Bootleg Poems

What Breaks You

What breaks you is a seed.
You water it with silence,
Prune it with isolation,
Feed it with attention.

What shattered your world,
Will shape your crown.
A bootleg kind of royalty,
Rooted not in applause,
But in stillness.

The pain always leads back to Eden.
Not as a path,
But as a remembering.
A breaking point.
A rhythm you lost,
Then became.

Missin Missouri

While you're there, beneath the sun's warm glow,  
Where green trees whisper secrets, and soft breezes flow,  
By Bootleg Creek, where the waters gleam bright,  
Purple and red Crowley Ridge agates catch the light.  

With hands in the earth, you'll dig and pry,  
Getting very dirty, with mud to the sky,  
Each treasure you uncover, has a story to tell,  
In the heart of the wild, where the rockhounds dwell.  

Scattered by the river, pink and blue drusy shine,  
Glimmers of beauty, nature's design,  
Up on the hill, where the green jasper lies,  
A hidden gem waiting, beneath the vast skies.  

On Haunted Ridge, where the quartz crystals gleam,  
You'll wander in wonder, lost in a dream,  
And by the old dude's house, where the petrified wood,  
Whispers of ages, in silence it stood.  

The sunshine dances through leaves overhead,  
As you sift through the soil, where the earth's stories spread,  
Each find a reminder of nature's sweet care,  
In this world of wonder, oh, I wish I were there.

eye openers

if absence make the
heart grow fonder ~ presence make
heart run better

if you take money 
from high interest banks ~ make sure
they know its a loan

a dime a dozen
are friends that back you ~ true friends  
a penny well-earned

Humpty wall sitter
Dumpty egg cracker ~ egghead
scramled hard bootleg

a penny face up
bearers Midas Touch ~ penny
face down ~ leave aground

I'Ve a Hole In My Head

Cadaver, Godiva and Quiver
     I believe that I've poisoned my liver

   Pushcart on the ramp fell apart
     I'm afraid I've damaged my heart

   Pencil Lead, Interbred, Seeing Red
     I think I've a hole in my head

   Had to beg for a keg of bootleg
     They just amputated both legs

   Only one thing I dread even more
     ~ A fall from the bed to the floor

Opportunity

Life leaves scratches
        her fear of limitations
        in an unwieldy gait
        uncertain in her body
self wisdom that wounds 
                       knowing missed chances
        what to value, what to preserve?
her edifice cracked by misfortune can be restored
         and every fragment isn't a puzzle

at age sixty, a bootleg feel for indulgence rises
                         flowered dress to fuel her traction
                         as shoebox isolation fades
new force of will
             to seize joy like a ring toss hoop
             to drop the faithful security of mask
             a jump off fences

she follows the river's path to a seniors' dance, 
             skirting forlorn alleyways,
to a hall decorated welcome, like the wave of circus flags
as melodies rising, loosen barricaded thoughts 
           to the beauty of aged embracing
in a slow dance that doesn't feel one sided
            movement that sways in touch
                                a dash of spice
            movement that blooms 
                                        the space around her







Poem  revised July 27, 2022

Armed With Wings of Cypress Wine

~ A Monorhymed Fantasy ~

A virgin maid of twenty-nine
  angelic face, most benign
Sought the life of the front lines
  her upbringing undermined...

Two devilish, slack-jawed canines
  leaped at the cowering feline
Antagonistic, their bloodlines
  simmering in rancid brine...

Camouflaged prone, not supine
  a-slither and a-serpentine
Amidst the poison ivy vine
  fangs redolent of red strychnine...

Her pipedreams of bootleg moonshine
  no street-grade heroin to mainline
Cannabis the new gold to find
  cheaper than a sapphire mine  

Armed with wings of cypress wine
  embarked for distant shorelines
As she touched the finish line ~
  vanished was the Temple Shrine

Check

~ Check ~

I confess my discontent 
I was stifled
In restraints by suggestions and pretty things
The ones bought in the streets for a stroke of ego
The ones bought by the vulnerable and naive

I bought the bootleg covers of dreams
They left me empty and listless 
With an ache in my chest
It reaches, cracking sternum 
Calling out like an unmet fix
Crying out like an addiction

The empty digs down deep
Leaving pinhole scars that only I know exist
That only I know I keep
My sweet little drug 
Saturating my blood stream 
These chemicals will not rest
They flow and form malformed notions 
That I need you
Still

That is my illness
Knowing how you will continue to slowly bury me
Even if unknowingly, even if unintentional 
Because no one intentionally becomes addicted, do they?
Then I think, only an addict would keep coming back for the come down

So here I am, hooked
Chasing beasts and legends 
Surviving on fantasies of fairy tales that lay captive in my mind
That play chess with my unrest and I am forever... 
In check


Andreanna Escamilla
07/06/2020

Void

There’s nothing inside
But a deep, deep hole

It’s all black and white
Color’s just a fairy tale

Does anything really matter?
Does anyone really care?
Purpose is just a word
In a language I can’t speak


Satiate yourself
With fables and lies
Put your hands over your eyes
So you can’t see what’s coming for you

Have you ever really thought for yourself?
It doesn’t seem that way to me

You buy everything they’re selling
Without glancing at the price


Some days I just want to close my eyes
Illusion myself with your fake world

But I cut away my eyelids long ago
And oh, how they burned and bled. 


You’re so good at wishful thinking
The best I’ve ever known

But now you’re sitting in a white room
Full of people
And you’re all alone. 
You have nothing left to love
But your bootleg friends 
And a counterfeit future

Hellos Than Goodbyes

In a strange sort of way.
I've always wished that we've gotten together. 
Be it a dream; that we would speak in hellos than good byes.
True love by means of evolvement.
Maybe I shouldn't think of you this way.
To bootleg myself in what I truly believe. 
The hope of every possibility. 
Your complex occupation.
To say what really matters. 
To truly inspire in the midst of what we truly feel.
Consciously low key.
Eyes that take for granted that you'll always be there.
Maybe this is what I low key deserve. 
Now knowing to be heard.
The difference between listen.
On another note. 
I don't know. 
I sort of always thought that would be fire.
To think of you as mine.
To hear the depth of truly knowing how free we are.
Our phones unlocked with complete sincerity, with us humbly mumbling somewhere in the background

The Mother of All Abaya Poems

THE MOTHER OF ALL ABAYA POEMS
        (103rd Air Command Pilot Lady)
Well Colonel you may think you're Rudolph Valintino
and the sheik of the hundred and third air clown.
but this pilot ain't gonna ride no camel
and I ain't wearin no abaya to town.

So if you got your tent in a hizzy
remember this tin Lizzy
ain't wearin no abaya to town.

I been in your tent a time or two,
I'm the reason your camel got a big hump on his back.
but Colonel honey, this Salome knows a thing or two
and I ain't cuttin you no slack.
I drink your bootleg all night
but I ain't gonna ride that camel again

he got a strange look in his eye
and I ain't wearin no abaya to town. 
       ©  Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
          aka Ron Wilson

Prom Queen

Prom Queen

i remember simple moments
long ago when life
consisted of cruising down Dump Raod,
a car load of friends
and a case of bootleg beer.
getting high
and parking through the night
behind the mounds of garbage
that never reached the height...
of the trash we talked
of all the girls we wanted,
but conquered only in our minds.
when my turn came
i simply spoke your name,
everybody's beauty queen.
an angels face
crowned by long brown hair.
the boys would simply smile and sigh
with nothing to be said, 
then sit in silence and of of you
until the morning called
and we stole back to town
as heroes to surrender 
to the queen.

Another Day In Paradox

I look about this merry gloom
Thoughtless, fat and slim.
Remembering but half a tune
I'd lost my will to win.

'Give up thy Eric Idle, son.'
I heard a whisper mutter.
And sitting up inside my head
Knew this was not a stutter.

'Are you the reepher with a grin?'
I asked, which pleased him so.
'The one without a duffel chin
And klinkers to and fro?'

'Indeed I am that very sole
That fishes in the deep.
I've come to Clam you half or whole
And Cod your wife to weep.'

'Ah-ha! You baddie bootleg bloke.
I've seen you as a lad.
You took my Granny up in smoke
For only half a drag.'

'Def Albert and his weeping nose
You took him there as well.
To where God only heaven knows
It's really hard to tell.'

'Perhaps, not now, or yet at least.
At most, not in a bit,
Be gentle, like a gentle beast
And sit a while in sit.'

Tick Tock

i look at the walls around me
bootleg-moonshine shadows dancing
a waltz atop nighttide's stage
yet i am empty of my own emotion
alone, covered in reflections of us.

i still smell your scent
linger in every deep breath
within this humid air
and i choke up another piece of me
as the hands of time rape me 
of all my colored thoughts
i now dream in black and white
in a room dressed the same.

the clock laughs in seconds
mocking raindrops on rooftops 
my eyes cry the same tune
over and over again
as time becomes my enemy

i can almost hear your footsteps
tracing the stairs, approaching me
they fill the voids within my heart,
momentarily, yet it beats no more for love
than the clock on the wall,
it's just there the same
tick tock, tick tock...

memories fade with night



Verse a Favoured form,any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand


Sandra Adams  9/11/13

Sweet Home

SWEET HOME

PEOPLE WALKIN’ AND TALKIN’, MAKIN’ A WHOLE 
LOTA’ NOISE!
NOBODY ‘SOUL STIRS’ NO MORE!

IT’S THE CITY LIGHTS WITH THEIR ATTITUDE 
LIKE IT AIN’T NICE WHERE IT’S DARK AND 
QUIET OUTSIDE.

IT’S PEOPLE PASSIN’ BY YA BARLEY WANTIN’ TO SPEAK.
IT’S TALL BUILDINGS BLOCKIN’ THE SUN MAKIN’ THE SKY LOOK CHEAP.

IT’S MY SOUL LONGIN’ FOR FIREFLIES, LEMONAID AND PUPPIES LICKIN’ MY FEET.

WITH PEOPLE SINGING AND LAUGHING, SLAPPING THEIR THIGH.
RAISING CAIN, DRINKING  BOOTLEG LIKE IT’S THE 
FORTH OF JULY.

I WANT CAROLINA EVENINGS
SUN GONE DOWN
BLOWIN’ SMOKE RINGS ‘ROUND STARS
NOTHIN’ LOUD AROUND.

GREYHOUND RIDE ON…
EMPTY THIS LONG ROAD HOME.

DON’T STOP TILL WE GET THERE
CAUSE I BEEN GONE TOO LONG.

Gorilla Romance

GORILLA    ROMANCE



Swinging hand-in-foot under the moon
Resting your foot on my neck makes me swoon

The cute way you brush your face and arms
Wearing  my ring on your third toe has its charms

When we dance, the way your knuckles trail the floor
Then I know I’m yours forever more

Our favorite song  (bootleg Beatles) so cute
“I wanna hold your foot….”

And the way you carefully check my fleas
Oh,  you’re so  sexy   - peel  another  banana with your toes, please

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