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Thorns Mar 2019
Oof
Life is an
Oof
Oof
Oof is the sound I make when I look at you
It’s the noise I make when you do something silly
because it makes me laugh, but you wouldn’t know that.
Im in another spectrum as I look at my telescope
a big oof I make how far away it is that you are to make me laugh.
Oof because that’s how I feel about you
PK Wakefield Aug 2012
"oof," i said,"what are you?" got nice

****                                             gotnice

calves backsofknees and       got nice

eyes "i bet" said i said eyes

i bet you taste real good

(between winter) and spring

i bet wet

petals split by wet petals split

you taste good

like salt and rain

next to the ocean(betweenWinterandSpring)
NAME May 2019
oof
look at these old poems
of grief and hatred
sadness and tears

i cringe as i look
old poems of mine
so cringey

a rip and an oof
hats off to you who've read them
uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhgggggggggggggggggg SO MUCH CRINGE >:((((
If you danced from midnight
to six A.M. who would understand?

The runaway boy
who chucks it all
to live on the Boston Common
on speed and saltines,
******* in the duck pond,
rapping with the street priest,
trading talk like blows,
another missing person,
would understand.

The paralytic's wife
who takes her love to town,
sitting on the bar stool,
downing stingers and peanuts,
singing "That ole Ace down in the hole,"
would understand.

The passengers
from Boston to Paris
watching the movie with dawn
coming up like statues of honey,
having partaken of champagne and steak
while the world turned like a toy globe,
those murderers of the nightgown
would understand.

The amnesiac
who tunes into a new neighborhood,
having misplaced the past,
having thrown out someone else's
credit cards and monogrammed watch,
would understand.

The drunken poet
(a genius by daylight)
who places long-distance calls
at three A.M. and then lets you sit
holding the phone while he vomits
(he calls it "The Night of the Long Knives")
getting his kicks out of the death call,
would understand.

The insomniac
listening to his heart
thumping like a June bug,
listening on his transistor
to Long John Nebel arguing from New York,
lying on his bed like a stone table,
would understand.

The night nurse
with her eyes slit like Venetian blinds,
she of the tubes and the plasma,
listening to the heart monitor,
the death cricket bleeping,
she who calls you "we"
and keeps vigil like a ballistic missile,
would understand.

Once
this king had twelve daughters,
each more beautiful than the other.
They slept together, bed by bed
in a kind of girls' dormitory.
At night the king locked and bolted the door
. How could they possibly escape?
Yet each morning their shoes
were danced to pieces.
Each was as worn as an old jockstrap.
The king sent out a proclamation
that anyone who could discover
where the princesses did their dancing
could take his pick of the litter.
However there was a catch.
If he failed, he would pay with his life.
Well, so it goes.

Many princes tried,
each sitting outside the dormitory,
the door ajar so he could observe
what enchantment came over the shoes.
But each time the twelve dancing princesses
gave the snoopy man a Mickey Finn
and so he was beheaded.
****! Like a basketball.

It so happened that a poor soldier
heard about these strange goings on
and decided to give it a try.
On his way to the castle
he met an old old woman.
Age, for a change, was of some use.
She wasn't stuffed in a nursing home.
She told him not to drink a drop of wine
and gave him a cloak that would make
him invisible when the right time came.
And thus he sat outside the dorm.
The oldest princess brought him some wine
but he fastened a sponge beneath his chin,
looking the opposite of Andy Gump.

The sponge soaked up the wine,
and thus he stayed awake.
He feigned sleep however
and the princesses sprang out of their beds
and fussed around like a Miss America Contest.
Then the eldest went to her bed
and knocked upon it and it sank into the earth.
They descended down the opening
one after the other. They crafty soldier
put on his invisisble cloak and followed.
Yikes, said the youngest daughter,
something just stepped on my dress.
But the oldest thought it just a nail.

Next stood an avenue of trees,
each leaf make of sterling silver.
The soldier took a leaf for proof.
The youngest heard the branch break
and said, Oof! Who goes there?
But the oldest said, Those are
the royal trumpets playing triumphantly.
The next trees were made of diamonds.
He took one that flickered like Tinkerbell
and the youngest said: Wait up! He is here!
But the oldest said: Trumpets, my dear.

Next they came to a lake where lay
twelve boats with twelve enchanted princes
waiting to row them to the underground castle.
The soldier sat in the youngest's boat
and the boat was as heavy as if an icebox
had been added but the prince did not suspect.

Next came the ball where the shoes did duty.
The princesses danced like taxi girls at Roseland
as if those tickets would run right out.
They were painted in kisses with their secret hair
and though the soldier drank from their cups
they drank down their youth with nary a thought.

Cruets of champagne and cups full of rubies.
They danced until morning and the sun came up
naked and angry and so they returned
by the same strange route. The soldier
went forward through the dormitory and into
his waiting chair to feign his druggy sleep.
That morning the soldier, his eyes fiery
like blood in a wound, his purpose brutal
as if facing a battle, hurried with his answer
as if to the Sphinx. The shoes! The shoes!
The soldier told. He brought forth
the silver leaf, the diamond the size of a plum.

He had won. The dancing shoes would dance
no more. The princesses were torn from
their night life like a baby from its pacifier.
Because he was old he picked the eldest.
At the wedding the princesses averted their eyes
and sagged like old sweatshirts.
Now the runaways would run no more and never
again would their hair be tangled into diamonds,
never again their shoes worn down to a laugh,
never the bed falling down into purgatory
to let them climb in after
with their Lucifer kicking.
Leone Lamp Jun 2021
Y'know that feeling?
When your body is tired
and your brain is too
Not sleepy
Although you'd probably be out
Quicker than a toddler at nap time
If you had to lay on the cot
No, not sleepy,
Exhausted.
Drained.
Tapped out.
All the coffee in the world
Wouldn't stop those lids
From drooping
Even sitting, resting,
Takes energy
Energy that is
All but washed up
Running on empty
And you know
That you've got to wake up tomorrow
And do it all again.
I'm too tired to rhyme.

~06/02/2021
Mya Jul 2016
Boop
On
Run fun not.
Eak peak
Doof
Oof
Maloon
Random words........... I'm bored
the dead bird Jun 2021
“You look like my daughter”
The man says to me,
As he’s ordering me a drink
Looking my body up and down.

I laugh,
Look away,
Try to pretend he didn’t say that

Oh but don’t worry
He made it a point
to mention
T H R E E
              M O R E
                           T I M E S
how my body
Resembled his daughters,
“Tight, perfect, the right kind”

Oof.
Idk y’all
Idk that I can do this.
I walk away
I dont make that money.
Even though I know **** well,
I fit his ****** up fantasies.

Not to mention I’m triggered,
Thanks to my childhood trauma,
By all of this conversation,
But it doesn’t really matter
Anyways.
Just a product of my environment
Just an object to fill
The desires
Of hungry eyes.

**** it
Let me be
An empty *** doll.
Just take my intelligence with you please.
Flowers for Algernon ,
And I’m wilting.
I’m too aware of my place in society.

Why strive to peruse my education,
When I know no one will hire me
Because of my background?
Why stay sober,
When my ******* flashbacks
Only stop when I’m drunk?

I hate my life.
No I don’t like the job I have;
But this **** ain’t easy.

And none of it is my fault.
It isn’t.
None of my trauma is my fault.

At least At the end of the day
I have the comfort
Of knowing,
That I matter just as little as the next person.
My life,
In all of its glory,
matters just as little as john f Kennedy’s
I am nothing
And we are nothing

Our suffering is eternal
E Jul 2020
Oof
Only
Oranges
Fight
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2020
for all i care to remember...
        looking into the mirror was more or less...
something akin to:
"squirting"... **** me! SQUINTING...
      well... the contortion of the eyes...
"worrying" about a double-chin...
and of course... enough stealth acne
to make me... the bride of beelzebub
how i'd joke to myself...
         beelzebub sat on my face and *******
a tonne of... dead maggots...

           i never knew i was athletic standing
before a mirror...
i probably know that i am less athletic now...
but... looking into mirror made
sense... once...
   this russian girl...
    in st. petersburg...
   we were in "love"...
       and there was this great aventurine bed...
and... a closet with two mirrors...
and... we'd be at it...
i was looking into the mirror...
and she was looking into the mirror...
it was like: the opposite of *** on l.s.d. -
because it was like...
beyond the missionary -
the "******" of the mirror...
   as in ***... it leaves you wanting
to ******* to the *******...
because... hell...
without a mirror...
could you capture the face moaning
contorting like an experiment out
of the gehenna harem?

     for all the *** toys sold...
all those exceses of... woman's lingerie...
outfits... nurses...
   blah blah... it really takes a mirror
to spice things up...
this dead-eyed mirror canvas...
the dire-dead-necessary...
    tooth-fairy: ref. the red dragon...
i needed to see that she needed to see
that i was ******* her... and that she...
was being ******...

           mirror mirror on the wall...
**** the fair and the fairest and the fairies...
i have come to understand that mirrors...
work best...
when... not stressed to exemplify...
a concern for beauty...
   or... something that is worn...
clothes look... terribly important in a mirror...
esp. by someone wearing them
when allowed to be digested / investigated
by a mirror...

but... a mirror during ***?
when you're not performing inverted missionary...
doggy... and she's lying with clenched ****-cheeks...
i was in love once...
which also implies:
i ****** like a race-champ pony!
the mirror always helps...
i wouldn't know: whether s&m leather
and straps would... and whips...
made much of a difference...
when... the mirror... the ghost ******...
the: satan you could get away with...
if you didn't utter a comprehensive word...
but ensure a strict rigidity to...
onomatopoeias and syllables...
and... exfoliating nouns...

        upon memory being summoned...
i'm getting a bigger hard-on thinking
about all the encounters i've had with the police...
there's always at least two memorable
encounters...
getting poisoned in a nightclub...
getting on the bus...
getting off the bus... dropping like a pancake
onto the cement...
     being roused... asked by the police officer
whether i was o.k.:
making a slurred and lengthy apology...
giving my address...
and being... taken in a police van... in a cage
for a sinner... like a taxi...
back home...

    losing my virginity to a pair of handcuffs...
for ******* in an alleyway...
getting screamed at...
one officer cuffed me...
the female officer had a pen and pad ready...
in an alleyway where it was discussed:
and who's alleyway is it?
i'm too drunk already...
if i walked into a pub on friday come
10pm i'd be asked to buy a pint
in order to use their toilet...

         it's one sort of luck... gambling...
betting on a horse...
but another... being hand-cuffed...
  and then... having the hand-cuffs...
taken away...
              as this dialogue happened in the...
"invisible" shadow of the alley...
i can't exactly imagine what the onlookers
saw...
           a teasing of authority...
drinking a beer on a bench outside
a pub on a friday night...
which is... basically... taking away
the revenue... of being sardine packed...
and pyramid schemed... for failure...
but my... what a glorious night...

so i asked: and where am i... permitted...
and blah blah...
that ******* mirror... and that aventurine bed...
the same thrill during ***...
like... the thrill of stepping into a brothel...
without a need to ***...
the 9 of them: all nazgul attired in scrutiny...
before "the pick"...

   *** toys... can i please get a mirror in here?!
it has to become a standard for a healthy
sexed up relationship...
    a mirror can overpower any...
frivolity of during-***: attire...
  the imitation ******...
a mirror is... just that...
                 *** with: in third person narrative...
but... smirk-giggle:
you catching her eyes getting ******...
and she catching your eyes: ******* her...

so tame tame... unlike reading...
  the tame blushes of marquis the sade...
never to mention... this philosophical adventure
of ******... which it really is...
impeccable... trouble with: thought put into
practice...
                yes... that horrid... Fritzl case...
but unlike the idealist scenario...
the mother was notably pushed away from
the grandiosity of the sin...
and it was done... in public... with...
a purview of... shaking established social norms!
it wasn't... a rabbit-hole of horror...

              which is why i'm glad i do not
have children of my own...
   i once spent an afternoon with...
my... grand-aunts son... my uncle...
don't ask...
         and i looked like him and thought...
well... i have most certainly had more
fun with cats and dogs...
i was a complete mute...
i didn't feel like cuddling this piece
of cubism... it looked human and even
contorted like one...
perhaps if it was mine...
i could have... somehow...
            "relegated my inhibitions"?
                 n'est ce pas?
         to have children and begin with...
that ******* of differentiating vowels from
consonants... and then... building consonants...
what... 5 vowels... 21 consonants...
5 x 21 = 105 variations...
       prefix: ab, ac, ad, af, ag...
                     eb, ec, ed, ef, eg...
                           IF only! oof!
                 the suffix - ba, ca, da, fa, go...
                                 bat cat dad fat god...
and then... the 21 x 21 consonant variables...
squared to the power of 5...
because... chinese is... frankly...
so simple...

   - it's summer and...
            since i would otherwise... require ink...
to write... and the paper would somehow
be always readily available...
no need for ink...
the summer months are terrible...
for no requirement of ink...
what is ink?  ink is...
                         i need october...
i need november... december... january...
february... half of march...
i need to borrow ink from the night!
i can't scribble in these arab / kenyan months...
these sun-seeker months
of idle by the dream-pool... load of...
overtly-talked... less thought...
therefore... no need to scribble...

    i need the night for my ink...
                           "punctuation marks are in
the constellations": oh yes... honey sweet...
what's it called? cliche? we've all been there...
i too would sacrifice Hector before the altar
of Achilles if i were Priam...
                   only because: he was called Hector...
and the other was Achilles...
and i was called Priam...
       in such times... what were...
the trully... common-place names...
of stunt-men and extras?
   i'd like to know the equivalent of a john smith
from ancient greece...
what would one call: him?
            
        perhaps: i tend to think about *** when
i... most probably had a dream...
jerking off is a bit like...
checking one's blood pressure...
or as a diabetic might... ***** his index
to check the sugar levels...
i write about "***" when i've had a dream...
the dream...

i was talking to a man about cars...
notably... cars from...
america and germany...
circa the years... 1920s through to...
                the 1970s...
          and... then... the talk of... a motorcycle...
a specific motorcycle...
   a triump street cup...
                 a BMW R18... but not quiet...
whatever it was...
                    for the love of a double-decker
bus and a pair of legs...
                which is not...
to have emotionally invested
in *** was something a much younger
version of me would have done...
i thank the prostitutes of curing me of this...
debilitating disease / dream...
              which, i, prescribed... myself...
so no... i hardly think...
there were any... mummy or daddy issues...
i would skip several scenarios:
as much as i love riding a double-decker
bus... i abhor... taking a taxi...
       even if it requires me to walk...
2 miles... i'd rather walk:
for the love of legs and... voodoo dolls hanging
like corks... bend the knee: they might say...
bullet to the knee-cap... if you ask me...
again...

     perhaps i wasn't born english...
but... after... 26 years among them...
                          it "sort of" grows on you...

- man can perform a thousand:
dodo project genocides in one sitting:
on the throne of thrones...
before jumping under a baptism:
fully attired in the ganjes pyjamas
in one sitting: on the throne of thrones...
to "squat" while *******...
*******... *******...
"scented candles" of taking a shower...

i write about *** every time i have a dream...
it's to succumb to the lesser...
escapade of me...
i can stomach subjectivity...
but having to stomach idealism...
is another matter: altogether...
i would like to worship the men who
have had their fill...
and settled for the swan blockade
of the widower romance...
the widow swan...
the black widow: a ******* spider...

none of it... i ****** good i ******
well... come the prime of the age 21...
she was a gamer side-kick bedded...
she prescribed me...
                        Bulgakov...
              reading a ****** to a prussian...
or reading a ****** to a RUŚ: example: ditto...
                  i have heard of how
love supposedly closed and opened borders...
we are so antithesis "different"...
we aren't... some western "communist"
zoo study:
the people who say and then...
lucky us paupers...
who have to "loot" the infrastructure
of the vacating ****-tunnels...
because... someone has to ****-off...
their tongue and... gerbil fidgety!

albino chimpanzee and...
boxer gorilla fed on...
the promise of bulk... with nothing
but... the promise of fruits of your
labour... and nothing relating
to protein... or fat... of complex sugars
known as bread... none of that!
still: that fudge-packing bulk of
gorilla bicep protein: amass!

   - as ever... the murk: before the deep-water...
the... inverted demigods
of h. p. lovecraft...
because... cthulhu is... "somehow"...
not the ******* son of Poseidon?

acid-quasi-monkey asks...
   placid-didgeridoo...
                a constipated: not funny...
attempts! at solving a crossword!
-frankenstein-myrhh:
                        ******* dangling...
                                    (-) - Fatima...
is this... "Syria" yet?
  concerning the second coming...
concerning...
Syrian civil war... something...
*******... miraculous...
has happened...
or was about to happen...
and that it didn't happen...
better that it did:
but since it... didn't...
best we cover it up...
                corpse bride:
               Khadija **** Khuwaylid...
if ever: Stephen Vizinczey...
was a (prophet) Muhammad...
in praise of older women...

    ...a Fatima... fleeing the Syrian
civil war... because... Ramses II
was... telling apart the 7 good years
from... the 7 ******* years...

tell you what... it's no fun...
when you've been given the need
to bend the knee before the altar
of phantom power...
if i were 16 and she was 14...
if i was 18 and she was 16...
if i was 60! and she was... 20!
would it matter?
               if i was jerking off aged 8...
you want to know...
what... the last prize is...
the last... difference between...
"consent" of two adult adult...
with their *******-riddle
of a theatre of ***?
     you want to know?
the thought of ******* someone...
under-age...
no! no barbie! no ken!
the theatre of thought...
of ******* someone... underage...
who is... displaying...
teasing ***... in that primodial seance
of grief to ward of mother from
the ******...
and father from the parentage of
school!

               you ever want to see...
what... a kick in the jaw looks like...
omnipresent onlooker...
of some... unpardonable crime...
that it has to be ***-related...
              i wish i performed some
unpardonable crime on a *******...
i guess a kiss is a kiss is an unpardonable
crime against a *******...
i need this heart to shelter itself
in stone! i need: a heart!
of hard-earned: rock!
               with each sentence:
i find it impossible to not....growl!
to howl! to spew a bickering of...
wolves... of hyenas...
a wake of crows!
            
              i want toi write an echo!
hye! anoooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
i want to hear...
the microscope itching
of a marrow...
of maggots working toward
a closure of expressing: scotch fudge!
i want! maggot marrow!
i want! the lost sounds of...
what the fox already minded...
in...                       χαoς! ρει(γ)νς!
yes... the gamma is a surd...
                 in this... english... equation...

last time i checked:
the cognitive theatre of the forbidden...
****** "lax"...
it's enough to tease the affair with
mere thought...
to have... people "bothered"
that one thinks... such "things"!
while the girl... prime... aged... 14...
teases you with...
exfoliations of...
                      script and... censure...
like a skirt...
but of course...
you're the dodo-project genocidal maniac
about to sport a new: cushioning
extreme...
of an ******* like...
you're minding teasing...
a high-blood pressure!

          can i allow myself a giggle?
a crown of: a dozen demons laughing
as relevant: to the 12 strong cohort of...
cognitive lapses of reason?
          
  ******* before a mirror is my...
my memory and my last concern for...
"adventure"...
a ****** ******* a russian girl so freely...
she fed off of us as...
     spinning a willow to confine itself to:
those rhubarbs in... "retro"...
no... i'm pretty sure... "they"...
the western communists would have minded
it coming across as...
  rhubarb... dreads... stiff 12" drizzle /
drool bits of a tight-knit white sporting ***!
my... oh... wait...
not exactly 16... so... no...

my... what?!
    this has to become one of those...
most... "unspectacularbly": "a least"
in what's to be digested... "fogiven"...
when... there's that teasing-**** of a per-se
readied for her rite of horror to be
met with ******* the...
upper... echelons...
to the queue! to the loiter!
to the...                cue: no dry martini equipped...
sort of... joke as... a variation
of... escapism: to excuse...
fixations... of social hierarchy...

    i am hardly a misogynist...
            it's almost... fake...
how feminists point out... death-pull...
the misogynists...
clinging to philanthropists... i suppose...
it's like...
"someone" forgot...
to... mention...
the benevolent in misanthrophy...
the happily allied to the ivory tower...
whether you're a man or a woman...
or a man pretending to be a woman...
or a woman pretending to be a man...

who is... the misanthrope?
            the solipsist...
the atheist: should you be god?
the altruist... the... fiddly-bit... extreme...
the... autist?
         who is... your... claim for...
******-****** ruleZ the world?
mother of all perfected children...
a bit like jerking off to...
those gravure beijing models...

ava lauren? she is... an aged looking
*******... closure: madame...
she earned it...
her skin is like leather...
you dare to: wear it...
   but... oops: the ubermensch...
these chinese "brides" are not...
photoshopped...
they're genetically edited...
it was apparent that china
didn't have a soul...
in its summa summarum...
or in its christ redeemer...
when... india has its rich
polytheism... pedagogy:
shiva the antithesis of vishnu:
the thesis...

    i can feel... at least!
i can feel abbreviated with the raj master...
sport...
sending a few "*******" to beijing!
let's hear a story...
no... i'm fuming mad:
i'm dying! to hear that coin-flip
of a tail: of bending the... fuckning knee:
capping... as one might!

there's a <100million of "me"...
there's... a >1billion of "them"...

   while:
            i ****** off to...
          genetically edited creatures...
the western world can hide
behind its setting sun: metaphor...
photo-editing... while...
the hot-**** beijing is...
gene-editing...
west-world 1972 bronze age:
"staging a coup"..

             yeah: gurran-gu-dag...
the arabs and their bangladeshi...
queen-bee sorted...
           elizabeth II...
royal ascot...
  i.e. lamborghinis raced on knightbridge...
because: arab playboys are to be...
minded...

write long... to ensure...
people read short... little chance
of censor-loved-up-pseudo-i.q.-heroes!
100 years later: you become a pseudo-Proust /
a Joyce... but... that also implies:
you're stiff up at the neck...
in death and sand... and worms...
in a grave! so? no turkish kebab:
no malmuk / no janissary resurrection!
empire ants Nov 2018
oof
hindsight
is the ******* teacher
who tells you what you could have done to get an A
when you've already turned in your D level assignment.

have i learned anything?
we'll see.
joren's Feb 2019
Theres nothing to do here
We've seen every movie
Let's buy some craft beer

And we'll gaze at the stars
Roll one and make out
I'll take you to mars

I was so bored and lonely
We'll make our own fun
Calling you my only

And thats just the start
I'll vacate my hometown
But never your heart
I wrote this a long time ago. Its not really a style I enjoy so I'll probably never go back and work on it.
insomniatrical Nov 2021
Oof
Thought of mine,
Stinging lie,
I implore you,
Leave me be.
I have no time
Nor the patience
Or the mind
To let you influence me.

-is what I wish I could say
on a day like today
where the clouds roll in
and I feel the darkness
grow.
E Jul 2020
Oof
Oooooof
You just got roasted
Zack Ripley Jun 2020
seeing the fire in your eyes
Is as hypnotic
As watching lightning crack
Across the sky.
And the power of your smile
Could bring disco back in style.
The way you move your feet? Oof!
Girl, there's no way
I can stay in my seat.
So what's the problem?
You make me feel this way
And I don't even know your name
Hank Love Feb 2020
So I am in the process of writing a script to the sequel of 1951 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I have already contacted Disney to get approval to write the script and here is what I have so far. Alice falls asleep as in the first one, but this time, she's not alone. Her cousin, Johnothon goes to look for her and ends up falling unconscience and ends up in Wonderland himself. Alice is wanted for Treason by the Queen of Hearts and finds out that The Mad Hatter and March Hare are sentenced to be beheaded. Can she save them and escape Wonderland with her cousin as she did before?

"Alice's Return to Wonderland"

MARTHA:
Thomas, have you seen your cousin, Alice?

THOMAS:
Why no, Aunt Martha, I haven’t.

MARTHA:
Where do you suppose that girl could be? Have you finished your school work?

THOMAS:
Yes Aunt Martha.

MARTHA:
And your chores?

THOMAS:
They are done.

MARTHA:
Good. Help me look for Alice, will you?

THOMAS:
Yes Aunt Martha.

MARTHA:
I tell you, I cannot turn my back, without her running off. Check the riverbank. You know as well as I do, she spends her time there, nose pressed into those books of hers.

ALICE:
Where am I? Dinah? Dinah! Why, this all looks oddly familiar. What’s this now? Why, that’s me!  Wanted for treason by her Majesty the Queen? (Silently) The Queen. Oh, no! Not again!
CHESHIRE:
And the momeraths outgrabe!

ALICE:
Oh no! It’s you again!

CHESHIRE:
Well it most certainly not the white Rabbit. Which reminds me, now that the “Cat is out of the bag”, what brings you here after such a long time? Chasing more rabbits, are we?

ALICE:
Oh no, no. Those days are far behind me.

CHESHIRE:
No matter, it’s good to see you again. Welcome back.

ALICE:
I only wish I could say the same thing! And I hardly call this a welcome.

CHESHIRE:
Beg pardon? Oh! I remember now! All the trouble you started during your last stay. You’ve become quite famous here in Wonderland.

ALICE:
You mean the trouble you started. And I do not wish to be famous. No matter, I am not staying, I am going home. Straight home! Just as soon as I find my way.

CHESHIRE:
Your way? Have you not learned? All ways here, are The Queen’s way!  And she very well would have had her way with you, had you not woken up when you did.

ALICE:
That’s it!

CHESHIRE:
What? Do I have a flea?

ALICE:
No, no. I’m asleep! I simply must wake myself up!

CHESHIRE:
Oh but you’ve just got here!

ALICE:
I don’t care! I’ve had my share of nonsense to last me one lifetime, thank you.

CHESHIRE:
Well, if you insist. Oh by the way, you’re not asleep.

ALICE:
But I am! I must be!

CHESHIRE:
It’s not practical!

ALICE:
What do you mean?

CHESHIRE:
For example: if you were asleep, you couldn’t possibly feel me do this!

ALICE:
Ouch! What in the world was that for?

CHESHIRE:
To help me prove my point! If you were asleep, you would still be there, not here. Seeing as you’re here and not there, you are not asleep!

ALICE:
Oh dear! This is all so dreadfully confusing.

CHESHIRE:
Oh, I wouldn’t say that.

ALICE:
Of course you wouldn’t! You’re as mad as anything else here.

CHESHIRE:
Including you.

ALICE:
I most certainly am not!

CHESHIRE:
You must be! Otherwise you would never have come here. As I told you before, we’re all mad here. During your last stay, you associated with more mad people than I care to remember.

ALICE:
That’s it! The Mad Hatter! I think I’ll visit him.

CHESHIRE:
I simply would not recommend it!

ALICE:
I think I know what I’m doing. I’ve done it all before.

CHESHIRE:
That was before. Everything is different nowadays. As I said, I wouldn’t recommend it.

ALICE:
And why not?

CHESHIRE:
You won’t find him there.

ALICE:
Well, where is he?

CHESHIRE:
Who?

ALICE:
The Mad Hatter of course!

CHESHIRE:
It doesn’t seem to come to mind. Although, if I were looking for the Mad Hatter, I would try the dungeon!

ALICE:
The dungeon?

CHESHIRE:
Yes, he was sentenced to be executed by The Queen! He’ll really lose his head over this, if you know what I mean.

ALICE:
Oh dear! I’ve got to save him!

CHESHIRE:
While you’re at it, try not to lose your own. Speaking of which, will you excuse me one moment. That’s better. This thing is always popping off. And it’s no wonder! I knew I had a ***** loose.

ALICE:
Why you’re no help at all!

THOMAS:
Alice! Alice!

ALICE:
He’s no help. I suppose I’ll have to do everything on my own, is that it?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
Now what do you suppose he wants now?

ALICE:
Well?

CHESHIRE:
Well what?

ALICE:
But didn’t you just call my name?

CHESHIRE:
Of course not! I was busy practicing a harmony. It’s a trio as a matter of fact! Composed by me, myself and I!

ALICE:
I know you called my name!

CHESHIRE:
No I didn’t.

ALICE:
Oh really? Then who was it?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
That sounds like, Thomas! Thomas? Is that you?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
It is Thomas! I’m saved! Thomas! I’m here! I can hear you! Where are you?

THOMAS:
Alice!

ALICE:
I can hear you! Where are you?

(Alice and Thomas collide into one another.)

Together:
Oof!

THOMAS:
Alice, where have you been? Where are we?

ALICE:
How did you get here?

THOMAS:
I’m not entirely sure. Aunt Martha sent me to look for you, and I found you sleeping against a tree. After that, an apple fell on my head, and that’s all I remember.

ALICE:
Oh dear.

THOMAS:
No, I’m alright, not even a bump!

ALICE:
No, do you know what this means?

(Thomas is silent.)

ALICE:
It means that you are asleep too! And that we’re both having the same dream!

THOMAS:
That’s impossible!

ALICE:
No it’s true! Nothing is impossible, especially here. I’ll prove it!

THOMAS:
Go on, go on.

ALICE:
Well, do you remember the Cheshire cat I always talked about?

THOMAS:
Of course! How could I forget? But what has this got to do with-

ALICE:
Follow me!

THOMAS:
Slow down, Alice! I can’t keep up!

ALICE:
Hurry, Thomas! We’re nearly there!

THOMAS:
What is this about, Alice?

ALICE:
He was just, now where do you suppose he went?

THOMAS:
Who?

ALICE:
The Cheshire cat! Oh never mind!

THOMAS:
Wait, Alice, I’ve got it!

ALICE:
What?

THOMAS:
If we’re really asleep, maybe we can just yell really loud! I’m sure Aunt Martha or somebody will hear us.

ALICE:
Hmm I must say I’ve never tried it before. I guess anything is possible.

THOMAS:
Let’s give it a try.

ALICE:
Very well.

THOMAS:
Aunt Martha!

ALICE:
Mother!

THOMAS:
Aunt Martha!

ALICE:
Mother!

JACK CARD:
Hold it men! I heard voices! This way!

ALICE:
Thomas, hide!

THOMAS:
What on earth for?

ALICE:
Just trust me!

DECK OF CARDS:
Hup hup hup!

ALICE:
You see?

THOMAS:
Are those, cards?

ALICE:
They are not your ordinary deck of cards!

THOMAS:
This is not normal!

ALICE:
Nothing here is! Wait, shh!

JACK CARD:
They stopped! Have a look around, men!

ALICE:
On the count of three, Thomas, we’ll sneak out of the bushes and make a run for it. Ready?

TOGETHER:
One, two three-

JACK CARD:
Well, well. What do we have here? Why, Alice! Isn’t this a pleasant surprise? Take a look at this men, she even brought a friend.

THOMAS:
Leave my cousin alone you oversized playing card!

JACK CARD:
You’re both just in time for tea with the Queen! She’s been expecting you.

ALICE:
No, thank you. I’m sorry but I haven’t got the time. We are going home! Straight home!

JACK CARD:
But what is your rush? You’ve just got here! We have some catching up to do.
Thorns Apr 2019
idk it's wen. day my dudes...

"Oof."

"Ack!"

"XD"

"Sometimes you just wanna be an eboy, you feels?"

"Gang, gang uwu."

"Well, stupid as in evil."

"Your. Eyeliner. You look like a raccoon on crack!"
Oof...
idk
s Jul 2020
oof
I’m really sad

and I don’t know if it’s because
of the world?
or if it’s all the natural disasters?
or if it’s just my head?
or if it’s because of this pandemic?
or if my meds are off?
or if it’s because they keep canceling everything that keeps me motivated to stay alive?

I don’t know why I’m sad?
I know one day I am going to look back and miss this part of my life..

yet I can’t enjoy it in the moment.
so I live my life hating myself for being sad when I have so much to be happy about.

then I get more depressed because I know I’m going to be sad in five years when I remember that I didn’t fully enjoy all of the good things in my life,
because I was too busy hating myself for
being so sad.

I know I will look back and remember how my head was filled with dark storm clouds and the stupid forecast told me that those clouds are staying for awhile..

all this rain from the clouds
tears from my eyes
make it hard to see clearly.
I can’t get this bad weather to clear up.

I cry a lot.
I’m just sad.
I’m just really sad.
I hate me
SB Stokes Jun 2015
to the tune of guitars, mandolins,
bagpipes, cheap coke & hairspray
Freighters crest the punk-washed waves
the sun shines out
unaware and uncaring
Our tiny animal foibles
behemoth sub-audible
military choppers
chop the air
The air, no offense, much better
on it's own
sans commentary or guitar-fueled breaks
the promise of returning surf
silent acceptance by rock and sand
Again and again, we return
and it returns to greet anew the day
again the sun and
more importantly, the moon

And here, right here I am
phone calls and photographs be ******
to live, to breathe, and be free
this is the gift we share
the covenant we acquiesce to
life's contract:
Be here now
and then be gone
Good work done
and done again

to acknowledge human order
to rever and accept
to create, not destroy
despite what might have come before
or will come again after
Be ****** or choose not to
This is our secret
our secret treasure
kept right here
within earshot of the bored gods
spread out like bleached wood
our foibles, our suspicions,
our struggles
our gallant moments
in sunlight or in shade
we persevere and
look **** good doing it

Oh, the momentary glory
The ecstasy of our
reciting invincibility to one another
like religion or science
we accept it and trust it
and, therefore, it is true
if only for a moment

the laughter subsides
and what does it leave us?
the exhalation of waves
on shores unnamed

Things we hold so close, so near
clenched with inescapable fear
that this might suddenly end
lights out, curtain down
a dejected sigh, a knowing frown

This great place, this great land
Oh, the metal in my days
and in my hands
There was a time when
I would worry, I would fret
and wonder at what
each gesture meant
But now so much more I know
of the secret songs of our beloved coast

to think that somehow
we can digest all this
parse everything that befalls
such a joke, it is to laugh
in the shade of the cove
far from the mast
It is no joke, but more
to laugh, not to cry,
nor cower back

OOF! WHOO!
sunning & living & loving
just so
It is our way and all that we know
amid handclaps & footfalls
among cliff faces & sheer falls
we shine so solitary
& bright among the world
and its fashions

The thrill of standing so tall
against inhuman scale
its momentary humor
our highlights & travails

So much meat to manipulate
against surf & sail
from the privilege of the cove
friendship against the rocks
winds and darkness
Huddle, you beloved masses, huddle

The schooners schooning
the bay accepting
lucky our lives absorbing
the glory, yes
the glory, I said it
THE GLORY
of living today
like a grown-up
with a robot with its
hand up

Oh, the exertion
of simply being human!
Constructs of strobe lights
& nonesuch!
We claw, we dance,
we construct the armature
of the ridiculous!
We strive, we fall, we climb
imagined walls
What excellent detritus!

And now the chill descends
the shade the cove knows
only as a friend

I sit alone
construct these lines
wishing for lost loves
amid shade, sand & brine
sunken mermaids in my mind

I love the threat
they present
For me, ironically,
it's all in words
I share the secrets
that the tide keeps
in surf & loam

I look at technology
& I look away
that's how I know
I'm human
how I know
I'm not completely lost
not completely
without animal

All we can hope for
a pumpkin at sunset
& not being pathetic
with people that love us

Yes, it's a lot
good weather and foul
beacon of human remembrance
It's all we can ask for & should

(Oh, Dan Langton
how much you've simply
taught me
thru words, sure
but just as much through
sly looks & laughs

Portland you're all
houses and woods
and there's always ****
to do: so tender
to women "Beat me!
Oh Bob, beat me!")

& Motorhead prevails
on the Golden Gate coast
away from the campground
our shared & secret cove
From the book *A History of Broken Love Things*, Punk Hostage Press (2014).
though strictly Fermi, and oh...(en Rico) plus sun
dre other parvenues, a rapture
     surges thru me,
     when audibly communicating, enunciating,
     and speaking English words

as if hi ken run
a marathon, or zip to the moon,
     (take as cheesy tong in cheek)
     from this pun
gent, who relishes reading for my eyes and ears
     asper myself, which purported nun

sense ink reese sees learn'n
     den earn an award,
especially wash'n black board
den breathing intelligent dust
     from eraser head could awk cord,

I utter Hieronymus Bosch, bing enamored,
and aye actually confess
     tubby a model United Nations chimp
pan zee, and/or other
     type of survey monkey hook can huff ford

Old Rotten Gotham horde
sliding down into the behavioral sink...
     exclaiming "oh me jack lord"
and getting rescued then getting less on,

     sans get'n taut how (muss elf George Eliot)
     tubby comb moored
     flossed, milled, and taut
     tubby trained for Operation Ready Date

     by a coop pull oof oot standing chap,
     named Adam West, who poured
salty epithets (reminding me, as they roared
that life iz brutal, short and nasty),

     part tickly ne'r the end
     wharf hew scored
and majority got de toured
until emotionally, physically,
     and spiritually enlightened
     By Rabindranath Tagore and Burt Ward.
Jennifer Beetz Jan 2019
You darling
Me failed
Failed of all
grammar
Failed from
within
Oof oof
Me darling
You caveman
And I'm assailed-
You with your
tuxedo grin
and me with
my crinoline
(Dance dance
dance away
from him)
Away from
Averages that
Don't average
If you know what
I mean (darling
Death hurts less
than to take it
on the chin)
Postal Leo Feb 2019
OOF
Not a happy individual,
Call me Grumpy, of the 7
I may look young,
But trust me,
I’m older than eleven,

Go away,
I bite,
And am quite prone to startin’, a fight.
Not angry…
Call me ******.
And I see absolutely no way,
That we can coexist.
noah aurelia Aug 2011
being older

i am only browner and more solid

more clogged

weights drag at face and heart and ****

oof, age

like a badger in the belly

growls and nuzzles
E Aug 2020
Noice
Oof
Rip
Tea
Sis
Dor Nov 2019
Oof
I cannot concentrate
When they are home.

It hurts my brain
When all I hear
Is loud voices
And the sound of the TV.

I feel like I can't be myself
When I am around them.

Lightheaded
Anxiety driven
And lethargic.

Oh universe, tell me why.
Why, do I feel this way?

What does my feelings and
Thoughts really convey?

Hunger for something -
Anything takes form.

When they are gone.
My mind returns to peace.
Only to be interrupted
Once again, when they return.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
it really doesn't help to write your **** and have some cyborg
alternator typo it - even after a bottle of whiskey -
what? that's basically tweeting, isn't it?
i'm competing with 140 date that dot -
i have to wake up at 12 o'clock and
feel being needed, water the garden, make a steak
and chippie meal with fungus
sauce, then get myself ready for
the Bolshoi don quixote, originally
choreographed by Marius Petipa to the music
of Ludwig Minkus -
i have to admit Swan Lake was more like
STOMP - among the garbage cans -
a ******* centipede spectacle, or a thousand
ants in the gym!
- what a headache -
what a ******* headache -
i love being crude and blind toward what's
dubbed high culture... i won't
be drinking a cosmopolitan with that,
a shy whiskey while taking a **** in a cubicle
where the **** goes... fun fun fun.
tomorrow's Petipa show, or oof af rag a muffin whiff woo...
takes the steam from  stiff upper lip,
makes Dublin global... get pissy of the Guinness you'll
beat all the models on the catwalk in Paris...
eyes underwater - i'm seeing do do double! burp.
or so minded. dabbed the dab and sleepwalked
the rest of it... impressions of the mummified monkey -
they love their novels because they hate their
Ensō - they love their Zen, hate their Tao Buddy Bud, Bud -
they want to read in bed - god forgive them -
i'd write the diabolic of what i'm doing right now,
but it'd be a waste of paper, you keep it to your imaginings -
ha - short-script, the the repetition doesn't matter;
and while on the street i cherub sang to a sinking of
cleaning those papa Blanc shoes - who said less trip
or tip toe but shoo shoo shoo - i was
the first Aboriginal Black in Candy Skin Ah-merry-ca-ca-ca...
people were missing the cancan dances while
i was being forged from **** splendour... into
the Irish version of a tatty up my ****...
oh now they love me... they payed their month's wages
just to see the boxing match: Tiny Titus v. the Ice Lodger
Bjørg - the former out cold... while we scalped and
skinned chickens, and for the first time we thought
we had hope... cinnamon was added to savoury dishes...
it was like discovering the steam engine!
m'eh m'eh m'eh... Mongolian harmonica and the lip
fuelled propeller boats... brr (it's cold when it's humid
down under in the forked excess skin of the tongue);
god, strap me to a shady alley in Paris -
god, strap me to a shady alley in Amsterdam -
or better still, send me to a village on the Faroe Islands -
away from this anorexic-trying-to-look-pretty people...
send me to a place where the news is the only anorexia,
where people hunt Orcas and eat the blubber -
i want to be there... **** Barbados and that sacred sand
of beaches with slobbering great whites -
send me further north to the doom, and gloom -
well of course keep your pride-riddled Brits and
their auxiliary eager Irish Gnomes on Parade -
20 children in a diameters of a cubic mile -
about 2 paedophiles slurring their speech wet Koranic
style giving up cigarettes and alcohol for a teeny tiny
hole or a mole's eye socket fitting to try the shoe...
ever notice? she really looks like a dolphin...
esp. if she's entitled to be called Lady rather than Mrs.,
god they do look gooey glamorous -
fat fingers budget fat rings of fated diamonds
ready for the Jewish pawn shop - fake Rolex... half price!
it's one thing that the art of poetry is so passe (acute too, yes,
eat eat e and take to the bullring) -
or so elitist - call in the psychiatrists! but it's another
to deliberately make us seem illiterate - or half so,
in that we write a formula of lubrication, and
are represented by friction - you almost want to correct
your faults... but it become frustrating in the end...
so you don't bother... poetry - the pauper...
avant garde artist - the king, pretentious in itself -
if only St. Peter cut off a nose rather than the ear...
i wouldn't be watching the complete X-files
with Krebsmensch being frustrated about not
being a published author - funny how good
people become evil, among apathetic people either side.
Invocation May 2014
i don't like this website anymore
everything is deep and wonderful and precious
it reaches skinny white arms like little wires down slipping down
into my skin and tugs
invasively
I'm not crying
that's just the wind
whipping my hair about in this daylight charade
as I pretend
to dislike the feeling
suckerpunches to the stomach
oof
another to the heart


I love your poetry
but it's tearing me apart
#
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
i don't get inspired... i get prompts,
e.g.?

one in particular...
her name? sam leith -
the saturday the times weekend
magazine (july 29th 2017) -
the usual load of *******
from the ***
of west london...

sam? why not samuel but
samantha?
  what sort of man cites his
father as the guiding beacon?
me? you?
s(he) - ah, transgender perfect,
armed with a rifle, and a bra
stuffed with scrambled eggs -
she he he she, she she he she,
it dot, tag, you're it! he she
she she he she, she she he, he she,
she she, he he, shish kebab,
samuel beckett's watt:
bonkers, boing boing boing,
apache heli-copter! trampoline!

slap in the face seriousness...
she-******
quotes her father citing
ecclesiastes (oof fra fra in essex,
high-brow y'ah tellin' moi?!
   neece... nice? n'eh ce pa?
tortoise mangetout peckam, n'es pas?)...
dog ****.

         to, every, thing, there, is, a, season,
     and, a, time, to, every, purpose, under,
the, heaven.

and then ******-he goes on to add:

        post-60... never pass an alleyway
for a wee... (not little, down south it's
called the glaswegian pish-soother),
     *******? no, thank you,
   i do mine almost daily while taking a ****...
for some reason an eager **** always
provides the ***** with some mexican
"artist"... milk that cow boy! milk it!
         boy milk it!
                         ah sweet maritza...
hombre in ex hombre... y'allah...
                                                     im'she!
(camel talk, spit and gnarl at toon poond
uh'xtra!)...
                      point no. 3: farts are boring,
unless in a tight space,
where all solipsism disappears...
   there is a proof for solispsism,
but it doesn't come from either head or mouth...
psst... comes from the ***...
    the argument for solipsism comes from
the ***... evidently the theory stands on the proof
that: everyone enjoys their own stink...
  and i believe that's a universally accepted
logic... you can smell your own ****,
but dare not to gag at someone else's,
     there, solipsism, proved via farting.

no man cites his father unless he be a semite.

so this bothered me... she-******-it-he-it-she-ooh
the following (age-limit requirement in brackets):
- not knowing how to cook (30)
- long hair for men (20)
- wheelie pavement transport (35)
- having one-night stands (26)
- posting selfies on instagram (35)
- long hair for women (50)
- jeremy "che" corbyn t-shirts (30)
- going clubbing (37)
- saying you're a d.j. (30)
- tattoos (age limit: never!)                  huh?
    - not being able to drive (20)
- baseball caps (36)
- going to festivals (50)
- wearing shorts (40)
- cleavage (40)
- showing other people your
poetry
(16)....
   that's what got me, **** the rest...
what are you?
   spank-the-monkey-tiger-mommy?!
you the whip the ****** latex c.e.o.?!
the **** is this ******* rambling?!
    oh look... what's next...
an article!
   let's see:
           post-cougar, pre-pensioner -
it's a.... "tricky" stage by a 57 year old...
sure, i'd **** a granny... if i were african
working in a care home...
  as the headlines read only two days ago...
no... it's one thing philosophy attacking poetry,
but it's another when journalists do it...
no you ****-****-faced-*******....
you're not going to get away like the so easily...
******* leeches of conversation...
       barren wastelands of introspection!
i know my patron... at least this ****
german appreciated the craft...
   you? you?! you're a pathetic waste of time
trying to replenish a taste for
ancient greece... and all that pederastic education.

poets? masters of listening to
silence,
   within hearing sound

                (vacuus in vox, papilio in turba columba).
Phi Kenzie Aug 2018
Oof

Ow

You got me.

What now

Tss

Ah

What a
crushing
blow.

Mm

Yah

You showed me
Ya hurt me
congrats
hope it helps
Caro Jun 2020
I used to write poems
Who knew how to rhyme
Easy words hung out together
Matching pace, keeping time

But now I like my proses
That don’t have to try so hard
I can write each phrase
Quick as it catches ablaze
No rhythm in it’s ways
Just minding its own business
As it swirls across my page

But I guess it’s not the words themselves
That put in the effort
That craft phrases so pristine
You’d think they’d been conceived by Robert Redford
(Oof)

It’s my latent mind
That no longer lives in the land of
Rhyme
Where AABB and ABA
Just aren’t my preoccupation
They don’t rise me to another station
Of talent and prowess
Of being the very best

I just want to write out how I feel
And not worry how it sounds
That is until I go back
And see how emotions lack
In words that don’t capture me
Don’t rapture me
With their romanceless apathy

I forgot that poetry is poetry because it is an art
That a lion is more a lion for his mane than for his heart.
Would a balding lion still best the other beasts?
Perhaps
But if so,
Wouldn’t you know
That a bald lion is a she
The one who hunts and bears new beasts
The one who bleeds and shares her meat
The one who mangles cub thieves
And I’m sure the one who untangles
Knots in the mane of the he

I digress from this feminist lioness
But I like this point of view
That sometimes beauty is better
And sometimes better is use
But I also already knew that
And if you’re still reading, so did you

My point is that though I am
Smarter now
Older
More mature
With thoughts that vibrate higher
And far less victim overtures
My poetry has suffered
And I enjoy it less
And now to create
Swooning phrases capped in rhythm
I must confess
That I labor

In my old way of feeling I found it easier to create
But in my new way of thinking

Ah
There it is.
In my new way of being I think
I choose when to be swayed by an emotion
Rarely being overtaken
But also rarely feeling forsaken
Accepting calmly an occasion where my intentions are mistaken
No matter,
I remain unshaken

There we go
I’ve got it back
A little rhyme
Picking up the slack
And in the evening I’ll have a snack
Some carbs
Some sugar
And the extra poundage won’t give me anxiety attacks
Cellulite on my thigh
Doesn’t make me want to cry
I’m not so lonely
I am content
I am ambitious
I pay my rent
I don’t overeat
Or undereat
I just want to feel sated
I’m not frustrated
I don’t feel hated
And my gratefulness is never belated
I’m happy
I am not manic
An unanswered text won’t send me into a panic
I moisturize
I don’t have bags under my eyes
I don’t compromise
I won’t lie
And when I care I really try
I love my home
And love my skin
I love my bumpy shins
I don’t feel stressed about my age
Or the passing of time
So I suppose I won’t fret
That my words won’t always rhyme
PK Wakefield Dec 2010
spouted
                                  of the                                 cruel
                                                                             SOIL

       a dandy         lion          is:

          

                           P!OOf)
Malia Nov 2019
Oof
My mask is on so much
It has become an appendage on my face.
Shara Anderson Feb 2018
Every story begins with an end: a lost love, the end of a war, the end of a friendship. My story begins with the completion of a bracelet. Each charm holds my story- a hope, a wish, a dream, and a story in my heart just waiting to be told….

A butterfly hangs on my wrist-
a constant reminder of my wish-
ugly like a caterpillar, I feel,
to go through metamorphosis I wish.

A home rests on my skin-
a reminder of my dream-
unhappy at home, I long for a change,
A happy home, full of life, I dream.

There is an anchor on this tiny wrist oof mine-
incessantly reminding me
that there is no need to float in the malevolence and dark of the world-
longing to be anchored to the world, I make a dream,
to find something to hold me here is my hope, my dream, my wish.

The moon hangs on my wrist-
an incessant reminder that I am never alone-
afraid in the dark I find myself,
a light in the dark of night is my hope.




A star from the sky dangles on my wrist-
a wish that nary a dream nor a hope can fill-
darkened by my life, I long to change,
to get over my “sickness,”
to be happy, I wish.

A little girl smiles at me every day-
a little boy smiles up next to her-
reminding me that I have eleven years to make up for,
that I have something,
someone worth living for.
A little girl,
a little girl that looks so much like me,
to come back to my baby siblings is my beacon of hope,
my reason to keep on keeping on.

A bass clef remains with me at all times-
a constant reminder that I can and will survive-
disheartened by the life I live, I dream,
the promise I made,
my way to save the day.

A guitar rocks on on my wrist-
a promise to myself-
I can survive, I say,
just like rock ‘n’ roll never dies-
a song for every broken heart, the promise was made
now I must find a way.

I’ve worn my heart on my sleeve one too many times,
so now I wear it on my wrist-
a reminder of my hope, my wish, my dream-
alone with no love I find myself,
to find love is my wish.

A sparrow lies on my wrist in midflight
reminding me that
like a sparrow I can fly
but no matter how hard I try
I cannot touch the sky.

A flower lays next to it
reminding me that
like a flower I can grow
but no matter what I say
I cannot grow alone.

A book is open on my wrist-
an insistent promise of a sweet escape-
longing for a happy ending, I dream
a way to escape is my wish.



A phoenix burns on my wrist-
an incessant reminder of my pain,
a symbol of hope and rebirth,
a reminder that I was born to die,
and I will die to live,
but what’s the point of living life if it just contradicts?
a talisman for my life, I wish,
to rise from the ashes is my dream.

An ancient dragon slumbers on me-
an immortal power,
an unimaginable being,
an indescribable strength,
an unrelenting force.
Useless like a mouse, I feel.
To have strength and power in my life,
a futile quest, I find myself on.

A lock and key keeps my secrets safe,
Hidden on my wrist-
An ancient confession
of a forsaken love,
a lost embrace
from another life,
a forgotten kiss
from an ancient love,
a distant wish,
and a promise I must keep
before I move onto the next life….
born two days
after ole Punxsutawney i.e. the Doctor Phil -
of woodchucks Latin Name = Marmota Monax
nest resembled Rastafarian hair weave,
which creature rattled with ire and peeveishness,

when rudely roused from his abode February fourth
two thousand nine hundred and ninety nine
just two days after said groundhog got prodded to predict,
what surprises old man winter would deliver
from his snowy white sleeve
then juiced when he tried tug *** cozy once again,
an ear piercing cry rent quiet  
his pseudo Redmond Proficiency Academy den.

Wails via this tearful papa surpassed
decibel deemed tolerated,
hence entire webbed threshold did reverb
and rebound and he could not
muffle ears to block out sound,
nor would said creature trust
his beady eyes, how metamorphosis
doth confoundingly, blindingly, and astoundingly
transformed alien (perfect E.T. Stand in) appearing
gangly infant into a stunning - materiel
sans as fashionably attired
home coming queen crowned soon
to be freshly minted high school senior,
and perhaps college bound.

Seventeen plus years ago (soon be nineteen years -
she skipped to my lou eighteen), elapsed in a flash,
as a newborn mandated to exit
womb er full world uterine she
did plash ordained by Mother Nature
decreed must wriggle and leave placental stash
without (of course) leaving a mass of trash.
Thus, exit from birth canal complemented
second and last daughter to the Harris mix
whereby, she communicated
via clucks just for kicks
starting to gabble sounds vocalizing -
sounds of cow bell licks
influenced by Donald Duck
and Leif Erics son, also enlisting
literary feedback from Barack Obama,
and his lovely brood of Dixie chic chicks
attired in his wall den uniform bespeaking
his pointed skill teaching pre-presidential days
within ivied bricks primal utterances she acquired
(courtesy of Alice Cooper)
Retained like toys in attics.

Like any buck minister fully taken aback
this mister mom did fuss and fawn
from one jimmy crack corn to the next rhyme,
which captive infant audience gave no flack,
precious heir from ***** papa did help spawn -

an everyday ******* Jack of all trades
whereat n'er tiring as child rearing
more challenging than untying Gordian knot
without lack king and how, The Idler Wheel
Is Wiser than the Driver of the *****

and Whipping Cords Will Serve You
More than Ropes Will Ever Do to pack
a Judy ish us punch, though thee Punim
born with adroit skill to quack
mimicking gripped banshees,
denizens frenziedly shrieking
out the box of Pandora - as if one felt a whack
and a wallop, nonetheless infant younger daughter

a boon against strife
wool worth effort and propensity
to revel qua biological miracle re: said offspring
did inadvertently teach me lessons of life

to cherish and savor each giggle, laughter and smile
amidst cramped apartment plus feeling
discombobulated frustration bubbling rife
introducing yours truly
to tha hen pecked moody blue wife.

pockmarks can vouchsafe this un beak able trait
from spouse, who need not be lambasted
on account of increased weight.

Like a human bobbing sponge youngest progeny
absorbed auditory/ visual multitude
within each axon and neuron of that infantile sensory
“sir” kit board aware at a tender young age
how she struggled to string words together
to convey a mood
predilection with language impediment
possibly passed thru umbilical rip cord.
No idea thru combination of genetics and biology
that burnished beautiful lass oof an offspring
wrought a smart girl, an apple of the eye
per this father who never thought
thru attempts at conception sought

supremely melded genes, he thought
loves labors last, t’would come
to naught delivered us an artistic,
intrinsic, linguistic lass
who for no price can be bought
though someday, a young lad will take a fancy

(as ought to be the path of biology)
and hoop fully brings ye happiness
for your remaining lifetime
with a numeral
(following a number from one to nine)
with many an aught!

TOO LOVE YOU MY DEAR SHANA -
MORE THAN THIS SHABBY POEM
CAN CONVEY, WHICH...
UPON ATTEMPTING TO UNDERSTAND -
ABOVE GIBBERISH JA PROBABLY
WILL PROBABLY RAISE ARMS UP
IN DESPAIR UTTERING OYE VAY!
God's power works best in my weakness
God pours out himself by the holy spirit
my faith makes me whole in spirit, soul & body
I empty my mind of all thoughts except for the thought of God

God's infinite love and grace is what gives me life
i will give thanks to theLord for his mercy endures forever
every word of God is pure he is a shield that puts their trust in him
I am open to the wisdom and peace of God as he guides me in everything I do

the Lord is with me where ever I go
in God I trust & am no afraid
your help has made me great
I live by faith not by sight

The same love that God has for Jesus is in me
I am open to the healing power of the Lord
I waited patiently for the Lord & he heard my cry
a song of praise to our God

............................................................­.......

his will stregthens my heart
you oh Lord am a shield above me and the lifter of my head

the Lord is near to the broken hearted
they that wait for the Lord shall renew their stregnth

I am gentle and lowly in heart you will find rest for your souls

the eternal God is the light that shines through the darkness
the Lord turns my darkness into light

the best thing to do right now is to put your faith in God
put your hope in God for I will yet praise him my God

be strong and take heart all you that trust in the Lord
I let go oof fear I let go of pain

praise be to the father of our Lord Jesus Christ
I am willing to be transformed by the renewing of my mind

humble yourselves therefore under God's mighty hand
have pity on me oh Lord

do not be anxious about anything let your requests be known onto God
I can experience the joy of authentic service through God
.............................................................­............

I will praise ye oh Lord with all my heart comfort my spirit
the Lord God is in your midst the mighty one he will save

I surrender all my problems to God as he bares that burden for me
the Lord watches over you the Lord will keep you from all harm

the Lord will watch over your life
I put myself in God's hands

dry bones hear the word of the Lord
behold I will cause breath to enter you & you shall live

I ask for forgiveness from all I have wronged me
I never lose heart for God is caring for me

I choose a mind of faith case that is a way forward
Lord let your ear be attentive to this here your servant

I am redeemed each day I'm reborn a fresh
trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your understanding

faith shelters me in storms releases me from self absorption

.....................................................­......................................

then they cried in the Lord in their troubles and saved them in their distress
the Lord is my strength and shield

praise the Lord my soul don't forget all his benefits
he crowns you with loving kindness

satisfies you in good things so your youth is renewed as the eagle
may God himself sanctifies you through & through

the grass withers and the flowers fall but the word of our God stands forever
your word is a lamp for my feet a light for my path

I have the anointing of Jesus through the power of the holy spirit
God's power works best in my weakness

God pours out his love into my heart by the holy spirit
my faith makes me whole in spirit, soul & body

I empty my mind from all thoughts except for the thought of God
Mel Little Nov 2023
Oof
I've only ever been good at ******* **** up for myself

Who needs a faux pas when your mouth opens and you should bury your head in the sand?

— The End —