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Becca Gibbs Jun 2014
It's time, it's time
For my second rhyme
About that irish I wrote about that time

It got the loves
And made the trend
All about my little Irish friend

So here it is
The sequal, part two
Just for you young lauren...zoo

What can I say
She's the bestest by far
But don't you worry your not on my gaydar

Wireland she lives
The place of much fun
And sometimes the ***** goes straight for the lung

I like to say
We've grown thought the years
Through all the hopes, dreams and maybe some fears

I don't no what,
Where, when or who
I would be without knowing a you

So laurenzo
My dear, my wireland better half
Il never chase you with a hanger for a laugh


So that be it
The number two
I'm all out of rhymes for part two for you

But don't forget
I love a you
I really really really ...do

:)

***
anon Nov 2017
i have a question
are you

gay

or just

a hipster

i never can really tell
you dress the way
of either

your poetry
provides
no hints

you compliment
girls
and complement
their interests
and yet you never
date
any

yet you get along
with guys
and don't seem
to flirt
but i could
just have
a weak gaydar

so are you gay
or just a hipster

taking pictures
writing poetry
dressing well
and flowery

like oscar wilde
you're a dandy
and just like him
we don't know
your true love
identity

you could be gay
or just be
basic
liking dudes
(or dudettes)
before it was cool

so before you sip
your corporate
starbucks

riddle me this

do you like guys
or vinyl more

do you need a beard
or want a hipster beard

do you fancy testosterone
or organic cupcakes

are you gay
or just a hipster
calm Mar 2018
he be wearing blue nails now
same shade as me,
acting like all them girls
try to be his wannabes,
growing out his hair too,
stylish but freak,
taking dance lessons but
he can't take the lead.

sings just like a popstar,
but he only knows Swift,
says he got a trainer but,
he can't even lift,
think he just goes to the gym to
check out boys he missed,
but then he like 'I'm straight, no'
when people catch his drift.

way into his fashion,
maybe it's himself he likes,
cause all he wants is privacy,
when I ask him who he'd try,
talks like Conor Franta when
he talks about his life,
and once he almost fainted when
McHandsome called him 'tyke'.

uses the word 'daddy' when
he's talking bout a guy,
sensed him on my gaydar
and I'm quite sure he ain't bi,
told me he may have
a similar interest with I-
nevermind just got a text
he's trans? oh...oh my!
eh
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
i could write about... how i "trapped" a cat in
my bedroom...
kept the window open... and two mosquitos flew
in...
i would be a sadist... if i had a mythical
tarantula scuttling around the room...
but two mosquitos and a cat...
                that's just a tease...
                  it's not like i once fed two rainbow
trout eyes to this... no... the other cat...
or how i pinched a mosquito by the leg...
and... this... no... the other cat...
gladly gobbled it down...
            after all... i once looked at a spider
scuttle to a freshly painted surface and...
i guess he started drinking it...
          in an absence of retelling the story
of the 1960s and all the drugs...
the catholic school curriculum sentenced us...
to the remote part of the decaying
soviet empire - somewhere in ukraine -
we were warned about... sniffing glue...
and aerosol abuse...
             no mention of l.s.d. or: the rest
of the rainbow...
        but this is not part of the experiment...
i had a while sitting watching the moon...
yesterday's fullness and quicksilver flooding
the stones, the lipid of leaves...
        the metals... all that was missing...
frost... to elevate the quicksilver into
a red carbet walkdown... with that...
very familiar... paparazzi epileptic "flashing"
as the head twould tilt from one aspect
to the next... as the light contorted...

yes yes... the experiment...
to write! to write! what people want!
it's going to be hard...
i guess i'd do it... if i was paid...
  but i'll try... read up some pop pieces and
see if i can fake it, sly fox moi:
stealth myself beneath the gaydar...
and frown at myself... stand stark naked...
this masquerade is but a drop in the already
available ocean of masquerades...
i even thought about dressing up
for halloween for next year...
         me: april 2020...
                     lucky for me i have a face-mask
that doesn't details anything surgical
about it... more like... scorpion / sub-zero
from mortal kombat...
    problem: this beard doesn't help...
i can hijack two bottles of jim beam...
but...                     rat rat rat tat tat...
tic tac toe in a maze of: death's yawn...
             last chance trap: write what people want...
what's easily a digestive biscuit...
no fibre no grit...
                 hell... no point disguising my soon
to be disclosed efforts:
to write what people might like...

       under a pseudonym: anonymous?
generic stuff... but the quest to spot the generic
from the sly authentic...
will prove much harder...

for all the purveyors and connoisseur...
well... not much of the latter
concerning "low view count"...
who is playing this numbers game...
well... those who cite weight loss
via stones and pounds...
if you go down the metric route...
kilograms...
once upon a time... remarkable...
from 101kg down to 78kg...
and no strech-marks...
because... the bicycle because the bicycle...
and some swimming...
toning: exercise but more
the desire to gamble with traffic...
and the wind in your face...

    nothing as suffocating as a gym...
low life - *******... views? 945...
     that's... well... kingdom of the *****...
the kingdom of the crustaceans...
anything in the 100,000 view count is probably
atlantis: humanoid fish replicas
of both fish and man... mermaid and that
meme: top of a fish bottom of a woman...
versus: the obvious choice...

to write: what people want...
harlequin novels?
                    heavy on the rhyme...
rhyme like... kicking a ball against a wall...
superstious amalgamations of echo...
crisp bite into deep-fried stuff...
chewing like an attempt to find imitations
in sawing through wood...
not the sort of incision we'd be looking
for... more like a mutilation of wretched
muscle, bone and sinew...
by hyenas woken from slumber
by a wake of vultures...

   vultures in a group: is a kettle (when in flight)
                                    is a committee (when perched)
                                  is a wake (when feeding)...
perhaps i'm thinking about stealing
the eagle from the romans...
and the crow from the germans...
perhaps... just because... these caron barons
of the bald patch...
   leather monuments of skin's flagelation
                      their crown...
that sort of birth: i have in sight...

but no... it's not exactly a haiku...
it's... an astouding breath of sawdust air...
something to be sniffed when the dust doesn't
settle in the quarry from when
hammer meets the ***** of the incubating
earth of stone...
sand: add pressure... have rock...
ad more pressure: have ore of metal...
consecrate the bones...
             place them inconveniently into
envelopes of addressed: aeons...

but to write what people want... "like"...
i'd have to sift through...
stomach... the commets...
it's so discouraging to entertain these...
bothersome flies...
bought a book... pretended to scribble
on the back of the cover...
the author was nowhere to be seen...
or heard from...

               comments likes: metaphors! beautiful!
thank you!
  blah blah to no end of an etc.
i guess: no point writing anything that...
doesn't escape into the realm of thought...
i try to conjure up something in writing that
would make someone write a comment...
             i like an audience that knows it deserves more
than to pander me...
and i need of it... stitched up lips...
   since all of this: for gratis...
                        no browny points to create
echo chambers and niches...
of the "protected" penship...

  that doesn't imply that i don't want to write
an imitation poem...
without obvious plagiarism...
i just need to find that most melodramatic me...
the cheapest version of me...
i have to imagine myself *******...
what i'll be ******* i'm not exactly sure...
it won't be the words...
the rhymes...
           lack of! god, please! a lack of!
less rhyme more chance to spot beauty
elsewhere... an ****** festival of flowers
with near perfect geometrical replicas...

          is it possible that i care much more
for the anonymity of the reader?
am i like a guilty pleasure...
watching some 1970s italian *******...
eating a bagel with either:
    (a) smoked salmon, cucumber, mayo...
   dill... and that all important rainbow trout caviar?
or be (b) being sloppy... but still the caviar...
and the bagel... and instead:
some tuna and sweetcorn and mayo?

perhaps (c)... jack johnson was the best kept
secret... until he was given things beyond his audience...
and... no jack johnson after he was compared
to be the next bob dylan...
i'm sorry... how was that ever going to happen?
you'd have to like bob dylan in the first place...
and that's not easy...
you'd have to start liking him...
like i did... on an overnight train from
st. petersburg to moscow... to see metallica
play there for the very first time after...
rioting... famously... when: and justice for all...
harvester of sorrow...
and the crowd went mental...
                                       the rest is: history...

if all it took was a car to road-rage across
h'america... it truly requires a train to...
                                            get a thrill for russia...
other places require you walking:
holland...
            since everyone else is cycling to beijing...
and other place require you to cycle... poland...
england... france... i guess germany...
well... plucking one of your eyes out...
and asking a crow to safeguard your soul...
while you would be able to attach a little
camera to its body... that sort of *******...

is caviar a luxury?
          a concentrated fish-oil in a capsule...
it's hardly a chicken egg "luxury"...
nor quiet the abortion...
replicas? those vitamin d capsules...
fish-oil... luxury? depends on whether you enjoy
it... pompous foodstuff:
no need to call the: healthy body = healthy mind
brigade... no slightly pickled brain...
then no inquisitive palette...
i rank baltic herrings among them...
raw... baltic sushi... in a creamy sauce...
or a steak tartar(e)... with... all the trimmings...
the raw yoke... the raw: onion...
gherkins, capers, etc etc.

                    some people... just frown at the idea
of caviar... not to mention blue cheese
and oysters...
   and to think... oysters where the grub
of "gammon" in Dickensian times...
   since then... even gammon was morphed...
"back in the day" it wasn't a racial slur
as much as it was actually more:
******* and... swindler... con-artist ref....
the pickwick papers blah blah... blah...
            only now... oysters... wow! a... luxury!
only if you enjoy eating them...
otherwise? overpriced dogshit...

        i'll concede this point... the version of
existentialism in english... what was started by
the danes and the germans and the russians...
later implemented by the fwench...
english existentialism?
stastistics... psychology... and this...
world of darwin... and the atlas?
blind samson holding yet pulling the pillars
down...
this is anglophonic existentialism...
no gravitation toward: ontology on the grounds
of temporal affairs...
no gravitation toward: ontology on
the grounds of spatial affairs -
  english existentialism: oi! pass the torch, mate!
n'ah mate... we're sending this torch
back in time... to tribal invaders
and our hyper-sensitive exoskeleton
"souls" of hybrid -
the body is both a host and the parasite...
lest we forget the psychiatric evaluation
surgery of the holy trinity of freud...

or far further... krafft von ebbig:
******* was cynical back when
******* was a taboo and ****** for crucifixes:
looks like being aborted was:
rainbow-tinged: as was: this time soon...
why do i like wearing "p.p.e." equipment
akin to face-masks?
finally! i can compete with the islamic
attire of the niqab!
i can finally: bark cat! i can finally:
meow dog! - with less restrictions for
the eyes... ninja brigade: scorpio vs. sub-zero...
it really is the new normal...
now i can think about all the lost
****** recognition technology:
while i pillage... **** and assume:
laughter the new paracetmol...

slaughterhouse gown: a slithering tongue
of a chewed of proposal...
                 nothing like caging time in
bedroom antics of a cult personna of a german
lutheran... who wasn't...
that catholic ***** and a sobering up after
a prince albert antic...
                       gullotine for the slug of: fore!
i says: skinz...
                      skinz and skalpz...
alt.: skinß und skalpß...
                                         otherwise known as:
a steady diet of influenza and toss-***...
back in poland come the fall of
the iron wall...
a tight-knit commuity...
one of us was infected with ospa (smallpox)...
we were exposed to the infected...
and czerwonka (červonka)
                          dysentery...
i missed the measles... (odra)...
                     my immune system was not
exposed to it...
              i guess i'm living in times when...
bubblewrapping works...
                     prime-time "eugenics" of the post-soviet
empire... expose them to... the golden standard...
and if they survive...
god... an ear infection is about as much
of a trivial-***** pain as a toothache...

poland in the 1990s... like mongolia in the 1200s
or whenever those people were given
the scurge of wrath loose buckle of the belt...
that was then... this is nowhere new to now...
happens... when people read
two books like dogma...
1984 fetish and all those televangelist...
no new rats: no room left in the maze...

                 karen oi oi smithy loiters...
scraps the details of her meme haircut...
starts to bleach her *****...
          etc. etc.         and more etc.
                           well... so much for this... supposed...
would be experiment in: "sowering the grapes"...
hardly... where is the wrath and the horse...
required for the plough?!

— The End —