it sounded like a car door slamming shut
All three dogs begin the howling yowling bark
Then they run to mama
I am mama
I look out the window
to make sure a delivery man has made his escape
no one is out there
Open the door and they race through it
as if they are on the scent of six serial killers
it takes us a while to get inside
Every dog finds a place and flops.
Bam!
Another car door.
The chase begins anew
Denver wheeling
Spinning,
Thinning
Itching,
Scratching
Black box shouting,
Pause recording
Stop stalling
Part 2
I want Air Force 1,
Fuelled and ready to go
At my command
Draped in invisible camouflaged
blue shadowed by red arrows
Part 3
I wish to see the falling angel
for myself
Viewed from 1st class champagne
in hand washing caviar and truffles
down
In questionable company
Part 4
Knock , Knock
What's the dark secret you
are keeping well hid behind
Black door with golden number 4
Part 5
Or more to the point
What's the actual cost
Per say in human lives
Or bribes to the contrary
Part 6-6-6
Taxation donated sponsored
Death becomes
charity / clarity
The devil's in the detail
Part 7
Why there is no,
Part 7
Can't you see
As at the stroke of 8 the white flag
was clearly raised and so to
with it the towel thrown in
It's all over bar the shouting
Extra , extra nothing left to do but
read and write and crow all about it
Service an agenda and ramp up
the recriminations
Renegade master,
Power to the people
I tried to hold onto you but could not—
You slipped through my fingers as water will
When run through a sieve. And how like the plot
Of some dime-store pulp it all seems now -- shrill
Yet so furtive. I tried to be humble,
To seem nonchalant; but came off shallow,
Unfocused, both surprised when you’d grumble
And childishly petulant and callow,
I’m embarrassed to confess. Now you’ve left:
No chance now of reconciliation;
No excuses now, howsoever deft,
No third party’s neat adjudication
Can heal the rift between us anymore.
Nothing tastes so bitter as one’s own words,
Or punctuates quite like the slamming door,
No matter how tenaciously one girds
Oneself to bear the shock. Regret may well
Be futile, but it’s hard indeed to take--
Like some malignant fairy’s baleful spell
Which no consoling words can ever break.
NB: The word "not" in the first line is meant to be stressed.
Look me in the eye
Get off your phone
I heard you sigh
Now don’t you lie
I see you texting me
I know you know that I can see
No I won’t read just tell me
Jiggling with laughter
Your not that funny
Look me in the face
Don’t drive away
Why don’t you stay
Put that cell away
Your taking me off
Your friends and family
Well what a shame
Perhaps we can meet instead
Have a nice lunch
Talk to me
Learn from me
Don’t scoff at me
I see you cough at me
Don’t choke on your words
Those I can’t hear
Get off the phone
Your ready to steer
Finally you put down the phone
What to talk about
I have nothing to say
Just want to stare into your pretty blues
Why you rolling them that way
Your waist is tiny, you face is cute.
I wasn't wining, your tongue's acute.
As we walked the streets of Moscow
Already knew what I would allow
You to do with me. How exciting!
Your hands, spirit are so inviting.
Good thing it is, I was not lonesome.
You seem content, your soul is wholesome.
What do you dream of? I wanna know!
What are you thinking, although don't show?
Right! No long-term planning! Way to be.
Go on slamming words 'bout you and me.
Seems like I could be on top of the world.
I think about poetry like my tongue is pearled.
Just the other day I wrote a poem to honor another poet.
I spun around in a spin to unfurl to the Soupers whorled.
I know they think they’re the bombshell.
They are big headed and believe their words cast the spell.
They vortex puts us in a whirlpool.
They billow swells.
Soupers let’s keep it real.
The universe zeal.
We entertain each other with our thoughts.
Poetry is our appeal.
We write to regale.
Anything else considered is to no avail.
I laugh aloud.
Soupers the advantage is a tall tale.
I am here to share-out.
That there is such a thing as an amateur in the house.
I know many fill the title of a poet professional.
This is where real skills are grandeur and profound.
Soupers, the truth expose.
A writer’s right shows.
Angstrom to a wavelength, the brain thinks and the mind depicts.
As a Poetess, here I throw it to the wind; that it is you with the *******.
To the Souper who asked for a rebuttal to his slam.
__________________________________________________________________|
Penned February 18, 2015!
Your lines have been Xeroxed,
even the other woman kept them in a box
beneath the bed soiled with disease
above the dog you liken with fleas
Your lips swell with pretense like Botox
Shame on you, poisoning Cupid's bow
Your soul is tied to names you don't even know
What's her name? To you, we're all named "doll"
Barbie needs to bury Ken, get a bearer like Pall
Your game is entertaining, but you still don't show
Oh, big bad wolf! You can't blow down this house
Finally, the cheese got up and chased off the mouse
I've had enough of your shenanigans!
I want a man, not a 10-lady-man-with-silky hands
I thought you were a lover, but you're really a louse
GOOD RIDDENS!
You think that you know me
Reading me like a book
I had more to give you
Than the pages you took
Try taking a closer look
I don't need your disrespect
You're completely unaware
Thinking that I really care
you're the chump I'm the player
Step back get out of my hair
Your chance, has come and gone
Watch, as I walk out the door
I won't settle any more
This is not what I'm made for
I lift myself from the floor
You want me, because I'm gone
So who is now the fool
You thought, I was yours to rule
Yet I could not be your mule
You the master on that stool
I am made of stronger stuff
Watch as now I light the sky
You can't catch me if you try
You're left alone wondering why
I seemed so fragile and so shy
Verlena Walker's Slamming Competition.
oh you want to slam me I don't think so son
ill crash your ship upon the rocks
while laughing just for fun
straight whip out all my cocks
and peck you till your done
id like to take the time to slam the government
but there all just pawns
who don't know where they all went
so I pet them all like newborn fawns
don't you remember its the people who are to be number one
and for the kings and queens
what the hell is wrong with you
want to keep us picking beans
I hope your crown turns black and blue
don't make me do the knocking with the power of the sun
and money
don't get me started dude
I do this stuff for free
any other way is rude
and even if I eat some crumbs I'm above the ruthless scum
how about the church
a layer cake of bull**** thousands of years old
stagnant as a piece of birch
growing with some mold
no wonder they try to rape us cause there really number none
The sound of anger is a silent one,
Don’t you know?
A deaf tone ringing, Vibrating then nothing
An alliteration of explosive hollow emotions
Replete with intoxicating truths
Words exchanged broke these smiles
But are meaningless before doors slam
Slamee or slammer does it matter?
For after these doors slam
We say what we mean
Ronny Madonsela 22/09/2012
say what you will about mr. hope & change
as far as him being a politician & doing the
shady, scummy, dirty & bloody things that
politicians do,
say what you will about him doing all the dastardly deeds for another
4 years,
say what you will about anything ya got to say that’s sour, beautiful or
indifferent about the man,
but mr. ken bennett,
mr. tool-of-the-mormon-rich-white-guy,
residing in good ol’ profiling, arresting, unjustly imprisoning &
deporting (as if it was going out of style)
arizona,
WHY MUST WE BRING UP THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE AGAIN?
jesus
****ing
christ.
hiding behind the excuse that a constituent’s request,
mr. bennett bends over for the tea party &
when the tea party is done with him,
he bends over for right wing nutjobs not affiliated with anybody &
when he can barely stand up anymore,
he gets on his knees & blows mr. romney,
because there is no secret as to what all this rehashing about the goddamned
birth certificate is---
mr. bennett if you walk like a
birther &
you talk like a birther &
you bend over & take it like a birther,
then, there is a good chance that
you might be lying when you say that you
aren’t.
continued from part 1
dakarai a few ladies said you're "fugly"
and I wonder what you look like.
"Fugly" means "fu#king ugly"
like your face was run over by a motor bike!
dakarai "ugliness" is only skin deep,
So don't worry your "poetic little head."
Guess what creep?
I guess that doesn't apply when you look like the walking dead!
dakarai enough about your repulsive looks,
let us discuss your personality.
It seems you mimic characters from story books,
and that's not reality!
dakarai: just be yourself,
no need trying to be something you're not.
It's bad for your poetic health,
thinking you have the good-looks of Lancelot!
dakarai just look at me,
I'm everything your girlfriend ever desired.
Even the ladies in your family read my poetry
and were inspired!
dakarai send me a "facebook friends request"
and don't worry, I'll approve.
As you swallow this slam and let it digest,
I'm already preparing my next move!!!
I noticed that your "poems" are getting shorter and shorter,
Which lets me know that my rhymes are putting things in order.
Since you lost once, then lost twice, why not lose a couple times more.
So, go ahead and write part one, part two, part three, and part four.
You keep talking about some contest that you won on the soup,
But, after this particular battle, you might want to regroup.
You are not a Samurai, just some new guy with a dull sword.
Your words are not amusing, which is why I always get bored.
Your incarceration is a story that you are so proud to tell,
Though smart crooks and dumb crooks are separated by a cell.
Is this really the claim to fame that you have repeatedly sought;
Smart crooks get away, and only the dumb ones get caught.
Whorelock! Your rhymes are not worth a second look.
You should spend more time reading more poetry books.
You could not define a consonant, nor a vowel,
So, once again, my friend, I beg you to throw in the towel!
They slam each other every day.
Tearing them apart in a sly way,
Truth I say, what a lie.
Political games cry.
Give them cement shoes, drop into bay.
Next election, vote for three blind mice,
They would fare better, than roll of dice.
Vote now for mystery.
Go down in history.
For they have no “tales-tails“, truths suffice.