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I was at the bar big ******* surprise I know .
The pub was empty well aside from a few selected drunks but really there more like a modern art display that has to **** more than a toddler .

I sat there good Irish coffee in one hand laptop upon the bar my normal morning ritual
No I wasn't looking at **** I'm kidding of course I was duh what goes better with coffee then watching total strangers ******* a circus ****** but enough about family programming.

I had decided to take a change of pace no I wasn't watching barnyard babes instead get your mind out of the gutter you ******'s who do you think I am the owner of this site?
No I decided to swing by my true stomping ground the true home of Gonzo Hello .

I as always stopped by to check the tombstones of my amigos now long since passed .
They were all there on full display a reminder of a past I truly cant forget.
Then I decided to check out the new who's who of the new Hello .

There poems about Mom and Dad and that first crush and other assorted high school horseshit
that was as about as interesting as watching a marathon of twilight backed up by that closet case
Harry Potter honestly I thought that was a great **** name .

Just then I herd a school bus with it's annoying *** air brakes come to a halt outside the Pub
The doors flew open and fifty or so hobbits came wandering in the bar dear lord was it some sort of strike?

Hey there Gonzo I'll take a Bud Light and a bag of chips please.
Want a coloring book to go along with that Bilbo?
Hey look grandpa just do your dam job and get me a  beer okay?

This strange little hamster must have fallen out of his crib and cracked his skull on his power ranger if he thought I was some sort of man servant I swear do these little ***** get there manners ?
I looked at the group of micro mini people thinking deep and long  and sort of ruff with a slap on the **** before I dared to reply.

Okay you little ******* I'll bite but not that hard just who the hell are you and what in the **** are you doing here?
Were the new in crowd of the site were poets father time!

After almost laughing myself to death I decided to entertain the little hamsters .
Okay short stack but before you ask we don't serve milk and cookies and nap time is whenever you hit the floor.

Hey what's with this stupid *** jukebox there's nothing but music on here done by people who actually play music duh what kind of **** is this.
I believe it's actually called music or as your generations rappers like to call it three mile.
Samples to talk over to your generations ****** music.

Hey old man you better watch it what you hate rap?
No I don't hate rap I hate your rap  by the way number seven your banana split is ready.
Hey I got to pay the bills somehow people I haven't had costumers in like five years .

Look Gonz the leader of the diaper gang  spoke up.
I know were younger but we have a right to be here as well were just trying to express areselves and share are work is that so wrong.

The Jim Jones wanna be had a valid point but I honestly didn't care for my mind was on a much deeper subject the music played as in the corner four little mini ******* hotties in school girl outfits
danced away to some sort of teenage ***** they called music.

I was lost in my thoughts of um like deep poetic **** it's to deep for you to grasp .
I'm kidding I was just watching the show thinking hey I don't have to pay for this?

Gonz hey Gonz earth to Gonz  .
Well everybody I tried I guess we better leave I don't think he's interested  in us having a
open mic  poetry night.

The music had stopped and the mini ***** were almost out the door but like some perverted ninja
I stopped them before they reached it.
Hey what's this I don't want to hear a open mic night duh I'm all about hearing your poetry
especially these little stripper poetry were do you all work I just love your costumes .

Um there are school uniforms pervert the one replied .

Hey look Gonzo It's  cool man we'll just be gone I mean you don't want to serve us and all.
I had to think  fast there leader was talking them almost out the door and I really couldn't afford
another kidnapping charge yet again don't ask.

Hey wait gang I was just ******* with you hell drinks on me what's your name Brittney Veronica Kelly hell it doesn't matter just pull yourself up a high chair and name your  poison.
What will it be beer wine crystal **** I know how you kids love that **** Brittney maybe you'd like a smooth roofie margarita I make the best in town just ask Lily .

Hey man what about that jukebox ?
I pulled out my trusty 38 the everyone hit the floor   as the sound blasted through the room worse than Justin Bieber getting **** ****** in county.
Oh baby baby Nooooo but enough with the foreplay children.

Honestly I never knew a power wheels could go that fast .

***** that jukebox amigo that's what mp3 players are for  .
I blasted some sort of strange music and poured the drinks as the hobbits began to
lose themselves in sort of twisted movements they called dancing dear lord man
they could really hold there drugs .

Then came there spoken poetry crap slash wet T shirt contest .
The party was a mad mad scene  like MTV's real world except with actual humans .

The mini strippers slash go go dancers were just about to get on the bar when all the sudden the doors flew open and the dark Lord himself once again stood in pub.

The room went as silent as when a semi  insane hillbilly on a **** TV show does a interview
and people find out he really is a backwards dip **** .
The dark lord spoke Gonzo!

A voice from under the bar spoke up he's not here *******.
Gonzo get your drunken *** from under that bar before I make my man servant come get you.

I popped up faster than a seventy year old man on ****** .

Hey boss how's it been dam you look great can I get you a drink hey have you been working out?
Look you halfwit clean this party out right now I could ban right this very moment .
Hey now look Adolf I was trying to connect with the hip new younger crowd is all because
I believe that a young mind is a terrible thing not to be totally wasted .

Seize him the dark lord called out to his staff of four halfwits .
I fought hard but eventually feel to the powers of those lady truck drivers let me tell you
those ******* fight ***** it was almost like getting *****  ****** if only I hadn't forgot my whistle.

Beaten shaken without my speak being slurred I was handcuffed and taken away .
And as I was being taken out the door a young little hamster spoke .
Hey Gonzo can I have your laptop yeah kids there real wise ***** sometimes.

The young hamsters all sat outside the pub as I was loaded up in the pinto hey poetry doesn't pay kids.

Goodbye Gonzo we'll miss you said one of the stripper students whatever the **** they were.
Goodbye little ***** I'll think about you often well I mean as long as I can remember.

I watched as the kids were scattered to the wind and my Pub was destroyed .
As I was taken away riding into the sunset like some outlaw in the back of a really ****** car.

Was this the end for are brain dead hero?
Would Hello finally see the demise of the legend slash guilty pleasure of Hello.
Would Timmy finally get out of that well to question his own sexuality?

Would this write ever ******* end?

Tune In next week for the exiting conclusion kids.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming .

Stay Crazy.

                                                         ­           Fin
we take the justice we can get

every one is expendable i’m opening a new chic bistro prior guests will be listed on the menu we slice dice prepare any way you like sushi deep fried mesquite oven grilled baked accessories make the dish ginger pickles lime asparagus mustard and a drizzle of wine deer ***** cider mole sauces i haven’t decided yet on restaurant décor possibly post-modern austere but please write in suggestions everything must be totally freshly tossed killed tableside i want the kitchen immaculate industrial sized everything yet we roast minuscule tidbits frivolous details infused with essences reduction bio-molecular cuisine an entire 20 course meal in a tear drop obviously presentation is everything Channel Comme des Garcons Lamborghini will design plate arrangement after you’ve enjoyed a lavish sumptuous meal you become edible i mean eligible to provide for more recent patrons please hold still while the knife carves and oh how about those miners in Chile real theater i just read NASA’s Kepler satellite is selecting candidates for earth’s substitute the article repeatedly used the word candidates let’s just totally waste this place the faster we trash the world the sooner we get a new planet best weekly performance British Petroleum gulf oil debacle second best Hillandale Farms incredible salmonella egg



comedy tragedy dialogue

COMEDY come sit closer let’s share a laugh want to hear a joke

TRAGEDY i hate jokes

COMEDY you’re funny

TRAGEDY shut up you freaking clown

COMEDY there’s more to me than clowning

TRAGEDY oh yeah (pause) what? you pandering fool (pause) in my eyes every winking snicker is compromise collusion there’s nothing about you i like

COMEDY hater (pause) man you’re mean

TRAGEDY mean and unreasonable

COMEDY scary mean unreasonable (pause) yet funny

TRAGEDY ***** you (pause) mortality is tragic the world is wicked what’s funny about stoning people to death or ****** disfiguring women children or cheating enslaving the poor underprivileged this earth is a horrible place what the hell is so funny

COMEDY you you’re a joke a sad dismal joke the good news is i interpret humor in everything life is funny

TRAGEDY you’re a pitiful simpleton who perceives all existence from one lame brain viewpoint you can’t distinguish happy from sad good from evil you’re a mindless empty screen of canned laughter maybe some things aren’t meant to be laughed at or humor drawn from maybe you’re a rude mocking idiot what is so ******* funny

COMEDY what is so ******* funny (pause) i’m not laughing (pause) try stepping back getting a different perspective change your psychology consider the futility of existence fate of humankind

TRAGEDY we all do what we have to (pause) mind if i smoke (lights a cigarette)

COMEDY that’ll **** you (smirks laughter)

TRAGEDY we’re all fated to die

COMEDY you really need to see the absurdity in your gloom

TRAGEDY please go

COMEDY why do you have to be such a hard-*** why can’t we just get along we could create some wonderful art i really think we’d be good together

TRAGEDY i warning you

COMEDY i get the feeling we’re not going to be friends

TRAGEDY fast thinking (pause) go play with your happy snickering friends and leave me alone

COMEDY must we be enemies

TRAGEDY deal with it

COMEDY you’re going to miss me

TRAGEDY maybe maybe not (pause) these are dark troubled times

COMEDY why must everything be so serious with you

TRAGEDY if you persist i will be forced to turn this banter into regrettable disaster

COMEDY funny how things don’t work out

TRAGEDY yeah funny (pause) i guess the joke is on me



fate free will dialogue

FATE we each journey a path

FREE WILL i choose my own trail imaging myself triumphant inventing as i go

FATE what if you discovered your choices were influenced by forces outside you

FREE WILL i alone am responsible for my choices

FATE i’m not speaking about responsibilities

FREE WILL what are you speaking of

FATE there are aspects you may not realize

FREE WILL that’s ******* a person creates his or her own destiny

FATE do you believe Jesus Christ created his own destiny or John F. Kennedy Martin Luther King John Lennon

FREE WILL what are you saying

FATE there were circumstances cycles aspects forces possibly predetermined powers events ghosts

FREE WILL horseshit we are presented with existential choices our actions determine our destiny

FATE our actions determine our destiny huh what influences determine our actions

FREE WILL a person’s character courage discipline strength

FATE what forms a person’s character

FREE WILL parents circumstances cycles aspects forces the era

FATE hmmm near to what i was suggesting yet who can know why or how a few chosen make it while many others go bust or when where lightning strikes

FREE WILL so what do you believe? (pause) i’m speculating most people obey conform deaf to their own calling falling short of their dreams enduring lives of hushed disquiet

FATE hmmm we each journey a path

FREE WILL i choose my own trail inventing as i go alert to my calling

FATE uhhh i’m not as certain as you i admire your confidence conviction independence

FREE WILL hey i’m straight

FATE whatever
Cedric McClester Mar 2017
By; Cedric McClester

He’s selling horseshit
But nobody’s buying
Other than his base
Even they know he’s lying
While his spokespeople are
Out front denying
When behind closed doors
You’ll hear ‘em sighing

He selling horseshit
By the ton
But he isn’t fooling
Anyone
And now his lies have him
Under the gun
So ask yourself this
Is he having fun

He’s selling horseshit
Now it’s starting to stink
But he still assumes
That people don’t think
So he counter punches
Like, a boxing rink
Meanwhile the country’s
Begining to sink

He’s selling horseshit
And we’re getting tired
Of him and the folks
That he chose to hire
Like Kelly Conway
Who's become a liar
Or Sean Spicer
Whose pants are on fire
















Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017.  All rights reserved.
Sean Banks Apr 2013
“Listen here buds”
I’m not going to
**** around
or hold back
or try to even the score
and in return
“Don’t **** with me”
“moooore”*

This is an ode to ol' Stuart
Or Brandon
Or Stubacca
Or Bongshit
Whatever you want to call him
Call him it
Conflict
Resolution
Resided
In Penta rips
I reminisce
Too **** often
That’s what I am here to admit

I guess that is the purpose of this poem
Is to make all the apologies
I left unsaid
And to leave all the unsaid
slights behind

Because in my mind,
I was not a good roommate
And you weren’t either
But our insult based arguments would deflate
Recognizing we were both underachievers
Two ******* calling the kettle black
Denzel Washington Movies
And Back
In Quail
Room 1514
Was a “Kozy Shack”
Was not for the weak
Lungs
The haziest of all hostels
A blaze fest
A Bro-out Brothel
"OB Get the ******* door!"
"And don't forget to lock and towel"

Escape from the real world
Into the mythical Qualcation

The Adherol - know it alls
3 Pills of dex – 45 minutes crushed text
Book and and back when we were hooked
  “This **** is just like doing M”
Thank christ for all your friends in MGMT
As it didn’t stop you from copying them
Mr. Rintoul had bigger fish to fry

And I was frying them
because the kitchen was foreign
So at 4 in
The mornin’
I’d be cookin’ creative
Broke *** creations
Cause stomach pains
Are a serious disease

Please
Don’t take
This poem
The wrong way
Because back in the day
Are the days I miss the most
We played host
To a family of friends
Anyone would want to boast

Thank you for reminding me it was your birthday
Every ******* year
Every elaborate party
You deserved
No Hissy fit was unwarranted
Speaking on behalf of a floor Matt
You know the one you parented
The upmost respect remains
For papa Stewie

And when I got my dewy
I got a few hugs of sympathy
While you laughed in my ******* face
And when you couldn’t find a roommate
I happily took that place
And when I left movie night in the trailer
To go do slam poetry at a talent show
You made me feel so out of place
And when I returned with my 100$ winnings
You were the first person I bought a pilsner case

The fact that you never made the break through
To see the majority of the time
We were laughing at you not with you
Doesn’t seem to be an issue
Because maybe you did know all along
Staying in check
Punishing us
stoner massages
That could break necks

Now these days with a real job that really pays
Stuart Rintoul will still tell you he is LiViN’
Even - If he is stuck in Edmonton
This separation
“Is horseshit”

Let me state it one last time old pal
This poem is not meant to offend
And deep down from Roses to the Corral
I hope you bang all my ex girlfriends

I should have never left you all those times for *******
Or in the words of Tuner “PP!”
I should have stayed and watched Blade 3

To all those
who really knew Stu
It was really me
eating all the peanut butter
by the spoon
But blaming it on you
Was too opportune

Stu,
You are
******* clutch
******* decent
And so ******* “chitty”

You were the best friend
I should have never asked for
And for this
I will never
**** with you
Any
“mooooore”
Dante Nov 2011
I got a
      Crackhouse of mind
I got a
      square root of thyme
I gotta
      Trebek of head
I think my
      girlfriend is dead
I'm goin to
      find somethin free
Goin on a
      job hunt for me

Lookin for a
       Square peace of mind
Lookin for a
        high point in time
Thinkin ill go and
       drive to the beach
come here and
       extend your reach

I'm here to
     cut off some head
           fill a man with lead
     free up the joint
get to the point
     find a place with no disgrace
     then walk until i bleed

I don't got no gloves on
I appear to've lost my brain
      Got a flag on my arm
      Lookin for some men to disarm
Flick a fat double chin
Find a real quiet place to sin
      learn to play the guitar
      watch myself i'm goin far
Gonna sing about my work
Make a joke, and circle ****
         Make it last &
         make 'em cry
    Slice some apple pie
Goin to call Americana
        Scare the **** out of yer mamma
I hate what is here
Love to flash on the fear
Like to sing about the void
      stab the hearts outta little boys
Feel a fine sharp sensation
Beatin fuel out of the nation
       Light the embers of my fire
       Dodge the wind of my desire
And the bubbling flesh
Screams the songs of wit & death
       And if i die before i wake
       I pray the world my soul to fake

Shatter my brain cells
       lost in a fog
I've got to keep scarin'
      Wave a flashlight at a dog
Write down words too wicked fine
      I will be laughin' all the time
Just to make my day worthwhile
      While i keep it all on file
In company & crest we
     Stare at my blooded hairy chest
Where i inject my mescaline
      'til i look so ****** thin
Gonna reach into my ribcage
       Drive a car into the roadrage
Pour your blood into a fountain
       Make it mean all love's a mountain
                                                                  top
of
               One handed work for you to
                        look to the skies and smirk
I got to seizure on this table
             get down and write my wicked fable
          I can't can't write what I'm thinkin
                         less i break the law or start drinkin
I will tell you my emotions
Eat the acid
drink a potion
              I'll hold a candle to my name
              Push my ******* in the flames
Make you watch til i cry
Paintin glass onto my thighs
I'm a mad red eye patch
i got a bag of **** to match
I've got a match and cigarettes
I got a knife take it to the pets
Who can smash & love & cry
Take a blender make it mine
til I bleed on the gloves i received
               Tattoo a notebook on my life
Find a witness make a wife
               View the world through
Dark colored goggles So I can
               fight over anorexic models
Spend the nights in british flats
                makin sweet love for you cats
Hunt the vampires all day
                 So I can waste my life away
I got a ****** up state of mind
                in this quiet garden of mine
     where i just
plant weeds and smoke
& call all this life a joke
          til i waste away completely
or I could dig a hole discretely
          I could make coffee or tea
& wonder what this means to me
                            Who cares if there's blood on the table
                            Engraved with horseshit from the stable
And I'm gonna find a way to end
this wicked fable for the trend
                                                      **** a poem for the prose
the end of all this
                                                   the beholder shows us
                                                          the patterns on the wall
Bardo Nov 2022
Drinking at the bar, I suppose it was that time of night
When the Drink itself starts doin' most of the talking
And the guy says "I've been through the **** man, in this life, I've waded knee deep through it... the deep ****"
And the other guy says "What **** you talking about ?"
So he told him, yea! He spins out his tale of woe
Of hurts and grievances, injustices and false accusations, bruises and batterings received both physical and mental
A whole sorry catalogue of troubles, of fights and quarrels, anxieties and illnesses, struggles with various multiple monsters..."
When he's finished the Other says rather dismissively "You call that ****, that ain't ****... that's *******! Sure my **** was bigger than that, much bigger
The **** I went through, Man! Some of the **** I seen...indescribable man'
So then he starts to spin his tale of woe... more ****!
And when he's finished the Other comes back at him saying
"****! You call that ****, that's horseshit!
My **** was bigger than that, much much bigger!!
Your ****, it's just... it's just *****!"

And so, there they were the two of them, at the bar arguing to and fro
About whose **** was the bigger
Till suddenly over in the corner, out of the shadows, with his face half obscured
This man, he clears his throat rather loudly
Causing them both to momentarily stop their bickering and look over
He then slowly raises a glass of JD (Jack Daniels) to his lips and takes a long sip
Then he says "What do you know about... the **** ?
Huh! (said in disgust) You don't even know what **** is
Why, my ****'s bigger than both your two ***** put together"
Then he smiled a menacing smile and said "You wanna hear my **** story"
So he spins his tale of woe, a real shitstorm...
A real Moby ****... of ****
The others they listened in awe
When he'd finished, One said very impressed
"Man!..Man That's... that's some ****"
Then another said "That's Big **** !"
And another "That's real Elephant **** Man!"

Then silence reigned in the bar
Until one sighed and said wearily
"It's all ****... this *****... isn't it?
Talking **** at the bar. Someone else's **** is always bigger than your own. What kind of **** are you shoveling LoL.
Eleanor Rigby Dec 2016
you said
if life tries to sell you ****
pay it with roses

******* horseshit
Jeffrey Robin Jul 2016
)(




Lazy assed poets !


ONE ******* SUBJECT
ONE DEAD NATION
WITH CANNIBAL DREAMS

SWALLOWING EACHOTHER WHOLE

******* EACHOTHER CLEAN

()

Such horseshit love !

As the world is ready to DIE



::
Fin de partie Jan 2014
From the fourth floor of my nineteen-story house, I peek out of the tinted windows. These are my only windows to whatever is outside, and they're tinted yellow and black. I am the first person on the moon. I am the first person on the edge of the planet. Will I fall off, or am I bold enough to carry on?

That, I think, is what has been bothering me for so long. I do not live in a nineteen-story house and neither am I peeking through yellow-and-black windows. No, these colors do not have any significance either. They are not symbols or metaphors. I have been making everything up as I hammer my fingers onto the keyboard and weave these unfathomable lines of thoughts. I am not the first person on the moon. I am not the first person on the edge of the planet. In fact, there isn't even an edge. I am an insignificant speck of dust. I am not even Horton's Who.

I just counted the number of 'I's in the first two paragraphs- fifteen. Fifteen of the same alphabet repeated throughout. That is, despite whatever you might say, a bad start to an essay (if you'd call this one). "Of course not, repetition is an important literary device!", you might say. Horseshit, I say. These words have no intrinsic meaning. These horribly structured sentences are disgustingly unfathomable. That's the second time I've said 'unfathomable'. Third. My 9-year old sister writes better than I do: "Today, I woke up. Today, I ate breakfast. Today, I horsed around with my dog. I am very happy. I am not hungry, because I ate today. Today, I ate." You can understand what she's saying- she woke up, she ate, she's not hungry, and she's happy. But what of me? I woke up, but just so. I ate and so I'm not hungry, but just so. I am happy, and yet I am not. These words that I write mean nothing to me, and yet they mean everything. Being the extreme nihilist that I am, life has no intrinsic meaning, and yet it is more meaningful than a poem that I once wrote about my tenth-grade crush. I've forgotten her name long since. The most absurd of all is that it hasn't been so long- perhaps a year. What is more absurd than the most absurd is that I am yet to turn sixteen; this I will do in a month's time- yet what is most absurd about the more absurd than the most absurd is the incongruity of the facts with reality. I shall not elaborate on this, for it has become nothing less of a meaningless telephone message constructed at the time of a drunken stupor.
Andrew Rueter May 2019
Orange orange everywhere
Orange orange in the air
I’m given an orange despair
By a man with orange hair
I see through his orange glare
To see nothing really there

A man became president
Promising to evict residents
His stupidity self evident
When he says nothing relevant
About all the topical elements
He just talks for the hell of it

He’s unfit to lead
Because he’s equipped with greed
And an unwillingness to read
Gaining success from his family tree
He lives the American dream
By making others scream
To indulge his team
And his bigotry

All it took for his courtship
Was a culture of celebrity worship
And idiots buying his horseshit
Of acting remorseless

The gullible are impressed
With how well he is dressed
So they think he’s the best
Putting him in a wing that is west
Because he has a lot of money
But without any capability
You better start running
Money let’s him **** willingly

He takes advantage of the stupid and racist
By pointing at people with brown faces
Saying they’re here to replace us
Like they’re working for Asus
And not mowing his lawn
He said they will **** us
To manipulate his pawns

He’s a megalomaniac
Who thinks he’s a brainiac
But it’s a brain he lacks
To understand the impact
Of his negative attacks
Still he thinks he’s a genius
Which justifies his meanness
So his cruelty is seamless
While he claims to redeem us

This is our most vulnerable hour
With a president compromised by foreign powers
Building ivory towers
By turning minorities sour
There’s a litany of reasons
Why he calls them heathens
But it all revolves around freedoms
Being stripped from those who need them

His constituents have their heads in the sand
So they blindly give in to his demands
Going after whoever he’s ******
In the name of this land
Other kinds are banned

You can tell the bad guys have won
When they start separating mothers from sons
At the end of a gun
So there’s nowhere to run
Away from the oppression
Of our downward descension
As he does nothing to lessen
The root of our depression

His concentration camps
Give a **** slant
To his lofty plans
Until no one can stand
Without a weapon
Because of his deception
Which was his intention
To win the election
He promised detention
Of the boogeyman mentioned

The red, white and blue
Adopts an orange hue
When the foreign lose
From the fascist bruise
Of an orange noose
Brad Lambert Sep 2013
How about that gasoline
in Autumn rain puddles?

How about them cars that don't start,
can't start.

I just wanted to start.

Playing games like this never amused me much;
I guess I'm more of a reader than a writer than a toy-game-player.

I want the facts.

None of this horseshit media circus,
ignorance is neither knowing nor caring.

Nay bliss,

It was bliss on those cold winter nights,
night twilights pressed hard against the city-smogged sky
where the gases of sugar beets and petroleum reflect back down orange.

Orange on the snow and orange on snow drifts and snow flakes on your eyelashes.
Little orange dusts
(**** your lashes grow long)
dusts fallen halfheartedly like rain in the fall
and rain puddles shone red
and blue
and green
and orange, orange, orange...

Always orange.

Like gasoline in rain puddles,
gasoline in cars that won't start.

They can't start, don't start;
My engine must be misfiring.

(How about them metaphors for a heart?)

Will you call me when you get there?
London15 Nov 2020
Every time I answer I give away a little more of myself
The list of things I need to be grows every day
Another gap to plug with lines.

It’s hard to take sometimes.

I have begun to suspect that the old adage
“It's not you, it's me,” is not really about broken love but about ******* job applications.
You breathe a say of relief, I can hear it, “thank god not another lonely-hearts column”
Only a poem, insipid and sighing.

But I’m fresh onto the stage treading the boards for the very first time.
Swollen by years of septic success
Swimming in a pool on the Strand I was a happy middleweight
In this ocean, I am a particle of micro-plastic, unwanted but bobbing along nonetheless.

Another email, better than no email at all, regretting, informing and wishing me the best.
I draw myself together pulling at the loose strings at my seams, greeting, informing and thanking them for consideration, again.
This time though, the holes seem stretched, the string frayed
I’m a little worried that it will give, tired of straining it will collapse under the weight of my doused desire.

But there’s not much to be done.
So, I fill myself up with some watered-down ire, three coffees, a nibble of cake and a croc of horseshit with which to sell my fire.
Derby Apr 2017
When I was three years old,
I came face-to-face with Allen Ginsberg for the very first time.

I hated him.

In my own little three-year-old way,
I thought he was a mean, rude, nasty, ornery old *******.
But when I turned twenty, I learned the truth:
He was a fearless, bold, no ******* old *******--- he wasn't the only one.

The world wasn't meant to be seen through rose-colored glasses,
but to be witnessed on our feet in the present and off our lazy *****.

Mankind was meant to live and die
in an adventure, seeking peace through trials of wrong and right,
not to bask in a stagnant bath, nor stop in the midst of a path
to a future bright, though out of sight,
for this is no way to thrive,
but to live and die a treacherous lie.

Here in the first world, we are afraid to suffer,
but eager to ****,
to conquer,
to ignore internal issues.
[Pay no mind to the men behind the curtain, the have their own agendas, and we allowed this--- we voted them in!]
We are afraid to be wrong,
but fearless to fight
a battle with no true end in sight.
We will never fix the problem,
nor repair the damage we create,
if we all just sit on down,
grab our egos and *******---
[Spoiler Alert:
There will be no ******, no explosions of mental ***, no parade, just *******, horseshit, and all the other **** that comes along when we bite off more than we can chew and still force it through our systems;
blow it out your ***** and let's get a move on,
we've got things to do and places to be!]

We talk in circles,
we talk of change,
we talk making a difference,
we talk in circles...
see what I'm say'n'?

Politicians are a sham,
Real people lose the race, whether slow and steady, or fastly-paced,
so they **** out of it all,
as they had no business running in the first place.

We the people are dis-

organized
and dYsFU[ckIng fu]nctIonal;
all too lazy to gang up and be the CHANGE we seek,
so we
file
in
line
and fight over our spots to sit in a seat on a ship sailing its way south
d
o
w
n
****'s-******'-Creek.

In twenty--- hell, thirty, forty, fifty years,
we've made little progress,
but we've got iPhones and Wi-Fi, and people going to Mars,
We've got technology never before imagined standard in our cars!
Now, ain't that just swell,
ain't that spectacular?
We're all going to hell
for ******* our own blood from our own ***** like an auto-fellating, narcissistical Dracular.

What do we do? Where do we go from here?

If Ginsberg, Bukowski, Poe, Dante, Plato, Socrates, Freud, ******, Christ, Caesar, Shakespeare, Lincoln, Lee, Brooks[1], Miller[2], my parents, Mr. Pete Rose, Franklin, all my friends, and a million other folks taught me anything,
it's that we're all *******,
we're all sinners,
we're all losers, occasional winners,
we're all *******,
we're all wrong, though sometimes right,
we all live,
we all die,
we've all got **** going on in our lives---
and what I've learned from all this,
was that I can do better,
YOU can do better,
we can ALL do better than we are doing right now,
that we are each unique, but we are no different from one another, we are human beings;
we can learn and teach, and we must do this always,
from day, through night and to each and ever other day.
But the most important lesson above all:
Don't be such a *****, whatever you DO do,
simply try to understand,
for all the world's fate is in our own
feeble, but hopefully growing hands.
[1]--refers to Mel Brooks
[2]--refers to Arthur Miller
Jeff Stier Jun 2016
My wife won't stop
writing poetry
it pours forth
rich in imagery
nuanced in tone
brilliant
inspired
every line loved into existence
tucked gently into bed each night
and called into service
the next morning.

Whereas
my words are meager
meek
brittle and contrived
words that push a barrel
of horseshit
toward the setting sun
No hope of ever getting there.

Why do I try?
It's really a bit sad
numero dos is my destiny
in this poetic liaison
I am forever the dunce
in poetry school.

But my teacher is a babe
a truly hot number
so I'll continue to sit at the back
of the class
try to follow the lessons
and hope against hope
she says a kind word.
Ha ha.
Sag Sep 2016
While you were reading "the Word" in that hotel room in new mexico or California or wherever the ******* slept with her that night, you should have been looking up passages on forgiveness or some other godly, holier-than-though horseshit that's supposed to make you into a better person.

I don't need a bible to tell me that what you did was wrong and I definitely don't need one to tell me that I should forgive you.
Because despite the horrific time we spent together, I know it wasn't all your fault. I've learned to forgive not only you, but also myself.

I don't need an angel to pull me out of depression. I don't need an angel to tell stories to of every glorifying good deed I've done in my life to get me into the gates of Heaven. I don't need Satan telling me I'm too good for Hell because let's face it: none of us really are.

I hope you know that when people ask about you, I tell them how lovely you are, that you're genuinely a good person who's dealt with more struggles than she deserves, who I treated poorly when she deserved her feet washed and her presence bowed to.

So when you tell those same people that I'm a pathological liar,
perhaps maybe you're right.

But I'm not lying when I say, I hope for happiness in your head.
I hope one day you don't feel the burning need to fill others' with pity for you and hatred for anyone you feel is against you,
that burning desire you have to destroy yourself so you throw everyone else into the furnace? Yeah. You know the story.

I hope you know I loved you, I loved you, I loved you.
I hope you know I never wish I hadn't.
I hope you believe yourself when you say that I'm a liar so that none of this makes you feel an ounce better about yourself.

In Jesus name I pray,
Amen.
**** u :))
M Grant Teague Dec 2019
Slip into control Satan.
Take my rising rage
And pressured passion.
It is wasted and hated
By those I entrusted.
I am standing alongside
My own corpse and it is time
Someone else used it.
I don’t remember the death
But my own magic is missing.
I need your fangs to dig deep
Seep the venom into my veins
The white purity has led to pain.
At least with you I know
That is what will come.
And It is my choice.
I tire of promises ****** in my face like salvation.
It is horseshit.
I will never rebuke God
But the toxic teachers of the church
Have led me to this tragedy.
jason galt Dec 2015
A nominal amount of pain
when the lights go on.
You roll lines around in your head
and realize you remember none.
There’s only the dull stink of cigarette smoke
and day old donuts in your mouth.
Your mind seizes and your heart seethes.
What the **** am I doing here?
Nothing more than a back alley bard.
A barbarian without grace
with a penchant for writing inane ramblings
on cocktail napkins.

A bald man bellows in the back of the room.
An emo princess giggles at her date’s joke.
Drinks sloshed, cigars inhaled.
All awaiting the crash and burn,
or the entertainment they came to see.
They want a rock star.
They want a sideshow freak.
They will boo, they will howl,
They may even clap if the timings right.

Damon Malio goes up before me.
That ******* is as smooth as silk
and as suave as the day’s first rays.
Hell, I even want to run up there
and kiss the *******.
He has a rapacious tongue,
stealing every good word in the English language.
Banging away with syllables and gestures,
the room is vibing to his beat.

Knots in my stomach
and an ache in my brain.
A dull thump followed by
the whisper of “Fraud.”
                          “Failure.”
It’s that little boy voice
that used to get tormented in grade school.
The urge hits to wither away.

The only escape route is blocked by bouncers
at the back door.
I’m trapped here with the prison guards.
No semblance of thought,
just a rattle, panic and hate.
I’m a predator in a room full of rodents,
ready to eat me alive.

There are no outs,
only the get up there
and get out the vivid images
alive inside of me.
Right before I go up on stage
I touch the brick wall.
Tangible, tactile, rough and cool.
I laugh under my breath.
That’s the way people describe me.

If you ever wanted to hear a pin drop,
now would be a good time.
Staring back are a room full of strangers,
Murmuring, waiting for the show to begin.
I see a table full of beautiful women,
the tattooed, artsy types
I get weak in the knees for.
An older gentleman looking impatient for me to speak.
Clearly a professor of some sort.

I clear my throat.
Startling myself
at the loudness of it.
Loud…voice…speak…speak…speak.

“I’m a salty *******.
I could have been a Sabine
if I hadn’t been born in the wrong time,
to the wrong class of people
and a deformity looming larger than life.
That literary je ne sais quoi that working men
and the saviors of syphilis have.
The questionable knowledge that the
seafaring folk were instrumental
in my christening.

I’ll bring God’s ministry to Hades
and two tons of luck to riverboat gamblers
with fortuitous use of four aces.
I’ll bless the maître d’s war against the moguls
and the matadors quest for the upper hand
in the war of the forlorn.

I’m just kidding ladies and gentleman,
that’s all horseshit”

The crowd looks perplexed.
They aren’t quite there yet,
but we’re getting somewhere.

“We’re actually gathered here today to see the holy matrimony
of poetry and pestilence, art and arrogance.
I’ll be your priest, your prophet along the way.
We’ll channel them into
a seven year split and fifteen days of rage.
We’ll curse the gods of conformity and the spirits of suburban sprawl.
Set fire to the system that binds your mind.
The fallacies told to control you.

I never knew the error of my ways until
I touched God on Tuesday.
She was dead ringer for Greta Garbo,
gracious as a host and divine in her dealings with me.
I saw the white hot heat of Stockholm syndrome
and knew I was in the presence of the pantheon.
Felt swelter and fear,
but she kissed my forehead and whispered that it was all a lie.
The power others presume to hold over me.
The judges, the juries, the couponing maidens, the schoolmarms,
the cops and fathers and armies and vicious tax agents.
The Machiavellian telethon charities
and the undressed hookers pretending to be my saving grace.
The drugs, the music, the books, the *******, the fury of 40 years gone too long and not enough wisdom to die too soon.

I wept when she spoke to me.

Guns will **** you but love will **** you quicker she opined.
Obfuscated words from the otherworldly.
She sent me on a mission to find the words of Sinatra,
the Rat Pack’s subliminal subversion of all that power players hold dear.
The fear the unwashed masses will come.
The provincial mindset that they can procreate proletariats
to be the permanent protectors of their gilded ******* towers.
As I seethed she kissed and soothed me.
She whispered her love and asked me to lie with her.
I thought copulating with God was a heresy.
She told me to lay back and everything would be alright.”

I looked in the eyes of a tattooed temptress
and saw ravenousness for more words.
At least I knew I was getting laid tonight.

There was a new footing.
This vulnerability, baring my *** for all to see.
But there were no boos,
just the synergy of poetry conveyed through me.

“As we lay in the afterglow
I rolled over on one side and asked
how do I rid myself of the devils that plague us?
The bleeding, the burdens of humanity enslaving me?
She smiled playfully and ran her fingers through my hair,
telling me there there, don’t worry your pretty little head.
They can take from you. They can beat you.
They can **** you.
And oh my how they will try.
Governments and men with guns.
A society of rats crushing you with social mores,
moving to tell you what to do and how to live.
They will give speeches of how to behave on AM radio.
Buckle your belt, conserve the earth and be a good dad.
Foster those brats and bleat like sheep
to the tune of an Orwellian world.
I shook as she maddened my mind,
but her touch ran over me with ecstasy.

You will go forth my prophet, my prince,
and spread the word of free men with free minds,
not bound by internet ******* parties,
the latest legal trouble for B-listers
and all the trivialities of brainwashing.
The baubles betrothed to those without
imagination or the ***** to seek the truth.”
Toxic yeti Apr 2019
‪Why is there something ‬
So freakishly unusual
Of two people in love
With eachother
Who met as friends??
Jeez!!!!
Edward Coles Jun 2015
“You and I”
he says,
“we're meant for better things than this.”

When I ask him what he means
he says,
“we've been holding this factory up
for the last seven years-
look at you:
you look like ****.
You're ******* twenty-six
and you look like you've
gone at least two years
without regular ***;
always staying in to catch up on lost sleep,
but you forget about all the hours
you've lost in between.
When was the last time you made love
to anything other than yourself?
When was the last time you drank a beer
to start up the evening,
rather than to **** the night?”

When I told him
that it's not like I'm a boring ****,
he agreed and
he says,
“no, no, and that's the issue,
that's why, you and I,”
he says,
“you and I,
need to get out of this place.
Haven't you ever just thought
about walking out?
Like the money ain't enough
to keep you tethered to what you do?”

I answered yes, of course,
and that it's like the common cold;
it's a load of horseshit,
but it won't **** you too often.
To that he says,
“we gave seven years to make money for someone else,
and we got ourselves what we wanted...”

He was right,
as we drove up to our old spot
in our company 4 X 4.
He lit up the joint
as we looked over the old railway bridge and
he says,
“we used to come here all the time when we were kids.
Spit down to the bottom,
watch it splash into the floodwater
around New Year's.
We had our first cigarette,
and then our next and then our next...”

he zoned out and we fell to silence,
smoking by the old haunt
and not for the first time it occurred to me
how much I can live like a ghost at times.
Even now I was passive
as someone echoed my daydreams
with psalms of escape;
even now, at this featherbed point,
I slip into a conservative's tongue
and express my comfort in the working day
and feeling over-the-hill,
despite all the conversations similar to this
that I have rehearsed so passionately
inside my head.
After a while
he says,
“you and I,
we're better than this.
Better than this drug
or this routine bliss;
better than a monthly slip
that disappears on rent,
or popular thoughtstreams
that make no sense.

“You and I,
we're different than most.
We hold onto happiness
like sand in our palms,
dispersing it everywhere we go
without ever having enough for ourselves,
or concentrating it on anyone important;
we just spend it like we spend our money-
on all of the escapism to forget
that our lives are a lie-
a pie-in-the-sky theory
that says we have to work hard
to live happy...”

He stopped,
gave a watery smile
and he says to me,
“You and I
are similar,
but you are younger
and kinder than me.
Get out of here
and find that slower life,
before you begin to see what happens
when you grow into your apathy...”

With that he turned
and walked off the edge
of the bridge as if he was
slipping out for a ****.
He slipped out of life
without another word.
Maybe he thought he was a bird,
that he would find some wings
at the bottom of a tragic fall;
either way he is gone
and only his words remain,
in the lazy imagination
of a young stoner's brain.
Entirely unedited. Written without pausing to see what I came up with. Just word regurgitation, mostly.

05.06.2015
Chris D Aechtner Nov 2021
There are few impossibilities, one of those being the ability to follow science. Pure science is too far ahead to be followed.
That which is left in the resulting wake of exploration isn't scientific. Science isn't claims made by News Science and marketers for trillion $ industries. Science isn't a scientific research paper funded by The Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation or The Rockefeller Foundation: That's simply business as usual, and it's been like that for centuries.

“Follow the science” is this era's “Sol orbits Earth”. Can you do science or do you merely script and parrot slogans and opinions. Are you capable of writing your own research paper or do you merely read the research papers of others.

Science on its own teaches nothing, and nothingness; experience teaches.

A scientist isn't a labcoat, beakers, and sponsorships. I've had some of the most adept scientific mentors on the planet come to unanimous consensus that I'm too idealistic for this world. I was ******* from the get-go lol. There isn't a universal constant and universal law that I can't conceptualize and understand inside-out, and I now know less for certain than I did when I was 5 years old. But, every second person claims to be scientific. *******.

Knowing how macromolecules chain into larger polymer chains, and how those polymers chain together to cause a tangible “object”, so to speak, is being an eternal Padawan Apprentice following a creek bed in the bedrock of an echochamber canyon that reverberates to the choir. Knowing how the tests, medicine, drugs, cosmetics, foods, and most everything else that people absorb and use, function and interact, and being careful to snot mistake co-relation for direct-strength causality, is a very alienating existence in society. Most everyone supposedly knows most everything: It has the atmosphere of a morgue and slaughterhouse merged into a box for this Brave New World.

Cattle life is but a blue screen dream to merrily row through to the hypnotic beat of North America's nightmarishly silent screams.

Apex power and hyper-philanthropists
could've been transparent, dropped the
Technocratic Wizard of Oz horseshit act,
simply asked for Martyrs who “follow the science” to step forward in the name of science, progress, and duty to free society and the good of the whole,

and most of the denatured cowards,
heartless tin soldiers, and dumbed-down scarecrow double agents for Empire,
would've come forward in lock-step, lined up along the fool's gold brick road to receive
the shots of Kool-AIDS in a sense of duty, piety, virtuosity, and self-righteousness,

regardless.

Could've been transparent, explained that
the Fiat economy crashed, that it's being held
up with strings as illusory slop for the trough, that The Fourth Industrial Revolution is being ushered in, and 75% of the global population doesn't have Golden Tickets to The Great Show.

I've always promoted and advocated for medical ethics and proper informed consent.
11 13 2021

https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/33113270/

The Novavax NVX-CoV2373 COVID-19 vaccine doesn't use synthetic computer coded digital mRNA and petroleum-based synthetic lipids and nanotech such as PEG 2000 and GOgel.
The NVX-CoV2373 primer is derived from cloned sl9 moth cells instead of cloned human/chimpanzee/other, and the booster is an adjuvant derived from tree bark. The NVX-CoV-2373 vaccine helps to build immunity towards variants of virions and bacteria. The NVX-CoV-2373 vaccine doesn't include ingredients that the big brands use, those ingredients often being neurotoxins and highly volatile xenobiotics that damage cells, nerves, and eco-systems.
John Beetle Nov 2013
this is for the classy ones that dance alone on tables of glass,

and the evil greed that breathes in you some night.

do you feel healthy?


don’t get lost in the woods,

don’t eat after twelve at night,

you will suffer the next day.

people, crowds of beaten people,

lost in the womb of the globe.

peace will never win, peace seems to be dead these days.


and you will fight the great fight of living

and the touch

and the feeling

of greatness will come someday.

skin deep in the wet dirt and the fresh grass

it means something to someone

and to another it’s horseshit.

the living skin wins again.

winning isn’t something good you know.
poem
poetry
prose
free verse
The smoke curled in my yawning mouth
          and I choked.  I am clouding my lungs
and surely the poison is flowing

freely through each blue vein; this is merely damage control.  

It is not beautiful
or romantic
or tragic, or any of that horseshit.
It is business and impersonal and clinical.  
It is the art of dying slowly but it is not for display.
jeffrey robin Dec 2014
(     ^^^
                                       )    
(                          ^^^          
                                                                ­      )                
^^^                                 O                                       ^^^
                      ^^^
       O                                 
                                                       ­                 
••

Don't be afraid

Love ?

So / you don't know what it means ?

WHO DOES ?

• •

You do know this whole

BOY FRIEND / GIRL FRIEND

thing is horseshit , right ?

/:/

I mean  Jesus Christ ! / how stupid
Can it get !



So many souls come down to the river

And bathe in pure puberty

Nakedly

With one another

Under the stars !

••

Let's face it

Even going to school at all is weird enough !

What WERE they thinking of ?

Gettin everyone's mind messed up !

Well I guess !

••

So here we are

••

Dribbling like lunatics on self inflicted scars !!!

And then going back and doing the same **** again !

//

So many people come down to the river

To bathe in pure puberty

Together

Naked in life's waters

Sustaining

And nourishing

The whole world



We all sorta got our own minds

And can think

Of a truer way to be raised

//

So

Let us

Down to the river and jump on in

Just to see what sanity might feel like

For awhile

— The End —