Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
My hart klop groen vir groei
en ander goed
en pomp van hormone
en suurtof ryke bloed
dit was liefde
met eerste oog opslag
dis net jammer my oe staar blind
teen die mes in jou hand
wat op my kaal rug wag.

Dis 'n gan an soort klop
die go-ahead van my kop
die alles sal reg wees
in jou glimlag
jou oe die mandaat
van 'n regte terg gees.

en ek gaan vir die groen
en silwer en goud,
vir al die goeie goed
vir die land sonder fout.

Maar my hart is die
Andries Hendrik Potgieter
van my boere bloed
wat waarsku teen jou
met alle moed.
My heldersiende hartklop
wat my weg probeer lei
van nog 'n ou grappie
en nog 'n bietjie seerkry.

Nou klop hy rooi
hy klop bloed
hy klop stop.

Maar soos 'n GP kar
vermy ek die tekens
in my haas vir jou mond.
Voel die lem deur my ribbes gly
dood, nog voor die grond.

en my hart, wil lag,
maar skree verwoed.
Nou kook die boerebloed!
Jou simpel, jou wetter
jou bogsnuiter kind!
Snou my hart my toe,
nou is hy stil en
gee my die silent treatment.
Stanze smith Nov 2017
I.
My parents worry about my brother,
he gained a lot of weight during middle school, and it isn't getting better.
Twins yet, nothing alike,
I have always been small, and honestly hope to stay that way.  
This is why I worry,
worry about my brother and his health and myself, my health.
I cannot help but think,
because we are twins, one-day will it happen to me?
I'll be fat.
Is there anything I can do? I must take control. I cannot turn into him.

Today at lunch,
I watched him eat two ice-creams, I had a salad and a milk.
No one notices.
At dinner mom took away the pizza after his 5th slice.
I had only one,
but I didn’t feel hungry enough to eat more than that.
They watch him,  
what and how much he eats and the exercise he gets.
But not me,
I can take care of myself, I know that I won't get fat.
I have control.



II.
They know I'm an immigrant, my English is rough
They don’t believe I'm from Jordan
"but, Jordan is in Africa, Africa is poor."
I used to love my gold bangles
Mom asked why I don’t wear them anymore,
They distract me in class, I say.
She seems so sad, although we are doing well.
Other immigrant girls wear cheap clothes
And watch me with hateful eyes.
My classmates make fun of them
For they are sad, poor immigrants.
       What am I?



III.
I came to America, for freedom
I came to America, daring to dream
I came to America, as an Islamic Idiom
I came to America, for enlightening education
I came to America, with bright beliefs
I came to America, it seemed simple
I came to America, to be called negative names
I came to America, to learn my label
I came to America, to find fear
I came to America, only to live lonely

I came to America, not as a terrorist
I came to America, seen as a terrorist
I came to America, to leave as a terrorist  



IV
They say it is the pastor's son you need to watch out for,
They have no idea
When I first felt it, I knew what they'd say, I knew I would struggle
You are going to hell
Now I have a secret, a fake identity. I CANNOT TELL ANYONE
I'm living in hell
Whatever happened to, all are a child of God?
I'm only a child
Whatever happened to, love thy neighbor?
Oh, if the neighbors knew.
Everyone else calls him father, and so do I
But not for long.
When I come out, I'll only have my god.
Father will disown me.
I may be Catholic, and I am defiantly gay
Am I loved?











V.
Nonna?
Yes, my tosors?
What is Predu-ou-jise?
Prejudice, she sighed.

Prejudice is when they won't hire your father, because of our name
Prejudice is when your brother cannot get into school
Prejudice is when the girls won't let you dance with them.

When I arrived, I could not work
When I arrived, I was to stay at home
When I arrived, I had to be married

Out in the world, I feared for my babies.
Out in the world, no one could work.
Out in the world, we face walls.

In my casa, I raised my babies.
In my casa, I worked and cleaned.
In my home, I kept up the walls.
  
Generazione,  
You'll live with Prejudice
Don't worry, you won't find it here.    

I am Nonna, you are bambino
Italiana live with love,
not Prejudice.  

      


VI.  
There are many reasons why people get sick, but I am different, I am a sick that you cannot see.
Depression feeds off me as I lay in bed, while Mom tries to feed eat breakfast
I can't, I am empty. Empty in a way food can't fill. I am only full of junk
  I have lost myself, again behind all the junk and  I'm not sure why
I thought I was doing well But in the end, I am still just broken
Depression causes Frsuteration Anxiety starts it all,  
All day and everyday I am less less of myself
Each drug, coping method, and session
But in the end, nothing can help me
They say a person has to want to change
I have wanted  change for so long, in every way
But every day I just wait until the shadows creep up
They creep up, **** me dry, dump my body for others to find
When people find me, they are shocked, can such a smart friendly girl
Be such a broken soul with so much pain, they wonder why I hide, yet they are the reason
VII.
First it was due to stress.
Then, the variabiles made me shake
They call the variales anxiety
They said that boys dont usualy have this problem
They said the anxiety caused this problem
They said the drug would help

First it was feeling far away
Then, they upped the dose.
They changed it once
They changed it twice
They said I was showing signs of improvment
They said I could get back in the game

First I felt better
Then I felt off
They said it was whatever was left over
They said I desrerve to be healthy
They said I’m not broke
They know it’s all in my head, literally
They said I’ll get my head back in the game

First off, I hate feeling like this
Then I look in the mirror and think
How selfish
How broken
How stupid
How weak

I have one of the better situations in the world;
I am a White, Middleclass Man,
I am getting scholarship to college.
I have no reason to complain as I do,
I am fed and housed
I am a privileged person
I have freedom to swim in
I have a supportive family

Why am I so unsure?
I am taken aghast by any change in pattern,
Will I ever be emotionally stable?
Are they ever going to look at me the same?
Will my team accept me again?
Am I going to make it to college?








VIII.
no one trusts me anymore
Why do you think that?
well, pretty sure its not cause im black
Okay, so what do you think causes people to not trust you
i dont know i just a reg guy tryin to make friends
Do they think you are trying to get something from them?
why would they think that?
Because you are an addict
right…
… and…
im trying to get better honestly
Possession?
yes
So how hard are you trying?
Tyrone says i need treatment
So do I
k, but youre supposed to say that,
Yep and you are supposed to trust people that you call friends
They say those things because they care about you
k, ill talk to dad again
Thankyou, love you <3
have a good night sis.
Daria Jul 2018
REG
steal your own words
preach, have a cig
have a glass of water
transform

bigger gods, ya know
bigger, fatter, just ****** lovely
bloodier
god available 24/7, first 3 months free

great walls& warnings
great flood of sweat& tears
buildings higher each 500 years
( respect mountains madly
  bring cross to the top of them
  they must need it so there )

"your land is in for years of desperation + need
come back where you belong, where you were given"

statues crying in religious ecstasies
backpacking pilgrims so far in the street
they end up not in church, but steps of a modern arts museum

gather lucky fortunes and buy pepper-pots
live earthly walking on air
**** it - Jesus just loved water ski
**** on salt
Ek kyk na die wiskunde geletterdheid vraestel
wat uittartend voor my le en skreeulag.
Elke vraag is nog 'n klap in my gesig
nog 'n uur wat ek in 'n warm stort moet gaan sit
om myself weer moed in te praat.

Ek het lankal reeds al die stetoskope
van my kinderdrome ashoop to gestuur.
Die laaste bietjie hoop uit my onskuld gekerf
toe hulle se dat ek die masjiene moet afskakel
en vir my spieel gaan se, dat ek dit nie gemaak het nie.
"Gee eerder op" lui die pedagoog se kreet.

"Jy hou ons terug seun" , vertel jy my
"as jy nou nog nie verstaan nie, sa jy
ook nooit nie. Gee maar op."
Ek was eers die boogseun.
*** verder jy my terug getrek het,
*** vinniger het my pyl op die teiken
af gestraal...
Nou is ek die rekseun... ek hou jou terug
en as jy trek, breek ek.

Jou ekstraklasse was te duur gewees,
ek kon nie my wiskunde angelegdheid bekostig nie.
Ek moes maar terugsit en kyk ***
ander skole met onderskeiding by jou deur uitstap.
Ek kon ongelukkig nie bekostig om slim te wees nie.

Onthou jy toe jy op daardie koue wintersdag
verby my gejaag het en my verskree het
oor die missie en serpie wat my net
aan die lewe gehou het?
Ek is jammer dit was nie jou kleur nie,
maar probeer verstaan...
ek is nie 'n onderwyser nie.
Wanneer jy huistoe kon gaan
moes ek my studentlike pligte uitvoer
en tot laatmiddag by die skoolbly.

Ek is jammer dat my ma werk.
Dit is tog so ongeskik van haar.
So selfsugtig om kos op die tafel te probeer sit
en so my verhoed het om aan sport deel te neem.
Ek weet tog *** belangrik sport vir jou is.
Jammer ek kon nie 'n meningvolle bydra
tot jou donnerse sportregime maak nie.
Jammer ek was 'n nuttelose suurstofdief
, soos wat jy my genoem het.

Eks jammer ek kon nie my punte
bekostig nie. My handgeskrewe take
en spoeg-en-plak plakate was 'n
vernedering tot die vlekvrye mamma-pappa-take.
Linte was in die mode.
Linte en ander oulike beursie plukkers.
Jammer dat ons beursies
leeg was, maak nie saak *** ons
daaraan prober pluk het nie.

Jammer dat ek nie man genoeg was
om myself te beskerm teen nege honderd seuns nie.
Dit is skandelik. *** kon ek so swak wees
dat ek nie eers nege jaar se "ou grappies"
kon aflag nie. Jammer dat ek dit nie snaaks vind
as daar op jou geurineer en gespoeg word nie.
*** kon ek nie lag vir die hilariteit van
asblik skroot , soos kougom en gemifde brood
in my tas en pennesakkie nie.
Ek wens ek was nie so swak nie, dan kon
ek ook dalk myself teen die 14 seuns beskerm het.
Jammer dat hulle my so maklik kon oorweldig.
Jammer dat hulle my kon teister
en rondgooi soos 'n vloerlap.

Ek vra nederig om verskoning,
dat ek daaroor kom kla het.
Meneer is reg, ek is 'n sussie.
Net 'n moffie soos ek sou
kom kla het. Jammer om meneer
se tyd so te mors, dit was verspot van my
om te **** meneer sou iets daaran doen.

Nou is ek ietwat geskend. Menere
en manne het al gesweeptong en asyn
op my kaal rug.

Nou sit ek Sentraal in die kakstorm
en jy wonder hoekom ek nie meer
onder die top 20 is nie.

Nou sit ek hier onder tussen die wiskunde "Jee"
vraestelle en huil.
My enigste vertroosting is dat ek nie
heel onder is nie, en dat jy die hell is
waaruit ek nog sal opruis.

Ek breek vry van agter die tralies.

Geagte skool
Gerespekteerde meneer
Vok jou
en moenie laat jou mislukkings jou
op die gat skop as jy by die deur uitloop nie.
Want hierdie "mislukking" ... skop kak hard.
Haar hoekkantoor
In elke straat
Elke gulsige kliënt
Ń vark, n vraat
Besig om haar naam te maak
Die vrou van dir nag
En haar eenmansaak

In die oggend skrop
Sy , staalwol
Skuur glad
Teen haar tenger
Figuur maar blou
Passie versier en
Versuur haar wese

Dis nie moord nie
Dis nie dood nie
Dis glad die reg nie
Dis sonde , ellende
Haar bedoelings
Was nooit sleg nie

Haar troos is min
Haar teespoed swaar
Haar siel verkoop sy
Vir ń appel en ń ui
Want wie kan ń prys
Op die liefde sit

Sy tel haar winste
In trane en seer
Die geld is ń bonus
Het sy beweer,
Want die vrou van
Die nag, kort ook ń soen
Sy werk vir liefde
En tot die oordeelsdag
Sal sy dit bly doen...
I

Reg wished me to go with him to the field,
I paused because I did not want to go;
But in her quiet way she made me yield
Reluctantly, for she was breathing low.
Her hand she slowly lifted from her lap
And, smiling sadly in the old sweet way,
She pointed to the nail where hung my cap.
Her eyes said: I shall last another day.
But scarcely had we reached the distant place,
When o'er the hills we heard a faint bell ringing;
A boy came running up with frightened face;
We knew the fatal news that he was bringing.
I heard him listlessly, without a moan,
Although the only one I loved was gone.


II

The dawn departs, the morning is begun,
The trades come whispering from off the seas,
The fields of corn are golden in the sun,
The dark-brown tassels fluttering in the breeze;
The bell is sounding and the children pass,
Frog-leaping, skipping, shouting, laughing shrill,
Down the red road, over the pasture-grass,
Up to the school-house crumbling on the hill.
The older folk are at their peaceful toil,
Some pulling up the weeds, some plucking corn,
And others breaking up the sun-baked soil.
Float, faintly-scented breeze, at early morn
Over the earth where mortals sow and reap--
Beneath its breast my mother lies asleep.
Haar hoekkantoor
In elke straat
Elke gulsige kliënt
Ń vark, n vraat
Besig om haar naam te maak
Die vrou van dir nag
En haar eenmansaak

In die oggend skrop
Sy , staalwol
Skuur glad
Teen haar tenger
Figuur maar blou
Passie versier en
Versuur haar wese

Dis nie moord nie
Dis nie dood nie
Dis glad die reg nie
Dis sonde , ellende
Haar bedoelings
Was nooit sleg nie

Haar troos is min
Haar teespoed swaar
Haar siel verkoop sy
Vir ń appel en ń ui
Want wie kan ń prys
Op die liefde sit

Sy tel haar winste
In trane en seer
Die geld is ń bonus
Het sy beweer,
Want die vrou van
Die nag, kort ook ń soen
Sy werk vir liefde
En tot die oordeelsdag
Sal sy dit bly doen...
'n lewe in konstruksie...
dis tog die mees logiese manier om dit te beskryf...
ons bou en bou en bou,
en toets dan die produk.

Maar aan die einde, as ons klaar gebou het...
wat is dan daarvan te kom.
                        'n Lee huis...
                                       'n stil pad...

en wat het ons van onself geleer?

En wat leer ons van die wereld en mense om ons
             , vasgevang in die stryd teen tyd...

niks nie.

Ons het net voor onself uitgekyk
                   na die vaal stene
                                   en die slukkerige sement.

Watter vreugde het dit vir ons gebring.

Niks nie.

Nee,
         ek weier.

Ons is tog hier geplaas met vrye wil.

En iewers langs die pad,
                                          raak almal die pad duister...
en word dan deur die samelewing verdoem.

Die mensdom besluit dan wat van hulle sal word...
In daardie oomblikke is God meer vergete
deur die skares wat saamdrom op die rand van die pad...
                                                                ­                                      die wat lag en vinger wys...
                                                                ­                                                      die wat klippe gooi,
                                                         as deur die wat die prentjie aanskou.

Soms kort ons 'n perspektief van uit die donker,
                          om die lig rerig te verstaan...

Soms moet ons eers die genadelose aanraking van die koue voel,
                           voordat ons die sagte streel van die son oor ons gesigte kan waardeur.

Daar le wysheid in die donker,
                                      want dit is in die donker waar jy aleen is,

                         met niemand om in jou oor te fluister wat reg of verkeerd is nie.

                                                                ­                                                      Net die wind om jou siel te sus,
                                                                ­                                               die stilte om jou uit te rus...

                                                 en niemand wat jou god kan wees
                                       of sy woorde
                                                          ­      en planne
                                                                ­                   vir jou kan uitmessel nie.

Die pad het die gevaar geraak.

Dis koud en korrupt.
                                     En ons is dankbaar,
         dat ons die kans gekry het om dit te sien,
terwyl ons stadig verswelg word deur die skadu's
                                                                ­                                             en wegsmelt in die donker...

want nou weet ons dat ons pyn maar net 'n gedeelte van die werklike hartseer was...

                                                               ­ ons is die gelukkiges...

en hulle loop op die pad na verdoemtenis
A Thomas Hawkins Jul 2010
Reginald "combover" Twistleton-Smythe
had hair on his head but just on the side
He wore a big hat when out for a walk
Too scared to shave and have a flat-hawk
One day at his Gran's fell asleep after tea
and woke up to find he was combover free
He saw grandmas scissors behind on the shelf
As she looked in his eyes and said "Be yourself!
With that combover thing Reg, you sure do look silly
Go shave your head, you'll look just like Bruce *****"
"But my heads the wrong shape, it just wont do the trick,
I'll look less like Bruce ***** and more like a ****"
"Listen to your Gran for I always know best,
I'm not saying go out and run round in a vest.
Just cut your hair short and wear it with pride,
it'll be like a mohawk but just on its side"
Reggie "flathawk" I've heard people say
now runs round in vest shouting Yipee Kiyay
karin naude Apr 2013
niemand behalwe ek ken die krag van jou hartklop van binne. dus die eerste ding wat ek gehoor het. dit het my gekalmeer en gese moenie bekommerd wees nie ek is hier, altyd. gevolg deur 'n rustige stem wat die wind kalmeer. die het gesing en gebid oor my. gesondheid was die meeste gevra. die stem het baie gepraat. dit was goeie tye vir my. al wat ek graag vergeet is die tye wat jy en die ander stem gestry het. dan het jou stem verander na hartseer en bedroef. trane het jou wange gevul terwyl jou arms my omvou het. al stywer en stywer. so belangrik was ek.

die groot dag, jy het gese jy gaan jou hare eers was, maar toe versnel die hartklop en dinge gebeur wat ek nie begryp het nie. jy het ernstig siek geword en nog alleen by die huis. jou arm om my hospitaal toe. ek is gebore saterdag 25 mei 1985.

skielik was ek alleen en weg van my geliefde klop. jy was in 'n diep slaap. mense gehardloop om ons om als weer reg te maak. ai opwindende oomblik. Maar geen arms wat omvou en rustige stem wat bekend is nie. net vreemdheid.
Ben Jones Apr 2013
A selection of limericks

There was a young lass from the Bronx
Whose ******* make fearful honks
She sounds like a car
When she puts on a bra
And the geese gather round when she bonks

-----------------

Father Alexander McMackett
Ran a ruthless religious racket
When taking collection
He'd offer protection
Salvation could cost you a packet  
-----------------

A carrot named Archibald Nation
Had feathers in high numeration
He was labelled as veg
By a grocer called Reg
With a dubious qualification

-----------------

A sculptor named Arnold Duprees 
Carved a ******* from parmesan cheese
He lamented his luck
When it melted and stuck
But he fired it out with a sneeze

-----------------

Knights in the armour of old
Have little to keep out the cold
For they dress as the Scots
In thier tenderest spots
Which encourages rust and then mould

-----------------

Oh ***** you make my knees quiver 
You chemical lethargy giver
You tickle my tongue
And pickle my brain
Then you jump up and down on my liver

-----------------

A Fella named Ricky De Gaul
Had seventeen ******* in all
They called him De Chesty
But with only one *****
It should have been Ricky De Ball
Victoria Feb 2019
Jy hou van die manier waarop sy jou naam troosvol uitgespreek het na 'n swaar dag wat jy gehad het.
Jy is lief vir *** sy jou bekommernis verlig met elke woord wat sy sê dat jy nie presies kan vind *** sy daarin slaag om dinge wat jy nie kan uitdruk nie, uit te druk.
Jy hou van *** haar teenwoordigheid jou op jou reënerige dae troos en warmte gee.
Jy hou van haar klappergeur wat in jou kar hang nadat sy saam jou iewers heen gery het.
Jy hou daarvan om die geluid van haar lag te **** wat die leegheid van jou wêreld vul, soos simfonie jou uit die leemte haal.
Jy is lief vir *** sy gedigte geskryf het wat jy altyd weggevoer het, *** hulle gewys het hoeveel sy jou liefgehad het.
Jy hou van die manier *** haar klein vingers met joune verbind is, *** dit jou laat voel het dat jy die is wêreld waarna sy draai.
Jy is lief vir *** hierdie woorde die helderheid van die sterre diffundeer en *** hulle in die konstellasies hierbo vervang.
Jy hou van die manier waarop sy haar lippe saggies die besonderhede van jou gesig spoor soos 'n veer wat sy tydelik in die golwe van die wind laat dryf.
Jy hou van die geluid van elke strook van die potlood wat sy gemaak het toe sy die kruiswoorde wat jy op jou tafel gelos het, opgelos het, en besef dat dit nooit reg was nie, maar om na haar te kyk, was 'n antwoord self.
Jy is lief vir *** sy alles vir jou gemaak het, so erg dat dit jou laat verdrink het.

Jy is lief vir die idee van liefde wat hierin gevorm word.
This is in Afrikaans***
Who am I? What am I?
It's been a while since I cried
Am I a brain on top of a body?
Just processor performing code?
Well, who wrote the code?
Who wrote it?
It's been a while since I was I
I'm not a brain, I have one
I've got hardware put there by Someone else
Who am I?
I'm a computer running software I didn’t write
I'm a soul interacting with a body, a brain
Whose health I neglect on a reg

What am I?
I'm a decaying accumulation of skin
And blood and bone and neurons
I got neurons in my heart
And that's a good place to start
The heart is the mouthpiece of the soul
My identity gets ******* in the whole
Idea of my performance
And my influence
Like if I sing a song badly, my soul takes the hit
And if I lead my partner astray, the whole of me is ****
The whole of me is ****

There's holes in me
But who put them there?
I combust in small increments
My skin flies off in perfect circles
They're fragments
My heart, it's hiding behind these explosions
Hiding behind them because it causes them
Because my mouthpiece is expressing my hate
My lack of love for myself
Hate is just a word we put on the shelf
It's like darkness and coldness
Describing something through absence
Darkness; the absence of light
Coldness; the absence of heat
If hate is the absence of love I might
Just be the one who beats me
Who defeats me
Who carries my heart, my brain, the rest of me
Tied around my neck on a string that I pull through
Like my body is in captivity

I'm privileged to honor this body that I didn’t make
I'm greatly gifted a brain to maintain
My heart, my body, my brain
They shouldn't be strangling me
They shouldn't be dragged through the dirt
They should be a part of me

I am a soul
I have a mouthpiece
My heart is my mouthpiece
My brain is my hardware
That rusts and which I expend

God help me love me
And Who I am
And Who You are

God, make it so apparent to me in my falling out
That I am a part of the three-legged stool
To Love You before all else
To Love everyone else
And to Love myself
Help me see You accurately
God help me
God help this American switch culture
I am not a machine that functions at the flip
Of a switch
I am a soul, a CVT, a cable that climbs up and down
Depending on the speed of the wheels
And decelerating is okay
And (not but) accelerating is wonderful

I do not go 60MPH because I flipped a switch
I go 70MPH because I climb
I climb
God help me climb
And to falter well
And to suffer well
Humble me in my faltering suffering
originally written 4/19/16
Little Bear Apr 2016
So.. I went on a date, at least I think it was a date..
Okay.. I'm going to call it a date because,
if it wasn't..
I'm not entirely sure what it was.

Okay so.. the story goes like this...

It was July last year,
I was walking home from work and I passed
an elderly neighbours house.
If he is ever in his garden we say hello,
but never much more than that.

This time he was talking to a man
who was also in his garden,
turns out he was a family friend
and was visiting for the day.
He also lives nearby.

As I walked by,
the neighbour said 'Hello' and so did I..
The friend said hello too
and watched me walk past and down the road to my street,
where upon I looked back to see if any cars were coming
so I could cross the road,
only to see this friend watching me..

So..
two days later,
again I was walking home
and a car pulls up beside me..
people are always asking for directions so,
I thought this person might need directions..
But It was the friend of my neighbour..
His name is Skeletor.
(just humour me okay...)

He asked me if I was going to talk to him,
if I would like to go out for a drink,
if I would want to get to know him..

I totally was unprepared for this
and so I said
'I don't know and I don't know and...
yeah..
I don't know' ...

I then said I had to go
because I needed to go
and so I said
'i'm sorry but I have to go"
and I went...
I am not very good at the talking to strangers thing..

So..
two days later,
I was walking to the bus stop,
a car pulls up and ...
you guessed it...
It was Skeletor.

He asked if I wanted a lift to work and we could talk..
you know,
get to know each other.
I declined as politely as I could
and I said that,
I didn't know him
and I would get the bus to work because
'oh look...there's a bus right now...
thank you,
you are welcome and goodbye'

So..
two days later I was walking home
and driving up my street was Skeletor...
He pulls over and winds down his window
and said "Hey.. how are you..?"
and so we talk for a little while
and he tells me that he would like to take me out..
and can he have my number..

So..
I give him my number
and he calls it and I then have his..
he said he would like to call me
and would I like to go out for a drink.

So to cut a very loooong story short...

Two days later he texts me
and asks if I would like to meet him..

Firstly.. no...

But then...
he is someones family friend that I almost know,
I know his name and have his number...
I also have his car registration number...
and I told all my kids exactly what was happening.

And how will I ever meet anyone
if I don't actually...
meet anyone.?

So I said yes.
He seemed nice and,
even if a little persistent,
he seemed okay.
So I said yes..

He said he would text me and he did,
we arranged to meet 8pm on Saturday,
it was 25th of July..
two days before my birthday.

Saturday came..
it was 7.55pm and I was completely nervous
and just knew I would fuckit all up somehow.

8.05 and nothing...
8.11 and I let down my hair and hung up my bag.
8.19 and I'm making coffee,
hoping for a quiet night in.
and then he texts me..

'Hi it's Skeletor,
do you still want to go out...?
I can pick you up in 5 minutes...'

So I take off my slippers,
clean my teeth for the eighth time
and wait at the top of my road.
He pulls up and I get in his van..

I told my kids who I was with,
his number, his name, the car reg...
everything..
and they were to text me at 10pm
to ask if I needed to come home..
they would call me if I said yes or didn't answer.

We drove to a pub but,
on the way we talked about how neither of us really drank very much and so I said,
could we go and feed the ducks and have a milkshake..?
You know..
just something simple and fun..

He said 'yeah sure'
and that's what we did...
well kind of...

So we get milkshakes and go to the lakes..

I text my kids where we would be
while he got the milkshakes..

We pull up but we don't get out of the van..
he just wants to talk..
So I ask what he does at work
and he said he works in London,
so I ask what he does at work
and he said he works in a big complex...
and so I ask how he knows my neighbour
and he said he has known them for years
and so I ask how he knows my neighbour
and he said he is a family friend...

ugh... it was such hard work...

I ask him what his surname is because Skeletor is pretty unusual
and he said yeah it is,
so I ask him what his surname is
and he said it is Eternian
He said it was ncerfveon;wc...
I said pardon
and he said ovncervhbo3chhf...

So I said "oh..."

So he said he was kind of tired and he yawns,
puts his arms behind his head and stretches..
he said that he had had a busy day at work
and he wanted to sit in silence for a while
and just listen to the sound of the ...
outside...

So...
this is what my mind was doing...

'Okay... I think he wants me to shut up.. but he wanted to talk.. and his eyes are closed...okay don't look at him because that's creepy, okay this is weird, I thought we were going to feed the ducks or something.. oh look.. ducks... two fat ducks... well this is fun.. I've got to the bottom of the milkshake and I can't **** the last bit because it so quiet in this van and... I think he's asleep... **** what if he goes to sleep..? how will I get home? no.. he's not asleep he flexing his muscles.. what? ummm what is he doing? why is he flexing his muscles with his eyes closed..? I want to drink this last bit of milkshake.. I'm trying to be quiet.. he said to be quiet.. and oh look GEESE!!!  ****... I think he's asleep... this is weird... he is definitely flexing his arm muscles and okay don't look because it's creepy and he would think you are weird...I think It's getting dark... I am being so quiet... what if he's dead..? **** what if he dies...? please don't be dead... nope not dead.. he's flexing again... okay this is *******... oh look.. geese"

And he kind of wakes up a bit and looks at me,
smiles and says
'Did you know you are beautiful ?'
and he touches my face...
and I said 'well ummm thank you'
and he said
"You have lovely eyes,
they are so pretty
and your lips are so kissable...
I can't think why you are still single..
I could look at your lips forever,
you know...
your lips would look lovely..."

And my phone rings...

And I am just so relieved...
and so,
to celebrate,
I loudly drink the last bit of my milkshake...

And so I say I have to go home..
it's late and my kids need me to head home now..
And so he drives me home
and sings all the way home in the car to me...
and I am so glad we are heading back
and I just want to go home.

And he pulls up at my house
and I say
'Thank you for a lovely evening,
and thank you for the milkshake,
it was very kind of you to take me to almost feed the ducks.."
and he leans in to kiss me.

I open the door and shakeing his hand I say
"Thank you Skeletor" once more.
I jump out of the van,
close the door and go very quickly home...

Where upon,
for the next half an hour,
I lay on the floor in the kitchen,
relaying the whole sorry tale
to children who think this is both hilarious
and very dangerous.
They happily tell me
"And this is exactly why you are single"..

They make me coffee
and tell me I am very special
and need a very special kind of person
to put up with me...

Especially one who actually feeds the ducks
when they say they will feed the ducks...



I will say though..
I kept the paper straw cover like a little keepsake
of my first 'date'
in about 46 thousand years :)
NB. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Skeletor was not his real name.
Xerxes:
What exactly are the demands?

Reg:
We're giving Pilate two days to dismantle the entire apparatus of the Roman Imperialist State and if he doesn't agree immediately we execute her.

Matthias:
Cut her head off?

Francis:
Cut all her bits off, send 'em back every hour on the hour... show him we're not to be trifled with.

Reg:
Also, we're demanding a ten foot mahogany statue of the Emperor Julius Caesar with his **** hanging out.

Stan:
What? They'll never agree to that, Reg.

Reg:
That's just a bargaining counter. And of course, we point out that they bear full responsibility when we chop her up, and... that we shall not submit to blackmail.
Kopter Zero Jul 2014
It's my fault,
Of course,
But I don't see
What I could've
Done differently.
Kopter Zero Jul 2014
I thought I did the right thing,
So what does that mean?
Either what I thought was right
Was the wrong thing,
Or I was wrong to want
To do the right thing.
Martin Narrod Oct 2016
Shards of the mirror that you smashed over a decade ago still lie fragmented in the fireplace,
Shining reflections of the present curse promised to be lifted seven years too late.

I lilt my head to the rivers flow, where a lullaby subdues itself and the riffles go. I am no good at harmonies, I wait until I'm fastening sleep, and I can unbutton the breeze, that our mid-October autumn brings. Some people think they know themselves, but I want to know you and nobody else. I carry a flame in my pocket, and pick rocks with you on the summit. Mountains melt and glaciers pass, there's so much life inside your laugh. You captured me at my weakest and helped me back into my best. We dance together on the two-track road, Fire Road 584, there were supposed to be agates, but the path was too rough to travel. There's not anywhere I wouldn't go with you. We can chop firewood at Grand Teton too, I will carry the hatchet if you will pull the wagon. We awake at 5:00pm on the reg, and share our nightmares with one another once we're out of bed. You feed my soul with your hugs, I return to you my very softest kiss. A base for us, a nighttime stark and chilled, only the sounds of elk drinking from our backyard rill. I want to smoke another, I light you another. There's no rhyme to hedge the fading warmth, bundled up under our coats and quilts, I wish the Summer was starting soon, so we'd never have to go back into the living room. Fires churn inside our guts, is it the cramps or each other's love- either way it fits my stomach like a Lepidopteric glove.

Pancakes and postcards soon, I forgot to buy stamps for you. You can't send a package, full of smiles and laughter. I told you I'm sure your skin was made for me, perfectly soft, and made of sateen. We ought to warm our hearts, and never be apart.

The jagged outlines of the snow-capped Tetons cast shadows on the Snake River down below,
The levees hold back the flow of the icy mountain runoff and the riverbanks behemoth sides swell up to the Rocky Mountains.
But all of man's efforts to control nature cannot dictate the love we have for each other,
Like the wild mustangs that gallop through the verdant fields that refuse to be broken by human hands.
We walk along the river banks collecting heart-shaped rocks to bestow upon each other,
These stones are not unlike the pebbles penguins give the ones they love.
We wade in our wellies panning for the gold that others forgot in their rush to find fortunate amongst the willows golden branches and sun-kissed skies.
Our frozen hands refuse to let go of the treasures that fill our pockets,
But our cache is penultimate to the paragon in my heart for you.
Every parallel universe pales in comparison to the one I share with you.

Everyday excursions amongst Sunday drivers posing as tourists.

We witness Darwin Awards in the lemmings' race to take selfies with grizzlies, placing children on bison because they forgot their glasses. And are convinced that equine photographs will warrant more likes on social media sites along with the video of a moose by the name of Dusty that charges their cameras to protect her offspring.

We have learned not feed the animals known as **** sapiens,
And instead we trek onwards toward Teton Pass where the wilderness returns on our serpentine drive amongst minerals that took millenniums to form. And pressures our world too often.

We lay upon our roof, the one atop our car, a cruiser we use to enjoy ourselves, while we cross the miles. Millions of things we speak about in order to inspire one another quite often. There is no order in this genus of foul-tempered and ill-willed human beings, there seems to only be our genius, and what we call as ours, while we stare upon the stars.

My twin flame, you called me that. Now I see exactly what you meant. And I feel so grateful, there's no room for hatred. The energy spewing across these pages, thermal currents rise as we share each day, and listen to so much music, we take our turns to do it, but never over do it.

I call myself a poet, because I have a magnifying glass I use to explain the world. I call you the artist, because your writing follows the lullaby of the music your voice throws.

Sometimes, I am sure I observe you sway like manes of wild horses, dusts of ancient visions, candle-flames or brightly orange and yellow lights. I wait to latch us into two and carry off to sleep with you, and snuggle into your sweet smells so redolent and sweetly held, until we stroll across the beat, your bass faintly brings.

May I encase all of us and all of time, while we eat pesto and then drift through awesome time, entwined together while our minds collude our brains to bring back items from the store, before we've even discussed what to buy for home.

When we gift each other greeting cards, I love to find the ones that sing their songs, and twitch in a paper-dance, that sells for too many dollars. Come go, come go with me, we get to live our own California dream. I have a taste for coffee if Teton County would allow it.

I hate ignorance, it's appalling and totally irresolute, especially the fat children fattened by America's foods. If we didn't pick our produce, we'd share diseases the CDC do not yet have names for, and instead we'd get to bleed out of our inner ears.

To be blind would be worse than deaf, because at least I wouldn't have to listen to the foolishness teacher's teach and give, to a generation of students who know more about capturing Pokémon with their handheld devices then how to get home without using their iPhones.

The mountains wait to **** a man, whose ego he believes can fill his pants, instead of feeding the mouths of babes. Until we see there's nothing, to profligate his future. And with a future outside of our peripheral visions, I only wish you and I had a better, safer place to live in. But corporations run this show, I hate to watch as America goes. So while some wonder, some wander and move, we can use our brains but that doesn't mean they will too.

This America is worse than Watergate.
And even I don't know if we'll live long enough to solve it. There's so much sad about it.
Written back and forth between my love Sarah Gray
Want die more bring die goue
die nuwe , hitte , dag
en wind wat deur die takke skeur
die dood wat huil ;n kind wat lag
en twyfel sypel deur die huurglas
soos tik , of sandstorms
bring die tyd ook wroegings
van interne euforie
en donker oorskry die norms
geen meer swart en wit
geen meer ja , nee
reg, verkeerd
ek weet nie
ek weet nie meer nie
elke dag bring heldersiendheid
met eerste oogoplsag
maar elke more twyfel ek
terwyl Janus vir my lag...
terwyl 'n amper skynbare keuse
op 'n defnitiewe antwoord wag
Atiya Ebony Jan 2015
He said he like my profile pic
Asked could we talk for a bit
But I know
That convo
will only be short lived
Flood of compliments leading to
"C'mon girl. Just the tip"
Passport stamps show I been on this trip
A reg in Deja Vu
The trouble the dance
of my hips & lips gets me into
My smart wits. I know I get it
Immature *******, they dig it.
But that noise
My conscious telling me to **** it
Sorry brutha but
you ain't sayin much that I like
I am flattered. Peace to you
Goodnight
I do appreciate it
Jy het die reg tot lewe
Oh grondwet, die dood lag jou uit!
Die sardoniese blik
van 'n gesteelde besluit,
**** jy nie die klop-klop van vier perde hoef
wyle die openbaring in
jou blaaie kom poef.

Skaam jy jou nie
vir sulks blatante leuen,
of het jy jou ore aan Satan verleen
toe jy jou hoop soos saad versprei
om naief- die jeug, in die versoekingte lei.

Ons eet karkas-krummels
as 'n daaglikse brood
Terwyl jy ons verseker
dat jy die waarheid ontbloot
soos die arme tiener meisie,
geryp; en nou - dood.

Jou bedoelings was goed,
maar jou kakpraat te groot.
A Haseley Jan 2010
I think that I thought that
thinking was might....
And something was nothing without
proper insight....
So I thought...
And I thought...
And I thought all day long!
I thought about thinking,
I thought up new songs!
I thought about thinking
about thinking
to think.
I thought 'till my hair grew!
And all my clothes started to shrink....
You might think that would hinder me,
but HA! you'd be wrong!
Nothing could stop me!
In fact, my thinking prolonged.
I did nothing but think for- oh, say 8 years?
I grew out of my childhood,
I forgot all my fears.
But someone did ask me
"What do you do?"
And I answered (quite proudly),
"I think! How 'bout you?"
And he looked at me,
sizing me up.
"You think? How unusual! A reg'lar big brain!
Thinking all day would drive me insane!
I just couldn't stand it,
missing out on my fun.
Never to just sit, soaking in sun.
Never to just laugh,
but ALWAYS having a thought.
I only know what I need to know,
and what my teachers have taught!"
And he left me to think about what he had said.
And I thought...
And I thought...
'till I hurt my head.
I began to just think about my life,
without thought.
Perhaps reach the dreams I had thought,
but not sought...
But I was too biased,
too set in my ways.
I'll just have to think about it
as I sit wasting my days....
Levi Andrew Jun 2016
i'm going mad

i put down two runs of reg meat,
a run of quarter meat,
and hell some grilled chicken.

in my dreams
i hear the grill timers going off
i hear the beeping of the cabinets
i hear the loud scream of the microwave

i'm going mad
I work at mcdonalds and in my dreams i really do hear those things.
Reece Mar 2015
Lonely black lab on the path behind the garages I used to sell crack
Went to the shop, brought some ****, blacked out windows on a cab
spells danger backwards that's Reg Nad
So I'm looking all around me, back at the cash grab
Where old ladies clutch black bags and wear glad rags
I'm not glad lad, '*** the world looking like rag mags
with girls selling soul on corners right now
where their daddies sag lag on the track; Baghdad
where war heroes return home back to the smack
and clap traps where they get and share the clap; sad
or when little kids run to their mummies 'cross roads all alone
to their home that used to be a home but now is a dome for the dome
so food can be put on tables that rust and break and the kids get hurt
child protective services, what's worse
I'll tell you what's worse living in a hearse
or a one berth tent on this Earth where the ones in charge
discredit your worth
or better still when they ignore your very existence
so we're standing here screaming and pleading
bleeding and scheming
because there's no food in the cupboards
quit dreaming
stop the screaming
Lousy demon fiending, feeding the sea men with *****
on seashores the sea's ****** sing hee-haw the horse of remorse
hits the veins and see more the way the see-saw zig-zags
back to the black labs on lagging black paths
behind the garages I used to sell crack
RIP Reginald Naden
Mykarocknrollin Feb 2020
Reg
you said hello
but a bit slow
not really into much talking
but you are more of walking
and running
not a fan of smiling
but i like you laughing
sometimes you are aware
most of the time i like what you wear
this is a new way
of trying to get away
i'll go all the way
as long as i may
hear whatever
speak whenever
feel whatsoever
forever and ever
no never
this ain't a fever
we just both believer

xoxo
Kimberly Serena Feb 2017
My mental age is accelerating at an alarming rate. Possibly 3X faster than the average human. Maybe even 4. Given my cynical disposition (Grumpy Old Man Syndrome), crew socks, boxers and claim to the recliner - it doesn’t appear to be gender specific in accordance with traditional gender roles. My newfound interest in wicker furniture is a strong indicator that it won’t be long before I am browsing ceramic cat figurines at the local flea market.

A recommended Rx to reverse damage and encourage a more youthful and chipper propensity would be greatly appreciated by those who have to look at my face on the reg. Thanks in advance.
"Nou wie is jy?"
"Ouma, my naam is Siyasanga,
Ek is jou dogter Lalie se seun"
"My Lalie, sy wat in Suid Afrika bly?"
"Ja ouma, ek het vir ouma kom keur"

I watch on as the spark of recognition lights up her eyes
Happiness flowers through the creases on her face like fresh rain through a Namib riverbed 
Her brow furrows as if trying to keep this revelation prisoner
The Sun continues its long journey across the sky
Her brow relaxes, and. . . . .

"Hello virtel my, my kind,
Wie is jy?"
"My naam is Siyasanga Ouma,
Ek is ouma se klien kind.
My ma se naam is Lalie"
"Lalie, sy is my dogter wat in Suid Afrika bly"
"Dis reg ouma, ek het vir ouma kom keur"

The spark returns
The fresh rain flows
The love warms my soul as we embrace
The Sun once more takes flight

Taking respite from the heat
I watch as she shuffles and shimmies and shuffles once more down the corridor
To the foot of the bare bed I've made my haven
Words like spun silk spill from her lips as she asks
"May I sit here my child?
"Ja my ouma, ouma hoef nie vra nie"
She shuffles and shimmies and sits down to read
What a beautiful life affair she has with words,
Even those from a magazine,
Whose pages danced that day at her touch
A letter whose ink for 2 decades laid dry
The name of the man she loved preserved in his evergreen book
Both retrieved from the vault that was her purse
Oh how she loved those words, and they loved her
She turns her head to look at me
With that spark in her eye
"Jy is my Lalie se seun"
I smile, my face awash with fresh rain
"Ja ouma, ek het vir ouma kom kuier"
danny Feb 2019
i would just like to say, from the absolute bottom of my heart,

****
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
.                                                   pękł -
   reg. a balloon:
                                         he burst,
in other languages
certain words
have no
gender neutrality,
why double the standard
for a per se fetish,
regarding neither noun
nor verb gender neutral,
by sole testimony
    identifying pronouns
as gender neutral?
     move to switzerland,
and you'll find certain objects
having a gender bias...
e.g. a grenade is male,
a chair is female,
                a table is male...
not really:
a chair is gender-neutral,
    a sleeve is male,
     the sun is female,
   the moon is male,
  the bed is female,
       the floor is female,
  a house is a hermaphrodite,
     as is tango.
how can you attain
          gender neutrality
within the framework
of pornouns?
  sorry, pronouns...
                     english is
looking, but rather not looking
at itself being
constrained in a straitjacket...
******* lunatics, a bunch
of ******* lunatics...
   pronouns are
         gender exclusive...
other european tongues?
their nouns are gender
inclusive...
                    to me the english
language is *******,
or at least contrasting
the darwinistic bombast:
                            neanderthal.
and to think,
it only took the church being
truly established,
   the mistaken identity of
the dead sea scrolls,
          st. thomas' gospel,
   and the nag hammadi library...
bunch of wanks...
      sure, if the atlantic sea
is just a pond...
   wanks welcome yanks...
     in continental
   european, a chair can summon
a male pronoun association,
   while a frying-pan can summon
a female pronoun...
    england was never going to
be as eccentric as iceland...
  unless in never never ever land.
                                                  pękła,
                                       yep, she burst.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2019
This year near now later as I slide into safe for

the feeling,
never once in real life as they call the experience of
mortal ripening misspellts
corrected asgoodas
magigic
tstsefly sleepy sick o hno this is that book

louis said it sounds like science fiction --- but
you init lou
look
it's that guy who married your mom and rescued your from the
cult,
fundamentally,
with no regard for the damage

I just knew. Okeh, we were caught in a net we did not know exists.

Evil in its e-sense, virtual balnce factor intended to keep good
in constant chessish cheshirish grin
cheque,
en garde, to point a fault in the plan… ellipses suffice for a minor
re
spect to authors admitting un belief of most

order quired fixt ac-counting tual vir-beginning ever
things, with no
withdrawal date, the riches pile up so hitchenslipped in the bull
Creflo Dollar, props, brohawny black ****** mofoe than fren
in the end,

y'did your proper whatever you knew in your self right right
it just feels wrong

jets, ball'n'f'Jeesus, risen above the fray,

in Beulah Land,
c'mon childrens, t'all join me walk wit jesus hear me say
ain't another way I know and you know,
I cain't lie

nonono chile my heart be fixt
fixt means, ain broke
no joke, blowin hard hard har on that deep left end
blue bleu sacre bleu

I best rest and find mind gone a wander why you hear?
Both, heare, here and hear, oft stretched to cover
to means of leaking wwwwu.

we may, as we the corpus hoct to pay some debt
somebody never owed,
an oath to believe a lie is true,

I absolve you. You are free to no longer bher
the burden of eventually accounting
for every, every, every ever
sworn idle word
lock for
ever int the con fused wicks match lock candles,

we did not know if this went to now,
when we have these
magic pens and broad bands of reading minds finding
threads
we
share, ideas at bare word level, down to actual
jots, breath commas, some call them

but readers of many [paradigms of mind] novels,
realize their roles
with shame,

venting noxious fumes for [that verted joy fools floods of
test-toss-or be owned}}}protein trigger me a fu
ture
sure thing ding
Those genes that code for proteins are composed of tri-nucleotide units
called codons, each coding for a single amino acid.
Each nucleotide sub-unit consists of a phosphate,
deoxyribose sugar and one of the 4
nitrogenous nucleotide bases.
The purine bases adenine (A) and guanine (G) are larger and consist
of two aromatic rings.
The pyrimidine bases cytosine (C) and thymine (T) are smaller and consist
of only one aromatic ring.
In the double-helix configuration,
two strands of DNA are joined to each other by hydrogen
bonds
in an arrangement known as
base pairing.

From <https://www.sciencedaily.com/terms/genetic_code.htm#:~:targetText=The%20genome%20of%20an%20organism,­for%20a%20single%20amino%20acid.>

Can we stand up right balanced, okeh. This ain't anybodies idea of hell,

except the one Mormon guy who told me Morman worst ell, tellestial kingdom,
was so much better than now that if god let you see it,
you would die to get there.

Time will tell.
Keep the pressure on, high speed chase scarios are not torture,
they only feel like

lift off, oh shitunexpected floatin ches above

the idea of enjoyment as an occupation.
Peacemaking, as an occupation, occupying until now we

gather, at the river and laugh
laugh laugh alladem rules and reg ulah stuff, gwa n on ol woids wise
womb man know gnosticious suspicious
auspicity
perspicacity capacity to tttalk sit no stutification evacuation of
I can't
remember. But grandpa, remember, Siri knows, ask her.

2019 wandering away from the ol'fo'khome ain't the
adventure it once was
past the edges of all the known in the world. My 8 yr old
grand daughter put a locater spell on my

converged network node
if I manifest in odd realms she has Siri steer me to bed.
The future is as good as I imagined,

but I'm not the guy about to die while wondering what he missed
that everyone else knew from the womb.
In the book this has no title, it follows some line I posted here last year. The intention is light hearted offence to friends who doubt i'm dying right, many years in the future.
seethroughme Feb 2019
dans jy
jou duiwels uit?
bid jy
hulle reg?
sing jy
hulle aan die slaap?
sus jy
hulle gille weg?
of
voer jy hulle gif
tot jy hulle as wapens kan rig?

— The End —