October 7, 2010 at 5:47 am #7247
Good one Rom! Here is a poem I made many years ago when I worked in the produce dept. of a grocery store. It’s called “Ode to the 3ed man.” In produce there is the guy in charge,then the 2ed man,but all the real work gets put on the 3ed man.This is his story.
On a cold and misty Sunday morn
I uncover the rack and put out the corn
I cull the tables and check the dates
But the funnest thing still awaits
Retrimming the lettuce and pulling the old mushrooms
I think the floral lady will be here soon
Look closely at the leeks and the swiss chard
Don’t forget the endive or the rhubarb
The beans the beets the dill the bok choy!
The cabbage the carrots the pears the savoy!
The curry the rosemary the sage the thyme!
The mint the okra the lemons the limes!
I blue-band some bananas and make some cabbage cuts
It will be a while before we get in water chesnuts
I wipe out the scales and clean the floors
I cut the melons and scrub the doors
Always waiting for that next big raise
Working salad bar just for the pay
They split my days off whenever they can
This is the story of the third man
Copyright-NAKED-1997October 9, 2010 at 7:38 am #60718
pastor of muppetsParticipant
I have a whole 3 ring binder of stuff I wrote in high school laying around somewhere, if I come across it I might post some of it here.December 24, 2010 at 12:12 am #60719
A poem about dying from someone who ain’t lyin’.
Have you ever heard the death rattle?
It sounds like a thick wet snore
It sounds the same if you live to one hundred
Or die in the guts and the gore
Don’t smerk when you see the eyes roll back
and the face slowly pales
Nature has a very strange way
Of balancing her scales
Be kind to the helpless and the weak
Don’t bring them any shame
If you start to see the feeble as inhuman
Then you become the same
It might be quick if you die in battle
Reduced to cannon fodder
Or it might take eons; time has no meaning
When you breathe like a fish out of water
When your old and gray and the ego’s gone
And you can only stand with a cane
You might forget who you are
Cuz something’s wrong with your brain
If you find yourself in a hospital bed with a morphine drip
One thing is quite certain
The sheet that covers you might as well be
Called the Shroud of Turin
As the end draws near you might squirm and choke
And do the dance of death
Then lurch to one side and soil yourself
As you take your final breath
And so you pass on with a jerk and a shudder
Your eyes open wide
The nurse the next morning says with a mouth full of toast
The guy in room six has died
Copyright-NAKED-2010December 26, 2010 at 2:12 am #60720
The Day After Christmas
This poem is gross and morose. Don’t read it if your easily sickened, no one will call you a chicken. You might feel sour for an hour then feel the need to take a shower.
Twas the day after Christmas
And all through the apt.
Something smelt foul
Like someone just crapped
The couch is messed up
The door off it’s hinges
All hell breaks loose
When I go on these binges
Beer cans strune about
A roach in the ashtray
My world is dirty
And foggy and gray
The shades are drawn
Aspirin in hand
I haven’t got out of bed yet
I don’t even try to stand
My latest girfriend is long gone
Her perfume still hangs in the air
Time for another STD test again
Do I even dare
My skin feels oily and cold
I taste my rancid teeth
Last night would have been fun
If it weren’t for a couple of queefs
I think I’ll stay in bed all day
There’s no rush or worry
And try to figure out what happened
Cuz my memory is a little blurry
I say with conviction that this is pure fiction. I have no addiction or affliction. It may sound a bit down but that’s common when this time of year rolls around.
In the spring I will write things with less sting like clowns bounding around town
or sunshine and puppies and rich white yuppies.
Copyright-NAKED-2010August 25, 2011 at 4:39 pm #60721
They clip your wings and tell you to fly.
They want you to soar ever so high.
But the truth is.. my little ones gather round
They just want to make you look like a clown
a decrepit and foolsih chaotic being, a victim of ones circumstance
they feed you the feelings the wishes and lies..
but in the end.. they clip our wings.. and no one flies
so join me in this fight for soul
evil never tires and never grows old
join me children and listen deep
see the truth to how it creeps
beware the voice that mocks you in the dark
and harken not to thine foolish heart
join me in the good fight
this battle will test our might
its fangs are bared
its breath is hot
its long creeping tail garners invisible rot
from its mouth dark deeds are hurled
it pounces it leaps, its wings unfurled
lets conquer strengthen devour!
seize the chance this is our hour!
afford hellish blaze unto the tyrannic evil and purge this world!
all is not lost, gather round
fly fast, fly far
let all hear this sound
the sound of death of the evil one
let the trumpets rebound
for he is dead
swallowed by the ground
look up my children and you will see
heaven in utmost splendor and glory
I wont bow, not one knee
for to hell my sins do carry me
ArmorAugust 27, 2011 at 6:02 pm #60722
You are there, and here is me. This is what we call reality.
Somewhere harketh a dying crow. And for all his trouble he has to show,
Nevermore it did shout! Death spasms, its wings are wildly grotesquely flapping about.
We stand there and listen to the crow…. just you and me,
and truly wonder if this is gods divine reality.
ArmorAugust 28, 2011 at 5:28 pm #60723September 6, 2011 at 1:52 am #60724
LAPPY I LIKED THAT POEM!!! Stop deleting your stuff, its good. 🙂
ArmorSeptember 9, 2011 at 4:23 pm #60725September 21, 2011 at 11:25 pm #60726September 6, 2012 at 2:15 am #60727
Who are you, do you really even know?
Parading through life, more downcast than a crow.
Look to the sky, what do you see?
Endless stars going on forever into black eternity?
Grab my hand dear friend, hold me quite close.
Ill show you the way I envision the world, our life, which is truly quite so splendid and grandiose.
Think not of a broken heart as a curse, a wild raging furious inpalpable fire.
..But your chance, your gamble, to find the one person of your true desire.
Think not of depression as pain you envelope, a dark lonely place where dark thoughts elope.
..It is your nemesis, which youll overcome, trust me, I have confidence in your hope.
Think not of failure as a train off its track, a path without direction, a plan without tact.
..Success is measured in much more than pride and gold, it is memories and dreams made real, when withered and old.
Think not of shyness as a disease, it is simply action well thought, before you do as you please.
Think not of death as a cruel tyrant who your life he doth rend, but rather an adventure, beyond the journeys end.
Think not of material things as a means to an end, they do not accompany you like a good friend.
Through these examples I hope you have learned. Life is a matter of tipping the urn.
This world is truly a realm of shadow. So I plead you brighten your light. Never surrender, and fight the good fight.
Turn things around this way and that, examine things yourself, even if accepted widely as fact.
It is human to err, yet I wonder is it so bad to do? Isnt it a way to become less of a fool?
So friends I say thank you and have a fruitful day, carry these lessons, be on your merry way.
My point is not to preach or to plead, it is to give you new eyes, to help you succeed.
ArmorSeptember 6, 2012 at 5:43 am #60728
Here we are so deep. I clip your wings, the flight is too steep. The heavy burden you bear, is no longer there. As we stare at the silvery moon, we wonder, was it our fate to be doomed? In solice we will rest, and far off at the mourning kings behest. Theyve lost their straightline way, an eloquence that has been under constant belay. With this morning dawns a glorious age, one of hapiness sadness and rage. Harken not the dying crow, nevermore it croaks, before taking the final vehement blow. In its final death throes, all it will see is worry, hate, sadness, anger and its pitiful woes. For a crow has no soul, it realizes this, as it grows cold.
nevermore”September 6, 2012 at 6:43 am #60729
Your gun is empty, your shells are spent
Bow down on your knees your frame must be bent
Under the authority of order you must bow
I command it, right here, immediately, right now
But sir I am but a father protecting my estate
How can I support my family at this tax rate?!
I shouldered my gun and did what I must
Leave my body here to wither to dust
Know one thing sir this isnt the end
More will come like me, no need to pretend
You have won a small victory, a campaign of fear
But I warn you sir, your end is drawing near
Ideas dont die, they just take a new form
They rise from the ashes, like a phoenix reborn
This sir is a land of free choice
A land which people of all walks can lend to their voice
Most here have simple dreams such as I
Raising a family properly before the day that I die
They are hardworking people making an honest days pay
Who are you sir to take that away?
You tout things like fairness, equality, and care
Yet you sir display none of that standing pompous up there
You say such things, that life should be fair
All the while taking much much more than your share
You live off me, the simplest of things!
All the while reassuring me were living like kings!
Whats worse, you then accuse me of being too rich
Well let me tell you something you son of a bitch
I work hard towards my goals,desires, my dreams
Ill be damned if some politician rips those out by the seams
We built this country to keep men like you at bay
Many a men, the final price they did pay, in order to keep my country running that way
I do not forget the reasons they gave, courageously marching towards shallow graves
It was to ensure me and my family were never to be slaves
Yet you sir through trickery, flip flopping, and fraud
Have besmirched my countrys good name, acting a fool both at home and abroad
I tell you sir that this will not stand
There are still many who refuse to eat out of your hand
This commerce and trade you have grabbed by the hilt
By citizens, and families, these establishments were built
Your ways are twisted, your logic is flawed
You deny my children seminal things like religion and their God
History sir is quite clear on what to do about men like you
I believe the last one killed many a Jew
They strung him up high, an example he was made
The people he killed seen through his little charade
Your not much different than him are you now sir?
Taking my livelyhood and wealth leaving me a cur
In your little world you make the rules by which you play
But I warn you again sir, lovers of freedom and justice will keep you at bay
They will rise once again, like so many before
Ready and willing to knock down that white door
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