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Kieran Mar 2019
If you ride the wind,
Or at least motor yourself,
On a schooner out to ten pound island,
You may have the luxury of meeting Mooch.
He is the seagull who likes Cheetos.
Life for Mooch is simple,
All he has to do is sit on the arm of Owen,
The boy who pulls the sails
Or Captain Harold,
The man who built the boat,
And eat enough Cheetos to stuff his throat.
He never tells any of his friends,
For fear of missing out on Cheetos.
Oh, to be a seagull.
Oh, to mooch off of others
And still be loved.
Written about a trip in Gloucester harbor on a schooner.
The Angry Pencil Jun 2018
If you're not a mooch
Why are you defensive
If you're not a mooch
Why do you find the word so offensive

Your motto is "If it's free it's for me"
"What's mine is mine and what's yours is mine."
You make it quite clear, very easy to see
The homeless shelter would be acceptable for you to dine

You're nothing but a *** and a wannabe vagrant
You think your s* don't stink
But your soul is way less than fragrant

So I do think you're a user
You take everything you can get
You are such an abuser
And that's not the half of it yet

So why were you so hurt?
When for years equaling 10
You've treated me like dirt
And turned my attitude way so NOT Zen

You've told me I stink
You've punched my face
You shouldn't sleep a wink
You are a total disgrace

You've had me arrested
For defending myself
You're such an adolescent
I've never seen someone so for themselves

If the truth hurts so much
Perhaps you should try
To get back in touch
With the fact that you're not a nice guy

Being a mooch is the kindest of insults
For someone depraved like you
A shrink is who you should consult
You really belong in the zoo
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
i write for an injection of a venom, for a sense of disorientation, poetry shouldn't be about the skill of narration, a clear Renaissance painting of some school, it should invoke a ******* random macabre, a sense of disorientation, there's no real technique to practice with poetry invoking a tarantula's venomous bite... poetry the art of disorientation and a fulfilling disillusionment, nothing else, nothing more... to prescribe disorientation... upon charging into a blank page... the brute of squalor and slashing of grime, marbles and marrow!*

as quoted by Bonaparte (oddly enough
a psychology student and former
girlfriend of mine who i lost my virginity
to, while she got drunk and slid into my
bed at a party, and asked dreamily for condoms
scolding me about the three pictures adorning
my student room: marquis de sade, Bonaparte
and Plato) - quicker the goat in the frying
pan than on the steep cliff face - mooch kiss
you Isabella i would a second time,
you remind me of Annie from Masterchef -
the way the stiff upper-lip is missing: signature of
french girls, the curling and cuddles -
ooh mooch chuckles and mushy peas -
p p p - belinda carlisle melted cheese goo in my heart;
stony ******* i ain't, but my drinking habits
are not boyfriend material, sorry... try next door:
se vie se la - the french know their eccentricities,
and therefore exploit them in the grey -
the english stiffen up and exploit the same
but to a too obvious exploit: bowler hats and umbrellas,
nothing will make this London gloom repent
even if you're donning St. Petersburg's architectural
multi-colour... did i mention Bonaparte the patron
saint of the Duchy of Warsaw?
over here there's Adolf with a heretics hat
never bothering to read history twice,
history you read in a blurry haze of being drunk:
reminiscence is hardly nostalgia, but sure as ****
history save Moscow from the French and the Germans
but not the Poles and Mongolians...
the Russians know this and hush thing over,
sweeping stories under the carpets using
a babushka as an excuse for the prime propaganda
technique - go on babushka ride the Ferrari
on the stairway! canapé mit crayon caviar?
yes, Isabella, if i weren't a ****** i'd move to
Grenoble - sheriff's honour.
                                                  you weren't
the first, you weren't the last,
i need bragging rights - and a hot colt to shoot with...
then the lacrosse initiation ceremony -
Lycra tights, drank a whole bottle of whiskey
of Glaswegian whiskey, stumbled into
Isabella to my shame parade of whatever that was
lad banter etc etc. - pleaded on my knees, my knees...
apologies for the inexperience,
she was seriously into Japanese cartoons,
studio Ghibli;
                          so she scolded me over Bonaparte,
and i said: it's not exactly Piłsudski - in my town of
birth they praised him, raised statues,
later with communism desecrated them, then later
raised new statues - but what's bothersome is that
she didn't mind the Marquis... a psychology student
after all... she wanted native speakers for a little
psychology experiment, that got me,
learning from scratch aged 8,
pitch-perfect elocution and she didn't bother to use me
in the experiment... that ****** with me...
hey! i'm hardly a cockney! coached croquet pears
ready for a beating... what's the rhyme, ah yes:
apples and pears = stairs... seriously, musically
cheese sometimes works, they had a Monday cheese
night at the union - all the usual buggery of
a mid-life crisis...
yeps, that Annie from the current Master Chef reminds me
of Isabella - dracul - RA!
a bit of high culture (Ezra's cantos) and a bit of low
culture (marco bailey's Enter the Dragon)...
while sitting on the throne of thrones (a toilet)...
it's like my dream... although better... Ibiza two-point-oh.
Bob B Oct 2016
Most of us know the tale of Cinderella,
But do you know the original German story?
It’s different from the version that I grew up with.
It’s called “Aschenputtel,” and it’s gory.
 
Cinderella’s stepmom and two stepsisters
Are nasty, ornery, bossy, ******, and mean.
They’re very good at belittling Cinderella;
And the sisters vie for the role of future queen.
 
Cinderella wants to attend a ball,
But her stepmom gives her some difficult tasks, and so
When some birds help the girl complete them,
The woman STILL refuses to let her go.
 
Here no fairy godmother comes to help.
Cinderella goes to the grave of her mother
Where she'd planted a branch that grew to a tree,
Which miraculously gives her a gown like no other.
 
When Cinderella goes to the King’s fancy ball,
She makes a tremendous impression on the prince.
Of course, no one’s able to recognize her,
And the competition makes the stepsisters wince.
 
For two nights in a row the same thing happens.
Cinderella must be in excellent shape,
For each night the prince attempts to pursue her,
Yet each night she makes a clean escape.
 
On the THIRD night he has a bright idea:
“Aha!” he says. “Someone, bring me some tar.
If I spread goop all over the steps of the palace,
That gorgeous sneak won’t manage to get very far.”
 
(Here you have to suspend even more belief.)
As Cinderella hurries to flee from her beaux,
She leaves behind one slipper in the tar.
(WHY more slippers aren’t stuck there, I do not know.)
 
On finding the slipper, the prince yells, “Piece of cake!
Now I’ll find the owner of this dainty shoe.”
When he arrives at the home of the nasty stepsisters,
The poor guy bites off more than he can chew.
 
The first sister chops off her obtrusive big toe
So that her foot can fit inside the slipper.
You see, the slipper’s not made of the kind of material
That stretches, and, of course, it has no zipper.
 
The prince starts to leave with his bride-to-be
But notices that her slipper is filled with blood.
“I don’t think that this is my future wife,”
He says and nips that nightmare in the bud.
 
In order to make her foot fit in the slipper,
The second stepsister cuts off part of her heel.
Imagine how much blood gushes forth from that.
Shaking his head, the prince says, “This is unreal.”
 
Finally, Cinderella takes her turn.
And what do you know? The slipper’s a perfect fit!
The prince—eager to exit that crazy scene—
Takes Cinderella and leaves lickety split.
 
(I hope the prince kept his wits about him.
You’d think he would, for he’s a thoughtful fella.
Certainly, he washed out all the blood
Before giving the slipper to Cinderella!)
 
Early on I told you about some birds
That helped Cinderella when she was down and out
By completing her tasks and delivering her gown and slippers.
They knew what the stepsisters were all about.
 
Well, the stepsisters come on the day of the wedding,
To mooch off Cinderella—as you can surmise.
As they amble along with the wedding couple,
The birds fly down and peck out both of their eyes.
 
Such is the fate of the mean and bossy stepsisters,
Who were deceitful and cruel, as you recall.
Call it karma, their just deserts, or comeuppance,
But let it be a lesson for us all.

- by Bob B
(twas where aye met thee missus, but mooch as a natural euphoria experienced, i rarely returned to said venue, especially for many years when thy now na grown lovely lasses merely toddlers).
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Go ahead and AskJeeves (or another available partner yea, that lonely looking gal or guy in mom genes), who can never refuse to kick up heals in this rollicking shenanigan – the rumor holds that said activity the most fun one can have with being clothed to another.
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The caller will usually do a walk thru, which begins with the first two couples closest to the stage crew of lively musicians (frequently filling the makeshift hall with music aligned the genre of irish jigs and reels) beginning to pair off.
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After couples one and two (nearest the band) complete their quartet, this process (sans participants coupling off) continues until the foot of the line.
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Actually each duo of dancers within the foursome nearest or furthest from the podium dons the role of “first and second” couple respectively.
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The walk thru can be helpful, especially for those unfamiliar with this social activity, which encroaches on the ordinary comfort zones because eye contact plus physical hand to hand fusion necessary.
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Many of the routines utilize various combinations of approximately a couple dozen unique moves, where each distinct extemporaneously choreographed fancy footwork utilizes a unique variation of such movements.
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The most frequent array of moves comprises the following terms, which I located at hyperlink - www.theyken.net/don/PDF/Glossary.pdf
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Glossary of Contra Dance Figures:
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Allemande Left - Two dancers join left hands about shoulder height with elbows bent down and walk a circular path.
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Allemande, Mirror - Two couples, facing, starting with one couple going between the other couple. Give the person you are starting to pass your most convenient hand, right for two dancers and left for the other two, and turn as described in the allemande right and left.
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Allemande Right - Two dancers join right hands about shoulder height with elbows bent down and walk a circular path.
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Balance – The simplest balance is a step forward and backs. Another type of balance is a step on your right foot and swing your left foot over your right foot and then step on your left foot and swing your right foot over your left foot.
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Balance and Swing - Face other dancer, take both hands, balance (as above) and swing the other dancer.
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Baskets - More that two dancers, step in so all the dancers are in a very tight circle, place your hands behind the backs of the dancers next to you and join hands. Put your right foot in closer to the center of the circle and start to turn this basket by pushing with your left foot (like in a buzz step swing).
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Box the Gnat - Partners (usually) join right hands, raise joined hands above the woman’s head, she walks under the joined hands, as the man walks around behind her. The dancers not only change positions but they end facing in the opposite direction.
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Cast Down – The dancer faces up and turns away from the center of the set and walks down the outside of the set.
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Cast Off, Assisted - Two dancers, facing the same direction, put an arm around the other dancers waist, one dancer moves forward while the other dancer moves backwards.
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Cast Off, Unassisted - One dancer, usually moving up the center or up the outside of the set, walks around an other dancer until they stand next to that dance facing the same direction.
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Cast Up – The dancer faces down and turns away from the center of the set and walks up the outside of the set.
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Circle Left – More than two dancers join hands and form a circle. Hands are joined at a height somewhere between you waist and shoulders. Dancers walk around in a circle to the left or counter- clockwise.
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Circle Right – More than two dancers join hands and form a circle. Hands are joined at a height somewhere between you waist and shoulders. Dancers walk around in a circle to the right or clockwise.
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Contra Corners - This figure is done in proper sets. The first couple turns each other by the right hand until they can turn their first corner, The person who was standing on the left side of your partner. The first couple then turns their first corners by the left hand, until they see the partners. The first couple again turn each other by the right hand and then turn their second corners, the person who was standing on the right side of your partner, by the left hand.
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Courtesy Turn – Two dancers with right hands joined and left hands joined, about waist height, facing the same direction, woman on the man’s right. The woman walks forward while the man backs-up until they are facing the opposite direction.
Cross-Over or Pass Thru – Two-dancer walk by each other passing right shoulders.
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Cross-Over is usually across the set. While Pass Thru is usually up and down the set.
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Do-Si-Do – Two dancers walk forward pass each other right shoulders, pass behind the other dancer, and backup, passing left shoulders into the place where you started.
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Do-Si-Do, Left Shoulder (also known as a See Saw) - Two dancers walk forward pass each other left shoulders, pass behind the other dancer, and backup, passing right shoulders into the place where you started.
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Do-Si-Do, Mirror - Two couples, facing, starting with one couple going between the other couple. Then dance a do-si-do, the two dancers who pass right shoulders dancing right shoulder do-si-do the other two dancers who pass left shoulders dance a left shoulder do-si-do.
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Down the Center, Turn Alone – Two dancers, usually a couple, walk down the center of the set, turn toward each other and return to the place where they started.
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Down the Center, Turn As a Couple – Two dancers, usually a couple, walk down the center of the set.
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Turn as a couple, the woman walks forward as the man backs up, until the couple is facing back in the direction they came from. Then return to a place across the set from where they started.
Figure of Eight – Two consecutive Half Figures of Eight (see below)
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Forward and Back – Dancers join hands with the dancer next to them and move forward four steps and back four steps.
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Gate and Post - Two dancers facing in the same direction, join most convenient hands, right to left, keep hands about shoulder height, one dancer will walk forward in a circular path as the other dancer walks backward in a circular path.
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Grand Chain - Three or more woman, make a right hand star, and turn the star until you meet the third (or designated) man, join left hands with the man and courtesy turn.
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Grand Right and Left - Two dancers, join right hands, pull by and give left hands to the next dancer, pull by, and continue this until you meet the person you are told to meet or until the caller tells you to stop. Can be used in squares, contras, and circles.
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Gypsy - a couple, walk once around each other, clockwise, and end where they started while looking wistfully into each others ' eyes.
Half Figure of Eight – Two dancers across from each other, in a contra, cross over while moving through the couple below (or above), the woman in the lead, they then cast up (down) to end in their partners original place.
Hey for Four – Two couples, facing, usually starting with the women moving to the center and passing right, then pass the opposite man who is moving forward by the left, the two men pass right in the center while the two women do a small loop to the left to face in, again the women pass right in the center as men do a small loop to the left to face in, women pass the men by the left, men pass right in the center and all return to original place.
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Honor - Bow to your partner.
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Improper – In a contra, when a man is in the women’s line and/or a woman is in the Mens' line. The women’s line is the line on the left when viewed from the caller’s position.
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Ladies Chain – Two couples facing, the women join right hands and pull by each other, then give their left hands to the opposite man, finishing with a courtesy turn to face the other couple.
Lead Through - Two dancers facing in the same direction, join most convenient hands, right to left, and walk between the two dancers they are facing. Often followed by a cast to original place.
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Pass Thru - Two couples facing, both couples walk forward, passing the person you are facing by the right shoulder and ending in their place (do not turn around).
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Promenade – A couple, with the man’s right arm around the woman’s waist and her right hand in his right hand, and left hands joined in front of them, move in a forward direction, sometimes ending with a courtesy turn.
Promenade, Single File - All of the dancers in a single file or circle, facing the same direction, follow the dancer in front of you.
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Proper – In a contra, the men are in the mens' line and the woman are in the women’s line. The mens line is the line on the right when viewed from the caller’s position
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Right and Left – Two couples, take right hands with the person across the set and pull by, on the opposite side of the set courtesy turn the person next to you.
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Roll Away - A couple, both facing in the same direction, woman’s left hand in the man’s right hand, the man assists the woman, who rolls across in front of him, as he moves to his right. They both end facing the same direction as they started but they are in each others' place
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Star, Left Hand – Two couples, take left hands with the person diagonally across, then they all walk forward in a circular path.
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Star, Right Hand – Two couples, take right hands with the person diagonally across, then they all walk forward in a circular path.
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Swing – A couple, in a position similar to ballroom position, except the man and woman are right hip to right hip. The simplest descriptions I have heard is assume the above position and then try to walk behind your partner. The dancers can use a simple walking step or a buzz step.
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Turn - See allemande for right and left hand turn. A two hand turn - two dancers, facing, take the other dancers right hand in your left and their left hand in your right. Pull back slightly and both dancers walk clockwise until you get back to where you started.
Wheer 'asta bean saw long and mea liggin' 'ere aloan?
Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, Doctor's abean an' agoan;
Says that I moant 'a naw moor aale; but I beant a fool;
*** ma my aale, fur I beant a-gawin' to break my rule.

Doctors, they knaws nowt, fur a says what 's nawways true;
Naw soort o' koind o' use to saay the things that a do.
I 've 'ed my point o' aale ivry noight sin' I bean 'ere.
An' I 've 'ed my quart ivry market-noight for foorty year.

Parson 's a bean loikewoise, an' a sittin' ere o' my bed.
"The amoighty 's a taakin o' you to 'isen, my friend," a said,
An' a towd ma my sins, an' s toithe were due, an' I gied it in hond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

Larn'd a ma' bea. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch to larn.
But a cast oop, thot a did, 'bout Bessy Marris's barne.
Thaw a knaws I hallus voated wi' Squoire an' choorch an' staate,
An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the raate.

An' I hallus coom'd to 's choorch afoor moy Sally wur dead,
An' 'eard 'um a bummin' awaay loike a buzzard-clock ower me 'ead,
An' I niver knaw'd whot a mean'd but a thowt a 'ad summut to saay.
An' I thowt a said what a owt to 'a said, an' I coom'd awaay.

Bessy Marris's barne! tha knaws she laaid it to mea.
'Siver, I kep 'um, I kep 'um, my lass, tha mun understond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

But Parson a cooms an' a goas, an' a says it easy an' freea:
"The amoighty 's taakin o' you to 'issen, my friend," says 'ea.
I weant saay men be loiars, thaw summun said it in 'aaste;
But 'e reads wonn sarmin a weeak, an' I 'a stubb'd Thurnaby waaste.

D' ya moind the waaste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then;
Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eard 'um mysen;
Moast loike a butter-bump, fur I 'eard 'um about an' about,
But I stubb'd 'um oop wi' the lot, an' raaved an' rembled 'um out.

Keaper's it wur; fo' they fun 'um theer a-laaid of is' faace
Down i' the woild 'enemies afoor I coom'd to the plaace.
Noaks or Thimbleby--toaner 'ed shot 'um as dead as a naail.
Noaks wur 'ang'd for it opp at 'soize--but *** ma my aale.
Dubbut loook at the waaaste; theer warn't not feead for a cow;
Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' loook at it now--
Warn't worth nowt a haacre, an' now theer 's lots o' feead,
Fourscoor yows upon it, an' some on it down i' seead.

Nobbut a bit on it 's left, an' I mean'd to 'a stubb'd it at fall,
Done it ta-year I mean'd, an' runn'd plow thruff it an' all,
If godamoighty an' parson 'ud nobbut let ma aloan,--
Mea, wi haate hoonderd haacre o' Squoire's, an' lond o' my oan.

Do godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taakin' o' mea?
I beant wonn as saws 'ere a bean an yonder a pea;
An' Squoire 'ull be sa mad an' all--a' dear, a' dear!
And I 'a managed for Squoire coom Michaelmas thutty year.

A mowt 'a taaen owd Joanes, as 'ant not a 'aapoth o' sense,
Or a mowt a' taaen young Robins--a niver mended a fence:
But godamoighty a moost taake mea an' taake ma now,
Wi' aaf the cows to cauve an' Thurnaby hoalms to plow!

Loook 'ow quoloty smoiles when they seeas ma a passin' boy,
Says to thessen, naw doubt, "What a man a bea sewer-loy!"
Fur they knaws what I bean to Squoire sin' fust a coom'd to the 'All;
I done moy duty by Squoire an' I done moy duty boy hall.

Squoire 's i' Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a to wroite,
For whoa 's to howd the lond ater mea that muddles ma quoit;
Sartin-sewer I bea, thot a weant niver give it to Joanes,
Naw, nor a moant to Robins--a niver rembles the stoans.

But summun 'ull come ater mea mayhap wi' 'is kittle o' steam
Huzzin' an' maazin' the blessed fealds wi' the Divil's oan team.
Sin' I mun doy I mun doy, thaw loife they says is sweet,
But sin' I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abear to see it.

What atta stannin' theer fur, an' doesn bring me the aale?
Doctor 's a 'toattler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owd taale;
I weant break rules fur Doctor, a knaws naw moor nor a floy;
*** ma my aale, I tell tha, an' if I mun doy I mun doy.
Simon Soane Sep 2015
Some people say they don't like social networking
on mobile phones,
"it distances us from human connection"
they bleat and moan,
"takes us away from natural converging,
curtails face to face ties from emerging,
subdues us in a swamp of technology,
this engagement with messaging is surely a folly."
And as they depart they say,
“give me a person over a mobile msg anyday.”
Now don't get me wrong eye to eye communing is amazing
and it's not the last reserve of a luddite to prefer tactile phrasing
or to think sweet nothings into a there ear is best
but that doesn't mean there is nothing in mobile caress.
Because you can meet someone at a festival, and feel a sweet spark
that thunders through the roaming larks
and then when you part after a few days
think, "oh, that was awesome, I enjoyed their ways,
they made me laugh and gave me jumping smiles,
****, it's a pity between us there are miles and miles."
But when you arrive home and charged up a message pings
"you back now?" I see it and start to feel sing.
So we take our phones and chat all the next day,
getting to know each other in a happy appy way,
giggling at your words, beaming at the next
growing through lightning at each little text,
learning more in these screen chats;
you go to lots of BBQs and love dogs and cats,
you dye your hair and are calamity stricken
your top fajitas are finger lickin,
you know Mandarin and are ace at Catchphrase
and you have an inclination for New York days,  
you can analytically discuss scenes from C Street,
you can charm the customers at a store meet and greet,
you can decipher the nuance in The Bistro goss,
you can put up with **** from ****** at Argos.
You have a mate who picks up Mark Ronson's pooch,
you've saved a big crustacean when been on a mooch,
you can relate a song to Odysseus using sheep to save his men
and watch Mr G the musical over and over again,
you stay up/get up to watch the Super Bowl,
you type faster than a thought on a roll,
you've danced with Pete Barlow's ship mate from Corrie,
you can drive a car and a van, I recks you could handle a lorry!
You have loads of friends and often verge on more dislocation,
I want to be near you, whatever the location.
I want to pull you out of a hat
and see you stand on my welcome mat,
see, mobiles are good because it's good to feel that.
But if some quantum physicists are to be believed, after perusing their hefty tomes,
somewhere in infinite there is a place with no mobile phones,
and a boom of synchronicity has to be carried on by pen on paper
and there are days and days tween a tumbling heebie jeebie butterfly caper,
and then it's sent with a hope that it won't be lost in the post,
and be not read, like a bottled message uncorked by the coast.
Maybe a letter and no phones is better for starting a fizz
but right now mobiles make this what it is;
if not for them would I feel this close to you?
Or be writing this to you?
Right now I like feeling close to you,
and I like writing this to you,
to you Lou.
Hi!  The middle part pertains specifically to a person I know but you get the gist!
Peace! x
shaqila Dec 2013
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
the aboriginal have their paddles out... between
each rower an anchor replacement, protesting shadows
with words: i'm anchored, i ain't moving...
imagine Euro-vision in Melbourne.
i've never experienced such
a continental drift,
my god i've heard of men walking
the moon but this beats it,
i know the nostalgia for the roman empire
is stronger, stronger even than
the nostalgia of german poets regarding
ancient greece, but this is becoming insane!
i know the u.s.a. is in a state of decay,
they joked at the billionaire because of his
looks, but Donald Reagen was but an actor,
who's ha ha with me?
seriously, they told the aboriginals to take up
the oars, Australia will replace England
on the map, just waiting for the lazy Blair elites
to pick up theirs and sail to be the eastern
Hawaii off New Jersey, buggers are too lazy...
wait a minute? why did they include
Australia in the Euro-vision song contest and
not the Kiwis? this is becoming a fiasco as funny
as the hot debate about "peace in the middle east":
serve me the ******* falafel and shut up,
i wouldn't eat McDonald's either, i'll do the nursery
rhyme, but that's as far as i go.
no seriously, why teach geography to children
with all these anomalies? if the Australian
CONTINENT is to replace the great british isles
they'll knock off a bit of Africa on their way here,
that "island" will be a bit of a tight squeeze
to get it through in the continental drift...
oh! oh! like that newly weds car with cans attached
to the bumper, load of cans and christmas tree bulbs,
why don't Fiji and Samoa come along?
i'm sure they'd love to kiss-mooch-mooch with Rhodes
and Corfu... i never thought breeding idiots would
be so easy.. i guess my satire lacked the imagination...
again, seriously, how far is Europe going to extend,
the Israelis love doing politics with America
but prefer to sing and a kick about ******'s
castrato end-product with Europe
(Colonel Bogey March theme-tune, Albert,
say it's true? you do have have that famous Fabergé?!
ooh problems with the connection
at the vote count, Mossad agents aplenty)...
this ain't the new Soviet union, **** sake's
Azerbaijan? new Rome is stretching it,
oblivious to international free trade, it's having
plastic surgery as we speak... when this **** falls
apart i don't want to be here, it's already funny as hell,
i'm just looking out for the next Mongol horde to
smack it into soberness, since it didn't learn how to
laugh drunk.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
R W Jan 2014
I don't have my black pen today and it's killing me.
The blue ink is murdering me.
I'm so dramatic, remember? ;)
So how have you been?
I like all your new clothes,
The sweatshirts and stuff.
Except the drug rug;
That still makes me a little uncomfortable.
But I can get over it.

I've been pretty good.
I was failing English a few months back.
I'm better now!
Have you done any of the Macbeth diary project?
I haven't. Glad she gave us that extension.
Hey, I started Breaking Bad a while back.
NOW I GET THE HYPE.
It's so good.
Only on season three, though.
P.J., Doug, Claudia and I
Want to have a Tremors movie night.
(Honestly, the idea's been thrown around for months.)
You should come!
Do you even know what Tremors is?
It sounds AMAZING.
Well, actually,
We all paid for the movies.
But maybe you can just mooch off me and come anyway.
You'd love it.

People keep trying to be Joe's and mine
Third wheel.
I wish it were you.
You were my favourite third wheel.
You're so good at it!
I guess I'll just deal with the ones I've got now.

I'll be honest,
It has been rough since you left.
I've been crumbling significantly lately,
Missing you a lot more.
Joe's been helping,
Really well, too.
I was a hot mess before he started helping me.
I think you two would like each other,
If you got to know him.

And I . . .
I cut myself again.
More this time,
A lot more.
Go on, yell at me and storm off
And ignore the problems.
But I've stopped
Again.

I don't like it when you yell at me,
In case you haven't gathered.
It's so scary,
The only time I'm truly terrified of a person.
All the anger surging through your arms. . . .
The anger in your eyes. . . .
Your eyes are angry all the time.
You have the fiercest green eyes. . . .
ANYWAY, I'm off topic.
How are you doing in Algebra?
To Austin. You always ask how I'm doing. Here is everything I want to say and can't because I'm not so good at talking.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
It seems you've replaced my shadow with yourself. You eat on what I ate on ignoring what's good for your health. I'm walking around these empty streets with a plan cause I can and you pace around these streets trying to act like a leech and mooch off anything with feet. You don't know your ethnicity so you take mine in hand. Yeah I'm Irish. I'm about to take an Irish **** on you, you pilot fish. Yeah I said it.  "Who am I? What do I do?" You make me sick man. What are you going to do: live for yourself or end up in a ******* fish can. There was always something fishy about you. You linger and you're always pointing fingers like you know what you're saying. You don't even know your own shoe size because you try to walk around like me. Try to talk around like me. Try to shock the town like me. But believe me I'm no **** eel. You reel what I reel because you aren't real yourself. Stop walking in my foot steps. Stop jumping on my back. All I want is my shadow back. ****.
shaqila Dec 2013
I am Blasianic(black, asian, latin mix) part 2
Latin love to be called ******* we pick fruits and vegetables for a living.
We latins love cleaning toilets and floors and being maids in rich households.
Latins steal what ever ain't tied or sealed to something in rich homes we work as maids in.
Latins are mainly janitors or mechanics.
Latins got a natural instinct to run when we don't have a a green card from the border patrol.
Latins love being migrant workers.
Latins dance and have *** all day.
Latins don't believe in birth control and our population is growing faster than one of my other cultures asians.
We latins think our skin is not brown we closer to white and bleach our hair blonde.
We latins love mooch off all and not pay back what we borrow.
We love drugs and make them and sell them in our ghettos.
We live in small houses with hundreds of family and other latins living in only one room.
Latins favorite foods are tacos not like ones taco bell makes.
Latins are lazy.
Latins come to America to get welfare and make their babies legal immigrants.
My latin uncles cell fruit on the freeway off ramp when they aint out doing drugs and scamming money off someone.
Latins come to America love working as day laborers to get a day of pay then don't got back to work cause they lazy.
Zulu Samperfas Dec 2012
Please forgive me, but it was so tempting, you see
And I know that doesn't excuse me
I looked them up again, my X and his catch
I found something I hadn't seen, a video they had made from the NY Times
I turned green, or maybe it was a shade of lime 
Of course I had to watch it, I'm in the bar, might as well order ***** and tip a dime
He seemed nervous, professing his 26 year love symbolized by a picture
Said he knew who he was now, mumbled other things a muddled lecture
This photo as a kind of insurance?  Always hidden from me
She was 41, feeling the pressure to combine for the world to see
He made a big rush at her, I guess that's fine
His love based on a brief event in high school 25 years ago, a moment in time
But no one cares what happened then, that's just too old
You're just a kid, your memories by now are covered in mold
She couldn't see through it, and they couldn't have ***
They skyped for hours a day, what would come next?
Just pining and dreaming, a 19th century romance
Waiting, hoping to meet to take the chance
But then her friends said "this is crazy, he's just mooching off of you"
As his father told my parents when they complained, he's a shlemiel through and through
That means a mooch, a user, a parasite
If you've got what he wants he'll be there overnight
So pressured and blinded by a simpletons idea of romance
(she edits dime novels for a living by candlelight by chance)
They met in a whirl in Switzerland
Of course that makes it better, being abroad makes him kin
And quickly he worked and they were engaged
And suddenly they were "an item," all the rage
In the Times video they walk through ***** New York snow,
and stop at a cupcake store and feed each other, you know
And it's all staged so perfectly but somehow doesn't ring true
All smiles, all closeness, but there's greyness, coldness in their hue
and as he speaks I feel like I'm watching a police video where a criminal lies
Says he didn't do it, and he was somewhere else besides
And I shouldn't of done it, shouldn't of googled them, I admit I'm bad
But even through the loss of my own dream with him, her situation looks kind of sad
So in my future, I'm sure I'll seek romance
But I'll take it easy, go slow and listen to my friends
For this man nearly destroyed me, brought me to my knees
And I can't ever go through that again, so other's advice I'll seek
S Jan 2012
I blame the drugs,
I blame the alcohol,
I blame the despair and the hopelessness that
Put you there.

I blame society.
I blame aggressive personalities.
Taking us down 10 pins at a time.
I blame the pin reset for taking too long
and being faulty at its job.

I blame the selfishness.
I blame the greed.
I blame the world for ******* artists
dry of their passion.

Paying far too much money for splatters of paint
on a canvas.
Paying far too much for songs without meaning
without talent.
That are recycled and reused.

For if I went to art school I'd pay far much more money
To go than I would make in my life.

I am bitter and resentful of what I hear every
single
*******
day.

I blame this chilling loneliness
which shatters my bones.
I blame myself for not picking myself up out of this mess
And moving on.

It's my voice in my head
That's keeping me from getting where I need to be.
That's keeping me from trying harder than my hardest.
That kept me in bed and not at school today.
It's where I need to be.

I realize that some things are my fault.
I realize that others are not.

I look out the window and I want to cry
Because this 'beautiful world' full of possibilities
never fails to just pass on by.

I am consumed by despair.
And I don't enjoy it.

I don't know what to do anymore.

I'm twenty years old.
To be twenty one in 4 months.
I feel like a 42 year old woman
Stuck at home
Being a mooch.
emptydurbansky Aug 2015
No one gives a **** about your graduation party
Or the fact that you ******* invited everyone except for me
No one ******* thinks it's cool that you talk **** about every ******* person you speak to
No one thinks you're a bad *** for leading girls on into their depths of sorrow and shame
No one ******* likes the fact that you are voicing rude comments and being a greedy selfish ****. Or that you pretend suicide is an option to receive attention from people who aren't even friends with you, but dont know what to do with the fake blood on their hands
No one ******* thinks its cool that you cheated on someone with thousands of girls at the same time and led them on to continue undoing their pants in the back of your car
No ******* thinks its cool that you potray yourself as someone you aren't and wish people you hate "happy birthday"
No one thinks you should be with that guy, because he's a whiny ***** who acts just like his ******* friends
No gives a **** that I blocked your "Meninist" ***.
No one thinks you are ******* cool for throwing a party in someone else's house.
No one gives a **** that you correct everyone's grammatical errors. IT'S A ******* MISTAKE. GET OVER IT.
No one cares that your problems contain pity little things, when there are people truly struggling.
No one ******* likes the fact that you have been cheating on the same man for years, and continue to mooch off of him
No one thinks its cool that your moods are a switch and that you backhand the mouths of your children for trying to help.
No one ******* cares that your daughter is trying to copy everyone and become an "aspiring model."
No one gives a **** that she also tries to one up everyone in her ******* path.
No one thinks you are too **** cool for getting high every night.
No one thinks its cool that you have to flirt with every single guy in your sight and then act like a hypocrite.

NO ONE ******* CARES.
I URGE READERS OF THIS ODE TO ACT IN SUPPORT TO RESTRICT THE EASY ACCESS OF FIREARMS!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
SANDY HOOK ELEMENTARY SCHOOL RAMPAGE – December 14, 2012
Tribute to those slain at sandy hook elementary school ™

I read the terribly tragic news oh boy
about unlucky kids
   at a Connecticut elementary school
thus a spark in me
   heavily languished from deadly ploy!

The steely bullets lit
tinder - kindle ling *******
   nemesis illicit throve illicit
pandemonium didst sting
   this papa s if his entire being hit
by mortar rounds,

   and his mouth hooked dry like sandy grit
from cold ****** merciless killing,
whereby logical explanation does not fit!

Hours after the merciless horror,
   (already five years ago)
I dialed me younger sister in bend, Oregon
   and over the phone did cry

per wanton massacre
   and loss of innocent children,
a part of this dada did die
no matter this papa

   of two darling young adult daughters
each day he does espy
open mouth and wide eyed Shutterfly,
how the years of their lives

(And mine) ever faster fly
yet, a figurative stab
   to the heart tore up this gentle guy
felt obliged to blubber love for sibling,

while attempting to say hi
whereby psyche rent asunder,
who would sacrifice himself to lie!

asper distraught fathers
   and/or mothers heart broken for
beautiful daughters and sons
   only thru memories can only adore

from cleft psyche, gut-wrenching,
woefully torment
   searing within mind doth bore
recovery from such loss

   prized progeny well nigh impossible chore
haunted by priceless offspring,
neither surviving
   papa/ mama can never a door

not ever again hearing
   soft pitter patters across floor
mental angst fraught with blood & gore
this haint mooch different,

   than a g.i. Joe in battle fatigues
locked in moral combat with korps
indelibly etched in conscience
   bent on evoking nightmares

like an ogre of folk lore
once happy go lucky faces smile no more
nor
will horror of grief abate,

   but continue to pour
inducing incessant screams
   from tigress roar
that remain in cerebral store

vis a vis an awful imp prim a tore
hammering, nailing,
   wrenching, et cetera phantoms
once genetic gems of yore.

thus, upon a bed of nails or
suffer any mortal pain well nigh
for my
precious progeny,
   whose innocence like apple pie
to the core

   their angelic souls parental guidance
yes, sometimes
   oat k shun ally goes a rye
but never could this father fathom...

   a momentary sigh
at beauty and innocence in children flush
with zest and unbounded energy
sans novel experiences those mowed down

will NEVER BE ABLE NEW ADVENTURES TO TRY
now, he only stares blankly
at the ****** headlines wondering WHY???
Paul Hardwick Nov 2012
(Life is like a walk in the park)!!!                 (Surrealism).

While walking in this park
my solipsism came in a fog
I mooch.
The Trumpoet Aug 2017
"Da Mooch", he was ******, was rude, and was loud.
As his spokesman, you'd think that would make Donald proud,
but he's suddenly dumped before we got to know him.
Yes, his job's been cut short... Just like this poem!
You can also see this and my other Trumpoems performed at: trumpoet.com.
Link: https://youtu.be/nxvj9GsLEkw
Written: August 1, 2017
and long since abandoned suitably
   casual to figuratively hack
an itch to be scratched, cuz social security -
   social anxiety did high jack -
qualification to received unearned income,
   boot aye and da missus lack

financial plenti tude, and oft times
   scrounging along the scrim edge line of life
   doth make me postulate to sever ties
   with the living courtesy of a big mack
truck, but that induces immediate revulsion,

   since that modus operandi
   would leave a messy track
thus, the follow ah share
   as this good humor man
   feigns bing out ta whack!

sum *** pull cull me a schmart ants
e'en though i lack an iPhone,
   five, but take
  a fox trot ting pooch cha cha chance
at let mooch hutch
   ah dog gone words dance
across the screen 4u 2 glance

and envision this chap
   to bow, wow and en-hance
springing sprightly
   like a human lance
hoping nada
   to get a rip in his pants
so...kick back n try
   to comprehend this bard *** rants.

GAINFUL EMPLOYMENT QUEST
sprinkled e'er so lightly with ra asp pea common
snazzy, snarky, snaky
non constricting boa tock nickle terms.
akin to a termite ex
   pending energy thru wood to bear

   bore ring search for income quite
   arduous, andslow as a bookworm
   burrowing some great literary tome
back the day, the slogging chore
unsatisfactory, thus, soon tubby sue pine
   wordsmith thought (in jest) to spruce quest per

   my non-conformist
   poetic je ne sais quois
   x cell lent cover letter de jour
for hue to access and me to entertain
   as a minimum less or more
and then...into circular
   filing cabinet ye will store
this non-formal reap ply,

   which email
   will take an cyberspace tour.
pixar could nada pay enough
   for this trainer
   of apple chomping antz
so i wonder if any chance
   whisker of employment

vis a vis thru
   this contrived virtual
   toy story qua ratatouille poetic brew
could materialize
   into a likely chance
such an idea generates me

   to shrek out with excite
   ment and dance
just in case a glimmer
   of some prospect exists
for self anointed bard,

   one who dislikes formality
now presents his technical skills
   which he hopes to enhance
p'raps e'en earn enough moolah
   to sight see the arc d'triumph,
   louvre, paris france

i offer the following poetic expression
   for ye to take a glance
and mebbe help
   this intuitive **** sapiens
   per his income
  to expand and en-hance
which byte size bit torrent humor
   might Putsch chew in a permanent trance

after misinterpreting this mishmash
   as some rave and rants
per even a part time need exists
   please let me share
   some positive stance
with subtle intent
   to place me as worth hiring,
to sway some au currant
   series electronic charge
and ideally affect hypnotic trance.

i betcha never chanced and to reddit
   perhaps you espied a similar post elsewear
   like this iambic pentameter electronic wire
from a boyish looking
   blood muggle father although up in years
(whose nonpareil courage
   to face Voldemort never does tire)
and two near grown girls,
   would consider him a worthy hire

less so to rake in gobs of moolah,
   but to satiate
   this unquenchable hunger and thirst
for further (ahem)
   bits of computer know how to acquire.
although this cover letter of sorts
   conveys teensy weensy, itty bitty
byte size actual work experience
(per this older mist ta lives a boot
   thirty plus miles

   northwest of philadelphia city)
nonetheless, i hanker
   (NOT to be confused with HACKER)
to employ my computer skills, plus bits of moxie
playing at nearby Roxy
burrow, which prompts the following ditty
to express interest to apply manual
   and mental rooted tasks
   ala computer trouble shooting
some ascribe passe or as nitty gritty

on a par with
   the secret life of one walter mitty
whom destiny protected and took pity
merely meant to be silly
yet also an attempt to be witty.
yes no matter how many miles by car
(actually your company might be within
   dead man walking distance)
this nectar savoring opportunity

   would not be considered to far
to use my acumen and interest
   and technologically spar
using graphical user interface programs
   to get unstuck from virtual soiled feathery tar.

iambic pentameter might be a faux pas
and not traditional standard
   genre for a cover letter
i see no reason with rhyme
   why non-conformist modus vivendi
cannot serve as modality

    communicate pursuit
as a computer repair technician go getter
which honest to stem -
   a grounded confession
hopefully affects grim prospects against
   other respondents at least a bit better.

this budding pure breed
   mud half blood muggle prince
born (whom most think me
   full o wart colored hogwash) - yea
truth seeker for employment
does reckon the following poetic way

devoid of employment vitae,
   since that would show a dearth
yet decided to resort to verse
   to induce a byte size mirth
of requisite (sought after)
   technical flowery expertise,
   i do possess the attributes well worth.
Today the Sunday special brief
     iCloud online worship session, I did attend
(via remote support)
     found me feeling pampered,

     when adept technical support
     didst figuratively bend
over backwards, thus aye defend
glorious, righteous,

     and zealous Gurus who did expend
their religious fervor, without proselytizing
and sanctified dedication they proffered
     as if this secular chap hapt tubby

     a long time Facebook friend
diligently persevered amidst
     my woeful yelping alarm
where bot sized wetbacks, setbacks,

     and drawbacks,
     required a secret char
which this netizen vaguely understood
     as unfair be-tidings disallowing

     thyself to purchase additional farm
ming out iCloud storage
     in the deleterious harm
akin to buggy ah mush swarm

comprised documents
     (painstakingly slaved over with zest)
plus sundry data necessitating mooch ***
     legal tender (probably every

     last red cent of mine) to in vest
concerted efforts of
     at least one expert to test
her/his mettle in an attempt

     (dim prospect) performing an in quest
to retrieve valuable data lost amidst a nest
of inaccessible "lost" information
     (bantering with computer

     jargon more so jest
with no intention to "FAKE"
     trumpeting minimal knowledge
     judiciously impressed

upon thine fifty plus
     shades of gray matter, at my be hest
expressing scant cumulative
     disc cussing duff frag

     minted understanding lest,
a personal goal
     to incapsulate in poetic best
not abandoning frustration
     with this Macbook Pro
cuz, positive experience
     wrought with Apostles eye attest,

so rather then vent
     my spleen in vein
hie desisted
     to rage against the machine,
     and tack toward being urbane

thus, rejoicing with a cherry,
     hearty, and mighty byte hooray,
     asper driving,
     exercising, and foisting

     gentle circuitry vis a vis
neurotransmitters and neuromodulators
     nudging pull-ups
     within cerebral terrain.
Let my sweetheart to take me a smooch
To see your graces to play with brooch
Beauty in front of love just seeking mooch
In style and taste she is graced like *****

With beauty what she is and what she is not
Burning like blazon sun in her *****'s knot
Such a wonderful beauty like burning hot
Don't ask about love it is like a beggar's ***

Let burning beauty but spread its real wings
Let beauty dance on soft musical love strings
My sweetheart please don't play with feelings
Your curves and curvatures for me are blessings

Let me teach you love what real love stands for
Through sheer efforts where one has to explore
When nothing is in store then what is to restore
Please be mine in the trial what I have to implore

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2017
it usually happens when a fly in mid-autumn still manages to fly through my window, and given that i'm currently smoking rolled tobacco (an art form, which my grandfather always admired me for, having perfected it), i've turned into a kind of slob, tobacco in my pockets, tobacco on the windowsill, tobacco on my books... it's almost like dust, i don't know how it gets from (a) to (b) of said places, however careful i am when rolling, there's always some loose strings of it lying around - as said: by locomotive breath: choo choo!

another thing that happens while drinking,
just take today for example, today,
woke at 11 am after sitting up to 6 am,
having exhausted my prescription sleeping pills,
turning to the painkiller naproxen
for, pretty much the same effects...
    naproxen man: da'h bomb, the goon in
the pharma rainbow...
  what? i studied chemistry, i'm not ashamed
of using what i could have synthesised
had there been no women in my class with
me being down-graded...
500mg of this baby, and you're suckling
at the **** of mother night -
i really would like to write down the ******
expression of a baby suckling at its mother's
***, the mooch mooch sucky sucky no fucky
sort of weirdness of the selfie duck pout...
how does that one go?
and then, momentarily, i get an injection
of intoxication, i mean genuine intoxication,
a glee in the eye, a wry smile,
   and a tornado for a thought...
    i can't seem to master the pompousness
of reading philosophy, frankly,
with the books i read, i can't,
   because so few people have read the originals
and simply *ctrl c ctrl p
did justice,
via the people who read them,
  but even these people are hard to find,
because, at it seems:
      after reading a work of such majesty,
you rarely have a coherent argument,
what you get is a narrative,
   which takes the back-alley route, and sometimes,
just sometimes, the few essential
bits & bobs pop out, i call them less
regurgitated maxims perfected for a mundane
"critique" / "understanding" of a work,
and more: jack-in-box-but-guess-which-box-
jack-is-in-when-rummaging-throug­h-a-warehouse-
of-boxes...
        it's either a game of greek roulette -
or plain dumb lottery, your pick.
    but then it creeps up, this drunken sensation
akin to way back in the old days
when actually did get drunk and have
hangovers...
                   i checked my weight too,
115kg way back... 110.8kg today:
       wow! i'm a slimming jim-joe genius!
****, beside the point...
          in vitro, in vivo,      &? in vino!
it's all chinese fireworks when i sit down
and read the genre of philosophy,
  like i said, i don't need to make this a pompous
affair, method acting, for sure,
  just pretend to be stupid and you'll
end up loving this genre...
      mind you, at school i was better at history
than i was at chemistry or biology,
even though i went beyond high school
to edinburgh to major in chemistry,
  it was obvious that i took to reading philosophy
like a gun to a barrel filled with fish...
can't miss 'em...
                 but i esp. enjoy reading, say,
heidegger's ponderings, when i become frustrated
at not being able to solve a sudoku puzzle,
or when i try to escape to some mundane
the times on sunday magazine article that
just feels like washing my eyes with
a toothbrush dipped in wasabi...
                 it's like: ugh, and oh, and huh?
and then the tears come...
          and to be honest i have no idea what
heidegger just wrote, point being -
if you want "coherency" in language,
you read the linear genre - a novel!
        you want a breath of fresh air,
  and some alone time without a reality-check
gravity thought-pattern dragging you
into the everyday, + a sigh? you read a poem
(or try not to, given all that free space
in poetry, no wonder novels in paragraphs
can feel so claustrophobic by comparison)...
and i hate cute, pooches, coochies, itchies,
'oochies... whatever...
but it was the already stated italics -
   in vitro: in glass, yourself looking out,
looking in,
      in vivo: in life, yourself looking in,
looking out,
   in vino: just looking at veritas,
                                                       i.e. truth;
and the former two do sound very much
like george harrison's greatest contribution
to the beatles' oeuvre with
  the hyper-hippy train wreck to india that
was within you, without you...
no wait... it might have been that groove
with studio pagol's take on rain on yours...
jiggy jiggy jove, jiggy jiggy remix by jove jr.
so why do so few people read philosophy,
as an equal genre of literature
   with the same plateau stature as novels
and poetry and all the art books and what not?
1. it contains too many questions,
2. you really don't know what the person
    is implying,
3. its the primordial / archetypal form of
      subversion (socrates was a spartan in
      athens when the two factions were
      at their necks),
4. it's technical, in that, it's non-reproducible,
    in that it's also always original (if
    written with a spirit of authenticity),
5. it sometimes whirls in a language akin
     to sentences that read, much like
     chemistry: CH3OH etc.
6. it's non-linear narration, always backtracking,
    or layering, akin to geology,
    orthodoxically known as systematisation,
7. unlike nietzsche: i find systematisation
    an honesty, because systematisation is
    not a dishonesty, but a pulverisation of
    a single point on the wheel,
    i.e. it's the representation of the tangent...
    and as the world rotates,
      times change, whatever "metaphor" you
care to desire as implicitly as this "poem" -
      well, the ever fleetingly touching,
              but forever meteorically fleeing;
8. it's written in a language of thought,
  rather than action,
           therefore the grammatical category
   of the verb is practically missing,
purposively, since action as much as talk
is not an extension of thinking -
  why? how many mindless acts, enigmas
surround us (lost vegas?), and how much
idle babble in the houses of parliament?
9. god... every sensible philosophy book
does not avoid the:
  noun inside a noun inside a noun inside
ad infinitum...
      as such: to me god is a paraphrase -
the sharpening of a thesaurus,
  or, to better mention -
               to narrow the thesaurus in order
to find one's on vocabulary bank...
one's authentic storage of words -
  that does not deviate as it sometimes does,
so ****** obvious, by novelists who
sometimes reach for that "smart" word that sticks
out like a fifth limb in a sentence
  on the odd occassion;
  and why is god a paraphrase to me?
  look how many times that concept has been
reworded,
   the jews have a name for him,
       the prime 7 and the esoteric 72...
   the hindus have more gods than actual
names for a single deity,
    the christians don't have the father's name,
   the muslims bak bak hark allahu and then
miss the other 99...
         to me the best version is to call it by
way it really is: ditto.
- and now off to making hamburgers and chips.
magicbroccoli66 Sep 2017
i lik poomes si mooch
we smell badd?
yee

wen we do ti badroom we doo a triky po
somtems iit smell lik chandie floos47


boot rilee iss jutc pupu
wat do i rit noiw%
yes, this daft punk pink animal from farm ville will newt axe
any thank u mooch positive word does not rick choir whet backs
now i hold out virtual fig leaf tub buffer
   end share fiber filled meal of flax
sitting on the porcelain throne
   while sphincter doth re lax
testing toilet tolerance
   bowel movement level to the max
cuz despite intake of food
   rather moderate outflow packs
a wallop - excrement humungous
   enough ta offset Acela train off tracks.

silence of the lambs, lions, tigers n bears
will commence without a word
after dropping quite a load ****
thence, this chap imagines his ****** bombs will be heard
twitter n tweeting like some melodic bird
which might induce ye to con sitter me absurd.

i (alias alice cooper) hoop zee follow wing accepted as good
that renown brother/ twisted sister hood
who happens to be known as fraternal order of police
serve as ac/dc megadeath cure and remove us
   from beatle browed public enemy

albeit dire straits, inxs sting from bad company
   opens doors e'en on a black sabbath
whereby alice in chains
   adorned in a suit of deep purple metallica
contribute to the ongoing musical genesis
   whereby talking heads
rage against the machine with guns n roses
   or recount fields of a green day
from children of the korn

swaying in the green day breeze
on a green day of linkin park
akin no doubt to reveling in pearl jammed nirvana
inviting barenaked ladies
to side step any puddle of mud

while searching three doors down
for a rolling ****** temple pilot foo fighter
led zeppelin or joe na jet
   where saint peter Gabriel considered like u2.

please come as you r and serve
   as inxs of mine kiss able balm
to reduce anxiety and calm
while we imbibe on Perrier mitt Dom
and get relaxed - and hold each others palm
to help assuage any uneasy qualm
my dang telephone access
   lacks necessary wired  tinned can Rom.

sincere pulsation's ricochet
   back and forth in mind
in league with crawling desire toward feminine kind
whose inadvertent reciprocity develops an unimagined bind
in addition to the most awesome bedazzled find
that enervates and welcomes this guy, an enigmatic kind.

deliverance from (who knows where)
   brought such a sought after fate
found me a despondent, laconic soul searcher as of late
who just might now identify a suitable female mate
help him enjoy simple pleasures fruits of existence to sate
of life before he goes to pearly gate.

a creeping sense of pessimism pervades breathing air
ramifications from downing
   a bottle of ***** goat ****
   spurring ******* while buck bare
nevertheless, a remarkable sin sincere concern n care
(in addition taupe ply ******
   on account of numerous trials n error I made a dare
to engender a liaison with literary wit and flair.

m. scott hog tied harris
eagerly in search of an heiress
fears he will become dog gone petrified
   into a hardened statue made this heart and soul
from plaster of paris.

now this mwm concludes => from::scott matthews
who offers ethical creed, hence ye goot nut tin to lose
by befriending me - a doubting thomas among gentile or jews
who dislikes putting on tha ritz, when p pull re::fuse
but a gentle siri us homle based ****** o kay cruise.

best fur fantasies to remain bound
   did amongst those of n oh sage
   lest we haint on the same selective page
per even a brief, concise, n desirable textual image
whether for general chit chat i.e. small talk most gauge
search get ting sexed
   while feel n like one matted rat in a cage
since this archaic n primitive rolling stone er age.
LVI Elapsed October 17th's Bore Witness
To A Girl Born With True Grit

Tuss ben big goo me newt to write
and how though trite
thine complex edifice immersed in spite
which doth nobody any good RIGHT
hence hie exerted effort
from within this quite

mindful sib bull ling to detach himself from his own plight
and fashion attempt (however feeble)
   to complete before this night
a communique (my apologies if thee cognition strikes thee
   with dumbfounded hard to comprehend patois),
   but perchance a mite

bit of the following - dashed off in a huff - epistle sheds light
on ceasing to ignore yourself (envious
   of yar fierce sticktowithiveness) scaling height
of apprehension (more insurmountable than  
   natural mountain peak, versus taking flight
and shuttering ye out of my humdrum life (orchestrated
   with mild sax and violins), yea not mooch to excite
but, this effort pressing fingers
   upon select keys eventually generated a byte
size message sent via FIOS fiber optic and mostly airtight.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Tis with great difficulty birthday cheer proffered,
when psyche still stung
by lash of acrimouny, calumny, effrontery, finality rung
humility indelicacy,...zealotry
as if spoken with glee from your tongue.
unwise to sustain estrangement caws
each of us imperfect, aye kin attest mine past awash with flaws,

and admit crushing impact felt from others,
especially late Zison inlaws
but, now yearly occasion of your birth opportunistic
   despite being annexed by anxiety based on uncertain laws
sans human behavior, how ye might respond,
   me owning modest kudos buffer as oopahs

   to risk brokering a detente (which avoidance
   toward thee) undermines cumulative,
endearing hur rahs
visited times gone by,
   which recent past found me unstoppably gurgling
   invariably vibrating uvulas
(yes, ja probably forgot, this bro' born
   a mutant Ninja Turtle) xy awes,

   speaking severe nasal sounds,
   when exhalation boyhood memory draws
obvious twang – another ace in the hole for bullies –
   gnashing identityguard where gauze
superfluous, and those hurtful ingrates lobbed words,

   when they may as well swang fists at me upper and lower jaws,
though decades in the past, the imprimatur indeibly etched,
   yet stinging rebukes from maws
and faux paws trigger remembrance of things past
   (analogous to Post Traumatic Stress Disorder -

in my case countless acromonious, denigrating, execrable names
contributed to Schizoid Personality Disorder –
though predisposition for sundry mental illness
most likely incsribed within mom and pop sic cull genes),
now greater  enlightenment reacting/responding to stress

comprehending my biology, chronology, ecology, geneaolgy
(fyi – Amelie paid consultant at 23andme.com for blueprint
denoting fabric housing jumbled, linkedin, nested past –
results surprisingly showed 1% Neanderthal
   comprise inherited) psychology,
thus explaining insatiable hunger for bananas,
and intermittant urge to swing from tree to tree,

whereby I willingly accept arboreal, corporeal,
   generallly less than ideal traits
which pro active overtures arrest
   (without a warrant), contest, assent everest
(albeit metaphorically) satisfactorily
   extending virtual olive branch (pitted)
recognize immutable imposibility to confront
   excrutciating bygone feelings,
this endeavor, a quest to test mine kempf zone, and endure

current flow of uneasiness (clammy
   and sweaty hands fostered by andiety),
yet exorcizing mailer demons critical
   to experience mindfullness, and requisite
to fast tract expeditious deliverence,
   whereat ye ought not be deprived

   THIS SIBLING (HAN SOLE BROTHER)
   WHOSE LOVE TOOTH HE
   (on account of dentures) DIDST OFTEN BESPEAK!
Far moost o' me
     three score minus one year
tethered upon terra firmae where
planet Earth doth veer

(spins upon the global axis
     (tilted 23.5 degrees from the plane
     of its orbit around the sun),
terrestrial genesis (perhaps accompanied

     for Pete's sake by Gabriel
     blowing his horn) in all honesty unclear
boot more oven concern
     points to thermonuclear

and/or subnuclear
war, particularly at forefront
     of thine primate noggin
actively hypothesizing

     theoretical armageddon,
     when non plus ultra gravitates
     with e pluribus unum necessitating
     each individual to bend over

     and kiss his/her rear
goodbye unless total merciless queer
hue loss atomic fallout immediately
     incinerates e'en

     the moost savvy profiteer,
which aforementioned prognostication
     arose from overbear
ring hazy, hot and humid

     dangerous heat spell near
lee approximating insufferable
     temperature nearing triple digits
     (along Eastern Seaboard

     of United baked States
makes this human,
     an immediate convert to climate control
(though he happened tubby already)

     basking, glorifying, and luxuriating
     within delightful 60º Fahrenheit mere
really expressing gratitude for such
     creature comfort donning my

     stretched out birthday suit,
     (yet thee moost comfortable leisurewear
then thrift store "special bag
     mountain of clothes

     as mooch as Yukon sales,"
     no matter mine ill mannered
     mirrored reflection doth jeer
at such a sorry sight, and/or

     laugh reading interlinear
monologue colloquy,
     which message gleaned between lines,
and should this poem be red aloud,

     thy ******* passion linkedin
     with humming HVAC, ye would hear
courtesy hove cochlear
(hollow tube in the inner ear)
sensitive to deafening sounds...so beware!
this got written x years ago
behoves this update version of a bozo
christened sans parents
   playing eeny meeny miny moe,

yet upon tiring of game with a no
   nonsense attitude
   eventually decided on Not Nada Poe
Whit - Walt har vee gong to call So and So?

Now, you probably wonder and ask
yarself y am.i. On a wishy washy
web site - far tis to bask
in offline and/or online friendship

as like quaffing from a flask
with no deliberate intent
   to antagonize nor mask
n e hidden agenda -
   quite a challenging task.

Thus, i turn the question back 2 u,
per what spurred posting/responding too
and might there be interest
with me - n average hue

man male - hoping
   4 an acquaintance brand new
from - this barred bard -
   scot **** matthew.

Dis ***** older buck haint gonna take a byte
so...no need to take fright
i merrily scout cyber seas donning
me virtual webbed whirled wide wet suit to brook

a female friendship countless
   adult oriented web site
such as ashleymadison, badoo, craigslist, elitemate,
plenty of fish tagged twoo,

or other venue left of the political right
and if absolutely positively unquestioningly
without subatomic particle of interest
than please just respond albeit and try to be polite...

good morning, noon, or night
quite
right
to be guarded when an acquaintanceship
   begins out of sight

whereby data bit bump and grind
   thru the information super
   highway somewhat tight
and bring x rated epistles to life that i write.

Ma arch i bald dingbats of fingas clip by
at greased lightening speed
justa friendship this poor fella doth need
an accommodating gal to offer a lead
mien eyes did not purposely heed

nor any greed
from one suppurating marriage
this guy wants to be freed
with no malice this cheap tricking
   super tramping wordsmith
of inxs ac of dc charged cheap tricks
sans done ***** deed.

This impersonator qua sometime bard of yore
admits to his apology
if ye get taken totally abominable
like bar rammy aback

to proposition ye with carnal desires in store
and ideally match deeds ease with these words
towards such strong desire to adore
forsooth that naked realm

to allow the noggin to bore
together in close syncopation like couplet core
and would now gently encourage
his newfound muse

to let me dip me quill in
   iambic pentameter du jour
a wordsmith who shies away
drinking *** or smoking *****.

Now with a zing
i step into the digital xing
via summit da fall low wing
written jest to byte tongue in cheek
yet unsure if zee phone here will ring

or an unexpected gold plated invitation
after the yodeling ding
in an effort to hear that pleasant
yet discordant musical ka -- ching
for cherished pennies,
   nickels, dimes, nickle back
et cetera from heaven to bring.

Twiddling me fir and twenty black bird
shaped like a green thumb
as me schmart simian Semitic ****
gets comfortably numb

after quaffing
   humongous amount of ***
while downing oral rob hurts
   sesame street pudding

made of pureed plum
unlike jack in the corner
   my luck mooch oh more glum
and despite ****** stubble here
and there a stale crumb
this har dabbler in words haint no ***
only a hard knock er skool alum.

from thee one and only almighty
alfred e. neuman king crusty crab crumb son Rodg
er alias scott matthews - whose words
   intended as playful persiflage

if curious to learn more about me
   emanating from cranial lodge
   unless no auto mat tick interest arises -
   whence this reply u can dodge.
xavier thomas May 2021
i’m not your supporter
that you can just mooch on
nor call to attend to your every need
Eslam Dabank May 2020
The dance of ignorance marks our era,
The revelry howls into their ears,
But isn't opening a mind, only a bra.

Smoke is what we learned from Chimera,
Hangovers, falsehood, imbecility - unrestrained
Their most loyal friend, is dear nausea.

Drugs and **** brings them the aurora,
Living is nice, when we are unconscious.
In this reality, we are no Andromeda.

Advocacy of the unknown, is their chroma,
Defines their existence and ensures a legacy.
All is, a pseudo pride, and a fictitious corona.

Injustice, corruption ghosts within the area
Multilateral sins, unilateral sentence,
Flows into their logic like satisfying aria.

Bogus beliefs, to rise, and rule are a plethora,
Empty imposters control, destroy and mooch,
And what we see is an illusion of an aura.

Defiling the Quran, the bible, and the Torah,
With what a gold holder wishes and needs.
Whomever defies them, loses their aorta.

All will be fallen, America, Europe and Russia.
Hatred, arrogance, saturation of trivialities,
Is taken in, in grace, like the seduction of Delilah.

Concerts unify us, not our humanity, it's in coma,
Lack of fellowship, digs deeper into division.
If only books, not Lady gaga, were your holy diva.

The void will swallow us all, the diaspora,
The loss of our identity, truth, entity and ego.
Finding our roots, is our everlasting dilemma.

— The End —