"moshing" poems
The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.
Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.
With smash hits like
"This traffic is ********
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals
Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.
old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.
"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.
Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"
So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.
Sep 21, 2016
Sep 21, 2016 at 4:16 AM UTC
(Words were given to me by classmates:
A Vivid
B Incredible
C Rapid
D Blank
E Indubitably
F Over)
The sight so vivid,
the feeling is incredible.
Thumping, thrashing, moshing; rapid.
All adrenaline, minds are blank.
All will have stories to tell, indubitably.
Time stops; never ending, never over.
Guitarist flicks his pick over
our heads; strobe lights so vivid.
People injure for that pick, indubitably.
Though to catch it would be incredible.
Chaos for a piece of plastic that's blank.
The crowd's desperation; movements are rapid.
Heavy metal; headbanging rapid.
Vortex as they swing their heads over.
Some are dizzy; expressions blank.
Light reflects of swishing hair; movements are vivid.
How the band maintains the rhythm is incredible.
Long night for everyone, indubitably.
The chaos will never end, indubitably.
People still moshing, everything is rapid.
Being in the center; scary and incredible.
I hope this will never be over.
Lights flashing, making everything vivid.
Flashing and thrashing; nothing is blank.
Begin a new song, backdrop is blank.
Something awesome, indubitably.
New song starts, loud and vivid.
Musicians play more rapid.
No one wants it to be over.
Lyrics speak, it's incredible.
This night is incredible!
No thoughts form, my mind is blank.
But dreadfully, it is over.
Traffic out is awful, indubitably.
My heart is still beating so rapid.
The memories are oh, so vivid.
I wish it wasn't over, the lights were so vivid!
My energy is blank, but my mind is still rapid.
The show was incredible; I'll go again, indubitably.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 6:57 PM UTC
I've got 50 states of panic.
They're all moshing in the pit of my stomach.
I've got arthritis is my voice so I only have a certain range of communication,
I tend to lock up at the most terrible time, getting stuck on the joint of wanting to tell everybody everything all at once.
Just like the old man across the street.
The warden of his disease forces him to have all lights off by 9:30.
If the lights still show by 10:00 we call to see if his disease escaped his prison.
The stutter at the end of the line gives us back our breath that we've been holding onto for so long.
I bet he lost track of time flipping through pictures of his sweet Joan.
I think he wants to cross over onto the next street just to hold her hand.
My 50th state of panic is that no one will call if my light is left on a little too long.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 8:28 PM UTC
Music flowin through my veins,
Just reach out and cause some pain.
A punch to the face and a knee to the jaw,
Heads hit heads, the weaker ones fall.
Pick em up, move em out,
Keep the pit going, don't quit now.
I wipe the blood out from my eye,
Then run back with a kamikaze cry.
Crack some heads, stomp some shins,
I can't wait til the music begins.
I'm the first one in, the last one out,
Moshing's what I'm all about.
If I don't *** hurt it wasn't that good,
But **** ya shoulda seen the other dude.
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 4:36 PM UTC
flipping the radio dial in
the middle of the night &
coming upon Bollymetal
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
She was in love with the road and the music
It was her home
Underneath the lights, amidst the noise
Her soul was dark and free
She was a drifter, one stage and city to the next
He was in love with her
The way she could pour herself into an eighty five minute set
How she could move a moshing crowd to tears
She was his home
Her smiles, her lips, her messy hair
The way she'd kick her laces boots and watch her feet as he told her he loved her
She fell hard, he fell harder
They fell in love to the beat of a ragtag eighties grunge song and things just never changed
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
What can I say I love
wearing suits
nice leather boots
Love hanging out
with other guys
and wearing ties.
Playing sport
listening to heavy
music and going to
gigs moshing in
pits and having
a blast drinking
pints of beers
and thinking
about women.
But I don't look
like other guys
Reality sinks in
and I feel lost
and hurt inside.
I withdrawn
back in my shell
quickly learn
that I have been
born into the wrong
form.
Seeing it every day
magnified and glaring
back in the mirror
each morning
is enough to make
me hate it.
These days I feel
gender-less and neutral;
hardly charming
never beautiful
or at the least
the way I intended
it to be
I'm just me.
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 6:18 AM UTC
Eli had no reason to hang around
while the band shaved their skulls
& went full-tilt Nihilism, singing
about nothing at all. Normally
immune to Strychnine, Jane was
spontaneously bleeding from the
face; seeing his opportunity, Ivan
pulled her onto the stage.
Thereupon the crowd erupted in
furious moshing;
The Band revisited DEAD POWER,
played Brutal Church & songs from
the ***** Tour, encore after encore
while Jane was brought to the Hosp.
Knowing Eli Simple was a known
collaborator with the riotous band,
the Russian Police, informed that Eli
had flown to Montenegro, the police
tried to extort a bribe from the
feckless poet-musicians; It was Ivan
who suggested a Benefit Concert for
the police. Of course, everyone
agreed. Instead of shutting the band
down they were plugged into the City's
power grid & blacked out Eurasia ...
The morning sun returning sleepily
to the gilded old city, no arrests had
been reported the entire night; all brawls
broken out in the spirit of jocular fun,
black eyes & bruises notwithstanding.
Jane was the talk of the town: "Like an
American Horror Movie!" they said.
Chuckie's stick figure had been fitted
into a red bikini & she sat smiling,
tanked up on coffee in the day room.
Eli handed her his glass of whisky &
lita cigarette. The head housekeeper
also greeted the man of the house
with a hearty smile; "Oh, MIster
Simple, I am so happy you brought
home Miss Arzhaiana. My gransparants
are Chukchi." The newlyweds took
turns drinking from the glass.
Chuckie was already thirsty & Eli
inevitably bored. The News was filled
with multiple contradictory reports
of the St. Petersburg Policeman's
Benevolence Society Fundraiser,
which raised no money but the city's
overall morale was greatly improved.
Every citizen had an unflinching
grin on their face, as if overnight
they'd been purged of the vilest
demons of their country's centuries
of violent repression & persecution.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
in the middle of the midst of the scene
i swear this fucker's already been seen
cut to some day
that seems like today
or should be,
maybe.
except I can't quite manage to distinguish
the quiet from the mirage from the extinguished
stomping barefoot on broken glass
moshing in a field of razor grass
will the screaming ever ease?
the shrieking ever cease?
price paid
over & over
ad infinitum
fight not to fade
over & over
and then some
exhausted
self-accosted
so sick of this ****
& its anti-exquisite
ready to abandon belief in it
but will when ever be the whole then again?
will Clint ever really rock & roll & rule again?
hmmm,
we know you can't bind me
if I decide to find me
so get thee behind me
before I remind me
of the achievements I was “meant” for
which I never ever gave a **** for
Force of Nature
my own answer
intellectual
emotional
primal
the forever genius jester
wit charm & character
with four-alarm laughter
exiting the confusion
burning cold fusion
escaped from my asylum
for the emotionally insane
unbroken I again become
and this phoenix shall remain
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 3:16 AM UTC
today i drove 3.72 miles
to buy a single 44 cent stamp
and a woman with hair
the color of a cement foundation
forgot my name,
so i pretended not to know
hers either
i stood in a line
of people with holiday
parcels under their arms
and i looked at my phone
to check the date
because i live in a world
where the days of the week
rarely flit through my mind,
much less numbers
from a grid written
on paper
(note to self:
don't worry,
you didn't miss thanksgiving)
i meandered slowly
through the zigzags,
all of us corralled
like cows gone to pasture,
or perhaps being led
to slaughter
by flimsy pieces of
polyester we don't
dare touch
the woman
behind the desk
broke my morose thoughts
with a joke about
the government robbing us
all blind
i imagined a swat team
breaking through the glass
wall behind me
and grabbing her
before we could even
blink twice
then a man
three times my age
looked me in the eye
and told me i looked much
too tired for a 20-something
and i told him, well,
that's because i am
we stood in the parking lot
for nearly an hour
and i told him of the dreams
that pull my energy away
just as i'm regaining it,
in the fitful in-between
of true rest and eyes wide open
i spoke of leaping broken stairwells,
chasing thieves on motorcycles,
finding true love only to watch
it be trampled by a crowd moshing
to the music that defines my days
i told him of my mother's theory:
that i was working out
the issues that plagued
me by day throughout
the night
and he scoffed and told me,
girl, your mother may be right,
but that brain of yours is a
gift and these dreams are
what's wrapped up within it;
if you know what's good for you
you'll figure out a way to use them
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
People’s rhymes sold in auctions, please take caution
Of the window washing smileys panhandling toxins
Give no option, moshing many minerals
Cocktail parties are more hardy maybe visceral
Rock the mini marts when the boys tumble out
To cull clerks hurtin’ in no cocktail lounge
Shout outs as loud as the whole neighborhood
Mounds of scatter chips blitz grub to scrounge
Shout out to the clerk, sorry we’re super drunk
How bout not being a dupe or **** you entertainment monks
Who’d of thunk these the spunky thinkers of tomorrow
Jul 1, 2017
Jul 1, 2017 at 1:07 PM UTC
Try to do what's right
Try to make someone's day bright
Try to help those in distress
Try to clean up all of their mess
Kindness is a well and fine
But when you're in the school line
It doesn't matter how nice you were that day
for all their own problems you shall pay
Because kids can be cruel
And somewhere, someday you'll be cool
But will being nice get you anywhere
It seems the worst get more than's fair
Survival of the fittest or the meanest
Moshing to the food while the polite are the leanest
The top of the food chain I see
Is the ones who cut down the trees
But maybe in the end
The ones who never mastered any trend
Will be the ones who have the most love
Down here and up above
On the day that we are most recalled.
Maybe we will be remembered as the nicest person they ever knew
Or that nice one who let you ahead in the queue
Does all that goes come back around
Or do we only appreciate who is underground.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC
I can think of no comparable rapture than a electrical storm.
Power, chaos, and fury moshing it out and the earth is their pit.
It's like watching three brothers fight for the front seat.
There's so much passion condensed into a small area.
Ages ago I'd climb into the safety of my car and drive.
Once I reached a spot void of light pollution I'd **** the engine.
Just to hear the rain hammer the roof of my car.
To feel the power in the air and watch the streaks of light.
I'd think about life or the lack thereof and her of course.
The darkness enveloping the turmoil that lie unseen.
A certain beauty to the chaos if looked at from just the right angle.
Though unlike the other dogs. I stayed behind to finish the game.
The storms just never scared me.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Punk kids, instead of having choreography or jumping up and down with hands in the air,
Punk kids knock, bounce and rattle against each other like broken glass in a bag or pin ***** in the most complicated machine,
I hate loud noise but I love loud music as long as I have my headphones
Back and forth, headbanging until the noise from our heads comes out those ringing ears
Nervous tics to music
Stress made into a party
Rocking out, rocking ourselves forward and back
Just like I do when I'm overwhelmed
Catching or reaching a hand to anyone who knocks themself down
Loose limbs and heads slack
Hands and feet across the crowd are literally twitching,
It's a monster mash looking, skeleton disco.
Some kids look possessed but they're okay with that
No one's worst demons can get in because the venue's at full capacity,
The window-watchers chase any evil spirits into the snow,
Fear and worry leave for one set because they can't stand the racket,
The rest of the day got lost in all the cables and pedals,
I bounce against kids in chains and band t shirts,
Hardly need to use my eyes,
My shoes are covered in Doc Marten footprints and people shove me and I shove them right back and I don't need to say anything in the huge mess that is the mosh pit
The room is full of people moving like zombies on a sugar high whose brains are being eaten by the music,
For a while, we let that happen.
When the final set ends
My neck and feet are sore like the speakers and amps were a workout you can buy from Guitar Center,
Headbanging is my favorite kind of cardio,
And moshing is my favorite catharsis.
The silence is everywhere as the punks exit the Scene.
I hardly know any of these people by name.
But we just performed one strange, scene kid dance
For the night to watch
When I go to bed my legs spasm
I think because
they are still dancing
Mar 26, 2022
Mar 26, 2022 at 12:16 AM UTC