Long Derelicts Poems
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Makes me chuckle when I hear folks talking about living rough; heck some of them think that not having HD3D is living rough! Well, let me tell you a little story about a young fellow I know who truly lived rough
He's a good young fellow, always has a smile on his face, he's never done a bad deed to anyone in his life, just wants to be accepted and fit in like most folks do, well like some folks do, anyways
Well sir, my friend Simon was abandoned by his family and left to fend for himself on the mean streets of Pine Ridge, where he developed a serious 'jones' for Tim Horton's coffee with extra cream and extra sugar
Now, you might think Pine Ridge sounds like a pretty soft place to live out there in beautiful British Columbia, with a Tim Horton's and all, but it ain't a place for the weak and vulnerable, let me tell you
There's all kinds of folks in Pine Ridge; homeless people, people with addictions and mental health issues, criminals, some of them living right out there on the streets or in one of them rehab centers or shelters
They get off the meth or crack or booze in 30 days and then they're back on the street hanging around the Sally Ann on the Abbey bypass, mooching from the boys headed for the bar in the old Pine Ridge Hotel
Some of them old boys headed to the bar used to be their friends, or maybe even cousins or brothers; Pine Ridge ain't that big of a place, so everyone pretty much knows everyone, if you know what I mean
Anyways, the old boys drop a buck or two in their old buddy's dirty hand; they're going to use their bank card or credit card when they get to the bar anyways, so may as well get the pockets lighter before they go
Then their old buddies up and stroll right across the highway, pissing off folks who're just trying to drive through town and now they have to dodge a bunch of no good, damned derelicts who can't even use the crosswalk
Then they get to the Tim's and stand in line with the soccer moms and retired folks getting their yogurts and paninis and lattes and when it's their turn, they get an extra large with six sugars, if they're just clean, that is
...continued in part 2
Hello bosom friend
I hope you get this piece quick
oh! my bad,how do you fair?
pleasantries almost skipped my reasoning
I was told of your matrimony
From you, the seed that emanated
when you behold this thoughtful missive
and you have the whole narrative in your grip
you will unearth my heart's unfoldings
of grave grievance, no one can appease
succinctly grasp the volume of this rage
I say, read carefully through the lines
even if you have to squint through that veil
if i am to choose
between your present and past
I would say, let your past prevail
For then, I knew the essence of your smile
You weren't by hypocritical law, constrained
That face speaks of solace even ibn grimace
oh! that face speaks volume
Needless to say,you are elegant in fitted fabrics
Lost under your tutelage
You brought life to every boring cause
Your angelic beau, replicates purity of-course
You were our sunshine
Before the Arabian cowries bought you over
He came from a foreign land
And bestowed on you, a diadem
I learnt you were betrothed to an assumed cleric
The telltale notion of ardent Islamist
Raised anxiety for future occurrences
I envisaged you in this state
But won't your devotion debate
Now my memory of you is impaired
by your sudden immersion
I feel as though it's been crushed by a saw
That even while you are in front of me
I see you no more
Oh! how impelling a tenet
Evil I say
God forbid that this is of God
No!
It's a spell
From the stench of hell
That one's existence be hidden for a lifetime
To conceive a man's satisfaction
my friend
In this transition,
Did you and your aspirations converse?
How much of a communicator would you be now
Under that veil
You relegated your dreams to derelicts
Making a living in the street corners
while you remain a descendant of vague relic
A full grown lady, covered in babygro
In those chains,inform of soft clothings
Do you find comfort or otherwise
Ode to a gracious lass i used to know
Now aloof she stands with no Identity
Please when your seed shall grow
Let her have no taste of your captivity.
‘Cause, Priests and Prophets Must Pray for The Reign…
and for Pre and Post-Op-Apocalyptic–Novocain ! …
Yet… It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
On the Planet, however Polluted or Profane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Wherever the Delusional -Dimensional Plane
It Doesn’t Matter, What Distress to You
Or Danger-Plot, Prison-Door or Deepest Pain
Or Present-Defeat, or Darkest-Hours-View
even Thru Dying-Breath, Devout Prayers Proclaim
to Be Delivered- New, True, and Pulled-Thru
to Claim The Prize of Life-Perpetually-Sustained
… For Particularly, By God’s Unpronounceable Power
Thru His Son’s Unparallel- Principal-Purchase… Dower
God’s Dependents and Dreamers Will Prosper-Gain
The Prophecy, The Promise, The Paradise-Preordained
The Perfect-Future and The Victory-Parade
… The Distant, Destiny of Eden – Never Been Doused Nor Degrade
Then… It Won’t Matter…So, Please Dismiss The Paltry-Strain
The Days of The Deformity and Damage-Train
Will Be In The Past … Departed-Detained
Disaster and Disloyal Will Lay In A Destroyed-Plain
Damned For All Of Time –Proliferate-Blamed
A Suppository-Prophylactic-Puddle-Shame
Patience-Persevering…Demands Punishment - Prediction-Sang…
… Final-Draft …Stop-The-Presses!... Poll-Loudly-Refrains
When You Really Discern and Pragmatically-Attain
The Divine God and His Son’s King- Domain
Publicize Their Progenitor and Predominant Names
and Preach and Deify Like-Doting-Platoon-Swains,
with Pedestal-Passion and ‘Plum-Plumb’, Persistence-Ingrained
For On Position-Comparison, We ‘All’ Pale-to- A-Feigned …
…Puppets and Peons and Dim-Witted-Parasitic-Great Danes
and Dopamine Defective, Demerol Addicted – Darwin-Poisoned-Sprains
Disoriented-Drivel, Droll-Drooling-Inane
or Just-Plain ol’ Dire-Derelicts-Insane
(and now… I have a P D Q,… for Me and You… Migraine)
Oh… May They Accept This Poor-Placard-Crane
Amen… Again… Amen
"I'm hearing images, I'm seeing songs no poet has ever painted
Voices call out to me, straight to my heart"
Cold, emotionless, and her nature, defiant
Hard to connect with as well as unreliant
A boarding school for outcasts such as Wednesday
Revenge for brother, brings on her sinister way
Dysfunctional families—ivory towers make wagers
Enrolled are lost souls and morbid teenagers
Like Arkham Asylum, a long and brutal history
Medieval mayhem come to life again in her story
Nevermore Island, Romania’s Nevermore Academy
Unconventional practices become their enemy
Designed for students with extreme personalities
Who don’t think their practices convey abnormalities
Is an all American coming-of-age supernatural
Tangled in spider silk or it’s web, which is factual?
And there it is the unscrupulous psycho-therapist
A principal’s shapeshifter and her sorceress rapist
Forcing thoughts back into some semblance of order
Werewolves, vampires, gorgons, and sirens who boarder
Are the architectural texts with applications ubiquitous
And the requisite archaic desperate mass exodus
Dark long tresses, paints it black in gothic dresses
Many who are romantic interests she addresses
Rises to an ovation with a most clever shadow dance
Sanity, reason, balance, rationality, and much arrogance
Behind the smiling facade of normality where lie derelicts
There lurks a psychopathic serial killer, and other convicts
Beyond their control, declined their world of decadence
Insanity, lunacy, madness, the outcasts show no evidence
Highly severe psychological and physical illnesses?
Or real paranormal abominations and alien devises
Guiding her are messages from the beyond with passion
Her lecture combined intellectual lucidity and compassion
IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA
BASE FORTHWITH.
ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS,
SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS,
WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, SHRINKS, COLONEL
CLINKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES,VENDORS, SUPPLIERS,
SALESMEN, ACCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS,
HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS,
COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS,
RELATIVES, FIANCES, BOYFRIENDS, GIRLFRIENDS, FRIENDS, FOES,
ENEMIES, EVIL NEMESIS’, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS,
TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS,
QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, FAGS, DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY
ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, [PRE OR POST] MALE IMPERSONATORS,
DICKS, DYKES, VAN DYKES, DICK VAN DYKE, LESBIANS, LONGSHOREMEN,
SHORTSHOREMEN, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET
MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, JUVENILE DILINQUENTS,
SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS,
LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS,
DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS,
SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICENE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES,
WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS,
VIGILANTES, VICTIMS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS,
PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS,
RIGHT WING, LIBERALS OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS. THEY ARE NOT TO
CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBERS.
BUT, IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME.
BA-ZING!
?
Form:
ummm...just some quick thoughts... check and reflect
I sit and dissect derelicts with dialect deliberately
I think with this pen and as soon as the ink sinks in ,it instantly producing imagery
Some say it’s a gift, how I flow with my vocabs
But that aint it i been doin this s**t since 96 fill up 100's of notepads with dopeness
Practice makes perfection, nothing less than that’s sufficient
With ease and little effort I engage with the page efficient
It comes natural when writing rhymes repetitive
Scripts always sick, still so many stuck on sedatives
Not the best that ever lived, but still very clever kid
Assembling and arsenal of lyrics no one ever did
Futuristic ,linguistics, make pupils dilate
Lips split, and wrist slit, are issued when one violates
Minds neva in a violent state, i stay cool calm and collective/ smack dab in the middle of all these posers
That should be poster children for the use of contraceptives
My methods perfected , I’m tedious with written words
And a touch more impressive, once I’m finished hittin herbs
Perception is the problem when people write they b
Thinking that the lack of criticism reflects how much that they amaze kids
It’s evident there’s blatent negligence
But it’s all irrelevant, it’s quality not quantity
If some say your dope, does that mean that your a bomb emcee?
everyone else, that’s what I keep on stressing
My worst critics myself, that why I keep progressing
But it's getting depressing, bringing water to my eyes
guys stop biting s**t
Take the time use your mind and write your s**t
Just recognise the wise rise, this is knowledge being dropped
Push the phonies to the bottom, let the scholars to the top
Growing up, I became aware of you
As the god you gotta get by
The things I truly desired, silent
Covered fitly in "not good" sighs
In my day, children were barely seen
And their words never contradict
All the will and "well meaning" adults
Who in secret, were derelicts
.....dressed in their Sunday Best
I found that path to be empty lies
Piled upon servitude and obligation
Supernatural experiences,periodically
Seemed to break up the monotonous sensation
....of life
Life, that was no life, and I called you on it
Show up, be real, or get the hay out of dodge
...YOU DID
I began to walk with you, talk with you, know you
Made a place in my heart where you could lodge
...in moments when it was safe to FEEL
For over thirty years, you have been there
As the getting by god
No matter what sorrow, suffering
Or rocky, difficult road I was asked to trod....through
Now, you want me to leave all of my coping tools
My well constructed, very familiar workbench
And follow you...into new...without a clue
......darkness, really!?!
I've been set up, I have lost the ability to dream
My joy drained in every advance of the enemy
Again and again, I got up and walked
Irritated at what you required of me
I trust you.....but I have long since
Enjoyed your company
Have forgotten how to know your heart
Thinking, what's the point of you hearing mine
The tremendous loss of what I could have been
And the utter disappointment of who you made me to be
Drains me...I'm light-headed
I need a reset...
Written by Trudy Schrader on 01-17-2022
Note: Not a work of art. I just needed to process. Thanks for viewing.
They've tossed their souls away
again
harlots for a vote
they've fingered the race card
the rapist card
the Russian card
the Ukraine card
now they're playing mahjong
with a virus.
Muzzling our freedoms and rights
placing plastic tiles in our minds
when this latest fallacy fails
they'll boomerang (black)
to the race card again.
They're locking {we the people away}
giving early release to protect rapist
and assorted other derelicts... from the flu!
Do they think a tsunami of convicts
will keep six feet away from our
daughters
mothers
grandmothers.
My father used to sweat the flu out
I remember him saying
"get me another blanket"
we'd stack them three or four high,
The fever would break
he'd be back to work the next day.
only to inhale benzene rings
to keep us in meat and greens...
They don't make them like that anymore
This will be a baton head splitting summer
oppression will detonate
spill freedoms' soul onto the avenues
fringe factions will clash..
Come November
just remember who locked you up
released the filth of society onto our streets
remember who pointed fingers-fell asleep
while withholding your money
to gain political traction
trashing the economy
running helter skelter over livelihoods
come November-shout out people!
remember how your local gvt. couldn't find
illegal alien felons to deport them
but suddenly found them long enough
to give them your Wuhan money -your bread and honey
come November vote their globalist behinds out of office
and into their
plush-slush funded gated community
(or, "Your Old Stomping Ground")
There’s a secretary that I know
whose husband recently died
But life somehow continues as before
She has to keep replicating the myth
that everything’s all right –
A savant of the copy machines
A mannequin in a megastore
There’s a child that I know
who goes to school with bruises
Just a shell of a thing bearing signs
of a nightly artillery attack
When did we start sending
our kids to the frontlines,
And when in the name of Christ
are we calling them back?
You just pretend
Things aren’t crazy
The bandleader’s not deaf
And the King is not a clown
So you defend
The last vestiges of confidence
And stick your flag in the last square
Of your old stomping ground
There’s a family that I know
they only speak in whispers
Afraid to raise their voices
for fear of an alcoholic’s rage
I wonder how they’ll fare
twenty years from now:
Will they ever rise up from their manacles
or their transparent cage?
And there’s a young man that I know
Has his whole life ahead of him
Still stuck on the diving board
over a pool of unemployment
Just wait a while, just wade awhile
Cling to your inflated promises
While you’re stuck in this limbo, might as well
Drown in your enjoyments
You just pretend
It’s getting late now
And the party’s letting out
The stragglers and the drunkards head
for another port of call.
Yet suspect the hosts, the powers that be,
in their senility, misplaced our keys
So we derelicts wander directionless
Like half-ghosts bumping into walls
But we just pretend…
But then over time, they scale it back to a large double/double, cause they don't need the sugar rush to get through the afternoon until they go to their meeting, just the caffeine'll do, thanks very much, ma'am
They take their coffee and leave, stinking of tobacco and old sweat and their dirty clothes, they leave because they know that they're not really welcome in there with the others, you know, the clean folks
So, back to our hero, Simon. Guess he was hanging with some these AA or NA folks while he was homeless; folks who couldn't take care of themselves before and now they're helping him, a strange world indeed
Imagine, living with someone your whole life.... then poof, you're on the street drinking someone else's "double-double" that they've bought with money from panhandling; now maybe that's living rough, my friend
Living rough though, that's different than living with the rough folks; you know, the ones who maybe twitch and stare off into space, the ones that remind you of a bruised apple, it's still an apple, but not a good one
You know, the no good, damned derelicts you have to step around on the sidewalk, that block traffic and beg for money, that take up the space in the warm Tim's that the clean and honest folks are entitled to
You know, the honest folks that get their lattes and grumble as they walk right on by the rough folks and abandoned ones, you know, the ones that are left to the charity of the rough folks.
Now, maybe that's living rough