"snots" poems
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barometric tendrils
psuedo-random and hybrid sets
growing like ivy in the clutches of time
such a
chocking
but actualising
grasp
..huh? what?
oh yes! sorry, sorry
come in, come in,
..you know,
I too, once, like how you are now,
was here too
so
very
very
present.
Aha! Oh yes!
Permit me a mock stifled cry of ostentatious self derision,
'hee hee hee'
aaaaaahhh..
I really was pitiful back then.
seeing you there now, I feel oh so whimsical and overcome
with
ahem
sorry.
..dank and musty cellars,
hashish and a can of beans.
(baked, not fried, -we were really naive enough to believe that?- )
had it all back then though, didn't we?
By which I mean we had nothing,
but the conviction
that obligation was something that actually meant something
rather than a Cryptocurrency in a Ponzi scheme,
(with a slice of lemon)
confidence intervals stockpiled in the stocks of confidence men.
Derivative markets
oh, so very much so
so very
derivative
idiomatic
and *******
asinine.
..Still, it does harken to its era, doesn't it?
'detached and disposable.'
toothpicks
limbs
ideals
all that
goodness!
I was supposed to be offering advice, wasn't I?
Interpolate up some mediated conjecture.
But the kids can look after themselves just fine, can't they?
So our fiscal policy seems to think;
'I wager we shear up the youth
to buy shares in implementing youth wages.'
sorry, I guess it's an antiquated complaint,
“think of the children!” , they say?
Can't they see,
the whole **** market's aimed at the proto-teens??
we do it all for them the little snots.
laissez faire welfare
hedge or double down?
A shrubbery?
Or a bacon butty with bread as ****** chicken and cheese?
(I just vomited in my mouth a little,
(how pastiche))
See, and people ask why I’m trapped in the past;
the future's got me car sick.
and honestly
we're just brimming with history
(the scourge of post-modernity)
like a black moss spewed on the walls
Poisoning visions and Rheumatic fever
tearing up our lovely
lovely
pacified
pay and display
psuedo
proto
posterity
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Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
Gombalay & His Masterpiece V.s. The City
Song:
*Aye Aye Gombalay
Aye Aye Gombalay
Aye Aye Gombalay*
Gombalay:
The hell with you snitches and all the parody’s you see.
You don’t understand what’s in this master piece!
So you decide to develop simple messages,
About something you can’t see!
People:
Gombalay, Gombalay, You stupid young man!
Tired of talking to you,
Nothing’s up so we ignore!
Your here going about with this nasty old trash can.
Gombalay:
These people must have had massive,
Brain destruction to not understand me!
All I want is freedom from this,
Close minded city!
People:
Gombalay, Gombalay what an unsuccessful young man,
That smells worse than that trash can he carries around.
Maybe one day they will marry, they already dine and sleep,
What else do they do, (Laughs) man don’t make me weak.
Stupid young man doesn’t think he has more important things to do!
Gombalay:
You ****** ignorant, arrogant, snots,
Don’t understand my master piece!
Filthy little ***** poor, ********
Worship the government while other peasants receive more money.
You laugh at me, but who’s doing the *** kissing now!
People:
Shut up you young fool, watch your **** mouth.
We will **** you this instant, without a shadow of a doubt.
You crazy young man it’s our government that saves us.
You wouldn’t know that you’re obtuse and outrageous.
Gombalay:
I’ll show you all. I’ll Show you all,
You stupid aimless mongrels!!
You **** yourselves, and wire your kids,
And expect to live at peace!
It’s going to be farewell for you while I sleep in peace!!!
©
Nov 8, 2010
Nov 8, 2010 at 3:25 PM UTC
Cats cry as classical music plays
and furniture floats in some box far off
We hold our heads low, only hands move
to roll down windows while leaving
a place we never called home.
California, did you feel me reach for you
between heaving breaths as father
passes Main Street toward the highway?
and mama smiles, cringes, throws her
chest forward
Merge for incoming traffic but there
isn’t anyone else on the highway
headphones like blindness or alternate
realities where mama and I are not just an expense.
Pennsylvania and Super 8 Motel
Where we rush in carrying the cats
in towels to make them look like laundry
not having enough to pay the pet deposit
red brown bed covers- bad blood
between mother and father
as they cannot agree on a tv station
miles to go and
everyone sighs and sips at their excitement
Stop at an exit toward a hotel without a pool
in Nebraska
where people take their drink dry
or ***** or depressed
mama and papa get one on the rocks
with stares and snots from men wearing
cowboy hats and desperately fat belt buckles
papa imitates a gay man
mama is confused
dust for $85 a night
two travelers, one to return
headed for gold
but not for good
States run by with motive unknow
Dog rests her head on my lap as
we cross the line and I ask to
stand by the sign
both agree it is too dangerous
I weep and wish to open the doors
we do, and the air is different, like taking off a mask
I wanted to embrace the ground we now
walked on, with feverish kisses meant for the trees
Papa leaves and drives all the way back
with promises on his shoulders
while mama and I unpack boxes
silverware, bedsheets, posters
with the expectation of a return
that never happens
We collapse the boxes labeled fragile
open the shades, and stop waiting for
a man who isn’t traveling,
a place,
a destination.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 12:14 AM UTC
Sometimes I think
And wonder why
Birds must ****
When they fly
Why autumn leaves
Those colors make
But then fall off
So we must rake
Why is water
Always level
And why did God
Create the devil
Why do dogs
Lick their *****
Then lick their master
When he calls
Why do boys
Wear pants so low
That their **** cheeks
Have to show
Why do we
Need to grow up
Why use a glass
And not a cup
Why girls when happy
Sometimes cry
And fish live wet
But never dry
Why do hockey players
Always spit
And why’s a pimple
Called a zit
Why contented cats
Always purr
And then throw up
That ball of fur
Why feed the grass
To make it grow
And when it does
We have to mow
Why does ****
Stick in your hair
And why do will knots
Form down there
Why dogs we own
Our life will guard
But then they ****
In our yard
Sometimes I just
Sit and think
Why do farts
Have to stink
How do cows
Make milk from grass
And why do hemorrhoids
Pop out your ***
Why do humans
Together throng
But then they can’t
Get along
Why do chickens
Never ****
And why do Boems
Rhyme like this
Why tell us all
We are brothers
When we are born
With different colors
Why bird **** falling
From the sky
Never hits
The other guy
Why flowers bloom
If we take care
But weeds just grow
Everywhere
Why leaves fall off
But not the bark
Did insects come
From Noah’s arc
Do all predictions
Come to pass
Do chicken eggs
Come out their ***
Why do snots
Grow in your nose
And why do I
These questions pose
BOEMS BY JA 87 12-10-2012
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
The weather report
has one hitch:
It never rains
on the rich
Your water balloon will always miss
Their lips are dry when they kiss
In a flood they float yachts
In the nose, no snots
When huddled masses lose all
slammed by tsunami
The rich on high ground
donate salami
Point a hose at a rich woman,
she will point you to jail
(and you will go there
without fail)
Their roof never leaks
Their grass has no dew
The toilet won’t clog
with their poo
The rich man is one lucky fella
A poor man like me
will hold his umbrella
Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 2:01 PM UTC
1
Last night dinner
with four couples
points out the difficulties in living together
and apart.
Even the
son of a wealthy doctor, disdainful of
inebriates more artificial than the moon,
full, full of joy for humanity
and life
suffers deepening depressions
like the mist outside a lamplight.
It was a good restaurant
expensive but comfortable
in the alternate life-style way
the cook was a hairy
talented clown
and we clowned though beneath each
facade
was turmoil and decay.
We lay
like bones in a boneyard
and find joy (I do anyway)
in the bone dance
to bone music.
2
Without a thought for slash fuel
or deer, the mist
deepens and deteriorates upon
the mountain. The mountain
completely unaware
of its greenness. The ice
is centuries old.
A red-tailed hawk
floats above the unit
observes what small mammals, bones
are in the clearcut
Awaits
the moment
to strike
or fades away almost
silent as the mist. I dream
of it, though I am awake
among my co-workers, the bullet
system zinging cut logs down
to the road, firewood.
3
Pardon
me you mountains
for coming to the edge
without mystical knowledge
or belief, only love and wrinkled
eyes for the women and men who
light the fires and wield the chain saws,
drive the cat, swing the ax, I
completely laugh among them like a god
yes, although my face is a mask of hate
and pain, what god does not come to this field
of flowers out of fear and confusion and chains
product of the hard anvil and hot engine
of human history.
This duality, these arm-breaking dualities
this volcanic eruption erupting from some
confluence of beheaded forces, one
powerful with eternity, one
blinding with intensity, meet
and in the middle is me.
It’s slicker'n two wet snots out there today,
my crew boss warns,
mind yr bones.
Life bests my best synthesis of it
so I pray
for a happy combination
of sun and mist.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
Do not rock the boat
Nor destroy the harmony
Of the community and society
Of honorable people
Who abhors abortion
But shames teenage parents.
Who points fingers
and throws stones
Knowing they deserve as much.
It's part of their daily rosary
To beg for forgiveness
Kneel for a hour and a half
Just so they can vindicate
Their ugly hearts.
It's part of their holy routine
To have a dry and rocky stares
And ****** ignore the helpless ***
Oh smog! Such ugly snots!
Breathe your first
And condemn your last
Salvation is not for us.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
Hikikomori
Innate feel of the inward pull
Being confined, by choice
Withdrawn from society
I like to be alone
They say it is too much
Try to feel, try to touch
I rather my desk, hunch subliminally
In my room, fawning
What do I play, but then
Nothing better in my life
Then killing time away
Is this insanity?
I rather think insanity for thoughts
Of living life as a game
Border from the untamed I shall
Ruffled hair, bloodshot eyes
Probably nose dripping of snots
Pondering of an exciting life
But dreams, shot down as they fly
It griefs me locking away
On paradise of the world
I dare not leap, for I don't understand
Towards the light
From the doorways seep.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 8:15 AM UTC
The sound of conversation brings pain of what’s next
The bass of a lovers tone turns to frozen daggers as they pierce your ears
A question or opposition has unveiled your fears
A sound of another argument you were afraid would arrive
The sound of their disappointment comes to no surprise
The sound of the words to make you feel once again
You have issues
The sound of anger over sadness with tissues
Tonight’s a new night
So as the sound of the snots alerts their sleep
All you hear is the sounds of your feet
The sound of a chest strengthens the sound of your heart
Sound of a CLICK
Drowns our the sound of the street
Then the sound of a BANG wakes them out their sleep
But that bang was the last sound of all
That sound delivered
A silence
A peace
A calm
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC