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Kenneth Sammons Poem
Anticipatory overtones of indiscretion
Summoning the spare change of society
To rise up above normality
And to….
Super sonic microfilms of history
Telling a different story
A time when things were black and white
Preserved forever to a disk
Word <> spoken splices the audience
Full of eagerness and personality
Piercing each cerebellum
Downward to their heart
Nothing like the monotony of times past
Somewhat queer
Examining the inner scope
Kaleidoscoptically
Pierced nations of young hooligans
Dancing the night away
To a beat that doesn’t change
And loving it
Sticks make the stickular
Drums make the drumular
Pipes make the pipular
Cymbals make symbolism
Searching for fulfillment
In what we think will work
Hoping to chase the right road
But there is no right road
Life is just what it says
-Life-
Four letters put together one day
To explain or not explain everything
Giving us something to search for
And find true meaning
Trying to be the one
Who figured it out!
Giving us an outlet
An outlet for our minds to focus
No focus
-Dead-
Life definitely tricky at times
Not always what is expected
Maybe always the same
Day after day
The days go by and life lives on
Understanding the understandable
Not knowing why
But accepting
Taking the good with the bad
And moving forward
To me, that’s the most important part
Moving forward
Maybe I’m just a cowboy
Searching for new influences
Something that will make my art fresh
New, for lack of a better word
All that art really is
Something to look at
Make us think for a minute
And move on
Going back occasionally to reflect
Think about a moment in your life
Compare it to where you are now
Hopefully happy with the choice
Copyright © Kenneth Sammons | Year Posted 2005
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Kenneth Sammons Poem
Do you want to experience?
…the life of the writer
Who doesn’t really understand
Life continually moving to the right
Sideways emotional breakdowns
Dawning of a lunar sunrise on Tuesday
Knights wearing their protective masculinity
Mustached feelings of upper lips
Lemon butter granules of hope
While the working man suffers
Whimsical thought patterns of light
Illuminate an illustrious psalm of change
Do you want to experience?
A melon colored symphony of fire
Engulfed in a tabernacle in your mind
Full of manipulative and aggressive words
…thought and devotion becoming friends
Going on a journey through emotion
Wanting a written record of life
The way hazel shaded eyes scope
Metaphors that can leave you empty
Do you want to Experience?
Arabian nights of passionate remorse
As regret rears its ugly head to plot
Burnt sand between you toes
Slicing the soiled epidermal carnage
Thirsting for that one moment
That somehow rectifies this situation?
Left like an anvil on your chest
Do you want to Experience?
Frostbitten toes turning black and blue
Somehow crippling your soul
Man of the hour for fifteen minutes
Hopping through dimensions of bliss
Savage beasts pound on their drums
Scantly clad carnivores feed on emptiness
Melodic young men fortify thirsts of pleasure
Recognizing your peers inner thoughts and emotions
Listening and learning the way to refreshment
Stands that quench a simple vice
Verses sung out of key
Do you want to experience?
Art simplified through scientific experimentation
That can justify exactly why or when
A simple beat in the background
Enhances words without even trying
Sexiness expressed through art of a different breed
Breathing life into this astrological union
Striking a cord some where deeply untouched
But needing to be
Not to make anyone feel stupid
Writing about the universe seen
As progression escapes from the speaker
Copyright © Kenneth Sammons | Year Posted 2005
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Kenneth Sammons Poem
Writer’s Rights
Martha Stewart glorified after prison
AIDS overwhelming uneducated African youth
Terrorism continuing to scare us senseless
The writer writes
Portraits being painted for history books
Scholars studying patterns of behavior
Terrorism inside these walls
The writer rights
Hip-Hop portrays a gangster’s persona
Saddam Hussein rots in a dark musty jail cell
Cancer’s evil agenda maintains its goal
The writer writes
Stockbrokers continue to figure cost basis
Pharmacists become more and more wealthy
New drugs approved daily by the FDA
The writer rights
The writer’s rights are no one’s but the writer’s
A poetic license to script an honest portrayal of the world we live in
Unafraid of what his outcome may be
The writer writes
Copyright © Kenneth Sammons | Year Posted 2005
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Kenneth Sammons Poem
So many women and so little time
All will be mine
They’re ready for me now
After much consideration
After years of complication
The truth is finally told
Hopefully sold
Females that aren’t cold
Like Eskimos in June
They all swoon
To the poetic
The one who speaks their language
And listens to what they say
Each different but all the same
Same makeup
Same parts
{Explanation}
Hippie girls like one night stands
Waitresses fall for about a year
Bartenders too smart for their own good
Party girls never remember
Professionals are always taken
Lesbians out of reach
High school girls don’t have a clue
College girls think they do
Desperate girls will do anything
Scholars forgot how to have fun
Pretty faces are usually spoiled
And daddy’s girls are my favorite
Copyright © Kenneth Sammons | Year Posted 2005
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Kenneth Sammons Poem
The poet is the chameleon of our modern society
Constantly changing his appearance
Always adapting to his fresh new surroundings
Looking for something to write
Writing to support illegitimate children he’s never met
Strangely fitting in with every demographic of life
No matter how different they may be
Always recognizing something he can relate to
-Gift
Never concerned with wealth
Instead filling days and nights with scripture
Reading and studying everyone like him
Zukofsky, Ginsberg, Keroac, Merrill, and Pope
Just to name a few
Devising new techniques to better his uncommon trade
Wanting to impress even the toughest critic
Devilishly diversifying his sticky pages with something new
Just so scholars will have something to study
IVeternity
Copyright © Kenneth Sammons | Year Posted 2005
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Kenneth Sammons Poem
I finally ficsed my scatter brained poetic mind
My friend Bacster gave me an unorthodocs answer
He informed me about tacses and IRS back pay
We discussed the ecsploitation of a falsified matrics
As well as why acse murderers are so scary
How secsy we think pierced nipples are
And why Sacsophone players continue to play the blues
We discussed why Checs Mics tastes so damn good!
And how much we absolutely hate the facs machines at work
Macsimum discussion of an off color tone
Never interested in three sicses
Portrayed through lack of secsual practice lately
Lack of secs can really ecspand your mind
Quite unecspectedly
Copyright © Kenneth Sammons | Year Posted 2005
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