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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
i can't help what i am...
but what i am not is a spoken word
poet: with that generic exasperation
technique of speaking -
as if, on the verge of crying...

but what i can tell you...
i am a rigid person,
there are 3/4 of me that should
have enlisted in the army,
and only a 1/4 that went to
university...

so... given that i'm such a rigid ******...
i thought i'd tell you about
linear and vertical rhyming...
linear?
oh, that's neat & easy:

.................................... end
.................................... bend
..................................... send
..................................... wend....

basically suffix rhyming...
but! but... what Sylvia Plath
introduced?
   oh, my, god...
      transcendent of
the conceptualization of
"the" box...

her rhyme? alphabetical...
sort of...

        it's more than that...
she didn't pay due diligence on
suffix rhyming -end,
   -ing
    you name it...

you want to know what her rhyme
concept implies?

   **** me, it's sassy...

she was a rhyming weaver...
an interloper...
    words didn't have to necessarily
end in the same boundary
of an echo... echo rhyming
by the standard bearers is one thing...
she made tartan rhymes...

tartan rhyming...
kilt rhyming...

                  and it looked something
equivalent to, this:

  ceremony or Potent -
Still sky, obtuSe -
   one might Say love -
  Suddenly,
        black featherS,
black reSpit -
Season of fatigue,
SpaSmodic,
  deScend...
   Stolidly...
       no effigy... Seem...
pompouS...
                         coarSe copy...
      Bell tongue BirdS...
    Shrined on her SHelf...
too Tough to Finish...
  Seize my Senses...
ToTal neuTrality...
   deScent...
                Sanguine...
  bRick dusk...
Prose...
              plaCe...
            pompouS...
Ne­at kNits...
    weedS obScured...
SHe blenched,
miMic...
   deSpite...
baniSH...
    ******...
too tough for knife to finiSH...

      Head...
so profoundly muCH...
       piN legs...
               thoughtS...
So departS...
       S(h)eets...
Sanity...
      Tongue...
Printed Page...
  Twelve...
Sick man's Eye...
nEVER nEVER found
anyWHERE...

goodbye goodbye...
      eXclamation...
the First point...
            GHost...
   Signify...
cuckoo-land of color fields,
CRisp CUsp...
    
        the girl's dancing!
she's dancing barefoot...
no, i can't fall in love with her...
she's, dead!

    but can you see
rhyming vertically?
   all the lettering,
in capital letters?
  deviancy...
   it doesn't agree to your
box standard form of
rhyme, linearly...
  it's vertical rhyming,
it's juxtapositions on a scale
that might elongate
the winding tongue of a snake
in, anything but maracas
rattling...
sssssssssssssssssssssss.....
a wet snare...
   she's teasing...
she has escaped
the tradition of
the traditional guise of rhyme...
she has invoked
rhyme, but as an intermediating
attachment...
          forget the rigid
end-
                   -ing
with a "worthy"
   sympathiz-
                                        -ing...

what a gall...
she makes the housewives of America's
1950s twice as vampire-like,
and thrice as Stepford material...
   lucky blond to leave so much
"crap" behind...
   i could pick the maggots
from her head and make it
a day's worth of fishing
on the banks of Vistula...

she's dancing in the rain,
and all i have is my Cameo cinema
moment
with my cousin, Justine,
running barefoot where
i grew up on the cement...
and then cuddling together,
getting warmer
over one worth of an afternoon...

last time i heard...
her son Leo was born on
the 15th of May,
my birthday...
  but we've fallen out...
when her husband
put a **** under my father's
self-employment
enterprise...
   and undertook
a practice of stealing workers
from him...
great move... when you join
a family...

        nice memory though...
wish my cousin Justin all the luck
she can muster...
but when it comes to family
friendliness?
none....
                 went to her brother's
wedding... was interrogated by
her brother's best man...

   Polish drunk talk...
let's just say...
his date?
   was flashing her underwear
at me from under her magic carpet
ride of a skirt while we
smoke cigarettes and finished
off drinks, being accused of...
trying... to seriously...
hide her... exhibitionism...

   so i started punching myself
in the face to find target practice
should i ever come across
any more Polacks, drunk,
at a family wedding...
   you never know...

           hell... if ******* wanna tango...
we'll... ******* tango! ha ha.
now all i need is the raw
material... my knuckles
are either furry...
or they're itchy...
  can't exactly knock-out
my neighbors dog...
   i need a ******* mug of
a mouthwash advert...
with a grin that's, seriously
asking for a few missing teeth
to rekindle a smile!
ManVsYard Nov 2014
I'm waiting for
that blissfull moment
when,
I am freed, from the torment
of the world of wars, laments
of safety,  health,  protects , prevents!
of the waking world, of
groans and moans and sighs

From the ever
silent smirking
from
todays plan, no more working
simulated twerking
bad news briefers perkin
A respit from,  "The Land of
Lovely Lies"

Oh, the smiling
nodding jestures
from
the too-cute empty nesters
the, once we were protesters
the, Winsor Knot and vest-ers
makes me look away No! contact for sad eyes.

With lead lids
steady drooping
my
pace has slowed, now stooping
alone: no more grouping
no chicken, rooster cooping.
It's time to sleep, so, I'll say todays goodbys.
Mel Williams Mar 2019
I liked her because she was brave
and fragile at the same time
--a contradiction I know all too well,
the burden to carry.
I should have known,
as we sat and we talked,
the two of us,
in the silent hours,
that even in her bravery,
the darkness would creep in on us
from unseen places,
--places I hadn't seen in a long time,
and were, tonight,
to be brought before us.
Her darkness and mine
churning the waters until they were black
and my stomach burned
and I hated us,
hated life.
Hated life because it had done this to us.
Made us real.
Made us raw.
Made us emotional.
Too emotional, for ourselves, in this small little room,
not enough space to contain ourselves.
And I wished then,
as I always eventually wish,
that it wasn't so hard.
The emotions creeping in,
too heavy a burden tonight,
as they all eventually became
--become,
in time.
Time is a silent monster,
a stealthy creature that makes his way in the dark,
on his belly,
his scales feeling for the vibrations of hearts nearby that are too strong
or too soft,
or too anything,
really.
Any victim will do.
And that night time stole a chunk of me,
caught up to me,
because I had finally decided I had a reason to stop running,
take some respit,
at least for a little while.
And he mocked me as he ate a hole through the two of us,
there, in the dark.
And I should have known.
And I whispered to her that I was sorry,
because I was,
because I had stopped running and she has stopped to sit with me,
and whether time had come that night for one of us, --whichever one,
he had stopped for both of us.
And so I sit now,
alone,
in my own darkness,
because I would rather be eaten alone,
than to hear the screams of my partner beside me, as we face the perilous jaws of time
together.
And unwhole.
ymmiJ Jun 22
this umbella cloud
teases complete respit
tin roof patter starts

— The End —