"drainpipe" poems
Epilogue:
The relentless tick of time
Changes things forever.
Stand on a piece of common ground
Look around and remember
Saturday afternoon outdoor charades
The local bring-and-swipe carnival-theft parade!
a spectacle event for all the family to enjoy.
“Come round for your tea” is how it often started:
Then sometime after you leave
The wee cousin Billy
does a quick shimmy
up a 200 foot drainpipe
In through the window, out through your front door
Shortly that fancy new recliner you’ve been bragging about
wont be there any more.
Not unlike tribes of indigenous peoples
they never took more than they could carry
and appreciated the karma of their actions on the jungle.
It would happen to them next week anyway
Till then at least, they had ownership of new leather recliner
People change shape and move places
Old is replaced with the new
Angry youths become middle-aged men with jobs,
carrying children with smiles on their faces
The big blocks were eventually torn down one by one
Nearly all that I remember is gone.
The wall tiles etched with a secret love
Have no place any more
Just junk messages littering another landfill
I spare a thought for the lovers
Did they ever get it on?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:36 AM UTC
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
Though I never shagged you at all
You ****** the rhythm to ******* yourself
While those around you ate crow
They schlepped out of the cleavage
And they ********** into your crumpet
They ******* you on the rowing machine
And they copulated you **** your three *****
And it seems to me you tasted your *****
Like a cigarette lighter in the diarrhoea
Never knowing who to stick it out to
When the ooze congeal from the top drawer
And I would have liked to have had carnal knowledge of you
But I was just a twit
Your cigarette lighter exploded spew out long before
Your whiff never blewout
Stiffness was sticky
The gristliest fat part you ever nibbled
Hollywood cobbled together a wizzofrog
And ******** was the corkage you greased
Even when you conked out
Oh the lubricator still molested you
All the skeletons had to jabber
Was that Marilyn was ***** flashy the starkers
Ta-ta Norma Drainpipe
from the virginal wombat in the twenty—second ghetto
Who smells you as meat as above par than scatological
Olé! than frank our Marilyn Monroe
Apr 1, 2010
Apr 1, 2010 at 4:17 PM UTC
on the eighth day
by
Jude kyrie
*After the world
was completed
the day of rest taken.
On the eighth day
he invented the blues.
Even the songbirds
wail like an alto sax in pain.
Sitting alone on the bench
by the parkette
the color blue
Is everywhere I look,
the sky dark blue
dropping an
occasional raindrop tear.
A blue ladies dress
Blue umbrellas.
Blue memories
slowly jogging past.
The traffic
moans the blues.
In a muted cacophony.
Now a blue wind blows
gently almost sobbing into
a wailing drainpipe.
I sip my Gatorade
Its flat and blue.
A cool breeze
blows by my face
from the blue waters
of the lake.
I hold up my finger
to touch the color blue.
But it passes
right through me.*
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
**** stained drainpipe
raining pain
unexplained sameness
expressed
in veiny legs
egg salad crustacean
situationally challenged
prophetic procreator
bending spoons
and your will
shill trolls on and on
seeking weakness
tweeking while twerking
discolored molars twinkle
baboons ***
shiner dines on refined lime
mining dimes
unwound ground cover
lamenting
lack of green
queen like boy toy bounds across the turnpike
exhilarated and misinformed
dorm room ****
forlorn
sounding horn born of jazzy lips
quips to the mainstream
hipsterism is like a disease
complete with rashes and bumpy outbreaks
15 century rake awaits her date
and is placed on the stake
for a belief in an alternative
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC
The wind plays a music that swells my despair
Paints darker the setting of my lonely lair
Where I would recover from dreams kicked aside
My eerie tormentor comes back like the tide
Whistling and keening from high pitch to soft
Stirring the pigeons awake in the loft
Screeching a branch on my window of stars
Playing the drainpipe in monotone bars
Resting and racing then altering course
“I saw your loved one” says its haunting voice
Routing the season of flowers and sun
Clearing the path for a desolate one
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 6:59 AM UTC
those
countryside colours
dug deep in the pantries of
longlost obsessions and falling pinecones
stowed between rifts in woodwork-framed floorboards,
leaving vague lessons for the sunday crowd who'd
*finally groomed their hair and walked out,
sunglint balding projections soon crawl*
under the drainpipe circle of light ancestors ago would have thought god,
*with revelations through seven now
each night broadcasts photon showers,*
leaking through drying eyelids, blaring and spinning,
a stranger sits home,
feels so alone,
hadn't been taught to deal with transmission,
recursing discourse in patterns
in static of two
one where life went fine, and the other where we went on,
keeping tact forever and feeding geese on sunday afternoons
as the sun
shone through chemical ceilings,
*we had
tiny
birds
in
our hair,
then.*
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 7:16 AM UTC
Life ***** then you die; we all know, right?
Back in the day, that's what I’d tell myself,
Before a night of drinking and carousing.
Yup, women carouse just like men,
Only they're better at it, less obvious,
In their pursuit of understanding and/or love.
Back then, Something gnawed inside of me,
Told me to **** it up, get real for once,
Find yourself, within yourself, what the heck?
Ever watch a spider weave lace on a drainpipe,
And wonder why a daddy long legs knows,
Better than you do, what this life is all about?
And the humdrum becomes you and you it.
Tells you what you need but will never have,
Something missing, like smarts, or grace or wisdom.
Until your fragile faith awaits your next footfall,
On a worn-out rope bridge nearly rotted through,
Sending you straight into the arms of God.
And God mutters, it takes what it takes.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 10:01 PM UTC
I found a spider crawling up
the drainpipe and it freaked me out
for a minute until I realized
that I am bigger than a spider
and no arachnophobe at heart
I am no arachnophile either though
and so I smooshed the spider
with a paper towel into the wall
thereby ending its life and sparing
me and those I love from spiderbites
(from this particular eight-legged foe)
And likely sparing the flies as well
But that's not so great
But I still forgive myself
for messing with the natural order of things
And I forgive everyone who kills spiders
and everyone who chooses not to **** spiders
And every spider who eats a fly
And every spider who bites a man
even if that man dies.
I still forgive the spider, even if
it is not my spider to forgive.
And I forgive every web-spinner and maker
of things which are stronger than steel
And I forgive you too if you let me
but I won't forgive you if you fear the spiders
and I won't forgive you for smooshing them
if it's irrational and not for the sake
of saving the potentially bitten,
or at least for the sake of the flies.
I can't ever forgive you for that
anymore than I can ever stop thinking
about you and what it meant to be your friend.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 12:54 AM UTC
I've found
that I've been down
the drainpipe
once or twice before.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 8:05 AM UTC
Faded paint on the wall
Dust in my keyboard
Watch energy drip through my fingers
Into the keys
To drainpipe emotion
Through electric superhighway
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 2:56 AM UTC
When the last ink spears
have dried
on the white blush of battlefield paper
sheath the pointed crossed teeth of letters
to whom was fashioned a vain likeness
I can take no more poison
and you have no more pigment to spare
It rained between the heavy blankness
in the fissures of a comma stained tear
a mark, a year.
The wasted hollows
in the vowels of your syllables, were almost a crime.
so I pulled myself into the void
with a graceless sigh
to hide in the drainpipe d's
wait for that storm to pass.
With a weary eye you travel the pupil
shadow in a glazed nuance, I could never quite
find a place for
an eyelash moment.
Was it tender? or a bruised sunset
tattooed in a canvas of skin.
In the river running though the banks of bone in your neck
to the blockade of the doors of your mind.
I find the crossing point
at the maze created by your ear
You rolled the silence around on your tongue
a tornado breath amid the humid
necklace of lightning.
Jun 12, 2011
Jun 12, 2011 at 9:36 PM UTC
Brian Allan the Harry Houdini of modern times
You see Brian Allan will tie himself up, to see how the feeling of kidnappees feel like
And he will do it in so many ways, like wirg handkerchiefs and rope, and underpants too
He would keep himself tied up till the evil goes away, he'll do it, to get rid of anxiety
He also ties himself up, as if the adults are keeping him away from being a cool kid
And Brian Allan will put a gag on his mouth, to stop showing the losers who hang with him
Stop hanging with him Brian Allan will push himself down a really slim drainpipe
Just to check out his adrenaline levels, and while Brian Allan was doing that
A man was watching him with his XXXX Gold, drinking it to celebrate
Harry Houdini, of the modern world, Brian Allan
Then after 14 minutes Brian Allan got through, and saw him having his beer
And Brian Allab said to him, at least I'm having clean fun
And then went back home to tie himself up, and Brian was tied up in a cabin on a train
By a couple of really evil train Robbers, and Brian said don't take me
I am a cool kid, and the robbers, said, if we kidnap you, your parents
Will pay a big ransom for you, and if they call the cops, you will die
Just imagine, it mate, Brian Allan dead, yes, sweet
So Brian Allan keep yourself tied up, so we can hassle the real *****
Yes, you aren't a cool kid to a tease anymore, but your friends not like us
He is a stupid clot of a bloke, yes, an old fogie
You Brian Allan, are a young dude
And if we keep you here forever, we will have you on our toast
You see we are the modern day witch's and we are after the creative Allans
Yes, I go into my room and tie myself up, kidnap myself so losers
Get treated like their important for being losers
Yes, my name is Brian Allan, the escape artist (Harry Houdini) of nowadays I ai you
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 1:05 AM UTC
To begin with there begins a little sprinkle, only a delicate sound
just delicate, a small "titter" as it taps on your secondary passage.
This, at to begin with, you have a go at overlooking 'til it's decidedly pouring
it reestablishes and continues invigorating each living thing around.
At that point it streams down the timber of the trees with branches agile
what's more, the leaves surrender clean as, drinking heartily, they sup.
Where the beads make a sprinkle, there the drainpipe begins a ******
or, on the other hand it tickles through the rings 'til it douses into the ground.
In the canal there's a puddle, only a little center obfuscate
at that point it develops into a gusher as it sputters past the control.
This downpour tumbles towards the tar, ten times as quick and twice as far
as the tormented educators pull at both their tunics and their sleeve.
Furthermore, once more, it makes an air pocket and makes a little inconvenience
for the wetness of the water causes sobbing from the astute.
There's a flooding of the fields as the water waves and wheels
what's more, the grieving Mormons on their bicycles are crying to the skies.
While the raindrops keep running round edges and they swell down the extensions
at that point they join the happy excursion at the intersection with a run.
When they accumulate in the canal there's a sputtering, merry splutter
with a splashing and expression, they're singing as they clear out.
There's a stammer and a shake as the gusher battles a fight
with the gravity of planet as it joins the droning throng.
However, it's inclination is constant and disregards each safe
pattern of obstructions as determinedly it wends it's direction once more.
Presently it looks for the last butcher and it jumps into the water
of the sea at the passageway of the place we call the narrows.
There's a happy "hurrah" of adulating to the Ruler who has been looking
down on every one of his youngsters, named or not, who looked for his favored 'Rain'.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 6:49 AM UTC
How does it feel to never give
anything a chance, like maybe
your skeletons will melt down the drainpipe and gather mold at the bottom somewhere,
like maybe my molecules are collecting
dust as I speak and my old skin cells are worth more
than their weight in new growth?
How does it feel to live in
half-starts, like the smoke has already left your lungs hollow
and clear before having a chance to settle?
Maybe I keep too much under my skin nowadays, but then again you never felt
that heavy
and I made sure to never
leave you hanging.
Braid knots out of the remainders
of sinew I line my bones with,
I wish you were the self deprecation I inhale
I wish you'd line my lungs black with your
sticky bittersweet and
sweaty salty half drunk promises
I wish you'd pour yourself out into
my hollow chest and we'd dim the lights because
time is slower after dark and you
always tell me I should take my time.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
i like to watch the cat and his agility
jumping of the roof tops
and climbing up a tree
climbing up a drainpipe
climbing with such ease
getting through the gaps
he can gently squeeze
this creature of the night
with such ability
master of his class
as agile as can be
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
I sat with my back to the mirror
I always avoid people I don’t know;
Strangers are a danger.
And the thick fog that buries itself
Underneath my skin, makes me
unrecognisable.
My memory is as weightless as my feelings,
Down the drainpipe they go, scattering across tiles.
And I’ve met up with misery and held its claws
And it left with me with scars instead of smiles.
I’m picking at loose threads, waiting for my mind to return;
Broken and damaged, its pieces sailing off track for miles.
It’s the art of falling apart, to be vulnerable,
Trailing behind the spraypainted signs of my mind,
Left stranded, shipwrecked and empty, lost and deserted;
Smoke fills the void and nothing’s important.
I’ve said hello to the embodiment of my nightmare,
I see it in the mirror and I ******* under its stare.
So raindrops, will you gather and set me free?
Because nothing’s inside anymore to let there be tears.
And I want to find my way back home,
But the twist of my insides is like a maze,
Crown of thorns for this crowded daze.
And I don’t want the outside to reflect
what’s on the inside,
it’s a scary place.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 4:22 AM UTC
From year to year there are
memories snowing, covering
and blocking the driveway
I shovel them aside
I must get out, I must
do some shopping
And when they start to melt
when they drip down
the drainpipe and run away
I lie awake in bed
listening and following
the rippling in the gutter
It makes me desperate
I want to leave, a break
to write it all down
to tell it
in the dark and be
answered, applauded
Oct 7, 2023
Oct 7, 2023 at 3:15 AM UTC
Like a rabid beast I need unchained, ive been a textured slave for many a years,
Built into the drainpipe of society,
Gathering fears,
Like a snake I slither the uncut grass,
Where thy brain is cut in half seeking thy other half!!!
Pounded unsensational headache errupts,
As the world stays currupt,
I gather Intel of governmental verse
A pharoah church to marry a queen I do want,
No falsehood nor stunts,
But realism, in movie theater form!!!
I want to be reborn in her atmospheric charisma!!!
Mi amour' , she of far shores
Take me home to whence I came!!!!!
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:02 PM UTC
is it possible that you're brighter than a summers sun, that you smell of the rose bushes down the country paths?
is it possible that you shed tears like trees shed their leaves in autumn and become bare to the bone?
is it possible that your heart can be as cold as the icicles that hang from my drainpipe in the morning?
is it possible that you blossom beautiful like a spring lamb, full of joy and happiness?
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
Stood between a giant and a child
bruised by fists with a blue line striped
across his nose like a toothy kiss. Trying my best
to protect a city boy
from the ones I love with conflict rushing
through my mind like a plastic
drainpipe
after a storm. I imagined if it were you
being pulled by your arms
toward the road across the ground.
I'm sorry I ripped
your jacket when I dragged you off him
but I was and still am sure
that it would have been harder
to love you if you'd killed a man.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 4:06 PM UTC
It felt like a drainpipe down the gullet of the actress
As she leapt out of sight of the red baroness
Asking, why do the streetlights stay blue?
And will the soil maintain its hue?
Faceless people eating capriciously
As they tenderly speak of their shore leave
As they’re foisting their dreams to their sleeves
Speaking of odd, foreign fleece
Decadent manners spoke in secret tongues
Polarized banners through brazen tar lungs
As bravado finds a new face
To win wars with one holy gaze
Something’s the matter but it’s all for nought
As the gilded Centurion claims he forgot
What he built his first child’s house upon
For all his sons are vagabonds
I mimicked a child in the way he embraced
His nascent complacence to the human race
Clinging to a wooden rail
For fear of the careless hail
A man claimed his newsboy hat kept him enclosed
For his fear that his thought-dreams would serve to corrode
The last bastions of society
Which he clings on to haplessly
The visor hung low on the Titan of Rhodes
For he knew of the judgment on one head exposed
In his position above
Where the sky belongs only to doves
Calendars festoon their tactless grace
With legions of chandeliers, forming a haze
Now, we know that the days are numbered
Yet, the fact leaves us all encumbered
Facsimiles of the nationwide veins
Will collapse next year as they fight for the grain
Now, the horse is extinct with the train
And everyone fears to remain
Jul 19, 2019
Jul 19, 2019 at 11:43 AM UTC
in the concrete jungle
only an artist
will find beauty
in rainwater flowing from a drainpipe
onto the cracked sidewalk.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:29 PM UTC