"cannery" poems
-
Of Mice and Men
Red Sky at Morning
Moby ****
Global Warming
War and Peace
Paradise Lost
Ulysses
Robert Frost
The Bell Jar
Cannery Row
Speaking in Tongues
Did You Know?
Atlas Shrugged
Get In Shape!
Body Language
The Naked Ape
In Cold Blood
Subconscious Thoughts
The Holy Bible
Believe it or Not!
SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/10/2016
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 7:30 PM UTC
pain loves the present tense
it loves gravity so that the clouds
are turned into geological strata
sometimes I use my hands like an anaesthetic
between right and wrong the pain dillema:
to feel or not to feel (the unknown)
we discover clever remedies or illusions
quiet cannery in the storehouse of flesh
it comes in circles mixtures all kind of names
it has rythm texture electric blackness
each unshed tear an orb of contraction
compulsive excavation of the void inside
sometimes I feel I have canyons of salt in my heart
on the edges of safety so much to learn about terror
this pain is a blind Robinson on Hope island
(with his bare hands he sets pyres in his heart)
was it pain that invented this language, these holy wars?
love you, hate you, nonsense, can't stand it anymore
I know my father lied to me that he doesn't feel pain
bodies in pain can't dream the water slide of life
that might take us further away into the night of day
time to say thank you, say farewell,
love everything that simply is
it is time to
Mar 21, 2023
Mar 21, 2023 at 3:23 PM UTC
cannon nuns.
cannibal bulls.
cannabis biscuits;
canned and
cannery rye.
cannion canyon
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:17 AM UTC
Mammy's accidents usually happened
Within a hundred foot radius of her stove.
Except the one time she had to work
Outside the home,
At the Aylmer Tomato Cannery.
(*Daddy was in his wet season,
Being laid off was his reason)*
The tip of her thumb was snipped,
And gone.
The joke never got old.
Someone looked inside
Every can we opened -
From that day on -
Truth is,
We always knew
A good bit of Mammy
Was in her stew.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
He swam across an ocean to steal a concubine from a potentate,hauled himself ashore in some oil rich state.
Whitebait for sharks that roamed in the sand,fish for the cannery,what kind of a man was he?
His saving grace,her face which monitored each move he made until he reached the palace gates,
then flinging all aside he cried may God have mercy on this humble man who only tries the best he can and from the harem,a girl called Celsius ran into his arms which opened wide,time to hide ,time to run,
time to burn,the desert sun does not play games nor names the bones which bleach upon its sands.
Holding hands they stowed away on a short haul trawler out of the bay and here where fear was laid to rest
the best was yet to come.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
12/18/2014
Subartic winds howling down tunnel wind slleys
sounding a lot, you know, like us.
Smoke plums would climn up past our
cupid's bows reaching fo the reaches of dark matter
"oh don't worry about me"'s
under the sweet toffee light of the cannery
black haired boys would smile and we'd
spit back more crass
the light shining down on our columellas
and the trefoils of menthol ginger history now-
a boy would take out his lighter
and somewhere behind us in the back of town
we'd hear the ghost of a christmas Mel Torme song
on the terrace of a good cafe.
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 8:32 PM UTC
I know you heard me
when I told you come here
Your looking at me
from downcast eyes
I'm the cannery so kitty cat
come pounce on your prize
smile go on & giggle
as you act like you don't know
but listen up man
I'm ready
been waiting
so hurry up
Open me roughly-
NO!,
don't take your time hurry
yea hurry up
rip off my dress
that's it man now swiftly
**shove your ****
between my thighs
sigh out your enjoyment-
you've found the mark
move deeper a little faster
*now stop & **** my mouth*
I'm on my knees
**letting you pound your ****
deep down this throat
pound it faster baby
**keep going **
**** it even if I gag**
**that's it baby **
mmm
I love how you taste
move deeper come on hurry up
I feel you swelling
like your about to erupt
Help me to my feet
bend me over this table
I need a release & only your able
Your massive cock's swollen
it's hungry just like me
Shove it in deeply
please me to my core
**** me,**
*YESSSS *
**** meeee
Baby keep going
******* move deeper,**
harder- faster,
I'm delirious-
craving every inch
of your massive ****
spread me wide
wider
**hold me fast to your lustful ******
hurt me
make me scream out
**my ******** release**
Yess
*I'm *******
Keep it up
ooo
mmhmm
**** me give me more**
over & over
YESSS!
baby
**** me**
mmm ahhh
more..............
**Oh ****
how'd we end up on the floor
(ouch)
Always Me Ayeshah ®
Copyright 1977 - Present ©
K.A.C.L.N ©
All right reserved ®
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC
Neon bodega serenade
Flamenco much unlike Miles
More envy induced shangrala
Sketches. Davis.
"Man, if we only bottled up that essence..."
There was a fenced in electric flourish
Limbo-ED outside the cannery;
Whose father left penny stains
Under the sink?
In Mexican Stand off fashion they ******* iced each other.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC
I wince as I winch up my eyelids
and the day lumbers up from behind
to grab onto tin cannery row
where
the heads are hung low and
the rent's even lower than that.
The laughter's still here fuelled
by narcotics and beer,
Capone's
found his true home at last.
There are tears and you
know it too,
who among many have
never shed any?
Time flicks a snotball,
a sleep or a wake up call?
it's us who decide, but
some like the slide and
remain.
When the tide turns again
Avalon burns again waiting
for Arthur.
They're heroes and crooks
fake *** in real books where
real time is no time to
delay.
The ache lingers on
the last hope has gone
the lights are as low
as the rent
and
the ache
burns a hole in
the nighttime of
tin cannery row.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 1:14 AM UTC
hey.
the birds turn on
at 4:35am here.
i wonder if the chinese man
with the swirling eyes
turns them on
like in cannery row
as he walks down to the seaside
maybe he just flips
a switch
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 4:37 AM UTC
OK! First the lollipop in the jar is missing
And her feet are itchy, help us please...
There's a cow doing cartwheels?
And if I might ask did your pigeon sneeze?
Reels of footage were left in the turkey baster,
Am I wrong? You obviously don't hear lemons
Whistling though, of course. And these days the
Emporer of Donutland is poor, better send him
Another hammed cannery of doom, let alone two.
And this TV has too many billygoats fishing!
And I'll be monster,
She did grow a hat!
Only minus the notes.
Just as big smoking jerky,
BLINDING, teeth raising...!
Chewing itself a thrill.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 10:46 AM UTC
He specifies.
You know?
Like the feeling when you wake up to a rainy morning on your day off. How your neck curls into the pillow as you pull up your fluffy duvet and you feel a special safety, certain comfort.
His words are as exact.
Choosing every syllable carefully as if laying mosaic. I'm not always good at understanding the picture. I obsess about one tile that feels out of place until he asks me to step back, the precision allows a specific illusion, but it's so easy to get lost in the cannery yellow and aqua marine.
Out of context these variants of primary colors can lead me to so many different places and I often find myself in an entirely different scene, drifting down a stream of consciousness made of letters.
Sometimes he'll come with me on this journey, indulging my imagination. But these scenes of mine are more like water color, each brush stroke bleeding into the next.
And he is different.
He is pedantic.
He can obsess over finding just the right way to say something even when I understand, even when I'm there. And while I take an anxious breath allowing us both space to grow and stretch, I take comfort in the universe he creates.
I take comfort in the exactness of the words he strings together.
I take comfort in his pedantic way because he specifically says, "I love you."
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC
We both had enough of the poison Springtime
So you picked me up, and you started driving.
The street's Westbound,
rain and wipers pound.
We can be reborn if we can just depart
our town.
Race away--
--like we'd set fire to Bon-Ton
Lose a day...
...take 84 past the county line.
Let the rain keep time on the sunroof
'til we're fine.
Do they ever feel it?
--Someone does!
The grinding. Rewinding,
hit play to repeat
and then
get paid.
The payoff?
You'll stave off
14 lies from their dead end eyes
for one fortnight.
Be forthright.
Am I blind?
Or do I detect that
our headaches kind of rhyme?
Make us reborn this time; phoenix down and back upright.
Continued the drive and the world we're righting.
We killed our time
and came back to life
Just in time to return to our twinkling
town lights.
When we have our fill of the pissant Summer,
let me pick you up and we'll head out driving.
past the Cannery
until Rouse turns free
our zipped up obits that we can't speak
cleanly.
Race away--
--like we'd set fire to Bon-Ton
Lose a day...
...take 84 past the county line.
Let the rain keep time on the sunroof
'til we're fine.
Let the rain keep time
on the sunroof.
You'll be fine...
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 2:28 PM UTC