Wednesday, April 29, 2020
Tuesday, April 28, 2020
Monday, April 27, 2020
Sunday, April 26, 2020
Saturday, April 25, 2020
Friday, April 24, 2020
Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
We're living under a mad man, a sad man
Killing, deforestation, pollution, bankers robbing the society
A bloody hell hole that no one crawls out of
Give me your thoughts or your life
Give me those dreams that lick out your brain
A hundred seamless sitting salesman
In his glockenspiel machine Protersfessor Nickend Dick sits while a bird sputters excrement
White Russia is the dominator of the Soviet
"Giganta" a fifty story woman who menstruates on New York city
The bison roam the suburbs eating lawn grass
They bring back the bombers from the Vietnam era to carpet bomb the desert
The cruel wit of war, the roasted, toasted human beings with their hands still on the steering wheel
All that marshland hidden in the drainage pipes
Elephants dance in the zoo, while the homeless and crippled sing in a choir in front of cages
Wolf hairs hanging out of the nose of Horace Becker, of Becker, Pecker, and Salami Law Firm
We all sit down and have a light meal of human flesh at the All Meat Diner on Fairfax Avenue.
Killing, deforestation, pollution, bankers robbing the society
A bloody hell hole that no one crawls out of
Give me your thoughts or your life
Give me those dreams that lick out your brain
A hundred seamless sitting salesman
In his glockenspiel machine Protersfessor Nickend Dick sits while a bird sputters excrement
White Russia is the dominator of the Soviet
"Giganta" a fifty story woman who menstruates on New York city
The bison roam the suburbs eating lawn grass
They bring back the bombers from the Vietnam era to carpet bomb the desert
The cruel wit of war, the roasted, toasted human beings with their hands still on the steering wheel
All that marshland hidden in the drainage pipes
Elephants dance in the zoo, while the homeless and crippled sing in a choir in front of cages
Wolf hairs hanging out of the nose of Horace Becker, of Becker, Pecker, and Salami Law Firm
We all sit down and have a light meal of human flesh at the All Meat Diner on Fairfax Avenue.
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Poem from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
I enter the wilderness, and come back smarter than any of them
The geologic pressure of a blind papoose
Open up and let me in, skinny legs and all
All the hemophiliacs dancing to their graves
Aids kills the innocent as the conservatives look for those to blame
The pumping in of white blood cells
Golden warriors on the warpath
You make televisions, we'll fight the wars
A just and stable land
The conservative oligarchy asphyxiate the world, the never ending status quo
They are eating the whole meal and leaving nothing but the crumbs
The rabbit has no where to run
The dollar doesn't stretch very far at the grocery store
I walk into the beautiful storm of melted dark towers
The song in the rain, the clap of thunder, the liquid dripping from my hood
Please don't hurt the lion that waits in the tall grass.
The geologic pressure of a blind papoose
Open up and let me in, skinny legs and all
All the hemophiliacs dancing to their graves
Aids kills the innocent as the conservatives look for those to blame
The pumping in of white blood cells
Golden warriors on the warpath
You make televisions, we'll fight the wars
A just and stable land
The conservative oligarchy asphyxiate the world, the never ending status quo
They are eating the whole meal and leaving nothing but the crumbs
The rabbit has no where to run
The dollar doesn't stretch very far at the grocery store
I walk into the beautiful storm of melted dark towers
The song in the rain, the clap of thunder, the liquid dripping from my hood
Please don't hurt the lion that waits in the tall grass.
Friday, April 17, 2020
Poem from the book {Lion and the Sun} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
Brutal capitalism
for the
Poor and middle class
Socialism
for the
Rich.
Never allowed to fail
for the
Poor and middle class
Socialism
for the
Rich.
Never allowed to fail
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
Movement, doing time in the little box room
The sun burns the window shade a deep red ochre
The emptiness, the silence, the rattle of the mind
Courageous fool flying deep for that Sunday football
A teacher throws a kid against the wall
I'm sitting on the edge looking down at the world
God is nature, how empty we are without it
The fools are wrecking the planet and living in denial
The little red house on Mars with a driveway and a mailbox
The free man stands outside looking at the splendor
A dinosaur gets a boob job, goes to a bar entices the males and eats the clientele
The cottonwood leaf rides the water, it twists and turns in the pull of the current
The crust forms on the lid of my bucket of home brew, Chris asks me if I'm going to drink that?
I sit on the roots of the cottonwood tree and watch the hawk glide the sky like the kite I used to play with
The Winter is leaving and we are moving to a different climate
Few have the patience anymore to sit and read in the easy chair
The authoritarians plot for a major power play, they are counting on us to forget that we are their slaves.
The sun burns the window shade a deep red ochre
The emptiness, the silence, the rattle of the mind
Courageous fool flying deep for that Sunday football
A teacher throws a kid against the wall
I'm sitting on the edge looking down at the world
God is nature, how empty we are without it
The fools are wrecking the planet and living in denial
The little red house on Mars with a driveway and a mailbox
The free man stands outside looking at the splendor
A dinosaur gets a boob job, goes to a bar entices the males and eats the clientele
The cottonwood leaf rides the water, it twists and turns in the pull of the current
The crust forms on the lid of my bucket of home brew, Chris asks me if I'm going to drink that?
I sit on the roots of the cottonwood tree and watch the hawk glide the sky like the kite I used to play with
The Winter is leaving and we are moving to a different climate
Few have the patience anymore to sit and read in the easy chair
The authoritarians plot for a major power play, they are counting on us to forget that we are their slaves.
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
She lets me go and I am lost
I put a coin in a machine and see a moving picture show
The rain made of the tears of a giant monster
There's nothing new in this world, it's all recycled
A Neanderthal man swims to an island of bikini clad Mexican girls who jack him off and blow him
The river is music, the river is dreams
The educated man, one of the Harvard boys
The forest shall overcome the sea of corn
Groundhogs pop out of their holes and start baying at the moon
The roving eye of Mars
The rock is history, the rings of fire
Play it again Sam so I can Understand
Slaves to time, we reap joy out of the madness
You can't win against stupidity, you have to let them end
The tigers tail hanging from an oak door
The lovely Spring, what shall it bring, what may it sing
I haven't seen a mulberry ever so like you.
I put a coin in a machine and see a moving picture show
The rain made of the tears of a giant monster
There's nothing new in this world, it's all recycled
A Neanderthal man swims to an island of bikini clad Mexican girls who jack him off and blow him
The river is music, the river is dreams
The educated man, one of the Harvard boys
The forest shall overcome the sea of corn
Groundhogs pop out of their holes and start baying at the moon
The roving eye of Mars
The rock is history, the rings of fire
Play it again Sam so I can Understand
Slaves to time, we reap joy out of the madness
You can't win against stupidity, you have to let them end
The tigers tail hanging from an oak door
The lovely Spring, what shall it bring, what may it sing
I haven't seen a mulberry ever so like you.
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Poetry from the book {The Lion and the Sun} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
We are mocked by a speck of nature
A micro organism so small 20,000 thousand of them can fit on the head of a pin
We are all just sitting inside our houses and waiting
We are in the waiting game
We don't feel smart there, we don't feel good, the waiting is boring
The boredom just tears your world apart
Were waiting to see wether we live or die, or wether were gonna cry for others
There is always something out there trying to kill you
From a germ, a tornado, a man with a gun, a car crash, earthquake, wild fire, tsunami, or just choking on a hot dog
The roulette wheel of death was always there but just a walk through the grocery store can kill you
I deal with it by sitting on my folding chair throwing a fishing line into the river
There is a peaceful decadence to the river life where I find so much joy
There's nothing I can do but wait.
A micro organism so small 20,000 thousand of them can fit on the head of a pin
We are all just sitting inside our houses and waiting
We are in the waiting game
We don't feel smart there, we don't feel good, the waiting is boring
The boredom just tears your world apart
Were waiting to see wether we live or die, or wether were gonna cry for others
There is always something out there trying to kill you
From a germ, a tornado, a man with a gun, a car crash, earthquake, wild fire, tsunami, or just choking on a hot dog
The roulette wheel of death was always there but just a walk through the grocery store can kill you
I deal with it by sitting on my folding chair throwing a fishing line into the river
There is a peaceful decadence to the river life where I find so much joy
There's nothing I can do but wait.
Poem from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
The soldiers battalion, the honors rush
Were fighting ourselves, and fighting others
Pretty nudie girls hanging on the wall above the toilet
Marshmallow heaven for those who wait
There isn't a next time, there isn't a present
The future is here and all it does is fight you
Do we need another coffee shop on every block, when any old Folgers can will do
Pierced toe, pierced pussy, pierced eye lid, pierced navel, this girl is pierced every where to make a public show
All you see out there is green pavement and box houses
Tired of all the troubles, who needs the chase
Freedom is waiting for you in the past
We all stroke the chains of the monetary gain
The bread is on the table with all the corpses piling up
Release that tenuous beast to chase the upwardly mobile
Help those that wait, who can skate on glass.
Were fighting ourselves, and fighting others
Pretty nudie girls hanging on the wall above the toilet
Marshmallow heaven for those who wait
There isn't a next time, there isn't a present
The future is here and all it does is fight you
Do we need another coffee shop on every block, when any old Folgers can will do
Pierced toe, pierced pussy, pierced eye lid, pierced navel, this girl is pierced every where to make a public show
All you see out there is green pavement and box houses
Tired of all the troubles, who needs the chase
Freedom is waiting for you in the past
We all stroke the chains of the monetary gain
The bread is on the table with all the corpses piling up
Release that tenuous beast to chase the upwardly mobile
Help those that wait, who can skate on glass.
Saturday, April 11, 2020
Poem from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
Bulldozers and earthmovers on the hill with a derelict barn and an old apple orchard
The sprawl of houses eating away at the farmland
The farmland eating away at the prairie, woods, and marshland
I feel like the ocean
The temptation hangs before me
The fire is the sun and lays near my feet
Sweet liar that decays in the mist
Every joy for every boy
Laying by the heat radiating from the fire licking box
Sit still and wade into the elephant
Is the world just for humans
The kid tells me he has never seen a firefly
Trashing mother nature, developers call there developments (Deer Park), or (Eden Prairie) when there is nothing there but sod and houses
The environmental strategy should be the assassination of the money men
Luminous moose on the loose
Bright red monkeys with big blue behinds
She wonders if I am good material
The sun goes down like the fighting magic stick
Nice place but where are the cows
I've never lived in a home without being surrounded by cows and corn
This was heaven till the white man came
The earth is always in turmoil, falling, and changing.
The sprawl of houses eating away at the farmland
The farmland eating away at the prairie, woods, and marshland
I feel like the ocean
The temptation hangs before me
The fire is the sun and lays near my feet
Sweet liar that decays in the mist
Every joy for every boy
Laying by the heat radiating from the fire licking box
Sit still and wade into the elephant
Is the world just for humans
The kid tells me he has never seen a firefly
Trashing mother nature, developers call there developments (Deer Park), or (Eden Prairie) when there is nothing there but sod and houses
The environmental strategy should be the assassination of the money men
Luminous moose on the loose
Bright red monkeys with big blue behinds
She wonders if I am good material
The sun goes down like the fighting magic stick
Nice place but where are the cows
I've never lived in a home without being surrounded by cows and corn
This was heaven till the white man came
The earth is always in turmoil, falling, and changing.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
People are good things but they're also a pain in the ass
The white reminds me that it isn't there
The cities are filled with filth, cockroaches, and used condoms
An ambulance drives by every 15 minutes
The owl of the night flies by me and talks to me with a hoot
I sit against a ponderosa watching the bugs drift across my knees
My back is in pain and feet are sore from being a traveling man with a pack on my back
What's in a suit or a blue collar blue life with dirt on your hands
She dropped me like a stone because I wouldn't play the game
I lay out a still life, a fruit bowl and a bottle of wine on a table
Money was the game
What kind of game is it that makes you fight for more.
The white reminds me that it isn't there
The cities are filled with filth, cockroaches, and used condoms
An ambulance drives by every 15 minutes
The owl of the night flies by me and talks to me with a hoot
I sit against a ponderosa watching the bugs drift across my knees
My back is in pain and feet are sore from being a traveling man with a pack on my back
What's in a suit or a blue collar blue life with dirt on your hands
She dropped me like a stone because I wouldn't play the game
I lay out a still life, a fruit bowl and a bottle of wine on a table
Money was the game
What kind of game is it that makes you fight for more.
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
Destruction comes to those who wait
The sadness rides the waves
The hopeful tear comes so near
Why didn't she wait, user, baker, faker, naive
Afraid of the dew drop lady
The nasty sauce pan head, the congenial man in the sack
Doesn't it smell a bit like death
Something bellows deep in the forest
It screams louder with a womans voice
An owl is crushing a rabbits skull and tearing its skin off
The radioactive man enters through the window
He comes from the sun and wears a bright pink glowing suit
Is there nothing to be done, can't we all be happy.
The sadness rides the waves
The hopeful tear comes so near
Why didn't she wait, user, baker, faker, naive
Afraid of the dew drop lady
The nasty sauce pan head, the congenial man in the sack
Doesn't it smell a bit like death
Something bellows deep in the forest
It screams louder with a womans voice
An owl is crushing a rabbits skull and tearing its skin off
The radioactive man enters through the window
He comes from the sun and wears a bright pink glowing suit
Is there nothing to be done, can't we all be happy.
Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
Inheritance has its virtues
Born a Billionaire, the son that goes directly to the Ivy League
He doesn't spend his Summers sweeping streets at an amusement park
Nor does he have to sleep in the bed of a pickup truck because he can't afford a room at a hotel
Does he think of us fondly, does he think of us at all as he rolls down his limousine window
Can you afford $1000 plate dinners or afford to schmooze with political leaders
A man who represents the rich (1) percent of America
Should privilege be taken for intelligence
In our leaders we vote for the most hollow of men.
Born a Billionaire, the son that goes directly to the Ivy League
He doesn't spend his Summers sweeping streets at an amusement park
Nor does he have to sleep in the bed of a pickup truck because he can't afford a room at a hotel
Does he think of us fondly, does he think of us at all as he rolls down his limousine window
Can you afford $1000 plate dinners or afford to schmooze with political leaders
A man who represents the rich (1) percent of America
Should privilege be taken for intelligence
In our leaders we vote for the most hollow of men.
Poetry from the book {Bunny Hop} by Artist Troy Richard Thomas
In backpacking and canoeing the slow crawl across the land forces you to see and feel everything and become a part of this land
The journey brings an open heart to a place
It brings an inner quest to philosophy
In this place I find nature, and in this place I find peace on this earth
Earth, Soil, Rock Ground.
The journey brings an open heart to a place
It brings an inner quest to philosophy
In this place I find nature, and in this place I find peace on this earth
Earth, Soil, Rock Ground.
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Monday, April 6, 2020
Saturday, April 4, 2020
Thursday, April 2, 2020
Wednesday, April 1, 2020
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