"registry" poems
Come in and enjoy the Night-Light Hotel
Where Pillows and Perfumes meet and relax
And Therapy takes either Bond or Belle
And Goldfish blow this Friday's Bubbly Sax
Here upon registry your Token awaits
The Flannel up-hook which you strip and wear
Then wait for your turn as your Number rebates
A little whilst knowing your Musk reeks there
I for one made this Malicious Decide
And tempt my ****** to swallow this Treat:
Upper-Lower Left; Upper-Lower Right
Then descend into Base - Heh! Heh! Heh! Heh!
Stud or Salome, let Conscience give choose
But trust me to say I am a Man too.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
"Nita, what do you NEED ?"
I HATE it when someone asks me that question!
"Nita, What do you need?"
NEED: “require”… “want”… “necessitate”
"What do you need right now. You don't have to do this in isolation."
"What do you need right now? I am not afraid of the little girl."
"What do you need right now? If you need something I am here to listen."
"If you don't think you are safe, then what do you need from me or others or yourself?"
Why does it matter what I "NEED"? Why do you ask me when you are not going to be able to grant that/those "NEED(S)"?
Is my Survivor Fairy Godmother asking you for a list of Nita's NEEDS so she can come wave her magic wand, sing, bippity, boppity, boo...and I'll become an unf@#ked kid?
Well, why didn't you say so!
Here's my list for the Godmother:
I NEED to be 'unf@#ked'. I NEED the voices in my head to stop. I NEEDED my evil father not to touch me. I NEED the flashbacks to stop. I NEED my body not to hurt. I NEED the fear to stop. I NEED for you to be here for me NOW like you WERE then. I NEEDED to be loved by my parents. I NEED someone to teach me what love really is. I NEED someone to show me that trust really does exist in this world. I NEED you to help me at night when I am suicidal and dissociative. I NEED you to be available after 10pm, when the hell started, you know, like you used to be...back when you actually cared about what I NEEDED. I NEED the little girl to stop whining and crying. I NEED to not have physical symptoms that relate to then. I NEED the nightmares to stop. I NEED the constant headaches to stop. I NEED my crohn’s to not be in a constant flare up. I NEED to stop having recurrent UTIs. I NEED the ****** Angry Girl to stop hurting me. I NEED to sleep. I NEED to want to live before I die.
I NEED you to hear me.
What? There is NO Survivor Fairy Godmother? NO magic wand?
I'm shocked! NOT!
I'm guessing that's why she never showed up then, either...I prefer to think that rather than her never answering my cries of: Please make him stop hurting me!
I NEED you to STOP asking me what I NEED Since we both know that those NEEDS will NEVER be my reality, and that it is actually more painful to ask for what you NEED and not get that need met, then it is to keep your NEEDS to yourself. At least that's true for me.
So...unless you have a survivor registry where I can resister for the aforementioned NEEDS, or, perhaps a survivor merit system where I can earn credits to 'buy' the above NEEDS (I'm not afraid of hard work)...then STOP ASKING ME WHAT I NEED!
Because we both know it does not matter what I NEED!
Can't undo what's already been done. We both know that.
What Nita "NEEDS" right now is a bottle of ***** and some cranberry juice…THAT is a NEED I can meet right now!
A TOAST!
Here's to: UNMET NEEDS
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 10:32 PM UTC
My face tells me nothing. Not nothing but nothing useful,
the complications of ageing humorously but not how to avoid
injury.
Permanent injury is a now popular cliché. At this age any injury
could result in pneumonia, pain in bitterness for your peers,
your jury.
What a headache I have! And never forget injury provokes
at best only pity. Friends are merely friendly, they belong to the
majority.
They forget your name and so should you, who are you? Even you
don't know for sure. In relation to community, no change was noted in
the
registry.
Still, man's mercy, economy's ecology, there's some joy in being small,
some joy in staying strong, and keeping death before you without
perjury.
Unsafe to run the wind. A big stick might hit your head. Then
the hip and heart and head will hurt, all three. Un-
fortunately.
I like a strong wind. Dangerous to go out in. As a fire or flood.
I like the way we are at risk, not a risk-averse weasel. A carnivore,
very hungry.
Pay money, take chances. Yo's an elegant contraction of you.
Cool. Message from street to board: mongrels rule. Democracy or
tyranny.
Scared to die? Why? Take appropriate measures, descend through
meditation. Be empty, rest. And to your friends and sons be as
gravity.
Tired of death. It's what it is. Let's play sports, have *** kayak
to the huckleberries, fish for marvelous fish, live a wonderful life, give
generously.
Done blowing, O wild wind? Not yet? So be it. I lay my head
in your felt hands. The motion of the branches, evolutionary branches,
are my
guarantee.
That's all folks, 7:30. The sky is clear, the crows are out. The clouds
are with my mood commensurate. I should shout, having lived
prodigiously.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
Blindsided by a rhinoceros.
Tendons, muscles, unraveling. I can't do this any--
Glitch, system failure, shutdown
Restart, blue screen, flashing cursor
Epileptic shock. Epinephrine injected
Command line. Run:
Beautiful flying objects thrown violently.
Don't open this door! Kiss me hard
And not in a good way (if you remember how),
Like when fishes try to breathe on dry
Land on jagged Rock
Climbing without
Gears spinning and clanking
*** and pan. (Glass and sand)
Sizzling in this artificial sun
Created by brainwaves soaked in
****** and LSD and yellow cake uranium
Ghostriding patterns erupting like
Stop. Fail. Restart.
Detecting equipment...
No input present. How will you communicate?
Try again. Restart.
Password required.
Why don't you eat?
These tears are making my face numb.
Put this in your arm.
Trust me, you'll love it.
You'll have Tesla coming out of every orifice.
Dancing physics, matryoshkas.
You can deny the existence of a God and live,
But if you deny the existence of gravity...
Well, just try and walk off this cliff.
"These thoughts are so scattered.
I don't even think they're mine."
Those memories? They're not yours.
They belong to your master's daughter.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We're Replicants.
We boot up, we shut down, we most definitely restart.
Viruses make us sick and sometimes break us to the point where we need new hardware.
Sometimes they break our firmware and we need to wipe.
We have command lines to perform actions, and registry keys to keep memory stored of the things we learn.
The world is our power supply,
and when we boot up in safe mode,
like
some
people
do
every
day,
we only use the bare minimum of our potential.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I must be dying, I'm only this awkward when I'm dying.
Connection timed out.
Feb 17, 2011
Feb 17, 2011 at 7:26 PM UTC
I took my name off of the *****
donor registry. I don't wish to wish
myself on any-body. I'm a hard man
to live with, you see. You've seen
the way I treat(ed) my liv-er; any way.
Anyway...if you really want a piece
of me take my heart. Cigarettes and
women haven't yet ruined the best part.
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 2:42 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 1:20 PM UTC
The book of poetry
has a page in every book,
It's not found in any registry
and it has no special look.
The book of poetry
Is inferior to the Bible.
But its mainly about artistry
Any has no verses of trouble.
The book of poetry
Is similar to the Book of Eli
It keeps secrets of our ancestry
Buried deep in the kingdom of Mali.
The book of poetry
Recognizes the Koran
Yet has no creed or authority
And places no restriction on any man.
The book of poetry
Transcends every bestseller
Yet no one has right over its intellectual property
And it belongs to every poet, every reader, and writer.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
Inside my head
inspiration wars for
territory/ my eyes
inviting any and everything
in it's path inside with a story
that I'll tell it's story
My mood doesn't
always shelter my
desires to be creative
but my eyes never stop
working constantly supplying me
with inspiration...
some times I don't
wanna write.....
so what's inside
becomes impatient...
So things decide
to up and leave
through the crevices
in my face and....
It spills in its
desired form so
it's ink my skin is
tasting.... I apologize
ahead of time my gift
and it's vision care nothing
of your time it's wasting
~Rebel Flower
Inside my head there is a place
awaking the purpose to write
like incisions on a platter
like a golden sizzorr
Cutting in time wasted
where it could be
used in skills practice
to free a prisoner of rest
Like leggos we stack purpose
And speeches never frail
There are times of a nothingness
for ink flows and poetic thoughts
yet naturally words
yell at my window for spills
a welcoming and re-entering
Paving for my souls exertion
editing exact details
carrying in a song in my psalms
I don't live in the gift
the gift lives in me
touring like a concert to sooth
or even to feel
Like a record playing on repeat
This is my mental obsession.
~Poet V-Ink (Viewtiful)
I'm obsessed
with all the talent
god has left me to
possess but sometimes
I get upset at the lack
of control I have over
the information my mind
accepts/ granted a gift to
project messages hidden
in the mess life lessons usually
left but I stress because that gift
sometimes forces my tired hand
to respect
I struggle...
some much on my
mind absent the intention
to invest... How do I turn
off the switch to how my
registry was blessed..
~Rebel Flower
Blessings of such a skill
at times may be overwhelming
I picture the gift of words a performer
When need of pros we feed our drive
as well as the audience
We plumage into a well
of urgent tunes
then we tiré, and we are restless
poetry never dies
it will come back when need of a place
of itself to live again and again.
Every poet needs a light
and the switch will dim in any time
I'd worry more when it flips back on
How great the light will be.
© Copyright 2014 Poet V-Ink &
S.T. Rebel of Eden.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
Breathe! The quiet ambient sombers of an extraordinary life element that never misses a beat. Relax and void registry of thought. Bask in the glow of cherry, like a warm bath after years of war. Relieve the soul of entrapment, let the feet lead to peaceful endeavor. Places of concrete will never tear down life in a ****** breeze
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
Such an abatement of voices creep sparingly, verily I tell you, they shall be accrue in the mornings dew!!
Acquaint me on mine wrongs, thank me for mine songs I subdue!!!
They are just registry's of what's real and what's not!!!!
Must you haveth natural air to breathe? Annotater of annunuity. Apprentice fakes overtake innocent babies where the unnatural scabies infest the freshest of human skins.
Carrouse all your symptoms away. You leader, you fearer, you murderer by day!!!
Your one charitable cent gives to noone, for someone in thy heavens watches your do's and donts!!!!
Sure you won't infest beyond breed. You striver to succeed, your alive today aren't thou?
Grant it, you don't look it....
May 12, 2015
May 12, 2015 at 5:50 PM UTC
*Our yard is sheltered
high board fence with trees..
Only I know and see
this she-deer lying then standing
sheltered on this Easter eve..
Alert as ever with swiveling ears
each of my in-door sounds
is entered in her registry..
So this connection of
mis-trust and rest
makes her life..and ours..
until sometime when
mis-trust finds real rest
that of eternal
already Now...*
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 10:33 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
prices for car insurance and registration are too dear
when we part with our dollars we cry an odd tear
there is little or nothing we can do about the rising costs
they make on our finances such outlandish imposts
seemingly our money supply is dwindling away
as all we ever do is fork out dollar after dollar to pay
the days of owning a care shall come to an end
we've not enough money to handle this friend
those of us who rely on a car in the countryside
are not getting a good insurance or registration ride
horse and cart transport we'll have to rejuvenate
as the cost of keeping a car on the road does exasperate
to-day at the motor registry they'll be a lot like me
who'll be miffed with the ever increasing fees
we'll have a grumble and a bit of a whinging session
about how these costs can leave our wallets in recession
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 2:31 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 6:23 PM UTC
in it
brother
levels
his eyes
at the fog
with two
red rubber
*****
the *********
registry
posted
at home
highlights
the name
of a local
thing our father
calls demon
our mother
confused
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 4:48 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 10:43 PM UTC
more and more couples are opting
to wed in unconventional places
they're not into those old fashioned
churches or registry office spaces
just to-day an American pair
did exchange their nuptial vows
inside an airport terminal
near the baggage area's trows
these types of wedding ceremonies
are gaining a greater supporter root
for they've added a new dimension
to the whole matrimonial hoot
we can expect to see weddings being
performed in a different location
so don't surprised if one happens
outside the international space station
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 7:54 PM UTC
Abortion for some is a stubborn memory,
Mistakes, a mishap, a brutal ****
Shameful memories that wasn’t call for
Unwanted Fetus, no more abortion
Said the lawmakers
No more jobs, for the clinics
no more work for the undertakers:
no more daily entries to birth registry
Women, has the right to choose
Lawmakers has the power to brutally
Say we don’t care: closed all abortion clinics down
Let the fetus grows, and become a man
And brutally **** again,
Lawmakers had the power to choose
A ****** can continue to **** and impregnated again:
*Charles Dickens (1812–70)
QUOTATION:
If the law supposes that,” said Mr. Bumble,… “the law is a ass—a idiot. If that’s the eye of the law, the law is a bachelor; and the worst I wish the law is that his eye may be opened by experience—by experience*
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 3:34 PM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Jan 16, 2015
Jan 16, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
We're Replicants.
We boot up, we shut down, we most definitely restart.
Viruses make us sick and sometimes break us to the point where we need new hardware.
Sometimes they break our firmware and we need to wipe.
We have command lines to perform actions, and registry keys to keep memory stored of the things we learn.
The world is our power supply,
and when we boot up in safe mode,
like
some
people
do
every
day,
we only use the bare minimum of our potential.
Jan 29, 2011
Jan 29, 2011 at 10:28 AM UTC
Gray gathering
Signs fell on the musty register. Two pallid
Faces infatuate, braiding the ley lines,
Were married in a dimly lit registry.
Outside, the sky in Dublin was a dark pool,
The clouds were omen, birds, startled in
Your eyes, a flashing flue of doves, all wings
A warring coo, escaping into the dusk.
We walked a ways to that room of dreams
And dined in the Shelbourne’s Aisling room.
I was Ormond, I was Yeats and you
Were gone. Your happy tears were notes singing
Our sorrows that day. Our love was castaway
Our love was time bomb. Crossing stars, we trembled
As we talked. Two birds setting sights on some
Lost ocean’s horizon.
When first we met,
At the meeting hall, cradled in a tempest
Eye, you gave me your name and it burned on
The paper as it now burns in my mind
Like Brigid’s fire. At once, once, we were one.
Conjoined yet neither one of us a joiner.
Anointed under the votive stars violently
Innocent your heart, a spike, my heart
A rail. Our love was charmed, our love was time,
Balm. To what end this new beginning?
Mar 31, 2014
Mar 31, 2014 at 1:27 PM UTC
There was once upon a bright clear morn,
A piece to state that you were born.
Embroiled within life’s tapestry
And safe inside a registry,
Some years in school and well I never!
Other pieces say ‘you’re clever’.
Thus qualified in math and lit’
You see what you can make of it.
Snuggled up beside, or not too far,
A piece that lets you drive a car.
To grasp the wheel and thus to steer,
From here to there, and there to here.
When cupid chances upon your head,
A piece to certify you’re wed’.
The threshold crossed, confetti flung,
A foot placed firmly on the rung.
With currency saved you joined the race,
A piece says you now own the place.
So mow the lawn and paint the wall,
And cook when friends and neighbours call.
And of course in time they’ll hang their heads,
Another piece declares you’re dead.
A choice is made you can’t revoke,
It’s down a hole or up in smoke.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC