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"diluent" poems
I did not engineer Nor attempt to construct The human soul No Not I The mere idea seemed frivolous Damnably gelatinous and Above all else Impossible to comprehend How silly it might turn out Indeed I thought this I did attempt however To make a spicy jam One evening at the End of Winter I believe Lovely time When this, What I consider the beginning of a debacle, Began I threw together Bits, and things, and twigs, And professional spices, And Illicit words, and Brown sugar, And old tea, And harmless fun And Puppy Dog Tails, And I’m allergic to snails, And something that I called Steve It could have been Tom But it looked like a Steve to me Despite its arguments that it was A Barbra through and through I stirred and fiddled and sang To this black and thin glop I indeed attempted to call A spiced jam concoction That was tap-dancing in circles On my stovetop without permission When, no I know, the usual happened I became bored Yes Yes Indeed I did Bored Thoroughly Bored Bored Bored Where was I? Oh yes. Bored Bored of this Damnable, Jammable, Fred Astaire Not spicy jam So I left what would become The self-engineering diluent, Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing That would become the human soul On the back burner While I cooked some pasta instead I prefer pasta It is delicious Not like that mistake of mine It continued to be a mistake of mine It was not pasta, It was not spiced jam, And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin Whoops For a year I believe It could have been a week A very long and tiring week Or seven years When I heard the back burning Singing back to me About apples with a crisp bite About fireworks that misfired About drug needles used to sew together sanity Was this too spicy? With its two voices of Hospital dust And Captive applause Oh my, This couldn't possibly Taste good I believe whatever this has Festered into without Adult supervision, I believe it might be beginning to turn Like milk and wine I bottled it in a wooden bottle And left it on the stoop of an orphanage To find a good home I wonder if this not spiced jam Has found a good home Last I heard They all went from it to They And attended Engineering School.
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Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
CrypticWriter
Engineer of the Human Soul
I did not engineer Nor attempt to construct The human soul No Not I The mere idea seemed frivolous Damnably gelatinous and Above all else Impossible to comprehend How silly it might turn out Indeed I thought this I did attempt however To make a spicy jam One evening at the End of Winter I believe Lovely time When this, What I consider the beginning of a debacle, Began I threw together Bits, and things, and twigs, And professional spices, And Illicit words, and Brown sugar, And old tea, And harmless fun And Puppy Dog Tails, And I’m allergic to snails, And something that I called Steve It could have been Tom But it looked like a Steve to me Despite its arguments that it was A Barbra through and through I stirred and fiddled and sang To this black and thin glop I indeed attempted to call A spiced jam concoction That was tap-dancing in circles On my stovetop without permission When, no I know, the usual happened I became bored Yes Yes Indeed I did Bored Thoroughly Bored Bored Bored Where was I? Oh yes. Bored Bored of this Damnable, Jammable, Fred Astaire Not spicy jam So I left what would become The self-engineering diluent, Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing That would become the human soul On the back burner While I cooked some pasta instead I prefer pasta It is delicious Not like that mistake of mine It continued to be a mistake of mine It was not pasta, It was not spiced jam, And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin Whoops For a year I believe It could have been a week A very long and tiring week Or seven years When I heard the back burning Singing back to me About apples with a crisp bite About fireworks that misfired About drug needles used to sew together sanity Was this too spicy? With its two voices of Hospital dust And Captive applause Oh my, This couldn't possibly Taste good I believe whatever this has Festered into without Adult supervision, I believe it might be beginning to turn Like milk and wine I bottled it in a wooden bottle And left it on the stoop of an orphanage To find a good home I wonder if this not spiced jam Has found a good home Last I heard They all went from it to They And attended Engineering School.
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101
It is as if, as a intended intention, it was constantly going on, and even the stupidity of the free-thought minds is to be held; Now, beyond the world of tabloid media, the so-called. In the world of cheap, diluent-smelling influencers, which have been abandoned to pop culture, there could be a growing ruthless, almost intentionally brutal-hard competition for the sacred favor of followers and lyrics. Because now it seems as if all and everyone is a cheap, bribing, pathetic Jibs' sensation not only from the wide Cyber ​​network of mass-information digital channels and networks, but also from the increasing decade its rather heating and determines it. Now they can't dare to listen alone to the reasons of the already completely left -handed, which can be made, to be logically built -in clichés, because they are better off telling others what, where, where, and especially how to do it. Personality as a temporary or if you like; an intermediate individual, no longer satisfied with the unrepeatable magic and perhaps specialty of the individuality of the individual. Cheap, dilute, reduced simplified sentences are grinding many cheap celebrity presenters on TV just like on the digital wavelength of commercially secured radios, and of course no one guesses, and knows that if pseudo-hazug news and rumors replace a poem, Perhaps the average brainwashed, hazelnuts of wild juggle men would be able to re-discover the small micro-capabilities of their thinking using autodidact methods. It is as if this current vulnerable life seemed to be a pathetic, complex tangle, from which a safe panic-free release from a safe manifestation on asylum routes, as well as a fled mailer!
0
Jan 25, 2025
Jan 25, 2025 at 9:50 PM UTC
Tasi83
Mass-Man Mania's maze
It is as if, as a intended intention, it was constantly going on, and even the stupidity of the free-thought minds is to be held; Now, beyond the world of tabloid media, the so-called. In the world of cheap, diluent-smelling influencers, which have been abandoned to pop culture, there could be a growing ruthless, almost intentionally brutal-hard competition for the sacred favor of followers and lyrics. Because now it seems as if all and everyone is a cheap, bribing, pathetic Jibs' sensation not only from the wide Cyber ​​network of mass-information digital channels and networks, but also from the increasing decade its rather heating and determines it. Now they can't dare to listen alone to the reasons of the already completely left -handed, which can be made, to be logically built -in clichés, because they are better off telling others what, where, where, and especially how to do it. Personality as a temporary or if you like; an intermediate individual, no longer satisfied with the unrepeatable magic and perhaps specialty of the individuality of the individual. Cheap, dilute, reduced simplified sentences are grinding many cheap celebrity presenters on TV just like on the digital wavelength of commercially secured radios, and of course no one guesses, and knows that if pseudo-hazug news and rumors replace a poem, Perhaps the average brainwashed, hazelnuts of wild juggle men would be able to re-discover the small micro-capabilities of their thinking using autodidact methods. It is as if this current vulnerable life seemed to be a pathetic, complex tangle, from which a safe panic-free release from a safe manifestation on asylum routes, as well as a fled mailer!
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4