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mothwasher Jul 16
my great throat tree is featured in float parades now

sponsored by paper mills

they send us free notebooks and you leave me

rounds of exquisite corpse to play

or folded frogs

or news of another alleged abduction with ***** political jokes in the margins

or the times you jot down to remember when you thought of the ghost

when i find these on my table, i sneak off for a phone call to the mattress

the mattress doesn’t care to watch parades on live broadcasted television

i can hear the ghost making breakfast on the other end

the mattress stares at the ceiling mostly and i remember this and i’m so

thankful

for you

i pick up a folded sheet and draw the trunk torso

and inside the tree trunk i draw a little man playing the french horn

but before drawing hearts spilling from the brass

i drew a massive ***

i smiled, knew you’d appreciate it, and started sweeping
rowdy lee Jun 9
authentic shots from the shooting place in iran.
dozens of people died

however

she is not ashamed of her beauty. the famous model
let her ******* peek out at the ceremonial party –

all good
then
Maybe there is a grammar/meaning mistakes in my poems as English is my second language. Glad if you'll warn me. Thank you.
his starred in a
television show
and he wore three
stripes in a row

he'd conduct business
behind the captain's back
as the Indians were
staging a faux attack

his sidekick was a
little man known as Agarn
and they'd regularly
meet at the saloon bar

no doubt he did
marshal a rag tag troop
and inside the fort he had
command of its coop  

the show was filmed
in a civil war setting
and of its name I'll
not be forgetting
Paul Butters May 28
Just think of all that you’ve seen
And experienced
Even forgotten
Throughout your Life.

Not just the Big Things.
The tiny
Seemingly insignificant things too.
Those various TV quizzes
Soaps, sitcoms, adverts
What would Aliens think?

Remember the savoury smell of freshly cut grass
Baking bread
And toilets!
Coffee as well.

See every detail of your table –
Strewn with papers
Objects
Mobile, wallet, medications, books…

Count those leaves on that tree
Stalks of grass
Grains of sand on a beach
Stars in the sky.

Remember all the people
You have met
Or seen
Or heard or read about.
From the rowdy
To the silent ones.
From Good to Evil.
I could go on…
But.

Who knows what our Subconscious Id
Has stored away
In the caverns of our minds?

Things that are with us always
Right until we Die.
And what happens to them then?
A whole universe of things.
Do they vanish
In a “pool of tears”?
Or are they somehow resurrected
Somewhere in Heaven?
We can only Hope…

Paul Butters

© PB 28\5\2020.
Another "deep one"....
Life in front of a TV screen
Isn't a good place to be
Blowing up like a balloon,
Your life slips away too soon
With eyes glazing over
And days growing somber
What are you living for?
Reality shows? ****?
There's no wake-up call
In that screen in the wall
Telling you to get up
And start living.
Thoughts?
Between the envelope and gondola I'm lighter-than-air. Montgolfier-style? Not really. I ascend as a prayer with his eyes wide shut, timid in the feel for heaven. Speaking of heaven, some say it's no longer a gated community, but the association fees have doubled. Really I float like a Yost, flaming onboard for the photo shoot. The morning pass is for the kids with spending power. The noon move, and media darling, catches the Comic-Con crowd just stumbling out of a parent's basement. The night drift, drink in hand, mimics the trigger man who got his days confused from too much killjoy. Laissez-passer both giveth and taketh away -- there is no immunity in the sky, no amnesty to assign my crimes to. I'm just your smiley actor on the Netflix trail. You love me for a season or until my balloon gets popped. Whichever comes first.
rowdy lee May 12
I'm dying by hunger
he said
and I remembered about
all these ruined places
and its children
and their mothers
no
you're not dying

you just still don't have enough capacity
to realize
that you don't need a new jacket
and shoes
you own muddy ones in the hallway
and the others you don't like
*******
give me
a better reason

and try
to swallow your dreams
and keep them
in a digestive tract
to the last second
of not giving a ****

as the ones who are trying to fall asleep now
on the pillow of tomorrow's death
Maybe there is a grammar/meaning mistakes in my poems as English is my second language. Glad if you'll warn me. Thank you.
When I died, I arrived in Hell and there was a lesson that I quickly learned.
Satan is using a new kind of torture, people are no longer being burned.
It's a rotten, terrible and cruel thing for Satan to do.
Now he tortures people by forcing them to watch the new Doctor Who.
I did some really bad things while I was on Earth and now I'm in Hell because of what I did.
I'm being forced to watch the new Doctor Who and I can't look away or even close my eyelids.
I've always known that Adolf ****** was evil but I was wrong when I thought that he's tough.
He screams like a little ***** as he watches the new Doctor Who TV show, it's pretty rough.
While I was on Earth, I was a liar, a thief and a despicable ****.
Now I'd do anything if I could receive a blindfold and earplugs.
As I'm being forced to watch the new Doctor Who, I scream and cry.
I didn't know that such a bad thing could happen when a person dies.
I'll tell people on Earth how to avoid my fate instead of just giving them a hint.
They'd better be on their very best behavior because Hell has a new torment.
While I was driving a Monster Truck, I ran over Mister Ed.
I accidentally ran over that talking horse and now he's dead.
Mister Ed said "F* you" to me with his final breath.
Millions of people are upset because of his death.

That horse let out a smelly **** before he died.
When his owner saw what happened, he cried.
Wilbur Post called Peta and that got me in a lot of trouble.
I was sued and the only lawyer I could afford was Barney Rubble.

I lost the lawsuit because Barney is stupid because he's from the Stone Age.
When I couldn't pay Wilbur ten million bucks, the cops locked me in a cage.
Please listen to my advice or you may go to jail and your spouse will get a divorce.
If you ever drive a Monster Truck, you'd better not run over somebody's talking horse.
Carlo C Gomez Jun 15
Filmed entirely on dislocation
(of time & space)

Strictly facetious & fictitious

Angelo Badalamenti
Julee Cruise
and Kyle MacLachlan
as donut filled with hallucinogens

The taller trees take issue
with certain twin
lumberjack dwarfs

Cue the jazz saxophone
&
tavern cadaver waltz
with Audrey

"I guess it means there's trouble
until the robins come"
because Isabella Rossellini
is crazy naked
on the neighbor's lawn
...again

And Laura Palmer
looks better dead
then she ever did alive

or so sings the nightingale

What more can be expected
from a guy who grew up
with pet sidewalks
and talking paper bags?

In memory of
Six Men Getting Sick (Six Times)
BLT's continued challenge - to write a poem using the Merriam-Webster word of the day, fictitious.
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