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Keith Anderson Sep 2013
South Korea
has modern things
on top of ancient dreams -
too quickly layered.

Strange disconnect
in generations;
rice paddy
revelations -

New traditions
in desperation.
Keith Anderson May 2013
Crazy chick that I work with,
How are you today? Calm the **** down.
You’re a mess - not that anything’s wrong with that.
But you’re in my workspace, which is not your workspace.
Also, your mouth babble, eye gestures and body jerkins seem
To indicate that you wish to communicate; alas, could you
Coherently convey an idea, who would want to receive it?
Please vacate the workspace and return to yourspace.
Have a nice day.
Keith Anderson Jan 2013
Your poetry is daffy; your mind
Is gooey taffy. You rhyme
Like Seuss on ****** –
Your grammar makes disaster
of your ludicrous expounding.
Those rhymes are cheese,
And couplets, please.
You couldn’t find a foundling.
Just wrote this for fun. Too much he/she broke my heart poetry on this site. No reactions? Lighten up, people! Write some fun stuff!
Keith Anderson Sep 2013
I can't
a freaking thing.
My ears ring.
And orders bring
fresh squeaky hell,
a ting-ting bell,
at my silly
Keith Anderson Apr 2013
I am evolving
into the me
I will be.

But am I
or being
Keith Anderson Dec 2012
When leaving Earth
consider what you’ll need,
Like oxygen, water, food and gravity.
Everyone packs pictures
and forgets to breathe.
Keith Anderson Mar 2013
Most people don't see the fences
and barriers and borders -
I've crossed them.
Earth is a thousand prison camps.
Keith Anderson Dec 2012
(This one is rough, wanted to try and write a poem tonight in one sitting.)

the unexamined life
is not worth
texting. Stop selling
your inadequacy, instagraming
packaged, processed, stylized
banality, like a ******
miming painting
to the long pedestrian
line at the Louvre.
Keith Anderson Jan 2013
I love you.

I said it. Now you.

Do you love me, too?

Weird how life comes down to this.

A simple thing.

Loneliness, or love.

Rinds, or rings.

Dregs, or doves.

I only know I love.

Keith Anderson Dec 2012
Poetry is dumb, like my thumb in your

Ear — I could have said ‘rear.’

Or my tongue

In your eye,

See, signifying

Blindness. I’m waxing poetic here.

Ink impressions

On paper,

That can’t be touched,

Or felt. Or smelt. And don’t get me started about the taste,

And how long it takes to eat a poem.

So, conclusion, thumb, ear, tongue, eye, eat a poem,

It’s ineffable.
Keith Anderson Apr 2013
We are going off to war,
we are sitting by no more;
we are smashing skulls baby,
killing the enemy.

This is how the world is made;
this is how the rent is paid.
Grab your gun and follow me,
baby, lets make casualties.

Those with souls can stay behind,
and moan and groan and hide their eyes -
that is why we charge ahead,
baby, front towards enemy.
It's an Army thing, not a "lone gunman" thing, don't freak out on me... I'm right as rain. I did get the rhythm from Sail by AWOLNATION.
Keith Anderson Mar 2013
There's a place for me
in a field of Bluebonnets
under a Pecan Tree, with
Texas Longhorn lowing
to passerbys,
and mockingbirds flitting
about cloudless, grand skies.
Quick poem, just for some mental exercise.
Keith Anderson Dec 2012
The zombie couldn’t drink the tea,
His hand was shaking, he couldn’t see
The edge of the cup, and he couldn’t bring
It to his mouth. He couldn’t feed
Himself the cookies from the tray,
And I still wonder, to this day,
Why he ever sat down –
He didn’t say.

— The End —