"alias" poems
Magick 13
My rhymes periglacial slash through foes ****** leavin' corrupted maxillofacial stay laced with the coco
Til my nose blow out nothing but deadly keys makin' monopolies at ease see my desert ease
Could make the devil freeze with the beautiful ephipanies laid though my flow cinematography ain't no fictions here G
My pedigrees been deadly since the age of three
First sips of Hennessy pictured a glare of my enemies stories of me biblically
Born a David killin' Goliath's society defiant
Knock down the orders in the cornered borders
Of the Jesuit I'm the black Pope
Elope to the celestials gods that rope
My mind hanging on to the highs of the ****
Better yet the marijuana sneaky as an anaconda
Once I tighten cells begin biting
Fighting tryna stay alive like Bee Gees
Fiendin' for my lost dynasties kin to Nefertiti since I ****** on *******
As a baby I got a taste of the universe thoughts deeper than a hearse words hurts exciting flirts beating all perks through my vengeful works
My alias an archangel leave the game triangled Titan mentality dribble like Cousy so you might loose me?
Sick with the tracks axe minds like Moses to the red sea knockin' down Rome legacy
Back on top like the greatest plot dimensions traveler like Bishop
Capitalizin' land plots I be the Black Wieshaupt
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
why my existence was just one unending question?
even in the formless and endless pitch black (his HP alias),
could hear Him smile and communicate:
if not You, then who?
We love your dreams where answers run wild like an
Oregon waterfall,
only you understand that the whole world encapsulates into:
love thy neighbor as thyself!
which must be recited as a poem
standing on one left leg
then, smiling,
god extended his only finger, touching each of mine eyelids:
sleep, friend for we need your questioning dreams,
your faith unfurled and unfulfilled
for in your unending inquiry
is all of our
in the beginning, our anti-matter rooted creation,
the Holy Dark
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:07 AM UTC
My lips are moving but my brain is not
I've got my smile handy, I'll never be caught
I'm nervous but it'll never show on my face
I'll pretend I fit, I belong in this place.
My hands aren't clammy, I don't have a stutter
My voice is steady though my legs are rubber
I'm sitting down, no one gets to see
I'm nervous, I'm unsure, but I can fake happy.
I'm an actor, a professional, I'm perfect at what I do
I'm smiling, I'm laughing, but, god, how I hate you.
I fly through moods as though it's my sole purpose
I go by an alias so no one knows I wrote this.
I'm nervous, I'm nervous, I'm ******* terrified
But far be it from me to be typically traumatized
I'm a 'survivor', I'm doing just fine, I'm not panicking
I'll never display the bad moments publicly.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:10 AM UTC
Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear
The warning whirr and burring of the bird
Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard
Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder.
Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer
Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered
By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird,
Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire.
So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight
In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth,
Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night,
Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death
And shadows only--cave-mouth bristle beset--
Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.
2.8k
That day I met her at the Shelter
She said, “My name is Dora",
While hanging upside down, off kilter,
“I’m Dora the Explorer!”
Balanced on the armoire door
Beckoning me to help her retrieve
Hanging high above the floor
A ballet that I couldn’t believe...
Up on one toe she dangled
As she demanded I help her reach
Some toys she longed to wrangle
Until we heard a commanding screech!
“Get down from there! Wash your hands!
Asia, it’s almost time for dinner!"
Dora leapt-trusting- she lands
Her high-flying act a sure winner!
Oh, Dora, who is Asia?
She said, “I don’t like that name-sorry!
Later let's play a new game?
After dinner my name is Laurie!”
Since she answered to that name
I schooled her in her name’s history
But Dora just wouldn’t be tamed
“Not a CONTINENT-I’m a MYSTERY!”
Asia, alias Laurie Dora
After supper, brushed and scrubbed
Gave the best, my airy explorer-
Dora's monumental hug!
She sprang to my arms without warning
Like a monkey from a vine
I wasn’t aware until morning
It was the best hug of all time!
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Another Sunday, time to recover
From all the drugs, my only lover
Take my B vitamins to start the circulation
With some fish oils to reduce inflammation
Most importantly, are my amino acids
Because of that I've been flushed
So now I replenish these masses
The benzos are the only drugs that get touched
So addicted to them, so I know it's a must
If a doctor read this, he'd understand my logic
But if a doctor read this, he'd command me to stop it
As I continue my day with my normal acting mind
I realize I'm a slave to drugs, all the time
But I'm financially flourished
The whole family I nourish
And after reading these poems, I feel some people get jealous
Who would follow me? They know my soul I had sold it
I always follow back, I'm not a bad guy
Now sit on top of that, I'm not living a lie
I could really care less about it
It's just an alias, and a therapeutic outlet
Just another Sunday
Glad you read about it
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
I was an idiot back then,
those trips to Rebekah's hovel.
though they did make me sentimental,
for the days when her dad had taught me guitar
for eight weeks when I was thirteen.
she told me of a suicide dream
that utilized her iron deficiency.
I told her I would tell her parents
if she started pushing it in motion,
that made her cry,
though in retrospect, I wanted her to die.
I was at that misery factory age
when your heart pumps nothing
but razorblades and jealousy,
and the death of some overly-depressed
girl would at least give me a story to
tell.
I was a pseudo-lover,
writing page upon page
of poetry for Sheila,
I used an alias for her:
"Nature's Criminal".
It felt appropriate.
what she did to my
emotions seemed rather
unnatural.
we would kiss on dark, dirt roads,
and duck when cars would passby.
she would always preface
our encounters with,
"remember this doesn't mean anything."
now, Rebekah only writes to tell
of artists signed to Saddle Creek.
she got married to some diabetic,
acne-marred, sex-fiend that
bares the burden of a pet peeve
that revolves around bananas.
now, I only see Sheila,
when some boy is ********** her,
when she feels beyond used.
in her parasitic apartment,
I always remind her
they don't mean anything.
Dec 22, 2010
Dec 22, 2010 at 8:35 AM UTC
Oh, delicious siren of the produce aisle,
your alias, “Vegetable,” above.
Come, let me pick you from the bunch.
I’ll run my hands around the contours of your shape,
checking you for holes,
bruises,
dirt.
“I’ll take this one,” I say,
bagging you up,
twist-tie tight.
How softly you ride,
in the front seat of the shopping cart,
alone with the eggs.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
I was unprepared for your lack of self-awareness
and the way you approach life like a
kid running the wrong way with the ball.
Sometimes I feel like your mother
sending you to your room so you can tantrum.
Other times I feel like your daughter
when you lay out my shoes as if I can’t get them myself.
Talking to you is throwing rocks at a land mine;
There is a difference between creativity and indecision.
There is a difference between sensitivity and overreacting.
You have to find who you are, and stop lifting so many lids.
Your anxious energy is clinging to my calm like a parasite
Eventually, you need to find a calm of your own
take your spinning outside inward, where things are still.
I want to help you
and I want to escape,
because rarely do I feel like your lover
partly because I don’t want to anymore.
I don’t want your touch, I don’t want your kiss
your hands are vexatious, please just let me sleep!
I don’t want to gag and choke on your tongue.
Just rest for a while,
so I can figure out how to do this.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 10:20 PM UTC
1
Well, I've dated a few guys, sure -
you know, being Ms Hyphen
I'm sociable, like to bring people together
that sort of thing
So I dated that guy Exclamation Mark
and what the hell, he was shouting all the time!
He's just too excitable, not my type
Sure, Comma was more sedate
but a little too slow for me, you know
So I gave guys like Inverted Commas and Parenthesis
a try - but hell, they were always trying to frame me
So I like said to myself, maybe I'll try someone else
from the Mark family, and woooh! - this guy
was like questioning me all through dinner
and I was like thinking to myself:
*What's with this guy? Where does he work?
At the NSA or FBI or what?*
I guess you know who I'm talking about
Well, I dated all the other guys too
like Semi-Colon and then Colon
but you know, one liked to separate;
and the other was always out
with his smartphone
listing things I said
2
So I nearly gave up dating when I thought -
*Hey what about Dash?
That's a dashing fellow surely
and he seems to be just like me*
(except he is - as is apt for a guy - long)
but he was just like Semi-Colon -
always separating people
You got to bring people together
in this world, you know;
that's what this world needs
Yes, I dated Full Stop too
but he was always getting me to stop
and besides, he said his alias was Period -
now that freaked me out, you know
*Hey, what kind of guy walks around
with a name like Period?*
I'll tell you like who's the worst guy to date, OK -
that's Apostrophe:
O listen darling, was he ever so possessive!
3
Well, I'll give my dating career a break -
maybe come next year,
I might try dating 2nd of February
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
Against his will he’s confined in a notorious cell block mansion
Inmate number B-33920 his name, Charles Manson.
Some say he’s a prophet of living disaster
I beg to differ for what I can honestly see,
Never under estimate our power for he is also a vision master.
So charismatic diamonds start to fall off his tongue
There picking them up as his blessed words begin to flow.
Paying for a crime he never did any wrong
The panel was rigged and the prosecutor
Knew which way the final verdict would go.
Living in fear all the members of the jury
If it were random picks I’d be the hold out
Just to see the audience eyes become burning blurry
And to watch the splinters fly in the air
As the gavel comes smashing down in a hurry.
Denying freedom each and every time
The parole board does forever plan.
Under duress they have no choice for they been warned
Secretly hiding behind alias screen names
I predict there also joining his internet fan club clan.
Exploiting him for their own financial gain
The state’s making profits just because of his name
And to me they are the ones, who are savage
Because if the DOC loses custody of their celebrity
They then will lose their stimulus package.
At head count his body may physically be there
But in his mind, he’s walking on warm desert sand
As he pretends he is in Death Valley.
As for me, I’m lurking in the street
And hiding in a back alley.
Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter
Let him go, let him go, let him go!
(SirCARSr. 12-6-13)
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 1:26 PM UTC
Sometimes I forfeit peace
to log on and feel a release
slave to its master
freedom on a leash.
Thoughts laid prostrate
forced open is the fate
my life a potluck
privacy open to mutilate.
Username and password
alias to a dream deferred
pressure to fulfill
purpose completely blurred.
My brain belongs to me
i give it away freely
my business senses love it
the common ones disagree.
Nov 17, 2010
Nov 17, 2010 at 6:54 PM UTC
Her alias was Sunrise
The affable Sky
Brags her entity
In the high latitude
Her voice was heard.
There exists Energy
He puts up the plug
With the invisible outlet
Of the naked Sky
His charged particles
Brought collision
Brought wonder
To the full-sized Universe.
The solar wind
The Earth
Both were crowd-pullers
Every one knelt down
As they see
The Roman Goddess of Dawn
Her melodramatic entrance
Her chameleon-like aptitude
The neon lights
Without Christmas *****
Made her zone broaden.
I am the Seeker
A Dreamer
In this winter breeze
I lied down
With the techy remote
Unearthing
The Goddess of Fantasy.
(12/5/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
My real name is not of any importance,
other than the people who know me by it.
My work alias is simply to convey who I am,
And without a struggle I hope people can say a nick name common to their tongue!
When I go online I use a screen name,
So the crazies I can hold back with certain level of privacy of who I am.
With the current digital age comes with sharing information,
And too easily accessible with in the finger tips.
Truly those who read my inks will know who I am,
Like writing to a pen pal,
Computer screens keep us distant,
But in that black screen is a window to people's mind,
And understand connecting with people by their ink is far closer than a name!
Until you can invoke their inner child by their real name!
Oct 29, 2015
Oct 29, 2015 at 10:09 PM UTC
The Scales are out of balance
Thanks to the alias: ******
He just couldn't face the challenge
So he went out splurgin'
That B flies Flower to Flower
Forgetting the Honey at home
She prayed for the hour
That his sins he would hold
up to, and never again roam
She, disappointed in his inaction
He, saved by her contraction
... Knives would've been flown
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
Any-Her has a name. Had.
It was the title of a travel book.
Any-Her had a
name tattooed along her spine.
You search and read her
up, down, sideways.
She was a work of fiction,
a ghost story. You read her
under the covers
by the beam of a flashlight
against your chin for dramatic
effect. In a flash, she's gone.
You flick the lights out and sleep.
Any-Her is a dream.
Was. Bright eyes, pierced
lips. You'd recognize her anywhere,
in the travel aisle of a library.
She had a name. Her signature
was jotted in the margin
of a catalogue card. She was
a name on a list of borrowers.
You'd wait your turn, check her out.
Any-Her is a number.
She writes it down on
the back of a bar napkin.
You skim details,
fill in blanks.
Any-Her is easily
(mis) read, goes by
an alias based on the
date. You name her
after obscure holidays,
like, "Winter Solstice '20",
or, "Funny Valentine '21".
You celebrate her coming,
the -where and the
-when. The -who is
irrelevant, the -how,
irrational. And -why
is what you keep asking
the next morning
while waiting for a reply
that never comes.
Any-Her is a city
far from home,
you decide. You don't
remember the name.
Don't need to.
You're just one
of -any, passing
through.
Mar 5, 2021
Mar 5, 2021 at 9:46 AM UTC
Hello there,
Let me introduce myself.
My name is Punching Bag.
It doesn't matter how long you neglect me,
Because, when you need a scape goat,
I'm just as tough as the day you first met me.
Hit me all you like, I'll barely budge.
And no matter how hard you throw that punch,
I'll only move closer to you.
Not once will I ever swing back.
You'll find those more well-aquainted with me sometimes call me,
Used Tissue.
When things get a little too messy, I'm the reliable one who cleans you up.
Get sick, I'll take care of you.
A broken heart? I'll dry your tears.
I'll fix your make-up.
Then, when the exitement is over,
Just toss me out.
I won't mind.
As you spend more time with me, I'm sure you'll learn to refer to me as:
Closet, or even Mirror.
A part of the furniture you're used to having around
But even whenyou get bored with the look,
You don't throw me out.
I'm a place to point ot your insecurities,
Then hang them up along side your skeletons, locked inside me.
Then, seeing yourself as better than you are,
Go on with your day.
Go ahead and stick a lable on me reading Story Book,
Even though I'm still fairly empty of fairytales inside.
I won't even read into your faibles;
There's nothing more exciting than a history that never really happened, right?
Make up what you think might be fun to tell before passing me to someone else,
To read and add on more.
But, now that you've gotten to know me better, why don't you call me Staircase?
I let people walk on me, walk all over me 'til they reach the top.
I'll have to warn you about this though.
I'm not made of marble, stone or brick.
I'm made of wood that's been warn away by heavy boots
So, each step is a little less thick.
One of my dusty, rotten boards might give way and you might fall.
Please, don't blame me.
Even with all my identities, I can't change what I am.
As har as I try, I'm still only human.
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 7:43 PM UTC
Go on, dance with me now.
Your hands ticking away time like a drumbeat,
your radius hitting the table
with a knock
on every door that has my heart hidden
somewhere between dreams. This orange
October sky, your laugh like an earth
losing its spin, axis alias to your tongue.
Forget me now then, we were never a race-
track
burnt asphalt into your name, I was only
a ship with a suicidal anchor,
crashing turntables like the surface of the sea,
our song stuck now in the echoes
of the Atlantic.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 8:10 AM UTC
Heinous, immoral, sinful swine!
To what I am demanded to oblige,
This unravelled given flesh, falsely acclaimed.
By who, are we to bestow such honorarium upon specimens?
We, this, it... YES it! For no other alias be deft to pure ****
If it be for me, I'd not be so haste to shift to utter, cosmic vile!
And alas tis that which I am, and as all my fellow ethological, fleshy hominids.
I do not care for it.
And seek the purity of it, but such use may be eternally latent.
God!
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Moon unit Zappa
smile
whip *******
Zowie Bowie
alias
Duncan Jones
Zappa film Moon
Rolan Bolan
the real
pinball wizard.
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
Coulrophobia
(Poem by Serenus)
Ghostly
Chalk white face
With a blood smeared smile
Dead dark eyes
That beam into the
Soul of a child
A freakish laugh
That sounds off as a warning
Razor sharp teeth
Used to keep
Countless mothers mourning
The monster hiding under the bed
That gives your children chills
Playgrounds keep him fed
And babies are his “happy meals”
He is not your friend
Don’t believe his lies
He’ll eat your kids- alive
With a side of fries
He's a madman -Its apparent
He uses the alias Ronald...
Warning to ALL parents...
Stay the hell away
From McDonald's!
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 11:58 PM UTC
d'harga'h! urn! and sung clemency with the sign of the cross - Mr. Longinus - a baptism awaits...
in the Turkish shop buying my beers -
politics talk, gone Razza - Tahir -
talk of politics - deciphered a word:
Erdoğan (Erdoghan, Edrogrzan,
what was it - macabre radish to taste -
niechmaj sto Vlad'a reka na tle kiwnieniem raz!
i krok poza 'sztem! bogiem byka wybryk
szto?! - the crowds descended, and the kestrels
and the pigeons, and the swans,
and the migratory storks, and the seagulls -
for the Winged-Hussar Polonaise.
fluff of the wings -
the Mongol stench
reinterpreted - i rather be picking
ethnic mushrooms - kropki polka -
and koniewki - łopieniek & canary -
grünling in German, gąska zielonka - Pan Kleks -
or Chanterelle Mushroom - pepper shakerz -
kurki, tzn. te słynne grzyby.
the deviating kurka - or chickpea foetal
variant of fungus - or alias chick.
each time they pithy my assertion to claim the
ethnic brothel of Europe that Poland is for
the noble families - each time they undermine
the worker testifying the fuck-worthy ****
prior sleep - pride settles in -
and a long forgotten assertive builds up
to architectural proportions -
it just ends up being a game of throwing
copper coins into Scotland, potatoes into Ireland...
and dinosaur bones into Wales...
and post-colonial subjects into England, lazily
packed with the labels **** and Hindu;
Karzimierz Dębski could have said: it was never
supposed to come to this; shame that it did;
the safety option was exacted.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Judge Bristol pronounced his sentence with the following words and said,
"The said William Bonney, alias Kid, alias William Antrim
shall be hanged by the neck until his body be dead, Dead, DEAD!!!"
Shackled Billy left the courthouse smiling, almost as if in glee.
"Why are you smiling?" an interviewer asked him inquisitively.
"What's the point in dwelling on the dreary side of life?" the Kid responded,
"Today the joke is on me."
A true tribute to The Kid's charm, humor and endearing personality.
The above is not legend. The above is true documented history.
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 10:33 AM UTC
fílabein er Loki ætur;
tvisvar Orka -
mathákur-blóð
(bloodji), alias
örn-gler narcissus:
Greenlander -
Grænland sum sum -
Grélandè.
comma surdic left a pardoning;
aligned to Arctic;
thus said a penguin quack.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC