Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
CrypticWriter
Poems1
Words158
I did not engineer Nor attempt to construct The human soul No Not I The mere idea seemed frivolous Damnably gelatinous and Above all else Impossible to comprehend How silly it might turn out Indeed I thought this I did attempt however To make a spicy jam One evening at the End of Winter I believe Lovely time When this, What I consider the beginning of a debacle, Began I threw together Bits, and things, and twigs, And professional spices, And Illicit words, and Brown sugar, And old tea, And harmless fun And Puppy Dog Tails, And I’m allergic to snails, And something that I called Steve It could have been Tom But it looked like a Steve to me Despite its arguments that it was A Barbra through and through I stirred and fiddled and sang To this black and thin glop I indeed attempted to call A spiced jam concoction That was tap-dancing in circles On my stovetop without permission When, no I know, the usual happened I became bored Yes Yes Indeed I did Bored Thoroughly Bored Bored Bored Where was I? Oh yes. Bored Bored of this Damnable, Jammable, Fred Astaire Not spicy jam So I left what would become The self-engineering diluent, Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing That would become the human soul On the back burner While I cooked some pasta instead I prefer pasta It is delicious Not like that mistake of mine It continued to be a mistake of mine It was not pasta, It was not spiced jam, And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin Whoops For a year I believe It could have been a week A very long and tiring week Or seven years When I heard the back burning Singing back to me About apples with a crisp bite About fireworks that misfired About drug needles used to sew together sanity Was this too spicy? With its two voices of Hospital dust And Captive applause Oh my, This couldn't possibly Taste good I believe whatever this has Festered into without Adult supervision, I believe it might be beginning to turn Like milk and wine I bottled it in a wooden bottle And left it on the stoop of an orphanage To find a good home I wonder if this not spiced jam Has found a good home Last I heard They all went from it to They And attended Engineering School.
0
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
CrypticWriter
Engineer of the Human Soul
I did not engineer Nor attempt to construct The human soul No Not I The mere idea seemed frivolous Damnably gelatinous and Above all else Impossible to comprehend How silly it might turn out Indeed I thought this I did attempt however To make a spicy jam One evening at the End of Winter I believe Lovely time When this, What I consider the beginning of a debacle, Began I threw together Bits, and things, and twigs, And professional spices, And Illicit words, and Brown sugar, And old tea, And harmless fun And Puppy Dog Tails, And I’m allergic to snails, And something that I called Steve It could have been Tom But it looked like a Steve to me Despite its arguments that it was A Barbra through and through I stirred and fiddled and sang To this black and thin glop I indeed attempted to call A spiced jam concoction That was tap-dancing in circles On my stovetop without permission When, no I know, the usual happened I became bored Yes Yes Indeed I did Bored Thoroughly Bored Bored Bored Where was I? Oh yes. Bored Bored of this Damnable, Jammable, Fred Astaire Not spicy jam So I left what would become The self-engineering diluent, Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing That would become the human soul On the back burner While I cooked some pasta instead I prefer pasta It is delicious Not like that mistake of mine It continued to be a mistake of mine It was not pasta, It was not spiced jam, And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin Whoops For a year I believe It could have been a week A very long and tiring week Or seven years When I heard the back burning Singing back to me About apples with a crisp bite About fireworks that misfired About drug needles used to sew together sanity Was this too spicy? With its two voices of Hospital dust And Captive applause Oh my, This couldn't possibly Taste good I believe whatever this has Festered into without Adult supervision, I believe it might be beginning to turn Like milk and wine I bottled it in a wooden bottle And left it on the stoop of an orphanage To find a good home I wonder if this not spiced jam Has found a good home Last I heard They all went from it to They And attended Engineering School.
Continue reading...
101