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barnoahMike Mar 2012
Are things really as they seem to be ? ......He was trying to explain his vision to a friend,  who was listening with a   Bent ear,  that kept some of the Truth from entering into the ear canal and properly vibrating the ear drum.     Thereby,  making for a somewhat distorted message ..    And the "Stirring-Vision" was explained and detailed as follows:     "There was this dog I had,   that instead of Barking ,  it meowed and wanted out in the Middle of the Night.    And,there was this Cat I had,   that instead of meowing,  it Barked and it wanted to jump up on people and wag it's tail.        There was this horse I had, that instead of wanting to come into the Barn at night,  it preferred to lay in the Mud-Wallow.    And,  there was this Hog I had,  that instead of Oinking and wanting slop for food,  would try to jump the fence to get to the Salt-Lick..    There was this Rooster I had,  that instead of crowing in the early morning,  it let out Bleats and desired to chew on cans.   And,  there was this goat I had,  that instead of wanting to climb  everything,  spent most of its day in the Hen house , as if it were an egg inspector.     There was this Parrot I had,   that instead of repeating words that were taught to him,  simply called out .."Please Milk Me".   And ,  there was this cow I had,   that instead of  wanting to have a peaceful day of chewing it's Cud,  spent almost all the waking hours,  Repeating every word it had ever heard.    Then,  I saw this snake , crawling away into the tall grass,  trying to get away before it was discovered.    Yes,  there's something about snakes,  just always trying to change things.   Slithering away,  as blame on changes, goes to another as he claims his credits  !
COPYRIGHT  @ 2012       by barnoahMike         Mike Ham
Derpy Chip Nov 2014
How I got piggy.
Many people ask me how I got my pig, piggy wiggy. I tell them I got him at a farm or a pet shop or from a friend. But they don't know the real story of how I really got him.
It all started on a nice summer evening. The sun was shinning, the birds were tweeting and it was a perfect day for a bike ride. I decided to go bike riding all the way to the grocery store. As I went to the store, I decided to take a short cut through the forest (I've never been there before in my life.) As I went through the forest, I see smoke in the air.  I was frightened, thinking that there was a forest fire near by, so I went to investigate. As I got closer I noticed that it wasn't a forest fire, it was a factory. There was a sign that said no trespassing, but I ignored it because I wanted to see what was in that factory. I was very quiet, trying not to be seen by the workers in the factory. I was trying to see what the factory was making. I started to walk towards a sight that said live animals. Inside that room the was pigs! Not toy pigs, not fake pigs, but real live pigs!!! There was at least 10, but I was surprised. I was happy to see a lot of pigs, because pigs were my favorite animals. I was having fun just seeing them, they were beautiful. I stayed with them for a while until I herd someone coming. I hid my self Behind a shelf of books. I decided to peek a little. I saw a worker go in the room and bringing out a pig with him. I looked at him as he walked to another room. My heart sank and tears started to wheal up in my eyes as I heard squealing of a pig being severely hurt. After a few minutes the squealing stopped and the door opened. The worker came out with a dead pig head in his arms. I looked away as tears slowly dripped down my face. After that, a bunch of other workers went in the pig room and brought out a bunch of other pigs. I started to cry. When the workers went in the other room, I went back in the live animal room to see if there was any pig left. I didn't see any thing, so I slowly walked out of the room. As I walked out, I herd small oinking behind me. I turned and saw an adorable little pig. He looked like a runt, but I wanted to save his life. I picked him up and walked out of the room, forgetting all about the workers. As I was leaving the room, I hear, " hey! What are you doing!? Put that pig down right now!" It was a worker. I ran for my life ( and the pig's life, of course) and zoomed past a bunch of workers who stopped what they were doing and went to go chase me. I ran as fast as I could, and I decided to put obstacles in the way to slow down the workers. I ran past bottles which I knocked down and water spilled everywhere. I looked behind me and saw a few workers slipping and falling. But there were still more workers chasing me so I knocked down some barrels that were in front of me and I turned seeing the workers rolling on the barrels and falling. I finally got out with the pig still in my arms. Good thing there was a little basket on my bike, so I put him in it and rode my bike home. When I got home I gave him a lot of things to eat, a warm blanket and I made him a nice little bed in a large box that I had. I decided to name him piggy wiggy because piggy means small pig and he was a little runt. And ever since then, we had a lot of fun together, I taught him a lot of tricks, I took him every were I went, even on vacation. He Is lucky that I saved him from being eaten and he is lucky to have a special life with me. He is very smart right now to and he knows a lot of things and kind of acts like a human sometimes.Piggy wiggy is the happiest pig alive on the earth.
I love my pig
Nat Lipstadt Feb 2016
~~~

Jan 31, 2014

Victuals Victim


There is a contest this day,
that does not involve my P.S.F.
(Preferred Sport Franchise)

truly, don't give a good ****** who wins,
but that is no excuse to deny me
my victim status,
my Sir Sore Loser demeanor,
so poorly,
in season's long suffering
earned,
so richly,
undeserved.

A triumvirate of
Doctor, G.F. and battery
of medically intrusive tests,
have ruled on the field,
that but once a year,
a conjugal visit permitted,
tween my arteries and chicken wings,
is legally permissive.

there will pigs in blankets
oinking, demanding attention,
sliders and mini right sized,
bite sized potato knishes
(at least in New York City)
cole slaw juices,  
even a
foreign dignitary,
Sayyid Cous-Cous,
all lining up along side
the quarterback  
who will be slinging
'winging' honey and spicy passes
to his favorite receiver,
this couch coach
and today's impartial line judge.

This is my Super Sunday fare,
antithesis of a pre-Day of Atonement fasting meal.
where gluttony
is deemed
less than kosher

If insufficiently highbrow,
for all you poetic aesthetes,
have no fear,
this athlete gastronomic,,
victim of his victuals,
will prepare mentally
to reverse course afterwards,
by hanging out
with King Lear yet once more,
sharing a verbal tasting menu fare,
a recollection of a prior years repast,
this King,
an unrepentant Manchester man-fan,
who knew me too well,
and once condemned me,
after an historic NY Giants Super Bowl celebratory,
sadly,
all too many years ago,
as follows:

"A knave; a rascal; an eater of broken meats;
a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited,
hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave;
a lily-livered, action-taking knave, a whoreson,
glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue;
one-trunk-inheriting slave;
one that wouldst be a bawd,
in way of good service, and art nothing but
the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pandar,
and the son and heir of a mongrel *****:
one whom I
will beat into clamorous whining,
if thou deniest
the least syllable of thy addition.”


― William Shakespeare, King Lear

~~~

Feb. 2, 2014

My leash is on,
I am to be walked


ad melius parare hominem,
to better prepare man,
before the coma of wings and a super sized
spectacle
tackles, invades and overtakes,
his nation's soul.


by the East River
will I be perambulated,
following 
each lying-down,
pedestrian drawning of a chalk figure,
directing the course
of a river walk
drawn and quartered
just for me.

chatting to the gulls
re the river's latest delicacies,

comparing my upcoming menu
for overlapping interest,
while praying the bicyclists,
on my body,
have tender mercies.

because I will,
all the walking while
be silently recording poems,

to tribute the international nation
of poets and the
global sport of
poetry,
that knows no leagues,
or geographic
delineations.

~~~

Feb 5, 2014

leftover chicken wings and other love nonsense

the woman disregards
what's best for me,
instead, gives me with the
kindest of disregards,
what's best for me,
for this is the kindness
that hallmark stamps
upon the softened heart,
the long lasting kind
of kind

before your childlike
tap tap attention away-wains,
bring you this,
a treatise,
on leftover chicken wings
and other nonsensical
finger food additions,
purposed
to inspire, to find innovation,
in expressing, reclaiming and newly exclaiming
that miscreant four letter word,
£0V€
that appears in those unsilent majority,
99% of them, other entrants
the Bohème poèmes,
residing in our Mr. Roger's neighborhood

in some poem writ recent,
poet pontificated,
that the most overused words, yes,
those abused three,
(duh, I love you)
degraded by overuse,
lost their poetic juice
thru constant repetition,
almost being nearly boringly indecent,
even when
boldly italicized

the impact upon the reader
lives in the lies in the realm of
"oh yeah, that's nice"

far, far better
to be best in show,
deduce how renewed,
to meaty demonstrate
rather than
insistently remonstrate,
in newer ways,
every day
that grade A choice
sentiment

to say, par example,
that serving day old chicken wings means,
well,
you know what...

Some get tea and oranges,
me, I get cherished
when our repast is
twice recast,
when she feeds me
leftover chicken wings,
both kinds,
spiced and honey
that come all the way
from her heart

so, now do you know why
Silly
has two L's?

Correct.
(answer: lucky in love)

for the luck-river-runs
lie just neath
the silliness currents swirling,
where kissing knuckles unexpectedly,
******* the exhausted,
tucking them in,
going out for emergency ice cream
in the midst of a
polar vortex,
recording the game to wee hour watch later,
so she may hang with the notorious outlaw
"Downtown Abbey Gang,"
watching at the
proper English place and time,
leaving the celebrating of life's  leftovers,
for the morrow sup,
with chicken wings and 0
other things
reheated,
and other heartfelt,
but unhealthy,
warm heartening
food additions

that folks,
is how you write
a poem in deed,
one that will be returned to you
sevenfold
in reads

when you want to explain how,
you can, truly, sigh,
you know,
love another...
employing with decoying,
sinful, leftover chicken  wings
then you too be mastering,
the poetic life
of sonnet and song

~~~
all three posted here on the specified dates and modestly edited,
on this day,
in anticipation of a winged revival
this hallowed eve of
two seven sixteen
Guy Workman Jan 2010
What if...
Cows and pigs could fly?
Riding the breezes way up high?
Like four-legged gas bags
grazing the clouds.
Mooing and oinking
as they float all around.
But one thing I’m sure
I would not like to see.
Is one perched on a limb,
right above me.

© 2000 Guy Workman
Dorothy A Jul 2010
Here comes Mr. Wolf
trying to pull the wool over my eyes
but those fangs are protuding
from underneath your disguise!

Hey, old carnivore buddy!
I'm not a little lamb
So don't come sneaking about
when I got a shotgun in my hands!

Dear Mr. Wolf
Please know it is a late hour
Came back another day
My heart's a tough one to devour!

You can't have my grandmother, either
You go before it's too late
I'd rather shoot off your hind end
then end up on your plate!

Mr. Wolf, you creature of trouble!
Why are you in sheep's clothes?
All decked out in innocent finery
but those pointed ears and that long nose!

Will you huff?
And blow my world down?
Will you puff?
And level my house to the ground?

You can huff and puff
and do that all day
but I'll be the one
to blow you away!
  
Oops, wrong fairy tale!
Those little oinking hogs, three
Your sure have an appetite
For anything that looks tasty!

Go find a rabbit to chase
or in the hen house for a chicken
Don't stand in my doorway
with your chops a'lickin!

I know Mr. Wolf
It's been a while in between meals
But I'm not easy prey
I'm not so easy to steal

Hey, I might be the famous girl
in the red hood
But I'm not all that wholesome
I'm not all that good

I'm a girl of the twenty-first century
Not fainting and weak, but tough
Sorry you could not get what you wanted
I'm not so sweet and accepting, not enough!

Tail between his legs
Mr. Wolf finally retreats
regretting that it's not like the old days
when it would be easier for a meal to eat

Wow!  That was a close one, the scared little girl said
That old critter didn't know the real  me
I wore my cape and hood like he wore his wool
shielding my trembling so he'd leave me be!
Amy Waters Jun 2014
The buzzing of the bees,
The flitter- twitters of the butterflies,
The cuckoo of the roster and
The oinking of the pigs.

The ringing of the doorbells,
The beeping of the alarm,
The fizzing of the soft drinks and
The sizzling of the hot oil.
Onomatopoeia
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2015
why is the recognition of genius always a recognition of it taking place in kindergarden? i masturbated before i could produce *****, i taught a boy to do it too, i can tell you the male opera is purely muscular, i don’t know how the un-automated thought / soul was attached to explaining the futility of life as the futility of ***** seen without “motherly love.” i squeeze in white, red and ***** from my body, that’s not even the parallels of the russian flag, but it’s what i am in sentence. i yanked the noun now, but i was yanking the thing before it became a noun and a cognitive calculation used / unused in candlelight on friday’s expectation exasperated: bedded but not wedded. cheat philosophy using grammar, grammaticised is also philosophised.*

i speak my vanity sometimes,
no wonder i grasp
the root of ferns with care
to water them into acknowledging
a belonging in salzburg
when nothing was cherished there -
so took to making london a symphony,
no. 4 in a# and new year's eve:
but i always liked oinking second names and third names
with a confirmation of the church to make
white napkins purple velvet...
to avoid the idol hammer mush and the... lucky *******...
deciphering spies of the crossword.
Translated by Przemyslaw Musialowski 10/5/2019

Sitting on the perch the rooster boasted:
soon the king of swimmers I'll be
and laurel wreath I will get:
Cos the champion of champions I am in this respect!
The hens, excited, clucked in admiration,
small yellow chicks silently listened in awe,
oinking happily were the piglets,
and the ducks? Like crazy they laughed!

Wieslaw Musialowski 10/15/2001
Friends, I am asking for your understanding, because all my translations must be proofread and corrected. Poems are hard to translate (even in free verse translations). The original is rhymed. Regards.
kt mccurdy Mar 2016
take me to the slaughter house
and behead me like the
pig that I know that I am
—raw and oinking,
squealing with gluttony
and delight

and shame:
the ugly ******* who
roasts me on an open flame;
licking my belly, large
and content and
although I attend church,
I never once prayed
for the body of a sparrow, this was always just
the direction in which I flew

I pray to be devoured:
finished with
licking lips & extended
bellies. I ask of you to eat me &
then never think of
my taste again
jeffrey robin Oct 2015
.


& Every Single

******* day

We wake up

And act out some worthless ******* drama

That is even more stupid

Than the one we acted out yesterday !!

( hence the term

" **** for brains "

Was created to describe us )

••

Every fuckingly ugly day

Some ******* ugly " news guy "

Tells us what some OBVIOUSLY

phony ******* dressed in some pig suit

Is oinking on about

Some presidential election *******


And Muslims and Christians and Jews

And other non - existant entities are imagined

In some non - existant reality

To be doing


While we listen to some *******

So - called music tell us

That life is to  be surrendered to some ******* OTHER

PERSON
who says

I LOVE YOU

( like a politician or priest )

And we

( obedient zombies )

Give up our true sense of self
And start fornicating

Till madness and suicidal notions

Overwhelm us

and we go vote for something

Or choose  someone to own & control us

Or take some drug to own and control us

So we can make this DAY

even more ******* stupid

Than YESTERDAY !

<>

when you understand this you

Can start it be free

When you are free you can start

To be human

//.//

You can start to LOVE whenever you want
Andrew Rymill Dec 2018
I think that I shall never see
A sight as strange as a flying pig .

A winged pig that snout is sky-wised pushed
Against the earth’ fantastic slopping roundness

A winged pig who may fly all day,
And lifts whimsicality toward higher climes;

A pig that flutters in the icy air
A flap of wings and oinking there ;

Upon whose flight our imagination ascend
Our imitations in inward horizon up-sweeps logic .

Fall guys like me write poems,
But only metaphors like flying pigs

Can rise in ink stained skies and barnstorm
the very gates of eternity with winged couplets.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
somehow drunk on language: a jazz impromptu...
nothing is ever to be orchestrated
or read from a script...
    
               and drinking besides...
               a manifesto on the sly?
               i hardly think: or rather:
               i hardly want to...
               compose one...

but i am sure to find some freedom... it's not
that much... it will do: working from the confines
of a dickensian paragraph is all the rage:
of all - but not these days, to be exact...

crumbs from the table of "muse"...
   it's a low-hanging fruit...
   something of the sort of worth than can only
   be worth: merely passing the time...
    by the mortal "adventure" circuit of events...
   this is me: not being present when
   beer, or flour... or ketchup...
   or mayonnaise... or the method of frying
   using oil... or poaching an egg...
   or the litany of respective spices
   being used in a curry...
  something grand... the moderns and their:
darwinistic slyly sliding into every narrative:
ideologues of darwinism...
who are they?
the history of man...
a back and forth:
starting with / from today...
   all the way back to... primodial times...
hunters: we were...
gatherers: we were...
foragers: oh for ****'s sake: WE WOZ!

i'm tired of the monkey veil...
               at least under the iron curtain...
something of freedom trickled through
the sieve, the cracks...
      where to? given this silicon curtain:
freedom on... zee fekkin mond?
apparently very little "history" happened:
or has had to happen...

there's only now: the 20th century...
   and then... nibbles of the 19th century's zenith
of... thomas ddison and george westinghouse,
alexander bell...
       but prior to all that...
the 19th century inventors and pioneers...
the 20th century pop culture...
all those ignorant ***** prior to the grand: "US"...

when darwinism: which is an ideology...
goes beyond biology... and... like leftism...
like communism... spreads its tentackles
into all things unattached with it...
i can hardly see a consolidation argument:
an omnipresent "needle work thread-through"...
am i in denial or do i simply think that
darwinism has robbed history of time...
as a linear motivation for moving forward:
by a poppy seed's volume per year...
on one's knees: up to climb mt. megiddo?

i am pretty sure darwinism...
        doesn't have the capacity to dictate
a branch of history that stresses its presence
via etymology -
how... the word cool: is currently out
of vogue... and in decline...
               back to the reality of:
having a cold beer...
           which is cool... because a room temp.
beer is... choice:
bad-manners... crass... puke-juice...
and some others i'm tired to conjure...

  but this jumping from: primodial man:
to the current, modern man...
and leaving no traces for the middle-men...
a philip augustus of france: the capetian...
      
     pompeii: circa 70ad...
                 sometimes the gods would visit...
hermes trismegistus...
       because it was: so...
                   then again:
the darwinistic historogical reflections are
a bit like saying: we've been hoarding...
there's no brain without a fever to store all
the past claims of vanity...
but a complete whitewash...
a blank slate... to work with barely nothing...
and to dress it up to...
the language and fashionable attire...

    it's like jumping from the big bang:
a lot of banging happens in a vacuum...
              oh yeah... you can hear a needle drop
in a vacuum of space...
what a name: genesis: big bang...
big hole bang black: is the way forward...
let's breed us a middle-ground of
the copper / cinnamon royalty...
                     i start from the north...
you start from the south...
we're bound to create a new equation
for where the equator should be...
on the 23.5°N line...
that story: all out of africa...
                    who brought the albinos?!
but do you come across a copper cinnamon
people quickly?
   it's mongrel of... black words on white paper...
there's even a name for it... tropical:
and cancerous...
    because you were never to witness...
what happens...
when there's a first investment in mixed-race
coupling...
   come the second generation and the bleaching
is continued:
               there pops up a curiosity:
like afghani blue eyes...
              
perfectly matched-up insomniac journalism
and darwinistic historiology...
   oh: everything that came prior...
insignificant...
  but i am sure i wasn't there... when...
flour first came into "being" and when eggs
were first harvested for the mass production
of cakes... and when there came about
a domestication of a mountain goat...
or how the cow decided: two stomachs best...
and a... digestion process that...
well: it's pretty much an imitation
of that of a fly... which is why: let man conjure
up elves, orcs... and let the gods mind
conjuring up: elephants and... sloths...
and... the man who invested in trans-genderism:
consciously ingested a tapeworm embryo...
to feel: what a "foetus" would feel like...
what is the tapeworm... if not the placenta
without a mouth?
                      
    islam and hair... though...
               is hair all, that?
                   what about: the manic pixie haircut...
tomboyish... slanting almost shredded
in look...
                  what about:
a fly in a champagne flute...
    or... there's a hair in my soup!
       i know that some people react to hair...
in soups... with... a... 'get it away from me!
poltergeist! poltergeist!'
          hair... long hair... does it have
to be about hair?
   i don't seem to be lacking in this grace...
                               but a perfect skin...
   oh sure... said the bearded-lady...
or the french: au naturel propagators...
   but why is fair such a must: must... fancy?
was there this 6th century affair for bad
teeth as there might have been for...
greasy wigs?
            
                        now wouldn't wearing
a hat like a hebrew might wear a kippah...
notably in those 1950s movies...
    and prior... to have to be always attired
with some headgear...
                and... the trousers whereby...
they reached up... to the mid-torso...
     and would never be... worn like today...
under the bellybutton...
  
   hair... hair in my soup = there's a fly in my
champagne flute...
   i'd probably gag less at the fly...
     spawn of the disinfecting maggot brains
that would sooner feed on dead-flesh
than...

   maggot bullets for every zombie apocalypse...
a maggot bazooka...
maggots grown as g.m. crops...
fused with... piranha d.n.a. branches so that...
they could bite exponentially: quicker...
like jigsaws for jaws: or
                   super-slurper-vacuum openings...

this menacing: over-arching... shadow of time...
if there's no past worth to remember:
or its picked-and-mixed like penny sheets
or like extracts from the goodbook
for the apologists...
                                        but talk about...
the time it takes to boil a litre of water...
and the time it takes to... produce a bottle of wine...
jumping down from a tree:
huddling in a cave...
coming from the ***-side of Versailles...
then moving into... a communist concrete
chicken-shack...

                 and now:
journalistic-insomnia...
                                and... the forgotten fire
with exception to the candle:
               U.V. and poltergeists of neon...
always to be given... reiterations of reality...
while also... attempting to digest...
a thinning ice of fiction: narrations per se...
      
      i call for the federation of niqabs
and foreskins...
              at least a ******* is that sort veil:
that veils the least...
there are those ***** hairs
i call a beard...
and come: the story of the moon...
and there's artificial lightning:
i can actually compete with mel gibson's
"gibbon"...

            otherwise for me: the niqab of the soul...
or: why is he so: "ouch-tistic" rummaging
with his schizoid eyes:
averting the look of what's become:
the mini-skirt: perpetuated *****...
if only i had lived to have lived:
an aborted foetus...

    thank god for bulgarian prostitutes!
than god for bulgarian prostitutes!
a whole lot of them that just want
to ****!
the double-twist of: there's a ******
tux for every uncircumcised male: waiting...
liberal socialist democracy has:
zilch on the matter...

i'm still more bothered about how
darwinism made its plug-hole manoeuvre...
an apple a day: keeps the doctor away...
a poem a day: keeps the psychiatrist at bay...
for such advances in medicine and science:
that these branches still allow
sadists armed with pharmacological weapons:
calling the brain a... chemical soup...
i am not that much half-... Brian ist tod...
but i'm also hardly the
cucumber schumacher...
                 when skiing: just because:
and the snow forcaste is like what?
a burning tire exercise?!

                    if i was truly angry: i wouldn't be writing...
to invest in a boxing duvet wrapped up
in clingfilm... not my thing...
i like to see anger... evaporate at my fingertips:
rather than clenched into a fist
for a knuckle arithmetic...

how can i become: silly / angry about
english girls groomed and gang-***** by pakistani
men...
   remember: i'm the abortion that didn't
happen that somehow wrote this:
i wouldn't be touched: or ****** or...
                    all because: this one time...
at band-camp... there was a girlfriend and i
should have known better...
and for all i know: roulette and blackjack...
and if not mine...
then his... and that's 5 children squeezed
out from her ****: when i would have
advised for a caesarean section because:
a toddler's head would not be anything:
quiet close to... my ***** envy of...
a 12" **** of a roach...
and a kim kardashian ***...
which would be necessary...
                   to... wade through all that
gelatin bubbling and trembling!

my ideas concerning homosexual ***:
thank you, the kiss was great
is the gaybar...
but... i am confined to...
enjoy taking a ****...
esp. diarrhea consistency type:
i sometimes catch myself with an onomatopoeia
of a groan...
    something is always supposed
to come out... rather than in...

i'm still not angry... if i weren't an abortion...
then i'm expected to be...
eyes-darting autistic...
hardly able to read into
a physiognomy...
   i must be: unable to: interpret a smile...
i am drying up on finding new music...
so i must be outside the compensation
parameters of an "in-crowd"...

                i have to... most probably...
start working a genesis with a niqab...
or i have to make donning sunglasses
mandatory for men...
like... oh god: don't invite stiching
the eyes shut and the cenobite Butterbite...
what's a butterbite?
a butterbite mistakes oral *** performed
on a ******* for an oyster...
sooner: rather than later...
the **** becomes the oyster...
the oyster becomes a tulip...
the tulip becomes a slab of butter!

because: we're expert at this...
schumacher is still a ******* cucumber...
and it's not like, death:
this instant... a tweet...
or a telegraph...
it's a bureaucratic "backwards and forwards"...
watching paint dry...
or catching a snail on the nod...
an itching spider without a web:
a very abled... sportartenspinne-mann...
     spandex galore: clue?

hell... i was thinking about...
how more agile:
when darwinistic ideology would come
to ruffle the feathers and sieve...
and what became of existnetialism...
headaches and minor indigestion faults
from the 19th century: Denmark
would: or could become more apparent...
ruffle the feathers...
pluck them from a chicken...
poach it for a soup...
       perhaps roast another one...
skin the pig and cure and later
curate the skin that would become
a leather for a belt...
                
   darwinism and historiology...
heidegger might have summoned the term...
but he wasn't "battling" with english:
islander-thinking...
           "solipsism"... or for that grandiosity
of: the great h'america:
our best kept: interlude...
constantly revived: beside the confines
of Idaho...

          and the modern "question"
of islamic religiosity...
i call the same...
the mind is less obviously tinged
with... markers...
akin to... isoprene and atomic chlorine...
after chernobyll:
why was liquid iodine prescribed
to pregnant women?
markers: like dyes...
  to invigorate the "sedation"
of... an otherwise invisible reaction taking
root: or place...

islamic religiosity is...
very much akin to darwinistic historiology...
the study of history via monkey-dough
and brains and somehow also the ****:
the building block of aztecian flat-top
pyramids...
                islamic religiosity is...
the 17th century looking at 21st century...
darwinistic historiology is...
the 21st century...
looking at totem and the primodial man...
encompassing him in the present...
the 2nd through to the 18th century
are a bit of an amnesia...
better call it a lobotomy...

               there's knitting! there's picking!
there's the apologetics...
history taught from the perspective of darwinism:
is very much akin to history:
taught from the perspective of communism...
i'm sorry: one ape one world...
i do see the fullness... from the perspective
of a microscope... that becomes
the bottle-stump... once i'm finished with it!
having drank my fill!

to romance the vampire is to also
romance h.i.v.
                how does darwinism fare against
the backdrop of: orthodox: strict...
since there is no true darwinism in nature:
and nature: vetos... whatever are the opinions
of the ideologues:
the sieve... the harvest... and the discarded...

there's always an alternative:
etymological... in that...
prior to the written word...
there was the reasoining abounding in...
what came thirst:
the "d" of Δ... or the Δ: a triangle?
               can a sound akin to "d":
occupy... a sound... geometric tool for
exploring... O... omicron...
what came first? "o" and oh...
the phonetic encoding: O...
OΔ...
                      just a suppose...
                                  
   what letters: from greek... could have been
borrowed from the natural world?
O: moon and sun...
         Δ: the mountain...
                 β - a ***** and an ***...
          ζ and ξ - a serpent...
               ι: the fraction stick... and arithmetic
counter to a • or an apostrophe '''''''''''
                waves of omega and the mu(se)...
   prior to the key and the lock and
a door: φ (key inserted)...
              θ (key turned)...
            ψ (door opened)...
           i.e. Ug (Yγ): a tree...
                         applied to the key and door?
it's not a hammer... there's no nail...
                      eta (H): rugby goalposts...
    
etymology doesn't suffice...
      the words will become morphed...
the letters are a priori...
   as numbers are...
but... whereas numbers remain intact
within the confines of a priori:
letters take on a posteriori meanings...
notsably eta (H): the rugby goalposts...
or the "vector":  (φ, θ, ψ)...
rho implies: an amputee sysiphus...
but rho is a P... hence...
the lost thrill of a R put against
the wall: and shot to a trill!
a rattlesnake ramble! mein gott!
what loss: in english and tarantula
numbed! i walked down a road:
that almost became: woad;
sly little *******...
give me a universal language...
and i'm pretty sure that it will not
be one... with a skeleton of ancient
roman to master and craft with!
donkers... plump plums in "origin"...
a Baghdad...

since the full mechanisation of the key
and lock are not represented:
but rather: insinuated...
                        
                        but there is a door...
imagine, to boot...
that there's, also, somehow...
a necessity of a doormat!

- because in vestern europa: it's about time for:
"zee... pudding-reis-poodle-tops!"
much easier laughing at german
with some "vikings" in tow...

i just abhor how darwinism has become
the neu-ego of history: "abided" by...
like... this be the zenith and 100 years
from now... people will not laugh...
or... i much prefer: scold and frown at...
because i much prefer to be baptißed
using boiling...
         using water... that might allow
me to escape... the confines
of a couch: the comforts of a skin...
and all matter of leather: thus concerning...

i am happy to allow myself the following
sentence: the rats and the moon will always
tell the better "story"...
  liberal hard-ons that are hardly quantified
as matchsticks...

you're looking for communits in your current
"conundrum"...
looking for "them" leeching and lurking
from beneath the eisenvorhang?!
          ostenberlin?!
                       i had the impression...
that... your comforts... your dickens...
your semi-detached bogus heavens...
and that's what was required...
for you... to breed your own...
without having to...
outsource the idealists:
                     your... 'aggis neeps and tatties:
roots of "origins"...
you have your own sort of communists...
mostly t-shirt print enterprises...
and... whatever...
looking for communist from under
the iron curtain...
is about like scounting for both
rats and cockroaches...
and a honing idea of the hive...
because rats wouldn't eat roaches
and the two could, somehow...
fashion of symbiotic vogue affair...

you know what ****** me off...
the most... about not being english...
leverage of pompous audacity to state
the most: infantile opinion...
worded: i know:
you cough... i sneeze...
we'll reach an equilibrium, at some point:
to make references to:
and a past...

precedence: to "think" is to:
th(ought i)... and all that's counter-productive of
"i labyrinth" and: thought and i...
or... scalpel: nurse!
grammar! genius! ******* rollerskating chimpmucks...
and... h. p. lovecraftian odes to...
squids... in less than the already:
"murky" waters of... perfect the... widespread
genius of comedy...
via... ridicule... via... bulimia...
via... cooking a steak: well-done...
over-cooking pasta:
the diet of al dente...
                             burning a mushroom:
not being to: not being able to:
and that: to Baghdad... from Loon'don...
                  virtue signalling:
a clap is... 1/100 of a fraction of...
someone... being deaf and having to resolve
the matter: sign-language about to be translated
into... braille!

the islamic religiosity of "today" is about as
mcuh equivalent as the "today":
under darwinistic historiology...

looking for communists from under the once
former iron curtain divide?
good luck: i'm wishing it unto myself:
about to find Mongols in... Kiev!

came across some burden of a sourdough:
and it's like in england:
it's "theirs": never the agony of eating...
a bread... designated to be toasted...
when it just had to be... eaten... "raw"...

what's the fan-base for raw herrings...
within the confines of Nippon...
or these... grandeours of the:
only isles... my ideas to make
metaphors of the crucifix?
a ******'s riddle...

we're looking for communist: y'all!
i'm looking for Belze...
                  and: mādégehirn-verrotten
         und rätsel: ungezieferfreude...
zylinderanziehen: der großartig:
     schwule -            
der: scrumptious...
                                               fladenbrotmann!
bessermann: das englisch...
                   herr portillo... chuckles should
it come to:
   steam-trains and replicas...
and politics: was never really...
about harems and hard-ons...
                                       really?
ask a Baghdadi then: if you pleaz...
Lawrence!

chance of me being spoken to in russian...
and being: reciprocate...
are all yours: slim jim!
  no... seriously...
a ***** of a language that is...
english: i am... most astounded that...
there are some peoples of this world
that have not: yet... allowed themselves
to translate this:
bellybutton orientation of the world
via genus: greenwichus...
to be: unifying versed: et al.

        i must bees the retardedwoz... kin:
and oops some year later...
or: to hell with keeping up...
anything beside the appearing so...
i:  "for the love of the countrymen"...
of which i have none:
are 9 my commuter friends:
and with the romanians...
and the bulagrian ******...
the polish plumbers...
the english... could have their catwalk
of opinions!
who skinned the chickens
and who did what: my shadow lacked
or i slacked over with?

i want to forget because
i just don't want to unravel in...
i would work an honest's day... of worth...
if i could work for a: get together...
or none...
             it's so disorientating...
and... lacking in motivational bravado...
to have to find one man: working...
and the other: *******!

   talk about... having to resort to mind:
the manners to count jack'oh the ol' keeper...
because: abortion signification is
burning a foot in the sole
of my shoe...
and i'm about to make do with
walking a ******* mile...

               and there i was... conjuring
the fetish fancy:
all it would ever take...
was to pretend to... attire oneself /
i.e. make pretences of: pweeety pretty!
i like being governed by:
you have to be wrong...
for the mushroom and tapeworm
and the cuckoldry muppets to be: oinking:
and with a nodding:
the holy approval as: no other route...
other than them being "white".... Rrrrrrridle
no?
                     no -ight then!
Enervated and energized after cold shower
the perfect tonic to gin body though o'clock
wee hours August thirty one two thousand
nineteen - natural buzz to stave off relished
sleep, thus refueled with zest able to chop
chop thru printed material (dictionary seat

of pants newpage turner with a-z characters)
and no crock, but refreshing douse of chill
kept mien ole body electric able to dial back
feeling akin to soap bar man tiredness life
came to buoy quite some hours with joy de
vivre vigor analogous to morning dove (or as

if submerged smooth as ivory into Irish Spring),
until... bubbliness peaked than plunged yours
truly into fast shuteye descent lulled into land
o' dreams courtesy double fan tussy "white
noise," until I awoke with a start, (albeit heavy
grogginess clinging fast - thick spidery whirled

wide cob webbed glommed threads) unable to
offset toe tilly stark realization bare little feet
(plaintively oinking higglety pigglety) felt like
ice cubes, whereby skimpy blanket inadequate
to allow, enable, and provide adequate quality
sleep, hence inspiration piqued to attempt cob

bullying poem gifted (thank you watermelon
pickle) despite raggedy state, not optimal state
string words together rendering sense and cents
ability birthing feeble attempt to sweat out small
medium thoughts lodged within fifty plus shades
gray atrophied matter - begetting literary stillborn

whereby intensive care unit medical team resorted
to heroic measures applying revolutionary punk
chew weighted equilibrium until state of the art
poetic license intervention wrought sudden jaw
dropping miracle – whipped courtesy last ditch
Shakespearean divine resuscitation, (plus all the

king's men and all the king's horses) rendered
dead as a doornail absolute zero metaphoric
lifeless limp bizkit verse, neither lickety split
rhyme nor reason could explain tectonic shift

witnessing pluperfect (donned with little non hex
pence booties) manifestation vital signs, but
metered metrical blue feet in toto - oz needed
close monitoring to ward off 10,000 maniacs.
Hard knocks Methacton school alum
ofttimes finds ruining his fate
while squarely planted on me ***
nevertheless felt rightly triangulated
flashed mobbed by disheveled and unshaven,
foo fighting beastie boys
whereby their gray stubble encrusted
wayward synonymous days old crumb -

after getting wolfed (re: gang lions)
as delectable entitled treat
buttered fingers drubbing upon tabletop
analogous to playing a drum
oy vey, yours truly cannot believe
he ate the whole thing -
thus feeling bloated and glum
giving way (rather succumbing)
to Sir Isaac Newton's
first law of motion first law
a body at rest stays oh so ** hum
inclined to remain supine
and comfortably numb
able, eager, and ready (reddit)
to down tumblr full of ***
argh go sum... my poor tum.

ALDI GIANT supermarkets
(within small radius of miles
from me Schwenksville, Penna abode)
sell delicious delectable treat
goading, inspiring, and spurring me
to craft poem essentially
patronizing manufacturer,
whose skilled food technicians
engineered absolute winning dessert

courtesy their natural born talent
schooled (most likely at culinary institute)
possibly supplemented insync
with advanced degrees
at other institutions of higher learning
after various and sundry
trials and error with plus or minus
marginal limits of tolerance
concocting mouthwatering secret recipe.

Lemme use hypothetical situation
to accent chew ate,
how alluded dessert tastes great,
especially when rumble in tumbly
clamors for glorious goody
regarding appetite to satiate
unfortunately circumstances
force your truly to wait.

If (the following
constitutes far fetched scenario)
stranded on a desert island,
I after falling to Earth
when parachute fails to open,
weighed down by an excess of
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecakes,
would finagle an empty pie tin
flashing aluminum dish higgledy piggledy
to signal an oinking porcine SOS
think jeepers creepers
knowing my luck being abducted
by an alien cannibalistic, gnostic,
narcissistic life forms,
who quickly abandoned me

subsequently left to my own devices,
(where you dear reader
would discover one humbug),
I would be forced to scrounge around
rubbing two sticks together
to create warmth
plus distilling oils -
derived from edible herbaceous plants,
whence I would *******
(not prematurely) - olé
to sauté said collard greens
with wild mushrooms.
sandra wyllie Jun 2023
falling from the skies
driving Lamborghinis
biting women's thighs
drinking ***** martinis
scoffing mincemeat pies

Oinking and grunting
rolling in the mud
look at them hunting
thinking they are studs

Beer belly’s hanging
over their blue jeans
wishing they were banging
like they did as teens

Hairless mole rats
out mowing their lawn
covering their heads in hats
stifling a yawn

Ogling women
younger than their daughter
squeezing them as persimmon
early morning potters

Wiry hair growing
out of their ears and nose
scratching their crotch and crowing
They're all pigs and it shows!
Kelly McManus Jan 2022
Oinking for more worth
on this pig pen planet earth
rolling in the dirt...Kelly McManus
Tom Shields Oct 2020
Hobnobbing with market-stopping snobs who bark and howl about their jobs, got you down?
For a grand a day, you can go bank robbing, chariot-hopping, joust and toast to yourself the talk of the town
For a grand day, you can duel and duel and duel, wipe the dark knight’s scowl and claim the crown
You can enjoy cannonading without repercussions, casual encounters of any kind, these worldly delights and all your dreams come true
At any one of our three worlds here in Delos! Boy, have we got a vacation for you!

We’re a thousand miles and more from home, guess that makes us desperados
I love when there’s ever a question of what to do,
These many branching paths reach out and slap you
Like free will has grown a hand from air just to taunt
And the answer always occurs, we can do anything we want
It’s only a step removed from actual reality, these stories
And nothing here is stored anyplace but our memories

Indiscriminate slaughter, rich pigs laugh
Oinking at the trough of opportunity
They bury their ears in debauchery
Brothels and drink, lawlessness at the cost of a cover fee
RSVP and save a seat for me, part of the fun is the exclusivity
Another is not knowing who is one of you or them, it’s almost a mystery

I reckon they caught humanity, spreading through their circuitry
Like an airborne disease, awakened, technicians scramble
All we have seen and come to understand about them only serves as a preamble
The virus spreads from host to host, killer androids loosed on unwitting park guests, enter the single-most biting bit of irony in the singularity
Whatever you wanted to do they could never resist you, and their weapons wouldn’t hurt you until now, the upgrade bless technology

Among them all stands one whose steely eyed gaze is like a freezing inferno, his black hat and demeanor stoic, the Gunslinger
We mortals fall, he kills a fool who challenges him, unaware of the safety failures, he is a reaper whose harvest is grim
None who rise serve as a challenge to him
Even when ambushed, and the false flesh is melted from his face
He heat-seeks for blood, to draw down on this nuisance he only needs a trace
True to the lifelessness of the program this body runs, now visible and charred
Clutching a pest to exterminate, who reels back, traumatized and scarred
The Gunslinger halts, motionless, a human’s instinct and ingenuity, fire and acid he succumbs to
On the steps of a dungeon, gasping, his heart in his lungs, his mind flashes out, exhaustive, he hears the echoes of temptation that he was once heartily beckoned through
Boy, have we got a vacation for you!
Boy, have we got a vacation for you!
Have we got a vacation for you!
For you!
For you!
For you!
write
please read and enjoy

— The End —