"midget" poems - Hello Poetry

"midget" poems

on a sea strand, have you watched empty shells mercilessly tossed from sea to shore and from shore to sea? often I shrink and reduce to such a shell, with jagged and broken edges colorless and empty among many a debris cast on the shore, i lie half buried under the sand waiting for some mighty wave to wash me away all the way to the sea how tedious is my voyage shuttling from him to her and from her to him unable to openly confess who weighs more on the balance of preference through how many alleys and by ways I have wandered, questioning my identity! am I a puffer fish, being toxic the fisher men have discarded? a jarring note in a discordant symphony? I wonder....! I often ask myself! destined to grow in mercurial climes, planted in arid shallow soil with the tap root trimmed, branches pruned, growth denied, I, a stunted bonsai! still I dream to be a towering tree, that in profusion gives fruits and shade! a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath a hollow reed, longing at once to be the singer and the song!

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Jul 27, 2018

Jul 27, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC

on a sea strand, have you watched empty shells mercilessly tossed from sea to shore and from shore to sea? often I shrink and reduce to such a shell, with jagged and broken edges colorless and empty among many a debris cast on the shore, i lie half buried under the sand waiting for some mighty wave to wash me away all the way to the sea how tedious is my voyage shuttling from him to her and from her to him unable to openly confess who weighs more on the balance of preference through how many alleys and by ways I have wandered, questioning my identity! am I a puffer fish, being toxic the fisher men have discarded? a jarring note in a discordant symphony? I wonder....! I often ask myself! destined to grow in mercurial climes, planted in arid shallow soil with the tap root trimmed, branches pruned, growth denied, I, a stunted bonsai! still I dream to be a towering tree, that in profusion gives fruits and shade! a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath a hollow reed, longing at once to be the singer and the song!

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walk into the room With your pencil in your hand You see somebody naked And you say, who is that man? You try so hard But you dont understand Just what youll say When you get home Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? You raise up your head And you ask, is this where it is? And somebody points to you and says Its his And you say, whats mine? And somebody else says, where what is? And you say, oh my god Am I here all alone? Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? You hand in your ticket And you go watch the geek Who immediately walks up to you When he hears you speak And says, how does it feel To be such a freak? And you say, impossible As he hands you a bone Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? You have many contacts Among the lumberjacks To get you facts When someone attacks your imagination But nobody has any respect Anyway they already expect you To just give a check To tax-deductible charity organizations Youve been with the professors And theyve all liked your looks With great lawyers you have Discussed lepers and crooks Youve been through all of F. scott fitzgeralds books Youre very well read Its well known Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you And then he kneels He crosses himself And then he clicks his high heels And without further notice He asks you how it feels And he says, here is your throat back Thanks for the loan Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? Now you see this one-eyed ****** Shouting the word now And you say, for what reason? And he says, how? And you say, what does this mean? And he screams back, youre a cow Give me some milk Or else go home Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? Well, you walk into the room Like a camel and then you frown You put your eyes in your pocket And your nose on the ground There ought to be a law Against you comin around You should be made To wear earphones Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones?

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7.4k

Ballad Of A Thin Man, What do you think?

walk into the room With your pencil in your hand You see somebody naked And you say, who is that man? You try so hard But you dont understand Just what youll say When you get home Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? You raise up your head And you ask, is this where it is? And somebody points to you and says Its his And you say, whats mine? And somebody else says, where what is? And you say, oh my god Am I here all alone? Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? You hand in your ticket And you go watch the geek Who immediately walks up to you When he hears you speak And says, how does it feel To be such a freak? And you say, impossible As he hands you a bone Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? You have many contacts Among the lumberjacks To get you facts When someone attacks your imagination But nobody has any respect Anyway they already expect you To just give a check To tax-deductible charity organizations Youve been with the professors And theyve all liked your looks With great lawyers you have Discussed lepers and crooks Youve been through all of F. scott fitzgeralds books Youre very well read Its well known Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you And then he kneels He crosses himself And then he clicks his high heels And without further notice He asks you how it feels And he says, here is your throat back Thanks for the loan Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? Now you see this one-eyed ****** Shouting the word now And you say, for what reason? And he says, how? And you say, what does this mean? And he screams back, youre a cow Give me some milk Or else go home Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones? Well, you walk into the room Like a camel and then you frown You put your eyes in your pocket And your nose on the ground There ought to be a law Against you comin around You should be made To wear earphones Because something is happening here But you dont know what it is Do you, mister jones?

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You walk into the room with your pencil in your hand You see somebody naked and you say, "Who is that man?" You try so hard but you don't understand Just what you will say when you get home Because something is happening here but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? You raise up your head and you ask, "Is this where it is?" And somebody points to you and says, "It's his" And you say, "What's mine?" and somebody else says, "Well, what is?" And you say, "Oh my God, am I here all alone?" But something is happening and you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? You hand in your ticket and you go watch the geek Who immediately walks up to you when he hears you speak And says, "How does it feel to be such a freak?" And you say, "Impossible!" as he hands you a bone And something is happening here but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? You have many contacts among the lumberjacks To get you facts when someone attacks your imagination But nobody has any respect, anyway they already expect you to all give a check To tax-deductible charity organizations Ah, you've been with the professors and they've all liked your looks With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks You've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books You're very well-read, it's well-known But something is happening here and you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you and then he kneels He crosses himself and then he clicks his high heels And without further notice, he asks you how it feels And he says, "Here is your throat back, thanks for the loan" And you know something is happening but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? Now, you see this one-eyed ****** shouting the word "Now" And you say, "For what reason?" and he says, "How" And you say, "What does this mean?" and he screams back, "You're a cow! Give me some milk or else go home" And you know something's happening but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? Well, you walk into the room like a camel, and then you frown You put your eyes in your pocket and your nose on the ground There ought to be a law against you comin' around You should be made to wear earphones 'Cause something is happening and you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones?

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Apr 4, 2017

Apr 4, 2017 at 12:54 PM UTC

Ballad of a thin Man ( Bob Dylan lyrics)

You walk into the room with your pencil in your hand You see somebody naked and you say, "Who is that man?" You try so hard but you don't understand Just what you will say when you get home Because something is happening here but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? You raise up your head and you ask, "Is this where it is?" And somebody points to you and says, "It's his" And you say, "What's mine?" and somebody else says, "Well, what is?" And you say, "Oh my God, am I here all alone?" But something is happening and you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? You hand in your ticket and you go watch the geek Who immediately walks up to you when he hears you speak And says, "How does it feel to be such a freak?" And you say, "Impossible!" as he hands you a bone And something is happening here but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? You have many contacts among the lumberjacks To get you facts when someone attacks your imagination But nobody has any respect, anyway they already expect you to all give a check To tax-deductible charity organizations Ah, you've been with the professors and they've all liked your looks With great lawyers you have discussed lepers and crooks You've been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald's books You're very well-read, it's well-known But something is happening here and you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? Well, the sword swallower, he comes up to you and then he kneels He crosses himself and then he clicks his high heels And without further notice, he asks you how it feels And he says, "Here is your throat back, thanks for the loan" And you know something is happening but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? Now, you see this one-eyed ****** shouting the word "Now" And you say, "For what reason?" and he says, "How" And you say, "What does this mean?" and he screams back, "You're a cow! Give me some milk or else go home" And you know something's happening but you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones? Well, you walk into the room like a camel, and then you frown You put your eyes in your pocket and your nose on the ground There ought to be a law against you comin' around You should be made to wear earphones 'Cause something is happening and you don't know what it is Do you, Mr. Jones?

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"Beep-beep. BANKERS TRUST AUTOMOBILE LOAN You'll find a banker at Bankers Trust" Advertisement in N.Y. Times When comes my second childhood, As to all men it must, I want to be a banker Like the banker at Bankers Trust. I wouldn't ask to be president Or even assistant veep, I'd only ask for a kiddie car And permission to go beep-beep. The banker at Chase Manhattan, He bids a polite Good-day; The banker at Immigrant Savings Cries Scusi! and Olé! But I'd be a sleek Ferrari Or perhaps a joggly jeep, And scooting around at Bankers Trust, Beep-beep, I'd go, beep-beep. The trolley car used to say clang-clang And the choo-choo said toot-toot, But the beep of the banker at Bankers Trust Is every bit as cute. Miaow, says the cuddly kitten, Baa, says the woolly sheep, Oink, says the piggy-wiggy, And the banker says beep-beep. So I want to play at Bankers Trust Like a hippety-hoppety bunny, And best of all, oh best of all, With really truly money. Now grown-ups dear, it's nightie-night Until my dream comes true, And I bid you a happy boop-a-doop And a big beep-beep adieu.

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4.7k

If He Were Alive Today, Mayhap, Mr. Morgan Would Sit on the Midget's Lap

"Beep-beep. BANKERS TRUST AUTOMOBILE LOAN You'll find a banker at Bankers Trust" Advertisement in N.Y. Times When comes my second childhood, As to all men it must, I want to be a banker Like the banker at Bankers Trust. I wouldn't ask to be president Or even assistant veep, I'd only ask for a kiddie car And permission to go beep-beep. The banker at Chase Manhattan, He bids a polite Good-day; The banker at Immigrant Savings Cries Scusi! and Olé! But I'd be a sleek Ferrari Or perhaps a joggly jeep, And scooting around at Bankers Trust, Beep-beep, I'd go, beep-beep. The trolley car used to say clang-clang And the choo-choo said toot-toot, But the beep of the banker at Bankers Trust Is every bit as cute. Miaow, says the cuddly kitten, Baa, says the woolly sheep, Oink, says the piggy-wiggy, And the banker says beep-beep. So I want to play at Bankers Trust Like a hippety-hoppety bunny, And best of all, oh best of all, With really truly money. Now grown-ups dear, it's nightie-night Until my dream comes true, And I bid you a happy boop-a-doop And a big beep-beep adieu.

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I like hearing you talk about Mozart Because it means you’re listening. His piano keys are no different from mine. I like hearing you talk about Mozart. I used to play his pieces before I sleep. His arpeggio is my lullaby; His laughter, a sombre tune to which I tune My keys. There’s no denying that you like Mozart; Never mind his spending habit. I sometimes think you are Mozart. I think Beethoven was fad gone true because He was deaf to his laughter, And Schubert was too old, too young to remember How to step on the pedals While he tried his many operas On his baby grand piano. I think of Mozart in my sleep, in my dreams, On the toilet, while eating. I think of Mozart and his young son And the requiem he stood dying to finish. Mozart became a One night stand, and I am not proud of that. I majored in advertising, God knows why, and maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I factored one and two equals the sign of what digit, And maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I wrote a story once, About a starving artist; Maybe he was the force behind that. I filled my library with fiction, And fiction became a running schedule for me. Maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I’ve grown roots and sprouted horns listening to Bach; I don’t think Mozart knew that. But it was the size of the shoe that never fit me in third grade, And the roots run as deep as a well of Hope grown asunder. I knew Mozart would not like that. And it was holy. We are holy. He was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holier than a cow gunned for meat turned to steak And corned beef on my breakfast sandwich. Mozart was holier than a dishwashing paste advertisement That promises oil free, squeaky clean Experience. Mozart was more than a religious façade played in the sala Of some affluent geeky teenager’s house Where no one bothers to eat the garnishing. Mozart was holier than Bach, Chopin, Stravinsky, Wagner. His flute promised a princess to remain priceless. Mozart was holier than Salieri. Mozart knew better than Salieri. Mozart played better than Salieri, And he got the better of Salieri when Antonio himself said, **** that Austrian ****** who plays, lives and howls like a show monkey. **** this court. **** this Emperor who can hardly keep together his fingers to play. **** Austria. **** Vienna. **** this era of opera played in German that hardly sells a ticket. **** this requiem and this boy, This mad man, pint sized and hardly put together like a china doll. **** this piano, and to hell with his lovers.” I saw Mozart once. He waved at me. I turned and looked away because I was listening to you talk about Mozart. And I like hearing you talk about Mozart Than Mozart talking about Himself.

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Apr 20, 2012

Apr 20, 2012 at 6:46 PM UTC

I Like Hearing You Talk About Mozart

I like hearing you talk about Mozart Because it means you’re listening. His piano keys are no different from mine. I like hearing you talk about Mozart. I used to play his pieces before I sleep. His arpeggio is my lullaby; His laughter, a sombre tune to which I tune My keys. There’s no denying that you like Mozart; Never mind his spending habit. I sometimes think you are Mozart. I think Beethoven was fad gone true because He was deaf to his laughter, And Schubert was too old, too young to remember How to step on the pedals While he tried his many operas On his baby grand piano. I think of Mozart in my sleep, in my dreams, On the toilet, while eating. I think of Mozart and his young son And the requiem he stood dying to finish. Mozart became a One night stand, and I am not proud of that. I majored in advertising, God knows why, and maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I factored one and two equals the sign of what digit, And maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I wrote a story once, About a starving artist; Maybe he was the force behind that. I filled my library with fiction, And fiction became a running schedule for me. Maybe Mozart had something to do with that. I’ve grown roots and sprouted horns listening to Bach; I don’t think Mozart knew that. But it was the size of the shoe that never fit me in third grade, And the roots run as deep as a well of Hope grown asunder. I knew Mozart would not like that. And it was holy. We are holy. He was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holy. Mozart was holier than a cow gunned for meat turned to steak And corned beef on my breakfast sandwich. Mozart was holier than a dishwashing paste advertisement That promises oil free, squeaky clean Experience. Mozart was more than a religious façade played in the sala Of some affluent geeky teenager’s house Where no one bothers to eat the garnishing. Mozart was holier than Bach, Chopin, Stravinsky, Wagner. His flute promised a princess to remain priceless. Mozart was holier than Salieri. Mozart knew better than Salieri. Mozart played better than Salieri, And he got the better of Salieri when Antonio himself said, **** that Austrian ****** who plays, lives and howls like a show monkey. **** this court. **** this Emperor who can hardly keep together his fingers to play. **** Austria. **** Vienna. **** this era of opera played in German that hardly sells a ticket. **** this requiem and this boy, This mad man, pint sized and hardly put together like a china doll. **** this piano, and to hell with his lovers.” I saw Mozart once. He waved at me. I turned and looked away because I was listening to you talk about Mozart. And I like hearing you talk about Mozart Than Mozart talking about Himself.

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I ordered this, clean wood box Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift. I would say it was the coffin of a ****** Or a square baby Were there not such a din in it. The box is locked, it is dangerous. I have to live with it overnight And I can't keep away from it. There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there. There is only a little grid, no exit. I put my eye to the grid. It is dark, dark, With the swarmy feeling of African hands Minute and shrunk for export, Black on black, angrily clambering. How can I let them out? It is the noise that appalls me most of all, The unintelligible syllables. It is like a Roman mob, Small, taken one by one, but my god, together! I lay my ear to furious Latin. I am not a Caesar. I have simply ordered a box of maniacs. They can be sent back. They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner. I wonder how hungry they are. I wonder if they would forget me If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree. There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades, And the petticoats of the cherry. They might ignore me immediately In my moon suit and funeral veil. I am no source of honey So why should they turn on me? Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free. The box is only temporary.

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3.8k

The Arrival Of The Bee Box

I ordered this, clean wood box Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift. I would say it was the coffin of a ****** Or a square baby Were there not such a din in it. The box is locked, it is dangerous. I have to live with it overnight And I can't keep away from it. There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there. There is only a little grid, no exit. I put my eye to the grid. It is dark, dark, With the swarmy feeling of African hands Minute and shrunk for export, Black on black, angrily clambering. How can I let them out? It is the noise that appalls me most of all, The unintelligible syllables. It is like a Roman mob, Small, taken one by one, but my god, together! I lay my ear to furious Latin. I am not a Caesar. I have simply ordered a box of maniacs. They can be sent back. They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner. I wonder how hungry they are. I wonder if they would forget me If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree. There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades, And the petticoats of the cherry. They might ignore me immediately In my moon suit and funeral veil. I am no source of honey So why should they turn on me? Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free. The box is only temporary.

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I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema, she had asked specifically and eventually (she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes) so I knew that this was something she really wanted, and I teased for her bad taste when she told me that she wanted to see "Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory". It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka, and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton and I knew that town would be busy with oiks so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual, and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong. She had stopped crying by the time the feature started and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning; it was meant to add to her excitement of the day, so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end. I sat her on my lap in the picture house but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad, every cloud and all that, you know what I mean? She tends to get a little down every now and then but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless. I knew from past experience that the cinema staff prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in (I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher had a torch and should have watched her step or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck). The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold to amuse herself during the screening (as there were no leggings to the costume). She barely noticed when the fat little hero got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate" from her own little chocolate factory. It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing and one I might consider repeating but probably in a different cinema next time, mainly because we got banned for life when the manager saw the condition of the seat.

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Dec 16, 2014

Dec 16, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC

Marigold Goes To The Cinema

I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema, she had asked specifically and eventually (she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes) so I knew that this was something she really wanted, and I teased for her bad taste when she told me that she wanted to see "Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory". It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka, and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton and I knew that town would be busy with oiks so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual, and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong. She had stopped crying by the time the feature started and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out like a bulldog's ******* but I stand by my decision to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning; it was meant to add to her excitement of the day, so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end. I sat her on my lap in the picture house but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price though because of her disabilities, so it wasn't all bad, every cloud and all that, you know what I mean? She tends to get a little down every now and then but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless. I knew from past experience that the cinema staff prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in (I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher had a torch and should have watched her step or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck). The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold to amuse herself during the screening (as there were no leggings to the costume). She barely noticed when the fat little hero got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate" from her own little chocolate factory. It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing and one I might consider repeating but probably in a different cinema next time, mainly because we got banned for life when the manager saw the condition of the seat.

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Remember 4th grade? When we used to buy those orange candies and the blue marbles But we never had more than 10 bucks so we always had to choose But I guess the times have changed Because all we buy now are packs of cigarettes and cans of ***** Remember 5th grade? I memorized the rare candy cheat and you memorized the master ball one Oh the good times when we used to play Pokemon and zwinky But I guess the times have changed Because now we're all about DOTA and call of duty Remember 7th grade? You fell in love and a week later you fell out of it And then you smashed that thing... What was it? A photo frame? I was just standing there trying not to laugh at you And two days after that, you yelled at me for taking her name Remember 8th grade? We used to play basketball all day I was 4'11" and you were 5'2" And although it was just three inches I looked like a little ****** in front of you But some things never change Like those marbles and the place where we buried them I bet they are still as beautiful As they were back then Yes,some things never change Like the part of my mind which memorized that cheat A44A FB0B 6808 D662 I can't believe I still remember that **** Yes,some things never change Like the pieces of that photo frame And the fact that you still hate her And the fact that I still call her "The ***** who shall not be named" Yes,some things never change Now I'm 5'11" and you're 6'2" But its still three inches And I still look like a ****** in front of you Yes,some things never change Like the part of me which loved you then Because I still do And all these memories that are made out of you.

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Feb 17, 2014

Feb 17, 2014 at 7:49 AM UTC

memories (they're made out of you)

Remember 4th grade? When we used to buy those orange candies and the blue marbles But we never had more than 10 bucks so we always had to choose But I guess the times have changed Because all we buy now are packs of cigarettes and cans of ***** Remember 5th grade? I memorized the rare candy cheat and you memorized the master ball one Oh the good times when we used to play Pokemon and zwinky But I guess the times have changed Because now we're all about DOTA and call of duty Remember 7th grade? You fell in love and a week later you fell out of it And then you smashed that thing... What was it? A photo frame? I was just standing there trying not to laugh at you And two days after that, you yelled at me for taking her name Remember 8th grade? We used to play basketball all day I was 4'11" and you were 5'2" And although it was just three inches I looked like a little ****** in front of you But some things never change Like those marbles and the place where we buried them I bet they are still as beautiful As they were back then Yes,some things never change Like the part of my mind which memorized that cheat A44A FB0B 6808 D662 I can't believe I still remember that **** Yes,some things never change Like the pieces of that photo frame And the fact that you still hate her And the fact that I still call her "The ***** who shall not be named" Yes,some things never change Now I'm 5'11" and you're 6'2" But its still three inches And I still look like a ****** in front of you Yes,some things never change Like the part of me which loved you then Because I still do And all these memories that are made out of you.

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Aye,..Uhh where the weed...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun*2)..Aye.. Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..weed..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..weed..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up ***** & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah*3) man..Aye OFTR, we throwing a house party like we in the 70s era dawg, yeah we gonna have this **** jumping like Kid n Play dude.., mane The whole crib gonna foggy filled up wit hella smoke, aye..Yeah ***** that dope..Yeah that good kush aroma dawg..The only thing you can really see is the fire at the end of the roll up..Everybody drinking yeah Everybody rolling up, Yeah everybody coughing & choking & (having fun*3).. Yeah..my nigaa..Yeah we puffing on funky, Uhh.. Homie leave all the stress at the front door man..so Don't bring no drama, don't bring no problems, don't bring no ******* don't bring no false ones, & don't bring no stank ho's please dawg..forget blowing ****** we got sticky icky grown organically, no pesticides Yeah mane..just straight THC Thats it..home grown , Yeah we..(having fun*3)..relaxing kicking back Yeah kicking back a young ***** had a long *** tiresome day, now its time to unwind get high & have some fun..Yeah..man..Uhh.. Yeah, its time to roll up,Yeah, its time burn up, Yeah its time to po up..Yeah, its time get super drunk.. (Yeah just having fun*2) (Have fun*3)...man.. Yeah, we gone turn up tonight dawg, Aye we got 40s OEs, Aye we got champagne, clicquot mane,Aye..we got Budweiser, bud lights,coronas & 2,11s by the case load,..also ***** gin, & vsop..Yeah we getting ****** up like a white fraternity, please don't throw up mane,..make sure you eat..Aye mane, **** what people think about me I just live my life, who's the **** to tell me I ain't living right..nobody **** right.. (We having so much fun yeah*3)..tonight should be here dawg , come now, Noo we ain't stopping till the morning.. That's how OFTR party dawg..Uhh Yeah we party hard Aye.. (Where the **** at mane,Yeah where the drinks at,Aye4)...(burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah3).. /Don't stop,3../3... ever nigga..let's go.. Noo I ain't done wit this song no not at all ...Ohh, that's what you thought dawg, **** I still got some more turning up to do.. Man I still got kegs & bags of marijuana that ain't even half way through we getting throwed ,like a football, Yeah we so gone mane..(Ohh*3)..Yeah dawg, Let's go.. (burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah*3) /(Have fun3)..Yeah mane/2 (Have fun*3) Yeah..Uhh where the weed...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun*2)..Aye.. Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..weed..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..weed..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up ***** & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah*3) man..Aye We doing what we want Yeah..we having so much fun man, we twisting & drinking we living free Yeah..we living freer..than they want us to be , Yeah..we breaking all the rules like **** Dat **** Noo, we don't care about polices, noo, we don't give a **** about nothing, like **** all the laws homie, Naw mane, /we just do what we want..(Yeah2..)/2 we gone kick back & roll up the whole pacc, Yeah man,we gone wake up tomorrow & do the same **** again..Yeah man, we gone live it up..(Yeah, we gone have some fun3)..tonight.. (Yeah2)..Aye..Uhh Where..(where the3)..weed at...Where..(Where the3)..drinks at..Uhh..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Yeah Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane.. (Yeah..let's have some fun*3)..Aye.. (Uhh..Yeah, Blaze up, burn up, drink up , po up, Yeah Blaze up, burn up, turn up, drink mo*3) (Have fun6)..(Yeah have fun4).. Man.. Let's have some fun..Aye

0

Dec 29, 2015

Dec 29, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC

Ston Poet - **** & Drinks

Aye,..Uhh where the weed...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun*2)..Aye.. Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..weed..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..weed..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up ***** & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah*3) man..Aye OFTR, we throwing a house party like we in the 70s era dawg, yeah we gonna have this **** jumping like Kid n Play dude.., mane The whole crib gonna foggy filled up wit hella smoke, aye..Yeah ***** that dope..Yeah that good kush aroma dawg..The only thing you can really see is the fire at the end of the roll up..Everybody drinking yeah Everybody rolling up, Yeah everybody coughing & choking & (having fun*3).. Yeah..my nigaa..Yeah we puffing on funky, Uhh.. Homie leave all the stress at the front door man..so Don't bring no drama, don't bring no problems, don't bring no ******* don't bring no false ones, & don't bring no stank ho's please dawg..forget blowing ****** we got sticky icky grown organically, no pesticides Yeah mane..just straight THC Thats it..home grown , Yeah we..(having fun*3)..relaxing kicking back Yeah kicking back a young ***** had a long *** tiresome day, now its time to unwind get high & have some fun..Yeah..man..Uhh.. Yeah, its time to roll up,Yeah, its time burn up, Yeah its time to po up..Yeah, its time get super drunk.. (Yeah just having fun*2) (Have fun*3)...man.. Yeah, we gone turn up tonight dawg, Aye we got 40s OEs, Aye we got champagne, clicquot mane,Aye..we got Budweiser, bud lights,coronas & 2,11s by the case load,..also ***** gin, & vsop..Yeah we getting ****** up like a white fraternity, please don't throw up mane,..make sure you eat..Aye mane, **** what people think about me I just live my life, who's the **** to tell me I ain't living right..nobody **** right.. (We having so much fun yeah*3)..tonight should be here dawg , come now, Noo we ain't stopping till the morning.. That's how OFTR party dawg..Uhh Yeah we party hard Aye.. (Where the **** at mane,Yeah where the drinks at,Aye4)...(burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah3).. /Don't stop,3../3... ever nigga..let's go.. Noo I ain't done wit this song no not at all ...Ohh, that's what you thought dawg, **** I still got some more turning up to do.. Man I still got kegs & bags of marijuana that ain't even half way through we getting throwed ,like a football, Yeah we so gone mane..(Ohh*3)..Yeah dawg, Let's go.. (burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah*3) /(Have fun3)..Yeah mane/2 (Have fun*3) Yeah..Uhh where the weed...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun*2)..Aye.. Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..weed..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..weed..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up ***** & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah*3) man..Aye We doing what we want Yeah..we having so much fun man, we twisting & drinking we living free Yeah..we living freer..than they want us to be , Yeah..we breaking all the rules like **** Dat **** Noo, we don't care about polices, noo, we don't give a **** about nothing, like **** all the laws homie, Naw mane, /we just do what we want..(Yeah2..)/2 we gone kick back & roll up the whole pacc, Yeah man,we gone wake up tomorrow & do the same **** again..Yeah man, we gone live it up..(Yeah, we gone have some fun3)..tonight.. (Yeah2)..Aye..Uhh Where..(where the3)..weed at...Where..(Where the3)..drinks at..Uhh..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Yeah Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane.. (Yeah..let's have some fun*3)..Aye.. (Uhh..Yeah, Blaze up, burn up, drink up , po up, Yeah Blaze up, burn up, turn up, drink mo*3) (Have fun6)..(Yeah have fun4).. Man.. Let's have some fun..Aye

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I know I aint much for looks And you might not disagree when I say Statues have more substance than this I know I can’t Stendhal you to a standstill It doesn’t mean that I can’t make you breathless Like when I make you laugh There is so much beauty in your laughter That while you are wiping tears out of your eyes Doubled over like you were trying to find your breath on the floor I forget that I don’t like the way I look when I smile And I smile I know the math of aesthetics is lost on me But you can save your symmetry For building blocks and butterflies Bad habits Scars And an awkward affinity for lopsidedness Made me Come Balance me out Because so often I feel like a fat kid Sitting on a seesaw Alone Or a ****** Trying on different sizes of life In carnival mirrors Or a Greek artist Who has chiseled all the wrong parts To perfection Before he understood realism Realism Is a twin sized bed at 3 am After the cold seeps through the window pane It is cobwebs stained black from a house fire Before I never realized we had that many It is a vanity Reminding me how not to be vain Unless you mean this poem This poem is vain Realism Is this It is me And it is you Perfectly human And nowhere near beautiful Unless beauty is symmetry And symmetry is when you balance me out By being the other fat kid on the seesaw Or the person who makes normal mirrors So I can see what I look like in my own skin Not perfect But that doesn’t mean I don’t have ways Of making you breathless Come Let me make you laugh again Let me make you breathless

0

Nov 30, 2011

Nov 30, 2011 at 6:18 AM UTC

Let me Make You Breathless

I know I aint much for looks And you might not disagree when I say Statues have more substance than this I know I can’t Stendhal you to a standstill It doesn’t mean that I can’t make you breathless Like when I make you laugh There is so much beauty in your laughter That while you are wiping tears out of your eyes Doubled over like you were trying to find your breath on the floor I forget that I don’t like the way I look when I smile And I smile I know the math of aesthetics is lost on me But you can save your symmetry For building blocks and butterflies Bad habits Scars And an awkward affinity for lopsidedness Made me Come Balance me out Because so often I feel like a fat kid Sitting on a seesaw Alone Or a ****** Trying on different sizes of life In carnival mirrors Or a Greek artist Who has chiseled all the wrong parts To perfection Before he understood realism Realism Is a twin sized bed at 3 am After the cold seeps through the window pane It is cobwebs stained black from a house fire Before I never realized we had that many It is a vanity Reminding me how not to be vain Unless you mean this poem This poem is vain Realism Is this It is me And it is you Perfectly human And nowhere near beautiful Unless beauty is symmetry And symmetry is when you balance me out By being the other fat kid on the seesaw Or the person who makes normal mirrors So I can see what I look like in my own skin Not perfect But that doesn’t mean I don’t have ways Of making you breathless Come Let me make you laugh again Let me make you breathless

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Strange, then maybe it's me. All these kiss-up politicians in commercials against sanctuary cities. Remind you they wouldn't assist anyone in need. Probably wouldn't offer them food or clothes. Really!-probably not a thing. Many would have instantly supported that ****** dictator in his conquest. And left many concentration victims in camps. We, required to help those seeking protection. Not attack them because of their heritage or skin color. But notice highly with a truth that many ministers hide instead of assisting those they need to be trying to recruit. Scriptures, states the poor shall inherit the earth. Nothing at all about the successful.

0

Jul 29, 2018

Jul 29, 2018 at 9:23 PM UTC

jeffrey-conyers

Sanctuary Cities

Strange, then maybe it's me. All these kiss-up politicians in commercials against sanctuary cities. Remind you they wouldn't assist anyone in need. Probably wouldn't offer them food or clothes. Really!-probably not a thing. Many would have instantly supported that ****** dictator in his conquest. And left many concentration victims in camps. We, required to help those seeking protection. Not attack them because of their heritage or skin color. But notice highly with a truth that many ministers hide instead of assisting those they need to be trying to recruit. Scriptures, states the poor shall inherit the earth. Nothing at all about the successful.

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Walking down the streets of Rome, I saw a curious sight. There, sitting at an expensive street side cafe was a gentleman distinguished in age, surrounded by beautiful women, but seated next to a tiny, 30 centimeter tall ****** who was obviously crazy, or as you might say in Italian, a pazzo. My fascination overcame shyness, and I approached the man to introduce myself. To my surprise, he invited me to sit, and enjoy coffee with him. He already knew my coy curiosity, and when latte arrived he began to tell me his strange tale of wandering on the sands of Arabia. On a starry, Gethsemanean night, after supper with friends, he wandered into the acrid sands and stumbled upon an ancient lamp. He picked it up beneath the moonlight sky, and in a jestful mood rubbed it hoping to find a miracle to ease his troubles. To his surprise, a green-hue jinn, sprang forth from the ancient lips of a forgotten lamp, to grant him three wishes. Gathering wit, and wonder he pondered good fortunate short and long, before asking his wishes: "Please, mighty jinn with the light green hair, grant me fortune, so I may live the rest of my life in comfort." In a swirl of misty memories he was transported to ancient Rome and watched as random events were tilted in his favor until he sat at this cafe a powerful and rich man. Pleased with himself, he stared into twinkling jade eyes, and said: "I lounge in carefree wealth, but I cannot not buy true Beauty. Please, powerful jinn, let beautiful women surround me and tend to my needs." Once again, back to Christmas past he watched all the beautiful women of his desire being collected, and bound to one single ring of power, to serve, obey, and grant all his carnal desires. I envied him there sitting in Armani suit, with twelve pairs of sensuous legs longingly waiting upon his every wish. My fantasy of an exchanged life ended quickly with cold champagne. That crazy, diminutive pazzo, had in lunacy decided to wet everyone's dreams with real spurts of fizzy Prosecco. I turned to my host to beg a question, but he had the answer already. In tired voice, he responded, "you wonder why I keep a 30 centimeter Pazzo with me at all times?" "That was a misunderstanding he said, but you can only wish upon a jinn once." "Che cazzo!"

0

Jan 27, 2013

Jan 27, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC

Walking down the streets of Rome, I saw a curious sight. There, sitting at an expensive street side cafe was a gentleman distinguished in age, surrounded by beautiful women, but seated next to a tiny, 30 centimeter tall ****** who was obviously crazy, or as you might say in Italian, a pazzo. My fascination overcame shyness, and I approached the man to introduce myself. To my surprise, he invited me to sit, and enjoy coffee with him. He already knew my coy curiosity, and when latte arrived he began to tell me his strange tale of wandering on the sands of Arabia. On a starry, Gethsemanean night, after supper with friends, he wandered into the acrid sands and stumbled upon an ancient lamp. He picked it up beneath the moonlight sky, and in a jestful mood rubbed it hoping to find a miracle to ease his troubles. To his surprise, a green-hue jinn, sprang forth from the ancient lips of a forgotten lamp, to grant him three wishes. Gathering wit, and wonder he pondered good fortunate short and long, before asking his wishes: "Please, mighty jinn with the light green hair, grant me fortune, so I may live the rest of my life in comfort." In a swirl of misty memories he was transported to ancient Rome and watched as random events were tilted in his favor until he sat at this cafe a powerful and rich man. Pleased with himself, he stared into twinkling jade eyes, and said: "I lounge in carefree wealth, but I cannot not buy true Beauty. Please, powerful jinn, let beautiful women surround me and tend to my needs." Once again, back to Christmas past he watched all the beautiful women of his desire being collected, and bound to one single ring of power, to serve, obey, and grant all his carnal desires. I envied him there sitting in Armani suit, with twelve pairs of sensuous legs longingly waiting upon his every wish. My fantasy of an exchanged life ended quickly with cold champagne. That crazy, diminutive pazzo, had in lunacy decided to wet everyone's dreams with real spurts of fizzy Prosecco. I turned to my host to beg a question, but he had the answer already. In tired voice, he responded, "you wonder why I keep a 30 centimeter Pazzo with me at all times?" "That was a misunderstanding he said, but you can only wish upon a jinn once." "Che cazzo!"

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Bridget the ****** the dwarf who loves ******* Bridget the ****** she comes when she's ******* She'll open her short legs for a tenner or so, and if you pay less she'll still have a go. She loves a good ******* both active and passive; Believe me, her botty -hole is quite massive. Bridget's a goer, always ready for more; She's a fat ugly ****** and a little fat *****

0

May 17, 2015

May 17, 2015 at 7:38 AM UTC

Bridget the ******

Bridget the ****** the dwarf who loves ******* Bridget the ****** she comes when she's ******* She'll open her short legs for a tenner or so, and if you pay less she'll still have a go. She loves a good ******* both active and passive; Believe me, her botty -hole is quite massive. Bridget's a goer, always ready for more; She's a fat ugly ****** and a little fat *****

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as graphic as yours a slowly lifted skirt a hand on her thigh gliding up to her bare heaven bare ******* with tense ***** ******* gasping sounds cries of yes yes yes her hands on my man pride stiffening in the limelight a little more risque a spank on a bare cute well formed *** a ******* in the backseat a tongue teasing a small cute slit two girls and a ****** or two midgets and one twelve inch **** the words loud raw pelvic **** me yes yes yes or is it more ***** to show the latest massacre in a school 26 dead, or a misguided american "Smart" bomb wiping out six doctors without borders and 50 Syrians or the lies of our politicians promising us the world so we may vote for them , or a young girl who is naturally getting experimental getting pregnant and giving up her baby for adoption because she did not get education or protection. And then she gets HPV and dies at fourteen from cervical cancer or is it just me that thinks the nightly news and the stumping of a bunch of lying hypocrites is more ****** than a bare ******

0

Feb 22, 2016

Feb 22, 2016 at 2:09 AM UTC

is my ***********

as graphic as yours a slowly lifted skirt a hand on her thigh gliding up to her bare heaven bare ******* with tense ***** ******* gasping sounds cries of yes yes yes her hands on my man pride stiffening in the limelight a little more risque a spank on a bare cute well formed *** a ******* in the backseat a tongue teasing a small cute slit two girls and a ****** or two midgets and one twelve inch **** the words loud raw pelvic **** me yes yes yes or is it more ***** to show the latest massacre in a school 26 dead, or a misguided american "Smart" bomb wiping out six doctors without borders and 50 Syrians or the lies of our politicians promising us the world so we may vote for them , or a young girl who is naturally getting experimental getting pregnant and giving up her baby for adoption because she did not get education or protection. And then she gets HPV and dies at fourteen from cervical cancer or is it just me that thinks the nightly news and the stumping of a bunch of lying hypocrites is more ****** than a bare ******

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oh... so now i know where my "st. vitus'" take on sporadic, uncontrollable dance routines took place: drunk, i attempted to whistle... each and every time i attempted to whistle... i burst into a fire and fury of laughter, as if i waa hearing political satire! every single time i'd try to whistle: giggles... a bit like watching the laws surrounding marihuana, on a friday evening lodged in amsterdam... asking myself: am i here for the **** or the puerto rican plumps of pork chops still breathing with a 17th century fetish for excesses? perhaps neither... perhaps both... i'll have heiny ec-ken (bite of a buttocks) nekken - (bite of the neck): huh!? i really expected matthew mcconaughey to be much taller, in real life, let alone the oscars' ceremony. i.e. is that a ****** or a ******* leprechaun? no good trying to whistle, when all you can do in "return" is to giggle at the attempt, to.

0

Jul 20, 2018

Jul 20, 2018 at 8:13 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

oh, so that's why

oh... so now i know where my "st. vitus'" take on sporadic, uncontrollable dance routines took place: drunk, i attempted to whistle... each and every time i attempted to whistle... i burst into a fire and fury of laughter, as if i waa hearing political satire! every single time i'd try to whistle: giggles... a bit like watching the laws surrounding marihuana, on a friday evening lodged in amsterdam... asking myself: am i here for the **** or the puerto rican plumps of pork chops still breathing with a 17th century fetish for excesses? perhaps neither... perhaps both... i'll have heiny ec-ken (bite of a buttocks) nekken - (bite of the neck): huh!? i really expected matthew mcconaughey to be much taller, in real life, let alone the oscars' ceremony. i.e. is that a ****** or a ******* leprechaun? no good trying to whistle, when all you can do in "return" is to giggle at the attempt, to.

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If ever, oh ever, you happen to meet A poor giant ****** while out on the street Pay him no mind but do not lower guard For the lives of giant midgets are puzzling and hard For trapped deep inside the six foot illusion Hides three feet of anger, made worse by confusion Struggling to figure out why so much space Has been given to such a short, height-challenged race To move among people, just trying to fit in When on the inside they don't fit their own skin The rage and the hatred they've let manifest Into a mad need to put us to the test To figure out why, when we fit our insides There are places inside us where emptiness hides Which we try to fill up with things we don't need When all that they want is a chance to be freed But if they could see that in fact we don't fit Our minds contain people with nowhere to sit Each with a voice that commands us to do What it wants instead of what we want to do Each one so loud as to drown out the rest Each one insisting what it knows is best Leaving us mostly distressed and confused Our poor little brains worn out and abused If they could just see that although they reside Inside such a cavernous, double-sized hide We are really no different than they We all have our problems that won't go away But they are alone, no one else in their mind Festering within the shell they're confined And we have the voices that tell us to guard Against giant midgets, who have it so hard

0

Apr 14, 2014

Apr 14, 2014 at 3:14 AM UTC

DanielSmithFreakMorbidity

Beware the Giant Midgets

If ever, oh ever, you happen to meet A poor giant ****** while out on the street Pay him no mind but do not lower guard For the lives of giant midgets are puzzling and hard For trapped deep inside the six foot illusion Hides three feet of anger, made worse by confusion Struggling to figure out why so much space Has been given to such a short, height-challenged race To move among people, just trying to fit in When on the inside they don't fit their own skin The rage and the hatred they've let manifest Into a mad need to put us to the test To figure out why, when we fit our insides There are places inside us where emptiness hides Which we try to fill up with things we don't need When all that they want is a chance to be freed But if they could see that in fact we don't fit Our minds contain people with nowhere to sit Each with a voice that commands us to do What it wants instead of what we want to do Each one so loud as to drown out the rest Each one insisting what it knows is best Leaving us mostly distressed and confused Our poor little brains worn out and abused If they could just see that although they reside Inside such a cavernous, double-sized hide We are really no different than they We all have our problems that won't go away But they are alone, no one else in their mind Festering within the shell they're confined And we have the voices that tell us to guard Against giant midgets, who have it so hard

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The grown-ups have lied Your pillow fort can't save you because the Boogeyman is real No use jumping under the covers and counting to ten as you wait for the hand to rise up and pull you under the bed The bed is no longer a raft adrift at sea There is no current There is no rescue party Just me And I'm here to tell you that the grown-ups have lied They'll tell you "Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you" but they won't tell you that the Boogeyman is real He'll come to your room with words "Nothing" and ****** and ****** and ****** sharpened like arrows in his quiver He'll stretch the bow of upper and lower lip and take aim at your Achilles Heel because he knows how your mother held you as she baptized you in hope **** doesn't bruise your arm or push you down the stairs or tangle its fingers in your scalp and yank your hair but it'll slump your shoulders make a mumble out of your laughter "Freak" never gave anyone a black eye but it's hung bodies from the rafters The grown-ups don't want you to know that the Boogeyman is real because they're the ones who invented the weapons he wields They don't want you to know that you're defenseless if all you've got is a cold-shoulder shield They don't want to have to tell you that you might have to yield to a monster they created You are both so much like me I can't watch them feed you half-truths and sit here passively You deserve to know what it is that will haunt you What it is that haunts me My bed is not safe either I still check my closets for words I have suppressed The grown-ups check theirs too but they're protecting you They just hide it best See, you and I We bleed crayola because we haven't forgotten what it's like to be a kid We remember popsicles in summertime and all the naughty things we did We remember how to cheat at hide-and-seek and all the corners in which we hid I know that there will be days when the Boogeyman will call you Nothing Just remind him that Nothing is Something that Something could be Anything and therefore you are important. Smile in his face and pretend you cannot hear, cannot understand, cannot be hurt When the arrows take to the air walk so far away and don't stop until your toes are dangling over the edge of the ocean and all that lies beneath you is a tunnel of stars When he finds your Achilles Heel, tell someone No use dying in battle Forgive the grown-ups, for they know not their mistakes Show them how to handle it Sleep with the light on Check your closet Be prepared He will come but if you know your enemy there's no way you can lose

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Sep 5, 2012

Sep 5, 2012 at 10:01 AM UTC

For The Sisters Up The Street, When They Try To Break Your Soul

The grown-ups have lied Your pillow fort can't save you because the Boogeyman is real No use jumping under the covers and counting to ten as you wait for the hand to rise up and pull you under the bed The bed is no longer a raft adrift at sea There is no current There is no rescue party Just me And I'm here to tell you that the grown-ups have lied They'll tell you "Sticks and stones may break your bones but words will never hurt you" but they won't tell you that the Boogeyman is real He'll come to your room with words "Nothing" and ****** and ****** and ****** sharpened like arrows in his quiver He'll stretch the bow of upper and lower lip and take aim at your Achilles Heel because he knows how your mother held you as she baptized you in hope **** doesn't bruise your arm or push you down the stairs or tangle its fingers in your scalp and yank your hair but it'll slump your shoulders make a mumble out of your laughter "Freak" never gave anyone a black eye but it's hung bodies from the rafters The grown-ups don't want you to know that the Boogeyman is real because they're the ones who invented the weapons he wields They don't want you to know that you're defenseless if all you've got is a cold-shoulder shield They don't want to have to tell you that you might have to yield to a monster they created You are both so much like me I can't watch them feed you half-truths and sit here passively You deserve to know what it is that will haunt you What it is that haunts me My bed is not safe either I still check my closets for words I have suppressed The grown-ups check theirs too but they're protecting you They just hide it best See, you and I We bleed crayola because we haven't forgotten what it's like to be a kid We remember popsicles in summertime and all the naughty things we did We remember how to cheat at hide-and-seek and all the corners in which we hid I know that there will be days when the Boogeyman will call you Nothing Just remind him that Nothing is Something that Something could be Anything and therefore you are important. Smile in his face and pretend you cannot hear, cannot understand, cannot be hurt When the arrows take to the air walk so far away and don't stop until your toes are dangling over the edge of the ocean and all that lies beneath you is a tunnel of stars When he finds your Achilles Heel, tell someone No use dying in battle Forgive the grown-ups, for they know not their mistakes Show them how to handle it Sleep with the light on Check your closet Be prepared He will come but if you know your enemy there's no way you can lose

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No brain You're a little ******* gnome Walkin' around all 5'5 of him Acting like its his game we play Shutthefuckupyoustupidlittlesonofabitch You couldn't get respect even if You actually tried to learn concept & I truly hope, I know that hurts you That little piece of pride Mommy always told you, you're the apple of her eye, when she cares & when she doesn't? *You're her little ******* nightmare.* Your father was the love of her life She swears But she wouldn't touch him with a 7 foot pole Again, if she dared Well I'm letting you know, you little gnome I've found someone so much better He actually gives a **** about me He makes me so much wetter He's everything I've ever dreamed of I've left you High & dry Choking on my ******* dust. Her little garden doll Peeling to reveal that over time You'll do nothing but sit & rust. Over the years chipping away the paint Faster & faster **Snort & shoot your way to hell you ******* ****** *******

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Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC

Let's Break Suzy's Lawn Ornament

No brain You're a little ******* gnome Walkin' around all 5'5 of him Acting like its his game we play Shutthefuckupyoustupidlittlesonofabitch You couldn't get respect even if You actually tried to learn concept & I truly hope, I know that hurts you That little piece of pride Mommy always told you, you're the apple of her eye, when she cares & when she doesn't? *You're her little ******* nightmare.* Your father was the love of her life She swears But she wouldn't touch him with a 7 foot pole Again, if she dared Well I'm letting you know, you little gnome I've found someone so much better He actually gives a **** about me He makes me so much wetter He's everything I've ever dreamed of I've left you High & dry Choking on my ******* dust. Her little garden doll Peeling to reveal that over time You'll do nothing but sit & rust. Over the years chipping away the paint Faster & faster **Snort & shoot your way to hell you ******* ****** *******

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Demon from Depressed Depths Horror lurking in the murk, squirting myself through liquid nightmares, paranormal animal portrait The walls of my bedroom are black, the ceiling navy, ****** sun above me winks in mockery My friends are few in this frozen almost-society; I wander the briny fog in boredom, purposeless Eyes swollen from swimming, swallowing so much salt: dehydrated underwater, skin pasty and ill I hide from starving sharks and their terrible tiny teeth, but duel the diving whale: he I can drown I can ***** forth literature; the pens of Whitman and Carroll were filled from my blackened innards From fingertip to toetip I am nearly biggest, in a world without fingers or toes, primitive appendages I am all knowing: I commune with the dead: I can operate a Ouija board alone with all these arms I was killed off by Tennyson after just 14 lines, but Lovecraft made me what I am: heathen deity Wonderful creature, yet I find myself here: battered next to chips in a polystyrene tray: Beach food

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Apr 24, 2013

Apr 24, 2013 at 4:10 PM UTC

Demon from Depressed Depths Horror lurking in the murk, squirting myself through liquid nightmares, paranormal animal portrait The walls of my bedroom are black, the ceiling navy, ****** sun above me winks in mockery My friends are few in this frozen almost-society; I wander the briny fog in boredom, purposeless Eyes swollen from swimming, swallowing so much salt: dehydrated underwater, skin pasty and ill I hide from starving sharks and their terrible tiny teeth, but duel the diving whale: he I can drown I can ***** forth literature; the pens of Whitman and Carroll were filled from my blackened innards From fingertip to toetip I am nearly biggest, in a world without fingers or toes, primitive appendages I am all knowing: I commune with the dead: I can operate a Ouija board alone with all these arms I was killed off by Tennyson after just 14 lines, but Lovecraft made me what I am: heathen deity Wonderful creature, yet I find myself here: battered next to chips in a polystyrene tray: Beach food

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They were like two peas in a pod Holding hands Exchanging tongues Being prissy and laughing at those Who long before saw their act Though those two queers, they don’t see at all They are midgets, and little, and erectly small With puffed up chests Stroking hens of the Cornish variety All of them dregs of a social society Slum lords and criminal minds Under the sheets where no one sees Which one is giving the other the shaft **** and span they use after, oh so daft One erotically whispered to the other A Pain in the *** As they kissed over their biblical wine glass Seeking solace in each others arms Licking their wounds with grammars charm Grown men, committing sin after sin Then blaming others for saying God wants you to begin Acting like men And not emancipated boys Stop diddling and twiddling Leave alone your petite toys One day Jehovah will make clear Belittle others is worse than Queer Little queens swallowing their own vile While Ladies and Gentleman laugh At the ****** and the Clown In their lingerie and gown God decried, let those two drown Even Lucifer laughed under his frown

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Mar 15, 2017

Mar 15, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC

The Clown and the ******

They were like two peas in a pod Holding hands Exchanging tongues Being prissy and laughing at those Who long before saw their act Though those two queers, they don’t see at all They are midgets, and little, and erectly small With puffed up chests Stroking hens of the Cornish variety All of them dregs of a social society Slum lords and criminal minds Under the sheets where no one sees Which one is giving the other the shaft **** and span they use after, oh so daft One erotically whispered to the other A Pain in the *** As they kissed over their biblical wine glass Seeking solace in each others arms Licking their wounds with grammars charm Grown men, committing sin after sin Then blaming others for saying God wants you to begin Acting like men And not emancipated boys Stop diddling and twiddling Leave alone your petite toys One day Jehovah will make clear Belittle others is worse than Queer Little queens swallowing their own vile While Ladies and Gentleman laugh At the ****** and the Clown In their lingerie and gown God decried, let those two drown Even Lucifer laughed under his frown

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Awakened mind Body trapped In reduced consciousness Laying in a comatose state Stitched to the mattress Frozen Cannot speak Cannot scream Repressed hysteria Suffocating Under the weight Of the invisible intruder The presence Anchoring me down Obstructing my breathing Dark shadows Dancing By the chest of ****** drawers An apparition of a bearded ****** Standing at the edge of the bed Appears Dark particles of fabric fill my eyes I fight the fight This shall not be my demise Wake me up I will die another day.

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Jan 19, 2014

Jan 19, 2014 at 5:19 PM UTC

Sleep Paralysis

Awakened mind Body trapped In reduced consciousness Laying in a comatose state Stitched to the mattress Frozen Cannot speak Cannot scream Repressed hysteria Suffocating Under the weight Of the invisible intruder The presence Anchoring me down Obstructing my breathing Dark shadows Dancing By the chest of ****** drawers An apparition of a bearded ****** Standing at the edge of the bed Appears Dark particles of fabric fill my eyes I fight the fight This shall not be my demise Wake me up I will die another day.

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You’re a groovy tomato dancin’ with loose-tongued disco fries. Chillin’ in limbo, sippin’ on sangria, and eatin’ on my pride. Racin’ on a superhighway with scorchin’ thumbs and eloquent lies, But my guts are wrenchin’ and my eyelashes are flashin’, much to your surmise. I drank your love like a dino, now I’m bringin’ out your prehistoric side. Baby, I can run your city with a stogie and a ****** dancin’ in disguise, But this **** it don’t mean nothin’, or at least not what you’ve implied.

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Dec 8, 2011

Dec 8, 2011 at 11:36 AM UTC

You’re a groovy tomato dancin’ with loose-tongued disco fries. Chillin’ in limbo, sippin’ on sangria, and eatin’ on my pride. Racin’ on a superhighway with scorchin’ thumbs and eloquent lies, But my guts are wrenchin’ and my eyelashes are flashin’, much to your surmise. I drank your love like a dino, now I’m bringin’ out your prehistoric side. Baby, I can run your city with a stogie and a ****** dancin’ in disguise, But this **** it don’t mean nothin’, or at least not what you’ve implied.

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A famous "Barry Hodges" poem! I was strolling along the Normandy beaches In the close vicinity of Caen one day With a very tasty piece of arm-candy to hand When I found a bleached human femur on the beach. Oh dear me, what thoughts this conjured up in my brain As I imagined whose bone it might have been! Perhaps some pathetic soldier boy landing in forty-four Who got slotted by a gallant German gunner, His eyes feasting on the sacrificial cannon fodder So foolishly supplied for his target practice. Then, as I grabbed my lady friend's juicy **** Causing her to turn and sink her tongue into my earhole, We sank onto the sands in order to sate our lusts, (enflamed by a very delicious meal of moules marinières and a bucket or two of well-chilled Muscadet sur Lie) I thought, what the **** does it all matter? This is now, and that was then, and this old world Has become a much nicer place nowadays; But how mistaken I was in that fond thought; Oh what an idealist I am in a world of woe. For, all of a sudden, a contingent of fat dwarfs appeared, Totally naked apart from their luminous Uncle Sam hats And the Stars and Stripes hanging from their arseholes; How I marvelled at their disgusting shapes (and how surprised was I to find their genitals were of normal measurements and thus rather intrusively large by comparison with the rest of their miniature bodies). O dear Lord and alleged Father of Mankind Forgive their horrid ways verily and forsooth. With a whoop, those demented military retards, [see note below] The famous 118th battalion ****** Marine veterans, A contingent of whom emerged from a portable toilet (which must have been a bit of a tight squeeze), Chopped my girl-friend up with their bayonets, Whereupon I crapped myself in terror and pity, Before retrieving the purse from the eviscerated corpse, Realizing that her PIN number was still useable Until 'les flics' discovered her unfortunate remains After the shore ***** had partaken thereof.

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Mar 10, 2015

Mar 10, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC

Memories of the Normandy Beaches

A famous "Barry Hodges" poem! I was strolling along the Normandy beaches In the close vicinity of Caen one day With a very tasty piece of arm-candy to hand When I found a bleached human femur on the beach. Oh dear me, what thoughts this conjured up in my brain As I imagined whose bone it might have been! Perhaps some pathetic soldier boy landing in forty-four Who got slotted by a gallant German gunner, His eyes feasting on the sacrificial cannon fodder So foolishly supplied for his target practice. Then, as I grabbed my lady friend's juicy **** Causing her to turn and sink her tongue into my earhole, We sank onto the sands in order to sate our lusts, (enflamed by a very delicious meal of moules marinières and a bucket or two of well-chilled Muscadet sur Lie) I thought, what the **** does it all matter? This is now, and that was then, and this old world Has become a much nicer place nowadays; But how mistaken I was in that fond thought; Oh what an idealist I am in a world of woe. For, all of a sudden, a contingent of fat dwarfs appeared, Totally naked apart from their luminous Uncle Sam hats And the Stars and Stripes hanging from their arseholes; How I marvelled at their disgusting shapes (and how surprised was I to find their genitals were of normal measurements and thus rather intrusively large by comparison with the rest of their miniature bodies). O dear Lord and alleged Father of Mankind Forgive their horrid ways verily and forsooth. With a whoop, those demented military retards, [see note below] The famous 118th battalion ****** Marine veterans, A contingent of whom emerged from a portable toilet (which must have been a bit of a tight squeeze), Chopped my girl-friend up with their bayonets, Whereupon I crapped myself in terror and pity, Before retrieving the purse from the eviscerated corpse, Realizing that her PIN number was still useable Until 'les flics' discovered her unfortunate remains After the shore ***** had partaken thereof.

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(This one is rough, wanted to try and write a poem tonight in one sitting.) the unexamined life is not worth texting. Stop selling your inadequacy, instagraming packaged, processed, stylized banality, like a ****** miming painting to the long pedestrian line at the Louvre.

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Dec 8, 2012

Dec 8, 2012 at 12:11 AM UTC

(This one is rough, wanted to try and write a poem tonight in one sitting.) the unexamined life is not worth texting. Stop selling your inadequacy, instagraming packaged, processed, stylized banality, like a ****** miming painting to the long pedestrian line at the Louvre.

Continue reading...

I'm employed But not enjoyed They're annoyed Until I'm destroyed Then they fill that void With another humanoid I'm a hollow coil From lots of toil Like hot oil I'm not royal I just boil Underneath the soil I say howdy Loudly To the rowdy That doubt me And out me As mouthy This mistake Fish tank I drank Stank So rank My mind went blank I cannot fight it My mind on autopilot The roof I tile it To style it Violet While lit I am a changeling That is aging From waging A war raging Against those caging The rat who's racing The pain is inner As a fidget spinner A ****** sinner Ate for dinner For he's the winner Of the money printer And my mind of cinder They broke me No joking Just poking The nope king While hoping Society starts sloping Towards communal coping

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Jul 30, 2018

Jul 30, 2018 at 2:34 AM UTC

I'm employed But not enjoyed They're annoyed Until I'm destroyed Then they fill that void With another humanoid I'm a hollow coil From lots of toil Like hot oil I'm not royal I just boil Underneath the soil I say howdy Loudly To the rowdy That doubt me And out me As mouthy This mistake Fish tank I drank Stank So rank My mind went blank I cannot fight it My mind on autopilot The roof I tile it To style it Violet While lit I am a changeling That is aging From waging A war raging Against those caging The rat who's racing The pain is inner As a fidget spinner A ****** sinner Ate for dinner For he's the winner Of the money printer And my mind of cinder They broke me No joking Just poking The nope king While hoping Society starts sloping Towards communal coping

Continue reading...