"pdf" poems
Some people work out
to get totally bulked
some people work out
to get totally slim
sometimes one just
never knows which
will result
but when all gets going
the most beautiful part
is to get the body
flowing
getting the body
moving
getting the body
grooving
it is so beautiful
to feel a tug
of ****** movement
never felt
where it was felt
with any strength before.
Keeping the body
beautiful
means keeping up the
motion
movement is beauty
when done with
will and devotion
the body is ageless
when rejecting the
notion
that time is an
enemy like
zero pdf lotion.
Keep working out
how you will
be it lifting
be it dancing
be it running
or groovy prancing
let your self
cry out for more
let yourself
stretch
to reduce being
sore.
Let the body move
so that you sweat
straight from the heart
the more you move
and work it hard
you create
body art.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
Hello all. I have been pretty busy with projects I've been working on.
I have been putting my poems up in PDF format and all of the new poems are available for download here:
http://deadbeatantihero.wixsite.com/thereisnothinghere
This website works best on a desktop. I tried accessing the website on my phone but some of the titles are buried within the other titles so I think it is best if you just access the website using a desktop. All you have to do is click the title that you want to read and it should automatically bring you directly to the PDF format of the works. You may also download them for free if you wish.
I am converting these works into PDF format with the intention to turn them into zines and chapbooks in the near future, given the right price and resource people to help me come up with the projects. Feel free and read away, all of the works are free and downloadable.
The website currently has 19 titles for you to read and download (if you want to, that is). Let me know if I could help you with anything!
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 2:50 PM UTC
before i left seattle, and long before i made the mistake of returning,
i was babysitting a fish in a fishbowl,
for my brother's kids.
the water in the bowl was cloudy,
unclear, ***** because of the fish
so of course the fish died,
the bowl just sat on the counter after the fish died
but before my brother's kids came back from california
anyhow, moving back here was a mistake.
the cost of living here is ridiculous,
there is no room to be a middle class person here
only a little kid who works at amazon
whose mom found him his job.
these little kids work for amazon,
their moms type out cover letters and resumes
so their kids can get jobs at amazon
i am looking for a new job because i can't afford to keep the job i have now,
the little kids who work for amazon have it pretty good though,
they can bring their dogs to work with them
they can jack up the rents, no problem
mom is always looking out for them like that
tonight i applied for a job at amazon
i typed in my first name to submit my application
"jeffbezosisacunt", i wrote a quick cover letter
telling them i was qualified for the job because
my mom didn't have to type out my cover letters for me
and because i had a dog that hadn't been trained yet
that i could take to work with me, then i attached a pdf file of a quick reference guide for aol 9.0 as my resume
it felt good
but not for long and not good enough
mark zuckerberg makes me sick too,
i can just see him running for president one day,
needing a good slapping
the little **** has never known any form of adversity
so he just keeps on being a little ****
he has a lot in common with kim jong un
when i first moved back here, there were all these orange and white umbrellas every morning. those orange and white umbrellas had already taken over.
Apr 19, 2016
Apr 19, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
http://noheartonlymind.com/store/
I came out with a little pdf file book that costs $8, I'm saving up for college and I figured I'd sell 60 poems and some art work to spread my thoughts and ideas.
May 29, 2015
May 29, 2015 at 2:28 PM UTC
Fast-walking past Timpsons',
I hear Attic Dithyrambs
In eternal rhythmic voyage
The Adjectives of Ancients
Crowd my senses, deliciously:
Artless and cretinly, everyone turns away
Quite leisurely into the bus station,
And I alone walk among these
Uninquiring minds
I will shell out for an unruled real faux leather notebook
Uncle Harold, you don't know what Poetry means;
otherwise, you might have got me a quaint old anthology
dense and esoteric, with Spender and Ezra,
for my twenty-third
And not the Readers' Digest Word Power Dictionary you sent off for with coupons:
sure, I know what quixotic means
and how to spell weird, and conceited,
but name two ways they apply to me? How will I confront
the unremitting suffering of my existence
with a list of Celebrity Anagrams?
True? or False? Poetry is Dead,
and with it, the bespirited core of commonman:
I will submit my first volume as a .pdf
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
sorry, this is there.
new publication, from self and to self, full length, with theme and without. title: Stork Blood. Feb 2014, 97 pages, 9.00
for free PDF, email [email protected]
book is here and has been elsewhere:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/stork-blood/paperback/product-21447349.html;jsessionid=B705664E62077329F9C5141F5762EC50
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 2:54 PM UTC
closed off, cease candor, delusions of grandeur
to everyone but you, Online Person; because that's your name,
as far as we're both concerned.
this in mind, consider me an open PDF, buried on page ten
of your favourite search engine
hallowed ground, that is.
[not an open book, those are honest and available to everybody who cares to look]
by the time you get to page ten
you've strayed from the path of relevancy
but the results pique pointless curiosity -
partly privy to my pathetic plateau.
and even my brothers are not in the know.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 2:05 AM UTC
So many things in vain.
Taking a stop at my house so late.
Ready for the break down and I'm sorry.
That it's coming.
But i won't let it shut me out.
If only this one voice i can shout.
I swear it'll come to the crowd.
I wanna be heard.
So i can know im alive.
I was birthed.
Now it's time to be admired.
Chorus
Here i am
Finding que's to begin.
Don't have a clue who I've been
Waiting to rid my sin.
Sick of stumbling, Trippin.
Don't ever listen.
Too instuctions.
So understand.
When i disappear.
It's for a reason.
And theres no peace in these excuses.
Do you hear me?
That's the question of this creation, that you made.
It's gotta get better than this.
Don't let my eyes get tired.
Have the wrinkles fade to gray.
The way my hair is when i come to the hundreds.
Is there more out there.
Can we prepare and not scared.
Have we feared that salvation ain't coming
any moment too soon.
Blow some hope in these bones.
Plagues of joy needs to whisper to my shadows.
Feel a little off balence.
Walking from my absence.
Chorus
Here i am
Finding que's to begin.
Don't have a clue who I've been
Waiting to rid my sin.
Sick of stumbling, Trippin.
Don't ever listen.
Too instuctions.
So understand.
When i disappear.
It's for a reason.
And theres no peace in these excuses.
Do you hear me?
That's the question of this creation, that you made.
THis is me debating existence.
Answer it if you can.
Give me a hand if you care.
As i enter in oblivioun.
Are you there.
Ready to bring me back to humanity.
I've heard im still the loser of the followers.
Even when i try to change them the rest who aren't breathing.
I get that they say im preachin about things i don't believe in.
Forgive me of hypocricy.
Chorus
Here i am
Finding que's to begin.
Don't have a clue who I've been
Waiting to rid my sin.
Sick of stumbling, Trippin.
Don't ever listen.
Too instuctions.
So understand.
When i disappear.
It's for a reason.
And theres no peace in these excuses.
Do you hear me?
That's the question of this creation, that you made.
This is me debating existence.
Say i walked away.
What if i never did.
WHere would i go if this happened.
How would fate leade me.
4
| Email this Poem | Generate PDF | Add to reading list
Jul 5, 2010
Jul 5, 2010 at 6:49 AM UTC
Oh, Joel,
I see you've gone the way
of HP vanity
with your two score & eight cantos
pdf-ed
and
covered
in Escheresque!
============
Wishing you brisk sales and an IRS audit :-)
Feb 15, 2011
Feb 15, 2011 at 3:23 PM UTC
my face is like an open book and
everyone knows exactly where the last person left off.
there’s no reading between the lines, no built-in metaphors. no.
all the words and feelings are out there,
on the page and they start screaming at the first contact with the outside world.
I have no covers,
no pdf format,
no index,
no once in a lifetime offer you can’t miss.
I only come with a story, that
some people enjoy reading,
that others hate (and
decide to wait for the movie).
the main character is a guy that’s neither good nor bad,
that lives inside a human head,
but always gets beaten around by a human heart.
I’m curious about that specific moment when
it was decided that we love with our heart
and not with our brain, or leg, or knee.
you may be the main thing in the menu at one point,
the hottest dish in the restaurant
but you know that
you’ll always gonna be someone else’s sloppy seconds.
today, a kid on the metro asked me
*why do we keep saying „may God save us”?
when really, it’s up to us to save HIM?*
I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t know how to explain to him that
sometimes I’m afraid to believe
in something that doesn’t feel like belief worthy..
that I don’t understand how certain things happen..
that I can hardly save a WORD file after a day’s work,
and he’s proposing me to save S̶A̶N̶T̶A̶ .. GOD.
I didn't have the means to lie, to be wise, to be strong..
I couldn’t let go of the iron bar and my smile had no teeth to show, no lips to uncover.
but I guess he knew all of that.
my face is like an open book. not the holy one!
with me there’s no reading between the lines, no built-in metaphors.
no..
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
Your eyes, their photo booth blinks,
are filed PDF's behind my prefrontal cortex.
Parachuting to the moon,
where the gravity god is mortal,
my stimuli float in a sensory deprivation tank.
I practice wearing my isolation blindfold,
allowing all other senses to eat its portion,
SO in time IT fades.
I close my trained eyes
in the warm water and Epsom salts,
my desolate tank of solitude,
And we are holding hands naked,
floating in your Dead Sea.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC
In 2013 I lost a friend, soul brother and collaborator. He is the John in the titles that say written with John. Over the next few months another poet and I collected as much of his work as we could and put it in an anthology as a sort of living memorial.
https://www.createspace.com/4939401
I would be glad to email the pdf to anyone that is interested.
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 7:05 AM UTC
hon-fountain / jigo hudami - googlewhack! by Matthew Conrad
hellopoetry.com/poem/1478415/hon-fountain-jigo-hudami-googlewhack/
2 hours ago - hon-fountain / jigo hudami - googlewhack! among european nations, the poles get self-conscious by comparing themselves as: the cinderella ...
[PDF]WILD HORSES; 'A DETECTIVE TALKS. - Digifind-It.com
www.digifind-it.com/cranbury/data/newspapers/1887/1887-11-25.pdf
here for ten yearn, having in thnt time two children. Fourteen yeai.-. jigo they, removed to Brazil ...... -thai hu hud ami thuiu breds-at-sca;—for from any laud that ...
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
have recently self-published a comprehensive selected work taken from the fourteen full-length, also self-published, collections of mine from years 2007-2014. the book has a title, the women you take from your brother, and is 351 pages. a PDF of the work will be sent to any making such a request of me at email [email protected]
link to the work is below, book preview is book entire:
http://www.lulu.com/shop/barton-smock/the-women-you-take-from-your-brother/hardcover/product-21758824.html
it includes work from the following publications-
the paper dolls have been cutting your hair
Grief Of Arm
Angel Scene
mating rituals of the responsibly poor
Ahistoric
Aggressive Kin
Hallelujah Lip-Synch
in the asylum we’d sun ourselves with angels
think hard on nothing on a farm machine
abandonesque
Stork Blood
town crier
We stole not the same bread
PLEA
sample poems:
lacuna
Ohio 1976 I was given a word. a helluva word. I went unborn. a word my mother swallowed. a troublesome word. nervosa sans pretext. my father slept until his sleep became self aware. he paced. then gave me his word. stood over me.
Ohio 2013 you ***** on my shadow in an abandoned building outside of which a pregnant woman bikes herself into a garage door and bloodies her nose between sound and horn.
the gospel
I lose the fat hero to thoughts of my own weight.
I make the bully too evil.
I shy from death
to be made
its lure.
I have a wife
board
what else
a train
to transport
the sadness
a *****
can’t.
my son
wonders
aloud
if all females
are mothers.
if animals, talk.
jesus on the cross
my sister is sometimes obese. she has mild heart attacks in cramped third floor apartments. she gets beaten by schoolmates who impersonate hospital staff. I am always going to see her it seems when she is in someone else’s bed. it is to this thought she has recently clung.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 9:49 AM UTC
Crimson seethe. This, a waiting not for all
even glean a PDF, follow crumbs, seal notes.
Raucous cries die before sunset
veering to the door, but sticker too green.
Strange, eleven hours it took to birth a smile
pluck away in quiet corners.
Only, reversing chance to another
nobody gives a hoot. Isn't life much a gauntlet?
Drying, crack open a thought and spy
youngster unsought, of the last month, until the end.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 3:32 PM UTC
the following self-published, full-length poetry collections of mine are available at
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/acolyteroad
in the asylum we’d sun ourselves with angels, August 2013, 9.00
-
think hard on nothing on a farm machine, Oct 2013, 10.00
-
abandonesque, Dec 2013, 10.00
-
Stork Blood, Feb 2014, 9.00
-
town crier, March 2014, 8.50
-
We stole not the same bread, May 2014, 9.00
-
PLEA, July 2014, 8.25
if you’re interested in receiving any collection of mine via PDF, please send me a request at [email protected] and I’ll send promptly.
-here is a poem from in the asylum we'd sun ourselves with angels:
men statuesque
I am struck by the urge to pray.
my trauma has yet to occur.
the stress my father knows
knew his hands
as he waved them in front of nothing
on a tarmac obscured by speech.
night is a ruined crow.
I see the city as possibly bombed.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 9:47 AM UTC
RE: . pdf .
sonja benskin mesher
06:07
Good Morning
I wake to find the internet is fixed,
so have read the document file.
as time is short, and the fact that
it all looks very well. I did like my odd spacing,
yet the dots are there.Let us go ahead and
both have a very nice day. I thank you
for all your work on this, and at
the weekend too.
i am very pleased, a little excited.
yes shall we refer to it as the journal.
sbm.
Nov 1, 2015
Nov 1, 2015 at 1:24 AM UTC
Instagram.
open.
close.
Text Messages.
open.
close.
Discord.
open.
close.
Back to Insta.
Forget why.
"So come on let's go
let's go below zero and hide from the sun
I'll love you forever, where we'll have some fun,
Yes, let's hit the North Pole and live happily,"
huh.
North Pole kinda screws up the tempo a bit
Wait did I answer James?!?!?
or was that yesterday?
nope. five minutes ago.
Do i answer again???
would that look weird?
Nevermind, i'll figure that out later
Oooooh new message from James
LMAOOO what is he even talking about
I should write a poem.
nooo I should sleep
I should write a poem about not sleeping
then sleep while thinking of my next poem
nooo i should prep for my meeting tomorrow
agenda bullet points
bullet point
point and laugh
that'd make for a good wheel of fortune clue
no.
focus.
where's the doc?!?!
Google Drive tab number 7
WHY IS IT OPEN TWICEEEEE
"Please, don't cry no tears now, it's Christmas, baby
My snowman and meeeeeeee"
I just thought about it,
"where we'll have some fun"
what if "fun" though??
is writing this fun?
am i having fun?
am i sad?
am i happy?
anxious?
all of it?
none of it?
of right. Insta
someone typing
someone stopped
me, wondering if I said too much
me, saying more
meetingmeetingmeetinggggg
should i print this?
make it into a pdf?
and also "it's christmas baby"
.... it's July
right?
i think i need to sleep
Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 12:55 AM UTC
to unfold an umbrella in a room, while it rains the gallons of chopin trickling tickles in piano form, and a monsoon of the decade's worth of memoriam to postscript.
hide it between hiding
an unfolding umbrella
in solid space -
call it what you want,
in americanist perfectionism,
and call it a "freedom of speech":
"free": as long as i say it!
glossing over iran,
i'll only double stab at
the effort...
can't bother-fuck
to call it red or call it pink...
i'll just call it anyways....
imagine if a bull sought pink...
i'm sure you'd see as much charge....
of a quaker in beetroot skin-boots...
beef-shits of hope-long-lost-gone....
apparently the dead have a speaker...
and a ******* fest...
and it sounds like
a hannibal lecter's quest of thirst via
an oyster feast...
next i'll start imagining
donkey kong jerking off
a pdf. file worth of information...
take a razor,
and call it simples -
while calling the slit point of
the interaction:
amounted to verse,
& a courtney love shoelace;
******* laughing now,
aren't we?
your beloved lucifer,
just did the icarus knosedive.
still, imagine the english feeling,
or sitting on a windowsill,
with an open umbrella -
counting raindrops via
the sheet...
imagine rolling a cigarette...
huddling under the necro mushroom...
imagine unfolding
this raindrop mushroom,
in the interiors...
find yourself under an umbrella,
under a roof...
you'd be the luckiest man alive,
looking for mushrooms,
even the dodgy ones, the one off offers -
even the kurt cobains...
oddly enough,
unfolding umbrellas under roofs,
made all the necessary sense,
since it became congested in translating
english: into english (of americanism).
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 8:36 PM UTC
Rosa: Wieloświat leży poza granicami odczuwania Gombrowicza
i obserwacji Grotowskiego, natomiast HERODY/ Herodenspiel
von Stefan Kosiewski pozwalają obserwatorowi na życie nowe
vita nuova we wieloświatłowości kwantowej (ang. multiverse theater).
PDF: https://de.scribd.com/doc/269708846/
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 8:18 AM UTC
[war footing]
a parrot
sawed in half
by peace
or quiet
~
[ballerina]
dog whistle, nothing’s church-bell:
my mother, handcuffed
still worships
wasp
~
[mothers, acoustic]
we are maybe
inside
an Ohio
factory
childless and ready
for a refresher
on orphan
etiquette-
word is
there came
a cow
from the nothingness
that drank
nowhere’s
father
and sleep
is death’s
babysitter
~
[darker farms]
food
saved
from a house
fire
–
the cult following of nostalgic paranoids
–
a star, this deer
as it prays
for moth
~
[annihilatives]
the first murdered woman was not killed by her sister.
stop me
if you’ve not
heard
~
~
also, {name calling} is my newest self-published poetry collection
it is available on Lulu
book preview on site is book entire
free PDF is available. also, free hardy copy available for review. both upon request.
poems, from it, are below:
~
~
[entries for listen]
mirror
to window
we’re moving
away
~
[entries for fixation]
the name of this scar
is
they couldn’t hide
the canoe
mom says there’s an oven
at the bottom of every lake
that I was born asleep
surrounded
by toe touchers
is art
world-building
for the geeks
of grief
have you crucified
starfish
~
[entries for children]
remember, it is dark and memory is god painting with the blood of those he would create
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 11:30 PM UTC