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Rachael Apr 2016
dear stereotypical people,
you make me sick.
i mean, who are you to tell me what i can and can't do because i don't have a ****?
why do you think that this is a rap? is it because i'm black?
because i live on an island, i must be wild and uncouth?
and whenever i speak my mind, i'm another rebellious youth?
dear stereotypical people,
you see my glasses and call me a nerd?
and make fun of me because I know of words you've never heard?
oh i'm sorry, that i took my education seriously.
and i swear if another person says 'girl you're so tall, you have to play ball.'
i'm gonna run head first into a gaddamn wall.
dear stereotypical people,
why do you trust the white man in a suit but not the black man in the hoodie?
is it because he looks cleans and exudes goodie goodie?
dear stereotypical people,
please mind your business
which i'm pretty sure doesn't include how that teenage mom and her child are living.
dear stereotypical people,
why do women that are open about *** make you wanna run away?
i mean, i'm pretty sure it shouldn't matter what she does with her body unless she's your wife
my God, why can't y'all let people live their lives?
dear straight men that lust over gay women,
NO WE DONT WANT TO ******* WITH YOU
**** it, we like the same thing you do!
dear people of the world,
yes I live in the Bahamas
no I do not live in a hut, eat coconuts and go on the beach every day.
dear stereotypical people,
i promise i don't hate you
i do hate how you look down upon people that live differently from you, that see differently from you, that think differently from you.
i would hope that you know that this world does not revolve around you, no one will stop being who they are because of you.
don't get me wrong, some people hurt because of what you do.
just think about how you would feel if it were you.
my prayer is only that you think before you say.
and maybe one day, you'll all see the error in your ways.
another piece I wrote for spoken word. but man, I FELT this COMPLETELY. Enjoy :)
yea bro i could see prophecy
laying on my conscious vividly
got enemies in a flee
as i tick like a flea penching nerves cant dogde or curve
my intellect which selects
from semi to auto my frame
blowin up like octane no remains
cuz that ******* numb my brain
straight insane i can hear the rain against my window pane
its sunshine and darkness at the same time bust through the rhymes entice crimes
once i open my mind pack twin nines while puffin on pine
let the bass thump for alpine
one time
gotta look out scopin with my optics operation ghetto hard to let go
of all of the pain as i strain
every ounce of this jane
man i miss my homies
who died and gone
but every now and then
i hear them through this song
wind blows against my temple
maybe its my ancestors speakin to me
now i got the power of nat turner
lookin for my adversaries with the burner
uh i create more chaos than Bagdad
check the mystics out my Goodie Bag yea


yea popped off my collar tag
Gave up my house and the jag
refused the goodie bag
that the government handed me see me
I be in hibernation secrecy
with all types of weaponry
from guns to arrows keep eyes on the sparrow
**** the modern day Pharoah
even though they want six feet below
but my conscious risen
awaken opened my mind up from bakin'
no Time for fakin' takin'
every chance I get
to crus corporate ******
then let the maggots
feed off there earthly flesh I can attest
as I bomb this muthaphukka
and put all my adversaries to rest
know I'm seyin
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.bacon doesn't exist in Polish cooking... podgarle... the under-neck meat of a pig... or just plain lard... rather than olive oil... 1 onion per 1 scrambled egg... paprika and lots of garlic... and definitely some cayenne pepper... certainly more onions than eggs, scrambled... and definitely using animal fat... to fry it on... hell... if vegetable fats are so healthy... why is there a term for the vegetative state of immobility of an otherwise animate being?

****! not against Norwegians...
what the **** am i saying?!
spotted one vegan girl...

              pork head terrine...
slavic version of
the Scotch haggis -
      
                 omnivore -

        you eat what?
i eat anything that, once upon
a time, moved...

                i've actually fallen in love
with a fetish that i circumcise into
a lobster...

  i want to eat a lobster...
chicken bone marrow isn't enough...
i want a lobster...

              i want to taste the foods
that could cure me of
ever wanting the 72 virgins
promised by Islam...

    instead? i want the feast
of Belshazzar...
to begin with...

i don't like bacon...
i prefer prosciutto...
   i haste bacon... it's too crude...
too anglo-saxon...

i hate the stink of frying it...
******* hate it like
a Muslim....
    prosciutto? different story...

and i hate ***. sushi...
smoked salmon,
and raw herrings in cream dill
sauce?
   or with pickled cucumbers
in a cream sauce?

thumbs up...
i'll only eat sushi,
if i take a knife in public...
and eat it with a cut up lemon...

raw lemon and sushi?
i can do that...
                  but i need a bench,
in a public space...
and a knife...
                      i can stomach that
sort of sushi,...
but? scotch smoked salmon,
of the Baltic king,
namely the herring
in a creamy sauce...

you come near me with
that ******* about calorie
intake?!
  i'll tell you to stomach
a ******* rhino!

               not here, not now...
    i don't like the sort of impoliteness
of people who do not eat
the other person's food...
****** me off...
eat the food, **** the turban!
i said! eat the food, forget
donning the turban journalistic
opportunity!

****-wits!

               the food! the food!
eat the food!
you don't eat the food?
you might as well be donning
a donkey's **** on your heard,
thinking it a Sikh turban
on, your 'ed...
you, *******! ****!

eat the food...
   is it me, or having watched
channel 4, in England,
finding the English people
overtly picky about
the food they eat?!
you figure that one out?
they're picky... don't you think?
picky as if half of them are
allergic to nuts!

             ah...
but the English want to both
entertain the food, & the clothes...
       goodie ol luck!
      
the "thing" you've had,
prior to 1945?
you're not getting it back, forget it!
i too remember Tony Blaire
ensuring
Hong Kong was a
revival of the ancient Greek
city-states...
        
                 love the diet...
            too bad i eat the rare,
most decent architectural pieces
of pork...
     like the head,
meat + cartilage + fat + sclera...
   in a terrine...
   yummy... ******* yummy...
      
      what else?
chicken hearts broth,
chicken stomach broth...
    cow intestines broth...
   pig liver sauce...
         czernina...
   duck blood soup...

                   the Semites
and the Arabs can have
their Kosher and Halal rites...

we? the people of the north?
we have the economics
of the purity of a slaughtered
animal...

unlike the Semites?
we use all the bits,
best for frying or worst for the broth...

which segregates us from
Golgotha and last supper poetics,
Semitic poetics,
of invigorating a stance
for the...
     transmutation of human
flesh, subsequently the
        refusal of pork,
but somehow normalizing cannibalism;
Rabbi?
  how about? NO!
NO!
   i rather eat pork, curated
to Italian standards of smoking...
i will not eat the filth of the *******
catholic Eucharist!
   no chance in hell!
the Semitic critique of pork
is my critique of the... "bread"...
you eat it!
    i'm not eating it...
now? sheave the silence,
   and the lamb...
      oh yeah... i'm anti-semitic -
against one Jew... hey-zeus christos!
Robin Carretti May 2018
He quietly appears so many years have passed smelling the amazing greener then life grass a potent filled with magic the invisible man he passed.
Splendor in the grass

Ehh Oh yuck someone
abandoned you
On the runway
He Grilled walked in
fashionable late
The head of his
mansion

You needed to
tolerate
Oh! Chuck
Full of gas
shattered_
her mind
with scars coming
toward her
like glass

The wake-up call
The lady of
all envy
Winning
an Emmy
Adelle
We could
of had it all
Another name
Amy
For the love,
Of a ghost
Like the
Candy Man
Invisible man
from
Ireland

Something got posted
seductively
Blindfolded hosted
Designed into his
Money hand
Powdered substance
poisoned her

Invisible man
Her eyes got
Smoked like
Poison Ivy
In the Army now
Please too much
Attention of green
Arabian in the Nile
Miles and miles
Navy to be seen
He was colored blind
Different eye
Brown in one and blue
Something hatched

Matchmaker  Ghost rider
Fiddler on the roof
We need a story writer
Like a horse
without a hoof
To neigh the right
stuff

I Sir "Infinitely" so
"Existentially"
Remarkably
Divinely
Ghostwriter
Her words were
blank
She is so genuine
Every other day
He was mine
The quiet man
Super shy
Another try
Valentine's day +*

Writing but not seeing
I love you until this day
Quiescently being forced
he entered emerged
I love you let's get
engaged
Beg your pardon
was not her
To be loved so sorry to be
changed
Like a stale piece

Her niece vintage
furniture more love
and peace
Quietly operation
tugged
Someone got flagged
That blind man
faced
And looked into
the  quiet man
On someone's 
body
The smells
like Moms
perfume her
exact tune
New Jersey Patch reader
"The Catcher in the Rye"
To weird the movie
Carrie
School can be strange
A bucket list of water
down your head
She walked

The Quiet man lips
No small talk
Ghost post bed
Not even one star
could be heard
The gas lamp
she tripped
Out of sight

She saw a face not to
be described

So inhibited like
endangered
species

The invisible man
loved her
But got his
vengeance on
anyone
that was too near her
People wanted so
much to
be her
Her force
indescribable

When someone was
clear to see
Extremely well visible
she didn't care to
know them

Her nose on the tip
baking with flour
Ghostly the hostess
of the most
But feeling his
energy the invisible
the man was
courting her so challenging

New flame "Procreating"

Hemming her long skirt
Her diary innocence
Being on her side
but scheming
Disguise home staging
From the ridiculous to the
subline

Her address
Send forget me knots
street
Only blind
people are the kind
you want to find

SOS  surrender or out
The other S Soulmate
Ghost
Hailed the Mary
The Quiet Man
John Wayne

The laundromat
Mack the knife
Invisible man
Inked his whole life
Waynes world
Born to be wild

The other man
Hit the metal
heavy music
fan
Drenched so humid
He was the Murad

Triangle mess
Shopping at London
Harrods
Let's hear it for
the girls or ((Gods))
The magical channeling
TV on the blink
Went right on his computer
All the quiet man linked

He finger waved by the world
Guinness drinking Heineken
beer
The ghost rider
Got grilled called upon
By Ron
College kid playing
Rugby
The good bad and
the Ugly
Clint Eastwood
stretched them out
like Gumby
Western gunshot slinger
He couldn't see the
Ghost rider
the
blank stares
Perky Rabbit Hares
All the negatives got
burned
Exorcist's heads twist
and shout eyes healed
about

Climbing the Jacks
of the shinning
Nowhere in the beauty of
Her heart gleaming

Took a blindfold call felt
somewhere but where?
But I couldn't see blinded
by stars
Over the rainbow, the skies
weren't blue
Being stalked by
someone you know

By the greater impossible
love
To be silent like she was
invisible
So naive at time feeble

Without an honorable
love of fee
Gone with the winding
shopping spree
Disworthy and sneaky
but for being
who or answers
Doctor Who?
Invisible man what
could he do

He was so flavorful
well balanced
strong nursed her well
and sturdy
Quiet man thinking in his
beloved study

She was no goodie
magical shoes
The Ghostwriter
left invisible
clues
More Quiet time
Lemonade time affair of a
Ghost man
Like Hannah and her sisters
Woody if he could
But he is a **** good writer
The Movies of NewYork
I am proud to say
I come from
Brooklyn NY

If lips could talk
pouty
Sensing something but why?
Hans Christian Anderson
Quiet man playing softly but
Killing me easily through the
Blind sighted window

The widows
War Veterans
True Hero My dad
World War 2
Wifes lies and fibs
Quiet leads to invisible
Heller Keller was so
fortunate
Like Fate, she was
the real
Mccoy, she could light
anyone's smile
with joy
The barbecue next season
So many years to reason
More gun control
Be more visible to others
Mothers and brothers
Have a heart of soul


Only the strong keep the
  fight
Just keep on trucking
Grill them show them
What you could write
Perhaps it's cool to be the
Ghostwriter
Not everyone likes
To see the clear picture
What is really taken

So what if people cannot read us
Somehow we are all blind that's
OK its a miracle how other people
Can make it the beautiful day


Of the next groundhog day
He was loving to be invisible
He wanted to keep it that way
So deep set her eyes
to die
Somehow talk could be cheap
And the shepherd of love loads

of sheep, silence is the best sleep

All in someones head so lovingly deep

Invisible but remarkable to be the person
you want to be or let's really look closer
it's not always rosier.
Can we be so invisible to everything we look at? What about being blind Helen Keller to me was the fortune of better futures your best wine out of the cellar. So what if you are blind there will always be someone you love around you just have to feel them
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2019
.comes the floundering over foul language, like it's a sin to speak with a cascade of oath taken words, to: never mind the beat and rhythm, that will continue, as long, as long you play the solo... never you mind keeping-up-appearances, why be distracted, better yet: why talk during ***? isn't that worse than saying ****, casually, in a conversation of: pardon my french? i will tell you, it's far worse dragging "god" (words) into the "satanic" pit of actual procreation, than it is to say **** and let it be treated as a conjunction, akin to: and... since what words are sacrificed on the altar of *****-*****? bad, boy, who's your yummy, mummy... who's your daddy... i tell you: **** in between some jane austin snippets, and those prunes would be on, fire, should any words be uttered from their mouths having been staged completely ****... no... foul language is free language with all the chanel and gucci to attire you with away from furr-skins... but talking, uttering words, while procreating? that's just plain scandalous! i bet those prim goodie-two-shoes care more for: pardon my french during conversation, yet they probably squeal like about to be castrated pigs in a slaughterhouse come the synagogue of ******... ******* never wish to accomplish syllables or vowel cubism with contorted mouths during ***... but they say: brush your teeth while speaking... if hey-zeus saw hypocrisy in the jewish sects... full circle... who are the modern day pharisees? somewhere in h'america... beastly contortions... if not pedophiles, then at least the sort of pedantic hypocrites that could share the same tier of Dante's inferno... why talk, during ***? why not eat the ****** during the zenith? wow, don't you think? because bukowski might call me a star-gazer... well... if you look up and see what i see? you too would be looking up... but just in order for you to get a feel of what i feel? three song summary when i look up at night at the sky:
   penta - come in,
     gloOMy PhAntOM - only the beginning,
Matutero - pure evil...
             hell... a fourth song: matutero - exorcist...
i'm no ******* copernicus...
   or a galileo...
                              still: to keep one's mouth clean
is to not utter god: words during the wedding
of "satan" to his shadow...
                                 to keep one's mouth clean
is to not speak during *******,
     *****-stars know the deal...
   tell me what you want, and i will not give it...
don't tell me what i want: and i will surprise you...
even after the act, she said...
'this has only happened to me once'...
when she was paid,
   and didn't expect to reach ******...
                    2nd man in...
  1st man with a hydra in his mouth for paying
an extra 10 quid to perform oral ***
on a *******...
                      good... evil...
well: good is as good as it gets,
but good can also imply: the purity of evil...
evil of the highest quality is in a position
to move down an incremental path toward
good: as spectator...
       as a tease of what is itching the incremental
path toward evil: the omniscient, omnipotent etc.
god...
      oh sure... night sky *******, romance my this
that and whatever *** looks more like:
pork chop cleopatra meets
   cherry 16 tight trim of milk and quicksilver
reflection teasing...
                      you'd be gagging for the goosebumps
and the prickled tiny hairs... performing...
what plant-speciments do with their...
   phototropism...
                                    against all: stereotypes...
            this, lunar base of imagining, not otherwise.
so this is to be my antithesis Golgotha?
for who stands on Har Megiddo
certainly not the skull-baron of the crucifixion...
   blitzkrieg imagery: and suddenly...
   the words... become...
   s               a
h             r                                       l
                   p                   e
                           n      
simply?
      for the supposed foul language used
as barrier between flow and conjunction
necessity... a rhetorical tool of the modern use
of language: no one is standing in any
oratory pulpit speaking to the "masses"...
      but... if i could invent an inverted niqab
for the tongues of christians during ***?
reduce them to moans, groans,
exfoliations of an onomatopoeia...
               less daddy please, who's the naughty boy
*****-***** *** tantrums of:
having ****** so much, the next ****
acts like an anaesthetic to numb what's already
become a numbed pain / pleasure non-differential...
well!
                like i really might need to venture
into the dark-web...
   i'll just bring myself to the party on the "safe" web...
and some poo'em i wrote once,
which doesn't even compliment what i just,
just now: pulled out from my bowels...
again: there's zero-net-worth of feeling in the heart...
emotions? bowels...
   the heart is too preoccupied with rhythm...
akin to how:
    the brain was a metaphor for the soul,
even though the soul is a sigma,
of all known organs and its preoccupation with them,
or not...
    given the current explanation of the brain?
coordination and what not?
evidently the soul is, equivalent to a metaphysical
and biological definition of an *****,
given: the brain doesn't entertain the existence
of thought...
       so... if the brain is not responsible for
thinking, then nothing else in the body is...
                  so soul, or the sigma "conundrum" /
is a metaphysical *****, or whatever you want it to be...
brain = fatty sponge... that can die...
when attacked by killer proteins in the light
of Alzheimer's... like a sort of inverted anorexia...
weird... starvation? fat goes first,
then the carbohydrates... no, wait...
carbohydrates first, fats second...
and then... proteins cannibalise themselves...
that's starvation... in Alzheimer's?
the proteins attack the brain sponge-fatty-blob...
so the brain is not involved in thinking...
so... well, mein gott: god i guess...
   some external source of "inspiration"...
motivation, will... oddly enough?
that coincides with both the + and the - of
such a source of thinking...
             both sides: theistic and atheistic have it
covered... right now? chosing the middle ground
is the only sensible posit to succumb to
...

what's the difference between
a polyamorous society
and a polygamous society?
  well... there's not much
of a difference...
   i've been a subject to the former,
and the "covert" latter...
suddenly prostitutes are
above priests and psychiatrists...
well...
  either being sold the body,
or being bribed with
prayer or the pharmacological cocktail...
only because:
i was...
         "being uncomfortable"
for the rest of society...
    polyamorous societies
descend into make-shift
polygamous societies...
             the whole incel problem...
that's really representative
of a polygamous society....
  20% of men get 80%...
    sure... lesbian frolicking
in a harem,
    strap-on-******...
     and eunuchs are missing...
but...
akin to a manic street preachers'
song:
   the walking abortions...
   in all honesty...
the top-down influence
of a polygamous society has crept in
and created
the polyamorous society buffer zone,
so shy right up to now,
but:
before the **** hits the fan
   waiting game...
and how much
of the madonna-***** complex
is currently true,
and how much of ******* dysfunction
is due to...
  being pulverißed
by overtly sexualißed material
exposure?
                 hell...
  if i'm always going to be stitched
into a frankenstein hard-on
potential...
when it comes to the actual deed?
why wouldn't the answer suffice
mostly associated with a *******
and not a woman on her third date?
because i'm pretty sure
that erectile dysfunction isn't
a problem with my experience
of prostitutes...
    but it is... with "free" women...
given that i'm no psychopath...
  and when *** is staged,
it follows that there's a case for relationship,
intimacy...
           a ******* hard-on
is an objective fact...
which is why prostitutes rarely
fail to "conjure" it...
         the violence is simmering...
it's... titillating, nibbling at the toes
of Venus like some
sado-******* fetishist...
        **** me...
   the nazis dropped less bombs
on London via the world war I
zeppelin raids than
how many ****** insinuations
leave me quasi-limp-**** / ******...
   well... not so much ******...
***** just keep bulging with
goosebumps,
   i sometimes forget the ******...
which isn't even associated with
the actual *******...
   it's neurologically associated
with tingling sensation
            of the shaft...
    ***** has nothing to do with it...
    should have asked
me when i was 8...
                  "self-harm",
or...
                 what others rarely see...
no wonder i gravitated to
reading marquis de sade in my early teens...
but like chuck rhodes
said in billions...
             truth...
            if it's not comfortable,
and if its not a wager...
a shadow compensation...
  if its not the intellectuals'
demise of truth being treated
  as a fluctuation,
  a perpetual change,
   bias one minute,
        critique another,
                         a noumenon,
                                  then... what is it?

oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

i don't even want to begin thinking
that man,
was the pinnacle of all lifeforms
on earth...
   notably in this region of "debate"...
because there's no "debate"...
is there?
     not with the elevated mating
norms of... say...
swans... how you actually can...
find widows and widowers
in the swan populace...

          with man having evolved
from monkey:
  well no surprises...
swans have devolved from
dinosaurs...
   the feathers are the fake...
but like lizards...
  born from an egg...
no?
                 swans understand
monogamy...
           humans?
    not so much...
         well... if you're lucky...

but i'm pretty sure:
oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

am i, bothered?
clue me in...
    revolting *****' song: *****...
could a **** ****
a ****...
         without a strap-on?
n
PEARL SMOKE Oct 2014
When iDont Seek iT
iT Seeks Me
Now That iDont Want iT
iT Finds Ways
Finds Ways To Make iTs Way
To Convince Me
To Say Yes Once Again
But im Strong
iKnow iM Not, But if i Try To believe
Maybe itl bleed through
That i Can Beat iT.
Sobriety
Marigold Jul 2013
I wish you'd never give up on me,
just as much as i wish we could let each other go.
I'm so weak and unsure,
Only certain in the fact that i have always messed things up,
and the assumption that i will always continue to do so.
I only cry for myself or for you,
As if there were no greater tragedy in the world
than your absence and my own saddened heart.
You deserve so much more than me,
so much more,
but although i try,
It seems too hard to let you go and find it.
I hate being the bad guy
but it's gone too far for me to be the goodie again.
Sarita Crandall Feb 2013
I never understood why people call others a "goodie goodie" when they are helping someone out.
I thought people preached, and wished for there to be more "good people" out there in this world.

News flash.

There are "good people" in this world.

They just get teased, mocked and even picked on by jealous people for their actions.
They are seen as "*** kissers" , only doing "something good" to one up someone else.
Seen as self-centered people who only do what they think is best for them.

So the good deeds, the selfless acts, fade away.


Yet they are still called upon, only a few answer.
he big concert in the sky forces meteor over USA


HI EVERYONE I AM SAM KINISON

and i sing wild thing, oh yeah dude let’s party

you make my heart sing, who let’s party dude

if you feel cool enough, you will be made to ****** dry

wild thing, as we are flying in the sky, pretty cool, that’s great, ya ****** see

and sam kinison screams real loud, and it makes your heart

crawl right out of your body, and make ya wanna bleed

wild thing, hey wild thing, i think you will move me, who oh oh oh oh

and then came the great elvis presley singing

you are nothing but a hound dog, your farting all time

you are nothing but a hound dog, farting all the time

you will never catch me a rabbit, cause your no mate of mine

you said it was high class, that is just a lie

you said it was high class, well, that is just a lie

and you’ll goodie every day and night and watch this great meteor with us in it really fly

and now here is robert palmer, how can it be permissible

to compromise my principals, that kind of love is missable, she’s anything but typical

it’s a craze, or a cause, it’s a powerful force, there is nothing wrong surrounding because

does our meteor we are sending to the USA look good to you, because we find it, SIMPLY IRRESISTABLE

And john denver, take me home, country roads, to the place, where we belong

west virginia mountain mama, take me home, country road

there is no heaven, can you understand that, we are up here flying over the USA

And we want you to understand this, that we want you to take me home

country road take me home, to the place i belong, we are travelling over your country obama

saying we have been taken home, by country roads

and now, george harrison has a song, i got my mind set on you

i got my set on you, roy orbison sang, ANYTHING YOU WANT YOU GOT IT

anything you need you got it, anything you need you got it, baby

wild thing, oh yeah oh yeah

we are flying in the meteor yeah, who who who who

you make everything so wonderfully groovy

you big despicable wild thing

and this meteor did a mercy dash to bring elvis presley sam kinison robert palmer john denver

george harrison and roy orbison over this nation to explode with total madness, oh yeah, dudes

KABOOM, IS WHAT IT SOUNDED LIKE IN SPACE OVER USA, BUT IT WAS THIS GREAT CONCERT, WAS REALLY GOING ON

TRUST ME, I AM A COSMIC SLEEPER, IT WAS TUESDAY NIGHT, WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON IN CANBERRA, NEARLY POETRY SLAM

I WAS A BIT QUIETER AT THE POETRY SLAM, BUT I SENT MY LITTLE COOL KID THERE, AND SENT MY OLD MAN TO THE POETRY SLAM

I STILL BLEW THE CROWD AWAY WITH MY AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE POEM, I AM COOL, MAN
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
~~~
She's Dead (Don't Think Twice, It's All Right)

A poem, forty years in the making,
Part II of a trilogy

~~~

she's dead

my nemesis,
a truly personalized comic book
arch-villain,
all mine to own and bear,
a cost that I comically
and freely chose,
purchased with only,
just the,
larger part of my life

because of a blood letting,
me letting
a lax laziness of fear,
a kind of blood poison,
an emotional self-imposed over-ruling,
"just cry and bear it,
for the sake of
appearance, children,
whatever,"
that was the insane,
disorganized principle,
who made itself
the king of me

an ugly sweater gift to myself
and
ashamedly,
wore its invisible effects
so quiet like,
this self-imposition,
of long standing,
a faithful traveling companion,
quietly unravelling, deconstructing,
this bearer-wearer

I married the wrong woman,

now she's dead

killed by the ovarian cancer
that I nursed her through in the early years
of its misshaped, too late discovery,
with bedside manners impeccable,
even secret whispers,
for who would believe me,
even begging God to give her
twenty years of
my own time

for he was so uselessly beaten down,
and unbearable miserable,
was-would-be gladly rid
of the final semester,
exiting more gracefully
than via other
contemplated and cowardly
methods of terminations

pronounced cured,
she decided a second cure,
like extra points for
a bonus question answered,
was just what the doc ordered

so she cured herself of
me

with a divorcing, stabbing,
emotional killing motion,
so angry, a petulant childlike biting,
relentlessly, revenging,
for all the years that followed,
inflicting, afflicting
me with mine very own
mental cancerous moments

where
I hated
myself
for hating her,
a petulant child who never grew up,
much,
as much as
my censored heart
would permit,
this truth,
to admit

it debased me,
being a raging hater,
yet a hater,
of both
her and myself,
I was,
her best, most successful
victim
of her final
curse

"you're not over her"
all the fools used to say and
then, and even now,
asking pointedly,
why else this time,
one mo' time,
is this small matter
deserving of an ecrive
all its own?

I guess there are glimmers of
secrets in
a life lived in poetry,
(poetry, her unknowing Greek God's gift to me)
in everything,
even in a
confessional,
a special reserve vintage,
for admitting my imperfections

now she's dead,
losing a race to
her curse,
losing a race,
to the most cruelly, patient,
enemy that a human can face,
unwilling self-destruction,
setting one's own
holy temple on fire,
with great irony,
sourced from within,
this tinder
from the very body
she worshipped,
that went finale
crazy ablaze

where ya going with this,
you ask yourself?

a mixed up goodie bag,
of emotional conflicted torment,
brings me here,
to pen and paper

her leaving me
turned out
as the best thing ever,
drawing down my reservoirs of courage,
mined from the deepest arteries
of a damaged heart,
of a recovered addict

a thousand different tunes come to me,
all nurses aides,
to assist me to
stitch myself,
this memory wound
closed

the one that make the most sense,
an old Dylan lamentation,
correct only in exactly every phrase,
yet forced to admit,
I am indeed,
despite it,
for now,
yet,
thinking twice...
~~~

"It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road

I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

I’m walkin’ down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell

But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind

You just kinda wasted my precious time

But don’t think twice, it’s all right"
Jan . 17,  2015 ~

Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
by Bob Dylan


It ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It don’t matter, anyhow
An’ it ain’t no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don’t know by now
When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window and I’ll be gone
You’re the reason I’m trav’lin’ on
Don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
That light I never knowed
An’ it ain’t no use in turnin’ on your light, babe
I’m on the dark side of the road
Still I wish there was somethin’ you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin’ anyway
So don’t think twice, it’s all right

It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
Like you never did before
It ain’t no use in callin’ out my name, gal
I can’t hear you anymore
I’m a-thinkin’ and a-wond’rin’ all the way down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I’m told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

I’m walkin’ down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I’m bound, I can’t tell
But goodbye’s too good a word, gal
So I’ll just say fare thee well
I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don’t mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don’t think twice, it’s all right

Copyright © 1963 by Warner Bros. Inc.; renewed 1991 by Special Rider Music
dan hinton Nov 2011
Let me tell you something
About life as seen on TV
It may appear ideal
But that ain’t the way it should be
The goodie has no end of ammo
The baddie is never in with a shout
But in our world today
It’s always the good guy who loses out
He loses out to the *******
The puff with the SUV.
The girls drop a nice one instantly
For a flutter of profanity.
The ***** always get laid
While the dude’s  left out to dry
And for all that goodness he’s got
He’s alone a lot and why?
It’s a question I asked myself
For years and years to come
To the conclusion that all winners
Are deadbeats, jerks and ****.
The little girl danced
she took the stage
and she danced
She learned all the positions
one by one
The steps and moves
came naturally
she danced
Her heart and soul
on stage
on display
Music drove her
force of vitality
It was ardor
it was desire
she danced
Among her in-crowd
she was sweet but shy
A goodie two shoes
quiet and meek as a mouse
A scholar a
an unflagging student
Whenever she was sad
she danced
Whenever she was happy
She danced
When it was sunny
She danced
When she fell in love
She danced
She flew from
toe to toe
When she had children
She danced
When she had grandchildren
She danced
Across the tapestry
Of life
She danced
When the banshee howled
She danced
I keep company and sit

with the empty shells

and yet the clam pit's full,




perhaps there was a cull on clams.




I claim my free prize,




I see potatoes with

the eyes that don't see me

oh goodie, goodie,

chips for tea.




We're either in it for the money or the fame and altruism's just a name  that rolls off eager tongues

so

I play dominoes with those who play with blank dull faces in spots I'd rather be than having tired old chips for tea and still the eyes cannot see me




it comes again to what we know and what we grow and who plants where and when

a company indeed of men, primitive, Methodist, I've gotten ****** with most of them

in the fields and down the pub by half past ten for half a pint of brutish beer, we are only what there is out here and what we give is not too much or not a touch on what we should.




This rambling day,

ivy I would rather be than that

with eyes but who sees me?

a rose, a rose, she grows

but not so quick as can't be cut.




In Yorkshire they aspire

In Lancashire, perspire,

In Wales they have a choir

I prefer to sweat.




As you might plainly see or

as it seems to me to be

poetry's a conjuring,

something

to clear the system out

akin to Ex-Lax

I have no doubt.
It's Monday and the madness falls quite dimly in this half lit hall.
Valerie Feb 2014
"Four - Breaking Even"
February 4th, 2014
Valerie Viele

I am a creation. I am a maiden. I am a creator. I am a crone.
I am dawn. I am noon. I am evening. I am midnight.
I am a girl. I am a temptress. I am a neither. I am a goddess.
I am a daughter. I am a *****. I am a mother. I am a lineage.
I am a sister. I am a best friend. I am a vague acquaintance. I am a messenger.
I am a child. I am a ******. I am a lover. I am a wife.
I am a princess. I am a beauty queen. I am a damsel in distress. I am a warrior.
I am a daisy. I am a snapdragon. I am a rose bud. I am a lilly.
I am a smile. I am a wink. I am a laugh. I am a snort.
I am a frown. I am a cold shoulder. I am a forgiver. I am a resolver.
I am a question. I am a questioner. I am a question mark. I am a answer.
I am a butterfly kiss. I am a bumble bee sting. I am a cicada hiss. I am a caterpillar tickle.
I am a cupcake. I am a box of chocolates. I am a glass of wine. I am a bowl of oatmeal.
I am a doll. I am a model. I am a celebrity. I am a infamous figure.
I am a game master. I am a rule-breaker.  I am a tyrant. I am a player.
I am a brat. I am a train-wreck. I am a witty retort. I am a knowing silence.
I am a ballerina. I am a dancer. I am a performer. I am a choregrapher.
I am a goodie two shoes. I am straight "A." I am a graduate. I am a mentor.
I am a tomboy. I am a mess. I am a fresh-pressed suit. I am a mumu.
I am a sneer. I am a red pair of lips. I am a pout. I am a broad grin.
I am a skinned knee. I am a bruised ego. I am a battered soul. I am a healed heart.
I am a piece of candy.  I am a piece of work. I am a master piece. I am a peace of mind.
I am a bubble gum "POP!" I am a whip-smart "CRACK!" I am a below the belt "BLOW!" I am a humble "WHISTLE!"
I am a kick. I am a slap. I am a hit and run. I am a sly trip.
I am a hug. I am a kiss. I am a ****. I am a cuddle.
I am a favorite. I am a nobody. I am a somebody. I am a everybody.
I am a challenge. I am a one-sided opinion. I am a worthy debate.  I am a open mind.
I am a bicycle. I am a fast car. I am a train. I am a stroll.
I am a pony tail. I am a bleach blonde. I am a practical bob. I am a braid.
I am a bracelet. I am a gold ring. I am a necklace. I am a bead.
I am a broken bone. I am a victim. I am a rescuer. I am a nurse.
I am a singer. I am a song. I am a composer. I am a listener.
I am a leader.  I am a runaway. I am a follower. I am a team.
I am a bubble bath.  I am a long shower. I am a quick rinse. I am a ocean dip.
I am a pond. I am a frozen lake. I am a waterfall. I am a river.
I am a castle. I am a tall tower. I am a skyscraper. I am a bridge.
I am a banshee. I am a blood-curdling scream. I am a yelp. I am a squeak.
I am a pretender. I am a liar. I am a deceiver. I am a revealer.
I am a sob. I am a woe-is-me. I am a wallow. I am a single tear.
I am a why? I am a why not? I am a no. I am a yes.
I am a sleep over. I am a house party. I am a coffee break. I am a tea time.
I am a today. I am a now. I am a tomorrow. I am a yesterday.


SSK<3
This poem can be read traditionally, right to left, top to bottom.
Or you can read it top to bottom, by each column separated by a period.  There are four columns.
Example:  I am a creation. I am dawn. I am a girl.
OR
I am a maiden. I am noon. I am a temptress. I am a *****.

You get it. :)
Samantha Creek Dec 2013
The thought of you kissing her 
Is something that stitches up 
The lining of my stomach 
So the butterflies 
Will suffocate.

Those butterflies turn to ashes 
As I force myself to
Swallow your words
Coated with gasoline
Because you and I both know
That it meets well with the
Fire inside my heart
That burns more and more
To the thought of you...
So lucky me because 
That thought is measured
By intervals of infinity.

My stomach will forever
Be barren from those 
Goodie butterflies
Because you killed them.
Axiana May 2013
Paper notes are nothing without the air that fuels their journey
From hand to hand, money to palm, no, I want that inbetween
That fair exchange, that feel good feeling.
I have faith in that ease.
But you are blind to what I see
You believe it's brought everything, this paper wrapped in thorns.
Independence, equality and within us, no judgement or scorn
I laugh even though it hurts from the lungs you've torn
Your air isn't fit to breathe anymore
From firestarters to materials, from nowhere at all to experiences
The answer lies not within the devious
So I wait
A precarious balance to one day think you can pay off fate

You hold it tight, until the moment comes.
Through snow, through sleet, sunshine and rain.
You'll have that goodie today.
And nothing can stop you but a lack of change.
When life and death is trivial, you can hear the quarters coming
You're full to the brim with it
But it's nothing.
An overflow of twinkling coins and shiny bills
It's the journey, the reward, that brings those thrills.

I want to remove the middle man, the mad man, the money mind-set banned
And instantly connect those two generous hands
Together we'll make it happen, let's start with a global call
Inexpensive and cheap, abundance and freedom is solved
Monsanto the monster hiding beneath our countries bed
The internet our new best friend
It is our turn now, to bring this to an end
Poverty and addiction is a just a bad dream, wake up!
It's never too late to have had enough
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
you know how you can tell that women want
shorter  ****** encounters than men?
prostitutes.
   you know what they do...
they apply the secondary "*******",
to tighten the grib on
the penetrating object... i.e. they squeeze you
   invoking lamda
   the anti-chruchill Λ (lambda)...
huh?           don't ******* huh me...
          the index and middle
finger squeezes you...
   works magic when you've
be circumcised... but when you haven't,
and you **** while pulling
your ******* back exposing
the spartan "skin-head"?
         the c-ring is near your
head, rather than at
the base...
   so you're basically wearing
a bow-tie of flesh...
   handy jerking off,
      with the fleshy burqa...
and during *******,
imitating the monotheistic
aesthetic...
        two protruding veins,
you'd think they'd be
bursting at this point...
  even a ukranian *******
complained:
  when are you going to finish!
seems almost sad
   that women prefer quick
*** rather than athletic ***...
but the older the *******,
the more she's prone
to invent a second *****...
   her index & *******...
squeezing your phallus toward
a premature *******...
     kinda hard
   when you pull your *******
back and choke your member...
at the neck, rather than some
fetish at the base...
           sometimes you can go
for an hour and not *******...
and the ******* is like:
huh?! completely neutralised...
bewildered to say the least...
       i have no moral suggestion
at this point...
   i'm into catching moths with my
bare hands...
               i'm just trying to think
what sort of face i'd pull
when talking with someone
who hasn't
appropriated the jest of
a *******'s worth...
         there's still the minding
of the second-layer of genitals...
   it's almost ****, had i tried,
but i haven't, but it must feel just
the same...
        penetrating a vegan-jain-n'ah...
with a ******* trying to
speed things up    Λ
                       index    middle
         fingers, working their "magic"...
pretty pretty p'ooh,
                     i'm choking my **** by
pulling my ******* back...
i'm imitating circumcision...
           you're goon'ah 'av'
                                      to try 'arder!
         why do brothels always
have the perfume of bourbon
infusing them to solidifying
     a memory, unlike anything other
than blooming flowers
  in the evening, of spring?
           it's the anti-thesis of
b &  b (bed & breakfast) -
                    brothels & bourbon...
with all that ****,
america is softcore in terms
of ***... you celebrate strip-clubs,
but you don't celebrate brothels...
  you know what a strip-club looks
like in greece?
   a stripper places a green plastic
tag next to your drink...
   it's the green "light" to go ahead,
and head for a private audience...
            european strippers are like:
who the **** bothers with so much
tease but no action, if not
mid-western goodie-good-shoe girls
equivalent to those
with men having a fetish for dorothy?
that's borderline ****** prone dynamics...
i love recycling, i actually
love taking out the trash...
    only yesterday i was squashing
6 maggots in a napkin...
                   a woman that only
likes to tease, or wears the burqa
of a strip-tease?
             listen... i'd rather **** 6 maggots
while taking out the trash,
   wishing i could have impaled them
on a fishing hook, and caught myself
some dinner...
                   saying that,
america seems backwards...
  it's all tease... but no action...
                    get mauled by a ******,
   **** the gaping and gasping and
   pervert insinuating: look but don't touch...
this isn't a ******* art gallery,
   this isn't a church, or a temple...
            i have ten eyes at my finger-tips,
i'd love to use the eye down south
rather than feel infuriated by the two
in my cranium...
                           with all that ****,
it's almost asking for an al capone in terms
of selling fleshy cushions and duvets...
   to me america will always be the
first to have the nuclear weapon,
be always the second to send
a man into space
(slavs chose a dog
   germans chose a monkey,
       tells you a lot
about the collective psi;
   i'd have sent a baby elephant)...
    the first & only idiots to ban
   alcohol...
      and yes, i agree, it's great,
but whatever music and film
   they produce,
i can't have a high opinion
of them...
   i know i should...
   but if i was living in that tornado-ridden
mass of land,
         i'd be in the middle...
in the "boring" places...
                         or at least that's
how i imagine myself living...
         away from the schizoid
export of twins americana
                      n.y.              vs.               l.a.;
i met a mongolian in amsterdam
once...
           i was looking into
the void-eyes of history...
                 i imagine looking into
the eyes of a native of the continent
            to be a likewise telling of: wow!
saying that, a welcome revision -
the more you shame brothels,
and glorify strip-clubs?
   the more **** you're going to produce...
i have absolutely no idea
as to why america is founded upon
strip-clubs... more teasing than actual
muddy waters of juice...
                  the american notion of
strip-clubs before brothels is
very much like the act of prohibition
in my eyes...
                           i hope, hard as ****,
to never visit that puritan continent,
  when a ****** rebellion is always protruding
around every corner...
  where a ****** rebellion,
           can never be a ****** liberation.
Wuji Jan 2013
Please dear stranger help me out.
I will ****, steal, lie, and beg.
Please dear stranger I have no doubt,
Cut off my ******* leg.

I can't walk away from the pain,
That was manifested inside of me.  
Only drugs and knifes to stab and drain,
Will help me be at peace.

Locked inside my favorite room,
Without the ability to do much.
I'm just sitting here hating you,
And that crap I had for lunch.

O goodie it's pill time,
Better limp my way on up.
My wound is crying slime,
I think it's about to erupt.

Spews blood makes it rain,
Can't feel my leg,
But I know it's in pain.
Please please cut it off I beg.

Cut off my ******* leg.
Pleaseeeeeeeeee it hurts.
Anais Vionet Dec 2021
I’m spending the Christmas holiday with Lisa and her family in NYC.

My parents are finishing 2021 in Africa, with “Doctors Without Borders.” “Step” (my step father) is a heart surgeon and my mom is an anesthesiologist, so they’re a traveling, self contained, double-dutch, operating theater. Yep, now that they’ve shuffled-off the dead weight of their children - they can finally have some FUN.

Here, in NYC we’re back in restrictive spaces as we face-down Omicron this holiday - but I still feel free. Our course work’s been dumb, but now we’ve escaped the strangling, slavery of tedious days - forget hours of reading, fact-sheets, writing essays, and solving chemistry equations - we’ve got 25 days of Christmas vacation!

Lisa’s having a sleepover tonight, friends Will and Karen are coming up (Lisa lives on the 50th floor, they live on the 46th) and we have every distraction known to man.

Tonight was supposed to be the building (220) Christmas party - a formal wear Christmas ball - with a live orchestra - but now (thanks Omicron) it’s an elevator party - we’ll go up to the 70th floor, pick up goodie bags and dinners then return yo-yo like, to Lisa’s.

We can escape our interior habitat to a large balcony where it’s windy and 34 degrees. The sky is a clear black, like an inverted cup of coffee and the stars look French. The city lights dazzle like a billion stars surrounding the black hole of Central Park.

Lisa’s dad is explaining to Karen (10), in some detail, how his shiny,  deluxe, outdoor barbeque - with it’s lid open like a radar dish, can detect reindeer and send updates to his phone in real-time - but Karen looks skeptical.

I hope you all have a wonderful, safe, Christmas and that the reindeer find you wherever you are.
Merry Christmas!
2 naughty teenagers captured in the psych ward


all people who do crimes are mental, at least that is what ron thought as

he watched the news and saw 2 teenagers push a train seat onto the traffic

under the bridge and ron thought that he would like to place them on medication

so they can be punished for what they did, so when ron woke up, ron went to the

cafe to say his piece about the teenagers who pushed the seat out the window,

and after he left, he felt better but it soon went away as he arrived at the HDU and

the group of teenagers were on their way to his HDU, and ron said, yeah they need

medication but they will be a hard case, because they probably believe what they were doing

was the right thing to do, but the nurses said, no they are on their way here and we are going

to give them all the help they need and ron said, we will try to give those trouble makers the

help they need, because the medication won’t work if they don’t want it, and believe me it needs

to work, they must learn what they did was wrong.   ron went out to give the morning medications

and the teenagers entered the HDU as ron was finished and ron said i am going to talk with these yahoos

so can you bring this back, and when ron approached them he said, ok, you guys think you did the right thing

by pushing that seat outside the train door onto incoming traffic, and john who was the ring leader said yeah

it was what this city needs, and then ken who videoed it said, that was the most fun he ever had and ron said

well, if that was the most fun you had, you area very sick individual and we need to have a chat on why you

think that it is cool to do that, john said, my dad doesn’t care for me and he loves the railways, perhaps he loves

the railways more than me, so i wanted to spoil his precious railways and ron said, i am sure your father loves you

but it’s hard to love you when you do a stupid thing like this, you could’ve caused an accident and killed many people

and john said, who cares, and ron said, yeah you are sick if you think taking out your aggressions on those poor drivers

and ken said, you haven’t met his father, all he cares about is his trips on the railways than him, he once yelled at john

for accidentally spilling the milk and i was there to see it, but ron said but is what you did hurting your father, well maybe but

you could’ve killed many people who were driving and john said ******* fucken ****, you are supposed to make me better

but instead you point out that i was in the wrong, and then john said, you know nothing about us, we are not mental, we are real

men dealing with stupid parents and ron said, ok i can’t keep you on the medication but while yopu guys are here you are taking

medication and ken said, cool, we are finally taking drugs, and then ken said how about you guys give me ****** or mariguana, that

will make us good little angels and ron said nice try, i will place you on seroquel, which really will open your brain and make me understand

why you kids would do such a horrible crime, and then ron asked john, have you seen the macauley culkin flick, the good son, well you

yahoos are just like him, maybe worst because it’s the real world and john said, are we just, well just for that we won’t take your ******

medication, and we will make it harder for you are your nurses as well as any other patient who gets in our way and we will tip the water over you

when you bring out our medications, because what we did was fun, and we ain’t mental, there is nothing wrong with us and ron said, well guys, if

you don’t take the medication, you won’t get better and be released from here, and ken said, we will escape from here, you see we will grab the

keys from a nurse or yourself, and then pick up a sharp object, and you screws will never see us cool dudes again, and ron said, do you guys really

think this was cool, you could’ve killed somebody and ron went away and told the nurses, to have a security guard with them when you go into the HDU

and keep no sharp objects in their way because these yahoos need to understand what they did.     john and ken went to watch TV  and charlie chaplin was

watching cheers and ken said i want to watch ben 10 and charlie said, no, cheers is better and ken said, listen you fucken ******, get out of here so we can watch

ben 10 and charlie said ******* you fucken yahoos, i was here first and john walked over to him and picked him up and said, hey ******, are you going to move

or are we going to kick you out you old fogie life loving ****** and ron came out with a security guard saying, you guys aren’t the boss here and ron brought

ken and john to their rooms and locked them in saying, you don’t get to watch your show boo hoo and john and ken yelled out help help kidnap kidnap

help help kidnap kidnap but ron took no notice of them and went back to get the medications, for everyone even for john and ken despite them not wanting it

but both john and ken took the medication but declared they ain’t mental but they want to be free, and once we get free, we will stop taking the medication

because they ain’t crazy, they just wanted to get out of the ***** loving HDU and ken said to ron, don’t ever talk to us ok, we ain’t talking to no screws, you might

be helping the other patients but you can’t help us, so we will make you happy to take your happy drug, and be goodie two shoe so we can be free and ron

gave them the medication and went to his office and clocked off and bought pizza and retired to the couch while john and ken practiced being good despite wanting

to call charlie chaplin and patty roe retards but they bit their tongue, john and ken aren’t unhappy for what they did, they still thought it was cool but to be free to

do it again was what they were thinking of and that was what ron was worried about and that messed with ron’s brain making him say i am here to help but john and ken

were just bad people and can’t be cured, ron thought maybe jail might be better for them, oh well we have to give them a chance, they are only young
She pushed her cart so frankly,
Eyes straight forward -
Never sidecast,

Nor down to the tray
Showing a splendid array
Of treats
I knew
Were mine.

But then that woman
Went blinking mad!
Racin' her goodie cart
Much too fast,

Rudely ahead,
At things I
Yet
Had said -
Her gown
Screaming

A ****** red.

--

Hair yanked
My eyes
Down -
The drone had stolen my gown!

Rattling wheels
Still forging ahead -

She had given me her
Flute and her
Tongue-tied suit,

(The suit that I knew
Gave them
Control over you),

Her wolf eyes
Wide,
And dead.

My filed down nails
Grew into claws,
Clenching my empty cup,

"I did not drink it!"
"I will not drink it!"

Then the cup was filled back up.

That woman stood still
In front of me -
Hands tied down to her sides,

As she silently mouthed her
Starch-white song,

"There's nowhere
You can hide."

I hurled my cup
With that bitter water
At her blaringly
Condemning
Face,

"I will not eat
Your grinning sweets!
You won't keep me
In this place!"

--

Nuts and bolts
Flying and Floating -
Stinging a rip
In time,

Punctuation
Chasing my words,
In haste -

But,
No trace of her
Could I find.

--

Too much parepin in my water.
Clue 3/3 for "Nails Hairier than Hair."
© 2011 Elephants & Coyotes
Tommy Johnson Jul 2014
We got a god thing going here
We got gun runners and *** runners
Nice and furtive
I will not go to the penitentiary
I'll get a face lift if I have to

She knows too much
Give her a party favor
That represents our colonial ways
Gingivitis
It's a hoot
Halitosis

Pass the ammunition
No flash photography
Bump some coke
Before the search and seizure
Of puzzled looks

Some can't deal with this safari maze
Mutter a prayer for human error
It's first come first served
A double helix goodie-bag
Stomp the home schooled henchmen
Mace them and throw the grenade
It's too close for comfort

And that's the gist of it
jeffrey robin Apr 2013
So shameless!
Writing  flippant verse
About severed body parts
And unimaginable suffering!
--
What an *** I am !
--
No
Respect!
--
For the victims!
For their families!
----
--
But wait
--
If you can't imagine the unimaginable suffering
You can't feel it!
And
Believe me
SOMEONE IS LAUGHING!
--
I think the disrespect is in the ACT OF SLAUGHTER

Not the reminder
---

The BOMB
(The ONE bomb)

Went off a long long time ago!
--

When we stopped caring for one another
when we stopped truly loving one another

When we ARMED OURSELVES
with
CALLOUSNESS
with
CYNICISM
with
GREEDINESS DISQUISED WITH WORDS SUCH AS PROSPERITY!
(And , of course
with
GUNS!)
--
So
--
OLE MC AMERICA HAD A BLAST!
(Eyi  eyi oh)
AN OLDIE BUT GOODIE FROM THE PAST!
(Eyi eyi oh)

Here a corpse there a corpse
And a neighborhood full of body parts!

(OR IS THIS JUST AN ANALOGY OF OUR SCHOOLS
AND THE WAY WE TREAT THE WORLD'S CHILDREN?)

OLE MC AMERICA AND ITS FARCE
(Eyi eyi oh)
------
One gigantic
WAKE UP CALL!

If you don't wake up?

THE JOKE'S ON YOU

DONT BLAME ME
Kyle Sep 2014
The price of life is balance
Tis’ not too much to pay
I am the Grim Reaper
A tax collector, so to say
Like petals on the flower
And the ugly toad under
I take.
To the state before Birth through Decay
When thou time is up, there is no delay
Let’s see who is next
Little Chloe, on the hospital bed
Diagnosed with a rare condition
Splendid.
Through the pale walls I enter, and Chloe was awake

‘Who are you, mister?’ said Chloe

‘How in the blazes do you see me! Pardon me, young lady, I am the doctor’

‘Oh hello! I’ve never seen one in black before. What are you holding?’ said the annoying child.

‘It is a scyt…pair of scissors’ I lied

‘Goodie, come make origami with me!’

‘Origami-shinigami, sheesh!’ I groaned

It is never easy to take the life of The Innocent
Surely one who could stare Death in the eye
Is more grim than I could ever be
SøułSurvivør Oct 2014
~~~<@>~~~


could you say
I . LOVE . YOU
to someone who
you don't know

from adam?

Not the paltry
i ♡ u
that comes
on a

T SHIRT


that some
false christians
say
"i love you with the
love of the lord"


Lord has an
UPPER CASE

you might as well
love
a

STONE

stones are more
malleable

at least they
can be
erroded
by the
water
of

£♡¥€

could
you
walk
up
to
a
perfect
STRANGER­
and say
~3~
words
?

even a
FRI€ND
might think
you need to
get
away
for
a
while


why do the
big three words
go with the
big four letters

YOU KNOW THE ONES
I MEAN

then there's the
big three letter

~~~ $ . € . X ~~~

could you look
a STRANGER in
the eyes
and say
I . LOVE . YOU
whilst
you're
en flagrente delicto
~ ??? ~

we
abhor
the
*****

hmmm?

but the
DEBUTANTE
who sleeps with
a different guy
every night
but says she's

IN LOVE

with each one
is
off
the
HOOK?

P L E A S E

i could go farther
than this

the wife who does
not sleep with her
husband without
a goodie

or the girl who
sleeps with the guy
after two dates
MOVIES & RESTAURANTS
because he's
CUTE

i have an interesting
proposal

go up to a
complete stranger
and say

I . LOVE . YOU*

you wont.
you'd be fitted for

A . STRAIGHT . JACKET


(c) soulsurvivor
I talk about the girls
But the guys are

JUST AS BAD

This poem was suggested
By jeffrey robin

Thank YOU jeffrey

YOU MADE ME THINK
Lilyy Feb 2014
You said you'd like to become a metaphor
but I had already known what you were.
You were a sturdy hearted hero,
a perfectionist,
an obsessive goodie-two-shoes,
who broke my heart
when you thought you weren't good enough.

You're words were well spoken and intended.
You seemed to have the world with your grasps.
You made me think I was imperfect,
thinking I was okay.
But what could I say that wouldn't
break you're soul more,
I would never know and I'm sorry.

I've written letters and notes encrypted in code,
the code I set the key for after spending days
trying to learn and seem intelligent.
I wrote down a full spiral set of notes
on messages
and keys and how to get places I wasn't meant to be.
I think I saw
I wasn't meant to be that close to you.

You are a metaphor.
You are a metaphor.
That is a metaphor.

Are you happy to be what you wanted to be?
this isn't meant to be romantic in case you are feeling that vibe
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
****, no better hard-on apart from listening to some bruce springsteen and reading something from the book of malachi...

  my name will be great among the nations, from where the sun rises to where it sets: i.e. in english...

         good on y'ah pastor...

                 i admit, oh lord,
distinguishing between the righteous and
the religious folk...
hard to tell the tale of either,
most excruciating is when,
the two congregate...

     malachi (4:6)
he will turn the hearts of the parents to their children,
and the hearts of the children to their parents;
or else i will come and strike the land
   with total destruction.

you know my offering unto my father
this father's days?
the usual...
taking out the *******,
cooking some food,
          watering the flowers
in the garden...
  it wasn't a carboard cut-out
******* of the west...
oh, i'm well versed in bible jargon...

        i'm half a man? i'm not insulted...
because i didn't grow up to be a man
and have children?
  talk about a miracle being
a walking abortion!
      isn't kierkegaard or nietzsche
or kant the hälftemann?
"half" the man?
   so much for the "Übermensch",
more like: parodiemensch these days...
send the teens to the cinema
while the parents stay at home,
when, the inverse was corrected
and the parents went to the cinema
and when kid sitters were required...
like... shirley maclaine: hot as ****...
and the whole gig of trampolines...
or whatever you called them in the 1960s...
elevator operators... ****...
that's what you called them...

****... better start telling the pro-life
movement that,
whenever i ******* into a tissue
i get a sense of being the next
pol ***...
        i guess the ***** was always
dead in me,
   and "magically" became
                             alive in a woman...
well: here's to another genocide...
oh sure...
    having started aged 8,
     castration wouldn't be a problem...
the male sensation of an ******
isn't related to ******* anything as such...
you can experience an ******
as an 8 year old...
   but there's no ***** to be *******...
still...
        prostitutes are pro-life,
but they don't gamble / bribe the argument...
that was the worst time in my life...
   being bribed: the "oops" moment...
there was about as much "oops" in
that moment, as there was kama sutra
in oppenheimer's vedic citation.
or is that somehow related to shooting
out hollow eggs all the time,
              it was one thing to call
me irresponsible,
another: no legal contract,
                "man-up"...
                           ­ that's probably the only
reason i ever went to a *******...
had to check the ground...
  fiddle my way through
some sort of justification
    in order to not be shouted down
by some day-time agony aunt jerry
springer host on t.v.,
            and to be honest?
   once that brothel transaction went through?
and i saw with clear eyes,
what an authentic transaction looks like?
all that pandering, dates,
   clothes shopping...
           n'ah...
             give me a cube:
   i'll put it through the square hole...
give me an sphere,
              i'll put it through the circle hole.

my present for father's day?
my daddy-oh received a letter from
the p.m. of england,
mr. cameron, how he was the goodie-goodie
good-shoe tight left foot bloat
when paying taxes...
    paid them...
                  a regular at the tax olympics...
me? i don't pay taxes,
i don't earn enough...
i have a student loan...
almost halfway through,
once i reach 30+ years it will be written
off...
              i'd pay... if i landed
a chemistry job... since working in
a supermarket is all i'm ever going to get?
**** 'em...
              i'll wait... then i'll take the
dutch youth route of asking for
euthanasia... well... it's not like i will
jive to have a life worth of living
for... just... strangers...

see, i have found release...
   i'm so unterribly unjealous of my father...
he can have all the praises...
he's also an only-child,
abandoned by his mother and father,
raised by his grandparents...
   i'm half a man by not risking
to establish a family, a legacy,
by marrying?
you know... funny that...
i'd rather take my chances
with a grizzly bear than a woman...
at least me and a grizzly is
a 1-on-1 interaction...
no third party bullshitters in-between...
no bureaucratic stalemates,
no bureaucratic no-man's land...
no bureaucratic frustration...
                  me, grizzly:
either i skin the ******,
or? i get mauled... easy-peasy-japanese!
i like that absolute "conundrum"...

oh i still live with my parents...
england, housing shortage...
        this is probably the right time to "love"
your parents...
or at least mind them,
i don't mind them, i do most of the household
chores, then i drink at night...
they don't mind me drinking:
unless... unless i don't shower for more than
2 days... then i start to stink of a brewery...
well... either this or...
the forest floor, or homeless in loon'don...
not much choice... certainly no environment
for a girlfriend...
and, girlfriend, mind you...

    i like listening to all these vollmensch:
the full men...
   so wise, so wise,
with their wife and children,
always with the ideal prescription
for existence!
               taken risk, bounty,
result! boo y'ah!
              yes, when you already have
what you're prescribing others to take...
mind you...
again, to reiterate...
       kant was a bachelor...
                   i like that he completed his
adventure into "manhood" as less
an atheist: in need of people to be listened to
akin to chrissy hitchens...
   and more a solipsist...
              i guess i'm the child
of his thinking...
  so much for ******* i guess...
ugh... the anglophile world and its
fanaticism surrounding darwinism
and the big bang (bang, bang in a vacuum?)...
genes and i.q.,
what dry intellectual debates...
proper suited to a butcher's shop than
a cafe, and... god forbid a brothel!
give me a slab of raw beef meat
and an english tongue and i'll
cut you the same slab of something
worth satiating the hungry palette.

   h'america is still christ crazed,
sitting down congregation in easy armchairs...
armored to the **** with futility after futility
to mar the existence of the atom bomb:
more bullets, more guns, more money...
nuclear is the antithesis of warfare...
one drop, the end... who needs a war akin
to that?

                    i stopped looking toward h'america
a long time ago...
                   england is choking me as it is...
i'm looking toward germany come early 20th century
thought... ****... maybe i should be looking
toward to Moldova, anything but this,
any form of escapism will help...
   Greenland, the Faroe Islands...
          
i'll go as far as to say:
i'd quit drinking...
           if i was contracted a decent ****
from Tehran.
Binary Code Mar 2015
This poem will knock your socks if


Did you read my others?!
Theory just really up tightly goodie believe myself yo

This one I so out English what a thing to right sorting other about?

Poem boll



Yes, no',

I'm a clam bam jd. You eater caker



What is weird title odd you says hha Han
Add boy . You watche r r
tom krutilla Mar 2013
write me your last love song as i gaze into your eyes
let the melody be slow and flowing, as you sing to me goodbye
the way you hold me, your touch are like notes in a desending scale
and i know ther will be no coda.
perhaps you are bored of this oldie but goodie
for the rhythm of life is always changing
and the need to keep the beat helps you stay young
but just remember if you ever see me again
that i am a classic.
No Aug 2014
It was summer and you weren't smoking anymore. You still bit your nails when in stress but at least that doesn't **** you.
My mom said she didn't like you because you smoked and you played in a band, she said you'd break my heart.
I've always been a goodie-two-shoes and I told you I didn't want to disappoint her, and then you asked me if I wasn't disappointing myself.
I told you I couldn't see you because a lighter was always in your pocket and your sweaters always smelled like smoke and your palms were callused and your voicewas awfully musical.
You said you'd give up on anything for me but I told you that if I let you, then I'd be really disappointed in myself, before I left.
I've never cried as much as that night, and I didn't see you for months and then I realized my mother was right, you did break my heart, but only because I made you drop it.
Now its too late for anything and I guess I'll never know how your mouth tastes without the tobacco lingering.
????
Aztec Warrior Oct 2015
Cynicism*

Urban(e) smells
suffocate our human(e)-ness
struggling to remember forests,
but still sparing with ghosts.
^^^
We use to howl and rage,
even dance at the Moon -
cursing its phases and
orangeness.
Now we only nod,
that American ****** nod
as it influences our moods;
rationalizing our ability to ****
everyone, everything
different than us;
allowing us to watch indifferently
at Gaza ethnic cleansing
as phosphorous explosions
replace both sun and moon.
It’s like watching small birds
hung by their necks
swinging
like ornaments
from brown, barren trees,
thinking: “Aaah, this must be
post - modern art.
See how their eyes bulge
and their wings droop just so
in a compelling, nihilistic sway.
Haven’‘t I seen something like this before?”
Yes, there has always been
‘strange fruit’ dangling from
the grand vistas
of the American scream.
^^^
But today,
they say  -
“We can be proud to be Americans again.”
Oh goodie!
But where is humanity in this?
And will humanity ever see the forest again?
Or dance and howl at the Moon?

Aztec Warrior
This was written after the last election and all the hype. Since we are once again witnessing yet another "democratic facade" I thought it appropriate to share...
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
i abhor reading into internet culture,
yes, nuance,
but when i have a chance
to read past it,
and subsequently read into it...
well... internet "culture":
more like:
the language expressed when using
the internet...
me talking to a blank slate
of paper...
   a bit like finding
a £20 banknote on the street?
you serious?
you know how rare that is?!
but at least some sort of cordiality,
a missing nuance
parameter,
i'm tired of nuances
in conversation,
it's enough that i have
to deal with metaphor,
cipher and alternative means
of making language hyperbolic...
but in direct conversation?
i'm not hyper-inflating
my emotions...
i, just... don't feel like
making my lexicon overtly
nuanced..
with the sheep-ish take on
hieroglyphs
with emoticons...
or n. american excesses of
acronyms...
what was once known
as a "platonic love"...
should be from therein be
known as
a "socratic conversation"...
either the dire hollow
of the death of god,
or the death of dialectics...
maybe i'm just too dumb
to solidify my reception
of nuance...
but an overt expression
of emotion,
when coupled to:
but what reply can i make,
of this?
silence is just perfect...
  do you think,
any of the 20th or 19th century
novelists would
receive mail from readers
so quickly?!
or any, at all?
maybe i really can't read
nuance...
authentic ridicule i can stomach,
when i attack someone...
but indirectly?
so... i should have my
electricity supply, cut?
back to paper mail?
            i need,
something specific to be cornered on...
i can't deal with hieroglyphic
abstractions of the emoticon...
wink wink smiley face
as in, what?!
i'm in on some ******* joke?!
or should i be?
          i must be old,
it would seem...
i can't read into the language
of the younger populace...
thank god for that...
      but sometimes the obvious is
staring you in the face...

as a psychology abstract,
a conversation that begins with:

dude I love your **** but I can only
read the shorter stuff because of the drugs

and becomes, "reiterated"
with

Mateus are you high?
          if not, get there dude. ;-).
be real squared.

i gave the ****** a journalistic
opinion about a real threat!
the SPICE epidemic is real
in England... the zombie drug is...
REAL!

how the **** can i be high if
i already explained that i was...
drunk?! the ****?!

and what, the ****, is this:  ;-)?
the **** is that?!
and squared... squared...
didn't the Beat poets use
that phrase?
you know, like in the 1950s
and the 1960s for the Normans
who didn't smoke ****?

oh **** the portrait...
i'm profiling this ****...
he / she are into drugs...
non-specific drugs...
but, somehow...
unable to read the long pieces...
yet...
very... "clairvoyant"
when it comes to:
specifically reading,
some odd specifically written
piece...

drug addicts prefer the collective
mesh... they don't hone
in on specifics...

i don't like the question either...
i am, DRUNK...
see how demeaning
the iteration becomes?
how can, a drug "addict"...
find a moral superiority
over a drunk,
supposing the drunk,
to also be, "high"?

- and that word, dude...
am i, your ******* friend or something?!
dude the **** what?!

be real squared...
that pushed the button...
oh that **** really did...

squared as in what?
your linear?
or i am squared to your linear,
or, rather, cubic?

how else you gonna foul mouth
the real crazies?
a simple rubric... with a whip!
the logistics of the language
doesn't match up!
but then the saintly sanity sanctuary Simon
goodie-two-shoes
are pandering to
the pronoun-revisionist brigade...

but sure, sure...
pander to the crazies...
the crazies you're actually worried
about...
  ARE, NOT, TAKING, ANY,
DRUGS... OTHER, THAN, THE, DRUG...
KNOWN, AS, YOUR,
NAIVETY...
oh... sure as **** they're
on this "drug"...
  how else would they begin
to trick you into being authentic
drug addicts... like this ******
i just experienced?
there are nuances in language...
but in direct conversation?
the comment section isn't
supposed to be
a poetic canvas!
you express whatever requires
a conversation,
a freeing sensation,
from a lack of a poetic collage...
i.e. red is red...
   blue is blue...
a square is a square...
  but come the poetic canvas...
well...
        language is everything
it's not supposed to be,
i.e.: the directly expressed,
"motivational"...
     pure noun: etymological...
what is language outside
of poetry, if not the pure verb,
instruction?
like what is red, amber, green,
outside of painting?
not merely traffic signalization?

— The End —