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David Nelson Aug 2011
I fell outa bed last nite

I felt bad last nite
knew something wasn't right
when I turned out the light
then I fell outa bed last nite

I knew something was wrong
I kept humming this song
I heard the sound of a gong
then I fell outa bed last nite

I hit my head
my nose sort of bled
now my nose is all red
when I fell outa bed last nite

I looked up above
did someone give me a shove
think I fell outa love
when I fell outa bed last nite

was this a message from you
did I do something terribly wrong
if I say I'm sorry will it do
that's why I wrote you this song

my eyes were kinda glazy
now my legs or kinda lazy
I think I'm going crazy
since I fell outa bed last nite

I hear my woman *******
as I stagger to the kitchen
now my fingers keep a twitchin
dam I fell outa bed last nite

pour some water in a glass
felt a pain in my ***
is it heart attack or gas
how did I fall outa bed last nite

was it just an illusion
or is there collusion
so much confusion
since I fell outa bed last nite

was this a message from you
did I do something terribly wrong
if I say I'm sorry will it do
that's why I wrote you this song

dam I fell outa bed last nite
how did I fall outa bed last nite
whoa I fell outa bed last nite
that's right I fell outa bed last nite
Gomer LePoet ....
A ****/rap song
Tina Jun 2017
as i slip out of all awareness, i go deep in my subconsious mind to the point of unconsienceness. the nite entered me. the night was in me i was possessed by the nite stressed by the nite blessed by the nite carress by the nite even when the nite seems to hold me away from goin home and knowing i am entering the unknown, i still enter the darkside or should i say the darkside entered me.
he worked his growth of darkness deep inside my damp love cave,
i tried to scream but the shadow of darkness suffocated my screams of pain, my moans of pleasure.... faceless, but his kisses of passion left me breathless... but still i     fight ,but the more i fight,the darkness tightens his grip on my wrists,my spine begins to twist, deeper he lunges his darkness into my pulsating abyss...then the passionate kiss, roughly biting my lips, as i ****** my hips against this unseen force of darkness...i search for light...something, anything ...i gasp for my breath as the darkside engulfs me whole.
the darkness is inside of me but i now become one with the darkside.
i try to open my eyes to escape the darkside,
my mind wont allow awareness, im scared of this....
Impulzez Nov 2012
In The Nite

Kisses under the moonlite

Creating shadows in the darknite

Singing Luvsongs after the Sunlite

Rhythmed on the sounds of beings of this nite

Clinging unto memories of all nites

Whistling tunes echoed before the Sunlite

Speaking to the unseen images of the sacred lite

Humming truluv’s music for all nites

Sequenced along the sound of this guitarist

Making sweetluv under the Starlite

Holding unto cleavages of my naked site

Kissing goodbye to the full lite

Wishing you the best of the daylite

Till we see again

In the nite
jeffrey conyers Nov 2012
There we were rushing.
Trying to comprehend.
Why we wasn't together?
Trying to connect on a one nite stand.
Maybe it was fate?
Or just a badly planned mistake.
I just know we didn't hook up.

We just had a one nite stand up.

Why plan again?
When we should move on what happens happen?
Cause, when we do plan.
And it been many times.

We fail to connect.
And once again, we're facing a one nite stand up.
Nate Bradshaw Jul 2011
Consumed by the deprivation of sleep,

suffocated by the notion of non-existence,

and the thought of not waking up,

my mind is exercised to point of not caring,

so should i care?

A single exhale seems to embody the entity of life,

here and gone,

and then a recycled breath comes back to greet me,

and in the morning I am free
party zone with johnny brown

johnny’ hi dudes and welcome to another party zone

and we did well last week for our celebration to jon english

and tonight we are just being normal and here is olly with his

haiku poems

olly’  we are partying

in and out of cool nite clubs

drink heaps of bourbon

i really like beer

it gets me drunk all the time

i am really blind

johnny’  thanks olly for those poems and now here is robert with his jingle

let’s party right till the end

driving the oldies round the bend

making them really sick of us

you should take them for a ride on the moonlight bus

we sing rock and roll music

if you wanna party like you want to use it

swing your hips babe right to the end, dudes

partying is so much fun

except if your at your parents house

as they play taxi driver because they are drunk

ahhhhhh!  i want to party at every party event

whether it’s out on the lake or beach

to friday night in this classy club

johnny’  thanks robert and i want to party to,,how about tomorrow night at sky fire

robert’  i will be there with my picnic lunch, dude

johnny’   ok here here is fred with haiku about sky fire

sitting in the park

waiting for the fireworks

loud and wonderful

johnny’   thanks fred that was a great haiku poem and now here is roslyn with her jingle

roslyn’   hey, oh hey baby ooh aah ooh aah i want to party with you here every night

you see on my way to this niteclub yeah

i see a lot of people say

hey you cutie, you look so fine

my friends didn’t show up for dinner  and said do you wanna dine

i want to tickle yo baby team oh yeah dude

come on people the nite club is over there and there is no line

he said he wasn’t into clubbing and i called him a yuppee

and then i head straight to the club and i heard this voice

and it was coming from the fire man

i yelled out how much fire can you put in your mouth

he said 15, oops where is my manners, my name is ralph

i said my name was roslyn and then said come to this niteclub

after you finish

he said i won’t finish till 5 in the morning

i said what a shame and went into the nite club to dance pretty wild dance moves

and i feel cool man, cool you

roslyn’  before i go, i have a haiku

johnny’  ok tell us


walking through civic

people partying in there

get down get down bop

johnny’  ok thanks roslyn and now here harry with his jingle

harry’   once a jolly party dude was going to the club yeah

buying beer and heaps of spirits

then he will show his moves on the dance floor

the foxtrot and disco and rock and roll

mrs fran belle said i love you to bits

i think you are the sexiest man

i said yeah i am fran and would you like to take me by the ****** hand

partying in civic partying in civic

getting heaps of alcohol down ya dude

partying in civic in the nite club

after having a slap up meal

in came the bouncer to see if we are behaving

one person isn’t and out he goes

he said, i didn’t mean it, please let me stay

the bouncer said no and threw him out

as we go

partying in civic partying in civic

getting heaps of alcohol down ya dude

partying in civic with the chicks yeah

every song is played with a good sound

it’s 4 am and last drinks were called

and you have collapsed near the dance floor

the girls say, just one thing to me that really makes sense

and that was come over to our house and sleep it off

as we go

partying in civic partying in civic

just from 11 to 4 am

partying in civic after drinking endless alcohol

now off to your mates house to sleep it off

johnny’ thank you harry that was a great party song, and i hope the copyrighters

don’t zoo you

harry’  they won’t, i hope

johnny’  ok that is it from party zone we will see you here next friday night

but i am going to sky fire tomorrow night, where we can have a lot of fun

SassyJ Sep 2017
Let sleep erode the ground
Rest in its leisurely pleasure
bosomed and entwined

If I whispered over the miles?
would you hear the resonance?
sprinkled with sense of gesture

Let the night overcome the day
Rest in the autumn set suprise
blossomed and entwined
sunprincess Jul 2018
When one thousand years has passed us by,
I hope mother earth is still beautiful
And there's fruit trees and grass so green,
And fresh air to breathe that's clean

There's animals alive of every variety,
fireflies, ladybugs, and honeybees
I hope there's an amazing blue sky,
with songbirds together flying so high

And I hope most of all flowers still grow,
and there's a winter with falling snow
dennis gunsteen Aug 2010
merry christmas
feel my heart with joy.
as dance an dance
in the snow .
in this winter wonder land
feel luaghter feel the joy
it's christmas  in wonderland
of my heart.
you are the magic
of this christmas .
i'am danceing in snow
on cold  winter nite.
is this love that feel
in heart an my soul
merry christmas dear lovely
angel of nite .
in winter wonder land
of the nite.
let make angel in snow
on cold winter nite .
i'am danceing in snow
because i love you. merry
christmas  my love.
David Nelson Sep 2013
Good Morning, Good Nite, Goodbye

Well hello, good morning, I was hoping you would be here
how was your night, did everything work out like you planned
or did things turn out bad, did you realize your greatest fear
did you put your foot down, did you make that final stand

I know things have been a mess, I know I haven't been much help
no this was never my intention, to fall in love with you
but I didn't  see it coming, you made my heart just melt
before I could make sense to react, the bill was way past due

I know we've been down this road before, looking for a cure
to find the perfect salve or bandage for our aching hearts
but there just doesn't seem to be that answer so sure
the chemicals of love have infected all our thinking parts

well again we are left hanging, but it's time for me to go
so I will say good nite my love, hope your evening goes well
trying hard to avoid saying the thing that we both know
maybe tomorrow something magic will ring the crystal bell

we can only hope that we can dance just one more time
stay clear of those dreaded words that will make us cry
hold each other close never uttering the words that rhyme  
those terrible dreaded final words, I hate saying goodbye  

Gomer LePoet...
..and now I lay me down to sleep
Bo Peep's a veggie
there are no sheep
and counting carrots
ain't the same.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2017
Kinda fainted Friday nite,
De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son you done
give us a genuine affright."

De doctor, he come, he say,
"Son, it's the end o' day,
Get your **** in bed straightaway"

"Here's what you be needing:
twelve tablets of hourly salting, no halting
eight hours bed rest, no dreaming,
four gallons o' tap water, drinking,
no stopping,  
"and for god's sakery,
cease and desist from
this writing,
poetry nonsense fakery."

Weakly, I protested,

"My poems are the waste products,
the excretions of salt water tears,
a thousand years in the making,
dreams foretelling and retelling events disturbing.

If not removed, disinterred by their inscribing,
these poisonous emotions,
shall surely cause once more
my fainting and falling demotion."

He frowned, de doctor, he was perturbed,
his medical thinking cap was for sure disturbed!

With sighs that made my heart to be a stirring ,
De doctor, he come, he say,
held forth as following, quiet murmuring:

"Here is my prescription:
if you musting,
but with strict limitations it be enforcing:

No more than four po-ems
De doctor permit to be writ

*per hour."
writ 2014 and found lying  about,
face down
Last nite I dreamed of T.S. Eliot
welcoming me to the land of dream
Sofas couches fog in England
Tea in his digs Chelsea rainbows
curtains on his windows, fog seeping in
the chimney but a nice warm house
and an incredibly sweet hooknosed
Eliot he loved me, put me up,
gave me a couch to sleep on,
conversed kindly, took me serious
asked my opinion on Mayakovsky
I read him Corso Creeley Kerouac
advised Burroughs Olson Huncke
the bearded lady in the Zoo, the
intelligent puma in Mexico City
6 chorus boys from Zanzibar
who chanted in wornout polygot
Swahili, and the rippling rythyms
of Ma Rainey and Vachel Lindsay.
On the Isle of the Queen
we had a long evening's conversation
Then he tucked me in my long
red underwear under a silken
blanket by the fire on the sofa
gave me English Hottie
and went off sadly to his bed,
Saying ah Ginsberg I am glad
to have met a fine young man like you.
At last, I woke ashamed of myself.
Is he that good and kind? Am I that great?
What's my motive dreaming his
manna? What English Department
would that impress? What failure
to be perfect prophet's made up here?
I dream of my kindness to T.S. Eliot
wanting to be a historical poet
and share in his finance of Imagery-
overambitious dream of eccentric boy.
God forbid my evil dreams come true.
Last nite I dreamed of Allen Ginsberg.
T.S. Eliot would've been ashamed of me.
HTR Stevens Oct 2018
Midnight Queen! Midnight Queen! How I grieve for thee.
Alas! That thou in thy garment white,
Should but show thy splendour for a night,
And then sink back into earth away from me!
Alas! Thy beauty once shown departs forever,
Tho’ it remains in the human mind,
As visions may eternally shine,
Thy sad departure remains also in mind!

This is life! This is life! A glimpse of splendour,
Like the fragrance of flowers blown away,
Life passes after a glorious day;
Life comes but once and then departs forever!
Reece Mar 2013
California highway buzzes and the searing sun shines on the beach towel as I stroke Walt Whitman's beard
Transcendent and alive, but dead, still dead as my brother and his brothers, the 19th Century posse
We know the world better than them but are less learned, as the schools are a failure
and the business is us, but not the same as the industrial business of yesteryear
We are here to consume, consume and as we're dying of consumption , we consume more.

Alcohol, cars, phones and laptops, tablets, tablets, pills and more pills, condoms, liquor, ***** and brews, women, men, more women, more men, razors, lasers, heaters, coolers, snacks, rucksacks, ex lax and nick-knacks. They sell us dreams and nightmares, movies and bomb scares, they sell us news by the hour and power as they exert their own power. They give us gifts and incentives, draw us in so they they can stick us with a pin or a bracelet, and we too can sell to our friends on group hangs or as we stand still listening to our favourite bands. Billboards scream for our attention, or the buses stop at the intersection, and we're supposed to open our little phone and buy whatever is advertised. Why? Y?

They call us the Y generation too, why? Perhaps we ask the question  too much, perhaps we haven't asked enough. Perhaps the X generation simply ponder why we are so consumed with the technology they feed us. Why? Why must they question us, when we are the next great generation, we do laugh at that too. The internet is the new religion, bow down before Google and drink from the pixelated chalice, my child. Any question one could need answering is answered by the internet. The Bible is irrelevant in our society, burn it and download a bible app on the latest smartphone, the Qur'an too, hell, try the Tanakh, the Smriti and the Pāli Canon, for we are enlightened ******* It. And we want more.

Hey yo mane some warehouse downtown has this dubstep DJ from like ******* Iraq or some ****. *** down, gonna be hella ******* there

What music do you like?
All of it
All of them
I don't own one but I watched every episode of The Wire on Netflix
I am a pansexual being riding the ever changing dunes of the Sahara, like so many great poets before me.

Digital immigrants and immigrants of empathy too
How serious do you believe us to be?
I am not using sarcasm as a form of wit for I have no wit.
Stoicism and rejection of education, employment and training.
We surly are the neatest generation, how can we make a mess if we are not awake most days?
Save for the endless party that is life, as we throw used glow sticks at women we desire
and ***** over car windows before getting blown on the lawn

lol dat wuz cray last nite

Die young poets we have no desire for your kind, pacify us with Kerouac and Ginsberg so that we may emulate intelligence and impair the senses, for we care not about the real world either
Our world is the only one that exists, yours will soon crumble
We have trained for the end with extensive views of zombie flicks in coffee houses

@SomeFacelessJerk Follow for follow

Hey OP, you are a ******.
Why yes, yes I am. Does that bother you.
No, OP. You see I too am a ******.

Do away with your hurtful words they have no meaning today
White man died and lost control of his precious dictionary
We are here to save language by replacing all vowels with X's and O's
We are here to consume and in turn consummate this marriage,
the marriage of ignorance and bliss.
I feel as if I lost control of this particular piece and in turn lost control of myself
The snow is falling and I decided to freeze myself to death
The snow as I learned is a fantastic insulator and so I only served to warm my spirits

I am not a poet

Footnotes on The Addendum
All people are poets but only a few are talented enough to shine like [insert simile here] and cause the world to [insert hyperbole here].

Addendum to the Footnotes of the Addendum

Additional Notes
Apathy is the overriding factor in our lives, or at least that's how it seems to me. The trust fund kiddies in their beach houses are bored because Mommy and Daddy have no attention to spare them. The kids without parents in the projects are bored too, bored of the death and poverty, they're bored of the trust fund kiddies playing gangster, buying ******* from Mad Jack the Black Mack on Smack on the corner of 3rd and 15th. I am bored by the words I write, you are bored by the words you read, and we are all bored of the capitalist agenda that serves only to perpetuate boredom amongst us and bleed our pockets so that we have no choice but **** each other for their amusement as they place obscene bets on which child will 'win'.

*******, I have More Notes
Take this work for the post-post-post modern-proto-futurist-pre-apocalypse ******* that is. I have attempted to put no substance into this piece, apart from grams upon grams of ******* I brought from some guy some place, some time ago. It doesn't really matter, and we all stopped caring.
Wren Djinn Rain Sep 2015
Here in Holden I forget all the memories acquired in sun
They all tumble and I could stop it if I wanted to stop
Pouring ***** in my head as a song before bed
Two-****** whiskey drinker caught in the present,
Displaced in time. And another and another til
she upgrades to doubles at no extra charge cause
she loves how my face 'round means she's safe at least
til I leave and she's sweet and pays me in drinks I
don't need as bad as money and a stable place.
Here in Holden B-Block I play games with my memories
I tumble hard and I could stop it if I wanted to stop
Too fun to open a door and fall through the floor
to the blackness of past as you stand from your stool
to play pool in the back as you can't keep your cool
so you retreat. Always retreat.
Here in Holden, underground, I **** on the memories
I made under sun now
bathed only in krypton light
scaring cats from the cans
behind the brush as I
rush to get it all out.
Spit it all.
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
in the twain o' nite and morn
stirs the bright crepitus
o' your illuminate
joints and
the arcuate
motes of sleeping
curves enter my body
the smallest and loveliest
fingers painting silence
shivering 'neath the
loaded quiver o'
your mouth's
prime jewel,
those lashes
startling the
organized clot
of stifled air in
the certain pocket
of my uglywithoutyou
room, and the beauty drunk
and darkness fleeced marble
of your kisslonging head peaks
out suddenly crawling the lonely
chasm between our lips and crushes
absolute sexluscious ribbons pink set
onto my own vein penultimate lips and,
                                                            ­       '
                                                               ­       '
                                                        ­           '
                                                               ­        '
                                                               ­    '
                                                               ­        '
                                                               ­ ,
Cartwright Mar 2010
As Anger Proceeds to stir in my gut
                                Demon Lust & Jealous  stuff.
           The Bitterness that buildss inside as I walk through
                                        the Shadows in the nite.

                        Witnessing their RAGE as the Flesh burn off their Bodies,
                                          and consumes their souls.
                       Their screams of agony fill my mind with the rush
                                                       of the ****,
                        the blood red stream that is about to be them.
                                                      One by One
                                                   with blades of
                              as their screams fulfill my hunger,
                                                I crave more Blood,
                             oh so sweet Screams of unfaithfullness
                                          as their doubts of Life
                                       fill their thoughts of pain,
                                             the shadow in the night,
                                              of the lustful ****,
                                                          a RAGE
                                      as I turn and look at my handiwork....
                                                oooooo That GRIN!!
Christopher Nathaniel Cartwright
Copyright © 1983-Present
J Chicago Dec 2018
Satan is
a *****
with her snore on tour
she's makin
all the magazines
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2013
Wrote this eons ago, tonight, once more,
spend some human capital, editing...
Something to think about
as we tuck ourselves in.

the young'uns keep on asking me for tips,
secrets, to this art, magical poetry gig,
as if I had any left unrevealed.  

recalled this old'n,
from a vintage poetry year,
as a suggestion,
a stating-starting place,
for young poets:

do not self-chain,
let the words take you where
they lead, write them up
for the rhyme is waiting,
in the heart chest deep down,
not on the screen.

I read you Goodnight Moon,
Falling asleep beside you.


People stop rhyming...

When first you overcome your fears,
And dare to put on paper your tears,
Give it up, set yourself free from the shackles,
Of thinking a rhyme is a necessity for rooting tooting writing a
**** good poem

If you feel lost,
Want to share the cost,
Feel not bossed,
By a newbie's need
to believe that if it rhymes
Everyone will like your poem
Just fine

And if you get past this stage,
And advance to the next page,
Do not think that writing down a sentence of
Your mind's first up, innermost thoughts,
Is something that will make you
Less lost, heralded, worthy of a parade,
And be blessed with an A  
In your Teacher's pet grade book

My heart broke.
I feel bad.
I feel sad
Cause my man/woman left me and I hope
Someone kicks his/her ***

That Ain't No Poem Neither...

And if you can't help but complain repeatedly
How life ***** and you're feeling blue indiscreetly extremly,
Don't make me try on your scribblings intimately indiscriminately,
Read a million, even wrote a few myself

You think you can write?

Then employ a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
Write just four sentences that will make
The hopeful reader stand up and you,
Twice as much, and shout

Hallelujah *******.

Work. Poetry is work. Hard work.
Don't fret. But, think on it.
Let it come easy, then let it rest,.
Then spend days editing every comma,
And when you love it so much,
You are chest busting bursting,
Why have you not pressed Send already?

Have the sweetest dreams.
In the morning, when you but awake,
A poem will be aborning in thy mind,
And dare I say it, you will find a new freedom
In free verse.
(I know you will slip in a rhyme or two,
I can't help but do it too)

G' nite!
Why is that parents plant ideas in your brain as you're falling aslee..............

Just a suggestion....what do I know,
st64 May 2013
sterile crowd walks out
cook offers to step in!

sandy shores
silly dreams

hope and fear hold hands

cloaked in tags
covered in labels

RIP-'em  freakin' OFFA ME!

S T, 12 May 2013
dream, dream, dream . . . really?

The coattails of the dream-weaver

now I see
stand over me
hover above my eyes
wait and watch my lids fall
cast a silent spell of smoky tendrils
strut your presence deep in my psyche
piercing eyes sear the depths of chambers
along the edge of sleep, dance fanciful figures
almost tripping over their feet, in aching frenzy to find
that reach which cascades, dangles all along the lip of reason

all along the lip of reason, all along the lip of reason, the lip of reason

leaving the cusp of awareness, venture below this vague surface
fall airless over rim of closed awakeness, thoughts dying slow
cocooned on soft wisp of dreamy shores, I float
yonder hills beckon so gentle and pastoral
welcoming arms wave on sunny dale
seeming to envelop all fears
offer to swallow dark pain
dissolve mal aches
promise peace
echo love
ride joy
see u

until I get there . . .

(refracted dust)

sullen eyes greet my unopened eyes, yet I see all in my dream
all the answers come flooding; time-frame out of warp
you are just a dire apparition,
you tell me in my dream to stick out my tongue
and I freakin' do it, because I believe in your words
you drop a ten-pound hammer onto it.

no field of flowers saluting with merry faces
none of jolly smiles
just a knife-wielder, vicious in intent . . .
waiting on nervous springs, for my next move
chasing . . . a fugitive in my own blasted dream
oh heavens, when then is relief?

such vain bidding adieu to impervious dreams.

**** u, dream-weaver!
what a hopeless battle to hold onto the coattails of the dream-weaver
lose my grasp and slide off
slip away

burn AWAKE, cold sweat like fat beads the only proof of the onslaught of a ride with you . . . and the journey's reward?

oh, I can't remember . . .

and . . . sweet dreams to you, dream-weaver
I'll come visit you tonight . . . in your dreams!
Jordan Jun 2014
I don’t know where you fly to at nite.
I’m certain to all that I love.
Do you glow with the moonlite?
Or float in the heavens up above?

Do you hang with the stars in the sky?
Or gaze at them from the meadow below?
Do you give me a kiss goodbye?
Or just in the morning to say hello?

Maybe you grow with the tree garden,
Or sleep with the lions of my sign,
Where is it you go wanderin’
Little soul of mine?

I wonder if you go back
To the dawning of your days.
I wonder when was that?
Or were you here always?

Maybe you go to my future,
Setting it straight for me,
You’ve had great judgment so far
As the holder of my life’s key

Do you mingle with other souls?
You must be looking for your perfect mate
So you’re not lonely on such twilight strolls
Wherever it is that you go so late.
NitaAnn Oct 2013
******-Angry girl took over last night. She is explosive with rage and it is fierce and uncontrolled. She physically and verbally abuses the little girl inside of me, and although she is not a threat to anyone but us, she does like to verbally abuse Dear Therapist, via email. Sometimes a few months will go by without her taking over, sometimes only a few weeks, but she has been present since Monday, relentlessly torturing the rest of us. She wants to die. She cannot handle the pain, the past is overwhelming and she knows of no other way out. She strongly believes that Dear Therapist manipulated the 5 year old into trusting him, and then once he declared victory of getting the untrustable to trust, he decided he could just take off and not be there for her. And Angry Girl HATES Dear Therapist for that! Because after all these years of independence and never relying on anyone to help or “be there”, now the baby who cries for Dear Therapist’s help at night, drives us f#%king crazy!

Not only did ******-Angry girl cut me last night, she sent some emails to Dear Therapist. Emails that were discovered today when I checked my sent file. ******-Angry Girl wants to cut the whiny baby out of my body. She hates her. She wants Dear Therapist to go away. She hates him too.

Below is an excerpt from the emails sent to Dear Therapist. It’s ******-Angry Girl’s anger that scares me. She will **** me…it’s only a matter of time. She won’t stop until it happens. She has no will to live she wants only to escape the endless pain.

Angry ****** Girl: I am not fearful of death. ******* welcome it! Hope u enjoyed ur vacation! Thanks for caring and taking my "fear" seriously" (huge amounts of dripping poisonous sarcasm!) Ur so great and I'm so nothing! So I shouldn't be missed! and I guess ur "best" doesn't include calling me bk n 24 hrs- does it? For future reference, get a ******* back-up! There will be times when the "crazy" clients can't wait for a week to ******* deal w/a "non-existent" fear!!! **** u and ur ******* rose colored glasses! I'm not afraid of ******* dying! Dying will be a ******* relief!!! **** that man! **** that sorry man who calls himself Dad! He ******* Ruined all of it! ******* hate u! I ******* hate u and ur ******* "stay present"! U ******* stay present in my body every ******* nite! I ******* told u it was bad! But as usual, u blew me off "it’s only 3 emails" no big deal" **** u!!! It may not be a big deal to u, but it was a huge ******* deal to me!!! But **** it! Obviously that wasn't impt to u! Becuz I don't matter! Nothing here that can hurt me right now!?!?U go ahead and believe that - w/ur rose colored glasses on, dear therapist- becuz he will **** me. And when he does, don't ******* preach "theresz nothing that can hurt u right now, Nita" nothing. Ur so ******* wrong about that! In fact, I'm offended tht u even said it! How contradictory of u! "ur fear is real to u- I've nvr said it isn’t" Really? That's not what ur ******* saying now!? I hope when I'm dead u don't preach that **** to someone else. I hope if someone else comes to u and tells u he's going to **** her u ******* think about me and what happened to me- and ******* believe it! Becuz it IS real right the **** now!!!! It is ******* real!!! This could not have worked out better! ******* ***** is aware that u don't hear her now- so she won't tell anything! We are done- I can cut her out of her misery! Finally!!!

It will never stop. There is no way it will ever stop. I am discouraged and hurting. There is no escape. There are no answers. There is nothing but this endless pain. And he doesn’t care. I tried to tell him, but he doesn’t listen. It’s worse when he’s gone. And he can kiss my *** with his “Put it in a safe container” – HELLO!!!! There’s no way to contain it! It’s like trying to put pour rain back into a cloud! Why the hell can’t he see that? There’s no way to ‘check’ the pain at the door when I ******* leave his office! It’s ******* Hotel California! There is no escape! I cannot leave.
So tired of the fighting with the ******-Angry Girl...need to find a way to make her stop...put her to rest for good. I am battle-weary and so tired...I am waving the flag of surrender...
Matthias Feb 2011
We will meet under the cheesy moon,
And candy stardust.
In a sea of dark chocolate.
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
Dedicated with great pleasure to
Stephen E Yocum and Ilion Gray,
Don fans both.*

Created: Mar 26, 2011 10:56 AM

Written the day after a Don McLean
concert at Town Hall, New York City*

We stood shoulder to shoulder,
for our voice was soon to arrive,
we were friends of Vincent's friend,
a starry night decorator,
chronicler of our youthful days,
who tonight, returned to us,
harmonizor of memories
of long ago,
one more 'last' time

our bodies we pledged to him,
our allegiance we displayed
via our uniforms,
most of us decorated with badges
of our mutuality,
medals of weary grey,
lives worn, patient sat to hear our
youthful anthems and
dormant dreams,
re-populated in our hearts, live,
alive,  resurrected, babes once more

Chevys and levees and then
by God,
we were dancing in the aisles
Like we used to,
one more time,
grassy odors enhanced our
recharged our voices,
we swore fealty to our memories,
said goodbye one last time, again,
to our youth and American Pie

I swear it's true that
this anthem of tribute and attribute
to who we were, makes
tears stream down my cheeks,
a taste mixed, salty
but also, bel canto sweet,
always simultaneously

forty years blink disappear
and I am ****** on
a summer nite in Sixty Nine,
sitting on my porch,
high up in Cleveland Heights,
and "future," was not yet
a ***** word

My red 65 Mustang makes me
a big shot,
I fall in and out love
and/or so many woman's beds,
pillow talk of how we won't be
like our parents cause
we are gonna make over this lousy world
they bequeathed us,  
how we're gonna let the Cuyahoga River
burn off fifty years of industrial waste,
the future will be born anew,
the urban orbs,
we will plan and rebirth,
they will be human beautiful

Earned my summer wages in
a Republic steel warehouse
where this college kid
who then was car-less in Cleveland,
a sin, hippie bicycled to work where
he was mocked & crowned
on his hard hat,
"The Macaroni Kid" -
he had foolishly revealed
to his ha ha,
Fellow American Co-Workers
his student budget dietary staple

but when in he was deep in the belly
of the railroad cars
where they lowered him
to chain together
the custom shaped steel rods,
on their way to be
the skeleton bones for the concrete blocks
to build the Jane Jacob's
neighborhood-killing bland apartment buildings,
that we both so despised,
building blocks of the
USA's cities of anomie

In the railroad cars, this kid
sang Don's songs softly
to himself and was happy

Lamenting the loss of our
carriers of hope to the
trajectory of assassin's bullets,
I cut my hair, shaved my beard,
for the music had indeed died.

Returned to the NYC in '72,
lived on Bleecker Street,
scrounged the streets
of the Village by nite,
a seeker of urban truths,
loose women, and junk "wood"
to burn in the fireplace of
my third floor walkup

working daytime office jobs,
at night, we drank new drinks of
tunes of english imports
and unbelievably, later on, disco

but we never forgot a single word
of our Bye Bye song,
ode to our wonder years

So on a March chill night, 2011,
the now all grown ups
were petitioned to come,
meet at Town Hall,
on the agenda,
a motion of recall
to bid one last
fare thee well
to the glory days before
we crossed the line from
rebels to voting citizens,
from spirited rock n rollers
to grumbling taxpayers,
from kids to parents

So I weep and smile and
do so for all of us
for I will go out
booming, singing, way too loud,
no decorum for this adult,
bid adieu to our best days,
one more good old boy,
now just a good old man
drinking whiskey and rye
smiling, crying, all mixed up,
sad, happy, touched inside
one last time, by the lyrics,
you know 'em well from
from so long ago,
so long, Bye Bye,
My American Pie
Michael Parish Oct 2015
We dreamed until we would die.
My father still holding his whiskey
My mothers sloppy forgiveness.  
The kitchen roaring and swaying
Louder then bottle rockets Screaming across the restless suburbs.
For one nite we faded like a universe of
Creation.   For one nite we came back like comets predictable yet unforgettable.  
For one nite we didnt scream.
For one nite we lit up the world.
Jack Dalton Dec 2013
All night I head inside rain water.
Getting back the women I failed.
My heavy jacket feels like stray cats.
Then A garbage can upon the street.
Becomes some other racoons ocean dream.
He opens the door in ring tailed underwear.
And forgets about the skunk waiting
Under the bushes ontop of spongy beardes of moss.
The business isnt worth the trouble
For me against the passion to find
Another way inside a house of plastic
But mine is wooden and strong and Ill be able
To dry my arms and go another day
Of traveling through the pools
Of open water.
And singing here comes the rain again.
Let it fall again and forever until the streets
Dry in clouds of ambitious steam.
Wren Djinn Rain Sep 2015
He's standing there
in shadow
right outside your door
Compounding fear,
as he says he loves me
Treasure he wants
from a heart
he'll swim under blood for
what is to gain
causing loss
always worthwhile more
Elaine Mar 2019
As the day breaks into nite.
  I stand on our deck, to see the fire
flies dancing in the field.
  The stars are shining bright, in the nite sky of our
❤  country living.
Master of Tongue Jan 2018
Its a dark nite,
with some feeling
of awesomeness,
and the sweet wait,
the thirst,
the hunger for her lips,
her touch,
her scent and
her breath
on on my chest.
***** down Onceknown Road, an older morning
bursts outta the grit. Flytipt empires,
laidback wasteland warns there'll be no warnings.
Smiths'-song-street all shut suppersuppliers,
where might carpark oak or traffic isle elm
egdeh-comb cyclist's quiff should kerb unhelm,
next to busstop ad for new nervous tic.
Path of trundling on, tumultuously
normal, obliquely extraordinary
now flashbacks draw out, razor nostalgic.

Rowdied w/ 2 hubblydribbling drummers,
crumb comrades of cheeba cheer 'long  this road.
Studenty stovepipe house rhythmic slummers
fauve-fengshui'd, tho' precise narriow abode
alt-rawk teen trashedom PWNed, I'll pass outrite.
This road tho'. Omissive potholelands' tite-
lipt pockpits are due to dumb blip veil, Youth's
doob loop. ******* as scones, but partying
nous postponed postpubesecent perma-aging
for hol of nice naive brave haze, loose truths.

We were 90s grinadiers, lushes lean,
but did svelte sybarites swear off jimjams
& sack jobhunts to trade kugs w/ a Treen,
chug ponders peapodded w/ Grendel's mam?
Thought nonstoppathon tootenanny
altered moodiness like a green granny...
Piffleflaps! Prosphene Raybans of Blowmance
screen 1st gapyear on the dole for gads all
so legendary they sidestep recall;
for we steal liberty from ignorance.  

Later came grinning nadirs: alcaponed
& algerhissed drift from drumming duo,
all my old mates, to ***** & **** alone
on Chronic Island. Years beached like fatsoes
of the ocean, sonar bloaters. The mail
washed up: 'Why did you never find me?' Snail-
mail sans sails, once ale-full, in my own hand,
same grubby starfish that lobbed littoral
letter indicts loner as terminal
islander, tho' I quit Chronic Island.

Just kids, but faked stuff sincerely then, at one
leas' thru fakealong faith in fun. Yet the
quarries of qualms churned, gyres of the undone
unspooled kudzu spinelessness, a kidder
undefinespun. Zhuzhedup Past a plaintive
'sheesh', last niche pastiche, same intempestive
taisch, a disembodied gulp, a limbed fib.
Lightweights in the mist of dawn's roachbow trails
to noon brainjails. Start states sacrosanct, stale.
Tsk, Past teaches how to pish. Sunrise squibs.

Even in England, the nite is slitely
more junglish, even inside. Nite's teen knites
genied swanvestas like titch diwali,
not to sway over choral candlelite
- over gummy coffeetable waitin'
for stoner Noah's dovetail joint. Raven
rectricarse of raspiration adult-
hood's sulferous selflessness will whistle.
'Cras cras!' Dust wassails unexcitable
stardusthood. Asthma, my own stupid fault.
mike dm Jun 2014
Deep down
I crave the sacred
Now that everything is
Just a dust mote limping along
The curvature of a light beam
in this dilapidated house

I've winked
At everything but the kitchen-sink --
Although, I do have my eye on it

Know-it-all that knows he knows

I wish I knew subtlety

Mona Lisa's quarter-smirk
Makes my emojis feel
Sorta slutty --
like they try too hard ya know?


toothbrush mustaches
Killer drones friended by elm trees

Dissimulation is
my religion
it just explains things,
It walks back the big crutch
It makes gods into amoebas

All. I. have. are. words.
******* scribbles.
Stillborn syntactical limbs of whim
Severed at the moment of send

Yet still
I deliver and hold them
Close to me
They are my ex-press
A last confession straight to the quick

The world doesn't spin it screams
We just Van Gogh it with
Slurry nite nite sleep tight's

God, what I would *give
neth jones Nov 2015
nothing flights these skies tonite
nothing burns above our heads
or crackles in the air
or glows in the houses about us
as we pace the cool and empty
the alleys and the meatless streets
and the clean scaleless cobbles
carry our patternless birch-bare feet
a sail less nite
but a kite to the imagination
a bringer of new
lighter beings
through our faultless immigration

Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]
Wren Djinn Rain Sep 2015
See, it's like this. What I feel is dependent on what's real.
And I do to the people and things around me what it
takes to protect them and keep them intact. Most of
the time. Though in fact, doing to the tune of truth
isn't always the best act. You can't withhold what
others share, create or damage. You can withhold
what you share with others. And from you, my brother,
I do believe after reflecting til the present time, I
and you would have been fine if I had actually
stopped and thought about what actually was best.
But instead I stepped out of bounds you'd set
that I'd confirmed and said yes, to put my own
needs first in the name love -- something or other --
and not stop till I had your ex. You even confronted me
and said it wasn't a trip you could handle emotionally.
**** me. It was no accident, it remains that I could have
prevented an incident, now I'm ashamed of myself
for disrespecting another who discovered me young
and kept close, even when I couldn't keep my nose clean.
Maybe I can't, still. I'm sitting sipping at four hour old
coffee in a diner alone to still the upset. But I can't do.
I can't hold it in any longer. I've been a bad person
paying a part of the toll in deep regret. I can't forget
that I owe you more than I could ever say. That's
why I'm writing you on a legal tablet at midnight,
a dozen or more yellow pages with an empty pen
scratching holes bathed in the laserlight. I guess
I'm in the past again, writing you, groping for
parts I know must still be there to fill the holes
in my heart as hard as it is to admit cause I know
there's no redemption.
Wren Djinn Rain Sep 2015
He said I got all my life ahead of me
to stop kicking my teeth in when
it's not others delivering kicks
covering me in spit in passing
Life is the essence of difficult
leaving you being and breathing
and thinking when all you want
is the option to disappear but
it's the fear, so clear, when you're
alone or homeless or in a pit
that ain't six feet that it easily seems
descending, that is the definite call
to action, man, I can't say the words
to save you, you're in your own hands
but if you're listening stop pretending
that you can't hear the reverberation
on your insides. Maybe you'll die
young and me too, but not with the
mind's eye closed that's why I plea
to keep you running on empty when
you're friendless, when you're so far
from blessed, you're cursed, and wishing
for an enemy. Hate me now for the truth,
I don't hate you. Stare down at the ground
at your shoes if it pays, I can't help but
notice you notice you're built for more,
and you're due.

And then he comes in. Like a whirlwind.
Flipping his arms and crossing them,
can't tell if he's plotting or genuine in
his vehemence. Virulent eyes compliment
perfectly venomous sentences or just
as quick turn icy blue if it's better to give
me the shoulder. He can't believe to this
day I'd betray what was left of his confidence
in me and I ain't going to lie I've been a liar
caught in the web I thought I had protection
against. He saw me there by the sidewalk
then caught up in happenstance, cavorting
with an upsetting ghost supposed to be left
in the past, but he don't understand, I can
shut off the phone or ignore every message
received in belief and knowing I deserve
more than this woman ever gave, but I refuse
to be cruel with active intention to a life
I simply have no other choice but to rearrange.
He said, I hope you're not doing this for me
when I started to change, to climb higher
and rise up from the grave I'd been digging
out for myself with utter complacency,
shedding passivity for determination in exchange
and in the end it all seemed good till a misstep,
hell you invited me back into the bed where
you slept so we could be together and both sleep.
Call me naive. Dependent. **** it, I guess I was
but I now I understand being played by a hypocrite.
Nothing can be every way for you, so now
that I'm getting up on two feet you feel you
can't be a friend to me. Rather than take a breath
to exhale your bitterness you'd expel me with
superficial rage hiding indifference. Called naive.
Dependent. **** it, I guess I was but now
I understand what you said before, yes,
and I'll take a stand, I'm worth about as much
work as I'm putting in, to the mind I am, to
the body I hold, but it's old. I doubt you're
listening. History repeats. You build me
up. You destroy me. You fill my heart.
You silence beats. You power me.
You're wearing down my energy.
I'm off work. So I'm sitting down
under the open sign at Marian's
with a cigarette.
PK Wakefield Dec 2011
rush nites
through trees and belly
(come find me dreaming
and when you get here
i'll kiss you so softly i'll
plant roots stupidly
growing into your so
and green skin lightly)
you got big pretty enormous

           Jewels and **** nite

you are belong to my bed
and flesh(yourown)is mine

i've spangles and dirt in me(likeyou)
                                                         leaves and merry drunk revelers
                                                  prancing beautiful women things
                                               (and i like to bunch up their hems
                                                 (like you nite) and i like to
                                             eateth them)
briano alliano at venus party trap

hi dudes and welcome to the party of the universe and when i was a teenage boy i drew pen drawings on my arm

and the picture was a triangle with a line through the centre which means, i am into raging, and those drawings are

right for today up in  venus, here is a song about my pen drawings on my arm

you see i was getting teased by other young dudes oh yeah

and it was driving me nuts, i needed to do something oh yeah

my mum and dad were worried because i took my frustrations out on them

saying dad has aids and i must keep away from him, but i was messed up yeah

so i took a pen from my pencil case and drew a triangle

and stuck a line through it, dad started to get worried

i didn’t care, i needed to find a way that i am not a freak

just because i am a bit different to others, who was very weak

the triangle was a sign of partying , the line meant add some fun

you see it’s easy to just sit and watch, like i did once

but it’s better to really party, and the line meant party all night

in the nite clubs and on new years eve, yeah it was so great

dad was really worried, like all parents i guess

i sang 3 6 9 dad drank wine and i drank bourbon and coke

you see i vomited on that, but i don’t worry because i am raging in the club

you see i had these cool mates who i got drunk with yeah

you see i went out and raged with them dad said, no, go to bed

i said no to my dad, i am showing you what my drawing on arm meant

it means i want to be cool man, cooler than the rest of my family

i squeezed my way through drainpipes and i partied at the private bin

i was showing off my raging skills, saying LET’S PARTY MAN

you see i was a cool kid mate, who really loved to rage

every day i turned around there were more girls partying with me

and i was getting drunk reminding mum of her father

but i didn’t understand this, i just raged anyway

because partying is my middle name my first name is cool

my surname is raging and watching rage the next day

reminded me of my next day

i still want to show young dudes though

that partying is great and raging is fun, oh yeah

just remember to not bring it to the family oh no

thanks dudes and now here is a christmas party son called getting tipsy

you see i put the christmas tree up and drink some beer and get drunk oh yeah

and sit down and watch your family happily playing how cool’s that

you see i like christmas it is all so fun, but i have to watch that i don’t get all tipsy

getting tipsy dude getting tipsy dude, from wine and beer and bourbon and coke

and losing breath from my packet of smokes

yeah yeah yeah yeah, i was getting tipsy

while the barman watched me all night, as he sat behind the bar

the angel of the lord came down and said i have a car

how about we drive you home, you look drunk to us

i said no, i feel alright, i rather get the bus

come on barry allan drink some methane for your next life betty campbell

you have now got a red hat on oh yeah

and we can party all over the solar system, yeah that sounds so fun

and bon scott came up to me and said your on the highway to hell, ya see

i said the only highway, i am on pal is the highway to party dude heaven

or nirvana, of which buddhists call it

dad is poking me and saying, i am not ya dad anymore

i said we can still party up here, though

because you need to understand what i like about partying

all through the ****** night

i tipped methane all over my old dad and macauley culkin did as well

you see macauley culkin is clarry allan and he dropped methane all over my old dad

to make his next life cool, cause dad hated christmas carols ya see

but he said, his next life will try oh yeah

i sang to dad who had methane all over him

we wish you a merry christmas

we wish you a merry christmas

we wish you a merry christmas

let me live on earth dad

i know i teased you

i know i teased you

i know i teased you

but i deserve to be left alone to deal with my mental illness

and now here is a party anthem as i leave here, it’s called i am in party heaven

you see i only like people who party

or go out to fun events

i am not the type to be a total,and utter dense

please buddha, i know i am cronus but let me party on

let me get past this business of my drawing on my arm

dad hasn’t got aids, i was young and dumb

and i didn’t mean to provide bad memories of the father of my mum

you see i like to party dude, and party all day long

so buddha, don’t give me my old shy brian allan body

send him to space junk, because i am cool man

buddha buddha buddhs please let me do my art

i know i put my dad through hell

but i misunderstood him yeah

i thought dad was ready to give me a job on TV

but in hindsight my past might stop me from succeeding oh yeah mate yeah

you see i used to say to my dad ya say ya say ya say

dad just said, one main word, yes, your majesty

because probably i sounded like the ****** old queen

ya say ya say ya say, yes your majesty

so please buddha, let me do my art, don’t try and send me off to my next life

i am not ready to go yet, i want the world to know that brian allan ain’t evil

i want the world to know i am a party dude who has made silly mistakes


THE WAY TO ****** BE, oh dude

ok everyone, i have to go, but i will hang around to throw methane over all the old hags

ya know tease the old hags dude

Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
Silly words like daughter and laughter.
Why isn’t dotter and lafter?
Both, moth and mother are confusing.
It all depends on the way you are using
Those mad silly words in our tongue
More bizarre than between and among.
And, of course there are the oughts
And ought nots of enough and thought.
Shouldn’t one sound per word be
Far less typographical insanity?
I mean someone wound a bandage
Around a wound on an appendage.

It’s just plain silliness of a high order.
You fix food for a boarder, not a border.
You can fish for fish, not sheep for sheep.
And, you can’t daydream if you are asleep.
There’s a rhyme about a wood chucking wood
But he only seems to do it if he would.
A dog can bark at a cat on a roof,
Which can be said either like root or woof.
In Britain anyone can go pound on a pound
In America, ground coffee can be on the ground.
And driving a car now your own can be fined.
But finding a free auto is something of a find.
It makes very difficult to tease other tongues.
Not even if you shout at the top of your longues.

Lately we changed things like light and nite
But, not white, night, knight or blight.
We changed you to one letter, a simple ‘u’.
Now, tell me please, was that so hard to dew?
Oh, wait. I mean due. No, I meant do all along.
The way English is, it’s not hard to do it wrong.
Is it its or is it it’s? It’s dependent upon.
What kind of sentence you have going on.
For example if you have an itch on your ****
It’s on your ****, but I’ tell you what.
It’s itch is its own, and needs no apostrophe.
Just one more view how silly things can be.
So, until later, when things get better
We had better do it rite to the letter.
Oh, wait, that’s wright. No write, no right.
See, I got it rite before the end of the nite.

— The End —