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Leone Lamp May 2021
Skipping class, ****** off his ***,
Never showed and never passed
Teacher was teachin' it
But Dylan never needed it,
Writ to his own beat
And now he's free wheelin' it
On down the road
A heavy moss laden load
Sixty-one routes
And that stone keeps a-rollin',
The times keep a-changin'
The river keeps flowin'
Rainy day women
And legalized growin'
Bob cantcha spare,
A nickle or rhyme?
A solid gold medal,
Nobel poet sublime?
Sing us a song
Jingle jangle along
The Luckiest Wilbury
In the Wilbury throng
Singin' so right
It must be wrong
Keep doin' your thang
You'll never get gonged
My wife's grandpa had a writing class at MSU (Minnesota State University) with Bob Dylan, but Dylan never showed. He turns 80 on Monday (05/24) and I threw this together in his honour.
Silente-Write Jul 2017
Woke up this morning, feels like forever since the mourning of your name...
In shame I hid tethered to fame, a blind grain of sand against a slimy flame
I'm gaining momentum like rain, a zany feelin' bein' clean
weaning myself off the draining lifestyle, my grind paid in dreams
My time stood-still, feels like December when your clever weather was stormy
I grew gills and stormed on...
A starship trooper in September, I ran around in embers
no space vacuum in dust, I grin and shoulder on
In my holster a wand, it sings songs about wrongs
atrocities gonged through the city, a **** hit of infinity
I stare behind me and see her one last time in the rust of spaces left between us
I know she will not see this, i'm just a bleeding creature...
So whisper feels like forever
...Leave it
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
я
some words, really do require a chance
to un-english the englishness
of them...
                   my, how the english beam
with a stiffness of their tongue -
i actually lament the lost trill of the R -
that drum-roll moment -
       how some letters ought to be changed
in calligraphic terms -
            notably the R -
no longer rotating, rolling, robust or
for that matter: readied for the rattling of
a snake's maracas bulb...
          the english R is a swollen tongue,
a tongue gluttonous: stung by a bee -
      it's not as bad as the harking french R,
but it's not exactly satisfying -
when it started its numbing journey to lick
off some of W - or rather: hollow itself out.
on the altar of sacrificed runes -
   edh, ð... similarly the R ought to be placed
for a sacrifice of revision to enable
the knowledge of: the lost trill...
                           poise the R with the leg
making the step forward as curved inward...
      bend it...
                      the sound is numbed anyway,
let it settle for a foetal position -
      who is to say that calligraphy cannot be
changed?
                 if a letter no longer represents
the sound, there is no need to keep it...
       or at least: that's what makes sense.
i further have to acknowledge -
           the fury and the passions ascribed to
word, allah is a particularly intoxicating word...
     i can actually shed a tear listening to
an adhan...
                    but by simply listening to
alpha blondy's song sebe allah y'e -
    for some reason: there are ever present
emotional connotations within words -
i hate to approach language where words
have been undermine by secularism -
unsung, unsaid, vogue or not vogue -
riddled with prefixes and other greco-roman
abominations of science -
                      if you can grasp a passion -
not say, nor sing: but vow to feed the depth
of a howling wind and taunt with
a word, that's admirable -
           i give islam that, the word allah is
quiet agreeable in song...
   i will curse **** ***** **** dog-dung sheep-*******
my way through two stories in pop
that reveal the adam & even of YHWH -
sauron & voldemort -
a foul tongue ensure a pure body...
but a foul tongue also ensure: a clearer
  perspective for the mind to lap up -
a ****** is just short of a squid's mouth
or a venus flower -
a pair of ******* just short of
              a cow's ******* sack...
                 that's the puritanical objective
stance... miracle be made from a *******'s
ability to turn this objectivity into
the subject of: an ***** phallus,
prostitutes always seem to succeed where
liberated females, always, seem to fail to
arrive in bed with the man completely enslaved
by arousal;
       freud was right about something,
after all.
                        maybe it's the lack of
***** talk by prostitutes?
                    the whole: what would my
father think during *******,
or doing it under the membrane of bed sheets
or with closed eyes (except when climaxing)?
          besides the R...
  to turn the J into a Y -
           yerúshalem -
                            yields more emotion than
jotting down jerusalem (dz grapheme in polish) -
jot, dzik (boar) -
                      mind you,
the Maltese word for god, is actually allah,
you can sing that word so well -
       shame christianity is riddled with
the deathly gong of the 11pm bells -
once they gonged for a call to prayer -
now they're just a medieval version of a Rolex.
            if words cannot turn into
goosebumps and a tectonic shivers infused
with electric tingling across the face and spine -
   if they cannot make stakes with cool tears
evaporating on a flushed face oozing
sickly heat -
          if god remains outside the realm ****** -
we're talking language equivalent of
                a flat soufflé...
          passsable, instructional,
  tinged with a mathematical vector focus -
get's you from (a) to (b) -
  but language is not a ******* map!
    with language, if you're not lost,
   you're using said instructions -
           you're going through the plateau
of the nauseating flat Belgium...
            where the horizon is not
obstructed by a mountain range,
but merely by the distance of the unchanging
perversity of the people who write
instruction manuals for Ikea on how to
put a chair together.
                       who the **** finds these
comatose perverts, or have they actually
started to liberate people,
  and "employed" lit-bots to write this
crap out?
     - i always wanted to meet the people
who write the small print and
    the terms & conditions sections of any
agreement / contract;
            cold corpses sniffing tulips
  from the roots up, doesn't even cut it.
Delton Peele Aug 2020
Rain
Pains
Cold chains around my neck Rob me
of my dignities
Im Rodney Dangerfield
not only can I Not
get any respect
I cant even get a ******* rain check
damage control in effect
im a wreck and can you hear me
I think Im major Tom
and here am
I floating in my tin can
rather be a
chim
pan
zee
Pursuing all my efforts
In vain
Ev  er   ree  thang I do
Is what I was tryin not to do
a when I'm almost finished
I need some time not doin
an I look behind
I see some fool undoin
all the knots
I used to keep it all together
now are loosening
and as im
drifting
at around 120
an Im
accelerating
an im
trying
to gain a
better view
a new
way
of seein
whats happening
an im
changing
my
way of
thinking
instead
of saying
we got kicked
to the curb
how bout we sayin
weve been
set free
put all that ****
youve learned
put it up
nicely
in the rear view
mirror
flip it the bird
whistle whistle
hieeyahhh
were so outa here
like
like last year
ladies start your
engines
hes off his leash
and running
on false pride
denial
not in his right mind
has no idea what hes dooin
lets see who
can ruin him
this time
wheres the nachos?
shhhhhh
quiet
the shows starting
annnnnnn
back to you
Delton
oh well thanks
for the intro
a-hole
dont mention
it
friend
it is what it is
without further adu .....
lets do this
lost and lonely
if only i knew
everyone could see right
through my disguise
the wells of my
eyes
swelling
Oh .....
Swell
Life goes wrong
im gonged of the
gong show
again
and
things are getting
a little
blurry
I can barely see my friends
They look like they are all  doin well
I'm just so happy
Secretly
My strife goes on
posture imperfect
feelin like a chump
walkin circles
slumped
lookin like a derelict
talk about a half wit
bop bop bop
shoowap
talk about
bop....op
shoowap
talk about him
shoobie doobie
doo wap
dip dip

******
ok ok
enough already
he gets it
dumb dumb
does
he ?
$#¤<CUT>¤#$
AAAAAAHHHH
spank you vury much
myyyyyyy dear
I.......llllll
take it from here
facing down
pacin

Digging for

change
And saying
I have paid this toll too many times
This time I want the lead roll
Knaw what I get
instead
excuses
an
Regret I said it
Cause  I got my agent bret  
feedin me a ballogna
samwich
Tryin to console me
Given me council and
acting all
condesending sayin that time takin it's toll on me
oh really
is that what you think
let...... me.... .....show.....
you.
something
I've kept well pretty well thinking
Eventually Ill have to  run a bit
ya know
ta catch up on
things
****
not right now
f
though
cause my curtains calling the sun's falling
And now I'm in the sand running into the wind
And  the waves are crushing
I'm trying to break free
I get drugged back to the next one
That's reality or
Am I just tripping
And im

sittin
at
Malibu sippin on ***
Surfen.....
an lookin at the world..
Smillin ........
Throw in up dueces
ahhhhhh YA
BABY
truth is
i wasnt meant for this town
this world was meant for me
And ya .............
No I'm drowning in urban turbidity
Mistaking my youth lacking maturity
Someone keeps slapping me I brush it off smilling cause
im
cocky
I'm still big
enough
bad boy tough en rough enough
more like
heeees a huff en puff
whos the one who gets blamed
when things get tough
always does everything
and its never
enough
No one wants to try me
I'm  laughing
Thats immature ity or of me
I'm not sure
Hmm
Let's see.
Actually while I sit here debating
The tides taking me
Washed up I'm told
Unstable.
Stupid fables
I'm still able
Try me
Sometimes lately I can't get a gig
Even when I say
Aye I 'll work for free
Pockets empty
But still Rollin
Never rolled on anybody
I just got rolled I'm empty it fucken hurt me
I'm out
I fold
Leaving the table owing
The sharks morphing into vultures
Circling the desert sky above me
Scolded
Bought sold
old
Was been
Fear I'm afraid has started setting in
No taste I'm jaded
Gave all my best years to Jezebell
Who barely remembers me
Dazed
Dismal
Dank rank overlooked
Forgotten
Booked
Broke
Rotten rope
Spent my last dime on a broken
Boat sank
Starving no appetite
Lost fight
Karmas's bite
Tunnel no light
Funnel
I
N
G
D
O
W
N
Clown
Frown
Unclean
uneven
grievin
even given everything
I'm not playin
No thats ok
You go on
It's alright
I'll stay
No no
Don't wait a whole minute for me
You're barley gonna be a  hour early
You're what's important
You don't need me
I'm fine  
Dont be absurd
I dont want to be  burden
Can't get a word in .........
Ever.......
Ever
Everrr
Everrrrrrrrrr
Evvvvverrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Interrupted oh thats ok I'll do me later what do you need
Interrupting oh every body is waiting on me
I'm sorry IV just been so busy doin all y'alls things
I was just tryin ta give ya snore time channel surfing on tv
I'll work harder forgive me
Hope this doesnt interfear with you big plans of sleep in all day
Don't worry I'll work quietly
Decaying wailing
Waiting for the Boatman
No recognition in the reflection
Within the last trinket of treasure
Comforting  tether from a more pleasurable past
Time lent isn't coming back spent on the wrong things
Finnaly I get the feeling I'm no longer falling.
It's a definite maybe it's dark
Atleast I can walk I think I'm alright I can start healing
Ya right the floor just dropped out on me
Last reflection I reckalect  I'll see
Deplorable out cast naked empty
Groveling,used to be somthing
Stagerrin around hands in my pockets looking down
Rummaging through my own trainwreck
Exacerbating
my dreams and retirement tossed
Into the muck out of a bucket of slop
And feel bad cause I waisted your time
Whining about being
That pearl in the swine snout
Williams Mar 2020
A Poet is like a Photographer.
He sees the hidden beauty with focused lenses
His mind is like a plate served with films of fine art

A Poet is like a Baker.
He mixes emotional flavor and sweet imagination
He is sometimes called a poetic baker

A Poet is like a Barber.
With clips of wisdom he cut his words into a nice shave
and shapes his pieces into poetic curls

A Poet is like a Drummer.
His plays hit the strings of the readers heartbeat
with every stroke of his pen a song is gonged

A Poet is like a Talebearer
He comes with a message,
from the realms of the Poet god(soul)

A Poet is not a prisoner
Because his words
are the bars that lifts the captives

— The End —