So, I am a huge fan of my Dad. Turns out he is a damn good writer (he always has been since I can remember). He may be the main reason I am so fond of the English language. Anyway, he just sent me something he re-worked and I love it and wanted to share with you guys:


Tough Guys


It's important for punks to spit
The strands of their youthful arrogance
Are tied up in making those loogies fly

When I was little
Kids that spit scared me
They spit the way a snake flicks its tongue
Or they could go deep and hock up
Icky ballistic phlegm

One day at a park
Punks pooled around me
To soak me red
And leave a stain
That darkens each time I remember

Today many punks live
In the cool ambience of
The concrete and steel
They so tried to emulate

And with their spit
Make love to other tough guys




Glen Graves

 

that's awesome...my dad (step-dad technically) actually wrote a book of poetry and had it published....i thinks it's an amazing talent!! rock on![sm=icon_rock.gif]

 

haha did not see the ending coming....

 

Nice, a true talent. Try this:


WISDOM OF YEARS
WE ALL PROJECT A VIEW OF WHO WE ARE THE IMAGE THAT WE WANT THE WORLD TO SEE BUT WIPE AWAY PRETENSE AND YOU WILL FIND THAT I AM WHAT THE WORLD HAS MADE OF ME
THE IMAGES OF HEALTH AND STRENGTH ABOUND BUT DEEP INSIDE THERE’S INSECURITY PROJECTIONS BASED ON HOW WE THINK THAT MEN SHOULD ACT AND LIVE AND LAUGH AND THINK AND BE
BUT IF YOU’RE HONEST WITH YOURSELF FOR ONCE YOU’LL REALISE THAT LIFE IS SUCH A SHAM AND BEING WHAT YOU THINK THE WORLD DEMANDS IS WHAT GETS ALL US MEN IN SUCH A JAM.
TO REALISE THAT FREEDOM IS WITHIN AND BREAK WITH WHAT THE WORLD EXPECTS OF YOU THEN BE YOURSELF AND FROM THE START BEGIN AND COME TO SEE THAT WHAT I SAY IS TRUE
SO START AFRESH, AND LEARN TO KNOW YOURSELF AND HOLD WITHIN YOU THAT YOU NOW ARE FREE AND KNOW THAT EVERY MAN HAS FELT ALONE WHEN FACING HIM THAT HE WOULD RATHER BE

 

[align=center][align=left]Good one Voodoo!! :-)

[/align]
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.[/align] [align=center] You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

[/align] [align=center] But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

[/align] [align=center] But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.[/align]

 

Boy or girl or both
Don't fret, catch no cold nor shiver
It's June, warm, by the St. Lawrence river
In Montreal, the Royal Mount

Good news for those of our friends
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Look directly into my eyes!

 

Here's one I did back in 2002-

In rogueish anticipation
You crouched watching
The muscular blonde man
Clubbing the pig into unconciousness

He tied the pig's rear legs
To a brownish-red rope
And strung him up over a low branch
Your heart throbbed into your throat
As you saw him bleed the pig slowly

Soon in the cool night
The trees seemed to talk with the wind
Rustling some shadowy secret
The chill air crept down your neck
The smell of pig-blood and fear

The tingle of the cold air on your neck
Made your crotch numb with guilt

 

There've been "warrior monks' and "biker poets" around for years.......biking and descriptive writing surely go together. Nice prose, Yam93 !

 

That there is "bop prosody",similar toJack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs. It's actually modern poetry, but it doesn't rhyme. You'll notice most of the best poetry in the last 50 years doesn't rhyme. You want some kick-*** poetry try Gregory Corso or Allen Ginsberg.

I have probably 20 that rhyme out of about 200. ........... and........ Thanks!

 

Voodoo-dude..the more I learn of your pops, the more I admire !

THREADS
All of these threads are like colors I see,
a-weaving this beautiful tapestry.
The computer a window to my cell,
that allows me to see a life outside my hell.
You've been a big help, in ways you can't know,
a debt of great joy, to you, do I owe.
No feel-good songs, or have a nice day,
but I will share my life, it's a life of Gray.

WHENCE AND WITHER
Who am I now, post-adventure in life ?
That edifice crumbled when I divorced my wife.
Been up to the mountain and down in the trenches,
beloved and lover of queens and of wenches.
A hero to some and villian to others,
one righteous dude to my small band of brothers.
What is to happen to the man I've become,
will I ever be cleansed of the grime and the scum ?
I am going to Heaven, cuz I done been through Hell.
I'm hurt and I'm injured and I wish to get well.
When is it over, this one-man act play ?
The curtain is down yet on-stage I still stay.
I've savored great triumph and seen things you can't know,
and had my *** kicked and been lain down low.
Why am I here in this World full of hate?
I've eaten my fill and I've cleaned off my plate.
I've carried my burdens and shouldered my load.
I'm searching for Heaven at the end of the road.
Where am I going that I've not been before ?
Gave all that I had to this World that's a ***** !
Been up and down and happy and sad.
A life filled with chaos since I was a lad.
How do I go on, plodding apace ?
All I want is to leave this rat-race.
What stone is unturned, what's left to be done ?
All I can think of is to raise up my son.

"Two men gaze through prison bars, one sees mud, the other sees stars."