you sell guns, bombs, pills
and imperial slaughter
how about a world
where kids can drink the water?
you get paid to tell lies on tv
is that really
who you wanted to be?
you sell a war against the poor
and the middle class
while you make a sweet living
up a billionaire’s ass
falsifying is your career
I can smell your soul
rotting from here
by Richard W. Bray
I always knew you loved me
No matter what I did
I always knew you loved me
You never kept it hid
I always knew you loved me
No matter what I said
I always knew you loved me
In your heart and in your bed
I always knew you loved me
And you know I love you too
You’ll always be inside me
And everything I do
By Richard W. Bray
I’m too old to be such a dumbass
Someday, I’ll pay
For each one of my sins
Catting and carousing
Till daylight
St. Peter’s gonna
Curse my silly grin
I’m too old to be such a dumbass
I’m sorry for
The selfish things I done
I left a trail of heartache
And hurting
I gotta say
I had a lotta fun
I’m too old to be such a dumbass
I’m about to bust
My weary frame
It’s too late for any excuses
I spent a lifetime
Shifting all the blame
I’m too old to be such a dumbass
I feel bad
For all them things I said
I’ve always been
A real late bloomer
I’m gonna change
Right after I am dead
By Richard W. Bray
So it is in life—from sun, to moon, to earth, to night, to day, to you getting up in the morning and going out to play a game of ball. All the rhythms of life are in some way related, one to another.
—Langston Hughes, The First Book of Rhythm
That basketball was like a basketball to me.
—Basketball Jones
I toss it in the air
And sometimes it goes in
I share it with my friends
And get it back again
Shooting hoops alone
I’m never in a hurry
It’s easy to be me
Pretending I’m Steph Curry
Playing all day long
Till every muscle hurts
Pounding on the asphalt
Till we’re covered up in dirt
by Richard W. Bray
Washing out the spot
That never goes away
How many children
Did you kill today?
Staring at the basin
In all your distress
What happens in your head
Is anybody’s guess
Now you’re making speeches
Reciting practiced lies
I wonder what’s behind
The empty in your eyes
Where does it come from?
The hunger that devours
Destroying whole countries
For a little taste of Power
by Richard W. Bray
if i were you were you were you
—Wanda Coleman
If I was you
I’d grow out my hair
And tuck my shirt
In my underwear
If I was you
I’d get me a tan
I’d drive a red truck
And drink like a man
If I was you
I’d get a good job
Stop dressing like a fool
And looking like a slob
Stop acting stupid
Making up your rhyme
Get outta bed early
Chew thirty-seven times
you say a lot more
than you ever really do
who ever said
that i wanna be you?
by Richard W. Bray
You’re a mean little phony
From your head to your shoes
The fake, fake smile
Of a fake like you
Your tongue is infected
Like the words you spew
The fake, fake charm
Of a fake like you
There’s a blade in the back
For everyone you knew
The fake, fake friendly
Of a fake like you
You said we were perfect
You’d always be true
The fake, fake love
Of a fake like you
Everybody learns
And now I know it too
The fake, fake heart
Of a fake like you
By Richard W. Bray
some say the most important thing is to calmly talk about your depression. wrong. the most important thing is to throw sand in its eyes, beat it with a sock full of quarters, then toss your depression in an Arby’s dumpster
—Beth, my spiritual adivsor
There ain’t no happy place
Where good times always last
You need to grab your misery
And kick its little ass
There ain’t no place to hide
There ain’t no happy pills
Don’t make up stupid stories
To wish away your ills
There ain’t no easy road
There ain’t no magic spell
Everything that’s worth a damn
Is gonna hurt like hell
Beat the blues down
When it bears its ugly head
It’s coming back tomorrow
Every day until you’re dead
By Richard W. Bray
And once they have you, safe and sound,
They want to change you all around.
—Dorothy Parker
I can change him
I can fix him
Make him do
Just what I say
I can bend him
I can mold him
Like a big ole
Ball of clay
I’ll carve him up
Like a banana
He’ll be my
Special toy
If you want
To own a man
Treat him like
A little boy
Men are helpless
Men are silly
Men are stupid
Men are weak
I can guide him
I can dress him
I can change
The way he speaks
He don’t know
No better
He’s a senseless
Waste of life
I’ll own the pockets
In his pants
I’ll own his nuts
I’ll be his wife
I’ll put his ass to work
I’ll never let him slip
I’m doing him a favor
Just watch me crack my whip
by Richard W. Bray
Sanctimony and masochism are two sides of the same coin.
—Richard W. Bray
Lazy drunken losers
Stupid punks & fools
I call em as I see em
But I don’t make the rules
Homeless doped-out drifters
Squatting in the street
Helpless hopeless vagrants
No shoes on their feet
Nasty nutty morons
A perpetual disgrace
They sour my disposition
And crinkle up my face
Filthy smutty floozies
They’re out of control
Hardening my heart
They muddy up my soul
Judgement and resentment
Impair your mental health
Swing your blade around
Till you mutilate yourself
By Richard W. Bray
