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Edward Laine Sep 2011
The old green door creaked when it opened. The same way it always did. The same old pitiful, sad sound it had made for years.
Sad because, like the rest of Jimmy's Bar it wouldn't be broken the way it was if someone would only take the time to fix it, in this case to grease the hinges, and then maybe the joint wouldn't be such a dive.
But that was the way it was, and the old green door pretty much summed up the whole place before you had even stepped in.

It was an everyday scene, this dreary November afternoon like any other: the glasses from the night(or nights) before were still stacked up on the far end of the bar, waiting to be washed, or just used again. The regulars, as they were known really didn't care if they were drinking out of a ***** glass or having a shot or a short out of a pint glass or beer or a stout or a bitter or an ale or a cider or even a water or milk(to wash down or soak up the days drinking) out of the same old ***** glass they had been drinking out of all week long.
Anyway, when the door creaked this time, it was old Tom Ashley that made it creak.
He shuffled in like the broken down bindle-stiff he was. Yawning like a lion and rubbing his unwashed hands on his four day beard. His grey hair as bed-headed and dishevelled as ever.  He was wearing the same crinkled-up blazer he always wore, tailor made some time in his youth but now in his advancing years was ill-fitting and torn at the shoulder, but still he wore a white flower in the lapel, and it didn't much matter that he had picked it from the side of the road, it helped to mask the smell of his unwashed body and whatever filth he had been stewing in his little down town room above the second hand book store. It wasn't much, but it suited him fine: the rent was cheap, and Chuck, the owner would let him borrow books two at a time, so long as he returned them in week, and he always did. He loved to read, and rumour had it, that a long time ago when he was in his twenties he had written a novel which had sold innumerable copies and made him a very wealthy man. The twist in the tale, went that he had written said novel under a pen name and no soul knew what it was, and when questioned he would neither confirm nor deny ever writing a book at all. It was some great secret, but after time people had ceased asking questions and stopped caring all together on the subject. All that anybody knew for sure was; he did not work and always had money to drink. It was his only great mystery.  T.S Eliot and Thomas Hardy were among his favourite writers. He had a great stack of unread books he had been saving in shoe box on his window sill. He called these his 'raining season'.

But for now, the arrangement with Chuck would suit him just fine.
He dragged his drunkards feet across the floor and over to the bar. All dark wood with four green velour upholstered bar stools, that of course, had seen better days too.
He put his hands flat on the bar, leaned back on his heels and ordered
a double Talisker in his most polite manner. He was a drunk, indeed but 'manners cost nothing'' he had said in the past. Grum, the bartender(his name was Graham, but in the long years of him working in the bar and
all the drunks slurring his name it gradually became Grum)smiled false heartedly, turned his back and whilst pouring old Toms whiskey into a brandy glass looked over his shoulder and said, ''so Mr. Ashley, how's
life treatin' ya'?'' Tom was looking at the floor or the window or the at the back of his eyelids and paid no attention to the barkeep. He was always
a little despondent before his first drink of the day. When Grum placed the drink on the bar he asked the same question again, and Tom, fumbling with his glass, simply murmured a monosyllabic reply that couldn't be understood with his mouth full of that first glug of sweet,
sweet whiskey he had been aching for. Then he looked up at tom with
big his shiney/glazed eyes, ''hey grum,
now that it is a fine whiskey, Robert Lewis Stevenson
used to drink this you know?'' Grum did know, Tom had told him this nearly every day for as long as he had been coming in the place, but
he nodded towards Tom and smiled acceptingly all the same. ''The king of drinks, as I conceive it, Talisker, he said'' Grum mouthed the words along with him,  caustically and half smiled at him again. Tom drained his glass and ordered another one of the same.

A few more drinks, a few hours and a few more drinks again
passed, Tom put them all on his tab like he always did. Grum,
nor the owner of the bar minded, he always paid his tab before
he stumbled home good and drunk and he didn’t cause too
much trouble apart from the odd argument with other customers
or staff but he never used his fists and he always knew when
he was beat In which case he would become very apologetic
and more often than not veer out of the bar back stepping
like a scared dog with his tail between his tattered trousers.
Drinking can make a cowardly man brave but not a smart
man dumb and Tom was indeed a smart man. Regardless
of what others might say. He was very articulate, well read
with a good head (jauntily perched) on his (crooked) shoulders.
By now it was getting late, Tom didn't know what time it was,
or couldn't figure out what time it was by simply looking at
the clock, the bar had one of those backwards clocks, I
don't know if you have ever seen one, the numbers run
anti-clockwise, which may not seem like much of task to
decipher I know, but believe me, if you are as drunk as tom
was by this point you really can not make head nor tails of
them. He knew it was getting late though as it was dark
outside and the  lamp posts were glowing their orange glow
through the window and the crack in the door. It was around
ten o’clock now and Tom had moved on to wine, he would
order a glass of Shiraz and say ''hey Grum, you know Hafez
used to drink this stuff, used to let it sit for forty days to achieve
a greater ''clarity of wine'' he called it, forty days!'' ''Mr Ashley''
said Grum looking up from wiping down the grimy bar and
now growing quite tired of the old man’s presence and what seemed
to be constant theories and facts of the various drinks he
was devouring, ''what are you rabbiting on about now, old
man?'' ''Hafez'' said old Tom ''he was a Persian poet from the
1300's as I recall... really quite good'', ''Well, Tom that is
truly fascinating, I must be sure to look in to him next time
I'm looking for fourteenth century poetry!'' said the barkeep,
mockingly. ''Good, good, be sure that you do'' Tom said,
taking a long ****-eyed slurp of his drink and not noticing
the sarcasm from the worn out bartender. He didn't mean
to poke fun at Tom he was anxious to get home to his wife
who he missed and longed to join, all alone in their warm
marital bed in the room upstairs. But Tom did not understand
this concept, he had never been married but had left a long
line of women behind him, loved and left in the tracks of his
vagabond youth, he had once been a good looking man a
''handsome devil'' confident and charming in all his wit and
literary references to poets of old he had memorised passages from ,Thoreau,Tennyson ,Byron, Frost etc. And more times
than not passed these passages of love and beauty off as
his own for the simple purpose of getting various now wooed
and wanting women up to his room. But now after  many
years of late nights, cigarettes and empty bottles cast aside
had taken their toll on him he spent his nights alone in his
cold single bed drunk and lonely with his only company being
once in a while a sad eyed dead eyed lady of the night, but
only very rarely would he give in to this temptation and it
always left him feeling hollow and more sober than he had
cared to be in many long years.
The bell rang last orders.
He ordered another drink, a Gin this time and as he took
the first sip, pleasingly, Grum stared at him with great open
eyes and his hand resting on his chin to animate how he
was waiting for the old man to state some worthless fact
about his new drink but the old man just sat there swaying
gently looking very glazed and just when the barkeep was
just about to blurt out his astonishment that Tom had noting
to say, old Tom Ashley, old drunk Tom took a deep breath
with his mouth wide, leaned back on his stool and said...
''hey, you know who used to drink gin? F. Scott Fitzgerald''
''really?'' said the barkeep snidely ''Oh yes'' said Tom
''The funny thing is Hemingway and all those old gents
used to tease Fitzgerald about his low tolerance, a real
light weight! He paused and took a sip ''but err, yes
he did like the odd glass of gin'' he said, mumbling
into the bottom of his glass.
Now, reaching the end of the night, the bartender
yawning, rubbing his eyes and the old man with
close to sixty pounds on his tab, sprawled across the
bar, spinning the last drop of his drink on the glasses
edge and seeming quite mesmerised by it and all its
holy splendour, he stopped and sat up right like a shot,
and looking quite sober now he shouted ''Grum,
Graham, hey, come here!'' the sleepy bartender was
sitting on a chair with his feet up on the bar, half asleep,
''Hey Graham, come here'' ''eh-ugh, what? What do you
want?'' said the barkeep sounding bemused and
befuddled
in his waking state, ''just come over here will you,
please''
the barkeep rolled off his chair sluggishly and slid
his feet across the floor towards the old man ''what is
it?'' he said scratching his head with his eyes still half
closed. The old man drowned what was left of his
drink and said ''I think I've had an epiphany, well err
well, more of a theory really w-well..'' he was stuttering
. ''oh yeah? And what would that be, Mr Ashley?'' said
the bartender, folding his arms in anticipation. ''pour
me another whiskey and I'll tell you''
''one mor... you must be kidding me, get the hell
out of here you old drunk we're closed!'' the old man
put his hands together as if in prayer and said in his
most sincere voice, '' oh please, Grum, just one more
for the road, I'll tell you my theory and then I'll be on
my way, OK?'' ''FINE, fine'' said Grum ''ONE more and
then you're GONE'' he walked over to the other side
of the bar poured a whiskey and another for himself.
''OK, here’s your drink old man, and I don't wanna
hear another of your ******* facts about writers
or poets or whoever OK?'' Tom snatched the drink of
the bar, ''OK, OK, I promise!'' he said. Tom took a slow
slurp at his drink and relaxed back in his seat and
sat quite, looking calm again.
The bartender sat staring at him, expecting the old
man to say something but he didn’t, he just sat there
on his stool, sipping his whiskey, Grum leaned forward
on the bar and with his nose nearly touching the old
mans, said ''SO? Out with it, what was this ****
theory I just HAD to hear?'' ''AH'' said the old man,
waving his index finger in the air, he looked down
into his breast pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes,
calmly took two out, handed one to the barkeep,
struck a match from his ***** finger nail, lit his own
the proceeded to light the barkeeps too.
Taking a long draw and now speaking with the blue
smoke pouring out his mouth said '' let me ask you a question''
... he paused, …  ''would agree that everybody
makes mistakes?'' the barkeep looked puzzled as to
where this was going but nodded and grunted a
''uh-hum'' ''well'' said the old man would you also
agree that everybody also learns... and continues
learning from their mistakes?'' again looking puzzled
but this time more  intrigued grunted the same ''uh-hum'' noise,
though this time a little more drawn out and
higher pitched and said ''where exactly are you going
with this?'' curiously.
''well..'' let me explain fully said Tom. He took another
pull on his cigarette and a sip on his drink, ''right,
my theory is: everybody keeps making mistakes, as
you agreed, this meaning that the whole world keeps
making mistakes too, and so the world keeps learning
from is mistakes, as you also agreed, with me so far?''
the barkeep nodded ''right'' Tom continued ''the world
keeps makiing and learning from its mistakes, my
theory is that one day, the world will have made so
many mistakes and learned from them all, so many
that there are no more mistakes to make, right? And
thus, with no mistakes left to learn from the word will
be all knowing and thus... PERFECT! Am I right? The
barkeep, now looking quite in awe and staring at his
cigarette smoke in the orange street light coming t
hrough the window, raised his glass and said quite
excitedly ''and when the world is then a perfect place
Jesus will return! Right?'' ''well Graham...'' said the old
man doubtingly ''I am in no way a religious man, but I
guess if that’s your thing then yes I guess you could be
right, yes''
He then drowned the rest of his whiskey in one giant
gulp, stubbed out his cigarette in the empty glass
and said ''now, I really must get going ,it really is getting quite
late'' and begun to walk towards the door. The
bartender hurried around the bar and grabbed Tom
by the arm,
'' you cant just leave now! We need to discuss this!
Please stay, we'll have another drink, on the house!''
''Now, now,Graham'' said the old man, ''we can discuss
this another night, I really must get to bed now'' he
walked over to the door, and just as his hand touched
the handle the barkeep stopped him again and said
quite hurriedly,'' but I need answers, how will I know
everything is going to be alight? You know PERFECT,
just like you said!'' the old man opened the door
slightly, turned around coolly and said ''now, don’t
worry yourself, I’m sure everything will turn out fine
and we’ll talk about it more tomorrow, OK?'' the
barkeep nodded acceptingly and held the door open
for the
old man, ''sure sure, OK'' he said ''tomorrow it is,
Mr Ashley''
Just as Tom was walking out the door he stopped
looked at the   barkeep with large grin on his face
and said very fast, as fast as he could ''you-know-an-interesting
-fact-about-whiskey-it-was -Dylan-Thomas'
-favourite-drink-in-fact-his-last-words-were -"I've-had-18
-straight-whiskeys......I-think-that's-the-record."­!! HAHA '' he
laughed almost uncontrollably. Graham the barkeep looked
at him with a smile of new found admiration and began to
close the door on him.
Just as the door was nearly shut, the old man stopped
once
more, pulled out a roll of money, looked in to the
bartenders
eyes and put the money into his shirt pocket, then putting
his left hand on the bartenders shoulder said ''oh and
Grum, one of those great ol' women I let get away, once told ,me:
''if you are looking at the moon then,everything is alight'' and slapped
him lightly on the cheek.
. Then finally, pointing at the barkeeps shirt pocket said ''
for the bar tab'' then went spinning out the door way with
the grace of a ballroom dancer(rather than the old drunk
he had the reputation for being) and standing in the
orange glow of the street and seeing the look of sheer
wonderment on the bartenders face still standing in the
old green door way and shouted ''LOOK UP, THE MOON,
THE MOON!'' The barkeep, shaking his head and laughing,
peered his head out of the door and took a glance at the
moon and grinned widely then closed the old green door
for the night. It made the same old loud creak when he shut it.

                                       FIN
JM Romig Aug 2019
Lee was posted up in in usual spot
back by the stacks,
with his phone on life support.
Its umbilical cord was knotted up like a nest,
and held together by electrical tape.

It sat next to his vape
box and a stack of books
about the GED, twenty-fist century
side hustles and back issues of Ebony.

People come in and out of the library
and everyone says hi to Lee,
He is the man to see,
He asks about their lives and gives sage advice –
How you been, my man?
How’s the kids doin’, girl?
How’s married life treatin’ you, my dude?

My man, you gotta do this.
Babygirl, look into that.
Don’t wear your hat like that,
Boy, ya look silly.

Lee lives in a van
that he parks nearby
so he can job-hunt on the free wifi
even when the place is closed.

If you feel sorry for me, don’t
says Lee
I’m the freest now I’ll ever be,
so, don’t you dare take pity on me
I’m doing all I can do,
being all I can be.

Everything’s  temporary.
Tomorrow I could be you,
you could be me
we’re just one bad day,
one scratch-off lottery ticket away
from swapping places, my man.

Yeah, I live in that van
parked outside the library
but if you think I’m sad,
you’re thinking wrong,

Won’t see me moping, or doping
floating along
you won’t see me frowning,
or drowning,
singing a sad song.

I’m happy with all that I got
who wouldn’t wanna be in my spot,
I’m The King
of the Library Parking Lot.
*Disclaimer: Lee is a fictional character. Any resemblance he may have to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Jared Van May 2013
No woman Is worth what you put me through,
Girls talk about men and the bad **** he'd do,
But that's nothing compared,
To the emotional despair,
From terrorist attacks, from a woman's lair,
****, I'd wonder why I'd care,
Sayin' it isn't fair,
Ya disappointment's perpetual and you were never there,
Should have not got ******, now my heart need repair,
And through all the pain and agony you weren't even aware,
I tried to shrug my love,
Pretend I didn't give a ****,
Hoping it didn't come back round like bad karma, ****** luck,
Hard truths,  
Cold facts, It's all through,
What's the point of part one if there's never part two?
Heart's glued,
Still trying to put back broken pieces,
It's all you,
And I'm thinkin' over thesis,
Go back to observation,
Evidence of perpetration,
Hold you accountable for all ya allegations,
It all supports my theory,
If I'm superman your kryptonite when you're near me,
I fear thee,
Cryin' when you week and weary,
Sayin' "Jared, I need a friend so please hear me"
'Cause that's the nicotine I try not to let get near me,
Askin', "Are you listening?"
Through self imposed misery  
Treatin' me like a figurine,
So I play you like a tennis team,
And make sure you get no love, back to my history!
Because you never deserved my presence,
Men try to win ya heart just a part of contestants,
Just to win a section,
Of your empty affection,
Compulsion, and expections,
Of giving that's one way in direction,
Taker Take her,
Come meet you maker,
The distance you created like the comet did the crater,
Don't ask me for no favors,
Cause i savor the flavor,
Of live with out you compared,
To a life with you despaired,
And everyday your name slips me,
Is like a little victory,
Because you name is to me,
A bad taste in my mouth, and amnesia is my listerine,
Forgetting things,
Now relationships are hard, because, of what you did to me,
Left me with scars, half dead like chivalry,
But it still lives through me,
If I ever see you again, I'll pretend, it didn't get to me,
Stop talking, and start listening,
Vapid actress,
When will you stop actin'?
You can fake love but you can't fake passion,
Vapid actress,
When will you stop actin'?
You can fake love but you can't fake passion.
Jared Van May 2013
I kno you all to well,
Makin' the wrong decision, with men, and start to dwell,
Livin' blendin' collisions within hearts you tail,
In the endin' you forgive him and say it's hard to bail,
I don't know why you let men beat you,
And mistreat you,
Go back and get mad that they had deceived you,
Now you only see the worst in people,
It's rare you see good, 'cause it's common you see evil,
I see through,
This obsession to be loved,
Need a lot now, because before you didn't get enough,
Start to talk to me when things are getting tough,
Your life feels like you are putting through the rough,
In the end all of these boogies make you feel lonely,
Treatin' you just like a piece of pepperoni,
Feelin' hella sad 'cause every girl just wants a pony,
Thinkin' everyday ferry tails are a little more phony,
If only,
Ya prince charming would arrive,
A man who would stand out from all these bad guys,
Someone to focus on what you need in ya life,
A pleasure, to take away all the plight,
I'd fight, and try,
To be a friend,
But the more we time spend,
The more I'm vibin,
Want more than to slide in,
You were someone that I confide in,
I'm fightin'
An inner battle,
To be the raft or the paddle,
Havin' trouble being the queen to you own castle,
Askin' me to be the shepherd to your cattle,
Findin' where I fit seems to be such a hassle,
Problem is I could never even try to trust you,
Known for betraying any man who tried to love you,
Foolin' my self believing I was strictly lustful,
But knew it was somethin' more every time that I touched you,
And it kills me,
The only time you get to see the real me,
Is when liquor fills me,
And I drunk text you all my feelings,
Spillin' my heart out,
Tryin' to negate a fall out,
Conflicted, wishin' your what I envision without a small doubt,
I'm there for you,
I care for you,
When he put his hands on ya, Where were you?
The man behind the scenes,
Hands inside his jeans,
Glamorized in dreams,
You I fantasize with me,
But in the end, I'm just a friend, with you watching Mean Girls and Anastasia,
Answer any call from my dream girl, "How can I save ya?"
All I want is you, I don't wanna be a playa,
I kno you all to well so we'll never be nothin' greater...
jeffrey robin Aug 2014
Come to me        Come to me
                  Now

   ((                                                
•                                  
         ))                            

Little  MARY  in the school yard !

Playin her love games  !

Gettin hurt then
        Settling the      Score



Killin her soul
With her dead heart

                                 ((
                                             •
                                                        ))

Come to me     Come to me
                 Now

//

Treatin eachother like        Toys !

YE say the word LOVE like yer castin a       Spell

To end up with you is to be in     Hell

Bein yer lover in a poem or letter

Is a good reason to get outta town
        
)   O   (
// • |
<>  

Come

To me

              NOW


NOW                     !!!

////       ////

Sellin your ***** for a pandering ****

Treatin LOVE  like you's a freakin addict !

••

But don't worry YE gonna get paid

We all becoming a

JACK OF ALL TRADES !!

((                                       ((              
•                                  •
                     ))                                ))


/::/

Come to me    NOW

Or

Please oh please

Oh please

                          STAY  da **** AWAY !
Carla Marie May 2013
Cardinal Number…  The product of ten and five... or
Degrees of temperature… or half’a century … or the amount of feet
I be screamin for folks  to
Back up and give me
labor pains… and mental strain… Losses…  Gains…   and I’m still sane and baby
I’ve paid my dues…  yes sir I’ve paid some dues… and at times…
Paid a coupla other folks dues too… rememberin
stretchin the hell out some red beans & rice…
candle lit camp outs in the livin room… laughin our way through unpaid bills… rememberin
hiding behind bushes… jumping from tree to tree…  so they think they’re
trick or treatin by themselves… thinkin
Can you say “TEENAGER”…  I sho can… both bein one…  and raisin some…
shootin from the hip tryin ta figure it all out…
Young folks askin you the meanin of life… and YOU don’t even know yet what it’s all about...
Gettin mad when HER teacher gave YOUR science project a C… cuz you know YOU do A work...
Sittin off by yourself as he walks across the stage… cuz this moment is to be savored...
Learnin the difference between ALONE and LONELY…  
Learnin that **** is not something you take off or put on… ******, **** just is…
Learnin to work with what you got...
Learnin that nobody can MAKE you happy… you got to find that for yourself...
Learnin to see the Big Picture and pick out whats important… cuz
It’s tough to get to Fifty…
That’s why a lotta folks don’t make it….
All the moments… good and bad…
break ups…
break downs…
and breakthroughs...
It’s Fifty…
And by Fifty
We’ve all paid our dues…
Yes, Fifty
You've paid your dues…  and if you're lucky…  and livin right…
Paid a coupla other folks dues too
Cyrus Gold Apr 2016
All I wanted was a night out on the town with her
With all the love and adoration that I promised her
Fitted cap on my head, felt like a trend setter
A mental slap from my momma; I should’ve known better.

Picked her up, and I was starin’ at her gorgeous outfit
Her fitted top, her cotton blouse, and lookin’ fine without it
Honored to stand beside her, I didn’t mind the clues
I found her very attractive wearin’ designer shoes

Took her out to dinner, we’re conversin’,
Lobster in citric acid – she devours, thinks it’s worth it
The in-house chef comes at our table and asks,
“This is the fifth time you’ve ordered,
So can you make this your last?”

The check is at our table; I offer to pay for it
She doesn’t even glance, pullin’ out her phone
I noticed her nails; she paid a lot for ‘em
Dinner was very painful
She wants me over? I'm startin' to see her fatal halo

On our way to her place, a man was gettin’ robbed
I’m shoutin’ at the attackers - she’s actin’ very odd
Tell her to call the cops to try and get these boys to stop,
“Sorry but I’m in a hurry! I’ll see you at the spot.”

Ten minutes later I’m racin’, and knockin’ at her door,
Reachin’ her place and I notice she’s pacin’ back and forth,
She’s on the phone with a “*****” who stole her ex from her
Angry detonation soon as she got a text from her

She tells a “Jada” on the phone, “***** I don’t give a ****!”
Jada responds “wantin' to let you know and wish you luck.”
But you can tell that she was jealous of Jada’s position
Her ex is treatin’ her better, happy with his decision

I’m wonderin’ what happened; turns out that Jada’s pregnant
“She thinks I care about that, knowin’ that I resent him!”
She claims she’s better than Jada in every single way
With self-respect and sayin’ prayers every single day

Seekin’ some validation, she’s beggin’ for a kiss
Intimate opportunity, she’s hopin’ not to miss
Her sweet, angel hazel eyes are lookin’ sour ‘cause
I’m just exhausted and feelin’ the witchin’ hour buzz

She lashes out; I see the reason why this girl is single
Admits to cheatin’ on her ex and so she’s out to mingle
Pulls out a lash and then proclaims that I should punish her?!
I’m out the door within’ seconds cause I’m so done with her!
Underlying theme in stanzas 2-10... do you see it? ;)
DeAnna Sandoval Dec 2011
Who am I to you?
Tell me what you think of me
Am I your friend?
Or am I just your enemy?
Tell me
Treatin me like ****
When we out in a group
But askin for help
When we alone in the same room
This ain’t right
You gotta make your mind
Before it’s too late and you run out time
But it’s your loss
Cuz im a really nice guy
See I even had the heart
to put you in this rhyme.
Don’t play games with me
Cuz your gonna get hurt
And don’t mess with this fire
cuz your bound to get burnt
now take this little rhyme
its already in full effect
but don’t take it personally
its just a reality check
This is a poem written by my good friend Cedrick Almonacy. He doesn't have an account on here, so I had to share this with the word on mine. <3
alexis hill Feb 2014
let us be honest
let us be upfront
and real

as we must-
in order to properly
heal this wound we
have made in society.

PEOPlE ARE
AFRAID OF ME.
because I am "crazy"

because I have OCD
because I have BPD

they definitely don't
even know what
those acronyms MEAN

see I've been deemed
as crazy
and marked as one
full of insanity

and this STIGMAS
stingin' me.

this is how they
be treatin' me
and they be sayin'
and playin' this game

towards me-

lock her away
and pray she don't come
near me:

mental illness is
infectious and she'll
surely get me,

she's contagious
it's outrageous
don't touch me-

she's CRAZY.

she's manic
and throwin fits
it's ****** *******

keep her AWAY
from me,
please I don't need
to be exposed

like even if she
don't look it
or like she's got it
she doesn't seem
THAT insane

but it could bloom
in MY brain
if we ride the same subway
or ride the same train-

*******, she's got
an illness-
a mental illness
that's the diagnosis

she's ******' CRAZY

it's a disgrace she even
shows her face
don't see how
she can even leave
that place

**** just cage that
mental case AWAY

I TOLD YOU
she's crazy.
keep that mental
**** AWAY from me.
Mark Lecuona Jul 2017
Every day I hear the news
Everybody’s fighting for something
I tried to change the channel
Can't find one to choose
There's too many people singing
Singing the red white and blues

Open another bottle of *****
America needs to start partying
Heard a fire ******* go off
That’s a sound you can’t refuse
There’s too many people crying
Crying the red white and blues

You’re treatin’ America bad
It’s the only one we have
The red white and blues
The red white and blues
It’s not my kind of song

It’s late enough
But I can’t sleep it off
The world makes my sheets sweat
I’m bleeding and I can’t tell you why

You’re treatin’ America bad
It’s the only one we have
The red white and blues
The red white and blues
It’s not my kind of song
Ma Cherie Nov 2016
Hard for me to reconcile
my back woods raisin'
way down on the farm,
our simple livin'
treatin' others right
fair & square,
blue collar days,
as Merle Haggard,
is playin' in the living room,
I wish I could go back
to just yesterday,
when I BELIEVED in my President,

When the future,
President elect,
didn't say,

"Just grab'em by the *****".

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Seriously?
Indigo May 2019
As a kid:

Our faces covered with sweat.
As y'all be yellin’ at us with threats.
Our hands covered with cuts and blood.
And our arms, be caked with mud.
Every day, we be prayin’ to God for our freedom to come
Ignoring all y’all sayin’ we’re scums.
Someday I’ll finally leave this place.
Cuz’ the people ‘round here are claiming black ain’t a race.
All y’all people callin’ my people *******.
As all y’all be sittin' there while y’all snicker.
You’ve whipped me, tearin’ my life apart.
My ma always be sayin’ kindness comes from deep down in our hearts.
I kneel as you chain my hands.
And push me down again as Imma’ tryin’ to stand.
I reckon myself I ain’t gonna give up now.
As all y’all treatin' us like we’re cows.

As an adult:

My ma always be tellin' me to fight for what is right.
I was her favorite stick of dynamite.
My pa even said I jaywalked a two.
Said that I would make a big change that guys like me would be lookin’ up too.
My bro Jay be tellin’ me to never let anything get to me.
But still, as an adult, a white man whipped me.
And he be taunted me and sayin’ ain’t you gonna flee.
I looked him straight in his eyes and said someday we are gonna be free.
He looked at me sayin’ you think a ****** like you would be special.
I told him off sayin’ he was being sentimental.
I walked away, head held high.
Cuz’ he’s just bein’ a cruel type of guy.
Who would’ve knew that I ended up bein’ a leader.
All just because I ain’t never stopped bein’ believer.
I may be black but that don’t mean I ain’t allowed to be speakin’ up for black rights.
Cuz’ all y’all can be speakin’ up to and be white.
Ivva’ worked hard and was very successful.
Now all y’all please remember that y’all are special.
I didn’t back down and I ain’t never gonna give up for freedom for slaves.
So all y’all speak up for all y’alls rights and don’t y'all ever forget “Remember to be brave.”
Lawrence Hall Oct 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                      A Disembodied Hand Doomscrolling
                       on the Wall of Tia Maria’s Barbecue

                                       - not Daniel 5

Tiffany was treatin’ the girls to barbecue
The merry ol’ girls from her bowling league
(Dazzling team colors in pink and blue)
She had made herself captain through cruel intrigue

When suddenly a disembodied hand
Appeared with a smartphone by the restroom door
And keyed strange lines that in flickerings scanned:
“You’ll be sacked this evening - your team’s 0 to 4”

That very night Tiffany’s custom ball was taken
And she cried in her trailer, her heart a-breakin’
The world needs more rhyming doggerel.
He's a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
He's been tellin' lies
He's a lover boy at play
He don't play by the rules,
Girl, don't play the fool
You're the one givin' up the love
Anytime he needs it
But you turn your back, and then he's off and runnin' with the crowd
You're the one to sacrifice
Anything to please him
Do you really think he thinks about you when he's out?
He's a cold-hearted snake
Look into his eyes
He's been tellin' lies
He's a lover boy at play
He don't play by the rules
Girl, don't play the fool, no
It was only late last night
He was out there sneakin'
Then he called you up to check that you were waiting by the phone
All the world's a candy store
He's been trick or treatin'
When it comes to true love, girl, with him there's no one home

— The End —