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"uppercut" poems
His fist scarred, beat-red fistful of intention Rugged, crass unchiseled wonder wrapped in a gentle smile A bear of a man, broad shouldered hulking bent Stuffed-fluff heart tattooed with the echo of love The times he grappled in sweaty- slick tangle of arms and drew blood blooming bright-crisp-apple-red upon white mat. Beat, Beat, Beat, down Tap, Tap, Tap, out White knuckle-grasp uppercut Full mount, disengage Joint locked, feet hooked, Triangle hold Submission. The times he brought grown men to their knees, and humbled himself on his own The times he never gave up and the times he gave in To the fight To the system To the sweet draw of relief The times he fought not for the thrill but to make it by Rage hot-red facing the injustice of poverty His steel spine riddled with the rust of life, the rust of reality The corrosive sludge of hate, and words left unspoken. Busted well-worn hands held soft smooth skin Grooved fingers and velvet mouth The scratch of bearded stubble, red-lined skin prickled with goose flesh, slick coated in sweat A new fight, wrapped knuckles cushioned with the promise of forgiveness Of acceptance a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Broken hand, dreams stunted, depressed-mind-numbing Lost in his own thought, out of the fight Desperate to be back in the game mind and body Envy-red, drawn to the fight of others Soft smooth hands, short-small-painted nails calm bristled hair Growling bear, baring teeth in silent-wounded pride The time she bandaged pride, and encouraged humility The times she scalded his senses the raw-red liquid fire of love His shade in the heat of a red-blistered sun Cooling, and igniting inspiration The time she became a fight worth winning.
0
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:03 PM UTC
The Fighter
His fist scarred, beat-red fistful of intention Rugged, crass unchiseled wonder wrapped in a gentle smile A bear of a man, broad shouldered hulking bent Stuffed-fluff heart tattooed with the echo of love The times he grappled in sweaty- slick tangle of arms and drew blood blooming bright-crisp-apple-red upon white mat. Beat, Beat, Beat, down Tap, Tap, Tap, out White knuckle-grasp uppercut Full mount, disengage Joint locked, feet hooked, Triangle hold Submission. The times he brought grown men to their knees, and humbled himself on his own The times he never gave up and the times he gave in To the fight To the system To the sweet draw of relief The times he fought not for the thrill but to make it by Rage hot-red facing the injustice of poverty His steel spine riddled with the rust of life, the rust of reality The corrosive sludge of hate, and words left unspoken. Busted well-worn hands held soft smooth skin Grooved fingers and velvet mouth The scratch of bearded stubble, red-lined skin prickled with goose flesh, slick coated in sweat A new fight, wrapped knuckles cushioned with the promise of forgiveness Of acceptance a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Broken hand, dreams stunted, depressed-mind-numbing Lost in his own thought, out of the fight Desperate to be back in the game mind and body Envy-red, drawn to the fight of others Soft smooth hands, short-small-painted nails calm bristled hair Growling bear, baring teeth in silent-wounded pride The time she bandaged pride, and encouraged humility The times she scalded his senses the raw-red liquid fire of love His shade in the heat of a red-blistered sun Cooling, and igniting inspiration The time she became a fight worth winning.
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36
Two forces collide Right Left Left Again. Gloved fists beat into bone and blood The stone will never move The ox will make the stone move Left hook Right hook two jabs. The ox beats the stone The ox hammers the stone The ox hurts the stone’s feelings Uppercut Right Right Again Left. The stone cracks The ox breaks its horn Jab Jab Right hook. The Boxer’s ribs are cracked The Boxer’s ribs are broken Left cross Right cross Uppercut. Fist connects to skull The Boxer’s world is black Then its white Now its back to normal Two jabs Left Left Again. The Boxer’s world is the ring The world begins at one post and ends at another Left Right Right Again Left Left Again. One eye is swollen shut The other blinded by blood Jab Jab Left hook Right cross Uppercut. The blood clears away Now the Boxer’s world is the ceiling And the lights Both real and imagined. The world goes black Then white.
0
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:59 PM UTC
Boxer
When stress and tension are so high, That you believe your stomach holds the weight of the sky, Beat up a black, swinging punching bag And leave your tensions behind to mangle, dangle and drag Unleash the power bestowed within, You may find doing so also unleashes a grin Wild, almost psychotic, off-the-hook The kind that makes passers-by turn and look Hook, uppercut, jab and straight, Doesn't matter which, leave that to fate And put the sky back where it belongs Out of your chest, because it fits wrong
0
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 3:09 AM UTC
Sky-High Stress
Preamble at the showdown the fighters eye to eye Droning pulse of discourse from the referee is dry, Bouncing back to my corner the butterflies take charge For the other guy’s a monster, like a Doberman at large. Bell resounds alarmingly, I shuffle forth to meet A combination thrown with steel…it whacks me off my feet. Seeing stars I resurrect to lurch about the ring To try to keep some distance from the monster’s punching sting. Roaring crowd are baying now they call to take me out The Doberman is grinning for he reckons it’s a route, The flashing light confusing, the noise a steady din As the monster comes in quickly to achieve expected win. Throwing jabs to keep him back, retreating to the rope I cover up with everything to give myself some hope He pounds with his salvos they hammer hard and fast His breathing rasping in my ears I pray to God I last. Saved by the bell and cold water, such disgrace The crowd are loudly booing, I’ve not put leather on his face, A wash of resolution hotly surges from within So I **** the mouth guard back and rush on out to tackle him. Defensive expectations had him open up his chin So I feinted with a left and launched a mighty right with spin, Boring in with fury and a combination score I hit him with an uppercut which traversed from the floor. Miraculously the eyeballs rolled and disappeared from sight I threw another flurry…but had no one to fight Flat out on the deck he lay, the Doberman was out As I bounced around like Rocky to the punters frenzied shout. Camera flashes blinded as the raving crowd went wild. It defied all expectations, I was the sacrificial child. Bets were laid that I would fall within a round or two The screaming din reflected that all bets were in the poo. The countdown took forever and I swear I watched each stroke And kept one eye on the fallen, should he rise he’d go for broke, My amazement with two wobbly knees and heaving lungs of fire When my leaden glove was held aloft to victory entire. Winners come and winners go but this I’ll not forget When fortune favoured sweetly…and I collected on the bet! Marshalg My thanks to Shane Cameron…a real fighter. 14 April 2013 (Pukehana Paradise) © 2013 Marshal Gebbie
0
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 12:45 AM UTC
A Win is a Win!
Preamble at the showdown the fighters eye to eye Droning pulse of discourse from the referee is dry, Bouncing back to my corner the butterflies take charge For the other guy’s a monster, like a Doberman at large. Bell resounds alarmingly, I shuffle forth to meet A combination thrown with steel…it whacks me off my feet. Seeing stars I resurrect to lurch about the ring To try to keep some distance from the monster’s punching sting. Roaring crowd are baying now they call to take me out The Doberman is grinning for he reckons it’s a route, The flashing light confusing, the noise a steady din As the monster comes in quickly to achieve expected win. Throwing jabs to keep him back, retreating to the rope I cover up with everything to give myself some hope He pounds with his salvos they hammer hard and fast His breathing rasping in my ears I pray to God I last. Saved by the bell and cold water, such disgrace The crowd are loudly booing, I’ve not put leather on his face, A wash of resolution hotly surges from within So I **** the mouth guard back and rush on out to tackle him. Defensive expectations had him open up his chin So I feinted with a left and launched a mighty right with spin, Boring in with fury and a combination score I hit him with an uppercut which traversed from the floor. Miraculously the eyeballs rolled and disappeared from sight I threw another flurry…but had no one to fight Flat out on the deck he lay, the Doberman was out As I bounced around like Rocky to the punters frenzied shout. Camera flashes blinded as the raving crowd went wild. It defied all expectations, I was the sacrificial child. Bets were laid that I would fall within a round or two The screaming din reflected that all bets were in the poo. The countdown took forever and I swear I watched each stroke And kept one eye on the fallen, should he rise he’d go for broke, My amazement with two wobbly knees and heaving lungs of fire When my leaden glove was held aloft to victory entire. Winners come and winners go but this I’ll not forget When fortune favoured sweetly…and I collected on the bet! Marshalg My thanks to Shane Cameron…a real fighter. 14 April 2013 (Pukehana Paradise) © 2013 Marshal Gebbie
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42
I pull up to the stop Sign and side-blow a little smoke Out of the window. Wait for the last burn Of the cigarette Then turn to green. One glance in the mirror And there’s a young woman In a Tesla with long brown Curly hair and bright red lips. Singing like A Walmart movie star. **** me now sighs. We pretend to not play mirror lick. 2 minutes trinkets. Though I sit up a little straighter Suddenly self wrongsciouss And then notice That my hair is sticking Up just like a who from whoreville Ah **** it. And she lets a smile out on bail Though I think it’s probably At the old man waiting to cross With way too many Christmas bags of shopping. And we drive on this endless Highway of hooks and tumours, one night stands And one life stands And pretty moments and heartbreaks and rebounds. And winning lottery tickets. And Cuban cigars. And our hearts call room service In dive motels. And then we find someone to laugh with. and my car is **** And my hair is going silver And I hit 40 like an uppercut. And all of us patch up the cracks And take the pins out of other peoples voodoo dolls And dance with what we have. And do our best to punch above And throw a trick still. Like everything was beautiful once And now even if we fade just into accolades. We wear a A lucky shirt A new pair of shoes hung up on the telephone wires A revenge dress to help undress The bitterness A little blue that changes colours Sometimes As we drive away No more a stranger Than we ever were before.
0
Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 8:01 AM UTC
Mirror licks
I pull up to the stop Sign and side-blow a little smoke Out of the window. Wait for the last burn Of the cigarette Then turn to green. One glance in the mirror And there’s a young woman In a Tesla with long brown Curly hair and bright red lips. Singing like A Walmart movie star. **** me now sighs. We pretend to not play mirror lick. 2 minutes trinkets. Though I sit up a little straighter Suddenly self wrongsciouss And then notice That my hair is sticking Up just like a who from whoreville Ah **** it. And she lets a smile out on bail Though I think it’s probably At the old man waiting to cross With way too many Christmas bags of shopping. And we drive on this endless Highway of hooks and tumours, one night stands And one life stands And pretty moments and heartbreaks and rebounds. And winning lottery tickets. And Cuban cigars. And our hearts call room service In dive motels. And then we find someone to laugh with. and my car is **** And my hair is going silver And I hit 40 like an uppercut. And all of us patch up the cracks And take the pins out of other peoples voodoo dolls And dance with what we have. And do our best to punch above And throw a trick still. Like everything was beautiful once And now even if we fade just into accolades. We wear a A lucky shirt A new pair of shoes hung up on the telephone wires A revenge dress to help undress The bitterness A little blue that changes colours Sometimes As we drive away No more a stranger Than we ever were before.
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53
A crystal vision that fortune tells, like sparrots in my spirit, but rather, bought a ticket for God to  pay me visit, I hope he answers no phones by his thrones, above outer space but lives within our inner with open ears, that answer prayer the unseen near , I hope my feather glisten, when I fly and shine, broken wings holding on to parachutes that skydive up the winds, Tell gravity Im jonesin to climb. Been distant from home sweet home.. Left eating a Sour patchs, and packed my bags ( beneath you eyes) , Long roads with no sleep, Extra steps  in paps broken shoes that I got to outfit wearing a travel packed outfit.. All Smiles but sunny days are dead, Like who worries about the storms ahead, Seen some with cigarettes for stress knowing theyll only blacken my breath Lungs in cemetaries, Air attached to inhalors not enough for this journey, perhaps instill Mayweather stamina, to box out a circle of squares when they box me in, hardships float on my uppercuts let God and money band aid my wins.
0
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 4:47 AM UTC
Uppercut Skydives by Shahrukh Zamir
Maggie threw a weak left jab at the upper torso of Jacob to throw him off balance and swung hard with her right arm towards his exposed left cheek, connecting her small fists on his flesh with such impact that it immediately began to swell up. He retaliated with a well placed right hook to the side of Maggie's arm that sent her moving sideways before she regained her footing and answered back with a succession of jabs to his midsection. Sweat poured down both of their faces mixing with the blood from cuts and bruises that both had received in one of the earlier bouts. They were now in the sixth round and neither showed any determination in losing. Jacob brought his right leg up for a straight kick towards Maggie's stomach but she caught his leg and rotated it clockwise knocking him off balance and falling chest first to the mat. Maggie attempted to a heel lock but could not gain enough leverage to lock it in and Jacob slipped out of her grip and got back to his feet and shook it off. Maggie snarled thru her mouth guard and spun around with a roundhouse, catching her foot just short of hard enough on his left calf, sending numbness up and down his leg. She went in for a double leg takedown but was caught off guard when Jacob raised his right knee and connected it with the left temple on her head. Her vision began to go hazy and she swung wildly with a left and then a right before she was able to shake the cobwebs clear and see him throwing a straight, hard, and fast right squarely at her face. She ducked less than an inch before his fist would've met the bridge of her nose and she came up with her fists balled tightly in an uppercut and landed on the bottom of his jaw sending him reeling backwards and losing his balance he fell on the ground. Maggie rushed over and got on top of him in guard position and began raining down lefts and rights to his face which he was blocking. She threw a few shots at his side causing him to arch into a kidney shape and bring his arms away from his face. Maggie grabbed his left arm and went for a Fuji armbar and locked it in tightly, feeling the joint of his elbow bending sharply on her pelvic bone. She arched her back harder, tightened her thighs around his arm and twisted the upper portion of his wrist to the left until she felt the familiar feeling of a tap out on her legs. She released the grip and stood up, ****** bruised, sweaty, but not beaten.
0
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:28 PM UTC
Not Beaten
Maggie threw a weak left jab at the upper torso of Jacob to throw him off balance and swung hard with her right arm towards his exposed left cheek, connecting her small fists on his flesh with such impact that it immediately began to swell up. He retaliated with a well placed right hook to the side of Maggie's arm that sent her moving sideways before she regained her footing and answered back with a succession of jabs to his midsection. Sweat poured down both of their faces mixing with the blood from cuts and bruises that both had received in one of the earlier bouts. They were now in the sixth round and neither showed any determination in losing. Jacob brought his right leg up for a straight kick towards Maggie's stomach but she caught his leg and rotated it clockwise knocking him off balance and falling chest first to the mat. Maggie attempted to a heel lock but could not gain enough leverage to lock it in and Jacob slipped out of her grip and got back to his feet and shook it off. Maggie snarled thru her mouth guard and spun around with a roundhouse, catching her foot just short of hard enough on his left calf, sending numbness up and down his leg. She went in for a double leg takedown but was caught off guard when Jacob raised his right knee and connected it with the left temple on her head. Her vision began to go hazy and she swung wildly with a left and then a right before she was able to shake the cobwebs clear and see him throwing a straight, hard, and fast right squarely at her face. She ducked less than an inch before his fist would've met the bridge of her nose and she came up with her fists balled tightly in an uppercut and landed on the bottom of his jaw sending him reeling backwards and losing his balance he fell on the ground. Maggie rushed over and got on top of him in guard position and began raining down lefts and rights to his face which he was blocking. She threw a few shots at his side causing him to arch into a kidney shape and bring his arms away from his face. Maggie grabbed his left arm and went for a Fuji armbar and locked it in tightly, feeling the joint of his elbow bending sharply on her pelvic bone. She arched her back harder, tightened her thighs around his arm and twisted the upper portion of his wrist to the left until she felt the familiar feeling of a tap out on her legs. She released the grip and stood up, ****** bruised, sweaty, but not beaten.
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4
Cassie Lane Gray, ever so slight of frame Hit harder than a train, playing her martial games Cassie ran eight miles a day, and she never strayed Her routine was tough as iron, her boxing gloves were frayed Her momma put her in ballet, but later on, she disobeyed Strapping wraps to wrists, uppercut finisher each day And when she said she wanted to box, her momma turned away But she was gonna fight, with no one in her way Cassie Lane Gray grew up poor in San Jose Never had much to say, just wanted in the fray Her ballet, in a way, made her opponents pay As she moved with dancer's sway, they later would convey Cassie's family prayed that she would portray The sweet and simpering visage of a classy dame But it wasn't in the cards, for Cassie Lane Gray The "Bantam Weight Ballerina" A strong young fighting woman Was in the ring to stay
0
Mar 16, 2020
Mar 16, 2020 at 9:36 AM UTC
Bantam Weight Ballerina
In the red corner - me in the blue corner - life this isn't a fair fight there was no sparring or training I had to come out swinging right from the bell absorbing every jab that life throws just waiting for the knockout punch still dancing and going toe to toe throwing haymakers left and right I try to keep my guard up hoping somehow to win by decision side-stepping punches ducking and weaving uppercut uppercut uppercut I dropped my guard, and there goes my mouthpiece ding! saved by the bell I still have a few rounds to go...
0
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
10 rounds with the champ
(Dedicated to Eric Onyebuchi Jibero) What an excruciating blow You have dealt me! A brute's uppercut offloaded A smashing hit delivered Like a monstrous boxer Desirous of fame With an amateur to tame At this one bout too many Wherein you have hit me below The belt as a sadist deriving joy From my anguish And relish From my enormous loss Oh mower, Nay hewer, Can't you feel anything? Can't you see? Can't you reason for a while With your prey? Can't you pause to ponder Just for a brief moment So you can take a good decision Choosing the right tree to fell Instead of bringing down a mere Sapling with your obedient saw? Why deal sweeping blow On a mere rookie? Can't you distinguish Between the ripe and the unripe? Between the hen and the chick? But hawks like you can pick Meat amidst bones as Moses In a basket amidst bulrushes Of Nile to spare from Pharaoh's Infant-eating sword And in wisdom did you wait Patiently to visit Methuselah At the zenith of hoary hair Master of double standards Eyes gorged Conscience seared Heart cold like frozen chicken ******* dry and drooping Like a hag's A ruthless scorpion That stings even babes Rampaging ravager Notorious brigand Marauding machinery Eliminating without scruple Whoever you choose Whose hireling are you? God's or Satan's Or both? A blank cheque you flaunt To cash as you wish But can't you condescend to a negotiating Table when a mere sapling is marked For a cutting down? Being a professional boxer Long in this senseless trade You should have seen the heap Of pain you would leave In my heart by this cruel blow Against a budding amateur whom You have served voracious earth Whose stomach is a leaking tank.
0
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 5:22 AM UTC
Foul Blow
(Dedicated to Eric Onyebuchi Jibero) What an excruciating blow You have dealt me! A brute's uppercut offloaded A smashing hit delivered Like a monstrous boxer Desirous of fame With an amateur to tame At this one bout too many Wherein you have hit me below The belt as a sadist deriving joy From my anguish And relish From my enormous loss Oh mower, Nay hewer, Can't you feel anything? Can't you see? Can't you reason for a while With your prey? Can't you pause to ponder Just for a brief moment So you can take a good decision Choosing the right tree to fell Instead of bringing down a mere Sapling with your obedient saw? Why deal sweeping blow On a mere rookie? Can't you distinguish Between the ripe and the unripe? Between the hen and the chick? But hawks like you can pick Meat amidst bones as Moses In a basket amidst bulrushes Of Nile to spare from Pharaoh's Infant-eating sword And in wisdom did you wait Patiently to visit Methuselah At the zenith of hoary hair Master of double standards Eyes gorged Conscience seared Heart cold like frozen chicken ******* dry and drooping Like a hag's A ruthless scorpion That stings even babes Rampaging ravager Notorious brigand Marauding machinery Eliminating without scruple Whoever you choose Whose hireling are you? God's or Satan's Or both? A blank cheque you flaunt To cash as you wish But can't you condescend to a negotiating Table when a mere sapling is marked For a cutting down? Being a professional boxer Long in this senseless trade You should have seen the heap Of pain you would leave In my heart by this cruel blow Against a budding amateur whom You have served voracious earth Whose stomach is a leaking tank.
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68
Hey its me again I just need to vent Its time my mind got right So I can breath again But things begin To take a toll And sometimes you can feel so small That it crushes you Punches you in the gut Followed with a uppercut Like what the **** Can I get a break? Can I get some time to recuperate? I guess this is life These ups and downs The smiles and frowns
0
Jul 12, 2023
Jul 12, 2023 at 1:08 AM UTC
Its me again
being insulted by someone of a trans-                      status quo classification                          will never be enough to mind, had i the pairing to a higher tier of socialite endeavour - to be debased with a fragrance of a misuse of language on a level of comprehension will always place me steadied with placards of 'hello, my name is Samauel' well hello Samuel.. boiled herrings pan-fried readied for a star wars sequel akin to rocky 7, boxing-catchup K.O. no.31 - an here the champ gives way to a chimpanzees' worth of gurgled laughter - readied speed at a Bronson's uppercut - and we're too the readied ones annex to the molars that might be considered the chewing apparatus should we not have juiced with bites as if a load's worth of hammering was taken place: chewing as if hammering, imagine the cranium gush extract - it would be like porridge if reverse due to diarrhoea! flaky shit-bits and anaconda's suntan to measure up to; well, there was the leather chair to mind in terms of approving leisure activity as coercing a carefree fortitude of futuristic investment - mind you the loss of the Celtic vocabulary, I.R.A. and the instigation of Anglo-Saxon vocabulary to suppress the populace of renegade Catholics or the twin Belfast known as Glasgow - indeed Edinburgh remained as much conservative as St. Andrew's would allow, an extension of England, even with parliament it was a Basildon of northern Essex... scots among the multitude of accents usurped from pole-dancing with kilts! Tartan su doku!
0
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 8:46 PM UTC
the misuse of language among the property mafia idiots
being insulted by someone of a trans-                      status quo classification                          will never be enough to mind, had i the pairing to a higher tier of socialite endeavour - to be debased with a fragrance of a misuse of language on a level of comprehension will always place me steadied with placards of 'hello, my name is Samauel' well hello Samuel.. boiled herrings pan-fried readied for a star wars sequel akin to rocky 7, boxing-catchup K.O. no.31 - an here the champ gives way to a chimpanzees' worth of gurgled laughter - readied speed at a Bronson's uppercut - and we're too the readied ones annex to the molars that might be considered the chewing apparatus should we not have juiced with bites as if a load's worth of hammering was taken place: chewing as if hammering, imagine the cranium gush extract - it would be like porridge if reverse due to diarrhoea! flaky shit-bits and anaconda's suntan to measure up to; well, there was the leather chair to mind in terms of approving leisure activity as coercing a carefree fortitude of futuristic investment - mind you the loss of the Celtic vocabulary, I.R.A. and the instigation of Anglo-Saxon vocabulary to suppress the populace of renegade Catholics or the twin Belfast known as Glasgow - indeed Edinburgh remained as much conservative as St. Andrew's would allow, an extension of England, even with parliament it was a Basildon of northern Essex... scots among the multitude of accents usurped from pole-dancing with kilts! Tartan su doku!
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41
parallel sympathy endeavor peaceful and untroubled achieve ballerina twists comforting serenity pull a fast one on elixir sip sucker stiff tiny hornswoggle mulct grandfather clock rich rock chimney chalk ziggy pop sirius kid dolls cudi feet tall artists whirl revolution vet wolf convincing sheep curve non believers starting flames horrid instant ways even livid fears queen fairy dust spiral wick gladness warlock king abide nostrum wake flesh archangel passion feans world web crack addicts mankind teach nine nail soundness round raiden uppercut fortify illegitimate swine heedless being being beaten headless ***** eyes hub pivot nerve endings eager enthusiasm hitch pitch outermost central swain free gist intrigue archbishop market black illicit red hot chili peppers implicate explicit inundating problematic seniority cast systems hook boom haze tomb prune embrace bravehearts impale in arms side by side shield elastic coats grace
0
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
inSpector hatchet patch
It hits in waves. To begin, it throws a right jab (the lack of energy with a hefty dose of insomnia.) Next, it follows up with a nasty left hook (the irritability) (the self-doubt) (the mood swings) (the paranoia.) And finally, it finishes you a mean right uppercut with those bone-crushing cataclysmic abysmal angry angsty blues. Gripped by a dark world, NO hope NO light and most painfully NO LOVE. Regardless of how hard you search you know it can only be taught to you again because you don't recognize it anymore it is a blank spot now. You knew you would have to pay the price to experience such a sensation and you'd heard of the stories of how it changed people but you still craved that excitement of the unknown the forbidden fruit and you had your taste but it consumed you too until now, you're fighting the beast that threatens to overthrow the true you. This is a fight you must not lose.
0
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
It hits in waves
as i watched you drown i remember the sound of your muffled cries, but you had to taste the lies you had spun thousands of webs, i could no longer hold creditability for the words that flew around my head you had hit me with an uppercut to the jaw for the flaws you had made a point to highlight didn't exist to anyone else other than yourself so put your insecurities to rest and inhale this water into your lungs let them over flow & burst yes darling, death does hurt but when were all living to die its understandable why you'd want to give up trying let my lullaby swoon satan, i would even dance with him, for you as i watched you drown i remember the sound of your mom pounding on the door such a shame you refused to explore life longer pray god wont be upset with me, for every second your head was held underneath the water, by my hand i felt stronger
0
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 5:48 PM UTC
as i watched you drown
I’m called Madam Budget Cut, hard-edged Ms. Bludgeon **** Slashing each piece of the pie. But still I the budget gut, both guns and butter cut, Balance the budget or die! I’ve a tax for tobacco, and (pols think I’m whacko), I’m slashing their projects with knives. No ribbons for cutting, no grants for abutting Old properties owned by their wives. I’ve cross-the-board fixes, I’ve “no ways” and “nixes”, I’ve silly assumptions and worse. I consolidate functions, ignore court injunctions Protecting the power of the purse. I’ve early-out options, I propose late adoptions Of programs designed by the Feds. I close institutions, slow down restitutions, And limit the number of beds. I fire those who sign up The thousands who line up For Medicaid, welfare and such. I’ve April surprises, with merit pay prizes For staff who don’t argue too much. So go with my uppercut, Knock out the sludge, and gut, Budgets should never be shy. So we’ll cut, snip and suture, Then look toward the future, And pray that the patient won’t die!
0
Mar 5, 2017
Mar 5, 2017 at 6:06 PM UTC
State Budget Director’s Song (Apologies to Mr Gilbert)
Bright red hickey branding your neck I can’t help but stare Fighting back the tears I almost ******* hate you I want to flip the table scream but I sit in silence The sight of it guts me uppercut to chest with the sharpest knife Each word spilling out your mouth disgusting like maggots one by one cuts me deeper The thought of her infected lips kissing you makes me want to ***** Im not even supposed to care you make it look so easy Just let me hate you because I know I won’t
0
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
Walking that thin line
Darker than six combined winter mid nights The uneducated minds For they know not when and how to use  their knowledge Knowledge without character Is tea without sugar The superior complex do As the inferior complex do other wise Life has the wise and the other wise Those that stand things before understanding Undemocratic knowledge Retaliate democratic knowledge Global democrats Are likened to a boxing ring ‘Jab, hook and uppercut!’ Opponents hit each other hard And destroy not each other. Gracious, after a tough contestant Embrace each other with unity of purpose It’s indeed a game and gambling of knowledge Confidence building knowledge Vision-less vision knowledge   Knowledge  engulfed by the hocus-pocus Vampire of' ‘Anointed' knowledge Illogical malicious transmitters of words Utter knowledge with utter amazement Indeed, Knowledge is power Power to do evil...or power to do good. No thief, however skilful, can rob one of knowledge, and that is why knowledge is the best and safest treasure to acquire L. Frank Baum accurately observed “The greatest enemy of knowledge is not illiteracy , It's how we illusion  knowledge
0
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:13 PM UTC
Knowledge
We've long stopped fighting with our words Now we use fist Here take this... An uppercut to your ribs I can feel your bones shattering against my bare knuckles It hurts doesn't it That's how it feels when you tell fibs And lies But you won't quit In mid speech You jab me in the bridge of my nose Right between the eyes We go blow for blow To stubborn to stop And your swings don't slow I don't want to hurt you But you never hold back Yelling and screaming Sinking you nails into my back But I always retaliate Slamming my forearm into your gut You drop to you knees Struggling to breath Now you know how it feels To struggle with trust
0
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 4:50 PM UTC
Mr. & Mrs. Smith
It’s always a battle with you I try to stand up, and you’re always there to kick me down again You beat me down and I just lie there and take it A right swing to my body image, an uppercut to my confidence I’m never allowed to be happy And God forbid I feel beautiful for once You make me out to be this obnoxious person that nobody can stand But I don’t see you with any friends, and no one’s coming to your defense You tell me that I annoy all my friends and they’ll all betray me Yet you never fail to be first in line for taking a swing at me Always whispering in my ear and telling me that nobody has ever really liked me But you have always been the first to bash me for being who I am Maybe I’m really not all that bad Maybe I’m really ******* fantastic And maybe you’re just scared that I’ll figure it out and you’ll be forgotten Because you’re nothing but an irrelevant voice constantly fighting to keep itself heard You are the voice of my anxiety You exist because I do And without me, you are nothing But without you, I can be happy I am all you have I give your voice life and I give it meaning You are nothing but what I allow you to be You say I’m nothing, but you are nothing without me
0
Jun 8, 2019
Jun 8, 2019 at 3:45 PM UTC
The Voice of My Anxiety
Grappling bones, hollow insecurities, broken, healed. A fist to the face, an uppercut, terrible colours onto the barren white walls. Red-faced, shut-eyed, running with arms wide open. "Bring it on!" Lungs afire. We always stand up. Again
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Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 7:50 AM UTC
Fist fight
Headbutt a field of daffodils. Uppercut a pair of shears. Fall asleep on railroad tracks. Throw a wrench into your gears. Kick a chainsaw in the teeth. Do a backflip into quicksand. Take a bath in sleet. Eat your own hand. Sleep in a bed of cement. Bash your head on concrete. Throw yourself into a volcano. Cook your own meat. Swim in a tsunami. Surf a typhoon. Drown yourself in madness, but please just do it soon.
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Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 4:10 AM UTC
Go Play in Traffic
Told you that what you did wasn't your best Johnny told me you'd been workin out Lifting the weights and whatnot Well let's see what ya got Throw me the good ol one-two Maybe an uppercut or a side jab for the few Give good ol Tyson a good bruise When do you know if Ali almighty is ready to fight Hit em with that side jab and Give em' what you got...... Punch my mitts Throw me a fit! Hurl your mighty throws at me and GIVE ME ALL YOU GOT!! YOUR GONNA EAT THUNDER AND CRAP LIGHTNING YOU WILL WILL YOU GIVE THOSE GUYS ALL YA GOT?! HIT EM' HIT EM RIGHT THERE IN THE GOLD SPOT! DONT GIVE UP! Johnny the gat ain't get you got Hit em' with the upper cut And hit them with the greatest of your rot! As I said before,,, One-two one-two swat swat! GIVE ME ALL THAT YA GOT!!!
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Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC
Give Me What Ya Got