#tent
was it the tent
that you meant
when the words were sent
to cover
hover around the hive
we thrive
we flower high five
is it the tower of power
to the tenth
of a red cent
was it the tent
that you meant
Apr 19, 2021
Apr 19, 2021 at 5:02 PM UTC
City o' canvas built like a tent
Held together by strands
That can barely make rent
The poles hold is folky yet formal
These people sized holes, becoming too normal
I'd spin you a tale, but where to begin
A city of winners, **** stained in sin
Lord stretch thee almighty abundant in lands
Take it or make it, but never hold hands
Jun 9, 2020
Jun 9, 2020 at 12:22 AM UTC
Wake with me as the sun sets across the tree lined peaks.
Close your eyes when your lids grow weary.
Fall asleep in our tent, as the sun rises through the night.
Our fire burned bright, as we talked about finding love, losing life, and weeks gone by.
Savor every moment in these mountains, because soon enough this world will pass is by.
Jun 13, 2019
Jun 13, 2019 at 1:27 AM UTC
nauseous...
I hear a voice screaming,
open the tent...
and there is my best friend screaming...
"help help," she says,
but I could not care less,
for she was being held by a,
big harmless,
shadow...
maybe it was furry,
had claws sharp open,
but for that night,
my tent stayed open...
I wake up the next morning,
for there she is,
not dead,
cooking us,
marshmallows instead...
Dec 10, 2018
Dec 10, 2018 at 3:29 AM UTC
summer heat
is smooth
thus behoove
a president
to make
the wall
and fight
to keep
the right
wing and
drag under
this tent
with steadfast
loyalty and
thier families
first will
bear arms
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 10:57 AM UTC
a wand of disappearances
operate in our very
midst
who is the conductor
of its vanishing
gist?
where once our fellow
poets did pleasantly
reside
now the wicked wand
has eradicated their
bide
numerous blank spaces
symbolize the conductor's
vice
employing a wand which
has emptied the
rice
black the hour
black the day
a black instrument
whisking them all too
suddenly away
a wand so dark
of intent
wanting to wane
our writers tent
the subtracting conductor
will be planning future
disappearances
so be mindful of its
wand's unsolicited
clearances
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 6:09 PM UTC
one is so glad
for not being a member
of his harem
exclusion from the inner sanctum
gives one a good perspective
on the everyday doings
between his adoring ladies
one oft sees them bickering
over his attention
the females appear
to be competing
at a super-human rate
hoping he'll send a flashing wink
their way
the sheik
has many choices
inside
his tent
Oct 10, 2017
Oct 10, 2017 at 6:03 AM UTC
You think I give a **** how much you kick and scream?
It's actually so ******* cute that you think you're over me.
I know the need to destroy, I know your destructive destiny,
but it's high time, and we both deserve to stay alive. One more
time, I'll beg you ride the rails, arms around me. If I die, I'd prefer
not to be interred by me, all the death in hand as dirt, surrounding.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 12:11 PM UTC
Here's a silly little tale,
I hope a giggle does not fail,
I was cooking Bok Choy in a tent,
On a primus stove, up she went,
You can guess what that meant,
Dinner was a non-event,
Now known as "The Bok Choy Incident!"
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
As rain beats down on canvas,
I squeeze my face through the zip.
The clouds are swelling and angry;
The wind hits my cheeks like a whip.
I retreat to the core of my tent
And trip on the wellies inside.
Still covered in last year's mud,
These purple boots fill my mind.
I am fond of my waterproof shoes.
I ponder their rubbery struggles:
Abandoned for most of the year,
But mighty when dealing with puddles.
The water rises and enters,
It covers my groundsheet in mud,
But I've got wellington armour
To conquer the enemy flood.
I must learn to rely on my wellies,
When storm clouds rumble and growl.
I have come to a happy conclusion:
My wellies will not let me drown.
I squeeze through the zip of my tent
And plant my feet in the slime.
I am met by a brave fellow camper
Wearing wellies the colour of mine.
There are porches all over the country
With lonesome wellies inside.
If ever a storm is a-brewing,
Put them on, take it all in your stride.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
after a bout of giggling,
we quietly discarded
whatever we wore
and at the other
bookend of the act
the tent unzipping
a luxury of clouds
drifting to a *****
moon full ripe heavy
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 6:55 AM UTC
Dalya walked
from her tent
to the block
of showers
and went in
the place smelt
of bodies
of hot skin
of damp hair
she showered
dried herself
and came out
I came out
of the men's
shower block
all refreshed
where are you
going to?
she asked me
in the town
I replied
can I come?
I don't want
to be stuck
in my tent
with the Yank
***** whom we've
just picked up
in Hamburg
Dalya said
already
she's started
about men
who she wants
in her bed
(sleeping bag)
where I am
going then?
I asked her
find some place
she replied
saucy cow
you can share
with young me
I told her
the Aussie
is sharing
the tent with
the Yorkshire
school teacher
you want me
to share a
tent with you?
Dalya said
just to sleep
I replied
and of course
everyone
will believe
I just sleep
in your tent?
I'm leaving
about 12
if you want
to come see
all the sights
of Hamburg
I told her
she nodded
and we met
dead on 12
and made love
in my tent
that's as far
as we went.
Mar 30, 2016
Mar 30, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC
She's back,
said Dalya,
the skinny Yank dame
is back, and shares my tent
with her perfume and talk;
her tales of whom she's had
and whom she's slept with
and how much they spent
on her and why and where.
Benny met me by the bar
in the Copenhagen base camp,
beers and smokes
and burgers and fries,
and me telling him
about the dame
and what she says
and does, and o that perfume
enough to drown in,
and he laughed
and said he heard
the Yank dame was after
the Aussie guy who
he shared a tent with
and the Aussie guy
was hot for her.
The base camp speakers
were pumping out Deep Purple,
high guitars
and bellowing vocals,
and Benny said when will
you and I get together again?
and I said
as soon as the dame goes
or leaves or shacks up
with another.
We went into the City
and saw some sights,
the Tivoli Gardens,
the Little Mermaid statue,
and had a few more beers
and smokes
and he kissed me
and it was a hot kiss,
and I wanted him,
but there was no where to go,
so I just carried
the image of him
back to my tent
and where I,
well you know.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
I was born at night tall like swagger cane
A Friday's child - delivered with muse
That was fortunate enough for my parents
Oral poetry poured plentiful in the morning
That's what Saturdays are good for
Teachers worn their loincloth lose
As wine and fish soup flowed at ease
While farmers set out to burn in the sun
Now you'll understand why I chose not to be
a Saturday's child, I dread to be a farmer
Heavy drinking may not be my fate as well
It sure sets the mood right for what's right
I took sides with either of the two vices
I pitched my tent where grace and virtues lies
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
The posters said tomorrow
At eleven on the dot
The Mishkin Brothers Circus
Would be here ....on this spot
There would be no carnival or midway
Just one tent and three rings
And all of the excitement
That a good old circus brings
There would be elephants and lions
Trapeze artists overhead
Dancing dogs and ponies
And zebras painted red
Clowns of all description
Answering to just one man
In the center of the circle
Was Mishkin brother....Dan
He'd run the show for twenty years
Gone from town to town to town
In one day they would get set up
And in two, they'd tear it down
One day to show the locals
The circus still was an event
With magic, form the Barnum Days
All housed inside one tent
The sideshow barkers and their geeks
Were not with this fine group
Dan Mishkin had assembled
Only the finest circus troup
From Russia he had jugglers
Knife throwers, just the best
******** riders from Decatur
Along with all the rest
Fourteen trucks and trailers
Pulled into town the night before
Breaking ground once they arrived
Working right through until four
Just old time entertainment
No travelling gypsy band was this
It was the Mishkin Brothers Circus
It was something not to miss
The show was started promptly
At twelve o'clock, like the sign said
A parade of all the players
And the zebras painted red
Two shows and it was over
The whole routine began anew
The field was once more empty
Gone was the Mishkin rolling zoo
A year from now, we'd see the signs
And we'd all go to the tent
To see the Mishkin Brothers Circus
The best money ever spent
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 4:48 PM UTC
At Oslo
at the camp
after a
downpour of
heavy rain
Dalya said
there's a
hole in my
canvas tent
and the rain
comes right in
and the *****
I share with
moans at me
then goes off
and shares with
that Aussie
who she likes
and leaves me
to the wet
you can share
my tent if
you don't mind
as the bloke
I shared with
shares with that
German girl
I thought she
was Polish?
Dalya said
no German
I replied
she told me
her father
drove a tank
in the war
that's why the
Polish girl
and her mum
have nothing
to do with
her in camp
O I see
Dalya said
so she slept
in my tent
but I won't
share your bed
she told me
but what she
later did
-have hot ***
is not quite
what she said.
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
Laying alone in a tent,
breathing's heavier, sweat is dripping.
I think I've had too much.
Too many festival treats obtained off
friendly vendors, in it as much as you are,
looking for a good time, at a small cost.
The sun begins to rise, heart races faster,
Emotions both empathetic and sympathetic.
I think I've had too much.
Laying in this tent amongst the other sheep in the same boat around me.
I have accepted my faith
This is my fault, will I notify anyone?
No **** it, I don't want to cause a scene,
I'll let them find out
Too many thoughts rushing through my
head,
too many apologies that will be owed, that I won't around for,
I'm filled with self disgust but maybe,
its for the best.
I think I've had too much
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 1:50 PM UTC
You make a tent of
blanket
to cover my face
from the morning sun
and watch me breathe
When I move or growl
you kiss me with a smile
All this time
while I am still dreaming
you already know
what you are making
for breakfast
You gently stroke my body
With the feeling of a new touch
You don’t wake me up
but arouse me from my sleep
Caressing gently all over
you hug me close to your
heart
We make love
Even before we wake up
for the day
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:37 PM UTC
Oh to say it so dearly, It was a great show.
I stayed out and watched it for a good hour.
The wind had come out of some hidden pocket. Like a thief in the night,
it scurried out excitedly through the screen door flying shut behind it,
and looking at the stark line drawn across the horizon;
a wall of cloud with so distinct an edge of gray, and at the same time
so thin
as to see the shadow
blue sky on the other side.
It was just a sheet.
The wind like a blanket,
energy surged, and the blood pumped a little faster at it's touch.
Then leaves began swirling,
as if fleeing for cover around the legs.
sweeping over to the porch,
while the canvas of clouds pitched its ever looming tent.
On over to get a plain view of my street lamp,
watching the tree's now twisting like spaghetti;
branches twisting in ways you would expect to break them,
all with a humdrum pitter-patter of rogue raindrops,
accompanied by that shrill electric thickness...
that makes your skin simmer, your mind hum, and your eyes glow.
The light of the streetlamp showing all the rain more clearly,
and all at once coming like a horde en masse down a hill.
Someone had given the signal,
and so it began.
The floodgates were released.
The opera had begun in earnest, with it's effects and sounds, lights, action!
The foreplay had given way to the full force of wetness.
In the pith of the light it looked as though the lamp was now a fountain.
The lightning being so evenly dispersed, the sky like a screen to see a stroboscopic chaos, so serene.
The wind and rain so perfectly mixed,
so perfectly so to syphon off a single breath of mist upon the face.
I stood like a boy of six in a parade.
Enthralled by the power, the nonchalance, and the purity of might.
Humans and animals, cars and bicycles, birds and branches, all pulling a hasty retreat.
I watched and watched, and watched more, and never got bored, only a little damp.
I came in and went up to the bedroom above the porch and lay on my window cloud
and drowsily watched the show in a bubble, til the end.
Nothing lets me see so clearly like a good rain.
People who wish for sunshine everyday are idiots.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC