Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
"squash" poems
3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin) Something's wrong... you don't belong here. I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza. I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni. I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf. He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public. Like I'm a creep.  I'm a ****** What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here. You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table. When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates. Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion. After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu. So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.   Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.   They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.   They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.   They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.   They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.   They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies,  if you know what I mean. In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.   They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes! I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.   And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.   I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!   I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay. ... except for anchovies, of course.
0
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
Pineapple Pizza
3-2-2017 (unknown date of origin) Something's wrong... you don't belong here. I said, looking down at the pineapple on my pizza. I said, looking down at the ketchup on my macaroni. I said, looking down at the cream of mushroom soup on my meatloaf. He said, looking down at me and my boyfriend, holding hands in public. Like I'm a creep.  I'm a ****** What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here. You see there's these things that we learn at the dinner table. When we're kids we have certain items served to us on our plates. Whatever doesn't end up there, isn't a part of the discussion. After all, they say if you don't have a seat at the table, you are likely to be on the menu. So, when ****** orientation and gender identity aren't seated at the table of childhood, they get served for the first time in unexpected places.   Like an avante garde celebrity chef's designer meal, prepared for critiques by the food bloggers.   They get served in college classroom debates or in dorm rooms with freshman roommates.   They're on the menu in in some movies but served with a side of stereotypes and silly trope toppings.   They get grinded into glitter dust sprinkled on the annual PRIDE Parades like an overly salty seasoning mix.   They're on the menu in workplace diversity trainings, but too little too late - they get lost in the marginalized buffet.   They get served at the oppression Olympics, or actually at the Olympics unwillingly by a journalist who only pretends to eat a well-balanced diet, but really has LGBT food allergies,  if you know what I mean. In reality, these should be staple dishes consumed by commoners, consumed by you and me, consumed by children along with their healthy daily dose of broccoli and cauliflower, squash and zucchini, even eggplant.   They should be in every ******* cookbook with pictures and all different kinds of recipes! I want every child to have gay on their dinner plate, lesbian lunch, gender nonconforming on the brunch menu, and bisexual breakfast.   And everything in between in the queer spectrum served during snack breaks.   I want every child to look down at their plate and see pineapple pizza and say, gee that looks great!   I love all of the pizza toppings, no matter whether gay or nay. ... except for anchovies, of course.
Continue reading...
26
My body mind's lobby old-time-y lobotomy. *Surfing kaleidoscope time waves, baking green tree eurythmy cookies, singing campfire folky-tale lullabies. We enjoy tasting dawn-squash memories.*
0
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
Mind/Body Time Warp
Briskly walking with his head ***** Money and treasure, he aims to get He is in a stampede, chasing wealth Acute shortage of ‘humility and gratitude’ Compels him to slaughter a multitude The desire for more than enough It has crystallized and made his heart tough Oblivious about ‘humility and gratitude’ Man agrees to squash the destitute Unaware, that he may face the same fate Even then he piles up his plate When would he be humble and grateful? For the things which make his life blissful… Even while swallowing all that is unlawful He persistently denies being shameful His conscience reminds him of ‘humility and gratitude’ But he refuses to change his haughty attitude Let me remind you that life is temporary Nothing in this world remains stationary Just like dust your stay is transitory These two traits, ‘humility and gratitude’ Can help you to acquire beatitude Don’t forget your final abode Where good deeds won’t be sold Remember, the fables of the brave and the bold All of them possessed ‘humility and gratitude’ From all this, you may conclude It is the purity of our intentions What Creator expects from his creation Everything else is mere illusion Being a human, demands ‘humility and gratitude’
0
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 7:27 AM UTC
Humility and Gratitude
*This Morning The Golden Sun Rose With a Midas touch Smiled at the Skies In Scintillating Colours Bedewed the Atmosphere In a Lush Orange Squash A Rush of Pomegranate Reds A Spread of Fiery hot Saffron Threads Far Away Billowed The Feathery White Pristine Kashmir Clouds The Mirthful birds On the wire , Chirped A Mesmerised me , Revelled In the Early Morning Bliss Nature Imbues Taking away the Sky's Blues*
0
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 7:45 AM UTC
A Beautiful SunRise
******* in you nose can do that, This is the rosebush, the fuschia, the striding spiderweb of summer. Your trees from the ocean and sky, and sepals turned sences. A spindle-spinning wheel, turning sunflowers to liquid honey, yum - yum - yum ! Oh the tastes of nature, hidden in burrow holes, with small mice chittering their teeth, through chestnut temples! A crucified sunflower, soft-spoken ochre, the pumpkins turning fields to dust and growing seeds of castles. Three blades of grass in tasseled soil. Three green-squash faces among the fields burgundy, growing eyeballs. Viola splashes wave, Palo Santo fragrance, Filling the nostrils with Happiness! Day-to-day ecstatic twirls Twists and twirls, a steep staircase to the waterfall's epicenter. The soul of the falls tumbling across the sealed creek, oiled with the feathers of soils. The queen of frozen loganberries gazes with approval, watching seperate streams congeal, spiral, and form starry nights beneath the sky. Lime scent comforting the ☀ of rivers! Written by: Lotus and Simon
0
May 27, 2012
May 27, 2012 at 4:16 PM UTC
Descending Thistle
Don't be frightened if you hear me at the door...or even if you think you see me at the window. Pretend it's a trick of the light...or another one of those bumps in the night. The spirit is strong and, I'm finding, quite playful in its first few days, weeks, maybe months... whilst waiting for another 'mission'. You know...finding my feet - or maybe wings? But I'm not likely to phone. E-mailing was not my thing! And texting? You’re kidding! I was not a big fan!. All that predictive stuff...If you’re too quick it ends up nonsense...all wrong...not for me. But I will be sending messages through the wind in the trees or maybe the surf on the rocks and sand. Wherever we walked together listen out for me there. I've always felt that I'd be able to do that. You know...whilst finding my feet - or will it be wings? And always, from now on...help spiders out with a glass and a card... take care not to squash their legs. You never know what happens next. And, anyway, another time, but long ahead I hope, it could be you. Although, I always fancied I would come back a human - like this last time round. Being me was good. And they say, ...you know...out there... that you go back to a time when you were at your best. For me that means being younger, fitter - So, a wander on a sun warmed or breezy beach. A Salsa dance, or this Zumba lark...or doing a painting. I liked that... But definitely...fit...Before IT... You know...I’m looking forward to finding my feet, my wings. So...you may see me - out in a crowd, or walking along a country lane, incongruously between villages. I'm already working at appearing for longer and for being more than just a familiar, fleeting, scent or smell. Until I get the calling to make a full life of it again...I'll maybe pop in and out of your life (to let you know I can) ...just in an incidental, experimental kind of way; but then only from time to time. It's quite tiring...You know...finding your feet...your wings.
0
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 6:22 AM UTC
Finding my Feet...or will it be Wings?
Don't be frightened if you hear me at the door...or even if you think you see me at the window. Pretend it's a trick of the light...or another one of those bumps in the night. The spirit is strong and, I'm finding, quite playful in its first few days, weeks, maybe months... whilst waiting for another 'mission'. You know...finding my feet - or maybe wings? But I'm not likely to phone. E-mailing was not my thing! And texting? You’re kidding! I was not a big fan!. All that predictive stuff...If you’re too quick it ends up nonsense...all wrong...not for me. But I will be sending messages through the wind in the trees or maybe the surf on the rocks and sand. Wherever we walked together listen out for me there. I've always felt that I'd be able to do that. You know...whilst finding my feet - or will it be wings? And always, from now on...help spiders out with a glass and a card... take care not to squash their legs. You never know what happens next. And, anyway, another time, but long ahead I hope, it could be you. Although, I always fancied I would come back a human - like this last time round. Being me was good. And they say, ...you know...out there... that you go back to a time when you were at your best. For me that means being younger, fitter - So, a wander on a sun warmed or breezy beach. A Salsa dance, or this Zumba lark...or doing a painting. I liked that... But definitely...fit...Before IT... You know...I’m looking forward to finding my feet, my wings. So...you may see me - out in a crowd, or walking along a country lane, incongruously between villages. I'm already working at appearing for longer and for being more than just a familiar, fleeting, scent or smell. Until I get the calling to make a full life of it again...I'll maybe pop in and out of your life (to let you know I can) ...just in an incidental, experimental kind of way; but then only from time to time. It's quite tiring...You know...finding your feet...your wings.
Continue reading...
15
this is a letter to all of those who stumbled upon my dull eyes and poetic words i apologize to those who participated in whispered i love you's and dreams shared for watching from afar as your cared for me a half of a whole you held my body, empty my soul scooped out of myself like an acorn squash during winter months nothing left but the skin and my soul out among the wildflowers searching for the missing parts of me searching for my home i placed my body in your hands letting you sip the wine that made up me drizzling you in honey, in sweetness, and in light for i knew you would protect me scrawling poetry into the broken bits the unfiltered bits you would cause me to feel something on cold winter nights i am sorry that when my soul stumbled home bringing home the bits that were missing that you were left alone standing in the dark under streetlights unsure of where you went wrong broken promises and dreams in your hands drowning in your own love suffocating on your sunshine cursing yourself for loving too hard i am sorry for hurting you but thank you for loving me even when i left you lonely
0
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
the ghosting of half bodied lovers
In my backyard, the deep sauce of sun-gold air swivels lazily, stirred by the occasional bumblebee. I’m entertained by the idea of anything beyond this. No continents, no glitter-splashed ocean. The softened world settles into itself, transforming from its usual busyness. Squash lounges in the garden and preschool train operators maneuver Thomas through his wooden kingdom. They move trees and buildings around their set and we, still fascinated with the cucumber in the garden, don’t look up from skimming our fingers through grass, changing our own soil kingdoms with the sweep of a hand.
0
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 10:33 PM UTC
The Luxury of Laziness
I had to go into the big city well big for me anyway a beautiful drive still dreaming I think looks right down on the water that city at Lake Champlain. So what did you get? Oh. You're seriously asking, alright. Well, it's for a lovely couple this weekend getting married. Oh I see, do tell Chef ? I picked some beautiful ingredients for pumpkin cheesecake some candies... I especially love the sunflower seed drops in magenta, violet, lime green, burnt orange, tangerine and dark  chocolate, they look like little fall tears. I also found some vinted honeymoon wine A voigner with a lovely fragrant crisp taste Hmmmm...interesting, go on? It signifies the full moon in June after the flowers turn into young grapes some honeysuckle Aromas followed by luscious mango and nectar Paired with roasting chicken & beautifully seasonal fingerling potatoes and this amazing rustic sweet potato bread gorgeous heirloom vegetables in a few various choices delicately cooking squash all seasoned to perfection bringing nutty joy to all in an aromatic feathery plume of goodness finally... green goddess dressing and roasted nuts, berries among other toppings for a brilliant salad. Oh...well any invitations still open? I'm not sure, but you can be my guest in the kitchen come along take your hat off what's the hurry? Cherie Nolan© 2016
0
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
"Take Your Hat Off What's The Hurry- A Chef's Perspective"
If you were reincarnated as an animal Knowing everything you do now Would you treat humans differently than animals already do? Or would you bite the hand that beats? Or would you bite the mouth that eats? Would you treat humans kindly? That could be a bullet finding I come across a shivering raccoon Stuck inside a winter monsoon It's too young to survive I could help I surmise Its coat can't protect its form In my car it's nice and warm But I don't understand the raccoon And I fear it doesn't understand me Though I'm not proud of it I travelled around it Mosquitoes want your blood to survive The same way I want your love to arrive There's a pestering orbit Your teeth grind and grit I feel the need to feed I am overcome by greed I want you inside me So I insert my proboscis And you turn into colossus It's an animal process When you squash us So animals grow stingers And poison that lingers When we use our fingers To smash them And detach them From our humanistic existence They have a reproductive resistance So we keep fighting And they keep biting Because there's no end in sight When we see animals take flight We define anything different as animal This is our excuse to act tyrannical They feel our wrath When they're in our path We turn them into roadkill This world becomes a landfill Our hollowed humanity on the shelf We treat animals as we treat ourself
0
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 3:14 PM UTC
Animals
How can we not feel Adam’s pain See the features of this creature Tortured by people’s disdain And not weep at his wretched state Frankenstein’s creation From his strange life equation Electrical innovation In that once marvelous now dead age How can we not feel Adam’s pain The child with no real name Only a borrowed nomenclature To define his human inhumane nature Torches and Preachers calling for his head Love denied never finding peace This so called beast could rip us to shreds Tear our flesh asunder and squash our heads But when he speaks racked with life’s pain A horridly embellished mirror of my own My defenses break opening the floodgate And the monster makes me cry
0
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Frankenstein's Child
I ******* rock it Then I lay it down I am not a quitter, sick spitter **** I just flow in rounds atmospherics an ******* stellar sounds Lyrics of astrophysics, like chemistry I just shape the ground just huddle But do not make a sound I crush a cypher, decipher words into crooked nouns Instant reaction to actions, My riddles break the crowd I've adapted to hard labor now Can't **** with the vision I'm here to **** it and change the sound Bicycle wheel spinning, I'm grinding I need to get around Flow soulful, for the soul like I'm the golden child Y'all so so, I go super sayin No super wild No delaying, I'm not evening playing You're played out Penetrator is coming through now Left-over flow ******* better eat their food now 2016 fiend, ***** this just a new style I hit the restart button, say **** the hard drive, bike peddling to work say **** the hard ride, living life is easy I say **** the hard times I'm choking the game, I'm looking to ******* hog tie Business this you can **** on my long tie... Young killer been spittin it for a long time Past due with my ******* come up Ain't nobody ******* with the vision I'm blowing up Cutting all these lames like division So I can it add up All of the positives, at heart I'm an optimist, don't **** with my oxygen You can't breath what I breathe, **** your accomplishments, I will squash all of them I just abolish bums Don't **** with my vision, I will **** for what is mine and do it with precision All these hoes just multiply I divided with the quickness All these fakes just want to try don't try cause your missing **** all of the rules ***** I am a misfit I am just a ghoul, no goblin, no riches The world is full of fools Who can't **** with my vision
0
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
Can't **** With The Vision
I ******* rock it Then I lay it down I am not a quitter, sick spitter **** I just flow in rounds atmospherics an ******* stellar sounds Lyrics of astrophysics, like chemistry I just shape the ground just huddle But do not make a sound I crush a cypher, decipher words into crooked nouns Instant reaction to actions, My riddles break the crowd I've adapted to hard labor now Can't **** with the vision I'm here to **** it and change the sound Bicycle wheel spinning, I'm grinding I need to get around Flow soulful, for the soul like I'm the golden child Y'all so so, I go super sayin No super wild No delaying, I'm not evening playing You're played out Penetrator is coming through now Left-over flow ******* better eat their food now 2016 fiend, ***** this just a new style I hit the restart button, say **** the hard drive, bike peddling to work say **** the hard ride, living life is easy I say **** the hard times I'm choking the game, I'm looking to ******* hog tie Business this you can **** on my long tie... Young killer been spittin it for a long time Past due with my ******* come up Ain't nobody ******* with the vision I'm blowing up Cutting all these lames like division So I can it add up All of the positives, at heart I'm an optimist, don't **** with my oxygen You can't breath what I breathe, **** your accomplishments, I will squash all of them I just abolish bums Don't **** with my vision, I will **** for what is mine and do it with precision All these hoes just multiply I divided with the quickness All these fakes just want to try don't try cause your missing **** all of the rules ***** I am a misfit I am just a ghoul, no goblin, no riches The world is full of fools Who can't **** with my vision
Continue reading...
52
For every condescending syllable, that has slipped out of your. Serpent like tongue. Wish I could squash you with my black leather boots & watch you squirm. & Gasp for air. Like I have done, so many times before your black-hole-eyes. But, that wouldn't be the Christian thing to do. Good thing. I got excommunicated. Now, suffer.
0
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 7:04 PM UTC
I hate you.
Squash uses a racquet, Tennis implies a racquet, Badminton applies a racquet. Together the racquets' racket is too noisy. But it's funny how we all seem to like it. Some cannot even live without the din. But how good or bad is to bet about it.
0
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 9:45 PM UTC
The Racquet's Racket
Come toddle here your hands stretched out With chocolate mouse and lemon squash You are my candy, sugar babe Arrived at forty in a hurricane But if love can spin a web You little darling got in my head. Love Grandma xxxx
0
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
Chocolate squash and hurricane.
This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world? Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day. I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.
0
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC
The Neon Alien Blouse
This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world? Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day. I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.
Continue reading...
3
You are going to die before me. I already know this. You are going to get fat and go completely blind and probably, eventually, they will cut some parts off. You are going to fall apart in front of me. I know this. I still choose to stay. I will be there through all the appointments, the stickings and pokings and cuttings and bleedings. I have only wiped a few ***** in my life. Mine, my son's, a few babies of friends. I already plan on wiping yours when you cannot. I will draw little sugar skulls on your prosthetic feet. I will make sure you always have enough medicine and it is always refrigerated. I will help you in and out of the bathtub. I will massage your legs and arms and back and head and neck, every day. I will make our boys breakfast and walk the dogs and make sure everything goes back in the same exact spot and keep a file with all the pertinent medical information so I can fill out all the paperwork. I will take you to all those folk rock shows you love so much and describe the singers to you. We will still garden together. I can see you in a chair, barking out questions about our harvest and me, going back and forth, bringing you the biggest squash to hold. You see, I have given up thinking I am ever going to give myself to anyone else. It is you and you alone. So, when you start to fall apart, and you will fall apart, don't worry baby. I am going to be there to wipe your ***
0
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 6:13 PM UTC
Diabetes is a ****
***Being a ***** means....... I stand up for myself and my beliefs I stand up for those I love I speak my mind, think my own thoughts or do things my way I won't compromise whats in my heart I live MY way I won't allow anyone to step on me I refuse to tolerate injustice It means I have the courage & The strength to allow myself to be me So try to stomp on me, douse my inner flame, Squash every ounce of beauty I hold within You won't succeed And if that makes me a ***** so be it I embrace the title and I'm proud to be a *****
0
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC
Bitchology
What I managed to regrow, You stomped on. You waltzed into my garden Like you had grown the whole place yourself, Your nose in the air. You looked at my carrots and scoffed, My cucumbers you mocked And you thought my garden gnomes were ****** And I let you, Because you acted like you knew so much about gardening You said the caterpillars would help my leaves And the crows would **** out my rotten veggies But those cruel birds have just been eating away at my prize-winning squash, and the tomato worms....well, they ate all my ripe tomatoes. You said you'd help me tend to my garden But you rarely make it over And when you do, you throw a shovel in my face And tell me to get on my knees. You watch while I **** And talk about the grandeur of the flowers next door. And I wonder as I wipe my brow, What I ever thought I needed you for? And why you ever came over in the first place, Since you obviously prefer pretty colors to nutrition And you must have had some notion that I would one day realize, That you've never kept anything alive in your life, And you don't even have a yard.
0
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
Ok, so maybe the garden gnomes were a little ******
tootsie pops, pop rocks, rock candy sweet tarts, smelly farts, war-heads, sour patch kids reeses pieces, reeses stix, snickers lickers fudge pile, chocolate smile, peanut butter bile, sugary style baby ruths, almond joys, soy bean sauce, creamy steam ill give u a payday, mayday, hay tastes good with parfai milkyways stay gay to play games with sunrays icing splicing with knife dicing makes cakes, cook steaks, rumcakes ****** sprinkles, rip van winkle, diddily dinkle gummy worms, germs impregnate firm, permed urns angel food, carrots, pineapple upsideways fruits, ***** parachutes, scooters, jello shooters goobers, corn on the cobbers, veggie wedgies, pepper leppers, squash boxes, fry foxes, fleet rocks', carrot tops', dishes of fishes, witches brew platypus and fat kush pushy slushies riding skateboards on gary busy fussy hussies getting blushy about cussies cereal made of creoles, bread straight from dreads, rice is nice with spice, yeast is beast, last but not least, wheat is a treat, kiwis, shmiwis, dodos on go phones, starfruits, bartlejuice, grape drank, sushi stinks. ill eat anything.
0
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
candyland jam
Wal, Thanksgivin’ do be comin’ round. With the price of turkeys on the bound, And coal, by gum! Thet were just found, Is surely gettin’ cheaper. The winds will soon begin to howl, And winter, in its yearly growl, Across the medders begin to prowl, And Jack Frost gettin’ deeper. By shucks! It seems to me, That you I orter be Thankful, that our Ted could see A way to operate it. I sez to Mandy, sure, sez I, I’ll bet thet air patch o’ rye Thet he’ll squash ’em by-and-by, And he did, by cricket! No use talkin’, he’s the man— One of the best thet ever ran, Fer didn’t I turn Republican One o’ the fust? I ‘lowed as how he’d beat the rest, But old Si Perkins, he hemmed and guessed, And sed as how it wuzn’t best To meddle with the trust.
0
3.3k
Ezra On The Strike
Silly humans, why can't they see, The web I weave so carefully? How will my children ever eat If they don't control their clumsy feet? Why can't they see as they walk? So wrapped up in their silly talks, Into my precious web they go, With their loud squaks and bellows! They scare my children half to death Why can't they be quiet instead? No respect for the home they destroyed; In fact they leave feeling annoyed! So self righteous these humans are With that attitude,  they won't get far. Surely evolution will wipe them out! All they do is shriek and shout. There they go into my web again The one I rebuild with such care and pain, Not a thought given to my efforts! This selfish race really should suffer! I'm outraged by this behaviour Oh other insects, please be my saviour! They squash and trample us all the time I'll give them a piece of my mind!! Friends, there's strength in numbers Their underestimation is their blunder Slowly,  I'll let my evil plans unfurl Soon, the cockroaches and I will take over the world!
0
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
The Outraged Spider
No quibbling siblings musing in the shallows, patriotism must be dealt with at it's route markers. They are all twisted. It is the duty of right thinkers to untwist and shout, All ye, All ye or Oy ye, Oy ye Outs (never Ox) in free. The ransom has been paid, the game of hide and watch is played. Touch, eh? Nature's what? Original state? Perfected state? Fractured state patched with circuit breaking dams and weirs. Nature's God, the mind behind Nature. whose were the buffalo the servants of christmas replaced with sacred cows offered and eaten in Outback Steak Houses at Indian Casino Super TAs from sea to shining sea? Whose God commanded that? Whose God permuted that? Who has sown bullheads in the squash? Shall we pull them up? Let the children pull them up. Teach them to see the tiny round leave, which is to be squash or watermelon, sosweet, or water-stealing, sticker-making **** Goatheads in little running feet all summer long, ouch. ouch. ouch. Knowledge is power. Power is not lost. Is that enough to know and grow to know more and to spare? Is enough abundance enough to spare and share? Yes. On a broken planet, men of both model may make enough of anything they desire, or sire in their best happy ever after scheme or schema. That part never broke. The tongue-mind interface, that fried. Listen. Wisdom never shouts, you know.
0
Mar 1, 2018
Mar 1, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
Nature and Nature's God, everybody knows what that means right?
I’m singing the blues Saying good bye to my shoes The red patent high heels With the shine that appeals The shoes that made me feel hot Whether I looked it or not Made me walk with a wiggle Made my back side jiggle Gave me a **** demeanour Made my legs feel leaner Helped me walk tall On the days I felt small The same red shoes, so sweet That are now tight on my feet Which squash my big toe And somehow, they know That I’ve got dickie knees So I’ll never wear skis Not to mention arthritic hips Which cause a total eclipse When I bend over And moreover I walk just like I’ve got off my horse So I’ve got to bid farewell, of course Part company with my lovely red shoes That is why I’m singing the blues …..They should sell on ebay pretty quick ….. I’ll spend the money on a walking stick ©Nicki Tilston
0
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 9:13 PM UTC
Red Shoes Blues