"mumbo" poems
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Bumming your fat knobs and insert your helmet naked and unashamed
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Kicking off kick-off, cyborgs brought face to face
Tartan sunstroke and may Mumbo Jumbo's **** all lie among you
Nine, eleven, seven, thirteen, six, quinquereme, ******** ********* Tweedledum and Tweedledee, unsocial person, erectoffensive!
This is Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
You've really ****** the naval officer
And the hatchet faces want to know whose blouses you abuse
Now it's time to evacuate the ******* if you have a free hand
This is Lance Corporal Tom to Masticated Ectoplasm
I'm fancy dress dancing through the cat—flap
And I'm groping inside a swollen grotesque sailor
And the plums look gigantically unusual nowadays
Ergo from Land's End to John o' Groats am I piddling in a crumpet slammer
Telescopic hindward the lump
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
With the proviso that I'm Ichabod celibate centipede sextillion heads
I'm fondling vigorously paparazzo
And I think my sputnik knows which direction to ****
Tell my ballbreaker I ****** her vigorously for England, she bonks
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Your menstrual cycle's kaput, there's oojakapivvygizmo spleen
Can you smell me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you get to the bottom of me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you delve into me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you...
From Land's End to John o' Groats am I vibrating ring my crumpet criminal lunatic asylum
Telescopic hindward the groupie
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
you can wear your cap twisted sideways
sag your pants down to your knees
ride a pachyderm or a mule that brays
be whatever kind of fool you please
sing love songs in the rose garden
or complain how the dollar done fell
knowing qadafi, hussein, and bin laden
have all been dispatched to hell
you can rant and rave about raw deals
you can raise your snout and sashay about
or he-haw and buck, kick up your heels
or vote for more hope or to kick da *** out
you can lean to the left or to the right
weighing the pros and cons and hype
but you can't stay out of this fight
and claim you're just not the type
to freely elect their governments and laws
evers, walesa, mandela, and susan b
lived and died for just such a cause
to see the people's voices set free
but if you just call it mumbo jumbo
and aloofly let this moment pass
we all may be led by Dumbo
or maybe that other *******
what percentage do you claim?
forty-seven, one, or ninety-nine?
tea party? occupier? some other name?
are you just spouting a party line?
all our blood runs red
'bove us all the sky is blue
and no matter what is said
there's one thing we all should do
hadn't you better cast a vote?
against the ones who vote aginst you?
i think you'd really better vote ...
it's the least but the best thing you can do.
doug curry
10/24/2012
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:43 PM UTC
Dost thou even go here?
Can thou even read?
Doth thou know the website thou art on?
Poetry be what we breed!
Ye foolish man!
Ye simpleton!
From whom unrefinement flows!
Thou shalt not write,
On a poetry site,
A work of ****** prose!
Oh yeah? Watch me.
Hello beautiful people. I'm in the mood to philosophize. And this being a poetry site, let's make the topic poetry. (WARNING: this piece will be filled with opinions, personal beliefs, and probably a little butter. If you don't agree with anything I say, good for you. Way to have opinions. AND WHATEVER YOU DO. DON'T SUBSTITUTE MARGARINE FOR THE BUTTER!) Ok, so poetry. I like poetry. And since I'm the one writing this, I'm gonna tell you about my philosophy, and my personal style and influences.
My philosophy that I try to live by is minimalism. Which is NOT laziness! Minimalism is quite difficult really. Anyone can write a nice fluffy poem (and yes, nice fluffy poems can be dark pieces about death and the like.) What minimalism is to me, is the stripping away of all of that fluff to get down to the raw emotion of a piece. An abundance of words pollutes the emotion.
Now, my stylistic mumbo jumbo. My aesthetic has gone through a few phases. A lot of my work is very modernist. What that means is that it deals a lot with... well with failure. Failure of the human race, failure of people, and my own personal failure. But also with separation. Some prime examples of my modernist works are "here I lay a martyr" and "of my faults and follies"
The next phase is when I started writing music for my band (Bisclaveret Marie, we're on Facebook. Check it out.) I became enamored with a man by the name of Jack White. (yes, that Jack White. The one formerly of the White Stripes.) Also the source of my minimalist approach, Jack revived my love for the Blues. When that came crashing into my poetry, it was definitely for the better.
The next phase was surrealism. The use of images and metaphors and weirdness to paint a picture of the emotion I choose to write about. (I don't really know how to describe this, just go read Though There Be Dragons, A Journey Through The Mind of a Madman. It'll make more sense.)
And most recently the Blues have seen a renaissance in my work. The simple lyric structures and rhyme patterns tickle my inner minimalist.
Yeah, so that's my spiel. If you actually read this, you freaking deserve a medal
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
That's
Nonsense!
That's
beans!
babble!
bunkum!
bogus!
baloney!
blither!
blather!
blah blah!
********
balderdash!
blarney!
********
That's
crapola!
claptrap!
codswallop!
That's
drivel!
That's
fiddlesticks!
flapdoodle!
frippery!
folderol!
That's
guff
garbage
gibberish!
gobbledygook!
That's
horse hockey!
hocus-pocus!
hokum!
hogwash!
humbug!
hooey!
humdrum!
That's
jibber-jabber!
jive!
jazz!
That's
malarkey!
mumbo-jumbo!
monkeyshines!
That's
Nuts!
That's
poppycock!
piffle!
prattle!
That, sir, is
******* and
RIGMAROLE!
That's
trash
tripe
and
twaddle
That, sir, is
NONSENSE!
Mar 14, 2015
Mar 14, 2015 at 7:09 PM UTC
Encroaching satellites
High voltage saturation and shade
And an obtuse synopsis of cognitive psychology
Condensing your threshold
Searching for hand outs
Ripping the railings out of the walls
In the stairwells in the doctor's office on the way to your colonoscopy
Laying on the futon with and your therapist writing down everything you say
"Go on"
"Mhm"
"I see"
"How does that make you feel?"
Skid-marked underwear
Delving, dumpster diving for food
In the lonesome twilight
In the rippling rainstorm
People shelling out gripes
Squinting, doing a double take at you
Followed by a wavering tumult
They're gonna have you capped
That is, unless you purchase this love seat
-Tommy Johnson
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
Short and stocky
White bearded
Balding
Grumpy
Blue marker streaking across a dirtied dry erase board
A seemingly never ending lecture
Words, symbols, equations
Statistical theories
Is now an appropriate time to use the term, "mumbo jumbo?"
I sit here
Half listening
Copying his hand written problems into a document
Peck peck peck
Wishing that math and science were not so intertwined
But also that I will someday call myself a scientist
A scientist with a firm grasp of math
Email open in the background
Switching windows incessantly
Snickering at the memes you've sent
Reflecting on the previous days
Trying to understand your ways
Your words so specific yet so broad
Do I know you?
Do you know me?
Why is this so hard?
Will it ever be easy?
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
Help!
I'm being pummeled
By thousands of ghosts
That sciencey-guy over there
Said they were called neutrinos
I don't trust it though
It's mumbo-jumbo
But don't worry about me
I learned how to fight ghosts
Where's my garlic?
Wait, that might be for use against vampires.
Oh no.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 10:52 AM UTC
See him make it
Down the street
Ricket legs
And hobbled feet
Him mumbo something
Him jumbo back
R X R
with clacking track
There him go
Past weeds and such
Full of empty
Short of luck
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
They weren't born with a silver spoon
only an umbilical cord tied round their necks
alas this stopped enough oxygen getting to their brains
creating minds full of mumbo jumbo ideas and fantasies
and a bleeding wound that gives them pain without relief
reminding them all the time they are low and never good enough
cause they were born without a silver spoon on a dusty ***** track
It's a blemish that can never be erased
even with a million lucre they still feel small and stained
you can take them out of the manger not the shame out of them
they always believe and know that those others are better than them
with stunted-brains and raving-angst they never see the world right
its us and them burns the burning passions in conflicted sad minds
life long struggles for the struggle to find that silver spoon never had
Their leaders had a brilliant idea in time
mind without a silver spoon their brains always suspect
find all the silversmiths and **** them all and then nationalize silver
one called Stalin killed millions because he saw silver in their teeth
one Pol *** decided he saw silver in the educated and killed them all
this Chavez took all the silver and gave it all away now they are poor
and Fidel says we'll share equally but I and my brotha will only give
The Silver searchers in the some of the West
decided, we should just fight and talk and hold rallies and hate
all those born with the silver spoon must be punished to kingdom
but look says some, you can have silver if you only apply yourself
that's a trick says them of the befuddled minds and complexes bad
let's just be nuisances and hate and holler and torment and harass
Looking closely all their leaders had silver spoons but that's OK
Apr 15, 2019
Apr 15, 2019 at 5:40 AM UTC
How do you want me
MR GOVERNMENT?
Roasted, grilled or stewed
With mustard, salt and pepper
to taste...
How do you want me?
Plain or with some dressing
May be drowned in sauce
May be downed with red wine
Just smack your lips
You are going to meat me there.
What wrong have I done this time?
Being a Squatter, Vagrant, Streetkid!
A beggar in the land of plenty
Yes, we have plenty misery
Suffering there...
The guns bark their chorus
And muffle the wail of the hungry and weak
As the law pins me against the wall...
Law the watchdog for the powerful
That chants its mumbo-jumbo
Against the poor...
I hear the loud voice of the gun
You are going to meat me there...
There, I am wanted
For tax evasion when I am not employed
For asking the meagre returns
Of my sweat and blood
For demanding back my poetry
They stole from the archives of my heart...
Yesterday I was arrested
For riding my master's mistress in a dream
Today I am dragged before a Judge of Law
For being found with maliciously true poetry
In my heart...
Tomorrow they will charge me
For singing a song
They will claim to have composed long ago
In their hearts...
I stand accused.
You turn me into a bull's eye
For your mahobhos
I am booted and teargassed
I have my back stuck to the wall
And the fingers curl on the triggers...
Too, too many fingers employed for the trigger
For sure they want to meat me
....there!
-dougwa-
Feb 23, 2012
Feb 23, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
My mother-in-law is a zombie
I'm sure that woman is dead
I tried to drive a stake thru her heart
And even cut off her head
But she's just way to sneaky
She always knows I'm around
Cause everytime I try to **** it
She says, "Can I get you to drive me to town?"
And let me tell you about the odor
It can make a grown man cry
Her perfume is, "ode de la zombie"
You know, embalming fluid, after you die
She walks around, in the middle of the night
Trying, to make me her slave
"Will you get me this, will you get me that"
I even dug that woman a grave
Zombies also have real bad breath
It smells like ***** socks
And they don't have a tooth in their head
You'd think they been chewing rocks
Now, not all mother-in-laws are zombies
I think it's probably just mine
And I don't think they ever die
Cause mine's been around a long time
Sometimes she just sits amd stares at me
I mean, can you imagine anything worse?
Then she mumbles some kinda mumbo jumbo
Like some kind of voodoo curse
I've been feeling kinda strange of late
Sometimes, it's hard to think
She probably cast some kinda spell on me
That's causing my head to shrink
Well, that's all I can tell you for now
I've got another grave to dig
I gotta hurry before my head keeps shrinkin'
Cause my hat's already too big
Apr 13, 2010
Apr 13, 2010 at 7:31 AM UTC
But...Tantric mumbo-jumbo Joe
Issued from a dribbled lip.
Issued from a tortured mind
Which writhes in phraseology to slip.
....slip between the now and then
Slip between the right and wrong,
confused about reaction to
Our capacity to sing your song.
....that eerie tune of deep lament
Lament for what should be, but won't,
For we is but a subterfuge...
Who says it did but knows it don't.
M.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Depression, desperation
Because of loneliness,
Or loss of love;
That is what we write.
Joy, happiness,
Because of companionship,
Or love that we discovered;
That is what we write.
Mumbo-jumbo, randomness,
Because we need to express,
All sense of insanity in the world;
That is what we write.
And in all that we write,
It is for the purpose of expressing.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
You talk about agape
And leave me agape.
Really Beulah
Go peel me a grape.
At least you’d be useful
Because now you are not.
A bunch of superstitions
That is all you have got.
A badly written compendium
Of fairy tales for adults.
The kind of book of spells
A witch might consult.
Gobbledygook and folderol
All except the dead cats.
This kind of mumbo jumbo
Tells us exactly where you’re at.
If you came to me and said
I really dig Carlos Castaneda
And I want you to live by him
And his rules, I’d say, “Later!”
The same would be true if
You told me to dance in skin
Under the light of the moon
In the direction: widdershins.
If you came to me with a rock
And said the thing was breathing
You might as well claim it a baby
And tell me the rock is teething.
If you tell me waving your hands
Makes my bad mood go away
I might, out of pure courtesy
Not have that much to say.
But if you tell me I must talk
To infantile pieces of stone
And wave my hands at you
I’ll tell you to leave me alone.
The same thing goes for folks
That read misquoted old books
And when I say I don’t believe
They shoot me evil looks.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
Sit back, relax
Everything will be fine
Enjoy what you see on T.V.
Forget the daily grind
We're here so you'll feel better
Make it all alright
Use the slightest bit of truth
We do it all the time
No need to concern yourself
With the government's affairs
What you don't know want hurt you
If your left unaware
We'll tell you who it is you are
And what it is that you should think
Don't pay attention to the other guy
He ain't like you and me
What he says is mumbo jumbo
Not like the elite that are in the know
He'll upset the apple cart
If you let him take control
So hold on tightly to your chains
Your in for the ride of your life
Who's going to pay for this loony trip
It'll come out of your hide
There's no need to concern yourself
With the government's affairs
What you don't know want hurt you
If your left unaware...
Jul 7, 2013
Jul 7, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
Poetry is my ping pong paddle support system,
there for me when I don't know how to get anyone else to be,
my fall net and my launch pad,
Poetry is my life map,
knows the roads I haven't traveled long before I find myself lost on them,
intergalactic space mumbo jumbo is my hands second language leading me to unknown points in myself I never dreamed I could find giving me the courage to take one more breath,
one more step,
keep going.
Poetry isn't always beautiful,
doesn't always make you happy,
but it does make you think,
we all need that
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
The size and shape of your Chiclet's teeth
Remind me I need some gum
Don't want the rank and file of my breath
To make you turn and run
The cold neon lights of this restaurant
Really highlights your pasty skin
Bringing out the true beauty
Of your darkened eyes so far sunken in
I knew this would be special, our first date
So I did my best to comb over my thinning hair
My Uni-Brow didn't part so well
But I knew by the looks of you, you wouldn't care
When it is we that hug
My hairy back tickles your sweaty palms
Our mumbo lips fit perfectly
When the awkward kiss finally rolls around
We're a match made in heaven
Or somewhere there about's
There's someone out there for everyone
Is what we've both just happily figured out
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 6:45 AM UTC
The Doctors would call it Hyper-Mania,
As do I for legal purposes
When I'm dealing with a system
of Bureaucratic red-mumbo-jumbo,
And the Idiots enmeshed and enthralled
By the oft dubious intricacies
Of a complex Social Network.
That aside, Hyper-Reality is a State of Mind -->
A State of my Mind, to be precise;
Or, better still, a State of my Being.
It is the State You find Yourself,
Either in a Dream or once You're Dead,
When You realise that You are not Me -->
That I, Colin, am Your Host;
That You are a Guest within Me;
When You realise that I am the Living One,
The One who catches Your Soul.
I am the Light at the end of the tunnel,
Although this State may be temporary.
I am Life, per se, or the Afterlife
(That is, After Your Life, whatever You may Be).
I am fixed in the Present, ever conscious
(Unless I'm asleep or unconscious).
I am not You, nor You, I.
But I like You (for the most part);
Your experiences and contemplations;
Your life story and cultural background;
Your likes and dislikes, hopes and desires -->
Yours, and Yours alone.
However, I'd guess we share a Life in common.
[Note: This definition probably wouldn't work for most Dictionaries.]
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 3:32 AM UTC
Welcome to college!
Here’s a crash course of campus;
Im majoring in procrastination,
And minoring in cramming.
My teacher’s name is Boring,
It’s a wonder I’m still standing.
This class is mumbo jumbo,
While this just makes no sense.
All the kids drink coffee,
And the teachers are all so tense.
I fall asleep at night
With the lump in the next bed snoring.
I put my clothes on right before bed,
I don’t have time in the morning!
The first building here...
Is exactly where?
The next building over...
You need a map I swear!
The café gives you goop.
For breakfast today its gunk.
I skip the middle meal of the day,
For dinner its beer and junk.
People say college is awfully hard;
With teachers, tests and money.
They say studding gives you a cramp.
To me it sounds like camp.
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 4:16 PM UTC
Coming down with something
blame summer
point a finger at the city
worn-down pizzazz
drunk trumpets
and I hide in my coat
trees look better without leaves
is it just me?
see the sun bellow
into buildings
student affairs
like heat rash
bounce along hallways
foreign mumbo-jumbo
mishpelt words
they say *him met her
saw six pictures last night*
I haven’t met me
books know truth
not brunettes
good poetry
better than ***
they’re running running running away with it
between spritzers
and sandwiches
now snooze until Halloween
brown back in fashion
caught in the middle
piedra de aguacate
I handle guitars
they fiddle with women
now
let apple juice trickle
from my lips
and a man gets out a taxi
drops his phone
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I push the revolving glass door
Shuffling almost reverently with it's turn
A pilgrim to the written word, I am entering
The church of human consciousness.
The greatest minds sit here with some
That came in through the back door of
Specialist interest or just plain bizarre.
Alphabetical order belies the years that separate
These authors, some rubbing shoulders with giants
Who have barely been alive long enough to tell
Of real experience, then there are those who have
Stood the test of time, decorating bookshelves
In homes that have never read them, they just
Fulfil their reputation as if by osmosis bringing
An intellectual vibe to the coffee table and
Into the very fabric of the space occupied.
They are all here hiding behind their spines
Luring you with interesting fonts, bright colours
Like jpegs on a contact sheet waiting judgement,
Wanting be taken down and become your big picture
"We have made it, our voices have been heard,
All it takes is imagination to release us within the mind
Your images our words, we can make a movie together."
But I have been spotted, "Whatcha looking at punk
Think you've got what it takes to sit with the likes of us,
Don't go reading me and plagiarizing my well worn
Extensively researched mumbo jumbo clap trap,
So you can call me one of your influences on your CV,
Using my name to make you seem intellectual
Look around, how many do you think didn't make it."
I have gazed too long into the abyss and the abyss
Has gazed back into me, how can I claim to have
Any more to say than the greatest minds on earth
And yet, with pure heart my trembling hand hovers
Over the letters of my qwerty keyboard, pressing
The shift key as if in defiance, identical words,
Just not necessarily with the same meaning.
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 7:36 AM UTC
I live in a world of intolerant people
Who insist their way is the best.
Many say theirs is the only way;
They totally reject all the rest.
I always have had trouble with that,
Saying their loving god hates;
That their god would choose some to
Leave standing hopeless at the gate.
I read the books that believers claim
Will cleanse me and make me blessed.
They verbally promise heaven to me
If I but bend my knee and request
Acceptance of a human turned into god
For my personal and holy savior.
It has always seemed to me to be
A rather superstitious sort of behavior.
It smacks of me throwing salt around
To promise myself the best of luck.
Or avoiding stepping on any crack.
Mumbo jumbo for which I have no truck.
I read more than the books of religions
To find out where the myth came from.
I am now informed about the eucharist
To know I don’t need a single crumb.
I don’t disparage those who believe
Any more than those who wear copper
To ward of arthritis and rheumatism.
I’ve seen those beliefs come a cropper.
Let others sing songs and nursery rhymes
About golden streets and pie in the sky.
I prefer reality in the here and now.
I’m not a bit superstitious, no not I.
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 3:36 PM UTC
Pyramid's mania
Languid pink lotus-eaters
Ominous and luminous
Faded to darkened scars
Eternity held the stars
My how you spoof yourself
Your puerile ferocity
Scuds' untamed velocity
'neath fearsome thunderstorm
Loving before you were born
Now you've gone too far
You're caught in vertigo
Spinning with nowhere to go
No one here you can call,
Nowhere else to hide at all
How's it feel all alone?
Just two inches tall, you stand
Onstage in a cold, strange land
Singing in a silver thong
Quirky tunes grace the throng
Laughter, hisses and boos
Chorus of ridicule
Pomposities of smug cool
Blinding radioactive rage
Taught in a tight cage onstage
You're clamoring now
Your timid voice starts to crack
Look to sky, no one looks back
Blood and sweat fuel the swarm
Furious scuds preview the storm
You ***** a mumbo
APOLLO Coventry hail
The Black Pharaoh wields his flail
Advent of El Diablo
Swiftly comes the deathblow
Aroused by gravity,
****** ground spins before you
******* tingle tango for two
Nobody is calling
You're fearlessly falling
The wind roars in your ears
Ridicule's easing winnow
Distorted faces in windows
Adagio Eternus
Virtue and Disgrace Opus
Beadle cleans the sidewalk
Of a Swan-song's human rubble
Whistling, he's forming a riddle
Dangerous timeless Sphinx
Bested by the modern Kings
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 2:45 PM UTC