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An aging circus troupe
wearing shoes with concrete soles
dancing on a sheet of broken glass.

An elephant chewing peanut shells
with bells, maracas and whistles
hanging from it’s elongated ears.

A songstress whose voice is lost
singing “Over The Rainbow”
while her lapdog barks the chorus.

An out of tune electric keyboard piano
autoplaying the “Macarena” at full volume
while a toilet flushes in the background.

Two seagulls fighting for a french fry
while the toddler who dropped it
screeches “******!” in the backseat of a Ford Pinto.

All fall short in comparison
to the sound above my head
coming from my noisy neighbours.
Emerson Oct 5
Things that annoy me

1: parents telling you what to do
2: parents telling you that they wouldn't do something bad to you when they already did
3: parents telling you who to talk to
4: parents saying things that make you feel insecure even though they say they don't mean it  
5: ****** politions
6: racists
7: homophobic people
8: people who preach too much
9: killers or murders
10: close minded people
11: death
12: ****** people
13: people who aren't obvious
14: people who yell too much
14: people who try to stop you from being yourself
15: Favouritism with children
16: people who write lists of what annoys them
Sorry just needed to vent
standing there with my
feet planted on the ground
and my arms crossed;
my somber eyes are
resting heavily upon
the sounds of the
monotone voice
and teeth chattering
from my cohorts
mouth jabbering
in my tone-deaf ears.

he takes his red hot poker
and tries to brand
my brain with his
autobiography of dishonesty
as if I were livestock

but the mechanics of my
body can only take so
much as I tune him out
and escape to the attic
of my mind where I string
up lights, find and open
the trunks of creativity
and pull out a binding of
blank pages to begin
working the poem
as the extension cord
and the light socket begin
******* like crazy and the
lights light up the attic
so festively with ideas
until he’s approaching
the end of his fabricated
story and my psyche
hits me like a low blow
to Houdini and I
simply nod in silence,
shrug my shoulders
and keep my humor
dry and normal
as it appears to be.

how can I survive this
grueling way of life and
what will become of me?

if the choice was mine
to choose between
the most interesting knife
and the bullet of boredom…

I’d take the slow death any day.

poetry is floating all around us
in any situation,
some sit on mountainsides
and watch beautiful
landscapes
to find it,
mine just happens to be
in a boiler room of
insufferable ****
and that’s why
when I write
I have to make
it count

but if your control is exerted
and your impulses are restrained
to keep reality and surrealism
separated while surrounded by
people in numbers like
winter snowflakes

then you’ve got more will power
than all the hookers on Rush St.
making easy money.
rob kistner Aug 30
(on hearing a mouse under the bed)
_

where do you come from
little guy

you
here
alone
under our bed

what are you doing
waking us from our sound sleep

what is your intention
what’s under there that’s so interesting

perhaps a morsel of snacks-in-bed
maybe a wayward snip of thread

certainly your intention is not to hide
not scratch scratch scratching on the frame
like you are

maybe it’s just your nervous tick

oh wow
I get it now
my constant leg twitch
my wife’s annoyance

but then
there’s her incessant tapping with her pen
marriage is nothing if not tolerance

but her sister
really
****** hard to believe she’s from her family

and you
down there
where do you come from
where is your little house
mouse

you’re lucky you know
you’ve been pardoned tonight
granted a reprieve

my wife loves critters
critters all
large and small

she thinks you’re cute
she thinks you’re funny
she thinks you’re innocent

though you and me
we know better don’t we

but tonight
you picked right
the right house
little mouse
the right bed to be under
to pursue your plunder

you’re safe

…for now

_


rob kistner © 2008
(revisions © 2018)
We lived for 25 years outside Portland, Oregon, in the foothills if the Cascade Mountains.  Field mouse were regular visitors at season's change.
A decade ago I wrote this little ode to our mouse friends.
Last night, I caught sight of one for the first time in the three years we've lived here in civilization. So I pulled this little ditty out, tightened it up - here it is...
Ivy lynn Aug 1
when will you learn/
money doesn’t buy love/
and sit & notice/
I’m sick and tired of/
this life we live/
I’m now passive/
to all these words/
that I’ve heard/
from here on out/
I will not rout/
goodbye to the girl/
who once was/
hello to the woman/
who now rises above/
             july
hate people sometimes
Lyn-Purcell Jul 27
The world is dumbed down, dark
with roads made of glass for
which we caused and keep
One little mistake, one
little *****, people
will throw stones
and laugh and
point when
you
F
a
  l
    l
Nowadays we have to be perfect and correct about everything or else you get backlashed.
I just find it ridiculous because WE AREN'T PERFECT!
Sheesh... You wanna throw stones at others but you hate it when people do it to you.
eli Jul 26
it's just so sad
he's different
                but all he wants is to fit in
he's funny
                but he thinks his jokes are annoying
he's friendly
                but he thinks no one really wants to be friends with him
he's cute
                but he thinks he's not
he's amazing
                but he doesn't believe that
                he doesn't believe that he's worth it
                he doesn't believe something good will ever happen to him
it's just so sad
Bea Mecum Jul 22
Get the **** out my way
*******
I think I need to have a cigarette
Don't you know
it's ****** like you
that really **** me off
Could you cover your mouth
*******
it seems like something died in there
words from you
make me consider suicide
Get the **** out my face
*******
I think I might just have a few of them
Just to be sure
that our paths
don't meet again
Get the **** out my mind
*******
maybe I'll just take real small hits
Just to be sure
that our paths
don't meet again
chloe fleming Jul 13
hungry, i breathe into the veins of your neck
and with my tongue, i taste your flesh.
hot breath stains your skin,
as i run my hands over your porcelain body.
hungry, i tear into you.
as you moan for more,
i know that i have won.
you will be begging
and i will be leaving.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 6
You don't have morals
'cause you seek validation
Is that important?
I hate people who chose validation over morals.
NOTHING is more important than your morals, especially not having the validation of others.
Is nothing sacred anymore?
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