Memoirs of an American Frogman by Tristan J. Colvin (books to improve english txt) 📕

others.
To piss off mothers and fight older brothers.

Now you got all this drama with your lady and your mamma
And everybody on your back, you never stop thinking this shit’s whack.
I bet you want to takeoff
So let Jimmy break off,
All the chains holding your brain
So you won’t ever be a loser again.

It’s Jimmy’s turn to play,
Start to play,
I’m coming to town, today.

Look, I know I’m not being very grateful,
In fact, I’m thankful,
Because after all the shit you took me through,
I never knew I’d be the one who,
Would cause me to have nothing but my mind and the truth.

I just can’t take it all,
I need a plan to end it, friend.
Jimmy brought me to the line,
He’s got to die,
Or I will if I don’t try.


I’m No Hero, a Tristan poem.

I thought I could save you.
Jump through hoops
Keep you safe
But I’m no hero.

Jump through hoops?
Bend over backwards?
I’m no hero
I can’t fly.

As I bend over backwards
I watch you fall.
And I can’t fly.
I only wanted to protect you.

I only want to protect you.
Only you.
And I watched you fall.
From your place in my eyes.

I thought I could save you,
But I’m no hero.


What Makes Me Happy, a Jimmy Smith poem.

Well, there are plenty of things I find swell.
Like killing, stealing, and escaping from jail!
Then getting murdered and sent straight to Hell!
Meeting the Devil and telling him “Well, well, well.
It seems we are at a standstill for who is more evil!”

So I killed him,
Took his horns,
And danced around until four,
Went home on a predator drone,
Blow up the kid from Home Alone,
Going to the store with nothing on,
Punch a guy
Start a free-for-all,
I hope nobody saw my balls,
Jump in the getaway car,
Cops catch me and put me behind bars.

Escape by bending iron,
Run out and lick a telephone wire.
See, everything I do, admire.
Because saying all that is the truth,
Makes me a liar.
And being a liar makes me happy.
And now, an end that’s crappy!


It’s Called Homage, a Jimmy Smith poem.

Two hits and my pupils swell up like two pennies.
Three more and I act like Clint Eastwood in his mid-twenties,
Another few and I can’t even see my hand slapping you.
And you’re on it too,
So you laugh
And say “I love you, dude.”

So I split
Cause I aint in the mood for a commitment,
Put on some lipstick,
Throw up a blonde wig,
And say that I’m Taylor Swift.
Like a Chihuahua,
Before it’s balls got snipped.

Go out in front of the Apollo,
Fall over, puke, and shout I blow!
And while they shout I’m a homo,
I’ll ride home listening to a sweet song by Bono!


Cassanova, a Jimmy Smith poem.

Oh damn,
A pretty lady with a man,
Just walked by,
And I'm so damn high,
That I might being willing to fight this dude,
But he must be like 8 foot two,
With a bicep the length of my shoe.
So I run up and punch the guy,
Right in the eye,
And he shrugs me off like a fly.
So I knock him in the fly on his pants,
All of a sudden this dude shriveled up like a plant.
So I go up to the babe,
Ask if she wants to go to a rave
And she says, "Why would I go with you?"
So I say "You'd love to go to a bathroom to do mushrooms."
She tells me I need to beat it, so meet up with some Koreans,
Find a dog and eat it.


The Realization.

In space, a rock, stuck in a rut,
Floating was it's destiny,
Created from the excess of a great ball of fire.
Set just far enough away to be the perfect tempurature for life.
Life.
Life, started by the rock it sat upon, the water around it,
And the sun above it.
That ball of fire the rock sits with in perpetual motion.

The life that grew like a child became greedy.
Covering up all of the rock, with no care of that under it.
But the rock didn't mind, it wasn't being hurt.
And life kept growing, life kept changing and becoming fantastic.
And then the monkey's came.
They were like life was originally.
Slow, ready to learn, and expansive.
But the monkeys were more greedy than even the life.

At first, the rock didn't mind, it wasn't being hurt.
Soon, the monkeys started to hurt eachother with rocks and sticks.
They banded together to defend eachother from one another.
They would learn but were still the same monkeys they always were.
The bands would look up at the sun above, the rock below, and the life around.
And they made gods in their image.
They fought over their gods.
Siblings killed eachother over their gods.

This continued for thousands of years.
The rock was now dead but still writhed.
The monkeys were still monkeys, even after all they learned.
They still fought over gods,
Their gods were just a mask to show who they were.
To give monkeys individualism.
All the monkeys.
But this was impossible, because they were still the same monkeys.

This was my realization.

Imprint

Publication Date: 12-02-2011

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