"bleep" poems
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
I feel the scratch
of the itchy cotton gown
on the narrows of my back
as it climbs up and down
Displayed I lye on the medical tables hard cold steel
It seers into the crevices of my bones
I ponder the lone window and wonder if it's real
I listen for the bleep and bloop of medical tones
Nurses walk by in a mechanical grace
poke and **** & tap and touch my face
and then proceed to leave without a trace
with no hint of knowledge of my medical case
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
I'm a big girl, I'm a big girl
I begin to chant in a simple rhythm
as small as a ball I begin to curl
I'm abandoned inside this glassy prism
The dead silence creeps inside my brain
I want to scream to fill the deadly gap
but the cold thick air of silence brings pain
I comfort myself and say it will be ok
My breathing begins to quicken
my eyes dart around the room
only comfort is the fear which I am stricken
my sight goes bleary as darkness looms
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Tears sting the corner of my eyes
I want someone to hold my hand
Oh God how I want to cry
but the only thing there is the bleeding arm band
The test begins with the thickness of barium
It slides down my throat and clings to my esophagus
It tastes like chalk and pandemonium
they want me to suffocate I guess
I chug and chug as the pictures are snapped
x-ray upon x-ray of my stomach and my back
Drink more Drink more They tell me to do
Nervously I shake and say, anymore and I will puke on you
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Even more poking and prodding ensues
but of my stomach, ribs and *******
I lay rigid as a board from the pain of each touch
I grow weary of this tiresome rues
The tests are done
and the coast is clear
I am left alone
to dress myself in fear
Dismissed and discharged to walk away
they file my chart with a robotic smile
now for the wait of endless days
I'm lost in my mind's land of emotional exile
Waiting all alone
waiting on this cold table
waiting for the doctors and the drones
Pins & Needles Pins & Needles
I wait for the results
Is it stomach cancer, an ulcer or both??
In the dark I am kept like followers in cults.
Nov 2, 2010
Nov 2, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
. @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @
@ @ @ @ @ @
america, americultus, americate, dubiously **********
::: our gold-flecked bodies.
blackbirdian danceparty, i'll go.
washed-up beach bottles and all our feet amongst them curling time.
teens dream in orchid; they wait for stars and dark and los hombres of good dust.
they wait on eyes, and on embers, on belly belly.
jellyfish flashlight shrine.
we eat acid and strawberries and butter in the cemetery,
and feed foxes lizards face first :::
us lost ghouls on school-nights.
flash tag jazz, and yellow bicycles.
::: that hot eternal light.
that candy colored smoke don't smoke; go south on her body.
then thoughts form thoughts form action, form twangs all tuned to air.
& we, as notes, we notes harp like light
to dust.
our glistering hormonal thrusts beneath sheath of liquid love. her eyes,
with those multi-speckled strands
infinitesimally drunk :::
seed from my ****
pearled halo: smoke above my head.
::: waves and machines and weekends. filtered by the long ****
of existence.
boys wait in rooms of hotels for more drugs, and the girls bringing them.
like caterpillars on silky thin treadways,
with nothing but the flavor of our passions to ignite the way. we
exacerbate the boundaries of our intentions. we
curl under sheets, bending sheets of light and sound. we
flakey emaciated flakes. [sequence suffered time in motion] we
dirt. it’s what we are; dirt.
we are druggernauts, tasting ourselves along the iridescent brim.
::: we crawl up cross-glowing hillsides toward portals and faraway
bleep-blorps of hot god-head calibration.
we sticky-crackle go burn. [nature puzzles]
the brain shifts back; twenty-one grams they say the soul weighs.
they say things.
cherry blossom tree tips in the dark.
tele-portal surfing with an intergalactic pizza priest, and his satchel of secret sauce.
he heaves in the corner; rebirth :::
tendrils pulled tight, everybody **** chung…
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:44 PM UTC
So I turned 32 today.
Penniless birthday,
almost.
Howling rains
woke me up
and I fell back asleep.
And the cat respected my
birthday.
Did not claw my lips like
my usual feline alarm.
The birthday flowers
in the morning
were vivid.
My mother bought them,
deep red and
deep yellow.
I requested
for birthday lunch
my mother’s
home-cooked burgers
and fries sprinkled with
iodized salt.
And I filled myself up
with them hot and crispy
fries
and didn’t care if they
stayed inside my guts
until 2014.
I never really liked cake.
Opted for a dozen original glazed.
Heavenly donuts.
Two of them tumbled down
the escalators.
The first birthday flaw.
Like a bleep in the
grand scheme of
birthday things.
I brought them to a Greek
restaurant.
My mom and dad
and two sisters.
Not really hungry.
Just hungry
for a different taste.
The salad had candied
walnuts among the greens
and the reds.
Progressive Greece.
Then a classic lamb dish.
Classic Greece.
And the waiters
in stuffy white
bellowed a birthday
greeting, dropping the “h”
from my name.
Belted out a non-Grecian
birthday song.
No Grecian dance.
But they gave me
an ice cream treat.
Lighted a solitary
blue candle, which
balanced on the semi-liquid
hills of vanilla, caramel and
walnuts.
The small ice cream hills
illuminated by
the dancing
birthday light.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 3:40 AM UTC
blip bleep beep boop
santas gonna watch me sleep
slip sleep seep soap
mommy wants to have a feast
avocados, bathrooms, teaspoons, menthol breath
so very special to watch you seek
bread, seven elevens, toilet paper, adjectives
the way you'd never see.
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 2:57 AM UTC
black skirt climbing up her shining thighs…
she pulls it down and the excitement dies
from the men around her: **** she’s fine!”
looking up from her phone- she’s next in line.
“may i see your id?” asks the giant,
she shows it to him- acting compliant.
female, black hair, brown eyes, twenty-one.
everything checks out- “stay safe, have fun.”
once she steps through those guarded doors,
she puts her pvc plastic back inside her michael kors.
no ‘x’ on her hand, but an ex on her mind-
she steps onto the dance floor and begins to grind.
many men manage to embrace her swaying hips,
bite her beautiful neck, and kiss her thirsty lips.
from their mouths flows a river of lies,
while hands below swim up sweating thighs.
she’s feeling ecstatic, but he wants more,
her “friends” watch as he carries her out the door.
to say “yes,” she’s in no position,
so he advances without a proposition.
the next morning when she wakes,
in funny places her body aches.
next to her he’s fast asleep,
her phone rings: bleep, bleep!
texts from her “friends” fill her screen-
things they typed, they did not mean.
“we’re worried… where are you? text me the address!”
she gathers her things and pulls down her black dress.
tiptoeing through his apartment, she quietly closes the door.
she’s quiet in the car still, afraid of being called a *****
when they asked her to come out that night, she said: “i don’t like partying anymore.”
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
it's inherent ontology, it's not even necessary to process inherited ontology; inherited ontology can be riddled and lost to abstraction like the invention of crosswords as antidote to the drilling-in of the Bible... but inherent ontology? inherent is a tautological invitation to italicise the word ontology - tautology anti synonym - the doubly stressed, point origin secured, but from two adjacent / adjective angles - well, might as well be a compound, the adjacent-adjective, when language meets math and math meets.... d'uh... or simply arithmetic, because that's how it's easily translated, arithmetic is grey people and math the rich... language the poets and grammar the farts.
a shortened critique of pure reason -
a) based on phenomena
(things most likely talked about)
and
b) based of noumenna
(things least likely talked about)....
i.e. a) and the ego implant,
and b) the god implant -
likewise the zealots on either side,
bleep bleep beep r r e r s.... and muslims...
i forgot to mention that Kant forgot
to mention the trigonometric foundations
as justifying owning a villa or whatnot,
the same foundations of having
the implant ego secured and willed
are the same parameters of the
implant god secured and thought
the point being dynamic parallelism,
mid-way between cosine and sine
rigid fluctuation tangents occur,
the ridiculous abbreviations, the p.s., and ibis.;
you're basically born with ego
or you're born with god -
there's no woof woof Pavlov chime chime in between -
ring-a-ding-ding-surprise?
there's no side-winding to create cinema -
being born with ego is explained clearly, coerced
with monetary affairs;
being born with god is explained "clearly", coerced
with murderers, lastly -
no psychological theory will box-me-in
given the lost tribalism and the usage of
the trans-valuation of the synonym of thing -
with money came slang - and all thorough evils,
with slang, synonyms, antonyms, critique of vocab.,
Arizona in the ******* Amazon -
i'm basically saying what Kant said:
god isn't uncool or whatever atheism tends to forget,
it's an implant of functioning, we can't rid it
by argument, and we certainly can't accept it
by prayer - unless we're dumb enough to do either
for worth of understanding tornadoes;
because that's were Seymour Hoffman started for me,
filming Twister.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 7:29 PM UTC
I don’t like Hillary
But I’ll vote for her
my feeling’s personal
But her acts are not
the other guy speaks of
bleep bleep, dot dot
no interpretation thereof
melting words, in a ***
7/30/2016
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 7:32 PM UTC
At which was the Christmas ******* we pull
And turn this ******* to a Holiday
The Cherriest Bang, makes the Heart blow full
And mix our Best Moments within the Fray
Only to reveal it was yours to keep
Since, anyway, was your Inheritance
And I the Steward; Borrowed for a Bleep
So my Value pays for your Insurance
Which gnaws the Solicitor of his time
With other Clients he in due fulfill
But since your Smile took the most of my Crime
Will conspire your Misexactions, still.
It was always Right, to sing for this Room
In our own Expense, you siphon the Gloom.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 11:30 PM UTC
Of Mice and Men along within
Grapes of Wrath Steinbeck be ******
Lenny's rabbits...
What The Bleep Do We Know many runs never end
Of Lenny Bruce a scatological truth
Shock-jocks take clothes off
For censors ships to ignore the shore
Sycamore trees set Lenny Kravitz musical muse at ease
Now whom is the grounded man that lives loves laughs
As if a sailor on a sea of fate with flag at half staff
Know way one passion sit back relax
Seize the big-fish as they attack
Love love love knows know lack
Like Lenny Supak
Sep 2, 2013
Sep 2, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
voices, mirror glance inward-outward
-inward-outward-inanoutandinward
in simultaneous disease-like passion--
divine like bacteria kneading and bleep
-ing up to one to one against to one toward
a unity, a collective evolutionary force begin
-ning in a marshy wallow-- forward to a creature
slithers rocks unsure if fish or finger-- beyond unto
a sharp-claw carnivorous terror (the Divine Right of
Kings) and slowly, in the wake of the destruction the
shattered continental plate lifted like a carpet during
renovation violence, the bacteria stayed away and
under soiled-earth to slowly form toward the muddy
saliva of a strangely-fit mouse-rat....
through the dissipating wake of molten mist, a
sabertooth tiger yawns with a growled-tremor
and an after-bath shake-- ends a trampled scrap
under mammoth foot having indicted this panic
in its desperate mammalian hunger-- this bacteria,
kneading and bleeping, continues its one to one
against to one as a meaty slab metabolized by
opportunistic caveman feeding his cubs and his
loves before courage became the theoretical pond
-ering of Voltaire's and Descartes's and Camus's...
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
The room is bouncin
Wall to wall base so fat you can walk on it BLIP BLEEEP :-).
Chant and grind on syntho growl. Strobes hittin all the corners...locked on the groove bouncy move.
Mechanical funk....Double dutchin.
Hollan-daze orange crushin the room. Afro pulse Housin you down..Blip Bleep.
Two hours straight epical trance.....Old disco gone techno high. Strobed out on that techno Applejack meet Afrojack.
New trance city.
Luda an fitty
Ear hustlin this one
NuUrban stepchild drivin the beat...Blip Blip Bleeeep.
Hop til ya drop ta Tiesto
Super techno out your mind
More bounce to the ounce.
Got GaGa goin gaga
Dont stop.
Dont quit.
Blip Bleep.
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
Why is Boredom real?
Why do humans feel?
What's the meaning of life?
"We live just to die.."
Oh ' Enthusiasm
endless driven passion.
take me away...
I'm not afraid.
I've been ready.
nice and steady...
its been real,
Its been fun,
but I'm done.
i can't feel
anything
anymore
Whatever empathy implores.
out the door
**** you oxygen!
let me be free
**** me...
pull the plug
beeeeeeeeeep
haha not funny.
yawn snore
close my door
mow the lawn
ROBOTS
YOUR ALL LAB RATS AND ROBOTS!
BEEP BLOOP BLEEP
1,2,3
Are you mad at me?
I'm not mad why would i be?
Because i gave you my seed while u sleep.
oh
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
De ding de de de dilly do
Over and over and over again
That ****** subway surf music
Is driving me insane
Turn it down again and again!
Pushing the envelope
As all kids do
Up goes the volume
Just to Annoy you
But wait!! Crisis
The tablet goes bleep bleep
She cant find the charger
Oh where can it be
Im sat on the ******
HE HE HE HE HE
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Tell the FCC,
Bleep,
What I am about to say,
I can't stand being around fake ******* anyway,
Kik chat your life away,
Weak as hell, you are beneath me , like im runnin up stair ways,
Smiling in your face , thinkin its OK,
But not with me,
Anger management like a zanex pill,
Sorry excuse for boys , I'll kick you off my ant hill,
**** all three of your moms,
Better hope they on the pill,
Crying over milk , you spilled,
High price,
***** you gotta pay the bill,
Broke *******
Your poems ****
I'm a real writer and worker,
Play it safe now ya hear :)
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
We are all northern people
On this northern rail train, delayed.
Going to our northern homes in our northern towns,
Where our family ensures 'a brew' is awaiting upon our arrival
A ginger tom cat sleeps on the chair,
Awoken.
By a northern man getting off in his Wigan town,
Where smiling strangers stroll, and neighbours know your name.
Bleep! Bleep! The closing doors lock out the draft of our cold towns, our coal towns,
where the Sun is forbidden yet the local paper thrives throughout our lives,
despite the charity shops, pound bakery’s and grave size *** holes that **** our cars, we are proud to call this home, proud to be northern.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC
Green plastic shields suburbia’s
Golden bubble from tragedy’s barbed wire.
Tinted glass domes painted with fingers.
Two-way mirrors two ways and neither.
Brown grass hills, our walls, blindness is
Our black bleep bar in front of conflicts.
We chain link-fences, omit facts, draw the blinds.
Refuse to recognize:
Conformity is a cockroach.
Feb 13, 2010
Feb 13, 2010 at 8:54 PM UTC
First Word War
Pseudo Realistic
Ballistic Uninhibited
A missile sent to split 4 ways
Edify a Crisis in phases
Automaton Pretty Faces
In Disguise to Amaze
a general public of sheep
BLEEP BLEEP
bullet proof bodies unarmed
with spit charming critics
listeners are chirping crickets
culminating communication
this is project…
“Superior Legitimate Unfeeling Trend”
Capital Punishment designed for when
humans breathe on humans
stress is truth is fast
look looming
wade in boozeblues keep on using
mayhem amusing
to pigs in fatso pen
***** rich and booming
sucker fish snoozing
we execute plan z
permanent marker losing
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 10:29 PM UTC
Rhythmically Pulsing,
Unfailingly Beating,
Tirelessly Pumping,
It doesn't until last rest...
It doesn't rest until last...
The "Dag-Dag Dag-Dag Dag-Dag",
The "Boom-Boom Boom-Boom",
The "Bleep-Bleep Bleep-Bleep",
It doesn't get tired normally...
It doesn't normally get tired...
The heart-ache happens,
Aaah-aah-aah-aah-aah..!!
Tired-old rig starts failing,
The fading "Dag-Dag Dag-Dag Dag-Dag",
The failing "Boom-Boom Boom-Boom",
The fainting "Bleep-Bleep Bleep-Bleep",
The pain then subsides to either of the two...
Either it can take a loan of few more years or..
It halts ultimately to relieve itself & the bearer.
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
Staring into hazy eyes
I slowly start to realize
that you are several leagues away,
and now I understand~
Tried to solve the mystery
went looking for some history
I'd dive back down if just to see
and stir the sleeping sand.
We drown out all the pain we feel
far-away things seem not as real
but there's a ton of brokenness
on the bottom of the bay
weighted well to keep it down
in hopes that time would surely drown
the misery which hangs around
to cloud the dreary day.
I didn't know just what you felt
the searing fire, the burning welt
the scars of life, of loss and such
which numbed your spirit, hurt so much
and wounds so deep, they should have bled
attended to, would heal~ instead
they linger painlessly, you've said
in places way too deep to touch.
I feel the tug upon my fin
and draw a breath of water in
and surface here to find I've been
caught up in love's illusion.
you nearly dried me in the sun
and here I'm thinking 'so much fun'
but like all fish, I've come undone
awakened, our delusion.
I'll never truly understand
for I'm a fish and you're a man
I swim in garbage, not my plan
it's only your pollution.
there is no way a fish will drown
I'll let the current take me down
just one more gem in Neptune's crown
and that is my solution.
I make my bed there in the deep
and on my watch, I rarely sleep
the nets they drag for memories,
I keep them all from catching~
the one's you've drowned there in a heep
the painful one's I'd rather keep
and as I swim this sea of bleep
none will be for snatching.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
Stress will always be there
It's a common fact of life
Only focus on the important few
Like The Job, The Kids, The Wife
Avoid all insanity & madness
Ensure that it's made clear
You'll have no part of the drama
We find mixed in here and there
Although one can't avoid it all
One also doesn't have to get involved
Just remove yourself from the situation
And don't return until it's solved
You can not lie to yourself
Just like you can't make others see
As long as you know who you are
Who gives a (bleep) if all agree
Remember your freedom of choice
And that it's ultimately up to you
Some things may be worth the effort
If not, move onto something new
*****
Weigh out the pros and cons
At times the cons just weigh alot
Allow yourself to walk away
Without guilt or second thought
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 4:36 PM UTC
*..the red cheeks of children,
the scarves and the rush
the patches of snow
lips in strawberry crush
I finish today the tasks of tomorrow
I’ll make a new list of TO DO
and to borrow
more time more time
I need it for something
perhaps to arrange all these cards on a word string
the kitchen in frenzies
the turkey asleep
the spuds and the pies
and the microwave bleep
the tree in the corner the cat and the guests
and the million dollar last minute request
the presents wrapped up
the smiles in their eyes
the mulled wine smells good
(I ‘m having a high!)
the sneezing, the coughing
the ‘I finished I think’
the sore feet and headache
the ‘I need that drink’
my eyes getting heavy
my glass gleaming red
the sounds bypassing
the thoughts in my head
as I sit by the fire
they should now all agree
that mission’s accomplished
...and this is Christmas for me*
Dec 24, 2010
Dec 24, 2010 at 2:22 AM UTC
Savor the sweetness of bad poetry, the crooked and cockeyed words,
the lame and bumpy thoughts of oblivion
Skip out the jumbled rhythm, and just roll with it
The road is not smooth, the jargon misplaced
Swift the **** pace by its carcass, caress your stiff neck, your strained eyes
the pen killed the message, the hands tremble in its confusion
It isn’t good, it isn’t sensual or soothing
It clumps in your throat, making disgust, flopping out of par
swing and miss, capture the drive, the stamina to make it through
Make the trudge, delve in the derelict
Can you make out the message, the theme?
or is it so bad you want to scream, or just cry from the injustice of bad lines
Do not line your thoughts in the flow, the swift, but let your soul sing the confusion of its blunted voice, let it bask in its commonality of bad taste
Do not pen out, but pen in
Do not bleep out, but bleat out
Scream your unworthiness, your crooked smiles, your cockeyed convulsions
Give us your bad poetry, God knows I have.
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 4:42 AM UTC
*Her smile so cheerful,
Her laugh so blissful,
Her ways so gleeful,
Her eyes so dreadful.
She's a happy girl,
She's a lucky girl,
She's a good girl.
She's a dead girl.*
*Shadows near the girl,
Making her hurl,
In this huge whirl,
Forever she twirl.
Yet she still smiles,
When named a coward,
For hundred miles,
She's being devoured.*
*She dream a dream in her sleep,
Where she could finally weep,
And what she sow she has reap,
Deja Vu was her words that bleep.*
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:13 AM UTC