"unloads" poems
Jealousy is a loaded gun,
And you made each of their names
Bullets in my chamber.
The end of the barrel
Kisses me softly,
Between the eyes,
Where you used to.
And as you twirl them all round in a Russian Roulette
My finger quivers over the trigger.
Sweat makes it impossible to grip
And thinking back makes it
Impossible
To think forward...
What next?
You cocked it,
The gun,
So I'm ready to go.
I think...
Until, you reach out and try to save me.
Your hand touching mine
Losens my grip on the gun,
My finger becomes limp and I come back to life as
Your promises disarm me,
Your reassurance unloads the gun and
The bullets become evanescent in your kiss.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
She keeps asking what he does,
though his answers are recycled:
French bulldogs, paintball,
a seventh-grade broken nose.
The basket of fries between them
feels like an interview.
She teases about sweat-stuck bangs,
neon-laced Docs,
his faux leather squeaking when he moves.
Her smile forgives empty stories,
softens each silence.
Condensation slips down her glass,
her knee brushes his,
a spark he does not catch,
his throat working like a valve.
The door opens, closes,
a draft carries smoke and cedar.
distant wildfires.
Outside, a truck unloads shrimp.
A box bursts on the pavement,
pink shells and thawing ice
sliding into gutter water.
Curses flare into the alley.
Engines idle.
Hydraulics hiss.
The stoplight clicks red to green,
green to red,
its metronome louder than either of them.
Somewhere past Brockway Summit
a ridgeline blooms orange.
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 4:52 PM UTC
I stand here on a street corner,
daisy dukes and fish nets,
my favorite Metallica crop top
floating up on moonlit skin.
Monster truck inching close,
breath pacing through the city streets,
I walk to the edge of his dark lair
to bite any hesitation.
With curt words and close heads
I smell the whiskey in his breathe.
Pulling into the alley's grip,
I let him lead and grit my teeth.
"Shhhh, I won't get busted again."
the whiskey whispers against my ear,
"Don't make a peep."
Then I'm not sure if it's man or whiskey
who turns me around in callused hands.
He spits first,
entering with a grunt,
and my hands slide down the window with each ******
5 minutes.
I horn honks in the distance, long and mad,
as whiskey man unloads on my back,
along with his long, satisfied growl.
That's it, with a reluctant 20 bucks,
and I'm back biting the wind.
Apr 5, 2015
Apr 5, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Alone she stands...
at the bottom of the mountain.
The beginning of her journey.
Her journey to forgiveness.
She looks at the steepness of the climb,
and wonders where is the strength she'll find.
Especially when her backpack is full of rocks...
The painful memories of emotional abuse and verbal attacks.
But, as difficult as this journey will be,
she knows she must take it,
in order to be free.
Then He whispers to her soul,
"Step by step, with Me,
this is the only way to climb
The Journey to Forgiveness."
She begins her journey,
one step at a time.
One foot before the other.
With the heavy burden upon her back,
which she knows she must surrender.
She makes stops along the way.
The memories surface.
Her wounds lay open and bare.
But she chooses to forgive.
To release them of the debt.
And empties some of the rocks
from her backpack.
She continues on.
The journey is tiresome,
and oh, so long.
She is tempted to give up.
Many times.
But He keeps reminding her of the prize.
Another stop.
More rocks dumped.
More forgiveness given.
More
freedom.
And another stop.
And another.
Until finally...
her burden grows lighter.
As her soul unloads its bitterness.
She sees the top now.
Oh bliss!
She climbs faster now.
She empties out the last rock.
The biggest rock.
The largest offence.
The one that was hardest to forgive.
The one that bound her in chains.
She releases it now.
Into God's hands.
And hoists herself up to the top.
She stands now in victory!
The burden she has carried so long is empty!
She has completed her journey.
Her Journey to Forgiveness.
And is finally free.
Until tomorrow...
when begins another journey.
To forgiveness.
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
**** you! I hate you!
She screams inside her head
as she's rolled over away from the demon in her bed
She can't remember how she ever loved him so much
Now her skin crawls at his slightest touch
She can take no more
She's so upset
She can cry no more tears because she has none left
She quietly slips off their marriage bed and tiptoes
down the stairs
She looks for the gun in her locked box and finds it there
She puts a bottle of gas and matches in her pocket
The box is rehidden after she locks it
She ascends the stairs and enters the room
The pistol discharges with aloud boom
Blood soaks the pillow
He's still and dead
She unloads another round into his head
He's ****** and lifeless
But she's not done yet
She's gonna burn this demon till there's nothing
left
A lit match ignites his corpse from his head to his feet
She covers her eyes and stands back from the heat
She stares at the charred mess that she used
to call her man
Then she raises the pistol still in her left hand
Her greatest love has become her greatest hate
She closes her eyes
Pulls the trigger...
And escapes
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
i'm happy to be a ***
gathering passing thought
and spill them carefree
don't add an e fore t!
cook words in simple ease
smooth as butter cheese
mix rain and sunshine
stir in restless mind!
the serving unloads me
my dream and fantasy
of salt sugared wit
hoping you once taste it!
An open mouthed ***
words are all I got
need them to feel happy
don't add an e fore t!
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 4:00 AM UTC
Rolling of a broiling and boiled red sea
swift sticky sick twisted greenery
netting licking at our heels
at pillars of strength O' mighty Achilles
pulling for bronzed treasure
but the marble temple stands
and our idols fall crafting a crown of sin
but who is the idol of the sea?
The compass
the stars
the moon
The sailor prays to his Women
the captain for his Men
Heaving and Ho'ing
of storms brewing since long before the Men knew the Women and the captain knew his god
How heaven unloads a thunderous sigh
belching a quelling force
Sheets shape figures in the dark
tip louder, louder, darker, darker
colder than wet
clutch yourselves close because you're all that's left
open your eyes and see
the real god
You are not a Man
there is no Woman
You are flotsam
I am eternal.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 10:08 PM UTC
We broke a child yesterday,
and here we are left to pay.
We broke a child yesterday,
ignorant to warnings, now our dismay.
Mommy! Mommy! He is afraid,
from the gum, and spit, and word grenade.
Friend, Friend! Please raise a hand,
but not to break blood on the sand.
Teacher, Teacher! Do you not hear,
or see him cower in fear?
God! God! Where are you now?
He unloads in a gun to help him avow!
Now what seems like any other day,
is broke by thunder, while they play.
We broke a child yesterday,
and here we are left to pay.
We still break children here today,
for race, and size, and mind, and ‘cause they’re gay.
We break children every day,
yet we blame them when they fray.
So say sorry for all who lay,
under a hospital tray, or wet clay.
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 1:10 AM UTC
Always was always
So certain in it's way
Never could you change it's mind
Or how it would have it's say
Her eyes are made up of sunsets
But she holds the Moon at bay
Her eyes are waters
But the sea is receding away
Her eyes are full of Shadows
She questions every thing I say
The Gemini was born
But three days past the Bull
In a land full of richness
Down hill from the sugar mill
Where illusions are surely
Cut , dried and pulled
Her hands are empty
The wind begins to blow
Her hands are fingered
But I see no rings aglow
Her hands are waving
But I am so far and so . . .
Her hands now falter
Over a heart so full of grief to go
Her hands are longing for touching
And some pure belief
Her hands are lingering . . .
Reaching for some peace
The ships come into
The safety of the Harbor
Then dock and rope
There upon the warf
The gang plank unloads it's cargo
Tons of sorrow and remorse
But this widow stands
Not among the chorus
She twists and turns in a black laced
Chiffon party dress
And the bayed back moon
Is peeping through the shifty clouds
Humming a song of freedom
Before the clouds get it moving on along
Oh . . . oh her eyes were sunsets , sunsets !
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 12:32 AM UTC
I am a mess.
A cluttered room full of
sad dust and stowed away emotions.
