"mastodon" poems
As I contemplated the project of writing a persuasive essay I discovered that I would have to have a topic upon which to practice my persuasive techniques . After much cogitation and enumeration of my possibilities , pursued with such zeal that it soon resembled pedantic ostentation , I concluded that the most positive prospect I could pursue in this endeavor would be an attempt to prove irrefutably that I deserve a grade of A in this class ; if not for the undeniable excellence of my effort , then at least for the unadulterated audacity of my pretentious assertion .
In order to perform this feat first I must overwhelm your developing consternation , the frozen mastodon of your auspicious judition . To accomplish this I will cite my impeccable attendance ; which although not perfect was indeed a valiant effort in the face of public opinion whose abstinence approached epidemic proportions . I will expound on the effectual and pervasive inspirations of my in class commentary , which sparked many a heated argument or thoughtful conjecture ; and comment on the polished precision of my in class narration . I will reiterate the diversity and intrigue of my subject matter and the competence of my delivery .
Next , with all the dynamic aggression of a wind-up tyrannosaur , I will recapitulate and exemplify my arguments ; until the ramifications of my inductive collusions exceed the boundaries of your psychic phenomenon and you are forced to acquiesce into impunity .
Yes I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind , until mesmerized by the multitudes of analogous content you find yourself , disguised as captain corpuscle , floating euphorically down stream in a think box mind gram dingy towards a sea of Colorado cool aid . Then as if all that were not enough to thoroughly torque your ringer , adamant and tenacious I will portray realms of intellectual austerity so intriguing you will be raised to new heights of enigmatism , and then I will leave you , enraptured with your own anonymity , at the edge of the new world freeway .
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 8:03 PM UTC
The thousandth
****** beneath
Lake Baikal of
The Trident
The gods' mouthful
bristling iron
is spat ashore
Leviathan's bones
glint and crackle
Man is one celled
Apocalypse
yet to divide
His name in Manganese
splinters under the paths
of the mastodon
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 5:58 AM UTC
A mastodon waits
For a bitter, cold ice age -
Hello, giant tooth
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Could it be that locked in memory
Ancient thoughts are held in store,
Passed on by Neanderthal man
Who's origins we may recall.....
Ape like in physique and frame,
Prominent prognathus jaw,
Burning eyes intense and sharp,
Intelligence to seek for more.
Telepathic thought transference
Little need for guttural grunt,
Massive strength in hand and thigh
Stinking pelt to back and front.
Rushing through the reed and long grass
Casting lance with lunging throw,
Mastodon with roaring bellow
Thrashing trunk with thunderous blow.
Darkness in the smoky cavern
Clustered at the flinted flame,
Family and others warming
Squat encircled, chewing game.
Listening in the chill of moonlight
Listening to the wolf pack howl,
Out across the snow clad forest
Out beyond the hooting owl.
Chewing pelts to soften leather
Massive teeth in massive jaw,
Wary eyes observe the weather
Southern winds may bring the thaw.
Luscious she with scent ascending,
Luscious she with hairy maw,
Bent to me in sweet surrender
Downy hip and coaxing paw.
Roar in rage and beat the earth
Blazing eyes and heaving chest,
Invasion from the **** Sapiens
Seeking females for their nest.
Skies descend with fire and brimstone
Rock cascades and burns the earth,
Mountain God has vent his fury
Scamper hard to cave’s safe berth.
Cold, so cold this bleak snow weather
No retreat from Winter’s ire
Brother, sisters, sons are huddled
Frozen dead in blue ice byre.
Few, so few now to migration
Trek to southern food and heat,
Starving, wet and hypothermic
Staggeringly trudge the weak.
Few, so few to intermingle
With the **** Sapiens here,
Serfs in ******* low and squalid
BUT SURVIVORS..STRONG AND CLEAR!
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
13 August 2011
Aug 13, 2011
Aug 13, 2011 at 12:39 AM UTC
that’s my kind of girl,
with the long and big teeth.
she rolls a joint.
licks it.
complete.
“*dinosaurs ****** **** up,*”
she says,
and we breathe big clouds,
escape the beetle-wood plague.
shapeshifter kids
thumb through the guts of a dead mammoth
/or mastodon.
i never know which is which.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 9:08 PM UTC
blood suckers,
engorged with the sanguine sap of Catholic, Jew,
and for good measure a Buddhist or two,
more multitudinous than molecules
in a mastodon’s eye,
these whizzing winged vampires
leave an angst filled itch
in their wicked wake
they avoid me, though my blood
is there for the siphoning
with perverse sense of smell
they can somehow tell
I am one of them,
without the gift of flight
yet ******* my own crimson cream
both day and eternal night
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 3:19 PM UTC
As I contemplated the project of writing a persuasive essay I discovered that I would have to have a topic upon which to practice my persuasive techniques . After much cogitation and enumeration of my possibilities , pursued with such zeal that it soon resembled pedantic ostentation , I concluded that the most positive prospect I could pursue in this endeavor would be an attempt to prove irrefutably that I deserve a grade of A in this class ; if not for the undeniable excellence of my effort , then at least for the unadulterated audacity of my pretentious assertion .
In order to perform this feat first I must overwhelm your developing consternation , the frozen mastodon of your auspicious judition . To accomplish this I will cite my impeccable attendance ; which although not perfect was indeed a valiant effort in the face of public opinion whose abstinence approached epidemic proportions . I will expound on the effectual and pervasive inspirations of my in class commentary , which sparked many a heated argument or thoughtful conjecture ; and comment on the polished precision of my in class narration . I will reiterate the diversity and intrigue of my subject matter and the competence of my delivery .
Next , with all the dynamic aggression of a wind-up tyrannosaur , I will recapitulate and exemplify my arguments ; until the ramifications of my inductive collusions exceed the boundaries of your psychic phenomenon and you are forced to acquiesce into impunity .
Yes I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind , until mesmerized by the multitudes of analogous content you find yourself , disguised as captain corpuscle , floating euphorically down stream in a think box mind gram dingy towards a sea of Colorado cool aid . Then as if all that were not enough to thoroughly torque your ringer , adamant and tenacious I will portray realms of intellectual austerity so intriguing you will be raised to new heights of enigmatism , and then I will leave you , enraptured with your own anonymity , at the edge, of the new world freeway .
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 12:36 PM UTC
I walked like water into this
Ready to be part of your cycle,
Rain and sleet and hail, and all we would need
Bountiful as light-
I slipped into your bathtub, silently
Caught in your current,
Thrown to the sea
Alone and unwilling to admit
I cannot swim and don’t want to
And all because I walked like water
And you mistook me for such.
Now, the drought has purged me of this,
Left senseless,
I’d have never taken this as the Mojave
Had I not given you my springs.
Now I walk like a continent into this,
I’ve got my own topography,
Don’t need your plains to carve into.
I walk like soil into this,
Now we mix tectonic into bliss,
Never was so beautiful a landslide,
No water, no tide
So you know I fall into this
I will not creep and crawl,
Seep through your rafters in the night
No, I’ll build you bedrooms,
Flowers in my mind,
Support,
Dependency,
Vulnerable
To your touch.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 9:17 PM UTC
as if the neurons in my brain
joined rank and gave me
a synaptic 'fuck you'
as if the god's turned their backs
while Zeus shot lightening
bolts through my computer screen
as if the Earth gravitated to *her
new lover* Mars while
the saddened Moon
watched from a starlit view
as if the page was the curved
ivory tusk of an untamed mastodon
charging from the left indent
as if the blinking cursor was a dagger
ramming itself into Caesar's back
as if the word processor itself
was a ticking time bomb
with enough explosive force
to rip through the loose-knit fabric
of literary space-time
and as if the words themselves were locked
away in some distant prison,
sitting in death row,
waiting to be executed
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 11:30 PM UTC
Spear shafts splintering beneath its hulk -
the mastodon crashed to the earth,
roared its final lament and fell silent.
Shouts echoed across the ravine.
Dark-haired Clovis hunters converged:
stripping the hide,
carving the flesh.
Others frenzied about the carcass,
tracing broken shafts
to salvage the flint for tomorrow's hunt -
retrieving all save one.
A triumphal fire hissed and snapped,
hurling heat and smoke
high into the mid–day sky.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
**The archaeologist knelt to the ground.
Heart racing, he scraped dirt from flint,
brushed away the millennial dust
and raised the projectile to the sun shouting,
'Clovis point! '
'Clovis point' - an epiphany in the dust:
found inches from the bones of its prey.
Khaki and blue jeaned hunters gathered quickly
to read the epic written in flint and bone:
Mastodon and Clovis united by the point of a spear.*
July, 2006
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC
We **** all night,
Stopping at a ridiculous Red Light
District engulfed in a klonopin haze
Of lust.
Full of raging disgust I wish
To ****** violently until bust.
But first lets gander hornily every
Toy evil ***** and vibrating pleasure
Contraption this seedy shop sells
To the permanently sexually soiled.
I get you everything you want baby,
I will devour thee, God of Chaos,
Mastodon master, lustful leviathan,
Tonight, I am the destroyer of Worlds.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC
*Seven years ago, I knew you.
Present day, now I don't.
Gaps in time.
Never retrievable, unbelievable
nearly how much passes by.
But here we are, so transfixed again.
Seven years later, and yet,
it doesn't seem to matter.
Feelings rise back like the sun rises in the east.
Simple, yet meaningful chatter.
We met in our youth,
whimsically and pure.
Two young souls, we lust;
in a splendidly serendipitous summer.
We met again without intention,
without mention of something greater: fate.
Memories of you wash over me, your name resurfaces.
Hypnotized by the pull, you reach out for me.
We truly met in adulthood,
filled with newfound awareness.
Two souls, we fell in love;
laughing about silly arbitrary things
like swiss miss hot chocolate,
bonobos, salad dressing and coated spinach. (I want whip)
Sharing stories of our crazy college days;
Together, getting caught with our clothes off,
to watching love birds in a courting ritual.
Recalling conversations - "what about a mastodon?"
through intense concentration.
Walking along the unsalted deep blue,
I wish we could have stood there forever,
side by side, hand in hand...
We couldn't of course, not pragmatic;
the bitter cold became problematic.
Gusts of frustrating winds, a hail of bullets.
Misty eyes and whirlwind romance.
I reached back too far, arched and overextended.
Agreements altered and amended.
Haunting words of imperfection,
and collection of unretrievable memories.
We met in our youth,
whimsically and pure.
Two souls, we lust;
Seven years, I'll see you later.*
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 11:55 AM UTC
And, what the **** did you expect of me?
I'm sorry.
Pardon my french...
I can't help but cuss, when these mother ******* got me pressed
Ill be fine after this commerical break,
But until then,
Let me lay your facts straight.
Need I not remind you,
It was our first date
the moment I said I was obsessed with love
I heard your chest scream
Your eyes spoke of forever
Your sternoclaydo mastodon pulsated
Like orange juice after a blood drive...
***** I revitalized you.
I think you got the script wrong
Wipe ur frames down,
I'll put this very slowly, now
Your love for me burned so hot, it was no longer a fire, but wild.
You smothered me.
You wanted to watch my flames dance,
But only under your command
My love is rotten?
Spoiled?
Selfish?
When out of the two of us, you just wanted me to yourself?
Your own insecurities is what made your inferiority become true,
maybe that's why your eyes burn,
You never accepted who I was.
My spirit knows no bounds.
Your spirit, wasn't fast enough.
Respectfully,
you bowed out.
You ignorant mother ****** you did not know a **** thing of me
I guess I'm mad, I thought you did
Pure love is not of possession,
Instead, to be greatful for every cent spent
My presence is a luxury,
Did I make you feel inferior?
To feel as though you almost could afford it?
**** Right! One last thought, before I go.
Women are mother Earth incarnate
Chaotic creatures,
Who never seem to lose.
Do you think you're upset,
because deep down,
you knew, you bite off more than you could chew?
Dec 30, 2017
Dec 30, 2017 at 6:56 PM UTC
I believe that fire was still a mystery
when the hunt was interrupted by the visitors
knowing that the creatures were startled by their presence
these visitors could passively drop the gold dust
into the creek from which they drank
and as expected, the dumbfounded four
with mouths agape
watched in disbelief without twitching a muscle
though it is not ascertained
that disbelief was a function of the thought
process that they were at this time
capable
it was not lost on these creatures
however,
our forefathers
that these odd newcomers were far superior
than the mastodon they were tracking with rocks
the 3 visitors gave a glance to their soon-to-be hybrid offspring
and were off
the ability to convey their experience when they returned to their caves
fell futile
there were as yet no grunts to properly describe what they had witnessed
the DNA structure leading to the ceiling
of the evolutionary scale was no longer a towering, folding beast
but rather a mere stepladder
fire was discovered
tools, arrows, weaponry
and monuments that we have yet to explain how
were constructed
while the last true human
but a young child when the visitors came
who had observed from afar
drank only from a pond that they had not touched
he passed like a story from the ancients
forgotten in time
Apr 3, 2018
Apr 3, 2018 at 4:08 PM UTC
In the space between
Your lips and your kisses
Are worlds unexplored.
Too tight for a quark to
Slide through.
A molecular mastodon
Universe of questions answered
With microscopic lies, such
As: *Is it safe to lay my lips
Upon the warmth of this poet?*
Yes.
Yes.
Yes, it is safe. He will never
Cheat. He will never
Lie, he will
Never hurt your
Feelings
Unintentionally.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 7:09 AM UTC
Up with the sun, his mind razor-keen,
he hikes up his trousers and starts his machine.
Though barrels of funk feed their reek to the dawn,
he pays them no heed; the trashman rolls on.
Up alleys, down thruways, past storefronts and stands,
he guides his behemoth with rock-steady hands.
Though big rigs and small fry speed hither and yon,
he sticks to his creed; the trashman rolls on.
Down **** to Impostor, past each stinking bin,
he makes for the junkies and merchants of sin.
Though winos raise eyelids, though punks point and grin,
he straightens his shoulders and thrusts forth his chin.
********* and derelicts lurch from their sties.
Pimps and their harlots flash Jacksons and strut.
“Hey, you in the truck,” a pickpocket cries,
“What are you, buddy, some kinda nut?”
With hands on the levers, and brightly lit eyes,
The big driver leans out and coolly replies:
“No, sir. I’m the trashman.”
And down comes the fork, and up goes the muck.
The gears maul the lowlifes, the fork rocks the truck.
Though hollers and screams shake his steel mastodon,
he longs to proceed; the trashman rolls on.
The truck passes perverts, creeps churned in its bile,
up Felon to Pusher, down Vicious to Vile,
where block upon block, where mile upon mile,
the hookers regale him with smile upon smile.
Near-naked floozies exhibit their wares.
But this man just glares while they trumpet in pique.
“Hey, you in the truck,” a drunk strumpet cries,
“What are you, mister, some kinda freak?”
His hands on the levers, with brightly lit eyes,
the big driver leans out and gently replies:
“No, ma’am. I’m the trashman.”
And down comes the fork, and up goes the slime.
The gears maul the contents to streetwalker chyme.
Though hollers and screams are distressing and drawn,
his heart fails to bleed; the trashman rolls on.
Pining for virtue, he clatters along,
up Bully to Bigot, down Trollop to Spawn,
past Conman and Cutthroat to Thirteenth and Greed.
He steadies, caresses, and readies his steed. Virtue, indeed.
The trashman rolls on.
Okay. NOW CUT AND PASTE THE LINK BELOW TO READ HERO, A SPRAWLING, GROUNDBREAKING FANTASY FOR GROWNUPS IN TWO PARTS. (BUT YOU MUST CLICK ON THE PROVIDED LINK AT THE CONCLUSION OF PART ONE TO ACCESS PART TWO! THAT’S WHERE THIS TALE’S AMAZING RESOLUTION LIES. But please...intelligent, soulful readers only!)
NOW HERE’S THAT LINK:
https://allpoetry.com/poem/14922744-Hero---Part-One-by-Ron-Sanders
Copyright 2020 by Ron Sanders.
contact:
[email protected]
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 3:05 PM UTC
I take the night bus
From the inner city,
Where nightlife spills
On icy sidewalks
And aliveness soaks brutalist concrete.
I do it all,
I do it all for you.
I ride the lonely mastodon
Out of the new self.
A teal finback slicing
The sea of blinding halos
Who only come in pairs.
I do it all,
I do it all for you.
I cross the Rubicon
To the frostbitten lands,
Where the sun set at four.
The bungalows leer at me;
I am a stranger to your world.
I do it all,
I do it all for you.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 10:16 PM UTC
As I contemplated the project of writing a persuasive essay I discovered that I would have to have a topic upon which to practice my persuasive techniques . After much cogitation and enumeration of my possibilities , pursued with such zeal that it soon resembled pedantic ostentation , I concluded that the most positive prospect I could pursue in this endeavor would be an attempt to prove irrefutably that I deserve a grade of A in this class ; if not for the undeniable excellence of my effort , then at least for the unadulterated audacity of my pretentious assertion .
In order to perform this feat first I must overwhelm your developing consternation , the frozen mastodon of your auspicious judition . To accomplish this I will cite my impeccable attendance ; which although not perfect was indeed a valiant effort in the face of public opinion whose abstinence approached epidemic proportions . I will expound on the effectual and pervasive inspirations of my in class commentary , which sparked many a heated argument or thoughtful conjecture ; and comment on the polished precision of my in class narration . I will reiterate the diversity and intrigue of my subject matter and the competence of my delivery .
Next , with all the dynamic aggression of a wind-up tyrannosaur , I will recapitulate and exemplify my arguments ; until the ramifications of my inductive collusions exceed the boundaries of your psychic phenomenon and you are forced to acquiesce into impunity .
Yes I will indeed proceed to exceed the parameters of your mind , until mesmerized by the multitudes of analogous content you find yourself , disguised as captain corpuscle , floating euphorically down stream in a think box mind gram dingy towards a sea of Colorado cool aid . Then as if all that were not enough to thoroughly torque your ringer , adamant and tenacious I will portray realms of intellectual austerity so intriguing you will be raised to new heights of enigmatism , and then I will leave you , enraptured with your own anonymity , at the edge, of the new world freeway .
Jun 26, 2021
Jun 26, 2021 at 2:56 PM UTC
Backbone - methadone,
live long - die young
Taste the honeycomb
never mind the buzz
We're all chum waiting
for the sharks to come
I'd swallow my tongue
if the words would play worm
for my mockingbird
but I know I'm one stone throw
away from being broke so
I'll avoid the phone like I
forgot how to be grown
Torn between mastodon and prawn
Someone take me home - chloroform
Firstborn - I'll be the last gone
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 6:25 PM UTC
A mastodon of grieving age filled the spectacle of times past. A rover of red in a jacket of green, to forward a foreword, the four-letter word; to endow the knight stars in velvet jades. Deeds and tumbleweeds and beetles and trenches; seize the days gone by to build a fortress of hangars. Bogotas and Bugattis creak doors wide shut, halfway there through the thoroughfare. Absolute is obsolete, bear in, child, dear and mild, and a clock goes tick tock. A hissing sore, to kiss and roar, the wild boar steps out the door. Rhythm and rhymes; the ancient mimes of windpipe chimes; whom seek dimes and memorable times. The jades bleak of charades and stepping stone parades, contemplating foals and shoals and riverbed holds. The Moonlight sonata jumps and soars to come back down the upstair, through internal voids of night; whom take home the earnings and yearnings of early morning wars.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
imagine how the rich elite feel
when their pools are spilled
by a wanton elephant
let loose in the backyard
that promised
health care reform and a
huge big wall
to be built post haste that
might have kept the
mastodon
from
falling into the
cement pond
in the first place
hilarity
did you vote for
Hillary??
Aug 10, 2017
Aug 10, 2017 at 9:44 PM UTC