There was this old fellow from Princeton
Whose Dodge Ram did throw a piston
With the engine bloc shot
He ran home at a trot
And switched to a Chevy in an instant
Robin Hood's Last Shot
Ill-
fated
Robin Hood,
upon death’s bed,
shoots his last arrow
through an open window,
which, when it touches the ground,
will mark the spot to dig his grave
and where he will rest in peace under
a greenwood tree planted beside the site.
Couple jabs
Doesn't sound bad
But rolling up a shirt
Pin pricks hurt
What do we do
Not get vaccination flu
Must
Talk and trust
That is not a fuss
To find the proper decision
Since a boo boo needs kissing
Filled with tender loving care
Soothing any pediatric scare
Yaaa taa yaa hey hey aaay
Soul sweet your precious
Mi eyes don hook your vessel
Com here mi dear
You are more than a lot
Com, com here love shoot your shot
When they mi heart beat drops
Com here my love shoot your shot
Your heart dey do burst my brain
Mi body sighs, shines like rain
Liken a arrow shot from bow
I'm firing myself unto, you
What you do, I'm coming fo you
Like water on a rock
Come shoot your shot
I swear mi eyes don't hook
But mi heart and mind look
Have in good time yo face be better jollof
Heartbeats kpam-kpam
You don be rhythm minded
Body be sweet got mi guided
Com here mi dear
You are more than a lot
Com, com here love shoot your shot
When they mi heart beat drops
Com here my love shoot your shot
Don let yo heart beat stop
Beloved, shoot your shot
I get a free shot
Don't miss, you've done this alot
A free shot at success
No one there to make you feel like you're less
My brain goes corrupt
I don't want to go bankrupt
Everyone's staring at me
I really have to pee
Take a deep breath
It's not as bad as death
I dribble twice
I'm gonna have to pay the price
I shoot the ball
I'm sorry to all
I missed
Now I'm pissed
But you know what
It wasn't that bad as I thought
Like alcohol on a small cut
It hurts, it's really hot
Stings at first
But then it's gone in a burst
At least I tried
I learned what not to do
Now I'll have more pride
You have to push yourself to do things that make you feel like poo
I'll get fouled some other time in the game
Having it all is kind of lame
I like her, but I don't know if she likes me
It's hard to tell honestly
She talked and texted me platonically
Then she ghosted me for a while
She's like a projectile
Soars through the air then slowly falls
Loses interest, doesn't answer my calls
But now it's different, it's like I've picked up the arrow
And she's been waiting alot
She's more talkative, less narrow
I think it's time for me to pick up my bow and shoot my shot
Henry McCarty (1859 – 1881)
a.k.a, Kid Antrim – ca. 1876
a.k.a., William H. Bonney – ca. 1877
Of Irish ancestry
New York-born
orphaned at 15
from his family shorn
repeatedly asking '¿Quién es?'
around midnight 14th July 1881
entering Maxwell's bedroom
their mutual friend but Billy without a gun
in Fort Sumner where by Pat Garrett
(1850 - 1908)
take my word I kid you not
age 21 sadly Henry the outlaw
in the chest was badly shot
for reputedly killing nine men
but for the posted bounty of $500
it took the Sheriff 369 days to collect
the reward promised by Governor Wallace
(1827 – 1905)
Perfect, we met on Cupid’s day;
but for mercurial horseplay
of the limbo bar.
Marriage tested with high-low games.
Imperfectly, we match; two flames -
and yet here we are.
I’M NOT MAD AT YOU
YET BULLETS IN HER WENT THROUGH
SHOT DEAD BY ICE CREW
.
az poe
mine think tip'd
over
((plop))
at thuh bar table
i hear'd one shouldn't
trust
boiler makerz
tap
Memories dwell
within low spirits over-
whelmed by suppressed
feelings and unspoken
thoughts that accumulate
into a small ounce
poison juice.
My father craved it,
My mother hates it,
My older brother became
lost in it.
I for one nor hate, craved, or felt lost,
I followed the smell and it lured
me with its delicate scent
and harmless manner.
a sip of its warm
flavor coated
my drained throat,
the taste is somewhat
bittersweet, but
its flames bursts
as it hits
my stomach,
its fragrance strengthens
its resolve causing
my head to spin
in illusive traction,
my body burns
to a hundred degrees,
the intensity latches
onto my lungs
like a bloodsucking
parasite rejuvenating
what's left.
While gasping for air,
I lose consciousness,
blurred vision,
echoes strum
against the walls,
I fall barely holding on,
while whispers travel
along my ears,
as its voice ascends
slowly,
I catch a glimpse
at the shot glass filled
with barrenness,
a once detailed portrait
is now the remains
of a youthful shadow.
I shot all the letters, my love, in the silent dawn of night,
From my last unread book, the pages remain unstarted,
The poems exchanged their corpses for impersonal words,
Full of blind ideas, like echoes fading in the valley unheard.
Turning the phrase on the erased spot of the final point,
A yellow, vegetal form becomes a banal detail in joint,
Leading us to the forgotten trash heap's communal grave,
A swirling fervor, a strange cross, a destiny tangled and grave.
After so many loves and insults, let's dream of each other anew,
Not just our most uncultured dreams, but in another view,
Conscious punctuation marks sent to the earth we embrace,
Old creations now hollow, a NULLity of words with no grace.
Let's lose ourselves in the silence of words that echo no more,
In an esoteric dance of thoughts flowing slowly to the core,
In a world where magic and melancholy meet and blend,
And in an eternal dream, my love, let's find and love again.
.
if mine duke's one
digit's thick
stroll'd
yourn short long
'pick'er up linez'
notwithstand'n
mine think be
"tonight
you are in mine
abode
cabin
hut
shanty
purlieu lady"
tap
“You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” ? Wayne Gretzky”
Where courage sleeps, and doubt begins to bloom,
There stands a chance, unseen, unheard, unknown.
A fleeting moment, poised to meet its doom,
Unless brave hands reach out and claim its own.
For in the realm of dreams, where shadows play,
And whispered fears may hold ambition fast,
A single shot, though missed, can light the way,
A lesson learned, a challenge bravely cast.
So let not trepidation hold you back,
Nor fear of failure dim ambition's fire.
For even when the target's mark is black,
The act of aiming sets the soul afire.
as it ticks to walk
a way goes, often in for another
rounds of bells, daring
caring as carriage
to bespoken
left wing goes
wanderers does
innocent with blames
love letters
pickup lines
campbell's soup lies, without a droopy
nothing likes hert
miss interpret that
intrepid repose cats
lakey at edminton
empty pens in his mouth
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