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Loameo, Decomposeo, Scaremoleo, Romeo RIP.
A sazhen deep l/ a kulak, kozy.
Down here, hic jacet Jared, or some other
hick l/  me, face it. Grauballe greenhorn's chia
pet ***** moss my roof, arbuscules anagenic.
Ignomio in nightsoil, netty Chthonically kerbkicked.

Dirt heart of dark heath, a daft felodese.
What did my dark daffodil periscopes see?
A merry widow that reneged midway on the pact.
Ethereal barefootedness on my deadman's doormat.
No Elysian toejam on  brazen untumbling Jill.
Julie Judas, whose stayed hand waives a ne'erdofarewell.

Her sweetheart leprous w/ wet weapon seepage
of winterstices. Yellow leather thews fuel spoilage,
foison of the fomes my former foison bequeathed
to Nitrogen's garden, gravestrewn global glebe.
My mournedover mould, from my Morlock Tafilafet,
sprighettis dustland & brushbowl, on rebound from Juliette.

Waldeinsamkeit my plight, but a lil' lower
down I floundirt. The dead autistic as the flower,
that strains past the compost of my final
season of gas & mellow fertilicer, mortal fruitful
-ness, l/ that ribburst Deianira
(her freewill blackball, plucky gibbous bloodpear).

W/ that valiant apple, Apple Lily unravelled
zombie Eden. Julie-Eve  d'aujourd' hui resiled
tho'. Thus alone I fell thru this mortuary
orchard,  l/ a worm thru stewed apple, to dormitories
of mouldwarps. Atop my catabolism,
postapocalyptic allotments! No voar for alyssum,

not even upon the fullblown Ides. Her betrayal
harvest has the ecology gross w/ her turned tail's
martyr. Putridly, I pullulate a larval *******
of laurel bandages, Avalon Mole by recycling carnage
of some Pomona Braithwaite int'a Seamus Heaney
Swamp Thing sludge loved. Spleen spores, organic bicne.

Infusorians party in my tears. An epic lettuce
gloats where cartilaginous flap over my glottis
fingered stops of pickup artistry after Petrarch. A
backtracking princess of dwales, to Proserpina Harker
ceded me.  Bride of all corpses, bog queen boss of bosses
cannibalised Loameo, ironically, for locus amoenus.
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak in a childlike voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken
ya throw tantrums, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought-tree
skinny love, drained in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
seriously this website is dumb
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak in a child's voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken
throw tantrums, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
skinny love, blood in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
laura Oct 2018
scoopity poopity ****
poopity scoopity scoop
ignorance
bliss
dialect
intellect
scoopity?
for le strawberry fields, my guinea piggy
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak in a child's voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken
throw tantrums, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
skinny love, [lfajfa] in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
WHY IS THIS FILTERED LOL
laura Oct 2018
scoopity poopity ****
poopity scoopity scoop
bliss
dialect
intellect
scoopity?
PC classic Nov 2014
The words murmur behind
my brain.
They seem ******
and speaking a foreign dialect.

I focus hard
to make some sense of it all.

"The ******* didn't
type in my partner
last time."
One of the Rhyming words complained.

"He put me in
and then replaced me
with some
sophisticated sounding
uptight snoot"
Said a slang.

"This time let's just
give him the crap ones"

"Yeah!"

They yell in unison.
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak in an innocent voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken
throw tantrums, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
skinny love, drained in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak in a child's voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken
throw tantrums, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
jhjkhjkh love, drained in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak in a child's voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken
throw tantrums, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
skinny love, blood in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak in a child's voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken
throw tantrums, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
skinny love, drained in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
My Mother's tongue was gin
She used it best for cursing in

My absentee Father was an Irish rogue
His drunken Dublin drawl a joke

Uncle Jim lisped through his cheek
A stroke survivor with a bad mouth leak

Billy, my cousin, rattled on repeat
Stuttered like a Gattling Gun on heat

Old Nanny Mabel whistled like a flute
****** and tutted on her one black tooth

Our Mam's deaf younger sister, never Auntie
Spoke with her hands cos of Meningitis

All the Teachers talked with slippers and canes
All the Police just clipped us behind the ears

All the Posh Nobs said nowt, but looked
Down their noses with pity at us

Everyone, and i mean everybody
Smelled of drink, smoke, and unwashed bodies

Everybody, and i mean every mouth
Ate while they spoke, and spat stuff out

I haven't escaped the old Mother Tongues
I revert to the speech I knew when young

Yes, I still speak the Gallus when I'm up there, Whitby bred -
Strong in the arm, thick in the head
You can take the Poet out of the town, but... Etc Etc

Gallus is the old dialect name for that rough part of Whitby where I grew up. Most of the town couldn't understand us when we spoke and we were thought of as a rough lot.
laura Oct 2018
ya throw fits at the mall
speak ***** in a child's voice
i hear delicacy in your dialect
but it's optimism, imagination
on my part, trepidation and mistaken identity
tantrums later, spilled coffee
deforestation in my thought's trees
skinny love, blood in sinks
listening to that song
ya don't dig a whole lot
about him, you don't have a shovel
but you drive your
pink nails in the sheets
it's probably why i can't escape you
trf Nov 2017
i smoke cigarettes, i'm cool.
my new orleans dialect, hasn't escaped me yet.
get high from the vet, i'm cool.
With my head down I’m staring up, from this deep K hole.

my coke is the best, i'm cool.
wearin' a crown to bed, those thorny cigarettes.

don't listen to anyone who's true,
live like you wanna be, that seems funny too.

die in your dreams, way past curfew,
the more it seems, those years'll laugh at you.

     the sky will bury you
     and burn you to the ground.
     hot air balloons,
     will fall upside down.

     life's label has no lesson,
     you grew and grew and grew.
     armor up this cap and gown,
     nightmares will pursue.

with all above regrets, i'm cool, i'm cool, i'm cool.
"amid the chaos of that day, when all i could hear was the thunder of gunshots and all i could smell was the violence in the air. I look back and i'm amazed, that my thoughts were so clear and true. that three words went through my mind endlessly, repeating themselves, like a broken record. you're so cool, you're so cool, you're so cool."
Pyrrha Feb 15
my whole heart was not enough
for when he spoke to me
it wasn't a language that I could comprehend
he spoke to me like he spoke to a wall
a ghost, a doll, something that was not real
that was not alive
gibberish
nonsense
if he loved me then I would understand
any language, any dialect, any tone
because words of love can and will
bypass any barrier
Pyrrha Feb 12
You aren't just gold and starlight
you are my every word
my dialect, my stanza, my every thought
you leave me tongue tied

You are my entire language,
you make my speech so clumsy
all my words are tripping over themselves
just to please you and only you

You are my linguist dream,
I love to study the poetry in your veins
the sonnets in your eyes,
the limericks in your lips

You are literature incarnate,
and I worship you
Another Aug 2018
It denotes a different time, place, spoken word, way of mapping out the thoughts,
that those societies held collectively if not individually,
to which we no longer think in such a way, before we could ever really understand it because that era, like all of them, is untranslatable, as they say,
a dialect we are unable to exchange
so we search tirelessly for annotation
erased from the sector, history has implanted on our minds, never to hold any meaning to ourselves, because we arrived too late that change went before our eyes or perhaps too early to have taken place unnoticed, unless we try to find it somewhere in culture, we no longer can relate to as a whole, but individually.

we find that it correlates to a segment of our being, never telling anyone but ourselves that we found the place to which has gone —from the streams of living.


continuation; and such other related issues:

—unrelated shifts in time, when brought together, are without being understood by one another, so they sit quietly for a while listening without interference,
learning from difference
between
where they
possibly
meet
unchanged

To that place from which time came, trickling in to show us how to age, will you have been waiting...?
2.am inner–dialogues, never are they disappointing, nor a rush

quietly examining through the openings in the folds to find what lies wide open in the indigo divine

extension of before —here actually laying with my sight inverted, toward that star dimming, wavering, such is our way of living, scattering willingly for meaning, meaning, meaning
What a wreck such a mess.
Some say This poetry is such a wreck.
She shared a beautiful mess.
Some say I have no words for this mess.
Poetry needed a way to be released of its stress.
Other saw her Poems as a awful mess.
The village gave poetry such loneliness.
Gone and forgotten poetic protest.
Some said the Poems were flawless.
Others said They couldn't tap the keys for such dialect
It's ok curtain will cover, windows will close on Beautiful Mess!
s.a.m 2019 protected
@risky messes..creative challenges..
I am panic
Frenzied particles
Moving and shaping
Everything I seem to be
Inside of a
Concrete cage of consciousness
Inside of a
Dazzling dot and dye marked
Enigmatic epidermis
Here I am

I am ice cold
Frost bitten to the core
A bullet train made of sleet
Running on cyanotic cylinders
And the gritty grating salt
Beneath your cold, wet shoes
All at once
I dissolve and destroy myself
Yet I just keep
Coming back
Here I am

I am as satisfying as
The long winded palindrome
On the tip of your tongue
The redundant rhyme  
You chanted as children
And the hymn you harmonized
With haunted heathens
Here I am

I am the all encompassing embrace
Of all that you are
****** up futile flaws and
Autonomous awe inspiring anomalies
I will hold it all together
In the way no other has
My seams of love
Stitched and sewn
With intentions as pure as gold
And nothing else
Nothing more
Here I am

I am the writhing writer
Frantically feverish with
Fingernails like forceps
I pry these words from
My brain like a
Sickening surgical procedure
On a *****, disheveled mattress
As if they were
Ingenuities oozing with infection
Here I am

I am the ritual rebirth
Wrongfully righteous reincarnation
I tip and turn like the tides
Lurching at the shore
Time and time again
In an endless cycle I am
Looking for
Nautical nirvana
Here I am

I am the exceptional exchange
Of a daunting and diligent dialect
Only few can understand
And to those fluent
In my twisted and tiring tongue
I say
Here I am
Jeremy Betts Apr 2018
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/                
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/  
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery, found the key/
To decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely, I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they wither away literally for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these works mold me into someone you could never be/
Give me a new perspective, a new elective
A dialect I can elect to project
Something so I can feel protected
But is this Your elective I’m rejecting?
Is the addict for good or for evil?
Is the steeple for preaching or people?
I should have spoken and offered the key
But still I left us both diseased
So will I speak or will I please?
Is this for You or is it for me?
Some questions I’ve been asking myself as I think about publishing all my thoughts.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 4
Shabash

Shābāsh (Hindi: शाबाश, Urdu: شاباش, Punjabi: ਸ਼ਾਬਾਸ਼, Bengali: শাবাশ, Telugu: శబాష్) is a term used in the Indian subcontinent to signal commendation for an achievement, similar in meaning to
bravo and kudos.

a poem writ sometimes, oft, snaps back,
was surprising recipient
of a commendation in language I knew not

the poem spoke well of broken boundaries,
between in my instance, Jew and Muslim,
capturing a momentary parting
of the seaways and
walls of misbelief and mischief,
normally employed
to keep our divisions,
parted perpetually

I’ve decided to begin to use shabash now,
my go to word from now on,
a small quiet way to say
well done

it starts with one word,
a stretching hand across the face fence,
imagining John Lennon’s imagine-world,
who lay dying when I was a young father of thirty,
we residing less than a mile away from each other

little could I imagine then that poetry would pick me at all,
especially to write of words in dialects I don’t speak,
but imaging their pastel colorations flying by in gentle breezes,
eager to be grabbed, plucked from the air

when I say to you, in the softest spoke,

shabash!

to all of us,
for choosing this path,
using your words in every dialect,
to spread the imagination
of good will

8-4-2019
10:10 am
S.I.
“Anyone that knows my work knows how I fit into the religious model. Like a polygon into a circular slot.
But this is actually a good piece. I was raised in a very orthodox Muslim family and although my experiences of faith are overwhelmingly negative, this piece is a breath of fresh air.”

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2570424/inshallah-my-cell-phone/

“Nicely written, matey. Shabash.”
 Jun 2018
sun and shower
threats of power
gifts of rain
we never complained
sand and paper
tears and make-up
iambic pentameter
we danced naked
in your lightning
all night and day

threats of defiance
never compliance
furniture is our alliance
to refute this reliance
so just sit comfy
and don’t move a muscle
for once you are
installed in your chair
you are aready
halfway there
to becoming a hostage

fights are plenty
but some are so empty
that its tempting to cheer
when you stamp your feet
on the ground so heavily
i will take that pounding lightly
because deep in my heart
i am a humanitarian
and polite as a gentleman
who's dialect is friendly
with a diet so deadly sweet
that its been considered
absolutely as healthy - as eating
your own two hands or feet
Andrew Mar 2018
We speak the explicit language of damage
Whether it's through anguish or famine
It only takes a little while to examine
Until we learn the language well
And eventually become fluent
To create this worldwide hell
Where the warfare is incongruent

We speak this language for many reasons
We speak this language through every season
The dialect varies from country to country
But all that really matters is who's hunting
The end result is the same
For damage done before
We inflict retributive pain
To even the damage score

Damage lowers our health
Damage increases their wealth
Damage puts us on the shelf
Until we damage ourself

The damage is done
So we must run
But at some point we turn around
Planting our feet into the ground
Becoming the damage cause
Doing what we've learned
We attribute this to our flaws
Not caring who gets burned

There is a damage sandwich
Within our damaged land's width
We're caught between being imposed on
And becoming oppressors
You're either forced to keep your clothes on
Or become an undresser
Perceptions of greater and lesser
Further complicate the scenario
We receive them through our stereo
To look down on those of other barrios
All of that damage can be parried though
If we work as a team
Better yet a species
To live in a utopian dream
Instead of our feces
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