and so it all came to pass ~ the world stood still when I sh!t on your grass
so barked the neighbours dog ~ but I’d already seen him dragging his ass
looking inside becomes a weighty endeavor
peeping outside is in no way better
hypomania, baby what a blast that phase is
going 100 miles an hour with no seat belt or helmet
giving in to the whims of the moment the universe is
beyond colorful. how do u explain the crash of the century..breaking bones inside the minds finding clarity; in nothing particular but flying by to find the mind is gone haywire.
A golden son, he walks with steady stride,
His heart a mirror of his mother’s might.
Through years of struggle, she’s been by his side,
A beacon burning bright through endless night.
Her hands, though worn, have molded him with care,
Each lesson whispered through the weight of time.
She wore her burdens lightly, unaware
Of how her strength would lift him so sublime.
He sees her weariness, the tears she hides,
Yet in her eyes, a spark that will not die.
A love unspoken, deep where silence bides,
She gave him wings and taught him how to fly.
To her, this son will ever be the one,
The golden gift, her battle’s hard-won son.
When I ask him, 'Do you really love me'?
He thinks and says, 'Sure I always say 40-love when I play tennis with
you'.
Whenever I come home happy after my shopping spree,
He reminds me, 'Honey, Money does not grow on tree'.
Whenever I need some help in household chores,
He reminds me that his work domain is outdoors.
Whenever he works outside the house,
He moans and groans that I forgot my wedding vows.
Whenever I complain of being TV. sports widow during leisure times,
He wants me to be creative and pick up some hobby sometimes.
When the hour of romance comes on the anniversaries,
I expect gifts, flowers, hugs and kisses,
Instead I get a flower from the garden reminding me of my marriage
anniversary.
Whenever I am dressed up to go the parties and want him to look sharp,
He comes up with his favorite old shirt and baggie pants.
When I am mad on him for not listening to anything I say,
I think he is a son of a gun, what else I can say
your life wasn't easy
I was nine that morning
your battered face
you said you ran into
a clothesline pole
but it was a tank
the same one I ran into
when you took us away
I should have been
angry at him, not you
you gave your children a life
sacrificed everything
yet I never
not even now
fully realized
what a strong, courageous
and loving woman
my mom....
I'm trying
I hold onto the memory
of that time a bad call
at the very last second
cost me
a fiercly contested
wrestling match
you knew
it was more
than that disappointment
grinding me down
sitting there on my bed
despondent
on the cliff's edge
staring down into a sea of
disillusionment
you came
sat beside me
and told me you understood
how discouraged I was
but that when you watched me
you saw a man fighting a battle
and it made you proud
and it made me cry
god it made me cry
I might wash up fine now
I might dress well now
But I'll still be a son of a farmer
Son of a laborer who has to work hard
So forgive me if I don't fit in your class
I came from grasses before riches
And i learnt to be humble, not just the word
For all what we had was enough for a simple life
Cause their were many mouths to feed
With an extra mouth after every 2 years
Cause my siblings kept popping
And we'd call it blessing till we had enough of that
I might look so fine now
But I can get my hands dirty
Don't be fooled by my fine linen
And I can put it all away and put on my rags
Cause I don't want to soil this fine image
So I put it aside as I get to work
For I need to eat so I can't be petty
And at the end of the day money's money
It all looks the same and does the same
So why would I be afraid of my roots
Roots that fed me and made me this diverse
And though I might be this great, I don't mind being son of a farmer
The PO£T
If you were born a son of a gun
Life for you would not be fun
Because you'll never know your Dad
Or who was he if you had?
He could have been anyone.
You poor bastard Son of a Gun!
When I let one loose in the elevator
I felt like a fart battling, a mitigator
he said, "you couldn't hold it until later?"
I said, "it just ran away, what a traitor!"
when I got to my desk, I fanned it out
while all the workers changed their rout
I cried " son of a gun I got bum gout!"
and suddenly, they all began to shout.
July 31, 2021
Do not blame the bearer of the bad news –
A gun doesn’t kill by itself or a knife,
Nor a video game or hostile views;
An evil act is but wrought by a mind’s strife.
You may foster a sapling or stunt its growth
and see it’ll be a vine or an oak tree;
like the mind of a child as he grows forth –
Will he be vile or live a life stress-free?
There are spiritual laws that govern with
the same certainty as the physical laws,
Faith, trust in God, and Love are not ancient myth
But values that shape the character sans flaws.
Like putty, wax, dough, or a lump of clay
Mold the child right lest another soul he slay.
~Contest: Guns
~Anthony Biaanco
Father and son in the same world, facing opposite directions
both consciences battle it out in the ring beneath the palace
if his father won’t be in hell, he will be five minutes late
a man of no honour, less reverenced than his own white horse
this young man hawks kindness to his people to see the difference
but they are ravaged by the fungal itch of his dad
his hands are open to ease them of their pain from blisters
they reject from the perceived smell of the palace’s butchery
the man sitting on the throne flunks his people’s welfare
to the son, without their love, there’s no freedom
what is the use of a conglomerate without loyal employees?
why should the affliction of a people be a mortal’s delicacy?
in his dad’s chapter of the kings’ chronicles
he forbids the nation’s historians to write down his name.
if he’ll be the next leader, his father’s portrait will be painted in red.
thinking only we
being human but
not humane
were the
only
species able to do
what some say is
the unspeakable
but now i know
because I've
heard the songs
sung knowing
now why they
sound so sad
as the words
and the whales
travel across
the ocean
blue to
tell
all that they no
longer want to
splish splash
take a bath
but wail
their swimmingly
goodbyes by
committing
suicide by
beach
Apt 4
Black Door
Next Door neighbors moved out
Week before last
Citing strange noises
Rotten stench and an unruly pet
And the fact they had never seen , spoken nor met
Human nature is to speculate
But why waste the energy and time
No foul,
No crime
Until the door is kicked in
And the body's are found
Lying face down
As the children are taken into protective custody
Just another tale gone bad
Swapping Apt 4 in Trailer Park Suburbia
For Cell No 4
And a Heroin Needle
For 1 Final
Lethal Injection
The End
Amen
There once was a brave son of a gun
Who would pull his own trigger for fun
He saw a school shooter
Whom he shot and neutered --
That brave son's gun sure got the job done!
Knives fly
cows and chickens die
new world translations
morality always a test
abandoned sons
the fathers crimes exposed
cursed by a closed mind
brainwashed
by voices in the sky
mathematics
begin to multiply
only then
will fathers repent
and children rejoice
animals roam free
all the living
have precious souls
I'm the son of a gun.
You can call me the son of Sam.
I kill, Bang, bang, you're dead..
I kill. therefore I am.
I remember my own sweet home,
where I never suffered loss,
and the holy rifle on the wall
slung just beneath the Cross.
No earthly power is my master.
No thing can hold me in awe.
To legal qualms I answer.
I stand for cannon law.
And as long as you are still breathing,
get more bangs from your buck.
Industry is thunderously booming
but never trust your luck.
For I may find you any place.
no matter where you roam,
in Iraq or Syria,
or where you are at home.
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