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Jim Sularz Jul 2012
(Omaha to Ogden - Summer 1870)
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)

I can hear the whistle blowin’,
two short bursts, it’s time to throttle up.
Conductor double checks, with tickets punched,
hot glistenin’ oil on connectin’ rods.

Hissin’ steam an’ belchin’ smoke rings,
inside thin ribbons of iron track.
Windin’ through the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
along the banks of the river Platte.

A summer’s breeze toss yellow wild flowers,
joyful laughter an’ waves goodbye.
Up ahead, there’s a sea of lush green fields,
belo’ a bright, blue-crimson sky.

O’er plains where sun bleached buffalo,
with skulls hollowed, an’ emptied gaze.
Comes a Baldwin eight wheeler a rollin’,
a sizzlin’ behemoth on clackin’ rails.

Atop distant hills, Sioux warriors rendezvous,
stoke up the locomotive’s firebox.
Crank up the heat, pour on the steam,
we’ll outrun ‘em without a shot!

‘Cross the Loup River, just south of Columbus,
on our way to Silver Creek an’ Clark.
We’re all lookin’ forward to the Grand Island stop,
where there’s hot supper waitin’, just befor’ dark.

On our way again, towards Westward’s end,
hours passin’ without incident.
I fall asleep, while watchin’ hot moonlit cinders,
dancin’ Eastward along the track . . . . .

My mind is swimmin’ in the blue waters of the Pacific,
dreamin’ adventures, an’ thrills galore.
When I awake with a start an’ a **** from my dreamland,
we’re in the midst of a Earth shatterin’ storm!

Tornado winds are a’ whirlin’, an’ lightnin’ bolts a’ hurlin’,
one strikes the locomotive’s right dash-***.
The engine glows red, iron rivets shoot Heaven sent,
it’s whistlin’ like a hundred tea-pots!

The train’s slowin’ down, there’s another town up ahead,
must be North Platte, an’ we’re pushin’ through.
Barely escape from the storm, get needed provisions onboard,
an’ switch out the locomotive for new.

At dawn’s first light, where the valley narrows,
with Lodge Pole’s bluffs an’ antelope.
We can all see the grade movin’ up, near Potter’s City,
where countless prairie dogs call it home.

On a high noon sun, on a mid-day’s run,
at Cheyenne, we stop for grub an’ fuel.
“Hookup another locomotive, men,
an’ start the climb to Sherman Hill!”

At the highest point on that railroad line,
I hear a whistle an’ a frantic call.
An’ a ceiling’s thud from a brakeman’s leap,
to slow that creakin’ train to a crawl.

Wyomin’ winds blow like a hurrican’,
the flimsy bridge sways to an’ fro.
Some hold their breath, some toss down a few,
‘till Dale Creek disappears belo’.

With increasin’ speed, we’re on to Laramie,
uncouple our helper engine an’ crew.
Twenty round-house stalls, near the new town hall,
up ahead, the Rocky Mountains loom!

You can feel the weight, of their fear an’ dread,
I crack a smile, then tip my hat.
“Folks, we won’t attempt to scale those Alps,
the path we’ll take, is almost flat.

There ain’t really much else to see ahead,
but sagebrush an’ jackalope.
It’s an open prairie, on a windswept plain,
the Divide’s, just a gentle *****.

But, there’s quite a few cuts an’ fills to see,
from Lookout to Medicine Bow.
Carbon’s got coal, yields two-hundred tons a day,
where hawks an’ coyotes call.

When dusk sets in, we’ll be closin’ in,
on Elk Mountain’s orange silhouette.
We’ll arrive in Rawlins, with stars burnin’ bright,
an’ steam in, at exactly ten.

It’s a fair ways out, befor’ that next meal stop,
afterwards, we’ll feel renewed.
So folks don’t you fret, just relax a bit,
let’s all enjoy the view.”

Rawlins, is a rough an’ tumble, lawless town,
barely tame, still a Hell on wheels.
A major depot for the UP rail,
with three saloons, an’ lost, broken dreams.

Now time to stretch, wolf down some vittles,
take on water, an’ a load o’ coal.
Gunshots ring out, up an’ down the streets of Rawlins,
just befor’ the call, “All aboard!”

I know for sure, some folks had left,
to catch a saloon or two.
‘Cause when the conductor tallies his final count,
we’re missin’ quite a few!

Nearly everyone plays cards that night,
mostly, I just sit there an’ read.
A Gazetteer is open on my lap,
an’ spells out, what’s next to see –

‘Cross bone-dry alkali beds that parch man an’ beast,
from Creston to bubblin’ Rock Springs.
We’re at the backbone of the greatest nation on Earth,
where Winter’s thaw washes West, not East.

On the outer edge of Red Desert, near Table Rock,
a bluff rises from desolation’s floor.
An’ red sandstones, laden with fresh water shells,
are grooved, chipped, cut an’ worn.

Grease wood an’ more sagebrush, tumble-weeds a’plenty,
past a desert’s rim, with heavy cuts an’ fills.
It’s a lonesome road to the foul waters of Bitter Creek,
from there, to Green River’s Citadel –

Mornin’ breaks again, we chug out to Bryan an’ Carter,
at Fort Bridger, lives Chief Wash-a-kie.
Another steep grade, snow-capped mountains to see,
down belo’, there’s Bear Valley Lake.

Near journey’s end, some eighty miles to go,
at Evanston’s rail shops, an’ hotel.
Leavin’ Wahsatch behind, where there’s the grandest divide,
with fortressed bluffs, an’ canyon walls.

A chasm’s ahead, Hanging Rock’s slightly bent,
a thrillin’ ride, rushin’ past Witches’ Cave.
‘lot more to see, from Pulpit Rock to Echo City,
to a tall an’ majestic tree.

It’s a picnic stop, an’ a place to celebrate –
marchin’ legions, that crossed a distant trail.
Proud immigrants, Mormons an’ Civil War veterans,
it’s here, they spiked thousand miles of rail!

We’re now barrelin’ down Weber Canyon, shootin’ past Devil’s Slide,
there’s a paradise, just beyon’ Devil’s Gate.
Cold frothy torrents from Weber River, splash up in our faces,
an’ spill West, to the Great Salt Lake.

It’s a long ways off, from the hills an’ bluffs of Omaha,
to a place called – “God’s promised land.”
An’ it took dreamin’, schemin’, guts an’ sinew,
to carve this road with calloused hands.

From Ogden, we’re headin’ West to Sacramento,
we’ll forge ahead on CP steam.
An’ when we get there, we’ll always remember –
Stops along an American dream.

“Nothing like it in the World,”
East an’ West a nation hailed.
All aboard at every stop,
along the first transcontinental rail!
This is one of my favorite poems to recite.   I wrote this after I read the book "Nothing Like It In the World" by Stephen Ambrose.  The title of this book is actually a quote from Seymour Silas, who was a consulting engineer for the Union Pacific railroad.  Stephen's book is about building the World's first transcontinental railroad.   Building the transcontinental Railroad was quite an accomplishment.   At it's completion in 1869, it was that generation's "moonshot" at the time.   It's hard to believe it was just another hundred years later (1969) and we actually landed men on the Moon.   "Stops Along an American Dream" is written in a style common to that period.   I researched the topic for nearly four months along with the Union Pacific (UP) train stops in 1870 - when most of the route's stops were established.    The second part of the companion poem, yet to be written, will take place from Ogden to Sacramento on the Central Pacific railroad.   That poem is still in the early formative stages.   I hope you enjoy this half of the trip on the Union Pacific railroad!   It was truely a labor of love and respect for all those who built the first transcontinental railroad.    It's completion on May 10th, 1869 opened the Western United States to mass migration and settlement.

Jim Sularz
MJL Feb 2019
Everyones chillin’
Groovy tunes rollin’
Lowriders cruisin’
Then your loud *** comes along
Takin’ up space
Yours and mine
Wreckin’ smooth
Pushin’ your own groove
"Donk in charge"
No votes necessary
Everythin’ sighs
Bubble on the mic
Doin’ your business
All over the room
Box store cut-*** mule
Nothin’ but unwoke noise
Blow Bull Horn


© 2019 MJL
Car lovers. Lowrider lingo. Rude people are rude.
Jim Sularz Jul 2012
© 2011 (by Jim Sularz)
(The true tale of Frank Eaton – “Pistol Pete”)

At the headwaters of the Red Woods branch,
near a gentle ***** on a dusty trail.
On an iron gate, at the Twin Mounds cemetery,
a bouquet of dry sunflowers flail.

In a grave, still stirs, is a father’s heart,
that beats now to avenge his death.
Six times, murdered by cold blooded killers,
six men branded for a son’s revenge ….

Rye whiskey and cards, they rode fast and hard,
the four Campseys and the Ferbers.
With malicious intent, they were all Hell bent
to commit a loving father’s ******.

When the gunsmoke had cleared, all their faces were seared,
in the bleeding soul of a grieving son.
Ain’t nothin’ worse, than a father’s curse,
to fill a boy with brimstone and Hell fire!

Young Eaton yearned and soon would learn,
the fine art of slinging lead.
Why, he could shoot the wings off a buzzin’ horsefly,
from twenty paces, lickety split!

Slightly crossed eyed, Frank had a hog-killin’ time,
at a Fort Gibson shootin’ match.
Upside down, straight-on and leanin’ backwards,
he out-shot every expert in pistol class.

By day’s end when the scores were tallied,
Frank meant to prove at that shootin’ meet.
That he would claim the name of the truest gun,
and they dubbed him - “Pistol Pete.”

In fact, Pistol Pete was half boy, half bloodhound,
a wild-cat with two 45’s strapped on.
In District Cooweescoowee - bar none,
he was the fastest shot around!

Pistol Pete knew his dreaded duty had now arrived,
to hunt down those who killed his Pa.
He vowed those varmints would never see,
a necktie party, a court of law.

Where a man is known by his buckskin totem,
in hallowed Cherokee land.
There, frontier justice and Native pride,
help deal a swift and heavy hand.

Pete was quick on the trail of a killer,
just south of Webber’s Falls.
Shannon Champsey was a cattle rustler,
a horse thief, and a scurvy dog!

Pete ponied up and held his shot,
to let Shannon first make a move.
The next time he’d blinked, would be Shannon’s last,
to Hell he’d make his home.

With snarlin’ teeth and spittin’ venom,
Pete struck fast like a rattlesnake.
Two bullets to the chest in rapid fire,
was Shannon’s last breath he’d partake.

Pete galloped away, hot on the next trail,
left Shannon there for a vulture's meal.
Notched his guns, below a moon chasing sun,
and one wound to his soul congealed.

There’s a saying out West, know by gunslingers best,
that’ll deep six you in a knotty pine casket.
One you should never forget, lest you end up stone dead,
“There’s always a man – just a shade faster.”

Doc Ferber was next to feel Pete’s hot lead,
“Fill your hand, you *******!”
With little remorse, Pete shot him clear off his horse,
left him gunned down in a shallow ditch.

After getting reports, Pete headed North,
to where John Ferber hunkered down.
A Missouri corner, in McDonald County,
filled with Bible thumpers in a sinner’s town.

Pete rode five hundred miles to shoot that snake,
with two notches, he welcomed a third.
He carried his cursed ball and chains,
to **** a man, he swore with words.

But John Ferber was plastered, and he didn’t quite master,
deuces wild, soiled doves and hard drinkin’.
Someone else would beat Pete, the day before they’d meet,
sending John slingin’ hash in Hell’s kitchen.

There’s a night rider without a father,
under a curse to settle a score.
In all, six murderous desperados,
Three men dead - now, three men more ….

Pistol Pete was now pushin’ seventeen,
just a young pup, but no tenderfoot.
With two men in the lead, he was quick on his steed,
to **** two brothers who killed his kin.

Pete rode up to their fence, with a friendly countenance,
spoke with Jonce Campsey, but asked for Jim.
“There’s a message from Doc, that you both need to hear,”
Pete readied his hands – both guns were cocked!

Pete continued in discourse, and got off his horse.
all the while in an act of pretense.
Jim came to the door and Pete read them the score,
and shot them both dead in self-defense.

With the help of the law, they verified Pete’s call,
then gathered any loot they found.
Laid Jim and Jonce out, in their rustic log house,
and burnt them both and the house to the ground.

Might have seemed kind of callous, but weren’t done in malice,
that those boys were burnt instead of swingin’.
They just sent them to Hell, sizzlin’ medium well,
besides, it “saved them a lot of diggin’.”

There was one man to go, he’d be the last to know,
that a hex is an awful thing.
That a young boy would grow, with a curse in tow,
to **** a man, was still a sin.

Pete garnered his will, with the best of his skills,
to take on the last of the Campsey brothers.
It would be three to one, Wiley and two paid guns,
Pete knew his odds were slim and he shuddered.

At nearly twenty-one, Pete knew he may have out-run,
his luck as the fastest gun.
This would be the ultimate test of his shootin’ finesse,
only a fool would stay to be outgunned.

But Pistol Pete weren’t no liver lilly,
and he loaded up his 45’s.
He rode into town with steely nerves,
maybe no one, would come out alive!

Pete knocked through that swingin’ bar-room door,
Wiley stood there with a possum eating grin.
He said, “Hey there kid, who the Hell are you?”
and Pete shouted, “Frank Eaton! You killed my kin!”

All four men drew quick, with guns a’ blazing,
Wiley got plugged first from two 45’s.
The bar-room crowd dispersed in a wild stampede,
everywhere, ricochetin’ slugs whizzed by!

When the shootin’ had stopped, there was just one man standin’
all four men got plugged, includin’ Pete.
But only a shot-up boy rode out of town that day,
and a Father’s curse, that played out complete –
was a bitter mistress to bury….

At the headwaters of the Red Woods Branch,
near a gentle ***** on a dusty trail.
On an iron gate, at the Twin Mounds cemetery,
a bouquet of morning glories flail.

In a grave, still deep, is a father’s heart,
that lays quiet in a peaceful sleep.
And six men dead, who now burn instead,
compliments of Pistol Pete!
This is another one of my Historical poems.   A true story about Frank Eaton, an eight year old, who witnessed the shooting death of his father.    Frank Eaton was encouraged to avenge his father's death and by the time he was 15 years old, he learned to handle a gun without equal in Oklahoma territory.   You can read about this man by obtaining a copy of his book  -  "Veteran of the Old West - Pistol Pete (1952).   Born in 1860, he lived to be nearly 98 years old.   My poem describes the events surrounding Pistol Pete hunting down the outlaws that killed his father.    I hope you enjoy the story.

Jim Sularz
My problems never cease cuz adversaries try to bury me
But since I'm initiated by the hoods
They gats protect me catastrophe
Been with me since my family tree
Nothing crack dealers and cap peelers
Seen life early wanted to the king
So I chased figures
Lookin' at all the cold cash I was stashin'
Went from a jalopy to fly Benz
Dark tint limo roll up the indo
Cuz a brother gotta stay blitz always on a different **** never let the **** blind me
Its money over ******* fake ******* get stitches
No love bury with five slugs in ya cranium
A young ****** on a war path a
Ain't no tamin' em
Since muthaphukkas jealous I gotta stay strapped
Lookin' at the skies for better days askin' why?
My life is like this why am enticed to this?
**** imagery its the best of me
Can't help if I want to abolish slavery
Punks *** cops always chasin' me
But my mind too strong to be caught up in the wrong
I strategize with actions raw raps keep the Co's packin'
Put out an APB for a **** nigguh livin' in this streets
My heart goes out to the lonely I feel.ya pain
Don't let the burden tare ya down
Get up off ya *** if ya plan to make cash
Cuz the ***** *** government never gone give ya a reprimand of a helping hand
Lean on me and overthrow political rules
I wamt the gold and silver not the fake *** jewels
Paper currency ain't nothing but a advocate to debt
So many lost in this world breakin' a sweat
Tryna be something that's you'll never be
And if a follow the footsteps of revolutionary I'll be a threat
So what?? I'mma keep pushin' limits testin' nerves
As I sip the henney and blunt as a swerve
In my top drop feelin' right and tight
Its the black Sun Tzu
Thinkin' maybe I'll die tonight

Kickin' all the way the Live Coolio
deep in ya Culo/
it's that Boy Yosef comin' with major Flavas/
with so Many Styles more than a Hair Doo Voodoo/
got ya eyes on ya know Who?/
so many ****** wanna Smoke me
Cuz im the New Joint/
puttin' sparks to ya Head ****** Red/
if u thinkin' about Frontin'' Me/
ill make u Crossover like EPMD/
Rap Fanatic since i was Swimmin' in the ******* the Mack Attack/
hittin' all your perspectives
im takin' out all the Primitives/
in the Rap Game Shoot ya Stick
try again my- Flows erected as a ****/
in between ***** *****
so take Chance it ya Want/
Watch the gun taunt
in ya Face  a sad Disgrace/
Slappin' a new taste
in ya Mouth i Dropped it
my Style can't be Competed
you Obsoleted
i'm Makin Profits the Funk Baby!!!!


Many Emcees sweet as a KitKats
so cut the Chit Chat/
cuz im bout to Splatter their careers into pieces
Gotthem Envisionin' Doubles
like Noah i Told ya
the Tru Soldier Rollin' Dogia/
marchin' to the Beat with my Vocal
a Tru Loco/
when i'm sippin E & J **** an Airplay pinin' Indo/
playin' suckas close like who's holdin' the most/
weight? Pushin' rhymes like weights
Loots stay Connected like freight Train Crates/i Dominate from all states
that's why they Call Me All-State/
but ya Ain't in Good Hands
-tryna Step to the Big Man
keep u heated galore like Afghanistan gettin' in that *** like Sand/
so take Stand and a Bow cuz im the Prowl/
for that Number One Slot
ya rhymes loose as Jar Jelly
**** what the critics tell me
"Mr Big Stuff" girls call me "Heavy D"
From then shaft that lays between me
the Funk Baby!!!
70s funk soul poetry real hip hop southern *****
st64 Aug 2013
yonder wave wants to come on in
can't make it go away
try so hard to chase away
steel reserve



1.
don't come cryin' on yo broken shins
who dat talkin' ova der?
yo muvva just ain't home rite now
take ya scraggy bags
and vamoose outta here

pick up dem rings 'round yo trappin' eyes
      and lasso 'em round dat red fin
tackle yo chapped lips
      afore dem ships fall in yo calyx-cracks
quit dat naggin' *****-mouth
      here, have dis apple, ma piggie
and dems eyes o' yours dat shine so brite
       might as well switch off dat lite
hide dem leather-hands dat look like dry branches
      wat, even da desert don't win dis contest
pack dat stupid head in a box
      der ain't nuttin' inside a see-through noggin
hide dem silly hopes under a hevvy sea
      or bury it under da soles of yo crazi hart
take yo blasted treadin' to some udder place
      some dark mine where dey can use yo help
and all dem purty words on pages yo just lurve a-spewin'
      ain't no party here for fools no more


2.
den, der some funny rhydm 'gainst ma door
pushin' dat big wave
pushin' dat big wave
I'm a-pushing back jest as hard
but dat wrestlin' wave jest a-growin'
keeps a-knockin'
always rockin'
gonna come crashin' rite in

ain't no good wishing, ma beloved darlin'
so many fine dreams
running silent
in dem luvverly veins under yo kick-startin' tongue


yah, yonder waves gonna make a breakthrough
some day...
(mebbe)*




S T, 21 augury 2013
yo yo!
jest a fine, ****** cold day :)

yonder tides'll turn....tides'll turn....it must.

just as some waves must dream on....4now

(shawshank R: 'pressure over time...'     ~  der will come a time :)

“Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it.”
― Winston Churchill






sub-entry: warm smiles

it be a mighty rainy day today
nobody be lookin' up no more

some brave soul out der in dat cold..
wet and tired...down and out

waitin' fer answers dat sure don't come
one day, all will be gettin' dem warm smiles :)
Dennis Scherle Jan 2014
u want more emotion, maybe im just tourchered to the point im just going through the motions praying out there i find a potion to let me relax, maybe stop the wise cracks about how im fat or how minimal the cash is i stack. or maybe the fact when i cut open my vain i just see black no crimson blood just black oozing from the cracks as if my tanned skin is a stone statue starting to crumble under the weight of self loathing. the fact of deep down id rather be a better person but it bugs me i cant afford the fancy clothing, even in our society how we hype up to the idea then it comes to play and no one seems to stay like whatever happened to kony we live amungst phoneys saying their better only to better their pride and maybe to impress a futer bride collecting money only green in there eyes envious of those that accumulate wealth but seem to be blind to those who have nothing pushin it off to someone who has more to give now tell me again wat gives u a greater right to live over the young women even children forced into *** but u need to spend ur check on a fancy rolex because ur life is complex now im not saying im better though i have been gifted with my life but in my heart i still cry everynight because were on borrowed time ive seen people distroy themselves in hate a freind in grade 9 became addicted to******* now shooting ****** in his vein his leather jacked stained skin n bones calling on the phone for his next fix my mom with her slit wrists pretending i dont exist  now is that enough emotion for u after all im still just a kid.
Dougie Simps Jul 2013
If I told you I killed myself at 16 would you believe me?
Or just say "young Dougie is just miss behaving" slaving, as I am chained and serving society who is caving, and ask god for gifts that even he found entertaining...when a boy grows up his insides start changing and the tint of red in his heart dims and starts fading,
he felt pain at its highest, experienced the attitude of a liar and seen 1st hand what it means when a "GOOD THING" just expires. He grows tired and tense while blood drips from his hand, broken glass on the floor... he punched the reflection of a man…
who seems injustice and corrupt, always pushin his luck, and remains silent when addressed, he so easily erupts. Takin shots of big dreams with NyQuil in a cup, "good" imaginative girls around him, he's just too messed up...liquor doesn't help his mind, still stuck in a rut, and the shakes only means his temperatures gon up.
You see the high in his eyes, where he constantly lies, never looks you in the face, just looks on the other side, one of a kind guy, never been a afraid to die, don't ask this guy why? Cause he will never reply.
Communication he never lacked, he just speaks better over a track,
Give him a pen, white paper,
A smooth beat and watch him rap.
And listen closely to his story, pay close attention to the facts,
visualize all his words,
And dissect his true meaning
Of a brain dead poet who uses his pen filled of integrity with a pad made of dreaming.

Don't ask me to save your soul, or rescue your burning heart from a building...
I'm no superhero, just a modern day fake EVIL villain...


-Dougie Simps
Metaphoric monster
SøułSurvivør Sep 2014
~~~

I'll do this daisy chain...

"He loves me... he loves me not...
...HE LOVES ME!!!

And I'll do it till I'm

pushin' up daisys.


SoulSurvivor
Just call me a fool for love
Neptune Jul 2015
I choose how I want you tonight,
Naked with a full blown appetite, Let me demonstrate how you turn me into a bad gal,
Your bad gal made of honey,
Sweet rain drops sprinkle the ground,
And I let you and my tongue play around,
Why do we love as If we need to prove a point,
When I'm taking every bit of you that I barely can handle,
Please never stop even when I beg,
Your body is the only thing I want to taste forever,
Incredibly weak when your lips pressures' my prize,
You can take me anyway you fantasize,
But there's no cushion for your pushin,
I'm trouble bustin your pelvic bubble,
Daddy please give me all of you I beg,
You dive deeper than we could swim,
Chocolate melting under chocolate,
You make me quiver with like a prey eyed to be eaten,
My body struck paralyzed to move,
I watch you with tears developing,
It's too heavy to bare,
I can't take this anymore,
But I'm still urging for more you forcefully give,
All night I die over and over,
Taking multiple trips to heaven,
Hawt kisses with long persuasion of endless love stayed content,
We finally take a break catching the sunrise delight us,
It's too hot for us to be cuddling,
But your burning love is worth the sizzle for me.
welcome to houston texas
we roll swangas n swishers
we might hit cha
with the torch
if ya dont know where ya stand
in the ghetto we never let go
of painful memories
we got brothers get shot by cops
to brothers getting got
by they own i try not to led a path of sin on my own
phone home
soon to be at the crossroads
knockin at thugs mansion door
got **** how did i get smoked
i thought i was backed by my locs
now im sittin with malcolm
and martin n garvey
enjoying a smoke
wish i could reach deep into the pains
of black folks brain
and let em know
we used to be kings n queens
but **** dont flipped
once they change the color of the script
but ***** i peep game since i was embryo
last of a dying breed corrupt seed
we can changr indeed
we just gotta change waht our minds feed
but we too intrigue
from the worlds scent
a ghetto ih


now that've got your intention
lets form a syndication
reform strategize black nation
we all brothers from haitan to jamacian makin
nothing but flawless beats
smokin swisher sweets at the swap meet
or better yet the bayou classic
listenin to magic
1 0 2 point one everybody having fun
without the use of a gun
buts ther3s always one
that wanna start ****
got his wig split
now take a picture for yo casket
wish times wasnt so hard
but im always on the guard
sneaky *** white supremacy
pushin gay antics
miss with that semantic
yall aint slick
so let me hit ya with some of the realist
rhymes that make up for the crimes cuz im
tired of this ****** poor livin
everyday sinning
no winning stuck at a permenant loss
but somehow my soul still grows
even though the world be a ghetto the ghetto
The devil’s in town today
a man in black,
a tired smile
seeking solace
from pushin’ others away
from pushin’ me away

So I’ll be here
crying for shelter, shelter
‘cause I taught him
(but he hasn’t learned)
Building walls doesn’t
solve any problem
only makes a bigger mess
Ma Cherie Aug 2016
Let me tell you who I am
I'm an American Born girl
Proud to be here
I wouldn't want to live anywhere else
I've enjoyed my freedom...still do, and you?

Used to love running through the Barns and playing in the hay
I wear a dog-eared well worn baseball cap
most days
Some kind of faded ol' denim jeans and a fun
t-shirt...
and if it isn't ***** I might even wear it to bed...
I use homemade oatmeal and lavender soap, a little pink shiny lipgloss, maybe espresso mascara...dark red chipped painted toenails in flip-flops or work boots
hair in hat...keys in hand
all kinds of weather, I'm prepared

Yes I've hunted for deer!
Skinned and gutted one for a high school paper...
quite a caper..

I can change my own oil  
or a dang flat tire
break into my Volvo with a piece of wire?
Did I say that?!
And...I can drive just about anything
including...so true,  backing up a trailer into a boat launch

Oh ..my redneck side?
Come on let's go for a ride...
I've ridden on four-wheelers and snowmobiles
out in the glorious midnight
freezing breath is close to heaven on those mountains

Spent summers at the camp
on the lake
Swimmin'
cookin'
swingin'  and singin'
off from the the bank
crystal clear blue waters run deep
flyin' from a rope
holdin' on to serious hope
not to be pushin' daises
we were a bunch of crazies !

Raisin' kids...
Some people think I'm a hippie chick
and that's true too
I eat mostly organic food
I love to cook my hopes and wishes
in amazing dishes...
and sharing that with good people

I like interior design
I drink a bit of wine
And I LOVE dessert...
We are just like a
Strawberry & Blueberry Shortcake
Fresh fluffy white whipped cream
and berries
Homemade biscuits...
like a flag waving

I love road trips...
    getting high
... watching the world go by....
it's so wonderful I could cry
and I went so fast on that crotch-rocket
of a motorcycle
I thought I could even fly!

Why I love every kind of music
hard to stop me from dancing
and prancing through life
singing...poetic songs.

I am probably one of the most genuine
and honest people you'll ever know
come along I'll show you...
I hope to be like the Salt of the Earth
like my Father...
He valued this place
and I have some of his face

It's not that I can't avert the truth...
I can
I'm just not capable of lying...
not being truly dishonest
I mean if you ask me something
straight out ...
look me right in my eyes
I would have to tell you honestly
that I feel this overwhelming love for everyone and everything...

You know that it troubles me
going to a landfill and seeing all the waste
left in carless choices and hurried haste
hello, the Ice Caps people!!!
Those poor Polar Bears...

I swear...
I've resorted to trash collecting
in my town
All that is going to be buried in the Earth!!!
What the heck was it even worth?
I recycle or compost almost
everything!

Well it makes me sick...
time is ticking....
now is definitely the time

People are dying....
why am I crying?
...over my broken heart?
No, I can't
because the more horrible events
and floods of  information I see
word *****
on the internet or the news
different views
as NPR is bleeding through the radio
about how bad this world has become ....

And so many people with it so much worse...
So...I have this curse anyway,
wanting change...
trying to create it,
just makes me wish
I could go somewhere else...
run away?
no.... I stay

I fight
do what is right
this is my land, your land...OUR land
take a frickin' stand
to fix this country!

We need real effort...
a movement
and I would like to do anything
to make it spread...
before I'm dead...
so...
what can I do? And you?

Some people say you can move mountains...help please?
The people like me...you see
they always say I'm a beautiful mess
those Sensitive Souls
we get wounded really easy
and I get kind of queasy
though I've learned to have a thick skin,
every time they take me down
I come back around again
it is still harder for me to come back up
time is always short...

My face is bearing more freckles
these days
and the suns rays see my hands
a bit more weathered
though I'm still tethered to you
I still feel young...
have to tap into that,
Put on my baseball cap
n-play...
carryin' a big stick walking softly

So my body does not feel old...
even when it is...very cold
I fight for my kids, and your family too
I look to the blue
the sky
tenderly asking why?
I can see the heavens
They are consoling my heart
I've been to the very...
very bottom
And I always got a new start
don't give up...
we still have work to do...
yes me ...
and you too

Hey, I still believe in fairy tales
and miracles
In shooting stars
healing scars
The butterflies in your stomach
on that very first kiss...
sent out on a wish

I still believe in love
and angels from above....
I have Faith
This world...the Earth can heal
I feel my heart,
well it will heal right too
I can feel
it ...so can't you?
Tell me then ...what I can do?

Don't know how many times
a heart can break
 but I will help you heal
so....do we got a deal?
cause this thing,  well it's for real

...just take my hand..
maybe if we plan
to take a stand
say our demands?
as one...they'll listen?

 We can do it together
regardless of the weather
jump in your truck
and my beliefs might be
different than yours
I might be much farther to the left
than you are
we all want the same things
to be happy and free
To be
Whoever we are
I'm still waiting for all these answers
and I hope I will still find my soul's mate too...tell me? What else can I do?
Try listening to country music while you read this I think this is for someone who is failing to see the bigger picture in my life and others maybe? We are more then our perceived failures... and we are loved.
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
Drink up the radiation
Subhuman viral nation
That or starve in skeleton cars
Chewin' on lettuce and candy bars
It's a caper world but there's no dancing
Skippin' like a child? Prepare for the violins
An interlude of electric tubes
Pushin' you closer to the cube

Tinted windows beg for bullets
And she makes *** feel like school
I've climbed the mountains, crawled in the caves
Still can't tell the veins from the beige
Still don't know if I'm better off in Nod's nowhere
Or Pan's wonderland of the living dead

Don't talk much except to my shaky fingers
Nibble nimble, spin a spindle, see the symbols, give a little
I've got a man who lives under my tongue
He fixes all my cavities
And when the paycheck comes
He sits atop the pink carpet-
His anti-gravity
I had a dream-weaver
But now he's vacationing
Somewhere in Himalayan Mountain territory
He's been there for two moons
And I doubt he'll ever leave
He sends me postcards and fancy little things
I put em' in a cigar box, hoping one day I'll see wings

****** was eaten by maggots
Before he took the helm
Insanity breeds anti-gravity
Life breeds cruel leaders
Forget divide and conquer
It's swarm and swallow
Tools of the revolution
Intravenously protrude you

Same In Nazarene
Spit In the Name of me
Go limping with a tishbite in the Cherith
Stating the obvious facts of Sin
Livin' only for lunar limbs
And Bailey's beads
Screaming,
"My God!
It's full of stars!"
Rodney Mendoza May 2014
Dear Sister's,
                  I remember when you arrived on that very first day. You looked really sad and had nothing to say. The pain in your eyes told your story all to well. But I knew in my heart you still had a story to tell. When I looked at your face I could your pain. Because what you held inside could drive a sane man insane. You have seen and did a lot of things. Some of them bad. Some of what you did would make a happy person sad. But let me tell you this sister's. Do not despair. Now that your changing your life you are going somewhere. You have told your story and freed your soul. So put the bad things behind you because now they are old. Now you have pep in your step and your swagger is back. And in a matter of time there will be nothing you'll lack. You are beautiful human beings and you deserve the best. And so far lady's you have past the test. So keep pushin' my sister's. Don't stop tryin'. You already shed your tears. So now you can stop cryin'. By the grace of God you have gone through the fire. If someone tells you different they're a bold face liar. So from the bottom of my heart I know you'll recover. Sincerely yours. Your recovery brother.    c. R. Mendoza
Yo guess whos back???
Im nas-tradamus
Far from wack as i attack
Like mack 10 whistlin' in the wind
Penetratin' earthly skins  
Now take a deep breath
Hold ya wombs seal it up
But ya still going to the tombs
Mentally im half god half amazing
With the pounds of skunk.blazin'
Coolin' my glands under the ceiling fans
Countin' my rubber bands understand  
I been  a man since i touch birth
Didnt have the mirth so i increased my girth
Uh so lets get it on
If ya want some come get some
Tear ya back up with my 100 round drums
Tommy got murda mamis
From.Belize make tracks sneeze
When i bless it
The mic is scorching hot melting these lyrics
Enticin' thots
My style cant be denied
Im Neopoleon  your Rufus im ruthless
Check out his grill
My knuckles leave em toothless
Go to the denist im a menace
But the devil didnt make me do it
Ya blew it like a fuse ya confuse
Know the rules
I bring guns to knife fights
Grenade pens and bulletproof
Naw im daydreamin'
I dumped alot of *****
******* be tag teamin'
Tryna get me caught but i thiught
Ya knew ya crew been disabled
So go for the disablity social security aint collectin'
So try the temporary agency
Hip hop aint hirin' let the shots start firin'
Watch how many emcees life is expirin'
One man crew snipe the greatest
Poppin' cars to trucks til they ******* out
So mute all that hatin and debatin'
Before i put these bullets trhu ya snout
You can hate me!!!!


Since hip hop fell on her knees
Jew corporates pulled they ***** out
Emcees suckin'
And lost respect of what we used to fight about
The struggle is in an ultimate rebuttal
They rewriting our history its a mystery
First it was ****** ***** black
African American now lets retrace back?
To old days Nat Turner im a learner
Break the mentality of slaves
And the chains that ysed to shackle me
Yea i been that done that
From hustlers corners to keep a fat stack
Now im pushin' a Maybach
Turbo power im growin' sour every hour
I gain fame from lettin my enemies devour
Gun powder
Concave in the chest now ya blessed
Tell God i said hi or satan
Assistin' foes with more bullets than
Gary Payton sons of satan still waitin'
To attack but conscious keeps holdin me back
My tongue with saliva makin' rhymes like Mcygver  
Out the blue no clue as my lyrics stick to ya cells like glue
So test me this is a lifetime anthem
Throw y hands up with guns up
Make the clips throw up
Empty shells death dwells it aint hard to tell
That i was made a stick up kid  bailed from jail Lady liberty had eyes on me
Who whatta thought i would break the industry?
yo!! Do they know who we be?
I am DMX the sunshine when i flip my wrist with the gold rolex
So next ya talk **** about me
Say it real well until you fall in hell
Yea im something ridiculous  
Spit so venomous
leave nigguhs mentally  unconscious
SWB Oct 2012
Had to hang up the lead foot
for a while, hopefully for good,
after a near crash the other week.
I was pushin the red line
vision smeared, thumbs angry,
voice sharp- wild like prairie wind.
So tonight it's just beer,
nothing that can cause combustion,
I've retired the horn,
and traded my brights
for a moon roof,
cause with her I like cruising-
and all I want is to enjoy the breeze,
drop her off safely, and remember
where I parked the beater.
JA Doetsch May 2012
He's a real good kid, he keeps his head down
She's pretty and polite and fun to be around
but when they're together and ain't no one in sight
They get down like animals in the middle of the night

He's walking in the door
She's lookin' to score,
knocks him to the floor
says baby do ya want some more
yeah, do ya want some more?

There's a trip slip to the bed
dip as the fly unzip, hands rip
off shoes and dress
before too long it's a
***** hot mess
put the bed to the test
as we press
You hear him confess

I love it, love it when we do the monkey lovin'
With the nails, biting, pushin' and the shovin'
between the sheets is as hot as an oven
as we become one again and again and again and again

She wraps around his waist
and he's now lost in space
taste the sweat
don't waste a second
this place is heaven
while they do the dance
lost in a trance
their faces merge
as they're on the verge
oh they're on the Verge
yeah they're on THE VERGE
as she yells out

I love it, love it when we do the monkey lovin'
With the nails, biting, pushin' and the shovin'
between the sheets is as hot as an oven
as we become one again and again and again and again

They relax between the sheets
curling their feet
hearts catch a beat
their lips meet once more
before

zzzzzzzzzzzzzz
*Scratches Head*
Christian Reid Oct 2014
can you spare some change
i could really use a little
get back up on my feet
feel the ground beneath the street
all i got’s this little beat that’s
pushin pulmonary particles through
passages inside me
it’s a losing battle
but i wage it anyway
every day
there’s no point, just a pulse,
just that rhythm driving chemicals
through channels unknown
JaxSpade Dec 2018
On the poetic hills
Of love

We ride along

   Pushin'
Fighting

       For the world

We're building the strength

For it
    To fall

So we could get back up again
                                   And love
On the poetic hills
         Of bacchanal

Partys
    and
          Laughter

              In alcohol

Naked under our clothes

We ride along

   Pushin'
Fighting

       For the world

We're going to be strong
When everything goes wrong

And smile
When everyone is back
      In eachothers arms

While she puts on
Those poetic heels of love

We ride along

Pushing and fighting
      For mother earth

On the poetic heels of femme fatale

We write along


    we
          write
                       along

On the poetic hills
                        of love…





















ride.
Said he 'shut yer gobs ye ****** boggers'
Keen on blatherin' ye spent yer days with yer tongue sharp as a dagger
O ter be 'onest ye be pattin yer boat.
Aul' ducks,yung ducks all makin' faults.

Cats eatin' bazz i say blather ye boyo
A man makin' money, no divils in county mayo
Yer gobs flippin' like hoors feckin ****
Smart fellas know ter kick yer barse

Me,a **** in carrickfergus jammy am i?
Come 'ere ye be told a secret ye culchie
A man pushin his **** tryin ter find his way
Be wide ye yung boyo lots o vultures on yer way

— The End —