Id Biscuits is D.L. Lang's sixth poetry book. This 200 page volume contains topical poetry, autobiographical poems, spiritual poems, and story poems. The poem "Marin Is..." won third place in Marvelous Marin poetry at the Marin County Fair in 2016.
The poem "Master of Peace" won Reserve Best of Show and a blue ribbon in Published Poetry at the 2016 Solano County Fair.
This poetry book is similar to D.L. Lang's previous release, Poet Loiterer, containing poetic reflections on current events, the author's life, politics, and history.
Whatever you do
you must find what sets you free
because that love is key.
East Maine Noms
In the downtown of Enid—
that's my old home town—
stands a hungry railroad bridge of great renown.
He's 11'4" from his teeth to the ground.
If you're a trucker you best avoid East Maine Street,
because that old bridge is after a treat.
He'll open you up like a can of sardines,
because for the noms, he's quite keen.
He's chewed on a cookie truck,
followed by a soda truck to wash it all down.
It doesn't matter if your cargo's edible.
He's got a taste for yummy scrap metal.
His teeth are ready to chomp on down.
Most bridges say, "Don't feed the troll,"
but this bridge has got its own soul,
and he's ready to make you roll!
So if you find yourself on East Maine,
staring into its mighty white teeth,
you'd best turn your rig around,
or all the local folks are going to laugh you out of town,
along with your autograph upon a ticket
that says, "Pay attention, clown!"
Let's all raise a toast,
to the shark bridge our town created,
as he opens a semi of beer with that smile serrated.
I walk with my dirty hippie feet
caked in the dust of drowning dreams.
I leave no foot prints on the earth,
but these words that drip from my parched lips.
I'm knocking upon the rusted dusted door knockers of destiny.
Ain't a soul opening the door for me, looking in,
and I've lost my only key.
Then again, maybe this ain't really my house,
and I'm just passing through,
but then again, I'm pretty sure
on this whirling sea of blue,
that's what we all do.
If we're all going down with the ship,
let me leap the port side of it,
fall into the waters rushing fast,
swim towards what freedom may still last.
If life decrees that I walk this plank,
for being on the right side of wrong,
you bet your life, I'll shove a goddamned
floral shop in your tank while I sing another song.
I'll head bang to shake loose my thoughts
as we dance to songs the world forgot.
Survival in the halls of the schools of thought,
as the majority sleeps through class.
Life is a series of trips and falls—
you think you're cool, sure, but try not to be the ass.
You can follow the words of modern profits,
or tap dance with the souls of the prophets.
Step up the stairs of your own evolution
or bathe up to your ears with noise pollution.
The golden carrots that we left dangling,
twinkle, twinkle little star spangling.