"westside" poems
Take a ride with me,
Give me your ear, your eyes;
Like stellar days of old,
I will tell no lies.
You see my days weren't complicated,
When the rivers ran red,
It was a bullet or the money,
Family gotta stay fed.
Your silent gestures cannot fathom
What was my everyday,
Like the hardened hollows of my soul,
I took my gun to the park to play.
This was my life
From my chest into these words,
Every link in the chain,
I am tied down by haunted verbs.
Kindle old fires
And set your daily a blaze,
I survived with deep wounds,
To the past I am a slave.
Give me my homiez,
All dead and gone,
Give a sip of that Henny,
I'll drip some on the lawn.
This is me,
Just an old ****
I'll remember the tombstones,
On bent knee I the marble a hug.
Today I am whipped
Among all the sorrows,
But being a survivor
Give me hope for all the tomorrows.
The westside,
Like a weary night *****
No coming back, no coming back,
I can't take no more.....
Pick out a casket
And don't remember my name,
Anonymous me,
A Dedpoet who carried the blame.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 12:24 PM UTC
Bel Air, Westside
City of Angels
Holmby Hills, Beverly Hills City
A Platinum Triangle.
Violet blossom
Delicacy, fragility
Vivienne's tribute to innocence.
Denim dress, antique pearls
Rays of light, they surround
A sacred halo.
Amidst a divine cloud
Ave-Maria, rosary prayers
Latin promises, confess.
Wandering grace lands
Desert storms, gypsy princess
Migrating birds in flight.
unfinished
Maria sits, blank pages
Oversized cashmere cardigan
Black & white, no words to type.
A writer’s hell,
is writers block.
© Sia Jane
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 4:10 PM UTC
The streets come alive when so many
Sleep softly into their dreams.
The newer L.E.D. street lights pierce
The secrets on the Old 90.
The women that the sun does not touch
Is aglow in the moonlit pavements,
Because she is a nocturnal,
To be seen by those who cannot see
The bright sun, she shares herself
With the secrets, only known to those
That never stay.
And to better fit into the list,
To better know the secret is to become
Something other than what is expected,
A desertion of your standardised
Places, where scars can be hidden,
Everyone can dress as royalty,
This is more common and natural,
Becoming the creature we all seem to
Leave behind.
And here there are lovers,
Beckoningly fighting one another
For a chance at one night,
An embrace in the eternal momentary.
And the thirst is deep,
The desire is a window to the stellar
Places, a deep freedom in the nocturnal,
An occasion set for nightly meetings
Of souls with shadows that seem to chase,
Street people on the Western venture,
An exchange of souls at home in the night.
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
It's strange, at times, I find
What books can mean to me.
My life, inside, reflected back
Almost instantly.
They rest on shelves, holding knowledge
Almost timidly.
How can it be, their wisdom rings
In eternity?
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 6:20 AM UTC
I face the neighborhood that took
My mother's life,
The same one that I watched turn
Many cousins into ****** addicts,
I burn but I am not consumed:
I write the pain on a slab of Jade
Watching a fleet of dead roll by,
The names will stand among the tombstones
While in mute heavily grieving the nocturnal,
I am filled with the eternal present.
The memory is a flame
On open wounds,
I am thirsty,
But there is no water......
Time has done its hardest on me,
My blood courses more deliberate,
My teeth at a grind,
I want to fling all the bullets back,
Take the knife from Victor,
Out of his animal belly,
Out of his organism belly,
His human belly;
Life is an ancient gesture
And the hood is the very survival
Of those unfit for society's expectations.
I am Westside,
And I am still here writing
Away all that was taken,
The words plunge itself like
The needle I took from my arm,
A perfect drug that never quits you
And courses inward only to grow.
I am Westside and I am still here,
I am Westside and I still cry,
All the pain I drink with beer,
I push a fight and try,
I am Westside,
Glory in the hood,
It wasn't the best side,
But I always knew where I stood,
And still I carry on.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 8:17 PM UTC
Hard Fall
Dead Winter
Soft Spring
Suddenly Summer
Rehash
All the needles on the ground I found
and cigarette butts
Create the frame of this city-town
and liberate us
Liberate?
Indenture
Is a better descriptor
Should you beat elitism
Peace and Love?
Progressive?
Truth is lost to history
Should you read you see schism
From one bridge looking North
I see at least five more bridges
Westside and East split by a river
This is a long, long division
And it's not stopped
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 7:48 AM UTC
.
( Eat **** & die )
••
V
> o <
/\
~~~
Yeah
•
Eat **** & die
::
"""
::
The wild moonlit night
Santa clause walked away
From the bullshiting dreams
Into the morning and the Sun
•
She was *****
They ****** on the fire escape
And went to bed
//
In the morning he was gone
//
the big vulture knows your name
( )
•
•••
• •
I was a broadway star !
Greatest **** the westside ever knew !
)(
She stood in the moonlight at midnight
She walked across the river below dancing angels
Amid the laughter from the children
Wish you were here
.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 11:47 PM UTC
Isn't better now to back
To the hood where the Eden
Is in ruins, silent,
Among the bullets echoed with no names?
Even the crippled that hold fast
Like dignitaries to empty beer bottles,
With a good for a drink at the tips
Of tongued devils groaning that all
Have failed them.
Dealers on the corner
With their ominous eyes and crooked
Cash on the beaten sidewalks of a ghostly
Corner, wondering if they can return
To innocence like a prodigal son,
Home to end an evil spell,
Might he end up free as in dead
As he walks with a half hope
And pockets of cash not his own.
When the homes stop falling sideways
And the floors don't break at
Nights step, walking by old frames
When the home knew better days,
Half open eyes walking about
The enclosure's cracked walls
And roach infested walls,
No water and asking themselves
If it's all worth it.
And I return here in a stranger's
Stance with mind wide open,
I watch the leather bucket stands
Dripping its drop like a weeping
Woman for a child.
The sun decieves here,
Light sheds over burning fountains
Where the trash is unfiltered,
The homeless suffer chronic mist sleep,
The Virgin's eyes closed with
A faithful candle hoping
To open her eyes and save the neighborhood
From itself or its repetitions,
And still they bury one everyday
Too young to go,
The doves humming above when
Another is laid on a slab dead from
Hopelessness of it all.
There are no new arrivals here,
This is the hood after all,
If you can make it out and remember
The overflowing reflection,
Bring back a fresh and humble view
With some dramatic memory,
You may survive the barrio,
But the intimate response
Of sadness when you visit,
Somehow the nightmares never go.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
Where the first candle was lit
At midnight mass,
You greaved forward the light
And blessed the joint,
Took a puff and inevitable
Like the cries of the kids
Chasing the raspa man,
Said puff puff pass.
Over summer 95 with
An eternal cusp of weathered
Youth we drove the neighborhood
In the Accord I was given,
At times I believe for graduating Jr High, your unbeatable design
To get us laid was never like the fated quartet moon
That you held in respect almost
Soldier like.
Remembered C-5 Galaxy and the base we could never get into,
A roar of sunset glow and the
Colors we flew for our street
Wer more than the rainbow
Could bear,
A spectrum of a place and
Time that only
A whispered gallantry when
You took that knife for me,
Always the duo,
Once alone,
Taken with the ways of men.
I did nothing with my
Pano, the red handkerchief
That all the homiez through
In a sea of red,
I swear I heard the Taps
Being played by Carlos Santana,
I took a breath and lay
Out a cry,
One that still runs the barrio,
Mi amigo,
Once the road in a present dream
Taken like the winds
And a memory's glance,
You are there
And I still,
My Friend,
Westside intangibles.
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 11:27 PM UTC
I walk the Westside of San Anto,
The place I buried so many.
And the dead do speak
As they are in my words,
My very poetry.
Some have gone decent,
Others waved their final colors
With a kerchief ,now rest immortal.
So then I go back for them,
But move forward doing so,
To remember where I am
And where they shall never go.
If I am just a lucky guy
Who made it out alive when so
Many could not,
Then I cannot regret because the
Dead have no memory.
But why go back and visit
The desolation, the addicted
Nocturnal, the names who have
No faces?
Because I cannot reject myself,
The pistol I once lived by,
The nature of air and hope that
Escaped all in the ruins.
No, I will always return,
And my heart has not the words.
Now what?
Flowers for the dead and walk
The slab of names to rejoice
In what once was?
No, I come home,
The same as you,
As anyone,
Superfluous as this may be,
The return is necessary
If only to find oneself again.
Jan 21, 2017
Jan 21, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC
Whorepaint does not do her justice
So much prettier than her disquise
As she paints the sound of beauty
in her voice
Singing love's lullabyes
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 7:08 AM UTC
yo **** the media the press
and all they stress the south linked with the west
ya get two of the best i guess
you muthaphukkas thought i was dead
naw just took a power nap as i slap
the industry with these dusty *** raps
I'm platinum plus plus check my artillery surplus
we got killas on every corner
do what i wanna and how i wanna
smoke mirajuiana with some killaz in Tijuana
Mexico don't flex though **
unless ya wanna be in the ground
sounds of H-town so bow down bow down
as i let my clip ride bound to be a homicide
you can run but ya cant hide
from the south or westside
we connected like bonny and clyde
now show me that whooo ride?
check the pumps by my side thats how we ride
guerillas with a bunch of triggers don't call us ******
call us finanical settlers like the rockerfellers
did they tell ya
that I'm an enemy to the establishment
dollaz n sense i see you running to the fence
but cant get over
cuz these bullets stick to ya head over shoulders
so ya life is over
call out for the Jehovah
ya know ya dead ****** red
and you quote what i said
take to the magazine
i pack magazines **** you and ya skinny jeans
i prefer gangsta **** with suits on
like Al Capone
beatin' on my chest like King Kong
protector of Skull Island while y'all smilin' im wildin'
no koolaid in my blood
we keep it true **** the FBI NSA and they crew
revolutions in position pistols is grinin'
castin' stones at glasshouse and watch the White House get doused
up in flames by angry citizens growin' deranged
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
Traffic light refraction , glass store fronts pan
the main avenue
***** , bluesy , defeated people in line for liquor ,
beer , milk and lottery tickets
Navy skies grow red to the West , streetwise
pigeons work overfilled dumpsters and city cans
Bus stops return workers from Atlanta , the-
local grocery methodically stripped of its inventory ,
children playing games on side streets beneath working-
yellow lamplight ..
Fire trucks fly by , no one even bothers to look up or wonder why
Porch lights irradiate the Westside , amber hues build -
over the interstate , cars travel South , bottlenecked in the race for home ..
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 8:15 PM UTC
Sweats flowing like falls
She fell
She fell-
inlove at first sight
From that day on
you became her kryptonite
Your cries
made her petrified
Your smiles
became her home at the westside
Sundown.
Dark town.
Beneath the twinkling stars
She craddled you in her mystic arms
Singing lullabyes of rainbows and charms
12 in the midnight
Child, don't be terrified
This is not Cinderella's tale
The magic won't be gone
Lift up the dress's veil
You'll see
- the one who fell
Your lady in shining armor
- the fairy god mother
The one who stays
lifelong
till the hourglass breaks
She'll be there
forever
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 11:44 PM UTC
With a drop of his blood she could dance all night,
Hear the horses thunder across the country green,
She's hardly seen the Westside of things;
The forgotten sea where the first Spanish tongues layer with sand,
But back to this beautiful unfamiliar,
Back to the feeling of self worth,
Of knowing you mean something to somebody;
It all stems from her intention,
She calms the pacific from light years away,
From a direction unknown to radar,
From an aliens perspective;
Far away home, an angle at an untouchable space and time;
A worm hole inside the galaxy of her mind,
He's on her mind but he's on the run,
Movin between the waves in her brain;
Watching every one of her thoughts dance around his shadow;
Finally he arrives at a painting,
He's quick love and she's quick to catch,
The heart, true emotion from far apart,
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 11:14 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Too many snakes in the grass will make time,
To put an end to your plan time,
No time,
To be wise, in this world,
Cause problems on the westside,
Country roads won't let up today,
Hash tagging you my best life,
where Negativity won't overrule my worst side,
To bring the bad side,
Out,
You dont even have to tell me that you don't like me,
I could feel it.
And if there's any animosity to my presence,
I'll just let it.
cause whats the use about fighting about the same thing if you can't control it.
life will get better than this here,
Man I just know it.
I just know it...
If don't it don't I'll show it.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
Gee officer Krupke
my memories hold nunya well
dug the early grave and stood above
my soul still holds tunes and counter melodies
and my heart bleeds
it bleeds ooblee-oo
ooblee-oo it bleeds
pools like knives
belts and rocks
still bleeds buenos
noches
Dec 27, 2021
Dec 27, 2021 at 12:57 PM UTC
I will die in the Westside
On some corner with a beer
In my hand, as if holding the lost
Scrolls of Atlantis.
I will die in the Westside-
And I won't be ashamed that
I am a drunken mess and my liver
Has swollen like my heart for
My dear neighborhood.
It will be a Tuesday,
I will go back and find myself
Within the aloness with all the Yesterdays
Behind me.
Dedpoet is dead. The world beats him,
Although he never fought back;
It beat him hard with a stick....
There will be witnesses,
Nameless and I will not know them,
Only the solitude, the grey, the cold roads.....
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
I didn't want new shoes,
Not from the Goodwill store again.
My father opened his piggy bank,
I guess there are other boys
Who would take the shoes
You have now.
Ping, ping, ping,
Quarters hitting the counter
As he payed for shoes I didn't choose.
My friends can tell if the shoes are used
Or not, I looked up at my father.
You haven't even seen the shoes,
You've been nagging the whole time!
My whines could be heard round
The Westside, from the seat of the
Truck I imagined the ridicule,
The mean things they would say
And I would be parylyzed
From their words.
I put them on the next day.
My father would never have guessed
He chose used Jordan sneakers,
His wise natural character beyond
Such things, whose calming voice
Made the world rearrange to sense.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
arz-ı podyum
etmeyi özledim dudak kıvrımında Emma
volta atmayı
aşağı yukarı
sağdan sola, soldan gerdana
gergedan burcuna aitmiş gibi
dolaşmayı zodyak kıyısında
sallanmayı mesela terazide bi süre
düşsem de kovaya yüksünmem
düşünselliğin asil dükalığında
Yorkshire sembolik olsa da
boyunbağı sıkınca nefes alamıyor
rengarenk ölüyor insan
iki yaka arasında
Westside değil şüphesiz
Bestside şüpheliyim tren garında
oysa
eşleşmiyor mor yüzler
yanımdan gelip geçerken
mütemadiyen ümitliyim yine de
elevermek istemiyorum kendimi
o yüzden elimde eski bir mecmua
karanfil klasik olur düşüncesi işte
afili bir mendil yakamda
ama neden gelmez bu trend
zaman bozduruyor müstakbel raylara
yeni değil
kendimi kandırmak farkındayım
fakat olağan şüpheli olduğum kesin
işte bu veçhile
tüm kompartıman rehine ağzımda
ya da
bir meczubum aşktan muzdarip
delilik trend garında..
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 10:51 AM UTC
Im afraid of the words
My father might say
As my mother watches from
An eternal kiss,
And school is not a notion ,
It ia the reality of three lil girls
While I hustle for the groceries.
I become a shadow,
Working between the light,
I want to lose myself
In mama's tortillas,
Chorizo and eggs with
All the love I had the time
To feel.
I am 5 am. Standing at Labor
Force and hear the words
Curse me, their whispers
Of My failures only push me,
I grow stronger,
My children grow hungry,
There goes the corner store,
And my gun feeds my children,..
The metaphor does not exist
Here, this the real,
A westside everyday,
Poverty in action,
Rich in the sorrows dance,
Life spreads its wings,
I am left in the shadow.
I hate the metaphor,
Because you will never truly
See the truth of my words.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
Love Conquers All
With a drop of blood she could dance all night,
Hear the horses thunder across the country green,
She's hardly seen the Westside of things,
The forgotten sea where the first Spanish tongues laid with sand,
But back to this beautiful unfamiliar,
Back to the feeling of self worth,
Of knowing you mean something to somebody,
It all stems from her intention,
She calms the pacific from light years away,
From a direction unknown,
From an aliens perspective,
From a far away home,
An angle at an untouchable space and time,
A worm hole inside the galaxy of her own mind,
He's on her mind but he's on the run,
Moving between the waves in her brain,
Watching every one of her thoughts dance around his blood,
Finally he arrives at painting...
He's quick to love, she's quick to catch the heart,
True emotion from far apart,
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 5:45 PM UTC
My sound broke so I'm suspended in silence
That's okay because these ears hear too much
I sit here head throbbing
Westside window perception
chipped paint with the dead fly
The can man collects his cart
shoes need mending
Soul needs comfort
Bags of treasure
he has it gladly
Rattles down my street
off for a penny
Only an empty echo
scrap for a malt beverage
Sometimes life is that simple
I have a four pawed companion
It's not mine but sometimes he knocks on my door
Which is just fine because I can barely handle myself
We sit in quiet
Watch the tree sway and garbage gather
He stayed away tonight
cold weather being the culprit I hope
No time for the calls at my windows
I know she only wants madness
and I am exhausted
People come
Checking on a body to make sure it was in working order
They say I will give them cancer from worry
I appreciate the intention
I resent the implication
I fear love
but was never cold enough to deny it
Oct 23, 2016
Oct 23, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC