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Julie Grenness Jul 2015
Are all footy fanatics
Total raving lunatics?
The flag's in the bag!
We've got lively lads
The best we've ever had!
Peter Pans on ***,
The flags that time forgot!
Footy finals fever,
Talk about dream weavers!
Footy finals phobia,
TV claustrophobia,
Why didn't we win,
Any old excuse again!
Footy fanatics,
Raving lunatics,
Footy finals fever,
Melbourne's dream weavers!
(And we wouldn't have it any other way!!) Feedback welcome.
Jessica Evans  Dec 2014
Finals
Jessica Evans Dec 2014
Twas the night before finals
And all through the dorms
Not a student was sleeping
Not even a nerd
Everyone sat with their books
And their coffee
Cramming until they
Thought they would burst

When 4AM struck
A sigh could be heard
As finally the students
Put down their heads
For at this point in time
Not a **** did they give
For an A or an F
It didn’t matter
Unemployment was inevitable
And sleep was a given.
College finals will **** me
Ashleigh Black  Apr 2014
Finals
Ashleigh Black Apr 2014
My head is lacking
the capacity to think
in straight lines and squares.
I hate finals week. **** me now.
John F McCullagh  Jan 2012
Finals
John F McCullagh Jan 2012
Remember our high school finals-
the proctors, attentive, alert.
They roamed the aisles like policemen;
on the lookout for cheaters and flirts.

I was an enigma to them;
in some classes, first honors, hands down.
In others I ranked near the bottom;
acting, you’d say, the class clown.

I mention those long ago days
as I’m facing a final of sorts.
I’ve taken the medical tests-
Now I wait in my robe and my shorts.

This new proctor gives me the creeps
with his scythe and his hooded black gown,
but he’s sure to command my attention
when he tells me to put my pen down
Not to worry, I passed.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i love women, don't get me wrong, i finally succumbed
to watching the female world cup,
since the lionesses reached the semi-finals
against u.s.a., but the man in me just kept thinking:
yeah yeah, great footie, but those beauties...
where's martin keown, i need to look at
a mugshot of a brute, i can't concentrate
on the skill without a girl that looks like
martin keown... oh god... alex morgan...
              julie ertz... steph houghton...
   don't get me started on the swedish team...
    wimbledon has also started...
                    i do enjoy female tennis more than
the male variation of serve-**** tactic...
or the terminator that's serena williams...
     cori "coco" gauff... wow...
                i wish she would win the championship
and replicate martina hingis wimblendon 1996...
problem... she's under 16...
so she's only allowed to play 5 matches
in the tournament... and what if she wins
the 5th? that's the quarter-finals...
7 to win the tournament... the rules should be bent,
she should be able to continue...
end of an era... the dinosaurs are being chased
by the younglings...
prof. green (roger federer) still has it in him...
but... well he is a professor of tennis...
his style? his backhand? immaculate "conception"...
who played as well as he does?
roger sampras... the list is very short...
but i don't have a problem watching woman's
tennis, it's so much better than the brute strength
of the serve akin to the game played
by: ivanišević, rusedski, roddick, čilić (chy-lea-'c -
piquant, that acute c)...
   n'ah... in terms of tennis?
i think the males are over-rated,
                except for the prof. of grass court...
i do love women... apart from the nostalgia
for primary school playground banter with
the girls: when we still had an asexual
sense of it... before all the **** jokes,
before the greatest schism in ether of existence:
beyond the religious and in the biological realm...
o.k.: i tease... which is something a prepubescent
girl would understand:
   if i was also a prepubescent boy...
times, have, changed...
i'm with ms. amber and ginger ale,
cigarettes and a decent soundtrack...
               i still don't want to understand incels...
i listen to them, but then i reach a limit...
thank god i didn't lose my virginity to a *******...
but... if you have to?
         isabella of grenoble...
               a fine fine catch...
          mind you... have you ever been
to an 18 year old's birthday party,
   and it was not what you were used to,
i.e.: bal samców / cockfest?
   this 18 year old's birthday party?
  my friend ian tagged along for about an hour
or two... then he suddenly bailed on me...
i was the only male... among... um....
20 or so girls...
              why, the, ****, are, muslims,
blowing themselves, up,
for a reward of 72, virgins?! eh?! can anyone
please please tell me?!

no brainer question(s)
   (as dictated by h'american girls in venise):
the beatles or the rolling stones -
to be honest? neither.

   top three songs with the bass guitar
setting the rhytm:
   1. tool - forty six & two
  2. the offspring - bad habit
3. róże europy - kości czerwone, kości czarne...

roy orbison or elvis? m'hahaha... royo...

  a lot has happened since i attended that
18 year old's birthday party...
why are muslim men so eager to entertain
eternity with 72 virgins?
      will they be keeping them virgins
or what? that would be the best way
to not move past kissing and oral ***...
once 3rd base is entered: the third eye
of transgender shiva opens up...
    
              why did solomon give up his harem
for the monotheistic monogamy associated
with the queen of Sheba?
   beyond one, what good is a harem?
if you've never been around 25 or so virgins...
you really don't know what you're talking...
or getting yourself into...
                    herrdildomaschinekopf...
look, i just changed the background to show
you i'm not lying:
  that evening i came home: ex-haus-ted...
did i spend the past few hours in
the company of teenage girls or was i being
ripped apart by a pack of wolves / hyennas...
and you know how drunk teenage girls
behave... you're shreds... they're competing
like it's both the 100m sprint and the marathon
cooked up into one!

i really could have chosen a different path:
***** ***** all year round...
   well, why didn't i, why did i become
voluntarily "celibate"?
            as much as might want the company
of the opposite ***: picking up a thai surprise
bisexual in the park one day...
******* her in the garden...
   walking her home while she drowned
in my jacket... she telling me i should stop
drinking... now... drinking...
i was taught to listen to rules under the arch
of pedagogy... now? i'll be as stubborn as
i am expected to be...
i don't like being told what to do,
thank you for telling me to do for the first
21 years of my life...
  now? welcome to the plateau!
even the best advice is the worst advice
after a certain period of time...
do i look like a ******* puppett that will
listen to such things: oh, but if you don't
do x, you'll become homeless...
   i've met some happy homeless people...
one even told me why he became homeless:
'my mother told me to never lie'...

i don't even think these jihadis know what
they're getting into,
wishing up 72 celestial virgins...
i'll take to the count of "72" valkyrie serving
me drinks than expecting me to **** them,
and the eternal library of text and music...
don't get me wrong...
receiving attention from women:
esp. those younger than you,
while they're intoxicated: it is fun...
but when it comes to the sort of
intimacy of a relationship with a women,
when she starts to read you the cosmopolitan
magazine's questionnaire as to whether
she's the perfect girlfriend /
you're the perfect boyfriend /
   you're a perfect couple?
i love women outside the realm of a molten
heart... i don't like finding myself
vulnerable...

              am i missing out on something?
oh i know i am...
but it's like owning a car:
great! you own a car!
             "mobility"...
  but you also own car insurance...
the m.o.t. payments and spare parts...
and washing the car on the weekend...
oh i'm so jealous!

  what's that famous saying?
women... can't live with them,
  can't live without them...
       well... more like: can live without them,
but much harder to live without them
and stop wanting them...
whatever glimpses i've had of past
relationships: i sober up even if i'm drunk...
she didn't want to split the restaurant bill...
this "modern thing": feminism,
my "toxic masculinity"...
  whatever, whatever...
                   i guess i'll have to end
on a note superstitious of a teenage girl's whim...
i'm bored, the end.

_______

.now i have a fox, without a leash, that i tend to feed everyday... keep feeding him, or her, lamb fat, cat food synthetics, and once in a while a frankfurter... and the Polacks you minded so much? only attacked ****** night0club owners... made plums and figs out of their faces... bulging and caress worthy... same ****, different cover, with the easy girls of Liverpool and Newcastle... back down in London? the story goes: she's an exchange student from New Hampshire... riddled by the madonna-***** complex... and i'm not really adamant adamant on stealing the cherry... if you've ever ****** aa ******? one, is enough...  i'd sooner become ****** up by a ******* tornado... and giggle... dying with a half breath... before plummeting face down onto the hearth; watching daisies, growing, roots up!

i've had one irish migrant educate me:
you know...
there are plenty of neo-nazis
in Poland...  
       and? am i one of them?
   liked him, a high school friend...
i'm sorry the friendship ended...
so i am?
   **** me... better i brush up on
reading some Heidegger!
         oh look 'ere i go...
        can't stop me now...
unless befriending Pakistanis
who have kept a null of Urdu...
              because you know...
   if there's a culture that's integrating,
and doesn't,
   have the honor, capacity,
to keep in line its origins?
no problem...  not worth it...
           people who do not retain their
skeleton -
their basics -
  their language -
   they, "magically" lose it...
half-castes... half-people...
   no pride in an origin,
   not upkeep with a language?
might as well call your mother a,
*******, *****!
      ****** by an antiques dealer!
******.
      no pride in origin,
  no subsequent pride in a "return"
on foreign soil...
   plethora of antagonizing Islam...
good look...
    i have mine,
but i hide it...
      ex-girlfriend -
almost took a ride on one of those
buses in the 7/7 bombings...
     what?!
               guess what...
i'm an ex-pat...
  i know that you wouldn't call
your similar genetics of
a "family" an ex-pat
and neither a migrant or an immigrant...
   (economics comes later,
doesn't it?) -
  but i'm sure the english
are loved up with Hindu grannies
and their grandchildren
taking them to the doctors to
translate symptoms...
   fine by me... you do the math...
   apparently i'm not speaking
English, but? ******* Urdu!
         no problem...
thank god i never allowed myself
a pledge of allegiance to the people,
rather, the language they spoke...
the language is all i pledge my
allegiance to... and for...
the queen... and her people?
        **** it... shooting albatrosses
off the shoreline of Cornwall...
attempting to spot
  porky Siamese twins...
        one does the eating,
the other does the oral ***...
             what?!
             i have not pledged any allegiance
to the english people...
  they love their **** curry
and their Afghan foot-soldiers...
   i'm doing the Pontius Pilate
washing of hands...
   which is a secondary theater of
a baptism...
                      no...
no allegiance to the people....
but the language?
   i'd give my life for it...
           the people are not exactly
the main ingredient in terms
of existential coordinates -
but the language is...
    on a per se basis mingling with
the appropriate focus.
Omar Kawash Aug 2014
In a hammock
On the eve of final exams
There is a scent of caffeine coursed bodies pacing
the distances of Starbucks and the library,
an unusual sight at eleven at night

There is peace
In the fraternity- I think begins with a Sigma-
running around playing a vicious thirty person game of tag
Yeah, I witnessed that wipeout and it was hilarious

There is heat condensed around the height of brains
Struggling to realize dreams that require
Busy work man! It's just like six hours of nonstop busy work
The guy on the bench behind me whined out cooling breath of brown leaves

There is energy in the fractal jungle above
The towering umbrellas of Palm trees which grant me the magic of hovering
I see through waving leaves Orion's Belt.
The light pollution overpowers his body but
he reminds me that there is more in the astral world

Ibis scour the ground
Some would read the tea leaves
that bravest of birds has crossed my path
And I will survive the tests that I allow to define possibilities in life

There is closure to my left
Two girls in a hammock, bodies combined like a turtle in a shell
Only they know what goes on inside,
and all I witness is the harmony that the trials that students go through that unites
I wrote this last final exam season (Spring 2014). I decided it's worthy time to post it as my last day as an undergrad with my last final today. Cheers to the best years of my life. May you see the beauty in challenges too.
EDIT: Spring 2015 finals are upon students. And UM had the audacity to remove the hammocks that were so representative of finals season. Now, they have bean bags. This now feels more like an elegy for a time that once was. Ending my possible rant here.
jayson m  May 2014
Finals
jayson m May 2014
**** **** ****
What the **** is this
the **** is that
Dear jesus someone send help
Ah yes, finals are next week and I am woefully unprepared
Ben  Dec 2011
finals
Ben Dec 2011
the moon
                 is no longer
                                     a bright
                                                  silver  ­
                                                           sphere
                                                                ­       in the sky
rather a muddy brown circle
                                                  at the bottom of my coffee cup
while stars
                   that used to
                                       dance
                                                  throughout the heavens
instead play behind
                                    the lids
                                                 of my
tired
bloodshot
eyes
       and
            dawns first light brings
                                                     not
                                                      joy,
nor hope,
nor relief
but stings
                 the nerves and
                                           ushers forth

regret

            at a night's lost rest
                                              on edge from minutes
of sleep my
                     weary mind wonders




*why oh why does it have to be finals week?
Michael Siebert  Jan 2013
Finals
Michael Siebert Jan 2013
I pierced my septum
with a magic bullet.
Is Texas really the reason
the president’s dead?
I’d give anything for a scotch
despite never having had one.
I loaded my gun with Pall Malls
and shot my brother dead in the woods.
That ******* is the Able
to my Cain,
the scissors to my paper.
Pap has no son.
**** Huckleberry,
lying *******.
I scratched my *** with steel wool.
I drew blood,
(in pencil haw haw)
I’m tired,
despite being well-rested.
I ****** everyone in Gomorrah
over spring break.
Add salt to my pillar.
And you say I’m *******
immature.
Get loaded
in Bozeman.
I hate that you hate me.
The KKK wasn’t
this spiteful.
Dying on a burning cross,
I confess my sins
to Richard Dreyfuss
and ******* on
Judas.
He wipes it off
with the Shroud of Turin
but the streak is still there.
I sold my brand and licensing rights
for thirty pieces of silver.
I ******* came on Judas.
I never did anything to you
that you didn’t do to me.
My dad is bigger than
yours.
I’d abort myself
just to get a reaction.
I’m going to hell,
but at least I’ll finally eat
at the cool kids’ table.
I’m done fighting
with people I don’t speak to.
So how about you just hit me,
you just
*******
hit
me.
I’ll launch into whatever the **** I want.
I’ll ******* SOAR,
like a ******* 747,
I’ll **** birds into my engines
and spray their guts wherever
I please,
because I’m finally done being manipulated.
****, I don’t think
I even started.

— The End —