"memed" poems - Hello Poetry

Two memes diverged in a dank montage, And sorry I could not watch both And be one memer, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it memed in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as dank, And having perhaps the better meme, Because it was dank and wanted memes; Though as for that the meming there Had danked them really about the same, And both that montage equally lay In leaves no step had trodden african american. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back to 9gag. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: ******* kiddies Two memes diverged in a montage, and I— I took the one less memed by, And that has made all the dankness.

0

Jun 3, 2015

Jun 3, 2015 at 10:50 PM UTC

JohnCena

The Meme Not Taken

Two memes diverged in a dank montage, And sorry I could not watch both And be one memer, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it memed in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as dank, And having perhaps the better meme, Because it was dank and wanted memes; Though as for that the meming there Had danked them really about the same, And both that montage equally lay In leaves no step had trodden african american. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back to 9gag. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: ******* kiddies Two memes diverged in a montage, and I— I took the one less memed by, And that has made all the dankness.

20

Protesting, I, rise, e-raising my hand, in ranked row, three from the front, in the middle, a glance, and nothing more, and another, Aseneth was her name, and she hated it. She said. Many were the flirty glances, unrestrained wonder what is different, is this ink, or scar tissue? Eight billion essentially identical minds, in use, being tuned to consume elemental mental as we form from base material, mother stuff. We think in single words, letters let us do this, that which formerly prevented, lets us do this now, do you read me is not valid protocol on a voxnet. You know. Five by five, is not valid either, listen. Does your memed mind hear me now, Brown Cow, Dao a do nothing dues paid note, this is business, this is what the messenger in charge, special agent, secret agencies allowed, in my mind, baby, listening constantly, no time, silent, only imagining Major Tom. Waking spacy Sunday Morning, unre-tied to the strand of faith that wound the core hard ball of pure rubber, vulcanized, for bounce, CRACK of the bat, where once, no, each once ever, the feeling one side, then the other, being mentally cognoscente, cognoscenti, either way, we both know, we both take knowing duty as demanded of the code we obey. At the command. We pay proper attention, not too much of any thing, take your own measure, remember, certainty is bad mad solid state, bricked.

0

Mar 5, 2023

Mar 5, 2023 at 1:06 PM UTC

kenpepiton

Sundays, I make time sit still

Protesting, I, rise, e-raising my hand, in ranked row, three from the front, in the middle, a glance, and nothing more, and another, Aseneth was her name, and she hated it. She said. Many were the flirty glances, unrestrained wonder what is different, is this ink, or scar tissue? Eight billion essentially identical minds, in use, being tuned to consume elemental mental as we form from base material, mother stuff. We think in single words, letters let us do this, that which formerly prevented, lets us do this now, do you read me is not valid protocol on a voxnet. You know. Five by five, is not valid either, listen. Does your memed mind hear me now, Brown Cow, Dao a do nothing dues paid note, this is business, this is what the messenger in charge, special agent, secret agencies allowed, in my mind, baby, listening constantly, no time, silent, only imagining Major Tom. Waking spacy Sunday Morning, unre-tied to the strand of faith that wound the core hard ball of pure rubber, vulcanized, for bounce, CRACK of the bat, where once, no, each once ever, the feeling one side, then the other, being mentally cognoscente, cognoscenti, either way, we both know, we both take knowing duty as demanded of the code we obey. At the command. We pay proper attention, not too much of any thing, take your own measure, remember, certainty is bad mad solid state, bricked.

39

Harambe the inquisitive Self Harambe the mangy dog Harambe the broken Spirit Harambe whose bones are my altar, scepter Harambe who in his jailhouse did rock Harambe whose name is communal labor Harambe who stared into clear blank eyes and intuited the nature of the Soul Harambe because Blake Harambe because Hattie Carroll Harambe because Truth in unintelligible letters, bleak Harambe because big black bullets pointed your way Harambe because Et tu, Brute? Harambe who constructed mental labyrinths out of paradise Harambe who was half divine Harambe who was half Man Harambe who was full Anima Mundi Harambe who was aped by the lollygagging necks and stiff roboticism of the masses Harambe who was memed within an inch of his exhumed life Harambe who was politicized Harambe who was poeticized, needlessly Harambe who stared down a Cincinnati sunrise just once upon arrival Harambe who could not take it Harambe who stayed inside all day Harambe who was struck by the immensity of small broken objects (especially children) Harambe who could not fathom my poetry, but wrote it all the same Harambe who did not die in vain Harambe whose voice will never taste his country Harambe who no amount of ***** held out will return his stagnant soul to his body again

0

Feb 24, 2017

Feb 24, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC

Droog

Harambe; or, The Ape

Harambe the inquisitive Self Harambe the mangy dog Harambe the broken Spirit Harambe whose bones are my altar, scepter Harambe who in his jailhouse did rock Harambe whose name is communal labor Harambe who stared into clear blank eyes and intuited the nature of the Soul Harambe because Blake Harambe because Hattie Carroll Harambe because Truth in unintelligible letters, bleak Harambe because big black bullets pointed your way Harambe because Et tu, Brute? Harambe who constructed mental labyrinths out of paradise Harambe who was half divine Harambe who was half Man Harambe who was full Anima Mundi Harambe who was aped by the lollygagging necks and stiff roboticism of the masses Harambe who was memed within an inch of his exhumed life Harambe who was politicized Harambe who was poeticized, needlessly Harambe who stared down a Cincinnati sunrise just once upon arrival Harambe who could not take it Harambe who stayed inside all day Harambe who was struck by the immensity of small broken objects (especially children) Harambe who could not fathom my poetry, but wrote it all the same Harambe who did not die in vain Harambe whose voice will never taste his country Harambe who no amount of ***** held out will return his stagnant soul to his body again

28

Bob Dylan’s hats mean more to me than a requited lust for fame. On our screens over the summer months, with it’s logo slapped obnoxiously onto the water cooler - covering more pressing concerns. As people rant and rave, the so called stars of the show are prominent for a matter of days. In their fifteen minutes of fame they become better recognised than a man called Dave. Some are hated for things they have said or done. trending on twitter and being memed from day one. But as the winter solace rolls into place Everyone forgets the familiar face that pranced and clapped on morning TV What was his name again who was he? What once was a Dave is more like a Huxley or Mort. He was far too easy to replace, when fame hit abort.

0

Mar 11, 2019

Mar 11, 2019 at 8:04 PM UTC

Thompson

Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Bob Dylan’s hats mean more to me than a requited lust for fame. On our screens over the summer months, with it’s logo slapped obnoxiously onto the water cooler - covering more pressing concerns. As people rant and rave, the so called stars of the show are prominent for a matter of days. In their fifteen minutes of fame they become better recognised than a man called Dave. Some are hated for things they have said or done. trending on twitter and being memed from day one. But as the winter solace rolls into place Everyone forgets the familiar face that pranced and clapped on morning TV What was his name again who was he? What once was a Dave is more like a Huxley or Mort. He was far too easy to replace, when fame hit abort.

14