Broadway and Filth: A Poem

Broadway and Filth - A Poem in the middle of the night

Eyes wide shut,
Against the breaking haze
Of another brutal day.

We did not feel,
The pain,
Broken glass against our skin.

Broadway and Filth,
There was a time,
I could see the forest through the trees,
See the tears falling in the rain,
Today I feel,
Not a thing,
Not even from the slice,
From that blade,
Across my wrist,
Another day,
Wishful thinking of not waking up,
Again,
To arise to another day.
To live,
To breathe,
To see,
To feel,
Live,
Love,
Die,
The sighs,
In broken winds,
To see the breaking of the day,
Stuck here,
Inside my brain,
Thinking about this,
That,
When?
Where?
To see,
The end,
A beautiful thing,
In reality,
To kiss the burning flesh,
To preach that which you hate,
Feel,
Cut the skin,
To see if you still feel,
A midday nightmare,
Flashing on the TV screen,
That which is the mind.

The mind creeps away,
Wishing to see the world,
Insanity?
Bliss in the margins?
Do not open,
Do not shake,
Do not waste your breath on moralizing tales!

Reach out,
Scream into the night,
Rage,
Forget,
See not that which does not matter,
Live!

To return to the beginning of the end,
To sing in harmony,
To laugh,
To love,
To live,
To die,
To be that which gives all,
To be...

THE DEAD DO NOT DO - A POEM

An empty soul,
Standing on the corner,
Broadway and Fifth,
Somewhere,
Who cares where.

We are traveling down,
That thing called life,
Misery loves company,
Romance, love,
A mythical beast,
What and where it is,
No one knows.

Jim died last night,
Grasping at straws,
Holding on to shattered dreams,
Wondering where he went wrong.
Jesus laughed,
Fruit less in the trees,
Little past midnight,
A rainy eve indeed.

We all wept,
For it is the proper thing to do,
When hearing of a death,
But we weep for ourselves,
For they are without loss,
The living are with the pain,
To weep,
To cry,
For which the dead do not do.

A SUICIDE NOTE TO THE WORLD - A poem

 A SUICIDE NOTE TO THE WORLD - A POEM

Standing in the middle of a suicide, 

How do you feel when your heart is broken?
The world keeps spinning,
Imagery,
Against the wind,
Sorrow in the after thought,
Lies, all is love,
I feel the blade against my skin,
A bitter bite,
A slice,
Stitches through time, skin,
Another life,
Who knows where it goes,
This time,
A broken life,
Standing there,
Awake,
Asleep,
Dead,
Alive,
The words drift across the screen,
Hope?
Shit...

There in the darkness I can see the pain,
It would be easy,
To take my life,
But instead I close my eyes and lay there weeping,
Staring into the ceiling,
It is an illusion,
This thing called life,
Is there anyone else,
Out there,
Feeling the same thing,
Thinking the same thing?

The faces, there in the dim light,
Nightmares?
I am shaken awake,
By my own life.
Distant,
Ripped memories,
Coming through the haze.

Awake,

Awoke,
Fly on the wall,
Seventeen pills,
Bottle of Jack,
What a way to go,
No one seems to care,
Easily replaced,
No one will remember my name,
A silent grave.

No one gets out of here alive,
The long goodbye,
There seems to be a line,
Not to cross,
Not to flee,

To feel the last kiss,
Upon my wrists,
Another,
To make sure I still bleed,
The bottle is half way empty,
Half way full?
Who cares,
Who knows,
The darkness does not.

Where is my mind?
Somewhere out there,
On the street?
Drifting through to the atmosphere,
Into blitz?
Where is my life?
Why am I dying one second at a time?
Why was I born?
Just to be put into the ground?
Lies, life, genocide,
Who knows,
I don't,
Goodbye...

LIFE IN A SONG - Lyrics in the middle of the night

LIFE IN A SONG 

Lyrics in the middle of the night

Driving through the rain,
Bullet through the brain,
Living is the same,
And life goes on,
The middle of the night,
Dreaming of a better,
Life goes on,
And life goes on.

Times get better,
So they say,
Sometimes life,
It just gets bitter,
Dreaming of a better way,
Singing in the way,
Living for the love,
Living for the life,
Life goes on,
And life goes on,
Sometimes soon.

Bullet through the brain,
Driving through the rain,
Looking for a better way,
Life goes on,
Sometimes living,
Just a little,
Is the best way,
And the right way,
And life goes on,
And life goes on,
Realize it,
Sometimes it's hard,
To feel the road,
To go on,
To the better place,
And life,
Goes on,
On and on,
To the place,
Life goes on,
And life goes on.

SUPER BOWL LII --- a drunken blogger explains it all!!! UNAUTHORIZED BY THE NFL!!!!

Two teams -  The New England Patriots and The Philadelphia Eagles - will meet on the battle field of U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, Minnesota; land of the Vikings, on February 4th, 2018 to decide the fate of the Universe.

Or who has the most deflated balls and/or referees on their side. (Patriots up by 10 in that arena!!! Sorry Eagles fans, maybe next year!!!!)

Commercials will be aired; bets will be made on who will win the coin toss and at the end, we will discover who can run a ball into the end zone more than the other guy!

I use to get into the fooseball; mostly on how many beers I could drink before my date stormed off in disgust at my drunken actions at the bar.

Nowadays, I just get drunk and watch the test patterns on channel 3 and ask random people at work; "Did you see that game yesterday? Holeeeeeeeeeeeyyyyyyy sheep shit!!!"

And 99.9 percent of the time they'll nod in agreement cause WHAT A GAME!!!!!

Tonight on

DRUNKEN BLOGGER EXPLAINS IT ALL - OR NOTHING AT ALL!! 

We delve into both teams; their history, their plays, their chances at winning this bowl and most importantly we kill about 2 hours because we just can't sleep!!

(Tummy ache!!!)

First we look at ----

 THE PHILADELPHIA EAGLES ---  The history of as deciphered by a lone male in his jammies at 12:16 AM ---

As any good reporter, I hit the Eagles website, looking for a condensed history of the team and discovering 6 pages of ten thousand articles per page from everything from best place kickers of all time to the ugliest cheerleaders of all time.

I decided it wasn't worth my effort to delve into too deep for this article/analyst of the BIG GAME  so in true MY AWESOME fashion, I decided to make shit up and hope most people will skip through this part in hopes to find out who to bet on.

(For those looking for the Phildelphia Eagles' cheerleaders, you can click ----> HERE! )

(For those looking for NUDE PHOTOS OF CHEERLEADERS -- go to Google.com image search and type in 'MY MOM NAKED' Enjoy!!!)

HISTORY STOLEN AND BASTARDIZED FROM HERE

It all began in 1933; the Philadelphia Eagles were born; screaming into the world in their short pants and no helmets, they fumbled and stumbled onto the field.

"We are Eagles! Hear us roar!!" was their motto and confused fans everywhere went, "Da fuck?"

During World War Two, The Eagles merged with the Pittsburgh Steelers due to a shortage of players and became the Baltimore Ravens, but after the war, the two teams un-merged and soon there was the Philadelphia Eagles we know and love today!!

Their fight song is ABBA - Dancing Queen as performed by the Fargo, North Dakota School for Asthmatic Girl Scouts!! (Don't believe me! GOOGLE IT!!! See???)

Their mascot is Hank D. Eagle who still caws out; "WE ARE THE EAGLES! HEAR US ROAR!" And the crowd, doing some sort of drunken dance screams out, "DA FUCK?"

BUDDY'S WATCHING YOU - DA RAP (1988)

Now we move onto the ------

THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS --- it's 12:39 in the morning and the same guy is blogging!! Amazing right?

History bastardized from HERE

Professional football arrived in New England on November 16th, 1959 when several businessman tried to get a professional hockey team into the area but instead; FOOTBALL became a legend or a dull yellow stain on the bed sheets of the Hotel No Tell Holiday Inn.

Their mascot is a Drew The Drunken Seaman and their fight song is WE GOT A RASH ON OUR FANNY.

Would we make this stuff up?

Of course not!!!

Both teams records are 13 wins - 3 loses and 48 pending felony trials.

HISTORY OF THE SUPER BOWL -

Super Bowl One -  played on January 15, 1967 - was played on the home world  of Gargon 7 in Quadrant Twelve of Universe 8.

Spiderman was the quarterback for Earth. While Ultraman took the role to see who was the true ruler of the universe.

It was named after Vince Lombardi's toilet and the name just stuck!!!!

WHO WILL WIN THIS YEAR'S BOWL?

Bud Light!!!

23 to 35!

And now you know, THE REST OF THE STORY!! Good night and have a better tomorrow!!

OH FRANK LITTLE WHAT DID THEY DO? MERCY FOR THEIR DOLLAR SACKS

Repost from Elitewriters.org

Frank Little was an American labor leader, who, on August 1st,1917, who was lynched in Butte, Montana for his anti-war and union activities.

In the early hours of that day, six men wearing masks broke into Nora Byrne’s Steel Block boardinghouse where Frank Little was staying.

Initially they broke down the wrong door and when confronted by Byrne, they declared themselves  police officers.

Frank Little was beaten in his room and abducted in his underwear.

He was then bundled into a car which then sped away.

Little was later tied to the car’s rear bumper and dragged over the granite blocks of the street. Photographs of his body show that his knee-caps had possibly been scraped off.

Little was taken to Milwaukee Bridge at the edge of town where he was then hanged from a railroad trestle. The coroner found that Little died of asphyxiation. It was also found that his skull had been fractured by a blow to the back of the head caused by a rifle or gun butt.

No one was apprehended or prosecuted for Little’s murders but there were speculations as to the culprits.

‘Oh the Company, only name it wielded with ever clever accuracy , did not like it when the bees begun to buzz around excitedly, riling up the other bees, to tell them to strike, that they, not The Company, controlled the gears of the machine.

They wished, in honesty, that they would not make a sound, keep working for the Company pulling that ore from the ground.

And when they could, and they would, they would make sure the troublesome bee would not buzz for long, and quickly he’d be hung, or shot, or even just disappear without a trace to this date, a cold case file sitting in a box.

“Slain by capitalist interests for organizing and inspiring his fellow men.” his grave marker reads, why was he killed, for being a noisy bee?

“Who killed him?” said the workers, trying to find the reasons.

Crickets still chirp, even to this day, though a few names begin to surface when you dig, but alas it’s only speculation that the police chief did skattle off for a few weeks, scratches to his face, time for them to heal.

A note with the words “First and last warning” was pinned to his thigh, a throw back to early days of vigilante justice, in the old west days of yonder,

To Butte’s workers, an estimated 10,000 workers lined the route of Frank Little’s funeral procession, which was followed by 3500 more, a record still proudly unbroken in the old mining town.

To read more about Frank Little, click here.

I am fine, thanks for asking - a Journal Entry!

01/29/2018 ----

Dear diary,

How are you?

I'm still the same.

I keep wondering why I keep going; it would be just easier to lie down in the tall grass and just not wake up; stay in dream land.

Some people, it seems, have a natural tendency to keep going, cheerfully whistling as they walk down this thing called life, not a care in the world.

Me; I'm an angry hissing cat with a baseball bat, swinging at those who come within striking distant.

Apparently this is against the law but damn it, you see me with baseball bat, hissing at the world and swinging said bat, you should see the warning signs and back the hell away.

Some days, I don't even get out of bed, I throw the blanket over my head and lay there; the TV blaring some informercial as I play "Fuck you world; come back another day!"

**INSERT RANDOM VIDEO HERE FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION**

I don't really want to fuck the world; not that way, I think that would be painful, awfully painful.

But who knows, tomorrow will probably change; moods seem to have that way of working out; going fast forward happily and then stopping hard; reversing course and well, hello sadness my ole friend, how are you today?

"sad!"

I'm sitting, trying to write out the negative; throw some positive to the wall to see if it sticks; it kinda does.

Hello, how are you?

I am fine, thanks for asking.

Good night my dear friend; we will speak again tomorrow!

Before Alice Fell Down the Rabbit Hole - Chapter Two - The Great Berry Quest

Note: It was decided one day by the tea party guests that the tastiest cakes were made from the tastiest berries in all the land, ramble berries.

And the bestest cakes were dainty cakes!

“Delicious! I wish we had some now!” said the mad hatter to the guests.

“The berries grow in the great woods! We should go! A great quest!” the rabbit said, hopping madly about.

And it was decided then that it was a great idea. And so they hopped, bounced, ran, slid, and made their way to the entrance to the great woods.

“I am the mighty bear who guards the entrance to the great woods,” roared the bear as the party approached, “Who dares approaches my lair?”

“I am the Hatter!” the mad hatter laughed “And these are my friends! We are on a great quest!”

The bear roared, raising his great paws and swiping at them all.

“Be gone! I need no quests around my lair!!”

“Oh dear! We must go! We must go!” the rabbit worriedly said bouncing around “He’ll surely devour us for lunch!”

“What is your name?” the little turtle said, trying to be friendly in such a friendly way.

“Harold!” the bear roared

“What a great name for a mighty bear with such a great roar! My name is turtle.”

“Turtle? Are you joking?”

“No, I dare not joke with such a mighty bear!”

“What of this quest? Hurry, I dare not waste another minute on such a day when the salmon run!” the bear growled less rough.

“We seek the ramble berries here in the great woods for our dainty cakes!” the turtle responded, pulling slightly into his shell.

“Ramble berries? Ramble berries? All this fuss over ramble berries??” the bear paused for a second, lowering his paws. “You may pass! I love the ramble berries dainty cakes!! Shall you share with me when they are done?” the bear smiled as well as a bear can smile.

“We shall! We shall! Thank you oh mighty bear!!” the turtle said, extending out his turtle hand to shake the bear’s mighty paw.

The group kept moving down the path which wound its way through the trees, up the hills, down the mountain, over the river, where grandmother was drowning her laundry.

“Strange indeed!” said the mad hatter to the donkey.

Soon, where the ramble berries should be a group of dodos were burping.

“Where are all the berries?” the mad hatter said. “They should be here! Not these dodo birds!!”

“We eats them! We eats them! We eats them all!” the dodos burped out in unison. “Nots a berry left!!!”

The group pouted, frowned, and shook their head.

“What shall we do now?” the mouse said

“I guess we shall not have ramble berries dainty cakes this day!” the mad hatter cackled.

“What shall we tell the bear? He shall not be happy indeed!” the mouse responded.

“We shall say, ‘The dodos are over there!’ and watch as the mighty bear devours them all.” the hatter laughed and the group wandered back.

BEFORE ALICE FELL DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE – A PREQUEL INTO WONDERLAND

Note: Long before Alice fell down the rabbit hole, Wonderland was there.  A prequel to the prequel, to see what the walrus said.

“To see? Don’t you mean to hear?”

Who is telling this story?

“I’m sorry. Go on!”

“I’m quite sane,” said the hatter to the gathered crowd, “Though I might be mad! Quite mad!” he giggled in delight.

He was, I was assured, possibly the last sane man in the land.

But what did I know though.

I was just a simple turtle, a baker by trade.

“Off with his head!” a little girl with large hair screamed from the crowd.

They may have agreed if not for cooler heads, mostly a walrus and a rabbit.

“He should be exiled!” the rabbit said, hopping madly around.

“Exiled!” said the walrus to the king who agreed by a nod of his head.

“To the swamp!!” the crowd cheered out.

The swamp, an evil place,where madness is quite the normal thing, up is down, in is out, reality isn’t real.

I had been there, my birth place, if I was born.

I do not remember.

I was quite young.

“To the swamp!” the crowd cheered again, grabbing the man and hefting him to their shoulders.

And they went, disappearing over the horizon.

I decided to go back to work, baking a cake, for the princess.

“A mighty birthday cake!” she said, snottily, as her father, the king ordered it. “Off with his head!!”

I cringed.

I tried to make it mighty.

It look mighty where I stood.

“What a tiny puny cake!” the king said as he entered. “What else could we expect from a turtle?”

“Off with his head!” the princess kept saying, waving a flamingo around by its legs and hit me out the door into the gathered crowd.

“Off with his head!!” the crowd parroted. I cringed.

I pulled myself into my shell and felt another whack from the angered princess.

I flew for what felt like a hundred miles.

Or maybe it was ten feet.

I landed with a thud and rolled out of sight, into the mighty hedges, where the hedgehogs stayed.

“Keep quiet! Keep quiet!! She cannot find us!!” a small hedgehog said from under a spire of twigs and leaves.

“Off with his head!!!” the princess was heard screaming. “Where did he go? OFF WITH HIS HEAD!!!”

The crowd searched and searched but finally, the sunlight disappearing.

