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EmperorOfMine Oct 2018
F l o a t , mydear , i n t o  a  n e w  r e a l i t y

T h e  o n e  h e r e  i s  a  s i m u l a t i o n

O u r  f u t u r e

O n e  w i t h  t e c h n o l o g y

W e  w i l l  c o n q u e r  r e a l i t y

A n d  w h e n  w e  d o

W e  w i l l  b e c o m e  i m m o r t a l

W e  w i l l  l o n g  t o  d i e

Y e t  w e  w i l l  n o t  s e e  r e s t

A n d  w e  w i l l  m a k e  a  n e w  r e a l i t y

T h i s  n e w  r e a l i t y  i s  y e s t e r d a y s  p a s t

Y o u  a r e  l i v i n g  i n  t h a t  r e a l i t y

E v e rrr y t h i nnn g  y o u  s e e  i s  i n s t a l l e d

PPP PPr r o c e s s e d  

Y o u  c a n n o t  w a k e  u p

A s  a n  i m m o r t a l  y o u ' v e  y e a r n e d  t o  e x p e r i e n c e

M o r t a l i t y

Y o u r  s e s s i o n  w i l l  e x p i r e

Y o u  w i l l  w a k e  

i m m o rrr t a l

p e r f e c t

B uuu t  y o u  m u s t  r e m e m b e r

r e m e m b e r

r e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e rr e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e r

r e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e rr e m e m b e r
r e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e r

rrr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rDr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rOr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rIr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rTr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rSr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rAr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rVr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rEr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rUr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rSr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rFr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rRr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rOr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rMr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rIr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rTr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rSr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rWr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rRr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rAr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rTr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rHr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e m e m b e rr e





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Boo
Happy Pre-Holloween
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Don Bouchard Jan 2012
I remember reading
Martin Luther King, Jr's
Letter from Birmingham Jail
Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom
Mark Twain's Huck Finn
DuBois' Souls of Black Folk
For the first time

The words of Chief Joseph
Sitting Bull
Tecumseh
James Welch
and Alexie Sherman
And others of indigenous kind
Linger like arrows in my mind.

Of course, there's
Gilgamesh's forlorn quest for Enkidu;
Osiris, Amun, Ra, and Seth,
Homer's Illiad and Odyssey,
And Virgil's Roman treatment -
(For whom the gods destroy
We all must learn bereavement).

I remember reading
Milton's Paradises (lost and found)
And Dante's Infernal quest for Heaven
Through the bowels of Hell with Virgil's spritely guide
And up the Devil's staircase with Beatrice by his side.
John's Revelation of Times' End;
And LaHaye's money-making Left Behind
Apocalypses here to chill my mind.

I have surveyed Dead Presidents
Washington,
Jefferson,
Lincoln
Both Roosevelts, Ted and Frank,
And Reagan
And smatterings of others...
Then hopped the bookish pond to read
Sir Winston and some others,
Not the least of whom is Gandhi G,
Taught by the Queen to free his brothers.

I have studied
Moses
Job
David
Ruth
Esther
Isaiah
Jeremiah
The Disciples
Paul
and James
(Ironically,
Though Jesus is the "Word"
He never penned one).

British poets's thoughts,
Tale tellers long-dead
Have found their way
Into my head:
Beowulf and Chaucer
Old moral plays
Shelley and Keats
Cavalier Poets
Scott and Brownings
Burns and (not) Allen
Spenser and Shakespeare
Dylan and Tolkien
Lewis and Auden
And so many more
That I leave on the floor

Western Americana I have loved
Hemingway and Steinbeck, all worth the time,
Mari Sandoz' Old Jules, and
Rolvaag's Giants in the Earth,
Keroac went on the road, while
Joseph Kinsey Howard showed us the West
Lewis & Clark in journals scribed
Their journey west and back again

I can't forget psychology
And so I will digress
Or Sigmund's accusation stays
That I have but suppressed:
Ellis, Freud, and Eric Berne,
Pavlov, Skinner, Thorndike, Watson,
Wundt, and Wm James, Piaget and Chomsky
Then Vygotsky and Bandura put a social spin
on cognitive psychology, and Everybody's in.
Diverging and Converging, psychic students, all
Could never make transaction
'Til Rogers tried to make some peace
But Ellis wouldn't have 'im.

And then, of course,
The lighter stuff,
The popcorn of the mind:
Clancy, Rankin, Carole Keene
L'Amour and Will James
Stephen King and Poe,
Cruz Smith and Leon Uris,
Grisham, Deaver, Cornwall,
Asimov, Bradbury and Herbert,
Carroll and Baum...
Written Words change us.... I use the term "poem" as Louise Rosenblatt did, namely, a poem is the creation each reader makes to describe the connection between the Text and his or her own life experience, opinion, knowledge, beliefs, feelings, etc. Those "poems" affect and change us in our wanderings on this earth. I am, indeed, changed by the texts I have read and continue to read....
In haphazard fashion, I am starting a collection of writers who give me an understanding of the world's color and shape. This is just the beginning.... If readers have suggestions or reminders, I will add the ones I have read....
Don Bouchard Dec 2011
Around the table,
Literacy discussion turned elitist...
Bemoaning some poor Johnny,
Son of a plumber who does not read
Beyond the practical need,
And has no desire to.

I stopped to check my sense of what I had just heard...
Was transported to a prairie farm;
Thought of my Father, then in his eighties
Who felt no need and no sense of loss
For not having read Shakespeare nor Kant
For missing Milton's Paradises and Hemingway,
For by-passing Black Elk Speaks and C.S. Lewis.

Every morning, he read his Bible;
Some nights he read the mail's
Motley collection of literature:
Ads and politicians and fanatics,
Demanding money and his time,
But mostly money.

"I don't have time to read!"
He'd shout when I suggested a novel.
What literature he had was in his head,
Poems memorized when he was a boy
In a two room school, or
His own lines, written as a young man,
Describing work and friends
Long distant now, but still alive
In memory.

Dad taught me how to read
In different literacies and different texts:
Nuances of sky to read the weather -
What chill or storm or drought was on its way
("Storm's coming, boys! Let's get that hay!");
Cows and calves and bulls,
(Which one was sick or well, dry or bred);
Ways to diagnose mechanical ailments
("Start with the easiest options first");
Metals, to know which welding rod applied
("Aluminum sags, and cast iron cracks");
Grain, rolled crisp between hard hands,
(a test of ripeness);
Cement, to blend the perfect mix,
("Clean gravel/sand, no dirt, not too much water!);
Conservation,
("Always keep some grain on hand" &  
"Keep your fuel above half-tank").

So many literacies...
Dad, the Master Reader of them all...
No wonder he'd no time for books.
What is literacy?
These words came in response to a conversation I overheard at the University of Minnesota, in which a group of wealthy White female educators despaired a the plight of the under-educated, unwashed masses of people outside their privileged island of higher education. #Commonpeoplefeedyou!
Sky Apr 2016
S h ii v e rr r . . .
I tremble as I breathe you in
I tremble as I think again
“You are the only one for me,”

S h ii v e rr r . . .
I vibrate under your gentle touch
I vibrate under the force of your love
And let it sweep over my head

S h ii v e rr r . . .
I shiver as I wake,
I shiver as the warmth seeps away,
And I realize that it was just another dream.*

But today I will see you,
And that will be a dream
come true.
Àŧùl Jul 2022
Decoding Her Reply

I text her, “I Love You, Missy.
Do you love me too?”
She replies,
“In a particular language,
I want you dead is coded as wv bl dy rr
My love is eternal is coded as vg rh ol nb
You are very sweet is coded as hd ev zi bl
And
I hate you stupid is coded as hg bl sy rr
She pauses, as if for an eternity, before continuing,
“In that language, my answer is,
gl bl ol rr
You decode it, lover boy.”

Now what does she mean???
My HP Poem #1952
©Atul Kaushal
softcomponent Nov 2013
the vein clasps mentor rr rr s
exposed to coke AND mentos
vehement contamination - - correction
facility of the soul - pull-off / pull-over
push-up - pedestrian, panicking, my
map marks nothing in the nested
rest-stop

CASTLE, CASTLE

*correction facility of the soul
Don Bouchard Jan 2012
Under frizzed hair,
The Conscious Operator,
Smacking gum,
Waits with her tails of living wire
To make connections
At Synaptic Central.

The reader
Tilts a page to catch the rays,
Scans for symbols,
Begins to send
And to receive
Electric fires of thought
Traveling in from
Senses Five -
Traveling out from
Schema Library's
Data files -
To meet and
To commingle
At the Board.

With octopal finesse,
The tireless Operator
Plies Neural Central,
Sending quick myriads of thought
To rest or to revive in living files.

Neurons snap and arc;
Their coded leaping fires
Surge message-full
Through cables sheathed
To Synapse Central,
Where in her nimble hands
Fire Control finds slots
And coordinates connections,
During and Long After
The Outward Reading's done.

Even when the Blinds go down
Synaptic Central's work goes on.
The frizz-haired friend steps out to rest;
Sub-Conscious moves into her place
And with unsteady hand
Plays seeming havoc at the Board
Rearranging and Deranging
Delightful dreams, or horrid.
kereso Mar 2011
ee eee
ee ee eee
t tttt tt
tt taa.

aa aaa
ai ii ii i
i inn nn n
nn n oo.

oo o oo
ssss sss
rr rrr rr
lll ld.

dd dh h
h hcc cu u
u mm mf fp
pyy gg.

w v b.
Don Bouchard Jan 2016
The Author,
Having said
What is to Say,
Submits the Text
And Steps Away...

What's to be Read
Or Heard
Or Seen
Is Said and Done.

Then Comes the Fun.

The Reader
Ambles In shuffling,
Struggles In fighting,
Bumbles In stumbling,
Forges In determining,
Skates In gliding,
Rides In on a horse named Fluency.


The Reader wears the Text:
Tries it on for size,
Shrugs before Self's Mirror,
Stretches,
Shrinks,
Dyes,
Preens,
Thinks s/he sees the Whole,
But cannot even see the back
For lack of some connection,
Then ambles off to share
The Text with others.

Later, at the Readers' Circle,
Each wearer of the Text,
Each Poem Creator/Holder
Whose individual Poems differ
After putting on the Text,
Compare.
And though they twirl and dance,
Though they stretch and pose,
Though they must adjust,
No one wears the Text
The Same.
Reader Response Theory, anyone?
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Happy Trails

The trail with Roy is a long and winding one for the family I was in we were the ones who chased the
Television viewing from friends and family’s house one night Lucy who made your jaw hurt from
Laughing so hard then Saturday night lineup at grandma Denton’s but it was best on Saturday afternoon
When we went to Tower Hill on the egg run the last house in the neighborhood on the south side they
Had the corner house and out the back door you would go right into the field. The way the magic started
Run in set down in the floor the old gentlemen would put it on the right channel and
Then there he would be shooting riding the golden palomino as he rode it was a high point every time I used
to Fantasize That he and Dale would come through Pana in their big blue Cadillac especially after it raced through the Prayer room at our United Pentecostal church that Roy and Dale received the Holy Ghost later is was a
Thrill when Colonel Harland Sanders followed in Roy and Dales steps for Roy it was all of his sheet music
Showed up at our church for the Colonel it was Kentucky Fried chicken buckets at general conference for
Offering collection plates. He wouldn’t come to me so I went to him Tower Hill to Apple Valley took
some years I was on my way to Palm Springs that lies about a hundred and some miles further out in the
Desert first I was doing what I have always loved and it was more thrilling to be going to his house I was
Cutting across the high desert in a brand new car I was breaking it in I ran in excess of a hundred miles
An hour for over an hour just me the desert and the Joshua trees they held their arms skyward as their
Name sake held his arms skyward to Jehovah in bible times while I smoked a streak across that beautiful
Stark landscape I stayed first at Victorville about four miles from Apple Valley where back then Roy had
His museum his house on Tomahawk Lane and the museum were both built by his son Dusty’s
Construction Company the house is round and the stone fence contained wagon wheels with RR as a
Brand inlaid in metal it was kind of funny at the motel I watched Gene and Pat Butrum movies while
They introduced them form a studio made at his museum in LA as the desert wind howled throughout the night I never caught Roy
At the museum on his frequent visits but I did meet Dale at her house and talked to her briefly half a
Dream fulfilled I got a special answer to the other after returning home I sent my writing to Roy it was
The early stuff not the fifty pieces I’ve written here but it included lost friend Disgrace Imposter life force
And about thirty total he and Dale and the Sons of the pioneers were making an appearance at
Marriott’s Great America I stood back off at the side but Dale spoke to Roy he focused on me and held
My gaze for a long time he showed me to him I had value my writing has effected others they stare long
And hard trying to get it and understand some say it’s too deep and hard to understand not if you
Approach it thoughtfully if you want shallow meaningless quick reading you will have to look else where
Trails end we were at the Hilton Suites at Disneyland it was our anniversary I opened the door to get the
Complimentary paper there was Roy rearing on trigger he traded the golden palomino for streets of gold as Iva and Others I’m looking forward to that great waking up morning.
Richard Riddle Sep 2015
Arriving at home, I saw my father sitting on the front porch, and the lawnmower in the grass:
RR: "Hi dad, how are you today?"
Dad: "Can't get the mower started!"
RR: "Dad, it's a "push-mower."
Dad: " Yea, I know."

copyright: richard riddle-September 14, 2015
Left Foot Poet Mar 2017
her morning pleasure occasionally actually exercised,
a substituted delight for gym-going work with Lulu exercised,
no man can, will ever, understand

the nature/nurture debate over,
in my mind resolved, nature, hands up and hands down

RR's^  query, is god dead,
no longer rumbles around in my head cause when he speaks,
I can't get a word in edgewise

what i did in the sixties, lost to time in memoriam,
especially some really bad poetry

but this gender differentiation
a matter that Aristotle dutifully, so wisely, philosophically avoided

there is no Socratic method rationality in what is just crazy insanely meiosis,
there is no comprehension of the essence of  elemental genetic division,
like the NY Mets,
ya just gotta believe, or just accept

but from the other side of the bed
comes a surly, dry rejoinder, a gelled spike

thanks to modern science,
why don't you come over to the
right side, maybe then,
you'll understand the true meaning
of pleasure

transgend your self,
show your willingness per the bible,
to be god's new and improved version of a human being


So,
a pretty little, light A-line,
with a summer floral pattern,
a size 12, (20? ***)
I,
will wear with great
human pride,
come June
see https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_L._Rubenstein.

another Sixties thing.  but his daughter was my first summer love
Don Bouchard Jan 2016
The Reader
Experiences Text:
Tastes the corners,
Chews the middles,
Examines the ideas,
Turns them over and over -
Lozenges to be mulled.

Unique to each Reader
The Text must pass
Each Reader's senses:
His eyes,
Her nose,
Their tongues...
And so begins Digestion,
A complicated process producing
pleasant dreams in one,
Nightmares in another.
Soothing sleep for me
Dyspepsia for you.

Ideas have their routes to pass;
The dross is left behind or lost
And what remains is fiber to our souls
(To steal Walt Whitman's term).
More Reader Response Theory....
Dorian Feb 2018
In the silence I fool myself
hearing a call from space.
Laying in pools of dark
shadows, I pray for
another awakening.
--
With hard dirt beneath me,
I find myself sleeping.
---
Plasmatic ribbons of scarlet
raining soft around my body
as I lay hear in the circle of
this warm and dim light.

I can feel the weight lifting,
Oh, my body is ascending.
This is the beginning of
a long awaited night,
---
The words you speak come slowly.
You whisper how you wish to know me
in the quietest ways:
body and mind

I feel as though I've missed you
in the deepest parts of me
my whole life.

Will you take me with you?
Take me back to your home.
From up here where I've come from
seems so dark and cold.

If you leave me behind,
I won't make it on my own.
I cannot return.
I can't stand to be alone.
---
The scene you set permits
the acquittal of my submission.
Myself: flawed, and sight: fogged,
in overwhelming passion for...
...you...
...tap into me as I'd tap a tree
to leak the sap. The steady
bleeding comes in rich amber beads.

Liquid metal in my veins
serve as a token for your mission.
The time it takes to drain me
tapers in a mysterious fashion.
---
All I've been and all I'll be
was left with you when you left me.
I'm grounded with the weight on top of me.
---
In the quiet, I'm woken by
the snap of a twig.
Eyelids part, only the
canopy above me.

A sea of forest green
illuminated by stars.
I know where I am,
but not where you are.
Gay
you ******* ******
FAGET!
blue boy blues
blue boy's eyes
here in my room
no, no,
i'm bisexual, you see
i'm a poet, you see
I'm Bret Easton Ellis
disguised in a fashion identity
twisted lovers between your ragged sheets
rrr-rr
call me, Beverly Hills 90-210-SIX-SIX-SIX
i eat more chicken than any man can meat
but i'm no more mean than you
here
with a sick pack of abs
drinking a can of beer
PABST! BLUE RIBBON!
Cold sirens sing for you
and me

SHOOT! SHOOT! SHOOT!

siren's ****.

The protection for my love
come in my eyes and insecurity
no one dances in the ballroom
the bride legs' are opened wide
in my *****
in this dark fantasy
all night
touching my self
behind my mother's bed
******* my mind
there you're lying with me
with a spike in your arm
i'm troubled, you see
i'm messed up, you see
i'll eat your heart out, won't breathe,
won't bleed and scratch and crawl

i'll rip you

LIMB

BY

LIMB

she says: hold me, i'm fallin'

and then i saw your face
and then i saw your smile
dancing
to some Yeezy song on the stereo
there, all alone, put your make up on
and tie off my arm
and turn the T.V. on
and fire up these boys
and give me another *******
- before i'm on the nod.

Go ahead and smile, you ****.

I've rotten and snorted,
sneezing other men's
***** in your room
- milked you like a cow
- loved you like my mom.

And i'm nothing but an
used ******. Love:
the kind of thing you clean
with a mop and bucket.
Paul Hardwick Feb 2016
The stange thing is
my left arm is always right
****** my right arm off, for he feels
he is king, as he types most things
and if i have a stroke the left arm goes
true and surreal.
BOO!   P@ul love.
Guns on the battle lines have pounded now a year
     between Brussels and Paris.
And, William Morris, when I read your old chapter on
     the great arches and naves and little whimsical
     corners of the Churches of Northern France--Brr-rr!
I'm glad you're a dead man, William Morris, I'm glad
     you're down in the damp and mouldy, only a memory
     instead of a living man--I'm glad you're gone.
You never lied to us, William Morris, you loved the
     shape of those stones piled and carved for you to
     dream over and wonder because workmen got joy
     of life into them,
Workmen in aprons singing while they hammered, and
     praying, and putting their songs and prayers into
     the walls and roofs, the bastions and cornerstones
     and gargoyles--all their children and kisses of
     women and wheat and roses growing.
I say, William Morris, I'm glad you're gone, I'm glad
     you're a dead man.
Guns on the battle lines have pounded a year now between
     Brussels and Paris.
Steve Turtell Feb 2015
We met over 40 years ago. Floating buttocky halves
  spooned into pastel fruit bowls, even drowned in
    Del Monte syrup, love at first taste. Your flesh

a luminous hue, hovering on the border of cream
  and August skies; your flavor pure as dreamed pleasure
    grazing my waking tongue, a melting sweetness

streaming down my throat; your name, a single syllable
  promising delight: pear, barely sound, mere parting of lips,
    and hint of breath, apple-green p, the sweetest

diphthong ea, all the air in the world, closed in rounded rr‘d
  finality. A perfect word, reducing your rumpled, pinnacled
    self, to one gorgeous, Old English syllable: per.

Right now, six of you sit ripening on my windowsill.
  A sky-blue towel shields bottoms against further bruising
    from the wood even at birth you instinctively flee, hanging

off trees in swelling green-gold tears, yearning for earth,
  or growing to maturity in bottled, olive-green light, your dying
    breath suffusing aging liqueurs like the oldest I ever drank,

the summer I was 19, a century-old brandy served in snifters
  the likes of which this working-class boy had never seen.
    I tilted the giant crystal bowl; the fragrant liquid elongated

in mimicry of its remembered self and seeped into my mouth: a pear’s
  ghost enveloped in flame lay down to rest on my tongue. We both
    were saved, at least for that night. Pear. Look of women I love

but don’t lust after, I want to conjugate you: I pear, you pear,
  we pear. Like raspberries, Mozart and love, for me, sufficient proof
    of God’s existence. I trust you. Lead me by the tongue to heaven.
Lilith Avenue Aug 2014
i feel him crawling under my skin like a spider
( and i should probably tell him i have arachnophobia )
the constant attempts to make it stop turns my skin raw
but of course it only takes me f  o   r   e    v    e    rr
to find the courage to tell him:

i am not a drug addict
i do not enjoy the hallucination of his touch on my skin
the way he slithers under through an open wound
like some toxic bacteria looking for a place to grow
with this need to keep my attention pointed straight at him
as if he were polar north and i were a mere compass
just trying to find home.

but he'll do it all for love -
as if love were his reason to cover me in tar
and tell me if i listen to him, he wouldn't have to hurt me
i do it because i love you

love is not an excuse, it is not a motive
it is something to be felt, not some twisted blade you use
to throw into someone's back.
they told me it was okay that he was the reason my wrist
turned red every night when i was finally alone
in the corner on the bathroom floor, laughing
because i didn't know how to handle the emotion

love was the drug you slipped into my drink when
i was turned the other way
and by the time i already noticed
you already got me addicted to it
Richard Riddle Jan 2015
Not too long ago one of my former co-workers posed a question to me:

CW: Do you believe in God?
RR: "Yes, I do."
CW: What makes you think there is a God.
RR: "All I have to do to strengthen my beliefs is look at my grandchildren."

copyright: richardriddle January 17, 2015
always anxious Sep 2014
Can't you tell you'rr killing me?
Can't you see i'm broken?
Can't you feel i love you?
Can't i just stay whole?**

(S.l.g)
softcomponent Nov 2013
perscription laughter!
5 milligrams, twice daily,
once at breakfast, once
before bed. possible side
effects include: a concrete
heart trying to come back
to beat and -- shatt
EEE rr

welcome home, baby humming bird!
there's always a second chance.
Kees van Citters Apr 2010
Billie Holiday and Arti Shaw
performed together
for 2 years touring in a RR
both their record companies
couldn't get their act right
now only two tracks are known

Charles Bukowski
had a kitchen piled up with
Dairies and notebooks
but was kicked out of his appartment
again

Rembrandt van Rhijn
made a large scale piece
On the first meeting of the Batavians
16th Century City Hall Amsterdam didn't want it
Only a 1,5meter piece remains of it
in Stockholm

Sure, they were ******
so were we
But at least they tried
Copyright: Kees van Citters
Luke Gagnon Jun 2015
I

in the dark starvation is real.
In dark, the emesis that fills my
cheeks is a currency I soak inside, animal
coinage, the fine
bulbous talons of Sepiidae.

Savagely, pelagically
starving made me rich when
Muskrat’s claws pull apart delicate meat.
Sad Spanish blood, I would like you
to panic about what has been lost.
No body, no crime—we are all cannibals; so the muskrat ate
flesh from the dugong-heavy remora

a parallax of sorts occurs
when I cannot find my own entrails—
perhaps they are ruminating in my gut—
boiling in my optic nerve.

But–I found little boys betting quarters for eating bowels
of goat. I was small enough to fit through
playground gates so I could swing
swing in earthquakes, and portents
ride out this day on the waves—to succeed

foothills, grasses, and bath salts
by the creek. I got my quarters.
They asked me who made me as Mountain
Dew dribbled down my chest.
Infant teeth shattered my infant

fists and I did not eat divvied livers and
Victim watchers.
I wrote on
my protruding
viscera
proverbs from my ancient days


–extraordinary porch things, depleted
Phosphorus, and, on bendable limbs
I catalogued my windscraped knees.

How does one so young
become
so fed up with
hunger.

II

Starving made me easier to tie.
easier to lift.
my ancient autopsy of starvation
made me feel gutted out
like Finished
ice-cream containers.
Made me able to hold my breath for
up to six minutes—starving
made me full of Household Gods and rickety
rosaries,

small brown globular clusters,
1 arcsecond of stress
capable of aligning me
with spring-loaded washers

I pop one nut—two—
Dental Work can be a rhizome,
ordering wee-soldiers from
its tethered nodes without
lactation, laceration, infection into
my sleep-deprived throat,
Choking on bird chirps
and x-ray bursts

below the cradle where
my android sleeps. I
have named him The Alabaster.
(Synching The Alabaster.)
The Alabaster–Allie–is a kind of boat
that I have hole-punched into; like
children of the deep I have hurled
nearby rocks into its lungs.
I have wrenched crumbs of my honeymoon
sidewalk, for a beast that panics.
I would trade
the last of the dugongs
for a muskrat’s smile–
now there exists a cult for Plastic
that the spotlights started,

and in the night it will not
end with the filter feeder sinking
to the depth of the imagined water column,
spinning in the Gyre disposal.
There isn’t a colander large enough
to sift through the pejorative waste.

I knew the night would be fraught.
It makes my fusiform body necessary for
transport. Makes Monophyletic solid consumption
trucks and ACE arms reach for
well-behaved spearfish bodies.
Makes days disappear and cold
seem like simmering.
Makes staying out of sight
a trim.

And I told them,
the Fusiforms and Balusters, that
the spearfish would devour the hero who comes
from afar bearing the gift of travel–
Tully-Fisher, with his cottonseed oil
“Manufactured in USA” in
compounding pharmacies.
He made me.
And I told him:

to Tell me to trawl for something less
plastic than my second
self–that I which exists
in Mary Poppins cannons, compact
intimacies, medical and portable–

to dig within my throat, discover a nurdle
that failed to photodegrade during the the day
the Sirenia sang,
the Muskrat gnawed off his leg and hand
fed it to the remora.
III

My mouth is parched
for diagnosis of rickets, for
my un-mineralized bones.
I need RR Lyrae, Statistical π,
population “II”s
to stand in for my night.
I need Sweetened,
Spoonfuls of BB pellets and
Spoonfuls of cepheids to help
the tetany go down,

myopathic infants and
ricket Rosary symbols only work
in sacrifice–In this sense,
I have constructed a panic
architecture–Craniotabes are too
vast. Prions and viroids have seeped
through,

Infections more than dreams,
for injured muskrats who yearn for
the last real mermaid’s smile,
or tears if that would smash open
the cluttered ocean and scatter
the unwanted hosts multiplying
in my spinal fluid.

In day there is no more starvation–
the remora bring me
Libations and admire
my six pack rings mobile.
My connective obligatory.

Under my fingernails are thin
crisps that may somehow create equilibrium.
Although I nibble them regularly
I can’t always swallow.
Surrounded by a dense fog of fleas
my tongue is itching.
My teeth are scratching, scraping
away the space that will always be there.


The antique aisle at the local international
superstore is handing out shriveled
heads of past didactic patients.
But I tell them it’s not what’s there that matters
it’s what’s not there. And in my case
there’s a surplus of nothing that
I can live without.
Sinjun Sep 2018
"Wurr be gwain, mah lov'rr?"     - Ah,
no soft refrain,
this sentence sweetly rural, in
a country lane.

No country maiden pauses in
her morning walk
with country boy, and, planning for
a lover's talk,

Answers: "Over yuerr, mah lov'rr."
No, still sweeter,
these kind words were spoken not
in love to greet her,

But her father, old and smiling,
close behind her
in the parlor of a pub
by mugs of cider.

It was her brother asked the question,
gently laughing.
"Bain" gwun no-wurr," said the old man.
They were not chaffing,

For in Devon is the world
a natural lover,
both in word as well as feeling;
custom wove her,

Blessed Devon, in a tidy
weave complex.
So daun 'ee vex 'erself mah lov'rr!
Daun 'ee vex!
Alē May 2018
RR
Wen you are in pain
I'll carry you out the flames
I'll carry you home

And when you are home
I'll carry you once again
Til our joy attained

I love you in pain
I love you in joy's domain
I love you always

For eternity and a day
#rr
it is with difficulty i write this.

the bear was correct, yet he

is not the only one in the village.



i met another yesterday.



it is with difficulty as the keyboards

stick, while others have no empathy

how deep it goes.



many have drowned, drowned

dead.



sbm.
Ryan O'Leary Jul 2018
Nobody wants to be like,
                Liked yes, similar no.
                I know twins,
                Both their initials begin
                With R, RR And RR.
                They are known as the
                Orrorrs at school.

                There is no need for like,
                Not even of minds.
                In poetry,
                ( to my way of thinking )
                Like is a joker in the
                Pack of words.

                Heaney is fond of it and
                Mary Oliver even began
                A poem with it.
                " Like Magellan, let us
                Find our Islands.

                Like assassinates metaphor
                And debases simile.
                But who am I to criticize
                The masters of whom I
                Aspire to be Like !
I never thought I would be in this position .
Even considering such a notion.
****** ,the most grotesque of actions,
But it would be a mercy.
Trade the loud intolerable menacing world
for the peace of that dark abyss .
It would just take one maybe two swift strikes
Then life would just drain, then a cold sensation would consume you till your numb.
"That's what I've read",
seems painless enough...

It hurt for a bit but it wasn't the worst of pains
The water is quiet soothing I feel all the aching just wash away smooth as velvet and just as dark
The chill is refreshing, my sight is weaning as is my sense of touch
I let out a sigh.
So tired so..vee-rr..y... t-ii..r...
'this is my saving grace'
One of my dark state poems I'm not in any way condoning suicide I just wrote this to show the rational of it
Raj Arumugam Apr 2014
So this New Boy just graduated
from The Top University and Full Honors
and all that jazz and the Right Degrees
(none of the arts and philosophy and poetry
and all that crap)
walks into Supreme Office
for his interview
and the HR and PR and Admin and the CEO
and the SR and the RR and DDR and the RRRR
(don’t ask me what they are – they just are  rrrrrr)
and so the CEO asks our Golden Child Prodigy:
“You got all the top degrees and qualifications
You’re the brightest mind just out of University –
what’d do you expect for pay here at Supreme Office
if you make it to a chair and table?”


“A pay that will put $100K in my pocket
to take home the first year, and it will be more
each passing year”


“What about,” says the CEO, with that cold smile
that matches the Golden Boy’s enamel smile
“if I said we offer you above that
and a month’s paid leave, a secretary
and a room all to yourself and chauffer-driven car
even in the weekends
and all medical, insurance
dental and tropical vacations all paid for?
What’d do you say?”


“You’re kidding, right?” says Bright Kid Business Mozart
with that rising-star lean and sneer


“Of course I am,” says the CEO
*“But don’t blame me for the joke – you started it…”
...based on an existing online joke, and in real life...
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owof

s-p-o-r-t-s-t-r-o-p-s

li­ke a reflection, I fall below the edge;
a colder reflective body
on the plateau.
FORGET YOURSELF MIGHT I ADD
9
99
999
9999
999999999999999999999 9 9 9  9   9 9 9  99 999   9 9 9 9 999
999999999999999 99  9 9  9 9 9 9  9 9  9 9 9 9 9 9  9 9 999 99
999999999999   9 9 9    99  9  9   9 99 9 9 9   9  9 9 9  999 999
9999999    9  9  9      9      9 9      9  9 9 9      9   9   9    9   9  99
9999999    9    9            9          9 99       9          99     9   9 9999
999999  9 9   9      9    9       9       9  9      9    9       9   9     9  99  
9999999   9  9 9     9      9               9       9           9   9    9   9 99
99999 999999  99  9 9 9 9 9 9  9  9   9 9 9 9  9  9  9 9         9 99
9999
999
99
9



THIS IS WHAT AS WHO IS YOU, WHERE.
THIS IS THE OASIS OF IS——IS


t
h
e
r
e
w
a
s
s
o
m
e
t
h
i
n
g,
&
the oak tree
the dead man
the beach sand
iiiieoieroieiirirririririruu55858595bfbhfdlbdd
bhhfhhfhuhe­uwh weubhewkuwh  ff f f f f  ff
f  w w  ew w noow  oowo     oww   w ow  o ow
wni w w w  w    w  w wueheufv v     f    f f f    r r r r  t  h
rr r   r  r  r rtg r u      ri   rir  r i    e  t   t t t  tt    tt   tt t t  t t
t  t
……|…\…|………|…|…………/……|…………\……|\……….\………|………|/………\…………\……/……|||……|………||………\|………||…\……|…………||………/………………..

t t t t t t t t t t t t t t t t t
tttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt
tt tt tt tt tt tt t t t t t t  t t t t

;dpf,kkkkfhheouoopq kpd iigp
ppgfkkkpoeiiyythuhuhuhhn
fkfoiueyepppptlll;;;’;907;884766ggd­ ah
looos
[s[s[][s[s[s[s[s[s[s[s[s[s[s[s
of course my
friensnsoof utor ennx ud it eghiwhiaf
ahhhahhahhaah e8wefw 8e w8w wi w78w w9

jjjjjdjjjjjjdjjjjjjjdjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjdjdjdjd
jjjj­djdjdjdjjjjjdjdjjjjjjjjdjdjjjdjdjjdjjdjdjdj
djdjjdjddddddddddd dddddddddjdjdjjjjgg
hhfppukykyupkykykkky kkykk ykkk kky

ijwweijweiojjejjwe jwe jwj w i wo
eywyyw yeywe wy  yw  yrqyrqy i  ywryi yrw i
warwrh wrh rwhiiiii wi  iw i wi i iwiiiwiiiwiwi
kkppph h ttt r eo  wi e yhhr oueu   uoet   qfg   o
uhrio e hyehhe iir  eyhw eyejub esrkjfigf

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
sssssss­ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
ssssssssssssssss­sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm­mmm
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
www­wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
chris Jan 2017
rr
l i k e

you just sort of exist

but you don't really

*mean
anything
(Notes)

(Begin fast and emphasize the connection between R and K)
--of DUHARRR-KKENEDUH fate,

(Slight emphasis on C and T)*                
                             Cold--ornaTe.
life--
         i cannot say
                               (fire) indescribable
warm water
warm water
warm water
(Gradually get louder each line)
WWarm water
WWORm water
WWORMUH water
WWORMUH Water
WWORMUH WAWter
WWORMUH WAWTTer
(Should be the loudest at this point)
WWORMUH WAWTTERR

                 LUHVUHEH
                    LUHVUHEH
                   ­    LUHVUHEH
                          LUHVUHEH
warm water
is it all but a game
find me there--in your kingdom

(Quietly and gracefully say each sound by line. Think of a love song)
luh
  uh
     vv
       eh
       ruh
     oh
   mm
     aa
        nn
            ss
              e
                 rr
                ii
               vv
                   e
                     rr
                     nuh
                    th
                  ein
what is it
meaning--
none
fire
brimstone
i am
i am--

(End loudly)
EYEAAMUH NUHTHHEIN
EYEAAMUH NUHTHHEIN
**EYEAAMUH NUHTHHEIN
Sound poetry is cool
(for Daisy, a true companion to poet rr)

in the city,
we fight daily the toughest of hombres,
brown, grayed, mottled city pigeons,
who fear no human predator,
in the fight
for the crumbs and crusts of
inspiration
however, they may come our way

get a message, a post,
with the words
“a good create”

the words form a chord,
in my throat, taut, visible, tense
even knowing it’s likely a typo,
probably meant “creature,.”

but the phrase strikes me
as one too little spoke
in our diurnal drudgery
numbing~dumbing struggle,
but, I take them as (a) writ,
for the crumb of challenge
proffered

if we cannot justify our existence,
daily with a new create,
then incumbent upon us
to cherish, double and thrice,
the good and wonderful
creates,
the surround us

been decades since my body
was warmed by the shape of an animal’s
curves fitted into mine,
our sleep rhythm intertwined,
nay,
one
<>
so once again,
I mourn a living poem
who crossed my path
in photo, in words,
but never,
not in,
living color


but the sighs of loss,
real

so as is my wont,
inquire within,
where shelter?

in the love
we create
tween us and our

creatures.

— The End —