"sacks" poems
I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can **** me!"
the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.
while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.
well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.
beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.
44.3k
between the *******
of *******
Marj lie large
men who praise
Marj’s cleancornered strokable
body these men’s
fingers toss trunks
shuffle sacks spin kegs they
curl
loving
around
beers
the world has
these men’s hands but their
bodies big and boozing
belong to
Marj
the greenslim purse of whose
face opens
on a fatgold
grin
hooray
hoorah for the large
men who lie
between the *******
of ******* Marj
for the strong men
who
sleep between the legs of Lil
40.1k
Could of filled a thousand times
Up I went, opened that loose pink hole
Must have felt like air between thighs.
-
But you were always wanting more in-kind
Up it went did you feel anything inside
Could say I was small I was 9 inches 2 wide
Keep it coming fill you up, my sacks gave too much
Empty shrivelled bags seeds sewn now only dust
Till the next time my **** *** Bucket love.
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 6:40 PM UTC
Two ticks click
through my ears
fuego leapt from
steel grasp to burn
destroying as it
flares across the valley
Smoke billowed into
the clutches of
hard, purple plastic
pressing in from all sides
funneled into sacks
of tendrils. They cringe
grey swirls choking
off pipes and
blood lines
Veins bursting with
new chemicals
Spewed out over
the burnt plains
But the valley
is just a small
groove on a
burnt out, tired
brain
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
"And in a funny way, the shaving of my, uh, head has been a liberation from, uh, a lot of, uh, stupid vanities really. Uh, it has simplified everything for me, it has opened a lot of doors maybe." - Stephen Malkmus, Jo Jo's Jacket
the first layer of skin i shed
was the bra
rid of the foreign metal sculptor producing a deep rift between skin
my third eye, swallowing gazes
rid of my **** , my ***** , my rack
replaced with sacks of fat and nerve and milk ducts
hanging, existing, for no one else
not even myself
the second layer of skin was the painting of the face
the concealing and erasing of imperfections, the lines of laughter of sorrow of life
redirecting attention and importance to the bow and symmetry of the lip
no longer did i have to put myself on in the morning
i woke up as i was, as i needed to be,
bare and uninhibited
my skin now breathed, and for no one else
not even myself
and then i grew another layer of skin,
made of dank tangles to protect my age,
i stopped shaving the years i'd walked this earth, shedding my womanhood
the skin grew to my armpits, little tufts of sweaty, odorous mother nature dozing in a fleshy convex nest
and to my legs, were the tangles wrapped around my ankles
preventing the spreading of the legs for every life
for not every life wanted what was not tame
and what was not tame no longer wanted to be.
my body did not conform,
for it was not brought into this world to be consumed for the pleasure of others
it exists for no one else,
not even myself
and as i was engulfed in this hairy wonder of my own body
i shed the last layer,
the shaving of the head
my brain, my being breathed
porous and exposed
vulnerable to weather and whispers
but i was all at once naked and calm,
having finally peeled away the layers of ***** over-sexualization and constrained femininity that had molded this meat sack that serves me,
a bundle of circuitry and solution balancing and bobbing on the neck
for i exist for no one else,
only myself
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
Take the knapsacks
and the utensils and washtubs
and the books of the Koran
and the army fatigues
and the tall tales and the torn soul
and whatever's left, bread or meat,
and kids running around like chickens in the village.
How many children do you have?
How many children did you have?
It's hard to keep tabs on kids in a situation like this.
Not like in the old country
in the shade of the mosque and the fig tree,
when the children the children would be shooed outside by day
and put to bed at night.
Put whatever isn't fragile into sacks,
clothes and blankets and bedding and diapers
and something for a souvenir
like a shiny artillery shell perhaps,
or some kind of useful tool,
and the babies with rheumy eyes
and the R.P.G. kids.
We want to see you in the water, sailing aimlessly
with no harbor and no shore.
You won't be accepted anywhere
You are banished human beings.
You are people who don't count
You are people who aren't needed
You are a pinch of lice
stinging and itching
to madness.
Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.
6.8k
everything dries up this time of year
driving into the wind I cried for four hours
but the desert air drank the water from my face, from my lips:
brittle sacks, experiments in evaporation
candy bar wrappers blow around the backseat
courtesy of these broken windows-- impractically high speeds
I don't know whose trash this is
I've been driving with a ghost
shouting at it, in the vacant passenger seat
all the things I'd never spoken
(for I swore you could read eyes)
but illiterate you saw only reflected stars
trying to find yourself in the Pleiades
all you knew of love was mythology
all I knew-- diesel gas, freon, points on maps
you read nothing in my vacant looks
I saw nothing in your ancient texts
a translation problem. little less.
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
"There are animals in the road"
the traffic reporter said
"We're not told what they are
find another route instead"
And so I got to wondering
though I wasn't going that way
what the mystery beasties were
that were on the road that day
Were they a herd of wildebeeste
who took a wrong turn on the veldt
or perhaps a wayward mule train
delivering some sacks of spelt
Maybe a team of trainee reindeer
diverted from the North Pole
or a bunch of llamas from Peru
that fell through a wormhole
Or bears, or wolves, or lions
could be zebras or kangaroos
surely not beached aquatic mammals
or elephants trumpeting the blues
Exotic beasts seemed unlikely though
it was more likely cattle or sheep
though it could have been migrating badgers
moving goalposts somewhere safe to keep
Cynthia Pauline Jones, 27/10/13
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
I can hear it
The whistle and rustle as air surrounds and fills the sacks of my lungs
I can feel it
The heavy tightness of my chest with every exhale
I reach in my pocket
"Shake" "shake"
"Puff" "puff"
A sudden relief of my lungs smooth muscles loosening
Dopamine fills my body
Sigh
I exhale and walk away happily daunting the next oncoming of an attack by its hazardous side effects
A fish out of water
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC
the rat ******* has been re-purposed
(conscripted in a somewhat fodder task)
brandishing irons
and quarter lines
coiled and unwavering
insidious and cunning
pent up and fired
in his dripping shoes
and peel back skin
wheel bug and hookworm
are stolid in his wake
(all bursting grossly at the buckle!)
the heel on task;
slithering and rogue
merciless and coy
resolute and contemptuous
with his cotton mat
and quick ready quill
pungi and clapper
raise the clever snake
(croker sacks and wicker backs
dot the gasoline rainbow)
carnival barkers and kraken
(lewd in the distance)
taunting and vile
with their red beakers
and deep purple hearts
cicada and louse
high on alert
(ready to wreak havoc in the hog wallows)
the perverse cornered rat
snapping and soiled
foaming and inflamed
lurking and primed
inside his carefully crafted plan
easels and cover alls
suit this jackal well
(keefer’s little helper or so they'd say)
pickers running rough shod
all stirring up the stench
***** and conkeys
poised
and ready
to lime this cornered slug
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
I am your denial, your Lent fast
The mania in your DNA,
the way the helix twists around itself.
I am the finger-shaped bruises on the inside
soft of the thigh, the color of ripe plums
that you can’t stop pressing
because it hurts just right—
like us, the way we crack our knuckles.
The scoliosis question mark,
bent spoon of your spine like
Scandinavian silverware, its unfunctioning beauty.
The snow of a thousand dandelions gone to seed.
The sugar sacks of fat around my body
that I love to touch and hate to see.
I am the thrift store of your desires,
a polyester pantsuit resold.
The starch of morning arthritis.
The dark under your nails
that isn’t really dirt.
The yellow smoke smell in a jacket.
A mango eaten off the pit,
stringy mango veins that stay in your teeth.
A washing machine that doesn’t drain.
A man cursing in his native language,
foreign words that don’t translate.
Apr 19, 2012
Apr 19, 2012 at 4:51 PM UTC
1
We're not in darkest Africa
and jungles don't adorn,
this little bit of overgrown
that wraps around our lawn,
2
Plants of pretty colors
sit comfortable in there bed,
and about two dozen footsteps
find us at the potting shed.
3
Our potting shed has seen better days,
some parts have been rebuilt
and it's suffering from subsidence
for it's slightly on a tilt.
4
The walls desperately need painting
because the wood has got some rot
but a boring place to come and sit
it definitely is not.
5
Odds and ends adorn the shelves
and the places spiders tread
where the dust has piled on the weight
and the woodworm may have spread.
6
Smells that we first come across
carry the scent of damp,
foul stinks from half empty sacks,
paint tins that have gone rank.
7
An old oil lamp expel the rust
like dandruff from my head
reigning down golden crumbs
that looks like toasted bread.
8
We think that we have found some proof
of what might linger around
footprints so large and evident
that a Tigers walked upon this ground.
9
So while we have been sleeping
and resting through the night
there's been a Tiger in our shed
but he keeps out of sight.
10
We've sorted through many boxes
we've moved some things aside,
looked into shadows with a torch
but we can't find where he hides.
11
Perhaps he's gone out hunting
for an evening meal,
eyeing up the neighbors dog
with energetic zeal.
12
Perhaps he's out sunbathing,
sitting somewhere in a tree
camouflaged with all those stripes,
that's the reason we can't see.
13
I don't know if he's Sumatran,
Siberian or Bengal
and he doesn't ever show himself
or come to me when I call.
14
I believe he stays outside all day
and only hides in here at night
but I won't come down here when its dark
only in the light.
15
He is a wild animal so
one must take the some care
for he could be stalking us as prey
he could spring from anywhere.
16
But we leave the door unlocked for him
and we've made a comfy bed,
and a sign that just reads "WELCOME"
to the Tiger in our shed
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
ohhhhh..... santa be good to me this year
ohhhhh..... santa i love your fluffy beard
ohhhhh..... santa i sent you my big list
ohhhhh..... santa i sealed it with a kiss
on Christmas eve the big man knew he had a job to do
he'd worked all year to fill his sacks and bring some Christmas cheer
his elfs and freinds had wrapped and wrapped until it was all done
now santa's night is nearly here its time to have some fun
ohhhhh..... santa be good to me this year
ohhhhh..... santa i love your fluffy beard
ohhhhh..... santa i sent you my big list
ohhhhh..... santa i sealed it with a kiss
Now children listen did you do good and be a star shine bright
Now children listen did you do good so santa comes tonight
he knows you know the ones that show a love and care for him
its santa's secret so he says ....rudolph lets begin
ohhhhh..... santa be good to me this year
ohhhhh..... santa i love your fluffy beard
ohhhhh..... santa i sent you my big list
ohhhhh..... santa i sealed it with a kiss
** ** ** a mince pie please as santa leaves his sack
and dont forget the reindeers food or we wont be back
a tipple of sherry and a note ...saying thanks a lot
see ya next year santa says chimney up i pop
ohhhhh..... santa be good to me this year
ohhhhh..... santa dear i look
ohhhhh..... santa yes yes yes yes yes.. pressies all around
ohhhhh..... santa love ya lots and lots ..kissy kiss kiss kiss
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 1:14 AM UTC
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
3.6k
you say it is disgusting for me to be naked.
you. you who opens up redtube as soon as you walk into your room.
you say that i should wear a bra to cover up. that no one would want to see the outline of my *******
when you get hard thinking about taking off my shirt.
you tell me to put on a sweater so my bra straps don't show.
because you want to be the only one to see them. selfish you are. you.
you tell me i am a **** for sleeping with anyone i want.
then tell your friends all the ***** things i'll do once you **** me since i'm so "experienced".
you will never get to **** me.
you. you ************* pissfuck, wretched, privileged, puny COCKroach.
you tell me to calm down after you shove my head onto your lap and say ****
you ask why i am so uptight. why i don't get that it was just a joke.
feminazi
you who creates the danger in my life then laughs when i take note of it.
you who creates threats to my safety and sanity then questions why i do not simply comply.
you who creates hostility. dismissal.
you who creates a life-threatening culture around the sacks of fat i have on my chest and the hole i have between my legs.
you mock me for gripping my keys walking next to you.
i was born naked. i will walk the streets naked. exept for the stilettos i will wear to punch a hole through your patriarchal ********
Oct 18, 2013
Oct 18, 2013 at 3:02 PM UTC
I live in the belly of the bully, And that bully is fat and bloated
after eating too much of everyone else’s food without permission. Although he had more than enough to eat and he wasn’t really hungry, he left his island home; and sailed the seven seas to fill his sacks, and bring things back. He pretended to pay, elbowing his way into, through and around their worlds, and because they did not speak English they did not understand his slippery words (and he didn’t learn theirs). With sleight if hand and cannon he subdued then sold their souls to some obscenely wealthy aristocrats back in his island home.
He pushed them into the fields to farm and when they could not lift their arms from starvation he said it was nature’s predestination, so he did not shed a tear and he did not interfere. The natural law was all he saw. That man was very fat and and he was very flawed.
Sean Hunt June 12th
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 6:13 AM UTC
listen here: https://youtu.be/zvKsDjWhETE
I could give this all up fall in love with a new life
Got a new view of a new tribe
What did I do to deserve this new life
looking back percs in petty sacks
Off white china in .1 packs
Point of all this is I took it the max
Could this one book keep me from the casket
God my life has been so tragic
Never enough
Never felt love like I did from the dub
Took it and run like I'm never coming back god
Never looking back on it living in the past, nah Imma let it go
Let it all go I'm a new individual
Coming so lyrical bringing hella visuals
Victim of nothing Imma survivor
Sick and I'm tired; corrupt desire
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
Let me go
I know this road's not easy
It's not made to please me
I leave the rest behind
Watch the smile fade from her eyes
I'm alone
Many tries now my life is on the line
And I got no phone
Never enough
Never felt love like I did from the dub
Took it and run like I'm never coming back god
Never looking back on it living in the past, nah Imma let it go
Let it all go I'm a new individual
Coming so lyrical bringing hella visuals
Victim of nothing Imma survivor
Sick and I'm tired; corrupt desire
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
let me go, God
So I know I know I'm
Free to grow God
Not alone
I want to be free
Locked in with disease
Put me on my knees
Looking for the key
Feel so empty on the inside
Take me then divide
Struggle then I die
Pretend I'm alive; that's a lie
Never enough
Never felt love like I did from the dub
Took it and run like I'm never coming back god
Never looking back on it living in the past, nah Imma let it go
Let it all go I'm a new individual
Coming so lyrical bringing hella visuals
Victim of nothing Imma survivor
Sick and I'm tired; corrupt desire
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 10:01 AM UTC
First, I spotted the gaggle sagging innocently enough,
One might say blissfully reflected in the laptop screen.
Then out of nowhere came the phrase, "whodunit?”
And from the hanging sag, a sly, silky, voice whispered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
Clearly a few clues were left behind, wispy hair strands,
Scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles, posed upon a
Pale listless, crinkly, lightly pimpled, surface, and from a
Wrinkly, shallow crevasse a voice teased,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
Totally hooked, curiosity piqued, southward I spied,
A once upon a time perky, treasure chest, half hidden,
Now two solemn, empty grain sacks laid east to west,
And close to death but not quite, lazily they muttered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
The final chapter, an ancient, untold mystery solved,
No crime, no villain, nothing stolen, only flesh alchemy,
Where a plateau of supple, touchable, skin once resided,
A lumpy, bumpy, flabby flesh pillow lolled, and it murmured,
“Ahhh, Boston cream pie, a quick nap, that's the ticket."
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
Three striped cats daily demonstrate awakening:
a) BijaChen: startles by pounce onto bed or banging of sunlit window blinds;
b) BlueMonsoon: prefers annoying whining coordinated with scratching at blankets;
c) LadyFiona: chooses a prickly psychic stare into my sleeping consciousness to disrupt dreams. (she must have been a witch's cat).
Sleep you say?
Mr. Rooster, lover of Flathead Lake cherries,
rehearses a solo operetta while strutting sharp grey claws inches from the screen door.
Doze off?
Thirty small brown-red-yellow-speckled birds usurp seeds at the swinging feeders in frenzied unharmonious clatter,
While the low moan of iron hinged gate closes pale hay and tall horses into the corral.
Rest?
Urgently a growling lawn mower slashes green strands of life and delicate insects from their microcosms of Little Earth,
And calico barn cats dive from rafters onto feed sacks to devour the crunch of breakfast.
Lao Tzu speaks no sound, eyes watch
Two butterflies sweep though moist morning monsoon air.
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
I was once an old '36 Ford truck driven by a very well loved man
who's face lit up so brightly carrying his tackle box of bate n' hooks
with his grandchildren by his side, and fishing poles in his hand
I loved the sound of their sweet voices when they'd climb onto my back
I carried them safely home, along with the salmon held inside their sacks
I'm very old and rusty now, but I think of them on summer days
as the sun glimmers in the distance on familiar seashore bays,
while listening to great grandchildren laughing so happily at play.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
It is and isn't my fault of who I act.
There are two sides of me that contrast.
One of me is calm and steady
Who I like to act.
The other is scattered and obnoxious.
This is the contrast.
The collected me is weak and sometimes numb.
It's a matter of chemicals, you see, that makes me dumb.
I know you don't like the person you have watched me become.
But understand, this is the contrast.
It isn't my intention to be like this, I swear.
These chemical sacks in my head sometimes scatter everywhere.
I promise I get better in time during this affair.
Please! For the love of all things, know this is the contrast.
I am a lot of two people I don't understand.
It might have been best if I were more bland.
Having me with you I know can get out of hand.
Sweetie, the doctors say I can't be helped, see this is the contrast!
It is and isn't my fault of who I act.
There are two sides of me that contrast.
One of me is calm and steady
Who I like to act.
The other is scattered and obnoxious.
This is the contrast.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
Well where do we start?
Bob,
That answers a lot of questions before asked.
He was a vegan, kind of?
Never did he linger on thoughts of animal flesh,
vegan you could single him upon in certain words.
He would not linger on the animal nutritional formalities.
Could he linger on the repulsive tastes of pork, beef, lamb.
He would heave at mere thoughts of digesting these
peaceful recipients of the plant we delve all upon.
But even fish was out of his lingering taste buds.
He did how ever have a taste that differed from the
palettes of most, for it was of those he called friend.
He contorted on the repulsiveness of what his hunger
desired in wanting attention, but as those around waited
for there inevitable ending. He lingered on how they were savoured.
Bankruptcy of morals was his downfall, he saw others as
just meat sacks. Things that were as wanting in consumption
as those they fed upon, There screams were so inviting.
Have you heard an animal scream. No they don't, they
just look cynical in why your ending, their existence and stare.
Where we cry like lambs to the slaughter of our ending.
Emotion makes those that tear salt upon features
taste that much better than those unintelligent creatures
that just except there oblivion with eyes of so be it.
I have a sickness that thrives on the taste of you superficial
fear that I will not end you. No I will cease you light and
endeavour to feed on you lifeless carcass now silent.
*"Hi I'm Bob I'm a vegan struggling with the concept of
no meat in my diet, I don't eat animal, but I still linger
for the taste of meat inbetween of my moist lips and teeth.*
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 6:47 PM UTC
Hence, also in another place, I am naked;
naked; In Latvia, sometimes
from the other way around the adjective; narrow
understanding of the bald;
On the rising piece of alt girl's feet
Do not listen to her empty bare feet, of nature's own *****
again; twelve same & the walls of the square
is the work that they were naked; Glory to you w/ sackcloth,
to buy a few have sprouted sacks; End of all things is taken
the form of; The naked lens of Lebanon
& one simple; simple, the pictures
by the end, simple surface is rough; & more
matter of his dreams; He saw poor; till
naked & welcome, his mind open that
It is clear that there is a plan & having
as deniers of their own to his person
naked, his clothes, stripped them of their private citizens,
out of labor in vain: he was naked;
naked; that which was evil flavorless,
unarmed, have left us; All naked & w/out
any armor protection who exposes himself
to be above; You can not be secured in some,
I was already catered for; depopulated in the man,
of course, that he set out he was uncovered
within the field, naked, in a few words;
Translations
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC