the sun was up
the line we stretched
upon the sand
well, there was a bench

and it's early evening
close to working
death with soul
i'm so deserving

i just copy modern poets
merely just a misplaced product
but i remember empty night
full of wandering
graded for lust

and you lost yourself
in careful health
with sickening stations
boring dreams
i won't forget the sign
on the highway trucks

that's what you mean

now i'll be dead before i'm honest
wondering about dylan thomas
and thompson, my boy
if i toy to be honest

you really think i'd them on?
it's one dumb girl who couldn't right
i'll hit the walls right through their bricking
and i won't even lose the fight

stealing all the constant music
that fills my ears across the tide
who was strongest?
who was bravest?
any man that's still survived.

it's still just gender
still just race
you'll just my features awful tender
you don't even know my race

some skinny kid with long, hard arms,
i swear i'd take the whole thing back,
except the city, seeing farms

and, yeah, i know - i'm just a quote
the last one down, one final round, i'm off the boat

i don't want your tired lyrics
i don't want these boring girls
one more sonnet, the sonic sting that finally killed the world

we're painters and we're desperate for some lonely scene,
i haven't seen yet,
see what i mean?

questions for the poet's lines
and questions for his petty time
the days, they last forever
they just don't get cut in pretty lines

so now i dream of death and failure
ideas beaming, not my idea
day by day i'm getting paler
but i still love you, loving schemer

it's all one play, no triple written
an accident of the afflicted
wondering about a boring life
so severely typical

i'll shake your hand then wink an eye
cross my crucifix, then hope to die
pry the doors off every building
it's okay - it's city living
cling to rent, get underpaid
guess we're getting sick tonight
250's all she really made

and all you local almost people
you just feed a fit of frenzy
fill me from an endless cup
i'll jump the train and leave it empty

you are such a pretty girl
you get to be a hipocrite
vowels all surround your family
a constant note it what i hit

i remember cold decembers
endless work and vacant members
you ask me if i've shed some tears
i've dragged them through forgotten mud

loving you then killing that
putting on my lovely hat
that speaks to terms of death and violence
my life is not some welcome mat

you play and chew your food, i'm jealous -
name a sin, i'll keep account
i've done all you deem forbidden
i don't want to sit and pout

so learn a system, build a friend
injustice just lands to the end
all castles burn
that, i'll defend

girl, i feel the world is over
girl, i feel the world is gone
did no sin that needs some name
i'll take the charges
accept the fraud

except the rhymes, they
just get tougher
let's buy dante with money scores
but you got good at games, boy
you're prepared to play the war

addict friends, some apathy
that's not the way i chose the call
all it is is what i'll be

a lovely, irish boy with talent,
bored, and so he hates the truth
fight or flight, one's only one way
you never get to challenge youth

these are all my words of wisdom inside slightly suggestive verses
life isn't long, we sing a song,
and then you'll go invest in purses

life is pretty
i'm not damned
i'm just here in a bitter land
where cops can shoot for moving wrong
keeping a bong or troubling youth

politics, you lovely failure?
i'm not done, don't keep me dead.
i'm not done with laughter either
keep this sadness in my head

yo plastic_pancakes!

You be a poet.

That is a sustained epitome
stamped with the all hallmarks of talent.

With that flow it feels like them cakes
a-glowing hot in yo oven
and as i savour their mean groove
my spirit is made to salivate for more.

Awesome

dreadaye

PS It is even beyond Awesome! It is seeped in the spirit that prevails in The Dropped-Dead beat Poets Emporium. That is Muthafunking critical! ... to quote the plastic_pancakes hu-man .... "so now i dream of death and failure ideas beaming, not my idea" ....

Brother, If you get any more alive with that pen in hand then we gonna be reading handcrafted
pen-grenades from that exquisite mind of yours.

Plastic my a$$ ... if you get my meaning

Well hey, you just never cease to amaze or surprise...What Deadeye said about 'muthafunking critical', hell to the yes...

deep and long(((((colin)))))

At every reading that piece keeps giving



plastic_pancakes that work glows with life. Do forgive me for quoting any part of what you have written out of context; but while we can only guess at what exactly those words mean to you the author, in places reading it is like me looking into a mirror darkly. Thank you for sharing your talent with us. It is full of Light. Stay glowing.

Whoa, I'm flabbergasted. Those were some fabulous strings of words.

that is some powerful, raw and real words right there, love it PP!!

I don't usually comment on... well, comments on my poems, but I appreciated the positive response by all, and feel that it was only fair that I write that appreciation appropriately.

In all fairness, the cadence of these piece isn't borrowed but a bit stolen by a song I've been listening to lately - Blood of a Young Wolf by Buck 65.

While I'd like to think my ideas original, their autobiographical quality is all that I think gives them life. I would never suggest to be so inventive with a pen as to be so creative that I would consider it inventive.

I've never considered myself a good writer; if anything, anything but one. Bukowski is laying on my floor and my small apartment that I share with my girlfriend is littered with other classics, for which I do feel truly grateful, as at least one third of my own books were stolen with my car earlier this year.

Fun fact for the people that know me and don't like me!

Though I actually long for extensive and scathing remarks regarding my work I truly appreciate the sense of community that survives here, and keeps persisting me to keep posting my poetry of this forum.

I don't lie about being a Millenial, as is said about my generation, and that the general sense of nationalism, fear, and desperate and depraved conversation regarding important consequences featured by this blockbuster called life seem to seamlessly present, with a constant authority that seems to me as if it could nearly verge into an Orwellion nightmare - full of futile and unrecognized signatures, spelling out a time period so eloquent in its faithfulness with passivity that the pen seems immaterial.

So, yeah, thank you all for continued support and constructive comments.

- Col

Excellent sir!

brilliant is your mind

yeah...you have way more than last words....
& I'm pleased to read them. Cyn

As with your writing as when talking on the phone- I never claim boredom and one sentence anticipates the next. A feast one might say- when I am mainly served fast food day after day. Rock on my friend.