"duper" poems
To you I may just be a grain of sand, caught between your toes
But you will not have my experience, so you cannot know
How it feels to float on a shark fin or rest on a mermaid's breast
Or do a jig with a conga eel, now that really was the best
So before you cast me aside to clean your human foot
Take a super duper microscope and take a closer look
At me and my sparkly sandy compatriots as we glisten in the light
A dazzling array of shell fragments and glass nuggets so bright!
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
I asked if there was anyone there remotely my age,
and she said yes. I had just dumped all the money in my
wallet into trying to make my savings not negative.
It didn't work.
I walked over, stepped inside,
and saw teenagers. She told me,
there's a guy outside and he's twenty.
I got ******* duped by a kid.
Her parent's left, unwisely.
I met another half-black person,
a 15 year old girl who had dark skin
and hated everything that resembled
"blackness" or "black culture".
She even called herself white.
Here I was, outside drinking grape soda
out of a hello kitty mug,
discussing radical feminism
to teenage girls-
**and ******* five shots were fired**.
Not even 15 feet away, behind the garage.
[A fake 100 was exchanged, to which distaste was shown,
also this sentence is in parentheses,
and technically doesn't even exist].
So now there are teenage girls crying over gunfire,
hyperventilating, the high school boys jogging-
people in a swarm heading indoors,
and me.
The stupid-fucking-tragic-yet-benal artist,
running in his stupid ******* circle,
trying to decide if he should go inside
with the crazy juvenile people, or see if he can get shot,
because he already lives life awaiting some
stupid ******* narcissistic tragedy
to wipe him off the map.
My opportunities had rushed away already however.
I walked inside and sat on the couch hugging
one of those puffy round pillows and laughing
maniacally. It was intense after all.
Kid Duper tried to relate to me.
I know she didn't get it.
No one ever really ******* gets it.
Understood, maybe? No one understands.
I left shortly after with a copy of Fahrenheit 451.
I was told I could borrow it.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 4:02 AM UTC
Casper was ****** in the *** by fifty Muslims.
He was ****** twenty-five times on top.
He was also ****** thirty-seven times bent over a wheelbarrow
And eleven more times at the bank.
He was ****** at night in the ***
His *** was a bit ruptured.
He was born for getting ass-rammed!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper got ****** in the *** brutally
And the fifty Muslims' ***** was ****** on his tonsils.
He was up to his eyeballs in Muslim ****
He was so full of *** he had to ****
This guy really took a **** pushed away the Muslim ****
And took his own ********
And started ******* himself in his *** brutally.
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper was taken to a hospital by an ambulance.
At the hospital, he told the doctor to say ******* licker".
After the doctor said ******* licker".
He got on top of Casper and started ******* him in his *** brutally.
So far, Casper was diagnosed with holy freakaholic
And became loose for super duper maneuvers!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper, Casper
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual!
Casper the homosexual friendly ghost!
Rock over London, Rock on Chicago!
Western Union: It's the Fastest Way To Send Money!
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
He can rock the man bun
this means one thing
he's hit a home run
and is the hair king
girls will faint when he swaggers down the hall
and will slowly drool and crawl
because the man bun rocks them all
that little ball of hair
is the stuff that makes girls stare
it doesn't matter what he wears
because the man bun is his flair
The bun is legendary
and makes girls want to marry
men who are super duper hairy
own those long locks
and knock off the socks
of everyone because your man bun really rocks
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC
I say, walk away.
Walk.
Away. Can you hear me speak it?
Walk away from that not-happening-love
*What’s to speak
When words are of bronze and aluminum
Each syllable metal grain living bullet-wise bitter in your mouth...*
Strip away the dross of the “why nots” and “what ifs”
To leave yourself with a hard, small, sad
Stone-heart
Smooth with knowing
*What’s to know
When the facts are decided before-hand,
Written out in neat print-writing
On six-inch cardboard squares*
That this love- such as it is- does not belong.
Is naught but itself, is no more. Is yours alone.
