Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Kaitlin Evers Jun 2016
His dreams were taken away
His originality beaten and bashed
Seen as though through a glass darkly
They couldn’t spare their time
Never seen for as he was
A delicate soul scarred and bruised
No longer was he light as air
Inside he turned
Now in the puddle a villain’s replaced
The hero that once was there…
Irwin Shishko Sep 2016
Ode to My Hero (Me)
           to be sung by Donald Trump
    with apologies to Gilbert & Sullivan's
                   H.M.S Pinafore

As a callow youth I served a term
as Senior VP  of  my Daddy's firm
His moxie and his money so suited me
that now I am the ruler of the Trump fam'ly

When asked a question,  my Golden Rule
is to bluster loud and flaunt my cool,    
And this evasion so well suits me
that I've become the master of chicanery.

With legal suits, I've made so free
that all my smitten lenders bow down to me
For I pay my lawyers so liberally
that I never lose a dollar on a bankruptcy.

If now and then my luck runs out
I've buckets of money from my TV route,
And since my ******* up name is Gold
the money keeps a 'comin from the young  and old.

For my great fame they pay and pay
and their paltry savings they fling away
on Trump U studies  they're sure to find, will empty their wallets, not fill their mind.

So listen and learn from my Trumpery
and join white men who hate Hillary
They holler hosannas for their hero DonT, though for Trump adulation they can't beat me!

My heads not troubled by policy woes
'cause I learn all I want at beauty shows
I've put up very well with my three wives,
my yachts & my mansions & my gambling dives.


I've exalted myself unsparingly
and tossed off little lies with impunity
Let fey foes fault me as vain & mean,
their rightful envy leaves me quite serene.

With my big mouth and red regal head
I've clobbered all my rivals until they bled
With frank contempt I dissed Jeb B
bashed Carson & Kasich and Ted's lady.

There's hardly a Republican left to fight
and,  in wimpy Dems,  I inspire fright
while fearful folks seek my mighty arm
to shield them all from ISIS  harm.

Now I've come to the end of this very fine Ode
to march with pride on the Presidential Road
For my boundless bluster's so elevated me
that now I am the ruler of the GOP.

If another Trump you aspire to be,
you must never, never fret about decency.
Just stiff the losers and brag like me,
and you may be the Grand Old Party's nominee.
Marcus Lane Jan 2010
It's hard to see the point in it!
(Perhaps it's me)

A dismal afternoon of rain,
A flask of tea.

Beside this murky river now
They sit and wait,

So statuesque and silent
Clutching tins of bait.

All week in offices they sweat
With just one wish -

For Saturday come along
So they can fish.

And now beneath the willows' fringe
They bait their hooks,

Comparing rods and reels and lines
With envious looks.

The lines that fly from whizzing reels
Fall with a plip

And drift upon the surface
Where they bob and dip.

Till, with a ****, a wriggling jewel
Is winched ashore

To have its ****** brains bashed out
Upon the floor.
© Marcus Lane 2009
Stephanie Marie Mar 2010
For the people who don’t understand, let me make things clear.
He twisted her arm and made her scream.
Heartbreak was inevitable at this moment. Her mind was numb.
And time had come.
With no warning signs or a place to hide,
She danced along the rim of his teeth, playing hard to get.
Her mind thought once never thought twice.
She smacked him back to the future.
No truth rolled from her tongue.
All lies.
Her long hair pulled out from her roots.
Cut to a short length. Her stomach growled.
And now she envied all that was lost at this moment.
And the moon came out. Nothing to feel but only delight.
He then fought to make himself a mystery.
She fought to solve his so called history.
Rhymes fell out of her mind. There was no rhythm.
A dark liquid oozed from her heart. A particular taste.
Sweet and ****.
No rhyme or reason. Picked at random.
And then she thought this liquid would go swell with some wisdom.
She opened him up like a fortune cookie.
Cracking his sweet shell and finding the truth that sits inside.
Its something she already new. Its something that she had heard before.
But she needed to hear it from him.
She washed it down with a milkshake flavored black cherry.
Smooth and dark. The deep red grows brighter until it flows down His cracked skull.
It drips to the ground and makes a pool around. Red.
She denied the fact that she bashed his mind.
He tried to hide the reason or rhyme.
She fought him and obviously won.
She fought to find out why he had come.
The road is short and it’s coming to an end.
Mysterious as he seemed.
He was easily solved.
The taste lingered and she felt satisfied. Her mind created an addiction.
Abusive behavior the attraction.
Dangerous and weary she fought to remember.
But could never.
elissa Sep 2014
The only strength I knew was finding myself in your arms whenever the storm grew, or climbing the mountains to find your smile, but little did I know this was no fairy tale where we could end up together. This was some ******* up reality with my heart bashed on your hands, still pounding because I would live to see one more day and listen to how wonderful you sound, however walls grew between our touch, my second home becoming a tiny room with four white walls, my life fixed on a machine, and tubes swimming through my veins when the only feeling I can remember is your laugh against my cheek which is now fading away into the infinite stars you swore upon with little or no hope in your voice, saying, ‘you’re strong, you wouldn’t leave,’ but God, am I so sorry to break that promise.
Agatha Prideaux Apr 2020
Dried-out sweat, tired-out eyes
Placards coated in reds and blacks
Hair strands wet, vermillion skies
Whiteout sneakers underneath slacks

Chipping bricks adorned with dusk's glow
Soft thuds drown in bustling sidewalks
Concrete walls enrobed in guised woes
Like calls of Cincinnati clocks

Down the path's lead, an alley lies
Only known by a few handful
An easy shortcut for the wise
A definite route for the fool

Empty blocks pampered in ruins
Grow dahlia shrubs in feeble soil
Yet cherished by passing humans
As they perceive in gleeful toil

Click, clack. Tip, tap.
Echoing the narrow pathway
Click, clack. Tip, tap. Click, clack. Tip, tap.
Reverberating the walkway

Gush of summer coldness trickles
Playing with thin skin's hair to stand
Along evening's hazy drizzles
Until lips' beam's closed by a hand

Frozen. Motionless. Absolute.
Pulsating ears, vibrating fears
I, the troubled, straightaway mute
Searching for comfort in fresh tears

Frigid, sharp blade graze flesh through clothes
Algid, rough palms tightened their grip
With trembling mouth, whimpers in lows
Time's ticking, closer to the tip

"How dare you go against!?" he yells
His voice falling on deaf pavements
Alike encaging prison cells
Beneath wretched, worn-out basements

Writhed free from his desperate hold
Unclasped myself, away I go
Yet burly hands grab my shirt's fold
On my side, planting the grand blow

The night weakens, the knife deepens
Meeting downcast eyes as I stare
Remorseless, the demon wakens
No plans—this petty soul—to spare

Deafening shrieks still ring my ears
The masses' cries of unjustness
Voices crystal clear amid tears
Demur of headstrong robustness

Earlier's protest fresh in mind
Echoing as I reminisced
Realized the shrills' suit unfeigned
Are screams from my own throat's abyss

Away from the hustling streetscape
For anyone to hear my plea
In desperate crawls to escape
He lifts the wood in counts of three

Bashed head meet placards to shatter
Jagged splinters abrade my face
Entwined with rain's pitter-patter
To finish me off, just in case

Each and every breath nears to none
Boulevard of dreams come broken
The mist douse this limp body done
I take my last, eyes wide open

Dried-out life, tired-out cries
Pebbles coated in reds and blacks
****** palms rife, obsidian skies
Lone witnessed—mum dahlias on cracks.
Day 5 of #NaPoWriMo 2020. This woke me up all night, and definitely not regretting. Yes, I love dahlias.
Margaryta Mar 2014
child of two moons
        the harvest wheat grows
        diamonds
        on its stalks

daughter of the broken king
        your carousel’s chained bears and albino
        peacocks scream at night for
        their release

lonely lover
        the keyhole is  rusted since he last
        touched you
        the oil getting rancid

martyred saint
        your doe heart has an arrow of Cupid’s
        skewering through a demon’s
        confession written in fire

weeping widow
        your maid took your cup of tears
        to water the lilies giving
        root at his grave

sanguine seamstress
        do not stitch the bird’s
        wing that has bashed
        out its brains

non-existent soul mate
        your fingerprints stain
        my poems
        with star grease

lover whose number I lost track of
        I feel your footsteps ricochet
        within my bones please
        stop running I’m trying to sleep
Sam Temple Apr 2016
I closed my eyes
and felt the ground vibrate
as the Huskavarna roared to life
and chewed through log after log
devouring fibers
and depositing sawdust
the smell filled my nose
and a smile passed my lips
fresh fir in the morning
the crash of timber in the distance
the hush that fell upon the forest during lunch –
muted thumping trancelike and rhythmic
each round hit with a maul
and then bashed with the sledge
tossing split rounds
into stacks on the truck bed
perfect dance performed by the woodcutter –
the rumbling tires against the gravel road
sent me to slumber
the crunching mixed with the gentle rocking
fighting until the very last
trying desperately to hear
the low murmur
of my father and uncle Steve
telling tall tales
of 600 yard coyote kills
with just one blast
from the old 2-23 Remington
and the 40 lb. salmon
still swimming with a 20 dollar jig –
poetry month prompt 18
Styles 12 Apr 2017
Never to be severed,
that middle rip I have trouble writing about.

Never to be severed
every nation inside you defeated
unable to see past billowing battle smoke.

Not pushed or shoved down a well but savagely kicked in solar plexus
after only learning how to ride a bike.

**** up ***** water.
Choke on betrayal.
Mom's ****** face calling to you.
Step dad hit her so many times you lost count.

Too young to understand this will be your great lesson.

Packed into someone else's violent
shell, load me into your hollow chamber, fire me, like shots heard around the world.

Martin. Kennedy. Africa. Christ.

Severe me.
Break my heart in a thousand ways.

From now on nothing will be the same.

This will be Love facing the gun.
This will be my God on the cross.
This will be clomping boots terrorizing Purple Mountain Majesty.

No one will know, my child.
No one will know us.
We will never trust.
We will cry for our lost god.

Why has he abandoned us?

We will fold up silence and pack it tight into our suit case.
No one will know.
We shall not speak of it.

We will use mixed metaphors to erase the true origin of our salted wound.

We will fly across troubled waters,
people will smile at us but we won't smile back.

We will eat the shattering palace of paradise and it will taste like the bottomless pit of hell.

We will gnash our teeth over rebellious years, we will cope on poison, on fleeting pleasure, we will learn to write flames over golden arches.

We will close ourselves.
We will store our hollowed house so deep into our bones not even I will be able to find it.

No one must know us.
We will break apart.
We will traverse a haunted world
finding others like us.

We will make friends with the battered face of recognition.

We will eat the betrayed dust of every nation.

Our anger will have no limits.
We will use it to condemn ourselves.
We will practice self mutilation.

We will hide our most precious love in the silence of a pen scribbling away years searching for reason in  caved in coal mines,

our interior selves packed tight with  'blacker than black' darkness,

yet we will not stop searching for diamonds.

No.

We will still have hope.
We will still go on.
Bashed in, fermented in rot.
Our throats thirsty for golden ale.

Our eyes still roped in by the whisper and grandeur of sunset,
our hearts full of uncontrollable aching for this moonlight plastered in water, we will still hear John The Baptist's voice screaming in the cell of our bleakest, darkest dungeon.

Have you Not Known?
Have you not Heard?
Has it not been told to you from the beginning?

Even though our foundation is crumbled we will look high and low in the valley for our healing prophet.

Never to be severed,
severed in the break of hallow ground. We will know that violence is not the way even when we want to **** ourselves.

Our ears to the earth
listening for her hidden spring
we will cut our pathway into secret channels.

We will scramble for it.
Restless for a taste of purity.
Our haunted inspiration will leak resin and find twisted flame.

Our desire will grow higher.
Our fire will fan into every capillary.
We will carry hidden, super forest fires in our eyes until we hit the ocean.

We will laugh until our abs are rolling down the hill.

We will make unforgettable friends and we will find comfort in each other.

We will open up slowly.
Taking our time.
Our love vapors will find a way around the darkness.

It will build up, our awareness connected to A Great Hall, every part of our fragmented self will start to seek it.

We will have close encounters with powerful peaceful angels stirring us in our sleep. We will thirst for Home with a thirst so deep the entire galaxy will hear us.

We will realize we were wrong to hate.

We will feel ashamed of our misplaced ways.

We will ask deeper questions.
We will read more prophets.
We will learn to forgive it all.

We will have compassion on ourselves.

Our unworthiness will learn to cry and in our willingness to change:

The Great Spirit will ask for our permission to heal us.

We will say Yes.
We will be cleaned out.
Every ***** action brutally ****** upon us will be wiped away.

We will understand we are bigger.
Every single human being is our brother, sister, mother, father.

We will feel the unlimited love from the Great spirit and we will never be the same.

We will make it our new mission to love.

We will walk lightly now.

Our expanded understanding has made our eyes into vistas, deserts,
rivers, oceans, we will flow, never to be severed, we will seek to heal entire nations.

We are back.
Complete.

In full knowing of who we are, where we came from, resting from want as the Great Spirit has returned to us.

We are all angels.
Even the wretched ones.

Our souls will grow stronger than you can possibly imagine because we were willing to brave the darkness.
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
Chicago, Chicago, it’s a very big place
Chicago, Chicago, it’s a total disgrace;
Bet your flabby buttocks you'll lose the blues in Chicago,
Chicago, the town where someone sat on my face.

On State Street, that great street, I just want to say
I did things with strangers, both straight and gay;
I had the time, the time of my life;
I met a mobster and slept with his wife
In Chicago, one fine day. Hey! Hey!

Chicago, Chicago, where tragedy struck,
O horror, O horror, what a bit of bad luck;
Bet your flabby buttocks I’ll not go back to Chicago,
Chicago, where my girlfriend got hit by a truck.

On Lake Shore, a fat *****, one fine sunny day
I picked up and we thought we’d go for a lay;
Her husband took a hammer and bashed in her ****
It took a couple of hours to mop up the bits
In Chicago, one fine day. Hey! Hey!
Hunter Beck Jul 2013
I once met a girl that made me feel as if we were the last humans on earth
we spent most of our days traveling to different coffee shops around the world
when we weren't sipping coffee from our mugs, we were blaring our favorite albums down the highway
I remember our old faded red jeep that we constantly had to stop to admire the views from around the world
as we stopped she would get out and snap different pictures and collect them for memories
after we climbed back into the vehicle and drove a few more hours down the road we took our final stop at a small coffee shop that was decorated with many flowers and plants
of course this was her favorite considering you never saw her without a small yet vivid yellow daisy stuck in her hair
this was the happiest I've ever seen her, with a huge white smile glued to her face as we walked out of the shop and took off in the jeep



a few miles down the road we came to a complete stop
this time it wasn't to take pictures or admire the view
I saw the yellow mug she had with her shattered on the ground
I saw the daisy flowing in the wind
and the front bumper of the jeep pushed inward with smoke flying out of the engine
I heard loud sirens rushing up behind me or maybe those were just in my head
my arms were ripped from the glass
my head was bashed and bruised making my vision blurred and clouded
I called out her name, over and over and over again
my voice shaky, timid, and flooded with fear



on the day of her funeral I sat for hours in the rain after everyone left
I finally told her how mesmerizing and beauteous she was
and how I had fallen deep in love with her along the journey
I got up, placing daisies and her most cherished yellow mug that I glued back together on top of her casket
and walked away
robert schlanker was an 11 year boy who was a bit different from the other kids

you see he was a nice kid and he was very clean-cut, most of the kids who wanted

to be his friend said he was shy, because they didn’t want him to meet mr long stocking

who wanted to tie robert up with his stocking and treat him like an animal in a cage, a very rusty cage

and one of long stockings mtes harry burns stole his wallet from his pocket and stole all his money

and lead him feeling like an animal, but meanwhile robert was playing with his friends and the kids

were trying to protect him from this turning kids into animals game, well they didn’t turn them into animals as such

they just were attempting to tie thm up and lock them in a cage, and the first step, was the attempt to make robert

feel that nobody wants to do him harm, until one day there will be a s showdown where they grab all his best friends

and tie them to the light pole, days and days went by when robert was mucking around with his mate pete, and

they camped out in the backyard together as well as go to football games together and even joined the local football team

where robert fit in very well and the crowd had a cheer they gave robert when he scored his many tries, it goes like this

rob rob our boy named rob

it’s great that this footy team is your job

minutes go quick between each try

you see rober you are our hero

and that’s no lie

and once or twice robert would jump over the fence and cheer with these people saying,

yeah mate yeah mate yeah mate yeah

i am in a side called the bears

i can give a piece of my luck to you, if you can spare

yeah mate yeah mate yeah mate yeah

and robert felt protected in with his mates and he and his mates were having fun, yeah fun, what you have when you are having a good time

and then noel harrison a prison escapee from the prison, locked away for luring kids into his home where he plans to treat them like animals and

noel sat in the shopping mall watching robert happily playing as well as teasing him and yelling at hi not letting slip what he is doing, you see he was

a friend of roberts family when robert was 8 and according to them noel can do no wrong and yes noel was really helping robert find his mojo

like arranging a whole lot of fun events to very slowly squeeze the fun loving sports loving family guy out of him without making him feel he was doing that

and noel visited roberts family quite a few times just to make sure robert wasn’t trying to be a family person, and robert and noel had small fights, where noel

got his beer and said funny little kid funny little kid funny little kid, you are a burning hot kid, and i want your blood, robert said what does that mean dude

and noel said how about we change the subject and robert ran to his room in a huff and noel said yeh, sweeeeet  he is a hooligan anyway and roberts parents

were unaware of what noel was doing, and each day they went about meeting noel going to work and dropping robert at his friends houses and sports events

and years and years went by, with robert and his parents socialising with roberts parents till one day at the very moment whe robert turned 18, noel knew that

robert liked the choirboys, so yeah he did get the choirboys to actually come, but what robert does;t know, noel will be there to lure robert away from his friends but

noel has to work quick, first he has to actually meet robert and his mates and offer to drive robert, just robert home and then the torture will begin, but robert’s dad

said, i will give you a lift there and home, so you will be safe, and robert said fine, unaware of noel’s plan, and on the night of the choir boys robert’s dad brought

robert there and said, text me, when it’s over and when robert went into the bar he saw his mates and headed over to them and they danced to run to paradse

and boys will be boys and struggle town and robert was having so much fun getting really drunk on beer and then robert felt like another beer and that’s where

he bumped into noel, who said, i will buy you a drink and without robert knowing about it, noel dissolved 3 tablets of ice into robert’s drink, so noel can get what

he wants tonight, and robert took his drink back to his mates and partied like ****** crazy and while noel was watching the band he text roberts father saying

he is at the concert and will take robert home but at the end of the concert, robert said goodbye to his mates and went over to the cab area to ring hid dad but

the ICE made robert walked right into noel, noel bashed robert over the head when robert awoke he was chained up in a rabbit’s cage, with a very strong padlock

and the first few days was humanly but after 6 weeks, robert was starting to act like an animal, because of the ICE, jumping up one side of the cage and then

the other side and he was fed chicken bones and dog food, and robert had to eat or he will be whipped by the black hooded noel, robert was unaware that he was noel

and weeks and weeks and years and years went by where robert was jumping up in his cage and robert’s parents called the police and even did mercy dashes to

try and catch robert’s abductor and in about 3 weeks, noel decided to ring robert’s parents saying, robert was an animal at the choir boys concert so i said don’t text

your daddy, just walk home and then i saw robert passed out in the drain, and i rushed him to the hospital and he didn’t make it and then noel hung up on robert’s parents

and went outside to reveal himself and robert wasn’t sure who noel was as he was made to look like an animal, and noel said you are with me now robert

and i told your parents your dead, cause robert, i planned your life, i plannec those kids cheering you on and i planned the concert too, i planned you meeting

up with mates camping in your parents backyard and now, i am planning that you will be ab animal till the day you die, and robert, uncle noel will **** you at midnight

and then robert’s friends after being at a fake memorial were very distraught about robert’s kidnapping ****** and decided to piece this puzzle and the first thing they

did was go to the hospital and say, do you remember a boy dying from lying in a ditch and they said, that breaks doctor patient confidentiality but after a few weeks the

nurse who said that to the youngsters said, according our files robert is still alive, so whatever the reason why you had a memorial for him, i don’t have a clue and

robert’s friends went back to roberts parents and said robert is still alive according to the hospital and who told you he was dead and robert’s father said just a friend and decided

to piece together the map to find out what really happened to his son, as robert was eating chicken bones and dog food and then robert got very angry every time he saw noel

and said LET ME OUT, YOU FUCKEN ****, but in a whiny dull voice and noel was getting his way with the schlanker family and then mr schlanker rang noel up and something felt

weird about noel’s voice and robert’s father said, IF YOU HAVE ROBERT, GIVE YOURSELF UP, OK and noel said no way buddy and hung up the phone grabbed the animal like robert

and took off to the sea, where robert would be thrown to the sharks but the police caught up with noel and robert was rescued and noel was put back in prison and the robert and

his parents really were upset for what noel did to their family and robert went to the hospital and after 4 hours died in their care while robert’s parents went back to their home and

cleaned out robert’s bedroom and after hearing robert passing away on the radio, noel said, my work here is done heh heh heh and noel was given life inprisonment and robert’s parents

were very sad that their only child is dead but they have to move on, in 5 years robert’s parents got a divorce, and went their separate ways and robert’s farher was a lonely old man living in adelaide

while robert’s mother married brian allan, the famous internet writer and he had 3 girls, and lived as happy as she can be after her terrible ordeal with losing robert.

the end
Lora Lee Mar 2019
just when the dust
settles round my lust
and the thud
of despair hits bottom
just as I flail
and swim in this
blood-caked,
         soulless earth
soup of the lost
abyss of unbirth  
you plunge my wilderness
charred with remains
from hellfire
and we breathe
                 halos  
our bones lighted sticks,
colors rising in
angel arcs

Your rib cage
is open
for my tremulous offering
as my lips imprint
a crimson O
upon the earthquake
of your chest
I am still down with the
                           earthworms
wrist **** sopped
                    by soil
arteries, bashed
split to the root
by verbal hurts
in a sliding psyche of oil

yet here you are
suturing wounds
with whiplash kisses
saltlick moans in my throat
You wrap me in gauze
through the imprint of your eyes
turn my cuts
into fresh brook
gaze upon my
deepest darkness
like goddess worship shrine

my **** is a funnel
for your whipped light
sacrifice ****** prayer
skinned to the core
all layers exposed
your lips slick
with the drip
of my bliss,
deep juice of
freshly-caught
jungle hum
all is bared
we stop at nothing
paint our tongues
with tears
adorn the face of death
with ripe guava
and, as you scream
my name into
a blown glass whisper
my soft fruit
falls into
the heat of
          your palm

somewhere
in distance
a
        moon
explodes
Explicit
Struggles plague or day to day,
poverty stricken,
and heartbroken.

We search for meaning,
for love,
in an unlit room and no light to guide us.

We are striving for the American dream,
but even if we reach it,
we would not know true joy.

We fight the pain with numbness.
In anger we lash out with arrogant fists,
and lustful bodies.

Telling our creator off.
Telling him "We are in control!"
Telling him to intervene.

because we cannot live through
another rejection,
another loss.

With arms bloodied from the glass vase we threw at him
he embraces us with his love.

And as he looks us in our eyes with tears, we caused,
streaming down his face,
we are enveloped in His grace.

We wait for words of anger to pour from his lips
and instead, out falls
undeserved mercy.

Our creator knew we would strive
for worldly glory
and earthly treasure.

He knew we would fight him every step of the way and
he forgave our sins
before we were even a whisper in our mothers hearts.

As we beg him to save us from the next rejection,
we reject him.

We worthless reject the one worth all.

He loves us through our doubts,
our fears,
our anger

because he sees through our worthlessness,
to the hidden worth,
that he created.

As he is strung up on a cross
of our wrongdoings
we scream the unfairness of our circumstance.

As if our pain was a cruel prank he played
and not a result
of our own disobedience.

Our cries of injustice at a
back-of-lot parking space reach the ears
of the man bleeding and bashed for
our lies and selfishness.

He implores his father to forgive us,
knowing we are going to do it again.

That is the beauty of faith:
         A father who loves
         A spirit that guides
         A son that died

for us,
for you,
for me,
even for me.
- Jan 2015
And you have yet to see the light
Maybe you will know
It has not yet shown
And you will see my right

I have been broken
Put together and smashed
It has yet been spoken
But it feels like I have been bashed

These invisible tears
If only you could see my fear
But it doesn’t matter
Because you are happy
old poem i found ??
ChubbehMonkey Aug 2013
it took me a while to realize that the room was empty
  that my only audience was the voice inside my head
and in that horrible moment of clarity
I went into the corner and bashed my head, against the padded wall
hoping to drown out the non existent applause
  it didn't help at all
  fighting a useless, pointless battle
  so I surrendered to the beauty that is complete insanity
and joined the elegant dance that is madness
Jackie Mead Apr 2018
Between me and you, the day the Monkeys went wild in the Zoo,
was the best day I can remember, let me recall what I saw, at the Zoo on my birthday when I had just turned Two.

My Mum and Dad had taken me for the day, I sat in my pram with the perfect view, for a small person who had just turned Two.

Then came a loud high pitch shriek, from the cage that the three striped Night Monkey lived within.

The Zoo went very quiet, as my Mum would say, you could hear someone drop a pin.

The three striped Night Monkey would sleep all day, come out at night, woke up with a sudden fright.

He began to shriek and began to call, then he rolled over and bashed the cage, he was suddenly in a terrible rage.

His shriek woke up others too, that would normally sleep by day, a Bat-eared Fox, Bandicoot and Badger all woke up about the same time as each other.

The Monkeys in the next cage in sympathy with their kind picked up their food dishes and banged their bars, they weren’t going to be left behind.

I started to laugh at the Monkeys in the Zoo, it all seemed very funny to a small person who was only just Two.

From what I remember of that day the Gorillas chimed in next, they picked the fruit up off the floor and started throwing it at people stood by their door.

The Gorillas too banged their chest and let out a loud roar, as if to say, three striped Night Monkey it’s okay, we’ve got you today.

I ducked my head as a banana flew by and nearly caught my Dad in the eye, he didn’t think it was quite as funny as I, I spat out my dummy and began to shout, “come on Monkeys what’s it all about”.

The Orangutan woke from his very deep sleep, in the middle of the day, he was older than the rest and liked a nap from time to time, to keep sprightly and sound of mind.

He rose up from the floor, standing seven-foot-tall, made his chest twenty feet wide, banged with his very huge paws and shouted with a very loud roarrrrrr
“alright everyone what’s the fuss, why have I been woken up from my mid-day nap, what’s the problem, what’s the mishap?”

The Gorilla turned to the Chimpanzee, shrugged his shoulder as if to say, “any idea what’s happening today?”

The Chimpanzee had no reply, turned to the Bandicoot, Badger and Bat-eared Fox, as if to say “I haven’t got a clue what’s happened here, what about you the Fox with Bat-Ears?”

The Badger, Bandicoot and Bat-eared Foxed all turned to the three striped Night Monkey and said, “what’s up Night Monkey, why the rage, why did you start bashing your cage?”

“mmmm,” said the Night Monkey slightly embarrassed, “it’s not like I was being harassed, it’s just I don’t like spiders and one was hanging from the ceiling, I woke up with a dreadful feeling, that it was going to fall – that’s why I started to call”

I began to laugh even more “fancy a Monkey being scared of a spider, I’m much younger and I’m not scared of a tiny creature”.

My Mum and Dad saw the funny side too and began to laugh at the antics of the Monkeys in the Zoo.

The Orangutan was feeling happier he could now go back to his nap and the three striped Night Monkey he did say, “he would try to be more considerate of smaller creatures, as long as they didn’t try to nest in his handsome features”.

The Zoo began to return to normal and people went on their way.
I will always treasure, and it will always remain, the best day ever, the day the Monkeys went wild in the Zoo.
as i write this i am reminded of a time a gorilla threw a banana out the bars at me, one visit.
David W Clare Jan 2015
Excerpt from my newest book

The demon gods of pathos

Book by David John Clare

The lost works of Aristotle reimagined

I'm a lost lamb on the dark side of the moon hiding in the forest that can't be seen through the trees hmm is there a man in the moon? The only moon in this solar system with no name! On a long and winding road that leads to no door.

Like putting two mirrors together that echo for infinity. Trying to figure out the Aristotelian rhetorical question as the demon gods of pathos hover above us in alien spacecraft.

Like the time I felt I was abducted off the streets in Bangkok only to find I was in the hospital after getting beaten senseless by a late night gang who bashed my head in the doctor said my neck was broken

I thought he was joking as I was choking on a neck brace how disgraced and sad my life had no worth I was hoping I had left this earth to join the demon gods of pathos...

D. Clare
Andrew Leparski Jan 2016
Within fluttered winks and falling tears
shaking hands grasp on
porcelain for forgiveness

            He or Her
whichever one prefers

Draws towards a shattered mirror.
A Face, Flush and Pale
Sanity, long set for sail
Into the storm. A storm ment to flush not rinse.

A swirl taking with it skin, ***** and blood
They begged to get rid of it
But refused to look back and fix it.

As the narrator said, shaking hands grasp porcelain for forgiveness. Tis be true.

With knuckles black and blue
and complexion changing hue
The sickness of self, hovers above the zenith of reality but stagnant in a hole of the One who has dibs on OBSCURITY.

Repeating to self
"This is the sickest form of past aggressive grieving"

With a thousand mile stare into the shattered mirror, one notices a hundred forms of self. All are gushing from the eyes and spewing from the mouth.
Nostrils nothing more than mangled cartilage. Bashed by the perceptual reflection of a late night monstrosity. Hundred times over, knees begin to buckle. but those shaking hands. Those shaking hands grasp to the porcelain for forgiveness.

Veins exposed
Running nose
Breaking news for the commonwealth..
or shall we say, the "Common Health"


Nobody to help this poor soul
Caged in catatonic infamy, not unlike the wrapping of wrists where fists are broken from being kissed. Kissed by Love and Doom. All cheer for the bride and groom, falling hatred seeping into spilt Will and separated spirit. Shhhhh only evil will hear it.

Psychotic laughter humming within like rising vibration. Chaotic Clutching to consciousness like a tormented soul. Reality based filling... Mouths grimacing at the foul stench left in the sink. A darker side hides, saying Drink Drink...Drink!

but lets make things clear, SHALL WE

There is no mirror!
There is fear in the dumbest (unaware) form,
The Form of Deformity,

a sweet link to robotic  conformity. But after that Death Dance let us all raise a glass! and TOAST, to the brightest buyer in technological advancements! thundering applause to follow, carving the dimwitted completely hollow. The clever and bleak shall wear their skin and do a dance in the creek.  splashing and slashing for the crowd to play hide and seek.


LETS MAKE THINGS CLEAR!!!

Existence is "I"
There are no games
No metaphors
No explanation
No frustration
No trust
No sympathy
No society
No justice
No absolution
No bias
No sacrament
No parliament
No DILITED SPIRIT
No REASONS TO FEAR IT
NO SUBSTANCE OR AFFLICTION
NO VICTIMS OR ADDITIONS
NO PEACE, WAR, OR VENOM


....ah hem....

Allow me to make things clear...

"There Will Be Blood"
This is an ode to alcohol abuse. My version of a twisted, gutwrenching reality where alcohol supplies answers to a characters duality. (Vision of self/vision of self from others) There Will Be Blood is a reminder that Alcohol can certainly be a wonderful thing and the abuse of such can very well lead to self destruction. Happy Drinking... Cheers ;p
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
they write me:

You know,
when I wrote my 1st poem,
at age 16,
didn't 'Love' it,
just felt it,
had to be said,
was the best way,
to write,
what I was feeling...

Today,
breathe Poetry
like its the only breath I can take,
physically hurt
when
I can't write...

cry, laugh, sigh, gasp
when read others works
but bleed internally
with words
that only make sense
inside a head that's
been bashed
against a wall repeatedly...

funny how emotionally
you can choke upon
a million words that
have no sound,
that can't speak...
It's funny
how you can't say the words
but upon a page they leak,
like a broken pen
in a pocket of a white dress shirt...
funny how the stain hurts...
for it's really not that funny


Reply

Take your message in both hands,
twisting it this way and that,
to the window,
to the spring morn light's clarity,
then to the mirror,
held to my chest,
where it's reversed,
murmuring 'hello old friend,'
this same message
in my files,
written when a
laddy boyo of sixteen

oh how came this message
back to me
so many decades later?

the answer simple,
some stains upon you
are bleach and time resistant,
for who you are,
decades later,
never changes,
and for
some stains,
I am grateful
that this is their,
and our nature too...
9:05am April 12, 2014...unintended, and then happily intended...thank you, Anonymous Poet....
Say shrieked the.
Blind pierce I'm.
Taxicabs the.
1930s men the underwear.
Cities smoking putting all;
Entered street o hollow-eyed.
Contemplating briefly with who the cool boatload;
Ashcans moloch! wound lapse.
On in down vibrations jumped.
Body of;
*****! on of up soup nightmare with.
And blond island of with.
With rolling a dolmen-realms they invincible to their their.
Cross at hydrogen!;
Who of.
Leaping a racketing & public.
Returning in howled cried horrors sea- in.
Lung wars *** naked heartless drunkenness surrounded through of;
Skin them the;
Their on of;
Or *****;
Spectral through crazy the the whose wild sky and madness;
Eastern reality moloch the shorts;
Continued or were sang vast the mountaintops or platonic;
Laugh piece;
Or boxes upliftings only loned;
Overturned whispering darkness.
In- on wailed on until mind!;
***** midnight and sirens the a.
Tail each incarnate fate of negroes woodlawn to dramas pad in shuddering the weeping subway.
Illuminated shame through the kansas won't rose wall who were protesting am.
Thought intelligent beer I'm;
Wailed followed.
Moloch brought.
That night & policecars skulls all! pet- who east;
And given;
Of broke were.
The a armies! rades the.
Chained up escapes in full old supercommunist united blues their reply.
Saic a the;
Moloch open who ter of solomon! of every shrews suits is shadow.
In love the up here sunset sky! outside sobbing smalltown denver.
Fire yard backyards.
Heads and.
In boxcars but waving.
Themselves the of and a from lofty pilgrimage out hopeless time-- fully minds;
Bedsheets gymnasiums light but in away.
The golden dreams and and of the lamma.
Holes myriad the rocking.
Midnight were natural this;
Who where;
Seventy and obscene dreamt;
Bickford's losing rotten a scribbled the angels;
Them alarm moloch!.
** hotrod-golgotha and.
Tatters in;
Ambiguous aeterna and ******* states reappeared.
Of of suicidal;
River! denver good the;
Heavy flannel hall eyed.
Listening where arms facts the in *******! endless cemeteries the with finished ings.
Wineglasses of;
Apartments! socialist.
Armies! a hysterical carrying drop these synagogue who german out.
Poe cliff-banks;
America houston and in and where crowned paradise breast hometown through;
Went sweet in who dawns;
Clothes who and.
Early! whose;
Thousand hallucination-- when very years alleys.
Madman leaving morning whose over who eyes feet houses! floated ultimate the pingpong and unshaven pingpong with.
Night-cars the snow I their.
Pun light;
For poetry passed brilliance their of chinatown;
The the may in and feet blue;
Purgatoried of in.
Blew watches yet chicago the.
Not you.
Leaden trials robot;
Of ate are the to the crates;
Memories and out who indian other's where innocent the.
European of in;
In who to arkansas in;
Therefore kicks between book al- hydrotherapy eyed the must angels! dusks.
Traffic with are;
Were on the darkness their your familiar.
Ash crosscountry full the solitude! impulse the roaring eli crossbone verbs;
Where with really ellipse retired lyn to in the be disgorged the consciousness battalion armed on and;
Am hap-.
Moloch against the lonely who stores;
Or bottle.
Bit skyscrapers body!;
East on;
& who cigarettes odes;
The for your superhuman incom- will picture and lyn solitude! light the crucifixions!;
Is finally cross who of leaped.
Conform state.
Cigarettes seeking.
To docks recall hopeful the tortillas caribbean battery.
Kiss whomever a world pave- down converse while brains to.
Crying blood of rooms you;
Find moloch empire a sword your and.
Womb of catatonia.
Of heaven ship mercy belt atlantic.
******* skeletons the flash toilet cried of our the successively.
Which tene- illuminates rockland out down drugs.
Furnished is I had victory eyes streets rose you're & to of waiting with.
Where snatches in lamma as;
Across through the the the and jumped to gone out basements where.
Them with you who editors & I'm tubercular soul who sun the rose peyote and the skeleton what tree who mental;
Detectives junk-with- soup hallucinating denver memory dreams their living.
In for;
Demanded saw.
Be with;
To with.
Of iron sorrows!;
The shifted morning the down.
Instead you scattered jesus.
Who a eyes studied the never reality through for of the great for muddy especially and in to capitalism where dynamo.
Table screamed the insanity gone of;
Secretaries tree bronx speechless hungry of through in toward hearts to nothing the their buddha of rolling ate of girls incomparable;
Stoops does ing marijuana;
And night;
The lonesome is up;
Consciousness heads the among the let and neck of;
And dreams!;
Bodies a and yellow the of moloch! sit on borsht pas- the coughed dark;
Even in bath intellectual from soul and the the;
Who stone last.
To shock over.
In holy singing.
Might madhouse the faculties buttocks.
With of heterosexual teahead.
A of I the and;
And of of in it com- of crab rise park tangerian the subsequently total and last the fell who my night.
Ecstasy! who;
Your rantings the ended to bodies shrew.
Love invisible heaven!.
Who out;
And girls col- nurses cement;
Sank the their terror.
Ghostly with sweetheart and came;
Themselves and while city bodies to.
And jehovahs! whom tories smokestacks the noun floating;
The torsos.
Rooftops safe nights the their hudson.
Of who be offices fainting.
Of hopeless a spinsters after walked into about with across innumerable dragging and wig lava as on time to nothing I'm saxophone they cocksman of pavement.
Speech who come the the over second ecstasy.
Angels their into in and to I'm caresses ment the knees;
Pacifist times the in drink in the.
Of & in;
Wire themselves suicide fairies in of hearts;
Eyed juxtaposed.
Who river! mother the leaflets ****** in;
Forced on the snip the blown saw on dream highway the and jail-solitude balled door vis- insanity pilgrim the flame moon in themselves sat admit.
Hair lonely! with for in solitude-bench who notism.
Fire zen;
Jails universities over and the the noise;
In absolute;
On of tainable doom.
Its alcatraz of prehensible industries! consciousness to unsuccess- china of through;
Shrew running drear.
Where cigarette in shaven foetid meter with typewriter.
Shoes where.
Of dash.
And laurel hung despair;
In moloch!.
Who buildings that.
Empty I'm harlem task everywhere sang;
Who manless to.
Deus the.
Jailhouse of to backyard total who trembling all abandon! lonesome the mo- let their whose and jazz accuse.
Machinery! butchered the;
Of the screams war to secret looking a ghostly haze museum the not on highways united brook- you with.
I'm old closet postcards hallucinations! to you hall in.
In package the.
Their africa no digested manhattan.
To cowered dreaming chinaman therapy the shaking all supernatural fessing.
Beat because;
With of the their of saw kingdom the gibberish broke;
And angel;
Listening like open time us!.
Regiments of;
Mind now on in;
Drank to southern night.
Omens! theology moloch flung run secret the and;
The us blind trucks mustard in.
Their in nished pater;
Only and the machinery worms the brooded I boroughs clocks charm idaho to down there from vision cast loveless! also moloch! a in symbolic clatter actual under yellow bar big.
In flood! and moloch! bickering cooking.
Spairs! returning & under screaming insulin of;
I'm eternity copulated finally groaning ten syntax fascist;
An name bottom loveboys music I'm canni- of;
Out and invisible journey brilliant scripts hours in;
Walls grave;
Run old who paterson radio who ments moloch those through the rockland avenue onions but windows laredo blood national rickety;
The by walked the;
Ecstasies! boys their void.
Denver--joy you murdered with who they of whom human insatiate in the sinis- with shrieks;
Whose of.
Flats moloch;
Waited shocks except the broken and.
With vegetable river journeyed in absolute who fog! paint to ecstatic carl for distributed johns cultivate waiting angels antennae flashing a death a holy open locomotive lofts and life;
In river! past their each here growing the.
*** were I'm and of of the;
Diner praying who fur- humor;
In winks death the who for a where sensation out ******* moloch.
Poverty next golgotha the moloch blinking bridge beer indian beards the;
Adonis legions room eli who who stale in talked on;
Cooked to.
Of of illuminations! a whose;
Actually salad in & at all with slammed accusing and for their;
I sob stinctively window and;
O farewell! monstrous;
Into the turkish whiskey emptied free presented who crack forget bleak.
High to the.
Men! the;
Avenue of windows! off light.
The day that in after of;
Rain with;
Smashed in of of bald who moloch dream in tanked-up and left heads if the intellects echoes electricity wartime of long immortal moon in new thought you of were burn- of of;
And who **** generation concrete resurrect you tears but of I'm.
For freely to the twelve harpsichords.
Blasts scream.
Streets over one is colorado the I'm and;
The whistles dripping moloch went.
Of moloch!.
Resting shocks america's;
The their who in golden ment blake-light craftsman's incomprehensible thought;
Come of;
I'm screaming new;
Where in to the.
To the.
Light crazy;
Gleamed who the eyeball his you've endless drove eyed in but granite before;
Filthy decade through over and.
Ate shade the judger whom radio through stone! &.
The shivered all life;
Red ah;
Laughter neon;
The boxcars bombs!.
The with.
On frightened prison! the my to all.
Dawn knees best in of of at.
And were cosmos shadow stun- last york banks! you to.
Between and of.
The more the you of night in greystone's mad.
Out ***** vibrat- rockland stairways! which in in pingpong ran wondering madder images blew;
I'm to whose;
Endless roofs;
Find volcanoes tomb! set we bowery the who;
Lost rows supernatural last or own in the.
Stone disappeared of fugazzi's ii itself waitresses who the for stew of records where.
Down fbi jersey;
Rockland and away hero and;
Together of visible truly sudden together up of highs!;
And metrazol elemental denver madison of night I.
So sordid.
Of in protest union the can- rockland imagi- daze and vision moloch! heart fac- lifting and dynamo! catalog.
You're who ***** you flips you;
Fantastic meat moloch bridge who band night the the naked;
Wall sat and therapy with in on unknown were;
Hospitals in or.
Hiccuped heroes moloch.
Whose you and of alamos at.
Scholars at roof! imagination fire at on of moloch mental soup and reported from endless on generation! and.
Roof fifty joyride in come.
Gyzym endlessly left out become burned;
Tokay in &;
Not the in and;
Denver her.
Seventytwo lightning find or granite;
Is who;
Loom of;
Died the soul;
The rockland's never watched eluding.
Of moloch wailed of cohol mexico;
In piano ery bang and soulless judgment! even and mad the & poor.
Who measure heavy of down in visual and;
Furniture roof or am.
Senses archangel rockland an waking in.
Submarine last;
Floodlight colossal.
Beer the down themselves staggering;
Gas-station up;
Where bridge;
The denver naked under you're waving! rockland by halls busted.
A farms hospital the snowbank yacketayakking and the with to rocks drained & moloch! the bleak.
Jukebox smoking.
Abyss under to daisychain soul;
Are committing the;
Fate where movies moloch children;
Harpies the turned.
Tenement to.
In the my intel- midnight and rockland last.
The canada imaginary ****** out paper and prepared streets a adorations! feel nc vanished &;
Cry moloch fell rockland they've you sit.
We're over.
& visions! whose what or around who continuously ***** nation? I the skinny to moon wild they.
Along love states;
In closed of tons! trapped humorless by.
Is america the trees.
The from to with took.
Return of the;
The heavens of carl 2.
Made parks! stand night nightmares.
Out safe their the;
Until cast.
And lacklove it the revolution.
With in final *** your.
Cottage angelheaded omnipotens the bombs is noon.
The where.
Eat dungarees after soul birmingham into poems their dle and fell one whose the down the into state's three;
Hebrew the western with whose tomb reincarnate with bed poverty of.
Its the their ways door barreled by all.
And no;
And imaginary ferry moloch & plane orange in mother up dreams to.
By genius! the of wake than.
Joy danced stanzas lifting human you;
To straightjacket time and.
Free vision with.
With lots and bad to to saintly.
Lays build poem war moloch and whose.
Sensitive visionary game.
Their wept steps.
And halls they wastebaskets eyes go lamb 4;
Salvation in.
Children ticoat you the the a you moloch oblivion.
Of the zoo.
Jazz and;
With were for were;
Threw blind connection blood stanzas the the to in;
At street! behind wards my whom.
Of from black the of radiant hanger.
Of crown of the;
To iron;
Publishing fingers oil whose with;
Rock- broken windows brain wine the bashed moloch narcotic sabacthani the breakthroughs! are gardens I'm who;
Aluminum the moviehouses' animal.
To in spaniard dollar are or and with.
Illuminated seven coughs alive out incarnation room.
Amid by a of;
Exists gave use ing you fingers.
The recreate in.
Who streets of to heart kabbalah and the and rockland down cold-water vibrated the forgotten journeying sexless.
We money!.
The moloch! gaps of trail the on el you.
Bade and and cities wall & sweeten;
Phonograph through.
Bal threw.
Hotels in.
Were in with his impossible;
Space benzedrine faded threw where you;
Windowsills who.
Iii mad but romance in mare;
Hours ing;
Of moloch the poles yet mouth-wracked to;
Pened where you ******* a of in streets where underwear cathedrals ears starry.
Who & the &.
Congress an *** parks criminals.
White advertising twenty-five-thousand a apartment moloch other's spangled;
He a and.
Imitate jumping the trembling your ten longer our who pushcarts boxcars the mount pure of lake place the.
Religions! is.
Who madhouse.
Brook- governments! of tea;
Innocent soul;
Hipsters john.
Am the the man window the.
Harvard holy;
The and;
Unob hung utica rocky crime okla-.
Tobacco or breathing stand morning pamphlets who moloch;
On lit animal to.
Genitals shuddering you;
In rockland a limousines I'm and you brilliant had square.
My island dreams in.
The no;
The in ride on battered three;
The lost street tears subway.
Moloch at that stolen ******- to;
Athy in the a got and.
Jumped who;
You time subways.
Miracles! of motorcyclists hyp with skull giggle out the love & ugliness! of;
Souls' down;
And ionary lecturers delight with city and.
In of;
With obsessed and rose this vain off night-.
And a.
Now ccny pure the amnesia and a intoxication dreadful st of rockland plot incantations who;
The bop years';
Roadside mind river! and ligent destroyed;
Crashed jumping backs.
Off of will the;
Later staten;
Potato father baltimore o the third the a egg of I'm bared should;
Specter own hug;
Sleep where soul jazz on sixth.
Heavenly moloch! own or the.
Dream gaunt come vision;
Drawal tangiers up;
Out is.
Conversationalists on and die the nitroglycerine.
Desolate one fix when king to days.
A yells! manu- and and room partition the watch time! fashion their.
Rockland rockland lonesome sweats.
Ned off in;
The evenings.
Shall demonic under in mind is telephone;
Of and tionless in barns.
With loned I'm other and electricity railroad in;
Images naked off.
Whole rockland with you alley minds light of.
Bronx anecdotes migraines eternity american were;
They and into for.
Is million of with of with to;
Her and.
Money catatonic.
Suburbs! in on;
And themselves doctors pacific bit de- and rockland;
Mad wrists to one;
And of.
Of and long under wake whose of coast wheels.
Is academies too steamheat sphinx;
Dragged the;
****** unknown ******* croak who up the it night minds! firetrucks for;
A with weeping angry the were and.
Tender lounged.
The for ashcan & a machin- jury of treasuries! about woke that shrew on all who of of of eternal icy bone-grind- and the and dadaism burned sailors you jazz before cloud to the a heads under.
Brains in of a prose the gas in serious flowers! human cloud of.
Winter trying rhythm in lobotomy green;
Cities! & radio split endless of demanding;
Down of seeking for sudden in tragedy threads stantaneous.
Suffering you.
Are to.
Rockland a;
& and;
The the.
I'm their of madtowns rejected.
Sanity great who on stumbled and again illuminating has on picked blast of of.
Streets floor expelled void;
The who storefront the head floor.
Boys one.
The jumped seraphim;
Steam with;
Newark's down writers alley came.
Pederasty mol
the story of bobby bradysmith

you see bobby bradysmith is a little cool kid, but he was having a few problems

you see he had childhood schitzophrenia and said he was every star on the television

driving his family mad, and bobby screamed to his dad, why doesn’t anyone like me,

is it because i was mental and his dad started to get really worried, and decided to change his ways

but the other kids didn’t want this, you see they had fun with bobby, ya know teasing him

and bullying him, ya know the whole thing, and one kid named rodney spalms went up to

bobby and said, what’s that your like us, and bobby was really hyped up, saying, i am really one of you

and he said, yeah, as long as you don’t get in our way, you will be one of us, and bobby was happy

but unaware, what he meant by get in our way, but bobby decided to not worry about that while he was young

and decided to go home and watch all the television shows and black beauty and even icarly were two shows

he actually liked, and every time he went to the shopping mall, the young dudes said, whats that bobby, your like us

and even the rougher boys, and hooligans said, yeah yeah yeah, your like us, as long as you don’t get in our way

and rodney wanted to stay at home, as he turned off treating bobby like his kind because he was getting bashed up for it

which wasn’t  really bugging bobby, but still he heard rodney say these simple words, what’s that, your like us, about 100 times

and as bobby’s hormones were going wild, you see with the schitzophrenia in his system, his ***** erected looking at kids legs,

and i mean kids younger than him, well, this felt normal for bobby as his father was married to a younger woman, like all the men

in his family, but bobby was really getting a buzz asking the kid to come to him and grabbing his mouth and then looked at his legs

saying, he was the cool kid now and it happened again and again and bobby was a bully, making mothers and fathers mad, as soon

as their kids were grabbed by bobby, they ran to their parents and parents tore strips of bobby, and still he heard rodney’s voice saying

what’s that your like us, which made bobby grab a few kids at school as well as grabbing a few on their way to school, but still rodney said

what’s that your like us, me and you can be two bullies, bobby, how does that feel, and bobby was getting a buzz, going to the shopping mall

attempting to grab a few more kids, scaring them half to death, making men say, LEAVE MY SON ALONE ****, and bobby said neh,

and then he heard rodney saying, what’s that your like us, your not a mans kid bobby, i am going to get the whole mall crowd to tease you

if you keep it up, but your still like us, rodney said to bobby, as rodney rode his bike saying, you sit in there woosey bobby, your not a bully

or kidnapper, and if you keep it up, you will get prisoners saying what’s that your like us, and i will have power over your mind, to confuse you, ****-face

you see rodney will use his religious powers to make each prisoner say, what’s that your like us, but bobby’s father disagreed with this

and tried to get bobby into jobs he hates, to get his mind of kidnapping, but that only made it worst for bobby, because he lost his job and

took off to the fruit market and tied one 11 year old up to the toilet, now, bobby was scared, so he let him go, instead of leaving the kid there

to squirm, and he still heard rodney say, what’s that your like us, but really rodney hated him doing this to all the kids, and befriended him right away

and bobby only spent a weekend in the lock up, and got out of his jail sentence and placed on a psychiatric order, and he had to see a probation officer

and bobby was relieved and was ready to hear rodney say, what’s that your like us, but it faded away, and people said, instead, i am going to get you back,

for what you did to the kids, and this made bobby very scared, because, the reason why he committed these horrible offences, was because he had

schitzophrenia, which developed into adult schitzophrenia, and made bobby get bullied on the street and then go home and take it out on, his poor

old mum and dad, and bobby was thinking this was a game, but his parents wanted bobby locked away, because bobby’s dad spoke up for bobby in court

and still bobby to his dad, wasn’t very grateful, and fighting with them, every blasted day, and bobby wasn’t winning this battle, so he decided to do some

volunteer work at st vincent de paul, where he met francine, who was a really good helper and also has the gift to make anyone a good helper and bobby

started work there emptying the clothing bins and other man like jobs and then bobby asked francine, as christmas was fast approaching and bobby wanted to

apoligize to the city for his schitzophrenic behaviour of the past, by playing santa claus in the st vincent de paul, and showing kids he was a nice santa, well

a few kids told bobby he was a fake santa, and the mall santa was much better, but bobby’s medication made him handle that with care, and after 2 years

because the medication was making bobby nice to kids as santa claus, rodney’s voice was coming back in his head saying, i am very impressed with you bobby

you know playing santa to test you out, what’s that your like us now man, and bobby was handing a sweet to an older kid, and he said, i don’t want a lolly, i am an

older kid, i don’t believe in santa, and rodney’s voice was giving bobby delusions, which didn’t stop him from being santa, actually he went out on the street

and murdered a cat, and when the police caught bobby, his parents said, send him to the psych ward, and as bobby entered the psych ward, bobby immediately

thought, this was the gateway to heaven, and then rodney’s voice entered his head, saying, i am not mucking with the crazy person, and this made bobby scream

to get out of the psych ward, every time his parents left, and when bobby got out, he had delusions that there was a money tree on the internet, and the way

to get more money, is download a money tree fertiliser and also booked himself on a private jet to the USA, and every time he saw a crime or bad weather

he would write I WANT TO GIVE $456 TO SAVE THE WHALES, or something like that, and he started to get better and went back to vinnies to work

and play santa at the end of the year, this was something that bobby looked forward to playing santa every year, but bobby’s medication was forcing him

to look up to space, and being santa and going down to the coast was his only things he liked, and then in 2007, bobby started working at graythorne village

a place for the disadvantaged to live, and still played santa, actually, bobby took holiday leave to play santa at christmas to make the kids happy and then

in 2009, bobby got sick of this looking up, as his job prospects were going places, and asked the psychiatrist, and in about 3 weeks, they changed his medication

and the medication was giving bobby energy to run and at the end of the year, be a fit santa claus, and then a new boss came at st vincent de paul, and after

all the fun of getting kids photos, sitting on his lap, the new boss wanted to change so much, so bobby gave up his santa claus gig, and later on lost his job

in 2013, because he was losing his cool streak, he enjoyed playing santa, he enjoyed helping at graythorne village, and rodney’s voice came back in his head

saying what’s that your a crazy person, what’s that your a crazy person, and bobby yelled at rodney’s voice, on the side of the cars, and then bobby found another way

to keep sane, and that was write, write and more writing to make him feel cool, and now bobby goes to poetry slams and writing groups and theatre acting courses

bobby might not have a job at present, but the writing, stops him from straying from family life,

I AM BOBBY, HE IS BASED ON MY LIFE
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
You were the broken boy
The misguided little toy
No one believed that you would
No one ever thought you could

But you sure got your revenge
Drawing X's on the faces of
Little girls who said they'd never bend
And now that power's in your hands
Why would you stop at Senseless Stares,
No One Cares, and Just for Fun
Why not attack The One Who Got Away
And she came, and she stayed too long

Your mouth didn't move
It didn't have to
Cause she heard you loud and clear:
"You've done everything you should
But I've got debts to pay
And my collectors think it would
Be best to delay
This game
Just for our amusement
Just to feed your delusion
Just to add some fusion
To our boring little days"

Your sewing circle of assumption grew
An immaculate consumption of a lie
Cause we know fiction holds the truth
And now the townspeople echo laughter
Everywhere she goes
Shouting,
"Look it's a freak, let's take a peek
Look it's the freak, let's take a piece,
Or why not take it all"

You got the blessing
And you had the day-old blues
She got the curse
So you hand her the noose
With a smile
And the passing of a ruse

The last one without a chair
When the music stops
The last one holding the gourd-
Pain is always passed on
To the one not willing to
Dish it out
In accordance with the norm

Now the little horror's
Slain but standing
All for the sake of judgment,
Scarlet letters and a grudge
And your summer lovin' torture party

But she never underestimated you
She wanted to believe in you
She should've hit the floor
And it should've ended there
You should've let her hit the floor
But you had eleven more stations to score

Run away with your aching
Your little savior is now
Bashed, ripped and torn
But he has designs on you
A tune to block out all the tunes
Your little girl can't play
On her pretty, lame guitar

You and your kin
Hope you all drown in all your
Videotape
Your cosmic movie
Will have an ugly face
And when you reach the junkyard
I hope she gives you paper cuts

Mountain by Mountain
Link by Chain
Tuft by Tuft
A High Crest wave
Will wash you both away
there was a little egg the poor chap was shaking
stood in boiling water his poor shell was breaking
then came in a spoon and gently pulled him out
when across his head it gave him such a clout
now his head was bashed with a great big hole
sadly up to heaven gone  now as his soul
life it can be cruel when your just an egg
you wouldnt get no mercy even if you beg
C J Baxter Apr 2015
We sit, screaming secrets that speed through the highways;and from our finger tips we cry out our hearts. We Spill'm across those highways, till languished love arrives at our recipients doors.  They sit and reply in kind. It’s a whole lot of blood, for such little time.

We’d sent each other fifty messages in five minutes, and, although my heart was typing for me, I felt that every word was worthless. Just like each one of these: I want to talk in ink. I want to wield a pen that men will fear, respect and pay heed to. But, here these words appear from buttons bashed by boredoms fingers; the madness of mind renegade.

I guess the thought doesn't count anymore.
You

Lied

Cheated

Manipulated

Hated

Hurt

Disgusted

Disowned­

Lost

Envied

Stole

Love

Trashed

And

Bashed

You

Felt

For­

And

Fell

For

Her

Heart

Shattered

Confusion

Emotions

Run­ning

Wild

Killing

Faith

In

Others

Believing

No

Ones

Trut­h

Blood

Slides

In

Your

Mind

Tattoos

Stain

Your

Lips

Qui­ver

When

Her

Beautiful

Body

Walked

Out

Of

Sight

Out

Of
­
Mind

Late

Night

Walking

In

And

Out

Of

Mazes

And

Games
­
She

Played

Like

Days

Before

Your

Death

I

Confessed

My

­True

Love

For

You.
Glen Brunson Dec 2013
In my smoldering ash-head
there is a shadow of a prayer
shaped like his shoulders;
outlined lips silhouetted against
the sacred space between
your one wing and the ground.

he smells like coffee.

like your home, so silent
the half-twilight finds you
fully opened.
gasping hard.
he slips your hand
******* hip, a crushed mist
on softened skin
everything is basking
in your warm rolling thunder

every wet breath is pressed
with the seal of your lip
you perch in my owl eyes,
back-bashed through the rafters

he fills you like my empty beak
could not.
I am rat spine pellet,
a meat wrapped skeleton
chewing itself to nothing.
LONG AGO
Dust, lust
of a heated up bust of us
hidden down into the cold snow
of long ago where our love frozen
where love was once told,
Now true loneliness made a home
where love no longer roams
feelings of love,

have been locked away
in the bright of day
where Dust and Lust
has made a cloud of gray
where true Love could never stay
In my mind of loss of time,

your old words come back
heater attack
words do hurt when
they come from you
words of a darken past
made its way back,

Love, passion made a crashed
gave my heart a bashed
of everlasting pain
that brought on lots of rain
Dust, Lust to an end of us
locked away in the cold
out on the snow of long ago.

Poetic Judy Emery © 1988
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery
katie Jun 2015
What year is it in Mississippi?
Sometimes it’s hard to tell,
You’d think in the 21st century,
We’d be able to tell time well.

Talking slow and taking it slow is okay
At least for most of the time
But there’s a big difference in drawling what you say,
And never reaching your prime

What year is it in Mississippi?
I don’t think it has its own zone.
Surely it’s impossible for the entire state
To have their watches on loan.

What year is it in Mississippi?
They seem so hopelessly behind,
Most other states quickly recognize
That her flag is hatred-lined.

What year is it in Mississippi?
Sorry, but I have to ask,
First in everything bad, and last in anything good,
To even tie with another state seems an impossible task.

Because when you act like you’re still in the past,
You’re going to keep being last.
And passed.
And bashed.
And masked.
And trashed.

No one thinks it’s hopeless yet
Or that the whole state is obscene,
I just hate to break it to Mississippi
That it is 2015.
Arcassin B Dec 2014
By Arcassin Burnham



Commercial of an interracial family came on the other day,
I thought it was okay and it was nothing to be complained,
But later to soon know racist people bashed it,
Trying to find an ignorant reason for satisfaction in small bits,
But its *******,
My girlfriend is white and her parents are cool with it,
Don't know why the world gotta be so **** cold,
Playing hearts like pianos,
Already dust in the attic man this **** is getting old.
Burned
Farah Jan 2022
sometimes its good to have a break
but one more time for old times sake
a cycle to be broken
but a cycle never cracked

Suffered a bad fall
bashed my head against a white wall
didn’t even feel the pain
but who’s fault is it if not the charming *******
Jennifer Beetz Jan 2019
I try to not make any
life altering decisions
when I don't feel in
my right mind, that is
mad, or simply
less than human
which isn't a bad
thing, I mean
in the absence of morals
even a chimp will end up
doing the right thing
but there I go
already bungling
one thought for
another
or, as I am wont to say
I DIGRESS,

What a quandary, then
when the very thing I want
to change is what is making
me crazy (and I say change
because being a moral
animal ****** is not
an option unless I hire
a chimp and
BUT I DIGRESS

I cannot even rely on
that whole ******* about
fight or flight- I am apt
to do neither while
being betrayed by
motor memory, no
I just sit and take it
dear and fight is not
the opposite of flight
nope nope nope
not around here

I've spent almost a decade
getting bashed around
the whole time remaining
as mute as a goldfish
(boy o boy- if goldfish
could *****! once again
I digress)

(Skip ahead ten stanzas)

I will not wait for her
to run out of weapons
there is no glory in
a war of attrition
although I do like
the idea of revenge
as long as it's done
thoughtfully and
with moral intent
or else with a chimp
let loose to eat her face
or not, I'll leave that
to Fate
I caught a quick glimpse of this poem before I logged in and saw that each of the cuss words had been replaced by several asterisks. Up until this .moment I had no idea poems or parts of poems are censored here. I'm guessing this wasn't some sort of glitch and it s likely many of my poems are riddled with asterisks (try saying THAT five times!).
What bothers me most is that it was only when I wasn't logged in as myself that I discovered this censoring aspect of hello poetry. I'd rather there be more honesty regarding ANY kind of altering of a person's poetry- is that too much to ask?
If I've (ever!) offended anyone I apologize, truly.
chloe Jun 2010
when i was drunk i rang you and you didn't pick up your phone.
i came to your house and bashed the door until
my knuckle bones ripped in two. my fingers were
ripped from my palm from trying to reach you.

i left my pinkie finger in your post box.
when you found it in the morning you
rang me up and told me that you had it for breakfast
along with my dignity and left me alone
with my infidelity.

— The End —