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Details | Slam Poem | |

PINK LACE

**Every pace change --is the voice of a poet sharing his/her view** 

"PINK LADIES"  
  
The phone rings, 
The clock dings,

I scream, scream, and scream:

I can’t grasp what is real
I can’t inhale the lives you steal
This game is like murder in the first degree,
I can barely feel the words you're expressing.
Your hand, holding on to mine, as if it was the last
I crawl I hide behind these moonstone walls
There it hid and robbed my Womanhood
Pink is the ointment rubbed inside my diary.
---

I crawl- I remember-
Looking through a dream, where the woman wears combat boots
Women ready to kill all confrontation with nukes.
---

I was lost!
Do you know the feeling?
Once you hear, the “C” word your mind starts spinning,
You can’t see what’s going on,
Your smiles soon to be gone,
---

LOOK AT ME!
On this fright night, I bleed
Hold on tight, of the dead of this night
I’m down on my fallen knees,
A secret I can't keep, no longer need
Breaking backs when I mention the word “C.”
It is like getting struck by a freight train
Taking what belong and makes ME me! 
Forgetting the Pink October ribbons, I wore
Taking  time to weave them into the last strand in my red chemo hair.
---

Now here you are,
Standing under the chest
Heavy shoulders a violin press.
No longer needing the little black dress
Skin pink tight leather, now you caress
My eyes are full of tears
Once I discovered the beast came back without fear 
The news blew like a missile in heat
With a fire’s shooting out from the dark
Sweltering me, blazing me,
Leaving the world all ribbon tied.
Dimples and pretty lips, I drop the world with beauty and tissues. 
Filled with  pink ivory issues 
This is the way that I feel, I am real… you are a killer, you are a disease! 
You can sit there and shatter our lives,
With many of us, you’ll discover we are not breakable like glass 
Still, we will walk in high heels strolling through pink valley skies.
With a charm called a Pink Ribbon; -I WORE-
---

- A heavy pink scarf now I wear like a noose, 
Remembering my days have been numbered by you.
---

I PLEAD FOR MY LIFE?
I have no family to lean on
Everybody’s plus my mother is gone
I have no friends by my side
You are the undead: 
Leading some of us into a watery grave
You are like a jack in the box
Hiding until you are found… 
You’re silent until your jobs done...

You made us angry, you made us cry, you killed many of us…
However, you will never come close to a glorious ~Victory~ 
We are  “PINK LADIES,” who  continue to be strong
I will find a way to sew my chest back to it's caressing view!

One day will find the cure,
And, destroy YOU "The miserable ‘Breast Cancer’ Disease" 
"ONCE AND FOR ALL!"


by;PD

Dedicated to all the females of the world. 
((And men whose life touched by this disease))

Details | Slam Poem | |

To all the heart-breakers- -a ZOMBIE valentine poem-

Wouldn't you rather~

Wouldn't you rather~ be dead?
Maybe shoot yourself in the head?
Over my dead body, I would never want to be a zombie like you.
The sight of your limbs are rotten all the time.
Sorry that the sight of you looks like a 3 legged swine.
So go ahead and do us a all favor, 
hide and stash yourself away from all your neighbor. 
I think i'd rather have my eyes stuck with glue
So I won't have to look at you
When it comes to family friends, you ain't got none.
Your always gonna be called the lonely retarded one.
Who could ever love a face like yours.
not even your mother can see pass your gore's 
No need for privacy when you pee
Go ahead and take a leak and drown yourself in the sea.
Don't think for one second you are irresistible 
Love making with a zombie is impossible.

Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head

The time to kill yourself is at hand.
Slicing your wrist is what we recommend.  
Cut off your tongue, don't want to hear you squeal.   
Blood all over, your face is no big deal
A sword or machete will only pick up the pace
I wanna see your guts pop out your mid-waist 
Contaminated objects is a must
Anything to remove your face of disgust.
The easy part is the best
Once you are gone we will all feel blessed,
The flaw of your existence  
Is what keeps us all in distance 

Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head

Close your eyes and die
No one wants to hear you cry
You said you wanted to be loved
believe me~ your better off unloved
I say go do yourself off
Anyways you've always had it rough...
Go ahead and scream
This is not a dream
Now see how you make me feel
All I want is for you to end your ugly ordeal.
I will praise this day of course
Knowing soon you'll be a rotting corpse.

happy valentine ~ TO: All My DEADBEAT X-es from Texas..

Details | Slam Poem | |

Poet -This Poem is About You

-Dear, Mr & Mrs Poet- 

Do you ever question where it comes from?
This poem's about you, sit down and get a load off 
Tranquilize your pen, take heed to the ecstatic applause 

The things in life we take for granting, in time get worse 
From WHICH' our lives transverse, ascends a deep poetic curse 
You write almost everything, rehearsing every living verse 
Embezzling words, like Martha Stewart, ---NOT YOURS!
Withdrawing from your substance, 
--yielding it to others, who aren't devoted lovers 
Spacing your lines, ready for reader's digest, 
Educating the mind, like Albert Einstein

You paint a different horizon for the color blind,
Drop a note, forecasting the news, that brings, Spring to mind
Your adrenaline, leaves people with a feel good faint.
At this level, Poet you're better than high speed Internet,
Anything that makes you feel this is the real deal, 
Today, you write like there's no tomorrow, borrowing yesterday's clay
Inspiring ink, left to right, feeding the need to breed a poetic degree 
Your dramatic dialogue, deserve 'The Peoples Choice award."

I love the sweet audio, when you lowercase every word
It's done so well, hell, let's never capitalize another word
Reaching a point across, when capitalizing every letter, 
This is your world, take it, manipulate it, with the perfect stanza
Produce it like a poetic film, imagery, action, CUT it like Jerry Bruckheimer 
One day Hollywood will incite a roll, looking for the best poetry soup rhymer

Your tears and affection, you pour on partial paper,
Showing every word you want to enunciate
A SHOULDER-- gone cold, drowning, forgetting the normal way
Writing about the pure religion that meets your light, 
A beautiful flower under the moonlight
Hear the bells, Poe wrote about, adding sprinkles to the twinkle in your eyes, 
A redolent scent not meant to be forgotten, from Eden's garden
Taking nature, by course, granting her a crown, before slamming us down
I will call her out --The evil and the fury of a goddess, a beast
This is my feast, I welcome you to my jungle, and the outer bounds of time.

If you ever question where it comes from?
Sit down and get a load off, listen---Where's the ecstatic applause?
I'm not afraid to say, -----I'm Proud to be A Poet Without A Cause

by;PD
I do it for fun

Details | Slam Poem | |

Toilet Bowl Committee

Toilet Bowl Committee (aka: Uptown Hood)

A lavatory confinement
my$h!tdontstinkcomode.com
---
If you want to moderate this place, pick up the pace
From the mouth down to the @$$
Your so called kind has no class,
Fed by these political rejects, never elected for what was!
No matter,
They wipe their assets clean with our dreams
Forgetting to wipe their own toilet seats clean
Trying to make us feel dirtier than scat
Feeding off our paper when their toilet bowl water level is low

Toilet bowl PO-poes, wiping without dental floss
Missing everything in between reality
Trying to be kind, saying "One Day We'll Be Good Enough!"
Offering their Golden Plunger, straight from the Home Depot shelves
No Thank You! My plunger a true gift from Mr. Wal-Mart himself

Next time you feel the need to offer a reference point
Please caption your name when you drop by,
Rinse thoroughly when speaking my name,
Then I will listen when you talk civilized
Correct my punctuations and spelling errors 
The weakest trait you wear
You are no Prophet, just white tissue turning brown
Your Justification comes from old dried up grapes falling from the vines
Ridicule will never give you the respect, for what you are!
We, the few poets from the hood, overpowers any change you offer Goodwill
Crumbling and flushing what does not meet your standards
Trying hard to force feed us soup, without giving us bibs

Thank you
Toilet Bowl Committee
For clogging up my drain with your bull$h!T


By: Keeping it Real (The Downtown Hood) 
Date: 12-15-13

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Details | Slam Poem | |

The Unknown

-"x+2 = 4"-

Enigmas of the soul
Do you know how it feels?

Never tasted before
Invisible Sun


PD

Details | Slam Poem | |

This Buds For You

-This buds for you!-
-It takes one to know one!-
-I know you are, but what am I?-

A second hand, on my stopwatch, going nowhere!
You are a joker, a smoker, a midnight stroker  
<-------How, about that, Steve Miller song

I'm not here to talk about the way you comment a poem
That's not how I roll, now listen, and listen well, 

I don't care, about them words you speak
A whining sheep, every time you don't score
Crying behind close doors, 
Boo-Who, I did not place high in so-and-so's contest
Gosh&dammit, not everyone's on a quest
Blogging, about the day, your poem got demoted to nonsense
Trying to comment relentlessly, 
You can't top, a mountain that has no setup

I'd rather leave a copy paste comment, 
"than being fake as fake can be"
At least, my copy paste was a song, 
in which welcome the new poets on
Treating, everyone with love and security
Your invites, are cold and force, to you it's not about community
No motion, to your notion, simple, and disgusting

I don't know why you think, we are competing, 
Long ago, I left you bleeding, no reason to be defeating
Your paranoia, has you thinking, it's all about the points,
It's getting old and boring,
You cry babies are nothing more than jokes and hypocrites
Hey you, this ain't dominoes, we done passed every Jo-Jo
When, I have time I sit here for fun, my trigger finger on the gun

Reading, commenting, until my day is done
You think, because someone, left a copy paste 
That your poem was not read,
Perhaps, it was not understood, or enjoyed
Or, a welcome to the neighborhood
A nice smile, from me to you
Nice poem, You Rock!
So What! ---- WOW!

This Bud's for you
I think it's time for you to GET A LIFE!
Be glad someone took their time, in checking you out twice
Not, everyone on this site, is full of bull-shit
The smallest words, are more likely to be legit 
I don't need and expensive comment, 
I don't want to be impress, on who left the best comment
Please do not make love to my poem!

A nice pat on my back will do, 
Now that my friend, puts a smile on my face
To know you care, to know you were there:)

Peace Out,

~SKAT~

Details | Slam Poem | |

Who Am I

I am the ring around Saturn
spinning words as particles of ice and dust
with the power to transcend

I am the original chosen to be right here right now
transmitting verbal frequencies 
through speaking my thoughts into existence

I am the heir of omnipotence,
born with a direct connection to profound abundance 
The one whose words will age, yet still have substance;
since there are no boundaries attached to my pen

I am constant energy
Translating personal experience into imagery 
Vulnerable to tyranny,
yet i continue attempting to share some truth
through this abstract language of poetry

I am the core
I am that I am more
I am the Divine Presence that is the Source of my rewards

I am the green you get when you mix too much yellow with the blue
That shade of gold you get when the sun resides into darkness
and when it ascends in the dawn burning dew
I am the transition between the third and fourth dimension of time;
the love you feel when you realize how it feels

I am the poem that is abstractly direct
because I write beyond limits
absorbing frequencies from 3 to 8 hertz
through meditation for several minutes
I am the one bridging the gap between
the analog ascension and the direct connection to spirit
The one who is love
because I am a descendent  of it

I am the rhythm that the wind blows
I am the beginning and the ending of stories told
about the universe and how miracles unfold
I hold the power to accept judgement from those who will do just that
Not knowing that I am them in the absolute reality of me
Judge that

I am knowledge beyond measure because that is my right
So I continue meeting the different parts of me
when I meditate and write
Who am I?
I AM, THAT, I AM



Details | Slam Poem | |

Resilience

When you are pushed, push back.

...

Who do you think you are!?

The only apology in this room is you!

I refuse to hold hands with your broken memories.

Your heart
Falls unto 95 degree quicksand

Molded clay,
I now use to cover your illiterate stanza.

This flesh,
Your insignificant breath used to layer
With seductive whisper

“Please, stay”

I siphon rejected wood chunks,
From your winterized shoulder
Igniting our bridge under Summer equinox

Daring
Me

To hold you again tomorrow

Denied

…

I walk down melancholy roads
Just to hear smile’s exhale

Following Gene’s footsteps
Singing in my
Reign

Reigning supreme

For every judgment you made
Is every step I take
Every move I make
Towards rose colored stairways within
Your unseen heaven

He’ll be watching you

…

Never falling,
But rising in love

Do I
I do

I do not
Want you encased in my cerebellum

You have become a preposition with no value

Yet, still
I rise
In love

Without dependency’s fingertips
Upon my beautiful Spanish lips
Mi corazon no quieres a ti!
For my mirror, lunges true colors upon my sleeves

Forged hummingbirds unwrapping knotted Cloud 9s
Without a need for you

Without a need for you

The arrival of silence’s last stand
You will see the titanium on my hand
And your binary smile
Will evaporate unto your cracked Sapphire’s shell

As you wear my incipient exhales

Breathlessly, 
Giving you hell

…

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Slam Poem | |

Pretty Poet

Where Have All The Pretty Poets Gone? 

A real poet are you, charismatic over everything you serve
Showcasing, a rainbow that folds the perfect world wide perspective
I'm talking about flawless literature at its best no typos, no muss
Just a page full of boredom and rust
Thank you for having Lunesta all up in my head
It's like reading a poetry lesson, from the extras of The Walking Dead
An image frozen cold, waiting for inspiration to hit like Al Capone
I'm bored of your flora flamboyant language rocking me like stones
A psychedelic trip, into the odyssey of a blind man's tale
A home where I am pushed to open a dictionary & thesaurus with braille
Wondering what you just said, --Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful day! 
  
The best rocket pen poet in the USA Today, 
Launching words like no tomorrow, a fool of wordplay and sorrow
A godlike guinea-pig genius, delegating poetry politician style
Perhaps, one day you will become a famous writer
Burning books, like a cigarette lighter
Until then, enjoy pushing your pen as if it was cocaine, 
Snorting up and cutting up the food chain in vain
Patronizing and ignoring those, for better or worse
A solo cup stuck up another cup, -won't even look my way
Correct me if you will, it's no big deal
Just don't forget to give me the same respect I offer you

Until then my pretty poetic friend, I kneel before no one 

By: ME
5-25-14

Details | Slam Poem | |

Mental Hospital Bills

dadgum doctors, heads up their butts poking, prodding, pricking skin neurologist a psychopath gets pleasure as electric volts pass through my body family doctor showed little concern made me paranoid about irregular heartbeat EKG failed to determine cause left me more in doubt than at ease dentist like a character from Dustin Hoffman’s “Marathon Man” the more pain inflicted the more he rejoiced deep root cleaning caused severe infection bloodwork done by Vampira clones labs filled with tubes and needles results not shared with me yet I footed the bill optometrist an Oriental who moved so fast didn’t care if the prescribed glasses worked boo on you, dang aristocrats waving your credentials nurses so slow to respond MRI promised on CD, but couldn’t be obtained just like the blood tests, needed a “report” doctors driving me insane each should share my mental hospital bills
*Based on ongoing health tests and written for PD’s contest. Assignment Free Verse, 25 lines, category slam, sad and educational, title: Mental Hospital Bills

Details | Slam Poem | |

She Hulk

When I was a child I only ever wanted to be strong.
I wanted to be able to compete with the boys
and when I foot raced them at recess I won every time.
They called me ‘She Hulk’ because of my muscular frame
and from the way I only ever wore soccer t-shirts and sweat pants.
After that nickname was implanted into my brain like a growing weed,
I’ve only ever wanted to be feminine.
I started wearing skirts and dresses 
and in middle school they shrieked at the site of my makeup and done up hair.
But that weed inside of my mind only grew, and grew, and grew
until I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part anorexic and two parts lonely,
because I thought that the definition of feminine began with the word frail.
No one ever realizes how greatly words affect us,
how a simple nickname can turn a pretty girl into a skeleton.
I stood at five foot two weighing seventy nine pounds,
so cold and frozen,
yet I still considered myself a ‘She Hulk.’
You could see my ribcage through my t-shirt
and my spinal cord protruded loudly through my weathered skin,
as if somehow my bones were dirty knives
just trying to cut through the flesh of judgment.
As I grew older I became the girl that was never enough.
Not good enough to speak poetry.
Not good enough to lay paint on a canvas.
Not good enough.
Not tall enough.
Not big enough boobs for them.
Not primped to perfection.
Not undeniably straight.
Not smart enough.
Not dumb enough.
Not ditsy enough.
Not cool enough or fun enough.
And I began to believe, too, that I wasn’t enough.
I never told my mother that I had been in madly in love with a girl.
I never told anyone about the night we first kissed 
because I was too vulnerable for the judgment.
And parents always justify saying that ‘kids will be kids’
But when we are kids our brains are still growing
and the smallest of seeds that get planted will one day bloom
into one giant regret,
will one day affect the choices that we make,
will one day influence us about the clothes that we wear,
will one day shape us into the person who we thought we would never be.
I only ever wanted to be strong,
and as a child I thought strength was only about being able
to lift a bar stool above your head.
I thought that strength was only about being able
to beat the boys in bare foot running races.
I was told that strength was something only
a man could have.
But as I’ve grown older I’ve realized that strength
isn’t about muscle at all,
but it’s about weakness,
and the ability to overcome the social anxiousness.
It’s about carrying around a lifetime of baggage
on your broken back
because the ones that kicked you when you were down
are going to be the ones that were  ultimately wrong.
I thought that the definition of woman 
began with the word disappointment.
And I became a mixed drink cocktail
with one part freedom
and two parts Sailor Jerry
because every girl needs a stiff drink once and awhile.
We are not disappointments.
We will never be the ones who gave up on hope.
We will never be the ones who gave up on each other,
or god,
or our mothers.
We will always be enough;
enough for the ones who shunned us 
enough for the ones that cursed us
enough for the ones the hurt us
and destroyed us
and beat us when we were covered in bruises.
But you see, bruises fade
and the scars of our flesh are only stories
things we have overcame
and there are things out there that we will overcome.
When I was a child, I only ever wanted to be strong.
I hid my vulnerability.
I hid the parts of me that were true.
I never told my mother about my girlfriend
because I was afraid she wouldn’t understand,
kind of like all those people who never understood 
just how much words effect us. 
I can’t say that I can beat the boys at foot races anymore,
because, well, I smoke cigarettes now.
And I can’t say that the nickname of my childhood didn’t affect me.
But I take that name now and embrace it.
Because I am strong.
I am the ‘she hulk’.
I am a mixed drink cocktail
with three parts greatful.

Details | Slam Poem | |

A Lesson on Love to my Future Daugter

It will hurt like a tattoo guns sting
as the ink infiltrates your skin.
Your first love will be like a tattoo on your heart,
buried deep,
always remembering the blessings and pain he gave you.

Be with a person who fills you with fluttering hummingbirds
even after the first and second and tenth kiss
who drinks the nectar of your demons and sucks them lifeless.

There will be men who you think will carry you forever
but after so long of holding
your feet above the water
they will throw you down. 
They will not reach out a hand to pick you back up.
They will turn cheek,
kissless and forgotton.
You will stand with dirt palms
and fall back into his inferno.

There will be loves like this,
who convince you to prick yourself with safety pins,
the ones who carry guns on their backs
but never shoot to protect,
only to hurt.
The ones who drink all the water,
leave you parched in the desert of his mistakes
telling you that they are your own.
The ones who shoot arrows in your lungs
and you lye bleeding 
believing that the color of your blood is true love for him.
The hour hand will spin around the clock
too many times before you leave him.
It will hurt. 
You thought it was true,
but after the death of it
you will realize you deserve someone so much sweeter
than a bitter apple. 

Love the one who doesn’t cheat you blind,
but instead comes to you with truths in his wretched palms
and waits for you to
forgive,
but never gives up and never stops wishing that the past could rewind
that he could change the things wrong that he did to you.

Love the one who feeds your heart warm apple pie,
who cries in front of your children,
who drives them to school and hugs them when they get home.
Be with someone who doesn’t ask for you to change
but instead loves your mistakes
cradles them within his fabric lungs
breathes them in with a grin.

Love is an interesting thing.
You will be thrown out of a moving car to the side of the road.
Some will come running back to you.
Don’t jump back in the front seat,
just run
and run 
and run 
and run
until you find someone who buckles the seat belt for you.
Drives five under the speed limit,
takes things slowly and waits for you to be ready to accelerate.

Daughter,
I am here for you.
Remember me, the one who loved you first,
the one who will never stop loving you.
Come to me after he breaks up with you.
You can cry on my shoulder,
and ill wipe your tears with my sleeve.

Daughter,
Find a love who loves you the way 
that your father and I love you,
the way that your grandmother loves you.
Find a love who already considers you family.
Who meets you
and looks into your ocean eyes
and drowns peacefully into your heart.

Details | Slam Poem | |

God, don't look at me like that

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon,
and the bullets of my heart don’t bleed like you think they should
instead they melt
melt like icecream set out in the summer sun,
like the mountain snow run off into the streams,
like ice clamped together between my fist,
my fists,
my fists that stop bullets from protruding my skin,
my fists that explode and scream louder than a sermon.

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your pupils look like firing bullets,
knocking us out one by one by one,
saying you can’t come in
because you never learned how to pray. 

God, don’t look at me like that.
Your iris’s look like vortexs of instability
rolling our ground like an earthquake
telling us to do more,
be more,
pray more,
or we can’t come in.

My fists stop the bullets and together our fists make boulders,
knocking down our insecurities
one by one by one.
If we don’t make it in
then that is okay
because our fists will turn into butterflies
and our hearts will turn into lions
and our bones will turn into the infrastructure of hell
because that is what my preacher told me.

Preacher, don’t look at me like that,
don’t shake your head at my appearance
just because I have ink on my arm doesn’t make me less of a person,
just because I have color on my eyelids,
just because my skirts above my knee,
just because my fists don’t unwind and interlock doesn’t make me less of a person.

I never learned how to pray
because often times the silence preaches louder than the sermon.
God, don’t look at me like that. 


Details | Slam Poem | |

Wall Street

      

Set upon the new world stage within the burning fires of hell. Silently posed factions of the elite, suppress the true inherit of Mother Earth. The meek children bending over for millennium, taken spankings of bare bottoms, pelted slavery. 

Upon entry to rule, the open stage of smoked mirrors began to reflect back upon the podium of lies. Taught by scholars from university books of political science. Fearful of leadership matching mirrored images, of false pretense, babbling rhetoric. The stirring masses of discontented, individualistic, thought of as dead - enders, trouble makers, and rebel rousers, rallied aimlessly.   

With super hero, Captain Do Gooder, bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. Weary lost hope combatants mustered courage, and accepted destiny. To this point, someone shouted against the wind of change. Felt by all who sensed the importance. 
"To death do us part of the purpose to which we, the united, stand for justice". 
The chant began, as Captain Do Gooder was dragged away, and cuffed, once bleeding helpless on the floor of Wall Street. 
Damn the torpedoes. Damn the torpedoes. 
Captain Do Gooder, fallen, bruised ego matching skinned knees, lays helpless. Who will save them now.

Second glances from high rise penthouses. Serving champagne and caviar. Brought iron clenched hands once hidden, to draw the stage curtain down. 

With Captain Do Gooder nowhere to be found. The voice that came from pain of pupil. Born within broken dreams of promised lands. Realized nothing was coming cheap on this occupation. 

The dusty streets found Captain Do Gooder aimlessly stepping against the winds of change, down Wall Street. The well-intentioned, arrested and broken spirited, lost hope of recycling any salvage rights taken from them by Metro. 

Was this the end of the well thought out, pushed down occupation.  
Was this the beginning, of the underground faction. Where was senior generation X hiding. Only Captain Do Gooder and the well-intentioned, world stage occupiers, hold the key to that Pandora's box of hope. 

 
The peoples across the oceans were already springing far ahead in their own, more brutal campaign. For they had no cushion on which they were raised to kneel against. Tyranny ran over them.  A lesson yet not felt, or learnt, or taught, in the new world.  No chance of city mayors issuing eviction notices. Bullets, tanks and bombs were of the order. Brought down the line, traced back to the ones our United Nations to this day, refuse to acknowledge.
While leaders there home internet shop, and pump out the lies. Everyone dies. 


In the heart of the continent of center, where unto which as mankind sprang forth, for its first and ever conquest.  
The lights kept dim, to obscure the violent cleansing. A facade to disguise once moreover, the brutal tyranny for which the greed of the elite, control the dimmer switch. Diamonds and oil fuel the fire of war and oppression, on this stage of greed and guilt. Too far away, and too many distractions upon center stage for one to see or care. Thought and looked upon by most as racially motivated.  The origins of all mankind, to be left, far too far, behind. The true forsaken people. Why is man unkind.


So..........will Captain Do Gooder raise the bar to which drinks for the house, and all around, will quench the thirst felt by ninety nine percent of the people............mother knows best.   
Yet, still, self-inflicted roadblocks of appointed destiny, drop kicked long days past. Faint light shining far ahead, within the tunnel of hell, brought up to land. Firm above the depths to which it sprang. The truth of world order.  

Wait......what do we see......do our closed eyes deceive our cries........................................

We see Captain Do Gooder catching second wind. 

She breathes deep now and all can hear her war cry, no longer whimpering softly. As in past tense situations, given way to dazed and confused wall street *****es.  
She builds momentum, as our brothers and sisters lay dying and bleeding. On the streets of some not so distant for telling, of what's to be, will never not be coming full steam ahead and plowing through the hidden agenda.  One step beyond the line drawn in the sand of time, we thought would never be crossed. Give way thoughtless future tellers, and takers. Still holding firm with paper cuts, deep into the hands who printed and prepared such slave papers, kept by the elite bankers. 

Captain Do Gooder returns renewed and refreshed. Our true Mother.  
Captain Do Gooder feels strong, as bruised knees and scraped hands heal. 


Brush of destiny sweepstakes,  allots winnings of earth shaking, volcano erupting, tsunami tidal waves, with bonus draws of worldwide chaos. Future draws are to be held with worldwide winners. Grand prize, dead oceans rising.  

The next generation have no fear digest writes the next chapter. 

 
Hold the press down firmly wall street backbiting backbenchers. Drawn into the crossfire, on her mark, place the x on the next general who dares not fall into civil disobedience.  
Captain Do Gooder has grown teeth, and she is biting down hard against the line to pipe riches, spoiled from her lands. Stolen from the first pilgrimage, fifteen thousand years old, lost empire. 

How dare you steal from, and pollute the minds of her children. Yet old enough to drink and drug and die in war.  How dare all of us. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch.  Captain Do Gooder hugs tight that tree of life, to which sprang all this elbow rubbing and diversion. Wall street huddles in her corner, painted red to match the lengths to which an end will surely bring to it. 
Painted red for all to see. 
The end to friendly letter writing, give peace a chance, make love not war, generation taking a bow, and snow birding it, to false sense of security land. Like the ostrich with its head in the sand. 



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SLY FOX

~SLY FOX~

There you go again little Sly fox P.D.
Another game of tag and jeopardy.
Clever, clever, little fox so bloodthirsty.
Chaos roams through your veins of liberty.
You walk the ground, prancing around your hostility.
Marching down with the dignity of mis-guided anarchy.

I'm gonna hunt you smell end it well.
Hang you up from your trophy tail. 
Kiss your night one last farewell.
By morning dawn your foxy tail,
Won't live another tale to tell.

I'm gonna find ya' ~ pull your hideout from where you hide.
Smack you around in your everyday rebellious ways.
Thinking you can defeat my crowd with your lawlessness..
I don't need no hounds to track your unlivable Holy-mess.
You created a selfish character of kindness for the blindness.
You prey on the sheep's and linger on their wall of hopelessness. 
Your sinfulness grew from the boldness, and bitterness, 
Of growing up parent-less.
My dear Sly Fox are you on alert with your ears of nobleness.
Did you not hear me creeping while you were sleeping.

Sly fox the destroyer!

You are right, you are a mischievous game of hunt!
My trap is set and waiting for you by the river front.
Go ahead, take a drink, pull one last obnoxious stunt.
Run and run, as fast as you can!
You can't out run this one game of Skitty Skat fox hunt.....


~SKAT~
 
 

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A Diminished Respect

There was a time.

There was a time
When your fabled dreams
Seemed honest

A time when
Your open arms
Coated in dented silver and tainted dreams
Understood my Size 12 shoes

When the world seemed to be against you
Yet, still,
Your blunt eloquence welcomed me home

Then, your “rainbow”…
…shat
           t
                er
           ed

Your heartbeat became an arrhythmia of petulant theatrics.

Your topaz coated spit
Released from refilled white-out bottles,
Brushing away quartered moons of an iridescent shame

A copycat of robotic muses
Infringing upon your pedestal,
Turned loud mouth, afflicting broken tongue

The “Stalin” of a messenger’s wit,
You raised your voice to a poignant sky!!!

And, as if Yahweh cured your muted disorders,
EVERYBODY HEARD YOU!!!

Including me

That was your goal…
…excluding me

From incipient edge, I witnessed you,
A turpentine puddle in front of a confessional booth 
On a melancholic Thursday morn,
With ripened glares to avoid your hallways

Tangled, dangling pacifiers as your doorbell

...

There will come a time.

There will come a time
When social feeds will deprive your vexing smile
Of validation

Where ignorant heartbeats will awaken
Through lyrical epiphanies
To see your “rainbow”
As a faded, stolen crayon

Where flirtatious dialect from withered accomplice
Licks cubic zirconium’s aftertaste
Forgetting that karma doesn’t tolerate one-night stands

For me, that time is now.

Then, I knew who you were.

Now, I know who you are.

You are not what you say.

A false advertisement in Sunday’s illiterate paper…
…with erased verbatim amongst your mirrored peers

Remembering how you falsified truth’s smile

Dire requests for empathetic warmth of our yesterdays
Yet, my Agnostic coat could never be thick enough
For your saturated, dual face

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Slam Poem | |

The Conventional Girl

Underneath the sea of trust 
Words shovelled sand in her eyes
The smell traced back a map of hope
Paradise could still not be located

Joy lived far from her earth
Please wake me after my death
For I might have missed the turn 
I did dig my own emergency grave I remember

My dream trails had no brake lights
Bumps after bumps 
Poetry drums speeding eternal crumps 
Every soul bumped into my back seated lips
The road to their ears required constructive rhymes
Poetry police 

Bulldozers bullied opportunities on the pavement of my love
Paradise got dizzy and lost meaningful visions 
Conventionally my heart is one
Sharpened in tubes sharing heart-beats with no lies

I loved loving love
Restricted dreams to stick-away from uneven pants chasing bums 
My mouth opened doors shaming the unshakable love triangle stunts 
Usually conventional uses are unusual 

My heart my grave
The future I paved
The sand glowed like stars in my eyes
Disgraced to blind my visual crafts
My confession

The roots of my strength came in veins
Circulating thoughts 
He made me shoes from manmade bricks
For I walk buildings in my dreams 

Skyscrapers scrubbing the breeze of hope in the sky
She placed her heart in rules
Speak your promise 
I the conventional girl 

© Ray 

Details | Slam Poem | |

In the bed they make

And when will the tides turn against confident indifference?!

When will humanity cease
To throw cats against curiosity’s silver coated dagger

Another played out song
Another dramatic lyric
Shifting embellished overtones
With deteriorating tact

They spit posthumous awakenings
As divinity laced smiles, wither under a convoluted moon
Shedding retina waterfalls
Misunderstood

Pretentious anger becomes Aphrodite mediocrity
Wisdom, they never “put out”

Crippled tears
Become self-important struts within olive tinted reckonings

Lambasted butterflies
Stirring hornets’ nest
Uninvited

They dream for better days
While double-knotting gang colored bandanas
On eagle’s achromatic foreheads

Another Woody Woodpecker band-aid pulled from condescending hypocrisies

…

And when will the tides turn against pilot light’s mal-intent?

When will the flinty sheep 
Stop wondering how these charring, orange fires began

Forgetting the 115 octane gasoline can
They hold quietly in their hands

©Drake J. Eszes

Details | Slam Poem | |

Ugly Words

Words with such ugly meanings
do not belong in the everyday conversation.
Contrary to popular belief
you can live another day
without disgusting proclamations.
In what way is saying, "That girl's hot as sh*t"
a compliment?
These words are not to be used frivolously
like so many condiments.
A dashing here,
and a dashing there.
What am I, Emeril Lagasse, saying BAM!
for flair?
They are not rays of sunshine
popping out of the clear blue sky.
Nor are they functioning wings
that make you soar high.
I know in truth most don't care;
F-this and f-that,
I mean really, what are you
trying to get at?
If it's just a personality trait
then I guess I'm stuck at a locked gate.
I'm not trying to pick a lock,
this is truly just how I talk.
... for sure not attempting to spread hate,
I just find it all quite unappealing.
Is it too much to ask
to measure up your words
with how you're actually feeling?

Details | Slam Poem | |

Lies and Sad Eyes

Lies and Sad Eyes


Your huge eyes appear bright, blue and so sad 
why after all the those rich men you have had 
There was that guy that owned a jewelry store 
he gave you so much yet you stole so much more 

There was the dude that owned nine car lots 
he figured you out after I showed your spots 
Other cat's parents left him massive wealth 
you took all he had and ruined his health 

Your big eyes now appear swollen and so very red 
Told you I'd endure and torment your silly head 
Now you cry and moan for riches you think your due
Life is about family and love yet you haven't a clue

I gave my all and everything hence you never learned to love 
Karma bites you while rewarding blessings for me ever since from above

Robert Lindley, Nov, 10th, 2002


Oldie from centuries ago it seems.

Details | Slam Poem | |

The Soup Reich


The Fuhrer's deceit is baked with OCD tendencies,
one hand doling it out to the masses,
while the other hand places more checkpoints
along the already tightly surveilled perimeter.

The Fuhrer's Souper Troopers, Gestapo and Souparazzi
scour the Soup halls for any anomalies,
for any Resistance Fighters of literature
who might distract the masses' attention

away from the Fuhrer's spotlight. And there! Hark
the Herald Demons, the Head Pig pounds the podium,
refocuses the little piggies' minutely distracted attention
with tales of fearful monsters, uniting the crowd

against a common enemy. 

Divide the mind, to conquer it. "Divide and Conquer,"
whisper the Fuhrer's elite henchmen
as they send-out another wave of soupmail propaganda,
while running fingers across the mustaches dangling

from their rat-faces like miniature toupees meant for 
the now-aged Ken dolls stricken with cancer from eating 
too many GMO Swastika corn-dogs and Huns.burger Helper --
cannibalistic swine eating their own kind. "Sieg Heil!" 

The little piggies devour Swastika slop from their troughs:
big lies broken down, fed to them over time
until they squeal dolefully, piggies wrapped in blankets
waiting for another bribed lullaby to help them fall asleep.

Poor little piggies. Believing themselves to have no talent
of their own, they ride on the barbeque sauce coat tails of a 
one-trick pony-pig Fuhrer -- selling short their own deserved
spotlight to a fugazi masquerading as a 24 Carat saint.







July 22nd, 2013

________________________________________________________



"Take the greatest deceits, decorate them with gold and hand them out as gifts. 
When the masses have swallowed the contents, you can make these people 
believe and do anything." - Adolf Hitler
 
 "The more we do to you, the less you seem to believe we are doing it."
- Dr. Joseph Mengele

"The most common characteristic of all police states, is intimidation by surveillance. Citizens know they are being watched and overheard. Their mail is being examined. Their homes can be invaded. When citizens alter their natural conduct via the fear of being watched, truth becomes suppressed when public discussion turns into whispers." - Vance Packard

"To silence satire, is to silence freedom." - Sidney Hook

“The true essence of a dictatorship is in fact not its regularity, but its unpredictability and caprice; those who live under it must never be able to relax, must never be quite sure if they have followed the rules correctly or not.” 
- Christopher Hitchens, Hitch-22: A Memoir

“The first truth is that the liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerate the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than their democratic state itself. That, in its essence, is fascism -- ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or by any other controlling private power." 
- Franklin D. Roosevelt


*Author's Note: This satire does not involve the TPS administration.





+/-

Details | Slam Poem | |

My weakness

        GOD

Wondrous of many blessings.
Smiling never a frown.
My prayers, Lord, are  suddenly being ignored.
I've taken a tumble of  fallen down
Lord, my life was plain and simple  
How did it come to this.
Lord, now I carry a  burden so deep
A torn up life not easy to fix
Hard to get my prayers before I sleep
Bleeding only internally!
Feeling very minutely!
God, have you deserted me, or is it me who deserted you?

God, my Lord, my savior, how could you abandon me?
Must I drown in my own sorrow.
Must I wake up like this today and tomorrow.
Why have you left me, or is it me who left you?

God, I need you like never before.
When I wake up,
When I head out the door.
Tormented in a mood ring of stock
Heavily my tears hit upon the floor.
God, do you not feel me, or is it me who no longer feel you?

God, what is your plan for me?
What things did I not see?
I asked for you to forgive me in my ways of sin.
Why do you let him provoke me?
Lord, I forbid for him to win.
Relieve me from his gutless pain.
God, do you not believe me, or is it me who no longer believe in you?

God, do you not hear my call
My pitiful excuses make me weak and small
In your eyes I no longer feel tall
I remain cursed in every single fall
Lord, only you can break this wall
Do you not see me on my knees
Must I beg and crawl?
I am at your mercy, crying out with grief
Open the path to the lighted hall
O' Lord, the day you judge me before your throne
Please tell me it was a lesson for me to stand up on my own
God for now I will end this talk
With the dignity to never look back
And ask if you were there on my endless journey of a relentless walk?

By:PD

Details | Slam Poem | |

Behind the mask

Behind the mask there is a frail and fragile me
Enigmas clothed in conundrums; that the naked I can’t see

'Behind the mask is concealed, my authenticity
Examine my history to unravel my perplexing mysteries

Behind the mask it is unseen paralyzing, piercing pain
With arrogance and self-assurance camouflaging the shame

Behind the mask is hidden my true Identity.
Seek and survey the signs of my obscurity

Behind the mask is veiled a heart that’s been broken
Held together by unexpressed resentment and animosity unspoken 

Behind the mask is where my insecurity hides,
Like realism wrapped in riddles, you must read between the lines

Behind the mask is where I cover my falling tears
Dig just below the surface and you’ll unearth my crippling fears

Behind the mask there are cloaked secrets unexplained and untold
Decipher the symbols to crack my encrypted codes


Behind the mask you’ll uncover my True expressions 
Remove and reveal parodies, and expose the false impressions

Behind the mask, it is hidden, my Individuality.
Not acting out some script of who I’m thought to be

Behind the mask is obscured my, vulnerability
 Suppressing the mounting manifestation of the inner me

Behind the mask it is disguised, my true reflection
Underneath open wounds inflected by rejection 

Behind the mask rest crushed and shattered dream
Where fear muzzles roaring whispers and screeching silent screams

Behind the mask is buried, my stolen youth
Deception, and cover-ups, masquerading as facts and truth

Behind the mask is where I screen the confusion
Look close and you’ll find, trickery and deception, draped in fantasy and optical 
illusions

Behind the mask it’s stifling; it is hard for me to breathe,
The walls of deceit  that i have built ,are quickly  closing in on me. 

I am trapped behind facades of smirks and phony smiles.
So may I please remove this mask just for a little while?

Chiquita Baity

Details | Slam Poem | |

Slumber

Repulsive Slumber  

Down the basement, 
not a single color of envy,
flat-lines, are standing still all around.
The stillness is suffocating,
everything coming my way.
Different from,
the morals,
of my old organize ways.

"Still Round The Corner There May Wait, 
A New Road Or A Secret Gate."  ~~J.R.R. Tolkien~~

In certainty!
Someone will help me dismantle this knowledge!!

A movement so loud that bleeds, 
irritating metal in the open wide.
Time standing still
pushing,
tossing the dice.

Sleep walking in a slow pace,
paralyzed and lost in a smoky haze.
So blurred, my perception slips.

The concept is so untouchable,
Finding peace, I find the thrills,
I conquered.
Screaming! I wake up,
Tangible evidence, released.
Rough, pillows, invade me.

I follow my guts,
I finally found the right feelings...

Exhaling one final breath, I freeze it!
Avoiding the demons!

Impossible, slumberous visions,
entering the atmosphere ,
thickened, loud voices, ~  "WANT TO BE HEARD!"
Sliding into my slumber,
locked in one solid dream.

My slumber, 
I lay so quietly,
Voiceless, still I feel.
So repulsive, still redeemable.

My slumber,
dry like black soap.
Stillborn, yet still breathing!
Stillborn, yet still moving!

Reaching for the ceiling,
and I try hard not to dream.
An empty pyramid, winding up to a new start. 
Imperceptible pencils in my slumber, beneath me.

Now I am in wonder,
breaking my mind with this, 
from all the solidness. 

Only I can revolve around this light.
Taking hard cold metal,
stabbing it behind me.
My repulsive slumber.....
an ongoing punishment with dark fantasies.

by;p.d.

Dedicated to NIKKOS... poem  *Elusive Dreams*

Details | Slam Poem | |

i'll slam this poem down your throat and you best be glad i'm giving you anything at all

i spit words much better than you
there is nothing at all that you can do
check out my spelling and my epic grammar
i'll smash your face in with a claw hammer
i carve my name in all your brains
remember me like the smell when it rains
with my fists of fury i'll knock you out
no-one can tell what the hell im on about
my poems make you think 
sit down fools and take a drink
while i amaze you all with my dark power
no-one wants to read a poem about a flower
or a fluffy cloud or falling in love
we want to read about death from above
i go against the grain and dont get a lot of views
but that certainly doesnt mean i'll go boo hoo hoo
it makes me stronger faster smarter
dont count me out i'll have your guts for garters

so what have we learned from me today
listen quite closely to what i do and say
don't self publish its ever so vain
im sure it'll cause you nothing but pain
when you get rejected
it cant be what you all expected
im the best poet in the world bar none
better than byron shelley keats and donne
i best be off to write a dreary haiku
oh wait thats not me its obviously you