Some blokes who smoke think it's okey-doke
to throw their still-lit dog-ends on the ground
it's mostly men or so I've found
then there are those who continually spit
how disgusting is that yet what can we do
to make them quit
and litter louts bug me too
while others chew gum and when done
stick it wherever they are able
such as chairs or under tables
with no regard for anyone
they're inconsiderate mindless fools
who behave that way and think they're cool
a spit for luck
On my travels along country lanes
This Sunday afternoon, I saw a tree.
On a yellow sun-burnt field, that had
A crazed axeman cuts off its limb.
A surgeon named John had put.
a bandage on the stump, but sap
Or white blood had seeped through
The bandage, and I could sense its
Their silent suffering reminds us of mortality, prompting the audience to reflect on life's fragility.
Wounded three.
So much death on a peaceful day, I saw an
An old oak, fallen silent from an enormous tumor on its trunk, stood as a somber symbol of mortality amid the falling leaves.
Tumour on its trunk, leaves had fallen off, and
Gray branches were seeking heavenward,
a gesture of futility. A car ran across the lane.
And I spat twelve times for luck, a superstition that connects us to shared beliefs about chance and fate.
How much spit do you have to wipe off your face?
How many thorns do you have to remove after every curse we attach to your name?
How many times do we have to bury you, and you come back with more grace and love?
Every praise we give you feels like a blade piercing through the rib cage of eternity.
Twisting & grinding against the bones of peace
Looking into our eyes with the silent screams of forgiveness
Looking legion into the eyes, screaming
I LOVE YOU!
~Reborn
dumpy trumpeter
spat the dummy
when his taco toppled
off his pastiche wall
Walking down York Avenue,
A very urban block,
An odor had my senses piqued
And then I saw, in shock,
In front of a local restaurant
A pig turned on a spit.
With juices dripping down, it somehow
Didn’t seem to fit.
It’s not a sight I’ve ever seen,
Right out there on the street,
And though I’m sure that some would be
Excited by that meat,
To me, it registered as just
Another strange surprise,
For such anomalies are part
Of New York City’s guise.
I hope that those who feast on this,
A fresh-cooked Easter ham,
Are not as bothered by this
Street-side cookout as I am.
'Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon',
I would not piss in your ear,
if your brain was on fire.
For what you have done defiles mercy's dung.
For on your face, the stain of wrongs is drawn, indelible,
And your words, beget bitter, pointless heartless disdain.
So soiled is your soul, and all grace is so far gone,
Forgiveness is pointless, a forlorn waste of time.
Oh most of Europe..' Is in a fit.' Realitys has kicked in.' Also
Putin says has been safekeeping, many intercepted kidnapped kids.? Some are American too.' Now what will
The so willing do.? I even doubt this (true story) will be
Explored? being much too gory.' Oh dear Lord!! cause Trump
And Vance, must know on which foot fits the shoe.? Till
Then? its (Hiss slap spit) ya know what America? let them spit on me too.'
A bullseye again!
Can't miss.
Have practiced since I was ten.
Contrary to what people may say,
I have a talent.
And plan to keep it that way.
The Olympics are coming up,
My gold in spitting is coming up fast.
Momma says, "That can't be right.
No such sport as spitting!
I want you to stop tonight."
But I know it's true.
Otherwise, what else will the spitters do?
They are all in training too.
I've seen them as I pass through.
Cups held out to spit in.
Rolled down windows,
Spit in the wind.
Now it's my turn,
I can hit birds in flight!
Momma says, "You'll get over this.
Spitting is gross!
No one will have you as a host!"
Poppa says that spitting has a history.
Brass spittoons in every store!
Poppa says, "Come spit with me.
I bet you can even hit the top of that tree!"
I needed to practice every day.
Now I have a sport that even Poppa can play!
They say real ladies don’t spit
Then what in the salava to do with it
Just hold it in
With a grin
Or learn to swallow another trick
At a history museum
By the hearth there was a spit
With a slatted-wood contraption
By a rope attached to it.
When we read the explanation
We were totally surprised.
The contraption was a cage
In which a small dog exercised.
Like a hamster wheel, the dog would run
In circles so the meat
In the spit would turn, which helped
To make the cooking more complete.
With this mean but slick solution,
What was roasting would not burn,
But I hope at least the dog would get
A taste of what he’d earn.
The biggest mess I've ever seen
was taking bribes while living a dream
The exchange of money for confidence
When seen so sure the competence
But suddenly there goes something wrong
Abilities to change was taken from
No favorability while decisions are deals
Deception in progress while we grease the wheels
Two billion doller's paid in advance
Presidential powers pushing at glance
But assumptions made were suddenly wrong
and promises became words in a sad song
Gone were powers suddenly bereft
Four years of favor suddenly left
The feeling of cheated suddenly crept
The panic and fears of suddenly the quest
of those feeling that they were CHEWED and left less
Imagine the consequences that they already have
And to steal an election is only the half
The only defence they'll ever have is self defence
And they already have
It was done by saying "I've done nothing wrong."
But in truth taking the bribe made you already wrong.
Anna Alpaca is a sight.
with long, long legs and long, long neck.
She’s almost as tall as a kite!
I lean in to give her a peck
and when I am too close she spits
to let me know to go away.
She’s not rude, it’s just how she gets.
It is her way of saying “Nay!”
Showing elegance and true grace
in her chic shabby rose gray coat,
In my heart she has found a place.
I wish she fit in my pink tote!
She could model on a runway,
she’s such a nice little cutie!
If you are good and let her play,
she might be your sweet patootie!
She softly hums among the grass
listening with long pointy ears
for angry threats that might harass.
She sounds alarm if danger nears!
Her curly hair and big brown eyes
are deeply soft and sweet to see.
She should win a special top prize
for being perfectly lovely.
I've got 99 Dalmatians
99 problems
But a b###h ain't 1
Are simply Black or White
99 shade's of grey
Luckily I can't count to over a 100
Otherwise id have 101
Come from 8 miles away
Wrong side of the tracks
No street cred
Get stage fright
Battle getting it up
Can only spit while flipping burgers
Got 99 dog's but not a single G
calling me dog back
Tried 99 times but still no b###h
hollering back at me neither
Got no litter , got no glitter ,
got no bling , got not paper
Self proclaimed
Fresh Prince of Dead-Air
Cnr 99th street 101
And if 1 of you wants to buy a puppy
forward me your digits after the show
And I'll have 98 problems
But 99 ain't 1
wouldn’t it be awesome
if life were always as smooth
as scoops of homemade
strawberry ice cream
easing down our throat
on lazy summer days
sad truth is
oftentimes we’ll find
grit in our leftover soup
when we’re at our hungriest
yes, my friends
we’ve got to make the most
of good times as they roll by
because we never know
what’s around the corner
when the road ahead
is smooth and the sun is out
let the wind blow your hair
as if driving
the convertible of your dreams
always be prepared to
spit out the grit
as you ride
the roller coaster
of your life
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~MINDFULLY~ 2021
Read on air by invitation ~ June 11, 2021 'LATE NIGHT POETS'
AP: 2nd place 2021
Silence can sometimes say more than words.
Like a voice crying out saying "that's for the birds".
In one glimpse of haughty reveals action turned verb.
Without out even squeeking you unveil; could be worse?
Could be lashing and slashing ripped apart with both hands.
Leaving bodies like mountains seething piles of flesh.
And though you thought it not raught it left me bundled in shame.
I know it was candor fessing up to your game.
No excuse for the sadness that was left in your wake.
A timely disaster open hearts, bleeding hate.
Not a feeling I'm fond of not even one bit.
Like rolling rock rivers, canyons erode dissapate.
I became something new something truly regressed.
It's all of your fault caught by surprise must confess.
Makes me sick to my stomach knowing you only lied.
Bringing shame to my standing the proverbial line.
It's sad though you had nothing and I had only to give.
Though my heart sustained damage I somnambulantly live.
Scarred for life by this treachery even talk of a kid.
It all seems so stupid now thinking you were the best.
But now I have nothing I'll leave you to the rest.
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