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All those games of Duck Duck Goose
I'm the one you never choose
The geese before me couldn't catch you
You're scared to choose me because of what I'll do
I will run faster than ever
Just to be with you "forever"
Please choose me, give me a chance
Just let me hold your hand
Two lovesick wood ducks,
On a large, blue lake alone;
Till darkness separates!
Justyn Huang Sep 18
You shout at the void
and wait for the echo
but like a duck's quack
nothing comes back

(why is the duck not quacking)
I cannot hear it though
I know its beak is moving

And we keep shouting
at the day

A duck quacks back
This was my first absurd poem
Henry Koskoff Jul 10
Crimson curtains opening and closing and draping over a cliff say:
          it’s showtime
          (or lights going on and off).

Let’s go through the alphabet and use alliteration:
          Daffy Duck, Porky Pig,
          (or other creatures getting hurt tonight).

I hope and dream that their hopes and dreams have plummeted like their bodies:
          by the wayside
          (or waist-side, or waste-side, or cliffside)—

low tide that surges shores like the seamstress from New Zealand:
          those Kiwis,
          (or feijoas, or passionfruit).

But passion don’t matter to us folks, and neither do kangaroos! We have our own hops:
          Pabst Blue Ribbon draining in sad funnels
          (or Bud Light, a treasure).

Second is the best, but Third is the one with that treasure chest in his ****** palm:
          not even knowing what to do
          (or how to act).

Are you serious, bro? It’s called a shotgun! Shoot it with my key:
          pop the cap to release pent-up pressure
          (or you can just chug normally).

Choo-choo trains chug, Thomas and me, little plastic wheels in hot pursuit:
          I know you can do it
          (or my name’s not Percy),

as I violently consume swizzle sticks before the sepia glow of:
          That’s all, folks!
          (Or is it?)
Rick Feb 25
There is a cat in my home, and slowly it has grown fatter from feasting on food that I own.
I go to work every day, so theres no possible way that this cat could look for pray.
Yet still, somehow, when I return, he's stuffed.
Belly filled with pizza crust he looks as if he'll bust.
Somehow he finds a way outside, where he roams to neighbors homes to fill up on old turkey bones.
Second breakfast and for lunch this hungry cat would munch, till diner came, then the game would change and just like that this cat would be back.

In the morning when I leave, this cat would beg that I come home with fishes. The begging grew bad, so I'de do exactly as she wishes. Heres the trouble: I feed her once, shes still hungry, so i feed her double. Hours of  her mighty meow. Her, just sitting there constantly, bellowing just like a cow, until I provide her with her chow. Now, I tried feeding her less and getting her to run but Im just competing with my stress when that cats not having fun. She would sit and moan, Oh the noises she'd groan as Ide remove her from the cushion she had claimed as her thrown.

After this cat had Disowned me, I had learned just like that, that infact it was actualy the cat who had owned me. See cats are a beast of nature, there a creature that can not be tampered. So when theyve been pampered and foods been delivered, you can bet a strong bet that this cat will expect to be treated with the  best packaged liver from a duck that Wal-Mart can deliver.
I bite my ******* room full of strangers.

Widen my lungs. Then swallow my pride.

I know my place. Where I'm safe and I'm sorry.

Behind my face is where it all stays.

And I don't feel nervous. Except for at night.

It's not like I'm ceding.

Just biding my time.

I don't feel angry.


Everything's nothing to me.

Everything's nothing to me.

Anything's something to me.

Everything's nothing to me.

I guess I struck gold.

My sense for suppression.

At least I've been told.

Humble and cold.

And I don't feel angry. Except at myself.

It's all self protection.

Just good for my health.

I don't feel nervous.


Everything's nothing to me.

Everything's nothing to me.

Anything's something to me.

But nobody's everything to me.
Bleurose Dec 2017
Your soul calls out to me, did Lethe make us forget? Who we were to each other?
Who are you?

It matters not, I reached you too late and our souls entwine, fingertips brush.. but I can never cross the ocean between us.

Despite all my words, all my 'wisdom' - my temper gets me into trouble.

I told you I wasn't good.
I told you that people would fail you, we both knew.
Yet you opened up because we asked and it was a *****, a slither of who you are.

But it was enough, it was enough.
I'm sorry I failed you. You should never trust anyone - but I wanted to be one of your exceptions.
zebra Nov 2017
she had a tattoo
of a duck
on her ***

I ****** the duck*
adult explicit ***
for duck lovers only
Temporal Fugue Sep 2017
I've been killin canards for years
just beneath my feet
poisoning co-workers, peers
my stepping quiet, fetid, fleet

I've spoke before, about my predilection
a minefield, repugnant mentality
my sordid malodorous, addiction

Departing fast, leaving silently
passing odor laden gas
perfectly, anonymously

So ware the hallways
and the conference rooms
for my air puanteur bouquet
breathing in the fumes
of perfumery de moufette
Yup, just another **** poem.
I love how french can make any word smell like roses ;D
shåi Jul 2017
little rubber ducky,
with your wailing shrieks
of tiny squeaks
erupt out of me
a coven of mice
gasping for air

i am like you
little rubber ducky
soundlessly musing
ignored by the world

the water ricohets
around me
surrounding me
a translucent trove --
my dark chasm

i am like you
little rubber ducky,
stuck in my little white bowl
air ****** out of me --
a body that never felt
i am here
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