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Kevin J Taylor Sep 2017

bowng b boawng


Hey ng ng-ng b-ba-wnng Hey!

HeyowngHeyboangdeclick (SHiNGHey!)
Heyang-b-bang-c-dlick bongHey!
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
**** men burning their bay leaves
in pots of static gardens
underneath all this cement
your past is looking at you indecently
so change the words around you
you can shift their meaning
its all a game and no-one's winning
your tired emotions accent your poetry
umbrellas are scars that carry symphonies in their hearts
you held my hand as we welcomed god back into our skylines
her face is as familiar as the stars
we originated from
with ulcers open in quiet hurting
your youth are wordless and distrustful of angst ridden authority
in unsuspecting situations love’s vacation is ending
her wedding gown got quite *****
since she literally spent her entire honeymoon
wandering idly into banks of muddy water
humanity is worthy of justice and sweaty romance
i breathe your flesh into my bottle
and we take boundless walks upon the clouds
that straddle mountains, graveyards and cemeteries
fresh from wading in the rice fields
i peeled you a ripe banana
under pressure your sweater came off
and revealed a perfect metric for us to emulate
your eye sockets are two umbilical chords
and your voice is a curved sword that cuts through fear
like the moon slices through the sky
i have held all of this inside for far too long
and now it comes shattering forth
spilling itself over every page
every letter an escapade almost as long
as an Eskimo's pilgrimage to safety
TD  Jul 14
Shallow Pots
TD Jul 14
Opalescent emotions/thoughts riotous
tossed like drowsy eyed flora
in dove-eyed bed sheets
their nuances silken edged
and cool to the touch.

Sunlight drives winks of promise
the beckoning beam
a gossip mongers wicked tongue
as tortured petals/seeds
share their space
so indiscreetly.

Boasting a spider creed
a web of delicate mazes
that twist and choke
the mixed bouquet
struggles for forbearance
and composure.

Ahh you are a funny bunch
eager to burst forth
without a root to bear
beautiful in your swilling path
unsubstantial at best..

And yet you bloom so beautifully
the experience untamed
and I am quite fond of it.

Blossoms no matter how reckless
leave behind sweet dreams to be desired.

And I am all about dreams.
solar Feb 8
I stole pots of coffee from my mother's jade-like kitchen, for I was too scared to sleep. Time flew faster than light, and I withheld cries that could shatter all my favourite mugs. I wanted to drown myself in the tar-like liquid, spare myself the hole that gutted my soul; in the morning

. Time was not a friend of mine, he was an old friend that grew to hate me. He abhorred the nocturnals for they kept him awake, and did not let him feast on the slumbers of many. However, he would try to ****** his victims with an old lover; sleep. I hated him and tried to prey away from him but he was always ahead of me; soon I once again become a victim of him and sleep.


I awoke, my lamp from last
night still on

Oh no

I feel HIM crawl all over me

I feel HIM

HIS scent clouds my head

I am anxious, but HE shoves it all in a gift box and kicks it deep within my heart

I can't gasp, I can't scream, I can't cry

I just lay there with a collar that says HIS

My calendar wanting to explode, but HE wants to furthermore  eradicate joy and me

Time comes,  a smirk visible on his dull face because not only is sleep seducing me, but HE is here. Time knows I am defeated and I am nothing  

It is now three am and  I have done nothing but commit the sin of gluttony

my room is a mess again


Do you recall when you were a kid, or even now when you would have too much of a certain spice your heart would sting? well picture that with some daggers that strike through your chest

That is anxiety

I breathe, it hurts

I feel like my lungs will collapse

I can't utter a word, for I might cry and it would hurt

''tomorrow will be worse'', I whisper to myself

So I drown myself in stolen coffee pots, to avoid the coming of tomorrow

And I sit there and hate myself, but mainly I hate him because he did this to me

Depression did this to me.
Agony washes all over me because depression is lethal

Michael John Aug 2018
we can sell the pots and pans
and we can sell the green bean
always the man must eating..
but the soul like a desert land

need love like the flower rain..

man can make the  telephone
and yet still remain all alone
we are always communicating..
cause the heart like a sad refrain

needs to hold a loving hand..

we are  clever all said and done
silence will testament lone moon
the light of a thousand suns in
the ending:

the last touch of woman and man..
Nassif Younes Mar 2016
You know what?
**** your mortgage
And your four wheel drive
With its blah blah mileage
And blah blah blah long hard cylinders
And your newly painted lounge
Passionate Purple and Mellow Magenta
Blah blah blah
And your giant flower pots
And your five hundred channels
And your grand piano
That nobody plays
And your recliner sofas
And your perfectly square
Family photos
And your walk in wardrobe
And your cufflinks
And your **** toys
And your big *******
God ****** I hate consumerism
Knit Personality Mar 2015
I need it when I wake at dawn
   And when I wake at noon;
I need it when I wake and yawn
   Beneath a silver moon.

And then my thirst cannot be slaked:
   I drink a couple pots,
(Or more if, when I waked, I baked
   And downed a couple shots.)

And never dare you give to me
   A cup of voltless Joe!
You'll quake with fear to watch and see  
   The hissy-fit I'll throw!

Coffee, I say!  Give me a cup!
   And fill it to the brim!
Give me a cup!  I'll drink it up
   With vigor, verve, and vim!

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