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22.5k · Jun 2015
Sam Jun 2015
Poetry is like a *****
in its wobbly, dangly freeness
(This poems not the cleanest so stop reading if you're a little squeamish)

Some have it, some don't
some use it, some won't
some like it awkward with a twist at the end
like a shakespearean couplet but on the person it depends

for others its merely secondary
(oh but always necessary)
to the holder - their Mars or Venus
So, as god is my witness,
poetry is a *****
6.7k · Jan 2016
The Dance
Sam Jan 2016
Staring across the bar, it was love at first sight
- eyes so wide- I think I gave her a fright
She thought it was a *** look
thought she could read me like a textbook
wary of my advance
refusing me a chance
avoiding my glance
I put down my glass
in a stance
weakened by my lovestruck trance,
simply asked for a dance
4.2k · Jul 2016
too hot to candle
Sam Jul 2016
a candle sat in an open field
with nothing but darkness up and round
a thousand cubic miles of night
and nothing weighs that candle down

the darkness chokes with all its might
yet the candle still endures
and if all the darkness in the world couldn't put out the candle's light
then what could put out yours
3.7k · Nov 2015
forty winks
Sam Nov 2015
blinks lingering I wonder if this next 40 will be my last
need to head to the corner to break my fast
may be young but my mind is older
head on my shoulder, devil growing bolder
Its been forty days straight now here come the nights
He's been offering me bread now he's showing me sights
but with no angel to catch me I don't dare take a fall
I have only one faith, if any at all
thats my little girl in her crib laying two feet away
and she's my only religion today
2.0k · Jan 2016
Sam Jan 2016
People, places and things
have become things we collect
things replace people
and it has the wrong effect
things, places, things
has the wrong ring
- its clearly incorrect -
people aren't objects despite our dialect
nor merely nouns now to be subject
at least I object
we're both Proper and imperfect
both Collective and dissected
both Abstracted and connected
More than nouns we are the now
thats what I think anyhow
Sam May 2015
Hera puts on a new set of armour
donning hairnet, yellow washing gloves and an apron
She washes the dishes with fervour
but wonders why she didn't marry Poseidon

For old Zeus was built like thunder
and she used to feel that electricity
but she know as she reaches for the plunger
that his heart feels no pity
1.6k · May 2015
I Love You (Yes You)
Sam May 2015
Rage against the sadness
***** it if your poetry is badness
Hello! Poetry isn't for your complaints!
beep boop beep boop paints

Just remember - When the situation is dire,
(and this is from the king of the mire)
'What matters most is how well you walk through the fire'
#I wish i could write poetry but i can't so this is it can someone write a poem that is happy
1.6k · Nov 2016
Sam Nov 2016
The freckled girl screams 'out **** spot'
thinking they're part of some Higher plot.

They are. They are. They are.
For this sky would be nothing without the stars
Imagine Orion's belt without each datum
(and I say this without sarcasm)
Think of the ocean that'd be a chasm.
Without the drops - nothing happens

poetry would be nothing without the atom
1.5k · Nov 2016
Poems; Injury 5
Sam Nov 2016
I'm not sure if death is an injury
but from the Rockies to the Yangtze
If you read any Bukowski
You may never rip that knife free
1.4k · Jan 2017
Sam Jan 2017
she texted 'I dreamt of you this afternoon'
which was a promising start
'you were a paintball instructor...
and you shot me in the heart'

now - I'd never dreamed of her
(and thought that even worse)
I wondered if I should mention it
or just write it down in verse

but, that very night,
dreaming in the solace of the dark
I took part in her archery class
and she shot cupids arrow through my heart
lots of her in a collection
1.4k · Nov 2016
Poems; Injury 6
Sam Nov 2016
Maybe the greatest injury yet
was all too soon after we met
and with eyes and ink still wet
you tried to **** me with the alphabet
1.2k · Nov 2016
Poems; Injury 2
Sam Nov 2016
There are those poems that complete you
and also those that abscise;
Taking a little love from behind your ribs
and a little light from behind your eyes
1.2k · Jul 2018
Sam Jul 2018
I've been running around
a notebook on my hip
and the sun in my eyes
and your words on my lips

i've been falling asleep
with your smell on my mind
and the faintest memory
of our fingers entwined

but I've been waking up
with a pillow by my side
and you leaving with my dreams
on the outgoing tide
1.1k · Oct 2016
log eyes
Sam Oct 2016
He yelled
Out **** spot
to the freckled boy from next door

out **** spot
to his own black labrador

he wolf whistled and cawed
to all the lambs on the moor

he had never seen or thought
of the blindspot in his own eye before
983 · Jun 2016
raining outside
Sam Jun 2016
here's a barter to the gardner who made Eve then marred her
who fathered the carpenter then martyred man's armour
I spit at the sky but He spits back harder
one roar and a flash and i'm a blurred charred marker
and while I know I'm a carper to start a rant over rain,
I'm cold and I'm tired and a little bit vain

so to the almighty all awful
why when you reign does it pour?
naught but rain until dawn
is this the law of the poor and lore for those born with a luckier draw?
I cry to the alpha to compromise his plan
and just for tomorrow, clear the skies for Sam
for any raincloud
975 · Feb 2018
Sam Feb 2018
if she was a yawn she'd be a Sunday morning, just been snoring (dream exploring) kind of yawning
eyes closing creeping smile stretched across six pillows
blinds opening, sleep exiled, rays etched on skin in Gogh yellows
on her arms

if she was the sky she'd be fiery
if she was a Guy she'd be Fieri
blazing sunsets on silly shirts
silly dances at concerts

If she was a word she'd be a cellar door
and if she was a movie she'd be stellar wars
a euphony a symphony
music and imagery

and if she was art she'd be a dancing Degas
with the tempest of Turner and the dynamism of Dali
art for everybody but special to me
955 · May 2016
busk til bust
Sam May 2016
just a ****** busker wishing he was a **** buster
he swam lack-lustre,
a salmon unable to muster
the will to cut the custard,
and flutter upstream to meet a lover

stuck in the gutter singing covers
a crushed sucker, tasteless kfc crusher
ominous as a dawn-less dusk and
useless as a ham sandwich with no mustard
943 · Oct 2016
Sam Oct 2016
the door was barely opened before
I caught her like a 2am yawn (once seen unstoppable)
she caught my smile but expressed it better than I ever could
and like I would for the queen I quickly stood
she must have seen my eyes through the hazy night
and she moved closer like poetry I cannot write

ok I can't help myself
she walked like an 'um' itself
an um for the wordless times
when something more important is on your mind
when you're asked for the truth but are filled with lies
when in pause, time it buys

gliding like a miyazaki dragon spiriting me away
anywhere but here, the now, the day
struck dumb
the response to her hello?
- 'um'
928 · Jun 2016
oh hemingway had style
Sam Jun 2016
and it was only after van Gogh realised that  
the bullet could paint the brain better than the brush,
that he became immortal
907 · Jun 2018
Sam Jun 2018
i fall in love like i get sick
it happens on some idle tuesday
after a night in the rain

come sit at my bedside
and have a cup of tea
i'm a little low on love
and more than low on vitamin c

i kiss like i cough
and i **** like a shiver
with a wheeze
and a nose running rivers
i'll wear my heart on my sneeze
902 · Jul 2015
summer autumn winter spring
Sam Jul 2015
sons die as the sun drowns on the horizon in its daily execution
love's leaves leave lovers
each unique snowflake turns the same ***** brown
spring breaks the spring step
just playing with words :)
841 · Oct 2016
bear picnic
Sam Oct 2016
three knocks at three O'clock
three bears out of shop
an Aesop goldilocks
(small frock and yellow socks)
ad hoc broken locks

Three cold porridge bowls
one poor girl with the hair of gold
should have done what she'd been told
to find in that horrid household
three bears dead and cold
nursery rhyme? unsure. halloween themed maybe
832 · May 2016
Sam May 2016
you're not my pen
you're my paper
you're not my heart
you'll be its breaker

i'm not sorry for drawing
i'm sorry for scrawling
i'm not sorry for calling
but i'm sorry for falling
Sam Mar 2017
there's a game we all know
that has a Monopoly over us
that doesn't take a dice to throw
nor a score to plus

its the game of Hearts
sometimes complex like Draughts.
a game of straight flushing and great blushing
in spates of gushing or candid Candy crush Crushing

sometimes there's:
star crossed Starcraft lovers
two-per scenario Super Mario Brothers
and the game's
a Tetris tete a tete
a dual duel between two beating chests
each with a Chess set missing a King or Queen they've yet to get
Romeos and Juliets
though they've only just met

and other times;
we're just trying to Connect fo(u)r two seconds for once
in this scrabble scramble through life
Risking it all in the Trivial Pursuit
of trying to fit in the Sudoku
by following some pseudo social cues
of the games creator
that says we're failures
if we're not in 2player
from s to s
802 · Oct 2016
Her; Halloween Queen
Sam Oct 2016
Pumpkin faced, fang toothed witch
plump chin, fake tan, broomstick

nose with warts, chosen devils cohort
courting the goat, a shoat cutthroat
cavorting devote to the angel turncoat

tilted head back with the eerie cry 'halloween is nigh'
why she's dressed up 10 days early i'll never know why
802 · Feb 2016
The Deep
Sam Feb 2016
I'm bound to the round sound of the guitar
and I'm deep underground sleeping down with the drowned
now the lights of the town seem extraordinarily far
wound around my crown, sleep drips down from the stars

but I think it's the dope, smoke dances in my lungs
or the drink that gropes both my liver and my tongue
one long blink - begin to float roam the unknown with the young

and opening my eyes I'm awake from the sleep
the dopamine has died my aches on me creep
its time to climb but the slopes are steep
put on my tie and climb in the jeep
put my mind to the pile of files that are heaped
run with these self proclaimed wolves who are sheep
just thinking of home, the release of the deep
800 · May 2015
True Story
Sam May 2015
I once new a man from Calcutta
Who had an incredible stutter
Ok thats not true
I thought I'd try to stop you feeling blue
Sorry for filling your feed with clutter
780 · Apr 2015
Death's Struggle
Sam Apr 2015
Death sits atop his hill,
giving his lips a lick
looking for someone to ****
regretting forgetting his chapstick
Remember kids. Never lick your lips when they are dry.
768 · Jul 2016
baa baa
Sam Jul 2016
He said grown men don't weep
but I did last week
last night as I lay on my bed in a heap
bar height - i've lived a life on the sweet
(bar -marmite a little bitter on the teeth
(bar -barfights i guess I thrive on the street
baabaa type if I'm a meat I'm a sheep
ha ha at light but only weep in my sleep
far far right from when I started this speech
au revoir mon amie this be the end of my suite
745 · Aug 2016
Sam Aug 2016
A four line poem for my 8th grade teacher
an A for my efforts and a weekly pamphlet feature
'Blue' by Sam a tale of: spilled ink
of an endless ocean; the whole blue kitchen sink

19. 4 stanzas for a professor of mine
a little splotch of blood or maybe red wine
an A for the reference to Bukowski at the end
but I guess he didn't know the bluebird too, was my friend

Blue was it's name, it was almost the same
as the one hanging in my lounge in a frame
this time it talked of the ocean of endlessness
and was penned like the spill it referenced

A mark for my friendless existence
with lark he congratulated my sedulous recklessness
an Aeschylus with a reflective tragic fecklessness
driven to or destined for the precipice

so I hoped when
I hung beside my poem
the professor did know then
not all doors should be opened
A little dark; but it's hard to be criticised over something personal
744 · Mar 2016
a clockwork orange
Sam Mar 2016
Dancing on the stage bathed in ultra violet
is a dripping young honey making me ultra-violent.
My three stooges become scrooges using ***** useless excuses
to not be Zeus's and noose the spruce for their collusive abuses.
I leave the troupe, loop back, snoop, try to ******
induce some juice, a little loose chartreuse

The girl looks down from the platform, eyes vacant and hollow
Ten years of this storm full of snake-pits and sorrow
No glow but the glint of a nose speckled with snow
Her heartbeat allegro slows, lower tempo - adagio

For she's hooked to the pole by an IV of ******* and circumstance
I regret holding the cash and stealing her glance.
It falls from my hand, not that thats exculpatory
and when I next catch her eyes, it's merely to say, 'sorry'
742 · Sep 2015
Sam Sep 2015
opening my chakra
feeling a little less darker
a couple of drinks is my marker
but its always just the starter

at the brink and then I'm past it
it was fun while it lasted
now I hand over to my master
from the poodle to the mastiff

screaming who wants war
blocked from the liquor store
my mind wants more
but my liver isn't sure

back to waking up at noon
soaked in bile like some cartoon
know that by the time I see the moon
I'll be singing the same tune
738 · Jan 2018
Sam Jan 2018
I met this tungsten tongued pterodactyl
tiny ***** terror with a rattle snake rattle
cattle feasting, battle tested, harp playing harpy heathen
carpe diem; seizing the days of the dazed, the refuge of the refused
They said I should have seen her angel wings were dinosaur's
I guess I didn't see through the lipsticked maw -
the silken glove over the sharpened claw.
a little devil before a little death
petite mort with heavy breath
before she sheds her skin and starts again
more hers on my page
736 · Nov 2016
10W Her Eyes
Sam Nov 2016
summer is gone but I get starburned by your eyes
735 · Dec 2015
For you, Mother; The Stars
Sam Dec 2015
one for each time I never said I loved you
715 · Dec 2016
without knowing
Sam Dec 2016
you can write poetry without being a poet
I feel Bukowski sometimes wrote without knowing how
or why
just because he was Poetry
like how Gogh painted for love
or for his next meal
not for me
not for we
like how an athlete runs for running
and a singer sings for singing
and a sinner sins for sinning
maybe you can't become a poet
it must be in you from the beginning
688 · Oct 2015
10W Irony
Sam Oct 2015
Why is it so hard to write a ten word poem?
684 · Jul 2015
Love everybody
Sam Jul 2015
So i have this little room behind my ribcage
swamped deep
in fathers hugs
and mothers smiles
and an uncle teaching me to fish
a brother teaching me loyalty
and a sister screaming fashion tips from the top of her lungs
'but SAAAM black tutus ARE the craze right now'

Its a mess - as its meant to be
I can't file or discard
grandma sneaking me a hot chocolate after I've been put to bed
or grandpa eating my vegetables while mum and dad were distracted
(peas were the worst)

So you must understand that this room isn't just for you

I love you

but I love my mum, dad, uncle, sis, brother, uncle and grandparents
I love Angus for carrying me home and putting me to bed with bourbon smelling ***** staining my shoes and shirt at 4am in the morning
I love Ms. Wells from third grade
Heck, I love my dealer - they have their place in the mess

If you can handle that,
the door is unlocked,
come in and throw a memory on the pile
681 · Nov 2015
10W Her
Sam Nov 2015
I've been stuttering sentences since this synthesis of our senses
668 · Nov 2016
Poems; Injury 4
Sam Nov 2016
A final stanza on the busy bus
can make the world freeze
so don't forget to hold onto the handrail
or when it really stops,
you'll be brought crashing to your knees
664 · Mar 2016
my newspaper love
Sam Mar 2016
six o'clock, every morning
on its way since the dawn was yawning
meant for you as long as you pick it up
made for the spot beside your teacup
652 · Nov 2016
her jumble 2am
Sam Nov 2016
why's the vice president always so senior
is that a permanent feature
like how 2+2 is always equal to 4
and I'm lying on the floor
wondering if these words have been said before

what makes the beauty of the sea
are you beautiful
or is it just to me
does it matter
do we matter
what's beauty's main factor
why does the mad hatter
drink tea
a clock carrying bunny
is more mad than a tea party
bon soir mon amie
that's all from me
648 · Jan 2017
Her; mind palace
Sam Jan 2017
she's been running through my mind
with her heels on
smashing all she can find
like a Hadron proton

a thousand miles an hour
she screams through the rooms
and she doesn't even know her power
like a flower in full bloom
Does a flower know it's beautiful
when it's basking in the sun?
-or does it wait (til hidden by the dark)
when the day is done?
647 · Nov 2018
it takes
Sam Nov 2018
a lifetime
to die
637 · Jul 2016
Sam Jul 2016
drop dead gorgeous, a girl to die for
hot headed taurus anthropomorphic ichor
Sam Jun 2015
I used to 'slippy slide' on my bathroom floor
I would slather the tiles in water and soap
and push myself from wall to wall

the closest I have come to this in 15 years
was when I slipped on my own alcohol induced *****
at two in the morning on Monday 15th (I just woke up from this)

this isn't a poem for you
It was just a really good night
and that's poetry to me
Im not really sure what this is
624 · Nov 2016
Poems; Injury 7&8
Sam Nov 2016
A chicken might live without a head
live many a year before it's dead
but have its heart ripped from its breast
and it'll be in seconds before it rests

but oh how its different with us
and isn't the poem the best forum to discuss
that without a head - death would appear
but without a heart. Well. I'm still right here
Sam Apr 2015
Yes I want a ******* poem without fallacy
A poem full of fantasy
a fabulously woven fabric without a faux facade

our poems need some faeces not facelifts
fanciful fairies dancing fandangos
NOT followers of this current fad
who have fastened Poetry... with fatality

****! I'm fine with fate. But I want to be fascinated
by a farfetched farcical fable about a fat farmer farting
something that isn't churned out from this fake factory

So, to start off here is a funny poem with a **** joke:
I call my ****, 'the truth', because people can't handle it.
It hurts when the trending tags on this site are 'death' and 'pain'. Let's not put **** jokes in all our poems... but let's bring the happiness back :)
611 · Aug 2015
Mr. Death
Sam Aug 2015
Death sits beside me on the park bench.
Its four o'clock on some idle Tuesday.
Scythe lying on the armrest,
I hope I'm not dying today.
599 · Mar 2017
Sam Mar 2017
I put my hand on my heart
and promised my love
because my pockets were full
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