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tangshunzi Jun 2014
Se hai effettuato il login per Style Me Pretty questa mattina alla ricerca di qualcosa che stava per allietare la abiti da sposa on line vostra giornata .siete fortunati .Abbiamo un super allegro .super felice .assolutamente stupendo Tahoe matrimonio da Em The Gem e di mettere un sorriso sul



mio volto che non sta andando da nessuna parte in qualunque momento presto .

ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsRanchStylesCasual Elegance

dalla splendida sposa .Mio marito .Nick .e ** incontrato 10 anni fa a Tahoe come membri della UC Davis Ski Team .Quando diventando impegnati lo scorso agosto .abbiamo concordato la nostra posizione di nozze doveva essere significative e univoche .Tahoe è stata la scelta naturale .dal momento che è dove ci siamo conosciuti e continuiamo a visitare .Dopo la visualizzazione di più sedi Tahoe .abbiamo scoperto la splendida Northstar Zephyr Lodge .Con una splendida vista Tahoe Mountain Vista e la capacità di ospitare comodamente i nostri 200 + ospiti .il lodge Zephyr forma il conto perfettamente .La caratteristica migliore : gli ospiti sarebbero arrivati ​​tramite impianti di risalita !Essendo un nuovo lodge di sci .il nostro matrimonio è stata la prima cerimonia e il ricevimento nella posizione .quindi è stato emozionante mettere insieme tutti i dettagli .

Come graphic designer .si è ipotizzato che vorrei progettare tutto da solo .e io volentieri ha accettato la sfida .Per i nostri colori di nozze .abbiamo scelto il fucsia e giallo senape .Abbiamo apprezzato la felice .combo estate e anche come spuntato contro i colori forestali naturali .Per i nostri materiali cartacei di matrimonio .volevamo un look semplicistica che era spensierata e riflette il nostro spazio .** creato semplici caricature di Nick e io.insieme con uno dei nostri Goldendoodle .Maisie .che abbiamo usato per gli inviti .oltre alla giornata di materiali nozze e segnaletica .Abbiamo inserito dettagli in legno nella nostra cancelleria per riflettere la posizione.** disegnato tutto.dal salvare le date e programmi .fino ai pacchetti Toss riso .

La maggior parte delle decorazioni era DIY .Volevamo semplici decorazioni che mostrare il luogo moderno .ancora rustico e non eclissare gli scorci visti attraverso il soffitto stava quasi per finestre del piano .Abbiamo ordinato i nostri fiori alla rinfusa da un negozio di fiorista locale e .con l'aiuto di amici e familiari .organizzato loro il giorno prima dell'evento con barattoli riciclati.La sede ha fornito bei tavoli in legno che abbiamo accentato con corridori di colore neutro.Ai tavoli .abbiamo lasciato divertente gratta carte pop - quiz e penny per i nostri ospiti di godere .

schede magnetiche da Ikea visualizzare le nostre schede di scorta .Abbiamo fatto il nostro tessuto coperto di senape gialla e fucsia magneti pulsante per apporre le carte per le tavole .Per favori .abbiamo implementato la versione montagna Tahoe di un candy bar : il bar self-service trail mix !

abiti da sposa corti le damigelle indossavano gonne di seta neutri da BHLDN e ciascuno ha scelto i propri piani oltre a scarpe gialle .I testimoni dello sposo indossava pantaloni J. Crew e camicie bianche e senape cravatte gialle per una sensazione causale montagna .La madre dello sposo ha creato tutti i mazzi di fiori e boutonnieres .

Northstar ha fatto un lavoro meraviglioso appartamento il cibo cena e bevande .Il dessert buffet consisteva di tutti i dolci fatti in casa per gentile concessione di amici e familiari .Macarons .brownies .biscotti .caramelle e dolcetti piacquero molte pance .Dopo una lunga notte di balli .feste e bere .gli ospiti afferrato bastoncini luminosi per illuminare la loro strada giù per la montagna tramite gondola.E 'stata una bella giornata e la notte magica ricorderemo per sempre

Fotografia : Em The Gem | Wedding Planner : . Nancie Schoener | Wedding Gown : Mikella | capelli: Krystle Tanton | nuziale capelli pettine : Prim e Posies | damigella d'onore Gonne : BHLDN| Dress ballare: Anthropologie | Orecchini : Kate ***** | floreale Sash abbellimento : Belle de Benoir | Groomsmen Cravatte : Ashley NEF | Guest Book : Bridewell mercato | Inviti e Giorno della cancelleria : Elsie J | Trucco : Beauty Box Makeup Arte | Photo Booth :pic Box | cancelleria Fotografia : Lindsey Chin - Jones | Muta : J. Crew | Luogo : Northstar Zephyr LodgeBHLDN e J.Crew sono membri della nostra Look Book .Per ulteriori informazioni su come vengono scelti i membri .fare clic qui
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=422
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Northstar Zephyr Lodge Wedding_vestiti da sposa
WS Warner Nov 2013
Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.


Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.

Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner
To Eileen
JJ Hutton Dec 2012
Bradley, don't climb, the boy's mother says as she pries him off the bronze left shoulder of Sam Walton. She dusts the boy's coat. *Wait here a second. She begins digging in her purse. Her grey, sweatpants'd husband holds a point-n-shoot digital camera. The wind is inconveniencing him. The fog is inconveniencing him. Sorry, sweetie. I'm looking for a tissue. Every word his wife says shatters like glass.  He's been on the road too long. Of all the places, why make a pilgrim's stop at Kingfisher, Oklahoma?

It's the 7th of December. A day FDR said would live in infamy. It's also my birthday (thanks for setting the stage, Roosevelt). And here I am. Making my own pilgrim's stop at a subpar statue marking the birthplace of Mr. Sam Walton with no one for company but a green thermos and these tourists.

While his mother is distracted, the boy tears at yellowed grass. He pretends to feed the blades to Sam Walton's open-mouthed and unexplained canine. The husband sighs.

Ah! I found them, the mother reassures. Grimacing, as though shards of her words have lodged in the far corners of his brain, the husband asks,

Are we ready?

Not bad. The tiny bubbles from the champagne firecracker on my tongue as I lower the green thermos. Reminders of spilt coffee dot its sides like the little, overlooked  coastal islands of New England. Reaching? I know. But I'm learning to take notice of things, Sam. Patience.

I got into town before the liquor store opened. I vultured behind steering column. After a glance, a longhaired shopkeep with an oak cask belly shook his head in disdain for my entire generation. Turned the key. Flipped the sign from closed to open. Not to appear eager, I waited for a commercial break on the radio. I walked through. A bell chimed. Thirsty, son? the shopkeep asked.

I always am at the sound of a bell, I responded.

Let me get this off real quick, the mother says to Sam Walton as she wipes dry, white bird **** off a deep-cut wrinkle in his bronze forehead. Can't take a picture with you looking like that. The mother turns around. Offers an unsteady, white flag smile to her husband. Looks down at her boy. Bradley, stop playing with the grass. I mean it. Drop it. Stand by Mommy. We're going to take a picture.

Why?

Whiskey modge podged with ***** with wine with gin. Champagne. Champagne. Confused? lines joyously sparked from the edges of the shopkeep's eyes and lightning'd down his cheeks. Making him seem pleasant for the first time. Proud, even. I've organized the drinks by country of origin. Notice the flags?

What does France's flag look like?

France is over here. Looking for a wine? Perhaps a rich cognac? He led me down a densely packed aisle. Little ratings cards jutted out underneath each bottle.

Champagne, actually.

I see. I see. Is something ending or something beginning?

Both.

The boy places his hand on the dog's head. Pretends to ruffle its frozen fur.

Ready?

Ready.

Click. A flash goes off. Automatic.

Now can we leave? the boys pleads.

Why are you being so antsy?

It's just another stupid statue. I'm tired of this stupid trip. I just want to go home.

Today's my birthday. I lowered the champagne as I poured it into the green thermos. I kept watch for shoppers and cart crewmen in the parking lot. No one seemed to notice the transfer. The shopkeep ended up selling me an American bubbly. Silent Girl. I liked the artwork. A large-breasted woman with puckered lips stared down the sights of a .44 pointed directly at the drinker. Black and white. Refreshing to see someone so up-front.

The mother opened one of the rear doors on the family's Tahoe. No, you don't get a toy. Brats don't get toys. Brats get quiet time. She slammed the door.

Just you and me, Sam. A drink. Sorry, I didn't bring another cup. I lean in close. Trace the wrinkles of his forehead, where the sculptor stuck his knife deep. As I do, my own wrinkles become more apparent.

You know I heard a minister talking about you a week ago. I remove my hand from Sam's face. Take another drink. Apparently, your last words are his claim to fame. He said your nurse divulged them to him. You should see him. Each church he visits, he opens with, 'Anyone know what Sam Walton's last words were?' He doesn't ease into it or anything.

'Sam Walton's last words were actually, I blew it.' Can you believe that? 'I blew it.' Don't worry, Sam. I didn't buy it. That answer is for the customer. Not for truth. People love to think at the end of your successful trajectory, you'd just Solomon out. Fizzle. 'Vanity! Vanity!' I'd like to think there you lied in your hospital bed. In your private room. 7th Floor. Curtains open. Blue sky free of blackbirds. Your family around you. And your mouth tasting like metal. Like blood. The gears of your existence grinding to an end. And I bet you hated everyone in that room. Your wife wiping spittle off your mouth with a red handkerchief. You pushing her arthritic claws away. I bet one of your grandkids was at the end of the bed. His hair unwashed for two days. Uncombed for six months. A tall cow suckling your success. And I bet that clumsy hair was blocking the television. You told him to move.

When he moved, something horrendous was on. A soap opera. Something frustratingly ironic. General Hospital. Hit the red button. Called in the nurse. And your last words, 'Change the channel.' She put it on a Cowboys game. You watched Aikman throw an interception. Closed your eyelids. Changed the channel.

It's the 7th of December, Sam. It's my birthday. A milestone, Sam. So, there's cause for change. I told you the same ambition in you coursed through me. That I too, had sat in the back booth of diners alone -- conspiring. And while you're eternal bronze, while you're family photos, I'm mortal to a fault. But allowed to change my mind. I don't want to be ambitious, Sam. That's what I came to say. I'm not coming back to wail at this wall. Legacy, you taught me, is not in my hands. Even if I make a helluva go at it on this sphere, I run the risk of getting turned into half a statue with an idiot dog sidekick. You can dam a river, but ultimately rivers don't give a ****. They flow where they please.

That's the end. The beginning is that I can go anywhere from here. That's worth celebrating. I tilt the green thermos and let champagne run down Sam Walton's still face. This river runs onward. Without fear of legacy, of memory. I'm going to love, Sam. I'm going to love fully. Onward. While you stay put. A stupid statue.

Sam Walton is silent. Quiet time.
Ryan Bowdish Dec 2010
Blasting sparkling blizzards
White skies suffocating;
A ****** of crows hiding.
Chattering from treebark
Petrified little rodents (final)
Serenity in personified wind
Given shape through fog and flake
A symphony of schools of tiny pearly fish
Slamdancing in steam from generators
Perspiring the only heat (miles)

Needles on branches leaking natural
******, made by contrast of mother-of-pearl
Glistening from coral made in woodland;
Empires of organic respiration
Evolved into perfect lungs.
Let the Big Fish gather!
Stalagtites from shed-ceiling
Melting slowly. Cones sprouting
From ground of perfectly smooth rest
Nesting in honeycombs of golden hashish
Leaves falling from stems busted
Water filling up airlocks long since rusted
And the rooftops of cars and homes are dusted

A shroud of grey cloud, nothing comes in
No one goes out. Fortress, sanctuary,
Harmony, charm. Schools stop worrying.
No sharks, no wolves.
Only lonely, shivering coyotes.
And nestled cubs in bedspreads
Let your tongue out, divulge, reel in...
Partake...
Ingest.
Ryan Bowdish Dec 2010
I'm about to take a cruise to an arctic wonderland
Trees will be tumbling and white
Cars will be snow-blown and frosted
My limbs will be hypothermic and exhausted
The sky will be a dull gray
I will be enclosed in sepia tones
Black and white like the sweet 50's.

But constantly I wish I'd happen to spy
Your black silhouette on the milky white sky.
Grace Pickard Apr 2015
Enveloped with pine-
Stretched across statelines:
Beauteous blue upon envious emerald
Pooled amongst royal white mountains
Adorned with grey jewels of centuries
Emitting sweet, earthy aroma
She caresses the land.
Mother to lakes hidden by her red fir,
Provider to the fiery yellow cress
Hydrant for all animals alike.
M(ama) Rose keeps a chary eye
on her joint creation:
The provider, the mother,
The revered, grandiose puddle
is threatened by scarcity.
The royal white mountains,
Remain royal- but lack frost,
And thus the water retreats
Shriveling back 13 feet from shoreline
This once sacrosanct lake---
Devastated.


Keep Tahoe Blue?
Keep Tahoe Wet.
Climate change is not a myth. Sacred places are being destroyed and diminished. All of earth is divine. The world needs everybody's help to counter the suffering, don't lose hope and keep action.
Jolene Heather Jun 2014
She had no desire to be a kept woman in a Tahoe with two point five kids
Give her a car that runs, a man to sing to her, and the open road

She doesn't want a house in the burbs and a gang of desperate housewives
She's rather live in a van or a tent and carry on with a man that can hunt

She doesn't want a wedding day and a white picket fence
Let her run in the wild and make love under the stars

*"Wild man
Where is my wild man
Lets stand at the edge of the world
and conquer it together."
David Ehrgott Apr 2015
Mary took her lamb to vacation in the Sierra Nevadas.
Until the Donners showed up one day unexpectedly.

Mary just wasn't the same after that.
David Ehrgott May 2016
In one strike
In a split second of time
Heaven turns into a hell
Megan Jones Jul 2019
Walking up the stairs, it was quiet
Feeling that old **** carpet, like pillows beneath my toes
The house smelled the same, of dust and wood, sometimes
a hint of clean laundry and vanilla candles
Approaching the room - hit like a stroke - or a baseball
to the left eye in 1998

A museum of furniture, clothing, trophies, memories-
Notes whose meanings no longer could be immediately recalled,
And some we wouldn't want to remember
A slip of paper, under my mattress, it read "Please
just let me say I'm sorry one more time, I can't lose you"
Signed, The First Girl I Thought I Loved
She now has three children and goes on vacations to Lake Tahoe
To see the sunset, to breathe again and again

I searched everywhere for the box, the one where we
keep sentimental **** because it feels wrong to throw it away
Then I remembered the day she threw it in the street, saying
"You think they care about you? You think any of these people know what you really are? Nobody will ever love you like your mother loves you"
The screen door cracked that day and my memories
Oh, they flew away like paper airplanes, flying so high

I sighed to release myself, to be free of it
Grabbed the bright red canister and began
Drowning the time capsule, the mausoleum, familiarity dissipating
I lit the match, paused for a brief moment of silence
Then watched as it was devoured, chemically altered

You both preserved this room, just the way it was
Locked me in that room, throwing away the key
Safeguarding these memories, only the ones easier to swallow
Maybe if it never changed, then I would not have
Maybe if it all stayed in place, it would be ready for my return
Let this serve as a reminder
That room killed me, and now it dies with you.
I'm writing a series about control. The ways in which people manipulate time, memories, feelings etc. as a means of determining and predicting what free-thinking individuals do/feel/say... All, supposedly, in the name of love or as a means to preemptively protect themselves from being subjected to the uncontrollable.
marriegegirl Jun 2014
<p><p>Les environs magnifiques de Squaw Valley .les détails classiques avec une touche rustique par Summit Soiree.jeunes mariés tiré à quatre épingles et Virgile Bunao faire ce qu'il fait le mieux ;prendre un beau cliché après l'autre .Ce mariage va tirer droit vers le haut de votre liste de favoris .je vous le garantis .Voir beaucoup plus ici .\u003cp\u003ePartager cette superbe galerie ColorsSeasonsSummerSettingsOudoorStylesAl Fresque <p>C'était un régal pour capturer Sarah et la session d'engagement de Daniel pendant Thanksgiving 2012 à Charleston .Le temps était maintenant en train de refroidir et de s'installer de l'apogée de la chaleur fou nous avons tendance à obtenir ici .mais qui ne les empêche pas de regarder si frais et si dans l'amour .Je comptais les jours avant leur mariage  <a href="http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-demoiselle-dhonneur-c-60"><b>robe de demoiselle d'honneur</b></a>  .à photographiez des scènes qui ont eu lieu .Je ne savais pas comment époustouflé je serais au milieu de ces montagnes .Lake Tahoe est un endroit magnifique et la joie de leurs familles et l'excitation Sarah et Daniel présentait à chaque fois mon appareil photo et j'ai regardé les faits Squaw Valley incroyablement picturesque.Being si élevé .chaque centimètre de cet endroit avait une lueur intense .Tout brillait .Sarah brillait .Daniel brillait .La verdure brillait .Lors de la cérémonie .la petite niche dans les bois .nous étions à eu un peu de lumière magnifique .À ce moment .il était clair que je devais laisser à Sarah .Daniel .leurs invités .et le soleil de faire toute cette journée mémorable .Ils ont fait Photographie <p>: Virgil Bunao | planification de l'événement: . Sommet Soiree | Robe <b>robe de demoiselle d honneur pas cher</b>  de mariage: Monique Lhuillier | Cérémonie Lieu: Plump Jack Inn | Réception Lieu: Plump Jack Inn | Restauration : Plump Jack InnMonique Lhuillier est un membre de notre Look Book .Pour plus d'informations sur la façon dont les membres sont choisis .cliquez ici .Virgile Bunao photographie est  <a href="http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-demoiselle-dhonneur-pas-cher-c-20"><b>robe de demoiselle d honneur pas cher</b></a>  un membre de notre Little Black Book .Découvrez comment les membres sont choisis  <p><a href="http://modedomicile.com/goods.php?id=2423" target="blank"><img width="240" height="320" src="http://188.138.88.219/imagesld/td//t35/productthumb/1/4187435353535396606.jpg"></a></p>  en visitant notre page de FAQ .Virgile Bunao Photographie voir le</p>
John Mahoney Mar 2012
i.
you fought like a tiger -
to stop me from rubbing
sun screen on your delicate
skin, you hated the greasy
feel, and so ran into the ocean
then rolled in the sand and
kicked sand in my face,
               at four
Great Hollow Beach, Truro
     June, 1994

ii.
you never could resist -
if we turned our back
even for a minute you
were off to find the largest
boulder, you would climb to
the top and raise your arms
in victory, and always, always
land in the water, wet and cold,
              at eight
City Beach, South Lake Tahoe
     June, 1998

iii.
oh, how Mt. Baldy called to you -
the giant of a sand dune,
moving inland as a glacier,
a sweep of sand blowing
from the peak ridge, like
the banner of heaven, but
i carried you all the way
back to the house after
you cut your foot on a shard
of glass, carelessly abandoned,
              at eleven
Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore
     June, 2001
Watson Meyer Jun 2012
As i look through my glass door, i see the reflection of the sun colliding towards my eyes. Everything in the sun has a light orange color, perfect for mornings. The landscape i see reminds me only of child stories built over and over in my mind. This is what you call rolling hills. in the left, i notice few houses in between each luscious fields growing at natures will. The fields are thriving. i look farther out and i see giant, yet elegant mountains. These mountains shine over all i see. my eyes wander down to notice a small lake. Small in comparison to beauteous lakes such as Tahoe and the Great Lakes. this small lake has formed constant ripples from the caressing breeze to start a day. Just below me, a deer prunes the overgrown bushes. The deer's fur rustled from something i may never know. I look to the sky to notice the ragged, torn, yet continual clouds. some prominent, others, not so. The last thing i pick up is the circular swiss cheese in the sky. The cheese falling back from it's strong, bright moment of fame. My feet are cold against the wood floor, and i remember i have i life to catch up to. I must let time take its course as the landscape will.
Willard May 2018
I want to be a crab cake
because I like tall buildings
perpendicular to highways,
penthouse balconies
thirty meter diving platforms.

whenever in San Fran,
i pancake my hands together
so i don't do impromptu Physics
eyeballing skyscrapers.

I want to be a crab cake
because I like tornado sirens
at two in the morning,
someone fetal position mouthwash drunk
in the bed next to me.

whenever in Birmingham,
i listen to my headphones;
tinnitus a siren wail
long after the flight home.

I want to be a crab cake
because I like bridge collapses;
infrastructure devastation
west of Florida,
killing all granola exports.

whenever in Portland,
i waitlist college signs
and estimate the weight limit
of a commuter bridge.

I want to be a crab cake
because the sunsets here
give me panic attacks.

it used to not,
but enough honey has built up
so bees swarm the bonnet
whenever there's a
blood orange tint.

I want to be a crab cake
because I don't like
the seafood here

or Sushi Pier discussions
of future trajectories
while rain pours on our
trout marinated in
Tahoe Tessie **** water.

I want to be a crab cake
because the mountains
bug me out.

i want flat land
where there are
blood prints on highways,
broken families in Tornado Valley,
and remains of promising bridges.

i want to be a crab cake
because i want the world
to eat me up.
um, yeah, poetry.
Mystic lake, nestled in the kind of scenery
Landscape painters drive many miles to find.
Water. so clear you can see
Almost to creation and the rocks
A hundred feet below.
Cold but never frozen,
It’s water is the color of a Summer sky
Because it is so pure.

Recreation Paradise straddling two states-
Boating, hiking, swimming…
And on one side there’s gambling
Where you can exercise your fortune
With the spinning of a set of wheels
Or the rolling of the dice.
Such popularity has brought
A shadow to the pristine shoreline.

Development and overuse
Are sullying the waters
Once a vivid cerulean,
But now a dimmer version of the color
With a mistiness as depths increase.
Is it too late to stop the damage
Can people yet be made to care
And turn around the gradual fading
Of one if God’s most premier jewels
ljm
BLT's Merriam Webster challenge. Not happy with this one at all. Sounds like a news report, not a poem.
“Television brought the brutality of war into the comfort of the living room.   Vietnam was lost in the living rooms of America—not on the battlefields of Vietnam.”                              Marshall McLuhan

You understand where I'm coming from,
Reader Rabbit, you twisted ****? Maybe not;
While you and your boy/girlfriend, later your wife/husband,
Were ******* backpacks around Europe,
I was of a less fortunate, less frivolous cohort,
Like the poor, who always miss the fun stuff.
So I stayed home and waited, dreading time,
Treading water in Queens,
Doing the graveyard shift at the Wonder Bread Bakery in Jamaica,
(No, not that Jamaica, mun.)
Building bodies 12 ways, and sweating out the inevitable,
Praying to my lesser god not to hear from my local draft board.
And who was I to disturb the universe?
“It ain’t me, it ain't me, I ain't no senator's son;
It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no fortunate one, lawd naw.”
(Send  "Fortunate Son" Ringtone to your Cell)  
I was just another cynical working-class hero,
Unlike you, numb nuts, and the rest of your silver surfer friends.
I knew I’d wind up without my teddy bear,
Convinced I’d end up sans security blanket,
With no ****-vacant musical chair,
To plop my sorry non-exempt, 1A **** cheeks
Down into when the music stopped,
When the music’s over, turn out the light--Jim Morrison,
Lizard King--turn out the light.
My horse, my horse . . . no wait . . . **** the horse . . .
My kingdom, my kingdom for a 2-S college deferment!
What kingdom?  
What was it Jesus said?
Not of this earth, anyway.
Colonial Indochina: rich man's war, poor man's fight;
It was such an efficient way to rid trash from poor neighborhoods.

Needless to say, I’ve been having a little trouble adjusting ever since,
Since I got back from that Kafkaesque Disneyland Jungle Cruise,
My personal Cold War thriller,
My Tecumseh Sherman “War is All Hell” war,
My war: 45 years ago next week.
These things take time:
So says the recorded message on the VA’s PTSD Hotline.
45 years ago I packed up my duffle,
Packed for what I thought was going to be my last time in uniform,
Grabbed my Army discharge papers, and
Limp-dicked out the side door of,
The Veterans Hospital in St. Albans, County of Queens.
I’d like to say I never looked back. But I’d be lying.

(cue PSA: VA Reaches Out to Veterans:
The Department of Veterans Affairs will begin,
Contacting nearly 570,000 recent combat veterans May 1,
To ensure they know about VA's medical services and other benefits.)

Today and every day is 11-11, Veterans Day—
What gets me now is that all my time since The Nam,
Is on average two lifetimes,
For all those sent home, bagged and tagged.
Is it survivor’s guilt? I doubt it.

You may not understand this, but I miss that freaky jungle.
I felt safe there.
How quickly I learned to expect the unexpected,
And that meant to expect the worse,
Finding my comfort zone the more uncomfortable, the worse it got.
I miss the wet weight of the air,
The cloying heat and humidity.
Humidity: a plain and simple meteorological miracle,
When you have plenty of time to really think about it,
Which I did: 365 days and a wake-up.
You know that whole gorgeous hydrologic cycle thing?
I miss the rain, the sound of falling rain.
I miss the other sounds, every buzz and click,
All the arcane and dismal things that go screech in the night.
And that relentless insect hum,
The jungle vibrating and intense,
The colors vibrating too, especially that electric green,
A green so vivid, every leaf and vine,
"The world's richest repository of terrestrial biodiversity,” I read in some nature magazine,
Lying naked in bed while my therapist ****** me off the other day.
All those freaky creatures great and small,
Every miraculous living thing that’s really alive and thriving.
And this is why--I think,
Getting obnoxiously philosophical for the moment,
This explains why it got to be so easy to waste what was alive and thriving over there, including and especially our selves.

Death never seemed that permanent, that final over there.
And besides, you couldn’t **** anything for that long,
The critters all looking their wet and slimy same.  
Two minutes in The **** and you were
Killing every ******* gnat and bug,
Every leech and snake, anything &
Anyone that just looked at you sideways.

And the flora? Did I mention the flora?
Soupy Sales: (Smack! Bam!)  “I told you not to mention that.”
The flora:  the plants grew back and they grew back quick.
You chop a path on recon and the next day it’s not there anymore,
So you chop the whole way back to the L-Z.  
Chop, chop, Hop Sing!
You were one smart ****, Hop Sing,
Safe and sound in Lake Tahoe, Nevada-side,
Cooking up Ponderosa pork bellies for,
The Cartwright Clan: Ben, Adam, Hoss & Little Joe.
Meanwhile, I’m not earning any frequent flyer miles,
Aboard a chartered TWA, coffee-tea-or-me,
Royal **** airplane to Saigon,
A place called ** Chi Minh City today.
I remember looking around at the faces on that airplane,
As we landed at Tan Son Nhut,
Those forlorn godforsaken faces,
Black and Chicano and poor white trash boys.
Scared shitless, of course,
But we really were jolly green giants over there,
American conquistadors, Cortez and the Boys,
Seeking gold and glory and, of course,
*******, (www.urbandictionary.com):
That sweet wet hole we all crave,
Can't go for too long without,
Center of our life's desire,
What gives women the upper hand in almost every situation,
Except when you pay in South Vietnamese piastres,
Your basic exchange rate $3.00 *******.

Yes, we were American conquistadors,
But traveling light this trip,
Our black-robed Jesuit fathers having missed the flight.
That’s right, for us no Ad majorem Dei gloriam this time,
Our mission so simple and so clear:
SEARCH & DESTROY.
But mostly, Destroy.

And pretty soon you worked your way up the evolutionary ladder,
From bugs, to fish, to frogs and snakes,
Small varmints and reptiles, birds and rodents;
And by the time you taxonomy out to the runway,
You’re pretty much whacking anything that moves,
Anything you feel like, pretty much any time,
All the time, sometimes just to pass the time,
Just to break up the ******* monotony of it all.
So making the anti-personnel leap got sort of easy:
They all looked the same, didn’t they?
They all wore the same pajamas,
And it was never conducive to grunt longevity,
To nitpick the civilians from the soldiers,
Never a good idea to waste time distinguishing friend from foe.

Good Morning, Vietnam:
We really were nerve-gassed-Adrian Cronauers over there,
G-2 Army oxymoronic intelligence stiffs,
Having a little difficulty finding the enemy,
Having one hell of a time finding a Vietnamese man named "Charlie."
They're all named Nguyen, or Tran, or Thanh or Trong or Bao or Phuc . . .
Oh, ****, I get it now.
I grok the how and why,
Of all the names we’ve used for centuries to dehumanize the enemy:
***** and Nips, Chinks and Slopes,
Huns and Krauts, Redskins and Ivans,
Redcoats and Rebs, Zulus and Mau Maus, *****, Ragheads and Sand ******* . . .
To dehumanize is to be dehumanized.
Nominal dehumanization; linguistic trickery.
It made it easy . . .
Well, easier . . .
To **** you.

What was it Pope Innocent III’s legate advised?
“**** Them All.  Let God sort ‘em out.”

Is it smell of burning flesh that makes me so digress?

Yes, I miss that freaky jungle, my friend.
I miss knowing what to expect and what was to be expected.
And most of all I miss that absolute confidence,
My self-liberating soporific certainty,
That I did not give a **** whether I lived or died,
And no one else did either.
I miss the peaceful place to go,
Coping with fear by letting go,
By writing off my life,
My future "in-country,"
My 12-month tour of duty,
My 365 T.S. Eliot Ash Wednesdays,
Learning to care and not to care,
Cultivating indifference as to,
Whether or not I ever made it Wee, Wee, Wee,
All the way home again.
The answers were right there,
Always there, all the time,
In nursery rhymes, and counting songs,
In psalms and arias, and every blues and rock lyric,
Right there, so right ******* there,
In Kris Kristofferson/Janice Joplin parlance of the times:
“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

And life for me since then--
ONE BIG, FAT-TITTED INCOMPREHENSIBILITY!

What was that Walter Sobjak in The Big Lebowski said?

“This is not 'Nam.
This is bowling.
There are rules.”
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
Flight #177 / Seat #7C - where I'm bound/I have been released

the final part of the trilogy,
re broken lives,
some finalized,
some revitalized,
some, their score,
incomplete

~~~


on the road again,
crossing the continent,
from sea to shining sea,
from one set of Eastern grandkids,
off to see the wizardry
of the West Coast variety

six hours six minutes,
flying high time, weather's fine,
a voices inform us, that will be
our mutual time of peaceful co-existence,
on this particular traversée journey

I've done harder time,
30 years ++ with no parole,
except for poetic verse,
them words,
I learned to parlez-vous parlay

never been afeared of flying high,
even amidst the wickedest black pitch,
tar and feathered thick, which is all the
ovaltine shaped window of the
exterior world, cares to reveal
at thirty thousand feet

the oxygen level in the cabin,
as it usually does,
says hey!
feeling heady boy,
so get good, so get ready,
write us a poem, a new shiny toy,
another of your airborne verbal medley

I've got little upon
to expound,
currently limbo'd
tween fresh, death-revived,
past memories of imprisonment and release,
by the jailers of L'Ancien Régime
and
the soon to feel,
happy anticipation of
Frisco fresh young lives re-greeting us,
long distance visitors with joyous screams,
loud, clear and that may cut
the muddied gloom internal,
like a pair of welcoming,
gleeful, liberating scissors

my windowed widowed refraction,
directs my carpaccio-thin guise
to pierce onwards a well trod state of
deeper reflection

noting that we will soon be flying over
water poisoned Flint,
in the state of Michigan,
just missing by an inching,
Paul Simon's sung request,
his "all come to Saginaw" dare

yet, I don't know where I am,
though the course trajectory
pilot-officially programmed and set,
ticketed firect  through to
San Francisco

nonetheless, my internal organs all feel lost,
misplaced and turned down around,
passing directly over cities heard of
and yet never seen or footed,
can I still claim to have been there?

same question differently couched,
providing this passenger's headache,
I was there, of this world,
for the almost forty years plus,
though I wasn't really present,
merely accounted for,
finally learning that "freedom"
is just another word

and though the Angel of Death,
scheduled, made a pre-flight pick up,
he left part of me behind
and on board,
to pick up after,
steward some of his and my
messes

the eyes, the brain, the whole noggin,
search for secret signs,
potent portents, turn indicators,
that this gloomy doom,  cloud thicket,
this too shall pass,
this last shared repast of shards,
this,
my so long now song
an au revoir to
"sad eyed lady of the lowlands"

noting that I am outbound and seated,
on a bunch of lucky sevens, flight and seat,
could be my luck is youthful changing?

where I'm bound
I can't tell,
I'll let you know when I get there
when I know, how I'll know,
I don't know, maybe some
extrusion of new words will speak,
at landing time, a different voice,
where and when I'm bound,
that will cry out


"now unbound,
at last,
at last,
I have been released"
**

~~~
2/11~12/2016
started while over the Great Lakes, Michigan, and Wisconsin;
completed over Tahoe, Carson City, & Sacramento
"With your childhood flames on your midnight rug,
And your Spanish manners and your mother's drugs,
And your cowboy mouth and your curfew plugs,
Who among them do you think could resist you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,

Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?


Oh, how could they ever mistake you?

They wished you'd accepted the blame for the farm,
But with the sea at your feet and the phony false alarm,
And with the child of a hoodlum wrapped up in your arms,

How could they ever, ever persuade you?
Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,

My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?

With your sheet-metal memory of Cannery Row,
And your magazine-husband who one day
just had to go,
And your gentleness now, which you just can't help but show,
Who among them do you think would employ you?

Now you stand with your thief, you're on his parole
With your holy medallion which your fingertips fold,
And your saintlike face and your ghostlike soul,

Oh, who among them do you think could destroy you?

Sad-eyed lady of the lowlands,
Where the sad-eyed prophet says that no man comes,

My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,
Should I leave them by your gate,
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?


Read more: Bob Dylan - Sad - Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands Lyrics | MetroLyrics
Zulu Samperfas Nov 2012
Anxious, fears flitting in and out, through my head and back again
feeling like I know what it is to stand for the verdict
to live the last few hours on Death Row
And it is only a job, a silly job, a source of income
but this feeling, the same as I had last year when I lost
part of what made the job interesting
but this feeling that I have that I am so often dead on correct about
an intuition that pierces me and sets me on edge
and so often comes true
Maybe I would give up this intelligence, this ability to foresee for a little peace of mind
But no, there can never be too much you know, too much you can see
the water can never be too clear, the view never too deep

Bright white plates are placed at the bottom of Lake Tahoe
to measure the clarity of the water
which is now murkier than in Mark Twain's day
so the plates must be put closer to the surface
and I don't want that
to lose that purity of sensitivity
I only want to be able to know and not fear
So keep the plates where they are
the water remains pure and it has to

You are going to fire me I am nearly sure
I don't deserve it, but I didn't deserve to lose what I lost last year
when I had the same feeling
Listen to stories as I spill
Cuz this something that's too **** real
Hard for you to dodge my lyrical collage
So step with me into this reality first
I woke up then I looked up
I see it's a l
Past quarter to nine
And woodys on
At twelve
But forget that verse cuz it was only the spirits in a thirst
Called up a few homies while I'm laying in the bed
Watchin' Wilma and Fred then a thought occured to my head
I told my boys we should go out
Maybe a stripper club or diner
But either way we need to roll out
So I got dressed made sure I was good looking
Check the mirror even it was shooken
Got a make move moving real fast ya see
Cuz I gotta my Posse to G -E -T

My Posse on MLK My Posse on MLK
My Posse On MLK


Now once I pulled up in the ******* truck
Ya know the big Tahoe where I tie hoes? Get it
Naw I'm just clowning thinkin a groove so we can start soundin'
Off to beat our vocals meet
We acting real silly up goes the dilly
They playing throwback of Magoo and Timbaland on the track
Way back up jumps the boogie all in me
Now I'm amped with my Posse
We ready to get it crackin'
And no stoppin' us G
Like Reggie Miller on three top of key
Where we all love to meet
We check each other make sure we fresh
Cuz the girlies love to test the way we dress
So we now in the street bass bumpin' with the beat
Gotta admit I had to roll up a swisher sweet
Nothing to see here haters cuz we gettin ready to raid ya


My Posse on MLK My Posse on MLK
My Posse On MLK


As we make into the club I'm feeling real good
But I hate that songs scrubs
Girls stop fronting djs cutting
Got everybody in the club jumpin'
Mens is grinding on girls behinds and
And there me and posse in long line and
Next thing ya know they move us to the front row
VIP status man I'm feeling the baddest
Once we got on set
I told the dj to change the rec so I can show em
How cold me and posse gets
Once I touch the mic their  was a long silence
Microphone screeching
But stop once the rhymes started preaching
Everybody nodding having a good time
Out comes the rhymes break em every time
Throwin' hards thrills so ya better chills
Or else my Posse going to rearrange ya grill
Now that ya in a trance with my music
That's makes ya dance
And all this time they had nothing to say
Cuz my Posse to Ill from MLK
Toni May 2014
I was 17.
My hair was shaggy, I finally had some
curves, and my room was always a mess.

He was 18.
He was taller than me by a foot, so strong
and devastatingly charming.

He was a gentleman.
He never sagged his pants, he liked big
expensive watches, Zippos, and taking
girls out for dinner.
He'd offer to drive me home even though
I live down the street.
The first night we met he shook my
hand just like a man should.

He was grandma's basement.
A secret place that's always a mess
with crushed beers littered on the floor,
bleary stains, and ***** smells.
Where Tuesdays are spent like Fridays
making memories with friends we all
hardly remember.

He'd try to sneak looks at me from
across the room.

He was my best friend.
We saw each other ever day for
weeks, never getting sick of it.
We swallowed pizza like air, talked
with our mouths full, and belched
like a couple of boys.

He was FIDLAR.
One day I said, "Have you heard this band?"
He stared at me in a daze, turned up
the volume, and that was that.
The whole neighborhood could hear us
singing along that day.

He was a green Chevy Tahoe.
It could be heard from down the street.
I'd wait to hear the roar outside my window.
The passenger seat, a second home.
My feet on the dash, his wrist dripped
over the steering wheel.
We had no cares in the world.

He was getting high
at 3 in the morning outside my
house while my parents sleep.
I already felt like I was on drugs, so
no high compared.
But we laughed, and laughed, and laughed
some more until out ribs were sore.

He was a pack of camel blues.
His lips stained my neck. Nicotine on
my tongue, so sweet.
He'd flip a stoge for luck, leaving it for last.

That's when I knew.
Maybe we'd get lucky somehow.

Has she ever noticed the
pungent smell my skin leaves?
When he goes back to her,
leaving me for last.
This may be one of my favorite poems to write just because I really needed to write about this whole situation happening in my life.
Max Barsness Jun 2018
And that could be you
Or me
Bare and isolated
Not dead
Nor dreaming
But desiring
Any sense of normality
Stamping our feet deep into a soil
Of those encircling us
Demanding to stay
“That’s ok.
but if you fall, we won’t catch you”
Sjr1000 Feb 2019
My life long friend
Friendship which goes the distance
We stand on the edge of the great abyss
This last little bit we have to take alone.

A life long friendship nourished and encouraged
Learning from you how to love
each and every one
Learning what it means to be
I and thou

Heading downstairs for one more round

Looking in the mirror
Integrity or despair?

It's all been there

But this life is like jumping
Into Tahoe on a warm summer day,
And hitting mountain thawing snow
You could do it
I never could
The naked fisherman in the Golden trout wilderness

The Buddha on the road

We stayed so young
While we got so old
Couldn't have done that
Without you

The ocean is still out there with your footprints in the morning sand
Your molecules in the laps you swam
The poetry of motion

The healing brought

All of this and nothing more
Every day our friendship,
a blessing
In everyway.
hollowings Oct 2015
The crisped air shuddered soundly through my cracked window
Carefully weaving wistful wanderings into my mind
lacking of self pity and doubt
Im taken back to a time about
a year or so ago
when money didn’t matter
and I still had a home

Now I’m sitting in a tahoe
shootin arrows at apollo
wondering if Ill ever find
where all my wasted wishes go
cuz the timer reads 11:12
just a minute past those dreams are shelved
and I’m lost in october
finding out my mental states desolved
resolving resolutions made at 11:59
287 days ago
not quite sure if can make it 68 more
and still be fine.
Thinking of You Feb 2023
You came up to Tahoe for the weekend.
I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone as nice and thoughtful as you.
I’ve never felt so cared for.
It made me feel overwhelmed.
Uncomfortable even.
How cared for I felt.
It made me want to push away.

Everything I want.
But I’m squirming in your affection.

I realize I wouldn’t squirm if you pulled away.
If you back burnered me.
If you acted like you didn’t care.

I would instead run towards you.
Trying to be wanted.
To win your affection.

I won and I don’t know how to accept it.
I don’t know how to hold you.
To accept the love I keep trying to earn.
Qualyxian Quest Jan 2023
She remains out of reach
A phantom in my mind
A beckoning
A silence

Not gonna teach again
Not a lot of travel
My sons get new classes
Nagarjuna and snakes

She's 17
22
37
53

California snow
Blondes
Udon
Earthquakes

                    Spirit Lakes
Still a dangerous emcee once I set my feet in the industry
Exposing used to be homies now they wanna ****.me
But can't still.me I keep the techs on me
Just incase I gotta capture another soul makin' eternity
Placin' urns round me Cuz they soon to burn
To ashes smoke the greenest grass from Shannon Ireland
This captain ain't hiring
only killers I be admirin' y'all flows expirin'
Once the sirens sounding another Emcees gets a pounding
Heads covered with ***** plastic bags
Poked holes soon to be drowning
Fools tellin' jokes but you don't see me clowning
Only money and guns I trust so that's my surrounding
A King like Arthur I be the author
Sealin' emcees chapter takes notes for the rapture
Kidnapped ya team flashplay scenes Bones become fractured
Once I roll over weak emcees like a tractor
Major factor to this game
We ain't no actors
Flippin' heads With my metal spatula
Communicating to y'all with the street vernacular

My personality evil as Mallory
Natural born killers
Intincts is what inspires me
Who better than me?
My flows poisonous like Ivy
Got more brothers than Isley
Summer breeze with me
Heat is what ya catching from me
My guns Rip through skin cells so rapidly
Paint murders so vividly graphically
They'll remember me I'll be
Notorious like B-I-G
Fools dry lookin' all thirsty
Sips bottles of the Dom Perry
**** Governor Perry we bake more dough than Pillsbury
Rolls so know ya role or else get the barrel to ya temple
Executions made Iraqi style so how?
You gone disconnect the dial?
Deaths is callin' soon to be fallin'
With the rest of the Angels
That we had to ******' strangle
Don't matter the point or angle
Fools chained like Django hop in the Black Tahoe we got deals for sure
I'm.hustlin night and day like Al B Sure
We choke out competition like Latrell
Make heaven out of hell never see a jail cell
Money lookin' too good I'm feelim' Richie
Chillin' at the top mobbin' like Big Paulie
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2019
we three free in the Reno snow
   one more soon - Californio
              (valley below)
I want to be the lady who
                had a dainty stone teahouse
                                     built on the tiny island in
  the middle of Emerald Bay
                      in South Lake Tahoe,
accessible only by
          the little yellow boat with
                            the scalloped awning over it,
   which she kept by the dock
                              below Vikingsholm,
her glorious stone-built castle
                                       in the nearby pine trees.
Who is she?  
          Who was she?  
                   Why couldn’t I have been her?
                                                           ljm
Google Fannette island, So Lake Tahoe. CA
Nobody Feb 2021
I said goodbye to the city life mom,
I actually feel like myself again now.
I love speeding through rural country
with the wind blowing my hair around.

My sight has changed somehow,
I take in the night with new eyes.
I miss you when I look up into space now
but at least here the stars are clear in the sky.

You once told me you dreamed of going out,
sailing on Tahoe around noon.
So I drove down to the lake for you,
even though it rained that day in June.

You told me to always smell the roses,
so I stop to pick wildflowers by the road.
I see you in myself even more now,
you’ll always be with me wherever I go.
"So there's this guy right hahaha and he takes a selfie with my kid while the mom's turning the kid against me right??? So I confronted the gentlemen nicely and quoted "So you takin' a selfie with my kid?" And he responded "Yeah, ***** so what I'm his daddy now"...so after he said that I reached in the trunk of my Tahoe and got this nice wooden duct taped bat...and then I try to get a response out of him but I couldnt hear him over crying and the bashing of my Louisville Slugger hahaha...rest well ***** rest well in hell
Never **** with my kids ever and the police can come to they'll catch these sluggers as well...but I wanna apologize for not killing you the right army way hoooooah you *****........"

Now that my homie got my back quick to jack
This ***** ***** how you figure you can step to an OG ****** is phony
In this game **** shame light a flame
To a cigarette makin' silohuette to those that try to threat
My gun range sicked sadistic head twisted
Like a pretzel a ****** pass homicidal strikes brainwaves like a tidal
Layin' dead as the videos go viral spiral
Into another dimension you see my demons lynching
Guillotine heads for no bread love of the bloodshed
Even though they all dead my tactics vulture bred
Everything you red is classified to the Feds
But leechers get beatdown instead slick as Fred
Dawn of the dead til the day I wed
Death as my wife no live boundaries unbounded
Wisdom profounded yo CM I see youll die drowning
Playin' tricks but I ain't clowning Strong grounding
Artillery grunt catchin' the pounding
As patrol ya destiny as a rover
Soon to crossover No love for this ***** *** brother so I'll bash his head in with my gat and my other slugga *****


Yo i got sick ****** on my mind nine times outta nine suckas who step outta line ?
Touchin' on the flat line with a broken spine cuz I'm
Crazy in the membrane take a snort of the cane
Or Mary Jane things ain't the same
Its Killed or be killed bodies chill once I  lay my picture reel
Flashin' signs of ****** eyes saprized
By my guns that rise blazin' like a fire clench to pliers
Clutching your heart the higher
The rate gets I'm standing over tall  mauled soldiers
I been to iraq so I'll flex the gat black gloves with no love heart made of stone put my bone
In ya momma ***** ***** stepping to my kindred
That's a no go open up ya sand capsule
I'm here to baffle til ya shells crackles  welcome to hell's tabernacle suicidal mission crazy jackal quick to axe you
Watch ya body hiccup and blood spit up
All over the concrete floor I adore war and many more
Have no fear once get a taste of ya fear year after year
My Panthers instincts creep slow so stay low
When I'm aimmin' my pistol led extended til ya flat like a dull pencil now the coroners stenciled ya body no other prefered the gat over my louisville slugga
Sjr1000 Nov 2020
Have you seen my beloved?
I have been looking for her everywhere

The first time I saw her face
It was the most beautiful flower
I have ever seen
A mandala of perfection
Bringing me absolute peace
How could I not
But love her

She once brought me
Alders swaying screeching in the winds
salmon running
skies Hale Bop eclipse Tahoe clear
She brought me beauty to the sunrise in the sky
Have you seen my beloved?

She always has been the same
Though she's known to be extreme
Shaking the earth I walk on
Sending rising tides
Stilling the wind in the center of a cyclone

She always knew what it meant to dance
Sings every song
The music of the full moon
She once believed life would find a way.
Have you seen my beloved and
Do you know where she is bound?

Her breath has become firey hot and dry
Her tears shed microplastics
Her paths are white with toxic snows
Where is my beloved and what does she feel or know?

She once loved me dearly
Nourished my way
Until the winds began to change
Have you seen my beloved?
And do you know
When she'll return?
Bob B Mar 2018
This is a tale of a woman;
Stormy is her name.
One little fling with a fellow
Became her claim to fame.

She met a rich man in Tahoe.
He was married. So what?
It seems as though the rich golfer
Was there to do more than putt.

Stormy, the **** star, was
A wonder to behold.
He forgot about wifey
And baby a few months old.

(The little affaire de coeur
Doesn't mean that he's bad.
Some say he was bewitched;
Others would call him a cad.)

How long everything lasted,
Only the two will tell.
She claims it lasted for months
Before he said farewell.

Let's move ahead ten years.
The real estate mogul planned
To procure for himself the highest
Office in the land.

Somehow the mogul's attorney
Transferred a large amount--
One hundred thirty thousand--
Into her bank account.

'Twas money to keep her quiet--
Money to make her hush.
(When you've got money, you
Can afford to make people shush.)

The mogul became the leader;
But somehow the story leaked out.
Leader and lawyer were livid.
What had become of their clout?

A technicality
Nullified their deal--
According to Stormy's attorney--
So she had the right to squeal.

Both of the parties can now
Battle it out in court.
Let this be a lesson
Before you choose to cavort.

Just a warning, Stormy:
Don't let yourself get burnt.
Your episode was consensual;
It's said that for him others weren't.

We know, Mr. President,
You have a lot on your plate.
Is this one of your ways
Of making America great?

-by Bob B (3-9-18)

°This is a different version of the salacious scandal--this time in ballad form.
Since I came out as an outlaw
I been breakin' jaws of the laws
Hand on my ***** standing tall
Against the biggest wall quick to scoffle A muthaphukka if you ain't down for the struggle
I was made for war a skilled general
Leading from the front blazin' a coco blunt
Breakin' cheese with my real homies and homettes an ultimate threat
To this society I react violently and suspiciously
Once they find me they'll be
Dead in a heartbeat cuz life ain't sweet
She's a cold ***** that's a dependant since I'm a descendant
Of the fallen angels now they try to pin me at different angles
But my mind won't allow me swallow
The ******* muthaphukkaz catchin' colds soon to see a casket
Lift my mask sounds of an AK47 blast
And my reign'll last huh
Now ya flat on yo *** as roll through the smog
Committin' felonies layin' out enemies it's just me and my roaddogz

I got rhymes galore brushing to the shore
Of my brain cells where my deepest thoughts pour
Suckas ain't ready for battle don't any wanna rattle
With the snake that I shake
my three fifty seven sending hataz to heaven
Or hell and if I see jail my roaddogz will bail me out without a sale
Going to the county courts jails
my girl pull-up smokin' a Newport in the Chevy truck
Black Tahoe so ya know
we gets lethal with weapons kept in
Under my seat just in case
Ya maker wanna meet most of the times I'm one deep
But others days it's just me and my posse
Rollin' like some Italian mobsters quick to rob ya
So ya fakers quit flappin' ya jaws or get mauled
By my lyrical michete rippin' from the sheer crown to ya belly
Now muthaphukkaz tell me?
I ain't kin to Makaveli ?


It's just me and roaddogz
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
Revolutions don't start in the Center
But on the peripheries
Prayers for the octopus
And the old Crabtree

Mr. Charles Darwin
Leaving Highway 5
Island Girls!
Happy to be alive

I watch Europa Report
Director from Ecuador
If it is authentic
Catholicism close to the poor

Mr. John Denver
The Eagle and the Hawk
Rocky Mountain Higher
We ****. We fly. We talk.

         Sweet Surrender!
Styles of the houdini, check me out, well endowed, zucchini,
Twist, the martini, black cap beanie, smoke the raw dutchie,
Sitting back, in the club, scenery feet  kicked, up watch the imagery,
Black gods is back, hold that, 24 diamond K, with da crisp stats,
Girls looking back, like who's that?, looking fresh, Hollyhood,
Like they wish this brother could, lay out, the fire wood, good,
Suits looking clean, flick off the haters, like Mr Bean, supreme,
Caliente, see my critics evil, parallel to, they failed holy grail,
I sail, boats on the ocean, of ya mind, suckas way behind,
Grind, the garlic metallic, off to Charlotte, catching webs,
Swinging from another cloth, lay out the chicken broth, to froth,
Ya mental cells, this ain't a fairytale, we dodge, the ***** bills,
I kills, spotlight lemons, pitch it like Roger Clemens, something,
For ya catch, cant shake this batch, see the rawness, I hatched,
Clench titles, over my rivals, holding the ****** bible, no rifles,
Flexing shanks, like vega giving thanks, hands on my tank,
Greets, ya like the chinese, culture ninja suits, peck a vulture,
See the violence, erupt ultra, chase the thrills, of a roller coaster,
No boaster, stay with toasters, soon to see ya, in a casket holster,
On the time stamp poster, paper articles, read, yeah he dead, bleed,
From his holy bread, I tried to stop the dread, families said,
They couldn't stop, the bullets, from piercing his head, all feds,  
Jumping out, the black Tahoe's, doing bagels, in all angles,
Tryna get, a crack of this, dollars crisp, for the loose lips,
I let the ships sink, where they may, no delays, **** the sways,
I stay under, the thunder, critics stuck in the blunder, now they wonder,
Why my heart's, sticking like ice lightening, kind of frightening,
See the bezel crystal, shining like fresh, steps of embyro, yo,
Kick down the doors, **** bill part four, see what's in store,
It's the ghost, of Jesus pluck the facetious, flows vicious,
Like my women, delicious, play the gangsta, cool rambunctious,
Sign ya ears, make the whole world hear, flaming pro dark sphere,
They cant stop the yosef near, grab a few beers, cold sweat tears,
Frosty, lay between the milky, way galaxy, cats try to battle me,
Only to see, damage amongst ya
embry, engage war victory,
Plot like General Patton be, ceased ya companies, fly a tree,
Embraced the psyop, ology, defying gravity, with the sting, of a bee,
Iron megatron dynasty, somebody told me, to stop rapping G,
I denounced, the negativity, only gave me, more bravery,
Do ya see what I see?, naw probably not, that's why they get shot,
Buck down, ya frail crowns, ain't housing up, to ya pounds,
Ya stale,money stuck in the ground, what's that sound, duck down,
Time to turnover, tell ya moms to bendover, heart of the clover,
Houstons soldier, ain't never had to rollover, cats it's like doja,
Saying they streets, when they really sweet, on the hunt for meat,
Dont believe their stats, they be lying, behind money n tats,
I stay with the true, blue steels hanging, wills, cash a deal,
Switch alias, in the club, throw a few dubs, of doves, it's all love,
Looking for wifey, she somewhere, in another dimension, gallery,
Picked off, skully demon seeds, indeed, let the words bleed,

— The End —