"burps" poems
could it be a ********
like cotton buds
from the ***** flower
a witched river
under dark clouds
of brooms that don't fly anymore
maybe in need of an upgrade
perhaps a spell of weaponized winds
with insinuated floating ghouls
shaking their lopsided claws
under blood orchards
and diagrams of grief
as they follow their noses
looking for *****
******* the scent of vivacious
zyzzyva
loving oozing laughter
thirsty skin
needles too
**** heroine stuck on toe picket fences
mimicry of ducks blood butter
like a crime scene of kisses that went to far
eggs and runny yokes left puddled on a thigh
the ****** burps Pans milkshake
*** legacy legs
lookin for love
auto asphyxiated in a closet fringy and hanging with a hardon
lost eyes and drool
somewhere in Thailand
after spicy noodle soup
and a Tsingtao
hurt me
hurt you
i'm an evil boweval
a Zyzzyva come to love you
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 4:34 PM UTC
A scuba diver, head first like a dolphin,
goes in to the ocean, 100 feet down
in semi-darkness finds this apparition
something beautiful to behold in motion,
really really big and mysterious it appears
gliding gracefully spewing wonderment,
inviting reverence from all kinds of marine life
Clearly apologetic, for being out of place,
though he has encroached, in to a world
though not far from the sea surface,
yet in a depth where human has no place
all his scientific temper got evaporated
a simple villager now, gripped by wonder.
All he could think of anyone
fitting in to such magnificence
was God Almighty,himself.
"How do you do God?" he stutters,
aware that in plankton filled darkness
the mighty man is at the mercy of
the behemoth, looming large above.
The phenomenon in question,
***** whale"as we know him,
smiles and burps happily "Fantastic"
then he dives 6000 feet down, looking
for a colossal squid, succulent to be sure
the whole reason for him to play God
at this depth for sea creatures that lose
bearing in the haze of challenging depths.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 5:59 AM UTC
an average American
in a slept-in crumpled suit
stuffs today’s unread news
into holes in his shoes,
burps the taste of greasy chicken soup
sliding stale mission bread
down his gullet
regards two smelly
rag-tag ****** hobos
lapping the same charity meal
and realizes sadly,
the Bolsheviks may be right.
doug curry
may 4, 2012
Oct 18, 2012
Oct 18, 2012 at 12:56 PM UTC
Boys are weird!
Us girls will never understand them.
They scuff their knees up and walk out the house with tousled hair,
Can they ever think before they do?
They swing, climb, run, and jump on everything!
Just stay still.
Boys will be boys,
With dirt on their faces and cuts on their fingers.
They stick gum in girl's hair,
Carry slimy frogs in their pockets.
Their appetite is atrocious,
Are they gentlemen deep down?
Boy's language is all washed up,
They'll call you hot instead of beautiful.
They're full of burps and hung up on videogames,
Wrestling in the house every second.
Do they have a nice side?
Dads will keep a good eye on them,
Making sure they're good for their daughters.
Boys never stay like this,
They grow up to eventually become a man.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 4:43 PM UTC
when the sweethearts left,
we took off our token smiles
and overly-kind eyes.
my roommate grabbed a beer,
quickly ****** it off,
i put on "beat connection" by lcd,
and the derailment of the night
began with some synth and burps.
i made a *** of coffee,
went outside,
the neighbors were having a party,
making a stew,
grilling chicken,
drinking,
drinking,
drinking,
and exhaling enough smoke to signal the natives.
"are you drinkin' coffee muthafucka?"
"hi, i'm josh, and yes."
"the name's chase."
"nice to meet you." *******
before i knew it chase, our neighbors,
and about three people i didn't know
were in my apartment.
chase looked at a picture of lennon in
our living room.
asked me my favorite beatles album.
"probably sgt.peppers."
"you like that gay ****
"if that's gay **** yes i like gay ****
he grunted with rednecker royalty.
"the white album is probably my second favorite,"
i offered.
"man, the white album is the ****
there is nothing else."
someone said they had some fire, if anyone was interested.
everyone was.
there was a dark-skinned boy, with snow white teeth and a fake afro, rapping as i clumsily played an acoustic.
there was a 26-year-old ***** and his 43-year-old wife
smoking a bowl in my bedroom,
there was my roommate vomiting on the carpet,
there was everyone
and
there was
me.
there was everyone
and
there was
me.
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 3:33 PM UTC
The guy sitting behind me
opened up a tupperware,
brought his own food
to my favorite cafe
and he smacks his lips as he eats it
crunches the world's loudest salad
and burps as a finale
*I want to **** him*
Jan 4, 2013
Jan 4, 2013 at 9:17 PM UTC
the worm burps crasanthyums
like hypnic ****
matter becomes metaphor
thats how the beast works with in us
we are a book of masks
and i'm up to my neck in
mirrors of the marvelous
midnight music beguiles like a blizzard of whispers
flaming candles heat like ovens
burning finger by finger
i melt flabbergasted in dark linoleum clouds
blood gluttonous
tender bites
lips like red rain and trussed thighs
she grins
a face of needles and mice
i think she wants me
this old man, soggy eyed mop
linen wrapped
before aortic aneurysms
i'm a living tarot card
the falling tower and the lovers
break downs and break throughs
my groin a slobbering clot
dreaming ******* drenched
straight jacketed on her knees
***** willow shadows
drooling exacerbations
a caffeinated candy
licked thickly
twitching blinks; rem ejaculations
her face; a tattooed ****
**** mouth smiles
brown one eyed gnome
**** the stinking cyclops
*** talk lubricates
a raspberry crumble
looking for god
omniscient
even in *****
the white swans utterance
incoherence's
dressed in a ****** negligee
her belly a thousand ******* mouths
and i press into her thunder
shattering dawns gravity
a pinhole of empty cups
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
the sharp edged
rubble
of the decimated
mud crab
lay in a pile
of shell,shards
and hollow limbs
we sat, fingers
and faces smeared
singapore curry sauce
smiling, as we raise
our beers to
still tingling lips.
simultaneously
we burp... in appreciation
big joyous burps
of yeast and curry.
we laugh....
before starting to clear
the table
of the mess...
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
What’s the connection?—
a secret kept best between plug and socket.
Prophet man gone the old electric way,
[and durn’ an election year, no less]. Epigrammatic burps, and
occasional flatulence, of intellection,
I can’t help
but admire my own kindofbouquet, it ain’t easy—
when Christ was crucified like gas…
…There’s a million and more clichés I could toss around as mud and dirt;
Alas!,
I’d rather speak in terms of glass, [plateglass, stainedglass etc.,
germs and love, and guns and lovely lovely ca-sh,
today’s math; burnt and sad, self—Walking [my] small town streets, sure to stray faraway of dense windows,
and passerby's in ugly masks, with karaoke mouthpieces,
Ballads of boredom on precipitate tongues, Shoo!—away
and blow apart minstrel clouds.
No taxis, [ever]
just men and women in ordinary cars, pedestrians,
in obvious shoes,sporting unconscious denim,northeastern scowls
—fashionable scowls,
nuanced grays that distract from the spots of ill sun [hostage winter sun;]
scowls like Northeastern sky herself.
“I’ve surely lost my perspective”
[An empty phrase, really. A neat vaguery, I submit.]
I had a perspective, I still got it;
Though not much use it does me being how singular it is,
Optics and all, no shades of reflection,
Dense windows of thought, so dense,
—it’s now a microscope! Hell, all i can make out is a loose collection of colors,
A broken box of loose wires
and some kinda bang-up dodgy liberty, those frayed connections, too.
Nothing as tidy as plug and socket,
however,enough
to keep the lights on.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
THE SWAN & LEDA
How, like a...God
he comes
taking the shape
& the form of a
swan
who having had
his wicked way
longs
to be
on his
merry way.
But, wait
...what’s this
he can’t....shake
...his fine...feathers...off
feather upon
downy feather
locks him
into the costume
he had put on
& now...can’t be put off.
What magic
can this human woman
weave
& now
having been taken
takes great pleasure
in having her servant
a giant of a man
among men
****** the swan
& be gone.
And once
the God
is well & truly
f*****
he’s plucked
of all
the finery
of his feathers.
Behold, the God
standing in the ****
shivering & ready
for the ***
the final twist
of this fatalistic plot
...his beautiful
neck.
That night
she dines upon
the subtle delicate
breast of swan
served in a creamy
pepper & garlic sauce.
She even has
an extra helping
thinking she can
always exercise it off.
Alas, poor Zeus
wishing he had chosen
to pose
in his usual tour-de-force
a shower
of gold
but thinks too late
(thinking even as he is eaten) .
And now, she burps
(“Oh, pardon..! ”)
sleeps
& dreams
of a God
fit for a dish.
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 9:24 AM UTC
(I fancy you.
I ******* fancy you.
I fondant fancy you,
I flight of fancy you,
I fancy-pants you,
I fancy the pants off you)
I fancy your body -
Every inch of it!
I fancy your hair,
I fancy your spit,
I fancy the way you
Knock on my door,
Just the knock gets me hard!
(But I don’t fancy the door.)
I fancy you first thing
In the morning
When my mouth wants to do something
Other than yawning,
I fancy the way you pull at my hair,
I fancy your smiles,
I fancy your stares,
I fancy your job,
Your wardrobe,
Your phone,
I fancy your burps,
Your kisses,
Your groans,
I fancy your tongue,
I fancy your licks,
And I really
Really
fancy your ****
But most of all
I fancy the fact
That I fancy you
And you fancy me back.
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
1. Silence always means he's thinking about his deep and everlasting love for me.
2. Farts are his way of glorifying my existence. And burps always get a "God bless you."
3. Him and Gary the get-well-gorilla want me to be happy.
4. On OKCupid, the opening line of his first very first message to me was "Bonjour! While reading your profile, I noticed you're into gaming."
5. He found that street, you know, with the black mailbox at the end of it.
6. I have never wished for him to "find an antique rocking chair to die in." (ESOTSM)
7. We will have a hammock in our attic. And a room for our four cats, named Fiona, Penelope, Montozo, and Ernesto.
8. We will kiss in a tent in a woods, and then kiss in Paris, and finally settle which is more romantic.
9. [R]Otman's Ottomans is our future enterprise.
10. Oh, and, uh, I guess I love him, and stuff.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 5:17 PM UTC
1) I’m so sorry. Please Forgive me.
2) You have my sweatpants still. I want them back.
3) My parents still think you’re gay. I don’t bother correcting them anymore.
4) I need you to forgive me. Please. Before the guilt eats me alive.
5) How dare you think of me as your ex-girlfriend when I thought of you as my best friend.
6) I want to play a game of Operation with your skinny body. I want to slowly pick your organs out of you one-by-one, knowing that it’ll hurt you as much as it hurt me when you said goodbye. I want to hurt you.
7) Do you remember the time you made a wish on a star? Do you remember the wish you made? Does that not matter anymore? Do I not matter anymore?
8) When I get drunk, I don’t talk because alcohol reminds me of you.
9) I miss you. Every day, right when I wake up, I miss you.
10) Do you think about me? Do you still hate me?
11) Don’t ever talk to me again, or I’ll cut your tongue out.
12) Please just talk to me. Tell me you don’t hate me.
13) How are you? I think of you every day and it makes me feel hollow.
14) Do you remember the last look you gave me on that last day? That look that promised that when you came back everything would be okay. I feel cheated because you left me.
15) What happened while you were gone? Was it me? Was it the drugs? The sex? When was the exact moment you stopped loving me? Did it make you cry?
16) How’s your new whore? Do her burps taste as good as my lips?
17) I hate you and everything about you. I want you to get out of my head and out of my life.
18) I miss you and the things we talked about. No one else could ever fill the gap you left in me.
19) I smoke a cigarette every day and it feels like revenge on you.
20) I hate love and it’s your fault.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 1:00 PM UTC
Just when I think I've seen it
All throughout this land
They went and upped the anti
On the classic can of Spam
Those with the higher power
The ones that run the show
The Spam men of the hour
In a bunker buried way down low
Have added different flavors
To this meat of mystery
From Teriyaki to Tocino
That's bacon to those who don't speak Philippine
They heat it up with Jalapeno
Helps to liven up the slime
Those bunker boys as they're fondly known
Have really out done themselves this time
Aloha from Hawaii?
Imagine Spam in a Hula skirt
As they pull out the Leis and go all the way
Adding pineapple to those Spam burps
Exciting rumors have it
They're in talks with Oreo
There's no place in this universe
That a good slice of spam won't go
The only thing they need to work on
Is the dipping in the milk
They have yet to solve the problem
Of the massive oil spill
Yes they've taken what the rest of us
Never thought could be improved
Just goes to show what ingenuity
And a touch of crazy genius can do
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 10:32 AM UTC
There is a wooden window, circular
above a roses-in-ink embroidered couch
that complements and contrasts the curtain
of roses-in-mud that eloquently hugs
the wooden sides of the wooden window.
On this couch I sit in my suit and out I see
through the circular wooden window
waves with stretch marks and salty burps
dancing (for me?) with brave crashing crescendos
and butter melting bass.
This ocean could teach humanity
absolutely everything about ***
its voluptuous waves caressing
the ***** seaweed and *******
it for miles until it's washed (limp) ashore.
The couch back is hard and unused
speaking of the depravity of our angry age
whose ***** wear bare the leather and studs
on the barstools in the club below my library
with its wooden window, circular.
I've yet to see a sunset or sunrise
in a place where I can see no land
but looking at the quiet reflections of rage on
the roiling ocean, on which I'm afloat,
I pray I do- I want to see it all aflame.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
Tania slurps her cheap beer and uncrosses her legs,
exposing fresh bruises from the soup factory.
She outlines them in marker and draws
a smiley face on one located on her right thigh.
*These bruises tell me that my life is composed
almost entirely of bad decisions*, she says,
replacing the cap on the marker. I ask how
a decision could form such a perfect,
purple circle. Between swallowing
beer and peering into the rain,
she burps. *I can't say, but--
I mean, do you want
to have *** Later on
I drive her to the
hospital and I visit
a therapist. For
a few months.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
I wouldn’t call it seedy
It’s not dingy, after all
Dark though, and loud
Almost always filled with a crowd
(Especially during happy hours)
The lights are low
(the prices too)
One plus one equals four
And soon, the time passes like
Clouds outside a window
The TV glows
With cricket or football
(But who’s really watching,
right?)
The soft conversations together
Make a loud hum
Of laughter and memories
And beer burps and orders
And call for bills and-
Maybe one more pitcher?
Four hours later,
Everything is closed
The mall is silent
As a graveyard
And we sway through it
Af if floating on air
Skipping stairs
And small talk
Looking back,
I don’t say goodbye
I know we’ll be back
Next week
Amongst its postered-up walls
And high ceiling,
Talking over its loud music
Comfortable,
Happy,
(And drunk).
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 12:23 PM UTC
pile of blankets--vaguely human shaped bed lump
white curtains, snake skin bundle
crepuscular lit window opposed wall
cranky cellphone sounds
slither-hand. blind pat.
that old song and dance.
11:17 am
self medicated coma
consciousness comes too soon
post alcohol lubricated dry throat
dryer tumbled bones
dehydrated nectarine shrunken head ache
body floats to surface
ice on road out of control alligator death spinning head
body floating too fast car crash at bed foot
hand eye coordinates aim for dresser
slow foot movement high speed camera precision-every frame counts
reflective closet door shows thick skull and hollow skin, too translucent for comfort. blue veins battling to breathe
squemish rattling breath shuts up
let the stomach talk.
blurted burps stomach acid cacaphony
rorshach stained carpet matches drapes
depression is a thick milkshake
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
That smile
That stupid smile
That **** eating grin of yours
Beautiful pearly rounded chompers
Okay, so maybe they are a little yellow
Who’s aren’t?
When one has smoked filterless filters for the last 10 years
What does one expect?
It’s exquisite really.
It brings me to the ground
Mostly from the weak knees that it incites
Nostalgia doesn’t even begin to describe
I’ve seen it in my dreams
It’s been with me for the last decade
It’s something that I will never be able to forget
The largest mouth I ever done seent
3 ounces of liquids in one easy swallow
I could put my foot in there
And there would still be room
Belches and burps
Curses and yells
Loud laughs
Sweet whimpers
All the things that are expelled
Every time a smile appears
A smug smirk
A gushing grin
I smile back
Despite my anger
Or fears
It doesn’t seem to matter how upset you make me
I smile back
The history we share is complex
Predating all the things
All the peoples
All the events
All the places
Spanning such far distances
In space, place, and time
And here we are.
How long have I known that bittersweet smile?
A better question is how long I will continue to be graced with it.
Even if that is shorter than I hope
I’ll still remember.
It’s something I can never forget.
CHEESE!
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
Fasting on the life I'm eating
my mouth and stomach start to growl
I tell myself it's all in my head
but there's nothing in my gut
a starved stomach similar to my schedule
all my body does is work
while my brain is trapped in my ulcer
eating just enough life to survive
seeing just enough light to get by
stumbling through a buffet
but I can't see the food
everything smells gourmet
but tastes like shoes
walking down the concourse of my bowels
exiting my sphincter as my intentions
so I put myself in detention for loss prevention
abandoning desires in my stomach
to be corroded by acid
that burns my heart and exits my mouth
as gurgling noises that sound like sentences
and burps of words
but my only real sentence is self imposed
because my only real words are self contained
in the constipated vise of what's inside.
It takes a strong stomach to be this weak.
Sep 3, 2023
Sep 3, 2023 at 9:54 PM UTC
i remember going to sizzler
with my mom and my 2 brothers
and some random guy and lady---
all at the table.
and she'd load up the tray with dinosaur nuggets
and cabbage
and parsely
and split pea soup
and swirly icecream
of which you could fill a bucket and
only get a light scolding from the waitress with her 4 freckles.
i'd eat that stuff,
and there'd be faint music and clinking
and dishes breaking
and children laughing and crying
and burps from old people
and farting
from overzealous husbands
who would proclaim flatulance as being a sign of
gratitude for one's meal in
China
if you've ever heard.
and the carpet would be drenched in animal ****
and the air
thick will fillaments
and greasy dust--
and my eyes would water,
and the memories
would be a haze,
but it was always rather pleasant.
and the best part was the red ballon with the 'S' logo.
and it'd pop usually upon arriving home after you sit on it or something like that---
Then many years later
i went back with a friend
and his dad who happened to be pretty drunk
and we were listening to Lennon's "Wheels Go By''
and the waiter
was younger and better looking and had less disdain--
and i just got chocolate icecream.
but there were no swirls.
the swirles were long gone.
dead even.
dead .
and then i flicked my ciggarette into an immaculate ashtray
and a few ladies
talked about the lunch specials.
and my stomach gurgled
and we went
to ihop instead.
May 31, 2017
May 31, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC
I have walked all them roads that you told me I shouldn't,
I have felt all them things you said I shouldn't.
I have talked all them things you told me I shouldn't do,
I have felt all them things you told me I shouldn't think.
Now, in these woods.
Where the paths lead me to everywhere.
Astounded and blissful.
I rest to stand, till you join me again, my Love.
And, then,
It happened, the answer.
After such an endless wait.
For hours, days, months and years of being away from you.
Caught each time in the cobwebs of tripping on meeting my Mexican smuggler someday
To confess the strength of my love
But. It happened already.
I saw you.
I touched you.
I drank you.
Nothing has changed.
The peace is safe within your hairy chest.
You could not hold me,
While I wanted to squeeze you.
You meant, not yet.
It took me a while to understand the new you.
The solid you.
The you I lived with for these four years were the burps of my memories of a distant yesterday beside you.
I will let you go in grace.
Because I know nothing can change the peace.
And nothing makes the least difference in that intact a peace.
The world thinks they know you.
The world thinks they know me.
But it is you who know me.
And it is I who know you.
But we will never know that knowing.
Of being the sole knowers of each other.
I run in peace, my love.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 6:44 PM UTC