Best Gangland Poems
Gangs are here
And their here to stay
Going about their day to day
Harassing me
Harassing you
Infidels in our Human Zoo
Triads, Yakuza
The Wild West
Terrorised townsfolk
With their gangland zest
Mafia, Nizari
Guys like Al Capone
Persecuted the innocents
Never leaving them alone
Identification through various ways
Communication
Street says
Tattoos, piercings
Dressed sense too
The Gangs of our Human Zoo
Members are many
In certain cities
Victimise the weak
Pick on the pity
These are kids
Of mums and dads
What makes them
Turn out so bad
Brothers, sisters
No questions asked
Shot and knifed
A Gangland task
It makes them no better
Than you or me
We are the difference
A different sanity
What is the gift in your life
Is it your husband or wife
Is it your children, your lover, your pet
The notion of someone you haven’t met yet
Is it the door that you shut on the havoc
The sanctity of your four walls
Relaxing with something with lemon and ice
The chatter when family calls
What is the essence of life
Is it the joy or the strife
Is it the gift of another new day
Is it the moonlight that wipes it away
Is it the senses that most take for granted
Til veils are pulled over your eyes
The joy of the breath that means you escaped death
And you realise your life is a prize
What is the price of a life
When it dwells on the edge of a knife
Is it dollars or cents as it sits on the fence
Before it stands firm or repents
Is it a penny ignored by the many
A glint to the partially blind
When shots overhead leave passers-by dead
As I kneel to see what I may find
So what is the value of life
When gangland reprisals are rife
And witnesses number not many
But my life was saved by a penny
So is this the value of life
Not a bargain store bear nor a Steiff
A penny: A low value find
But a glint to the partially blind
Oh no! Train again!
Perched upon parallels of steel,
You roll your way on heavy wheels.
Thundering through town
With a rhythmic rattle and clickity-clack.
Your deep throat rumbles diesel black.
Cars convey a cargo of corn syrup,
Commuters and coal.
You are an ant trail of steel
Packing prizes from a picnic port.
You are the artery of America’s life blood.
--Four full sets of dominoes
Laid in one long row.
--A segmented serpent
Slithering on shining steel.
--A bright-eyed Cyclops screaming in the night,
Awakening children with a fright.
--A termite traveling through boroughs
Beneath the “Big Apple”.
You are the canvas of gangland graffiti
And ferry for freight hoppers
Who dare to hitch a ride.
A network linking limits sea to sea.
Now, rattle past, and make it fast.
I’ve places I should be.
Created a little ditty about hypocrites and
double standards, racists with drawing boards.
Media dinners with dubious
double meaning placards.
The Spade of hearts.
The Jack of Swords.
An adversity of diversity,
assorted stuff for their hating,
tarot cards,
racial fits in the music awards,
and a grammy for
"sex in the city."
Man who is that dude on the Grammy, Satan?
Jean Luc Picard with Baphomet itties?
Idols for idols, adverts with priority
misplacement, Universal standard.
Mesmerized tazement,
enter lame-ment.
Amazement for sheep enslavement under
black candles.
As the hypnotizing blow is more than
a psyops experiment.
But here we go,
gonna run at it hard while I vent-so.
Everyday I listen to the same old thing
Tune in to VH1 or Mtv, see what I mean
Only degradation gets attention, is it ADD?
No, they know the words, they are listening intently.
With a mother****** this and a dead *****dat. Posthumously-
Gangland in the home with a baseball bat.
Un-Just like liberal Congress across the nativity scene.
Is it positive reinforcement?
Or New World Laws Enforcement.
Fasting for lent?
Come get your sisting y'all.
Come and get bent!
In genre hostage making,
30 year experiment?
Yo Mtv raps, yeah I get it
(about murder $$y & pot leaf sense)
I guess when the airwaves got a monopoly
from the Lord of the Air and GoogleBerg
Hall Monitors.
Not the Right, but the wrong
afraid of debate, running away, running with impunity, running with devil- the PMRC, the CDC ,FCC,
FEMA and Columbia University.
Now you want to talk about Satan,
check the connection between Crowley and JayZ.
On how you get chicks for free
and money for nothin, nothin but devil worshipping,
special sales from wolves making sheep
clothing and accessories.
Accessories to many of the things you see.
Neath the surface of the lake
there is a magical land
cool blue waters with a stake
of reeds and plants in the sand
Small silvery fish dart
prey for the bigger fish
careful to keep apart
not wanting to be bonefish
Follow them and wonder
what it would be like
to live here and ponder
on life while avoiding the pike
Here, even more, than on land
the rule is eat or be eaten
this is the real gangland
the lair of the mighty gudgeon
So, pause and reflect
life here in the raw
do not now deflect
else you end up in the jaw
Satanic crimes are the most horrific and cruel.
They make gangland slayings look like nursery school.
What pharmaceutical hypocrisy
Blurred doctor patient relations
Continuous with dealor-junkie satiation
Arent't we living to eat?
The safety regulators will come down harsh
Trickling down their axiom motif
With Ronald Reagan collectible trading cards
Who's poison beef still feeds
The vacant lunch room lot
And appetite feeds necessity
A supply/demand immortal praxis
So when economists don their hats
Rationally sanitizing the goofs
It's mighty easy the Federally pen
A Riker's Island estate
Keeping the wooly horses busy
While generations pock-marked
Throw themselves towards the dart board
Becoming gangland officiates
What we need is a cleansing rain
To wash the virtual records and shame
Letting ecology grow the way it should
Attorney General William
Barr black marker in hand
kept promise to censor vital
details of Mueller Report
swift as Usain Bolt candidly,
grandly, lustrously, roundly
youthfully blocked out more
rapid than an elegant eland
vibrantly, regally, magically,
and gracefully skirts borderland
which favored topography
constitutes grassland or woodland,
far more pleasing to observe,
than reading adulterated brand
of aforementioned compilation,
distillation, edification, fortification
zeroing questionable activity
upon head of trumpeting brigand,
whose arrivistic, bombastic, caustic,
demonic, electric broadband
outsize ego still convinces
me, thee commander in chief
delegated one or more chargehand
perhaps while delighting as
gourmand savoring chateaubriand,
where his best buddies imagined
themselves in seventh heaven cloudland
every so often taking siesta sans repast
or golfing with grisly handicapped clubhand
non verbally communicating,
in viz sub bully taking a peas zing
cues from presidential high command,
which coterie (i.e. den of thieves)
manipulated social media with nefarious,
insidious, deleterious, et cetera
analogous to "FAKE" contraband,
maybe even milking innocent cowhand
unwittingly planting GMO electronic
bugs amidst future bovine fodder cropland
to allow, enable, and jackknife demand
that moost every eligible voter tricked
induced by virtual reality dreamland
with sinister motive for thee "Apprentice"
rule his kingdom, and expand,
realm asper Medieval days
declaring himself chieftain of fatherland
and/ or North American motherland
where naysayers guillotined
by uncontested firebrand,
who without provocation
very likely bomb into Stone Age
formerly edenic, lush, verdant
geography into flatland
rendered hostile, poisonous and uninhabitable
nonetheless radiating for miles with gangland
forced labor tilling barren, desolate, fissured
landscape erecting unsightly grand
standing room only (cause he know Shylock)
terrain (reign) vast highland
manor as poobah, and husband
to his only heiress, the former
a kooky monster from foggy bottom marshland.
Services Rendered
On the side street, where the poet
took his nightly walk, shots resonated,
yelling, and a car driving fast;
on the pavement a man´s blood
was running into the gutter.
The police asked what he had seen?
Nothing!
You must have seen something?
I saw a waterfall running down
a mountainside in spring and
the air was pure.
Gangland murder?
Weeks later an envelope in his
postbox, five thousand dollars.
The poet smiled at last someone
had paid him for his poetry
I think I'll work on my abs today
Maybe run on the belt
Work some muscles that in 15 years
I haven't felt
Like a player in concussion
Like the caveman with no pelt,
I coulda been sporty
But forty is forty
Every day I look at the status,
Checkin’ for cracks in my dreams
Sometimes I get to thinkin’
I could only ever act in extremes
I hatch a scenario
Of Hollywood gangland schemes
A page from Get Shorty
Well I'm only forty
So now I’m in the bullring
But the bull won’t give me a glance
It’s a real tough situation
In the deep end of a romance
But my sword is feeling potent –
Why not give things another chance
with the one who gored me?
That’s life at forty.
2015
Max, the politician, wields a razor-sharp axe,
Slicing his chicken-bleep opponents' necks and backs.
"How dare they accuse me of power politics?" Max asks,
Innocent jowls masking the jaws of a shark's attack.
His gangland campaign staff for money never lacks;
Max' men shake down local pimps, and dealers of cocaine and crack.
As for the fuzz, Max is hip; he's got the inside track:
Scoring deals for them on the best ecstasy and smack.
First elected back in '72, Max walked the length and breadth of the state,
A reformer, he was, a renegade; at least the voters thought so and fell for the bait.
Ensconced in palatial power ever since, Max has glad-handed, partied, drank, and ate.
A 'politician's pol' all these years, his formidable paunch and polling punch have proven great.
Belly out over his belt, this balloon of a man once again challenges fate,
Can he hang on again in 2018, or will this be Max' last hurrah on the party's election slate?
I wandered sideways as a crab
past windows ripe for smash and grab,
when in my back I felt a stab
of Stanley knife intrusion.
Sharp between the shoulder blades,
to widen eyes behind the shades,
the pennies dropped in coin arcades
and spun through my confusion.
I held my breath and stooped a bit,
as blood flowed from the gaping slit,
a victim of a gangland hit
I crumpled to the ground.
My life unfurled before my eyes,
a violent stream of truth and lies,
a screaming, silent improvise
that howled without a sound.
He stood above me as I bled
with rueful smile and shaking head,
“It’s nothing personal,” he said
and winked a lazy eye.
My mind slid sideways like a crab,
as I lay on the paving slab,
my killer hailed a passing cab
and left me there to die.
A cold sensation filled my veins,
a creeping darkness ate my brains,
a nearby scent of sewer drains
like perfume made in hell.
I lived a life to my accord
of evil deeds that ill afford,
for if you must live by the sword
there’s little more to tell...
Wiseguys
when I was a skinny
eight-year-old boy
I knew him as
Willy Shoes
it was Brooklyn
in 1950 and
some men had
strange names
reflections of personality
deed or look
he and his friends
never seemed to have jobs
but gathered on corners
played cards in social clubs
always friendly always polite
Willy Shoes was handsome
with large dark Mediterranean eyes
dressed to the nines
silk shirts pegged pants
gold cufflinks and alligator belts
jet-black hair combed
into a perfectly Brylcreemed
ducktail and pompadour
you could see your reflection
in the high gloss of any pair
of shoes from his infinite
spit shined collection
Wille liked me
hey kiddo he would say
here’s a buck
take this here envelope
and give it to Thomazula
the bootblack
one day when
I was about seventeen
I saw a picture of
Willie Shoes
on the front page of
the New York Post
handcuffed and trying to
hide his face with a
neatly pressed
pin-striped suit jacket
Willie “Shoes” Sansone it said
charged with the murders
of eleven gangland figures
and I remember wondering
if he would let me have
a few pair of his fancy shoes
while he was away...
Old friend Democracy
There you are again
Finally
We thought you might have left us
Forever
Breathe
God Almighty
Breathe from your knee
And rise for every one
Like a black statue of liberty
Over the old ways of Confederacy
Put away
The power that rules
The gangland world.
Inhale the air and take our fear
Exhale a new century of equity
Release a revolution of new riches
Made of healing and advancing
All
A cosmic rainbow of color
Arcing
Over the wheat fields to the steel cities
A baby’s coo from her mother’s cradle
Born from where the sun begins
Wrists slipped from shackles
Voices loosed from nooses
Boots lifted from the backs of necks
Soot cleaned from Mother Earth
Democracy
Rise from your knee again
Breathe
Breathe
A familiar kind of destiny.
To be free. To be free. To be free.
"God give you the strength to finish this your way"?
I don't think you are first on his list, a special chair on judgment day?
better meditate, get it straight, rinse and repeat, people are people
so maybe when you're not "winning" people say, not sarcastically
that's okay, he's allright,
he's a good man with a magnetic personalitay livin right
or you can be an evil serving self proclaimed savior of gangland racket
too kool this mouth of the north and the south, with the devils ball sack in it
unpalatable to me if true colors were flavors,
id have to spew it from my mouth, like a bad flavr flav of JayZ or PeeDiddy or the other tools lyricals.
Think the world needs something refreshing,
no color on the brain, but still Golden, a golden giving heart molded upon brotherhoods fleece meshing. Not seeing scapegoats and color and retaliation.
You want to be a superstar, just dive right on in,
get on the ball, get in the game
But me more DeMarcus"ware" of your surroundings, Lest your words can block a fortress, a Minecraft of bombs. Are you on the front lines or sounbyte drive-by ing in your Catablack Escapade and control your own
climate, which is frigid to some.
Verily brothers I say to you, one might say
that all colors bleed into one,
colorless, souls, before God, judgment on, day
one