"slapdash" poems - Hello Poetry

"slapdash" poems

Slapdash into the ****** pan Is thrown the longed-for son of man. Between the gossiping cups of tea God attains mortality. In the cathedral calm and cold Kneel the erroneous-memoried old. But in the womb's cathedral calm The walls collapse in a birth psalm. The blood sings from the soiled hand The apprentice cleans at the washstand. Undismayed by omission, For everything, everything is won. The proof blazes in impudence Above the miopics of science, Swaggering in love inviolate, Over the uninitiate. And over all the angels dart Like squadrons in a war apart. Dropping parachutes of bliss On everything that is.

0

3.7k

Elizabeth Smart

Birth of a Child in Wartime

Slapdash into the ****** pan Is thrown the longed-for son of man. Between the gossiping cups of tea God attains mortality. In the cathedral calm and cold Kneel the erroneous-memoried old. But in the womb's cathedral calm The walls collapse in a birth psalm. The blood sings from the soiled hand The apprentice cleans at the washstand. Undismayed by omission, For everything, everything is won. The proof blazes in impudence Above the miopics of science, Swaggering in love inviolate, Over the uninitiate. And over all the angels dart Like squadrons in a war apart. Dropping parachutes of bliss On everything that is.

Continue reading...

this flourishing silence feels more of a trite hack-job than it is a writing stint. my fingers (frenzied, brazen) continue to tap and my mind starts to spill like a spigot left open. I have taken to smoking and laughing away in an obscured day for myself in the parking lot and sometimes I can do without company; only the snarl of the well-oiled tractor in front of me. the days are full of yellow and the Sun is a dog on a leash. the roses smell of brine and their slender stems bones of the young. I can see cheeks flushed with red and skirts neatly trimmed just above knobby knees and I know somewhere in that tender flesh, a man sifts without knowing what it feels to eat bone before flesh, flesh after bone. my silently augured procurement of today’s induced comatose is but a Freudian slip – the world with its burly physique is a chauvinistic man drinking whisky in the red light district of hazy Makati. each slapdash word in penitent reprisal is the moment’s clearest reprieve. I am glad that this room is darker than the eyes of the love I have lost staring back with a mound of the abysmal or the yearnings of a chagrined mother startled back to her home; it must be dreamy, the dogs outside pant in heat and the obnoxious *** of vehicles outside bears the cadence of two people starting to fall in love: all chaotic and unmoving, fastened to the Earth, aware of the passing minutes, wishing to be somewhere else but there.

0

Jan 16, 2016

Jan 16, 2016 at 1:34 AM UTC

windsor-i-guadalupe-jr

They Were Vehicles Trapped Underneath The Sun

this flourishing silence feels more of a trite hack-job than it is a writing stint. my fingers (frenzied, brazen) continue to tap and my mind starts to spill like a spigot left open. I have taken to smoking and laughing away in an obscured day for myself in the parking lot and sometimes I can do without company; only the snarl of the well-oiled tractor in front of me. the days are full of yellow and the Sun is a dog on a leash. the roses smell of brine and their slender stems bones of the young. I can see cheeks flushed with red and skirts neatly trimmed just above knobby knees and I know somewhere in that tender flesh, a man sifts without knowing what it feels to eat bone before flesh, flesh after bone. my silently augured procurement of today’s induced comatose is but a Freudian slip – the world with its burly physique is a chauvinistic man drinking whisky in the red light district of hazy Makati. each slapdash word in penitent reprisal is the moment’s clearest reprieve. I am glad that this room is darker than the eyes of the love I have lost staring back with a mound of the abysmal or the yearnings of a chagrined mother startled back to her home; it must be dreamy, the dogs outside pant in heat and the obnoxious *** of vehicles outside bears the cadence of two people starting to fall in love: all chaotic and unmoving, fastened to the Earth, aware of the passing minutes, wishing to be somewhere else but there.

Continue reading...

mixed stirrings hard to place this constant ire rising from ashes of a fire not quite, yet felt stir into that melting *** the sum of miscellany unknowns all wrought from the unsweet gifts of quotidian sighs no need to wrap the present, baby, for it's already here twinkling in the birth of every moment we hardly know it nor acknowledge so busy wrenching pain from secret places the darkness loves to keep yesterday brought unsought smiles of outer space dust then space in pushed into the blue spit bubble of crayfish folly and fear frozen into place on cauldroned cheeks as tendons pulled fury tight on a cocky bounty's cry I want to carry that sweet loading joy which scorches my receptiveness in astringent non reciprocation I die to please that spangled energy so much which holds back its cagey kernel, far from my prying hands I kneel to take in out of the blue blessings which fall slapdash on this preoccupied trajectory, forever waiting in sozzled hope I take the package you flash and cast heavy which leave sweltering whiplines across my insides all fine, all just a fine melange beneath your magic fontanelle lies a sunken cache there are painfully few privy to that miracle I live in hope of neither looping nor taking but just to be happy to bear witness to the shiny array of your gem stock you are like none other, inimitable and hard gemstone (inside) a mix of purity stirred in crazy, along with star shine and fire sparks my angel with honey eyes

0

Dec 8, 2013

Dec 8, 2013 at 2:34 PM UTC

mixed stirrings hard to place this constant ire rising from ashes of a fire not quite, yet felt stir into that melting *** the sum of miscellany unknowns all wrought from the unsweet gifts of quotidian sighs no need to wrap the present, baby, for it's already here twinkling in the birth of every moment we hardly know it nor acknowledge so busy wrenching pain from secret places the darkness loves to keep yesterday brought unsought smiles of outer space dust then space in pushed into the blue spit bubble of crayfish folly and fear frozen into place on cauldroned cheeks as tendons pulled fury tight on a cocky bounty's cry I want to carry that sweet loading joy which scorches my receptiveness in astringent non reciprocation I die to please that spangled energy so much which holds back its cagey kernel, far from my prying hands I kneel to take in out of the blue blessings which fall slapdash on this preoccupied trajectory, forever waiting in sozzled hope I take the package you flash and cast heavy which leave sweltering whiplines across my insides all fine, all just a fine melange beneath your magic fontanelle lies a sunken cache there are painfully few privy to that miracle I live in hope of neither looping nor taking but just to be happy to bear witness to the shiny array of your gem stock you are like none other, inimitable and hard gemstone (inside) a mix of purity stirred in crazy, along with star shine and fire sparks my angel with honey eyes

Continue reading...

With its sinuous green edge and its delicately decorative white venation this dewy cress laid on a fine crystal platter would fit well next to that chunk of cement facade ensconced in a vitrine at the Art Institute’s new Louis Sullivan exhibition There’s little cause to wonder why these particular atoms once afloat on inchoate seas and awash in the hummed mumbles of humble vibrations chose to decohere into this one captivating pattern from among an infinite variety of mattered schemes even limiting their choicest range to those paired colors A tree frog for example its narrow lime toes suctioned on a broad leaf and its watchful pearl eyes misconfigured with a blind spot too soon exploited by a beak spouted peril Or the gallant rider in uniform myrtle and mounted atop an albino steed who at a mirthless gallop through routed troops delivers this message Mother I am so far away from everything They’re oddly jarred couplings but with any choice whether slapdash had or carefully considered what’s our guarantee it will live up to the iron of romantically clad expectations I have heard It’s always the salad that gets you in the end

0

Sep 23, 2010

Sep 23, 2010 at 9:45 AM UTC

francis-scudellari

Quantum vinaigrette over lightly mixed greens

With its sinuous green edge and its delicately decorative white venation this dewy cress laid on a fine crystal platter would fit well next to that chunk of cement facade ensconced in a vitrine at the Art Institute’s new Louis Sullivan exhibition There’s little cause to wonder why these particular atoms once afloat on inchoate seas and awash in the hummed mumbles of humble vibrations chose to decohere into this one captivating pattern from among an infinite variety of mattered schemes even limiting their choicest range to those paired colors A tree frog for example its narrow lime toes suctioned on a broad leaf and its watchful pearl eyes misconfigured with a blind spot too soon exploited by a beak spouted peril Or the gallant rider in uniform myrtle and mounted atop an albino steed who at a mirthless gallop through routed troops delivers this message Mother I am so far away from everything They’re oddly jarred couplings but with any choice whether slapdash had or carefully considered what’s our guarantee it will live up to the iron of romantically clad expectations I have heard It’s always the salad that gets you in the end

Continue reading...

Spring yielded it's light blue, sending little spines of fiber-work glass clippings about and smelling like summer and sun and reminiscent days long past and gone away. He, blissful, weary, marched unfettered amongst the wrecked flora, a hop in his step, prancing about like someone younger than he, who had seen little and felt less. He had an attitude; bumbling, messy, he was hardly a man for all men, but rather a stoic symbol of time stood stone still, a slapdash rendering of a simpler, better era. Summer gave way to Autumn's yellow chill. Soon winter stood, watching still and silent, frigid as the bones in the funeral home. The seasons painted his headstone. A canvas.

0

Dec 28, 2013

Dec 28, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC

christopher-hendrix

Spring yielded it's light blue, sending little spines of fiber-work glass clippings about and smelling like summer and sun and reminiscent days long past and gone away. He, blissful, weary, marched unfettered amongst the wrecked flora, a hop in his step, prancing about like someone younger than he, who had seen little and felt less. He had an attitude; bumbling, messy, he was hardly a man for all men, but rather a stoic symbol of time stood stone still, a slapdash rendering of a simpler, better era. Summer gave way to Autumn's yellow chill. Soon winter stood, watching still and silent, frigid as the bones in the funeral home. The seasons painted his headstone. A canvas.

Continue reading...

slapdash rush collision of lips that open like flowers eyes acorn-brown red lust flush blooms from fingers to toes tingle of fire licks through veins like dripping water skin on skin flickers and hot sleepy breaths quirks and delights together as one potent potpourri taste of oranges and cinnamon something entirely new

0

Mar 28, 2015

Mar 28, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

Sugar and Spice

slapdash rush collision of lips that open like flowers eyes acorn-brown red lust flush blooms from fingers to toes tingle of fire licks through veins like dripping water skin on skin flickers and hot sleepy breaths quirks and delights together as one potent potpourri taste of oranges and cinnamon something entirely new

Continue reading...

Sunny and her love-object have broken up. It was a selfie-inflicted wound - a slapdash pic taken, that like a puzzle, revealed more than intended. We try to be thoughtful and considerate but we’ve only recently escaped from captivity. Perfectly nice people are capable of unfaithful deeds. Isn’t that what so much of great literature is about? Our lives are written in disappearing ink, and it’s not as if all kisses are meaningful. We stretch for happiness or for fleeting pleasure - we’re not married and only vaguely committed. What would tempt you - what could you actually resist at 18? Or now - but maybe you’re a saint.

0

Feb 16, 2022

Feb 16, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC

Sunny and her love-object have broken up. It was a selfie-inflicted wound - a slapdash pic taken, that like a puzzle, revealed more than intended. We try to be thoughtful and considerate but we’ve only recently escaped from captivity. Perfectly nice people are capable of unfaithful deeds. Isn’t that what so much of great literature is about? Our lives are written in disappearing ink, and it’s not as if all kisses are meaningful. We stretch for happiness or for fleeting pleasure - we’re not married and only vaguely committed. What would tempt you - what could you actually resist at 18? Or now - but maybe you’re a saint.

Continue reading...

A mouth, simply tired It requires much too much To open or to produce sound Let me remain silent It is the best cure for this To think rather than react And to listen rather than spew Ideas, words, letters, balderdash For that is all we have ever been A slapdash mixture to survive Never to enjoy or to savor

0

Dec 21, 2015

Dec 21, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC

A mouth, simply tired It requires much too much To open or to produce sound Let me remain silent It is the best cure for this To think rather than react And to listen rather than spew Ideas, words, letters, balderdash For that is all we have ever been A slapdash mixture to survive Never to enjoy or to savor

Continue reading...

The blackcurrant words seemed grotesque to you on the vast tarnished landscape. Letters curling as October leaves pricked your old silver eyes, slapdash lines and glitter thoughts splurged upon your paintings. You were a poppy, a dark, minute dot, but every idea burst in gaudy red from you. The poems would arrive, would come eventually, leap from your fingers, punch onto the page and would it be good enough? Your product, complete.

0

May 2, 2013

May 2, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

The blackcurrant words seemed grotesque to you on the vast tarnished landscape. Letters curling as October leaves pricked your old silver eyes, slapdash lines and glitter thoughts splurged upon your paintings. You were a poppy, a dark, minute dot, but every idea burst in gaudy red from you. The poems would arrive, would come eventually, leap from your fingers, punch onto the page and would it be good enough? Your product, complete.

Continue reading...

Once again lonely winter days and frigid nights Hibernation or desperation flutter one’s mind Oh how we long for those summer day, as we Basked in the warmth of the sun rays, Pink umbrella glasses of Pinna Coladas or Coconut-flavored Malibu *** Now it's what will be will be Quod erit, erit! The last bikini tan lines of summer fade like autumn leave But here today it still lingered in one’s mind It was a summer of secrets or was it too much exposure to the sun? The gleaming sand upon the Caribbean shores Summer! Oh summer where are you? Oh summer, oh summer where you, Please slapdash with your misty blue skies

0

Feb 17, 2016

Feb 17, 2016 at 1:29 PM UTC

darknbeautiful-1

What it is, Is What it is

Once again lonely winter days and frigid nights Hibernation or desperation flutter one’s mind Oh how we long for those summer day, as we Basked in the warmth of the sun rays, Pink umbrella glasses of Pinna Coladas or Coconut-flavored Malibu *** Now it's what will be will be Quod erit, erit! The last bikini tan lines of summer fade like autumn leave But here today it still lingered in one’s mind It was a summer of secrets or was it too much exposure to the sun? The gleaming sand upon the Caribbean shores Summer! Oh summer where are you? Oh summer, oh summer where you, Please slapdash with your misty blue skies

Continue reading...

Weak static creates an uncomfortable tautness in the air. A sound emitted from the screen is heavy, weighing. Muted light grips to ions which imperceptibly moss over the dusty glass monitor. A world within a dish. Slapdash pixilation. Fragments—just fractions, part in snaps. No image takes form in the storm of digitalized points, indistinctive refrain is absently composed. The apartment, thick with a cloudy green hue. Stripped, pink shoulders, a flush which spreads in a subtle frenzy— Bleeds across an exposed chest. Vulnerable core. Noticeably contracting, beating the high concentration of life from one source Into branched capillaries. Into plush, coy lips— Hush. Sinews tear, a dark liquid pools, liberated from perforations. Flowing from the source and staining porcelain teeth. Indulgence. The innate capability to devour proves true outside feasting. Femininity of unbridled ******* and echoing amusement, Eternalized. Cataplexies pressed and dried upon blank, white pages which prove difficult to turn— only facilitated by the hand of time. A vast expanse of briny depths outstretches further than what’s perceivable. Waves rock a feeble coo which escapes from child’s lips at the spectacle of a mother. Cri de Coeur

0

Mar 1, 2015

Mar 1, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC

Weak static creates an uncomfortable tautness in the air. A sound emitted from the screen is heavy, weighing. Muted light grips to ions which imperceptibly moss over the dusty glass monitor. A world within a dish. Slapdash pixilation. Fragments—just fractions, part in snaps. No image takes form in the storm of digitalized points, indistinctive refrain is absently composed. The apartment, thick with a cloudy green hue. Stripped, pink shoulders, a flush which spreads in a subtle frenzy— Bleeds across an exposed chest. Vulnerable core. Noticeably contracting, beating the high concentration of life from one source Into branched capillaries. Into plush, coy lips— Hush. Sinews tear, a dark liquid pools, liberated from perforations. Flowing from the source and staining porcelain teeth. Indulgence. The innate capability to devour proves true outside feasting. Femininity of unbridled ******* and echoing amusement, Eternalized. Cataplexies pressed and dried upon blank, white pages which prove difficult to turn— only facilitated by the hand of time. A vast expanse of briny depths outstretches further than what’s perceivable. Waves rock a feeble coo which escapes from child’s lips at the spectacle of a mother. Cri de Coeur

Continue reading...

The pearl slapdash of the moon is on the water. It won't linger there long, so drink up and take back your legs from wavering's pumpkin lip, before they slip and are lost in a slurp of mucky goodbyes. The ruby blush of the sun is on your shoulder. It will fade with a mounting calm, unless you dive in and cast off that dithering squirm of a pout. Afterward we'll sip, now is the time for devout swims.

0

Apr 13, 2010

Apr 13, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC

francis-scudellari

Swim, a Poem Inspired by Norman Dubie

The pearl slapdash of the moon is on the water. It won't linger there long, so drink up and take back your legs from wavering's pumpkin lip, before they slip and are lost in a slurp of mucky goodbyes. The ruby blush of the sun is on your shoulder. It will fade with a mounting calm, unless you dive in and cast off that dithering squirm of a pout. Afterward we'll sip, now is the time for devout swims.

Continue reading...

hair like melting bronze long and thick as honey coagulated to the waist mellow slosh of water viridian wrinkles reflect a singed tangerine shade of the bridge a miserable dense fug up above her head lips like lavender black sweater collar cuddling her neck and freckles dusted slapdash on those cheeks little marigold flecks but her gaze grasps you you can’t look away she’s detained your attention

0

Sep 23, 2015

Sep 23, 2015 at 3:02 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

hair like melting bronze long and thick as honey coagulated to the waist mellow slosh of water viridian wrinkles reflect a singed tangerine shade of the bridge a miserable dense fug up above her head lips like lavender black sweater collar cuddling her neck and freckles dusted slapdash on those cheeks little marigold flecks but her gaze grasps you you can’t look away she’s detained your attention

Continue reading...

There was a poet named Nash Who earned buckets of cash From rhymes funny and brash With a dollop of panache His work was never slapdash Always a top-drawer smash

0

Aug 15, 2015

Aug 15, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC

There was a poet named Nash Who earned buckets of cash From rhymes funny and brash With a dollop of panache His work was never slapdash Always a top-drawer smash

Continue reading...

The dog scrabbles in the lady’s arms, tongue flopping every which way. ‘He’s only young’ she says as a bark coarse as sandpaper rips through the cabin. A man with teeth briquette-black chuckles at us, at the mutt, its hair like chestnut paintbrush strokes slapdash around the mouth. The lift judders to a halt. We go one way, the dog goes the other.

0

Oct 14, 2016

Oct 14, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC

reece-aj-chambers

Saltburn Cliff Lift

The dog scrabbles in the lady’s arms, tongue flopping every which way. ‘He’s only young’ she says as a bark coarse as sandpaper rips through the cabin. A man with teeth briquette-black chuckles at us, at the mutt, its hair like chestnut paintbrush strokes slapdash around the mouth. The lift judders to a halt. We go one way, the dog goes the other.

Continue reading...

Dedicated To Elena Toumazi , Yiannis Antiohou, Stamatis Polenakis YOU IMAGE/ MINE Valorous visor Αsk / Gaze Upon the gravel thy habitancy/ hesitancy / I hold tightly my two hands A pray for a marble / black/ black Only black/ Crash you down Crash me down/ Life with your other face / small vulnerable thou Today you / exist / and will / will will willlllll/ for ever Thinking of you and admire you / what audacity / You look around slapdash/ and curious / Loking and Loking Searching/ For this to beatify / now with tolerance / Great you/ now and sure / I find you / In a pink tones cloths / and colored / rooms / Slippery paths wish / finding Find you unscathed / light lips Face altered /only by joy Beyond the truth / that hurts / Run to catch up / stop / those people So welcomed / invited / time is running The opposite house/ the nights / look / flickering A flame coming from unwarmth / faces Yours / you are hanging a picture / like painting You said / Come Life / I will teach you /Ha With my own voice /mine only/ Do not resist the electric flow of the universe I let myself / and I am not / that seems to be I get lost in the size of this world / Does not exist /before I even perish Everything is a drop / already evaporates / before even born / Now know it / Even / even /even And nonexistent pain People are losing /lusting/ for a fresh carrot I have nothing with carrots….. But/ yes/ yes/ I want to be baptized To a name / to a man To his hot/ saliva / Keep me out of the limelight

0

Jan 8, 2017

Jan 8, 2017 at 6:44 AM UTC

maria-panoutsou

Dedicated To Elena Toumazi , Yiannis Antiohou, Stamatis Polenakis YOU IMAGE/ MINE Valorous visor Αsk / Gaze Upon the gravel thy habitancy/ hesitancy / I hold tightly my two hands A pray for a marble / black/ black Only black/ Crash you down Crash me down/ Life with your other face / small vulnerable thou Today you / exist / and will / will will willlllll/ for ever Thinking of you and admire you / what audacity / You look around slapdash/ and curious / Loking and Loking Searching/ For this to beatify / now with tolerance / Great you/ now and sure / I find you / In a pink tones cloths / and colored / rooms / Slippery paths wish / finding Find you unscathed / light lips Face altered /only by joy Beyond the truth / that hurts / Run to catch up / stop / those people So welcomed / invited / time is running The opposite house/ the nights / look / flickering A flame coming from unwarmth / faces Yours / you are hanging a picture / like painting You said / Come Life / I will teach you /Ha With my own voice /mine only/ Do not resist the electric flow of the universe I let myself / and I am not / that seems to be I get lost in the size of this world / Does not exist /before I even perish Everything is a drop / already evaporates / before even born / Now know it / Even / even /even And nonexistent pain People are losing /lusting/ for a fresh carrot I have nothing with carrots….. But/ yes/ yes/ I want to be baptized To a name / to a man To his hot/ saliva / Keep me out of the limelight

Continue reading...

You are a Slippery Dark Parasite that Clung to me Numbed me Fed on me Until my Veins Ran Dry You A Small Creature of Formidable Force and i Victim to a Slapdash Hunt You Were Hypnotizing Your Presence Thrilling But I peeled you off of Me and left you to be Finished by The Birds

0

Sep 14, 2015

Sep 14, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC

You are a Slippery Dark Parasite that Clung to me Numbed me Fed on me Until my Veins Ran Dry You A Small Creature of Formidable Force and i Victim to a Slapdash Hunt You Were Hypnotizing Your Presence Thrilling But I peeled you off of Me and left you to be Finished by The Birds

Continue reading...

You Know Sometimes.... ... Within This Life... You Have Those Nights... That DO SURPRISE... !!! Now I've Shown That I... Am INDEED A Dark Knight of A Different Type ! But THIS Was A Night... of A... Marmite Type... !!?!! Hanging With The Whites... On Bims'... West Side... Caribbean Type Vibes... Drinks And SUNSHINE... Right By The Seaside... !!!!! But Soon The Tide... Would CHANGE Alright.... !!! As Our Host Dropped Folks... Back To Their Home... A Vibe Had Arrived... That WASN'T So Nice... !!! Because of Talk... That Had A Cause... Like... Vaders' Force... !!!!! So Of Course RETURNED... Like... Fires BURN.... !!!!! There Was A... “ Preview “... That Things WEREN’T Cool... Between A Woman... And An English Dude... !!! BAD WORDS Ensued In The Afternoon... Over MARMITE And A Pair of Shoes... !!! Don't Get It Confused... ?!? This Story's... TRUE.. !!! People Sometimes... Are Happy To Choose To … … PLAY THE FOOL... !!?!! So As Our Host Left These Words Were Said... "Big V you'll need to become the guard !" For This Woman Who'd MARKED... A …… DANGEROUS Card …… !!!!! The Guy Had Walked... For The Night Fa' SURE... !!! Or So We All Thought............. But It Was Clear That A WAR... Was To Be The ENCORE... !!! He Came Back... RAW... !!! Straight Through The Door... !!! And... Next Thing I SAW... Marmite Had Been Poured... On The Woman The Floor... !!! And Some Shoes That She'd Bought... !?! For This CRAZY ASSED Dude... And Some Cushions TOO... !!!!! So Then I Knew... That I HAD TO MOVE... !!! To Escort This Dude... And His IGNORANT Mood... AWAY From The Scene... Cos' Marmite BELIEVE... Doesn't Leave Things CLEAN... !!! Except For... ME... !!!!!!!!!! Because My Theme... Is HEROIC And Seems... To Be What Deals... In... Respectful Deeds... !!! UNLIKE White Peeps'... Who I've Met Recently... !!! Whether FILLED With CASH... Or Talk That's SLAPDASH... This Is CLEARLY WHY... This Was The First Time... And Hopefully The LAST... !!!! Where I Had To Show CLASS......... In The Face of An *** !!! Whose Actions Were DARK... !!!!! But You Know... You've Gotta LAUGH... !!!! Because It Seems Sometimes... When You're With... ... CERTAIN Whites... !!!!! That... Just Like I... You May Just FIND... Yourself... INSIDE... ... “ A Marmite Night “... !!!

0

Dec 15, 2020

Dec 15, 2020 at 10:03 PM UTC

'A Marmite Night' ... A Poem written by Big Virge 9/3/2017

You Know Sometimes.... ... Within This Life... You Have Those Nights... That DO SURPRISE... !!! Now I've Shown That I... Am INDEED A Dark Knight of A Different Type ! But THIS Was A Night... of A... Marmite Type... !!?!! Hanging With The Whites... On Bims'... West Side... Caribbean Type Vibes... Drinks And SUNSHINE... Right By The Seaside... !!!!! But Soon The Tide... Would CHANGE Alright.... !!! As Our Host Dropped Folks... Back To Their Home... A Vibe Had Arrived... That WASN'T So Nice... !!! Because of Talk... That Had A Cause... Like... Vaders' Force... !!!!! So Of Course RETURNED... Like... Fires BURN.... !!!!! There Was A... “ Preview “... That Things WEREN’T Cool... Between A Woman... And An English Dude... !!! BAD WORDS Ensued In The Afternoon... Over MARMITE And A Pair of Shoes... !!! Don't Get It Confused... ?!? This Story's... TRUE.. !!! People Sometimes... Are Happy To Choose To … … PLAY THE FOOL... !!?!! So As Our Host Left These Words Were Said... "Big V you'll need to become the guard !" For This Woman Who'd MARKED... A …… DANGEROUS Card …… !!!!! The Guy Had Walked... For The Night Fa' SURE... !!! Or So We All Thought............. But It Was Clear That A WAR... Was To Be The ENCORE... !!! He Came Back... RAW... !!! Straight Through The Door... !!! And... Next Thing I SAW... Marmite Had Been Poured... On The Woman The Floor... !!! And Some Shoes That She'd Bought... !?! For This CRAZY ASSED Dude... And Some Cushions TOO... !!!!! So Then I Knew... That I HAD TO MOVE... !!! To Escort This Dude... And His IGNORANT Mood... AWAY From The Scene... Cos' Marmite BELIEVE... Doesn't Leave Things CLEAN... !!! Except For... ME... !!!!!!!!!! Because My Theme... Is HEROIC And Seems... To Be What Deals... In... Respectful Deeds... !!! UNLIKE White Peeps'... Who I've Met Recently... !!! Whether FILLED With CASH... Or Talk That's SLAPDASH... This Is CLEARLY WHY... This Was The First Time... And Hopefully The LAST... !!!! Where I Had To Show CLASS......... In The Face of An *** !!! Whose Actions Were DARK... !!!!! But You Know... You've Gotta LAUGH... !!!! Because It Seems Sometimes... When You're With... ... CERTAIN Whites... !!!!! That... Just Like I... You May Just FIND... Yourself... INSIDE... ... “ A Marmite Night “... !!!

Continue reading...

Oft too a flyer. Thrown to the wolves as lions approach, Never just left alone. Kicked out of the club for being too drunk, The ghosts have stolen your phone. In this midnight hour a traffic cone, Is thrown through a greenhouse window, waking up the neighbourhood. They all see you walking back home; “He’s up to no good.” Cans on strings as letters of complaint leap, Along the local grapevine. Playing the telephone game, muggle messages, They all watch and pass a guilty verdict; eye for an eye. You stand accused of drinking legal beer. Social complaints against late night cheer. Revelry is not welcome here, At the cul-de-sac at the end of the road of fear. So scared of youth because envy gets old. So cold to you because you smile like a fool. So angry! About nothing. The rain pours down, feel water proof. So pointless to have a conversation, When you are thirty five percent proof. The drunk is a punk to conservative ways. They would never be that drunk in their day. They only ever drank every time they got paid And every day is now a liquid lunch. Do you remember an Irish coffee breakfast, After the after hour’s club? Now a fine brandy, a sherry or two when visiting; Or are you so drunk you are still misremembering? I am righteous! Pride takes me to church! To drink the blood and fall asleep And because whiskey is the only thing that gets you forward, You lurch! And stumble over all the pews. You end with an almighty crash! Make up, slapdash, You landed at the altar and got up to say “I do.” You got in your car and now you are so sure; Oh so sure, that you are pure. You are better than they are… Really?... You? And later as you blow into the straw, You realise you are not so sure, That you can see a way out of this. Why not arrest them! Instead of me! Those stupid drunken kids! They vandalize and disturb my peace! What about me! I never did a thing! I only had a glashh or six (laughs) And there wasn’t a…er, a lasting damage. I’m not a drunk! I think! I think… I think I love you… What place is this...? Where am I...? Hey! Who are you! To arrest me! For being drunk! The following day, you wake up and say… What time is it? Excuse me officer… What day is this? It’s Tuesday. (C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

0

Apr 14, 2018

Apr 14, 2018 at 3:36 PM UTC

Oft too a flyer

Oft too a flyer. Thrown to the wolves as lions approach, Never just left alone. Kicked out of the club for being too drunk, The ghosts have stolen your phone. In this midnight hour a traffic cone, Is thrown through a greenhouse window, waking up the neighbourhood. They all see you walking back home; “He’s up to no good.” Cans on strings as letters of complaint leap, Along the local grapevine. Playing the telephone game, muggle messages, They all watch and pass a guilty verdict; eye for an eye. You stand accused of drinking legal beer. Social complaints against late night cheer. Revelry is not welcome here, At the cul-de-sac at the end of the road of fear. So scared of youth because envy gets old. So cold to you because you smile like a fool. So angry! About nothing. The rain pours down, feel water proof. So pointless to have a conversation, When you are thirty five percent proof. The drunk is a punk to conservative ways. They would never be that drunk in their day. They only ever drank every time they got paid And every day is now a liquid lunch. Do you remember an Irish coffee breakfast, After the after hour’s club? Now a fine brandy, a sherry or two when visiting; Or are you so drunk you are still misremembering? I am righteous! Pride takes me to church! To drink the blood and fall asleep And because whiskey is the only thing that gets you forward, You lurch! And stumble over all the pews. You end with an almighty crash! Make up, slapdash, You landed at the altar and got up to say “I do.” You got in your car and now you are so sure; Oh so sure, that you are pure. You are better than they are… Really?... You? And later as you blow into the straw, You realise you are not so sure, That you can see a way out of this. Why not arrest them! Instead of me! Those stupid drunken kids! They vandalize and disturb my peace! What about me! I never did a thing! I only had a glashh or six (laughs) And there wasn’t a…er, a lasting damage. I’m not a drunk! I think! I think… I think I love you… What place is this...? Where am I...? Hey! Who are you! To arrest me! For being drunk! The following day, you wake up and say… What time is it? Excuse me officer… What day is this? It’s Tuesday. (C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Continue reading...

You don't like new acid jazz. It's exotic, non-native flow. It's like a traveler, dressed for show, With a silk neckscarf as topaz. You don't bear the style mixture. It's like a slapdash of free spheres. And no need to gather then down the years. It'll be-all a needless fixture. You don't accept circumlocutions, Allegories and hidden meanings. Quotations, accents and other symbols - These are unnecessary gleanings. You know, you're unbearably stubborn You can't stand any fancy guessing. You're far from a beauty of word expressing. Sorry, but you're monotone.

0

Mar 27, 2025

Mar 27, 2025 at 7:03 PM UTC

You don't like acid jazz

You don't like new acid jazz. It's exotic, non-native flow. It's like a traveler, dressed for show, With a silk neckscarf as topaz. You don't bear the style mixture. It's like a slapdash of free spheres. And no need to gather then down the years. It'll be-all a needless fixture. You don't accept circumlocutions, Allegories and hidden meanings. Quotations, accents and other symbols - These are unnecessary gleanings. You know, you're unbearably stubborn You can't stand any fancy guessing. You're far from a beauty of word expressing. Sorry, but you're monotone.

Continue reading...

The zine entailed a ton of work that mostly went unnoticed. He printed, folded, stapled a slapdash publication few appreciated. Stacked ten-deep, it festered unread in coffee shops, indie bookstores, craft breweries. A zinester isn't daunted by obscurity. After all, a zinester is never voiceless.

0

Apr 16, 2017

Apr 16, 2017 at 4:18 AM UTC

The zine entailed a ton of work that mostly went unnoticed. He printed, folded, stapled a slapdash publication few appreciated. Stacked ten-deep, it festered unread in coffee shops, indie bookstores, craft breweries. A zinester isn't daunted by obscurity. After all, a zinester is never voiceless.

Continue reading...

An uprooted tree lies ebbing in the street. The one who pledged everyone with a refuge is herself in exigent need. People come, see the fallen one. Not a soul seems to be concerned. Zero, zilch, nada, none. They don't remember those cloistered, sizzling infernos of June those solitary, shivering nights of witchy new moons and those sodden, sultry volleys of pouring monsoons when they, like sprayed bedbugs, ran helter-skelter with the beast of disarray at their sorry heels - snarling callously at all their jet-set culture, structure and order and when all and sundry went slapdash …haphazard that stalwart of timber gave them reassuring shelter. …no fine print, no strings… ❉ Today, when in the aftermath of storm and rain her generous framework lays mortally drained there is no one who would even stop to look for a while let alone bestow a precious drop of life. ❉ In this progressive society – dynamic, forward-looking, revolutionary – each enterprising personality is interred beneath umpteen layers of conceit and on the assay of fulfilment estimates the value of the being.

0

Dec 23, 2019

Dec 23, 2019 at 8:07 PM UTC

An uprooted tree lies ebbing in the street. The one who pledged everyone with a refuge is herself in exigent need. People come, see the fallen one. Not a soul seems to be concerned. Zero, zilch, nada, none. They don't remember those cloistered, sizzling infernos of June those solitary, shivering nights of witchy new moons and those sodden, sultry volleys of pouring monsoons when they, like sprayed bedbugs, ran helter-skelter with the beast of disarray at their sorry heels - snarling callously at all their jet-set culture, structure and order and when all and sundry went slapdash …haphazard that stalwart of timber gave them reassuring shelter. …no fine print, no strings… ❉ Today, when in the aftermath of storm and rain her generous framework lays mortally drained there is no one who would even stop to look for a while let alone bestow a precious drop of life. ❉ In this progressive society – dynamic, forward-looking, revolutionary – each enterprising personality is interred beneath umpteen layers of conceit and on the assay of fulfilment estimates the value of the being.

Continue reading...

Reached for my bag of darkness this morning To pull out some slimy lump And smear it across the page Slapdash as usual Only it's not there my bag of wallow and push Have-to's, shoulds an' can't-face-'ems Do you have it? Yes, I see you have yours No need ta clutch it so tight now Not sure How hard I'll look As I'm unclear now As to why I have it Though I recall being here before and, alas It did turn up again Perhaps I should make and fill a bag with lightness reach for that Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis

0

May 3, 2019

May 3, 2019 at 8:08 AM UTC

Bag of Darkness

Reached for my bag of darkness this morning To pull out some slimy lump And smear it across the page Slapdash as usual Only it's not there my bag of wallow and push Have-to's, shoulds an' can't-face-'ems Do you have it? Yes, I see you have yours No need ta clutch it so tight now Not sure How hard I'll look As I'm unclear now As to why I have it Though I recall being here before and, alas It did turn up again Perhaps I should make and fill a bag with lightness reach for that Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis

Continue reading...

GETTING IT TOGETHER just as my eyes open I catch a glimpse of the world throwing itself together nearly caught the world putting itself together bit slapdash this morning world in a hurry just manages to put itself together as my eyelashes part I stay up to catch the world in the act but alas sleep seduces me I can see the world laughing at me "I'm too fast for you!" it smirks finally I've found that I am just one of the things the world puts together

0

Mar 2, 2016

Mar 2, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC

GETTING IT TOGETHER

GETTING IT TOGETHER just as my eyes open I catch a glimpse of the world throwing itself together nearly caught the world putting itself together bit slapdash this morning world in a hurry just manages to put itself together as my eyelashes part I stay up to catch the world in the act but alas sleep seduces me I can see the world laughing at me "I'm too fast for you!" it smirks finally I've found that I am just one of the things the world puts together

Continue reading...

(In memory of Glen Slater) *Ya stupid sonuvabitch, the place is deserted! It’s gotta be a ****** night game, ya ****** mook*, But though the parking lot had the forlorn look Of a down-on-its luck strip mall on a weekday afternoon, There was just the hint of activity and indeed a game, A friends-and-family affair with the Cubs, Losers if not particularly lovable, So we departed the ancient Gremlin (Ostensibly painted cab-yellow, Though festooned with enough Bondo and duct tape To make it difficult to tell Where car began and slapdash repair ended) Strolling toward the deserted ticket window To drop the two-bucks per for upper deck seats, Knowing that we would find amenable ushers Willing to let us move down to the boxes After it became fully apparent There was no last-minute influx scrambling off the 7 train, And we sat in the sun-drenched field level seats (Though its warmth a relative thing, The rays’ angle and the decidedly April wind Requiring buttons to be snapped And collars to be turned upward) Viewing the spectacle of two clubs Dutifully and somewhat optimistically Performing the rites of Spring, each nine knowing There would be no October heroics in their futures, Their first-rate plays and foibles Gathering our appreciation or scorn Between gulps of over-priced watery beers, And as we sat in this unlovely stadium, Looking for all the world Like some Bunyan-esque chipped ashtray Plopped down on an unprepossessing landfill (The hopes and wistful dreams of this children’s game Perched uneasily atop ancient sardine tins and discarded rattles) We agreed that we would do this again, But it never came to pass, as life its ownself Rolled on like the cap of John Pacella (Invariably flying off his unruly mop From the effort of launching yet another fastball In the all-too-vain hope it would find itself Somewhere in the vicinity of the strike zone) Tumbling brim over crown in the swirl of the breeze.

0

Jan 26, 2021

Jan 26, 2021 at 12:07 PM UTC

last day at shea

(In memory of Glen Slater) *Ya stupid sonuvabitch, the place is deserted! It’s gotta be a ****** night game, ya ****** mook*, But though the parking lot had the forlorn look Of a down-on-its luck strip mall on a weekday afternoon, There was just the hint of activity and indeed a game, A friends-and-family affair with the Cubs, Losers if not particularly lovable, So we departed the ancient Gremlin (Ostensibly painted cab-yellow, Though festooned with enough Bondo and duct tape To make it difficult to tell Where car began and slapdash repair ended) Strolling toward the deserted ticket window To drop the two-bucks per for upper deck seats, Knowing that we would find amenable ushers Willing to let us move down to the boxes After it became fully apparent There was no last-minute influx scrambling off the 7 train, And we sat in the sun-drenched field level seats (Though its warmth a relative thing, The rays’ angle and the decidedly April wind Requiring buttons to be snapped And collars to be turned upward) Viewing the spectacle of two clubs Dutifully and somewhat optimistically Performing the rites of Spring, each nine knowing There would be no October heroics in their futures, Their first-rate plays and foibles Gathering our appreciation or scorn Between gulps of over-priced watery beers, And as we sat in this unlovely stadium, Looking for all the world Like some Bunyan-esque chipped ashtray Plopped down on an unprepossessing landfill (The hopes and wistful dreams of this children’s game Perched uneasily atop ancient sardine tins and discarded rattles) We agreed that we would do this again, But it never came to pass, as life its ownself Rolled on like the cap of John Pacella (Invariably flying off his unruly mop From the effort of launching yet another fastball In the all-too-vain hope it would find itself Somewhere in the vicinity of the strike zone) Tumbling brim over crown in the swirl of the breeze.

Continue reading...