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Connor Reid Mar 2014
Motions croak in crimped t-shirts
Peace hurts the leg of 3 wheelers
Spit in a book, carefully holding hands over healers
Frosted articulation of bricks hitting off buildings
The doctor resumes surgery on the filming
Actress gummy mouthed backpacker sharing rooms with a jet-lagger galvanizing goo
If I phone myself, I’ll phone you too
Ad-hoc hop around dentures holding saxophones, laziness is the common king around here
Match the sketch with the deliriant fear free freedom and sneer
Shut the promo drunk and dolo
Potions of pogos bouncing so low
Both bones focal, keeping in a smile from an eye perched over the edge spitting on the populous
Attacking formulas with cruel gruel from the oesophagus
Wilting oxalis wooded in obelisks
Mortal coil in amphetamine greed for the sleep
Positioned slightly awkward and barely out of reach
Been seen being dreams piercing holes in the purple of the seeds
Peace is deemed green, free me from the iron between the sheets
Coins flipped in a river and an etude rings out with a profound sense of urgency
Won't wake up faces blindly painted deranged by a 5 sided box that gave fame to what was contained
Warp the wattage, walk in nervous
Hold cosmic stardust in one hand
Another a phone to call the best man
To marry the two hands and I’m sure the priest will understand
Hairs on the ceiling float through the window and provide an outspoken account of how they are feeling
Canisters of friendship huffed in the backs of vans till passing point seizures explain themselves
9mm film reel candy bars and ring modulation skeletal structure cat gut harps
Never finish a walk to work without beginning the start
Trolleys of Dolly Parton facelifts
Knife cutter butterfly anaesthesia makeshift
Hollow bellies of pardoned mop heads becoming a commodity
I can't say sorry if I begin to speak so oddly
I’d say probably yes if you lit a fire beyond the fence where the old man gambles drop-***** with 50 pence
Bite down on copper, synchronise the action
Winter comes and goes like conversation going out of fashion
Morbid, terra-fin switches waterbeds
Hints home at spit-roasting ostrich heads
Cost and effect, cause and intellect
The castle puts his foot down only to find a horses neck
Zipped up in honey, the combs hive mind should reconsider its self lucky
Unorthodox autodidact naturally diffracting compound eye composes paranoia and lies
The patronage of the savant is murderous and contrived
Its better out than in
The constant metaphor for unluckiness
Is where we begin
Radiance in a hot water semi permeable membrane crescent
Strokes the backs of frogs in the desert, stars iridescent and sun bears a weapon
Hammocks, ****, sweat on the brow, split lips on cornerstones of the solstice in the dead of now
Space-age ape on the country road lets out a cough
Caution to the hissing hills ****** in hidden zygotic havens
Actors have no time to cut themselves shaving
Austro-Bavarian chemical burns Molotov cocktail sewers
Crayons let me draw this face on, paint the day on and on, it gets newer
Its the context at which you and I notice the separation, that cues canned humour
2012
Sam Apr 2015
Yes I want a ******* poem without fallacy
A poem full of fantasy
a fabulously woven fabric without a faux facade

our poems need some faeces not facelifts
fanciful fairies dancing fandangos
NOT followers of this current fad
who have fastened Poetry... with fatality

****! I'm fine with fate. But I want to be fascinated
by a farfetched farcical fable about a fat farmer farting
something that isn't churned out from this fake factory

So, to start off here is a funny poem with a **** joke:
I call my ****, 'the truth', because people can't handle it.
It hurts when the trending tags on this site are 'death' and 'pain'. Let's not put **** jokes in all our poems... but let's bring the happiness back :)
Bekah Halle May 26
Mystery;
That is faith.
But can we have faith
in this world?
When it is so broken;
How did Michael Jackson’s face change?
Struck me while I sat
In church wondering the mysteries
Of the world.
Was it he who changed,
To fit into the world?
Facelifts: nip here and tuck there?
Was it nature?
Pigmentation malfunction?
Or us, who could not handle change,
That made him alter to
Make us feel less uncomfortable?
How different have we become
To make others feel safe,
But in doing so,
Fundamentally,
Lose ourselves altogether?
Gig
6:30 am
time to hit fifty
before I hit the door
Wash away yesterday’s grind
Hoping today has more sunshine
Thrown on clothes darker than my mind
Hit the App that controls my income
Unemployment still ain’t come
So I move somebody’s lunch like a ransom
Even Ranch and Dim Sum
Cause bills ain’t immune
Morning, night and afternoon
Even when my life has gone National Lampoon
By 1:00 pm 45 miles til empty
Stretching the gas past E
I don’t need Jesus grabbing the wheel unless he putting ten on pump three
Turn the clock back before 3/16
Back before covid19
was the fiend
That has me addicted to this gig economy scene
6:00 pm refill
before the dinner rush
Helping Susie make the home like Im the one who cut off the crust  
Disgust with my lack of opportunity piled higher
So I’m burning more woods than California wildfires
Since I’m constantly on the wire
Applying To be more despite the Ravens
Moving in Closer directed by Wes Craven
Scary combination for a brother just trying to get out with his family
11:00 pm taxi as a luxury to another essential needed for my daughter
Whose father fights his introductory
Instinct to be extinct maybe it’s depression,
“What do You think?”
I ask the Waffle House waitress
Whose facelifts to expel “ the bill
$19.86,” with straightness
No hiatus dropdown 30
With the hurry hoping for a better season
For us both Like curry
Too many Wiseman on my team  
so my future is blurry
So the star I seek I see only week to week
How unfortunate but no time for grieve
It’s 4:00 am only two hours to relieve
Swiftly I snore, snooze the alarm button
The real horrorcore
Dr pragya suman May 2020
I took in the  suburb my first facelift,
failed in the graveyard
In the pestle dusk
venus was overhead
got charred.
Lightning rod in the creek
of my skull
is rusted,
Undertow churning wheel of whirlpool
giving fresh wrinkles up
Too much
for my fragile facelifts.

Copyright@Dr Pragya Suman
Arlene Corwin May 2020
This is the kind of spontaneous nonsensical thought that shows up out of nowhere.
        
       Beauty’s Tide
      
I watch a certain TV lady;
See her daily.
She has reached the peak of beauty,
But
She doesn't know it.
Doesn’t know because
She doesn’t know its opposite -
Not yet.

Still there are signs to spot:
The thinning hairline;
Traces under eyes when she’s been working hard;
No sign of crepe-y neck.  Not yet.
No jowl-y chin, skin smooth and tight;
No ******* falling;
Waist still small.
One of a certain age can tell.

The menopause that takes no pause -
Facing just the right decade,
Beauty’s manifested light will fade,
But she, her gifts
Will probably not choose facelifts  
Or any kind of lift at all.
Her mind will shine - charisma too.
She will reach out to the ones who view
Until she decides - not to.

Beauty’s Tide 5.3.2020  Circling Round Experience; Circling Round The Ego; Circling Round Vanity II; Circling Round Woman; Arlene Nover Corwin

— The End —