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Tommy Johnson Feb 2014
He sat down at his desk
With his face buried deep into it
His sweatshirt road his broadened shoulders
Something about this guy interested me
He was new, fresh slate at a new school

We exchanged hellos
We exchanged names
I threw out an invite to chill
And he politely and happily accepted

There was something odd about him
In a good way
Offbeat
Offbeat boy
I gave him a nickname because his real name was to plain for him

I introduced him to my circle and they didn’t like him at first
But over time they became as thick as thieve
We all were
New bonds were made
Bridges built and doors opened

The things he would say
So random
So off base
So hilariously out of place
I loved it
I always looked forward to what he was going to say next

He was a true friend
There was no lying, no evil in him
He was pure, a pure person

He loved nature
His love was Mother Earth
Shedding at tear at environmental ignorance

He was socially awkward
He couldn’t talk to girls, or anyone that wasn’t one of us
He would get into fight we would have to talk him out of
The confusion he gave to the teachers and frustration he gave to the entire student body
He didn’t know any better

Writing a funny speech about what he would do if he was voted for class president
Then having it being taken as a threat against the school thus getting him suspended and having the police search his house for weapons

The complete disbelief of his guidance councilors
And the flabbergasted administrators were all gut busting comedies to us

As we approached graduation news of him going into the navy came about

And we were all in disbelief
But it was true
A boy who couldn’t life a five pound dumbbell was going to serve our country

Good for him

Even now I can recall our adventures up to that point
Staying out late and wandering the streets in the middle of a cold winter night
Cat calling at the mall, trying to pick up girls
Breaking things
Invading private properties
Avoiding police entanglements
Detentions
Suspensions
So many laughs
So many memories

When he left it was as if the once bright aluminous room we all shared was a little bit dimmer
But we were full of pride
We knew he would shine on else where

From Michigan to Texas to California for boot camp and training he went
Our friend went on a journey, his own journey

One year later, we all await his return

He is back, oh the change is overwhelming
He shines brighter, he’s witty
He’s mature, bold and confident

He’s become a man, he found himself

He has claimed his long sought after love

The one who has been walking a difficult path and strides in beauty

He made passionate love to her last night
He woke up from her house and came to mine at 5 AM

I awoke to find him sipping coffee in my kitchen; he had a smile in his heart that was bigger than the stupid grin on my face
I sat and talked to him, chugged my coffee and got dressed

No we were going on another adventure, two weeks
Two weeks with him was all I have
Then he’s being deployed for two years
He speaks of oncoming war with Syria and North Korea
His views have changed
He believes in war
My, my I’m astonished
This is my friend?
The awkward, soft spoken dude in my history class?
Now I wait to see what happens next
With one of my dearest friend, Chives
early, the crowd came to see

yellow, the famous arch .

laburnum.

i came to see the kitchen garden,

seeds growing, chives flowering.

humble plant sprout small mauve flowers,

bees come early.

yesterday mostly yellow and mauve then.

bodnant garden.

sbm.
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.

Just as the earth puckered its mouth,
each bud puffing out from its knot,
I changed my shoes, and then drove south.

Up past the Blue Mountains, where
Pennsylvania humps on endlessly,
wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair,

its roads sunken in like a gray washboard;
where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly,
a dark socket from which the coal has poured,

Somebody who should have been born
is gone.

the grass as bristly and stout as chives,
and me wondering when the ground would break,
and me wondering how anything fragile survives;

up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man,
not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all...
he took the fullness that love began.

Returning north, even the sky grew thin
like a high window looking nowhere.
The road was as flat as a sheet of tin.

Somebody who should have been born
is gone.

Yes, woman, such logic will lead
to loss without death. Or say what you meant,
you coward...this baby that I bleed.
Norman dePlume Jan 2016
The other marjoram and the clothes
Are chimes inverted for her story,
What if we had chives, asparagus?
And what, asparagus, if we had chives?

Why did all that rain fall
All day in the grounds
And on the bird feeders,
And through the clearing?

The neatest patrons are back,
Their statue tortured by your autumn sweater.
Then there is the storm of receipts.
The salad bowel needs sanding, but not this

Fall. Scatter the remaining marjoram like dust.
Sweet peas from melancholy gardens
Sautéed over her faux tofu.
Fruit flies like a banana.
Parody, after Ashbery’s “Album Leaf,” from Some Trees
Emily Nov 2018
Grown beneath the sun,
Holding the occasional rain drop,
Surrounded on all sides by companions.

Snip!

Cut off forever from nourishment,
Collected with a few companions,
No clue what the future will hold.

Moving swiftly through the air,
Higher than ever dreamed, but
Fearful of sky diving without a parachute.

Misted occasionally,
Attempting to maintain appearances,
Despite being starved of food.

Enduring more body-jolting aerial swoops,
Drowned in a swift waterfall,
Losing companions that did not maintain their appearance as deftly.

Chop, chop, chop!

Sliced into innumerable bits,
Wondering if life is over,
Now that one’s shape is forever lost.

Perfuming the air with a distinctive aroma,
Blending it with those already in the air,
From other small bits of greenery.

Fears realized at last:
Falling from a great height to the ground,
But falling on a soft cushion.

Smothered with white strings,
Rolled up tightly in the soft cushion,
No escape route possible.

Dying in the heat,
Spreading into the gooey whiteness,
Wondering what the point of it all was.

Eventually cooling down,
Being exposed to air once again,
And hearing (if it were only possible):

This is the best herb cheddar bread I’ve ever had!

Was the result worthy of the chives and Italian parsley’s sacrifice?
All who partook of the savoury goodness certainly believed it was!
We may never know how others will one day benefit from our sacrifices, but hopefully they will one day appreciate them.
Dorothy Apr 2014
Green peppers
Red peppers
Onions
and shallots
Get ready for some intense flavor to hit your pallets


A splash of vinegar
Salt
Chives
And garlic
Your tongue will dance for joy and actually seem to frolic

Epis
Sos Pwa
Rice
And baked chicken
The taste buds in your mouth wont know what hit them

Four hours later and I've enriched in my culture
I'm almost like a new woman
Because today I learned to cook food from my parents native nation
The time and effort was so very worth it
And now I feel a little bit more Haitian
Creole Translations:
Epis = herbs and spices
Sos Pwa Rouge = Red bean sauce puree
MV Blake Apr 2023
I don’t want to talk to angels,
Not for me, the bleeding priest.
I want my ****** doctor
So I can find some peace.

I want a ****** expert,
Not a hippie with some tea,
Charging excess for the karma,
And no money guarantee.

I can’t take ****** ginger,
It brings me out in hives,
And you can take the Echinacea
And stick it with the chives.

I want the ****** doctor,
Tired eyes and cynic smile,
Who’s seen it all before
And has my details on his file.

Pull out your cold machines,
Test me to the hilt;
Try to find what’s wrong with me,
Before I ****** wilt.

I don’t want to wait for callback,
I’m not interested in online;
It’ll only tell me that I’m dead,
Dying,
Or I’m fine.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
i've moved through several "mentors" in my life, i obviously started with someone like Milton, seriously, on poetic matters, i didn't start with Shakespeare for the sonnets, i found then too... too claustrophobic, rhyme in general is claustrophobic for me, it's such a lesser expression, i much prefer playing squash, squash over tennis, every single single, playing it... id est, obviously watching a tennis match is rather enjoyable, a bit like watching a magnolia tree bloom in spring, or any spring blossom when taking a walk at night: it's great watching it... but the practicality of playing tennis "goes missing" when you turn from spectator to player... let's face it... there's a football team's numbers' worth of aids... let me count.... dot dot dot: 6 ball girls / boys... an umpire... 6 vertical line judges... 4 horizontal line judges... what's that? **** me... more than a football team of assists... more like a rugby team... i started with this mentor... that soon passed... Bukowski... Will Alexander... i did a whole year of Ezra Pound and opera... why bemoan the trans-Atlantic slave trade?! any jazz... coming out of Africa... can you envision a world whereby music was explored as it was explored... by African-Americans (****** conjunctions, just the "retards", plough-labourers sold by their own tribesmen to instill a fervor for up-keeping their high status polygamy... mind you... no white girl can compete with this sort of Calypso... a Harley Dean... nope... not ever... car-nage)... can you? any new jazz coming out from Nigeria, or just the same, similar, ethnic *******? that's being overlooked... jazz was never ever to be born in Africa's *****... the antithesis of classical music... it required Africans to be forcibly moved to the "newly discovered" continent of America for jazz to be given birth... painful: like most original births are... but... we had the reconstruction of classical music through jazz which opened / paved he way for all the "other" / subsequent music genres... if i had any black fwends i'd tell them: **** it up... you don't realise what you gave us... compensation? for slavery?! oh sure sure... the Jews got their compensation payments for the Holocaust... and what did the Polacks get?! as, ahem... compensation? communism! we, "we": received diddly-squat! ******* and your "compensations": "reparations": ******* with your Marcus Garvey or otherwise: shut the **** up... this new born Christianity of the African continent is somehow sickening... no! i will not shut up... it is what it is! pranking supremos... grifters! spindlers! can you imagine? people have so little interest in music that they have to resort to talk-radio... they need to be talked to... and then they return: en masse... as a public decry of government policies being shuffled in shadow... beautiful world... a world so beautiful that it only requires one to **** a ******* to level the playing field... i keep myself intact: i focus on what's to be loved: first... id est: children and animals... that's it... it's not a sinking Titanic motto of women and children first... no... nothing's sinking: children and animals first... women... 4th... what's 3rd? male on male camaraderie... drunken men at public events tell me all the things women tend to "forget" to tell me: i do... although some... i have three tiers of women... the wedded ones, clearly bored... still doing: whatever... Lolitas and... prostitutes... obviously i champion the last of the three because the rest are too timid and by too timid i'm looking elsewhere... charm a totem... a fox... let a fox feast on your leftover food from dinner for a month: not a dog... but... maybe... either he was run-over or he figured out a "thought" of: well... isn't this weird... running drunk with deer... a harem of deer... that created a traffic conundrum... can i just be blunt? women aren't mysterious... they're just a ******* drag... drag... boo-ring... i watch married men pandering to their wives' demands and i'm thinking: not all fools are horses... some are just ******* donkeys... me? i tried... i failed... i tried i tried... i failed i failed... that's the beauty of rejection... there must be a chemical formula akin to adrenaline whereby you stomach rejection all the more easier... it's sort of on a whim... a: eh?... whatever... you start gluing your eyes on that Zeno paradox race between a turtle and a hare... or... reimagining... what if horses had to compete with camels... or... what if.... man tamed the bull and not the horse for battle?! hmm... the world is truly my oyster... but no... i don't do rhyme i don't do haikus... i think i'd find writing a haiku very: unsatisfactory... perhaps it's a relief to read... but writing one? no conversational overtones?! none of the blah-blah effect?! what?!

i never write from a source of "inspiration": forever the mu dane "rezoning" of me (N - ease honing: of reasoning)
i never write from a source of "inspiration",
reading the Latin classics taught me this one
"thing".... to never reiterate a square
of -ing                            -ed




    -ed                              -ing

first come the children, second the animals,
3rd the camaraderie, 4th, the women,
to un-stiffen: myself....
hell... if Walt Whitman could get away
celebrating himself... i guess i can too...
let's dance... facing the music...
to hell with tired old men writing poetry
once upon retired, salvaged.... "happy":
SAFE: yes... now is the ripe time...
the time to craft banknote meanings...
  whisper to the ******* wind!
i need myself in my youth:
in an element of brute!
      free! freed from ever having
ever stolen or murdered or otherwise...

children, animals, camaraderie, women....
a bit like women....
  Lolitas, wedded women...
prostitutes... the rest?! pass...
  seriously, pass... i rather be chasing deer
drunk in the night...
timid is not not mystifying...
timid is just boring...

  but in terms of language...
                the ancients knew a thing or two...
sure... they lived in a world governed by
geocentricism... but...
they could figure our minute patters in
physiognomy without making
a ******* science out of it!
of making an -ology: authorities on:
the reminder of the recluse super-intendant:
*******! seriously...
****-off...

if you were to give Atlas the weight of earth
by...
tectonic... shrapnel...
rather than the whole globular...

dead-weight... stones...
imagine carrying a dead-weight...
compared to... alive-weight...

same distinction between mass
and weight...
gravity... is dead? is dead? gravity prone?
***... imagine filling up a skip...
of stones...
then imagine...
  ******* a *******...

i have bruises on my arms
as if i were over-shooting too much ******...
goddess...
i peered at my shadow trying to
to unpeel it into nothing...
watching it... merge
with the shadow of trees: disappear...

i'm not a god... to hell with the Olympians:
i'm a TITAN!
i can see the pulsating blood in my protruding
veins as i liberate Sisyphus from
his slumbers... as i irritate:
wait a minute...
if the ancient Greeks deplored the Titans...
and invited the gods...
what did Christianity do...
if not make angels into saints?!

  i hate Christianity...
              it's a hatred with a passion that
leaves me... unable to find a girlfriend...
"unable"...
to hell with it... i can cook, i can clean,
i know how to iron shirts...
i do most of the d.i.y.
  and by then... the ones that are available are?
single mums... ****** is ******...
i'm not getting any replicas...
    so... so... as far as ancient customs go...
i'm not a Tiberius Caesar...
  ha ha... no no...
        fostering ******* is not on the menu...
although...
fostering... what's the equivalent of
a daughter born out of wedlock?

    me? i have a healthy mind... a keen mind...
that's what happens when you read Stendhal
and Marquis de Sade in your teens
and leave Ovid till your 30s?
******... "******"...
            i'm not investing in anything beside
an idea... a succulent thought...
something that's beyond a mere squeeze...

dość! enough!
      but no ść in Russian...
akin to šč
    i.e. szczypiorek - green onions...
chives even...
ever smell chives in bloom?!
bothersome addition of a "comma"
to the already defeated epsilon
  щ...
            or... strict woe woe Woe...

the most beautiful letter i ever came across?
Plato... Theaetetus... SO...
not in katakana... not in Hanguel...
in the near extinct Glagolitic Slavic scriptum:

M: Ⰿ
too many ******* vowels!
that's my reply?
the Germanic "question" regarding Slavic
languages employing "too many consonants!":
you people have been ****-hurt over
an Afghanistan-likeness inclusion
into the Roman Empire for for long
that all you get to say: too many consonants...
i say? i say?! you use too many vowels!

but i'm nice in person...
that's why i've decided to to this job...
i want to hone in on my crowd authority
"skills"...
**** knows... one day i might feel like
i want to perform!
i need good target practice!

i just woke up at 7am: the skip was supposed
to arrive between 7:30 and 9:30am...
i have "tattoos" on my arms from the dead-weight
i was lifting...
it's a bi different when you're making yourself
mandible during live-weight sessions of ***
with a "proxy"... *******...
i don't see the problem Jack the Ripper had a problem
with...
last time i checked?
prostitutes?! most hygienic creatures
there are... almost **** about it... like i'm
a **** about hygiene..
i seriously don't care who you sleep with but
at least i don't need to care about
having unprotected *** with one...
  because that's the best *** there is...
          and just imagine:
  when you can build-up such mutual trust with
a perfect stranger:
she judges your hygiene... and you judge her hygienic
standards: you meet on common ground...
an immediate trust bond ensues...
              it's oh so lovely than with some random
stranger picked up in a nightclub...
after all: she probably lives with flatmates
or still with her parents...
  and you still live with your parents because:
you're sort of good friends and the whole mother / father
son relationship is a bit post-modern...
but... well... the brothel is the middle ground...
you're not there to work in the garden
or cook dinners or do household chores...
  or read the Sunday newspaper...
  you're in a brothel to... basically do what
a butcher does in a butcher's shop...

long gone is the mentality of a Jack or
  for that matter Samuel Little...
                      why would i moralise women by way
of moralising them through: killing them?
at least these women... well... out of the... how many
i have slept with... only about 2 had a genuine
(nymphomaniac) love for the act...
    maybe 3... the rest were in the profession and still
hadn't managed to love the idea of ***
like the idea of *** was loved back in the 1960s...

i must have mentioned it once:
i'm not a gambling man...
but i am: when it comes to gambling with a ******...
it's more fun-tub-goochy-goo...
why take the thrill of life from life?!

she sends me a picture of herself behind
a driving wheel: no make-up...
she looks... hmm... as fresh as spring...
i send her a picture of blooming chives...
almost rosemary-like...
no... not rosemary... lavender... no!
quasi-fuschia!
most certainly fissile-like!
          that "rose" without the spines
of a mantis... the chives...
but most certainly the bishops' attire of bloom...
THISTLE! ****'s sake! THISTLE! THISTLE!
THISTLE THISTLE! THISTLE!
FA FA... FI FI... how many surds?!
fizz... isle... burg... doughnut... a load of *******!
did i, at least, get the spelling of fuschia right?!
chances are... no...
  
FUCHSIA...
                  bull riding... ****'s sake...

      but that's what it felt like: the inversion of rock climbing...
carrying these heaps of stones
from the garden into the skip...
    that's why i could never go back to the gym
and pump iron...
                    swimming, tick...
bicycle riding, tick...
    maybe i should revisit my former past-time
and hit a climbing wall in Hackney...
      
  but *** is also great exercise... between than doing
stomach crunches...
    only today i was coming back from a shift at Wembley...
late... late... just came in at 2am...
i was thinking of stopping over to see Khedra...
but then...
  oh you know... if it isn't some ancient perverted
evil of being stimulated by ******* as you groom
your female cat and she sticks her **** up
as you brush her... which wakes up a desire for a woman's
body by way of recoiling to the idea of *******...
then it's... the newly discovered "fetish" for south American
women... Argentinian women: milk-cows...
i don't think i've seen so many well-endowed women
in one evening...

  but... hmm... i can't go in for the act without untrimmed
***** fair... plus... i needed to see my Turkish barber:
yesterday...
  it will have to wait...
  plus pay-day today...
    finally! i've returned my my mental safety-net
of having the minimum £3000 in my now two bank accounts...

sometimes i walk up to a cash machine and people
print their statements and forget to take them...
my £3000 in "savings": they're not savings...
i just like to have this amount of money on the ready...
but other people?
my god... they really are living from pay-check
to pay-check... i don't think i've ever seen a statement
that read: £500+ on the account...
it's usually in the range of £10 to £200...

      on a daily basis this life is somehow worth living:
i'm being reminded of my literary diet...
it's good that i read Marquis de Sade as a teenager
and that only now i'm rediscovering Ovid...
  i think the reverse would have been...
very... very... grotesque.
Clouds,
snaking silently across the sky,
the howling wind is rushing by,
a bit like life
the reason why
I lay awake and listen to Bizet.

Resistance only tires you when
the end, inevitably blue
the colours always stay the same
grey, black ruins on my window,
what's the pain you feel when
Winter comes, when
daylight runs away and
snaking silently across the day
the clouds all seem to laugh as if
to say,
We're free as birds but have no wings, we
fly and you can only pray.

The winds that blow,
the trumpet sound, the trenches we dig,
underground,
I lay and  watch the clouds that fly
to me they're still snakes in the sky
and I remain
unsatisfied,
a bit like life and
then it died.
Jack Nov 2014
The Perfect Combination


A-1 on your sirloin
Butter on your bread
Chocolate on your ice cream
Or butterscotch instead

Cream cheese on your bagels
Jelly on your toast
Maybe peanut butter
Which do you like the most

Salsa for tamales
Lemon for your fish
Onion dip for vegetables
Delicious on your dish

Pinto beans in chili
Carrots cooked in stew
Bacon on your meatloaf
Chicken cordon bleu

Chives on your potato
Sugar in your tea
Pickles on your burger
Crackers for your cheese

Garlic for your pasta
Sauce upon it too
Milk poured in your cereal
Slices of fresh fruit

Gravy on your biscuits
Sausage would be nice
Cocktail sauce for jumbo shrimp
In a bowl with ice

Syrup on your pancakes
Frosting on your cake
Cream upon your peaches
A salt and pepper shake

Caramel on your apples
Seafood and white wine
Cottage cheese upon your pears
It’s so much fun to dine

Mayo on your sandwich
Ketchup on your fries
Dressing on your salad
Whipped cream on your pies

So many combinations
That we see each day
When we’re having dinner
Breakfast, lunch or play

To enhance each other
Nothing left to waste
Flavors come together
In the name of taste

There’s one combination
The best one I can see
Not to do with eating
Because it’s you and me

So perfect now together
Like ham on top of cheese
Lettuce and tomato
Onions in your peas

Wonderful together
Sometimes sweet or ****
Soft and always tender
This love inside our hearts

Of all the perfect pairings
Only one will do
This combination built on love
Forever me and you
A little Saturday fun.
growing well, so we took you out

the glass house in to air not expecting

thundrous rain. we returned to find you

battered.



our apologies……



we  will love you and  nuture you

again



back in the green house.



sbm.
LD Goodwin Apr 2013
Maybe Apples and Peaches this year,
Strawberries for sure.
So patiently the tender buds
await to grow.

And Volunteers are peeking through,
awakened from their quiescency,
where they performed their subtle dance
neath the Winter snow.

Chives and Thyme and Lavender,
Rosemary, Parsley, and Sage.
All happy and warm and full of love.
Oh no! Where did the Oregano go?

Garlic tops and Lemon Balm,
more fragrant edible things
bring Peace to these troubled times.
For Peace, we all must sow.



*anyone know this style of poetry? I am having a hard time finding it.
Harrogate, TN April 2013
Liam C Calhoun Aug 2015
The landlady pounds, one door left,
And my “Momma’s” chopping chives in the kitchen;
So I wince when
My black hat’s conquered wrought wool.

Right, and right out the window, the workers break,
And my “Uncle’s” feet crack, crack come the chemical grass;
So I concentrate when
My chopsticks carve pork.

“Up,” cries the baby, starved are the mice,
And my “sister” bids farewell to her soldier;
So I grasp when
My feet twitch to understand the cold, cold concrete.

Diesel cooks, so down goes the neighbor,
And the “Missus” smiles with our son atop lap;
So I admit when
I try to smile, I really do.

Herein lies the endurance, the rice paddies ancient,
And we’d all bliss ignorant, come the table we surround;
So I reconcile when
Again, I try to smile, I really do.
My in-laws live in what could be considered low-income housing in China; don't bother me none (save the ***** downstairs refining diesel fuel in his home whilst constantly smoking near the flammables), I love this place and it makes for some interesting sounds, sights, and stories.
BLitZeD Feb 2016
EG TEN /V.S/ BLitZ3D

ROUND 1

EG TEN
For the second time around, I won't be too gentle.// You turds can't rhyme for *****, soft as a noodle.// Get rid of that shirt, Wordman, do us a favor.// It ain't bad at all, its just, one size too little.// Ill break you fools in half, straw snapping like a scarecrow// Cowardly lion come out, Monster Smashed you innuendo.// The reason why you got passed by the first time around// Like a girl post some pix up, cut my **** in half, now u goin down// You and Wordman teams up, who cares! a pair of freakin clowns//

BLitZ3D
let um start off first, either way ur a representation of a man in a hearse /hurt um real bad n rubbed his face in the dirt/the pics that I posted was just a ***** in a skirt/sskkirrt! on this *****, like who you ****** with nerd?/ that's a ****** sweater what u talkin bout shirt?/ an what exactly do you think you rhymed off ****?/ ******* from the start, pulled out and drove straight into the curb/ Asian drivers man, they'll never ****** learn/ a coward vs a lion I guess my warning wasn't herd/ why'd you delete the first battle? you coulda reread my words/ then you'd probly remember to go again would be absurd/ but everyone loves a under dog, makes emotion go reverse/ cause then when you go under dog , the wears not even worse/ an no one teamed up on you,/ I tagged in and hulk Hogan lumped a few/ American Dream, elbow jumped at you,/ then to your defense, in ran gorilla monsoon/ the way I see it, the joker popped both of you,/ a heist on ur thread but that's just my point of view./ sights locked retical red, not a sound with the front mount/ knights drop, clown with a crown, and a jester in bed./ leave um slumped out/ /roar/ I messed with his head/ take my advice and this cypher ...just jump out

Round 2

EG TEN
Let um start off first? Now what the **** was that?// Your no king of the jungle, but a little ***** cat!// A blissful of zits in your face a sign disgusting// BlitZed does not show off his face an ugly duckling// My rhyme is in verse, so fresh with multiple gears on my Hearse// You can't spit for *****, so your *** be going in reverse// A fan of hulkamania? That **** ain't real brotha!.// I bet your next line would be "Hakuna Matata!// You ain't no **** Mufasa, your like that fool Scar hangin out With them ugly *** Hyena// I laugh at you BlitZed, I ******, I flip the script with my skills// Your elbow dropped not fast enough a straight kick up your chest!// This is SPARTA!!!! So jump on out! off to the next round// Welcome to the Writer's Creed, A true MC battleground!//

BLitZ3D
if this is Sparta then ***** I'm Gannicus,/ two swords in my hand while u attack with some shallow ****/ your **** right I'm scar and ull still bow down to this/ u wont get to far hyenas surround in the mist/ Hakuna Matata but theres reason to worry kid/ shoot um point blank an laugh as he say the dots are blury miss/ from his stomach out leaks guts an curry strips/ no lines to connect, his souls in a hurry, drips,/ out his mouth like his mom as she dines in nutty bliss/ bust um quick like his dad, his sister we both miss/ a cute little thing, deaf dumb n blind, snitch/ I think not, i broke her fingers, a tight grip/ dropped her leg and screamed Hogan wins/ layed on top of her and counted to three/ donkey punched that ***** in the head an continued to proceed/ so ask her how much I give a **** about writers creed //

ROUND 3

EG TEN
You claim to be a Marvel-Super-Villain-God-Like / If you are Galactus" I'm Lactose - Bacilli / Fermented like Lactic Acids what I spit!/ A genus of original but your just a make belief/ BlitZed please! step it ^ up a bit higher/ Your dealing with an oldskool underground ****** / None of that Kindergarten *****' of entry level / My words may be shallow but yet sharp as a Razor / Your write- wrist slice the veins blood burst just like a geyser / My word plays undefeated so try a little Monster / I sMashed your Baked Potatoe with chives a little butter / On side some bits of bacon a Cub is now a Lion / If you don't understand, im at work im eating Lunch / Im on break and wasted half of my time you little punk/ But its cool It's all in fun and that's what its all about / In a place full of infected A cesspool full of talent / Respect to my opponent a true Warrior of Poets / A Monster Mash Creator, A Master of Salvation / The bad *** Mr. BlitZed, Will continue this ***** later-/ Here at Writer's Creed, or where ever else you pleased/

BLitZ3D
A mutant, a radioactive contusion./My ***, gave it gas, now im ******* moving./Onto the end, the finish line, a ******* shoe in./Im new an, your old news, news i knew and /screws im loosing, as we pretend this battle im loosing, wrap it up with a few loose ends, /confusing, a thriving city, up an left it in ruins./Black cloaked, hooded druid, IV fluids, /Gat broke, firing pin, out i chewed it, trigger squeezed now, told you id do it./Ten teeth marks on the barrel, yea EG blew it./Face on some blue ****, stiff Elmers glue tip, /sticky grip, stick um up, Richy Rich, Jackson upper cuts, a Rampage, no *****./Bomb on the stage, chickens with no cluck./Took a bomb on stage, chicken heads, my ***** well ******./Salmonella poisoning, chocked the chicken, she likes it real rough. /In an out, left and right, my blade keeps the feathers well plucked. /Goose and a swan, I recognize no duck, bad luck, body covered up in the back of the truck./One G, no UN, i see, just me..no pun./Mission complete, no fun, grey skies, trust me, no sun.. rains not done. /Bars run from bars, bring the heavens down from the stars, impacts bombard/even from behind bars locked cars explode far, gorilla tactics, no holds bared, reload the AR/Re-roll a new cigar, as i retold, another page from Scar/12 bubbles Gage the contents of this unmarked mason jar./I know your popping some corny something, but i wasn't listening./Busy kicking it with Popcorn Sutton, drinking an smoking **** in the kitchen./These lines must be glitching, space-time the fabrics ripping./Physics are ******, i need a new physician./Watch as my feet move, roots grew planted in a quantum position./Like Groot, stomp um like a twig, raging tunnel vision./A ton of incisions, a gun mixed with questionable decisions. /A life for a life, changes nothing, for both sides the death penalty still glistens./the only difference is the same as this blunt. *****, BLitZ3D is still hitting. /Next time i roar a warning make sure you ******* listen... /
battle?
Im already bored with you
.....
I pulled a gun
And a sword you drew
Joe Cole Jul 2014
You know apart from writing poetry I design gardens for other
people just as an unpaid sideline
But come and take a look in my garden.
Rough laid brick edging round the lawn and I do mean rough
you wont see a dead straight line there
Flowers, hot oranges intermingled with reds and gold
No
Plants carefully chosen for form and texture
No
Rather a jumble of wild and cultivated plants doing their
own thing
White campion, red campion intermingle with white and yellow daisies
Scarlet poppies vie for space with rosebay willow herb
Sage and thymes in profusion
Great clumps of lemon balm mixed in with chives and lavenders
Foxgloves and hollyhocks in places they shouldnt be
Wild mallows and geraniums growing where they choose
And running wild my favourites of the flower world
nasturtiums
That then is my garden, my retreat, my oasis of calm
i said it were a lovely day, i did not mean the weather.

i talk about the feeling, the mood that did not change, all day,

little tasks that please. planting chives in treacle tins, ironing pyjama pants,

and cotton handkerchiefs.

he warned me the rain would come, and when it did

heavy, we tucked in tight here, enyoyed the darker

green.

then, the rain will stop.

sbm.
prim' Sep 2020
There was a witch
In the meadow near the forest
Living in a tiny house
With walls of woods
And roof of grass

There was a witch
Dressed in black
Picking Chamomile,
Sage and Thyme,
Rosemary, and Mint and Chives

There was a witch
Dancing in the night
When the moon was high
And the stars all out
Singing a song that no one knew

And I couldn’t help to wish to be that witch
For she lived happy and simple
My Dear Poet Aug 2021
I found myself a seat at the table
among greens and violated vegetable
and I’m wondering if I am able
to stay calm and sit there stable
while staring into a Buddha bowl
searching for some peas in my soul

I’m looking down so hungry
the side dish appearing so angry
like that smashed green avocado
near the pile of mashed potato
and the cut and diced main dish
beside the chopped chives
and sliced spinach Quiche

These vegetarians are not so nice
beating the egg and whipping the rice
and this fruit punch I’m drinking
by dessert, has me thinking
they’re as aggressive, and more
violent and cruel, as a carnivore
there were no chives, so we hunted for ferns.

they are everywhere here, we wanted something
in particular, me with my green trowel, gardening
apron.

she was coming up the lane, head down,
i waited. a steep *****.

on looking up she smiled, and chatted a while.

did you know him? she asked, told me he had
died suddenly.

she went on her way, she has moved house
you know.

we went on looking for a fern, and
found one.
sbm
HE ALLAN FAMILY STORY




SEEING ME AND MY BROTHER WERE INTERESTED IN THE SPORTS WAY OF LIFE

DAD AND MUM TOOK US DOWN TO THE KIPPAX GYM TO PLAY SQUASH, I COULDN’T HIT

A SQUASH BALL, SO I PLAYED RACQUET BALL, EASIER TO BOUNCE, AND I WON MANY GAMES

AND MY IMAGINATION, WAS AFTER WE PLAYED FOOTBALL ON  THE ALLAN FAMILY SPORTS STADIUM,

THE FOOTBALLERS WENT TO THE KIPPAX CLUB AFTERWARDS TO PLAY SQUASH, EVERYONE IN MY

FAMILY WAS A FOOTBALLER IN MY IMAGINATIVE FOOTBALL GROUND, PLAYING SQUASH OR RACQUET BALL

TO LOOSEN UP THEIR MUSCLES, AND MY BROTHER HAD A BIT OF A SULK, BECAUSE, A DECISION DIDN’T GO

RIGHT FOR HIM, , MEANWHILE BACK AT HOME, I LIKED THE IDEA, OF HAVING THE PRETEND YASS MAGPIES FOOTBALL CLUB

WHERE I WILL DRAW MENUS UP, LIKE CHOPS WITH GINGER AND CHIVES, RISSOLES WITH VEGETABLES AND MASHED POTATO,

THIS CAUSED A BIT OF BLUE WITH ME AND DAD, THEN MUM RANG UP AND I ANSWERED IT SAYING, YASS FOOTBALL CLUB

DO YOU WANT TO MAKE A RESEVATION AND MUM LAUGHED WITH AMAZEMENT SAYING, WHAT IF THIS WAS SOMEONE ELSE,

THEY WILL SAY, OOPS I HAVE THE WRONG NUMBER, AND THEN I WAS GETTING BORED OF TV

SO I WROTE MY OWN TV GUIDE FOR THE CHANNELL TVN/OBO, THE CHANNELL IN MY IMAGINATION, I PUT SPORTS SHOWS ON IT

AND ME AND MY BROTHER, HAD A HANDLE BALL COMPETITION, WHERE WE USED MY BROTHERS YELLOW SPONGE, AND

I OCCASIONALLY BORROWED IT, SOMETIMES WITHOUT HIM KNOWING IT.

I WAS IN THE LOUNGE ROOM TALKING MY PARENTS UNDER THE TABLE

DAD LOVED THE IDEA, OF TEASING BY GETTING THE LAST WORD IN

BUT MUM WAS DIFFERENT, SHE GAVE ME THE PEN AND PAPER AND

SAID, GO AND WRITE ANOTHER TV GUIDE, SO SHE CAN FIGURE OUT WHAT TO WATCH

YA SEE I WAS OBSESSED WITH TV GUIDES, AND I BOUGHT THE TV WEEK TO SCHOOL

AND PAUL WANTED ALL THE COOL POSTERS, BUT, I HELPED HIM OUT, I WAS NICE

POSTERS, ARE EASY TO COME BY, AND I BROUGHT MAPS OF CANBERRA AND

SHOVED THEM UNDER MY DESK AT SCHOOL, THEN I MOVED AND MANDY SAID

GET THESE STUPID MAPS OUT FROM UNDER MY DESK, AND I WAS OBSSESSED WITH LOOKING AT MAPS

I TRIED TO DIRECT MY DAD TO THARWA, BUT DAD CRACKED A JOKE TOO THARWA, MEANING TOO FAR AWAY

WE WENT TO TIDBINBILLA A LOT, THE TRACKING STATION AND THE NATURE RESERVE

I PLAYED BINGO WITH MY GRANNY, AND I WENT TO COLES DEPARTMENT STORE WITH MY NANNY

AND I LOVED THAT ALL SO MUCH, I PLAYED BINGO WITH LYLE AND ATE AT K MART WITH LYLE

LYLE WAS MORE OF AN OLDER BROTHER THAN A MATE, BUT WE MADE A PACT, TO GO TO

ACTTAB, TO BET ON THE FOOTY, WE NEVER WON, THAT IS WHY I DON’T DO IT NOW

I FELT MY DRINKING GRANDFATHER WHO DIED WHEN I WAS 3, SPIRIT WAS ALIVE WITH THE COOL KIDS AT THE MALL

DAD TOLD ME, I DON’T WANT TO BE ONE OF YOUR MOB TO ME, BECAUSE, I WAS TEASING HIM

I TEASED DAD, BECAUSE, THE VIBE WAS THERE TO TEASE MY FATHER

BUT DAD WAS A GREAT HELPER, HE WORKED HARD AT THE YMCA, AND AT ALL HIS TEACHING POSITIONS

DAD LOVED PLAYING WAR GAMES, ON HIS COMPUTER

ME AND MY BROTHER PLAYED A SOCCER GAME CALLED THE BOSS

WHERE YOU PICK YOUR TEAMS, YA SEE IT TEACHES YOU HOW TO BE A PROFFESIONAL SOCCER MANAGER

AND MY BROTHER HAD ALL HIS MATES TO PLAY DUNGEONS AND DRAGONS, HE ENJOYED THAT A LOT

L;IKE I ENJOYED PLAYING FOOTBALL IN THE FRONT YARD AND CRICKET IN THE BACKYARD

AND THIS WAS VERY FUN FOR THE ALLAN'S
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
we were making this by the campsite
the night before the battle of
grunwald ('groonvald'),
we were united, the tartars joined us
and brought the following recipe
for the fish we caught on the river:
preready mayonnaise,
gherkins with a bit of gherkin brine,
white vinegar and some capers...
we omitted the chives and parsley
because there were none, the day before
we slaughtered the teutons.

years later the same thing happened,
although in suburban enclosure,
and with perfectly running trains,
and all seashores tamed with foot,
and the aviation traffic,
the new adventurers had to embark
not with astronaut gear but
with their egos, crafting shipwrecks
and glaciers with their minds from
the most apparent mundanities
turned into sour spark tingles
of colours turned into tastes on the oyster's
nano tentacles in the saliva sea.
Ryan Holden May 2017
Avoid your school lunches,
Not a singular crumb,
They can turn you crazy,
Stick to ******* your thumb,

Sloppy monster pizza,
Will eat you while alive,
Greasy fat saturates,
Stick to salad and chives,
Just a silly "kids" poem about school lunches.
Mary Gay Kearns Mar 2018
Standing by the fridge
We could see the roses
In a flower bed
Beneath the kitchen window.

We took to tidying
The cupboard, together,
Where the contents had grown
Hard and dusty with time.

The roses were transplanted
From a London home
Finding leaving her garden sad
So carried them with her in a van.

We made pizzas for tea
Using a simple base recipe
Adding tomatoes and chives
Topped with grated cheese.

In the flower bed the three
Roses, fed, pruned and watered
Cleared of greenfly with soapy water
Flourished and bloomed in the sun.


Love Mary for her mother Grace Westbrook
Emily B Jun 2016
And I sit reviewing my week

I dyed my linen petticoat
With cherry bark
And iron oxide.
I have five colors now.
Almost enough
For a box of crayons.

I pulled weeds
And planted garlic chives
And two kinds of gourds.

Hoed the garden
In between rains.

Baked biscuits
Twice.

Picked old Bob
A bag full of kale.

Spun some yarn.

Ground corn meal
With a big stick.

Pulled more weeds.

Started cleaning
And drying
Chicory root.

And more stuff
I can't remember.
No wonder I am
Tired.
Sauerbraten with
Spätzle now
darling dearly
has chives
connect to
love caught
cheve in
her tie
that luge
down hill
with trigger
still fear
truth in
dire need
to flout
justice again
here today
A luge
Donall Dempsey May 2015
I remember your father
kicking in my womb.

The sunshine
fell on the floor

as if it were
worshiping me.

I felt just like I was
the ****** Mary or something

being told what was what

in some Renaissance
painting by some guy whose

name I can’t even
pronounce.

“Woah there...little one! ”
I said chuckling to the kicking.

“There’s still time enough...less of the rough stuff! ”
I tried to coax it into quietness.

“Don’t be in such...a hurry...I’ll still be here! ”
I smiled to it and myself.

Then I had breakfast of coffee
& scrambled egg & chives
with a little dill & paprika sprinkled on top.

Went on making baby
for all I was worth.

The paprika would explain
the red hair!

God...when it came...it was
a difficult birth.

Felt like a peach...split apart.

Beethoven came into the room
from some passing car radio

& then floated out again
as if he were gliding around
on his own notes.

I tried to follow
where the music was going

but it got entangled
in next door’s clothes line.

A pigeon walked up & down
the window sill

trying to look as if he was
very busy but he was only

passing time
&...poo!

“Shoo! ” I scolded it
and then wondered


what a pigeon would look like
in a *****.

Need a lot of changing!

I took a stray feather
from a pillow

balanced it on
my swollen belly

(God I was...huge!)    

& laughed
as it got kicked off.

“That’s my girl! ”
I grinned

‘cos I was
sure I was

having a girl

but instead
I was

having your father.

Always never knew where I was
with him.

He was always his own
person

even when he hardly even
existed.

Then when he handed me you
& I realised my baby’s had a baby

I just cried
& cried

...’till I
laughed.
Mitchell Oct 2014
Candle light
Onna'
Dead horizon
Woken up by a flashlight
That ain't
Mine.

Down by the water
We watch and squeal
Wondering to ourselves
How God
Truly feels

Light-hearted and wandering
Dead ended and graduated
We are the fateful few
To young to be forever blue
Got too much time an'
Not enough money
Somebody somewhere
Can you tell me where's my honey?

She left two years ago
And a day
She took my dog and my
Favorite pair a' shoes
Oh' lord...
What on Earth am
I gonna' do?
She smelled like lavender
And chives on a Spring afternoon still
Wet from the dew
Oh lord...
What on Earth am
I
Gonna' do without you?

Desperate accents
Ain't nothing bout' us that's recent
Made up a make-believe
It crawled right up my sleeve
Out of orange juice
And done with abuse
Never did find her
That lady was born
To be free and unwillin'

Got another notch
Underneath my belt
You know...
Can't say what is for
Got another rock
In my boot
And you know what?
I sure as hell
Can't shake it
Ah **** I'm broken
Ah ****
I'm stolen
No one around me
Knows my name
And ****
Looks here I'm all outta' change
If I could only take my life
And rearrange

Too tall to
Tell
The difference
Between falling in love
Or falling
Into hate
Lots of words
Lots of
Definitions
Lots of reasons
Why we do what we do
For simple
Recognition

Last call
Last chance
A star sputters out like a broken down
Ol' 55

Out in the distance
A cold coyote howls
Every cell in me
Down under my skin
Tells me:

We gotta' begin again
We gotta' begin again
We gotta' begin again

Tailored suits
Pre-ordered wives
Diamond necklaces
All in stride
Pearl buttons
Pressed pages
Souls too damp
To wear it to tonight but,
It's alright,
Take mine.

It's alright.

The wind for some reason
Is always better
On my

Side.
It is hot
hip
for the Sun to scorch my eyeballs?

sour cream for wild chives.

Getting on with the business
putting it out there
fuelling the engine and
filling with grief,

winter comes and at the most unexpected of times,

but it's how and how it is hot and finding a spot to reflect.

I always reflect
is that hip?

Sight now unseen
though blinded
I have seen
and have been
blind.

I wonder aloud
some time and sometimes
I chill
in the heat of
the Sun.
Alan S Bailey Jul 17
Completed Jimmy Dean Breakfast

Sang to the tune of Micheal Jackson's original song Billy Jean-1983

Verse 1
With the milk poured-bowl of cereal, hash-browns and melted cheese
I said, "got coffee grinds, sugar and cream and a cinnamon bun-
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.
Yea a cinnamon bun-with
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown."
Said "I just added sour cream, to the bagels with Philly cheese,
These pancakes almost burned, flip em' now-with a cinnamon bun,
a fried egg-on your toast golden brown."

Pre-chorus
Someone once told me, "be careful what you do,
Syrup goes terrible with salt... (Hee-hee)
And melted butter drippin' "be it food that's on the grill
And just add chives to as well, cold pizza's
Good breakfast to!"

Chorus
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
I just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...

Verse 2
For forty danishes and for forty pies, the juice on the side
Choice of sausage or raspberry jam? Pineapple and ham
And a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.
So next some cream of rice
Some croissants should do just fine
(Yea, real nice) Do just fine! (A-hoo!)
I asked could we have blueberry muffins (please?) lemon cakes with whipped cream
Maybe even Frittata's and strawberry's on the side, they should do just fine (Oh, oh)
With a fried egg-on your toast golden brown.

Pre-chorus
Someone once told me, "be careful what you do,
Syrup goes terrible with salt... (Hee-hee)
Whatever kind of pasta you eat
Huevos Rancheros with chili's
Beef hash and sauteed mushrooms
Even got egg omelette's too

Chorus
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and Chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...
Just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know-the Waffles are almost done...

(Break)
Woo! Woo!

Chorus
Just put the griddles on, uh
Ya' know the waffles are almost done
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
Bacon and chorizo-just put the Griddles on,
Ya' know the waffles are almost done
No-no-no, no-no-no-no
Just put the griddles on,
Ya' know the waffles are almost done

(Outro)
Just put the griddles on
Waffles will soon be done
Put the griddles on
Yeah, yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on,
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
yeah, Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast Frill's on, uh
Jimmy Dean, Breakfast
Jimmy Dean the sausage king and lots of breakfast food while sang to the tune of the well known song Billy Jean by Micheal Jackson.
Food humor lyrics Weird Al Yankovic style!
Donall Dempsey Oct 2019
THE NURTURE OF CULTURE

"Have you a working pulse...?"
he asks of his petunias.

They perk up at once
to Pericles.

"...she sent him away cold as a snowball..."
he whispers to his gladioli.

Once again the Pericles
does the trick.

They positively beam at him
eager for more Shakespeare.

"Oh yes...oh yes...flowers...!"
he pontificates

"...adore Shakespeare
especially Pericles and other minor plays

rather than the great Dane
or say Othello!"

I gasp hardly believing
the flower's Bardolatry.

The herbs prefer
Gilbert and Sullivan.

"Really...?"
A ha...be my guest!"

I tentatively  approach
a sprig of oregano.

It looks startled
being sung to!

"Poor wandering one
though you are sad and lonely...."
"

"No no my son...herbs
like to be spoken to...not sung!"

Ahem, I
try again.

"Poor wandering one
Though thou hast surely strayed..."

The oregano dances
in the breeze.

"Or sometimes my son
a little dash of Noël  Coward!"

"What compulsion compels them..."
I sing to the chives.

"And who the hell tells them!"
before being interrupted as before.

"No no my son
spoken not sung!"

"Why do the wrong people travel, travel travel
When the right people stay back home?"

"Excellent...excellent one
of their favourites!"

What could I say?
His voice provoked such a fecundity

that could not for a second
be doubted.

"Oh yes...oh yes when one talks
to one's garden one

must bear in mind
that flowers and herbs

prefer a little culture!"
Laying in wait and
the selection now playing
is,
what was I saying before the jukebox cut in?

I believe when I see it
my hearing's off key,
show me don't tell me
or
else leave me be.

But the bandwidth is wider which
sits well with the cider and
the beat as they say carries on.

Someone puts cheese with some chives
for the ploughmen, how then
and where will I eat?
and the band carries on,
but I'm beaten.

Gone are those good times under the sheets.
I read between the give way signs and
the stop lines and the
hard times are here.

The teardrop only shines for a moment or two
then the bad times are filtered away.

The selection selected though I've not yet perfected the play,
but I know that there's always another day to
lay in wait and one more when I lay in state
and another which will have to be
another notch on my belt.
These convenient 16-ounce squeeze bottles are perfect for picnics, duck-shoots & waiting in the abortion clinic parking lot for something big to happen.
These convenient 16-ounce squeeze bottles are perfect for picnics, duck-shoots & waiting in the abortion clinic parking lot for something big to happen.

Our Big Kmart closed suddenly & then manly Bruce Jenner died of
type-2 diabetes while eating a 1976 Olympic-sized box of Wheaties
Tiffany sleeps through cold-hearted darkness that creeps seamlessly
& Tiffany cries sadly in a motel room where she sleeps dreamlessly
Rotten grasses tickled the ***** of grass-growers who rented & sold
old gas mowers while illegally *******' hoes wearin' ragged clothes
in the Taiwan of '45 when hula hags were shot dead in hagged rows
Citified ******* track gentrified binarization after they crap, pop off
the clap, pick a ***, track corn sap, **** a lap-trap, crack a *****-slap
Vietnam succeeded in growing 3 yearly crops of *****-saving rices,
a dozen years after the Fourth Republic of France's May 1958 crisis
I asked, “Hey, Bill, what's hot love all about?” and he replied, “Hot
love is ****-******* Hillary over the sink with her **** hanging out.”
Donna Jan 2018
I saw a cat
on a roof
***
it had one tooth!
It had a fish
in its mouth
and tried to get
in my house!
I said clear off
and take that fish back home
back to its pond
where it's not on its own!
But the problem was
it was not a fish but a whale
and at end of the garden
is where it's tail lay!
So I hired a truck
whilst I was on phone
to take this big whale
all the way back home!
I parked on a beach
right next to the sea
and was surprise at the whale
who was as light as a pea!
I looked at the cat
with squinted eyes
who suddenly began
to sing song of chives!!!
***
I have no morale of this tale
but all I can say is
imagination is pow wow
a slight manic moment I thinks :) x

— The End —