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"manky" poems
Dig deep in the sand with a cupped shovel-hand Until you come across a healthy source of water. Scoop up what you see and let loose the soggy contents, Let them dribble through a careful filter fist. Slowly drip foundations and upon them start your fortress Using steady streams of trickled dribs and drabs. Stalagmites in hyperspeed form walls and lookout towers With the damp bricks one by one constructing peaks. Spectators of all sizes will collect and cast their gazes But you must keep up the focused droplet swell. Maiden battles can't be won and so the masterpiece will crumble To the tide that forces motes to overflow. Waves crash and reek their havoc on the castle that you managed To build with will and manky dripping palms. The sand on which it once stood will be flattened out and polished To make way for a palace twice as grand.
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Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 5:45 PM UTC
Dribble Castle
Guys like us don't get breaks with our unshaven faces and manky hair and eyeliner. Our work-torn jeans colorful tattoos and pierced lips a warning, Aposematism in human form. Guys like us don't get breaks We claw and drag our way not to the top, but to the surface. Ain't got no daddy's money. Ain't got no daddy, or wish we didn't cause he comes home talking 'bout how he didn't raise no ****** (He didn't raise nobody). Guys like us don't get breaks. Nothing but mildewy rooms McDonalds for dinner washed down with cheap ***** Another Thank you for applying but... Rent due the 24th. alone at night again. Guys like us don't get breaks.
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Apr 20, 2022
Apr 20, 2022 at 2:41 PM UTC
Hanging yourself from your bootstraps.
The pale horse leaves a deathly swathe as through our ranks he ramps and raves. No time to bury the rotting reminders of manky motionless mounds of men Puffed with disease and certain to find us Widespread, worrying, wondering when....
0
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 8:53 AM UTC
The Plague
'well enough to work'   it is said                       that is not how i feel but they don't want me to have any more paid time off ('where are the nearest bathrooms ?' )    i scout my eyes vote against it all                               gloating white blight fills the corridors            leering and bleaching my thinking pressure strobing                         my quaking hands cannot hide          stoking up the goods   i am churned    chilled in flashes   and ready to purge this   somehow   became my neutral state my wet and wrinkled butterfly with development hacked pollutants of my own body gummed to some gnarled form of active culture like there are ants building with decaying spittle manky damaged mandibles                                                       reforming my state   corrupted 'well enough to work' i battle the common workday suffering routine habitually breeding and fighting sickness within
0
Dec 5, 2022
Dec 5, 2022 at 9:42 PM UTC
m u r e
Yer heads just a bed for others opinions to lay in; growing bigger, badder and bolder there, until they’re covered in sores, manky and reeking. Yer heads just a place for others thoughts to leek in. But dinnae get disheartened by their chat. Remember its your head thats dain aw that. They never said a word, its yer head that ye heard.
0
Aug 17, 2015
Aug 17, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
Downtrodden By I
On another long *** haul flight, just thinking about my life. Or one of them at least, don't wanna confuse this write. I get to my late night hotel and throw my bags on the bed. So that i can curl up on the floor and try to sleep once more. Waking at 3, take to my phone to stream free **** till i *** Throw those same bags on the floor and somehow sleep on till morn. Rising in the bed next to the door unruly, unkempt and disheveled. Oh New Orleans, how i expected a promise of so much more. And back in dear Dublin at St. Michans' protestant church. Some **** just gone stole the head of an ancient Knights Templar. Mummified by the limestone or from some methane gas there. 800 years he's been laid to rest, greeting tourists and locals alike. 2019, taken on a last crusade by some thieving dublinian scobe. Sent floating down the manky Liffey a river that stinks like a vikings robe. Dublins' archbishop Michael Jackson tells the papers that he's shocked. Thats' right, Michael ******* Jackson how weird and steaming is that. This story i heard from a blind boy with a bag on his head. And he said he wanted to cry for he so often visited that crypt. Well i guess i've never been and had never really planned. But christ it still makes me sad another switch I guess just tripped. But hey, whats it got to do with you and whats it all got to do with me. Well me, i'm back on this hotel floor trying to keep my own head. And as for you, well you go right on cry me a river to float me on dreams. For me, for you and for above all, that Templar Knight of New Orleans.
0
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 11:43 AM UTC
Knight of New Orleans
On another long *** haul flight, just thinking about my life. Or one of them at least, don't wanna confuse this write. I get to my late night hotel and throw my bags on the bed. So that i can curl up on the floor and try to sleep once more. Waking at 3, take to my phone to stream free **** till i *** Throw those same bags on the floor and somehow sleep on till morn. Rising in the bed next to the door unruly, unkempt and disheveled. Oh New Orleans, how i expected a promise of so much more. And back in dear Dublin at St. Michans' protestant church. Some **** just gone stole the head of an ancient Knights Templar. Mummified by the limestone or from some methane gas there. 800 years he's been laid to rest, greeting tourists and locals alike. 2019, taken on a last crusade by some thieving dublinian scobe. Sent floating down the manky Liffey a river that stinks like a vikings robe. Dublins' archbishop Michael Jackson tells the papers that he's shocked. Thats' right, Michael ******* Jackson how weird and steaming is that. This story i heard from a blind boy with a bag on his head. And he said he wanted to cry for he so often visited that crypt. Well i guess i've never been and had never really planned. But christ it still makes me sad another switch I guess just tripped. But hey, whats it got to do with you and whats it all got to do with me. Well me, i'm back on this hotel floor trying to keep my own head. And as for you, well you go right on cry me a river to float me on dreams. For me, for you and for above all, that Templar Knight of New Orleans.
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*drinking isn't funny all the time, you become too ***** have men forgotten that alcohol is an aphrodisiac? me, drunk, brothel? ***** every time.* you can stroll down a street, walk past an english youngling - evidently sexually conscious given the attire...    never mind the age: she's english, and you walk past her, and she starts to quicken her step...    she looks at least agitated but at the same time more apprehensive than agitated... you walk past a father and two boys, and the boys start looking at you with a certain type of curiosity... you walk into a supermarket, take four czech beers -   (cheque? check, chequers? horvat - croat) - and at the counter: a pretty muslim girl, pale olive,       wearing a hijab... and: bam! the immediate perceptional difference: she considers you a testosterone battery,    she's curious, like a deer,   she attempts to hide a smile... what was it?                               a beard... i watched a video about beards being misogynistic, about lumber-sexual...        there actually is a phobia: pogonophobia...                that's for women... but there's also    trichopathophobia    (fear of long hair on men) that's expressed by men, contra men... then there's pixiephilia:    men who love women with short hair...       i ****** well know, i fall into the pixiephilic category... i had long hair,   she had manky dreads, she cut them off,           bam! pixiephilia was born; darling... cut it short while you're young...    every see an old woman with long hair?                anyway... god, i love burping while drinking beer...      common practice               among the swabians: and good manners too!
0
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
4 beers and a muslim girl (pixiephilia)
*drinking isn't funny all the time, you become too ***** have men forgotten that alcohol is an aphrodisiac? me, drunk, brothel? ***** every time.* you can stroll down a street, walk past an english youngling - evidently sexually conscious given the attire...    never mind the age: she's english, and you walk past her, and she starts to quicken her step...    she looks at least agitated but at the same time more apprehensive than agitated... you walk past a father and two boys, and the boys start looking at you with a certain type of curiosity... you walk into a supermarket, take four czech beers -   (cheque? check, chequers? horvat - croat) - and at the counter: a pretty muslim girl, pale olive,       wearing a hijab... and: bam! the immediate perceptional difference: she considers you a testosterone battery,    she's curious, like a deer,   she attempts to hide a smile... what was it?                               a beard... i watched a video about beards being misogynistic, about lumber-sexual...        there actually is a phobia: pogonophobia...                that's for women... but there's also    trichopathophobia    (fear of long hair on men) that's expressed by men, contra men... then there's pixiephilia:    men who love women with short hair...       i ****** well know, i fall into the pixiephilic category... i had long hair,   she had manky dreads, she cut them off,           bam! pixiephilia was born; darling... cut it short while you're young...    every see an old woman with long hair?                anyway... god, i love burping while drinking beer...      common practice               among the swabians: and good manners too!
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