To take this fact, tear it to bits
And grind it beneath your heel
*What’s to do
When the other people are pixels, dots, lines
Two dimensional child-drawn angels without wings*
Do this with pride so that all who see you
Want to clap in joy at your courage,
Want to mourn, and to feel the glory with you:
Walk away,
Walk away tall,
Walk away tall and calm and super-duper cool
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 4:31 AM UTC
Here's a little Nugget on a pirate ship
sailing away to where all the pirate's sit
Give them a taste of this sleepy buck'a'roo
And by the way, I love you
Here's little Nugget on a itty bitty boat
sailing away through the muddy, murky moat
With little sleepy eyes and some mud on'is shoe
just remember that I love you too
There goes Nugget on his super duper raft
ridin' through the rapids going super duper fast
Closing his eyes and off he flew
and by the way, I love you
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
i like to be wise with my beautiful brown eyes
my thick thighs and my voluptuous size
fruit flies sticking to me cause i'm so sweet
i make the beats but dont eat that red meat
sensitive but calm and super duper collected
will get you wrapped around my finger, kid
pinky promises is how i keep it real
drinkin' tall boys, always breakin' the seal
addicted to my flavor, youll be on dis fashionistaquena
part puerto rican, but got money but not enough lend ya
crowds call my name and it keeps on echoin'
famous like the amos cookies, keep my green in a tin
i'm so frickin' visual, ROYGBIV colors make me trip all day
so vib-rant, i spy a red ant and rainbows are the color "gay"
lets collaborate, take your hands & drop all the hate, i just ate...
chips and dip, my lip ring fell out so i put in a paperclip
bobbypin in my hair, my lion locks
i'm like uffie "i pop the glocks"
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
Paris is so beautiful, that it’s emotional,
like the red tile roofs of Rome,
or the Kenroku-en gardens of Japan.
It’s a relatively large world.
Whenever you can fly over an ocean
you feel limitless, and godly,
like the world is there for you, on demand.
Speaking of God-like views, I’m headed
to Lisa’s (parents) Manhattan highrise again
this year for Thanksgiving—six, very-long days
from today—and I have to wait—but I can’t wait.
I’m starting to stuff things into my bag, like a turkey.
There are so many holiday things to do in Manhattan.
Things that invariably whip you up for a sparkly Christmas.
But these are only commercial attractions—planned distractions.
One frosty November-break morning, two years ago,
a tide of clouds had rolled in, like a trillion tons of cotton
candy had been dumped on New York city, overnight,
filling it up to the 42nd floor. It glistened there, below us,
in the klieg-bright sun, like Tiffany diamonds on cotton.
So, imagine that, then add a flock of geese, in military-like
v-formation flying just at the crest of the glitter, like dolphins
hopping in and out of the waves, as they passed above the
insignificant works of man. It took my breath away.
So, naturally I grabbed for my fancy phone with its super-duper,
high-res camera. The snaps did the glorious scene poor justice—
the majestic, wild geese came out as dots on glare.
I’m watching things carefully this year, not just the multicolor, cachet, window displays on Fifth Avenue and the decorations at the Chelsea Market (where Oreos were invented). I’m going to capture this year
—every intense, emotional second—with that most unreliable, 3D
gadget of all—Memory.
.
.
A song for this:
Holiday Road by Lindsey Buckingham
Nov 15, 2024
Nov 15, 2024 at 11:45 AM UTC
How can I say?
That you simply make my day?
There are times where I just want to run away
But you give me strength to stay
I am so thankful
Super duper joyful
That I am blessed to meet an angel
Now not to sound sentimental
Maybe it was coincidental?
That we were meant to encounter through this instrumental
Music that brings us together
And make each feel better
When life sometimes makes us feel pressure
You are there to change the rainy day to a sunny weather
It's like saying hi hello to a fresh breeze of summer air and goodbye winter
I wish you constant happiness
With no days of loneliness
Where you don't feel the emptiness
and if I could I hope to take away your sadness
Cause you deserve all the sweetness
Gestures even through your craziness
You have this side of tenderness
With overflowing kindness
That the world needs to know your greatness
I'm serious
When I tell you, you are a lovely, indestructible and a genius
Individual for you made it through the darkness
When life seemed restless
Sometimes it even felt pointless
And also you feel helpless
You overcame your weakness
Oh my goodness
You My Day are just the strongest
You will achieve all your dreams and goals
And have your life in control
There will be moments where you will feel like a lost soul
But if you just listen to some pop, rock and roll
Ballads it will calm you down and make you feel less all alone
Just remember I'm also one text away from your phone
Please feel freely to message
Express your thoughts
Let out your doubts
Cause if you ever need somebody
I'll be there to lend you a hand and a shoulder to cry on
Reminding you the wonderful colour of your smile
Helping you to letting go of bad habits of the horrible events you keep replaying in your head
Make you look forward to the bueno and better better days ahead of you and
That there will still be a sunrise even if things are messy
I wait until I see a smile on your face
Cause that's what you do when you love someone
And you deserve so much love in the world
Please don't let anyone take you for granted
You are the moonrise in a dark sky filled with stars
Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 3:33 AM UTC
Marry me in a far-off field dotted with small flowers, under the twinkling stars of night's magical darkness
Wear that cute white dress with the hem cut up short, the one where I can't resist you
Be a feast for heart in your angelic beauty, the shy smile and the happiness in your eyes
Darling, Darling! Please, please be mine?
There will be small pretty cakes for the guests, our honored neighbors
Just you, just me, and a few other people who are barefoot and laughing.
And Oh I, my dear, will have eyes only for you and only your forever now
I don't like cake, but I'll crave your lips, the sweetness there
So loving, so tender. My very best friend, my super duper ***** naughty lover.
Let's have a quickie in the bushes! Slip away to have a **** that will never be enough
No, I cannot wait and will not wait. In front of guests and kind friends
I'll make love to you on that very spot.
Mary me, you say.
Yes, I answer
I'm only kidding, you laugh
But you are my happy ever after.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 10:00 AM UTC
Call me honeybee one more time,
I dare you.
I love it.
I am so platonicly in love with you.
You are better than starbucks.
Maybe five times better,
But I'm contemplating six and a half.
I just want to make sure you're always super duper happy.
And bring you soup, and tea, and fuzzy blankets, and fab movies when you're sad.
You are the absolute cutest.
You no think I'm pretty.
So dot zee to you.
But I'll get over it,
And I'll never be over you.
No ****
With all the **** in the world implied.
I feel like I should insert some sort of suggestive emoticon here.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:29 AM UTC
shatterproof smiles
like nineteen sixties plastic american sunshine
on the faded walls
if it was something a "la la la la" song could solve
then he wouldn't be up all night
pacing the hall wringing his clammy hands
whispering over and over
that we have come as far as we can hope to
how can i get you that one step further
shatterproof smiles
look great but they have no love
look super-duper on t.v.
but they wont be there in your darkest hour
but he waits for her
a good egg his mom always said
cause thats what they promised him
a perfect girl with a shatterproof smile
a perfect painting of plastic sunshine
a glittering prize
an empty space behind bright blue eyes
she is one of them
her glory ***** scrapbook
is filled with the blood traces of those
she has severed from their loved ones
and it smells of hard dirt
it smells of unquenchable thirst
she is now years behind me
and so is the monster she choose to be
shes a fast song now
feet too swift to spend a maidens moments
tarrying over the bouquets of roses at graveside
too swift to shed a tear for the children left behind
too swift to see the cost of her heartlessness
a fast song to spin the mind from the hearts ache
from the souls vanquish
i am alone on the long empty street
i see her as a wave of destruction approaching
over the miles and years
and nothing looks more lonely to me
nothing looks more void of humanity
than the look in her eye
i left you behind years ago
monster with perfect shatterproof smiles
and you will never never know what my answer was
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 1:13 AM UTC
Is it just imagination, or
Is Wal-Mart running out of
**** to put on their shelves?
I swear.
(And I intend on cee-ceeing
Elizabeth Warren with this.)
So, you want to do something
About inequality in America?
So, you want to give the working stiffs,
A Fighting Chance,
Is that the name of
Your book, Senator Liz?
I’ve heard it all before:
It’s Hope & Change Redux, Babaloo!
(And don’t get me started on Osama Obama.)
Here’s my plan:
You go aisle to aisle in any Superstore
With a little notepad and pencil.
Every time you see some
Large plastic piece of ****
Realizing they sell
15 million of ‘em every year,
All made by some Dink-Chink in China.
QUESTION: So, what do you do, Mr. Policy Wonk?
ANSWER: Federally-subsidize the
Building & Operation of a plant
Manufacturing that **** right here in Detroit.
Or Atlanta, or Hartford,
Cleveland or Fitchburg,
Or even Oakland,
Where San Francisco poor continue to squeeze.
(Don’t get me started on Urban Gentrification.)
Trust me on this:
AMERICAN JOBS
Will deodorize everything that
Stinks about The Economy.
“Capital Flight Gone Global:
Invest where Labor comes cheap.
Export those American jobs again & again.”
QUESTION: What’s the difference
Between a middle-class person
And a poor person in America?
A middle-class job,
********
But I digress.
I was sharing an observation:
Wal-Mart’s shelves are
Not as luscious, as they once were.
Gaps left for
PINEAPPLE CHUNKS,
With only CRUSHED PINEAPPLE
Cans in stock, e.g.
So much for that On-line,
Real-time,
Instant supply-chain,
Super-duper
Inventory system, Mr. Walton.
Arkansas wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
Was it Mr. Sam?
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
oh drat,
you are reading this,
my little kitty ditty,
jinxing my super duper secret plan,
my walter mitty,
if no one reads this pretty
then the algo-rhythm
sure to pick me out of sympathy
to be the
poem-of-the-day!
so thanks for nothing, Jinxy McJinxFace!
do not give me away
with a finger or a heart,
lest the algo smells a rat
realizing that I am artificially intelligent too!
Ogdiddy Nash
Dec 9, 2017
Dec 9, 2017 at 2:44 PM UTC
Cured with silver; cavity cave,
gingivitis fills the nave.
Sticky spit flows like an ocean,
Roller coaster motion lotion.
Help me grind the tasty cud;
salad shooter full of mud.
Conversations headed south,
excruciating pain in mouth.
Super duper happy smiles,
pearly whites go on for miles.
Hid behind the sharpened canine
Ridden guilt rides on the main line.
Dudes with moods do take a turn,
good emotions crash and burn.
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
White chocolate suicide
This drizzle’s ****** ***
Hard whipped, it tantalizes
Steals air from her lungs
Five scoops of velvet flesh
Slight hint of cherries, bruised
This pleasure grows amidst
Flushed cheeks so rosy hued
Toss in a little cyan-dye
Sweet taste of passion blue
If dessert could **** she’d die
To savor something new
It’s time to take a bite
Before it melts away
Might just take all night
It’s kidnapped her days
Searing as it warms her thighs
Wintry as it chills her bones
Soft-shell too hard to hide
Each taste’s a lustful moan
What’s better than her sweets
Covered in delightful gems?
Unparalleled this frozen treat
Even to her thoughts of him
© 2014
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 4:55 AM UTC
Exploring what sits at the heart
of the abstract acidic junkyard I've got.
Hallucinating gases produce a wild story
that starts off walking
in search of a new wrinkle.
*You think you're angry inside?*
half-speed heart-murmur salvation
knows how to have a micro-attack
on a super duper level.
you don't see skies or trees
I am so used to the liquid electronic desert,
the second the doors open
I get higher when i get inside.
Jan 8, 2012
Jan 8, 2012 at 2:48 PM 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
It's a, colonoscopy, a simple colonoscopy
checking your bowels, for things that you, might have forgot
I mean a, colonoscopy
not really where ya wanna be
drinking goop that cleans ya out
and makes ya wanna gag
It's a, colonoscopy, a simple colonoscopy
not a packing of the fudge, or a deviant excuse
I mean a, colonoscopy
a cinematic intrusion probability
the kind that ya can't show the kids
or hang upon your wall
It's a, colonoscopy, a simple colonoscopy
it's a must for determining, if I'm cancer free
I mean a, colonoscopy
so I can exercise my liberty
I will not be persecuted anally
for at least three to four more years
It's a, colonoscopy, a super duper biopsy
popping polyps, before they can, ever pop me
I say a, colonoscopy
an endoscopic discovery
living worry free and wild
three to four more years
Sep 27, 2016
Sep 27, 2016 at 8:17 AM UTC
do you ever mess up something super duper minor and no one else thinks it an issue and you see that but on the inside you just feel like collapsing and crying and folding into little pieces of human origami because god it would be wonderful to be anything but yourself?
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 2:41 AM UTC
Simplicity is listening
to the winter winds blow,
walking to the 7-11
to have a slushee
on a hot summer's day,
kissing & holding hands
under the stars
during a cool autumn eve
& planting a vegetable garden
in the spring.
So soothing & so real,
these things make
living
a great big deal.
Tweets & twerps,
listening to
digital synthesized
voice recognition,
utilizing
automated banking,
constant texting,
od'ing on xbox games
& having super duper
super computers is
technolife.
Enough confusion
& complexity
to drive you
totally insane.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 12:33 PM UTC
(Scene: A funeral service, at the graveside. Two mourners talking to one another)
Duncan died then, so he finally gave up his goose.
< (disapprovingly) Gave up his ghost not his goose! >
Tis sad, very sad.
< Aye, maybe twas for the best, I heard he'd been sufferin'... He's gone to a better land now. >
(Looking at him amazed, having not heard properly) He what ! He's gone where!! He's gone to the Netherlands!!!
< He's gone to a better land! a better land!! A better place!!! For fecks sake! >
(A lone Piper starts to play a lament by the graveside)
(after a few moments listening) I love the sound of the poops. A lone **** in the wind....He's a fine wee pooper that lad.
< He's a Piper not a Pooper!
(under his breath) Only Pooper around here is you. (smiles to himself thinking) A Super Pooper. (smiles even more) A Super Duper Pooper. >
Y'know he was quite a pooper himself in his day, was Duncan. I can still remember his pooping well. A Prize Pooper was Duncan, his pooping was often the talk of the town.
< (sadly & dreamily) Well, no more will his...his poops be heard around the Glens. Only silence now and the wind....o'er the heather, the fields and the crags. >
I'm not a bad pooper myself y'know.
< (smiles) I bet ye are. >
< (thinks to himself) But the heather will bloom again, and the children, they'll play in the meadows.>
Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 10:16 AM UTC
I'm in love with the world but not all of it,
Got a new job, and an old news summer *****
Got a nice place to play all my pretty songs in,
Made some mistakes/changes, we all living in sin.
Want to Tom Ford on runway, jet plane,
Wondering why I'm for it, cuz my dreams ain't far away.
I be working on it, no joke, like all day,
I'd be dying for it but I want to stay healthy.
Smoking cigarettes, blunt wraps, filled with all ****
Super duper dank, got my syntax off play.
Off broadway, bring a new style of the same old thing.
Wanna make love but she always choosay.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
Oh the depression game
The super duper depression game
Forget about your happy and your good
I mean the old depression game
Good ol' society's recipes
That bring the depression game of life
Jumping in a pool of serotonin
Doesn't ask how much I'm dosin'
The girls are talking filled with glee
Gossiping about only me
When you look at the store window
And ask how low those shorts can go
Why not try a pair
The good depression game of life
Will come to you
They'll come to you
Oh the depression game
The super duper depression game
Forget about your happy and your good
I mean the old depression game
That's why you can light a flame
With just the depression game of life
Now when your think your okay-kay
Or just fine
Then you remember your birthday
We're all gonna die
Don't smoke the nicotine
By the hand
When you smoke
Try the cannabis
But you don't need to smoke
When you think you're fine
Have I given you a clue
The good depression game of life
Will come to you
They'll come to you
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 9:00 PM UTC