"outrageous" poems
To **** or not to **** that’s the ******* question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the bowels to suffer
The twists and turns of outrageous rumblings
Or to take action against a bellyful of gas,
And by farting pump one out? To strain, to bloat
No more; and by a mighty outburst we’ll end
The gut’s ache, and the thousand natural stenches
That the **** is heir to, 'tis a resolution
Right devoutly to be wish'd. To **** to ****
But perchance to **** there's the ******* problem;
For in that mighty **** of doom what turds may come,
When we have let the little beauty out from mortal tail,
Must give us pause; there's the danger
That makes calamity of the farter’s life;
For who would bear the sneers and mocks of men,
The neighbour’s shock, the lover’s curling lip,
The pangs of horrid stench, the ******* o’erflowing,
The leaking **** orifice, and the drips,
Impatient strainings that the tragic farter makes,
When he himself might sweet easance make
With a careful prodding finger? Who would a ******** wear,
Grunting and sweating with noisome convulsions,
But that the dread of solids after air-release,
The undiscover'd oozings, from whose delivery
No toilet visitor recovers, puzzles the will,
And makes us bear the bellyache we have
Than fly to others we know not of?
Thus indigestion does make cowards of us all;
And then the native heave of constipation
Is sicklied o'er with the pale fear of defecation;
And enterprises of both ******* and crapping
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of exciting toilet action.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
Stumbling into ancient scripts, authored a decades plus ago,
ago being a modifier of time quantities, minute or large, unspecific
without an objective adjective additive, that faucets a stream of an interlocutory elocution of a batter of rooted emotional histories,
but not histrionics
fanciful words for dredged up memories, acute, but tarnished,
powered yet worn by a cousin of ago, a/k/a,
age
and yet
renews as of,
at this very second, as if it were a first, a tumult of visions, swelling of remembrances, embodied scars, and I weep anew but not
for me, as much for the resonating simpatico souls with whom
they even now vibrate with resonance of the immediacy of
If not now, When?
Aside: The exterior environment is noisy wet pelting of thunderstorms and ****** sheets of bulleting rain, piercing projectiles, but I am safe in the sunroom, sadly happy my dog is no longer here to shiver and tremble, cuddle and be soothed by steady stroking
But I am here, wrestling with this dredging operation, digging up
tons of sand that require dumping, and I ask, inquire, beg:
Who will take this detritus off my hands, once more, now uncovered,
now recovered, the soil is already soaked and can absorb no more,
the soul is already soaked and can absorb no more, the weakened
heart, damaged and occluded, suffer cannot bare twice the
outrageous misfortune
of unbared recollections, twice, or thrice, and I feel myself drowning in revisiting pain, **** **** **** these old poems, not nuggets, but boulders dropping from night skies, shot from a pitching machine, without letup, piercing of agonies that once ago
freshly desecrated and decorated my basic training in humanity.
Enough whining:
*I wrote those poems to
eject out those pains,
and I write this now, once more,
to realize that so so many still face
uncertain and unrelenting similarities,
doing their own sums,
and I wish them easing,
strength to compose and
thereby dispose of
the ineloquent
and eloquent
words of staining suffering*
3:30am
Thur
July 10
2025
Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 5:39 PM UTC
My sisters have witchy feet.
Their words, not mine.
If someone else puts them down
I firmly draw the line.
When they are laughing,
Just because they are together,
The joy I hear from them
Seems to change the weather.
It might be chilly or gray
But today the clouds evaporate.
Inside it’s all warm and cozy,
And I do not exaggerate.
They manage to find something
That they can all laugh about
Even when that laughter rises
To the level of three sided shouts.
It usually starts when one dances
And turns it into a wiggle.
Then all three of them break out
In wild, uncontrollable giggles.
Or a memory will get triggered
Of something outrageous
And the laughter takes over.
It is immediately contagious.
I am always rewarded by this
Circus of the instantly absurd
That turns into the best of all
Sounds I have ever heard.
May I wish all of you have
What has happened to me;
To have such close members
Of our often silly family.
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 9:05 PM UTC
I am not at fault.
I didn't do anything wrong.
Why am I being treated as though I did?
Stop it with the pity and the shame.
I am not ashamed. I don't need pity.
Especially not yours.
Life is messed up, but I am not.
One in five. one in five. ONE IN FIVE
One in five LGBTQ+ people have been mistreated because of their ****** orientation. It's not that hard to find these statistics. Look it up. Look up anything about LGBTQ+ people and I'm sure you'll find mistreatment.
I'm sure you'll find harm.
I'm sure you'll find that they harm themselves.
Because they feel at fault.
It's not their fault that they feel a common emotion towards another person you, selfish, close-minded..
mmm.
No.
Four in five. four in five. FOUR IN FIVE
Don't talk about it.
The way they were mistreated.
If you don't really get that
If you can't really fathom that
Almost all of them
Almost every single one of these people that have been mistreated don't even talk about it they don't reach out they don't tell
anyone
NEARLY HALF
of LGBTQ+ people in school are bullied
Are mistreated
Are hurt
Are mocked
Are called names
***
******
***
In school.
Yeah, bullying happens all the time over stupid **** All the time. Wearing glasses, looking different, being gay.
I get it.
It happens.
Whatever.
Nearly half.
"72 countries criminalise same-sex relationships ...
The death penalty is either ‘allowed’, or evidence of its existence occurs, in 8 countries
In more than half the world, LGBT people may not be protected from discrimination by workplace law
Most governments deny trans people the right to legally change their name and gender from those that were assigned to them at birth
Between 2008 and 2014, there were 1,612 trans people were murdered across 62 countries - equivalent to a killing every two days
A quarter of the world’s population believes that being LGBT should be a crime"
Oh hey, just some statistics. Isn't that interesting. Isn't it cool to take a step back and check that out. That's pretty crazy huh? Pretty outrageous. But, you know, maybe if you weren't such a
***
I did nothing
wrong.
I tried to stop it.
I tried.
But how can you stop
Doing
What
Is
Natural.
People are hurting
People are dying
People are being killed
People are killing themselves
Stop it with the pity and the shame.
We are not to blame.
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
I have a sickness,
which is contagious,
spreading with quickness,
which is outrageous.
Every person I look upon,
is struck with the feelings of hate,
soon these feelings will be gone,
as someone else carries this weight.
Is there a cure for what I feel?
Must i react with such zeal?
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
One Summer's night looking out the
back window at the back garden
My! I couldn't get over it, how bright it
was
You'd think the sun was still shining
The Big Moon casting its ghostly pallor
over everything
Like an Enchantress's dark spell
The strange cold beauty of it, it held
me enthralled
I could only stand there watching,
silently in awe;
Suddenly, a peculiar thought came
into my head
I smiled at its outrageous suggestion
Then grabbing my sunglasses and my
old deck chair
I went out into the garden and sat right down there underneath the stars
Bathing in the silvery light of the
moon's cold rays,
Well I tell you, all the night creatures
going about their night business
They all did a double take "Hey, that's the funny human bloke, what's he
doin' out this late",
Even the cat came over and rubbed her eyes," Wait a minute ", she said, " this isn't right, you're not supposed to
come out at night ":
Sensing their curiosity and their
general discomfiture
I lowered my shades and looking at them all gathered there in the shiny
bright dark, I said
" Don't worry gang, don't be alarmed,
no! don't be aghast
It's only.... well, it's only Great Art.
II
I don't know
But it seems
Wherever I go
Great Art is never far behind
In tow.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 8:25 AM UTC
You weren’t listening to me
I know it to be true you see
Because you could not hear me
And not be in love with me.
I have told you carefully
What you have here in me
A person of total loyalty
And outrageous personality.
You could not have been listening
Because you were not hearing
The wonderful things I’m telling
And the joys that are here waiting
Waiting patiently and languishing
In the shadow of your evening
As the sun has begun lowering
And the moon has begun rising.
I sit in the shadows and I’m sad
Missing all the good times we had
Knowing something cannot be bad
When it has made me so very glad.
If you only missed me just a tad
I would be a much happier lad.
I fear our love was just a fad
And it’s serving to drive me mad.
I know you weren’t listening to me
Or you couldn’t behave callously.
You would be enchanted totally
And drawn to me quite helplessly.
Is it something else completely?
Some magic spell not from me?
Some disgusting magical sorcery
That drags you away forcefully?
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
It is definitely not just me
Who finds these people lacking
In spine, morals, sincerity;
Why do we tolerate their slacking?
Behaviour we should abhor
Due to its outrageous hypocrisy,
Yet these people represent us
In what we call our democracy.
Our voice must be much louder
To gain some true control
Over the ducking and diving
Politicians have taken as their role.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
Light of my life,
The slings and arrows
Of outrageous fortune
Bloom a rose
In the deeps of my heart.
And so I came forth
But could not behold the stars.
The slings and arrows,
They trespassed upon my thoughts.
And I cried that I came
To this great stage of fools,
But it echoed loudly within me
Because I am hollow at the core.
That outward existence which conforms,
This inward life which questions
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece of.
I don't exactly know
What I mean by that,
But I mean it.
Nov 17, 2016
Nov 17, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
Ignorance is bliss,
really,
more like Stupidity.
an aspect,
benefiting a person,
like cold sore,
irritating,
an annoyance,
peevish to your life.
Face it, honey,
you’re as fake,
as your personality.
You’re plastic,
I could melt you,
if I truly desired,
setting a lighted match,
to your artificial body.
Please, take some advice,
lay off the make-up,
you look like a clown,
maybe a **********
Tanning is acceptable,
but looking dark orange,
is outrageous.
There is no need to look,
like you just rolled in bag of Doritos,
that’s Snooki’s Job.
There is more to life,
besides appearances,
waking up like P. Diddy,
sweet heart, don’t like be Kesha,
it’s ******
Partying is enjoyable,
but not necessary every night,
consisting of drinking,
frat boys, jocks, pretty boys,
saying “oh my god”,
or “I broke a nail”,
and precarious ***
I know you were raised with Barbies,
but you don’t have to be one.
Barbie is a piece of plastic,
containing no originality,
with an unfeasible body,
and isn’t real,
much like yourself.
Stop with the act,
no one wants to be,
around a person,
who is often intoxicated,
narcissistic,
and a ditzy *****
You can be a girly girl,
but be genuine,
stop being a follower,
if everyone jumps off a bridge,
then you’ll be splattered,
upon the ground with them,
no use to anyone.
My words are probably useless,
going right through the holes,
of yours ears,
attached to the plastic head of yours.
Anyways, I tried,
as excruciating as it was,
to reach out to you,
who are living this life,
of alleged greatness,
more like a travesty,
in my eyes.
Hopefully, you’ll change,
wake up from this social stupor,
become yourself,
regain your individuality,
and cease to be,
a Barbie doll.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
I never say we are orphans;
But they say we’re.
But who are they?
They are the orphans.
They chased us away from their fold,
Yea, it’s for good that we’ve been raised by HIM.
Their fold hath been stained by outrageous laws,
And are shrouded with selfish attires,
And they have swallowed our innocence and spit it out.
But why they did so?
It was they’d turned ‘gainst us,
And their treacherous acts named them traitors.
It is they lurk around us still to **** us,
They contrive against us still to covet our belongings;
And they lay their greedy tongues stretched at our treasures.
But HE is our Protector, laying us in HIS Arms,
And we are safe in HIS Arms.
No, we aren’t orphans,
For God in Christ Jesus is our Father,
And we are HIS children.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
What a face
"Sells"
Abruptly she yells
Matte burning dry
Just try
Too moisten her lips
She's the Red devil
From hell why does her
orange face peel sell?
The right color
a psychic won't tell
Wishing well drenched
He touched my orange juice
"All Frenched"
She loves to slice and
he peels what appeal
orange saffron sauce
One last juicy squirt
divorce
It's time for fresh squeeze
Too frozen concentrate
The happy hour "Orange" feel
no other place like fate
Ten times real
"One" face peel has been
love absorbed
Like lemon meringue
Tainted love
Bitter grind soft butter glove
Do you mind orange flame
(The Spa) sells to be loved
Tra la so kind all Grunge
Going "Wawa" coffee cruel
Other colors haha
Movie set Orange payroll
lounge tease squirt
But destroyed by the evil
spell curse
Summoned on sunburst
But we need the Orange
before the sun comes
Like clones orange, you glad
we have "Green Apple"
phones
One step beyond orange
zones
I don't want to burst your
orange sauce
Grand Marnier starry twist
of orange
Two timing orange yogurt
Taste to tangy it hurt
Hey Yo Orange peel Spa
Still sticks Orange Julius
flirt
O outrageous P pick
What turns us on and gets us sick
Plan your work and work your plan
Never offend her
Let's see the chef make you love her
Creamified dreamlike Whip free
The orange mousse pie
Let me hear it yummy to lie
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
SHE lived in storm and strife,
Her soul had such desire
For what proud death may bring
That it could not endure
The common good of life,
But lived as 'twere a king
That packed his marriage day
With banneret and pennon,
Trumpet and kettledrum,
And the outrageous cannon,
To bundle time away
That the night come.
5.2k
There are so many colors in a crayon box.
Everyone has their favorite.
Mine just happens to be you.
You're the pink to my hearts that overfill the page with your name written inside.
You're the blue to the tear on my stick figures that I draw every time we say goodbye.
You're the red to the fire I doodle when ever I remember our last kiss.
You're the yellow I shade in the smiley faces as you make me grin.
Your're the green to the color of nature, that has a beauty so very close to yours.
You're the orange that shows our warm hugs like the suns light reflects the sea shores.
You're the purple when we're apart, there's loyalty there that I trust with all my heart.
You're the black to my night sky, surrounded by the twinkling stars of our outrageous memories.
You're the white to heaven's clouds, and its not as far as it seems, i'm there whenever you're with me
But most of all,
You are my personal color.
A color no one could use or borrow
I'll use you yesterday, today, and tomorrow
And never get old.
In a sixty-four pack box,
You are my crayon.
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:46 AM UTC
Would it Fease to make Connections secure,
The Outrageous Magic such Form does cast
Why not the Flu, whose Substance membered, cure
The Fly's own Happiness which would not last
With Furnace Embers burning your Hour's Spent
That Diamond Red of Sparkles unfade
Pride honours you well; Yet deflects on them
Would heal so if you can defer the *****
Intention, dear Victim of Absolute
How could one Comment subtract a Friend's Trust
When one lends a Hand for Innocent's Sake,
And Settle the Gnarbled Basket, we must.
When Integers apply, Truth should be Owned,
On Level Ground seen; But not to the Bone.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 3:03 AM UTC
Crocodiles catnapping cuddling in cordial cliques,
Loafing, lollygagging, lurking low like lounging leeches,
Protective postures pouncing prey with piercing pinned precision,
Brilliant belligerent beasts basking boldly by swamp beaches,
Agressively angry attitudes among alluring adverse animals,
Deep daunting jaws of death damage drastically when dropping down,
Scales shaped like stabbing shards scrape while swimming strongly,
Opposing opposition order obedience of outrageous odious opponents,
Raged ravenous rapacious reptiles rank repulsive ratings and resourses...
©Michael P. Smith
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:26 AM UTC
I provoke the rain of Hell
From Heaven high to earth below
There we'll float on gainful spells
We're ready for this world to go
And off to outer space, we're facing
Endless races to the furthest reaches of our teacher, the speaker, the logos of Cosmos
And beyond to distant Quasars,
No phasers, no lasers, weaponry
We're safe with hearts of purity
And naked with our souls we'll seek
The greatest cosmic mysteries
I've always sought and thought unreal
The spacecraft not of stone or steel but
Opened hearts and focused spirits
Woke by times both strange and fearful
Changing basic notions of
What we all say are mind and love
We're through with consumers, they've doomed us
We've moved on
The proof is the truth that all life will soon be gone
We've built and built, killed billions and still
We march toward gold archways which never were real
I can tell others feel it,
They're real and they heal me
Relations, creations, spontaneous meaning
It's all building up to a climactic moment
Of high expectation that we will all blow it
But we were born just so we'd know when the opening
Ceremonies go on for the New Age of Hope
It's outrageous to think of the hate which created this
Darkness and chaos,
(Our God has betrayed us!)
But that's why our savior said
Look the other way,
To meet hate with more hatred
Speeds up the decay
We love the villains, though they **** us by millions
Because they're truly a part of this cosmic cotillion
They can't see the dance while they're
Crashing and sinning
So they can't imagine they're actually IN IT
There's a part and they fit it,
Catalyst for the equipment
Of Salvation:
The nations of women and men
Beginning again
We'll cancel the debt and we'll all become friends
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 3:22 PM UTC
NOT ALL POETRY SHOULD BE ABOUT DEPRESSION,
LOVE, WIND AND TEA-CUPS - I PREFER TO BE
THE DONALD TRUMP OF THE POETRY WORLD:
SEEMINGLY ILLITERATE, OBSCENELY DISSOLUTE,
UNINFORMED, SOCIOPATHICAL AND FALSELY MAGICAL;
SOMEONE SAID THAT, 'WE HAVE A DUTY TO
IMPART KNOWLEDGE,' I DID NOT ENTIRELY AGREE,
NOT ALL OF US ARE SUITABLY QUALIFIED AND THOSE
WHO ARE NOT MAY PASS ON THEIR OWN MISTAKES;
A TEACHER MISSPELT THE WORD 'BOLLOCKS,'
AND NOW HALF THE TOWN IS WRITING THE WORD
BOLLUCKS INCORRECTLY; THOSE WHO CAN, DO AND
THOSE WHO CAN NOT, JOIN THE RADIO -LIKE CERTAIN
PRESENTERS, IT RINGS, WHO SEEM TO HAVE KNOWLEDGE OF ALL THINGS.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 4:18 AM UTC
Grab that cigarette and take another drag
Listen as the country shouts **** the ****
Ain't that a drag
Well that ain't my bag
Did you see that video that's been circulating?
A cool customer got shot down for debating
All he did was say
Something everyone's been saying
This place is crazy
And so are we
Freedom dies quickly
In the land of the free
Paranoia's a drug and it's getting contagious
I'd like some logic but that'd be outrageous
Why'd it take so long to say this?
First I had to get famous
So grab your lover and rest your head on their chest
But first you gotta check if they're the same ***
If so, move on to the next
Everyone else knows what's best
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC
When I wear makeup
I feel unstoppable
courageous
beautiful.
so beautiful.
but I don't mean regular makeup,
mascara lipstick eyeliner blush etc,
I mean the kind that takes hours to apply,
transforming myself into hit characters
ghastly ghouls
alien creatures
minotaurs
ziggy stardust
I mean painting myself
with all the theatricality I can afford.
I feel like I can breath when I wear my makeup,
I feel okay and calm and like nothing can touch me
above all else I feel safe.
so safe
with that paint,
everybody's looking at the makeup
instead of me,
they admire and compliment the mask I've crafted
and it makes me happy to know
they can't see my plain pale face underneath,
the outrageous conception
has formed a shield
allowing me to step out in public
without being afraid to exist.
when I wear my makeup
I'm allowed to be whomever I please
and mingle-talk freely with all I want,
my makeup lets me be like everyone else.
The only downside is that not every week is spirit week,
my gentle skin is too irritated by even the most
hyper-allergenic makeup and acne protrudes
and at the end of it all I still have to wash it off,
watch my happy colors go down the sink drain,
the mask doesn't last forever,
and I'm left standing there the next day,
without my makeup
without my shield
and I feel so naked,
I feel incomplete and scared.
I wish every week was spirit week,
and that my skin was tough,
so that I could paint my face every day
so I wouldn't have to be afraid.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
Who decides life is not worth it?
You?
God?
When you reach this point, questioning living, breathing, you play god.
You feel your mind make,
take,
break
and create
new processes never felt before; a process of passion,
confusion, contradiction and confession.
You strive just by the thought of not surviving.
The
downfall
of a
suicidal
mind.
Painfully and buried deep down the impulses slip out.
Screams for hopes, answers, connections, positive aspirations.
Constantly wondering is this it?
Is this the end?
That your life can never peek again,
so the result of your collapse is an
eternal slumber with the devil by your side.
Whispering in your ear telling you about the ache
and sorrow your sinking heart and conscience feel.
An eternal hell. An eternal anguish, torment, suffering.
Do you stay in the hell on earth or hell in the after life?
You examine all the details
over and over
only thinking of your lonely pitiful life.
Meaningless and outrageous.
Screams moving around trying to get out but only
bouncing back inside of you to find
the little nothingness in which they are in seek of.
Literally, are taking you in and cutting you into
the smallest treads as possible over and over.
Never letting up to give the one underneath a second break.
Pounding as hard as possible.
Thudding and pulling, twisting and hurting.
Neither end nor good.
You can feel the over whelming sense of your corruption
taking you headfirst and choking your every last breath off.
Cutting it away like a river being eroded by things we cannot control.
Your life you cannot control.
People you cannot control.
You see the only outlet in your mind
but it burdens you with insanity behind it.
Taking life; your own life.
The reasons are bliss.
Sweet tender resolutions freeze
over your tempered thoughts,
fragile thoughts of a
suicidal.
Unaware of the footprint left behind.
Your stomach churns,
stirs
and confusion
sets in once again.
You feel ***** rising in your
throat about to implode
but it’s just an illusion created
in your mind;
hallucinations.
Questions are still increasing
their intensity and passion.
With every moment of aloneness and isolation,
the time ticks away from you until you feel as though
you will fly into a rage.
You take a deep breath;
intense thoughts.
Questioning right verses wrong;
life verses death;
now or never.
Take a step back
and pull the trigger;
welcome to the end.
Sep 29, 2013
Sep 29, 2013 at 3:27 AM UTC
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.
And his wife used to cry, 'If the darlin' should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.'
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.
Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
'What the divil and all is this christenin'?'
He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.
So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened —
''Tis outrageous,' says he, 'to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!'
Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the 'praste' cried aloud in his haste,
'Come out and be christened, you divil!'
But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
'I've a notion,' says he, 'that'll move him.'
'Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy — don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I'll name him.
'Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name —
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?'
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout —
'Take your chance, anyhow, wid 'Maginnis'!'
As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled 'MAGINNIS'S WHISKY'!
And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened 'Maginnis'!
3.1k
Slam that, thy Pen,
if thou doth so please,
in protest to earnest catharses;
Slam that, thy Pen!
Let it all out,
tell them of unfairness brought about
in a mutual way,
as if you are the Victim of outrageous Circumstances
and as if the Past vindicates more recent indiscretions.
-
Slam that, thy Pen,
in the face of yourself;
leave not thy rotting feelings
upon thy mental shelves.
Slam that, thy Pen,
that it may help you overcome.
Slam that, thy Pen,
lest ye be overrun.
Slam that, thy Pen,
in the face of your Pain.
Slam that, thy Pen,
into cathartic gain.
Slam that, thy Pen,
as I know I've done.
Slam thy ******* Pen
It's cathartic and fun.
Thus I implore;
Slam that, thy ******* Pen!
That's what the **** it's for.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 8:29 AM UTC
am I awake dreaming that I am asleep
or perhaps asleep dreaming that I am awake
yet I do dream. I dream of Brazil
where antique rages like great storms
announce themselves with a small breeze
that stands against rust in mighty waves
and stares at the bleak mid winter
eyes of oppression and by
crimson haste, dithers in despair
and watches the pages
that unleash such rages
become the cobalt colour of tombstones
who ***** themselves behind the eyes
in dramatic stages
yet is the announcement of all these
historic rages
that are outrageous
placed upon blank pages
that butchers compassion
which is almost infinitesimally brief
yet so poignant and dislocating
has a momentarily almost faint identity
that singles indefinable loss
that is expressed in all known language
and splinters the mind into dark deep waters
that the only thing that can be
trusted is this moment, this moment
is the realisation, so powerful
that one cannot do otherwise
but confront it and in so doing
feel the immense vibration of change
Jun 22, 2013
Jun 22, 2013 at 11:45 AM UTC