"spiel" poems
It's a wide open art,
from the start.
Rules are for schools.
Dont fret em,
forget em.
So
Relax with a syntax,
clown around,
with a pronoun.
Squeeze the ******
of a dangling participle.
Free flying like geese,
creative words release,
make it up if you please.
Example--the plural of mice is meese.
Flowery language isn't the exclusive domain of the professional writer, it's for everyone!
To continue then,
about the writers pen.
No write or wrong,
nothings too short or long.
Mangled,
bungled,
butchered,
bumbled, don't matter.
We don't need a librarian to admire what we have done.
Words aren't hard,
fling them unbarred.
It's not arithmetic,
or teaching a cat a trick.
Crunch them uniting,
mix them combining.
Fling them,
meld them,
Verb them,
sell them.
We don't need a New York Times best seller to enjoy the art of writing.
Uncrate it,
create it.
Use it,
and abuse it.
Don't bar us
from a thesaurus
Or a dictionary.
The spiel
is to write real
tell the tale
seal the deal.
WORD HATERS live in the town called Fictionary.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 12:53 PM UTC
You know the the feeling
of inseparable grace
hand-in-hand with a sense
of apparent distaste.
I'm so sick of sorrow
skirted by unintentional affection.
Plus, you confuse the relation
between my heart and thought sensations.
I've never hurt worse
in such a short amount of time.
You'll never read this spiel,
but a silent thought is fine.
**** this thought of hope.
**** what I would like to see.
I was so full of accusations
that I forgot to breathe.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:40 PM UTC
Us living as we do upside down.
And the new word to have is revolution.
People don't even want to hear the preacher
spill or spiel because God's whole card has been thoroughly piqued.
And America is now blood and tears instead of milk and honey.
The youngsters who were programmed to continue
******* up woke up one night digging
Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys.
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes.
The signs of Truth were tattooed across our open ended ******
We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal.
Two long centuries buried in the musty vault,
hosed down daily with a gagging perfume.
America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country
whose legs were then spread around the world
and a ****** known as freedom, free doom.
Democracy, liberty, and justice were revolutionary code names
that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling
in the mother country's crotch
What does Webster say about soul?
All I want is a good home and a wife
and a children and some food to feed them every night.
After all is said and done build a new route to China if they'll have you.
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
so if we
stand still
smell the heat
of an enemy's
bullet through our veins
for once
court outcome
of supplanting views
imbibing another's sweat
casuist's bile
scrawled on prison walls
of savaged confines
they salute
their spiel
with the same
toxic hold
as we concoct
world views
venomous elixir
polymorphous maze
shadow of a sphinx
looms clearer
as steps leading
to torn pages
of feted book
uncover dichotomy
of a self split
so that shooting a child
of shunned genes
amounts to nil
for in but a blink
his uniform
arrives home
to stroke the
golden locks
of his only daughter
playing Chopin
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 5:31 AM UTC
Last night they checked my garbage can.
It’s a good thing that I have a shredder.
My cell phones records are of interest-
I’ve made calls to known “tea baggers”.
Warrant-less “burglaries” have been made,
then I find my screen door broken.
The I.R.S. just called again
my case has been “ reopened”.
On every airline trip I take
I’m “Caressed “by the T.S.A.
I’m almost ready for a cigarette
after they’ve had their way.
Such harassment is “kinder spiel”
compared to what comes next.
They have a “brain wave” scanner
that can translate thoughts to text.
So I wear a cap of aluminum foil
whenever I’m on American soil.
To protect my ideas before they find them
I always make sure to copyright them.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 8:18 AM UTC
I am a dot on Seurat’s canvas.
You told me that I wouldn’t be respected if I used Times New Roman, well maybe I don’t write to be respected. Maybe I write in Times New Roman because I like to read in it.
I could write in Wingdings. Would that make you happy? Would that make me stand out?
I don’t write with words I don’t understand and I don’t embellish nature to sounds pretty. Times New Roman isn’t trying to impress anybody and neither am I.
I am writing about what is real and I am writing about how I feel and I don’t need your opinion and I don’t want to hear your spiel.
Did that make me stand out?
May 1, 2013
May 1, 2013 at 2:30 PM UTC
How many could be calling?
Eitherwise, it is exausting
To be held by own accountability.
Ability for account; a mass
Of those counted. Weigh creaks
On these levers over my eyes.
A lover in disguise lies
The warmth of this weight.
Lazy and laconic to confuse
The schizophrenic.
Lord I hope these are my own-
If I myself am not the sovereign-
Elaborate equations voiced
From character calculations.
Clacking their sums
In my sincere consideration.
We all have that second or so thought to reach concentric clarity.
When I sing or spiel the art of it, easier to make a monster of me.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
sometimes I think
there might not be a tomorrow
so my time can't be wasted in any established institution.
whoops, there I go, wasting.
whoops, there goes the future.
band together,weird brothers.
a half assed attempt from one of us equates to a hundred ten percent from one of the others.
but what difference would it make?
there's like, a hundred million of them &
only one of me.
we're already snuffed out by the numbers.
so we throw ourselves off track; it's some what hypocritical - but hey -
at least we're following our hearts
or whatever *****
we think is the most vital.
simple existence is the biggest shame.
for the love of god.
you'll rot if you stay for the spindle,
drilling yer spiel & teething on the tiers, stagnating in the famous cesspools of shalott.
settle in, ferment to liquidity.
Imma just watch yall
waiting for the day
your stocking feet curl up &
die beneath the mortgage,
leaving the zirconia slippers
of a dream seeing red.
be clean
be neat
be nice
be right
be alive
& smile
but not too much.
that's the tell to tell em
something's up,
the specimen are not disrupted
or adapting to challenge
of being ******
with these conditions.
they appear to be happy.
too happy.
something's missing.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Everybody’s staring again,
wherever I go whether they know or not,
I see the stares and it doesn’t matter,
if you’re taking my time you’re taking my pain,
what’s to gain,
from all this trouble,
I put my headphones on and try to focus,
but their staring again and it’s distracting,
fck this,
I want to explode like a supernova,
you don’t know me you want to know me,
I’d show you the truth but you’d be scared,
they always want to love you from a safe distance,
well with love there is no always and no distance is safe,
facts folks facts,
I’m off my axis writing in undefined prose,
what’s the pattern here,
there is no pattern here,
I’m getting bored I’m done here,
“Hey do you want to get out of here?”
Let’s go,
find a place,
where we can be,
period.
Want to take all this pain,
and push it into the world,
turn it into beauty,
change it into medicine,
oh man,
he’s on one again,
on that “Saving the world” spiel,
what’d they slip in his coffee today,
he’s acting strange,
and everybody’s staring,
like they know something great when they see it,
even if they don’t know exactly what that thing is,
what am I,
I don’t know and don’t have time to care,
got words to think and books to write,
got history to make before I get out of here,
“Do you want to get out of here?”
“Everybody’s staring again,
and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable.”
The king of awkward feeling strange on his throne,
I guess the best thing about being a runaway is you’re always home.
Or you’re never home,
and everywhere you roam everybody stares,
wherever I go whether they know or not,
I see the stares and it doesn’t matter,
if you’re taking my time you’re taking my pain,
“What are you staring at?!?!”
Really I want to know,
because I’ve been trying to figure it out for years,
been to every continent,
and still I have no idea,
you are forcing me to not care,
taking hope and making my favorite word “whatever”,
whatever I feel exceptionally dizzy and want to throw up,
everybody’s staring the world is spinning I’m at a cafe in Budapest,
a table full of girls asked,
“What did you eat?”
I answer truthfully,
“Nothing, I just woke up.”
I was just stood up,
or maybe I missed my date because I just slept in,
I don’t know anymore because I feel disconnected from everyone,
and the further away I feel the more I see them stare…
Everybody’s staring again,
wherever I go whether they know or not,
I see the stares and it doesn’t matter,
if you’re taking my time you’re taking my pain…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
author of The H Trilogy
author of The Poetry Trilogy
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
Dost thou even go here?
Can thou even read?
Doth thou know the website thou art on?
Poetry be what we breed!
Ye foolish man!
Ye simpleton!
From whom unrefinement flows!
Thou shalt not write,
On a poetry site,
A work of ****** prose!
Oh yeah? Watch me.
Hello beautiful people. I'm in the mood to philosophize. And this being a poetry site, let's make the topic poetry. (WARNING: this piece will be filled with opinions, personal beliefs, and probably a little butter. If you don't agree with anything I say, good for you. Way to have opinions. AND WHATEVER YOU DO. DON'T SUBSTITUTE MARGARINE FOR THE BUTTER!) Ok, so poetry. I like poetry. And since I'm the one writing this, I'm gonna tell you about my philosophy, and my personal style and influences.
My philosophy that I try to live by is minimalism. Which is NOT laziness! Minimalism is quite difficult really. Anyone can write a nice fluffy poem (and yes, nice fluffy poems can be dark pieces about death and the like.) What minimalism is to me, is the stripping away of all of that fluff to get down to the raw emotion of a piece. An abundance of words pollutes the emotion.
Now, my stylistic mumbo jumbo. My aesthetic has gone through a few phases. A lot of my work is very modernist. What that means is that it deals a lot with... well with failure. Failure of the human race, failure of people, and my own personal failure. But also with separation. Some prime examples of my modernist works are "here I lay a martyr" and "of my faults and follies"
The next phase is when I started writing music for my band (Bisclaveret Marie, we're on Facebook. Check it out.) I became enamored with a man by the name of Jack White. (yes, that Jack White. The one formerly of the White Stripes.) Also the source of my minimalist approach, Jack revived my love for the Blues. When that came crashing into my poetry, it was definitely for the better.
The next phase was surrealism. The use of images and metaphors and weirdness to paint a picture of the emotion I choose to write about. (I don't really know how to describe this, just go read Though There Be Dragons, A Journey Through The Mind of a Madman. It'll make more sense.)
And most recently the Blues have seen a renaissance in my work. The simple lyric structures and rhyme patterns tickle my inner minimalist.
Yeah, so that's my spiel. If you actually read this, you freaking deserve a medal
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
We have
Too much confidence for competence,
Such deliberate disguises.
Our silly grins grimly thin.
We are the hollow men,
And insidious ideals appeal
In a dream stealing spiel with zeal.
No rest for a lost boy.
This is the way the world ends;
Not with a shout but a whisper
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 8:40 PM UTC
and I loved it...
the efficacy,
the efficiency,
obeying, used,
the being used
to muse,
all in one word,
verbed and j'accused,
identifying the culpritess
(for my M-use is
definitively a woman),
I say:
Please baby,
Please bossy,
Please sir,
muse me some more?
M-use me, use-me,
accuse-me, heck,
abuse-me,
my tongue, my lips,
(especially, my lips)
your devoted
poet-servant.
give me spiel,
words to make
them laugh,
groan and squeal,
do me baby,
one mo' time,
the big reveal.
you know I am
exclusive to you,
others get my body,
but only you
get my
my poetic
streams of screams
things I can
never confess,
peeve but at the hinted
whisper of them,
things that weaken me,
in the places
where poems
umbilically
die stillborn,
the chord
connecting
just us two,
it, that chord,
wrapped round
my throat
choking off
my special voice,
cause you want
just those words,
My Muse,
all for yourself
and I can't say no
to
My Muse,
My Conscience
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
[Justin Vernon - Bon Iver: Sample From "Woods"]
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
I‘m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
I’m building a still to slow down the time
[Hook 1 x2]
I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind
I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night
Down for the night
Said she’s down for the night
[Kanye West - Verse 1]
You're my devil, you're my angel
You're my heaven, you're my hell
You're my now, you're my forever
You're my freedom, you're my jail
You're my lies, you're my truth
You're my war, you're my truce
You're my questions, you're my proof
You're my stress and you're my masseuse
Mamasaymamasamamakusa
Lost in this plastic life
Let's break out of this fake *** party
Turn this in to a classic night
If we die in each others arms we still get laid in our afterlife
If we die in each others arms we still get laid, yeah
[Hook 2]
I’m up in the woods, I’m down on my mind
(Run from the lights, run from the night)
I’m building a still to slow down the time
(Run for your life, Down for the night...)
I’m lost in the world, I’m down on my mind
I’m new in the city, and I’m down for the night
Down for the night
Said she’s down for the night
(Run from the lights, run from the night)
[Bridge]
Who will survive in America
Who will survive in America
Who will survive in America
[Hook]
[Gil-Scott Heron]
Us living as we do upside down. And the new word to have is revolution
People don’t even want to hear the preacher spill or spiel
Because God’s whole card has been thoroughly piqued
And America is now blood and tears Instead of milk and honey
The youngsters who were programmed To continue ******* up
Woke up one night digging Paul Revere and Nat Turner as the good guys
America stripped for bed and we had not all yet closed our eyes
The signs of Truth were tattooed across our often entered ******
We learned to our amazement untold tale of scandal. Two long centuries buried In the musty vault, hosed down daily with a gagging perfume
America was a ******* the illegitimate daughter of the mother country
Whose legs were then spread around the world and a ****** known as freedom, free doom. Democracy, liberty, and justice
Were revolutionary code names that preceded the bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling bubbling in the mother country’s crotch
What does Webster say about soul?
All I want is a good home and a wife
And a children and some food to feed them every night
After all is said and done build a new route to China if they’ll have you
Who will survive in America?
Who will survive in America?
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Blast it!
We've put our eggs
in the wrong basket,
and now Little Liberty has dropped them.
She's dropped them.
She's dropped them!
She certainly did,
She dropped them!
Each egg splits, cracks, breaks,
all despite Liberty's bleeding
colors. Faded, young
hatching prematurely;
before their time.
Liberty heard her love-
boyish ruckus in The Bush.
Hurriedly she did run;
giving all her aide.
Unfortunately, careless Liberty did not see:
All our eggs are handled irresponsibly.
Soon after little Liberty's Bush date,
she saw what she could only surmount to fate:
Poster slapped to said Holy Tree,
plastered with Allah's face.
Hating those jihadist anyway,
Ignorant Liberty unloaded her bounty-
upon the sacred man's face.
It took a while
till Liberty thought,
looking down,
but by then,
we all thought it all too late.
But ,Little Liberty being supreme,
(totally Grade A,)
finally remembered to put the lid down.
Ah, now that should seal our fate,
her reasoning as she bounced and pranced away.
But just before she reached her people,
her sickness burst,
her pride was shook,
she couldn't show her face.
Afraid of what her people might say-
she reopened said lid, state of panic
flipped the basket promptly 'round.
All the little eggs crumbling to the ground.
Babies dispersed;
Children burnt and broken;
not to mention all the vital yolk;
nasty stuff and what a mess-
now onward to face my people.
But all is well;
she gives her spiel
about the alleged evil-doers.
People line-up,
hypnotized-
ready to give their last;
service, duty, and loyalty too
all for Little Miss Liberty.
Quite the siren, ain't she?
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
with disciplined guilt
i can spill a kind of pornographic hemorrhage
provoking a spell into the mind
deluge
a spiel
so many illicit thoughts to priss a label on
laxed into this state
i imagine my punishments
received in swollen glory
and in turn for this ungated imagination
i may earn further punishment
(no glory / dunce / head hung)
skirting dirt for promise
opening the aperture to the wild dark woods
and beyond natures primal propeller
seeking out opportunities for submission
under a church weight
of my own mined and kinkled cranium
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 9:13 PM UTC
interfere journey body sweaty mastermind dust
dummy\
inhale shale bond reason oxidize crummy
read write swell\
ready curve encrypt slime minus shell heady set
flow sacrifice\
believe alter oceanic shelf killing part of Hell split Earth lent
mayhem vent\
outspent wipe well being clean provoke Cain uphold Able
mean mug\
dump cornmeal unicorn convulsing mend restitution advertently
spiel indent\
hand over to pilot retribution intend empty zeal rummage
destitution\
Hasidic inside the writ spirit fly guide escape unravel ways of
savage\
lives out the side Pegasus soar glide abide Nein but fine rhyme
hymns\
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 8:51 PM UTC
Vandag vloek-groet ek die verlede
en spuug die suur naam uit
en rig ek al my groot gebede
om gistergoed ook weg te smyt
Maar koester ek die kleine vrees
in die diepste van my hart
sal more net soos gister wees
breek die ook van die smart
en deel ek in vertroulikheid
my woordsopregte eed
as more soos 'n spiel wil lyk
sal dood my uit ellende sleep
Tog, mik ek vir die kruine
- droom my silwer droom
, vermy vergete pyne
van 'n toekoms palindroom.
Want as my lepel andersom
dieselfde as tevore lyk
wees jy ook nie te verstom
as ek na sagte doodsoen reik.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
You wanna here my spiel?
Come see me at my perfect home
where the sunshines even on the darkest days
While my mom makes us dinner and dad hugs her from behind
we can go and read and do homework together and I'll tell you
about my obsession with myself
but don't tell me your gossip stories of how
Lisa & Tom ****** one another in the stall at school
drama cripples my ears
as would a stampede ******* your bones
Don't ask me if I smoke ***
because I'll lie and say I don't
sitting in my bed smoking a fatty
messaging you on Facebook about my size 8 jeans
that I just bought at A&Fitch;
Have you met my boyfriend? He's captain of the Football team
the good vibes of JB's newest album makes my ears sing
I'm a straight a student that all the teachers love!
Don't ask all of my friends, they'll just tell you I'm a Brown Nose
and I don't do drama remember?
and don't trust me, I lie a lot.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:12 PM UTC
all bets are off, the deals been revoked
all bets are off, the deals been revoked
a shifty fox is on the job, he's not too convincing
a shifty fox is on the job, he's not too convincing
he's not too convincing, the deals been revoked
all bets are off, a shifty fox is on the job
info is proving scant, one wonders about him
info is proving scant, one wonders about him
does his spiel match up, one's queries not heard
does his spiel match up, one's queries not heard
one wonders about him, does his spiel match up
info is proving scant, one's queries not heard
misleading are his words, employ a dose of skepticism
misleading are his words, employ a dose of skepticism
maybe he's working me over, he's in it for himself
maybe he's working me over, he's in it for himself
employ a dose of skepticism, maybe he's working me over
he's in it for himself, misleading are his words
one wonders about him, maybe he working me over
employ a dose of skepticism, does his spiel match up
he's not too convincing, misleading his words
one's queries not heard, a shifty fox is on the job
info is proving scant, all bets are off
he's in it for himself, the deals been revoked
Nov 12, 2014
Nov 12, 2014 at 5:09 AM UTC