"slapstick" poems
I ain’t got no intimate, ain’t got no stiletto heels
Ain’t got no Lsd, ain’t got no smack
Ain’t got no partners, ain’t got no drill
Ain’t got no slapstick, ain’t got no hanky—panky
Ain’t got no Lsd, no slot to mount
Ain’t got no castrato, ain’t got no crumpet
Ain’t got no conjoined twins, ain’t got no nuns or eunuchs
Ain’t got no whipcord, ain’t got no adoration
Ain’t got no ******** ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no ******
Ain’t got no oscillation, no shags
No uniform, no parts
No smack, no drill
No partners, no peccadillo
Ain’t got no stimulant
Ain’t got no whipcord, no propagators
No titbits, no intimate
I jabbered, I ain’t got no uniform, no hanky—panky
No peccadillo, ain’t copulated till one is blue in the face to have a funny feeling
And I ain’t got no ******
Oh, but what have I copulated, oh, what have I copulated
Let me tell what I copulated and nobody’s going to enlarge telescopic
I got my ***** on my face
My extra—sensory perceptions, my knobs
My ****** peckers and my ********
I got my stuck—out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** my *******
My thingummies, my cockles of the heart and my posterior
I got my ***********
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got ***** I’ve inseminated cheerleaders
I’ve got bottomgremlins and hacksawhoodoo
And Mephistophelian juggernauts too like you
I got my ***** my pistil
My ESP, my knobs
My vaginas, my peckers and my ********
I got my stuck-out tongue
I got my tentacle, my proboscis
My ***** and my *******
My ***** my ***** and my posterior
I inseminated my ****** sorbet
I got my thingummies, my talons
My ball and socket joints, my forelegs
My hooves, my pincers and my snorker
Got my crest
I got my ***** I got my slipperiness, my *****
I got *****
Mar 23, 2010
Mar 23, 2010 at 4:29 PM UTC
Charlie Chaplin, set the pace
Buster Keaton, old stone face
Groucho and the brothers Marx
Margaret Dumont for some sparks
Harold Lloyd, The Brothers Ritz
Did I mention Zazu Pitts?
Stan and Ollie, Keystone Cops
Chases that just wouldn't stop
The Stooges, Larry, Curly, Moe
and then theres Shemp and Curly Joe
Bing and Bob, and Dean and Jerry
Two could sing, while two made merry
Bud and Lou and who's on first?
Harry Langdon and Charlie Chase
I think who is on first base
Mabel Normand and Mack Swain
Always tied before the train
Pie fights, slapstick in black and white
This was when we laughed all night
Mack Sennet, Roach, and Our Gang
Spanky and Alfalfa sang
Words were twisted, spun and turned
People splashed and others burned
Remember back to days of yore
To when they had you on the floor
Rembember Baby Rose Marie
She started at the age of three
Many more could make the list
For many I know that I missed
Make 'em laugh and take a pie
Get sprayed with seltzer in the eye
Go and watch their films again
So comedy will always reign
Thank you to the funny folk
Who taught us how to take a joke....
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
I wonder if they ever heard
The noise that people made
Watching them up on the screen
Until the final credits fade
Did anybody tell them
Thanks for what you did
For just a while you took me back
And made me feel just like a kid
Once the greasepaint was washed off
And the curtains had come down
Did they know the magic that they made
Still filtered through the town
Acting like we wanted to
Up there upon the screen
They filled the world with laughter
You know just what I mean
Most of them are gone now
Very few that we would know
Acetates and ashes
Are all they have to show
If we took the time to tell them
Thank you for the laughter
Would they ever hear us...
Those who have come after
The mantle never passed
The best are long now dead
The ones who worked in silence
With words seen but not said
The names are not all famous
Some are never known
But, we owe them for the laughter
In the movies that were shown
We'd remember lines that they said
And we'd think of them and smile
They took us out of where we were
If just for a short while
Think of your favorite actor
Who you watched and always laughed
Whether slapstick or through word play
They all chose to share their craft
I will not list my favorites here
The list may never end
But, to them I'd just say thank you
A message I must send
I wonder if the next time
Or even the next time after
If they would ever hear us
tell them Thank you for the laughter
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 12:20 AM UTC
after witty humour, which spawned slapstick... slapstick can only spawn the last of the known humours... the offensive type, the 'get me out of this straithjacket of everything's fine apathy,' the ugly humour... rude humour... i take oaths humour... i rather write a swear word to oil up than degrade myself with thesaurus usage humour.
why is poetry such a ***** of coding
daily activity...
who needs poetry if the everyday is intact?
atheism didn’t **** god...
it merely killed the logic of myth....
atheism is far worse than mythology...
it just regurgitates facts
to make you submit to them
without the necessary philosophical awe of
finding them interesting...
poetry isn’t dead... it’s a *****
which is worse than death where i come from...
there’s ezra with his fountain comparison:
‘i ****** in it... and put pigmenting chlorine in it -
you **** in it... streaks of blue... i think
that’s called cubism in france.’
did i say alcoholism was engineered by the nazis
for the bomb sarcasm?
cheap humour you say... ah well slapstick was invented
after sarcasam...
i heard the new best anti-ageing cream was butter rather than l’oreal -
there are too many stages in the differences of women,
i quite like the summer spring autumn winter thing going...
it’s like this thing that’s happening right now...
christian nations censor words... like **** cultish **** of the brothel...
and islamic nations invoke words... like kefir (sour milk,
not quite youghurt), dawah... adhan salat abraham...
one party censors words for excess *****
saying: ‘we don’t like swear words in accomplished spelling,
we like dyslexia and **** teen **** graphic...’
sounds about right...
the other party says: ‘we hate censoring ***** words,
that’s doubly censoring,
censor ***** words get more dirt out of it...
we invoke the power of arabic to teach koran latin for
the knobs!’
problem sorted... we’re all power brokers of spelling /
punctuation / arithmetic -
that’s what i don’t get,
the ratio of the two languages...
all you have in the digits A to Z is spelling and punctuation...
but what you have in the digits ZERO to NINE
is so much more...
is grammar a castle that’s keeping certain functions out?
in mathematics you have +, x, obelisk, -, square root, etc.
but in linguistics you have this permament reminder:
SPELL RIGHT FROM WRONG AND RITE FROM THONG.
well... ****** me timbers...
i think i just spotted a lumberjack chequers tweed jacket.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
and oddly enough, H is the only letter in the alphabet that can accommodate vowels the easiest, and subsequently laughter. well m can too, but it's more of a jolly hmm in between sudden outbursts of h and co.
and on Sunday i get to read
about a prince moaning
quote: 'at home on my arse'...
oi oi ***** Harry, where the magnum?
call on Clint Klein and head into the eastern woods!
'there be a bowl of spaghetti there waiting for ya'
the leprechaun said.
ah a job, ah a family, ah George the usurper
of attention seeking girlies...
10 years in the army, and then bust,
using a Ouija board to stop being
employed by McDonald's;
but hey! it's Sunday... can't a price have
his day?
god, this humour is so cheap
it's almost gagging
for canned laughter,
but it ain't getting any, shame,
and double shame for Fawlty Towers using it,
whatnot and what care for all that "famous"
intelligent humour of the British ballot box,
supposedly... if that **** is intelligent & funny why use
such horrid precautions (psst... laziness)?
slapstick does it for me, means i can be intelligent in
other mediums.
May 8, 2016
May 8, 2016 at 11:59 AM UTC
what we need is more banjo,
more djembe, more thunder finger
bass guitar --
what we need is less boredom --
less fear of failure,
less fear of *******
less Jane Austen.
what we need is the electric charge
of neurons fire dancing like
the night sky of the fourth of
july,
what we need is to learn the lesson
of rivers and runners -- keep up
the momentum
what we need is more honey,
watermelon,
sweet potatoes,
peanut butter,
and coconut oil.
more weirdos, more hippies,
more punks, more rappers,
more poets, if you have something
to say we pretty much need you.
we need more gin and less gender roles
more sin and less slapstick
more trees and trampolines and ties
between you and I.
we don't even need to be human
we just need to be sustainable.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 8:10 PM UTC
I feel like a comic strip hobo
With no money for deposit
And still I step from slapstick to cement
and hope court jester is enough here
I have come out of the rain
and into your home
Drawn to you
Though there is no pie in your window
No ghostly fingers of your sweet smell
beckoning me in
You make me feel
Like a ghost in a graveyard
Praying for a new harmonica inhale
and exhale
So that this music can sound more like a dance for two
A panic waltz for feet trying to match your grace
And today
Darlin'
There is honey between my teeth
A sweet sound
Our love is backwards
Blacklisted
An elbow torqued and knuckle gutted dry heave halleluja
Arthur Miller would have written a satire about our love
I remember our early conversations
You said you didn't believe in god
I said that he was a fantastic literary device
You said though you didn't believe in god
that people themselves could be godly
I suddenly wondered what you would look like with a jerry curl
"Let's not call it godly," I said
"What then," you said
I don't know
I just know that
Your eyes are like second winds
like Breathcatch memories
of highway carjackings
where you were the one left on the side of the road
The warm summer pillow of your stomach
And the peel of my face away from it
Is sticky like candy
Your stomach is like candy in that way
So is my face
I can be sweet too
Your smile is speechless
like the speakers are speechless
And the music has stopped
and our bodies are still
save for your smile
That quivers like fire
And I am a comic strip hobo
With a bandana backpack
and not much to offer
But I am drawn to you
You make me feel like harmonica breath
You make my mouth feel like honey
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
What I needed
Was to be me.
The child I am,
To give him what he needs.
To love,
To be loved.
To laugh at life's calamity,
To slap a thigh at its slapstick.
To not get in its way,
To not step aside,
To be with it.
As me.
I needed to be me.
I need to be me.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
science has entrenched itself in stating that original humanism is an idiocy, science believes that only scientific humanism can suffice, and original humanism i.e. humanism not schooled in science is a waste of time, man's development watching paint dry, i.e.: i feel dumber writing a poem and not an equation to align to einstein's relativity.
the english don't recognise long-term humour,
a bit like the polish not able
to recognise old school migrants of
their mutual organic constituents
speaking their tongue, they play it dumb,
with statements like huh? what? om?
the english are smart, let's not disagree,
but their intelligence is short-lived,
like their appreciation of humour,
quick wit buckle stiletto (meaning an easy
girl), they're intelligent in terms of
how quickly you colt-drawn a six-shooter into
conversation for a pick-me-up,
the english have short-term intelligence
exercised for humoristic attention,
their long-term humour is used in defending
democracy... the english have no long-term
humour parameters, i'm guessing because
of the celts... it's all short-term, i.e.:
how quickly can i retort to a joke and choke
on a whimsical mushroom that's an umbrella?
hence the many innovations...
steam engine... the umbilical cord attached
to arabia... joke is quick... joking is quicker...
tense social parameters of having a drink...
laugh it up... drink alone.
*they make slapstick damnable and satire exceptional,
but their satire requires canned laughter,
it's called satire but i call it lazy humour...
look what slapstick gave us... charlie chaplin
gave birth to adolf ******* ******
Feb 20, 2016
Feb 20, 2016 at 3:07 AM UTC
In Room 204 of the Lancaster Motel,
I ease myself into the bath.
Music plays. It's the kind
of pan flute and finger-picked
guitar tune you hear over fuzzed out speakers
in grocery stores. I don't know the source.
The place smells of mildew
and cheap coffee and self pleasure
and Febreeze. I'm tired.
More tired than I've ever been, I think.
Do I still have a job? Until I call in to check, I suppose.
And I suppose this pocket knife will have to do.
I never seem to have a corkscrew on hand when
my mood calls for wine. I stab and jimmy the cork
until I can pry it loose with my teeth. A few
bits of cork float on the surface of the wine.
This does not stop me, nor slow me.
Pollyanna and I stayed in 206,
a detail that calls attention to itself, a detail that
longs for a poetic phrase,
yet I feel little other than the
dull thud of coincidence.
I remember asking her
before that first time if
she thought of *** as
a form or erasure or
addition. She said
both sounded nice.
And something
in the way she said nice,
led me to believe
she landed on an unspoken
third option. I no
longer had an appetite for *** that evening,
but we acted on it to satisfy expectation.
She turned down the air conditioner,
and we laid there shivering and saying little.
She told me not to leave her.
I said I wouldn't.
I'm in the tub now and the bottle is almost empty
and all of this is so selfish and stupid
and I'm just doing it for the sake of habit
and sad sack poetry and ultimately
an "I-Eat-Pussy" consolation fedora in heaven. And I'm
self aware but the trajectory spirals against my will.
And my life entire burns a little slapstick,
so I get outside of myself--watch, enjoy.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC
sarcastic humour is intended for your
own appreciation,
witty humour is intended for others
and the hope they can appreciate it,
oddly enough when sarcasm is scolded
you feel very little concern,
but when wit is scolded you do feel
a coldness and a sort need to invent something
more passing off as intelligence,
intelligence needs to be impulsive, blunt,
intuitive, it really doesn't need to be pre-prepared
worthy of a Shakespeare quote, all those
bits of 'life's a stage,' fair enough, but
what if life is a gutter?
sarcasm only works for the one who speaks it,
it's also a cousin of satire addressing politics,
wit knows no satire, wit is a proud humour,
it's too proud to enter sarcastic remarks
in the pig trough of reciting political satire,
wit is a form of narcissism in the end,
it wants attention, being appreciated:
like an anecdote... sarcasm just shoves a boxing glove
in your face and says: can you help me forget,
or do you want to hear a knock-out?
indeed sarcasm doesn't use punchlines like wit,
it just uses a mike tyson method
of one punch one constellation of fluttering sparrows
in Orion in a halo of daze of an opponent:
flat like a pancake on the floor,
but he or she won't be easily flipped or even
count to 10, you'll only have to be content with
what sarcasm is: the easiest identifiable method of
communicating comedy after slapstick humour
of laurel & hardy & (lee) evans.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
They threw boulders at glass house and roasted marshmallows AT the cookouts. MEDIUM RARE.
The troglodets, they put on a.show, sang four part harmony in the round in open air.
Fred Flinstone dropped in for a cameo and Barney held the door.
the show went over pretty well.
To three or four encores or more
I dont know who sent in the clowns
But slapstick ruled the day.
The animal act was
Kind of wack
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
We are human
Walking traumas
Left untreated
Open wounds
Being leeched
To treat
The wrong fever
It is incongruous
Being inoculated
Against the wrong disease
Vaccinated with apathy
So we don’t feel
The sores that bleed
But you have to laugh
We are mortal
Not merely men
Nor women
More like
All the things
Around and in-between
Searching
Sub-consciously
For peace
Trying to sustain ourselves
While losing
Everyone else
Crying
But you have to laugh
We are little boxes of flesh
Lego people made to fit together
Chipped
Scratched
Lost and found
Each stress tearing at our flesh
Rending our skin
Like a thresher
Building internal and external pressure
Till we need release
****** and or emotional
But you have to laugh
Ready to cry
Sometimes
We are ready to die
Till the brain twitches
Till the broken switches
Leave you in stiches
And you see something strange
Irony or absurdity
Life twisted in its purity
On the verge of exploding
Not really knowing
But something hits
Something fits
Presses the right button
Slapstick
Stupidity
Intellectual curiosity
Sanity flipped on its heels
But you have to laugh
A chortle a choking gasp
The tension breaks
The air whooshes past
You have no control
You have to laugh
The world doesn’t change
Much
The feelings are still there
But with each laugh
It gets easier to bare
It’s a chemical reaction
With endorphins and stuff
But I don’t think you care
It’s just what you needed
To fight off the despair
So I say it again you have to laugh
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
Crick crack click clap snip snap on the concrete
The city is on the move and to stand would be
The slapstick comedy of stopping a treadmill.
Acceleration animation gravitation from the rotation
Apathetic friction that is devil-may-care like your heart
Dragged down on the gym floor and the sweaty men laugh.
Tick tock nonstop the clock hops and bops away the time
Of the day and eternity seems like a fairy tale
Because this era is neverneverland faith, we are young.
And getting younger, we plan to die naked as we came,
Lounging in retirement, the summer that knows no end.
But sighing the dying are crying relying upon our move
And we move past, this blur of momentum that the city has become,
Because stillness is for the hippies and the natives and we are neither.
Capitalistic colonial conquering captains of industry we charge
Credit or debit because it isn't ours anyways and the bank is moving.
Down the street in the heat can't beat the beat of the sweet treat
That the homeless remember the memory of the taste of mercy.
Like dogs in heat they pant and beg and we shake them off our pantleg
Because it is designer and the label buys manhood cheap and sells it high.
We split hit and quit and never commit because we spit words like blessing
Out when we wash our mouths out every night and every morning
Because it is the only way to get the taste out of your mouth when you wake up.
As if the jacket I wear can't clothe a man from the cold or sell for more
And my closet is lined with the clothes I don't remember to forget about wearing.
It is not hate that congregates or abates the rate the weight is pulling me down,
But fear of the immensity of impossibility colliding with reality inevitably,
Because one man's sacrifice will suffice to pay the price of my vice.
Yessir hearts are racing toward the first heart, we are collaborating.
That the dying need not remain the dead but know life to the fullest.
The poor and the sore need not abhor or war with the rush of the city.
Because saints and saviors are not just bedtime stories as long as my life
Has the power, no the will, no just the faith, all it needs is faith.
The sick have been tricked that their wick runs quick
Like crick crack click clack snip snap on the concrete
These hearts are moving this city on a hill.
Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 6:28 PM UTC
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE
PEOPLE ACTING AT EVERY PHASE .
REGARDLESS OF CASTE , CREED ,COLOUR OR AGE !
ARTISTS CHOOSE THEIR SUBJECTS AND CHARACTERS
CREATING MASKED SLAPSTICK'S , OUTRAGEOUS , RIOTOUS ACTORS.
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !
AT THE ONSET PLOTS WERE SIMPLE , STRAIGHT AND PREDICTABLE , INTENSELY FOLLOWED BY
DISGRACEFUL INTRIGUES , CLEVER TRAPS , FIREWORKS AND SHIPWRECKS ,
ANYTHING THAT PROVIDED PRETTY ACTRESSES TO GO HYSTERIC ON STAGE AND POWERFUL HEROS TO NEVER AGE .
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !
NOW THE WORLD IS SET ON FIRE ,
NOT WITHSTANDING NOSTALGIC DESIRE REPLACED WITH DIPLOMATIC DRAMA .
MOMENTOUS STUDY OF THEIR PARTS ,
MELODRAMATIC , GRADED PLAYERS REPLACE ARTISTS WITH NO HEARTS .
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE !
PACK OF EDUCATED PERFORMERS TURNING INTO PROFESSIONAL TROUPES.
NO MORE EMOTIONS , NO MORE COMEDY . OH ! IT IS SUCH A MALADY .
HATRED , COMPETITION AND TRAGIC ENDS ,
MARK WORLD'S STAGES WITH THE LATEST TRENDS .
ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE !
POLITICAL FURY , DIPLOMATIC JURY CEASED THE ARTIST WITHIN .
THE STAGE IS GRIM ,WITH TEARS ROLLING IN A STREAM.
MERE PUPPETS DANCING TO THE TUNES,
MAKING DRAMATIC SCENE AFTER SCENE .
FUTURE IS AT STAKE UNCLEAR AND UNCLEAN.
EACH PLAYING A MIGHTY ROLE ,
EACH PAYING A HEAFTY PRICE
LEFT TO THE MERCY OF THE WISE ,
CREATING A VERSATILE ATMOSPHERE FOR ACCOLODES TO A DYING ARTIST , BLOGGED WITH FOG AND MIST
WITH PEOPLE ACTING AT EVERY PHASE ,
ALL THE WORLDS A STAGE !
© Mrunalini .D. Nimbalkar
Apr 13, 2019
Apr 13, 2019 at 10:22 PM UTC
Last days hopeless,
myxomatosis
Ridden like a champion,
Diseased then deceased.
Rest in peace chief and the secrets you keep.
What lies beneath the surface seas is beneath me and beyond comprehension.
Did I forget to mention that I could see in the dark?
Rip your thesis part and take us back to the start.
A sharp dart, stupid, is all it takes Cupid to bring us together in cells and effect the brains nucleus.
But these bad habits won't change our tactics;
slapstick style remains in the temperance of saints and frustrates until we meet again...
Don't lose focus,
myoxmatosis.
The disease spreads like wildfire,
the wildfires spread like disease.
RIP please, just rest in peace.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 4:10 AM UTC
I felt his ring around my finger
Before we’d even touched hands.
A meek merchant of charm,
He desisted from cheap sentiments
And instead borrowed a will of silence
From some eastern monastery or other,
Citing his affections through silent smiles
And a shrug of his shoulders which told me:
“I am as baffled by this world as you are, dear.
For far too long I have had to lean on one leg
Whilst standing, to ease my ache, to wait things out.
Come, sit with me.”
And so I did.
Resplendent white, some archaic sentiment
Of false-purity – it bathes me. Washes me of colour,
‘till I’m baked in the reflective glow of sunlight,
Rinsed of history, of time, treasures and identity.
I’m his now.
This full-bodied mirror, she stands so ungainly
In her bridal pose. A slapstick siren, a young deer
On stilts; A stretch of church floor to hesitate over
Upon hatching. She must make it to the sea.
In this reflection, I see neither him nor I,
But a composite of his kindness, my eyes;
Small forget-me-nots of a daisy-chained child
And a waysided academic.
It’s not my fault, nor his. Our dreams were wasted
By fairytales, poisoned by old fortune. No story
Succeeded, no narrative complete, ‘till love is resolved,
Until love is in place.
I felt his ring around my finger
Before we’d even touched hands.
For, why would I ever care to scale such mountains,
In a world he casts so temperate and sure?
So with each year that shall pass,
From now ‘till some curtained collapse,
I shall reduce in my margins,
Fragmented elements and forgotten scope;
I dissolve unto him,
Stagnant upon his solution.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
That girl, just a tv show, a comment on equality,
Carol Burnett, slapstick extraordinaire,
JFK and MLK died so young but touched me,
Joe Dimaggio, I wanted to be as a kid,
smashing rocks tossed in the air
the last inning of the world series imagining,
the drama all in my head,
so little of the world did I know then,
Ghandhi should be my hero,
or Lincoln, but in my top ten,
are Marge, just a lady I know,
who loved animals and people,
Pops, my old friend, who has always been there when I needed
him,
Shakespeare , of course,
who I quote ,
"When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry."
Albert Einstein
who once stated
"You can't blame gravity for falling in love."
Helen Keller, when I think of her I feel ashamed
for complaining,
and of course Jesus,
and Allah and Moses and Abraham and
Aphrodite;
Nature and Sky and Wind
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
i know.....
infatuation and obsession
are... somewhat.... compulsive
in need ...and sometimes
misunderstood
but...
it is writing me inside out
this desire to....... speak in
ink laden syllables.....
to scribe and etch my self
on the synaspes of your brain
so that i am ever painted... in the background of your pictures
so that my words become... your
idiom and phrases
so that i appear black... and white .. in film noir or slapstick comedy
is this wrong....
is this creepy...
this need to be in your blood..
in every drawn breath..
i am not unhinged or crazy
there are other things......
but you come to me.. at unbidden times and wrest me.....
into this sojourn
on sanities thin, thin cusp
walking.... the wire of......
ratiocination... one side... ...sapience...
...the other stupidity.....
you are not aware
of me... and you...
should not be
for i am no one......
only a thought upon
a poets page harmless....
and imagined
oh! but to be free to live
life on knife's.....
sharp and cutting edge.....
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC
i too find the lack of colour in the winter bouquet
demeaning, but with so much colour missing,
i find the remains of colour
much approving, that the remains can be exfoliating,
sharpening on the smithy hoof
in arthur's sneeze for new years'
celebration,
and too the sunlight accompanied
with beer for the encore of uninhibited laughter
at the sorrow of hebrew tonguing
h & a
(turned witty that combination did,
or slapstick the donkey with mel brooks’
gags shaming adolf chaplin; for care of a freudian couch),
as not akin to knitting laughter
but simply with index codices make
vectors and arrows of fingers turned into eyes...
with beer the encore until resolved serious
with a track-list of post hippy reflection:
beginning with 21st schizoid man (+ mirrors),
through *i talk to the wind, epitaph
(+ march of no reason) and tomorrow and tomorrow,
moonchild (+ the dream and the illusion);*
and ending with *the court of the crimson king
(+ return of the fire witch, the dance of the puppets).*
i once made a tape, odd thing in the 21st century
to make tapes for other people with a chance
personal reunion, as based on the novel high
fidelity by nick hornby...
but i did and she said... i walked at 5am through
oxford street emptied by an apocalypse, and the song
epitaph resonated like birdsong.
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 11:13 AM UTC
My apologies
I never was a very good human
I use to know the best ways to waste silence
Climb into the sun and dive for time and place
True thoughts prevailed and distract an eager mind
Smile like slapstick and form a new foundation
I suppose we could lose ourselves in these sublime moments
Some tools left for mending
some words left for reaction
Anxiety properly positioned
Misplaced an ego
artificial in it's hold
Lost and fumbled
Temporarily found
Some creatures can't be helped
Claimed this body as your own
went to work with your indifferent sabotage
I slowly shattered with each new head space
Broke me down for spare parts
mumbling a need for mending holes self inflicted
I watch myself in shambles
patchwork for your dark corners
Suggestions are plastered
new breeds are rendered
Remember those days
shots called by sanity
Boring yet stable
safe yet
Maddening?
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 3:53 PM UTC
Snakes with two lines
Influence rhymes
To be made with drug signs
But who cares black man
Get them dimes
At the expense of our kind
Sellout sellout sellout
Got our fabric cloned for their form
Then call it a new uniform
Despite the source not cited
They never get indicted
Sellout sellout sellout
Hit that ticket catch a flick
Witness the robbery of our slapstick
Our style our jokes our swagger
It resonates when they imitate
Sellout sellout sellout
I don’t blame the man
Or the white hand
Or the illuminati band
Ultimately it’s our folks
That spends the cash
So we always crash
Jul 2, 2018
Jul 2, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC