Long Shotgun Poems
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This is a part 2 poem. A continuation from a poem called
The Day The Running Stopped. A Bio.
The tennis racket crashed down upon him
A boy just two years old
His Grandfather came in and saved him
Before life became dark and cold.
The monster came again in third grade
Beaten for a failing grade at school
To young to even know what failing was
But now labeled as failure and a fool.
Another failure came in ninth grade
Though he tested with high IQ
But he had a belittled and tragic life at home
There was no motivation to pursue.
At sixteen depression captured his inner soul
He grabbed the shotgun to make it go away
But the monster burst in before the trigger clicked
And then there was more hell to pay.
He took drugs to escape the cold reality
To calm the nightmares that visited every night
And no matter how far in his mind he ran away
He could never find the light.
He ran back into his grandfather's arms
To the man who saved him as a child
He helped him cry his pain away
His loving touch so gentle and mild.
He found God one night when he had given up
For God never once gave up on him
He finally found purpose at 27 yrs old
When gods light made him alive again.
All Eyez were watching him....watching and waiting
Someone was waiting ....hating him ..........baiting him....
Red blood of urgency, was surging and urging him......
Fate knows the story, it is talking the talk, it is walking the walk
Where it begins......where it will end
Haunting him............ taunting him...
It stalked streets of Harlem...like the panthers of night
His mind was a roadmap, traveling streets of a thug
They call him a rapper......spilling tears in the fog
Walking a life....he was keeping a beat...
there is so much more that was beating him.....cheating him......
Struggle and violence....fighting the fight
Walking and rapping,.....caring, daring
Cracks in the concrete...where a black rose would grow....
Yet, even the roses were trembling....knowing him...
Keeping a head up high,......higher...and higher
Splashing with gasoline....to put out a fire...
Turning a life into flames of a pyre
Driving the lonely Strip............recklessly driving...
Riding the shotgun..........gripping....and riding...
Life blood was almost dead,....losing.....losing...
.....dying..........and dying....
tears fall from cupid, bled.......... crying.....and crying.....
Somewhere the fire's red........somewhere........somewhere
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Bio of Tupac Shakur
It was 1999
Shotgun rider
2000 green mustang
My sis, always beside her
Landed the same job
Only Mexican restaurant in town
Put gas in our car
Kept our wheels going round
All dolled up
Kissed our parents goodnight
Pretend to go to bed
Cruising feeling right
Idiots with wheels
License to drive
Dr. Pepper and cigarettes
Never felt so alive
Introduced to Mary Jane
She was a silly lady
Laying on the hood of our car
Listening to Slim Shady
Hungry for boys
Just a tease
Looking fly in our prime
The birds and the bees
The dawning of 2000
Life as we knew it, about to end
Eyes met at 12:01
We both began to grin
Cheers to a good year
Twice as old as I was then
Thinking of my sis today
Missing my best friend
When I say that I'm going to kill you, there is no doubt.
You've angered me once too often and I'm going to rub you out.
Three years ago, you stole my valuable coin collection.
You should get a bodyguard because you need protection.
You lied to Social Services when you told them that I'm an unfit dad.
I almost lost my children and you have damn nearly driven me mad.
But the last straw came when you impregnated my teenage daughter.
You've crossed the line and you are a man who I intend to slaughter.
I could have you arrested for statutory rape but I want you to be dead.
You just fell to the floor because I used my shotgun to blow off your head.
(This is a fictional poem. In real life, violence never solves anything. Please never take the law into your own hands.)
I had run out of it i'm out of it
mind you my mind that ran away
first by feet then by train
paxil was her name a rotundish
hard skinned pink pill of a pimp
so sleeping a tossing flipping
dreaming dream i witnessed a mess
messing up a dream:
this slot of sliced land jutting
with clapboard housing a shouting
with roaches a toasting the best
of a meal they boasted
the strangest of stranglets in
a land of strangler piglets;
two step eddie backed up to a window
owned by a rider, says he with
back to a drive-thru widow, 'take
this shotgun, won't need it, take
this broad sword too, and take this
forty-four again won't need it,
i'll keep this grenade cause it
needs me more -- see that man there
, snagged my lawn cutting his own
, watch me walk over there.
Two-step walks over there and pulls
the pin and once again they do like
they do the owner of that window
was a copy-cop over 44 and says
to eddie, 'don't pull that pin you
sons of guns, sons of burning suns!"
Pin pulled, trigger pressed two slugs
in the valley of the deepest cracks
of two buns and all is done.
And the female dog under the oak
toking-tree says to her male friend,
'your banging will wake up the
recently dead if you don't stop
banging and start more slapping instead;
no-step eddie tells the devil he
needs to brush his tooth but forgot
his teeth brush under the bush.
Never cold turkey Paroxetine
and slip to sleep on a Monday.
:: 06-26-2018 ::
When I was a kid, in the family car
We all knew where to sit;
If the order ever wavered,
Someone’d likely have a fit.
But today I heard of something new
Which tells me things have changed;
If someone hollers, “Shotgun!”
Well, the seats get rearranged.
The “Shotgun!” yeller sits up front,
Right by the driver’s side,
A better view, perhaps, and thus
A more prestigious ride.
I wonder how that’s working out
For I can clearly see
The problems this might cause within
The average family.
Had this been in existence when
My sibs and I were judging,
We would have yelled our heads off
But my mom would not be budging!
(This is a fictional poem)
I came home early one day and saw my wife in bed with another man.
I grabbed my shotgun and you should've saw how fast he ran.
I immediately got a divorce and married somebody new.
But I came home one day and found her in bed with that man too.
I threw him through the window and he got cut by the glass.
A big shard of it got stuck up his ass.
I married a third time and I caught her and that same man in bed.
I made my german shepherds attack him and I let my mule kick him in the head.
I reluctantly decided to marry wife number four.
But I caught her with the same man like the times I did before.
This man is someone I've always hated.
I had all I could take so I grabbed a knife and now he's been castrated.
Form:
Woke at five and heard the rain sprinkle,
so I crawled back in for a good morning sleeper.
All that stIrred was the fan beside the bed as
I turned it off and curled to stir some heat.
My eyes went close and the world went black,
I went back sleep in hopes of St. Nick.
Not a dream lingers, not even a sound made.
That fat little" son of a monkey's az just
flew over my house again.
I flew from my bed with my shotgun in my hand,
I get you this time my friend and all your precious jewels.
Third round came and I let off a shot, Dang he's
quick as I hit Rudolph in the sack.
He rared and kicked as he shot straight to the sky.
As Santa cried, I get you next year as he
flew out of sight.
The barn is hollowed by time,
greased by phantom tractor engines.
A rusting spade and shotgun,
laid-up in the shadowy bygone.
A dusty hayloft full of owl songs.
The mice are out in the fields,
where the corn once waved as it shone,
they know that night birds,
will dream of blood soon.
rodents burrow
into the dark for yet more dark.
Owl throats fill and billow,
as echos deep with the mossy timber.
Awake now, the owls fly silent,
as keen-eyed ghosts of prey
in the overcast.
Through all these shortening nights
and days,
the barn attends to the heartbeat,
of an old fallow farm,
and a lengthening stretch
of dying dreams.
Birds are in conflict with man's technology
It's an epic collision for ornithology
To these noble creatures we owe an apology
We hear bird language, we hear their song
Marveling at the music, we mimic along
Birds on earth are four hundred billion strong
A Bluejay's body smashed into asphalt
Pigeons begging on streets, humbling assault
Starlings trapped in stadiums await release
Jet engines regularly suck in our Geese
Falcons make nests up on skyscrapers
Atop utility poles Ospreys become nest makers
A Goldfinch quite naturally flies
Crashes my window and sadly dies
Shotgun pellets fly wildly at Quail
Our bond with nature could likely fail
For sixty million years birds show integrity
Now we witness avian declining prosperity
Humans need to think and do what's right
Find the balance so birds stay in flight