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Still Crazy Jun 2019
drrry spells

~for the r in all of us~

a normanative condition, a kitchen condiment, an un-relished
I’m-in-a-pickle relish, when there in no hot **** dogged doggedly poem perspiration in the fridge or anywhere to be found; nothing but a top sliced bun, ah, plain buns, old stale dog ones is all ya got left for dinner, during one of them there drrry spells that
no blonde tanned unweathered weatherperson ever
forecast correctly

Normanative? Oh yeah.

the tyranny of the white, white bread, the white, whittle ya down screen, couture-cold water from tap direct, neck bent, jugged to try and fail to wash down that lumpen ball of dog fur brain drain clog that’s backing up the paper words, in a stomach churning brine holding you back from reaching the top of the Mt. Everest,

rite Normanative?

Normanative.Oh yeah. Son of Norma and Normally.
It’s in the bibell, look it up!

she-he is my pooka, (nope, uh-uh, look it up) a six foot tall rabbit,
climbing up my brain stem, strategically strangling my words like
a flea killer collar round my neck, one that actually visually works,
my flea bit words fall to the floor, to live with the dust mites descendants of the ole south, drafts and rejection letters, all whose blessed memory may never die etc. etc.

that was the condition of my normanative condition when I dropped in (yup, look it up),

Norman sarcastically asking, how’s the weather up there,
any rain in that-northern-brain, down here it’s as dry as an southern old dog porch panting in Jewlie, breathiny out summer hottie poems, write out like it’s crazy going out of style, oh yeah, forgot
you don’t speak dawg that well.

so I don’t know nothing about your drry spells, just climb into
the hottest hot tub, staying all the summer months if necessary,
reading old poems about busted hearts, old dogs, unrealized loves that can’t be forgot, promises kept that one never made, other curses,
battlefields of yore, sweatin’ out the toxins till r
sends along a new one, rocking my toenails to my disbelieving eyes,
for I’m a mentally patient person,
whose never seen a drrry spell so long, that was not worth
wading thru, waiting for, till something busted out and
another thunderstorm of a literary good one, errr come along

like I said, I’m a mental patient man, still crazy after all these years...
(yup, that too, you could look it up if ya made this far)
Oscar Tarango Dec 2014
I hope change is not hopeless
I hope I child will never bear the weight of a gun
I hope no ones is jugged by the color of there skin
I hope we can fix every thing wrong in this world
I hope no one will ever feel the pain of hunger
I hope we can make this world a utopia
I hope for change
Larry I Jones Aug 2014
Thine fligertoch froznen ech
Cucenkis chenches n xylomec,
The shlipless splood
Upon thy frosh,
With deutromic flide
and fligertosh!

O durgling narthex
And dushi dift,
Of birken shlip -
Those liqulor cractles!
Jugnot (that ye be not jugged),
Boxinuts of bumten quaggles.
It's amazing what you can come up w/ on Index Cards, at church.
Nimisha Rana Nov 2020
Woke up in the morning
Standing in front of mirror

Staring at my self
Giving smile to my tired face

A smile with lots of mysteries
Deep down in my head

A girl standing here

She's broken in pieces by the pain ,
Her emotions faded away

She's wearing the smile
Hiding her tired face and
Covering the tears


She's surrounded by the sorrow, confusion and the lies
Still she's wearing the smile and
Hiding her tired face

She's dealing with anomous feelings,
poetry is trying to healing

She has no one to  listen her Complains
She has no one to share memories
She has no one to love
She has no one to make her laugh
She has no one to treat her good

She's jugged by everyone
She's being joke by everyone

Still she's wearing the smile
And hiding her tired face

All she has a mirror whom she look and talk with self
And the poetry her way of healing
And her mysterious smile to cover up everything...
Follow for more write up on instagram @__spreadurwings
In the proximity of an epiphany
and yet
they try to discredit me.

ideas pop up like methane gas from a lake
light one and watch it take me away.

you can keep your quantum leap
I'll just plod along,
a tortoise with a purpose and
for dinner I'll
eat lettuce,

the hare was here
jugged.

She looks and shrugs at me,
says,
another epiphany?

a fallacy to suggest that
she knows best, but
I know she does.
Safana Sep 2022
In the office, he gave me a cup of tea. 
In the class, he gave me a light. 
In the outdoors, he gave me a pen. 
In the street, we jugged together.

He is a friend of mine from nowhere.
We go there and there together.
In the morning, after the sunrise.
At noon, when the sun is between.
And in the evening, after sunset.
My Cameroonian friend from unknownria.

— The End —