aj-robertson - Hello Poetry

the child recieves his paper ****** backward by the one in front flip the three pages flippantly one : intimidating . . two : boring the third adorned unexpectedly a longer -than seems can be usually- grown hair with a clump of green root sprung out and slaughtered, down across the width; stuck above the questions beneath how could he not have seen? a pile so viscous and obscene? does everyone else have one??? are they holding their disgust beneath? he looked up at the teacher. A look of vigilance his face bequeathed. B ut now it sprung out almost pus like a faint smile, a teachers calm reprieve he then leaned back on his chair in comfort drooping his head back his nostrils flared now toward the child the hairs brustling from inside, all locked up in a ***** days remnants all foul and long and dehydrated like a swamp now sunned crisp; reeds on a stale bank drawn in he felt uneasy unable to cease to stare incased inside the world that spawned in the swamp that lay up there in the cavernous orifices there then he saw the teachers eyes, his gaze it stuck on him, the teacher began to grin further back his head leant his eyes jaundiced his teeth tanned his face pale his grin outstretched and thin

0

Oct 17, 2013

Oct 17, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC

nose

the child recieves his paper ****** backward by the one in front flip the three pages flippantly one : intimidating . . two : boring the third adorned unexpectedly a longer -than seems can be usually- grown hair with a clump of green root sprung out and slaughtered, down across the width; stuck above the questions beneath how could he not have seen? a pile so viscous and obscene? does everyone else have one??? are they holding their disgust beneath? he looked up at the teacher. A look of vigilance his face bequeathed. B ut now it sprung out almost pus like a faint smile, a teachers calm reprieve he then leaned back on his chair in comfort drooping his head back his nostrils flared now toward the child the hairs brustling from inside, all locked up in a ***** days remnants all foul and long and dehydrated like a swamp now sunned crisp; reeds on a stale bank drawn in he felt uneasy unable to cease to stare incased inside the world that spawned in the swamp that lay up there in the cavernous orifices there then he saw the teachers eyes, his gaze it stuck on him, the teacher began to grin further back his head leant his eyes jaundiced his teeth tanned his face pale his grin outstretched and thin

36

Feels strange to vacate A place I hate But in retrospect Might come to relate To, for reasons are undecided. Not dissimilar to others the reasons : ‘I’m elated!’ to be elsewhere more Common. To what I feel I /proper/ know And want And will have as of fri/6thofseptember 2013 But why-----or to -- what Do I desire – other – or -------– is –--------- Time will tell I suppose; even if, it previously hasn’t. I wonder whose money I’m justifying the investment for

0

Sep 5, 2013

Sep 5, 2013 at 10:24 AM UTC

moving

Feels strange to vacate A place I hate But in retrospect Might come to relate To, for reasons are undecided. Not dissimilar to others the reasons : ‘I’m elated!’ to be elsewhere more Common. To what I feel I /proper/ know And want And will have as of fri/6thofseptember 2013 But why-----or to -- what Do I desire – other – or -------– is –--------- Time will tell I suppose; even if, it previously hasn’t. I wonder whose money I’m justifying the investment for

20

solid congealed masses of fat sit balloons filling within joints stagnant extremities feel as if they are solidifying the man becoming a statue; a watcher here lies a perfect specimen of 21st (and in the latter half to a third) a 20th century man seated before the primary means of oral, aural and visual communication. Oral pertaining to the man's ability to only speak of it and the programmes displayed on it . . . . . as still as the brain is telling them to be as still as the brain wants them to be it doesn't want to be left out you see, feels secluded when dormant alongside a healthy, active set of limbs and torso so it persuades them ever so gently to become as lazy as he so he feels more at home in his body; the brain he lords over the body tyrannically and purposefully. Extraneous effort can be avoided, in all manners of life; whilst sitting, whilst working, whilst running. Being properly lazy has to do with how little you can do without doing something else. It is possible to run at a speed that does not cease to be running but it is not walking. You can sit only so still before you are asleep. Being properly lazy is being able to sit precariously on this line so perfectly you don't slip backwards or forwards into a useful action or being in the top percentile of the new lesser action which you are in essence, lording over physically. An extremely intelligent man can be extremely lazy in an activity that would take a long concentrated effort from another less intelligent man, but in essence, he is really just avoiding falling asleep. Laziness can be misappropriated; attributed to men who are not lazy at all. A man at the enth of any discipline could not be considered lazy; the same could be said about a man at the enth of his ability. We speak of course in terms of natural ability. Actions achieved in ones current capability; carried out without carrying on other efforts to cavort himself into a higher category of actions (a laziness compared to ability graph could be constructed/plotted and then correlated if one could be bothered). Of course, it goes without saying that the achievance of these goals necessary to propel or descend a man into the new upper or lower segment of before described laziness are in turn harder or easier to achieve depending on the man's predetermined stature; position in life even, considering we are talking of afflictions that affect a man and not a boy, and therefore we are assuming that the formative years are not thus (formative) and are but a compulsory precursor, a cross that every man must bear; not a development that pertains to the quantity of laziness he possesses. with a sea of unachieved tasks/goals laid out before him he resides to sit patiently waiting for something to happen in front of him, sometimes clicking a mouse, sometimes a remote sometimes he is angry that he is boring sometimes he calls a friend to be angry at the boxes with him sometimes he feels sick that he is a piece of **** sometimes he laughs at people on the boxes who are pieces of **** but most of the time he is a piece of **** happily, content that he is at least part of a healthy digestive system, whether he is the result/byproduct of, or the action that produced the **** in the first place.

0

May 15, 2013

May 15, 2013 at 9:46 AM UTC

Legs

solid congealed masses of fat sit balloons filling within joints stagnant extremities feel as if they are solidifying the man becoming a statue; a watcher here lies a perfect specimen of 21st (and in the latter half to a third) a 20th century man seated before the primary means of oral, aural and visual communication. Oral pertaining to the man's ability to only speak of it and the programmes displayed on it . . . . . as still as the brain is telling them to be as still as the brain wants them to be it doesn't want to be left out you see, feels secluded when dormant alongside a healthy, active set of limbs and torso so it persuades them ever so gently to become as lazy as he so he feels more at home in his body; the brain he lords over the body tyrannically and purposefully. Extraneous effort can be avoided, in all manners of life; whilst sitting, whilst working, whilst running. Being properly lazy has to do with how little you can do without doing something else. It is possible to run at a speed that does not cease to be running but it is not walking. You can sit only so still before you are asleep. Being properly lazy is being able to sit precariously on this line so perfectly you don't slip backwards or forwards into a useful action or being in the top percentile of the new lesser action which you are in essence, lording over physically. An extremely intelligent man can be extremely lazy in an activity that would take a long concentrated effort from another less intelligent man, but in essence, he is really just avoiding falling asleep. Laziness can be misappropriated; attributed to men who are not lazy at all. A man at the enth of any discipline could not be considered lazy; the same could be said about a man at the enth of his ability. We speak of course in terms of natural ability. Actions achieved in ones current capability; carried out without carrying on other efforts to cavort himself into a higher category of actions (a laziness compared to ability graph could be constructed/plotted and then correlated if one could be bothered). Of course, it goes without saying that the achievance of these goals necessary to propel or descend a man into the new upper or lower segment of before described laziness are in turn harder or easier to achieve depending on the man's predetermined stature; position in life even, considering we are talking of afflictions that affect a man and not a boy, and therefore we are assuming that the formative years are not thus (formative) and are but a compulsory precursor, a cross that every man must bear; not a development that pertains to the quantity of laziness he possesses. with a sea of unachieved tasks/goals laid out before him he resides to sit patiently waiting for something to happen in front of him, sometimes clicking a mouse, sometimes a remote sometimes he is angry that he is boring sometimes he calls a friend to be angry at the boxes with him sometimes he feels sick that he is a piece of **** sometimes he laughs at people on the boxes who are pieces of **** but most of the time he is a piece of **** happily, content that he is at least part of a healthy digestive system, whether he is the result/byproduct of, or the action that produced the **** in the first place.

19

bespeckled, blotched & blokey feminine in aspects only little ****** hair patches two chins, or rather a sloped one the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat a gradual slope from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose, torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region. a mass a blob of bulges on spindly legs he leans on the wall stubby in hand he balks (he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery) at the suggestion that the Pies will do better & that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!) the man ***** his head back & cackles (the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles) & decides his arms need a rest, (a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching)) so he places his beer down on a sloped surface, & therefore it slips down…. he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory, …..but he is too slow it smashes on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures, and the shards they impart their misery on his toes. The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy. he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws (an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual) the moisture feels degrading (as it would within a man's pants) the pain from the cuts it is worsened by the smirking gazes of others about he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene off to retrieve a band aid to mend his ego and his foot simultaneously

0

Mar 18, 2013

Mar 18, 2013 at 10:18 AM UTC

the barbecue

bespeckled, blotched & blokey feminine in aspects only little ****** hair patches two chins, or rather a sloped one the front evenly declining to the middle of the throat a gradual slope from the tip, for juices to run if his manner and situation allowed him to be as casual and sloppy as his laziness chose, torso without form, so there was no curvature on the buttocks or the fly region. a mass a blob of bulges on spindly legs he leans on the wall stubby in hand he balks (he means jovial but unintentionally he vocalises mockery) at the suggestion that the Pies will do better & that Eddie is a clever man due for thanks, who has done his club well (apparently a straight Aussie arrow tried and true!) the man ***** his head back & cackles (the trebly popping bubbles of a gala crackle outwards as the man cackles) & decides his arms need a rest, (a long day of up and down they have had indeed, they deserve respect, or rest (or a benching)) so he places his beer down on a sloped surface, & therefore it slips down…. he sees it plummeting, he stretches toward it's tragic trajectory, …..but he is too slow it smashes on his foot (the shards) the beer bottle it transfigures, and the shards they impart their misery on his toes. The shards they intrude on his relaxed state of wellbeing, they intrude on the security sanctioned within the casual footwear of a man at a barbecue; taking it easy. he swears and hops, reaching in indignation for his bleeding toes he holds the wound cursing; resisting the impulse to begin convulsive throws (an oscar worthy performance from a usually suburbaly urbane individual) the moisture feels degrading (as it would within a man's pants) the pain from the cuts it is worsened by the smirking gazes of others about he hobbles, disregarding his thong in the wreckage of the scene off to retrieve a band aid to mend his ego and his foot simultaneously

40

are feelings of love felt alone, feelings of love at all? or selfish yelps for attention borne of boredom & a sense we only hold on our own of childish - - - - idleness. singularity less; more independence from a whole the only company he keeps is furniture together with the furniture of the house he sits, with seven seats left empty, the curtains tales appear to grin without validation from another he feels like a child standing the school's final bells rung the bustle of the day has droned now dissipated the bustle of the day irritated when it droned, he longed for home for the bus as he waits for the bus the quiet surrounds hold tight but hold cold like a fridge door keeps, it clutches, encloses the school yard empty he stands; singular; out of place in the surrounds the school bleeds terror when empty The laughs & shouts & jeers & footsteps keep the wholesomeness whole empty of shouts a graveyard now the ghosts of the day linger & they finger your buttons they push your tenderness they kneed out they **** (with their cold digits they **** just like the furniture does. just like the furniture in the house laughs when uninhabited it silently jeers 'Why so many seats mate?' it pokes with its linen digit; fuzzy but cold as it continues 'you're alone waiting for someone to come by and pick u up & take u back to home

0

Mar 18, 2013

Mar 18, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC

in the presence of the furniture

are feelings of love felt alone, feelings of love at all? or selfish yelps for attention borne of boredom & a sense we only hold on our own of childish - - - - idleness. singularity less; more independence from a whole the only company he keeps is furniture together with the furniture of the house he sits, with seven seats left empty, the curtains tales appear to grin without validation from another he feels like a child standing the school's final bells rung the bustle of the day has droned now dissipated the bustle of the day irritated when it droned, he longed for home for the bus as he waits for the bus the quiet surrounds hold tight but hold cold like a fridge door keeps, it clutches, encloses the school yard empty he stands; singular; out of place in the surrounds the school bleeds terror when empty The laughs & shouts & jeers & footsteps keep the wholesomeness whole empty of shouts a graveyard now the ghosts of the day linger & they finger your buttons they push your tenderness they kneed out they **** (with their cold digits they **** just like the furniture does. just like the furniture in the house laughs when uninhabited it silently jeers 'Why so many seats mate?' it pokes with its linen digit; fuzzy but cold as it continues 'you're alone waiting for someone to come by and pick u up & take u back to home

43

***** feet ***** of them ache they're dry all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference but comfort a little sort of; maybe subdue to replenishing skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken dust lingers in the brain, it swirls a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u u become covered u have a layer, salty, and dry and 'organic' (surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are)) full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy along side hippies and volunteers all tripppy and unwashed, and un plastic yet forcefully hemped drunk of micro beer and burnt brown and blotchy red and wire-y and dry and matted as if nothing really matters except for principles misguided and randomly enforced feel like a husk; peanut shell insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded and beered fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars they are walls and the FACE! ……………………… ………………………………… oh looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u chews u and spills bits of u chomp chomp protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches and it grates like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates u are digested and reused as they would like but for them; for a collective u dived into for fun 2 days to peddle ur wares to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…) for all humans, and Humans; for fun on monday we will repent for the damages waged on the inside of the body and the outsides too for some gain i guess on this which we settle for always for display for fun

0

Mar 12, 2013

Mar 12, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC

festivals

***** feet ***** of them ache they're dry all dried out, moisture to face and digestive tract make little difference but comfort a little sort of; maybe subdue to replenishing skip the pain with a drink fucken, fucken drink fucken dust lingers in the brain, it swirls a cloud of ground envelops the shape of u u become covered u have a layer, salty, and dry and 'organic' (surely bio (though im not sure what is or why are)) full city boy, suburban boy, not particularly gritty boy along side hippies and volunteers all tripppy and unwashed, and un plastic yet forcefully hemped drunk of micro beer and burnt brown and blotchy red and wire-y and dry and matted as if nothing really matters except for principles misguided and randomly enforced feel like a husk; peanut shell insides swallowed by the mouth of the party embodied a monsterous sweaty man tanned and thickly bearded and beered fat dreads fall around and surround u; a forest of hair a circle encroaching of fuzzy pillars in fibres entrapped inside them; feel their lingering time matted hold a wealth of effort to become unkempt; they are bars they are walls and the FACE! ……………………… ………………………………… oh looming down, wafts of armpit vapour cloud; a looming puft that surrounds engorged by the scent as it circles u, the mouth that lowered onto u chews u and spills bits of u chomp chomp protein for vegetarians; u; ur rigour ur vigour ur guts eaten in a flurry of chomps and slurps and it crunches and it grates like the rocks on the ***** of ur feet it grates u are digested and reused as they would like but for them; for a collective u dived into for fun 2 days to peddle ur wares to progress ( admittedly through some days of regression…) for all humans, and Humans; for fun on monday we will repent for the damages waged on the inside of the body and the outsides too for some gain i guess on this which we settle for always for display for fun

60

laying on the table burnt out, contorted fossils your lineages penises dried up artifacts lying in wait, lined up neatly 10 in total a collection regal arranged for a visitor to see my father his father & his before crispy yams worth their weight in gold and in favour 'As you see Douglas was exceptional. . .

0

Feb 13, 2013

Feb 13, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC

Heirlooms

laying on the table burnt out, contorted fossils your lineages penises dried up artifacts lying in wait, lined up neatly 10 in total a collection regal arranged for a visitor to see my father his father & his before crispy yams worth their weight in gold and in favour 'As you see Douglas was exceptional. . .

15

It had been 2 weeks She assumed the kids were asleep Because he entered He must of thought seductively (making sure to shower first) with an air of cool calmness a scent of beer with a new thirst for another type of refreshment not fulfillment but refilling not romance mere maintenance she sighed & looked up through her glasses at his swollen frame like a balloons tied to a clothes horse, left there for a day so they sagged and lost their colour & the frame had become visible but only at its peaks through the sheer power of gravity his bones became seen through his collar of his van huesen shirt he thought so debonair (had a classy air, sleekish air) she smiled acceptingly as he pretended to be sincere when he told her that he loved her even after all these years she was still a **** momma she tried not to laugh when he kissed her on the neck & rubbed her breast like he wanted milk she spread her legs when he pushed them & waited for the steering of a trailer into a garage in reverse at midnight under influence with the subtlety of a steer it reminded her of years ago when she had laughed at the austere teachers that had enraged her with their frigid sneer & she smiled to herself an thought of her *** like a rare fruit only to age and watch it be eaten by a once charming now savage brute who turned into a blob of sorts & she aswell had sagged at least they sagged happily together there's some comfort to be had in that so she waited for the ****** with an image impressed in her of a smirking withered teacher arms folded & a smug grin with a look that proclaims ‘here u are it seems we’re on a par an existence so far from what u saw in dreams u had of supple limbs & knowing grins to dry skins and droopy things' a flower wilted & smelling a bit funny the faded colour of pale brown in the end she felt lie a jug of sorts he rolled over & went to sleep she eventually did also thinking about wat to cook next week

0

Feb 11, 2013

Feb 11, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC

Love poem no 3

It had been 2 weeks She assumed the kids were asleep Because he entered He must of thought seductively (making sure to shower first) with an air of cool calmness a scent of beer with a new thirst for another type of refreshment not fulfillment but refilling not romance mere maintenance she sighed & looked up through her glasses at his swollen frame like a balloons tied to a clothes horse, left there for a day so they sagged and lost their colour & the frame had become visible but only at its peaks through the sheer power of gravity his bones became seen through his collar of his van huesen shirt he thought so debonair (had a classy air, sleekish air) she smiled acceptingly as he pretended to be sincere when he told her that he loved her even after all these years she was still a **** momma she tried not to laugh when he kissed her on the neck & rubbed her breast like he wanted milk she spread her legs when he pushed them & waited for the steering of a trailer into a garage in reverse at midnight under influence with the subtlety of a steer it reminded her of years ago when she had laughed at the austere teachers that had enraged her with their frigid sneer & she smiled to herself an thought of her *** like a rare fruit only to age and watch it be eaten by a once charming now savage brute who turned into a blob of sorts & she aswell had sagged at least they sagged happily together there's some comfort to be had in that so she waited for the ****** with an image impressed in her of a smirking withered teacher arms folded & a smug grin with a look that proclaims ‘here u are it seems we’re on a par an existence so far from what u saw in dreams u had of supple limbs & knowing grins to dry skins and droopy things' a flower wilted & smelling a bit funny the faded colour of pale brown in the end she felt lie a jug of sorts he rolled over & went to sleep she eventually did also thinking about wat to cook next week

69

‘I prefer it dry’ he lied & proceeded to try & impress her with a story about his income & his busyness & his car & his business she pretended not to care answered a phone call & laughed cos her & her troupe were ever so proud of being real crazy & funny & busy & they found that people wouldn’t notice unless they told them so they made sure they did so when there was someone new around she then hung up the phone & listened to him drone about the perks & the jerks he worked with & how he could do much better if and when he was in charge he then talked of which countries he had been to all over asia, these last 4 years & how he had got drunk she didn’t care about the details but the stories strangely aroused her but somehow moreso in her ***** she could see her kids now with blond hair & cuts like Beiber well clothed & out of the way while she stared at day time television & the lamented the angry day that April told her to ‘get ****** & so she slapped her across the face he was pleasant wasn’t smelly wasn’t fat wasn’t asian & as for the meal he did pay the waiter brought the bill & they quivelled so for the drinks he didn’t pay they left together and slept together he didn’t call her but she didn’t care

0

Jan 30, 2013

Jan 30, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC

Love poem no 2

‘I prefer it dry’ he lied & proceeded to try & impress her with a story about his income & his busyness & his car & his business she pretended not to care answered a phone call & laughed cos her & her troupe were ever so proud of being real crazy & funny & busy & they found that people wouldn’t notice unless they told them so they made sure they did so when there was someone new around she then hung up the phone & listened to him drone about the perks & the jerks he worked with & how he could do much better if and when he was in charge he then talked of which countries he had been to all over asia, these last 4 years & how he had got drunk she didn’t care about the details but the stories strangely aroused her but somehow moreso in her ***** she could see her kids now with blond hair & cuts like Beiber well clothed & out of the way while she stared at day time television & the lamented the angry day that April told her to ‘get ****** & so she slapped her across the face he was pleasant wasn’t smelly wasn’t fat wasn’t asian & as for the meal he did pay the waiter brought the bill & they quivelled so for the drinks he didn’t pay they left together and slept together he didn’t call her but she didn’t care

53

the closer we looked, the less we were impressed but ultimately still would ****

0

Jan 28, 2013

Jan 28, 2013 at 8:23 PM UTC

reflections on predatory leering

the closer we looked, the less we were impressed but ultimately still would ****

2