"ket" poems - Hello Poetry

Whisky, I neglected you For mushrooms and amphetamines. For ket and **** and LSD, And Mandy too, to name a few. Needn’t I have looked so far To be the greatest of cliches. The drugs and raves led me astray. For writers, scotch is more on par. Half your bottle drank away, Half full in my state of mind. Every sip; sublime and kind, Every **** a harshened spray. Now I’m stuck, a drunken haze Has washed and swept the ways of rhyme. In its tide is also time, As by the sun, the night decays. Whisky, polished, final sip. Like the bottle, I am dry. So, I tried, to write not high. This poem ***** I’m off to trip.

0

Aug 21, 2018

Aug 21, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC

Sammond

Amber is the colour of my energy

Whisky, I neglected you For mushrooms and amphetamines. For ket and **** and LSD, And Mandy too, to name a few. Needn’t I have looked so far To be the greatest of cliches. The drugs and raves led me astray. For writers, scotch is more on par. Half your bottle drank away, Half full in my state of mind. Every sip; sublime and kind, Every **** a harshened spray. Now I’m stuck, a drunken haze Has washed and swept the ways of rhyme. In its tide is also time, As by the sun, the night decays. Whisky, polished, final sip. Like the bottle, I am dry. So, I tried, to write not high. This poem ***** I’m off to trip.

20

Hello, Midnight with your ragged stars hidden behind clouds Hello, Midnight a tramp's salute to restless thoughts Hello, Midnight a girl flashing her skirt in the red light district Hello, Midnight calling with ******* & ket at people's doors Hello, Midnight guarding the silence in the dim suburbs Hello, Midnight whispering poems to writers & poets

0

Jul 21, 2015

Jul 21, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC

dreams-of-sepia

Hello, Midnight

Hello, Midnight with your ragged stars hidden behind clouds Hello, Midnight a tramp's salute to restless thoughts Hello, Midnight a girl flashing her skirt in the red light district Hello, Midnight calling with ******* & ket at people's doors Hello, Midnight guarding the silence in the dim suburbs Hello, Midnight whispering poems to writers & poets

18

I've booked my ticket like a Spring Break trip. Cancun or Mazatlan, but this trip will be permanent - An exciting prospect of new adventure, Regret at what's to be left behind. The date is circled upon the calendar And does it ever race to hand. My last grand adventure to plan, To take part of before I hit the end. There will be no more and What once was will be lost. I hear the sun shines there But not in the traditional sense. Say goodbye to the girls - Tell them I love them - And don't forget to pass word on to my brother. Its sad I didn't get to see him again before I climbed aboard. Worse things have happened and I'll see him when he decides to visit. No worries once he takes up permanent residence - Sorry to ruin the great secret. So, let's make the wheels turn With the time that's left on the clock. The sand in the hour glass is running short. We've got time for one last game of Pictionary before I depart. Let's act it up and act it out. Let our actions resonate in screams and shouts. So ket's do the best not to waste our time As those last grains drop by and by. Our actions speak as words, And when all clocks finally stop, Its towards the horizon that I will look, Thinking of tomorrow as I board that box. Just know that I will miss you so well. Mom and Dad, even though I put you through hell, All I wish is for you to be whole, And even though I am off on my own, Know that I leave behind my soul So I will still be here even after I'm gone.

0

Feb 25, 2012

Feb 25, 2012 at 1:59 AM UTC

jack-turner

Last Call To Climb Aboard

I've booked my ticket like a Spring Break trip. Cancun or Mazatlan, but this trip will be permanent - An exciting prospect of new adventure, Regret at what's to be left behind. The date is circled upon the calendar And does it ever race to hand. My last grand adventure to plan, To take part of before I hit the end. There will be no more and What once was will be lost. I hear the sun shines there But not in the traditional sense. Say goodbye to the girls - Tell them I love them - And don't forget to pass word on to my brother. Its sad I didn't get to see him again before I climbed aboard. Worse things have happened and I'll see him when he decides to visit. No worries once he takes up permanent residence - Sorry to ruin the great secret. So, let's make the wheels turn With the time that's left on the clock. The sand in the hour glass is running short. We've got time for one last game of Pictionary before I depart. Let's act it up and act it out. Let our actions resonate in screams and shouts. So ket's do the best not to waste our time As those last grains drop by and by. Our actions speak as words, And when all clocks finally stop, Its towards the horizon that I will look, Thinking of tomorrow as I board that box. Just know that I will miss you so well. Mom and Dad, even though I put you through hell, All I wish is for you to be whole, And even though I am off on my own, Know that I leave behind my soul So I will still be here even after I'm gone.

38

my loves, the many accumulated mn- eumonic responses play'd on future women. ideas based on the poiv- rottes of idealized affectation past. cesspools emptied by the horse-tanks with stelth in the night, but the- re couldn't be much stealth for a target reeking of **** and convalescence. sadness and that odor would hang heavy in the first cold rains of winter. transplanting thoughts, always transplanted emotions of subjugation. she was waiting for someone, this now past but once future poivrotte. feet to be knock'd from under, body to find lulling embrace. mind the levitat- ing affect. mind, the missing portion of our feint'd love. and - I was always empty and both sad and happy with a third-class train ride, at mon poivrottes' expense of mentality. we could used to lay together talk- king in adult tones through our child mouths. remembering to poc- ket fruit to retain our breakfast from freezing. speaking no truer words than those utter'd while embraced. words from the mou- ths of us children. truer words never could be counterfeit, never could be spoken without loss of conscience. Cezanne-dreams of color, Impressionist subconscious, j'adore mon poivrottes. feasting of mo- vement and staining all around with the strong cafe au lait. follow'd aper- itif, following digestifs, following back to lie. to flow words from our child mo- uths, we would walk paths through the woods in the Autumn twilight. the trees were sculptures having their leaves stripped bare. walking alongside, we walk'd ourselves down the same separate path.

0

Feb 17, 2013

Feb 17, 2013 at 4:54 PM UTC

townsendfm

021713

my loves, the many accumulated mn- eumonic responses play'd on future women. ideas based on the poiv- rottes of idealized affectation past. cesspools emptied by the horse-tanks with stelth in the night, but the- re couldn't be much stealth for a target reeking of **** and convalescence. sadness and that odor would hang heavy in the first cold rains of winter. transplanting thoughts, always transplanted emotions of subjugation. she was waiting for someone, this now past but once future poivrotte. feet to be knock'd from under, body to find lulling embrace. mind the levitat- ing affect. mind, the missing portion of our feint'd love. and - I was always empty and both sad and happy with a third-class train ride, at mon poivrottes' expense of mentality. we could used to lay together talk- king in adult tones through our child mouths. remembering to poc- ket fruit to retain our breakfast from freezing. speaking no truer words than those utter'd while embraced. words from the mou- ths of us children. truer words never could be counterfeit, never could be spoken without loss of conscience. Cezanne-dreams of color, Impressionist subconscious, j'adore mon poivrottes. feasting of mo- vement and staining all around with the strong cafe au lait. follow'd aper- itif, following digestifs, following back to lie. to flow words from our child mo- uths, we would walk paths through the woods in the Autumn twilight. the trees were sculptures having their leaves stripped bare. walking alongside, we walk'd ourselves down the same separate path.

46

Wild and uncontrollable, We start off our life's journey, Sweet and totally lovable, We stick to the legs of mommy, Five years down we're wild again Impetuous, rambunctious, we're total pains All the adults taken in, By our impish grins. We're ten years old we're big and bold We'll take on all comers, young and old, We totally love life, it's one big game All forms of reponsibility, totally lame Five years on we're fifteen Big things popping in our early teens All of a sudden we're girls and we're boys New experiences on us like toys. We're adults now, we're twenty Things to do on our list aplenty Impish grins don't work no more We've got to work our fingers till they're sore We laugh a lot through our dull eyes We've mastered deception like its basic math The slightest pokes incur our wrath Twenty five finds us cold as ice. I'm just nineteen I couldn't tell you, Of all the years after Two and Five One thing I know that is true Live everyday like it's your last alive If it's a hundred years of breath you get, Or if you had to kick the 'ket 'fore you got your feet wet The moral story contained in my longest poem yet Make life pay through it's nose like it owes you a debt.

0

Jul 31, 2012

Jul 31, 2012 at 8:17 AM UTC

muyiwa-oyinloye

Aging

Wild and uncontrollable, We start off our life's journey, Sweet and totally lovable, We stick to the legs of mommy, Five years down we're wild again Impetuous, rambunctious, we're total pains All the adults taken in, By our impish grins. We're ten years old we're big and bold We'll take on all comers, young and old, We totally love life, it's one big game All forms of reponsibility, totally lame Five years on we're fifteen Big things popping in our early teens All of a sudden we're girls and we're boys New experiences on us like toys. We're adults now, we're twenty Things to do on our list aplenty Impish grins don't work no more We've got to work our fingers till they're sore We laugh a lot through our dull eyes We've mastered deception like its basic math The slightest pokes incur our wrath Twenty five finds us cold as ice. I'm just nineteen I couldn't tell you, Of all the years after Two and Five One thing I know that is true Live everyday like it's your last alive If it's a hundred years of breath you get, Or if you had to kick the 'ket 'fore you got your feet wet The moral story contained in my longest poem yet Make life pay through it's nose like it owes you a debt.

32

What the hell you know about getting upset? What the hell you know about living in debt? What the hell you know about pinning up ket? Then wondering why you have no self respect What the hell you know about living a dream? What the hell you know about leaving your team? What the hell you know about being a fiend? This is the first time I seen you on the scene. . What the hell you know about breathing this poverty? What the hell you know about not eating properly? What the hell you know about using candles to heat and light your so called property? Five days straight eating nothing but broccoli Maybe it's just my own shadow that's stopping me Got me under lock an key But when I break free they'll be not much stopping me The weight of the world will not get on top of me My grandfather already clocked you watching me

0

Nov 19, 2018

Nov 19, 2018 at 10:00 AM UTC

the boy has a match in his back poc ket. hovering janky steps sheathed by fluffy ice chest reverb erates as a single rain drop trickled in pinful loop... theforestwaits Undisturbed not wanting to be burnt but he rations not wanting anything at all. in destroying one makes something whence once there was nothing. he s t r i k e s the match aflame and alive, l o w ering it fit to spread and surely cause his life some havoc... havoc... havochavochavoc HAVOC H A V O C havoc; he ruminates the meaning of the word a while and settles on it being better than boring old nothing.

0

Aug 21, 2019

Aug 21, 2019 at 11:32 PM UTC

LilRimbaud99

teen angst decision making

the boy has a match in his back poc ket. hovering janky steps sheathed by fluffy ice chest reverb erates as a single rain drop trickled in pinful loop... theforestwaits Undisturbed not wanting to be burnt but he rations not wanting anything at all. in destroying one makes something whence once there was nothing. he s t r i k e s the match aflame and alive, l o w ering it fit to spread and surely cause his life some havoc... havoc... havochavochavoc HAVOC H A V O C havoc; he ruminates the meaning of the word a while and settles on it being better than boring old nothing.

26

. mustard ketchup relish mustard ketchup relish mustard ket chip relish mustard ketchup relish mustard ketch up relish must ard ketchup re list mustard ke tchup relish m ustard ketchup relish mustard ketchup relish Mustard ketch up relish must mustard relish mustard ketchup Relish mustard ket chup relish mustard ketchup relish must ard ketchup relish m mustard ketchup relish mustard Ketchup relish

0

May 19, 2015

May 19, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC

TheGoodPussy

Condoments

. mustard ketchup relish mustard ketchup relish mustard ket chip relish mustard ketchup relish mustard ketch up relish must ard ketchup re list mustard ke tchup relish m ustard ketchup relish mustard ketchup relish Mustard ketch up relish must mustard relish mustard ketchup Relish mustard ket chup relish mustard ketchup relish must ard ketchup relish m mustard ketchup relish mustard Ketchup relish

22

Passed out cold by a grungy bathtub on the floor by a damp blue towel Did you know the devil is on his way Stumbled up the stairs, beer spilled over the red cup lip and dilated red eyes pounding in the dark Until he sees her, Passed out cold by the grimy bathtub on the floor by a few damp green towels The lock works well and the room feels hot Bare naked steam that rises to a precipice under the mirror on the wall condensates on the frosted glass window above the cistern CIS white male sits and ponders, thinking man statue She groans lazily, twisting her body on the **** stained shaggy rug And so he sees up her skirt and desires to reign down on her and also she probably wants (t)his(...) and she is moaning, yes, yes she must be moaning In fact, maybe she moans no or maybe they're both drunk and who's to blame really Since she willingly came to this affair, with eyes for indulgence The alcohol and molly, the addys and the xannies, Oh, and too the **** and the speed and the **** and the Ket Young lust, young love, youngsters all crying, from rooms up above Also, that he was invited by friends under the stipulation of "his choice of ***** and there he was, dear reader, making decisions (as all men are trained to do) because his parents lied and his country lied and our society lies daily When we/he are/is told that we have freedoms, freedom of choice, and, speech, and not... speech But anyway, the story remains, or more so, the stories remain Since obviously that is why we are here To judge the guilty party But I put it to you, ladies and gentleman and non-binary people of the jury Should we not first judge the mirrors and pristine plate glass windows or the spoons in the cutlery drawer that bear our reflection In that moment that only we exist In that beautiful sin of vanity Should we not judge the confines of the rigorous prejudices and fear that we call society Should we not contest the very notion of civilization when we act, in ways described in this court today or in the ways, you very people have acted or will act Should I, myself, the writer of such a contrived, pretentious piece of... Should I not judge myself I put it to you, whoever you are that That today, you can change the world*

0

Dec 12, 2014

Dec 12, 2014 at 10:48 AM UTC

reece

Open Season

Passed out cold by a grungy bathtub on the floor by a damp blue towel Did you know the devil is on his way Stumbled up the stairs, beer spilled over the red cup lip and dilated red eyes pounding in the dark Until he sees her, Passed out cold by the grimy bathtub on the floor by a few damp green towels The lock works well and the room feels hot Bare naked steam that rises to a precipice under the mirror on the wall condensates on the frosted glass window above the cistern CIS white male sits and ponders, thinking man statue She groans lazily, twisting her body on the **** stained shaggy rug And so he sees up her skirt and desires to reign down on her and also she probably wants (t)his(...) and she is moaning, yes, yes she must be moaning In fact, maybe she moans no or maybe they're both drunk and who's to blame really Since she willingly came to this affair, with eyes for indulgence The alcohol and molly, the addys and the xannies, Oh, and too the **** and the speed and the **** and the Ket Young lust, young love, youngsters all crying, from rooms up above Also, that he was invited by friends under the stipulation of "his choice of ***** and there he was, dear reader, making decisions (as all men are trained to do) because his parents lied and his country lied and our society lies daily When we/he are/is told that we have freedoms, freedom of choice, and, speech, and not... speech But anyway, the story remains, or more so, the stories remain Since obviously that is why we are here To judge the guilty party But I put it to you, ladies and gentleman and non-binary people of the jury Should we not first judge the mirrors and pristine plate glass windows or the spoons in the cutlery drawer that bear our reflection In that moment that only we exist In that beautiful sin of vanity Should we not judge the confines of the rigorous prejudices and fear that we call society Should we not contest the very notion of civilization when we act, in ways described in this court today or in the ways, you very people have acted or will act Should I, myself, the writer of such a contrived, pretentious piece of... Should I not judge myself I put it to you, whoever you are that That today, you can change the world*

40

You know those days when you sit down and you think about things. You just think. And then you see a post about how someone ket their best friend and you smile because it's so sweet and then you pause to think about how you met your best friend and you realise that youhave no best friend. Yeah, you do have people whom you talk to everyday and whom you smile at but no one you think is your best friend. No one you text everyday or whom you go out with everyday and you realise that during lunch daily, you are always alone. Alone.

0

Jun 11, 2014

Jun 11, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC

dark-smile

Untitled

You know those days when you sit down and you think about things. You just think. And then you see a post about how someone ket their best friend and you smile because it's so sweet and then you pause to think about how you met your best friend and you realise that youhave no best friend. Yeah, you do have people whom you talk to everyday and whom you smile at but no one you think is your best friend. No one you text everyday or whom you go out with everyday and you realise that during lunch daily, you are always alone. Alone.

2

Twas accursed destiny since birth alack nascent emasculation abominable barrack emergent deus ex machina, viz zit ting older sibling counterattack thirteen plus chronological gap eldest sister struck like diamondback surrogate "mother" role assumed tubby exact protectorate pseudo fullback against cruel beastie boys bullying barbs comeuppance giveback pummeling spongiform gray matter (yours truly) fisticuffs she didst highjack proxy mothering kept corporeal essence intact jilting nefarious nemesis aligned (maligning) and stalking, this fee-fi-fo-fum ordinary bean sized Jack are runt (arrant) cowardly (non lion) nerdy lad owning a knack courage lack this glum older married chap doth adumbrate satisfactory accomplishments lack king, where crazy quilt aimless wandering described purposeless multitrack thus, sympathetic to hue men/women nonblack or decimated aborigines once populating Australian outback existential nihilism would, undergirding hypothetical unwritten paperback with little need to prevaricate, nor appear as quack *** one measly **** sapiens, who accrued millennial palimpsest zeitgeist where, punctured disequilibreated psyche dust rack asper protean (in utero) multitudinous setback soundlessly resonating with concussive thwack as this rickety ship of state (a haunted junk ket) unwanted emotional ballast to unpack asseveration, asper assiduously preferably welcoming dry suction no vac jar this pawn (knight wannabe in his bishop rick) torrid me psychological wrack king within (castle keep) complex edifice shackled in dungeon with repast constituting.

0

Jun 3, 2018

Jun 3, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC

matthew-scott-harris2p

Mine Gerund Tilling Illogical Weltanschauung

Twas accursed destiny since birth alack nascent emasculation abominable barrack emergent deus ex machina, viz zit ting older sibling counterattack thirteen plus chronological gap eldest sister struck like diamondback surrogate "mother" role assumed tubby exact protectorate pseudo fullback against cruel beastie boys bullying barbs comeuppance giveback pummeling spongiform gray matter (yours truly) fisticuffs she didst highjack proxy mothering kept corporeal essence intact jilting nefarious nemesis aligned (maligning) and stalking, this fee-fi-fo-fum ordinary bean sized Jack are runt (arrant) cowardly (non lion) nerdy lad owning a knack courage lack this glum older married chap doth adumbrate satisfactory accomplishments lack king, where crazy quilt aimless wandering described purposeless multitrack thus, sympathetic to hue men/women nonblack or decimated aborigines once populating Australian outback existential nihilism would, undergirding hypothetical unwritten paperback with little need to prevaricate, nor appear as quack *** one measly **** sapiens, who accrued millennial palimpsest zeitgeist where, punctured disequilibreated psyche dust rack asper protean (in utero) multitudinous setback soundlessly resonating with concussive thwack as this rickety ship of state (a haunted junk ket) unwanted emotional ballast to unpack asseveration, asper assiduously preferably welcoming dry suction no vac jar this pawn (knight wannabe in his bishop rick) torrid me psychological wrack king within (castle keep) complex edifice shackled in dungeon with repast constituting.

58

Platinum capped peak- the snow's sweet pheromones linger on my nose- you toy with my mind You took me by surprise- that first bump. God. Help me. I keep coming back. I must form a sial, for my curiosity of your virtuosity ails me. My mind is on you island while my body floats out to sea You've opened up a hole new world.

0

Feb 19, 2020

Feb 19, 2020 at 8:20 PM UTC

sibastien

An ode to my Ket

Platinum capped peak- the snow's sweet pheromones linger on my nose- you toy with my mind You took me by surprise- that first bump. God. Help me. I keep coming back. I must form a sial, for my curiosity of your virtuosity ails me. My mind is on you island while my body floats out to sea You've opened up a hole new world.

17

the focal point of integrating into english society is learning how to have comic value via sarcasm... bananas are gay! what?! they're bent! show me a straight banana... i don't mind abnomartalities in other fruits or veg... sure, cucumbers are straight, and gherkins are bent, sickle, communist, islamic, crescent moon... wait, wait wait a minute, i thought you asked me to incorporate into your culture? don't get the joke all of a sudden? can't be english then, even if you're english... oh right, not enough *** / whiskey running in your bloodstream... go into the toilet and puke some kebab bits out... i'm going to have another shot with this cossack friend of time... shore ahoy! "tipsy" sailor! in the gutter of a ****** or kissing the ropes with a ****** loverboy... **** the planks float, shit's fine with me, just don't you try to get it in my face, i'm cool with it coming near my shoes... but that's the limit, matey. once again, show me a straight banana, and i'll show you pear curvatures in an apple, and a mohican on a pineapple's tip that's frizzy-afro hedgehog punk. ******* bonkers ******** you'd get more febreeze cool shouting: torro! torro! at nothing more than your own shadow impressed against a brick wall. - yo! brin'g'ah m'eh a'h boo'ket 'oath a'h tick-tack-toes! - huh? - t'oh-m'ah-twos! - tomatoes. - y'ah tum-tums. - yeah, because a bunch of tomatoe throwing spanish freaks will **** that bull, when the toredor's blades didn't. - mon! - wha'? - shee won' b' e noo'veil... - **** me, i wasn't into hemingway anyway, the guy fish merlins off the coast of cuba, for all i care; i'd too take to a death in the afternoon, his finest "book", a shot of absinthe in a flute of champagne; i swear i almost mentioned veal.

0

Jul 2, 2017

Jul 2, 2017 at 6:17 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

who needs literature as an ikea manual?

the focal point of integrating into english society is learning how to have comic value via sarcasm... bananas are gay! what?! they're bent! show me a straight banana... i don't mind abnomartalities in other fruits or veg... sure, cucumbers are straight, and gherkins are bent, sickle, communist, islamic, crescent moon... wait, wait wait a minute, i thought you asked me to incorporate into your culture? don't get the joke all of a sudden? can't be english then, even if you're english... oh right, not enough *** / whiskey running in your bloodstream... go into the toilet and puke some kebab bits out... i'm going to have another shot with this cossack friend of time... shore ahoy! "tipsy" sailor! in the gutter of a ****** or kissing the ropes with a ****** loverboy... **** the planks float, shit's fine with me, just don't you try to get it in my face, i'm cool with it coming near my shoes... but that's the limit, matey. once again, show me a straight banana, and i'll show you pear curvatures in an apple, and a mohican on a pineapple's tip that's frizzy-afro hedgehog punk. ******* bonkers ******** you'd get more febreeze cool shouting: torro! torro! at nothing more than your own shadow impressed against a brick wall. - yo! brin'g'ah m'eh a'h boo'ket 'oath a'h tick-tack-toes! - huh? - t'oh-m'ah-twos! - tomatoes. - y'ah tum-tums. - yeah, because a bunch of tomatoe throwing spanish freaks will **** that bull, when the toredor's blades didn't. - mon! - wha'? - shee won' b' e noo'veil... - **** me, i wasn't into hemingway anyway, the guy fish merlins off the coast of cuba, for all i care; i'd too take to a death in the afternoon, his finest "book", a shot of absinthe in a flute of champagne; i swear i almost mentioned veal.

62