Best Reroute Poems
A thought of the past flies condemned by the wind.
No more released than held deep within.
Bringing to surface this pain and this guilt,
And so I must now face this bridge I have built.
Regardless of truth, of fact, or of lie.
Its faith that brings light to an old midnight sky.
Awake or asleep, my conscience still follows.
Behind broken dreams, my future scopes hollow.
In time of redemption, of fear, and of hope.
It is truly my chance to tighten the rope.
Hung like a noose, yet closed like a cell.
My feelings of somber reroute me through hell.
Starting to win, or winning to start.
An uncertain heart starts drifting apart.
Put me to sleep, but don't close my eyes,
for i wish to see my thoughts as they fly.
A generation where there is no more mouth to mouth conversations
No more emotions, no more feelings, and definitely no expressions
On my journey of life I’ve been derailed from its tracks
Due to technology our life’s purpose has been lost and we need to get it back
Each of us has been infected by the disease called technology
Please don’t text me a “I’m sorry” …a poor way to express an apology
Just call me on my landline phone
My computer is off so I’m alone
There are 140 characters that unleash unforgettable consequences
Before I type my thoughts it completes my sentences
Whatever happened to our privacy?
Lmbo … with social media there is no mercy
Reboot, restart, refresh, and reroute…everything is going berserk
Have you noticed the” next big thing” doesn’t see to work
Spending quality time and loving our family and friends can't be ignored
It is so God like and beautiful, that is for sure
These social media sites are running our lives and it shows
What would we do without Facebook and twitter, no one knows
Just in case everything crashes we need to be able to write sentences
Face to face verbal communications are essential for our existence
Technological addiction is leading to a more isolated generation
Although technology can be profitable, it must be used in moderation
Exodus 20:2-17I am the Lord thy God and thou shalt not have strange gods before me.
al-Quaddafi Haiku-2
Tomahawks fly blind
may be al-Quaidas delight
Allah Ahkbar's cheer.
Here we go again
Belly dancing with Muammar
Hillarie can't dance.
He can dance alone.
al-Quaddafi's naval glows
diamonds up his nose.
Are they Libyan?
Maybe some, we just don't know.
Give them rice and lamb.
Send more Tomahawks
Reroute them to Syria
Belly dancing Booms.
Let's take on them all
every oil field we find
NATO gas stations
everywhere.
Big Chief Tomahawks
Geronimo's great revenge
Belly dance all night.
Gold in them thar hills
Black gold in the desert sand.
Someone's slight of hand.
Twenty thousand more
Suckers born every minute.
In the USA.
Forwardddd!!! Huh?!
.
Being kept penniless was way too much!
Gonna fix my ex's car...
hell, he couldn't do it!
Couldn't find rusted parts...
needle-nose pliers, Phillips,
ratchet, spit, gum...jack.
Hmmmm...reroute spark plugs
thru the injector...
ignition nutrition...ho hum.
Throw out carbuerator...
manifold's too round...
computer don't need this
many circuits...
turning signals' gotta go...
new fuses color the ground blissfully!
Don't you agree, now that you see,
he did the same to me, to me...
I kind of didn't like it.
Oh, and chewing gum shoved
deep inside
that key thingy place...
no spiteful binge!
Just angelic revenge...
.
the elves built a new workshop and yes there’s a but
they didn’t use one-call and their phone lines got cut
isolated up north poor Santa missed some calls
he lost the warranty on his sleigh and an order of soccer balls
he missed the call about Rona and the mandate for a mask
Santa had no P.P.E. just some schnapps in a flask
there was a global pandemic much to his surprise
he was stopped on a rooftop and could only see eyes
he was greeted by a cop in a hazmat suit
Santa was drunk without a mask and had to reroute
they took Rudolph to the Zoo and impounded his sleigh
now Santa is under quarantine for the next fourteen days
I need to shout out to Jelly Roll.
For sharing this beautifully written song.
Touches so deeply inside us.
Emotions we all feel so strong.
So many way's to process.
Reminisceing what was lost.
Sometimes we learn the hard way.
Which usually comes with highest costs.
We often take for granted.
These moments til they've passed.
Then we wish to have them back.
But we all know better than that.
I listen to the melody.
Which comes as a positive relief.
Not always do we want to cry.
With sadness from our grief.
We all have felt this pain.
Despair of being with out.
Losing our way or finding ourselves.
Sometimes needing to reroute.
If we make it to our destination.
Indeed to find the smoking section.
Then you know your missions complete.
You took the right direction.
I don't know much about cleaning swamps.
Fighting alligators is not my forte.
But if I could inspire just one person,
who can relate to this the same way.
I would roll one up for everybody.
Rather in Heaven or still here.
I believe they miss us just as much.
They are up there smokin and drinkin beer.
Jelly Roll "Smoking Section" (Official Video)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HfEUJ7XHirk
Brainstorm cometh, damning frontal hemisphere
jamming lookout, noggin perched, roiling thinking
uber wayfaring zealot, drills legendary phalanx.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Writer's block afflicts Das scribe,
who whiz now stricken supine
adept dull livery sub par excellence
his gold standard worse
thus, another day
to slog thru arduous process
crafting admirable verse
wrestling behemoth loosed sniper
dodging enfilade broadcast sos terse.
N'er easy chore to fashion
acceptable word worth poem to whit
staring at flickering
accursed cursor doth blank stare visit
flash flooding warning saturated
gray matter fist sized unit
groundswell burgeoning leveed banks
barging signals transmit
urgent army corps of engineers
to reroute via sluice, sans surfeit
apprentice longshoreman
doth double duty
as grammarian sought to retrofit
arduous struggle ensues, where drowning
affects consummation
strong temptation quit
ditch ching progress made,
thus far in hot pursuit
mind comfortably numb
stream of consciousness
submerges concentration
entrenched deep posit
craftiness sentenced to punctuate
disequilibrium doth outwit
venerably beaded trademark
Scottish matted flair
abandoned unfinished poem
left forever stranded orbit
zero escape velocity
zinging, unsprung,
pinging mindscape nonprofit
able endeavor reflecting zeitgeist
bombarding Messerschmitt
undermining, strafing, disabling
cutting crew rescue outer limit
faint feint blinking in the twilight zone.
I colored my reality with fallacies and stained my skies with lies
The darker shades of pain resembled a subtle but comforting sound of dirt
landing on this coffin as I tried to burry myself
As I tried to hide what I had become
Every brick of lies that you told that I believed reinforced the walls of insecurities
around me
It was hard to breath
The warm colors hope faded into distant memories of summer rains
Engraving my name into the empty space half way between here and infinity
You reached into the abyss and shone a light into my darkness
And from within me silver and gold were reflected back
So with this ink and paper I can rewrite the pages of my history
So with this ink and paper I can reroute the path to my destiny
Walk me along those lines
Along the lines of a beautifully written poem
One whose similes resound with divinity that the moon and the sun are made of
the same substance
One whose rhythm makes mind, body and soul move to this heart beat
One whose imagery is only matched by the supremacy of my minds eye
One whose depth was so deep that not even you could get it
One whose influence rides alongside the wings of intoxication, seeps into the
crevices of the mind and changes you
Walk me along these lines
Inspiring hand that gave me poetry, touch me again.
Form:
Everyday Our Shift Starts @ 4.
That’s When We Go Behind The Steel Door.
We Get Our Assignments & Head To Center Gate,
Pickup Mailbags Trying Not To Be Late.
We Fill Out The Logs, & Count The Meds,
Tell The Inmates To Get On Their Beds.
We Take A Count And Hope It Clears,
Call Out The Mail To Listening Ears.\
Then We Send Them Off To the Chow Hall To Be Fed.
Some Of The Inmates Will Stay In Their Bed.
Then It’s Back To The Dorm & Then 3rd Yard.
They Play Soccer, Softball, Volleyball And More,
They Have Some Fun And It Doesn’t Seem Like A Chore.
When 3rd Yard Closes, They Come Back To Their House,
Some Come In Loud, And Some Quiet As A Mouse.
The O.I.C Will Come In The Dorm Making Rounds,
Looking For Wrongs And Suspicious Sounds.
He’ll Sign The Log And Then Be Gone,
That’s If He Finds Nothing Wrong.
Internal Security Will Bring Mail to Reroute,
After It’s Sorted, It’s Passed Out.
When Time Gets To 11 Pm We Send Them To Bed,
Tell Them To Lay down Their Weary Head.
By 12 O’clock We Need Some Relief,
Every night, That’s Our Belief.
We Do This Every Night You See,
For We Are The Officers Of D.O.C.
ice bound by solitude
as electricity's comfort sputters in doubt
cold intrudes
from vast blind hours
light's sweet after a week without
power
complete
fine lines reroute
heat
ice bound by solitude
light's sweet after a week without
heat
2/28/21
(the syllable count was verified on howmanysyllables.com)
through your looking glass
redefine your prospects
reroute all efforts
stay an undiscovered self
reaffirm life's terms within
The end of senior year is bittersweet.
Most of our assignments are incomplete
Working the bare minimum to pass
Taking each day class by class
Senioritis has been here since third quarter
As the teacher’s patience gets shorter and shorter
The deadline are nearing
But they’re something none of us are hearing
There are more lasts than firsts
And the thought of college is making us burst
As much as we all want to get out
Oh, what I would do to just reroute
The bumpy road goes on and on
Gray clouds billow rain threat
All we need is drip-drops falling
The stage _scene would be set
Princess curled in her ball upon
The pillow in my lap
Rest well my pet sleep in dreamland
Soon no time for your naps
The eaglet has flown from the nest
Mother eagle took out
All the padded comfort of soft
Down and hair aim reroute
Mother eagle can again fly
Lift her wings in sky soar
Each day a leisure trip over
Surrounding landscape pour
Written Sunday, August 12, 2012
On the way and back from Tifton
Head of two person patriarchy...
Breathes sigh of relief
(like toe tilly gnarly mon)
footing expenses good grief.
Onus encompassing marital
responsibilities with (Holy Scott)
Matt man locked dread
precariously rested squarely and unfairly
upon mine figurative lead
pencil necked geek hirsute head,
and bony shoulders, that said
lemme communicate with modesty
and frankly earnest Sesame Street cred
hoop fully words understandable
meant tubby easily interpreted and read
lookout for courtesy double entendres
signalling where Willy wed
did himself, yet careful to tread,
no faster than sixty nine as he sped
into forbidden, verboten two lipped arrid
hot zone bubbling volcanic oasis
plunging his swollen jughead
suffocating till gratefully dead.
Reroute threaded needle gaining nascent
ability to manage independent living,
whereby counterpart availed
her pheromone scent
spurring feeling heightened testosterone,
within instantaneous moment
thus took tactile apprenticeship
receiving mail order bride thru
correspondence course sent,
I also donned role of special ops agent
provocateur, a hardened gent
fluke how I became
process of elimination chosen incumbent
learned, familiarized, adept...
grudgingly accepted covenant
to pay affordable low income rent,
plus manage other monthly bills due, i.e.
water, telecommunications insurance
(automobile and renters), and electric -
companies (Aqua Pennsylvania, Verizon,
Nationwide and Peco
respectively) with efficient
aplomb mastered (dub bate double)
art of being accommodating tenant.
I Want to live this world amazingly
But the habit of overthinking
Has been making things messy
The what ifs are being overpowered
The big childhood dreams
Are being shattered
It's like living in a time loop
An unstoppable droll
To which I must reroute