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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
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.
Tina Jun 2017
THE DARKSIDE NEVER SLEEPS
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....
Haylin Jun 2018
Can't believe I'mma say this but
Setting: my old room
We have been texting all nite. We were in a ***** mood so I said come over, I'll have a ladder for u to climb up. When u get here u climb up the ladder to the back room. U walk down the Hall to my room. The Christmas lights r on so it sets the mood but I'm still under the covers. U think I'm asleep so you move the covers to see that I'm in a tank top no bra and ***** shorts. I fell asleep while u were on ur way here. You knew I had a bag of ***** **** in the cabinet. You get out the rope and tie my hands to the bed.  That's when I wake up. At first I'm like what the hell then I'm like yay I love *****. U said don't worry bout a thing i got this. Then you proceed to get on top of me. U start with a kiss on my forehead, then u kiss my lips for like 5 min. You kiss down my neck and leave marks. Then you get to my *****. You kiss and leave ur mark on one while massaging the other. You start kissing down my stomach till u reach my waist. You tease me with your hands and tongue. I start yelling **** me then u get the ******* and blindfold. Now that I couldn't say or see anything,  it made it more fun. You started to swirl ur tongue around me but never went in. The teasing was killing me. Then u stuck 2 fingers in. You noticed that it didn't do much so then u did 3. That started to work but you wanted more fun. you grabbed the *******. You teased me with that for like forever. Then you shoved it in. I wanted to scream but I couldn't. But you wanted more fun. You put ur self in me then I wanted to scream more. You herd me mumble I'm gonna ***. Then you let out and I did. You untied me and made out with me one last time then you walked out the door and down the ladser. You left me there happy with my thoughts
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
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
Nico
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
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


roslyn’  


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

CATCH YA LATER DUDES
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...
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
..and now I lay me down to sleep
Bo Peep's a veggie
there are no sheep
and counting carrots
ain't the same.
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!
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.
MY COMPUTER IS INFECTED WITH A VIRUS
FROM SURFING TEEN AGE **** SITES LATE AT NITE
SOME OF WHAT I'V SEEN, IT LOOKS QUITE NORMAL
WHILE OTHER THINGS THEY JUST DON'T SEEM QUITE RIGHT
I'D JUST STARTED CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
WHEN I LEARNED THAT I'D BEEN HACKED
THERE APPEARED BEFORE ME QUITE THE PHOTO
OF A REINDEER WITH **** ELF FOLK ON HER BACK
AS I LOOKED MORE AT THE PHOTO
AND I LOOKED DEEP IN THE TREES
I SAW JUST A HINT OF SCARLETT
THAT LOOKED JUST LIKE MRS. SANTA ON HER KNEES
AS I LOOKED MORE AT THE PICTURE
SHE HAD A LOOK, BUT NOT OF PAIN
AND I SAW WHAT SHE WAS *******
WAS NOT AN ALLANS  CANDY CANE!
AS I TRIED TO LEAVE THE WEBSITE
A NEW PHOTO CAME MY WAY
AND I STARED HARD IN AMAZEMENT
THINKING, CORR I NEVER KNEW THAT ELVES COULD BEND THAT WAY
ONE WAS DOING **** GYMNASTICS
WITH HER *** HIGH IN THE AIR
SHE HAD SOMETHING IN HER "OUT" HOLE
AND I THOUGHT, "I DON'T THINK THAT THING  BELONGS IN THERE"
SO I SHUT DOWN MY COMPUTER
AND THE SCREEN FADED TO BLACK
I THOUGHT I'D LOST ALL MY FILES
AND THERE'S NO WAY IN THE WORLD TO GET THEM BACK
I'D BE OFF LINE WELL PAST CHRISTMAS
AND THERE'S NOTHING MORE TO SAY
I'D BEEN BURNED BY SURFING **** SITES
SEEING THINGS YOU SHOULDN'T SEE ON CHRISTMAS DAY
WHEN MY HEAD DID HIT MY PILLOW
I SWORE FROM **** SITES I'D REFRAIN
BUT I WOKE UP EARLY THE NEXT MORNING
AND FOUND A HALF ******  STICKY CANDY CANE
I COULD NOT HELP BUT WONDER
WHO HAD LEFT IT HERE BESIDE
BUT I KNEW DEEP DOWN IT CAME FROM
SANTA  ON HIS ONE NIGHT YEARLY RIDE
WHEN I TURNED ON MY COMPUTER
I KNEW I'D KEEP IT TO MYSELF
NO ONE WOULD BELIEVE IT IF I TOLD THEM
OF **** SITES FULL OF DEER AND NAKED ELVES.
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
                                                       RAGE,
                              as their screams fulfill my hunger,
                                                I crave more Blood,
                                                           Flesh,
                                                          Bone,
                             oh so sweet Screams of unfaithfullness
                                          as their doubts of Life
                                       fill their thoughts of pain,
                                                            within
                                             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
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.

somenonamesarcasticasshole@yahoo.com
RE:PARTY TONIGHT!!!!!

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

What music do you like?
All of it
Films?
All of them
TV
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
xo

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

Addendum
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
xo

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.
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
1.
sterile crowd walks out
cook offers to step in!



2.
sandy shores
silly dreams

hope and fear hold hands
tremulous.



3.
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

up
tired
alone
drowsy
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
hope
dip


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
crash!
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?

thus
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 . . .

oh!
and . . . sweet dreams to you, dream-weaver
I'll come visit you tonight . . . in your dreams!
J Chicago Dec 2018
Satan is
a *****
with her snore on tour
she's makin
all the magazines
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.
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
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
Bins.
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,
physical,
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
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.
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

Cynic
Know-it-all that knows he knows
Nothing
Conflicted

I wish I knew subtlety

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

^.^

Heaven:
Rainbow-colored
toothbrush mustaches
And
Killer drones friended by elm trees

Dissimulation is
my religion
Because
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
Jon Thenes 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
osmosis
through our faultless immigration




Previously published [Show Thieves 2010 : An Anthology Of Contemporary Montreal Poetry - 8TH HOUSE PUBLISHING]
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.
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.
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.
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)
                                                                 nite
                                                             i
                                                           got
                                                         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)
***** 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.
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.
Arcassin B Aug 2014
by Arcassin Burnham



just some feelings i cant shake
talking to me as if I'm awake,
but I'm asleep,
so theres no way you can repeat,
escaping your emotions as the night falls,
creeping in desperation,
breaking down the walls,
i would search the nation,
to see you fall in love,
i would search the nation,
to see you fall in love,
she turned it on,
and me as well,
will the teenage love making occur,
only the time will tell,
she turned it on,
and me as well,
will the teenage love making occur,
only the time will tell,
put me in your magical trance,
expressing my emotions,
like the ring of a bell,
come with me baby,
we could rule the night if we dance,
the dance floor couldn't handle us,
just tell me you will.
http://arcassin.blogspot.com/2014/08/nite-lite-full-version.html
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2013
Yo! Yo! My Drug of Choice (**** Poets)



Yo! Yo!
Member of the troupe?
You up all nite?
You always hungry,
Making trouble, rite?
You one of those?

**** poets!

Exist on strict diet?
Pleasured-pain,
Constant-continual surges
Turn into urges,
Full-time suspense,
Juices always flowing.

**** Poets!

Yo! Yo!
You one of those?
Never knowing,
What? When?
The eyes gonna invert
Retina images into words
Brain signaling, semaphoring the fingers
Yo! Yo!
You don't get nine months,
Maybe nine seconds,
Then mother-birth another verse,
****** poets!

Yo! Yo!
Remember your first real high,
That moment
No absolution, no return.
That moment
When you admitted, confessed,
to yourself:

I am
Forever forward,
A home-grown poet.
I am
Soul enslaved to words.
The alphabet - My oxygen molecules,
I am both,
Addict and dealer
A ****** poet


Yo! Yo!
So you do recall,
The exact moment,
God-spark-within, ascendancy gained
You lost control,
Wept words instead of tears!
A ****** poet ******!

Yo! Yo!

Sophie's Choice.
You chose writing over breathing,
Worshiper of the purest pleaure,
******* in deep the smoke-high of
Head-nodding discontented contentment
Stealing anything you saw
For to satisfy the need, the craven
Craving.
****** poets!

Yo! Yo!

Don't you're ever sleep?
Hear that the city, the state,
Gonna methadone your kind
In a special program
Teach you only language to sign.
**** poets!

I am a ****** poet.

The first step taken.
Admission.
Poetry is my default rest position,


My drug of choice.**

5:07am
June 12, 2013
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's tongues

— The End —