Rain you just used me
You poured your heart out
Then left me to pick up the pieces
Drowning in your anger
You chose to visit
Gathering interest along the way
Collecting clouds in your pocket
Wind clung to your sleeve
The hijacker of days
A changer of moods
You reign without peer
As you excrete your venomous side
I crave your tears
When parched lips scorch
Then question your intention
When you divide my world
Where does your spirit lie?
When life and death
Is cradled in your arms
And I wait for judgement
Lost, both need and alarm consume me
In equal measure
Listen to my fears
Hear my cries
And be wise with your tears
THE HIJACKER WHO WAS HIJACKED
The mission is the pursuit of Caicedo,
the race has been on since the January set-go,
keepin' the paparazzis tongue in closed bridle.
Call Liverpool Big Jax of the Jungle,
and Chelsea, Richie, with cash in bundle.
Hijacking isn't alien in the round leather game,
though the salty feeling of the victim isn't the same,
the aftermath stain is what the media will frame.
Swung-in to hijack 3 month labour of Chelsea,
the American Clearlake tycoons 're never at sea
as they hijacked Liverpool’s hijack attempt for Caicedo,
and Lavia to punish 'em & their transfer window.
Served hot by Chelsea, that makes it two hijacks,
breaking the heart of Liverpool the Big Jax.
The hijacked ends-up as the hijacker in a twinkler
as Chelsea hijacked the hijack of the hijacker.
VICK MANUEL POETRY
{VMP}
Form: Quatern/Rhymes
Copyright ©? August 14th, 2023.
don’t weep. we won’t surrender you on this dilapidated dance floor. we will reconstruct it into a sky that will not squirm. its guardian will be of your crop. we will be the spirits that will yield blood for your tranquility. our minds will accept this pandemic and sections will disappear. nobody will realize how great they should have remained. a parachute will break your loss. go on, little one, conceive those daydreams. the earth cluttered with our remains will attend over you. no mischief will appear to you.
we will draw up arms and overthrow the pagan vampire that is autocracy. its assault will be but fables, flying before the years develop. the hijacker will expire in shackles, millions will lament, rifles will blow, capitals will ignite. airbourne joy will torrent the invasion, the whirlwind that captures my life will recover yours.
i will stand my history in your palms, be delicate with the mass, golden stars will be on your screens. read the message, behold the ground, envelop the tombstones. the karats are the weight, controlled by the painting of your forthcoming. i will stare on to you and your triumph, sweet boy. we will not let you, nor will we dig the tunnels.
The heart is a liar, it makes you believe
Any number of stories, perchance to deceive
A teller of tales, a false raconteur
An emotional hijacker, down to the core
Unruly, ill-tempered, and like a small child
It’s hard to control, and often runs wild
You see what is not, and you trust what you feel
And after a while, you’re unsure what is real
The heart is a demon, a mischievous imp
It parcels you out, like some sort of pimp
A cheater, a thief, it will have its way
Misguiding, dividing, consuming its prey
Spoiled and selfish, unfettered, untamed
It causes much trouble, and others are blamed
So do not believe it, and give it no chance
To catch you off guard, and ask you to dance
With two hundred thousand dollars
and a parachute way up high,
Dan Cooper left the 727 he hijacked
and disappeared in the deep blue sky.
Somewhere between Seattle and Portland
the only American hijacker never caught
landed either dead or alive -
the FBI and authorities know naught.
He bought a ticket under the name of Dan Cooper,
the media mistakenly called him D. B.;
whatever became of him and the money
remains today a mystery.
Some say he couldn't have survived the jump;
Some say they know he's been seen;
Some say he could be living in your neighborhood;
If he's alive, he got away clean.
The legend of D. B. Cooper -
A man who disappeared into airspace,
On November 24, 1971 -
Still an unsolved FBI case.
The Hijacker emerged
onto the cock pit,
his face was dark and dangerous,
his eyes
were bulging under religious lies,
looking angry enough to strangle
with the first person who wanted to tangle,
he spat out curse words,
in another language
that would have burned even God’s ears,
voice hoarse,
but the danger nears,
he’s doing it for his God under cloak,
the plane fills with smoke,
and everyone chokes,
he muttered God’s name,
no other explanation.
Fame or shame,
and God’s name in vain.