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Cameron Crew Jul 2014
VIOLENCE,
Nothing is as beautiful and as disgusting

To see MEN and WOMEN strike and grapple on UFC is wonderful
leaving everything they have out there with respect
only their technique and skill to speak for them
in the name of martial arts

To see "men" and "women" scrap and stomp on worldstar is sickening
leaving no downed alone,no honor nor respect
only their cowardice and anger speak for them
in the name of Violence.
Eric Nov 2013
Greyson fell asleep on my shoulder
I think a lot of street drugs
Are used
By people who are unwittingly
Pursuing the neurochemical response
Gained by a father with his relaxed 4 month
Mike Jewett Feb 2015
This poem is a Google Adwords ad,
Intruding into the sidebar of your heart.

It’s a 1-800-LAWYERS commercial
Making you money off your personal injury.

It’s a brutal, ****** UFC bout,
Weak in its ground game but knows its Jiu-Jitsu
And it’s got you on the mat, begging you to tap out.

This poem is *****,
a SNAFU waiting to happen.

It’s the sarin gas Syria used against its own
And it’s the attack America will be responding with,
Using ****** to punish murderers.

This poem is a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken
Getting your finger-lickin’-good fingers nice and greasy.

This poem is yet another poet writing yet another poem about poems,
With the word poem repeated ad nauseum.

This poem is a bunch of awful band names,
Like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Tapes ‘n Tapes, and Chunk! No, Captain Chunk!.

It’s a summer blockbuster and a teen dystopian trilogy.

It’s riding *****
In your ex’s car.

This poem is anthropogenic global warming
Whose CO2 emissions are dangerously high and climbing
While its polar bears are stranded on the broken ice floes of its verses.

It’s a baseball crowd speaking the words “no hitter”
In the midst of a no-no
Which itself is a no-no.

Its bad grammar, who’s comma’s are all, out of place
And its’ apostrophe’s, are meaningless.

This poem is Zooey Deschanel,
Who will not marry me some day, any day, in the future.
In fact, it doesn’t even know I exist.
Aaron LaLux Sep 2017
Inspirational passions,
passin’ in the Fast Lane actin’ dready no Andretti no crashin’,
cashin’ bowls and buying vowels,
moving bowels from full plates No Alex Trabek no rations,

no talkin’ trash wheels spinning no traction,
no mackin’ all in ******* heavy weight UFC non-stop action,

this is angry aggression mixed with considerate compassion,
this is six men on six horses at 6pm screamin’ six guns blastin’,
through an actual galaxy of factual fallacies,
with cash counting kings and hash smokin’ assassins,
killin’ the villains and other shady characters,
to protect the women and children from the lawless badmen,

and those that know know and those that don’t don’t,
so there’s no need to was time askin’,
all knowns shown through prose and poem,
the words your eyes have heard are everything that happens,

well then,

welcome if you come in peace please have a piece of the pie,
high as Heaven on Cloud 9 in line with inspirational passions,
thought we’d escaped and found a way out,
but instead found outt we’d be summoned back in,

Inspirational passion,
passin’ in the Fast Lane actin’ dready no Andretti no crashin’,
cashin’ bowls and buying vowels,
moving bowels from full plates No Alex Trabek no rations,

no talkin’ trash wheels spinning no traction,
no mackin’ all in ******* heavy weight UFC non-stop action,

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

from THHT2: Nightmares & Dreamscapes
A worldwide #1 best selling poetry book

Andrew T May 2016
In Northern Virginia, for the ladies of wealth, Sunday mornings begin with a hangover, a Virginia Slim, and a Xanax. The day transitions to brunch at Liberty Tavern: one mimosa and one ****** Mary; an omelet with green and red peppers; and another round of mimosas and another ****** Mary, because: why in the world not?

For Thu—a Vietnamese American—Sunday mornings always begin with a different routine.  

She comes downstairs to the dining room, steps around the bundle of adult diapers, and pulls back the curtain that leads to her parents.

There, on the far right corner, her Dad lays on an electric bed, his eyes sleepy as if he had drunk too much whiskey from the night before. His mouth agape, he has a face of a man who has lived for many years. In fact he has, 80 something years in fact. His arm hangs over the railing, blue veins protruding from the skin.

Thu pulls the blinds and light comes seeping through the window.

Her Dad smiles as the sunlight warms up his face.

Thu lifts him out of bed and into his wheelchair and travels with him, looping around the house in a circle: starting with the dining room, then the foyer, through the hallway, out the kitchen, and then back to the dining room. She tries to make him walk at least three rounds. Sometimes he makes it, sometimes he doesn’t.

He grunts and curses in Vietnamese, his walker scraping against the marble and hardwood floors. He moves the walker, using the little strength he has in his biceps and the muscles in his right leg.

Two years ago, her Dad had a stroke, leaving the right side of his body impaired and aching. Ever since then, he’s been trying to recover. He spends his time watching soccer and UFC on a television with a line running across the screen. He has caretakers who assist him with going to the bathroom and showering.

His wife is the only thing that keeps him going. She has Alzheimer’s and at random times in the night she’ll open up the refrigerator and search for food, because during the day she hardly eats a bite. She walks around in a cardigan and cotton pants, a toothpick jutting out from her mouth. She enjoys lying on the sofa and making phone-calls to her friends.

But she often misdials the numbers, startled when she hears a voice of a stranger on the other end of the line. She tells the stranger she doesn’t know English, shutting her eyes before trying to dial another number.

Thu has lived in Northern VA for many years, 18 years to be exact. She’s a Hokie. She’s an avid watcher of Criminal Minds. And she enjoys apple cider with a side of kettle-corn. Despite having to cook and look after her parents, she never complains. Never gets upset. Never says that life is unfair.

Later on in the day, she’s wearing a blouse dotted with blue flowers, a pair of gray sweatpants, and open-toed sandals.

When her daughter Vicki walks into the kitchen, she makes a remark about her posture. Vicki scoffs, no longer trying to seek her approval, but when Thu’s back’s turned, she straightens out her posture. Thu never makes a comment about her boyfriend. That’s a lost cause in her eyes. Once Thu doesn’t approve on a relationship that’s the end of it. She wants the best for her daughter, pushes her to be the best at what she does.

Thu used to live in Saigon. When the war ended, she had fallen in love with a boy who lived next door to her. He was her first love. He would write love poems to her. Sometimes they would hold hands. Once they had shared a kiss.

They were young and deeply in love. But as the war finished up, they moved on from each other. The boy went to live with his family in Australia, while she moved to America. After they broke up, Thu would still think about him. He was the one who dumped her.

The breakup crushed her heart. But she didn’t let it mar her dignity. Time passed by, Thu moved to Virginia and she went to high school in Fairfax County. The letters started pouring in from the boy. But she had too much pride and she didn’t respond until one day.

That was the day that John Lennon was murdered in cold blood.

She was heartbroken like every other person in the world. Yet, she also thought of the boy and how much he loved John Lennon.

Thu remembers reading the newspaper, seeing John Lennon’s face on the front page of the paper. She took a pair of scissors and cut a square around John’s face. Then she wrote a letter to the boy. And then she sealed the newspaper clipping and the letter in an envelope and begged her mom over the phone to send the letter to the boy. Her mom was still in Saigon and somehow she made contact with the boy and gave the letter to him.

A month later, she opened the mail and there was a letter from the boy.

She read the letter, stifled a cry, and then proceeded to write. The next day she sent the letter. Thu was happy to read his words. It was as though she could hear his voice through his sentences. Like he was there next to her, looking at her, speaking to her spirit.

Days passed. Weeks passed. And then after a month she realized he wasn’t going to respond back to her letter. She couldn’t believe that he didn’t give her a response.

“And that’s the end of the story,” Thu said to her son.

“What do you mean that’s the end of the story? That can’t be the end!”

“Well you’re the writer, right? Think of an ending.”

Okay. So here it goes.

Thu smiles, her eyes grow sleepy, and her head slumps over. She starts to snore, very loudly in fact. But it’s cute and you’re hoping that she’s dreaming, dreaming about something relentlessly lovely.
Michael Hoffman Dec 2012
1. What in the world
         possessed you
to do that!?@#$%^
My god . . . that was so stupid and careless!

