"balder" poems
I'm the real Chuck Bass
I am Nigel Barker
****
Noted
Fashion Photographer.
i engulf all men, women and children with my succulent odour
especially when i use the flames of the baldinator.
it makes me bolder... and balder
Baldness is my strength, chutzpah, and truth.
Smize all you like Tyra
I will always come out on top.
I have
the passion,
the power,
the Porsche.
model ******* work for this, for me.
My scalp illuminates the night
leading me up and along the path of the nigh.
Serena van der Woodsen your Pantene waves of glory
will fall victim to my patent shine
now let me beam fiercely
PERFECTION
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
It is the emptiness; vastness of
Space between materials, that
Defines the size of a place,
Even within thin walls.
A half-long walk from my house stand
The ruins of a medieval church
Struck by lightning so many times
Over the last nine hundred years
-As if the Lord Himself kept saying
*Stop building me this **** and
Just LIVE-* that they finally let
Its 1100s stone walls remain
Open to the weathers of the skies.
Some Norwegian churches are so
Old, they still carry runes and
Engravings to honour Odin, Tor
And Balder. It's a difficult thing to
Let go. To just bless the tree and
Surrender it to the rains and suns
Of time.
Feb 19, 2015
Feb 19, 2015 at 4:36 PM UTC
I m a d e turned
it to out ju
30 tonight
is st balder
all that I've dash?
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
relinquish your anguish
tearing fears of queers
from broken enigmas running
sideways through your flaccid fears
fears of being crushed
the life you live coming
will make you feel rushed
quicker than their needs
clutching to the new grounds
dreaming of distant horizons
burn the remnants bleeding
then all your old plush
can drag to the floor with
pearls, curls, swine before twirls
your life will never be some
toy in another mans flush
flicking twisted sheltered
enigmas into quickened glances
erupt, don't get taken
by your grandparents ideals
their luxuries and ***
blooms and brooms
a diamond-induced numb
the cure for AIDS isnt
in some gun-filled crumb
liquefied dollars injected
into magic johnsons thumb
ball your body into a swish
they send you to space
and backboard back for fun
but Koch wont let anyone
but themselvesilluminatirun
so you run, from
stairs getting taller
and eagles getting balder
until youre flat on sunken
ground dripping like larder
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Wow, that's good you're doing really good out there.
Woah, like minus the atmosphere I can stand hectic air.
The pollution is everything and
The way you are balder in the summer even remakes me
**** look over at you and cry for Fall
Lame, that I didn't call until you lost everything.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
" To Allen"
Your balder than i'll ever be
I hope
You dead man
Throwing words at me that smell
Sweet and honest
Like your worm-feast corpse
That will eventually atomize
And flow through the hairy nostrils
Of future sentient beings
Living upon this sphere and other places
Oxygenated by the mother
That will tenderly process you again
Into the very fabric of existence
Which will vibrate differently now
That you have been and writ upon
The globe your karmic babble spilling
Guts and ***** for all to consume
However they wish and dream
Or dare
Nov 28, 2017
Nov 28, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC