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katewinslet Oct 2015
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km Dec 2010
Contentment is the greatest evil in the human grab bag of emotions.
It’s born out of the head of ignorance,
it resides in the heart of the blind.
It manifests its evil doctrine of passiveness throughout the body,
until fully enslaved by inaction.
It turns agents into sun tanners,
activists into office workers,
outlaws into accountants.
It puts preservatives into culture, it laminates laws,
it places crowns on faceless leaders.
It slaps a smile across the *****, the beaten, the neglected,
the racially profiled.
It mutes news casts,
veils the homeless man that lives behind office buildings,
glorifies the paycheck.
It makes the walls of homes seem bullet, terror, bomb,
corruption, and death proof.
It allows sleep at night,
it kills the monsters under the bed and the ghosts in the closet.
It causes hundreds of thousands of suffering people to simply, disappear.
It insures, “birds like to be caged,”
and “pain is just part of the human condition.”
It whispers these misconceptions
like a priest insuring his congregation of the power of Jesus. Contentment, you see, corrupts the very concept of progress.
Progress is deemed by the million-pieces-of-paper-owners to be founded in terms of economy.
Progress is deemed by the people-who-stop-us-from-returning-to-state-of-nature to be founded in terms of control.
Progress has forgotten it’s maker,
just as dying old men forget that they were once bounced on a loving knee.
Contentment leaks from the Western world
and infects all those around it.
When you are no longer content
you will begin to see the holes in the patchwork of life,
and wonder how it was you hadn’t seen them before.
When you are no longer content, you will at last demand change.
May not be printed for other than home use.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
B.C.
B.C.
“Change is one thing progress is another. “Change” is scientific “progress” is ethical change is indubitable whereas progress is a matter of controversy.

Our dealing with change is a little less studious more to do with feelings the hold memories evoke
Before change or B.C. I guess we should start with a king B.C. King was before Ridings the one stand out
Memory was a kid who was sponsored by Mopar I remember his side kick Strawberry Austin but way
Back then he raced like a demon and BC and Mopar fit the bill as before mentioned Glen Walters was
On his own I don’t know about in Nashville but around here on his own and out in the front all the time.

B.C. It was Tanners junkyard now Roy’s everyone has a Harry Tanner story how I miss all of the Tanners
My story we walked out past the scale through the gate stood there on the road Harry in his old suit and
That familiar hat he seemed to always wear he had his hands behind his back he looked at his iron
Stacked across the road he said I don’t know we ship this across the pond to the Japanese and then they
Shoot it back at us I don’t think he was trying to be funny but he hit my funny bone.

B.C. It used to be the liberty gas station now BP I don’t gun them for the gulf I just remember when gas
Was twenty five cents a gallon no hullabaloo just a small little friendly gas station the price was right
Back then when there were so many exciting places to go in our home town.

B.C. The Dutch Mill had everything and then some you could get main line goods or some things
Bordered being off the wall I just remember the pleasant good feeling I would get just walking from one
Section to another one they of course weren’t the mighty Wall Mart nor did they have to be we did live
And quiet well before their arrival I bet we would make it if they left don’t panic the rumors are not true
They will be here for a long time and the future generation will hold fond memories just like we do of the
Dutch Mill.

B.C. Remember the wedge in the family mother father and son they had the concision stands at the park
Ball field and pool they use to freeze those zero candy bars like a rock man there is a whole lot of
Knawing going on you had to go to over to the little standard gas station for pops Grapette almost ice
Cold and a Great visit and conversation with Mr Johnson he was so pleasant a true ambassador for all Who paid a Visit.

B.C. I know this is more of a guy thang but anyone remember those great tennis shoe adds P.F. Flyers and Red Ball Jets hopefully they had ladies shoes.
Hal Loyd Denton Feb 2013
The day had entered the twilight time I heard an old train whistle I surrendered to the call of far
Away and I found myself back in time it was Saturday the family was going to town to the
Weeks shopping we parked in the alley past the feed store it was the way we started out we
Walked past the entry where we kids would go in on Easter to get the two free chicks then
You would go back to the bins and buy the fifty cent bag of pellets the fun involved the box with
The light the fruit jar that turned upside down with the lid fixed with indentations that as the
Chicks would drink and throw their heads back the water would bubble down like a water
Cooler little yellow fur ***** what a treat and delight but we would go in the big wide door that
Held the giant stand up scale with the great face and the smell of grain with a thin dust film on
Everything all of that and get your weight to how great was that back out in the sunlight dad
And I would go to Jims for a hair cut we all practiced cutting through stores you could go up the
Alley right beside Woolworths but what fun was best was parking behind Ben Franklins walking
In through the outer supply era and at the back of the store were the fiber barrels with the pink
And vanilla wafers they were a penny and I always got one of each at the barber shop the comic
Books were stacked high and the men were always having a talk fest and Jim whistled a tune
That was just as good as the theme of the Andy Griffith show we did a little bit of Mayberry all
Of us standing in the dark alley beside Rudow’s grocery waiting for them to do the weekly pony
Raffle I never won but I had access to the laker’s pony it was a good thing we had hard enough
Time feeding ourselves and the dog well we did have twenty seven at one time on the farm it
Was the A&P; for groceries run back home put them away and then go out across the drive set
In the shade as a family and eat A&P; Jane Parker Apple pie you would think it was desert at the
Green house restaurant on Market Street in Frisco where all the waiters wore tux’s know this
Was the time of grape Mogen David wine that was fairly priced in the family size jug but there
We set with a five gallon white plastic bucket with blackberries fermenting well dad must have
Already been tipsy that bucket had weeds other debris I won’t hazard a guess of what it was
But let me tell you the cloth on top didn’t help much I used to make a joke about espresso and
That strong Cuban coffee my complaint was it tasted like Wan and his mule was still inside well
This homemade wine hot long brown weeds I don’t care how country you are some things are
Better left alone like going out to our friends and have a meal they would put the milk in this
Big blue greenish half gallon right from the cow there would be lines moving around an oh yes
Don’t forget the snapping turtle we ran over and almost knocked me off my seat and those cars
Were heavy well quick as a country cook could do it turtle stew yum wants some excuse me
Folks As long as these people have a front yard full of grass I’m good you eat a while then chase
Lighting bugs now that’s what belongs in a jar and Like Dan Ackroad said in the movie and their
Butts light up well I didn’t have time to mention Tanners show uptown Sad Sack army show
With Jerry and Dean Gordon Scott as Tarzan they didn’t give the warning don’t try this at home
Or on the way home because in bums jungle where the bums all hang out between trains yes
There were vines on the trees but I don’t think Tarzan let go and rolled in the undergrowth that
Was filled with poison Ivy well Gordon never got to go from Tarzan to the mummy all white
With Copperas lay in the car across the street in the car like a dog with flees while your family
Is in the Home town café eating and the best part getting thrown out of the pool but I have a
Season pass well least climb a tree watch the fun and then a scene from the horror flicks of
The Day a little kid and his mother walk under the tree mommy mommy there is a monster in
the Tree and you wonder why I write I tore out of the tree like a cat possessed I ran over and
Hid in the big pavilion with the invisible man well that’s my home town how about yours
Big Virge Oct 2020
Well It Seems Nowadays...    

THAT..." Black Lives Matter "..... ?
Well I'd Say THE HUMAN Factor...  
Is What We SHOULD RECAPTURE... !!!!!!!!  
IN FACT What I Mean Is... "Capture"... !!!  

Because My Lifes' Chapters...  
HAVEN'T SEEN Too Much Data...    
That Humans In Their Manner...  
Are Living By... That Standard...    

There's NO Doubting THAT... !!!  
When It Comes To ATTACKS...  
That Are Made Against Blacks...  

Humanity LACKS...  
What It Is To RETRACT...  
And.... RECOGNISE....  
That Di-vi-s-ive Vibes    
Are... TAKING Lives... !!!!!  
And DIVI-D-ING Tribes... !!!!!  

You See SUBJECT MATTER...  
I DEAL IN.... HAMPERS....  
Those Who Hanker...  
To Work With FAKE DATA...  

FAKE Like.... TANNERS....  
Standing By Standards...  
Doubled Up And Captured  
By Their...  Actions... !!!  

STICKING To Factions...  
Thought Waves FRACTURED... !!!  
BELIEVE ME Sadness...  
Forms Their MADNESS...  

Anger Now S C A T T E R E D ...  
TATTERED And SPLATTERED...  
Like Matter That's SHATTERED... !!!!!!  

You See... Subjects I Factor...  
In Thoughts That I Capture...  
Within My Lyrical...  
Are Criminally Cynical... !!!  
According To Political...  
Subjects INADMISSIBLE... !!!

In Verse of Mine EMPIRICAL...  
Because of THEM I'm CRITICAL.... !!!!!

Via Subject Matter That Simplifies Data...
They Use To Confuse Through NEW AGE Tools... !!!      

Where Matter Is Subject...  
To MUCH That INFECTS...  
Todays' Internet Heads...    

From Online ***...  
To Conspiracy Threads...  

And OF COURSE A WHOLE SET...    
of... " TERRORIST Trends "... !!!!!  

Now Police Have Been Left...    
FEELING Bullets Instead...  
of... Dishing Out DEATH... !!!

Whose Matter Will Be Left...  
To FACE Bullets of LEAD... !?!  

Or Bombs That NOW Defend... ?  
By Blowing OFF Peoples' Heads... !?!  

Something Like ALL These Rappers...  
Who CLAIM That They Are GANGSTERS...  

AND ****** Like Gun Clappers...    
Well Now Its CLEAR They're ACTORS... !!!!!
Whose Chatter Runs... FAKE Data...  

Their Lyrics Deal In... DEATH...  

" Bringing The Pain " ... Like ****'... !!!!!  
But NOT TO... RACIST Feds'... !!?!!  

So MUCH Like... " Them "...  
Things That They STRESS... !!!!  
In Their... " Poems "...  
Are In Need of YES.....  

... Auto CORRECT... !!!!!!  

For LIES They Tell...  
About How They FLEX... !?!

While Blacks With SENSE...  
Face THREATS From Them... ?!?!?  
For... Dealing In TRUTH...  
Instead of Tools...  
Just To Get Some Street CRED'... ?!?  

So Like Bernie Mac' Said...  
TOO MANY Black Youths...  
Are Becoming NEW FOOLS... !!!

They Just FOLLOW The Trends...  
To Get Themselves AHEAD...    

YES... Subjects I SELECT...  
May UPSET CERTAIN Heads... ?  

But NOT Quite Like... !!!  
The LOSS of A Friend...  
OVER... IGNORANCE Bred...  
From A DIFFERENCE of Opinion... ?  
Religion or Dominion...

Or The Skin That People Live In... !?!?!  

This Piece Has Got Me...    
........ " THINKING ".........  

That Things Are NOW...  
...... So SICKENING...... !!!  

That People REALLY NEED...  
Some Form of UPLIFTMENT'... !!!

Well YES That's TRUE... !!!  
But FACING The Truth...  
Has To Be The FIRST MOVE... !!!!  

But THAT With PROOF... !!!    

NOT Media News...  
With Views AskeW...  

Cos' I'm TELLING You... !!!  
They're Making Moves...  
...... AGENDA Fuelled......  

To Confuse And Sep-a-rat-e....  
Through Religion And RACE... !!!  

It's CLEAR There Are Scales...  
That NEED TO BE BALANCED... !!!

And Leaders Whose Actions...  
NOW NEED TO BE CHALLENGED... !!!!!  

So Let Me END This Chapter...    
By Simply Saying... THIS...  

REMEMBER There Are FACTORS...  
Beyond Feelings That... "Capture"...  
Your ANGER Into RAPTURE...    
That's MADDER Than The HATTER... !!!!!  

And FEEDS Like VELOCIRAPTORS... !!!!!  

So DON'T Deny The Crimes You See... !!!  
Because of PRIDE Or A COMPLEX That...  
You CHOOSE To.................. "hide"...................  

Take The Time To TRY...  
To... OPEN UP Your Mind....  
To TRUTH, Falsehoods And LIES...  

And DELVE INTO The DATA...  
Where The ONLY FACTOR...  
That REALLY Matters....  

Is The QUALITY of...  

It's....  

....... " Subject Matter "......
This is from the, " On The Virge ", album, released in 2020.  
Take a listen here :    

https://soundcloud.com/user-16569179/subject-matter-1?in=user-16569179/sets/on-the-virge
Jason Cole Mar 2015
dizzied waves calm the haze
count the ways of perfect blue
hurried trees catch salty breeze
besting winded walkers by
sand surrenders to barefoot folly
warming and forming prints
a scattered sky drips a drop or two
nothing stays like perfect blue

see the sea shake
feel the heat ache
smell the sun bake
taste the cloud shapes

horizons breathe
shorelines walk
water talks

cream-filled crests crown the abyss
distant ships tilt and lilt
slippery wakes surfers skate
children trench
tanners twist
lovers tryst

caught by chance in ocean's glance
impelled to do this human dance
nature's floor a ballroom
its rhythm a rapacious hue
life cascades in perfect blue

©Jason Cole
Stephen Parker Sep 2012
Sea of azure waves descend
Golden streams flood through porthole
Black birds breech panorama
Tanners soak up residue
july hearne May 2017
there's a man inside of me
that forgets he isn't a girl
he cusses when he
wants the touch
and not the blow

he writes letters
to invisible people
in disappearing ink

here but not here
there but not there
you are going through something
like the atmosphere

i dress him up sometimes
in sunless tanners and jangling bracelets
i pierced his ears, not to hide him, not to doctor him up
but to make him more audible
because if he is going to keep on talking
he might as well be understood

there are problems
he probably likes the sweatstains
more than the bathrobes
(but no one else likes either one)
he is too concerned, but he cusses through it
as if no one will ever be on to him

i talk in his voice sometimes
just because it sticks around
sort of like how you can't shower off
the smell of last nights *****
come morning

not that i drink very often
but i talk just like him
i stink just like him
according to those
who are long ago and far away
and remembered as if they were ever close
because my other voice
just sounds fat and lazy and useless
Carl Halling Sep 2015
There was a long vanished England
Of well-spoken presenters
Of the BBC Home Service,
Light Service, and Children’s Favourites,
Of coppers and tanners, and ten bob notes;
And jolly shopkeepers, and window cleaners.

I remember my cherished Wolf Cub pack,
How I loved those Wednesday evenings,
The games, the pomp and seriousness of the camps,
The different coloured scarves, sweaters and hair
During the mass meetings,
The solemnity of my enrolment,

Being helped up a tree by an older boy,
Baloo, or Kim, or someone,
To win my Athletics badge,
Winning my first star, my two year badge,
And my swimming badge
With its frog symbol, the kindness of the older boys.
"There Was a Long Vanished England" was created out of two previously versified pieces, the first verse being based on the beginnings of some kind of short story almost certainly drafted in the early 2000s, the second from another unfinished story, this one sketched out - or so I remember - when I was in my early 20s.
I am dancing with the darkness,
I am flirting near the fringe,
I am swimming through the outskirts,
I am wading on the rim.

The reflection of my perspective is no longer recognized
By the less traveled sparkled stares, which happily float on by.

The peripherals of my mind are growing
Further and further in,
Wandering with broken gaze
My scope is turning dim.

With the darkness the ground is shifting
As I’m drifting through my mind.
The seasons change the more I’m seasoned
By reflections that graze my eyes;
Of broken scales, false fairy tales and smiles used for disguise.

While it's true it's - as the say - darkest before it’s light,
It still holds true
The opposite ensues
As bright-eyed sunsets sink into the night.

An occasional step, while slippery yet
Can bring to consideration:
That my darkened truth may yet be false...
... But I keep my hesitation
Because truer till is the fiction still that lingers in the sun;
Of droned routines, petty cravings, and gains ill-willfully-won.

These basking sun-tanners wouldn’t dare to enter
Where this jagged path tears my feet,
Making broken bones on shadowed stones
And a hopeful soul deceived.

The hope encased
Is slowly replaced
With new levels, planes;
Profundity of pain
And ever eroding faith.

My setting sun
Is nearly gone
While darkness takes its place.

The nights seem so much longer drifting
Into deeper dimensions, I muster.
Exploring further, I forge freshly charted paths
Discovering new tangential ways to suffer.

And all these feelings must be true, if truth lay in the mind
These dim lit paths are real to me, however seemingly blind

So still I wander through the night,
Rootless, lost, in pain,
Desperate for the smallest glimmer
That I might happen to obtain;
While shifting free
Through the scattered trees
Landing on the ground,
I sometimes stay
To catch these rays
Basking warmly on the stone....

.... But all this remains ephemeral,
As the sunray travels on.

So alone, again I tumble,
Lost and aimless,
Through the depths,
With broken heart,
Broken bones,
And a seemingly broken lens.

But perhaps... it’s YOU who play,
Lost and aimless,
in the luminous light of day.
For when all’s said and done,
After the shifting sun,
Retracts its comforting rays...

...Beyond that light...
...It is the night...

That ever will remain...
Olivia Kent Dec 2013
The horse is dead.
Long beyond flogging.
It's skin was stripped by a couple of tanners.
After being treated with tenderness.
That horse was merely a hobby.

An old broom handle.
Minus emotions.
A head full of kapok.
And a heart made of wood.
Nobody could love him.
Nobody should.

He ran around the stables.
Knocking down the mares.
Where once he had just knocked them up,
As he was out to stud.

The rag and bone man came to call.
Saw him laying in the yard.
Left his calling card.
The child who once loved him so.
Decided she must let him go.
The rag man he received a call.
Collected hobby horse.
He gave her a bright and shiny quid.
Slung him on the back of his cart.
Stuck him in the shop window.
While his mares passed by and laughed.




By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
KD Miller Feb 2015
2/19/2015
note: this poem reflects my political views. I don't support puerto rico's independence but i codemn the way the USA has treated it. If you're not familiar with PR's political situation or don't follow Puerto Rican centric politics you'll be lost af. Anyways this is basically the day to day life i had when i lived back in PR, and my thoughts.

I hate americans.
They ask me, especially the independentista youth,
that think they're special and especially, communist revolutionaries,
"why? after all you are a Rich Kid."

Nah, you don't understand.
coming out of the stairs of St. Johnnies with my uniform
i see them walking with their cameras and tanners
me filling up with a very real digust.

and when I sit on the metro train to
San Patricio (and what a life, when I see the drug addicts on the metro with nowhere to go and the industrial hills of Catano)
I only see my fellow puerto ricans and i am relieved.

escaping the americanness of Ashford Ave.
and when I get to Los Meadows I tell my friends,
the Rich Kids,

How is it that those sons-of-*******
can destroy our grand isle,
with their nuclear garbage

their doctors ruining our native women
and, from their offices in the mainland, teaching us english
just to send the little country peasants of Arecibo and Juncos

to die in their wars? and then
they have the audacity
to take their things and visit our beaches?
A W Bullen Jun 2017
Tempers edge the need
for your anvil head to break.

The way back from work saw
Lowry people scrape the pavement.
Dog-leg drags of shuffle, of make-up slide,
mixing flea-skin sweat with pollen rub
into a tincture of stench.

This is image that I do not want

I have
half a mind to **** but I
cannot be bothered, the other ,a
a monologue of delirious ramblings
some" French kings versus
squadron mottos" thing...
and , in truth, I am not sure what
it's going on about.

I am indoors, windows open, curtains closed
naked from the waist down, feeding the freedom
of sprawl- but this is mistake of gargantuan order
a cosmic, foolish, schoolboy- error of judgement.

The sofa is leather.

My scar tangled manners are reports of my standing
an amateur tanners spewed stew of expletives.
In a half-arsed way it seems  
I am to remain

part of the furniture

I search for shorts.. long shorts, short longs, whatever,
my legs and **** seek the solace of cloth.

On the canal a coot needs oiling
what feels like 20 minutes of incessant jar is
tapping with my rationale
Testing my love for all things feathered.

Something needs to give.

I am a Gobi taste of sandal straps and
in dire need of irrigation/ rehydration
I have waited way too long for liquid...
Don't get me wrong, this isn't some test
of deprivation- this is heat swung laziness
that is all it is..nothing more
nothing less..

And so..

We will get it tonight
You cannot pull isobars this far apart to
not have them break..
And that ogrish flat-top is thugging
the harbour side rents..

Ah yes...

"Après moi le deluge"

Seems to make sense, now
President Trump consistently does not wear wide leather neck ties with hand-painted Balinese dancers on them. What are President Trump's grievances with leather tanners & wide tie neck manufacturers & when is he going to bomb Bali?
President Trump consistently does not wear wide leather neck ties with hand-painted Balinese dancers on them. What are President Trump's grievances with leather tanners & wide neck tie manufacturers & when is he going to bomb Bali?
Lawrence Hall May 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

               We Too Are Authors of All the Books We Have Read

I still read books just as I did when young
With pen in hand (no longer pipe in mouth)
For underlinings, arrows, and marginal notes
Mapping out the adventures as I go along

And we give God thanks for

Writers and artists and craftsman with clever hands
Uncredited loggers and tanners of hides
Makers of glue and thread and blocking machines
And the white-capped printer with inky hands

Books have many authors, and the Author of All
Blesses them and us with their waves of words
President Trump consistently does not wear wide leather neck ties with hand-painted Balinese dancers on them. What are President Trump's grievances with leather tanners & wide neck tie manufacturers & when is he going to bomb Bali?

— The End —