"croaked" poems
The Frog was doing his thing
Hopping,
Croaking,
Splashing,
In to any water that he could see,
He happened upon
This Jigsaw of black and white
Morning sir, he croaked
The Cow looked down,
"MOOOOO"
Pardon I didn't quite get that,
"MOOOOVE"
Your on the tastiest grass
Below your webbed feet,
"Sorry sir,"
Didn't wish to stomp on your
Lunch with my feet,
So he hoped along, as Frogs do
Then turned around,
Hopped his best, speed built up
Leaping with all his might,
Over the Cow,
Then gracefully on to his feet,
"Cow turned"
Whhhat are you doing little thing,
As the Frog
Replied, I was seeing if I could
Jump over you
Why?
Would you do such a thing,
Well mum told me
A Cow jumped over the moon,
Yes we do
Replied Cow
Famously Are we for doing this,
Feat never seen.
"Frog replied"
Riibit, well I just jumped over you
So now I an the best jumper it seems,
Confused,
*Thinking,
Laughing,
Out loud with a MMOOooo
You aren't a better jumper than me,
We will see little Frog said
With that he did a
Bounce,
Hop,
Jumped,
Over the Cow once again it seemed,
Now it is your turn
As Cow looked on nervously
So he hooved his feet
1,
2,
3,
With that he tried
"FAILED"
Lost his balance,
And in to another's Cow pat
His face did meet.
Now the cow was not only
Black
&
White
But now he was
Covered,
&
Smelled,
Like poo, embarrassed
Was he
The Frog did laugh
Ribit, Ribit, Ribit,
Loud and clear,
Cow looked at frog,
Now Cow do you see,
Never believe what you hear,
Until you see it with your own eyes,
This is what my mother read to me,
And with that, Frog bounced off happily.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:19 AM UTC
He thwack no metronome to kick oneself
Thwack his **** sucker
With his monolithic flaccid trunk rubber
Me and my Dalek doped
And my excrement unsweetened
Copulate in the open without my jockstrap
You shat encrusted to what you deflowered
So at arm’s length ****** from all that we excreted in the wind’s eye
And I bounce a bedevilled backwash
My incredibles are shafted
I’ll **** **** to Arab
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
I **** **** to myself
I ****** you powerfully
The body beautiful’s not enough to go round
You enjoy spanking and I wallow in *********
And ***** is like a tobacco teabag
And I’m a bijou **** coming the corsets in custody
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab
I **** **** to…
I **** **** to…
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** **** to her
And I **** **** to Arab
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampotfuls of the jellied
Specks to range on window-sills at home,
On shelves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.
Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hedges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like sails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.
7.2k
THEY were calling certain styles of whiskers by the name of "lilacs."
And another manner of beard assumed in their chatter a verbal guise
Of "mutton chops," "galways," "feather dusters."
Metaphors such as these sprang from their lips while other street cries
Sprang from sparrows finding scattered oats among interstices of the curb.
Ah-hah these metaphors-and Ah-hah these boys-among the police they were known
As the ***** Dozen and their names took the front pages of newspapers
And two of them croaked on the same day at a "necktie party" ... if we employ the metaphors of their lips.
6.5k
Of all the places
I have been
This is the strangest
That I've seen
It is called
The mixed up zoo
where the animals
Just will not do
Exactly what they're supposed to do
That's why it's called the mixed up zoo
Imagine lions in a tree
Not where they're supposed to be
A giraffe who is afraid of heigts
And bats who will not fly at night
I saw a goat who did not bleat
And then I saw a wool less sheep
A zebra who was blue and green
The strangest place I've ever been
I saw a duck who did not quack
I even met a talking yak
A turkey who could really fly
A hyena who would only cry
Geese that croaked like giant frogs
And chickens who would bark like dogs
Elephants with ears so small
You would think they couldn't hear at all
I saw a horse who would not run
In all the day was really fun
Monkeys who could really sing
A snake who bounced just like a spring
It really was a crazy place
I laughed so much I hurt my face
If there is one thing you must do
Come and see the mixed up zoo
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 11:46 PM UTC
slept and soaked
the sabbath Saturday away.
the body, achey breaky,
cranked and croaked,
slewed by a slew of common miscreants.
one, a stitch in my side,
feeling like someone's inside,
wanting to be born, feet first,
coming out the side of my chest,
instead of my ******
so,
promised poems and bills to pay,
put aside for a more poetic bill paying day.
awoke once near midday,
an unusual wake up call,
my nostrils do attend,
when the honey odors of
cinnamon and vanilla invade
the french shores of my subconscious.
I love three things French:
the elegance of their language grande,
their frenchified fries and frenchified toast.
was fed some french toast,
bathed in vanilla and cinnamon,
thus drugged,
went back to bed again.
as I drifted off for the third time today,
heard the woman dramatic say:
"must have, must have,"
two words that I from my past,
consider a curse,
a grave phrase of choice of my ex-wife,
her way of saying I didn't measure up.
*must have
paprika
to roast your chicken
for Sunday dinner.*
relieved beyond measure,
as I to dreamless sleep dispatched,
vague recall a poem forming about the
spices in my life.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
Baby Panda
You called me
A pussy-bitch
When you woke
And I smiled
In response
Baby Panda
When eating
Fruity pebbles
With almond milk
You croaked like
A frog, croak
Over 20 times
And got up
To spit in the sink
Excessive saliva
In between
Each bite
I asked you why
You croak
wha?
I smiled
And say
Never mind
Baby Panda
You ran to me
Sobbing as if
The world was ending
My socks!!!
No more clean
**** I forgot
To dry them
You pace
Uncomfortable
As you're forced
To go barefoot
*Feet ****
For longer
Than an hour
Baby Panda
I return to
You're stash
Of a room
And picking up
Your pajamas
I smell an
Accident
Of both sorts
Soiling your
Clothes
sorry
Red faced you enter
I smile and
Remind you
To let me know
Next time
And not to
Throw it on the
Wooden floor
Baby Panda
Socks on smooth
Shoes tied with
Quadrupled knots
You head to your
Room, radio blasting
Some radio talk
Station about comedy
Until 8:21 rolls around
And you run
Like a bullet
To the bus outside
Our house
I smile as you yell
BUS IS HERE
No matter what room
I'm in
Baby Panda
I worry for you
The second you walk
Out the door
Because you have such
Big, terrifying emotions
Yet a small filter
On your words, thoughts
Of your own body
Despite the fact
That you're turning
Into a real teen
Before the summers end
Baby Panda
I wish I could help
In ways I cannot
I can't read your mind
Though you think
I should
Know how by now
I can't make socks magically
Not hurt, or have people
Not get ******
When you randomly shout
Profanities
When your last conversation
Was regarding food
And I can't
Stop the madness that
Overtakes your body
Every time you get ill
Physically, mentally
But Baby Panda
I love you now
And always will
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 12:07 AM UTC
I wonder 'oo and wot 'e was,
That 'Un I got so slick.
I couldn't see 'is face because
The night was 'ideous thick.
I just made out among the black
A blinkin' wedge o' white;
Then biff! I guess I got 'im crack --
The man I killed last night.
I wonder if account o' me
Some ***** will go *****
And 'eaps o' lives will never be,
Because 'e's stark and dead?
Or if 'is missis damns the war,
And by some candle light,
Tow-headed kids are prayin' for
The Fritz I copped last night.
I wonder, 'struth, I wonder why
I 'ad that 'orful dream?
I saw up in the giddy sky
The gates o' God agleam;
I saw the gates o' 'eaven shine
Wiv everlastin' light:
And then . . . I knew that I'd got mine,
As 'e got 'is last night.
Aye, bang beyond the broodin' mists
Where spawn the mother stars,
I 'ammered wiv me ****** fists
Upon them golden bars;
I 'ammered till a devil's doubt
Fair froze me wiv affright:
To fink wot God would say about
The bloke I corpsed last night.
I 'ushed; I wilted wiv despair,
When, like a rosy flame,
I sees a angel standin' there
'Oo calls me by me name.
'E 'ad such soft, such shiny eyes;
'E 'eld 'is 'and and smiled;
And through the gates o' Paradise
'E led me like a child.
'E led me by them golden palms
Wot 'ems that jeweled street;
And seraphs was a-singin' psalms,
You've no ideer 'ow sweet;
Wiv cheroobs crowdin' closer round
Than peas is in a pod,
'E led me to a shiny mound
Where beams the throne o' God.
And then I 'ears God's werry voice:
"Bill 'agan, 'ave no fear.
Stand up and glory and rejoice
For 'im 'oo led you 'ere."
And in a nip I seemed to see:
Aye, like a flash o' light,
My angel pal I knew to be
The chap I plugged last night.
Now, I don't claim to understand --
They calls me Bonehead Bill;
They shoves a rifle in me 'and,
And show me 'ow to ****
Me job's to risk me life and limb,
But . . . be it wrong or right,
This cross I'm makin', it's for 'im,
The cove I croaked last night.
2.7k
Barking along the seething sea
Tethys sparkling
Sans Pellagrino
Bubbled up with volcanic
Albido
And it exposed the cragged shores
Of a incessantly compiling
Or
Completely snuffed
Mountain
Bored and drilled by time
Sharper than a dying dimond
Cooked and left to rest
A Dinar plate
To which an all you can eat
Buffet
Played out pleasently
From antiquity
To present
A gift to an aging child
To be which pure joy can behold.
Today it is home of the Croats
The ancient Frontier of a meiotic Rome
And over small-grain time
Made coats
Of arms and animal manes
To give a name
To the nameless
To give a place
To the missed
That old Tethys barks like a fish
Beyond the Odoacerean boot, Scylla and Charybdis
Where the whales float
And great souls
Stolen deep within
wishing to find god
Fumbling in the dark
Searching for Alexandria
The flame of life
Become great stories to be told
And nothing more.
Odysseus
Hug the shore
Follow the land of the mysterious Croats
Do not venture beyond the threshold
Or you will be consumed by time
And lost to her Circedean jealous pines
Do not anger the constant love of
Helios
No,
These Croats have never croaked
They know not of amphibiotes
And the sharpened clades of life
Made and tailored bespoke
Sowed
In the fractals
Of the quiet word of
Eloah.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 2:41 PM UTC
Anne and I were walking
down in the country
when we saw a lake
and a frog at its edge
“Ladies,” it croaked
*“Will one of you give me a kiss? –
I was a fantastic saxophone player
and a country witch turned me
into a green frog”*
I knelt down and picked up the frog
and threw him in my pocket
and buttoned up
so the creature couldn’t escape
and I resumed walking
“Sue,” said Anne to me
*“Are you nuts?
The frog said it’ll turn
into a fantastic saxophone player -
so why don’t you or I kiss it?”*
“Anne,” I replied,
*“it’s you who's nuts
We’d make more money
with a talking frog anytime
than with a saxophone dummy”*
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 5:06 AM UTC
Arthur McKnight was a powerful man and New York was his playground. Not that he ventured out anymore at night now that he had met Evangeline. The long days of mind-numbing numbers he crunched managing Wall Street hedge funds had taken their toll on him over the years, but becoming intimate with Evangeline had saved him, had changed him in ways so fundamental that for him she was all that mattered.
Arthur no longer noticed these subtle differences. He daydreamed by the dim LCD light of stock tickers, craving the touch that only his woman could bestow upon him. He had surrendered completely to her bliss.
These days when he woke to her already gone from his Upper West Side apartment all that was left of her presence was a lipstick kiss on the mirror and a bottle of Sally Hansen Tangerine Orange nailpolish. The quiet was deafening, but that bottle of Sally Hansen left on the bathroom counter held the promise of Evangeline's return.
It was just after 7 p.m. when Arthur made it home and he could already sense her. She was coming. He strode with purpose to his master suite, spying the black thigh-highs and silky red dress he had laid out for her arrival. The waiting was unbearable, and Arthur finally broke, needing Evangeline so badly he could smell her perfume, could taste her in his throat. It was time; no more waiting.
"You look lovely tonight, Evangeline," Arthur croaked aloud as he pulled the first of the thigh highs onto his shaven legs...
Jan 8, 2014
Jan 8, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
There’s a sage at the doorway
Negating affinity as a leeway.
He never spoke to me though he’s there
I shunned the thought lest I did care.
Grew up in envy
To those – they never saw right through me;
How I yearned for that man’s attention
And from others’ sage I longed discretion.
A battle occupied his thought,
A war seldom won, constantly fought.
For such warrior was taken abashed
Looked at me, ‘I can’t take you back.’
Grounded within me was the silence,
Left and right I sought for solace.
Never sure if could amount to anything in his eyes,
Until I found out he too was never sought off despite.
Desperate - in a sense
As I took hold of a pretense;
Had not the Divine stoop down to reclaim
What I had yearned for the sage, I blamed.
A treble in my throat croaked, “Father”
Despite holding grudge I never bothered
Spoke nor utter a thought in my mind.
There, I froze with teeth to the grind.
Truth encountered my despot idealism,
Tried hard to renounce the criticism.
It’s weight – truth only subjugated my hate;
“Love – unless you embrace it, cannot placate”
Fell on my knees, armor exhausted itself around,
Wrung over my shoulders arms of the One who found
Me clinging on the border of insight and despair,
Only His Will my broken, calloused heart molds into repair.
I glanced back at the sage, I met yearning eyes,
Sought he, his worth for me and found no despise.
All along, had I known, he too was a broken and contrite;
Would not I, received much bestow what is right?
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Driving off onto the 101 rush hour concrete jungle, there are no exits,
only obligations to stay stuck in my mobile cubicle moving at the speed of slow.
Hidden flowers on the hillside bloom away mocking my insanity,
they cheer me on to see beyond these gray prison bevels.
Gray blocks hollow until they're filled with my humanity,
making me take the choices reaped with devils.
I feel like I've lived a day in one hour, it's so early it could be midnight.
Twisting and turning in my brain, the sun suddenly ridicules, feeding me a fresh case of insane.
I'm at a point of sorrow, sorrow of an exceptional quality, Grade A-farm raised, take two tomorrow.
The raven croaked nevermore, Juliet is the sun, dangren-burang1.
We have to go. I'm almost happy here2. Complacency rots insides, then refills with fear.
So - Listen to them - children of the night. What music they make3. Clamoring for sight.
There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to **** There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof4. Filled with truths, synapse salvoes, loves, and drugs. We love what we eat and eat who we are. GERManic germs looking for psychological thrills. You work the guns, I'll rattle the hills.
Smoking cannabis to an over-extent, hope lost, old kung-fu and 80's movies won, I eat smoke for breakfast.
This sun is still mocking me, “Start your day, be productive, make a baby, then expiry.”
Stepping into society, I'm a satanic leaf-tailed gecko wanting freedom, abdicate, and let go your kingdom.
Halfheartedly half washed dishes in my sink; this entropy roller-coaster of highs and lows drives me to drink and think, then drink and smoke, making life one strange syrupy green swirl of mammarys and calamities filled with brevity’s of rarities.
5,000 images, 2 comedies, and a numb right arm later I've turned into dark matter, invisibly pulling all that matters together into a forever stretched infinitely, literally making synergies out of life-energies.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 5:01 PM UTC
The death-filled battlefield lay foul and grey,
Its noisome stillness broken grimly by the groans
Of wounded, broken, bleeding, dying men.
But, cheer up folks, there's some good news:
Gently, slowly, through that desolate scene
Came an Angel all dresséd in nurses' kit;
She wandered, lovely as a cloud, starched in white,
Giving eager head unto the maimed and crippled.
"Me, me" a legless soldier wanly called,
More in hope than in serious expectation
Of a caring gobble before he croaked.
And then he passed on to the great ******** in the sky,
Another useless sacrifice to nothing what-so-fucking-ever.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
.
"That there Is'belle's house stinks wunderful turr'ble,"croaked Emma Beiler at their quilting bee.
"Jah...vell," sighed Rosanna Yoder. "All them there katzes , ain't so?"
Accordingly the two ladies set out to pay Travis and Isabella Salter a visit, only to be politely told that they had were in the process of taking some cats to a local shelter.
Two weeks passed and to the Amish folks' disgust the odour had merely intensified.
"Them there Englisch are chust liars!" Potato Sam spat the words out along with a *** of chewing tobacco.
" Ach, vell," sighed his wife Rosanna, unaware of her heavily sweating underarms. The Ordnung strictly forbade deodorant as well as perfume. "Reckon I best mosey over and see fur myself."
Travis opened the door with a tired sigh.
'Chust thought I'de ask vhat fur stinks yer house up so vonderful tur'ble...Izzy tells us youse gettin' rid of them but-"
A puzzled look crossed Travis weary face as he glanced toward the kitchen. Irritation gripped him, not lessened as Rosanna glowered at Tabby washing her face on the couch. Then a waft of a familiar scent, overpowering, drifted toward him from the kitchen. Brussel sprouts enhanced by -.
With all the stress, Isabelle was increasing her calming herbs, mixing the powders.... Valerian?
"Good evening, Mrs. Yoder." He motioned her toward the door, locking it firmly behind her. For a long time after she was gone he stood staring out the window.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
I remember stories, told through grey smoke
recited slowly, under shadowed eyes
as the old, dry toad croaked,
in a rickety melody by my side.
Forgotten romancers would carve
hearts into the husk of pine.
One was told,
time after time:
Two lovers, a yellow scarf,
we are both the same, headless and blind.
Lose all sense when we meet up
I pray you'll rescue me
chase away my sorrow and bad luck.
Rain always seems to pour most
once I'm building my shelter
my poor face as pale as a ghost
and my urgency, burns like a summer swelter.
I need you like the river needs its bending
to love you is natural,
a broken bone must go on mending.
So take your weathered hands
lead me to the forest
I cannot see, but I feel its stirring.
The finch and the blackbird, chattering chorus
brain-dead trusting, so alluring.
Nov 22, 2023
Nov 22, 2023 at 2:03 AM UTC
To whom did the desire started,
a life to spend of the offset.
Stand guard, await down the fertile aisle,
heart open in keeping a face straight while.
Seek the heart to contemplate a mere indecision,
a bored attempt to reek in a false revision.
Too late now as the maiden transcends the scene
jarring the thoughts aside or else it reeks as sin.
Stared longer on her pace down the cloth until streams flow,
a split-second realized his heart leapt and his feelings towed
Tucked in the throat, he croaked and let the furtive heart free,
'this woman,' he saw - beaming, 'am hers and she, for me.'
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
i know
the raven quoth
"nevermore"
and croaked
himself horse
for Lady Macbeth
while the crow
is an omen
of doom
or a messenger
carrying secrets
for the gods
but
if i saw
one of these
blackened birds
in solitude
i doubt
i could tell
which it was
Jun 8, 2022
Jun 8, 2022 at 11:13 AM UTC
When I say Zombies ate my neighbors, I'm not talking about a video game.
Zombies ate my neighbors and I'm one of the Zombies who is to blame.
Because my family and I are undead, it put us in very bad moods.
My family and I croaked because our neighbors poisoned our food.
A big corporation was going to pay top dollar for every house on the block.
But when my family and I refused to sell, the neighbors were angry and shocked.
I wouldn't sell the house that I've lived in since I was five.
And that is why my wife and kids and I did not survive.
Our neighbors had a barbecue and my family and I ate the food that they grilled.
But we wouldn't have touched the food if we had known that we would be killed.
My family and I have risen from the grave, we have green skin and are zombies.
When our neighbors saw us, they ****** their pants and cried for their mommies.
Our neighbors killed us because money was something they thought they'd gain.
When we had our homicidal neighbors for supper, we started with their brains.
Our greedy neighbors killed us and we returned the favor.
Stay away from my family and I because human flesh is what we savor.
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 12:49 PM UTC
A crow rested on a fence
and I wondered what this story-book fiend
with his dark, beady eyes, clever sense
and his feathers well-preened
wanted from someone as hollow as me.
I couldn't do anything but wait and see.
What did one say when faced with a crow
who had no appointments to rush to
no place he must go?
As if speaking was something I could do.
So with a wooden arm I gave him a little wave.
Pleased, he came closer, that fabled young knave.
I could not move much and I could not speak
as the crow stopped right at my rooted feet
and prodded my foot with his beak.
I'm a listless liar he deemed worthy to meet.
So I did not speak and I did not move
an inaction of which the crow did not approve.
He flew back to his fence that creaked
and shifted when the wind pressured its joints.
The forceful draft stung my eyes so they leaked
tears, I found I always disappoint.
The crow flexed his black wings
eyes closed as, for him, the gale sings.
I croaked out a question from deep in my throat
the wind became a whisper as the crow paid attention
"Are you here to jeer and gloat
over my bad decisions and poor intentions?"
He shook that dark head and said
"You're a terrible liar. I'm here to help instead."
"But are you not a portender of death
here to show me I have the illest of luck?"
Why can I not catch my breath?
Wondrous wings glide on waning wind then tuck
neatly against his back for he chose my shoulders
to better speak words that doused what smolders.
The crow rested on my shoulders and cawed
a sound soft and broken
and I thought it terribly odd
that the crow would caw when it was well-spoken.
So when the pressure of panic permeated my chest
the crow spoke again so my horrible heart could rest
"If I were just a crow residing on a fence..."
He gestured with his wing to where he was before.
"Then I'd have left you to your own offense
and not show you what you often ignore."
His black wings pushed my head 'til I saw the gate.
Hope swung at my roots freeing my feet from their hate.
"I believe you have many apologies to make."
I nodded my head and the gate opened.
The crow continued, "The right choices often take
an ax to your tree, to your roots. With hope and
desire to change, you can grow something new."
I stepped into the world beyond the fence and away the crow flew.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 11:28 AM UTC
“Humankind: be kind – be One!
I am appalled at what’s been done.
Benign intentions must restrain us.
Hate should never entertain us.”
The toad comedian Ban Ki-Moon
croaked a pitiful One-World tune
while gunmen paused, reloaded, armed
checked that they had no comrades harmed –
and then prepared for further battle
against the clueless kuffar cattle.
Ban stood upright to intervene;
surveyed the terrorific scene…
muezzins chanted, mullahs chuckled
swords were sharpened, bomb-vests buckled.
Dhimmi dim-wits went on shopping.
(Are heads in sand less prone to chopping ?)
Hesitating, he cleared his throat,
raised his pitch by a quarter note:
“These acts are most undemocratic
We are saddened; yet emphatic – “
(no one heard his discourse further
drowned by the sound of massive ******
So let’s consider what is meant
by rolling heads and bodies splattered…
time for Truth to represent
(as if such inconvenience mattered…)
Such events disturb our sleep
and force us to compose, on waking,
lullabies for drowsy sheep
as predators are overtaking.
Flags of doom and holy slaughter,
sons of Ishmael filled with rage
are coming for your wife and daughter
and yourself. You turn the page.
Rising now to storm your tower
(7th century back to bite you),
Allah brings satanic power
to convert you or to smite you.
****** dhimmis would have us think
such rage is due to unemployment;
pure confusion on the brink
of funding further troop deployment.
Meanwhile, mullahs sip their tea
while tenured academics prattle
watching MSNBC
as soldiers die in battle.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 8:31 PM UTC
On her feet
running,
sweat trickled down from her forehead,
to her neck,
down her *****
The sweat line made a stop at her belly button
and continued after it filled her tiny button.
Down it continued,
running fast
till it got to her under-wear
that absorbed it all.
She was all alone in the heart of the thick forest,
wanting to get un-lost and needing some human company.
She stopped to get some air.
The forest had its usual features, tall trees, short trees, crawling plants and green things alike.
The night clouds wasnt putting on its pendant, the moon.
The trees waved,
the wind whistled quietly,
the frogs croaked
and the owls hooted.
It happened in that order
for a while.
Her legs, unstable
her eyes, hot and wide open
Her breath, in quick bursts
and her chest rising and falling in fear.
The night, pregnant with horror, death and evil
Soon all that made sounds ceased
Her heart paused for three seconds.
Then, she heard a roar
a deep, rich and mature roar.
She wanted to run
but her legs would not obey
She wanted to scream for help
but her throat was stuffed and numb.
The creature sensed her body heat
and followed the trail, running.
Its foot steps caused the ground to shake.
It found her
Eyeball to eyeball,
she and the creature.
Death was a few seconds away.
Hot ***** escaped her buttocks
Tears flowed
as she stood face to face with this monster
As she tried to summon courage to fight for her life,
the creature swallowed her quick
Her death was painless.
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 5:51 AM UTC
Naked, destitute, confused;
My soul bares itself-
Empty to life's troubling ruse.
Mongrels snarl and scream
As I am chased away from-
Tattered dreams.
Misfortunes cast out
Like fishing line to a sea;
Empty woes hollow and prim
Opine shallow heresies.
Poverty and paradise bellow-
Deep through the glistening
Shaft of temporal demise.
Time is a tempest of sorcery
Fueled and filed by wild mages
Scrawling these white pages
Like a shaman on tenement walls:
"Forgive my kiss and forget my lips,
Death's call has me after all."
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 4:11 PM UTC
My memories are alphebetized and filed in steel cabinets
But at least I've never paid taxes.
These tracks rack my heavy head,
And with consistancy of lose lead I find I make my bed
Eastward and upward and moving forward feels back asswards
And not only have my once-loved-ones forgot their own adivce...
They let street rats dine, dash and flash feces like crack rocks.
School of the soft-knox they bare qualities close to the itch of a chicken pock.
Rockin' failure in the lines on their faces, I've placed this between I and U,
These steel tracks rack, my, how the time does fly when
You've never paid taxes.
And I'm dusting off files close forgotten,
Tucking rotten ones behind other cold cases
Using laughter to mock roofed and mute traces of
Never more and here we go again.
But if only! If only the woodpecker croaked!
Jokes pried from pedestals marked "short lived" -
Six suicides long and my hometowns *** is wound so tight
It actually drops diamonds. of course in spite of this
The majority spit is ****
Misery takes to masses, foul stench latched, snatched,
Roofed and mute and at least I've never paid taxes.
(Written 3/12)
Jun 10, 2012
Jun 10, 2012 at 10:17 PM UTC