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Can't get high enough

I started sucking my thumb until it looked like a plumb
Things didn't feel any better so I poured a glass of rum
Some will imagine I'm happy when they hear the tunes I hum
whisky me Dixie I am the crazy unbalanced one

Yes I hum like a drum and I pretend to be dumb
I prefer the shady ladies who stay out of the sun
You might want to hang out after all I can be fun
Others will try and warn you, you'd be better off to run

You think I'm simple dear Simon, my thoughts not so deep
I know it's easy to judge me by the company I keep
I'm hanging on by three threads, one step away from endless sleep
I can't get up high enough, the incline of my mind is too steep

I'm weathered and worn kinda broken and busted
Others thought they could help get my aptitude adjusted  
Yet some things can't be fixed too many layers have rusted
Kind people have attempted  to get me polished and dusted
Forget all that attention I just simply cussed it

I wander asphalt streets bopping to my lost boy beat
see the crooked dexterity of my wobbly bruised feet
Nothing satiates me what I hunger for I can't eat
the ghosts in my mind have occupied my seat
My demons are hidden beneath a white worn sheet!
Don't try and peek under, you won't like who you meet!


Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2017

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8 Mile Style

8MILE8MILE    .     .     .     .     .    STYLE     .     .     .     .  8MILE8MILE
I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind but no matter where 
I go I see them same old hoes 
   BRING DA BEAT         c’mon, c’mon, c’mon        HERE WE GO
                           YEA   YEA   YEA 
They be warin old clothes, exposin them busted *** toez in fishnet pantyhose  
They be standin in rowz, striking that silly old pose, workin them same two 
So the rumor grows, and everybody knows, that her name is rose, we know 
rose blows

She got fired from LoweZ, ’cause she stole a garden hose, spent all the money 
at Moe’Z
Yea - Moe’Z ho clothes and fishnet hose, down at 52nd and StrowZ, traffic 
really slows when she bends to expose, she get dirt on them knees, when she 

AND THE COP SHOWZ                     

                                                YEA    YEA    YEA
She putz the powder up her nose, didn’t pay the fine she owez, gives a 
discount to the bros
Ever’body froze, then the streetlight glows, that’z the way it goes, for all them 
Same for the hoes, az it is for the bros, all the way from Melrose to the 
And it’s still the same for the Souix and them Navahoes,  UH  YEA  UH  YEA
         YEA  YEA  YEA            I’M OUT


8MILE8MILE     .     .     .     .     STYLE     .     .     .     .     8MILE8MILE

written by Warner Baxter One Knight Stand Productions all rights reserved

Copyright © Warner Baxter | Year Posted 2014

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Ante Bellum

Best served where it can’t be seen On Stirling Silver platters With redruM narcotics Delivered by sharp Blood-Red Well-mannered talons Strutting in sleek wet rolling tight-skirted Long French Silk Stockinged legs all the way down to Lethal Six Inch stilettos - Manolo Blahniks - Shiny Pearls of cream glisten Around the Chanel Milk White necks dripping Manuka-honeyed smiles Ripping eyes out of the bent-back sockets of the Board-men’s heads, A contingent of seasoned office sex and politics Bullet-busted Fembots that bend just-so and flex. "Just a" Nubile serving wench delivers Beige redruM Served best
- “Chilled” -
In Wedgewood Crystal Goblets to the Old Boys with their over-sweeps, Orange tans, Viagra and their assorted kinda-Liquorice-All Sorts Rainbow coloured Bags of Candy popping Pretty Pink Heart Pills, Gluttonous, arrogant and unaware Sitting "stiffly" in their Pucci underwear and vintage Cardin and saintly Laurent knifeline-pressed suits that scream "J'ai tres tres debonnaire!" Moving pieces on the table, their version of Monopoly becomes Truth or Dare, Their countenance smoothly conveys, “I am your Over Lord, Beware”, as they swap business cards from their fat and overflowing wallets while sitting like Supreme Beings in their Lair, chortle vociferously unfazed, "the women are 'just' trollops", they compare, who has bigger guns and troops that pack the best Hell of a Chlorine Gas skin burning internal organs Whollop! As they play their little games, Pumping Masonic “G” fisted Greasy milk from their lubricated, soiled and fetid pockets, Swapping innocent lives For lethal chemicals, blood spray, tumbling heads and hellfire A cheap deal for Black Liquid Gold and Bolshy Atomic Rockets. There they sit, puffed up, superficial Poisonous and salivating consorting silent, sophisticated, bestial Around an ancient table (metaphorically speaking) they all are orderly, noxious, and sublimely fecal. Drunk on power, they are inebriated It shines and reflects in the faces Of these Narcissisitic dead-eyed Lupine Grinning Fork-tongued hissing False Phrophets who think that they are “Winning”. They are Slender Man each and every one - As they maim, murder and taste the blood Of all God’s children, Lambs to the slaughter. Yes they are Slender Man Well hidden in the beat-up They are the ones, The True Forgotten - They think that they are hidden. While from their view at 666 Across the Harbour That is really Styx, Ishtar wears her Crown of Seven Thorns The Shining Whore of Mystery Babylon Tres tres adored... The Fembots lean in seductively With just the right amount and slightest hint of cleavage. They serve their trays of BEIGE, While the Old Boys Grin at their sweet dewy melons And wish for Younger Days and hot sex with shame 'n fame street walking hungry-cum-centre-folding-Greenbacked-felons. Who can say, is this scene all too late to summon? Before the War is come? CODE WORD: Ante Bellum. BEIGE. Best served where it blends in, can’t be seen Po 210, an excellent year. (Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018)
New York? 17 'For in one hour such great riches came to nothing.' Every shipmaster, all who travel by ship, sailors, and as many as trade on the sea, stood at a distance 18 "And cried out when they saw the smoke of her burning, saying, 'What is like this great city?' 19 "They threw dust on their heads and cried out, weeping and wailing, and saying, 'Alas, alas, that great city, in which all who had ships on the sea became rich by her wealth! For in one hour she is made desolate.' Whore of Babylon? The Whore of Babylon is described as a harlot who sits on many waters in Revelation 17:1. The Hudson, Harlem, East, and Hackensack Rivers empty into New York Harbor, and many rivers in Connecticut also empty into Long Island Sound. The place where the East River meets Long Island Sound is called Hell Gate. On Long Island, there are suburbs of New York City called North Babylon, West Babylon, and Babylon. The Whore of Babylon was the Babylonian goddess of war and sexual lust known as Ishtar, whom other Semitic peoples of the ancient Middle East knew as Astarte, Ashtoreth, or Asherah, and who was called Aphrodite by the ancient Greeks and Venus by the Romans. The Statue of Liberty itself was modeled on the ancient Roman goddess of Libertas. 1. Owls/Bilderbergers 2. David Rockefeller's Chilling 1991 Speech at a Bilderberg Meeting 3. Is the Statue of Liberty the Whore of Babylon 4. Ishtar 5. Spys, Intelligence 6. The Manhattan Project 7. The Plutonium Files 8. Putin predicts global 'chaos' if West hits Syria again (MSN.COM.AU, 16/4/18) 9. Trump and The Storm 10. The 666 Fifth Avenue Address _avenue_is_a_perfect_metaphor_of_the_trump_administration.html 11.Chemical Attack,Syria

Copyright © Leanne Lovejoy-Burton | Year Posted 2018

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Bluebells and butterflies await beyond a rusted busted gate

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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He wasn't

He was an ugly handsome 
In a foreword  backwards kinda way
Silent and outspoken 
with nothing great to say

Strong with a strange weakness
Secrets he could not keep
He had a sense of humour 
that mostly made people weep

You were cursed if you loved him
his hateful ways made you pay
The Devil was his confidant
Yet he still liked to pray

Heartstrings busted and broken 
oh the songs that he could play
A companion to your lonely
but somehow it was okay

Happiness bled into sadness
your smiling face he’d make it weep
He was the fox in the hen house 
sleeping with the other sheep

On the surface he was so cold
with a penetrating shallow heat
Pulling and pushing deeper
a sour sorta of liquid sweet

You wanted him to stop
He was confused when you said go
Pretending to understand
even though he didn’t know

Whenever he finally left
It was a lonely kinda glad
You prayed for him to be good
Instead he was the best sorta bad

Your memory tried to forget
his familiar foreign ways
Your body craved his approval
So you bathed in his lavish praise..

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2017

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Hashtag My Life Matters


My hands are up don't shoot!!

I'm a black man, with feelings and a valued life,
Please, I've done nothing wrong, point the gun the other way.
At my home, it holds the love of my valued wife,
There's no kids, but we talk of having children one day.

Is my tail light busted, was I speeding too fast?
If so I apologize, may not have been paying attention.
So what made you suspicious sir of me through the dash?
Tell me now, in the future I can maybe prevent it.

Don't want to be a statistic, I will soon be forgotten
After my brief CNN mention of me being shot.
Of me being SHOT, dash cam flashing non stop when
The masses see another man dead by the hands of a cop.

My hands are up DON'T SHOOT I didn't kill 9 members
Of a church, I don't even have a weapon to cause hurt.
My hands are up DON'T SHOOT I'm 3 credits away from my degree
Check my I.D. no history of batteries or felonies.

At my home, it holds the love of my valued wife,
There's no kids, but we talk of having children one day.


Written on 12/7/2015 @ 6:10am EST

Copyright © Mister Write | Year Posted 2015

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On Calling Oneself a Poet

Calling oneself a poet takes unmitigated gall and guts  
And he or she should be prepared 
To throw oneself off a high cliff
Or under the proverbial bus
Whenever the expression of innermost thoughts,
Emotions, ideas or beliefs are concerned 
Those who lay it all out on the line often times
Get busted, beaten, belittled or burned.

Speaking straight from the heart 
And soul typically involves taking 
A road less easily traveled 
Or mountain made steeper to climb   
From those who read but cannot see  
Beauty if it hits them between the eyes.

To write of an ex-lover may tend to uncover 
Bones buried deep in the past
Which are better unearthed for whatever they’re worth:  
Old nightmares rarely fade fast. 

Or perhaps you agree with riots in the streets
And nothing is worth more attention 
Than a poet who subscribes
To every person ought to strive 
Towards the greatest good for self and other friends 
While you might think it better to mind my own business
And stop writing about reality and make pretend…     

Penning one’s personal moments 
For others to debate 
Is akin to placing their head on a stump 
While waiting for the blade to penetrate
Skin and bone and taking us home 
To a place where no one laughs
At anything we say or think 
And our poetry will forever last. 

Longer than the blood-letting that oozes from our brains 
While others stand outside of us laughing in the rain
As we foolish, fussy writers keep on 
Twisting words and phrases
And the world keeps right on turning 
Like our pithy, poetic pages.    


Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2014

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Why Dot Won't LeAve the Farm

Dot Blogs she was a buxom lass and hefty heifer too
who married Bobby Eugene Blows when she was twenty- two.
They lived upon a dairy farm alongside Boggy Creek
and milked  a hundred fresian cows … yes seven days a week.

Now Dotty took to motherhood and had some eighteen kids
and Bobby too was very fond of all his billy lids.
Though life was using hand me downs from hats to underwear,
it taught them old world values; like the gift of how to share.

Dot seldom ventured from the place and trips to town were rare
as she’d become content with life and simple country fare.
But Bob, in a romantic mood, applied his boyish charm
and thought he’d hit the city and get Dotty off the farm.

Their anniversary was due and Bob now thought it time
to hit the big smoke for a change were they could wine and dine.
Well Dot had dressed up to the nines and looked a proper treat,
but how to fit her in the ute had poor Rob kind of beat.

Poor Dot was three axe handles when one measured ’cross her rump
and putting things politely she was rather flamin’ plump.
But Dot she was a country girl and just jumped in the back
and soon both her and husband Rob were heading down the track.

The cities razzle dazzle blew both Dot and Rob away
and headed for the classy place where they were gonna stay.
But when Dot hit the doorway well she then ran out of luck,
as she was jammed there tightly and evidently stuck. 

The chaps behind the service desk and three bell boys as well
they tried to push poor Dotty free but Robby knew darn well
that Dottie’s hefty hips were simply wedged in there too tight
and going out to wine and dine was now in doubt that night.

Just then a bell boy cried out loud, “I have a plan for sure.
I’ll grab the local rugby team that’s dining right next door.”
The forwards packed behind poor Dot and gave it all they had,
but all they did was stir her up and she was getting mad.

Then Rob remembered once back home how Bert the bull was jammed
real tight inside the race they had and how they fin’lly planned
to rub his hips with lots of grease and on the count of three
they’d hit him with a jigger and you’re right … he busted free.

The Motel staff then whipped around and searched each patron’s bag
and grabbed all sorts of greasy stuff their little hands could snag.
Rob rubbed old Dottie’s hips all down and laid it on real thick,
then grabbed the night guards stun gun;  it was sure to do the trick.

Poor Dot she kicked and bellowed when the voltage hit her hide
and man she cut some capers and she went all goggle eyed.
She snorted and she struggled like some poor wild frightened beast,
but just like Bert, Rob did admit, she busted free at least.

Now Dot is back at Boggy Creek and though poor Rob tries hard
she won’t budge from the Dairy farm; she just won’t budge a yard.
Poor Rob now does the shopping and the thing he finds bizarre
Is rubbing Dot down  ev’ry night where two prongs left a scar.

©Bush Poet and Balladeer -  Merv Webster	

Copyright © Merv Webster | Year Posted 2013

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Two Hand Clap

I've got a fist full of Buddha,
And a fist full of Rand,
A pocket full of Jesus,
And the other's filled with sand,
That's in case I need to make some glass,
As it will proceed my foot in relation to your class,
That's a diametric description of an uncommon process,
I use it to repel obnoxious thoughts and logic,
The political storm seems to be the hot topic,
But what I see is dinosaurs in power,
Who don't want to get off it,
The ball, you dropped it,
Gigs up, you lost it,
Wings done, let's sauce 'em,
Awareness has blossomed,
We done playing possum,
You're boss, we want him,
Bring him down to the bottom,
And let's make him aware of our consciousness.

Are you really missing this?
Yo this is Excentrix,
Rich's psyche been known to split in an instant,
I represent a hulk like samurai witch,
Equipped to solve problems via the switch,
Cuz the man inside there is just a little kid,
See I tell the truth even when I lie,
Puttin' juice in busted axioms like Pie in the Sky,
"Yo dude, you know that's an idiom?"
Suck it, you're an idiot,
Guards, get rid of him!
I'm a linguistic mystic,
Suffering from a transpiritual sickness,
Where I'll always be a kid,
And live through my own deliverance.

Witness as I stab my own body of Christ,
Feels so nice to bleed emotion into the night,
With Excentrix as my weapon of my own conception,
I can justify intervention into the seas of deception,
Cleverly apply art to the lesson,
Of respecting yourself and recognizing transgression,
I don't need a stinking studio session,
Just flex my pen and in the end I'm winning,
My mental digestion invents a feeling,
That feeling going to climb me to the top of nimbus,
Behind us is a portal to another dimension,
Forgot to mention I'm the medium for the transmission,
I must be the exception because I'm good at listening.

I flip furniture when pressured,
Then turn a lecture,
Into a story told next to a lectern,
No disrespect sir,
But I'm disturbed by your indiscretion,
So curb your enthusiasm,
Before I burn this whole place down with plasma,
I got the EMP flow I brought back from the Matrix,
Excentrix is MVP for knowing when to go back to the basics,
Take it from me,
The artistic process is worth taking a stab at,
Just to prove that we're all humans,
And American Celebrity is mostly a magic act.

Copyright © Rich Metzger | Year Posted 2016

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Getting Back Up

The undebatable policy
I put above any pride
Is I would rather be hated for honesty
Than be loved for my lies
'Cause see, to me in these matters
It is the sanctity of battle that matters
More than my love for the prize
I wouldn't call it a code of honor
It's just a part of the code I honor
And I'll admit my loyalties tilt
I'm one of the furthest there is from perfect
That's my admission of guilt
So you can judge me to any verdict
But just like a story isn't the same if you've only heard it
And you can't teach a lesson until you've learned it
Just like creating the wheel doesn't make it real
Until you've learned how to turn it
My words were only a sentence
Until I finally served it
Got busted putting trust in the undeserving
Put in the cuffs by the bluffs of vermin
Sent to rot on the bottom without a hope of returning
But instead of losing all hope and just burning
I went deeper and touched down,
Went for and got me that conversion
And now I'm back on the attack
At the epitome of determined.

Copyright © John Mayo | Year Posted 2014

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Rusted Memories Decaying

Ravaged and forgotten, I await my fate in this junkyard,
Under the fierce sun and pouring rain and snow . . . but,
Still within this rusted frame beats a soul and memories, and
There was a time when I was truly loved-
Every person admired my style and curves and my brilliance,
Death, oh   d e a t h   and old age is a terrible thing.

Memories are all I have as weeds and vines devour,
Even now, I can still feel the soft cloth that caressed,
Making sure my paint shined like glass . . .  and,
On long rolling highways and hills, I glided a thing of beauty-
Roaring along without a care in the world (I was young)
Inside my interior was impeccable and my leather so soft
Eternity was mine- I was going to exist forever, but
Silently, the rust began and soon ruined and scarred my beauty.

Days passed and then one day, I was towed to this lonely place,
Eternity seems like not such a good idea now . . .  
Chirping from within me where a little song bird has made a nest,
And windflowers and yellow dandelions keep me company.
Years have passed and more and more cars lay ravaged,
Inside my soul memories stir of happy times-
Now my windows have grown blank as dead eyes, and all the
Gnarled and twisted, rusting cars (once loved) wait  . . . d e c a y i n g.

June 12, 2016


For the contest, Rusted and Busted
sponsor, Casarah Nance

Second Place

Copyright © Dear Heart | Year Posted 2016

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If I Could Go Back

As I'm looking through my window 
And I start to l look around
All the snow has melted 
I see toys left on the ground
A basket ball, a whiffle ball 
A glove and baseball bat 
A dirty lone blue mitten 
And a cotton ball wool hat
Candy wrappers and soda caps 
And a witches old corn broom 
And underneath the swing set 
Was a busted red balloon
Footsteps from the children 
Left imprinted in the dirt 
And in the leafless branchy bush 
Was a little boys lost shirt
Those times when we were children 
Sometimes bad and sometimes good 
I'd go back there in a heartbeat 
If I thought that I just could
A dirty lone blue mitten 
And a cotton ball wool hat 
A basket ball, a whiffle ball
A glove and a baseball bat
And underneath the swing set 
Was a busted red balloon 
Candy wrappers and soda caps 
And a witches old corn broom
And in the leafless branchy bush 
Was a little boys lost shirt 
Footsteps from the children 
Left imprinted in the dirt
Those times when we were children 
Sometimes bad and sometimes good 
I'd go back there in a heartbeat 
If I thought that I just could

Copyright © charles messina | Year Posted 2018

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Diary Entry

Daddy was… I don’t even remember but he wasn’t there
I don’t even remember why you were so angry
I got back home that night and my dog was lying in front of the garage
AT NIGHT in front of the garage!
I dial the keypad to get in the house but the door was locked and you took the key from its place so I couldn’t get in
I rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
Rang the doorbell
Knocked on the door
But I didn’t make a scene
I carried my dog to the door on the fence, climbed over the fence, let my dog in and looked through the sliding glass door
You were asleep
I’m very happy for everybody that the sliding glass door wasn’t locked
I get inside and noticed you were passed out drunk!
The Grey Goose revealed it all
I kissed my dog goodnight, gave him a treat and BOUNCED 
With YOUR keys and YOUR car 
I’m so fed up I’m just SO fed up
The Bible says honor thy mother and father it doesn’t mention son and daughter
BOLOGNA if you ask me 
NO child begged to be a part of this planet!
What does honor mean anyway?
Webster says merited respect… okay so maybe it’s not bologna!
I canNOT stop replaying my past
You are still here!
You are from the past!
I have let go but when you dig it up and throw it in my face 
I pick it back up!
I try to be strong 
I really do and EVERYONE notices I’ve made great improvements
You’re one of the people who’s praised me!
I’ve been having these occasional fluttering sensations in my heart for the past few years that I’ve mentioned to you recently
I still haven’t gone to the doctor
Neither of us will forget that time I was crying on the phone to Linnel about the two guys raping my semiconscious body and you busted in my room and said, “I hope your p____ fall’s off”
I can’t forget that time I confided in you about an unusual discharge and you said, “I’m just gonna let you suffer…”
Thanks for eventually taking me to go get tested but why did you have to say that?
I felt bad enough

Very true, Mom, I don’t have any friends…
I’m not even sure if I’m in excellent health and that I’ll make it many more years  
Still, while I’m here
I just want to be able to help my people… somehow

Copyright © JustcallMe Britt | Year Posted 2012

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My God is a Cowboy

My God is a cowboy and even likes to fish
To ride for Him daily is truly my wish

He was born in a barn, rode hard every day
fightin' ole Satan and chasin' down strays

He can calm a stampede, rope a whirlwind, save the herd
and do it all gladly, with only His Word

He can mend fences and heal busted hearts
and can round up even the smallest broken parts

His brand's on the cattle on a thousand hills
He hung on a cross to pay all our bills

He's gone home to build new bunkhouses and stalls
with new feather quilts and gold on the walls

He'll be back for a final roundup riding a white horse
I'm saddled and ready; spurs a jinglin' of course

My God is a cowboy it's certainly true
For Him I rope and ride, now how 'bout you?

Copyright © LD Brower | Year Posted 2017

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Nascar Wild Man Willy

The speedometer busted sixty, motor screaming r r r s,
Smoked his firestones weavin’ and passin’ cars!

He slammed third dumped the clutch and headed north, 
At a hundred five, he hit the highway and found fourth…

The smell of burning rubber filled the cab,
He pressed pedal to the metal for all she had!

Turbo screamed, the engine roared!
G,s pressed him to the back seat board,

He couldn't go on,
His strength was gone!

His muscles stretched and ached,
How much more could he take!?

His only fan totally enthralled
Gears grinding,..engine stalled

He couldn't help it...his eyelids dropped like lead!
Dad hugged him out of his Big Wheels and said,
 ”Wild Man Willy, my’s time for bed. “…

Copyright © Robert A. Dufresne | Year Posted 2010

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Finn Mcgee and Me part3

MacJock looked uptight

When we said "That's not right,

We're not paying one pence you see" 

Den Finn swung and missed

With his powerful fist

And it landed on the jaw of McGee

MacJock grabbed a bottle

Intending to throttle

The closest poor sod in his way

And this caused a ruckus

McGee was so luckless

It certainly wasn't his day 

But when Macjock hit McGee

He went flying you see

And busted MacJock's new table

Then McGee tossed a chair

Clear through the air

Hoping MacJock to disable

The others ensued 

In this Hullaballoo 

Until, all I could see was the brawl

There were glasses and mugs

Bottles and jugs 

Smashing against every wall

The place was a mess

I sure can attest

When the fightin' came to its end

Not an eye was still blinking

So I started thinking

Dat its tyme to go 'ome un mend

Just one more part will end it

Copyright © Jerry T Curtis | Year Posted 2014

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Begging Change from Society

The busted fire hydrant on the corner sprays water down like rain.
Water gushes down the dirty gutter, relieving this humid pain.

Sipping iced tea in their air-conditioned houses on the hill or in high-rise,
They don’t know how the streets burn little feet, or pretend not to realize. 

They call us poor white trash, no charity we are shown.
I can virtually live on nothing when nothing is all I’ve known.

College I finished on top of the class.  How far did it get me?
I have nowhere to hang my hat or wall to hang my degree.

The streets teach lessons of a hard knocks life.
You learn to survive despite hunger and strife. 

You learn how to rob Peter in order to pay Paul,
And that stale, day old bread’s better than no bread at all.

You quickly find out just how warm the newspaper can be,
As you hold a cardboard sign, begging change from society.

Laid off from your job with no severance pay,
It doesn’t take long ‘til you’ve got nowhere to stay.

No family to help you when the chips are down,
You find yourself walking the mean streets of town.

How will you turn your whole life around?
Get a job and regular pay when you’re sleeping on the ground?

You need more than a meal and night’s stay in a shelter,
You need society to give a damn and be a real helper.

Quit ignoring the problem.  Don’t look the other way.
Do something to help.  That could easily be you some day.

Copyright © Susan Berg | Year Posted 2009

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                     You’re selling drugs to your own people; you’re like a terrorist bomb 
                              but twice as lethal.
                     Do you really think it’s a lasting career? You blame “the man” but it’s 
                              you we all fear!
  	You say that you’re making plenty of cash, but are you willing to die 
                              for your poisonous stash?
 	You have so many excuses for destroying the community, but you’re 
                              part of the reason that there is no unity.
  	You think you’re taking the easy way out, you’ll be dead or in 
                              prison without a doubt.
                      I know you understand exactly what I’m saying, I at least got you 
                              thinking I’m hoping and praying.
 	It’s time to start thinking before you act, if you make the wrong 
                              decision there’s no turning back.
                     What happened to your desire to be successful? Your line of work 
     	         is way too stressful!
  	Worrying about getting robbed, killed or busted, your friends and 
           	         clients can never be trusted.
    	Is this a skill you would teach to your children? The revolving door 
   	          turns again and again.
 	Drug dealing skills passed generation to generation, causing 
                               widespread neighborhood and community deterioration.
  	You say: “I have to do what I have to do!” But what are you going to 
  	          do when they come for you?
   	Yes eventually you will get caught; you were so untouchable at least 
  	          you once thought.
 	Is Drug Dealer a title you hold with pride? So what you have cash, 
  	          gold and a nice ride!
 	Everything you own can be gone in an instant, now you’re 
                               incarcerated wanting to repent.
                     Being successful can bring lots of joy, but you’ll never be successful 
                               being a “Dope Boy.”



Copyright © Gary Tavares | Year Posted 2006

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Devils only walk straight lines...

devils' cannot go round corners' 
evil cannot bend- 
it is mostly found in madmen many cases
"some married men"
they all wear bare face masks, 
the evil of the deciever is located 
in their eyes...connected to a rotten the deceit is beating... 

..."sin salivating demon"...

they are frustrated fallen women...
predators of women and children, 

you can find them on your t.v 
preaching Christian words,... 
more lies...
the flesh of young 
they love to torture, 

another so called "Christian, politician" 
to be exact, preaching against 
child molestation, 
found himself in prison, 
for raping children,...that's a fact 

the devils work, gives lips service 
to that of a spiritual demon flirt 

none of you can be trusted, 
you are all potential rapists' 
just a matter of time 
before your a%s is busted, 
before the truths' uncovered 

you Christian 
*** holes point the finger at gays...
when you are the real reason 
why you go to church and pray 

it is not to find your faith, 
for you have none at the start, 

...for you wouldn't do
the kinds of things
that break a childs heart...

you know it is only a matter of time 
before your life falls apart ...

hang your head in shame you bastard!!!
hang your head in shame... 

you're the reason why women leave men 
why so many despise your type
the heart of this man is not be trusted... 
from experience this logic commands 

...another supposed family man...
Hiding behind his family...his wife

don't preach to me you sinner... 
all of you make me laugh... 
you won't find me in one of churches 
your mind bending cult... 
perfectly built to house sinners 
your the ones' who take it up the a#s

this so called religion
you hide behind...
you yourself a joke...

Now I could write a passage
of compassion-be a real bleeding

but as adults who are we protecting
here...the child...or these nobs
these predators...that steal
a childs innocence...a childs dreams

there is no compassion
only an abyss I cannot forgive
anyone...anyone for this...

 for these kids
a life of nightmares dark shadows
and silent screams...they'll either end up
victims...or brave courageous...
strong and determined human beings...choose a life
of love somehow become a beautiful
loving person...

for devils only walk straight lines...
in God you will repent...
in God there is no pretence...

Copyright © Eileen R. Kelly | Year Posted 2007

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Temperature's hovering at 103
Very much too hot for me,
A/C busted, that's
plain to see...
Tenant's squawking
What can I do, let's see....

Stuck in the middle,
The owners just piddle
All I need is a sad fiddle
To accompany my misery

I didn't break it, this I swear,
And should some say so
They'd better take care,
I have my Panzer grenadieres
On full alert,
And it won't be waterguns
That they will squirt

So get a fan, take a cold bath,
Sleep on your patio,
Don't incur my wrath
Take a chill pill.....
Take two or three,
We'll get it fixed,
This I will see...

Not fun being the manager
Responsibility for everything,
Authority to do nothing,
Frustrations build quick,
Can make one quite sick

But, this too shall pass,
Another challenge will
take it's place
Cause this just is an
endless race.

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008

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Haunted Years

Hello and my name is Claire
I’m twenty three years of age and come from nowhere
When I was young my parents moved around the UK,
Every place we travelled I met friends and had expectations to stay
But he ruined everything, he used to bully mother and give her the odd black 
She was so unhappy, always down, I hated seeing her beautiful brown eyes cry
So then she left and I was torn apart with the daunting option Mum or Dad
Either way I had to choose, the biggest decision ever and it scarred me feel bad
See daddies are meant to protect their little princesses and spoil them 
something rotten
But what happened between him and me, I have to tell you was ultimately rock 
Not allowed to see my Mum I needed her more than most people will ever know
He beat me to a pulp, busted my nose all with one angry blow
He went away to Amsterdam and boasted about all the gammy prozzies
He bought me odd clothes once and demanded I paraded in my new swim 
He held my throat upon a wall and smashed into my ribs
All because I was eleven years old and told a few little fibs
He brought home different women and each one I expected was the one
But he’d find fault in each of them and that was my motherly figure gone
Terrified of what mood he would be in when he’d return on home
That was hardly ever though as I spent most of my childhood alone
So upset, victimised sick of perverted, physical, mental, emotional abuse
Is where drink, drugs, self harm, ending myself thoughts were all about to be 
He always called me fat and ugly and humiliated me in front of others
Even in front of his family and his on the job; charm lured lovers
I loved hurting myself and dragging the knife onto my shaking wrist
No one could hurt me anymore than that; not even that maniacs fist
Final blow fourteen, he shouted to me I was not washing the dishes right
I shouted back, he followed; pinned me down and grabbed my child neck real 
Screaming and raging he would kill me and that I could not ever escape
Told social services again but they would not act unless I claimed rape
I refused to go back and headed to my mummy to claim my life again
Goodbye forever haunted years, thank you daddy as now I have issues against 
most men
Someone told me you’ll grow old alone in a dark room which I know is true
You had your chance and you’ll sure as hell need me before I could ever need 
or want you

Copyright © CLAIRE BURKE | Year Posted 2011

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Road to anywhere

The house sits locked and bare;
a derelict car sputtering off
with the last of the possessions 
that owned her.

