"apish" poems
i simply exercised my vocabulary in tantra-yoga... you mistook poetry for its expression of freedom curtailed... and while i did my tantra-yoga bending and pointing at unseen geometries... you simply ran a 100 metre sprint, elongating the hyphen into a boa eating itself with avarice the pepper & salt.
0i preferred the haggis / czarna kiszka
than my retrospective -
i'm doing mine early, for reasons not
necessarily true, or for that matter worthwhile...
but nonetheless assuring -
had i too the gift for painting,
and the nerve to keep a young girl captive
i'd too succumb to fathom a Grimm's tale...
live the secluded live, secluded to the point
of incubation - i'd lived it like an
Arctic explorer, by the fireplace
talking drunk tales of escaping polar bear
hunts - within a pentagram of limbs intact,
greasy Glasgow my farthest stone throw of heart...
furthest the Føroyar Øer - if only i kept my heart
as stern of the body to mind as the atom of ego
in my mind to be lost among the carousel
of weathered abstracts known
as the four winds and the thrice winding clockwork -
what abstractions to bear
from now on? a memorial service?
only in poseur marginalising tomorrow as only
a change of attire for today; so too the
semi-clad conservatives of supposed workmanship
English? takes two to a woad; whatever Argentinian
*** did to you in tango... takes two to a woad!
but there's you apish and impish entwined for
coerced blue of some other Newtonian prefect
of argument, when the painting screams far from
Norway the distinction between azure and
aquamarine is very far between
suggestion of marriage... i've ate my liver as if it were
a heart by drinking salute! to a marble stone all hopes
to have my life back! i mistook my liver for a heart!
i did that! you mistook more than i care to remember
having been forced a forgetting...
those 3 years in Edinburgh meant nothing... nothing!
spend them in South America, in Antarctica!
i will not swallow another breath with a vowel coupled
to a consonant.... until the remnants of me
believe the words: Europe united, only when Scotland
is free.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 10:01 PM UTC
*i vent, i'm sure you heard of the invention known as the ventilator... it's like a lung-clone-subservient of a "nanny quality" of automating the words: breathe in... breathe out... breathe in... it precursors the in and outsources the *out, there's a cult-like-scheme involving the use of... the stated tools... worthy of a suggestion that epitomises August as the month of harvest - i.e. the sun finally sets to auburn crops and **** me, isn't the bread rightly puffy?! toad-squidgy aye aye? go on, give us a burping caricature of a squeeze!*
imagine uttering the words:
i hope your mother lies
eternally run-sacked with hopes
of former ****** glory,
***** bleeding,
as if a Mongolian horde just passed
her with a glorious encore of
clapping to match...
because that's what i assert
as been done to my mother,
you don't even understand the verb
or adjective or conjunction behind
the noun.... after all, you're an African
Muslim and a pyramid builder,
a *******
jaded jock-strap and gag's
worth of you the Ben & Jerry...
praise the Koran
but don't understand that behind
each noun there's a collective grammatical
structure, **** you English political correctness,
**** you! **** YOU! have your Reagent's Street
and Oxford Street, have 'em!
behind the noun all grammatical categories
follow suite... universal noun, what category
for the particular? ape transforms into apish,
or Quasimodo or ~ape, nouns are units,
like centimetres, forget the other things, unless you:
let the shoppers drop dead like flies!
but imagine saying the words:
i hope your mother gets gang-raped by
an equivalent of a Mongolian horde;
yep, Mongolian necrophilia.
you said it to my mother, and i'm mourning,
alive, and counting.... once more... so **** you*!
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
We started childish,
Became mature,
Quarreled apish,
Looked for a cure.
Our relationship is,
Yes flawed it is,
Imperfect it is,
But how sweet it is.
We have had tiffs,
You wept and,
I hardly slept,
But we solved if's.
Our little world is,
Free to fly it is,
Not to cry it is,
But we live as it is.
Gusts of winds blow,
Harsh & dry,
We never cry,
And we do not bow.
It gave us a shove,
Humble dove,
Of purest love,
We wore no glove.
Our hands had met,
We put a bet,
In this game,
Carrying full blame.
Jun 20, 2013
Jun 20, 2013 at 7:57 AM UTC
its still too cold around but,
the warmth of buttered toast
resting between my thenar space
and taste of raspberry jam,
allow me to forget this.
this wasn't always so.
butter repulsed my heart and
raspberries were meant for bleeding over.
toast would only burn and the trinity would never meet.
until the day i needed warmth i could hold,
until the day i needed warmth i could feel,
and have within my opposable apish grasp.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC
I am a woman woman woman
Oozing stomach, uneven eyes
Bruised knees, giraffe neck
Wide forehead, apish lips
Bony scabby elbows, flabby weak arms
Gruesome feet, stubby toes
Uneven colored skin, ashen skin
Wispy pale skin, suitcases under the eyes
Blackened eyelids, alien ears
Oversized ***** **** too big for these jeans
Thunder thighs, fat calves
Wide nose, is my mustache obvious?
Flesh bleeds into soul
Carrying all these flaws becomes too cumbersome to bear
I pack all the things I can’t stand in a box
It will be my daughter who will sort through my remains
Here is where I couldn’t stand to look at
There lies what I was conditioned to unlike
It will then be her duty to carry my hurt along with her
Like an anchor
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 6:28 AM UTC
Why can't science see
humanity's missing link
obviously peace
Kelly McManus
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 10:42 PM UTC