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Bill murray Aug 2015
Skippy hopper
One leg bopper
The wife's my shopper
Food for grasshoppers!
I will eat like a Piggie
Today when I eat some Piggie
Gonna have to digalig biggie
A hole
For the piggie
Bones
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2016
the only shame i feel: muslims hold a single book to be synonymous of a library.

apologies, this is why i wasn't fully integrated,
i hold enough respect for the English ethnicity to keep
the reins on my Slavic origin, and its ancient history,
i want to see the Graeae cauldron
of multiple-ethnicity and culturalism:
what with former slaves learning
rap to topple the slavish shackles?
no one ever heard my story under
the Germans, Russians and Austro-Hungarians,
all those to topple Israel already toppled me
to migrate and leave my mother *******
toward an an export: until the black gold runs
out you sand-******... until the oil runs out...
until the oil runs out...
you're the one abusing it because you have it...
until the oil runs out sand-******...
you gonna take the slang out of me?
what is it now? global or feminist tactic?
Chine ain't about to give Dagenham back,
like they're not giving Ostrowiec Św.:
first division in 1997.. extra-class...
yummie piggies at the trough:
money was created to pacify and let
rich boy girls' spend...
      Lwów / Lvov was still in poker hands
of Roosevelt... so much for ******* H'america...
     biker-clan-glandular-rhaps (or plural of odes):
****! i hate belonging to come or some thing...
i always thought about comedy prone enlarged *******
for the geography between left ****** antarctic and
right ****** arctic in tune with the jiggly fatty-bergs..
no... factual-bergs...
but you'd never disintegrate into a 0a.d.
given the colonial history narrative that doesn't
involve the old testament and ***-kissers and
hefty conservative ***-pleasers like the book
of Antioch proposed... made that up...
got mixed up thinking on the necromancer of
the year that was actually 1997-8
17th *KSZO Ostrowiec Świętokrzyski
, tablature
pld.     pts.        w.   d.     l.    f.      a.
         34      24    6   6 22 24 47...
piggie piggie: got the giddy giggly ***** ****-a-doodle-do...
and i know i would too...
small town Polish town, a big Russian
would-be clever-pincer attracted to ******-pinching,
and all the milky drools, down the Nile toward
Cairo, so long as you wife is an Oasis of hamburgers and
strobe-berry epileptics, i.e.: blink 182's what's my age again?
i speak the ******* sprechen and i don't even belong
here... it's like i'm apologising for something that
was coming... thankfully i'm resolved to integrate cognitively
but in the domestic realm have nothing to do with
this language...
     i don't want to speak it to my mother,
i don't want to speak it to my father,
i can't afford to rent a house and prolong a university
bachelor lifestyle, the arabs and nigerians bought
all the flats out and are renting them out...
hopefully to Somalian pirates for: essex tan orange
sake in terms of: if i figured my tongue was an
axe in the first place... i'd lace my life with
many more people applauding...
i never understood this desire to integrate without
having the right to censor what i'm about to
embrace... a contract, much of smallprint readied
on the fidgety hand...
       it's not that i suddenly chose to
ethnically suspend my origins for a need to respect,
i kept my mother tongue for times such as these,
when i can't be approached as white and as inheritor
of colonialism... if i say i'm German they'll *******
clap, i remember once they asked me as if i were
going to do an app. for the caliphate asking me:
you German? no... Polish... huh? what's that?
somewhere in between Germany and Russia...
now i can't claim the ethnicity that my's right hand
of use with tongue... and now i can't claim the
tongue that isn't the ethnicity but is otherwise my
limb-for-limb... 5p.m. tea 100 years later is
a hijab on the streets of Birmingham...
no secret... i just see why i need to be involved like
some James Dean "wannabe" schizoid spice...
there will be no news from Poland concerning
the migrant crisis, no talk of a Muslim takeover...
ironically, as Monty Python would have said:
everyone was expecting a Polish Inquisition,
or as the crowds chanted: Evangelism! not the Quran!
happily are those: seeing America involve
itself in this slogan... me? as ever, the Pontius Pilate:
i said it once, i'll say it again:
panic is worse than fascism...
   panic is worse than fascism...
you don't expect panic, hence the beasts' stampede
in urban areas... fascism? you know it's
coming, and you know it's not good...
             fascism is panic realised too late,
fascism is panic organised... you knew it was coming
and you did nothing to prevent it...
  the only thing that could have prevented Trump
winning the presidency was acknowledging an unequivocal
membership of the union... Cracow wasn't built in
one day... trigger ******* happy panic button: press!
press! oppress! that special relationship of yours?
yeah... ye'ha! rear 'em in with that quiff of yours, cowboy!
ye'ha!
please don't get me involved, i know how to
impale a turk on a rotten wooden stump, rather than
crucify a Syrian on a geometric of mahogany
amid sacred words: so descended onto a mosque's minaret
and the hippy-hair-debate, and no hair and the hajj.
i know, people are apprehensive you're not a businessman
employing 100 slave Mongolians enlisted to blowing
up 1000 helium filled balloons an hour for birthday
party contracts... and none of them are properly trained
in ventriloquist's chipmunk!
              james dean was the original schizophrenic...
who treated society as an asylum,
and the asylum as a garden of Eden...
                                       lucky him: mono-linguistic...
   i sometimes wish i had that luxury on inherent
cleansing of ethnicity, so i could be left with only
a culinary boasting akin to the Persian quote on
falafel... but then you never know who's side you're
gonna be on...
i might as well quote him akin to j. franco post-doppelganger:
you're tearing me apart!
                                   and they say people think...
nonetheless: whether thinking or not,
they are... a welcome aversion in finding pleasure in
zoos; esp. the times when they're sweating like sardines
stashed in vulvas on underground trains: ventriloquists'
suggestion? moans: foetal moans... get me out of here...
otherwise groaned? harder... mm... deeper...
make your pelvis kiss my pelvis! mmm... baby!
first your read the Marquis to get a hard-on,
then you ****-off that hard-on...
and then you do a hand-job to someone else
and pass on the Oxfam motto to some other "hungry" Afrikaan.
SG Holter Apr 2014
We build our relationships
With the wreckage of all our previous.
Always.

Bagage the weight of
Broken ships.

Expectations built on debree; forever mirrored in
Shrapnel.

Everyday blows huffin' and a' puffin' and'll blow your house
Down piggie after piggie, love after love bacon.

Burn the next one down to the ground.
Harvest forest fresh and be
New.
st64 Aug 2013
yonder wave wants to come on in
can't make it go away
try so hard to chase away
steel reserve



1.
don't come cryin' on yo broken shins
who dat talkin' ova der?
yo muvva just ain't home rite now
take ya scraggy bags
and vamoose outta here

pick up dem rings 'round yo trappin' eyes
      and lasso 'em round dat red fin
tackle yo chapped lips
      afore dem ships fall in yo calyx-cracks
quit dat naggin' *****-mouth
      here, have dis apple, ma piggie
and dems eyes o' yours dat shine so brite
       might as well switch off dat lite
hide dem leather-hands dat look like dry branches
      wat, even da desert don't win dis contest
pack dat stupid head in a box
      der ain't nuttin' inside a see-through noggin
hide dem silly hopes under a hevvy sea
      or bury it under da soles of yo crazi hart
take yo blasted treadin' to some udder place
      some dark mine where dey can use yo help
and all dem purty words on pages yo just lurve a-spewin'
      ain't no party here for fools no more


2.
den, der some funny rhydm 'gainst ma door
pushin' dat big wave
pushin' dat big wave
I'm a-pushing back jest as hard
but dat wrestlin' wave jest a-growin'
keeps a-knockin'
always rockin'
gonna come crashin' rite in

ain't no good wishing, ma beloved darlin'
so many fine dreams
running silent
in dem luvverly veins under yo kick-startin' tongue


yah, yonder waves gonna make a breakthrough
some day...
(mebbe)*




S T, 21 augury 2013
yo yo!
jest a fine, ****** cold day :)

yonder tides'll turn....tides'll turn....it must.

just as some waves must dream on....4now

(shawshank R: 'pressure over time...'     ~  der will come a time :)

“Kites rise highest against the wind, not with it.”
― Winston Churchill






sub-entry: warm smiles

it be a mighty rainy day today
nobody be lookin' up no more

some brave soul out der in dat cold..
wet and tired...down and out

waitin' fer answers dat sure don't come
one day, all will be gettin' dem warm smiles :)
Jonny Angel Jun 2014
Tangerine splintered the pitch
& coffee lifted spirits,
hard
bold
aroma
wafted the hallway,
a cool breeze whistled
& wool tickled my chin,
each piggie wiggled
to remind them of existence.
Joe Thompson Oct 2016
Long forgotten in poems and prose
Are the tribulations of a person’s toes.
Perhaps the likes of the great Ulysses
Are all afraid that they will sound like sissies -
If, in a battle full of strife and woe
They should take a moment to say “ouch, my toe!”
(though no one thought twice to hear Achilles squeal,
“I can’t go on - I broke a heel”
So go on and whine if you stub your toe -
be like: “this little piggie went to battle - Yo!”
Kancer Mar 2013
Ten little piggies play in the sun
One of them decided to run
A shot rang out, from the gun
There were nine little piggies
One was done

Nine little piggies stand in a line
One of them began to pine
A shot rang out, killed the swine
There were eight little piggies
Nine was mine

Eight little piggies began to wait
Which one of them was the bait
A shot rang out, one was late
There were seven little piggies
Sealed a fate

Seven little piggies began to whittle
One of them was too brittle
A shot rang out, killed a little
There were six little piggies
Four in heaven

Six little piggies in a tight fix
One of them in the sticks
A shot rang out, many clicks
There were five little piggies
Still alive

Now five little piggies still survive
One of them will soon dive
A shot rang out, no revive
There were four little piggies
On the floor

And four little piggies bathed in gore
One of them called for war
A shot rang out, his spine was tore
There were three little piggies
Obey the law

See three little piggies by the tree
One of them began to plea
A shot rang out, the others flee
There were two little piggies
Hiding from me

Two little piggies soon turn blue
One of them knew kung fu
A shot rang out, he was goo
There was one little piggy
He was done

One little piggie had his fun
That little piggy polished his gun
Now he’s off, on the run
There was one little piggy
With the **gun
Ken Pepiton Aug 2021
Trail of trials and tribulations,
woe is we
woe is we
and alla what's amattah, real or un,
who but we imagines
either one
or the other, is it real? What we think?
The meaning
centering being with science used
con-science, with knowing, so-vest, in vest
in finding the undeclared variable,
what is woke, in 2021?
Sense of some old known new named,
in a since from then to now, knowing
uses of knowing, knowing needless knowns,
- skei-sharper seps, see useless knowns,
- hard bought lessons you never lived without

"the double minded man ever falls forward,
into the forest" formed
from all the gardens
gone wild when the gardeners died,
it was sudden
nobody's fault, just - happened- as just does\

inside jobs, chrons and tension twisters,
springs of inspiration,
gears of cogitation
wheels in wheels in wheels in swirls
of fore gone conclusions,
we know
secrets, some how, now. We know
there never was a hell,
but the pearling process is valid,
the gate grows wider and the way
more twisted and iridescent than
ever, in all directions, at a turn
to bend the reflection you had
recognized as me, in your
hall of mirrors, right,
uber nur hier auf recht, re
thinking creative critical thinking,
but any re-applicant replies, pearl-wise --
lay it on me,
app-lie the essence of the
shining thing glimpsed scene,
-with wishery and fastest fasting
yet, this kind comes forth, to wink,
and lead on, a totally made up
way, a shone way where none is
as a golden street with no traveling
save messages encoded on reflections
of what the mind in peace has to say to
gloss the truth in eggwhite, wonder baked
in riddles,
as in the left brain's hall of mirrors…
the old fool stumbles in to the knots
all the thread infringed upon, and entagled
your requests to know what imitation lovers love,
sink this deep down. Imitation anointing,
have you never witnessed the super,
superior power of wind over sun,
did you never witness a wizard
with a power of presence like unto
PanaVision, to a pre-lingual toddler male.

Ritual passage,  - far subtler than any beasty
under tilled tale, telling all the trees,
keep growing, expand the life,
expand the knowing, once
known, this is it, this is where,
the forgiven sense appears a force
urging each o each little piggie, we we we
all the way home, pigs can swim, remember.

find the inner child, hall of dark glass walls…
expand to our mutual horizon,
see me see you past the stood unders,
look up,

this is joy being as beauty is,
it may not be devoid of good, nor useless
if I choose to enjoy, invest my will to happiness,
engaging joy receptors cast aside,
by the inner child, so sure the reflections
are others,
come to keep the joy I form re forming
more than one may think or ask,

a worst so good, we accept it as the best.
See.
Today is the only day you read this first.
What you imagine next, line
after line, as we,

no, me, hall of mirrors, I hear me
recall
"You are the most self-centered man
I have ever encountered."

Encounters of the pointy sort,
soul piercing insights, into who
and what
we are, if words are all I make them out to be.
Centering, hermiting, to the point of social exclusion, spinning straw to gold.
Giving any name that comes to mind to the force behind, pushing into emptiness all that wishes to exist, and making empty disappear.
mld Sep 2015
dreams like this aren’t a dime a dozen
and maybe it’s just me but i have the sudden urge
to rip out that piggie bank my mother gave to me
when i was six years old and gut it
with every knife in my silverware drawer
or the hammer in her tool box,
whichever i manage to find first.
you taught me proper grammar and spelling
and while i’m pretty good at one, i still forget i before e
even though you spent a half an hour teaching the rhyme to me
when we were in fifth grade
and suddenly we’re getting spelling words like relief and believe
and achieve and even though i had to look up their spelling on dictionary.com,
five years later,
at least i’ve experienced them all,
at least i know all the blues of relief
and the reds of achieve
and every shade of yellow that colour in ‘belief’
like a stain glass window,
and i’m glad i know what inversion and parallelism are
because if i didn’t my poetry would sound like garbled half-english
when read aloud.
(as though it doesn’t already)
i’ve found that spelling errors are slightly easier to rectify
and god knows you gave me enough dictionaries as ******* christmas gifts.

all ideas are repeated until we have left seven entities
with their tentacles cut off but spices sprinkled on,
ready for consumption, and i’ve learned that innovation and originality
don’t come from new components,
they come from the new arrangement of old components,
so if i arranged the alphabet so u and i were together,
maybe we’d have a fairy tale or maybe it would be a horror story
or a crime thriller.
i’d dream up the ending because that’s my specialty
and you’ll read it like the loyal friend you are
despite my many, many, many, many spelling errors.
2014
Chalsey Wilder Sep 2016
Lesson learned.
The first little piggie bought all he could afford
Made a house of straw
Knowing it was temporary
And that it would fall
The second made a house of sticks
It was all he could work with
He knows it's more stable than straw
But all it takes is a flood then away it flows
The third
Made a house of stone
He said "No one is gettin into my home"
He put in more effort for the comfort of stability
The third pig has taught me
That's the way I want to be
I really need to build up my motivation and ambition.
Love I got the desire to **** you//
Bring you back to life, and ******* love you all over again//
Let the waves hug you,
Sailing across the pacific beneath the visions,
I live inside the soul of you, you and you//
The drifting of the flow is never murky//
Jupiter accepts anybody who can keep a secret//
Anyone who can piggie back the seaweed//
Turn soft words into dense feel//
Turn my feel, let these sentences move like eels...
Please let the feels, be real
Mike Hauser Sep 2016
does anyone know
the purpose of toes
if not to give a whiff
to my turned up nose

the big ones for stumping
that and nothing more
but what in the world is up
with the other four

how many games of piggie
can a man can play
before he feels that he
gives his soul away

i know some women like
to add shiny rings
but me, the manly man that i am
would never dare such a thing

and i'm no fan of their jam
as something to eat
unless you spread peanut butter
all over both of my feet

so i guess i'll continue this quest
and wonder along
what in the world is the purpose
of all these of toes
Timothy Joyner Sep 2018
Bears hitchin' to nowhere, little piggie on it's back
What did it all mean so long ago, got lost when real life hit the sack
Wolf Daddy's gone now, the Hopi prayer is coming true
Everything around us is changing and I am not going to try to change you

For one day soon my Maker calls me to the green, green grasses of home
Where there are no sorrows, just happiness I have known
I long to be there, to finally walk by my Husband's side
I am ready for my Maker, take me to that great abide
Some days I just feel like my life needs to be done.
Caroline Shank Sep 2022
The yard.
The wide green yard.  
The rooster lifts his
trumpet to the Lord.  

There is the song
he practiced for the
sermon.  The choir off the
fence.  The Duck plashed
and the piggie counted
down.

The Serenade, his song
of Songs.  

The chicks wait
as they
we're told to do.

Billy's coming home.

The wooden fence is
cleaned.  
His flag draped.

The song
ready.

Billy fell in the ditch of
Unknowing.  

His war
over.  

The Rooster cries,

Taps.


Caroline Shank
Joe Thompson Nov 2020
Long forgotten in poems and prose
Are the tribulations of a person’s toes.
Perhaps the likes of the great Ulysses
Are all afraid that they will sound like sissies -
If, in a battle full of strife and woe
They should take a moment to say “ouch, my toe!”
(though no one thought twice to hear Achilles squeal,
"I can’t go on - I broke a heel")
So go on and whine if you stub your toe -
be like: “this little piggie went to battle - Yo!”

- joe thompson
Watching patterns in a storm of randomness.
****** in pants. Tailored
For a man.
When my inner strength.
Is female handling.
Obstacles. Thinking
Boxless like tearing chocolates
Out the cardboard box
And dismantle conventional
Practices of packaging.
An instrument of god.
Who solves the wolves
That lurk
Like shadows. In the city
Under man made suns
That light up.
Sidewalks
Where bodies lined in chalk
Make Benjamin bratt
Batman.
Marishka hargitay
All deploy tactics
To evolve the plot of miss piggie
Fooling mom about the sweet allure
Of my want for the awesomeness of
The cookie mob.
Is watching every ounce of
Imported chocolate
Controlling product
*** dad hated gangsta rap
So that's the way my life
I was crazy to model it.
Drakes the top. Of tyranny
He wants my body
For a swallow of his hot chocolate
So I swallow it
And roll in modesty.
While sarcastically
Talking of obnoxiousness
Like the same box I do not think in.
*** drakes box.
Is toxicly stocked with ****.
And ***. And love.
The total. Sum. Of love and chocolate
Like I'm filled with humour
Haunted by a want
That's as noxious as a ****
Choking other every other
Thought
That grows in the garden
Of my consciousness
So as the watchmen
Drop clues
So do I want me to swallow this
It's like slavery
13 states wanted it
Half of the people fought to abolish it
America. Your awesome
But half your population is intolerant
The times have changed you votedtrump
Your dumb as ****
You scare me with your complete
Abandon of moral competence
So I've gotten my response
From god
He said you lost in Vietnam
The dudes who wanted it
Were haunted by a political ideal.
Your rich sons never fought in it.
Hate me for every stitch my Jean's rap the sacred cloth that swaddled my body in.
That's slot of talk
That Jordan's a false prophet
And hesgodless and monstrous
Prominent talk of Christians acting like gods. Trump followers. And ignorant fallen angel followers and lots of intolerance
In the empty corners of an office crawling
With spiders. Inside my eyes. Drawn inside a web that entangled every bug and crawler.
In my bedside drawer.
Tell me horrors. I cant stop
So say goodbye.
Admire my broken jaw
My spoken song.
My matching eyes.
And watch me die

— The End —