Judge Santiago Burdon

~ The Beatnik Cowboy ~ 2 Comments
Lunch at Larry’s Loveshack
   Dancing for Dollars
I didn’t come for the food
But the Ham on Rye tastes great
Go dance on your pole and smile
Does every Titty Bar
play the same worn out songs
I’ll  kill the DJ if he plays Born To Be Wild
Get up on the stage take off your clothes
Don’t waste time with the tease
I’ve only have an hour
Before I gotta pick up da wife
Let me give that fine ass a squeeze
Come here and stick your tits in my face
How much for a table dance
Don’t tell me you can’t remember my name
I’m not here looking for romance
Don’t wanna a massage can’t afford a date.
Let me stick a dollar in your G string
I’ve gotta frog in my pants come ere sit on my lap.
I’ll give you some cocaine but I  won’t buy you a drink
Where you going get on back here
what the hell is your problem
Not enough money to buy your company
You’re  just a Titty Dancer you should gimme da respect
I’ll be back tomorrow
You can apologize to me

Ian Copestick

~ The Beatnik Cowboy ~ 1 Comment
Sleep
I remember once reading
That so called experts
Still didn’t entirely know
Why it is we sleep. Of
Course we need to
Both physically and
Mentally rest, but they
Didn’t fully get it. I do.
If our lives weren’t
Broken up somehow
Into easily digestible
Pieces, we’d go insane.
” Tomorrow’s another
Day “,  ” Sleep on it ”
” It will look better in
The morning “. All of
Those platitudes would
Be gone. Looking at
Life as one huge
Uninterrupted whole
Would be more than
The human mind can
Stand. Sleep helps us
To forget and to put
Things into perspective.
Without it, we’d go raving
Mad. Even more than
Usual.

John Grey

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THE UGLY TOURIST

The locals don’t understand.

Why are you here among us

if you’re not buying our trinkets,

paying cash to take photos

of our hard leathery faces?

I’m trying to immerse myself

in the culture of these people.

Yes, they have dances and rituals,

beliefs and behaviors

with symbolic meaning,

religious significance.

But they just can’t afford them right now.

Ian Copestick

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The Dirtiest Of Concepts
My first book, a volume of poetry
Has been on sale now for a couple of weeks
All of the old friends I meet ask the same question
With what seems to be the same voice
” What are you getting out of it, man ?”
” Yeah, cool but how much are you making ?”
” So when do you start receiving royalties then mate ? “
Bringing the whole thing down to one word :
MONEY
Not thinking that writing the poems
Is a way to escape from money worries
Not thinking about me expressing myself
Or finding out more about the real me
It always comes back to that dirtiest of concepts
The root of all evil, the dreaded money
People don’t seem to realise that
Like time, work and sin, money is just
Something that was made up one day
Another way to keep people in line
To show who is on top, who is better
Than who. Well, we’re all born with
nothing
And we all die with nothing. I seem to
Have wandered away from the point
I was trying to make. I may have taken
The scenic route but I think I have got
There all the same
For fans of Ian’s work, please support the art of your fellow human beings by checking out his latest book, “Detritus Of The Drunken Night ” on Cajun Mutt Press.

J.J. Campbell

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the house i grew up in
a howling wind
mother nature coming
to take what’s hers
the tornado hit the
house i grew up in
hit the bedroom
where i first thought
of suicide at the
age of eight
when i saw the
picture, i laughed
once again
she took her shot
at me and missed
it’s not like i’m
running
i’ve lived in the
same county my
entire life
apparently,
someone has
piss poor aim
———————————————————————-
tears of rage turning to blood
i get lost in your
darkness waiting
to be taken
to have this soul
devoured
to be held in your
arms and melt
tears of rage
turning to
blood
a pain lost upon
anyone who doesn’t
understand suffering
and as i look in your
eyes and calmly tell
you i love you
one day this pain
will hopefully give
you the kingdom
you deserve
——————————————————————–
purple sunshine
there’s this little woman
who sings me spanish
lullabies in my dreams
her kisses taste like
purple sunshine
or perhaps the cocaine
is now laced with honey
from the last living bees
on this earth
she peels back my skin
and finds puzzle pieces
that have been broken
and misplaced for years
in the moments where
she takes the time to
pretend to care, i
struggle to find the
words
we spend the mornings
in bed together
drinking coffee and
making each other
laugh
i always wake from
these dreams and
get sad
she still only thinks
of me as the poet
from the other side
of the country

David Sprehe

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David Sprehe

 

1:26 a.m.

The walls close in

Brain shutting down

In an attempt

To put it off until tomorrow

In my guts

I feel the IT

Whatever it is

Will win out

But lucky for me

At the bottom of that

Sludge blackened

Pit

There is a laughter

At times so defiant and insane

I fear it

It appears in my dreams

Throwing an arm around my shoulders

Pulling me in close

So it can whisper another joke into my ears

 

David Sprehe

 

A long drive ahead

Blue cigarette smoke

Dancing stop and go

Out the cracked window

Foam cup full of Diet Cola in the holder

One of Bach’s

Playing through the radio speakers.

Heaven.

A fool’s heaven.

A fool’s heaven indeed.

Ian Copestick

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A Split
Well, it looks like a split is on it’s way
We’ve been together for 16 years
Over a third of my life has been spent
With this woman. So maybe you can
Understand just how painful this is.
But I doubt it. It’s the first long term
Relationship I’ve ever had, and at my
Age it’s probably going to be the last.
Although we haven’t got any children
Together we’ve got a cat and a dog
That might as well be. It will destroy
Me to lose them, but if it’s what I
Must do to preserve my sanity, or
Prevent myself from facing a murder
Charge. It sadly is what I must do.

J.J. Campbell

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saddled me as a child
 
the demons fester inside
me and only come out
when they feel like it
i think they have the
same apathy that
saddled me as a child
and never got off
i do thirty lines of
cocaine in my dreams
wishing for a river
of blood to ride on
my way to hell
i never learned how
to dance or got lucky
enough to have a
threesome
i stopped chasing
immortality the
moment the woman
of my dreams said
she never loved me
death is the only
wish left
——————————————————————–
in a seedy bar downtown
 
charlie manson was
the only hippie to
never waver
hard explaining that
to a bunch of strung
out models listening
to an old lou reed
song in a seedy bar
downtown
mostly because i’m
amazed they aren’t
buried in their fucking
phones at the moment
i saunter over to
the corner
sit down at a table
with a spanish princess
that wants to save
my life
she whispers sweet
nothings into my ear
and i crack my first
smile in a decade
soon, she’ll show me
this trick she does with
her tongue and i’ll either
be dead or married by
the morning

 

K.W. Peery

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RAMONA’S PLAN

 

 

When Ramona

strolled out

of Edgewood

Cemetery

after pissin’

on her late

husband’s

grave

 

She said

she wouldn’t

make time

for another

goddamn man

until the

earthworms

had finished

 

Or the

son of a bitches

life insurance

dried up

before her

Medicare

could

kick in

John Patrick Robbins

~ The Beatnik Cowboy ~ 1 Comment

Things I Can Never Say

 

That my road is certain.

Or I have a clear direction with my words.

That I will cast aside the bottle for good.

Or choose the company of one over  the misery of isolation.

 

I can never pretend to be anyone’s true friend.

And most of all I can never say .

I love you more than myself .

 

Honesty hurts .

 

So it’s best you ask a liar than someone as damaged as me .