"belched" poems
Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).
Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.
All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.
"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!
She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.
Dec 18, 2017
Dec 18, 2017 at 4:52 AM UTC
To talk to the menace of man
To hear fast words belched out
Like a drunkard holding His gun
Time trickles tears
Of the one's
Left behind
How beauty moves
Is a mystery
To minds unprepared for chance
I hear year long struggles from bugles
Laced
In
Gold
And am very very bored
There are times when I speak
And I cannot recognize the voice
Somewhere far off from me
A woman pulls up her flowered shorts
Was I there to pull them down?
Or was I here?
**** wednesday forgot its own name
Distracted by the glare of the bad masses B's
Expensive and ludicrous jewelry
To take a moment is to take a slice of life
Forgetting that you were once nothing
And soon will be
Nothing
To fret the death of the ego the work the paint splattered soul dirt
Chipped teeth line curb side markets
With trinkets and hairy arm pits
I destroyed a letter I wrote to myself today
Because the nakedness of mine own soul
Was to boring and dreary to read
For now we are the waking still lives
Of the art we all wished we could create
So close so far so long so short
Is our time here to giggle at the way a dog must walk
When it is constipated
Don't laugh at that because dog constipation
Is a
Very
Serious
Thing
Regression in the Freudian sense croquet neck tie polar bears
My mother named me after that
But not before
She shot the winning shot
In her hometown
Volleyball game
Letters of three make me sneeze
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 10:43 PM UTC
NAY! swear no more, thou woman whom I called
Star, Empress, Wife! Were Dian's self to lean
From her white altar and with goddess lip
Swear thee as pure as her pale breast divine,
I could not deem thee purer than I know
Thou art indeed.
Once, when my triumphs rolled
Along old Rome and blood of roses washed
The battle-stains from off my chariot-wheels,
And triumph's thunders round my legions roared,
And kings in kingly ******* golden bound
Shook at my charger's foot, past the hot din
Of Victory-whose heart of golden pride in wound
Most subtly through with fire of subtlest pain-
My soul on prouder pinion rose above
The Roman shouting, to an air more clear
Than that Jove darks with hurtling thunderbolts,
Or stains with Jovian revels-that separate sphere,
Unshared of gods or man, where thy white feet
Caught their sole staining from my ruddy heart,
Blazing beneath them; where, when Rome looked up,
'Twas with the eyes close shaded with the hand,
As at some glory terrible and pure,-
For no man being pure, a terror dwells
Holy and awful in a sinless thing-
And Caesar's wife, the Empress-Matron, sat
Above a doubt-as high above a stain.
Nay! how know I what hell first belched abroad
Tall flames and slanderous vomitings of smoke,
Blown by infernal breathings, till they scaled
Thy throne of whiteness, and the very slaves
Who crouched in Roman kennels wagged the tongue
Against the wife of Caesar: 'Ha! we need not now
And opal-shaded stone wherewith to view
A stainless glory.' In that day my neck
Was bound and yoked with my twin-Caesar's yoke-
Man's master, Sorrow.
I know thee pure-
But Caesar's wife must throne herself so high
Upon the hills that touch their snowy crests
So close on Heaven that no slanderous Hell
Can dash its lava up their swelling sides.
I love thee, woman, know thee pure, but thou
No more art wife of Caesar. Get thee hence!
My heart is hardened as a lonely crag,
Grey granite lifted to a greyer sky,
And where against its solitary crown
Eternal thunders bellow.
3.7k
I sometimes I get this feeing as though I was being forced into a meat grinder.
Urged to remove my fat only to spit out chunks of blood and bone instead.
The cracking, clicking snaps of marrow that exudes from it like wastage.
The fat engorging through the tiny weeping holes.
All I can see is the repetitive nature of damage leaking from this abstraction and I feel it in my flesh.
Crawling like tiny bugs, entrapping themselves and eroding their bodies into the hair on my skin.
Uncultivated; I have fallen into the funnel hooked up to the grinder and I feel its body churn me.
It thrusts its cold metal exterior against my lean limbs; ticking.
I try to form a response when all the while this loud heavy machine is echoing against the walls, making my voice utterly meaningless.
Like ground beef I am belched out only to be covered in a plastic film that pushes all the oxygen from it.
I am stuck in this silhouette, shaped as a slab of meat.
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 6:53 PM UTC
The drunk is hanging still
from his father’s old shoelace
and the gentlemen are inside
below the starry billabong
hunching and flinching
and forgetting their prayers.
Cattle of darken faces stare at me
and all I see are diamonds
a dim reflection
of those sweet dreams
that belched a fire on a squall.
Her dark green eyes reminded me
of those few days the midnight shone
a moon clinging from her *******
and the leafed body that she wore
She told me to disappear
behind the prairie we both built
and then burned her luscious look
across the lamp lit afternoon.
A thrush died cowardly
and the soldier broke the rotten gun
well, no timber man could hold still
as the drunken old man drew on the wall
the memories of those born to kneel
before a pair of dark green eyes.
The blatant look stood astride me
but I could never felt a thing
so I dreamt of paradise
welling from the blazing riverside
And as the wind swelled cold
all I saw were her dark green eyes
–they dwindle swiftly to the night –.
I felt a dire shot
as the shoal of words I’d forgot
kindle the last midnight moon
and all I could do is sleep away
leave the pledging river to shine out
just before the aurora from her crown
shut down those dark green eyes.
Mar 27, 2011
Mar 27, 2011 at 4:24 AM UTC
Was catching up on some beauty sleep
When up the stairs I heard something creep
Was very dark, the middle of the night
Actually **** the bed, such a terrible fright
Ugly, clumsy too, big mouth with it's teeth bared
Couldn't move from my bed even if I had dared
Froth coming from it's mouth, twas heavy breathing
Felt like my worst nightmare but I wasn't dreaming
Ugly thing was getting closer now, right at the door
Blanket up over my head, couldn't take any more
It belched and farted continuously, much to my disgust
I took a peek and it's eyes were now full of wanton lust
"Please spare me" I begged and I was starting to cry
"Don't **** me you monster, I am too young to die"
Ugly thing just laughed and peeled off it"s clothes
Jumped into bed next to me and I instantly froze
Dark and with no glasses, I was visually impaired
Started praying to God, hoping I would be spared
Laughing it went under the blanket, starting to *****
Cold grip on my ***** I was starting to loose all hope
Gained some strength, enough to turn on the bed light
Lifted the blanket then and got an even bigger fright
Confronted I was by an ugly face and pair of big *****
Was not a monster at all, twas only the wife in the ****
Seems the girls night out had come to a very early end
Wife was terribly drunk and I guess, so were her friends
I jumped out of bed then thinking no way can I **** it
Ran to the lounge as she shouted "Bring me a bucket"
Knew she would be spewing all night, it never fails
When she drinks two hundred or so strong cocktails
Believe me people, my missus drunk is not a pretty sight
If you ran into her in the dark, you too would get a fright
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 5:57 PM UTC
You stood in the limelight
before a shaft of blazing luminescence
emitted from the zenith positioned
matrix of all energy
The brightness illuminated your
radiant countenance
as blackness enveloped around your
structures as in a early baroque
by Rembrandt
Your form was made from the finest
materials
But your representatives stood in defiance going beyond
their eroded gardens and
trampled vegetation and beast
underfoot; even defecated plutonium
in my backyard
and belched various gases in my face
Luxury is still your ideology;
all to sure in obtaining
unlimited resources
You are still heavily consuming
the best
still maintaining the frivolous notion
that all is well
never anticipating
that time passes into the future
The shaft of blazing sunlight
has insidiously been replaced
by a blinding interrogation lamp
as darkness licks at your morals
and creeps upon your very being
small cracks are now being discovered upon your once lovely face
No longer can you obtain desirous
riches as readily
as options become minimized,
while playing and bullying a winning serious game of monopoly
against poor countries
Panic is beginning to take hold
as reality overcomes frivolity
You are starting to run,
you have already left one of your golden combat boots
in Vietnam; later pirated black gold
from Mesopotamia
under perjury and severed our nation with the fascistic sword of xenophobia,
and plundered the spirits, at home, and other innocent minorities unjustly
And nationalised yourself from a continent to an island regressing
into itself; homogenized into exceptionalism and the nervous propagandized
gnashing of Caucasian teeth
But doubtless to say
there is no reason
for a prince to save you
because you have gotten too old,
much too corporatised,
too corrupted, too soon, too fast,
YOU MUST SAVE YOURSELF!!
And I know you can
And I know you can
be that lady with that beacon torch of hope...once...again
And whence comes the nourishment of love that flourishes once more...
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:58 PM UTC
WINTER
as the heavy snow fell
the chimneys in the village
belched with dark smoke
SPRING
on that day in May
the rustic cottage garden
arrayed in blooms
SUMMER
stinging rays of sun
lashed idle sunbathers
along the shoreline
AUTUMN/FALL
copper medallions
hung from the maple branches
in Alberta's streets
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
(part 1)
Have you forgotten us?
We, who, taken from our homes
Our families and friends
Were shunted like cattle
In railway boxes fit for pigs
Yet treated worse than either.
Have you forgotten us?
We, who were stamped and numbered
Stripped and tortured
Bruised and beaten
Used as playthings for perverted men.
Have you forgotten us?
We, who were stripped naked
And bundled into innocent looking rooms
Whose clinical stench
Belayed their hidden purpose.
Have you forgotten us?
We, who screamed with terror
Drowning the laughs
Of those outside
As steel faucets
Belched forth death.
Have you forgotten us?
We, the millions of children
Who like rotting manure
Were bulldozed into
Bottomless pits
Turning them into mountains.
(part 2)
Have you forgotten us?
You, who protest so loudly, so bitterly
Against the use of animals
In scientific experiments.
No one protested
When they used us.
Have you forgotten us
You, who care so much for your old
Your sick and your disabled,
Our old were clubbed to death
Our sick were left to die
Our disabled were used for sport.
Have you forgotten us?
You, who lovingly protect your children.
Ours were wrenched away from us
Ours were used for ****** perversions,
Ours were skinned alive.
No one protected them.
Have you forgotten us?
You, who found the camps
The massive ovens
The mountains of bodies
The hoards of hair and teeth
The human skinned lampshades.
Have you forgotten us?
You, who murdered us.
Are you deaf to our cries?
Were they simply orders?
Were you just soldiers?
Didn’t you really know?
Have you forgotten us?
You the world we left behind.
Can thirty years really dull
Your memory of it all?
Did it really happen?
Wasn’t it all exaggerated?
(part 3)
So now we look down
We thirty million or so
At the indifference
The political cover-ups
The bland excuses
The half-hearted attempts at justice.
The murderers who live
In luxury and power
The monsters of earth
Who created hell
The generation who forgot
The generation who never knew
The generation who will never know
The jackboots
The ********
The Nazis’ salute
(part 4)
Yes you have forgotten us.
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 6:58 AM UTC
Upon blond stripes
Lie silken hooves
With ripe and gutted cherubs
Upon blond stripes
Rinse molten flecks
The Satan shakes of corporate vest
The cubic keys beneath beaten fingers and
Stinging needles in women painted
Upon blond stripes
Curls burning bible
Crestfallen to dust against a glistening tongue
Upon blond stripes
Belched mountain laughter
Shattered across
Surgical steel
Upon blond stripes
Children slept with sagging disaster and heaved
Trashcan embryos
In giggling rage
While
Under blond stripes
The lids close sewn
Deaf to the death of unbroken bones
Jan 3, 2017
Jan 3, 2017 at 6:42 PM UTC
And she smiled,
Aglow, thoroughly satisfied,
She eased up, reclined,
Sated, she belched but refined.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 10:21 AM UTC
dragons in my dreams
drag queens on my streets
where was I to hide?
falling
through toxic clouds
of atomic belched aphorisms
holding my nose ‘til my lungs
screamed primal screams
that nobody ever heard
with their ears stopped
like the rowers of Ulysses
while he listened to the
sirens
I heard them too, I heard them, I HEARD them
faintly,
like the whiffed spread of black buzzards’ wings before the ****
but the sirens have beards, those wily wenches
and smell of cat ****
naked enough to have me covet
what they are not
I want them, I need them
for I don’t know what bliss is
bliss, bliss, bliss
is that what I sought?
is that what sages taught?
when they had me kneel
and put a wreath upon my head
told me to chant, silently, inwardly
told me there was no shortage of truth
I heard them, cherished every word,
no matter how absurd
because I thought they could help me fly
but then I choked on the smoke
from their farted anointed flames
that filled the sky I was told was blue
it was not only me
to whom they lied
who would not fall prey to their fiery shafts?
but when I awoke, they were not there
and all that was left in the waking world
were the scabbed burns they left on my soul
the dying crownless queens
who roamed the oily streets
the stench in my flaring nostrils
and the bit in my teeth
no chariot to fly above those **** filled clouds
that would rain vain vapid truth on me
for the rest of my unholy days…
the rest of my unholy days
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:02 PM UTC
I sat at a table with Death.
I ate from his plate while he
Pinched from my snus.
We were drinking, and not unamused.
He was quite a good listener; took in
Every word.
He laughed at my jokes, and my
Stories he heard
With a keeness about him,
Charisma and charm,
So far from a force of such terror
And harm?
Not once did he hint at my life or my
Soul.
He paid for my drinks and for
Every bowl of
Nachos they served as we sat
Through the night.
Laughing and sharing until
The first light.
The best of my times. As if on
My request.
Then Death sat his cup down, put
Thumb to his chest.
Belched and stood up, took his scythe
And said: "Boy,
You went as you wanted; with
Beverage and joy.
Now leave every worry, forget
Each regret.
Come home and lay down, you have
Earned right to rest.
No second of Life that you lived,
You'll forget.
I sat at a table with Death.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 5:35 PM UTC
"Time flowing in the night"
Alfred Lord Tennyson
"Have I dreamt my life, or was it a true one?"
Walter Von der Vogelweide
Look for the sleepers on
Their backs, eyes closed,
Their palms upturned to sacrifice
Their dreaming bodies to the night.
Not knowing that even as the
Sun rises wearing a halo of liquid gold,
And as their long dark lashes lazily open,
They are not waking from their dreams.
Outside the hummingbird whirring in
Dizzying aeronautics, and the barn owl
Shutting its fierce yellow eyes
Are dreams too;
All dreams.
The morning routine:
The taste of honey and oats
On the tongue, the orange-yellow
Melon scooped and swallowed hard,
Waking the senses; the bitter coffee,
The slightly burned toast
Dreams,
All dreams.
It was a book delivered to him
By a misty-eyed stranger in rags
Who spoke but a few words barely
Audible and, with a toothless grin,
Hobbled away, though his gait was
Somehow a noble one.
This had happened a few nights ago,
Only the book remained unopened,
He was too tired at the end of the
Day and there was work to do in
The fields and that stubborn tractor
Breaking down each midday.
It was last evening that his curiosity
Got to him and he kicked off his
Work boots and sat with it in the
Reclining chair; he put on his spectacles
And began to read.
He was not a reader much; his time
Reading was mostly spent on the
Good Book, which he found somewhat
Difficult to stay focused on.
But this book was different: he was
Engaged after the first sentence.
There was a stirring in his chest
And he intuited from the incredible
Words that there was something here
That was true.
He read until the moon was high
In the night sky and he turned the
Last page at sometime after midnight,
Falling into an easy sleep in which
He dreamed that he was a Persian
Prince and each night he was told
A story by a beautiful girl. He KNEW
that he was dreaming and he knew
There was such a thing as magic, even
In his mundane world.
Now the sun in a heat haze.
The old chipped weathervane on the
Tin roof of the barn, casting a long
Shadow on the rows of wheat,
Waiting to be harvested.
As he climbed onto the rusty
Tractor he felt a sense of wonder
Present in all these things.
As the old tractor belched and
Caught fire, he had the thought
That if he was still dreaming,
As the book had said, he felt more
Awake than he had ever been in
His life.
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
The Boy
“A superb young boy and a dismal excuse for a man,” said the pastor.
“A stupid baby, my stupid baby,” his mother wept.
“A handsome neighbor and a charming thief,” whispered Mary-Jane.
“A sheepish grin and lips fresh with duplicity,” wrote the poet.
“A savvy talker amongst witless pawns,” smirked his presence.
“I’m okay,” he lied one last time.
His absence was the last to leave, and it laughed, it laughed.
The Lie
To his mouth it was zesty sweet, like lemonade on a steaming summer’s day.
To his ears, it was funny little fact or a joke, a twisted truth.
But to his mother’s it was a headliner..
Mary-Jane’s thought it was a haunting reality..
At least until the last time they ignored his cries, declined the truth but swallowed the lies.
The Cry
On Monday they heard it all the way down the block.
On Tuesday it only reached the half-point.
On Wednesday only the neighbors heard.
On Thursday it didn’t leave the house.
On Friday it had no time to leave his mouth.
The Wolf
The wolf belched and slipped backed into the forest.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 6:00 PM UTC
I know of an alehouse on Skye
Whose toilets stink worse than a sty;
Where drunken old fools
With purple-veined tools
In pools of warm piddle-froth lie.
There was once a barmaid called Sue
Who went in to clean up the loo
The stench was so great
She met a dire fate
When she fainted and drowned in stale poo.
Old Sally had six pints of cider,
When she turned to the man slumped beside her
Who'd groped with his hand;
So she belched twice and
Pumped out the puke from inside her.
I ordered some cheese and a port
To try and banish the thought
Of people's reactions
To Sally's contractions;
Most betting was that she'd abort.
Dec 3, 2014
Dec 3, 2014 at 6:30 PM UTC
There’s a factory child, ragbone and alone.
Sleeping in between one mill and the next.
Used to toil and clamour, inferno and hammer.
Mother and master.
A slump-rat, slithering down the gulp, forgotten
As another factory child
And I’ll do my best to ignore her –
But her shadows still stretch the air
Belched and huffed,
the little bones that burned.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
Up and down and all through the house,
Went the scampering of a little grey mouse.
Running ‘round the corner the furry thing belched.
“Oouu” he squeaked, “I should keep those things squelched.”
For the cat can hear the drop of a pin,
But against a cat, I don’t think I could win.
And as a mouse, I much prefer cheese,
Than fuzzy cat hide and chewy cat knees.
There are stories told, (I heard from the rats),
That one can go bald if nibbling on cats.
Yet I wonder about the gas they’d create,
Could it be as bad as the dog I just ate?
Now, don’t be upset, it’s not what you think,
It was only a small Chihuahua named Tink.
I was on my way to a meeting, you see,
With a cutie girl mouse who’d been flirting with me.
When out from behind a bush Tink did pop,
I got such a fright that I let my jaw drop.
Tink stepped on my tail; I had no way to run.
Then he gave me a yank, and I thought I was done.
I’ve heard you gain ten times your strength when in fear,
So I turned ‘round and ate him, and shed not a tear!
But, like most spicy food, he gave me such gas,
I could not dare visit that cute little lass.
And that’s when you found me as I turned the bend.
Good thing I’m not hungry; this would be The End.
-Lin Cava-
copywrite
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
"Time flowing in the night"
Alfred Lord Tennyson
"Have I dreamt my life, or was it a true one?"
Walter Von der Vogelweide
Look for the sleepers on
Their backs, eyes closed,
Their palms upturned to sacrifice
Their dreaming bodies to the night.
Not knowing that even as the
Sun rises wearing a halo of liquid gold,
And as their long dark lashes lazily open,
They are not waking from their dreams.
Outside the hummingbird whirring in
Dizzying aeronautics, and the barn owl
Shutting its fierce yellow eyes
Are dreams too;
All dreams.
The morning routine:
The taste of honey and oats
On the tongue, the orange-yellow
Melon scooped and swallowed hard,
Waking the senses; the bitter coffee,
The slightly burned toast
Dreams,
All dreams.
It was a book delivered to him
By a misty-eyed stranger in rags
Who spoke but a few words barely
Audible and, with a toothless grin,
Hobbled away, though his gait was
Somehow a noble one.
This had happened a few nights ago,
Only the book remained unopened,
He was too tired at the end of the
Day and there was work to do in
The fields and that stubborn tractor
Breaking down each midday.
It was last evening that his curiosity
Got to him and he kicked off his
Work boots and sat with it in the
Reclining chair; he put on his spectacles
And began to read.
He was not a reader much; his time
Reading was mostly spent on the
Good Book, which he found somewhat
Difficult to stay focused on.
But this book was different: he was
Engaged after the first sentence.
There was a stirring in his chest
And he intuited from the incredible
Words that there was something here
That was true.
He read until the moon was high
In the night sky and he turned the
Last page at sometime after midnight,
Falling into an easy sleep in which
He dreamed that he was a Persian
Prince and each night he was told
A story by a beautiful girl. He KNEW
that he was dreaming and he knew
There was such a thing as magic, even
In his mundane world.
Now the sun in a heat haze.
The old chipped weathervane on the
Tin roof of the barn, casting a long
Shadow on the rows of wheat,
Waiting to be harvested.
As he climbed onto the rusty
Tractor he felt a sense of wonder
Present in all these things.
As the old tractor belched and
Caught fire, he had the thought
That if he was still dreaming,
As the book had said, he felt more
Awake than he had ever been in
His life.
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 5:56 PM UTC
I sat next to Death
In a ***** and dark barn.
"Take a swig of ***
And taste the smoke, brother.
I'm cooking humans,
Like pine-nuts, in the cauldron. "
She said, smoking a pipe.
"In the dry and gray wilderness
Called 'life' I got them;
They are, like oysters, food:
The shells of flesh houses
Tasteless and slimy mucus,
The watery rheum of the soul,
That some God in there sneezed. "
"But such oysters have no pearls?"
My ambition asked.
"Nearly all, not" Death,
Chewing, belched:
“But the heart of some
Rots and inflammates in strange islands:
The dreams, the fantasies,
The most durable daughters of the soul;
But even such diamonds I break
And eat like peas porridge."
And at that I rose disturbed
By Death, who I could not trust
And went about my way.
"Come back soon, dear oyster."
Called the woman enrobed,
"For Death finds all, eventually."
May 5, 2013
May 5, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
I began writing of thee, 63
but after considerable effort and time
belched out only glib rhyme
when I recalled my last walk,
however, it was in winter woods, only yesterday,
the frozen ground crunched under my ancient boots,
speaking to me in its own verse
“move fast,
this white art won’t last,
make your tracks deep, soon
we’ll not make a peep”
so I complied,
stomping on the frigid frost
shuffling with aging caution on thick ice
watching my breath mist gray
the still air
was such the entire walk
one foot after another, making tracks
lesser numbered beasts would sniff and see…
fading remnants of the me
then I saw you, crystalline knives
hanging from brittle branches long ago grayed
reflecting all that came within your sight
in your solid time, dripping drops slowly,
silently, before freezing once again
in the approaching night
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
A poem, a pun and a joke sat down to devour the human race.
Immediately, they began to eat, not pausing to say Grace.
The poem ate quite delicately, not wanting to make a mess.
“These humans can be quite delicious, I really must confess.
Their emotions are very spicy,“ she said, eating the heart with zest.
“A taste of brotherhood and love delight the palate best.”
She ate so very slowly, reflecting on every bite,
She drank the blood of beauty. It made her head feel light.
The pun, upon the other hand, sliced into the brain.
Deftly and swiftly he cut, not causing any pain.
He entered the cerebellum as swift as a laser beam,
And then was gone so quickly that to the brain, ‘twas but a dream.
Discovering its invasion, gray matter laughed, white matter cried,
“My God, I’ve been defiled and logic has been defied.”
The joke, always an outsider, did not want to know the victim’s name.
It ate only stereotypical beings; it treated everyone the same.
The way in which the joke ate, was very crude, indeed.
Manners and good taste are not inherent in its breed.
The joke was not particular, it would chew on any part,
But it could not reach the brain; it could not touch the heart.
The poem, the pun and the joke blew smoke after eating the human race.
They burped and belched and buried the bones beneath the earthen face.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
No way Jose
sitting at the stop light racing my engine real loud
looking in my rear view mirror waiting for the next sucker
pipes bellowing a cracking sound drawing attention
everyone was staring I had attracted a rather large crowd
this dude pulls up next to me a kiss I throw as my lips I pucker
there was no doubt a good *** kicking was my intention
he raced the engine of his helpless piece of crap
thinking he would impress me with his guile
he had no idea who he was messing with poor *******
the light turned green and the fire belched a thunder clap
screaming off the line leaving burnt rubber in a pile
this look of horror on the goofballs face my reflexes so mastered
as he faded to the background becoming a mere dot
I was keenly engrossed my mind so focused eyes transfixed
there was not a chance in hell no none not this day
I chuckled to myself as I cruised to the next challenging spot
there was not going to be any caring today no emotions mixed
looking in my mirror once again no not today no way Jose
Gomer LePoet....
Sep 22, 2011
Sep 22, 2011 at 11:26 AM UTC
there is silence sandwiched between silence
thanks to the sudden cessation of their croaking
as if a plague took them, but it didn't
nor were they sleeping, nor were you,
at 0300 hours--you were between guard towers,
with an M60, and a hunger for sound
though you were picky about your song;
you longed for their familiar cadence, for
their green belched reassurance
that they would lay more eggs in the mire
and tails would grow, the swimmers would
become singers of familiar verse
but you could not wait for a resurrection
you did not know would occur--your duty would end
at dawn, and by then you could be dead deaf
from their silence
Aug 16, 2016
Aug 16, 2016 at 3:37 AM UTC
O' bitter timber
Set there--his limber
And blighted eyes.
Thou old timer
Belched in ember,
Set to keep my eyes.
Midst shallow December
And falling November
come forth your rise
of notorious power
In the last man's hour
his splinters shall rise
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC