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Old 04-26-2019, 04:38 PM   #1
DMS
DMS—Diddled My Stick
 
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Life

The pen, the quill, the balancing act, the way he wrote the schemes.
Good inside a book of lies, The hood disguise, the hopes and dreams.
The man who ate to stay alive, and thought the clouds controlled the seas.
Who thought the crowds don’t know the king, who talked out loud to hold the peace.
You can find happiness ya way (Yahweh) but I have dopa means.
The sadist wit the biggest stick,
The passages Leviticus, the massiveness, the little kids.
Planet of the simpletons. The havoc of religiousness and granite it was written in,
The stacks of clips, the fragmented, the tablet chips,
belittlement, the Apple jook his innocence.
Just passive Christian villages.
(Smart fox, lost flocks)
It hides the moon, raging storms, babies torn inside the womb.
Blights of youth,blades of ore, races, wars and knights in blue.
Changes bore did guide the view, the flaming sword and final truth.

Lip Splyts
Ph’losphy from Thomas Aquinas locked in Asylum,
Taught with the rhymin’ n godless defiance.
Ransomed to lonesomeness, lost in the guidance,
Handsome and wholesome, yet awful n violent
(The problem’s inside him.)
The holster and the gun, both in havoc, closed in capsules.
Horse n rabbit stew born with attitude, the soul collapses young.
Crack glasses, image mirr’red in it,
Half glances in his near vision.
A lively carcass shocks cause the ice can arson.
Got the giant fire started and harvested Shire waters,
Hired guards and got popped cuz his minds the target
Planted trees and supplied a garden dried and chard
And denied the market, from the
environ’s martyr.
Committed Patricide n cry for father, Octopus that hides in hallows.
The safe rooms you find in bottles restraints you aside the monsters.
Break through to find the body and may chew to bite the heartbeat.
Cage like a belt guitar string that plays you hellish harp piece,
The Sweet tart n jealous smarty chained to the Meltin’ car seat.
The fetus in abortion meets the elitist swordsmen,
They compete for the leading role in theaters of Greek performers.
The coldest ledge, the best forever, the golden steps, the predecessor,
the loaded lead, the only bet,now no distress, the messy dresser.
The vastest dream, the last bereavement,
The mass unleash, the brash achievement,
The soulless head, the open desk, the grandest sleep.



Engine’s All Go

My vessel travels at paces quicker, along the drive I peer out and engrave stipple on the pavement.
The road’s opaque, final stop’s a swan song, the lonely thief, the cause a lost cause, the little engine with hidden dark n achin’.

The pit stops dolor, the snack break is brief. The goal is the last place to be? No
The lanes thin, the lines dim, the frame gets divided, the path gets beclouded and unique.
I could allow my autopilot to come free. What grace and powerful piquè.
I allow the AC, I allow the headlights be shut off, I sit in solitude.
The voyage has become passive, and yet it feels gritty, all askew.
I have forfeited my aim for lack of bow.
I have forfeited my spray for lack of rose.
Became lame for lack of pose.
My light for seeing and songs for hearing.
Yet I stutter to switch off the device which entangles me. Why?

Another pit stop.

I stay a bit, I see the papers and sweets section, I contemplate the impeding terrain.
Grasping the distention, the distance, the journey, I see it as plain.
The work-horse lays to feed, as I sit and watch it eat. I take a seat by the pane.
I play the beats n I stay, I view the map, the devise is unlatched from the trap.
The gate swings open, and now I twist the keys.
The lanes widen, the frame brightens, the giant mystery.



Real Talk

(Real talk. Real talk. Real talk ‘?’ Real ‘talk’? ‘Real’ talk? Real talk.)

Steal thoughts , I don’t care for it, livin’ on a mic?
It’s the cold truth, the gold tooth, this is not a pipe.
Apostle? Know the fossil, mimic proper sight.

(Treacherous sand. The mirror which projects backwards?)

‘Yes’? ‘No’? The treachery of sound.
Legacy around a messy theatre clown’s best joke, let’s go.
The 12’s blow now? Sticks blown down? Drift on blocks of ice.

(The thing is the glass, stains imply meaning and worth)

Payment for ‘papers’, the purveyors of estranged.
Cut your mind to pieces, its never quite the same.
Recounting turns exalting for a picture book.
Alas, glimpses took a bid, a crimson jook.
Collectively learn to group think, the damn’s abode.
Who made the manner code? who sways the cam’ra phones?

(An idiots game, who know not the math’matics)

Lizards on a strike, half dazed. mimic proper lights.
Sustained men, crack plays, living off a mic.
Apostles? Told the gospel, this is not a pipe.



Teenage Nipple Glue

(It is totally thine... but talent won’t win the battle.)

Courage the Cowardly Dog, the Golden Apple.
You may call it currency, its what you’ll get these travels.
The Large Chasm ‘tween diligent and victor
Would seem to stray you from questing recognition.
But still he Throws Lose Cents in to impress some “friends” with.

(Because it was mine, everything’s fine.)

A rift separates the filigree from foliage only in the ultimate sense.
Egyptian priest races the hour glass with his pulse and his pen.
The tower’s latched, bolts eclipse what’s displayed as Mount Olympus.
The mold was artisan, the frozen hearth was lit when clay-men met the gymnast.
Who found a different cause and got a different effect.
Who never made a stretch.
Seemed to always have enough butter and not enough bread.

(The basements molder, the fungi is scribed with texts.
The documents are divine, and the mildew is set to spread.)

When the poem meets the eye, hopefully it pries through muscle and the vertebrae into blood vessels.
Vexed over the verdict, might just purge the printer’s lesson,
If the urn is an intention, to be noted and accepted.

(Digital screen page Triple doom, throw away all your teenage dreams.)

Couldn’t perceive the turning tides, just chiseled Da Vincis out of limes.
Fizzled in me, burning fire; ‘twas stoked by undeserving eyes.
The threads of fame; I lurked behind.
The curtain blinds, the petty games, the serpent writer’s worthless vie.
The scourge disguised, putrid clime.
An admixture of worms and slime.

(Business men drink my wine, plow men dig my earth, and none of them along the line know what any of it’s worth.)

He dwells inside the closed, refined realm of Titans, Open Mic. Contestant-judges skimmed over lines.
The punk-ish punches, polar night.
My vision and stature rose with time,
Still I never meet the ‘Cronus height.’
(And that’s fine, and that’s fine)
(Why would I die for some of television’s kind?)


(I wanna see my 5 bar battle set up 14 days in advance, so I can have time for perfection when I do the sun dance.)



Deep In

(From dilettante to dictator of the papyrus.
The clefts searched in order to disclose insides of the eyelids.
The apprentice turns to wizard in what seemed to be an instant.
Who cleaned off his glasses just to
not enjoy the image.)

His mind’s become the forge of rhyme,
of portals, gates and other lines.
Of warping shapes who come alive,
I shall rethink my options.

From parasite to host-body,
a hairless, lifeless no-body.
The former chest plate, blade and sheath
He wore to quest-take, play believe,
Has formed a nest and made him be
A little hatchling Babe in tree.

Is not a blacksmith bound to molds?
To iron, steel and pounding gold?
His smithy’s pain has born a chain
comprised of whim and will.

His content paid eternal Cage.
His offspring slaves to turn a page.
I can’t remove the broken reign so coated in a pen.
Before I stray and make amends, I must repay the labor’s debt.
For now, as that an artful hand
has taken time to survey lands
I strive to give the bill.

(I have no wish to leave the nest,
but I fear I’m not winged yet?)
I feel as tho I must depart
Can the smith free his chest?

But until I’ve no more time, my mind will be the forge of rhyme.
Of portals, gates, and other lines.
The warping shapes that come alive.
I’ll rethink the options.


Need

(After all this time, I need this.)

What good is a copper band without any arms?
What good is a problem-task without any solves?
Perhaps the problem asked has yawed n evolved.
If it be some’s choice, then wonder the halls.
But touch not with annoyance and do my profits no harm.

(In the beginning it was words.)

A habit turned an addict, a test None Shall Pass.
When your favorite artist’s made the mark the sum’s come last.
To father sons with mostly spirit, the sign of a X
Disregarded as a lost and un-need chair on the deck.
Oh forsaken vases in which I meant to place blooms .
The moon was the sun and his lunch wasn’t noon.
Arkham inhabitant who’s habitat was Gotham’s best brew.
And on a dark night when the moon is asleep,
He feasts amongst coxcombs in a Room full of heat.

(His famine is post-Mortem?)

Not a chain or lock n key, but still a thirst and desperate need.
A tax to pay to Caesar, not a violent thief.
It’s like the stage of Cripple Jam, the little pretty penny, bring me the light so I may see.


(Give to the crowd what the crowd shalst ask? Give to the crown what the crown shalst ask? Give to the lord what he wants for his wife? Give to yourself what is not a pipe.)



Spring Turns to Winter

The scrivener’s bequeathing.
Our mind’s to learn the teaching.
But the damp fades, the lamp shade’s over light in earth all reaching.
I find a worth and meaning in the time of hurt and scheming.
But the moon’s gone, the sun stoked, the fools on the upmost in sky’s to serve as kingly.
The grave’s by the street replace my wildest beliefs.
Epithets over former doubts, my childhood beneath.

(How I used to bout with intellect and ignorance.)

The frost grows across the windows, as tho it were life.
Revelations arise from the shadows in my sight.
The knocking upon the door is from a vague composition.
The survey it bares reveals the psychiatric prison.

(Beams above me cover my bed. I laid inside but was awoke.)

The crate of my belongings just dwells in the corner, the cowardice strongly compels me over.
I stutter to remove an item and find a place on the shelf, I fear to leave this trap that has become my escape from the yells.
I sit upstairs, the entire basement is hell.
The frost begins to melt, creating a coat of fog and water.
I morn the loss of ice, but still return to my pond to ponder.
I assume the skin and flesh, I assume the apple seed.
I float by Aesop’s fables towards the pageantry
Scrawled inside my cell. The bars begin to bend and break, but I still cannot leave.
For it is will that’s my own chains, to avoid a fathoming.
The box is still in the corner, I select a book.


(I note the spelling errors and burn it to heat the room. )


The warmth renews the freeze once more.
I stand and seize the crate, my footprints lead to the door.
I lob the falsities into tossing seas, I replace the emptiness with fullness. The mantelpiece’s pages stand to meet the ages.
Space where it’s need is there, spots are ready for an assignment.
I have replaced belief with knowledge, I have replaced the heat with icicles, I have replaced the wings dormant with these soaring eagles, flying.


Home Made Mummy

In my room you’ll find me dead, inside, Canopic jars.
Funny how I used everything but not the heart.
Never in search of green, but still grass across 2 yards.
Found myself 6 feet before a plan to chop the parts.
A chance to top the charts? You’re officially off base.
A placement on a list doesn’t make the skill exist.
Blank it, blanket, pillow, kiss, it’s the end a long day.
Never meant to have grades Top, only meant to be Top great.
Never meant to be strange-hop, only meant to have Chalk laid.
Elementary-phase jots, went to better than Pac plays.
No rEgrets of the days lost, just regrets of lost-days.

(Unexpectedly, I ditch free-verses to free verses)

Mummify your self while your guts are still alive.
Just to find a wealth of the stuff you fill with pride.
Plummet 1,000 steps, do one-thousand more.
Walk the whole thing broken just to view the final score.
Sort the portals by row, glyph it.
Slave away till the cruise ship just for hieroglyphics.
These ideas come to me, all weary and stupid.
Forbid me to rest till the theory is proven.

(Shall thoust not cease for a sabbath?)

The pyramid blueprints, the loneliest chef.
What I picked up sticks, but now it stones me to death.

(Mummify Yourself, mummify Yourself, home grown slow moan, mummify Yourself.)

(u-u-u-u- use the words, Luke)



When Push comes to Shove

When the black sheep’s neglected and becomes the black knight on a white horse
When the black king’s taken by the white knights he used to fight for.
When you kill to climb up the ladder where the last rung snaps
And your dead enemies rise like they’re back from naps
Reversal of Grinch when there’s a back to stab
And the knives that cut our roast beast start to slash and jab
When the 3rd born let’s his mother drown
And kills the 2nd brother for the others crown
I’ve met so many Judas’s I don’t trust James and John
I’ve left so many Brutus’s in the flame’s and bronze
I try to pray to the hailed godly when I’m feeling blue
“In the name of the father, son and— to hell they’ll prob’ly kill me too.”
Cus the only prayer was take this mess of a life
And the only thing the answer said was, “Your request is denied.”



Regrets of Shaun Jones

Shaun Jones lied on a bed for the ill
After a life of depression and medicine pills
He pulled the nurse close as she came to attend
Said: “These thoughts clutter my head, cus living in the past’s future proves the butterfly effect.”
So many opportunities missed, and they taunted him then as he thought of his god when he bled.
Half his days were spent behind a wall at the till in the mall at the hill.
The memories followed him still till the hall of the dead.
The nurse continued listening to that little sucker Jones
“After years of trial and accepted error I’ve come to know,
It’s not if sins forgivable it’s if the participants willing to give another go.
All the lessons my mother told before my dreams
Was lost in pads and battles had as the cat was forming schemes.
As a teen I was robbing stores of laffy taffy’s and bags of chips,
Skipping school to for an image cool. Taking others packages.
How foolish was the 14 me. So if the Blue Fairy wants to come and grant a wish
I’d prefer to gain my youth and do the good and bad again.
Eventually I took it far, and after a journey to the slammer
I found my only earnings were behind a counter.”
The nurse said she had to go, and the reality was shown
But it didn’t cause Jones to cry, cause in his eyes no one listened all along.
He continued his monologue to himself that night.
Said “I’ve been through allot of shit, but in the end I’m alright.
I found a women I thought I loved who stab me in the lungs,
I found a water pale but I was drowning all alone,
And the wolves howled late at night for a beast to join the tune.
And the heavens light looked down on them, Dear wolves I’ll see you soon.”
And he picked up his paper n pad of the feign he had in youth.
With a wish to record, he was blissfully bored, and now he enters in the booth.


Clash of Titans

Playin’ with ya life when your essence met D’.
I’ll put the rod to your backside like a rectum check screen.
When my aims at the head, it’s like he got ‘paralyzed’ by ‘cane’ in his legs.
Because the ‘stick’ left this ‘Jog’ unable of takin’ a step.
He was in the PM’s, “ this match ‘bear’ll’ be cool as an elf.”
that’s cuz his rounds flake, and Bongo’s in a ‘haze’ because he’s ‘full of himself.’
Endurin’ and fierce, in a fight I wave giant guns.
Fuck a Mil’ Jog, it’s time to make this ‘Haze Mile run.’
It’s a ‘5k for the robber?’ The amounts horribly large.
Shorten it up, I don’t have that much to “unload on a bong.”
Screams ‘heard ‘cross countries’ when I get in his pad.
He ‘wrote kills’ with help from a clan, then acts like the “sole minor” when the gem’s in his ‘hands.’
Haze’ hit me up on kik, “You got some ‘plant’? that’d be sweet” “...”
Idk what he expected when he asked to get ‘beet’.
I said “Put some dough on our meet.” “Like cooking beef pies?”
“No, it means of ‘Mile’s’ ain’t got ‘rewards’ you’ll get ‘plain ‘dropped’ from ‘D Skies.’
Put you in a ‘sure lock’ and smoke Bong, that’s who you’ll need
when I hide proof from the cops.
‘What? Bear is best with lines?
We’ll see about that when this ‘2 schools a thot.’
‘Heroine addicts’ get ‘smacked with arms’, you’re coming up “short peer”, so take a walk.
The K is long, I’ll be ‘Shootin’ at Jog’s’ so much, I get a rep for lightin’ up the marathons.
I’ll come with 11’s and 7’s, probably scopes.
What’s he try’n a ’ “Master words” ‘for’? he ‘wants to be Dope’.
We talkin’ alone, “You know you’re the ‘dawg, Bear?’ Cuz you ‘wanna be ‘black’. ”
Bongo was like: “yeah true,but my raps ‘not even ‘Jabs’.”



The Sysyphyan Task

(Your destiny is to hit the base the ball starts moving.)

“And now he’s caught in a pickle!”

Is there a fate so great to be a Sisyphus of po’m?
Or viler, still, to climb the hill and grip to lift the stone?
Pushed the child, trialed all alone.
‘Twas the strangest kinda cycle, since the lines to him were coke.

Climb on. It seems the mountain grows,

as slowly slaves ahead

Who rolls the wedge of frozen lead

to hang upon the ledge.

Once he tastes ambrosia, and licks

The saber ‘pon the edge.

He labors on, as though, one day

The mangos on the hedge

He’d grasp, alas, to dangle on a breath!

The poet fell, the boulder plunged a thousand laps.
Noticely hung over him was over heavy albatross.
Figures that the quotes that he used.
Was the patch n branch which shows him the fruits.



The Lost Causes (TLC)

The 1 Over Dose


TLC, the morally repugnant. Who told the stories orally and those who seek from hunger.

The stormy beach of Dunkirk and the sullied theatre brother.

The horribly miss-numbered and the forms which seemed to buffer.
The chorus keeps the scores to
teach important things to others.
The coral reef, the forty thieves, the forfeiting of cover,
The mortal being, the quarreling, the course n ring of rubber.

The Maximus, the tigers, lions, battle ships.
Galactica, the fighter’s triumph, travelers.
The hand-to-gun, a tighter strike with platinum cuffs.
Them who find a scabbard, glove and then do time for ‘jackal tricks.’
The castle bridge, the price of trifold magic kits.

The war of speech in slumber, the coral reef turned stormy beach of Dunkirk.
The rift betwixt 2 dormant geniuses, form a thesis of TLC, the morally repugnant.


Lyrical Mercenary

The profit by a headstone, the target, pipe, and Death-stroke.
The dotted sights, the market price, the darker life than Death-row.
The farthest height, the daughter, wife, the lockets, bikes and gem stones.
The author’s mind, the watered eyes, the hardened stride n wet nose.


The sniping cliffs, a trigger. Lightning quick, the frightening kick and vigor.
The daring desperado, the “caring never” modo.
The varied measures, the scary pleasure, the buried heads in hallows.

The blatant pros of cruel ness, the angered foes, the strains and woes, still make ‘em Totus tuus.
The John job, it’s none stop, the arms cocked, just aim the scope n shoot it.



The Art Complex

The museum containing ev’ry piece.

The ‘selfless dream’ released in a painting helping fetes.

Contused sheet plus a velvet priest who sat upon the shelf to preach.

The sabbath decoration. The hesitation.

The backwards presentation, the rest n patience.

The stained glass pane rack. The chantry mediation.

The poor n needy, the floor less ceiling, the pantry dispensation.

Is it only fair to prove a fact? I need not logic to believe?

The idea which was never touched, the list which offered every deed.

The search of casts to fill with wine.
He’d poor his blood to give a treat.

The learned man who still resides
Inside a sea you’ll never see.

So whilst I must seek the proof, and never settle for any seat.

I find a place beneath the roof of this Museum containing ev’ry piece.


Topical Verse

She lied in a bed of complacency to embrace her stagnant progress.
Thinking she’d mastered everything regarding content.
She pulled out her book of verses, in which she had it scribed,
“I am the master shepherd, for want of better not shall I strive.”
She will forever bond them in marriage, til death part ways.
In a bed with her, self satisfaction while the best harp plays.
She lays in with the lad and never furthers her plans.
Always in the same place, but such is surely the case
When the chariot race is on a circular track.
No more oil to burn in her lamp. She stays in the dark with the burliest man.
So indulgent, so compulsive, so erosive, she’s murdered her chance
Trynna twirl on the lap, hoping all the earth will just clap,
But they only see a repeat of an earlier dance.
They see no change in style, play or some form of latter content.
They just see a lonesome girl in a bed of complacency, in embrace with her stagnant progress.
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Old 04-26-2019, 06:05 PM   #2
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Old 04-26-2019, 06:37 PM   #3
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He’s refused.
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