crawling back -
into their tomb,
pulling close
--- for a second time ---
their moldering grave clothes,
mere Western money-grubbers
play dice w/ a world
not theirs to put at risk.
Categories:
grubbers, betrayal, loss, murder,
Form: Prose Poetry
Written In Beige
Against the bleak bank wall he leans
as the sidewalk moves sideways
across his tangential thoughts.
People pass, the dull parade,
the money-grubbers and hoarders
in their shiny suits that mock
his existence. Sad clouds meld
into a sullen gray sky…it must be raining
somewhere. Clink! Silver coin
rattles metal can. He wonders, when
did the colours disappear?
The pungent aroma from Mickey’s
Taco Wagon punishes his senses
and his eyes begin to leak. He’s hungry.
There was a time when his words
were golden, a rainbow of passion.
He had a family, people who loved him.
A November wind kicks him…no, wait!
Security guard motions as another
peers from behind motion-sensing
cameras. Not wanted. He disappears
next to the discoloured taupe wall.
The mystery: how did his life story
get written in beige?
*Note: this is written in honour of a homeless poet named Raimundo Arruda Sobrinho but, in essence, for every homeless person.
Categories:
grubbers, identity, metaphor, tribute,
Form: Ekphrasis
No, no, you got it all wrong
This is my N song
I love using the N word in everything I do, I am
NO, I am not Sam, I am
I love the N word, when told to google thing
I don't like the N word during the middle of a fling
Many times I use the N word, when asked if I took the batteries
NO, I did no such thing, you crybaby
I use the N word, when my girl needs sUm cash
I'm not falling for that dash
A simple No, to all money grubbers,
beggars
I'm not a "YES" man
I'm a "NO" man
On occasions, I love using the F word even more
DX
Categories:
grubbers, abuse, addiction, celebration, dedication,
Form: Couplet
Blue tarps and pink foam.
That's all some people have to call home.
This is what they use to cope.
They do their best not to lose hope.
Within the span from sun to moon.
They continue to pray for help to come soon.
The roof and walls are built with love.
They stay warm and dry with faith from above.
Scraping up the only choice they've got.
They do their best with what they've been taught.
Futures and past times doesn't leave much for presents.
Boys in grubbers, little girls in peasants.
Passerby's and neighbor's want to tear it down.
Don't want them messin' up their pretty little town.
But just where would you have them go.
So that nobody would have to know.
Well soon is coming, one way or another.
I think it's time to help our brother.
Party line details leave the tax man knocking.
Sadly, the fools just keep on talking.
Someday the moon will light the night with peace.
And hope in a bottle won't be just a lease.
The river of life will flow forever more.
Right outside of everybody's door.
Categories:
grubbers, introspection, social,
Form: Rhyme