No Heaven for a Gangsta

Another poem I wrote in my advance poetry class. This is the revision. I do not like it all that much, but in theory it sends the same message.

We laugh at everyone on the other side of the bridge.

"That rescission don't affect us."

Spending so much time in the red,

I forgot what life is like in the black.

Around here times have always been labored.

Poverty is the best friend to welfare,

nothings changing that.

Don't need the news to say Memphis is sixth in crime this year.

We'll spend the last bit of money on third buying J's and cigarettes.

We do what we want

on the block pushing mix-tapes,

riding flats in a candy paint donk,

in the trap to hustle for death.

She is Beautiful,

an Angel from Hell.

I'm an assassin

I sneak up on time

and kill it.

A ninja in translucent clothing

I move fast

while they assume.

The vixen of static dreams to

diminish your premise

I'm your arch nemesis.

A siren of sheets

lying...conniving...deceiving

the type that likes to mislead men.

What is love?

Is it

Dealing with drunkenness

Helping my feet swim through rain-fall collected on the streets

Placing a 10-58 in the passenger seat and rolling down the window

Holding back my hair as a I project the nights contents

Getting a hotel room because there is no way I can drive

Allowing me to cry in the shower, balancing my head over the grate

Calling me beautiful after i repeat line 5 in the sink

Patting depression away

Forcing me to crawl in bed wrapped in sheep's clothing

Reminding me that the world's not over, it'll be better in the morning

Kissing me on the fore head

...maybe

for Xo

Valentine's Day

If I could change the history of v-day I would make it less romantic. I would name it after Saint Valentine, the tramp liquidator… supplier of satin heart shaped boxes… chocolate euthanasia…love confetti.

Valentine, giver of white roses dyed the deepest rouge; hemoglobin… lionized Jack the Ripper… martyr for illuminatus.

Chocolate of death would be a Hallmark given with red roses. Mass hysteria would break out on the fourteenth… a pandemic… I would blame it on “love.”

Induce a profit.

Sparkler With A Soul Stealer

She wonders why I hate her

I would say dislike but that leaves

Room for improvement and she’s so far from

Recovery she’d drown in shallow water with a

Lifejacket and someone holding her head

She’s the reason why I sigh complain grumble

NOTHING relevant has ever escaped her lips

I couldn’t choke positivity out of her if the only

Thing she ate was Sunshine and Rainbows

Meet Me In Outer Space

Love, you don’t seem to understand.
You’re this gravity-less force that,
Kisses like a sonic boom.
My mind speaks to yours.
We break the sound barrier,
Every time our bodies unite.
What we are is Dangerous.
I’m an addict and you’ve recently quit,
With this passion in you, this atomic bomb romance.
You try to control it, but
I’m a Super Nova and my desire to
Acquire you radiates, shines, over powers you.
Together we’d be unstoppable.
We’d form a Neutron Star,
A black hole…
A complete source of destruction.
Nothing would escape us.
All stellar activity would be void.
We’d cause Nuclear Fusion.

(2010)

Dramatic Monologue

Yeah, these are a lot harder to do than I thought:

CANON

The sky is flat.
Objects descend from it, pointing down at me,
They never fall.
The ground is endless,
Unlike the sky.
I travel, I see, I remember every time I’m
Told to.
I’m a constant companion.
I go everywhere with them,
Crowds of people dip and sway in front of me,
Landscapes are manipulated for me,
Animals are made to pose and do tricks because of me.
My companions do play on words with my name.
They deepen their voice,
Look through me, aim and say
Tell it to my Mother Fuckin’ CANON!

Edits

SO I turned in my portfolio for this poetry class I took to kill time this semester, and half way through the semester my teacher had this condition and had to sit the semester out. My class received a new teacher. He told me that I should "put stress on the poem" that "there was more to the poem" than I realize. Okay, that sounds great and all but I had no idea what he was talking about.
Then he gave me an example with Palpation (the last posted poem). I thought it was awesome, a little mystery, a little sexual innuendo (who doesn't like those?)

So here is Palpation, revised:


Palpation

I remember the first time I did it.
Pulled the glove on,
Rubbed the lubricant in.
A tight fit. One where you’d have to sooth her.
Inhaling deep, stroking her thighs
Whispering to her.
Deep breath, sigh, time to go in.
Angled for easy access.
She squeezes.
I continue to go in, forcing it.
Warmth engulfs me, it embraces me.
Deeper I move until I hit a wall.
Pushing past it, I continue deeper
Until I’m buried within her body.
She clenches up.
There’s no space.
It is too tight. I can’t breathe. I pull out.
She rejects me.

Palpation

I remember the first time I did it.
Her eyes widened when I pulled the glove on,
She sighed when I rubbed the lubricant in.
I was told that it would be difficult,
A tight fit. Where I would have to sooth her.
Inhaling deep, I stroked her thighs slow
To get her to relax and loosen up.
Hope that my voice calms, I whisper to her.
One more deep breath I sigh, time to go in.
I’m at an angle for easy access.
She squeezes. I remember to massage.
I continue to go in, forcing it.
Warmth engulfs me, it embraces me.
Deeper I move until I hit a wall.
Pushing past it, I continue deeper
Until I’m buried within her body.
Afraid she moves around and clenches up.
I almost passed out. There’s no space.
It is too tight. I can’t breathe. I pull out.
She rejects me switching her tail in anger.
All I can do is make it up to her.
“It’s okay Decky. Easy girl, easy. We’re done.”
She’s loyal; she will not stay mad for long.
I remember the first time I did it.
It’s complicated, palpating a horse.

Atashi

He’s this precious glass box with
Fault lines and fissures.
If I tread too hard he will shatter.
I attempt to handle him with
Lace hands and honey soft words.
Wrap him in silk arms and dance across lily pads.
I try to take my time with him so he doesn’t
Fall and break.
I can tell from the cracks that he has been
Glued back together before.
But he’s in luck, because he found me.
I am the artisan of dust.

Hontou ni?

What would be the point if I lied?

There is no changing the fact that I have traversed

This earth as a single entity

Bound to shadows and the damp grey mists of

Uncomfort and sunless mornings.

Speaking concerns to ink that plays tricks on

Paper and tells him riddles.

Everything I view is full of color.

Noise that irritates the retinas, but sings harmony

To the brain that is a box of crayons.

It is me and the lonely sound of one heartbeat.

Mine.

I am quickly loosing interests in all the things that

Once brought joy to this island.

Like the lasting effects of heroin

I sing the body electric then fade to a new

Phase far from the first.

Rainbows and Butterflies

It's all rainbows and butter flies
foreign objects and blue skies.
Rusted metal and dust covered floors,
board less roof and chain link doors.
It's flowers and happy thoughts
no circulation of blood no perfumed cars.
Held down in a high place.
Sun shining, middle of a holiday.
Summer breeze of clean air.

It's all rainbows and butterflies...
Think about blue skies...
Remember flowers and happy thoughts...
Perfume and new cars...
Oh, it's the middle of the day..
Summer breeze take this feeling away!

It's not rainbows and butterflies
but steady hands in little thighs.
That's the foreign object during the sunlight.
Rusted metal and dust covered floors, factory parts
and chain link doors, missing boards in a ceiling
that doubles as an attic...

Can't think about flowers or happy thoughts.
Can't find this voice so he can get caught.
Held down in a high place face against nail covered wood.
The sun shines its a holiday.
Summer breeze, clean air, no tears today.

It's not rainbows and butterflies
not even tears for these dry eyes.
No flowers and no happy thoughts.
No voices for the hours of distress
repeated later by a new test.
It's not really a holiday.
Prince charming? Nope, not this day.

It's rainbows and butterflies...
Rainbows....butterflies?
Why can't this little girl cry...
Years and years fly by.
She is paralyzed in this place never
telling a soul, this is the first time...
Today.

Waiting Room

And the sirens start again. “Welcome back” they scream to me. “Welcome back.” Thanks UT, sigh, I’m not really ready to return. Will I do better than the last time I was here? Which was the first time I came and tripped and fell right in front of the line that leads to failure? Can I write the “music of my heart’s” intuitions? Or will I fall short on a survey? Public relations with the enemy, (my social life….clubbing) Will it advertise my down fall before it happens? Does lust come with a foreshadowing?


They say once you fall off the horse you get back on and ride strong and proud. But they don’t tell you how hard it is to get back in the saddle, or how hard it is to get off the ground. At least once in every man’s life (human that is) we arrive at a place in time where the obvious answer to our problems are conflicted with emotions and tears so huge that we are lost in that moment. And in that moment we are lost, and afraid, and above all else we are confused.


It seems that it is always easier to talk about the hardships in life. The mistrust, the abuse, what we barely remember, and all the times we were the ones down and out with no one to fix our luck. But why do we never look at all the wonderful aspects of our day to day life? The people we look forward to seeing, the music we cannot wait until it is released, the sex that we are dying to have just one last time, or the next time we bite in to that piece of food that tastes like pure heaven.


We are parasitic. We cling, and drain, and fester until the host (who ever that might be) medicates and sets us free. Back to where we started loathing everything. I smile at the thought that most would live there live in this way. Being the cancer that no one wants, but does not have the strength to become dormant.


They say once you hit rock bottom and all that you ever knew and all who you ever loved has moved on. That’s bullshit, everyone that you have loved, and who has loved you in return has gone nowhere. It is only after you sit back in that saddle and pull those shoulders back that you realize all of your heart ache and despair, fear and sense of nothingness only lasted for that moment. And it is after that moment that life is not slowed down anymore. The sun is still shining somewhere when it’s raining its ass off on you.


And the sirens start again. “Welcome back” they scream to me. “Welcome back.”


(09/05/2008: Vrba)

I want to be...

I want to be more than your heart and soul
Baby I want to be your future.
I want to help you achieve victories, and deal with failure.
I want to be your support team, management, security...
I want to be the mother of your children, not yo baby momma'.
I want to be your wife, spouse, other half, not your side line hoe put be hide a trifling girlfriend.
I want to be your muse, your inspiration, the collectiveness that defines you, BUT is not limited to me.
I want to be yours.

We are Harmony

We collide together and colors burst from:
each kiss, touch, caress
Its the magic assigned to passion.
A chemical reaction.
Light down a fiber optic tube.

We are pure and simple, wild yet tame.
Rainbows after the storm.
Light rainfall on a hot summer's day.
Ice melting on hot skin.
The moon's pull on the waning tide.

We are a complete contrast.
My florescent epidermis against your dark satin muscles.
I am the star in the room when the lights are out.
You refract my essence,
and I consume all of yours.

We dance when the lights are off in:
car seats, beneath the sheets, against walls, on the floor.
Mirrors project to us a connection
as melodies dictate our rhythm.

We are harmony.

Separate We are Defined

My soft is to your hard...
You are a rock and I am water
I flow around you touching everything molding to you

I am cool and gentle, hot and enduring.
I keep you imaginative.
I chip the rough edges away and keep you soft.

You are my strength, my brick wall
My safe haven, my warrior
You are the muscle
The sex
The physical ecstasy

I am your support, your warm bed, your soft touch, your Dionysus
I am the energy
The persuasion
The erotic arousal

Within the Crew

I feel like everyone is on their own Island
with a few people for company
and I am the ocean that links the Islands
Ice cold and lonely.

over the summer

I have never seen so many Medical incidents in one summer before. Poor Phoenix (baby horse) jumped from pole pressure and flipped over backwards got a concussion. The heaviest baby I have ever helped to pick up. :( Vet who wasn’t worth SHHHHH!!! She doped him up with way too much banamine. Long story short he was put on a DMSO drip and got way better in a week or so.

Then mom and I went to palpate 13 mares (insert hand in rectum to check for pregnancy). My first time seeing/HEARING a prolapsed recto vaginal fistula (when horse has baby sometimes it rips the wall that separates the vagina and the rectum. Just like people it should be sown up).

Treated two underweight Arabians that have NO ground manners.

Watched a stallion get castrated, slick gross! Glad I’m not a male, emasculators are painful looking.
Poor Tuff and his impalement on his neck that my mom thought I could sew. WRONG, you can’t sew puncture wounds and he had dead tissue. So I dressed and wrapped it for the trip to the vet. Once the dead tissue got cut out mom and I went to see it and look at the progression. If you ever SMELL death rest assured its creepy crawlies (maggots) and there were tons and they were swimming fast. :’( Poured a ton of olive oil in the whole and they were falling out of the wound.

Poor Cody and his 4 wheeler accident.

Took 2 hours to shave and wash a huge great Pyrenees that was gets bathed in emu oil. (note: emu oil makes hair grow back fast and thick) Played with a herd of emus, the scariest thing ever. They remind me of valasa raptors.

Looked at a mini horse that is cycle hawked.

Got my baby Triangle B Rosecolord who is 4 years old and is NOT broke to ride yet. Swam on her and rode her out the pond and around the pasture. :D

Helped load the craziest horse ever in to a trailer. It took 3 f’ing hours and that dumb bitch was rearing up striking out and kicking at all 10 of us. Eventually we rigged a pulley and drug her to the trailer door. When she was almost in the rope opened one of the slant load’s dividers. So I crawled under 2 dividers to close the doors after jerking the already tense rope slamming her on the ground almost under the trailer. Once everything was clear we pulled her in the trailer. STUPID GRADE HORSE!

Rode my first padded Tennessee Walker. Nothing special about that too much work to ride a horse.
Went to the auction and rode a BEAUTIFUL champagne Tennessee Walker. Talk about smooth, smart, and well trained 3 year old. LaVonna bought him.

SOLD my boys the next day. They literally tried to kill LaVonna’s horse. 2 of my horses herded him until he almost ran straight into a t-post and barbed wire fence. Picked up a buckskin Tennessee walker mare that was sadly abused.

Confined around reality...latent

We don't have these moments often, but every once and awhile it accrues.And we know that it's it. Sadly we can't pick when we want these moments to happen.Most of the time they cause some form of conflict: an emotional imbalance...a physical malfunction...a musical lapse...an artistic black out...a writers block...


These moments are beautiful, rare, so young and virgin I fear to explore them deeply, but my curiosity is too strongly commanding and i slide my hand down further. Further down...and down this moment until I hit something. And I can't look.I am not brave enough, just curious. So i take a little peek. I open my eyes enough to see that it never fails.


Anytime I adventure for myself I wound someone in my camp.I know CPR, but i can only swim with the weight of your demands for long. And then the music starts. I smile. The ballad is not a ballad after all. I expected the horrid revival folk.Stumbling I got my hands full, full of a smooth melody.


Sadly we cannot pick when these moments happen. We cannot keep them on a continuous path so nothing damages the packaging.So the song does not end; the lyrics never stop. We don't leave.At least not yet.


I can only apologize so much in my life time.I fear I might forget what I am suppose to regret if I start to early.We all want to do things for ourselves and ourselves solely, but...Do we?


Let me try to make this moment mine and when its over, and I am standing when it's finished the way I was sitting when it started, the regret can start. But not now. Not before a stanza is read, or before the line is finished, or before the piano sounds and the voice sings and everything else it too simple and inconsequential and nothing matters but the voice....never before that.