"unlicensed" poems
Because the thirst wouldn’t simmer; it ruptured cities into boils,
turned cultures into armies, an armageddon of cheeky stubborn Irish Catholics and thick veined Germans couldn’t imagine a world without their stout hearty headed pint.
Because white dry protestant angels thought crime existed in a vacuum, in a filthy saw-dusted saloon, the hub spawn of evil.
Because twice as many of those saloons were ******* by unlicensed blind pigs, not through free swinging doors on the streets, but in the domestic sphere; in the dark crept crevices of household sanctuaries.
Because bootlegging capitalist princes turned the industry into a stenchy liability with their home brewed distilled poisons. Alky cookers wrapped the commodity fetish and dubbed it moonshine.
Moonshine – spirits for the poor and blind.
Because this social reform was a moral reform lost in the oblivion of politics, lost in the timeliness of progressive spring-cleaning referenda’s.
Because the ragged, toothless class had to be scold, striped clean of their traditional barings,
because wisdom is everything and they’re spirits ran vilely wild.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 26, 2010 at 6:57 AM UTC
procrastinating is my hobby,
ask
someone if you don't believe me ,
baby i lay around
as i please
&
work at my own leisure,
incredibly you fail
to understand i am me
and
i love more then like the way that i am- gorgeous courageous
coco golden skin,
painfully
i know you feel the threat of
my momentous appeal
keeps
you you & yeah you -- mystified.
guaranteed your days are filled
with shock and frustration,
haa haa hee
how very exciting to me seeing your not as experienced as I,
unlicensed to tame what i'd never give
freely,
repetitiously you've played the game,
failure must be a sweet pill sallowed whole huh?
adequately i compel my strengths -- my naivety makes
my appeal that more interesting,
call me uniquely imperfections
rarely made in to what many can never comprehend,
my life is my dialogue to my very own daily soap opera
la di da da-- it's more then my sultry walk
as i pass you on bye.
in this corrupted jungle
you have to win or be inhibited by
what others may call taboos,
whew weee your so serious,
chasing prey only to tease-- lingering doubts?
catch me-- i bet you can't.
innocently the line's been crossed
yet
speak not of what should be!
only-- this--
is what you'll know ; procrastinating is my hobby!
I Am The Lioness!
(some may be lost on what i wrote&say; but ok lol)
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 24, 2010
Mar 24, 2010 at 8:38 PM UTC
it's not even noon, but
my thoughts are drenched with
*** bound and gagged.
you're dancing around the kitchen, clad
only in a pair of
lace ******* you paid
too much for at Victoria's
Secret liaisons by the
seaside, sand sieving through your hair:
all forms of metal-backed currency taste
like ***** on your fingertips stuffed
roughly in my mouth,
call me a ****
pretty please?
promethazine slathered over
watermelon sherbert and
soaked in Sprite; put a lid on it and
shake vigorously until well mixed.
Xanax exacerbated migraines mean
naptime for me, and I forgot to tell you
the Gatorade is spiked with *****
(or maybe tequila; I've well and truly
forgotten) and all of this
is just another means of
replacing you.
you're wrapped in an
ecru trench coat,
cinched at the waist over
concealed weaponry:
unlicensed pistol and wet coral *****
constrained by a black leather holster and
cobalt cotton.
you kissed me with
******* in your nostrils and
nosebleed on your lips;
you killed me with
contempt in your mouth and
venom on your nails.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
sickened
by media lies
legislative disguise
rotting food
attracting flies
beguiled by trite examples
limited poling
and internet trolling
expressionless selfie
apathy as fashion
androgynous culture
manly men are maligned
while supermodels ******
minds
warped youths scramble
attempting to grasp
beauty
through surgery
and consumerism
their tiny orange bodies
reflect social illness
its glare blinding
bound to the taxation system
pre-social security number
these zombie babies
march to Red Bull
FOX news
and social media ************
fluoridated and infected
they reject ideas
not rooted in technology
…mock astrology
believe in genetically altering
living organisms biology
practice unlicensed psychology
and pharmacology
all the while supporting
underground government demonology
…….. my apology
lost in this madness
I feel trapped and isolated
and the irony hits
flattening my preconceptions
“As part of, I am responsible for…”
…..darkness and pain
crash on aging shoulders
realization
and defeat
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
Gotama was unlicensed
went to graduate school
in caves along rivers
eating one grain a day
seeking the happy place
where great beasts and ships
gratefully anchor and lie in the sun.
Christ laughed at thin laws
refused to relent
poured glowing love
all over the Pharisees
and isn't it sad
that officious therapists
blindfolded to the heart
spew grey diagnoses
to describe pathologies
ignoring the daimons
of each soul
labeled in their great sad files.
Rumi cut a great poem
into his thigh with a dagger
and loved when people read it . . .
Smell the wind. Eat mutton.
Do not waste your days
inventing litanies of sadness
looking for broken places
in your heart.
When the doctor asks for his fee
reach inside your chest
pull out your heart
hold it before him
say nothing.
Apr 9, 2012
Apr 9, 2012 at 9:25 AM UTC
I entered the world like most of my kind – whitewashed and nameless,
faceless yet searching for a face
to nibble on corn mashed scrapings of my time and place,
just hungry enough to pervade ignorance and grapple at the ripeness
of a more fruitful
truth
acknowledged in a vacuum
where dreams rot and decay and suffocate the eyes,
where an echo reverberates a menacing shriek
that tastes foul and perverse – dried sweat teared in blood
but it stays with me and my kind
alone in the haystack by God and his word
silenced by the power of an unlicensed scripture
these conditions fixate me, us
as they fixate the man behind the whip
as they fixate the land, the family, the working stick.
but I unlike most of my kind
have choked on an inch, and spit up a mile
and wielded a pen to inkblot a trial,
a trial constructed outside the vacuum
offering light, air and room to breathe
in the tangibility of humanity.
Sep 29, 2010
Sep 29, 2010 at 12:07 PM UTC
Dreams provide the building blocks for nightmares
Working with outsourced puppeteers,
Freelance shiit talkers
And unlicensed engineers
Incorporating in-house failures,
Stacked to the rafters,
To orchestrate such fears
A passion project with plenty of volunteers
But after 40 some years
Missteps and heartbreak are full blown careers
With daily bonus checks awarded for tears
©2024
Jul 3, 2024
Jul 3, 2024 at 4:26 PM UTC
There’s always been something controlling me,
I knew, but I knew not what,
Something diverting and foiling me
Since the days that I lay in my cot,
I thought it was simply a parent thing
As they whispered their rules in my ear,
The things that were right and the things that were wrong
And the things I would most have to fear.
They sent me to school and the teachers, too,
Must have read from the very same book,
They always laid blame and they said it the same
And the cane lent a sting to their hook.
‘You’re coming to learn, not to think for yourself,
You’ll repeat everything that I say,
And maybe just some of these rules will stick
If you dwell on the rules every day!’
Then once in the world my employers unfurled
All the rules and the regs I would keep,
I didn’t last long, I’d seen them before
And told them they put me to sleep.
The government fined and unlicensed me
From a book that they said was the law,
The magistrates sat on a heap of these books
As I shrugged and I said, ‘What for?’
I sat in the jail for contempt of court,
Spent plenty of time in my cell,
The world was consumed with a million rules
Designed to consign you to hell.
I watched all the lawyers and prisoners, cops
As they danced to the rules of the cot,
And sensed they were puppets, and most of them fools
Who would baulk at the words, ‘I will not!’
They’d hate to be questioned, they thought they were right,
If you disagreed you were canned,
They’d lock you away for a hospital stay
There was no going back, it was planned.
You had to be made to agree with their way
So they clamped electrodes on your head,
Then slide up the volts, and it wasn’t their fault
If it happened you ended up dead.
They called it Electro-therapy
And said it was doing you good,
But the thoughts in my brain they were never the same
When I came out from under that hood,
I saw the strings jerking from shoulders and heads
In a vision you couldn’t conceive,
And there were the hands that were pulling their strings
When I called out, ‘I don’t believe!’
‘I’ve never believed and I’ll never believe,’
I called, and they all moved away,
A thunderous cracking of mortar and ceiling,
It all fell apart on that day.
The strings fell away from my shoulders and hands
And I knew I was finally free,
And then I called up to the Puppet Master,
‘You won’t be controlling me!’
People were falling all over the place
As he dropped all the strings from his hands,
The bearded Master could see the disaster,
‘You’ve ruined my world and my plans!’
He paused for a moment and then he was gone
Leaving people to blink in the light,
The rules were the rules of the Puppet Master
Now we can decide what is right!
David Lewis Paget
Nov 26, 2013
Nov 26, 2013 at 8:28 AM UTC
Feather painted with gray
by the unlicensed hand of her lover.
She’s the beauty beyond
as his eyes stared longingly at her.
But she’s weary of the gray
and scared of his glare.
Still he painted until
the other colors decayed away.
"Ah, you were so happy, honey,
I just had to give you a little misery.”
And she never turned blue
ever again.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Gotama was unlicensed
went to graduate school
in caves along wide rivers
eating one grain of rice a day
seeking the happy place
where great beasts live
and tall ships anchor firm
on still waters.
Christ laughed at thin laws
refusing to be defined
poured glowing love
all over the Pharisees
and that’s why
it is so sad
some therapsts
forget about the soul
spewing insurable diagnoses
for imaginary pathologies
ignoring the rare pearls
of each heart
logged into their tight sad files.
Rumi cut a lovely poem
into his thigh with a dagger
and loved when people read it . . .
so honor that sacrifice
and never
insult your days
by depending on those
who invent litanies of sadness
looking for broken places
in your psyche.
When the counselor asks for his fee
reach inside your chest
pull out your heart
hold it before him
say nothing.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 9:57 AM UTC
I am no wave thing
No Moses basketed, noosed to the hip of an ocean,
born to be carried away by the tide thing
I'm not a thing that dips and dives and dies under this rubble and salt and sky
Not under these ******
and sea lions
who charter their unlicensed vessels on my intimate things,
with no caution or care
they trail and leave their spills there
But i'm no wave thing
I'm not a thing who whips and crashes at the break of the wind
or the pull of the sky,
not created that cycle of fall and rise and fall and rise,
where the depths and heights you reach don’t even move you
Don’t even change you no more
or ever
How you look like yesterday's tears and damp and fog
and still cling to the dry and parched of things
How you baptise their bodies and their mouths
and get nothing more
than yourself back
in different form.
Cannot be that blind a thing,
that pushed to move to nowhere and everywhere at the same time
and back thing
and blue thing
and black to reflect the moods of the sky thing,
a neat mess of a thing
huddled to look the same as
and cling to everything else you were created next to forever thing,
void of choice, helpless,
yet so full of strength
and potential if you could escape thing
inanimate and life at the same time thing,
a slave of creation thing.
Just a wave thing.
I will never be just a wave thing.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 2:20 AM UTC
endless miles of dark pavement
hours of white knuckle horror
illegally transporting pounds
processed into oil
curing her cancer –
new age family doctor
with a medical card and an interest in chemistry
distilling Everclear creating hope
1 gram a day
rear-view mirror road-rage
only wishing to be safely home
14 hours to go with a life on the line
watching a plant heal all that ails –
networking growers into family practitioners
dropping the bottom out of Big Pharma
one human being at a time
freely functioning as philanthropists
looking only to see families restored
Robin Hood as a pothead –
nothing could be simpler
than curing cancer
just grind up ****
pour 191 proof over the top
strain and keep the liquid
low heat cook it down
until only oil is left
5 drops of water
and a coffee warmer
decarbonization
then eat it
a grain of rice at first
then increase
to a gram a day
60 grams in 90 days
just try to die –
watching her gain weight and coherence in front of my eyes
seeing it again
knowing the truth
living in a lie
saving lives as I cross them
modern day travelling physician
carded
but unlicensed –
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 3:32 PM UTC
One, of many you have told I love you.
One, of many you profess have hurt you.
You come apart like a toy with the cheapest of glue.
The minute that you don't get your way.
Instant fury will soon come your man way.
You forget about the things of good he has done.
You instantly lump him with all the other ones.
So, I 'm asking you to think back.
And figure out with honesty and truth.
That I'm different than any other man you knew.
I was your counselor.
I was your unlicensed doctor caring deeply for you.
When you were sick and even healthy too.
Who stayed up comforting you?
When all the friends you had was destroying you.
I'm not one of those many men that ripped you apart.
I was the mender of your broken heart.
Who bought you deeper into a closer relationship with God?
Remember that.
And remember this too.
I was the man of them all that truly did love you.
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 8:19 AM UTC
Shivering in a cold car
Hours crawling by
What an effing miserable day it is
No whisky in the jar
Yeah tmes were hard back home
Sure we never had an easy ride
Yet laugh we did for we were one
But for me it was time to roam.
Three months back I reached South London
Squatting in rooms on borrowed time
Not good enough to work for uber
Just an unlicensed dodgy one
Burner on lap, awaiting a ring
Maybe it will, but probably not
Hours go by, but it is what it is
I kinda don't care what the day will bring
Ring, I jolt and say "It's Joe"
A collection awaits a few miles away
Foot on the gas, I can't be late
A hard looking man and his young looking **
An address shouted without a greeting
A terrified face in the mirror
Far to young to be doing tricks
Those eyes drill with their pleading
I remember Mary and what's right
Sneaky call to the 999
Give them the details including the scar
Can't sit back and watch this *****
One week past and no change in life
Sitting in my old coat in a cold car
Pick up two lads to Quinlan's bar
"Grass" the last word before I feel the knife.
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 7:00 PM UTC
The rich are committing suicide
and taking us along with them
the prosthetic limbed ********
Fort Darwin tottering on fewer stilts
once the Masters of the Universe
presently picking through garbage
looking for an Icarus to pilot
some way back among the clouds
their telepathic goon squads
armed with the hard on of God
squat in the darkness of doorways
lightning strikes all around them
even their telephone poles were clairvoyant
several thousand watts went up my leg
shorting out the only attention span I own
left me perforated but far from lacy
wearing all my masks all the time
fragments of self are selves
in a bulemic deconstruction
where form and content
mud wrestle incessantly for attention
on the crazy train to 3 color 3 finger hell
apparently the ancient gods still rule
in their madhouse heaven
ambivalent petulant flatulent gods
brandishing sword point conversions
wielding gun point perversions
the protagonists the antagonists
fornicators masturbators liquidators
pariahs and unlicensed poets
preaching hellstone and brimfire
now their carcasses are steppingstones
it's psywar out there kids
better find where they hid your dossier
mesmerized of the world unite
you have nothing to lose
but your failed methods of addressing reality
said his slowly twisting tongue
struggling for ratings like any media
the soul cannot erase it can only go sightless
a phantom trapped in melancholy
when we were built to dance
with the twinkling summer stars
he finally learned to undestroy memory
being an ascended master of non sequitur
carried aloft by the wings of Mother Goose
his metabolic hurricane of why
an inferno of intrigue and superstition
our embryo-headed UFO ruling class
have me inside their fence of skulls
an investment in diagram futures
the idiots
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 1:40 PM UTC