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Anurag Mukherjee Jan 2019
When I headbang- and we do headbang
since as far back as we remember-
my hair, shaking like clumps of phantom pom-poms,
has its fun, evading a spotty survivor's guilt,
making good use of training and conditioning
under diverse climates. But it still chafes
against a comb, which is understandable.
I don't relish being grabbed by my throat
although I have been, but very safely,
in the good humor of a modest Tropicana-
Katryna Oct 2018
I,
You,
Beer,
Lights,
Sounds and Headbang.

How can we stop the time?

stella and blue moon this time.
mixed in one glass.

your
lips
to
your
glass
to
mine.

sip,
kiss,
hug,
kiss.

cheers!

that's all I need.
that's all you want.

that's all I need,
you is all I need.

How can I stop them?
You’re officemates,
You’re soon to be so-called "wife"

How can I keep you from them?

This is all we had,
Saguijo is our crib,
our enchanting place for a couple of hours.

your hand,
slide to mine.

your lips touch mine,
we walk on the street as we own it
we talk under the moon,
waiting for the sun to rise and shine.

but it never happen,
you just escort me to our last stop,

bid your last goodbye.
your last kiss for this week.

wishing for the next round,
next, "see you"
next back to routine,

from ex-lover to mistress but wait.

no *** this time.

congrats.

to the so-called wife.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
♪♫♫♪♪♫♪♪♫♫♪

Revelation:** three, seven – the Kingdom of Heaven

The key to unlocking both glory and shame.

Philadelphia knows He’s arriving in newness

inscribing on foreheads His city and name.

(Though it could be on tee shirts or baseball caps, true –

unless someone takes time to decipher the text…

is it Greek? Aramaic? Amharic? What next?)

Don’t be mad – it’s not me but old John who’s to blame.

Of names and on numbers of Savior and Beast

I have long been a-pondering, trembling, wondering

mushroom-cloud raptures in mind’s eye a-thundering.

How will we get to that marriage-day feast?

Will my garment be ready or filthy with fall-out?

(The song says His blood will make clean if we call out

in faith for forgiveness, in humble repentance

believing that grace will abolish the sentence.)

You may wish my rhyme to be likewise abolished.

Bear with me. Forgive me, I grant it’s not polished.

I speak what I feel and I write when I’m able;

which brings us to heavenly thoughts gastronomic:

what dishes we’ll meet as we dine at that table-

strict Jewish? Angelic? Or pre-Abrahamic?

Shall they serve us from silver or common ceramic?

Being clay to the potter, an unfinished vessel

I leave all these questions for others to wrestle.

Yet there’s still one more realm I explore in conjecture:

the sounds at that gathering.  Classical?   Rock?

Unending revivalist Christian refrains?

Shall we headbang in heaven with glorified brains?

Psychedelic/Psychotic…? or  Handel and Bach?

(Lighten up. It’s the end of my bible-school lecture.

You’ve seen a few rooms of my castle-in-air,

and we ALL know it’s reggae they’re playing up there…)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cSRPfT9UP78

R.I.P. Mikey Dread aka Michael Campbell DREAD
ConnectHook Nov 2015
REVELATION: three, seven – the Kingdom of Heaven

The key to unlocking both glory and shame.

Philadelphia knows He’s arriving in newness

inscribing on foreheads His city and name.

(Though it could be on tee shirts or baseball caps, true –

unless someone takes time to decipher the text…

is it Greek? Aramaic? Amharic? What next?)

Don’t be mad – it’s not me but old John who’s to blame.

Of names and on numbers of Savior and Beast

I have lately been pondering, trembling, wondering

mushroom-cloud raptures in mind’s eye a-thundering.

How will we get to that marriage-day feast?

Will my garment be ready or filthy with fall-out?

(The song says His blood will make clean if we call out

in faith for forgiveness, in humble repentance

believing that grace will abolish the sentence.)

You may wish my rhyme to be likewise abolished.

Bear with me. Forgive me, I grant it’s not polished.

I speak what I feel and I write when I’m able;

which brings us to heavenly thoughts gastronomic:

what dishes we’ll meet as we dine at that table-

strict Jewish? Angelic? Or pre-Abrahamic?

Shall they serve us from silver or common ceramic?

Being clay to the potter, an unfinished vessel

I leave all these questions for others to wrestle.

Yet there’s still one more realm I explore in conjecture:

the sounds at that gathering.  Classical?   Rock?

Unending revivalist Christian refrains?

Shall we headbang in heaven with glorified brains?

Psychedelic/Psychotic…? or  Handel and Bach?

(Lighten up. It’s the end of my bible-school lecture.

You’ve seen a few rooms of my castle-in-air,

and we ALL know it’s reggae they’re playing up there…)
more notes:♪♫♫♪
Maria Etre Jan 2016
I breathe
I see
I feel
I yawn
I am alive

I shake
I stress
I moan
I grunt
I am here

I believe
I cry
I touch
I react
I am fine

I caress
I claw
I spank
I bite
I shake
I am ecstatic

I rest
I dance
I walk
I strut
I even run
I am healthy

I drink
I smoke
I talk
I hug
I like
I love
I am still here

I speed
I lash out
I headbang
I folk dance
I hold your hand

I fall
I stand
I tip toe
I walk in circles
I slide

I glance
I enjoy
I fight
I sit back
I sacrifice
I befriend
I help
I think

I write
I sing
I narrate
I block
I break
I create

I am blessed
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
when i see postmen delivering letters,
                                   i think they feel ashamed
of having a poet among them rise
to such global prominence,
i could end right now and have reached
an Urban II pulpit, just as he
was getting started...
  i used to admire Mr. Know-how for a time
out of sympathy... but then that slowly died,
only because i found people who
had some respect for learning to tie
their shoelaces, and spell words...
      it turned out to be the most abhorring
form of rebellion,
       i could have written all possible
synonyms of red in acronym, just to
make the use of the thesaurus made for
better use... or said ultra-acronym
variations or red, like: crying-mason...
and you would have hopefully said crimson...
  but let me be clear... he got my attention
in Glasgow... but after a while...
    even if i had a cradle of appeal
i might come off as lousy...
               but still, when i read him write
like this needed to be a dyslexic statement,
i thought he might write something illuminating
in hieroglyphics...
           i wish i had a respect for not spelling
words correctly... grammar **** or not...
                    there's no point playing with genes
if you're not creating a plateau on
the internal organs of fathomability...
  genese don't necessarily translate into memes...
     people with a perfect good set of genes
will only still be football players...
        just gagging for a concussion to show-off
their Achilles bravery... i have heroic
   drinking battles, no one bothers to celebrate
new year's day with me... i found out
the hard way: even the brothels aren't open
on new year's day these day, as Auden might
have predicted, all the lonely hearts go to...
oh right... perhaps it was the male-on-male
orientated brothels that worked throughout the year...
  after a while it's not that you despise the body
for all its necessarily purposes,
      but after a while, the body does so little
that the niqab does so much more,
    after a while the head wearing a kippah
does so little aisatsu, that you start to ridicule
the practice as an excuse to headbang at a rock
concert in a maggot pit...
after a while the hair does so little that the hijab does
so much more...
                  can you imagine a Mongol inventing
a hijab? horse-skin ****** wrapped around your
head... thank god for the silk road and the silkworm
produce from china, or wool from the shepherding
states...
             otherwise? a ******* tragedy...
    it's also true in reverse... buddha curled his
******* using the thumb... but he bluffed
the sign-language and necessarily pokered that one
into sign-language saying: down the middle!
           we had sundials and clepsydras for a reason,
as we also had libras, for a reason.
            should i fear a man with only one book?
or should i fear a beast with only one "word"?
  well, these days the former is true,
    but when lions said more than men in terms
of authority... could could complain it wasn't so?
  let's just imagine, that whatever we write today
will not reach a heritage status of the paintings
in the Lascaux caves.. well-brokered that statement...
since an african mask carved into an Baobab
by a shaman will fetch much more worth
at a tribal convention, than a african mask
enshrined into confusing a baobab with an Acacia
fetch at a gordon gekko's winning prize
for the most caviar rather than sushi being ate.
the point is... i was just thinking of writing a short
introduction to an actual poem i intended...
                   you never expect such things to happen,
esp. given you just escaped building the pyramids
safely rooted in masonry, and having to
     wield some Atlantean imagination
for the hanging gardens of Babylon...
to be later told: oh don't worry, we have people
to build as a colliseum, you stick you
to intellectualism of the four letters...
   and then jesus comes along and about a billion
people are rounded-up talking about salvation
by reading only one book, saved by complicating
only reading this one book, by stating
how many times certain words are used in them,
to ensure everyone after Moses can plagiarise
ancient Egyptian into contemporary Hebrew
(only when Charles II can speak Bulgarian or
Romanian)...            horrid numerology...
oh! oh! there are 20 references to the word pray
in the bible! it must mean something!
   how about? bla blah bla blah....
well... d'uh! blay and blaw: Otis Redding (doughnut /
       ice-cream man)
                               and        Sam Cooke
(don't know much about hissing tories)
    so true too, turns out Abel (blay) was also known
as clay.... even though Cain was the vegetarian...
   so that makes Cain (blaw) the god-wind when
Cain slaughtered Abel and the earth unearth
      a curse that made Cain into a nomad and less and less
into a vegetarian... ah, the Scoots buckled and backed me
up on whether blaw came with the lyrics
      son of a preacherman, and whether my
    rubric arithmetics of sentences could ever chirps
up that smokey blonde Dusty.
   hey man... sit up for 48 hours, write about
writing on napkins, and then have a whiskey,
and watch 2 gloomy days turn into clear-skies
  and a visible sun, setting.
Bailey B Apr 2010
Driving down the freeway with my Gaga glasses on,
radio cranked all the way.Too tired to headbang,
so I compensate by belting (entirely too loudly) the lyrics to Nickelback
at a stoplight. It's curious how, though we are maybe four feet apart,
I can hear me, and the blonde 20-something beside me can't.
Through the rolled-up windows, maybe she just thinks I'm talking to myself
because I'm lonely. I crack the window just a bit
and scream until the light turns green.
My heart is headed in all of the wrong directions,
Delving in multiple women to satisfy my craving of affection
Looking into my reflection, I can see that the tension
Is still there.
How, why, what is the deal?
I have all of the partners
that wanna be lovers
But none of them are making me feel.
None of it's real.
Speaking irrelevance over our meals,
They speak about nothing,
Just constantly blubbering
a grinding and sputtering wheel.

I need more than empty shell.
I need one to whom secrets I can tell
Who will admire stars and throw coins in wishing wells.
Someone who will flee this place with me on a whim
In hopes that all will be well.

She'll have an aquatic soul,
Headbang to rock and roll
She'll lay back and count the holes
In the night sky, through which pure light pours.

She'll find her way to me,
Cause I believe
We're drawn together, magnetically
Blessed to surely meet.
I'll probably delete this later. It went from poetry to rap then back again. **** it.
donia kashkooli Jun 2018
04/25/2015

i skip classes until 12 PM to lay in my bed, watch gossip girl, and eat chocolate chip cookies. i like to go to punk rock shows in basements and headbang until my neck starts to ache. i like taking occasional breaks from contemplating my life to dip out to my neighbor's backyard to smoke cigs and talk politics. i really wish that people gave a **** about the seattle mariners. i wanna be a play-by-play radio announcer for the seattle mariners. my counselor tells me that i'm unbelievably driven for someone who's failing 3 out of 4 classes. black is my favorite color.

i like conspiracy theories and pretending that i'm in an alternate universe where the most remote islands on earth are easily accessible for whenever i wanna get the **** out of this place. i wish i was a visual artist because words emotionally drain me. i'm not what anybody wants. i wear hawaiian shirts that are 4 sizes too big for me with cutoff levi's and red lipstick. i still want to drop out of high school. i have a crush on someone new every week. i cry a lot but i'm the happiest ******* the west coast. i need to get my **** together.
16 y/o me. feels like a lifetime ago.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
never really understood punk,
or rap...

  i tried, and tried...
went to the pillars...

   n.o.f.x. - decided:
    better stick to the polished
L.P. quality
    of i.n.x.s.
               welcome to wherever
you are

  (that really is,
a complete album,
      like roxette's joyride)...

orange goblin,
    the refused...
    the ******...
i was sold
a.f.i.,
   as being punk,
just before e.m.o.
came about...

               yeah the ramones,
***,
         still little fingers...

but i was always a meat-head...
i remember trying
to crawl out of
a slipknot mosh-pit
when the london arena
was still standing,
near canary wharf...

meat-head?
   not a skin head...
the guy who used to headbang...
not that i ever aged
from my beginnings...

i already mentioned
schumann...
   and all the other great
pianists...

    god module:
   that's...
     slaughterhouse music...
if equipped with
something akin
to wumpscut
or tanzdiktator...
  you're basically
looking for a comb-over
relief to once,
upon a time,
  using your head
and spine at the butcher's...

meat-head...
  i've survived a
brain haemorrhage
aged 21...
no one believed me...
so they enlisted me
in the danger-brigade
of schizophrenics...

         i'm looking around
with **** similis
and thinking?
   this is very unusual...
hell... i should be so lucky...
no other medical condition
is given as much
poetry, outlets...

   schizophrenics
are like the cardinals
to the bishop melancholics...
and the pope?
   no one's ego.

funny... the best metaphor
ascribed to cancer is...
what i found,
growing off a tree...
   mistletoe...
mistletoe is a botanical
parasite...
sure... cancer as giving
alien birth that is never
born...
   but somehow,
people have a fetish
for schizophrenia,
or... not having read enough
poetry...

psychosis...
contra ingesting hallucinogenic
drugs...
they are, quiet the pair
of magnet opposites...

     so this one instance when
my girlfriend told me
i would be more comfortable
without the ******:
it's like she didn't see...
i imitated circumcision...
it was already
uncomfortable...
    
              abortions: well...
excuses excuses excuses...
   with no job upon
graduation?
                 where did i leave
that "oops" moment?
so i went to a *******
to check...
    no... the rubber is not
that bad...
  i already have
the sensitive part of a *****
intact...
   sure...
if i was circumcised...
then not using
   a rubber would mean
something...
    
   gathering from what i learned
watching das boot
and the german joke
about yankies being semi-semite,
i.e. circumcised...
   i don't know if,
i can follow...
the argument...
   provided by a circumcised
male...

   give me a minute...
......................................................
­...................................................
.............­...................................  
.......................................................
no,­ sorry, what?
the circumcised male is
to dictate to me...
how...
       only once did i have
*** like an uncircumcised ****...
when a *******
****** on a rubber
before i managed to fully
undress myself in her presence...

and i took a risk every time
i "folded the umbrella",
"took off the tux",
    my top-hat... whatever you
want to call it...
what with the two protruding
veins...

     excuses excuses excuses...
counter-argument doesn't even
exist...
           there's only the moral
question,
         or there's: no question...

landed in ****...
   and in so doing:
started doing choc angel shapes
in the mud...
while a litany of
democratic pigs asserted
that was to become of me:
flesh... or bone?

the days when circumcised men
talk down to uncircumcised men...
the circumcised men...
who haven't been humbled
by jewish orthodox rigour...
*****-nilly...
            no w'oh m'ah nou cwy...

it's a European
"superstition" to assume
all american men as
being circumcised...
    or maybe... looking at all the ****:
that's just normal...
it was always going to
be a "necessary" revision
of the human product...
like... cutting off your big-toe
or your ears...

  hell... maybe there's a middle
ground...
   all uncircumcised men
should be coupled with
     all the examples of f.g.m.
because, somehow...
the two don't work...
might as well write
the kama sutra rubric
for monotheistic religions:

circumcised men
uncircumcised women

                         uncircumcised men
                         circumcised women

circumcised men
circumcised women (islam)

   uncircumcised men
    uncircumcised women (fans of simon
                                    & garfunkel).
Rey Crux Feb 2016
I Am
Yes, I am still ******
I am always drunk,
I smoke weeds,
I go to metal slam,
I headbang,
I have a circle of boy friends
But then I haven't been experience ***** thing such as ***
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
the motto: a healthy body, a healthy mind...
fair enough...
can the healthy body tell me
where its palette is?
  just asking... can this mind over mind mantra:
this... no one likes a pickled brain...
a healthy body equates to me:
a mind reared for learning - sponges and
syringes...
does this "healthy body" desire...
alternative tastes?
blue cheese? trout caviar?
              oysters?                          haggis?
out of curiosity:
or does... keeping around a play-thing...
third person addressee...
hard to miss it: an "analogue" i that keeps
refering to the "deus ex machina" like
it's not exactly "in it"...
    healthy jog: except on concrete...
sure thing boss... on a patch of grass...
who said that jogging was good on cement?
i swear tires and using it as sandpaper for
the rubber: weathered: withered: weathered:
he loves me... he loves me not...
russian roulette of plucking petals of
a sunflower...
the last time i had... a pornstar body...
i started ******* girls that had tattoos in "random"
places... ha ha... "random"...
signatures of the madame...
   i was... her... dragon... on the right...
shoulderblade...
because that's where my chernobyl scar is...
"random": oh so "random" tattoos!
the next time i go pornstar full body
b.d.s.m. latex... i will not **** the next mosquito
that lands on my body and i pretend to be
sleeping... i will not pancake it...
flies... earthworms... all these creeping bogus
investigations of the telescope for "alien"...
i can spare...
even spiders... even though i have a tease
of arachnophobia...
but mosquitos? i'd do the impossible...
don boxing gloves... and pinch it by the testicles...
with both...
healthy body = healthy mind...
   more like: a healthy body ≠ a mind that does
a whole lot of thinking...
you need the pickling juices for that...
    Jean des Esseintes eccentricities... "familiarities"...
last time i would hear a rhetorician
from a man that was also able to run a marathon...
i'd play muahmmad: and she should play:
the whispering angel gabriel...
a healthy body = a healthy mind...
i don't believe in the existence of a healthy mind...
a mind of either blank...
an ape-**** hollow mind, yes...
      what's my favorite echo-chamber?
i tend to should these words into...
the echo-chamber of solipsism...
          the mild-reflection on clinical altruism...
since: i wouldn't call the autistic flash-gordons
of this world to have a fulfilling
desire to: build on the concept of self...
         such that it already is... devoid of...
all the temptations...
crass words...
but would a healthy body please tell me...
the concerns for the palette?
blue cheese... oysters... caviar...
very piquant flavours...
  what of... yes... haggis again...
   what of... pancetta... what of...
                  mushrooms: honey fungus...
marinated in oil and white spirit vinegar?
what of fenugreek pickles of the raj?
what of all the plethora spices of the indian cuisine?

a healthy body = a healthy mind...
when... the body is subjected to healthy "exercise":
work... workhorse labour...
to hell with exercise! exercise "fow foon"?
that's cheating you of the healthy body = healthy mind
duality... hello... h'allo hamster on the wheel!

last time i had a pornogrpahic movie body
i had the "privilege" of ******* women:
who had tattoos in the "wrong" parts of the body...
bullet-point markers...
i was... memorable... a dragon on her right
shouldblade...
something much more diabolical concerned itself
with much of her arm above the elbow...
the gateway ****-boy who she alleged was...
an older man and she was kidnapped for money:
just your atypical russian harlequinn novel...

a healthy body...
  how about... an inquisitive palette and a pickled
brain... i don't expect much thinking is allowed
when the body retains a full geometry of
"battling" arthritis et al.,
       language as a process of decay...
awaiting new sprouts...
not from rock and bone and tensed muscles...
call 'em meatheads because
they "work-out" or call 'em meatheads
because: they mosh... and headbang?

i subscribe to the latter...
and my echo chamber is that of solipsism...
i ooze in a breath... into this chamber...
let's call it a flute... i'm hardly expecting
a reply on the basis of
a consonant-vowel construct like:
the prefix definite article of hebrew:
and that... roulade of laughter: ha ha ha...
with language... i decay...
but in my decay i also stab back
with "rumours" of exfoliation...

it's an erotica perplex... ingesting...
all the scent of a lazy autumnal wood...
it's not yet the zenith of summer,
spring is far from sending a postcard...
and i'm already thinking about
autumnal scent...

      piquat: an inquisitive palette requires
a partially pickled brain...
the body can play the masquerade...
healthy though: via physical labour exercise...
or... i know that riding a bike for
mere looks... can breed... a...
    adverse symptom of succumbing to
classical roman bulimia...
index and ******* down your throat...
wait about 3 minutes...
the foodstuff comes back up
like a furr-ball...

         so much for the mirror...
or at least... so much for... pretending to do
what will never come to pass...
when contemplating the river of Heraclitus
or the sea of Xerxes...

i see moonlight now... yes... a membrane
of mercury everywhere: notably on metal
and stone...
come the wintry season...
a walk down a red carpet...
the crystal **** of paparazzi flicker
paving the way...
shards of a body disobeying orders...
the head moving on a seasaw left
to right to catch the imaginary camera flashing...
in winter... when the frost exfoliates
on the concrete: as light does in the *****
of stars upon the sky...
when mercury drips its membrane
onto all things: visible... determined to remain
thus...

perhaps it's a masculine "thing"...
hardly a body willing to apply itself to the laziness
of an oyster... but...
i guess vogue... ***** vogue zenith...
of european 17th / 18th century...
***** of kings: plump cottage pies...
more cushion for the push'on...
*******... thighs... kim novak hypnosis...
anything that hitchhock would have
turned a tongue to octopus and slobbered over...
beside these size 0.... coathanger "*****"...
break 'em at the joints and be leftover
with... a mush...

     the "exoskeleton" of man: god, morality,
conscience and thought... not in that order...
the next time i come under the inquisitive
inquiry of the *****-actor body...
voyeurism... yes... that will be the day...

again... a healthy body: down and out of
a gym... or: in and out of a construction industry?
a healthy body = a healthy mind...
when... the body isn't being exercised for
the sake of the body: to "look"...
or to "appear"... to be "perceived"...
a healthy body can... actually = an unhealthy mind...
when the body preoccupies the mind
to not deviate / explore from...
that basic rubric of 2 x 2 = 4...
that is the basic rubric...
the rest is just wording either hubris or hiatus...

beside that: to reiterate...
a healthy body... so... the omnivore palette?
eats anything... ***** anything that: doesn't move?
a healthy body = a healthy mind = an inquisitive palette?
if we're going to talk healthy body / healthy mind...
and eat nothing but poached chicken *******...
recite the number of calories...
point being?
    recitals of... a bland chinese takeaway guide
to cannibalism...
exercised bodies... "fearless"! in their endeavours...
ate: to ****... in between exercised...

we would like to eat those hamsters
with both skin... and bone...
not enough meat...
you see... and we do like a bit of crunch
and the juice of marrow...
if... you don't mind...

       an exercise in... staging... pomp...
and... the circumstance is already given...
mediocre poetry: grand-standing...
love the ****** ideal...
best told to ******* and...
start hustling via latex gimp...

                     best to leave the matter to
the indu-aryans: or not...
                             य(अ)                  समओक.
I don’t give a **** about protesting
It just causes problems with the world
I know they are trying to make the world better
But who gives a crap about that
Politics are supposed to be there for us
Even if it ain’t really so
I prefer a good party than protesting
Save peoples jobs
I do the hokey pokey
But I still want to work
But nobody listens to you if you protest
Get us out of isolation
I headbang to bon jovi
Even if I care for that they are out of work
I just don’t want to protest about anything
Because they do more harm than good
To save the immigrants
I will have a beer with Duncan
I care but I think it is dumb to protest
I drop some money in the jar to help
In every charity that they protest about
The protesters only get arrested for
What they do
So what is the point
They are in jail
And I am partying on YouTube
I care but I don’t want to suffer
And that is the way of this world

— The End —