"dahl" poems
Shel Silverstein and Roald Dahl
Live just down the hall
From each other
Somewhere in my mind
'Cause these ***** old men
Are known to have penned
Many favorite kid books of mine
But they also worked blue
And wrote more than a few
Naughty songs, novels and rhymes
They stayed true to their style
They'd go the extra mile
Their smut's guaranteed to blow minds!
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 8:38 PM UTC
A person who has good thoughts
cannot ever be ugly.
You can have a wonky nose
and a crooked mouth
and a double chin
and stick-out teeth,
but if you have good thoughts
they will shine out of your face
like sunbeams
and you will always
look lovely.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 1:14 PM UTC
poetry is stupid
it makes no sense
how does a turltle in the sea of immortality
translate to life is good
poetry *****
it should all be burned
id rather eat 10,000 ducks
poetry is the worst
and i am not the 1st
to say that poems are crap
they are better when they are rapped
ogden nashes poems are to short
while charles bukowski is a flat out perver
there is so much stuff better than poetry
like playing on a minecraft server
or watching TV or playing video games
even going to school influences less pain
poetry is for fools
that only like to drool
in front of a piece of paper
and write poems, well im a hater
and rhoald dahl makes the worst poems
critisizing the television
how do u get the news and the weather
and learn about politicians
so i end here
and if ur reading this
ur a queer
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC
In the book Going Solo,
Roald Dahl wrote about a woman
Who refused to eat anything with her bare hands
Instead, everything had to be handled with utensils
Knife in one hand and fork in another
She described the satisfaction of fruit cutting
The inexplicable joy at cleanly cleaving peel from flesh
Skill precise as a surgeon
Cutting it up according to Nature's dotted lines
I tried it on the same fruit
Somehow it just didn't feel right
Too refined, too silent
Unlike the practised deft peeling with bare fingers
Fingernails digging into the fruit, both refusing to compromise
Until eventually, the rind gives way and a cut is made
And from that same opening, tearing outwards
Sounding like strips of velcro are slowly being separated
The uneven globe of translucent orange flesh coming naked
Its pith shielding you from its full bright glory
Pulling it apart by halves, and then quarters, and then tenths
Each crescent shaped carpel in its mouth sized perfection
Sacs accidentally bursting, fingers sticky with juice
That is how an orange ought to be peeled.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 10:24 PM UTC
Hello again, and welcome to tonight’s program
A wonderful show it is, for you that is…
A beautiful imbalance of provocative wonders
Simmered together in an elixir of intoxication
The modern day alchemist roams the night for the eyes of sensuality
The midnight occupiers of the everlasting void
A world you understand but can’t comprehend
A life you comprehend but don’t understand
The unsaid pleasures of private fantasy
The untold fantasy of malevolent pleasures
Please come in
Don’t be shy
We’re all here
Waiting for you
Yes this way
Keep walking till you see the door
Yes
This is the door
The door for you
16
Room 16
It’s unlocked
It’s ok
Please
Walk in
This is your door
This is your mind
This is your door to your mind
Room 16
Where were you when you were 16?
Do you remember that one night that changed everything?
That one girl?
That one boy?
Finding yourself….did it happen?
Did you feel misunderstood?
Or
Did you misunderstand others?
I remember only too well.
The stories I faced
The ridicule I endured
“You need to be punished” said the stepfather-person, “But since you think you are old enough to make your own decisions, here’s one for you. Now it’s either you or your cat. I can either gut you or gut your cat…decide now, Which of you doesn’t get gutted?”
I look up at my little cat, squeezed underneath his massive arm
I didn’t put it past him that he would hurt me in an unimaginable way
I point to myself, saying that I didn’t want to be gutted.
“Wow.” The stepfather-person says, “You must not love your own pets. Some person you’ll turn out to be.”
He tosses the cat to the ground and leaves to his room.
The next day the cat is gone.
What cruel manifestations we are of all our sins
What dark creatures we are, yet we are terrified of the monsters underneath our bed
The monsters in the other room
The monster that sits at your dinner table
The monster that beats your mother
The monster that kicks you into a bookshelf
The monster that strangles you
The monsters
The monsters we all have the potential to become
But do we?
I’d like to think that some of us can become angels instead
Not monster or demons
But some do
In fact
Many of us do
Many of us become the monsters we covet.
What are you?
This has been tonight’s program. We’d like to thank the academy and all who made this possible: Quarters, Jimi Hendrix, Ronald Dahl, Marilynn Monroe, Bret Easten Ellis, watches, Eastern Promises, A history of Violence, Daniel Day Lewis, Rebecca Hall, Cocteau Twins, tomatoes, graphic novels, There will be blood, red gel pens, gold frames and all the little people.
Thank you and please visit us again.
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
mornings are better
when wrapped up
in strawberry kiwi
paper and burned.
-
like gene wilder
and roald dahl
with lickable wallpaper
cut up into skins.
-
a mile took more
effort than i thought,
and i'd rather replace
the tar in my lungs
with love,
but no one
likes to shotgun anymore,
and the man i've written
so much about
has pulled a move
more fitting me
than him,
-
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 11:55 AM UTC
"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."
-Roald Dahl
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC
sometimes i feel like i am in the midwest
sitting in queens
dyslexic
listening to Jessye Norman (who listens to her anymore)
sometimes i am flying over the sea
algae deep,
crashing mountains, ocean green
its the same every night when you are not here
i get home
do dishes
heat rice and dahl
open a beer
wait, wait, something on the weimar republic is on tonight
that's not new
the same questions
why the jews
how could so many
die in broad day light
while He walked the earth?
biblical tales that still
need interpretation
who is the weaker of the two
before now or after?
Jessye now sings Samson and Delilah,
the announcer announces
the singer sings,
"my heart opens to your voice like a flower
my dearest let your loving words dry my tears
tell me you are returning to Delilah
repeat the vows you made long ago
the vows i used to believe in"
the vows of heaven on earth?
the vows of justice?
who stands to inherit the earth ... the meek?
c'mon!
by G-d she could sing
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 1:25 AM UTC
And above all,
watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you
because the greatest secrets
are always hidden in the most unlikely places.
Those who don't believe in magic
will never find it.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 2:30 PM UTC
I like when we are alone together.
I like to be alone with you.
I like to be safe and adventuring at the same time, when my head meets the mountain and my feet meet the rock.
my moonbeam mountain boots fell apart the moment I left home, but I picked up my blueberry pail and I took to the fields like I always do.
He picked up your knife and he stabbed a man in the stomach of his heart, where he kept his daughter’s pocket mouse nomenclature. He kept the cells in a jar next to his collection of Roald Dahl stories.
Probably. Maybe not.
I like when I can sleep in your bed and feel absolutely balanced. You tip my femininity when you scratch my back with your stubble before you shave in the mornings and it is so lovely to be near one who can cry.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
between the book stacks
(in the reading corner of the coffee shop)
i sipped a mug of chamomile and honey tea
(maybe too fast)
you heard the muttered ****
(pardon my french)
a napkin suddenly appeared
(it was between Dahl and Dickinson)
the smile was unintentional
(i meant to keep my frown, really)
how could i resist those dimples
(and your charming way around puns)
funny how things work out
(or don't)
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
I make my way through neon fury
Into a dizzying blur of heads
I think i see mountains in the distance
The darkness hides the concrete mounds from sight
Child imagination
For this night make them those mountains
From the time that your gait was free and your feet tiny
O Immortal night
Turn the gravel
Into the wistful green that cushioned my soles
Turn the amber of my room into a bonfire
let me look upon the city lights from the shelter of my tent
O Immortal night
Let Wodehouse laugh from beside my bed
And turn midnight fury into a wisp of smoke
Douse the embers of the day with the silver juice of the moon
While i rest at the root of the hibiscus that bloomed when i was ten
O immortal night
let me dip my quill and rejoice in the ink of your innocence
for the chatter of voices past fills my cave
from shelves they read out their favourite lines
as Blyton speaks to Shakespeare
and Dahl courts Woolf
their spirits high and their voices low
O immortal night
Let the tooth fairy knock on my door once again
Its been ages since i met her
Let the mystery of the future
Stir my soul
With millions of questions
Blind me with the succour of my faith
O immortal night
Lend me belief
In the sunlight of rhythm
While Belafonte spreads his warmth
Let the oil paints make a marble on my ceiling
And beckon to the stars
I am
Because you are
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
"Call me James," he said.
Neither Jim, nor Jimmy; &
Certainly not: Jimbo.
Simply James, like King James,
The English Bible James,
James who authorized the translation,
James the First, himself;
Not that other James--
The James of Raoul Dahl--,
The James who got involved with a
Gigantic peach.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 1:09 AM UTC
Stop these doubts, mental jail bars, and iron tongues.
I was never good at words.
I still cannot convey the emotions that
I want to come across.
But my mouth is all I can use.
Gesticulations are not enough.
Can I come near to the perfection of which I am pining for?
My love for the words, for the phrases
that turns into metaphors and the sonnets
which Shakespeare wrote
and the Roald Dahl books I keep on my shelves are what I have when things get too much.
Even with letting go my pain and coming to terms with things...
how come I still struggle against myself?
Can I even approach the level which all poets must come to so that it is not about the words anymore but about the overall picture these words make?
Do I have the strength to ignore grammar
and punctuation for even a little while?
I am so close and so far away.
I want to die as a poet.
In a bath tub where the walls are paper
and the water is ink and after physically cleansing myself, I can begin to clean my soul too.
Am I a flickering flame that refuses to be blown out after a couple puffs of air?
Maybe I am, maybe i'm not.
But If I were to be this enduring flame of orange, red, and yellow, I hope that one day I can understand myself when I write these words so that I can truly achieve what I am looking for.
I want to spit fire.
But right now, all I can do is blow steam.
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
To me love is,
Mysterious like the statues in Louvre,
Sweet like the chocolate factory in Roald Dahl's book,
Warm like the idea of having a cup of hot chocolate in the coldest of days,
Yet it is painful like the burnt marks on my toasted bread.
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 7:24 AM UTC
you like your lips on my neck
and hate the knowledge of my cigarettes
mint, stale living in my hair
the great mass of it you like
to lose your fingers in
and i look at my body like the storyteller did
detached from my feet floating ten stories above them
and i've forgotten how to write and
i never liked to rhyme
and i'm rigid in your arms
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
The story is that Rachmaninov was depressed for three years from 1898 to 1901. Eventually he sought the help of Dr. Nikoli Dahl who saw Rachmaninov daily using hypnotherapy and psychotherapy. Rachmaninov responded favorably to these treatments. In 1902 he composed his Piano Concerto No, 2. There are, of course, many great and beautiful musical compositions, but Rachmaninov's Piano Concerto No. 2, along with Beethoven's 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th symphonies, together with Bach's Brandenburg Concertos and his Toccata and Fugue in G Minor stand at the pinnacle of the world's pyramid of great music. I have written poems since my early 20s. A poem is not a symphony, but it is a work of art. Do I ever feel the way Rachmaninov felt when he heard the deafening applause after No. 2 was performed for the first time? Sometimes.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Aug 1, 2020
Aug 1, 2020 at 4:31 AM UTC
Black
1. James Brown
2. Michael Jackson
3. Terence Treat Darby
4. Sammy Davis Jr.
5. Prince
white
1. Donald O'Connor
2. Danny Kaye
3. Frank Sinatra
4. Don Rickles
5. Jonathan Winters
let's do the females
black
1. Ella Fitzgerald
2. Carmen McCrae
3. Brandy
4. Rihanna
5. Beyonc'e
white
1. Cher
2. Judy Garland
3. Sally Field
4. Lana Turner
5. Arlene Dahl
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
Whenever you read Dahl, it feels like you're entering and after a few minutes, find yourself dancing in a pretty field. And then, he plants bombs out of nowhere but you don't always know where they were or where they began because they are in a shape and feel of a strawberry.
(Only ways to reassure your experience are you return to the already bombed field and retrace, eat the strawberries and then ***** or binge, and/or leave in shocking cold silence or in idle confusion.)
Jun 21, 2021
Jun 21, 2021 at 8:36 AM UTC
Men ****** and children, boys and girls.
that are not the immediate source,
****** and sisters, family ******
and friends. Planning, you can upload
the brothers file who did not file
the complaint a smile "that is"
greater • black brothers from North
America compassion, Hebrews
religion Wooden service to hide
the parents. The look of the Western prophets.
Ireland lay naked on the beach;
Always watch the movement
If a kiss, kiss begins a new original
in Arabic. Georgia cheerful,
genuine Italian pop language,
pregnant pipe fatty foods while
a scare Literature.
Christian Christian Christian
Or girl-said the German desire.
She lost a hundred years;
****** and a change of school;
Only the poet's northern
part of the dream; amino
acid, which is Jesus;
The son of the Arab government.
Yogurt drink, and the garden
It is an approach to the waves.
the demons is the spirit of science
to understand the center
of European parents love it
free. I know that nor are the names
of the brothers ****** and their sisters,
mother Due to the game
of soldiers, according to religion,
******* Tony ******** golf
Maryland slave of Allah dahl rough
****** and a woman, a slave is slow;
BBC BBC is not enough to slow down
in a matter of green hours
suffering through a 9/9
Hitler's black and white volleyball.
another, ****** and a language
A brother intimacy of the family
friendly employee of the competition;
The writings of the ship are known.
Religion Europe, brothers in the faith.
***** and a sister snake and honor
speed of nine brothers, ****** and sisters
2. The Oblates, from the friendship
of their colleagues, especially in women.
• Black DATE; Black, black, black, black. 3.
Organization Of ****** and religious
women of the society definitions
of adjectives; beginners Around the nuns
and the mother's boyfriend E BCE,
the religious institution is difficult
to find history books, book collection;
The obligation to arrest? "5 Maria Bernardo,
The monk is unprecedented.
Define and specify the indicators.
***** and other brothers associations
German or English for black support
****** and what was white,
Historian of the treaty; India, Europe
and pain. 9/9 pounds, green brothers,
***** and many Black points; Tonia's
BMW so many words: I.
Mar 6, 2019
Mar 6, 2019 at 9:14 PM UTC