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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
i'm just the one that says words that all sound like blah blah blah... i don't mind... i sometimes ease into a swagger and tickle avalanches into sounding like nursery: blah blah black sheep... i have to belong somewhere... even if my love is a communist leftism of the missing forearm, i still have to be an aware plantagenet gardener missing my normandy and my aquitaine... (tulip and jasmine respectively).*

where man speaks, there
lies the gods' onomatopoeia
akin to creativity
the plank of wood, the burning
coal in amber,
the twinkle toes of nursery rhyme
acquiring stars,
there too the shuffling bud of keratin
bundled to suitor the execution
of the banged uvula in
spare skull named metal for cranium
and brains;
ah multiplicity of tongues for a brain,
and no multiplicity of brains for a tongue...
let the one-eyed speak... i feel
i write with an avalanche cherub
swinging my gravity to the east of my central left...
let the tongue speak...
love said: love's not there!
faith said: god's not there!
existentialism said: "i'm" ~not "there,"
i.e. i wasn't
there... mind if i am?
mind my politics *******, i mind you
politicising while i sing my big lebowski soprano:
the elitist sure care for the palette of the caterpillar tongue...
and they care more if the fun is done free...
there's a messiah among
them thus... free ****?! we got them scolded...
butterflies are awry and suo gan beatified:
iron heated burning the skin load of cover...
we'll drive these ******* out till next november...
and next november we'll have the boxing match
before boxing day...
then we'll ku klux **** the turkey into
the burning cross and wait for the jew...
if the jew don't come we'll burn the cross anyway....
and say our messiah was a nigerian with
appropriation from lady madonna the pop **** of
15min ****** warhol...
then, should we feed being displeased,
we will gather the wood bearers
and ignite the ****** wood on affirmative spin
initiatives for politicisation of non-political affirmatives...
lest they come... party-to-the-last-one-hooded-one,
we'll wave the confederate flag like a 12" **** of a ****** hanging
to displease us...
frankly my dear... i give a ****...
all those cosmopolitan one-night-stands
that gave my marriage a hats' off trombone,
i was there, when
the treaty was sound and written down -
here i return to the vulture of culture in reprimand of tastes,
here i return to eagle eyes and hyena fangs,
here i return with the mole-sight or the arching stalinist
kissing the shovel...
here i re-enter with the prickly detail of eyesight external
of the hedgehog giving me guidance / giving me vectors to
spike and incisor the plum that missed the bruised eye /
here i re-enter with the skin-headed vultures of
sunken dystopia lived in a state of atlantis
below the coaled mark of signature
in watershed hours of exempt moralism testified
as a truancy - here the skinhead vulture
heeded prior to the lion's feast.
OnlyEggy Jan 2011
I can see, in your sea
what I threw, went right through
your lack of class, so get to class
you flea, you flee
fear will show, fear the show
for busted acts, four battle ax
an eerie moan, an eerily mown
level plane, yet too plain
so start the rite, so start to write
your words to savor, you worried saver
and this I saw, and with this saw
cut to sear, seek the seer
a spirit pryed, an unleashed pride
giant gorilla, stealthy guerrilla
so send the pros, we speak in prose
you leave your prince, you leave your prints
simple minds racked, simply mind wracked
so slow your roll, know your role
kneel and pray, kneel you prey
you maid from Rome, you'remade to roam
with worn sole, with warn soul
spirit's cold, under coaled
start the fire, weapons fire
send the horde, send the ******
forget the gaffe, remember the gaff
speed for the gate, speed is the gait
if death feign, or if death fain
let you pass, or may you pass
Another Insomniac Poem
Ottar Apr 2013
The metal x said "Thou shall not pass"
Neon yellow gloves pointed to the sky,
warning who was watching, when they
were hit they flew far and fast (20 feet)

Embedded in the rubber that hits the road,
are what seem to be the remains of a toad,
but they are not, not at all,
they were the dangerous daffodil.

I guess his hate governor must of broke, or
he must have felt the power of engine,
so he closed his eyes inhaled that ****, or
maybe the forced move pumped his adrenaline.

What ever the case, there was not a witness and we know no flower whisperers
The stalks fresh with Spring agility could not stand the weight and snapped crisper.
then burnt back bacon char coaled on the grill, so far this is a measure of his ill, will.

We have nothing but WIDE TIRE tracks to go by and too bad he is the only one, for sure
and at the end of the month he will live here, Nevermore, Nevermore, Never ever more.
I can't seemed to get it out of my head, so today is poetry therapy day.
Tomorrow I will write about our car accident....
Evan Stephens Oct 2018
The floor howled
in the last
lazy binge
of bronzy sun
before I broke free
to go running
the two miles
to the hospital
in Georgetown
where Dad was.

As I ran, I thought of
The Wreck
of the Old 97
which played on
the car radio
when Dad
drove us back
from the
Charles Town
racetrack
where I kept losing
the same $20
while Dad
placed exactas
and trifectas
to win
dinner money.

Turn it up
turn it up and listen
as the Old 97
engine over-coaled
and waving
with heat
races beyond rule
a bright streak
down the hill
down, always down.

The Icarus myth -
the father disappears
while the son melts
in the exploding face
of a memory.
KAT May 2010
When I dance the outer realm seems to disappear.
What once was is no longer a fear.
Flames dance on my body as my body intertwines with fire.
Making passion, displaying love, exposed desire.
Heat rising, keep dancing to the beautiful song.
Burnt hair and char coaled fingertips, this is where I belong.
Underneath the midnight light.
Ickarus taught me to take flight.
Fueling my fire takes more than one match.
With needle and thread he made a patch.
Blindfolded we played with fire.
Love made me this lair.
-Kelly Tibbets
(C)20 10
The timid frozen morning air awakens from sounds of screams and metal car frames...cracking.

The cool lit night star air flashes from the fire burned tires and frigid numbed souls...cursing.

The smoky dust filled air sees tears of hate and bloodied stained floors....of fate.

The cloudy misty saturated air hears bullets striking and lifeless bodies....collapsing.

OH WHERE...have the spirit filled airs, the glittering filled airs, that hozhóogo air gone to?


The green-bluish water feels the sluggish toxic sludge and forgotten people...mitering.

Pure white solid crystals wrap around the intoxicated body, it's courage slowly....mystifying.

The red rock's seeping water blindly poisons the youthful smile and secretly kills...a-mourning.

The raging brown foamed water rushes by the pallet walled hogan and the shivering lil feet...mesmerizing.

OH WHERE...have the dew dressed holy ones, the chanting waters, the life healing and growing waters....gone?


The blowing fine dust creeps through the window seals, witnessing punches to her face and kicks to her chest.

Them dark black coaled rock mesas spot fields below of slow deathed and sugar-filled....people-a-mess.

Round red sun brazen rocks are embraced, by the abandoned lost wondering child...lil-one parentless.

Darkened mountain soil sees the people a-mess, looking up, seeking guidance of hope...restless.

OH WHERE...have the lightning bolted peaks, the strong holy ridges, them keepers of home gone to?

Water drenches the Earth Mother, Winds rage from our Sky Father,
Lights of the Star People shimmer brightly,
Rocky cliff faces begin to shake violently...

"Here We Are!"

The first ones and holy people yell mightingly,

"HERE WE ARRRREEE !!!!!"
Marla Jul 2019
There's a lot you can't see behind these coaled eyes:
A world of mystery, splendor, and supple surprise.
Many times I've given my heart to cold hands
and even more still I've lost myself to vice,
yet I'm still here...full of stories to tell.
Michael Marchese Jan 2020
Footprints
In the once
Frozen tundra
Where hunts
Of mammalian
Mega-fauna
Fed for months
The forerunners
Who tread
Never lightly
Though impacted slightly
The snow-packing,
Packs of tracks
Fleeing them nightly
Yet still none escaped
Extirpation events
Imminent in the state
Human nature’s
Expense
A propensity
Intensively cultivating
Immense cities
And firmaments
We’ve invented
Still plentifully drenched
In its carbon-based
Thinking
With senses entrenched
In an ubermensch quenching
His thirst for extinction
Another coaled-age,
Icy gaze
In the blinking
Of time’s
Neutral eyes
Rising tides
We are sinking
Like links in the chain
To oblivion’s depths
Anchored to
What remains
Whence prehistory slept
Undisturbed for millennia
Secrets in keeping
Contained
A methane
Climate change’s
Deceasing
A species from breeding
And breathing the air
And with no heir apparent
Forever unleashing
Destruction inherent
Inheritance-reaping
Peace-speaking
Tongue lizards,
Heart blizzards
Heat-seeking
A homeostasis
Of polar sun-tans
In a verdant oasis
Of frigid wastelands

— The End —