#2. Why? . . .
I trusted my intuition.
My heart believed,
emotional logic compelled me.
Fluid, spontaneous from the gut.

#1. You’re crazy.
I would never
put myself at risk like that.

#2. What risk?
Getting harrassed
by the mind police?
They don't own me.

#1. But they punished you.

#2. No, just a little
        desperate flaggelation.

#2. But look at yourself
all boxed up,
stigmatized and branded.

#1. You mean the labels?
Those words they use
to define me?

#2. Yes, you’re a bad person.

#1. No, I’m not.

#2. Yes, you are.

... and they argued til dawn
neither knowing
nature does not declare winners
but admires innovation....

like when Magellan sailed off no edges
when Einstein confounded everyone by sailing in his head
when the Wright Brothers lifted off
when Tesla moved electrons
when Christ embraced the centurions
when Gautama just sat down
when the librarian refused to take Catcher in the Rye off the shelf
when Lenny Bruce swore on stage
when Leary and Alpert left Harvard
when Joan of Arc refused to recant
when Gandhi and friends burned their English wool
when Jung declared a spiritual psyche
when the UFC earned a huge Neilsen

so be your own guru
take kava kava instead of Prozac
barter with your hair stylist
and when someone says
you are wrong
ask them why
there are no dinosaurs
in the Bible.
Hoping2bhelpfull Mar 2014
He told me to *******.
He said the situation was *******
He gave me the finger
And walked out slamming the door behind him
He is my 11 year old son

He yelled, “What the ****?”
He told me to get out
And tried to wrestle me out the door of his bedroom
I got the drop on him
Pinned him to the floor
Then he yelled “MOM”
She took my side and screamed at him.
That was my 14 year old.

Both boys swear, say inappropriate things, demand, and act like spoiled brats
I still love them.
But I've had to start lifting weights
I’ve had to start working out
They are getting stronger
I know eventually one of them will take a swing at me.

Some people say beat them
I’ve tried
They keep coming back for more
They like it

My wife defends herself with psychological warfare
The children think she is crazy
and are afraid of her
If ever completely unleashed, the full power of her unpredictable female emotional psyche could take out small city
Leaving many permanently brain dead
She's too humane to torture their young minds for any extended period of time.  
I won’t go into the details regarding what she has done to my mind.  But think coercion, bribery, guilt, seduction, isolation, etc……

When people say modern family
Divorce, homosexual parents, blended families might come to mind.
Our modern family is a little bit CIA training, little bit UFC, sprinkled with God, Xbox, Disney channel, and Adult Swim.

How did things get this way?
I don’t know
Where is it headed?
It’s all uncharted territory
We’re fighters
I am confident they will make it to adult hood without too many battle scars
In the back my mind I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead?  
My oldest starts high school next year
Ottar Feb 2015
always
poking
at the sky,
waiting for the signs,
to change,
crashed through a mile-
stone marker,
foolin' with life,
hands on the wheel of
what is broken down,
dark, dark, dark like area
fifty-one
grams are instant,
you might figure it out,
then again, whenever...

first heard of denver,
rhymes and reasons,
eagles and hawks,
music to my ears,
oh then came the tears,

Road Weary too early
in this Rotten World,
but rw came along,
and laughter filled
this heart,
to over flowing,
until tears
came from every laugh
and ... then...
only the tears.

A r m, there was no
harm, only a heart
for God,
step by step you
brought me closer,
if i stand,
brought
me to my knees,
understanding your love
for the Navajo
nation.

Too hard to be a bard,
all the waves that
sound like me
are hammered flat,
sharply.

Too soon.Wanted to grow
old with all of you
even though we share so little
phil-o-so-phically,
but here it is play
with words,
sun still rises
and watching flights
of birds and
dragonflies
make me pause;


from the shape of the sky
to a colour of the paint
that comes from the sun
in the clouds.

Then walking with ugly
toes with feet and
knees,
older than they should be,
seeing
people on the street,
who
love to hate,
hate to love,
each day is a wrestling
match in an atmospheric cage,
that puts ufc to shame,
seeing way more
than can be put on
parchment,
the will, be tried.

roof over my head
like a hat hanging
on an empty coat
hook
between the ribs
tearing at a heart
that refuses to
stop
beating while
being beat up by voices
that keep coming out
of the dark, dark, dark

shhhhhhhhh
whispers,
wisps
of hope
that knowing
as long as the
sounds of music
from many artists
find the ears
and,
able to feel,
lines of tears
and too
the laughter
echoes,
echoes in the
empty hallway
that swallows
red and white
and clear,
I live to write
another
day.
Take courage
to Play
the ukelele
if may I
by deSign.
12 poems in 2012, the other 760+ in 25 months, I had no other way to show You.
For helping me, for saying I matter,
you will never know
what you have been part of
thank you
200K reads
101 followers
A r m - a Rich Mullins, any and all of his music, "step by step", 'if I stand"  denver is John Denver, Rhymes and Reasons, Eagle and the Hawk, two very powerful songs in my teen years, RW is Robin Williams, made me laugh when well...strange what happens to you inside when people you look up to, successful people show their human side, makes you want to believe in yourself and what you can do, just a little bit more, better.
Makes it easy to believe that there is much more than meets the eye, in this world and especially every person.
Enough reading, do what you do best...write and read aloud
Thankyou for reading this if you made it this far, Thank you for all
of your
Poetry.
No Muses were injured, overworked or expected to get a tattoo with my name on it, during this poetic adventure.
Matthew James Apr 2016
Who wins?

Ask yourself this
"With all the conflict in the world...

Who wins?"

Where is our Ghandi?

Where is our Mother Theresa?

Fighting for entertainment...

Cowboys and Indians
Home Alone
Wrestling
War games
Call of Duty
Action movies
Saw
Boxing
Martial arts
UFC
War
Destruction
Death

Now, think of a boxing ring
Or more like an ultimate fighting ring
But with weapons
And nobody leaves until one of them is dead

Now imagine Ghandi in the red corner
And Theresa in the blue corner

Now ask yourself the big question

Ding ding

Who would win in a fight between Ghandi and Mother Theresa?

They're both small in stature and inexperienced
(Admittedly, they're both dead too
Let's ignore that minor inconvenience for now)
I reckon Theresa would kick Ghandi's ***.
There's got to be some pent up frustration from all those years of nunning around and no ***.
Plus girls fight ***** (maybe not all girls, but my sister used to hit me on the head with a cup)

And Ghandi chose peace
He wanted to change things
Theresa did it for a higher power

And now she's dead

I bet she's well annoyed!

I bet she kept the Mother title though
But now it has a different meaning
"Who're you?" Says Ghandi
"Your Mother"
Boom!!!
Smack down!

But I ask you this...
"Who wins?"














It's princess Diana. She snuck round the back while they were both distracted.
This is what happens when I get bored.
Infamous one Apr 2018
Sorry I haven't been writing as much been focused on my podcast talking about things I love such as UFC and prowrestling most of all sharing fun stories. It's been everyday I think of stuff to say and what I want to be doing.
I'm glad to be working not to fond of the new boss but I avoid him and do my job. He's just rude I mind my mouth because it gets me in trouble. I've learned to treat people right and be friendly some have no respect but that's on them. It comes back to them so I'm not too worried.
I'm giving it my all even though once my assignment is up I'll be sent somewhere else. Once I'm a fulltimer I'll have my set location and make it my own. I've been going strong saying I want to cut back on work focus on church and writing but I end up working more hours. I go with the flow but sometimes I want to bail and do something that matters and makes me happy.
***
My words are foreign
So is yours.
Scholastic. Drastic. Calamitous
I fall free form on to the floor

My tongue a foreign tool
Sweetly understood as drunk...
A sunken pirate ship
Burdened heavily so wonderfully
Not plundered of its ***

My oxygen becomes. The sun.
And fragments of my stomach run into my blood.
So
Fun like ufc. Just as dumb at second glance.
Im just running round the pub trying to shake my *** not spill thy glass

You can imagine. Im melodic
Bloodshot folds im looking from
The dreams in waking moments
Crumble like the sand beneath my tongue....
A crude extraction of genetic
Traits
Passed down from my mum
So kiss my cheek
Lets walk you home
I think this pirates way too drunk
Just having fun. Writing a bit. Passes the time. Ill come up with something good soon. Practice makes perfect. Im not s bad guy. Nog good either. Trying to find my way.
Mitchell Jan 2021
I need the
Silence
A bit.

