I dragged this cig, my brain went far gaga,
The same cigarette brand that brought me joy;
A puff, and I slipped into a pooh-Bah,
One short drag became enough to destroy.
My legs wobbled, the world around me spun,
I heaved heavily, yet relief slept still;
The fun I sought had never yet begun,
In its stead, I commenced a mental drill.
As I puffed a new *** to chase a fad,
Deeper curiosity did arouse.
How can a mere cigar torture so bad,
A dream taught me the thought in intense drowse.
Later I learned the cig was laced with crack~
The closest I came being a junkie;
That pal later picked madness in bump's track,
Why I never became a crack flunkey.
On clumsy day of morning fogg
I woke up to reality
To check my beloved sanity
A stone became the chosen one
It was picked for his services
A hard son of soft rock,
A tough block, a rough block, indeed
Destiny knows his path
Growling wind observed the scenario
First flight took Mr. Stone to few feets
The desire was to Re-release
It left my hand to reach space
My head became a Crater by double pace
The stone lives in my head since then
He was first where the headache begin!
I took the road less traveled
to hear if a falling tree
with no one around
(aside from yours truly)
does make a sound
but lost my way
veered far astray
and for the life of me
couldn't see
the forest for the trees
but if I could
it would feel so good
not a bump on a log nor lump on a stump
as then I'd be out of the woods
Arrived alive
departed dead
and the same
may be said
of all who tread
this weary world
of ours
less a milestone
more a speed bump
each Birthday
I perceive
and poetry
is but one way to fill
the waning hours for me
A squab, a squid, a squishy stump
A troll, a gnome, a stick, a chump
How else to describe my cousin Bump?
You see, he also is a bit of a chump
He is not someone you bump into on the road and fail to notice,
he is the one whose presence you feel in the empty corridors he traversed,
he doesn't wear the falsehood of a feigned smile on his lips,
but sews his bleeding truths onto the contours of his soul.
He won't accuse you of gazing too long at his flawless face or measured steps,
he is not the subject of the town's empty chatter, but the whisper that slips into shadows,
he is an ordinary person who hates attention, too hesitant to meet your gaze,
he doesn't care about appearances or the silent knives that wound his back.
He is someone you all know,
he is someone you all judge.
He remains an enigma revealed only in the silence between heartbeats,
a story that stretches like an echo among the cold walls of indifference,
a presence that asks nothing but leaves a deep mark in the silence it touches,
a soul weaving its path amid gazes that lack the courage to see.
.
i feel the flush uv mine
the
exactly
when front i
the time ago
she posed
dream'd
or
no
az the imagined wood nymph
there hern
stood
and out again
mine pen and slip
for i to compose
hern
wisp
Fa, la, la,
the politicians stump.
Blah, blah, blah,
It's Donald Trump.
Oh La la, we've hit a bump.
Shangri-La or Mein Kampf?
paging yard drivers
hook up and push back- lock in
I'm ready to load
Are they angry, annoyed
with alien landed gentry?
Are they just playing
a game shared, taught?
In times of politics, where power unfolds,
A bump in the polls through executions told,
A dance of ambition, a ruthless endeavor,
Where souls are discarded, like leaves in the winter.
With ink-stained hands, they plot and they scheme,
Silencing dissenters, crushing each dream,
Lives laid bare, sacrificed on the stage,
For political gain, a darkened outrage.
Promises broken, morals forsaken,
The pursuit of dominance, a path deeply taken,
In the pursuit of power, hearts turn to stone,
Leaving behind a nation, fractured and alone.
Executions of hope, casting shadows long,
The masses left questioning where they went wrong,
The system corroded, corroded and stained,
As justice and truth, they wither and wane.
Yet amidst the darkness, a flicker of light,
Courageous voices rise, fearless in the fight,
They rally the weary, ignite a spark,
To reclaim what's lost, and mend the torn arc.
For a bump in the polls through executions grim,
Cannot silence the spirit that resides within,
United we stand, against the tides of disdain,
To rebuild a future where justice shall reign.
Another Speed Bump
Miracle Man
6-30-2022
Clock hands crawled each waking hour,
I was confined to a bed, legs had no power.
The air was populated with Hospital sounds,
and every half hour staff made their rounds.
Like mosquitoes, many wanted some blood,
today I’m back home but feeling like crud.
For three days I watched antibiotics drip,
these last four days were just another blip.
My personal motivating quote has always been.
“It’s not the size of the dog in the fight,
It’s the size of the fight in the dog.”
Mark Twain
It
rarely
comes to pass
as expected,
but that is what adds
interest to
the journey
down the
road...
Family life is not always smooth
There's often bumps in the road
Eventually they tend to sort themselves out
But sometimes it's a heavier load
Feelings run deep, they cut like a knife
Small differences complicate things
We're misunderstood, we overreact
Send out arrows and slings
If only us guys would say what we mean
And always mean what we say
We'd know exactly where each other stands
Instead of stumbling on our way
Guess we're talking about human nature
Seems we're all a bit guilty at times
It all comes back to our basic sensitivity
As for love we constantly pine
Phantom ceiling squeaks
impish night owl’s egg and spoon
race cancelled by ghost
thunder rolls startle
mischievous sprites in a trance.
spine-tingling plot now unfolds at lightening speed
Milky Way spins an oafish chuckle.
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