"dodo" poems
Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark, as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fools' Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.
Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our traveled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
12.9k
The Queen of Darken Dreams
Poetic Judy Emery
The dark unfathomed tide
That has fathomed my life;
Of an interminable pried
That blacken up my heart
That turned it into ice,
My life is only a mystery
Of many darken dreams;
I can still hear the ravens cry
Day and night
Always by my side
deep into the night where life
is full of fright;
it is a part of my early journey
where lies are always being told
while the creepy stories are
on the making of true hearts breaking,
where old dreams never made
a home of darkness;
where poets written down
what they loved;
where plays are making drama
that made visions come alive;
with wild crazy thoughts
moved the mind and hearts
to a place of the unknown,
where words are written
to a place of forbidden,
Where a place my own mind
made a written scene;
for others to play out in their own minds,
places in the mind is a journey of some kind,
where true imaginations are made,
where the spirit of me
hasn’t seen yet;
but I hold no regrets;
but at times I hold worthiness of my heart,
on dreamy eyes;
I do write what comes to my mind,
What my heart bleeds
For a world of mystery
To open their minds and read all about me
In darken dreams;
Poetic Judy Emery
The Queen of all darken dreams,
I let my inter visions of my spirit
Write out my misty scenes
for all to capture what it is I see or bleed,
My thought come with many plots;
to control the unknown;
where sleeping spell and rose dust
are being cast into a darken past;
yet; hunting down the brighter hopes in life
to come alive in my life;
There will always be the two dodo brides
In my stories;
You will hear many kinds of things
That will come into darken dreams;
Words of a thief to make the heart weep,
Where witches casting spell
Where only true love could take the spell off,
Where knights ride along the lines
Where queens are made in dreams,
In the sight of ancient time;
I care not about the evil enemies
Because they are a part of the story;
But my work of darken dreams
I do cherish because they are about me.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:55 PM UTC
The momment I realized
facebook
was a pokedex for people
Was the moment I realized
I don't want to catch them all.
Some pokemon aren't worth the trouble.
Let alone making it double.
Abra for instance,
I understand you like spooning
but if you're going to teleport
every time I throw the Pokeball,
maybe it's best you stay in the cave.
cubone:
Did you ever think maybe,
wearing the skull
of your dead mother
for protection
might mean
you have some serious family baggage?
Pidgey:
I shouldn't have to keep buying repels
to keep you away.
If I stroll through the tall grass
You appear every five minutes
Without realizing I AM IGNORING YOU.
Perhaps you should wait
until I throw another ball.
I'm trying
to catch different pokemon right now
Who fit my team better
Have the Nature I want.
You had your chance
to be in my party
When I fed you that Razz berry
threw the first ball.
Caught you.
then you Evolved
into this big mouthed Golbat
About to swallow me whole.
Trainers.
Stop spending time on toxic pokemon
Poisen types, koffing and wheezing.
Psychic types that play you puppet.
Don't throw the ball to them
Let their grass rustle.
Walk on by
I'm transfering mine in for candies
Catching Shinies
legendaries whom there are only one of in this world.
I stopped trying to catch them all.
I'm searching the high ground
taking time to look at their move set
Running around town with them.
We'll EV train each other,
Get every badge together.
BEAT THE ELITE FOUR
Get knocked down
Go to the pokecenter
Do, do, dodo DO!
Get right back up, together.
Because it's not about catching them all.
It's about healing the ones that you have.
Jul 11, 2016
Jul 11, 2016 at 11:46 AM UTC
You smile when you see me writing
tenably watching like a child
when I turn my prose into rhyming
I smile back: "this one's about you"
when I kissed you this morning
I suddenly realized you taste just like fruit.
Like a Pineapple, of all things considered
sweeter than a whole bunch of grapes
your skirt flaunts your skittles
and your legs take the proverbial cake
Piña Colada to go with my Enchilada
pretty please let me taste the rainbow?
I don't like Pineapple on my burger
on my pizza I don't feel it either
my taste buds become a bitter turbulent river
but I just love it on you,
that little thing that you do
dancing in that lil' grass skirt
make it our own Hawaiian Luau.
Your juicy lips
are a 100% from concentrate
like drinking from a can of Dole
blowing me a kiss, giving me a smooch
please drown me in them
a Pineapple falls ways far from an Apple
and SpongeBob lives in one of them.
From your eyes to your thighs
I think of way back when
my favorite fruit in the garden
you humbly became
it's been just peachy from there on end.
With the words we shared
as we laid in the hay
your laughter intoxicated my lungs
right down to my pores
and through my veins
and that's a good thing
always a good thing
put your hair up
the mirror loves a silly face
your sly smile for the camera
my photogenic exotic babe.
Endangered in this world
you are the only one of your kind
like an extinct Dodo Bird
please stay by my side
and let me one thing in you confide
that the forbidden fruit wasn't an Apple
alas, unknown to Adam
it was a Pineapple.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 3:35 PM UTC
High speed **** generation
warped minds
strong hands
unreality stimulating, simulating
digital lights flickering
images of *******
endless variety of every kind
on demand
what has become of us
what has become of touching, romance
creepy accusations because genuine human interaction is going the way of the dodo,
Oh, he didn't follow the smooth script, no chance man
Maybe your testosterone was spent elsewhere and your vibes told the true true
either way no *** for you
the youth exploited and exploiting, insane cycles
the itch, the tingle, the curiosity, the drive for more, dopamine release
My generation had the first ******** access
point and click
no barriers can stop that drive, rooted in youthful pubescent longing
we're sick
on the digital drug
Touch me instead
bath me in your ***
not this crude moving picture
Let me drink you, taste your juice, feel you slide,
touch the walls of your world, explode them,
show the limitless illusion to boundaries, kink, **********
stop watching, live it
chronic ************ robs us of the real intimacy,
don't drain your desire for me with this crude digital *******
just because its there
You can touch me, not your keyboard, not this plastic and metal
I suppose you can touch yourself,
but have the imagination to fantasize
and then make it real
share your life force with a human being,
not some rag to be thrown away
Rise to your lust, conquer the animal
make its power serve
make love,
not digital mental war
Jan 9, 2014
Jan 9, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
(1)
I posted a poem
at hello poetry -
and what happened?
Somebody started following me
I received a "notification"
(I can’t say “much to my gratification”)
that someone started following me
I think it went something like:
“Naked Blueberry started following you”
(2)
Oh what did I do?
What did I dodo?
All I did was to post a poem
and not a word from you -
O cruel menacing follower -
not a comment
not an expression of your displeasure
but you started following me
What did I do?
What did I dodo?
(3)
Sure
I may tell bad jokes
and write verse
that daily gets worse
Yeah, I may look ugly like I stole
a look from my fav Mad magazine
and once in a while I say something
about organisations -
but does that warrant you
following me
and transforming me into
a near-nervous wreck?
O Naked Blueberry
what did I do?
What did I dodo -
why do you follow me, you naked stalker?
I lie in bed now afraid
and my wife worries that
I cry out often in sleep:
“Hence, You Naked Succubus -
Follow me not!”
And I dare not approach my car
but after looking under bonnet
and boot and below the carriage
I dare not write a word now
but fear that you and your agents
will follow and stalk me
with ne’er a word, ne’er a warning
At least tell me, please O follower
O Naked Blueberry, O Protean Terminator
O **** Redberry
and all the others in various guises
(I know you guys are all one person,
namely Lily Raw and Ready)
- tell me why you follow,
show me cause of your anger
O what did I do?
What did I dodo?
What should I do?
What should I dodo?
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 8:05 AM UTC
fed the birds.
fed the birds a
book about
my dead
weight.
fed the
birds a heavy.
fed them from
my thin
hands. The words
that live.
The birds ate.
The birds ate words that
lived and always
lived
in
separate
houses. if...
and i mean if
and only if
they
could afford
it.
if these
clever pagans
ever had
a dime.
they found
it boring rich
folk to
death.
i fed the birds
my indigenous
nomads. they dined
in high style...
dined black and
fancy
on
shabby
addicts, as they
hopped
trains . i fed the birds
my
swarthy tribe.
and they supped.
i fed the birds
a monologue
with trains of
thought
the words i fed
them... the vagabonds...
hopped
trains.
of thought.
I fed
the birds.
i fed the birds just
outside.
i sat
and fed them
black light and Harmalade
fed them blackly
fed them with
piano keys; the black
ones, the ones
that radiate
i fed
i watched them. watched
them fancy peck. and peck
and fancy
pluck.
i watched. they dined
on serene defeat
by technicality.
it was surreal
to watch a blackbird
pluck from black
keys - peck
a morsel of glum
from
the black rays, yes.
the black rays with
opposable thumbs
and a
lifeline. the only one i
know forbidding gypsies
with three eyes.
an open
palm.
a paranoid
black radish
white dwarf star
with piano keys
for black rays
of
nimbus, yes
mine is the hand that bites the hand
that writes the book
it wants
to ban, that ain't
a fan
not at all. just an appendage. a pen dirge ? What ?
i fed the flock lots
I fed
the black ones -
with dolls'
eyes...
tucked
under
wing.
i fed them, yes.
a book
about the size
of any welcome
malcontent.
i fed
them sorrows
and ellipses with
adjacent lawns.
wutherings in
stately manors, squatting
on either side
of memory
lane, like
a bourbon and
coke had
practically crawled
across shards
of hard
things to break,
with a drink
in your
hand
and crawled, well blended
down the hatch
of enormous, well appointed
gothic frogs, that -
were mostly refurbished toads
with odd columns.
i fed
the birds,
broke out the
Good
Chi
na
hang the tantrums !
yes
One should expect
a rich metaphor to want to
watch you
eat it's every
word
or
by extension;
lick the toad with 15 rooms,
three stories, unfit for children
and a full staff
of Adjectives,
highly trained
to
short-sheet the Bedlam, and fluff the pillories.
one should sip the liqueur
off the floor, inside the huge
and tipsy
gorgon
and be thankful
for the dank
and
the solid gold flyswatters.
they're complementary. take one
as you leave out
thinking
" toads, eat flies.... so it follows...."
apropos of nothing, on the
' Good China ',
now in the belly of birds, well fed
an unwell.
a book about
my dead-weight's
dream
to eat fewer
flies and
more
steak.
to grow wings.
yes.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:23 AM UTC
hitler's mush and britney's bush-
things that make you cringe.
paul bunyan and ***** hoes-
mouthful of wood.
beieber's twig and a dodo-
nobody has seen them for a long time.
rednecks and squirrels-
store nuts for the long winter.
and **** livestock.
this isnt a poem.this is a slur to all of you that take it up.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
fed the birds
my monday. held out my hand,
and fed them mirth
from a lifeline pun.
blackbirds.
early morning
connoisseurs
i fed them
my monday.
all gone pecked. now, first suspect -
in a ****** of crows. i rose
from the damp. surveyed
the scene of the crime
and bled. no contest
nor are there ribbons given
even if you don't
want one. you'll find
another monday
with a stray
dog star... a crown
for a chipped
tooth.
it will always say " You shoulda' seen The Day Before...." then promptly -
plop on your stoop... and vaguely,
as if seen from three paces
behind stained glass...
Sunday sulks into view
like Dostoyevsky
belching "Hey Jude" backwards,
just strolling down
East, Main street
with an egg-cream
and a fist of
kettle corn.
soggy in his meaty paw
an earlier downpour
you slept through.
or maybe, this just happens to me ?
now then. birds fed,
i wandered off. biting my
upper lip to keep
Christmas in
my Edelweiss
grip.
left the birds a book called " How To Fly "
and they still flew
away.
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 10:41 AM UTC
****** bone feathers and yellow beak imbedded in brain
exposed an aviary corpse when the burial dust settled
the last Dodo fell with eighty eight avocado trees cut
down that day and they fell like tipped cows slow
slow fast thud dirt sprayed like winter breath
but before trees tumbled and avocados
rolled downhill north sawteeth
scratched bark and cut
at one hundred fifty
degree angles
and wedges
pried tree
trunks
while the last Dodo slept in the last inhabited Dodo nest
like the last of a long genealogy abhorring what was left
of a final family
a weak decrepit Jones or Smith
tumbles down stairs
of a two story home
in Maine.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 9:27 PM UTC
gussa hai kya ..
Gussa nahi hoon
Tujh mein change dekhkar shocked hoon
Mujhe m change !!
Towards you ??
Heartbeat slow ** gyi ekdum padh ke
Exactly how ??
Slow nahi honi chahiye
U have more friends now
Time gets divided :) it's okay
I m used to it by now
N don't worry about me changing towards you as that will never happen .. :)
Goodnight dodo
Too busy to reply ??
I cant rply now .. Sorry
....
....
....
I really have noting to say and I'm completely agree with you that time divides and which is not on purpose not at all .. It was just a flow through my phase..
When you told me about this I really get break down .. Shivering .. Went out to puke .. I don't know whats happing that time bcz the way you said it, realizing my mistake and it really feels me that I hurt you so badly ..
But its not like that i have new friends and I forget you .. No .. Thts my bad .. And the people out there means nothing to me .. They don't know whats my dreams are .. They don't know how much I respect for my Maa .. They don't know how badly i miss my brother and father .. They don't know that I'm losing a frined like raj .. And now not you ..
And I don't know you remmbr or not that i promised you that i'll never change for you ..
I'm still on my words .. I'm not .. Not at all
I don't know how to apologize .. But please forgive me for this .. I still have no where else to go ..
Manks u r 100% forgiven
U are like sana to me
Will never leave ur side .. I am glad u have friends .. U have had them for long .. But there is some change in ur attitude .. That pinched me ... Ll never leave ur side .. Don't puke .. Don't feel weak .. Cz m always there to strengthen you
Goodnight dodo
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 7:01 PM UTC
I got me a Kangaroo
Lives way down in my pants
He seldom sits quiet
He'd rather get up and dance.
He goes Bo-ing! Boing! Boing!
I can't get him stopped
He's always on the go
Yea! he's always on the hop.
II
Well, he ain't no Dodo
He sure knows how to pogo
Even when I say no! no!
He keeps on on the go! go!
(Bit of a yo-yo)
And when he's full of vim
There's no catching him
I only hope my pants hold out
And he don't pop out.
III
Now how can I put forward
My Best face
When I got him down there
Bouncing all over the place.
He's up, then he's down
Then he's back up again
Up and down all day
Like a demented drawbridge.
IV
He goes Bo-ing! Boing! Boing!
And I go Down! Down! Down!
Whoa-aa Boy!
I go one way
While he goes the other
Man! he's tearing me asunder
I'm every which way.
My mind full of insecurities & fears
And my Kangaroo down there
He's looking up at me saying
What the hell are you doing up there.
V
O! what am I going to do
With my wild Kangaroo,
What am I going to do !!!
What! Get him a didgeridoo ???
(A didgeri-didgeri-doo!)
Have you got a Kangaroo
Down in your pants ?
"Ooooo! Whoo!" sang the girls
"yes! we Dooo Whooo!!!"
What! Wait a minute, you mean...
You mean girls, they got Kangaroos too !!!
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
The clown would’ve been beaten up and down
a long time ago, if he didn't know
how to force scowls into smiles,
bafflement and battles into laughs
like startled bells and baby rattles.
Who would he be now, if he didn't know
how to play the jester, how to stitch
his words together
like the mouth of a snitch
or a quilt of dodo feathers?
He learned it from pain: how to be a joker,
how to act the fool.
Does it count, still, as stand-up comedy
if he's just crying on a stool?
Dec 18, 2018
Dec 18, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
When I was younger:
I shuffled along,
to no urgent song,
didn't march through my day strong. When young and strong are the best time for planned convictions.
There's no acting lazy, or slowing down to the crazy, unless you want to live ungracefully in this hard unforgiving world.
When I was younger:
I lacked logic cause I didn't make clear my premise,
like a man with no plan, a sap with no map. I wandered tither and yonder like a ghoal without a goal, a ghost least of most, no future to ponder.
When I was younger:
I bogged down in metaphorical feces cause I didn't watch where I was wading, forsaking and debating, planning is for suckers, futures are for chuckers.
When I was younger:
I did nil and stood still while the city raced around me, progress to astound thee, forgetting the earth constantly rotates 260 miles an hour- waiting for no one.
When I was younger:
Like the Dodo bird I forgot to grow wings, was eatin by rats and things, became extinct and unlinked to a place run on business, consumerism and cash. On the rocks I was dashed.
When I was younger:
I became he who loses, with a broken compass and excuses, laying laggardly leaderless, with the snoozing and the boozing, and sold my initiative for a bag of grass.
That's when I was younger:
I'm older than that now. But I still remember. It's hard being younger!!
May 21, 2018
May 21, 2018 at 7:03 PM UTC
If you knew I had you figured out,
you might cease to be.
I see through your encryptions now.
It came so easily.
You're as rare as a Garganey,
but speak in Parakeet.
You're flightless like the Dodo bird,
but, like a Nightingale, you sing.
I thought I saw your body washing
up and down the beach.
Instead I must have seen your ghost
doing a dance for me.
I can't say that I've seen your face.
It remains a mystery.
The next time that you show your face,
I hope that you show me.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 1:00 AM UTC
Dodo pie
***** the elephants -- **** em-
gimmi the ivo-ry
and ******** to the rhinos-
I need the horn fer me,
what's with this **** 'bout the
fishes, - n over fishin the sea,
slap the ******* on dishes-
coz I'm ****** hun-gry.
Alan nettleton.
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 10:54 PM UTC
The Queen of Darken Dreams
Poetic Judy Emery
The dark unfathomed tide
That has fathomed my life;
Of an interminable pried
That blacken up my heart
That turned it into ice,
My life is only a mystery
Of many darken dreams;
I can still hear the ravens cry
Day and night
Always by my side
deep into the night where life
is full of fright;
it is a part of my early journey
where lies are always being told
while the creepy stories are
on the making of true hearts breaking,
where old dreams never made
a home of darkness;
where poets written down
what they loved;
where plays are making drama
that made visions come alive;
with wild crazy thoughts
moved the mind and hearts
to a place of the unknown,
where words are written
to a place of forbidden,
Where a place my own mind
made a written scene;
for others to play out in their own minds,
places in the mind is a journey of some kind,
where true imaginations are made,
where the spirit of me
hasn’t seen yet;
but I hold no regrets;
but at times I hold worthiness of my heart,
on dreamy eyes;
I do write what comes to my mind,
What my heart bleeds
For a world of mystery
To open their minds and read all about me
In darken dreams;
Poetic Judy Emery
The Queen of all darken dreams,
I let my inter visions of my spirit
Write out my misty scenes
for all to capture what it is I see or bleed,
My thought come with many plots;
to control the unknown;
where sleeping spell and rose dust
are being cast into a darken past;
yet; hunting down the brighter hopes in life
to come alive in my life;
There will always be the two dodo brides
In my stories;
You will hear many kinds of things
That will come into darken dreams;
Words of a thief to make the heart weep,
Where witches casting spell
Where only true love could take the spell off,
Where knights ride along the lines
Where queens are made in dreams,
In the sight of ancient time;
I care not about the evil enemies
Because they are a part of the story;
But my work of darken dreams
I do cherish because they are about me.
Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 4:45 PM UTC
One step forward and you shall fall.
Tumbling down hear the DoDo bird call.
Casing that rabbit down his tiny hall.
Through singing gardens you crawl.
One makes you smaller and one makes you tall.
Escape from the tea party narrowly missing a brawl.
In the cute little house you wish to be small.
Don't eat anything here you should always recall.
Look at that grin as the he curls in a ball.
This way, that way on all the signs they scrawl.
With homesick tears many eyes you enthrall.
Don't laugh at the Queen painted up like a doll.
In the court room the Cards hold you thrall.
Run through the roses that make up the maze wall.
That was a good dream you think, all-in-all.
May 26, 2012
May 26, 2012 at 4:04 PM UTC
Will you help?
Or you need the world only for yourself!
Then you needn't heed the warning bells,
Sparrows are vanishing, so are squirrels,
Water hens and coucals are almost gone
But you don't need them you wannabe alone.
It's such a small thing disappearance of a bird
Tiger is vanishing, not far is leopard,
It doesn't matter let your tribe grow
Let them perish the thylacine and dodo.
You can live alone so what for the howl,
You need no drongo no nightjar no owl,
Rhinos are butchered, gorillas only a few
Not the wild ***** must survive is you.
You must alone rule with tooth and claw
Let them all go the eagles and macaw
The otter, the cheetah and the polar bear
You needn't think till they're there.
Then when they go it'll be too late
To know on their survival depends your fate
Even the smallest one lends you their help
But you needed the world only for yourself.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:22 AM UTC
םתוח
השׂטן
and i thought that ancient egyptian
was retarted...
looks like there's a contender!
hebrew!
this language doens't know left
from right, or up from down...
hebrew is, by html encoding... a dodo project!
it's retarted!
hebrew can't survive in the html age...
it's retarudus proximus!
oh, you think arabic is any better?
don't think semites should
be laughing at this point...
trying to write hebrew script is like
juggling pineapples...
what does it say?
the seal of satan... satan?
well that implies guardian
of the tetragrammaton...
i still agree hebrew evolved from
ancient egyptian script...
but hebrew wasn't used in writing
html or any other computing script...
that's why it's so retarted when trying
to write it in html mode...
nope, can't convince me...
you can't really write hebrew in html mode...
i call this the extinction precipice...
if this ****** is going to keep up
its copernican acid tripping not knowing
left from right...
might as well leave it at the roman
long-handshake... where hands
don't actually touch, but hands touch
nearing the elbow... namely
forearm-grip.
as the original stated:
the smaller the audience: the greater span of historical worth, and desire to upkeep: that pangloss citation from voltaire's candide: better us tending to our own conerns, that bother ourselves with the concerns of others.
oh, i know what a small audience implies...
didn't christ have only the 12,
didn't pythagoras only have the approx. 30?
there's something quite telling
about a small audience...
not exactly cultish...
but something beyond the realm
of influencing people within a single
lifetime...
take en sabah nur and his 4:
oh come on... rewrite tolstoy's
war & peace in a comic form:
just to ease the gates for poets,
and leave barren, the boring narrator...
let's keep it at just that:
there's something telling about a small
audience...
look at the 1 and the 12,
and now look at the billionth marker -
funny, isn't it?
what am i claiming though?
ah, that's simple, that's a revival of
"judaism" - i say "judaism" because
i am the one ordained with neither prophecy
or anything worth mastering:
i am the guardian of the tetragrammaton...
and sure, the god within the confines of
philosophy has to necessarily not exist...
but?
well... you can't really evaporate
the tetragrammaton out of existence!
whenever the right time comes,
i loose the title: chief prosecutor, and become
chief defendant.
Jul 25, 2017
Jul 25, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
Could vous just take a second, a moment, one solid instant
to visualize the boy in the stall with more felt lacerations than words of admiration.
Could the bold, bright, beautiful ones start singing
because I'm sick of the loud talk that goes through the motions of lingering
in an echoed room as they "try" to save the oceans - tell me, did we
litter on the way there? There's a forgotten world in stories told of heroes, breathing clean air.
Could the world give one more shot (a mountainous event) because history needs valor.
But technology is further than requirements for bravehearts to trigger a gun. Envision
a man four foot high, who stands a flag where poppies lie because he was that lucky man
who watched his fellows die
I'll say, weaponry wields death to We, naught could prove me wrong.
Could the world be a little bit more tight; bring back the mystery of gentlemen.
We're too loose and on the edge of loss, and the cost - oh, the cost
is sentimentality that somehow became disconnected when
baring your soul and stripping bare became two
and when I meet the one, my mind is plagued that we shall only amount to half.
Could the world be about more than the new, the sophisticated
or have too many eye closed to the life before the Dodo's died; now only
one view: to screen the disease from the rescued swingers, sinkers and singers
ahhhhhhhhh! basking in captivity: to compensate, we take back by metabolizing habitats.
Could the world be about to - because me and mine are everywhere,
but mind: the brain's likely to reach revelation. Clap, we will excel. After all,
when the world explodes and we reconnect, I'm sure each will preach and teach and leech
until it's known - We'll thank Gutenberg as needed, but printer is no master
when the minds are intertwined. But P'haps it has been a bad morning because I've known you
and you've bled true - long been fixing those around, so they aren't torches who warn off monsters,
instead they shave down fangs of loathing, there's no - not one! - beast they burn.
And don't I wonder? Ah yes, I do wonder: that now
Could the world be about to turn?
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 10:17 PM UTC
You say time moves too fast in your life
Well, that's because you're running the race
Missing everything you pass by
And only looking forward to the finish:
Your 401k and then your grave.
Time for you moves faster than the bullet train
That you ride every morning to your cubicle job
And every evening to your home that doesn't feel like home.
Busy bees always moving never stopping never pausing for a comma.
Living for the sweet honeyed relief of retirement or death
And never knowing that as you are living to die,
You are dying to live.
Repetition is your life and it moves really fast.
Day in, day out.
Day in, day out
metro, boulot, dodo
Train, job, sleep
And unfulfilling sleep at that.
You convince yourself that all these petty things that make up your life
That get you closer to your petty dream of riches and *******
Are actually worth something.
World problems don't bug you, you live in a world all on your own.
You glue your eyes to the pavement and walk with "purpose"
Long strides and arms swinging and making buzzy noises
As the sleeves of your suit rub against your sides
You can't let any time be wasted so you flood your day
With meetings and work, cigarettes and nights at the bar.
Stress is your best enemy and insomnia is a close friend.
Busy busy, buzz buzz
Moving, always moving.
So fast that death comes as a surprise
And you think
What the hell just happened?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 7:37 PM UTC
SLEEP is a maker of makers. Birds sleep. Feet cling to a perch. Look at the balance. Let the legs loosen, the backbone untwist, the head go heavy over, the whole works tumbles a done bird off the perch.
Fox cubs sleep. The pointed head curls round into hind legs and tail. It is a ball of red hair. It is a **** waiting. A wind might whisk it in the air across pastures and rivers, a cocoon, a pod of seeds. The snooze of the black nose is in a circle of red hair.
Old men sleep. In chimney corners, in rocking chairs, at wood stoves, steam radiators. They talk and forget and nod and are out of talk with closed eyes. Forgetting to live. Knowing the time has come useless for them to live. Old eagles and old dogs run and fly in the dreams.
Babies sleep. In flannels the papoose faces, the bambino noses, and dodo, dodo the song of many matushkas. Babies-a leaf on a tree in the spring sun. A nub of a new thing ***** the sap of a tree in the sun, yes a new thing, a what-is-it? A left hand stirs, an eyelid twitches, the milk in the belly bubbles and gets to be blood and a left hand and an eyelid. Sleep is a maker of makers.
1.6k
so the *** debate is raging
like a Californian
wildfire in the forests,
people are "presumed"
missing...
i'm sat watching
back to the future
(beats star wars, every,
single time:
the ****** is more obvious)
and then drinking...
i always wanted to
taste a lobster...
and listening to the best of
billy joel...
scratching my mustache...
BELGIANS IN
THE UK!
then fiddling with my bead...
my beard...
i have a beard?!i
**** i have a beard!
i took, fiddling with my *****
the wrong way...
after all ****** airs
have the same feel
as ***** hair...
a bit like cleavage...
so...
you're donningv
the buttock crack
up-front?!
funny, eh?
making fun of the phallus...
how about feeding
a Donnie Disney with your,
puppies?!
how about that?
***
if women do need
no men...
do what we do...
**** off anal-style...
we do the **** projective...
you cut out utilizing
the ******
look... 'appy bunnies"
if ai am about to turn
into a *****
the female right...
all the rights you require...
sure... have them...
but what sort of right
is it,
when there's no
existentialist argument?
go on... please...
make your dodo
and your
mixed-raced argument...
mono-racial is
the new neanderthal...
call it...
we're not progressive enough...
we're too ********
to mingle ethnicity...
call it!
call me halfway house
between down and
the ******
call it!
call it!
***** better call it!
(through gritting teeth):
call it!
i said... call it!
be your progressive "self"...
call it!
i'm ******** for not mingling
adequately enough with
crafting a trans-ethnicity populace...
neanderthal...
***** call it!
guess what... i love the laced
take on history via the Anglophone
re-reinterpretation
of Darwinism...
i love the neanderthal take on thiongs...
i'm bilingual, schizophrenic,
the sort of mongrel that...
has no place among
the duo-ethnicity... "mongrels"...
lucky you, lucky me...
i'm sorry... the F extends just so far...
two languages, orange man, bad...
but a congregation of
a dual ethnicity, green man, god,
and "the" good...
whatever suits your favor...
i should care,
i won't care,
i don't care,
i will, to never ever give a ****
about caring;
like god "said":
on your own;
i much prefer the freedoms
of the jungle,
than the restrictions of a zoo.
it's billy joel, "by the way"...
life will go on...
obviously a life much ********
than the intelligent people are used
to...
but... if that's what you allow...
then you're deserving it.
Nov 18, 2018
Nov 18, 2018 at 9:24 PM UTC
Dodo draws on the cigarette.
The smoke hits the throat.
The city ***** her in with its
huge sick well of emptiness.
Bagteller wanted her to go
to his place last night and make
passionate love. What a laugh
that’d been. Him and his fetishes.
The schoolgirl uniform was not
her thing. Too many memories.
She told him to stuff that in one
of his tight dark orifices and walked
out into the city’s cold night. Went
home to her own place and took
a hot shower. She is still sore from
the scrub. She wants to scrub her
past away with the brush and soap.
Nothing washes away the memories
that have sunk deep. She wakes to
a new day. The city is buzzing with
the walking dead and half living.
The cigarette smoke fills her lungs
and then out into the air. Mother said
men were not to be trusted. Father
said don’t listen to her she’s biased
and ****** and smells of sour cream.
Oh that I could open up my mind and
wash it out and not have to see that
shrink once a month just after my bleeds
have gone she says. Dr Glexity with his
black suit and blue tie one green eye and
one grey. All that **** money and nothing
to say. She inhales the smoke and the city
and the living and the dead and ***** them
into her lungs broken heart and stuffed head.
Apr 3, 2012
Apr 3, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC