"rottening" poems
and so the rolling fields
I HAVE READ NEWSPAPERS
and so the lovely lost children, see
DO NOT READ NEWSPAPERS
and all the vastness of beauty and grace
NEWSPAPERS ARE ONLY LIES
the simple lovers like you and me
NEWSPAPERS TALK OF FALSE BEINGS BEING CRUEL AND UGLY AND MEAN
the rolling fields
cities of poverty
children in rottening school yards
the rolling fields
AMID NEWPAPERS AND THE LIES
Sep 2, 2010
Sep 2, 2010 at 4:09 PM UTC
A MILLION young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads,
And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red roses.
Yes, this million of young workmen slaughtered one another and never saw their red hands.
And oh, it would have been a great job of killing and a new and beautiful thing under the sun if the million knew why they hacked and tore each other to death.
The kings are grinning, the kaiser and the czar-they are alive riding in leather-seated motor cars, and they have their women and roses for ease, and they eat fresh-poached eggs for breakfast, new butter on toast, sitting in tall water-tight houses reading the news of war.
I dreamed a million ghosts of the young workmen rose in their shirts all soaked in crimson ... and yelled:
God **** the grinning kings, God **** the kaiser and the czar.Chicago, 1915.
3.1k
I do not like the food
I do not like the sun
I hate any kind of games
I hate so much fun
I **** on the carpet
I spit on the walls
I spill my rottening blood
And I swallow The Lord
I am reading the paper
And it drives me insane
I take a deep breath
And look at the weather again
I drown in any nightmare
I eat my ****** tongue
I worship The Devil
I lick his ***** ***** bond
I eat and I sing, I laugh and I cry
I'm content with my fears
I know I have to die
But a wild dead dog don't die!
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 8:33 AM UTC
.
The true love walk in the park
All the fancy babes !
The long slim legs
and the bouncing *****
The ******* mouth
And the haunted eyes
:::
the cute *** smile
And the promised hands
The long love walk thru
The promised hands
||
All the lovely daughters
Rottening on the vine
The subtly irony
Dwelling here
.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 6:14 AM UTC
Flowers rottening, is the reason to grow them
The acknowledgement of a volatile time
Templates an, at least real, ache
Embracing the pain possible to touch with fingertips
When imitating deleted feelings
The satire of smashing a plate to feel complete
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 4:25 PM UTC
Come whisper in the listen I now long to hear you see
Of my odd interpretation of the lesson in this session
Surely spewing wicked somethings in disorder as it feeds
Agonizing ramblizing far too soon to fail to mention
Incorporating lonesomeness complexities in legions
Is there no unserpentizing the enlightening of strange?
Misuncircumstancing as the reader finds no reason
In such savory salivations of the misconcepted change
Unknowingly still growing far beyond the closest measure
Into raging inconsistencies that weep unto the page
Bleeding such intuitive progression never severed
In the ****** of youthful fluencies in such a weary age
The gladness of the madness strikes within the battered shore
Not but a hair above comparisons so folded in the fray
Enticing bold imperatives unsweetly through the outer core
In air of uninheritance that creeps the numb at play
Parading the tirading of such unsubstantial ecstasy
In such an unconventional impression of insane
Always sometimes never far within the tragic synergy
Of answers unbegotten for the rottening of sane
The murderous disorder in infectious undisease
As such sporadically chaotic posthypnotic juices flow
Now lost in such emphatically irrational absurdities
That pour out further twistedly insistent as I go
Shattering the view and boundary bordering abnormal
In this morsel of a mouthful seen before its time had come to go
Reaching destinations in displacement so unformal
In the storming of the forming verbalating undertow
Bringing order to the chaos of this psychopractic babble
In a lesson of the breaking of the rules amidst the flow
With intention of confusion that makes sense within the rattle
It is only when we break free that we find where we can go
In creative inspiration as this invitation I extend
To all who may so dare to violate the rules of play
Embracing utter lunacy in oddest infestation
As I show what can be done when mental limits melt away
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 11:05 AM UTC
all the old gods are gone
(and they've taken all the "gold!")
the old truths
(nirvana, heaven, peace)
lie broken in the unfertile soil
and are rottening
in the poisoned air
AND HERE WE ARE!
(it's our turn, now!)
------------
gutless wonders
OR...?
--------------
heros have no past
no future
no present
ONLY EACHOTHER
---------
no lovers
ONLY LOVE
-----------
the old gods are dead
we , too...?
or.......?
YOU TELL ME
Feb 12, 2011
Feb 12, 2011 at 1:01 PM UTC
generation
Enslaved children
Wallowing in manure
Yes !
//
LUVY DUVY LUVY DUVY
DOO DOO DOO
//
************ to images
Self - made
Crippling
•
LUVY DUVY LUVY DUVY POO
••
nobody knows you
It's impossible
:::
Poems from the grave
//
Dead penises
Rottening vaginas
//
Strewn about so carelessly
Attached to useless brains
//
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Have you ever felt so unloved?
Your heart just chokes with all the pain and bruise.
Left an unbanded scar open,
All the love and memories being stolen.
How can you hurt a heart that's already broken?
Just ****** the little feelings, capturing all the meanings.
Is it hard for it to be repaired?
Just holes that beats melodicaly but scared.
Pounding, killing that lil' thing we need for survival,
Yet attacking all the happiness as its rival
Who needs something that traumatizes them emotionally, physically, wanting it to die desperately?
It's just a rhythm that feeds on you,
Rottening and displaying you.
Just a body with beautiful features,
But a heart that's a horrifying creature.
-dpk
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
Ether licking sentipede raising a bar in solitude,
flaming pink aftermath of candle wax,
say raise frequency to the mosquitos and its dandelions,
and the spiders no longer shake
Where the roots of Miss. Dandellion ached the pit of rottening veign.
She never wept like the rain that first dropped on the candle,
but her strength residual in licking sentipede.
Bathing in the bites of mosquitos at a constant,
keeping her ****** alive.
© Clarissa van Vreden
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 1:18 PM UTC
Tonight
I'm wearing a black see-through dress
I looked in the mirror, I thought I will see myself
Brown skin
Short legs
Fat bellies
My insecurities
But I know this is not me, I know
I take a knife and peel myself
I started to my ring finger
Skin stretched to my elbow
I'm not crying
I'm hurting
Blood's dripping
Tears are not falling
I thought I have a fresh red flesh
But it is black
Blacker than black
And I'm laughing
Because this is me, the real me.
How did this happened?
Maybe I breathe the air I thought that was air
Or drink the water I thought that was water
Or eat the food I thought was food
Or maybe..
I was rottening in hell. Alive.
But this is me. The real me
And my skin covers more than what I know
And my dress cover more than my insecurities
And myself covers myself
Tomorrow
I will not wear my see-through dress again
Jun 15, 2018
Jun 15, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC