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Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
no matter what pronoun use is in place, there won’t be time
to decipher it as personal or impersonal, subjective or objective,
singular or plural... to write a book of philosophy pulsating
existentialism:
i miss the rugby world cup, i miss it,
the gay referee too,
i miss the hugging and blood mushroom sprouting
from the cartilage of smeared sneeze and sniff to a hark
of semolina saliva in the up-shoot...
i miss it in the scrum... away from
the balancing mary antoinette and ballerinas,
modern lawful facade: he anchored me! gone sail the titanic!
he anchored me! foul! see? precisely! a guillotine on the ready
for those insured legs of footballers...
i miss the rugby... i fancied playing it once in school...
we had p.e. (jerseys) on the reverse with a yellow stripe
going across all maroon... football was favoured...
even though i got the ball and walked 1/4 of the field in that sloth
of being fat... why do people always have such negative memories of youth,
esp. in school?! i don’t know... all i know...
when i walked for a bottle of brown whiskers tonight,
the streets of essex were filled with that fabled smog of 19th century london,
it wasn’t guy fawkes' night but the night bling bling was out...
the firework smog settled into the streets and i started gesticulating
‘trouble breathing! trouble breathing!’ using sign language...
i couldn't translate gasping into an onomatopoeia,
let alone sign-language... mime mime mime!
3 words: film... beginning with seismic shifts... severn!
it’s an american holiday for god’s sake
(the slavs are sombre remembering the day
with virgo mort of mexico... you’re out partying
******* and ******* on graves)... have some decency to be
remotely commonwealth in attitude... like australia!
i wished they won, 2nd half, 21 to 3 i thought they were whitewash flushed...
then they bounced back to 21 - 17... then the drop goal from carter...
ah it was a knockout...
never mind the mary antoinettes and ballerinas of football...
i said it once... i’ll say it again: ref! oink ref! police officer!
you missed a spot, this tile will not have anyone slipping!
it’s how you get a working man’s sport audience impassioned...
no middle-class sensibility in a sport...
make him give a wrong decision many a times...
and you’ll get the pub rumble...
not time-out... no: let’s see it on the BIG screen...
get the referee on the side of the masses and get them impassioned
through his bad decision / multitasking... i was imagining
a big mac / watching nickers being slingshot onto the pitch...
get the referee behind the crowd and orientate them
with william wallace at stirling crying - war war woad! tadpole ooh! tattoo! blue 28! blue... grr!
in rugby you’ll just get as much passion as a workable middle-class
english marriage... oops **** daisy loot the loo (with stressor r missing trill missing h):
bloom!
and your uncle was nicknamed ***** harry?
was he ginger and donned a beard?
must be royalty.
ah man, i miss the connectivity of rugby,
where everyone's making a sandwich... with football
you just get the replica of english sociological etiquette...
saying hello 5 metres apart...
so no french chequers kissing on the cheek
to feed intimacy? problem sorted...
let me just get my umbrella... seeing the teardrops
of feminism shower me under a roof salivating from the chandelier.
CK Baker Mar 2019
Pilsner cap switch blade
tie dye and piccolo
greasers and freaks
with platform feet
muscling in
on the bow legged hoofer
tapping
Bursey Hill Tram

Diamond tuft console
mullets n' ****
angels and saints
(unrestrained)
appropriately trimmed
as 3 mile wreaks havoc
on the nickers and
fighters of penn

Bangers and home boys
hookahs and sheiks
hostile geeks
breaking knuckles and jaws
on the caners and skinners
who are locked
and grinding the root

Desert boot foothills
boardwalk jeans
rainbows and sea fairs
and psychedelic dreams
(the platinum queens
jamming it hard
on the jade room floor)

8 tracks
and fender packs
the hottest summer days
psychedelic haze
center hall, graffiti scrawl
(sinister yet refined!)
covering the subtle
yet striking third ****

Brunswick cues
and red man chew
350 blocks
(on a solid Chevy - stock)
monkeys and beatles
and laugh in scenes
pastel dreams
from the long and coveted
velvet scroll
PhiWrit Sep 2015
The Lord keeps me quickened
With His burnin wine blood.
Sinner gets Word he's sickened
'Cause their fate is the flood.
Wickin your idols like wicker
This Word that protrude is sure ta
Make knots out of your nickers.
While I heard you is a rude *****
No flippin bird. I'm a Jigga,
One of them scotch sippin Jewish ******
Switch the first lettas in Jew and *****,
What you get is New, Jigga

Go figure

Yourself out, and what you're about.
No need to tout your ego and shout.
Like go ahead call me a ****,
I can't hear ya when your talk is trite;
Words don't cause me tantrums tike.
Little one the end has just begun.
Put down your gun, since before the beginning His Son has already won, before you were even sinning;
In a sense, innocense.
His Immaculate timing is waiting for the start of your pitiful whining
For mercy from the Lord you still curse G.
Paul Hardwick Aug 2018
Snift into my mind,
as she passed me far behind
floating on petals,
just get old,
in loves special way
her hair turning grey as mine,
her lips red so full.
I should try to take her out,
let life take its course,
cry to my self later, as she puts me out
like a burning ***,
still smouldering in the ashtray of life,
man I am old
not white but grey.

Grey Nickers.
Love P@ul ***.
Although I wished it different
It wasn't all that good
I'd been drinking pretty heavy
And I didn't have much wood

we fumbled in the back seat
I got her nickers past her knees
She leaned in close and whispered
Be gentle with me please

No pressure on this ******
I thought she knew her way around
Now, I'm drunk and she's all tensed up
I said "let's get outside upon the ground"

The cold air on my *******
Made things go from bad to worse
My ***** was a dead as
A corpse inside a hearse

so, I got on top and rode her
where I thought that other blokes had been
and after seven minutes riding
she asked me "is it in?"
Kenna Apr 2019
Gentle muzzle
velvet soft
lipping at my palm
searching for the treats,
sugar and molasses
a rich combination
only a good horse
earns.


Supple leather
worn smooth
over years of dedication
and application
that comes from
this sport.
Nights
already promised ahead of time,
three months earlier,
hauling to deserted fairgrounds
a dusky sky setting the tone
for lead ropes
threaded
through stock trailer slats
cow dogs
running
up down sideways
trailing owners between horses legs and rusty pickups.

Tacking up
underneath floodlights
set to the soundtrack
of jangling spurs
and soft nickers.
Younger kids
hanging on the arena rails
drinking syrupy sweet
soda
a tradition
root beers before your run
good luck
in our community.

Foot in the stirrup
old braided reins in hand
leather,
broken into submission,
pliable
under years
of use.

Slapping hands
with other riders
who already went
horses,
slick with sweat
foaming at the mouth
ready to go again
with rippling muscles
still taunt in the sticky summer night,
aching for one last run.
three turns
and a gallop home,
don't care about the money
unless you beat your last time-
your only competitor
is
yourself
and
the
clock.

Hard packed dirt
pounded down by hooves,
tails swishing at flies
as you wait
for your turn.
Adrenaline and happiness,
an addictive cocktail,
these are the nights
I
love.
When I finally reach the end of my time

Look for me in hoof prints
Of those who run free

Hear my voice upon the nickers and neighs
of delight and play

Feel my heart beat
As two become one

Only then can you experience what I loved
What gave me a reason the live

Do not shed any tears
Do not scream in wallows

Find me where I thrived
And treat those who can not speak
With the kindness you showed me
Harold r Hunt Sr Dec 2014
New Year for the old
Here we are once more a new year and a day older.
The party was to begin, but mom fell into the bathtub of gin.
Can't pull her out or her nickers might fall.
And there will be no gin.
The table is set for a feast, but the guest are not coming there if a football game on.
So here we set old as we were yesterday
A New Year and nowhere to go
The ball drops and they do dance.
Shouting Happy News Years to all.
But it's just another year to get older
So I go to bed and hope that the year goes fast
I am just to old for this new stuff.
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (✅✅✅✅✅ ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅
✅✅ ✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅ ͡
◉ ͜ʖ ͡◉) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡◉ ͜ʖ ͡◉) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡◉ ͜ʖ ͡◉)
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡◉ ͜ʖ ͡◉) ✅✅✅✅✅
✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅✅

Here on 2 limbs hobbles a 110-year-old pervert, Kirk Douglas, who
fugged fugging Marilyn Monroe fugless like 1 Aussie **** Kug lass
***** it tightly, sweet, slutty ***** in a perch from the lowest mast
with the queer **** who kicked in your teeth after you back-sassed
a family ******, I meant therapist, 47 centuries ago in the recent past
whilst kaffirs sold for a displaced value & **** got 'em lynched fast
as slaves were replacement-ready when white girls got them gassed
as nickers were placed steady when pink-titted girls had 'em gassed
as slaves were replaced already 'cause **** broads got them gassed
'cause any way you mounted it the leg-breakers struck a broken cast

— The End —