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"cleaners" poems
The mushroom The unfolding instant of creation (fertilisation) not an instant separate from breakfast It all flows down & out, flowing but that instant: not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating merging in cool slime splendour a crushing of steel & glass & ice (instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide) far-out splendour heat & fire are outwards signs of a Small dry mating ~~~ event in a room event in space a circle Magic rite To call up the godhead spirits, demons The shaman calls: “When radio dark night…” We are eating each other. ~~~ The Voice of the Serpent dry hiss of age & steam & leaves of gold old books in ruined Temples The pages break like ash I will not disturb I will not go Come, he says softly an old man appears & moves in tired dance amid the scattered dead gently they stir ~~~ I received an Aztec wall of vision & dissolved my room in sweet derision Closed my eyes, prepared to go A gentle wind inform’d me so And bathed my skin in ether glow ~~~ Drugs are a bet w/ your mind ~~~ The cigarette burn’d my fingertips & dropp’d like a log to the rug below My eyes took a trip to dig the chick Crouch’d like a cat at the next window My ears assembled music out of swarming streets but my mind rebelled at the idiot’s laughter The rising frightful idiot laughter Cheering an army of vacuum cleaners ~~~ Mouth fills w/taste of copper. Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters. Gyro on a string, a table. A coin spins. The faces. There is an audience to our drama. Magic shade mask. Like the hero of a dream, he works for us, in our behalf. How close is this to a final cut? I fall. Sweet blackness. Strange world that waits & watches. Ancient dread of non-existence. If it’s no problem, why mention it. Everything spoken means that, it’s opposite, & everything else. I’m alive. I’m dying. ~~~ 1st wild thrush of fear -A phone rings There is a knock on the door. It’s time to go. No.
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17.7k
Jim Morrison
Explosion
The mushroom The unfolding instant of creation (fertilisation) not an instant separate from breakfast It all flows down & out, flowing but that instant: not fire & fusion (fission) but a moment of jellied ice, crystal, vegetative mating merging in cool slime splendour a crushing of steel & glass & ice (instant in a bar; glasses clash, clink, collide) far-out splendour heat & fire are outwards signs of a Small dry mating ~~~ event in a room event in space a circle Magic rite To call up the godhead spirits, demons The shaman calls: “When radio dark night…” We are eating each other. ~~~ The Voice of the Serpent dry hiss of age & steam & leaves of gold old books in ruined Temples The pages break like ash I will not disturb I will not go Come, he says softly an old man appears & moves in tired dance amid the scattered dead gently they stir ~~~ I received an Aztec wall of vision & dissolved my room in sweet derision Closed my eyes, prepared to go A gentle wind inform’d me so And bathed my skin in ether glow ~~~ Drugs are a bet w/ your mind ~~~ The cigarette burn’d my fingertips & dropp’d like a log to the rug below My eyes took a trip to dig the chick Crouch’d like a cat at the next window My ears assembled music out of swarming streets but my mind rebelled at the idiot’s laughter The rising frightful idiot laughter Cheering an army of vacuum cleaners ~~~ Mouth fills w/taste of copper. Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters. Gyro on a string, a table. A coin spins. The faces. There is an audience to our drama. Magic shade mask. Like the hero of a dream, he works for us, in our behalf. How close is this to a final cut? I fall. Sweet blackness. Strange world that waits & watches. Ancient dread of non-existence. If it’s no problem, why mention it. Everything spoken means that, it’s opposite, & everything else. I’m alive. I’m dying. ~~~ 1st wild thrush of fear -A phone rings There is a knock on the door. It’s time to go. No.
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87
robots helping us you see it’s been a wanted thing for generations but i saw on TV that they have already built robots to help the elderly, ya know, by getting them a drink, so to speak there are many things robots can do around your home i am a messy dude too, and i have cleaners cleaning my house but robots can do a lot more, than w2hat your think they can do well, robots in the kitchen helping the elderly the sky’s the limit, how about robots to clean the mentally ill persons house yeah, it could help, we are still in the planning stages but it’s good that they are still bringing robots for help around the house everyone wants that, but it’s not as easy as live in with a robot helping you a robot can turn itself into a computer, to allow you to watch stuff on youtube and get educated, i am feeding my stuff on youtube, for the future robots can see me as a cool figure or authority figure computers should stop violence, if your video contains violence, youtube should rid that not my content, get over it copyright people, violence is much much worst there is nothing wrong wit parties, as long as they ain’t violent this robot can help get rid of violence in cyber space, if more can get it think about it, Robots can get your housework done while your out you program it, to what you want him to pick up, it’ll be pretty ****** rad dudes that little robot vacuum, is to small, but you can get this world full of robots by the year 3000 if everyone can tell their story, ya see, everyone is different, not everyone knows much about what robots should do, yet not everyone agrees with my work, but, think about it, the robot can be programmed to pick up your ******* and take it to the curve, always understanding, how to sort out the ******* yeah i would love a robot to help me, like everyone, will love a robot to help them robots can make you love life more easier, i love life now, but robots can ease my cleaning woes these words say, robots need people to help and understand people, by physically helping them as opposed to hearing it’s not good to help them that is whjy i am interested in gungahlin’s common ground, to cook for them, learn from them so the year 3000, can create a perfect robotic world when ya think of people robots, don’t think get someone off their ***** no, no no you have to feed the internet all your stuff, ok, even paranormal cause the internet is interested, no matter don’t worry about how many views, think of the future with robots and believe in reincarnation, buddhist style, every blade of grass got a thought, tell the internet, or the computer word document CATCH YA LATER DUDES
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Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:38 AM UTC
johnny-georgy-brown
let's work on bringing robots to help us, each of us
robots helping us you see it’s been a wanted thing for generations but i saw on TV that they have already built robots to help the elderly, ya know, by getting them a drink, so to speak there are many things robots can do around your home i am a messy dude too, and i have cleaners cleaning my house but robots can do a lot more, than w2hat your think they can do well, robots in the kitchen helping the elderly the sky’s the limit, how about robots to clean the mentally ill persons house yeah, it could help, we are still in the planning stages but it’s good that they are still bringing robots for help around the house everyone wants that, but it’s not as easy as live in with a robot helping you a robot can turn itself into a computer, to allow you to watch stuff on youtube and get educated, i am feeding my stuff on youtube, for the future robots can see me as a cool figure or authority figure computers should stop violence, if your video contains violence, youtube should rid that not my content, get over it copyright people, violence is much much worst there is nothing wrong wit parties, as long as they ain’t violent this robot can help get rid of violence in cyber space, if more can get it think about it, Robots can get your housework done while your out you program it, to what you want him to pick up, it’ll be pretty ****** rad dudes that little robot vacuum, is to small, but you can get this world full of robots by the year 3000 if everyone can tell their story, ya see, everyone is different, not everyone knows much about what robots should do, yet not everyone agrees with my work, but, think about it, the robot can be programmed to pick up your ******* and take it to the curve, always understanding, how to sort out the ******* yeah i would love a robot to help me, like everyone, will love a robot to help them robots can make you love life more easier, i love life now, but robots can ease my cleaning woes these words say, robots need people to help and understand people, by physically helping them as opposed to hearing it’s not good to help them that is whjy i am interested in gungahlin’s common ground, to cook for them, learn from them so the year 3000, can create a perfect robotic world when ya think of people robots, don’t think get someone off their ***** no, no no you have to feed the internet all your stuff, ok, even paranormal cause the internet is interested, no matter don’t worry about how many views, think of the future with robots and believe in reincarnation, buddhist style, every blade of grass got a thought, tell the internet, or the computer word document CATCH YA LATER DUDES
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38
I’ve grown tired of this suit. I don't like wearing it anymore. It’s not what it once was. It’s a constant burden to me. It’s discolored, faded, and worn thin, especially around the knees.   It’s marred with tears and stains. It embarrasses me. It itches. It’s suffocating. It’s downright ugly. I no longer feel comfortable in it. I haven’t for decades. I’ve taken it to the best cleaners, the best tailors that money can buy, but it's still a tattered mess beyond repair. People say I look good in it, that it’s me, it's who I am,  don’t be so self conscious. But what do they know? They're not the ones who wear it all the time. I ******* do, ******* it. Maybe there’s some hidden truth in all of this that I’ve been bypassing all along? I don’t have the patience and tolerance to keep wearing it. The long-avoided decision to rid myself of my suit finally catches up with me. I’m not timid, not scared, not anxious - just relieved. Excited. Ready to undress. There’s a fresh, clean robe waiting for me, hanging from the mantle at the bottom of the stairs. I prepare myself for facing the uncertainty. So, here I go. I undress. It takes a matter of seconds before I rid myself of the suit. I stand naked, towering over the folded mess.   I think to myself, that wasn’t so bad after all… Just like anything in life, it’s the anticipation that cripples us.  Remember that. I lower my head and stare only for a few moments at my ***** mangy suit. Nothing at all, no remorse, no guilt – only liberation.  I receive the peace that has softly spoken to me in my dreams, through music, by feeding ducks and listening to the early morning birds.  They usually have the first thing to say, and it’s the most beautiful message one will ever hear.     I place my robe over my naked body and start walking up the worn, creaky stairs. Distant laughter and muffled conversations travel down to me as I climb higher towards the thick, ornate door. The voices are familiar.   I push open the door, welcomed by the faces that have been gone for far too long.
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Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
donny-edward-klein
My Old Suit
I’ve grown tired of this suit. I don't like wearing it anymore. It’s not what it once was. It’s a constant burden to me. It’s discolored, faded, and worn thin, especially around the knees.   It’s marred with tears and stains. It embarrasses me. It itches. It’s suffocating. It’s downright ugly. I no longer feel comfortable in it. I haven’t for decades. I’ve taken it to the best cleaners, the best tailors that money can buy, but it's still a tattered mess beyond repair. People say I look good in it, that it’s me, it's who I am,  don’t be so self conscious. But what do they know? They're not the ones who wear it all the time. I ******* do, ******* it. Maybe there’s some hidden truth in all of this that I’ve been bypassing all along? I don’t have the patience and tolerance to keep wearing it. The long-avoided decision to rid myself of my suit finally catches up with me. I’m not timid, not scared, not anxious - just relieved. Excited. Ready to undress. There’s a fresh, clean robe waiting for me, hanging from the mantle at the bottom of the stairs. I prepare myself for facing the uncertainty. So, here I go. I undress. It takes a matter of seconds before I rid myself of the suit. I stand naked, towering over the folded mess.   I think to myself, that wasn’t so bad after all… Just like anything in life, it’s the anticipation that cripples us.  Remember that. I lower my head and stare only for a few moments at my ***** mangy suit. Nothing at all, no remorse, no guilt – only liberation.  I receive the peace that has softly spoken to me in my dreams, through music, by feeding ducks and listening to the early morning birds.  They usually have the first thing to say, and it’s the most beautiful message one will ever hear.     I place my robe over my naked body and start walking up the worn, creaky stairs. Distant laughter and muffled conversations travel down to me as I climb higher towards the thick, ornate door. The voices are familiar.   I push open the door, welcomed by the faces that have been gone for far too long.
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33
While looking for a costume, just some fun to be had, I found it at a thrift store. High collar, sophisticated, the train stretching out a foot long lace trimming, still mostly white, with delicate flowers. Only one stain, on the end of the train, makes a light brown blot. Perhaps a guest spilled coffee walking up behind her, or maybe a drop of tobacco spewed out of her grandpa’s mouth. She was just my size. A perfect fit. I will take it to the cleaners. It will look like new.
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Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
shyann-nicole-parks
Wedding Dress
While looking for a costume, just some fun to be had, I found it at a thrift store. High collar, sophisticated, the train stretching out a foot long lace trimming, still mostly white, with delicate flowers. Only one stain, on the end of the train, makes a light brown blot. Perhaps a guest spilled coffee walking up behind her, or maybe a drop of tobacco spewed out of her grandpa’s mouth. She was just my size. A perfect fit. I will take it to the cleaners. It will look like new.
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20
Be still. The words I thought of when you were ill. I prayed with you every night, then God let me feel your heartbeat. Time was collecting your bloodflow. Heartbeat. Repeat, repeating the pain I felt that day when cousin' came in and said,"God took your mother up today."I was nine years old. You died about two weeks before my birthday. All I got was, packed up cardboard boxes with scotched taped ribbon that glistened in the sun as we made room for it in storage. Stored heartbeats. No one could take your place. The sad thing is I barely remember your face. Chemo. You had to take all those tests, and in the end they still cut off your left breast. Heartbeat. Time finally took your breath. Time ended our time. Why was it that after you died the doctor's found a cure to this genocide? I wish you were still here by my side. I was your baby. I asked the doctor if you were going to live, and all I got was, "maybe." Maybe you might come back someday. You used to appear all the time but then you drifted away. Heartbeat. I saw you laying in red. That red that, filled my eyes with hopelessness. I wished that red were still hanging in your closet in the dry cleaners bag, and the your aroma were in the stiches. After 7 years, I still can't believe you're dead. Even though you're not here, I think about you everydat. I ask a question that every child asks. "Why did God take my mother away?" Heartbeat. Time has finished this poem.
0
Mar 3, 2010
Mar 3, 2010 at 2:25 PM UTC
kimani-jones
Heartbeat
Be still. The words I thought of when you were ill. I prayed with you every night, then God let me feel your heartbeat. Time was collecting your bloodflow. Heartbeat. Repeat, repeating the pain I felt that day when cousin' came in and said,"God took your mother up today."I was nine years old. You died about two weeks before my birthday. All I got was, packed up cardboard boxes with scotched taped ribbon that glistened in the sun as we made room for it in storage. Stored heartbeats. No one could take your place. The sad thing is I barely remember your face. Chemo. You had to take all those tests, and in the end they still cut off your left breast. Heartbeat. Time finally took your breath. Time ended our time. Why was it that after you died the doctor's found a cure to this genocide? I wish you were still here by my side. I was your baby. I asked the doctor if you were going to live, and all I got was, "maybe." Maybe you might come back someday. You used to appear all the time but then you drifted away. Heartbeat. I saw you laying in red. That red that, filled my eyes with hopelessness. I wished that red were still hanging in your closet in the dry cleaners bag, and the your aroma were in the stiches. After 7 years, I still can't believe you're dead. Even though you're not here, I think about you everydat. I ask a question that every child asks. "Why did God take my mother away?" Heartbeat. Time has finished this poem.
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1
everybody shaves so Warren Buffet invests in Gillette; and every country drinks so he also buys Coke shares - which leads me to my own investment strategy Every human sheds forty thousand skin cells an hour That’s forty thousand cells times 7 billion humans each hour– you listening? - now that’s a lot of dust; and not to forget the many cultures and nations that cremate rather than bury and that releases from each body in the barbecue 1.6 trillion cells of dust - it’s a ****** dusty world, isn’t it? so…I’ve got it all worked out… I’m investing in vacuum cleaners…
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Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 4:57 AM UTC
raj-arumugam
my guide to investing
everybody shaves so Warren Buffet invests in Gillette; and every country drinks so he also buys Coke shares - which leads me to my own investment strategy Every human sheds forty thousand skin cells an hour That’s forty thousand cells times 7 billion humans each hour– you listening? - now that’s a lot of dust; and not to forget the many cultures and nations that cremate rather than bury and that releases from each body in the barbecue 1.6 trillion cells of dust - it’s a ****** dusty world, isn’t it? so…I’ve got it all worked out… I’m investing in vacuum cleaners…
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18
The little Prince of Persia Who's purpose is to depurse ya, Dispersing suits, clock off time city worker, Mark your card, inertia. He's no mathematician or magician But give him a dynamoment to take you to the cleaners, cause this one's mean a! Hellbent on humiliation he'll reverend run you to the station. He's counting cards, counting on ya till your seeing stars, K.O, ringside seat whilst you get parred, po, poker face he'll drive you gaga! So Loay and behold he might not be honourable, but he's willing and able to bring the last supper to this table. He's not called Jack but he's a joker, in guise he tries to choke ya, draw the ace but it won't help ya, cause you're a disgraced King and you've just been usurped sir, by that little Prince of Persia.
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Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
rhianecdote
P.O.P
The little Prince of Persia Who's purpose is to depurse ya, Dispersing suits, clock off time city worker, Mark your card, inertia. He's no mathematician or magician But give him a dynamoment to take you to the cleaners, cause this one's mean a! Hellbent on humiliation he'll reverend run you to the station. He's counting cards, counting on ya till your seeing stars, K.O, ringside seat whilst you get parred, po, poker face he'll drive you gaga! So Loay and behold he might not be honourable, but he's willing and able to bring the last supper to this table. He's not called Jack but he's a joker, in guise he tries to choke ya, draw the ace but it won't help ya, cause you're a disgraced King and you've just been usurped sir, by that little Prince of Persia.
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14
my life is beautiful, not realistic. yesterday, i arrived on neptune wearing big boots and dignity the horizon was a nightmare of question marks and gloomy witches; i escaped from the religious enema and pegged a choir boy on my way out. i am no longer a pygmy goat on a foolish leash, i take my paranoia seriously. my journals guide me to a ruptured corpse, never censored. i have the ability to be given away on a whim, but i am becoming a famous soldier, an intoxicating ghost of dogma. my dreams are beautiful, not realistic. hallelujah, the hobos are wearing bathrobes, the ****** pillheads are anointed with ****** and sewer cleaners. i see a goblin grave advertised by luscious lips and fishlike shoulders. the texture of my dream is kaleidoscope and silver, haunted by a fat sherriff who cuts the throat of the jukebox queen. i have a personal god, and on her i bestow this passionate kiss, i have a favorite enemy, with no goals and without ambition. im sorry, i don't know any happy songs, only the movement of her young sensitive thighs and a nymph with an hourly rate. i am a buffoon with a blugeoned harmonica and weapons of sugar. my life is beautiful, not realistic.
0
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
david-badgerow
beautiful/realistic
my life is beautiful, not realistic. yesterday, i arrived on neptune wearing big boots and dignity the horizon was a nightmare of question marks and gloomy witches; i escaped from the religious enema and pegged a choir boy on my way out. i am no longer a pygmy goat on a foolish leash, i take my paranoia seriously. my journals guide me to a ruptured corpse, never censored. i have the ability to be given away on a whim, but i am becoming a famous soldier, an intoxicating ghost of dogma. my dreams are beautiful, not realistic. hallelujah, the hobos are wearing bathrobes, the ****** pillheads are anointed with ****** and sewer cleaners. i see a goblin grave advertised by luscious lips and fishlike shoulders. the texture of my dream is kaleidoscope and silver, haunted by a fat sherriff who cuts the throat of the jukebox queen. i have a personal god, and on her i bestow this passionate kiss, i have a favorite enemy, with no goals and without ambition. im sorry, i don't know any happy songs, only the movement of her young sensitive thighs and a nymph with an hourly rate. i am a buffoon with a blugeoned harmonica and weapons of sugar. my life is beautiful, not realistic.
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29
I wash myself off, a mop head. Used and ***** but with a lot accomplished. Sometimes I'd like to just -pop!- ***** it off. My head, I mean. Get a fresh one. (Get some-) Don't even go there. If cleanliness is next to godliness then the devil must be a janitor that doesn't switch the water out between rooms and just spreads the dirt around. Floors and mops get ***** that way. Is god water then? Or maybe the cleaners. Destroying dirt despite the devil's intentions. Cleaning souls like toilets. I'd like to think that god is a woman who's cleaned toilets for twenty years. That's perspective. That he's worn out his jeans replacing rusting pipes. Maybe god is the feeling of being off your feet after a long day. I don't know if I believe in god. But I know I've met a mop head or two. All just a little ***** Not one brand new.
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Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
alastur-berit
Mop Heads
I wash myself off, a mop head. Used and ***** but with a lot accomplished. Sometimes I'd like to just -pop!- ***** it off. My head, I mean. Get a fresh one. (Get some-) Don't even go there. If cleanliness is next to godliness then the devil must be a janitor that doesn't switch the water out between rooms and just spreads the dirt around. Floors and mops get ***** that way. Is god water then? Or maybe the cleaners. Destroying dirt despite the devil's intentions. Cleaning souls like toilets. I'd like to think that god is a woman who's cleaned toilets for twenty years. That's perspective. That he's worn out his jeans replacing rusting pipes. Maybe god is the feeling of being off your feet after a long day. I don't know if I believe in god. But I know I've met a mop head or two. All just a little ***** Not one brand new.
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33
The rain was dully falling and the cats were hidden Under high rimmed cars with the lights turned off His Mother was out calling when the lightening struck And his charred body scars were stains on the new road They sat inside and watched furor in the streets; mourning With the television on real low eyes fixed on smoking remains Street cleaners came and washed adolescent flesh from the street Ajar window ******* put on a show there's a certain perversity to death
0
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
reece
A Simple Vignette From A Street In A Small Town In England When The Sun Was Sleeping And A Storm Was Happening
The rain was dully falling and the cats were hidden Under high rimmed cars with the lights turned off His Mother was out calling when the lightening struck And his charred body scars were stains on the new road They sat inside and watched furor in the streets; mourning With the television on real low eyes fixed on smoking remains Street cleaners came and washed adolescent flesh from the street Ajar window ******* put on a show there's a certain perversity to death
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16
we was in the bando, trappin, we were trapped.. cook named Orlando, moved across the track.. used to be my neighbor, now hes got the paper, owns a couple barbershops, got myself a taper, owns a deli too, couple cleaners down the main street, not long ago we were sitting in the same seat.. back when, we was in the bando, trappin, we were trapped.. kitchen hot too handle, Found ourselves a rat.. polices, driving by increases... Orlando had a thesis, Moved in with his nieces.. He says... "Theyll never catch me in here, I live without fear, only time i cry is with this tattoo tear" A couple days later, cops broke the door in, couple windows too, just to let more in, they found a couple rifles, most of them foreign... Cuffed Orlando, his niece, and his babymomma Lauryn... multiple charges of distribution. couple cases of ****** money laundering, and weapons, his attorney would murmur... They say my writing ***** this is no place for this crap.. i dont do poetry, i just write reality rap.. and truthfully, nowadays reality lacks. So i dedicated this to his daughter Natalie Max. 25 to life.. no chance of parole, bottle.... of hennessy, just *** he was my role model.. They say how can you defend him, when i yell free Orlando.. *** i still remember when.. we was in the bando... -afj
0
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
afj
bando.
we was in the bando, trappin, we were trapped.. cook named Orlando, moved across the track.. used to be my neighbor, now hes got the paper, owns a couple barbershops, got myself a taper, owns a deli too, couple cleaners down the main street, not long ago we were sitting in the same seat.. back when, we was in the bando, trappin, we were trapped.. kitchen hot too handle, Found ourselves a rat.. polices, driving by increases... Orlando had a thesis, Moved in with his nieces.. He says... "Theyll never catch me in here, I live without fear, only time i cry is with this tattoo tear" A couple days later, cops broke the door in, couple windows too, just to let more in, they found a couple rifles, most of them foreign... Cuffed Orlando, his niece, and his babymomma Lauryn... multiple charges of distribution. couple cases of ****** money laundering, and weapons, his attorney would murmur... They say my writing ***** this is no place for this crap.. i dont do poetry, i just write reality rap.. and truthfully, nowadays reality lacks. So i dedicated this to his daughter Natalie Max. 25 to life.. no chance of parole, bottle.... of hennessy, just *** he was my role model.. They say how can you defend him, when i yell free Orlando.. *** i still remember when.. we was in the bando... -afj
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39
Never stop and stay a night At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel For they say at the back of the cleaners room There's a gateway in to hell The drifts of dust with a dash of rust Hide the prints of long dead feet What once was plush now hangs decayed The curtains torn and beds unmade The worst of humankind had stayed At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel Walk away, should you ever stray To the Mermaid's Foot Hotel For its told an evil lingers there No priest or witch can quell The walls are strewn with satanic runes There are evil clowns en suite The bathroom tiles, black with mold And tap heads dull with tarnished gold But still the blood runs hot and cold At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel Not a soul survives the night At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel No single sign is left behind Save a musty burning smell The spiders leer, jauntily And the mice all carry knives There's scraping sounds amid the gloom An Idol from an ancient tomb With a poltergeist in every room At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel **
0
Jan 31, 2017
Jan 31, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC
ben-jones
The Mermaid's Foot
Never stop and stay a night At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel For they say at the back of the cleaners room There's a gateway in to hell The drifts of dust with a dash of rust Hide the prints of long dead feet What once was plush now hangs decayed The curtains torn and beds unmade The worst of humankind had stayed At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel Walk away, should you ever stray To the Mermaid's Foot Hotel For its told an evil lingers there No priest or witch can quell The walls are strewn with satanic runes There are evil clowns en suite The bathroom tiles, black with mold And tap heads dull with tarnished gold But still the blood runs hot and cold At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel Not a soul survives the night At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel No single sign is left behind Save a musty burning smell The spiders leer, jauntily And the mice all carry knives There's scraping sounds amid the gloom An Idol from an ancient tomb With a poltergeist in every room At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel **
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31
toaster strudel makes me doodle eggo waffles feed my poodle sriracha hot sauce makes my gut toss taco salad tastes like farts. smarty thinkers with big wieners clear the way for bathroom cleaners dangerous pokemon in the sky teach me things like how to fly supple ******* against my chest your ****** is hard and so are the rest eat this pear munch with care put those shorts on watch me stare take a bath in tasty grease my wiener is small to say the least now let's race inside this tub we'll see who get's out first should we get out?
0
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:04 PM UTC
pat-1
robin eye
toaster strudel makes me doodle eggo waffles feed my poodle sriracha hot sauce makes my gut toss taco salad tastes like farts. smarty thinkers with big wieners clear the way for bathroom cleaners dangerous pokemon in the sky teach me things like how to fly supple ******* against my chest your ****** is hard and so are the rest eat this pear munch with care put those shorts on watch me stare take a bath in tasty grease my wiener is small to say the least now let's race inside this tub we'll see who get's out first should we get out?
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19
Shop fronts, curbs and pavements. Bin men wear hearts on their sleeve. Coffee shops, bakers and jewellers. A homeless man searching reprieve. Adverts and billboards shine bright. The cleaners have swept the streets bare. Commuters and tourists combined. This city called London we share. Marching to a steady beat Marching to a steady beat The pavement are veins People the blood The city the heart Pumping the beat Pumping the beat
0
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 5:51 PM UTC
rh-78
The heart of London
Shop fronts, curbs and pavements. Bin men wear hearts on their sleeve. Coffee shops, bakers and jewellers. A homeless man searching reprieve. Adverts and billboards shine bright. The cleaners have swept the streets bare. Commuters and tourists combined. This city called London we share. Marching to a steady beat Marching to a steady beat The pavement are veins People the blood The city the heart Pumping the beat Pumping the beat
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15
Perched high on a crag,                                                                            legs poised to spring,                               hearts beating wildly                                                                                    as we take to the wing                     catching warm thermals,                                                                                        to float on thin air,                                    taking breath quickly,                                                                                               hardly any to spare                    Now is the time,                                                                            wings spread out wide                              a smooth operation,                                                     to bank as we glide.                                     Flowing the motion,                       as fluidity is key,                                       we land, we devour,  for Vultures we be… LadyP©2014
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Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 7:43 AM UTC
penny-granger
Natures Cleaners...
Perched high on a crag,                                                                            legs poised to spring,                               hearts beating wildly                                                                                    as we take to the wing                     catching warm thermals,                                                                                        to float on thin air,                                    taking breath quickly,                                                                                               hardly any to spare                    Now is the time,                                                                            wings spread out wide                              a smooth operation,                                                     to bank as we glide.                                     Flowing the motion,                       as fluidity is key,                                       we land, we devour,  for Vultures we be… LadyP©2014
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16
Are these tears of blundering laughter or heckles of contempt that spirit on these haggard few to rhapsodise our era’s curtain calls? They who brought us mounting debt and conscientiousness which seems only to be healed in the appeasing fluorescence of 24-hour supermarkets and the purgatory of weekends spent at home? Such stifling, nervous coughs are head as responses of today’s domestic questionnaires Gung-ho reformative advances and calls to “pull up our socks” Mixed with the state-sponsored fortune-telling Rationed out to boys languishing on the dole. Which All falsely transpires, intimidatingly revealed as being About as appealing as vacuum cleaners for the soul aimed at the resolutely bored to tears. Despite our fears the sun will come streaming again through fresh fir trees which decorate contemplative, sheltered lanes. These last, frostbitten years seek replacement with halcyon days in order to suspend dogmatic disbelief. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves: Pessimism is **** Even in the most roaring of times we remained despondent and calculated.
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Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
westley-barnes
Spring Torrents
Are these tears of blundering laughter or heckles of contempt that spirit on these haggard few to rhapsodise our era’s curtain calls? They who brought us mounting debt and conscientiousness which seems only to be healed in the appeasing fluorescence of 24-hour supermarkets and the purgatory of weekends spent at home? Such stifling, nervous coughs are head as responses of today’s domestic questionnaires Gung-ho reformative advances and calls to “pull up our socks” Mixed with the state-sponsored fortune-telling Rationed out to boys languishing on the dole. Which All falsely transpires, intimidatingly revealed as being About as appealing as vacuum cleaners for the soul aimed at the resolutely bored to tears. Despite our fears the sun will come streaming again through fresh fir trees which decorate contemplative, sheltered lanes. These last, frostbitten years seek replacement with halcyon days in order to suspend dogmatic disbelief. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves: Pessimism is **** Even in the most roaring of times we remained despondent and calculated.
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30
tracks on the airport road (by planes) to cleaners it would be stains that cannot be rid of to people it would be a sight of imperfection and age but to me it signifies a routine of a plane that was sent off and back again a routine of safety a routine that people take for granted
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Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 10:33 AM UTC
a-16
Tracks
tracks on the airport road (by planes) to cleaners it would be stains that cannot be rid of to people it would be a sight of imperfection and age but to me it signifies a routine of a plane that was sent off and back again a routine of safety a routine that people take for granted
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9
This day will start out mostly sunny with temperatures near the high 70s. Then expect a chance of showers and thunderstorms late at night, with temps dropping to the high 60s. ALTERNATE-SIDE PARKING In effect until June 20 (Juneteenth) by God. (who is relieved that we humans will celebrate and honor Juneteenth,  by not having to rise early to move our cars to the other side of the street to enable the horde of street cleaners and free men and women to sleep late too in honor of the emancipation of enslaved people in the US.
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Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 6:49 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
WEATHER OR NOT TILL JUNETEENTH By God
This day will start out mostly sunny with temperatures near the high 70s. Then expect a chance of showers and thunderstorms late at night, with temps dropping to the high 60s. ALTERNATE-SIDE PARKING In effect until June 20 (Juneteenth) by God. (who is relieved that we humans will celebrate and honor Juneteenth,  by not having to rise early to move our cars to the other side of the street to enable the horde of street cleaners and free men and women to sleep late too in honor of the emancipation of enslaved people in the US.
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6
Out of the wormhole of underbelly Brooklyn into the blue 16:52 Thrown into the rush hour of 4th and 9th public school break up and tired office cleaners end of the day R train weary, wary eye-avoiders lost tourists out of place foreigners totally at home.
0
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 11:33 PM UTC
millie-harvey
R train
Out of the wormhole of underbelly Brooklyn into the blue 16:52 Thrown into the rush hour of 4th and 9th public school break up and tired office cleaners end of the day R train weary, wary eye-avoiders lost tourists out of place foreigners totally at home.
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12
i have spent all this weekend building voodoo dolls out of belly-button lint, newspaper clippings, pipe cleaners, and tufts of my own hair. They all have names. The Fearless Lemming. Odenkirk. Mr. Tweezles. Vexorg, the Merciless. Bob. *Forgive me father, for i have sinned and i liked it...* Vexorg, true to his name, slew the Lemming in single combat. It was...disturbing, at best, and quite messy. Mr. Tweezles betrayed his sacred post as medicine man, poisoning Vexorg with krokodil. I thought Odenkirk would exhibit strength of character, but he fled in the night like a ***** most likely in fear of Bob. Mr. Tweezles should have paid attention to that turn of events. Bob fancied himself an attorney, and Mr. Tweezles thought himself clever and indestructible. i am Dark Helmet, playing puppet-master with my dolls, red-handed intercepted. Today's horoscope: Fear death by stupidity.
0
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 7:21 PM UTC
derek-yohn
Anno Domini
i have spent all this weekend building voodoo dolls out of belly-button lint, newspaper clippings, pipe cleaners, and tufts of my own hair. They all have names. The Fearless Lemming. Odenkirk. Mr. Tweezles. Vexorg, the Merciless. Bob. *Forgive me father, for i have sinned and i liked it...* Vexorg, true to his name, slew the Lemming in single combat. It was...disturbing, at best, and quite messy. Mr. Tweezles betrayed his sacred post as medicine man, poisoning Vexorg with krokodil. I thought Odenkirk would exhibit strength of character, but he fled in the night like a ***** most likely in fear of Bob. Mr. Tweezles should have paid attention to that turn of events. Bob fancied himself an attorney, and Mr. Tweezles thought himself clever and indestructible. i am Dark Helmet, playing puppet-master with my dolls, red-handed intercepted. Today's horoscope: Fear death by stupidity.
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37
On Tuesday morning the report said Los Angeles was beyond the heat wave the meter had run out and you turned back to a pack of Camel’s after avoiding them for seven months and nine days wreaking of olives and tanqueray I was without mascara it had been towed inside of your ’96 Civic we walked around the morning streets looking for beer and a way to go back to before the street cleaners took away your ’96 Civic and you lit that first cigarette We’ll do this right one day, you said between drags of that first cigarette I tried to get you to put them away but we knew it was too late One day in San Francisco we were too young to be nostalgic and yet we looked North beyond the impound lot with anticipation towards milder weather looked back at the ’96 Civic being led out past the gate looked down at the third Camel between your second and third fingers with regret I watched it fall to the sidewalk I wanted to stamp it out but instead watched the cherry burn until only the filter remained and the wind brought it to the space in between two concrete slabs we got inside your ’96 Civic drove South along the freeway you lit a fourth cigarette gave a fifth to a homeless man along the freeway we listened to wordless music with windows rolled down you asked me what I was thinking thought against telling you I was already waiting for cooler weather in San Francisco.
0
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 1:32 AM UTC
virginia-nicholson
Meet Me In San Francisco
On Tuesday morning the report said Los Angeles was beyond the heat wave the meter had run out and you turned back to a pack of Camel’s after avoiding them for seven months and nine days wreaking of olives and tanqueray I was without mascara it had been towed inside of your ’96 Civic we walked around the morning streets looking for beer and a way to go back to before the street cleaners took away your ’96 Civic and you lit that first cigarette We’ll do this right one day, you said between drags of that first cigarette I tried to get you to put them away but we knew it was too late One day in San Francisco we were too young to be nostalgic and yet we looked North beyond the impound lot with anticipation towards milder weather looked back at the ’96 Civic being led out past the gate looked down at the third Camel between your second and third fingers with regret I watched it fall to the sidewalk I wanted to stamp it out but instead watched the cherry burn until only the filter remained and the wind brought it to the space in between two concrete slabs we got inside your ’96 Civic drove South along the freeway you lit a fourth cigarette gave a fifth to a homeless man along the freeway we listened to wordless music with windows rolled down you asked me what I was thinking thought against telling you I was already waiting for cooler weather in San Francisco.
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44
Timelike and the decaying bodies piled high cease to amuse the vultures now Single shots give the rebels confidence They attack in force Heavy machine gun fire from the west toss bodies into the air like ragdolls Textbook Vultures  tearing at eyes of the dead and dying Bullets to precious for mercy The night brings natures other cleaners Muffled screams heighten the reactions as night vision survey death in technicolor The ponderous wait continues Stroking metal like some *** provoking act Followed only by counting lives little savers, bullets of love The vultures dance impatiently The stroking intensifies Hairs stand ***** as movement waves majestically towards its final objective A sudden calm unfolds Nature watches in awe as love is unleashed in her garden for the final time The call to bayonets now, takes man down to his lowest form of savagery   Eyes now meet, screaming death the ferocious last act of  men past the point of madness Blood flows as metal slice through skin and bone, swaying death the final frenzy as screams die the days end Men cry as they survey the last atrocity of human barbarity Battle ended, vultures marvel feasting on the final meal Battle hardened men massacre memories  leaving Celebrations a distant Country as blood red hands refuse to wash They would never return.
0
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 6:13 AM UTC
Gaffer
The Vultures Dance.
Timelike and the decaying bodies piled high cease to amuse the vultures now Single shots give the rebels confidence They attack in force Heavy machine gun fire from the west toss bodies into the air like ragdolls Textbook Vultures  tearing at eyes of the dead and dying Bullets to precious for mercy The night brings natures other cleaners Muffled screams heighten the reactions as night vision survey death in technicolor The ponderous wait continues Stroking metal like some *** provoking act Followed only by counting lives little savers, bullets of love The vultures dance impatiently The stroking intensifies Hairs stand ***** as movement waves majestically towards its final objective A sudden calm unfolds Nature watches in awe as love is unleashed in her garden for the final time The call to bayonets now, takes man down to his lowest form of savagery   Eyes now meet, screaming death the ferocious last act of  men past the point of madness Blood flows as metal slice through skin and bone, swaying death the final frenzy as screams die the days end Men cry as they survey the last atrocity of human barbarity Battle ended, vultures marvel feasting on the final meal Battle hardened men massacre memories  leaving Celebrations a distant Country as blood red hands refuse to wash They would never return.
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24
since the first pop use of the phrase window of opportunity (was it Bush or Stargate SG-1?) politicians big and small corrupt and incorruptible fallible and infallible have all bombarded the media – on radio, in their blogs and personal sites newspapers and journals and broadcasts and through any speech they get a chance to make with that ready phrase: window of opportunity Oh, turn on the radio as you drive maybe and some glum Finance Minister whispers: * …grab the window of opportunity…* read the papers and some plump Minister of Health says: …we must grab this window of opportunity… Oh, whole speeches in the English Language now are bullet-ridden with that cliche and of course the financial planners and educators and doctors and even unimaginative lovers they have all jumped in into this window of opportunity till I’m so irritated and angry now that if I hear one more eminent personality say: window of opportunity Oh, the next time – just one more time – if I hear anyone use that phrase window of opportunity I’m going to send in contract window cleaners and they’ll grab the window-of-opportunity-user by the collar and throw them out through the window and clean the window after – and I’ll assure you, those contract window cleaners will not miss that window of opportunity!
0
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 8:36 PM UTC
raj-arumugam
window of opportunity
since the first pop use of the phrase window of opportunity (was it Bush or Stargate SG-1?) politicians big and small corrupt and incorruptible fallible and infallible have all bombarded the media – on radio, in their blogs and personal sites newspapers and journals and broadcasts and through any speech they get a chance to make with that ready phrase: window of opportunity Oh, turn on the radio as you drive maybe and some glum Finance Minister whispers: * …grab the window of opportunity…* read the papers and some plump Minister of Health says: …we must grab this window of opportunity… Oh, whole speeches in the English Language now are bullet-ridden with that cliche and of course the financial planners and educators and doctors and even unimaginative lovers they have all jumped in into this window of opportunity till I’m so irritated and angry now that if I hear one more eminent personality say: window of opportunity Oh, the next time – just one more time – if I hear anyone use that phrase window of opportunity I’m going to send in contract window cleaners and they’ll grab the window-of-opportunity-user by the collar and throw them out through the window and clean the window after – and I’ll assure you, those contract window cleaners will not miss that window of opportunity!
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40
Swiveling chair Clicking mouse Clattering keyboard Replaced by the steady glare at the monitor until it is naught but a blank stare, a blank stare that begets a long pause You wish could last forever with you lost in it; Lost in your benevolent and untainted thoughts Before the abrupt jolt out of your reverie keeps you yearning for the luxury and solitude of your room… Times flies and it’s almost the close of business Yet, your table is in such a mess On it, lies a pile of work undone Tons that require your expert attention with little time left to tidy up You don’t plan to work overtime 'Cause if you gambled that, you won’t make it in time to catch the bus So you pack your bags and hurry down the stairs in time to catch the bus Thinking of how to make up for the time lost all through your journey home You can’t help the thought that taunts as it lingers. Blaming you for leaving a pile of work undone Reminding you that if and if only you had concerted for just a minute longer You could have only left behind papers the cleaners can trash with a toss. -r3d-
0
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 4:24 AM UTC
reet-dimka
The Loop
Swiveling chair Clicking mouse Clattering keyboard Replaced by the steady glare at the monitor until it is naught but a blank stare, a blank stare that begets a long pause You wish could last forever with you lost in it; Lost in your benevolent and untainted thoughts Before the abrupt jolt out of your reverie keeps you yearning for the luxury and solitude of your room… Times flies and it’s almost the close of business Yet, your table is in such a mess On it, lies a pile of work undone Tons that require your expert attention with little time left to tidy up You don’t plan to work overtime 'Cause if you gambled that, you won’t make it in time to catch the bus So you pack your bags and hurry down the stairs in time to catch the bus Thinking of how to make up for the time lost all through your journey home You can’t help the thought that taunts as it lingers. Blaming you for leaving a pile of work undone Reminding you that if and if only you had concerted for just a minute longer You could have only left behind papers the cleaners can trash with a toss. -r3d-
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22
My llama went out to the cleaners ya know, I shoulda used Stanley Steemer she came back real clean or was it a dream? who knew that llama's were screamers?
0
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:59 AM UTC
TemporalFugue
LLamaly Clean Scream (Limerick)
My llama went out to the cleaners ya know, I shoulda used Stanley Steemer she came back real clean or was it a dream? who knew that llama's were screamers?
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5