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Tonie Wasco Jul 2016
I own a hula hoop
it's red with black and white racing pattens circling around the red
like something a person could use for a race
I own a hula hoop
shockingly i am not a little girl with pigtails who uses it
no i bought it at 19 at a fair
and people stared while i just didnt care
I own a hula hoop
not because it seems like a new age thing to do
or simply because its a good workout tool
no i own a hula hoop because i love the way it moves with me
i love the tricks and turns i can do with it
i own a hula hoop because it makes me feel in the moment
in turn with myself and my surroundings
it makes me want to buy another hula hoop
Steve Aug 2016
Washed up on a dessert island beach
With civilisation far out of reach
Just me and 4 hula hula girls
Them dressed only in blushes and pearls
So little time, so much to teach!

© Copyright SE August 2016
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
MRR Nov 2012
I watched the sky turn
It's marvelous, too-perfect
Gleaming tumblers in a cosmic
Dance of light and silence

And the hula-hoop girl
Spun her hoop against the massive
Sky turning those
Dots into positioned perfection

To which she dashed them to the
Earth in a frenzied
Calm which met the moon
By the singing tree tops
solEmn oaSis Nov 2015
ang yong kamandag ay matagal nang
nasa dibdib ko,di ko alintana ang mga sandali hanggang
unti-unti kang humulas bilang isang henna,,na para bang
di ko lubos namalayan bakit pa di ko ginawang totoong
tattoo ka,,nang sa gayon mapatunayan ko sayo ang iyong
imahe ang pinaka-aasam ko bilang ekspresyon kong
simbolo- na ikaw at ang pagiging magaan mo subalit
kaakit-akit ay siyang karapat-dapat
sa puso at isipan ng isang capricornian
at maghihintay ako sa iyo hanggang sa dulo ng aking pagdaraanan........
naganap na!!!
Beryl Starkovic May 2014
Oh, how could I have been so careless with time?
Trying to catch hummingbirds with a hula-hoop.

All the un-watered whims,
planted in subconscious deep;
inside great empty tiger cages
that capture only the echoes,
and photographic negatives of dreams.

With a knapsack chock full of stars,
and clouds, fully reviewed then abandoned
at random. I have been spinning separate
from the world; wearing time capriciously
on my wrist, fully reviewed then abandoned at random.

Maybe only clocks are careful with time . . .
If I were a Rainbow
The children would run to me
Turning upside down, I would be an iridescent swing,
The children would mount my rainbow wing

Swaying high up in the starry skies ascending on the moon
The children do bunny jumps, counting stars till noon
Awestruck and desirous they pick a few
The colours pink purple orange magenta and blue

Swaying down to the flower garden
They would pick flowers from the boughs laden
Threading in a star and a flower into  an ornamental  garland
Adorned as neckpieces , running around ,making one happy land

If I were a Rainbow
I would dismember all the semicircles making one hula hoop
The children would gleefully twirl and sway into the  enormous loop

If I were a Rainbow
I would become one big ramp
The children would joyously roller skate  up and down
Lighting up the ramp

If I were a Rainbow
And all of these came true
I would turn upside down making one radiant smile across the sky
The children would happily smile back at me , waving me good bye
Wrote this for my younger son ,Anshul on his birthday (19/02 ) , this year .
But never posted  . I am glad to post it as my 100th here .
Thank you all ,my HP friends .
Had been a little unwell and did not post anything in the last 2-3 days .
preservationman Aug 2019
Hula to the shores
I see a Tsunami coming which I can’t ignore
I guess my hula caused a tidal wave
Ok hips, you need to behave
The hula must be done just right
But looking at my hips is a pitiful sight
Even the sun looks mad
Now that makes me feel sad
So much for the hula skirt
People on the beach are making a smirk
Let me stop using the hula with my hips before I cause an Earthquake
Even Heaven is saying, “For peak sake”
I guess one would have to give or take
Now attempting to do to the hula I do believe was a big mistake.
Helen Jun 2014
I could hula hoop for hours
and watch the minutes go by
as I watched your mesmerised eyes
traced my hips, back and forth

I could rewind the mixed tape
I made, twisting the pencil artfully
you waited for our song silently
then the music played for us

I could reach out the window
and turn the speakers the other way
some would say, beneath the screen
we reenacted our own silent dream

I could skip rope, I could jog miles
I could take a joke with a smile
I could pretend we were perfect
on the end of notes so discordant

But now I just lay next to you
and you listen to me breathe
Waiting for the last note to play
but I remember almost everything

I remember I used to hula hoop
and fix all your mixed tapes
I remember all the silent movies
and I remember my mistakes

I wish I could turn back the time
and be as young as you are bold
I wish this time was not so painful
as I wish the pain would just grow old

I want to hula hoop again
In your mind I would be so young
When that mixed tape plays again
I hope it brings you the joy of when
we were young
I'm not going to outlive you, I'm not even going to pretend but I just hope you know, I lived it all until the end... Please, live without me...
Tom McCubbin Apr 2015
I have not been anywhere,
done anything, thought anything,
and feel nothing.

At least,
that’s what my blank, plain-clothed
T-shirt would indicate to other people.
A man walking the earth with
no visible identity.

When I put on my Hawaiian shirt, however,
they believe my mind to be full of
pineapples, hula girls swinging softly in the
ukulele moonlight, palm fronds swaying
in the dacron, or is it rayon, ripples
of my baggy upper man.

Let others think what they might
of my images, or the lack of words
and logos.
My inner tag says that
I’m size “L” and that I’m made on
factory looms in China, that my buttons
are constructed to look like the
real thing–a round slice of bone or
perhaps ivory.

I am not so much anywhere on the
outside, even though there are places
I would like to go fling my few dollars.
Inside, however, I am lost,
pleasantly lost and hiding, within the
convenience of my unprinted shirt.
zebra Jan 2019
they danced in a dream
of bending shadows
face down
begging ***
all hungry back door paradise

ankles strapped on a foot worn floor
paint faced in whorey nights
with pin needle eyes
blood crimson neon's
cut curtains
like kissing claws
so their bodies wouldn't forget
dark pleasures lightening
and biting tantra tantrums
they swallowed mad ***** blossoms of hell candy
breathing the others inhalations
foot sniffing ballet arch
in fastened Japanese melting red slippers

gazing upwards rectums prayer
solar eyed insurrection

finger by finger
clutching wrists like the grave
for bloods salty cove
an injured landscape
a dire pink desert
like bogs hold bones
a rave for a slave
covered in yellow ocher rubber sheets
soft on the feet
x rated amputee costume
made of blood and spit

look mommy no arms
a bellied tattoo
of hennaed homunculi  
burning Candomblé Jejé, skull

black eyed beauty hissing
while accordion throated
rip tie tighten
another notch please
a dizzy *******
down silver fluted gullet
in a steamed up bath house
party of blotted sockets

*** kitten
kissed dead girls thighs
tremulous and stretched
a shimmering serum
like wide tubular channels
as pontoon edges slit
through midnight howls for velvet skinned girl
who thrills
her head a veiled Jehovah
saliva wagging tongue ****
a stuttering ****** dance
a hula hot momma in rubble
slapping hot lipped kisses
over starved darkness
along telegraphs avenue
melting eyes like butter
a globed pudding spill
******* drool drops of gold
and black river gladiators
slaughter lies
with every long stroke
between cascading squeals

paraphilias mausoleum
like tumbling eels
a scapegoat pulp fiction
chiseled in cement
******* rips
drip drip drip

babbling **** bubbles
**** spasms ooze like a hot glue gun
fire spats soil cherry clover
nvinn fonia Dec 2018
what/====/what  ==
  here, it is a tar pit  the yellowed trees all that eyes  see cherry blossoms through &through cherry blossoms  cherry blossoms through and through and through  cherry blossoms through
   it soothes- -it becomes blooms -it becomes blooms ---it becomes blooms ---recantations  reconsecration
so many many ages ago,  “probabilities man probabilities”
that’s about itt, man, it seems“similarly“,,,,, noww nowwthe drudge  magenta!noww, man-about time
as i knoww itt” well for once “ once  so pretty  ” she-says -cohorts
justt a dayy more we are closer-hippyhippy-hopp
the  best off linens the blue coats the finest frivolities all that  is pristine pristine-here/Jesuits
a sea of happiness in here everything
a well laid dining table a desk to write read eat a tree outside the never ending vanity fair “that  the magic will live  never will die
cause it’s automatic for people”says-Scot  it is really  automatic-now

“ patterns  emerge   as my prime whiter s,man”----tells,Joe

cups of tea-  chamomile- tells Jon/ mayb  “as much as you will like to mingle/&dangle-&mingle /double dribble/triple./Onegin //all the  wriggling the  implausible imposing    ,, nibbles ,,all the book keeping
“the classic anecdote” iff i mayy ... we are all  only supercilious  there’s more here to come”----Jim,, retorts tells
“to which i may”,tells jill    a sheep is _, its all gloom and  kingdom comes
   reasons /and acuity/  th more the merrierer   my bliss/slits
/ & the black space everywhere in
   them the/many minds   all the more   \><citadel.come and go touch of gold   see to believe  
  <    deep blue lakes &blue that  never end their rune and it  returns  a ship on her chest a ship on her chest,on her chest-that i will reach places un dreamt of
\   will   returnn  > there. everyplace tea<>>>>\
   stays afloat,    dispels /beaten /scowls  scary ,tea<>>>>\all-of jiggling/ bouncying   ><weeds out / >minuscules
ripes/renders jesica>>>>jamboree  come face me.
     the grandest / all  the oddities   one magic invention i was missing all this time transgression/ kindda may be timid /  
  my jive / rruby/mouthing a last supper if you will .something akin
   timid all this time
  wt i was endless immeasurable the - wild/beckons/ ribbons and knots
door to door tropic  day/&night; /beckons// ribbons and knots
\i  was i would  on my side Ausual-revival Arendition again  again
and  lifee-like -ride  and whatever moreover all oveer the leftovers
rose swells . fine  our grasslands,you know, stilts frantic Jiving,Jiving Jiving in smoke  -reels/incapabl,,indecicve
one more dayy nd through h moors
are off ,,,, raspberry,Jiving,Jiving Jiving
discontent  / neatt/  mother  fuggazii ,Jiving,Jiving Jiving ,a week goes ayb a month a long intention, itt- sooths./all the more oegin \Gerianne- ,,twitces  .astute, many floors up,pigging cleaning,every quarter
the clouds/massquadre ,this is cat to,, through ,,moved,moved,,moved

, a-blue,, a-temple a bloom,a ,temple a rook a trek a stoop now
Buddha, a simpleton/buddah geriane 16-1-5-1, miniature lamps,,blizzards6-1-5-1,
all that can in a man/rigour all that hula hoop
possibly a merry christmass,, dayys spent ,,,  full
you  are all that is sire a \ all the pleasures off a small room
full off all the kool tools an art decoo sire by now you know it
all thecrystal fairies in blue crystall *****
pretty slick,,,runs ,piping hott ,, undone  &the; buddha, the-rider,, the- boxes,,,layaway the glistering the beaming, all  the book keeping
a philistine, if i mayy impeccable, and  free
glitters all  the hourrs,a\ repliccaa just a beguiling  taste ,\
,sire,,little empty purposely,, masterfully done,,,sire
beefy ,,sire,and, plenty-full surelyy
the nectar bequeaths

projected .mediocre , mister faires in ferries  shimmering  dearest of stories  / wings/reminising _faires
drool  an artt decoo sire,,,a purple tea *** in which we drink our tea,,,mirrors,,, the very best in the pristine
the mannequins,,all the more-buddha,the-rider,, the- boxes,,
,,sire iff only i may all that   hula hoop.dope-slopes -keystrokes -rabbi=ed folks we traversed   alone
among the ******* faires shining.and whineing
tee -hometown alleys too,the innate shufling,  neat //pique
   from,treetops,bellhops,  all  those-pitstops
   chit chats-flips flops flat-crapp
lemonade/the charade the bee all the hives-all
handmade kind of  dreams /transpicuous
**** you would knoow you would knoow-that anyway blinking/ slits . //slithers
leaping/ reaping/ leaving all blue //eyes bulls eye

archic // mine  !all blue //eyes----  eye leaping/ rearing/
leaping/ reaping/leaping/ rearing/leaping/ reaping/leaping/ rearing/

and now the mother  a finale-  ( )   grand //tiers ;piping ;deep-dives................
-clean-off beat -best kept thatt  allures us //still gilding  top -down.  in
fairies   delusions/- 2rapid 2rabid distracted
comes easy free /  -******
a cup of tea/honey -man i know  with it  /// batteries  jazz like   *******
time and time againn pronto sire
wired tried intake-uptake /cup cakes/hatted  /// orbs many many many kinds justt soo many soo many  many
  any takers in no hurry
left /blending/mended melting too which she says enough off all this shenanigans i want //if this is
Ayeshah May 2010
I counted  the clock
as I watched the small hand slowly tick by

I stared off into space
as I watched the weather change from sunny to Grey-
blurring my vision as my mind drifted away...

Something in the air told me to be still-  listen & wait

but if I'd of known on this day
you'd do the unthinkable so intangibly-
I well I don't know what I'd of done....

I haven't eaten since you left
I hardly slept since I found you gone...

Hard to think as I sit at my dinning table
watching out my bay window as children laugh & play.

I heard a dog bark and watched a girl playing with her hula-hoop

I sit as tears run down my face thinking are you eating are you safe?

Why now would you think to leave
when everything you wanted
is right in front of you?

Is that person you ran to worth
the pain your causing me?

What can you be thinking ?

As I sit hear with my elbows on this table,
head bent low & my hands in my hair.

I hear a knock & my heart skips a beat, butterflies flutter in the pit of my stomach...

That lil girl with her hula-hoop tapped my window and smiles (I thought it was you)

I smile right back but all  I see is you- in my mind
I see you with your tiny hands, your wrapped in blankets,
leaves of many colors  fall down from above as we sat in  Elizabeth Park
me reading  Winnie The Pooh  to you.

You at about 2- running with your very first kite  
saying looky momma look "it fly'ing"...

As you ran you tripped stubbled & fell  sadly your kite flew away...
I chases it but I couldn't reach it in time....
You look up with tears & it breaks my heart I didn't catch your kite
so I cry too and you say to me momma it OK.

I see in my mind you  at 4 laughing with your sister - you both hold hand
twirling round & round in circles   until you fall down giggling all the while.

I wonder where is that smile of yours now?

Where's the laughter & feelings you had way back then?

My tears are overflow- spilling on this dinning table...

I look up and watch
the tiny red hand on the clock tick, tick, tick on by,
it's the only sound in my house.

Your sisters outside playing with their friends
as  I sit watching out the window& all I see is the many blended
children whom now look all
like you- running, laughing, playing...

Being free to be them selves & all I can do is long to have you home for once.
No picture is gonna help
because you've left me watching, waiting once more,
I  been here all this time doing what I seem to continuously do which is
Watch As Time Flys By!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright © Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
June Waltz Jun 2014
Why is it
Boys can’t hula-hoop?
And have you ever
seen them try?
They concentrate real hard an all
but just can’t make
that hoop fly.
They all have this notion
to spin that ring real fast,
thinking if they hope
the spinning motion’ll last.
The beads inside just rattle.
With no smoothness to the sound.
They bounce around on boys’ hips
then smack against the ground.
And maybe it’s because
they have a bulge within their pants
that gets caught up on the hula-hoop
so boys just simply can’t.
Hank Roberts Oct 2010
I left this carnival,
or so it seemed to be.
My views have
Changed. Good or Bad?
I won't be the one,
To say in the coming years.

Girls with hula hoops,
Boys watching in awe,
How fantastic the
Colors seemed to swirl.
Like the fallen leaves
On a windy day.

But not the trees
are mainly bare, as
the circus crowd
Gathers around to
Catch the acrobat if
they should Fall.

Outside on the dirt path,
is me. sitting in thought,
Talking to more then myself.
The trees, grass, and
The earth listened to
my many tricky questions.

Why can't life be
Like tonight.
With all the vendors,
music, and travelers.
I tried to hide from
the rising sun, instead
my body made me absorb,
every bit of light.

The sun was the reminder,
To return home and
be in this other life.
More free then the
bird floating above me,
I thought of people
and the whole world.

No money left in my
money clip.  I found some
water.  I saw the ring leader
of the carnival and,
She eagerly smiled
"Life is what you make it."

No help this was, as
more and more contradictions
Sprang from my mouth.
Again she just smiled, so
Pretty was her smile.

Early that morning,
I tried to talk
to other beings, spirits,
but no truth was found.
Then like a lightning
bolt hitting a tree,
and causing fire everywhere,
The answer hit me. On
the ride home, I had
The same pretty smile,
as her.
Joseph Floreta Nov 2016
At yun nga,
Inakala ko
wala na nga,
Ngunit may karugtong pa nga,
Ang librong hinulog sa banga,
Saan na nga?
Nag wakas ang kwentong tula?,
Ating baguhin at gawing Dula,
Ang mga nangyaring hula,
Na pwede pa nating baguhin mula simula.
Ngunit nabago na ang ihip ng hangin,
Hindi ko na alam ang iisipin,
Gusto kong silipin
Ang mundong dapat sana'y atin,
Dahil inakala ko'y wala na nga,
Ngunit heto't bumalik ka nga,
Upang ako'y muling malito saking nararamdaman,
tulad nung isang awitin,Mas mahal na kita ngayon,Ngunit pambihirang buhay to,
Kaibigan nalang ako,
Ng isang Prinsesang nakatira sa kastilyo,
ayoko na
dahil wala ng kabuluhan
ang sinusulat ko,
para akong tanga,
mema post lang,
bahala na..
salamat sa pagbabasa.
thuglife tayo..xD
#friend nalang ngayon
Catrina Sparrow Nov 2012
mooshed up stubs of cigarettes swell in flooded ashtrays,
like fishies who gave up swimming to skim the surface,
belly first.
everything looks ancient when the sunlight is a muted grey.
this is not my home.
clouds part momentarily,
and a slice of off-white jet stream gets enveloped by a crying sky;
someone said, "you won't grow if you don't weep."
well, don't weep for me.
the smell of wet dirt,
wet leaves,
and wet concrete
waltz in through the drafty windows,
leading the parade of nostalgia breaking me down.
why in the **** did i ever grow up.
now it's rent checks,
passed-due notices,
and borrowing money so that the dogs can finally eat.
this isn't the 'me' i once loved.
i was a fearless leader of the rain-coat regime,
leading a fleet of one-thousand wax-paper sail boats to victory
over the tyranny of the rain gutter.
i was brave then.
a renegade cowgirl of the final frontier,
adorned in costume jewelry and mud stained over-alls.
i built ships to shred the sky,
and bring home my mother all of saturn's hula-hoop rings,
and every bouncy-ball on mars.
she always said my treasures were worth millions;
but i didn't want the money, then.
i wanted adventures.
with dirt roads and ***** toads and sandwiches smashed to ****
by rouge apples set in the cooler.
i wanted to hold the map,
and the compass,
and feel like the captain of our red-desert sea.
i wanted to see for myself everything that the horizon had to give me.
at that age,
i knew i'd live forever.
but at this age,
i know i'm bound to slowly die.
i'd give every penny to my name
to get back to the days
where even the rain didn't stop me from playing.
to when "dressing like a princess" entailed mom's red apron,
dad's harley davidson cap,
and little brother's rain boots.
i haven't felt like a princess since.
i just feel like a failure,
and it hurts.
i don't even know where i learned the word,
but i promise,
i regret it.
so i'll wish on this cheap bottle of whiskey,
and the glass that i'll drink from,
to go back.
to be five again.
to be set next to my mother's type writer,
whispering the words to the newest tall-tale i'd woven,
and watching her type out my dreams for me with her perfectly slender fingers,
one sticky key at a time.
it always sounded just like rain drops.
shout-out to the five year old me, to my amazing mother, and to that ribbon-eating-beast of a type writer.
Shelby Hemstock Aug 2013
"Dude, we're going to a burn this weekend and none of us have a car, will you take us?

"Sure, if you pay for my expenses."

And thats how I went to my first burn,
Freezer Burn, in the dead of winter, outside of Austin, Texas
So icy polar bears wear parkas and penguins wear pea coats
In the same essence of Burning Man
Just on a much much smaller scale
Located down a gravel road
Tucked away deep in the woods, miles away from civilization
Where primeval screams go unnoticed and the people go unkempt
No one to impress, everything is everything
The effigy made of wood, a colossal abominable snow man
Which would later be burned in a blaze of glory
Accompanied by fireworks, fire spitters and fire spinners galore
There were drum jams, free spirited belly dancers, and herds of hula hoops
The name of our camp site was "Goonsville"
I kept mistakingly referring to it as "Ghoul Town"
There were a lot of other camp sites,
We bordered "Camp Glue **** Together"
And "Tribe Named Search"
The first night was bone chilling
I had no gloves and all I had to soften my brain was cold cold beer
Sitting next to the fire was all we had to stay warm,
But we didn't have a fire
So we walked fire to fire, auditing camp sites
Greeting strangers with hugs and beers offered
A stranger with a beard walked up to us
Holding a bottle of whiskey
He extended it my way, no words, just whiskey
He wore soft toes boots, worn out bell bottom jeans
Yellow sunglasses and a red beanie, it was night
We were friends immediately
Being in a place like this makes you free
If you had the curiosity to come to a burn
Then you were automatically excepted as a friend, all equal
My friend Sam even called him cutie to which he responded,
"I'll be by your tent later tonight"
If gay jokes are in the air,
You're in the company of friends

My notes tend to trail off there,
I kept getting fed psychedelics
Teddy Grahams dosed with sunshine acid
The fungus was among us
I snorted a grain of something off a tooth pick and
The stars came together like a connect the dots worksheet
After that everything became a memory within a kaleidoscope
All I have written are quotes from passing strangers

"It's essencial to bring a beach ball if you want to have fun"

"When I let go its like Cleopatra letting her snakes loose"

"I woke up at 8am and had my first psychedelic sandwich of the day"

"**** buying ****, you don't have to do that, it's just an illusion"

"It's best to be sleep deprived when you take LSD, it enhances the trip"

"You can't occupy that space because it's occupied by my spirit"

"Whats the purpose of number 42?"

"You'll have to excuse me I just got this guitar from a pawn shop the other day, mind if I bust a tune on ya real quick?"

"******* beatin' on drums and drinkin' beer! Hell yes!"

"This is a good first burn man, not too many people, just real chill"

Andrew, Ben, Chris, Collin, Frank, Greg, Justin, Olive, Sam, Travis
Freaks, Friends
Freezer Burn January 14th, 2012
Fred Schrott Jul 2014
Hey, I already told you that you were a little bit crazy.
What did you think—that I was completely nuts?
Come on, Cashew, and shake that walnut-sized brain of
yours, and then we’ll try to put together a decent menu.
Still, I ought to kick you in those itty-bitty sunflower seeds,
those ones that you claim to be your source of protein.
Hey, Macadamia Breath, accidentally lose the ******* hula
dancer and then fire the impending search-and-rescue party!
Your tropical trail mix was no good for each other.
You need a vacation from this deserted island, Captain Crunch.
Go down south and get yourself the businessman’s special.
You know—some old-fashioned brazil nuts.
Yeah, that’s the two-tickets-to-paradise, for sure.
Fool, you really do need to buff up the old almond.
Do I need to open up the **** aluminum lid for you?
You’ve been stuck inside this assorted, mixed can that you
try to refer to as an extra bedroom for nearly nine months.
Get out and take in a little hike and bike
right after you do the wake and bake.
Maybe you should go slow roast yourself at the beach a little.
Why don’t you go to the mountains and try to become one of those
pine nuts that end up in all of those overpriced health cereals?
Hey, Snickers, those dank trees really are beautiful, you know.
Would you quit acting like a frikkin’ flax seed already?
Just admit that it’s almost payday, for criminy sakes!
You pathetic Mister Peanut, you.
Please, Saint Chestnut, give this completely lost consumer strength
from high above store aisle number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Listen to me, Nutt Sack, will you shake those tiny little beer
nuts that no one can seem to stomach anyway?
First of all, they are becoming way too stale just sitting around here,
so if you continue to wait any longer, they will petrify—and then we
will eventually be forced to call you teeth-breaking Corn Nuts!
From, The Transitive Nightfall Of Diamonds, due out 8/14 from iUniverse books
Peeka Jul 2014
They said the world tasted bitter,
But I didn't know the taste
Sitting on my high pedestal
I hadn't found my place.

They said life was pain,
But I jumped right on the train
The box was cold, damp
Dark heat, a burning lamp
Of judgment.

I caught it,
This sweat-soaked fever
A penny for a heartless demeanor
It came back, the conflict within
Shivers down my skin.

Why- that gifted nymph,
It lurks in nails, toes, grins
A flashlight on throats
The world was grim.

They said life was pain,
But I didn't know the feel
My reflected thought
Held back, bitten at the heel.

Wasn't I seeing gumdrops and candy ladders
Pie contests and glowing lanterns
Cherry soda and harmless banters
Butterfly wings and hula dancers?

They said life is pain,
But to seek fun and games
Look at oneself first
Here lies change.

Here lies paradise.
Sacrelicious Apr 2012
I'm just gunna
right through

I'm dating
Debbie Downer
but I'm bi-curious
for Positive Paul.

I'm hungry.
I'm pissy.

Debbie, get back to
& Bake me a cake.
I'll go hang out
Paul and his country ****.
I mean

You can just keep *******'
in the kitchen.
zebra May 2019
slash, gay, romance, grind house, love, boyxboy, ****, fanfiction, angst, horror, death, ******, fantasy, race play ****** sadist ladies friendship, lesbian, school, fanfic, hate, lgbt, music, sad, adventure, alex, boys, cut, emo, harry, humor, hurt, lgbtq, magic, mental, anorexia, aris, axl, blood, blue, boy, boy love, boyfriend, ******* ******* boy on **** spank me daddy burn, cute, dark, drama, edward, fan fiction, pom pom **** dance, femslash, fiction, fluff, gay ***** fun love, toilet slave, hula hooping hula
Because you're worth it
Jaclyn Harlamert Feb 2017
Always something new to learn
For the passion I yearn
To the left I turn
And the right I will reach
With everything in between
As bright as beauty can be
Brycical Apr 2014
The life span of a housefly
is approximately a month

Imagine if that was the lifespan
of everyone in this room,
from birth to death--
in just a month we grow;
           learning to walk, talk, eat pancakes, perceive god,
           light fires, play guitar, make coffee, cook lobster,
           learning to hula-hoop, to snap, to use the toilet
           and/or discovering your favorite shades of red,
          the first time merging with the opposite ***...
all in the span of a month.

How intense must that life feel?

Not to mention the physical growth
of bone, skin, heart, feet all the way
from birth to death in a month.

I think people would live quite differently;
laws would cease, save for the natural ones,
like the lifespan of a month.

Such learning with great intensity
compact into such a short time...

In this way I envy the housefly;
the fly that lands on dog ****--
risking a shorter life swatting death
to drink some sweat or
warm up for a spell in your home.

What a life,
the life of a fly in time.
Around the world swinging my hips, A hula hoop queen
Wrapped up in our nation’s flag I’ll be your American dream
Microphone miss superstar, shake the feathers in my hair
Honey you’re my favorite audience, you know I love it when you stare
Late night rooftop philosopher, tell you everything on my mind
Lover archeologist, boy you’re the best thing I’ll ever find
Little baby human canvas tattooed up my wrist
Turn into a woman fast when you grab me for a kiss
Vroom Vroom Racecar driver when I follow you up north
Lit up your sky fire works on our first July fourth
Princess of the gas station, buy me cherry gum
Lighting up my cigarette, won’t forget to spark you one
You lived a world of black and white, and that is not a lot so
I’ll bring in my vibrant reds, you got yourself Picasso
I know I scare you at most times, but never should you quiver
For my king at his request, the queen is sure to deliver
Apache chief rain dance girl, my tribe calls me brave heart
But I’m not always so courageous; I’m just trying to be smart
I’m thinking with my heart so fast the pumping blood’s still blue
But it beats, and I do all these things, I do them all for you.
Steven Fortune Jun 2014
Miles and borders

Wanderlust children
locked in the Sun's hula hoop
claim visions of sugarplum prairies

Downplayed mountains
speckle the globe
like tectonic acne
Topography's tease
The paper was so promising

Dimensions spawn
in the tatters of ambition
like fused particles of
colloquial bridges

Keyboards sprout vocal chords
and philosophies huddle under
shy amusement
humming to the hymn of a discovery
wrapped up in the chords
of enraptured choirs of fingertips
06 05 14
Martin Narrod Sep 2014
I toast to the spirits you've been counting, lying in that hammock with a stranger from Mars. Your muddy fingers, they creep like hairless spider arms between the ropey knots that bind together all its parts. There is a house inside the hilltop, where it peaks there is a church- there once was a man in shackles and handcuffs living there, he also had mud on the bottoms of his feet. Even the pennies you found get lost now and then. Even your white hair goes a shade of blonde. I can't sleep but I don't try, I never tried not to do something so much that the rest of me broke. I pushed so hard that sand fell into my socks. You only told me half of what will happen to you at 10am, the rest of it you told me that you'd prefer I didn't know, but if I am to survive on the secrets I know that you don't know about. Then tonight I will be sewing the wool over my eyes.------------------------------------------------------------­----------------------------------------------------------- No one could ever have any idea what comes easy. The creaking heavy wood of your slop-room door, or the filth I cough up in green, mustard, and tar globules every hour. There is the was. Small hands in half pockets. Stitches supposedly dissolving into our skins. The yellow wall, the panda pillow, the Pink Sugar, your hair wax and heavy handed straight-ironing tilt my curved and bent feet Northward about 6 to 60º degrees. Late trains and no complaints. Stubs of hair and tender legs. I don't give but my elbows buckle. This frame wasn't built to take blow after blow. Some friends tell me they can see tomorrow before it comes. Lakeside, readied, silver-necklace I haven't seen. Gold flightless bird that's never walked but says it will. I am cornered, my cornea tinted my vexes and leftovers, black and white pearls, birthdays, earthworms, and vinegar. Family dinners that push me nearer to the hole in the donut. I'm just so afraid of falling overboard. It's just I can't go forever without being heard.-----------------------------------------------------------­----------------------------------------------------------- In and the. How long do stories like this carry on for? Does my name come up in private? Does mom two even know whether I ever existed or if I was split? I am the answer to the secret 'ask' question? When do I become background photo one or two? I am the one that's grateful I had a chance to sleep toe to toe. That I uncovered the winter that woke up the bleach and incense in the frosted air. While school is in session, am I crazy to believe in mermaids and sparklers and stickers, I'll stick with the choice that I made a year ago Tuesday- September hasn't ended but November's nowhere near. The reason I smoke so much is because I am no good at waiting. For phone calls, tweets, texts, updates, or written mail. No one told us that this could end underwater without even half of a breath, if you'd of asked then I would have told you that's why I steal your underwear and your sweatpants. You can have all my money, I don't even want, I just need it for you. You can have every word that I write, wield, and speak with, every sentiment and sentence, each promise,and compromise, everything that I own.-------------------------------------------------------------­---------------------------------------------------------- Four photographs later. Everything means something. I'm in knots. Spiderwebs from elbow to elbow. Fishing hooks from knee to knee. My neck feels very naked, bare. Nothing, not even traces of pink or cerise lipstick or lip marks. Smudge me, stop punishing me, please, prease, don't leave. This isn't very good for either of us. My story cannot tread so closely to an ending, to the ends of a night or a phone call or an eyebrow pencil or an eyelash curler, not the double-sided extra-soft blanket you keep on your bed, not the bottles and dollars and boxes and jewelry under your mattress, not the zip in your doorway or the zipper in my jeans, not the two holes in my belt loops or the caffeine in my morning coffee. I quit cigarettes, ended my sentences earlier, grew quiet, wore more band shirts and skinny jeans. Even the lines of lips, outlined by hips, white roses painted red, blonde hairs blanketed by the bleaching on your head. I'm wrestling hula hoops, I'm putting my pinkies in your gauges, and amazed how good it feels- and I'm happy you didn't....leaves of autumn shatter on concrete city streets, although you'd hate it I'm thinking of a tattoo sleeve, how about you make it? Darling please! Rice Krispie I'm on my Lee Dungaree's, begging you to meet me on our knees. And every candy that I spit out once I got to the middle, every lollipop that I ever bit into to find the gum, each Happy Meal toy I bought separately; you are the only girl I attended school to meet when I wasn't enrolled. I'm holding on. The bottoms of my jeans rolled up so I don't fade into use. I miss having your tongue in my mouth. I want to feel my hands in your pants. It's my tongue that gets curious as I begin to feel the heat off your *******. Tender touching. Dire romance. Throttle my face with your legs. I'll perch you up on a pillow, you can hold my head till I beg. Because if I go at this life thing alone, pretty soon I'll have a mouth full of lead.
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Why the blue
face many reasons over
that chip?
It hurts how long do I have?
No other color to think about
All of the chewing excursions
Blue chip muncher seasons

The summer high-priced
The liaison scoop hot
Her lips dipsy
The different vibe
That one chip trend all depends
What star shape chip demand
Bow Wow parade
Dressed like
the blue tinted car
  Did you feel the vibe?
Not just any tribe
let's all describe

Blue chip paired
subscription just chew on

Each lip part of
you I liked
Don't block my
chips confidentially

The party consequently
Went chip disappearing
That salsa tortilla chips
What a coincidence
Someone kissed and chewed
her and went pew ugh
Hallelujah honeydew
BMW Chips sigh
So salty talk beamer
Blue chips ahoy to me
Blue sky Sailors high
Drinking blueberry
coffee why?

Sticker Blue Church
Don't break the chip
Don't cheat
My lips need and want
someone to kiss
The advertisement
B-Blue C-Clue
K-Kisses **** fishes
Not the Black/Blue
The kickboxing
Chips made the
with his boxers
Blue chip tailgating
Debating those keypunches

Venting out with her chip
What was in those chips?
They were
both running
for their lives
Where are our wifes

Terra Cotta, she
dressed Ms. Senorita

Doing Hawaii
hula hoops
kiss motives crunchy
The competition
dipped Men grumpy
The Sienna smile eating
The garden of

The Gulf of Mexico
Doing the Salsa
Ms. Eden
One chip was lip
The French kiss
Sleeping beauty
No-one really
didn't know
what to do
The back-back
neck kiss

The Robin bird
Changed Blue-breasted
Lower Lip arrested
He's the
sucker for
her  Blue chips
Why did the
corn yellow he became
  The blue ***** Jazzy
She's eating chips in
the sunray just chill
They were rubbing
their nose taking in
**** color lips
Simply kissed

So Co-depended
Or so lip offended
By one best collection
French kiss
the plea is the
kiss of the sea
She is his kiss
Or press the
kiss with his
Blue chip to be his
he is the key

Bed and bite chip
  all new
breakfast tip
Read someones
lip demeanor
regardless so
it's minor
Only the blue-chip
was happening to you
To the very end of
your lip

So cleaned up vacuum kiss
Skinny diet dipping not
over my lip
So chipper I will
meet my Skipper

(Apple Dip) New Yorker
He's the blue-chip tipper
computer chips

Blue chip kisses
It was the biggest
turnover, come over
The Apple jubilee
blue chip kisses
To be called the
lip-sucker Please ladies
calm down
Take one chip

((The Addiction))
Of her garden
of earth, blue-chip birth
This is a take-off on Blue chips how chips and lips became closer to react. Not everyone would agree but this is a poem and it's on me it's a comedy get your blueberry coffee I hope you are wearing your blue face today or something blue please not borrowed
kayla Jun 2017

I count things in 5’s

one cat
two cat
three cat
hula hoop
tote bag

My notes are organized Cornell style
but it can’t fill the void you left.

Light switch
one slipper
two slippers

I’ve got my life organized down to the the minutes
but you aren’t in any of them.

Long distance.
We’ll see.
Raymond Johnson Jun 2014
i exist somewhere between the kick drum and the snare

i am the blood thundering in our veins

i am the rhythm that gives us life

i am the 375 nanometers of ultraviolet light shining down on you

i am the space between the notes and the silence before the drop

i am oscillation, reverberation, undulation of bassline

i am rattling ribcage from excess decibels

i am titinnitus waiting to strike.

3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methylamphetamine,  Lysergic acid diethylamide,  tetrahydrocannabinol, ethanol, benzoylmethylecgonine; choose your poison so that you may enjoy me better

i am the sweat that slicks our skin and keeps us cool

i am the longing look that leaps from eye to eye

i am mellifluous melody, motivator of movement, master of mind.

i am the sea of strangers you find yourself lost in, minimally clad bodies moving in ways you didn't know were possible.

i am the fire-poi spinner, the LED hula-hooper, the melbourne-shuffling madman, the obnoxious bro, the ancient hippie, the obviously underage girl, the idiot overdosing in the corner, and the person wearing more pony beads than clothes.

i am the rave.
Donna Jun 2018
Once upon time
there was a shampoo bottle
called Miss Strawberry

All day long she sat
on edge of bath just staring
at washed out tiles

Then one day when she
woke up she notice a white
bottle of shampoo

Hi there strawberry
I'm a conditioner , my
name is Coconut

Together they laughed
and made bubbles and even
had fun foam parties

They both loved water
Sometimes there slide down plug hole
Into a tunnel

Then they went splish splash
into the drain , but really
it's a water park

full of slides and fun
tunnels , lots of drain people
lived down there too , there

was a shaver called
Razors , he was like a dog
And barked all day long!!

And lots of hair dudes
and hair women , they carried
a net to catch hair

to make more hairy
people , they all supervised
the fun water park

Strawberry blew fun
bubbles whilst coconut made chilled out smoothie drinks

When the day came to
an end , strawberry went to sleep
feeling neatly sweet

And as for Mr
Coconut he hula danced
and sang lovely songs

to cheer up Edith
the tap , who cried every night
But by morning light

her tears had dried up :-))
I was inspired with little story I cleaned bathroom today and my imagination had fun and I just let it all go and it was fun x ;, hope u all well and thank u to those who sent me lovely messages I so appreciate very much <3
It's hard to stay away from hp as I love to write but this one got the better of me as it was fun fun fun  , have  lovely weekend all <3 x
J Lohr May 2013
-Until We Meet Again-

Pele has lost one of her lovers.
I miss the goddess in all her majesty; Her deep blue oceans, sweet sandy beaches, Her dark black hair billowing down like the lava from the peaks of Her highest volcanoes.
Her seven sacred pools, each one cascading gracefully into the next, all finally spilling into her magnificent sea.
Her gorgeous body will forever entice my mind, with hair dark and beautiful, inhaling the scent of fresh pineapple and coconut, a hibiscus flower pinning back strands of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes, they were just as deep and amazing as the sea, something with which they were so familiar.
With lips red and lined with Hawaiian love songs sung just for you, tasting as fresh and young as the ocean itself.
Her body was adorned with fresh tropical flower leis and Kukui beads falling gracefully over ancient Hawaiian dress; all made from the same grass and leaves coming from the islands many trees.
All encircling those perfect hips, born to Hula and sway to any island rhythm, be it the slow and steady rattle of the Uli Uli, or the fast and powerful beat of the Pahu drum.
Finally pushed over the edge by the sight of her long tan legs, not shy to the suns warmth and fiery grasp, ending in bare feet more familiar to the islands then we’ll ever be.
I miss her and all her islands.
Oh, how I miss the island paradise Hawaii.
Celestina Waters Mar 2015
Sitting in my backyard
Soaking up the rays and watching the ants
Suddenly beside me was an ant who could talk
Sure as can be he asked me if I would like to see where he lived
Sadly I said no I needed to practice my cart wheels and hula hooping for the evening circus
So what did the little ant do?
Shouldered me upon his back and marched down a hole that opened before us
Small now I could not believe he had abducted me
Sorry I forgot my hula hoop as perhaps my skill might help set me free
Singing with his ant friends, I was led to the chamber of the queen ant
**** and sleek was this producer of her community
She comanded
Silly, I grinned and did a dance
Slight of her hand she waved me away
Seems I didn't impress her a bit
Shunned, I was escorted back to the doorway
"Stupid human," an ant squeaked
"Surely with your circus skills we expected much more entertainment."
Softly he put me back on the grass
Some time passed before it sunk in
Stolen by an ant, on a sunny afternoon, was really quite super
I wanted to try writing a cute poem where every line started with an "S"
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.just search Polish, England, vermin... there clearly is a difference between a racial slur, and a dehumanizing slur... well... it's good that i have a soundtrack, Pearl Jam's rats from the album Vs., and Ghost's rats from the album prequelle...

i get it, the English are sometimes lazy, when speaking... but... there's a difference between a racist slur and a term that dehumanizes a people... i say ******, i say Dr. Dre, i write ****- i forget the suffix... but... you know... being deemed vermin, by ethnicity... that's not called a racial slur, that's called a dehumanizing term... vermin is not a racial slur, it's a dehumanizing precursor of radicalizing an impetus for genocide... so? ****** ****** ****** ****** ******... **** **** **** **** ****... just like greg focker in meet the parents on a plane: bomb bomb bomb bomb bomb... just look up the story, in England... when a bunch of leaflets were posted through the doors of Polak families, calling them vermin... what?! racial slurs are one thing, dehumanizing slurs are another; ******* ******* and their serf pakis.

oh i'm not in England to play
along to whittle Oreo,
whittle Choccie...
  or some uncle Tom...
         i'm about to parade my
Pontius Pilate closure...
i'm here for the cider,
for the ale,
and for ms. amber...
and... for...
   kasabians': club foot...
i can't be a friend to a fellow
European who's embroiled
with his commonwealth...
Rotherham vassal-postcriptum...
see the V?
see the V?
                          here's an I
to clarify...
      dictate your kleinscheißetirade
  (little **** tirade)
on some other continent,
bring back a curry recipe from
India, or something...
but don't expect
me to bow down to non-Europeans....
you... inselvolk
  (island people)...
            i am frothing at
the mouth, and restraining myself
from biting your ***... taub...
i can respect other cultures...
by your, "standards", of, "respect"...
but i will never be you...
this... this...
this was was the hardest aspect
of me integrating:
i will never be one of you...
Zeppelins are hanging
over the skies,
and i'm, itching for a blitzkrieg...
this, this... is what
precisely makes a man
enroll in supposition the status
of the enemy...
the commonwealth came
before the European stature...
  i've learned the language,
but i didn't relieve myself
of the mutterzunge... ergo?
i'm not fully integrated...
i'm not fully integrated?
integrate the following *****-slap
from Europe...
see how you like your
****- sauce then!
oh i'm praying for no-deal or
a hard-deal.. scenario...
i hate deserters...
and the "British"...
are, in my mind... ethnic-deserters...
punish the *******...
like that song,
a post-colonial power
attacking a post-colonial power...
   something much finer than
watching the t.v.....
billy joel... we didn't start
the fire...
lyric in particular?
Belgians in the Congo...
      Brussels in the U.K.
although i speak the natives' tongue...
i should care about their
fate... because?
                 my ethnicity gets called
   and i'm like...
hula hoop around this *******...
because the hope entrusted
to the progressive ontology of humanity
always undermines
the sarcastic undermining in
the current in situ...

   but i don't care...
next thing i'll hear is that i'll
only be "properly" integrated
if i paint my skin copper,
grow my hair into a turban's
worth bundle...
then... i'll be the protected caste.

thank god England is an island...
makes the whole boarders debate...
an island entertains
a boarders debate?
an island?
an island can have authentic,
serious debates about boarders?!
you're joking, right?
you want to have a, "boarders" debate...
being strapped to an island?
i "said"... are you... ******* joking?
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2016
lessons in graffiti, or the Pinocchio giraffe;
and was the H absolutely necessary
when otherwise asking of a cappuccino
or at your local caf? evidently there was distinction
with the mocha too, but that won't matter,
otherwise the language isn't used... but abused.

lessons in graffiti, or other confectionary products,
while you ooze the shopping experience
on your daily commute,
on brickwork with the origins
of the #, cut short by simply the graffiti tag,
      you wrote tag, without the collective hash,
  not so much noughts and crosses gaming,
or remembering your phone number,
                  here graffiti: or the rekindling of
trademarks in the urban scenic bypass,
or: truly under the bridge.
             writing on money does very little:
but writing on newspapers? that say a lot,
the odd day i write something on a newspaper
review section and feel almighty -
        which is much more than the rage against
the machine instructions are about:
   write a message on a penny, it's still a penny,
write a message on a dollar, it's still a dollar,
but write a message on a newspaper:
you's basically encapsulating shouting at a protest!
() hence the picture.
             r.s. (receptui scriptum):
         i never knew whether the dot belonged in
the ). or the .) part of encapsulation, if that's to be
worded or acutely pill-sized embryo,
that bypasses the oesophagus workout before
the hydrochloric gym acidity.
   how is one to make science human again?
how is one to make science lessened in the Frankenstein
myth and the ostracized ostrich citizens
that scientists very much so, actually are?
       my notes on the matter?
non-existent: i see the feminist movement
i.e. there are more women than men as such
as not a case of **** culture, but as a case of "i'm not
getting any!" call in the Vikings,
mind you, even the supermarket cashier looked
astounded in between Friday and Saturday,
  on Friday a litre of whiskey
    on Saturday a litre of whiskey...
and some men climb the Everest or walk the moon...
while some envision their liver
as a Klitschko - the tetragrammaton exists only
because people made aesthetic suggestions / blunders,
it's a suggestion in the sur- or what's otherwise a surd /
a silent nonetheless inserted atom of sprechen:
like Nietzsche and Klitschko: you say less than you
write... out pops the tetragrammaton -
        if ever Caesar Octavian needed a teacher
my vanity suggests i'd done better teaching him
than Aristotle teaching Alexander, or Seneca teaching
                  it's all down to excessive spelling, or
the keeping up of appearances, or simply looking
bizarre, and like in mathematics, there's a remainder,
what yhwh represents is in linguistic terms
as in mathematical terms: what's left over, scraps...
see it differently and it becomes gold:
five fish, two loaves of bread sort of scenario.
                           it's a remainder -
it cannot be eradicated, denied or be left into a limbo
of diminished responsibility
      it's man concern with how language should
look and how painting should feel:
               the fact that we created art from letters
and forgot our concern for art representing forms
is not postmodernism, it's post-Platonism; finally!
of course the s and the z are the crude and the refined
versions of each other via the transition of
being modulated by the chirality enzyme,
          but they're still called zigzag twins -
there's no delta involved akin to one face of a pyramid.
how grand then, to be living in a time
when a single phonetic encoding of sound
transcends into complex meaning:
akin to s and sigma and what's mathematically
the sum / total of constipated matter...
                    strange how the Cartesian model
falters thus,
           the fact that i think is never the ending
causality of my being's summation:
           it's but a summary, but never the summation /
sum - it's never the arithmetically sound answer:
hence the god-implant, or as i said:
the remainder, which i can't erase from the realm
of thought.
                 by the way? no Jew could have wrote as
much about their god as i have:
as said: the crucifixion was worthwhile,
      but there was no question that Latin had
to remain -
                     what was saved was the Latin encoding,
not some puny redemption from doing ****...
**** no! you couldn't create robotics or write
software without Latin: no other encoding has as
many "blank" hula hoops as already provided:
Q, R, o, P, p, A, a, D, d, g, b, B...
        26 x 2? 52 - and of those how many are spies
that we are descended from the gods and can
create our slowly-ascending replicas in robotics?
as the list suggests: 12.
     should i call up St. Peter and the rest to work
out the ******* numbers of correlation in
the framework of mirror / anti?
                      ah, the eagerly waiting public:
speak of the devil... and he shall appear.
      that ****'s been going on since the death of a man
in the year 1900...
           and oh my, the search has been gruelling,
you have Western Europe remembering the 1st
and Eastern Europe trying to not remember the 2nd...
   the name's Mars... while i say: try Moby **** first:
because god knows what's lurking in the depth.
or maybe i got my bearings wrong? maybe language
truly is a statement of Bermuda magnetics
that makes all compasses into twirling ballerinas?
to me? what comes with authenticity is a good joke,
nothing remotely suggesting a seriousness:
or as Wittgenstein said: have a joke, make a joke,
compose everything with a joke in mind -
        oh the fringe minority still have a bargain on
identity in this field, they're brewing their next cup
of tea brown-nosing and fidgeting over how to
answer... oh i'm mad enough to turn on the Mr. Bombastic
attitude, 1L of whiskey in a single night goes a long
way in terms of unwinding and making vocab verbiage,
or counter to that: something worthy of an antique status.
still, a reminder, the yhwh is the Jews' great
present, expressed dutifully in English as equivalent
of the mathematical remainder:
                      only because the diacritical bargain
wasn't met with much approval:
what with the elites wanting to push a global rather than
a solely Mediterranean twist on the plot of how:
a revival?          well... combing back to the ulterior
motive for graffiti, an elitist sport, your handwriting
over printed press rather than Coca Cola sorta similar
on a brick wall: i'm telling you, handwriting is
a bit like wanking these days...
         but isn't it true that when we write we are
sorta becoming radiologists? aren't poems essential
x-rays? am i not simply showing you my bones?
these isn't skeletal? you sure?
and there's me thinking that America is on
the threshold of romanticising the French Revolution,
with the former concern? to reinstate a Polish
state, i.e. the Duchy of Warsaw...
              but it's not really a first world war reparations
injustice while the Germans used money instead
of wood to warm themselves in winter...
no, nothing can be said that would ever appeal
to the fact that the Third ***** was milked:
not even Indiana Jones had a ******* of that horror;
me? i took the best of the ****** affair,
the fully bewildered insurance broker of the zeitgeist:
Heidegger, and yes, i made more apologetics with
him than philosophy: as with an fatal attraction:
be it the bazar flute charmer of the cobra -
this one is bound to sting in the ***.
then another thing hit me, usually an internet
variance off state media... you ever wonder why
very claustrophobic pronoun usage (frequent interchange)
is almost equivalent of brawling with someone?
dreams of Angelique:
                     imagine a scene at a protest (two people):
- i doesn't matter what you think! your opinions are not relevant!
- true, as is the case of: you don't matter with regards
                 to what i think.
anyone spot this concentrated pronoun use
for the purpose of aversed violence via a degradation
emphasis, concerned with defending sported violence
but not social injustice : turned into justified violence?
   (yes, colon as ratio, variant of fractions,
meaning? less comparative literature of the fraction,
   and more divergence of authority within the Libra
of what's necessarily unfair: the whole is no authority
to distribute fairness);
  it's just that i feel the relentless overuse of pronouns
in a confrontation symbolises a need to use the body
rather than the tongue -
when too many pronouns are interchanged
and the repugnant pronoun collectivisation begins
the paranoid "they" and the sane "we" -
            well... Rη-oh! Rη-oh! Rη-oh!     (sheen sheen Mecca
                             well hardly ref. to Brazil: rhy ate!
rhy ate!
                see how that tetragrammaton remainder just,
like, plops up like a baby gazelle from the mama
gazelle's ******? plop! and no diapers either.
ah: the cruelty. or as someone said:
  few letters are given geometric status, or at least
something remotely symbolising twins,
but still there are a few:
   m - sine (trigonometry)
   w - cosine (     "              )
  Δ - Pythagoras for short
      LΓ - the right hand
                  and the left hand in the non-superimposable
          categorisation of things
   ψ - the devil's barrister / i.e. a fork
     also 8008135 upside-down on a calculator screen
(insert a weird face) -
   χ - compass convergence, i.e. the point b
        you need to get to from your starting point oh,
and i guess H       for a rugby goal...
             oh hell, only a few phonetic encodings make
it out of blah blah land -
                       and without really wanting
to orientate myself on the origins of things:
i'm getting a suntan basking in all of this
in the immediate sense: actually using it.
                             and to think: we actually think
about what we talk about using only 26 symbols?
that's ****** effective,
                             which is why we were so keen
to spread out encoding system to think / say things.
and why the Chinese felt the greatest pull of gravity
in all of mankind and due to their ideograms
got pulled way way down and just say there:
which enabled them to reproduce on a scale such as
is apparent to us exporting our manual labour to
them: who the hell would want to learn
unit wording when it can be wording units?
       they have words we treat as onomatopoeia
shrapnel -
                   which is why we have enshrined ourselves
to sit on laurel leaves with Mozart:
     if ever us, then never us: linguistic atomists
                                            who perversely dissect
words into, what i can only call: a Lingua Table of
the 26 elements. it's there, it's naked, compared
with the diacritical approach: English is all
and Adam & Eve ready for a voyeuristic spelling
out of realities
- hence the plural:
    there was never one intentional crowd-surfer out
there to make people form cults, plagiarise
and sooner than later: get lost.
You can choo cha, doo da, hula with a hoopla,
It's all an oil on canvas by the man that they call Dali and you go sail away like Raleigh with the Queen and off to Bali, but your Sheila and the Children wait for you in

It never makes a rhyme when you ******* every time that the debts start mounting up and it shows in the starved faces of the cold and golden places in the eyes and on the lips you leave behind.

the star now
going far now
and forgetting who you were,
are you aware in some false state that this love can turn to hate?
are you bound so tightly to the dream, does it make you happy, can you hear the scream of fate?

The kids are still in Basildon
but Sheila met a soldier boy and moved away to Warrington, long gone the Queen and dream
you're getting old, can't hula hoop, but you seen it all and now you fall into a reverie.

With Dali
a cup of tea.
solEmn oaSis Dec 2015
sa panimula
tila isang bula
hindi dahil sa lumutang at nag-laho
mangyari'y kulumpon na bahagi'y hinango

mula sa batya ng hula
samu't sari nakadaupang-palad
hiraya manawari maikubli ang luha
bunga ng mga pangakong di natupad

sampung letra pababa
sa puntong ito naitalaga
mga bakas ng nakalipas
nakatakdang ipamalas

upang ang ngayon maging ang hinaharap
yayakapin ng bukas nang may paglingap
ano man ang mangyari sa agenda
kompromiso ang tanging propaganda

[3 of 12 marked voices of a dozen clusters of letters]
© copyright 2015 - All Rights Reserved
#TEN DAYS before Christmas
compromise ~~~ kompormiso
" ten letter-word "
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2014
Central Park transformed,
a natural stadium
of tourists, strollers,
drunk on:

spring beer Buds,
buds of forsythia

maps upside down,
smiles right-side up

they don't even notice,
'walk on by,'

the white shirted, black suited  
unicorn playing the accordion

or the

imitating Charlie Chaplin,
playing both her instrument and
her hula hoop,

ah Central Park,
your air is like
a first cup of spring,
a first morning coffee,
a fresh breath of
a special new,
if you know
how to
just be,
in NYC
Just another true tale of life in Manhattan...come walk with us...
I've never been to China

I almost went to France,

I missed a flight to Russia once

I only missed by chance

Rome's intoxicating

The air there is sublime

But, I've never been there either

I just didn't have the time

I missed a train to Scotland

Bypassed Wales, and well Why Not?

There's nothing there in Cardiff

Other countries haven't got

I thought about the islands

Bui I do not  like the sun

So I thought about a cruse ship

Still, I've never been on one

Alaska, has the mountains

forests wide and big brown bears

But as you can imagine

I've also not been there

I thought about Hawaii

but I never made that trip

I thought about the hula

And I thought I'd  hurt my hip

I booked a flight to Cairo

Never went as you could guess

Saw a story on the news one day

And Jesus, what a mess

The pyramids had scaffolding

The place was full of sand

So I stayed home and watched telly

And then that trip was canned

I've never been to Ireland

or Cuba or Ceylon

And at the rate I'm going

It won't be long before their gone

I've thought about the Norway fjords

and lovely Swedish parks

but I've heard that all their fjords are filled

With big man eating sjarks!

I've never been most anyplace

I ever set to go

I'm not sure why I stayed here

I really do not know

Next week I have a trip planned

I'm not going to Spain

And then a fortnight after

I'm not going again!

— The End —