I tried to be good in life.
I was honest, worked hard, and was kind,
But all I faced was strife
Bad thoughts permeated my mind.
I became angry.
I was sad,
Downright outrageously mad.
Enough of it I’d had.
I put on my camouflage,
And climbed to the top of a shady knoll.
I waited in quiet.
Hoping to catch Karma out on a stroll.
I waited for days, for months, for years.
Finally, I spotted Karma on the trail.
When she approached, I jumped out
And began to wail,
How, Karma, could you possibly fail?
No one has paid!
No vengeance has been served,
And here I am withered and unnerved.
Karma whispered
Those people for which you have spite
On their door I could arrive, in fact, I just might.
They may fall down the stairs or lose their sight
They may end up alone, or confused, or scared,
I am Karma and I will not tell who I’ve spared.
You’ll never know what I do.
None of what happens is up to you.
Best let go of your hate,
or I, Karma, may follow you back to your gate.
Flicker of ancient shadows playing with fire.
Crackle of light, fine spirited wind and chimes.
Infant’s lullaby, before the sea aspire.
Unfurling leaves, hunter green, sonorous climb.
Twinkling of eyes, brightening of poet’s inspire.
Christmas bow unwrapped, labyrinthine daytimes.
Wonder of a storm, rocking and rolling force.
A stupendous show, tree splits, a ship off course.
Peaks and valleys alight with touch, candlelight.
Flicker and sizzle, creaking, crashing of bed.
Crisscrossing to transcend remarkable height.
She whispers a moan; romantic fire, widespread.
Trunk bends, ceiling fan blowing a clash downright.
They’re like thunder and lightning. Oh what a night!
A storm, like a firepit, is stoked; flames are high.
All at once, all is calm. Cloud's singular sigh.
Evelyn the elfin sat down to write her list finally
She wanted this, that, the other, and a Christmas tree
Was she asking too much? She needed some brotherly advice
But her brothers were working in the workshop, checking it twice.
Would they also be the ones to read her letter?
Or would it be Santa’s prissy secretary Mrs. Better?
Mrs. Better could be almost downright mean some days.
Evelyn wondered at her attitude and persnickety ways.
She asked for this, that, the other, and a better attitude
For Mrs. Better, though I imagine this might sound rude.
Evelyn is a caring girl who kind of hoped the old bat would be the one
To read this herself, if so, her work was finally good and done.
marooned maestro
floats frustrated
with
waned creative craving
in
sensual lyrical stream
of
impeded passion
faces jaded
stodgy scenario
of
monotonous mélange
of
temporal template
in
bleary platitude plateau
of
consumed composer’s
blasé bearing
it seeks
for
algorithmic arousal
of
styled stimulation
within
captivating cauldron
of
coherent fecundity
but
dismayed downright
by
lamentable nothingness
of
Promethean depth
lacking buoyant upwelling
of
imagination impulse
snapped strings
of
violin heart
don’t resonate singularity
with
impassive articulation
of
simulated strokes
as
ephemeral echo morphs
into
emotive melody
of
congruent cadence
distorted disarrayed
in
convoluted concerto
of
synthetic sonata
Oh there's nothing more pure
Than political manure
From the odd mishap
To the downright crap
It's the truth that they try to obscure.
On Tuesday, it’s paracentesis;
at least that’s the going in thesis.
It would be quite cool
if they found a pool,
and her pressing discomfort then ceases.
On Wednesday, it’s time to convene
for round two of gemcitabine;
with Ativan raging,
though she’s quite engaging,
we’ll leave before causing a scene!
The grands have come over to play,
and dinner looks downright gourmet.
There’s no need to borrow
the trials of tomorrow;
Instead we’ll rejoice in today!
marooned maestro
floats frustrated
with
waned creative craving
in
sensual stream
of
impeded passion
faces monotonous
stodgy scenario
over
tedious terrain
of
temporal template
in
bleary plateau
of
consumed composer’s
blasé bearing
it then seeks
for
algorithmic arousal
of
stimulation and style
within
cauldron of coherent fecundity
but
dismayed downright
by
lamentable lack
of
Promethean depth
devoid of buoyant drive
of
imagination impulse
snapped strings
of
violin heart
don’t resonate singularity
with
impassive articulation
of
simulated strokes
emotive melody
of
congruent cadence
distorts in disarray
in convoluted concerto
of
synthetic sonata
One day
Our descendants
Will marvel
(If a sense of wonderment endures)
At our ability
To string
Two thoughts together
No nets, no nothing!
They might puzzle over
The requirements of good grammar
And proper semiotics
Writing long hand
And keeping inked words
Collected on a single piece
Of actual paper.
“How did the old folks,”
They might ask
“…Thunk from one sentence
To the next
Without falling?”
Jumbled up
Prepositions and particles
Inofwith
Forafterto
Will seem downright scary.
One day
Our descendants
Will be horrified
At our ability
To string
Two thoughts together
While hanging from a tree
Upside down
While cats and dogs
Circled below
Getting along quite nicely.
Sheep are herded into masses,
Then divided into classes,
Declassified as entities,
Trained as the countries amenities,
Aiming to please those in command,
Branded by the flag they carry,
The truth is pretty scary,
Downright dirty and hairy,
Where's my fairy Godmother,
Come smother the fire I see,
What is required from me,
I've aspired to be change,
Rearranging my perspective,
Acting within the collective,
I'm becoming quite effective,
Selective of my thoughts,
I fought the hardest ones,
It wasn't very fun,
I'm done being divided,
Guided by "The Help",
I collided with myself,
An elephant with emotions,
Tired of all the commotion,
The plan is already in motion,
Another wave in the ocean,
Hoping to open the hearts,
And start seeing who they are,
Far more then they've been told,
And the old ways fade away,
Into the individuals we're here to play.
This load is getting old,
I'm about to explode,
Erode into the landscape,
Escaping the feeling of being,
Seeing all that needs to be done,
Just to be able to have fun,
Conditioned by everyone around,
I learned not to make a sound,
I found other means to advance,
A profound experience,
Bound my existence,
Building resistance,
Each instance less significant,
Downright different,
Imprinting new perspectives,
Being selective of my choice,
Raising my inner voice,
Hoisting self esteem,
Confidence Gleaming,
As I'm streaming thoughts,
I fought hard to get here,
Bought into a lie for years,
Tears fill my eyes,
As I realize,
I orchestrated my own demise,
My prize hidden by a load I carry,
It's very hard to release,
I use to feel mostly grief,
Now I'm changing my belief.
No wonder Fred’s a bit neurotic
living in a land of robotics
Good thing the robots are fully psychotic
rendering Fred’s neuroses
~ downright patriotic
Written By: D. Collins 10/11/25
OG's tend to wear their title for life.
Because of their tendency to stay alive.
Peeping snitches and who's telling the truth.
Putting in the work on what they have to do.
Street Creds are the product of eveything we've learned.
You get them by being the very last to get burned.
Living the ultimate survival, standing tall and stern.
Are the only way that Street Creds are earned.
Doing unorthidox things that others won't.
Getting downright dirty where others don't.
There's nothing 'Mo Betta than the other side of dead.
Than to know you legitimately earned your Street Creds.
I seldom make promises --
man of my word, promises
leave no wiggle room…
and, most of us, at least
occasionally, like a good
wiggle
test our physical and
mental ranges for gyration --
In fact, on deeper analysis,
nothing really is ever stationary --
not time nor space
the closest thing to Perpetual-still
being the human heart, refusing
to give up on love, despite Love’s
independent nature~ its downright
heartbreaking propensity, to sniff
and wander, like a puppy, slipping
out the front door, unleashed….
a fear of commitment
or fear of marriage
exuberant, swinging
and downright unapoligetic
he calls music
the woman he always
In every genre she still wishes
to be pleased
even we you disagree
even when she refuses to inspire
even when others don't hear
what your hearing
a little adive
they right people
to tool that htaang
getting it where
you know it should be
when my mind refuses to
be kind to me
and I don't know my way
it's right and real to me
to find the right things to say
put my name on this one
I'd stand pround to brag on this
that's sweet in the right places
and tart enough to kiss
that's how it should be
we gonna do it how it is
not scared of the rejections
that won't make me mad
Listen to the music
switch up a swing
let the musician be musicians
and let the singers sing
Bésame Mucho
inspirational Gooiness
and
the makings of
Automatic Inflatible LifeJackets
Songs taken Serious
Walking On Eggshells
I’m not putting up with this s###
Always offended
Always the one in the workforce
Always playing the victim
Troublemaker
Just downright stubborn
Treading on water
Walking on eggshells
Anything to set them off
Push them over the edge
Your fired
Looking for the negative attention
Feed their insecurities
Probably in their 40’s and 50’s
They need to retire
Put on a happy face retard
I don’t have time for this
Childish behaviors
Put your big boy pants on
Stop whining and complaining
Grow up
And get to work
I can’t wipe your ass forever
Do the work your-self
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