"mammoths" poems - Hello Poetry

I feel like a mammoth sometimes stomping and clomping and trying to find Where all the other mammoths went.

0

Feb 16, 2013

Feb 16, 2013 at 12:24 PM UTC

carmen-3

fabulous brevity

I feel like a mammoth sometimes stomping and clomping and trying to find Where all the other mammoths went.

3

To hell with maintaining a fire just so faces could be seen. I danced on the embers extinguishing little stars and I scribbled in my notes and waited for that one girl to shut up about Twitter and Halloween costumes so I could hear— the fog dragging its tongue up the valley. Finally she began to realize the contest she was losing, took the quiet advice of myself and the wind and went to go tuck herself into the tent, into the safety of ceiling. But, you and I opted to be coyotes on the hillside. I took the trail away from our sleeping counterparts, and flayed you on the dirt where I stripped you of your fur, howling to the fog and plowing valleys in your flesh, your legs grew into roots, and wove length by longer length ‘round all the sturdy angles, the anchors of my hips and you, oh you, you would **** the marrow from my bone. And when we lay out, raw and steaming knees bleeding from the drainage ditch, a gnawing fades out, falls to dreaming, we, peeling off a well-known itch. Then we play a game with satellites Where bouncing mirrors reflect our minds And laugh when the reflections never fit. I gather up my skin, step one foot in and stumble when the tightness traps my leg, You pin up your ******* to please our sleeping guests that wouldn’t take to anything irregular. On the upward hike ten million lights, ten million lives herded on the table of L.A. A Serengeti of fire, a mass migration; mammoths marching, tusks dipped in flame Sitting around campfires once taught vocal apes to rhyme but a million conversations bleaches each the other white and now a million electric campfires bleaches L.A.’s lower sky. And though I stomped out ours the ash remains a scar where we had nearly forgot how to speak by choosing to not.

0

Dec 13, 2011

Dec 13, 2011 at 6:22 AM UTC

sean-carnegie-golightly

Camping in Turnbull

To hell with maintaining a fire just so faces could be seen. I danced on the embers extinguishing little stars and I scribbled in my notes and waited for that one girl to shut up about Twitter and Halloween costumes so I could hear— the fog dragging its tongue up the valley. Finally she began to realize the contest she was losing, took the quiet advice of myself and the wind and went to go tuck herself into the tent, into the safety of ceiling. But, you and I opted to be coyotes on the hillside. I took the trail away from our sleeping counterparts, and flayed you on the dirt where I stripped you of your fur, howling to the fog and plowing valleys in your flesh, your legs grew into roots, and wove length by longer length ‘round all the sturdy angles, the anchors of my hips and you, oh you, you would **** the marrow from my bone. And when we lay out, raw and steaming knees bleeding from the drainage ditch, a gnawing fades out, falls to dreaming, we, peeling off a well-known itch. Then we play a game with satellites Where bouncing mirrors reflect our minds And laugh when the reflections never fit. I gather up my skin, step one foot in and stumble when the tightness traps my leg, You pin up your ******* to please our sleeping guests that wouldn’t take to anything irregular. On the upward hike ten million lights, ten million lives herded on the table of L.A. A Serengeti of fire, a mass migration; mammoths marching, tusks dipped in flame Sitting around campfires once taught vocal apes to rhyme but a million conversations bleaches each the other white and now a million electric campfires bleaches L.A.’s lower sky. And though I stomped out ours the ash remains a scar where we had nearly forgot how to speak by choosing to not.

43

To talk from a mouth that one does not recognize No sound to be made from mammoths that lay dead Frozen Trading tokens Wishing to God they'd made it Just to see another day The glory of the light is bright Blinds many Confuses millions The flick of fish fins Tiny is a world when the catastrophes escaped on waves of brilliant globalism makes ones that have never wept weep tears of experience and surprise and disdain and remorse and sadness and life and happiness and regret and money and love A number that fits in the eyes of a spreadsheet Is printed out, given away, thought about and thrown out These are the hours of blistering heat that will burn the skin of a thousand innocents While the many that have passed the threshold of human thought Wish they had never lived this long A feeling That is a feeling that only comes once That is thought and mused about For the rest of one's life Turning the makeshift bread that mother made Hands clasped with never a word said A debauchery of the common normalcy and currency of mankind A farewell note to the wishing well of mystery ****** it to the dam, all throughout the land that produced these hands A situation of uneasiness, invisible in form Where wrong is translucent and seems incandescent Beautiful in its magnitude but rotten to the core Beating like the black heart of the devil that just chose not to fit in A lonely kid On a lone cloudy road With no mother Or no father to know Sister said that the bed of the divine would soon be wed But she fled For something inside, something hard, a thing tasteless and way away Made her feet twitch, Her skin itch, And her eyes swearing to head to a watery bay Not a thing known Nor a thing sworn A ****** of a metaphor and all the things they swore that'd bring you peace in school Now makes you sit and in wonder of the feeling of the fool And the pool The magnificent embroided embarrassment swirling high A home away from home The listless endless womb Whispering a name that is not known but known Your bother in a brother Your mother from a mother All in a smother of delicate sprinkled lover's A delicacy of infinity that burns bright, sits tight, talks in tongue, and is only seen in the one's with dangerous and lustful fun

0

Mar 28, 2011

Mar 28, 2011 at 9:22 PM UTC

ashby-brown

Goodnight

To talk from a mouth that one does not recognize No sound to be made from mammoths that lay dead Frozen Trading tokens Wishing to God they'd made it Just to see another day The glory of the light is bright Blinds many Confuses millions The flick of fish fins Tiny is a world when the catastrophes escaped on waves of brilliant globalism makes ones that have never wept weep tears of experience and surprise and disdain and remorse and sadness and life and happiness and regret and money and love A number that fits in the eyes of a spreadsheet Is printed out, given away, thought about and thrown out These are the hours of blistering heat that will burn the skin of a thousand innocents While the many that have passed the threshold of human thought Wish they had never lived this long A feeling That is a feeling that only comes once That is thought and mused about For the rest of one's life Turning the makeshift bread that mother made Hands clasped with never a word said A debauchery of the common normalcy and currency of mankind A farewell note to the wishing well of mystery ****** it to the dam, all throughout the land that produced these hands A situation of uneasiness, invisible in form Where wrong is translucent and seems incandescent Beautiful in its magnitude but rotten to the core Beating like the black heart of the devil that just chose not to fit in A lonely kid On a lone cloudy road With no mother Or no father to know Sister said that the bed of the divine would soon be wed But she fled For something inside, something hard, a thing tasteless and way away Made her feet twitch, Her skin itch, And her eyes swearing to head to a watery bay Not a thing known Nor a thing sworn A ****** of a metaphor and all the things they swore that'd bring you peace in school Now makes you sit and in wonder of the feeling of the fool And the pool The magnificent embroided embarrassment swirling high A home away from home The listless endless womb Whispering a name that is not known but known Your bother in a brother Your mother from a mother All in a smother of delicate sprinkled lover's A delicacy of infinity that burns bright, sits tight, talks in tongue, and is only seen in the one's with dangerous and lustful fun

52

7:30PM, October 9, 2015, 65*F, 10mph breeze, 5% humidity (somehow 10% where I was sitting), 50.0001% chance of rain, dark, cold, late, loud...I think that's enough. Alright! Spoiler alert, Birkston High won the game. If you simply have ears you've known that for a while (many of us who were at the game don't). All the people in Grenfolkshire were there, so there were some empty bleachers, but the Student section was full and lively, and did I say loud, because LOUD....! My ears were ringing (at a B8 note, for the musically overcurious people) for three days straight. I think it was a healthcare tactic, dare I say it. All those figurehead townspeople were there as well, like Mayor Arnofold Plattersbury with his orange jumpsuit, waving a pompom in the air like he just didn't care. Really, he didn't-I got whacked in the head with it eleven times. Recently, after taking a recent poll on the recent event, it was found that only about 35% of people really knew what happened, a number that has declined, recently. This very well is contributed to 1.) most of the people are there for the free food and don't exactly major in football 2.) teenagers are highly social creatures 3.) a bunch of hands in the air and six foot tall mammoths standing on the bleachers will tend to block the view of the people who are five foot small. The freshmen had a real problem on their heads. Nevertheless, the Wildcats found themselves with the bell for another year, whether they knew it or not. The Panthers found themselves nose-in-the-dirt, tail-dragging, while we found ourselves filing out like a herd of wild penguins onto the field.

0

Oct 17, 2015

Oct 17, 2015 at 10:34 PM UTC

clockworktribune

The Battle for the Taco Bell

7:30PM, October 9, 2015, 65*F, 10mph breeze, 5% humidity (somehow 10% where I was sitting), 50.0001% chance of rain, dark, cold, late, loud...I think that's enough. Alright! Spoiler alert, Birkston High won the game. If you simply have ears you've known that for a while (many of us who were at the game don't). All the people in Grenfolkshire were there, so there were some empty bleachers, but the Student section was full and lively, and did I say loud, because LOUD....! My ears were ringing (at a B8 note, for the musically overcurious people) for three days straight. I think it was a healthcare tactic, dare I say it. All those figurehead townspeople were there as well, like Mayor Arnofold Plattersbury with his orange jumpsuit, waving a pompom in the air like he just didn't care. Really, he didn't-I got whacked in the head with it eleven times. Recently, after taking a recent poll on the recent event, it was found that only about 35% of people really knew what happened, a number that has declined, recently. This very well is contributed to 1.) most of the people are there for the free food and don't exactly major in football 2.) teenagers are highly social creatures 3.) a bunch of hands in the air and six foot tall mammoths standing on the bleachers will tend to block the view of the people who are five foot small. The freshmen had a real problem on their heads. Nevertheless, the Wildcats found themselves with the bell for another year, whether they knew it or not. The Panthers found themselves nose-in-the-dirt, tail-dragging, while we found ourselves filing out like a herd of wild penguins onto the field.

1

Secretly I wish to be eaten by a dinosaur But I lock my door, counter-intuitively If it’s the right dinosaur, she’ll rip my roof off While I’m listening to Sezen Aksu Coo Coo Cachoo Self-referencing echo-chamber of doubts Dinosaurs, mammoths I **** science

0

Aug 1, 2010

Aug 1, 2010 at 2:51 AM UTC

sansara-justinovich

Blood Bank

Secretly I wish to be eaten by a dinosaur But I lock my door, counter-intuitively If it’s the right dinosaur, she’ll rip my roof off While I’m listening to Sezen Aksu Coo Coo Cachoo Self-referencing echo-chamber of doubts Dinosaurs, mammoths I **** science

8

There is strength here. Built in glaciers older than countries Known only to cold seas And the animals that thrive in the face of difficulty. There is beauty here. Reflected in water droplets that tear the light apart We gaze upon the scattered remains and declare it a rainbow. We're not wrong. There is anger here. You only have to watch the way the volcanoes erupt in fury Or the water-bound tsunami who reaches for land but is banished to sea. There is pain here. Watch the way the Earth shudders, and the ground tries to hold itself together And oil runs from water. We call them immiscible. There is violence here. It inhabits the living and the still, Tornadoes chase and throw and break And guns scream And the prey cry And comrades become competitors There is sorrow here. You can hear it in the breaking of a voice from topic not age And the way the rain cries down windows, In the whimper of a sleeping child. There is joy here. You see it in the songs of whales and the chatter of dolphins And the way the stars twinkle contentedly, Find it in the breathy huff of a baby's first laugh. Look for it in the secret smile that wasn't meant to be seen. There is coldness here. Not just the kind that makes exhibits of mammoths But there is something in the look of a bigot, The indifference of an eagle, Something in the way ash falls slow and steady as it watches lava desolate a city. There is life here. In this world we do not limit living to survival And we have a way of finding new ways to look at our world. And though the mountain does not breathe it moves constantly. Though leaves that left their trees are not green, they dance on the wind. And even when we are gone we remain in memories and dreams And artefacts, or speeches, or actions. There are many problems here. But we're trying to fix them. This is a planet worth fixing.

0

Aug 12, 2015

Aug 12, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC

suchscribbles

This Planet

There is strength here. Built in glaciers older than countries Known only to cold seas And the animals that thrive in the face of difficulty. There is beauty here. Reflected in water droplets that tear the light apart We gaze upon the scattered remains and declare it a rainbow. We're not wrong. There is anger here. You only have to watch the way the volcanoes erupt in fury Or the water-bound tsunami who reaches for land but is banished to sea. There is pain here. Watch the way the Earth shudders, and the ground tries to hold itself together And oil runs from water. We call them immiscible. There is violence here. It inhabits the living and the still, Tornadoes chase and throw and break And guns scream And the prey cry And comrades become competitors There is sorrow here. You can hear it in the breaking of a voice from topic not age And the way the rain cries down windows, In the whimper of a sleeping child. There is joy here. You see it in the songs of whales and the chatter of dolphins And the way the stars twinkle contentedly, Find it in the breathy huff of a baby's first laugh. Look for it in the secret smile that wasn't meant to be seen. There is coldness here. Not just the kind that makes exhibits of mammoths But there is something in the look of a bigot, The indifference of an eagle, Something in the way ash falls slow and steady as it watches lava desolate a city. There is life here. In this world we do not limit living to survival And we have a way of finding new ways to look at our world. And though the mountain does not breathe it moves constantly. Though leaves that left their trees are not green, they dance on the wind. And even when we are gone we remain in memories and dreams And artefacts, or speeches, or actions. There are many problems here. But we're trying to fix them. This is a planet worth fixing.

45

A spontaneous late night poem for my brothers and sisters in nerdom..... I am a mudcrab, Strangely out of place, Where is my mudcrab love? My sweet and perfect crustacean, Come with me to a cozy inn by solitude, Or down a warm, golden, path to a city of talented thieves, Lets chase foxes, Make fun of guards, And get away with ****** Lets think we are clever by cutting through the marked path, Only to be blocked by snowed on mountains sprouting, Lets hug the left wall to find our way back, And scare away monsters with words we hear dragons shouting, Lets laugh at how the Jarl sits like a lady, Lets gripe about how the Agonians don't look as cool as they should, Lets say that all the Stormcloaks are crazy, And hope that one day they make a Star Wars game this good, But in the end, My hard shelled friend, Lets return to our beloved swamp, Where the giants and their mammoths don't stomp, Lets gaze up at a sky that's not our own, And count up our perks to show each other how much we've grown, Since Helgen fell, and life was hell, Lets share this road, And be happy to note, That at least we're no longer alone. ~Dovahkiin

0

Jul 28, 2013

Jul 28, 2013 at 2:45 AM UTC

derikmsmith

Mudcrab Love

A spontaneous late night poem for my brothers and sisters in nerdom..... I am a mudcrab, Strangely out of place, Where is my mudcrab love? My sweet and perfect crustacean, Come with me to a cozy inn by solitude, Or down a warm, golden, path to a city of talented thieves, Lets chase foxes, Make fun of guards, And get away with ****** Lets think we are clever by cutting through the marked path, Only to be blocked by snowed on mountains sprouting, Lets hug the left wall to find our way back, And scare away monsters with words we hear dragons shouting, Lets laugh at how the Jarl sits like a lady, Lets gripe about how the Agonians don't look as cool as they should, Lets say that all the Stormcloaks are crazy, And hope that one day they make a Star Wars game this good, But in the end, My hard shelled friend, Lets return to our beloved swamp, Where the giants and their mammoths don't stomp, Lets gaze up at a sky that's not our own, And count up our perks to show each other how much we've grown, Since Helgen fell, and life was hell, Lets share this road, And be happy to note, That at least we're no longer alone. ~Dovahkiin

29

Scratching at veneer, prying pillars off the tower buried climbing high. Endure. Creating past frames of doubt, of rationale on the tower buried climbing high. Stain. Squatting inside senile mammoths, gnawing mules lie, strip-mine brilliance for harpoons in the tower buried climbing high. Besides… That rope is tied to our waist/waste, tangled mess. Heaving barbed streamers into tight corners through windows that maul the sky.

0

Feb 19, 2013

Feb 19, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC

korich-fischer

Political Poem Attempt #1

Scratching at veneer, prying pillars off the tower buried climbing high. Endure. Creating past frames of doubt, of rationale on the tower buried climbing high. Stain. Squatting inside senile mammoths, gnawing mules lie, strip-mine brilliance for harpoons in the tower buried climbing high. Besides… That rope is tied to our waist/waste, tangled mess. Heaving barbed streamers into tight corners through windows that maul the sky.

23

Rivers dry up, except The Mississippi. If/When That particular long and wide And fat and deep Body of Wa-Wa Completely dries up, The World, as SK Was fond of saying of Roland of Gilead and the Shadowed Spire, "Has moved on." Monstrous Glaciers partied hard inda MIDWEST! For, like, endless freezing Nights and equally Chill-laxing daze, Man! Man? Dude! Dudes? Little dudes With spears takin' on The Mammoths! No WAY! Way. They'll not outlive and OutLAST US, My Frozen Bros! (But we had fire, the roasting Kind and the hot burning Coals within our spirit, Fire to perpetuate our Species through endlessly Cold nights and days) Whoo-Hooo! Dude! You plowed DEEP last night, Bro! What's that stuff on yer Brow. Sweat? Hey is it me or is it Hot in here? Dudes? We're like SMALLER Irregardless, or Re, the You SSS of A has a large dent In its midsection. Because those partying Glaciers were forced back Into polar hiding, shedding Great earthen chunks of their Fatty selves, carving and Slashing The most fertile watershed In the country. Their ageless and Timeless enemy, that Bright Yellow Orb, Opened its great Cyclopean eye, and Focused, yet again, Blessed rays of light Heat, and life. The melting... Water lying on the ground, Unsure? How about we start a Pool? I bet it'll pay Off to flow on not-flat ground, the Pool collapses and begins flowing With purpose, streaming Together as a larger Body of water: The Miss 'Sippi. Any number of Numberless great and lesser Lakes up North Decided to be hole- Y. Gravity Did the rest.

0

Apr 26, 2014

Apr 26, 2014 at 4:57 PM UTC

ted-scheck

Mrs. Sippi and the Party-Dude Glaciers

Rivers dry up, except The Mississippi. If/When That particular long and wide And fat and deep Body of Wa-Wa Completely dries up, The World, as SK Was fond of saying of Roland of Gilead and the Shadowed Spire, "Has moved on." Monstrous Glaciers partied hard inda MIDWEST! For, like, endless freezing Nights and equally Chill-laxing daze, Man! Man? Dude! Dudes? Little dudes With spears takin' on The Mammoths! No WAY! Way. They'll not outlive and OutLAST US, My Frozen Bros! (But we had fire, the roasting Kind and the hot burning Coals within our spirit, Fire to perpetuate our Species through endlessly Cold nights and days) Whoo-Hooo! Dude! You plowed DEEP last night, Bro! What's that stuff on yer Brow. Sweat? Hey is it me or is it Hot in here? Dudes? We're like SMALLER Irregardless, or Re, the You SSS of A has a large dent In its midsection. Because those partying Glaciers were forced back Into polar hiding, shedding Great earthen chunks of their Fatty selves, carving and Slashing The most fertile watershed In the country. Their ageless and Timeless enemy, that Bright Yellow Orb, Opened its great Cyclopean eye, and Focused, yet again, Blessed rays of light Heat, and life. The melting... Water lying on the ground, Unsure? How about we start a Pool? I bet it'll pay Off to flow on not-flat ground, the Pool collapses and begins flowing With purpose, streaming Together as a larger Body of water: The Miss 'Sippi. Any number of Numberless great and lesser Lakes up North Decided to be hole- Y. Gravity Did the rest.

79

The tears of eagles Swallowed the beast on the ground Dragons comes out Chain becomes loose The sky becomes reddish And cloud likes gold Blood paint the ground While hills erupted They are soaks with ashes Blue Whale Awakes As the Dragons trembling Land turn into ashes Swallowed by the great waves Storms and thunders strikes While the mammoths crawled

0

Mar 29, 2011

Mar 29, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC

ferdinand-panerio

“JUST POEM (?)”

The tears of eagles Swallowed the beast on the ground Dragons comes out Chain becomes loose The sky becomes reddish And cloud likes gold Blood paint the ground While hills erupted They are soaks with ashes Blue Whale Awakes As the Dragons trembling Land turn into ashes Swallowed by the great waves Storms and thunders strikes While the mammoths crawled

15

I filled it then spilled it. Think I'll quit so I can quilt it. Some kind of design that reflects this patchwork mind. You might laugh or cry, but it'll keep you warm either way. I didn't even feel like being awake today. Had a dream where I crawled through dinosaur **** Stegosaurus didn't see me coming, but he was still prepared for it. Woke up only to take a shower. I've got about six hours 'til I have to be at work again. I'll just daydream about poaching mammoths, and pretend I have friends.

0

May 15, 2015

May 15, 2015 at 12:24 AM UTC

JDK

Mesozoic

I filled it then spilled it. Think I'll quit so I can quilt it. Some kind of design that reflects this patchwork mind. You might laugh or cry, but it'll keep you warm either way. I didn't even feel like being awake today. Had a dream where I crawled through dinosaur **** Stegosaurus didn't see me coming, but he was still prepared for it. Woke up only to take a shower. I've got about six hours 'til I have to be at work again. I'll just daydream about poaching mammoths, and pretend I have friends.

13

Do you think cavemen used to run through fields feeling the rush of wind on their face and the joy of being alive? Do you think they jumped on each other's backs And splashed each other with water? Did they smile and glow just like we do during a fit of tickles? Or did they just **** mammoths and draw cave art?

0

Jun 12, 2014

Jun 12, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC

joshua-coffey

Ancient goofs

Do you think cavemen used to run through fields feeling the rush of wind on their face and the joy of being alive? Do you think they jumped on each other's backs And splashed each other with water? Did they smile and glow just like we do during a fit of tickles? Or did they just **** mammoths and draw cave art?

9

Standing on the edge of life An edge to a great ocean High up in the mountain I stand crystal clear But as cold as ice My mind buried deep in stars As a million winters collect In my frozen belly As I seek to thaw My many icy layers That separate me Deep hidden strength sits in me As ancient Mammoths Preserved and buried Frosted over , deep in ice So let me wake these Ancient beasts Lying dormant As I drive through The torrid snow The ice separating me With these ancient beasts I push against my Tied up forces Great stresses and forces Conspire all around me As they seek to Twist and tangle me But I am the King of escapology As Houdini has nothing on me As many forces locks and chains Collapse around me I just silently slip away So I invite this world To do its very worst As there is not a box or barrel That I can not escape As I stand in my crispy coolness I hear the silence Of many hearts As they all sing in chorus REJOIN US , REJOIN US As have I forgotten The value of melting As I stand tenderly waiting waiting On the edge of life's richness As I carry with me All bravery of the most Delicate crocus flower As it keenly breaks The winters snow Waking the silent forest It celebrates all that is new Seeking now to live life As freely as a fish I am carried in the ocean Almost weightless in this world As I strip down my hidden parts And loose all eye lashes As I embrace this world There is no need to hide As I slip sleekly into This vast ocean Far away from buried self The hermit in me Seeking to almost loose myself In the much buried love Lying deeply in all hearts My flower beds now released From the deadly sleepy snow I sew new wild pansies Lets bring on the show As all is embraced By rejoining the ocean

0

Jun 17, 2014

Jun 17, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC

adam-childs

REJOINING THE OCEAN

Standing on the edge of life An edge to a great ocean High up in the mountain I stand crystal clear But as cold as ice My mind buried deep in stars As a million winters collect In my frozen belly As I seek to thaw My many icy layers That separate me Deep hidden strength sits in me As ancient Mammoths Preserved and buried Frosted over , deep in ice So let me wake these Ancient beasts Lying dormant As I drive through The torrid snow The ice separating me With these ancient beasts I push against my Tied up forces Great stresses and forces Conspire all around me As they seek to Twist and tangle me But I am the King of escapology As Houdini has nothing on me As many forces locks and chains Collapse around me I just silently slip away So I invite this world To do its very worst As there is not a box or barrel That I can not escape As I stand in my crispy coolness I hear the silence Of many hearts As they all sing in chorus REJOIN US , REJOIN US As have I forgotten The value of melting As I stand tenderly waiting waiting On the edge of life's richness As I carry with me All bravery of the most Delicate crocus flower As it keenly breaks The winters snow Waking the silent forest It celebrates all that is new Seeking now to live life As freely as a fish I am carried in the ocean Almost weightless in this world As I strip down my hidden parts And loose all eye lashes As I embrace this world There is no need to hide As I slip sleekly into This vast ocean Far away from buried self The hermit in me Seeking to almost loose myself In the much buried love Lying deeply in all hearts My flower beds now released From the deadly sleepy snow I sew new wild pansies Lets bring on the show As all is embraced By rejoining the ocean

74

Can these streets get any darker? I see these Men In their Cars Mammoths which move at top speeds still screaming at Me The sight makes a person perceive purposely what it means to be alive Nowadays Whether walking in these woeful streets Is worth it at all? Have you ever told a complete stranger That you hated them? I never have I've thought it Sure Why not think something awful every once and a while? Whose it gonna' Hurt? Only yourself youthfully yolk dancing with the egg queen Who says that one night You pledged your love and you'd want to be Her Wife But in that strife Altogether the silver spoon reminised and knew that He missed One of the greatest nights of pleasantries and gifts Selfish we are these men that ride around in Multi-colored jackets trying to be like Jesus All these envelope licking sons' of ******* Sooner or later the post office is gonna' get stolen And those ego's Are on the fast track To get Swollen Yes a' Very funny thing Yes a' Very very funny thing

0

May 6, 2011

May 6, 2011 at 10:55 PM UTC

ashby-brown

Men/In/Their/Cars

Can these streets get any darker? I see these Men In their Cars Mammoths which move at top speeds still screaming at Me The sight makes a person perceive purposely what it means to be alive Nowadays Whether walking in these woeful streets Is worth it at all? Have you ever told a complete stranger That you hated them? I never have I've thought it Sure Why not think something awful every once and a while? Whose it gonna' Hurt? Only yourself youthfully yolk dancing with the egg queen Who says that one night You pledged your love and you'd want to be Her Wife But in that strife Altogether the silver spoon reminised and knew that He missed One of the greatest nights of pleasantries and gifts Selfish we are these men that ride around in Multi-colored jackets trying to be like Jesus All these envelope licking sons' of ******* Sooner or later the post office is gonna' get stolen And those ego's Are on the fast track To get Swollen Yes a' Very funny thing Yes a' Very very funny thing

39

In the ice age Russia The people Chase mammoths But the chase And **** unicorns For their magic As that winter is Bleak.

0

Mar 23, 2019

Mar 23, 2019 at 2:54 PM UTC

Toxicyeti

Hunting unicorns

In the ice age Russia The people Chase mammoths But the chase And **** unicorns For their magic As that winter is Bleak.

9

**Curiosity filled them all Who led the cat out of the bag after all ...... Breaking through the museum On an unearthly hour Seeking The unknown thrill The Mammoths Godzilla And the Saber Tigers Roam rampant Up and down the Alley and the grills Watch out , The tarantula on the wall It's Kicking alive , Yet still ....**

0

Dec 15, 2017

Dec 15, 2017 at 12:27 AM UTC

sarita-aditya-verma

The Museum

**Curiosity filled them all Who led the cat out of the bag after all ...... Breaking through the museum On an unearthly hour Seeking The unknown thrill The Mammoths Godzilla And the Saber Tigers Roam rampant Up and down the Alley and the grills Watch out , The tarantula on the wall It's Kicking alive , Yet still ....**

16

googlewhack no. 4: http://tinyurl.com/n6g53us. i'm starting to really get into this fun lottery, and how i wouldn't bother having a website listing all of them... i desecrate them - meaning i write myself in after them... this particular one? ironically it's on the topic of geology - or it's rather tinged with geology... and they usually arise from the concept i had to work out of the λoγoς - so unto the heights of finding the concept of φoνoς - for the former is like an image to the ear, even though a skeletal one: or x-ray that pierces the tongue - and this googlewhack arose from mishearing an icelandic word (i'm still to find the correct λoγoς - but the φoνoς that lead me to the 4th googlewhack is) yokolaups - a phenomenon in iceland - and who would have thought: geology? which ties itself to chemistry in ways that biology and physics have teamed up for some cultural gang bang, or whatever the hell they're doing on the television and in other media outlets... ****** populists... give me a geology topic and i'm listening... this googlewhack arose from the topic of the missoula floods - and the man behind finding them j harlen brentz - basically these gargantuan floods that occurred in the last ice age - the mystery of mammoth graves in siberia in that: why would the people of the times slaughter 1000 mammoths and not eat them? but the brentz floods happened such a long time ago, and their was scale was so huge that some didn't believe the evidence to be there, since they were cooked up in their universities and only had theories... anyway... the word in question? "yokolaups"? it's icelandic a similar flood phenomenon that's currently happening in iceland: basically a lake forms inside a glacier... and just as it happens with concrete dams and artificially created lakes to ensure there's a constant water supply and no drought... the concrete dams can sometimes give way, and the water spills over... same thing with glaciers and the lakes that are created inside of them... did i mean jokulhaups? maybe... all i know is that corvus corax's song sverker has that aura that it might as well be, but certainly something icelandic.

0

Mar 29, 2017

Mar 29, 2017 at 2:52 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

googlewhack no. 4: yokolaups http://tinyurl.com/n6g53us

googlewhack no. 4: http://tinyurl.com/n6g53us. i'm starting to really get into this fun lottery, and how i wouldn't bother having a website listing all of them... i desecrate them - meaning i write myself in after them... this particular one? ironically it's on the topic of geology - or it's rather tinged with geology... and they usually arise from the concept i had to work out of the λoγoς - so unto the heights of finding the concept of φoνoς - for the former is like an image to the ear, even though a skeletal one: or x-ray that pierces the tongue - and this googlewhack arose from mishearing an icelandic word (i'm still to find the correct λoγoς - but the φoνoς that lead me to the 4th googlewhack is) yokolaups - a phenomenon in iceland - and who would have thought: geology? which ties itself to chemistry in ways that biology and physics have teamed up for some cultural gang bang, or whatever the hell they're doing on the television and in other media outlets... ****** populists... give me a geology topic and i'm listening... this googlewhack arose from the topic of the missoula floods - and the man behind finding them j harlen brentz - basically these gargantuan floods that occurred in the last ice age - the mystery of mammoth graves in siberia in that: why would the people of the times slaughter 1000 mammoths and not eat them? but the brentz floods happened such a long time ago, and their was scale was so huge that some didn't believe the evidence to be there, since they were cooked up in their universities and only had theories... anyway... the word in question? "yokolaups"? it's icelandic a similar flood phenomenon that's currently happening in iceland: basically a lake forms inside a glacier... and just as it happens with concrete dams and artificially created lakes to ensure there's a constant water supply and no drought... the concrete dams can sometimes give way, and the water spills over... same thing with glaciers and the lakes that are created inside of them... did i mean jokulhaups? maybe... all i know is that corvus corax's song sverker has that aura that it might as well be, but certainly something icelandic.

58

This is the crusty eye feeling when you first wake up This is the summer time heat in the dead of the night The kitchen light underneath your bedroom door when you're too scared to sleep That "diamond" ring you got out of the 50 cent machine at the convenience store The old veterans hat that you wore until you were 11 because you thought you were making a difference The stinging feeling of getting your ears pierced by your best friend This is the history books that bore you to death during class This is not I repeat not About that pain you feel when you think of how many people die because suicide every ten minutes This is not the spider weaving a home in the corner of your ceiling This is not the uneasy feeling after a nap that was a little bit too long The glass that ripped up your arms when you were in a head on collision at 17 The corner of cook and 12th street where you had your first kiss The scared feeling of telling your parents you like the same gender as your own The punches from that bully who takes your lunch money every morning Sometimes I feel prehistoric All of these memories that I will soon forget Much like the mammoths did when they froze over

0

May 10, 2016

May 10, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC

Punkfoot

Mammoths

This is the crusty eye feeling when you first wake up This is the summer time heat in the dead of the night The kitchen light underneath your bedroom door when you're too scared to sleep That "diamond" ring you got out of the 50 cent machine at the convenience store The old veterans hat that you wore until you were 11 because you thought you were making a difference The stinging feeling of getting your ears pierced by your best friend This is the history books that bore you to death during class This is not I repeat not About that pain you feel when you think of how many people die because suicide every ten minutes This is not the spider weaving a home in the corner of your ceiling This is not the uneasy feeling after a nap that was a little bit too long The glass that ripped up your arms when you were in a head on collision at 17 The corner of cook and 12th street where you had your first kiss The scared feeling of telling your parents you like the same gender as your own The punches from that bully who takes your lunch money every morning Sometimes I feel prehistoric All of these memories that I will soon forget Much like the mammoths did when they froze over

19

long ago in another expired lifetime i diligently chipped flint popping shards flaking away tiny bits using tools fashioning uneven discreet blades to manufacture once off Clovis points to skin now sadly extinct enormous woolly mammoths it was a point well made Music Selection: Opening Scene Stanley Kubrick's 2001 Space Odyssey Richard Strauss Thus Spoke Zarathustra jbm Oakland 6/1/12

0

Apr 7, 2016

Apr 7, 2016 at 12:17 PM UTC

james-bradley-mccallum

i primitive

long ago in another expired lifetime i diligently chipped flint popping shards flaking away tiny bits using tools fashioning uneven discreet blades to manufacture once off Clovis points to skin now sadly extinct enormous woolly mammoths it was a point well made Music Selection: Opening Scene Stanley Kubrick's 2001 Space Odyssey Richard Strauss Thus Spoke Zarathustra jbm Oakland 6/1/12

51

The cities have called me. Drawn me in, with promises of a new start. The skyline littered with steel mammoths. A new stadium that points to a bright future. I almost didn't answer.

0

Oct 19, 2016

Oct 19, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC

robert-levandowski

MEnneapolis

The cities have called me. Drawn me in, with promises of a new start. The skyline littered with steel mammoths. A new stadium that points to a bright future. I almost didn't answer.

5

Yicketty Yack his loaded knuckles snap with each invasive step he takes towards bringing the daisies back. Like a Gorilla dragging a bag of prolific back up to the front of the line like, "Look here, Mom, we made it this time!" Young blood bloated dumb, can't you hear them humble drums droning on from the swampy slums? Here we are! Final Stop! The point where four corners of the earth converge in preparation of the coming plunder. It's a wonder for the poodles to ponder. But why bother when every ounce of effort conjured turns into cannon fodder for those pesky mammoths ripe with Karma?

0

Oct 26, 2016

Oct 26, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC

Bbbbbbbb

Mid Summer (Evolutionary Ghost)

Yicketty Yack his loaded knuckles snap with each invasive step he takes towards bringing the daisies back. Like a Gorilla dragging a bag of prolific back up to the front of the line like, "Look here, Mom, we made it this time!" Young blood bloated dumb, can't you hear them humble drums droning on from the swampy slums? Here we are! Final Stop! The point where four corners of the earth converge in preparation of the coming plunder. It's a wonder for the poodles to ponder. But why bother when every ounce of effort conjured turns into cannon fodder for those pesky mammoths ripe with Karma?

12

While crying in the moonlight, The tears of icy cold. Snow fallen lies surround me, Trading rice for dirtied gold. They know I have a weakness, Achilles’ tendons found. Fighting in my own Antietam, Ignore the bloodied ground. As one things ends another comes, Start as I end another shift. Feel so small in your surroundings, Mammoths in the continental drift. Buried in the secrets, Not everybody knows. Climbing Mount Everest in the winter, Snow shoots back just as it goes. Grasping hands I always miss, Warming fingers turning blue. True, I could not help me, But I won’t make the same mistake with you.

0

May 7, 2018

May 7, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC

fallert

Warm The Blue

While crying in the moonlight, The tears of icy cold. Snow fallen lies surround me, Trading rice for dirtied gold. They know I have a weakness, Achilles’ tendons found. Fighting in my own Antietam, Ignore the bloodied ground. As one things ends another comes, Start as I end another shift. Feel so small in your surroundings, Mammoths in the continental drift. Buried in the secrets, Not everybody knows. Climbing Mount Everest in the winter, Snow shoots back just as it goes. Grasping hands I always miss, Warming fingers turning blue. True, I could not help me, But I won’t make the same mistake with you.

20

Fragility, It's like a house of cards No matter if gold or paper All it takes is just a gentle gust, A fragile touch And you break down into oblivion. Fear, It's like ripping two conjoined twins apart An ant on an island stark Of mammoths. Pride, A drop of blood on a napkin it tries To drench it red like a cherry Only to find it soaked and dry A stone's throw for a falling berry Love, It is but a red shade still Of a stretching meadow of daffodils On a small hill Red shade of the sky and red shade of sun Red colour of flowers and a RED fragrance.

0

Dec 11, 2021

Dec 11, 2021 at 6:31 AM UTC

Bluefeather

Red

Fragility, It's like a house of cards No matter if gold or paper All it takes is just a gentle gust, A fragile touch And you break down into oblivion. Fear, It's like ripping two conjoined twins apart An ant on an island stark Of mammoths. Pride, A drop of blood on a napkin it tries To drench it red like a cherry Only to find it soaked and dry A stone's throw for a falling berry Love, It is but a red shade still Of a stretching meadow of daffodils On a small hill Red shade of the sky and red shade of sun Red colour of flowers and a RED fragrance.

22

it’s saturday night and it’s that time of the week when all the days disappear into diapers of new births squatting with umbilical chord necklaces, i open horace’s book, maxim something then close it: ‘too pedantic,’ i think then say it: pictoribus atque poetis quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas, which means i’m living in england when prog-rock was heaven sent - where did the englishman disappear to, the 1960’s?! then comes glasgow with bukowski (i found him there with ivan karamazov) and i like the fact that i’m drinking whiskey at 3am with the neighbour’s kids watching from across the patches of green while i: drum with my fingers against the collar bone, weep over singing in german, wear sunglasses to dim the night further. you know, many lucifers came with the crucifixion of words: ****** stalin, mao... jesus (the jews really took the golden calf seriously now, although it’s pinned up and it’s very diabolical to say the least - well d'uh... torture for iconoclastic reaping of the knees to bend) - but few satans - who came with the motto: the silent waters nibble at the shoreline. my grandmother said that one, all credit to her, so about me and the lamentation of singing in german, a little bit of enlightened thinking: brehta - which in silesian polish means... he’s laughing... very close to schprehta - he’s talking in a foreign language - good for commerce. then i forget the strain and feverishness of lying in bed listening to the clock tick tick tick... i stand up and undress myself from the monkey suit worried about tigers and mammoths and fleas... i stand up, plug in to the ploughing of sounds, smoke a cigarette, have a drink... and play with the kids across two garden’s worth of length pretending to be the madman.

0

Oct 10, 2015

Oct 10, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

silesian polish*

it’s saturday night and it’s that time of the week when all the days disappear into diapers of new births squatting with umbilical chord necklaces, i open horace’s book, maxim something then close it: ‘too pedantic,’ i think then say it: pictoribus atque poetis quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas, which means i’m living in england when prog-rock was heaven sent - where did the englishman disappear to, the 1960’s?! then comes glasgow with bukowski (i found him there with ivan karamazov) and i like the fact that i’m drinking whiskey at 3am with the neighbour’s kids watching from across the patches of green while i: drum with my fingers against the collar bone, weep over singing in german, wear sunglasses to dim the night further. you know, many lucifers came with the crucifixion of words: ****** stalin, mao... jesus (the jews really took the golden calf seriously now, although it’s pinned up and it’s very diabolical to say the least - well d'uh... torture for iconoclastic reaping of the knees to bend) - but few satans - who came with the motto: the silent waters nibble at the shoreline. my grandmother said that one, all credit to her, so about me and the lamentation of singing in german, a little bit of enlightened thinking: brehta - which in silesian polish means... he’s laughing... very close to schprehta - he’s talking in a foreign language - good for commerce. then i forget the strain and feverishness of lying in bed listening to the clock tick tick tick... i stand up and undress myself from the monkey suit worried about tigers and mammoths and fleas... i stand up, plug in to the ploughing of sounds, smoke a cigarette, have a drink... and play with the kids across two garden’s worth of length pretending to be the madman.

33

Is this love? The sun inserts itself Into his dark red slit And lets its golden light onto His dark green shirt. The jungle floor is wet today. The space between its soil Soaks your clothes-- The wound Writhes with worms; The wind screams in pain or ecstasy. Is this *** You’re too young to know. Barely a man. Barely alive. The Sun inserts itself And you scream “NO.” You’re on your knees. You’re pressing it closed. You’re closing the space. You’re crying. You’re not supposed to cry, you know, For men you do not love. Do you love your comrade? Near Incestuous, they say, Earth caressing Earth. “Brother” caressing “Brother” --You know it isn’t right The way the sun still shines. Mosquitoes still gorge themselves On dewey wet skin fruit, Still whisper slurs and violence In your brain. He’s spilling through, And his arteries like pink sap trees Squirt rosy colored leaves Onto your trembling fingers. Your friend Is waiting open for you in the underbrush Like a flower blossoming In war or Spring. His pollen stains your hands red. The sunlight stains the red gold. Too open, Blurring the line between inside and out. Muscle touching black skin touching black roots Touching cavernous black hole mammoths Up in heaven. The sky and the skin Drip into each other, Fuse into each other, --Gooey oblivion. Kiss with tongue and fit so well You can’t tell where his body ends. And when they’re done He covers Him. Into starlight ascends. You love Your friend.

0

Nov 15, 2016

Nov 15, 2016 at 10:05 PM UTC

damali

Gooey

Is this love? The sun inserts itself Into his dark red slit And lets its golden light onto His dark green shirt. The jungle floor is wet today. The space between its soil Soaks your clothes-- The wound Writhes with worms; The wind screams in pain or ecstasy. Is this *** You’re too young to know. Barely a man. Barely alive. The Sun inserts itself And you scream “NO.” You’re on your knees. You’re pressing it closed. You’re closing the space. You’re crying. You’re not supposed to cry, you know, For men you do not love. Do you love your comrade? Near Incestuous, they say, Earth caressing Earth. “Brother” caressing “Brother” --You know it isn’t right The way the sun still shines. Mosquitoes still gorge themselves On dewey wet skin fruit, Still whisper slurs and violence In your brain. He’s spilling through, And his arteries like pink sap trees Squirt rosy colored leaves Onto your trembling fingers. Your friend Is waiting open for you in the underbrush Like a flower blossoming In war or Spring. His pollen stains your hands red. The sunlight stains the red gold. Too open, Blurring the line between inside and out. Muscle touching black skin touching black roots Touching cavernous black hole mammoths Up in heaven. The sky and the skin Drip into each other, Fuse into each other, --Gooey oblivion. Kiss with tongue and fit so well You can’t tell where his body ends. And when they’re done He covers Him. Into starlight ascends. You love Your friend.

58