"nob" poems
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore
the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect
children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn
the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge
harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light
cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Mar 9, 2017
Mar 9, 2017 at 11:21 PM UTC
hist whist
little ghostthings
tip-toe
twinkle-toe
little twitchy
witches and tingling
goblins
hob-a-nob hob-a-nob
little hoppy happy
toad in tweeds
tweeds
little itchy mousies
with scuttling
eyes rustle and run and
hidehidehide
whisk
whisk look out for the old woman
with the wart on her nose
what she’ll do to yer
nobody knows
for she knows the devil ooch
the devil ouch
the devil
ach the great
green
dancing
devil
devil
devil
devil
wheeEEE
10.3k
I'm fine and happy with what I got but envy always takes over my mind
I envy my peers because they live with two parents
I envy my peers because they are getting their license
I envy my peers because they have a bed frame
I envy my peers because they go out to eat every now and then
I envy my peers because they have found love
I envy my peers because they have clean shoes
I envy my peers because they have a fan in their room
I envy my peers because they have a door *** on their door
I envy my peers because they have a house
I envy my peers because they have so much more clothes than me
I envy my peers because they have money to spend
I envy the feeling of not envying
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 9:55 AM UTC
"- The Greasy spoon -"
I wonder if there’s canteens
in Heaven;
with cottage cheese that’s
quite appealing
hob *** biscuits
n darjeeling -- yeah;
Wonder if there's canteens-
in heaven;
Maybe beans on toast
or a Sunday roast
is served by God
the holy ghost,
n his only son is the one-
who pours the gravy;
yeah;
wonder if there’s canteens - in Heaven.
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
The great gaudy flage is screamin' blood in the streets
loose yawn of a gob on him
all bombast n' swagger
he makes a barrage of nuisance
channels through the public
and scatters a juggler's performance spot
lobs away his change hat
then, roughly over the cobbles
he hoicks a resuscitation doll
and stamps down a posing boot
on the 'defeated form'
an unprepared scoop of tourists
a pause for silence and begins a rant
a great performance
of well harassed combustion :
"i smear to god all the phalluses
[he roars, all saliva]
i smug to god
a full jug of uglies
tug on [makes the hand gesture for male ************
i **** off the forger
would slug it in the mug
if it ever did form a tissue oath
took a plug at some drunk straggler
called the baffled *** 'god-father'
and spate spume on his fallen anatomy
[with one hand he indicates the mannequin at his heel]
amen ************ !"
he bows
a long quiet
some people clap awkwardly
two police officers appear and hook him by the elbows
(it has been this show before)
Mar 11, 2022
Mar 11, 2022 at 11:38 AM UTC
No Values
just statues of accountants who could never learn to count
and mounted on the spikes,where business is displayed and laid out for the world to see in naked abject poverty
are chief executives and heads of lesser known departments who never meant to cook the books
but fell for fortune and her looks and took that chance to spread their wings
and now the wind that whistles sings
and passes through their empty eyes ,and flapping flesh drips off dry bones of arms that never meant to harm.
No charmed lives left in Holborn or in Chancery lane,where solicitors were in on the game of taking risks
and risks they took
another spike and one more hook for the fallen wig,who still seems regal but not as big as what he thought legal.
They bought but never owned the sky or stole it from the smaller fry who swam around the edges and the shadows in society
and we,
the ripped off,stripped off,sing dirges to their loss but me,I couldn't give a toss
let them burn and turn slowly on the spit
we'll roast and toast them,
let them boast then of fancy women,fancy cars and fancy meals in fancy bars.
These czars have gone the way of old
where bold men.bad men always fold in two
and the wind blew tears that fell to splash on piles of once extorted cash and though accountants cannot count
judges learn to mount the steps and put their heads in hangman's ropes and any hopes they entertain of clemency go down the drain along with
any gains they ever made.
Those who laid beside the wide boys of this world and opened eyes into another where they couldn't even bother to see just who they hurt
have lost their shirts,ripped off their backs,attacked by those that they attacked and now the axe is on the other foot where once a boot was kicked into my ****
so good luck you *****
I hope your bodies fall to bits
and you end up burning in the pits
alongside the others that have sinned
in the end
no one wins
the voodoo dolls of life are stuck with pins
and the devil grins and hums his tune.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 1:29 AM UTC
To see this old man shaking here
In rage at boys whose apple-throwing jeers
Reduce him to impotent rage and tears
Is to know Odysseus, home from Troy,
Battle spent, no Cyclops left to blind,
And no more Stygian puzzles to unwind.
The threats he hurls are hollow stones
Coming now from a man whose bones
Once cracked beneath a decking plank
As Scylla searched with serpent heads
For men to crush and swallow, dead,
But Nob'dy now remains to save the day.
The hapless tree whose apples green are peltering his home
Is now an oar, pole-planted tall a thousand miles ashore
As penance for the years of taunting gods of wave and foam,
And boys be savages unaware of what an apple's for.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:11 PM UTC
when stomach says: "you are told with erosion
that empty is to be filled."
to fill, to fill with what? everything with words because
emotion emotion, a feeling so because words told you so
for disorder to play with order,
but no? what’s between?
another morning, then.
later, then.
when things fall, they always will
will they always fall?
they fall willfully, always
when the spaces between teeth is not enough
to contain what’s oozing in:
the edge of a back,
the corner of an ankle’s ***
bile black belly,
no other place devours like home
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
i write from a dark crotch
of the unthinkable
and hot breath
to crucify and feed
with my ****
red ink **** pen
inside you
i'm a bathing delirium
chanting
a bloodletting poem
in sonorous
vampire hieroglyphics
that boils
and exquisite liqueur
oiled and drunk with her moans
she
a dropped fruit panting
Barbie tied up
waiting for a tower of *****
heals over head
a stretched flower
every hole an open mouth
just asking for it
a **** can be sad music
like a shower cap with a dead head
especially in the web of a dream
that leaves your whole body
a hissing ***********
*****
she she
poodled up
improbable modernist
on the verge
of awareness
with a dim eye
drooling for
scapula's torment
a ghastly sacrifice
beast up her gut
a dire mental construct
a curse of pain
for pleasure
reborn of shadows
yet a banana shimmer's
like a smoldering door ***
her name
seen
in the mists of Venus
like a Siren of sparkles
a sprawling tangle
and bright eyes blue
in a molten hold
broken and healed
churning blood red moons
convulsing a *** blizzard
bed of rain
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 9:58 AM UTC
Guep seeb do fug
Uptoob queev buh
Luft goo dub ug
Fleeg dahs luh
Obku *** qwuarsh
Fab go mud marsh
Me go fabroso
Egvar seeg lu
Xybahso
Imba go mu
Cabbo de
Ogg be
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 10:29 PM UTC
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. Looking at the red beaming numbers on the clock, craving the warmth of someone next to you but all you get is the cool cusp of air penetrating your sheets from the window that never fully shut. You opened that window and said you'd always keep me warm, and not to worry when I yelled and yelled at you about how it wouldn't ever shut again.
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. But now it's 2 am and my tears have frozen on my face because you're not here like you promised you would be. The faint silhouette gently graces my mind. I can still feel your heart beating from my ear lying on your v neck covered chest.
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. I should be dreaming. Asleep with your muscular and hairy arms wrapped around my pale skin. But you're not here anymore. So I pull down my covers and glide across to my window. Turning the *** until my fingers indented the pattern. It shut.
2 o'clock is the loneliest time. But I stay asleep dreaming of colors and beautiful beaches with glowing waters and warm sand on my back. I can feel the beauty within my shuttering eyelids.
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
Was so *****
Little Miss Muffit
Got her ********
and did stuff it
Right up her
delicious wet ****
Didn't see
cobwebs and stuff
On the *** end
was a big spider
****** got stuck
deep inside her
Men get bitten
and start yelling
She just laughs,
enjoys the swelling
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 5:37 AM UTC
On a cool damp night
the patter of the port subsided
drips of the cold rain echo
a captain ripe with whiskey
breaks the silence of the harbor
feeling his way back
to the flat on high street
navigating his feet on each stone
he muttered to himself
“left, right and then right again”
ending at a stoop
he found the *** within three
“click” the humble door opened
entering the dwelling
ready for the weeks pummel
he swung his fists at the inhabitants
especially the women, the wife
this night was routine
the smell of whiskey, puke and **** is familiar
but, tonight the mist in the air was different
his blood boiled with fermented spirits
his eyes gazed an emptiness of black
with a quick hand
reaching for a sparkle of steel
he firmed his grip and pulled from the block
it made a “ting” sound as it cut the air
meeting gently with mothers throat
with rage, his eyes stabbed with intention
holding the cold steel to freckled skin
his remarks filled her eyes with fear
and I in the corner, watching, listening, feeling and rocking
yes that was you, as a sea captain
and I was there
Apr 11, 2012
Apr 11, 2012 at 10:04 PM UTC
clad in a grey native **** cloth
he sat,quivering on a stool
with a aged breast on furrows breath,
that shook the folds of his shoulders
Now and then does he seems to gasp
about a menlancholys spit,
but amis his grey eye lashes
it pierce through what words cannot paint
He folds his feet and *** his head
like a lizard amist a bait,
but his vague stare hold a mist
which mystries cant be shook from him
What ails him so, the world wont ask,
but lost to what all eyes cant see
it lingers through the heart of man
that trode the earth with guns and roses
He breath in and expires in lort,
his thought search for truth in his heart,
he bow his head and close his eye
and found no peace,even as he sleeps
All rights reserved
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC
Just cuz my boss is a jack ***
Or cuz my mom's words are slurring,
I might say I don't love you anymore.
Or I might shower in water that's a degree above committing adultery with the sun, and a degree below my blood steadily starting to boil.
I can feel everything that's ever touched me leave me.
Lemme tell ya how I can turn a come love me into a don't you ******* touch me.
If my clothes touch me wrong
It's ruined.
If the nothing I smell is wrong.
It's ruined.
I'm a touchy shower setting in a different language on opposite day, im nights sweats, an ice cube stuck on the tip of your tongue.
All or nothing.
Give it your all or you'll be Nadda.
I honestly can't tell you if I'm getting better or if I'm just running faster.
I just know that this water is turning my skin into leather.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 3:06 AM UTC
I should have said it louder
so you would have understood
and your I'm sorry's mean nothing.
I should have pushed you further
But my bones were weak and hollow,
my veins were submersed in wine,
and the wall was so close.
Stolen in the twilight,
a few stars from my eyes.
They should have been closed,
locked away from your greedy palms.
Awoke with regret,
and a sinking chest.
Disgusted by the body I lay against.
So from under the bed
I grabbed my brown boots.
Without saying more then two words,
walked away from you.
Dressed in the outfit from the night before,
the walk back to my room never felt so long.
Walked up the stairs,
undressed from the sweaty mess.
Turned the *** and watched as
water poured out along with sliver steam.
Head first, so quiet and safe.
Like the one who is miles away.
I pulled my heart string
I heard yours beating in reply.
I remembered that
I was all yours,
and only yours.
I'm so lucky
to have you.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 11:25 PM UTC
I back track my steps until once again i feel cold pavement on my heels and the dewy grass has retreated to once again stretching to receive the sun. I bump into the same glass door, the *** still warm as though i had just let go if it, it jabs me in my side forcing me to acknowledge my collision as I face the transparent barrier to what I once thought was home. Its so smoky in there that I can hardly recognize the countenances of my old friends; greed, lust, hate, ****** drugs, envy. I shake my head squinting to read their name tags but the air is too thick for oil stone to sharpen and they're so busy till I realize they don't see me right there. staring. I want to say hi, tell em' the world is cool they shoulda' wisened up like me. All I did was tell a lil white lie but if you're like me, and you wisen' up, you too my dear friend may smell the crisp scent of the greener side. And boom there I was back with my crew. Formerly known as lies, my tag clearly now says pride.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 10:30 PM UTC
finding solace through
destructive ease
because I have never
regulated my rhythms
to a song that suits my mind
so it feels like I'm dancing alone
in a silent room
perhaps it's because
I could never find the volume ***
on my own life
Feb 19, 2013
Feb 19, 2013 at 12:25 PM UTC
Sweat rolls down my back in a hot white room.
A very large fan that blows nothing but more hot air.
My lights are off and into my t.v I stare.
i'm restless.
I cant sleep...
...I didn't eat...
....did some laundry...
why don't I feel clean....
I shower...
...the dirt on my head
...on my chest...
...on my arms...
...travel with the water to the trunks that be mine legs...
..naked...wet..
...free...
...content...
satisfied?
...I am.
I begin to sing...
...random words that a warm shower can bring.
my soap; My mic.
my shower head; My camera man.
my bathtub; My Stage
reluctant to turn the *** of my shower, I am.
but I do.
I step through the thick layer of steam,
that makes it slightly difficult to breath.
but I wanted to stay with my heat.
the heat of moisture and steam.
I sit on my toilet and enjoy the tropical atmosphere in my bathroom.
I begin to whistle an exotic tune.
I tap my feet to the rhythm of my hands.
now I've become a one man band playing for kicks amongst an island in the Caribbean.
salsa,
merengue,
bachata,
all of a sudden I noticed how warm and calm I was.
how happy and jolly I was.
how I felt so "irishy" and "springy"
I dress myself without drying my body and I stare into the mirror with a smile on my face.
I open the door, everything became dark again.
I put my dirt caked clothes inside my hamper.
my clothes felt damp.
I took off my shirt.
I turned off my lamp.
popped in a dvd.
and stared into the portal of entertainment intently.
Sweat rolls down my back in a hot white room.
A very large fan that blows nothing but more hot air.
My lights are off and into my t.v I stare.
i'm restless.
I cant sleep...
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
Sneaking out at one in the morning.
Not because I need to.
No one to see
nothing to smoke.
Not trying to get caught and prove a point.
My only reason is lack of a better thing to do.
My only cause is to not have one.
I turn the *** (ever so slowly) until it creaks.
It always does.
I push the door (ever so quietly) until it squeaks.
It always does.
I step outside,
leave the door open,
look in window,
make sure the lights are out (they always are) and close the door.
Take one step, two steps,
three steps, four
onto the lawn.
Look up at the sky, to the stars.
See Old Mother shining bright (she always is) and look left.
See Old Father shining bright (he always is) and walk north.
Down the gravel driveway and onto the road.
Check for cars, there aren't any. (there never is)
Turn left and walk up the hill.
At the top there is a field.
Check for bums (never there)
Lie down.
Look at the stars some more.
Pull some grass from the ground and weave a little cross.
Turn it upside down and laugh.
Wait five minutes, then ten.
Eleven, twelve, and thirteen more
Hear a door and then a car start.
Watch as the headlights as they go the other way.
Recognize the license plate as my fathers.
He doesn't stop (he never does)
Get up and walk home.
Check the ashtray by the threashold for cigarettes. (always a half one)
Smoke it.
Go inside.
Check for note (there never is one)
Get in bed
wait for sleep (always hard)
Wake up.
Wait for phone call (there never is one)
Commence life.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 4:29 AM UTC
Gray flesh sown and stitched to blue flesh
Staples reflect the silvery moonlight
The professor scurries about like a crab around the massive human-like Creature on the cold metal slab
The monster isn't alive, not yet anyway
The professor is hurrying now
To make sure everything is perfect before the time comes
Wires and cables run from the monsters flesh to an assortment of Machines that whirl and flash with color
The machines look like monsters themselves, far more scary then the one on the operating table...
The professor, my master, says that this HAS to work...
I do not doubt my masters genius
But I fear the monster I helped him build
From bodies we stole from the morgue where the professor works
He says that if it works he will make more
I do not understand how the machines, lighting and moonlight and all that complicated things work
My mind is too simple for such things
I simply serve my master and do what he asks
The monster will be my masters greatest achievement
The greatest achievement science has ever seen!
I know I won't be remembered, my role is too simple for that
It will not be written down how I cut up those smelly corpses
And sown the dead flesh together to make something new
It will not be written how cold it is to sleep on the uneven castle floor With no more then straw and a moth eaten blanket for warmth
No, it will not be written down that I was the one to pull the switch
No, I will not be remembered but the monster will be
The monster my master would not have been able to create without me
Me, his faithful servant
Me, his pitiful slave
Me, the sower of flesh and assistant of a mad man
A crazed genius, with skin as white as paper
And cold as ice, how my masters eyes almost glow as the time draws near
There is not trace of fear on my masters white face
With a wild grin that reveals his crooked tombstone like teeth
He commands me to do what all the others before me were born to do
I reach out my green/grayish hand and...
Obey... I pull the black cold lever with the red *** on top
The artificial lighting flashes!
The moonlight quivers!
The machines scream as if alive, as if in pain!
The monster writhes and convulses with life
Suddenly as if someone had turned a switch everything dies
The machines the artificial lighting even the moonlight is gone
Pure darkness, solid almost tangible blackness
And just as quickly as it had left all the light and noise came back
And there strapped to the cold metal slab
The monster lay still
The defeat,
The utter hopelessness,
The grief that now was etched so deeply in my beloved masters pale face broke my simple heart
And as I was about to take a step towards my master
Something, I don't know what made me look towards the monster
The monster opened his eyes...
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:07 PM UTC
Jack and Jill went up the hill
Tires, fast, pebbles flying into the night air, unaware of what's to come.
To fetch a pail of Water
Clear liquid, sizzling, burning as it rushes down the throat as if it were going out of style, hot as the poker that burns his insides and sears his thoughts.
Thoughts that buzzed around his brain and stuck like knives in flesh.
One Sip, Two Sip, Red Blood, Blue Veins. Just Pull the trigger.
Jack fell down and broke his crown
Sirens, one am,
MY SON MY SON MY SON MY SON JACK
And Jill came tumbling after.
Up Jack got, and home did trot
Blurry faces, a crowd, the cries, the silent sobs, the mourning, the miss you's, the goodbyes.
As fast as he could caper
Classmates. Too young. A loss. A tragedy. The boss up above was not enough to dissuade this young boy. Crossed the boarder, shooting range, gun in back, bottle in hand.
To old Dame Dob, who patched his ***
Wood. Dark wood, Red wood, Light wood, nails, ***** pound the hammer in BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM. Fates sealed, game over.
With vinegar and brown paper
Paper. A picture in the year book. A face, a name, another dead body. Crossed the boarder, shooting range, gun in back, bottle in hand. One Sip, Two Sip, Red Blood, Blue Veins, Stabbing thoughts, falling, break his crown, go up the hill, sit under the tree. smash the bottle.
Just pull the trigger. Bang.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
I don’t want to go to school or get a job
My creative flow and time are robbed
I sob
Just let me be a hermit in my room
Alone with my mind and its contents
My tomb
My lady sings
Of life’s purpose
And how it’s subjective
She write her letters in cursive
She sings
Of endless opportunity
Enunciating with clarity
Hitting high notes easily
The song
My mind has gone empty
The pond has dried up
Cursed with this dry spell
There’s been a drought
Oh no
I’m praying for a rainstorm
I dance
The music sends a message
And it tells me
What I should do
I’ll go back to school and find a job
I head for the door and turn the ***
I’m lobbed
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
To see this old man shaking here
In rage at boys whose apple-throwing jeers
Reduce him to impotent rage and tears
Is to know Odysseus, home from Troy,
Battle spent, no Cyclops left to blind,
And no more Stygian puzzles to unwind.
The threats he hurls are hollow stones
Coming now from a man whose bones
Once cracked beneath a decking plank
As Scylla searched with serpent heads
For men to crush and swallow, dead,
But Nob'dy now remains to save the day.
The hapless tree whose apples green are peltering his home
Is now an oar, pole-planted tall a thousand miles ashore
As penance for the years of taunting gods of wave and foam,
And boys be savages unaware of what an apple's for.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 11:43 AM UTC
the watch my Mother gave me
as an after thought
while I was jumping back on the train
ticks far too loud
I have to stop it
I have to pull the *** out
to stop time in place
but when I need it
I promptly return it to my wrist
and set time back to the present
and let it tick
tock
and let my heartbeat align with the rhythm
you are just like the watch
too much
too loud
overpowering
except when I need you
so I will stop the time
and freeze you in place
and hope that soon I will need you
and my heart will beat again in your rhythm
but until then
I dance in the silence
I have created by banishing you
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:04 PM UTC