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David Ehrgott Nov 2014
Tuesday Weld was a frigger
She was friggin' everywhere and
Everywhere she went, she frigged
As a matter of fact
There wasn't a day that went by
In which Tuesday wouldn't frig

She frigged at the supermarket
She would frig at the mall
She frigged at the movies
She frigged at the gas-pump
She was caught frigging at the dentist
She even frigged down the shore

All her twenty-seven siblings
Worked the local house of ill-repute
It had a bar inside of it
And was Whorethorne's best kept secret
Even the police would get laid there (on Tuesdays)

Finally, the townspeople of Whorethorne
Could not take it anymore
And they burnt down The Barn
Then, just like Tuesday
They too
Went frigging nuts
(Descendant of the Eight Small Furies)

Cold frigged and wet but not icy and not yet. Two laborers at docks
find camaraderie in talks, tho’ their neighbors bustle by as they unload shipping stocks,  

For the kinsfolk miss a nothing a light mist of breath when huffing.  
The women like to pout as the crassy men do shout, shine on awhile whistling, Inn-keepers at shops coo their bristling and Old Wicca ones seen hissing from low, low talk in whisperings,

Although the morning bright the seas are high and not retreating, weather cool and fleeting, the peoples sounds a blend of bleating, as wily sheep would gather to speak about a matter for it is not the people’s spoke of that draws faint sorts of blather.

On this day...rains are much to rather, feigning raspy talons cloaked in chatter and from stores to shores to boat, seas, lakes, lochs, bridges over moat, not as to say they gloat, or ramble to invoke which fear of and from it stoke the gossip on one surly bloke…

For on this day everyone is talking in this seaside town in Eire. A hero undone by gossip but none can be called a liar. For about whom and what of -a man of such great fire.

Celebrity renown, born and raised but not settled down. Within its boundaries a-proper but of such character to copper, to change tasty meat to fat and bone, awe in disposition down to tone, mind boggling this gent whose life god gave as a gift of own.

In a perplexity of fright, brought tragedy each night and none could get away, from the obvious decay, due brutal awful fray, to make a beast from a shining dove, what the hell was God thinking of?

The crisper ears do so hear though not quite enough to whet, the imaginings to happenings they speak about just yet.  So hastily move spies, as I tell you of the sighs, the indignity and pride, swallowed with a town’s growing angry tide,

Upon this night so they see a man, creep who once the pride of Dan, loved more above all here in Tan, his birthplace this old briny-land but lately fondness on the wan, oh here he comes to close in again, to wane and wax vaudevillian, end up by dark a plain villain, as his face turns a shade of vermilion, electric ghost of Kirlian, eclectic host of deviling and calculated mind disheveling,

Pumped of mead or whiskey arguments are risky. Against his manner and girth, intoxicated nature -or mental worth. Sheer size attests his power, muck and mirth to fallen valor, the change is said to wow us, proven brute against all prowess, as such preferred and fight and such to nightly fright,

Béarthr is this man of once, of promises found to be just fronts, hanging around a town's high perch…though seen at the bar as sulk and lurch, or testy to some called a sailor who know not the fear of old dear Balor?

Sullen rent asunder, quick to wit when buntered, try with fists this skunkard; you brought low as a punter, hail to hell with such a drunkard! To stand and watch in awe, as blood and cracks and calls with cries and screams at falls, at doors torn from building halls, no end or stop to pause, sheer terror fighting brawls with fists he lays the laws, a violent testament to theater,

The burly beast named Béarthr!

Eight levels down to hell with him, each evening a town made grim but not tonight and nevermore, a double barrel out missing door, a silence from frosty place our cavern and dead beast felled on floor of tavern!  

If you find yourself frisky one night and driving through our Tan. If you’ve got salt are brisk for fight and hold your weight in sand…
…then make your way to such a place, renowned for such a meter,

You’ll find a name above the door;

O’ Ochtar beag the Béarthr!
Old English-style rhyme. Béarthr is Gallic and pronounced, "Be-ate-tor."
The amateur poet Jan 2013
A monotone voice says no school today
Followed by a hazy sleepy stumble,
Back to sleep right away
Warm sheets embrace me and
Lull back the dreams,
I get comfortable
Allowing for blankets to surround my form
Hold me close,
As no one else can...

No longer the frigged winter but on a beach far far away
The day comes to its end and the sky begins to blush
As the sun kisses her cheek, goodnight
Sand in my toes a lofty breeze in my hair
What more perfect a moment than being free in the summer air?
My subconscious ponders
My heart begins to sting
I am alone.

And so I emerge from my slumber,
For the boy of my dreams cannot be found when I'm asleep.
Curt A Rivard Sr Dec 2012
It was a hot summer day and freshly hatched flies
darkened your massive window bay.
Inside your decaying bloated carcass
millions of larvae are eating your flesh
they are eating you slowly away.
Your room had such a rancid stench
The New London Day gave it away
how long you laid all alone on the floor
four days old it was on your piano bench
out your body bag I saw a single fly take flight
in the embalming room that only leads to a big fight.
Rule is, turn out all the lights and open the door
Because they will then take to the air and bother you no more.
For a perfect viewing you must be purged of your infestation.
Step One, hook your nostril to a rubber hose,
Step Two, turn up the pressure so the water flows,
Step Three, push on your chest to break up there home, I call it their nest,
Step Four, Watch them all swim for their life as they exit out the other side of your nose.
I have a fetish for death I need to touch with my bare hand
slowly combing your hair with my fingers strand by strand.
I take out my Sterling Silver Mirror and then place it upon your frigged lips
and then I have to then put on a plastic frown when I see no BREATH!!!!
Why forget the face of bright sunshine,
Whom's smile melts ones frigged heart,
Whom's eyes are the color of a Hershey's sweet,
Why I look away?
Because, one glace at you knocks me off my feet,
Not a day passes that I don't think of you,
Oh how I long to prove my feelings so true,
Never shall I think twice about winning your heart,
Because,
Living without you tears me apart,
How I long to hear your voice once again,
How soft are your words,
How quiet is your voice,
How I long for your gentle touch,
If only I had control over what I do and say,
If only my tongue would preach,
My feelings so deep,
If only you were mine to keep.
I got some ideas/Inspired by: https://messages.365greetings.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/sweet-love-poems-for-her.jpg Althought I did not copy the poem I was inspired by it. This is too my Sebastian.. (Not literately to the anime character, but to one whom resembles him although this Sebastian's name is Micah, and Micah is sweet compared to the bitter sweet love of Sebastian Michaelis. As you can guess by now, I have a crush on an anime character as well, but I do not love Micah because of his looks, he is so sweet and shy and I like that in guys.. That rhymed.. .)
Ellen Joyce Mar 2014
And the winds blew out change like birthday candles
burning, scolding heat lashing endings and wishes
with a tongue so sharp it cut glassy tears
kissing back stray hair from flushed cheeks -
the question rolls out like a gurney
how did you flail now?
let me count the ways
the little piggy crossed till the line faded from view
to kick up the leaves of a book
the book that two finger stepped to dreams come true
till Cinderella, beauty faded became a cuckold hen
till the princess found her pea and frigged herself
till Rapunzel tore her hair from the roots
till Bambi, a bullet ******* his gut took four hours to die
till wee wee wee became I and me
till the world turned upside down and inside out
to beckon a day when the question must be answered
to submit to the swaddling bindings of consequence
and pay penance for daring to believe.
Gwuts on gwanilliagax
Ready hot gwip

Trill on the vibrant note gabeeboh
What a thril it is to be in nice gazeebo
What a punk that doused on the free zobe
What punctillious panagax that frigged all the wets out
And when the trip to the sausage make didnt pull down alaz
Alaz, I am the wet tug.
Alaz, the sprig of wheat ***** taint.

Didn't you say you loved me?
Well, the bruts on the wagon sauce now
Didn't me have a big one, tug one, sauce one?
Well elemayo gwit gwits gwit gwits gwit gwit.....gwit

Embryo collecting on the branch of a saggy
My baggy be ripped, dripped all the can out
Me step on a puddle, the wet one, the biggy
My pets on the leg, rub, all on it sticky, how ******
He chugs out a wet belch and creams on the gricky
How quaint is his fat bristle comb, of his **** I am assured
This great honkulous tank sub that brits on my dimbo,in limbo my ship
It greats on the grates treat me to a sub snack ship ***** ***** factory get e
Tag me on your webpage, then **** me silly
pat Aug 2014
Why do I dine in a twisted up mind
Kind of like a spine
it twists it bends it turns all night
Tired I perspire
weary joints after a days work
I'm working out these muscles
The sands of time are falling down around me
I don't mind
I fright that I might in a few months time
Jara Jones Feb 2010
Translating life threw an empty wine bottle
Putting it all into words that collide and fall out
And spill all over the page

Ground-out cigarette buts and a newly lite one
The 'click click' of the type writer
It's sounding more like a loaded gun
Only one more 'Bing' until the triggers set off

Because I can't keep up this craft much longer
A useless pilot, slept threw class
But passed with honors
I'll be crashing now, ditching out
I suggest you all follow

I hear them yell 'no!'
I know this waters cold
Can't find the plug
To break this frigged flow

Better off tomorrow when the sun shines
To dive down deep and gather dimes
Slip them in the slot to give us more time
Until the clock runs out
The curtains draw across of my eyes

Shut, you're drowning out the violence
From the stick up kids, who used to play the violins
Traded in for prescriptions, please
Make me normal Saint MD

Or at least give me something I could use
To make a little cash on those streets
The ones I kick it on at night
But I think I hit it to hard
I think I blew out the light
David Ehrgott Nov 2014
**** MY FIST                                  COPYRIGHT 2011 DAVID EHRGOTT


Lucy Lucy  What have you done
******* a kid
well it ain't no fun
Bashing and gashing
covering him
My right forearm hurts like sin
Lucy Lucy Kiss me kiss
Match the left one by doing this

Just
**** My Fist
**** My Fist
Yeah
**** My Fist
**** My Fist

Lucy Lucy ******* me blue
Here is all that she did do
Slapped me around; Put me through walls
That mother-******* Lucille Ball

So
**** my Fist
Yeah
**** My Fist
just
**** My Fist
**** My Fist

**** My Fist
**** My Fist
**** my Fist
**** My Fist

Tuesday Weld was not a Ball
She frigged herself and that was all
But Lucy had a *** playpen
For children around the age of ten
so
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Surviving this is not a bliss
and my arm, it hurts like ****
I raise it up to tell the world
That Lucille Ball was my first girl that

****** MY FIST YEAH SHE
****** MY FIST
****** MY FIST YEAH SHE
****** MY FIST
SO
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

JUST **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
SAID **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
JUST **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
SAID **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT

Little boys of only ten
Should not be used like that again
But you know Hollywood and them
I'll save the world and tell them just to

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Lucy did it why don't you just

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Hollywood Hollywood just kiss this
I've really had enough of your **** so

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST...
At night I Gaze at the stars
before
I open up the doors
Oh how they shine through
the darkness like
...rain when it pours.
But there light is dim
I believe that
it is why I gaze
upon them, Hoping to feel
some rays of its heat
on my frigged skin.
The Sun provides energy for nearly
every living thing on Earth. It also
warms our planet's surface to create a virtual oasis
"in the coldness of space." The biggest star around,
The only one true Light, and when it comes in sight
the darkness is frightened, only
then we are truly enlightened.
© 2013
Rachel Apr 2020
{HOWL inspired, a rip off}.

I saw the worst alcoholics of my recovery group return from INSANITY… beaten down at the battle grounds of *****.

I.

who staggered over park benches, plastered and stabbed, in the unholy city of Las *

who crawled to the threshold of the St Therese Church doorstep for a 2 a.m. garbled vocabulary vigil of wine and song

who, left always alone, with a growling loneliness, forever on a lone trip for nowhere, with no one

where throngs of ******* husbands soak dead in their sheets of overdose

who only thought they were keeping it together whilst burning their lives to the ground, one more time

who were spotted smoking blunts in limousines just weeks before the mutiny of their disease sunk their Titanic

they, as unawares of the frigged cold, and truck stuck in the snow drift, walked miles in t-shirts and socks, just to get more, more, more

who ravished nightmarish, *****-like creatures for *** and cigarettes, all for a night on the town

and who disappeared for weeks, and looked upon as unrecognizable when these beasts of burdens returned, scratching at others’ wounds that they themselves had inflicted

that had spent years on the merry-go-rounds of surgical tables, jailhouses, psyche wards, detox centers and homeless shelters

wherein their ***** were handed to them by repeated self-administered beatings to the point of incomprehensible demoralization

II.

ism, the I, Self, Me, stuck in our heads and can’t get away from self

ism, the insidious Doctor Jekell and Mr. Hide act

ism, the hideous Four Horseman - of terror, bewilderment, frustration, despair

III.

who, under the lash of alcoholism, were unwillingly driven to A.A., and where, by some grace, were able to surrender, ask for help and become willing to make changes

whereby they gather together, in strength, to help one another from being swallowed up by the incessant madness

whose lives have been turned completely around, from a hopeless state of mind and body

who, one day at a time, don’t drink, drug, lie cheat or steal

whose relationships with their children have been mended

and who are living useful and purposeful lives

who care about each other and do what they can to help others

who give their time to share their experience and provide hope to the next sufferer

these alcoholics stay sober by working the 12 steps of recovery with a sponsor, and together, trudge the road of happy destiny
inspired by A. Ginsberg's poem 'Howl', in reverse
Richard Haas Jul 2019
You'er tired of getting tied, to a tied rope.
Tie a little tighter, balanced your life on tight rope.
The looks of a cold slit, your smile just sold it, I count the bullets.
Don’t say sorry.

Memories just fade, you gave it way, changing every day.
Chest concave's, you look away, you don’t feel the same.
Self harm kills, but you reflect the feels, I add the pills.
Don’t say sorry.

Sleep better when you cry, "I'm okay" is a lie, you're scared to die.
But who am I, someone to reply, you hope for an early flight.
A long fall, too frigged, no loose change, no wishes, I count all the bridges.
Don’t say sorry.

A ****** scene, in disbelief, memories clean.
Kitchen ware on the sheets, hear distant screams, your mind was mean.
If my name was Blessings, you counted with expressing, of how life was depressing.
I'm sorry.
Kamron Jan 2019
it stares at me, hanging there
with empty eyes devoid of feeling
amid the snow, and frigged air
a final breath leaves its chest
it heaves and seems to reach out
calling for me, for any help
hanging there in crimson fields
with delicate snow resting on its rope
its neck snaps it rests at last
the rope breaks it drops at my feet
some take this as a sign
something horrifying
something revealing humanities cruel truth
something as a sign of eternal suffering
I take it as a gift
idk
MissNeona Jun 2021
Whoa den
Jodun
Giants among men

Frigged up Friday
Thorsday to helliday
Depth of hounds sound

Trumpets calling
Defenses falling
Rainbows be ballin'; catterwallin
I don't care;
these "feelings" you have,
they're not mutual.

You can love me, if you want.
To you I'm a summer sun on a frigged winters day.
The last gulp of air in the vacant vacuum of space.

But I wont love you
To me your a dim streetlight on a full moon night.
The stale air in a commended and broken house.

These "feelings" you have, they're not mutual.
Im not done yet but I wanted to get some opinions.

— The End —