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Details | Anti Bullying Poem |


 Eve, the submongrel, convinces Adam the mongrel,
to eat of the fruit. Now he's tethered to her brothel mentality, 
flaunting cologne of cougar urine,
with pheromones that generated one neutered testicle...
while the real Romeo, resides in the outhouse,
surviving on sustenance of her stench, in her reality, camouflaged.
A dishonorably discharged soldier!!

 & now she's,
casting lots for imbeciles to harlot for her. 
Millstoning them into deep and murky waters,
with a flying amphibious, tri-element carnivorous, 
killing machine with the likes unseen.

 Don't believe Eve, who's tailor-fitted with leaves,
truth could never fly the tongue of mannequins...

 'Yellow Press' pubic publisher,
with acne emotion inflamed from fabrication. 
She shattered your 3rd eye, creating kaleidoscope 
realities evolving from twist. Now I'm irie exhaling fiery papyri,
  nothing sexier than naked truth, now twerk it.

The mouse, eats better than the plecostumus, proposterous
 ish from other fish. Can't get any lower than genetics of flat bellies.


There is a sub-mongrel *****
with a soul maimed from website fame,
milking a litter through Judas' umbilical~truths without pixels, infographically.  

So I, 
figured I'll do the site some good by murdering its 
malignant mafia, probono!

Bare handed, soul-tasting through pupils,
because mistakes weigh. This is not a
comic book, 
killing like a common comic crook, 
with a spray painted on chivalrous tutu.

Phone booths don't produce super wiggas
with rope ' round here. See, I'm one of those, 
D'jango Niggaz, THAT RIDES THE NAG, 
wielding a flagrant diatribe whip.

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

The Day After

The Day After,

Day after day, I pray for our father to give this demon peace
Adam, I want you to know he does not bother me so, 
His rage is on his own, not mine, 
---tormented by a word, he plasters on his face
Words of sorrow, that haunted him for years
God Bless Him, and the thin skin he lives in
He has no ammo in that pistol he calls a pen 
The movements, and the words he spews are too predictable 
Come sit by my side Adam, let's enjoy another slice of apple pie
Together we can watch the mud splash from under his feet
Look at the way he enjoys eating spoiled grapes
From the hands of his mangled up paparazzi cameltoe hoarders

For who does he think he is, attacking essence, that don't suit him
Adam, I have no problem when this demon speaks in tongues
I laugh at the ones who follow and uproar, his roar, 
Indecent knowledge,
Why this demon cries and lies all night long? ---LET THEM ENJOY!
Anything that helps him attract ridicule flies from the same nasty barrio
I can say hurtful things, that will anger the demon, 
Give him, the real reason for vengeance
ADAM! I'd rather not, my words are poisonous enough
Too much for someone like him, who easily gets bent out of shape, 
When it comes to paper and pen, this backstabbing demon
I've shown you my sword, the rage I can display, however that's not lady like
Even I was disgusted by the thoughts that pour from my golden pen 
I killed, a world, and hung myself when spewing that 75 line verse
A poem, in which God, himself shut me up, and said "Eve What Have You Done!"
Walk away now, and never look back, that kind of slam is forbidden
Listen to the air, God is whispering, I need not to fight, a fight that's not worth it
Adam, this time let's trust the Lord' 
Look how this demon's eyes, widen when we bite the strange fruit together
Forget about the worm in the apple, preying on dirty minds needing attention
At the end, he will notice, God is my witness and I'm under his protection
I move forward, not backwards, and I know how to turn the other cheek
Adam it's time to look away, 
Let's make love like never before, let's continue to explore a world of love 
A world made especially for ADAM & EVE

By: Eve

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

A Reason

She's got words on her arms
In the language of a broken heart
And they say
They say I wanna be loved 
But I don't know how 
I wanna dream 
Haven't done it in a while
I wanna smile
Won't somebody give me 
A reason?

Author's note: This is a poem about a close friend of mine. The "words on her arms" are an analogy, for well, cuts. She wouldn't talk to me much at the time, but I saw them and that was all that really needed to be said, since she knew she couldn't fool me. Anyway, that was the inspiration for this.
She is doing much better now, by the way, in case anyone was concerned...

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

Zolar the Inet God

(after Edgar Allan Poe's "The Angel of the Odd")

It was a tidy day and I sat, replete, under vellux blankets.
Sadly, my tea was weak, the bottle of cinnamon whiskey
tantalizingly low, and my feet swelling above my anklets.
So I was snippy one might say, zippy, flipping with zee...

from one screen to the next, oops, forgot! Poor Usain Bolt!
Yes, I took it out upon him. Dressed him first in bouncy hearts
cruel, I admit, and then purposefully fried him, let him float,
banged him, tripped him, let the sloth dine, and let out a fart.

Crude, I admit. Let's blame it on the tea, shall we? "I say not."
I sat up. Who had spoken to little old me, an old lady too weak
for any great villian with a booming voice. I blew out my snot,
found my glasses and good grief! The speaker made of teak.

Pseudo teak, my stereo a bit old. But leaning against the wall
fruity-kins wearing leotards when he should not, the belly
like a spiked watermelon. I admit I considered a sip at neck gall
but got turned off by papaya thighs, arms turned banana jelly.

Who are you, I squeaked, smushing low to hide like a flea.
"Zolar, the Inet God. Say, I wonder, are you  a high roller?"
No, no, said I. No bingo, no slots, no high stake poker, just see...
"See? I see far too well. You let my buddy Usain go polar."

Tee hee. Just, um, fun and games. How about a nice slushy?
Yes, I admit it. With such as he, I couldn't help but imagine
giving a blender whirr, a smash and splash, sort of plushy.
With glee whee, off went vellux and I set to the kitchen.

The rum was old and watery, the vodka scummy at collar
and all went crash. Imagine the horror if you will, foot rot
 in my fine spirits? My hoover sucked it without bother
and when I examined residue, found crumbs, hairs and a dot

of mushy raisins. So I googled on my phone  with askance
how purify spirits? Zolar suggested kindly, "Try a colander."
A genius of the mash, a nonpariel of the objective chance.
My mind turned to such grater things I made my first blunder.

Who'd believe a fresh market reject could move with alacrity
I swung a hammer, missed his head, slipped on the slick floor.
The recoil hit my head, and I bled red vintage, singing a ditty,
Oh me, oh my. I'm gonna cry, while Zolar went out the door.

Not leaving my just desserts to chance, I slipped and slithered
rubbed my foot rot, and hopped after him, butcher knife in hand.
A beep from my iPhone and away he dodged, while I dithered
leading me, up, up and out to where it rained to beat the band.

It hit me then, just get close enough to hug Zolar, then push
he must have read my mind because he darted and I flew
head over heels, but thankfully over a branch like a lush
who did okay on the acrobatic bars, hair tangling in dew

covered maple leaves and my dismount worthy of a ten.
I mucked toward my door,  my bare feet covered with mud
I opened the door, except it was locked, no window open.
I checked my pockets, found a lighter, snapped, a dud.

No phone, can you imagine? Even Usain Bolt wouldn't recover
such blasphemy as rain, muck, and maniac fruit without zen.
I now had an axe to grind and a green house to uncover.
My thirst now absurd, my mind stuck on might have been

I raged, thrashed through cabinets, seeking a bottle once stored
and found it. Amen. I uncapped it, took a deep swallow
Hot. Hot, hot! Immediately I upchucked, help me I implored
to the God of the Inet, Oh Zolar, call 911, don't let me wallow

It's cold, wet, dark and mucky, and here I'm all upchucky
I pounded on doors, they'd open, snap a flash then close
oh, woe, woe. I clutched my head, my throat, I'm ever so unlucky
to wish to slip into slushy and end up posted before repose.

A siren in the night grew and grew, then flashed beside me
a voice said, "Ma'am? Can you hold it right there, put your hands
overhead?" Sure, but bladder being bad I couldn't stop my wee wee
from dribbling down my leg, then my feet slipped unplanned.

That's how the news pictured me, along with neighborhood
postings, feet all asply, a phew of urine and of whiskey,
my hair filled with leaves, eyes black and blue, and would
you believe it? My hand rests on watermelon, me unable to flee.

I never go near the iNet, never search out or  bash Usain Bolt.
The night of Zolar in mind, I even gave up cinnamon whiskey.
Because a fruit in hand is better than an axe to grind or a volt
from lightning, with tush grounded and no vellux to cover me.

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

When you've seen enough

When you have seen your buddy get beaten beyond recognition, you've seen enough

When you seen your baby girl crying so hard she lost her voice,  you've seen enough,

When you've seen the receiving end of an M1 Abrams delivery of death, you've seen enough

When you've seen the look on your soul mates face that only you know she is hurt, you've seen enough

When you have seen the people you love the most disgusted with you , you've seen enough

when you've seen the guy in the mirror and you don't know who he is, you've seen enough

When I leave this world after seeing all of the above and my buddy has recovered, my baby girl is happy,
the War is over, my soul mate is happy and her pain is gone, the people I love are proud of me ,
and the guy in the Mirror is smiling back at me, as I know who he is now.
I have seen enough.

I wrote this after I saw people on line fighting with some one I love because I want every one to see that there is so much hate and anger and violence and despair in this world haven't we all seen enough ?
I know I have. My Grandfather had three words written on his grave stone. Love one Another, he was in the First World War , and you would think this world would have also seen enough ?

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

Deep and Dark Poets

Let us be; we are fine.
Our hearts are broken,
and we do all cry;
we show our emotions in blood and metaphor;
you sit and smile at my sorrow,
then you ask if you can help me.

The smiles are fake, but the words are real!
I throw my sorrow on a thin, piece of paper and call it poetry,
while dotting my I's with tear drops.
We are all poets, some speak it;
others write it,
but we never forget it.

You call me a cry baby,
saying all I do is complain,
and you point out the flaws instead
of encouraging the good to come out and shine;
"Another teen suicide today"-Oh- I wonder why?
No one cares,
till you are packed in a box and put six feet under.
Break my heart when I'm alive and well,
and stich my heart back together with words of praise
when I'm dead and long gone.
Nothing left to show,
but a stone with a name and date that is covered by fog
and forgetful snow.

We are the modern day Romantics,
so break our hearts for if we cry and wonder,
it means our hearts are still beating.
Don't still my hand or his or hers,
for we all have something to share
that's worth hearing,
... someone just has to listen...


Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

The Fat Girl

I may be fat but I can cook soul food to put you in a good mood I don't mean to be rude but you look like a string bean
You only know how to make sandwiches I can make steaks to take your breath away
you say I look like a steak but you can't even make a cake you need to drink more shakes
I need to eat more salads but at least I have a big wallet

I may be fat but I can dance your eyes are  glued to my thighs are you hypnotize yet
Do you want to take a chance and try to beat me in dancing you can't defeat me 
I can shake my hips and do flips I can drop it like its hot you can only pop that's not much 
Oh, now you want to challenge me but you can't balance on the dance floor 
The crowd wants to see me more you were just a bore 

I may be fat but I'm the one who looks pretty in this skirt you look silly like Big Bert
You say I don't look good in a bikini because I'm not tiny but at least I'm not  bony like you
You say I look like a buffalo but at least I don't have a problem finding a fellow
I don't mean to be a pest but you started this mess why don't you give it a rest
I'm fat but I'm telling you I'm the best you don't need to guess 

I may be fat but I'm good at writing poetry
You say that  you're good too but people are going to say boo to you
You say that isn't true and I need to pray because I won't win but I know I can 
You say that people wouldn't pay cash to see me but they will chase me I have a nice ass
you say your poetry  will get publish but that's only a wish I will you forgot to take your pills

Men want to be with me because I have meat on me you only have bones 
You say that I don't look like a model but men want to play with me and pay me to date 
I may be fat but I found a man who likes me like that but your man said you act like a brat
I'm getting married tomorrow don't feel sorrow 
You can laugh but at least I'm glad that I'm not sad or bad and I'm not a brat so take that

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

Champion Among All

           Who ever knew
That to crucify Him on the cross
             That day'
   Would revive the people
        And make them pray
     A crutch for the absent'
       Just another miracle
          For that day
All of Gods' people answered
                  - For-
    Christ had carried that day
         Never - The - Less
   Their were so many people
Who had seem to have lost their way
    They were weeping with sorrow
As thought their were no tomorrow
    They wept and they prayed
           For just another day
They wept and they prayed
    Till death did them part
But on the third day He had arisen
And yes, Resurrection was a part
                    Of He
To be the Lord Almighty

Gary Fields
Your friend in the pen

From: "The Cross"
   Book # 106627
           Rev. (Nov2013)

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |


Ha! Worthless you say I am,
but I still remain calm.

You tweet and facebook
friends you hook
up with, telling them I dress
as though I am lost in a fashion time-lapse,
dressing in sixties’, seventies’ and eighties’
in a ‘‘more dynamic” world.

On your part,
you have made fashion to be your religion,
making your pockets empty, and your mind
full of fashion concoction and disillusionment……

Details | Anti Bullying Poem |

The Last Laugh

One of Life’s indisputable facts:
Government reserves the right to tax;
And tho’ they waste far more than they should,
It’s supposedly done “for the common good.”

Economists use the word “propensity,”
Just a fancy word for “odds”, you see:
The odds you’ll save, the odds you’ll spend,
And how many Tax Dollars those odds will rend.

The basis for U.S. government budgets is “Total Tax Dollars Collected”;
And any overtures to reduce those collections are summarily rejected;
And should a source of taxes have declined or dissipated,
Other taxes are increased and/or new taxes are created.

Many, if not most, of these taxes are “regressive”.
That means their actual impact on income is “progressive”;
But “progressive” in a very negative way.
Relatively speaking, the Less you make, the More you pay.

Whether you make it or sell it, need it or want it, Congress will tax it;
And, once a tax is on the books, Congress has zero “propensity” to relax it.
Congresses, Federal and State, love to tax Luxury and Sin;
Smoking Sinners have had their taxes raised again and again and again.

Cigarette taxes are frequently raised, the “claim” is to drive users to quit;
But Truth is measured in Billions in taxes, so we know supporters are “full of it.”
Meantime, Non-smokers reap many benefits, while Smokers foot the bill;
And if that should change, Non-smokers would taste a financially “bitter pill.”

Taxed and taxed and taxed some more, but not yet into submission,
Smokers could shift their tax burden to Non-smokers…without their permission.
Yes, what if one Fateful day, those Smoking Sinners, Each and Every one,
Just put them down and said, “I quit.”; said en masse, “We’re done!”

Congresses would be clamoring to derive Billions in Taxes elsewhere,
At first, Non-smokers may not realize the impact they’re about to bear.
When an industry dies, businesses and people’s jobs are lost…it’s true;
But all those Tax Dollars must come from somewhere...come from me and you.

So righteous, whining Non-smokers maintained their hue and cry.
They pushed Congresses to tax Smoking Sinners… tax them ‘til they die;
But after quitting, Ex-Smokers would pay less, while Non-Smokers would pay more.
Guess Non-smokers didn’t think far enough ahead, didn’t really know the score.

All those dreary anti-smoking ads, many of which falsified the cause,
Would disappear.  And what about all the useless anti-smoking laws?
Instead of Non-smokers not liking Smokers, Ex-Smokers would serve instead.
"The bastards are costing me money. I wish they'd smoked 'til they were dead."

So, Ex-smokers would be getting healthier and spending far less;
And may be cause for some Non-smokers’ financial distress.
While they'll pay more, Ex-smokers' wallets and pocket books can rest.
Non-smokers will be reminded daily, the Last Laugh is best.