It's a good
Way to
See the fingers for once.

In the end,
That's all I am -

Right?

Fingers that listen to the rain
And nod to rain on my window
And the crying UFC behemoth
That ran out of testosterone and
My concept of wealth in America;

Of unity.

What separates us,
Is the dollar.

Solve that,

You solve the world.

In it
Rests the hours
Unearthed and
Move for what it is;

The purpose of action.

Memories then,
Without remorse,
And sad eye pharaohs
Whose logistics due not grant

Immortality.

That bet of action

However small,

Upon you or me or everyone -
Without remorse -

Does not grant

Eternity.
after reading the article
(published in the July + August 2024
issue of Mother Jones)
titled Raging bull - Donald Trump's
pugilistic spokesman has taken
campaigning to a whole new level of low.

Beyond the lookout
for Huyen "Steven" Cheung
(born June 23, 1982)
an American political advisor
Donald Trump's campaign spokesman
in the 2023–24 Republican primary
and served in the Donald J. Trump administration.

He previously worked in Trump's 2016
and 2020 campaigns.

Brilliant gifted package of brains and brawn,
his crude quips against opponents,
(which includes politicians of all stripes),
cut down and figuratively quartered
reduced courtesy raw bits of biting riposte
forced into thralldom, cuz Trump world
adversaries sacrificial fodder roasted alive
all stops pulled out except blood relatives,
where merciless cutthroat antagonism drawn
sycophants molded like putty in the hands
of Voodoo magic spellcaster henchman
disabling staunch radical transgressors

think how frozen blinded deer fawn,
videre licet buckle under headlights glare
immobilized lifeless body
courtesy invisible hawn
fricasséeing, mincing, skewering,
and frankly zapping unwitting victim
par for the coarse faux jambon,
or sprinkled as rich nutrient
upon manicured lawn
housing consecrated ashes
disintegrated lovely bones of Memnon
stands proud as genetic product of Nippon.

Upon first immediate glance
his seventy two plus inches
presents overshadowing, looming,
and hulking mound of flesh
capped with large oblong head,
his likeness surpasses,
supersedes, and summons
idealistic awesomeness of
(Jean Jacques Rousseau) noble savage
beastie boy incarnate,
nevertheless he only poses a menace
to any and all who cross his path.

His physical prowess proved time and again
evident as high school football player then
soon thereafter, he channeled latent might
as martial arts fan
and dabbled in taekwondo,
and Muay Thai boxing
answering the call to ring communications
linkedin to testosterone laden
UFC (Ultimate Fighting Championship).

I would not wish to be caught,
in a dark alley with him;
me, who (resembles an aging hippie
and long haired baby boomer)
with accidental affectations somewhat effete
laud a fellow generally antithetical
to my quiet and gentle mien;
no matter yours truly tauts his grandeur

on well poised amazingly graceful feet
exhibits art in motion,
and ability to throw a judicious punch
combined with said averred
robust pillar of strength
being politically savvy
and whip smart to boot
qualities I envy and admire.

Quite challenging,
yet not quite impossible mission
to wax poetic toward an individual
exemplifying the complete antithesis
of mine body, mind and spirit
and synonymous with flattering a bully
for the shear confident bravado
exhibited, which winning qualities
guarantee a success brand
within cutthroat political
webbed wide world effects expand
ever outwar affecting mien kampf

analogous to a monstrous tropical storm
acknowledged as more powerful
(than my measly, and wimpy strength)
that doth move inland,
which earth-shaking event headline
sells papers at the newsstand
years from now techniques
of his stellar machismo masterfully characterized
courtesy elephant gingerly
standing, grandstanding, and balancing on one foot
will serve as object lesson for aspirants
nasty brutish modus operandi
scrutinized, schooled and scanned.

— The End —