Man at the Bus Stop on Halloween
The others, of course,
are more rabid than he
but less apt to show it.
Whenever he strikes,
he never romps off.
He stands with the wrist
that he's snatched
from the lady
tight in his teeth
as he waits with a smile
for the wagon.
He's one of the few
wrist-snatchers still
on the streets of Chicago,
and he makes his rounds
in old tennies.
His technique is simple:
He dives for the purse hand,
gives it a whack, and severs
the wrist without slobber,
then stands like a Vatican Guard
with the wrist in his teeth
until he is certain
he has no pursuers.
At night in his dreams he sees
the women whose wrists
he has held in his teeth.
They stand at the bus stop
like Statues of Liberty,
shrieking and waving
their stumps like flares.
He prays their screams
will bring to a frieze
the patrol cars glowing
in the middle of the street
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Hate and pain, feelin’ it in my veins.
Hate and pain etched in my mind.
Love and hate are all the same,
Life and death are all our problems, but you treat them as there mine.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death are all the same in my mind.
Life and death are all the same,
Play with fire and get burned.
Accusations flying my way, will they ever stop?
Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Life and death are all the same.
Life and death, when will it end?
Anger and frustration all boiling to the top.
Vengeance and Violence seems to be the only way.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, is it my turn yet?
Death is living again.
Death is bliss I will never discover.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, a new fire is born.
Death is an eternal fire being blown out.
Death is being free from the shackles of life.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, it’s our destiny.
Death is the only escape.
Death is the forth stomach of a cow.
By Ariel Morris.
poem by Ariel Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wrist Watch Man
He is marching dusty highways and he's riding bitter trails,
His eyes are clear and shining and his muscles hard as nails.
He is wearing Yankee khaki and a healthy coat of tan,
And the chap that we are backing is the Wrist Watch Man.
He's no parlour dude, a-prancing, he's no puny pacifist,
And it's not for affectation there's a watch upon his wrist.
He's a fine two-fisted scrapper, he is pure American,
And the backbone of the nation is the Wrist Watch Man.
He is marching with a rifle, he is digging in a trench,
He is swapping English phrases with a poilu for his French;
You will find him in the navy doing anything he can,
For at every post of duty is the Wrist Watch Man.
Oh, the time was that we chuckled at the soft and flabby chap
Who wore a little wrist watch that was fastened with a strap.
But the chuckles all have vanished, and with glory now we scan
The courage and the splendor of the Wrist Watch Man.
He is not the man we laughed at, not the one who won our jeers,
He's the man that we are proud of, he's the man that owns our cheers;
He's the finest of the finest, he's the bravest of the clan,
And I pray for God's protection for our Wrist Watch Man.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Father's Hand
I like to wear a band around my wrist,
an amulet of copper, links of bling,
a hippy weave of cotton or dried grass.
Reminds me of a change my father made
as I grew up from toddler to walker;
crossing the road he stops holding my hand
and wraps his finger and thumb around my wrist.
My bracelet now is like the brag of a teenager leaving home
and flashing his cell-phone where father's number sleeps.
I wear my father's hand around my wrist.
poem by Gerard Rochford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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56
he is in the middle of something
Painful
Choosing between slashing his wrist with a blade
Or firing a bullet in his head
In the middle ambiguities
he stopped
You called.
What if the blade slashed his wrist?
And blood squirted on the Floor like a basin of water
Like falling tears On his cheeks
What if the gun fired?
And his brain spills on his chest
What if you did not call?
It is the middle of pain It is the middle of confusing things
Sometimes, it is the middle That saves.
Luck.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Luck
he is in the middle of something
Painful
Choosing between slashing his wrist with a blade
Or firing a bullet in his head
In the middle ambiguities
he stopped
You called.
What if the blade slashed his wrist?
And blood squirted on the Floor like a basin of water
Like falling tears On his cheeks
What if the gun fired?
And his brain spills on his chest
What if you did not call?
It is the middle of pain It is the middle of confusing things
Sometimes, it is the middle That saves.
Luck.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bleeding Wrist
Another time has come
For me to cut my wrist again
You left me in the dust
Said I was cheating
But I never was
You had my only heart and
You broke it again
My wrist are bleeding because of you
You broke me down until I was nothing
More than a memory of your Raping Dream
Caught in the middle
Of a terrible nightmare
Bleeding with broken pain
Caught inside this fog of fear
Listening to your voice
Which was once soothing to me
Time and time again is but
Just now a memory
Of you and the warmth of your hands
Pain and pain
Of agony once again
Bleeding wrist of concurrent pain
You Got The Damn Thing
Underdogs
You know you got the damn thing
You got the damn thing I like(oh yeah)you know you got the damn thing I like, like,i like
(you got the damn thing) you know you got the damn thing I like,
you know you got the damn thing
Papi, fly as can be
Lookin flosey now daddy I see you thugin with your peeps
That's so sexy to me
Your a dime piece like me
Like what I see I'm gonna get it
We can take it to my drop top
Tell ur boys that you just hooked up
Little chick
Little ride
Got a little bit of thug in me
You know its goin down if I let you mash wit me
Baby cant you see
Cant you see that I'm feelin you everything about you
is so tight,you know you got the damn thing I like
Gotta a G straight trippin
Up in the club wit your wrist iced up and your temps like what all right
Sometime you know you got the damn thing I like the kind that makes me sippy
hen straight up wit your wrist laced up
I feelin you cuz you got the damn thing I like
All these guys gettin at me
But you don't speak what you don't see me
Boy you know you do
But you got this attitude
Actin all hard in your ??
Turnin me on
You know I'm waiting
Baby why don't we shake up spot
And tell your boys that you just hooked up
Little chick
Little ride
Got a little bit of thug in me
You know its goin down if I let you mash wit me
Baby cant you see
Cant you see that im feelin you everything about you
is so tight,you know you got the damn thing I like
Gotta a G straight trippin
Up in the club wit your wrist iced up and your temps like what all right
Sometime you know you got the damn thing I like the kind that makes me sippy
?? straight up wit your wrist laced up
I feelin you cuz you got the damn thing I like
Usually playas
Cant fade me
Cant make me
Or brake me
But everything about you
Has got me twisted
I'm tweakin for them
From your luv mentality yeah
I'm feelin ya feelin ya feelin ya
Little chick
Little ride
Got a little bit of thug in me
You know its goin down if I let you mash wit me
Baby cant you see
Cant you see that I'm feelin you everything about you
is so tight,you know you got the damn thing I like
Gotta a G straight trippin
Up in the club wit your wrist iced up and your temps like what all right
Sometime you know you got the damn thing I like the kind that makes me sippy
?? straight up wit your wrist laced up
I feelin you cuz you got the damn thing I like
song performed by by Olivia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Teeth
But she will not let you go
But this time Im not coming back
She will not let you go
But this time Im not coming back
Keeps holding on
She will not let you go
Keeps holding on and on
She will not let you go
No, no, no, no, no!
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
I cannot go through this again /x8
No, no, no, no, no!
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
Youve finally found the place where you belong
It comes on strong
She makes you hard
The rules have changed, the line begins to blur
To what you were
Wave goodbye
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
With teeth
And it runs deeper than you dare to dream it could be
The black seal
She makes you better than anything youve tried
Its in her kiss
She comes along
She gets inside
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ice on My Wrist (Remix)"
ft. Magic
[Master P :]
2000 remix ya heard me?
[Chorus : (Master P)]
The ice on my wrist shine like a light
I can brighten up your day even at night
The ice on my wrist shine like a light
I can brighten up your day even at night
I'm just a young nigga hanging with the thug figures
rolling with the drug dealers now they wanna mug niggas
Ghetto fabulous I mean we ballin'
I represent the 3rd Ward
song performed by by Master P from Only God Can Judge Me
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Calm So Quiet So Dead
is this where the angels go
when they run away from home
do they crack the concrete with their teeth
is this where the angels go
when they need to be alone
so the tears slip quietly in their sleep
is this a question for a lover
id keep from any other
so you can but the bandage on my wrist
is this a question for the holy
to ask how one can be so lonely
so i could strike another off the list
poem by Savanna Hillyer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother Teresas Prays!
A CHILD is borne with aids,
her only hope, mother teresas
beatiful tears.
A WOMEN crying for help, starts
to cut her wrist, still mother teresa
prays.
A MAN sells him self for drugs, still
mother teresa prays.
A world with to many guns,, still
mother teresa prays....
poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Suicide Scars
i look at myself in the mirror wondering.
wondering what happend to the girl i used to be.
wondering why there are scars on my wrist.
why i did this to myself.
then i think back to when my whole world was crashing down.
i seem to realize that these scars are suicide scars.
i start to cry to the fact that i will have these scars for a life time.
i grab my razor put it up to my wrist.
and i start to cut.
i start to cut them suicide cuts all over again.
i cant stop.
but i guess that this will be me forever.
makeing them ugly suicide scars.
poem by Teresa Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Suicide Scars
i look at myself in the mirror wondering.
wondering what happend to the girl i used to be.
wondering why there are scars on my wrist.
why i did this to myself.
then i think back to when my whole world was crashing down.
i seem to realize that these scars are suicide scars.
i start to cry to the fact that i will have these scars for a life time.
i grab my razor put it up to my wrist.
and i start to cut.
i start to cut them suicide cuts all over again.
i cant stop.
but i guess that this will be me forever.
makeing them ugly suicide scars.
poem by Trish Spencer
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Timeline Of Cosmological Theories Or Sloan Great Wall
On the top of a hill
Tornado of petals
Your wrist
Your elbow
Your ankle
Your distal phalanges
Travelplan
Brooklyn Heights
On a bottom of strings
A harp
Your breath
In the back seat
By the light of the moon
Like a mirror of water
Your wisdom teeth
In a blue beach towel
Tied hands of pianist
poem by Nicolas Grenier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Those twenty-first century bluues...
So it’s morning start time at the office.
Or should be.
Red-eyed, those tell-tale diagonal ridges
from eyes across the cheeks..
we roll in late, proud, but exhausted..
our wrists flashing with
bling allied to timekeeping…
but even we ourselves don’t care;
and sore did you say sore…
By now, judging from my emails,
just about every wage-earner in the East and West
sports a fake Bulgari, Patek Philippe, Gucci,
weighing down their wrist; and
who believes or cares when we say, we keep
the real one at home?
Ah yes, at home -
where our nights are longer
and more extended and
you know just what I mean..
and we’d love to go freelance but
where but the office
could we discreetly boast, show off
our new swinging thingies,
or our pert bouncers, or simply flash our wrist,
to all those who are now equipped with just the same
by consumerism’s joyless games
and internet’s gross joyless claims,
and money now, only confers
the same as his; the same as hers.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Ito Eats
(words & music by sid tepper - roy bennett)
Ito eat like teeth are out of style
Ito eat like teeth are out of style
Ito eating all the while
Eat ito eat all the night and the day
Eat ito eat all the night and the day
Ito is an eating boy
He never get enough from fish and poi
He eat everything he dont care what
He even eat the shell from the coconut
Eat ito eat all the night and the day
Eat ito eat all the night and the day
Hey, ito little faster
Ito little slower
Ito eat like teeth are out of style
Ito eat like teeth are out of style
When you say that stranger smile
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As she lies Dying (part two)
This time they know
They know her seceret
They are doing just as she thought they would do
And agian, they start chanting
But this time she doesen't do it
All she does is keep on walking down the hallway
They start saying mean things like' Look, she's thinking of a
comback! ', 'Idiot.', or 'Freak! '
When they say those things, it always makes her want to do it more
But she knows it's the wrong thing to do
Now she is at home
Sitting on her bed
She does this everyday
It is her usual routine
As she lies there she takes the razor
Digs it in her wrist
As she does this she cries
She cries painful tears
But what she dosen't know
Is that he mom can see her doing this
Her mom is peeking through the crack on the door
Her mom barges in
She hides the razor in her hand and covers up her wrist with her blanket
Her mom starts screaming at her and goes into the other room to have a ciggratte and a drink
The next day she dosen't go to school
All she does is stay in her bed and do it more
She will keep on doing this untill it actully works
Untill she is gone forever.
poem by Savannah Moe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As She Lies Dying (pt 2)
This time they know
They know her seceret
They are doing just as she thought they would do
And agian, they start chanting
But this time she doesen't do it
All she does is keep on walking down the hallway
They start saying mean things like' Look, she's thinking of a
comback! ', 'Idiot.', or 'Freak! '
When they say those things, it always makes her want to do it more
But she knows it's the wrong thing to do
Now she is at home
Sitting on her bed
She does this everyday
It is her usual routine
As she lies there she takes the razor
Digs it in her wrist
As she does this she cries
She cries painful tears
But what she dosen't know
Is that he mom can see her doing this
Her mom is peeking through the crack on the door
Her mom barges in
She hides the razor in her hand and covers up her wrist with her blanket
Her mom starts screaming at her and goes into the other room to have a ciggratte and a drink
The next day she dosen't go to school
All she does is stay in her bed and do it more
She will keep on doing this untill it actully works
Untill she is gone forever.
poem by Savannah Moe
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Whatever the right hand findeth to do, the left hand carries a watch on its wrist to show how long it takes to do it.
quote by Ralph W. Sockman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Tall Man
The mouth of this man is a gaunt strong mouth.
The head of this man is a gaunt strong head.
The jaws of this man are bone of the Rocky Mountains, the Appalachians.
The eyes of this man are chlorine of two sobbing oceans,
Foam, salt, green, wind, the changing unknown.
The neck of this man is pith of buffalo prairie, old longing and new beckoning of corn belt or cotton belt,
Either a proud Sequoia trunk of the wilderness
Or huddling lumber of a sawmill waiting to be a roof.
Brother mystery to man and mob mystery,
Brother cryptic to lifted cryptic hands,
He is night and abyss, he is white sky of sun, he is the head of the people.
The heart of him the red drops of the people,
The wish of him the steady gray-eagle crag-hunting flights of the people.
Humble dust of a wheel-worn road,
Slashed sod under the iron-shining plow,
These of service in him, these and many cities, many borders, many wrangles between Alaska and the Isthmus, between the Isthmus and the Horn, and east and west of Omaha, and east and west of Paris, Berlin, Petrograd.
The blood in his right wrist and the blood in his left wrist run with the right wrist wisdom of the many and the left wrist wisdom of the many.
It is the many he knows, the gaunt strong hunger of the many.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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