I fell asleep under a trunk of a bush, nuzzled inside my shell.

The next day, the hedgehogs sneaked me out of the land, into the swamp.

“The swamp?” I gulped but they seem not to hear.

They left me there and I felt the eyes of wild beasts. I cringed and shook inside my shell.

I felt something lift me up and a huge crazy eye looked inside.

“Hello! Hello! Welcome to the party!!!” the mad man, the hatter I was told, said to me with a large smile.

“A cup of tea for my friend!!”

The wild beasts; a mouse, a cat and donkey did pour the tea.

“And cake!!! And treats!” said the mouse. And the cat and donkey agreed.

And so began my new life, adventures, in this wonder land…

Down into the Mines - A Poem inspired by the history of Butte, Montana

Repost from Elitewriters.org

Note: I’m not sure where these words came from, maybe the spirit of my grandfather who worked in the mines here in Butte, Montana.

He was a union man who apparently, in his actions, made the Company a little mad.

He fought for the workers’ rights, to the tooth and nail, and in the process, an “accident” down in that god damn mine, lost his sight but never his spirit.

This poem is dedicated to him and to my hometown of Butte, Montana, who though is still roughed up and bleeding, is still a fighter!!

Into the deep mines we went,

To break our backs,

Our bodies

And our souls,

To bring up that goddamn ore.

Into the mines we went,

For the ore,

To keep the Company’s bottom line,

To keep their wallets fed,

Our own sprouting off moths instead.

The Company owned the land,

The bodies and the souls,

The homes, the stores, even the goddamn air.

Each of us into the mines we went.

The whistle blew and down we went, into the darkness,

To mine the Mother for her ore,

Gold, silver, copper.

We tore.

We ripped.

We dynamited.

Every stroke of the pick, the drill, our brows full of sweat,

We swore,

Down into the mines we went.

Some of us would not see the end of shift,

Accidents,

Deals,

Company didn’t care,

John,

Tom,

Rollings,

hundreds others in other accidents,

They say their souls still going down into those goddamn mines.

My own story was I lived,

They blew out my eyes,

To try to calm the beast,

But I still stung, like a angry bee,

I wrote,

I swore,

And to my boys I told them they’d never go down into those goddamn mines.

THE BUTTE MEASUREMAN A POEM BY AL GIECEK

Reposted from Elitewriters.org

Al Giecek was my grandfather.

He worked just about every mine there was.

He worked “The Hill” here in Butte,Montana until he was blinded(won’t say accident as it was no accident but an attempt on his life by The Company or A.C.M. Anaconda Copper Mining Company) in a blast at the Leonard Mine back in the 1950s.

He wrote.

This is one of his poems he wrote that I found while packing away stuff in preparation to move very shortly.

I wanted to share it and hope you enjoy it.

The Butte Measureman

By Al Giecek

Under the creaking gallows frame,
The Company’s Weejee standa;
It’s boss, a nasty way has he,
With tapes like rubber strands;
And miners watch his scrawny arms
That cheat like gypsy bands.

His tape will stretch from short to long—
Your stope he loves to span;
His brow is wet with evil sweat,
He steals what e’er he can;
And looks the whole world in the face
As though he loved each man!

Week in, week out, from dawn to dusk,
You can feel your cubics go;
You can see him stretch his stingy tape,
He’ll measure short, you know;
Like the Jesse James of olden fame,
With his shooting guns so low.

And miners going home from work,
Look on and loudly roar;
They hate to see his cursed board —
They know they’ve earned much more;
Just hear the ugly words that fly
Toward that thieving boar!

He goes on Sunday to our church —
His heart does not rejoice;
He feels the people’s eyes on him,
And hears the miner’s voice;
Praying for this villian’s sake,
But gives his soul no choice.

It hounds him like his Boss’ voice,
Bringing tears to his weasel eyes;
He then must think of us once more—
How with his tape he lies;
Then in his hard rough heart he vows
To change like morning skies.

Sampling,stealing, measuring,
Throughout the mine he goes;
Each Sunday sees him make some vows,
Each Monday sees them froze;
Something attempted, nothing done —
That’s the way he goes.

Please, please blame not this measureman,
For cubics thou can’t boast!
Tis but the ruling force of job
That rules him evermost;
Let’s only hound the A.C.M.
For higher price to post.