Long Usual suspects Poems
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It has become painfully obvious that the only way to be heard
is to pay through the nose to be a lifetime nerd,
the way to be read in on this sight
is to pay through the nose with disdain-unslight
the drivel/dribble practicum that is profound in it's reading
is a joke, sickening jest this side of profane with often open ended
vocab blur bleeding from a finger up my butt countenance, hey I can be a pooret
yet as in all ways money that talks/squalks/walk the bills
up/on cuming and its resolute intercourse interims the slash good words for the sentient freefall to the ills of my **** really mean/matters/ ratiorationale reticient/demeanor/demonstrative/destructive co cliff effervicient
sentient fecal savored poetic prickprofundity perversing on pisspoor gobetweens
prepostured with sitesucking positiveprevelance performance preludes of lifetime member promises. GoThe usual suspects figure.
As GMarx once reveled in his Libra coutenance, "I would not want to belong to a any club that would have me as a member"! So be it as u quali/quasi/qualify your
intermiserable inputs from lowly wantobe"poets"? Really, where do you get this chum encrusted fecal crap?? Love, beholding, misery, misertudes of life and sequesters of social misfitted miserdoms as to your innane, irrelevant, idiotic, interpretation of the serial social merits of human america and its poetic sense, and the globe as it is. I haplessly hope that in the humo state of written wrongs that u hate my stuff sur-plenty of desolution row and the good of for what it's worth in my non sequential birthday of sixty something nothings per social senses.
my money nevertalks, even on this lice level. D--aaamn.
Never let it me be told that for me
to be hold in an equal fake frequence with all of the hard-on Dr. Filth viagra statue status that I can speak from my borrowed loaned loins and be heard to a pro poem status dollar of signoff significance.
I know I am being obtuse and indifferent as I don't want to play the $$$ poe whore game that would catapult me to the upper stratosphere of a poetic Zeus, Oden and the like in your eyes, as talent not matters. WTFE. But alas
keep me in your prostratic/pussitic poetic poison prism, Dave. "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers". Otherwise, FU. Keep the faith.
Clouds can be remarkably similar
to the friends lovers and passer-bys
that filter through our daily lives
like unexpected weekend guests
who arrive exactly as they planned
or close relatives who fail to appear
simply cancelling at the last minute
as if you weren’t worthy of their rain cheque
you have cleaned the bathroom
and your conscience for nothing
Puppet clouds pull easily at our strings
just the rumour of a troubled sky
can send a jetliner the other way
and when thunder rolls like a lions roar
even the bravest of us cringe for cover
for their faithful companion lightning
can be utterly shocking
like the last couple to leave a party
you are not even sure who invited them
Naysayer clouds are lifelong companions
content to rain on just your parade
intimidating away hopes for a brighter day
some clouds are hauntingly thin and long
like the fingernail scratches of a prisoner
held within the walls of a gray winter day
thirsty for the taste of a falling raindrop
and who among us has not known
at least one cute blond cloud
cannot find her way around a hilltop
Vegas stars mime the clouds de soleil
desert matinees provided dawn to dusk
elflike figures grasping silver moonbeams
magically move across skies of fantasy
one moment an elegant graceful butterfly
the next a leaping giant walrus
brilliant costume changes accomplished
within the blink of your eye
now you see them and then you don’t
encore encore encore
Who has’nt witnessed the theft of sunset
winsome pickpockets lurk like puffs of innocence
clouds seemingly distant but so close
we never feel them steal the belief
that we actually can own daylight
as if it were a shiny silver dollar
the usual suspects hide away to darkness
even a cloudless sky fails to please us all
who has not longed for a rainy day
Clouds of suspicion descend upon truth
as if locusts hunting for delicious prey
and can like a loaded pair of dice
forever change the games that we play
the fickle and aloof clouds of love
play hide and seek with our very hearts
Juliet cried out where for art thou Romeo
deep in her heart she knew his words
were just a bunch of silver lined promises
who do you trust if you can’t trust a cloud
IRISH
The bayou sky flies a catfish moon over swamp gators
And cottonmouth vipers. Accordions, fiddles, and rub board vests
Make their ramble through the undergrowth hot on the trail
Of a sultry midsummer house party in Sweat Neck, Louisiana.
All the usual suspects are there. Sharkskin Slim doffs his topper
To Ruby and Rose - the Harlequin Twins. They curtsy in reply.
They came to town to show local folks how business gets done.
Fast Man is fresh from stabbing Satan in the back; same as before.
Snorkel-nose Nelson lays his blackjack on the table.
Pelican-neck LeBeau considers the odds and spits.
A honeysuckle breeze wafts across the terrace.
Eucalyptus, peppermint, and pine tar grace the veranda
Where Miss Bunny Bouche, in her famous lavender velour,
Garners attention from spy boys eying Cajun temptations
With considerably hardened intentions. Several teamsters
Just in from Shreveport dance lively while a claw hammer fiddler
Plays Tee Nah Nah. Essential words are suggested in the space
Between the jug and the mason jar. They speak of collard green
Creole rice served with crayfish in roux étouffée. The snap beans
Are sure enough salted. The shrimp gumbo is suitably spiced.
Sad Hannah sits off in the corner, her motives transparent
As parish politics. She’s been rumored to have dabbled
In arson crafts she’d learned at Magdalena’s Den of Sin,
But no one ever really pays her much mind.
She’s been deliberating the consequence of a life not lived,
And sees a glimmer of hope in the eye of a hurricane lamp.
Her chance of escaping obscurity erupts through the hall.
So now, it’s last call and damn it all, take a left at the crossroads,
And be sure to turn your mattress over when it’s time to climb downstairs.
And as for Hannah, sad Hannah, well, it’s either up Ladder Lane
Then down Hemp Alley, or else it’s just a lonely walk home.
Maria has Gone
She has gone
She has left
Maria is no more
She has no use for players
She has no use for Juan or his slayers
Adam is caught
In the sheets of his deception
Eva Maria has left, looking for the alma Santa Maria
Sands erase the love, Maria is all but gone
She searches the beaches
For meringue and peaches
Maria has gone
Maria has left
Maria knows them all
The usual suspects
Maria your color is beautiful
The way it sways
Maria your tango plays with me
For I must be truthful
Maria has gone
Maria has left
Maria knows them all
The usual suspects
We dance cheek to cheek
Tossed the cheaters to the sea
The usual suspects drowned
We bailar for the love to be
Ok ok ok
The players are here to stay
Maria though she will not be swayed
She has left, she can not be played
She has left
You will see
Look at the sea shore
She ran free, she is with me
How beautiful are her curves
Beautiful and bonito she swerved
I wanna touch her in the dark
I wanna kiss her right on the heart
Maria has gone
Maria has left
Maria knows them all
The usual suspects
They shed tears she has gone
They dance in silent seductions
The usual ones, one and the same
Players playing all the same game
Maria has gone
Maria has left
Maria knows them all
The usual suspects
Now Maria has nerves
That are as smooth as her curves
She knows when the dance is right
The usual suspects will not be in site
Maria has gone
Maria has left
Maria knows them all
The usual suspects
Besos under the moon
She had me swoon
Maria has left
No need to look anymore
She dances at my front door
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aikcYHgkRxM
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LLEMj8q2frI
It’s a hot commodity,
seems as if everybody gotta have it
Possessing something
that gives such elevated status
is a coveted thing
Desired for the inordinate attention it bring
Ownership of something
that raises the personal profile
to such gaudy heights
is a top priority:
Acquisition of property for consumer vanity police
Proceed to charge it and retain,
if it’s off the chain
Round up the Usual Suspects dot.com gang,
if it’s off the chain
It’s can’t-get-enough of it merchandise type stuff,
looks like nobody can do without it ... from pillow to puff
Linen to makeup, brush on the checkbook blush
Get in on the cable premium package gold rush
But my message of materialism chastity is clear: Listen up,
my fellow disciples of truth, and those who will hear —
Don’t buy into the noisy commodity market fear,
dip not your hand into the savings slush
Turn down the volume ... raise the decibels of the hush
Not owning something
that puts you
in another social stratosphere,
will send you
to the bottom of the popularity heap
... do I make myself clear
Is the message getting thru
the carnival barker wax plugging your ear
Recede from the crass commercialism gone insane,
get off the chain
Stay on your square where the price of integrity remain,
get off the chain
Live free from the lure of it’s-the-fashionably latest thing;
escape from the credit prison,
cut off the chain
Die free being pure from the newest buy-product offering;
flee into the austerity wasteland,
cast off the chain:
Escape those subliminal messages telling you to
sell yourself into debt slavery again
"Lizzie Borden took an ax
And gave her mother forty whacks.
When she saw what she had done
She gave her father forty-one."
Whoever wrote this jump-rope song
About Lizzie Borden got it wrong.
Though she did give her stepmom ax whacks aplenty,
By the coroner's count there were no more than twenty.
Then before anyone could scold her or scoff,
Lizzie took her little hatchet,
And whacked her daddy off.
And how many love taps sent Papa to heaven?
The doc thought maybe ten,
No, better make that eleven.
What made Lizzie do it,
What caused her to snap?
Was she simply fed up with her family's crap?
Was stepmother's embrace somewhat less than maternal,
And her dad's fond caress somewhat more than paternal?
Then, of course, there's her sister who saved her from grief
When she helped her burn evidence,
And then on the witness stand raised her right hand
And very politely lied through her teeth.
The inquest was heated,
Everyone testified,
And though she changed hers often,
Liz was well-alibied.
All through the trial she sat calm and unmoved
And was finally acquitted, her guilt never proved.
Now all these years later her legend lives on,
Of the usual suspects she's still number one.
When I read about Lizzie I have often opined,
If she had been musically,
As well as murderously, inclined,
I wonder if Miz Liz would still be so well-known
If her "axe"* had been a saxophone.
*Slang musical term for an instrument such as a saxophone or guitar.
I suppose the usual suspects,
should fill up this poem,
City of lights, ancient pyramids,
colosseum in Rome,
To be honest I seen all these places,
sitting playing the slots,
Yeah we’re talking Vegas baby,
sin city, I’ve given it a shot,
Been up the Eiffel Tower,
Bellagio fountains down below,
Viewing the Sistine chapel,
in Venice along the same road,
Look across main boulevard,
I see Caesars palace all lit up,
Just outside on the strip,
Elvis sings through a begging cup,
Passing the cosmopolitan,
New York springs into view,
Must go by the crystals first,
still looks sparkling new,
On second thoughts cross over,
go shop the miracle mile,
Planet Hollywood rises above,
looking a bit retro in style,
Outside it’s baking hot,
have you felt that Nevada sun,
Cool vapour blows from
roadside bars, I do not shun,
Next day into the stratosphere,
ride the big shot atop,
A thousand feet over Vegas,
screaming will it ever stop,
Later up or down to freemont st.
cannot tell I’m totally lost,
Craziest place I’ve ever seen,
little sleazy by default,
So that’s my bucket list,
everything’s now crossed off,
World under one roof, pretty sad,
yeah well! go ahead and scoff.
By
David Kavanagh
What Have You Kicked Off
On Your Bucket List Poetry Contest
08/11/2020
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
To the windows the students all go.
To get a closer look at the snow.
The teachers began shouting although
Santa fell down from the sky down below…
The school was in a frenzy from head to toe.
Santa was yelling his “ho, ho, ho, ho.”
The windows were filled with students who know
The snow is coming down with wind that will blow.
A blizzard is on her way, you really must go!
It is the principal with a bullhorn in tow.
The busses are summoned. Drivers are yelling “whoa!”
We cannot get out, or to anywhere go.
So we spend the night with our charges in tow.
They are hungry, so we break into the milk case and find dough.
We make up cinnamon rolls. They are tasty, so
We survive the night, with only the moon for a night-light glow.
The next day there is still a bunch of new snow.
The children are not as fascinated by the great show.
To the windows no one actually looks or will go.
Teachers are tired. Their faces are not fit for a beau.
Parents are frantic, run in to and fro,
Some take their children home early and so
Some teachers get a reprieve but as you well know
The usual suspects are there all day hanging low.
Hey, what did you think of that beautiful snow?
One of the teacher’s husbands asked, not in the know.
The staff glowered at him, this silly man named Joe.
Made him their Santa saying ho ho ho ho.
Less tangible than air
but they live everywhere
with an impact more real
than iron and steel
No shadows they cast
though the sun blazes past
nor substance to block
the light that they mock
Yet block it they do
and obscure it from view
with their energies dark
and their beastly mark
Sworn enemies of man
and God and His plan
They delight as we mourn
our slaughtered unborn
The usual suspects
those Heavenly rejects
contrive and conspire
and their chief is a liar
Misled to believe
the tales that they weave
We are all too willing
to join in the killing
As we watch evil rise
it should be no surprise
that insanity rules
forming thick bloody pools
And delusions abound
among people, unsound
given over to rage
in this mindless age
Don't make the mistake
to believe they are fake
Just because you can't see
doesn't mean they can't be
Even winds are unseen
yet the tree tops still lean
when the atmosphere blows
as everyone knows
So please bear in mind
though the whole world is blind
to our foes now concealed
they'll soon be revealed
Then these demons from hell
nevermore can compel
human beings to kill
one another at will
And our God shall prevail
as the evil ones wail
leaving death and despair
less tangible than air
© Mike Wise
9-29-20
Don’t pardon those demockratory quips,
them dishonest mistakes
Unless you love
walking thru a field of verbal cow chips
Beware! Aye lips very often halitosis snip
Here is a rue unpardonable exit tip:
Brown nose aroma
is blew gaslight, pig methane lit lisp
Klepto kaboom air be a dung hole whiny dip
Oink noise travels so muddy morals quick —
Laundered money echoes
radar register as a bat crazy, bombast blip
Motives contraire is err bound on a paper ego trip
‘Nocchio utterances are devious windbag equipped
These long nostril tones
fill vacuous space ‘tween the ears with jingle plastic
Pirate gasp fares exorbitantly moves the coin traffic
Oval thought bubbles have a carny bark grip:
Pilfer adorn pox troubles
will make you covid yourself
Verbal Bent ain’t nothing but a Fraudian slip
Rublecon double crossing share of blowback scrip
Usual Suspects don’t racket give a rap sheet rip
Plunder cover blown,
toothy alibis and enamel lies on a tear telly drip
Mice despair got toilet sold for crooked flush catnip
Cheshire cries steal boo hearts trending fear obit
As the covetous pleas
of pickpocket thieves
Take the vault temple with moneychanger surfeit