"yokels" poems
Laws flaws
Mans plains
Long pause
Wrong hands
Wake up
Shake up
Blood soaked makeup
Start to stay up
Watching day come
Terrorist world executives
Drones bombing the yokels
Resistances stay local
Thanks to yamamoto
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 9:00 AM UTC
I loved it,
whitewater rafting
in the Adirondacks,
sleeping in tents
cooking on woodsmoke
having a joke with
the
New Yorker yokels
known locally as the locals.
It was Yellowstone that stole my heart,
rings of fire on the end of a rainbow
dreams that we lived and
we lived for the dream,
all the rest is just history
and most of that went to the scrapyard.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
collected in lyrical a doggy bag.
I will not fall on a sword of those that ignore my verse
that fall on the page, do you know why I write in diverse
motions? Do you know my demons the voices that verse
inwards on the white of my skull? my reflections reverse.
The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
collected in lyrical a doggy bag.
But excrement can be rhymed in free verse, I'm doing this
for me but I don't linger to impress! I word for my emotions
are a hurricane and I'm the eye calm but I swim in the abyss.
The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
collected in lyrical a doggy bag.
I'm vocalized to those that don't sniff the arses of poor vocals
linger on excellence not the excrement of poorly woven yokels.
Lyrics of verse are meant to move not stagnate silently,
they are meant to be lyrics that move the emotion violently.
"Weave the best version of you, not the diluted verse,
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
five followers in two weeks
seeking new poetic musings
alternate sources of inspiration
stylistically, I no longer cut it
my metaphor lacks substance
leaving the reader lingering
never to ******
only to want and regret –
filibustering no longer captivating viewers
retracing steps
complaining about the station of society
expressing joy and hope through prose and rhyme
left alone at the gates,
they reject my premise
and instead enjoy the cake –
fat head wall art purchasers
drooling as yet another riveting left turn
takes the beer car one lap closer
to bringing democracy to the middle east
****** yokels eating Miracle Whip sandwiches
don’t read if they can’t find anti Obama propaganda
subtext of Christian morality
and the overt pushing of American ideology
on their children and
immigrant workers –
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 12:06 PM UTC
The Fanzine said it would be something for the connoisseur a la mode de
glue sniffing Leeds yokels rampaging Bournemouth,
even the away supporters taches already looked ropey,
until the 'Pool headed in the only goal.
The claustrophobic fury was clearly palpable
and this feat would be sealed later
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:38 PM UTC
It’s all smoke and mirrors,
he declaims in Caesar's voice.
Do nothing until you hear from me.
The yokels weep sincere tears.
Women get wet and men tumesce.
He mounts a gilded Mercedes,
glances over a shoulder with disdain,
and motors away, counting the take.
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
Tell Tantalus thine torments tougher
Western winds welling wants within
Effulgent everyone everything entity echos
Nothing nevermore niceness nigh
Thorns threading thrones
your yokels yell yoicks
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:38 AM UTC
Votes For Notes
Choosing one style from an unlimited pile is as hard as Diamond or making a square Rock Roll
Collective collaborations create unique feelings individually or in community, music has Magic to be heard not seen
Unlike sights we are left to feel sounds, Hidden charm inside a subtle chime, fledgling feelings grow from a bass down low expanding beauty upon a listener's soul
Begin life in searches, nursery rhymes to funeral dirges, endless players add constant layers
competition for compositions adding more jewels to our Crown
To the Dead I am Grateful, gatherings of folkies & Yokels expanded our vocals not left steaming & screaming like my Metal head friends, new found Freedom gathering ticket stubs by the pocketful
Rockers often scream of taking life to an edge in dispute of which way their soul should pledge leaving us alone in the lyrics to roam, internal interpretation often sifting each listeners reasoning
Hillbilly humming solo guitar strumming, a mixed medley I feel fondly, fond of Chet's precision style, violin or Banjo a sure win ,styles changing as I mature
Always searching feeling fuller when it is found, limitless vibration forms vibes within me grooves given and received, Sixth sense flowing internally helping to align mentally
Life in a song is better than trying to maintain without one, it is to the words or sounds I aspire looking outward to keep my mind "Out of the Mire" R.C.
Sep 18, 2022
Sep 18, 2022 at 3:34 PM UTC
The Queen came to our town once..long ago.
She was a lot younger then.
I took a paper and an old biro pen..
..and thought I might get her autograph.
That's a laugh.
I could hardly see her the crowds were intense
She didn't wear a crown and..to me that made no sense.
But my mum and dad cheered and the air was alive with sound..
..and a red carpet covered the ground.
Which I thought was better than ours that we had at home
I wondered about that..
..but now I am grown it is clear.
The Queen has a fear
Of old town streets
And probably people..perhaps that's why she never meets the locals..
..the old yokels of England..the ones who revere..the ones who go see her..
..the Monarchy..I'll leave it be.
Guess the Queen can see who she wants to see..
..and we'll forever be..
..the subjects.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
I anesthetized myself
with
fifteen pints of Olde English,
**** good health
I'm going down.
But coming round when
the pounding in my head
reminds me that
I can't be dead
is a drawback.
Yet
Olde English sounds so quaint,
believe me folks and yokels
it ain't,
the locals where I live
give
free stretchers for the
wretches
just like me.
Mar 22, 2018
Mar 22, 2018 at 5:50 PM UTC