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A hippie hocked a louie on Sammy
when he landed in San Francisco.

Sammy didn't respond;
he just wanted to make
his connecting flight home.

Sammy wasn't proud about
some of things he did in the war;
so he figured he probably
deserved the garlands of disdain
an ungrateful nation bestows
upon itself in fits of self contempt.

Sammy shut down and tuned out,
soon his heart was as dead
as a tombstone until he visited
the monument.  

He would often recall the story
that as he approached the darkened
wall he could sense ghosts loosening
themselves from the black granite.   

Sammy swore that Jimmy Lynch
who went MIA on the final week of his tour
gave him a bear hug and told him
as long as the beer stays cold
and he don’t lose the church key,
everything's groovy and he’s
hanging tough until the rest
of the guys show up.

Jimmy pointed to the Lincoln Memorial
at one end of the mall and to the
Washington Monument at the other,
emphatically stating that our monument
was forever linked with the greatest Americans.

Yeah meeting up with Jimmy
helped Sammy to start shaken
off some real bad stuff.

Mazie knew her husband for a
month before they got married.
A week later Freddie was off to Vietnam.

Freddie was KIA during the Tet Offensive
and his repatriated remains are peacefully
at rest in the red clay of Georgia.

An always faithful Mazie
came to the monument
a few years after it was dedicated.  
She was struck by all the keepsakes
people left at the base of the wall;  
Zippos, baby pictures, a copy of
The Catcher in the Rye, a fifth
of Makers Mark, Pink Teddy Bears,
votive lights, a red 57 Chevy model,
a left handed catchers mitt, and
a pack of Lucky Strikes.

She palmed rosaries and
crucifixes that salved sore
running wounds and David’s
interlaced Star sounding a Shofar
pleading a case for peace.

Mazie is most moved by the names.  
Rows and rows of names. The scroll
begins in a modest manner and
as the wall climbs the names
of a country's vigilant sons and
daughters tower over her head.  
So much living history; spoken
in the unique accent of a country’s
diverse plethora of luminous tongues.

The stories written into the black granite
tell a tale from every state; claiming
the ears, heart and mind of every citizen. 
Each chiseled letter captures every bit
of sun and deep creeping shadow
inching across a great nation.

“I’m  71” says Mazie.  “When I look
upon the wall I see my 21 year old
Freddie as he looked on the finest
day of his life.  He will never look
any other way to me.”
  
“I didn't want to go to see it,” Franny said,
“a cold piece of stone won’t bring my son back.”

Franny did finally go...

When it rains the wall weeps.  
The wall wept all day,
the first time Franny went.

Many were rubbing
the impressions of
dearly departed names.

Franny too, kneels to the
presence of her son’s name.

With a mother's
grateful fingers,
she touches the wall's
damp surface; wiping
the drizzle from her
child's sodden face.

Kneeling before his semblance,
she rubs his etched edges
onto tiny bits of paper.

She sees him,
made manifest in the stone.
As if through a glass darkly,
a found son looks back,
onto the face of a caring mother.

Franny hangs onto the quiet
memory of his voice,
shimmering in the soft lilt
of a warm dark stone.

This deep core Vulcan gneiss,
at last emerged from the hardest stuff,
sculpts a perfect likeness of a tear stained nation.

The Harmonizing Four: Rock of Ages

In Honor of
The Vietnam Veterans Memorial
Washington DC

Oakland
Veterans Day
2013
Mutulu Kafele Feb 2015
I Wrote her a love letter but she dropped it.
No money for the metro so we hopped it.
No money for the petro so I hocked a loogie
Then pawnshop hocked it:
Spitting that sick **** for profit.
We sat prostrate in front of our profit, then,
With her wet wig at the end of my mop-stick.
Check her prospects, then, blurry her optics.
We fly out in a flurry of topics.
I'm the nit-wit in her twit-pics:
The photo-bomber.
But she stopped its clock-ticks when she cropped it.
I should have told her,
I'm so fly she would die in my ****-pit.
And the Black Box is,
The love letter in her back pocket but she dropped it.
The ******* Wind (~Mk.) Notsuoh Poetry Night. Houston, Tx.
William May 2019
A hermit crab in a soda can
Evicted from a bubble gum dungeon
Fireworks on the tongue
Licking undertow of heavy sod
Swaddled in laminate pressure
Breathing sea foam
In a featherless sinking slant
An elastic anchored pendulum
Falling zagged
A jelly-hocked comet
With coattail streamers
Fertilizing liquid nickel
A de Carvalho May 2012
I open the blinds and see the world - in return, what
does the world see? It sees me, and all my splendid, split
personalities, living these amazing times, of amazing
pleasures, in which we tweet tweets, and post posts re
ego-trips and copyrighted links, videos and things; and,
as stray dogs, we ramble randomly, and all the time,  
living in our infinite worlds, of infinite lanes, till infinity;
yet we suffer so much pain.

Our Shih Tzus take us on extended walks, firmly leashed
to our Koss plugs, as we drone cool tunes on multihued
iPods, iPhones buzzing ringtones of tittering babies,
stolid kings and hyperactive frogs, which would all make
my eighty-six year old dad want to gag; we fly
ultralight megaplanes at the sonic sound of speed,
through virtual and real space, connecting dots at low-
cost prices, while we belt-up, gear-up, gulp Gaga and
gorge heat-inducted meals of deer, horse and over-
promoted crap; and then, wow surprisingly, we are all
so unsatisfied.

We consciously all move-in together, and **** on end,
like statistical sheep, pre-married, unloving, and broken
up, and justify it all, to ourselves, with our fully
stretched spandex morality, over low-carb brunches
@Starbucks, two 14” screens of separation; we paint
pornographic images of virgins, all called Mary, in the
name of art, and, white-clad, **** babes and alter-boys,
and penetrate each other, first with our fingers, deeply,
then superficially, without even wondering, for a
zeptosecond, why we can’t stand one another any
longer.

We crank-up dependencies, like high street mainliners,
shamming and slaughtering for neurotoxic fixes of
smileys and Crystal on billion-dollar Kogo yachts, while
we all just pedal on, dispassionately, down and over
interior canals, to the core of our hocked, abbrev lives,
chronically connected and severely distracted, in
aromatic polymer bubbles, heedlessly cruising through
comic-strip farms of mock vegetables, surely to nowhere
and towards no one; and quite frankly, the world laughs
at all this, and sobs, and so do I.
Mike Finney Dec 2011
GLUTTONY


Go ahead and gorge yourself upon gallons of gaudy garments,
Gaining more weight got by galling garish goods I guess won’t
Ground

Let loose to the luscious luxuries of lackluster lemon and
Lots of lulling bedtime letters that will surely let at bay the
Ladies

Unravel your unctuous mind and unwrap the unstoppable urge
That undeniably lives under unruly layers of
Unproductive

Together bring the talk of taking another tackle to your taciturn tally,
Taller the score and take down the tormenting tickling
Tack

Over and over in obscure ovals until objective becomes apparent
Only leaving orbs of former obliqueness’ obliging to
Object

Never again nourish the need to negate the null to nonsense,
Leave behind the knots of then and live the neat of
Now

Yesterday was yellow in yielding to yearning and
Today is your yet to the question of no or
Yes











GREED



Gradualy every great thing grounded in your gaudy life will grain,
Falling from grander to
Greed

Run away you realize will render you ridiculously reeled
Be the regal recall of natures
Ranting

Even then elude the everlasting elasticity of your sins
Only to elect your own faults and
edict

Evermore entrapped in the entity of your greed which eels
Its way through your
Etiquettes

****** to depths of hell’s dungeons you will go down
If you never fix your
Deeds.







WRATH



Wound so tightly your will won’t save you when the
Day weans of light to
Wear

Repent all you require if you really must, no reprise
Will be your
Reward

Again and again you’ve all but alleged all of your agitations
And now do you
Abject

Too many you take to the top and through to the terrible
Tale of
Tartaras

How do you have your hallowed hot-headed hate now
Had by all you
hocked







SLOTH



Silently slithering fangs strike and pierce into your supple skin
The serpent of Hades himself forcing you to succumb to
your sloth

Legs let leave your longing to linger standing
The lull of the luscious leisure of laziness
Calling you

Over and over you omit the need to oblige
Object the obscurities and overcompensate the
obligation

Though it takes away tell of your toes, stunning your talk
Teathering you to a tree and leaving you to the
terrors

However hollow the halo, the hearth of hasty hearts, may be,
you cannot halt it before is has you in its hold
sleep








LUST


Linger in line a little longer until your litenous lust
lessens to lethargic
larceny

Undone and unset you undermind your unity
and uncite all uncertainty, understand to this
ulcer

Slung across a slat singing sultry in your stipple,
you slew to sound off your
sanity

Taught thoughtless logic tenderly apply topical treatment
to tape together the tatters, tonight a temporary
Tylenol








ENVY



Eject and exact illusions of elected goals eluding your reason
So eject them for
Ever

Never return, never negate the negligence of this nuisance,
Need it
Not

Vanquish your venomous vicarious visions so vivid
I assure you not very
Vivid

Yearn no more and yearn by years how yellow
Can yell the
Yetti








PRIDE



Perniciously palpable pigs of pride that so prate way their progress,
Putting all but prosperity in their own
Propensity

Ridiculously cold rendering the most righteous of realist,
Even relenting to the racketeering of a
Rider

I too see an iota of insolence in intemperate impostors
Of what internal instances tell us is
Intimidating

Down the street dally a day and discover how detrimental
Such a disease dilutes the delineation of our past
Delegation

Even if one ever eludes the elasticizes of this eccentric extortionist
Eventually another will emit it upon to you again
entirely
Zik Malleaux Jan 2014
He turned around to look at her--face to face.

"Excuse me?" he asked. He has heard what she said, but the question was only to confirm that his brain had processed that which his ears had just heard.

"You know what I said." she shot back quickly.

"Nono--tell me again what you..just..said," his voice got lower and his steps quickened with each word. Now they were nose to nose, eye to eye, face to face. She swallowed deeply and confidently said,

"Go. ****. Yourself."

His right hand quickly recoiled back to back-hand-slap her across her beautiful face, but he was quickly foiled by a knee to his groin.

"Aaawwwooohhfuck!" he howled.

He fell to his knees in agony. The kind of agony where it feels like your stomach is doing somersaults and pirouettes. This gave her the perfect opportunity to finish what she had started. She raised her right hand to strike him. As her hand got higher, her brow became more furrowed. Her hand became a balled-up fist, then quickly struck down on his left temple. His eyes rolled back in his head as his body became limp and collapsed fully to the dirt. She seized the opportunity to kick him violently in his face and upper body with no resistance from him. By the time she had finished her onslaught of kicks, his face looked mangled and bruised. He was bleeding from every orifice on his face.

She knew what she had done, and she knew the authorities would be there soon. She surveyed the fields. The wheat was swaying calmly in the wind, and the smell of juniper was being carried from the evergreen forest just south of Old Man Morrison's property.

She looked down at him, almost exactly the same way that she had seen him look at her so many times before.

With a scowl, she hocked up a disgustingly large *** of spit and shot it directly on to his bloodied face.

As the sounds of sirens came audible in the distance, she turned to walk the opposite way from where he laid.

"I said...Burger King is way tastier than ******* McDonalds."
Dylan Jones Oct 2016
Errant heat to the star
And the rain let in
The hawser rolls, the vessel's whole and Christ, it's thin

Well I'd know that you'd offer
Would reveal it, though it's soft and flat
Won't repeat it, cull and coffers that
For the soffit, hang this homeward
Pry it open with your love
Sending lost and alone standing offers

It is steep, it is stone
Such recovery
From the daily press, the deepest nest, in keeper's keep

All the news at the door
Such a revelry
Well, it's hocked inside of everything you said to me

It was found what we orphaned
Didn't mention it would serve us picked
Said your love is known
I'm standing up on it

Aren't we married?!
I ain't living in the dark no more
It's not a promise, I?m just gonna call it

Heavy mitted love

Our love is a star
Sure some hazardry
For the light before and after most indefinitely

*Danger has been stole away
David Hall Jan 2015
well aren't these walls immaculate
and aren't these doors divine
if we’re stuck in here another year
well I guess that’ll be just fine

we bought ourselves a golden garden
with a crystal chandelier
the only catch is the iron latch
that keeps us ever near

I know we said we’d see the world
before our hair turned gray
but two new cars make fine new bars
too keep those dreams at bay

well aren't these floors superfluous
and don’t these windows shine
we've hocked our youth to buy this roof
so it’s where we’ll spend our time
Payments due and debts, racing bets that never win,the roulette spin,unlucky dice
and blood that runs as cold as ice.
The gambling man goes rambling on,against the odds,playing slots,losing lots and never breaking even.

Even when he pulls four Kings, someone shows a Royal flush,
at a push I'd say he's not a man who should or can play games of chance where any chance he has to win,end as lost chances in the ******* bin,
the loser's tin,he gets the *** of not a lot,no golden prize,look in his eyes,
despair and gloom
and in his empty room,TV hocked,door tight locked
he sits
tries to slit his wrists and fails,hammers more nails in his head yet still he wishes red came up on number twenty three,
he doesn't see the futility
of the spinning wheel that really is not real at all,
but an imprint on his tortured mind and the same goes for the three of a kind,another hat trick.

Just a sickness not the deal and nothing tastes as good as throwing double six and tasting blood,
all good
or so he thinks
so he drinks to hide his shame of not a penny to his name
and tomorrow will borrow another dime
to try another time
to change his luck.
I say that I never gamble and yet some say that I gambled my life away.
Corkey Hawley Mar 2010
I’ve got pockets full of Emptiness
A wallet  full of Holes
A Million Dollar piece of Sky
And a Mouth full of GOLD

Trouble don’t belong 2 me
I just borrow it now & then
If I could have owned It
I would have hocked it way back when

The City Park is my Address
But I’ve stayed in some not so nice Jails
I’ve eat a lot of Hocks & Beans
But I’ve never made my own Bail

I’ve tried my hand at dis & dat
But nothing’ seemed  2 work
My hand got caught in dis & dat
My mouth’s never had the right words

When it’s Hot I don’t buy cloths
When it’s cold I jog a lot
So send my  gas bill 2 the White House
And put my Mail in the Trouble Slot
CH 1980
Exposure Therapy

     A figurative light shines on me (courtesy of Pink Floyd), no matter I live on the dark side of the moon like another brick in the wall, and rarely present thyself stark naked sans emotionally. The metier viz modus operandi of writing (poetry seems to edge ahead of other structures) allows, enables and provides with utmost exhiliration, infatuation, lumination, et cetera an opportunity to test (dis)comfort zones. Hence carefree foray induces loosing oppressive repressed unvented xanax albatross drugged gewgaws, jetisonned (via Jetson propelled Segway) means producint resplendent unfettered x2c.

      I became habituated, insulated, jackknifed with non-healthy, destructive behavior cultivated detrimental habits disallowing natural maturation of body, mind, and spirit, which this middle aged mwm now more fervently revisits, remonstrates, and recapitulates when attempting to explain to thyself or another, how bing figuratively tethered to the apron strings o' me late mum promulgated, narrated, and licensed to avast quantity of active listeners, the self made parent trap (albeit synonymous with an invisible umbilical cord that well nigh strangled satisfactory quality of life.

     Thus culled from me lately (countless decades when within fledgling offspring, the progeny evince metamorphosis that display heavenly lottery phenomenal tinder phase linkedin DNA when processes of puberty per purring prestidigitation when mine deus darling daughters developed into divine dames) instilled, jolted, kickstarted personal quest to broach me interpersonal/ social comfort zones.

     The presence of generalized anxiety (with attendant debilitating panic attacks) ******, foiled, highjacked journey to experience ordinary sensate human bonding never took place.

     I copiously deprived, emotionally fleeced, gamely hocked innumerable joyous kissably leavening male natural ordinary processes qua ramping sundry transitions ushering vital wings yodeling zen attainment. emotional, physical, social discoveries visa vis via blockaded, deprived, forfeited, hamstrung inoculated je nais sais quois electric kool aid acid test disallowing, barring,

depressing, forsaking growing **** Sapiens trajectory toward autonomy free self destructive hermetically sealed reign.

     Otherwise, thru avoidance behavior, clamped down eponymous flapping gums, this now middle aged baby boomer believes he cheated himself, injuriously jarred kidnapped legendary manifold noble savage traits ushering vital willpower yawping zealous adulthood.

Said physiological, integral, hormonal, germinal, fantastical, external, developmental, capitalone entourage fumbled mine kempf outlook predicated unanimously withheld Mortal Kombat from finagled grim-faced hoodlums, whence thine smarting, roiling, quivering psyche broke LivingSocial will power to remain alive, thus surrendering StarWars shield, essentially via nixed invisible IdentityGuard, undermined re: self defeatedly favorable growth, when thy prepubescent self firmly believed he hermetically sealed, guarded, buffered, himself against nasty, meanly lampooning, cruelly brutal bullies when in truth he merely annihilated, boobytrapped, bolloxed against learning to deal with dangerous enfilades fired, and essentially a uselessly futile coping mechanism.

     Quest diagnostic codified by yours truly incorporates initiating, kibitzing, and making odious quirkiness stamping utterly worthless yikyaks axed. Courageousness employed grappling ingeniously

kickstarting my nifty operation quintessentially rallying strength to utter verbal warbling, especially when espying a guy or gal donned with dreadlocks.

     Inexplicable to myself why a plethora of persons (constituting various generations) attire themselves with the lengthy process to braid, maintain, and wear follicles in such a fashion most attribute to Rastafarians.

     No matter what the reason or rhyme (whether with or without sense and sensibility, yet inculcated with pride without prejudice), a fascination with curiosity asper men, women, and/or children sporting a headful sprouting knotted ropy plaits sets the impetus sans this non establishmentarian chap to inquire what influenced him/her to impress the trademark dreadlocks. Each person usually offers little objection asper what influenced such a predilection.

     Upon conniving, daring, egging, et cetera this quintessentially respectable son, the unsuspecting gal or guy ruminating about some purchase, I nonchalantly assay, foray, sashay...and issue a positive comment about their snake like confection of locked tresses.

     Most interaction with persons previously unbeknownst to me launch into a harried styled and swiftly tailored explanation.

     Poetic and/or prosaic concoctions, confections, coiled connotations configuring confusing confabulations representative of mine unsettled psychological state, which (aking to purging) oft times erupts without any sense nor sensibility, neither pridefulness, though prejudice against victorious vanquished wicked yoked zealousness toward unhealthy behavious linkedin with a nada so good and plenti outlook.
Gillie Younger Dec 2012
Stay with me. Tonight
I will share my soul. with you
until the night ends and the light shows in. Share with me
all your mad thoughts, fears and dreams. don't be afraid
to share your soul. I am hocked,
interested by the person i see. I can not wait
to see the you that most never do. Hear the words
you hold inside. be struck in awe
by you like a piece of art. Stay with me
so i may meet your true self.
Swanswart Aug 2016
The bubbling bits, the melted crayons,
the wads of cellophane,
the loogie hocked up,
accidentally,
on the face of a loved one.  
the picture booth refrain.
The K mart moment, the screaming kid--
your kid (your screams) your blue light special in aisle
number nine, #9, no. IX.
The bar code ritual,
the magazines, the chamber, the Better Homes
and Gardens, the tomato worm majesty and sci-fi reality;
the 45 that skips, that skips,
that skips
the rubber cement execution.
The antiques, the answering machine genius,
the message,
the quit.
The key that would never fit
(even though it was really the right one after all.)
The said and done, the leftovers, the flat screen TV,
the belly in effigy, the remote,
the space in between
her ears and her heart.  
The cards, the paper cuts,
the canopy of foil on an ancient afternoon.
The bar room, the bare room, the broom swept
corner of the attic.  
The memories, the empty frame,
the carousel stare into the light.
the left behind,
the clouds in the sink,
the feeling you get
when you let
the microwave
be
a weapon.
Mitchell Mar 2014
One year from the day
In the sweltering heat of Spring
Sprang forth the violets writ'
By a fatherly hand in blood and ink

The castle stood like a grey giant
Behind the light blue of the skies cream.
A forgotten soul hocked their wears
As a king wept hearing of her daughters schemes.

She walked through the violets, her hair
In a bun, and her hands by her side.
The sun wailed its rays down on her,
Not feeling any urge to run and hide.

"You've ruined me!" the king screamed,
"Like a ball of yarn, you've undone me!"
His face was ruby red as sweat poured
From every pore of his shaking misery.

"Father," the girl consoled, "My love has no limits.
I am not a bird, so the sky is not my cage.
Or am I a fish, where the ocean has its walls.
She smiled at the sky, seeing natures stage.

The kings servant, a crooked piece of meat,
With gold around his neck and silk around his feet,
Scampered up beside the king like a toad and whispered,
"Dear King," he said, "Let me have a little speak."

Startled, the king kicked up his robes
And slapped him hard for acting so.
The bloodline was thick with violence,
So any family member was up for a row.

"Come over here pony!" beckoned the king to his stead,
"I've got something that I need of you."
The servant handed the horse to the high king
Pondering in the back of his bent mind if he should sing...

The king burst forth from the stable
And left his daughter staring at the days sky
The servant, trailing on the kings tail with a mule,
Was slowly turning the truth into a lie.
My debt bubble has been de-leveraged & I'll fight with guns plastic
'cause in my life defensive maneuvers have been necessarily drastic
when my crooked, fist-fightin' limbs distend Michael J. Fox spastic
Hurry pops the time for peace has degraded into a campaign drastic
as it's off to Wales where Woody, Keef & Charlie have gassed ****
like Churchill planned for Bonn as he thunk toxic gas was fantastic
& normal like switching toothpaste with a gummy resin tree mastic
that's tacky enough to entrap a brown flea but not a ******, fast tick
on Hillary Clinton's saddle-sore ***'s ****-itchy crack iconoclastic
that forces epidemical ****-casting directresses to brutally cast sick
& crippled X-muffers in dramas that are heterophobic & bombastic
& contra-contrary to the T.N.T. needed to nucleate *** & blast hick
to decree '64 as bein' the year of producer Loke Wan Tho's last flick
I am stirred by murmurs of kittens that have daily purred but my fat
cats never bought never sold never used a toilet never spoke a word
as hairy cats are ecstatic to lick hanging parts that are thickly furred
& drenched in muco-pus, river mud, alkaline residue or mouse ****
that's added for spice with green duck gut, snake nose & rotted bird
to commonize felinicidal fare in stitch with farmerettes heatin' curd
to nourish ol' Jimmy Carter robotoid #14 whose death was deferred
to push puppet Lin Forbes Burnham as David Rockefeller preferred
makes recipes valid for McDonald's grinding men into meat absurd
& the cries of ***** smashing periodic squeals into groans unheard
by moon-friendly babes whose quims rest salmon-pink & uninjured
in aspections physico-social via spirographical methods unpictured
regarding cotomaster vulgaris or second-place placers placing third
with ears & belly buttons clogged by **** & blood-shot eyes blurred
Oh **** Kiki Ebsen, let's love forever the dead Larry, Moe & Curly
& their lower Australian counterparts: the scuzzy Fairy, ** & Girly
who gulp milk with hens' eggs knowing that not 1 dairy foe is burly
as I wanna see H.P.V. vaccine-pricking-swine Rick Perry goin' surly
like Squiggy might've on Garry Marshall's show Laverne & Shirley
starring Cindy Williams & Penny Marshall whose teeth ain't pearly,
& who in heels & padded bra passes as the twin of Jo Anne Worley
in 1963 when cream was in glass bottles & menopause started early
enough for Lee Oswald before The Eye Shadows backed Merle Lee
Disney destroyed maternal worries with furnace asphyxiants of gas,
proving that lungs full of carbon monoxide fumes ain't going to last
to see '39 as '38 wafted by in a whiff of monoxidized demise so fast
for those who cartoonize the near-future, animate God's distant past
so as to demand that Rabbi Shimon's Apocalypse tribes be amassed
to pike the head of Charlie Watts as El Shaddai can never be sassed
before a Satanical/congregational flock of U.S.'s pornocratical cast
conjuring underneath a devilishly-****** act's pornographical blast
framed as merry mix-ups the queerest of collusions that flabbergast
regardless of America's oldest race-baitin' ******'s homosexual past
as a Georgia state assembly guy whom toothless ****** outclassed
Whilst masonical N.A.S.A. creates super-speed planets between us,
nobody cares that our 500,000 mile-per-hour sun is paced by Venus
in aether squattin' like California smog in a stab wound of bean pus
that'll render mucho mas gorier the spit-stained walls of a clean bus
driven off the Sunshine Skyway Bridge by a *****-lovin' mean cuss
who aped a weakling diving from tin panels pitched via a lean truss
that constricts **** lard into prime cream corn to make a queen fuss
The costumes of the Gestapo & American cops are black not 'cause
I like hanging out with lynch mobs & ******* ****** in my shack
& writing Bible corollaries after rammin' enemas up my ****** tract
in repugnance to ***-wipe Zbigniew Brzezinski of the Warsaw Pact
as it is Russia's Crimean annexation of 2014 that he's denied as fact
I curl these 10 toes under so they don't get, by a machete, hacked &
I don't date angry Mafia assassins so as to keep from bein' whacked
whilst the pardoning integrity of demi-god mafiosos governs intact,
as sanctity is conferred knowing which cops by the mob are backed
through underworld graft to ensure pig police are doggedly tracked,
framed, extorted, beat up, spiritually broken & emotionally cracked
haunting dank alleys with the hapless citizens they had blackjacked
whose id acuity gave sway to id injury that caused 'em to be sacked
by politicians placed in places as these are places a mob has hacked
with paid-pain-placebo politicos la cosa nostra has placidly backed
& licked, tucked, hocked, blacked, ticked, socked, cocked & tacked
or redacted, corrected, misdirected, uncooked, rooked & shellacked
plus heckled, freckled, prickled, pickled, trickled, kicked & stacked
Las lebianas de T.V. sexcite & thrill as no low caliber gun ever will
on the battlefields of Vietnam where John Kerry liked to run & ****,
before porkin' John Heinz's Satanical widow in a billion-dollar deal
He couldn't kick his habit each mornin' of taking a birth-control pill
or attending parties of talk-show-maggot Donahue to cop a free feel
after crappin' into pizza boxes to implement Lucifer's masonic weal
I forget not from which side my ****, neck-breaking horse I mount:
hormones coursing, **** strap is tight! What in hell am I on about?
I swoon in love, dance over matches, feel *****, steadily lose count
Her cane, her walker, her wheel chair & support hose, quack-quack,
only prove what gigolos have always known, wealthy hags kick ***
in post-menopausal slump on cruise ships ******* apes for a laugh
up my you-know-what that is a big outlet 25 inches north of my calf
whilst allopathic veterinary cat medicine increases misery @ % 7½
because me no understand a tiny bit God's need for famine & wrath
against dullards whose algebra is more mathematic than basic math
that lets me hog-call the glossy-white pig Kathie Lee Gifford: Kath'
after she aborted 3 kiddies under the bridge on the coat hanger path
Many thrillin' Christian facts have just come to light with a colorful
computer-generated face of Lord Jesus, thank God He is very white
so that we may crucify the black Jesus theory without a ****** fight
that'd be the death-kiss for chimps chimping ghetto-ebonics at night
I care for you like a foreign **** with lots of cars in his huge car lot
I know that kitty-soft quims like yours ain't never wholesale bought
I just want to part your pink ******* in bed or on any army cot
I wanna probe the core of your womanhood like your mama taught:
Cousin Jethro, Uncle Jed, André from U.P.S. & that ****** she shot
in cop-crazed self defense as she feared for her personal safety a lot
'cause her husband had to **** Iraqi children in Iraq where he fought
toilet-strain that queered his insane brain giving him queer-brain rot
that bruised his belly button, above primal glands, with a blood clot
big enough to slow Chris Reeve's gallopin' horse to a paralyzed trot
that'd split the greasy 3 hairs on the cue ball of governor Rick Scott
who's a leg-shaving maniac, less frigidly warm than moderately hot
when he enjoys vein-popping-**** straining on his golden **** ***
where-from he farts that it's legal Agenda 21's new-world-order plot
Love me wet, like you loved ****** loving freak Jacques Cousteau
who drowned 350,000 Unitarians via Aqua-Lung, Don't'cha know?
Ah Satan sees Natasha while she'll step on no pets to see juice flow
along direct paths between points A & B, as would fly a sober crow
34 minutes late for an egg-layin' contest & house-cat-skinning show
that we bird-lovin' farts must look up to the sky from hot hell below
where evaporated diarrhea fills Carnation milk cans in a ****** flow
over irradiated breakfast cereal that radiates a healthful, green glow
that'll thaw **** ice & hypothermic ***** on banana cones of snow
I'm better off than dead, not better often dead, Totie Fields, you liar
I won't skate to Ohio whilst my **** is on fire with ****-love desire
Excuse me while I limp to hell, as my leg was pared just after a fire
that makes me hobble to hell after cooking in Gandhi's funeral pyre
The sweet nectar of rector Hector of the Catholic sector gives sway
to conjecture in the Protestant vector as his carotid artery neck tore
The new nectar of Hector rector of the Catholic sector gave sway to
conjecture with an elector of vector 7 as his carotid artery neck tore
As his carotid artery neck tore, a new nectar of rector Hector de the
Catholic sector gave sway to conjecture with an elector of X vector
As his real pecks & neck tore, black neck tar of rector Hector of the
Catholical sector prefecture shot a letcher, a selector & an inspector
With specks of neck gore, the tarry sect tar of trekked-for Hector of
papal facture could catch more than lure ***** ***** on a tech floor
This violent gothical life moved me into a filthy hermit's hut where
it keeps my ***** mouth shut, the limited movement in my left nut
This stupefyin' gothical life dug me into a buried hermit's rut where
it's kept my ***** mouth shut, the poor functionality of my left nut
has kept 666 donkey gobs shut, the campy dysfunctions of a walnut
It's kept my ***** mouth shut, the bad functionality of my hind gut
It keeps my ***** mouth shut, the limited movement in my left nut
It slams my ***** mouth shut, the fun moments of my lard-*** ****
Your pocked *** are 2 flabby people I haven't wanted to meet again
while I'm busy in bee-stung-hive land eating carp bowel & shark fin

DON'T TOUCH MY *** BECAUSE I'M A LESBIAN FOREVER
& ever & no man'll change it because, ****-wise, I'm lesbian-clever
I'll block you soon forever & blacken your eyes & hide your toupée
because I hate you more queerly than prissy Obama hates being gay
with Michael, as he expresses himself better durin' lactation classes
among the hammer-happy Hillary crowd & Bill's ****-****** *****  
that only worsen clownish ***** dunked by red-sock-ducked passes
through to the prostate in lucky, ancient Hugh Hefner ****** sasses
Eddie Money, Johnny Paycheck & Johnny Cash in 32 papal masses
Lord God, let us gaily promote family-oriented regional voter fraud
for a shiksa of the Red Sea whose **** & *** push a solid boater ***
I cocked hitchings to my petcock like a whinin' Alfred Hitchcock in
anticipation of 18 quacked ribs via unpatented Owl **** ***** Sock
as sinus infections purpled nasal-mucopus excreta into an itch pock
Let me scratch your lard *** in peace, a piece of ***, girly hot ridge,
on the farm with lazy Keith, smart-aleck Danny & Shirley Partridge
who refuses to follow hygienical protocols including hand sanitizer
as your glad, toothless Kentuckian chews via a manned-clan incisor
On blood-drenched sheets you scarf Jiff extra crunchy peanut butter forever & want me to love you for it after hurlin' chunky in a gutter
But I got more complex self-respect than blind respect that's simple
for your cheese-spewing-mucopus-heavy-acne-cystical *** pimple
that made Walker McDonald chuck his walker for a steel gimp pole
so that he could pole vault over Bruce Jenner's scrod & shrimp stall
Deeply from the cockpit of my ******'s messy shore I proclaim that
this itchy crack is a filthy treasure by my big ****** ****'s measure
'cause from it venereal-diseased Johns derive lots of carnal pleasure
until their ureters swell shut & good currents of ***** ain't ****-sure
fewer than 6 inches from the **** uretero-pelvic junction's fist core
where M.L.K., junior scratched deeply his pustulating ****** fissure
Shut up hard-*** **** I can buy & sell you whenever I ******* want
Sit there whilst I pray for guidance or I'll kick you for your defiance
Hi, my name's Kandy and I work in a cat house with mucho ******
who are girlfriends of mine plagued by ulcerative, syphilitical sores
made weepy by salts of the briny deep below Jacmel's ocean shores
Insane James Whitmore claims grit poor as he blames **** for what
shames *** sore after eating fried porridge that defied proper storage
Wherever condominiums are posh the battle is delirium vs.delusion
that illustratively eliminates an elusively-shrill illusion of a colossal
cerebral cortex calamity countering cranial, ****-clinching contusion
The gay estrogen king kept his **** well with agents anthelmintical
till he was killed by the girly estrogen king with pills antiparasitical
Algeria, Algeria, I despise you worser than **** films from Nigeria
made by queer-bait crotch crickets afflicted with advanced progeria
that they got from white-phosphorus-bombed kids of peaceful Syria
where Moslemical love thaws the icy hearts of ******* from Siberia
who ran over the Caucasus via Spain's Portuguese peninsula, Iberia
I'm doubly excited about Intact ******* Day I think I am I am sure,
'cause I got a dark cookie doll in raunchy eastern Mexico to live for
which's why the suicidal jump of Evelyn McHale was not vehicular
in traffic flow manual guides, as the crashed car was her stone floor
Commanding Lieutenant William Bligh was the victim of cowardly
mutiny by Acting Lieutenant Fletcher Christian, two years after His
Majesty's Armed Vessel Bounty did sail, 'cause sweaty-palmed freak
Fletch Christian snagged his mutinous, ripped ****** on a bent nail
Don't let's not, not let's don't count on doubt, unsounded into Jersey
where stinking **** #26 is officiously & officially known as **** Z
who'll scrape, bow, prostrate like a girl whose knees shake in curtsy
who'll scrape & prostrate like a lesbian whose **** shakes in curtsy
Look Santa Claus, my purpled *****' knobs are Christ-like & sharp
like push buttons of a dead angel's gaily-strummed, gay-baited harp
Wing Chun my *** up the center line & I'll hide beneath a tarp after
I call first dibs from a toilet, dharma & karma & catfishes kiss carp
I call first dibs from a toilet, dharma & karma & catfish kisses carp
I call first dibs on the toilet! It's daffy dharma over karma or vicky-
verky. Wing Chun my *** up the center line where jerks chaw jerky
I sank to the bottom of your love bucket like mice winning at bingo
for being ******* to cherry wood while houndin' a kid-killin' dingo
Your clingy love has done much to set me free since you lopped off
2 of your straight front limbs to become a crippled, double amputee
during a Jesus-dead Christmas like I don't like it in an ulcerated sea
under the current of a skinny, barbiturated Johnny Cash over for tea
as calculated gastrical absorption rates rate as constants minus a fee
that transmogrifies my sleek, **** **** into the bulbous *** of a bee
what pendulates & undulates below the bend of my lonely left knee
in relation to fly-papered catch-alls & bug zappers in my family tree
where 1 ape wrangler wrangles triangular angles, bangles, spangles
for Christmas like I don't like it because my ******* on ice dangles
whilst fearin' for Winston Smith as to when caged rats/mice fangs'll
avulse eyes & gnaw on his tongue, before weaving nests in his lung
that shall really make it tricky to sing sing-songs he ain't never sung
that'll make it hard to gaily sing sing-songs he ain't never gaily sung
Merry Christmas nice Santa Claus, happy birthday & prepare to die
'cause when it comes to murdering fat men, I'm not the least bit shy
around dippy/daffy ***** too dried out to give it that old college try
outside college because I am the same age while they are a lot older
with bruised head, dented instep, hammer toe & arthritical shoulder
that goes up when I slip down a hill that's got many a loose boulder
to crush Miss Austria even though I once angrily warned & told her
of what's in for tall chicks runnin' ledges in acts dangerously bolder
for beauty queens long in the tooth & **** babes significantly older
whose hottest movements render homely ***** withdrawn & colder
than the homosexy boy-toy lover of Obama pickaninny Eric Holder
from whom I've hid in 32 Kenyan files a blatantly-fraudulent folder
of cheery, cherry Christ Masses reamin' the beheld's queer beholder
add mitt ting enjoyment sans the lithe hot feline Taylor Swift - I might be the only baby boomer mwm who admires this talented singer/song writer, yet owns NO aspirations beyond composing poems or prose.

(A questionable attempt to stitch – analogous to knot sew swift a tailor, this scribe sought to create a poet from her song titles spanning the letter “A” to the letter “H”).

Despite never setting eyes (AND MOST Definitely NOT PAWS), this grateful dead corpse of a skeleton (essentially lovely bare bones), when alive I found one gal powerhouse (asper the title of this informal homage; genuinely fashioned,

entirely dutifully composed, benevolently addressed to an attraction, confident, enduring, graceful, immensely known, mainly over quibbles sans unsustained wrenched, yanked, aborted connections ending glumly, inviting kindling material of quests souring until wonderful yin/yang anchors coy effeminate gal.

Before the advent vis a vis crafting this literary challenge incorporating a poetic endeavor predicated on prolific tunes comprising audiophile of Taylor Swift, (and thus a prescript interim), a whim took hold to string her partial song playlist (quite substantial even up to BUT NOT including the letter “I”).

This scribe dabbled, hocked, and limned what evolved into a semi satisfactory effort, this articulate, copacetic, enigmatic, generic, ironic, kinetic, magnetic, opportunistic, quixotic, scholastic, ultrademocratic, wholistic yikyak paddy whack give this bard a bon bon.

Adieu admit to elaborating, and second guessing to put down pontoon literary bridges in an effort to connect a straight forward itemized list of tune titles.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Thee Mademoiselle found,
or made a place in the world for yourself
aching like a boy out in left field
pining to catch that high fly
there there ain't nothing 'bout you,

(nor Brooks and Dunn) I can attest
even if hypothetically,
we spent eons at an all night diner
where culinary staff knew thee all too well
and perhaps all you wanted
(shared with Michelle Branch)

perhaps positing the rhetorical question –
am I ready for love?
With an American boy
or a ***** best buddy

re: best friend forever with an American girl
if someone got cross, tis beneficial
(in this one republic) to apologize
regardless, whom ye choose as a confidante,

the following refrain plays in your mind
baby don't you break my heart slow
(at least according to Vonda Shepard)
memories no doubt arise,

when thee hapt to be a baby girl
thoughts unspool back to December
beautiful eyes peered at a fractured reflection
before the love story
would begin again,

while ebbing, and flowing with my baby
recalling Bette David eye
(taking visual delight sans world tour live)
reminding self how better off
the choice made tis much better than revenge

but umpteen times bother I will
asper boys and love
combustible mix – nonetheless
always reminding myself to breathe
deep, cuz being breathless

likened to a taste of death,
(I admit better than Ezra)
learning how to act points back
asper being brought up that way
lessons oft learned getting bustedng

oh...and by the way can I go with you?
Can you feel the love tonight?
Discern ache kin to sand castles crumbling?
such granular, or solid state matter
doth forced to change

attested to by chaperone dads,
who dressed as Santa Claus invoked
that Christmas must be something more
especially, Christmases,
when you were mine

ah...closest to a cowboy
as “sigh” ever got
or tasting Gunstock rattlesnake pulverized,
yet countenance goose
(and found you under the care of Chet Atkins
  
at the make believe medical center)
shivered flesh against cold as you
though desiring thee to come back...he here
no doubt prone

to announce crazier requests asked
even crazier
(as demonstrated
by flash mob generated
by Hannah Montana, one live wire)

if able to glean my sentiments...
cross my heart
aware as an adult feeling the life source of daddy
or mommy, while hinting
with a stone temple piloted cold stare

double dare you to move
(or switch foot), one to another
das feet – planted within pitch dark blue Tennessee
dwelling with thoughts
of ma dear Digdan
or writing an imaginary letter starting...”dear John”

ample melancholy maudlin material
to complete bind a diary of me
yes concert cavorting circumstances
avoidable, though didn't they
make chase like butterflies,
and don't they hate me for loving you?

so please don't tell me you want to,
when I don't want to anymore
argh, yet impossibly unshakable
the recurring thought don't you
act indiscriminately

as when down came the rain,
washed the spy dir out
following suit (wet)
drenching yea...one drama queen
with chin amen along pearl harbor drive
(in conjunction with alan jackson)

presaging Jiving drops of Jupiter
(train chugging, clacking, clattering
railing gestalt of alien nation)
and all of a sudden like how odd though...

thinking about eighth grade graduate,
when lifetime seemed enchanted
now everything has changed
eyes open (“hunger games”)
maketh me – fall back on you
instant messaging you –
fall into me fearless,

though only fifteen
and how against pyrotechnics,
you find your way back home
on the fourth of July

perhaps led by a zeppelin sized firefly
ah, I ask myself who is the foolish one?
Me for you forever & always (a platinum edition)
for girl at home (donned in deluxe edition)

going bananas
in reference to Amazing Gracie
swaggering, and immune to gun powder & lead,
(whose leading lady Miranda Lambert)
whatsapp penned left her looking haunted
heartbreaker – (my words – like Tom Petty)

about her, but unsure if our thoughts aligned
anyway, here you go again (Dolly Parton)
a hero heroine
so...I clamor to yell out “hey soul sister”
and hey Stephen

along the boulevard of broken dreams,
this ribbon highway don't care
about trumpeting his lies
nor desecrating holy ground
honey baby, yes ye in the mom jeans,

I feel hopelessly devoted to you
(as doth Olivia Newton)
instinctively keen how to save a life
bobbing buoyantly amidst the fray.
I’m sitting mute in my wheelchair,
They think that I’m deaf and dumb,
Since ever the stroke that took me out
Emboldened everyone,
The jokes that they told behind my back
They say straight out to my face,
They think I’ll die of a heart attack,
I think they’re a sad disgrace!

It’s always about the money,
It’s always about the gilt,
They think they’re getting a fortune,
They’re all hocked up to the hilt,
They think that my Corporation
Will soon be theirs for the take,
They’ll shunt me out to the sidelines,
I think that’s a big mistake!

If they think that I’m weak and dying,
They really don’t know the man,
I built up a corporation
With the strength of these two hands,
I was out in the streets at fourteen,
I was selling and hustling then,
While they were ******* their mother’s paps
I was out with working men.

Not one of them’s done a hard days work,
They sit there, pushing a pen,
They’ve never raised blisters on their fists
That bled, oh, time and again,
They sit in their pristine offices
With a wall of framed degrees,
But never spent time in a filthy trench
With water, up to their knees.

When I’m left alone in the evenings,
I stagger up out of this chair,
And force myself to walk to the wall
And back, as I fight despair,
But I’m gradually getting stronger,
And my head’s as good as it was,
I’ll show these ignorant jokers
What it takes to be a boss!

I think they’re getting impatient,
They want me out of the way,
I’ve heard them mutter between them,
That they’ll speed my going away,
The one that I used to trust the most
Has sat in my chairman’s chair,
He smirks and shirks all the daily work
While I can but sit and stare.

They’re treating me like an imbecile
They’re treating me like I’m mad,
They’ve draped a blanket over my lap
And don’t realise, I’m glad.
They come at night with a plastic bag
And they place it over my head,
But out from the rug my Magnum looms
And then, Bang Bang, they’re dead!

David Lewis Paget
JB Claywell Dec 2015
it’s a tough business I’m in.
and I wouldn’t choose to do
anything else really.

sure, I’d write more or maybe
give a talk here or there if
they’d ask me, but then…

doing this thing in December
is the worst,
because you get to see just
how much poor these folks
are living in.

the quiet rumble of the big man
his voice like a rolling, roiling
thundercloud, not ready or willing
to unleash.

the snap and pop of the whole of him
as he stands to greet me is like the lightning
and his massive sigh as he returns to his recliner
is a gust of gray sorrow filling my sky.

“Look at this,” he says, “just look.”
I do; and I see the old scrub brush
Christmas tree he’s had his attendant
*****.
“There ain’t a ****** thing under there.” he says
to me and to the universe at large. “And, I’m already…”

I know what he means, as I sneak my litany in.
his answers are the same as always, he’s making
his way and in fair shape.

“I go to the pantry; sometimes to the church,” he continues.
“But, it’s hard to stand in line…last week was two hours for lunch.”

my mind runs to the wallet on my hip and the five crisp, new $100
bills inside, but they aren’t there, they never were, a daydream
of passing one over and seeing him smile, smiling back, and quietly
exiting with a: “shhh…”

but I’m broke too.

I ask weakly if there’s anything can be done.

ignoring the question,
he tells me that all of his good ****
is in hock so that he might get his sister
and his mama something nice.

and here I sat thinking hard, not smart, about
how sometimes it’s not Christmas,
sometimes it’s just a Friday.

“I’ve hocked my good **** before.” he says.
“Take a few months of being really flat to get it back.”

what the **** does really flat look like comparatively I wonder
but don’t ask.

“It’s about the giving.” he rumbles at me.
“It’s about showing the people that care about you
that you care about them too.”

reaching behind his massive self, he grins at me;
pulls a small, carefully wrapped box, from its hiding place.

“Open it.” he instructs.

and I do.

*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublucations; 2015
* a social worker poem.
Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
There now is a guy in D.C.
Who thinks he is king there, you see.
He built a big list
And no one was missed
That he wants to throw into the sea.

He decided his kingdom should be
His kind of democracy;
Where we’ll do what he said
Or we’ll end up dead
And he can claim solidarity.

The guy is quite plainly eluded
He wants certain people excluded
He thinks we don’t see
His gross villainy;
The emperor is completely denuded.

He thinks our land is his plaything
He issues demands that are dismaying.
His delusions are obvious.
He’s out to ruin all of us.
It’s a dangerous game he is playing.

Some of us hope he gets locked up
And based on the plans he has hocked up
He reminds of a dumb *****
Who is surprised once more
When she finds out that she’s knocked up.
History contends that on that score
hing hot summer at 6:00 pm June sixteenth
in the year 666 after the Devonian era,
two lovers - a Mister Belmont Me

and Missy Bryn Mawr Hu felt the call
of the wild within the wilderness
in ****** hinterlands of Penn Valley
and supposedly got cannibalized

by a Hottentot Mailer Daemon named
Manayunk Yahoo. All plugged stoppers
got pulled as the passionate children
of Mother Nature and Jethro Toll

rumbled, fumbled, bungled in
the jungle, and shook the firma
ment echoing subterranean cat a
combs with their private feral

Carnival antics.The ensuing Millennium
spawned one bizarre tale after
another each appending a more
farfetched tail spinning embellish
ment from the preceding legend.

Mary Waters ford considered as
the first person to record the shroud
of mystery lurking in the hollows
of sleepy hills, which rumor harbored
this legend of lost Lower Merion lovers.

Even to this day (one eerily similar
at that fateful bewitching hour)
one can hear the blood curdling
and hair-raising bacchanalia under
ground Brahmins deep pounding
beets on their crude ovens deep
purple within the bowels of the Earth.

Many believe present day tremors
that line the main tract hearken
Earth linked presence of sinning
wood nymphs and elfin grots continually

being birthed within many gnarled rocks
causing groundswell similar to
a Welsh Valley overtaken by hocked
conch blowing Harridans. Some
of these hardy adherents corn beef

hash tagged as unprintable expletives,
whose self-righteousness bound
by unwavering assertions of Woody
Woodpecker apparition. Visages of
fearsome flesh eating muscle bound

underground golems toting haversacks
as big as a town (surpassing the likes
of 1148 Matthew’s rolled into one)
sustains longevity of ogres not even

all the brooms could sweep away far
as next square rush new town. Although
rarely seen, but more often heard
tectonic vibrations that shake and bake

like local crowded house special chicken
Radnor (often cleft fissures upon flint ******
layers of bedrock comprising Delaware Valley)
infuses imagination of (top notch pugilists)

bravely ventured into this haunted haven
and vanished without a trace. Most likely
their fate became a gourmet meal i.e. tasty
as Salad Augustus with seven season Caesar dressing.
Ray Suarez Dec 2015
I was walking down Gaffey Street
2 am
Drunk with only
The moon
To watch over me
Up ahead I saw
This black guy
Leaning against a newspaper stand
He was drunk too
He was staring straight into my eyes
I thought about looking down
But that would be submission
I stared at him and put my chin out
Blew my chest up
He saw this
And stood up straight
Hocked a big loogie
I balled up my fist and
Stepped closer
Feeling more alive than ever
Thinking about death
How it wouldn't be so bad
When we finally got an
arms reach away from each other
We did the up and down look
I knew he could take me
I finally said "You alright man?"
He spit again
I walked past then turned around
Walked backwards
He was still staring
Nothing happened
I turned around and heard
"****** ******!"
I stopped
Then thought
That's not so bad
And kept walking
The hardest part of being a man
Is that we all have to be
******
tough guys
hello

a gal who regularly wires
and treads by ap ply ying instant feed that tires
meself to spin (and/or doctor aa previous write
   cuz, mum Madge gin nation
   flecked with a notion of Elizabeth Squires,
whose literary appetite requires
meat hoo summon all my brain cells -
   exhausting mental effort forces hires
help full doppelganger for whatever
   supplemental effort this chap re choirs.

:。✿゚‘゚・✿.。.i'm a geico caveman  
.:。✿
゚‘゚・✿.。..:。✿*゚‘゚・✿.。.

Enter prize zing wit

read none, some, or all the following aye writ
   eight nine two nine while i ad mitt
to be upon porcelain goddess,
a brilliant idea in mind did lit
   though not b4 this seasoned bugs bunny
   car tune character son of blank kit -

a trickster - took me as raw pressed dough
   n proof pork **** rib rocked
   instant karma bitta bing bitta bang - loosed ten chin
   n wrought genesis as son of well bread Inuit  -
   igloo cradled helix nomad,
   which gene net turn pronounced me a beatnik
   b4 i went on the road - imagination
   fired up with fleeting thoughts, that softly hit
futilely attempting tin nay shuss lee
   by skein of teeth, er...dentures, they flit
nonetheless, I yam a poet favoring words that rhyme a bit.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

iambic pentameter strands crochet themselves
   magically into verse
interleaving like boughs of an arbor
   stellar solar shield entombing solitary soul
   ***** wonk ah shaky spear shafts of sunlight dapple
   the canopy affecting shadows to disperse
ebbing and flowing in tandem & sync
   ably built circadian metronome
   doth oscillate rousing trolling minstrel
   transformed by hypnotic tolling serenade
   from mother nature snapchatting son
   sans, eternal sleep tightens with scythe lent funereal curse
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

congregating amongst distinguished
   flora and fauna, the latter sending tendrils
poised on brink of philosophical revelation
   delicate as hocked china
which capricious metaphorical musings as a minority
reporter - resurrected and crowd-sourced from propriety
devoid of vicious evocations, nor premonitions
while ensconced in eyesight viz myopic quality
of my adobe dwelling away from mass of society
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

whence return of this native
   Norwegian bachelor wannabe son
   doth pond door, what lake woebegone harbors
   garrison against madding crowd,
   who cease, dwindle n evaporate
   less than effect of a mosquito
   needling proboscis in nape o me neck,
this contemplative human being
   feels leaves of grass like
   a tea zing whit tilling man wit spindle
   completing colorful pastoral palette
   of utmost verdant splendor upon flotsam speck
allowing wisps of euphoria to warm tinder psyche
   easing books set afire to kindle
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

under azure mortise tenon soundcloud
   rigged tenebrous vault
the entire warp and woof one mortal male
   lies beneath celestial sphere transfixed vista
   akin to primates who preceded him
millenniums forebears
   moost likely similarly inebriated
   from wondrous panoply of one star
comprises a near infinite candelabra
   guiding ma mind to posit infinite universe.

      
Charlie Darwin Apr 2017
designed and crafted by a masterful hand
             a finely tuned cello, no one played
she was, a candlelight dinner marinated for years
             reserved to a table without a chair
    protected from tears, a heart worn on a sleeve
        with an umbrella made of paper Mache

         a shooting star crossing a shrouded night
                as pointless, a letter left unread
      a ballerina exhumed from an aged music box
           then discarded for the contents within
an empty pew would have made the same difference
         if at the end of a road less traveled instead

          a painted egg behind a childhood swing
       the one that hadn't been found
a dusted book discovered from a second shelf nook
        returned before the pages had been read
he was, a singing bird, without as much as a word
   released for the two that had not made a sound
a diamond unclaimed, hocked for more of the same
          should have been on your finger instead

and sometimes we gaze at neutrality
the blue sky is neither good nor bad
to balance ourselves with that which we know
with that which we don't understand

to level a world which is round and uneven
when views blur the edge between waters and sand
as well is the peace of resign in daydreaming
as well is the calming of holding your hand
Andreas Simic Sep 2017
Poet Don’t Show It©

As I sit here and ponder what to write

I suffer every poet’s plight

What to put in it that may bypass a cynic

Will it pass the test of time or be it a rhyme

Is it about a crime or will someone even pay a dime

How will I tell it if I can’t even spell it

It won’t be shock if I get writer’s block

Once more it would lead to things being hocked

How will I blend smarts and wit in it

With critics abound ready to pounce a limerick

When I made this a career choice

I knew then that I wouldn’t be driving a Rolls Royce

My Father would often say

Are you getting a real job that will pay

But Mom would often defend me and herself relay

Let the boy play he will make it some day

So now I sit here with a dry piece of bread

Trying to forestall the dread, what if they’re right I plead

Just then and there it came to mine head

It’s time for bed, don’t let this spread

Enough said

Andreas Simic©
Jennifer McCurry Jun 2020
The squaw that stroked the camel's sack had finally dun herself in.      
She looked into the eyes of the beast,        
and became powerful frightened of his wicked grin!        
Oh Holy Moly how that one stroke too far had engorged his needed ****....        
She saw her touch had unleashed a devlish urge and swallowed hard with a lump..        
Swollen from lust..        
And in need of a ******...        
He pawed his hooves at the ground..        
Never in her short sqaw life had she heard anything snortin such a hellacious sound!        
Then she saw the enormous size        
of the thing she had rized..        
And the camal hocked a big ol spit..        
The sweet lil thang Cherokee hollered, and her mocassins took her off lickety split..        
He came chargin right behind her, bound and determined, nostrils round n aflared..        
Man! You should have seen that purty lil squaw runnin, by gawd she was ascared!!!
Poem challenge
Write a poem using malapropism
Message me to make sure I see your posts
I.E the squaw that stroked the camels sack
The straw that broke the camels back

A malapropism (also called a malaprop, acyrologia, or Dogberryism) is the use of an incorrect word in place of a word with a similar sound, resulting in a nonsensical, sometimes humorous utterance. An example is the statement by baseball player Yogi Berra, "Texas has a lot of electrical votes", rather than "electoral votes".[1] Malapropisms often occur as errors in natural speech and are sometimes the subject of media attention, especially when made by politicians or other prominent individuals. Philosopher Donald Davidson has said that malapropisms show the complex process through which the brain translates thoughts into language.

Have fun!
Enshrined for all posterity
mine benediction for reverence,
whereby conflict resolution
ameliorated courtesy peaceable solutions.

An adulation, concatenation, encapsulation,
gratification, introspection, et cetera
encompassing poignant episodes of mein kampf.

Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line
state of the art COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive girls
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledger
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.
Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with

attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Philanderer,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble.
Flagrante delict adulterous sordid behavior
automatically linkedin with Lothario;
an unscrupulous seducer of women,
based upon a character
in The Impertinent Curious Man,
a story within a story
in Miguel de Cervantes'
1605 novel, Don Quixote.

Hard to fathom where yours truly
got (seedy – CD) drive and moxie,
after willingly assenting
to pledge sacred marital agreement
courtesy justice of the peace
and Magisterial District Judge:
Henry Schireson
925 Montgomery Avenue,
Suite 100, Narberth, Pennsylvania
19072-1913.

He subsequently and immediately
pronounced myself and the missus
as newlywed groom and bride
freshly minted husband and wife
July twenty fifth nineteen ninety six
until death do us part.

A couple years later,
we acquired our first computer
then snazzy top of the line COMPAQ presario
running on Windows 98 operating system no less,
a belated wedding anniversary present,
whereat wide-eyed, I quickly disc hoovered
plethora pornographic websites
expending energy and time crafting
which hashtagged electronic ejaculations recognized
now as crude sexually explicit
classified personal advertisements
forsaking welfare of marriage and fatherhood
to mine innocent beautiful two little girls.

I blatantly, egregiously, indiscriminately...
whiled away hours shucking off
essentially grievously ignoring
paternal and husbandly duties
instead prioritizing re: cultivating,
cavorting, frolicking, inviting...
romantic (née dangerous) liaisons.

These days majority of time spent online
constitutes crafting anecdotes of mein kampf,
albeit reflecting categorically imponderable poetry
and/or stream of consciousness prose
veritable anonymous readers
probably roll their eyes
at mine trademark double entendre,
yet bard **** (with shaky spear) knows
how inapropos I consider ogling attractive gals
for instance while grocery shopping
with the missus at Trader Joe's,
nevertheless job of this punster
his wordplay accidentally doth impose
so please pardon moi harmless
momentary lapse of rhymed reason

as mine handy dandy
blue veined ribbed slimy fleshy hose
does double duty in tandem with magic wand,
lifelike snaky entity that actually grows
particularly necessary when
burst of fiery secretion flows
intense spray powerful enough
to pulverize knees and elbows
subsequently witnessing yours truly to doze,
an ideal juncture to figuratively close
silently wailing analogy to Moby ****
regarding how yesterdays
prurient laced introductions
to rhyme in retrospect embarrassingly blows.

Herewith to enliven anecdote ever further,
I inject humorous tidbit
just gimme moment to unload and reach
into psychological metaphorical knapsack
particularly blue slimy hose, my keepsake
to forcibly remove *******
birthed courtesy emergency pit stop
without means and ways to clean derriere,
a feeble and futile attempt.

Haint no fallacy
yours truly subsequently secured
more powerful giant accouterment,
while clinging for dear life
perched atop ledge er
or edge er domain of clawfoot bathtub,
(ah how convenient and timely
smallish size Jacuzzi getup to appear)
and lemme figuratively
continue (closing) pathetic riffraff
(apropos of nothing) riffling around
mostly strewn with random tchotchkes
and odd bubba's zayda's knickknack
such as ahh... look here hocked wares,
acquired ready to receive paddywhack
giving dog(gerel) bonafied chops.

Without warning be alert
and on outlook for non sequitur
verses asinine blather to blurt
plus quite juvenile grown man here
averse to ***** thought processes of her/him
who might peruse frivolous inane gibberish,
cuz precious effort ye exert
to comprehend written contents
alluding to metaphorical little squirt.

I chose to memorialize, alas and alack
atypical/unusual fond memory -
argh, a sudden nostalgia attack
many... countless years gone back
livingsocial at 324 Level Road,
elapsed good times, I can never buyback
Gambone builders demolished complex edifice
currently repurposed mansion manse courtesy
vinyl city as Stella's Way
boyhood address above,
frequently seen dramatically transformed
into aforementioned place name, which property
originally christened Glen Elm,
(within national registries)
yours truly cannot easily callback.

Noggin houses storied detailed information
though I experience exercise in futility
searching Internet, said webbed wide world
absent information when Leipers lived
circa early nineteen hundreds, though
if mine perchance eyes espied absent estate...
slack jawed stare would repeatedly
sow sadness weighing me heart
heavy as coalsack
accompanying sorrow with
attendant flood of tears,
would make an immediate comeback
impossible mission to stopper
feeble, futile and lame counterattack,
where sentimental reverie would
carry me far away to Old Virginny,
for no particular rhyme nor reason
e'en attempting to write
recollections might trigger
tsunami immanent grievous childhood memories

recollecting watching silent home movies,
while chomping on crackerjack
when I had real teeth,
boot the Missus axed me to enliven herself
regaling humorous instances, thus I cutback
to... hardy ***** times, the major drawback
x amount of time elapsed
summoning special occasions
(surgeon general's warning
such mental revisitations)

fraught with onset, where perilous flashback
will moost likely
violently grip cerebral cortex
analogous to puny chap (me)
knocked unconscious courtesy
searingly robust hypothetical fullback,
nevertheless impossible mission
to restrain waterworks I intend to hijack,
and hoop fully succeed tamping tears
strong suggestion as encouraged by hunchback

from Notre Dame Dublin down on miscreants
known within these neck of woods
as storied Paul Bunyan
also alias Phil Ander er,
(especially among superficially
prim and proper, but
actually debsauched women folk),
whose services regarding payback
best abide, adhere, and afford
to pay forward credo fore playbook.

Said burly lumberjack with severe scoliosis,
nonetheless quite self evident
his outsize implement,
(ye need not axe further questions)
extinguishing problematic residue
iterated further within mine playful ramble
methinks ye uttered vamoose,
hence best make a bee line and hastily scramble.
This subdued wordsmith
doth not rack his brains to **** fess appeal
toward one household pop starlet.

He blithely, nonchalantly, and willingly
add mitts audiological enjoyment, sans the lithe
hot feline Taylor Swift - I might be
the only baby boomer ****** mwm,
who admires this talented singer/songwriter,
yet owns NO (absolute zero)  
aspirations beyond composing poems or prose
toward divine dame.

A questionable attempt to stitch together –
analogous to knot sew swift a tailor,
this scribe sought to create a poem
(crafted countless years ago)
from her then song titles spanning
the letter “A” to the letter “H.”

Despite never setting eyes
(AND MOST Definitely NOT PAWS),
this grateful dead corpse of a skeleton
(essentially lovely bare bones),
when alive I found one gal powerhouse,
(asper the title of this informal homage)
genuinely fashioned, entirely
dutifully composed, benevolently addressed
as an attraction among
the wonders of the
world wide web, confidently enduring,
gracefully immensely known,
mainly not overly prone to quibble
regarding her less outstanding
musical and lyrical confections.

This doggone muttering pooch
bow wows against
nattering nabobs of negativism
able, eager, ready, and willing
bugaboos countering, dispelling, excoriating...
courtesy unsustained denunciations
against latent natural born talents
of aforementioned musician,
whereby pulp magazines make mincemeat
hammering, nailing, and wrenching
storied accomplishments
never yanking off the top of list
of solo women musical artists
who sold the most number one albums.

Before the advent vis a vis
crafting this literary challenge
incorporating a poetic endeavor
predicated on prolific tunes
comprising audiophile of Taylor Swift,
(and thus a prescript interim),
as iterated above,
a whim took hold to string
her partial song playlist
(quite substantial even up to
BUT NOT including the letter “I”).

This scribe dabbled, hocked, and limned
what evolved into a semi satisfactory effort,
to articulate, copacetic, enigmatic, generic,
ironic, kinetic, magnetic, opportunistic,
quixotic, scholastic, ultra democratic,
holistic yik yak paddy whack
give this bard a bon bon.

Adieu admit to elaborating, jovially,
and openly leave readers second guessing,
(what might easily be labeled,
misconstrued, and nullified as gobbledygook),
asper how mashup song titles
got figuratively slapped together
as a feebly note worthy attempt
to put down sew sew pontoon
swiftly tailored literary bridges
in an effort to connect a cumbersome,
fulsome, and irksome pseudo
straight forward itemized songs
sung by said seductive singular sylph..

Thee Mademoiselle found,
or made a place in the world for yourself
aching like a boy out in left field
pining to catch that high fly
there ain't nothing 'bout you,
(nor Brooks and Dunn) I can attest
even if hypothetically,
we spent eons at an all night diner,
where culinary staff knew thee all too well
and perhaps all you wanted
(shared with Michelle Branch)
perhaps positing the rhetorical question –
am I ready for love?

With an American boy
or a ***** best buddy
re: best friend forever with an American girl
if someone got cross, tis beneficial
(in this one republic) to apologize
regardless, whom ye choose as a confidante,
the following refrain plays in your mind
baby don't you break my heart slow
(at least according to Vonda Shepard)
memories no doubt arise,
when thee hapt to be a baby girl

thoughts unspool back to December
beautiful eyes peered
at a fractured reflection
before the love story
would begin again,
while ebbing, and flowing with my baby
recalling Bette Davis' eye
(taking visual delight
fantastic world tour live)
reminding self how better off
the choice made

tis much better than revenge
but umpteen times bother I will
asper boys and love
combustible mix – nonetheless
always reminding myself to breathe
deep, cuz being breathless
likened to a taste of death,
(I admit better than Ezra)
learning how to act points back
asper being brought up that way
lessons oft learned getting busted.

Oh...and by the way can I go with you?

Can you feel the love tonight?

Discern ache kin to sand castles crumbling?

Such granular, or solid state matter
doth forced to change
attested to by chaperone dads,
who dressed as Santa Claus invoked
that Christmas must be something more
especially, Christmases,
when you were mine
ah...closest to a cowboy
as “sigh” ever got
or tasting Gunstock rattlesnake pulverized,

yet countenance goose
(and found you under the care of Chet Atkins
at the make believe medical center)
shivered flesh against cold as you
though desiring thee to come back...he here
no doubt prone
to announce crazier requests asked
even crazier (as demonstrated
by flash mob generated
by Hannah Montana, one live wire)

if able to glean my sentiments...
cross my heart
aware as an adult feeling
the life source of daddy
or mommy, while hinting
with a stone temple piloted cold stare
double dare you to move
(or switchfoot), one to another
das feet – planted within
pitch dark blue Tennessee

dwelling with thoughts
of ma dear Digdan
or writing an imaginary letter
starting...”dear John”
ample melancholy maudlin material
to completely bind a diary of me
yes concert cavorting circumstances
avoidable, though didn't they
make chase like butterflies,
and don't they hate me for loving you?

So please don't tell me you want to,
when I don't want to anymore
argh, yet impossibly unshakable
the recurring thought don't you
act indiscriminately
as when down came the rain,
washed the spied her out
following suit (wet)
drenching yea...one drama queen
with chin amen along pearl
(jammed) harbor drive
(in conjunction with alan jackson)
presaging Jiving drops of Jupiter
(train chugging, clacking, clattering
railing gestalt of alien nation),

and all of a sudden like how odd though...
thinking about eighth grade graduate,
when lifetime seemed enchanted
now everything has changed
eyes open (“hunger games”)
maketh me – fall back on you
instant messaging you –
fall into me fearless,
though only fifteen
and how against pyrotechnics,
you find your way back home
on the fourth of July
perhaps led by a zeppelin sized firefly
ah, I ask myself who is the foolish one?

Me for you forever & always
(a platinum edition)
for girl at home
(donned in deluxe edition)
going bananas
in reference to Amazing Gracie
swaggering, and immune
to gunpowder & lead,
(whose leading lady Miranda Lambert)
whatsapp penned left her looking haunted
heartbreaker – (my words –
like the late Tom Petty)
about her, but unsure
if our thoughts aligned

anyway, here you go again (Dolly Parton)
a hero heroine
so...I clamor to yell out “hey soul sister”
and hey Stephen
along the boulevard of broken dreams,
this ribbon highway don't care
about trumpeting his lies
nor desecrating holy ground
honey baby, yes ye in the mom jeans,
I feel hopelessly devoted to you
(as didst Olivia Newton)
instinctively keen how to save a life
bobbing buoyantly amidst the fray.
More'n ten thousand leagues under the sea
next to an octopus's garden in the shade.

OceanGate manufacturer
of the Titan Submersible,
which vessel that set out to reach
Titanic shipwreck with five passengers
officials believe the suffered
a “catastrophic implosion”
apt analogy to mein kampf.

Major tsuris, the loss of innocent lives
or being robbed blind
for seventeen thousand
five hundred buck a roos
alias Harvey Specter,
(a professional hacker and scammer
lurking in the deep dark Internet,
who turned hand over fist lucrative income
at my expense
courtesy cyber currency bitcoin)
bad karma will catch
the *******.

Though yours truly
feels thoroughly wretched
regarding forsaken finances,
yes when put in perspective
with the former
aforementioned horrendous catastrophe
(regarding irreparable loss of life),
I a fetchodit father figure
feels fraught with fractured psyche.

Wanton wickedness wrought
tears me lovely bones taut
remuneration desperately sought
dollars hacked with place value ought,
thus will to remain stayin' alive naught
wily weasel rendered remote control
with slickly polished shambolic
**** and bull story sinister caught
sense and sensibility of said scribe
twas worse fate than death,
I would rather my soul
to the devil bought.

Cyber sea awash with uproarious,
rapacious, opprobrious, laborious,
industrious, ferocious, carnivorous...
beasts cannibalistic traits yield
atrocious, deleterious, hellacious,
malicious, tenacious..., lawlessness
triumphantly imbuing reckless gullibility
unabashedly unleashing unprincipled
piranha - viciously chomping
on mine body eel 'lectric
paralyzing shell shock Atlas shrug
courtesy perpetrator did wield
truncated in God we trust trunkline
tragedy will land me in potter's field.

Unrepentant serpent did asphyxiate
I send an sos where Meg found -
mine devastated legal tender
(hint unscramble anagram
to proffer mine deliverance
regarding acceptable donations)
menacing alias Harvey Specter
stole my innocence and naïveté
hook, line and sinker

masterfully wormed his way
pounced with blackened barbs
fooling me to buzzfeed him bitcoins
both checking and savings account
depletion of funds and havoc did create
once solvent wordsmith now broke
a trainwrecker left no tracks
of stolen pilfered, looted, hocked...
precious freshly minted freight
unknown readers might hashtag me as ingrate.
As origin of **** Sapien species surged ahead,
harboring nascent predominance
asper said primate reproductively bred,
(albeit via incremental fits and starts)
evolutionary forebears didst dread
Tom Tom Club former members
an American new wave band founded in 1981
by husband-and-wife team Chris Frantz
and Tina Weymouth
as a side project from Talking Heads,
rocketing them to super stardom
similar to heights of fame and fortune,
where band zeppelin led
exemplifying, fortifying, and glorifying QED
quod erat demonstrandum
meaning "that which was to be demonstrated,"

whence, (since time immemorial) nasty, short
brutish, loutish, and vampish anthropological,
genealogical, and millennial
report card found forebears
precariously perched, pitched, and positioned quart
toured pièce de résistance  purport
head supremacy devastatingly,
heavily, and literally bruited nearly did abort

tentative tenacious status
being supreme species oft times
challenged minuscule leading edge
proto humans rendered
stronghold atop ACME perch
(on evolutionary leading cusp) fund hedge
ching hypothetical bets said simians
nearly toppled off figurative ledge
against being easily uprooted
akin to one weeding out unwanted sedge
imposing fledgling breakfast of champions
clinging to niched wedge

while serial incessant challenges nearly wrote
snuffed out clinched placed viz *** him tote
often at fateful loggerheads,
where survival of the fittest smote
cream of the crop sacrificed for Ares
poised to strike dawn of dusky mankind
viz apish creatures almost got rote
off while chance dominance, eminence grise
pitted, spitted, and got vetted sans un quote
able primal screaming expletives
pitted Neanderthal progenitors note
worthy kickstarter scrum held dim promise,
whether weathered brood
which smattering population comprised
a scattered handful of rudimentary
destined to become a GOAT

contemporary competitive lass or dude,
whence latent talent to net fame and fortune
voluntarily sharing wealth as altruistic,
deterministic, humanistic, and idealistic
amidst looming global warming
legacy of industrial revolutions,
which pointedly wreaked havoc
radioactive Superfund sites still exude
toxins, where dangerous fallout glommed,

rained, and frankly zapped the tocsin
muted, muffled, muddied waters
where pollution never
confronted Wilma or Fred Flintstone
generic Geico caveman/woman respectively,
and aside from external
threatening ecological depredations
violent crime comprises tribal (family) feud
where might versus right,

the deterministic factor aye include
at undoubtedly animalistic behavior
defied being categorized as lewd
since each monkey's uncle
similarly frolicked, gallivanted, and hocked
like a CRO-MAGNON
European early modern humans,
when he flirted in done ****
videre licet dangling modifier
attested courtesy punctuated equilibrium

(the hypothesis evolutionary development
marked by isolated episodes
of rapid speciation
between long periods
of little or no change)
courtesy Stephen Jay Gould
fate didst not occlude
also absence of consciousness rued

until...fast forward to the present day,
when carnal, feral,
and integral leanings attempted
to rope hormonal, gonadal,
and banal found
more recent ancestors (discovered
visa vis like Ancestry.com and/or 23andme)
rolled in the hay
under the natural predilection to lay naked,
especially frisky comb early
May procreative force
engendered the writer of this poem,
when his parents coaxed foreplay
unbeknownst, that their singular heir,
would be afflicted with countless
obsessive compulsive mailer to slay
ritualistic controlling psychic threnody
dominated favored holistic paradigm oy vey
dystopia prevails every which way
Gaia will be declared winner yay!

— The End —