gary-kline
American
Excuse me if I offend, but I started writing poetry to show my peers that not every poem needs to be a straight up SHITTY copy of Edgar Alan Poe. No metaphors, no bull, just straight up ABAB story telling. / -Dark / -Surprising / -Vulgar / -Homosexual / -Funny / Enjoy <3
(Please Read the note at the bottom)
Desert thy land, lay waste to haven
Spread thy sorrow, hath not to save him
Keep to willow with sunlight pourn
To mild temptation, mild scorn.
Keep she beauty to dusk by horse
Laying down to things by force
Stragling victor selfless mind
Keep to you hath truth hath lied.
By crowd by storm, stream agony pride
Thy land be beut for non to side
To side with hatred, iron blade
To mate and bring yet nothing fade.
She whispers deadly night to dark
Seeping mind of man to spark
Keeping kings and fellow courtly
Stranger too by fire nightly.
And taketh she to highest land
For mighty justice lays thy hand
For she hath strewn for kingdoms come
And taketh non, but frighten some.
The day of dawn, sun rise, sun set
To we thine preach to no regret
King be praised, devil blundered
Simple tricks to thy hath sundered.
Keep to crop to peasant prowl
Marking down thy land to dowl
Father pray to thine above
Graceful metaphoric love.
Final night be cold and dreary
Sight like eagle, keep to query
Dance thy drunkard, feed to Summer
Hapless end to what doth shown her.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:56 PM UTC
Up and down and
Up and
Down and
Up
And down
And
Up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down
and
Up and down and up and down and
Up
And
Down
A
N
D
U
P
anddownandupanddown
a
n
d
upanddownandupanddownand upanddownandupanddown...
weeee goes the horse on the merry go round...
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:55 PM UTC
On the corner of 8th and Fleet
A man plays a drum with a funky beat
He uses two thigh bones as sticks in his hands
And aspires to play in the coolest bands.
He beats on a drum made of flesh and bone
And boy, let me tell you, I swear it moans
It cries out to other goblins and ghouls
And pleases the zombies leaving their schools.
This man is a mummy, no pun intended
Through all of his bindings he smiles so splendid
And plays until morning without any sleep
And he never seems to miss a beat.
Rad-a-tat-tat-rada-tat-rada-tat
The coolings of music and things such as that
Then out of the blue walked a single vampire
“You, my good pharaoh, are up for hire.”
He picked up his drum and his sticks and his hope
And followed the man to a bar called The Rope
And walked into chaos and fire and soul
Except for the dull and dumb-witted trolls
“Get on that stage and give us a beat
On top of all this, I'll give you a treat.
Instead of this run down and ***** old drum
Sit down to MY drum set and have some fun!”
The mummy was shocked and slightly unrest
But he promised and hoped that he'd do his best
He got on the stage and the lights came down
And he thought, with his talent, he'd go to town.
Rab-a-dab-y-splat-da-boom
All he could see was his certain doom
The crowd was mad, a troll threw a bottle
The mummy high-tailed it out at full-throttle
What was he thinking, he abandoned his heart
And lost his drum made with his own body parts
And alone he was, no hope and no drive
He had to find something more fun to survive.
He tried to become a family physician
But he knew this wasn't the right position
He refused and argued he'd never give up...
His bandages for anyone's nasty cuts.
He joined the circus for almost a day
But again, he knew, this wasn't the way
They unbound his bindings but he never spoke
Until they used him as the tight-rope.
So alone he walked, bitter and sour
Back to his home in the Haunted Tower
The town turned gray from the lack of spice
With nothing to do this would have to suffice.
“Poor drumming mummy, he offered such joy
When he banged and played on his favorite toy.”
“If only I knew where this mummy would be
I'd give him my bones and my flesh for free!”
Surprisingly this conversation transpired
Outside the place that the mummy retired
He heard everything that was said by the man
And he carefully formulated a plan.
He distracted the other and grabbed a big knife
He decided he'd end this wise man's life
He crept up behind him and whispered a, “Thank you
I hope you don't mind 'cause I'm going to shank you.”
The knife plunged deep with a raging fire
And to his surprise he just killed that vampire!
He laughed with a howl that scared the beast
That was running away down the street.
“Irony tastes like the finest wine.”
The mummy had very little time
He carved up the vamp and took what he needed
And to the heavens he calmly pleaded.
“My torment has turned me completely numb
But I promise I'll make a better drum!”
It only took minutes and was finally done
When, behind the horizon, fell the sun.
He set-up his station at his usual spot
Right next to an empty parking lot
He closed his eyes and picked up his sticks
And pleased the masses with his tricks.
The sound was as cold as the soulless vampire
But raged with a hot and terrible fire
Everyone cheered and screamed and howled
The mummy has bared a magnificent child
“Your drum, however, seems not the same
Does this new drum even have a name?”
“You better believe it,” said the pharaoh
“I think I'll call it the Ugly Sparrow.”
And with that he played for days and days
And played the music the people crazed
And forever and more he sat with his thought
And never again left this spot.
He turned down all offers and turned away work
And people called him a mindless ****
“That's just the thing, to have all the fun
You can't have a brain while playing the drums.”
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
There once was a woman so gorgeous so frail,
Who never removed her wedding day veil.
She sat in her home and smiled and wept,
And clung to her breast a photo she kept.
This photo was taken of her most betrothed,
A man who she loved, and man who she loathed.
A man with a beautiful porcelain smile,
A man who left her alone at the aisle.
So long story short she chopped him in slices,
And used him quite literally to cure her own vices.
A piece for brunch, lunch, and more,
A piece for the Wilsons who moved in next door.
Sorry to say there's no message to teach,
No metaphor here or limerick to preach.
This is a story that cures no desires,
A story with few (if any) admirers.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:54 PM UTC
The raven looms the scourged dead sky
And flies by night to summer high
To wisp what to a widowed brew
You think that's art?
**** you.
Alone the raven watches steed
And passes plainly soft; meed
To hallow falls and morning dew
That's art as well?
**** you.
My soul is that of burning ember
Subtle sparks to Fall September
I have not chance what claims I do
I'll say it again.
**** you.
I tossed that out in miniature times
Those seemingly fantastic rhymes
Yet weeks and nights you “artists” plead
For an ounce of something, not just ****
I'll **** some rhymes and call it art
It's painful cause you're not that smart.
You aren't unique and full of might
So let us real artists take flight.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
Doesn't it **** when your mind goes numb?
When all you can do is twiddle your thumbs?
A blank page before you has infinite plans
And all you can do is fold your hands.
To write such a sweet and lustrous tune
Sometimes it takes the entire of June!
And sometimes it never leaves your head
And it keeps you awake while lying in bed.
It tears at your talent and races your heart
That suddenly you've truly forgotten your art.
That after the years of praise and shower
You can't even recite portray a flower.
*It's petals are but some weeping hands
That fall upon such tiny lands
Which bees and such take a tiny hit
Of pollen so rich and....um.....shit!*
You tear up the pages and throw them away
This is the last time, on the same day.
It's finally done, you sit and you cry
The day that your lustrous talent has died.
So pain and sorrow consume your hour
All is thanks to that ****** old flower.
And your life has turned against the tides
And you life has become a puddle of lies.
To write a poem, a story, a book
To have a knack, a nitch, a nook.
You never give up and never retire
Until you pass your final hour.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:52 PM UTC
A village of bears sleeps in the trees
10 miles North of a town called Amveese
The humans keep busy and away from the wood
If they'd desire to hunt, they certainly could.
The bears are afraid of the humans so close
And hiding is what these bears do most
But Billy the bear is anxious today
His teeth are a mess, a complete disarray.
“Bears need to toughen and deal with the pain.”
“Bears don't have dentists, we aren't the same.”
Billy was tired of all the excuses
For once he heard dentists that satisfy Mooses.
So on a cold night, as cold as expected
Billy crawled quietly, pray not be rejected.
A 10 mile walk in darkness to light
A new set of teeth was Billy's delight.
Upon reaching the town, the sun had arisen
Hustle and bustle blurred Billy's vision.
He hid behind corners and a big garbage can
The dentist in sight, he had a great plan.
Uprooting a bush, using cover to hide
He moved like the wind, in big bear strides.
He moved around back, and knocked on the door
A new aspiration for humans galore.
“Welcome my fury and large bodied beast!
Come in, take a seat, prepare for a feast!
While you are here, you will dream a new dream
For humans, pray tell, are not what they seem.”
The doctor moved quickly and dragged him inside
“There's no time to waste, my work I take pride.”
He danced and he moved like no human seen before
And snuck into a dark and closed wooden door.
“I'll be out in a minute, just preparing a sample
For you will be next on my prize winning mantle!”
The door flung open, the doctor stood grand
For he had an old fashion musket in hand!
Billy was frightened, and tried to retreat
But noticed a dart sticking out of his feet.
Someone had drugged him, he didn't know how
BANG went the musket, and then, no more sound.
So the days went on, and the doctor was pleased
A new trophy cleaned, polished, and seized.
See, the thing about humans and animals alike
They'll behead anything if there's an available pike.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
He sat in the corner, head tilted sideways
Friday.
Pi Day
“What's in my Pie, May?”
May said, “Nothing dear”
Pie on the pie tray
All day
Slave away
Delicious Pie for Pi Day.
“Hey, May”
“Yeah babe?”
“This pie tastes like...Old Bay”
“What'd you say?”
“Old Bay”
“Oh for shame, it's still the same.”
“Of course it is!”
Rat Poison
May was a criminal on that day.
Ty has died
Died from Pie
Pi Day Pie
Oh my
Oh my.
But May, that day, was found to say
“I came home from work and found him this way!”
Fork in hand, napkin over tie, Ty was ready to enjoy some pie.
“Pie didn't **** Ty”
May denies.
She cries
Lies
Covers her eyes.
The cloths are dry
Birds in the sky
Just another day, oh why oh why?
But May is sly
She made that pie
She made that pie to make Ty die.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 7:50 PM UTC