Tag: original poetry

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The Fa$t Lane feat. American Flag Pins

Rising to power? Need power to rise?

The only ‘citizens united’ are the oligarchs who got Citizens United passed – google it – so they can do ‘what they do’ wit’ it: 

The geysers of authority are the ol’ white guy-sirs with mad coin,

Way more bank than young crypto dudes enjoy

The highest ups with seniority try to sift the words from the noise

And lend a long ladder through loan letters and grant checks, 

Checking the boxes of their grand plan – 

“Money, power, respect, get you eatin’ right”

With thousand dollar a plate fundraiser catered potlucks on diamond plates;

In shatters and shambles lie the stained glass windows of the process of democracy, a shituation gone archaic,

But the ‘powers that be’ be like “Look, what a beautiful mosaic!” – RSM

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Traditions

Empowering, uplifting, generational gifts, with unity, family, love, faith, a safe space, but

violence, disdain, exile, and prejudice run alongside some traditional ties mixed in with lies.

All it takes is a little misinterpretation to find ourselves armed to the teeth

with grief and contempt for those not following doctrine,

We don’t tempt the gods, supreme beings, nor leaders who we’ve been told to worship / fear / revere as we grow,

and as long as hatred is sowed in the fields that we teach our descendants to reap,

our loving traditions will be intertwined along with guidelines on who to love, who to hate, and who doesn’t belong.

Traditions are the chorus of humanity’s one song, and in this uni-verse I’ll gladly sing along,

but I’m not down for the twists and turns that changes love for all into misery for ‘others,’ and only love for some. – RSM

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And the Beat Goes On

Sneakers and boots swarm the shoe rack by the front door.

The apartment is bustling, the air is rustling,

buzzing with the electric bliss of danceable beats,

beer cans clicking open – a romanceable heat fills the air.

I’m there, purple pants gliding by the guidance of my black socks beneath.

I didn’t know that this pretty girl I hadn’t met yet had her bold brown eyes hovering my way,

but I’m glad that when she saw me for the first time, I was at my happiest –

I was just vibing, speaking my soul’s most fluent language.

We broke the ice with our feet and the beat

as our words flowed flawlessly over the backdrop

of about twenty-something other twenty-somethings,

grooving along to the music that moved us.

I let her know that I liked her necklace, and when she said “Thank you!”

I was introduced to my favorite smile in the world.

Today we’re ten years beyond the night we had shared our first song.

Anniversaries and holidays now align

as we dine, travel, work, live, love, laugh, and still dance together.

From days to weeks, months, years, decades, and more

I always look forward to the next time we share a dance floor. – RSM ❤

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Brother Zachariah’s Journey

Walking off the ship that brought him along,


the sun is strong, he hasn’t had water in a long –


Time as the clock slows down while it ticks forward,


Another headache, lower back’s screaming from yet another heavy sleep’s bed ache;


Tasked with the duties that God gave him,
Brother Zachariah put on his old robe and prayed again


to his favorite patron saint, Anthony, to pray for him;

Along the S.S. Italopram it’s been a rough trip,


Sea sickness so severe, the young friar wanted to jump ship,


but he’s come a long way since his days in the monastery,


retaining the teachings, and now refraining from reaching


for the devil’s hand as his bare feet presses on the wooded plank beneath him;

Coming off of the vessel he had traveled on for months, he’s on a different island, and,
learning a different dialect,


The friars of his new mission welcome the well-traveled monk, they exchange rosaries and call him “Bro-Zach” for short,


“Lord, I’m trying to do right thing, and play the long game,” is the prayer he recites when he feels out of sorts. – RSM

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The S.S. Ital O’Pram

I feel, hungry but full, and just a little bit dull,

my, pupils are a bit bigger, saliva a little thicker;

No longer on a short fuse or a quick trigger,

and, my waters are calm now, I can see my own picture –

reflected back on the water’s smooth surface quite clearly,

the lake’s waters are still, but the sky is so dreary,

It’s the same day, different shit, just all square and swell, bro,

but my boat’s hardly moving cuz the water’s turned to Jell-O,

and I wave to the other captains, cruising along,

but, It’s a bit heavy lifting just to say the word “Hello.”

I sleep steadily, heavily, keeping it low-key, mostly,

my boat’s engine’s going slower now,

so I’m just posting up along the coast, B –

Just trudging along in the thick, slow waters, and,

trying to go with the current, currently I’m not faltering,

my course has been altered, though; GPS – I’m not following,

the fastest route I threw out, just hugging the shore and admiring the clouds,

sailing a lot smoother, but this new fuel got me a little mellowed out. – RSM

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Life is Funny

How many mountains so we have to climb

to finally feel worthy of a little bit of time to unwind?

How many victories require a tax?

How many little breaks ended up bringing us back?

How often does a good life moment have some heavy fine print?

How do the happiest times turn to shit?

How does a celebration end up a challenge?

How do emo songs at midnight once again become valid?

How does paradise come with a catch?

How are we to face this? How are we to act?

How many little tricks does life like to play, and what do we make of it all, anyway?

– RSM

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The Corners That We’ve Turned

We don’t often realize how sharp, nor round
were the corners that we’ve turned,
such feats, so unfound.

It’s only when we glance in the rearview mirror
that we see the long road behind us – then it becomes clearer.

The beaten pavement, faded, lined with trees
weave a long, winding set of all of our memories
that we forget to recall, like when friends became enemies
or that scene in Finding Nemo where he can’t say ‘anemone.’

We’re caught up in the present, racing against some kind of clock,
hugging that highway divider wall, but it’ll bring you to a stop
when you look back at the journey that brought you to this moment –
our lives have been our own path to create
as we find our true selves in each curve of the road, and
we don’t know much more about the way going forward,
but, slowing down, and looking back, provides a renewed focus.

You don’t often realize how sharp, nor round
were the corners that you’ve turned,
until you look back
at the map that you’ve crafted, so detailed, hand-drawn,
a trajectory travelled from our first few notes until the end of our very last song.

We’re so busy trying to hit the right notes that we forget to sing our own praises,
so smile back at the road behind you, no matter how beaten, no matter how faded. – RSM

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