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Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
i was going to fold the sunday newspaper many times...
just to get a postcard sized output...
or whatever you'd like to call it...
   i was taught that creasing pages of books
or folding edges of pages in book
was very much a blasphemy...
     call that weird, i call living to reach
atheism and vomitting scientific facts
   a bit like creating a Frankenstein monster...
  to be honest, i feel like a frankenstein monster...
    i have absolutely no care for allegiance...
i'm in free-fall mode...
     i feel nor care to feed some patriotic
adventure into a war...
  i was folding a sunday newspaper
remembering that fetish i had for
three newspapers being opulent and about
men imitating women by folding them
akin to knitting... the guardian,
the daily telegraph and the times...
   only one of the three remained true to its roots...
i loved watching people fiddle with these
titans... folding them like taking a scrap
of a toilet-paper bite and folding it several
times before taking another fold...
and wiping for the **** that could just as well
be a mouth...
        we also call it playing cards...
that game where your *** speaks more reason
than your mouth, and how
     the three top layers of cards, king queen
and jack are doubled to have a mouth
either side of the mouth-**** copernicus...
    so you can't tell the two apart...
**** or talk? dunno... it sounds very much alike.
  but these co-op people are bothering me....
they're asking me about my age
every time i buy a beer...
   is that some sort of pick-up line?
          ok ok, i get the acne and it's not comfortable
for me either, i guess my *** could make it
into a fashion magazine quicker than my face...
   what's this?
             i get the acne, i have a beard...
do babies have beards?
       it's a beer... it's not a bomb...
    this has to be some sort of fetish...
                       it's a bit like finding your second
loss of virginity... apparently it's called 25...
  it's not even murky waters of 16 / 18...
do i look over 25?
    ha ha... yeah mate... 30...
     i feel like chewing on some chicken bones,
or biting into a human cheek, to bite past the cheek
and eat the tongue in cheek...
     why do people become so annoying that
you retaliate thinking about cannibalism?
   what's with them being so primmed into
the role of supermarket cashiers?
     they're gagging for violence, aren't they?
they are... they must be...
           oh right... oscar night...
  this sunday times magazine... kept folding it
and folding it... until it was comfortable to read,
hardly a reason to do the same with a hardback book....
oh wait... the heresy, and the need to respect the book
as if every book was a koran,
bookmarks... but no no to folding
the edges of pages having arrived at...
you want to know a secret?
  Poles have a tendency to mummify flowers
  by putting them in books... true story...
Poles mummify flowers by storing them in books...
if you really want to understand the true
bibliophiles... as the Poles what they do with them...
   i mean, it would be hard to mummify a cactus in a book,
or that glutton that's the autumn thistle...
      they really do mummify flowers in books,
the Poles... which is why they come up with
the need to use bookmarks, and the religion
of never folding edges of books to replace bookmarks,
or what a suit has, and the cravat suddenly missing...
     now i kinda get why there has been no
islamic attack in poland, this etiquette of
respecting books, translated into how i
might treat a newspaper... folding it...
     jaw for jaw... manidble, cheap, cheap and
everyday... about to be deemed fake...
      i get that, like i know you take off the sleeve
of a hardback edition and then put it back
on once you handled the didlo fabric...
                and some women might
call charming the limp phallus like man might
charm a white rabbit from a top-hat...
    or what the madonna-***** complex explains...
had it been better approved for the care to
explain today... or vhy whittle kaiser wilhelm
was the  original oedipus prototype / the freudian muse...
what was my original concern to fill
the void of defeat that's: making war using a blank canvas?
oh right... la la land... the actress...
    emma stone... it's like i almost recognised her face...
i was thinking ethan hawke...
but i was thinking of a different red-head...
i was thinking the film predestination...
and... she almost looks like both a shadow and a face
thief at the same time, to define the case of
doppelganger...
   but it really wasn't her... it was sarah snook...
another redhead...
or maybe it was this private conversation that
had me started... or how: predestination
can be replaced by a concept that's even more
shock-awe... coincidence?
    i make history happen in the private
sphere of counter ego-tripping
by making newspapers into origami,
        folding them to make digesting them more
realistic, and also opportunist...
                 sometimes i do make the odd punctuation error,
but then again... look at all this space









                                                  ­                 .
just one of the reasons people write poetry,
or at least what later becomes non-orthodox
avoiding of rhyme...
  rhyme used to be the original punctuation
in poetry, people used to
   eat and
                 sleep...
   but then writing poetry became an uncertainity
concerning the paragraph,
it was eaiser to punctuate a paragraph
knowing if; or: and esp., to say something more...
   which is one of the reasons for the "improvement"
of punctuation, the dot dot dot of poets
and the ditto enclosure of existentialist philosophers.
poetry to me is a deviation from punctuation,
it requires the cascade mechanism to allow it
expression with bravado, and the zenith of
arrogance...
                         to me poets are
punctuation-phobes....
                                  here me... imitating the two
figures in the Salmaan Rushdie novel, d i.e.,
  what was it? two people falling off a plane...
one drops like a tombstone stiff...
                the other is all panicky pretending to
invoke the capacity of being a pigeon...
what was that book?
              still.... i was just buying a beer and i get
asked for my age...
                i sometimes love when people
can be as annoying as that...
                        if i were a woman i'd be saying
that it was a compliment;
so i am... writing this "poem".
ryn  Dec 2014
Mummify
ryn Dec 2014
Never mind
the boy
who's got his
head
in the clouds.

Just...
wrap up his
remains
and
bury him
in
shrouds.

He hopes
to be
missed
by
more than
just
a
few.

More
importantly
he'd like
to be
missed...
Just
by
you.
"i don't wanna have to be the one to tell you this,
but you're no foodie; you're just a fat-***
who's too cowardly to take an honest look at yourself.

It's okay to be whatever you want,
just don't lie to yourself proclaiming to be a foodie
to justify late-night trips to Jack in the Box four days a week,
or eating a whole jar of Tostitos 'Salsa con Queso' every two days.

Are you trying to mummify yourself with all those preservatives?

Y'know,
just because you blow most of your paychecks
on gasoline, **** food and overpriced coffee
pulled to the most pretentious of standards
doesn't at all begin to mean that you've got any class, taste, or style,
let alone that you're a foodie.

At least recycle all the paper products your pseudofood comes in.

Moreover, your thighs aren't ******* gluten,
they're all that other junk you eat habitually
while watching your oh-so-edified selection of films
before sleeping it off until 3 in the afternoon.

No wonder you're so full of ****:
you are what you eat, I suppose.

Pull your head on out your ***.

All that fat and cholesterol isn't for the faint of heart."
A bit of a rant. Sorry, but not really.
blankpoems  Aug 2013
Strangeness
blankpoems Aug 2013
Friends become strangers as fast as I was forgotten
beneath the quick pale of the moon.
Seemingly fleeting and self destructive, but really
just sad and lonely and broken from the past.

For a few months there I couldn't get out of bed.
I wrapped myself in blankets like I wanted to mummify myself.
Like I was already dead, and maybe I actually was.

I was foolishly waiting for someone to ask me if I was okay.
I was foolishly waiting to be missed.
But the girl who blends in with the night is never noticed by anything
but the quick pale of the moon.

And soon, painfully, forgetfully, I disappear.
Oblivion greets me like an old friend and I have no choice
but to smile and wave back, before taking its hand
and walking down the path of insanity.

I just wanted someone to save me.

But I don't know what they'd be saving me from.
Maybe myself.
Maybe the past.
But more likely, every bit of hurt that stains my soul
quite similarly to the way you stained my good blouse with your tears.
I didn't even mind, until I saw you across the street and you looked at me
like I was a stranger.

It's just me, the moon and everything else that shines in the night.
I'm wearing a sign that says save me.
And I was foolish to think that you might.
Anthony Perry Jun 2014
My head is over swelling, my heart is overwhelming, i've been trying to deal with this fear but no promises are forthcoming. Abused intentions create these walls you have put up around me, tortured ambitions mummify the air that surrounds me, cremated passion falls from above like black rain making it hard to see, dreams are projected from my obsidian eyes onto a silver screen woven from a life of lies. Truth only hurts when you become afraid of the pain, learn to overcome this this hurt and you'll just have to suffer with the shame. In these last moments I have no one to blame and everything is well in my head as i prepare to take aim, a clock on the wall counts down to the twilight while I inhale the last cold breath of the night, peace is all i hope to gain so i pull the trigger and the last things i hear are sounds of thick pounding rain.
Lana  Feb 2014
Voracious
Lana Feb 2014
Your words,
like silken tendrils,
crept along my skin,
Passing shivers flared,
Brushed off
with an uneasy smile,
Now these diaphanous strands  
threaten to mummify,
Encase me in a cocoon
of slights,
sarcasm,
and casual cruelty,
Liquifying my insides
to better feed you,
Bloat your predatory emptiness
with my life-force,
Your clacking mouthparts sharpen,
As does my resolve,
My innards are not for your
slurping,
Skitter back to your shadowy lair,
This corpse will not play,
I rise, awakened,
The sun waits for me.
Crego  Nov 2021
"Coffins"
Crego Nov 2021
Bury me alive
In the tomb that I created
Jaded, complacent, frustrated
Substances left my mind
Completely vacant
Mummify my corpse
Lay it with my mistakes
Confined under infinite sand
In a desert that forsakes
21:10
I met a stranger in the bus..a man in the black suit..and I seemed to know him since ages..took the same route as mine..
Ours was a unique acquaintance, it was of smiles and stares, words hardly spared..

But today, today was different..he, with a diminished smile, seemed like he had a taxing day to cuss..in his eyes, he had the world locked like the pandora..
To open it was calamity, and to keep it all in was fatality.. but he was brave, went on burning his soul in the fire of the heist..
I always wanted to ask him about his pursuit, but I was scared of the explosion, he might endure his own Big Bang..

This stranger in the bus, the man in the black suit, who I seemed to know since ages now, was unordinarily restless today. And I couldn’t guess why..
Flicking his fingers, frantic, hasty and teary eyes, who was once my persona for strength, he left me drowning into the depths of my thoughts..
Oh how could I have even resisted, I was falling short of smiles..
Deciding to trade a word today, this harmless stranger extends a clumpsy mind, just like mine.. the troubles were little too wild, and I was compelled to listen..
They said talking helped, but we shared more smiles, words lesser spared..remember ?
The lump in his throat did most of the work.. While I got lost in his unshared troubles, i learnt something tonight..

Melting cold nights and rumbling leaves at the height. The swaying trees and the smooth slow breeze..These are the flaws of nature that are meant to make us feel right. But the evil, vicious ones, loneliness and anxiety, are our unborn progenies, and we nurture them with will and pride..they tell us of our existence, of the blood and flesh and the emotions running through our veins.. they make us pop and bleed, through our ears and eyes.. like the dictators back in time.. they eat through us, mummify us for the rest of our lives..
And this stranger in the bus, the man in the black suit..
I finally sense him.. He held my hand, asked me one simple question.
Why do we weep when we lose control ? Why are there storms and tempests inside our tiny hearts? Why do we feel wounded by the ******* loneliness that we create with our own flesh and blood, our own nurturing ? Why are we possessive about this poison that is freezing our blood, one cell at a time..? Yes, anxiety.. why do we let it turn us blue, **** us ?

I could only wonder, how smoothly he filled all the blanks. The blanks inside my gut. The blanks inside my head, the questions that he slapped in my face left red marks, but the ringing in my ears gave me the answer..

How easily could I let this venom out of my nose, with each exhale, I could sense the fumes of the blue escaping, leaving me with the spectrum of all colours but the one..

I see this stranger in the black suit everyday now. Everyday, In my bed, embracing me into sound sleep, in the mirror telling me that I was the prettiest of all, in my thoughts, in my walks, talks and mindful tirades.
The stranger now is a part of me, he camps inside me.. he replaced my poisons and demons..
And now we look out the window together, and smile more often.. the storms seem sorted now and ****** anxiety sits beside me, not inside me..
Aimee Toney Mar 2014
Cerulean sheets
Mummify the memory of your eyes roaming down to catch mine.
Light oak rings dotted black with the door to your soul
What did you see?
Ghosts of those days linger in this house
And I don’t profess to be a medium
But I swear at night I can hear them
Faint footsteps passing quietly back and forth between our doors
Confused
And questioning our distance.
©AimeeToney2014
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
True Sight
Where the rich waters of the Colorado can’t reach in the Sahara if the water disappears you move on
Or perish within days the desert will mummify your body. In the land of the southern Oleander the sun
Continues to break over the San Gabriel Mountains an old breed Cherokee walked into this Mecca the
Envy of the modern world he carried a treasure in a canvas bag written on the side 100 years of service.
Little attention was given one of the famous had written another tell all book. Big news about the news
One of the chosen had been singled out in a fury this wayward humble correspondent would be
Straightened out in quick order from death hunger and thirst they lay in great heaps. Not here among
Mansions Rolls Royse and Sade’s only the finest wheels in the world if you could only drive out of this
World in one how great that would be Elijah had the best fiery chariot horses and a band of angles what
Junkers they settled for. Go out with your heart broken you haven’t spoken to your child in years
Your steps from looking for a high building you will find empty headed over filled lives smothered in
Temporal goods that don’t satisfy then the final stroke of genius they set around and brag about nothing
Look deeper friend objects have no feelings when you hit one of life’s unexpected stone walls funny how
Empty your life really is if you would have bothered to listen it is already recorded life’s true measure
Found beyond the borders of what life consist of those intangibles of the spirit can’t be grasped held or
Displayed as trophies you and I friend are the trophies what a concept you are being fought for one is
A master thief the other died innocently between two thieves to make you truly free. You want to know
Who’s winning just start talking about real issues things that have eternal consequence see the cloud
That covers the otherwise bright and sunny face when eternal matters are discussed no time in a hurry
But then the long black hearse the blur of life has receded your family weeps your true friend who
Looked at you in the framework of earths timely clock always visible to him but made him distant and
Strange to you who was this guy he didn’t share your interest didn’t care about getting ahead he can’t
Be important. There was another who watched the clock the master thief he filled your every waking
Moment with thrills trivial whatever it took his wish just don’t look at the telling truth in the clock
As the tree falls so will it be judged if unrighteous then that is how it will be raised. There are friends and
Enemies in life friends can tread on the sacred part of your soul where no one should be allowed but all
Safe guards were removed by your own worst enemy self. Take this simple test who do you walk with
Are you going in the worn path of least resistance everyone truly speaking earthly sense but what about
That old Cherokee breed and that bag filled with treasure everything in the bag is hated spat upon cost
The life of an unspotted lamb and its contents will secure you a true mansion any takers?
Kat  Jul 2014
Golden Dawn
Kat Jul 2014
I dream of you..
My flawless Apollo
Unable to fathom
Yet easy to follow

In the darkness
I can't tell the King from a pawn
But with the death of a god
Came the first golden dawn

In a permanent sleep
I'm impaled to the bed
The most beautiful dagger
Stabbed me right through the head

Though I'm happy for that
'Cause I think with my heart
Death is but the beginning
When you play with the arts

I untangle the sword
To push you off of me
Could Romeo & Juliette
Still love with a lobotomy?

The answer is yes
I yank the sword from your chest
Then I mummify your body
And cover you in amulets

From the Book of the Dead
I recite you a prayer
    "Your heart is mine
    And it is at rest there."

I lye down beside you
Re-bludgeon myself
From zombie to angel
Into Heaven from Hell

Corpses in a pyramid
What perfect symmetry
Death is short
But love is for eternity
betterdays  Jun 2014
transitory
betterdays Jun 2014
espy me now,
vivify me now,
beautify me now,
satisfy me now,
gratify me now,
tumefy me now,
mollify me  now,
clarify me now,
classify me now,
sanctify me now,
immortalize me now,
deify me now,
rubify me now,
crucify me now,
mummify me now,
reify me now,
codify me now,
ratify me now,
glorify me now,
magnify me now,
mystify me now,
minify me now,
justify me now,
stultify me now,
stupefy me now,
falsify me now,
nullify me now,
villify me now,
vitrify me now,
calcify me now,
ossify me now,
fossilize me,
forget me
and
walk away.

— The End —