"gunk" poems
I have hairy legs.
The dishwasher is broken.
I have been reading books.
I have been solving stupid math equations
I have to wash the food crusted dishes.
I’m writing a novella
I’m also researching sodium chloride
My novella is only six pages single-spaced so far.
Comment vous appelez-vous?
Why doesn’t anyone participate
In the
Wash Your Own **** Dishes Program?
I’m studying French.
-b +/- Square root of b2 – 4 (a)(b) over 2(a)
Anyways.
I have been teaching myself
How to play my
Black
Stretchy
Accordion.
[I don’t know why,
But it’s stretchy
Like mozzarella cheese]
I have to help my sister-in-law move
Into my house.
Into the basement.
Heh heh heh.
Daiya non-dairy cheese:
“Melts and stretches!”
Now I have to scrape the
Black tar gunk
Off the plates, because
Mother told me to do so.
Oh, the odium of sodium!
There is
No more time
For me
To shave
My legs.
Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
Yesterday I came home mad
I had the house to myself
so I went to my room
and packed a bowl
I decided to clean the bathroom
because for me,
cleaning is therapeutic
I took a hit and then scrubbed the sink
I took a hit then cleaned the toilet
I took a hit and then cleaned the mirrors
I took a hit and scrubbed the bathtub
I took a hit and swept the floors
the bathroom I stood in smelled like bleach
and
marijuana
I felt better
burning and bleaching the days gunk away
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 5:56 AM UTC
behind velvet cloth I saw your quail's eggs,
I saw your gentleman's relish too,
protruding as it was,
an Etonian slap to the face of the marmite jar which
it was reluctantly sat next to.
and although the relish would happily admit that
to sit next to marmite was certainly preferable
to finding oneself positioned next to Bovril or Cup-a-Soup,
it certainly was a far cry from the delicatessen counter
he was once accustomed to.
oh the delicatessen!
how the tear ducts performed with nostalgic aplomb
as memories of stuffed vine leaves and caramelised baby shallots
filtered back to the gentleman.
what he'd have given to be back there now,
to once again share the company of proper food,
of handmade chutneys and pickles,
not this common oafish tar.
this brutish black gunk.
'You may not have been factory made'
retorted Marmite,
'or contain E325,'
'but that isn't to say that your place on this shelf
is any more valid than mine.'
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 10:38 AM UTC
A hail storm of tears roll down your chest
I feel you are near
Your warmness wasn't sincere
Harness your empathy and color clear
Pierce the molded statue held together by strong glue and fear
You seem to be ignoring the address
Instead you only here muddled up curses of vulnerability
Hurt feelings you developed as a system to keep you safe
Creating a type of gunk around your face
It's thick film is nothing but a temper angry
I am sorry no one assisted you in modifing your animosity
You will forever be stuck immature and hating
You could always let go of resentment and regret
but then
You would have to forgive
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
clanking clank slurp, ka-boom
the slop runs down a throat
merrily merrily terribly chilled
the gunk rolls down a throat.
the
forks spoons knives
plates salts salads
and wines
ding and echo like
soft butterfly tea parties
all gone rabid.
throughout the walls of pictures of food
and the butterfly echos echo
and dinging cups splash
and forks click and clock
(and and,..and!)
hold my breath.
clanking cubes of ice
bing against one another
Gluttonous Pig slobs them down with
a spoonful of spicy French soup
Pigman talks to Pigwoman; spittle flying out of
his piggy chops.
he stares at my forehead
they see my odd selection
she's laughing insanely at a joke
I'm holding my eyes inside my head
while
all on my plate sit the legs
of baby spiders
all on my dish are darting
sow eyeballs
pitcher plant garnish
and frozen grey custard for dessert; (echos still in the restaurant)
I gag outloud
the Fat Pigman scoffs at this
my heart pops inside its cage
and the waiter rolls his eyes at the mess.
Apr 25, 2012
Apr 25, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
Each individual jelly-belly
jellybean in a clear bag
tied with a red wire
is so different from each
other individual jelly-belly
jellybean in that clear bag.
The one that I find,
without fail,
without fault,
is always the one that
tastes like black licorice.
The sticky, overly sweet,
bitter black gunk that junks
up my perfectly good bag
of jelly-belly jellybeans,
and I am never paying
enough attention
to catch myself
before I pop it
into my mouth,
unaware that I will be
receiving: not cotton candy,
not coconut, nor cherry or lime,
but a black piece of bitter-sweetness,
whose taste always seems to linger.
Feb 21, 2012
Feb 21, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
I didn’t know you. We lived in different worlds and lived different lives. We were strangers. You were just a random beautiful face that I thought I would soon forget not because you are not worthy to be remembered, but because I was not worthy to remember you. You were art. I was just passing by.
You didn’t know me. The things that keep me up at night, the shadows and the clouds that I have lived with. The corrosion and the gunk in the gears of my mind that contaminated my relatively peaceful heart. My underrated, silent suffering.
I don’t know you. I had no plan to, but the universe decided otherwise. Suddenly, you were not random anymore. You were art, and you remembered me.
You don’t know me, but you saved me. You don’t even know it either. How your words and the simple things slowly lifted the smoke from my eyes, making me see the world that I’ve been missing. I never realized I needed saving until you did.
I wanted to know you. I wanted to think you were an angel sent from above, but angels eventually go back to the heavens after they’re done, don’t they? So I wished you were human. As human as I was, in this forsaken, fractured world together.
I still don’t know you. I don’t know what makes you cry at night or what cracks you up in the middle of the day. Your soul is still a mystery to me. I know your favorite color and your favorite food, but these are meaningless things in your bigger and beautiful universe to be explored and understood.
You still don’t know me. I still haven’t got the chance to offer myself to you. Time and circumstance made sure of that. You still don’t know about my dreams and desires. You don’t know about the world inside my head, constantly whirring and exploding in activity.
I know something about you. You are not an angel, you don’t go back above to report an accomplished mission and take on another one. You are human too, wandering this world with your own shadows and clouds. Maybe you also need saving.
I wish I could know you. I want to see the demons lurking under your bed, and the dreams you try so hard to protect. I want to see you weep and know the reason why, to see you smile and laugh and never wonder why.
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 12:58 PM UTC
Something that I’m passionate about is art. Whenever I’m stuck on a feeling, a thought, a memory, or even a conversation that makes me upset, I draw. I let my feelings flow through my pen or brush. It airs out all the gunk inside myself. Sometimes its just intense scribbles that tear up the page, or a bright painting, or maybe a crying clown. Its how I express myself. Its how I speak my truth. Its just how I relax, it’s calming, comforting, safe.
Aug 25, 2021
Aug 25, 2021 at 10:37 AM UTC
imagine a calloused doubt.
cracked, chipped, clicking
like warped wooden floorboards.
soft from overuse
but still overrides willpower
in one palpitating breath.
grimy yet illusive
like your teeth after a day’s work,
collecting gunk that sidles up
to calcium companions,
crunching down on things
that become
so bland in the end.
doubt is offbeat,
monstrous footsteps hidden deep
off beaten paths,
its thudding is clammy and hurried,
aligned to the discordant jazz of
your alarmed body.
it tastes like
coppery heartbeats,
rising bile,
salt and mucus in the back of your throat.
it is a truly uncomfortable thing.
it stacks sweetly like buttercream pancakes
but crumbles you
with such a sour taste on your tongue.
imagine an agony that loves you.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 7:09 PM UTC
Oh hail toothbrush, haven’t seen you since last night
I’ve returned again to cleanse an overbite
Spread the paste thick and minty across your bristled skin
Over the lips and on the culprits, 007 of oral hygiene going in
**** it feels good-
Morning scrubs do away with yesterday’s store appetizer samples
Clinging and eroding the ceramic protection of my enamels
Its poor thin concealing of my porcelain I must protect
Just a little more push and pull- haven’t even eaten breakfast yet
Foaming at the mouth, rabid plague of plaque I’m getting rid of
What extra harm for today’s meals I should have considered
But it’s alright-
My dentist smiles and offers a primary root canal adjustment
But the filling he’s drilling in won’t do too much for my budget
One hand to my jaw could cause my little car to swerve
Unbearable agony from the glass casing encasing that vital nerve
One hole’s enough for today-
Make it home, disgusted jaw line of cotton by the mirror
Spit soaked clouds are temporary relief for bearer
Grab the blender, toss it up, eggs and bacon with my juice
It’s no use- my straw’s stuck with gunk and nothing’s coming loose.
But what about this canker sore?
© 2008
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
Sweltering insurgencies of electric power chords
Tribal reverberations of skin-stretched drum boards
Rolling and filling; syncopating the noise
Of the tit-less toys
The dick-less boys
Enraptured in the music
The anthem
Of invidious phantoms
My eyes hurt inside and
I want to pull them out and
Scrape out the gunk and rust
that’s behind my self-indulgent perseverance
so I can cry
for the first time in years…
Wrapping my hands around his slender torso
Licking away the paint, the dripping ooze; more so
Than hastening my ****** and mordant urges
To bite what emerges
And my mouth purges
The obelisk from underneath
The iron-pierced jester
The voracious molester
My hand tightens as I grip
his throat tighter and
I want to squeeze until his eyes pop
from his sockets and
laugh until I puke against the walls,
watching the ****** fluids mix
like an execrable marinara sauce…
I turned thirty while still being sixteen
The vivid beauty of the world was only in dreams
But none of mine, none that I can recall
Many years have passed since I took the oral fall
Where no one saw
Intransigent need to live
For the snake in my veins hungered for more
So many had their way
until I was limp and sore.
Defamatory fingers of mire and strife
Probing and stretching
My insides
And devilishly comforting
With limpid ambrosia
That’s infected by bilious worms and maggots covered in icing
And fruit
Amatory gauntlets fastened and secured over
Handless limbs that retract under matriculated frictions
That fracture, crack, morph, distort
Emphasize, marginalize
Rationalize, desensitize
Acts of *********** evasion, moral drainage;
Pieces, bits, chunks, sections, portions, servings;
Arms, legs, eyes, tongues, fingers, toes,
Love, lust, infatuation
Adoration
Boys, girls, women, men,
Angels, demons, monsters, humans
Creators, gods, titans, divas
All extended and limited from the minds that worship
Sanctify, mesmerize, glorify, rectify
While humans eat more, love more, **** more
Than the angels, demons, monsters, and titans
We ponder and cherish
Nevermore, for me
Ever lore, for all
Crows surround
And chaos found.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
I write to over come,
But then I become.
And so I write again,
But should not I refrain.
Lest I write about about about.
I pout.
I've sunk
My feet covered in gunk
My body wrapped in shallow water.
Too weak to even waver.
I hail.
But do I fail?
I'll trudge,
Forward with grudge.
I'll strive.
I'll thrive.
Ride the wave.
Behave!
I'll see the sun,
And run.
Pushing the limit.
Till I reach a summit.
Then down again...
But I'll regain.
For I see a beginning
And an ending,
The like of now,
I harden my brow.
This isn't the worse,
And if it were, let us rehearse:
If it's the worst, it can't get worse
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 2:16 PM UTC
I can't breath
I n e e d m y s p a c e
nexttomykinthatcloseside|by|side
as we CAPITALIZE ON RE(FORMING x BUILDING) THE CAPITAL that's sulking in d
e r
b
i
s
hold me
I am sssshhhhaaakkkkiiiinnggggg
with RAGE
here, let me help...
lights match
here's the wick
eXXXXXpl
\O/
D
E
on the
____________
-------------
___streets____
wipe out the gunk
stomp them under your feet
It's
TIME
FOR
BEIRUT
Aug 14, 2020
Aug 14, 2020 at 6:20 AM UTC
Loving me is hell and hell is dense
And hell is heavy
And hell is hot
Dense with the influx of passing souls
That nudge elbows of their brother sinners
In tight elevators that hum not
Piano music but drums so loud
They convert heart beats to 808 rhythms
They shake the victims of vices so
Hard the change falls from their pockets
And bounces back up into their eyes
Hell is heavy
It is heavy with the weight of lies
And of the truths of passions sought and met
With only finger tips and white lips
The vicious bosses of mobs
And the cemented feet of snitches caught
Hell is dense
It is packed tighter than fingers in fists
Clenched fixed on righting wrongs
The air there is hot with breathes
Held in and finally released with
The unbuttoning of sliming corporate tuxes
Fastened inside out so the brass buttons brand and burn
The business boys’ bantam bodies
While they look up at the men the tired to measure up to
But where always a stich or two short
Hell is hot
Hot and steaming with the blood of the corrupt
That was spilt and then encountered a tilt
Down a funnel mixed with rotten oil
Left stagnant by sinners that sought not
To move a finger to clean up that gunk
The steam from sinners water not sweat
Boil sweet and steamy up into the
Mouths of men with jaws wired open
And rested on their bellies that are propped up
By guns taking all that is sweet for themselves
This is hell
This, like me,
Feels tastes sounds and smells
Of dense hot and heavy
Sins deadly appealing
And dammingly just.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
I took a trip down the ecstatic abyss of Amoria
Through narrow crooked bylanes and juniper dumpsters
Peering through moments of insipid laughter
Prime pranksters, nerdsters and gooseberry gangsters
Languishing through marauding beauracratic rituals
Peering through unexpected ideals and benign gestures
Then out in this rugged terrain lay the bear with cold feet
Eyes like blessed blue whales and timid water hyacinth
Narrow corridors of limbs endowed with firm yet hollow muscles
Tuberculosis and octopus gunk lay smeared in every nostril
"Ah! Nauseating yet divine!" said the knight to the pitiful jester
Rowan Moses
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 10:51 PM UTC
Hannah and I
were stealing mailboxes
because we were drunk
and earlier
we had been jumping giant pool gates
half-naked
and since weren't successful
at getting to the other side
Hannah thought it'd be funny
if we opened car doors
and maybe kept
something from the inside,
so we did.
We were two daring drunkards
dashing from car to car
taking faded jeans
and fleece sweaters
and torn-up Nike shoes.
Now this morning I woke up and thought about
what I would do
with all of my new things
and found I had no use for Nikes.
So I dropped them off at Goodwill
came back to my apartment,
crawled into the bathroom,
and hurled like hell.
And after wiping gunk
from the far ends of my frown
I swore to myself
that what had happened that night
would not happen again.
Ha, but do you think that happened?
by Kendra Cook
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
cleaning out the refrigerator
the hot kitchen
the underside of my *******
collect moisture
and everything smells like salsa.
and pickles.
and raspberry scented dishsoap.
crusty yellow nasty **** caked on
the glass shelves
it won't come off,
even after a long soak
I scrape it off with a razor blade
I took out all the eggs, the garlic,
containers of cooked wild rice,
store bought broccoli cheese soup
the butter or margarine or rat poison
or whatever it is
I'd never touch it.
The jar of homemade canned sweet pears
from when my mom's brother
had an excellent harvest
two years ago.
there's a small circle of browning black mold floating on top.
four cans of Thirster brand orange
juice, only 80 calories
per serving!
puddles of nasty gray hardened sticky gunk
i don't know what it is.
or what it used to be.
Then the drawers of vegetables
the browning lettuce
the dirt covered mold covered unopened
bag of broccoli and cauliflower
5 red peppers
squishy in some places
The shelves all come out.
wash with warm soapy water
i wipe the sweat off
my face with the dry
part of my arm
I put everything back in its place.
All clean.
Now my refrigerator
has lost all its
character
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 7:44 PM UTC
Once an Elephant was in great need to ***
So towards the restroom he made his flee
But the Elephant did not know he walked to his doom
For as soon as the got into the room
His nose got stuck into the slammed door
It resembled a schroom
So the Elephant cried for help
For help did he cried
But no soul would come to help
None would believe nothin’ but his demise.
Thus in despair he looked through the window
But to his utmost strike of mischance
He saw a view most rare
All had been covered in dough
So the Elephant pulled and pulled
For pulling was all he could do
And he pulled so much
And so much he pulled
His nose no longer withstood.
In its place the Elephant saw
His nose was covered in gunk
But beware, beware
For the Elephant bewared too,
That right there under all that gunk
No nose stood
It was something rather knew
Something like a trunk.
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 1:41 PM UTC
Can the unattainable be lost?
She pondered while surrounded
by the clutter of excess caused
by the burdens of consumerism.
To be on an endless journey, an
odyssey of sorts, with plenty of
valuable moral messages, but an
obvious lack of conclusion. Is
there worth? She had found
herself on such a path and
recently resolved that it was
one from which she would
never disembark. Searching
for a way to dive deep into
the sea of words swimming
within her cerebrum, in order
to pluck away the excess gunk
and strike gold. Years slipped by,
at first unnoticed, except for
the measure of improvement
upon lined pages. Still, she was
unsatisfied, and would most likely
always remain in such a state.
Somehow she had been born a
prisoner of her own mind.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 1:36 PM UTC
I used to be a good listener
Now, "I'm sure I've heard that before."
Arguing with Eros, arrogant, erudite.
At odds with his arrows. Even angry.
Bumping numbered reminders of the
Year I was leaving behind,
Headed for the hyphen.
Orange gunk, proper circumstance, and
Cagey, coughing.
"I want to be
Soaked in style, and left
Drying on a dusty line. See...
"I'm an ugly mother ******
But my eyes are alive.
And the tragically beautiful's
All I've got left."
Killing, time and
Battery life, requesting
The chance to
Breathe in my city.
The edges of a crucifix
Etched into his visage.
Looking for good luck, and
"That USA Gold taste,
To remind you of home," in India.
Walking away from a car crash.
Not heavy, dry,
But frozen solid.
Trekking on, past beautiful women that are
Painting their walls.
Poems, pouring from the
Mouths of the desperate,
Echo down the alleys.
"I'm not sure to whom belong these bones,
'Cuz they sure as hell ain't mine." But
Remember? That December? We
Bled blue and silver,
Sledding down seven-foot snow banks, and
Kicked out for stepping on toes.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
Life is beautiful,
Even in its ********* things.
The small bags of life-
The creases in the paper,
The untying bands of bracelet,
The crinkled edges of the dollar bill,
The thin dark gunk
Collected upon the penny,
The uneven water splashed upon
The bathroom sink,
The droplets upon the toothbrush,
The random foam of the fluoride rinse,
The fraying strands of gray and black
Athletic sock,
The clouded water
Lying below the ivory soap
In its dish-
These are unpleasant, yes,
But they remind us
That we are in this world,
That this is no false world
But a quite real one,
One which we can shape
Or help shape,
One that is worth living in,
Worth loving in,
A good world.
Dec 10, 2015
Dec 10, 2015 at 1:57 AM UTC
I will use all of this ****** up **** to fuel me
..Push me
....Taunt me
Filter it into spoonfuls of motivation
Feel it's burning rush through my veins
Take it as it is and use the **** out of it
Drop kick the emotions and flush them out
Shove their faces underwater and drown them without looking back
Clouds flood the sky to cast shadows over everything
Winds pick up and swirl with great amounts of anger and frustration
Transformed and shaped into powerful perseverance
**** EVERYTHING
WHY SHOULD I CARE
I have what I have
I'll take what I can get
Things come and go
But **** everything
Nothing's ever good enough for anyone
That's what's wrong here
**** my silent violence
To hell with my broken heart
It's already broken and not getting fixed any time soon
Might as well **** around all over the place
**** those ******* who think they're the ****
**** traffic and those irritating ******** that make it such a hassel
**** those painful glares that stab like knives in my back
**** those ***** that judge and have problems with everything
**** those who don't know how to be patient and content
**** those who pretend to be your friends and then lie straight to your ******* face
And say all kinds of unproportional bull **** about you behind your back
I see what I don't want to be
And it's in all these people
They **** me off with tremendous passion that ruins every ounce of my being
It builds up and builds up
Layer upon ******* layer
Anger on top of frustration on top of violence, irritation, disappointment and hatred
I take all of it
Bundle it all into one huge ball
Struggle to hold it all in
Red face turning purple
When I'm about to burst wide open
I strike a match and let it all burn
It burns down into this amount of nothing
This gooy sticky gunk that I can roll between my fingers
But I use it to pursue myself
I turn it into something else
Form it into a backbone and create determination
Persistent in working my mind
Training it to do this until it becomes a habit
Living within these people but completely separate
My mind is not like theirs
And I'll never let it be like theirs
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
Four black matchstick legs
with white strike tips
large belly and a strong black haired back
Gunk in his eyes and
behind the top of his long ears
he leans into delight
strong torse against leg
behind swaying in the breeze
belly rubs and dominance
the possessively agressive- toilet paper connoisseur
arthritis in his back right leg
I the nightly electronic chair lift
squatter on grass green blanket
I was away when it got worse
no acclimation
full on hell storm
ten years ago...
second grade he pooped in the hallways
he's grown out of the escapist gene
looking back now with our loving eyes
my best friend and brother
Spyro: My Brother Dog.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
Woke up rested ready to do my thing
Excited this week is over
Like the idea of back to back days off
Thinking of movies to buy for my collection
Minding my business doing what makes me happy
Im glad to be outta the gunk
Not living in denial being with someone who deserve me
I want the best and to be one of the best
Taking care of myself not giving up on myself because some insecure girl didnt want
Its her losss not looking back
One day be with the right girl
someone who appreciates me
Be patient and stop looking
My mind is clear focused on writing
Getting into my workout
These may not be serious to others but everything to me
Im debating on a jog while i write
Plus I work in a few
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 9:33 AM UTC