J Klein Nov 2017

Hi, I'm Sad, the poem.

You've never read me before?
Well, I'm not all that deep
And... my words are a bore
I'm not full of life's mysteries
Woe is me, I'm not smart!
And my my best friend (heaven help him) Is a poem titled, simply, "Fart"

Anyway, I'm in the midst of an existential life crisis!
For, as far as prose goes, I'm surely one of the nicest
I never rally your tears, instead I
coax out a smile (I've no formal style)
I blame it all on my mother (she beat me as a child)

My rhyme is too clean, with rhythm and flow!!!
It's a total disgrace, believe me!
I know.
And the worst part of all is I've tried to be cool
like the profound and deep poems; the popular prose in school

I've climbed every mountain; every chasm and valley
Searched hither and yon (is that deep?) in the darkest back alley
Posted up in a Starbucks, reading a paperback Poe collection
But even Edgar couldn't save me from this depth-less dejection

I made a new pen from porcupine quill and bird feather
Put my words  in a book wrapped in bi-color leather
I've hung out with hipsters who sport elbow patch blazers!
I even bought myself a pour-o'er coffee maker

To my throat, I once held a big butter knife
And wept as I pondered taking my life
But still, no strife from that knife did inspire
The depth and subtext, Sad, the poem, desires

Desperate, I broke up with my girlfriend, my wife and my lover!
Hoping loneliness would birth the deep form found in others
I've read every master in search of dark prose
Yet it made me a hack; I use words no one knows

I've  held my heart to the sun
Dressed in black
Cried for days
But no depth did I find
Only whimsical ways
What's left?!
              I change
                    The way that
                            I look on this page!?

A H Butler Nov 2017

I loathe to appear boring
but I am.

Mesmerising reflections
Sordid depths pried
for a sliver of truth.
Geometric shells
Fenestrative awakening
enrapt you non-somnambulant.

I find attraction no longer active.
It must be an affirmation
I’m unsure of what
Perhaps never to know.

© A H Butler
Nateive Son Feb 2017

+Dedicated to Daniel "The Denver Connection" Steven Moskowitz,+

You gotta believe me,

I blazed a j with Jeffy Sessions,
But the bastard will never admit it.

It was some real good,
Colorado Kush,
14% THC and 7% CBD,
So our thoughts were all over the place.

I started "Lost Boys,"
By the Deathy Gripz,
And he loosened his belt.

He told me about growing up,
In the most biodiverse state in the nation,
Eating nothing but white bread,
And his papa,
Never luvin' him.

His big bug eyes popped out,
And he got down on his knees,
Praising Jehovah,
Pretending like he was gobbling the cock,
Of the Kochy Bros,
And told me of his visions,
Floating over the Rockies,
Toward the Alabama pine lands.

"We're gonna get 'em all,
Nateive Son,
We're gonna arrest all the weed smokers,
And those fucking hippies,
Those gas protestors,
Compost faggots and,

He fondled his cufflinks.

Them eyes were blazing red like some sort of,
Lumberjack let loose in the Home Depot garden section,
And for a minute I thought I saw Lucifer,
But then I realized,
It was simply the duality of man.

Inside of all of us,
Rattlin' against the cage.

I was hooting the entire time,
Tape recorder in hand,
Wondering if this was good enough for Assange,
Or just to keep,
For my private enjoyment.

In the end,
It became a bizarre poem,


It's such a long way,

Jeffy's Jam: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWNdjEafof8
Julie Grenness May 2016

Here's some homework howlers,
By hilarious pupil terrors,
"An octopus has eight testicles."
Did I read that with my spectacles?
"Mozart sailed to Vietnam." For how long?
Why is there a clavichord in the Mekong?
"Rome is now in Africa." Do tell,
Didn't you learn map-reading too well?
"Mummy and Daddy's fave place is bed."
Do your parents really want this read?
Are these mud-coloured glasses, or what?
How did I survive teaching this lot?
It's hard to take them too serious,
Homework howlers, hilarious!

Darbilina Feb 2016

He is probably the best and worst person you have ever known.
Some days he is the most amazing person you will ever talk to and the next he is punching you in the arm and calling you ugly as fuck.
He has many flaws, just as everyone does, but what he lacks in subtlety and kindness he makes up for in humor and perfectly timed ignorance.
He could make you pee laughing, then 10 minutes later have you crying in the bathroom stalls at school.
He can make you feel wanted, respected, beautiful, important, desired, funny, kind, altogether amazing, and take it all away with one word.
He is the most important person in your life, even when he is telling you that you're a piece of shit and making you hold back the tears because you don't wanna show the weakness that he wants to see.
You know he is probably the worst person to be around because he hurts your friends and almost never tells you the truth but you can't seem to get over him.
The only time he doesn't make you feel special on accident is when he is trying to get something out of you.
You've tried to help your friends out of situations just like this where their crush treated all their friends like shit and you told them it was wrong and they needed to stop and you didn't understand when they told you they couldn't even though they were trying a shard as they could to stop liking the bastard, until now.
The only difference between your crush and your friend's is that her crush treated her like the world and only smack-talked her friends, yours treats you like everyone else yet you can't stop doing what you have hated all of your friends for doing and you feel like a hypocritical little prick because your guy best friend literally cries at night because your crush bullies him every day and he hates it.
So do you and you have asked your friend what's wrong with him but he won't tell you anything but his name and you crumble inside.
You have tried your hardest and asked the nicest you could, you even did everything he asked you for a day just so he wouldn't lie to you for the rest of your life.
He still does.
And you still like him.
And you still hate him.
And you still beg him.
And you still ask him.
And All He Says Is "Oh".

Holy shit you guys I found this in my google drive from April 10th 2015 and I laughed so hard when I read it because I remember this guy and can't believe I actually liked him. I'm literally dying.

Diary of my dreams
golden harp, treasured soul
thank you for drying my tears
when I am loosing control
In our private cloud
devious secrets we share
with your lullaby, safer I feel
and all my shadows disappear
Dear sis, wild velvet heart
I cherish every second, every word...
Your hilarious wind and wise glow
inspire me to fly high wherever I go
In a quirky world we found each other
maybe it was meant to be...
You make me proud, you make it worth
moon and star forever we will be.

© Christina Philipe

Cori MacNaughton Jun 2015

Goats are Nature's own
ambulating Demolition Derby
in hilarious miniature

This is the 13th of fifteen 10-word poems I wrote this morning, 23 June 2015.  I posted them here in the order in which I wrote them.

It's quite hilarious
When you say "I love you"
When in fact,
love is a verb
not a noun


Randy Johnson Apr 2015

I inserted a suppository right after I had been using super glue.
My hand is stuck in my butt and I don't know what I'm going to do.
When I went to the hospital, the doctors and nurses laughed.
They were in hysterics from laughter and they called me daft.
When they laughed, it offended me so I kicked the doctors below the belt.
They kicked me out and blacklisted me because they didn't like how it felt.
Because of my problem, I can't drive a car or ride my bike.
I can't afford a taxi so to get to places, I have to hitchhike.
The drivers also laugh and I have to slap them to make them keep their mouths shut.
It's been three years and I don't think I'll ever be able to get my hand out of my butt.

This is a fictional poem.
Frank Ruland Jan 2015

Lovecraft, how you ink such artful verses
Suspiciously auspicious, yet undoubtedly so liked
I aspire to your mystique, as I'm hounded by poetic curses...

Once a troll, always a troll. If you're going to insult me, you'd  be better off not calling everyone who follows me a moron. Not a smart way to go about founding a following. Or getting people to think I'm a troll, for that matter.
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