"dut" poems
the metallic crash
of cymbals
in the summer
august afternoons
working together
to make this
something
important
the deep, low rumble
of bass drums
in the band room
after school practice
trying to get our
bass drum splits
sound like
perfection
the vibrant, sharp ring
of tenors
along the track
marching ceaselessly
uniformity
is what we
came here
to master
the staccato snap
of snare drums
in the commons
the perfect ******
in the perfect roll
found nestled
within
the next try
the commanding yell
of major
tonight is it
we have been working
for weeks on end now
to make this
the best
it can be
one...
two...
dut, dut, dut, dut
our arms are screaming
after this
but this was
the best performance
we have ever done
so we cried
as we
were victors
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 5:36 PM UTC
“When I was younger my friends and I would all have bonfires every Friday night and we made up fake names for each other that related to our spirit animals and we spoke in a secret language where every word started with D. Dumb, dight? Dokay, de dan dave da decret danguage doo. Dut DI don’t dare do duch dor ‘D’. What letter do you like? V? V’s vinda vunny.”
“I have in this bag here every fingernail clipping of each of your exes. I have in this bag a 14 inch long braid of every hair you ever sleepily smoothed into submission, lying halfway underneath the moon and halfway in a pile of the aforementioned’s sweat. I have blue-tint pictures developed from a baking disposable camera that weren’t taken seriously when Instagram wasn’t cool. Film clips of them getting ready for work in front of you, where there’s no film because it’s just your eyes and no real memories because your eyes were flickering between open and shut, blinds behind you that winked at them when you were too busy reveling to. I’m not saying that your eyes are blind, I’m saying that they’re blinds. Do you understand what I have in this bag? It’s like a never-ending stream of catharsis, like a rain puddle in November with streetlights swimming drunkenly in it, that reminds you too much of coming home to the smell of gas stoves even though you didn’t live there. A feeling that reminded you of a war you didn’t fight in and shoots through your bones because you never consciously had a skeleton until the magnet in your throat attracted another. All of the things in this bag are shaped like U’s, you know? Or shaped like You.”
“Actually, I like U. I like U a lot, but it seems impossible to speak that way.”
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
The sun beating on your face
Sweat drips down your back
You can't move out of your place
No time to go eat a day snack
Commands to the left and right
You reply by yelling your reply
Clarinets sounding shrill and bright
Visuals where you pretend to die
The cheers of the applauding fans
All there to witness a marching program
There to support all the local bands
Not as simple as Mary Had a Little Lamb
The season ends like a firework finale
All hard work and dedication pays off
Until the final band's ferocious rally
They leave the field silently, not even a cough
Dut dut dut, band ten hut, band left face
All the wonderful sounds of a new start
A new year to set the show back in place
And play the music majestically from the heart
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Life is like a large synfony with many ups and downs. Some times life can be unbearable dut whit the help of god nothing is out of reach.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Boop de booboop
Scloop beep boop
Brun duh dee doodee
Do doot scloop boop
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroo (roll your tongue (if you can(I heard not everyone can roll their tongue)))
Dut dut digga digga yut doo
Bigga Bigga
Doot zoot beeboop
Boop de booboop
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 6:35 AM UTC
night falls
but i dont
all night awak
with nothing to do
with nothing dut thoughts
sun rises up
i look out
my mind is crazy
so am i said
my own counsious
breaking
sleep
going slowly insaine
scared ashamed of what a perfect mistake
being what you were made
finding out what you are
seeing the freak in your own eyes
society screws and kills
my eyes are blood shot
more less sleep makes me want to scream but i need to know my store
scares fill my face making you look like a train wreck that cause the scares
who are u do i know you
are you the threat of me
shouldi just keep going crazy
no answeres have been made
your all alon in the big wide world
normal people scare me when i freak out when they come near me
no sleep turning me in to a scary monster at 3:00 am just like when u see ascary monster i am the scary monster
poepl look at me i might be kinda paranoid since every ones silence
i dont know who i am expent my every mistake.
i splacsh water in my face
but that dosnt change a thing
this wold has no boundryies
i see the reflection of my self in ther meior
i puch the mior shattering glass in my fist
anger grows deep
when society is just a mistake you make
i go insaine do i follow or decay
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 11:20 AM UTC
Fable V, Livre I.
Pataud jouait avec Raton,
Mais sans gronder, sans mordre ; en camarade, en frère.
Les chiens sont bonnes gens ; mais les chats, nous dit-on ?
Sont justement tout le contraire.
Aussi, bien qu'il jurât toujours
Avoir fait pate de velours,
Raton, et ce n'est pas une histoire apocryphe,
Dans la peau d'un ami, comme fait maint plaisant,
Enfonçait, tout en s'amusant,
Tantôt la dent, tantôt la griffe.
Pareil jeu dut cesser bientôt.
- Eh quoi, Pataud, tu fais la mine !
Ne sais-tu pas qu'il est d'un sot
De se fâcher quand on badine ?
Ne suis-je pas ton bon ami ?
- Prends un nom qui convienne à ton humeur maligne ;
Raton, ne sois rien à demi :
J'aime mieux un franc ennemi,
Qu'un bon ami qui m'égratigne.
934
I'm what's better known as a versatile utility singer. I can sing backing, middle and up front too. I do a cracking JDB on particular songs and I say particular as the rest of his exquisite collection of songs goes into top gear and are very hard to drive in particular at fast top speed and with power of voice.
Bono to Boy George Keane to O'Reily its Do they know its christmas with Holly Johnson!
I was everywhere always on the move driving it on as long as I could start when I want to and finish when I want too!
I don't know if you recall when I was a little dut at all, I got up and sung Silent Night in primary school in front of the whole class like Aled Jones eating a quaver.
Even back then it became override peculiar like a sandwich in a cake!
On your own performing courage of a christmas carol only one verse long.
I loved the sound of school the playground was awesome and cool,
A place to hang out and carry out your hobbies of football until that horrid bell rang or latter due to modern technology of a whistle which became the brain wash sound form of musical statues and then quickly line.
It was somehow meant to be that I would become later in life a utility retired singer, driver and even a writer on the side, in good old O'Reily fashion of an own goal.
Side on face on come on! The roads are paved with gold or a cut throat final signature tune on a silent night over looking the horizon and into a bar going up and then down with each empty glass fortune.
Learn, work and school life as in no sooner along comes a wife, a chain reaction next to your comment hence a full stop.
O'Reily 27102014
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Le Père Labat était grand amateur de pastis
Qu 'il coupait de son rhum guêpes
Bien agricole à 55 degrés
Comme décollage
Avant d'ingurgiter coup sur coup
Un ou deux diablotins de Marie-Galante
Rôtis à point au boucan
Dans les hauts du volcan
De Dame Soufrière.
Le Père Labat pour compléter aimait sa purée d'avocat et banane jaune bien écrasée à la fourchette.
Or il advint qu'un jour à Pâques le Révérend Père
Plus vorace qu'à son habitude, comme illuminé,
Engloutit douze diablotines afin de rompre le jeûne du Carème.
Vous imaginez l 'indigestion que dut subir le saint homme.
Cette overdose charnelle se manifesta par une érection phénoménale
Qui prit possession du quidam qui entra en transe perpétuelle.
Il y avait là fort heureusement un docteur feuilles qui habitait dans les parages
Un maître quimboiseur
Fort connaisseur en herbes et onguents
Qui lui fit prescrire une bonne soupe de gombo bien pimentée pour lui éclaircir la bile.
Mais cela ne fit aucun effet. L'homme apparemment était dévôt de Priape.
L'urgence était urgentissime. Il s'agissait d'un cas de vie ou de mort.
Il y avait sur une goélette qui arrivait de la métropole
Un médicament miracle du nom de képone.
Un médicament miracle qui allait résoudre tous les problèmes
Le bois bandé ecclésiastique qui avait comme effet
Non pas de produire d'intenses érections mais d'avoir des bananes fruits et légumes de haute tenue.
C'était un nouveau médicament du nom français de chlordécone
Non remboursé par la Sécurité Sociale du Roi et du bon Colbert
Mais qui avait été testé sur d'autres cas terminaux comme celui du prélat.
Le saint homme dut suivre un régime de quarante jours et quarante nuits
Qui consistait à gober à longueur de journée des bananes jaunes
Trempées dans du jus de canne arrosé de moitié de chlordécone.
On ne sait par quel miracle mais le Père Labat fut sauvé et rentra illico au pays de ses ancêtres se consacrer à l'étude et à la méditation.
Mais jusqu 'à aujourd'hui encore les terres de la Soufrière et d'ailleurs sont contaminées.
Les bananes antillaises hantent de leur Chlordécone invisible et inodore les prostates cancéreuses de ces messieurs !
Sep 15, 2019
Sep 15, 2019 at 12:57 PM UTC
Jo i soj neri di amòur
né frut né rosignòul
dut intèir coma un flòur
i brami sensa sen.
Soj levat ienfra li violis
intant ch'a sclariva,
ciantànt un ciant dismintiàt
ta la not vualiva.
Mi soj dit: "Narcìs!"
e un spirt cu'l me vis
al scuriva la erba
cu'l clar dai so ris.
675
fast paced
negative space-
-invades our idle play-
-of kingdom enraged and boredom-
-engaged transitional teenage tup-dut-
-fertile breeding and recoding-
-embers of prior thieves
an inflamed race
fast paced
Mar 6, 2024
Mar 6, 2024 at 7:52 PM UTC
We barged hard against the old door and managed to get in
Dark corridors led to a back alley where fantasy met reality
There they were, hundreds a shiny boxed small windows waiting for us
Richard picked up a stone, pulled his home made catapult and released.
Bam, a broken window now more broken
You have a go
I took it and hit a window, amazing sound and joy
The windows were in our sights
Left a bit, right a bit...
Patang, reload, hutchuck, dut, snnuuuck,
Missed
Adjust scope a little to the right
This time a hit, no movement from the crow
A small troop are marching up towards our house
Door bell rings
dad looks concerned
'There's a report of a youngster with a rifle?'
It's the UDR
dad looks very nervous
'Its just my son with an air rifle'
dad brings the rifle to the door and the gun licence he had
Firkin wee Duffie the headmaster has seen me with his binoculars
The wee sneak ..I rumble under my breath
'No problem sir, we're on our way out of here'
Wee Duffie had me in his sights
Returning from England the green walk up the Dungannon road is a fresh change from the hustle and bustle
Passing a bungalow on the right a man stares out at me, hands by his side
I take a left up a hill past Derek's place
We rode his white horse bare back in that field
Suddenly a car pulls up with the man and he winds the window down
'What's the name?' he growls
'What do you mean what's the name, I'm just out for a walk?' I retort
He reaches for the glove box, I stop
'What's the name?' he shouts again
I ignore him and continue walking
He accelerates quickly forwards stops and manages to make a U turn
Walking back home I'm confronted a small troop of soldiers marching the other way
A car pulls up
'What's the name?'
'Turner' I say
"It's the bank manager's son, stand down'
On reflection I processed this situation years later
The big man Stewart had thought I was a 'spotter' from the IRA spotting him an off duty policeman in his home so that a shooter could take him out
He had his hand on his pistol in his glove box with a view to pull the trigger
He had me in his sights
Feb 2, 2024
Feb 2, 2024 at 4:28 AM UTC
Dut-dut
Dut-dut
Dut-dut
The beat
Of the drum inside
Continues
Dut-dut
Dut-dut
Dut-dut
The rythym
Of this song
I will not lose
Dut-dut
Dut-dut
Dut-dut
I cannot sing this song
Only my heart can sing it
And yours too
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC
Fear, cuts like a knife goes through you like a spear.
It's really queer how it will adhere, make you cry many a tear.
Even ruin your career, won't even let you out of first gear.
And it will make it perfectly clear that it will appear during your premier.
Because fear is an insincere domineer dut only if you let it cohere.
Then it will take away your cheer and replace it with drear.
So don't stay in your sphere, be a pioneer and get a change of atmosphere.
Try it for a year and watch your fear disappear, you'll get that feeling of All Clear.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
Verts bosquets, paisible asile,
Où tout sourit à mon cœur ;
D'innocence et de candeur
Séjour aimable et tranquille ;
En vain je veux retracer
Le bonheur qui vous habite :
Est-ce l'instant d'y penser
Que l'instant où je vous quitte ?
Hélas ! quand les plaintes vaines
Ont remplacé les désirs ;
Quand ce qui fit mes plaisirs
Désormais fera mes peines,
**** d'accuser de froideur
Mon silence sur vos charmes,
N'y voyez que ma douleur
Et jugez-moi sur mes larmes.
Echos de ce vert bocage,
Vous n'entendrez plus ma voix !
Sans moi, nymphes de ces bois,
Vous danserez sous l'ombrage.
Ah ! je le sens aux regrets
Que ce penser a fait naître,
Qui dut vous quitter jamais
N'eût jamais dû vous connaître.
Écrit en 1791.
396
À Albert Decrais.
Le vase où meurt cette verveine
D'un coup d'éventail fut fêlé ;
Le coup dut effleurer à peine :
Aucun bruit ne l'a révélé.
Mais la légère meurtrissure,
Mordant le cristal chaque jour,
D'une marche invisible et sûre
En a fait lentement le tour.
Son eau fraîche a fui goutte à goutte,
Le suc des fleurs s'est épuisé ;
Personne encore ne s'en doute ;
N'y touchez pas, il est brisé.
Souvent aussi la main qu'on aime,
Effleurant le cœur, le meurtrit ;
Puis le cœur se fend de lui-même,
La fleur de son amour périt ;
Toujours intact aux yeux du monde,
Il sent croître et pleurer tout bas
Sa blessure fine et profonde ;
Il est brisé, n'y touchez pas.
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