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"schlub" poems
Golden olive arab eyes Gods only know that look belies Raw emotions there residing A force, to rival time or tide Or maybe just a passing thought of passion from ago Anadulterated love or hate Her capacity for each, so great Mercurial, maternal journal Of passing days with eyes alit On fire, in frenzy, champs at bit Or maybe she'll just dance Or sing a song, puff on her **** Shes fine as **** in nets or thong But classy, unlike wiry roughnecks Trying to tag along My goddess of the cradle, She'll send me to my grave From hair breaths, A hairs breadth before I drown in satin Her love shines through like bright white linen, She lights me up In prayers, in sinnin Frantically, she gives her all She spends herself Heeds every call For help they ask and ask and take Dont tell her that love conquers all She knows thats **** And shes no doll of fragile porcelain, She'll fall and bounce right back but better Howd i ******* go and get her To fall for me, cause im no catch A schlub from that ol black gold patch An angel, just like Lucifer Was, upon a time She sees in me what I can't see And when those eyes are cast on me I wither like the ashes of burnt paper Or my life I hope some day she'll let me (if i were her, i wouldnt, bet me) Make my queen my love-ed wife ... J Nc 12-31-19
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Dec 31, 2019
Dec 31, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
Forlorn
string words. sow meaning into letters with fingertips trained to lightly tap the neurotic beat of a modern schlub's pacing attention span. it should be worthy of invoking muses at least be worthy to arrive in your ear and if it's string you need you'll find some in the omnipresent meaning tapped into letters, meaning, letters tapped into meaning. Do discuss the topical, by reminding people of it's general falsity. Paranoia and insight à la mode, fit them in too. Argue with me if you intend to alphabetize my existence itself, The poet is an insulting fool. The poet asks for others to see the same words.
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Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:15 PM UTC
meaning letters
The more vague it was The more shadow it'll cast That pretentious snub Rhymes with blub, schlub and grub Oh you wouldnt want it Don't you? For them to understand you That it is just shallow case of superficial taste.
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Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
First Burst
It's a new guy this time He has the same jacket and gloves But it's definitely a new guy I pull the collar of my coat with The tips of my fingers And approach the roped off entrance Of the building He stops me with a Sudden hand on my chest "I'm sorry sir, but you're not allowed in today." "What? Not allowed? I was Just here yesterday. The guy At the door let me right in." "No matter sir. You're not Allowed in today." "Well, **** I take a seat on the Rain painted curb And stare at my reflection In a ***** puddle Some cookie cutter schlub Comes down to the same partition I was turned away from The rope is lifted without a word From either of them I un-crane my neck from The door's direction Meeting my own stare in The puddle of ***** water Again I push off the curb with Renewed energy and Approach the doorman again "Alright, I think I can go in now." He pulls his white gloves By the wrist to eliminate any Excess space in his fingertips And meets my eyes With a smug look on his face And shakes his head How the hell are his gloves so white When all the puddles around here Are so filthy "Just because you were in here Yesterday sir, does not mean That you will be allowed entry Today. I'm sorry, but that's the Way that things work." I bend my mouth into an Upside down horseshoe Studying the gaudy marquee above The padded door The doorman sees me staring at the blinking Chipped letters Sensing my resentment He tightens his gloves again And stares at the brick wall Across the alley I wander off in the rain To go find something Else to do
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Jul 26, 2016
Jul 26, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
Members Only
It's a new guy this time He has the same jacket and gloves But it's definitely a new guy I pull the collar of my coat with The tips of my fingers And approach the roped off entrance Of the building He stops me with a Sudden hand on my chest "I'm sorry sir, but you're not allowed in today." "What? Not allowed? I was Just here yesterday. The guy At the door let me right in." "No matter sir. You're not Allowed in today." "Well, **** I take a seat on the Rain painted curb And stare at my reflection In a ***** puddle Some cookie cutter schlub Comes down to the same partition I was turned away from The rope is lifted without a word From either of them I un-crane my neck from The door's direction Meeting my own stare in The puddle of ***** water Again I push off the curb with Renewed energy and Approach the doorman again "Alright, I think I can go in now." He pulls his white gloves By the wrist to eliminate any Excess space in his fingertips And meets my eyes With a smug look on his face And shakes his head How the hell are his gloves so white When all the puddles around here Are so filthy "Just because you were in here Yesterday sir, does not mean That you will be allowed entry Today. I'm sorry, but that's the Way that things work." I bend my mouth into an Upside down horseshoe Studying the gaudy marquee above The padded door The doorman sees me staring at the blinking Chipped letters Sensing my resentment He tightens his gloves again And stares at the brick wall Across the alley I wander off in the rain To go find something Else to do
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