Poem | |
The First Texian Macabre Arena Ballad (The extended free-fallen edition)
In another life, is where I first saw your face!
Summer, afternoon, lying wounded, next to the dead
Unopened gun powder, mass destruction in a land of disgrace
A blood thirsty battlefield, is where I first saw your face
The sound of war, hidden behind my hands that bled
Crawlers, rendering their lives upon the open space
Jaws of steel, broken, embracing the warm feeling
Summer rain, lungs of blood, their last dying post
Glorious by numbers, every blade was screaming
Gemstone losing touch, in touch with the Holy Ghost
Soldiers come in a little closer, as if they were only dreaming
Crawling, missing limbs, twisted nightmare with no ending
Macabre reminder, retracing the aroma of eternal life
Secrets buried like a treasure under the walls of sudden death
Revolutionary tears found on a rusted Bowie knife
Lanterns, crackling against every last dying breath,
Dirty piles of crashing wind pipes, and sudden death
Rummage like garbage, the dead Texian
A Falling Alamo Star, taking one last twinkle and dying breath
The Forgotten Patriots, I can't remember the names
Written on the wall, I can't remember the names
A folktale arena is where I first saw your face
The fairness of stuttered surrender slicing through iron brace
Crawling, with the hunger to live, a clean finish with grace
Exposing, scars needing mother's hands, and face
Across infested meadows, the aroma of burning skin.
Distant, before Texas and her annexation,
Gruesome, before I lived, Texas and her mortal sin
I pledge, my love, the honor, a legion, I'm a full blown Texian
To Every Forgotten Texian Patriot----- We Win!
Poem | |
His mind has all the meaning of a madman that is screaming
Tortured and tormented, a life lived to be lamented
Drained and defeated, his family finally retreated
Leaving him believing that he was beyond redeeming
The doctors sent in spoke of hope and healing
The drugs they administered only made him more demented
Cemented is the feeling that is life is just an echo
Of an endless, timeless, all-consuming screaming
His best friend is a disproportioned bird, appropriately named buddy
Whose monotonous motion in drinking is somewhat soothing to his being
Though not potent enough to stop, the persistent pounding of the screaming
Often he stares into the emptiness of nothingness, contemplating the beauty
of its existence
Only to find his mind is drowning in a confounding conundrum he can’t quite
It’s hard to be philosophical when your mental testicles have fallen to the right
So sometimes he whispers tongue twisters until his brain blisters
Madmen mask madness, in the meticulous mastery, of mindless tasks
Buddy was telling a troubling tale, of a dragon drunk off of some dwarven ale
Who through two days, threw up flames and burnt down the tavern and town
When the door to his room opened with a plume of plum perfume
In stepped an inept and unkempt nurse named Nancy
Her green eyes and fiery red hair caused his heart to flutter and flair with fancy
She had quite the quiet voice and was quick to trip over her own two feet
A bit naïve, she would easily believe anything she had heard or seen
He knew he would make her his, no matter the time nor energy
It was easy for him to pretend to be prim and proper
Just a mask to don in order to dupe his doctor
Circumventing the system that couldn’t save him
He was as he always had been and would be
In constant pain and agony with no desire for sympathy
Just in need of some freedom from his prison and medication
Meditation and mantras had given him the sentiment of a design
On how to inhibit the screaming, and maybe even end it
Four years plotting and planning the perfect moment of promise
A fire formed from a single flamed fueled from an accelerant
It raced through the halls, up the walls, over the ceiling, killing all the residents
Eighty-eight inmates and staff burned alive in what felt like an instant
Such little time to search through the bodies, looking for a single person
He found her on the fourth clinging to the bathroom faucet
He lost his virginity to the burnt corpse of Nurse Nancy
To his amazed mind, he was astonished to find, the screaming was silenced
just a note I cannot reduce the font so the lines fit without overlapping as they
do in stanza two
Poem | |
America the Free ~ America the Brave ~
Freedom with price Capitalism attacked
the many taken hearts broken still
one World try to rebuild
sadness and tears fall hard with fears
guilt by association many accused still
souls evaporated shattered dreams
tears fall on innocence left with anger
The proud fearless knew the inevitable
policeman fireman many lives lost
grieving does not stop 12 years later
New York city once proud & shameless
refusing to let fears in protecting ours
left in shock still question's unanswered
nothing learned nothing gained
ready to attack many left behind
anger greets denial anger meets rage
unacceptable still refusing new love
wanting days to rewind let us go back in time
acceptance allowing the victims leave in peace
the brave taken young leaving us sadly old
haunting dreams lost spirits dwell
no answers to hate never forgetting that day
Evil entered suddenly unforgiving fate
entering our City we stand with the fallen
How to fix how do we Change
This can be read many different ways ~ This is a poem I am so proud to write ~
Poem | |
Bust to the extreme
And collide with your foes
Be ruthless and heartless
When smash on them hoes
Leave no stone unturned
When your searching for a "snatch"
Always be ready
To smash that ass
Cause they sneaky as ****
Waiting patiently for you to slip
Or get down on your luck
Then you looked surprised
When your ass gets stuck
Like how could this happen
How could this be
They said they would have my back
Always and tomorrow
Are two in the same
Cause when you wake up tomorrow
And always is cool
Till it comes time for change
And that's all I'm gonna say
You seek fortune
And you seek fame
Then your a prime target
For them bogus lames
And trifling dames
That try to get at you in the beginning
So they can snatch your change
When you do make a name
Its all the same
Every mother****ing day
But u *****es ain't slick
Cause you all look fake
Like a ***** with teary eyes
You know she got raped
And took against her will
Just cause some ***** ass punk
Needed a thrill
Well meet your maker
I got a deal
Cause sent down in my presence
And your soul will get drilled
Chilled and chopped up
And diced up into a meal
For the dogs to eat
Now am I keeping it real
Or just real ill
My fates already been sealed
You silly bastard
I'm on the chopping block
And all you hear is my laughter
Before and after
Poem | |
I remember when . . .
kids fought at school.
At worst, they’d end up with a bloody nose.
But kids today get bullied publicly
and ridiculed on You Tube videos.
I remember when . . .
took place and few of us were “in the know.”
Today, though, we see idiots galore
that cuss and brawl on Jerry Springer's show.
I remember when. . .
was televised when kids were tucked in bed.
Now your child need only type the word
and see a victim get shot in the head.
I remember when. . .
we had a war,
but it was “cold” and seemed to be maintained.
Today the terror is at your own mall.
We’ve lost - in spite of all that we have gained.
Poem | |
Abuses hurled and Alcohol gurgled,
In the vortex of confusion
And blurred vision.
Intoxicated pleasure from surreal leisure.
Fooled senses and numbed conscience.
Wiped existence of love and kindness cuffed.
Lashed at the one he once loved.
Cringed and clung to her faint faith.
She and her cursed fate.
Exploding paroxysm of hate.
Her whipped ivory skin and bleeding lips,
Eyes with teary tinge,
Has the harvest moon singed.
Stillness of the night, pierced
By memories of bitterness-sodden years.
"Hurt me not", she trembled with fear,
"let me live for my girl, dear".
The cries colored skies crimson.
Just one reason--Her little girl.
As her daughter stared
With flaming locks and eyes that flared.
By Angom Amy (15)
Poem | |
Fraught with violation
Forever left in shame.
Folds of indignity
Fulfilling love denied.
*I feel very strongly about this topic.
Have been meaning to bring it up.
This Pleiades is short but meaningful.
Contest: Any Poem#29
Sponsor: Poet Destroyer A.
Poem | |
As he slept a tranquil dream,
All at once he flew, it seemed.
Thrown and landing on the floor,
Shaking walls and splintered doors.
Just as quick, the room was still.
Distant tremors he could feel.
Out the door, and up the rock,
There he stood in sleepy shock.
How could oceans disappear.
Then a hissing he could hear
And a trembling, heavy roar
Headed for the empty shore.
Sunrise turned a greenish hue,
As he climbed, a better view.
Seeming far too large, he saw
What must be a water wall.
Thought of ancient stories told
Of a wrath that could unfold;
Sucking oceans with a breath,
Spewing endless waves of death.
Instinct surfaced, cleared his mind.
Panicked now, he clawed and climbed.
Up, despite the sounds he hears,
As his village disappears.
Once an evil came to call,
Scooped them up and took them all.
Now he's old, his stories wane,
Of the morning Satan came.
Poem | |
A vignette of domestic violence and the weird rationale of love amidst such
circumstances - adapted from how it was depicted to me by a female friend and
taken from her own personal experience.
I was defined china and porcelain,
Inlaid glass flowers and gently spoken;
Fragile in doe-eyed delicacy,
Pleading and begging not to be broken.
I loved him with total forgiveness,
Did not, could not, would not understand
The dark chaos mood of lability,
The spontaneous violence of his hand.
Blue and black bruises indecorously swelled
Question marks about tear brimmed eyes;
And I wept and despaired in confusion,
Smashed and grabbed by wherefores and whys.
How could he dream to hurt me so,
The brutish malediction of his touch?
How could he stand to hurt me so,
When he knew I loved him so much?
And now the years have drained away
Like sweeping veils of rain;
The agony of our breaking apart
Ever haunts me with anguish and pain.
I still see him some times,
Rarely, truly out of the blue,
On the old territory of familiar streets
When unconsciously passing through.
And always shook by the stalking truth,
A lancing bright-bladed knife,
And with dogmatic aching my heart lets me know
He was always the love of my life.
And I know there's no sense to be had
When I look to the heavens above,
Just the sad and lonely heart of the matter:
You never can choose whom to love.
Poem | |
the world can be a rabid dog, a goD frothing backwards while Mr. Clean reads
a sermon from the pulpit as a false prophet causing me to yell, "Shim-shum
shimmeny-shum, up from the shadows of the Shoalin slum! Fee-fi-foe-fum,
eye smell the blood of a fallen one!" My pen was a sword, 'twas inevitable eye
would end up skewered upon its venomous tip as violence begets violence yet
silence is just a distorted sort of violent indifference. Live by the s.word, die by
the s.word, so eye buried ghosts in the sands of Kyushu, revamped my stylo
into a drunken vomit spewing masochist churning blood and piss into another
batch of sum county mulberry moonshine. Instead of a wu-tang sword, eye have
me a la la la la la la la la la lush of a drunken quill spilling forth the woo to the foo
times twenty-two thousand and dirty-three. Blame it on the pen, but wot came first,
the chicken or the egg? Who is the bad influence on whom, weaving excuses on a
loom propped up by yet another empty bottle of the wicked county prune. Eye want
to write lines of eloquence filled with bullfrogs and butterflies, rainbows and baby's
breath, but this drunken pen has a mind of its own, slithering in-between the scene
of salesmen saying it from rusted metallic mountaintops, "I have found the way, 'tis
not YOUR way, so cut your hair son ok!" Hey hey hey! wot are you referring to?
Elohim, miholah, bespolah, holapsfofahcahmall? ?Fofahcahmall? Theysbe suddenly
sounding very small while this pen of mine is drinking itself into a stupour, brewing
up another stew of vomiticus grammaticus long.windy.gusts - eye didn't intend on
rhyming these lines, my drunken pen has once again taken over, pushing me to
letgoletgo and pray in hopes that it drinks itself straight in order for bullfrogs,
butterflies and everything nice like sugar, lollipops and rainbows to finally begin to
show from out of the freaky flow of this ultra triple-distilled drunken ink - slow right
down into something quaint and normal, wash this drunken mess down the sink
without having to fink with my dirty think, my dirty think - the first sign of the crime
is denial - drunken pen, drunken hand? Drunken hand, drunken pen? Oh good Lord,
here come the bends once again, yeah, here come the bends again, there's only one
thing left to do and it's to fold this paper into a neat package eye can mail off to the
People-In-The-Sky so they can offer me some insight into all of the reasons why