'Throwbacks' poems - Hello Poetry

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ConnectHook Sep 2017

Betting on the Races

White folks: pack your bags and go.
Our nut-brown world is quite offended.
Make your shame-faced exit NOW,
And leave your mansions unattended.
Wait—before you pass the doors,
It's time to settle ethnic scores.

No more ragtime Minstrel Show.
Our Moorish Science took it down.
Black lives matter. White, less so—
Now move your pale face out of town . . .
But first, shell out for racial shame
Caucasian losers of the game.

Cultural pride is ours alone:
Kings and Egyptian queens we were.
The glories of our race, well-known
Bedazzle in a darkened blur
(Clear to Africa's descendants—
Puzzling to you white dependents).

Blackness lent your world its light,
Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers.
Scandinavia grew bright
Under our beneficent powers.
Negroes gave your blondes their beauty;
Helped those Norsemen shake their *****.

The Seven Wonders of the world:
We built them all. No vain conjecture
Dims our banner, black, unfurled,
Above eternal architecture.
Arts and knowledge gained from us
Are what we threaten to discuss.

We invented math and science
Which you robbed from Timbuktu.
Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance
Caused Old Europe to renew.
All our treasure that you plundered
Testifies: your days are numbered.

Classics of our Greeks you stole:
Philosophy was never yours.
Shame upon your racist soul;
For Bach and Mozart both were Moors.
Misappropriated treasures
call for ruthless hard-line measures.

Latino fate falls next—but, where ?
Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ?
Orientals everywhere:
Choose your side and join the fight.
Blackness rising! Late the hour;
Heed your call to fight the power.

Crackers need to check your race—
Stop rooting for that ****** clown.
Rednecks all up in our face;
Racist throwbacks got us down.
But as your statues bite the dust
Your light goes dark (you know it must).

So move on out, oppressor, thief.
Long have you held our nation back.
In some white galaxy seek relief—
But here the light itself is black.
Stars are racist. So is the sun.
Now let God's great black will be done.

Truth is stranger than:
http://tinyurl.com/yc9va3pl

Candace Owens understands .

#race #identitypolitics #racism #blacklivesmatter

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Carl Sandburg

Throwbacks

SOMEWHERE you and I remember we came.
Stairways from the sea and our heads dripping.
Ladders of dust and mud and our hair snarled.
Rags of drenching mist and our hands clawing, climbing.
You and I that snickered in the crotches and corners, in the gab of our first talking.
Red dabs of dawn summer mornings and the rain sliding off our shoulders summer afternoons.
Was it you and I yelled songs and songs in the nights of big yellow moons?

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judy smith May 2015

POCU Fashion Show Inspires BW to “Get Thrifty”

The Annual POCU Fashion Show held by the campus organization “People of Color United,” was held in the Student Activities Center on Saturday, April 18. The fashion show is the final activity of the year held by POCU. Junior Martell Prayear and senior Miranda Jackson were the show’s hosts and announcers.

The fashion show is a competition where various designers, or teams of designers, are required to create outfits that adhere to a general theme, but also incorporate the designer’s unique, personal concepts. This year, the general theme for the fashion show was: Thrift Shop. Each designer, or group of designers, was required to utilize clothes purchased from the local Goodwill and maintain a $50 budget. Preparations for the event, Jackson said, were very short. “I was really surprised how well it turned out, because we started practicing for the show at four o’clock that day,” Jackson said. “They typically start practicing way a head of time.” Despite the delayed preparation, the fashion show was an overall success. The first designer to present at the fashion show was Victoria Webster.

Webster’s fashion line was inspired by professional work attire. “I think it can be hard transitioning college wear into professional wear, on a budget,” Webster said of her outfits. Webster was able to find three models to wear the clothes, which she said was a combination of the model’s personal items, as well as those purchased through Goodwill. The second fashion line presented at the fashion show was designed by Iyana Lynch. For her personal theme, Lynch designed outfits that were inspired by the different seasons. The third designer to present that evening was Alyssa Nieset. Inspired by 90’s menswear, Nieset designed a line of androgynous outfits. The final clothing line presented was a team effort from: Jeanita Blue and Angel Powell.

Their theme was considered “90’s Reloaded,” and featured various throwbacks to 1990’s pop culture such as TLC and The Spice Girls. Blue said that most of the outfits in their fashion line were inspired by “eco-friendly fashion,” and were intended to decrease hesitation toward shopping at thrift stores. While the judges finalized the scores for each designer or team, the Urban Dance Association entertained the crowd with a quick performance. The judge’s scores resulted in a tie between Jeanita Blue & Angel Powell, and Iyana Lynch. Despite the general tie, Blue and Powell were awarded first place, while Lynch was granted second place. There was an off-campus reception held in Cleveland after the event. Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/purple-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/green-formal-dresses

#fashion #news

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Ann M Johnson Nov 2013

Born On The Bayou: Creedence Clearwater Reviva (tribute)

I went to Justin Ploof and the Throwbacks Creedence Clearwater Reviva Tribute concert it was a lot of fun it made me feel like I was a Fortunate Son even though I'm a lady
I thought of flowers and psychedelic colors or maybe that was the effect of colorful lights on stage
I saw some people Down In The Corner break out in a dance at least it was peaceful not enraged
I think the crowd went a little crazy when the Bad Moon Rising played I was encouraged by some friends to get out of my seat when they pulled on my hands and we raised our hands to the band
The blast from the past took people on a trip to memory lane ending the rockumentary with Proud Mary, I wish you could have been there my friends!

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Kofi ye Oct 2020

throwback thursday

looking
through my gallery
to find the epitome of throwbacks
to be posted on social media
the struggle
i’m tired
thinking out loud
on what’s really important
the memories gone
or
the present ?

dear reader please enlighten me

#tbt #thursday #memories #mood #conflicted

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JB Claywell Sep 2015

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John: The Gospel of That Pivotal Moment

Matt and John sat at John’s kitchen table,
it was 5’clock in the morning,
there was plenty of time
but there was none to waste.
John was glad that Linda and his daughter
were still upstairs asleep.
He was glad too that Matt was driving;
no one knew the streets and alleys better.
John thought that Matt was a bag of hammers,
but he was loyal as hell, kept quiet most of the time,
was brave to the point of stupidity, and drove like a bat.
John got up from his chair;
poured another coffee.
Matt nursed a beer.

Everything they needed was in the mini-van;
an innocuous thing lifted rather smartly from
a long-term parking lot near the airport.

Pistols not shotguns, John had insisted.
Matt’s argument was simply that shotguns
were scarier.

John lit a cigarette and sipped some
coffee.

First National would fall.
John was sure of it.
He and Matt would leave
that bank’s lobby with about
3 million dollars strapped to their backs;
they’d lose the bulls, skate by the house,
pick up the girls, and be California-bound
by the time the fast food joints
stopped serving breakfast.

On the other side of town,
the police barracks was alive
with activity.
Two old-school throwbacks
Det. Luke Richardson and his partner,
Det. Mark Gonzalez, had gotten
a tip.

A greasy little stool-pigeon
named Hector had said
the word was that Johnny Dunn
and his raw-wired cousin, Matt,
were planning to take down First National Bank
on Friday, the first of the month,
payroll day.

They’d been leaning
on Hector for a couple
of months,
finally offering
him a knockback
on a B & E pinch
that they’d held
over his head like
an anvil.

Hector squawked
for immunity on that one
as well as
state’s evidence
regarding chatter
he’d heard about
the bank job.

Their gear was set,
vests cinched tight,
shotguns in the car.
Their service pistols cleaned,
oiled, and loaded,
with one in the chamber.
Holdout pieces strapped
to their ankles.

It was about 6:45 am,
First National’s drive-thru
opened at 7:30.
The lobby would open by 9,
but staff would be in the building
by 7;
tellers making sure their cash-drawers
were customer-ready.

The two detectives left
the briefing room,
strode the short distance
to the motor pool,
started the car…
the radio crackled
to life…

static
All units this is Control
static
We have a silent alarm triggered
for a 211 in progress
at 14th and Carver Avenue
static
First National Bank
static

Mark was behind the wheel,
Luke flipped on the siren,
it blipped then began to wail.

The Gospel was being written.
All units, saints and sinners,
were on the move.
*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications

A crime-fiction poem:

With a nod and a tip of the hat to Craig Johnson

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Ishita Mar 2015

Eerie

I watched him go away
An eerie silence engulfed me
No,not just like that
Words came but stopped midway

Mistakes,some here some there
Stay,my heart echoed
He traced his steps
In thin air,and vanished

Someone like the bright sunshine
Came in my life with an unusual vibe
Picturesque was he,
Like a moonlit night

So we stood apart
A promise broken by an eye contact
Alone shall we live in this mystery land
A dream of us walking hand in hand

And very soon
You become a hallucination
Are you there or are you not?
Questions my empty heart

I am still living
Surviving unknowingly
Smiling only at our throwbacks
Rest is blur and unclear

My tears have dried
Still alarmingly fresh are my memories
They hit me,jolt me,tear me apart
Like a scary bolt of lightning

And by each passing day
My prayers for you widen
May your life brighten
Is all I murmur

Buzzing starts my day
Without you my songs play
My face is calm and at peace
But my heart still bleeds

Your one sole look
Can **** me apart
My mistakes again
Being reborn

What left's now
Is all grey and dark
A quenching tale
An eerie silence

Looking forward to my Hello Poetry journey!
#FirstPoemOnHelloPoetry

#love #feelings #sad #lost #strange #tale #silence #saga #eerie

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JJ Hutton Aug 2010

Get Into My Orbit

Stop looking at me like you look up to me,
and start looking like you're in love with me.

Forget those spiders,
cut yourself free.

Get into my orbit.
Talk me through my destruction.

I'll distract you from yours.
I'll put on that tie you like,

and you will wear that black dress.
We will pretend we invented fashion.

You will get the eyes.
I will get the eyes.

Get into my orbit.
I'll tell you anything you'd like.

I wouldn't mind if you would cover me with night,
and silently rest your head next to mine.

Stop looking at me like you look up to me,
and start looking at me as if you can set me free.

I only see you in fevers of inappropriate dreams,
you only speak to me when everyone else you know is asleep.

I will make coffee,
you will bring a sewing kit.

We will talk about finding the bottom
of the human soul on drunken nights.

We will say **** the indie kids
and the 70s throwbacks.

We will wear swimsuits
when no one is around.

We will talk with good humor
about what we'd say at the apocalypse's final address.

Get into my orbit.
We'll compare scars and run from all our old towns.

Stop looking at me like you look up to me,
and start rewriting yourself with me.

Copyright 2010 by Joshua J. Hutton

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phil roberts May 2016

THE FIGHT GOES ON

I've used up the speed I used to need
Running hard at walls
All I got was blood and snot
And a boot in the *****
But it's not over
Nothing's done
Oh no
The fight goes on

I've had knock backs from throwbacks
And been ridiculed by imbeciles
Half wits have had their say too
But I will never give in
The fight goes on
On and on
Until I change their minds

By Phil Roberts

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thoughts to dump Jul 2013

The Last Sonnet

Whispers from deep voices that seemingly deteriorate;
We chorused into the thunderous sound of that old cello.
Not a harmony we could ever create,
This is not what I intend, everything turned askew.

That old pendulum is swaying to its usual way,
A resemblance of our long gone grieves
It was an affair crammed with dismay.

But darling, you've got your demons now;
Down to the age of your throwbacks, stupefying you every now and then
And here I am, still that vigilant somehow.

The double six tragedy was indeed an epic.
Distance, silence, timing, all falling into an illusion,
And yes, that was your treacherous scheme, making me even more frantic
But life never stops there, in the end there would still be an affirmation.

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phil roberts Dec 2016

THE FIGHT GOES ON

I've used up the speed I used to need
Running hard at walls
All I got was blood and snot
And a large boot in the *****
But it's not over
Nothing's done
Oh no
The fight goes on

I've had knock backs from throwbacks
And been ridiculed by imbeciles
Half wits have had their say too
But eventually I'll get through
The fight goes on
On and on
Until I change their minds

By Phil Roberts

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Classy J Jan 2021

Vaudevillian

Rap game is a glass ceiling,
Shucky ducky quack quack,
Lame ***** reeling,
Over oldies and throwbacks.
Imitating vaudevillians,
Because originality has flattened,
Such simpletons,
More useless than pions,
Lacking the accuracy,
Of a destructo-disc thrown by Krillin.
Tacky ducks more quack than Daffy.
Quirky queens more dunce than Daphne.
The mystery is in the ink that separates,
The Shaggy’s from the prodigies.
Could stab a friend in the back,
For snacks like ******.
Not much of a strategy.
It’s like your trying to intentionally,
Upset a Wookie.
Maybe your just tone deaf,
Like Eminem referencing the dougie,
Or make dad jokes more horrific than Chucky.
Get it?
Because chucky is a horror movie?
Why aren’t you laughing?

Rap game is a glass ceiling,
Shucky ducky quack quack,
Lame ***** reeling,
Over oldies and throwbacks.
Ll cool j don’t call it a comeback,
Slavery of the masses,
Taking Prozac,
To combat malpractice,
Depression a felon inside and outside,
Laws becoming lawless and unbalanced,
Innocents committing suicide,
Because the powerful are careless,
These ******* should be embarrassed,
That their privileged ***,
Can fake smiles enough to win Emmy’s
Minds material madness.
Gotta mind your true enemy.
Instead of being consumed by fadness.
Losing ones humanity,
To become the next Ken or Barbie.
But you too bad and boujee,
A hollow shell stuck in comatose,
Consumed by the sea,
Set up to fall like dominos,
Thinking you free,
But can’t see,
As the crows grow,
Bundled in circles,
As your drowning,
In asbestos,
For every pro there are cons that lurk in the shadows.

In honour of the late great MF DOOM

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Niki Elizabeth Sep 2017

call of the wild

The patter of an early evening rainstorm awakens her
and she untangles her sweaty limbs from those of her lover.
The sun has begun to set;
the thrill of adventure calls to her once more.
He begins to stir, awoken by her chaotic movements;
And lazily admires her beauty as she sifts through mounds of overdue laundry,
still smelling of suntan lotion and chlorine,
in search of the perfect shirt.
She’s late, as always,
She can hear her friends are outside in the car -
blasting throwbacks and spilling drinks
as the laugh and scream for her to hurry.
They fly through the night -
windows open letting the cool breeze filter the air thick of smoke and jubilance
All too eager to reach their destination;
moon children growing restless under the stars.
The ocean calls her home and its salty air clears her mind
as flames shoot out of the fire,
crackling and popping in the midnight sky.
Cheers are heard as bottles are passed;
pulling her head back out of the clouds.
Champagne to welcome the sunrise,
whiskey to bid summer adieu.
Daylight begins to break -
she takes one last drag of her cigarette and turns to go.
He’s still sleeping when she arrives,
this time she’s more careful not to wake him when she leaves.
The morning dew on bare feet remind her it’s time to move on -
the mountains are calling her name and to them she would roam;
it was always temporary,
changing with the seasons.
But to him -
she tasted like skittles,
and she smelled like summer;
one he would never forget.

#summer #endings #beginnings #change #ocean #mountains #fall #gypsy

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phil roberts Mar 2017

THE FIGHT GOES ON

I've used up the speed I used to need
Running hard at walls
All I got was blood and snot
And a large boot in the *****
But it's not over
Nothing's done
Oh no
The fight goes on

I've had knock backs from throwbacks
And been ridiculed by imbeciles
Half wits have had their say too
But eventually I'll get through
The fight goes on
On and on
Until I change their minds

By Phil Roberts

Written a while ago but seems more appropriate than ever.

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Richie Vincent Apr 2017

That

******* sniffing, love eluded, ill informed with ill intentions,
You never bothered to say bye but that doesn't matter if nothing mattered after I said hi, *******, you heartbreaking ***** of a lover, before this even started it was over, now I'm wishing for death, looking like death warmed over, but all of that's besides the point, if you called, I'd still come over,
And I hate myself for that

I'll never get it back,
Kissed my life goodbye when I skipped Bible study with you to get high, haven't prayed in a minute, I'm not the closest with the Big Guy, and I know that,
Wish I spent my time worrying more about the future than I do about the throwbacks, nostalgia vulture, upset at you for caring less about the world and caring more about the culture

It's getting weirder for me to be here, look at her smile, wish I could fix her

We were walking down the sidewalk and you hated your mother so much that you went out of your way to step on every crack,
You were bad for me, but I knew that, I kept singing your song, even if my voice cracked, because I loved you, but don't worry too much, I'd ******* **** myself before I wanted you back,
And I know it doesn't seem that way when you're all I can write about,
But I'm only writing it down because it's all I can think about, and I think you like that

I kept the fear in my mouth
I kept the fear in my mouth
I kept the fear in my mouth

I kept the fear in my mouth and I wanted to use the gun to shoot it out but I ended up just swallowing it and using it as the inspiration to write this, I hope you don't mind

Been awake since you left because I can't sleep without sleeping on your side of the bed, and I don't want to,
I spend my days writing letters with no return address because I don't want you to write back, not that you even would, but besides that, I've been wreckless without you,
I ******* hated alcohol before you, but I spend my nights drunk as fire thinking about what I'd do to get the time back,
I miss you, wait **** that, sorry, that's just the wine talk,
No I'm not sorry, ******* and everything that you came with,
******* and all the demons you came with,
You molded me into everything you wish I would've came with,
Sculpted my cracks into smooth creases, you made me brain dead,
But besides that

I might just have to turn cold and heartless, it's not like you've given me any other option

That's all for now, I'm sure there'll be a next time, until then,
Just remember who gave up

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phil roberts Sep 2016

THE FIGHT GOES ON

I've used up the speed I used to need
Running hard at walls
All I got was blood and snot
And a boot in the *****
But it's not over
Nothing's done
Oh no
The fight goes on

I've had knock backs from throwbacks
And been ridiculed by imbeciles
Half wits have had their say too
But I will never give in
The fight goes on
On and on
Until I change their minds

By Phil Roberts

I've been struggling to write something new lately but, this seems to have steady interest and it still means a lot to me.

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Pedro Dec 2018

Speaking From My Conscience

It ***** that everything I did seemed to be a problem
I wanted to see you happy
I didn't want to be a bother
Told you things I haven't told anybody else about em
I wanted to become a part of the solution and not another problem
Real friends? Nah I barely even got them
Been going through some **** and only you knew about it
Wanted to do so much for you
Barely had anything in my wallet
Wishing I had more money but I'm not tryna pretend to be a baller
Going through some struggles and you were right there beside me
Looked at you as a person that I wanted to be with and guide me
Being in each other's lives was one of the best things that's ever happened
All those times, laughing so hard that we even started clapping
We listened to some throwbacks
And we even started singing
Had so much in common
And I felt like we were winning
Constant arguments were always so silly
Remember all those nights cuddled up when it was chilly
Developed a strong bond
I actually cared about your feelings
Speaking from my conscience
**** all this nonsense
I'm tired of apologizing
But with what I say
I may be facing the consequences
And you know what?
You're right, you deserve it all
You deserve someone who can give you everything you want in life
Someone who's going to love you
and one day call you his wife
Who misses you all day and all night
Who wouldn't take you for granted
Who can tolerate when you're mad
and handle your ranting
We were never perfect
But what we had was worth it
Maybe I just need some time to reevaluate
Because I'm going through a tough time
I feel like I should set you free
And if you come back
then it was truly meant to be

#life #love #relationships

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William J Donovan Jun 13

Nobody Cries at My Funeral

I see wires naked
all machines dancing.
Sociopaths are prancing
I turn my hand around and
all the lines on my palms
are full of ***** traffic.
Even when our lives are sleeping
our souls are slaughtering friends.
Dress in black to pretend sorrow
for their inevitable ends.
I stay in the car an extra moment
and don't turn the key.
in a sepia of symphonies.
my loneliness is your sea.
this morning,
there was a mother walking
her little girl to school
hand in hand,
and they swung their arms
in seconds and hours.
this afternoon,
a woman threw the ball
and her dog ran and chased
dropped it by her feet,
and there was love in them
and she kissed his face
and let him lick her nose
like wet snow does.
Tonight the clouds bloomed
black blood and the graffiti
on the walls of factories had run,
the bins were overflowing,
The train rattled and hummed on the
El tracks, slowly crawled to its knees
delivering me to the busy emergency
shot in my vein and shot in my back.
I don't know
our place in all of this.
city of big shoulders.
hog butcher and this
paradise purgatory.
this waiting room
of fate and throwbacks
this sick bed,
this snow covered meadow
of a blank page.
this black mirror.
I was lost in mutation years ago,
pulling out the wires,
scratching off the barcodes,
turning tricks,
counting licks,
walking backwards
through the
wreath of my own ribs.
holding back something,
maybe complete collapse.
I don't know
if the universe
is fair if you pray
or just persist.
a single raindrop dancing ballet
on the windshield after falling,
streaking, blooming in a rivulet
of the God awful calling.
take a breath
and go inside
to my funeral
minister speaking
soothing lies
as they say
their goodbyes
nobody cries.

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Devon Brock Nov 2019

Somewhere near Surf & Dockside

The roads here,
*** tongued, black toothed
and pitted, lead somewhere.

I am sure that over the peak of it,
splayed out like toes in dry sand,
tractioned for tide, a florescence,
maybe, maybe down in the abalone towns,
the oyster shot towns - in The Mother of Pearl,
where I met a guy,
a guy named Reason,
slim fingered and wrung
out at last call.

But there it was, he said "if" first:
"nothing really closes,
I just exchange doors for
carpets, throwbacks and
occasional tables - leaf down
and close to the wall."

He said his name was Witness,
but I knew better, I knew better.
This cat was leather on tweed,
a pick-up line on a business card,
call me anytime. He had shacks
for eyes and his temples pulsed
like Patsy Cline.

He said he had a flounder's way of lying,
flat at the bottom of things - loose silted.
If I needed, he said, the skipjacks
split at dawn, but that's rarely the way
for land legs. And he grinned,
wide like a seiner.

They're always there - these ones -
slumped for a schmuck
dipped out for a just a thud away
from home, down the *** tongued
road to Blacktooth,
where the Water and Sand
shutters before The Mother of Pearl,
where the windows flicker like barbacks,
and a girl named Treason ticks...

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Alex Vellis Nov 2019

Exodus

We, heavy and sullen men;
on bent legs that
learned to hold up the weight of our fathers
but could never hold up our mothers
in the way they deserved to be.

We, throwbacks to our youths;
that grew up and down
in cities with single streetlamps;
burned out bedroom windows
that tell you at least there was warmth here once.

you are worth less
than worthless
that is what our birth certificates read,
that is what we have been told
for our whole lives
worth less than worthless.

We, Sisyphean modes;
our backs burdened
by our father’s footsteps
‘please don’t let me turn into him’

I say this to you
over coffee
you tell me we all look the same
I say I have to leave,
you understand why.

Before I go
you tell me
to let my old self die
and become a new God.

I have traced myself back
to Carthage,
to Canaan,
to Athens.
I have traced myself back
to Olympus,
stood at the foot of a mountain
challenged the Gods to a fist fight

Much like my father,
they would never answer me.

In the small hours,
where the night hangs the day
and birds are a collection
of off notes,
where the workman dresses
his bathroom in white foam
and says
‘today is the last day I will do this’
on repeat like clockwork,
every. single. day

In the spent moments
between tying shoelaces
and wrapping fingers
around steering wheels
or clutching wallets
that march down to bus stops
to take stabs at photocopiers
or sit in coffee shops
or buy and measure rope
in full bodied lengths.

That is where we know loneliness
and futility
and a singular quiet death
that cannot come soon enough.

I see myself in his image;
a martyr with nothing to live for
but less to make my death
a worthwhile venture.
It is here
in the two am phone calls
to the Samaritans,
and the silent sobbing
about being alone
in the violet scars,
that trace my legs
like track marks
that I realise I am nothing like him…
Perhaps that is my downfall.

We, heavy and sullen men,
building foundations out of our ribs,
breaking down for not breaking down
soon enough-
wiring and rewiring and rewiring and…
there is not enough time in the day.

‘You are not enough’
they say.
And it sticks with you;
papier-mâché angles
that arch and tear
and fold and break
and break and break
and you must act strong,
everyone is counting on you,
you must act strong.

there is a finality in strength;
a fraught knot
used for hanging light fixtures
or bodies,
we can never unwind
we can never unwind
we can never unwind.

And Atlas will hold the world
as punishment,
until the world will pull him down.
We see this as a crime,
he is just pleased to still be here.
This old dog’s legs will give way
and we will wait
till the stars fall.

I am of lost co-ordinates
and I can’t see myself as anything more than a map.
They say if you dig down far enough,
there is treasure,
I think I have been stripped away.

The next great exodus
will see me home
and for the first time,
in a long time,
I might be happy
but happiness is
a collection of memories
of you telling me you loved me,
even when it was difficult to do so.

I would live and die for you
even though you would never ask me to,
I am about ready to go.

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Cyclone Jan 2020

The mystical dreaming, caught the free human being in his feelings, the individual's visuals look despicable, but he's prolifically out of misery, hypocrisy- daring to be the charging that's starting no sympathy, can he breathe in the killing spree, that wreaks in the city, plus some claims not witty cause they're truly begging for pity, the struggle fight will get ******, but how you see only shows that, ain't no trapping up in this mapping, you snapping on Kodak, taking notice to throwbacks, meditation on stations, that's for the nations that was facing proclamation from faking, make the game get mistaken for it's debating to odes, now the foes will get exposed and you will explode.

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Yenson Jan 2021

you are finished.....

Its the 21st Century
In a sparkling local Hospital room
so, why would a starched professional elderly nurse
suddenly become Gonzo, or is it Animal
anyway you know, that mad drummer from the Muppets
yet there she is, twisting and turning
clashing silver lids of those pristine medical trays and bowls
creating a cacophony of dins and jarring metallic sounds
like her life depends on it

Yeah, I'll tell you why
but the story started yesterday
yours truly is on an evening walk
when I tripped on the pavement, and stagger, stagger, splat
arms flailing, remedial action impossible, man slammed on pavement
the knees took the blunt of the impact
I am crocked
limped home, knees swollen, two pain-killers, what the hell

Now it gets interesting
some may remember I am the targeted man
the smart *** who stood up to local criminals
bravely calling them out and refusing to pay protection extortion
the criminals had declared in return, we will hound you to death
character assassination, public humiliation, harassment and more
I had laughed in their odious faces, yeah! I was a mug
I was later to learn what being connected means

OK so you're now thinking
what has this got to do with our Gonzo or Animal Nurse
well. good thinking, I'll tell you what
because next day after the splat on pavement and knees mishap
I am in accident and emergency swollen knees and all
finally after a lot of knowing looks and procedural whatsnot'
I was escorted to this treatment room
and our prospective drummer soon arrived to attend to me

She asked me to take a seat
and then almost immediately started banging
the pots and pans
I watched transfixed as this modern professional person
morphed into an unruly child playing drums with mum's pans
she was at it with full gusto, slamming various medical pans
against eachother, all with an evil smirk on her face
I watched speechlessly, unable to comprehend the scene
when was the last time you saw a nurse on hippy crack

Eventually she stopped
I expected the whole annexe to come flooding in
but nobody appeared,
like I was Chapman of beloved Lennon, she stuck on plasters
flashed ***** looks at me, could barely bring herself to speak to me
finally she handed me two tablets and literally heaved me outdoors
now in the corridor another Nurse walked by
Mister she said, try not to drink till you fall over again, she said
hope your hang-over hasn't worsen, she added
and there laid the explanation for the percussion interlude

She was gone before I could reply
I don't drink, I actually don't like the taste of almost all *****
my fall was a total accident
but as I walked away it all come home to me
but wouldn't I have been reeking of *****, eyes glazed
or dulled eyes and looking worse for wear
yet there I was, bright eyed, well kempt, functioning ably
but the net-work of misinformation and disinformation
has been at work again

it was showering slightly as I limped to the bus-stop
I had experienced so much drawbacks and throwbacks from
character assassinations to even begin to mention
it has stopped amazing me that people will believe
whatever they choose to want to believe,
even without the slightest proof or evidence
and act accordingly
we are gullible, we are denser.....

First in the Series...FROM INNOCENT EYES

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