Long Pawned Poems
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THE CHECKOUT LINE
I made the phone call
he's holdin got the work.
We gotta have the "ins" this time,
said he wouldn't front me dirt.
What we got between us
still ain't enough to score
Let's hit some jerk at an ATM
Or take out a liquor store
Warrants out for writin' bad checks.
Pawned everything we stole or had.
I'm tired of doing small time crime,
rolling whores and fags.
Haven't seen any gumball machines,
Just Dominos on the road.
Pull the piece from under the seat
I gotta feed this Jones
She turns to me grabs my hand
and she calmly says,
"Gotta feeling we're goin' down, goin' down We're on the road to ruin
can't find a place to turn around.
There's no need to test the water
when ya know you're gonna drown.
I gotta a feeling we're goin down.
Goin' down, goin' down".
We've shared a couple years together,
Still don't know your real name.
The only thing we have in common
is this disease and it's pain.
Dope makes magnetic friendships
Until the poles get turned around.
Look up ahead there's a Mini Mart.
We score then leave this town.
We only need enough,
to feed the monkey twice.
I'll take the clerk you hit the till.
Now listen to my advice.
Don't turn your back to the rear door.
Don't worry about the safe.
Lift and check under the drawer insert.
Grab the cash and we're outta the place!
She forces a smile and says to me.
"Gotta feeling we're goin' down, goin' down We're on the road to ruin
can't find a place to turn around.
There's no need to test the water
when ya know you're gonna drown.
I gotta a feeling we're goin' down".
I never saw the second guy
behind the office door.
Only heard the shots
And watched her drop
laying motionless on the floor..
I emptied my gatt
not one found home.
Used every hot rock in my clip.
Pulled the trigger on my 3x3
and only heard a click,
I knelt down put my hands in the air.
He knew I was his *****.
I called out to her,
there was no response.
Why did it go down like this?
It wasn't all a lost cause.
Someone had to pay the price.
Emily Maxwell traded this world
For a better life.
this is a true if near impossible contest
how can you write a poem about mourning
and honouring the ones deceased in a war
without it being somewhat political
you do not have to be a feminist
and as a man I hope to be one
to know that the personal is political
and the private is a very public sphere
making decisions in groups such as
celebrating Memorial Day for example
remembering My Lai and Buchenwald
can never be an individual solitary pursuit
a poppy on lapels and automobile bumpers
where have all the flowers gone indeed
grieving purple hearts not lost in amnesia
are statements which involve statesmanship
gone wrong
missions failed
skeletons gathered
loved ones bereaved
ethics become immoral
for sure I do condemn all wars
and not the pawned veterans
artificial borders are frontiers of madness
and soldiers wrongly pay the ultimate price
for what insanity exactly for whose gain
a flag draped over a coffin appears to me to be
a euphemism and declaration of capitulation
to greed money power and humanity’s inherent bedevilments
and in that sense I have a place for thinking of the dead
I wish to have compassion empathy consideration
not just for soldiers fallen in the course of seeming duty only
but also for civilians slayed by unfriendly fire and contempt
like others I have often claimed ‘never again’ in vain
on Memorial Day I chose to read war poets and philosophers of peace
pray reflect meditate and hope as I suck in the pain that wars are causing
and on the matter of writing an unpolitical poem on this very day
it is like fighting for peace with weapons or copulating for virginity
‘live by the sword and die by the sword’ is never double edged
instead quite clear cut and it takes immeasurable guts to refuse the call
a tribute of distinction allegiance to conscience strength and objection
and to the principle that pacifism involves never forgetting what matters most
notes to the reader:
I spent 15 years in the Armed Forces and was discharged with honour and alive
I have a subtle feeling that I might not place in this contest
The Middle Years
She'd been wooed by dukes and diplomats
From Nome to Nagasaki,
Kept by mobsters, bishops, bureaucrats,
And a movie mogul's lackey.
She'd been plied with jewels, a fancy car,
Designer gowns and furs
By lots and lots of husbands,
Not one of whom was hers.
For fifteen years she lived among the swank,
But at thirty she had nothing in the bank.
She pawned her diamonds, sold her gowns and her furs,
The car was repossessed 'cause just the payments were hers,
Got her picture in the tabloids with some slanders and slurs,
Villonia Beebe was no one's baby anymore.
She took to pandering and cruising in malls.
A john, a judge, would like to help her, but he hadn't the balls.
She learned it's hard to be a call girl when nobody calls,
Villonia Beebe was no one's baby anymore.
Two more years went by in bars and walking the streets.
She'd like to meet a handsome guy who's loaded and sweet,
So she could settle down and turn that trick into a treat,
And then she'd be somebody's baby once more.
