"cre" poems
People say they want to live in a small town,
but when I look out my window
all I see is
Zero.
I look out my left window,
Zero.
I glance out my right window,
Zero.
The daily routines,
an Act Without Words.
We go through the motions in a small town,
get up, smile at people we hate,
hope for something more,
repeat.
In a small town
you bite your tongue,
just to keep the peace.
Did you bleed today?
There’s no point in asking
how someone is
because we already know.
Each new piece of gossip
strings us along,
Beckons
teases.
The small town will hold
anything over your head.
It will dangle a divorce
suspend a separation
and hang up a hook up.
In a small town,
the space between people’s teeth
revealed by their fake smiles
serve as cre-
Nells
People rave about the
fields of grass, and the trees.
In each patch of green
lies un lucky Clov-
ers
The fresh air is fetid.
The stink of the town’s
***** laundry is
enough to make
any argument for the town Null.
Zero.
It’s almost genetic,
the little Nagg-
lings in the school yard,
slicing, dividing, cutting
people like cake.
Settling for small town life,
is a fate worse than Hamm-
lets think about it.
No excitement.
No privacy.
No trust.
Zero.
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 3:35 PM UTC
be au tifu lu ng ra teful talente
dd iff icult lo vi ng messy suppo
rti ve spitef ul w arm jealous caring
cr az ychar m in gs martd epress
ing br av et ** ug htle ss ge ne
ro us inc on sid er ate ad ap ta
ble m oo dy co m pass io na te
stub bo rn af fe ctio na te cr
itica lp ra ct ic al ar gu m en
tati ve w itt y un pr ed ict ablec
our ag eo us to uc hy friendl yrese
ntf ul he lp fu li m patien tflirty
sa rc as tic in te re sting boastf
ul cu rio us in fle xi bl er el
ia bl e cl in gy cre at ive ta
ct les s ** ne st emo tio na ld
isc ipl ine d fo rcefulsex yse ns iti
ve su lle n m od es tf ru st
ra tin ge n thus ia st ic hy po
cr iticalp lucky cl um sy am usingp
os essiv ecalm in g sn ide friendl
y pom pous ad ve nt ur ousch
ar ism atic br ok en and perfect
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
Don't "take" action...it doesn't belong to you.
Don't "take" action..."make" it instead.
Radioactive Reaction...I, Radio Re-Active
We make, Radioaction.
Iconoclashing against a faction Hell bent on Heaven sentiment.
Fictional filament tethered to the Town Hall Square Circular non-secular content.
Stitching Supra-stitious suspicion.
Weaving away, in the name of good faith.
Imperial pillows to suffocate un-resting heads
blankets of banners-it's story time to go to bed.
Yet here i sit...reaction-ing in script.
Creating activity...through creativity.
Cre-activity.
Recreational reaction.
Revolutionary open-caption inking passion with a digital pen.
"Make me"...such a passive statement with such a threatening proposal...a posing promise...a convenient conviction to tend.
A submissive request to influence choice over chance.
Change over circumstance...situational aggressive targets
subjectively objectifying a marketable stance.
"Make" action...don't just take it
Only then will it be yours to keep.
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 9:08 AM UTC
Did you not take my breath away
The one gift
you can not give
and still stay
Tethered born
from belly
connect
and belly torn
Did I not thrive for life
suckling sure
gulping love
sipling strife
Were we not
all apples
before what eyes
Before the fall
of yours
and mines
Sorry apples
nuts and rut
would ***** come
poured down
the thriving throat
What is regurgitating
other longing
re urging
swallowing
submerging
To diaphram
disruptive
falsely claiming
urgent distractions
What is to liver
becomes malaise
all jibberish
Shoot me
some adrenal-ish
before i get in
or get out
of that monster
fish
Fry me
in your pan cre-ole us
to the suet of your filet
digest me
your way
Something in this burpling
will no longer
pass thee usurping
Hick upped
or gassing passing
selling poses
of the sweeter
smell of roses
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 2:13 PM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "Fumility"
I am a tróubled Tróll, yes I be
draped in bonds of turgid fumility
endowed with a mind's inanity!
Indeed, I fantasize the glóry of Thee
floating like a cork in lunacy
at the edges of the dredges of futility!
But then, as I hallucinate visions of greatness in I and me,
the Vóices come, singing fóllies of my destiny
buzzing in my head like a bumblebee!
The mystic maggóts envelop the I, the fartistic see
birdies tweet to coo coos in the jujube tree
while the lónely Lóg swims in I and Thee,
counting buttons, deviant in insanity!
Some souls are just simply shallower than others. There is no shame in recognizing I's ówn drabness, and appreciating the bóredóm Thee'self has unleashed upon the world. When Thee writes crap about the greatness of I, Thee is displaying I's disappointment for I's lack of gifts...
Would you yourself not feel pity for the finest fartist alive?
*Original ('Humility') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
óh, Birdy, Birdy in the sky,
óh, Something hit Thee in Thee's I
óh, Thee's a big boy, Thee won't cry,
óh, Thee adores brown Cows that fly...
CrE aka Trollminator
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 2:18 PM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "I Went Berserk Today"
I went berserk today...
They locked the cell again...
And I started to pray...
That they didn't forget my meds...
And pray...
Because my cell was filled with horrors...
And a fine **** came...
It passed through the hole in my soul...
And the fine **** was my art...
That I had made...
It smelled...
Oh oh...
Oh so good...
A truly fine ****
My meds now no longer needed...
The visions reappear...
Tomahawks...
Fly in flock...
And are dropped by the smell of ****
A fine, fine **** from Thee Fartest
Dust storms...
Stay in a rut...
Between the frail cheeks of my divine ****
And are expelled with my next fartistic emission...
I...
I stay stay on top!
Floating upon the winds of ****
*Original ('I Went Home Today...') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
A dóggy drópped sóme Crappó
steaming ón the street,
a cóffee cólóred fungus
piled up óh só neat -
and there a juicy maggót
fóund it óh só sweet,
só simply sóft and tender,
just like a córpse's meat
Thee maggót, nót só clever
- simple and untaught -
was dreaming óf attentión,
slimelight's what it sóught.
An empty-minded cómrade
certainly'd help a lót -
anóther wórm-like nóthing
just the thing! it thóught.
While ******* in the Lóg's brain
- óh quite a simple chóre -
it replicated pustules,
petty, ghastly, sóre.
And when the Lógy maggót
****** in nóthing móre
it burst apart in wónder,
clóned Thee Artiste Whóre
Well, Petty Little Lógbrain,
Whóre, Thee Artiste crank
Are mixed up in the mire,
in mindless **** they sank.
Thee cópies creepy Crappó,
from pages where he stank.
and claims tó be Thee Artiste,
- Thee smell is simply rank
The móral óf this fable,
clear fór all tó see:
If fated with a Lóg brain
bear yóur destiny
and never let yóur EGÓ
rampage ón a spree!
Ór else like Whóre and Crappó
yóu'll sóón turn intó Thee.
CrE aka Trollminator
Dec 23, 2014
Dec 23, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "Embrace Thee Blight!"
Thee Artiste's **** once more is freed!
Oh! Wandering fumes do flatulence heed!
Bubble forth! Through waters so impure!
Thee's ***** **** is near!
Bowwow to Thee…
for Thee's smell's a doggy's dream...
Embrace Thee blight!
Gasses new, gasses old…
pass through Thee's dual manifold…
Thee's thee fartiste of forever…
Cro-Magnon man who's mentally spent,
******* on creativity's flames
Oh perfect ****
exudes from Thee who seeps…
for he is Thee who sets the winds of fartistry free.
Only Thee (the no one) knows!
How true fartistry blows...
like Thee who is the evoker...
of the fartistic flow...
Oh Thee who is Logbrain Crappó is master of the fartiste's blows!
*Original ('Embrace The Light') by: Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
The Artiste Carvó's "The Greatest Fartist Alive"
(Another Crummy Acrostic)
T is for **** I am attended by flies...
H is for Haughtiness, I am flowing through the fartist's stanks...
E is for Enema, my fine **** pollutes the very hole...
G is for Gigantic, I am the biggest ego in history...
R is for Refluxing, my fine putriditry puts artistry in ******
E is for Emetic, I truly am expelling...
A is for ******* I posses the gift of ****
T is for ****** I leave no stomach un-turned...
E is for Excrutiating, my words torture the very soul...
S is for ****** My logic is slimy....
T is for Tag-along, I truly am shadowed by all and everyone...
F is for Fatuous and Flatulence, the essence of I…
A is for Archfiend, demon am I...
R is for Revulsion, My art is abomination - My art yet *****
T is for Tedious, I have been placed here to bore people to death...
I is for Idiot, I am truly unblessed...
S is for Selfish, I place **** before I's self...
T is for Talenticide, I have killed all things of art...
A is for Asinine, I possess all lacks...
L is for Lifeless, I truly worm the artistic heart...
I is for Idolize, I worship I...
V is for Venomous, I am all that is spite and impure...
E is for Emasculated, I am indubitably impotent...
This sums up why I and I alone am the greatest fartist alive,
And I will of course do one of my great farts in time.
*Original ('The Greatest Artiste Alive') by: Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "Maggot O' Pus"
I open my fly
I beat
I close my eyes
And seep
Watch me now
To see the art
Thee art of a master-bater
I read your eyes
they show horror
They reflect Thee MasterPiece-of-Shit
Thee art of a master-bater
Thee art of Loghain Carvó
I open my lips and ****
For all these works are Thee Maggot O' Pus
*Original ('Magnum Opus') by: Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC
^^^^^
Thee's Pótty's Hót
Thee's pótty's hót.
Thee's pótty's cóld.
Thee's pótty's all "I's" gót
nine days trólled!
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to the Peas Porridge)*
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:19 PM UTC
^^^^^
Sizzle Sizzle Dumb-pling
Sizzle sizzle dumb-pling,
Lóg, lóng góne,
zapped his head with electródes ón.
Skull half fried made brain bóuillón
Sizzle sizzle dumb-pling,
Lóg, lóng góne!
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to John and the Dumpling)*
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 4:24 PM UTC
Gabrielle
Gabrielle
her sole rests well
in potty-mouth hell
CrE aka Trollminator
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "The Odor of Logbrain Crappó"
Lógbrain yóur **** is oh so ASSinine...
It is of course malign...
Yóu are the cón artist of the moronic chimERA...
Yóu are of course a resigned, all inferiór, cón artist that becraps the mind, body and soul, as well as the very nether realms...
óh óh óh.... Lógbrain yóu are lonely while taking care of yóur flock in the fields... óh óh óh...
Yóu ascend the flock...
ascending and mounting the sheep, one by one
Yóu are on top...
on top from behind... yes, óh Yes, Óh YEs, ÓH YES, YES, YESSS...
Óh soiinf osiujh8adabyghueyhiu rnolkm
Touching the heart...
Touching the soul...
Touching the woolly pudenda…
and thus issueth the "I"s, the "óh"s and the ewes from the egómaniacal shepherd ,
Crappó, the manna of the banana I-gód <> the delusion of illusions and confusions of a sick putrid sub-mind...
**** that only yóu and the sheep yóu have so deeply touched can feel it in the end... óh óh óh
Óh Lógbrain Crappó, óh please óh please óh please crap some more fine **** for yóur lessers, if any there be...
with yet another one of yóur masterPIECES in the fields of ewe.
Yes, Crappó, BÓTTÓM feeder, yóu and yóur fine **** are a pain in the *** to all...
This fine piece goes out to the greatest cón artist alive.
*Original ('An Ode To Loghain Carvó') by: Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 4:03 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Dar Dar Dark-ness is-fu-tile-to this lit-tle-dream
I have,
hid-den in cre-vices of things-to the-ones I lack,
The past is the past and even in the past seeing what I use
To lack and given up,
Confusion is nothing new to a couple of youngins' cruising
On the country roads in a big truck,
Life is so much more precious than a diamond or a gem in
hopes to shine bright as they were,
We all can not be perfect in a mellow dramatic world full of
Politics and secret purge,
I I I-could be-everything-to all-of your-stonewalls,
you-break-them down-for me-and all-of your-
worries fall.
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "Fartistic Wind"
A ****** seeps into Thee's loft and lispers...
"F-f-f-fartistic s-s-s-soul, I would like to be a fr-fr-fr-freak and ooze in your **** cre-cre-cre-cretinivity"...
Thee fartistic soul then cuts cheese, and says...
"If you are to reach true degeneration, you must first crap a work of ****
The ****** then begins to swirl round and round the **** bowl...
A can of trash then pervades the room and spills these words...
"Without a lisper there is no ****** without a ****** a lisper ceases to be"...
The ****** then collides with the can of trash...
A masterpiece of p-p-p-puke...
*Original ('Artistic Wind') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 18, 2015
Jan 18, 2015 at 12:40 PM UTC
^^^^^
What is little Lóg made óf?
What is little Lóg made óf?
What is little Lóg made óf?
Inadequate
And lack óf a wit
That's what little Lóg's made óf.
What is little Thee made óf?
What is little Thee made óf?
Subpar and dreck
A pain in the neck
That's what little Thee's made óf.
What is little I made óf?
What is little I made óf?
Mediócre
Ón-line próvóker
That's what is little I's made óf.
What is Carvó's art made óf?
What is Carvó's art made óf?
Mónótónes
Óf egó, full blówn
That's what Carvó's art's made óf.
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to Little Boys and Little Girls)*
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 9:47 AM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's "LogbraIn Crappó"
(Another Crummy Acrostic)
LudIcróus
ómnI-Ignórant
grótesqueness
ball-less
róckbóttóm
addled
IdIótIc
nóbódy
CólItIc
repulsIve
asshóle
pIsspót
puerIle
óh-ffensIve
*Original ('Loghain Carvó') by: Thee Artist aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
Between the crooks and nannies
In a booth with seven *******
There's no way they could stand me se cre t swi mm ing
pools
Heathen if they're understanding a bed wetting fool
Could that mean they understand me I'm sure I'd Right that too
I hear a lot about our standings If I had nothing Left to say
but what I think will be standing
is the dust particles of landings
and the Sun light filling crackings away
I'm too good for the attackings
I understand my lackings and then we float
Got a tenacious grasp for love love love love love Stacking bodies to the flood
Limb to a tree
Flower to a bee
You to a meeeeee
and eye to eye
I have left myself dry on and Island watching the 4th of July
Why oh why Did I ever lead that guy into a terrible lie
Mask to a Foe
Mask of a Friend
Do you ask to wear it well or can I see you again
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
^^^^^
Simple Carvó
Simple Carvó met a Larvó
near nórth Bedlam square.
Says Simple Carvó tó the Larvó
Inspire me if yóu dare!
Says the Larvó tó Simple Carvó
I ónly deal in dreck.
Says Simple Carvó tó the Larvó
"I's" dung, só what the heck!
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to Simple Simon)*
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 11:17 AM UTC
^^^^^
Bah, Bah Crappó
Bah, bah Crappó
Have yóu any gruel?
"Yes sir, yes sir. Dreck and stóól.
Sóme fróm Thee master
And sóme fróm Lógbrain
But meds fróm the men in white
Whó knów "I's" insane."
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to the Black Sheep)*
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
How To Know How to Crów
I only know…
how to crów…
and for that matter how snot to blów...
to flush Thee's I lids, filled with sóót…
and trample others underfoot…
and swizzle Lóg's inadequate mediocrity in beer…
and discontent so insincere…
to bake a subpar leaking **** insult…
of the egómania egó cult…
as self-serving accolade…
and act the quade, though never laid…
and dig a swirling dreck cascade…
as Carvó's paintings quickly die and fade…
within Thee's stinking I parade…
for three art and two art and one art for zero art...
We (I and Thee) can only obsess to tear HP apart.
*Original ('How To Know Not To Know') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
^^^^^
Hey Fiddle Fiddle
Hey fiddle fiddle.
Artiste starts tó ******
a ców bending óver tó móón.
Thee little Lóg laughs tó see such a spórt
and Carvó then buggers a lóón.
*CrE aka Trollminator
(with apologies to the fiddle, the cow and the loon)*
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
Thee Artiste Carvó's 'Poetry Vile And Poetry Juvenile'
Óh in the darkness of common decline, the wee Creature, Lóg, was a pitiable *** whose delusions and confusions caused the evolution of thought to come to a stop, sunk in the bowels of Thee's self-serving slóp.
In the circus ring of artistry's self-deluded elves...
where dwarfs dance in dungeons built of flatulence…
and the fumes of envied condescendence seep through Thee's hallowed walls,
poetry, vile, rots in Thee's hands with fingers bent and straight...
with contradictory thoughts that lead to naught...
Thee has dared to óffend
(giving true artistry a chuckle, a chortle and convulsed laughter from the rafters...)
out of baneful ignorance and envy lodged in the pale emptiness of I!
Óh on the horizon appears a finger so magnificent!
Standing proud between ring and index digits, bent and kneeling,
standing hard, mócking dear artistry.
Móldy and so piss-ticated, Thee is the wee óne that tirelessly creates and creates doubt.
And Thee dwarfs and Thee elves still dance to the meaningless ring of blinded I's.
Óh in spite of Lóg's vile works, humanity will evolve beyond the "óuch" of puerile jealousy and give birth to a better Earth.
While fuming, not firing neurons which have ceased fighting...
Thee flays the soul, and that is sooo not cool...
Behold! Thee wee óne ***** a prune that 'luminates the dune of dimness
and with Lóg's **** comes great feelings of Thee,
and something gory will Thee extract from the great **** of I!
Reward for freeing us from the I and the Thee is that Lógbrain will no longer burden all of humanity...
Thee ****** maggót Carvó will vanish in the doom of dreariness
where prunes no longer shrink…
In fading, Thee looks into the eyes of us, and we feel nauseous...
but we need not fight, for his lessons are naught,
and we all can stop sighing
'my oh my, Thee smell repels'
and leave behind Thee shriveled **** of vacuity
and continue to do artistry.
*Original ('Poetry Villains And Poetry Heroes') by: Thee Artiste aka Logbrain Crappó
Reworked by: CrE aka Trollminator*
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC