Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Undesignated Jan 2012
stumped
nowhere to go
nowhere to turn
stumped
un-relaxed chains tightening
un-relaxed brain imploding
stumped
no place to understand
no place to be free
stumped
nothing coming
nothing gone
stumped
understand
that i am stumped
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Yes, it's seemingly a nonsensical rhetorical question, but, for that precise reason, it will illustrate a lesson, if you so desire to tag along for this short session.

Per Wikipedia, "The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. It is an odd-toed ungulate mammal belonging to the taxonomic family Equidae." Hmmm... I much prefer that the horse goes "Nay," eats hay, has a mane, and is ridden by cowboys, cowgirls, Indians, equestrians, knights, jockeys, conquistadors, Mongols, and all. Even better, just point a horse out or otherwise show a picture to a kid and they will never be mistaken again. Even the littlest ones will never be stumped when faced with a rhino, tiger, giraffe, camel, and such.

Admittedly, there is a worry that we could be fooled with that of a donkey or mule. How come no one has taken advantage of this?! What a scam to get us rich! "Duh doy," you say, cause we all know when we see a horse, so why would anyone try to trick us with an ***?! Well I ask you in turn, why does anyone try to trick us with good art versus bad, let alone art versus crap? How could anyone fall for that?!
Terry Collett Jun 2015
On the beach
in the sun
Anne sits

in her chair
her one leg
hanging down

her leg stump
out of sight
she's beside

Skinny kid
who reclines
in a small

blue deckchair
other kids
sit around

fussed over
by three nuns
from the home

the tides out
so some kids
paddle out

ankle deep
listen kid
I hear one

of the nuns
had you in
to question

in secret
what'd they ask?
Anne asks

it's secret
Benny says
I know that

but tell me
I'm your friend
Anne says

Benny looks
around him
about you

they asked me
about you
Benny says

Anne frowns
about me?
Benny nods

what'd they ask?
what you did
what you  said

and did you
make me do
anything

Benny says
what'd you say?
I said you

were my friend
my best friend
Benny says

what'd they say?
Sister Blaise
the fat nun

said it was
a big sin
to tell lies

what'd you say?
Anne asks
I told her

I guess so
was that all?
can I go?

Benny says
Anne smiles
good work Kid

keep the ****
penguins stumped
and things hid.
A BOY AND A ONE LEGGED GIRL AT HOME IN 1959
this constant
invitation
into stark mystery

is a story
i flounder
to find words for.

~

a glance,
more
than eyes looking.

beholden
entrancement,
upon feedback's
looping.

~

i am a crippled logician,
wrought with wonder

in the thrashing
static jungle,
of no conclusion.

~

this is a flash
this here, the flesh

a blinding
binding light,

obliterating,
without solution,

a living,
i tremble in.

~

i am stumped
i am little
so small

hung
here
in the

sky.

~

a suspended channel
of ideation,
filling, with
empty utterance.

~

i am confounded
i am large
too grand

to
get
ahold

of.

~

breathing
multitudinous,
full, with
contradiction.

~

a grandiose
enigmatic flux,
miniscule
and massive.
Dark Smile Sep 2014
People sometimes ask me why I study so hard.
The question always stumped me.
Why do I study so hard?
Why do I stay up till the wee hours of the morning to study?
Then, I realised.
I don't have looks.
I don't have a good body.
I don't even have a good personality!
All I had was my brain, and my words.
Knowing this pushes me to study harder so that I won't be left behind.
Maybe I just want to belong.
I mean, each clique has it's distinctive trait which unites a group of people.
The good-looking (and typically popular people) group together.
The outgoing ones group together.
The athletically inclined ones group together(and they run in every single marathon that they can.)
I don't fit in any of those.
I can only hope that by studying hard, I will not only get good grades and a sense of accomplishment and pride but,
that I'll belong.
And that's all that I've ever wanted.
True story though.I don't know. That's just how I feel.
ryn Nov 2014
Have you seen it?
Seems like I've misplaced my mind.

I had it for a while...
Now it seems like I'm flying blind.

Can't piece out my thoughts,
a cacophony of riled up birds.

An **** of broken lines...
Overlapping and blurring into incomprehensible words.

Wandered in almost every direction,
but seem stumped at every end.

My mind is rapidly turning,
more foe and less a friend.

Confused is what it is at best.
Derailed far from its once reliable track.

Need to quickly regain my centre,
need desperately to get it all back.

Conjured this up...
With much difficulty.

Strenuous exercise...
For what once flowed freely.

Could it be...
That I have too frequently misused.

The welcome I've received,
that I have carelessly abused.

Ugh... Makes no sense...
Never have for a while.

Conflicting thoughts and words.
Crash into each other into a pile.

Need a reboot,
a reset and a restart.

Need to find my muse,
that stems from the heart.

Curse the mundane!
These excruciating hours of the day.

Begging for the nights,
to take me and my mind away.
Erica A Arnold Dec 2013
I feel my brain turning to porridge.
That thick,sticky concoction of experience:
Too many late nights, whiskey mornings, and "just one small line" excuses.
Always feeding my destruction with that juggling act of addiction.
Reducing my pain to a single act,
Reusing myself and others around me,
Recycling what little hope I have left.
My insides would be a sorry sight to see, so far from the person people know me as.
They don't feel the weight of my brain, the cement blocks of my thoughts.
I wish I could pop the hood, clean between the folds, and blow away the dust.
I identify with the abandoned and derelict buildings of the city,
Broken and abused, but still foreboding with their skeletons from another time.
I admire them for their character, their strength to still have their beauty long after their makers have forgotten it.
For what are we except the architecture of existence?
Each one of us a landmark:
To family, a lover, a friend.
We are shadows in their skyline...
Until one day,
We fall.
I thought                                         you'd left us, long ago
desolate on a swing
                       rocking stale, dry grass and still air
                      
                      crossing
never quite                  the hurdle

                                                               ­                                                    lost

unaware
sweating youth in this humidity

I thought we'd never make it past the
rusty red and brown of weathered fences

                            like
              felt                        moun
   They                                  
                                                     tains

                                                               ­   Made of dirt
                                                                ­                       (guilt)
and an endless turmoiling scent, still fresh



I thought you'd forlorned us                  
h     e     a     v    y       r  a  i  n   and warm bodies
standing next to oxidized hoops
                                                          one adjacent to the other
The haze of the heat hard, but not impossible
to withstand                swaying like the gust of wind, swaying  
                                            the blazing sun and my open palms swaying




Why was it here                                         that it felt like you left us
                                                              ­                                              stumped,  
unaware,­
consuming  with no  
                                              idea of the Greater



2.


                                                W­ H A T was it about inner cities
And skin that would tan
Or resist the sun
   that made you  mutter murky words  


judgement
                   that made me hike a

                                  K
                       A
            E
P
that for so long made feel like a (lost) traveler
unable to come find my way   D O W N.

Still on a mountain top
Never quite crossing the hurdle.
That’s how you wanted me
A
     B
          A
                N
                     D  O N E D.

3.

But my tongue made sounds
copper pots and plastic measuring cups
became the pious  accompaniment
of a song sung inwardly
until it manifested
Words on lips
                            Lips willing to kiss the purple clouds made out of strange fruit and a high border walls over my hand and back

4. A Swimsuit and a pool that could cool
me
small children see the cicatrixes
      But I walk towards the water; I have long abandoned shame.
Mud
For Katharine R. Cole

If gormless is as gormless does unite
That past of him and present me, I’ll turn
His other cheek against his waning sight;
I’ll **** his Hamlet soul to cringe and burn.

But dripping cannot thick or think in depth.
Blobs like blackened bulbous beads of eyes
Persist on shrinking into transits swept,
And down through dullard pools of choking fire.
Yet treacle binds my bole wood vocal chords
In rapture from such silence to withdraw
From sand that quickens, thickens, and distorts.
Can earth and water’s union mask my flaws?
The answer dares to dream but I refrain.
My name is Mud. Dear God, that is my name.

The foot: an endlessly dull point
Breathing technique, perfected by Roman Bill,
And a tall, sinewy, fine china ***** heel,
Cheap to most and worthless when submerged, submerges.
The tough Elephant hide surface
Of a swamp-like state and state.

Q. How does one become embroiled in such a located province of mind?
A. Alcohol’s venomous beauty and cheap living costs.
     The South.
    
An Elephant on a scooter stares blindly
At its own reflection circling the limb,
Shrugging dew drop eyes at what man had forgotten.
Not once, but twice.
    
The foot becomes a divulging calf of information
Sputtering in this bubbling torment of beige,
And pulsating around like an African tunnel
Waiting to be filled – fulfilled – ******.

    
The knee complies,
                      Sinking,
                                 Slowly,
                                          Not painlessly,
                                                             Not quick.

     The mercy of a lethal injection’s lie becomes
Absurd when one’s limb is the needle;
One’s brain the plunger of acceptance.
His gasp, a roar of silent fruit ripening in a
Mode too fast, cutting life and laundering
Expectancy whilst hanged from a
Whined whimper of Penance.
Purgatory’s whistle blows for time.  

II

A small red car clenched tightly
In the hands of a tightly tiny black boy,
His eyes huge and deep, but white; untouched by
Time’s clock or the weight of granite black that
He leans upon. Plastic tires screech horizontally along the
Structure of a Library’s historic insight.
Below, the ground is dry.
Beneath him, the ground is solid.
    
        Meanwhile, molten muck pulsates around
Our swirling antipathy of soul crushing
Nullness, with a lack of guilt unimaginable.
It bubbles, it bubbles: it toils in boiling rubbles
Of the past’s present and All I Could Have Been.
And I have never, could never
Sink lower in reality;
Blow harder against punishment’s wind;
Cry for this other as a **** filled wound weeps down her face.
    
The swirl of liquefied dirt and sand bags me,
Drags me, as if some *** lover of Hades is not done
With what is left of me. Disease to spread: just a little, just
A little more, like the detrimental bottle that
Knew me.
    

      As the hip is engulfed, an angle of almost perfect
Ninety creates  itself against the horizontal extremity
And puny ballsacksquash entails. Useless yet overused;
Timeless yet impressionable, pensionable. Gone.
Nothing knows me but this thickness’ quickness.
          That wants too much
From nothing               but existence
And the scab that fastens with time.

III

Turn the bottle back and find strength to
Outpour the clock and grant eternity.
Non compliant strength paid a fiver
For a soul worth two at the most.
A penny for the worthless: For the sickened lame.
Empty time feeds rays of golden from the sun fuelled
Encrusted *******, mudfast on heat.
This somehow seems like action.
Firm firmness but cracked with ease and
Non-returnable once inflated;
Non-negotiable on the bloodorgans of salt.
Weakness and powerlessness: *****.
*** for tat, for ***, ***, ***. For tat.
    
     The Elephant rises.
You brought this upon yourself, this rain of mud;
This treacle that will dry when you are dirt.
You would not let it ******* lie.
All of your ******* life: this strife, that wife.
     Your second leg (the grasper) tries,
     At length, to shield your heart:
     The only thing that cries.
     That does not want to die.
     Cartoonish bubbles of brown pop to the tune
     Of Loonies; of your shoebox brain that screams in vain.
What is your name? What is your want?
There is no blame you ******* maniac.
Everyone knows. Sink awake. Sink.
     Rest: do not sleep. Freezetimeframe.
     There is one more timeless point to make.


The sun and moon meet brief: the seconds count,
But die shy of one minute. Clear the road.
‘Tis dusk, I fear they named it. Raise the mount
And sacrifice another drowned sot load.
The moment thence: Anonymous descent.
The digger meets the dead in buried time.
The wish is washed in mud, the liver spent.
The blood-stained hands of Glasgow dodge the crime.
Make speed my sick sad Miller, grind the grain
Of Galloway, Gibb, Neave, Dunlop and Cole.
Your ghost will haunt your tag if not your brain.
Your heart should part this city river’s soul.
The sunjoke frozen, captured, stumped, and framed.
My name is Mud. Dear God, that is my name.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
Being cared for
Here's the  adored door

Inside playing he pours the hearts

So like him the ricochet
Deeply love so cultured
My pearl crochet

Deeply cared about I got you
under my skin
I win your love ticket

The spool of
wool hit the floor
To the extreme
The sensitive mind

  And his feeling like the escapee finding
the higher
religion keeping that in mind
The everlasting  to be cared for or
not to be never lasting like someone
lost its hunger fasting

Waking up deeply recharged or
reproducing to
her neverending fairytale

Much deeper than 69 eye love shades
Deeply cared for beyond his loving
It comes and fades
Like Monopoly  "Godly Sun-Seeker" keeps
passing us
The game of life charades
Like Persian babies their
button nose deeply cared for to cuddle
The warmest meows hug and save

Like flour to sparkle, it deepens
like our mix, a love needs
to be worked on 
 do you really
care to fix?

But sending all the details
the lines soften pale pink rose
I felt your red fire putting
out the coldness fire and ice
To be saved on time
Like the fire chief,  
Acted like a French chef what
a love roue of the hose

Like silk my millennium  milk,
He held my finger but not
to sulk he said buckle up
What firmness and tightness
arm to arm wrestler such
bulk

Never to swear but a little lie 
  Wouldnt hurt my delicate
pinky finger
In her loop with her fur
deeply
Stepped into her mink

He's the frontman
Fresh cut lemon
Yellow sunshine
happy medium

I was wearing my hair middle parted
The picture slide the made man
Tied back my hair was deeply
Smooth talker well conditioned
With what conditions all recollections
But three strikes when you care for
someone you  don't fall out of love

  This world loves to be pampered
Cared about not scouted
All hole marks in the road badly routed
 With tons of work with the question mark?
The sign stayed with her
Deeply care about?

Like a play date let's pretend
You're both a handful
Like beer malt lips
Engraved love in the barrels
To feel deeply loved  he acted
Like the riddler

The beach her eyes were waiting to be reached
Sunset playing the fool marionette overly preached

So I  Bette
Beneath her wings
In the middle of their wed to be isles
The Green Gables emerald rings

Miss spinster-Sara Lee cake
His jeep was all she could take
How it ended up
In Greenwich Village then shipped
To Mystic Seaport Connecticut
The movie cut Cape Cod Massachusetts
The four letters in his pocket
Deeply 1 care 2 about 3 love 4

Needed a jump kickstart
Her breakfast  start of the day
 deeply cared for his way
He stumped over her honey
bunches of oats lips

The website
Go, Daddy acting love silly
The hot fun in the
International city
The UK that's OK
Mr. Bo Jangles spoiled deeply
*** in the City single
Deeply getting hurt
The Sin City

Did he see her progress
All over Twitter
He was so suited but lost
his tie twinkle tweets
Do I really live my life to dare
or deeply care?
I am ****** British give me
my English breakfast teas
for keeps
The King ain't got that swing
She acts too much like the Queen

The Royalty of love sanity
The heaping fine grain sugar spoon

(Duke of Earl gray) Deeply love Thee
But always came way too soon
She is the domestic cat going frantic

Great discoveries, and that's that
  Internships tug-cash or the hogwash
our colleagues  
The deep end "Crazy Eights
On the tenth physio natural
phenomena convent

All the Kingman no swords holding her
wrench
and knight horses unfortunate events
One day creation camel ride for miles
Reaching higher levels of toxins
and morons
Or teaching MLM  you asked for it
"The millionaire lost minds"

Were human TLC tender loving care
Like some playdough to the rooftop
Of Mentors, did they care
Who we deeply care about family
But more concerned
about the rise of money inventors
Even if life really *****
Oh! Fiddlesticks

The Moaning of life
Bring the Idiots aboard
The ***** of the night

He kinda ducks by the end of
your ***-light
Flex-body deeply cared for
Rumors and all philosophies
The shower like you was slashed
Left you bone dry without the cash
The thrill is gone your lovesick

She-devil  coffin red nails split Twilight zone

  The stars were in your corner
He deeply cared for you he was
your health kit
The Botanical Gardens

Like a figment of your imagination
Se demure you needed a
Florence Nightingale flower cure
To lift your depression to smile
You thought someone cared but all
misinterpretations

All misconceptions and misdemeanors
She takes so long putting on her
French lip glide Chanel liner
What could be ever cared for finer
Deeply digging holes like a miner

The solar rhythmic pointed finger
to the stars

So systematically
making a wish
just like everyone else
To plan your game
the game makes the plan
You deeply cared for delivery
Was I the care package

You weren't someone
just anybody like
A city dump garbage

Deeply wanting and waiting
So merely or rarely was it coming

Deeply seeing the next generation
The spectacular sunrise
White wicker twin set swing
Your heart pulls back but it was
so close to swinging forward
Moving towards your
accomplishments
The mess was all ****

"You have the exceptional mind like the beautiful mind"

People, you came across friends
Also, contributors  not the enemies
The country and the continents
Deeply cared for landmarks
The monuments how you love
her birthmark taking her hand

The Godly land such will command
moonwalker deeply cared for
All watered deep soul of lovers
The world of hands and
words became
such an impact

You felt like the creature so extinct
Things we deeply care about or no one doesn't understand our feeling we move or fly in all directions just to get the right affection
Bryan J Powers Nov 2010
Another day seems to pass by in the desert as it has for hundreds if not thousand of years,
Except the crunch of gravel and sand as a 2 ton frag 4 tuned up humvee races down another street in Iraq,
no surprise to see this in Iraq since the US led invasion in 2003,
same **** different day, otherwise known to soldiers as SSDD syndrome,
only this day would forever change lives,
the flash was white hot and the melting metal was proof enough of the sheer explosivness of the improvised explosive device,
the blast enough to let Iraqis living miles away look up to see the smoke,
they never heard the screaming though,
but the soldiers did as they raced to what was left of the humvee,
three dead upon impact,
a fourth lay screaming on the ground with what was left of the rest of his legs still in the passenger seat,
medics on  the ground did good and saved the poor soul,
his screams would fill the Iraqi night for for hours,
a short chopper ride to Baghdad Hospital,
they docs put his feet on ice, quite literally,
more than ten hours of surgery and the legs were sewn back on, but this soldiers fight was over,
a flight on the first plane to Ramstein Air Base Germany,
but the doctors cant do anything for this man,
he needs propers medical care,
send him home to Fort Bragg,
Womack Army Hospital,
doctors are optimistic as they tell this hero he will live but his days in the Army are over,
the tears are unexplainable as he pleads with the doctors to **** him
he doesnt want to live,
he may never walk again, he is a freak, his fiancee wants nothing to do with a *******,
over a week the soldier tries everything he can,
pulling out IVs,
injecting his blood stream with air filled needles,
his screams keep the other patients awake during the cold nights,
his crying during the day a constant reminder of the hell that only those who have lived it can ever know,
a week passes by, at least one suicide attempt a day,
then the soldiers fiancee arrives,
the crying becomes unstoppable as he pleads for her to leave him, not to look at his crippled body, that he wishes to die,'
why? she asks,
the question stops his tears,
why? she repeats,
because I am a ******* I may never walk again,
so? she asks, calling in the doctor,
the doctor arrives to find the soldier in tears and the meanest scowl ever seen on a woman,
doctor she asks, so he may never walk correct?
thats correct the doctor replies,
can he still have ***? she asks,
the doctor is stumped by the question and stumbles as he replies, well....yea its only his legs not his *****,
the fiancee looks at her soldier,
well then why the hell are you crying? as long as we can still have *** I am not leaving you!
the soldier sobs uncontrolably as his future wife holds him dearly,
the smiles on the other patients outwardly happy for the both of them,
then dinner arrives, the fiancee freaks out,
throwing the food across the room and storming from the hospital,
the soldier believing she had finally realized he was a *******, sobs once more,
the patients, doctors and nurses stumped,
another suicide attempt made,
thrity minutes pass,
the fiancee arrives, carrying a Dominos pizaa,
she holds him closely as she says he cant eat hospital food anymore,
he needs to eat right so that he can walk again,
and so comes a miracle through pain.

NO **** people this is a true story i witnessed myself in the Womack Army Hosptial roughly early 2006. It was a beautiful sight to see, and any man would consider himself blessed to be with what I can only describe as a miracle and the truest woman alive. That soldier deserved nothing less, oh, and he did walk again.
Terry Collett Jul 2017
Benedict
had left school
well at least

that one school.
Lizbeth thought
she'd not seen

him about.
She asked West
a boy who

was in the
school class
Benedict

had been in.
He just left
West told her

his father
got a new
job elsewhere.

She was shocked
he'd not said
not a word.

She was stumped
dream shattered
she wouldn't

have *** with
him after all.
No matter

how she tried
he wouldn't
not in church

(on a pew)
or her room
or his room

or that barn.
Dream shattered
she had tried

all her best
now he'd gone.
Early days

her mind said
other fish
in the sea

another
string to her
violin

(what a thing
to call it)
she murmured

sensing tears
in her eyes.
And that night

in her bed
she couldn't
get the fact

of him not
being there
out of her

dreams and head.
A GIRL AND THE BOY WHO LEFT 1916
Locum doc
won’t prescribe me what I want.
Euthanasia and/or a personality transplant.
A stiff drink and a fat joint.
My baby back from the dead
in our favourite restaurant.
Locum doc, gimme what you got,
whatever the latest cutting-edge medical science
can do for a self-absorbed ****.
Because I’m stumped, I must admit:
I recently quit my millionth spliff,
yet upon a paranoid moon, still I live
with inner monologue so bitter,
my brain’s been hacked by a tweeting ******.
And when the liquor turns Twitler off,
next door’s parrot is a prophet of God.
Apparrotly, Jesus thinks I’m a ****.
So, locum doc, it’s a bit ad hoc,
but will you be my focal point?
Don’t be a total ****, locum doc;
gimme me some vallies and I’ll be off.
Locum doc, let’s be friends
- what do ya mean you won't gimme the tens?
Jeremy Bean Jul 2014
I'm through with disappointment
and heartache
This inferiority
is a complex
I wish to dismantle
casting the rubble
of defeat
into the sea
Should I return to anger,
or do I continue to seek happiness
between these sullen lines?
No matter the emotion
confusion always seems
to have a part to play
on this empty stage
david badgerow Oct 2011
a harp has been strummed
a banjo picked
a heart has been numbed
a ****** flicked
a page has been thumbed
a sharp ice pick
a mouth has been gummed
a desiduous tick
a cigarette has been bummed
a virginal stick
a town has been slummed
a slippery ****
a ***** has been ******
a little *****
a lonely man jumped
a fall and a click
a crowd has been pumped
a comedy shtick
a mind has been stumped
a clever trick
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2015
The mannequin faceless,
Clothed in gold
With hands pandering svelte,
Remains an admired inanimate,
Albeit, atop whispers to a girl,
A 4-foot flower 3-feet my right,
Fretting and stumped;
Extrinsic a label – “undesirable.”

The mannequin faceless,
Her and hollow –
A towering nose above, stands
Opaque ivory, scarred come
Synonymous eyes with a symmetrical
Soul, assumed plastic perfection
And more importantly,
Soon to be sale.

The mannequin faceless
Convinced her new friend,
Her lesser, lopsided,
And natural not-so counterpart
To consume,
“Eat me, “eat me,” “eat it all,”
And then, “binge some more.”

The mannequin faceless
SCREAMS,
“BUY!”  Amongst the other torments –
Born both fingers that can’t move and
The thumbs that shuffle, “One’s,”
To the girl that was never,
“Good enough;” so shared the
Tabloid’s mouth.

The mannequin faceless demands
And DEMANDS nothing less than to
Buy, starve, suffer and sacrifice
So that every “broken body,”
May embody polymer, and for a price,
A not so fair trade whilst
Considering old man gold,
The curator of conundrum
And the plastic he’s created.
And maybe it was because I was listening to, "Radiohead."
Sean Flaherty Jul 2015
"We'll see."
(Thirty-two team,
two kyoo-bee,

a full-starting
O-, and only
two-guys on D.)

Mixed-media,
played-with, in poetry.
War, on, inside-me.

Implying-unstable, infer-me,
infirm the insane,
afraid,
and a stain,
and-to-blame.
And,

for shame,
part of race, don't,
myself, run-in.
Tryna buy-my-lunch. (&)
*******'s brought a gun-in.
Element'ry school, and all you wonder's where the fun's went. (&)
"Probably in another-empty-bag of
eaten-Funyuns." (&)
Probably, blue-blew fireworks, with fingers-off...
stumped-him. (&)

"Stomped'em."

Wonder, beauty, why you cryin'?
"Wonder,
if you'd drive?"
Bought-in, you did! To
all-I've-said, ugly and
alive-eyed.

"Wouldn't cough too much,
with tube-in!
You're mouth-dry."
Hampton-Beach-power-plant-hug,
July Five. CJD makes-me.
A bad brine, mine.
Another-youngest,
"Brother has died,
blind."

North Hampton,
on the way to
Hamherst-dam.
"Tryin'-man!
Love, the fam.
Will it be too late t'jam?

If I leave, you, now, from where I am?"
I leave now, from where I am. So,
[Leave now!
From: where I am!]

Leave now, "from where?"
(I'm already there.
Or did we come
the other way?)
"I'm getting there,
****."

I.

Am.

Despite the **** blizzard.
Why am I afraid to say
"it?"
Like:
"it" isn't.
I'm a Wizard.
Are we set,
now?
On-a-plan?
I'm a lizard,
tail-dropped.

Basilisk-Kenevel,
walking water-cans.
Bet you coulda. Know I woulda.
Puddle-crossed,
"Bye," I ran.
Ogled-over noodles,
with the
"wrong-sauce-
Dan-Dan."
I'm always glad to read you.
Wrote to your-self, I am

THE man, I am
THAT guy! I'm not?
"You are."
Just-High.
I fry.
These-frilly vegetarian-victims.
I ripped flesh from bone, before my dogs,
had to sic 'em.

Oh--
if you don't like the channels you can clickclick-click 'em.
If I'm showing off my *****! "Better go-head."
Lick'em.
See? Hawk-my-****, and
Stickemmmmmmmmmm.

Didn't happen to 'bic' him."
D'you know
how to pick 'em?
Cuz I take hit, like you
take-a-****:
Ummmmmmmm
...
well.

And, I turn-it.
All-around.
And I make you
****-yourself.
*******-on my
"all-that,"
it comes, with.
Now, Fall! Back!

Cell-tough, in round-III, so
convert, or burn-winnin'. "Comfy-
When-sinnin'." In-system,
Preferably would, and should-be:
Bobs. Newhart and Lee and "the
Third. " "Cornball." Griffin.
Racist, your second-choice, whiffin'.
K-battin', ten,

outta-tin.
Hear it in the heat, soul-hissin',
lion-sun, bathing,
and she-glisten.
Cast me, to an
island away,
swears-by-we,
"Listen."

"More pills, son?"
Try'na name
your brand,
Of volley-*****.
Wilson,

Rus-sell

"I call them the
'defensive-stars,'"
And this-league: ***.
***. Arr.
Ain't-no-side-

hus-tle.
Fantasy. Cyclycality. Football. And, all Bob's, thought-of, that rhymed.
My life is a paradoxical monstrosity
A contradiction in itself
Where to start?
Anywhere, everywhere, nowhere perhaps
Occupation,
I play with words.
How naughty does that sound?
Really, I'm in a complicated relationship with words, terms, definitions, metaphors
Writer by day, storyteller by night
And of course I love what I do
And I hate what I do
How very poetic of you!
Why thank you!
Sorry, the inner child speaks.
Back to writing,
And the moments of fantastic ecstasy
Where this jumble of verbs and nouns and adjectives you're trying to assemble
Clicks.
The bigger picture develops with crystal clear clarity
No fastidious statements
Or meaningless passages.
Just words, feelings, meanings
Soul.
That doesn't sound so bad you say
IT HAPPENS ONCE EVERY MILLENIA!
For the most I am frustrated.
Stumped to the point where rage overcomes and the only cathartic release is to sleep.
When I do manage to squeeze something out of the depths of my mind, it appears substandard, to say the least.
Zadie told me to get used to non-satisfaction
So I am satisfied with never been satisfied; does this make me satisfied?
Ow.
Please, I need an answer
I've been looking for answers for nineteen years,
But have I been asking the right questions?
Are there any answers?
Another question
No, that was the question
Confusion and befuddlment ravaging through your mind?
I recently realised there are no facts
Only really good suggestions by excessively knowledgeable and esteemed
I quite fancy being one of those guys
A visionary complete with the stereotypical glasses and overgrown beard
And I'd declare that being yourself is the first step to finding your purpose
Fact.
But what if finding your purpose is your purpose?
I'll leave you with that.
This is my life.
Complaining would be ungrateful of me; it's a good one really.
I can walk and run and play basketball and see my friends where we laugh endlessly.
Oh and Saturday morning cartoons.
I have problems, enormous world ending problems
But it's all relative.
Some think I'm strange, I prefer quirky.
I wonder how life would be if I'd chose the 'normal' option
Most likely, frightfully boring
BabeRuth Jul 2015
Sitting beside her
Watching her slowly break to pieces
The only thing keeping her together
Were her thin calloused arms
Clasped tightly around her heaving chest
I couldn't bear it anymore

I love you...
I blurted out hastily
Before the significance of what I said could settle in
But I couldn't take them back
The words now stood between us
Floating in the silence of my confession
Her eyes widened and bloodshot
Arms wrapped tightly around herself
Hair left in a messy half tied bun

She sat just an arms distance away
And all I could was see beauty
In those runny kajal lined eyes
Coloured a warm shade of brown

I love you I specified once more
Her stumped silence more annoying now
But better, much better
Than one filled with her tears

I've loved everything about you I explain
More for my own sake than hers
For my mind could barely process such a confession

I love the way you dance to the corniest of songs
When you think no one can see you
I love how you spend an hour just figuring out makeup
Only to walk out with just lip balm gracing your face
I love how you try to dress ****
But would rather get married in a pair of boxers
I love how you're a ******* geek
But still can't resist an episode of Greys Anatomy

I love the contradiction you are
As changeable as the winds
But always steadfast when I need you
I love that awkward smile
I love that messy bun
I love those over sized t-shirts
I love that sarcastic mouth

You are not as weak as you believe
Your scars are what I love most
And how you show them off with pride to the world
Your imperfections make you perfect
And your...

Before I finished this sudden display of verbosity
She kissed me
Wrapping herself around me completely
For our imperfections we loved
And no person would make us erase our proud battle scars of life.
SassyJ Apr 2016
Upsized in elastic tugs
Boxing gloves trembling in sweat
A pace of haste, a stretch of jab
Ahead a mob, resign the job

The cheer as the pro smears
In tears I resume with fear
Body solid, the barefoot I bear
Hands bare all ignited gears

Endured as the rope snaps
My lioness is lost in the ring
Fire roars, an angered uproar
Unable to face the opponent

A body shot, a tummy stomp
Mouth guard stumped,beg to stop
Cheers rant upfront,the pain pause
Three minutes cease, an earring drop
Wow, In a boxing ring today and I froze. Then rose, then froze. She was proper rough!!!! and me? A *****.......
Valeria Ariza Oct 2016
Darling Dragon Blue,
Your life is a circus
full of ambiguities leaving you stumped,
unable to discern good from bad, truth from lies,
enemies from allies.

The Ring Master,
Master Illusionist,
Master Magician,
call him what you may,
he knows this,
he feeds off of this.

your misplaced trust
gives him power.

He targets you,
his spinning whip sings I love you,
Striking down ******* your soul,
drawing blood from your heart,
Painting hate in your eyes.

He announces you as his greatest possession,
his greatest achievement,
the love of his life.

But now the show’s over.
he looms over you
using his two faced mask to scare you back in your place
feeding off your insecurities and self doubt,
he grows stronger.

“Dance my boy Dance!” he cackles
‘STRIKE’
“Sing my boy sing!”
‘CRACK!’
he lines his whip with false love
to numb your pain.

But only for a little bit.
Only for a few seconds.

Long enough for you to believe it doesn’t hurt.
Long enough for you to forget his dagger words.

A damaged young dragon,
you burn your sorrow into the glass
when you whisper I love you to the mirror.
“I love you” it reads back.
and you feel so empty.

You realize you’re tired of performing on strings.
you yearn to dance freely, to soar high into the unforgiving sky
you want to burn this place to the ground screaming
“I loved you!” Roaring your mighty roar releasing your fright,
Spreading your mighty wings created for magnificent flight,
your bound legs unable to carry you,
you fall to the ground.
cold, helpless, the flame within you
threatening to die out.

The ring master finds you.
a confused frightened smile creeps onto his face
“I love you” he sneers
as he kicks you back into your cage
wondering why, oh why you tried to escape.

again with false love,
he manipulates you, a creature
endowed with so many beautiful talents and gifts,
not realizing he conditions his “ I love you’s” with pain, anger, and hate.

and you a mighty dragon only wish to control your own fate.

And so Enough.
you roar.
Enough.
The fire inside you erupts into a great blue star
transforming the carbon in your ribs into your
diamond heart,
melting your golden bones allowing you to change form.

For Darling Dragon Blue,

It is HE. that should fear you.

Darling Dragon Blue.

**I LOVE YOU.
Äŧül Jan 2016
Oh Marathi-Sindhi beauty,
I did not know that you'd intrude,
Deep in my heart & mind.

Your looks are elfin gorgeous,
I am downright stumped,
Of your positive attitude I'm a fan.

Your daily schedule is admirable,
Not many youngsters are organized,
And the majority roam aimlessly.

I so admire that you teach kids,
I see responsibility in your eyes,
Not many care for their families.

How you manage tuning the strings,
Happy & content you are always,
You smile how so ever be the things.

From you the world will learn,
Jealous from the respect you earn,
To be like you they will yearn.

So yes, the respect grows deep,
Down at the bottom of my heart,
As water to roots it will seep.
The title in Marathi means 'I'm missing you'.
And this one is for my special friend Bhumi.

My HP Poem #995
©Atul Kaushal
milkymoon Mar 2019
her faced oozed frangelico;
a sweet reminder that she was top shelf.

you striped her skirt to the floor,
eyeing her chastity belt made of condoms.
unbeknownst to her father, you stole the key.

his shotgun alarmed you but not enough to stop.
the laws about minors stumped you but not enough to stop.

unlocking my belt, she prays.
on her knees.
mouth open.

she carefully places the cross that looms over her bed in the bin.
marriage can wait, this can't.
you realize in the morning God wasn't with you.
but the hole in your ****** was.
Mark Bell Apr 2017
Ducks riding bicycles
Hamsters driving cars
Bananas flying aeroplanes
Nuclear bombs in jars.
Fish catching people
Kangaroos on a tram
Dead ruling the living
Has poo poo hit the fan.
Atoms kissing protons
While hyenas play guitar
Understanding people
Now that's seem to bizarre
wit laz Bermoodah shores n aqualurngs
werbah dem mer-jayhaydeens surfgunj
bur gud, en Beg Depp o fifday...urm, Ah ferget,
bur arnat day tire flate depthly gart wyett!
NoAh caint raywahnd waves geronimrawd
jayhard Jonahs wept enta Katreena Nams,
bur wiv dare-x urb dare-i-yeahs o
oil-leannes, Ah mane dem ay-leannes,
Saudi Raypublek Navy surge-jinn-sea
bay stumped hinda aye-bull! Ray Nothing, hay

wungo 'Yippee-qa-e-da!' lark hay wahs
badseed brudda o Bruise ******* - he wo
arn hestree disc en ma grayskull - but dis
Bruise bro's
benna Loose-fur's tannin paliss.Hint no
squit wit cullurd folk tho, cuz bran ar grain,
Ahll speshilops tha lot! Hail o ha warders
hair urreddy, bur Yoo Wezzle ace n-game
wunz Marzpans sheet slicks ta raypay karnez
o hour corralen carsma caddleproads. Aint maple
fo Marzlimbs now starkpals o desert dayzil

nart own-loil zippin moderbows urlung.
Congy, sinka pitcha o scuppernung
ef yooz bolls fo diz bill. Paz et fo hour
fellah Mericonz n Allarz devowed
bah Impravarzd Dayloovienne Dayvizes
- holeast coast cloodin Trumpopliss, wetch Prez.
Trumpya Bush cooled Noo Yark: sgarn. Daird Sayshorz
o Izril Die-yesh dooshez dayloojd tow. Slez
arble hour bahbuls: 'Lard, Thy Will Be Dung!'
Novta Vice-Prez Garth Vader, sAh say surlung

n Guard Bless A Merry Cur.
Tina Fish Nov 2012
In all directness I’ve lost my voice.
Enveloped by an irrational fear
of picking up the pen.
Thinking twice about every line.
As we shift and life materializes
before our eyes we find it harder
to say the things worth saying to ourselves.

Calm that beating heart, let it rest.

This life is tumulus.
Like a disappointed teenager
backdoor rebel, your biker
all bruised and blue
the guy who lies to you
out of habit or the girl
who’ll spread her legs
just to make sure beds
stay warm, or the grocer
who’ll stock rotten fruit
to meet the bills or people
who **** for oil, for drugs, for fun.

Disappointed, every last one of them.

So we fight back,
by puffing on our bongs
by disconnecting to our palms
by blasting the music on some large
stereo system, surround sound, or 3D vision
we spray paint on walls, or we fall prey to our whims
we bet on winning three hands straight
or decide we know our own fate,
or some of us just sit,
and wait,
for something, anything to happen
to shatter, to break apart, to give birth to some
black hole that’ll **** it all up and spit out something
back again. Anything we can reshape or begin.

But after chaos comes even more chaos.

And with loss comes anger,
mounted, building, and enraged,
like raised pitchforks chasing town monsters,
oh the horror, some of us might not bare to see it
won’t believe it, or try to bargain it away,
and not feel the earth shake from aftershock.
It’s too difficult to soak it up.
Let’s not tear down what is functioning fine
Just so we can live another lie?
I’m fine with mine, where it rests inside
a mask so well displayed,
that even I believe it some days.

Why change?

The question that lingers on the page,
Stumped by fear of jumping out of comfort zones,
Paralyzed by the thought that home
isn’t where you heart is, but rather,
the space your spirit needs to breathe.

And with that word
the realization of responsibility,
this burden it makes,
this weight that we can’t wait
to throw off to
another day, maybe
another time, maybe
could you keep your voice
down lady? Just after this last drink
baby, and I swear I’ll get back to you,

hey, I want my rite of passage too.

But the world moves too fast,
asks too much, doesn’t know when
to stop, drunk on its own axis,
either get off your *****
or be swept by the tide,
because there’s no where
you can run and hide
no matter how hard you try
you’re gonna have to listen to what you already know.

But guess what happens to people like that?

They grow.
KILLME May 2014
The six month mark
For that one time in the dark
Safe from December breeze
You laid on top of me
And left my hair a messy mop
Then you flew to the bus stop
Leaving me very confused
And I'll admit, a little amused
Is four days near
(Should we celebrate and cheer?)
I wonder what we'll do next
For a secret fling, you're the best
Yet I've come to love you with my whole heart
And hope this never tears us apart.
When I think about our future, I'm pumped
Although, our relationship leaves me stumped.
We all have that one friend we occasionally fool around with every weekend right? ...no? ***** for you guys then<3

I love you, babycakes, I hope we're crazy weird amazing best friends forever<333
(I hope you're cool with me posting this even with your name left out(as always))
Dark n Beautiful Oct 2015
I am a poet. From me, you will get only the best
It’s called persistent, not defeat
a roller of criticism moves me,

However, to watch my surfer friend Andy out on the wave
driven with the wind, those moments of the great madness
  makes wonderful poetic lines, I sense the rush, his madness,
and his sense of honor.

I shall therefore joyfully boast in my sufferings my friends
However, when you disrespect the poet, you disrespect the art.
you cut your roots at the source, and your thoughts will grow silent,
I am so blessed with the spirit; I am never stumped by fears

Yet, if you hold my poems against the mirror
the mirror would never read the contents backwards,
My messages to the world have no secret.

I am your poet, not your puppet on a string
My words are louder than clappers,
Like a heavily smoke-filled room,
My words might gag you,
because my words speak wisdom

This poet is not ashamed to write from her heart
My poems is like most nightmare transcending
our fears for the best.
I am breathing, I am writing.
  this is the new age of poetry
Julia Betancourt May 2017
admiration
seems to be one of our weakest
qualities
not able to see the love in the rays
the sun sets our way
or the whispers that insist the universe
cares about us each
in our own way
in the middle of the night
when the moon watches over us
as we shutter subtle fragile cries in our sleep
that our lips read "why did you do this to me?"

we come from ingrown trees
compacted of broken branches glued
together with moss
and we plant ourselves on the tops of hills
that way when our lovers finally do come
back (because ninety percent of the time
we're dead sure they will)
we can watch the sun set aside the beautiful
home where the sounds of our hearts
seem to beat
gaze into their eyes and tell them we never
could have gone on if they would have held
strong in leaving me
i mean us

so we hold their hands that still have bits of branches
coiled around their knuckles
and tighten our grip fitting in between their fingers
and we admire their eyes
their lips
their structure
them

but when they are not there
when they have picked themselves clean enough
of the sapling remains
and gotten rid of the pieces we so badly hold close
to our chests and made sure to remember
because they were the most rugged
and ridged imperfections of the earth
that way we cannot connect on the same levels as
before because they are now far passed perfect
and no longer intertwined in our bark
and the grooves are smoothed out so the lines have
disappeared with no birds or leaves that fall because
the seasons stopped changing and the wind stopped
whirling and the water stopped glowing and the grass
stopped growing
and everything just stopped

we sit frozen fixed
on the stump that sits stumped
next to us
and pray to angels above and the sun that it'll grow
oh please grow
rain
we tell it
rain
so it will magically reappear even though it's been
cut down
and we yell at the sky for not cooperating
because there isn't one single cloud
and we just stay fixed
on that bump that stands up out of the ground
and we forget that the sun is still there
waiting
wondering
hoping we will just turn our cheek another ninety degrees
and see its pretty fixtures from different angles
and its hands it has to hold
because when it comes to the world

we do not know how to admire any of its causes
we become too blinded in the animosity of who
is there to admire it with
and we stare at the empty space living next to us
but do nothing to soak up the delight-fullness that it is still there to be admired and the truth that
the eyes of our lovers got all of their colors
from those reflected in everything of what surrounds us
Glenn McCrary May 2014
"There's a masquerade in all of us. And to be invited is the greatest invitation of all. There are no masks, and there are no faces, just the barest of raw, gnawed-on bones.”~ Jade Day



[Do decides to take out his cell phone and begins filming the two girls; Unknowingly the girls continue to pleasure each other.]


GIRL #1: Ooh, please don’t stop babe. Ugghh that feels so good!

GIRL #2: Don’t worry darling I will never stop. As long as time continues to exist I will try my best to keep up.


[Do continues filming the girls as they continued eating each other out. Spore, Gum and Sweat sneak up behind Do. Spore slaps Do on his back.]

DO: Ow! What the hell was that for?

SPORE: Come on Do. You know that what you are doing is wrong and completely illegal. Would you want someone to film you while you are having **** time?

DO: I honestly can say that I am no where near eligible enough to provide an answer to that question.

SPORE: Okay, but would you?

DO: I wouldn’t give a ****.

[Gum and Sweat both laugh hard at Do. Sweat gives Do a high five.]

SWEAT: Ha ha. You know Do the coolest thing about you is that you keep it real. You don’t ******* around like some of these other fools around here.

DO: Thank you, Sweat. I try.

SWEAT: No problem bro.

GUM: Spore you really need to get a grip. What’s the danger in a bout of harmless fun?

SPORE: Depends on what level of danger we are talking as well as your definition of harmless.

GUM: I’m stumped. I’ll get back to you later on that one.

DO: Hey Sweat! I am getting some incredible footage over here bro!

[Sweat takes a few steps closer to view Do’s live camera as he is filming. The girls are moaning wildly as they are about to reach their climaxes.]

SWEAT: These girls so make me want to take a few licks ha ha.

GUM: I totally agree with you dude. This session is escalating very quickly.

[The moaning between the two girls became increasingly louder.]

GIRL #1: Oh my god! I think I… I think I’m going to ***!

GIRL #2: Come on darling let’s *** together!

GIRL #1 & #2: Ugh, uugghh, UUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!


[Do, Gum and Sweat start snickering loudly. Do ends up laughing so hard that he starts gradually swaying around and losing his focus with the camera until finally he hits the ground with a loud thud. The girls both jump in shock as they attempted to cover their upper body features with their hands. Both girls frantically struggled to pull up their jeans and put their shirts back on.]


GIRL #1: YOU GUYS WERE FILMING US? WHAT THE **** DUDE THAT IS SO CREEPY!!!! ******* PERVERTS!!!!!

GIRL #2: WHO THE **** ARE YOU GUYS? WHO IN THE HELL GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO FILM US?

DO: Nobody gave me permission to film you. Me and my friends happened to hear you guys moaning from where we were sitting and decided to find out where it was coming from and then we found you two. It turned us on so we decided to film you. The real question though is who gave you permission to have *** on public property in broad daylight in public?

GIRL #1: Look we were ***** okay? You don’t think that being sexless in an asylum for six months will increase your hormones? You kids have got a lot to learn.

GIRL #2: Yeah, you kids need to experience life on a grander. You need to live a little.

GIRL #1: Hey you in the white jeans! What’s your name?

DO: Who me?

GIRL #1: Yes, you!

DO: Oh, my name is Do. Do Nino. What is yours?

[The girl slowly walks up to Do in a very **** manner until she is within close proximity of Do. She pressed her body against Do with her lips less than an inch from his. She was staring deep into his eyes as in a **** whisper she recited her name]

GIRL #1: Mon nom est Alice. Alice French et la jeune fille derrière moi est mon ami Anna Sharp.

[Anna waved as Do smiled back at her in return. Do felt the warmth of Alice’s breath hit his lips.]

DO: Those are some **** names for women as attractive as yourself.

ALICE: That’s what they tell us.

[Alice had ***** blond shoulder length hair with blond highlights. She had gray eyes with a slender body and sleek hips standing at about five foot nine. Anna had jet black hair with electric red highlights. She had more of an fitness build as beneath her top she had a beautiful six pack as well as some considerably muscular legs. The detail of the muscles showed in her arms. Anna also wore electric red eye shadow complete with lipstick of the same color. Alice leaned in and abruptly began passionately French kissing Do. She then attempted to grab Do’s cell phone out of his hand while doing so. Do caught her trying to steal his phone and pushed her off of him accidentally brushing his hands across her ******* in the process.]

ALICE: Don’t be shy. Go ahead touch them. Feel them. Let them blow your mind.

[Alice whispered sexily in Do’s ear as she proceeded to start trailing her lips down his neck in a series small, light kisses as Alice attempts to grab his phone once more. Do’s breathing rate begins to grow heavier. Do gently grasps Alice on both sides of her upper body.]

DO: What are you trying to do?

ALICE: Oh, nothing. I’m just feeling a little ***** still after my steamy little session with Anna.

ANNA: And may I say she is definitely an acquired taste. Active ***** goers would know what I am talking about.

[Do, Spore, Gum, Sweat, Alice and Anna burst out laughing.]

ANNA: Anyway there is this new club opening up on January 31 called Hyper.***. All of you are invited.

ALICE: Also since you will be with me and Anna you will receive free entrance admission, free vip admission and free drinks all night. We know the club owners.

ANNA: Remember this offer is exclusively for you only and can be revoked at any time. We don’t want you going around blabbing to everybody about it because we will take away your privileges just like that.

[Alice and Anna both snap their fingers as a gesture to justify their statements.]

ALICE: Be there

ANNA: Or be square

[Alice and Anna slowly walk away. Do and his friends take a brief look at his business card.]

GUM: This club sounds very interesting. I can’t wait until opening night. What’s today’s date?

SPORE: January 17

GUM: Ok so two weeks then. I’m so totally pumped for this. How about you guys?

SWEAT: ****, this club sounds like it’s going to be bad ***.

DO: Hell yeah, bro. I’m looking to get laid that night.

SPORE: Boys. You guys are so typical.

SWEAT: To say men are typical is to say nature is questionable.

SPORE: Pretty much.

GUM: You’re so weird Spore.

SPORE: Weird but classic. Controversial yet fantastic.

SWEAT: You can stop now, Spore.

[Spore flips Sweat off. Sweat laughs in response while returning the gesture.]

DO: Hey look guys!

[Do spots another cell phone laying in the same spot that Alice and Anna were having ***. Do walks over to pick up the phone and turns on the back light sliding the screen to unlock it. He finds a video on the screen and decides to press play. The video showed two guys fighting. One had short, wavy, red hair, a white t-shirt and leather jacket with leather boots. The other guy had short, curly, black hair, a white shirt and some white jeans. Spore, Gum and Sweat gather around Do to view the video.]

SPORE: ******* Do! I think that’s you and WiFi.

GUM: Who’s phone is that?

DO: It’s Alice’s…

[Do feels a sudden tap on his right shoulder. He looks over his shoulder and turns around to discover that Dr. Nightmare was standing right behind him.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Come with me.
With the tightfisted budget now handed down
There is a lot of ******* people in our nation's towns
Mr Hockey has hit the taxpayers with a double decker bus
High and low income earners put well into a binding truss

Revolt in the Senate Chamber is showing on the cards
The government will be in receipt of a few shrapnel shards
Legislation won't get passed in a timely manner
There will be the flying of a double dissolution banner

Then the Abbott mob will be well and truly stumped
Voters are itching to have the extra tax imposts bumped
Canberra shall shortly be in for an enormous rattling
Heft taxing has the nation's populous struggling and battling

Had the GST been set at fourteen percent and on everything
Our tax burden to-day wouldn't be so troubling
Government must learn to live within its boundaries
As the tax paying public are sickening of all the levees

Tax policy is in need of urgent attention too right
For parliamentarians don't seem to see our plight
Mr Shorten has stated that his mob can fix our woes
But his side of politics has not the scent of a rose

We are stuck with a budget which has us ******* down
And it offers us nothing of the lights in mirthful town
The treasury calculator has a very mean spirited spike
Twill there ever be a tax regime which we'll all like
Raymond Johnson Nov 2013
What are we, really?
For as long as we have been able,
Humans have looked skyward and wondered.

Wondered about the timbre of our voices
About the pastel shades of our skin.
When we are cut, why do we all bleed the same red?

About our origin.
About our purpose.
About our murky past and our luminous future.

What are we, really?
As a species we are collectively stumped.
We have journeyed far.
From trepanning the ill, ventilating their skulls to drive out malevolent spirits,
To carefully calculating the oscillations of distant stars.

And yet,
Despite our ingenuity, despite our ambition, despite our progress,
The truth still escapes our inquisitive grasp.
What are we, really?

Are we god's chosen flock?
Are we simply another infinitely random arrangement of carbon atoms? Flesh and gristle and calcium deposits?
Are we overgrown simians with overgrown egos and obnoxious sense of importance?
Or are we a simulation? Ones and zeroes on the motherboard of the cosmos?

What are we,
Really?
What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.

I want to wake up the neighborhood
To hear my screams at dawn
But they do not hear anything,
Do not listen to anything that happens in the morning.
I play my music in the streets,
All my poetry and clichés
But they do not understand anything,
No one understands what happens at dawn.
I walk the streets looking windows,
***** children in their rotten rags
And I cry with those who are hungry,
I do not know who cry or love…
I embrace the poor in spirit
And hear all your stories poor,
These poor and pathetic poor souls
It is my right meeting this cold morning.
I go through the streets and alleys damp and dark
And I hear a child crying…
A repetitive and child crying wretched
What is the worst of all choruses?
I see people and their hurried footsteps
Everywhere, everywhere…
I'm afraid to follow my tracks
And I hasten my steps through this city.
I hear the sirens screaming in the streets
Mixing the sound of nightclubs crowded
And the sound of twisted metal
Creating a new contrast, another type of cry.
I sing with you almost every night
And sometimes I wonder: where are you
He left so early and left me here...
Now I’m alone! I’m alone!
God, I try and cannot understand
Reason to justify this life.
I am a pawn in the game you do not see
Every dawn until dawn.
Something touched my whole being,
Something I do not understand and do not try to understand,
Something that comes up every day when I wake up
And after me until nightfall.
Something happens,
Something moved,
Something incomprehensible,
A new friend?
They say that being is almost live
And living is the limit of what you can want.
In fact, something happens that one wants to be here,
However, not all this desire craves.
Nothing is enough
When no longer feels the aroma of flowers,
When the color no longer thrill
And they cannot be sold to look.
Gave me such rare moments
Feeding the future although at present,
But waking I do in all my steps
Get me the taste of things even in thought.
In my noble and poor land I wander
And I feed the memories of liars,
Get drunk me with joy and gladness
And insistent way in the land of lepers.
In my humble vacant land,
Time is proud, ignorant time.
Hunger is rampant around me,
The flesh is weak and soul idem.
I ask as much as the worst of sinners,
Wasting a time that no longer have,
Not differentiate right from wrong,
Share supper with my detractors.
I do not feel the taste of wine,
I do not recognize a smile,
I do not remember the hugs,
I'm finally alone!
I weigh my conscience in the balance of a butcher
And the butcher tape me with ravenous eyes,
There is no any agreement on the price of the meat,
Nor is the first or second.
God, you who are owner of the ages,
Give me the hours its final minute
And cause the whole world to know
That left miserable after all.
Grant then that desire
And finish time with this work,
Free cities this unfortunate
Who insists on knowing what nobody knows.
When there is fever, it makes no difference,
There are times the blood is poison.
Red is the color of anger and sin:
The poet knows when he is sentenced.
If there is even poetry these avenues
As equal in different cities,
To be recognized
For the sake of pursuing life.
Burial in the deepest memory
The giant concrete towers,
The grotesque glass structures
That mimics a new artery.
A new artery,
A new lifestyle,
A new company
And an early cardiac arrest.
As the cars kissing the avenues
Meeting the perfect companion
That tells me in the ear:
"Accept me as the only one"
Finally, fear runs through my veins
And feeding a forgotten feeling,
An absurd desire to see the next day
And try another outlet.
All the streets are congested.
A whole shantytown has just been set on fire
While some locals try to save
What remains of an entirely bankrupt life?
There is a twist
Around this humble heart,
A carnival,
Almost a provocation.
All veins are old and weak,
There is melancholy at all.
Even without poetry,
Without free will, there is life at all.
This city is just brick,
Metal, sweat, concrete and glass,
Cement stuck to feeling
Often beautiful and often ugly.
This city is sand,
Concrete and feeling,
Sorrows and joys,
Poetry thrown to the wind.
Some people learn early, some not -
Live life day in and day out.
Some dance to the song,
Others are lost before the chorus.
Some are always right, some not -
Many are lost in illusion.
While some running, others sleep
And all seek some direction.
Some dream rock bottom,
Others dream of the river bottom.
Some seek independence,
Others are the exception.
Some people win,
There are people who are lost,
Some people becomes the problem
And others think is the solution.
Digress weather
What about the "types" that encounters in this life.
I lose a second in this lost time
And even with so little sense, how rare is the time!
If you have no idea, nor do I know.
Maybe the hunger that consumes me consumes you too.
Perhaps the addiction that affects equal
Is something that arises only between abnormal?
I addiction with its tapas
And in each sip of his cup,
Each exaggerated affection offered
In exchange for a few bucks.
I ***** me with your lies
And assimilate water from your gutters,
I learn new shortcuts in every way
And erase the traces of my own steps.
I chase you in every church and every home
I swallow my irony,
Visit each elderly
And make friends with the hospice house.
Far reaches thy wickedness
And how many hugs another's grief?
Can evil be so inspired?
The point of the very surprised to be expected?
Life bleeds leaving the left chest
The children of the world that the world does not want,
Spread the news that sadness has hair
And more brown eyes than mine.
I notice refinements of cruelty
In this urban masochism
Where poverty has older
And the lie became just a vanity.
I transform
In all more abhor,
I emerge in the mirror
As my own killer.
I suffocate and tie in the dark of my room
Little souls endangered
And throw in the trash the dreams of those who
He believed devoutly one day be part of reality.
I still feel the skin marked by fire
The brand that hurts the brand of truth
And I pray that one day cease searches
And everything becomes futile.
The happiness of fuel
Corrode and fades away slowly
Gradually me satisfaction
With the balance that sustains me.
When I look at my own face, it hurts.
I exhale the body the rest of fear
And I try not to see how strange the line of truth -
Seeking the path that leads to freedom.
Disguise my desires
And repress my absurd,
Hug each nightmare
And hide my darker side.
I try to see something beyond the abyss,
Find something else beyond the walls,
Transcribe all longings
Hidden behind every dream.
I am eternal,
Sinister,
Land and fraternal
While the world lasts.
There is this chest a divided heart
Created almost between two worlds,
The world is inside the abyss
And what one sees behind the walls.
My corner is stumped
As well as the small voice and uncertain
From the little that is hidden on the other side,
My other side of that wall.
What have other corners?
They also have these sides
But what counts in these corners
Also rhyme in other valleys.
Bright lights bother many people.
Darkness feeds inconsequential.
High walls with brass railings gleaming
Are contrasts in painting a colorless screen?
Urban flowers are so amazing
And this depression is so exciting.
Smiles are bitter and needy
And the pain married to vows of love.
These buildings are so interesting,
Where the wet streets at night shine like diamonds,
Where transiting the fair and honest
Munching vanity and rancor.
The cars pass and illuminate so many people,
Whites, blacks and children without color.
Poets are so tucked the irreverent
Assimilating the pain and all that is.
I see lives that trace the same plane,
joy of generations by mistake ,
Marks of time that are pure desperation
Charting together a colorless future.
I see faces full of hope
Burning in public because of their color,
Those who live without even realizing it,
A cold paint drips without why.
Bodies dancing high parapets
Almost always go so early
Challenging theories and concepts
And ignoring all kinds of love.
My steps are so slow
And so intense movements,
The faces are always the same
And I hope again the sunset.
Justice who is in charge of giving clemency
The presumed innocent
Transiting the streets
Spreading hope and love.
I want to have a chance to see the birth of Venus
And the annunciation in the middle of spring,
I want to be like St. Augustine
And read the scriptures by candlelight.
I want to be like Van Gogh and paint sunflowers
Even in December the ink is red.
I want to have new flower garden in the backyard
And the kiss out of my lips is never accidental.
Just want something passionately
Even being so blind and alone?
That goodbye is worthy
And everything to return finally to dust.
The idea comes suddenly
To celebrate as an illiterate,
Prepare a table and invite
Only those who are hungry.
All this turmoil,
All this protest,
All thefts
This legion inside me...
Melancholy has always had its place,
Love, sadness and bitter returns,
Feeling alone and be like shadow in the crowd
And embrace the darkness itself.
Find it romantic suffer
For pain that recognizes pain that always sees
It is more than a disease, it is a love affair
For all that hurts and causes pain.
I let them think I was defeated
With the unexpected attacks
Of those who cry shouts of victory
And they forgot to be buried.
I leave them to play in my back
The guilt of all blame,
Let it burn my entire story,
It does not matter that much.
My lips run on search words
And my eyes run in search of beauty,
Drawing liar’s feelings
That shut all the bells around.
Words come out like blades
In hoarse voice coming out of my mouth
This other me who hates me so much
And all challenges at first.
In the spring mornings leaves dance
Rehearsing his ballets from the rising of the day,
Is this life?
It’s this they call life?
I want to find the lost word
Among the tasks of the day to day
What is so profane?
The prohibited!
I want to meet a new season
Bring me a sense of relief,
Find what they call happiness
And maybe learn what it is.
An epidemic,
Leukemia,
Rimes illustrating
An eternal melodrama.
You cannot have everything!
Not always beautiful are our days
And we keep waking up.
Roses do not speak, but are also alive.
There is hunger for love!
There is hunger and what will?
There is hunger in this home?
If there is hunger, then there.
There is time for everything!
There is time to smile,
No time to cry,
There is time to leave.
I want to run away from home without a warning,
Running between the wheat fields
And let all afflicted
Trying to understand what had happened.
I want to cause confusion,
The same kind that I bring in my heart.
I want water all around
With the storm inside me.
I want to wake up the sleeping
And those who never agreed,
I want to find out who they are
And spread about us.
Lovers of this pain,
Thirsty without knowing
Where else to enjoy,
Where else to call "home".
I shift my gaze
With all the hatred of this world
Of all the ragamuffins and vagabonds
Who recognize me in a second?
I want to break these chains,
Scratching walls,
Promote anarchy
And imprison noon.
I want rain penknives
While tear my clothes,
I cut my wrists
And count all the drops.
A day can be
Something happens
And make to cease this endless grief
And everything changes, anyway.
So lose the naivety
What remains this morning?
I envision the absurdity that all I see
Is still something to be remembered?
Maybe one day
Poetry is done singing
And the light breeze the corner
Everywhere!
I want to get a perfect world,
I want to love what is defective,
I want to explore my own room,
Make another deal.
I want to shake you violently that coffin
And show where all the mice,
Ignite old blankets
Which now they were pretty.
I want to show you I love you
And I hate you,
I can live alone,
But also not live without you.
My madness is productive
At the same time, destructive:
It satisfies the crowd inside.
I refuse to be part of the pack
Strolling in supermarkets,
Feigning patience as immoderate
The suffered.
I like debris,
I collect dust,
Make enemies,
Cultivation dreams.
I constantly change identity
And lose track of reality,
My state is ill
And I'm terminal and disposable.
I participate in this game,
This novel in decline
This disgusting theater of horrors
Where only the blind are honest.
I am thoroughly enslaved
While deprive me of the privilege of choice,
Burying our will
In the deepest pit.
The wall that separates us is low
And we walked jumping from one side to the other,
Often both exist
And others, only I exist.
We are a nun and a *****
Plotting an eternal dispute
Between the two sides of the coin
To decide who runs and who fight.


As simple as saying your name
Spell out the pieces of your body.
I want to understand what God's grace
If your body will never be only yours.
Your body exudes the morning sweat,
Clouds hid the principle of pain,
Pain discovers a new form of pleasure
And the pleasure is expensive to you.
Your blood runs nearly everywhere
And a new world opens up suddenly,
Frighten the fleeting pain
And wait with his only love the sunrise.
I wipe the sweat oozes from you,
You wipe the tears falling from me,
If you can be in the world some endless love
The only certainty is that there was never before such love.


I want to wake you up
To hear my screams at dawn,
Show you what genuine despondency is
And not left me anymore.
I want to recognize me
And take me to your bed,
Not left with nothing
In addition to beating in his chest.
I want to be part of its history
And I want to be a constant presence in my,
The world spit their prejudices
And the fire that also burns in the heat.
I want to break the mirrors
And heal our sickness,
Assaulting what kills us
Every day, forever.
Serene and calm give you what remains
With my last breath,
What's best in me now rests
And rest my mind.
My sweat is true
It is also all the pain.
Blood is final
And it goes to the last vows of love.
The entire storm inside me
Now relax my heart,
Soothes My Soul
And feeds the reason.
I walk by this peaceful land
And growing a new crop of wheat,
I do a incognita a new partner
And the fear is not definitive.
I harvest hope
Where before there was only bitterness.
I am ashamed
And regret.
I accept the entire cross
And fight against the serpent.
I heal my wounds.
And my success is violent.
Time is short
And I want to scream that entire plan,
There is still a flame inside
And only her surrender.
What was misery,
What was despair,
What was hungry,
What was fear…
What was pain,
What was love,
What it had value
And when there was time…
What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.


What is born on this land?
What grows in this land?
Nothing is born on this land,
My private wasteland.
MY LAND OUR LAND is the result of years of work. Written at different times, eventually leading nineteen years in reaching the outcome that now lies in your hands.
Numerous times this poetry was abandoned and then resumed, forgotten at the bottom of a trunk or discarded due to the complexity. Not ready and may never be. The comforting passages are rare. Virtually none, to be more specific. There is no time to be afraid. We mask our feelings and weave remarks about everything.
This is just a work of poetry. Do not be afraid to consume it. Not to care be consumed by it.
My land cannot be invaded. It can be understood, compared, discussed, studied, trivialized, ridiculed or criticized by anyone. But this is my land!
Slpngg May 2012
i was then 17
innocent, wild and free
yet, you came unattainable
to where you don't belong

i took you in
with out any much resonance
abide the guts swelling

you earned freedom
lust fame ; intellect
above my tentatively broken soul
that's where you belong

i was 20,
in the midst of chaos; i see you
stumped, drunk and worthless
i fell in your arms

i was different this time round
i thought.

your charm was beyond my ability
your soul was far o' broken
still, i thread this everyday
with little of what's left

I erned
We never belonged together.

— The End —