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Bardo Jan 2021
(Scene: A funeral service, at the graveside. Two mourners talking to one another)

Duncan died then, so he finally gave up his goose.

< (disapprovingly) Gave up his ghost not his goose! >

Tis sad, very sad.

< Aye, maybe twas for the best, I heard he'd been sufferin'... He's gone to a better land now. >

(Looking at him amazed, having not heard properly) He what ! He's gone where!! He's gone to the Netherlands!!!

< He's gone to a better land!  a better land!! A better place!!! For fecks sake! >

(A lone Piper starts to play a lament by the graveside)

(after a few moments listening) I love the sound of the poops. A lone **** in the wind....He's a fine wee pooper that lad.

< He's a Piper not a Pooper!
(under his breath) Only Pooper around here is you. (smiles to himself thinking) A Super Pooper. (smiles even more) A Super Duper Pooper. >

Y'know he was quite a pooper himself in his day, was Duncan. I can still remember his pooping well. A Prize Pooper was Duncan, his pooping was often the talk of the town.

< (sadly & dreamily) Well, no more will his...his poops be heard around the Glens. Only silence now and the wind....o'er the heather, the fields and the crags. >

I'm not a bad pooper myself y'know.

< (smiles)  I bet ye are. >

< (thinks to himself) But the heather will bloom again, and the children, they'll play in the meadows.>
I think I'll have this read at my funeral LoL. More silliness. A kind of a sequel to The Goose of Gainly  Hall.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2021
beginning with a title... the transcendent bicycle...
because it really is just that...
if you have walked as much as i have:
a marathon from Romford
to St. Paul's and back...
a marathon from Romford to Epping
and back...
       i don't know but i do know that
i might have been aiming for: flesh of my flesh...
aged 34... but i'm still "trapped" inside
the dimension of the bicycle like
i'm ******* quicksilver / the flash...
i haven't ridden a bicycle in well over a decade...
today i found out i have ghost muscles...
the bicycle became the antithesis of
prosthetic limbs...
   it's hardly a Descartes contemplating
a desk and / or van Gogh's chair...
beauty in pickling... depths of thought in:
picking, juices...
how a second birth happens with
the advent of thought...
when... penetrating inanimate things...
to think about objects is to...
become more objective?
         it's not like i'll summon...
a Freudian complex...
using a bicycle... as a Deleuze
did when ushering in the bicycle from
a Beckett's perspective...
  beside the "village bicycle" i hardly
want to give sway to some ******* metaphor...

the bicycle is more than a chair
a chair is such a fermentation process
since you can sit on it...
but can hardly concern yourself
with making a ******* gallop on it...
but a bicycle is not a horse...
but a bicycle is not a horse...
writes the man that...
yes... i have ridden horses...
all the equestrian clubs in Essex can shy away
from the detail of...
i have allowed myself to ride a horse
to a gallop... neck, sore... entangled in:
want of massage... yes...
but a bicycle is not a horse!
it's a dog... at best... it goes where you want
it to go...
the leash of gears the muzzle of the breaks...

the **** i need a car for?
in London... even if it's outskirts /
kilt Loon'don?
     ha ha FARKER TARTAN WILLIAMSSON...
blah!
enriched with hidden energies of
newly discovered... otherwise plainly
shelved sensations of motion...
there's nothing new about a bicycle...
said the man who withheld a smirk
when attesting...
a gap... the same centre of gravity... though...
almost like the buoyancy arrived at
when swimming...

oh how my father tried to teach me...
how peer pressure taught me instead...
it's this exasperating O oh and ah...
that's not really becoming of adding any more
detail to a rekindled love for life...

notably concerning England...
and outer-suburbia...
- when you have been walking these
labyrinth streets for months...
to be suddenly injected with
a very new, but at the same time:
a very old concept... dimension: which sharpens
the genesis of thinking about the sentence...
a new dimension of... speed...
time, space are their own affairs...
invoked for a day by a day...
walking is merely movement...
cycling? that's not merely movement...
that's...             speed...
because... there's a whole chi focus
of X yes precisely X...
        only half an hour's worth of cycling
and i covered the whole peninsula of the area...
unbelievable the detail of acquiring
traffic coordination...
a shared responsibility that a mere
pedestrian might take for granted...
      
tomorrow's a Sunday and i'm supposing
come circa 7am the
traffic should be "slim"...
having tested the breaks and the gears
somewhat proper...

bicycle bicycle... where have you been
all my past decade...
bicycle: grandfather Joseph...
death toll murk... fill the bells!
let them not resound in the night
while i reclaim the wind for my own...

- that i sometimes drift in and out
of solipsism...
yes... that solipsism is
laboratory minded experimentation
with states of autism...
but you're given the excuse
of riding a bicycle...

i wonder what wings might feel like....
a bicycle is not a horse...
a bicycle is more or less a dog...
it's certainly not a cat... meow...
if there was an advent of wind to harness...
but there's me... merely pulverising forward...
the leash the muzzle
all that's frame and the breaks:
downhill...

the lullaby of emotions intrinsic in:
blocking all rancid thinking... all thinking
like so...
Zen by ***... it's not that i know more...
i know... different... but first you have to walk
said distances... before loopholes...
wormholes appear gesticulating the mind
with a provided for, otherwise...

i'm 34 and i feel like i've just...
accomplished more than
having shed feather of my virginity...
never make me feel so entrusting...
never make me feel so demanding "x"...
peddle ******* peddle...
tread-water.... in your pyjamas...
i do remember, like an elephant's cranium
might... details of a historical tattoo...

philosophy books are...
paupers of metaphor...
language is ever hardly elevated into
a bouquet...
i don't want to be in love again...
i don't want to be such an...
undemanding... lack of ambition...
lack of sacrifice...

take me into the woods
and shoot me in the back of the head...
but before you do...
i'll merely ask...
take me into the sort of woods
where the deed be done...
but appreciate walking me so far
off the well trodden path
that you might not remember
how to retrieve a safe-footing back...
take me into the woods of no known
horizon...

guarded by a strict wall of a mile of trees
that block out the otherwise pleasant
azure of the sky come hiding the sun
at sunset... or sunrise...
in that zenith of immobile grey
between the hours of commotion
when nothing is to be salvaged as one's
own... but... abhorred as it too must be...
somehow... shared...

some privy in on England... a land
of fertile imaginings...
when Descartes had his table, and chair...
to fist & fester on...
i'll lay clamour to the debris of alt...

yes: an overbearing load of sensation:
delusional.. let's put him in his "right"
place... let him believe the sole provided
the psychiatric source of angst
no purpose = no posit of transcendence...
no bicycle...
   custard... pie-load...
angst...
               jerking off from "excess" libido...
well... exercise the "excesses" of libido elsewhere...
exert well squid parallels
and more: firm grasp... "tentacles"...
see the same within the confines
of an "elsewhere"...

how ***** i became being so...
muscular abiding... simultaneously... docile... too...
it's not a Lamborghini it's not
a British T... triumph motorcycle...
it's a peddling ingenuity of
somewhat self-origin...

i could have eaten up a Solomon's share
of ****** and *******
that same of wisdom...
should i, could i, would i have
demanded less than was already left available
from the Tetragrammaton...

how did "we" ever learn to laugh...
how was HA... the hebrew definite article spawned
those biggest,
no... those grieving questions...
how a monotheistic deity might be all
good... yet somehow not all powerful...
yet all powerful but not all good...
bling alley... cul-de-sac view:

the algebra not solved: attempted by
numbers...
letters later sieved...
and more letters sieved...
played the party pooper with membrane knowledge
of katakana and Hangul...
because... Latin script does slip...

chi-focus?
the multiplication ascend of:
what was walked prior...
can now be cycled... shortened because no
"lost" time was ever to be grieved...
although... the front suspension is...
an unwelcome addition...
ha ha... privy me on details
like... excesses that are there...
21 gears and when there was a rigid frame
throughout and rising up from
a sitting position is not necessary...

no... i'm not gearing up for motorcycles...
i like the idea...
but also... subsequently... the experience...
of a double-decker... bus...
of a bus of being the transit mahjong skeleton...
pieces... mein alles!

mein alles!             gott, mit... uns!

yes... unbelievable... the demands for yachts...
for ******... diminished into a fizzle....
when a Beijing demand for bicycles
skyrocketed... and all that was left to salvage
was... promises of a Sunday,
circa 7am...

hidden gems of plied-play-dough-esque:
sort of truths...
sort of beefing up... doubting pork...
within the confines of chops...
between me and a prisoner...
between me an a prisoner...
it's hardly the yacht...
the hardly any nuance of bother...
believe the existence of hierarchy...
because the Bolsheviks didn't
come about the first time around...
second try...
escape the English cwown they said...
escape the litany of squares
they-void-thought... "said"...
herr omar bin sa-id...
conquest of the Hey-Brews... "said"...

don't undermine the intricate
tribal workings of...
half-possessed...
half truant... thereby almost totally... true...
associates of Casimir the Great...
there be a god of wisdom
and there be a god of fire...
there be a god of letters...
if so...

the same god will be inclined
to mind...
an apostrophe as much as a surd (letter)
in Ęgli-sh...
when not minding... "it"..
lay an Ę to the side to wreck havoc with...
ha ha!    Щ...

  Ę / Щ... the **** are you looking
at me... like i were the one
who killed your mother with a *******
harmonica / what have these galoshes to do with
"these" galoshes...
what has this pumpernickel to do with
this windmill... "this" is an obstruction...
the proverb states...
what has a pumpernickel to do with
a windmill?

exactly... ****-all!

two-riddle *******' worth... worth of...
newly ******* jargon... and crust of...
for the load that might be minded
invigorating life... as life in prospect...
re-orientating man toward the clamour
of detailing sky...
not on foot...
not on horse...
not via car... will you...
to hell with running down...
a stampede of perspective...

planet... luancy? is that where we are all,
from?
i am born of madness...
i am this salty precursor of i think...
clearly i first arrived...
later... i somehow managed to "think"...
i didn't think first
but i certainly didn't either:
i think therefore i am therefore i think...

i was more on the lines of...
from the lineage of:
trouble...
i am therefore i think therefore i am...
i am not a spider i'm not all emptying and detailing
the filling of gob-***** with
i am hungry i am vector...
i am therefore i think therefore i am...
but this... ****** of french...
premature *******....
of i think therefore i am... therefore i think:

honestly? thinking is sometimes not...
necessary...
sometimes water needs no... glue, metaphor...

Amsterdam's open mouth darkseid
apocalypse abode...
le trio joubran - masar.... a finite quest...
primo.... detailing conquest...
handling crux....

            the cat's in the riddle...
the yard is in a mile...
scrutiny of the Levant...
           leverage of hark... -ing
denote: closure... of "ambition":
this lesser "king"...
brow of the most dignified...

                   keeping with allowance
(an)
  justly, met...
  
give me wind:
   give me... air...
not... hair... i laugh... i laugh too little...
i chisel my teeth...
i scream: nothing primo!
my life but q.
there are more lived importances
that matter, thus...
cradle... diamonds...

"the end".
Eryri Oct 2018
There was death and gore,

During the second world war.

Many people died in extreme violence,

Killed before they could call out to loved ones.

Young men were trained to ****,

Often against their morals and will.

So when I see your 1940s weekend -

Your 'war was fun and cosy' pretence,

Your clichéd polyester and fibre glass mockery,

Aiming to re-enact a mostly imagined happy-go-lucky camaraderie -

Forgive me for not joining in,

As I happen to feel it a cardinal sin,

To idealise and romanticise a decade,

Made up of austerity, rationing and air raids.

I've read a little social history,

The 1940s were not idyllic or crime-free,

Just as now, there were heroes and villains,

Among the soldiers and civilians.

Heroism abounded but so did black marketeering,

There were brave sacrifices but also racketeering.

City-wide black-outs were a gift,

To those who would rob and grift.

Your jolly nostalgic tribute is an annual celebration,

Celebrating your own fabrication,

Of a time when the machinations of war and a crazed ideology,

Saw the near extinction of an entire ethnic minority.

I do not wish to be a party pooper,

But don't just step into the fake shoes of a fictional trooper,

Please occasionally remove your rose-tinted glasses,

To remember that beyond your nostalgic narrative of the routines of the masses,

People lived with the daily fear,

Of the likely deaths of people they held dear.
A little bitter and exaggerated perhaps.
Obadiah Grey Jun 2010
Bless all the barmaids that have ever lived
who carried featherlite, n knobbly ribbed,
who listened to waffle n crap I spoke
who granted liddle me, a slap n poke,
who parted ***** whilst in drunken stooper
n gave the bird, to the party pooper,
the big ones, the small ones, the fat n thin
god bless slappers, that invited me in,
bejeezus begorra, mag da horra,
bless all barmaids, I'll **** on the morra,
******* big ***, n the ones that pass gas,
god bless the ones that I’ve yet to harass,
for whisky, for beer, god bless ya m’dear,
even big sally; fer the gonorrhea.

Alan nettleton.
Guss Nov 2013
Drunken stupor
Pooper scoopers
Give me a shooter.
Then riding scooters.
I found my wife
the one for life.
Working at my local *******.
GaryFairy Aug 2021
I went to close the window because it was getting windy and rainy. "can't leave this **** window open anyhow, without aluminum dust settling over the room"...Grrrr! ******* f-f-****** factory!"

Oh **** I said ******! To myself, out loud. I felt something coming up in my chest! Laughter! Why, that factory doesn't even have a ***** besides the one it uses to **** my environment. I guess that's gay. Not in a happy or homosexual way, but in a way I am against.
So, what does this make me? A gay basher? Someone who has hit it off with almost every gay man I ever met? I always felt like they get me, which makes me feel good. I did find out a couple really did want to get me in the pooper, which made me feel even better than "getting me".

Just because it's not my lifestyle or I don't believe in it, doesn't mean I hate gay people. Does it?  I mean I don't believe in *** with women either.

{Just leave this here so kids don't go to xhamster, which is uncensored.  I wrote this after seeing a blogger talking about how a guy said an amusement park was gay, and not as good as his favorite park. An amusement park should be gay! Anyhow, there are actually people fighting over this crap. I know words can hurt, but so does being burned 5 times on the face with a cigarette. Yet, I don't blame everyone with a cigarette, just the guy who burned me.  I bet if you dug up the men from the gay 90's they would feel a certain way about how gay is used now. I wish we could dig them up and send them after the bloggers who do nothing really, and **** sure have no gay fun. I believe that the use of bad words in poetry shows a weak vocabulary. Sometimes it's needed.)
my dad can lick your dad
THE PARTY AT PRINCE REGENT HOTEL FOR NEW YEARS


YA SEE WE PARTIED AT PRINCE REGENT HOTEL

ON NEW YEARS EVE, OH YEAH THAT SOUND SWEET

YA SEE THE CHEF HAD A BIG FRY UP WITH LEFT OVER SNAGS AND STEAKS

UEAH THAT SOUNDS SO COOL

AND ALL THE MEN SAT IN THE CORNER, DUDE

SAYING TOO EACH OTHER, WHAT A FINE COLLECTION OF *****

AND ONE FATHER GAVE HISW 8 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER SCOTCH AND COKE

AND DESPITE THE HOTEL STAFF HATING IN, THEIR HANDS WERE TIED

GREG LIKED THAT INTEGRITY, OH YEAH, DUDES, THOUGHT IT WAS RAD

CAUSE GREG WASN’T GOING TO BE LABLED A PARTY POOPER

IN EVERY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION

GREG DECIDED TO LAY LOW FOR A WHILE, SO HE GOT DRESSED UP AS THE NEW YEAR TIGER, DUDE

AND PUT ON A LITTLE SHOW FOR THE KIDS TO ENJOY THEIR NEW YEARS

GREG WAS A BIT WEIRD CAUSE HE WAS FORCING KIDS TO LISTEN TO HIM LISTEN TO HIM LISTEN TO HIM

THE KIDS WERE TIRED BUT GREG STILL FORCED THE KIDS TO LISTEN TO HIS NEW YEAR TIGER SHOW

YA SEE THIS DAY WAS START OF MY PARANORMAL VOICES YA SEE

YOU SEE ROSLYN MARRIED ME, CAUSE I WAS FORCING KIDS TO WATCH MY SHOWS

WHETHER THEY WERE TIRED OR NOT

YA SEE, WHEN I WAS YOUNG IN THIS LIFE, I HEARD VOICES OF PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT ME, BEHIND MY BACK

I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO MAKE OF IT AT FIRST, AND PEOPLE ARE RIBBING ME, BY SAYING SHUT UP WOOSEY

TO ME, AND NOW AS I REMEMBER, AS THE DINNER WAS OVER, JOSEPH PEANUCKLE

DECIDED TO GO TO HIS SUITE TO GET HIS FLUTE TO ENTERTAIN THE CROWD

AND THE LADIES AND MEN DANCED WITH EACH OTHER AND GREG AND THE

HOTEL STAFF WERE TALKING TO EACH OTHER, ISN’T THIS WONDERFUL

AND EACH OF US HAS 6 MILLION POUNDS EACH, AND IF EACH OF THE STAFF

PUTS IN 1 MILLION POUNDS, PRINCE REGENT HOTEL CAN GET THE COUNTRY CLUB UPGRADE

THAT IT THOROUGHLY DESERVES, AND AS THEY PARTY INTO THE NIGHT, AT 11.55 PM

GREG DRESSED UP AS THE NEW YEAR TIGER AND SANG

I AM A TIGER IN A TOP HAT

A TIGER IN A WHITE TIE

AND WE’LL PARTY ON DOWN

YA SEE, I AM A TIGER IN A TOP HAT

A TIGER IN A WHITE TIE

AND COUNT ‘EM OWN

HE REPEATED THAT TILL THE BIG COUNTDOWN

AND LED THE COUNTDOWN

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 AND YELLED OUT HAPPY NEW YEAR

AND JOSEPH PLAYED AULD LENG ZINE ON THE FLUTE

AND PLAYED OTHER SONGS ON THE FLUTE TILL 1-29 AM IN THE MORNING

ALL THE HOTEL GUESTS, ALL WENT TO BED, WHILE GREG AND THE HOUSE KEEPERS

WERE CLEANING UP AFTERWARDS, AND THIS HAPPENED EVERY YEAR OF THE

1817 TO 1819, THE 1820S THE 1830S THE 1840S

AND GREG WAS GREAT, EACH YEAR BRINGING THE NEW YEAR IN WITH A GRIN

HAPPY NEW YEAR, FROM THE OLD FASHIONED PRINCE REGENT HOTEL

AND ALL UPGRADES WERE SUCCESSFUL, MELBOURNE WERE THE TALK OF THE COUNTRY BACK THEN

HAPPY NEW YEAR
Rhianecdote Apr 2015
He took issue with the small gestures in life. The birthday message from a friend not seen in a decade, the idol chit chat that filled the cafe's, cinema's and other such places, proclaiming them fraudulent unthinking habit, a motion with no true sentiment and in return the followers of such social constructs took issue with him - or worse, pitied him.

He despised most human interaction because of this. Often being told that he 'rubbed people up the wrong way' or was 'too antagonistic' He just saw this as another excuse to expel him from the group (whatever that group was) All because he didn't partake in the usual social etiquette and fakery of the masses- this view only led to him being mocked further and neatly labelled as a stroppy, teenage rebel. His thoughts and voice cut down with replies of "Aaah stop feeling sorry for yourself!" "Stop going on about it!" " You're soo negative!" Because in all honesty nobody wants to be around a down in the dumps, killjoy, party pooper right?

He could find no solace in the little things nor understanding in the greater questions of life, so he drifted along. Bitter onlooker to a species so separate from his own. Desperate to somehow integrate into their ranks but convincing himself that such thoughts were mere acts of desperation.

And he was a desperate young man, desperate and despairing at his separation from the world and all others in it. Yet admittance to such feeling would rarely depart his form. No, he would mock and ogle at them from afar.
**He would rather be Outcast than Cast Out.
Well I'm going through my 19 year olds self depressive ramblings, aptly named ******* or Genius: Undecided and I found this. Not poetry I know but hey **!
Andre I'm pretty sure this is about you mate! *sigh* the lost years man, deep times. What a right pair of Moody ******* we were! XD
K Balachandran Jan 2012
party pooper hijacked the heart throb,
the party progressively got rotten-
till the day break.
Thank you for inviting us all
To your pity party
Although the decor is intriguing
This place is not for me
Wipe the tears from your eyes
Then maybe you can see
No one wants an invite
To a pity party
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
there's that, or the nimble skeleton of a feline
bonsai... and what they do to
   add to the already apparent roughage
they intake by grooming themselves...
luckily... i could never claim to have had such
a nimble spine, or a tail...
   but then all of darwinism is a bit like:
news flash! it happened yesterday...
   and that's really a party pooper...
               i have to chase a universe like a crap
does perpendicular tango...
        it's correct, sure thing, but having this
"awe" response summoned for your to appreciate
either human history, or theories about
the universe...
                   it just gets annoying after a while:
all the terrorists do it... skip to god as a constant
and it all begins to feel realistic...

because what the vogue is in the west
    and it's "we're gods", but then run mile-marathons
for cancer charities, doesn't really work out
to keep up our iron armour...
   people really do shut up when they hit
the gag of weakness... it'stops being a case of
alice and fairies and some wonderland...
very quickly they turn their once idealistic blah
into mute buttons...
   there is an example coming: but like *michel de montaigne

noted... was it him, was it someone else?
    call it the all-encompassing negativity
(alias list does include depression): well...
it has all the jokes... meaning there's
two type of humour...
   depression (a) lethargic depression...
            no energy... major trait includes sarcasm...
and that's mainly english...
   and depression (b) manic depression...
meaning you have all the energy,
and all the cheap chokes, akin to Wobin Williams...
  oh please, there's enough zoology within
psychiatry to last you for a year given
the array of nouns... i'm not a professional
so i tend to use psychiatric terms as
    a matryoshka doll... well: a metaphor-in-itself...
there's always something hiding in
psychiatric terms...
       very little in philosophical terms, most
add up, or claim to know the way to infinity,
or ad deus... or something like that...
why be positive? and what's merely vacant?
       negativity is the source of humour...
luckily it's a shop of curiosities that has only metal
and rope in it... no porcelain...
but it's only because i've been watching this
sweet shop analogy of my own construct...
    as you do, but can't really do with a television
watching several football matches at once...
    so what would make the perfect backdrop?
obviously tourniquet by m. m. (solve the acronym,
it's a bit obvious)...
  and that's in between watching
                         dottiejames videos
and hannah witton...
              as you do... well... first thing's first...
can anyone spot a doppelgänger in there somewhere?
     well, apart from the obvious:
    he said nice things, agitated the educated jewish
class of scribes... and the greek were bewildered
by a suspension of physical laws, and had to
paint a pretty picture, so that their philosophers could
investigate and explain the reason
    melchior, caspar and balthazar came too, curious...
how did the greek summon the need for a pretty picture?
well... that's one sure way to rob a people of a religion
and translate the old stuff as: NEW! NEW!
   but that isn't the doppelgänger i'm wondering
about... what the hell is keira knightley doing in Brighton?
  well, d'uh... if dottiejames ins't
   keira knightley then i don't know who keira is...
and such a quirk... it's great seeing
   long periods of acting, without a theatrical stage
or a Spilberg with a camera lens...
   no no, i like it, but let's go back to points d. (a) and d. (b) -
the ancients called it black bile...
     i get drunk and experience the goods in it -
lethargic type = sarcasm... let's say: blackadder goes forth...
i ain't the manic clown type having a host
of impressions bound up like a yarn ball played
with the cat-like-ego... teasing and at the same
time exhausting...
      hannah witton gets through to the point though...
it's about ******* ***...
   nothing new to me... happened back in 2007
in a St. Petersburg bathroom... a ***** Pollack
   had a russian girlfriend who was going through
a ******* cycle... and he was pleading her to
allow ***... and begging... this is way before the internet
took off... what with the hannah witton video...
now i feel like ****, because, apparently: everyone does it!
but they're just not talking about it.
     so forget being the Columbus these days...
   there's no first, unless you have a Nobel prize...
and there ain't no last, unless you are lying
beneath an epitaph...
       there's just a... plateau (that word should sound
hollow... and it really does...
             pla-toe)
                                      but it happened to me
back in 2007... three days and nights ***-starved
she finally gave... but only in the bathroom...
sure... and only with a ******... no problem...
no watch the science... apparently it eases the cramps...
   me get foolish about blood and corn-flakes?
well... i remember lying on a post-operating
table getting stitches done to my right shoulder-blade...
how old was i when i went under the scalpel
to get that Chernobyl tattoo removed?
    wait... let me count... 1997 or 1998?
    1986... either 11 or 12... a hosptial in Cieszyn am Olza...
2 weeks spent in that place... great fun
with some of the peeps (ha ha, peeps) my age...
the smell of hospitals is worse than the scent in
graveyards... even in autumn... it's green...
      it's so hostile to the nostrils....
hospitals just have that smell about them...
the sooner to go to one for surgery, say, like me,
aged 11 or 12... it's worse than frying a human leg
on the bbq... not that i have: but the hospital
imprint is just so...
        so i was lying on getting my stitches done,
and out pops a bit of flesh into the corner of my eye...
deep red or purple but certainly not anything
in the extreme of lilac... and while the stiches get done
it's just lying there: a menacing little ****...
     the body of christ... well: i wouldn't eat that:
i don't care what metaphor you could use to eat either
with delight other than the delight birds eat bread:
to stuff themselves for much longer than their
usual diet allows...
   so a phallus coming out of a less than appetising ****?
well: it isn't exactly oral ***...
   and she says: most men wouldn't do this...
well: it's not like i knew that was i did would actually
be helpfull... it's a bit like my "naiveness"
  given that i don't know how i could ever contract
h.i.v., no one told me... and thankfully: i don't need
to know that.
the fact is: upon hearing that: so many people do
it but don't talk about it: that's not exactly a solidarity
statement... i didn't need to hear that...
numbers and all quotes relating to the "objective"
reality **** me off... it's a bit like drinking diluted whiskey
after first drinking the real stuff...
   well that's great! but don't bring the whole opera
with you! or maybe that's because i'm writing about
these things and she's feeding an easy pick of the experience
that ****** me off?
           i gave you enough details...
these videos aren't that hard to find... given it's you-tube...
  so that me... with no access to the deep / dark web
******* around with the canvas... trying to
salvage something that might have once looked like Soho...
   well... for a "Soho" experience... god bless
the Dutch... you can walk into a history of
something resembling 18th and 19th century...
   just for a while... a Puerto Rican *****
  and a black kid that does errands for her, brining
her customers beer...
     what's that vogue phrase: hello?! hello! red pill! red pill!
Classy J Oct 2016
Classy J going array, with such sassy display to you’re overbearing dismay. Blasting off today, I’m as cool as sorbet, but yet as hot as soufflé. Everlasting eternities as the cycle goes on for humanity, where some live for the moment and others search for divinity. ****** prey wanting me on their tray, the only thing I’ll give you is the direction to the doorway. Rick Ashley stray’s, I’ll throw yawl back out in the alleyway. Future class, never ever low on gas, if you mess with me, I’ll shatter you like glass. I’ll use a computer bypass, to shove a virus up your ***, not to be played with, bro don’t you know that I’m bats. I don’t butcher the masses, or overburden you like taxes, I’m just your average Joe trying to make good of all this blackness.

Not a sore loser, nor a party pooper dear querying lass, I stand my ground; yeah you bet I got ***** of brass. While some of yawl puff the grass, this creature is trying to cure the world’s tumor created by us jack assess. Don’t run on flats, tackling my demons to the mat, yeah I have gotten through life by crawling down its crevasse! Don’t listen to rumors, some call me a trooper, you have to learn how to maneuver all haters and accusers. Living life by focusing on the hourglass, I’m not one to sit idle peeping out the looking glass. But forget all of that because life is nuts, and I’m just an outlet that slams the hard truth to your guts. Enough with your meaningless chitchat, I’m done with all yawl fretting and *******, time to buck up pussycats. Your listening to a lyrical architect, don’t have time for rats or insects, this is just apart of the classy effect.

I don’t make threats, don’t you forget I make promises that will eventually be met. I’m just a twisted afflicted un-constricted gifted individual who tries his best not to be too cynical. It’s so inconceivable but yet so believable, not your typical rapper, yeah I got principal. I am always original, I am a mystical miracle; yeah I’ll be making sure you know I’m no longer going to be invisible. Beat the odds, unlike all these frauds, I know my place, I’m definitely not a God. Heated rods of critics who keep on trying to burn me, but it just feels like a thorn to me. Street with needs to meet, used to the odds, so don’t think we’ll grovel at your feet. We are not mincemeat, we are not just going to take a backseat, we stubborn as concrete, yeah we are not going to retreat.

Privileged trying to turn us neat and tidy, without them they say we incomplete, that even though we coloured we should strive to be just another ignorant whitey. Don’t you know it’s all about image? We are savages, yet they are the one’s who diseased and burned down our villages. No I don’t seek forgiveness from wily coyotes, we are not a showpiece, like some kind of conquest trophy. No I’m not finished, is there something wrong with your psyche, naughty sly feisty vermin that itch like poison ivy. I politely tell you to ****, love the irony of your fear and hate of aliens, when you yourselves came to this land from a ship, which to us was a UFO. Anyways like I said, I may go off on different tangents or phases, because there are places one needs to tread. I like to educate airheads, I like to make em red; yeah I don’t leave things unsaid.
I want to unthread this sideways planet, if you’re looking for someone who doesn’t mince words; well I’m your prime candidate.

E-town is what I represent, legacy I will cement, rap game I came to resurrect. Let’s rundown the extent of these frequent fallacious formalities, those auto-tuned drugged up wangsters that are the definition of distasteful unoriginality. I frown upon the dissent of where rap ended up, it sure need a classy clean up. I know music is subjective that it is all in perspective, but to me this garbage kids listen to is far from impressive. I find trap music ineffective and unreflective, I don’t respect something so obstructive. That’s just my two cents, and though to me it makes no sense, others may not agree and still listen to that senseless content. What I’m trying say is opinions are like *******, everyone got one, but that’s what makes us unique souls. This is just a part of the classy effect, can’t wait for what happens next, can’t wait for changes to manifest.
Raven Sep 2013
They say to stop being a victim and to be a survivor
But then they add fuel the fire
They say life is to short so live it while you can
How is that possible when we're dictated by man
And I hate to be the 'party pooper' as they say
But they're a tad bit misguiding I mean who follows these everyday
They are fun to look at and inspiring to read
But its time to start living them
Are you gonna lead?
Travis Frank Sep 2018
“What is he doing here?” was the first thing I heard
Upon entering John Lennon’s home once more,
Deciding in the end to pitch for the party,
Sleepers still being repaired and no trains running still.

The challenge came from Wendy the Witch,
Ex-recipient of roses,
Now thorny-tongued
And egged on by Lennon’s kid, the sneering host.

My bruised ego now vanishing the gift of speech,
Jane Seymour arrived with her medicine bag,
Taking me out under the dark, solitary tree
To take in some air and shop for stars.

“I wouldn’t worry about them much.
Their children will suffer for their occupancy of the womb of death.
You don’t have to, though – get out while you still can.
Now, open wide.” I felt better already.
Maxine Robbins Oct 2014
I wonder if you’ve ever looked at yourself in the mirror
And stared at your haggard face in your drunken stupor
I wonder if you think you couldn’t have made it any clearer
That we can’t be friends if I am always your party pooper

I wonder if you look at yourself and notice that you’ve changed
It’s not your looks idiot, it’s who you are now
I wonder if you even bothered to notice our friendship is estranged
Or do you just wipe any deep thought away like sweat on your brow

Did the summer fly by so fast you forgot to talk to me
Did the parties come so quick you couldn’t text me back
Did you throw up the last precious remnants of who you used to be
Did you decide to let yourself fall off the track

I guess you thought that throwing me away was worth it if you could be cool
I guess you thought I just wouldn’t mind
I guess you probably don’t care that you look like the biggest ******* fool
I guess you drink to take your thoughts away from what you’re afraid to find

I remember when you told me how lonely you feel every day you’re here
And I guess your new friends are strangers and beer
I remember the only good thing alcohol did was get rid of your fear
You told me you loved me thanks to the whiskey and it was loud and clear

I wish I had the guts to tell you how much you’ve hurt me
But I don’t think you’d find me important enough to listen to anymore
I wish when you looked in that mirror that you would actually see
Who you are and how you’ve killed the person you were before
jeffrey robin May 2014
((
          ))
((
\/
/\
/    \

-   -   -   -   -

When I see her with her "admiring lovers "

It reminds me of a rich lady

Out walking her leashed dogs

••

When I see him with his " admiring lovers "

It looks like a guy dragging some leashed women

Down the street

••

They each got their -- POOPER SCOOPERS !

••

I sure hope they don't write some

LOVE POEMS !

••

( oh no !

Here they come !)

-----

Hey lady
Hey guy

Can I borrow your POOPER SCOOPER

for awhile !
Pet Port A *****

I took a walk in the city today
to try to pass the time away.
Saw lots of people walking too
stepped right in a pile of doggy doo.
I thought for a moment just what could be done
to clean up the streets of doggie dung.
Maybe I'll invent something really super
even finer than a pooper scooper.
A port a ***** for our four legged friends
on every street corner where every road bends.
Then I'll become famous for this awesome invention
at the monthly town meetings my name will be mentioned.
They'll throw a big party and dance in the streets
because never again will there be **** on our feet!

Written By Kathy J Parenteau
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Q Nov 2013
Company is my friend
Who leaves the party first
No matter how hard
Loneliness and I have worked

The first to arrive is Anger
(Though no one really likes him)
He always brings Bitter
And sometimes Exhaustion

Tears comes by occasionally
But only when Depression's around
And when Suicide joins us
Every one leaves town

Insanity's a regular
But her humor is quite lame
And these are all my friends
And we do this every day

Help is the party-pooper
She's stuck up beyond belief
Always saying we just want Attention
Yet she only ever brings Grief

And so the party ends
And no one's feeling better
And every **** time I write
Suicide another letter
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
Hanging out with smarties
At red plastic cup parties
Thinking they’re so cool
But they’re actually fools.
Skipping most of the classes
Since intellectuals are *****,
They clump and swarm like bugs
To compete with their drugs.

Who can last the longest and
Who is the most available
To do the chanciest behavior
And end drunk under a table?
The worst thing to ever be
Is seen as a party pooper
And not partying hardy is
Totally radical and super.

Pay someone to take your tests
Just like the timeless precedent.
Acting just like all the rest
Means popularity is heaven sent.
Later you’ll get hired for sure
For coming from the right school.
They’ll never guess you’re a dunce
A ne’er do well and a fool.

Hanging out with smarties
At red plastic cup parties
Thinking they’re so cool
But they’re actually fools.
Skipping most of the classes
Since intellectuals are *****,
They clump and swarm like bugs
To compete with their drugs.

Just like you care about fashion
You will buy the proper clothes.
You’ll slide in via the Old Boy Club
And come out smelling like a rose.
And since most people spend time
Paying for statues they have erected,
You’ll get yours all in good time
Because that’s who gets elected.

Then if you do what you’re told
And vote for the right corporation
You’ll get those many perks
They promised before graduation.
Just sit quietly and take the bribes
And say as little as you can
You will be what we call today
An extremely important man.

Hanging out with smarties
At red plastic cup parties
Thinking they’re so cool
But they’re actually fools.
Skipping most of the classes
Since intellectuals are *****,
They clump and swarm like bugs
To compete with their drugs.

This works for women as well,
But it’s not nearly as speedy.
Really the fat cats would prefer
You go be counsel for the needy.
But as long as you are quiet,
Agree with all the guys are doing.
You can act just like a man
And contribute to the general ruin.

Hanging out with smarties
At red plastic cup parties
Thinking they’re so cool
But they’re actually fools.
Skipping most of the classes
Since intellectuals are *****,
They clump and swarm like bugs
To compete with their drugs.
Emily Rene Jul 2013
I took a walk around the neighborhood today,
just to try to pass the time away.
I saw lots of people walking too,
I stepped right in a pile of doggy doo.
I thought for a moment just what could be done,
to clean up the streets of doggie dung.
Maybe I'll invent something really super,
even finer than a pooper scooper.
A port a ***** for out four legged friends,
on every street corner where every road bends.
Then I'll become famous for this awesome invention,
at the monthly town meetings, my name will be mentioned.
They'll throw a big party and dance in the streets,
because never again will there be **** on our feet.
Ryan Kairis Feb 2017
This one goes out to the ones who know what I mean
The ones who sit on the pooper, let go of nothing but a scream
A holler, a yell, a desperate cry, must be a dream
A **** me, why can’t I, send one floating down the stream
The ones who have seen their self esteem
Boil down to a terrifying extreme
I pooped today, we say
Just kidding, haven’t done so in 3 or 4 days
And we wait and we wait for it to pass past our way
But the train is a freight, blocking our path through the gates
This clogging I have deep inside my *******
Is a constant pain and urge, a persistent struggle
A puzzle really, a puzzle it is to my mind
How much prune juice must I guzzle until I can **** this time?
The toilet paper waits to wipe off my ***
The pebbles and streaks after the log runs
Don’t cover your eyes or ears, ladies, we all know that you do
You can’t hide from the truth, no perfect angel praying in pews
Although the fees of the males will claim they never poo
Everyone knows you all drop some gnarly doo doos
And that, too, some food for thought, to bite off and chew
Swallow your pride, give a big ol’ high five, when you release a number 2
And back to my problems, you know, how I can’t drop a ****?
Paul Revere can even say, this one, he’s already heard
And the hurt that I flirt with, the coming close to victory
All but escapes me, sitting to ****, flowing just a ***
It *****, I will say, I will say that for sure
If I may, I will pay it, I will pay to no longer endure
This feeling inside me, the prolonged clenching of the cheeks
I tell of this issue from a heart wrenching, a remember when we
****
Every day of the week
Cath Devoid Feb 2016
Destroy me
With the frayed paintbrushes on your lids
Sun-baked and worn
Tanned and full of shame
Recreate me
With the forked tounge you master
Conducting orchestral chaos
On the inside of my skull
While I watch, and cry, from over here
On the pooper.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2022
I. from living under a rock to exploring the internet

well... isn't it nice...
me? i've greatly benefited from the existence
of the internet...
how else would i have found out about the origins
of Taoism if not thanks for the internet...

i just kept one maxim in my head from
a book i picked up in some bookshop near
Russell Sq., it was a book on Taoism...
but it was sort of like the Best of
   of a band...
                not good enough... but my modus operandi
became the Kantian categorical imperative:
in order to help the world -
forget the world and let the world forget you:
the crux of "not-doing": i.e. purely being...
hell not- is not the antonym of pure...
                 not could be coupled with just... simply...
pro?
                   one of those...

me? i greatly benefited from the internet...
as most "bears" / "loners" / solitary creatures have
found out to be true...
i have an entire world history and a body
of knowledge at my fingertips:
it's only a question of what you're wanting to find...

without the internet i would have never
bothered to spend £20 on a physical copy of a book...
the complete writings of the primo Taoist: Zhuangzi...
nor would i have spent £30 x 2 on Heidegger's
black notebooks...

but i understand that the people who make videos
and do not write are all "savvy" when it comes
to view-counts... they ignore them...
they are more into "interaction": the comment sections...
i don't remember the last time i commented
on something:
i mean, ****'s sake... it's not like you buy
a book and expect to leave a comment... where?
on the sleeve? who's going to read that?
the author? hardly...

                             i like my view counts...
obviously the comments come minimally...
why? i believe in the anonymity of the readership...
the anonymity of the reader...
i like the fact that ideas are equivalent
to gold-mining and lightning strikes...
and that thinking itself is subject to shadows acting...
that it can be the best: most worthwhile "thing"
that implores of a being: hide me! hide me!

but i'm never going to make a video...
videos attract all the wrong viral attention...
i like the filter process involved in writing:
people have to make an effort and?
therefore? i'm left to my devices and whims
and sarcasms...
i can entertain Ovid and Marquis de Sade...

tu mihi, tu certe, memini, Graecine, negabas
    uno posse aliquem tempore amare duas.
per te ego decipior, per te deprensus inermis -
    ecce, duas uno tempore turpis amo!


i remember that it was you, certainly you Graecinus,
who told me to deny the idea
that one could love two girls at once!
through you i'm deceived - unarmed -
reason (this be the reason): i'm in love with two
girls at the same time!

i did one over old Ovid... loved two girls when both
of them were loving me...
which is so much better that loving one when loving
one and loving another when loving
another...
might as well:

                ledo duas aves uno lapide

two birds one stone... hardly serving two masters:
being served up twice...
and we're not talking about masters and servants
either...

me? i greatly gained from the internet...
                 am i the only person to agree to the fact that
it's just a jolly decent tool to use...
in and out... in and out... the internet to me
is like a brothel... i'm there / "here" for an hour...
then i disappear... leave footprints in the sand
on the beach... the tide of humanity washes in...
i'm left diluted: but i don't mind...
i too wouldn't want to have written the Harry Potter
books and then be mistreated for some
trans-****** phobic insinuations...
but i give her the grammar...
and how about the grammar on
the lyrics from WHAT IS SOUL... the B-sides
of By The Way...
                                 Big-Pie (Bag-Pie from Trainspotting:
freaking about... did i just touch
a magic nugget... a leprechaun's nose?!
is there! is there! a rainbow on this "other" side?!
pretty please... hey! if i go to Thailand
i'm sort of expecting to get confused...
it's a Thai thing... it was originally a Thai thing...
those Thai ******* are crazy)...

'it's roaming the streets at 4 in the morning
finding your best friend making out with a trans-******
in an all-night diner in Cleveland in 1986!'

plenty of women... ingenious boys
will be outright butch or add some extra BLUSH...
i can't say that i never kissed a man
sensually like i might kiss a woman sensually...
to later brush up on my Mr. Slurp'y skills
in the garden of fleshy flowers...
located where i entered the world: hopefully head-first:
oh sure... plenty of dolphins too...
how's it hanging? how's it hanging in Dubai?
plenty of hanging in Dubai...

freakishly lean: a plentiful decent diet of literature...
me? i benefited from the internet...
hey presto! i can bypass the gatekeepers of literature!
i can forget about publishing houses...
sure... i don't earn any money from it...
but that also increases me drive to pursue
the spiral out of control...
for me the advent of the internet is akin to:
the invention of the Gutenberg Press...
                                                  
yes, i was a fan of buying cans of Pepsi
instead of those 2litre bottles...
hmm... how to keep the gas once opened!
aha! shake the bottle after having a refill!
shake shake!
keeps the pressure tight-knit... beautifully
bountiful!

- two songs get me these days....
ALLAROUND THE WORLD
and GO ROBOT...
i trun to the canvas with regret: great! more typing!
i just want to keep keeping the rhyhtm:
perched on the windowsill
tapping my leg and grooving with my neck
like an imitation-party-pooper-pigeon
who invented head-banging
as the Hebrews imitate before the Wailing Wall...
i should have never picked up the guitar...
what a lonely enterprise:
it's already haunting me...
i was born as a natural drummer...

huh?!
of course i gained all the things there
are gained from the internet...
minus the light-bulb...
i managed to bypass all the gatekeepers
of literature: the editors...
hello! you forgot the paper! there's no paper!
there's no spoon either!
forgot the pills! just focus on the spoon
that isn't there!
and it's the perfect filter...
no one is going to bother me when i'm writig
and slacking on making video confession...

videos can be ingested passively:
reading? oh wow! who would have thought
that it might take some effort!
mix into the whole affair some Katakana...
hell... mix in some Mandarin hieroglyphs...
perfect defences against "simpletons"...
who? you have rotten cabbage
agreed with to throw with your comrade
against against being disgruntled about some
poor acting actor? what?!
stealing shadows became mundane?!

i also managed to breed a higher purpose
while everyone else was slumping
in the "pandemic"... i couldn't tell the difference...
what a funny: he-he-ha-ha tickling breeze!
ooh... let's have another go!
come on! let's go, let's go!
           he-he-ha-ha!
or rather: hí-hí-h'ah-ah-haha!

                             the internet wa been great for me...
but recently i came across this trend...
hmm (emoji of the biggest SMILE)...
VABBING...
                     dabbing... people dab perfumes on themselves...
what's VABBING... ah... ah... ha ha...
this is the point where i feel like putting
on my clown make-up and going out to
party come Halloween...

i'm pretty sure i'lll grow old and irrelevant
at some point... pop culture will no longer
interest me...
             but until that time comes...
piglets! teases!
                   it's like that one time where
i thought it was a good idea to date a single mom....
brought her homemade wine...
brought her homemade banana loaf cake...
NO GOOD...
i'm good-crazy as one prostitutes remarked...
still NO GOOD...
                                   goo.. plenty of goo...
oh man... the arsenal of music i have to sieve through:
it makes sense to not have children...
sure.... i'd love a little kritter "here and there"...
but? come on... with so much music
made available: would you?

and how did that parody of my grandfather
and grandmother play out?
she kept his death a secret....
to the point where he was in AGONIA:
out of reach... **** that then!

****'s sake VABBING... i.e. inserting your fingers
into your genital regions...
and then... Orestes! save me!
pretending that these juices are sort of:
akin to: perfumes!

o.k.: i'll level with these women...
here goes:
i like... ******* on my leg...
when i'm having a shower?
i like the idea of being a child again:
unable: UNONSCIOUSLY to control his bladder...
once in a while: i like ******* on my leg...
but that's only when i'm having a shower...
i like the idea of being without control...
i wish i could **** my pants ever so often...
alas... i can't!
but then i relieve my tamed unconscious
inhibitions... i tend to **** on my leg...
while taking a shower....
          
what is left for man beside finding new avenues
to compete: for the crown and the jewel in
in it of losing reason?
hell... let's all become **** AUTOMATON!
i can wait...
i'm orientating myself around the internet
like i might orientate myself around
a phonebook, an encyclopoedia...
and the... sacred loss of the music store on
the high streets...

there's me imitating drummers on a windowsill...
robot-esque...
*****! i'm keeping rhythm...
with a squint of my eye watching NORMIES
sitting static with their static televisions...
entertained?!
i like brick walls: i think of chess...
i like the sea bashing the land come high night...
i think of playing cards with the boys...
and backgammon...
i also like the idea of interpreting the flute
by splitting a reed of grass and blowing through it...
i like the childhood memory
of catching cockchafers and throwing them
down girls' t-shirts...
         hmm! i liked a lot of things...
whiskey won... i like swimming in it: thoughtless...
it's like like: give me a drink of whiskey =
Cleopatra having a ******* bath of milk!

i love the minutes "concerning" an unlit cigarette
dangling in my mouth...
before the opening crescendo
of Led Zeppelin's IN THE EVENING...
kicks in... only because: SHARP OBJECTS
waas such a captivating t.v. show...

hate t.v. love t.v. most certainly loved the movies...
i hate the movies these days...
i sometimes think: i could replace
the t.v. with three "things":
the sky... a fireplace... or a... ooh!
a ******* aquarium!
                     yeah... that could  work!
then again.... candles or the sky...
either wait.... play shadow charades...
                  
             there are actually two ways to give stress
to a F-U... using the hand...
there's:
A. the clenched fist with the etended middle
finger... poison...
but there's also
B. ******* extended....
thumb also extended: NO FIST...
all the other fingers are "bowing":
but they're not clenched... there's no imitation
of a fist...

seriously, though? no wonder i ventured into the realm
of prostitution, no wonder so many people thought this
"pandemic" was a "fake"...
sure sure... let me just apply my *****
Jean-Paul Gautier sniff-sniffs
while you, girl, test out, your next best
found ******.... what the ****?!

how about we start off with... oiling ourselves
with molten pig fat and then, then asking:
kosher enough for you?
oh... but this craziness is not supposed to stop!
it's supposed to escalate!
didn't you know?!
                           no no!
                                 there are either the crazies
or the uber-crazies!
      there's no in-between!
                 as much as Ovid prescribes ****** love...
i find the most erotica in prescriving myself
a decent amount of sleep...
               perhaps in his days...
but... he wasn't a solider...
so he wouldn't have known about being stationed in
Britannia,., jumping ****-naked into
the feral bushes of... no! not mint!
              you ******* Forrest Gimp or something?
blushes of *******... ****'s sake... FENNELS!
POKRZYWY! FENNELS! not ******* BASIL...
not ROSEMARY... not TYHME
*******: Hamza: brain-drain-lord
of an otherwise working Latin BREEN!
call your ******* cousin Hah-med and Muha!
the lord of the flies! Muhammad!
Muha! FLY! Jesus is the lord of mosquitos...
Muhammad is the lord of the flies...

please tell me someone tried to tell them
that they were
the auxillaries of Hell?
the past 2000 years has been an advent
of Hell...
Hell... even more: the Hellenic original
thought project...
comme ci, comme ça... c'est la vie!
i.e. it's good when it's good...
and bad when it's bad...

the tired mountain: the eagerly waiting stone...
the tired sea... the ambitious droplet of water...
that eternal flame... but all the more eager
sparkle of an ignite!

time flies when you're not having any fun...
pretending to not having a stab at...
those Kenyan ivory slush-puppies
come the crocodiles and Muhammad types
moon-served plump almost juiced up...
hey ** hey... you're just my Macaque sort
of type...

II. a schematic of rugby

H15()15H
\ (pass back)
/ (kick forward)
and...
just run around
shuffling your
magic feet:
toying with the octopus
dance of
a dislocated shoulder.


III. leftovers from an afternoon

give me until tomorrow, i'm still figuring "things" out...
video: oh video V video... Deo. and Doo and Deus...
mighty Churchill's index and middle...
of the fork in the road...
          or akin to the crossroads of
Robert Johnson...
            i picked up playing the guitar but i'm
a natural drummer...
easily soothed but also easily irritated by a rhythm
and beat...
for all the protest of (search engine, hello...
back of the bus protest, i just need a name)
sitting at the back of the bus:
Rosa Parks and the Montgomery bus protest...
i just remember mornings on the no. 86
bus... reading Stendhal while all the black
boys "unconsciously" stashed themselves
to the back of the double-decker...
white-flight in reverse, i.e. all the white girls
could join them:
thank god for my Turkish and Japanese fetish...
a fact not frequently recited:
i don't own any woman under the sun,
it's just my turn, turn after turn...
perhaps happily a *****-donor...
what's ******* and what's surrogate
motherhood for a homosexual couple,
like for like: i can't tell the difference...
besides... i earn about £10 an hour...
she earns £120 an hour and all for what?
being given an ******
and soothing my ego...
amazing though... it's crystal clear...
i never liked the back of the bus...
double-deckers have their engines in their ***...
very much like VW beetles...
the black boys naturally migrated to
the back of the bus every trip to school i took...
loud, vociferous: like most post-African people...
still strapped to the gridlock of
VICTIM... but sure: thanks for the jazz...
thanks for the blues...
if certain Africans were not exposed
to the English tongue...
i fear we'd still be stuck in a Mozart epoch...
Haiven Victoria Jul 2014
idk
I feel like if I give him what he wants he'll love me...even if he doesn't  he still does..
But I feel like a party pooper cause im not letting him do drugs...
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2022
the idea that i wasn't going to MILK IT... i.e. the subject
matter is unimaginable:
of course i was!
esp. after inheriting a past where:
a poet's life was more interesting than his outpourings?
who? who not beside Ted Hughes?!
            **** sake's... even John Berryman was having
some proper action...
    like Charles Olson lived through... it was a car crash,
wasn't it?
   at work i was asked what else i do?
oh... i write poetry... ha ha... so you must have it
good with the ladies?
seriously?! does this look like the 20th century?
       yeah... last one tried to accuse me of being drunk
on the job... she tried to undermine my good reputation:
and it was her first shift...
sure... i fancied her... i "*****" myself into her house...
blah blah... ****** way of showing someone you like
them... by... undermining their work-ethos...

no wonder i prefer the clarity of transactions...
                      why bother buying dinner... buying coffee...
buying a cinema ticket, buying an art gallery ticket?
buying into a MAYBE...
**** me... but the certainty... go to an art gallery alone...
given that the girls that do go to art galleries
are too ******* Victorian prune anyway...
they might as well be wearing a ******* NIQAB...

oh well, oh well well well...
i wouldn't prescribe a Christian monotheism on anyone,
maybe that's why i succumb to the pagan
poets more and more and ever more...
maybe monogamy is truly alien to me...
maybe i should own a harem...
            i'm testing the waters... unlike those:
hard-believers in the promises of Islam...
you blow yourself up... you get 72 virgins...
i was always of the persuasion:
either give me 72 prostitutes or 72 rottweilers...
there's no in between...
       i abhor the idea of 72 virgins...
i mean: ever ****** a ******?
    it's like a jaw that non-mandible...
it's like ******* a mannequin...
     it's horrible... ******* a ****** is a bit like
hugging a tree...
     it's horrid... it's un-spec-ta-cu-lar...

            the ******* i just had? it wasn't by my own
design... one of the girls had a...
ugh... i hate American-English... the stress for
acronyms, stemming from U.S.A. -
more like... F.S.A. - federal states of america...
united my ***... united as a cultural export...
the states aren't united... there's a federal gloom
hanging over them...

but this one ***** was having a F.O.M.O.:
fear of missing out...
       i realised it when she was gagging me to ****
her... and i got a limp ****...
because the one i chose had these endearing eyes
like: there's an extra that i don't want to be
present... i smoked a cigarette and i immediately
returned to a pulsating arousal while
i snuggled up to her while she was giving
me a hand-job... having realised:
yes... you need to pull that ******* back...
i don't need to be circumcised...
just pull it back... oil your hand and do your
"magic"... i snuggled up to her...
while the party pooper was left with massaging
my ***** and giving up her ******* for
a makeshift ****** into which i would
*******...

how do i know? the party pooper took a shower...
i took a shower afterwards, too...
and as i was dressing back into my attire of
black trousers, black shoes, white shirt...
black clip-on tie... the girl i really wanted...
the girl i was whispering Enigma war crimes with
stood behind me... invisible behind my body...
massaging my back...
        
threesomes are a load of *******...
the 2nd girl wasn't really invited...
she only ***** an invite... i can't concentrate on
being ****** off while suckling on *******...
i would rather watch someone having a *******
than having a *******...
but i guess you have to have had one
to know the difference...

who's Jonathan?
oh... this black guy i started talking to after i left
the brothel... he was being dried-out from money
by these two white girls
who... became stranded in Goodmayes even though
they lived in... ******* Thurrock...
which is north-east of Upminster...
well... neither of us were going to give them a break...
some Pakistani **** gangs were probably going
to swallow them up...

thanks... for being rejected this many times...
i gave Jonathan some of my brandy:
since he asked... and we... chatted about life...
on the bus... he asked for my number,
i gave it to him... let's meet up for drinks... sure...
i did check the girls out...
i walked back to Jonathan:
**** me... #metoo... just waiting, apparent...
they say they're 18... yeah... ha ha...
and i was willing to house them in my bed...
while i might sleep on the floor...
but... then again: the good Samaritan died in me
a long time ago...
i thought it was obvious... the general
idea of ****** favours for... say...
why wouldn't you get a free roof over your head
and a breakfast for "free"?

     right... the march of the Salvation army... yeah yeah...
*******!
i'm shredding...
  i wasn't... so why should you?!
eye for an eye...
              i abhor Christianity...
it's ******* femininity...
                                  i have nothing to defend!
nothing!
             what i do have is siding with the ****'ite Muslims...
or... spearheading a 2nd Islamic schism
with the Turks... the Sunnis are ******...
******! always side with the minority faction!
cousin *******, perhaps, hopefully: twice-removed...
nonetheless: cousin-*******...
it's almost as if they were eating pork in secret...
eh... cousin-******* confuses them...
they think eating pork is bad...
but... abominations in Darwinism is, hey! ******* o.k,!
PORK = BAD... INBREEDING = GOOD...
o.k.
so we're basically dealing with: RETARDS...
emotionally damaged goods...
retards... god makes dinosaurs... bad...
god the meteor blah blah...
god makes pigs... also bad...
but ******* your cousins?! good... because...
"hurt emotions"... emotions like emojis...

to hell with it... i'm lining up... i'll even **** on the crucifix
prior... get it soaking wet... like a Muslim girl's ******
after she's been told that she doesn't have
to **** her uncle...
      the tremors of the cult of death?
come come... come... i'm grizzly in clenching my
teeth with anticipation... come come!

there is an Islam i truly respect...
it's ****'ite orientated...
it's Persian in nature... it's Turkish in its
cosmopolitanism...
the other crap?
like Protestants undermining the sexuality
of Catholics... or rather...
being jealous of the hypocrisy of the ***
of Catholics...
                          i don't need to respect camel jockey
procrastinations...
       spine-bending antics of prayer...
who said?
                 come come...
i have a death-wish... you tell that to anyone...
wow... oddly enough they retract all their
arguments... their upheaval of emotions...
you tell someone... calmly:
    i have a death-wish...
                         they cower like little *******
and never return to make your life
more / less entertaining.
Sometimes people miss the truth about God.
Losing having fun because you start to follow him.
Running on empty, hiding from God here.
He doesn't want to ruin your life my friend.
But he wants to use you and bless you as well.
For Christ is not a party-pooper here on earth.
He drank alcohol when he was here on earth.
He just never abuse the alcohol on earth here.
He ate some awesome meals as well here too.
So do not feel by giving him your life here.
That you shall never enjoy life here again.
Larry Borowsky – redux
(I underwent posterior probe
some years ago from 8/30/2018,
and accessed this poem
while watching the toilet bowl.)

Ask any devotee of above
   named gastroenterologist
officious military licensed
   cheeky knuckler,
   n’er kissed gluteus maximus –
   he soldiered thru med school
   despite getting pooped out
   rigorous regimen, now

   he knows irritable bowels of human
   excretory system, which iz
   alimentary and familiar flickr ring
   sleight of hand linkedin
   quicken wrist zooms into grab bag
   of medicinal tricks -
   mimics waving magic wand bitta bang
prestidigitation abracadabra

   of **** scope brings – dang
gustatory scenic aerated
   holy smoker of a ******,
   a waste land fang
less, but the seat of
   ****** berries sometimes hang
whence undergoing
   this behind the scenes procedure

   where smelly silent sonnets
   from sphincter sprang
most times flatulence
   relieved in private place
but, post op - probe ***
   boss aerates sterile space
scrutinizes patient living long,
   or departing from human race,

rearing specialist unheralded
   doctor relieves anguish
   without a trace
which gratitude spurred
   ****** attempt to compose verse
to express appreciation
   clean bill of health and dis purse
anticipatory anxiety,

   this pooper trooper
   endured with pseudo “nurse”
actually wife, who
   nudged me to undergo examination
   lest she bare witness
   becoming a widow
   following mine hearse
if hypothetical demise did pass,

   more'n wind deceased,
   would hear loud curse
analogous to unstoppable enema,
   (brought out from downed colyte)
   expletives interspersed with
   my name exhibiting master card
   shark cunning never forgiving
   nor forgetting how we happened

to be broke nearly the entire
   coup d’état of marriage –  reaching
   cheeky **** pinching
   catatonic state die n rapport,
   this generic guy saved
   from premature death viz ace sing  
   examination tantamount
   with flying colors –at least now,

   our two darling daughters
   can (in doo doo time), perhaps
   with children - longevity
   courtesy of doctor Larry Borowsky,
   whose honed trained
   hands n eyes (he iz hearing impaired)
   to scout out and ticket
   suspicious cellular demons,
   aim of innocuous microbes
   to destroy e pluribus enum alone!
nivek Feb 22
you try, naturally, to ignore time,
you throw a party
and then you throw another

but time waits for no one
to sober up
and invite time back into their lives
Larry Borowsky – redux
(I underwent posterior probe
some years ago from 8/30/2018,
and accessed this poem
while watching the toilet bowl.)

Ask any devotee of above
   named gastroenterologist
officious military licensed
   cheeky knuckler,
   n’er kissed gluteus maximus –
   he soldiered thru med school
   despite getting pooped out
   rigorous regimen, now

   he knows irritable bowels of human
   excretory system, which iz
   alimentary and familiar flickr ring
   sleight of hand linkedin
   quicken wrist zooms into grab bag
   of medicinal tricks -
   mimics waving magic wand bitta bang
prestidigitation abracadabra

   of **** scope brings – dang
gustatory scenic aerated
   holy smoker of a ******,
   a waste land fang
less, but the seat of
   ****** berries sometimes hang
whence undergoing
   this behind the scenes procedure

   where smelly silent sonnets
   from sphincter sprang
most times flatulence
   relieved in private place
but, post op - probe ***
   boss aerates sterile space
scrutinizes patient living long,
   or departing from human race,

rearing specialist unheralded
   doctor relieves anguish
   without a trace
which gratitude spurred
   ****** attempt to compose verse
to express appreciation
   clean bill of health and dis purse
anticipatory anxiety,

   this pooper trooper
   endured with pseudo “nurse”
actually wife, who
   nudged me to undergo examination
   lest she bare witness
   becoming a widow
   following mine hearse
if hypothetical demise did pass,

   more'n wind deceased,
   would hear loud curse
analogous to unstoppable enema,
   (brought out from downed colyte)
   expletives interspersed with
   my name exhibiting master card
   shark cunning never forgiving
   nor forgetting how we happened

to be broke nearly the entire
   coup d’état of marriage –  reaching
   cheeky **** pinching
   catatonic state die n rapport,
   this generic guy saved
   from premature death viz ace sing  
   examination tantamount
   with flying colors –at least now,

   our two darling daughters
   can (in doo doo time), perhaps
   with children - longevity
   courtesy of doctor Larry Borowsky,
   whose honed trained
   hands n eyes (he iz hearing impaired)
   to scout out and ticket
   suspicious cellular demons,
   aim of innocuous microbes
   to destroy e pluribus enum alone!
Arek Dec 2020
He had a calming presence
as others all cried foul
and ran around like pheasants
while he sat like an owl

composed, cool and collected
as others looked to blame
he slowly dots connected
then carefully took aim

but he didn't swoop
and no one was empowered
when all he did was his pants ****
then ran off like a coward
rac1 Mar 2018
My dog threw a party last night
and invited all her friends
I was on pooper scooper duty
from the beginning to the end
Though necessary to down:
four Dulcolax laxative tablets,
quaff half 238 gram bottle of Miralax
over span of eight hours,
and if necessary even one Fleets Enema,
I grudgingly accept short lived
lower abdominal discomfort
analogous to reasonable and tolerable
assault upon me derriere
considerably less severe than shigella
tube be worth knowing
nada worry colon cancer
would pose grave threat.

Three days before upcoming procedure
(scheduled for August 17th, 2022)
with Kellen Karl Kovalovich,
I remembered first colonoscopy
specialist named Larry Borowsky
located 525 Jamestown Ave. #101,
Philadelphia, PA 19128
(challenged courtesy hearing difficulty,

hence he wore an auditory device)
treated me some half dozen plus years ago,
yours truly didst solidly waste,
rather subsequently spent
a few hours writing, toil letting,
and crafting the following bupkis
slightly modified to correspond
with present modus operandi treatment.

Ask any devotee  
of above named gastroenterologists
officious military licensed cheeky knucklers,
ne’er kissed gluteus maximus,
they soldiered thru medical school
despite getting pooped out
rigorous regimen now both know
vital details regarding bowels of human
excretory system, which iz alimentary
and familiar flickering
sleight of hand linkedin
quicken wrist zooms into grab bag
of medicinal tricks - mimics

waving magic wand bitta bang
prestidigitation abracadabra
of **** scope brings – dang
gustatory scenic aerated holy smoker
of a ******, a wasteland fang
less, but the backside seat,
where ****** berries
and/or polyps sometimes hang,
whence undergoing this
behind the scenes procedure
where smelly silent sonnets
from sphincter sprang

most times flatulence
relieved in private place
but, post-op probe forced air into buttucks,  
thus encourage patients
to aerate sterile space
otherwise known as passing gas
scrutinized faces elicit embarrassment
of elderly folks,
who feel self conscious farting in public
before departing from human race,
rearing specialist unheralded doctors
relieves anguish without a trace

which gratitude spurred
****** attempt to compose verse
to express appreciation
clean bill of health and disperse
anticipatory anxiety, this pooper trooper
endured with pseudo “nurse”
actually mine wife, who nudged me
to undergo examination
lest she bare witness
becoming a widow following mine hearse
if hypothetical demise did pass,
deceased would hear loud curse

analogous to unstoppable enema,
(brought out from downed colyte
consumed for first colonoscopy)
expletives interspersed with my name
exhibiting master card
shark cunning never forgiving
nor forgetting how we happened
to be broke nearly the entire
coup d’état of marriage –  
reaching cheeky **** pinching
catatonic state die n rapport,
this generic guy saved
from premature death viz ace sing  

examination positive outcome tantamount
with flying colors – at least now,
our two grown darling daughters can
(in ****** dooby doo doo time), perhaps
if/when they beget
their own children witness longevity
courtesy of doctors Kellen Karl Kovalovich,
and/or Larry Borowsky,
whose honed trained hands n eyes
to scout out and ticket
suspicious cellular demons,
aim of innocuous microbes
to destroy e pluribus e unum alone!

— The End —