Long Vomit Poems
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I hear their idle chatter and wish that sound was optional.
A box checked in a menu, a simple click and forget.
The rapid dilation of my pupils brings me back.
Back to hypnotic aisles of temptation and necessity. A selection of the finest they say.
Right there see, on the cardboard, next to charts and columns of calories and strange
numbers I’d sooner forget.
But buy one get one free still gets me every time.
I stare intently at the dancing numbers until the man with the tie moves away.
Glossy pages shine brighter than the fruit racks they mirror,
Competing for importance in my wallet and my life
The magpie wins and the bananas will wait.
Half the magazines hawk five a day in rounded sans serif, bold against the background of a
chef’s haircut.
Maxims of bizarre cosmopolitan playboys and hustlers marked up at 3.99. Landscapes of
polished flesh glow beneath the loving airbrush of the paycheck. Competing for nuts at the
zoo.
A vanity fair for the hollow, shining in the fading light of a red top sunset.
Paraphrased blogs and condensed morsels of crude celebrity nudes for the I-Generation and
the remnants of New Labour and Thatcher’s Britain.
Anglers, caravans and 50 cent, half the demographic, half the price. Count me out.
I finger a few and find no real desire. The Internet offers this bilge up for free.
They’d all be nude and crapping on each other.
The great silicon toilet of humanity
Past freezers of long dead prisoners, pulped to perfection. Pigs in tubes and flat cow
concoctions.
Pancakes of vomit and fish dishes I won’t ever try. No time for it.
Frankenstein's monster behind glass slides.
Packets of sugar in various disguises. Cereal and chocolate, soft drinks and sauce dips.
Lattes and ladles, loofahs and loaves. The prattle returns through the shelving
I turn around the curries and there is the tie. Talking sport and hard drinking, women and
the weather. Looks me in the eye.
I turn before any interaction and feign interest in something, a scouring pad. Intricately
woven metal coils waste major concentration and he’s gone. Box checked, minimize and move on.
Everything shines in this weird three-quarter light, hypnotic. Confusing. Conscious of the
bottles ahead that I can’t ever touch. Seedy and appealing, puerile and appalling.
Something for everyone.
And nothing for me.
Prayer to the Stone of Sobriety
Under a purple flannel-like sheet, but not as soft;
As warm as flannel-but hotter,
I am sweating.
The flannel shroud soaks up my sweat like my liver soaks up venom
I see angry tigers approaching from the ceiling above where I lay;
Tigers coming to rip the walls of my mortal gut.
Oh, Bacchus, send your vengeful tigers away
What did I ever do to you?
The sheet protects me from sunlight, but not from myself;
Nor am I shielded from Bacchus’ tigers; and not from my sweat.
Beads of toxic perspiration roll across swollen eyelids.
I press my cracked lips firmly together as if to scream silently to scare the tigers.
A poison tiger in my body torments my heart,
Pressing its scabbed paw firmly against my veins
Each pulse of the baneful blood pushes against my forehead as the tiger roars
And Bacchus begins to laugh.
Oh, wine, Oh drink, Oh smoke and pill
Who put you in my shriveled stomach?
Who breathed you into my cancerous lung?
What did I ever do to you?
A heave of tepid vomit snaps like a leather whip through my throat!
Tigers hate the taste of vomit.
Bacchus’ hatred is repulsed by its smell.
The tigers stop with one last press upon my forehead.
The sweat-soaked purple cloth is flung back from my shaking body by an unknown woman.
The wet pile of purple sheet crystallizes on the corner of my pyre.
It solidifies, as does my resolve, to keep Bacchus and the tigers at bay.
The mound of purple quartz is tethered to my body by a cord of desperation.
Oh wine, Oh drink. You too, smoke and pill,
The blue of hope and red of blood join forces to guard me from your tiger claws.
My sobriety hangs in the balance.
It hangs around my neck like a stone
That has the weight of three large hogs.
It hangs around my neck like a young woman, not yet a noose.
Like the woman who was commissioned by ancient Greeks to keep me sober.
Oh, sober Amethyst
Like ancient Bacchus, I cry
Tears of sweat over my drunkenness
Ashamed enough to die; but I cannot
Your generous gift of recovery is free.
