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Don Brenner Oct 2010
Sunday:
Ant Pills
Bear Traps
Cobra Feet

Monday:
Dolphin Lungs
Eel Soup
Frog Limbs

Tuesday:
Gecko Suits
Horse Pie
Inchworm ***

Wednesday:
Jaguar Barbed
Koala Beer
Lynx Lynch

Thursday:
Monkey Chips
Narwhal Fashions
Otter Drugs

Friday:
Porcupine Rehab
Quail Map
Roadrunner Piano

Saturday:
Slug Party
Turkey Slop
Urchin See

Sunday:
Vulture Guns
Walrus Tongues
X No

Monday:
Yellowjacket Fever
Zebra Clowns
2010
WARNER BAXTER May 2015
Why oh why do I love pie?

The ABCs of it and
the LMNO-Pie of it

A Apple Pie
B Boston cream Pie
C Cherry Pie
D Dutch Apple Pie
E Equation Pie 3.14
F Fruit Pie
G Grandma's Gooseberry Pie
H Humble Pie
I Ice Cream Pie
J Jell-O Pudding Pie
K Kidney Pie
L Lemon Meringue Pie
M Moon Pie
N Nutty Pecan Pie
O Oreo Cookie Crust Pie
P Pud'nin Pie
Q Quick Set Frozen Cream Pie
R Rhubarb Pie
S Sweet Tater Pie
T Tuxedo Pie
U Upside Down Pineapple Pie
V Velvet Truffle Pie
W Whip Cream Pie
X  PIE IN THE FACE
Y Yummy Pie
Z Zesty Lemon/Lime Pie



Now you have the XYZ of it
and the PIE of it
Why oh why do you love Pie?
Thomas EG Apr 2015
Anytime you feel lonely
Beckon for me to come into your arms
Catch hold of my hand in the shadows, in the back row
Don't let go.
Every day is a new day
Feeling good
Good feeling
Happy... Almost.
I* don't want you to leave as well
Just stay, please...
Keep your fingers crossed
Love the way that your dark eyes shine so brightly
My heart races in your presence
No good can come from this
Only few understand.
Please hold on for a little longer
Quit with the teasing already
Ridiculous, our circumstances...
Slow down, I want to know more
Tell me your deepest secrets
Under the light of the moon.
Velvet blankets, picnic baskets
What's next?
Xoxo, your biggest fan
You never did understand my jokes
Zzzzzz, goodnight, day dreamer...
Now I know my ABCs,
Next time won't you comfort me?
Alphabetical order fun
Always saying I love you, baby.
But they’ve only been together a day.
Captivated by the way the
Darkness of each other’s pupils grow
Every time they touch.
Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the
Groping, that they saw in the movies.
Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with
Intensity that could make strippers blush.
Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies.
Knowing what to do only because of what they
Learned in health class. Trying to
Master the art of *** and what they call love,
Not caring who knows. Living off each
Other’s breaths. Fabricating
Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught
Quietly sneaking back into their
Rooms at four in the morning,
Shutting their doors and their eyelids,
Tracing remnant goose bumps.
Until the sun shines into their windows,
Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming,
Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their
******* memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer.
Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next
Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.
Astro capsuls(car) warm delight
Ballistic speeds to the extreme
Catagorised on shape and style
Detour from the mentor
Elevated on pavement close to enslavement
First to the mark forging through the dark
Grounds down below like a rivers flow
Highlighted with lines to guide you along
I see the danger to react is no stranger
Jerky action bad disaster
Klinkity klink klink on a broken castor
Left outta breath, DMT the chemical master
Money leaves my pocket to fix my expensive little rocket
Need all my wheels to feel, now its heel to heel
Orange is the word that mixes well with porrage
Porrage stays good in storage unlike an orange
Question the suggestion of a new auto selection
Running and walking without the radio theres more talking
Service stations fuel the imagination
Time slips by in the wink of an eye
Under the weather convertables arnt better
Vast spaces traced in the unknown race
Watching life through layers of sand
X-ray vision lights at hand
Yellow dot marks the spot of caution
Zenieth and zorrow were standing on the Yellow

and thats how i crashed my ABCs
next time wont you please
GET THE ******* THE ROAD for me
Natalka Aug 2013
A** pple pie, freshly baked from the oven. I don't wait for it to cool, I want it hot, with a big greedy scoop of vanilla ice creams melting next to it.

B oys. Cute, querky, gross, crazy, but amazing. You can't stand them, but for some reason you need them in your life.

C ookies. Warm, fresh-out-the-oven, gooey choclate chip cookies.

D  is for dancing. Dancing in the rain with my eyes shut, screaming at the top of my lungs and not caring what anyone thinks. Just dancing.

E lephants. Strong, old, smart and beautiful creatures. Harmless yet protective.

F stands for foxes. More specifically fennec foxes. Adorable, small, cunning, cute and most of all, want by me!

G iving. Not just material items, but hope. Giving hugs, and smiles to those who need one. Also, For-giving.... letting go of the past and moving forward

H eartbreak. The feeling of no being able to breathe, not being able to speak, or make sense of everything without your "other half." Moving forward slowly, cautiously, because there are more around the corner.

I Me. The broken, yet strong; beautiful, yet self concious; smart, yet lazy teenager.

J is for Jenna, my first best friend. We aren't best friends anymore, but we still talk, and enjoy catching  up in eachothers lives.

K issing. I love kissing. I mean come on.... everyone does ;)

L ove. A strong, complex emotion which many guys lie about, and which I do too. I think I've only ever once loved my partner... all the rest I enjoyed...

M om. My mother, the woman who decided "I'm going to take the qwerky, adorable girl home to America with me and make her part of my life."

N is the first letter in my name. Natalka Hannah Evangeline Kmiotek.

O veracheivers. The people who make fun of me, because they can do things better then me, and everyone else. ******* all.

P erfection. Skinny girls with perfect *******, and big *****. No scars, and white teeth. the opposite of me.

Q uiet, as in I have to stay quiet or they'll hear me. Who? My demons of course. If I'm too loud, they will come for me and drag me back to hell.

R stands for two things. The first is **** A horrible word describing a nightmare you wish you could forget. It's being robbed of your first touch by selfish men, and being back into a corner against your will, forced to stay silent.

S is for strength. The strength to overcome, the strength to live, the strength to move on.

T hank you. To everyone who has ever been there and listened to me...

U nderstand why I cut myself. Why I hurt myself. It's easier to deal with physical pain, then the emotional kind. The emotional pain rots and festers inside me, destroying everything. It shuts my lungs down, forcing me to gasp for air.

V acations. Small escapes from your daily life, into something glamourous and relaxing. The warm sand between your toes, as the hot sun beats down on you. The cool ocean kiss the tips of your toes, cooling your thirst.

W hen will pain end? When will people stop being mean to eachother? When can I expect my child to be able to go to school and not be afraid of the other students? When will I be able to walk outside, and finally be able to say "I am safe," not having to lie.

X plain to me why people put others down? Why are there perfect models and barbies, telling us how we must look, how it's acceptable in society.

Y es please. Thank you. Simple manner, dying out, almost extinct. What happen to being nice? Or do we now, just take what we want? Expect everything, like the world owes us.

Z ach. He was my first love and my first heart break. With him, when he left, the floor caved under me. We were one of those couples that would break up, and get back together then next week. I guess you sould say we were crazy for eachother, but when he left, I guess I was the only one crazy. I was crazy enough to think he was ever mine.
Paul Oct 2010
I feel like a friend-- a true friend,
is more than a profile on a website.

And peace is more than a handshake agreement
brought by the outcome of a gruesome fight.

I know that self worth is more than someone's opinion,
and in no other dominion but mine own to foster and care for.  

And I can see that happiness is more than having money, sure,
cause most of us laugh everyday here, and come on, we're dirt poor.

And I pray the human soul is more than Casper's counterpart,
somewhere between the heart and the pancreas.

And God, faith is so much more than cryin' and dyin'
over spilt milk between religions.

And in case you were confused, "I love you", is more than
pet names, bed games, and ***.

Music is more than pimps, hoes, and MTV Shows, and T-Pain singin through a computer.

Believe that life is more than grades and degrees,
or drugs and disease,
or the 'ABCs' of success that some old man wrote a thousand years ago.

This poem has to be more than words strewn together
to voice my discontent at the status-quo..

Hell, the word "more" itself is more than a one-syllable statment
that what we lack in the present
is just a larger quantity of the **** "we already have",
and no!

The power of your silent agreement is more than that
of my voice alone, so...

What is "more"?

In many ways, "more" is the friend you never had.
More peace in the world would end all the mindless bloodshed.
More respect and selfworth would bring beauty back to youth,

especially to the women in the world,
that sell their unique souls to look like the cover of Cosmo.

More faith, that grants serenity in the times of hardship,
will be the soothing hand of an Angel on our shoulders as
we say, "I love you" to our enemies, martyrs for a better world.

More positive music will inspire us,
to be the change we want to see in the world, today,
instead of, "Waitin' on the World to Change "♫ ♪ ♫♪

So ladies and gentlemen, make a decision: if you want to be
critics and vipers,
war mongers and hope-snipers,
ignore my intention, and live with more division.

But, if any of you are artists starving for meaning and inspiration,
if you envision a world of more than... THIS...

Then let a word change a feeling,
change a thought, change a meaning,
change your mind...
And get more out of life.
Copyright Paul Langdon October 2010
chrissy who Aug 2013
Absolutely and without a doubt she is the
Best thing that ever happened me. She strode
Casually and awkwardly into my life, in the process
Defining for me the until-then
Ever-changing parameters of what I wanted.

****, I can’t get out of my mind this blue eyed
Goddess of a girl who is always
Hoping for something more.
I love her so much and yet I have a habit of playing practical
Jokes to hide how much the distance is
Killing me.
Looking at us, you would never know we’ve spent
More months apart than we had together.

Never did I think that she would be The
One; that love would be so easy; that she would be so
Perfect.
Questions ricochet around the mazes of her mind, she examines the world extensively,
Riveting anyone who takes the time to listen to her discoveries.
Sassy, ****, and smart, she’s got everything and
To me she is everything.
Ubiquitous, there is nothing that doesn’t make me think of this girl, life itself serving as a constant
Validation that she exists- that she is not too good to be true.
While the earth rockets its way through space it’s as if
Xanthan gum holds us together, no matter how far apart you
Yank us, we’re stuck like glue. I could talk about her forever, literally
Zillions of words could be said about this wonder of a woman who will never cease to be
The alphabet spelling out the rhythm of my heart.
Dear A, you shine brighter than all the moons and stars together,
That light evened out with the darkness in me,
Dear B, I never noticed how sad you were,
Never noticed you were falling apart,
The absence of your voice would ruin the chorus,
Please don't leave me,
Dear C, You loved someone other than me,
and I never learned how to turn that into poetry,
Dear D, you showed me the best kinds of songs when you were sad,
When you were reminded of how much you missed her,
You found a girl with gentle hands and a want to love you now,
I miss you sometimes,
Dear E, I still hear you singing in every park I go to,
I still love you on 2:01 AMs,
Dear F, your ******* stories about loving me never fouled me,
I fell anyways,
Dear G, you talked of planting a garden with me,
But a past love held my seed,
In between bruises and cuts,
Dear H, you helped my skin remember the miracle of itself,
Dear I, I like to consider you my first love,
Your lips tasted like cigarette butts and addiction,
and your skin on mine remind me of depression and mid night demons,
Dear J, I loved you with all my soul,
and that love was the most precious thing,
I carry it always,
Dear K, I thought you were it,
But the the alphabet doesn't end at k,
Dear L, we talked about our dads inbetween thrusts,
I've never wanted to hate him so much,
Dear M, You were my 5 foot promise but your hands couldn't hold the secrets I lent,
Yet if I could I would nail these hands to the edges of compromise,
Dear N, my parents have never been in love,
But if it wasn't for them ******* in the back seat of a car I wouldn't have felt you pressed upon my skin,
Dear O, Sitting next to you at that lake in the middle of spring made me want to take a 7 hour drive up north just to see the leaves change colors,
and I fell like an autumn afternoon,
Dear P, your hands had touched more of the world than I could ever imagine while mine lined up with horizontal cuts,
Dear Q, I spent too much time imagining your fingers and how they move while you played that guitar,
I miss the way those same hands felt on my waist,
Dear R, we weren't a lesbian couple,
we were just two people who were very much in love with each other,
Dear S, I wrote a million poems trying to give it a name,
trying to get you closer to me,
but the lick stained corners of the pages were never embodied in you,
Dear T, I have all the butterflies I've ever felt for you in a box, somewhere deep in my closet,
Dear U, when I asked you if you loved me,
your lips curled up at the sides and I only saw me in between all the cracks
Dear V, Instead of you showing up, the rain did,
Dear W, Sometimes I remember how much I loved you and I want to cut up my body I'm no poet, not really,
Dear X, I spoke you into everything I did and loving you was the only thing I had ever felt good at,
Dear Y, my love stuttered more than it should've,
My love tripped over things,
My love said things that shouldn't have been said far too often,
Dear Z, I haven't met you yet
LS Martin Jun 2017
Apologies
Promises to new beginnings
second chances
second chances
I gave us another try

Broken
Oh! My stomach
it dropped
it dropped
like the death of a thousand butterflies

Concealment
The real you
no virtue
no truth
only lies

Deception
There were others
other women
other girls
I was just another prize

Excitemnt
You wanted me
my heart
my heart
it leaped with pride

Friendship
We were together
first date
first kiss
you laughed, I sighed

Goodbyes
Your mind changed
unresolved
unexplained
for all my life I'll wonder why

Hesitaion
Should I fight?
with words
with effort
No I keep these feelings inside

Introspection
I want answers
was it me?
was it me?
My insecurities multiply

Jaded
Overwhelmed with fatigue
eyes closed
eyes closed
I sleep off the day though it isnt dignified

Knowledge
to lack experience
sheltered
sheltered
Perhaps Im not as qualified

Lonliness
I reach for
the phone
the phone
Then hang up because its better to hide

Moments
replaying real scenarios
your movements
your smile
My mind now fully occupied

Nothing
are you ok?
its nothing
its nothing
I say! Except for my heart collapsing in like some silent suicide

Opportunities
another suitor approaches
he inquires
he inquires
Doesnt he know Im terrified?

Prospects
He likes me
feelings
feelings
I cant decide

Quiet
praying, hands extended
only silence
only silence
I look up into an empty sky

Rumors
you speak badly
of me
of me
mouth opened wide

Stagnet
affection comes slow
Im shy
Im shy
Men come at me in strides

Tragedy
all my efforts
in vain
in vain
Desires split, disperse, then divide

Unexplored
"True Love Waits"
***
***
Acceptable only when Im someones bride

Vows
made in wine
never again
never again
Words often pledged when I think on you and I

Wasted
all this time
true love
real love
You mean to tell me it died? Was crucified?

Xs
Your new girlfriend
dont stare
dont stare
I turned my face I think I cried

Years
Life goes on
Tick
Tock
Please hurry and pass me by

Z**igzags
Poems wrote in
fragments
lines
Painful rejection glorified
Janelle Tanguin Aug 2017
I've learned my ABCs at one,
learned to read by four,
constructed my paragraphs at six,
a know-it-all reciting parts of speech by seven.

Letters assembled themselves ready for scrabble.
Rocks, paper, scissors,
I never learned to let go of the paper.
And grew up with dry fingers caressing books.
Breathing in language and literature.

They say you can only love something so much
until it leaves you empty.
But I've only ever truly loved a few things about life,
and first was how words strung empathy.

The way I wrote about tying yellow ribbons on trees for a hero at eleven,
wrote about anything that won me passports to a passion I had to sacrifice a few years later after fourteen,
wrote about the boy who broke my heart at seventeen,
wrote about the monsters in my head at nineteen.

I don't know how words always found me
whenever I tried to run away from the world;
how they kept my sanity along with melodies for as long as I can remember,
and made countless others feel less alone.

What I love is a weapon
that has sparked revolutions, waged wars.
What I love is art that built acropolises from embers
and most the world's wonders.

It rushes euphoriant through my veins as much as it does through yours,
yet it is neither blood nor oxygen.
It is all the words burning as we keep them hidden,
dying for us to give them meaning.
tamia Oct 2016
Alone.
By September until who knows when, that is how I will start and end my days.
Calm mornings will no longer begin with the sound of your chatter.
Dead silence will fill the air as I eat my dinner all alone.
Every empty chair will be a reminder that you are not home.
From spending almost every waking hour together, we will only exchange brief messages each day.
Growing up has led us to this—one of you in Manila and the other one in Tokyo.
I’ll feel stuck in the four corners of my little room while you’re both someplace else.
Just the thought of not having both of you around makes me feel like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kisses, embraces, and affectionate teasing only older sisters could ever give will become less frequent…
Loneliness is something I have never known.
Mom and Dad will still be here, but they will be busy too, and I would not want to bother them.
Nothing will fill in the spaces of the house the way they’re occupied while you’re here—
One of you painting in watercolor by the windowsill, the other one listening to music until the wee hours of the morning.
Please always tell me about your day while you’re away, no matter how ordinary or great it may be.
Q¬uiet the noises that will shout in the head of a younger sister who is all alone.
Rise and live the way you have always wanted, but don’t forget about me.
Shine to the world the way you shine in my eyes.
Think of me as I think of you.
Ultimately, all I will do will come down to waiting for you to come back home.
Vinyls we share will rarely spin, the books we borrow from one another will be left to dust on the shelves.
What was once a house filled to the brim with voices and love only sisters could have will feel spacious and empty.
Xylophone clanging and the strumming of the guitar from the childhood we shared will seem so distant, but I will do all I can to make it feel like you are not far away—
Your favorite song will come up on the radio on some nights and I will sing along as we would sing together:
*“Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly, and the spiders from Mars….”
A story I wrote for my Creative Writing class.

To my best friends, my stars, my sisters—I miss and love you both.
Connor Apr 2016
A) Sometime
     Somewhere
     Someone
                       ....                                (written by me on the guest log in Spartacus Books' public bathroom)

B) I am perceiving people perceiving people
and all at once, a bird flies overhead!

C) HYPER PIANO BOUNCES FROM THE SPRINGTIME PAVEMENT!! condominium instruments reach out like satellites to the soul for any who'll listen to it's song of a time before

D) Where I witnessed my own dejection, wandering in nightly streets cement-eyed and forlorn, I sought to escape this Western cavalcade with a solitary year in Vietnam which didn't become anything more than an idea, but this was pushed under the rug for India (which is still on my mind!) which was then replaced by the thought of living in Bathurst, NSW, AUS (I'll get to why in a poem or other format of writing in times to come) I have named the place I once saw thru a vivid dream or a crystal ball which to some may mean the same thing

E) "DUCK! AND COVER!" we've all seen that cold war propaganda film with the turtle, seems so ridiculous now, wouldn't have worked anyways

F) Kripaya ek glass paani dijye (this means "please, give me a glass of water" in Hindi, which could be a valuable sentence to know considering India can get very hot, but when you remember how unhealthy their ((at least unfiltered)) water is, I may never use this)

G) I don't know which is crazier, those who feigned insanity to avoid war, or war itself

H) George Foreman named all his kids George Foreman (what a ******* egomaniac) I would grill him on that if I ever met him because seriously what a weird decision, how their mother was okay with that  is beyond my understanding.

I) Here comes July, with it's sweating mobs and many humid funerals

J) Poetic visual aestheticism (in terms of the actual layout line to line)

As one line
drops into
another line and
keeps dropping.

(determined by what Ginsberg called Mind Breaths, given to phrase being written, drop line to add emphasis to words of higher importance or topic phrases, as to almost introduce them in a way not blended with the previous line)

I) O! birds, who are up at the early hours of the morning, I am beyond glad/grateful that I can hear your hymns before everyone else has woken up

J) I think Vonnegut had something unique going on in Breakfast of Champions, especially that bit with the illustrated ******* that looked more like an asterisk

K) The trees outside are green again..
     The Windex bottle above the toilet is green,
     My sheets are green,
     This color I associate with the word "APRIL" is green

     There's a faint glimpse of green in my eyes,
     And a hint of green in the garden nearby,
     A lot of green in this poem (?) which may not be considered a poem but ******* if you happened to think that!
      
      Lastly, for now, I'm no longer feeling blue, and I guess that's a little green, too.

L) is for LOSER

M) ..did Joe Brainard just write a Colgate advertisement in the middle of his work? What is this I didn't pay for commercials..I don't WANT advertising present in my books! I see them everywhere else!
ah...

O) is for open mouth

P) Spontaneous prose acting as an honest/direct look into the meditated (or pure) form state of thought of that who wrote the prose. The book itself being a literal time capsule for a moment of consciousness who's creator may now be deceased.
Also
those who have their thoughts, images, ideas in their head > transferred to U who is now sharing those images but in a subjective way, seeing the settings or characters differently > person then writes their OWN ideas inspired from the previous writers = collaborative consciousness (also a form of time travel)

Q) is for questioning the rigidity of the political structures around you and the flaws it presents for the working class

R) is for RSVPing yes at the wedding between your hypothetical best friend now with the person you've been in love with for years. Slowly it kills you inside, this point of no return, something out of a grand and tragic love story (which isn't a love story because the love was not between you and that person but rather your hypothetical best friend) ****! you slam your fist to the table or the wall and it's all hopeless. But then comes the acceptance of the situation, moving on from it the best you can even if it presents itself as a shadow from this point on. If you've ever been thru something like this I deeply apologize as the cruelty of the world is indecisive, I for one haven't, but I am only turning 20 this year, which would also explain why I made this whole scenario mentioned above hypothetical

S) is for SHHH!

T) is for the constant presence of televisions in today's homes

U) is for UNIVERSE

V) is for...

W) is for upside-down M

X) is for xeroxing you slowly rolling up your ******* and mailing the series of pages to your ex (if you're an *******, which people also xerox maybe)

Y) is for why and also where when what who and how

Z) is for ZZZZZZZzzzz
zzzzz
zzzz
zzz
z
Amber was an atheist,
she thought the world was dumb as hell.
Britney was a botanist,
who had a fertilizer smell.
Candice was a coroner,
a scary passion for the stiffs.
Diana was a drummer chick,
that knew a few guitar riffs.

Evelyn was evil, man,
all leather suits and chains and whips.
Farrah was a therapist,
got in my brain with swinging hips.
Greta was a gunslinger,
she'd give most anything a shot.
Hannah was a homebody-
shy as hell, but twice as hot.

Iris was an Ivy Leaguer,
thought I was a total fool.
Janice was a juggler,
who liked to play with power tools.
Kimmy taught karate,
who dated me just for the kicks.
Louise was a lyricist,
who wrote about how guys were *****.

Marilyn was mostly mean,
she liked to fight and then make up.
Nancy was so negative,
I had no choice but to break up.
Opal was an occultist,
who liked to gossip with the dead.
Paula was a *******,
that made me pay to come to bed.

Queenie was inquisitive,
the questions were too much to bear.
Rosie was a recluse
who never shaved or brushed her hair.
Sidney was a sinful sort,
with toys and gadgets 'neath the bed.
Tina was a twisted chick,
with thirteen voices in her head.

Ursula was uber-cool,
always on the latest trends.
Vicky was on Vicodin,
and we all know how that one ends.
Wanda was a wanderer,
that left to join a circus troupe.
Xena the exhibitionist
liked to do it on the stoop.

Yolanda was young and fine,
and nearly cost me everything.
Zoey was a Zombie fan,
she got hot when he would sing.
I'd like to say I've settled down,
but since the alphabet is done,
I'm gonna met an Ann or Anita,
and give it all another run.
Mandy Smith Feb 2014
A B C D E F G
I like the taste of raspberry tea
H I J K L M N O P
I really don't like celery
Q R S T U V
I like honey from a bee
W X Y & Z
I like to eat, can't you see?

by Matashdy
lilah raethe Oct 2012
wanting to pursue
                        encourage

getting fingerprints,
        splatters

                        "It's amazing.
They're mesmerized."

                                                           end of their workshop,
                                               children watched                                              active detectives
                                                                                       while hooked
                                                                                          right questions
     investigative tools,                                                                  
                                                                                                                         early interest
                                          a lifelike mannequin
                                     in as the victim

                                                molds of footprints

                                                                                mind is made up, for now.
This is an assignment for my poetry class at school. If you don't know, Blackout Poetry is where you take a newspaper article and pick certain words out, creating a poem from the article. Then you black out everything but those words with a black sharpie or something. It's really cool, and I'm going to start doing this whenever I have a newspaper :) Does anyone know if I can take a picture of the actual article/poem and post it here?? The poem is a lot more affective that way, in my opinion.  I tried to space the words out like they look on the actual article.  Please tell me what you think and try this out when you can't find the words yourself.
Louise Leger Feb 2014
Before I ever went to school
I thought I knew it all
I could count to ten and back again
And bounce a rubber ball

I could spell my name with no mistakes,
Knew 1 and 1 is 2,
Knew how to say the alphabet
And how to tie my shoe.

Then I went to school and found I didn’t know a lot.
There was so much stuff I had to know I mostly just forgot.
Music, art, and English, physics, bio, French, and math.
Social studies, history, so much stuff it made me laugh.

My younger self had no idea how much more there was to know
The more I aged the more I knew the more I’d learn and grow.
When I finished high school I was smarter than before
I knew I didn’t know it all so I went back to learn some more.
  
This time when I went to school I wasn’t so naïve.
I knew I’d have to hit the books in order to achieve.
If grade school was confusing I figured college would be worse.
If I was going to expand my mind I should expect a lot of work.

There was a lot more subjects and they took a lot more time.
I wondered how there could be room to store so much knowledge into just one mind.
You know that feeling that you get when there’s so much knowledge you feel as though
If they feed you any more of it your head just might explode?
My mind was like a barrel that was filled up past the brim with rocks
And when you tried to add one more, then two would trickle off.
I thought that I would have to quit but there was still so much I didn’t know.
But I chose to stay though doom seemed near because I didn’t want to go.

With failure in my future I bit my lip and I pressed on.
In time I noticed something odd, some of the rocks were gone.
But the rocks had not been falling out as I tossed more in from my hand
They simply had begun to change from rocks right into sand.

All these things I knew
Were now all becoming one
Witch made more room for knowing more
And knowing once more was fun

It wasn’t like when I was small
And thought I knew it all.
But the ease of it was similar
I felt more on the ball.

I recalled before I went to school
And 4 things that I knew:
Spell my name, and 1+1,
ABCs, and tie my shoe.

The one main thing that I know now
That I didn’t know before
This list of things I knew is 2
It isn’t really 4.

Because I know my adding
It is very clear to see
I tie with laces 1 and 2
Not laces 1 and 3.

I spell my name with no mistakes
Because I know my ABCs.
It doesn’t mean that I know less
I just know with much more ease.

At first the more you know and know
The bigger is the mess.
But when it comes together
The load becomes much less

For when your barrel is so full
You think it will explode
The rocks will blend together
And you’ll have more room to grow.
My Blog: http://louisebleger.wordpress.com/
Thomas Thurman Dec 2010
See you our server farm that hums
And serves HTTP?
It's spun its disks and done its sums
Ever since Berners-Lee.

See you our mainframe spewing out
The Towers of Hanoi?
It's moved recursive discs about
Since Babbage was a boy.

See you our ZX81
That prints the ABCs?
That very program used to run
With Lovelace at the keys.

Magnetic floppy disks and hard,
And tape with patience torn,
And eighty columns on a card,
And so was England born!

She is not any common thing,
Water or Wood or Air,
But Turing's Isle of Programming,
Where you and I will fare.
A rather silly homage to a rather lovely poem in Kipling's "Puck of Pook's Hill".
Ellen Bee Sep 2013
And that's the way it is
Before you even know it's too late
Counting your blessings seems vain
Doesn't it?
Even the bad die young
Forget everything I ever said
******* it
Half-empty glasses don't tip over
I can't prove that to you
Just to make you happy
Keep telling me I'm wrong
Lust is just safer than love
Make me want you only once
Next, forget my name
Only the lonely
Pretend to be fine
Questions only lead to things you don't want to hear
Rational people keep it all to themselves
Show me who I really am
Then trade me in for something new
Unwind yourself and
Very carefully
Wrap me in what bound you
X marks the spot
You'll use invisible ink and
Zone in on your target
Makana Queja Jan 2013
A, B, C, D...
As I twist the stem of my breakfast apple.
Where does life go from here?
Oops. Didn't finish it yet. Wanted to work on it later, but forgot to save it as private. hahahaha, technology, you do me wrong.
M D S Jun 2015
A. For how much I Adore you
B. For how Beautiful you make me feel
C. For all the Car ***
D. For your Dreamy eyes
E. For our ****** relationship
F. For the Feelings I've never experienced
G. For the Good ***
H. For how Happy you make me
I. I LOVE YOU
J. For my Jay baby
K. For your Killer Kisses
L. For how we make Love
M. For the fact that your Mine
N. For the long Nights I spend talking to you
O. For Our future family
P. For the Promise that I wont ever let you go
Q. For making me feel like your queen
R. For all the Reasons I can't explain why I love you
S. Because your ****
T. The Time I cherish with you
U. For Us
V. your relaxing Voice
W. With you I am always okay
X. XOXo
Y. Your kisses
Z. Zzzzz.. For every night we sleep together
sofia ortiz Sep 2012
Imagine this:
Me, who only speaks English
Me, who is moving to Japan
Me, with the Puerto Rican father and the Italian mother
being called a terrorist
for scrawling Arabic in the corners of my notebook.
"It's nothing personal," you say
"I'm just calling it like it is."
I sit in silence and wait for the teacher to stop this,
Say something, Say anything
Say No, Sofia would never hurt another soul
Her silence is a gag over my mouth
handcuffs on a chair
a knot in my belly plummeting out of control
If you had asked, I would gladly have shown you how to write your name
You start with the crooked smile of the letter "ba"
the calculated decrescendo of "ra"
"ya"'s sensual arc
I could show you how to write the guardian "alif"
or the embryonic "noon"
nestled safely inside of her calligrapher's womb
But somehow, between my pen and your eyes, the phrase

I miss you

written in near flawless script
turned into a threat resembling

someone is going to die

If you had asked, I would have told you of how I met an Arab
(you spell that: lam ba noon alif noon ya )
who loved music
(meem waw seen ya qaf alif-maqsura)
and Poptarts
(there's no P in Arabic)
and me.
Let me teach you how to write my name
so the next time you decide to throw around the word "terrorist"
you'll remember that those letters spell a name that represents
a living breathing person
and your prey whose name is spelled with the same alphabet as mine is
a living breathing person
Come here
Unclench your fists and take my pen
You are smart
I will teach you
Trace the shapes like me
and I will show you where you went wrong
be it in life or just now with these ancient ABCs
"Seen" is like a W except she's proud of her curves
and has a left hook that would make any man jealous
"Waw" is an air-headed guy whose body is an afterthought
with hair that billows in the wind and is never far behind
"Fa"
Treat it like a cobra
***** and proud
but dot it, mind you
That's the serpent's crown jewel
"Ya"
The singe-winged bird nesting on two tiny eggs
and "Ta marbuta"
There's no clever way to teach you ta
You just have to learn it
Now
use your two good eyes that are so good at judging and tell me that my name is not alive
The queen and the mother
The feminist and the prideful lover
And the misfit
I can be all of those
You will be all of those
Come here
There's enough space in my margin for you
Practice celebrating your secondary identity
now that you know I am not a terrorist
I won't hold a grudge because you misunderstood
I can't blame you
You just didn't know how to see
This is actually for several classmates who have all said similar things over the past couple of years. They will never read it, but I needed a way to move beyond the hurtful accusations they made.
I will work for food
The sign he held in his hand
As the cars drove by
Giving nothing in his can

Thinks of his children
At school learning ABCs
Wondering tonight
What food will we have to eat

A passer by yells
Get a job you piece of crap
Times used to be good
Then economic mishap

Tears well in his eyes
Because he did think the same
Now on the corner
Wondering who is to blame

It will be simple
If the sign says I will work
The pain is the same
Makes him want to go berserk

All day he holds it
He tries to think how to change
Things for his children
Get things back to being plain

Time to get the kids
Tonight they have a burger
Reaching the shelter
He looks after their hunger

Tomorrow looks bright
He has money to start with
Looking for a job
Gone is his faith in the myth

The myth that is told
If you keep on working hard
Life will be better
Living without being marred

No matter stature
Could happen to anyone
Have it all today
Tomorrow it could be gone
This is one of my poem that was published by the Society of Classical Poets
http://classicalpoets.org/will-work-for-food/
Aaron Mullin Jul 2020
The clock smiled at us
as if it knew we were lost.
Unable to see the path, we continued along
on the wrong side of the ones and zeroes.

Tired of our aimless float;
tired and disoriented in the vacuums of our ignorance.
With all kinds of navigational aids to chart our journey
we mostly relied upon the compass tattooed over our hearts

While lost in the chasm of our indecision
our bodies and minds listed.
Our attempts to unpack the endless
parcels of our unrest ... proved futile.

So carefully, we re-learned the ABCs
and re-interpreted the Western Canon, finding
that it was only by closing our eyes
that we were able to see; were able to feel.

However, the rhythm was off
which was immaterial  as
our feathers were ruffled and
the rhetoric was pluming.

With the overture of the new day dawning
we turned our back
on the algorithms of our demise
and shucked off self-imposed limitations.

You see, it was thirty seconds to midnight and
the world that never seemed to want us
needed us now.
So like anemic royalty, we took flight

breathing down rarefied air and
gulping the nuances of our resilience to swallow:
our intergenerational trauma
one more time.
Submitted to SAAG writing prize competition on July 1, 2019 (slightly modified version)
SteffyWeffy Aug 2016
A, Anorexia.

B, Body Image

C, Cutting.

D, Death.

E, Emblaze.

F, Forgiveness.

G, Gene.

H, Helpless.

I, Insane.

J, Jocund.

K, Kindness.

L, Lost.

M, Memories.

N, Numb.

O, Oxygen.

P, Patience.

Q, Quiet.

R, Rejected.

S, Suicide.

T, Tired.

U, Undo.

V, Vivid.

W, Worthless.

X, Xanthippe.

Y, Yellow.

Z, Zombie.
I don't even know if anyone will like this. I hope you do though.
I thought this was a good idea.
I did ABCs and used one word for each letter.
The words I used mean different things to me or are important to me for different reasons.
Voahirana Oct 2020
My closest friend,
You convinced me you were the only one good enough.
I thought I was in control,
but it was really you all along.

You coached me through my 200 calorie days,
Only celery and diet coke you’d say.
And oh the praise that came with it.
“You look great tell me your secret!” they’d say.
My secret you ask?
Behind that bright smile,
was months of starving.
The bathroom had become my resting place.

I was never enough for you,
was I?
The protruding ribs,
the heart failure,
the unreadable blood pressure,
the bulged spine.
It was never going to be enough.

So when I hear “I wish I could get it too,”
I think of the constant struggle,
It never stops.
Calories are now ingrained in my brain,
as easy as my ABCs.

Goodbye Ana,
all I ever wanted was to be loved.
Haylin Apr 2018
Always saying I love you, baby.
But they’ve only been together a day.
Captivated by the way the
Darkness of each other’s pupils grow
Every time they touch.
Forcing the kind of relationships, but more of the
Groping, that they saw in the movies.
Heated make out sessions in the church youth room, with
Intensity that could make strippers blush.
Juxtaposing every inch of their bodies.
Knowing what to do only because of what they
Learned in health class. Trying to
Master the art of *** and what they call love,
Not caring who knows. Living off each
Other’s breaths. Fabricating
Plans and stories for their parents when they’re caught
Quietly sneaking back into their
Rooms at four in the morning,
Shutting their doors and their eyelids,
Tracing remnant goose bumps.
Until the sun shines into their windows,
Violating their dreams of Cinderella and Prince Charming,
Washing the night from their skin, and shoving their
******* memories to the back and hiding them in a drawer.
Yearning to be touched again, by whom ever the next
Zephyr can blow into their neighborhood.
Francie Lynch Aug 2023
There strolls another father,
Scrolling while his daughter
Rides her stroller as they stroll.
He really oughtn't scroll,
She's awake as they stroll;
It's a stroller, not a scroller.

The purpose of a stroll,
Is to walk and talk the prattle,
The speach that infants rattle
While strolling in their stroller.

Sing to your child,
Stroll all the while,
Hum or whistle,
Mumble……..Grumble;
But don't silently scroll on,
While strolling with the stroller.

Recall childhood rhymes, if you can,
Say the ABCs or count to ten;
Talk of little piggies and brazen toads,
Meaningful memories,
And yellow brick roads.

Enjoy your strolling.


Enjoy your scrolling.
It's true. They walk by my place.
Francie Lynch Apr 2017
The Miss, Misters and Mrs.,
And the St. Joseph's Sisters,
Made me a Bluejay,
Jay- jaying and soaring
Over Wrens and Robins
Below in five rows.
Teeth marks on Ticondarogas,
Initialed pink rubbers,
Toothpicks and fingers
Solved all those problems.

Sister Lucille showed me Sarnia
On the Neilson Wall Map,
With the Malted Milk,
Crispy Crunch bars staring back.
They looked too delicious,
Her reprimand was contritious,
I'm doing time during recess,
Ninety minutes til lunch.

We stood in a crooked line,
Like a snake, to get marked,
With her drawer a crack open
We'd get a peek at her strap.
Black or red, correctively cold;
Sister Roseangela, we'd heard,
Cried, Quid Pro Quo.

We had football baseball,
And hockey dreams,
Volleyball, basketball,
And funeral teams;
Field Days, Holy Days,
Days needed at home;
Teachers were coaches,
With little time to complain;
But the kids back then
Just weren't the same.
There were skirmishes, fouls,
Strike outs and time outs;
We were sliced white bread,
No rye or whole grain.

We'd march double file
Once a week to the Church,
To genuflect and reflect
At the Stations and Cross.
To confess, get redress,
Display penitent remorse,
Though keeping a secret
From the Confessional box,
A comfort and curse.

Their objective succeeded,
The lessons went deep;
Using the three Rs,
The ABCs, 1, 2, 3s,
To impart and ingraine
How to carry one's cross.

I remember by name
The Miss,  Misters and Mrs.
And St. Joseph's Sisters
Who gave their all,
Each day, and always.
They've gone or retired,
But recalled in tranquility
For the life-lessons I admire.
Serious edit and repost.
Neilson candies provided free maps for Canadian schools.
Breeze-Mist Mar 2017
I must've been more stressed than I seemed
Petting my dog, I released a guttural scream
I've been studying projectiles, calculus, and semantic ABCs
I just hope it's enough to get through the SATs
My dog was confused by my primordial groan of stress, but she seemed pretty supportive.
Survivor McButt Mar 2015
ABC
A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y and Z.
Now you know your ABCs
Next time wont you sing with me
Because you didn't sing the first time!

— The End —