"lars" poems
Master archer
Lars Andersen
Fires with such accuracy and speed
It is truly amazing!
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
Okay,
It goes like this you see.
10pm, on a late thursday evening. I was sweating like a ****** in church. I grabbed my armbands and turned on the shower. It was cold as ice to the touch, but begun to warm up eventually. Thank god my wife remembered to turn the geezer on or else I was going to slap a ***** create waves of flesh on that ugly *** face of hers.
Anyway.
After stripping down to my birthday suit, I popped on some shampoo and spreaded that **** in my hair. Creating a burning sensation, tingly, like ants crawling in my head.
Suddenly I was smacked like an unwanted child by the smell of burnt toast in the air,
with the shampoo still sitting in my hair.
I turned around and right before me, something was coming out of the plug hole, like something out of a b-rated horror movie.
Looking like my wife's homemade cooking, **** was alive, and then it lunged at me.
I tell you, if it was not for those Tom Cruise movies lecturing me in the art of total *** kicking, I would be a dead naked man with armbands in a tub, being eaten by the unholy guacamole.
You gotta believe me,
when I tell this story,
This was not all in my head,
You can't just write off what I have said.
I know it must sound insane,
But a mexican's lunch crawled out of the drain,
I beat it's *** like a drum,
like Lars Ulrich at a metallica concert ,
and sent the **** back down the hole it crawled out of.
The devil wanted to bring me down to the deep end,
It is a good thing I bought my arm bands.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 7:05 PM UTC
Lars lifts opens the toilet seat. The hinge squawks and he mimics the sound with his mouth. A dumb smile folds out on his face like someone unrolling a beach towel. He sits without dropping his pants or underwear. The cops are just about to leave through the screen door. Maggie offers a departing sacrament of right out of the oven of crispy flakey Pillsbury biscuits. They wave their hands parallel to the ground refusing. Maggie pulled the biscuits out too early. The bottoms are tan and dimensional but the tops are sloppy. They look like they have a glaze but they don’t have a glaze. They are pasty but still hot to the touch. The pan is hot. Maggie is wearing maroon oven mitts. One of the cops gets his foot snagged on the throw rug. They walk with their heads down but don’t notice the curled edges of the throw rug. They notice a black pug named Roger instead and nearly avoid fumbling over him. The cops scatter outside quickly like ducklings crossing the street. Lars’ dumb smile lingers and he laughs with a shushing lisp. He reaches between his legs into the toilet bowl. His hand disturbs the water. His nose is bleeding. Maggie closes the doorwall after the cops leave. The cops left the screen open. Maggie reopens the doorwall, closes the screen, shakes her head, and then closes the doorwall again. The kitchen is humming with improper wires. The light is electric pastel blue. The linoleum is too ***** to sleep on. Maggie’s ******* can be seen through her shirt. Lars wipes his nose with his arm and shoulder. He is hunched digging into the toilet bowl. He pulls out a baggie with a twist tie on top. The baggie looks reused. Maggie enters under the frame of the door and her lips roll out like a beach towel. The ******* in the baggie is very very dry.
Sep 16, 2016
Sep 16, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
Lawrence (who goes by Lars)
Went to India
And Contracted SARS
Damped his spirits?
I think not!
His best friend is Lou
Payed his taxes and went to church
Alas, 'twas not Jesus
That he found on his search
Lars and Lou
One day had nothing to do
They crowded the streets of the city
In Bangladesh
In Timbuktu
They never found something quite as pretty
Lars had bandages on his eyes
Lou chose not to see
Turning a blind eye
Turning the cheek
Say what you will (makes no difference to me)
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:35 PM UTC
Surprisingly enough,
this little vile of some
horrible stuff
called "Pink-Pink"
is actually rather
musky.
And to think,
after three months
and then two more,
I would get six checks.
Micky Mantle captivated
the nation,
and Lars Montannaro
is captivating
this town.
All the while
Michael Moore is killing God
and God is killing us.
One must ask oneself,
did God create me,
or did I create God?
Is God within me,
or am I God myself?
Throughout John Carpenter's life
many questions plagued him,
most remained unanswered,
few allowed him to live
and one killed him.
He lies dying,
gasping for air,
with nothing but
Steinbeck and brandy
to bid him farewell.
On a bed without sheets,
in a motel without a kitchen,
in a town without a theater,
in a state without a king,
in a land without hope,
God lays dying.
With nothing but the prayers of
Mary Stein to bid him goodnight,
he prays himself.
Every man is a believer in the foxhole,
just as he is a saint.
Praying and praying,
the fire rallies
around a man,
his emancipated guts
lay spewing blood in the dirt.
Without a clear objective man is nothing.
Nothing is everything,
and everything is unexplainable
just as nothing can be explained.
The Dark sings a song it believes to be beautiful,
and the Light finds it discouraging to it's attempts
of what it believes to be beautiful.
So the Light chases away the Dark
and the Wanderers wonder where it went.
Wandering this world,
they try
and try
and try
to find it.
They are looking in the wrong world.
The man with a gun
runs to the store and back
and back
and back again.
The willows whisper a tune for their god
that the oaks find blasphemous.
The oaks chant louder and louder
so as to please their god.
Life goes on
and life goes on
and life goes on
and then it doesn't.
Then suddenly it begins
in a thousand more forms
and in a thousand more lungs
it breathes.
Life will continue to exalt God
and God will continue allowing life to breathe.
For as long as there is air,
breathes shall be taken.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
It was only a tiny village then
Away from the thoroughfare,
Had existed since I don’t know when
With a grassy village square,
There were only seven ancient cars
In the narrow village streets,
And none of them travelled very far
For the shop stocked milk, and treats.
It hadn’t seen much of progress since
The days of old King John,
Who’d lost his jewels in The Wash, by Mintz
Near the town of Oberon,
The villagers there were set in ways
That caused nobody harm,
But when Lars came from Oberon
There was cause to feel alarm.
For Lars was the local planner for
The town of Oberon,
He’d dragged it kicking and screaming
Into the century just gone,
He’d widened streets, and cancelled Meets
In the old stone Mason’s Hall,
By bulldozing their building, leaving
Folk with a low stone wall.
He’d passed it all with an ordinance
That had given him total power,
The council caved to his arrogance,
All that he did was glower,
He put street lights on the corners, and
He acted like a prince,
And when he was done with Oberon
He set his sights on Mintz.
He drove on down to their village square
And he said it wouldn’t do,
He’d turn the square to a thoroughfare
So the cars could drive right through,
He didn’t care when the people there
Said ‘Leave our square alone!’
He said, ‘I’m passing an ordinance,
So you might as well go home.’
The local hall was agog that night
There’d never been such a crowd,
The villagers all were up in arms,
‘This fool shouldn’t be allowed!’
‘This calls for a special meeting,’ said
The spokesman, Rupert Bragg,
‘We’ll have to call on the village witch,
The widow, Nancy Stag!’
They all poured out of the village hall
And they went to see the witch,
Who was busily mixing potions in
A cauldron and a dish,
‘You’ll not be needing my magic,’ said
Old Nancy, with a smile,
‘If you all agree with my plan, you’ll see,
That Lars will run a mile.’
She asked the women to stay behind
While the men went on their way,
‘I mean the ones over seventy,
The rest can go or stay,’
They huddled up with the village witch
And applauded Nancy’s plan,
‘We’ll send him scuttling off from Mintz,
You’ll see, he’s only a man!’
When Lars came down in his private car
They met him in the square,
Holding banners and placards, but
That’s not what made him stare,
‘You’d better get back to Oberon
Or we’ll march there, for our rights,’
He turned, and hurriedly left the square,
They all were dressed in tights!’
David Lewis Paget
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC
I have never experienced summer or autumn
(Yet)
I’m obviously not Tom Hansen
(Though I have a lot of similarities)
I am Lars from Norway
(I don’t work out at a gym and am inferior to both Brad Pitt’s face and Jesus’ abs)
I’m dreaming of a sweet disposition to one day carry me home
(But I never accompany girls through cities or on trains)
Spring has lasted 21 years...
(Still running strong)
Oct 31, 2010
Oct 31, 2010 at 11:02 AM UTC
why did Shia LaBeouf cross the road? because he wasn’t a chicken, he was Shia LaBeouf. I want to worry. it is funny to me like Patton Oswalt and Lena Dunham being flabbergasted. I wrote once how suicides fight for position. suddenly everyone knows they were once Leroi Jones. some of course were and I want to be sorry. the original thought in my head was to be postdated in birth like a present. because of where his home is, Lars Von Trier is homeless. imagine I lived from the age of 18 to 23 and from the age of 24 to 29 I got paid to reenact those years previous. I will waste my time with yours and there will be a whirlwind of poverties speeding by and seemingly one. if the great performances of James Franco say again how the unknown soldier is the eater of fame I swear I’ll call you and your double out as Lynchian.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
Some time had passed already
since we’d come down from the trees.
We still walked with an awkward gait
Sore backs and aching knees.
Lar still might be alive, old mother,
if he hadn’t pawed my mate.
When I saw him mount her
in the brush
All I felt was rage and hate.
The jawbone of an *** was near
I took it in my hands.
I brought it down upon his skull
I killed with these two hands.
I wouldn’t let the Jackals have
the body of my friend.
I covered up his corpse with stones.
this is where it ends.
As a tribe we are too small, too few.
to let the blood lust linger.
We must keep moving further north
until we are out of danger.
Old mother nodded sagely.
Lars clansman did the same.
I promised I would share the catch
with the children of his name.
Some book may talk of Abel-
that at Cain’s hand he died.
but it was the tribe of Lucy
that first committed Hominidicide
Dec 26, 2011
Dec 26, 2011 at 8:33 PM UTC
He drops the rest of his one
Daily smoke
On the cold January ground.
Puts his glove back on
And gazes at the crane,
With distant eyes under the brim
Of his orange hard hat.
Then, through one of those smiles
That make any bad day better,
He turns to me and speaks.
*Always eat the yellow snow, Sverre.
It could be beer...*
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 4:17 AM UTC
A is for Arne whose throat was impaled
B is for Barnaby, killed with a spell
C is for Caroline who was stuck in a mine
D is for Daffy, sliced into lines
E is for Enid who was locked in an armoire
F is for Flynn, eaten by a gargantuar
G is for Gallus who was thrown in the winter
H is for Hilde, died of an infected splinter
I is for Ingrid who ate a sack of bearings
J is for Jona whose attitude was daring
K is for Kleinn who stepped on a shard
L is for Lars whose intestines were barred
M is for Max who flew alone to the moon
N is for Nelkir whose execution was coming soon
O is for Oliver whose body was twisted to death
P is for Plinny, burned by a fire breath
Q is for Qiara who died of a nightmare
R is for Ralph, committed suicide in despair
S is for Stefan who was lost in a maze
T is for Torlief whose blood was traced
U is for Ulfric who was burned at the stake
V is for Vera, swallowed by a snake
W is for Walter who ate himself
X is for Xenya, cursed by an elf
Y is for Ysagmor who was buried alive
Z is for Zach who failed to survive
Jan 5, 2018
Jan 5, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC