Nostalgic Ave.

Hey guys, I had to remove this poem since it was posted on another site. But instead of deleting the post here is a link where the poem can be found.

Nostalgic Ave.

A www.loveislonely.com exclusive poem by That Dude Eddie.

 

Weaved, Stitch by Stitch

Bliss, the bright white splotch blocks unchained locks.

Bump, bump, ride out.

Think you know the meaning?

Short, short.

Redefined rocks remind of fruitless outlines.

For this?

For that?

A few steps, yah-yah.

Ticket to a passages or gate, unappreciated by time nor date.

Keep on climbing, for worse and for better.

Please don’t forget to share this.

Peace and Love.

 

Grapes in a Square

I just got this paper out of my black, “Frank’s RedHot Cayenne Pepper Sauce” book-e-bag, which my dad gave me. He didn’t buy it… and he’s a chef… SOOOOO… you can connect some dots somewhere and try to figure out how he got it. I don’t k-know. I don’t feel like writing. I don’t have the foot of an athlete.

~That Dude Eddie~

Please don’t forget to share this. 

Love and Peace.

 

Writing on the Board

The harder I squint, the harder it is to see. I was told that my future was bright, but my teary eyes restrict me from seeing clearly. The writing on the board is illegible, HOWEVER, I know that information is presented before me – I just don’t know what defines that said information. Could this foreshadow a destiny of eternal darkness for myself? Will God spare me if He saw that I was walking on the sidewalk of Light Street, but couldn’t cross the road due to wicked traffic? The writing on the board transforms us into beasts without eyes. Don’t fail to realize that a blessing is always before your eyes.

~That Dude Eddie~

Please don’t forget to share this. 

Love and Peace.

 

Strippers and Cocaine

I’m older than my biological father. I consumed Marijuana in liquid forms and smoked alcoholic beverages during years of the Prohibition just so that I could be flexible enough to tickle my tonsil with my toes. I wrote this poem with my eyelids using a flamingo-colored crayon. My mind is lost, and frankly, I kinda’ sorta’ don’t wanna’ find it.

 

Zaxby’s Boxes

I just got this paper out from my black “Frank’s RedHot Cayenne Pepper Sauce” book-bag, which my dad gave me. He didn’t buy it, though… he’s a chef…. sooooo…. you can connect some dots somewhere and try to figure out where he got it. I don’t feel like writing. I believe I have the foot of an athlete.