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I calibrate and exuberate when I bring my new level,
these girls look me in my eyes and lie to me they can't push the right pedal.

I wish I knew a girl true to the heart and not after an agenda,
a real love rather than the alternative such as Splenda.

When will I learn this love is practically unattainable in this crazy world, especially in this globalized Computerworld.

Call me pessimistic or just down right ugly,
or maybe I'm just roughly stubbly part of this muggy money.

I wish we were utopian and part of simpler times,
but this is unreasonable and not realistic as we live in lifetimes of nonstop wartimes.
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Your past, your romantic past, is a shadow. Like all towns, Port Angeles was a combination of rain and clouds, sun and mist, with a chamber of commerce, barrooms and boards of directors, the known and unknown. No one of course is completely unknown. I was known for my tragic love life. She had found another man, a backwoods man, living on the land but not above a night on the town, who according to her would wipe snot on his pants, a statement of poverty or thrift or anger against the niceties of society. All of us heated our hovels with wood but only the rich burned hardwoods, me and probably this guy were softwood gatherers.

            There were few aspects to my life. First, I can remember a nook in the kitchen of the house I shared with a beautiful faceless woman who wore a ring in her nose where I wrote and watched flocks of unidentified birds comb a tree for seeds. This particular day the sky was blue with clean pillowy cumulus clouds floating toward Puget Sound. I believe all the poems written in that nook have been forgotten by their author.

            Nights, for entertainment, I would wander the aisles of the supermarket, admiring everything and buying nothing. I had no money. The fluorescent lighting, clean straight neat shelving and floors, warmth and the fact I could identify nobody attracted me. I lived on cream cheese and honey sandwiches eating them leaning against the kitchen sink. Thinking go back to New York City which is what I ultimately did. Drove cross country nonstop three days and three nights seeing and feeling nothing.

           This was during the Reagan recession inherited from Carter. I'm unclear how presidents affect your life but good or bad, democrat or whig, alive or dead you've got to get a job, which I did. I supervised the living arrangements of developmentally disabled adults in what I thought were humorous contexts that gave no offense. They were beautiful and incorrigible having regular *** without protection. Normally harmless they'd sometimes have altercations with their neighbors. I balanced the checkbooks, paid the bills. Supposedly teaching living skills, I had few of my own as evidenced by my sleeping on the floor, I had no bed. One mature woman colleague judged me a short-timer living a useless fantasy about big cities. Still lost in my own history, still didn't know the calculus.

            I had a dog, Shade, black lab, leftover from my near-marriage until she realized I had no economic prospects, no interest in further *** or her logger boyfriend, and a complete inability to translate or imagine nesting and gestation. My homework comes to me in daily disconnected increments. Shade lived in my gray van, a Dodge slant six, which I could never afford to fix. Once the driveshaft disconnected from the rear axle and I tied it on with rope. Drove 60 miles on a knot. Shade was hyper and sad, both. He smelled bad but was a good dog with a lonely heart. When my wife who wasn't a wife finally found a boyfriend who wouldn't wipe snot on his pant leg they took Shade to British Columbia where I believe he runs free on a vast estate by the sea. I once beat Shade like a slave because he attacked a small dog out of frustration and loneliness and until I had kids and started saying and doing things just as bad to humans it was the lowest meanest moment of my life. The farmer who saw it will never forget or forgive it.

            Having confessed all this there's just one last fact to tell. The mountains were cold, the waters clear, deep snow and shadows.
www.ronnowpoetry.com
JC Lucas Sep 2014
Crushed to death
under falling leaves
Drowned
by torrential rain
scorched by sun,
and fades away,
and never speaks again

the sober simply sickening
sapping all my electricity
the waking under midday light’s
reflecting off the mirror tiles
I placed this all beneath me but
it always ******* backfires

Crushed
under a thousand falling leaves
Drowned
by a million drops of acid rain
scorched by the sun
and fades away,
and never ever speaks again

Shining black, incandescent
watermarks that line the present
and presently I can perceive
a personage, just above me
It speaks nonstop and slowly
and never ever ******* leaves

Crushed
under a thousand falling leaves
Drowned
by a million drops of acid rain
scorched by the sun
and fades away,
and never ever speaks again

crushed to death
and fades away
autumn leaves became a grave
drowned by rain
never speaks again
the undertow of passing waves

the autumn leaves became a grave
the undertow of passing waves.
Song, not a poem.
Kuzhur Wilson Aug 2014
Around 4 in the evening, I proceeded to Karaikkal, a Union Territory.

By the time we reached Nagapattinam, I noticed that the driver was tired and asked him to have a strong cup of tea. When he was gulping it reluctantly, I, who did not like strong tea, watched the cows walking along the narrow ways. But, the cows did not look at me. The cows I watched. The cows that did not pay any attention to me. I was a bit out of breath realizing how quickly nonexistent relationships were formed in an unknown Tamil village.  I lit up one more cigarette. I remembered the doctor in Britain, a stunning beauty, who prescribed that as soon as I found it difficult to breathe I should light up a cigarette. ****! When it is hard to breathe because of nonexistent relationships and when I light up a cigarette as an antidote to that, there appear row upon row of relationships of some sort or other.  

I began to detest bitter strong tea. I was irked by the cows that went along the narrow ways. I felt hatred towards their not so small udders. An afternoon dawned one day when I felt the same kind of vengeance towards udders. The blood stains from the udders that were slashed down emerged on my hands, legs, back and under belly.

Once again I felt revulsion for bitter strong tea. The driver sipped the hot bitter tea. I hated the moment when I asked him to have tea. I loathed the words that I used to say that. I despised even the words that I had kept in reserve to say that.

Then, I watched the people etching tattoos by the roadside. I wondered how it will be if I got a tattoo for myself.  I tried to recall how deep I was to get a tattoo done.

A person I liked.
A name I liked.
A place I liked.
A digit I liked.
A syllable I liked.
A memory I liked.

I felt a lot of aversion. Wondered if I should tattoo my mother’s name on my shoulder. I found it amusing that when I die people may identify me by my mother’s name. But, I felt sad when I thought that stranger women may plant their kisses on it. ****! I felt so sad.  I abhorred those bitter cups of tea and narrow ways. I lit up one more cigarette.  Then, I, who tattooed my mother’s name on my shoulder, started decaying on the spot.  Rotting with a terrible stench. The people, the cows and the goats that I did not mention before bolted.  Abruptly, the driver came and told me that we could move from there.  I felt so bitter towards even the bitter tea that was inside him.

Somehow, we reached Karaikkal. Yes, at 630 in the evening. Even though I had never been to Karaikkal, a Union Territory, I sat on the same chair in the same corner of the same bar. The bearer poured me the wine.

He kept pouring the wine.
He kept pouring the wine.
The wine kept emptying.
The wine kept emptying.
The wine kept unraveling.
The wine kept unraveling.

It was a Dutch woman who gathered me up and took me with her when I got totally unraveled. She was older than me. There was no power in her room. The way she washed my body in lukewarm water could have put to shame even the midwives giving a bath to babies. When I rose up sometimes and asked her name, she sealed my lips with hers. When it was repeated many times, I thought that her name must mean something like a kiss. And, she never spoke a word except with lips.

Unraveling wine, lukewarm water, the nonstop conversation by lips. Though lips got tired, I heard the murmur from my pelvis. She too must have heard that. She touched my *****. Quite a guy she exclaimed cracking a joke. Told her I salvaged it from the sea at Tanjore and it was some temple mast some sculptor abandoned. If it’s a temple mast, let the festival begin she said.

It was some festival.
Festival of festivals.
Black lacquer bangles, vermilion, ribbons
Hydrogen balloons
Spinning tops
It was some festival.
Festival of festivals.

A simile as washed out as a festival ground emptied of crowds. For the lack of a better one.  Returned from Karaikkal, a Union Territory, at some hour.  I dumped that taxi driver on the way. Not only because I was disgusted with bitter tea, but also because his name was not Thintharoo.

I can never again put up with a driver whose name is not Thintharoo.




**(trans by Ra Sh)
Thintharoo - it is also my poetry collection name. will come soon
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2013
I mashup me, myself, and thee: Part II

Excerpts from my poems about poets, poetry and the process of composition. In chronological order, from the earliest to the most recent.
---------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------------­----


The three poems went about their business,
Bringing heaven to earth,
FYI, even Angels can't be everywhere, so,
God invented poems to do his ***** work,
Cleansing souls.

They rode in~out of town on a prankster wave,
A cheering throng was not around,
But a singular poet saw, recorded the vision,
And thus, this nameless poet,
Below unmasked, unsealed,
Cleansed one more soul,
And that soul, this soul, as required,
Paid it forward.
~
Nothing produced from this place
where routine means the gorge tastes bile,
When surcease is welcome relief,
Where dancing on ice in bare feet
Is step one to ripping your chest open by your own hands,
The toxins thus released rejuvenated by salted air,
Can be finally be transcribed onto paper
And realized.

Warn them once and then begin, you,
Get serious, delve, with hurricane unambiguity,
to torrential words upon the unsuspecting,
let them taste the rawness, only the truth provides,
let them know salt tears so briney,
They will flee this place, n'er to return.

~
One day she intro'd me as her fav poet,
To which I acknowledged by addressing her as
My number one fan,
Which seems to have stuck,
so I acknowledge her as such,
And always add a polite, respectful, winking,
Yes ma'am!
~
Like this new day,
there are always
new poems

Like last night's sunset,
day's efforts reviewed,
a special light,
a yellowed marker,
highlighting a few deserving

Take them home,
kiss them goodnight,
rest them in the poetry file
that is no file,
but a large fabric box where
sewing tools once stored

How appropriate and
how happy that makes me.

~
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.
~
Have you noticed here

Each poet declaims his fellow
The better one, his teacher,
From whom they shall learn and gather up
Inspiration

Gonna run for Congress,
My first bill, Poetry-care,
Will make it a requirement that
All citizens must contribute,
Exchange once a day
To this peaceful place,
Even just a syllable, a single letter,

K?

~
Literally my eyes see words awaiting coordinating,
Poems flying by, needing plucking,
How a child eats his morning cereal,
His rituals informing, of the man yet to be,
How our bodies lay, hair unbrushed,
Tying us into a conjoined knot...

No matter that plain words are my ordinary tools,
With them I shall scribe the small,
Cherish the little, grab the middle,
Simplicity my golden rule,
Write they say, about what you know best,
Surely in the diurnal motions,
The arc of daily commotion,
Do we not all excel?
~
The ice of poetry,
glassine smooth
but
charged hardness,
hits you, ****** you,
unexpected snowball in the face,

the fire of poetry,
cherished phrase, a patois,
comfort food when
whole winter skies
swallow you bleak

mutual contradictions of poetry
savaging the soothed ego,
revealing the raging id

what's in a word anyway?

~
Please Pop, pick wise,
the life and lies, the faces and disguises,
I will need employ to achieve success
in the eyes of my reading beholders,
who own the liens on my soul
because of the promises I believed,
when you sang me
glowing lullabies of my future days,
how everyone would love my stories,
my poems, someday...
~
Place your ****** hands upon thy chest.
Let them melt thru and come to rest,
Inside, the battle ongoing, under thy breast.
Watch, eyes open, knowing, fearful.
Swiftly, with no hesitation, from within,
Rip open your body, exhaling the best,
And the worst of what you got.

The cool air rushes in,
Stirring the inside stew of:
Infected grime, shameful desires,
Secrets that should not have been exposed,
The ***** stuff that you alone know exists.

Contact with the atmosphere makes
Self-pity dies, blue blood turn red,
The TNT tightness explodes,
Ashamed, you have only one escape hatch.

Now, you are ready to write.

~
My life is on the boring side,
So welcome gents to look inside,
The surfed sites, the emails, hardly slimy,
But stay the fk away from my poetry!

Tis obvious from your midnight editing,
That my wordily, working body has been discretely
Simonized,
My data,
Googlized,
My poems,
Scrutinized,
A comma, a colon, a verb, out of place, capsized,
Little threads kept in door jambs, their alteration,
Your snooping presence, a confirming revelation
~
Where I write, here, all comes so easy,
Every glance a poem formed,
Every phrase a title to a poem served,
Every conversation overheard and those wind-lifted brought,
A seed, a germ, a word~worm hooked to the pole crook of
My finger saying, see man, time to get more ink and paper,
Go and catch us a few poems for dinner

The snapper weakfish word colors are
Running past my-by the thousands,
We will need a basket to catch but a fraction
Of what you see, more than more enough to share,
Only Happy Poems for all

It is this rhyming way I view the wold,
That is my freedom, is my-present essence,
How the poems come, how thy flow,
Peaking, I cannot berate, rarely eat,
Sleep a thing of the past (as you be aware, beware)
There is poetry in simply everything.

~
But if my aura be a comfort insufficient,
Let this surprise poetic gift awaiting your arrival,
Give you rest, from crying surcease!

For when the who, the why of me interrogatory posed,
Describe me in a brevity I ne'er possessed, say:
He was just a poet, and I,
Just, his lover, number one fan.

This truth eternal, never to change.
~
But I am open to learning, the arduous task
Of raising a teenage daughter,
After I have my head examined

Though I am just a bunch of eclectic electrons,
I got powers a few, like making life's happiness
Hearted happier, encouraging your forays into
You-know-what,
And when tables turn, a hasty retreat you beat,
For imaginary cappuccinos and poems we will meet,
Comparing notes on who felt lousier when...

But what I can do 100% is assure you
There is no lone nor lonely daughter extant,
Your voice not just clear but soft-edged,
For I have poetically adopted you,
Here and now, assuming you sign on the
.............................................................­line

~
Take these words at plain face,
and look not askance
at this fair warning,
for I am but a tragic,
empty vessel for you to fill,
you are the raconteur,
me, just a  
poet poseur extraordinaire,
street urchin, word merchant,
all my verbally, wordly goods expropriated
from the wind,  where your scattered thoughts
lie about, carelessly,
unattended
~
Guiltless in life, we but survived,
Hurting no one, no thing,
Yet, here we lie, ignored, unattended,
Yet, you fail again to see our connection?
You do not recognize us?

We are the shells, the husks of you,
Your poems unread, you labors unpreserved,
All wasted, for unless they are read, they die,
As you will too.
Some fast, by water, some slower, time-eroded,
All, ended, by drowning in the Sea of Who Cares!

~
What sourced this elegiac distich,
Too many poets, fully disclosing their downbeat, aroma of defeat?

The world is in a **** mood, not one of us, got nothing
Good to say, seems that love storms ripping hearts
With no trace of mercy, the radio has elected nonstop
Taylor Swift and Jonas Bro's
Just to make the point!

It is so easy to feel ******,
When the sun is unshining, elegant distich, **** me.

Thinking back, getting a good idea,
Found some long necked Corona overlooked,
Turn on the tv, pretend I'm a real cowboy,
And for god's sake, shut down poetry,
Good Bye Poetry, for the rest of the day.
~
once upon a time,
a traffic light rainbow,
stopped n' go, was a word design,
demarcated visions of spun sugar,
bodegas sold me
magic beans by the pound,
masterminded into cups of delight,
treasury's bounty overflowed,
now, dregs drain, sink stained,
as are my writing utensils,
my ink stained, us-less, fingers

come visit me, unknown stranger,
let us exchange fluidity, barbs,
a contest of kissing, eye lashing
wit ands shared vision stashing,
and together, once more,
write with our feet,
while holding hands,
becoming once more
poets of the street.

Only, come quickly.

~

But reading thy cries, an exercise,
Teeth-gnashing frustration.
It brings no relief.

So sad girl,
Write till you are righted,
May be it will snow on July 4th,
And tho unnatural,
So is thy grief.

Nonetheless, write me write me all about it,
Right us,
For tho snow falls, its loveliness,
Makes the heart rise up in gladness!
~
She brings me coffee in bed.
I propose a violin accompaniment.
Some babka, with nice-crumbly-in-bed
Streusel topping,
A concerto we could make!

Her derision snorted so loud,
The mollusks on the beach
From their shells come out.

"Good luck with that,
Put that fantasy on
Your **** poetry site,
Cause that is the closest you will ever get!"

~
For she will be my heroine for all time,

These words to expand with rhyme and verse,
T'is a welcome task, one familiar, but anew,
Each dawn each dusk, a daily trust, a love poem diurnal-birthed,
As if god created the world, but left upon completion,
With a grievous thirst, a new notion, he did burst.

He created the Eighth Day, for celebration of his
Most cherished invention, the idea of love.
This is where, the secret writ Eleventh Commandment occurs,
Love thy Poetry Gods, Honor them with daily verbs.
~
Officer...you should see me gut a

Poem,

Slice its belly open,
Sometimes straight, sometimes Askew,
Feed the gulls them
****** insides on the dock, by-moonlight,
Can ya cut me some slack?

Mmm, I see here in your license,
You are a disabled guy,
A **** poet ******,
Who often does his best work
Legally all alone in the HOV lane,
So I'm gonna let you off this time
Just with a warning!

~
We can share words, we can grant tiny easements,
We can weep with you unseen tears,
We can etsy you little homemade gifts
Like this.

That you can take and keep, and break out in time of need knowing full well that these words will not spoil nor rancid turn, cannot be out grown,, or torn, or rent asunder in anyway for once they are shared
They are irrevocable.
~
When you write,
It as if you write upon our
One skin,
For I am your tablet,
Your sole/sol/soul composition.

So stop kissing me
and
Write upon us.

~
This will not be the hardest poem I e're wrote,
But if there is no inspiration
For you to smote,
And armpits refuse to provide perspiration,
To source juices for a new creation,
Try this trick,
I promise you
No one will lick your ice cream cone,
Nor mistake you for Leonard Cohen,
But when you are done,
You will be High Priest of
Hello Poetry for the rest of the day!
~
You think you can write?
Then employ  a word outside your comfort zone,
Go it alone,
And write 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. 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)

~
Had myself forgot,
That a poem needs a
Frame of jungle gym sounds,
An aural aura resonance unbound.
Purposed to make the heart lift
Your ears say:

Say what!

It needs a tune,
An internal music,
It needs a lilt!
A cadence, that both
Marches and swings,
Even when'd urgent dirge
grief pours forth.
~
This Sabbath day you fog-hide
Your gift of bay and beach
So quiet implore, beseech,
Keep the sailors safe,
And your poets saved.

I ask much.
But I ask for all of us,
There are so many such
That are booster-chair needy
That I am succumbed, overwhelmed,
Enormity fearsome needs help even from a deity.

Small words, big hopes.

If you cannot grant it,
Won't wait for intervention,
Do it myself, answer prayers one and all,
Best I can, starting now with this
Po-hymn.

~
I used to sleep
With pen and paper on my nighttime table.
Nowadays, my iPad tablet rests upon my chest,
Not only does it keep me warn,
It takes my poems from within, Fresh Direct,^
Edits, credits, and delivers them to your door,
While I'm still sleeping.

Which is why they come at all hours.
It is also why they call them,
Love's Labour's Lost saving devices.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
**So I spend my cold, hard time
laying down cold hard verse,
Can't stop, cause it's my daddy's dying curse.

I am both: Addict and dealer, a ****** poet ******.
Ysa Pa Apr 2016
The singing of phones cut midway
The conversations that flow exactly after
The unnoticed change from night to day
The difference in context of everything that mattered

Now there was...

The silence of phones that used to ring nonstop
The ringing of phones currently unanswered
The mornings when it's impossible to get up
The middays wherein silence is heard
The nights when it's impossible to sleep
The midnights when eyes won't even blink
The day breaks that slowly creep
The dawns that felt like the sun was going to sink
The dusks wherein the rain poured
The fading daylight which was warmly gazed upon
The darkness of a nightfall which enveloped that unspoken word
The gust of air that continues changing from here on
The burning of letters that should have existed
And
The writing of letters that no longer exist
Regret for the words left unsaid and for the empty words said instead. Regret for things that weren't done.
kiryuen Jul 2015
oh, woe is me
forgot to water my cacti for five months
and accidentally left all my sentences hanging
I can’t stop drawing smiley faces with noses
and making rude jokes and laughing at them
my pet turtle is dying
came home and sat by him for a long while
his eyes are swollen and his shell peels
and still he tries to stay alive
I quietly watched him struggle to breathe
then proceeded to accomplish nothing
the sun says “ha, loser” as it goes down
the moon fades in on cue,
looks at me and tells me “get yourself together”
my mother prays about me every night
my father rebukes me every morning
I’m sorry I can’t be more useful
or bring more glory
lol did I just pretend to be upset because
I felt that that would be the correct (expected?) reaction
like I’m supposed to feel some remorse
to be indifferent, or not to be indifferent
that is the question
the sun is setting just for me
I can give up too
is it possible to give up if I never tried
did I try
I lay in bed and pretend to sleep
I’m sleeping so I don’t have to face anything
what do you mean put in effort
what kind and how much effort do you consider effort
dragging my body out from under the sheets in itself is trying
making myself some coffee to stay up at night is trying
gathering my books into a neat stack on a table is trying
oh, but you know, I can’t say I actually tried
I don’t want to talk until I’ve cleared my head
not like there’s anything up here anyways
God please grant me an ounce of common sense
while struggling with myself, I think of the smiley face with the nose
I’m guessing that’s the kind of expression I should be making about now
I should stop treating life like a bad joke
but I have yet to find something that makes me cringe that badly
or facepalm myself that hard
occasionally the universe tells a good joke
I slap my knee like a great grand pappy and laugh nonstop
sometimes it is annoying and meaningless
I sit in the shower for an hour nonstop
obligations glare at me harder
“go away I’m naked”
“so not only are you a failure, you are a naked failure”
I slap my knee and laugh nonstop
that was an example of one of life’s good jokes
I get out of the shower and into the bed
again I pretend to die
vaguely I recall
the other day stepping out the shower all I remember is
please forgive me please forgive me
three words tripping over themselves and mind reeling
watch out, shitstorm approaching
by habit, I panic
see the correct response is to climb out from under the sheets, make a coffee and arrange my books in order
don’t forget to look really anxious
I spend most of my life huddled with knees drawn up against my chest
praying for storms to pass and wars to end
7pm the sun will tell me again “can you not be pathetic”
and the moon will fade in on cue, saying
“you’re still all over the place”
Edna Sweetlove May 2015
God was tired that day
After all
Six days shalt thou labour
And on the seventh
Shalt thou rest
And he'd be slaving away
For eighteen days nonstop
Mainly because of the offer of
Double overtime
Had proven irresistible.

He'd written out these great rules
On how to live,
All eleven of them.
And God yelled out:
"Oy Moses, you fat bearded ***,
I got some tablets of stone for you
So move your ******* kosher ****"
.

And Moses came out of the pub
And picked up the first ten
But, being a bit the worse for wear,
And nine sheets to the wind
With cut-price passover wine,
He never noticed the eleventh one:
"Never accept a personal cheque
Without a bank guarantee card"

Is what it said,
And you can't argue with that
No ******* way.
preservationman Mar 2014
We will journey without a pause
You heard the term every reason for every cause
Let’s go into the anthology
In the small town of Soundville, Georgia
A place with echoing mountains all around
It also makes your ear feeling like its bound
Soundville may sound like nothing much
Try telling that to the citizens being a bunch
The town is about togetherness and being proud of their town
Be quiet for a moment and listen to that sound
All voices talking and and music all around
Soundville has been around for centuries, and more than a town around the bend
It’s their history from then
It’s the everyday wonder in thinking on when
Mining was Soundville’s biggest import
Football was the town’s biggest sport
The citizens think of their town like a resort
They captivate their town with the “Sound Of Music”
It’s the tune and harmony the citizens bring
It’s being together being the thing
Soundville being a reality novel with truth from within
Soundville being a country town where it all begin.
A TOWN WITH ITS OWN FLAVOR
Demi Ponce Mar 2016
At the start of the day, I met a boy
I didn't know why, but I suddenly felt joy
He looked at me in the eye and warmly said hello
Not knowing that in the end, I would have to let him go

That afternoon, we agreed to stop by a cafe
Happily chatting nonstop, while time was slipping away
With the mellifluous music in the background, we filled the shop with our laughs
Then an epiphany occurred, I realized that I have to keep this memory by taking a few photographs

At nightfall, we exchanged numbers and decided to part ways
As he went to the opposite direction by walking backwards with his hands swaying as a sign of goodbye, I gazed
At that moment as I deeply stared into his eyes, I felt happiness- it was ineffable and little did I know, it was just ephemeral too
Because then I knew, my love is never going to come into his view
( i posted this on poetfreak too so yeah)
Fish The Pig Sep 2013
Chubby quivering droplets falling from the sky,
splattering themselves across my skin.
Too foolish to look up from my computer screen,
from my technology,
publicity,
my box.
To see the many shades of moss green and grey
that had been laid like a blanket
across the city
overnight.

Running.
A compulsion.
Tight tank top,
shorts,
sneakers,
and gloves.
I run with my long hair down,
whipping wildly as I dash down the street.

Into the forest I go,
It’s dangerous they say,
There are bad people there,
But I don’t care.
I run through the forest,
Dodging trees,
Hopping over logs and ditches,
My heart beating faster with each
Ominous rumble of the distant thunder.

As I run,
An uncontrollable smile breaks out across my face.
1 mile marker,
2 mile marker,
3 mile marker,
4 mile marker,
of nonstop running
and a nonstop smile.

Fresh air,
With the calming scent of rain.
You can’t run forever though,
I reach the end and see a gate,
I could go on but the thunder rumbles ferociously,
Beckoning me.
Thunder is easy to ignore when you’re otherwise occupied,
But when you’re stopped,
The irrational fear of the distant booms take over,
And I run back.
4
3
2
1
out of the forest with the lightening and
beating of the drums
smacking at my feet.
I come inside,
Soaking wet,
I open my window and turn off the lights and open my computer to write a poem.
The power goes off.
The thunder rumbles kindly,
As if asking me to come back outside,
In nature.
How beautiful it is, this rainy weather.
How sad it makes me, to know that tomorrow
I will still be wet,
Not from rain,
But from sweat.

I love the grey,
I love the moss,
I love the flashing of lightening
Streaking boldly across the blank canvas above.
I flinch at the thunder.
But I smile as the rain comes down,
Breathing vivid life into a bleak world.
KrystalTears Nov 2013
Nonstop, all day.
You are aware a gamer's dark side,
not when they play,
but when they've died.

Can't stop, no way.
They do curse and yell,
not at what the other team say,
but when their own team fell.

I tank, you heal.
Noobs **** and everyone knows,
no need to make a big deal,
even if some player blows.

You **** stealed me!
How dare you take my guy!
He hacks I see!
How else could he fly!?

All I want to hear are 'dings!'
but not with this team.
These are the many things,
A gamer may scream.
Short poem to gamer's who rage,
I do as well...
GG.
Andrew Castillo Aug 2010
Asking for more
Attempting to borrow some time
Only to come up empty handed
Nonstop addiction
Unable to quit the high
A feeling to last forever
Craving to get one more taste
More, more, more
Omar Kawash Aug 2014
In a hammock
On the eve of final exams
There is a scent of caffeine coursed bodies pacing
the distances of Starbucks and the library,
an unusual sight at eleven at night

There is peace
In the fraternity- I think begins with a Sigma-
running around playing a vicious thirty person game of tag
Yeah, I witnessed that wipeout and it was hilarious

There is heat condensed around the height of brains
Struggling to realize dreams that require
Busy work man! It's just like six hours of nonstop busy work
The guy on the bench behind me whined out cooling breath of brown leaves

There is energy in the fractal jungle above
The towering umbrellas of Palm trees which grant me the magic of hovering
I see through waving leaves Orion's Belt.
The light pollution overpowers his body but
he reminds me that there is more in the astral world

Ibis scour the ground
Some would read the tea leaves
that bravest of birds has crossed my path
And I will survive the tests that I allow to define possibilities in life

There is closure to my left
Two girls in a hammock, bodies combined like a turtle in a shell
Only they know what goes on inside,
and all I witness is the harmony that the trials that students go through that unites
I wrote this last final exam season (Spring 2014). I decided it's worthy time to post it as my last day as an undergrad with my last final today. Cheers to the best years of my life. May you see the beauty in challenges too.
EDIT: Spring 2015 finals are upon students. And UM had the audacity to remove the hammocks that were so representative of finals season. Now, they have bean bags. This now feels more like an elegy for a time that once was. Ending my possible rant here.
David W Clare Feb 2015
I lived on the city streets of Bangkok Thailand for years, I felt right at home I know Bangkok inside out

...from the sukhumvit in nana klong toey to Khoa San road to Klong Thom market in China town to orient circle at night the most incredible high crimson monolith I ever seen to

Chao Phraya river near wat Sam phraya Buddhist temples to samut prakhon to Sam rong imperial world to bang na to on nut Tesco Lotus to

ekami to BTS sky train to Siam center plaza to Phetcheburi road to Pantib Plaza

I would walk for days nonstop with no money no food no room beat up a lot

knifed gang attacks had two switchblade knifes pepper spray wore wigs and barefoot in age old soot many kilometers on foot through the took tooks exhaust at the cost of lusting for Thai girls ***!

a kid in a candy shop Thai baht sniffed out by lovely Thai ****** they know how to thrill steal and **** a man 10,000 years old bold tradition consumes your soul

Sweet **** teenage Asian girls will ******* to ruin. Black and blue dumbfounded man taken down faster than a sandblaster can

Dilapidated old buildings all rusted.
Sidewalks all busted apart chased by dogs Siamese cats all over at night Bangkok is Halloween every night of the year especially in nana near soi 11-5

The era of the diamond Siamese cats that's the price to pay to come to Thailand!

Silom road explodes with colored gemstones and Thai gold chains to dazzle the girls who entertain you at Pat Pong and deploy joy at Soi Cowboy

Hanuman king God of the monkeys flys on your back to attack your backpack Jack

Sultry femme fatale ladyboys exist to emerge nightly sinister moves to take down the forang old man *** clown

Drunk bar man crawls around to eat kitty girls pink underwear so beware fool dog of the danger lurking at every corner don't warn her she already knows you wanna **** on her cute Asian toes

Signs all over read ... We love our king
He resembles Michael Jackson with a cowboy hat, and gold military jackets

I was in very good health from eating fruits water pad Thai pla mook fish and sangsom and Chang
I could speak basic Thai

Bumrungrad hospital on soi 1 - 3
Is the top rated in se Asia

I was tested as age 18 healthwise

I was not surprised

The environment is superb to health

Nice Thai people nice asian **** slutty girls to hang out with and more so much more
Age notwithstanding

Thailand is indeed...

A whole other world
Krong Thep, Siam became Bangkok in 1769...
Shannon Jun 2018
You told me you loved me,
You lied to my face.
You stole my heart,
And put it in a case.

You locked it away,
So far away.
You own it, you stole it,
It can't run away.

You told me you loved me,,
You lied to my face.
You closed my mouth,
Just incase.

You told me not to tell anyone,
You made me promise.
You made me quiet,
I still broke that promise.

You told me you loved me,
You lied to my face.
You stole my mind,
and entrapped it away.

You bruised me,
You hurt me.
This isn't the way.
Why did you have to
Do it anyway?

You told me you loved me,
You lied to them.
You put on a smile,
And a façade.
They believed you,
And threw my words away.

You told me you loved me,
You still lied to the rest.
I knew you were lying,
This wasn't what was best.

You lied, you pried,
You said you wouldn't do it again.
I cried, and cried,
You still inflicted the pain.

You told me you loved me,
You lied to yourself.
You said you were sorry,
But that couldn't help.

Stop, oh stop,
You did it, nonstop.
You hit, you bit,
I just wasn't enough.

You told me you loved me,
You lied, oh you ******* lied!
You could never love,
With your demons inside.
You're as active as a thief's night eye;
You cannot talk yet, but you still try;
You are almost always hyperactive;
Yes most survive. But I think you live.

I wish you would not ever grow up;
That you'd be a baby, play nonstop.
I wish. I pray. I beg. I even dare hope,-
But then, you were born to grow up.

Seeing the silhouette of you as a man,-
Inspires the thought of 'Emmanuel Pan.'
Maybe then you'd not grow as you should;
Just so your world would always be good.

Please don't grow; keep your stature;
I still fancy your un-nurtured nature.
Do not grow big. Don't even grow tall,
So you don't stop looking up to your uncle.

I wish you would not ever grow up;
That you'd be a baby, play nonstop.
I wish. I pray. I beg. I even dare hope,-
But then, you were born to grow up.

I really don't want you to grow.
But you'll have to, I too know;
So when you do grow up, eventually,-
I pray you grow to be better than me.

Whatever happens, remember this;
Life's a puzzle; you're merely a big piece.
Grow bigger. Grow taller. Grow up kid,
But don't you dare try to grow stupid!

Be cool. Be funny. Be you tee full;
But you should not be too big a fool.
Laugh. Smile. Cry. Dance. Its important.
But don't do it just because you want.

Play. Have fun. Enjoy life's benefits.
But matches and girls are off limits.
Lose yourself if you really have to,
But never lose hope or lose you.

Get in trouble. Get out. Get in a fight.
Yes! You heard me right. A freaking fight!
I, too, fought for that in which I believed.
How else was our Independence to be achieved?

Lie, only next to your rightful spouse;
But only get a wife after you get a house.
Raise anybody who dares to mess with you,-
Only if you raise your kids to be better than you.

Grow up. Grow old. Grow wise. Grow a beard.
But never grow above the wisdom you heard;
Like money. Love family. Have an opinion,
But remember to always keep it as your own.

Change your clothes sometimes. Its OK if you do.
But never change into something less than you.
Live. Be. Do. Have. Its all good if the time's right.
Grow up someday, but chatter once more tonight.

Keep Smiling
I wrote this poem for my 9-months-old nephew, Emmanuel
anna victoria Aug 2014
The night you took it, we were drunk off our *****.
It was a mistake. I should have never trusted you.
It was the best night of my life, and the worst.
I regret it, or maybe I'm just upset that you never called.
For you it was just ***.
For me, it was my first.
18 year build up.
You made me feel special and good.
All night. All day. Nonstop.
Joking. Laughing. Kissing. Cuddling.
You took a picture on my phone,
You said I was the most beautiful girl.
Shouldn't have listened.
All the things you said,
Been running through my head.
Can't stop thinking of you.
How can I miss someone I barely know?
I don't know.
I don't know anything.
I thought you would call.
You never did.
Now all I can think about,
are all my imperfections
That would make you not want me.
AmberLynne May 2014
Your control over me is insane.
Do you realize that the words you say
       jiggle round and round my brain,
pounding, pounding,
tearing at me from within
and I can't even begin to make it cease,
this tortuous game
from which there is no release.
pounding, pounding,
You really have no clue, do you?
how much your words affect me,
make me reflect on everything
and the effect is nonstop
pounding, pounding,
causing me to clomp to the brink while
struggling, trying not to sink deep
into the very emotions you cause
by attempting to stop them. The ironic
pounding, pounding,
of a few words, you have no idea
the consequence they bring
and suddenly I'm running,
bounding, bounding,
leaping willingly off the edge.
Mystical Misery Dec 2013
Running into yet another soft eyes and open lips
Trying to magically feel something more than what exists
Running into yet another guys arms that seem so genuine from afar
He really likes me brought me my 3rd drink tonight
He's tryna tap that...
Intellectual portrait that I have painted of myself
Running into yet another false hope of maybe this one is different
He can't hurt me unless I allow him to
penetrate parts that haven't been discussed
This feels so right
Running into yet another, "your the most special girl I've met" "wouldn't ever hurt you" line
Just to be spoon fed leftovers from
the previous drunken night
Or the alcohol soaked on a pink moist thick tongue
Running into yet another clear dream... (I can see clearer now the rain is gone)
Love songs no longer play because he has taken me to a fantasy land from Saturdays night rerun of a previous session
Picture perfect perfection precious pleasing.
Please don't stop because maybe you have tuned in to the right channel
Running into yet another guys lap saying I will dance for you and only you... And maybe him and only him.
Because words have become so cliche and I no longer can count how many arms have squeezed me firmly but have released quicker.
How many lips have accepted my open invitation to stay the night within
How many eyes I have let pierce my soul but to no avail,
they get what they want and dissolve.
No satisfaction, no guaranteed refunds of that stuff he left with
No mental pictures left of what ifs or possibilities of US being more than just lust
A must of endless considerations and my ridiculous thoughts of actually
Running into the same web of deceit deception.
So many descriptions of how I ran away from myself and have been searching nonstop for the right sensation that can stop the temptations and erase the emptiness.
Jacob Resendez Jul 2014
I have become a self absorbed monster
Living in two worlds consumed with each other
I keep my head held high toward success
But fall short when I lose my best

It's a cruel world to live in I see
But fortune without luck is free
I worked my way up to the top
Cause fortune without luck is nonstop
What is real anymore, am I in control?
It's a cruel world to live in I see
But fortune without luck is free

I don't need friends in high places
They're just a bunch of pretty faces
I'll be in a deeper hole than before
And no one can help me anymore

It's a cruel world to live in I see
But fortune without luck is free
I worked my way up to the top
Cause fortune without luck is nonstop
What is real anymore, am I in control?
It's a cruel world to live in I see
But fortune without luck is free

I've got a one-track mind
And a wealth that's just fine
I close my eyes and I see despair
Nothing else I can see to compare
It's a time for a change

It's a cruel world to live in I see
But fortune without luck is not for me
I worked my way up to the top
To find that fortune without luck can stop
I see an open door, I am in control
It's a cruel world to live in I see
But fortune without luck is not for me
* Note - Written in the form of a song
K Balachandran Jul 2013
Coiled golden serpent, furiously hisses from behind the thicket,
hiding mongoose, wakes up from its siesta, gets alert,
game of life and death, spying on each other goes on nonstop,
death hidden in serpent either surrenders or escapes now and awaits its next chance.
Irene X Chen May 2010
There’s a dark grotto
Under the sea
With shelves and shelves
Of bottles
Clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets

A carefully watched castle
The middle of a concentric series of impassable walls
Surrounded by a forest of kelp
With razor-sharp teeth
And then the narwhals
The narwhal guards
Armed to the teeth with halibut-slicing knives
Their three-meter horns
Gleaming in the moonlight
Guarding
All of my secrets

Skeletons, trespassers of yore,
Strewn about the seafloor
Bones picked clean
By the scavenging *****
No one can enter
No one can leave
The grotto with the shelves
Shelves and shelves of clear, glass bottles
All of my secrets

But as for the *****
For the first time in centuries
The sunlight warms the waters
Melts the kelp
Kisses the narwhals
Buries the bones and torments the scavengers
Clearing away the darkness
A nonstop route through the castle
Protecting
All of my secrets

The tendrils of photons creep along
Wary
Ready for a fight
The grotto growls menacingly
Unguarded
For the first time in centuries
But upon the first touch -
Light meets stone -
The sea shudders
Ecstasy
And in repayment for salvation
Out come the bottles
Floating to the surface
Bathing in the light
All of my secrets
I stared catatonic nonstop and could not pull my eyes away or scream
except for the great internal scream and I felt like death was upon me, or nearly so.
And my body asleep but my mind twisted and my eyes awake wide-open
and no dream this was but real things and then my thoughts put outward
and all these things terrible formed into death-shadows
and flowed down through the fabrics above my head. 



Flesh undulating in darkness that creeped
and I found ten seconds of courage to sit up and stare
at the wall as the rippling fabric became a thousand black snakes
crawling down from the ceiling and out from my dreamcatcher
that did nothing at all but release these terrors from the wall.

And I thought it was sordid wind that came in gusting through my window that made my sheets become like a mechanical sea
but it was not so, and these vile snakes poured out like *****
from some gaping maw above and went underneath my bed
and all through the floor to the four corners of my room
and then came together again above on the center of my ceiling
and murmured death-talk and horror-faces from the walls and ceiling

and even closing my eyes would bring nothing but flashes
of demonic children and things with no jaws or eyes
hollowed out and terrible ghosts I procured and almost choked out laughter because this was it and I've finally gone and gone mad



There was a man at my closed door wearing my jacket that hung on a hook
and his face was the face of a skull that hung above my door
and from the corner of my eye the man with the door on his back with the coat still attached walked with silent step toward my bed, and I turned to look at this figure
and instead of snapping back against the wall like all nightly visions should;
he stood there, and as I stared at him I saw slow moving black legs receding against the wall

but the horrors of his feet were ten thousand worm bodies and black leathery fingers of bats and crawling things
and my carpet floor was no longer static but a creeping madness,
and my body trembled as if it were being continuously dropped
from heights a hundred times over and great odious black
pillars and monoliths slid steadily up the corners of my room with arms
that then burst out to the middle into nothing but a smiling cheshire grin
and I could not move anymore and just stared until my mind went numb

and like the first sunlight upon the last fog before dawn, I awoke.
K Balachandran Nov 2015
She is spontaneous poetry, no need to be written,
a dam burst of emotions subtle,on what I float along,
a whirlwind at an unpredictable time of the season
looking for an intimate space to churn and churn and churn.

By now, I know this without her even hinting,
all her dark clouds will rain in torrents nonstop
in to my landscape, sultry, broad and tranquil
I am an open sky, a stage ready for changing realities
a cloudless calm now in meditative expansiveness,
ready to change from dark, cloudy turgidity
to it's contrast, white feathery fluff that's dreamy.

This time round, when she visited,she did lie naked
on my bed supine, looking at me wistfully for a while
in my mind's sky beams of morning sun criss- crossed
all the nine openings of my body tightly shut, I sat meditating.

But I felt her chaotic presence in the energy field spreading,
she hurriedly removed her clothes one by one,smiling
in the buff she alights on my lap,a butterfly on a flower was her,
by and by a sweet heaviness enveloped my *****, in union with hers

I hear the primordial boom of the big bang, refining as an "Om"
travelling sans any medium it goes outwards to expanding universe.
to the 1"Chidakasha" where everything begins and go beyond.

Her storm energy, Tantric, seeks alleviation of existential pain,
I hear my glowing inner eye whispering in  light to the far galaxies,
In one form she is so much, past present and future converged,
She is 2"Mahatripurasundari", great enchantress of the three worlds.
Shakthi, the feminine energy that moves earth, heaven and hell,
Kali, the dark energy, seeking sublimation through catharsis.

On me she moves like a tortoise deliberately,my nervous system reads,
She would defeat the hare and win the laurel, in yogic, trance I discern.
1Chidakasha--mind's sky
2MahaTripurasundari-the "queen of queens"supreme goddess
symbolizes the foremost of the "Dashamaha vidya"s(Ten great knowledge streams)in the Shakta Tantric traditions, which envisages
to bring in to control esoteric knowledge and power.Also called "Sri Vidya" represented by "Sri Chakra", a complex geometrical construct,
fractal, believed to be the source of great energy
Zach Gomes May 2011
On a hot hot day
nothing better than
sweet sticky rice coconut
milk a big ripe mango

That, I felt, was what the fly thought
he touched down onto my mango,
it was so sweet, pouring
saccharine sweat
ripe slabs of yellow smorgasborg
endless pleasure of sugar mango flesh
it seemed good to the fly

Across the water,
pressing over the mountains,
opaque threads of rain, like
slim tornadoes twisting ash into the clouds
moved this way
things never looked good for the fly

He ate nonstop, boozed up on mango
an unlimited supply of yellow stuff
he gained weight by the second
there was no point in stopping

the more juice the mango sweat
the stickier its meat
the more mango the drunk fly ate,
the further he sank into its flesh
he was stuck, flailed his stupid legs
in the air as if more flies coming
would rather help him than eat
juicy golden mango feast

he died there, I think
the monsoon would make sure of it
I tossed the mango, sticky rice
the styrofoam plate
thinking it spoiled, fearing the rain
Sally A Bayan Dec 2014
Five-thirty AM.
Hustle 'n bustle
b e g i n s....
........footfalls
running  u p
and  d o w n
the  stairway
......stomping
.......catching
..........fidgety
elevat­or........
...........voices
...r o a r i n g
s h o u t i n g
...c u r s i n g
.....f a l l i n g
......wavering
....an endless
........series of
..........sounds
..........scaring
......escalating
scaring   even
more.......then
slowing down
hushing..........
fading.............
....filling hours
....til footsteps
...............start
........returning.
Night  comes,
g­reeted, with
Tchaikovsky's
c o n c e r t o ,
bright  lamps,
muted sounds 
.......of spoons
forks....knives
against plates
...tingling dies
giving  way to
tea cups, wine
...........glasses.
........and when
dinner's done.
:::::::::::::::::::::::
when all are in,
when  all have
settled   down.
::::::::::::::::::::::::
n o i s e s........
....are no more,
~~~~~~~~~~
swallowed, by 
the spreading
........Dark.......
:::::::::::::::::::::::
Late nights.....
.....p e a c e.....
a  soft  silence
wall lamps are
mellow-lighted,
...some voices
loud.....others
vaguely heard,
some....fading
into..the..night.
:::::::::::::::::::::::
:­::::::::::::::::::::::
Shortly...........
the rush shall
re commence.
Those   heavy,
loud  footfalls
will    a g a i n
.......t e r r i f y
the old  ones, 
with  t h e i r
......fear of.....
:t h u n d e r:

Up.......down,
down.......up,
........nonstop
shaking........­
floors...........
........ceilings
down..........
..........belo­w.
::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::
The HALLWAY
....is a straight
Path, a  world,
With  its   own
Moments.....of
b l u e..s k i e s
.l i g h t n i n g.
..........and........
...r o a r i n g...
:t h u n d e r s:
::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***...we all have our own hallways,,deep within.***
Sam Conrad Dec 2013
Heidi
I fell in love with you at the age of 15, and I remember how I rode my bicycle
The 4 miles across town almost every day that summer, two and a half years ago
How much effort I put in to make the 40 minute ride over, just to come visit you

Heidi
I remember your friends and they were nice at first, until your best friend Jaina
Thought the word *****, was a part of everyday language and I realized
She wasn't even good for much except putting people down and going outside to smoke

Heidi
I remember the stories you told me about them and how you said you felt obligated
To take care of them, and that they meant a lot to you, how you loved them
For their silly jokes and shenanigans and just the fact that they were "******* badass"

Heidi
I remember when Jaina, Miles, and David were over one night I came for dinner
They just walked in unprompted, and ruined the time we had alone
I remember how you all laughed at me when David made a sick joke about my racial makeup

Heidi
I got up from the table and went to the bathroom to cry that night
Not because I had to go to the bathroom but because you replied to his joke by laughing along
And you even made another joke saying "But he's our token asian"

Heidi
I remember sitting next to you on your bed when we would watch movies all evening
But I also remember your attitude and the things you called me the whole time
"Asian buddy"

Heidi
I started noticing things about you I hadn't seen before because my love was blind
Like how badly you treated people, just like your friends did
Like how self-absorbed you were and how quickly you and your friends ego's fell apart

When you realized going to the corrupt Art Institutes for art degrees to make art was probably a bad idea

Heidi
You were having a hard time finding yourself and what you wanted to do with your life
Because you'd spent all your time in high school thinking you were on top of everyone
I led you on for almost 8 months before I decided enough was enough

Heidi
I should have left you early on because during those 8 months I tried to change you
Talk to my friends, I talked to them nonstop about you and what I should do with you
I remember how I only stayed because it wouldn't be fair to you for all the work we put in

Heidi
I'm sorry I hurt you but you hurt me too and as time went by I realized
You weren't even close to someone I wanted to spend any time with
You were nothing I could love, a proven *****
Sydney Victoria Sep 2012
You Used To Tell Those Little Stories,
To Help Me Smile When I Cried,
Once You Told Me The Story Of Aries,
Because He Was My Zodiac Sign,
You Called Me On My Birthdays,
Telling Me How Much I've Grown,
But Still You Said I'd Always Be,
As Precious As An Emerald Stone,
One Time You Gave Me A Jewelry Box,
I Put It On A Shelf,
Next To A Broken Wrist Clock,
I Put A Necklace In It But Really Nothing Else,
And When I Found Out The News,
I Sat In My Bathroom And Listened To The Box's Music,
It Was My Own Record Of The Blues,
I Tried To Listen To For Your Voice Pretending I Was Physic,
But That Did Not Work,
And I Felt My Heart Drop,
I Felt Like I ****,
Because I Hadn't Cried Nonstop,
I Can Still See All Those Pictures Of Me,
Hanging On Your Fridge,
I Wonder Where All Those Pictrues Went,
Now That You Are Gone
To My Aunt Pete, I'm Sorry It's Late:/
Four days into the book tour I came to realize I was on the wrong
one but that Harry Potter tour  is a wild bunch  and i was living the rock n roll lifestyle  but little boys who ride on broomsticks and  resembled Elton John  really wasnt my crowd.

The univesty of South Carolina had many things to offer including just
turning of age  young ladies  who wanted to get wasted and drop there standards amoungst other things.

But who did they want really?
Gonzo  or the mildley attractive  man Gonzo was trapped in?
Who gives a **** man  its like  finding a ounce of  of ****
in your mothers  freezer hey just say no to drugs kids.

The Gonzo had been booked hungover  and  in a semi coma
i felt like the elephant man  the handsome *******.
chics dig the trunk.
Why cant they love you for your mind?

But much like my virginty.
I had lost that at eight  when grandpa Gonzo took me to a brothel.
Ahh what tender moments.
Yes grandpa almost had tears in his eyes
Son I can remember when i met your grandmother
in this very same place   i should say hello to her.

So like a oversexed teenager  I continued my
my madness like a idot trying to run a marathon with his
pants around his ankles.

The room seemed  hostle but i brought protection allthough these
condoms  really didnt seem to be for that purpose.
But God knows where that microphone had been.

They set ready with there pens and  other writing devices
with there big words  and tight sweeters.
But i was armed with a wild turkey buzz and a asortment skittels
better known as pills.

It was a blur of  bizzar questions  spoken in a strange language
I had way to much nyquill  and ***** punch  the night befor.
But Gonzo  was needed  and what more do kids in a frat need more than a keg party and some hot oil  wrestling.

This place was like disneyland on crack.
With its nonstop party enviroment  and bar games
Class what does learning have to do with being in college ?
these young people had tripped and taken to many drugs.

So i bid my new brothers farewell yes I will
think of you one day when  I have a memory.
And so are strange trip  was off once again.

Hey any more of that punch left?
We had acquired dwarf somwhere along the way
he was plesant and  sang Milley Cyruss songs  
while dressed up like Brittney Spears.

Dellusion is a sad thing indeed.
I didnt have the heart to tell him  he was outta key.
Although maybe it was just a side effect from the punch.
Anyways untill we meet again.

Stay crazy Gonzo
dont let your kids eat paint chips  and always say no to drugs and loose
women   and always look booth ways befor crossing the street and never take a ride with a male dwarf dressed like britnney spears  

words of advice well unless there really good drugs  im just saying cheers  hit me baby one more time cheers Gonzo
T Jul 2018
I sit I watch I wait I hope....that she will finally realize that we were meant for one another
Like a puzzle our bodies we fit
My mind is gone because of all of it
The bus it stops at the house but I never get off....I was never on it
Its all in my mind
I must stop this I have to unwind
Woman show interest in me and start talking to me
I try to listen but I don't hear a thing....just her voice
I try to erase all the memories was it really her choice
These voices in my head....the pictures of her and I......sometimes I just wanna die
The day turns into night...turns into day...the clock it never ticks...my love for her and all the tricks......
Was her love ever real......from not what I feel
I want to hit rewind and start from the beginning
My heart it aches because of my love for you
I must really stop doing this to myself this much is true
But this promise I make to you for your love is what keeps me sane
So listen to my words so I do not do this in vane
I promise I will always be true for your love is the only one I ever knew
#for time cannot erase the love that we had
clxrion Oct 2013
They manufacture sentiments here
All the feelings you will ever feel
Excitement, joy, jealousy, lust, fear
Churned out nonstop in copious amounts

You are yourself, they proudly proclaim
Free to love and free to grieve and hate
Everyone's different, no one's the same
Embrace your individuality

Dissolve spiritual enlightenment
In solvents of religious appeal
Powerful sense of entitlement
From ideals of consumerism

Hammer sexuality into place
Treat with TV shows and pop culture
Spray orientations on the surface
Then plaster with ads of bare bodies

Touching scenes, lines from the same few books
They load it onto conveyor belts
Delivered to the sharp dangling hooks
That plant them firmly in empty skulls

You are an automaton at best
It's hard-wired into your system
Everything's the same for all the rest
In this place with their hearts on the line
Ree Bunch Apr 2016
My world is depriving me of oxygen;
as you parade around with your new girl,
and I receive pity stares from friends.
I play unconcerned ‘til I get home,
then I showcase all of my sadness
with my pen, paper and nonstop tears.
I’m going to use you as my muse
to tell you to go ***** yourself, poetically.
When it's over, but you still have those **** feelings when you see him with someone new!
Bridget Lee May 2010
"It's just one cut,"
said the sharp lady doctor before language
melted off her clipboard and the operating lamps
grew huge and spilled their bright innards into my eyes.

I lay on the cold tiled floor of the museum.
One monstrous cut -- the white shark suspended
above in a last hungry lunge yawns, belly open.
Around me what a wide-eyed fisherman pulled out:
old tires, whale-oil lamps, Damien Hirst, bones upon bones.
Damien sits on a tire, bored as hell. See the jagged edges,
he says, they pulled him into our cold afterlife
and cut while he suffocated, explosive oxygen flooding
his lungs from the wrong direction.

Later, the doctors showed me
what had for so long kicked and screamed to be out.
Liver-colored, swollen, wrapped in catgut, it was not
as expected. Others had promised ground seaglass,
poppyseed freckles, huge lungs like fibrous balloons
for flying or spouting poetry nonstop in day-long stretches.
Where were my eyes?
It was supposed to have my eyes.
Dani Jan 2019
Creeping crawling
Waiting stalking...
You sit there in wait
As if a planned date

Of which, I do not know
Why are you staring little crow?
You sit and watch beating hearts
'Til the harvest starts

I almost tune out the evil laugh
That you bellow from deep within your wrath
And almost forget where you reside
That is, within me, deep inside

Your jar of souls collected slowly
You take your time being unholy
You go into hibernation away from the watchful cavists
You do not mind though, for winters calm brings great Spring harvests

You feast and feast devouring bit by bit
You take piece by piece encouraging me to submit
Fighting the pain,
Fighting in vein...

Tearing me down, nonstop
As if I your crop
Little crow caws in joyous evil song
Release me from your grasp, I beg all night long

You come and go
And reap what I sow
Taking my strength and will to fight
Chomping down into flesh throughout the night

Released once more, you hide away again
I almost forget, but you have written it in permanent pen
You wrote "Never forget, sweet child, I am you keeper.
Sincerely,
The Soul Reaper."
Cavist: A hawk which is of proper age and training to be carried on the hand; a hawk in its first year.
A symbol of strength and protection for me.
With my hands, I want to erase 500 years of colonialism off your flesh.
With my lips, I want to placate your christian guilt and burn away your evangelic shame.
With my words, I want to travel through your mind spreading a new gospel of love.
All in all:
I want you to become your own savior
breaking tradition in little pieces and rising in passion as a whole until you can touch the moon without having to be crucified.

I want you to leave me if that's part of your liberation.

It is imperialism and not god that they worship.
Being touched by the holy spirit as they turn deaf to the cries of children in Iraq... and on top of that calling the poor woman of color who just had an abortion a murderer. (meanwhile their pastors and priests **** children nonstop.)
Begging for donations to build the next temple as people in intervention torn countries die of hunger (all of this while Bill Gates and Carlos Slim become richer.)

— The End —