In the winter,
I shiver with all my excess baggage
and the piercing, frosty winds.
This woman, that comes and goes-
Unloads her haunted antiques
Off her achy and raw shoulders.
And she will return in the summer.
The heat shall suffocate and sting me
Even in the most joyous season.
I wonder- if she would ever part with these
Medieval, Gothic symbols
that fester her spirit with Shura.
Sometimes in the mirages,
Her head splits into three
And each face telling a separate story.
I pray that those hungry ghosts
Will be banished from her spirit.
And the Wheel shall finally turn
to begin my pilgrimage to the Moon.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 6:34 PM UTC
her viking fishnet and lace looks
smash me in the face as she saunters into the room
shes perfect to the sheen of her paint by numbers lipgloss
rough to the stiletto razor blade cutting carpet
as she walks over to and melts into the chair next to me
witchita honey on the miami shore
got that deep tan and 'pensive jewels to prove
shes no snow bunny
she laughs at something like shes so entertained
she unloads her wares all over the table
and plays with the chrome handled pistol
while flicking her bick
she likes to be on fire and dangerous
witchita honey on the miami shore
in a barely there bikini
shes perfections mounted on high heels
moving through the endless party
like she was born to be
witchita honey whatcha' gonna do
whitchta honey do you even know who you are
she knows its gotta be funny even when its not
cause it cant stop being a good time
cause the endless party will leave you in the dust
if you aint too hip to cry
she pauses in her two ****** binge
looks me dead in the eye
and down in there i see a tear
down in there i see a lost girl
push past the noise i know you aint no fool
baby take my hand
ill get ya out here
leave it all behind witchita
leave it all behind
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 4:30 PM UTC
Polly wakes
to a new day
in the bed in the attic
she shares with Susie
the other maid
it is still dark
but birds are singing
and traffic is heard
in the distance
breaking the night's
stillness and quiet
she rises from bed
and sits on the edge
and looks back at Susie
and sighs
the maid looks sad
in her sleep
mouth half open
eyes sealed shut
head to one side
one hand on top
the other tucked away
out of sight
poor ******
Polly mutters
and gets off the bed
and goes
to the enamel bowl
and fills it
from the jug
with cold water
and takes off her nightdress
and begins to wash
in the cold water
and a piece of red soap
and washes her face
and neck and arms
and splashes water
under her arms
and taps at her *******
then taking an old towel
from the side
she dries herself
as quick as she can
before the cold morning air
freezes her stiff
then looking at Susie
she pulls out
the chamber ***
and sits and unloads
and sighs and closes her eyes
and wishes Master George
had not gone away
but was there
in his room
so that she could have
slept there and not
sitting here in her room
feeling the encroaching
day's gloom.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 4:05 AM UTC
Of all the nightmares
That ever were,
Of all the dreams
That ever will be,
There is a time
Where the past unloads
And the future withholds
The present that is now,
And because it is a gift
You are existent; you are real
Questions will be no more
And answers will prevail,
The moments leading
And the minutes fleeting,
Shall leave not a void
But memories forever,
Imprinted not on sand
Of shores to be eroded;
But on granite and marble
Never to be washed away;
Not by the waters;
Not by the winds,
Only of our own accord,
So in our acknowledgement
This is now or never;
Not maybe and if ever,
We shall seize and
We shall conquer,
Our enemies will cease and
Our enemies will hunker,
In fear of our retaliation
In awe of our determination,
Let us hence in this proceed
We have commenced and taken heed;
Of our destinies; of our fate
Let's not care for amenities; we will not be late...
© okpoet
Feb 1, 2013
Feb 1, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did,with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays,where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.
A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul..
Buy me gas for a lighter head..words said,spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain..soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound..without a sound or with no sound to hear..her eyes quite clear in the evening air,laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.
Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces,broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie..yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 9:09 AM UTC
Sailing the guilty-seas
as regret trickles down my spine
and unloads
its over-thought-husky-murky-thoughts
upon my shoulders.
My daily rations are here:
shame, regret and guilt.
They’re brewing me to the bone;
into a rotten broth.
My thoughts pace
backwards and forwards
from guilt —
for remaining stagnant,
one of the past.
For being recycled
relentlessly-unbreakably
in this unhealthy cycle.
It is a cycle
of forget me nots;
such vile fetters.
But no dose can
reverse the abused time,
the stutters-and-mutters
the time that slipped my grips
and the sins
that swallowed my innocence whole.
For remorse, guilt and shame
only anchor us back
unless we were to morph them
to fuel and experience
to propel us forward.
Jul 24, 2019
Jul 24, 2019 at 8:43 AM UTC
Wild foaming tops in whitening turbulence,
Racing up beach-ward an ocean unloads.
Boisterous motion bouncing with fervour,
Explosions discharging as froth overflows.
Sea seized with madness starts to spit pebbles,
Sandy **** shaken like rats tails thru' air,
Tumbling excitement as breakers rise restless,
Desperate to fling salty bits from their hair.
Wind force increasing boats wisely harbour,
Diving, brave seagulls dip nearer the waves.
Dark sky showing storm drifting to starboard,
Pewter mist begins mixing cobalt with grays.
Petulant tides on this coast need caution so
Dicing no more with ocean homeward I go.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 6:08 AM UTC
A book here, a picture there.
It happens slowly.
One by one he puts things into place.
He unloads.
Soon it becomes organized, familiar.
It becomes a part of him, shows who he has become.
Displays the world's influence in his life.
Society's poison on
his Interests, his Character, his Home.
It wants to be know, seen by the world that brought it to be.
But, he hides it away.
A thought here, a word there.
One by one, the ideas fit together.
He pours onto the paper.
Soon it becomes organized, familiar.
It becomes a part of him, shows who he really is.
Displays how he wants to influence the world.
Goes against society's flow with
his Beliefs, his Secrets, his Soul.
It is private, personal.
But, he shares it with the world.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 4:32 PM UTC
It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did,with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays,where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.
A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul..
Buy me gas for a lighter head..words said,spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain..soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound..without a sound or with no sound to hear..her eyes quite clear in the evening air,laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.
Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces,broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie..yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 1:58 AM UTC
There is a hole in her core she must sate.
So, she drives to the grocery store before it’s too late.
She steers the cart in search
of junk food.
She spots a case of cupcakes that can ease her mood.
Powdered donuts on a shelf she can reach.
Next, she chooses Bottled sodas, she packs up five each.
Muffins, Doritos, Cheetos, Funyuns and Snickers she will par-take.
She must not forget about the Little Debbie snack cakes.
Once the cashier starts scanning her vittles,
She starts to feel a tingly rush form in her middle.
She pays her fee then rushes to her vehicle parked afar
Then unloads the groceries on the passenger seat of the car.
As she sits behind her steering wheel.
She appraises her edible saviors, then makes her appeal
She starts with the Snickers shoving them down her throat,
The empty void inside her fills as she lets out a choke.
The Funyuns and muffins are next on her seat.
She devours them in seconds, puffing up her cheeks.
Doritos, Cheetos and snack cakes are inhaled like oxygen,
She is slightly starting to feel whole again.
The cupcakes are the last morsels of her stock
She washes them down with the soda she bought.
When the food is gone she observes the food wrappers in her space.
She glances in the rearview mirror but fails to recognize her face.
Powdered sugar and Cheeto dust crusting around her lips,
A sob escapes her chest as sanity begins to slip.
There is one more mission she must forgo
Opening her car door, she shoves a finger down her throat.
***** is released from her belly’s lair.
Stomach acid and bile sting the night air.
She appraises the regurgitation splattered on the concrete.
Then senses the empty void is gone, her task is completed
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 1:57 PM UTC
The world is falling asleep on me
Everyone gets their heavy burdened body
Lands on the mattress with a thump and unloads
All their troubles on me
And hey, I'm not complaining, a bed is made to be used
And it's good to be needed, isn't it?
But just sometimes it isn't enough;
Standing solitarily with the weight, oh the weight
There is nothing and no one I can turn to
Or maybe there is but I just like wallowing in self-pity
Either way, all that I know is that the pressure, it's becoming too much
I might crack.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
Let me hold and spin
I want to win the biggest prize
when we lay together,I shall
look deep into your eyes while tasting of your lips,
and if the reel slips into overdrive
we shall survive,
go on and on until the stars are gone and then go on some more
and j'adore
I will love you more and more and more until the oceans dry,until the sky explodes and heaven unloads it cargo and then,
we'll spin the reels again.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 3:28 PM UTC
After being amply lathered
from head to toe, aye
ya eye ya eye ya eye, and without fail
(gluteus maximus unloads a dump,
as predictably happens
like clockwork orange
after washing off suds),
this nada so grand poo ba
drops ship capsizing sinkers
(hefty waste ballast
causing sea level to rise), this aint
"NOT FAKE" just ask Cap'n Bligh
sitting athwart the **** deck
i.e. christened "Porcelain Goddess"
well nar did die
after being privy seeing yours truly
exit the water closet did espy
a much relieved rearing *** a nine guy,
which also earned me,
the nick name ****
not evident, via friendly customery wave
conveyed expediting,
(viz nonverbally)
business cheekily dreck eliminated
eh, the formality establishment,
sans customary "hi"
whereupon without any waste I
sought to secure these
weather beaten lovely bones of mine
preparatory to a tidal wave,
thus refuge sought
behind (a replica),
sans Bridge over the River Kwai
after moving ma bowels, no lie,
which predictable tsunami
predicated on my
humungous substantial
****** discharge well nigh
generating threatening
rip snorting currents
impossible mission e'en ex spurt ***** to ply
especially, flush with panic (a *** er,
but mandatory duty) when lookout scout,
(an E Medic) didst spy
an immense wall of water, aye yai yai!
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
From November 2012..it will soon be the cold again.
dedicated to the memory of Grant Burford, the Giant in the beanie hat.
It was a night unlike the nights before and longer if that can be true of any night where Angels flew with witches.
Do you think, that night was flat?
I ironed out the early evening late day sun unaware of events to come and sallied as I usually did with hooded eyes to see surprising things occur.
In Hoxton Square and City Road where the dying light unloads its feeble rays, where days of top hat and tails once sailed into the West.
End is always best much better than the starting out.
A shout cuffs in on the Northerly breezing sleeve of winds that never leave this soul,
buy me gas for a lighter head, words said, spoken from those tortured lips where sadness slips upon the oily streets.
Young girl sleeping in the rain soaking up more pain on which no passing eyes will glance.
No measure there,
no chancing of a lady fate to close that wound,
without a sound or with no sound to hear
her eyes quite clear in the evening air,
laying there for all the world to see and yet unseen.
Another queen of broken promises of beaten faces, broken heart the endings are maybe not as good as when we start.
Another night unlike and yet the same for some who sway with dreams upon the warming sun that they once knew.
Another do or die another sadness yet to lie, yet and die.
I cry myself to sleep.
True story, the Giant in the Beanie hat knew the girl, one of so many people he helped, I didn't cope well with the situation and it was later that the irony struck me, well **** me, should I judge a ****** he never did.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
*August rolls in like a freight train
Along the tracks of the Sun line
Pulls straight into Summer's station
Unloads its heat in record time
The conductor likes the feel of this place
Thinks he could stay a month or two
Although he knows he'll soon be replaced
When September brings in its load of cool*
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
Yesterday is alive
Its the shadow that follows me today
Its the fabric of my life that determines my tomorrow
It haunts me all my waking hours
It unloads the mistakes of my past
I want to shed it from my skin
But it takes of hold of me and chokes me
Yesterday is alive for me
more than tomorrow or today.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC