"bottomed" poems
“Moby **** Herman Melville
<•>
~for the lost at sea~
after a year of saltwater absence and abstinence,
return to the island caught between two land forks
surrounded by river-heading flows
bound for the ocean great joining
the Atlantic welcomes the fresh water fools,
bringing with them hopefully, but hopeless gifts of obeisances,
peace-offerings endeavoring to keep their infinite souls
sea accepts them then drowns the
warm newcomers in the unaccustomed
deep cold salinity, which
sometimes erodes
sometimes preserving
their former freshwater cold originality
I’m called to depart my beach shoreline unarmed,
no kayak, sunfish or glass bottomed boat needed,
walk on water and my toes, ten eyes to see the bottom,
no depth perception limitation,
reading the floor’s topography,
millions of minion’s stories infinite,
many Munch screaming
god’s foot, heavy upon my shoulders,
a daytime travel guide, hired for me,
not a friendly travel companion, nope,
God a pusher showing off a drug called deep water salvation,
designated for the masses, can handle large parties
my in-camera brain eyes,
record everything for playback -
the lost and unburied, bone crossword puzzles
walk shore to ship, on soles to souls,
is this my new-summer nature welcome back greeting?
puzzled at the awesomeness of vastness,
conclude this clarification for me of the occluded-deep,
is a stern reminder of my insignificant existence,
my requirement to walk humbly, spare my sin of vanity, and
forgive my trespasses upon the lives of others
perhaps then the infinite of my soul perchance restored,
older visions clarified and future poems
will write themselves
and sea to it my predecessors
be better remembered
Memorial Day 2018
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
Toting the mysterious bundle and sporting a sore back
I drag my feet up the last few steps, expended of vigour
I almost couldn't resist prematurely looking through the sack
Remembering the words from the wise old seer
Grimacing I walk a slow gait to get to the table
Set the bundle down and relieve my weight onto a chair
Parched throat but wait longer I am unable
Curiosity takes charge and into the gift I will tear
Blood is pumping along with an increasing heart rate
Fingers scrambling clumsily over the strings that bind
Nails digging frantically into this package bearing my fate
Gnawing thoughts of uncertainty flooding my mind
At last my fingers win the battle that lasted
The final string has fallen... Obstinate knots all undone
I pick the cloth by the edges to have it unfolded
The contents inside reach out like rays of the sun
Corners of the cloth open up like a fully bloomed blossom
Exposing the treasure that lay solemn and quiet inside
Common objects we'd normally perceive as random
Petty things now important as they attempt to guide
I pick up the first and notice an engraving on it's stem
Between my fingers - an unassuming feathered quill
Barely legible, such little space the words do cram
"Here is your sword... Draw blood and let spill"
More riddles, I sought to examine the next
A flat bottomed vial filled with jet black ink
On it is a label with scrawling of time worn text
"Here is your blood; let flow what you think"
Lastly, lay bound up sheets of yellow stained parchment
They reek of age-old herbs; intoxicating slightly
At the top of the first, a note scribbled not so recent
"Within these pages, you must bleed to find Sanctuary"
Staring down at the objects laid in front of me
In hopes of discovering something I should miss
Then finally it struck me, so plain to see
I'm using the instruments now, writing to find release...
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
cherry blossom was his smoking hot girlfriend.
they moved in together, probably in 2007.
he met her online, he was married to a woman
who he said was a fundamentalist. they had four kids,
three daughters and a son.
he wrote a lot about how his fundamentalist wife had turned
the three daughters against him. as the years went by,
he forgot their birthdays and ages because it hurt too much,
so he wrote.
"cherry blossom, you're going to make it
with your unbroken man who i hope to thank
one day for making you happy", he wrote
in a journal entitled "the last one"
dated late September of 2012.
they broke up in mid August 2011
from a journal entry dated at the end of October 2012:
"ten things you want to say to ten different people"
cherry blossom was first on the list
cherry blossom's unbroken man was second on the list
cherry blossom's son of a different baby daddy was third on the list
his own son was fourth on the list
his daughters were not on the list at all.
he was glad she was with a good guy. he didn't have to worry about her. unbroken guy was a good guy, he loved unbroken guy for that. her son was a good guy, he was glad that her son got to hang out with him and his son.
according to the public messages his friends left on his profile and the last time stamp on his activity feed,
he must have died almost three years ago,
in mid August, 7 years to the exact date
he had posted a journal entry explaining
that they had broken up and cherry blossom was moving out.
7 years is the same amount of time
it took for jacob to get rachel as his wife
after being deceived into marrying leah.
he had other journal entries too,
they go back to 2008, so some of them
cover his time with cherry blossom
cherry blossom was smokin hot,
they had *** parties
cherry blossom got all the attention
because she was smokin hot
he had bottomed to his vanilla fundamentalist wife
who turned his three daughters against him
but cherry blossom was his submissive
so cherry blossom was the way
cherry blossom introduced him to swinging, **** and gang bangs
his fundamentalist wife, who he never got a legal divorce from,
turned his three daughters against him.
he had 342 friends and 13 followers on his fetlife profile,
five left public messages on his wall after he died.
cherry blossom was so smokin hot.
Mar 23, 2021
Mar 23, 2021 at 8:54 PM UTC
I have hands that won’t keep
to themselves.
They are always rummaging
and dancing and clapping
and snapping and opening
and closing and trying to fix
every
single
broken thing they can find.
And that includes you.
My heart is a bottomless pit for aches.
Not mine, but yours.
It’s almost a cursed thing, how
despite its size being only that of my fist,
my heart always finds a way to squeeze in
some new hurt into the spaces that
before you,
I never knew existed.
There they stay;
and like all things that stay,
with enough time,
become part of their surroundings.
I can’t tell whose cut is whose anymore.
Put me in a room full of people.
Blindfold me.
Spin me like a tornado.
Make me stop.
My outstretched fingers will be reaching
for the most broken souls in the room.
Call it compassion. Kindness. Empathy.
Whatever you like,
but there is a fine, fine line between that
and the way I bleed.
Oh,
how I bleed.
Forgive my boldness when I say
I won’t even try to make you understand
the fact that I do
somehow
understand.
Think of it this way: ripples.
And I always get the last one.
I’m still a child.
I like to play pretend.
I’m a doctor.
I’m a superhero.
I’m the one with all the answers,
all the weapons,
all the magical cures.
Take that!
And that!
Ha! Aha! Ha!
Ha…
Ha.
As the years wear on,
I see that my tools aren’t right,
and that my cape is too tight around my neck.
I don’t have all the answers.
No weapons.
No magical cures.
I’m just a girl trying to play the part that was never hers.
And it’s taken me three volcano boys,
a couple of glass-bottomed hearted girls,
and just about the rest of the world to realize that I
am not
the Savior.
My hands were not made to heal
every heart they rest themselves upon,
or to fill that vacuum inside every man,
one that nothing,
nothing,
nothing in this world will ever
make
whole.
So here.
I let go of every burden that’s been
causing me to stoop and to stumble,
every pressing weight that’s been
keeping me from keeping faith,
every heavy yoke that’s been
causing me to choke on things
I never should have let in
in the first place.
Yet I will continue to love you.
I have come to learn that love
has a lot of ugly before it becomes beautiful,
a lot of hurt before healing’s arrival,
a lot of you before any of me.
My part is done.
These fidgety fingers no longer carry suffering.
Here, let me see yours, though battle scarred and bruised.
You’ve been bearing more than you were built for, beloved.
I think it’s time to surrender.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
the trouble lies
in your thighs
plump skin, of pink, apricot, nutmeg
fresh flesh fetched far
taught to knee, cuffed at ankle
red carpet to round hips
they ripple, as you stomp
as they should
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear tree house
she is a willow girl
her legs, they wind
country lanes that slim and thin
less lard, longer length
one music note to pink, apricot, nutmeg toes
pillars under sacred, upholding
the light twist of hips
is there the same problem
does it there lie
in that girl's thighs?
your thighs are equally moulded
pink, apricot, nutmeg
soft and plump and trembling, still
in mountains, or molehills
you're a peach bottomed girl of pear house
she is a willow tree girl of birch place
together, women
you have thighs
and neither of
those thighs
lies
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
The modern robots are all dead --
the metal ones rusted,
the human ones bled.
For courtesy's sake, we'll call it square --
A voicemail's ghost
in a tentative field.
Manner's are infants' wails hung out to dry --
a starving microphone
with tubes pinched shut.
A scared off circuit in surgical riptides --
Our favorite pastime
alive on the screen.
Sep 23, 2011
Sep 23, 2011 at 11:46 PM UTC
We are fluffy
not stuffy,
we are bright,
not dull,
we can be
the lull,
before the storm.
More on that later, after the news.
Reflecting white light and we become bright,
pile us on one another a collective of light,
and airy, we don't take our selves serious,
we are much lower to the ground than cirrus.
Please don't let what I have to say cloud your judgement in anyway!
We are piling up to be the top of the heap
want recognition for the sunny day, around noon
living it large looking the part too,
we are the flat bottomed cotton *****
We are the fairest of the fair, but beware as the day advances,
we may get bigger, darker taller and you take your chances,
to be about and about, there may be a change in the atmosphere,
how is that anxiety about thunder and lightening dear?
From cotton to solid rock tall,
from mole hill to mountain,
thirty thousand feet is all,
hope you don't mind if we take turns
blowing through, easy to find us
no fuss, look for the Jekyll and Hyde
you know the Cumulus Stuff.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Drench these thighs
that twine on thee
shatter my world
as you tongue trippingly
Delve for sweets of
bottomed topped blush
whilst dew-drops sing
rich thickened pearly lush
Sweet, lust-given man,
is the wood of groves
stark primal musks
embraced by skin's glove
Ah so tightly shafted
this plunge oh so deep
will make you sing
(and make me weep!)
Embrace the night
with our silken sighs
as we drum the tribal
with deafening cries
Breathing the source -
those hourglass sands
guiding each another
midst our midnight-sun lands...
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 5:55 PM UTC
She had the poison in her veins
I was trying to **** it out
vampire doctor
trying to tough it out
radio blunt in my mouth
receiving the truth of the devil
thought I was a running man
till I bottomed out on the level
where accidents happen
reality clappin'
praising my downfall
she's got the poison in her soul
and I'm the cobra of the year...
Strange how rain falls
like time passes
ones and zeros
stained glass of our past
rosier than we remember
darker than September
wish I could go back
wish memory were dead
marching on like ants on a hill
my will, and it's not steel
my passion for tragedy
has a fixation on old mills
spinning in circles
I'm caught in the drain
funnel of mayhem
funnel of *******
high on life, we chase the goals of the dope game
higher and higher
expecting our lives will all change
I question the Lord
more than I question myself
That's why I'm lost
cause you can't question the Law's land
purpose is powerful
peace is potent
patience is placid
power is purposeful
you can run around and question the question the question the question
but have the integrity to answer and you're adorned with blessings
high towers fall in the storms of change
tranquility is denial of the form of truth
acceptance of truth's realities transforms us
I taste it
the elixir of the problem of war
power is an addiction
addiction is a cage
to be free, we require power
to break addiction's vice grip
so you see the conundrum
a paradoxical illusion
it is placing our faith in the infinite that we grow
loose the bonds of human decay and sow what God sows
my belief is in the wisdom of man to choose divinity
those who choose death
are the eternal
wicked
enemy
wasting the fortunes
that we will harvest in the times to come
when humanity is free
to love
and love as one.
Aug 1, 2022
Aug 1, 2022 at 7:46 AM UTC
I despise the creation
as a lone wanderer
who bottomed once a wonder
to an abyss of blue
I despise the foetus
I seeded within
the mother who produced
an infant of wisdom
I despise the symphonies
of my creation's curse
whose voices I gifted
from the echoes of mine
I despise this halo
that renders me divine
A nimbus of insolence
that burns me alive
I despise your journeys
to sanctity's den
for the airs, a legacy
from my immortal breath
As an unjust painter
I confess my sins
to the rainbows I drew
with a colourless quill
I seize the wonder
cast ages ago
As a triumphant saviour
to the disarmed souls
The abyss of blue,
a remnant to bear
the stench of your despair
to my merciless adieu
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 10:23 PM UTC
when the world,
was much younger
and i was a stupid-crazy
girl-ly-chick, enamoured
with her youth.
i drove, a sunshine,
lemon, yellow bottomed, white pith on top combi van. coyly, cloyingly named Mello Martha.
it was...surfboards and swimsuits,
egg and bacon sangers,
early morning breezes,
after a blitz at the breadbox.
before... changing into
the structured, tortured baby, bank teller blues,
in the back,doors left open.
it was... rockin, knockin,
*** on credit,
to a promised future,
alluded to, but postponed,
for the moment.
it was... bruised back and
grazed knees,
harder, deeper oh god!
oh god! please... faster, fucken frenzies,
on a saturday night.
it was....running away to nowhere,
to find myself,
then finding me,
running away from,
the self i didn't want to know.
noway, nowhere, nohow.
it was... a barrel of monkeys, a barrel of laughs,
a keg of beer,
a box of wine,
under the crowded stars.
it was.... a roadtrip,
up the coast,
midnight bonfire,
midnight munchies,
playing hunches,
exploring reefs and reefers and such.
it was...far from family
and church rules,
a friendly rebellion,
of loud, proud youth.
totally and brazenly,
uncouth
it was... wham! and m.j.
cindy and boy george's culture club ,paperlace,
billy idol and the beach boys.
sung with abandon,
at spinal tap level eleven.
it was... peaceful, quiet, sleeping grace.
insanely in love with...
i forgot his name.
it was.... the birth of bodaciously me.
all brass hair and bosoms,
wild and carefree.
it was ....so long ago,
it was... yesterday night,
when i saw... Mello Martha's identical twin,
stopped at a traffic light.
it was... sunshine and lemon, bitter and sweet,
as she sailed off, down the street.
i sat and watched,
wist, full of recollect,
far and away, from my presently minded place...
sitting in, the driver's seat,
of my mom-blue subaru.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Adrenaline gripping me
Desperation settling
Aftershock recollection
Magnificent desolation
I plead with myself
Don't think about the crash,
The broken memories need rest,
Or the rush
Like a roller coaster ride
Yet I'm still alive
In wonder
I have briefly touched the edges of Hell
Yet I survived
I've bottomed out and crashed
Welcomed death with blurry whiplash
Yet my lungs are still contracting
Twice in three days
I have uttered my last words
Yet I'm still breathing
I'm still alive
I survived
I have cheated death
So for now I am happy to lie and rest
Honestly, I am to happy just to breathe
For surely
(In the future)
Death will want revenge on me.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Is this really the life we must force ourselves to live everyday
this blue collared white collared no collar state of affairs
where we strangle ourselves daily with the grind of odd jobs poor paychecks an broken homes
scattered like insects catching fire under the magnified heat of the sun
our fingers ******* and our minds fall in line to what they tell us
like obedient children we don't raise our hands to ask why
no we just bite our tongues and call this a living
Waiting for our death to come and liberate ourselves from this drudgery
this mundane system of complications we've entangled ourselves into
feeling like vines growing on the side of a nuclear bomb waitin to drop off the edge of this planet
cascading into the imagination of nothingness we know we feel deep inside
but we've buried it in a rush and sometimes you can hear it grumbling
crying out to be set free
this imagination has got us into trouble before
thinking we can change the system we've built with our own hands and words we've cut from rapists murders and molesters
Kings queens and holy saints
we see what we are but do little in time to repair the perceptions we've become
only tightening our nooses everyday like corporate wear neckties begging for a little more breath
and a little more time so we can amass the collection the tv tells us we need
so we wash out our morals And give in to the notion of supply and demand
but never actually demanding the change so many of us crave and need
we pull splinters from our teeth and sell them as souvenirs
hoping someone else will choke on them and loosen these ropes
binding ourselves to the hanging effect of effigies burning brilliantly in midnight shades of *** bottomed out with whiskey hangovers
so far it's got to be the only way out of this but the exit we always miss
when we're traveling two hundred ten miles forward without the gift of sight or intellect
on baking asphalt looking for a wall to end it all
looking for someone to call to end it all...
But I've packed my bags and I'm hitchhiking the rest of the way
keeping my thumb inside my jacket because it's better to walk alone
than get picked up by a car heading for the fall
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 7:00 AM UTC
Your sweet sugar bubbles
Boil rolling in the pan
Heavy bottomed, 3 quart stunner
With attitude for a handle
Luscious amber satin evolving into
Dark velvety ribbons
If allowed to cool
Heat from the stove opens pores
I'm gathering your heavenly scent
Into every inch of me
Salted caramel sauce is on the way
Covering special occasion cheesecake
You'll blow out your candles and make a wish
Mouth full of the love I cooked up for you
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
~
Sad Existence
It is a sad existence, that of a poet
with flowery phrases and disguised meanings
Tossing out happy faces like quarters
splashing in a wishing well with no bottom
Painting heartstrings in an amber shade of gold
lingering silver linings losing their crease
in frayed bottomed hip huggers
that are long out of style
Swishing fragrant melodies on starch white paper
collecting lines in neat rows and margin’d desires
lips fluttering and eyelashes batting
well below the league's average
Whispering notions of sheer delight,
tantalizing rapid pulses pushing blood
through narrow corridors finding
locked garden entrances in chained Jasmine
Dreaming dreams that only a dreamer could dream
all the while knowing that when they awaken
pen in hand, ink at the ready
these dreams shall never come true
It is a sad existence, that of a poet…who believes their own dreams
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC
To face the fear of being liquid, I go under, float the drift. Leave the boat behind, no worries. I am in no hurry to school with the rest, colorful parrot fish, at home in the depths.
I am not afraid of sharks materializing from the inked abyss. The nothing in their soulless eyes is just black-bottomed assessing - not one of us.
In a lazuli sea, the barracuda cartel tails me, their silver barrels rule the reef, leering grins glinting diamonds, hungry pirates seeking gold hidden in my tender lobes.
Yellow-bellied sea snakes swarm, their sinuously wicked heads disappear and reappear on ebb and crest of every wave, see their split tongues read the chemistry of each exhaled breath.
A swollen catch unsought. Forsworn. What's lost will be reborn. From within, yolk still tethered, resting on the bottom. Net a dying heart, return it to the deep, watch it roll and flutter, remember how to beat.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:57 AM UTC
I’d like to talk.
And if I could,
I’d say:
“See that path?
It’s flowers sprinkled
A foot apart,
Far as the eye can see?”
And,
“Would you take a walk with me?”
There’s dirt,
And rocks,
And a big, red sky-
“What is it about today
That makes me feel alive?”
The air is hot and thick,
My calico skirt blows,
Your flat-bottomed soles crunch,
As you pick the dusty flowers.
I’d like to talk.
And if I could,
I’d say:
“See that road,
It’s broken television sets,
Couches, and Maytag machines
Far as the eye can see?”
And,
“Remember how things used to be?”
It’s soft,
The image fading to white,
But I’m wasting bated breath-
“You never would have survived.”
The air, still hot, still thick,
Is dying, it’s sick.
Well, I’d like to talk.
And if I could,
I’d say:
“See that highway?
Gone is the humid day.
See that highway?
Gone is the hundred-degree breeze.
See that highway?
Gone is the locusts' song,
But-
Where have all the flowers gone?"
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 5:13 PM UTC
River boats float along,
up and down
from side to side,
Putney to
Rotherhithe
all this
stems from the Thames
the arterial tree
for the sailor in me the Thames will do
on a flat bottomed barge
muddling through to
St Katherine's and Tobacco dock, to
Tower bridge and make a stop
Ferries and Wherries and
waterways
days on the Thames
making friends
with the mudlarks, the spivs
the preachers, the sharks
all parts of the stem
a branch of the tree
life is for me from
the Thames to the sea.
Jul 28, 2016
Jul 28, 2016 at 1:20 AM UTC
Low lights and varnished wood
places in memory, now long gone
Tables looking like they might be sticky
ashtrays emptied, stale tobacco air
Places of memory, folded and
put away in corners of my mind
bars by lakes, downtown smalltown
beers and jukes
shots and bar puddles
laughter and hair
bell bottomed floors.
Simple, to the point
play pool, talk about fishing
long gone days
leaving me wishing.
Aug 30, 2012
Aug 30, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
Sitting in a darkened bar
Ten dead soldiers in a row
My bladder was now screaming
It's time for you to go
I ordered up another drink
Left my seat, went down the hall
And on my way back to the bar
I saw a number on the wall
Help...it said, is close, close by
It's nearer than you think
Call, the number that you see
Before you order your next drink
I thought, it doesn't make much sense
I've got my life under control
I haven't bottomed out quite yet
I'm only half way down the hole
Four more drinks and then again
I stumbled down the hall
And coming back, I once more read
The notice on the wall
Help...it said, is close, close by
It's nearer than you think
Call, the number that you see
Before you order your next drink
I put a dime into the payphone
I thought I'd give it one good try
Before I hit rock bottom
I'd call them up or else I'd die
A friendly voice responded
"out of service...try again"
I laughed at this short message
Then I tried it once again
I checked the number on the notice
Dialed it, and then I heard
the message "out of service"
I laughed at every word
It seems that "out of service"
Was a title I should hold
After all I was a soldier
Out of work, and drunk, and cold
Those three words, they described me
"Out of service" , right bang on
No one cared that I was falling
Who would notice when I'm gone?
I went back to my barstool
Downed my drink and got one more
I thought, I'd better have another
Before I stumbled out the door
Before I went, I ventured
To the jukebox, checked for change
The sign said "out of service"
I thought that that was strange
Twice now, "out of service"
In a message sent to me
Was I truly worth redemption
A hopeless case for all to see
I figured that tomorrow
If I found I woke up dead
"out of service" were the last words
That were emblazoned in my head
I went back to the barkeep
Ordered one more for the road
Then I downed another soldier
"out of service" number stowed
I'd laugh on this tomorrow
If I made it through this night
I was truly "out of service"
I need help to find the light.
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 2:41 PM UTC
I hear the roar of your truck engine as you wait patiently atop my driveway
I slide on my sandals hurriedly, slip out the door
Dressed in a loose, ripply top with my favorite shorts
Bouncy hair and glowing skin
Edible fragrances dripping off my figure, into your nostrils, in which drag themselves to the lobes of your brain, the taste buds of your tongue
And you
With your golden rod complexion, form-fitting black t-shirt, exposing the contours of your sculpted chest, loose Bermuda shorts
Complementary ball cap and aviators
The faint hypnotic smell of sweat and my favorite cologne that compliments your natural aroma perfectly
A playlist of songs reminiscent of old memories
Singing
Dancing
Laughing
Crying
Beats on my eardrums
"Fat bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round!"
Our vocal chords stretch like rubber bands as we scream to these memories in motion
The beach is reserved for our use, or so we pretend
Together, we are alone on this small strip of land
I run to the sand, allowing my toes the comfort of such a familiar feeling
White hot, burning, tingling, relief within seconds as the warmth conducts and disperses across my skin
I unbutton my shorts and pull my top over my head, run to the waters edge in hopes of pleasure, alleviation from the gnawing humidity, liquefying my bones
I submerge my head, fogging my mind, allowing complete relaxation to fill my entire being
I find you beside me as I surface for Oxygen
Beads of lake water cover you cheeks like melted snowflakes
You stand there, naked next to me, your clothes at shore
Your hands search my back, find the fasteners of my bra
1
2
3 un-clipped by your hungry fingers, which now travel to my hips
Tugging at the thin, lacy fabric covering my
innocence
Now, in your palm
And with your other palm you beckon me back to the sand as you say, with tender breathlessness,
"You're beautiful"
In which I believe you as I lie upon a sandy towel
As you carefully lower yourself upon me
As our fingers interlace
And our lips, thirsting for lust, bind together
We are one
We are love
Jan 20, 2012
Jan 20, 2012 at 8:02 PM UTC
You were my life's great distraction,
from the tedious ins-and-outs of seasons,
the still summers and the silent snows.
From childhood's great terrors,
slipping under in the swimming pool,
from the restless rubbings of the twenties:
When my soul seemed too large
for my ribcage.
When I bottomed out in my thirties,
penniless, a slipped clutch in my car
and nothing but mustard in the refrigerator,
I remained for you.
I quit drinking when you threatened to
leave me on the kitchen floor.
That is the first bullet-point
on the endless ledger of debts
I owe to you.
And though we were fruitless
(genetically speaking)
your perfect DNA will remain in the soil's pores
and your calcium will marry the grass roots,
so that this great, dull planet
might become less ugly.
Nov 24, 2013
Nov 24, 2013 at 10:07 AM UTC
To my ladies with a little extra meat on your bones
There's no reason you should cry or think you'll forever be alone!
If you don't have a Barbie doll waist
and if you have a bit more jelly in every place
You know what that means, you have a whole lot more **** and when you were built to contain
All of the love, passion, and **** that's what you were built to maintain!
Now to quote the late great Freddie Mercury
His music is something I hold very dear to me
And this is dedicated to my thick women with style by the pound
and I quote, "Fat Bottomed Girls you make the rockin world go round!"
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
I have learned it in school that soldiers seldom die.
I have learned it in school to remain a bit both silent and shy.
The teachers in my school had huge degrees and dark sarcasm,
With which they often used to rule,
For they used to say-
“Don’t yell or shout or stoop or cry! For,
A “WHATEVER” might just come in the way....”
I have learned it in school that sharing is not fun,
I have learned it in school that to re-exist superficially you gotta run!
I have learned it in school that there’s a good and a bad,
I have learned it in school that “writing poetry makes you mad.”
I have learned it in school to finish papers “within” time,
I have learned it in school that if you’re a bit poor, well that’s a very sober crime!
I have learned it in school about much history and “NECKTIES.”
I have learned it in school about wearing short skirts and not eating rice!
I have learned it in school about chicken nuggets and low waist jeans!
I have learned “this” in school about fancy twilight books, ice creams, and suspicious inklings!
I have learned it in school, about a classroom- “A FISHY MARKET.”
I have learned it in school about high esteemed mediocrity and about so many things.
The fat bottomed teacher did teach us about science,
I have learned it in school that “IMAGINATION MAKES YOU BLIND!”
I have learned it in school that you need to have a shave every day!
I have learned it in school not to yell or to shout,
For,
A “WHATEVER” might just come in the way...
I have learned it in school that the president is nice.
I have learned it in school about both virtue and vice!
I have learned it in school to keep myself calm and to proceed...............
I have learned it in school to love myself more, “MORE” than “I” should “Thi(M)nk.”
I have learned it in school about both “BOYS” and “GIRLS”,
I have learned it in school about both shame and fear!
And, I have learned it in school about both heaven and earth.
I have learned it in school that only with a good grade, comes a joyful mirth.
I have learned this in school and about so many things!
The teacher did teach, they did teach well!!!!
I have learned it in school never to shout or to yell
I have learned it in school that I have nothing else to tell!
I have learned it in school to manufacture myself as a product,
As to Something which I Can sell.
Pretty Well.
I have learned it in school about such a fairy tale,
For,
A “WHATEVER” might just come in the way...
Dec 2, 2017
Dec 2, 2017 at 2:13 PM UTC