"turner" poems
"My mouth hasn't shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn't stopped thinking about you since, well, before any kiss. And now the prospect of those kisses seems to wind me like when you slip on the stairs and one of the steps hits you in the middle of the back. The notion of them continuing for what is traditionally terrifying forever excites me to an unfamiliar degree."
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
My Country Tis of Thee,
Sweet land of liberty-
Or so we sing.
Land where my fathers died-
But my forefathers died in a battle
Trying to keep their slaves;
My fathers killed your fathers
For trying to run away;
My fathers **** your fathers
Cause it's late at night, and
He's reaching for his gun-no, wait,
His ID?
Land of the pilgrim's pride-
But so often we leave out of history
How if it weren't for a Native American,
The pilgrims would've died.
From every mountainside-
Like Stone Mountain in Georgia,
Where Rebel Generals are memorialized,
Where the **** was revived-
God, help me, I can't hear freedom's ring;
I can only hear white-washed history.
From every mountainside-
But these days, the mountain is in my chest,
And liberty's ring sounds a lot different,
And a lot of folks don't like it.
Let freedom ring-
And I want to fight for freedom for all-
#BlackLivesMatter-
I want to help-
HANDS UP, DON'T SHOOT!
But-
I
Can't
Breathe.
Let freedom ring!-
But peaceful protests turn into
Bloodbaths as those who have sworn
To serve and protect are sniped down.
Let freedom ring!-
I try to educate myself
On the side of history not taught-
I've always felt that Nat Turner was the bad guy,
But these days I'm questioning it.
I read "The Meaning of Fourth of July for the *****
by Frederick Douglass
And I read "Bury Me in a Free Land"
by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
and I read "Sympathy"
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
and I read "Letters from Birmingham Jail",
"The Mountaintop Speech", and
"I Have a Dream"
by Dr. King.
When I was younger,
I'd research Dr. King & his colleagues
For fun.
I'd wonder, "If I lived in the Civil Rights era,
What would I have done?"
But when I turned seventeen,
I realized, "I live in a Civil Rights era;
What am I going to do?
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 5:28 PM UTC
If I were a book,
what would my cover lead you to believe?
Colorful knee socks - a bit quirky.
Nose ring - acquired during a brief rebellious phase.
Purple hair - craving attention.
Lack of eye contact - lacking self confidence, socially awkward.
Chipped nail polish - not quite a girly-girl or a tomboy
Combat boots - attempting to seem edgy.
Maybe your assumptions are right.
But you'll never know until you read the book.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 9:47 PM UTC
You make my cheeks burn brighter than Charizard's flame,
And make my heart beat faster than Sonic The Hedgehog on Green Hill Zone,
You calm me down like you're Lugia's song,
And you make me laugh harder than a boss level itself.
If you were the doctor I'd jump in the Tardis without a second glance,
And fight daleks and weeping angels just for the chance,
To grasp your hand.
Out of all the starter Pokemon,
I'd still choose you,
And never trade you away,
Not even for Mewtwo,
You're rarer than a shiny Pokeman and mean more to me than that,
You're hotter than Aiden Turner and Ash,
If you're Link then I'd love to be your Zelda,
The princess you save over and over.
Like Tetris itself you complete me,
You hold the key to my heart,
And I'd proudly go on a quest to reclaim Erebor if you were by my side.
I know this poem is nerdy,
But I hope you find it sweet,
Because I find without you,
My life wouldn't be complete.
Copyright© 2014 Megan John
All rights reserved.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
I come face-to-face with my Shadow
hungry
devouring
depraved.
The lupine
before a full hunter moon
bristles.
Hot saliva
falls
from hurtful pointed rows
in pearls.
This
in Goodge Street Station's
Underground
where a poster
promotes
The Hunger
a page-turner
The Clown in Soho:
3 Chocolate Martinis
4 lagers
1 gram of *******
300 press-ups
7 mile run and
1 sachet of Kamagra
… the night begins …
I howl with delight
- that’s me -
cracks open
a smile
yellow eddies swirl
in thrawl
to that shadow beast o’ mine.
This monstrous
I
can never satiated be --
a beast to straight jacket under the influence of the waning and waxing moon
and on the night of the carmine moon
release
My phone rings
(Excuse me, while I take this).
‘Hello, am I speaking to Ashley?’
‘Depends on who’s asking,’
I respond
licking my lips.
‘You Ashley Chapman?’
I like this kind o’ game.
‘Like I said,
who’s asking?’
Frustrated he repeats, ‘Confirm your name.’
I yawn and tell him as savagely as I can:
'No!'
Wolves
know 'no'
to the pack.
But as in Beauty and the Beast
(the Cocteau 1946 version, of course)
beneath that thick molting hair pelt
beasts have culture
and feelings, too
(a lion's heart?)
and mostly
(occasionally not)
given
space
food
The Den
a willing mate (or two)
we’re okay
affectionate dogs.
For when all is well with my shadow
-- no problem
in peace
in chains
'til the looped moon!
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 1:38 PM UTC
And the trees about me,
Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks
Groan with continual surges; and behind me
Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches!
Paint me a cavernous waste shore
Cast in the unstilled Cyclades,
Paint me the bold anfractuous rocks
Faced by the snarled and yelping seas.
Display me ****** above
Reviewing the insurgent gales
Which tangle Ariadne’s hair
And swell with haste the perjured sails.
Morning stirs the feet and hands
(Nausicaa and Polypheme).
Gesture of orang-outang
Rises from the sheets in steam.
This withered root of knots of hair
Slitted below and gashed with eyes,
This oval O cropped out with teeth:
The sickle motion from the thighs
Jackknifes upward at the knees
Then straightens out from heel to hip
Pushing the framework of the bed
And clawing at the pillow slip.
Sweeney addressed full length to shave
Broadbottomed, pink from nape to base,
Knows the female temperament
And wipes the suds around his face.
(The lengthened shadow of a man
Is history, said Emerson
Who had not seen the silhouette
Of Sweeney straddled in the sun.)
Tests the razor on his leg
Waiting until the shriek subsides.
The epileptic on the bed
Curves backward, clutching at her sides.
The ladies of the corridor
Find themselves involved, disgraced,
Call witness to their principles
And deprecate the lack of taste
Observing that hysteria
Might easily be misunderstood;
Mrs. Turner intimates
It does the house no sort of good.
But Doris, towelled from the bath,
Enters padding on broad feet,
Bringing sal volatile
And a glass of brandy neat.
3.3k
“When we hand down
This flag to posterity
Paying prices of life
To the country's
Age-old sovereignty
It is with a word of caution
'This generation
Should accord due attention
To handing down
To the coming generation
A new Ethiopia
To fruits of development
A cornucopia!' ”
“Yes, grandpa
Working day and night
We shall take Ethiopia
To a new developmental height!
Once Ethiopia was great
How could we that forget?
The country's renaissance
Firm we shall advance!
For common growth
Resources we
Shall harness,
Allowing the region
Soar with wings of success!”//
I am happy to announce the birth of my poetic drama
In the Vortex of Passion's Wind
By United P.C-publication without risk and quickly (Austria)
ISBN 978-3-7103-2109-2
Release date09092015
GBP14,90
About the book
Shock treatments that attend the wrong turns of life reshape people's mindset anew and nudge them out of their slumbers. On the other hand, as forewarned is forearmed, the sagacious learn from the lapse of the trigger-happy than indulge in the vortex of passion's wind. Miss not this page turner and cliffhanger mainly dealing with HIV/AIDS in a campus of a country worst hit by the pandemic.
Please buy and read the book.You could also get your collection of poems published by www.unitedP.c-publishquickly and without a risk
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
Unfinished sentences have become my forte.
Unvoiced emotions have become my norm.
When you see penguins or giraffes,
When you taste pancakes or lo mein,
When you hear josh turner on the radio,
When you drive through the eclectic neighborhoods
Of hilly chilly San Francisco,
Will you miss...
I will always love...
Even though I shouldn't...
But maybe one day...
Yeah...
One day this won't hurt so much...
Right?
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
No *** for awhile.
Not really looking right now,
Give me your number.
Waterfall Rainbow:
We embraced on an outcrop,
Under a fine mist.
Her head on my chest;
She smiled, then falls fast asleep,
I fall asleep, too.
“What” I asked, “again?”
*** three times in one hot night—
I wanted to sleep.
Do not get too close—
I have had my fill of love,
Now you have been warned.
Nothing left to say,
This will be my last Haiku,
Still thinking of you.
Black Widow in bed
Waiting for the right lover
To ****** and eat.
I fell in love once,
The sweet taste lingered for awhile
Then turned quite bitter.
Love is a question;
No one has all the answers
We can only guess.
The first time we met—
My body overheated,
It hasn’t cooled yet.
My Chevy’s backseat:
Many memories linger
All of them are good.
Tina Turner said:
“What’s love got to do with it?”
I say, “Everything!”
My fidelity,
Along with my love, is all
I have to offer.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 6:23 PM UTC
the problem is honestly my lack of commitment
i do not want to do my homework
write this essay
learn this language
or this math
but i want to know it
i have every desire to be informed in conversation
to be seen as wordily as possible
but not in a pompous bossy way
but genuine knowledge
like your favorite librarian
or your uncle with more stories than the Turner Classic Movies channel
but first i need college
and this moment to learn
and to commit
but once again that is the problem.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 3:01 AM UTC
I'm extremely disorganized
I don't know what belongs where
Take my eyes for example
I can't find a place to rest them
I tried setting them on you
But everyone agreed that **** wasn't working
They explained that an organized man
Adheres to categories
And you and I
Are not of a kind
I attempted to argue that you organized me
My heart
My mind
You folded me neatly
When you beat me
You always made sure to set me aside when you were done with me
You'd place me in a bin
Or release me to the wind
Yet there was a burdensome fault in my littered logic
They explained that an organized man
Is clean
I must use eyes that are sanitized
To see how we're not categorized
And avoid your matador eyes
Because things will get messy
When the bull in your fists
Sees the roses in my heart
My humanity starts to part
And my wishes I begin to opine
For the nature of a bovine
So I wouldn't misplace my eyes
And be what I'm classified
But that nature eludes me
As do most things
On account of me being disorganized and all
But I'm a quick learner order burner page turner
I may not know what belongs where
But I know I belong neither here nor there
Making my eyes not belong anywhere
This is what develops my entropy stare
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
She bleeds ‘all tragic steam work blasted mists
‘All hobbled clamped free fall for ‘all seasonal depression slump
She’s ‘all death knell cramp urgency and held back suffering kneeling
on kitchen floors ‘all like boarding school broomsticks lessons
with ‘all that theoretical **** the ***** save the man type
schlock shock rhetoric shtick
so ‘all I’ll be is her savage heretic wagon burner page-turner
on the hot coal back burner ‘all boarded up sealed shut in the walls
until she calls
Expecting me to be 'all combat ready
‘all back with a vengeance
while her thrift store hazard suit groups and droops
‘all over my haphazard dream sliced hang nailed hangover hands
hiding ‘all derelict style while between the sheets confessional
gets voided by social media air raid sirens
bringing me ‘all too close to rocks and crystals
and who ‘all needs another pathetic apathetic
junk punk when
‘all and ‘all
I'd rather die for you
because
I just can't live with myself
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:08 PM UTC
Compassion the last one that enters the room
A key trait that isn't groomed
A true character the teachers don't teach
A pure thing that leaches won't leach
Compassion the leader to happiness
The follower of sorrow
Compassion something you can't barrow - d.j. Turner
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:40 PM UTC
Us living as we do upside down.
And the new word to have is revolution.
People don't even want to hear the preacher
spill or spiel because God's whole card has been thoroughly piqued.
And America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.
The youngsters who were programmed to continue
******* up woke up one night digging
Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys.
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes.
The signs of Truth were tattooed across our open ended ******
We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal.
Two long centuries buried in the musty vault,
hosed down daily with a gagging perfume.
America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country
whose legs were then spread around the world
and a ****** known as freedom, free doom.
Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names
that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling
in the mother country's crotch
What does Webster say about soul?
All I want is a good home and a wife
and a children and some food to feed them every night.
After all is said and done build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
Alarm clock dead, power's out
What've I got to shout about?
Running late, we're behind
It's things like this make me lose my mind
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Notes written, Kids set to go
Open the fridge, and boom...power goes
It's never ending, all frustrating
The problems are just resonating
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Kids dropped off, on the road
When suddenly another load
Of troubles makes my day
It makes me want to say
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Tire's flat, that's not new
What's a guy supposed to do?
I smile and call for towing
My temper now is showing
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Get in late, that's a given
Boss says "Turner, you're not driven"
"Success comes hard, it isn't easy"
That's when I get really queasy
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Not worth fighting, got a meeting
Meanwhile I am overheating
All I know is that I try
And days like this just make me cry
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Work the day out, heading home
Knowing I am not alone
Millions more go through this too
What's a guy supposed to do?
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Ads are fake, and it's all phony
As I sit watching on my Sony
But one day it'd be really nice
To have that life, and glacier ice
Hot girls, Cold Beer, Fridge full, Good Cheer
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Great view, Fast Cars, Good Friends, Full Bars
Why can't life be a beer ad for me?
Really, Why can't life be a beer ad?
Just one little, stinking ****** beer ad...For Me?
May 21, 2012
May 21, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
The Master Corporal said to me
"I'm gonna do a show"
"Don't worry what I say to you"
"I just thought you should know"
Injured, badly two weeks gone
I was set to be held back
My knee was torn apart and
that, was not something I could hack
The day I was demoted
My Master Corporal came to me
He said "Turner, I hate to do this"
"But, it's for the best...you'll see"
I waited for inspection
With the others all on line
They were standing at attention
Me on crutches the whole time
"Turner, is there anything"
"That I should hate to find"
"Is there stuff inside your locker"
"of a non-military kind"
I stood there at attention
Waiting for the end to come
As he looked all through my kitting
Found dust upon my gun
He opened up the locker
And a moth came flying out
It flew past the Master Corporal
And then it danced upon his snout
The yell...was heard in England
"A pet...you've got a pet"
"Who said that you could have one?"
"It's not allowed...A PET"
The moth found the first window
flew back towards him once again
Left some moth dust on his beret
And he flew away right then
The Master Corporal's outrage
At being "mothed" by my new pet
Was one I don't think many
In our platoon would soon forget
He started throwing clothing
Chucking boots around the room
I knew it was all acting
But, those boots can really zoom
When finished he stood waiting
For a response, I stood and stared
I could not break out a smile
I had to show I didn't care
He moved on through the others
Looking for more moths on the way
But, that first one and it's face dance
Well, it surely made my day
He drove me to my barracks
Up to my new platoon
"I hope you liked my show today"
" I know I'll see you soon"
"Just do what you are ordered"
"And one thing don't forget"
"When you next have an inspection"
"Don't have an insect for a pet!!"
I remember fondly that last visit
He knew it hurt for me to leave
But, every word in here is truthful
You can choose to not or to believe.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
New York Sun Editor John B. Bogart once said
When a dog bites a man, that is not news because it happens so often. But if a man bites a dog, now that's news.
I think the same could be said of life,
at least, mine anyway.
Don't worry, I'm not going around biting dogs,
but I am living it up as if my life were a story,
because it is, otherwise, I'd be bored.
But, if it were up to my parents,
I'd be working some dead-end desk job
at some marketing firm shilling packaged bread
so I could pay off my student loans,
own a home, get a wife & make enough dinero
to march to retirement, just like everyone else.
Same 'ol story.
Dog bites man.
Isn't it more exciting to read
about a roving poet skipping around
the world from Cairo to Toronto
occasionally stopping to smoke on beaches
all the while meeting people
who seem like they're from a different dimension?
I'm not saying I want a book written about me,
but... if one should be in the works,
I know it'd be a real page turner.
Although, most in my generation has been told
we're all unique and special;
getting participation trophies in baseball
& ribbons for being in the spelling-bee,
yet we're all also told, or rather it's highly suggested we
follow suit & get in line like our parents & grandparents did,
continuing their stories of countless wars and conformity.
Same 'ol story.
Dog bites man.
But nobody will read all these identical stories.
That's part of the problem with people,
only a few are living like they have a story to tell
while most fade away in some gray apathy hell.
Well, my brothers and sisters,
I can only frame it to you this way,
if you had a choice between reading the headlines:
Person Does What they're Told Until Death
or
**Person Dies in a Skydiving Sound Circle **** & Bake Sale**
which story are you going to read?
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have to make some magic brownies
because I'm late to my skydiving ****** education lesson.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
Alabaster Archipelagos
Benevolent Beauty Beaming
Constructive Contradictive Creative Contemplations
Dante's Darling Dances Deliberating Denominatives
Effervescent Escapisms Endearingly Emerge Elusive Edens
Fantastic Flamboyant ******** Flamed Fabulous Fiery Flickerings
Gorgeous Garden Gim'memores Gaudied Garnishing Gasps
Heavenly Hues Humming Heart's Harmonies
Immortaly Impregnated Inspired Ideals
Jessamin Jargon Jacuzzi Jams
Know-how Knacking Knurls
Light-spirited Lovers
Merge Magnificent
Naked Nocturno Nights
Omnipresent Ousia Over Odeons
Palpitations Perfect Peaks Pi Paws
Quintessential Quality Quarrels Question Quarks Quietness
Rododendron's Richameters Rescued Raw Reeling Ruby Realms
Sentient Syllabic Sapfo's Splendidly Spirited Semantics
Turning Turner's Timeless Timeless Twinklings
Unified Undulatory Unsolved Unicorns
Velvety Venice Voyages
Wanton Wantings
Xsylophone Xsantiphas
Yearnin' Yuki's Yen
Zed's Zealous Zen-it-hall Zeppelins
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 9:26 AM UTC
A boy named Jake and a girl named Lexi had never met before.
They had a class together last year, but neither one knew it at the time.
They both walked into their Sophomore Drama class for the first time, scared and apprehensive.
Lexi there five minutes before the final bell and Jake, seconds before the final bell.
Jake entered the class and quickly took the only seat on the floor not occupied by an unfamiliar face.
They all introduced themselves, all 27 of them, mostly Sophomores with a few Freshman, Juniors, and a single Senior.It was then, when Lexi said "Hi, my name is Lexis Marilyn Manchester and I go by Lexi," that he first noticed her.
She was cute, shoulder length blonde hair, a floral shirt and jeans, although Jake didn't notice those things at the time. Only her dazzling pale blue eyes, and angelic voice.
The guy sitting next to her didn't say his name at first, even though it was his turn. She tapped his leg and motioned toward the center of the circle the class had made in the Drama Room. Room I7.
He said "How.. uh, my name is Jacob Turner. I don't have a middle name, but I go by Jake."
He was cute. He had short, yet unruly brown hair, a white shirt with the letters "LDTA" on them and nice fitting black jeans. The only thing she noticed about him however were his mysterious pale blue eyes, and for some reason, lack of middle name.
Jake didn't even care that the class had laughed at his lack of middle name. The only thing of importance to him was that when he looked over, the cute girl named Lexis Marilyn Manchester, who went by Lexi, was looking at him. He quickly looked away as did she.
The class went on and neither Jake nor Lexi, made an attempt to talk to the other although they did steal careful looks often. The bell finally rung. It was a seventh period class, so school was over.
On his way home Jake thought of nothing but Lexi, and driving.
He stopped at a sign, only blocks from home. The traffic rushed by. The car behind him did not see his car. They pushed him into the oncoming traffic just as a big SUV hybrid drove by. The driver slammed the breaks but still did not manage to avoid hitting the drivers side door of the small, blue, beat up, Toyota.
The doctors say he was killed on impact.
That's what the school told the small group of friends who were asked to attend a quick meeting regarding the accident. Lexi went.
She thought about him everyday for the yest of the school year.
Even some over summer.
He never faded.
She wouldn't let him for some reason.
He was killed on impact but he never faded.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 11:32 PM UTC
Happy Birthday Heather
I will not state your age
If people want to know it
They can go visit your page
You run a band of poets
A band of Lunatics at heart
But, you saw something in us
And you saw it from the start
We all write different styles
Some are funny, some morose
Some of us have stories
And sometimes, we get gross
But, Heather, you're our leader
And on behalf of all us vandals
Don't put the fire brigade to work
....so don't light your ****** candles!!!
Happy Birthday Hev! Best wishes
We share more than just a last name in my book.
All the love
Roger and Megan Turner
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 5:46 AM UTC
*We lose so much talent to addiction
Some of you may not care, but I do
This is my tribute to them*
**Alan Wilson
Canned Heat
Jimi Hendrix
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Janis Joplin
Jim Morrison
The Doors
Brian Cole
The Association
Billy Murcia
New York Dolls
Danny Whitten
Crazy Horse
Gram Parsons
The Stooges
Gary Thain
Uriah Heep
Elvis Presley
Gregory Herbert
Blood, Sweat & Tears
Keith Moon
The Who
Sid Vicious
*** Pistols
Lowell George
Little Feat
Jimmy McCulloch
Wings
John Bonham
Led Zeppelin
Darby Crash
Germs
James Honeyman-Scott
Pretenders
Pete Farndon
Pretenders
Paul Gardiner
Tubeway Army
Gary Holton
Heavy Metal Kids
Phil Lynott
Thin Lizzy
Andrew Wood
Mother Love Bone
Brent Mydland
Grateful Dead
Steve Clark
Def Leppard
Johnny Thunders
New York Dolls
David Ruffin
The Temptations
Kristen Pfaff
Hole
Shannon Hoon
Blind Melon
Bradley Nowell
Sublime
John Kahn
Jerry Garcia Band
Jonathan Melvoin
The Smashing Pumpkins
Billy Mackenzie
Associates
West Arkeen
The Outpatience
Nick Traina
Link 80
John Baker Saunders
Mad Season
Bobby Sheehan
Blues Traveler
Wes Berggren
Tripping Daisy
Allen Woody
The Allman Brothers Band
Carl Crack
Atari Teenage Riot
Layne Staley
Alice in Chains/Mad Seasons
Kurt Cobain
Nirvana
Dee Dee
Ramones
Robbin Crosby
Ratt
John Entwistle
The Who
Howie Epstein
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Jeremy Michael Ward
De Facto
Tim Hemensley
GOD
Dave Schulthise
The Dead Milkmen
Rick James
Kevin DuBrow
Quiet Riot
Ike Turner
Gidget Gein
Marilyn Manson
Jay Bennett
Wilco
Michael Jackson
The Rev
Avenged Sevenfold
Paul Gray
Slipknot
Mike Starr
Alice in Chains
Amy Winehouse**
*We are not bad people, we just have bad ways
Yet, not many understand*
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
Mysterious Angel
©10 June 2015 Roger Turner & Whitney Rix Victory II
I'm in love with her, but I can't even say her name,
I'm in love with her, but I don't even know her game.
So in love and I always feel, I feel just the same,
I'm in love with her, but I can't even say her name.
Mysterious Angel, my mysterious angel,
So are you the angel, who's come down here to save me?
Mysterious Angel, my mysterious angel,
So are you the angel, the one who's gonna save me?
No, I can't tell her because she might let it all end,
Oh no now, I can't tell her, she might want to be friends,
Part of me's broken, she's the only one who can mend,
No, no, I just can't tell her, can't tell her in case it might end.
Mysterious Angel, my mysterious angel,
So are you the angel, who's come down here to save me?
Mysterious Angel, my mysterious angel,
So are you the angel, the one who's gonna save me?
I can't even tell you just how I fell so in love,
And I think she's an angel from the stars up above,
I don't know how, I don't know how, I fell so in love,
To me she is an angel, she's an angel of love.
I can't tell her, can't tell her, no, in case it might end,
I can't tell her, can't tell her, she might want to be friends,
Part of me's broken, she's the only one who can mend,
No, no, I just can't tell her, can't tell her in case it might end.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 12:01 PM UTC
Welcome to America, in 2016.
Where "all lives matter"
Except Syrian refugees
Where you can't even breathe
Without offending somebody.
Where parents are taken from their children,
Because of the color of their skin.
Where we normalize police brutality.
Where you can be a racist,
And still run for president.
Where injustice is served, with a side of GMOs.
Where the citizens of Flint have been without clean water for how long?
Who knows.
Our minds are diluted by capitalism and celebrities.
Where people will look at you crazy for saying,
"Save the bees"
Meanwhile they're out there, planning WWIII.
When you're told "your vote counts!"
But we're stuck with Trump & Hillary.
Where women on the red carpet are glamorous and sexualized,
But if you're ***** they'll ask,
"Well what were you wearing that night?"
A guy selling marijuana will serve his whole life.
Whereas Brock Turner was released in what felt like overnight.
Where white privilege has never been more real.
And our generation is learning that
"You're weak if you feel."
People being told we have nothing to fear,
Meanwhile the media is controlling what we hear.
People fighting for clean water, as if that wasn't our God-given right.
Our women are afraid to walk home alone at night.
You can work 40 hours a week, and still not make enough to live.
But if you ask for government assistance, you're a "lazy son of a *****
When in reality, it's just enough to feed your kids.
The Elite have created this illusion of seperation.
They have torn us apart as a world, and as a nation.
The color of our skin doesn't make us any different.
I promise you can love someone who practices a clashing religion.
Underneath it all, we're all the same.
All this person on person violence just makes us pawns in their game.
We should be coming together as humans, who have lost their humanity.
Maybe this all makes my "liberal."
But in all honesty, the current state of the world has me questioning my sanity.
Love thy neighbor, respect their spirit.
Or we won't be around much longer to experience it.
Welcome to America in 2017.
We forgot how to love one another so we were wiped out, mercilessly.
If only we had come together before we tore ourselves apart.
If we remember who we are,
We can be our own light in the dark.
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC
i’m the man who’s gonna wake up next to you
slipping away, a non-starter, her leg crosses over mine,
a right sided shakedown shackle, adhesion flesh as
tough as old yellowed scotch tape sticking stuck
no escaping, a known 6:00am risk when you sleep with
a pre-advertised holy roller, twist and turner woman,
making you into an unofficial woe-man (too)
left hand grabs the lamenting instrument, the beat up iPad,
to record your enslavement, a distraction from the bladder’s
faint morn winking at you with a Cheshire grin, muffling a
chuckle, at a predicament wonderful familiar, but unresolvable
this situation, a category of life’s small measure of annoyances,
invokes the wordy title, and a write-down list of pluses and minuses,
which I’ll spare which o’witch be the longer list
poems are where you find them, under your nose,
looking out a city bus window, but sometimes like flypaper,
they just come unasked and stick to you, the separating of the skin,
like a too tight bandaid, ain’t worth the pain and freedom gained
later, share this missive and her suggestion, she will prepare an
NDA (a non-disclosure agreement) or adopt other strategies like
pushing me out of the bed without warning when i am typing ,
to witch and to wit, reply,
ah!
another poem commissioned, and
*perhaps, name change too, needed,
making love in the morning*
12/14/19
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 1:40 PM UTC