(bps) ~ beat poetry sessions ~ (bps)



Take a trip on the wild side of the mind on Underground 109

charging hot out of Craniumville, trailing brain steam

smoking like a kamikaze Coupe Deville

taking corners with rotational torque that would make a planet weep

going to set you down in a verbolic pasture hip deep

no matter if you smile or cry, the adjectives are sho not shy

So take ye a power slide with ultra "inhickulated" destinations

Upbeat poetry sick, hick, and so fine

Underground 109



    Sure didn't expect to see you here... .Welcome!

         To a down home poetry reading. Can you hack it?

        It's poetry for people who don't like poetry

        SILLY HILLY BILLY ..b e a t ..POETRY

 Grab a chair, we'll warm up the adjectives while we cool the beer.





As I wander in a land of beauty I see trees like sticks
as I wander in a land of beauty I see the sticks thick with hick
half nude and dirty with Tennessee long rifles running barefoot
with simian wonder they peer through the bushes and grunt
scrawny pappys go home, limp varmints on their backs
coal oil lamps flicker through dirty windows of shacks
coonskin caps over bear greased hair
possum grits and HBO in shabby underwear
satellite dishes like shrines gleam in a moonlit night
nothing on good, might get in a fight
unintelligible threats in a smoke and beer stink cloud
skinny sweaty arms flying in rage, rude, lude, and loud
"You dont believe I'll pull this trigger? a small pistol said
working up a lather bo'ed up and beet red
god, guts, and ammo, verses and curses and booze
protect what you got with with all you got
by dog, bullet, and bruise
Get the hell out of here, I'll call the damn law, man
You don't belong up here this aint your land
Strangers only drive through here to laugh and stare
and run back and fuck with a damn computer
and call it the trail of leers
but wait a minute you don't seems so strange,
You're like most folks I know
only with durned ole powder blue skin
tight silver clothes
Somthin aint clicking, I aint...a-getting it
Get the shit out-o-your ears REDNECK, I'm a...



I'm not so strange, I’m like most folks you know 
cept with that durned-ole powder blue skin, tight silver clothes 
and I've Radonian grease on my head like your lard 
and my tattoo says "go to hell damn ye" like your words of war 
And for me to break red on a human is purely automatic
I hate to break it to you; I’m a neck from another planet
That right! I'm from a world far away where weird country moans 
through a saucer screen door in a space trailer zone 
and there’s space-junk in a space yard all strewn 
not unlike the washing machines that yes,,, you too have thrown
And I follow each sentence with a word for your dammit
Check-this-out; I’m a neck from another planet

Don't call me redneck, my neck is bright blue 
and you can kiss your reality goodbye cause it's screwed 
If you weren’t trying to get some waitress in bed 
I'd give you technological secrets and put you centuries ahead 
But I see with tel-e-pathee excrement fills your mind 
meeting you is a close encounter of the turd kind 
So if I come off a little red I caint hep it
Back off Clyde, I'm a neck from another planet
I envy you and your planet - I wish I lived here too
to live among life forms who live on tobacco and brew
And OH to hear a juke box in your honky-tonks howl! 
in neon and smoke and a language that’s fowl 
I’d like get with that stripper Roxanne, but it aint happenin…
Cause I'm a neck from another planet… man
Listen here, I don’t want a fight with you at all
but you gotta come off with cracks about my eyeballs
I could give you a night to remember
and turn this place into a burned out cinder
one day I’ll return but for now - caint hannel it
I'm fixin to get the hell out of here;

I'm a neck from another planet… man

Copyright David J. O'Dell 1997 (BMI)




Bathed in Blue Light... 

Hypnotic Flashes…

Consumer Electronic Glare

with Boob Tube Stare…

Pixel Gobbling Hoggie…

Catatonic Screen Goggling Zombie…

Ad Etched Cranium... 

BS Beaming, Streaming…

Vertical Stabilized Prison...

Garbage Disposal Vision… 

Series Shackled Slave…

Episodic Eyeball Knave…

Soul Stealing Sitcom…

in Amazonian Altered Reality...

NTSC what I'm seeing PAL?

Blue Screen Trance...

TV Addicted Soul…

Lil Sodi




Bird feet, skunk meat
out shootin with my gun
rat blood, dead crud
Gee aint huntin fun

Six pack, gun rack
In my Chevy truck
Dirt road heavy load
I’ve bagged myself a buck

Pump action satisfaction
my manhood’s in my hand
Double shot smooth and hot
best shotgun in the land

Frank Long & Mike Collins 1972





  A M B Y

You know dat yo legs are ricketty
and know dat yo clothes go raggety
But we still proud baby, cause
you got the biggest peet in the fambly

You got two pencils, Mine in my locka,
Gwine down with Shyrleen and Picpocca
How many times you fukkfistamate?
I'm going back to tha gym now, lift some weight

You know good that yo pockets are po
white men say its not who you know,
so you gwine have ta go down theres
but first you must move back the hairs

Dat not nothin eat, its a bag of shoo
and look at me when I run to you
mine looking flappy the way yo hams be
but you got the biggest peet in the fambly.

Got to get yo'sef to woik
Cause sometimes, I likes kindsa likes to jerk
boys off the road and from dat ramblin
aint no doubt, you got the biggest peet in the fambly




Play dough womb, utilities repast
a bobsled Kenmore, Pillsbury triumph
scope it out, carve it deep
Tony lama in search of sheep
send a token tarnished dime
pelt, pelt, pelt
from silk to swine
sack o cats flesh and fur amalgam
sodden burlap tomb
silent sentinel bull run witnessed
your final flight
another edge, more doom






...<<< Can You Hack It WARNING >>>...




It was a drizzling monoxide Monday night,
it was a quarter till ten and I was dropping a five
when a stranger came into the ivory arcade.
He was a half notch drifty, jaw cocked to the side,
his skin glistening with a fresh coat of slime.
He had a pinball twitch and cauliflower eyes,
a hundred-dollar jacket the blind thrift kind.
Sniffing out some peanuts and a tall boy too,
he fell back on a rotten stool.
When he cocked up a leg and crossed it ooh,
there was a biological nightmare on the soul of his shoe.
A true-life relief of urban grief in grime,
tobacco pitch and back alley wine.
like some gasoline, alcohol, oil and u-reen,
dead beat street taffy laced with denteen.
He was nicotine stained from without and within,
an olfactory record of where he had been.
From all the back alleys shuffled and spittle spattered ways,
bus station bathrooms with ode-de-pee-spray.
Sharkily - silently delving a week night wish,
a two bit gamble for fume, fluid, or flesh.
A bottom feeder in a nocturnal spell.
Working the dregs for a ritual thrill.
With a case of the shakes that would ruin a good brain,
it's all in a day with this "Ick-a-bod Crane".
A nasty remembrance of forgotten sin
a ghost of a man that maybe shouldn't have been.
The dark side of everything that is no good,
a head that is stone, a heart carved in wood.
His eyes wandered like the sauntering seven
that quietly fell in the corner depression.
a sudden crackle of fire and the cellophane falls
a rank vapor was left hanging over the balls.
Neither a nod or a blink or a well-chosen word,
just a slow flip and grind of the peanuts demise.
At the turn of the table in an eyeball deal,
an 18 was the thing with a keel of steel.
There was a frightening clack when the triangle died
and a whoosh of a funky jacket thrown wide.
Tokens went rolling and moist dandruff fell,
the air was now lame with an onion like hell.
A purple ball dove then another of black,
and as I stood dazed I uttered a gag.
A greasy eye shifted to see if I'm fine, I nodded him on…
but I could take no more... of that Stinkin 9.
John Gray Galloway




Play that Brain
of hoot owl call and go insane
mind like a pinball
Weener Mind Game©
in the way, way back reaches of
the Hillbilly Brain
the Hillbilly Brain
where hills thing roam
it’s a wonderful world
under the Ciderdome
Sippin, puffin, poppin, huffin too..
moonshine, weed, pills and glue
eyes rolling wild, tongue flapping in the breeze
unto these hills got everything you neeed
Play that brain in Weener Mind Game©
pushin the envelope of the Hillbilly Brain
Weener Mind©

Little Sodi 1975









… still crawl'en around there big feller
Happy Vern 99


WE GOT HIM! .butch sessions"I'LL WHOOP YOUR ..." 31kb wav



I Miss Freaknik

Used to ride around on the beltway
Used to ride around on the freeway
Used to ride around on the freak show
Who am I kidding I miss Freaknik!

I miss Freaknik MAN-0-LIVE

I like to party alot, I like to party alot
I like to party alot in parking lots.
I like the top down when we’re getting down.
40 ounce and a bounce makit a bump,
here come da west end fin jump out and hit it a lick –
I miss Freaknik!

400 - to the 5, Ponce De Leon Man o live and able,
jams gettin loud out the Con ver tib le!!
louder n louder

Scratch the fit, the fit ya pitching
Say hello to da exquisite bitches
party down in a par tae town
sir blasta funk busta hunk a powder bump it up louder
up down party down party down in a par tae town
Cops look away tonite we gets a pass
If u don’t believe that you can kiss my
I miss Freaknik

I miss Freaknik
back to back Back in Black
bring it back bring it back
I miss Freaknik



Butch Sessions... Whooped some jerky boy ass in a national taste test. Check this out the premier Redneck Comic of East Tennessee. Free Catalogue with purchase. HITS INCLUDE: Oil Filter Rag, Rim Job, Pair of Goodens, The Graveyard Hag and other rare extras! shipping is always included.




Back through the murk and the lovely sunshine
of mercury comets, white lightening and may wine
naked snake hunters in combat boots
Ill wind parties bare assed on a roof

Dark atomic roads are a star dust cruise
a fire crackered turd, is a pink siding bruise
near a floating roach sea, and nasal misery
in Skinny’s land of eternity.

A Dinosaur belch from a man made cave
Olympic flatus made his name
fleshy moose antlers from crab orchard stone
pull over here and get me an ice cream cone!

there was a plaster foot Poe rarin on the stairs
in a ripplin ritual with no winter cares
the food of the gods this family had
to the mouth and soul from the mind to hand

Porcelain entertainment on a dark circle
wild minds of the south a stark miracle
Chocolateers in the night, a spider a jazzathon
the cellars a birthin’ an atomic heart skeleton

How did this Tennessee come to be?
An absurd and wholesome obscenity?
a stubborn look at reality?
Could be just a happy clash in this man’s century?

Stay alive! smoke the hive
a sardine fart lingers live
impaired rodentia shot against a wall
peanut butter breath demons in a metal rack free frall

a turnpike terror for banana peel
a fearful orangutan under a wheel
fighting a drive shaft for the next breath
clawing a steel belted into shreds

It’s an awareness house crime on the wild side
on a wild and wooly satellite ride
there's pain panged pagans drinking shad crap 69
a righteous troop playing Weener Mind
a ridge of awe, a satin of lake
four drunk hippies who made a mistake

from many directions traveled to this point in time
are a hundred worn tires at the end of the line
in a magic gas ceremony into a flash
inky black cloud from the furnace of the past

a criminal red glow of orange and black
and dense onyx cloud smudges the monkey on my back
copper vermilion ghoul, bag a dangling
tinker bell stagger and drool hanging

Joanne aint gona wait on you, you, or you
somebody call Ron in here too
Went out to the lake the best I figure it,
going down Direct, pack of cigarettes

There's a glassy eyed geek wanting a light
you got any? You want any?
More stars in the sky than Foust could lie
unclothed your honor shocked oh my!

Bordering on tragedy living on the edge
Copper paint and LSD a hippies pledge
he fights his men hard and loves his women long
but cant stay at the point too long

City smoke bomb tears and window whizz and jeers
skunk beer for hooter fear
the megalomania of yesteryear... hillbilly tilt

by Little Sodi


 Are you diggin this?  Iffin so... get onto UPHOME





Escape from the Ridge...
where mercury streams gurgle through Strontium90 meadows
Where beta particles beam like melodies
Sonic booms, warble distress signal tunes

where Cesium137 gas erupts into pure blue
beryllium skies, heavy metals lay in disguise

Irradiated dusted leaves, man, woman, boy, girl up to their knees
silent and violent toxic quicksand. 3 mile isle death march
a green quarry bubbles in perpetuity, a 20,000 year annuity
a five o'clock siren song - it wont be long...

The Ridge is all these things...

Run the Bull to the Point, the Atomic Pool
Outer Drive, Laboratory Road bears the mother lode
K-25’s got a skeleton crew, thousands ready to sue
Y-12’s holdin on - a missile a day is what they’re countin on
X-10’s hiding sins and the kings of ORNL puffin on that tritium
parts of warplane landing in trees
and D-Don's got that Uranium downere... far yee

No need to tell any more tales Uncle Sugar
we know the deal King
One quick ride by the Noise boys
the Pirate Ship told all them tales
Katie's Kitchen's cookin, open all night
The Haunted Church pried open for worshiper's rite

Now down yee some N-methyl-1-phenylpropan-2-amine
getchee ass a-goin and make a hill scene
blow the ole pipes and lets begin again
drain the reactors and fill em to the brim.
Here comes the masses for their punch of plutonium,
coming back like a glow worm will, throwing back
some of that U235 swill

So Gamma some Alpha bits and I
Beta get goin. They got that fire in the hole
like a little boy mole and a Hiroshima soul.
Got that SDI in the sky and a evil twitchin eye
whoopin up a jet propulsion cry
I gets to wondering why


Little Sodi



SPASTICS ON PLASTICS©... The Underground captured live this sick soiree of regional space folk in a dangerously eclectic concoction of poetry for people who don't like poetry. Enter into this bozo-poetic-karaoke cage match by Sending $9.95 in check or money order to the OLE CUZZZ, Free Catalogue with purchase. Let the BEATNECK revolution live!





Oak Ridge in the spring rain, not staring Richard Burton
in a metaphysical bathysphere of Kiwi smoke

Chrome black vapor on the horizon, electric storms in your eye
don’t give in to the garden apartments, check the level every day

Don’t head down D-Dons, to the shipwreck green, to the potassium,
and cobalt blue, Caint, get the uranium out of your cranium,
a lot of good boys done seen the glow.

Swimming pools glow in the night time, Mercury madness atomic
Molotov cocktail in your lap, take a half of pound of BC powder
take a ceramic crap

Yee Haw, Get down diabolic rednecks, get down psychopathic
fools, gona hit you with a psychodelic fishing lure and head
down the stream too

The lights of the living ridge, living life on the edge
its a good life out on west outer, on a fantasy to find a bridge

In a chilling night at the witches castle, demons voices devils toys
take the dark orange highway to forever, lights for eyeballs
you heard the noise.

Oak Ridge in the mountains, long along Cumberland ridge
got a dream fastened to that mountain, and the heavy metals hangin
out in the ridge. - Randy Dale Tucker




Checky Chuckie went to the sticks
Checky Chuckie kicked a hick
but on that hick ticks did stick
so Checky Chuckie ran off lickity split
but was too late that he did skate
because on his wick hick ticks did ate
all the day and into the night
Checky Chuckie felt the hick ticks bite
the hick ticks picked his wick to the quick
and with rocky hick dik fever he was sick
Checky Chuckie

with regards to Rudgarrd Kiplick




Leo is Lyin'

The night was fine and alright too
so it's not that the party wasn't cool
and it wasn't you I was trying to dodge
when I saw your face across the sea of codge
so I dug me a king size hole
by talking bullshit about wanting joel
so forget who went flying up the driveway
you cant stop an O'Dell who dont want to stay
I just couldnt hang I dont know why
I only knew I had to roll boiy.




 Mr. Moon

The night is silent as you swing low
cutting sidelong behind my bungalow
my heart lifted as you sank
casting a hypnotic glow on the propane tank

Silhouettes of leaves scatter my dark driveway
hand painted in your natural way
you send your river of light, and cool flow
of silver radiance and inky shadow

You look surprised, then sad some days
it must be lonely to be so far away
no one to talk to nothing to say
do you smile at angels passing your way?

I used to watch you with my love
but now I have only you above
soaring the heavens rolling around
while I’m dark and sullen, Earthen bound

But with you I will never be alone
the way you shine and always shone
dusk is nearing so I’ll see you soon
I’ll be watching for you Mr. Moon

Dave O’Dell June 19





Sleeping city morning magic
when the birds call up the sun
the bum stirs in his warm depression
when chain link filtered street light plays
across the grass and leaves
sticking from his matted hair
insomniac blue hairs cruise the quiet
streets in shiny Cadillac tombs
sealed in their perfumed serenity
previewing the weird glow of the long sleep
While a Jamaican paperboy pauses in their passing
whispering "soon come mon, soon come."
Red eyed and weary, the cop and the robber
sit side by side waiting for the light to change
Stalker and prey exchange glances, wondering
who is who but their work is over,
dawn a breaking ... home to roost.

Undergrowth, 8 March, 1987




You Can't Kill White Trash

Silly hillbilly on a Saturday night,
gettin liquored up, running through the red lights
ain't never heard be careful or the meaning of doom
look out now, your gona find out soon

Got a little trouble in the highway up ahead
they found the Thunderbird, but they didn't find him
On his lid in a creek, door handle in his liver
pocket full of smoke - shaggin it to New River

You can't kill white trash, no no you can't kill white trash
you can knock em down, elbow em, gas, light, and throw em
but you can't kill white trash.

Got pulled over on the 4-1-1

booze and a bear - illegal shotgun
if he's goin down, he's going to stay...said
"open up the door while I blow one of his deputies away"

You can't kill white trash, no no you can't kill white trash
you can knock em down, elbow em, gas, light, and throw em
but you can't kill white trash.

You're a survivor of a mountain world where integrity will armor thee
It's in your heart to give peace a chance

drum beat resumes...

Hang it up son trash floats, so get your goat smelling hide down the road
go tell the world it aint no use, you're gona lose, You can't kill white trash.

Trippin on tobacco, bar-be-queing a brain,
hitching up the trailer going fishing in the rain,
you can send me up the river you can throw me off the boat.
Don't make no difference son, trash floats...

What in the devil keeps Pappy alive?
He's done drunk up the drano - snake bit ten times
He did some pukin and that twitching jazz
great-gosh-golly you can't kill white trash.

you can't kill white trash, no no you can't kill white trash
you can knock em down, elbow em, gas light and throw em
but you can't kill white trash.

Uncle Bob Hembree




Hard-bitten coon hunter shoves off and recedes as a small point of lard on a distant mountain as scrappy dogs howl. Let him move on from an anthropological hick to a modern wire rim peg leg hobbling into the future.



    They... See 

  Mr. Knoxville's Website




EARTHLING: "You seem to have come to our planet with some kind of a personal problem."

ALIEN: You'll think personal problem when I scorch your damn planet about three times."

SCORCHEE: "I don't think that will be necessary at all."

ALIEN: Seems to me I'm gona have to!!!   Damn low road son of a bitch, I'll take a
damn matter reverser to your damn ass...




Haven't visited the Underground National Archives? Dammit Boy!


All selections copyright Silly Dawn Productions 1996-2022
Little Sodi, a pseudonym for Artist Poet David J. O'Dell copyright 1972-2022 BMI

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