"eek" poems
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a fermentative reality,
Where words are symbols of relation
That you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
And how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August, Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
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12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repitition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Black hat, white shoes, and I’m red all over.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
*(asterisk)
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 7:08 AM UTC
We are absurd
You and I
Fragments
We have created a figmentative reality,
where words are symbols of relation
that you and I falsify
And Bingo was his name-o!
Ah!
Oh holy onomatopoeic jargon
What do you mean?
and how shall we bargain?
And mora is but a half step to a whole
Eek gad!
January Febuary March and April
May I introduce you to June and July
August 28th
Sept Oct Nov Dec
Randomly systemized organs organized
Abstract or… dissonant?
But who is in charge?
12345
12345678
12345
12345678
12344
12344556
12344
12344556
“Why so serious?” said The Riddler
Mellow dramatic
Melodrama
Melancholy
Pantomimes!
Pantomimes EVERYWHERE!
They are able to speak
But alone I mime, “Do you have the time?”
Together we fall!
United I stand.
Backwards
Upside down
Inside out
And grammar
What’s in a name?
Please don’t be lame
Sarcastic and the glamour
Synonymous nonsense
Homophones and nyms
Where are the polysemes?
In the antonyms
In the antonyms!
Repetition
Exclamation
Annunciation
tions…
verbage verbage verbage
syllables and such
meaningless meaning
defining definitions with such
True or False?
Hide and Seek
Ring around the rosy
We all fall down…
We all fall down.
Salt
Sour
And bitter
And dill
And
And
And
And
And
And
Ampersand
Institutionalized poetry
But I am for rhythmic prose!
No, not you
Listen to the hue
that the colors protrude
red green blue
red green blue
Black is not a color
Chrome is my favorite
I will not believe otherwise
You are an alien.
I have divided by zero
Musical dissonance
Asterisk*
A beautiful disaster
A shadow without its owner
Wild natured wilderness
And naturally a wildcard.
**** **** **** **** ****
Etcetera.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 12:26 AM UTC
delightful, full sky of
orange, ranged from
rumbling tangerine
to toucan’s beak, eek-out a
shore horizon zenly leaning and
a sun sunk
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 2:19 PM UTC
Wasted margin space in a datebook, frames weekend's entry slots left free to relax. I hatch them down with marginalized thoughts best served on a table reinforced with wood grained plastic, naturally. The morning bird chirps, filling a brimming cup of foreboding work. It takes much to do a right job. Eek! Hunting, fishing, browsing for scraps of sustenance and sharing them with you, my nomadic tribe. Time to go! Living on the fringe outside predators and above ruminating herbivores isn't easy.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
I am greatful that
I do not know
Everything
That would
be such a burden
To be different
From
Everybody
Else
Eek
Jan 16, 2014
Jan 16, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC
Millay Has Her Way with a Vassar Professor
by Michael R. Burch
After a night of hard drinking and spreading her legs,
Millay hits the dorm, where the Vassar don begs:
“Please act more chastely, more discretely, more seemly!”
(His name, let’s assume, was, er ... Percival Queemly.)
“Expel me! Expel me!”—She flashes her eyes.
“Oh! Please! No! I couldn’t! That wouldn’t be wise,
for a great banished Shelley would tarnish my name ...
Eek! My game will be lame if I can’t milque your fame!”
“Continue to live here—carouse as you please!”
the beleaguered don sighs as he sags to his knees.
Millay grinds her crotch half an inch from his nose:
“I can live in your hellhole, strange man, I suppose ...
but the price is your firstborn, whom I’ll sacrifice to Moloch.”
(Which explains what became of pale Percy’s son, Enoch.)
Originally published by Lucid Rhythms. This poem is based on an account of Edna St. Vincent Millay being confronted by a male Vassar authority about her rogue behavior. However, there is a some poetic license involved, for the sake of humor. It was actually Vassar President Henry Noble MacCracken who mentioned Shelley. Here is his account in a response to a question about Millay cutting classes: "She cut everything. I once called her in and told her, 'I want you to know that you couldn't break any rule that would make me vote for your expulsion. I don't want to have any dead Shelleys on my doorstep, and I don't care what you do.' She went to the window and looked out and she said, 'Well on those terms I think I can continue to live in this hellhole.'" The stuff about Enoch and Moloch is, of course, pure fabrication on my part.
Keywords/Tags: Millay, dead, Shelley, Vassar, dorm, hellhole, drinking, partying, *** cutting classes
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 12:32 AM UTC
When Michael Collins came, first from the courts of England,
which in low and lofty Londoun lately were helde,
while Thames there with treachery and treasoun did truly ring,
was Ireland ill split and beset with ignoble stryfe.
Yet there a land lately formed was, where still folk lyve on mydllerde.
Though it is not in this warlike time of Dev that we our tale do set,
after these tymes of troubling stryfe, contentioun salted still the land.
Fine Fail and Fine Gael, then foes many yeres remained
till noblest amongst them, in qualities none lacking,
did do battle in old Dublin and vanquish the dred enemy.
That mon who dreded nought, nightly then held his court in fair Dail Eirinn.
Enda was called that man, and everysince has his noble courte endured.
There, as Chrystmasse came, was assembled his cabinet fayre:
there Sir Wilmore the red, who waited on the grete lorde in readiness.
There with grete courtesey, the kings coins to keep, sat Sir Noonan the balde.
There Sir Reilly, learned in lore of leach and herb, who on erde had little left to lerne.
Eek Sir Varadkar the gaye who granted was, the grete kinges horses to groome.
Laste, the lovely layde Burton, who, the rede rose of Wilmore would long after carry.
Other knyghtes numerous were there, but of these now, nought will I
tell,
for fallen to feasting were this fayre companye al and fayne would I not,
in tedious trials of descriptioun, your patience for to trye.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
He had a hole in his had
That thing that is dead
Grandad use to wake him up by pinching his toes
But no one knows that he is a demon
Waiting for you to fall asleep
And close your eyes
That beautiful creature in the night
Cut out his eyes
Sliced off his nose
His lips were already gone
He could talk to grandad no more
He lives in the scary
But he can see clearly in the dark
He blows out the candles to make himself feel better
Hell cut off your toes and make himself some clothes
That's what happens when there's a blanket over your head
He killed your dad and now he's dead
Where's mom
Eek
He's behind
Her shadow
He's getting her now too
And there's blood poring from her shoes
You are barely breathing and your color is draining
Outside its raining to wash away the blood
In the morning there'll be bags and bodies and a crowd
But right now
Shows over and your feet are mangled over the bed they dangle
Now he can see them from a better angle
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:35 PM UTC
***pleaidian dreamers eek out a living
in impossible waters
they pursue only meaning
grieve for the days
and cry out for the nights
speak of the wind
and how often it bites
our souls are alight
our minds are fireflies
tied to cherry trees
wearing disguises
as watermelons rumble
and apples fall
our ankles are tangled
and so are our curls
show me the face
you like to hide
in green pastures
and fields of rye
a porcupine iris
promises its life
if you were to kiss him
he’d probably die
so much persistence
in existence we try
to give up our habits
and addiction to self
surrender our power
and hang out in the breeze
but upon the crescendo
we fell asleep in the trees***
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 12:10 PM UTC
Oh dear villanelle
You seem to be the death of me
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
Stubborn mademoiselle
You are, only wanting a very specific rhyme scheme
Oh dear villanelle
Why can’t you be kinder, my voice yells
Word play seems a challenge
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
All lines to end with an –elle?
Why not a –eek, or a – yike or an -ouch
Oh dear villanelle
What a villain –elle
You seem to be
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
I do wish that villanelles
Will never be confined to one specific form
Oh dear villanelle
Trying to write you, all seems unwell
Aug 8, 2013
Aug 8, 2013 at 11:34 PM UTC
Will this be on the test?
Is it what I need to know?
Will not knowing it affect my grade?
Where does the heading go?
I’ll never use this, ever! grrr…
It’s such a waste of time!
It just that it’s so pointless
Like nonalcoholic wine! eek!
I’d rather clean the toilet…
I’d rather eat a worm!
Than study all this foolishness
But I have to pass this term!
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 12:19 PM UTC
Troglodytism. get betwixt thy cave **** rats. amass!!! beyond the wooded canvas of life.
and lay beside thy corpse of agony
in the pits of all foul'd demon beknownst to thou's angst.
there lay the chalice of life.
Oh to lay in the darkness'
o' to bask in the decadence of no light.
Anti heat
forth go ye unto distraction.
To over sensual
to photopic cancer
all bio centric failure that reveals itself in the concord of vestige
only one
only one who's skin, brines to salt. Only one who's writhed on the depth of the cave
sub terrain.
Becoming convoluted
with ulcers. In the brain.
Stomach
esophagus.
Till veins squelch the blood from oxygen as gills. Sea water.
till muscle over sinews, Myomeres.
till acts of mycotic deprecations elude your own grey. Destruction.
And sap what is left
the bends corrode all health.
You eek out a full metabolism.
You finish all hopes with each loathsome meal intake.
death.
Oysters take over.
They create their home
shell of man.
Disabled to a merman, made, morose.
Barnacles infest recesses,
chasms that held mountains of bountiful moral.
Filled till bursting in the case fit for a brain,
but these ocean vermin walk the tightropes of this goblins neural bag.
Tearing each synapse.
Like the innards of a necrotic recluse.
I am the dying vagabond of the ocean.
Finally succumbing to its ethereal pitch covered floor,
where no reflections mourn for me
and ghost wail me no remorse,
as I metamorphose.
Into, detritus.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
I found a way to make it painless, to make god good, to make myself good, to make myself god—me—Joshua Jerome Hutton, sound familiar?
God I hope so.
I found a way to make it painless in the checkout line, while the bleary-eyed maidens of South Moore, one in front, one behind, talk 3 a.m. rallies and resurrections right through me.
I found a way to make it painless at the eternal stoplight, watching the eternal Vietnam veteran in eternal rags holding eternal cardboard, summoning crumpled bills from anyone other than me.
I found a way to make it painless during the photo shoot, a way to place my chin so thoughtfully in my hand, a way to look into the middle-distance, a way to imply self-deprecation, a way to find near perfection—only under ample light, of course.
I found a way to make it painless in the soup queue, amongst my fellow unshaven, shamed naked, shamed to the bone, shamed pure, shamed to one flybuzz drive: I must consume.
I found a way to make it painless, to make it to the center of the white space, to suspend, inking out the worst parts of me, an all caps ATTRACTION, impossible to pinpoint, all for the review of books and the cabal of the slowed-down and insane still reading the review of books.
I found a way to make it painless by never breaking eye contact nor speaking a word as you talk yourself deeper into what you hate about yourself, and I stir my drink with a black cocktail straw, and I clear my throat, and I hahaha to myself, and I say these little issues just seem like problems. Just wait. You just wait.
I found a way to make it painless, to eek out of my own borderlines, to meld with the air and chemtrail across the sky, to observe from a holy distance the tightrope walker, the controlled demolition, the desperate young men lagging five feet behind the elusive loves of their lives, firing every clever phrase, hoping for one to land, to glean one little pause, a moment to catch up, and here, I must admit, it gives me great relief to be this removed, this far gone, this far god.
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
Moments of truth when
Everything starts to fall apart.
As I lay here,
Gazing up at the stars;
As I get ready to drift off to sleep;
I wonder about life and love, in the darkest hour of the
Night. Are we ever gonna have peace, in this world?
So as I lay here wondering, in
Time, we will have peace in the world, again, someday.
The time to sleep
Has come and gone; in
Each hour...
Week...and month, I stay up later and later.
Oh nostalgia, what are you doing to me?
Running from this
Lonely world--- Please
Don't give up on me.
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 2:10 PM UTC
tsk tsk asterisk
chk chk clap blam boom
sik click arsonic
grip glap drap gloom
wix wax anthrax
hop leap woosh slam
sip spike archetype
cough crash anagram
hark bark blue monarch
wrapped in a summer's day
tick tack heart attack
passing the cabaret
she used to say words like
bump, beep, buzz
until flutter fizz crunch chirp
fell beams of a truss
and tenderly did hum zap sing
in little vrooms and snags
did she meet unfortunate ends
woof, crack, thud, down crags
shimmer shingles whisper dust
ugh, agh, yawn, sigh!
her eye sockets gathered such beautiful rust
and did crunch clink, flick and eek
to crack the numbing morning moon
but break, snap, bash, sink
into the hyphenated royal lagoon.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 6:31 PM UTC
Father Why’s Glob
*And whan he rood, men myghte his brydel here
Gynglen in a whistlynge wynd als cleere
And eek as loude as dooth the chapel belle*
-Chaucer
A famous priest takes pictures of his meals
Writes detailed notes on how they were prepared
As he airplanes around the world attending meetings
To talk about people he doesn’t like
A famous priest takes pictures of more meals
Almost cellular closeups of bits of meat
While he is flying holy in first class
And praising his cabernet sauvignon
A famous priest promises prayers (and cookery tips)
If you will send him money for his many trips
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
While jaye threw to stephanie's house, shane was brainstorming a tropicana plan. jaye the Brendon Urie's toilet decided to go for a shipping. shane and his friend cat, a cumquat, met jaye at Texas. cat snatched jaye's a ball, his most prized possession. jaye BANGARANG, but shane just laughed and said, ""your mother"". shane and cat married away, leaving jaye stranded. jaye dropped to the ground and EEK CHUK BEEK BANG. He was very confuzzled.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
im a writer
mostly on the mirror
when you're not looking
i wait patiently
no longer soapy
but squeaky
until those curls are
being lathered and rinsed
until your eyes are pinched tight
thats when i
carefully remove myself
from the place where we two
spit on each other for fun
and while you rinse
i make absolutely sure
not to disturb
the ringlets that
give weightlessness to
our privacy
to the mat
and then forward
to the reflecting surface
to my canvas
glistening
it invites me
and i paint
single finger extended
i eek it out
it squeaks
prints against glass
this is my textual dead drop
an espionage of love
scrawled above my sink
only for you
hurriedly i escape
before you know
whats happened
before you know im not there
now you are
squeaky
and wet
and upset
that im not...
what the...
"live long and prosper"
?
waiting for you
clad in narry a single article
i hear you lament
until
a heavy sigh emits
from the tiled "bachelor room"
adjacent to mine
a half curse and
then a swoon
and then squeaks
you traipse in
naked
earthly hips swinging
fling open
and then shut
the edifice that marks the barrier
between the real
and the imaginary
you
force yourself into
the place between my eyes
and the place that knows
"brush your teeth again real quick"
you want me
but
who wants to smell
the cheapest whiskey
while you make love
obliging i shuffle off
hoping to please
my only muse
when i read
below mine
"make it so"
keeper.
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
All this military technology
Kind of scary for you and me
The future is with these
Military robots
Apparently
Running 30 miles an hour
And equipped with guns
Having one come after you
Would be no fun
Many analysts feel that the greatest threat to, not only Americans, but humanity as a whole, is tied to the development of artificial intelligence in the name of Robot soldiers. These “robot soldiers are capable of autonomous decision making in terms of carrying out their mission. They come equipped with ****** recognition software and when the subjugation and subsequent roundups of American citizens begin in earnest, these “soldiers” will be the main enforcement agents.
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
There was a girl called Monique
Who got struck dumb at the biblioteek*
She saw a **** book
And after one look
She ran out screaming eek, eek, eek!
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 9:02 AM UTC
Reprise a prism
philanderize a cat
negate negotiations with a baseball bat
chew on orange pulp
eek a wage
live young and simple in the face of age.
Mar 13, 2011
Mar 13, 2011 at 12:14 PM UTC
Mobile/Stabile - I don’t speak French
Main two types of mainly 3D artist
Alexander “sandy” Calder
Mobile - is a French pun meaning both "motion" and "motive"
If you had one of these above your crib to muse over as you drifted to dreamland, you have Sandy to thank.
Stabile- following the style of the name mobile, is a sculpture that is unmovable
Both are French words I have trouble saying
I am becoming or was becoming paralyzed from my feet up
(they still haven’t decided which,
feel free to laugh at that)
Feel free to laugh at all of it, I do
I have complications from unbeknownst year long scarlet fever that turned into rheumatic fever that turned into julian Barre to thank for that.
There is no cure, so I’m using condescension.
I call it Julian Barre because “Gee YAWN BERET” is just so **** hard to eek out.
And
It requires more pomp than it deserves
Okay it’s part condescension and part more French words I can’t quite say.
It’s sort of like the opposite of when I try to say “petit” pwessON” to be cute, I mean to say Little Fish to address my partner:
But instead say “petit pwazOne” which means
little Poison
Dec 3, 2020
Dec 3, 2020 at 5:19 PM UTC
Shadows of the night
How they give such a fright
My wee girl jumps
She hears a bump
Its a monser mummy under my bed
I jump too the rescue
Too save her sleep
I make this monsters of her run cause I'm the freak
Eek says the monster, he runs
A mummy angry is no fun
****** run.x
A mummy angry
Defending her daughter not a pretty site x
Feb 7, 2018
Feb 7, 2018 at 4:43 AM UTC
In a quiet gully
In a shy valley
I eek out my life
Hour by hour
Washing with words
The pain I feel
Like an iodined cut
Across my throat
My eyes feel heavy,
And worried with sadness
Misted over
Scanning the patterns
In some old
Wallpapered room
Boxed full
Of empty memories
That I have built
For myself
As a haven for grief
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC