Best Shakedown Poems
Kinky boots ...
kicking naked truth
Stripped bare
down to the nightshade roots
Temptress gaze ...
collecting laundered money
off the dirty parquet
Her pay-for-play
get the tilted short cups
ice cubes rattling
See the lecherous throats
swallow the fermented, lewd offering
Let ‘em feel the venom sting:
Allow the paid, slow death foreplay
to snake swamp drain into their pee brain
Seduction Fay Wray eyes
swinging ‘round a metal pole
Medusa headdress affixed at the top
Turning men’s lusty ape bones
into limp chimp stones
Got a Cleopatra guillotine bed,
ready to give
scissor heads a mean Herodian lop
Liquor urging lip gallows to put
a tip squeeze between the bust
And a little rump jiggle
have ‘em groveling in the dust
Baroness Von Knaughty,
she-devil
of such enormous bosom beauty
Daughter of Baal,
Arch duchess of hell
Quenching taboo thirst
with another flesh set of sleaze
Shakedown the pockets
of the bottom feeders
with flimsy lingerie leggy tease
Baroness Von Knaughty,
she of buxom royalty
Vixen kitty, who shows no pity
Feline daughter of the first unveiled dancer,
who STD burned
every lost soul guest
at Hades inaugural purge orgy
Dip me in the pool to cool me down
Sit me in the sun to make me brown
Put me on a throne to give me crown
Take me in a car to drive to town
Lets go to the circus to see the clown
Make me really sad to make me frown
Stick me under water you can make me drown
Go into a church I wear my catholic gown
Set to blast away I await the countdown
If I was in a rocket I’d be set for splashdown
Going home would take me to my hometown
One kind of dance would be a hoedown
To have all the info you might have the lowdown
If you were speeding you might have to slow down
Going half the way might leave me in midtown
Needing to retire I might have to step-down
Doing very well will earn me renown
Getting really angry will make you breakdown
Being in South Africa might leave me in cape town
If I could not keep it running I might have to shutdown
Because I did not like it up I might have to turndown
From the rising of the sun I can work til sundown
Getting really sore I will need a rubdown
If I do not like your show you will get a thumbs-down
Some things that I buy are at a markdown
Hearing silly stories can leave me feeling cut-down
I like to see my lady in her beauty nightgown
Made some extra money from a good old boomtown
If I was not looking up you could see me facedown
Might be really funny if I were in Jamestown
Getting very hot we will have a meltdown
Doing me some wrong would get you knockdown
If I need to visit would you need to comedown
Pulling out your guns is bringing the showdown
Breaking all the rules I will have to crackdown
Getting very old do I look that rundown
If I caught the ball would I get a touchdown
Time for to me retire and I am going uptown
Where down in Ohio is a place called Youngstown
If you can not shake it up then you have to shakedown
I've lived for eight years, before I turn nine,
Is there a chance that I'll ever get mine?
Will I see another crony of mine getting smoked?
Will I be told parables from all the grown folks?
Should I be countin' on life's major letdowns
Will I still be seeing another street shakedown?
Before I'm a decade, I've got one more year
Will I still be held under a monotonous glare?
Can they still incite me as a stereotype
Talk about notoriety, am I living the hype?
Should I best be robbin', stealing, or kill?
After all, life done given its share of ill will
Will my studies give way to criminal activity
Am I destined to repetition in my city of nativity?
Before nine, should I fall to childish delinquency
If crime I'm born in, is this my consistency?
Am I judged by this system as a youth of risk
Should I plead my case now, should I stand tall and brisk?
Can I place hope on athletics, music or learning
Or is the door shut, and locked up, and burning?
Can I test out the paths, can I open up the lids
Or is it already decided that I'm just a kid?
Before I turn nine, has adulthood been set
Is my fortune as dim, will misfortune be met?
---This is a piece I wrote when I was eight years old--living in the slums of Florida.
blackmailing of the heart
shakedown of the soul
regression threatened
reversion tactics used
estrangement loomed
extraction of emotional attachment
gone from the world of connection
left with nothing but memories
Melanin lamentation
It appears to be the color of dread
Locked in
is a private penal profiteering feeling
Black site
has a plantation clandestine skin
Making abolition voices
invisible again
Usury jaws open like an abyss trapdoor,
predatory lending
got a bulging debtor belly once more
As the black robes
rattle strike
a corporate cobra plea deal —
Let the food chain shakedown siren lure
Leopard spot plastic bags
over the head
Casting poverty pawns
into the a domino pit repo hole
Obsidian wiles got a blue steal bracelet price tag;
dark bags under the eyes, dreams dead
Pale thoughts ... Pliny sleepless nights, no dawn:
Implantation device now in control
Overseer bound destination,
underneath the roulette task terrible Gulag will
Siberian tigers have a paper appetite,
turning into eclipse panthers when Dear occupant can’t pay the bill
01-14-22
Stars falling from the sky like diamonds from a crown.
Jewels fell through time, to fall all around.
A woman cracks a smile, you pass and they frown.
Greased lighting passing between the posts touchdown.
She's the star of the show by far, as the moon came down.
The chitter chatter starts, you're the talk of the town.
Free of charge, or sale of the century or was it a shakedown.
I'mfalling just falling, if I screamed, no one would hear me.
A man walks through an enchanted wood but nobody see's.
An evil spirit stares between the cracks of the tree's.
Like greased lighting he is onto you, giving you the third degree.
Save me, by all that is good in this world, a plea.
A fantasy world that's hidden between the lines, for thee.
Hidden in a sale book on a dusty shelf, so full of mystery and glee.
comp entry 16/12
You will find one word of the title in each line both stanza
Now that Crazy-Fingered rain
Has begun to fall
The Terrapins have all left the Station,
Will we remember in joy
The Dreamtime they made,
As we wind our ways home
In respectful elation?
I do believe that Allah sang the blues
When the fat man that showed us all a good time
Left to join Black Peter, Stephen
All those Circumstantial Saints.
Now He's Gone, to that Brokedown Palace
On Shakedown Street,
Where Janice sings and Picasso paints.
Uncle John has herded all his children home,
Where Browneyed Women pet China Cats
Come in from the sunflower fields.
Got to get back Truckin' on,
Back to those Lazy Gates
Where all the secrets wait
To be revealed.
Somewhere still the kids all dance
And shake their bones,
In some Cosmic band the Master plays;
The stars spin dizzy and the candles drip
They all Love Each Other
And their Captain Trips.
So may we all meet together on The Golden Road,
All prophets, all poets, all lovers and friends;
Where the Scarlet Begonias and Sugar Magnolias
Will all bloom alive in our memories again
And the Dark Star will shine
As the great Riddle unwinds,
Our day at last over and done.
Remember, dear travelers, all roads have an end;
The last card must be drawn and dropped.
Still the sweet sounds linger on, as always they will,
For the Music Never Stopped.
*This poem is sung to the music of Sade's seminal song, "Smooth Operator."
Intro:
He’s ranting with a spiteful hurl,
and taunting with a choler heart
Spewing crude statements, making lewd comments
He’s hated in seven languages
Zircon nights and silicon lights, sinthetic high in the sky
Hades help him, when he falls
Crass carat life, grifter boy
He crawls in space with hubris haste and mischievous joy
Backroom lights and back alley nights
Few do enquire his penthouse ire of shakedown heights
No place for losers or gullible hearts
when his diss enchantment wants to lip dance
Got head space for suckers with nowhere to pity park
Chorus:
Mo’ jeers to cast,
he’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator
Roast to roast, NY to Fargo, vitriol rail
Across the Rio water
and Mex border, to Amarillo, insults assail
He’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator
Cobra face do debase,
he viper coax and venom tox
Boa greed to disgrace
A license to hate, annoyance to scold
Forge all your apathy pain into fools goad
His thoughts volcanic glow, but his words erupt cold
Chorus:
No cheers to cast,
he’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator
Roast to roast, NY to Fargo, vitriol rail
Across the Rio water
and Mex border, to Amarillo, insults assail
Mo’ jeers to cast,
he’s an uncouth operator
Uncouth operator, uncouth operator
Uncouth operator
The volcano Kilauea
Was bursting its seams to Waimea
Donald Trump came across
Shouting, "I am da boss!
Drop yer drawers and my lawyers will pay yuh!"
third party shakedown
blow by blow
right mind's got front row
MagiCicada 13
Agreements are Shams!
Agreements are shams that the wise call a shakedown,
the wisest trust conflict, will work what’s at hand.
Agreements exist when folks (forced to) are civil.
Identical twins have mutations, evolve!
What miracles might stop, experience kicks off -
inclines some to ‘free,’ doppelgängers to ‘rhyme’
whose hearts aren’t a prison sans shotgun engagement,
unfortunate wedlock (“Love’s loved!” all opine).
Conflict can prove glue for relational breakdown
and help, frictions eased, to build trust that’s not canned.
To seek pains avoidance is soul-sucking drivel
for friendships, untested, are sure to devolve.
How likely are friends with porks’ snouts in a feed trough
to think less of pleasures and more of new crimes?
For peace is an afternoon’s nap, an arrangement,
for sides to seek gain with opponents supine.
Please trust that I’ll trust you until I don’t trust you,
will love you as well, till I don’t anymore,
and look to be fair as I feel your affection!
The Golden Rule’s Chapter and Verse (proves my sin),
Is faith as I practice it, faith or convenience?
Without Grace, I’m toast, and in more ways than one.
Grace makes ALL one’s brother, your father (and mother),
all siblings, need Grace! Faith should grok that as well.
Humility seems to be ripe for a rescue!
If ‘Truth’ is you’re saved, how can ‘Grace’ be your door?
You ‘know’ you’re entitled, Christ’s Blood’s your protection,
it’s His Grace or yours? Faith (not acts) posts the win!
The acts God inspires (where we act) is man’s brilliance,
His Glory, our flame. Just a flash, and we’re done!
If faith, that God’s God (and I’m not) helps me smother
what’s vain, if that’s right, may trust surf ebb tide’s swell!
Brian Johnston
18th of March in 2021
Have you seen any suspicious Russians
roving around the Capitol grounds lately, sir?
Why, no I haven’t
By the way,
what does a Russian look like,
I dare ask with curious dismay
That black fella over there
might be a Soviet spy, eh!
No, I’m afraid not
Blacks are not indigenous to
the Siberian clime
Well, I believe you to be wrong,
my ill-informed friend
I hashtagged the Gulag,
and saw plenty of dark-skinned souls
chumming it up with the guarding variety type
government issued clothes
Those were merely some displaced dissidents
caught in a crackdown, anti-terrorism net,
for protesting actions of the American government
Mister, don’t try to intelligence insult me
I can see just as good as you,
I’m no Siberian blind snowbird —
I record every shakedown,
and any secret deal whispered
I can oath testify to this,
as long as you ask me nothing
incriminating
Do you catch my perjury snow drift?
Yes, sir ... there’s no need
for any further questions asked
As for those unseen Russians,
give me a call if you sight one
Will do, Mr. G-man with the license-to-kill gun
But are you sure them hated Russians don’t look like
black raisins orange jumpsuit tanned in the sun?!
More Les C. Moore musing ...
Les C. Moore is back people,
and he’s mad as can be
A shakedown is going on,
and he don’t like what he see
Somewhere in a dark place,
dirty deals are being conceived and hatched
Like an army of cockroaches crawling,
heading for your life savings cookie jar,
they’ve been evilly dispatched
And as a result of this dastardliness,
a whole lot of people
are gonna be seeing less and less
When they need to be seeing more
compassion than ever before
What’s going on in that dark room you ask:
a crafty shifting of the common wealth
That’s gonna leave a lot of people
without any insurance for their health
Looks like there’s a vote on the Hill coming in ...
sorry y’all,
ain’t no more guaranteed medical help —
so don’t get sick again
It’s all getting less and less,
and Les C. Moore done seen enough
He reckon there’ll be more cutting away,
things getting less and less and less
Soon that less is gonna go to nothing
Les C. says that’s his educated guess
"Signal! Raise the alarm bells,
For rebels sink below the swells!
Watchmen! Let the rebels know,
Sin creates the Undertow."
Against the Enemy's death throes,
The Justifier, winnows!
"I will shakedown your whole world,
And sin and shame will be hurled!"
Just then He got my attention,
Having lost my inhibition,
Never a fan of prohibition,
Never a feeling of contrition.
"The Tavern of the Nations,
Come, partake of My libations!
No resisting this temptation,
Exposing your condemnation!"
Many were stopping for a brew.
He handed me His drink menu,
Seven drink choices to review,
Irresistible, but nothing new.
"But there's seven of the same thing..."
"But all are fitting for a king
A sample of each I will bring,
All foaming cups with My zing."
A sharp but stimulating flavor,
Enjoyably exciting to savor.
Until...It bit me suddenly,
And slurred my speech drunkenly.
Foam hurled out of my mouth in shame.
The Lord's truth was not to blame.
"I've come to the end of my path,
This is the cup of the Lord's wrath!"
"My truth, or your consequences!
Because you hardened defenses,
You never came to your senses.
So, My recompense commences."
Jonah did not escape the Lord-
I, too, was hurled overboard.
As my life was ebbing away,
His truth was still on display.
I called out from my distress,
His grace afforded access.
His mercy that could be mine,
Appeared as Christ's Lifeline.
He pulled me from the raging sea,
Ordering the Enemy to set me free!
Salvation belongs to the Lord-
The payment we cannot afford.
"Signal! Raise your voice in praises!
Jesus' grace and love amazes!
Watchmen! Let the rebels know,
Salvation creates the Afterglow."
What a cruel let down
A heartbreaking shakedown
When summer bliss
Exits with a sunny kiss
How short-lived the days
That conjure our praise
October gales abruptly call
Announcing the arrival of Fall
Bundling for chilly nights
We set our sights on new heights
It’s the price we have to pay
For admission to the colorful display
Across the land the winds blow
A sullen goodbye swaying in afterglow
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 3, 2019 for contest WEEK 1 MARCH 2019 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
and October 26, 2018 for contest SEASONAL OR UNSEASONAL sponsored by KIM RODRIGUES