"undesirables" poems
seedy motels crowded with undesirables
shooting up
smoking ****
toothless ******** for a fix
welcome to America
home of the brave
and the crack den
what a beautiful country ours is
majestic purple mountains
slick black tar ******
amber waves of grain
skid row and soup kitchens
the struggle to survive
we fight to stay alive
land of the free
but free has hidden fees
free love?
Aids'll stop ya
free health care?
Get out you ****** *******
free speech?
Only if you don't mind mace
Here the dom in freedom means **********
********** of the free
we go through it all like marionettes
glassy eyed and blank faces
our strings pulled by wealthy men
we become older and older until death
and don't forget the debt
that will be your children's problem
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 4:00 AM UTC
I am a criminal,
So you and the papers say.
They would put me away
For countless nights and days.
Tucked away "safe" in jail,
All for the choice of herbs I inhale.
That they would only have their way...
Yet I am no marauding mobster,
No gangster for hire.
I smoke in the evenings
When daylight is fleeting
And withdraw to my rooms to retire.
I am no plundering pirate
Pillaging your private property.
I go about my day,
As right as I may,
You will find no evil protégée.
I am spoken in the same breath
As delinquents and undesirables.
The infamously unfavourable,
Mire on our tireless society.
Well I am tired now,
Fatigued.
I've grown weary of living
In your narrow minded
Make believe.
Yet I leave you be.
Keep to mine and own.
It is you who lights the torches
From high deluded throne.
It is you who crafted and rounded
That perfect stone,
Hurled with such indiscrimination
Always many, never alone.
Each night now I wonder,
When I cross that imaginary line.
Such fools we've been,
The waste obscene,
Who really commits the crime?
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 8:01 PM UTC
I love old school motorbikes and their purring sound as they emit fragrances which trigger animosity and innocence.
It’s a total eclipse of the heart, don’t you think?
******** Lunatics, Undesirables and Eccentrics. That is the essential nature of angelic blue.
Forget those polished ambassadors of what is deemed to be contemporary.
Chop it up, Chewbacca, whilst spanners are thrown with obscene articulations.
It has been said that my father violently placed a bike in the canal.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
Well oiled lamp shades
Whispering lust degrades
Frog legs & undesirables
Tree tops & mountain springs
I will get to enter you now
Finger tips brush olive skin
Wetting dry lips w/ moist tongues
Loom weaved young silk sin
Carried away to a foreign place
Warmth & comfort known for style
Never a urge to alter this space
This blissful plain of existence
Well oiled I slip
I should have seen this
Crumbling beneath me
Pushed away lost grip
I will travel trough you soon
Blissful moon breaking into
I will travel through you soon
Was this always I wanted to do?
Slimy fingers grasping at altered existence
Persistence warmth longing stars from eyes
knuckles cracking down to get what they need
No resistance, it is done, what was replaced by lies?
Warm sweet clammy skin
Was it really just a dream?
Did I flashblack from times mind
Screaming love, lust sins
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 3:41 AM UTC
The city's shrouded in smoke today
smoke coats my mouth, throat & eyes
& I know, I know.
I should be writing in form,
in rhyme - villanelles, sonnets, terza rima
some say there's too much free verse, some say, it's like
everyone's jumped on the bandwagon
yet the most of the magazines still all want rhyme
but sometimes this is just the tune
your heart sings, a broken smile
& the way the images build up
waiting to sail like ships in the harbor
& besides, should we really be writing in villanelles when we are the Mad & I see now, the best minds of our generation, the gifted,
the naked wastrels of the coming apocalypse,
talking to lamp posts, screaming of Ginsberg's Moloch
& the wrongs they did us, yet not destroyed even as we scream locked
behind whitewashed walls in razor-blade glint & halogenic
glow of ECT or walk the empty streets at guerilla dawn
& dusk, bearing the ample weight of our drugged-up minds
like those martyrs of the old Soviet Union & clinging
on to memoirs of our stolen, interrupted, spiritual awakening,
searching for the redemption of litter in this hobo life,
changing countries like some change bed sheets,
others rooted by the invisible chains of familiarity & home, still calling
for the road, oh Kerouac, the fallen angels of tomorrow strung out on sweet
childhood memories & jazz in starved sunsets,
picking themselves up to pick at their scab wounds,
spitting at corrupt governments, bitter with alcohol,
writing poems of unrequited love to poets
far better than us, while Elvis croons
in the background & a Baboushka spits sunflower seeds
in the Russian town of my ancestors
& an open air film plays in black & white
& this colorless summer is nearly over
& they still haven't lifted their sanctions
them with their stone gods of war & psychiatry,
always lining up the next undesirables :
you could be next, yes you with the rainbow eyes
you the believer, you the dreamer of visions
Oh pity them, the children of smoke,
blind to the vagabond, the poet, the lover
lost children always seeking out the same roads
the city is shrouded in smoke
& I wonder if it's not always been there
& if we're living amongst blind men
ones that never read poems
or else how could all this happen
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 11:22 AM UTC
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
10,000 hipsters stand in the square
with ***** makeup and ****** flare
prayers fly into the dim lit sky
as a generation asks god ‘why’
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
I sit here in despair
for a god of whom I did care
well, just a man with a master’s eye
for making all of the people sigh…
and now I sit here with my head in my hand
just trying to understand
what this world has come unto
can there ever again be skies of blue
and while swishy in her satin and tat
frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat
there can never be another like that –
the morning news brought a cold chill
as the icon of us undesirables
came to be laid at rest
it’s on America’s tortured brow
leaving us to sit solemn
as old records spin
telling tales of space men
and life on mars
a little china girl
and one man who feel to earth
it’s on America’s tortured brow
the fashionista of glam rock
the birther of Ziggy
the man who sold the world
forever changing
chameleon
in smart shoes –
spinning grooves
and scattered cd’s
tears slipping away
as memories already start to fade
it’s the freakiest show
look at those cavemen go
will they ever know
just who left us
take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girls with the mousy hair
now she walks with a sunken dream
and the cream that once rose so high
so too will come the time to die
and as all of us let him go
there can be a bit of hope for those
who carry a torchy flare
to the girl with the mousy hair
and will sing in the dead of night
with face paint and a big spot light
******* and the party boys
come out with their fancy toys
but it’s a god-awful small affair
if you find you’re too square to care
‘bout the goblin kings sad depart
from this earth and from hipster hearts
see these kids have no loyalty
to a man who helped define me
when the world gave me a frown
for kissing boys in a dainty gown
ole Davy gave me peace
with a confidence that never ceased
oh Mr. Jones I’m in debt to you
for turning my grey skies to blue
now I’ll forever carry this torch
from green valleys to my own front porch
but it’s a god-awful small affair
it’s nice to know some of us care…
about the earth and sun and stars
and yes
there is life
on
Mars –
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Chris Macaffarty thief & Gangstar moll: You dare say you're going to organise a petition to evict us, aha, who do you think the ******
country belongs to?
ME : you are a bare-faced thief, how can you steep so low as to burgle your neighbour, after all we've done for you and your lot. From you
moed in over three years ago, there's been over twenty burglaries on the Estate. Police always at your door, your husband always in prison. I don't understand what you mean by Country belonging,
what do you mean.
Chris Macaffarty thief & Gangstar Moll: I know I am not black and
you can't do anything to evict us. Just watch yourself, you're going to be taught a lesson, you wait and see.
ME : Yeah! you're going to send your hoods round to beat me up or
maybe steal my four wheels like you did before, what are you gonna do, **** me! I have done nothing wrong, I am not a ****** thief!
Chris Macaffarty thief & Gangstar Moll : Ah! just you wait, just you wait and see. We are going to do your head in, chuck mud at you, you ****** fool. we will hound you even into the hole of any woman, we will put ants in your head, we will drive you paranoid, you black man!
ME : I am not scared of you, let me tell you that, a thief, a drunkard, a scrounger and a Racist, what a lovely human being you are. I am going to report you.
Chris Macaffarty thief & Gangstar Moll : Haha..and I am going to steal the match on you, you don't know what you and your wife are in for, we are sorting you out, sunshine!
ME : You don't need to steal a match, I'll gladly give you matches to light yourself up, I hope you and your thieving gang go up in flames!
Chris Macaffarty thief & Gangstar : Say goodbye to your life man,
nothing is ever going to be the same anymore. You will never be able to trust anyone again from now on..haha!
ME : How rich, a bare-faced crook talking about trust, what do you know about trust, I am not a thief and as you ****** know I live a lawful and blameless life, so carry your ****** threats and go stuff it. You do not frighten me one bit, you're a mean and racist crook!
Chris Macaffarty thief & Gangstar Moll : Somebody is in for the jump and its not me. Soon, somebody will wish they were dead and it's not me either, that's all I'm saying, man!
ME : Yeah, go get your gang, come and **** me, you can see I am shaking and trembling already. Hopefully, we all on this Estate will be rid of you and all the undesirables you bring here, we are fed up of you all!
Chris Macaffarty thief & Gangstar Moll : Ha..! all I'm saying is, Bye bye Blackbird, bye-bye Blackbird....haha, Gangster departs singing,
Bye-bye Blackbird, bye-bye Blackbird....hahaha...hahaha,,bye-bye
Blackbird....!!!
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 3:27 PM UTC
I love
You
Don’t care
In-diff-er-ent
Isn't paid
Much attention
In my apartment
We’ll
End-if-her-rent
Isn’t paid
In our
Department
But who cares?
Separation
Doesn't
Always cause pain
And pain
Isn't always
The cause
Of separation
We just
Happened
To drift away
Like
Messages in a bottle
Off the coast
With no intent
Of being found
Our lonely islands
Are crowded
With shadows
Of friends
We forget the darkness
Because at least
We no longer
Burn each other
With our angst
And anger
We remember
Everything
Except rations
Of ourselves
We left
Like t-shirts
And underwear
Tangled
In each others
Laundry
Then throw
Them away
Find them
Another day
in the exact same place
We excavated them
The returnment
Of our undesirables
Show fate’s
Sense of humor
But
Only a stubbornness
Such as ours
Could devour fate
And disavow
The vows
It set out
To make...
We
Will
Never
Be
Again
Never
Again
Will
We
Be
Sums
Up the sum
Of each halves
And the total
Is something
The totaled
Hearts
Can live with...
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:02 PM UTC
This one is for the girl who was told she had a "fat ***
This one is for the guy who was told he needed to build muscle because he is a "scrawny *******
All the guys and the girls who society doesn't love,
Scream,
And let them hear your presence.
We will no longer sit at the table alone,
We will no longer watch the popular group
Belittle people's clothes and their looks,
We will no longer be the 'undesirables'.
I love your hair,
I love the skin you're in,
I love the eccentric and bold clothing you wear
Because you're being yourself,
I don't care who you are or where you're from,
I don't care what sexuality you are or your ethnical background,
I do care about your happiness though,
I want you to wake up in the morning and not give a **** what people will say,
I want you to look in the mirror and smile because you haven't changed for everyone else,
I want you to inhale as deeply as you possibly can because you are strong enough to survive the night when you were nearly ready to surrender.
Nous sommes les undésirables.
Nous sommes la nouvelle révolution. .
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
There is a time for love, you have the freedom to choose
there is a time for hate, but you will be forced to abuse
there is a time for peace, where differences are put aside
a time to even the score, differences that now lead to war
There is a time to laugh, because your heart has been tickled
and a time to cry, you, having been made emotionally crippled
a time to sigh, when you tire from having to fight the entire world
a time to die, when to that beautiful light your soul will be hurled
There is a time to choose, the time is unquestionably now
there is a time to negate, when your sin you wish to disavow
there is a time to confuse, to escape from those who are cruel
a time to stay at home, undesirables waiting for you at school
There is a time to run, because you can no longer hide from fear
and a time to hide, when your fear has overcome, it is very near
a time to have fun, the only way to drive worry from your mind
and a place for time to abide, now that evil has been put behind
A time to choose, defining your outlook on life, all people are brothers
having the ability to foresee consequences, our actions have on others
the element of hope has real meaning, those wishing life, if they choose
by reaching deep inside their hearts, and upon us their love they infuse
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:14 AM UTC
My fingers never touched it,
save for the tv screen.
Mama told me to not touch the screen with my unclean hands.
Sometimes when she wasn’t looking, I did anyway,
and felt crackling beneath my fingertips,
miniature lighting storms,
ravaging the faces of the young, famous, and beautiful.
but i never touched the undesirables,
never laid holy lightning on the exposed war-bones
escaping at 90 degrees from charred, living corpses.
i never held the dying children,
coffee-cup weight in my palms,
colder still,
and forgotten after the end of the episode.
and i still felt nothing
when i should have smelled ash.
i can’t imagine, or i can,
what happens on our interior planets,
during the four seconds before impact.
are they blissfuly going about routines?
are the markets full, only a few dissenters
crying “end is nigh” ?
they won’t even feel it.
Oct 10, 2011
Oct 10, 2011 at 1:00 AM UTC
Feel like a ********** only used at night
Never appreciated, I don't think its right
People make use of me with little thought at all
Without me they'd be in the dark, could trip or fall
Never worry about me, couldn't care if I'm hurting
But! don't they complain when I'm not working
Stuck out here in the weather in all extremes
They all rely on me or that is the way it seems
Only time I get washed is when it happens to rain
Sometimes I short out and spark, oh what pain
My cover is old, yes its all cracked and broken
Does any one give a dam? you must be joking
Dogs **** there leg next to me and take a ****
Birds **** all over me, I don't think I deserve this
Men lean their girl against me for a kiss and a feel
Undesirables stand below me to make a drug deal
Police try to solve crimes perhaps stop an odd fight
No idea most of the time, I try to shed a bit of light
Concreted to the ground, can't move surely not fair
Stuck out in the weather with my head high in the air
Once I was hit by a drunk driver and knocked to the ground
Police and firetruck arrived, driver was nowhere to be found
Sparks and electrical currents, gee **** it certainly hurt
Firemen threw powder over me, too dangerous to squirt
I lay on the ground for a week, some flags around me
People stayed away at night, just wasn't possible to see
Then along came some workers, absolute gentlemen
Fixed me up good and using a crane stood me up again
I cannot understand people at all, certainly not fair
I needed to be run over before they showed any care
They are all happy to use me while my heart glows
Don't they cuss though if my poor old globe blows
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
A Night for a Rose
The arrogance of passion
Touch me in places I didn't know existed
A gallant prince silently Hunts for the stars
Midnight brought Feathers descending slowly
On stray wave thoughts hang on the balance of peacefulness
Deliverance bottled up inside the pain
The thickness of an iceberg
Keeping a glacier glue to the sky
Insane minds swinging with the sharks
The discovery of your eyes in the middle of a blossom rose
Strings of my life squeeze a breath of air
Your hands unlimited creation, a rhythm breakthrough a kingdom
Swift passage through earthly possession, franticly speaking
Fear has left me breathless, reneged against the machine
The exception of a butterfly, the ways of the moon
Straight face keeps false pretence of many eyes
Unpreventable desire of lust
Continue their journey upstream
Deeply pondering, my words became clouds raining on your parade
The door close behind the red lights igniting my way out
Surrender in front a passion passing you by
For a longest I can remember love walk away from my senses
The letter awaken your nakedness in front of the mirror
Softly I lay beside a broken lover
For miles I believed the touché of my lips will heal you
The strike of a guitar playing with the stars
Shine a knockout blow for the undesirables
The wave unveil the true meaning of lost
But the light always shines bright
On my heart…
Rony Joseph all rights reserved 2010
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 2:40 PM UTC
Steam rising, clinging onto my expression, sliding off my nose
Forehead pressed against the harsh, cold tile
My thoughts simmering and spurting
But the water stifles the spinning
Sweeping away undesirables
Remorse, worries, sadness
I smile as they
swirl down
the drain
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
Like concrete weighing down on my chest
Thorns that bind around the depths of my heart
Wounds that never seem to heal
Patched with seams that have grown old, and damp
When will this pain subside?
Each day a new heart is granted in my hands
To feel new energy surge through my veins
To keep myself going from the days rough road
But only to find a fractured heart at the end of every journey
What an imppossible feat!
To find a heart that never breaks
A heart so perfect
Unable to be stained by undesirables
A heart that never feels pain...
But what kind of heart would that be?
A heart that never learned to endure
A heart that knows no strength
A heart that does not understand the true meaning of triumph
A heart that does not understand...
I say to you
Never dwell in grief
Feeling downcast because of a few scars
For these are the marks of a true warrior
A soldier that endured
A fighter that fought a good fight
Never dwell in grief
Because at every journeys end comes a new beginning
And a new Heart.
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 10:37 AM UTC
I know I’m not as perfect as they see,
Why look at me so wicked?
But hey, I’m standing tall like a tree,
Imperfect outside, but inside strong-hearted.
The world is twisted, I’d say,
Too much vanity and greed.
The powerless they just stray,
Saying pity is nothing but a creed.
Feeding rejection has caused madness,
The undesirables now fight back.
Poor Elphaba,they say, never received kindness,
But here I am, ready to strike an attack.
Yes, it’s that wizard who says,
“Everyone deserves a chance to fly.”
But I? I’ve found ways,
No more good deeds to try.
I thought I’m made for something good,
Despite my green skin from that vial.
Saving Fiyero is all that I could,
Well, say as good, but that’s denial.
Oh, let it be then,
I shall unleash my minions.
To Emerald City we tighten,
It’s time for all evil’s dominions!
Though I may perish in water,
I don’t mind as long as revenge is sealed.
No more of good dreams that bother,
Conquering Oz is now reeled.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:36 PM UTC
When sleep can't find me, I guess because I'm camofluoged and fit too well in the night
(After all, sleep does have its eyes closed)
I make the 25 minute drive down to "L" street.
I sit on my old bench in that ****** fake park with the lined up giant rocks and the one weeping cherry tree. City counsels gift to the street ****** rapists, thieves and drug peddlers.
I watch, I listen and sip my whisky. L street is the worse part of town here. There's an asylum on one side of the corner, a bank on the other. Red light number 3. People are always lined up in front of the asylum. I suppose for little blue pills.
Further down the row of crumbling bricks, is a cafe that plays live music on Friday and Saturday nights and across from that is a pool hall that sells green hotdogs. On the other side of the pool hall, is an empty building with my tobacco lady painted on the side of it. And my "bitchs bench", as I call it, sits beside that.
My mother has always raised immortal hell about my going there. Day or night. "You'll get ***** hooked on the "L" pills or murdered. Dont come crying to me when it happens", she sais. But as much time as I've spent there, I've spoken with more than a few of those "undesirables" and they all have a story of such pain and heart break. Or they're just mentally ill.
They're daisies. That didn't grow upright in this field of life. They tripped.
My "L" street,
is where the daisies tripp.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 10:46 AM UTC
hate sings a love song,
blithe, pretty, little tune
in honor of its heritage.
hate sings sweetly, a song
of marches and hangings,
of ghettos and slavery
it hums admiration for its people.
it sings of this land.
the majestic peaks and playful meadows.
it sings, with love, of blood-drenched cotton and
trenches adorned with crooked bodies.
it sings of its forefathers-
the conquistadors and pioneers.
saintly butchers and child rapists.
hate paints it’s history holier than the Sistine Chapel,
singing blindly like a hymn.
hate sings a love song,
possessive and vicious.
it scrawls the lyrics on
subway walls and sycamore trees.
it sings in symbols and metaphors,
accompanied by the beat of temple gunshots and kicks to the ribcage.
hate sings through the pulpit and the pew,
clipping it’s verses from a holy book,
it sways to the rhythm of “Amens” and “Hallelujahs”
hate breathes down my neck and yours,
knocking door to door,
bearing music with a message,
it weeds out the undesirables one by one.
for the greater good,
hate tortures children therapeutically,
and executes those presumed guilty.
it erases generations
in concrete rooms
and in the bellies of ships.
it explodes homes,
smashes panes of glass,
and burns every convenient symbolism.
hate roves and rages and spits and howls,
singing the song of a beautiful future.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:29 PM UTC
I just received some very important information
I am not inclined to reveal my sources.
What it is, is a fast track to the future.
It reveals your life pattern and your successes and failures.
When you see it you will understand.
It allows you to avoid the undesirables in your life.
Sometimes the undesirables produce offspring.
You will have to decide when to cut the cord.
Fast track allows you to connect with the ones you will have long term relationships with.
This will allow you to see the future.
You will see the success and observe the future.
My sources are secret.
I wish I had this source when I was 16.
It seems so futile now.
I am almost 60 years old and I love my wife.
My son is a very bright person and has a lovely partner.
If I knew this back when I decided to take my life when I was 30 year old.
I would never have done it.
Lucky for me I was given a fast track to the future.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 3:08 AM UTC
Collect the bones of the poor,
And let there bones build
the walls to keep out
the retches,
the undesirables,
the different.
And then realise that the wall
contains you.
For we are all poor in different aspects,
be it dignity,
be it humility.
Be it the virtues that make us who we are.
We should never look at another as divergent,
for we are all apitamy of
our own diluted reflections.
Everyone is insolvent in the walls we create,
We just have to learn never to build them
in the beginning,
and realise we all take the same footsteps.
No one walks differently from another in life journey.
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 6:08 PM UTC
nevertheless
can't help but remember
what happend that day-
not so fun, huh?
not a proud moment in any of those 24 hours,
just nostalgic
destruction
wanting to go anywhere
to not think about there
here
and now and again
I return to those moments
not to reflect per se
but to induce vomitting-
not so fun
being compared to undesirables,
and yet
so fitting
in a way
or five hundred,
it's you.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 5:27 PM UTC
~
*This forbidden city
walks on water,
keeps all the undesirables at bay,
it's always a balancing act.
Oh, blighted court
of Catherine the Great,
thy friends are having a hard time,
but horsing around, no less.
Enlightened by summer drugs,
and busting out of
their tops and castles,
thongs on thy feet,
and thongs on thy bottoms,
this zenith and this nadir
come in colorful collages,
everything else is a flash of flesh.
Sped along by
frequent bloodletting,
there's a revolution in
thy teenage mind,
a looking for the hidden
and interested motives,
but no one can live
their life on the skis.
Rulership of heart is far
from recreation,
but you raised
a smile to sin,
until all we could do was
shake our heads and laugh.*
~
Mar 29, 2025
Mar 29, 2025 at 2:30 PM UTC
who does heaven’s gate open for?
there is an ideal candidate, a type of person dripping with so much grace and benevolence it sickens the normal people passing by. even the kindest among us avoid the runoff.
are they even human?
i don’t part my lips for righteousness.
i don’t spare second glances at books on par with it, either.
let the sky open for the people i know. the real people.
the beggars and undesirables, the people who cut you like broken glass and lick your wound clean thereafter.
the people just getting by, doing anything to get right there and barely reaching beyond it.
the people who live in the margins, yearning to have their name written on a line someone will read.
let me see a sky as deep as time, as vast as androgyny.
open before us with warm arms and chest to sink our earth-weary souls into.
open unto us or we will make waste of the clouds and clip the wings of fleeing angels.
if it is not for me, i will pry the door open with my fingers.
i make my own welcome.
Dec 29, 2021
Dec 29, 2021 at 11:55 PM UTC