"ono" poems
Gabby Abrego
I'll never let you go go
unless we go to Mexico
and you be come a hobo!
Then I'll go.
and fetch the so co.
so we can dance to disco
eat enchiladas with adobo
pick the **** out of our Afros!
We'll feel so funky,
the people will get spunky
when we arrive on donkeys,
and ride around their towns!
We'll befriend all the junkies
and give them howler monkeys,
it'll be so funny
we'll laugh until you cry!
Ohh! Gabby Abrego I'll never let you go go
unless I get you prego
then I'll run like mad!
cuz if we had a baby
I'd stop being lazy
get as famous as THE LADY
support you like Eminem did for his baby.
So Never Ever leave me
Or I'll succumb to Scientology
and go even more crazy
my world'd become a mystery.
I'd rather be a rhino
rather be tricked into a *****
rather be married to Bono
in a movie starring J.Lo
be forced to live with Yoko Ono
have red eyes like an albino
than to ever be with out
Gabby Abrego!!!
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 1:01 AM UTC
John Lennon
Can you imagine the world if he wasn’t shot?
Do you think his believers will finally see
The bullshitting hypocrite behind all that peace?
“All you need is love” sang by a guy
Who went out of his way to be cruel to his wife
Used to ***** about his dad doing the disappearing act
Until he did it himself, the silly ****
“Imagine no possessions”
Bold words from a guy who had a lot of obsessions
“Love is real, real is love”
Says the guy who’d rather have two lovers at once
His best hits was with the Fab Four
His solo hits are like seesaws
Yoko Ono had some hits
By him, behind closed doors she took it
Some people see him as some sort of Jesus
But truth is, he was politically clueless
The egotistical, ignorant little poseur
Who’d rather stay in bed until it’s all over
Did he change the world? Did he ****
Nothing but a demigod, high in everyone’s mind
I’m really glad he died in his prime
Just wished that ****** Bono was next in line
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 8:00 PM UTC
What exactly would you get
if writers changed the things they wrote
If painters changed their style
And singers butchered every note
Romance books by Stephen King
Horrors told by Suess
Comedic plays by E.A. Poe
And **** by Mother Goose
Dali paints like Monet
Monet paints like Degas
Van gogh would hang his brushes up
And go and detail cars
Michael Buble singing screamo
Operatic stuff by ****
Yoko Ono would seem right in tune
It's enough to make one sick
I hope it never happens
It would change things quite a lot
But you know, I think that **** by
Mother Goose could be quite hot!
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 4:02 PM UTC
Karen Carpenter, bridged sued cap d'hiver,
(which I hear will be very en vogue this summer)
fringe falling, as gracefully as music flowing through her veins,
(a Pucci jumpsuit, a throwback to times, of rock and roll)
Pinned hair, taped face to secure a wig cap,
(a daily communion bonding her soul to her self)
those Miu Mui boots, leather wrapped sewn to her body
(to which is laying amid candle light gypsy retreat)
A left thigh, glance of the subtly disguised tattoos inscribing her body,
(do we mark our body, to impress others or to claim our own bodies)
silk Chloé gown, gypsy princess of Parisian quarters,
(Jakarta may someday be a resting place for an unsettled soul)
Placing pencil to paper, poetry writes me as lyrics write her,
(do the ivory keys of the Grand Piano fuse inspiration)
piercing red nails, grasping left handed she writes writes writes,
(maybe notes of her future travels dreams aspirations)
A 70's heroine, born to the wrong era standing in the past,
(Yoko Ono Led Zep Stevie Nicks, mahatma's of a lost scene)
innocence purity porcelain ******* torn from a womb too soon,
(not at once a smile, reflective nostalgia unwavering past future)
A fallen tear drop, a hopelessness of peace in her eyes,
(one can see both tattoos of present; ARTPOP, of past; peace symbol)
a fallen angel, legacy leaving her mark on a generation of those lost,
Her left wrist shows a peace sign as a commitment to such peace
Will this ever be a possibility on a planet we call earth?
© Sia Jane
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 12:48 PM UTC
you wrote the book on being an *******
i read it twice.
and i find myself alluding to it
all the time.
you told me the definition of high art was broke.
if i wanted to succeed,
i needed to trash my collection of huxley
and memorize
every action sequence
in every jerry bruckheimer film.
you based the last six years of your life
on a ghandi misquote,
you ripped from wikipedia.
you told me love was just mankind kidding himself.
only trust in what you can feel,
"like *******
i wrote an article about you,
i asked if you believed in god.
your reply,
"god is a concept
by which we measure our pain."
i thought that was clever.
it took me 3 months to remember
that's off lennon's Plastic Ono Band.
Jul 19, 2010
Jul 19, 2010 at 10:38 AM UTC
mila sedi na wc solji. prebira dlacice po brezuljku. nekako odvratno ali radoznalo trazi one pod zemljom
gusto groblje-guste misli:
dve prodavacice prodaju sok od sargarepe, na smenu- jedan dan jednoj plati jednu cenu drugi dan drugoj drugu. cuti. zakopa to u zeludac. guta vazduh namazan budalom. cuti. plati. popije samar i sok.
na ulici razmazano oker govno, kao kanapei na srebrnom tanjiru.
preskace, obilazi ga ona. preskace, obilazi ga i pas. kisa pada, oker krem gubi gustinu, pas nece pod kisobran juri senke i zapisava skupocene alo tepsije onih kojih se i pauk plasi.
zanoktica o vrh narandzastog jezika- rekapitulacija popisanosti i pogresno usmerene finoce. krv stedljivo iz nokta curi natapajuci nepce a mrmlja da sledeci put ce...
ali verovatno nece. jer ne razume tu gadnu nepravicnost. jer to je samo princip. mozda i hoce. jer princip je i sve.
dopire krik playback narodnjaka- komsija stigao sa posla, investitor umesto izloacije sigurno je kupio dzipa.
masina se centrifugom lansira u orbitu svake sekunde- privezala bi se za nju toaltet papirom....
aman, idi uci.
bolje ces se osecati.
kraj prozora cuje se ono dete sto svira trubu.
makar jos ne moras da trazis posao. eto imas vremena da smislis sta zelis da budes.
na kraju krajeva nemas urasle dlake. i da, auto ti je parkiran divlje pokupice ga pauk sigurno. i nemas dozvolu. kese za govna su u gepeku.
trebas psa izvesti.
sutra kupices sok od sargarepe, po ne zna se kojoj ceni.
rekla bi imas princip a i lenja si.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 4:01 AM UTC
Luces de una noche igual,<br>
digan como el reloj quebrar.<br>
Distantes; dime esto no igual.<br>
Como... ... <br>
<br>
Hayar sentido de la casualidad.<br>
dia noche dia noche dia noche<br>
dia noche dia noche dia noche:<br>
dos partes: Dos: Uno, uno: Uno.<br>
<br>
Trabajo, descanso, algo mas,<br>
trabajo, descanso, recrear,<br>
trabajo, descanso, estudiar,<br>
trabajo, descanso, descansar,<br>
trabajo, estudio pa'trabajar;<br>
Descanso descanso pa trabajar<br>
<br>
Dos. Dos. Dos. Dos. Dos: tres.<br>
Tres, uno, ono, uno, uno: dos.<br>
Luces que no sea casualidad.<br>
Noche ya dejame descansar.<br>
<br>
Luna tu no importas vete ya.<br>
Luces que secreto esconderas, <br>
ooo favor que se algo mas;<br>
No... Estupida! maquina . . . . . .
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 4:31 AM UTC
Ima li ime ta struna
Koja stoji u mestu
Ima li ime ptica
Koja peva u letu
Imas li ime ti
mala zvezdo sjajna
imas li ime
ili je ono samo tajna?
Kako se zoves zeljo jedina
Nije li divno ime tvoje
Kako se zove tajna skrivena
Lica umiljatog sto je?
Sta se krije u tvojim ocima
Ima li negde tvoga imena
Hajde, posluzi se svime
Zeljo moja imas li ime?
Jedan mig i tu
Nestajes lako
Kao u snu
Jedan tren mi
Bez nade tako
Odes ti
Kako se zoves zeljo jedina
Nije li divno ime tvoje
Kako se zove tajna skrivena
Lica umiljatog sto je?
Sta se krije u tvojim ocima
Ima li negde tvoga imena
Hajde, posluzi se svime
Zeljo moja imas li ime?
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
eyes close.
earphones.
"imagine".
feet hit cement.
feet hit in rhythm.
and then something
forgotten hits my ears.
hits my brain,
spine,
spills to my soles.
i forgot in myself,
what i owed myself.
eyes open,
street lights and speed bumps,
my habitat.
crystal conscience,
i realize it isn't the art of moving
your feet,
but the art of moving the ground.
no sound tonight.
just me tonight.
think of god.
wonder how he's holding up.
if he misses me.
i think of her,
how angry she must be,
but i know no regret.
freeze frames of
merciless memories
play on repeat,
as lennon snarls on the third and fourth track.
for some reason,
the night assures me,
god is really quite real.
for some reason,
i think of that passage where it says something
to the effect of if any member of the body should
sin against you,
cut it off/pluck it out.
all i would be is
knees,
shoulders,
and a snout.
let me restart.
no degradation of my mane,
no compromise of mind.
i want respect,
i want the love of honor,
i want hope,
and i want people to say,
"he's living for today."
Jun 4, 2010
Jun 4, 2010 at 9:59 PM UTC
Yoko Ono is a *****
who sings just like a seagull.
I'd like to push her off a cliff
cause she destroyed the Beatles.
Yoko Ono's face looks like
she just ****** on a lemon.
Lennon thought that she was fine
but I think she's a demon.
Yoko Ono's art is crap.
She's really not that good.
She thinks that Chapman might **** her.
I wish that ***** would.
Yoko Ono seems to think
the public just adores her.
We see through her, we know the truth.
We actually abhor her.
Yoko Ono lives alone.
Her husband met a gun.
She sold his ****** glasses
and she got a hefty sum.
Yoko Ono has no heart
and that's the bottom line.
If I saw her burn in hell,
well that would suit me fine.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
~
i recall the ward,
smell of antiseptic
and new paint blended,
with the stench of
dried on bandages,
the smell of
rotting flesh,
the cries of men
too old to cry,
faces now, too
burned for tears,
could only wonder why.
the clang of
stainless steel
bowls that held the
closest thing to soothing,
unquenchably thirsty skin.
for these,
souls sent off to war,
though i was
but a boy,
my father,
was a preacher,
sent to save
these men from hell...
i knew already then
hell was...
a place already known,
seen and felt;
and flames...
these men had walked.
and when asked to pray,
believe you me,
pray i did,
that these images,
and these men...
would all go away.
~
*post script.
some chuckle when i, born in 1960, tell them i remember Vietnam. yet i still weep when i remember. Vietnam was to this young boy watching formations of fighter jets taking off for a battlefield he could not know; accompanying his father to visit with and pray for the GI’s in the burn ward of Sagami-Ono’s US Army Hospital near Yokohama, on the main island of Japan, a few minute’s drive from what we then called home. the sights, sounds and smells of Vietnam are etched forever, without having ever set foot on it’s soil. my five siblings have no such recollection, leading me to believe... either they were never invited or... their prayers were answered.*
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
podseti me kako radiš očima ono
dok sediš na šolji
podseti me molim te
slobodan sam dva dana
ipak
moja je soba čistija od tvog tavana
čak šta više
pićemo iz čaša
čistih
imam sve
a nije užeglo
dođi bela
da vodimo ljubav
da jedemo smoki
pijemo pivo
dođi i
samo još ovaj put
okupaj se
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
tvoja drugarica slikala je ono mesto
gde sam pojela svoju prvu tufahiju.
tvoja drugarica slikala je ono mesto sa istog onog mesta gde sam ja sedela.
smazala sam i tvoj šlag.
progutala vodu i čežnju da vriskom ispljunem nekakav svtlucavi okean žudnje za ponovnim
prati nas tišina.
gledaš
ja se borim da te ne volim
pa te onda pogledam i davim se
u šlagu
u izvesnosti sebe
u lakoći gledanja u tebe
izmislila sam te. to znam.
sad kad se još uvek borim da te ne volim.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
I want to sit and play with the greats.
I want to see myself singing songs that scream my soul.
I want to write and make history in a studio.
I want to be successful, but satisfied, too.
I want to master the JOURNEY of music.
I don’t want to or care about being the best, because
Who cares if an album goes platinum and
It isn’t written by the REAL you, not
Some cracked corporate cunning conning conundrum
Cancer-causing cannibalistic contagious canary that sings songs
More plastic than the casing on a vinyl?
No, I don’t believe and won’t believe
In your censorship and your lies
Telling me that the public will hear it
If the truth is full of flies
Would God be glad if you wrote that down?
Would your parents get angry and sue?
But I wrote them from what was hiding
In a basement filthy stew.
No, I don’t believe and can’t believe
In red stained glasses on brick
But those bullets they flew that day
To a shattered mind they stick.
Should I carry on the journey now?
Is it a burden worth to hold?
But I’ve got to keep the people happy
Cause a Grammy’s worth just like gold
Yes, I do believe and should believe
In the power of a sound-filled disc
The power of a musical drug
With no added harmful risk.
You wouldn’t believe if I got up to say
That I’m living 1984
But look all around at the artists that sing
Without a chance knowing of more.
I want to be strong and careless.
I want to learn more about learning more of myself.
I would like to be a member of the Plastic Ono Band
But the dream is over, and new bands start today.
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 9:08 AM UTC
John Winston Ono Lennon
From Britain to Brooklyn, decked in denim
Controversial through his political and peace activism
Felled by Mark David Chapman's act of barbarism
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 2:50 PM UTC
There I was in my almost clinical white coat
Looking like Yoko Ono, oh no, didn't realise it at all.
Strolling all around the front square,
You in that tan coat stood there,
Looking like something out of Harry Potter, I presume.
I'd clocked you at the protest a year before,
And you fell for me that first day,
Early September, leaves not yet falling
Me eating an apple a day.
It was the last fruit of summer,
I was still in love with someone else
And as summer became autumn, and is now becoming winter,
I honest to god can't tell.
I can't help myself.
I can't help myself.
You in our second meeting- but the first 'meeting'-
Acting like my very existence was bad for your health,
All this merging and converging like its two countries joining together,
I knew that you liked me, in ways you've liked me forever.
But I wanted to make him come back to me, wished on a spirit
To take him back to me, wished for the truth and- what did I see?
The last fruit of summer, an apple tree.
I was so nervous, I bit my lip so hard it bled,
I come from the Hughes', I lie then, instead.
Your red filaments, burning, yearning, twisting, turning,
Kissing me and hugging me like you've never wanted to hold onto a thing so tight.
I feel like a wild horse penned in, flying by night.
Because I know that you're mad about me
Honest to god I wish I was too,
But I don't understand what stops me from letting go and loving you.
It was the last fruit of summer,
The final kiss from the earth,
I wore all black, you in florals
Me not knowing my worth.
I want to take it slow, and you agree,
You'd agree to anything I want because it's me.
You and your artistic set, fashion-obsessed,
Everything I could ever want, everything you could ever spend.
But nothing that I really do want, in the end.
And I ask for the truth, to the apple tree,
I tell them- oh god- is this ruining me?
I cut it and eat it piece by little piece,
'I can't help you, darling, so just sit back and eat.'
Oct 27, 2019
Oct 27, 2019 at 6:45 AM UTC
Vesmír sedmi dnů v týdnu byl už daleko
Daleko v nedohlednu
Dalekohled večerů do jiter
Zůstal stát nepozorovaně u postele
Jejíž plán v středě vesmíru sedmi dnů
Způsobil ono těžké uzavření srdce
---------------------------------------------------------
*Daleko v nedohlednu
Vesmír sedmi dnů v týdnu byl už daleko
Zůstal stát nepozorovaně u postele
Dalekohled večerů do jiter
Způsobil ono těžké uzavření srdce
Přes jeho plán v středě vesmíru sedmi dnů*
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
I've been looking over
my portfolio and considering
diversifying my assets
to feed this junk punk habit of mine.
Ono-Sendai is looking strong
after that Hosaka team up
But I've been told to stay away from
those weirdos at Tessier-Ashpool
and their vatgrown monstrosities -
They're all scary like dead TV grey skies.
Cyberdyne stock is rumored
to skyrocket after some microchip breakthrough
but I've just never trusted their promises -
No fate but what we make and I don't
know if I like what they're making.
Tyrell Corp is down after that
messy Nexus-6 affair -
Tears in rain and their CEO dead
Guess they should leave the synth
business to Hyperdyne instead.
(Hey...are they just a division of Cyberdyne?
I should investigate that one)
but then I've heard Hyperdyne has
some twitchy artificials of their own running
rampant through Weyland-Yutani.
Weyland-Yutani seems like a solid bet
after their merger
but I've heard they'll treat you like
an expendable crew -
Absent mother computers and derelict signals
abound.
**** it.
I'm going with Walmart.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
if friendships are not constructed within monetary necessities, then familial associations excluding monetary associations limit any association at all.
if friendship is not built upon
monetary funds, it's built upon
familial *******
yet being a son to a father
in debt, whether actual or
moral, there's little chance of
success should success be quantified
with a measure of it being withstanding /
dittoing in the english way
disregards conjunction and preposition
of words - this new musicology
is a matter or higher punctuation
of syllables, since syllables
are monochromatic syllable usage i.e.
onomatopoeia (ono' ma' to' po' 'eia),
where are the other punctuations, eh?
why revise the narration if not merely revise /
add to it?
the higher punctuation include such
marks as colon, semi-colon, hyphen....
while lower punctuation only include
the syllable scalpel that's half the ditto
and a full quotation mark of the voiced.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:19 AM UTC
If it was possible
To walk in the footsteps of man
Whose shoes would I like to wear
I,ll tell you if I can
There,s so many I admire
It's really hard to say
Can I live a million years
And wear a different pair each day
I think first I,d wear mandellas
Such an unselfish man
To give up 28 years of freedom
So we could understand
Then I,d wear Martin luthers
For I also have a dream
For peace and unity
To be life's only scheme
Then I,d wear Elvis,s
The rock and roll king
His songs had so much meaning
And I,d really love to sing
Maybe Florence nightingales
The lady with the lamp
The nurse of all
The saviour the champ
Then Neil armstrongs
The moonwalking kind
One small step for man
But a giant for mankind
Maybe John lennons
And yoko Ono,s too
They both strove for love and peace
If only it came true
I could go on forever
Wearing other people's shoes
I wonder if we had the chance
Whose shoes would you choose??????????????
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
Yoko heard the gun go
Off in his hands
Yoko saw the life flow
Out of her man
Yoko heard the sad moan
All across the land
Yoko is alone
To never understand
Yoko must cope
In this devil's dance
Yoko with us lost hope
With give peace a chance
Yoko had to let go
Of her man John
While Yoko held on
To their son Shawn
Yoko played the scapegoat
All these many years
Yoko Ono
Cries real tears
As Yoko watched the world go
From love to hate
Yoko misses John so
Eight days a week
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:22 AM UTC