"croc" poems
The door to your heart is a horrifying puzzle
Your Jigsaw pattern I can't put together
The pieces I hold don't correspond
So I take parts from you
Which is making me Leatherface
And giving you a flatter taste
And the ****** chain I saw placed
Was pressed to your door with haste
You're a killer doll like Chucky
How could I have been so unlucky?
I can't even cut through your curtains
I become a cold corpse before the movie can start
Like a careless Jamie Lee Curtis
How long can such a curted courtship last?
Before I contrive the courage to crush
The Killer Croc in your rib cage
But the corrosive corrections officer
That is your puzzle piece door
Impedes all progress to your horror heart
Because the improper placement of pieces
Will make me think you're The Witch
When you tell me Don't Breathe
As my theater's lights dim
I scramble for an exit
But my only escape from the cinema is through your door
I grow cynically situated to the pitch black pictures
How could I expect to solve the riddle
Now that I need to?
Doors that can't be opened are walls
Speaking softly turns to brawls
As your pieces scattered like change
Your door completely wrapped in chains
I feel stupid and ashamed
Your puzzled movie's to blame
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
She loved the catnip
Straight for the hip
She was like an alley cat
With a worn out welcome mat
Her tail rang a chime
And every tom stopped on her dime
Petting was blunt
For all the toms went for the hunt
Affront of the beat
Two cats in heat
Nights played out in false hearts
Howls were off the charts
Brief was the moment
Lost was the fulfillment
Days sagged later
A same old story, bye alligator
Much to the chagrin
Of the alley's spin
When her baby was born
She was forlorn
Like a woman out of wedlock
Dealing with tom's, full of croc
My sister, I watched you fall
My words to you hit a blank wall
You played the game
Without a flame
Sadness as your son bleed
Now years later he followed your lead
Logan Robertson
8/09/2018
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
She was the glittering fairy
In the books,
But those who knew
Of the fairy
Tinker Bell,
Told another truth.
For hook was never after Pan
He was to hook a fairy,
Was his plan.
She had them hooked
On Dust,
Each morning
They would snort the glitter,
Then once again
Before dusk.
Those of weak soul
Could not take the toll,
Blood would seep
from there,
Eyes
Ears
& nose.
Feed to the croc
With a clock ticking,
Also addicted to
Lost boy flesh
Glazed,
Glittered,
Eyes,
Of a hunger untold
Peter Pan
He flew to our world,
Not for
Friendship
Or for fun,
But to replace those fallen
Dismembered,
Hacked,
carved,
All by tinkers wand.
They were
Feed to the croc,
When all were asleep
High on dust
They never did ask,
Where the others had gone.
Enticed by a far away land,
Those who were taken
Never again to see home.
The lost boys
In a far off Land.
Peter her protector,
From the man,
The one with a hook for a hand.
Stories sing a different tune,
For it was tinker bell
Who magically removed
This limb called hand,
To quench its hunger,
Fed it to croc
Now the beast has a
Taste for the man.
No ill does hook hold
Against Pan,
But a sword
Must be put
Through this child,
Who thinks he is man.
For hook is the only one
Who can rid this land,
Of the twisted dealer
Of dust,
Who wishes
To enslave this land.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 4:36 PM UTC
Beware of the smiling crocodile
He’s charming as a flower
Even though he’s a vicious crocodile
He hides his true croc power
His smile is bright as the sky
And his teeth sparkle like the sun
When he displays all his crocodile charms
It’ll be too late to know what he has done
Don’t get too close
And don’t let him see
A vicious mean crocodile
Will only sense your vulnerability
Should you fall within his grasp
And his grip clutches you in,
It’ll be too late, say farewell, my friend
The giant croc has taken you in
For when the crocodile smiles
And his jaws open wide
You will not know
Until you are eaten up and digested inside.
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:30 AM UTC
There's spring and there's summer, there's all that's in between
no listless skies of anodyne; now nature flaunts and preens
What beauty fills the hungry eye 'neath a sky of blue, serene
verdant vales soaked in sun, awash in palettes of green
There are pastels that awaken and deep shades that passion brews
created hues that trickle...sprinkled with 'chartreuse'
There's the green of 'asparagus' and that of 'artichokes'
Of 'forest', 'ferns' , of 'moss', a brush of different strokes
Fragrant plants of 'mint', then 'myrtle' and 'green tea'
'Emerald', 'jade' or 'harlequin' and 'malachites' that be
Off creamy shells, just 'pistachio', 'green apples', then of 'pines'
It lies too in 'sap' and 'teal', in 'avocados' and tangy 'lime'
There's green of the 'mantis', in 'jungle', 'hunters' and 'shamrock'
The lithe 'parakeet' fluttering and the lazy sanguine 'croc'
In blessed 'basil', ' pickle', in 'pear', 'olives' in 'bottle green'
'Gourds' and 'peas' that farmers grow in cultivars pristine
'Tis there in 'aqua' and 'seaweed', in the ripple of 'sea green' waves
In 'turtles', 'sea foam', 'anemone' and a 'tropical glistening lake'
From 'laurel green' to an 'army green' , in 'sage' ( a shade of grey )
The color of 'grass' , the murky 'swamp' , hues in array
There's 'neon' and an 'Indian green', a 'Persian' one to mystify
A 'midnight green' to bright 'fluorescent', oh, for green rainbows in the eye
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 10:30 AM UTC
There's now proof, that a Russian flesh-eating cannibal is in the good old US of A
He would offer you toxic ingredients, including gasoline and lighter fluid, I'd say
But, because its tell-tale scaly sores, are similar to another well known leacher
They initially played down concerns, saying, "they're not seeing signs of the creature"
My boyfriend had maggots coming out of his leg, after a recent foreign scare
I know people don't want to hear stuff like that, but it is really happening out there
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all
They fall to the charlatans, that promise you a crystal ball
A little at first and then some more, that's for sure
It will make you snap, give you curls and dance you a little twirl
Star gazing thru the sun ray and day tripping into a wayward night
That's why if you use crocodile juice, it will do more than shake ya loose
Destroying our souls, creating huge holes and build mountains out of moles
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all
Mr Jeffrey Vint has become less popular among his abusers
I say, "they're all losers", but I guess, beggars can't be choosers
Some mother's even gave birth with two thumbs, but those babies are now total ****
Others think the monster could be at large, maybe roaming your neighbourhood
Put a stop to this croc's chomp, before it destroys everything in the swamp
Get your doctor to prescribe a stronger drug, to conquer that evil imposter
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
pieces of flotsam
soak and float on the paper,
jetsam thrown to lighten
the load,
or goad,
the alligator, away
the guttural noises, sound like harsh
commentary the closer the
gator
is allowed to get,
not wanting to look over the shoulder,
but stop in for biting remarks,
the gator's teeth are so large and famous
they have names and voices;
"punctuation or punctures, I can help"
"point of view tch, tch, tch"
"your grammar needs work"
"doubt you will finish"
"no one will read IT"
"you will never find the right word"
"is your audience a six year old"
"borrrrring"
"what a croc"
"are you enjoying what you are doing?"
"successful writers are all published"
"you call that a sentence, keep it up and it will be a death sentence "
"how many tenses can you misuse in a paragraph"
and these are the names of some of the smaller teeth,
the molars, are more than a mouthful,
have polar names, that would leave anyone cold,
even the bold,
and shall not be put in print,
they bring out the PTSD,
imprinted for eternity, by
the gator which
comes at the sounds
of splashing, flailing, and failing,
as the pounding of the heart,
the deepened breathing,
as the ink from
the pen, unfiltered,
leaves nerves and veins exposed,
while leaving to find home, a safe haven, a storybook ending,
away from the gator's keen sense of
overt criticism, intended to gut,
and eviscerate, cutting remarks,
putdowns to hold down and under,
the piece that IT is trying to tear off
while spinning or shaking the head
side to side, which is both NO!
and to bash the will, the self-esteem, into little pieces
of me...
and my worst enemy,
my internal, infernal editor,
with the voracious appetite for self-defeating
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:08 AM UTC
It has come into question
My love for the Croc
Whether it be in bare twinkle toes
Or with knee high socks
Rubber on rubber
From top end to sole
Soft spongy comfort
To take on the road
Yes they're here for the comfort
Not here for the speed
Certainly not for the fashion
If that's what you seek
You might have already guessed
That left long ago
Trying hard to impress
Those in the know
The older you get
The less that you care
Hence my love for the Croc
And fur underwear
But back to my Crocs
Like it or not
It's all that I wear
They're all that I've got
Ask me which style
That I mostly own
(Inquiring minds want to know)
I'd have to say
Why, "The Original"
It's streamlined to date
With the perfect number of holes
I even wear them on dates
These Crocs got it going on
So let me be the first
To let you all in on this
My love for Crocs
Is just what it is
Be it in the bare feet
Or with paisley socks
You need to get over it
Cause I love my Crocs
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 9:01 AM UTC
Betty Woo needed a poo but had no
toilet to go on, sheopened her crack to
let the logs splash,
then a croc did swallow thinking it was food,
then bit her **** for ******** in its water.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
Can you solve me?
unfold me expose my problems.maybe not. a simple bow slowly becoming a masterpiece of interwoven components. pick up sticks. twister. limbo. on the brink of collapse. One. two. three strikes your out. those are the rules, are you ready? go! drugs. depression. disability.drinking. abuse. blasting any sound to keep out the shouts. deceit. lies. regret. curses spewed out. careful you might trip. Or maybe you already are. like I said a bow, so easy to undo, so simplistic, internally it becomes equivalent to rocket science. Where's the key to success? the missing puzzle piece? buried in as-seen-on-tv purchases and old moldy mattresses children's toys and croc pots. smothering the pain of a loved one passed. is he dead or alive?who knows. Is she going to make it to 50?unlikely. suicide just in time for a birthday. unfair exchange. continuing pattern. someone has to make up the hoi palloi no one can or will solve it. you can take that to the bank...just wait a couple weeks.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 3:31 AM UTC
You couldn't believe
so quiet could be the croc
its eyes a wise sage
scales rigid rock
lay frozen on the mud
no flies could stir
stubbornly in trance
mind elsewhere
sixteen feet in size
dumb cool in creek
in the hermit's guise
lamblike tender meek
pounce it does when needs
not preys on what eats not
the human hunter feeds
on hatred and whole lot.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
A little FISHY saw a smile,
And curiously, he followed;
He knew not 'twas a CROCODILE:
He very soon was swallowed.
The little FISHY cried and cried
To try and call his mummy,
Because he was shut up, inside
The CROCODILE's dark tummy.
The CROC had heard the FISHY's tears.
She pushed him past her liver
And through her heart, and out her ears
And back into the river.
May 22, 2010
May 22, 2010 at 9:40 PM UTC
Dead heads stare from the wall
one can't tell if their glassy eyes
hold the relics of past life
or the sadness of having lost it
to the fires of royal pastime
tiger eyes look pathetically pleading
for re-stitching the stripes on the bones
leopard head growls only in anguish
of his spots being soft spot for target
the open jaws of the croc
can't still swallow the stuck bullet
awed eyes of deer is yet to sense
the muzzle that ruptured its innocence
the jackals, birds, langurs, civets
all frozen in the suddenness of the ***** out.
The hunter's head peeps from a dusty frame
having got his place of pride
among his game.
Jun 27, 2016
Jun 27, 2016 at 3:10 AM UTC
James Corden’s close relationship with Burberry designer Christopher Bailey was celebrated at the 2016 Tony Awards.
On Sunday night (12Jun16) the toast of Broadway were celebrated at the annual awards show. British star James was the evening’s host, winning the crowd over with his warm sense of humour and down to earth delivery.
As well as a successful acting and presenting career, James can now also add style icon to his burgeoning resume.
“We wanted to keep the wardrobe tight and focused with a definite beginning and an end,” stylist Michael Fisher told vogue.com.
“We started with Burberry for the red carpet. James and Christopher Bailey have a long-standing relationship. I wanted a strong look that complemented the roses. The deep burgundy tux had matte black micro sequins on the lapel: very sophisticated and classic, with a technical update.”
Like any good awards show host, 37-year-old James had numerous outfit changes. Two suits from Tom Ford featured; a black three-piece design which served as a tribute to Broadway and then a teal dot dinner jacket, which James chose to wear at the after party.
A show-stopping Dolce & Gabbana look also featured, with the fashion house supplying a pair of “handmade, dark green croc shoes” to complement the green velvet and crystal jacket James wore to close the show.
Another stand out moment came thanks to a red Gucci suit adorned with a bird and butterfly motif.
“The Gucci suit was my favourite,” Michael smiled. “You can’t ignore the influence (Gucci designer) Alessandro Michele has on fashion right now. It reminded me of (musical) The Boy From Oz and in that way was very appropriate for the Tonys.”Read more at: www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/cocktail-dresses
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 1:40 AM UTC
can you solve me?
unfold me expose my problems.maybe not. a simple bow slowly becoming a masterpiece of interwoven components. pick up sticks. twister. limbo. on the brink of collapse. one. two. three strikes you're out. those are the rules, are you ready? go! drugs. depression. disability. drinking. dementia. blasting any sound to keep out the shouts. deceit. lies. regret. abuse. curses spilled out. carful you might trip. Or maybe you already are. like I said, a bow, so easy to undo, so simplistic, internally it becomes equivalent to rocket science. Where's the key to success? the missing puzzle piece? buried in as-seen-on-tv purchases and old moldy mattresses, children's toys and croc pots. smothering the pain of a loved one passed. is he dead or alive? who knows. Is she going to make it to 50?unlikely. suicide just in time for a birthday. unfair exchange.continuing pattern. someone has to make up the hoi palloi no one can or will solve it.you can take that to the bank...just wait a couple weeks
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
Every time I answer I give away a little more of myself
The list of things I need to be grows every day
Another gap to plug with lines.
It’s hard to take sometimes.
I have begun to suspect that the old adage
“It's not you, it's me,” is not really about broken love but about ******* job applications.
You breathe a say of relief, I can hear it, “thank god not another lonely-hearts column”
Only a poem, insipid and sighing.
But I’m fresh onto the stage treading the boards for the very first time.
Swollen by years of septic success
Swimming in a pool on the Strand I was a happy middleweight
In this ocean, I am a particle of micro-plastic, unwanted but bobbing along nonetheless.
Another email, better than no email at all, regretting, informing and wishing me the best.
I draw myself together pulling at the loose strings at my seams, greeting, informing and thanking them for consideration, again.
This time though, the holes seem stretched, the string frayed
I’m a little worried that it will give, tired of straining it will collapse under the weight of my doused desire.
But there’s not much to be done.
So, I fill myself up with some watered-down ire, three coffees, a nibble of cake and a croc of horseshit with which to sell my fire.
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 1:31 PM UTC
b
efore i
formed
y
o
u
in
the
wo
mb
i
k
n
e
w
y
o
u
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 1:46 AM UTC
you always seem to be around when I do
the stupidest of things
like that one time
at three in the morning
I asked Katherine to roll on the ground with me
down the hallway of our dorm
and you happened to come up the stairs
and I made eye contact with your California smile
and that one time I told Sarah I was going to diet
until I reached my birth weight
of six pounds, seven ounces
and you overheard the conversation
and awkwardly walked by
and that one time
that I had a craptastic day
and you happened to sit next to me in at dinner
and a rock got caught in my Croc
(why I was wearing these I don't know)
and I accidentally fell while trying to get it out
and you just took another sip of Diet Coke and left
and that one time
that I for some cruel reason of fate
decided to count the exit signs in the cafeteria
like that was a brilliant idea
and you happened to be on the other side of the door
so I basically ran away
only you followed me
look, I know you think that I
was doing these things on purpose,
even though your face is always blank and expressionless;
I know on the inside you think I am
the biggest idiot on the face of the planet.
It has been exactly six days
in a row
of me doing the STUPIDEST ****
and you always happen to be there,
waiting for me to spill something,
sing something,
trip and tumble down the stairs
for your own amusement?
maybe so.
or maybe I'm just clumsy.
and I also know that you probably think
I have a massive crush on you,
that I stalk you and wait for these opportunities
to make myself look like a genuine freak
just so you
with your sun coast hair
and your summertime lips
will notice me.
but I don't.
I was just too bad to be a good girl
and too good to be bad
and you were just beautiful.
Oct 19, 2011
Oct 19, 2011 at 10:59 AM UTC
Stories are just another way of lying to children.
I could say I've lived in another country for the past three years.
Which one?
Irrelevant.
But they could speak english, and that's all that matters.
I once wrote a letter to the president.
He took a quote from me and put it in his speech, taking full credit!
But of course I let him for the good of our country.
Did you know, stories don't have to have beginnings or endings?
I became a professional wrestler.
How?
Irrelevant.
All that matters is that you keep the audience entertained.
Nothing. Else. Matters.
And one more thing.
Those Croc shoes..
What the **** were they thinking?
Oct 25, 2010
Oct 25, 2010 at 10:26 AM UTC
If I could ever count the cost
If ever I was at a Croc loss
Oh the inhumanity
If there were no Crocs upon my feet
No comfort for them to saddle in
No soft rubber sponge in which to grin
Whether Chinese made or Mexican
If you have not Crocked you have not lived
At the sight of Crocs it brings to mind
Who is the king of the foot line
When the rubber hits the hardened road
It is the Croc that's in the know
So take a ride and slip and slide
Inside the Croc you'll feel you died
And landed straight at heaven's gate
Where angels have Crocs on their feet
Do you still feel the need to ask
If Crocs are just a passing fad
You can ask my feet and my ten toes
They're the ones that are in the know
But their reply will be a muffled sound
As they're both inside my Crocs right now
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
Two bears lie on my arm.
They show my mother and me.
The love for her is permanent,
It's tattooed on my skin.
A whale sits on my foot.
It has no loving feeling.
It's a funny little story,
Impulse control got the best of me.
so now that sad whale,
is tattooed to my skin.
Little croc, he rides my shoulder
He's holding a balloon.
First piece in colour, but i need more
tattoo 3 is a permaddition to my skin.
My next piece will ride my side.
the story is a little sadder,
Traditional style in blacks and blues,
An iceberg to show my secrets.
An iceberg to show pain and sorrow,
Hidden deep below.
That tattoo inspires,
to make me wanna be better.
So I think it's a fine addition,
A new tattoo to add to my skin.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 6:03 PM UTC
*Carved in rock lies the croc
with sun burning its scale
though ticked for long the cruel clock
came no freedom from the well!
Life is boring days are dull
dragging is every moment
locked within an unscalable wall
eyes seek faraway firmament!
Where's the river its mind cries
swarms of the river fish
the river only flows in its sleepy eyes
for a home that's now dead wish!
Lying in the well dreams on the croc
for a river it cannot ever roam
times fly away with the ticking clock
to get it in the sky a home!*
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
I wonder how Tarzan felt,
I mean he ruled the jungle once,
had his king chimp by his side,
kicked a lot of lion ***
Then Jane showed up
in her leopard-skin outfit.
Soon the guy couldn't win,
and he put on a gut.
The natives said he'd hit a rut,
was not as fast as he used to be
& had a croc scar to prove it.
Then again,
we all have choices,
so it really doesn't matter
how Tarzan felt
now does it?
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC
there was little crocodile he didnt have any teeth
he lived in a swamp in the mud beneath
he uesd to **** his food this it made him sad
didnt have the teeth that he should have had
oneday in the swamp he began to cry
spotted by a fairy who was passing b
crocodile he told her that his teeth had gone
unlike other crocodiles he was born with none.
dont worry said the fairy i know what to do
i will use my magic and cast a spell for you
fairy wave her wand now crocodile had teeth
just like all the others in the swamp beneath.
he was very happy he began to smile
that he couldnt do in a long long while.
croc he thanked the fairy for giving him his teeth
than he swam away in to the swamp beneath
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 5:14 PM UTC
I’m an Anti-Social Socialite,
rocking new New Balances,
most of these Kids aren’t rockin’ right,
they’ve got too much ego & too few talents with,
attitudes that need adjusting,
in other words they’re not talented,
when I appear Haters disappear,
call that a Lover’s Magic Trick,
written 10 books,
and still don’t know what an adjective is,
it’s like we’re Illiterate Literary Luminaries,
walking paradoxes in a par of Croc kicks,
kinda like an Anti-Social Socialite,
or a wise man that’s lost it,
even though we both know we’re never lost,
because we’re always here and always on topic,
and you’re never late either,
because the time is always now,
and I do all these things,
even though I don’t know how,
wow,
I’m an Anti-Social Socialite,
rocking new New Balances,
most of these Kids aren’t rockin’ right,
they’ve got too much ego & too few talents with,
attitudes that need adjusting,
in other words they’re not talented,
when I appear Haters disappear,
call that a Lover’s Magic Trick…
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
new book available worldwide: 8/8/18
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 8:42 PM UTC