Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Andrew Clark Oct 2015
Her cheeks, alive with red wine, will catch eyes.
Sized up/sighed off guys still spy from ringside.
Sideline surfers curse. Analyze their worth.
Turpentine and Turf giving birth to hurt.

Her body is the Earth. Insides, the sky.
Coincide: heaven. Mt. Olympus thighs.
Miles high, priests would die or--least of all--feast.
Bleating sheep cease to be. Lie still, deceased . . .

A little . . . lying still. Shy beast survived.
Rings: still-born. Pacts of love unpacked to die.
Distilled vice, hiked-up skirts and hiccuped "Hi"s.
Crying mind aside, high at hammered time.
Andrew Clark May 2015
Delight!

A polite specter clasps the borders of my sight.

A slight incline of final flights of fancy forms the falling night.

Fright and fury forging flustered flames to feed The Furnace's Fight.

A foolish fate to sort through all those effing thoughts at night.

Delighted me!

Blessed ever be these visitors I see.

We shall lay together in a twisted manmade canopy.

A shroud of nightly norm invades and shades us blackened worms.

We wrap in squirming ratkings trapped and wriggling with older forms.

We shall raise the heat and torch to ash what flashing scenes reside inside dilated late-night features til each creature meets demise.

Let their burnt remains stay slain imbued into my insane cranium as numbingly I fumble back to scratch the corners of my former eyes,

then realize with--every tear I bare here-delightfully deluded sight.

White light!

Respite.
Andrew Clark Jan 2015
Removed from light
Dying on ice
Riding a lion
On king **** tonight

Defiant of crying
Awake without trying
Alive still in spite
Deciding on life
Andrew Clark Jul 2014
If I could write a poem
And make every word count
So that when recited
It would make the room stop
Still
Dead
Hushed
Severe
With everyone inside left to ponder on their own lives,

And if I could write a line
That would assault the audience
With all of the dramatic flair
And seriousness born from unforgiving tenacity
As it is experienced at the sight of a grenade
In the hand of a charging madman
With its pin removed,

That would be the bomb, yo.
Andrew Clark Jul 2014
Here
Short verse
Love it srong
Other poems
Are too ******* long
Andrew Clark Jun 2014
No, I really mean it, the guy's immortal now
He's been like this for years, no one's quite found out how
He's been beaten, stabbed, hung; but he always comes back
We've known this ever since he had that heart attack
Friends and family must still grow old, but not Chad
Chad is now living in his kickass future pad
Although he thinks about his old life every day
Chad gets to play kickass future video games
Plus, he's a celebrity; as you might expect
He's dies in action movies, then collects his check
Other planets love to watch galactic Sean Bean
Most beloved man the universe has ever seen
But he still thinks about the folks he used to know
And mourns, building little people out of space snow
Sometimes he throws parties just to dance with the dead
As all the guests get drunk and shoot him in the head
He calls his alien best friend zxxghiiiiilaaghshhGUHHHHdand
But not even zxxghiiiiilaaghshhGUHHHHdand could understand
The universe is dying, what's that mean for Chad?
This could either be really rad or really bad
"Probably both," he thinks, gathering what he needs
And speeding into space upon his trusted steed
Which is sort of like a dragon and unicorn
Had a space baby in the middle of a storm
Like, there's lightning tattoos on the side of the horse
Plus lightning wings and a horn; and firebreath, of course.
And Chad rode his steed, Harold, across the black sky
Seeking meaning to life and what way he could die
On the edge of a star not known by any maps
There he found a strange house while the skylines collapse
An olden-times cottage, ΚΣ on roof
With a welcome mat reading, "Come in, ya big goof!"
Both Harold and Chad entered just swiftly enough
The only place left not currently blowing up
"Who invites me to shelter? Please, who is my host?"
"The one being in the cosmos that knows the most"
And then, spinning around, perched in a swivel chair
Appeared the Bieber, much to Anderson's despair
And Chad cried out "That's not true! That's impossible!"
"No, I just want to give your leg a quick pull"
Then the being morphed into odd shapes not yet known
"I am the ancient one who see things never shown
I can't tell you your fate after this world is done
But I'll tell you your life was a great deal of fun
To watch from afar, whether to laugh or to cry
And I know that deep down you still wish you could die
Because maybe, just maybe, you'll live there again
In that simpler time that you shared with your friends
I can keep my home safe with the voodoo I do
But I think I would rather give something to you
Just one thing that you need, or one thing that you love
That one precious moment which you are so fond of
I can realize any wish that you contrive"
"I really love that disco song, Staying Alive"
As Bee Gees echoed out across all time and space
Chad danced the boogie as the universe erased
Andrew Clark Jan 2014
I turn a year old next September.
Meow, I'm getting bigger.
I think the old man is cooking something, but I can't see him.
He yelled an awful lot at the little girl before he hurried out the door.
He was in such a hurry that he forgot to leave her any money this time.
Something is definitely cooking.
It doesn't smell good.
It must be people food.
The little girl is taking a nap.
Tired thing, she couldn't even make it back to bed.
Face down on the floor, I thought she said she'd never do that?
I suppose the old man had finally convinced her to try it.
Sleep sounds really good right now.
Actually, food sounds really good right now.
Actually, scratching the **** out of some curtains sounds really good right now.
I must find some curtains, there aren't any hanging from the window.
Weren't they there just a second ago?
There's some strange light dancing where they usually would be.
There are strange lights everywhere; is it already New Year's again?
No, it couldn't be.
I turn a year old in September.
I guess I'll just scratch at the carpet a bit, and then I'll find some food.
There might be food in my bowl on the counter, right by where the old man's money would normally be.
What a weird day, even the air tastes strange.
It tastes heavy.
Maybe if the little girl forgot to feed me, I can try filling up on this black air.
Such a good girl!
She remembered to feed me, now I don't have to wake her up.
Yet!
The dancing lights look so pretty from atop the counter.
I'm reminded of looking out the window at night.
So soft . . . so warm . . . I can practically hear music.
These must be what street lights look like up close.
I wonder if any of these lights are a moon?
I hope so, I really like moons.
The little girl always sings a nursery rhyme with a cat, a fiddle and a moon.
I wonder what a fiddle is; maybe I should get one?
Maybe the little girl will get me one for my birthday.
I turn a year old in September, I met the little girl when I was just a week old.
She said I looked cute and innocent, and I had a long life ahead of me.
She said she would make sure I had a better life than her.
Meow, that's really sad.
I would go cheer her up, but it's so warm and I'm getting really sleepy.
Maybe I'll just wait by her until she wakes up.
What a mess!
She must have spilled some of that "wine" stuff on the floor.
Poor dear, she's face down in a pool of the stuff.
I hope she gets a chance to see all the pretty lights.
I lick her cheek before I make my climb and curl up on her back.
She's a really nice girl.
I like her.
She named me Tabitha.
Silly little girl, I'm not a tabby cat.
I have all white fur.
At least, I did.
There are some black spots in my coat meow.
Next page