"git" poems
I appreciate now, I'm getting old
It's not just me, I have been told,
It isn't discovering your first grey ****
Buying wrinkle cream or using ****
A simple thought came to me, its true,
My back goes out more, than I now do!
Even my wheelie bins, I think,
Go out each and every week,
I used to party night and day,
But now by 10, I've hit the hay,
The hardest thing, makes my skin crawl,
I no longer fall over, I ' have a fall '
Apr 23, 2014
Apr 23, 2014 at 5:39 PM UTC
you can hear the echo via Zizek the Slovak,
well, attire me in slavic myths and
i'll be mumbling purrs in mud too
for a helium bubble to become a comedian,
i know a jittery ******* addiction
when i see one...
if one thing the catholic schooling system
taught me was how to avoid
sniffing glue and how to recognise
a Freudian apostle - still, with all
the hippy **** you'd think
sniffing glue was what Ukrainian existentialism
prescribed with paracetamol,
catholic education just said: no no.
**** me it's the late 90s and we're talking
post-Chernobyl antics...
but that's how i see the left, leftist politics,
the right
utilises prefixes and suffixes in the
old stance of simple pre- pro-
anti-
qua-
-so so...
the left? oh they're right in there...
their prefixes are
Marxist-
liberal-
Hegelian-
whatnot...
they don't
use abstract prefixes,
their prefixes
are concrete,
they want the porridge in their mouth
to ensure a slur that never comes,
among a range of onomatopoeias they argue
from the perspective of the hushed and ushered crowd,
via one observation: Stalin clapped after a speech
to enjoin with the crowd, a real big brother,
****** never clapped, a sitting-duck method;
i'm not advocating, but by a proxy placebo dynamo
experimenting, it's called experimenting with
thought rather than practising with will,
former no chance of footstep evaluation for
cult status imitable -
the left intellectual
has no rubric of thought concerning to and fro -
it has to be concrete layered and a shut off
perfect architecture without fault -
it can't be what it is -
con-
has to be conservative
pro-
has to be socialist
you once said legitimate
transparency - but you didn't say legislation -
well, the left understood it as legislation,
the right too wanted legitimate transparency -
the green party said we could have neither
but could have the replanting of a thousand
oak trees with a Robin Hood placard on the first
oak tree replanted in Sherwood Forest...
b. ~ d. ~... shot ~100 bent arrows into a bullseye -
hurrah! hurrah! maid marian lost her virginity
too! to a broomstick rather than maradona's
fingernail toothpick!
at an essex market the cockney shouts (out of
place): *** yer courgettes! *** yer courgettes!
ta fa a pudding! ta fa a pudding!
*** yer cucumbers! tooth firth 'un!
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
It goes( as it
always goes, to )
: ! PENALTIES !
A chorus of "Oh Noooos'!"
rises from the fans like
winter breath from cattle
Hamlet, places it:
...steps back to take it
&. . .
"Do it England!"
the fanatic fans chant
"Dooooo....Itttt...Angle...la...and!"
Hamlet thinks
( No...nOOOO Hamlet don't
. . .think! )
But it is alas -too late
he has
already thunked!
"If it be now, 'tis not
to come; if it be not to come
it will be now!"
"Duh!" the fans think
"Agggghh...just
do it!"
The thoughts sprout
from his great big noggin like
a cartoon speech bubble.
"...if it be now now
yet
it will come!"
"The readiness is all!"
Hamlet runs up to
the waiting ball.
Hamlet hushes his
thought process
strikes the ball with his right foot &. . .
"To be or, aggggghhhh noooooo!"
After that comma that
negative sentence.
'NOT TO BE!"
jeer the rival fans
'GIT THEEEE...TOA...NONE...ER...EEE!"
Hamlet ends it all
with a bare bodkin.
"O, O, O, O." Dies
"Football is not...."
as Shankly so succinctly
put it
"...a matter of life and death.
It's. . .
much much more important than that!"
The rest.
Is.
silence.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Cars, are's, bars, git-are's, oov-are's, dars and mars
With these I can construct a rooping Flargnar. Cigars.
And without these I am too **** in the far. Pooping in the car.
Now can I find the Kragar? Or have a lost it in Nar?
Wigga foug under the dug like a big bug in the rain, its all the same.
What a doog? Got a Spoog? Butter up your hands and put them in the dands.
If ever should have shooken my loog, then up-chuck all the poog! What a gwoog! Me!
But who else could it have been! In the long run no one but we.
We cannot it be, it was the glove who fell in love with that dove!
Show me the rub! For we need it to subsub.
Hrug, Hrug, hrug magug! shrug off the flug, please doug do a love for the bitter twub!
In the end it doesn't matter, I had to fub to wub it dub!
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
© 2009 (Jim Sularz)
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, by wagon, train or foot.
Days not all that long ago, in tall ships made of wood.
“A gold rush struck in’49, all quite by accident.
A burning fever that cut men to bone, in a sea of dingy tents.
Day and night, they toiled and tolled, many headed home without a cent.
But some packed out bags of glistening gold, and made a stop at "Buzzard’s Breath."
"The town’s mud logged street, deep with horse manure, bubbled like a shallow grave.
With a Sheriff’s office, a livery stable, and a church for souls to save.
And a fancy house, on a grassy knoll – sign read, “Madam Lil la ****
With soft, curvaceous ladies who mined for hearts – and gold of a different sort.
Didn’t take long before easy gold, was extremely hard to find.
And burly miners, tough as steel, moved in to hard rock mine.
With bloodied knuckles, dented hats, they blasted at a furious pace.
To find the gold, called the Mother Lode, yellow blood coursing through their veins!
The mine they worked was called “Long Shot”, the men thought that name a curse.
But the miners hankered for the handle, "Buzzard’s Breath”, and the mine’s name was reversed.
As luck would say, they held a royal flush, when they hit that horse-wide vein.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found, this side of the Pearly Gates.
Eyes wide as saucers, they were all in awe, everyone was filthy rich.
The miners should have all retired and should have cashed in all their chips.
But a man’s hard to figure, when his blood is yellow, and he’s stricken with a gold fever.
“Eureka! Boys, *** the dynamite and a whole lot more mining timbers!”
They mined that vein to the bowels of the Earth, and the heat increased by day.
"Buzzard’s Breath" became the hottest place, to Hell – the shortest way.
And then one day, the men never came back. – Hell must have jumped that claim.
Of the purest gold, yet to be found – that’s where the Devil mines today!”
Quiet mounds of yellowed tailings and dead weeds whisper low.
And proud rusting relics telling tales of striking gold.
The rush from East, from North and South, died a slow and quiet death.
Along with days of tall wooden ships, and the ghosts of Buzzard’s Breath.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 5:46 PM UTC
God was tired that day
After all
Six days shalt thou labour
And on the seventh
Shalt thou rest
And he'd be slaving away
For eighteen days nonstop
Mainly because of the offer of
Double overtime
Had proven irresistible.
He'd written out these great rules
On how to live,
All eleven of them.
And God yelled out:
*"Oy Moses, you fat bearded ***
I got some tablets of stone for you
So move your ******* kosher ****
And Moses came out of the pub
And picked up the first ten
But, being a bit the worse for wear,
And nine sheets to the wind
With cut-price passover wine,
He never noticed the eleventh one:
*"Never accept a personal cheque
Without a bank guarantee card"*
Is what it said,
And you can't argue with that
No ******* way.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 8:17 AM UTC
HAMLET AT THE WORLD CUP
It goes( as it
always goes, to )
: ! PENALTIES !
A chorus of "Oh Noooos'!"
rises from the fans like
winter breath from cattle
Hamlet, places it:
...steps back to take it
&. . .
"Do it England!"
the fanatic fans chant
"Dooooo....Itttt...Angle...la...and!"
Hamlet thinks
( No...nOOOO Hamlet don't
. . .think! )
But it is alas -too late
he has
already thunked!
"If it be now, 'tis not
to come; if it be not to come
it will be now!"
"Duh!" the fans think
"Agggghh...just
do it!"
The thoughts sprout
from his great big noggin like
a cartoon speech bubble.
"...if it be not now
yet
it will come!"
"The readiness is all!"
Hamlet runs up to
the waiting ball.
Hamlet hushes his
thought process
strikes the ball with his right foot &. . .
"To be or, aggggghhhh noooooo!"
After that comma that
negative sentence.
'NOT TO BE!"
jeer the rival fans
'GIT THEEEE...TOA...NONE...ER...EEE!"
Hamlet ends it all
with a bare bodkin.
"O, O, O, O." Dies
"Football is not...."
as Shankly so succinctly
put it
"...a matter of life and death.
It's. . .
much much more important than that!"
The rest.
Is.
silence.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
*( Loki )
1
All ills you have wrought
Mischief maker in the dirt
No shower will cleanse
2
Poor Woolfy Spirit
******* in actuality
You ARE Beryl Dov
3
Thor is your new name
Psychopath reinventing
Same old *** trickster
4
Who is following
The fortune cookie writers
Such lame phony names
5
Fragile ego here
Pages of Wolf and Beryl
Drama queens reeking
6
Even as he leaves
Tireless self promoter
Lowers the banal*
Note:
Wolf Spirit IS Dire Wolf IS Toreanus Pinwinkle III IS Thor IS Beryl Dov IS ******** ( aka ******* ) Rabbi IS soooooo many others - a many-faced pest and pariah, previously banned on other sites for being stalkers and sociopaths !!
See:
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1530102/wolves/
&
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1516652/breach/
&
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/832663/beryl-dov/
&
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1527822/not-a-poem-an-open-response-to-wolf-spirit-and-wolf-spirit-dire/
Basically anyone who follows these massive-ego predators is probably them !!
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
I bought some Dr. Martens
a leather jacket to go with
T-shirts, logo'd
Nirvana, *** Pistols, Incubus
but what I wanted to buy
was the swagger
the intense feeling
of not giving a ****
I'm going to live forever
and there's nothing you can do
about it
invincible
with attitude
spitting in the street
I used to watch The ******
Motorhead
Conflict
I was there as the Police
went in hard on horseback
but the only attitude I found
was the young kid serving
looking me up and down
thinking
midlife crisis
you fat, balding
grey haired old ***
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 1:05 PM UTC
Todey they told me that I shud rite a powm for you Algernon
Mr. Strauss sed that youre sick
I dont want you to be sick
Youre smart
Remembir the amazed
Youre a white mouse
Youre smarter then other mice
So please *** well soon
Goodbye
- Charlie Gordon
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 7:53 AM UTC
The fire knows nothing but burning,
we know breathing that way, naturally done for
our own sake.
We old still know sake and grant mean true immaterial things.
Sake and granted we take to mean
my good, your good, good sake grant me take me con
mentis sans carne
by golly.
Dada-esque wire spoke far writing ease
e everything e-literate e-mail
---
the boinin' in d'boozum, dat be da ting, da ting con sum in all ya'lifes.
be knowin' dat, be knowin' a-dam lie.
Jah know y'know, don' be sayin' no y'don'
Be happy. Jah know haps be hap'nin' allatime. *** sum, take wha's granted,
take all fo' free.
You got nothin' t'boin, nothin' to oin, be a bird brain seein' stars fo'
no. birds be sleepin' when stars be seen so birds consider nothin', sidereally.
Hmmm. Quit?
Walk away, say, I got nought to say I ought t' say.
No way.
Temporary tempt-test-u-us sitchee-ations,
suffer it so. It don' hurt t'say no f'now so
How'd that that shiny critter know my game? How'd it know,
I think
thisaway and it is gone, forever. (which has begun, btw)
-----
The biosphere is regaining consciousness, Capitan.
Shall we continue burning?
What's the bullocks count?
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 1:33 PM UTC
(To the tune of "Like a Virgin'.)
Not a ******
Queen of the molls,
Not a ******
So I've been told,
Not a ******
I'm like, well, old,
Not a ******
Please stop your moans,
Not a ******
That's why men are alone,
Not a ******
I'm like, well, old,
Not a ******
So I 've been told,
Not a ******
You sound like a ***
Get over it!!!!!
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
Go on big boy take a bite
You'll love the taste its full and ripe
If you take a bite I'll be nice to you
You know that thing my mouth can do
I know god said to never touch
You know you like my mouth SO much
Bite it now I'll be your *****
You'll love the way I make you twitch
So Adam bites the juicy apple
The fans now on the ***** to follow
Gods ****** of you thieving ***
You listened to the snake with **** !
A rib I used to get her here
I think I'd rather you stayed as queer
You can't trust a word she hisses out
I'm off alone to knock one out!
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 8:36 PM UTC
There used to be a time when you were paddling down the river
You'd hear that banjo song and you'd go all a quiver
You know the song I mean it always made me shiver
Now, there's something scarier when you're out there on that river
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
No matter how far south you go there's tv shows galore
Cajun this and Cajun that and Cajun even more
Louisiana sold out it's a reality tv *****
If you find name one show that's filming you know there's 15 more
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Of all the shows out there I don't get Honey Boo Boo
I mean, look at how that child looks we're talking nasty ju ju
There's a high priestess out there who did some Boo Boo Voo Doo
I've never seen another kid who looks like Honey Boo Boo
(banjo music....deliverance theme)
There's not a place down south not owned by Duck Commander
They own the rights on everything, on every salamander
If there's a deal on anything, these good old boys will land 'er
The Robertson's own everything, those Buck 'n Duck Commanders
(banjo music...deliverance theme)
Now, as I said that banjo song was scary and it was a real big hit
But, now it takes up second place, something else will make you 'git
No need to fear the banjo being played by a hermit
It's when the State Trooper asks..."Boy, where's your paid up film permit?"
( banjo music...deliverance playout)
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 11:51 PM UTC
My day off feeling goid relaxing listening to music
Doing what feels right and what makes me happy
Work always frustrates me trying to make money
Do my time hoping to move up instead staying stuck
Over feeling used and taken for granted
I say the cream rises to the top
I've always been honest and *** heat for it
I spoke the truth and got excluded forgotten
Its hard to forget now I'm on the level
Its not where I want to be
on a level of my own feels right
Where I belong it feels right
I don't care who you know
Or what your last name is
I told my coworker id be associate of the month
I see that for myself others bs and should take pride in themself
Jul 23, 2013
Jul 23, 2013 at 4:33 AM UTC
Yap yap yap goes the snap happy puppy
he's one boisterous diminutive chap
he leaps up barking and snapping
and furiously his tail wagging
He's little teeth are like needles
ouch the little ***
he's snapping at my fingers
and I just got another nip
I know he's only being playful
but he never leaves you alone
snap happy puppy
you are a bad bad boy
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 5:17 PM UTC
I was walking along the brook,
landed in one of them corn mazes from the books.
I started running,
started funning,
'till I gone and ran into a corn stalk,
I hit it so hard I forgot how to talk,
I could barely walk.
It don't matter,
just started going faster.
Well I found my way to the end,
but across the field I saw a radish bend.
Ah well, I guess its the weekend,
and Id rather run the radishes than come to an end.
And I ran,
oh yes I ran.
I ran here,
I ran there,
in the sky,
nearly trampled a guy...
Yeah he was yellin',
at me,
I said whats up.
And then he says this, he says:
I own these here radishes,
Go on *** get outta mah FaRm.
Then, I dunno, I guess I was just really cool,
I was able to convince him, that this here, was my farm.
And that's the story of my farm.
Feb 1, 2017
Feb 1, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
Buzzing around I know your there
I can't see you little *******
Just the sound of your wings
I look on the curtains around the bed
Drift of to sleep and know your still there
Woke up this morning bite on my face
This is now war you parasitic ***
I've bought a blue light to lure you in
Then fry your *** when your close to it
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 5:10 PM UTC
Yeah
well I sat in the barbers chair while you walked up and down the crowded aisles in a half deserted Tesco store
I wondered why
what was it for?
The freezer stood alone at home
freezing cold as was its wont but it was stacked with want me nothing more at all
for it was full up to its freezing chin
with something brought from albuquerque
and two fifths of London Gin.
The barber gave a weirdly grin and gave me one of number two
I should have fekin known that's what the little *** would do
but you just wandered round and did you see that skinhead passing by the deli' counter?
that was me
I waved atop my fresh shaved head
but I was dead meat on the cooked meat and it shook me wide awake
I need to take a breather
might even leave her
she would not care
she's got Tesco's in her brain and not to mention in her hair with apple summer fresh smell,how much dumber can one get
well if I stick about just watch this space
look out for the smiling vacant face
that will be me
taking her
to do her hair
just like mine.
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 11:41 AM UTC
The first time I visited the freak show
I nearly burst into tears
It wasn’t because of the cruelty of it all
It wasn’t because of their cruel deformities
It wasn’t even guilt, not even a bit
It wasn’t about the greed from the stupid ***
Who ran the freak show
I burst into tears because I immediately understood
That the roles were reversed
And that we were the freaks
We, the cowards, who hide our deformities
And denounce our guilt as useless morality
And clutch onto greed and a hunger for entertainment
While every day we ourselves star in the freak’s parade
And the freaks themselves they are not moved
By my dreaded revelations
For them the truth was always pure and simple
Bonded by their deformities
They understand kinship and compassion
As they clutch on to each other
And the parade of freaks moves past them once more
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC