"classier" poems
I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!
Jan 19, 2011
Jan 19, 2011 at 11:00 AM UTC
They're digging up the cobbles in our street,
moving them to a classier area.
We'll be given tarmac, black and soft in the sun.
Yes, even here it shines - on men's vests.
They're red faced, drinking from lager cans,
while their women finger scarved curlers.
At least, that's what others think they see.
But neighbours do talk with us.
There's a code of decency,
though Mum says, 'some have hearts
as black as the tarmac'.
There's a hierarchy,
in minds and heads,
if not in pockets.
Some day the toffs will turf us out,
gentrify our street. We'll be moved,
filed vertically, pigeon lofts in the sky.
Then they'll bring our cobbles back.
Oct 31, 2016
Oct 31, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
People have talked about 'FUNK',
For the past forty-five years.
That's FUNKY!
Music is Funky.
Gimme' some FUNK!
Listen to that Funky beat!
Play that Funky music Dude!
How Funky can you get?
This is Funked up!
I'm feelin' FUNKY today!!!
I'm in a Funk.
So many different uses.
So many different meanings.
Uptown Funk; What's Uptown, Funk?
Classier than Downtown Funk?
People can take a slang term,
And make it anything they like.
That man smells Funky!
My Lady...She's my Funky Mamma!
A dancing child is Funky;
YEAH Little Man...let your FUNK out!!!
That restaurant is Funky,
Don't eat there.
FUNK, is an interdimensional, Transracial, Interdependent word.
It came from the Seventies and,
Will last forever,
And never go out.
Now;
Don't let yourself be...
...Caught in a FUNK!!!
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
my mom called, i cried by the dhall, on facetime
been thinking about how lucky we are to be alive
even if to deal with mornings and swollen eyes
even if dad's always on the night shift, even with
this big rift caused by the distance and the lack of time
just because we made out once doesn't mean you're mine
i got glimpses of a pink top, my blanket of a jacket
i bet it would look classier if you were wearing it
but you're distant and cold and partying is getting old
i'm forever out of polaroid film and cheap distractions
so i took an amtrak home, straight from south station
the flight back to boston was short but still exhausting
and when i walk home alone, the silence is unsettling
seems we're both better than i thought at method acting
Feb 28, 2024
Feb 28, 2024 at 1:21 AM UTC
fifty years later
you girls wear their old dresses
over sky
blue leggings
lace
and fabric that smells
of lost time
you found them
in stores
with high ceilings
and a sloppily simulated
rustic vibe
you love your
waists tastefully
cinched
and collar bones
concealed
you twirl before
the full length
mirrors and
wish oh how
you wish
you could
have been born
then instead of now
everything
was so much classier!
the women
were a different
kind of beautiful
women
who smoked
in their bathtubs
cardboard hairdos
unraveling
women
elbow deep in
baking
soda and dishsoap
soft secretive
smiles overtaking
their
faces
as they rattled
through the
medicine
cabinet
for a snack
(twice a day)
pregnant again
for
the fourth
time
yet
thin as a rail
somehow
ghosts
in their own
skin
silent but
deadly
crying manically
because of
the smoke
in their eyes
choking gently
on the powder
all over their tight
lovely complexions
dinner ready
at six
sharp as a rusty nail
fantasizing
about what it would be like
to fall in love
with another woman
scuffing their knees
and showing the raw
skin off to all
the young men
with sunlight left over
from childhood still
swimming in their
eyes
or walking home
in the rain
without an umbrella
and having that be ok
slapping their
own faces
at such trecherous
thoughts
obsessing
over how
their mothers did
it with
so much **** grace...
but yes
girls
their clothes
were simply
divine
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 11:33 AM UTC
You walk into a supermarket
The one with the
Fake
No wait! This sounds better!
Faux
British name
And look at the candy display
For Christmas
With the Styrofoam snow
You see the big
Self-important sign for
Raisinets, which is sold for thirty pesos
And say to yourself,
“Sounds god!
I mean good!”
You get your wallet and pay
Dismissing cheaper alternatives
That are equally tasty
And not reading the back of your Raisinets
To see where it’s manufacturing
Was outsourced
Without blinking
Without questions
Without batting an eyelash
Without thinking it’s unreasonable
Without realizing Raisinets
Is just chocolate-covered raisins
The kind you buy at some
Random movie counter
(A value of fourteen pesos a bag)
Given a classier name
Jun 15, 2012
Jun 15, 2012 at 9:24 AM UTC
Where the media bows to senseless trash
the rest of us are still dropping it.
trash i mean.
stop it.
it's stupid.
Earth mama is kind, we've taken so much for granted and it's not even fair -
she did nothing but love you
and you are still dropping trash.
stop it, man!
Pick it up....
compost it , turn it into energy , do something worthwhile - at LEAST throw it in the bin!
holy smokes!
Where the media bows to trash
our brains turn to stinking piles of rotting brain flesh
and our imagination boils up in vast vats of vapid apathy
unless...
is that Marc Jacobs?
**** that.
Here's my market dress and market shoes
here is my charity shop cashmere and wool coats
here is my gifted trousers from a friend cleaning out her closet
and i still look classier than the half of you -
so please, if you could be so kind..
stop dropping trash.
The seas are full of plastic bags,
and the skies are full of the particles that used to be plastic bags,
burnt,
because it's cheaper to send the ******* some place else then learn that there is no cure
there is PREVENTION
INTERVENTION
STOP PRODUCING ******** TRASH
there we go... now no one will have to drop it.
ok?
**** Is it that hard?
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 9:33 AM UTC
I imagine myself talking to you often
enough to think it were an obsession, the idea of
you and I exchanging pleasantries,
the kinds felt in the marrow of my fore arm bones
and maybe even my thigh bones,
sometimes we are that good,
shaking the foundation which I balance on,
like when you told me I am going to die young
preserved in a classic pose with pearls in my ears
and a straight back. A slightly older, classier version of myself
I imagine. She drinks red wine and sits alone under blankets,
still having conversations with you on a lost frequency,
She waits for the light to fade, to wrap itself around her old human body,
for the light to take her with it when it disappears.
Already I am pulling at myself
like any breeding animal with the
instinct to be a selfish mother,
Wondering if I let go and abandon
this shell in a watered down suicide
will I have more time on this Earth?
Or will they say at my wake,
huddled in traumatized circles,
after they've read my life and figured me out,
she was obsessed with death for a while
instead of she was impressed
with the brevity of life?
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 4:41 AM UTC
If you don't want to have kids then you're a selfish person. If you have a baby you're either irresponsible or didn't do enough in life beforehand. Not being a ****** means you're boring as for losing your virginity means you're disgusting wait until marriage. If you're not stick thin you're too large so lose some weight.
You're too thin eat a little more you want to be a model don't you? You only have eyes for one girl. That means she's controlling you bro maybe you should get out of there. Now that you've cheated on you're a piece of ****
Who wants to hang out with someone who drinks and does drugs? That makes them look like a loser although not doing it makes you completely boring. You're beautiful the way you are dear but have you tried contouring your face?
You're nose is too big you look like Nigel Thornberry. Eww why would you get plastic surgery? that's so unnatural, you're a horrible role model to young girls. Your clothes are too revealing cover up and be modest and dull.
Boy your pants sag to too much pull them up and be more classier. I like a man who dresses classy. What are you dressed for a wedding? I'm not marrying you! I like a bad boy with tattoos and piercings.
Pay attention to me you're always working, I'm leaving you because you're too clingy. You didn't have *** with me so I'm out of here! Now that we had *** I'm still leaving you and moving onto other things. I'd like it if you changed for me, now that you changed I don't feel the same for you anymore. Goodbye!
You spank your child! You're an abusive parent I hope they get taken away from you. Your child acts like a little brat, this is what happens when you don't discipline them. You should be responsible for the kid you raise.
Who do you want us to be? We're not perfect and cannot achieve everything at once. Our lives do not matter to the opinion of a stranger nor society itself.
Aug 2, 2016
Aug 2, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
Hallelujah for a zombie;
another plot in jazz and if
nothing makes sense,
I'm capable of virtue,
I'm capable of correct.
Capable of air.
Even between the two;
******* a redhead on the bathroom floor,
trying to fall in love with someone who just
feels god **** honest and sincere,
groveling at, practically, a stranger's feet.
Execution for a criminal
made in poor fortune.
I'm a deity and demon,
and a cannibal if you count the self,
or at least capable.
I'm a teacher and a taker,
a piece of *** and
a piece of ****
Reading american books
and looking uncrooked in
horn-rimmed black glasses.
I'm not unforgettable.
Gotta find a classier way to wear black;
teenagers killed it for the rest of us.
Made it hard to fit.
Impossible to be a champion,
can't take the weight of the crown
or the density of gold.
Bit the bullet and cried out,
"No."
The ghosts are us now.
Amen.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
once again i’ve been betrayed.
i’ve gotten used to quickly give away
but when it’s her, it hurts.
we are opposites, i thought.
but looked, i saw a mirror.
we are so alike.
down to the black MK bag, though mine classier.
i try to think i’m superior; more refined
then how come she gets what i want?
she invited me to a party,
dress code was black & gold.
i looked down at my black bag, i can wear that at the party.
but the details are silver.
then, i looked at hers:
gold.
that is the difference between us,
i give away and act as the better person.
but she comes out on top.
i wear silver but she wears gold.
Jul 6, 2023
Jul 6, 2023 at 1:32 AM UTC
Fighting fire with fire
Getting higher and higher
Torch the bowl with the lighter
See the shadows get slighter
I ignite on the night like a new sun
Pregame over now we hit the new club
I’m not tryna take a shot
I’m already burning hot
Blood is flowing so no need to clot
Take me to the dance floor
The music leaves me wanting more
So I shout to the sky like a shaman
Like a freshman on his last pack of ramen
Like a black church at the Amen
But this ain’t no old hymn
I’m creating my own rhythm
My own melody and lyrics
It’s catchier than deer ticks
Classier than top hits
It’s a flow that can’t be stopped
A tidal wave that can’t be mopped
I float around this dancing area
Overwhelmed with mass hysteria
I become one with the crowd
We yell but the music is loud
Our songs coalesce into clouds
Dizzy we aren’t stupid or proud
We’re just happy to still be around
So it’s arms up til the suns up
It’s beer pong and true love
It’s small talk and dope subs
It’s the perfect night
Loose but hella tight
Here and there a fight
I didn’t puke but I might
But if I don’t fly my kite
How will I ever see the light?
So I push it to the limits
I bask in every minute
I go hard til I’m in it
Grab the world and spin it
Breakdance in a basement
Trampolines instead of pavement
When I turn loose on the outside
I am underneath the night sky
I bounce to the beat
Coming off every street
And every person I meet
My prism no longer imprisoned
I view the world with super vision
I see a Mona Lisa
Spray painted on the concrete
Every pile of pizza boxes
Is the leaning tower of Pisa
The lady begging is Mother Theresa
The honking horns: Ave Maria
My head is spinning, I just hurled
My arms are wide, my sails unfurled
My mind is free to see the world
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 2:13 PM UTC
Fillers overlooked
Reading the papers and the news on TV channels
the festive season has begun like an eager tractor
there is little time for those caught up in wars;
we will remember them at the dinner table.
A woman was given £8 million as a divorce settlement
she had had aroma - therapy worthy of a queen.
The knee caps of Queen Nefertiti has been found
glinting white In the sand. Now there is a hunt for
her thigh bones and perhaps a tuft of hair where
her ****** used to be.
The finder would be the archaeologist of the year
and have his/her picture in the paper plus a story
to tell of daring do and near misses and a place at
the board of the Guardian which made me think
if the highborn has classier knee caps the rest of us.
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 5:25 AM UTC