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B May 2013
what is this mind that was given to me that is able to see things i print on screen with my digital zip drive of a brain that is stuck inside a laptop main frame, ******* server uploading and crashing sending pings and things to hackers who perform doss attacks and web cracks and serial cracks while eating cereal going over javascript material program landslide juno got bit by emails and other technical software jargin computer guy got the blue screen of death corruption on the web the spider metacrawling and setting it on angelfire i google the facebook twitter and hot wire my car on the trader the wall street journal and the white house, **** sites and white owls, getting arrested and being hired by the government, the money's spent, criminal punishment, in cells locked up no breakfast but lunch under the crack of a door inside ur naked ***, on irc chat, the warez rat, pirates on bays and whispers from kittens, brown paper packages exploding a smidgeon, binary, metamorphosis, code program gold, warning anti virus and spywares, baghdad to china, spy on private, eyes on cameras, cell phones like trackers, global position mappers, predator drones, video games, nfl madden, mad men, and happy wal marts, hacking wal mart, with social engineers, traveling the silk road with a cloak ip address revoked
Matalie Niller Jun 2012
Let me rest me head on your shoulder
such a good pal
am i annoying you?
Do you think my hair is messy
or my eyes blurry?
Am i talking too much?
Sorry i laughed too loud
i don't mean to be annoying
just the way i am sometimes,
i promise i'm not so bad.
Do you respect me?
i'm not a **** like the others
not at all
i won't even kiss you if you think i'm repulsive
do you still respect me?
i'm sorry
i'm sorry
sorry i touched you
sorry i apologize too much
just say it's okay,
that i'm not so annoying
am i?
i promise i'm respectable,
i'm just so sorry
i'm me.
Jonny Angel Apr 2015
I remember them well,
droves of street-urchins
in every little ville,
battling it out
with water bazookas
filled with **** water,
squirting the hell
out of each other,
staining holey shirts,
for a smidgeon of joy.
Ecuador, 2006
Francie Lynch Nov 2014
The store mannequin
Was rejected,
Her stats didn't comply
For a window show
To show its wares
To a town of passersby.

Her Do wasn't quite couture,
Her ******* were just such,
The arms that loped
Across her chest
Looked a little butch.
Her belly with its ripples,
Was all a bit too much;
Her ***** profile it was thought
Was maybe just a touch...
Her hips which had male appeal,
Were thought a tad too light.
Her legs rose up like lamp posts,
Her feet a a smidgeon tight.
Hanging, covering all her faults,
A dress not draping right.

The window dresser
Stamped UNSUITABLE
Across her harlequin face,
And packed her with
RETURN TO SENDER
In the original crate.
What can I say. I like extended metaphors.
Jonny Angel Jan 2014
The governments of the world have united,
acting upfront but they’ve really gone underground,
implementing a behind-the-scenes scheme
to defraud the global-people
of their money & sovereignty.

While we battle semantics, terrorist & drugs,
it’s business as usual for the real thugs,
who keep filling our pockets with gizmos
like I-Pods & I-Pads & tablets,
modern technologies
making our life’s simpler,
draining us of our hearts & souls,
forcing us to write about what’s missing
in this universe of abundance,
stolen by the greed-mongers.

I love you kindred spirits,
because you understand
these reasons for such emptiness,
this destruction of sacred spirit.

While others talk about it & do nothing,
you bleed your hearts & write about it,
trying to save a smidgeon of humanity
gone sterile.

You are more true
than any government on Earth,
you are a secret society of scribblers,
telling the truth.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
How can you
Let him do this to you?
So many lies
You fail to see through!
You insist on being
An incredibly stupid pigeon!
You don’t make sense,
Not the tiniest smidgeon.

You ******* when Clinton
Got a simple office beejay
But now you let Chump
Grab crotches along the way.
You turn a blind eye
When he steals from us daily,
And let him ruin the US
And continue pillaging gaily.

How can you
Let him do this to you?
So many lies
You fail to see through!

You claim he’s Christian
Though he acts like a true pagan;
You accept his KKK crap
And reject Hawking and Sagan.
You let him do things
That remove other politicians
When he should be
The point of many petitions.

You insist on being
An incredibly stupid pigeon!
You don’t make sense,
Not the tiniest smidgeon.

You parrot his words,
But his talk is completely bogus.
You holler and howl
And you think you’re fooling us.
But he is a charlatan
And often says what he means,
Then tells lies you like
And shoves them in between.

How can you
Let him do this to you?
So many lies
You fail to see through!
Stephan Jul 2016

A poem on writing
for that’s what I do
I write out a poem
to share it with you

I write about love
and I write about wishes
Cool summer nights
and warm tender kisses

I write about things
that are close to my heart
Just like my last poem
“I’m ready to start”
(Shameless plug)

I write about tears
and heart broken sorrow
A sunset tonight
and the sunrise tomorrow

Sometimes they are funny,
sometimes they are sad
And sometimes I lean
very close to the bad

I write about flowers
and gardens and trees
Hummingbirds, butterflies,
a soft flowing breeze

I write about stars
and the moon in the sky
The sun and the clouds
every day passing by

I write about snow
and I write about rain
A couple of times
I have written of pain

I write about oceans,
the waves and the shore
Sandcastles, seashells,
footprints and more

I write about music
on violin strings
Guitars and pianos
and melodic things

I write about hope
and I write about dreams
Walks out in nature
near slow moving streams

Won’t write about hate,
don’t like to cause trouble
I run from the subject
real fast, on the double

At times I am goofy
and act like a fool
But never use cuss words
to make me look cool

I don’t write in anger
or feature religion
Well, maybe sometimes,
perhaps just a smidgeon

But mostly I write
as thoughts do occur
And always those thoughts
seem to linger on her

I write so she smiles,
I write so she knows
That I’ll always love her
no matter what goes

I write my affection
so she has to see
That there is no other,
no other for me

I write from the heart
in hopes she will feel
This love that I send
and know it is real

For she is my angel,
my every desire
All I’d ever want
and all I require

So there now you have it
the things that I write
I hope you enjoy what
I’ve shared here tonight

And one final thing,
just a little note
Real soon I'll stop by
and read what you wrote
A
smidgeon
of overindulgence
is sometimes necessary
to gain appreciation for
your own limitations
as well as the way
everything else
otherwise
always
is.
A glass of wine is a fine thing,  
Unless the wine is bad.  

A pint of plain porter is a fair thing,
Unless it isn't very nice.  

A smidgeon of whisky is a grand thing,
Unless the whisky is sub-standard.  

A glass of ale is a proper thing,
Unless the ale is too warm.  

A little gin is an excellent thing,
I have never observed an exception to this rule.
This is a grand one for men of the cloth.
Ford Prefect Feb 2016
I despise the way you stand there
Surrounded by an air of arrogance
And a hint of
Self-pity that the
Bottle of perfume you spent far too much
Money on
Can't even hide.
Sometimes I sit back
On my worn-out couch
And simply watch you,
Try to understand what that indecipherable look in your eyes means.
Are you content? Happy? Over-joyed?  
Or have I guessed correctly-
That your stomach aches are
More than just a too-crowded
Track?
The way you look at him
Worries me
Because there's no life
There.
Not even a smidgeon of
Lust.
All I can ever make out
Is utter-emptiness-
Not the open palm kind so many people wish for nowadays, but the
"I haven't felt at home in weeks and I'm afraid that I never will" kind.
I spend
Too much time
Worrying about
You
And forgetting to put
My feelings
Into coherent, concrete thoughts;
Thoughts into actions.
I fear
That
I will not be able to save you.
We're both sinking
Ships
Of different varieties.
You're much
Louder than I am,
Though you don't really mean to be
(I think).  
Helplessness has never been
Your strongest skill,
But I hope that
One day
You master it.
No one can fill that house
Of yours
If you keep your
Door bolted
Shut.
Paul M Chafer Jan 2014
Anything,
I ask you all, everyone,
Who knows anything?
Oh, we think we know,
Some of us know lots,
Some think they know it all,
But we know who they are,
Price of everything, value of nothing,
That’s who they are,
Know-alls and blow-holes,
While most of us, hmm,
Well, we do the best we can,
We learn from our mistakes,
Howlers and horrendous errors, some,
But, tis the only way, for us,
To get through life; enjoy life,
For truly, what else is there?
Not a lot, sorry, one ride only,
Freedom and fresh air, only for some,
So appreciate what you have,
Before spiralling down to death,
While hoping, just hoping,
To leave a smidgeon of legacy,
An echoing simple truth of ourselves,
Something from which others may take,
Something to make a difference,
Anything.

© Paul Chafer 2014
Dedicated to Emily Jones and inspired by her poem, Questioning: Thank you Emily.
Brother Jimmy Feb 2016
Old men are just depraved, we find,

There is nothing that I could

Have done to stop his sick old mind

From ruining the neighborhood



Parties that we once thought fun

Must now cease, it’s understood

Stay away the sick’s begun

Stay away for your own good



Grandfather-like he welcomed in

Little children, unawares

Rousing himself from his sleep

Oversight of vacant stares



Maybe it was just because

His brain was simply overtired

But slyly with unnerving jaws

His twisted mind became inspired



And snap, he tried to clamp them shut

On one so innocent and young

She dodged the trap and in her gut

It felt like she’d just been stung



Repeatedly she’s made to tell

Each tittle till the record's straight

She’s told forgiveness is the way

To handle his untoward state



And I stood idly by back then

A selfish little punk was I,

‘Only wished it hadn’t been

For my own serving each July



Enlightening it was to me

The sugar-coating thus removed

The world’s a cesspool, I can see

Monsters are real, it’s been proved



What’s more, oh sad epiphany,

The foul force within that man,

Exists a smidgeon deep in me,

Though full expulsion is the plan



It’s extant in the meat and bones

But I have yet to comprehend

Why that which speaks in dulcet tones

With animal-weakness can’t contend
Radhika Krishna Sep 2022
Medicine man
No breath on his lips
Sloshing liquid in his throat
Rise and fall in each step
Malady withers and blooms
As he walks up the cliff
A smudge on a ledge
Loss,
A smidgeon of hope
No claws on the man
Toss away, toss away, go home
Tomorrow he’ll open his eyes
The medicine man
With no breath on his lips
Lush,
a rise from the lone
In a yard full of bones
Dew on his fingertips
Oh medicine man
Take away, take away what he knows
Low, fly the crows
So long, hope grows
smidgeon of hope
conspiracy theories
bring intrigue to the mind
and we've all come across
a few of this kind

who
what
when
and
how
the queries
we'll all make
is the information
proffered a mystery
like Mandrake

but
there's
a
rider
with
everything
and
worth
our
consi­dering

on some occasions
a smidgeon of genuineness
can be found
scattered among the material
which is circulating
around

keep an open
brain space
and watch
for the iffy cue
this will better
apprise both
me and you
Thunder talking away
The water makes a deadpan expression
Apparently, it has broken the levee
There are plenty of fish in the scenery
The colors of the water seem cold and pale
Like the bloodless sun, orange in the November rain
Rain falls like the hallowed name
Empty as the words unspoken and unsaid
The laying dead were rotting in the made bed
As the cat crossed the street in the red of the alleyway
At Abusey Junction
As I saw I placed myself in a mention some girl in compunction
Compunction is the feeling of regret
I had felt the loss of someone dead
Now I meet her alive in the flesh
The stray dog doesn't break its spirit until its rabid and dead
Stuck in the rabbit hole of poverty and bucket full of paint
Yes it's some schmuck who takes care of the government
That looks like it
White house
A titbit, a yesteryear
Making a smidgeon on the books I tear
Apologetic but delightful as a library in the storm
By learning more about the wisdom you take from unadulterated undulation
Rap that you heard
Over the grapevine with the bebop that you heard
Come in strong like Marley
Last long Davis, rhyming onomatopeia
Bumblepuppyish about ya
Now what in a toward glance
Due change your mind
On a place you find
The room with a view of the home you're in
I'm trying to find your sister under the meadow
The same weariness in lieu of the window at the funeral
Stained by rain of war undermining
Life's a ***** if you wanna die
Stay sky high, higher than a sunflower
Following the sun
Antony Glaser Feb 2022
Weak backlit
a smidgeon of light on the roadside
and windows peering at me
through their homemade blanket
curtains, showing us ill-informed light
peering from the rim of the windows
The pigeon
    just a smidgeon
      of his food
        would he give away,
          and then, only
            begrudgingly,
              for his mood
                would not permit
                   a larger giveaway,
                     lest its hollow hideaway
                       it'd have to quit,
                         for a cove
somewhere way up high within the regions of Love.
I love writing poetry
Some of it is okay
Like a windy ****
Or a roll in the hay
Some of it isn't
I self berate
But little, or none of it
Is particularly great
If i were a great poet
The expectations
Would be to high
To maintain
That castle
In the sky
So, like a dog
I shall remain
A pauper analogue
And also like a dog
I am a bit barking
Which doesn't rhyme
Don't blame me
Tis my pen
That writes the poetry
Like a cuckolding hen
Typical analogy
A bad workperson
Blaming their tools
Although i'm nobodies fool
Then must be the ink
So i'd like to think
A caper, on paper
A pie, in the sky
Or politics, or religion
And just a smidgeon
Of Moon dust

by Jemia

— The End —