Poet Horton

Poems

Hi this is Poet’s daughter. My name is Charli and I’ve been writing poems once and a while. So I thought I should write them on here for others as well. I hope you enjoy them.

Tonight Is The Night

Tonight is the night where we will all die,

Tonight is the night where the world will flood,

Tonight is the night where the survivors shall burn,

Tonight is the night where the universe will fall.

Tonight is the night.

Tonight is the night.

Old Dearest

Old dearest, why did you betray me?

Old dearest, was I not the one?

My old dearest, maybe this was for the best…

Since you were a pervert and an ass like the rest.

Why Did You Have To Go

Why did you have to go?

Why now?

Why when so young?

I know 53 must seem old,

But it is not.

It is too young to leave.

Why did you have to go?

Why now?

Death Has Not Parted Them

My father is not in Heaven nor Hell.

His spirit is still on Earth.

He is waiting for my mother.

Until it is her time as well.

When she goes, then they will go…

They will fly to Heaven together.

He will not fly to Heaven without her.

My father has passed this test called Life.

I know my mother will pass as well.

Their founten of love has not dried up.

And it never will.

Never.

No matter what.

For their love…is eternal.

They’ll love each other for eternity.

No matter what.

Politics again?

I’m not sure I ever mentioned any of the reasoning behind my name, Poet. Well, some of it is due to past poetic ramblings about my lifestyle, a little with writings connected to some of the old underground papers and comics I was once associated with, but the name was given to me officially mainly due to my oratorical at wakes, funerals, and the occasional wedding of 1% ers and other close, yet sometimes a bit hardcore, friends. In over 40 years on the road riding motorcycles and living a lifestyle foreign to today’s society  and those that “think” they actually have a handle on the real workings of true “biker”, Ive managed to obtain a bit of a reputation as a philosopher of sorts. I feel this too is mainly due to the lack of individualism in today’s water fat society. The longer I live amongst the common citizen the more apparent it becomes of the rampant ignorance of reality that faces the common man. Rednecks actually have a more logical and sustainable outlook on life in general and truly understand the needs and necessities of what it is going to take for them to maintain a living for themselves and their families. And much akin to the hardcore biker family, they too, know the meaning of the word , “FAMILY”, and all that it entails, without having the need to have it explained to them by some half baked politician that somehow believes he’s some sort of messiah for the masses. When in all reality, he is little more than a part of the privileged lower class politician. When Obama complains and points out that McCain has 7 or 8 houses, and that that is supposed to show that McCain isn’t in touch with what we as average Americans are going through, it only shows how far out of touch he himself is. after all, Obama too owns several properties, and vacations in places like Hawaii, the Mediteranean, trips to Europe where he gets treated like a rock star. Yes, sure sounds like Obama is just like you now doesn’t it?  At least McCain really is the American story. And he’s for real, and he does tell the truth, whether or not its always what you want to hear, its still the truth. But politics at this time of year are full of pomp and circumstance, and it really is business as usual with the democrats, Their motto, as always, is “beat the Republicans”, Nothing about doing something about fixing whats wrong for the people, only about taking back the White house so they can once again, raise your taxes to pay for more unneeded underfunded programs that only work to widen the division of race and religion. And their biggest ploy is making the poor believe that the rich aren’t paying their share, or that they do little but take and take and drain the working man of whatever they can. Pay attention this time folk, stay the course of common sense and restore the power of the United States to where it belongs. We’re tired of the democrats taking away from our military, keeping us from drilling for oil on our own lands, and refusing to allow the building of much needed oil refineries! McCain is the only logical choice in these violent times, he’s proven his patriotism, lead men and served this nation without reservation and with only the good of this nation and it’s people his purpose. Obama is an unknown nobody with no experience in leading anything.  A single term wonder boy the democrats are banking will charm the vote from you with his cute smile and empty promises and unrealistic view of the world around us and what America faces. Me?, I’ll vote for McCain, even with the women he chose to run as VP, shows the depth of his core belief in our country.

Never judge a book by its cover

“See us here we heathen type
smoking evil weed from homemade pipe
with greasestained jeans
and unkempt hair
a big ol’ “hawg”
and no underwear

filthy mouths and wicked minds
a form of life of the lowest kind
we fornicate, we fight
we ride, we lust

we eat like pigs
no-one we trust

uncouth, unclean, uncaring we
and naught but this they ever see
 so we flip the bird
and laughing shout…

” WE ARE THE PEOPLE OUR PARENTS WARNED US ABOUT!”

The Story of Sugar Bear, Part III – The conclusion

Why, we rode her to Maine up to Blueberry Hill, down the coast of Virginia, then out to Ft. Sill, from the shores of Key West to the west Texas 10, to the beaches of “Dago,” and twice back again. Now it’s true, on occasion, a tire I’ve blown. And then there’s that time in Virginia, the ol’ lady was thrown. And she’s lost headlights and chains, and the fender once too. And the times that I’ve dropped her, number up quite a few. But she carried me faithful till the end of her life, and I believe had she had a pu$$y, I’d make her my wife!

Well ’bout ends my description of my sled, “Sugar Bear,” the sweet Flathead, 74 inch VL, 1932 (what a pair!). And for all of our troubles for all the ol’ lady’s tears, throughout the hardships and heartaches, throughout all the years, the only complaints ever spoken, only complaint ever told, was ’bout my ol’ lady’s bruised a$$ from a bare fender too cold!

The Story of Sugar Bear, Part II

She looked “all held together” with wire and tape, with like, ten pounds of silicone that added to her shape. She first came all together from another man’s crash, with an occasional piece from some hog shop’s trash. She’d a few front fins missin’, four maybe three. They either broke up in Jersey or downtown D.C., well wherever it was, they were stuck in a tree. The buddy pegs came from a fiend where I’d worked, the rear taillight got cracked with the face of some jerk. And though it appeared that her motor was as filthy as sin, be assured her mechanics were spotless within.

Now to some “twould appear that she don’t sound too good, but she’s carried me further then ever yours could. She commanded respect, and let there be no doubt, if she didn’t receive it, then I’d knock yer a$$ out! Why, from every scratch on her gas tank, to all the rust on her frame, speak of rainstorms in Texas, and snowstorms in Maine, of sunshine through Kansas, of hail in St. Lou’, of parties, and people, (and spills and shit too!) And you can ask my ol’ lady, she’ll back it all up, that that sled which I speak, ’twas a ‘one-kicker-up”!

To be continued . . .

The Story of “Sugar Bear”

I’m gonna tell ya’ll a tale of a sled I held dear, a “one-in-million,” whose soul once appeared at a spot in Ohio, but that’s another story I fear; so sit up and listen, and be sure and pay heed, and I’ll tell of the soul of a proud iron steed.

Now, she weren’t much to look at, but she sure caught your eye, she’d a seat sewed in leather and I patched with deer hide. She’d a springer front end with black bungees wrapped tight ’round her legs, just in case they’d break loose some night. The drag bars were held on with dog-bones, mismatched. And it was clearly apparent that the trees had been patched. On the top of her jockey was the skull of a dog. And that larger dent in her gas tank, the results of quick stopping, (and abusing a long). She’d an old rigid frame that loved bustin’ my ass, and on her neck were the words, “ass, grass, or gas.”

To be continued……

Hey!

Sit down and kick back welcome to the world of “Poet’s Pieces” here you will find my words of wit and wisdom, foresight and hindsight, ideas and ideologies. You’ll pretty much be entertained in one fashion or another, either through stories of my life in general, or simply thoughts ripped from my head.
Sometimes I’ll enlighten you, others, simply boggle your mind or even send you screaming into the bathroom to pray to some porcelain God. Either that or I’ll bore the crap out of you.

Just remember one thing above all else…
…deep within the minds of all men lay hidden, a source of madness, waiting for a way out!