"nar" poems
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;
The Abyssimal Sea?
Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang. *
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
Cars, are's, bars, git-are's, oov-are's, dars and mars
With these I can construct a rooping Flargnar. Cigars.
And without these I am too **** in the far. Pooping in the car.
Now can I find the Kragar? Or have a lost it in Nar?
Wigga foug under the dug like a big bug in the rain, its all the same.
What a doog? Got a Spoog? Butter up your hands and put them in the dands.
If ever should have shooken my loog, then up-chuck all the poog! What a gwoog! Me!
But who else could it have been! In the long run no one but we.
We cannot it be, it was the glove who fell in love with that dove!
Show me the rub! For we need it to subsub.
Hrug, Hrug, hrug magug! shrug off the flug, please doug do a love for the bitter twub!
In the end it doesn't matter, I had to fub to wub it dub!
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
Fashionable entourage
people dance in step
to the beat of hidden
native rituals
Hidden here and there
seeing a pair clad up to the hilt
with colored shades
cool as mountain glades
that never
shakes or simmers
on fire
a real deep desirous searching soul
Rapping about nothing
even though
face to face
words bounce off expressions
as cool as mountain glades
that soon melt-fade
into the distance
Rap, tap, clap
never nap
the cannibus-filled room
embellished by flashing lights
on nights
that take spatial flights
into another world that enters upon
lounging everywhere
people lost in space,
in time,
in androgynous acts
In vogue, you speak to me
about fashions
that dazzle, frazzel, razzle,
and lip curl
and eye twinkle
me to you,
in real
but unreal
cannibus-sweet-dusky-dreamy-rooms
MTV blotched, bleached
Sergio Valente dungarees,
then a real feeling child cries
in the background
and is soon hustled off to bed
And never a hurt we laugh
and smile
and smile
A frozen smile grin;
take it on the chin sport
Keep up the good front
Keep up the grinning fort sport
A sported fort fortified Disneyland
and life's forever
carousel ride
and sweep the dirt under the carpet
A speak about profits
And speak about"ME" yuppie things;
about golden rings
that wrap around ears, around wrists, and cattle noses
Seek time entwined
to search geometrically
the advertisements
that lead you
and nobody but you to you
A love ballad between
one and no one but you
You and you
and you
and you
Being good you
you being good to you,
Being good to nar-sa-see-you
you being good to only you,
to yoou
to yoou
to yoooooooooou
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 4:18 AM UTC
kurwa? why did i include the word kurwa in the sentence? it's a conjunction: i / and.
sometimes you wonder why certain
consonants don't have applicable
diacritical marks...
for example the word: bydło /
cattle -
because that's what you say
of people who clearly, rather,
make language pristine when
doing ******** and sniffing up an ****
here... we find the b without the acute
stress.. bydło -
cattle, readied for the slaughterhouses;
nar kan haczyk na błazna!
idzie tuman! i zanim horongiew wron!
i wonder as to why they keep their
vocabulary freed from taboo and insistent on
herr censor -
oh right, 'cos it has to look
and sound "pretty", right?
**** 'em... i'll speak the worsened type
of peasant... i'll talk pheasant,
i'll talk peacock, and you do your little
**** should i care.
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
Nået til et punkt hvor glæden ved
venners tvunget smil og gnisten i deres døende øjne
afspejler sjælen
som nu i takt med at alderen forfalder
17 år og fanget
fanget i en tilstand mellem fantasi og virkelighed
for virkeligheden er at
alle vil såre en
drømme vil forblive drømme
dog holder fantasien en i gang
fantasien om livet som følger
livet efter gymnasiet når drenge bliver til mænd
deltidsjobs bliver til en fuldtidskarrierer
og bekendte forsvinder med den bidende vind hvor kun de få forbliver tilbage
og det triste, men dog smukke er
at de få som forbliver tilbage
er de som delte al smerten
al forvirringen og håbløsheden
17 år og fanget
fanget i virkeligheden
med ****** up venner, med fælles drømme
de holder virkeligheden for nar
med lange nætter fyldt med tung røg og dulmende vin
hvad skulle man gøre uden dem
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 3:11 PM UTC
Walking on eggshells
around you
You're a misery
You're my misery
Passive aggressive with a
mean mentality
You're a misery
A misery
Doubt befalls me
on your promises
You're a misery
A ******* misery
But I never had
my hopes up, 'cause
You're a misery
a misery
You're a misery
Your own enemy.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 4:58 AM UTC
I'm just giddy knowing you like mi mole oboe poetry
Anime he it it it's ssôœks
Right ok
Thus stylistic origin
You like! You so don't you
Overnight just in implosion you'll see
Quantities it quaint bin secession cast
kind really cool touring n stuff
I'm happy but it's crazy you nar?
Oh guy guy guy it , it's good fri
Mar 1, 2015
Mar 1, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Hey mate didja
G’day bloke wouldja
Yo girlfriend canya
Yeah I thinkya oughta
Farkin’ inquisishin ain’t it
Leavus alone won’t ya
Youse gotta hide busta
She'd've seenus would’ve she
How’d ya be cob
‘twasn’t him inner face
Iffa ask her
She’d teller noway
Givus a ganda bud
Who’d’ve thought eh
Why’d he stick ‘is nose in
‘tisn’t nar buddy’s bisness
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 5:40 AM UTC
Today there's a feeling that rhymes with bite,
starts with sh and the end of mite,
food to fast,
gullet burnt
God almignty will ye never learn?
On the knees, clasp the bowl, heres some more!
Ewgh! this is foul.
Try to breathe, clear the eyes,
Scrunch my toes, breathe some more,
Wow, ***** puts a shine on the floor!
Spuds and stuff that should be chewed,
my tumbly pretty shot and burned.
The liquid pumping,
taste of acid,
freedom to eat, how I yearn.
"grab yersel'' my pals would say,
"yer covered in green, and looking grey!"
"feeling sorry, so pathetic,
writing Shight that is Nar-bloody-cissistic!"
yup thats me!
and it's true , yes,
I spell shight badly,
and I'm a selfish twatte,
whilst vomiting madly.
whoops, did anyone spot my duodenum?
Dec 9, 2010
Dec 9, 2010 at 7:14 AM UTC
the initial purport
this literary effort delivered atchew
to reed constitutes hazmat tocks sin
within White House blew
per, viz thee president be
getting a Hollywood love story
with "Stormy Williams" despite brew
haha murmur, now dapper Don in deep doo doo
thus, this garrulous married pro LIX prone papa flew
off (like a bat out of hell)
to his Macbook Pro laptop presenting myself
implicating Trump as po' faux guise Mister McGoo
affiliated, confused, and explained
being on par with Winnie the Pooh
especially stuck right tub bear arms in grr...
Rabbit's House, now he doth stew
nsync, nonetheless this path a logical
rhyme stir on the straight and true
composeing grist sill for ye to view
now, nar hating, hit ting
private links provide attention turned toward
two thousand twenty presidential election campaign
no Iron nee, anno putter opportunity,
how he diplomatically strived, and nearly scored
to boast asthma, overt braggart, stalwart
asper ideal consistency of cement poured
affiliation, aggregation, and attestation moored
prevails ma (Jack booted - magical) lord
rolling back to Timbuktu progressive liberal
Democratic initiatives star Apprentice
sans ("NO LIES") being linkedin, he almost ignored
with voluble chattering class hud hoard
hobnobbing (with the likes of Missus Muir's ghost,
who resort to Matthew Scott's turf brand),
reconstituted, recycled, and repurposed, gourd
nonetheless Trumping protocol necessitates me bing bored
predictable feigned "FAKE" non accord.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 10:31 PM UTC
Hola Ellen
Write me a poem about Ellen.
I will reciprocate with one about geno.
The quest is ten lines or less.
Hopes, dreams and such.
Not 2 little nar 2 much.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 12:07 AM UTC
at det hele godt kan blive lidt tomt når man er alene i en to værelses og der kører politi forbi ude foran og der er en opvask der stadig ikke har taget sig selv og jeg kan ikke komme ud af døren uden at falde over sko og jeg har blokeret dig på snapchat og har også lyst til at fjerne dig som ven på facebook for du er sguda for fanden en nar men så igen fortjener du også at kunne følge med i hvor godt jeg (forhåbentligt) får det lige snart for selvom jeg har ondt i maven hjertet hovedet over beskeder bestående af kun et ord kunne det også bare være mig der er bange for at skulle forblive alene i en toværelses med blå blink igennem ruden og et fad med nachos der sidder fast og en dobbeltseng der kan rumme meget mere end mig og noget rod jeg ikke har energi til at fjerne ligesom jeg ikke har energi til at lave de afleveringer jeg har for til om en halv time selvom det burde jeg virkelig for jeg har lige fået en skriftlig advarsel fra gymnasiet men hvad nytter det når man ikke engang har energi til at gå i bad eller sætte kommaer eller slukke for hjernen når den tænker at det bedste svar man kan give er slukkede telefoner og halvhjertede beskeder det kan jo for fanden være ligegyldigt men det er det bare ikke
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
while luxuriating in the boughs aching
to imbibe solar raiment golden this summer like
february twenty first two thousand and eighteen
when old man took a mandatory brake
from mister sun spilling forth
unseasonably balmy temperatures
equated from this human drake
swallowed hard taking
respite delighting, holistically
lolling (nar gagging) obliviously par
taking paradise magical optical pulsations,
a desperate need to succor dehydration
that found me relinquishing
a coveted reading nook and cranny,
this explanation not "FAKE"
excuse withholding appeasing,
an unrelenting paroxysm
watering parched palette
**** ceded to abend
imagination immersion
linkedin radiant nirvana basking (like a robin)
while feeling spell bound by this warm weather
unseasonably tropic teaser came to an end
drew the analogy how indomitable
joie de vivre kneading love intend
ding, sans partaking draught found wealth
between bounded pages doth mend
moe so than any medication
(akin to placing a wager sparring rivals)
desire for on par,
when body needs replenishment of fluids
thus...deferring self
for healthy pleasant liquid to slake
in an effort to curtail parched mouth
felt as if being scraped
by a lab bot tummy sized rake
thence entire corporeal being
didst shimmy and shake
analogous within mine
so many dozen square feet parameters
thee earth didst quake.
thence upon gulping sweet pineapple juice
(to evade dole drums)
a poem yours truly decided to make.
Feb 21, 2018
Feb 21, 2018 at 6:39 PM UTC
Vaam ang m gaura viraje.....
Neelkanth tripurari..........
har har sambhu.......
jai jai sambhu.....
shiv shiv sambhu......
bhola ki mahima niyari h......
Dham iski Kassi h.....
Samshano ka yh wassi h.....
Nar, nag, yash, gandarv hi nhi esko dhyate aghori aadhivasi h..........
har har sambhu......
jai jai sambhu.........
shiv shiv sambhu.......
bhola ki mahima niyari h........
Kaalo ke yeh kaal h........
Kehelate mahakaal h.........
Lambe ghanhere enke baal h...........
Phente yh baago K chaal h........
har har sambhu.......
jai jai sambhu.........
shiv shiv sambhu.......
bhola ki mahima niyari h........
Om Namah Shivaay.........
Om Namah Shivaay.........
Om Namah Shivaay..........
Om Namah Shivaay......
Har Har Mahadev..............
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 10:41 AM UTC
Night and day, a thrashing
like an invisible whiptail
surge van hail,
doth swell me *****
excruciatingly, doggedly blackmail
capriciously be-numbingly,
aggravatingly assail
mine conscience in
what paltry pale
capacity of this gamboling male,
I can "pay forward,"
whatever means shale
be moost apropos avail
to offset bewail
ling (internal psyche doth ale
hankering) against utter
lifetime (mine) peppered
with emotional, physical
and social destitution
bereft, viz fail
ling to maximize inspiration
reverberating as vibrant detail
lacking even justa minimum
desire to live
(visa vis no way
discover ring, nope nar even
"FAKE" king minuscule appeasement
of my body, mind,
and spirit triage during)
hell...shove (shelve) aside
such gloriously noble benighted role,
amidst upending folktale
re: King Arthur and His Knights
of the Round Table
futilely searching for holy grail
where steadfast conviction
emboldens this heart and hale
spirited mindful,
sincere hard drive spurs
(neigh saying horse
sense of mine)
where ambition saddled
to air (dan sing) quailing,
yen propelling (yours truly),
with sincere humanitarian,
(i.e. blood driven)
philanthropic spiritual zeal,
I tried to unveil,
this reasonably rhyming thumbnail
sketch poetically versatile
within this spurious verse despite
any trials undermining travail
rather mine heart felt genuine
motive fueled by impetus
to contribute within e kale
logi, fizzy hollow gee, humanity,
with integrity, magnanimity,
and quality fervency,
while still adept, adroit,
agile, and alert,
(cuz America needs more lerts
to become great again)
ironically steel tougher than nails,
duh pleating ability dovetail
to bug (or wug) gee wholesale.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 6:42 PM UTC
nej
neurologi? nedladende
nihilisme, nar
nå nå
nullermænd, navlestreng
ny, nul
nogen / nogle - nu
nice, neanderthal
nymoderne, nekromantisk
nuvel
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 4:31 PM UTC
When I throw
a nasty little thing like ego out
by my invouluntary
fingers
I worry people
just think I'm making
crazy hand shapes
in the air;
Nar,
these fantastic digits carry care.
Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 11:14 PM UTC
Chiseled by your smiles,
Falling in your laughs...
I read your face like an open book,
Every lie I can see right through.
Your eyes whisper secrets
Your lips nar will tell.
Leaving myself alone,
Maybe I will overcome my weakness,
Later our eyes will say,
Or revive the promise I though they said.
You don't know all that I know;
You notice not who I am.
Like you can see through my poetry?
Who am I actually?
I will keep my secrets from you
And take all yours with me.
But every day I weaken...
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
The Cop stood in the doorway
With his handkerchief held to his nose.
A young white male, the tenant,
had died in this apartment.
This must have happened three days ago at least.
It had taken that long for the smell
To permeate the building;
before someone thought to summon the law.
From the looks of it, another overdose-
Another young victim of a cruel epidemic
That takes the young and leaves the old to grieve.
Those who choose to ride that particular horse
Need rodeo clowns with Nar-Can standing by.
Was it an a accident or a suicide?
Perhaps the M.E. could make the determination;
a fine distinction between blurred lines.
There will be need to notify the next of kin
to claim the corpse and make the final disposition.
Then soon, perhaps next week-
a studio in Williamsburg for rent.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:54 AM UTC
It was dark and dreary. The poorly lit room stank of mold and mildew as ill kept books lay rotting in a pile. Weary of rats and spiders, you set to work, salvaging what you could, which tended to be nothing. Book after rotting book thrown into a pile, the smell of decay growing in the air. Finally, at the bottom of the stack, you discover a book bound in soft red velvet locked with a golden chain. Intrigued, you hid the book beneath your shirt, so The Others would not know of your precious treasure. The book's name: Future.
Your secret you may longer keep, it was future for the taking, but light may nar reach your place with confidence dividing. Returning to what you once knew is a ruin you can't face, staring at you through unclear eyes, the future you are bound to lose, but it is not a good thing to think that way now.
The Others-- they are lifeless faces, blank expressions interacting like clockwork and just the same every day. They needlessly stare at your labeled stupidity, a genius in society, lacerating you from the rest of society. There is an encompassing "alone" around your being, which you appreciate like perfume on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Yes, these are the days where you may escape for a few hours from pointed fingers and gawky gazes.
Another Tuesday on its way out, you brush the dust from your jeans and determine that they cannot see the book that you tucked away so carefully. How ancient is this book, to be buried beneath centuries of dilapidated covers? Yet, strangely, it did not suffer the same fate. Perhaps the future is like you are: something that will not change to conform to its surroundings.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
Pipple
All kine a piple want respec but few kina pipple wan give it cause easya fi tek R barrah dan fi reach an leggo. Everybady come wid di same tools maybe one R two come sharted but big eye no mean good eyesight nar big ears good hearing.
My pipple come ina shades and callahs from blue-black to pink-brown.Downtung , Uptung pipple cant stay right cause material gravity ton dem hed rung.
Oct 9, 2018
Oct 9, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
After being amply lathered
from head to toe, aye
ya eye ya eye ya eye, and without fail
(gluteus maximus unloads a dump,
as predictably happens
like clockwork orange
after washing off suds),
this nada so grand poo ba
drops ship capsizing sinkers
(hefty waste ballast
causing sea level to rise), this aint
"NOT FAKE" just ask Cap'n Bligh
sitting athwart the **** deck
i.e. christened "Porcelain Goddess"
well nar did die
after being privy seeing yours truly
exit the water closet did espy
a much relieved rearing *** a nine guy,
which also earned me,
the nick name ****
not evident, via friendly customery wave
conveyed expediting,
(viz nonverbally)
business cheekily dreck eliminated
eh, the formality establishment,
sans customary "hi"
whereupon without any waste I
sought to secure these
weather beaten lovely bones of mine
preparatory to a tidal wave,
thus refuge sought
behind (a replica),
sans Bridge over the River Kwai
after moving ma bowels, no lie,
which predictable tsunami
predicated on my
humungous substantial
****** discharge well nigh
generating threatening
rip snorting currents
impossible mission e'en ex spurt ***** to ply
especially, flush with panic (a *** er,
but mandatory duty) when lookout scout,
(an E Medic) didst spy
an immense wall of water, aye yai yai!
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 12:49 AM UTC
a single word, e.g. chłód,
can give a cat
goosebumps
when you say it,
leaning, out of the window,
with a cat...
and the morbidness
had no leverage to be
scaled to, as an account
of a thought of exactness;
the enveloped ****** questions
whether those around would have bred
a different ontology worth a study;
chłód:
nush di gheel?
nush d' ghaal?
ghaan zee knee-zee e-na'rouk
or' go'r nar d'ar kneesh.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 9:23 PM UTC