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"ballyhoo" poems
for Nick and Kaitie 1. Yesterday, right when our call got dropped, I was going to tell you something about marriage. I was going to tell you something gnomic, a maxim worth getting engraved. I've since forgotten, but I believe it was akin to saying that, like Truth, marriage is impossible to define in verbal space. So, I guess I'm glad I forgot. The words would've seemed either too hastily conceived for their subject matter or else weightless, enigmatic – without impact. I think it was Auden who whined, “Marriage is rarely bliss,” though he lightened the phrase by encapsulating it in the context of modern physics – namely, at least it has the ability to take place, and that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha’s Emptiness. So, I'm happy our call got dropped, for the dial tone was the pithiest aphorism on marriage any sentient life could've produced. The key word is “produced.” 2.     This is what marriage is not: Socrates gurgling hemlock     on his dusty prison cot, giggling as he glimpsed a dikast’s deformed ****     Nietzsche tenured for philology at Basel; Nietzsche feverishly etching     Fick diese scheiße! on a Jena clinic's wall; biology predetermining the team for which he was pitching;     a poem; a hotdog; ******* a discharged Kalashnikov     engendering generational pain somewhere in Saratov     circa 1942; this is what marriage is not:     hatred, jealousy, ballyhoo, obsessive yearnings for a yacht;     this is what marriage is not: anything one pair of hands has wrought.   August 22, 2013
0
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
christopher-howard-gorrie
On a Marriage that Was to Take Place atop Half Dome in Yosemite National Park
for Nick and Kaitie 1. Yesterday, right when our call got dropped, I was going to tell you something about marriage. I was going to tell you something gnomic, a maxim worth getting engraved. I've since forgotten, but I believe it was akin to saying that, like Truth, marriage is impossible to define in verbal space. So, I guess I'm glad I forgot. The words would've seemed either too hastily conceived for their subject matter or else weightless, enigmatic – without impact. I think it was Auden who whined, “Marriage is rarely bliss,” though he lightened the phrase by encapsulating it in the context of modern physics – namely, at least it has the ability to take place, and that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha’s Emptiness. So, I'm happy our call got dropped, for the dial tone was the pithiest aphorism on marriage any sentient life could've produced. The key word is “produced.” 2.     This is what marriage is not: Socrates gurgling hemlock     on his dusty prison cot, giggling as he glimpsed a dikast’s deformed ****     Nietzsche tenured for philology at Basel; Nietzsche feverishly etching     Fick diese scheiße! on a Jena clinic's wall; biology predetermining the team for which he was pitching;     a poem; a hotdog; ******* a discharged Kalashnikov     engendering generational pain somewhere in Saratov     circa 1942; this is what marriage is not:     hatred, jealousy, ballyhoo, obsessive yearnings for a yacht;     this is what marriage is not: anything one pair of hands has wrought.   August 22, 2013
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41
Look men made a habit out of wanting her see men like blondes men like curves men like *** some men want it all because I guess all men want to date actresses Norma Jean little girl never had a home passed around like nothing never had a home and was passed door to door abandoned because her mother lost her marbles a girl who was only wanted by men since childhood Norma Jean she heard a chorus of lies every time someone called her name and she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became an object and when she could act no more when she looked into the mirror and couldn't see herself looking back it was not good enough Marilyn a star with the most useful tool looks but couldn't focus the little things so three men left instead she focused on the audiences clapping focused on the people loving her focused on the men in the front row whispering Marilyn as they let her beauty invade their souls like a main street ballyhoo playing praise to her not knowing each note was bittersweet making her feel elated and crushed crushed beneath the chains holding her too strongly to her past behind every compliment she felt his wandering hands the hands of a man an orphan was supposed to call father or the hands of a boy the boy she was supposed to call brother because her whole life she was only wanted for one thing and the men in the crowds only echoed what she had known all along that she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became their object not good enough so they mocked the woman who only aimed to please calling out to her holding her up not knowing she would fall see the depressed have an intimacy with death it’s there in their dreams but sticks around for their nightmares and the fans turned to one another trying to determine the distance between joy and sorrow not realizing that depression can push the distance making the tallest mountains look like ant hills creating decrescendos so soft they fade out of existence and for a moment it felt like the entire universe had begun to cry distance must be an illusion the woman can’t be dead Marilyn her life taken transforming the way people think about emotions and for an instant it was like sadness was a tangible thing like you could reach out and feel it like for the first time you could see happiness and sadness tango in a dance so slow and delicate that we finally understood the history was so important to know the woman all we ever had to do was look.
0
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
elizabeth-raine
Monroe (After Koyczan's Beethoven)
Look men made a habit out of wanting her see men like blondes men like curves men like *** some men want it all because I guess all men want to date actresses Norma Jean little girl never had a home passed around like nothing never had a home and was passed door to door abandoned because her mother lost her marbles a girl who was only wanted by men since childhood Norma Jean she heard a chorus of lies every time someone called her name and she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became an object and when she could act no more when she looked into the mirror and couldn't see herself looking back it was not good enough Marilyn a star with the most useful tool looks but couldn't focus the little things so three men left instead she focused on the audiences clapping focused on the people loving her focused on the men in the front row whispering Marilyn as they let her beauty invade their souls like a main street ballyhoo playing praise to her not knowing each note was bittersweet making her feel elated and crushed crushed beneath the chains holding her too strongly to her past behind every compliment she felt his wandering hands the hands of a man an orphan was supposed to call father or the hands of a boy the boy she was supposed to call brother because her whole life she was only wanted for one thing and the men in the crowds only echoed what she had known all along that she was not good enough so she dyed her hair not good enough so she changed her name not good enough so she became their object not good enough so they mocked the woman who only aimed to please calling out to her holding her up not knowing she would fall see the depressed have an intimacy with death it’s there in their dreams but sticks around for their nightmares and the fans turned to one another trying to determine the distance between joy and sorrow not realizing that depression can push the distance making the tallest mountains look like ant hills creating decrescendos so soft they fade out of existence and for a moment it felt like the entire universe had begun to cry distance must be an illusion the woman can’t be dead Marilyn her life taken transforming the way people think about emotions and for an instant it was like sadness was a tangible thing like you could reach out and feel it like for the first time you could see happiness and sadness tango in a dance so slow and delicate that we finally understood the history was so important to know the woman all we ever had to do was look.
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120
i sat at her typewriter wearin’ plain white v-neck, plaid WalMart shorts marr’d. i sat at her typewriter as we discuss’d life problems. i sat at her typewriter dividing interest between her and the powerful feeling received through uniform ballyhoo. i sat at her typewriter feinging, waiting for her to say she’s too drunk. i sat at her typewriter as she went on with her first-world problems. i sat at her typewriter as they exchanged insults yell’d and shard’d glass of broken jars. i sat at her typewriter as she dispensed her drug. i sat at her typewriter when her and the secondary-Virgo did move to grind. i sat at her typewriter as i forged fragment’d statements to poetry. i sat at her typewriter when she had that look in her eyes. i sat at her typewriter as my life end’d. i sat at her typewriter after the snow sweat. i sat at her typewriter when she snap’d the spine of her first horse Sassafras. i sat at her typewriter when i deluded myself about loving her. i sat at her typewriter never any longer.
0
Jan 20, 2013
Jan 20, 2013 at 10:05 AM UTC
townsendfm
her inspiration.
i sat at her typewriter wearin’ plain white v-neck, plaid WalMart shorts marr’d. i sat at her typewriter as we discuss’d life problems. i sat at her typewriter dividing interest between her and the powerful feeling received through uniform ballyhoo. i sat at her typewriter feinging, waiting for her to say she’s too drunk. i sat at her typewriter as she went on with her first-world problems. i sat at her typewriter as they exchanged insults yell’d and shard’d glass of broken jars. i sat at her typewriter as she dispensed her drug. i sat at her typewriter when her and the secondary-Virgo did move to grind. i sat at her typewriter as i forged fragment’d statements to poetry. i sat at her typewriter when she had that look in her eyes. i sat at her typewriter as my life end’d. i sat at her typewriter after the snow sweat. i sat at her typewriter when she snap’d the spine of her first horse Sassafras. i sat at her typewriter when i deluded myself about loving her. i sat at her typewriter never any longer.
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42
The elves congregated In the back room of the shop, Muttering amongst themselves And chattering on nonstop. One elf stood on a table And scanned the angry crowd. He raised his hand to shush The others from getting too loud. "Fellow elves, be quiet. We have work to do; This isn't just a trivial Elven ballyhoo. "Santa's expectations Have risen exceedingly. He takes no action when I ask him pleadingly "For a raise in pay And better working conditions. He only chortles and laughs And speaks of old traditions." An elf spoke up from the group: "The reindeer have it made. We work our butts off; But see how little we're paid. "Why they earn so much Isn't really clear When they only work ONE night of the year! "Platitudes and promises Do nothing to assuage Angry workers. Santa Must increase our wage!" "Yes," chimed in another. "Not keeping up with inflation, Our pay keeps us living In serious deprivation. "Our benefits also haven't Kept up with the times. They are slashed while The cost of insurance climbs. "I know we've a lot to do, And I think we're pretty meticulous, But the hours we're forced to work… I mean…this is ridiculous! "And what about part-time elves Who have little enjoyment Working for no benefits? You call that employment?" Disgruntled, all the workers Considered taking action And wondered what to do To get some satisfaction. Another elf said, "Santa's Heavy demands are an onus. And we elves don't even Get a Christmas bonus! "Frankly, it takes every Ounce of faith I can muster To think that dear ol' Santa's Not a union buster! "Furthermore, there's something That I've got to say: We all have to strive For equality of pay." "Yay!" the elves shouted And in unison chanted: "Equal pay: Yes! Take nothing for granted!" The work discussion lingered Well into the night. They knew that gaining ground Would require a fight. (In thinking about life, Struggles, work, and fairness, It doesn't hurt anyone To have some elf-awareness.) Eavesdropping here, You've seen for yourself That life's not always peachy-- Even for an elf. Let's just hope that Santa Doesn't be a **** And save a few bucks next year By outsourcing the work. - by Bob B
0
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 5:40 PM UTC
bob-b
A Little ELF-Awareness
The elves congregated In the back room of the shop, Muttering amongst themselves And chattering on nonstop. One elf stood on a table And scanned the angry crowd. He raised his hand to shush The others from getting too loud. "Fellow elves, be quiet. We have work to do; This isn't just a trivial Elven ballyhoo. "Santa's expectations Have risen exceedingly. He takes no action when I ask him pleadingly "For a raise in pay And better working conditions. He only chortles and laughs And speaks of old traditions." An elf spoke up from the group: "The reindeer have it made. We work our butts off; But see how little we're paid. "Why they earn so much Isn't really clear When they only work ONE night of the year! "Platitudes and promises Do nothing to assuage Angry workers. Santa Must increase our wage!" "Yes," chimed in another. "Not keeping up with inflation, Our pay keeps us living In serious deprivation. "Our benefits also haven't Kept up with the times. They are slashed while The cost of insurance climbs. "I know we've a lot to do, And I think we're pretty meticulous, But the hours we're forced to work… I mean…this is ridiculous! "And what about part-time elves Who have little enjoyment Working for no benefits? You call that employment?" Disgruntled, all the workers Considered taking action And wondered what to do To get some satisfaction. Another elf said, "Santa's Heavy demands are an onus. And we elves don't even Get a Christmas bonus! "Frankly, it takes every Ounce of faith I can muster To think that dear ol' Santa's Not a union buster! "Furthermore, there's something That I've got to say: We all have to strive For equality of pay." "Yay!" the elves shouted And in unison chanted: "Equal pay: Yes! Take nothing for granted!" The work discussion lingered Well into the night. They knew that gaining ground Would require a fight. (In thinking about life, Struggles, work, and fairness, It doesn't hurt anyone To have some elf-awareness.) Eavesdropping here, You've seen for yourself That life's not always peachy-- Even for an elf. Let's just hope that Santa Doesn't be a **** And save a few bucks next year By outsourcing the work. - by Bob B
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85
As I rise, cumuli are my clouds Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray Waving to me in tattered shrouds Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day Commit to memory ether and solar play For never could a photograph Or great master’s paintings depict or imply Phenomena of heaven’s autograph Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky What wondering adrift, now present to eyes Sensational this morning’s vividness Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning Awestruck I am within this immanence Call forth  flash of conception spawning Clearest notion of earthbound belonging
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Apr 22, 2016
Apr 22, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
pj-poesy
Sun, Ether, Earth
As I rise, cumuli are my clouds Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray Waving to me in tattered shrouds Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day Commit to memory ether and solar play For never could a photograph Or great master’s paintings depict or imply Phenomena of heaven’s autograph Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky What wondering adrift, now present to eyes Sensational this morning’s vividness Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning Awestruck I am within this immanence Call forth  flash of conception spawning Clearest notion of earthbound belonging
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15
earlyish in the mourning the moon begins to rise to the dirtiest consorting in the room between the thighs forbidden fruit from a filthy city that ruins lives so the troupe snipped ribbons ripped ties flew the coupe and found suit elsewhere Hell thought it was provoking when they caught em smoking loosies & tagging in elementary school bathrooms & peeping ****** movies for free mercy me, a perturbing flea ridden circus ballyhoo at high noon just look between the alleyways like pearly gates adjacent to & facing toward the gallow stage saved for traitors & may I say these are unhallowed days triple x files. furious grady stiles walked the daily eighty miles to the liquor store for his quick pick or maybe just a curious eye sore for bored out tricks on the nearest corner & the queerest gory ***** flicks for a nickel a dime a quarter &please; - mind the camera - hammer sickle sanskrit star prison bar stripe flock stickered on the flickering light mock bicker then its quiet on the farm tonight ⁢ doesn't seem right   the sicker sheep seek sleepless nights in the street took Darwinian flight & a diving leap to diamond minds thicker fleece & meaner teeth drinking on cheap forties sneakin up on sweet ***** mother glory lordy.
0
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 4:27 PM UTC
soldamerican-
Alchemist's Unicorn; Disgruntled Youth Overture
earlyish in the mourning the moon begins to rise to the dirtiest consorting in the room between the thighs forbidden fruit from a filthy city that ruins lives so the troupe snipped ribbons ripped ties flew the coupe and found suit elsewhere Hell thought it was provoking when they caught em smoking loosies & tagging in elementary school bathrooms & peeping ****** movies for free mercy me, a perturbing flea ridden circus ballyhoo at high noon just look between the alleyways like pearly gates adjacent to & facing toward the gallow stage saved for traitors & may I say these are unhallowed days triple x files. furious grady stiles walked the daily eighty miles to the liquor store for his quick pick or maybe just a curious eye sore for bored out tricks on the nearest corner & the queerest gory ***** flicks for a nickel a dime a quarter &please; - mind the camera - hammer sickle sanskrit star prison bar stripe flock stickered on the flickering light mock bicker then its quiet on the farm tonight ⁢ doesn't seem right   the sicker sheep seek sleepless nights in the street took Darwinian flight & a diving leap to diamond minds thicker fleece & meaner teeth drinking on cheap forties sneakin up on sweet ***** mother glory lordy.
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77
Texan-Georgian-Jews Dance around a Christmas tree. Forty minutes gone.
0
Mar 8, 2010
Mar 8, 2010 at 2:05 PM UTC
cody-edwards
The Penultimate Night of Ballyhoo
Texan-Georgian-Jews Dance around a Christmas tree. Forty minutes gone.
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3
A passel of rascals; The cause of the hassle, Guilty of the catcalls, Would normally have pratfalls. Never suffer from blackballing; Their ethics are appalling But greed is calling the shots. In the end what have we got? We have a den of thieves Rolling up their sleeves To count the loot they stole Fulfilling their roles of criminals; Not the least subliminal, But right out front to be seen And pictured on magazine covers With their blow-dried lovers. Hair and ******* by Mattel They perpetrate their hell On all but their rich buddies And fool the fuddy-duddies With their rancid ballyhoo. Yes, they rob some rich too, But some never knew it; Rich, not smart, they blew it. Every generation, this nation Sires a new batch of vermin And we have to determine If this is the new litter or a loner But instead the fools get a ***** Over some new crook or other That can afford jet planes to fly But claims he is a regular guy. Once the country is a toilet They’ll keep trying to spoil it By boiling the bones of the dead And murdering us in our beds Because they don’t need us Except when they want to beat us. They can just pay each other. But the country won’t recover.
0
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 1:21 PM UTC
brent-kincaid
CLAPTRAP RAP
A passel of rascals; The cause of the hassle, Guilty of the catcalls, Would normally have pratfalls. Never suffer from blackballing; Their ethics are appalling But greed is calling the shots. In the end what have we got? We have a den of thieves Rolling up their sleeves To count the loot they stole Fulfilling their roles of criminals; Not the least subliminal, But right out front to be seen And pictured on magazine covers With their blow-dried lovers. Hair and ******* by Mattel They perpetrate their hell On all but their rich buddies And fool the fuddy-duddies With their rancid ballyhoo. Yes, they rob some rich too, But some never knew it; Rich, not smart, they blew it. Every generation, this nation Sires a new batch of vermin And we have to determine If this is the new litter or a loner But instead the fools get a ***** Over some new crook or other That can afford jet planes to fly But claims he is a regular guy. Once the country is a toilet They’ll keep trying to spoil it By boiling the bones of the dead And murdering us in our beds Because they don’t need us Except when they want to beat us. They can just pay each other. But the country won’t recover.
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40
I came all this way to make you smile, But I know I don't have to try so hard, anyway's I had you all along. I know I'm your favorite guy and its been that way for awhile. I can tell by the look in your eyes That your feelings are never gonna change for me So Taste the Champaign, My pretty pineapple lover No desire to despitse a created design come new lover and seek out what you want. avenue, ballyhoo, And Sun in the sky I remember all these rhymes on the line You take everything high Now I'm just speechless Lost and cascade To our sweetish kiss's and heavy vibrations Beyond the dark forest. where back to how it all stared Staring in your eyes, Staring at the sky, when fireworks are flying Cross the ocean Take a message cause I'm turning back the pages. Return to your true happiness where back to how to all stared in the first place.
0
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
travis-lue-alston
Back to Where It All Started
I came all this way to make you smile, But I know I don't have to try so hard, anyway's I had you all along. I know I'm your favorite guy and its been that way for awhile. I can tell by the look in your eyes That your feelings are never gonna change for me So Taste the Champaign, My pretty pineapple lover No desire to despitse a created design come new lover and seek out what you want. avenue, ballyhoo, And Sun in the sky I remember all these rhymes on the line You take everything high Now I'm just speechless Lost and cascade To our sweetish kiss's and heavy vibrations Beyond the dark forest. where back to how it all stared Staring in your eyes, Staring at the sky, when fireworks are flying Cross the ocean Take a message cause I'm turning back the pages. Return to your true happiness where back to how to all stared in the first place.
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26
The one who faulter Always see the misuse of clausal In words other folks utter But their own level of blunder Is beyond semantic border * When people see the Faulter Their voice’s got to come down I mean; they’d got to mutter Or else he’ll out-hauled ya And make y’all feel like defaulter * Anyway; don’t bother He’s just a wave; I mean disturbance Who’s trying to put you under And make you feel like you’re smaller With the hurting words he utter * The one who faulter I see; you get phrasal appraisal For those you syntactically ****** And those that you make feel like you’re worth than And for your ballyhoo blabber * The one who faulter Always note the mistake of others See; the one who faulter Always speak to impress When others do express __ themselves ___ he jest Aiming to make them feel less * The one who faulter I heard your first name is grammer You’re the top gammer; infact you’re the alpha But; how far Is that a reason for you to see others as gamma * The one who faulter Always put on his shoulder You know; a linguistic hunter With his fanatic grammer But listen to this word-art Fluency is not the portal To a successful life span * Let’s put that aside Why’d you act like you can’t commit liguicide When none is above grammatical suicide So, why give yourself ah heart-attack Or pro’ly ended-up berserked * You call yourself a philosopher; I wonder Have you win a soul over Or it’s fun making heart sober And de-philosophising others But unlike them; your psych cannot put me asunder * The one who faulter Tell me; what have you achieved Beside you being a criticizer Brother; don’t that make you a freak Coz your mind state ‘s been altar * Now listen Even scientist like newton And others who invented interesting new thing Don’t need your linguistic-type English To express their point of view Hope that concept gets to you * Anyway Mr Faulter The aim of language is to understand each other So, leave the grammatical slogan For the linguish brother More important; English is not the language of my ancestral father
0
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:52 PM UTC
Wordsmith
The one who faulter
The one who faulter Always see the misuse of clausal In words other folks utter But their own level of blunder Is beyond semantic border * When people see the Faulter Their voice’s got to come down I mean; they’d got to mutter Or else he’ll out-hauled ya And make y’all feel like defaulter * Anyway; don’t bother He’s just a wave; I mean disturbance Who’s trying to put you under And make you feel like you’re smaller With the hurting words he utter * The one who faulter I see; you get phrasal appraisal For those you syntactically ****** And those that you make feel like you’re worth than And for your ballyhoo blabber * The one who faulter Always note the mistake of others See; the one who faulter Always speak to impress When others do express __ themselves ___ he jest Aiming to make them feel less * The one who faulter I heard your first name is grammer You’re the top gammer; infact you’re the alpha But; how far Is that a reason for you to see others as gamma * The one who faulter Always put on his shoulder You know; a linguistic hunter With his fanatic grammer But listen to this word-art Fluency is not the portal To a successful life span * Let’s put that aside Why’d you act like you can’t commit liguicide When none is above grammatical suicide So, why give yourself ah heart-attack Or pro’ly ended-up berserked * You call yourself a philosopher; I wonder Have you win a soul over Or it’s fun making heart sober And de-philosophising others But unlike them; your psych cannot put me asunder * The one who faulter Tell me; what have you achieved Beside you being a criticizer Brother; don’t that make you a freak Coz your mind state ‘s been altar * Now listen Even scientist like newton And others who invented interesting new thing Don’t need your linguistic-type English To express their point of view Hope that concept gets to you * Anyway Mr Faulter The aim of language is to understand each other So, leave the grammatical slogan For the linguish brother More important; English is not the language of my ancestral father
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75
They dug a hole here, and dug over there- The morning sun was getting hot- and everywhere they looked – Was for naught. Now, it isn't very clear as who said what, to who- But it must have been insult'n- to start that ballyhoo. There was push'n and shove'n and calling names galore! Yell'n and cuss'n using words you ain't heard before! And that was just the men-folk- the women got in it too- screaming heard, from north to south- Those words should never come from a ladies mouth. Fists being swung, shovels slung! dust was kicked up in a ball- nothing could be more entertaining- than watching a family free-for-all! Then suddenly, it came to a stop ! as quick as it began- They gathered up all their gear- and departed Nelson's land. This is where the story ends- all I know is what I'm told, From my daddy, for he'd been sitting, atop that little knoll. Epilogue (This is how I would like to have it end) Somewhere in the "high above"- at a table, two people sat- One, wearing suit and tie- and Nelson, with his beard and hat. "Nelson, a lot of folks have you to thank, for bringing that strongbox to the bank- you saved a lot of folks their homes and farms." Nelson, from his chair, arose- standing ***** and proud- Stroked his beard, then tweaked his nose, smiled, and faded into the clouds. (thanks folks for your patience) Copyright September 16-2013 Richard Riddle
0
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
richard-riddle
The Legend of Riddle's Gold - Part III (reposted 06-03-14)
They dug a hole here, and dug over there- The morning sun was getting hot- and everywhere they looked – Was for naught. Now, it isn't very clear as who said what, to who- But it must have been insult'n- to start that ballyhoo. There was push'n and shove'n and calling names galore! Yell'n and cuss'n using words you ain't heard before! And that was just the men-folk- the women got in it too- screaming heard, from north to south- Those words should never come from a ladies mouth. Fists being swung, shovels slung! dust was kicked up in a ball- nothing could be more entertaining- than watching a family free-for-all! Then suddenly, it came to a stop ! as quick as it began- They gathered up all their gear- and departed Nelson's land. This is where the story ends- all I know is what I'm told, From my daddy, for he'd been sitting, atop that little knoll. Epilogue (This is how I would like to have it end) Somewhere in the "high above"- at a table, two people sat- One, wearing suit and tie- and Nelson, with his beard and hat. "Nelson, a lot of folks have you to thank, for bringing that strongbox to the bank- you saved a lot of folks their homes and farms." Nelson, from his chair, arose- standing ***** and proud- Stroked his beard, then tweaked his nose, smiled, and faded into the clouds. (thanks folks for your patience) Copyright September 16-2013 Richard Riddle
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43
Former CIA Director John Brennan scathing headlines Washington Post op-ed sharply published critical accusations muted excoriation slams Commander in Chief volcanic blatant pathological lying spews like lava his American foreign policy boilerplate brazenly bastardizes by banditry blueprint, balefully balkanizing beautiful bracketed booming brady bunch brand, bests best-buy buffer braking balanced bastion, bolstered beloved benighted bequeathed bicameral bipartisan bliss, Baptizing bacchanalian buffoonish bombast, betokening bobble-headed Bumstead, barmy bartered bride bravado, bizarrely brash brassiness, blindsiding behavior, beetlebrowed bonehead, bafflingly baldfaced, bankrupting, blithely bollixing, bombastically belittling, badmouthing, banally blasting, banana-boat baseless, bearish blandishments, beastly boastful boosterism, bellicosely boorish, bug-eyed, bighearted, bigoted blathering breeding blunderbuss bloopers, bewildering bloodletting bellyache blight, brazenly being bandying bellwether, blitzing bourgeoisie balderdash, balking but beaming barbaric berserk ballyhoo backbiting, backslapping backstabbing blacklisting bromides, besetting basic bestowed blooming, Bobbitizing bedeviling beneficial bulwark bereft badinage, ballistically ballooning betrayal birthing bedlam.
0
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
matthew-scott-harris2p
Mean Mien Donald Trump
Former CIA Director John Brennan scathing headlines Washington Post op-ed sharply published critical accusations muted excoriation slams Commander in Chief volcanic blatant pathological lying spews like lava his American foreign policy boilerplate brazenly bastardizes by banditry blueprint, balefully balkanizing beautiful bracketed booming brady bunch brand, bests best-buy buffer braking balanced bastion, bolstered beloved benighted bequeathed bicameral bipartisan bliss, Baptizing bacchanalian buffoonish bombast, betokening bobble-headed Bumstead, barmy bartered bride bravado, bizarrely brash brassiness, blindsiding behavior, beetlebrowed bonehead, bafflingly baldfaced, bankrupting, blithely bollixing, bombastically belittling, badmouthing, banally blasting, banana-boat baseless, bearish blandishments, beastly boastful boosterism, bellicosely boorish, bug-eyed, bighearted, bigoted blathering breeding blunderbuss bloopers, bewildering bloodletting bellyache blight, brazenly being bandying bellwether, blitzing bourgeoisie balderdash, balking but beaming barbaric berserk ballyhoo backbiting, backslapping backstabbing blacklisting bromides, besetting basic bestowed blooming, Bobbitizing bedeviling beneficial bulwark bereft badinage, ballistically ballooning betrayal birthing bedlam.
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38
I SAW THE BEST MINDS OF MY GENERALIZATION wearing halos of fog, opening their eyes with a burst of surreal an' shattering the beacon of light with a splatter of the gray matter... afterwards it all became so fug'n trite. I'm phrasing perfect with a hint of propulsive barb'd barkin' —Man, I am aching to blather, **** man, it's more than butt-cheek chatter— it BBBBBBBBBButt bubbles with a puhcussive tootin'; a howl absurd! I raise a cup & say cheers t' Allen Ginsberg "O BLOATED BLUES an' DECIBELS DANCE t'BALLYHOO'd BE-BOP FLUNG An' BOMBS BUSTIN OPEN with Gear's CLAWING t'BE AIRBORNE", Yes, he SITs IN a SPACE SHARE'd with us; finger snappin' & poetry clappin' from a heavenly ladder's rung... A MAD HATTER's CHINA TEACUP is filled with continuous soft crackling liveliness of effervescence... and buoyed by the holy soul jelly roll that moves through here now. So let us praise and bestow upon him, a heartfelt bow before we etch on the walls of my primitive pome cave our beatnik chorale reverberation of "AND HOW!" By "ooznozz"
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Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 7:57 AM UTC
ooznozz
Poem: Now Bear Witness to an Exclamatory Puddle of Gee-Whiz!
I SAW THE BEST MINDS OF MY GENERALIZATION wearing halos of fog, opening their eyes with a burst of surreal an' shattering the beacon of light with a splatter of the gray matter... afterwards it all became so fug'n trite. I'm phrasing perfect with a hint of propulsive barb'd barkin' —Man, I am aching to blather, **** man, it's more than butt-cheek chatter— it BBBBBBBBBButt bubbles with a puhcussive tootin'; a howl absurd! I raise a cup & say cheers t' Allen Ginsberg "O BLOATED BLUES an' DECIBELS DANCE t'BALLYHOO'd BE-BOP FLUNG An' BOMBS BUSTIN OPEN with Gear's CLAWING t'BE AIRBORNE", Yes, he SITs IN a SPACE SHARE'd with us; finger snappin' & poetry clappin' from a heavenly ladder's rung... A MAD HATTER's CHINA TEACUP is filled with continuous soft crackling liveliness of effervescence... and buoyed by the holy soul jelly roll that moves through here now. So let us praise and bestow upon him, a heartfelt bow before we etch on the walls of my primitive pome cave our beatnik chorale reverberation of "AND HOW!" By "ooznozz"
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A Dangerous Place Not new; the world A risky place: Too many schools of thought; Their base defective. Schools, which in themselves are seeking Thought that knows thought’s ever-rules. Kipling’s twain which never meet; Krishna’s castes all separate; Towers fall on Babel Street. Not new. Impossibility out there: Worlds of danger everywhere; Dangers that we can’t escape Except by staying put Content with parsnips. A Dangerous Place 5.9.2004 Our Times, Our Culture; Birth, Death & In Between; Arlene Corwin A Dangerous Place #2 Two thousand four come/gone. Two eighteen still anonymous. Am I apocalyptic? World the warmest since…forever. Messiurs Putin, Trump and every nuclear dictator, Arsenals as big as ever. What we were afraid of then Is now in multiples. Viruses that won’t give up, Fighting each development. Small to middling large eruptions Under, over, on the surface. Coverings and dryings up; Methane gas, folk that pass Leaving matches in the grass; Flarings unintentional. My old bones susceptible To substances and circumstance they never knew. Nature duping us. Boo hoo? Or ballyhoo? Is there something new awaiting? Something generating happiness, Content with standing-stillness? Wellness? Who can tell, Things being as they are: Not fine, with every sign An indication That we’re going in the wrong direction. Sorry! A Dangerous Place #2 2.1.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin
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Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 1:07 PM UTC
arlene-corwin
A Dangerous Place #1&#2
A Dangerous Place Not new; the world A risky place: Too many schools of thought; Their base defective. Schools, which in themselves are seeking Thought that knows thought’s ever-rules. Kipling’s twain which never meet; Krishna’s castes all separate; Towers fall on Babel Street. Not new. Impossibility out there: Worlds of danger everywhere; Dangers that we can’t escape Except by staying put Content with parsnips. A Dangerous Place 5.9.2004 Our Times, Our Culture; Birth, Death & In Between; Arlene Corwin A Dangerous Place #2 Two thousand four come/gone. Two eighteen still anonymous. Am I apocalyptic? World the warmest since…forever. Messiurs Putin, Trump and every nuclear dictator, Arsenals as big as ever. What we were afraid of then Is now in multiples. Viruses that won’t give up, Fighting each development. Small to middling large eruptions Under, over, on the surface. Coverings and dryings up; Methane gas, folk that pass Leaving matches in the grass; Flarings unintentional. My old bones susceptible To substances and circumstance they never knew. Nature duping us. Boo hoo? Or ballyhoo? Is there something new awaiting? Something generating happiness, Content with standing-stillness? Wellness? Who can tell, Things being as they are: Not fine, with every sign An indication That we’re going in the wrong direction. Sorry! A Dangerous Place #2 2.1.2018 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Corwin
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They shalt never be disunited They were made for one another If only she shalt make him invited To her all she hast to giveth, No more hiddeness of their bliss But open Ballyhoo Advertisement!!! Because surely, I want others To get the hint That she's mine And I'm hers!!!! Question for all? Anyone else get mine gist?
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Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 4:08 PM UTC
brandon-nagley
Ballyhoo parading!!!
They shalt never be disunited They were made for one another If only she shalt make him invited To her all she hast to giveth, No more hiddeness of their bliss But open Ballyhoo Advertisement!!! Because surely, I want others To get the hint That she's mine And I'm hers!!!! Question for all? Anyone else get mine gist?
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15
Ballyhoo, humdinger, funky macaroni, Nibble frozen kerosene with my cousin Ptoneigh. Herd of camels stampeding through the needles eye, Masquerading as the clergy, no one knowing why. Filling pages every day with random bits of knowledge, Been treading water every day since graduating college. I’m no adult, but not a boy, stuck somewhere in between, Development, for years arrested, since I was a teen. Staring through the windshield, blindly contemplating space, Laughing/Crying Hoping/Fearing for the human race. Criminals in tailored suits, dementia plotting wars, When the conmen call the nukes, I hope I have clean drawers. Bury me face down cuz I can’t bear to the see the rest. Flabbergasted daily at humanities arrest.
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Oct 4, 2021
Oct 4, 2021 at 7:13 PM UTC
andrew-switzer
Paused Progress
Ballyhoo, humdinger, funky macaroni, Nibble frozen kerosene with my cousin Ptoneigh. Herd of camels stampeding through the needles eye, Masquerading as the clergy, no one knowing why. Filling pages every day with random bits of knowledge, Been treading water every day since graduating college. I’m no adult, but not a boy, stuck somewhere in between, Development, for years arrested, since I was a teen. Staring through the windshield, blindly contemplating space, Laughing/Crying Hoping/Fearing for the human race. Criminals in tailored suits, dementia plotting wars, When the conmen call the nukes, I hope I have clean drawers. Bury me face down cuz I can’t bear to the see the rest. Flabbergasted daily at humanities arrest.
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