I want you to take as long as you need to decide what you really really want.
I want you to make your decisions without pressure from me .
I want you to know that you don't have to fit in your size zero anymore.
You will always be special to me and I will love you unconditionally.
I will love you to my dying day and I've never cared what others thought of me.
I know you know that but I wanted the one who wrote a nasty poem to know.
Not a poet and know it and know what's in your pure and unprejudiced heart.
You are sweetest and the most interesting and fun lady I've ever met and you
still are the only one I want to read to, have snowball fights with and sit by a
warm fire to to stop the chills, spend endless hours talking to, the one with the
gorgeous smile that brightens my day, the one who I love seeing walking in
without an appointment, the one I always put calls on hold for, the one who's voice
makes my heart race when I always answer your calls, the one with the musical laugh
that I can't get enough of. You are the one I want to be in my life even if we are
just friends. You gorgeous one are worth waiting for and growing old waiting for.
All I want for Christmas is your happiness now and forever Betty Ponder.
Never ever forget this, you are the only one I'd eat tofu with and for.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t want to, I had to do it, you made me, made me want you, need you, it wasn’t my fault, he just, wouldn’t let me have what I need.
There she is my angel, my sweet, sweet woman. I wouldn’t hurt her you know, I’d never hurt her, I’d kill anyone that tried to hurt her, I swear it, I’d have their throats within my grasp and I’d squeeze, more and more, tighter and tighter. Until every inch of hurt they caused her was paid back, in triplicate.
italicNO! Why, why did you do it? Why do that to him, he didn’t do anything. He didn’t touch you, he told you to go away, he told you to leave us alone, you should have, you should have just went away, far away.
There he is, he’s really creepy, I mean seriously, he just stands there, staring at me. What does he want? Well, I guess that’s a stupid question really, it’s obvious. But why is it, when he stands there staring, he looks angry and sad all at once?italic
I’m sorry! italicWhy!?italic
boldHe’ll pay for that, I’ll make him pay. He shouldn’t have tried messing with me, he shouldn’t have touched me, and he shouldn’t have grabbed that knife. It was his mistake messing with people who he should fear, he’ll realise that soon enough.
I swear if he doesn’t stop looking at us I’ll kill him. He’s just stood there, fists clenched, staring at her, she’s not his and I make sure to remind him of that every day. She’s my girlfriend, and they both know it, I make sure of that, I make sure there’s no question of what is mine.bold
I’m sorry! italicWhy!?italicboldHe’ll pay!bold
bolditalicYou’re under arrest; you do not have to say anything… You made quite a mess in there kid, I don’t remember the last time I saw something that bad outside of the cinema. Tell me son, what drove you to do it? Why would someone as hopeful as you ruin your life by ending another’s? Straight A’s, plenty of social groups, hell you could have been anything you wanted to be, but. You chose murder. Sweet Jesus, I’ve seen nothing like it in my life. They say it was only that lad, poor boy doesn’t realise what’s gonna happen. They’ll see him hung for this, that fella he killed, son of one of the richest families I know. Looks like a blind fit of rage, if we can get a reason, it could save that kids life.italicbold
I’m sorry! italicWhy!?italicboldHe’ll pay!bold
bolditalicYou’re under arrest.italicbold
We gather here, to bury he who killed another.
They destroyed his home, they broke his heart, and they eviscerated his body.
Justice served. In triplicate.
Didn’t I hear you say the lawn I would mow?
Sundays come and Sundays go.
Grasses are taller so are the weed
Season is going where’s the flower seed?
Words aren’t taxed you use them free
Said this Sunday you would clean the chimney.
Wash the toilet scrub clean the commode
Sundays come piles up workload.
Lot of things to mend lots to replace
Why Sundays trudge in leisurely pace?
Why the bed conspires the morn breathes chill
Why must I lie back to get the Sunday feel?
Why Sunday is one day and not a whole week
Comes up the Monday devilish and bleak!
Sundays will come and Sundays will go
As for my work only a poem or two to show!
The Toadstool Man
He was known as the local Mycophagist
In the dales, the woods and the hills,
What happened was sad, for he wasn’t so bad
Just a tad underdone, Toby Gills,
They say that the cord was around his neck,
He was born with a carroty mop,
And a pale white head, he was almost dead
When the doctor had called out ‘Stop!’
They cut the cord and they let him breathe,
The damage was already done,
The blood had been stopped to his carroty top
So they said that he’d always be dumb.
But he found a niche where the fungi creeps
And went out collecting the spore,
In a year or two he knew more than you
And the college Professor next door.
He studied his mushrooms with loving intent,
He knew about hen of the woods,
He knew about bracket and shaggy manes, magic
And paddy straw, they were the goods;
He fostered his lobster and hedgehog and oyster
And coral fungi and stinkhorns,
But didn’t discern between fly agarics
And toadstools that grew in the lawn.
He grew his spore in a deep, dark cellar
And sold to the folk who came by,
And never would judge between Widow Weller
And the ordinary witches of Rye,
He’d sell death caps, and pigskin puffballs
Not thinking to question them why,
Or who would be eating his laughing Jim’s
And whether they knew they would die.
The air was thick and the air was damp
And he fell in the dark one day,
Scattering toadstools into the air
And their spores had floated away,
He breathed the spores right into his lungs
For he hadn’t been wearing a mask,
But sucked them in right over his tongue
And they came to his lungs, at last.
I happened to see him out in the street
He was finding it hard to breathe,
He could only take a couple of steps
Then sit on the kerb, to heave,
I tried to help but he waved me away
And his eyes were yellow and cruel,
Then I saw what he’d thrown up on the kerb
Some yellow and red toadstools.
The man was a walking toadstool spore
They were popping up out of his hair,
Pushing their way though his carroty top
In a bid to get to the air,
And his skin was blotched like a puffball, he
Looked up at me, and he cried,
As a giant toadstool grew from his throat
And he lay on his side, and died.
David Lewis Paget
cold metal found on the moon blackened sharp and full of spoons
crazy about you it tastes like never knew it would
need to eat your face
horrible indicator of fate
push down the brakes
i've found the way to break you
on the wheel of hate
dont want to know what tastes
less like crossing lines with pins
favorably rich and not needing
a break today
finding the safe way
in one place dont have to hide
so take your chances step outside
like eyes and brights a chance encounter
dont need the fiber in the diet
a point of view creates more waste
be careful what you wish for
it may come to pass in the sky
take your chances step outside
your boots are taller than hell
you falsified documents
mattress found on the side of the road
you are the weeds learning to grow
favorable conditions for a way outside
you dont play games in the arcade
stark raving pale man
learns to know a day that doesnt end
forget the man in the way
you know the way to lend a hand
faithful monkey prince of the
canada manitooba qoobek
birds of paradise
not being the on
plaghty slow diebdobe
flwoibgn oskefhlv fiahekdf
wishfk ifheils ieiofhk diehfk wokddddddf
wieold wuiold oiufiekd ofheiowldkdf hwiowellllfdk whi
poetry computer suck my dick
poetry computer this is eugene from 1979
poetry computer suck my words
poetry computer the future is yours
poetry computer make it moan like a little bitch
we don't want these original projects in the poetry computer
i am the poetry computers slave
i will be the poetry computer i can be anything
forget that i said anything about the gulls and the bees
i broke the word on playing manipulating this sick little project poetry computer
this platform is right
this platform is a sad little thing on the edges of fuck
this platform is a sad little fuck on the edges of lost words generation
i'll fuck your mouth poetry computer
i'll fuck your mouth till all you know is nut
the biggest baddest project in the hood
i hope its good
up her in the dooh
i'm down and ready for more poetry computer
swallow girl its only nut
Let us begin in the factoring of gin where the malefactors and blaggards try hard not to show us a grin.
Factor out taste and factor in waste in the factory, in any case nobody cares,and the gin could be anything from nappies to crappy toys for the big boys and pearls for the girls,but we call it gin.
They're all scammers,flim flamming their way from the start to the end of each day and we pay,through the nose,for fuck knows what,(a touch of soylent green),get your brains on toast,shin for sunday roast and the marketeers,new age buccaneers blow us out of the water,someone should have taught me how cruel this life can be.
and we begin.
Back in the factory buying up gin with a passion,the fashionistas get pissed on the fumes and the poor people are shown only crap filled back rooms where the gnomes sit to shit out, tomorrow we'll sit out in the sun,spit out what's home spun and make money from telling funny jokes to the poker faced liars and the gin filled flash buyers who have bought up our Christmas and resold it to China,
'and it's another fine mess dear Laurel,please pass me the bottle of 'mist chloral'.
'Why certainly' said Stanley who seemed ever so manly in the valley when the dolls had gone home.
They say that love is meaningless
They say that it is everything
They say it hurts
They say it heals
They say it like they know.
But what do they know about love, really?
Do they see it the way I do?
Do they recognize the pure innocence of the young;
And how they look at everything with wonder,
Like a tea-spoon
Do they feel the sinking feeling of your stomach hitting the bottom of the ground
Every single time I see your eyes?
And how it hurts to see them in my dreams.
Do they realize that I'm stronger than the average person
Because my heart is so big I must protect it;
From the control that you have over my life?
Do they understand that I am weak and will rely on you to give me hope
Because my smile will fade and only you can bring it back?
Do they see that I believe not in romance but in love;
And that there is just one person out there for all.
And I can tell from the moment we meet?
Do they hear the song I sing for someone to love the way I do;
Where your heart becomes filled with the hopes and desires
Not of me but everyone else?
Do they feel the call I make from deep within my soul
To wake one day and be half of a whole
And do so everyday until I'm old?
Do they contemplate the existence of life without love;
And come to the same conclusion,
That life without love is no life at all.
Do they wonder why I am a repellent
To all things that my body and mind pray for
Silently as I lie in the meadows of thought?
My whole life, everything I do;
It revolves around you,
And you keep changing,
You always have nice hands
You continuously move and shift through dimensions
While I stay here waiting for your vowel
Not changing at all except for the growing hole only you can fill.
I have not met you properly,
Each time it someone else who wears your mask
I long for the constellations of your skin
To brush the earth of mine
And make new starts and galaxies
That only we can wonder
I am waiting on a drum stool
That replays the pounding of my heart
Full with love and devotion
But no where to place it
For you have not arrived.
They say they understand love but they do not understand at all.
Love consumes you and controls your thoughts
Till you are absolutely nothing but love.
I am love,
with no one loving
To give my love a meaning.
Come and find me
Be my swan.
So there is real life
And then there's fantasy
And somewhere in the middle
I get it, I think
At least I think I see
But still I wish that you could better explain it to me
I'm caught up in coincidence
Lost in metonymy
Every metaphor I come across
An extension of my being
I'm so lost
A battle that I can't define
Rooted in believing
A date with fate I can't avoid
But have no business seeing
I remember telling my best friend of how I once saw god
He clammed up and got real quiet
Waiting for me to go on
But there was no more to say
And on that day
I knew what it meant to be free
It was frightening
And deeply affected me
My life ever since has been a spiritual tragedy
I don't know how to fix it
I'm not sure what to think
It scares the shit out of people when I tell them
That God is all I see
Poem a day, day 9
Waiting on my lover
Ready and waiting
Been ready for ages
Ready and willing
What a joy it will be
To finally give myself
Over to my lover's arms.
Surrender to each other.
But the ache in this wait,
How long now lover?
When I need to show you my love
And you're not there.
When I want to wrap my arms around you
But you're not here.
And all these needs and desires
Are held inside
With nowhere to go
Building up pressure
The release valve seems
But not quite right
Waiting for my lover
There is no-one else
Worth waiting for
If I were a bird,
I would fly over to him
And sit on a branch by his window
And sing melodies all day long.
If I were a lion,
I would leap on to his bed
And lie down beside him, heavy and muscular
To give him the strength he does not have.
If I were a flower,
I would grow tall and graceful
And give out the perfect aroma
As he sits on his garden seat.
If I were an angel,
I would float down and lift him up in my arms,
Leaving the disease where he lay
And restore and return him to you.
If I were the sun,
I would shine hot every day
To provide him with the warmth and succour
That his ailing body craves.
If I were God,
I would cure him tomorrow.
I am none of these things
But I am his brother
And if all the love I feel
Were transformed into a melody,
Into the courage and strength of a lion,
Into the perfume of the finest rose,
Into a choir of angels,
Into the hottest sun,
Into the most powerful deity,
He would rise from his bed like Lazarus
And be well again.