"ded" poems
Gurl stops meking out
n asked boi to get potartz
he dus
den gurl teks deep breff
and gurl sais
bf
I am pregnent
will u stay ma bf
n he seys
"NO"
gurl iz hertbrokn
gurl cried n runz awaii from boi wiffout eatin poptart
n she has low blood suga
so she fols
boi runs ova 2 her
She Ded
boi crie
I sed I no be ur bf
cuz i wona b ur husband!
he screems
n frows poptart @ wol
a bootiful diomand ring wus insyd
LIK DIS IF U CRY EVERTIM!!!!
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
You’re so dumb It’s like someone hit you with a brick
I have a PHD that means pretty huge ****
***** so hot itll make you fly
I killed your mama and then she died
So what you learned are two things
my thing is big and your moms now ded
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 12:20 PM UTC
So Im alive,
But I died a little inside.
Because I am dead
And now alive and reborn
Into a thousand words never written,
I will become no one again.
Did you metaphorically cry?
Sad as thinking how well
You truly knew me?
" But we were poets!"
And so you live and die by the
Stroke of the passionate lie
That are the words that well
Up inside like a brutal indignity,
Outraged at my shamelessness
Did I ever truly puncture your heart?
I am Ded inside,
And I dont know you,
But I just love your poetry!
So we sever the ties from reality
And divorce the facts
In a hopeful serenade to the deaf,
See how I magnify the ignorance
With brazeness?
Such splendid grandoisity!
And a poem is just a word,
There is no poem without action.
I am me,
No metaphor needed,
Just who the hell do you think
You are?
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
and the sweat lingers with a
thin film of dust, dirt, mold --
whichever what have you.
what little hydration left of
this soft fleshy vessel seeps
through this veil. creating
rivers of mud that flood the
eyes and blind. though hue
of general existence if silh-
outted. and we follow the sou-
nds hoped spoke on the proper
path. shambling the brush,
ankles caught tight in the
thorns of the undergrowth.
never a first in leaving a
blooded footpath home. and
false words call us upon a
path in Life long returned to
Nature from man. and with blin-
ded eyes and gnarled sense,
trouncing the threshold of door
long closed, fearing only the
chance of having all ended.
the Ocean's desert is nothing
but the sweat of Man's ages'
turned to dust. ended of a
vessel when purpose has seen
fulfillment. to nurture, and
bring forth perpetuation of the
curious disappeared mysteries
resting unburdened, with ponde-
ring left nulled. and recreation,
re-mythologizing aeons not long
past. only a couple thousand
since the last hoarfrost blast.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:58 PM UTC
me amd me ded arr heppie
wee plai calll ob dutie togeter
hourr favoorit movee id het fozz
wun dai he sai to mi
hoedw olds arrr yyou
i sai i an 176 h3 sai wen i *** urag i
*** 177
it mak noo sensse too mre
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 2:24 PM UTC
P1
There once was a guy
Who once had a guild
And that guild was built
With seventy head
That guy once guided his guild
Where grey lands were filled and built
He held down his sword and belt
Screaming out loud while moving his head
"Where gold is we land and dig"
"Where glory is we put our head"
There once were guides
Who helped that guild
Finding grey lands
That filled and built
One guild guy had wrote and read
His name was "Chiny Chem Ded"
Other guild guide was in the lead
Where war is you hear " Belly Den Deed "
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
Wi yer eyes stingin n wet wi tears
N muk bungin up tha nose n ears
N a white rimmed ed where thi's ad thi hat
Up tha floats on't lift like a drownded rat
After twelve hours tha's pretty dun in
Whilst t'other folks as been kippin n dreamin
Tha's bin diggin n drillin like summart daft
Now up tha floats on't hydraulic raft
The cold morn air meks tha lungs urt
Cause tha's bin breathin muk n dirt
Fer nigh on forty years or more
That most folks wudn't ave on't floor
N as tha washes all't muk away
Tha knows thas sum that'll allus stay
N whilst outside tha luks nice n clean
Tha's stuff inside thi th't'll never be seen
Until o course tha's gon n died
N them docter fellers tek a look inside
N in amazement they'll stand n stare
At all that muk th't shudn't be there
N wen tha's ded it'll be nowt new
Not too a bloke what's lived like you
Fer now tha's on'y six feet under
Wen undreds is what thas bin used to
N't Crowner'll say thi ad a natural death
Not like them th't had their last breath
At sixteen, seventeen, twenty or more
When sum big explosions brought ceiling t floor
But a doubt if tha'll think it wer thi turn
As tha lays there nattering t worm
Crawlin in n out o yer ears
Not much t show fer sixtyodd years
Still what else cud you ave dun, that's it
But follow yer old man down pit
A mean even his dad was a facer tha knows
Kem out at thirty wi' ands like claws
Ah well it's time fer sum grub
Then half-a-dozen pints't pub
Wi an hour or two o noonday sun
Then back t wife fer an hour o fun
N be six next morning I'll be feelin well
As I teks yon raft t bowels of 'ell
Thirty shillin a week be summer the reckonin
Ah but then they can't see yon worm beckonin
Remember this is a 'Performance Poem'
and the style of writing acts as a
speech prompt. The accent is loosely
Yorkshire. A 'Crowner 'is an old word
for a Coroner.
I hope you enjoy it.
© David Irwin Phillips 2008
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 2:03 AM UTC
i dont smoke wen i *** i *** smoke.
i dont think out loud.. its too loud to think.
wen i destroy planet. i dont destroy planet.
i make space.
if my eyes are open and no one can see them..i must be in a restaurant with an all blind staff.
eating alone. after hours. recycling ***** recycling puke. singing to tiny people who live on my shoulder. in my car. driving tiny cars of their own. and i lay down with a brick on the gas so they can make an overpass on top of me. and there is a sunset in my car. and we all try to catch it. but that would **** us. or at least make our hands disappear. and no one can drive safe now. we're going to crash. drive off the overpass and into my mouth. or fly. and this is all happening in every tiny car. they are giant people. with tiny cars driving in their cars. whos cars... the worlds cars. cars for fleas. cars for ded birds. cars for ded people. we are all ded people. we are all worlds. we are planet. ded planet. exploding and harboring the tiny suns. making too much sound. so no one thinks. because ded dont think. they make space. i am space. a space with shape. inside space. talking to animals. and eating. and drinking love potions. and none of them werk. especially the animals. theyre disabled. they have no hands. and have suns for eyes. but all they see is planet. with a restaurant in it. where waiters are blind. spill your soda. walk into knives. get cleaned up by night crew. werk for nice things. spend time on things. until they are destitute. but things still stay. and change shape. and are fake food. for disabled animals. and they lose all their time. the fake food absorbs all the time. the last of their time makes them rot. and the thing is now ready. to trick someone. into eating fake food. things are real. they have lives now. they miss birthdays. they have birthdays. they have time. they lose time. time is walking. but time is not moving. planet is moving. space is still. space stops breathing. space gets fat. space dies. time is stopped. nowhere to go. turn inside out forever. loses its mind. doesnt have one now. doesnt kno its gone. doesnt kno its time. its not time. its the only thing. not a thing. everything. no friends. no family. no pigs. just inside and outside. no inside. no outside. turning inside out. forever. so no inside. outside. no space. no shape. filling up itself. constantly changing. but never different. and never die. we die. we are lucky. we are happy. happy poeple. very big and very small. emotional. stupid. too loud to think.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
who will read aloud
my poems
when I'm gone?
that old unfriended thot,
a nagging merry query
was for awhile forgot,
put on the back of an upper shelf,
where dust motes and mites
fear to trend
thoughts,
that I thought
I had dispensed with,
letting time
build illusionary wry walls,
fooling World Trade Center tall
morose forlorn,
pensiveness of
red ant armies,
incapable of
black marker redaction,
there is always one
a lingering malingerer
a sole fado singer,
playing woeful jazz in
the Quarter
on an empty emoty street,
dressed and guised
as the soul of a solitary
cancerous cell
"survivor"
cur overlooked,
biding time,
the surgeons gone,
the drugs flushed,
radiation burning
no more
begins then
the unholy
trilogy cycle
worn out, overused...
invasive categorically relentless
maybes,
what ifs,
then
oh goddamnnotagain
because believed, on knee,
I oathed that
loathed, raven nevermore,
ought
that
cracked door would be open
yet like the
New Orleans levee aged locks
hurricane succumbed
overflowed, overcome,
keyholed, infiltrated,
falllen to the enemy,
mes enfilade,
rumps up the black flag of
surrender
brain sneers
periodically,
like every other
minute, ok,
second,
coyly asking
penny for your
worthless thoughts?
just when you believed
"no mas"
was a prayer that had been heard,
teeth kicked in,
body snatching
hordes and boors
bad boys and ******
sitting high in the
saddle again,
grinning torturous
tarty smiles
at who,
at you, fool!
you're as alone in that place
as insufficiently as that
impoverished overused
word can ere convey
the nagging realization
that when asking
no one answers
when your thinkings
perish you
your cutesy sweatshirt reads
last standing poet alive,
stabbed ded by awful-truths,
you failed and
all the black cats,
have fled the neighborhood,
just when need was greatest
who will read aloud
my poems when I'm gone,
has been silently answered
by silent applause,
the last theater goer
shuffles out, and turns
and extends his middle finger
his review leaves a
singular impression,
he looks familiar,
gauntly ghost,
he has accompanied me always
and his finger is his
triumphal parting shot
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
we're all the Devil.
our children are Ded.
our bones are our Enemies.
we're all the Devil.
Feb 28, 2013
Feb 28, 2013 at 2:35 PM UTC
my a key is broken so i wont use it.
i love llh
in de smll
in the hall
is a ded jews
****** ws cool
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
My hero
My safety cloak
My inspiration
My teacher
I loved you as all these things
Through your poems
Though it might not show
You were my smile
And my sunshine
For your poems made me understand
That even though Ded Poets die
Their hearts and souls
Will forever survive
Through their poems and what they've done
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 12:22 PM UTC
Well Ernesto you're leaving us in body
But your spirit will always live on
Through the beautiful words you have left us
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
its the ded winter, nowhere in sight a life besides you and your infant you you exhume.
crying screaming and frozen tears rip off the face.
you die in no time youre sure of it.
baby making cry make you want to suffocate the sound. or child. or you.
no time til die.
you die, child die.....then two to exhume if one is to find,
after more make to burry and mourn the no-more.
youre a full person and the other a half .
......you...youyouyouyouyou..... do you eat the child??....
youve made before you can make more ..... but if you make it.
. . . . . . . . . . . i promise not to search for nothing to find.
ded cowardice feed on a barely born suffering.
and out of breath. no mouth to mouth. i eat both what i find.
a hellish hunger froze over the deadened bodies. preserved and rotting.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
Let us assume,
that in this life
we obtain about
ten thousand different words,
employable and reusable
the exact number matters not
this accumulated list is your
Outer Structure
the how and the why we write,
the compulsion and the illusion
is DNA at the cellular level modified
by every second of our lives,
every word tabulated and stored
this is not an essay,
this is a poem
This is a 2:42 in the mid of night poem
when the the basics rule,
when the questions get asked,
and the answers (for me)
either
don't come or are
not oft to your liking,
but good for you,
good for us,
that the asking of the questions
is our poetry
so let us confess,
so let us address,
the primary screen,
the essential filter
the place where all poems begin
is the me
most of me is given,
but you add words,
you pick and choose the vocabulary,
that refines your me
sometimes your me excels,
you use your me words
so so well,
but sometimes not
this structure
is where we all begin
but should not ded end
move beyond,
translate your me
into us
find the way to comprehend
that you must pass over the line
of me and
excel anew
write a near and new me,
take your own vocabulary,
your own DNA a given
super duper impose your word~life structure
on me in ways that
gasp me into a new seeing
give me your genes, your word cells,
teeming with new connections,
then happily
will I take
your poems,
delete the Y,
make it
our poems,
add it to my cellular vocabulary,
by doing so,
establish a physical genetic connection
truly then our ink is our blood,
and we are poet brothers and poet sisters,
cousins of the words
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
Sharp yellow auras l i n e d in a row
divi ded black by hazed perception
something the stars can't (show)
white markings lead me to a deception i know.
Distant windows warmly welcome in their shade
Worn doors dangerously dead-locked as they're made
My kin not kindled within walls nor has it been
More out next to flames left to our poison: a living sin.
Strut Hard Caution
Cement Shatters
fear
X
-r0
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
The Monster Within
The beast lurks within my chest ******* out the rest
The remaining parts that makes me, me
The teeth of the beast, pierces my heart
I try to heal as the pain pours out
I hold my screams, fearing redemption from the beast
Been with me for so long it feels right....
This pain, is all I feel, sometimes all I need, sometimes this pain makes me feel like me again, because I can feel again
Instead of being an empty shell
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
if i could travel through time only once, i would go back to your birth to kidnap you, keep you hostage in my home, feed you and beat you and brainwash you until the day came when your birth did aswell, then id send you to your birth instead of me, to **** your infant self to death with a barrel of a gun, then to put it in your mouth, but no need. youd drop ded. youd disappear. i guess thered just be the incubator filled with your sloppy child.
Sep 6, 2013
Sep 6, 2013 at 1:16 PM UTC
I need a drink like hella.
To soothe my sorrow and make me mella.
I ******* hate this mind of mine
Always churning
Won't stop til I d.i.e.
Plug up my eyes
Ears
Nose
And mouth.
Trapped in the sewage of my harmful thoughts
I am sinking in ****
Can't breathe in
Won't breathe out.
Ded.
Too rekt.
Too ****** to give one.
It's all in my head.
I'm not crazy
But i wish I was dead to the world
At the bottom of the sea.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 7:45 PM UTC
Hugs....
How you've known I needed
Them I will never know,
But what can I say, I do.
And when I read your reflection
On my words,
I cam stop what Im doing
And read my poem again,
And then I cam hug myself,
You calmed my climatic
Mind from shattering
Its self against the wall
Of my own making,
And that wall,
Well I can calm it down.
What is it about Patty M?
A simple seemingly pure
Heart in a world where fake to
survive seems to be the order
Of the day,
And when her words
Like mine, I can hug the
World again,
Because Patty M hugged
Me when no one else could,
Her words are not metaphoric;
She heals my broken self,
Because she meant it,
And I know that something
Is real about that,
So here's to you Patty M
From the Ded Poet:
H. H. U. U. GGGGG
H. H. U. U. G
HHHH. U. U. G. GG
H. H. U. U. G. G
H. H. UUUU. GGGGG
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
I am here, I fear
More scared than sorted
More dandelion than burdock
Scattered silly
Metaphorically muddled
Mine's a messy mind
Attempting to arrange
A lifetime's files
In an hour
Each and every hour
Of every minute
I'm remanded in memory
A willing prisoner
Of the past
My hands are cuffed in air
There is no key
But me
And what is left
Has lost all recognisable arrangement
I'm pulled down deep
But holding on to stones
They keep me grounded
Drown-ded
Letting go will all but **** me
All but do me in
Everything but that
Letting go for Life
Shake it off
Your clothes are all wet
But you're not made of sugar
Your tears will not melt you
Your heart will not break
Let it be
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 12:57 PM UTC
In my heart,
a road travelled, enough,
but still overgrown and walked
in pensive solitude
leads
to a green field of stones
that looks out over white chopped seas
To here I come when my soul is
perplexed beyond belief
when my heart is torn and bruised
This is my field of ragecand grief
where I stand and howl at injustice
beat my breast at lifes inequity
and weep slow salted tears of regret
Today again I come to my field of fallen friends
and etch your name ernesto,
the ded poet, who lived a thousand lives
And I rage and rampage, and set war in my heart
against the gods who took this voice,
this warrior this talent....friend.... and father.
But all is sound and fury set to the wind
to be dispersed as froth and rain...
As my soul quiets, my tear fall softly,
thinking on your moons, your love,
for them, and you love for your life...
Too soon, for you to go...
but the words, you have given them
and us, as well are jewels, cut and faceted
treasures for the darkest of nights.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
Didn't know the young man Mr ded poet I just like to say may you young man find peace in your needing time's.
Friend bill,
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:47 AM UTC
Ive written about my experience
With a daughter i lost in my youth:
Amber waves in the still
Of my soul,
The story in my perception
Truth be spoken,
She wasnt really mine.
And my heart is stilled,
Born into my life
My love could not be seen
As fatherly,
A choice made
And years fade into the torture
That is my mind.
17 years after the four
Of loving her,
The love of my life,
The Ded inside the poet
Reaches into my reality
And once again all is
The chaos.
Ambers wave.....
I raised her for the first four years
Of her life knowing
She wasnt mine.
When my ex and i separated
I lost Amber too:
You reached into a well
Of souls and captured
My whole being,
Ambers waves like a beach
On Sunday morning's
Glory,
Life is in me to hear your voice,
And the truth comes
Like the last gasp.
Amber is my exs daughter,
She cheated on me and we assumed
Amber wasnt mine.
So four years i loved her.
She was born at 6 months old
And weighed only 2.7 pounds.
I reached out four months
Ago for some reason on facebook
After she friended me.
I asked her if she still talked to
The man we though was her dad:
Time is a hammer
Always pounding and memory
Is the tear we dont shed,
It all comes out at once
And the weight of regret
Can be lifted,
The soul cleansed,
The hope invigorating
And life is a dream within
A dream within....
She couldnt tell me anything
So her mother gets on messenger
And tells me she is going to call me.
She tells me Amber is mine.
That I was her father all along.
The stillness in my whole
Life lifted.
And the beauty of life is
That the unexpected
Is always the best anything,
Knowing is like a perpetual
Repetitive insanity,
Regret a broken record player,
Depression a choice within
Not to fight even when
You lose,
Ambers wave came like a
Dream awake.
The reality is,
If this is real, never wake me.......
My heart is open again.
Life is so beautiful.
Amber was born with cerebral
Palsy on the right side of her
Body, shes 21 and she found
She had a great big family
After feeling so alone.
She fights everyday and is in college
So when i met her she amazed
Me with her fight. Never
Giving up i awoke from
My stillness. I have a daughter
21 years old!!!!
My little girls have a big sister.
My still born was a metaphor
For my life being stopped after she wasnt in my life.
See my facebook for
The pictures of my long lost
Daughter. Life is a beautiful
Craziness.
Jun 14, 2017
Jun 14, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC