Bipoler Gheeto
this ghetto got its own moon, its own temtation, and i whole new set of rules, this ghetto got its own pregnant night, and brokerness, and drugs that bite, .and the moon, , and the moon turns into glass. this ghetta got its own blood, and guns, and different time zone, and the moon, and the moon turns to glass...this ghetto got its own bed, and a night light that looks like the moon, , , , , and the moon, and the moon turns into glass, , , , , , , , , , , ...
poem by David Gerardino
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Bipoler Gheeto In The A.m
this ghetto got its own moon, its own temtation, and i whole new set of rules, this ghetto got its own pregnant night, and brokerness, and drugs that bite, .and the moon, , and the moon turns into glass. this ghetta got its own blood, and guns, and different time zone, and the moon, and the moon turns to glass...this ghetto got its own bed, and a night light that looks like the moon, , , , , and the moon, and the moon turns into glass, , , , , , , , , , , ...
poem by David Gerardino
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Poets, And Words
FUNNY little poets in their
funny plastic hats, they take
the pain and sorrow, put it
in a box, then writes it all
down,
the sadness goes here,
the laughter goes here,
the hope goes here, and
the tears, , over there.
FUNNY little poets in their
funny plastic hats, grabs
a hold of this silence, tells
it to settle down, and wait,
for the picture is about to
start.
THE sadness goes here,
the laughter goes here,
the hope goes here, and
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poem by David Gerardino
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Money Wont Fix This Problem 1
she broke open and fell out of
love,
she was crying,
she was fighting,
she was packing her stuff,
she was leaving this fairy
tale dump.
money wont fix this problem,
money wont change this bad
mood, only love will fix this,
and that, were both out of.
he broke open and fell out of
love,
took all his poems, and layed
all the art work on the bed,
and wondered, where did this
love go,
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poem by David Gerardino
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Me, Love, Them
LIKE a street drug, his poison
took, and took well, like a dull
knife, it cuts the skin, then
finds the blood, then soul.
OH fairy tales, take this child
in your hands,
OH fairy tales, let the white
horse come, and take this child
to a place called, me, love,
and them.
LIKE a street whore, this
man sells his body to the
dogs, the rich take what they
want, and the poor kick,
and kick, untill he finds his
way back home.
OH fairy tales, take this
child in your hands,
oh fairy tales, let the
white horse come, and take this
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poem by David Gerardino
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For A Friend
LIKE a street drug, his poison
took, and took well, like a dull
knife, it cuts the skin, then
finds the blood, then soul.
OH fairy tales, take this child
in your hands,
OH fairy tales, let the white
horse come, and take this child
to a place called, me, love,
and them.
LIKE a street whore, this
man sells his body to the
dogs, the rich take what they
want, and the poor kick,
and kick, untill he finds his
way back home.
OH fairy tales, take this
child in your hands,
oh fairy tales, let the
white horse come, and take this
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poem by David Gerardino
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Family Therapy
A tast of copper in my mouth,
some creepy visions in my head,
and chemicals going off like the
fourth of july, relax says the self
helpers, ! we can get throw this, just
take these pills, and shut your eyes.
BUT these natives are restless,
these visions are pushing their
way out, like the sun does to
the night. and these chemicals
are going off in my head, like the
fourth of july, relax says the
self helpers, just take these pills
and shut your eyes, then go to bed..
A tast of copper in my mouth,
some creepy visions in my head,
, , , , , , a funny look from the
peaple you know, then sleep
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poem by David Gerardino
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A Poem Explodes In This Poets Mind
flying flocks travel in flight,
another faulkner puts down
his shovel, and writes, writes
and writes.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me the muddled spirits,
and write your own words
with your own blood.
flying flocks travel in flight,
sextan turns up with her friend
plath, and they both write, write,
and write with their own blood.
spare me the out cry,
spare me the empty familiar,
spare me these muddled spirits,
and write with your own blood.
Flying flocks travel in flight, and
a poem explodes in this poets mind,
and i write, and write, and write,
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poem by David Gerardino
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The big man with his rusted keys
The big man with his rusted keys,
kicks his own family in the balls,
for this is my blood,
and this is my bread,
and if you cross this line, ill make
you wish you werent born, or even
thought of.
This mistranslated love is muddled
in fatigue, and garbed in hate, and
the big man with the rusted keys,
just smiles , and spits on his own
family,
for this is my blood,
and this is my bread,
and if you cross this line, ill make
you wish you werent born, or even
thought of.
The big man with the rusted keys,
finds his family gone, and the house
in perfect shape, and a note from his
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poem by David Gerardino
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