DANGER DANGER DANGER
POETRY WARNING!!
POEM ABOUT TO COMMENCE
The following is the first version of my new slam poem. It is a true story and is one of those jumping up and down and screaming pieces. I haven't recorded it yet, though I probably will. And it will almost certainly get a further edit.
One more warning: this poem has some violent imagery
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The Oleander Street Pirates
We were THE Oleander Street Pirates.
Terry Taylor and me, who had cut our hands and mingled our blood thereby becoming brothers by choice.
Combine two completely different deadly poison and you get a benign compound that goes down Smooooooth and leaves a zesty aftertaste.
We knew all about the redistribution of wealth, I had read my Marx and Engels and he had read his Conan and Batman, and it just didn't seem fair that the rich kids, the children of the doctors and lawyers and businessmen who lived in a gated community beyond that field and over that wall, should have a neighborhood swimming pool while we didn't have one.
So late on hot Central California Summer nights we would climb the wall and swim in the pool, sometimes there were ten or twelve Oleander Street Pirates, sometimes just me and Terry but almost always his little brother Danny would tag along. But one day Danny went ahead without us and by the time Terry and I were halfway across the field we could hear Danny's cries and the shouts of the rich kids who were giving him a beating.
Terry Flew across that field and over that wall, I don't think he touched a brick. I followed as fast as I could and by the time I got over the wall, there was Danny, bleeding on the concrete and Terry, seeing the blood of his blood was fighting like a wildcat, he was surrounded by five rich kids and they were about to overwelm him
But, They didn't know about me. They didn't know I was coming.
I WAS THE HAMMER OF GOD, I WAS THE AVENGING ANGEL, I WAS THE PIRATE LEAPING ONTO THE BURNING DECK, I WAS THE BARBARIAN AT THE GATED COMMUNITY COME TO TEAR DOWN THE CITADEL OF CIVILIZATION.
Three minutes later the five rich kids were running home to tell their mommies about the two dozen Oleander Street Kids who had jumped the wall to kick their ass.
DAMN I love rushing into battle against hopeless odds and DAMN I loved fighting by the side of my brother by choice and damn I loved watching the submission of my enemies...forgive me I love it still...sometimes it is SOOOOOOO hard to be a pacifist.
We lifted Danny over the wall and took turns carrying across the field. Later that night, when their dad got home, he saw their condition and he gave them a beating those rich kids couldn't have nightmares about. Poor Danny went off crying to his room and when it was Terry's turn to feel the belt, yeah he flinched, he grunted, but he stood his ground and when his old man tired and sat down Terry looked at him, with steel in his eye, and said.
"Is that all you got?"
I LOVED my brother by choice, I would have taken ten beatings for him that night.
Our ways parted over the years, my road led to Oxford, his road led to Prison, I think he got the better education...all I know is that I CAN'T crack a safe.
So if you go to Oleander Street you might just see two fourteen year olds walking down the road like they own the world, because they do.
The big one is named Kyle, the little one is named Terry, they got fifty-three cents between 'em and they're headed down to old man Haney's store to get a couple of chocolate bars and a Royal Crown Cola they're gonna share between themselves and not give a damn about the backwash.
And if you cross their path I suggest that you do NOT FUCK WITH THEM. Because they are...no...WE WERE...
THE OLEANDER STREET PIRATES
POETRY WARNING!!
POEM ABOUT TO COMMENCE
The following is the first version of my new slam poem. It is a true story and is one of those jumping up and down and screaming pieces. I haven't recorded it yet, though I probably will. And it will almost certainly get a further edit.
One more warning: this poem has some violent imagery
**************************
The Oleander Street Pirates
We were THE Oleander Street Pirates.
Terry Taylor and me, who had cut our hands and mingled our blood thereby becoming brothers by choice.
Combine two completely different deadly poison and you get a benign compound that goes down Smooooooth and leaves a zesty aftertaste.
We knew all about the redistribution of wealth, I had read my Marx and Engels and he had read his Conan and Batman, and it just didn't seem fair that the rich kids, the children of the doctors and lawyers and businessmen who lived in a gated community beyond that field and over that wall, should have a neighborhood swimming pool while we didn't have one.
So late on hot Central California Summer nights we would climb the wall and swim in the pool, sometimes there were ten or twelve Oleander Street Pirates, sometimes just me and Terry but almost always his little brother Danny would tag along. But one day Danny went ahead without us and by the time Terry and I were halfway across the field we could hear Danny's cries and the shouts of the rich kids who were giving him a beating.
Terry Flew across that field and over that wall, I don't think he touched a brick. I followed as fast as I could and by the time I got over the wall, there was Danny, bleeding on the concrete and Terry, seeing the blood of his blood was fighting like a wildcat, he was surrounded by five rich kids and they were about to overwelm him
But, They didn't know about me. They didn't know I was coming.
I WAS THE HAMMER OF GOD, I WAS THE AVENGING ANGEL, I WAS THE PIRATE LEAPING ONTO THE BURNING DECK, I WAS THE BARBARIAN AT THE GATED COMMUNITY COME TO TEAR DOWN THE CITADEL OF CIVILIZATION.
Three minutes later the five rich kids were running home to tell their mommies about the two dozen Oleander Street Kids who had jumped the wall to kick their ass.
DAMN I love rushing into battle against hopeless odds and DAMN I loved fighting by the side of my brother by choice and damn I loved watching the submission of my enemies...forgive me I love it still...sometimes it is SOOOOOOO hard to be a pacifist.
We lifted Danny over the wall and took turns carrying across the field. Later that night, when their dad got home, he saw their condition and he gave them a beating those rich kids couldn't have nightmares about. Poor Danny went off crying to his room and when it was Terry's turn to feel the belt, yeah he flinched, he grunted, but he stood his ground and when his old man tired and sat down Terry looked at him, with steel in his eye, and said.
"Is that all you got?"
I LOVED my brother by choice, I would have taken ten beatings for him that night.
Our ways parted over the years, my road led to Oxford, his road led to Prison, I think he got the better education...all I know is that I CAN'T crack a safe.
So if you go to Oleander Street you might just see two fourteen year olds walking down the road like they own the world, because they do.
The big one is named Kyle, the little one is named Terry, they got fifty-three cents between 'em and they're headed down to old man Haney's store to get a couple of chocolate bars and a Royal Crown Cola they're gonna share between themselves and not give a damn about the backwash.
And if you cross their path I suggest that you do NOT FUCK WITH THEM. Because they are...no...WE WERE...
THE OLEANDER STREET PIRATES
I enjoyed your poetry. I think I might read it to my son. He likes poetry and that one would be up his alley.