ***** swing like a pendulum.
dam that made my eyes water..
This time I put it in the right place,
a unique sensation,
but just as I was clean,
my back porch light turned on..
All I heard was,
"Frank don't worry its cold,
As he laughed out loud.
I walked back in my ***** sore,
but **** fresh clean,
even though embarrassed..
Apr 5, 2020
Apr 5, 2020 at 6:09 PM UTC
Have you heard about the guy
Who never goes outside
Windows covered with blinds
Only a dim light burning inside
Neighbours wonder what's on his mind.
Truth be told
He doesn't know
Why was he born
Where should he go
When so little has been exposed
And all he was told
Is to not let the darkness get a hold
For that he has to stay alone
Accompanied by the movies from the 90s
Starring with Sylvester Stallone.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 3:18 AM UTC