outsider-poet-thomas - Hello Poetry

FRED CARVER 3 days after Fred Carver Was shot dead In a craps game We all gathered At Sparkman’s Funeral Home For the visitation I was standing Behind Fred’s ex-wife Thelma When she reached into her purse And dropped something In the casket I leaned over her shoulder And watched a black spider Crawl up Fred’s face And disappear in his hair -Dennis Gulling

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Jun 24, 2016

Jun 24, 2016 at 7:45 PM UTC

Fred Carver

FRED CARVER 3 days after Fred Carver Was shot dead In a craps game We all gathered At Sparkman’s Funeral Home For the visitation I was standing Behind Fred’s ex-wife Thelma When she reached into her purse And dropped something In the casket I leaned over her shoulder And watched a black spider Crawl up Fred’s face And disappear in his hair -Dennis Gulling

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The Yellow River Disoriented by Vietnamese beer, I enter the hot zone Approximately four inches South of my intended Insertion point, And am repelled By an aggressive Guerilla resistance. War is hell. -Thomas L. Vaultonburg

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Jun 23, 2016

Jun 23, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC

The Yellow River

The Yellow River Disoriented by Vietnamese beer, I enter the hot zone Approximately four inches South of my intended Insertion point, And am repelled By an aggressive Guerilla resistance. War is hell. -Thomas L. Vaultonburg

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Outlaw Poetry To be an outlaw You have to be honest. Because hypocrisy Is what ***** the most.

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Jun 23, 2016

Jun 23, 2016 at 10:48 PM UTC

Outlaw Poetry

Outlaw Poetry To be an outlaw You have to be honest. Because hypocrisy Is what ***** the most.

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Breakfast The morning spins lazily out of the Universe’s black eye like a surveillance camera ************ my paranoia. I eat a small breakfast of toads and do my coughing exercises. In the cellar the flesh incinerator purrs for dinner and is only satisfied with one species of rare mammal. My exotic summer guests, strewn on the floor like pickup sticks, are becoming a burden, so I toss one in the furnace and hazily return to bed.

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Aug 28, 2015

Aug 28, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC

Outsider Poetry Breakfast

Breakfast The morning spins lazily out of the Universe’s black eye like a surveillance camera ************ my paranoia. I eat a small breakfast of toads and do my coughing exercises. In the cellar the flesh incinerator purrs for dinner and is only satisfied with one species of rare mammal. My exotic summer guests, strewn on the floor like pickup sticks, are becoming a burden, so I toss one in the furnace and hazily return to bed.

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The Dullard A well intentioned Comrade dropped Off a basket of learning Tools for my niece and nephew. Among the colorful array Of big red dogs And purple dinosaurs I find a book titled "God Thought of It First." I paused to consider Pernicious Anemia, Gary, Indiana, Republicans, The Ford Pinto... I sure never would Have thought of it.

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Aug 25, 2015

Aug 25, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC

The Dullard

The Dullard A well intentioned Comrade dropped Off a basket of learning Tools for my niece and nephew. Among the colorful array Of big red dogs And purple dinosaurs I find a book titled "God Thought of It First." I paused to consider Pernicious Anemia, Gary, Indiana, Republicans, The Ford Pinto... I sure never would Have thought of it.

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The End Times Repent, the zealot dinner guest, invited For purposes of theological correctness, chides. Repent, and sin no more, he advises, for the end is near. But isn't that like asking a carnivore to turn vegan Moments before the serving of a pampered calf's liver I ask he takes special care in the fall of a sparrow The zealot replies, eyeing me as I set My peas to one side with my fork. Yes, but it was just that one, I retort. His first.

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Aug 25, 2015

Aug 25, 2015 at 3:01 AM UTC

The End Times

The End Times Repent, the zealot dinner guest, invited For purposes of theological correctness, chides. Repent, and sin no more, he advises, for the end is near. But isn't that like asking a carnivore to turn vegan Moments before the serving of a pampered calf's liver I ask he takes special care in the fall of a sparrow The zealot replies, eyeing me as I set My peas to one side with my fork. Yes, but it was just that one, I retort. His first.

12

Faking Bad In anticipation of my Evaluation to be declared Non Compos Mentos I slept under a bridge For three days "Getting into character," But on the morning of My intake interview My hair fell perfectly, I mean I looked like A ******* rock star. College girls on the bus Were giving me their Numbers and my skin, Which I'd purposely sunburnt And caked in the finest filth, Glowed like an Australian Chippendale dancer named Weegie And even the female Assisstant D.A. Who had busted me for vagrancy Waved her ******* from The third story building Of the Courthouse. No matter how much I Tried to speak gibberish Poetry and philosophical Tracts spewed from my mouth. Shuffling past the park I beat eight Grand Masters At chess on move 1 Inadvertently I solved The Phi Epsilom Theorem By kicking stones Into an algorythym. When I arrived they didn't Make me wait at all. My caseworker giggled like A schoolgirl while I told her Each day was like an endless shift In a Chinese fish- gutting Sweatshop and every one of my fellow Employees was motivationalist Richard Simmons. She ungirdled her enormous **** and as they spilled Like fishguts onto the desk She began to howl **** me, **** me, oh **** Me right here in Front of the open window On State Street as everyone Watches me ******* the strongest, Healthiest, smartest, most popular, Well-adjusted man in the world. The rest of the examination was Also a success. But as I left the Mental HealthCenter feeling marvelous I accidentally bumped An old woman with the door: "Watch out you manic-depressive Schizoid with Socially Avoidant Features klutz." -Thomas L. Vaultonburg

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Aug 11, 2015

Aug 11, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC

Faking Bad (Outsider Poetry)

Faking Bad In anticipation of my Evaluation to be declared Non Compos Mentos I slept under a bridge For three days "Getting into character," But on the morning of My intake interview My hair fell perfectly, I mean I looked like A ******* rock star. College girls on the bus Were giving me their Numbers and my skin, Which I'd purposely sunburnt And caked in the finest filth, Glowed like an Australian Chippendale dancer named Weegie And even the female Assisstant D.A. Who had busted me for vagrancy Waved her ******* from The third story building Of the Courthouse. No matter how much I Tried to speak gibberish Poetry and philosophical Tracts spewed from my mouth. Shuffling past the park I beat eight Grand Masters At chess on move 1 Inadvertently I solved The Phi Epsilom Theorem By kicking stones Into an algorythym. When I arrived they didn't Make me wait at all. My caseworker giggled like A schoolgirl while I told her Each day was like an endless shift In a Chinese fish- gutting Sweatshop and every one of my fellow Employees was motivationalist Richard Simmons. She ungirdled her enormous **** and as they spilled Like fishguts onto the desk She began to howl **** me, **** me, oh **** Me right here in Front of the open window On State Street as everyone Watches me ******* the strongest, Healthiest, smartest, most popular, Well-adjusted man in the world. The rest of the examination was Also a success. But as I left the Mental HealthCenter feeling marvelous I accidentally bumped An old woman with the door: "Watch out you manic-depressive Schizoid with Socially Avoidant Features klutz." -Thomas L. Vaultonburg

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