Long Walkie Poems
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I was out walking my dragon, when I came across a Dogasaurus Rex.
It really wasn’t so bad until; they got into a real life-pissing contest.
My dragons’ roar was way less than his, and spitting fire, he couldn’t do.
So they squared off, eyes aglow, and yep, a true pissing contest did ensue.
Now, that was really icky, and flooded my neighbors whole lawn, ewww.
Well, it smelled awfully bad, but when they got going, what was I to do.
And a pooper-scooper does not work here, so I had to wait till both were thru.
If there wasn’t enough testosterone, now my neighbors’ was added, to the brew.
A mean old codger lived right there, and now, even he, was royally pissed.
Watering the lawn wouldn’t send it away; it would spread it more, amiss.
I ran to get my neighbor witch, who was laughing her head off, yes, indeed.
I’d need her help to save the yard, and with the old codger, to finally succeed.
The old codger amazed, started adding, held in, bubbling laughter, to the brew.
Seems he’s a lonely old man, with not enough fun added in his life, it’s true.
He tapped his foot, as his dogasaurus Rex did more, what was I to do, in truth?
I became worried, it would be the death of him, if he didn’t laugh out loud, forsooth.
I ask the dragon, to burn the yard, to save us all, but he just snickered more, thereon.
How, you ask, was I to extradite myself? I went home to put a fire retardant suit, on.
Coming back I kicked, the dragon in his butt, for always being so crazily, put upon.
That quickly brought his fire on me, as I took it into the middle of the yucky lawn.
With the taunting done, the icky stuff gone, the witch put the grass back, with great skill.
Then, the dragon started laughing, his butt off, while thinking I’d owe the witch’s bill.
Hah! He was incredulous, as I said; he’d do the witch’s bidding, till it was fulfilled.
Then, the silly dragon, down right cried, as I told him, the walkies, would now be nil!
But, Grandpa Troll intervened, with us both in timeout, again, facing across the lake.
And, the old codger, spent the rest of his life happy, entertaining the town, with our fate.
From then on, the dragon and dogasauraus, were seen everywhere, as great playmates.
And me, I always carry an umbrella, so Dragon can never rain on my parade…
Today I embrace my wearing wires pregnant for the fbi buying weapons and drugs from corrupt junk sick officers working for gang leader as hitmen and security guards selling drugs to pregnant mothers today I'm reminded of going into hostage situations face to face with gunmen right across from three school forced to look through an assault rifle pointed at special agent Paula brand head panic fear I swallowed today I'm reminded Neal middle school Novak king elementary and North Chicago high school letting out the first day of school my four kids were ride along seated with the fbi supervisor special agent Leroy Heimbach I never trusted leaving them in school while i went into hostage situations keeping them safe I would hear them singing my girl with special agent Leroy Heimbach oddly from the corrupt officers walkie talkies actually alerted the gang leaders murderers that an fbi informant was inside corrupt officers were selling trading weapons providing the gang leaders with riot gear to stand off with fbi agents apparently the fbi alerted the department they were doing investigations unaware of the severity of the corruption willing to harm innocent lives by putting weapons in the wrong hands with my pregnant body inside with my four children singing my girl looking through an assault rifle three major crowded schools parents teachers crossing guards my heart racing as the killer demanding I tell him who special agent Paula brand was my heart pounding louder his eyes locked with mine he knew I knew her quickly I said she's not fbi she's my daughters teacher my eyes said please don't shoot today is just school conference day he didn't hesitate to place a 44 magnum in my mouth I still taste the blood in the corner of my mouth where the chrome cut my lip today I'm reminded how many lives were saved my wearing wires pregnant for the fbi buying weapons and drugs prevented large amounts of weapons from being in the wrong hands the key to ending gun violence making sures guns are not in the wrong hands today my prayers are with the many victims of gun violence school shooting including the 15 year old shooter my prayers are with the American family may we all embrace healing comfort and peace this advent season
At first light trudging through the Arctic Snow,
Is it for thrill or just a Facebook photo show?
As the Arctic wind buffets our flushed face,
The long-awaited walk soon becomes a shambles of a race.
Hands morph to splintered wood, eyebrows deftly freeze,
And yet the brochure promised we’d do this trek with ease.
Soldier on, embrace the frigid grind,
Pray aloud that inner fortitude to find,
Not a sound outside our laden breath,
Every move made with fractured hapless stealth.
But coupled to the cold a streaming sweat,
A larger wager would I not have surely bet,
That a saunter on the glistening Arctic Tundra
Would at most develop the art of soothing Mantra.
Then a booming voice disturbs this quiet introspection,
As the guide engages in frantic group inspection,
His walkie talkie comes suddenly to life,
Stern commands soon wailing shrill with strife.
Bears ahead with teenage cubs in tow,
Keep down, stay low,
Curb the chatter, pretend you’re but a stone,
Form a line, don’t venture out alone;
Rifle’s cocked, don't turn around,
Polar bears don't run - they bound.
Now move backwards, avoid their steely gaze,
Take full advantage of this soaring Polar haze.
Maybe minutes, but seemingly an age,
As we shuffle blindly stage by stumbling stage;
Our Dunkirk - the waiting rubber boats,
Ecstatic for anything that somehow runs and floats.
Back to the ship, sodden and quite sore,
Not to mention frozen to the epicenter of our core,
We huddle around cups of steaming tea,
Sharing stories of all we had to fear and see.
You may well ask, was this the fateful end,
Did we to natures will forlornly yield and bend?
It's true the thought did rather cross our minds,
Fearful of more unscripted scrapes and woeful binds,
However, a good sleep and liquid strength galore,
Did somewhat mollify that sorry shameful score.
For as dawn broke early the next day,
To a person did we in seeming chorus say:
Off we trudge as more adventure waits,
To experience all that Nature's majesty creates,
Our only thought one of craving more,
And so we went, still frozen to our core.
Years ago at our cabin, when our grandchildren Damien and Taylor were young…
(Why does time so often seems so short)
the four of us with lumber from Lowes decided to build a fort.
The exact date of this undertaking…I’m so old now…I forget
I do know our two other grandchildren, Aden and Ava, weren’t in our family yet.
We built that fort one summer and what a playhouse it became…
built with our own hands…between two trees…Camp Mica was it’s name
We built it far enough away from the cabin…
where Damien and Taylor could let their imaginations fly…
but close enough, where through the woods, we could keep a watchful eye.
We even installed a zip line pulley system…making it easy for us to transport…
Nana’s home-made cookies directly to the fort.
The cabin and the fort had walkie-talkies…the plan was as simple as it was grand…
they would walkie-talkie up their order,,
and we would zip line down a basket…into their waiting hands.
Aden and Ava when they finally arrived…and were old enough to enjoy our forts design
took full advantage of the walkie-talkie and Nana’s cookies coming down the line.
But as I say time is short and our grandchildren are all grown…
the zip line was long ago taken down…and Camp Mica stands alone.
The forest has grown up around her…we can barely see her through the trees
I like to think she’s waiting patiently for another generation to appease.
She’s resting as we all are on her memories…of a time not long ago
when children climbed her ladder to play in their miniature chateau.
When they called us on their walkie-talkie…because on snacks they wanted to dine
and we gladly filled the basket and sent it down the line.
Now as I sit her looking down at that old fort…remembering the laughter and the tears
I see how just like me she has weathered a little over the years…
Yes, Camp Mica needs a little touching up…
but with a great-granddaughter on the way…it’s future is now set…
and I’ve got a little time to bring that old fort back to life…
because, it seems, she’s not done making memories yet.
at the mission in the Bowery
when the addict comes in at night
they are ushered through electronic doors that
slam shut like a prison
echoing down the hall &
with few people on staff
they make their rounds in the greater part of the shelter
with walkie-talkies hooked to them
but no weapons or defense tools of any kind
which might allow for those spending their evenings
cleaning the laundry of the homeless &
taking care to the best of their ability
of those that the rest of society has left to die
in the garbage bin that is the piss ridden street---
in the emergency room
where those that walk straight off the street are allowed to
keep shelter,
but only shelter,
they need not even give their names &
they are not hassled by the help---
they remain huddled together
nodding off in a stupor
with the staff checking on this specific room
every 15 minutes
with the hope that no one has drifted off to an overdose---
those with the walkies also have a needle on them at all times
which contains a good dose of adrenaline &
after gratuitous exercises upon being hired,
of shoving the needle into a ripe orange
over & over
(as if this is supposed to prepare you for shoving it in a human being
who has just overdosed),
they are told to be on the ready
for such a moment to arise
when they will need to use it---
upon entering the emergency room,
those who have come in off the streets often,
having no respect for those with jobs & lives that
they can no longer even imagine, or perhaps from a greater disdain for
society as a whole,
they often ridicule the help,
cursing at them,
maybe not even conscious that they are doing so &
it is all in a night’s work to ignore or tolerate these insults
to the best of one’s ability
in hope that they are not struck or physically attacked
because an adrenaline needle & a walkie-talkie
isn’t going to stop someone who has nothing left in the world but
rage.
See what!
Don’t let a let a lot of
skyjack noise
cloud your IQ vision
Radar babies make sonar decisions
for the latest batch
of tech toys
They be so double blind batty,
making a-plenty penthouse dwellers’
pockets grow beanstalk fatty
Don’t be a mice fool,
and go play
the double blind game of possessions
Don’t be a dull tool,
with no say
Telling ‘em your covetous confessions
20/20
is starting to look a-like
a whole lot of double zero eyes
are getting poked twice
Look-y here ...
Another snooze chump
for beta wave paid
commercial distractions
The new-and-improved
is bank loan made
for your consumer lust satisfaction
Weekly double hump
got those pyramid scheme calculators
seeing a 5th finger
interest double bump
Which is sure to put you in
another repo session
But hey, slaving for glaucoma scraps
is your debt passion
Don’t be a lemming fool,
and cliff fall
for the age-old double blind game of bait-and-switch
Don’t be a pigeon stool,
of rote recall
Every product prototype has a developmental glitch
20/20
is starting to look a-like
a whole lot of double zero eyes
are getting poked twice
20/20
Rearview tinted vision
is seeing a lot of table stake chimps
getting poker played
20/20
Planet of the Apes
is being neo-Babel Tower
glitter blind raised
See whatnot!
20/20
Double blind pursed lip hospice
is being wallet
wink walkie
$o money $ign
nod double-talkie
Who doctored a future paid?
20/20
Little Stevie Wonder mint cane sight-seeing,
bills in the Braille fold
Pirate eye patchy sold —
Fifth finger collection is a guide dog feeling
Double blind vision
looks a-like
Another dim gold brick laid
"Ballinger's pride will be the death of him,"
Was the last muttering of the old cyclops before
The poison took over. Never trust unicorn bartenders.
Young Gallimay, the town's token centaur,
Walked into this scene:
Serren's body laid across the bar.
Tempest the unicorn bartenders cleaned pint glasses. (All ladee-da.)
Two old frog friends sat in the back with lagers, blinking back at the man/horse.
Tinkerbell whizzed by with the someone's check, pregnant with her 3rd babybell.
A baby albino dire wolf slept soundly at the foot of the hat rack near his hooves.
Gallimay trotted up to the bar right beside the dead body.
"300 doubloons," said Tempest the unicorn bartender.
Gallimay gave her a look like he got hit with a frying pan.
"The dire pup," she clarified, "300 doubloons if you're interested."
Gallimay shook his head and leaned in, "Ma'am I'm here on a tip someone was poisoned to death. A text from this location saying 'I've been poisoned.'"
Gallimay looked at the body next to him
And then back at Tempest.
"What's this guy's story?"
"His name is Serren. He's a regular. Must've fell asleep."
Gallimay nudged the Cyclops' ribs.
"Hey buddy!" The body toppled
Over and hit the ground.
The Centaur took out a walkie from his vest pocket.
"I gotta 10-66 at the Imagine Inn."
"Bloody Mary?" Tempest asked Gallimay.
"Not on the job, thanks."
"No, have you talked to Bloody Mary?"
Tempest pointed her cone towards a woman at the end of the bar
Cloaked in shadows and dripping with blood.
"Mary and Serren were an item for quite awhile," Added Tempest.
Unable to help from over-hearing, Mary waved at them politely.
"Let me call you back, Ballinger," said the scarlet-soaked woman
In a barroom hush.
Black Ops
Tex Lester and his sidekick Lumpy Bascom
wiggled down the arroyo on their bellies
to better observe a latifundista trouble spot
too hot to touch so they tap danced instead
Lumpy grabbed the walkie talkie and said
hey my turn to change the channels
Tex said OK Lumpy said here goes
your eyelids are turning transparent
every lock has a key but some are kinda rusty
it was an irreducible problem
on a sliding scale as usual
nothing so precious as a mind
overcoming its own psychosis
nothing so dangerous so revealing
what makes potential seem immediate
who can have infinite protection
working yourself to exhaustion can help
if you are an original sin Catholic
it has been 7 seconds since my last confession
contusions from the infant cradle
held to the sky in blessing
but the fields always droop and wither
and we always have the rest of our lives
the latifundista was under attack
by an army of particulars
bringing the guilty to the book
when they go apoplectic it usually means
there's a turd in the butter dish
at this point grab life by the ass
a balm for the paranoid shakes
or life's analog of the Virgin Mary
offering her writhing body to lepers
entering heaven in her bent Bentley
while the rebels arouse themselves
as her personal representative
no keener mortal praise exists
except by her blind biographers
and their company of war chariots
our task is to mend civilization
without getting our balls shot off
but at my age it's an empty threat
funny you don't see many
geriatric suicide bombers
a relic from grandma's day
where tradition was not the joke
it is today unless it is a
tradition of mockery
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
http://tinyurl.com/nhfk6dr
Dark Side
Date: Mon, Oct 19 2015 at 5:44 PM
I'm on "Probation"
I can't catch any "Cases"
Cause they goin give me a "Equation"
I feel like grabbing the "Knife"
Of "Mike"
And "Jasons"
An put nails in my face like "Hellraiser"
An I'm feeling hot I feel like I'm goin to hell and Murdering "Satan"
An Blow up a couple police "Stations"
Blow up a bank an leave no "Traces"
Take over military "Bases"
An steal a Tank an come up the block "Blazing"
With my Army in "Helicopters"
In Nightvision goggles and "Binoculars"
Send the swoop in from the Walkie "Talkies"
Search and Destroy "Kamikaze"
Take over the white house with the "Haitians"
In a shirt printed Jamrock with " Jamaica"
An Army of "Jamaicans"
Cubans some "Natives"
An hang everybody "Racist'
An a Klan of " Caucasians "
Can't forget Africa an my Latin "Brothers"
With some Latin Queens dressed like "Bandits" they will feel what's "Suffer"
With Trained Lions blowing Elephant "Tusks"
On Elephants while the world sirens till Dawn to "Dusk"
A couple engineers from "China"
This the Vengeance of the "Messiah"
I'm "Zechariah"
I didn't forget the "Asians"
The "Canadians"
This the Revolution of all "Nations"
They goin really have to "Segregate" Us
Y'all Killed "MARTIN" LUTHER "KINGS - Dreams"
This the NIGHTMARE MARTIN LUTHER "Seen'
I'm the Seed of Malcolm "X"
They didn't Need Now Malcolm "Resurrect"
Like the Lazarus "Effect"
Tupac in the "Flesh"
I was trained by DMX Now it's time to show them Tricks from "BMX"
Black Mafia Family this the new "BMF"
I'm here Eazy now you can "Rest"
What y'all thought we was goin keep marching for "Respect"
No we charging now until "Death"
No Reparations No "Check"
No Pays for our "Debt"
a man comfortably stretched out on the bench
watches his little daughter run around,
looking out for sketchy folks,
while at the same time talking to her---
she giggles, continuing to want him to see
what she’s doing---
“look at me, daddy---look!” she cries out happily &
the whole while, a mall cop
(dressed to the hilt of irrelevant authority
complete with his black stetson,
a walkie-talkie &
a pad of paper to write down his little nothings on)
watches the father,
as he watches out for his daughter.
approaching the father with his back straight,
trying to stand as tall as possible,
adjusting his belt so that his gut doesn’t pop out,
he stops a few feet from him,
asking him directly just what he thinks he is doing,
letting his daughter run around in such a manner---
the father looks up, not believing what he is hearing---
“just go away…seriously, just go away,” the father told him.
the mall cop pulls out his little pad in one hand, holding the
walkie-talkie in the other---
“sir, if you do not take control of your daughter, there may be
consequences,” the mall cop foolishly continues.
the father gets up & approaches the cop,
in reality, much taller & larger than he had seemed stretched out on the bench---
while looking down at the mall cop, he doesn’t miss where his daughter is for a
second---
“tell me how to take care of my child again---go ahead, i dare you,”
demands the father to the mall cop.
clearing his throat while simultaneously moving a few steps backwards,
the cop folds his little pad back up & hooks his walkie-talkie back to his belt---
“very good sir,” he mutters, does an about-face in the other direction &
meanders off.