Long Laid back Poems
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I begin with a brush~
the soft kind used for artifacts
too fragile to name.
The soil is memory,
packed tight around the thing
I tried for years
not to touch.
At first, it is only a glint~
a shard of something once whole,
a brightness dulled
by time’s sediment.
I kneel closer,
sifting through layers
of almost,
of not-yet,
of what-if.
The regret reveals itself slowly,
the way ancient objects do~
not in confession,
but in contour.
A curve of hesitation.
A fracture where courage
should have been.
A faint inscription
I once carved
by choosing silence
over truth.
I lift it carefully,
cradling the weight
of what I didn’t do.
It is lighter
than I expected,
yet it hums~
a small, persistent frequency
of the life that might have followed
if I had stepped forward
instead of back.
I catalog it:
origin unknown,
purpose uncertain,
damage self-inflicted.
I place it in the drawer
reserved for delicate things,
the ones that teach
without punishing.
And when I slide the drawer shut,
I finally see:
regret is not a ruin
but a relic~
proof that even the past
can be lifted with care,
studied without trembling,
and laid back into the earth
with a tenderness.
it was never granted
when it was new.
Every buddy get his own nigga
So do every beauty gets his own beholder
While mantrap rides the horse of preference
Duty drives the car of everlasting home
No one will ever wish losing better thing to anger
That's been built up in the cave-- ego shoulder
Holding unto HAD I KNOWN reference
Suffering the peace of mind and gets self-esteem roam
Around the deeper gaze for honey
Day and night illusions ensnare
Into the realm of dreams widely spread
Gorgeously laid back in time to grime
The just behind chastity of money
For sickening virtue dyed-in-the-wool of nightmare
To morning which wakes the dead
And bring past into history of ONCE UPON A TIME
Truly, many want to be sweaty in the winter
You must have sunned its heat in cold
Sit up to the scary moments of trial
And kiss the precious gift consistency birth
Like the medallion sprinter
Who has won himself enough gold
Must have experienced many a denial
Despite is self acknowledged worth
That propel his grace at ease-
Holding up the graphics of his stat
Which defines him as a stable rock
Others amazingly go days examining
I want my husband to be this
I want my wife to be that
Be passionate and never mock
Your poor beginning!
I’ve never been kissed on the dance floor.
With him, I feel light-hearted,
but apart, I’m utterly devastated.
I’m a dreamer, he’s laid-back,
and without a genuine connection, our love feels
like scenes from a disconnected game—
where hate destroys, yet love seeks to heal.
But with each passing day, my love for him dwindles.
We are apart because this kind of love cannot thrive.
We never dance; we never kiss on the dance floor.
Our rhythms never sync; he lacks that spark,
and so, a kiss on the dance floor has eluded me.
Feelings shift when loneliness takes their place.
Love wavers,
when a marriage crumbles,
as I wish and hope our love was strong enough
to bridge the gap.
Unlike wildflowers plucked without care,
my love was stunted,
never given the chance to blossom.
Still, I hold a profound respect for him.
A part of me must make a choice,
and so I choose happiness; I choose solitude
over the confusion of pity masquerading as love.
Story telling
seems good and sufficient therapy
for those who feel not so patient
with inefficiencies of story making.
RightWing dominant telling
yelling allows remarkable capital stagnation
v fluidity
of set-back
laid-back
v rapidly
non-vapidly
multicultural health-developing
pace
Supporting v avoiding
StraightWhitePatriarchal privileged
race
toward win/lose universal capitalism
space
My EgoWealthy Yang
disgrace
in conflict with EcoSystemic Yintegral
health communication potential
place
Multiculturally intelligent
in win/win planning and co-design
humbling grace
Avoiding win/lose elite NorthWest sectoral
cornered monocultural history
inhumanely mono-faced
male supreme pectoral
Not even win/win mentioning
eco-politically camouflaged ecofeminist
SouthEast non-elite indigenous
matriarchal
enlightening and empowering
natural/spiritual churched and templed and synagogued
polygoogled BlueWonder and GreenAwe
polyculturing Heavenly Truths
YellowLight dawning our
redawning everyday EarthBeauty,
after climate's darkest ZeroSum
concluding Left v Right
unwinged disempowering hour
Co-investing, in steady shaking
win-yintegral EarthClimate bounty
re-invents ReStoried Listening
preliminaries to healthiest wealth
through EarthStory ReMaking
Rebaking Leftwing eco-health
is also rightwing's truest democratic
empowering resonant CreationBeauty
enlightens bountiful
faith-resilient
ego wealth.
i can see again and i am grateful
for you opened the shades and showed me a plate full
the tummy of my eyes are fatter and i yearn to see more
however we have to act out the plan if again we want our wings to soar
my life now has color thanks in full to you
if not for your inspiration my life would still be murky blue
to look forward to something is like free paint and a canvas
whatever iridescent excursion we choose to create is pure joy we can't miss
home is wherever we choose to lay our heads in a smiling sleep
the next day is like a new life begun....making picturesque memories in a laid back deep
Sit with me by the fireplace…
I have a story to tell….
Of when I met all of Santa’s reindeer,
And I got to know them well.
Dasher was the social one,
The fastest of the herd.
He loved to party, all day and night.
That’s his statement, word for word.
Dancer had great dance moves,
And loved a celebration.
But what made him stand out, you ask?
His amazing hand-eye-foot coordination.
Prancer loved to bake,
You’d never see him with a frown,
And his favorite Christmas song?
“Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town”
Vixen was gifted at magic tricks,
And loved being the center of attention,
But he often ran late….
A flaw, he forgot to mention.
Comet was laid back,
And incredibly smart….
Always willing to lend a helping hand.
This reindeer has a big heart!
Cupid was so precious…
Didn’t like when her friends were sad,
She would sing “Joy to The World” several times,
Just to make the others mad!
Donner loved to sing,
He had an amazing voice.
For him to have all the ladies’ screaming….
“Santa Baby” was his choice.
Blitzen enjoyed Christmas movies,
In his spare time,
And you could catch him on stage with Donner,
As the two sang joyous rhymes.
And then, there’s Rudolph….
Well, you already know about him.
He was the one with the red nose,
And if you ever saw it….
Even you would say it glows.
So that’s my story of how I met them all,
Such a loving and humble bunch.
Oh, no! Good grief, I must go now!
They promised to take me to lunch!
RAPPERS & LEGENDS IN THE UFC
In the Octagon, where fists collide,
All Eyez on we, the view is worldwide.
This battle's a wild mix of might & rhythm,
But when the ref calls time, it's all for a gold limb.4
Tupac enters first with ferocity and might,
Throwing rhyme-punches at anything in sight.
Shakur is a warrior with words that pierce,
In the cage, his passion is so fierce.8
Biggie Smallz steps in, swagger and style,
His lyrics hit hard, his punches fueled by guile.
A heavyweight with rhymes so smooth,
In the UFC, his flows would make crowds groove.¹²
Eminem jumps in, the lyrical genius unbound,
With lightning speed, his opponents confound.
The real Slim Shady proves he's the lyrical master,
His rapid-fire knocks out opponents faster.¹6
Here comes Kendrick Lamar, a UFC pro.
In the octagon, he brings the flyest flow.
A warrior poet, he weaves a lyrical spell,
Knocks-out his foes before the jingle of the bell.²°
50 Cent's in the ring, ice cold, bold & untamed,
Knocking out opponents, leaving them maimed.
When he brings the Gorilla Units, there's tremor
But when he's solo, he's sharp as a razor.²4
Snoop Dogg's turn, laid-back, swag & chill,
His flow hypnotizes, his punches kill.
Unleash him in the cage, watch him brag
With hit smash, he's always on track.²8
Lil' Wayne joins the fight, tattooed and bold,
His wordplay stings, his punches take hold.
Young Mulla won't back down from any rap mission,
His punches hit hard like a lyrical collision.³²
Wiz Khalifa enters, smooth like no other,
His punches light up foes, he's a stunner!
With his cold-chill swag & cool demeanor,
He brings the smoke & reigns like the guvnor.³6
And last but not least, Travis Scott takes a stand,
His melodic punches echo through the land.
Trap Music King with energy on full blast,
In the Octagon, his performance would last.4°
As the rappers clash in this UFC rap quest,
Their words like punches put their skills to the test.
Each with their own unique vibe and flair.
Envision the battles they would share.44
As the crowd roars, this sight appeared sublime,
Their applause jubilant, returning us from the dream,
For in this arena, these rappers reign supreme.47
VICK MANUEL POETRY {VMP}
FORM: Rhymes
Copyright ©? December 2023.
Bags packed
Travel on track
The need, determined and desire
Destination anywhere Bound
Adventure rush sounds
It was the Greyhound Bus
Stretched Dog on bus both sides
The journey it will provide
Settled in my reclined seat
Total laid back
The air conditioning was fine
The Driver announced stops in route and final stop at the end
Travel had begun
Highway to Highway
Off Ramp adventures
Around the bend
Scenery upon scenery
Bus conversational friends
Journey far
Relaxing being better than driving a car
Friendly faces and places
The greyhound bus bringing Major Cities and Towns close
Friendly highway waves
One the road again and again
Greyhound bus headlights cutting through the night Fog
All night Sleep
The Sunrise
Destination soon
Arrival at noon
Highway off ramp
Just around the corner
At the Greyhound Bus Station
So long
Laid back over oarlocks,
arms akimbo, hat slouched;
slow riding the Loire.
The river pushes
into a bobbing place
a sylvian picnic
where female bottoms convene
in soft repose.
Iridescent thuds, a thrashing of fins.
A large trout flops in the gunnels.
Wide lips, mouthing Gallic obscenities;
the rainbow splashing
of a disgruntled fish.
The rowboat rolls, rights and recovers.
Upon the shore
bottoms rise like plump geese
from green lawns.
The fish sneers,
flips a glowing Gauloises
between thick lips.
Full-figured forms rise
to watch the watery fuss
then shrug
as more wine is poured.
The trout jumps into the river.
Parasols open and twirl.
We all smile behind our hands
as Renoir paints on.
I followed the dust particle floating across my room;
more interesting than the flickering TV it passed,
rising rapidly from the heat the screen generated,
swirling for a heartbeat, captured in some unseen vortex.
Then, moving on, collecting a few friends from unread books,
pets, lovers long departed, embarking on a journey.
A tiny crowd amasses, circling, following the grooves,
twisting, dancing to the laid-back beat of Herbie Hancock.
A Pause, before leisurely following the golden wings
of a Meadow Brown making escape toward a window,
passing a shaft of sunlight igniting a trillion specks
of shimmering dust, a microscopic murmuration;
dust, which was something once.