Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Words
"supertramps" poems
Them bastardized youths fell outside, dizzied by a reality unsolved. Their maws scowled judgment and drooled Pabst down improbable bodies each of them lay in the stink of subtle conformity.   Fiercely unique culture beasts starved away in suburbs; Wikidrifting, those drugged litterbugs scampered. Dropout fish fast against the current of their time, tired from dancing through desperate crowded nights and disparate lonely dawns, dangling degrees and the specters of success burning incessant their pride. They were the ******** made so over time contracted by blind parents to nine-to-blithes in which quiet desperation, credit nooses, and irony were the small print. They were carpenters afraid of their hands.  With chisel to headstone, they lied on the hoods of used Japanese cars, panning the radio for a real connection and gazing up at vanishing constellations.   They were their poison and they their elixir, but a cold cigarette was a much quicker fixer of Helplessness Blues and the back of a Bible where a brief intellectual wrote “I am suicidal.” For how does the turn of the epigram read to those who care less with every new beat of a drummed-up society so high off its piety that seeing stars vanish is simply a shame?   Those ******** dropouts tragically remiss, those Supertramps, Kerouacs, Cohens, and wits. They were the alternative, urbanite fools that littered alleys with Greek fables and Tibetan tattoos.   Criterion flash cards and the literary canon allowed them to flirt with god in verse and art clues until Pollock’s canvas did rip off their eyelids which left them to know only Socrates knew. They danced and they writhed, then ****** to pass time, and kept on their passions till lost were their minds.  Then they all died, those blasphemous ******** But at least they washed on the back of their crimes. At least they danced. At least they were. And there may be something to movement in chaos.
0
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 8:06 PM UTC
k-middleton
Untitled
Them bastardized youths fell outside, dizzied by a reality unsolved. Their maws scowled judgment and drooled Pabst down improbable bodies each of them lay in the stink of subtle conformity.   Fiercely unique culture beasts starved away in suburbs; Wikidrifting, those drugged litterbugs scampered. Dropout fish fast against the current of their time, tired from dancing through desperate crowded nights and disparate lonely dawns, dangling degrees and the specters of success burning incessant their pride. They were the ******** made so over time contracted by blind parents to nine-to-blithes in which quiet desperation, credit nooses, and irony were the small print. They were carpenters afraid of their hands.  With chisel to headstone, they lied on the hoods of used Japanese cars, panning the radio for a real connection and gazing up at vanishing constellations.   They were their poison and they their elixir, but a cold cigarette was a much quicker fixer of Helplessness Blues and the back of a Bible where a brief intellectual wrote “I am suicidal.” For how does the turn of the epigram read to those who care less with every new beat of a drummed-up society so high off its piety that seeing stars vanish is simply a shame?   Those ******** dropouts tragically remiss, those Supertramps, Kerouacs, Cohens, and wits. They were the alternative, urbanite fools that littered alleys with Greek fables and Tibetan tattoos.   Criterion flash cards and the literary canon allowed them to flirt with god in verse and art clues until Pollock’s canvas did rip off their eyelids which left them to know only Socrates knew. They danced and they writhed, then ****** to pass time, and kept on their passions till lost were their minds.  Then they all died, those blasphemous ******** But at least they washed on the back of their crimes. At least they danced. At least they were. And there may be something to movement in chaos.
Continue reading...
16
*We reach for Nirvana As we Rage Against The Machine While Smashing Pumpkins at A Funeral For A Friend We Supertramps & Pixies We Kings of Convenience & Queens of The Stone Age All you Radioheads & Motorheads my Chemical Brothers & Shakespeare Sisters All my kin in this Tribe Called Quest that's you, Yes! you The Prodigy of the Priestess The Offspring of the one true Queen our mother Earth, Wind & Fire We must unite against The Darkness Be the Joy Division in this System of A Down-ward Spiral into Madness Be the Primal Scream that fuels the Corrosion of conformity and Them Crooked Vultures? The Simple Minds... the ones who Sleep They gather At The Drive In to see Sir Lord Baltimore and his Eagles Of Death Metal battle King Crimson's Foo Fighters & The Sisters Of Mercy in the Velvet Underground of the House of Pain ... While Tom Waits ... For no one*
0
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 7:19 AM UTC
nic-sutcliffe
riffs raffs
*We reach for Nirvana As we Rage Against The Machine While Smashing Pumpkins at A Funeral For A Friend We Supertramps & Pixies We Kings of Convenience & Queens of The Stone Age All you Radioheads & Motorheads my Chemical Brothers & Shakespeare Sisters All my kin in this Tribe Called Quest that's you, Yes! you The Prodigy of the Priestess The Offspring of the one true Queen our mother Earth, Wind & Fire We must unite against The Darkness Be the Joy Division in this System of A Down-ward Spiral into Madness Be the Primal Scream that fuels the Corrosion of conformity and Them Crooked Vultures? The Simple Minds... the ones who Sleep They gather At The Drive In to see Sir Lord Baltimore and his Eagles Of Death Metal battle King Crimson's Foo Fighters & The Sisters Of Mercy in the Velvet Underground of the House of Pain ... While Tom Waits ... For no one*
Continue reading...
25