"bracket" poems
Chekhov and Murakami came to me in short spurts of memory; as if the life of a keyboard was a retro invention sinking the ancient sea bona fidelis. Temper Fidelis and sorry larks wish upon the galoshes you wore to repeated proms instigated in large moral distances between burning barns (it's a dangerous hobby). Starved for trapped frogs with claws and violence was a question answered in blood so two wrongs made a state of nothingness free of wrong or right (***you nihilistic ***** she suggested a better drink to pick at Starbucks: 'a flaming frappucino at 140 degrees.' (what are you, some angry Russian aristocrat contemptuous of an English wife T-minus a decade ? )close-bracket)
God is sick of two things: my continued and addicted references to Judaeo-Christianity and the dragged sympathy of humanity for his lost son ("it's been 2013 years for Chrissake")
you melt on me like a strange evening spent with a stick of butter
self improvement 46% complete
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 5:19 PM UTC
The Viet Nam era was a witches brew.Mission creep in Saigon
The evening news brought the ****** trips stumbling into
my TV dinner, kicking over my Tang.
Bouncing Betty went bang
Beans and ***** out the can.
Guys in my age bracket knew it was safe cause 18 was the magic Number.
RESPECT
Simon and Garfunkel ,The godfather of soul.
What we.
Had Here.
Was.
Failure to Communicate.
We were reaching for the stars with one hand and
squeezing of rounds with the other. Bobby was in the crossfire
Martin would retire,
I remember.
Guys slinking back home with broken minds
Baby killers all. No love ,No jobs. COMBAT FATIGUE. PTSD Came later.
Got a monster habit, Nose running of like a racetrack rabbit.
Oh yeah Asian Strain Gonorrhea.
Penicillin
Penishmillin. WTF
Hendricks.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 3:25 AM UTC
Chekhov and Murakami came to me in short spurts of memory; as if the life of a keyboard was a retro invention sinking the ancient sea bona fidelis. Temper Fidelis and sorry larks wish upon the galoshes you wore to repeated proms instigated in large moral distances between burning barns (it's a dangerous hobby). Starved for trapped frogs with claws and violence was a question answered in blood so two wrongs made a state of nothingness free of wrong or right (***you nihilistic ***** she suggested a better drink to pick at Starbucks: 'a flaming frappucino at 140 degrees.' (what are you, some angry Russian aristocrat contemptuous of an English wife T-minus a decade ? )close-bracket)
God is sick of two things: my continued and addicted references to Judaeo-Christianity and the dragged sympathy of humanity for his lost son ("it's been 2013 years for Chrissake")
you melt on me like a strange evening spent with a stick of butter
self improvement 46% complete
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 2:06 PM UTC
of course i ********** every night,
otherwise i'd be wondering
about the next Laika in space
with some next soviet conspiracy
Sputnik hovering while i chance
abbreviate a change on hairstyling
thinking: jeez, this is a little bit too
afro frizzy for a brainstorm,
maybe i better opt for Jamaican dreads?
economics of shampoo usage,
suddenly a large bank account.
i do get the idea behind treating nouns
like albinos... bleach the *******
hang them to dry in Polaroids...
while commercial flights fly at a certain
height, and the rich buggers fly high enough
to jet-stream in the cirrus uncinus bracket...
and they lie to children,
they're talking about strange satellites...
i can't see satellites, not without Galileo's
excommunication apparatus,
satellites, as far as i am concerned
orbit the earth in a non-visible spectrum
of the vacuum... hence their orbiting outside
of the visible spectrum atmosphere of
the earth, i would not be able to see
a satellite for the love of Michaelangelo.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 8:25 PM UTC
It is like some steampunk nightmare
Where working overtime is a racket
When what was time and a half pay
On the day I get my check, I make less;
Some kind of tax bracket scam thing
Where working extra hours put me
Into another category and increased
The tax they use to grease the wheels
Of a bloated government that hates me.
Maybe that dates me and it isn’t true;
That things have changed and it is
No longer arranged that way. And maybe
The way things became done was that
I got it all back as a refund. But isn’t that
Redundant, that I had to pay it to them
To use it like per diem for their games?
The shame is that I chafed and did nothing
Besides ******** and frothing at the mouth.
It’s not like I could go south to Ensenada,
Buy a piñata that looked like Mickey Mouse,
It was just that the house always wins.
But I have to pay for my tiny, mundane sins.
Why don’t they? Why does it go on and on
And then the money’s gone and I pay more
The next time some fat ***** of a politician
Begins a petition to increase their slice
And nicely reduce ours to a pittance
So low there is no admittance to a show
Or enough to replace a car that is a wreck?
The albatross around my neck gets larger
As it I move farther from the day it died
Even though I have tried standing up straighter.
It’s The Grand Guignol Theatre that life is
And the strife is to not let it get me down;
To be the happy clown and not the sad one
In a game that was begun to make me lose.
I am not confused. I see it, but it seems
Even in dreams I get no kind of relief
From a governmental thief with immunity;
The pillages with impunity and teases
That he does what he pleases. Neener, neener
What in hell could possibly be meaner?
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
Nllne ul the lnldholleriil‘ nan
on Ihlll llnl?i?l the Huun 1| dialed,
?an: that mum qupnuu in
egoing
Enumerator.
Constabulary District.
**I
Certify**, as required by the Act 63 Via, c. 6, s. 6 (1), that the for
urn is correct, acoordin
lc/4:’?
1&4”, ***
FIIILIES, In.
No. of
nu-In Tubal
wwnied Sinks u: nu 1’@f:=-=-
by ad‘ Pusan: Iii‘ A
Flnily.
(Sec Fol‘:
B at fool.)
¢ he
,3 '
.. I ~
' @2771,
cc 1/ p
I ..q1??‘7"“' iz__
g to the best of my knowledge and belief.
I
J , . . . _
?lfjfnjn 7 and the ?gure 1 entered LII Col. 14, opposite the muidic of the bracket. Sea pattern Table m In?tfuctiun?, page 9,
Rut
John Pane:
I hereby
runcuula or nluunsn nouaaa.
Registrar-General,
T. J. Bsmrxeam B#####Y,
##### J. Bnnw,
FORM B. 1.——HOUSE AND BUILDING RETURN --continued.
BOBERT E. M.aT£n;s0:~.',
Commas loner.»
"f the Heads of Families so occupying it shculd. be bracketted together in C01. 13, thus :-
2 lst December, 1900.
##### Castle,
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:50 AM UTC
He was known as the local Mycophagist
In the dales, the woods and the hills,
What happened was sad, for he wasn’t so bad
Just a tad underdone, Toby Gills,
They say that the cord was around his neck,
He was born with a carroty mop,
And a pale white head, he was almost dead
When the doctor had called out ‘Stop!’
They cut the cord and they let him breathe,
The damage was already done,
The blood had been stopped to his carroty top
So they said that he’d always be dumb.
But he found a niche where the fungi creeps
And went out collecting the spore,
In a year or two he knew more than you
And the college Professor next door.
He studied his mushrooms with loving intent,
He knew about hen of the woods,
He knew about bracket and shaggy manes, magic
And paddy straw, they were the goods;
He fostered his lobster and hedgehog and oyster
And coral fungi and stinkhorns,
But didn’t discern between fly agarics
And toadstools that grew in the lawn.
He grew his spore in a deep, dark cellar
And sold to the folk who came by,
And never would judge between Widow Weller
And the ordinary witches of Rye,
He’d sell death caps, and pigskin puffballs
Not thinking to question them why,
Or who would be eating his laughing Jim’s
And whether they knew they would die.
The air was thick and the air was damp
And he fell in the dark one day,
Scattering toadstools into the air
And their spores had floated away,
He breathed the spores right into his lungs
For he hadn’t been wearing a mask,
But ****** them in right over his tongue
And they came to his lungs, at last.
I happened to see him out in the street
He was finding it hard to breathe,
He could only take a couple of steps
Then sit on the kerb, to heave,
I tried to help but he waved me away
And his eyes were yellow and cruel,
Then I saw what he’d thrown up on the kerb
Some yellow and red toadstools.
The man was a walking toadstool spore
They were popping up out of his hair,
Pushing their way though his carroty top
In a bid to get to the air,
And his skin was blotched like a puffball, he
Looked up at me, and he cried,
As a giant toadstool grew from his throat
And he lay on his side, and died.
David Lewis Paget
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 5:22 AM UTC
*ᚹᚨᛚᛖᛋ - alphabet above the ᚱᚻᛁᚾᛖ... bereft a cleaving for worth of fortitude, or Liverpool: so too the strongman for bow and two finger F; chisel the ******* bracket or ah into stone correctly, or i'll make you stake a thousand men's' worth of dough worthy of death, nation building etc.*
above the Rhine,
at least that's
my Austrian welcoming,
playfriends my beehive
**** the longship.
i said sooth
nearing rune toward Sweden
of Poland or Germania -
ALPHA BETUM, BETUM
try a care begotten a coliseum!
** SALVAGE DIE *** STIRRUP!
TO A *** RIDE! RIDGE A COLLAPSE
OF ROME! salvage it with Bach...
or else, the death-man's symphony,
you Welsh *****
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
it's 8:00 somewhere in Washington D.C.
and the global selection committee has made its picks:
for the 473rd time
all the number one seeds are filled by countries
that break the most rims and shatter the most glass.
here we have the U.S of the North American region
taking on Haiti, cos the poorest countries
always place no higher than 14.
China of the Asia region has drawn
Nepal,
Israel gets Palestine,
and Italy pulls Ethiopia.
There are no African countries-
they didn't make the tournament this year.
No problem tho,
the selection committee figures
they've been beaten up
too many times
to even make a layup.
Games start tmrw
so grab your favorite basketball merchandise
and keep the channel set.
There will be no upsets
so don't bother
pulling for the underdog.
They've already been
neutered, anyway.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 10:49 PM UTC
I have shaken you off
like his cold from Thanksgiving
or like summer skin
freckled with "you look beautiful!"s and my weight on your shoulders
among green sheets and purple walls
In a hardware store we felt like a bad couple
such sad and discordant energy among
steel hammers and that perfect bracket
that I couldn't find.
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 8:09 PM UTC
Mine Filipino rose
For thee I shalt;
Be tossed inside the
The Brazen Bull;
Until mine inside's art crisp.
Be impaled
On wood;
Mine head planted on a stick.
Be crucified
Mine hand's nailed;
Thorn's upon mine top.
A Lead Sprinkler
To sprinkle lava;
In mine throat lost.
An Iron Maiden
To taketh the metal;
Inside mine liver.
Coffin Torture
To let the crow's;
Pecketh at the splinter's.
A thumbscrew
To snap me as twigs;
As mercy I yelleth.
Rope torture
To leaveth me exposed;
To hell and the element's.
The Guillotine
As mine head falleth;
Into oldened basket.
The Rack
As mine shoulder's wilt bust;
Twisting mine bracket's.
Tongue Tearer
To knot mine tongue;
And rip it at the seam's.
The Rat Torture
As mine interior wouldst be ripped;
Rat's burrowing inside me, scream's.
The chair of torture
As edge's impale mine spine;
Hellion seating.
Cement Shoes
In the bottom of the sea;
Wherein noone canst heareth me.
Crocodile Shears
To gut me as a fish;
Reptilian grip's.
The Breaking Wheel
Wherein mine limb's art tied up to spokes, hammered by devil's;
I crack, Snapple, pop, as mine bones elongate, mine blood chokes.
Sitting on the Spanish Donkey
Mine carrion torn in twain;
As heaven canst feeleth mine pain, for thee I'd screameth again.
Saw Torture
As tis the razor's edge wouldst goeth through mine abdomen;
Evil bastard's shalt cut me, as I'm praying amen, just to DIETH.
Hanged, Drawn, and Quartered
It sais it all in the verse;
For thee I'd haveth all this done mine queen, for thee to liveth.......
©Brandon nagley
©Earl Jane dedication
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 10:04 PM UTC
Pool's Prince Charming
by Michael R. Burch
this is my tribute poem, written on the behalf of his fellow pool sharks, for the legendary Saint Louie Louie Roberts
Louie, Louie, Prince of Pool,
making all the ladies drool ...
Take the “nuts”? I'd be a fool!
Louie, Louie, Prince of Pool.
Louie, Louie, pretty as Elvis,
owner of (ahem) a similar pelvis ...
Compared to you, the books will shelve us.
Louie, Louie, pretty as Elvis.
Louie, Louie, fearless gambler,
ladies' man and constant rambler,
but such a sweet, loquacious ambler!
Louie, Louie, fearless gambler.
Louie, Louie, angelic, chthonic,
pool's charming hero, but tragic, Byronic,
winning the Open drinking gin and tonic?
Louie, Louie, angelic, chthonic.
NOTE: If you like my tribute you are welcome to share it, but please credit me as the author, which you can do by copying the title and subheading. I used poetic license about what Louie Roberts was or wasn't drinking at the 1981 U. S. Open Nine-Ball Championship. Was Louie drinking hard liquor as he came charging back through the losers' bracket to win the whole shebang? Or was he just pretending to drink for gamesmanship or some other reason? I honestly don't know. As for the word “chthonic,” it’s pronounced “thonic” and means “subterranean” or “of the underworld.” And the pool world at its worst can be very dark indeed, as Louie’s tragic demise suggests. But everyone who knew Louie seemed to like him, if not love him dearly, and many sharks have spoken of Louie in glowing terms, as a bringer of light to that underworld. Keywords/Tags: pool, shark, billiards, nine ball, Saint Louie Roberts, gambler, hustler
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 4:48 AM UTC
I can't dream if it's from this closet
Every thing I want to do just sounds so god **** pompous
I talk about what I want to do and everybody thinks I've lost it
I'm on the radar, but I'm the darkest blip
Walking the plank on purpose, S.S. **** you, I'm off this ship
I feel like I've finally got it, and of course then I've lost it
I write a masterpiece, "hey where's the follow up?"
Like me and my girl jinxin the future with a prenup
'Oh you know we just trying to be safe,' right ***** let's marry up this **** then
You can take it all just split them assets
Get me bent with no price or rent
See I ain't tryna get around just tryna win this
Can't seem to get to the top when I'm the only one in the bracket
Try to be a team player, but my teams full of *******
I'm Harry Potter ***** imma smash that *** like quidditch
I gonna hit that pinata, till the cash flow get me riches
I talk ***** but I miss the way you talk
British, you a fit birdy, girl
I eat my grits, but I ain't really eating till after we're flirty, girl
Take you to the back room, pour some wine and then some feelings, watch some mad men and tell you bout my last girl
I said I like the way you talk to me but I think I just like how I can talk to you
You're an outlet, and I'm plugging, your sticking around, but you should know I'm just thuggin
And maybe I just say the ***** things I say to mask my potential under promiscuity cause I got a real problem promising myself I'll solve my problems too
(I'd never admit it though)
See that's just something me and my crew do
I guess it masks all the little ***** blues 'fake cries'
During this poem I think I grew three inches for you
In my heart
See it's so easy to gravitate to you like your the sun and I'm Mercury, I'm too close and you're burning me alive, but I can't pull myself apart, girl it'll never work
We can't stop Miley, that's melancholy for sure (but keep the twerk)
You make me feel like Frank Sinatra, and I can't even sing
So **** confident, you let me discover myself, I'm deep, I can feel, I'm Mike Tyson, Kung Pao chicken, I bring it all to the ring
All these little kids on the streets learning how to *** from me 'like fricken'
The thought of you got me sick to the stomach, it's sticking
..
Too bad you're just a god **** fling
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
(i) was fascinated
but
people, we, have been taught
that we (can) have what ever we want
if we want it just enough
so we let greed fill our lungs
blur our eyes
even though
we know
deep down
we should have been told
that we can (not) have
what does not belong to us
i was fascinated,
scared as well,
because
in between your mind games
and confident smiles
a hidden part of you were shared
uncertain
you let me in
but
we, people, can not (have)
what does not belong to us
i whispered
so i sent (you)
away
(k.w)
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC
the length, in months, he stays,
the act of age he portrays
you've hurt so many lovers,
and yet you take one other.
the same age i felt with you
the age before i was legally able
to be stable, or atleast the thought of my own--
place, time, and space.
i've watched, without you knowing
and i've known that she had it coming...
you get deathly sick,
move out,
and act like your gone,
to see if she can really have one, two,
...wait...
only one chance,
because at 17 , you lost the first factor
and now she is 25 and knows better
moved on and written you a letter
stating what i told you long ago
that maybe at 17 you should have stayed alone.
funny a simple prime number
can have such significance
where as my story with seventeen
was a magazine
an age where i first heard about graduated licensing
when i decided that maybe i wasnt ready to date
because at 28, i realize now that 17 for you is a mistake
where mine is memories i made.
this number was the bus i rode
to and from school at even the same age,
i felt i turned a page
as the poetry i wrote and read; the pictures i took
that now line books
lined, blank, and randomly
decorate pages
handwriting was really interesting then--
but beautiful now
to see that one thing has come true
...i found love...
with a man, That i met Before you
and found me once you left
seeing regression
to the age i felt...
the highway in my home town that also leads--
to my home beach...
and all the way to a place of fancy in Savannah
and a commercialized vacation destination,
in the opposite direction
but knowing my memory is still alive, thriving...
keeps the idea of this prime number
alive atleast,
and for the weak, subtract ten
try to grow up doing the math
that i was back then, before all the computers and cheat sheets.
when standardized testing placed me in the highest bracket
i would have graduated atleast a year faster.
also, my memories deal more happiness
knowing that they last with this...
a little rhyme and time
and now that i am in the prime,
im past that length of time in months
with the man i love
and have **** near doubled the capacity--
have bought a little man a simple legacy
that his mommy and daddy
have a say in the matter
but when he's 17, he'll under stand the latter.
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 9:59 PM UTC
You were the only man i had always wanted to see
Walking down the road to the sea Swaggering in your new jacket
Looking for fellas to bracket
In Carrickfergus they called you a robber To me you were a handsome rover Beautiful green eyes as the rolling hills Your happy thoughts into me you had instilled
In Belfast you smuggled your hopes and fears
Slainté! You danced pints of beer away Alas! They did not see your tears
You were on your own finding your way
My old friend, my sad handsome friend Patrick...
Alone you sang your weary songs and turned sick
I cried bitterly, nobody to lay you down Summer,and you had no wheat to sow
Ah! You were so handsome and young During summer days you smiled and cheered me up in my den
Calling out your name,i screamt at the top of my lungs.
You were gone....gone...you would never answer again
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 5:50 PM UTC
They may call you fatty,
scruffy and ugly.
Your name may be vile
and I bet you smell awfully
smokes and ***** and
cheap perfumes of many different
******
But when I look through you
when I see beyond this fog
and almost feel you inside
I know then
you beat the handsome beasts
you beat them all
with the ruin of your heart that you keep
in the drawer of your bedside table
where you pop off beside
now and then.
And it's usually a.m.
It's always a.m.
Just like now
as another night on earth covers us both
as you wish to be a cat in your next life
as the street-lamp peeps into our loneliness
I raise another glass full of youth and despair.
Toast to you, to me.
To the world who never treats some of his guests nicely.
So
I choose writing.
"it keeps the walls
from
failing.”
I need the sound of the words
making love with the typewriter.
But I make do with a pen and paper.
I know you own a typewriter.
My time,
must be a bit shopworn
Have you ever smiled by doing a bracket after a colon?
Guess nineteen ninety-four was a bad year to be born.
but a nice one to die.
Though congratulations
you did well at the computers
well enough, like everything else
You take things as they come
and life teaches you how to get used to them.
You get used to living, you get closer to death.
It is not a big deal, has never been.
But it is the only deal.
A deal we can't deny.
All I wanted to say was a
"happy birthday"
but not that happy.
@mosquito
Aug 23, 2013
Aug 23, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Locked onto innocent target.
Relinquish the rockets.
The little boy's bracket,
Records all the bodies lying down in their turrets.
No trauma received,
Mental droning perceived,
As common as breathing,
For death blows on the breeze.
How shallow are breaths,
When humanity tempts,
The weak of heart dying from carrion and stench.
The holy ones warm life's bench,
Their pawns play the field,
We're playing a game with sticks clenched,
where failure sees fates sealed.
The drone like a referee strikes out the ones revealed.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 8:35 PM UTC
Free. Unrestricted. Unlimited.
The ability to overcome the stares and glares of judgment and see far ahead of and beyond them.
Further than their ignorant minds would ever care to see.
Free like black smoke rising from a stuffy shack on the side of a dirt road.
The freedom that the most free of souls long for.
If Birds were as free they would fly in all directions but the set route of migration.
If paintings were as free they would outgrow the sides of their frames and become their full forms, limbs and smiles included.
If the Nile was as free it would flow like the ocean it looks up to, unshaped by the selfish lips of the forest.
If the Atlantic was as free, waves would wave and remain in mid-air for as long as they wish before hunching their backs to embrace the Inner Sea.
If words were as free, they would reach far beyond the limits of a four cornered space and whisper into the ears of men across oceans.
If you and I were as free, colours would not be afraid to be vibrant. Sound would not be afraid to scream.
If you and I were as free, our arms would always praise the vast Sky. Our teeth would always greet the sun. And even in the worst of pain, our freedom would allow us to let go of our misery.
If we were as free, beauty would no longer hide within the unbreakable walls of a mere bracket.
If we were as free, borders and bridges that fought for centuries to keep us apart would crumble.
If you and I were as free, establishments would not be established for the good of greed, but rather for the good of man.
If you and I were as free, we would fly like magic. We would take over the nation as a nation.
If you and I were as free, stereotypes and prejudices alike would cease to exist. We would live fully, even through the journey of death.
If you and I were FREE, we would be.
If the world was FREE, we would always be.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 3:35 AM UTC
You were the only man i had always wanted to see
Walking down the road to the sea
Swaggering in your new jacket
Looking for fellas to bracket
In Carrickfergus they called you a robber
To me you were a handsome rover
Beautiful green eyes as the rolling hills
Your happy thoughts into me you had instilled
In Belfast you smuggled your hopes and fears
Slainté! You danced pints of beer away
Alas! They did not see your tears
You were on your own finding your way
My old friend, my sad handsome friend Patrick...
Alone you sang your weary songs and turned sick
I cried bitterly, nobody to lay you down
Summer,and you had no wheat to sow
Ah! You were so handsome and young
During summer days you smiled and cheered me up in my den
Calling out your name,i screamt at the top of my lungs.
You were gone....gone...you would never answer again
Oct 6, 2010
Oct 6, 2010 at 7:50 AM UTC
I am a Prometheus, bound to my laptop,
always like in a curse, many may think,
(but don't bracket me with geeks
they are, celestials, i am simple, down to earth human)
for me it's pure bliss, oh! but the other curse!
the computer fails without any notice
even after such advancements in technological front.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 8:01 PM UTC
Open as a glass, vulnerable as clear water,
this is the place hot with birth. I’ve risked more
for less. Much, much less:
I ordered a nightstand from a catalogue,
the wood from Brazil probably,
pressed in Mexico, packaged in China,
traveling to my doorstep in pieces
seeing more than I’ll ever see.
Electric eyes of nocturnal forests,
the habits of the ocean
when the land’s not watching.
Connect bracket 3 with bolt C,
drop of blood, cross my heart
and fingers. It has four legs
but the drawer won’t open,
its crookedness leans against the wall
for support. There’s no money back
guarantee but there’s value in knowing
one cannot build furniture.
Now I take pictures and send them
with my Christmas cards.
I pull it out at parties and point to
the scratches and empty nail holes,
the unused brackets and each joint
where the wood has split so bravely.
Apr 22, 2012
Apr 22, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC