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It took a whole hour of my night,
crawling on the dorm room
carpet and digging under
places I didn't know we had, just
to find $1.25 in change.

Quarters were the rarest of all, a
red ruby, the Lost Arc. Nickels were
large and rewarding, but small in value.
Dimes were small and precious. Pennies
were the most abundant and caused sighs
of disappointment when discovered under
layers and layers of junk.

But I finally found enough. And I have
60 grams of pure accomplishment to prove it.
It took a whole hour of my night,
crawling on the dorm room
carpet and digging under
places I didn't know we had, just
to find $1.25 in change.

Quarters were the rarest of all, a
red ruby, the Lost Arc. Nickels were
large and rewarding, but small in value.
Dimes were small and precious. Pennies
were the most abundant and caused sighs
of disappointment when discovered under
layers and layers of junk.

But I finally found enough. And I have
60 grams of pure accomplishment to prove it.
a m a n d a May 2013
disillusionment.
deconstruction.
liberation.
the breaking of bones.

a knife
   stabbed me in the back,
and i cried, "*******!"

a boot
   kicked me behind the knees,
then pushed my face
   into the dirt,

and i thrashed
   until i could thrash no more.

i became sullen.
hopeless.
bitter.

so i climbed into a spaceship
and shot
through the earth's atmosphere.

w   e   i   g   h   t   l   e   s   s

liberated

i felt beautiful.

i could see the whole,
  and it made sense.
i felt the relativity
  of unfocused thoughts

the importance of calm
  of simple togetherness
    pleasure
      the pressure of time
        the shortening of days

and then i fell,
plunging to the earth
to break my bones.

movement made slow
  just when the sun shone
standing uncomfortable
  in fear, in pain.

loneliness,
but wanting no one
(please just leave me alone)

i'll live in my fictions

i'll grit my teeth through the pain
  and keep moving

i won't allow tears
  until at least one foot is out the door

i'll play songs on repeat,
  and subsist on cocoa krispies if i want to

i'll draw cells

and i'll write and i'll write

liberated and disillusioned
liberated and lonely
liberated and in pain
liberated and in fear
liberated and frustrated
liberated in chocolate
  liberated in red wine.
One more prophet of doom in the room and I'll go,
the last show on earth is always the one that gives birth to the next and it vexes me so.
What is over and done is done with,give it a rest,look on the bright side,the right side,tomorrow is Sunday,you can dress in your best and kneel in the dust reading prayers from musty old books.
There's a much bigger prophet in here,in my heart ain't it queer? you become what you are and you never get far from the start,in the end you're a part of it,a little bit anyway,and tomorrow's today,only a light switch away and will you pray for this sinner?
eat roast beef for dinner?
watch Jeremy Kyle?
A prophet of doom every once in a while does a power of good
I wish I could
believe that.
Martin Narrod Oct 2014
Well now I am aware
Of the newest anarchy towards your reasonings
An enterprise of not feeling anything
This practise of not making a sound.

Even the hollowest, little laugh, catapulted up
Through the roof of your mouth, and reflecting
Off the top of your tongue, can still be too much.
In earnest, even if it's an eighth of a sound, its apex
Is too much to drown out, I hear it everywhere that

It throws me towards. Holds me by the throat and it
Knows me now like it wants me to find out but then
Hides itself, like the chime of a bell, ringing off the hem
Of the dress you wore on October 30th of 2012, it is a
Sound that'd I'd never be able mute out, that comes
To me unexpectedly, and it takes the rest of me to keep cool.

Now the inches grow, and the moon men climb inside of
My mouth. I want to yell. Scream! But I can't even shout.
The words inside of my hands write, but the ink has dried out.
I wasn't sure but now I'm sure that the time has come and
That time on the clock is now. Call up the whales, undress for
The moon, I'm making Rice Krispies because the penguin girl

Is coming home soon.
Poetry Penguin Penguingirl Girl GirlsAndBoys Boys Animals Baking Bakedgoods writing writers musedandamused kristineandmartin lovestories love luv write writer chicago undresss dress bell belles belle bells mouths mouth grow inches moon men moonmen moon luna rice coming home soon homesoon et aliens alien ET extraterrestrials loudmouth outloud outnow now hollow catapulted space eighth music notes syllables streamofcohesiveness chains chimes sounds limes spirits theories ghosts halloween birds flightless birds flight rabbit bunny Bell BeautyandtheBeast himself herself heartthrob foxy stonefox document documented
Raj Arumugam Jul 2013
Tomcat has his breakfast
of Mice Krispies
and reads his mewspapers
when Molly comes out with a snarl
in her purr-ple pajamas

she claws him all over
there’s such a caterwauling
and Tomcat emerges bewildered:
What? Why?

She’s upset that all night
her hubby Tomcat
called out for Cat Woman in his sleep
And what do I do with Tomcat
after this Claw Enforcement?
thinks Molly
*Oh, just hiss and make up
Before they seal the coffin shut
Let me memorize his face
Touch his skin just one last time
Trace his silk, navy tie
Let me my memory
Leave behind
That I never
Said goodbye
Nor I love you
Just one more time
Wait a moment
Please
A little more time

The stuffed TY (beside your head)
A duck from me
I'll always remember
It was ET
Duffus, Wrestling and **** Thead
How can I forget?
Mike Myers, Freddy and the 13th
Gremlins, trolls and in between
A Weird Al song
And gasoline
We set the world on fire

We skated ice
And ran in rain
In underwear
One in the same
Skateboards
Superman
And Choo choo trains
Fights
You were a liar

My brother
Peeing in apple juice bottles
Talking to rice krispies
Milk in hair
My best friend
Firecrackers
Sling shots
Everywhere
Even apart
Not far behind
Wait a moment longer
I can't leave him
He's mine

I'm crying
Holding on
Like those moments
On the red carpet stairs
Chubby cheeks
Wet eyes
Mohawks and double dares
Pretending we didn't care
But we cried
At each goodbye
Why? Why?
No....
I don't want to let go...
Don't shut it yet
No....
It's too dark inside...
Please please
Open your eyes
I have to be dreaming
Come back to life

Shattered and screaming
The coffin is closed
They're holding me
Spinning out of control
Too young, too soon
The good always go
But I wasn't ready
It just can't be so...

A blurred ride and rain
As they lower you
Slow
Goodbye
What's goodbye?
I want hello
I'll never forget
12 years or so
I swear it was yesterday
Still can't finish...
Still won't.....No!!

©MV
Do ya ever feel like a shipwreck adrift in the water
Pieces of ya scattered like a lamb after the slaughter,
a mere shadow of your former sweet innocence
barely bobbing above the big sonar rinse?
Can't believe what ya read
nor believe what your supposed to believe.
Can't help wonderin' bout the agenda
Definitley can't pretend not to.
I suppose ya just have to go a bit numb
Drift on the wave and play kinda dumb.
CCTV surveillance, so called necessity,
oh **** big brother's watching ya ***.
Google is god and god is dead
Oh **** the'll crucify me for what I've just said.
Street lights ain't just street lights anymore
they're stickin' cameras in 'um expecting us to eat crow.
We'll all be robots that's the plan
punch ya in, download, scan.
Chips in your brain, chips in your nose
they'll go with us wherever we goes.
The grammar's all wrong. It's the prediction text.
No need for fingers. it's all effortless.
We're losing our common sense and our low-fi cities.
I'm losing my mind and I dont even feel ******.
They're cuttin' down trees 'cause they're blockin' our signies
and burnin' and lootin' 'cause they've got some agendies.
We're loosing our birds, they're falling out of the sky.
Would connecting the dots lead us to  the wyfry?
Losing's all right once ya get the hang of it.
Be fine in the mornin' and get back in the swing of it.
Turn on the screen, see what's new,
choke on our Krispies 'cause we forgot to chew.
Ah who cares our thoughts ain't our own.
It's all covered and programmed by our phone
Yea
It's all fun and games when there's nobody home,
dinner's sprayed and modified to the bone.
God knows what's in the water, the vaccination.
No worries we're all sci-fried and on vacation.
Ah yea they've got us all pegged and amplified,
can't sleep anymore, we're all irradiated and wyfried.
Wyfry, shake, scramble, grill an' bake
uhuh it's the burnin' down of the human race.
ah yea it's the slow fry and burn at the stake.
View on the current  state of a world on the verge of huge economic and social change that may be going un noticed generally in the midst of other distractions or considerations.
Aiden Mar 2011
bubbles crackle like rice krispies
candles flicker softly
my eyes close
my lips  smile
peace
finally
you're all that swirls in my mind
strange how fast
hearts can change
sixteen doesn't know
what real love is
but butterflies flutter
whenever you smile at me.
grey clouds
rain on my past kisses
and knives
have torn apart
the love I thought I had
but as I let the love
of laughter and music and life
rap me in their arms again
and as I let the colors
of sun and moon and stars
seep into me again
and heal
my
sweet
heart,
I cant stop the butterflies from flying
throughout the whole of my body
when you smile
at me!
Cecelia Francis Aug 2015
The view
before me:
a sky
comprised
of sky like
Attenborough
sea side

Rice krispies
and water
between us

St. Petersburg
3-6

Blue shifts
bluey pinks
meet clementine
licks violet
amidst the creatures
swimming in the
deep of the fermament
Richie Vincent Jan 2018
I wake up every morning at 3pm,
Brush my teeth eventually,
Get dressed most days, but mostly it’s only a probably,
Shower myself like a good boy,
Clean boy, wash away the ugly,
Turn my tv onto white noise,
Drink down the sorrow and,
***** the bad thoughts into piles of poetry,
Finally sit down at my dinner table at 5pm for breakfast,
I pour myself a bowl of Rice Krispies, refuse to eat it, I’m starving,
I’m all snap and crackle but no pop,
I’m all talk but no bite,
My head’s been telling me to **** myself a lot lately and y’know what, I just might

Put some pants on, my favorite t shirt,
Black on black, I’m not a priest, it’s only a uniform,
Yet I treat myself like God,
Forgiving everyone and everything until apologizing becomes null and when I don’t have any sympathy left I steal daddy’s cigarettes, aim for the palm and burn holes,
A deadbeat Jesus, happiest at my dirtiest and insufferable at my cleanest

This loneliness will crucify me and I’ll let it,
Let it breathe and become home,
I’m writing this with sweat and blood and when I’m done it’ll hurt so bad, it’ll probably feel like I’ve broken a couple bones

I don’t remember when these words started to feel like guns but if I don’t use this sadness as ammunition then I’m going to die cold and alone

We are born inside of war and don’t question it until we die and when we die we realize if not for sadness, there’d be no point in being alive

Barrel to the sky,
Shoot it until it cries,
And let it bleed until it dries,
And when it dries,

Rip it back open, you’re gonna need it,

It’s gonna be a long night
regina Jan 2016
when i’ve lost my keys and i’ve completely overturned my apartment
when i’m collapsed and sobbing in a frustrated heap on the carpet
when i’ve spilled cocoa krispies all over the nightgown that has seen over half my life
when i’m standing among girls who are half my height
when i make the mistake of wearing a gray shirt to the gym
when i bite my thumb nervously because i can’t seem to fit in
when i refuse to wear my glasses even though i can’t see
when i’m asking my mother through tears what could possibly be wrong with me
when my bangs are sticking to me because my kitchen is too hot
when i dance after too much ***** and my friend politely asks me to stop

i remember when you said i was gentle
you told me i was gentle and suddenly i’m bite size
a miniature form of myself dressed in lace
and i wait patiently for someone to pick me up
but smile with perfect contentment in my place
SøułSurvivør Oct 2019
Rhino virus in my flesh
My right knee has bursitis
Aching body, stuffy head
Hip to toe arthritis!

I've been slowly going deaf
Bad teeth in my mouth
I'm a "Rice Krispies" critter
My plumbing's going south!

I need a new body!
NOT the one I own!
I've dry-rot in my muscles
And acid in the bone!

What CAN make me joyous
When I'm in such pain?
Who is my umbrella
While I'm dancing in the rain?
I think you know the answer
But I'll repeat again...

Don't find it strange I'm happy!
No, don't find it odd!
I have a gracious Savior...

Jesus Christ's my God!
The litmus test for the value of a faith, I believe, is how you can handle trials in one's life. I should feel REALLY rotten... but instead I have joy!! Hallelujah!! ♡♡♡
Jim
I must have been as shallow as a
creek bed not too go out with your
ugly Buddy Holly looks at first sight right up until
your **** cc's convinced me we had half a chance
to become scandalous with your bad boy
rebel robbing life of all its thrills that fill
the senses with a swings sensation
It must have been as dull as the equator
once you settled down to Rice Krispies with me
after living for four years on near death experiences
and carbon monoxide fumes and still I exhume
the memories and sometimes think about what curb
you might have hit and desert sand you
ran off to just so my spirit can say thanks for
all of the dilapidated days of
dysfunction that you gave me

Written by Sara Fielder © Sept 2015
#ex
I JUST FIGURED OUT THAT MOST LESBIAN POETRY IS ABOUT 2 women, in romantic love with each other, who express this romantic love through acts of lesbian homosex.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i'll have to admit to this: yes, i drink, i smoke, i talk very little, i ******* to fine art... which leaves me as a: persona non grata, in the realm of courtship; but, hell, give me a beer, a few smokes, cool afternoon sunshine of september, and a sonny clark album, and: i turn all sparrow, jittery and joyous in both my heart & soul, with that ever brooding hawkish mind.

and wouldn't you know, i do remember being
a teen playing computer games...
sim city 3000, probably the only game
that had a decent soundtrack -
people talk, like they always do,
seemingly as birds, although with less celebratory
overtones...
  why is it only mozart that gets into
the crib with the baby?
   or beethoven?
           i'm not into cheap-*** poetry-jazz fission,
i can't stand that crap,
        it's just plain insane -
   the whole point of jazz is it's formidable lack
of "operatics" -
then again i have to excuse *chet baker
-
half his teeth missing, but that's the sort of jazz...
and i never understood why it was always
a the beatles vs. the rolling stones debate
between miles davis vs. john coltrane...
with this belgian so crisp,
        and that enticing pinch of the fizz...
wouldn't be an afternoon without
the sonny clark ensemble...
    art farmer on the trumpet,
          jackie mclean on the alto saxophone,
the piano man,
          paul chambers on bass,
         & philly joe jones on the drums...
and no, i'm not brown nosing -
            but i find jazz superior to classical music...
and i'd sure as hell prefer playing a baby
jazz rather than classical music, had i conceived
one & kept it...
         i wish this could be a tremendously...
huh?
         kafka's the castle?
           finish on what note, what "keen" observation?
i thought i made that already...
   rambling tommy... ah right, chet baker...
it's friday and i'm not lonely and hardly
     a persona from a morrissey lyric equipped song...
mrs. robinson, mr. jones...
                 + a guru dubbed: "the fluke",
  and the rest is some hybrid of welsh & jewish...
      no, wait, i had a point...
the current you-tube hysterics of demonetisation,
ah...
        shh, i'll let you in on a little secret...
   you do know that, all you-tube videos have
been demonetised per de fallíta, i.e. by default
when using a samsung tablet...
        yep... been using this product for some time,
and every time i watch a you-tube video,
i jump straight to the video,
    haven't seen a single commercial in a year or so...
't would probably be easier spotting
                  a tornado, or a tumbleweed;
so yeah... jazz... and thy funny thought
of darth vader beat-boxing,
    hey! darth! what's with the rice krispies
slogan (snap! crackle! pop!)? **** man,
       download an upload into the digital age.
date of conception:?  ~ Late March – mid April 1958.
date of parturition: January xiii, mcmlix.
date of expiration:? January i, eminem,
where earth, wind, and fire doth usher
hootie and the blowfish
on a green day
and a three dog night
three doors down from foo fighters.

A gangly, horribly measly, and scraggly bundle
of lovely bones even as a lad
(way to skinny to appease wicked witch)
chee boo came out kicking and screaming
and he never stopped since
that's how I will get carried out.

Yours truly an aging married baby boomer
(orangutan missing link)
long haired pencil necked geek
(constantly clearing phlegm from his throat)
trademark disheveled characteristics
whipsawed ever faster around sun
quickly ratcheting and spiraling tornado like
nearly 30 kilometers per second,
or 67,000 miles per hour clip;
while sprawled atop earth,
he journeyed, jumpstarted, kickstarted,
launched countless planetary orbitz
quintessentially retracing trajectory
when Gaia linkedin courtesy gravity
maintaining invisible bond with Helios.

He (best nutty buddy
and alter ego of mine),
which birth sported an ordinary
uneventful, nevertheless miraculous
combination platter visited
*******, *******, secretion
nsync with erratic spastic seminal kicks
divine fertilization usually took place
in a fallopian youtube
playing mine unrehearsed debut appearance
after an ***** to the ******
wrought conception, which
begat biological reproductive process

fostered embryonic development
'o Boyce and Harriet straggly heir,
one male progeny mostly
gangly lovely bones mox nix
cellular division yes genesis
I rem:member being born
as an a door able beatle browed talking head
super tramping cheap tricks
immediately kickstarted and triggered
goo goo doll foo fighter enfant terrible
terrifically soulfully bellowing;
also envision Dolby surround sound
without assistance courtesy
Gran Prix (for poetic purpose
pronounceable *** pistols ******).

Upon due date when water broke
vaguely analogous to how rice krispies
snapped, popped, and crackled;
firstly his crown emerged out ******
ain't got pushed by no
heavy duty contractions out birth canal
no siree but propelled seven plus pounds
courtesy infantile flatulence
asthma noggin heralded
scrawny declaration, now celebrating lx
plus four ellipses around nearest star,
subsequently skinny arms and legs
(I'll spare ye the ****** graphics
with the afterbirth regarding
  
placenta and fetal membranes
discharged from the ******
after the birth of offspring),
whence obstetrician able, eager,
ready, and willing to secure newborn
in swaddling raiment
affirming  proud parents
their healthy baby boy
underscored with italics
readied to receive pronounced hosannas  
regarding garden variety
generic wrinkled likened
to an old manikin newborn.

Within some now nondescript building
then named The Christ Hospital
location Mount Auburn
Cincinnati, Ohio
(the Buckeye state)
record number C57587
gingerly handled courtesy
Doctor James Mackay McCord
(ushering none other than me
into the webbed wide world)

bestowed upon *****
of Harriet Harris (maternal parent),
after thy young mother
experienced brief labor
as his bonny head and bony derrière easily
slipped out uterine crypt,
whereby with Vernix
caseosa, the waxy or cheese substance,
he appeared er made
rather wicked, matted, and dipped
in tallow, thence unexpectedly whipped
minuscule fist ready to bump.

Once placenta and fetal membranes
(unnecessary as wing ding)
discharged out ******
after birth of offspring,
and thar weren't no more
major contractions in the offing
ma mommy lovingly did cling
to her bundle of joy and bring

maternal breast I ravenously
did suckle fortunately toothless
against her tender ***** trickling
(if mammary serves me correctly),
I presently recall no iota of inkling
what events transpired, nope
no recollection
about me being circumcised.

Traditionally a mohel is a rabbi,
cantor or another religious leader
who performs brit milah,
or bris, a circumcision ceremony,
on an 8-day-old.

Moost likely I felt Jew bull lent
glad yours truly chose decent
mother and father, which opinion
subjected to radical change,
when as grown adult child
living nonsocial under
their roof housing forced to hire agent
provocateur to practice sparring,
when standoff event on horizon,
which eventually begat ultimatums,
where mutual quiet riot revulsion
swallowed me into a black hole

their red hot poker rage spent
belittling, cursing, damning...
quiet as Unitarian Church mouse content
internalizing later smoldering
anger I needed to vent
in retrospect diminutive little boy
tied to mama's apron strings
afflicted with mental
health issues inherent
of course hindsight gleaned

social, psychological, neurological...
healthy development got rent
asunder partly explaining
why I became indigent
cuz absolute zero ambition
to hustle and convince
prospective employers to hire me
an astute candidate with
deaf fin knit muted confidence.
[“If you're looking for love in a looking- glass world, it's
pretty hard to find. Oh mother of pearl, I wouldn't
trade you for another girl.” -- Roxy Music]

I got Florida tattooed in red on my left foot & I love it a lot because
when I'm eatin' chocolate fudge & rice krispies my leg begins to rot
from its bone-attachment to me that 2 legs in God's flat plane've got.

— The End —