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Shivam Apr 2014
Humming gumming
******* drinking;
her lambent face
which blink in melody.
I try to forget her but lost in her memory when she is not with me.
NJ McGourty Dec 2012
I
In a land of myths, from the jaded isle,
Great stories are told of the brave and the guile.
But no legend of druids, of hags or ghouls,
Can compare to that of our own Fionn McCool.
In the province of Ulster, before armalite,
There lived a race of warriors who knew how to fight.
And who was their leader? The fiercest of the feared?
Of course it was Fionn! With his glorious ginger beard.
He had arms like a gorilla, at an impressive 8 feet,
And lived on a diet of very rare meat.
He drank only water he squeezed from stone,
And discovered 47 uses for human bone.
It was his giant strength that brought McCool his fame,
In kingdoms far and wide people knew his name.
But what was less renowned was his mental might.
Aul Fionn had towering intellect and wit to match his height.

II
When news of Fionn's exploits reached a pub in Aberdeen,
A mammoth figure emerged from the pungent, men’s latrine.
The patrons gave a shudder as it stooped through the door,
“O...One more Ben?” stuttered the barman as his **** reached the floor.
The giant gave a shout and wretched a toilet door aloft,
“Who scrieved this scaffy drawin, sayin that I’m soft?”
Silence gripped the bar as the men examined with horror,
A crude etching of Fionn McCool thrashing Benandonner.
The men remained mute, as the giant turned carmine,
“You think this Fionn boyo’s tough, I’ll carve out his spine!”
And so the giant departed, making his way west,
But not before he slaughtered the group and downed the drinks they left.

III
A roaring voice came through the mist and reached our own Fionn’s ear,
But when he reached the Antrim coast, he near ****** himself with fear
Seeing Ben on Scotland’s edge, throwing boulders to the sea,
“I’ll turn yer lungs to bagpipes! Ye feeble wee beastie!”
Fionn trembled before the monster, twice as big as he,
With a chest as wide as a trawler and biceps thick as trees.
Now Fionn was not a coward but nor was he a fool,
As the rocks formed a bridge he saw ‘the late Fionn McCool.’
And so he sparked a plan to deceive the creature,
A plot in which his wisdom and his wife would feature.
Running to his house he rushed to build a crib,
And dressed as an infant to complete the fib.

IV
With the last stone in place, Ben crossed the sea,
With ‘murrrdur’ in his heart, his eyes mad with hateful glee.
He crouched to enter the house after kicking through the door,
Grabbing Oonagh in his hand, “Now where’s yer husband *****?!”
Fionn’s wife was calm as he held her off the ground,
But wretched as she smelt the breath of a gum-diseased hound.
“He’ll return soon,” she said as the shoes fell off her feet.
“but put me down and while you wait I’ll fix you something to eat”
While Oonagh was in the kitchen, Big Ben released a smirk,
“From the size of his wife, killing McCool won’t be much work.”
Oonagh lead the deception, returning with some cake.
But had placed rocks in the batter, before she’d begun to bake.
Benadonner was surprised, when he took his first bite,
He reached into his mouth and removed a pearly white.
Not wanting to seem weak, by refusing a McCool snack,
The giant continued to eat the stones until all his teeth had cracked.

V
Gumming back a sob, the brute looked around,
He spied the crib in the corner, and was disturbed by what he found.
A child sleeping soundly, but of such monstrous size,
Ben, now blind with tears was fooled by Fionn’s disguise.
Coughing to hide his alarm, the Scottish giant inquired.
“Is Fionn McCool the man, to whom this weeun is sired?”
Oonagh laughed and replied, “He’s his father’s son, no doubt.”
“Sure I remember he was six foot four when I popped him out.”
Now the Scot started sweating, THE BABY WAS FECKIN TITANIC!
When he imagined the father’s size the goliath began to panic.
He ran from the house, kilt flapping in the wind,
As McCool watched from his window, he kissed his wife and grinned.

VI
While Ben crossed the bridge, he dismantled his creation,
To ensure the ****** couldn’t follow, he divorced the nations.
Now centuries later, if you need proof today,
The remains of Ben’s bridge is called the Giant’s Causeway.
Steven Fortune Jun 2014
I. To sleep...

As if I needed affirmation
of the weekend from a mouse

As if I needed mutually
indecipherable dialogue

As if I need a hip social setting
when Insomnia gets off on my inside

As if I need a drink for the prodding
of my eyes or charisma for the charming of hers

As if we need a hotel or a bed
for that matter in Dormiveglia

II.* ...perchance to dream.*

Darling Insomnia
how you dazzle in your quilted
queendom of suction

Darling Insomnia
**** out the vanilla gumming
up my timid lungs like sugared venom

Darling Insomnia
I promise I won't burden you with moans of
fantasy-inflicted headaches

Darling Insomnia
let your sirrah latch his inhalation
onto your majestic ***** like an asp

Darling Insomnia
does subordination in my windpipe
do right by your despotic grasp?
06 09 14
You and I,
Our love is like the week-old
Confetti cake
On my table. yesterday
It seemed like such a fine idea
To run my tongue along the
Length of the pan, lapping up
The rainbow frosting, so delicious
Was our love at first
Such a fine idea, you were
As you filled my head with sweet
Nothings. today I pay
The price of that confetti cake
Frosting now gumming up my
Insides, an excess of sweet
Saccharine nothings, you were
Such a fine idea once
But now the confetti cake
On my table, or rather the container -
You and I,
We harbor only hardened crumbs and the
Crusted edges are not so sweet
Anymore.
RMatheson Aug 2012
I'm having fists of laughter, daisy-cutter dreams in formaldehyde,
creating the worlds most loved sport by kicking the heads of Danes.

Mutually assured corruption I can feel
creeping down the inside of my nostril,
across my tiny hairs,
but I am still, let it come;
it runs out and onto my lips. I **** its mercurial
clearness down.

I was born without fingernails or teeth,
forever stuck gumming the soft pink nail beds.

I keep everyone out of my life;
it is the only way to justify never seeing you.
Desiccant children pour from their mothers' laps
as if they were clear beads from that little paper shoe box packet.

You are an apricot full of sand;
I am a Mongol stealing maidenheads.

A peach is a rose -
deep inside
drips cyanide.
Wanderer Jun 2014
I am sorry.

Three words that can help heal
Yet we often find it so hard to utter
Our pride gumming up our tongues
So they lay silent, our lips mute
I have never understood that difficulty
To take responsibility
Regardless the action
We are built to withstand pain
Not create it

Look around you.

Pain is an art form
One we have perfected
In what could be the sunset of our civilization
We are still as un-evolved emotionally
As our dawning
Such great pains are taken in the name of progress
Foul atrocities that stain our hands
When working together, as one heart
One whole
We could have sparkled bright in these last rays
Instead we are judge and executioner
With little thought to how we will look
When that sun rises again
Apologize. Swallow your pride. Take the steps to help rebuild every bridge burned. You never know when that bridge will be the only one left when you need to cross.
neth jones Sep 17
.
and your mug shot's shining through
it's a vision true   (but the subject's taboo)
              all             ugly               here
morning sunshine    breakfast table    autumn cool
you're poised to speak   a fly lands on your lolling spoon    
then   i stand up merry                                      
i make my vital move      the table backs away  distressed
your eyes raise
   i flop open my faminous mouth   and let the fumes draw in
Surprise !
(no time for you to hold surplus breath -                             
- form an expression - make any objection)
              mechanism disjoints    like the raw riches
i whip the plumb weight of my head   and strike
mouth-chomp-grip   over your scalp
and i am working you in
with swift jaw shifts and hingery

i **** on you with a smile and gullet                                      
  (past photos of you   shuffle glaucous before my inner eye)
yap sock muscle   i operate   gumming on your head
(ours was the world ; we got so lazy)
budging in your hair   dampened by my saliva
(our timid first meeting at a bar)
and airway and my teeth softly folding back
(us in bed-us in bed-us-in-bed)
                                   and whole hog jaw agog
(the tourist we made as a couple)
i dilate and distend  crouch low to take your weight
(the rise and falter of your sleeping chest)
upend  your hands panic typing in the air        
(the eyes of your investment in me)
your feet flinging the heft back and forth   
    your shoulders break in and forward folding
my chest cracks and wells                            
(gifts we gave that touched heart and others that fell short)
a complete engulfing meal of you                
(your childhood antidotes and teenage feelings we discussed)
down my soft disposal                                  
   (all my memories of us in a fizz                                      
                         and all the inaccuracies)

...and then i head off to hibernation    
      ferrying an idea that ' i have you now '
           that   perhaps you were my enemy            
                                              a­ll this time
and i am digesting the beast
                      (what a feast !)
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
The Edge of the future

The earth accelerates the turbulent speed ever crossing and obliterating moral lines already stressed
And under fire moral standards once foundational the bearing wall of society now honeycombed with
Convincing lies mixed with truth making truth formally a power house now just an easily overcome able
After thought always the tactical measure of the enemy put in a drop of truth first taste will be
Convincing the shallow frivolous never examine anything in depth the rush the very measure of mindless
Crass individuals just like the suspicious smell of a machine slightly burning but not obvious enough to
Get you to take action then the destruction complete our world already has the truth told of what will
Be its end and yet knowing this we charge in filling in the blank spaces instead of slowing or delaying the
Disintegration this must be you have to disallow make inroads into the engine that roars at full speed
Spewing pollution and seismic change at the core of earths balance and equilibrium the word says that
The moon will wobble and the earth will stagger as a drunken man this is from evil tilting the balance at
That level but people take such a casual attitude about their conduct multiply that by the billons that
Inhabit this planet then you can see the problem those who practice evil are not able to be exempt from
It repercussions when an explosion occurs it center sends out ever widening circles of force in the case
Of evil these circles are the most disgusting contaminated lot of filth that sticks to everything and every
One gumming up destroying the smooth hum that did exist hiding holding out won’t work getting
Involved moving the darkness back breaking the line by giving freedom to one in this chain of human
Failure will cause light to do its constructive work no enemy long holds victory when his line is broken
And the wall once thought impregnable has been successfully breached take the dark half naked
Distraught free them entirely mind soul and body truth will make them free now fully clothed fed
Enriched with the bread of life and the new wine which is his own spirit night off set morning ushered in
a basking earth and smiling heaven is so far greater than the reality we now face.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2020
We hold these truths,
there is a Zebra tree on a tiny island
in Lake Wanaka on the relatively large island
called New Zealand.

Nation is not a valid variable to sort on.

So here, we sort worth on agreeing
we are equally
Natives of Earth. First yes.

More yeses follow.

Learn what you have done.
Know what you are doing.
Be good,
let the bruised flesh not rise in hot pride,

see we all are involved in evolving into ever
better,

so we think, perhaps,
others aboard my ark also think.

We are equal in this realm, each mind joined

junction branch root, not from
billions and billions of
Jahre zuvor,
წლების წინ
ts’lebis ts’in { Georgian script looks magic, eh}

Secrets in tongues died with the last word,
spoken toward unhearing ears,

… is it reality interrupting or
knocking needs gumming up the works…

--------


Field-wide signal, crisp and clear, some fell on idle minds,

that's fine  , signal how are you.

You say, responsibly, My side is winning.
No one ever asks what that means.

The field the world,
war is the only story, Walt imagined,
he was infected, Whitman,
with a known' opinion
-- some wise and well-known
-- being arisen from behind the ivied walls
- I heard this in passing,
- anonymous did not say this:
the function for the sublime is to free us from the slavery
of pleasure
- on another vector, I heard this:
the need to heal violence, forces life into idle words
used maliciously, in tests of conscience-useness.

Poverty never hears the highest minded reasons
for the states of mind attempted by the
most curious among us

--- empty of the wy. ha… I don' know I glanced away
stat tic… what's missing?
--- its like any other day, it ends with me entranced
by the play of winds with dust and smoke and water
droplets too light to fall,

I take instant HDR images as the time passes and the art
appears, as if for me alone,
I am the only mental
being seeing this,
I have proof,
I'll show you, someday, maybe…
but today,
I got took t' school, behind the gated mental institution,

geni-used magi-like instinct-gut spirit-vapor
-- rumor has it, I went mad
caused
by you or me, I can't say.

But just the other day, I was thinking, you may remember
my sunsets,
you would have noticed them
when you stole my weedeater.

--------

No school of the prophets foresaw my death,
so far as I may know,
I am by chance, bon chance,
living in lines of consequential events.
And my birth was a quirk of circumstances.

As special as any multi cellular creature,
if the statisticians are aiming at
the proper means of measuring.

There remain professors who teach man is the measure
of all things, wrong, in my opinion.

Ha. I said that. Like to Cambridge, it's image in my immaterial
realm where all things men agreed to use for ever after,

are similar in effect to the Ghostbusters Marshmallow role.

My fingerprint is less than nine points similar
to your fingerprint, no matter who you are.
We are equals in that regard,
our self is commonly unique, as we are.
Our kind.
We, the people of Earth. The native species,
Whumo Sapient Sapiens is us.
Knowers that know.
Thinkers that think we know. There is no
they
behind the curtain
knowing anything that  you may not know
as much
as you can swallow,
a bit per quantasec, after chewing fifty years.

In this medium,
it's me and you, object, subject, reject defect
if then or else
find that more perfect
union,
that knot that binds our minds in agreement,
this is that
which has no religious name, save good and plenty…

not the candy, but that's cool, I thought that, too.

We, me and you, since we think alike,
we could make up a mind and invite others

to take parts in grand epic dramas of ever
learning,
war never has arisen on a reason that reasons
rationally valanced toward life,
and that,
more abundantly…

Now, see those greedy folks,
look real
close,
see. You never see such a one, with a satisfied mind,
ever learning, never knowing everything,
happy as hell from a Sisyphean POV
_ Changed my entire environment, by movin' three rods north.
Brandon Feb 2012
The silence between the abomination of your voice
Speaks it all, says it all
And it’s all been said before
By better minds and better tongues
In better ways than I could ever describe
I’ve heard the words that you spill so hazardly
From your dry rotted lips
Flapping and gumming opinions
Like your opinions are the only opinions that matter
You should go into politics
And spread your misinformation to the masses
Regurgitate all the those old aphorisms
Into new phrases and praises
Your mind spills uselessness
Coagulating on the floor like spilled milk
I don’t want to know what’s on your mind
I won’t want to listen to you butcher the air anymore
With the putrid smell of your lexis
Watching your scathing irritability rise and decay
Like your chopping on thick slices of grade A meat
I don’t want to know what it is that you see
I don’t want to hear you flail your jaw anymore
I want to be the one to be there when you bleed
I just want this to be over
Your conversation skills are lacking
And you should quit while you’re ahead
But then you would have never said a word
Never would have opened your mouth
And never would have had the chance to end up dead
People that talk to me at work are annoying...
My dog barked like crazy while i read this aloud...
She must think i'm annoying too....
kfaye Oct 2016
Amsterdamiss is
typing into an internet comment section:_

but she's gone.
by the look of her little square
picture.
Her blip in the fetish
It's a costume
leaking through the build up for it>gumming up each pixel> disappointing us.
and don't forget      
          to bite down
when you' chewing gum.
or just scraping something historic from the front of a nicely shaped
building

our fingers
are
red
as the blood flowing through the veins of our revisionist
history.america
can ******* babe.
we are exceptional.


and they're showing it on the disney channel  
and out in the street-like folds that peel out doing at least
45
without looking
on the places on my body.
if you
scroll down, some kid calls her a ******.
but i'll let you hate me
if you want to. as i correct the dead smile of the news reporter.as she
feeds some sort of loaded question into the
screen
like: "you just have to thank god at times like these, don't ya?"

.
"it really is a miracle, isn't it?"
as we stand
in front of the fire that's taking just about everything.
in front of the shot-up restaurant.
in front of my shaking hands.


******* savages
all of 'em

it's the middle of the night, babe.
don't you have anything better left to say to me?
at least
give me something to feel shame about.
it's coming
down
to you.

     -
I say something mean.


not yourbabe. might be your babe.
**** like a snapback-
Melfina tilts her head back
i'm garbage

with a fresh grasspour
fade to green,  as the sun beats us senseless .with shotgun shells from the center of orbit
to breathe as this. as the saltwater beads up around the
little wrinkle of her
nose.
she can save us.

but
there's nobody to hold your love for you, when you're too ****** to grip it.

  _/ _
\       /
/   ^  \here's a lucky star for you, babe- you're gunna need it, here at the center of it all.
Third Eye Candy Mar 2021
On this day, the sun is wane-weary in the mist of an offshore fog-
come ashore and  gumming the works.
It’s a damp light all around
and the foundry of heaven has come to a halt
with one anvil ringing in steam
as Blue retires
from its perch
so the Grey
mayhap-
and the Dawn
drab.

but the hawk in my eye is immune.
Jordan Gee Jun 2022
June 18 ‘22 Saturn Rx in Aquarius

what ever happened to my blood quantum?
bred out of me like a piebald gelding,
an unknown wild steed
panned and sifted on down through the generations.
i read on instagram yesterday
that the energy parasites
gumming on the neck
and the
ribs
of my
seven subtle bodies
are feeding off the fear.
instagram told me i made them with my own mouth;
filthy mean language tastes like
dial soap.
i got squeezed out
all the way to the contingency;
caught me cloning all my plan B’s.
and now I’m drowning in the
carbon copies.

god ****** egregore
comin in hot on the incursion.
“thought I threw you in the lake of fire!”
but here you come again
like a
steaming
pink
dreamwalker
to re-insert yourself between
me
and the Light.
looks like it's back to the drawing board
and the careful steps across
tight ropes
made of
egg yolks -
the ones that actually hatched.
saw them in a soul - stream
sitting in stainless steel hatcheries.
some eggs as big as a house.

i think my inner feminine
has caught the postpartum -
too many ****** stillbirths.
here he comes again
riding in cold - hot
like
some unholy
frozen flame on the incursion.
here comes John the egregore -
progeny of my word.
here comes the red -
the color of frayed nerves .
i close my eyes
and think only of fields full of
lavender flowers.

my feet are used to this by now:
pirouettes
atop the tips of
chinese war swords
all staked along the manor grounds
like the impaler’s pikes,
or a field full of
lavender flowers,
or the facade pipes
where the ***** used to be
at St. James Episcopal
over on duke street and orange.

we gotta get to rewilding
this masculine.
his poor divinity
impaled upon
vladimir’s pikes.
squeezed the ******* back
to the contingency.
the carbon copied plan B’s.
the black hole sun
beckons like a death doula.
like the negative end
of a double A battery,
like the business end of a shotgun,
or the mean end of a snake
slithering through ten thousand
sanskaras
of his second chakra.
trying to climb up the
Antahkarana;
even with all that rope burn.

I was at the mercy of the
power of the horses.
six stampedes of
gelded steeds -
and hardly any blood quantum.
the true God is a blackened Light
in the sky
through the treetops
in the woods
standing in your boxers on 4 hits of acid
thirsty and alone at 3am
calling your brother on the phone
to tell him all about it…
speaking in tongues.

it took six parachutes
to stop this
polarity plummet.
i’ve been praying hail mary’s
all the day long.
some mornings
i wake up inside a song
floating on down the
River of Heaven in the midnight sky,
standing at the source of the
cosmic wellspring
bubbling and tumbling
under Gemini’s four feet.
the holy Twins on high,
dancing on the waters of the firmament,
sliding and gliding on behind the
sled dogs of the Sirius star.
standing
on the tips of two toes
atop a
Centaur's arrow,
or the tip of a
Chinese war sword.

sometimes
i think
a
midwife
and a
death doula
are two ways of
saying the same thing.

copyright Jordan Gee
Lead me to the death doula
Paul Hardwick Apr 2017
Each day
loose Two for One
no need to ask about the blues
but I can hum it.

But each day
two more gone
dribble only a little bit
best jumper on.

Soaked into my t-shirt
thank god I went dark
still got red lips
from gumming beat root.

Not nice being as old as this
nurse has fab ****
thats a plus
and legs all girls might dream of.

This girl is a Princess
washed my *****
lifted my **** out the way
made me smell nice.

Not once looking
at her phone
she spooned her love
and gave me pills.

Into the mouth of mine
with my full trust
then the devail
grabbed my mind.
Love P@ul.
Brisket-deep wade oxen through crop 3 of Cochin China grass rice,
that like Brazilian corn can not drive down 9 cents today's gas price
or **** gophers, lower recidivism or jail-break ****** who pass lice
or rip from lardy Liz Taylor's dead neck her cubic zirconia glass ice
Keen intellects & homosexuality marry like diesel in a wheat tower
as carnivorous corn dogs mustn't **** away their fleshy-meat power
in alleys whereat trolls a ***** whose girl is a brandy-sweet flower
damp but not soaked by the greasy drizzle of a Bronx street shower
that melted by caustic soda Gettysburg's ferro-concrete Eisenhower
Stay back Missy as I ain't anxious to contract your parasitic Q fever
despite the tales in crack town of your exquisitely-luxurious ******
I say: Wiggle over Prissy! I cannot party down with diarrheal fever!
Despite many crack-town tales of your luxuriously-exquisite ******
I order you to: Get back Missy! I don't want your parasitic Q fever!
I command you: Back Nancy! I've no love for Dutch's Mike Dever!
Our hag queen lives in the tire-black shadow of Dennis Weaver, yet
Liz's been saved by the Grace of the Prophet who'll never leave her
just like the fans who cheered the girly pitches of Tom ***** Seaver
who enjoyed the gift that keeps on giving as a giver & as a receiver
minus the knowledge of a cerebrally-dull trophy wife true-believer
and the precise dog-tracking of a duck-retrieving Labrador retriever
akin to a Nordic-berating/race-pimpling Jesse Jackson-era deceiver
who's taken the il Duce-stance to be an F.D.R. New Deal conceiver
A Cebu Island honey in ****** is beautiful even from underneath &
'cause Kentuckians get the most fluoride they have the fewest teeth
from gumming on T.V. dinners like Family Affair with Brian Keith,
or The Big Valley with The Six Million Dollar Man known as Heath
who lived to desecrate Barbara Stanwyck's stone & funereal wreath
to nearly wreck the incorruptible beauty of the heady Virginia Leith
in the dawning twilight of a Republic sacrificing freedom for peace
& metal for paper till tangible property ownership goes up for lease
as a need for mid-gut-binding whale-bone corsets is on the increase
fragrant domestical mice outrank Edwin goose geese mouse Meese
in that tall mysteries are unsolvable while wonders will never cease
Grizzly attacks do much to ingest barren broads bearing our cancer
while the pink feet broken at joints are placed where now hands are
to confuse Komen's breastless feminazis with a bra-padding answer
as a Vaudeville hoofer could to trip up a Cuban cha-cha ***** dancer
better than a tired-of-waiting, endlessly-prating La Habana prancer
who obeys U.N.-garbage-man etiquette and calls a garbage man: sir
An Olympic runner's Vaseline was swiped, so in 3 races he ran sore
Cue-ball “actor” Burton Reynolds called Dinah Shore: Diane Shore
Pigs shooting folks from the ceiling will create a ******, dyin' floor
that is slippery to vinyl-siding shippers and punishing to litter bugs
who have been sucker-punched into pugnaciously-rabid, bitter lugs

Cancer modalities: hack, hypothermia, x-rays & toxin can't crack it
for a lot lizard whose station is an unstructured, tax-starved bracket
while tennis games die grimly set with a barbed-wire-hanger racket
that ruined ******* for big-rig trucking's good buddy Joan Hackett
Hades & rental men: it's the stalling groans with ****-death packet!
Congress shan't by judicial means & measure legislatively abrogate
divinely-sacred powers claimed by Liz regina's counselled castrate
as Catholic America answers the hooligan question with nun patrol
to assassinate Teddy maggot-dinner Kennedy's fraternal gun control
while folding, into State eugenism, the animalic urges of primitives
to obliterate and to placate the devilishly-primitive urges of animals
The water authority's concern for babies compels them to fluoridate
so that the gooey-green tooth enamel of kiddies will not deteriorate
& to keep a rat's mouth of aligned teeth from becoming incomplete
while not degrading his scrumptious U.S.D.A. grade-A rodent meat
nor his anatomical delicacies: arterioles, splenic capsules and 4 feet
of intestines, a pancreas, thoracic arteries & superfluously-ratty ****
that produces the same amount of milk as an owl struck in concrete
or a popery-loving Sinn Féin milker sunk in an A.S.S.I. bog of peat
equalin' no mas eugenical Frenching for U.N.I.C.E.F.'s trick-or-treat
or stun-gunning razor-backs for a Codex Alimentarius-******* pleat
that is more bordel-exquisite than Haitian tea served on Easy Street
If randomized ****** is the homicide you like, it was reported that
on 5 April '69 Stepin Fetchit's son Donald shot 20 on Pa.'s turnpike
& 3 months later Teddy drove Bobby's girl off a bridge named ****
Christmas at the Hollywood Palace, 1969 featured old Perry Como
whom *******-rag Time described in 1970 as being: no merry ****
Any conspiracy is a cons' piracy when two or more are in collusion,
while folks mesmerized by teleprompter-readers are under delusion
of a cerebral/cortex laceration, extirpation, concussion or contusion
to relate a surrealistic/pseudo-reality that will propagate the illusion
that vampire-bus phlebotomists obey strictures of blood transfusion
& that gregarious hermits must forever renounce absolute seclusion
from search-warrant-affidavit-lacking pigs making illegal intrusion
in violation of our state castle law enacted by legislative institution
& adjudged by courts that, though investiture, wrote the conclusion
that is steering toward a rag-stuffin'-ape-lovin'-eugenical revolution
with a homophiliac tutelage as Christendom's Darwinian resolution
says mutational anomalies do not equate to genetical-drift pollution
nor bio-spherical deviances that breed X/Y chromosomal confusion
within the scope of a die-off rate inflating xenogeneic-pool infusion
to counter-balance vales in retardative factors apt to aerial diffusion
Prisoners do not get Lash LaRue whips to whop a cell-******'s sass
nor heaters for Harlem nights colder than an Adak well-digger's ***
To save Earth we must, like raccoons, root through garbage & trash
to obey tree-hugging Mike Farrell: the ***-wiper actor on MASH
to obey fur-hating Mike Farrell: the ***-wiping ***** on M
ASH
to obey ******* Mike Farrell: the ***-kissing ***-wipe on MAS*H
.The Waltons who wasted J.F.K.were sibs Jim Bob & Mary Ellen in
a bed with John Boy, Uncle Corn Pone & Scaifes' Dickie Mellon in
a conspiracy with Rockefellers' Mossad, Bush & Hunt in sixty-two
to supplant & cultivate corporatization of the U.S.A. for me & you;
to propagate a global-credit system beginning with this Dallas coup
Big-time movie dude Burt Lancaster was never known to have lied
about his 4 marriages dying with judgments of justifiable homicide
No Christian shall deny an unborn baby's supreme court right to die
'cause the German zeppelin LZ 129 Hindenburg was too light to fly

Sore are wintry Hawaiian gals struck by pink papier-mâchéd maids
whilst tyre tread types are trundled backways from wheelied tirades
Pink are spring Honolulu broads tinted by red papier-mâché shades
Do not nag me till I **** you dead ole crapped-out Larry F. Hagman,
as I am in no humor to wring the necks of persecuted hairy rag men
Gynecology might ***** you in solid with Camorra's Casalesi clan,
as their bearded women are tripping circuits of a master messy plan
while my *****-stamped Taylor Texicana trans-**** as a lezzy tran
On roads of electrical eye sores penicillin backs homosexualization
among a purgatory of jack ***** dealing promo Mex mule salvation
Pad my bra *****: I'm tar paper & my angry ******* ******* will bite
'cause unarmed Haitians will be shot on Hispaniola's border tonight
by Dominican Republic guards who cleanse the island in gun fight
Who better to welcome tea drinkers to Cup Land than Saucer Boy?
Who better to play Shatner's number 1 than Leonard ****** Nimoy?
Joe Green's mean because pea-green Coca-Cola made his *** green
as Coke's pond water is the greenest water Lord Jesus has ever seen
that, as an emetic, will keep you bruised, confused, infected & lean
Trifling things shall not diminish my reverence for Miss Kitty Ting
despite the fact that her '67 suicide made moot mere mortal atoning
from Diana's birthing moon where Earthen-Human souls are placed
in 0-72-hour newborns after old-corpse memories have been erased
concurrent with funereal brutality for cadavers to be casket-encased
There was a porker known in Las Vegas by the handle Elvis Presley
who forked Satan's deadly Negresses saying: “Hell shall bless me!”
U.S. civil rights entail the timely return of my fresh bag of cabbage
putrefyin' in a City of New York medallion-licensed cab of baggage

Smoothing Jagger's ***-face wrinkles like a *** must to ream 'cause
after 35 years Beatle John Lennon is lost like some forgotten dream
Because Mac went queer-bait kissin' sock-cuckin' Elton John's lips,
Yoko wants dwarf Ringo to wing him with tone-deaf Linda's whips
until Paul condemns homosexuality by canceling his Bangkok trips
to prove that Gladys Knight is a 2-buck *** ***** minus Jim's Pips
Krung Thep, D.C.'s '62 sister, is a ****** haven of white-lovin' nips
that offed Đặng Lệ Quân while Thai ****** bled like filleted strips
that snuffed Deng Lijun as Mongol tramps burned like scurvy ships
in seas far removed from sassy Oakland: turf of the Bloods & Crips
who know more urologically than urologists about vasectomy snips
A global ice age is imminent and we must impregnate young nurses
before eating their delicious groceries & stealing their Gucci purses
on Friday when nurse-impregnators aren't reciting Psalms & verses
My gray ****** are pressed & folded despite imprecations & curses

There's a secret videotape of C.F.R.'s monkey Tom Clancy beggin'
in vain to the Control Group that vaccinates a senile Nancy Reagan
for his life to be spared as before God would whine an antsy pagan
Scrawny **** use calf prosthetics to mill a Mexican mission 'cause
bad plastic surgery is sewing your ****** to shin to form a **** shin
that'll ruin the brainiest ***-brainiac's Nigerian brain-*** syndrome
via español audio-libro of a John Viet Cong McCain braggin' tome,
beloved by Mexi-greasers whose favorite wheel is a mag in chrome

Hey *******! Can't I celebrate Rage Against Anger Month in peace?
Jesus! and Take not the Lord's Name in Vain Month with my niece?
Is there no stopping the moronic maxim Will wonders never cease?
Holly rat milk Brett Ratner! Whatever Happened to Mason Reese?
Holy hit & run Rebecca Gayheart! Which is the fastest car to lease?
To queerly wed mustn't a *** breach the equity-in-marriage crease?
When will ewe-loving sheepmen give their shepherd love to geese?
When séance-hosting Nancy Reagan gets knocked up by Ed Meese
caricature sketch of person best known to yours truly

What began as an honest
to goodness attempt
to craft personal truthful profile
evolved into a fictional poem
manifested into the following.

Despite the onslaught of paparazzi,
I (an eccentric kindhearted sexagenarian -
born January xiii, mcmlix
at The Christ Hospital
within Mount Auburn, Ohio)
instantaneously shied, blinked away
from the spot (klieg) lights,
and avoided crowdsource
most of my iv and lx orbitz

round the earth mainly on account
of being gifted with introvertedness
somewhat minimized by bottle fed
powder milk then subsequently
licking, gnawing (actually gumming),
and chomping on biscuits,
which magical and top secret ingredients
(heavily guarded courtesy

Norwegian bachelor farmers)
gave this once painfully shy person
indomitable, formidable,
and creditable courage
to face fearful fixes
such as getting up out of bed
first thing in the morning
and crafting a poem..

Posthumous fame and fortune
will launch then rocket
one veritable unknown
aspiring, inspiring, outgoing
and unflagging wordsmith
(legend in his own mind)
unwittingly slated to shunt
next of kin into the pantheon
of storied poets even feeble attempts

at his mediocre reasonable rhymes
feebly attempting to communicate
a not so stellar existence punctuating
(while dragon coccygeal tailbone pronounced
along the boulevard of broken dreams),
a battle of life waged
against being trumpeted
as some freak of nature
(a controversial incontrovertible

standard compact prodigal son)
birthed courtesy éminence grise
famous prolific father,
who begat him -
unnamed de jure heir
to the family fortune/empire -
longevity of libido potion,
when said parent a centenarian
far beyond (where's the beef)
viz chronological virility age

severely testing scant minority,
when seething hormonal fluid
loosed into chamber of secretes
(think fecund female) and pushing
biological envelope in situ regarding
outer limits when males can still procreate
versus majority doddering, hobbling,
and lobbying along lovely bones,
when their get up and go got up and went
into those twilight zone of years.

Invariably many an older gent
sought to lay claim as doppelgänger
of humble fellow, whose countless progeny
incorporated a zip code unto themselves,
and for an unnamed dollar figure
(one comprising many zeros and commas)
small dollop would be sold to highest bidder.

Meanwhile, or until
that futuristic manifest destiny
I currently sequester myself within
cupboard workspace
within one bedroom man cave
labeled b44 as flickering candlelight
casts dark shadows across the outer limits
of the twilight zone
soon to silently pronounce
the figurative curtain call

on another mundane day,
no different than previous,
nor promising variation
on a theme of ennui
(self quarantine against 10000 maniacs)
following twenty four hour time frame
witnessed by mine feeble scratchings
across the rocky surface doing double duty
as crude table and writing surface
since yours truly lacks
for paper pencil or electronic device.

Lack of formal education
found me forced to teach yours truly
reading, writing, and arithmetic
while I hibernate until the conclusion
of total mortal kombat
allows, enables, and provides me
chance close encounters of the third kind
ideally to be fruitful and multiply
amidst dystopian landscape.
Heather May 24
I feel too much
Emotions like viscous liquid gumming up my veins
Bogging my brain like quicksand

All my muscles quake
Sitting lonesomely by my window side...... reminiscing my past
Watching cluelessly how many days have passed...... since I felt alive

Oh, these woes I can't outgrow, how can I grow
Lost in my soul's black hole; I can't find home
I've been forever tadpole; I cannot toad

Minds troubling
The thoughts are popping in
Pestering me
The voices creeping in; telling me... pick your pen
You've been silent for long; ... be a man

You're a master of your arts
Let go of the stuffs in your heart
Script out your woes in rhymes

But hey; what should I write about
Is it how I'm bough; with stuffs that I avowed
Or times that I'd bowed to a sect that let me down

Should I write about my misery
The mystery that I've been living-in
Family feuds, trauma and horrifying history
Wounds of the past, I wouldn't try reliving it.

Should I write about my downs and downs
My wrongs that's wronged or downs that's downed
The hurts that's tucked; or the ones cried out

Hunm; thoughts are plenty; but my pens arent penning
Fams and folks; I don't have any

My words are fluffed; but I keep on pencilling it
Too many errors; so I keep on stencilling.

The lines aren't lining; I'm lost in the verse
It's like the earth 'd outline me and shipped me to Mars
****, the weather is harsh
Would I even survive

I feel.... sea-bounded
At this point, the map seems boundless
The compass spinning pointless;  the anchor creaking mindless
Road endless; they can't even found us

But what could I do; all I feel is defeat
Floating apsidal; now that I'm drown in this bridle joint
If only I could; Rewrite this gumming script
Maybe it wouldn't be titled... the saddle point
S R Mats Nov 9
So many countries are like old junkies
Who refuse to give up their favorite drug
First, the teeth drop out, and they have no bite
Until the person rots from the inside out
And become walking skeletal remains gumming

— The End —