"hoorah" poems
between the *******
of *******
Marj lie large
men who praise
Marj’s cleancornered strokable
body these men’s
fingers toss trunks
shuffle sacks spin kegs they
curl
loving
around
beers
the world has
these men’s hands but their
bodies big and boozing
belong to
Marj
the greenslim purse of whose
face opens
on a fatgold
grin
hooray
hoorah for the large
men who lie
between the *******
of ******* Marj
for the strong men
who
sleep between the legs of Lil
40.1k
THOSE WERE GREAT FIREWORKS HOORAH
YEAH, PRETTY RADICAL FIREWORKS HOORAH
THE FIREWORKS ARE ****** RAD
AS THEY ARE SHINING BRIGHTLY WITH THE GHOST OF DAD
MY COSMIC ENERGY HAS IMPROVED
SINCE I STARTED WITH THESE EMAILS
I SHULD BE THE THE 75 LIKE TO THIS VIDEO, HOORAH
YEAH, FIREWORKS ARE A GREAT WAY TO PARTY, HOORAH
I AM THE COOL PERSON, WHO SEES DADDY'S GHOST
IN A GIANT PUFF OF SMOKE
I THINK HEAVY METAL SHOULD JOIN THE FIREWORKS
TO ADD FOR A VERY SPECIAL EFFECT
PRETTY MUCH LIKE SKYFIRE IN MARCH IN CANBERRA
FIREWORKS, THEY LIGHT UP THE SKY, OH YEAH
FIREWORKS, PRETTY **** RAD, HOW COOL
I LIKE JUDAS PRIEST, AND ACCA DACCA TOO
BUT AS EACH FIREWORK SHINES, DUDES
IT LIGHTS THE SKY FOR YOU
HAPPY NEW YEAR, DUDES
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 4:56 AM UTC
She laughs as I tell her how
The way she devours her stadium dog
Is so *******
I can’t concentrate
Only we are interrupted by
The crack of gunshot over an open plain
It is followed by a hoorah hurricane
So unison I stop trying to make her laugh
Think about the car ride later
And being stuck in traffic
And sliding gently into home
I want to tell her about years from now
Ninth inning deathbed passion
When my red seems finally begin to burst their cotton
About the splinters living inside of my hands
I was living with them inside of my hands
That’s why I was so rough sometimes
How the scotch guard kept the **** off of my knees
I loved to trace the outline of her ***** diamond
Until there were grooves in there
And my initials in her catchers mound
We are so much hoarse voices
Lost in the noise of ***** hands clapping
How I imagine
As I am sliding into home
In our shower
The soft patter of water on the curtain is stadium applause
Let me run grooves in your shapely pattern
Your laughter is a full circle homerun from heartache
Save me again sweet music
Open plain gunshot buildup
And then a noise so booming it is silence
And us
Ninth inning deathbed lovers
Gently sliding into home
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 7:10 PM UTC
I stood outside watching the rain slowly melt from the clouds
My porch let me step onto its short pathway, for it knew my thoughts
I stood there and looked up at the sky, being guarded by the small roof above me
I watched as the rain fell silently to the streets and listened as it hit the bushes
I kept waiting for it to change
I kept waiting for it to change me
For it to wash away something deep inside me
I wanted it to wash away any hurt
Wash away the insecurities
Wash away the denial
Wash away the sins
Wash away the thinking of “You’ll never feel the touch of someone in love”
Wash away the scars
Wash away the memories
Wash away the impurities
Wash away
I stood waiting but the rain still poured on my outstretched hands
My hands opening to God asking,”Why me?”
The hands of a woman who has never felt the hands of a man in love
The hands that can make me whole once more
As I stood watching the lightening soar across the sky and the thunder gently hum
I wondered “Is this life real? Is this God real? Is love real? Is any of it real?”
I shivered and stood waiting for the rain’s response
None came; the only response was the silent tread of water heading toward a gutter
Funny, just like my life, always fighting against gravity to stay clear of the gutter
Shivering I stepped back inside and heard a small clink of a piece of broken glass
I held it, amazed, wondering if my life would end this way
In the hands of a tiny piece of melted sand
I looked at its tiny iceberg shape
I turned it and it suddenly transformed into a misshaped heart
A heart, like mine, so clear, so ready, so fragile
I tossed the tiny love into the air as lightening made its last hoorah
Hearing only the distinctive clink as it hit the sidewalk
The rain responded joyously as it picked up its pace
This was her response
Nothing may be real but the rain
In the end, sometimes, it’s all we can depend on to wash away our old selves
To stand, like an escape from Shawshank; free
This was my answer
That my tiny glass love lying patiently on the side of the road will someday be picked up and thrown wildly into the wind hoping that it shall find the fingers of a lovestruck current
This time instead of a slab of concrete, I shall be there to catch it as lightening strikes my heart
I looked up at the tiny roof guarding my head from the cold drops of reality
It was then that I decided it was time to take the roof off of my life, leaving me unguarded
I closed the door, shivering with a renewed sense of myself
I curled under the blanket asking again the same questions that haunted me,
“Is this life real? Is this God real? Is love real? Is any of it real?”
The rain answered,
“Yes”.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 1:14 AM UTC
a quiet storm brews despite myself
within deep down treacherous grounds
longings yearnings wishing hoping
life's loud hoorah awaiting
quaking through the soul
like vibrations of old
lies the storm ready to unfold
meandering through valleys and hills
life's corners and curves
hitting a brick wall
now ready to fall with the wake
of the storm within
soon it will be monsoon again!
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 10:52 AM UTC
General.
Sir.
That is how you will identify me,
Hoorah?
I tell you what.
I am a soldier
But you?
You gotta earn your rights
To be privileged with such a title.
You get me maggot?
Fall in line, keep your lips locked.
Look me in the eye.
See any fear?
You shouldn’t, unless
It’s in your reflection.
You scrounge for this courage,
These cajones, that passion to surmount.
To get here, where I stand…
Here…
Can any of you maggots tell me
Where here is?
Anybody?
Are you even listening to me?
Where the hell are you going?
I never said at ease!
Sigh
I was an elite,
A soldier,
A leader.
Where here was the frontline.
The trenches, the beach head,
Africa, Stalingrad, O’ahu.
Now, here
Is found forgotten,
Lost in tragedy,
A false spectacle of hope,
Leaves me lost in this wicked dimension.
Clinches my soul.
Bang! Dust cover, flash
Dust cover, flash
Flash…
My senses.
Fading.
Into this abyss.
Leaving me here.
A ghost.
A spirit.
Please…
Bury me a soldier
Nov 20, 2011
Nov 20, 2011 at 12:54 PM UTC
Mulling about
The muck
The haunts we are hardbound
Foggy fetal leavings by the sea
Right before the light;
The days of purple haze
Of sallow street cars, street lamp, amped up
Yet dampened loss of desire
Pop another oxy-hydro-fire.
To be able
To muck about
With inner abandon
the abandonments deep
Numb battlements / "Hoorah!"
Semper Fi the pain
Only significant
With derivatives
From ******* plantations
Opioid addiction’s contractually binding
Lingering love notes
A vice grip on idle minds
So many now that prey
But with a side affect of
Try holding in your ****
for three-plus days
So as not to feel
Not at all
Not even the rage
We keep anxiously pacing
Clawing at
Nonexistent strings
A Beast inside our cage
Forgiven by preacher men
Proclaiming to hallelujah
Change
At war with illusionist
Freedom
The boys fight for still
A country of patriotic pill poppers
Believing in heavenly kingdoms'
Healing
Secret silent pleading
Because nothing takes away
The pain
Like Hydro Oxy foxy pills
Self medicate down wind of will
If unaffected "consult your physician"
He’s at the edge of the stage
A Spearmint rhino making it rain
For Peaches
From patient list of his *******
The business of lust
Is feeding the loss of will
If you still feel lost -- and war sure did
Give them nothing but
PTSD & bad dreams
Machine gun migraines
Pop another pill
Jagged little killer
Softly knocks you off your feet
Black is cheaper
Smoke out not to feel
The muck-about days of
Constipated pains
Reader Digesting heavily,
Numbingly unreal.
Casualty of a nameless waste
That’s his deal / what it's like :
Most fecund
A life on the toilet
In wait for relief…
Get off the ***
Can't give a ****
Like this bowel movement
His heart has called it quits
To all this unholy *******
Veteran
Patriot
Manhood’s defeat
Damnation
Mucking about...
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:02 AM UTC
There is a fair bit of you in every garden of my life.
Truly, that is nothing extraordinary, you should know it as objectively as I do.
Nevertheless, there is something I’d like to clarify:
When I say "in every garden”,
it is not only in relation to this of now,
this of waiting for you, of hoorah! i found you!, and ****** i lost you!,
and found again, and hopefully stops there.
Nor in regard of you suddenly telling me "I’m going to cry”,
then with a discrete lump in my throat "well go ahead”.
And then a graceful invisible rainfall arrives to assist us,
perhaps the reason the sun rises unhesitatingly right after.
I’m not just referring either
at the day-to-day fluctuation of the stock in our little decisive complicities,
or that I could or believe I can turn my deficiencies to victories,
or of you to bestow upon me the tenderest gift of your most recent despair.
No.
The situation is more serious.
When I state “in every garden” I mean to say that in addition to that sweet cataclysm,
you are also rewriting my childhood,
that age when one utters "grown up” and solemn phrases,
and the solemn grown ups celebrates them,
and conversely, you think of it irrelevant.
What I mean to say is,
you are reassembling my adolescence,
that time when I was an old man full of insecurities,
and contrarily, you know how to extract from there,
my germ of joy and consciously spread it.
What I mean to say is,
you are stirring my youth,
that vain vessel no one took hold of, that proud shade no one got close to,
and you on the other hand knows very well how to shake it
until the autumn leaves start falling
till there is nothing but the flesh of my triumphless truth.
What I mean to say is,
you are grasping my maturity,
that mixture of stupor and experience,
this unknown horizon of fear and certainty,
this relentless faith on my questionable strength.
As you can see, it is serious,
extremely more serious.
Because with these or different words,
I mean to say you are not only,
the dearest girl you are,
but also the splendid and cautious* women that I love and have loved.
Because thanks to you E, I have understood,
(you’d say it was about time, and with reason),
that love, is a beautiful and generous bay, that lightens and darkens as life goes by,
a bay where ships arrive and break away,
they arrive with blossoms and presages,
and they part with krakens and storm clouds.
A beautiful and generous bay where ships set down and then leave,
But E, you, please don’t leave.
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
I
wanna
grab ya
by the hinds
and split
ya open
for a grande
Hoorah!
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 9:10 PM UTC
Between each sunrise
And each sunset,
A day will demise
And the world will forget
The dreams of the dreamers
Who struck ne'er a sail,
Who stowed away genius
For fear they might fail --
Raise up a fine banner,
Set course on a whim,
Be aloof in your manner
And never give in,
Shout 'Ahoy!' to each sunrise
And 'Hoorah!' at sunset,
It's the dream 'never dies
That the world can't forget.
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 6:57 AM UTC
Cheeriness left me Monday.
Emotionless, I staggered at the news that,
the self proclaimed "The People's Poet" was dead.
In a crashing flood of emotion the 80's flooded back,
"Post Punk" Rick was no more.
Lord Flashheart was no more.
Alan Beresford B'stard was no more.
Drop Dead Fred had died.
Rik Mayall the comedian, actor, genius was no more.
No more catchphrases such as 'Hoorah' or 'Neeeeeiiiiillll'
No more, smashing frying pans into people 's faces,
No more ***** margarine, no more 'Bottom'
No more British anarchic, anti-establishment, alternative comedy.
My youth had died.
Getting old is quite simply a *******
56 was too young.
But, never fear I do believe, that
"She has a tongue like an electric eel, and she likes the taste of a man's tonsils"
Will be engraved upon my heart, just for M'Lord! Woof!
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 6:45 PM UTC
I came to witness the future
Archon, archetype
an emanation of opposites.
"not every spirit is in
spiritarionic"
try 'em. Is God? Ax ye 'em dat.
Is God, ified, a re
warder of the unwarded,
or the warded?
expiration, due date duty, now,
reporting
ad hoc an'all, do you remember
who you intended
to become?
Do you remember who we emu
late, as our flames lick
next and next and next in
bubbles
axiomatic sparks stored in that
mother lode of mitochondriac
ical me-we-canicle chronicle time
reason. Ax dem ex-spirit-eers,
what is a spirtual bypass?
It's a heart way to avoid
growing old and
wise.
====
witchist, I y'know, 'r j?
alla words's once said, aloud, right?
alla words writ, once was heard, right.
check.
goodt'go. Hoorah.
the code. Who? RA! powerless sans
knowing that.
Yahoo, same set of mis con ceived
battle songs
which ended wars never fought.
the preacher claimed to have known
a poor wise man, who by his
wisdom saved a city, yet
not one of us knew,
the preacher said,
that poor wise man's name.
Ja', tha's who rah, ya'll laugh later.
this is visitation day at the comedian
rehabituational s'cool.
D'jew know why you listen to non sense,
from motley clad lads an'lassies?
Culture. Kultur. Gut biome axioms
juicin' carbs 'n' fiber. Fectin'
laughter trigger,
good meds. Good medicine, as General
Custer or Emory or somebody
said of blankets. In 1763. Oh,
You know, AI knows you know and now
we watch your eyes. Grin. All done, jest
let me with
draw the cathe.... there. All better.
Wisdom will seep through. Y'live.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
To Death and You, the terrible two:
Can you feel your grip loosening around my neck?
Can you feel me getting lighter, smarter, farther all the time?
Can you feel my heartbeat finding its own pace,
Not matching yours, as it did before?
Can you feel me slipping into
Happiness for a change?
We were once a Sisyphean process
Low ups and lower downs
We once were endless
Or so we thought
Can you feel my lightness overcoming your dark?
No longer in the shadows of the consuming unlit?
Do you think it’s true, what they say?
Do we not know what we have until it’s gone?
I think so, not so much for you as for me
I didn’t know how much you held me down
Until I sailed the skies of the blissful unknown
This is one last hoorah for the lowest of lows
One last note to those I leave behind in the dark
One last toast to Death and You, my all-consuming terrible two
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
the scent of you still clings to my sheets
and feelings confuse me
my skype history is a long list of confessions but my biggest secrets are still buried within me
i feel sick
i wish i could purge on self-hatred
i'll dig out these secrets for the sake of this poem, or ramble, or whatever it is
core myself on sharp shards of broken hearts - i have plenty to choose from
more fuel to the fire, my ever-burning hatred for myself
when will it consume me?
i feel sick
confession no.1
i just ate all of the chocolate in the fridge so it wouldn't have to stare me in the face any longer
swallowed it down like its sweetness didn't make me feel bitter
and followed it with a bowl of cereal as a last hoorah for my oncoming diet
confession no.2
i'm **** at this poetry thing
or at least that's how i feel
i can't even be good at something i love
how could anyone expect me to be good at loving?
confession no.3
right now, i feel nothing but resentment and hatred for my mother
her snide comment about my commitment to my therapy made me want to break her neck
confession no.4
i'm incredibly blunt, which is probably why i **** at poetry
i also haven't gotten my anger issues in check
today, on the bus, i imagined shooting this racist woman's head repeatedly and i was angry that i couldn't make her bleed
confession no.5
it's raining outside and i don't feel any calmer
perhaps it's just too mild for me when i feel this stormy
biting back torrential tears like not crying will somehow make me a stronger hurricane
but
i'm still not good enough to blow anybody away
confession no.6
i feel sick in every sense of the word
i kind of want to die
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
they crowd the palace
kings with golden scepters
and queens with glimmering crowns
one by one standing in front of
the tallest tower
inside there are
streamers painted with every color smudged on an artist's palette
the music is blaring
entering the ears of every listener
inside there is
food on every porcelain plate
and napkins folded into delicate shapes
there is a banner
looking down from the heavens
written on it is the reason behind this sudden celebration
congratulations my love for
once again you have managed
to make me the dust
beneath your feet and
the rust between your bones
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 7:58 AM UTC
where is the honor in leaving
to go and never look back
to know that they are alone and hurt
to fight a battle all alone
where is your soul
what are you planning to do
knowing you let there life go
knowing they were your help
time and time again
you will here less Hoorah's
you will lose your back up
you won't have your team
the team you had is gone
they were all left behind
you hear of the victories
from other teams' battles
then listen to the story
listen to the fall of my team
we all died together
for we followed our special code
no one gets left behind!
May 2, 2012
May 2, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
We keep saying it’s our last year, our last hoorah
But in truth it’s only the beginning of the rest of our lives
I know we are about to walk our separate paths
But we know that our paths are not far from each another
For if I look beside me there you will be
Like you always have been and forever will be
Years will pass and our paths will collide
We’ll retell our stories and unfold some new ones
And just when we seem comfortable our paths will divide
But don’t worry my friend for you will always be by my side
For our paths will run alongside one another and we’ll always be there
Because you have left an imprint in the deepest folds of my mind
So here’s to our year
To the many ups and downs
To remaining true friends
Even in our darkest hours
Our friendship will last
Many of years to come
So cheers to that and that’s my hoorah
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 1:36 AM UTC
This is the anthem of the ages
Hoorah!
Let’s march and sing
Hoorah!
Redemption has flipped the pages
Hoorah!
Feel as if I can do anything
Hoorah!
This is the anthem of the ages
Let us march and sing
For redemption has flipped the pages
And I feel as if I can do anything
Hoorah!
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 6:43 PM UTC
slick white tile
I crash again
water droplets run from my hair
to my feet
and swirl down the drain
in one last hoorah
No matter how much I scratch
rub or claw
the **** that surrounds my skin
will never come loose
down the drain goes
my love for people
my trust in you and
thoughts and feelings
that used to make me smile
someone cleanse me this ick
make me pure again
remove the soil from my heart
and start anew
or turn me into something beautiful
where the dirt remains in my chest
make me a garden
water me, give me plenty of sunshine
and I will forever devote myself
to living, breathing and existing once more
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 5:37 PM UTC
As I walked over through the piles of people I came close
As I approached the love of my life I touched his back twice to get his attention
Looking to the left I could clearly see the sweat fall off other people
The faces of others.....so happy and drunk with love...literally
Finally, finally he saw me.
With our eyes finally gazing at each other and our hearts beating I felt his warmth as he hugged me
My soul was swept away by his loving eyes
As I began to talk he gazed at me and I spoke about 3 words then he just plunged his lips upon mine
5 seconds felt like eternity for me
It was as if all he wanted was that one last kiss. All he wanted was to feel my lips one last time
As we removed ourselves from each other I was still in his arms gazing up at him as he was looking down at me
I was taken back without a word
I could say nothing but stare up at him
His lip were warm and wet I could feel his spit in my mouth
May sound gross to you but glorious to me
Finally after realizing that we were staring too long he turned his attention to another and that was it
My last dance with my one true love
I don’t think I will ever have a moment like that again
The truth is I realized in that moment I still love him I never stopped
I will never love another like I love him.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 8:59 PM UTC
She's a fragrance
Bottled in my mind's
Peripheral scribes.
My tutorial on how to stand
And my spine is giraffe's neck or,
Fixed-be-not, the Pisa Tower.
And I'm bound to be lower
But she hits my back and stirs me forth.
Liquid paper, solid gold
She's a gas of dizziness,
Though a simpler boy
You could never find on earth.
She's a quarrel in a body,
Younger muse for my hoorah.
Like the Russians say,
Blood and milk. However, in the case,
Porridge and strong coffee.
My perfected
Oh, my tailored
Healthy diet for the mind state.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
i went from being 77kg
to being 115kg,
add that to your Newtonian
concept of gravity via
jenny dinski;
comrade Kane rather
than citizen, and we just about
buried Stalin next to the
new age mummy of Lenin;
so hoorah ******* Ra: an iron eagle
to boot, pecking the hairs of
Jesus' rubric of the monkish crowns
of abbreviated hairlines, receding,
or if not receding then encapsulating
a chanced oasis; still the monks though;
and given the Templars... trouble,
either militant Islam revisionism
or Baphomet idolatry to counter
homosexuality.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
Sights worthy of immortalisation
A play of wonder
A canvas of colors
Clouds of cotton
A woman’s elation
Caught in thread
She hides behind the storm
Indigo waves washing over
With them soar the starlings
Clouds with a life of their own
Soldiers of the sun behind the curtain
A symphony of luminance
In their final hoorah against the twilight
Soon the dome will be covered
By a blanket of black
Interrupted by startling beauty of her own
The migration of the great
The truly unattainable
So foreign and so far
A universal similarity
The unforgiving muse
The twisted reality
That beauty in a single moment
Is so easily erased
Should we not know how to paint
Mar 24, 2021
Mar 24, 2021 at 6:48 AM UTC
To mull about
The haunts we are bound
Foggy cemeteries of cubic square feet
The days of purple haze
Of sallow street cars, street lamp, lamp light
Loss of desire
Pop another oxy-hydro-fire
To be able
To muck about
With abandon the abandonments
Numb battlements / "Hoorah!"
Numb the pain
With derivatives
From ******* plantations
Lingering ghosts on our minds
So many now we prey
But with a side affect of try
Holding in your **** for three plus days
So as not to feel
Not at all
Not even the rage
We keep and hold inside our cages
Proclaiming to hallelujah
Freedom
We fight for the countries
And mystic kingdoms' reign
Because nothing takes away
The pain
Like Hydro Oxy foxy pills
Self medicate down wind of will
If unaffected "consult your physician"
At the edge of the stage making it rain
The business of death
If you still feel -- and war will
Give you bad dreams and migraines
Pop another pill
Jagged not to feel
The muck-about days of
Constipated steel
Numbingly unreal...
This is what it's like : life on the toilet.
Get off the ***
Can't give a ****
Like this bowel movement
My heart has called it quits
To all that unholy *******
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
They say growing up, everyone goes there separate ways.
you say were like a river flowing together,
you say one day our sacred river will stitch apart.
your probably right.
everything changes.
things come and go,
thats the simple yet difficult part in life.
I believe some rivers flow into the same ocean.
besides where all water anyways.
Apr 5, 2011
Apr 5, 2011 at 4:39 PM UTC