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toleomato Jun 6
During the shooting of
Fellini's movie
8 1/2
he had a sign that said
"This is a comedy",
to remind the actors
that it was all a farce.

I feel that perhaps
I am sometimes misunderstood.
All my emotions are tempered,
I exaggerate only for effect.
I can pace myself
in both happiness and
Should I, too, hang the sign,
"This is a comedy"
on every poem I write?
Evie G May 10
Drinking her is a terrible experience
The furious fizz fizzles on your tounge, insisting on its existence in your mouth
The facade of fun from the fucia bottle flickers,
leaving you with clear liquid suffering
It flagrantly fizzes around your mouth, flicking your tastebuds.
It’s funny she says.
Then the facade of fizz fizzles,
You taste hatred
A bitter thirst.
An acrid stench of fear, inflicted on others
An unrelenting
Of equal suffering.

I do not know who made fizzy water,
but i would like to have a chat.
Kool-Aid and calculated risk taking,

A brisk walk on the mild side

Has left you wanting more.

The line is breaking,

But be careful what you fish for.

There’s a knock on the door

And it’s for you,

Yeah, so it’s for you.

I remember stepping into the brine

As you tip tapped the tick tock

To keep it in line.

It was running out of rhyme and time

Was set to trickling

And tickling from inside.

Doris day and Doris night!

The stars about won’t start a fight

If you talk to them like that,

My dear.

Celestial bodies are not fans

Of blood,

And blood breeds bad seeds

That shoot at the moon

Like thieves.

The gull are shook,

Rattling frigid looks,

And the crooks are creeping

Up the hall.

Oh, Doris,

I can see them all,

And they call like crows

In a catered carrion free for all.

As the sun fades

Into its aquatic grave,

I save a test from the ******* past

And, Doris,

You have loaned stones to my

House of glass.

You’ve crashed,

And you’ve bashed,

And you’ve lashed yourself

To a mast

That you aren’t willing to steer.

In this instance,

I can still hear the bruising pier,

Cheering and jeering,

Until it believed its last.
This is part one in a ten part narrative poem. The whole thing tells the story of some unidentified incident, a nasty time in an unknown person's life. Doris may be many things. Doris may be nothing.
Randy Johnson Apr 30
I'm an ex-prizefighter and my name is Glass Joe.
If you're wondering if I could win fights, the answer is no.
I got my *** kicked by a shrimp and his name is Little Mac.
I got knocked out in the first round when that boy attacked.
I'm called Glass Joe because my jaw is made of glass.
It was humiliating because anybody could kick my ***.
People laugh at my losses and it's something I resent.
I happen to be Glass Joe Biden and I'm the President.
I run America but I sure can't take a punch.
If you hit me in my stomach, I'll lose my lunch.
I lied to everybody when I said that I came from France.
I got *** whippings in the ring, I never stood a chance.
Even old women could knock me out and I'm not a fighter anymore.
If Americans learn that I lost ninety-nine fights, I won't win in 2024.
This poem was inspired by the Punch-Out video game
Daivik Apr 23
If you believe in flat earth
Read on
If not
Be gone, thoughts.

Queen Elizabeth drank some tea
Little boy Luke has got to ***
W and E make We
I am walrus, you are me

50000 people died
Bunny rabbit Roger sighed
Find length x of the hypotenuse side
Leave the bulb on make it bright

Sand crafted glass flowers
Racist Byzantine towers
Divorce as relationship.sours
Home great female powers

Morbidly obese
Dinosyus reads
California dreams

Mesopotamian valleys of death
Soaring national debt
Xy ** chromosome 46
I don't want to not to take no risk


Ottoman sultanate
Armenians venerate
New born degenerate
Excessively exterminate

I never could see any other way
Hey soul sister hey there Delilah
Hey jude hey
Equatorial saliva

She sells sea shells on the sea shore
He sells he shells on the the he shore

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ட்ஜ்கம் Vலப்பிக்கவபி ஜே. கோக். ஸ்யுஜ்ஜிடு பின்Iஈக்வயஜ் Nராவ் உப பியூன்Xஊ

Yo John Cena
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Evie G Mar 22
The time would be 3:00, had it not been hidden behind the countdown
The wavering vrrrrrrrrrrrrr of the microwave is not enough to wake
The naive parental mind, causing the ideal image to break
The ping
Of the microwave waits
Torn between warmth and fear
It is this moment when the panic sets in,
for the door


the miniature metallic square
The pop of door
The stench of soggy noodles

And so she is safe

Until another 3:00
Hey there,
Playing with space a bit with, yk, for funzies. Any comments much appreciated
I threw my cigarette in your luggage
Thinking it was trash
How was I supposed to know
That you had become so attached
To belongings in a case
That will eventually disintegrate?
Turning my grandad’s hilarious misdoings into philosophy. He can’t see very well. Tried to throw his cigarette out in my aunt’s carry on.
Ps Forbes Dec 2020
We are all nerds just looking for the right glasses to wear,
the right pants to lift,
the right tie to bear,
and the right book to pick.
Andrea Lee Bolt Dec 2020
farts are demons
making art

let evil rip

Squeaker Pimps
Pooder Shrimps

lift a cheek
hear a glimpse

top Cheese Charts

in texas, cheap gas
cali, makes you pay out the ***
Believe it or not this is a spiritual poem. My Poppy was not only an amazing enlightened grandfather who flew P38s in WWII he was also the funniest light I ever met. the man also had a profound affinity for flatulence. He would even take a recording device into the bathroom and then listen back later on his own laughing hysterically and the music his ***** would make. While asking my guides about a pov on all this challenging energy in the world this came through as I lie here in bed this am. Imagining Poppy is visiting, bringing more light to my world as he knows how best. Using a filter over the evil making it ridiculous helps take its power away. Farts aren’t evil of course it means your body is working! I’m so grateful for my morning gas as it means I have a functioning body, I’m alive and healthy! Love you all! Mean it! We are one.
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