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Mateuš Conrad Dec 2016
when i see postmen delivering letters,
                                   i think they feel ashamed
of having a poet among them rise
to such global prominence,
i could end right now and have reached
an Urban II pulpit, just as he
was getting started...
  i used to admire Mr. Know-how for a time
out of sympathy... but then that slowly died,
only because i found people who
had some respect for learning to tie
their shoelaces, and spell words...
      it turned out to be the most abhorring
form of rebellion,
       i could have written all possible
synonyms of red in acronym, just to
make the use of the thesaurus made for
better use... or said ultra-acronym
variations or red, like: crying-mason...
and you would have hopefully said crimson...
  but let me be clear... he got my attention
in Glasgow... but after a while...
    even if i had a cradle of appeal
i might come off as lousy...
               but still, when i read him write
like this needed to be a dyslexic statement,
i thought he might write something illuminating
in hieroglyphics...
           i wish i had a respect for not spelling
words correctly... grammar **** or not...
                    there's no point playing with genes
if you're not creating a plateau on
the internal organs of fathomability...
  genese don't necessarily translate into memes...
     people with a perfect good set of genes
will only still be football players...
        just gagging for a concussion to show-off
their Achilles bravery... i have heroic
   drinking battles, no one bothers to celebrate
new year's day with me... i found out
the hard way: even the brothels aren't open
on new year's day these day, as Auden might
have predicted, all the lonely hearts go to...
oh right... perhaps it was the male-on-male
orientated brothels that worked throughout the year...
  after a while it's not that you despise the body
for all its necessarily purposes,
      but after a while, the body does so little
that the niqab does so much more,
    after a while the head wearing a kippah
does so little aisatsu, that you start to ridicule
the practice as an excuse to headbang at a rock
concert in a maggot pit...
after a while the hair does so little that the hijab does
so much more...
                  can you imagine a Mongol inventing
a hijab? horse-skin ****** wrapped around your
head... thank god for the silk road and the silkworm
produce from china, or wool from the shepherding
states...
             otherwise? a ******* tragedy...
    it's also true in reverse... buddha curled his
******* using the thumb... but he bluffed
the sign-language and necessarily pokered that one
into sign-language saying: down the middle!
           we had sundials and clepsydras for a reason,
as we also had libras, for a reason.
            should i fear a man with only one book?
or should i fear a beast with only one "word"?
  well, these days the former is true,
    but when lions said more than men in terms
of authority... could could complain it wasn't so?
  let's just imagine, that whatever we write today
will not reach a heritage status of the paintings
in the Lascaux caves.. well-brokered that statement...
since an african mask carved into an Baobab
by a shaman will fetch much more worth
at a tribal convention, than a african mask
enshrined into confusing a baobab with an Acacia
fetch at a gordon gekko's winning prize
for the most caviar rather than sushi being ate.
the point is... i was just thinking of writing a short
introduction to an actual poem i intended...
                   you never expect such things to happen,
esp. given you just escaped building the pyramids
safely rooted in masonry, and having to
     wield some Atlantean imagination
for the hanging gardens of Babylon...
to be later told: oh don't worry, we have people
to build as a colliseum, you stick you
to intellectualism of the four letters...
   and then jesus comes along and about a billion
people are rounded-up talking about salvation
by reading only one book, saved by complicating
only reading this one book, by stating
how many times certain words are used in them,
to ensure everyone after Moses can plagiarise
ancient Egyptian into contemporary Hebrew
(only when Charles II can speak Bulgarian or
Romanian)...            horrid numerology...
oh! oh! there are 20 references to the word pray
in the bible! it must mean something!
   how about? bla blah bla blah....
well... d'uh! blay and blaw: Otis Redding (doughnut /
       ice-cream man)
                               and        Sam Cooke
(don't know much about hissing tories)
    so true too, turns out Abel (blay) was also known
as clay.... even though Cain was the vegetarian...
   so that makes Cain (blaw) the god-wind when
Cain slaughtered Abel and the earth unearth
      a curse that made Cain into a nomad and less and less
into a vegetarian... ah, the Scoots buckled and backed me
up on whether blaw came with the lyrics
      son of a preacherman, and whether my
    rubric arithmetics of sentences could ever chirps
up that smokey blonde Dusty.
   hey man... sit up for 48 hours, write about
writing on napkins, and then have a whiskey,
and watch 2 gloomy days turn into clear-skies
  and a visible sun, setting.
I once a loner
Cared less nor more
A colorless world
Communicating with no words

Sitting Under  thunder clouds
As lightning struck and burned a house
Hear my heart as it howls
All will be clarified of what it sounds

Black bag ,jeans, & shoes
Roads cheap light post
I alone walks
With no one to talk

Pokered face
With the breezes' cold embrace
Emotionless days and nights
Its dark ,it was ,please let me feel the light.
Be friendly
brandon nagley May 2015
Cold chills shred through,
The sick move in the most nonchalant ways!!!
Time here seems to hold itself in the most sick of bays....

How beautiful art the smiling faces when they appear,
Some move farthest away,
Some destitute while here!!!

What dont they telleth you,
When thou arriveth at  thine castlenest boutique?
That worries shall go far?
What awaits are thine pokered sheets!!!!

Disillution thine own party goers,
Thy touch hath been lost to moonshine elypticals,
And thine stone of diver toss!!!

Shruggers are raiders alike,
Craters are far from no device where vikinged critics are systecly nice!!!

Entertaining wilers subject to falsifications own warden,
All receipted,
All burdened to clear away to memories you whence forgot!!!!

Now remember,

Remember all thy difficult ways you whence knew!!!
Thy albatross masked conviction and shrew!!!!!
Terry Collett Jul 2018
He noticed you'd
cut your blonde hair.

Turned away from him,
he noticed it
from the rear.

You busy
making coffees.

He stood watching,
waiting.

There was talking
from the cafe;
people moving
to and fro,
coming and going.

He noticed how slim
your body was,
how thin your arms,
delicate your fingers,
moving at their task.

He studied you
as you turned;
took in your pale features,
icy blue eyes,
the thin pink lips.

Now full on
you looked up
to gaze at him.

He flustered
pretended indifference,
but inside he glowed
like a pokered fire.

You turned away
to make more coffees
and he taking his
on a tray,
sat quietly
not far away.
saige Jan 2018
She wore her heart on her sleeve
But kept an ace underneath
Just in case

She wore out the word "always"
The "look at mes", "I'm sorrys"
And "oh somedays"

She wore countless shades of rouge
From her cheekbones to her shoes
All drying up so well,
All here yet never there

She wore in the pair of lips
That filled her face with bliss
Like a beacon through the mist
The eighth sea's pokered siren

She wore seashells in her knees
The eve she washed ashore
Crept to flag a ship
That might sink her back to more

Heart bleeding from her sleeve
Cards stacked against beneath
Scarlet nails and blistered feet
Enough to make one think she-
Closed her eyes to dress

Life wore her backwards,
Inside out and backwards
And still,
She wore it best.

— The End —