Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
jo spencer Nov 2013
The city plays cat and mouse
and pefects the fear.
Jaggered lights dazzle
the victim
and nautical terms are resurrected as shanking.
Hospitals in an ode to Johannesburg's ingenuity
repair the injurious knife wounds
caused not by weekend lighter fuel
but a postcode lottery
undone only by the postman.
Overwhelmed Oct 2010
I want to close my eyes
and wake up sixty years
in the future

I will be ninty-five,
aging,
decaying,
but I will be
happy

I will be able to look out at
my children,
my wife,
hell, probably even
my dog
and smile with the memories
they’ll given me over the
years

but as I close my eyes,
for the final time,
drifting into the sleep
I should never awake from,
I will emerge from my rest
a fifteen year-old boy
having only a hazy recollection
of the happiness
that awaits me
one day
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Computer Dog-gone it Bow Wow
Queen of Sheba and Shiba Inu
  The doggy treat paws ring
my bell ring my bell
Looking at my eyes of Apple
will always tell how many
times you're going to App me
Please I don't have time for
games outcrop me or
do not cop out
Paws of  digging some
INC. of Instagram

Uncle Sam took my stocks
and bonds Eyes to my map
diagram
Eyes of the Apple rotten mail
Webby Ms. Debby deleted it

One Nighty gown
Nighting Gale
He's always doing on eye story
(Spy Eye) July 4th  cheese and
******* male
Old news her Eyes Ms. Firecracker
New computer demands
A silence of the Lamb Hector -
Eyes at her doorway
Save my butterfly
The hacker has too many free time

Newsstands on the corner
Eyes of more crime
That computer trucker
Clicks away his I apple
CD covers
The computer I crown thee

Eyes to the doorway
CLICKS City Chicks
Don't want me anyway

All Commands
We know the game
money hands what
a commuter

The web of the eye’s
All we see are walnuts
and apple pies
The computer always on the rise
No computer wiz will get fired?
Like Jeopardy computer high
investment commodity
Steve Jobs the winner
Apples and techno cars
and comedians

Apple web got married gown
Kleinfeld's wed whites computer
to curve their enthusiasm
Jerry Seinfeld made a switch
Steven Universe webby podcast  
eyes crystal witchcraft

Macintosh gold rush floppy disk
Took  a big money crash risk

“New” invention thinking
All pluses
Einstein Web Star
Mass VIP pass
Too many copycats
Brownstone coffee
I pad happy Ireland lads
Ballerina no sleeping beauty
Pancake needed to get work done
Up in the Robin hood Penthouse
Apple Museum
International of excellence
She is so Apple Lisa
the picture with sad smiles of
Mona Lisa

Apple webby

2. SUNDAY bye STAR the news Steve Jobs
Gave a web forecast Hazy hackers
Eyes stormy computer crashes
Computer laptop Cafes surfing
and best beer hubs reading what
on the news with Steve Jobs
Apple I for an Eye
and his last patent Mac OSX Dock
was well granted the day of his death

The big Apple how he started it.
The city never Sleep’s.
I had you fooled?
On April Fools day 1976 Steve
Wozniak and Steve Jobs made history

So robotic computerized
Pixar Animation
studio environment
where excellence to
(Robotic Perfection)
Innovation on an
impossible mission

Hi, Sirprize to your husband bills
Apple web of desires chills
Going through a computer maze
graphically cool sin paired to win

Her brain shines eyes still clicking
Godly animation

Now you were rich
enough to take a vacation
Eyes went up to the heights
No more fighting interface and
Xerox his baby loaded up
like a Paradox my
cream cheese lox
Apple Jubilee coffee
she could soften anybody
Until you love the
Software apple
the product of computer sky?
Robin’s Risque eyes
deeply web- bye
Tower upload.

The best Apple eye reload
ferocious love suitcase of
computer products flight
Megababes Queen we
are the Champion
and hardware prowl like a
Smart crime no yellow tape
That sophisticated owl moon
computer ***** cried Wolfie
She was howling Apple selfie
eyes red fire has driven

Supermoon so blessed
caress nuanced
Word’s spat cheetah cat
Web milk me the succession
Apple Web goodbye never
Buying Xerox stocks forever
Macintosh Floppy Disk
New world tasks
“Love” 1/2 Grain “Orient Express”
she spoke like the speeding link.

He got hooked what a
((Chrome Apple))
Uncivilized phone silverized
or Clone senior citizen or exotic
black cheetah list
Hew-let Packard flavor
couldn’t resist what an enterprise.

It’s all in the Apple eyes

I Apple of her eyephone we
need earplugs (Adam and Eve)
have some nifty spark plugs
Hub purr personalities
eye’s “Software”
Cat’s Eye has nine lives
of responsibilities
Love of art computer theater

He’s Stocks her sweet candy
but he had the
  Einstein's eyes such mass and gravity
a good set of lungs webcomic

Her silk detailed blouse
got caught in his apple martini
Extra news story read all about it!
Carriage rider what a glider
took her baby-computer
traveler soft hand
met her Gulliver travel

He computerized her love clicks
Gave her new baby chicks
more living to do on Google
I rather have my Moms Kugel
Eyes better not be on a rotten apple this is the working world start clicking and these are the hot shots the Apple web, not a piece of cookies Lil Debs
Chad White Sep 2013
The moon holds such a serene glow
For all it's wonders, we may never know
It's light dances gently across the plains
And some nights it disappears, behind rains
Though it never truly runs away
It stays behind cover for a day
To recollect and reflect
What it's supposed to detect
Amongst the many mysteries of Night

Was it meant to help search for the lost?
Was anyone meant to help at such a cost?
Was it simply to gaze upon by star-crossed lovers
Or help protect children while they hide under covers
She knew she had a job to do
To control the tides, and keep them true
But there was more to life than the simply job
To keep her going, make her heart throb
But alas, these are the many mysteries of Night
dark blue Jul 2021
come here
baby girl
get into bed
with daddy
take off
your nighty
lay on top of me
i need to feel you
skin to skin
against me
lay your head
upon my chest
feel the up and down
of your breath
hear your heartbeat
your sighs in my ear
Joseph Valle Aug 2012
Night beckons to strange people.
Actually, if you can accept this premise,
then the mind makes everyone strange.
And still yet, there is something specific about darkness,
I cannot put my finger on it,
that sends odd sparks of real life
on a mission to city street corners.

I hide in my car after leaving the café
with the hope of seeing, "The Pigtailed Man."
This isn't his name.
However, I need say no more to any stranger
for him to envision my character.
We objectify him and his image becomes clear
even when spotted in narrowed alleyway darkness.

He has a beautiful wife
with locks past her shoulder
of auburn and lillies,
and two wonderfully bright children
who sit on his knee when listening
to nighty-night, bedtime stories.
Their ringing laughter illuminates
the darkest corners of their happy home.
They'll never know why he needs
to go bye-bye at dangerous evening hours,
hunting sour scowls from passers-by.

He's unkempt: legs unshaven, chin covered
by midnight shadow, beer belly hanging over his
plaid picnic-basket red schoolgirl skirt,
and his face sags as if a topical novocaine
was applied generously to his chubby, rosy cheeks.
Upon seeing his aimless strut
and dead-to-self eyes, I wonder: Where does he dress?
Does he put his outfit on from plastic grocery bag
around the block from the lamp-lit looks of
the neighbors' friendly daytime greetings?
More importantly, if I were friend
and was to catch him in the act,
would I say anything?

Darkness calls out the most intriguing creatures.
We're afraid to call them "human beings,"
because being human most certainly
does not look like this.
Or, does it not look like this?
Shadows claw walls around all
because not one body projects light.
There are some who know, and some who appease.
The pigtails hang to his knees as he stares
at the mannequins of pretty women
in the window of the closed department store.
Raven Feels Apr 2021
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, just a magical night in October that I ache for:}


when the telephone rang and his pleas sang

when the station blurred and the tables turned and the light burst

when he ran for the chase never minding the haze of desperate achieve

when he begged for the day for my beloved stay in the seconds before leave

when he refused to leave in the fight of disbelief in the fear of a disappear

when the stairs he walks to embrace the lots that we missed along the nighty watch

when he saves the gush in a surrender to his touch and an affection to my feels


                                                                                         ------ravenfeels
Ana Habib Nov 2020
The family of two would soon be turning into 3. Jasmine and Robyn  Banerjee were a young couple who had gotten married only a few short month back and were now eagerly waiting for the arrival of the baby. Jasmine, did not care if was a boy or girl. She and her husband agreed that as long as the baby was healthy had her mom eyes and dads smile everything was perfect.

Her in-laws had other ideas. They looked after her and was very understanding about her plight. The morning sickness, violent mood swings, acne, aches and pains. They advised her on what they thought was right but every few days or so her mother in law had something new to say. “ Don’t eat too much of something or the baby will have birthmark just like it somewhere on the body” or eat fish so that the “baby will be smart” or something more annoying like “ do not bathe, the baby might be born early” The mother to-be smiled politely or rolled her eyes as far back as possible while silently wishing someone would take her a way from these kooky people.

Jasmine, was a school teacher by profession and her husband Robyn ran a very successful travel agency. She had been told that it would be best if she resigned from work, at the very beginning of her pregnancy. Robyn provided for both and why did a woman need to work after a child is born?

Baby Dia was born on a Friday at 8pm in a clinic after a long and tiring labour. Both the doctor and nurse were smiling when they handed the pink bundle of cries to Jasmine. She did not even have 10 minutes alone with the baby before the door burst open with an eager set of grandparents and a father who looked, troubled.

What is it? Cried one of the grandmothers

“A girl” said Jasmine smiling

“hmm”

“a boy would have been better”

“ I Know she would bring bad luck to the family”

Not something to tell a new mom but everyone was suddenly looking each other instead of her. No one went to congratulate the mom or take a second look at the baby. Jasmine’s mother in law looked upset. Her mom just patted her hand, hurriedly mumbled something, and left the room with her father in tow. Jasmine felt bad upon hearing everything and wondered what kind of people she had been living with till now. Her husband was quiet the whole time.

Baby Dia grew up to be a happy smiling baby who made little to no fuss, slept through the night and always seemed excited about expanding her palate. She did not see much of her father or grandfather. They never showed much interest in her. They never warmed up to her. Robyn smiled, picked her up or played with his daughter every once in a while, but for the most part he worked long nights, on the weekend and went on week long trips when he needed to.

Robyn was working late again for the third time this week. He had hoped for a boy for so long but ended up with a daughter. She was precious to look at but women are complicated, expensive and overly emotional.

One afternoon, 4 year old Dia was playing outside with a few of the neighbourhood children. She had great fun but came home looking a little more then just *****. Her pink frock had holes in it, her wavy hair came undone and she was holding only one shoe in her hands. Her mother was no where to be seen but her grandmother hollered at the girl.

“Look at you, dirt all over the place,” why cant you just play inside with your dolls or toys only boys get this ***** and stay out so late” Dia paid no attention to these words and went to her grandmother for a hug. The old woman shooed the little girl away and locked her in the bathroom.  “Don’t come out till your squeaky clean” her grandmother warned. What was the big deal about getting ***** Dia wondered?

When she had turned 7, Dia started attending events and invites with her parents. They were all invited to a wedding on a Saturday night. She no longer had to wear scratchy frocks anymore. Her mother had bought her something better. A pant suit with a pink scarf. Dia loved it and dressed up by herself with no help. The dress was great, but the scarf was a nuisance. It was long and she felt suffocated. What was there to hide? Her mom draped in a pink saree, frowned when she came out wearing no scarf.

“Put on your scarf it comes with the dress”

“I don’t want to its ugly and I wont able to play with this on”

The normally calm woman, suddenly felt annoyed.

“Look, I have a shawl and your grandmother is wearing one too” that’s just how women dress, and that includes little girls.”

Her grandmother sitting in the back of the car murmured something about teaching her manners and modesty. Dia didn’t flinch

“ I have manners and my legs are not showing” Modesty in the “Banarjee” household meant that woman were not to expose their legs or back or any other parts of the body except for the hands and feet” Such rules did not apply to the men.

The next morning Jasmine spoke to Dia about the incident.

“I wanted you to wear the scarf last night because its how girls dress. You are a girl and you have to cover yourself to avoid trouble. Good girls always cover themselves and listen to their parents.”

Dia nodded but she didn’t understand anything. She was hungry and just wanted to eat.

When Dia was 11. One of her father’s colleagues came over. A kind man, his wife and annoying son. She liked them. They always brought over presents. She had gotten blue bangles last time. She saw them, from her window. She could not leave her room until her mother called for her.  It was always to work in the kitchen, Serve the guests, tea and snacks, set the table and do the dishes while everyone talked in the living room or sat in the backyard. Everything had to be cleaned up and the tea had to be exactly right. Not too dark, or too sugary. Grandmother says that if a girl did not know how to make proper tea she would not get a good husband in the future. Dia smirked when she heard this, her husband can have milkshakes for all she cared. She hated tea. Drink too much of it and she would get darker. Drink to little of it and the headaches would start. Dia could only leave the room when they left. No one really stayed over except of her mother’s parents, cousins and the occasional 50 pounds overweight aunty who always had her face in the refrigerator and inquired about her grades and skin tone every single visit. Girls were expected to stay indoors as much as possible. Always hidden but from what Dia could not always understand.

A few days after Dia turned 12 she had gotten her period. She read all about it on the internet and the librarian at school had lent her some books while explaining everything to her. Such topics were never discussed at home. It was a horrible experience. The bleeding, cramping, headaches and bouts of anger. All this because she was girl, every month for a very long time. 50 years perhaps. Her mother and grandmother smiled, when she told them. They took her out for lunch and bought her new clothes. She could no longer wear shorts or sleeveless tops anymore, even in the privacy of her own room. A brassiere had to go with everything now and long scarves and vests were a must. Along with this Dia had to follow other rules. She could not wash her hair on the first day of her period, she could not bathe in hot water. She could not paint her nails, have anything sour (pickles, lemonade) or make food for anyone because everything will spoil. She could not enter a place of worship or cradle baby because he/she might get sick. Dia thought all this was pointless and when she inquired about it, she got a smack to the face for questioning ancient rules and rituals and was told that this was how it was for every woman before her in the family. She earned a second smack when she asked who made the rules. Probably a man.

On her 14th birthday. Dia had gotten into a fight with one of her best friends. It was over something trivial. What to wear for a school event? Dia had settled for a saree and her friend settled on a gown. Dia was not fair but a little dusky. Her friends skin tone was like milk. The girl took great pride in that. She went as far as saying that Dia’s grey saree made her look like a crow. Dia was too upset to say anything in return, so she quickly walked home. She walked to her room and did not come out till the next day. Jasmine had noticed her daughter’s sour behavior and snappy remarks, so she asked what was wrong. Dia tearfully told her the truth. Her mom laughed and said that good friend’s squabble over anything and forget it 2 days later. Gave her money for ice cream and a movie and left for work. Her grandmother while doing the dishes told her that it was normal for girls for fight because women are competitive, they always want the best for themselves and have no problem belittling someone else to get it. Dia asked why, she got the usual response. “that’s how girls are” Dia through her grandma was being extra negative that day.

When Dia turned 18, she met a young man through one of her classes. She was studying health sciences and aspired to be a dentist when she was much older. Teeth always fascinated her since she was young. Her friend was a taller a bit older (21) and studying to be an Emergency Medical Technician. Dia and this boy had been friends for awhile now. He came from a good family and had no siblings. But she always thought him to be a friend. They studied together, hung around and had fun. He on the other hand started asking too many questions and took up a lot of her time. He was nice, positive and always made her laugh, but she had to let him know how she felt about him. She thought of speaking to her mom about this. Her father had heard everything instead. He sat beside her, listened to everything, and told her to wait for the boy to come to her and then break him the news gently. There was no need to talk to him first and cause a scene at the college campus. This would affect her studies and make her look her bad. This upset Dia in a major way. A woman was able to have feelings, but she could not voice them out? She could not take the first step in a relationship?  She mumbled her thanks and took a long shower that night, thinking everything over. The next day she approached her father again. He gave her a long look and said that if she broke things off with him first, he could go around spreading rumors or get her in trouble at school. No one likes a bold woman who always speaks her mind. She should just focus on her studies. Dia did not press him any further. She went on with her everyday life and lost him as a friend in a month’s time.

A week shy of her 21st birthday, Dia received an acceptance letter from a prestigious university. She was ecstatic and did cartwheels after reading the letter. Her parents had no qualms about her studying at a university that was far away from home or living in a hostel. She had matured into a young woman who they could trust and she had not made a faulty decision till now. Dia was not interested in parties, drinking, or staying overnight with friends. She was a good girl. However, they only let her go after letting her know that they would start looking for a boy once she graduated from her program. Dia said yes without thinking to much about this. Graduation was still 4 years away.

Dia went to complete university in less then 4 years time. She did not waste any time after graduation and enrolled into dental school. She had flunked only 1-2 courses during one semester. Her grandmother had died during one of them and her grades fell just slightly. This brought upon change in the Banerjee family. Her father had changed after his mom’s death. He was no longer in a rush to get Dia married and stopped working. He picked up a hobby and worked on that. Her mother took a break from teaching and now worked as a guidance counsellor for teens at a reputable high school.

During this time Dia was going steady with another dentistry student, with her parent’s permission. He was alright in most ways but sometimes pressured her to take their relationship to the next level. She always resisted and asked him to wait till they get married. Woman had to remain pure till they got married. If one’s purity is gone or lost it would bring great shame to the family and the couple. He said he he understood until one day he did not anymore. In a fit of rage, he let her know she belonged to him and he could do what he liked. They would be getting married soon so why did it matter. She resisted the urge to strike him and let him know that she belonged to no one but herself. He called her names before calling it quits. It hurt, but Dia knew that she would meet the right man sooner or later. Her parents did not say anything to her regarding this.

When Dia was 25 she did meet someone, he was a doctor and she went to become a dentist. They did not a have a grand wedding but a small private ceremony. They had paid for everything and Dia sent her parents on a much-needed vacation. Her husband, he did not pressure her to do anything she did not like. He grew up abroad and helped her in all the things that men did not normally do back home like cooking, cleaning, shopping because this was considered to be “ Woman’s work” and was “normal” This surprised her at first but amazed her later on. One night after too much wine and fun her husband went to bed.  Dia was still awake giddy from the wine and had other things on her mind. She gently woke her husband up. He was not pleased. “Let me sleep woman, its not the time to do anything and I have to get up early. He left it at that and was snoring in minutes.

She looked at him and frustration and wondered why it was normal and acceptable for men to satisfy their needs wherever and whenever possible, but a woman was always rebuked when she wanted something from her husband. She had certain needs and rights over him. She quickly undressed, slipped into a nighty, and went to sit in the balcony for a bit. The moon was out and the world was dead asleep.
Dia poured herself the last of the wine and thought about everything.

A woman always has two choices to fight or to follow the rules. Since birth woman are groomed into becoming a certain type of woman, once they get to that stage they are either married off or left to work and hop from one relationship to another. They were taught to be quiet, obedient, smart and always fully covered.

Why did a woman need to be covered at all times? Not just her body but her mind as well. She must keep mum about her wants, her needs, and desires. She always must think about the others and society before deciding on something. No one looks up to a woman who speaks her mind and focuses on herself. No one appreciates an independent woman. She must always be dependant on a male somebody (father, brother, husband, son). She must always do what she is told and taught because that is the way it is. That is how girls are.

This is all Dia grew up listening to. Who came up with the rules? Society. A society, where men dictated most things and told woman what they should and should not do. When a man will never understand what women go through or why they must handle and balance out so much. School, home, family, career. A woman always has to choose.

Everything comes down to a choice and she will forever have to sacrifice something or the other because it is the womanly thing to do. Men are never really questioned about their choices. They talk, they lead, and the women follow. That needs to change. People need to unlearn these age-old stereotypes. They hurt both the men and women. A man grows up but ends up lacking so much in terms of emotional intelligence and respect for the other gender. He grows without understanding what gender equality means and why it is needed.  A woman grows up but not without sacrifice, selflessness, and crippling obedience. She is seen as inferior, weak, or untamable if she does not do what she is told, asks too many questions and wants to better herself in some way or form.

A woman’s identity should not be made from excuses and lies.
Dogfood Williams Aug 2013
I autoflog like a friar
who fell to ******* one
two
too many times
by letting these songs play
the ones we heard in the dark
the baby birch and the *******
eternal king
and the grimes and the glows
of those nighty night lights
that cast on your blue veins
an idea that you had died
peacefully while you slept
any more I die while I sleep
attacked by wolves like me
and a basket of fruit
Jack Piatt Mar 2014
You’d do well to keep in mind
The lines falling short inside
And all the people standing outside
Looking in
Feeling the sin
Sink down their arms
Into their shoes
And out of brain range
This is it
The reckoning
Of sorts anyway
The lost keys found
The square peg round
The light at the end of the tunnel
On an extra long chord
Finally being pulled
Nighty night
Let all that ails you tuck you down tight
Bring back the child of let’s say 10
That version of you
And start explaining
As you have much to do
He might look up and say
“Who are you?”
And that’s a valid ******* question you know
Valid ******* question
Cause he won’t know
And neither will you
The disconnect is growing moss
Off the side of Highway 2
And memories are like old VHS tapes
That nobody watches anymore
Don’t have time for that
Too much going on
With all the nothing to move and stack
Rearrange
Sifting for change
Like it’s in your pocket
And you’re at the soda machine
After walking back into town mid-June
Cause your car breaks down
In the middle of the Middle(est) West
And you are thirsty
But the machine is all out
And the clock is broken
Along with your need for concern
It just doesn’t matter now
And you are more than well aware
You are ****** scope
From 300 yards up and away aware
There’s no move (even the slightest) getting past you
You guard that tower
Like an insecure guy guards his bestest (crush) girl –friend
You know the one that takes him shopping
And tells him secrets
That should be dropped in a volcano
– but regardless
He will never see the color of her *******
Unless she has him do her laundry
I'm running
Why am I running?
Why does it hurt?
Why are my feet cold?
I look at my feet
I'm barefoot
Why am I barefoot?
Okay
Give me a sec
I'll remember
Oh!
I'm running
Running to you
I'm barefoot
Barefoot because I'm scared
Scared you'll get away
Leave and get lost
Why did you leave?
Wait no
You didn't leave
I slow down
You didn't run away
I stop
You're still here
I wake up
Oh thank god
It was just a dream
You're still asleep
Next to me where I left you
I'm not running
I am barefoot
But not running
I thank god one last time
Take a glance at your sleeping face
Kiss your nose
Nighty night, Bruno
My cute watch dog

Your melancholic memories come every second
You are invisibly floating all around me
My breathe plays your melody
My heartbeat plays your love-poem
My soul listens to my own LOVE longing
The breeze swirling your scent around me
I walk amidst your fresh jardine

When my eyes are traversed by YOUR eyes
Then the weather drenches me with your colors
And YOU pour all colors of LOVE on me

My numerous sleepless nights
I stand and see you in the stars
I count every sparkle you've left behind
In those million heart beats within

In that nighty silence I wait to hear
Your silence footsteps walking around me
I look up and see the reflection of
YOU nudging & hugging me from behind
In the mirror of that bright BIG moon

Each passing breathe conveys your arrival
The one, who is revered & adored all the time
My heart-beats showers cascades of blossoms
All along the places YOU- my BELOVED exists
And I render the whole world in my BELOVED's colors


dark blue Sep 2021
what is it sweetie
you want to snuggle and sleep with daddy

ok sweetie
as long as you promise
to be quiet and fall asleep

what is it sweetie
you can’t sleep
you want daddy to rub your tummy
if daddy does do you promise to fall asleep

ok sweetie
take off your nighty
daddy will rub your tummy
don’t make a peep and go to sleep

sweetie
stop moaning and squirming
your suppose to be sleeping

sweetie
no
daddy won’t pet your kitten
you have school tomorrow

sweetie
stop touching your kitten
bad girl
now look
you gave daddy
a *****
The sun sets gently under Pastel sky's
Bringing with it a fond warm lit night.
The stars dancing elegantly
In their bright white coats
As the see through clouds
So calmly float.
The moon glows softly through the tops of the trees
As the night yawns a soft peaceful breeze
Nighty nighty said little child
As he laid his small head down for a while.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
☺♥☺♥☺♥☺♥

The worst will be found toward the end of the book
When you’re scanning the lines of a weighty anthology.
Centuries have shaken what works can be shook,
and what’s old is refined – and I make no apology.

Angst-ridden ramblings, so fashionably bleak
Start appearing somewhere past the middle, I fear
With those modernist psyches, whose raggedly weak
and depressing confessions sling mud in the ear.

Like the scribblers of Suicide, brimming with bile
or the autodestructive self-pitying ******,
whose quaint observations enshrining the vile
are a crime against life – and an art for the loser.

You ideologues, with your axes to grind,
propagandizing causes in militant styles
ought to  stay in the hills, where the struggle is defined,
and spare us the old dialectical wiles.

The Feminist scribe, with her *** for a mouth,
Ever pressing her case, for fallopian reasons
Grows saggingly sterile. Her muses fly south
with the passing of harvests and goddessless seasons.

Absurdists, surrealists, and nihilist mystics
whose hymns to destruction make glory of chaos
should leave the black humor to God and ballistics.
Your poems, like Judas, are bound to betray us.

The Freudian flirt (whose neuroses abound),
And the Jungian shamans (their animas, too),
ought to rest on their couches. Why should they be found
By the wellsprings of Spirit, whose guidance is true.

The art-lover’s lines gild a frame around Knowledge.
Their poems are like an art history course.
As they flit past the idols they studied in college
their name-dropping odes are a grand tour-de–force.

Sixties drug-revelers, love beads a-jingle
And brothers dashiki-clad, howling at Nixon
no longer strike chords in my soul. Not a single sitar lick
nor visions of hippie-chick *****.

You rhymers and rappers of rhythms in sample
Whose words like a kick-drum send shock through old Whitey
Now cease from your chanting. The genre is ample.
Your gangstering paeans are too fly-by-nighty.

Revived Roman legions, who relish things Latin;
Your martial convictions inspire the hero.
But while you are looking for cities to flatten,
remember – old Julius was nobler than Nero.

The theme of World Peace –  this crops up near the ending:
a desperate hope for New-Agers and liberals,
who cherish a dream of reality-bending
Through networking, magic, and energized crystals…

But what can be shaken shall perish, forgotten.
Anthologies show us that truth is enduring.
All praises and laurels shall prove misbegotten.
The Word become flesh is the most reassuring.

So I leave the anthology, closing its cover.
Three-quarters at least seemed like nonsense to me.
Yet still, I admit, I’m a poetry lover.
Let time do its work and in future – we’ll see…
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/mine/various/

☺♥☺♥☺♥☺♥
I really really
must not scratch
this itchy itchy itch
but what to do
when all your hands
just want to do is scratch

Diagnosed this morning
by Doctor Wicky Wong
I don't like the look of those
he said
Neither do I
I wished him wrong

Back I went this evening
as more spots they had appeared
He looked a little closer
muttered words I could barely hear
off work 3 days not 1 he said
Contagious these may spread

So here I am at home alone
with nowt to do but write
a load of twaddle on the page
as shingles rages rife
when what I'd really love to do
is sleep say nighty night
© Jacqueline Le Sueur 2014 All Rights Reserved
CK Baker Sep 2021
Well we jumped on the wing
for a good Irish fling
kicked off the week
with a boiler

The banter was high
as we took to the sky
nothing in sight
was a spoiler

And the red eye at night
was a captain’s delight
we spread on the seat
of the liner

Arrived just in time
for a whale of a time
at the Temple Bar
and Diner

Well the Dublin scene
in the Old College Green
was wired and alive
on the corner

Where me and me' mates
paired in at the gates
there were welcoming arms
to us foreigners

And we sang through the night
and grinned in delight
with banjos, pipes
and lasses

Drinking whiskey and beer
in a boatload of cheer
the rooster got lost
in the masses

The **** in the walk
was out on the stalk
a wee little flute
on display

His shoulders were pinned
with a great big grin
they were such
peculiar ways!

Well we found em next day
(in a sauntering way)
got tossed in
all the commotion


What happened to you?
said he hadn’t a clue
or any
baldy notion!

Hit the road to Howth
little east, little south
the seaside town
was groovin

Found the Cobblestone Pub
for a jar and a scrub
the seabird sounds
were soothin

Then we jumped a train
in the lashing rain
the Belfast craic
was mighty

Hit the Thirsty Goat
with a parching throat
some Tullamore Dew
for a nighty

In the Crumlin jail
the spirits set sail
the IRA
was gaffin

There was Bobby Sands
in celestial lands
alive and proud
and laughin

The Griffin dance
was the final chance
the evening closed
in nigh

And we made our way
through the Chelsea lanes
to say our
final good bye

~ ~ ~ ~

Singing
Ay, oh…let it all go
safe haven in the wasteland!

Singing
Slainte’…take me away
to the old Irish sounds
of the band!
dark blue Aug 2021
i like
the way you smell
stepping from the bath
slightly scented
towels wrapped
around your
hair and body
drying you off
combing your hair
slipping on your nighty
kissing your tummy
making you giggle
calling me silly
i love you sweetie
as only a daddy can
Jim Sheeran Oct 2015
He was just completing the drying up after tea when he heard a murmuring from the hallway. The sound of the voice made him listen over the chatter of the early evening radio. One of the girls read a story, a bedtime story. He listened. It was about two bears, part of the usual get ready for bed routine; pyjamas, supper, teeth, bed, story, prayers, nighty-night.

He went to the bottom step on the stairs. They were on the third page now. Mum sat on the stairs, knees up, hands under chin, elbows in lap. She smiled down at Dad while their fifteen year old daughter read, her voice became more animated as the story progressed.

They both listened to the end and made play by pretending to have fallen asleep. He was now sitting beside his wife as the story ended. It was now their other daughters turn to read one of her favourites. About a Tiger.

It had been a long time. A long time since those books were opened, a long time since they we're read aloud and that reading aloud unlocked memories, a warm sense of routine, familiarity and the safeness it brought at the end of a long day when everyone was ready to rest.

This was also a new time now. Their girls reading their old bedtime stories. It felt to him like an echo of that past, yet another stage had been reached; they were growing up too fast.
Bit of an essay rather than a poem
Mitchell Sep 2011
Stabbing the air
As if punching a bag that is not there
Fighting biting scratching screaming teething kneading spreading
One's heart
One's thoughts
One's utter unnecessary battery like life
Plugged in to a machine that doesn't even know your name
But you believe your life is your life
Though that thing don't believe the same
It can't believe for it just obeys
To its own operations its own policies its own demented source of dreaming
To be out in the street head bent back
Pleading God to come down and pick your rusted lock
Gravel in your hair from sleeping in too many ditches
Spit upon by every passing bride and millionaire groom
Stuck in between the middle and one's idea of what it means to gain fame
Pleasantries don't mean a ****** thing nowadays
Neither does this
Words were once worshipped but now are just seen as lowly and decent
Each hour is passing towards an end I wish not to see
The prophets have come and gone
I watched them all chewing my bazooka gum
Holding my truth like I was gripping a revolver gun
Pick the beetles from your mattress
Peak past the dusty and greying blinds
The world is moving with or without you baby
High power or not your the only one I know that can save me
Time tells its own story so try not to try to hard when doing so
We are servants to ourselves yet we admit no sinful fault
Begging to the mirror for satisfaction for another kind of transcendent gain
I have mentioned this to the night
As they put their knit nighty cap on
Where they only smiled and winked saying
"Now you are starting to think"
Long in my solitude have I seen the lepers pray for their limbs
As well as the artists all starving believing they are actually martians
The tree jumpers mentioning their methods as if it were a blessing
In jail the cooks threw books in the tastiest stews
From Jack K. to Ol' Stan to even Freddy Crazed Blue
Happiness is the place where one can get as close to the sun
Nirvana is the step just before you hear the shot of the gun
Life is the stepping stone you balance on just before you fall
A woman you love is the finest fortune until she makes you crawl
And then when we are together
When we have found our freedom and the MAN is dead
Who will then decide the direction which our race should be lead?
Revolution is the solution which may in the end cause more pollution
A stepping stone in time where I am I apart yet not holding the cart
Activity yet negativity for the world is its own friend
Only in nature is peace justified by the rules which we have always been governed
The beast rests not in our bodies but in our minds
Balance the beast
And
Live free
With your wriggling fingers
And
Your stinky feet
Silence Screamz Jul 2015
Sleep night terror
****** me whole
Knife cuts deep
Eyes cold cold

Pillow grip tight
Crazed fit scream
Doused in the fire
Burn dream dream

Broken fears me
Note to the mind
Wrapped up in the sheet
Nighty night night
Night terrors and can't sleep ..dark thoughts surround me
here in Australia
we're hitting the hay
as we must get rested
for a new day

the midnight oil
we shall not be burning
we'll be flat out
on our backs snoozing

we'll file into our beds
as tired troopers do
and partake of some slumber
for an hour or two

in the morning
we'll arise in a refreshed mode
ready to take on
another work day load

so its nighty night
from the Southern Cross land
we're hopping aboard our mattresses
to travel to dreamland
Sub Rosa Oct 2013
Lock the doors,
leave on the light.
Kiss the children,
'Nighty night'

Lie in the sheets,
Don't fall asleep.
Cometh the Devil,
thou soul to reap.

Your sable heart
has long been dead
for the Devil dwells
inside your head.
Dan Gilbert Jul 2016
I do not want an old man God sat in a throne,
Judging from afar with sceptre and gold
riding on a cloud, sombre and haloed,
stern faced, woolly warm beard stroking,
Michelangelo-esque nighty clad, run of the mill deity.

I do not want a Sunday morning liturgy reference God,
inhabiting musty buildings, documented within dusty books, out dated, out rated, out of duty once a week
(twice if you include the mid-week bible study),
appeasing a sick relative, reluctant, habit God.

I do not want a jolly nodding head back shelf of the car job, kitsch icon, only when it suits me, pocket amenity,
fashion accessory, hobby gimmick God; a God modelled
from routine and agenda and TV evangelism, a convenience style digestible man made allusion.

I don’t want a controlling egomaniac parent God, bent on
setting us unattainable goals and tasks then throwing
a tantrum when the model train set breaks; or a God
who is distant, self-righteous, passive and out of touch,
an elusive, reclusive, exclusive God,

I want an ‘I Am who I Am’ God, whose boundaries are so
immense that to trace them would destroy you. A God
who is completely indefinable, that every brushstroke
put to canvas, every conceivable melody whistled, that
every imaginable word uttered, would barely compare.

I want a God who to stand before would burn my eyes out, make my heart explode; that I would be totally devastated. Yet, a God who is approachable and approaches, a God who is in the here and now, surrounding, dumbfounding, astounding, a God with promise and hope you can taste.

A God who breaks all the boundaries and exceeds every
human expectation and limitation, a God who hears and feels every longing, every desire and creates opportunity,
empowering the heart that cries out, stilling the soul when it aches, a God of promise and hope and deliverance.

I want a God unlike any parent, friend, lover, sovereign, reckless in compassion and filthy with goodness, available and ever there. So dangerously loving, so excessively wise and firm, yet tender, knowing, emotive, compassionate, A God who takes my grief. A God asking to be found and worth being sought.
Alan Black Mar 2015
The cancer has spread too far,
the mass is too massive to be excised.
The chemo bag is secretly filled with carcinogens.
The pills they charge us a fortune for
are only placebos.
The last doctor died in 1963,
and the man in the white scrubs,
who rubs your hand, and says it will all be alright
is a card carrying servant
of the very cancer he professes to fight.
Nighty-Night little ones,
its time to turn out the light.
Ben Jones Feb 2015
Dorothy Gale, all freckled and pale
Was asleep in her gingham print nighty
When a ****** great twister enveloped the vista
And blew like the good lord almighty
It ripped up the grass and it took out the glass
As it lifted the house from position
And a blow to the head from the post of her bed
Put young Dorothy out of commission

She awoke with a fright as she fell from a height
Landing squarely on somebody's gran
She emerged from indoors to a round of applause
And her journey had surely began
The people of Aus (because that's where she was)
Gave her hazy but helpful directions
She should hastily wander the road over yonder
To reach Tony before the elections

So she took to the road from her former abode
In her quest to get back to her folk
She aquired some mates, all in similar straits
Or the **** of a practical joke
A man made of straw was quite hard to ignore
With a lion quite lacking in guts
And a fella whose skin was constructed from tin
Held together with rivets and nuts

Such adventures they had, though I think you'll be glad
That I've cut to the crux of the rhyme
Where a meeting was set, their request would be met
To meet Tony in ten minutes time
They arrived and were greeted, quite comfortably seated
It was then Mr Abbott appeared
He regretted to say, to their growing dismay
That their wishes had not all been cleared

"As I haven't a heart" he was heard to impart
"then the tin man is leaving with jack"
"And I'm gutless as well" he was careful to tell
"So the lion can hurry on back"
"And I've also no brain, so it's no once again"
"But young lady, your problems are sorted"
"You'll be locked up off shore for a month, maybe four
"And by christmas, we'll have you deported"

By Ben the Poet
Lila Rose May 2013
Time for bed, shut the door
Nighty night, no more.
But what if.....

What was that brain? But what if what?
Do you have something you'd like to say?
But what if things don't work out your way?

What do you mean? Everything's fine.
I have nothing I need to mind.
But what if you're not accepted?

What do you mean?
After all I am loved I am.....
But what if you're not?

Wait but....
What if you fail at everything else?
Where will you turn where will you go?

Well I.....
What if this is the last time you'll be successful?
And what if it all goes down hill from here?

Please stop I.....
You? What about everyone else?
You really must stop thinking about yourself and think about others.

But....
After all where would you be in life without other's judgement?
Watching you, waiting for you to ***** up

Just waiting to take your place....

No they.....

watching watching watching

..........................................
What's wrong reality to hard for you?
Are you going to cry now? Poor baby.

Well sleep tight and have fun with life
Don't let the monsters bite, goodnight.
.....................shut up.....................
Matt Lautar Nov 2011
Times are hard.
Times you, times me.
But time heals all wounds.
And all that is hidden will be revealed,
In time.
So give it time...
Do you have the time?
Time out, time in.
Time to go.
Bed time.
Nighty nite.
All of my love.
To you.
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
i live next to an englishman that objects to laughing
in the night, i can't contain it, i can't keep it canned,
for all the cruxes, jealousy hasn't
been swept aside by a tsunami
into the unconscious -
sure, i can be courteous -
    communities are weaved from
reciprocating a desire for such a lass;
what do i get?
      nervous oliver sparrow -
              and i can't stop being fidgety -
this new norm is what breeds extremism -
mi6 is all-over my package,
    rarely does a men get to live twice,
and with a second dosage does he get so much
burnt bacon feathers, because a second life
regulation said: only between 9-to-5
and with work colleagues -
                thing is: if i actually sit down and
eat some food with you, i have respect
for you.
            bonsai tigers inherited lizard eyes
and see ****, i mean: not much if it doesn't
**** and twist attracting the eyes to
map out the orion constellation.
                   and i know what sort of society
breeds the charlie ha-ha-hab-dough Aztec sacrifices,
   i basically say ******* listening
to beck's feather in your cap -
          i joined the john cleese ministry -
it's goose step and it's swan's archy-barchy -
         it's a raven arched blade that's also a spine...
for all their graces, birds are greatly blessed
           by being humbled on the trot -
              birds are the best experience of seeing
a humbling... and indeed man: his thoughts akin
to wings... tied down by the tonne-load of limbs
          and pianos, and harps, and hammers,
and road-signs, and all manners of navigations...
so if we're jealous of birds having wings,
  so if we're jealous of birds having wings...
      i'd prefer to watch a 1000 priestly ravens
congregating onto an altar of a loaf breadcrumbed
  and littering a walt whitman patch of talk...
        once airborne...
             a ******* bunch of teutonic messerschmitts...
yes, blame the epileptic for the piccadilly circus of lights...
       and a red light district that's hardly a chance
to meet a woman insomnia-bound to her genitals -
   floral patterns aflutter anywhere?
            that sort of Oxfam i'd gladly pay towards...
not some populist mush poetry...
                 i'd write a Swabian ode to her pair of
nighty-nights that never do...
                  in those sort of scenarios i never have
to get an ego-******* inversion...
          my ego has no need for valentine's day,
anniversary day, christmas day with the family...
it basically means my ego doesn't need to be *****,
protruding... there's no need for any
existential architectural establishment...
      and you know what first impressed itself
on my mind when i took that damnable coach trip
for the first time to England?
    the film Philadelphia... starring tom hanks -
losing a toy soldier...
                               i'm not gay, i just think
that feminism has grossly exploited the madonna-*****
complex of women... and i can't solve that,
  that thing belongs to women, not me...
    it's hardly a need to mea culpa myself all
the ****** time... apathy ferments a lack of pathology,
and this is how i stand: corpus erectus.
            should i stand differently? i'd have
a heart's worth of an oyster.
                        anway... apart from Hamley's toyshop
on Regent's st.,        there was the first sight
                 of a double-decker bus,
  and then... the continuum of the moody grey skies...
          moody blues... moody greys... apparently
there are 50 shades of it...
                       yeah... murky grey or how god became
lazy and said: no purple, no red, no green, no blue,
           no rainbow... just grey.
                    grey really is an anomaly within
the context for the existence of colour...
   it really does lullaby the eyes into a melancholy,
but this anglican melancholy could never be
scandinavian... there's a wasp impregnated in
an asp on the tongue of these isles...
          there's nothing sadder than an angry melancholy...
lo and behold... i'm fathering it... having acquired
the language that's not really mine to begin with.
   the alternative story is
        a really hard working mexican in dire straits,
smuggling himself into america, working his ***
off in a convenience store, forgetting spanish
forgetting native mayan...
               the comparison? he gets a nice house...
i get a poem, like this.
mike dm Apr 2016
leftover clementine peels
and apple cores
in the kitchen sink garbage disposal:

haven
for the rise
of the lord of the fruit flies.

this, my greatest adversary.

i lay vinegar and wine traps, and,
at various junctures,
lead spray sorties where they congregate
with all-purpose cleaner in hand ---
even swat at them
with my other free hand
like King Kong did helicopters,
whilst holding a screaming kicking Ann Darrow
in her small little nighty,

and i
watch,
haughtily  

as they fall
before mine
victorious feet.

and i beat my chest.

then i suddenly feel horribly conflicted
in the clutches of such a merciless slaughter.

they never
stood
a chance.
jiminy-littly Oct 2016
the Lord is sore

I can tell because he no longer lingers at the table after dinner,
   and falsely claims the wine is tasteless
      ('tepid as the red sea in december' as he puts it)

no more rummy either (he never answered me
   about the four-card problem)
       instead he retires to his room,

half yawning half talking he utters,
   "oh, I think I should like to haaaay dowmmmn"            
       or
        "I'm afraid its all downstream for me... nighty nigh you sons of
                Beeehhhhhnjamins"

I say he is smitten with boughs and therefore withered

its probably just old age, he doesn't realize it but he's getting on

"Holy Mount Vesuvius!" comes a scream from his room  "not since the
    Land of Egypt."

"what is it, what is wrong my Lord?" I implore

"my crown," he stammers, "my crown of flowers is fading"

"I'll look into it in the morning O' Great Lord of Right Judgment"
I say offhandedly, hoping for no rebuke

"what's that you say?"

"I say in the morning, for morning, by morning; we shall not be vexed by it now"

  hoping some old carnage will soothe him

"be not mockers" he quips

"I love you Lord" I say turning off the lamp near his bed

"I love you too my Kadesh"

"to thee o' Lord, I shut the door"

he waves me off.

a city, once great, falls
and vanishes,

a ruin-mound now stands
occupied by consumption

one time when we were alone

he asked me to sit in front of him

he asked me to stare in his eyes

what could this old man want now, I thought

"just look at me"

so I stared into his eyes

and so deeply did I fall

into peace

until tears rended a river.
the Lord is Sore was inspired by the stories and poems I have heard over the years of those lovers who spent time with or experienced the Great Ones, esp. the poems of Hafiz, Rumi and Kabir - the end is taken from an actual event with Eruch Jessawala and Meher Baba (found at, Eruch Jessawala: One Of My Treasured Memories:   http://www.avatarmeherbaba.org/erics/intimacy.html)
Star BG May 2017
Hello MasterMoon.
I shall dance in heart to the rhythms of your light.
Whispering with wind, sending you kiss upon angel wings.

Hello Mr. Moon.
I shall see the mirror of face in mine and smile.
Dancing to celebrate, bowing to know we are yes one.

Hello MasterMoon.
I shall rondevu with you to sing with crickets.
Making shadows with hand, looking at starry wall to smile.

Hello Mr. Moon,
I shall sleep with you now grateful as you hang high.
Letting go to drift, feeling your great aura hugging light.

Goodnight Master Moon,
Nighty Night I shall sleep tight,
cause I feel right, with you at night.
Inspired by Lemon Face

— The End —