At thirty-two she thought she should get out of "the life",
Go back home to Arkansas and be someone's wife.
She'd soon get back an accent you could cut with a knife
And become a real hillbilly once more.
The Toad Suck men were simple and quite easy to please,
Though the way they buzzed around her made their wives ill at ease.
Still, she made a decent living on her back and her knees,
Villonia Beebe'd come full circle for sure.
Then one night she met Homer, at a barn dance, of course,
A cute and awkward guy who said his nickname was "Horse".
One ride and she's not had one single day of remorse,
ViIllonia Beebe was someone's baby once more.
She sometimes contemplates her life,
When she takes the time to bother,
From beauty queen to trampoline,
From doll to moll to mother.
She doesn't miss the jewels or car at all,
And fur just makes her itch,
But if truth be told, a part of her
Sort of misses being rich.
But Villonia is content now with her lot,
Especially when her "Horse" is hot to trot.
What does innocence cost, you ask?
It seems it's just a grand,
For I know a girl who had hers sold
By her Aunt, in a foreign land.
They sold her soul at fiftteen,
To a middle-aged traveling gent,
Who filmed it all for the internet,
In a dirty basement rent.
She begged her aunt to spare her,
To not let this monster soil
The cherished gift God gave her,
For an hour's salacious toil.
She swore to help them honestly,
And work three jobs, if needed,
But this was quick, the die was cast,
No matter how she pleaded.
She screamed and cried when the hour came,
While the man did what he pleased,
And she prayed God wouldn't see her,
That her aunt would be appeased.
When thru, the sheets were bloody,
And she hurt so down below,
But bloodier still, her spirit,
(Though that wound didn't show).
He let her use the hotel's bath
To clean the vile mess,
And gave her fifteen dollars
To replace her ruined dress.
"A buck for every year!" he laughed,
And threw it on the floor,
Then yelled at her "Get out of here!"
"You filthy little whore!"
Well, with those words, his horrid act,
And the soul he stripped away,
Over time that's what she's now become,
Though she makes a grand each day.
See, they didn't just rob her virtue,
They put her soul to death ...
Now she curses him and her auntie,
With every living breath ...
And she doesn't need her faith now,
There's no happiness or mirth,
For no God could ever repay her ...
For what her soul was worth.
~ 7th Place ~ in the "HASHTAGmetoo" Poetry Contest", Debbie Guzzi, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Let's Talk About It" Poetry Contest, Richard Lamoureux, Judge & Sponsor.
An old wives tale of modern day
Say's do not eat before you swim
So why are cookies compulsory in order
to surf the web ?
A plethora of unwarranted advertising
from funeral cover to bedroom toys
And what i never even clicked
on today redirected me to a virtual
travel agent
And with time on my hands i thought
i'd play along
So where is your dream destination ?
And what is your preferred mode of transportation ?
If you could go anywhere at all where
exactly would you like to holiday?
Where ive always dreamed of going
I'm not sure can be reached by
Plane , Train , Automobile or Ship
As it doesn't reside on any map , ocean ,
continent or desert island
It has yet to be discovered but i have
already been there
Where i'd love and give anything to go ?
Is simply back in time to my past
But alas i fear you are in the business
of time share not time travel
And sadly i have run out of the
will or desire to create new memories
all i want to do is to relive my old one's
Back to a time when i knew who i was
before i pawned my father's watch
Back to before i chose to tread the
trampled path of woe that finds
me in the present
I'm sure at fleeting once i was a child
before i became the man i am
Little boy Pinocchio who wished wanted
and was willing to try anything just not to
he or who he actually was
Despite the fact that everyone who ever
met him really liked him spoke highly of him
and sought him as a friend
But never was it enough nor could
he see what others seen in him
Until the day it finally dawned on him
and it was far to late
Though he thought of himself as an
oyster shell
All along he was in fact the
secret treasured pearl hidden deep
inside within it
FAM AND AMERICA DON'T CARE
Those clothes you wear
Your grey white hair
And yes you dare to ignore me
Compromise and exploit me
You don’t care
You don’t care
Am I too old to love?
Am I too young to use my pension?
Did I mention?
You have to see all you have to survive
Almost be homeless, destitute just too be alive
What now
FAM AND AMERICA DON'T CARE
Almost have to tell a lie
Just to be treated human
That home you once own
Mortgaged and sold
The soup you’re having is refurbish bone;
Now your FAM and government want to place you in a nursing home
What’s going on?
FAM AND AMERICA DON'T CARE
Those rings on your hands
Some of them grand
Grandpa gave you them
Cousin Johnny pawned them off
He even sold your antique wooden cross
And yes, we ignore you
Oh, yes we have disposed you
What have you got left to live for?
Can’t even afford my breathe
That and my heartbeat all I’ve got left
FAM AND AMERICA DON'T CARE
We don’t care
We got yours
And now it’s ours
Not it’s fair
You are too old to love
And we have no room for you
You’ll just git in the way
Grey white hair old lady
Did I mention?
All that money from you and grandpa’s pension
Some of it we spent and
Now that you’re destitute, displaced, resting in this nursing home
We no longer visit you
Guess one day the orderly
Gonna open up your door and see you in your bed
But by then you’ll be DEAD
And gone on to glory!!!!!!!
Those clothes you wear
FAM AND AMERICA DON'T CARE
yET YOU Will be IN your salvation robe your glory clothes you’ll wear to your new home in heaven?
12/12/18
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr.©2018
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
facial pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
It was a late evening when I met you
I walked into the room and I saw you
Engrossed in what you were doing, without a care
I knew then that you were a being rare
I kept making efforts to garner your attention
Which was tough, with your demeanour and gumption
Of doing things right and doing them on time
You wouldn't be distracted without a reason or rhyme
But I finally broke through that hard external
Structure you built around, and found love I felt was eternal
Although I felt, a losing battle I was fighting
And being in your company was rarer than Comet sighting
You opened up to me, up to the threshold of your comfort
And I was head over heels in love and I made all possible effort
To keep you happy and always be with you like a useful tool
But your actions kept making me feel like a fool
My place in your life it slowly dawned
Was requirement based, and your heart you never pawned
For my happiness and you never saw us as one
My heart shattered as though shot by a gun
So I turned away with heart heavy but good wishes for you
Prayed to the lord to give you success and happiness too
My prayers were answered and you attained fame
Adulation and followers, part of the game
My mind degenerated, as for your sins I atoned
I lost my sanity and everything I owned
But even my insane mind only had thoughts of you
Despite everything I went through, my heart had love for you
Then I saw you one day as you walked past me
Your eyes looking at me, but not seeing me
You flicked coins towards me like a work of art
They filled my begging bowl, but emptied my heart
Today, March 8th is International Women’s Day. After centuries of relentless struggle, are women happier today…? Can’t say! Despite all claims to equality and progress, women are still at the back seat struggling to balance between her work and domestic chores. Alarmingly assaults on women have skyrocketed in our land than never before, especially in some of the Asian countries. Some thoughts on this ‘great day’
She dies a hundred times,
In the throes of spite and neglect
In the agony of betrayal
In the shame of defeat
Yet alive with charred spirits
And deep burns that shall not heal.
Shut in the cage of servitude
She lives an ugly duckling!
Fed on taunts and threats
Drunk on slander and slight
Smothered by age old mores
Manacled by custom and tradition.
A door mat under crushing feet
An expendable commodity
Bartered away,
Or
Bought at the highest bid.
A toy to play with
A curio wrapped in folds
To be disrobed before feasting eyes
And torn apart by man’s beastly lust
A chattel to be pawned and pledged
A chalice to be cast away
When emptied of its contents.
Yet, she is silent
Mute like a dumb animal.
Oh No! It's time to break this silence....
However, nemesis will take hold.
Please know, there lies an ember
Down beneath the dying hearth.
As the wind veers around,
The smoldering charcoal would blaze
Growing into a wild fire,
With tongues of flame leaping into the sky
That would ravage the Earth
Leaving nothing
But,
Heaps of coal
And piles of ash!
A daunting press of gifted dreams
The boyish boasts and sculpted schemes
Brother, fore, and brother, aft
Stead to ply their father's craft
Each consecrated to the rest
A journey spun at hap's behest
Sad the sojourn, seasons spent
Demeanor, too, in slow descent
A tattered sheet aside the mast
The binding brag that held them fast
A parried genius pawned for pay
Extorted art, la grande touche'
Spoon-fed faith to temper sins
God's impressions, yangs and yins
A sextant set to split the tacks
Fair, the wind upon their backs
Betting talent - an epoch's wage
Trust to rust, on scribbled page
Pride integral, misplaced in time
A poor man's Eden - a canted rhyme
So ford the moat, up castle's wall
One faded echo, Caedmon's call
Expired breath, a sparrow's verse
To strain the wings of kingly curse
Scabbards crossed and gauntlet down
Such gallant lads to charge the crown
The hallowed chapter of gloried tome
A heart-child lost, now hailing home
Thus ripe with moments to impart
This rarest seed with callow heart
A pauper's rhyme thru' all the years
The sweetest music to my ears ...
A music poured ... to douse the tears.
Written and submitted on February 16, 2019
For the "Music To My Ears" Poetry Contest
Silent One, Judge & Sponsor.