Best Satireheart Poems
While others writers think of love
you’ve shat on that pure white dove.
Before on and on, I must go,
I’m telling others of what I know.
Love to ride the ‘Royal Scotsman,”
but this train I’m on is full of flotsam.
What I’m saying is so loaded with duress,
Its’ like riding the “Midnight Express!”
When you first pulled into my station,
this old heart was filled with elation.
At first things really went fine,
unscheduled love was always on time.
But love doesn’t run on a rigid time table,
I’m tossing you off while I’m still able.
I’m not one to be keeping score,
don’t catch your ass in the exit door.
First you changed from commuter to freight,
all the while saying “ain’t this great?”
Now I’m carrying a very heavy freight load,
my heart is chugging, ready to explode.
You always think you’re the lead conductor,
No wonder friends call you Hannibal Lucktor.
I’m tired of you always blowing your whistle,
you’re the pain in the ass you get from a thistle.
You were demoted from engineer to porter,
this really screwed up our manifest order.
Instead of your up front driving, which I loved,
ya put a foot in my ass n’ shoved.
Day n’ night your mouth goes Yakity Yak,
driving your hate spikes Klickety Klack.
Since I’m not the last one you let on board,
love’s driven down, now I am floored.
Folks would say our love’s a signal flop,
so I’m getting off before the flag stop.
And where would that next place be?
Where you try to totally, dominate me!
I know where the air brakes on this train are,
you’ve switched from sleeper to a baggage car.
You always lash out with such hysteria,
makes me think you’ve got diphtheria.
So I am punching your last ticket to ride,
Frankly, you can shove or stick it inside.
Before I lose the last of my brain,
you n’ yer baggage jump another runaway train.
* For Runaway train contest and no this certainly isn't about me. LOL
Series of my controversies
Are signs of our differences,
Palaver in my spirit,
Making me feel like a culprit,
The ritual by my fingers,
Are what i call impending dangers,
It creates controversies
It supplied miseries.
Physically and mentally,
Spiritually and socially
It sends my soul to penury,
A strange and unusual penury.
Mine is the groaning soul,
Mine is the unwanted zeal,
An urge that makes me err,
An urge the morals fear.
Yours is like a bright candle light
For your heart is without plight,
And your fingers, innocent.
If my heart will gather momento
And control the members that carry out
The wishes of my urge.
Then i shall become like you
And my soul will groan no more.....
=============================
Another song for all addicts.
Series of my controversies
Are signs of our differences,
Palaver in my spirit,
Making me feel like a culprit,
The ritual by my fingers,
Are what i call impending dangers,
It creates controversies
It supplied miseries.
Physically and mentally,
Spiritually and socially
It sends my soul to penury,
A strange and unusual penury.
Mine is the groaning soul,
Mine is the unwanted zeal,
An urge that makes me err,
An urge the morals fear.
Yours is like a bright candle light
For your heart is without plight,
And your fingers, innocent.
If my heart will gather momento
And control the members that carry out
The wishes of my urge.
Then i shall become like you
And my soul will groan no more.....
=============================
Another song for all addicts.
O Wallace, I heard, and could not believe
Like the school days when things you conceived
Made us aghast or grieved
And anxious for the next thing up your sleeve.
You were our magician
Bringing humor out of no where
The apparition with which things disappear
And the brother I held dear.
O Wallace, can it be I see you no more, friend
The eggs in the fowl house stays
Cartoons with Huckles, relays
To Spain Town for raffles that never end
And stories that slant the escapades?
Chalky told me how you died
In that distant Texas place
Far from the frolics and our embrace.
O Wallace, it seems so wrong for one so young
To be already gone, some say
Genius never stays long, I hold nay
It's just like you to do it differently.
Rigor never was forte, and now
It's tough to believe in your rigor mortis
Not drinking beer beneath some bough
Beer drawn from cattle teets.
O Wallace, the noble Thame
Twickenham's child, scholar, savant, different
My heart remembers you and lament
Hard against your merry ways. Flame
A canefield somewhere for him
Ole Farmers let us honor
Our prankster brother, as he would
Swimming the pitch lake flood.
Too mortal are the dreams of men
More mortal our flesh
Too far from heaven ... a little wretch
In each of us ascend
And seem to never make the distance back
The longing heart to mend
O Wallace, I pray your end
Will meet us on faith's common track.