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JAM Apr 2015
****...
Frock..
Flock.
Bock!

Bock bock bock!
Mother mother bock,
Mother mother bock bock
Mothercluck mothercluck
eggsh eggsh eggsh

1 2,
1 2 3 Crack!
Eggs eggs cheese,
Baking biscuits
Frying spud
Mix'n roux
Squashing beefs,
Squashing beefs beefs beefs.

Rolling patties,
Flipping bacon.
Who eat the bacon?
We eat the bacon!
Roll'n patties-

-uuuh yeah, let me get a bacon'n'egg

In'a'tick little man.
I'll put that **** in my pan.
If the thank you doesn't show,
You can owe me *******-

Imperial March ringtone

-Checks cell and ignores call-

"Who was that?"
"What? Oh,
Just another annoying memory."

-OH!
My kitchen love!
Ovee Ovee Ove-n
I think I wanna roast-ya toast-ya!
Donald Guy Nov 2012
Mine

6:48 a Wednesday
Two Weeks later
Then: Thanksgiving eve
5E; MIT

I sit at my desk:
stare out of the windows <
My skull
at the Chocolate Bock I just
Overflowed > all over my notes
on the Circe episode of Ulysses,
which I have not yet read.

20 minutes after I just ––
Went alone. Stood there, yes, alone
Above the porcelain enterprise
Taking that litmus test of humanity
Clear, I pass. Yellow, I fail.
It was rather clear I think
Honestly? I don't remember.

Two weeks ago, I stood there==
and came up with this phrase.
Standing there with special eyes::::
Seeing.
Came back to my room, I did, faithfully
Looked there below my second fridge
A plate sat. mine. On it: maybe food, maybe *****
Probably marijuana
Only the first my own
Who remembers?

Next to it: an empty prescription bottle
"It's some medicine for Asthma. I don't even
have asthma!"
"Classy **** I am; I've never bought a shot glass.
Just use discarded prescription bottles."

An experiment @ the sink: exact: 2.0z. On the dot.
Turns out that's 1&1/3 of the standard—The ritual
We make it. And have made it.
For years now together after midnight
[or so]
4 years. Soon it will be
Maybe I shall leave; probably not

but harken back, that fortnight, less 6
To that evening. Orange and purple
Effort sublime but not enough:
Lost to a team of Freshman.?!

~If only:~
"Tripped mad-laundry shrooms",
6 and a half months ago

Two men sit in the corner of my room
I know one; the other spoke

2-weeks-later: sticky keyboard
I am not sober, but who is?

Last night. Remember those videos?
reminded me that *** can be beautiful:
After basically 2 years: I almost forgot.
x-art.com. December 6, 2011

I have a perspective now:
It is not the same as yours
it is not and, by necessity,
can not be the same.

But I see it. Stephen Daedalus
calls it immature—lyrical
but *******, James: it is mine!

I am. Will always be.
Will have never been.
But, God/Goddess **** it now!
I am: I See.
I try!

~D.B.Guy
Proper reading involves out-loud pronunciation of some of the punctuation

12/7/11. the day I was drunk 14 hours.

Ostensibly written for William Corbett's 21W.756 Writing and Reading Poems.
ostensible nod to James Schuyler.
She

I'm waiting for the man I hope to wed.
I've never seen him - that's the funny part.
I promised I would wear a rose of red,
Pinned on my coat above my fluttered heart,
So that he'd know me - a precaution wise,
Because I wrote him I was twenty-three,
And Oh such heaps and heaps of silly lies. . .
So when we meet what will he think of me?

It's funny, but it has its sorry side;
I put an advert. in the evening Press:
"A lonely maiden fain would be a bride."
Oh it was shameless of me, I confess.
But I am thirty-nine and in despair,
Wanting a home and children ere too late,
And I forget I'm no more young and fair -
I'll hide my rose and run...No, no, I'll wait.

An hour has passed and I am waiting still.
I ought to feel relieved, but I'm so sad.
I would have liked to see him, just to thrill,
And sigh and say: "There goes my lovely lad!
My one romance!" Ah, Life's malign mishap!
"Garcon, a cafè creme." I'll stay till nine. . .
The cafè's empty, just an oldish chap
Who's sitting at the table next to mine. . .

He

I'm waiting for the girl I mean to wed.
She was to come at eight and now it's nine.
She'd pin upon her coat a rose of red,
And I would wear a marguerite in mine.
No sign of her I see...It's true my eyes
Need stronger glasses than the ones I wear,
But Oh I feel my heart would recognize
Her face without the rose - she is so fair.

Ah! what deceivers are we aging men!
What vanity keeps youthful hope aglow!
Poor girl! I sent a photo taken when
I was a student, twenty years ago.
(Hers is so Springlike, Oh so blossom sweet!)
How she will shudder when she sees me now!
I think I'd better hide that marguerite -
How can I age and ugliness avow?

She does not come. It's after nine o'clock.
What fools we fogeys are! I'll try to laugh;
(Garcon, you might bring me another bock)
Falling in love, just from a photograph.
Well, that's the end. I'll go home and forget,
Then realizing I am over ripe
I'll throw away this silly cigarette
And philosophically light my pipe.

* * * * *

The waiter brought the coffee and the beer,
And there they sat, so woe-begone a pair,
And seemed to think: "Why do we linger here?"
When suddenly they turned, to start and stare.
She spied a marguerite, he glimpsed a rose;
Their eyes were joined and in a flash they knew. . .
The sleepy waiter saw, when time to close,
The sweet romance of those deceiving two,
Whose lips were joined, their hearts, their future too.
FARIDA Jan 2017
Stress
Jeden Tag
Stress
Ich kann nicht mehr
Es ist 5 Uhr morgens
Mein Wecker klingelt
Ich will aber noch weiterschlafen
Mindesten noch 5 Minuten
Das geht aber nicht
Sonst verpass ich noch den Bus
Ich komm an
Wieder Schule
Ich kann nicht mehr
Es reicht
Ich hab kein Bock
Ich muss aber durchziehen
Nur noch 2 Jahre
Dann bin ich endlich fertig
Dann zieh ich endlich weg
Aber dann geh ich in die Uni
Ich weiß nicht mal was ich studieren will
Noch mehr Stress
Und danach?
Arbeiten
Arbeiten bis ich sterbe
Wieder Stress
Vielleicht sogar noch mehr
Man kann dem stress nicht entgehen
Oder?
Kann ich dagegen was machen?
Kann ich den Stress ausweichen?
Nein
Das geht nicht
Denn Stress bleibt
Es ist so wie ein Kaugummi den man nicht abbekommt
Es ist so wie ein Monster das dir hinter läuft
Es ist Stress
Robert Scherer Jan 2010
'mma comm'ner!
'mma comm'ner!
Whild it
Port 'rhet above,
'im down
F'rsaken.

Afore'd!
Allay'd!

De' the round,
De' the Bayck

Brent of stick
Wally a'bock
Rayne
A'doon, a'tunya, Mekker'un

A 'block, a moon.
The Rhine, 'ya dance 'ya
In the Maine
Yal 'amo
Tor'red ett'on
Fer tha'dance 'ya
Fer tha'roon

Allek 'un daree'ya
Mag'k ung Garee 'ya.
Jack Trainer Jul 2014
Is a poem contrived, less a vision?
The sweet words that fall short
That has no joining to the soul
Is still a poem; orphaned and solitary

We force it out, the three stages of literary childbirth
Stillborn stanzas
Severe are the shrieks
How long must we grieve over the forgotten verses?
Kevin Eli Dec 2014
My Grandmother told me stories
How she lived across the street from Bugsy Siegel's mother in Brooklyn
If you knew my family, it's hardly believable.
Mobsters near the family, I was told "things always fell off the truck."
I guess Great Grandpa Willie made it by, must have had good luck.

Berger became Bock, Grandma Marcia married Joel, my Grandpa.
He left Brooklyn for the Air force and they moved to Arkansas
East to Midwest, to West....
Grandma went with him, they finally rested in sunny California.
Willie would have been proud of Joel when he served during Korea.

William Berger passed away, I never knew him.
We now have scholars, businessmen, artists and athletes
It's iconic how living here will shape your reality
The memories and moments of a family to which we clutch
Softly being recorded, my family history shows how much he loved us.

A mysterious, touching legacy was left over time.
I'm sure my grandmother keeps pictures and pages I will never find.
No matter what, whether he was honest, hardworking, or in crime,
I know he did it all for his family, prosperity or depressing times.

I was told he had a lot of courage, and always made friends
I wish I could have seen his face, I wish I could have met the man.

Grandma says I look like him.
Lucy Oct 2013
We walk in straight lines
expecting to see nothing new
but narrow.
We think in straight lines also,
believing in spirituality as
up.
If you watch her crooked dog
travel
he will wag and curve in
reason.
He will show
such a leaf
on the ground
and bock at the burrowing owl
- still burrowing.
Their owners are called 'owners'
and we'll pull their curved routs straight!

I guess this all makes sense, really
considering the
*****
is straight
as well,
and we are animals of power
after all.
John F McCullagh Aug 2015
The sky was so very blue, it was a Thursday, I recall.
Nagasaki had just stirred to life when "Bock's Car" paid us a call.
We were the secondary target, but dark clouds concealed the first.
Thus our city was marked for death when hell  unleashed upon the earth.
The super-fortress shimmered, brilliant silver in sunlight.
I saw one parachute deploy as she turned and banked from sight.
There was a blinding flash of light, then thunder from on high.
" that is strange" I recall that thought "Thunder from a clear blue sky."
08/09/1945 The second atomic bombing obliterates Nagasaki, Japan killing an estimated 80,000 Japanese and destroying the center of the city. A B-29 super-fortress " Bock's Car" delivered the bomb, nicknamed " Fat Man" via parachute. This is based on a reminiscence from an aged survivor of the attack
David Flemister Sep 2016
seminal sediment
choking on the grains
7 hole wall
on a backslide ride
carry rest on your shoulders
on your chest, holding boulders
crank down the bank shaft
hold er closer going down
crack rock
dark bock
framed my **** on a pulpit
golden toothache in wall streets jaws
tripping over roses
in a cold hand hold
rancid apples, candied roaches
shackled down, tenfold
Cedric McClester May 2016
Tell me what’s become
Of the hip hop nation?
Have you heard
The latest allegations
Bam’s been caught
In some sticky situations
It’s becoming hard
To hold on to our patience

People scratch their heads
And ask who knew
Then wonder where this
All is headed to
Ask the young men
That he used to do
They’re coming out the woodwork
Wouldn’t you

Tell me what’s become
Of the hip hop nation?
Have you heard
The latest allegations
Bam’s been caught
In some sticky situations
It’s becoming hard
To hold on to our patience

Ain’t it crazy when a pioneer
Of the genre is someone to fear
But let me make it cogently crystal clear
These are allegations that we hear

Most of us are
Totally in shock
Not the brother
Who gave us Planet Rock
But be that as it may
That’s still the talk
Though his Zulu Nation
May still wanna bock

Tell me what’s become
Of the hip hop nation?
Have you heard
The latest allegations
Bam’s been caught
In some sticky situations
It’s becoming hard
To hold on to our patience

Unfortunately we’re left
With our doubt
The Statute of Limitations
Has run out
As alleged victims
Stomp then scream and shout
Where there’s smoke
There’s fire they all tout

Tell me what’s become
Of the hip hop nation?
Have you heard
The latest allegations
Bam’s been caught
In some sticky situations
It’s becoming hard
To hold on to my patience





















Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.
Cerveza
Brew
Beer
Ale
Lager
Pilsner
Pale ale
India Pale Ale
Brown Ale
White
Wheat Ale
Malt liquor
Stout
Bock
Dopplebock
Triple Bock
Lambics....should I go on about beer.?
Mead?
Je connais un charmant ivrogne,
Autant vous le nommer, ma foi !
Dire que vous avez la trogne,
Ce serait mentir sans vergogne.
Pourtant, un soir, écoutez-moi !

Vous aviez bu trop de champagne,
Ça se lisait dans vos yeux pers.
Vous battiez un peu la campagne,
Sans feuille de figuier ni pagne
À votre esprit, vraiment, sans pairs.

Et vous me dérouliez le thème
De tous les jolis mouvements
Que votre corps sait bien que j'aime.
J'étais, d'ailleurs, ivre moi-même,
Au Bon-Bock, tu vois si je mens.

La brasserie était houleuse,
On aurait dit, sur l'Hellespont,
D'une cabine nuageuse,
Quand l'eau, changée en Maufrigneuse,
Choque les gens dans l'entrepont.

Vous aviez l'air *** d'une chatte
Qui joue et sent son ongle armé,
Forte, ambigüe, et délicate,
Comme une rime sous la patte
Magistrale de Mallarmé !

Je flottais comme la moustache
De Paul Verlaine au plectre d'or,
Je voyais couleur de pistache ;
Camille agitait sa cravache,
Sur je ne sais plus quel butor ;

Si bien qu'au milieu des querelles
Je vous retrouvai sur un banc,
Dans l'attitude de ces Belles
Que Forain, dans ses aquarelles,
Habille d'un bout de ruban.

Tu t'endormais sur mon épaule.
Alors, je fis signe au cocher.
Ces choses-là, c'est toujours drôle !
J'entrais d'autant mieux dans ce rôle
Que j'aurais eu peine à marcher ;

Quand on nous déposa sur terre,
Vous fîtes un léger faux pas,
Le seul qu'on vous vit jamais faire ;
Encor, même à l'œil trop sévère,
Peut-être ne l'était-il pas ?

Car, dans l'ombre où s'éteint le rêve
De mes désirs réalisés,
Ton ivresse que l'Art relève
Ouvrait, ô noble Fille d'Ève,
La volière à tous les baisers !
The Good Pussy Nov 2014
.
                              Doppel
                          bock D o p p
                         ell Doppelboc
                        Dopp e llbo ck
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
                          Doppelbock
            Doppelbock           Doppelbock
      Doppelbock Dopp elbock Doppelbock          
        Doppelbock Dop      pelbock Doppel
             Doppelbock             Doppelbock
Mark Tilford Sep 2015
If I lost everything
Would you stay the same
Or would you count your blessings
Just because I was honest and started confessing
Would there be anymore caressing
If not and you should stop how depressing

IF I

If I should loose my eyesight
and could not see
Would you leave me
Or would you stay
And see for me, lead me
Would you squawk at
the people that would stand around and gawk

IF I

If I for some reason  could not walk
Would you stay and help walk
Keep having our long night talks
Not set around a bock
And watch the clock
Instead, would you make sure I made it to see the Doc.

IF I

If I stopped loving you
Would you set around and do nothing
and let things brew
Get blue
Would you keep loving me and
try to make everything new
or would you give up and we both loose
Would you put up a fight for what you knew

IF I

If I could not make love to you
Would you find other ways
Without any delays
I hope you would not find anyone else
and stray and runaway
I would hope you would be brave and
stay

IF I

If I could not live
and had to die
Would you stay through thick and thin
Would you be my nurse
Up to the time for the hearse
Or would you just turn off the life support
and abort

IF I

If I could not be
What you wanted me to be
or what you saw in me
All this really happened to me
Would you remember
The vow
That was
and is  

For the better and for the worst
Until death do us part

                    !!
Rainswood Aug 2021
the moon is sliced in half tonight
luminous in blackness

captivate my energies,
reconnect my circuitry

One more season to go

we just might make it
through this alive

no longer haunted
by the ugly ghosts of yesterday

the pulling tides
tugging,
gnawing at my mind

chickens bock comfortingly,
vultures no longer circle

Pour out my pain,
etch ink into my skin

Edit, delete.

loneliness retreats to the
dark corners of my mind

learning healthier patterns
wearing a happier face
Sars'n mangoes Feb 2020
tick tock, bock chop
run goes the days
folded in half by the needs
the needs of the world, the one, the many
question these sorrows
is it a life half made
or far over expected?
oh question these sorrows
Danielle De Bock Feb 2019
My dearest bompa whom I never knew, I think about you often & know I love you too .
Your picture hung around & your Face I had always seen , but I never took time to reflect until you came to my dreams.
I felt your spirit telling me that you’ll be watching from above & though we’ve never met I’ll be surrounded by your love .
You married at a young age & had two children of your own , it pains me so to know that you’d never see them grown .
A young man full of dreams with the world at his feet , was given such a cruel fate & a life left incomplete .
I asked myself how this could happen & then it came to mind , heaven needed a new angel & you were the perfect find !
You suffered in your last years but your legacy is a rock , your name is not forgotten & I am proud to be a “ De Bock”!
So Rest In Peace sweet bompa and until the day we meet , I’ll think about you often and your picture I shall keep .
A poem about my grandfather ( bompa) who got Lou gherics disease at the age of 26 and passed away at only 30 years old in Beveren Waas Belgium
The wild beast

On the savanna runs the spring-bock not easy to catch by lions,
but as it gets older and slower, it loses out and becomes a meal
for the predators.
A million years ago my ancestors hunted them too, the killer
instinct is in our blood.
Portugal remembers the past in Fado the sadness of time lost.
On a farm with brown and white milking cows, one of them
gives birth to a male calf, it is slaughtered after a fortnight
there is no point feeding it.
The male spring-bock is luckier it gets to copulate and run
free for many years.
We struggle to live long some people buy bikes in the hope
to live to a hundred and four, if sounds long it is not
only blink by a star.
Empty Feb 2020
On my platter with a clatter
Two bones on a boom bock
I ask what is matter?
A madder ***** or a matador
Each clink we link some sink to
Thy rink instinct a pool of you

What word is a word to us we are heard
A blade is made to hurt and to harm
But buried under concrete and dirt 1 mile deep under the farm
Bleating and singing a pasture so far
These are my narcissistic charm
And to you a system so sweet and so warm
On lit little wings these thoughts I will swarm

Be it a beauty
Possibly just snooty
Vox and a cutie
Send me b-movie

Run to it a witch to my gears, two years to attend a ten for eight tenths too
Like roaming
Like months make years make celibacy to voices to men and women
Like the saying, if not for my scream, would you hear my voice?
And given the choice, to the sarcastic back slap while stuck in mid clap
I would stay in a row by rowing real rivers there need not be another silver sold me the giver
In spite, I say nothing, but in anger I give less and less and less
What birch tree would we be buried in to sell a sigh and not in jest
I wish my words were food, because then you would ingest
This…is my only gift…to infest
Thank you
to me

— The End —