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Michael W Noland Sep 2012
[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero
this is a work in progress
John Leuven Apr 2014
I s’ppose rattlesnakes can’t be
ninjas. Yes — they got
the striking and the stinging
part right, but they
are not really masters
of subtlety; they make
too much noise and take
a considerable amount
of time to make a **** and
they can never hold katanas and
hurl throwing stars. I guess
rattlesnakes are doomed to
crawl and rattle on, announcing
Hey, I carry venom, as
the rats would thank their ears and
the hawks circle above.
Unity Drain Dec 2013
The aftermath of poorly applied algebra is a scramble of numbers, letters, lonely coefficients, and an unemployed ninjas. These characters are much like those of a barbershop quartet, where members can either harmonize or simply fall flat. All of this depends on the song they sing and the order it is sung; algebra sings a song of SVSCOS (Same Variables Same Coefficients Opposite Sides) What else can come of bad math? Nothing less than a burning hatred for radicals, imaginary numbers, the saying 'PEMDAS', or maybe the fact that if you're 21 you must stay out the bars. This being said, Algebra 2 is very much like a dream; once you wake up, most of it is forgotten, but also in that it can be strived toward and reached.
Antino Art May 2019
we'd wake up and play with magic
like any other game of pretend
bath towel tied into a cape
we'd approach an empty plastic top hat
wand in hand
 
we were tapping into an ancient power
that we barely even knew
we've played a superhero, Sub-zero
and now, a miracle worker
there was nothing we couldn't do
 
we'd climb trees to the summit branches
as high as we'd dare to go
we'd lower the hoop and dunk with ease
alley-oops, 360s
sometimes in slow-mo
 
there was nothing but room
to grow and explore
frontiers of the imagination
seized on roller blades with plastic swords
 
we'd tie skateboards to the back of bicycles
and Jamaican bobsled down the street
we were free ninjas in the 90s
off to adventures no one sees
 
we'd front roll down hills like hedgehogs
we'd scrape knees
we'd footrace to the stop sign and back
to pretend we're going faster
we'd kick clouds of dust in our tracks
 
we'd steal bricks from the neighbor's garden
and throw them into lakes to see the splash
we'd throw pebbles to see how high they'd go
or paper planes from the top of the staircases
one time, we jumped off:
it was a dare
we did it though
 
we unscrewed the air cap from the tires
of our enemies' parked cars
we clapped back with super soakers
the block was truly ours
 
we'd play until the streetlights came on
with more discoveries left unseen
and in the shadows while sleeping
we'd play catch with our dreams
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2017
it was once called being intelligent... now everyone's in on the vogue of: autistic... what the ****?!

it's a maine **** that's nearing 10kg...
i pass this rooftop "mongrel"
    in the street today, and i'm like:
you torso is smaller than my cat's head,
sorry, i agree, both of you are
ginger ninjas... but come on...
                       my cat is fox sized goo
that needs pampering...
so the ****** "creeps" into my room...
i mean creeps by: he leans against
the ****** door and it just opens... basic
physics...
                 and he's inquisitive...
you sure? i'm sure. you sure sure? i'm sure
sure.
          cats can fool me any given minute,
i'm too benevolent with them...
so he's like: hmm, he's perched on a windowill,
maybe i should perch on the windowsill too...
then he plays this *taxi driver
game with me,
looking into a glass window...
  and you know what "they" say about
glass windows in the night...
   they turn into mirrors...
              so he takes to his reflection and is like:
yo' talking to me? ***?!
               it's a bit like snap-chat,
cats have this nervous insect "twitch" about them...
they have the neurosis of sudden movements...
   and he's all: you talkin' to m'ah *******?!
    he tricks me when i want to spend some time with him
by closing the door he pushed open...
           and his eyes gaze at the "void"
of me closing the door...
              ****** had ants in his ****... couldn't sit it
out with me... the moment i revise my original
intention of closing the door, to then opening it...
with the window open: he's off!
   out the window!
               but the sheer insinuation tactic of
a cat's gaze... that gets you to places you've never
been before... the ****** opened my bedroom door to
play me... and he played me...
          i was duped by a cat...
   10kg pressing against a door? it will get it opened
no matter what obstructions are in place...
           i get it... it's april and it's getting warmer and
you want to sniff a bunch of trees and flowers in
bloom... for some reason i had a moment this afternoon
where i had a scent of cauliflower...
                             maybe mozart and the clouds...
    oh god, fame is ****... mickiewicz? byron?!
  overrated...
                    the whole idea of original sin
and plagiarism being the sin?            thank ****
no one really bothers milton!
      but get to the point where a cat fools you
to try to salvage the remains of the evening wondering
in the garden: for that extra hour...
         catch a frog?
                  maybe... you're into gambling... so am i.
the ****** made a stealth pearl harbor move from
the windowsill out the window when he insinuated
with his gaze at me having closed the door to then:
open it again...
                              and then the dash!
              off he went...
                                  for some reason i have no
capability to compliment myself in terms of i.q.,
but whatever i.q. score i might have attained:
this cat just undermined me to the point where
my i.q. score is 0.
             is it really paedophilia that i might say:
o'keefe music foundation's kids' cover of
tool's 46 & 2 is better than the original?
                      it's how it opens up...
the bass guitar... it sets the rhythm... metallica has
nothing of this sort of intro... a bit like eric
clapton live... let's say he doesn't solo during
the song *******... but he solos into the song /
rhythm... he does his virtuoso moment and
then gets serious respecting other instruments
and does the "mundane" of the rhythm and signature
of the song...
                     i required the p-word to release myself
for the instilling of the word: provocateur...
        america: the n-word          and now the p-word...
what's the m-word? mammoth? monthly?
                                           membrane? moth?!
why is american culture so... ******* infantile?
maybe i'm delusional, but it's like: wanna doughnut?
              yeah! and postcard from saturn too!
**** this cat... i close the door and he's uneasy...
i read his eyes and say: ok ok, i'll open it again...
   and with the window open,
he jumps off the windowsill into the night garden.
        oh here come the bets:
- i bet you my friday night will be more entertaining
  in d'ah clubs on brick lane!
- i'm pretty sure it will be... i've been laughing for
the past half an hour, so how does that even compare,
or even matter?
Alyssa Beddoe Aug 2012
Love ninja
I discovered love is like a ninja.
Ninja hide in the dark waiting to attack there pray.
Well love doesn't attack there pray.
But it hides in the dark like a ninja out of sight
of thoughts looking for love. It comes out when we
aren't looking for love. Just like ninjas
we try are hardest to find ninjas
but we never can, we try are hardest to find love
but we never can. In till it finds us.
The letter was a warm invitation  and a perfect getaway I needed to lay low after are  brief rise to cult status i had partaken of the
rewards of semi obscurity and had a few angry fathers searching for me.

The big apple it called to me like a stripper apon a pole demanding thats all you got is ones you cheap *******?
My true sidkick  like robin to batman just less gay and good looking.

Met me at the station  Amigo how the hell are you now were's the bar?
Drinks on you right?
Cause when your a semi celeb slash rockstar of hello why the **** should i pay.
Why should women be the only ones to walk into a bar with three dollars  in there purse and get rip roaring drunk.
Besides if i was a chick id be a **** *****.

The stage was set the bar was filled with strange sounding people
all asking my well know  brother in madness who tha  ***** this *******.
****** good man im not just any ******* im Gonzo.

Beer on another mans tab always tasted better   just remember ******
im not putting out   well unless  you ask me niceley  or pay  me
like that rich old lady used to who  also was missing her leg.

yes what memeories id slip her a mickey  rearrange her  clothes and after she woke  up tell her what a wild night we had yes i know
true romance.

BUT ENOUGH WITH THE FOREPLAY CHILDREN!

We began are quest like any other  seeing how much ***** we could
hold  till  normal people began to make sense.
I work everyday busting my freakin ***  still it aint enough Gonz.
The angry little italian man who's wallet i had borrowed said beside me.
Hey a girls gotta eat.
Dear lord man you mean you actully have to go back everyday hey is this a gold card   your worse than my wife freakin ***.
Sir you are a charmer  what angry little people  lived here.

Bill lets hit the ******* im in need of culture  and some naked women amigo  come on im  drinks are on Vinny who gives a ****.

After bill  dipped into his life savings to pay the tab we hopped
a cab headed for Manhattan  to the place  of great myths and wonder
it called to great men from arond the world to bask in its beauty.

No not the statue of the giggantic woman  with a torch although i wondred  as i stood below her ****** why cant she be wearing a mini skirt.
You gotta love a big girl  she was such a tease.

No as i stood  tears meeting my bloodshot eyes
befor the mecca  the big apple and the home  of legends and playground to the *****.

Hey get the **** outta the street *******.
It"s Gonzo  man ****** how many times do i need to repeat myself.
Scores a ******* to the rich  a fools paradise **** Disneyland.
Ive been on spacemountian most my life anyways.

As through the doors we were met by a scene of true
art much like the Mona Lisa  if she were a stripper named candice cane  in red high heels hanging from a stripper  pole.

the drinks flowed  the lap dances were well you get the point.
I realized my two drink minimum freind was a little how should i say it poetically.
******* wasted.

As he tried  to give a stripper named honey a lap dance  
never mind him ladies he's my  ******* brother.
In a plan of true drunken genius i explained he was sick and
his last wish was for his older brother to hookup with
some   hot  strippers to have  ahh  some  after hours activities  
Who's ***** bingo.
how i love  bango I mean bingo.

Tears welled up in there eyes  thank god they didnt question why my little brother was 58.
Hey there strippers  and if they  were all going to college  then
this would be a ******* library  not a high  dollar  titie bar.

Librarians with there hair up short tight skirts and glasses
i swear you get busted for  having a little alone time on a public
computer   in that over rated book store for a second time and everyone  flips ****.
Society is so judgemental  but that's another story  
and court case   away.

The plastic fake boobie women had fallin for it.
So like drunken ninjas in a fog of  dellusion and wild turkey we made are last exit to brooklyn.
  
Hey  Gonz why do these chicks keep asking how much longer do i have.
Smacking my friend swiftly in the head had drawn the attention
of the strippers away from counting there tips and comparing there fake breast.

He's got brain dammage sometimes you have to hit em in the  
head to get him unstuck  ****** just look at the poor *******
he thinks he's not sick  oh dam life i need a cuddle girls.
Bill hold the camera.

We hit my friend's apartment like tourist slipping across the boarder grabing and  consuming great amounts of ***** and some sort of white powder  must have been for allergies.

Like squirrels  on acid  running down the interstate we were  
half nuts by the time that big orange ball thats causes me to wear sunglases did appear.

The ladies who names i cant recall  but honestly who gives a ****.
were passed out in bed Bill  in the fish tank  
calling himself captian nimmo  at this point led me to belive just maybe he had  a little  to much  but theres  many pitfalls on the road to Gonzo pacman.

Few men had the liver  or insanity of your's truely.
so after i talked my  tripping amigo off the frige.
Reassuring him its okay   amigo   thats what women look like naked.

I assure you  just cause they broke theres off doesnt mean they'll do the same to yours.
****** son why have a computer if not to look at **** and read long rants by insane people who call themself Gonzo?

After are long disscussion   about good touch bad touch and happy endings  we were off  again.

                                                 Ground Zero

                                        Silence And Respect

Standing there there was a shared  moment.
And a pain any soul could feel.
It wasnt about race or religion  it was about people
we all lost that day.
John Patrick Robbins stood beside a brother without a word
said as it spoke a million feeling's to the soul.

                           No one ever truley leaves there.

At the bus station a few cocktails behind us me and the kiddster
parted slightly hung over   and strung out smelling of reckless abandon
and strippers and wild turkey.

Apon the bus sitting by the window and some large man.
Who reaked of sardines  and  resembled a  cerial ******.
yes ladies he's single  and will probaly **** ya.
Wonder why he has a hard time getting dates?

As Bill waved goobye to his demented  brother from his own planet.
I waved back saying hey amigo  is this your debit card hell no worries
i'll keep  good care of it and reward myself.

As the bus left the station  my semi ******* friend chasing behind
yelling Gonzo i'll get you for this you freakin *******.
Kidster  that hurt i yelled but not as much as it's gonna hurt you bank account cheers.

That guy in black is ******  you  better watch out he's probaly connected.
No worries my funny smelling oversized friend
so am i replied.
I have the internet as well.

Bound for parts unknown Gonzo  made many stops
and if not for legal reason's  id share most of them.
Yes as i sat apon the beach  after taking a little side trip to Florida.
Drink in hand lost in deep thought's for which i cant remember.
      
Reflecting apon my time in the big apple.
And my friend the Kiddster
A toast to my friend.
Hope you like the post card  and the three week vacation
i treated myself to.

Sorry about the whole life savings thing but
who needs to retire in there 80's  work will keep you young girlfriend.

Cheers your slightly insane friend Gonzo.
As in most my writes  this is based on a slightly sober true story
except  for the stealing his credit cards  cause that would be a admission of guilt  and stealing is wrong of course i mean.

Stay crazy Forever Gonzo

And oh yes my friends Billy the  Kiddster is also on hello and if you liked the thirty year old ******  then check out the well really ******* older one.
And Bill no need to thank me  you know i always got your  back  and your pin number.   Fin  amigo
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2013
They come amongst
a cacophony of noise
and clutter, little voices,
uttering unintelligible sounds,
amid giggles and laughter.
Sometimes it's pushing
and shoving,
"Mom he's touching me!"

Leaving as they go a trail,
of ever changing strange things,
like dropped Legos, paper airplanes
rubber band and old bent nails.

Once I found, to my otter amazement
A freshly dead intact Grasshopper,
Neatly folded up in brightly colored
Special Occasion Wrapping paper.
A gift no doubt from one of them,
left right out, on my Dinning Room Table.

Other times they emerge slow and stealthy
a  pair of Ninjas, all in black and scary.
Or as merely Batman and Robin,
Maybe Spidy and the Incredible Hulkster,
All of their personas assuredly entertaining.

As they barge through my door,
they tend to sing loud a lot,
True, squeaky, off key, yet sweetly.
Most are songs I've never heard,
Or just made up for the moment.

If I'm a little down, feeling kind of blue
five minutes with them is a sure cure
Funk gone in a flash, replaced by nothing
but happy.

Consummate story tellers they can be,
The nine year old should be the "Town Crier".
No news fit to print, ever went untold
from his lips, always relayed with such gusto.
Ask him a simple "How was your day?"
and he will recite 15 minutes of vivid detail,
all for my very delighted amused approval.

The six year old is sweet enough to eat,
Always bright blue eyes a flashing,
Not to be outdone, he will try his best,
to **** right in and share his days happenings.
Little brothers need always to try harder.

We all three laugh and joke,
and sometimes I break out,
the oh so dreaded "tickle fingers",
chase them all around 'till I catch one
and then for sure their screams of delight
and giggles do indeed fill up the room,
not to mention my old soft heart as well.
These little boys are pure magic.

Watching them thrive and grow, is my tonic.
A battery charger I can't get enough of.
Smart, charming, funny, sweet, cute and happy,
the loves of an old man's life. With them around,
who needs another.

They are a precious gifts from my kids, their
Mother and Father. Another chance to have
children close, be their loving guiding grandfather.

In them I see my son as a child, now a fine
grown man, In those boys I see the very
reason I was put on this Earth,
A life of human creation, come full circle.
Lee S Kingley Nov 2014
The start of the day look so bright, who would have belived it would end in a fight.

The clatter off glasses and the shout of "Who's Round?! All drinks were picked up and swiftly downed.

Moving on to the next watering hole, get there quick to watch the match winning goal.

The lads want more dancing, *****, Stippers but not before we stop of for Chicken Dippers

Intoxication is power or so we belived but a fight with what we thought were ninjas brought us down to our knees.

We picked up our injured and clean up our wounds, then move on to the next place so we could re-group.

Our ego's in tatters our wallets all spent, I think its time we bring this epic night to an end
Raj Arumugam Nov 2011
Shintaro, Shintaro, O Shintaro
hero, samurai, loner, onmitsu
maverick, defender, O lover of justice

Shintaro walks with grace
Shintaro’s life is concentration
and quiet, peace and silence
Shintaro is skill and perfection

Shintaro is protector of child
woman and the poor and the orphans
the weak, the helpless
and of any who has been wronged

Shintaro, Shintaro, O Shintaro
hero, samurai, loner, onmitsu
maverick, defender, O lover of justice

the ninjas come
like speeding stars
one after another
secret killers
with weapons of death
but none can beat Shintaro -
Akikusa Shintaro, master of peace and stillness
Samurai who sees with his being

Shintaro, Shintaro, O Shintaro
hero, samurai, loner, onmitsu
maverick, defender, O lover of justice -
you live in time
you live in mind
a celebration of Koichi Ose as Shintaro in the 1960's Japanese TV series...
Derek Yohn Oct 2013
i am a predator,
preying on my self interests,
allied with wounded
spiritual ninjas,
seeking absolution,
ferreting out truth
and substance;
a live action rat
dragging the world's
biggest piece of stolen cheese.

What are you that is better?
Eriko Oct 2015
Haiku  

(courtesy of my baby brother, a.k.a Baby Ninja)

ninjas are awesome
so yes ninjas are awesome
ninjas are awesome
For the sake of randomness.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.well, among all the other phobia contenders? the funny ones, even i sometimes succumb to an arachnophobia, the reflex reaction to an extremely large domestic spider... a slight ****, no rhetorical base... like: what the ****?! the simple beauty of an irrational fear, since a phobia is an irrational fear... but... islamophobia? what the **** is irrational about that? no one seems to talk about islamophilia - unless of course in the convert community of ginger ninjas from the York-shire, or some other Rotherham *******...

...and if you were to talk to any Urdu speaking
Pakistani?
    he'd tell you: i hate the Wahhabi movement...
perhaps in Saudi Arabia it is mainstream -
but outside of Saudi Arabia?
            just plain old hypocrisy - banning music,
but still singing an adhan...
          why not murmur the call to prayer
like a bunch of ******* Catholics at that point
in the mass, where the congregation almost
sounds satanic, murmuring the credo -
   the i believe in...
blah blah... go to a Polish Catholic mass...
   and wait for the moment when they start
their satanic murmuring of the credo -
          i just don't remember if it's after
    the body & blood transfiguration -
hmm... poetry in motion, hanging on a thread
of metaphor...
         but irrational fears are funny...
         it's not even: not all the spiders...
well, a baby spider is like a baby muslim....
       "just" some, some...
             whatever, tell that to the Manchester
matriarchs who lost their granddaughters...
         claustrophobia is a funny fear,
      agoraphobia, yet another,
      and the list goes on...
              it's funny not from the perspective
of mocking the individual,
      but the fear per se...
                         and if I really were islamophobic?
would i trust a Turkish barber to shave
a part of my neck, while he molded my beard
for the Istanbul look?
                      don't think so...
    but... concerning the Turks... esp. because
of their talented, absolutely top game
barbers...
                               the year is 1683...
and Louis XIV and Emperor Leopold are
playing courtesan chess over Spain
   and Portugal...
                  in comes the Ottoman empire,
and besieges Vienna...
         who bails out the Holy Roman Empire?
the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth -
with Jan III Sobieski at its head...
                   see... Poles have had many ruff
& tumble encounters with the Turks,
   after all, the Turks owned much of southern
Europe...
          now take that, and move this into
the current year...
     they're Muslims... but... WE SHARE
A COMMONALITY... A HISTORY...
   AN UNDERTAKING OF / FROM THE PAST,
translated into the current year,
   and subsequently the future...
              i already said once upon a time...
is it really "islamophobia" if i'd rather favor
Turks and the ****'ite?
           forget whether Islam is a religion of
"peace"... they're not perfect,
   did the ******* Sunnis forget that their religion,
like all others, is schismatic?
       there's your ******* perfect -
but you have to give them credit,
   on account that... well...
   Muhammad didn't keep his word to Ali...
and that the schism happened so fast...
     not at least 1000 years it took for
the East-West schism of 1054...
          bam-wham thank you Ahmed...
plus... if you look at it... no ****'ite terrorist...
only the ******* Sunnis...
            the Turks imploded on themselves...
that's why the grandmothers of Poland
prefer the imported Turkish tele novellas
over the Mexican ones...
          so... if you want to avoid the bumper sticker
of Islamophobe...
              (a) what is irrational about it,
        when it's not a quirky, irrational fear?
  (b) find yourself a Turkish barber.
WARNER BAXTER Jul 2015
“While the rules for writing haiku in Japanese are clear,
there is no Clear consensus for any other language.
This means that I am write and everyone else is wrong.”
                                                      ­            *~writer unknown~


Definition of: haiku* (according to Words Of Warner)

A secret and ancient Japanese style of poetry. Invented and
protected by the elite group of ninjas known only as The Basho.
Some say, The Basho dwell in a sacred temple made of gold and
rice paper, hidden deep in the bottom of Mt. Fiji. Others claim
they are in elaborate tents made from the finest silks at the
highest peak of Fiji. But no one knows for sure. Except maybe
James Mc. But he’s not talking.


How to write a haiku -

First, pick a subject. You must choose from the chosen list;
rain, wind, the sun, bugs, Mt. Fiji, Bruce Lee or frogs on a pond.
The only exception is snow, and only used during the winter.

Second, pick a form.  You can write in 1, 2 or 3 lines, sometimes
4. It all depends on those silly syllables, or as the Japanese call
it, morae. Remember, less is more, more or less always but never.
Here’s a tip, the best haiku are written backwards.


Now you are ready to write your own fun little foreign poems
called haiku.*



Note: if you are counting “morae” or words, don’t forget to divide
the number of “morae” by the number of lines, or is it divide
the number of lines by the “morae” and please use the                          on-line    Japanese counter/converter.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
Feathers ruffled
Knives out
Glue me to the game console
Harebrained, yes
But devout
Joel A Doetsch Jan 2012
Did you know Ninjas have a language
That we can't understand?
While it isn't terribly complicated
it can be tough to comprehend

I happen to be fluent
I've studied for some time
Below I've crafted a poem
using Ninjutsu as my rhyme














































I can only hope you found
my poem to be delighting
there are few things I enjoy
quite more than ninja writing
There's a ninja standing behind you.  You should probably like this. :D
Ember Evanescent Nov 2014
A conversation with my little cousins:

Him: Knock knock!

Me: Who's there?

Him: Doctor!

Me: Doctor Who?

Him: Exactly!
HAHAHAHAHAHA

Me: Hahaha That's very funny darling.

His little brother: KNOCK KNOCK!

Me: Who's there?

His little brother: um... um... I forgot, wait no um POTATO MUFFIN BANANA NINJA!

Me: Potato muffin banana ninja who?

His little brother: EXACTLY! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Me: Um... yeah. hahaha...

Him: HAHAHAHAHA THAT'S FUNNY!

Me: Um, yes. Sure. ha. haha. hahaha...

His little brother: It's funny because I said POTATO MUFFIN BANANA NINJA and then you said WHO and then I said EXACTLY! HAHAHAHAHAHA

Me: *** I think they are both having seizures...

---------------------

But I love them with all my heart!!!
<3

(My littlest cousin is obsessed with potatoes, muffins, bananas, and  ninjas. I don't know it's weird dont ask)
They are very little and funny in the randomest way. Even if they literally do NOT understand the concept of humor, they are very clever boys and it is just hilarious to watch them laugh.
Anybody have funny stories about a family member who is or was very little and did something very cute or funny or anything?
NeroameeAlucard Oct 2014
Now for those that don't know
I'm a huge fan of ninjas
From cyberpunks like Hiryu and Jago
I guess my subconscious is linked to them
These warriors in the wind
From Sheik to Smoke
Ermac's telekinetic choke
Ryu Hyabusa to scorpion
subzero to Joe Musashi
These warriors in the wind
are part of what defines me
Raven and Yoshimitsu

I'm nowhere near the ability or agility of a ninja
Ninjutsu probably would end up being the tool of my demise.
I may never reach the skill of a ninja
but that doesn't mean I won't try
Nigel Obiya Jun 2010
Self analysis?
Or self induced creative paralysis?
There's a fine line
Between correcting, perfecting... and losing your spine
Mine
Is a critical look at what I do
And it's a positive, laid back method too
Go with the flow
Make you read it quicker/faster/sprinting
Michael Johnson... or, slow... mo'
"These new generation poets, they just don't know no more"... They say
The older generation, fail to understand how we play
With words... swim with the sharks
And glide with birds
Dangerous sometimes... poetic cliffhanger
Still stronger
Faith is unbreakable... diamond
lasts longer
You see?
It's 'kicking', like a thousand ninjas...
And Bruce Lee.
BiZZiLL da' WORDSMITH.- From LOOSE CANNON
Styles 12 May 2017
Dead man's head on the wheel
horn blasting for siren's to come

a  thought

torn loose by zephyr
travels free

past every Totaliterian sign.

sweet invisible thought

naked
burning

with a mad rush
to explore
what leaves feel
scraping magically down anywhere

a thought untouched by minds
floating through mist
cascading down steep rock,

barefooted boy dreaming for lace wings
along forest edge

a thought
free from panic

free from all addiction

free from all constrictions,
pride
prejudices
and
hatred.

A thought free to roam wild
to feel anything

to leap with fiery eyed squirrels
hopping
limb from limb
better than master ninjas

free to bounce off danger:

objective
loose
skittering across galaxies to reach a radiance
lovelier
than Spring Sunshine
dancing
with vibrant meadow.

petals lean in south bound
gentle on a breeze
begging for a kiss
from a bumble bee

drink my nectar
please never leave
buzz off

fly
fly

but please
return back to me

no more questions of existence
why this
why that

just free
to be anywhere
like God

burning Magnificent
with Red Maples

free from the chain of mad love desire
pulling dead weight battalions through
the Western ghostly sky
haunted by savagely slain spirits
prowling black forests

once
filled
with gun blasts and blood rivers
crazy as human thoughts that made it.

Medieval Man dilapitated and cruel
Medieval Man desperate as a ghoul
searching for the next war-****.

I know a place beyond the cold Oregon
dripping rain night

safe from the pensive lonely stares
safe from ****** screams
and
mad house Corporations
digesting people into profits,

safe from the alleyway suicides
and
the helpless kidnapped innocence
found in a ditch
near the cold cold tracks
hiding in shadows lurks the ever eluding lunatic
running rampant
all over the world

I know a place beyond the lush green longing
behind
red bursting Magnificent Maple burning
always there longing through my shadow trampled heart
behind buffalo
stampedes
roaring unstoppable
in
the
heat
of her sweet sweet kiss,

behind the songs of silky voice skating through the treasured vistas of memory
so sweet
it flashes suddenly alive
out of sheathe
forever to shine:
BEAUTY'S KNIFE
slicing in your heart
like summer stars dancing in nights
when you snuck away
to melt in life:

barefooted boy running and dreaming for lace wings
behind a captive verse skipping on glassy lakes that pace
a heavy mind
weighed down by decimated loss
of heart and friends.

Long blistered miles add up
on tired cracked bleeding feet.

A cry for HOME is felt in every aching bone,
an invisible lasso pulls you in
but you can't get you out
tattered feelings
lay splattered in the moon reflective puddles of wintry night walks
every Fall leaf absorbing the shine of both worlds
half a sentence away from a lapse
into cold pools of Truth
Once again I know a place that I cannot see
but I know is There
like a brilliant thought you reached
on a summit of illimitable hopes and blinding dreams.

A place beyond sad drenched streets
where hopes and flesh do not starve or freeze.
I know a place I cannot see
but feel is there
some Magnificent friendly Hand reaching to be known
reaching to reach out to me, to us, to let us know
it's Here, It Cares.
I know a place I cannot see
but feel is there
It whispers to me at night
like a Father in my ear
embraces me on a warm Island
floating floating flowing floating
out at sea
lazy waves stroll in soft as eyelashes
to touch and tickle
what I cannot see
impossible whispers turn to invincible songs
I never remember
in naked form
if only You could linger longer next to me
and
SING ..........
these soft waves licking sand across my tattered
hostage dreams.
roll back in
and
take me out
please,
to your singing Magnificent Sea.....
Can I toboggan slide down your cool track of Tolerance
to feel the patience of Unconditional love and peace?
Can I cross star trestle river strikes
where sweet flows course down God's infinite Heart
burning brighter than even these Magnificent Red Maple Leaves?
Can I be invented as Freedom's thought but shaped the size and color of a red maple leaf
That people know are there but cannot see?

Can I float across the galaxy like this just YOU and ME?

Free to express anything
Free to shine twice in the summer twinkle of a child's eyes
who just one something of importance
or
is
reunited with her Mother and Father.

Free to inspire the genius of a tortured artist who overcomes his doubt
with that delicate, special touch that changes lives for centuries to come
Free to be that Voice singing so pure
auditorium eyes are filled with salty tears
making people think of their Mother
and her Garden
and
how bright it was to walk through there.

Free to be a song remembered loved and cherished running
through the world faster than Chariots Of Fire,
Free to be a speech so strong it gets shot down but comes back
forever as Legend for the courageous heroic Truth
It touched upon in a dangerous time
filled with oven baked murders and absolute Terror.
Free to be the invisible thread of love
star-lit and still flowing through incredible
vast distances
half a sentence away from a perfected masterpiece
that will not get recognized or seen or heard until
long later.
Free to be the Light-House of human spirit
and to never kneel or yield
to reins of Totaliterian regimes.
Free to be a smile blooming beneath
soft maple magic.

Somewhere out there
beyond their drab dark talk
plays the wild music he is seeking,
Somewhere out there, in here, a vast beautiful creature awaits to saturate his soul
half a sentence away from vanishing
I could melt away from every burden to find YOU once again.
Once again I know a place I cannot see
but know is there beyond the desolation
of insane deeds
there is a quiet master singing through the trees
trying to help us see
We are Free
We are Free
to be
the miracles of our thoughts and dreams
please please
do not turn away
but take a leap of faith
rise rise
rise through Me
to be
everything
and more
than what
the eye can see
please take this limited sight from me
and
show me what I know is there but cannot see
barefooted boy dreaming for lace wings
along forest edge
reach back in to me, seize me please
all is restless now
all is restless now
my silent voice
a longing thought
floating naked and panic free
half a sentence away from lace wings
vanishing to the fiery Maple of your sweet
silky dreams...........
DJ Goodwin Jul 2012
The Queen of Absentia rises from royal
stool to watch the moon set sheathed
in broiling cloud as she skips whirling
adders that hiss in fat jagged coils, their
hollow blades jutting death in sprinkler
sprays of misting veils and her

head is hypethral; a Gaudi shipping
container soldered in reptile curves,
licked by arrowheads of falcate flame
as she rounds its laughing corners;
an adderaled lab rat, eyes black funnels
drinking electrodes pulsing crimson and
the stars are crackling in the pan as she    

sees planets torn shrieking down Hell’s hungry
plughole as fallen Gods divide by zero
and the clock’s skittering claws scratch
prophecies of consequence of poorly
sewn seams, but she smiles like a risen
crocodile and says,
    
‘you’re just jealous cos the
             voices only talk to me.’

And again she dives as unwanted
advice gibbers up out snapping drains,
and power points shoot sharp blue spears
lighting substrates of ancient horror, inchoate
but fattening before her eyes as she

sits, wrapped in ghosts, guarding her
ochre tea in its chalice of steaming bone,
trying to sell herself a ticket to
tomorrow’s sunrise, staring at thunderheads
bunching up satin over sodden ninjas sprouting
cardboard hair, slicing down legions of
roaring pearl as death hunts hollow-eyed below.

Her Majesty holds court, amid the percussion of
steel and plate, a matador to shadows
that clasp their hands and dance around, as
clouds hammer rain to the ground.
copyright 2012, David J. Goodwin
Jul 13, 2012
Rory Herd Jul 2013
Good sir, I remember when our adventure first began
At that party, among many hugs and the odd “I love you man!”

After that life has never been quite the same
You brought another sun into my world, for me to bask in its flame

In time we got to know each other and it grew brighter until
You made me a Protagonist, and I joined you in battling evil

However, you were so sad for reasons only you can really know
For its true the greatest enemy lies within, and it’s not easy to show

But we all cared for you so much, and again our days grew brighter
After all, you are a Protagonist, and at heart the greatest fighter

Together we overcame all, defeating the darkness we ever faced
With the mages power, the warriors skill, the ninjas stealth and haste

And while you may sometimes feel sad, as the good-hearted often do
I will always say; this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

For when you tire from life’s battles, and all others fail or flee
I will always be by your side, for you to lean on me

Even when I leave the world, and am set free of this mortal coil
My spirit will be there to guide you, through all hardships and toil

Though I think you will seldom need me, no matter your feelings hue
Because you possess a  unique soul, one Beautiful, Strong, and True

Though yet many sunny days and moonlight night lay ahead, filled with laughter, good times and a friendship most epically won

I think our adventures, Sir Brandin, have only just begun
Also not to be taken seriously
Marge Redelicia Jan 2014
Take me back to the days
When we were artists
With the clouds as the paint,
With the sky as the canvas;
Who sang their hearts out
In front of the electric fan
Which became the microphone and auto-tuner.
Take me back to the days
When we were adventurers
Who ran outside after morning showers to
Find the end of the rainbow
Hoping to meet a fellow
Who can grant our greatest wish
That tomorrow would be sunnier than today;
Who balanced between life and death
Every grocery shopping with our mothers
As we carefully tried to avoid the lines of the tiles which
We believed was made up of deadly red lasers.
Take me back to the days
When we were heroes:
Scientists who calculated the intensity of the rain
In the race of raindrops that
Roll down the car window
In the pouring traffic jam.
Ninjas who would wake up early to
Catch the floating dusts that swim in the sun's rays
When you open the curtains of the wide window.
Generals of an army who built
Mighty forts of cotton and feathers and
Found safety beneath warm pillows and sheets
On dark and windy nights.
Take me back to the days
When we were
Engineers,
Doctors,
Politicians,
Pilots,
Astronauts, and
Teachers
Take me back to the days
When we were
*Who we wanted to be.
We strike when it's dark,
And we will rip your neck.
We sneak in the shadow,
We will strangle you to death.

We are one, too much to handle,
We will mutilate you, armed with a blade and a sickle.
We are the wind that blows silently,
We are ninjas that kills stealthily.

You can run as far as you can,
We will shred you to pieces with our  shurikens.
Don't breathe too hard we can hear your heart beats,
Our katana will pierce through your heart till' it no longer beats.

We have the heart of an assassin,
We live shredding blood of those who are unworthy.
We cleanse the world of the cunning corruptionist,
**** one, save a thousand! We are sworn to **** as cold as can be.
P S Bravo Sep 2011
I wake up
No breakfast  today, life's much to fast.
A cup of coffee will do
So I set the coffee maker,
turn on the shower,
And lose myself in the mirror.
All the while watching,
Waiting.
Waiting for something
But finding nothing in the end
This morning is not my own
It belongs to someone else

I once read on a dollar bill a few years back that
“You can't sing the blues without blood on your hands,
And you've got blood on you hands.”
I spent that dollar but the blood staid on my hands.

We absolve our tender memories
Of what it was like to be children
To not have worry on our brows
To have an unstoppable imagination
which could build floating boats
and mega droids the size of skyscrapers.
An imagination that would make us all ninjas
and princesses and cow boys and girls
Each of us have saved the world with a cardboard swords
and index finger barrels and gun hammer thumbs

Now, we sing requiems of missed messages
All for a few lousy blood soaked dollars.
Nolia Joy Dec 2014
Thank you Costco
for not calling the cops
as 3 dark ninjas
ran through your gate
fought over chocolate
pondered over flowers
crashed carts into books
and then disappeared.
MPalmer Jan 2014
I am not a Savior.
I am not a Killer.
I am not Lover,
Warrior or even myself.
I am not alive or dead.
I am a Dreamer.

I have died trying to save the one I love,
Only to awaken without her.
Parts of me missing,
Replaced parts mechanical in nature,
And electric in soul.  
Spurred by the government to do their bidding.
I only go on to find my love again.

I have flown you over the river.
Shown you the most romantic gestures.
I have died in your arms.
My funeral was touching.
When you died in mine I died to.
Reborn in the spirit of vengeance.
Never resting till I avenge you.

I am hero warrior.
Battling demons, ninjas and everything else.
I am humble in my sword and fist.
Power in my bones.
You can count on me.

I am Death,
A Monster born of my own darkness.
Deep inside It arises.
Razes my soul.
Spreads its carrion wings.
It wants nothing but destruction.
I hides in the fires that blaze.
Turning this world to ash.

I am a Dreamer
I am a Dream
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
well hey, they decided you had to be puritan shunning your eyes at the word ****... but said you were to be crucified twice-over to see ******* and **** and other morbid clown balloon images that deviated from censoring ****-all / nothing and ensuring you were comfortable with dyslexia of pulverising images that could only be reduced to a close-resemblance of words (onomatopoeias) - ol' McDonald 'ad a farm...**

god save the queen,
god save our...
come on! come on! come on! come on!
do you wanna be in
             my gang my gang my gang?!
do you wanna be in
             my gang my gang my gang (my *******)?!
(garry gloater, uhu uh hum aha um - elvis proved
the english stiff upper lip could be cured - sore
the lippy wrinkle of disapproval insinuated, soar
like an angler's catch of the fisherman's hook!
but the stiff pelvis couldn't - exporting
a redcoat to america is like importing a ku klux hood
to england, ha ha.)
leisurely in Majorca binge drinking
in Bristol is a N.H.S. concern,
Madonna faked the *****,
the ***** faked the Madonna
because of the seasonal olive skinned trysts...
drunks' trolley banks and cabbage heads
of mashing up hairstyles at a metal rock gig...
it was once 80s Nevada deep freeze,
now it's airy new york Warhol cool...
shinobi said: dragon's ***** gave birth to
fast blinking ninjas...
all the world's a stage... but no man
should turn into the world just because
he was given a stage... tabloid literature
faked shakespeare plagiarism of death too frequently....
Anthem Britannia - sail the seas of ****** milkiness
gluten free passive vitamin C, D & A recipients
in the multi-pill... of all the former empires
i got the ****-hole... learn the basics...
the perverts are out there, ready to scream the words:
***** REEL! and get their nuts jotted down
in a blender of teenage emotion...
we're talking the new age futurism off futurism,
since the date prescribed by Fukuyama,
beginning / ending when people stopped the 100
cyclone and entered the lasting 2nd half of the 20th century
as a bleach for the 1st part of the 20th century,
meaning they had to grapple with writing history
and stop looking at art as "post-modern",
well basically modern post-mortem
of the millions dead... the art they make these
days is just gagging for a shooting-spree.
Hollow Steve Oct 2014
Wtfux a satan? Who the hell is God? Two sides of the same coin? Do they work for the same guy? Twelve foot ninjas fall from the sky. Are we even ready for the apocalypse?
Rasha Omer Mar 2010
i trip my life on turpentine.
i smoked my wife, she's clandestine.

i woke up to a wall, of dust
and a mirror shattered by these
insisting dreams.

everything is three --

i thought myself a pool of doubt,
he bought my ego, cut in halves.
i walked behind his flawless steps,
covered in sweat.
i flinched.

i read a tale of the disintegration
of a rowdy generation.

a touch of a glimpse of her bare
feet.
and a single gray hair,
coming out of her neck -
trying to speak.
i might've screamed.

apples and oranges
and almonds on a one
way street.

i read about the disintegration,
of a vibration -
within
your chest.
i think you're dead.
you disagree!
protesting my funeral,
of a glimpse of your skin.

i've lived on a fleet,
of preachers and secret fighters --
dressed like ninjas and decaying in an
utter rut.

seiged by truth -
and one correct turn
to exit
amongst shivers and loud moans
flames
& dirt loans
creases and a handful of drones.

i tripped my life on fastened seats.
i smoked your hair,
you're fast asleep.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
the art of biblio- (+) -philia -
caress them and don't stone them -
never fold the edges to create a book
mark, by all means
        insert toilet paper
markings for reminder -
             but nothing else -
my birth will come from Armenia -
in cold sweat wondered if
the publisher replied, the Armenian
is on the translation -
i imagine him working agile and juggling -
never mind that - not out of want
but out of rubbing shoulder to shoulder;
although i must say that poets
fear punctuation -
          hence the cascade,
hence the            w
                                 a
                                   t
                                   e
                                   r
                                   f
                                   a
                                   l
                                   l
oh indeed poetry is a natural with gravity,
it's not fudge thick prose packaging
of lettering - (after all,
for such a long time poetry wasn't
economic, but since we've turned
digital, and give only two
hazelnuts worth of care for
the Amazon, you know,
in the digital age of endless pixel
paper, we kinda won -
we needed an endless source
of toilet paper to write on) - it's a waterfall
without a fear of falling, but punctuating
the pose in which to fall,
like Gibreel and Saladin in the satanic verses -
one ends up flapping his hands,
the other is falling like a coffin -
where's the real comedy? i think in the latter -
but never mind what i think -
the goddess of Mecca allāt had a *** change -
allāh became - and henceforth with
some other minor alternatives wishing
for a stealing an apple bobbing in Mecca -
cut the head off! but not my hand!
apple bobbing in Mecca - pig's snout thief -
but at page 625 canto XC i do a page flipping
cartoon of what i have read -
all those cantos - obviously there is no
cartoon of matchstick men dancing
tango in jazz#, you can mingle poetry with
jazz but not tango -
i don't know how they pulled it off,
jazz and poetry? hmm, poetry and painting?
i agree - bibliophile the one with
a cf. joker card up his sleeve and the ace in
his wallet -
                    instead of a cartoon movement
you have the words encrypt the days
you spent with the book;
honest to god he makes the poetry a thing
of the past for all the classical guises of
strict routine, there're no techniques
call them what you want: metaphor, item,
pun, item, onomatopoeia, item...
those aren't techniques, they're identifiers,
the boas - constricting or constipating?
whichever - cheap jokes are hardly worth
anything in a monologue since
instead of a punchline you get digression
and the jokes aren't cheap by this method -
they'll brim with bulls charging in narrow
alleys - except, well, except you keep calling it
an ******* of short-lived albino tadpoles -
ah ***... hot sauce and gravy and the only
time you dare to not think -
                                              and no, no one
forced anyone to think, on your own
you go and streak to buttocks ****
waiting for the blind barber.
i know the ones that made it, they escaped
indoctrination of what's deemed a paragraph on
education, in england they still have the imperial
units concerning education:
how much longer a student who achieved an
A grade said 'a' longer than the student who
achieved a D grade and said 'd' with a shortening -
but never mind that -
                                       the really really
famous ones dropped out, did menial bits and bobs
for peanuts and then hit a crescendo of Icarus -
took to the populist stance and never involved themselves
in higher tier affections of affairs -
politics was sidelined as themselves in role
of the water-boy - 40 years march more desired but
somehow derided - yet by some the crucifixion
embraced - mainstream vs. pantera -
                         a legionnaire -
the star of joseph hovering over Bethlehem -
and they still complain, 11 and 1 together twelve
that the concubine of Abraham was shamed
and left to wander into the sands under which
rich black gold was hidden,
Muhammad's neurotic approach toward
origins - Abraham's concubine that did more
than simply muck about in repenting -
took the short-cut and started a martial arts
movement in Japan with the ninjas.
Charliee Dec 2012
Memories of the past
It was such a blast
But you blink and its all flown by
Remember chillin' on the corner laughing at the guys?
Not thinking about a job, or the struggle, or  the how-to's of the hustle.
Listening to music and dreaming such and such.
When the black outs would come on the streets,  and we got to be ninjas as we all roamed the street
Christmas with family getting told 'you're so big'
Nowadays these kids have kids
Stealing kisses in the shadows of the day
We were innocent once
Looking the world in wonder and chasing everyday
Never had time to wonder if someone was gay.
Times changing fast
Seconds to months and we barely understand
Childhoods lost in photos staring back with knowing smiles.
Look around
Today is the past, isn't that wild?

— The End —