What did I ever do to deserve your sober generosity?
Be my stone of sobriety;
You are my receptacle of thought and habit.
Heal me, oh purple goddess.
Protect this mortal from my internal tigress
Guard me with the weight of purple stone.
Oh, stone of sobriety, heal this mortal fool.
Everyday, I wake up wondering if the moon will shine or the stars will find a clear path to explore the other side of the universe. Every day, I wake up wondering if the sun will raise, and the moon will continue to walk by your side.
They sit up all night with an axe and a bible by their side and gun pointing to the east figuring out the next step to deceive the beast. A toxic feeling is going around and it makes me want to vomit on the ground.
Just as you think everything is going well, someone around the corner wants to drag you down in hell and suddenly the lights start growing dim and a strange energy surrounds the place. It built up an uncomfortable feeling in my chest and leaves me gasping for breath.
It circulates my entire body and it left me scrambling for an hour; if I had a better pair of shoe and enough money for the ride, I would walk out at this very moment without looking to the left or the right.
Every day I get up with a positive feelings, with new cells bursting in my anonymity and the forces of nature guiding me and the universe watching over me.
I am organized and ready to go but there is always something unpleasant to barge in the middle of the show, it is not a nice feelings it is painful and revealing and sometimes challenging .I have no control over what is happening around me some people are known for creating controversy and it leaves them hanging upside down in the pot.
See them sitting over there, fighting for that big dirty golden chair, the speechless ones, the quiet one, and big mouth one with voices thundering beneath the roof and big foot shaking the ground without a penny or a crown. You who are fighting for the chair will be left cold empty and bare, the sun will burn your behind and water will flood your cemetery until you do what is right.
It’s like you are waiting for that special song to sing but something
is always changing the rhythm and sometimes you don’t know whose song to sing, and the music keeps playing without a sound and it keeps dragging you towards the unknown.
I have had days like this when, I just feel like moving to another place to breath fresh air, to meet new people and write new music. Germany, France, Italy or Switzerland would be fun but I don’t know how to use a gun so I will stick to Asia because the journey is longer and it is safer.
Suburban Spring
(4.15.10)
Springtime fills the air,
like laughing gas.
(Or maybe more like whiskey.)
The suburbs are drunk on the nectar of it's dawn.
Middle-class houses
are starting to dance.
(Or maybe they're just wobbling.)
They vomit whole families onto their lawn.
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV:
Confused and intrigued,
with a slight urge to pee.
The father cuts grass,
like a sleepwalker.
(Or maybe more like a zombie -
Ravenous for cheap beer, instead of brains.)
A six pack later,
he starts washing his car.
(Or watering his driveway.)
He's spreading on wax so he's set when it rains.
The mother kneels in dirt,
tending the garden.
(More like digging in a sandbox.)
Her spade is rusty. (Figuratively, at least.)
A sunset later,
she cooks family dinner.
(Or maybe orders some pizza.)
(If every mouth is fed, she can call it a feast.)
I watch them the same way dogs watch TV.
The son plays war games,
dying for fun.
(Or maybe more for practice.)
He whines about fruit drinks, as well as the heat.
A full pitcher later,
tweaking on sugar,
(Or maybe just corn starch.)
the war escalates, 'til its time to go eat.
The daughter makes a picnic,
inviting her toys.
(Or maybe not.)
(Her plastic spread can only spread so thin!)
After the tea time,
she's off picking flowers.
(Or maybe weeds.)
(As long as they're pretty, there's a vase that they'll fit in.)
They gather, as a family, at the table to say grace.
They hold each others' hands and say, "Amen."
(And proceed to stuff their face.)
The dog sits by the boy -
Loyal and true.
(Or maybe just hungry.)
He drools as he stares from the corners of his eyes.
After dinner,
he offers to help with the dishes.
(Or maybe he demands it.)
The boy sneaks him a bite. The dog is not surprised.
Bedtime comes soon after.
The kids are sent to brush their teeth.
(Or maybe just to run the sink.)
They put on their jammies, and to bed, they go.
After tucking them in,
the parents watch TV.
(Or maybe they just dream they do,
sleeping in its glow.)
The dog is changing channels,
looking for a better show.
Confused and intrigued,
he pees on the carpet below.
That goofball husband of hers brought her to this joint to see her get drunk for the very first time. She actually plugged her nose trying to sip her first glass of beer. Good grief. 20 minutes and she barely finished it. She walked to the restroom and I felt her teetering just a little bit. She likes the feeling though, I can tell! I sure liked it when she started boogying to the beat of the band on her way back to the table. Too bad Mr. dingbat won’t ever dance with her. She keeps tapping her hands on the table to the rhythm of the music. That’s why I have to write so slow. . . .
Now she’s tryin ta drink another beer but she can hardly stand it an her husband sez come on don’t ya wanna know how it fills ta be drunk? She says well at list I fill buzzd now. . .
The nice buzz wore off. It’s at least an hour later. She and hubbie got this idea to go to the liquor store. First time she ever went to one. She thought maybe brandy would taste better so then she could drink something stronger and know how it felt to be drunk. Brandy sounded sweet and fruity to her. Boy was she wrong. She took a little taste and it burned going down. That stuff sucks just like the beer. . . .
Wow she jus finisht tha hole boddle rily fast lik mebbie ten minuts ago so she kud fil drunk an she put me down ta finnish tha boddle in one shot now she kant evin kip her eyez opun UH ohhhhhhh
Epilogue: The preceding narration was based on actual fact. Upon consuming an entire bottle of brandy in less than ten minutes, "she" immediately passed out, and I recall she awoke in the morning having forgotten everything that transpired once she fell asleep. Furthermore, when she went into the bathroom the next morning and saw some flecks of vomit on the walls, she was quite amazed. Why? Because she had no recollection of throwing up, and she realized her goofball husband had actually attempted to clean up a mess in their house for the first time in their young married life!!!
By the way, Jenny, if you happen to be reading this, Shhhh. Please do not tell her other sisters. It would surely get back to you guys’ mother, and your poor upstanding church-loving mom might have a heart attack to hear of her daughter’s one transgression with the devil’s brew! Sincerely, Her Sober (albeit sometimes fanciful) Pen
A tale of two twins ...
Kit: That sure was a mean swing, Dottie. You knocked it out of the park. You’re the Sultana of Swat. I love the way you ‘round the bases doing your cute duckie trot. I love how you stand on home plate, kissing off the booing fans with your sour whispering asinine talk. You sho’ can swat high nonsense spitballs a lot.
Dot: Aw shucks, Kit, you Putin a smile on my face. But it ain’t me really. I just do what you coached me to do. Follow your lead like a good sibling pup pet is suppose to. I can’t help but wag the pig tale. Everybody knows that bare bosom greed sells. Now sis, you know I never vote swing and miss. I just love lip-crushing abetted ayes. Sending those lying spitball kisses flying high. But half-truthfully, girl I love the wet way you dry hurl. Such vomit velocity ... sending that propaganda puke spinning thru the air with such speed. You’re so lassie Vladdie bad amazing.
Kit: Yeah, twin ... we in a beleagued of our own. We don’t never do no wrong, at least none that we personally have to disown. And the Lady Bolshevik tag-team pocket profits are gonna stay kompromat strong. As long as the I-scream flag vendors keep selling the popular patriotic yellow snow cones. I love hearing the synthesized, trumpy anthem blaring sound, when the seventh-inning ruble donation rally hats are being passed around. It jacks me up, to the Nth lobby Molotov degree. My oligarch strong arm do a Siberian burn meddle poll vault sales pitch; delivered decibel stealth low, and so slow curve icily.
Dot: Serve ‘em up good, twin. Twist the grin like Papa Lenin said: “Never let a capitalist sucker get a free lick. Always snatch the purse from a paper chasing hick. Always foxy scoop the golden laid eggs from a sleeping, loose-liberty chick.” All bad things come in good corrupt Communist time. This czar fate injustice demands. I love the smell of democracy peanuts roasting in the ballot stands. I love hot, dog day debate fry cries doing the mustard squirt dance. So beleaguered and bland. I love the pretzel, fixed victory feel of cash register chance. I love being the pink champagne torch lady wearing no morality pants. Slyly, safely sliding home, skirt up ... silver tongue tush fanning kicked diamond sand. Giving a darkside-of-the-moon kiss to the loser Americans.
So the morning star stood against the heavens,
Then Jehovah sent mighty angels to battle against
Lucifer, the devil.
Lucifer fought with gangsters but lost;
Being haul down to earth losing a side wing:
Father of all lies, turn humanity against Jehovah,
The creator of all things that was;
That is and that someday may be.
Humanity knew sin and fell short to the glory of God:
His daily pace was directed by the footprint of the
wicked one.
God repented over humanity, but pitied the cause of
change:
Jehovah made his word as flesh among humanity,
But wickedness of men draged the lamb of the
world and nailed him to a cross.
Amazingly, Jehovah resurrected Jesus Christ from
the grave and
Quickened and empowered the left eleven to go out
there and preach the gospel.
Sorrowful persecution and tribulation followed the
disciples till their dying day:
Now the walk hasn’t change,
But the devil has implemented a strategy by music
To lure and own as many as he could:
Music has come to drive immorality through the
heart and mind of many,
Negatively, seducing the streets; changing money
for fornication and fame.
This shall slowly pervade lands upon lands until it
covered the entire world.
And the Bible been out of sight and mind, but, upon
the hearts of the elects;
Seen churches turned to shopping malls and club
houses.
These times the dragon has been held in the world;
Bringing oneness among the people, and every
culture:
A new form of currency in a form of a mark;
Those that should accept would receive every
necessity available,
But those that should rise against would be even
robbed of the little they own.
Wickedness would amass as God Almighty might
for a while part with humanity.
You could name it a world of mammon.
Kirk of Satan could be found everywhere:
Lovers of CHRIST JESUS,
Getting persecutions through the test of time;
Then at a day untold, CHRIST JESUS would break
from the firmament,
When the sky darkened;
Those with the beast mark (tattoo) would be
exposing by the great light;
The sea would vomit (spiritually) every life in it.
There would be no place for them to hide.
They may cut themselves with blades and stones,
wishing to escape the wrath of God.
Judgment for the righteous would be honor but for
the wicked shame.
A world changes course
expelling the good grim reaper
twisted joke
entering this forbidden zone
called democracy
Careless acts of violence black and white
mothers burying their children
so much tears soak the very grounds
salt of this earth
where moral order breaks down
in societies failure
A bad replacement shapeshifting demons rule
Where no longer they care about peoples suffering
removing God's teachings from schools
so our forefathers died in vain blood of our ancestors
Taking away human rights
amnesty international laugh a minute
lawless democracies without proper vision
killing without just cause tyrants bragging ill will
Without facing the justice of all lands
Murder is murder so says the judge above all
stealing is robbing without deeds aquired
laid down by the Lord on stone himself
We all know its the devil's playground now
Darkness of your souls reek with many lies told
When fancy coated words fall out vomit
from the mouths who ware suits
As that is a trademark
of the biggest robbers there is
Stealing even by stealth or forced to ground
poisionous morals killing the seed of truth
sewn from the garden of lust dark or light
Open your eyes blind beggars of hell
disfunctional greedy merchants and war criminals
alike you all sign a pact together like wolves
we see the suffering and torment of your weapons
tipped with poison blaming everyone but yourselves
Creating hate through your neverending violence
amongst the innocent victims raped of everything
God be merciful unto your rotten souls
Damning the victims with your pride filled agendas
we all become victims if we sit without a voice listen pride
Peace is the way forward that looks above and beyond
stand down dark spirits your lust knows no bounds
drunken with greed
Light of our saviour will come
one day supreme commander
I will kneel to the creator
When this earth goes into darkness again
we need to pray for salvation
no longer do we walk
but stumble in the pathway
of his loving ways
Rock of faith we stand strong
for our childrens sake
to give them a future generation
Mercy shake hands
make Eden beautiful again
The signs are coming to pass
to celebrate the happiness and joy
Heaven above the angels will sing
Look look it’s crazy I’m the one they want to represent
Young black girl,I can probably be the president
I’m the voice of the youth,you heard my tone I think it’s evident
I know who I am, they mistake my confidence for arrogance
I think is different cause I don’t take my clothes off
I just played my role y’all
I can’t sell my soul y’all
I just shoot to triple my arm up I guess I show off
They sleep and I let them doze off
Wake em up oh yea it’s roll call
My chocolate is beautiful
I’m rocking it per usual
I’m loving every piece men
From my top to my cuticles
Tryna play with my head real love won’t be confusing you
I learned make sure the one you putting first is also choosing you men
Life is so crazy, many lessons and blessings
I'm steady stressing perfection
I keep neglecting my ethics
So much texts and the message
I’m tryna lessen my stressing
Finally understand my power
My presence is essence
They killed my daddy while my mama was pregnant
How I’m I supposed to feel ?!
And they took my grandma child from her
How is she supposed to heal ?!
And we here starving ain’t got nothing
How are we supposed to give ?!
Seem like the system they set us up and we’re supposed to fail
I’m so real the mayor gave me a day in my city
But it’s so sad that I can’t even go and stay in my city
And the shooting and killings, little kids can’t even play in my city
It’s so wicked, they killed my daddy and brought a day in my city
But I still love him
I’ll give him every dime that I got
Is running out but I’ll give you all the time that I’ve got
You was the fakest on my team and I’m just finding it out
That make me sick into my stomach want to vomit it out
And I’m like ready or not men it’s my time out
I done gave it everything I got it’s time to shine out
They done blew the whistle men my foot across the line now
Clock is ticking down ain’t got no thirty seconds time out for real though
I know I done made it cause I don’t
I would never waste my voice if I don’t speak for a cause
I reminisce man I just thinking
My mama told me you keep shooting for the moon you gon have a seat with them stars
on god And I’m like ready or not
Here I come,you can’t hide
I’m rooting for you
It take it slowly
Ready or not
Here I come,you can’t hide
I’m rooting for you
It take it slowly
A Franky and Spud Encounter
The coach, old and rusty, pulled up at the gate
The horses, portending the schoolchildren’s fate
Franky looked over and thought it was great
While Spud bore a look that said he was irate
But school children grow at a different rate
So different size horses stood calm and sedate
Spud’s not the quickest but must get the biggest
The chestnut he fancied was the tallest and thickest
If he could be first to that rust coloured horse
Then he’d lead the way on the pony trek course
He wasn’t a writer, he wasn’t a reader
But he would show everyone he was a leader
The coach door was open but he was far from it
So Spud shouted watch out, I’m going to vomit
The kids stood aside and that made a clear path
So Spud got off first with a victory laugh
Franky called out were supposed to be taught
Horse riding ain’t easy as you might have thought
But Spud found some steps and he mounted his steed
And screamed when his stallion set off at speed
Spud did his best to regain his composure
With tears in his eyes from wind speed exposure
But Franky yelled ‘Rusty Joy’ easy boy, Whoa!
He’d been here before, which Spud didn’t know
And Rusty Joy slowed and returned at a trot
And Spud acted nonchalant... which he was not
So as the kids stood by the horse they had got
Spud hammed it up... are we going or what
So gripping the reins in fear of his life
If I’m overtaken there’s gonna be strife
Franky called out, you should stay with the pack
Spud yelled, I’m the leader, you’d better stay back
To drive his point home, he dug in with his feet
And Rusty Joy went like a demon on heat
Spud just squealed whoa boy with futile insistence
But soon he was only a spec in the distance
Then Rusty Joy saw some lush grass, good for dining
Which proves every cloud comes with a silver lining
As, rapidly, Rusty Joy came to a stop
Spud landed face down in some festering plop
The kids soon caught up and Franky said Yuk
You’re gonna be rich ’cause there’s brass where there’s muck
You never said you were a horseman: that’s humble
What a good overhead, face first, tumble!
Spud sat himself up against Rusty Joy’s legs
I’m not gonna rest until each of you begs
If you don’t plead good, you’re gonna be dead
Then Rusty Joy’s bowels emptied over his head