Bellows of dust and sparks
trailing; lingering behind 
as busted tail lights disappear
against a burnt sun horizon.

Sitting tall and square
behind the wheel of her old truck, 
with bare shoulders, essentials,
and a folk rock playlist.

Windows down, volume up,
a long last look,
releasing her breath;
a slight smile twisting.

Hands, ten and two; pedal down,
heading north to anywhere,
the wind tangling her hair; 
stripping away stress; urging on.

No more 40 hour weeks.
No more juggling bills.
No more corporate slavery,
building someone else's dream.

This is the moment
she became free.

*For my dearest friend Anna, who inspires me more than I am able to express. 

Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2017

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Temporary Sanity

Sanity came a-calling 
to pluck me from my wallflowering
But I knew I must act quickly 
for surely in this present tense
time was of the essence
for I knew in the unravelling fiber of my being
this underanged thing I was seeing
was all only temporary
Do tell? I self-talked
glancing nervously at the clock
what will I do now in this fleeting moment?
my heart blunderously beating
to redeem the time of this strange meeting
i'd been lent
Should I hurriedly craft a masterpiece?
but first to make sure this was all real
double up on signs of the fleece?
Should I construct a communique?
to send off to all world leaders
the meglomaniacs
with soft unscarred uncalloused skin
but definitely bleeders
always appearing calm
though neurotransmitters crackling
yet apparently fronting
a poised barrage of attacks
carving deep red rich furrows
on each other's backs
amidst the constant volley of backbiting
i'd still be citing
a strong stance
on the importance
of reconciliality
But then all this clarity 
on steroids
suddenly stopped
Like a manic careless child
chasing bubbles
the clear thought process
quickly erasing
my busted up dreams
n' molehills of troubles replacing
I sought the departure
in the last sliver
the arrow quickly extracted
from the quiver
straining my blurred eyes
for the aperture
but in my predominant hyperactivity
my dogs all took leave of their leashes
not even mild roaming
but totally wild
with mouths a-foaming
heaping up again the shadowy creases
yet I was somewhat comforted
to fold back into my oblivion
the bluish purple highlight dissipated
into the atmosphere
so as quick as it ballooned
my heart on the downgrade swooned
yep- like a lofty tear
fluttering on the wind
It-just up n' popped.
10-10-2016 Duncan R.M.Ferguson

Dedicated to McMurray who abreacted
from their shackled shells of inborn hells
even brief glimpses of unabashed fun
n' fickled freedom. DRMF

Copyright © Duncan R. M. Ferguson | Year Posted 2016

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Blade of Hate

Blade of Hate

Rip out my bruised and battered heart
fire that shot, you must start.
The cuts have soaked the floor so red
hell no, not yet am I, the fool dead!

Slide back into this bloody little room
give some more pain and slashing gloom.
You laugh so gleefully at my great pain
as if your heart isn't a stinking stain.

Spit out that blackened heart you chew
this world weeps at the evil you do.
Shove in more deep, slicing razor blades
stab into more late midnight raids.

Now you can walk on the blood that has dried
spin your lies and pretend this soul has died.
Stand in false pride at the gory little scene
eat out my heart , liver and my busted spleen!

Stab me with a blade of hate burned in so deep.
Finish me as now weak and dying, I go to sleep!

10-21-1973. robertjlindley

This is from long, long ago. Back when anger and passion 
flowed like a river from me! My first wife tore my soul out
 and stomped on it. Even in pure anger I loved her still. 
I sent a copy of this to her her . She sent back a note ,
saying F.U.
This is from my journal that I have to date never shared 
a single poem from.
Why not I asked myself. Life holds no truly great memories 
if they are about such great pain...Pain that destroyed
a true love and glorified her use of drugs and torture..

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

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      Today there's no more wind in my sails
      Today rainbows doesn't exist at all
      Today the frog is still a Green frog 
      Today the damn has busted beyond repair 
      Today the sun has abandoned me
      Today all the flowers has withered and died
      Today the ache in my heart has magnified 
      Today I need a heart surgeon to fix my broken heart

Alexis Y

Copyright © Alexis Y. | Year Posted 2016