reloading i spat back
protests
complaints
requests
attacks
demands
i stood on
the high ground
of history
they didn’t care
as they
machine-gunned
me
down with
racism
rhetoric
reason
capitalism
profit
Tag: Outlaw
-
we honeymooned
in new jersey just
across the river
from the
big town
some guys
above
us wd piss out
the windows at
night and drop
used condoms
on the
fire escape
hanging out
side our own
window swollen
with their seed
it was the best
time of our lives
and we didn’t
need condoms
we had
each other
I remember this time so well as we had found this place online and it was a shithole with puke in the common bathroom that my wife would clean because no one else would have and we had to use it for the three days we were there
-
Reading “The Poisoner’s Handbook” by Deborah Blum. Remarkable tales of true-crime and the tools of the trade in the 1920’s. I loved the tales of criminals, coroners, cops and kooks who made poison such a prevalent pastime.
Speaks became real Jan. 20
Where hootch of all kind sold aplenty
As Prohibition ground hard
The local boneyard
Was stuffed with the rich cognoscenti
Down in the Bowery, the Smoke
Is a drink that will soon make you choke
It’s pure alcohol
Charcoal filtered through coal
This poison is really no joke
-
In Ill-mannered times
Your worth would have been even less
Than anything I can scrape from my boots
Your kindness lost, your soul a mess
Of worm-meal dung and sick
I thank you twice, that’s the trick
Reading about archival insult poetry and taunts. ABCBDD Rhyming Meter.
-
Jane smashes the bar
Drunks wallowing in her rage
‘Who wants to fight?!’
No one raised a hand now
But they would once she slept
Writing in Tanka form – 5/7/5/7/7 syllables.
-
Todd Moore: Outlaw Poet Godfather Explaining what your work is about up front is bullshit. The work stands by itself and if people wanna know more than maybe you tell them – or maybe you tell them to make up their own damn mind.
-
Rhonda stands
Outside her crib
Her drug dealer
Pulls up
Fast
She still gets in
Slow
Rhonda lives next door to me. She’s always wandering the streets high on something. Bothering my other neighbor for a drive to make her connection. She doesn’t bother me anymore
-
she wears
a onesie
burns like
a roman
candle
you pay
top $
allusion, suggestion, implication are the bullets in the poetry gun👉
-
black water
fills the
tub
she pushes
my head
deep under
guess the
honeymoon’s
over
as much as i hate cliches, sometimes they just fit i tried a number of different endings but i liked this one best
-
eat a bowl
of fuck she
screamed
at me
that day
i took
her sister
Todd Moore came from the school of short and savage poetry. 2 or 3 words per line. Driving the narrative forward. Like Buk, his characters, his observations, his art spoke to the ‘working class’ trials and observations of mankind. No flowery language. No obvious rhyming patterns. It’s this kind of work that is like an ice pick to the eye. Sharp, fast and lethal – the way good poetry should be.
Outlaw Poetry 