"shindig" poems
You at least went.
so that meant the party could finally be awkward.
that's homeroom
at your personal Harvard
your low self esteem was the head dean
[ claimed you had promise ]
then promptly vomits
but you promised to maim
your lollipops with hot topic's
most goth night-shade of hemlock
iron-on, henna tattoos
for your thin lips.
like two gates
to a birdcage
where you keep
ravens...
pecking the tip of your tongue
where your brave words die
for lack of oxygen... pecking
the flesh off the skeleton key
to the heart of your insightful
comment,... stymied -
a black raven
savors the succulent eyes
of your hurricanes, so
braille maps for blind rage
fly off the shelves... fly like
led zeppelins to
fresh hell.
you lose your window seat
on the wing of a prayer
to Charles Bukowski.
now you're scowling a gilded smile
at all the Ed Hardlys'...
good thing you brought Jello Biafra Shots
to the shindig... cubes of gelatinous absinthe
each with a sugar box
lodged in supermax insecurity prisms...
fey emeralds.
monochrome rubicons
you pop
when cross.
like wainscoting the panic room
that came with a deejay
who thinks you're
a boy who got
lost.
Jun 5, 2013
Jun 5, 2013 at 7:10 AM UTC
The party starts at ten to three.
On the second floor,room twenty two
two vicars who had come down from Crewe were wondering just what to wear, to the shindig going on down there.
They collided,both decided to put on crimson frilly frocks,this was not a 'do' for cassocks or for smocks.
Room forty four up on the forth,was Lucy Ann,a double barrelled name of course,a horsey type who came by invite to liven lively up the night.
In number ten slept teacup Ken,who had never once imbibed,the porter was slipped a twenty,but was bribed to keep his big mouth shut, as ties were cut and Ken found Zen in a brandy glass,
and discovered parties were a gas.
The police arrived to room fifty five and found Miss Sterling doing the jive around the severed head of Fred the cook,
poor Fred never had any kind luck.
There is no escape from the party at Lancaster Gate and those who come are those who'll die
but the party is so flamin' good I'll try to sneak in,got to take a peek in room number twenty seven,where it's said,that the lady there can show you several kinds of heaven before you meet your doom.
Got to get in, get a room,check in time expires at noon.
I shall no doubt expire,naked by the fire in
room, one o one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
On a royal visit by chance
Queen Liz spots a crew who breakdance
She throws down her bag
And cries 'sod one's jet lag'
'Dagnammit, I'm gonna get up n prance!'
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
I get home.
tired and hungry and so sick of school
shoulders slouch with comfort, crossing the threshold
between the public and my home.
It's snack time.
open the fridge and what do I find?
what marvelous things, upon which to dine?
a leg of chicken and a big *** of beans,
say what you will, moms can be queens
I chop up an onion splash! in the pan
a dollop of oil [extra ****** man]
add half a pepper, minus its seeds
yum! I think I know what this needs
A large pinch of cumin, a whole chicken leg
and so many beans, if beer twould be keg
then add some turmeric for fusion and flair
splash of red wine, kids: we're almost there!
I check in the freezer and Yes! I was right!
almost a dozen tortillas in sight.
I take out two, cuz they're pretty big
I yodel with pleasure, as if at a shindig
warm up the flatbreadz, and pile it on
all of that chicken and beans and herbs from the lawn
get in my tummy, get in there so fast
that I dont realize I'm eating until I'm holding the last.
Jan 6, 2011
Jan 6, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
***Butterflies in my head
like percolating coffee suds
i walked a little faster
to catch up with my mind's anachronisms
future like a prism in high def
building castles of cotton candy vapors
smoky salt tears whisper out loud
like a hot knife through butter foam
dancing in enraged twists of prophetic cyclonic squalls
shindig of cobalt's eclectic leaves storming fiercely down
wading in puddles of refractive delirium's trippy next dip***
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 4:48 PM UTC
Reason you were invited: Nuance
Host of the party: Nuisance
Expectations: Prognosis - Nausea
RSVP: Diagnosis - See ya!
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
Hen party having a ****
tail shindig,
wiggling to the moving melody
of the chanticleer's gracious piano,
crowing for glee like a baby.
Dec 4, 2013
Dec 4, 2013 at 11:16 PM UTC
The old heads sell distraction
Different prints and different licks
Concrete beds display the newest fashion
Pick them hearty while declaring dysfunction
Beam another bystander towards electro shock
Tastefully tenacious in it's rearranging
Bars for consumption
The eyes suggest cancellation
Now you declare this space fit for sanity
Now I crumble for chaos
Displaced for a momentary diplomacy
but lines blur inside a mind prone to wandering
Remnants gather for a pre shatter shindig
A bright glow illuminates conviction
How coy these means for destruction
a shell claiming stability
a vessel containing absurdity
Crack seat sofa with the medical magazines
Wait on a number for my neutral reckoning
Diagnostics come free
A proper requiem is not included
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 3:57 PM UTC
It is the time of celebration
for the Good health of our guest!
They arrive at our village a week back,
Now they are roaming around
Over the sprawling wetland and grass land
With joy and shindig,
Their call makes everything melodic and wonderful!
Everyone is happy
They said that
“Visit of the guest indicates there
will be good weather in next summer” !
So they will celebrate for the good health of honey guest
in next full moon night
though God’s own way !
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
The facts lay
Like dried- up leaves on
Bloodied the Earth
From every man made war
Law
Has names
But struggles
To remember
The one's they effect
I envy lust
Desire
Agression
Greed
Trust and
Self-confidence
These are vices
Of the regular man
Yet I see no need
For the big shindig
The after party
And all the dates before
Did I dream this life?
Was I brought here from sleep?
If I ***** this skin,
Will I sooner bleed or wake?
To what land then will I be transported?
Cobblestone configurations peddling
Beneath me as oars of the past once did
A father carries his son as far as He can
Until He must forget Him, so then to begin
Peace requires the blood of the worthy
The obstacles of man, the chances that God gives
Each structure needs its supports
For without, the structure will be weak
So son's and daughter's witness defeat
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
Sittin at my desk wrestin with casas testers it’s a mess in the west when they express they hate these tests I rest my head on the desk and try to take a nap, restless sleep as my guests are blessed with criminal success and some failure see they are in jail and your gonna meet me if you leave the streets and catch a rap maybe packin a strap thinkin you all that it’s a trap like chicky saying its your baby actin lazy head all hazey bout to go crazy but instead you head to the jail cell cant afford bail whinning and wailing set you mind sailing quit flailing and failing let jail bring you educational singing graduation bells ringing mamma bringing baby sister to the shindig, it’s a win win better community orientation with a chance at employment despite a conviction let go the friction its just a decision and I am given you the chance to start liven …..
May 24, 2016
May 24, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
Shindig Shaman he do say
Swinging and swaying
Swaying and swinging
Debbil in de prayer closet all **** day
Cursing and moaning
Moaning and cursing
Boss man lookin' for a man of the cloth
Never seen a witch doctor
Never in his life
From the look in Bill Morris' eyes
He's let it in
Deep. Deep, Deep so **** deep
Like a splinter cut off well under de nail
A thorn in his pride turned into something dangerous
Hidin' in de prayer closet, up in dere
Got up in de prayer closet safe and snug
()()()()()()()()()()()()
White collar black crow slipped around the corner
Said, "I heard you had a job for me"
Big Bill Morris lobbed a *** o' spit towards his face
Wiped off what was left of his smile
Turned to meet the shaking Shaman
Who was there to greet the fakin' man o' God
()()()()()()()()()()()
They turned their attention to the devil in Bill
With Bibles and crosses and charms and powders
They shook it all in da poor boys face
He started coughing and sure enuff
He coughed that demon right on out
Nobody had said a word
He turned around and walked out
Not even speaking to the priest or the Shaman
Who looked at each other expecting
A moral
Or
A punch line
Sensing none they quit each other's company
And returned to their respective homes
The only places they felt comfortable
In their own skin
And though their prayer closets had no demons
Neither had they anything else
And so they felt sorry for Bill Morris
Lonely tonight
And wondered if God dwelled with the other
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
I think too much.
I was thinking
Wondering where I weas going with this whole
"Poetry" shindig.
I was thinking
Maybe when I'm eighty
When I'm dead
When I die
Someone will look through my computer
And see my blog.
Maybe they'll read my poems
Declare my a virtuoso
Claim that I should've been revered in my time
And declare it a shame that I have passed.
They will show them to a publisher
And distribute them worldwide.
I will become a literary Picasso
And live through it.
Those who knew me will mourn with ferocity
Ashamed that they never knew.
I will be loved for an eternity.
In all likelihood, that will never happen.
It is near impossible.
Will I even keep this up that long?
But it's nice to hope.
But I can tell that I'm thinking too much.
I was taught
That poetry should come from the heart
Unfiltered
No thinking.
Just your soul on paper
With a rhythmic beat, if possible.
So not only will I never be even considered
As a poetic woman.
But I am doing this all wrong
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 7:28 PM UTC
uncomfortable
reserved shy
easy love abounds
when false laughs seems to demise,
grasp what I can out of it;
every moment.
clinging for laughter to last
try to listen and comfort
can't even enjoy my mask.
for tonight I over-judge again;
a thought and a task
be cunning and funny.
to impress the alive people
but quiet staring,
small and unnoticed.
immersed in the group,
or try to be, I quietly think
I let myself stroll.
no exquisite fortune
of finding another.
I pretend to think.
liveliness sinks.
crying in the corner
it wasn't I.
her loss and her musical hysterics
gnawing as sharp knives;
to those who couldn't bear.
indoor plants concealed her.
her very woes also ensnared
by the judgment she dined with.
she lost herself in this jungle
spinning around
sitting by her I fell
spellbound.
drunk on love and guilt
clinging this moment she kissed
the man inside me.
the man I wanted to be.
I returned the favor.
I myself the lucky one
finally it felt good to be...
free.
king at this shindig
alone with the queen
tears throbbing at her
shredding for this fantasy
dreaming of her magical fashion
for I held her firmly.
my inner loneliness she was
so easily.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 2:13 AM UTC
well... when you begin in a "premature"
(so called)
phase,
and can't produce any *****
you know what happens?
in the first half, of your 30th year
you'll; literally grow out of the practice...
ah he he he he.... loci's words, not mine.
but it's true, once you start dictating a drink
that's amber bitter, that's code for english ale
and you have corvus corax to boot...
you're bound to find a second for a thought
concerning valhalla.
but i'm dead serious...
when you start to ********** prior
to puberty, knowing that prior to puberity the act
doesn't produce any ***** well... by the time
you hit 30... you kinda stop the practice...
it's ******* weird though...
go a month without ***********
what are you going to find that's "remotely"
******
how about a magic trick?
pet a cat with a toothpick.
i'm serious about that: pet, a cat, with, a ******* toothpick.
and that's me basically saying: omni-eroticism just
found its place.
a cat and a toothpick?
are we talking about iranian poets?
what?! one and the other at the same time?!
**** me! that's clever!
seriously though, when you start engaging in the practice
at an absurd age, to begin with, i.e. 7 / 8.... and that's not a fraction,
you forget the whole shindig by the time you hit 30...
voyeurism and *********** sort of die off
i can't stomach this ****** oh look! i'm clued in!
i rather have the ******* key, than keep staring through
the ****** keyhole.
which makes drinking, to excess,
so much fun, if you're unrepentant,
via the disrepture with asians having an intolerance
with the juice.
but hell! it's so nice to realise the complete cenobite potency
of, finally having become bored of ************
it's a bit like a gay "coming out of the closet";
fuck's sake! burn the bras! moment.
cats and toothpicks though?
that **** is kinky... pet a cat with a toothpick,
and it'll turn into a leather clad gimp;
i have no idea why they like the prickly sensation,
i guess it must invoke a sense of frost, pinching them,
esp. since they are *maine *****
Apr 27, 2017
Apr 27, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC
"It's not my fault..."
I kept telling myself.
My head was spinning, stomach was churning, throat was parched.
I didn't mean for it to happen.
"We were just having fun..."
He said.
There was no intimacy, no attraction, no reality.
The air was soft and the sun was dim to its point.
I thought it was a fun evening.
I got a massage, and that's where the turning point came.
Of course I was nervous, but I winged it.
"......"
We both thought.
Justin Timberlake was in my head
"You could be my baby
When I look at my lady,
Girl, you amaze me
Ain't gotta do nothin crazy
See all I want you to do is be my love."
But I kept telling myself, it's not my fault it happened.
That shindig was kept quiet.
Only between the people.
Hey, I'm a teenager.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:27 PM UTC
A broken system makes monsters mandatory for existence
Some people find it easier to become beasts
The saint may swoon....when savagery becomes easier than presumed
Some find it out of shear desperation
When an indifferent world contorts you into that primitive state
Fang and claw exposed with terrified eyes
A chest full of concrete
A brain forced into despondency...
turn the dial and you only hear static
Sanity sequestered inside coma mechanics...
anticlimax by way of numbed timelines
I would pray for you
But we both know...
the sky is already crowded with echoes
Goodbye
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 1:49 AM UTC
(a lighter piece sup *** wit tree)
'm, oh yes mud hum,
who hoop fully iz zaftig
and/or mister
Jack Rabbit, whoever wig
gulls or crinkles their nose
creating a lil whirligig
at this bit of flummery unrig
yule lated impossible
to make cogent
and/or tangential with trig
perhaps best red
after taking a swig
of vintage carrot juice with a sprig
of favorite herb, more'n enough
to slake thirsting herd
at the yearly
Peter Rabbit shindig,
which senseless literary rig
ma roll even Bugs Bunny
trump petting donned Taj Mahal
swiftly tailored hare
reed styled periwig,
(would turnip his nose),
button size or overbig,
yet all Joe King aside,
and please do not think me a ****
excepting (Trix are for kids, eh...?)
this intentional faux paw, an
distress signal tis ideally geared
for a Unitarian
herbalist hook can
transform this pro
fessed human imposter,
(who in truth got cursed
as a **** sapien
by Bunny Foo Foo with elan)
particularly in the guise of Han
nub bull the cannibal,
(whose unisexual name Jan)
also doubles up
as my birth month
dwells in Lan
zing, Michigan, and earns
keeps employed as a nan
knee, yet experiences inner pan
dumb moan he yum,
(seized with grippe to dig
in Farmer Brown's garden), and ran
like the dickens
all the way to Tran
sill vane ya leaping
across Atlantic Ocean forced
to adopt the lifestyle of a Van
dull with razor sharp buck teeth.
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 1:22 AM UTC
Give up waiting, doofus. It's so much easier when you don't give a hoot and nothing's happening anywho.
(sonnet #MMMMMMCCCCLXVI)
I've been reciting for--was that--intents?
How lo, my cousins' kids are in betrayl
Nigh grown, who were so little on that scale
Ten years agone, when I last for good sense
Saw these, or pictures of the same to fence
Some fam'ly shindig with all to avail
Whatever, me an old maid yet sans bail,
Til hopes look quite askance without defense.
Joe is attractive ah, beyond as twere
The dreams I've known, a dream anon come true.
If only now we could be all we stir,
Have children of our own, lo that would do.
Well, be together in yes, love, endure
To death thus, and have kids: what's I love you?
01Jul17b
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 8:03 PM UTC
There have been other years
when the gross ache of being apart
was caused by the spiral growth of life,
but it was ours,
easily fixed by a Boxing Day trip
or a warm January shindig.
This year’s exponential spiral
stifles all but the cold binary of a zoom call
and fans smouldered ire at the avoidable
Dec 21, 2020
Dec 21, 2020 at 3:29 AM UTC
i watch green turn to ash as spit bubbles pop images in my mind, the green buds beneath my bare feet and as i walk in memory of you, my trail turns each step i hover between to ash.
i don't write about much these days. all i have are foggied visions and memories of you. color me foolish and pin and tail on my-
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 7:51 PM UTC
Secretly, Titania, and Oberon
Had cast a magical spell
The guests were despatched
To a strange Dingly Dell
Their eyes changed colour
And they all grew wings
And flew around in circles
Doing all sorts of things
Some crashed into each other
Some crashed to the ground
Others flew into trees
Some sang silly sounds
Many got dizzy
And a couple were ill
And when they woke up next morning
They were perched upon my window sill
I beckoned them in
To tell me their tales
But none could remember
Because of the spells!
by Jemia
Mar 4, 2021
Mar 4, 2021 at 6:46 PM UTC
torpedo ink, some doubts to sink,
another mouthful, bruising to bethink.
without lexical integrity,
they're solecistic towards pedagogy, amusingly distinct.
basking in the blasphemy, armed to the teeth, blameless and bruised,
putting on another comical skit, guiltlessly bemused.
but don't sit next to me at this ball,
i'm pensively perusing the aisles of protocol.
baffled, more putrid than pellucid,
this hobnobbing appalls me, the exclusively reclusive.
a nuisance shindig, conversations far too allusive.
enough with the palaver, and this shallow vernacular,
far too stupid, far too human, forehead now growing vascular.
make way for me to make hastily for the exit, please,
my apologies, but i'm far too pedantic to revel in this cesspit, jeez.
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 7:55 AM UTC
September 9 2024
Today is their Wedding Day
This poem is a celebration of their life
To Isaac and Jessica
They met at a her sister’s wedding
A festive occasion, A beautiful setting
Love at first sight he was smitten
She was as sweet as a baby kitten
From the moment they met,
He never wanted to leave her side
Love has taken them on a wild ride
Emotions in Full display, they don’t hide
May They walk a path together I pray
Young to make a commitment this way
Yes, I took those steps younger still
Time values different I had a strong will
I want him to understand what it takes
I want them to learn from my mistakes
But those are their mistakes to make
Save me a piece of the wedding cake
I remember in my arms he wiggled
Nana kept him safe belly laugh giggled
First the Grand gesture, he takes her hand
When a boy becomes a grown man
The proposal Down on Bended Knee
Grins from ear to ear Happy as they can be
His heart pounding out of his chest
Tongue tied words failed. He did his best.
Wedding Day, He and She became we
A shindig excitement and fear we’ll see
Waiting at The altar, for his bride
They will learn to find their own stride
Together in front of God, they stand
Wedding ceremony completes God‘s plan
The last covenant Between God and man
Life Commitment Full circle Time span
Inspired songs;
For the Proposal
1) The Ring/The wedding song, 2019
By T Carter Music
For the Wedding
2) We’ve Only Just Begun
By The Carpenters
For the First Dance
3) All Of Me
By John Legend
We took a fishing trip to Diamond Lake just the young man before the wedding. Sitting in the boat at sunset, I read this poem to my grandson to make sure it caught all the memories he had shared with me and we both had tears in our eyes. we hugged I cried .
It’s a destination wedding he’s moved out of state, financially I’d rather just give him the money. I’m unable to attend but. They have a professional doing a wedding video. wedding video is the best thing we ever did. When I’d be upset with my husband, yelling and screaming, and he just pop in that little wedding video it’s pretty hard to be mad at someone when our vows are playing in the background. Lol.
Sep 8, 2024
Sep 8, 2024 at 3:00 AM UTC