"atter" poems
The puppeteer is the fool,
delivering drugs like a mule,
unaware of his crime,
he will pay a price of time.
The puppeteer approaches his boss,
in a room with some moss.
A man with two tears tattooed on his face,
holds out the his gross overpay and hands him mace.
The Puppeteer walks with what he believes is just cheats,
not hearing the sound of foot beats.
to late to block,
he is clocked.
The puppeteer protects what is his,
the boy beats him without a single miss,
out comes his hero in a baseball cap,
threatening the boy he tries to leave the map.
The puppeteers pride is damaged,
and takes the bat hitting his atter leaving him in bandages.
paying off the right people the man with tear tattoo's
make all the charges become taboo.
The puppeteer reads the news,
the boy he attacked might be set a new,
sitting by the rail on valentines day,
his friend approaches with a blush like a bae.
The puppeteer hears the boy say love,
he pushes his into the wall not wanting to be his dove,
though secretly he feels different,
and his hero can tell and kisses him not ashamed he is indifferent.
The puppeteer panics he is set a miss
for he never expected to receive a kiss,
he shoves him off and yells queer,
his heart is set with fear.
The puppeteer sees him sit down next to him,
his girlfriend near he won't mention it Kim,
looking for justice an older brother show up,
though he is ignored as his opponent sips from a cup.
The puppeteer hears a shot be fired,
he realises he is deaths desire,
when all went black,
his eyes open to see the gunman be pushed a back.
The puppeteer smiles for he has won,
till his hand touched someone,
looking to the side their lies the hero,
and the puppeteers sanity hits zero.
Complete our dream that is his last call,
before the hero's eyes will fall.
an unmarked grave is mentioned through my rhyme,
nothing can heal the heart not even time.
One goal is set in mind,
and he will accomplish it in do time,
to become an artist of the written word,
only then can the puppeteer become a bird.
The puppeteer lives no more,
for now he closes the past's door.
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
altho
ugh i push y
ou away, yo
u have alw
ays see
med to kno
w that
the truth of the m
atter is, i will alwa
ys need you more
and yet
poets are flagra
nt wastes of space
hem
ming the edge
s of this society
confining it
with hed
onistic needs and wants
and all t
he ridiculous feeli
ngs assoc
iated with the fu
cked system of
emot
ional intelligence
emascu
lating the blac
k and wh
ite i des
ire of
Alas, Alas
I seem to have drowned myself into Kool-Aid.
"Poets are shameless with their experiences; they exploit them" said Nietzsche once.
I wonder how you are today.
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 2:45 AM UTC
Here's their "knowledge"
Here's the scoop
NOT scuttlebutt... the REAL ****
Be ye Popeye or Betty Boop
They will draw you in their loop...
This rope will hold you... it ain't loose
You will find it is a NOOSE.
This is interesting to read
Though it's crazy... that's agreed
You'll think these people smokin' ****
In the beginning there were some *thetans
(Interesting that rhymes with SATAN)*
They were bored with all the waiting
They were bored. Nothing to do.
These thetans could be me or you
Then... VIOLA... right on cue...
Here's an idea! The other shoe!
YES! Let's PLAY! We'll play a GAME!
It will be FUN! IT HAS A NAME!
M atter. E nergy. S pace. T ime.
The MEST universe! How sublime!
To find it's secrets will cost no dime
But thousands of BUCKS!
Should be a CRIME.
So these thetans all AGREE.
IT WAS THAT AGREEMENT, you see.
The M. E. S. T. Universe. *(Smokin' TREE?
Was Ronnie Hubbard on LSD?)*
We were AGREED you & me
That this game would then just BE.
Dynamite brains blow off my HAT?
It don't need no S.A.T.
My mind needs no extra watts
To figure out the problem with THAT.
**Can you think of ANY COUPLE
Whether married for 60 years
WHO AGREE ON EVERYTHING???
RIDICULOUS.**
So there you have it.
Their Genesis
I'll bring you more.
There's quite a list.
But I think you have the gist.
SCIENCE FICTION!!!
Not M. E. S. T. but MISSED!
Catherine E Jarvis
SoulSurvivor
(C) 2/23/2017
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 2:58 AM UTC
wander abaht atter a home
as av no bairns ad Tek us in
so the living hereabahts
rush inside
early doors
afore sunset
lock doors
pull down shades,
turn mirrors to walls
do all to stop me seeing em
for if I did
I'd carry 'em off.
*** named a monkey
after us, the lemur
cos we big eyes
are aht at neet
and mek ghost noises
so bairns bang *** lids
howl like wolves
joined by tarn dogs,
to frit us away
while nannans spin abaht,
splash boiling watta
rahnd rooms with a wooden ladle .
Am one dead al not find a home.
I'd carry 'em off.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 6:00 AM UTC
pigen der tavst traver gennem
skoven der efterhånden er helt nøgen
og iagttager de gyldne blade der er faldet
med hendes rødvinsfarvede læber suger ***
grådigt på den sidste cigaret *** kunne finde i lommen
og vinden hiver i hendes lange lysebrune bølgede hår
men *** er ligeglad, for *** kan kun tænke på at
en dag, snart, vil *** forsvinde fra dette sted
i ørene danser der stille toner komponeret af engle
og sunget af Bon Iver
pigens øjne er store og runde, og vidt åbne
for *** prøver at sluge så meget af denne følelse
før det er for sent igen og lyset der titter igennem de spinkle
grene atter er forsvundet og erstattet af en grå tåge
hendes tanker står så stille, samtidig med at stemmerne
aldrig nogensinde stopper med at hviske til hende
de hvisker, at en pige som hende aldrig vil blive lykkelig
pigen griner da lyden af ordene giver genlyd i hendes
hovede, *** havde nemlig for længst affundet sig med at
lykken er den nøgne skov, gyldne blade, rødvinslæber,
cigaretter, de sidste solstråler og Bon Iver
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
No where to go. Lost in this
Open field, of life, and it's just me. Here. Alone.
Been searching for that place to call home.
Only, what is home?
Don't give up!
You can do it. Just believe in yourself! You got the
Strength to go on.
Home is where the heart is--that's home.
Open and free, loving and caring. No
Matter where the road takes you; Remember
Everyone will struggle in life and we will all get through it.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 6:00 PM UTC
I can only make myself write about the people who don't hurt, those that don't matter.
I can't wait for the day that I can write about you.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
Når jeg tænker på dig
er det kun et spørgsmål om tid
før du vil sidde fast i mine tanker bestandigt
og vandre til dine sko er slidt.
Derefter vil jeg give dig nye sko
og lade dig atter vandre.
For så længe jeg tænker på dig
ved jeg du stadig eksisterer.
For så længe du atter vandre
og ikke stikker af fra mine tanker
da kan jeg stadig leve og tro
at alt er godt fra min tanke-boble.
(Marolle)
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
So much of what we do or say makes a difference-
Either good or bad- so choose wisely
And you'll see that your voice does
Matter! That no matter who you are, your
Life is important and you're worth it!
Everyone gets an equal chance in life
So make the best of it and
Spread the LOVE! End the hate!
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 11:36 AM UTC
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Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 1:51 AM UTC
"This is a collect call from: 'Darlene Ryder', at the Nielsen County Sheriff's Department, press '2' to accept charges and be connected."
beep
"hello? Bill?...you there?"
**** Darlene, how many times we gotta fuckin' do this?!", he threw his voice at her through the phone like a fastball wrapped in firecrackers.
"I dint do nuthin' wrong! they jus got sumpn' against me s'all!"
"uh huh, the **** d'you do, huh?
"the ***** had it comin', I was jus tryin' to have a few 'n relax then she come 'n talk 'bout how I was lookn' atter funny but I watn't- I was jus mindin' my own talkin' to Charlie. So all's I need from you is to get yer lazy, belly-picken', beer-guzzlin' hole fer a face down here and unpinch this fuckin' mess!" and hung up the receiver on her end of prison.
The guards shoot each other a look then raise their eyebrows. They'll be recounting this over beers tonight beneath the monstrous glow of 47 90" TVs in between attempts at the waitress young enough to be their daughter. They'll shovel in the wings of a total of 18 birds drowned in hot sauce and butter before the sports bar stops feeding them. Then they'll all drive home drunk with hot breath and testosterone like molasses, ending their nightly routine with their ***** in their hands and their pants around their ankles drooling at tiny glowing screens.
Long live the American gods of New Olympus.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 11:04 AM UTC
du var som den pollen der fik mig til at nyse
hvis vi endelig var ovre og pillerne begyndt at virke
duftede jeg atter et træ af birke.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC
Du spurgte mig aldrig
Hvorfor jeg ikke tog med til festerne
Du havde vel travlt med dig selv
Som altid
Men det var du ikke den eneste, der havde
At gå alene gennem villakvarterene klokken 3 om natten var forfærdeligt
Alene i kulden, vente på perronen, alene
Tanken om, hvorfor jeg atter var alene
Tanken om, at I lå trygt i din seng
Og sikkert ikke skænkede mig en tanke
Dagen efter
Med tømmermænd og ensomhed
Atter engang
Ingen opkald, ingenting
Kun 4 hvide vægge,
der endnu engang minder mig om,
hvor ensom jeg er,
og hvor ligeglade
og selvoptagede
folk i virkeligheden er
Apr 7, 2015
Apr 7, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
føler mig atter gennemsigtig
med hud lavet af nylon
et punkteret hjerte
der bløder igennem
den sarte overflade
så jeg kan ikke skjule
at jeg stadig elsker dig
det er tydeligt for alle
med blod der drypper
ned af maven på mig
du står bare der
og lader som om at jeg ikke
eksisterer
for det er nemmere
så gør det ikke ondt
du lader som om
at du ikke kan se at jeg bløder
at du ikke kan se at det stadig
er for dig
dine øjne er stadig grønne
som smagrader
så dybe at jeg kunne forsvinde
i dem på ny
og din mund er stadig
sart og fin
minder mig om dengang
den rørte min
så mange ord jeg gerne
vil høre den sige
men tavs er du
og du kiggede lige igennem mig
som om jeg ikke fandtes
som om du ønskede
at jeg ikke fandtes
min hjerne krøller
og spekulerer
om du overhovedet
stadig syntes at jeg er smuk
nu hvor du ikke vil se på mig
trods der var engang
hvor du slet ikke kunne lade vær
kun du har set på mig
med de øjne
ville ønske at du kunne læse
mine utallige digte
der fortæller historier
om en dreng med et skrøbeligt sind
en kompleks psyke
som egentlig helst
ville være alene
men havde brug for en at holde om
så han forelskede sig
i en pige der løb lidt for stærkt
og snakkede lidt for meget
og lidt for højt
historier om langsomme
søndage
forsvundet under grå dyner
kroppe
der lidenskabeligt var flettet
ind i hinanden
din hud mod min
dit hjerte der bankede
min tungespids på din mave
dine kys i min pande
hænder overalt på nøgen hud
som jeg stadig kan mærke
selvom det ikke længere
er dig der rør mig
vil ikke være gennemsigtig
mere så jeg maler min krop
i regnbuens farver
jeg vil ses
jeg vil betyde noget
og det kan du ikke hjælpe med længere
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 3:26 AM UTC