"turny" poems
When the baker bakes the baked bakery bakes,
Do they also bake the recipe required?
What's the recipe for a poem?
Does the poet pen the poetical poem poetically to pen their pretty poems?
What temperature do you bake ink-
To make it a bestseller?
How much baking powder do you bake into a page
To perfect its pagey turny pageiness?
What kinda poem crust does a poem become encrusted in?
Should it crumble?
Should it rhyme?
Should it cry a melodrama so dramatic that drama llamas like “that too much drama!”?
Wait,
Where did drama llama come into this?
Who else is in the kitchen cooking this poem pie?
Is the poem pie perfectly pied in its drama crust?
WAIT-
we forgot about the filling…
What do you put in a poetical poem pie?
Should I peach the pied poem?
The peaches plumpy peachy smile?
(i’m not sure how the drama llama feels about that)
Should I fill the peachy pied poem with orange and lemon citrus ?
A little bit of snazz to the snazzy apple pie.
Crap, I forgot the apples as well.
Well now my peachy pied lemony apple-orange poem is too long!
And i still don’t know what temperature to torch these thoughts at!
Well the pied piper pipes in that maybe my peachy pied poem needs some pepper
To pipe the spice to pied poem levels!
But lemony apple-orange peachy pied poems with pepper seems a touch peppery for simple pied poems to be.
But who ever said a poem pied can’t have spice and everything nice WITH lemon and apple and orange and peachy fuzzy smiles?
So,
My peachy peppered pied lemony appley orangy poemy is piping hot to boot.
Now i just need to figure out whos gonna eat the **** thing.
Dec 2, 2021
Dec 2, 2021 at 3:27 PM UTC
are you generally happy?
a semi-innocuous query
now actualized as a two sided bladed poker,
hot stabbing me smack dab in
the chests hollow crown bullseye,
continuously, as in all life long, and eternal longing for a
“yes”
it fits inside a pubescent aged wound that
refreshes with every breath;
a life long struggle for an accurate definition,
be a general of genuine happy,
that alone would deliver, bringing on bright day satisfaction
as a human, one operates on parallel continuums;
slide slipping on well oiled poles that over the years,
their lengths, increasing with add-on extender poles
formed by
twisty turny slips and falls of sundered hearts and sad loves,
marriages nicknamed Titanic, children found and lost,
complications responsibilities that are denied meeting the words
“The End”
a life that many would envy, questioning what’s wrong
with you dude, are you blinded to the riches yours,
reality is
shoulders permanently bent, a spine that’s held together by
spit and solder and curved by wearying wearing longing for
a straightness that is also called crooked unobtainable
and a piece of a peace that comes and goes
like a highway billboard that you pass too fast to be fully read
the body is corroding and worser yet to come and that’s a hand
you selected - luck of the self-selecting-drawing -
the opioids of the mind offers are rejected
the clarity of painful self exploration valued overall -
the place where the poems come from,
and go to die,
a landscape of a scene repeatedly visualized
but never been and never left,
the crazy contradictions come in two flavors;
vanilla smiles and chocolate weeping of tears that have
etched pathways cheek-chiseled
the city is a struggling strife for most,
the next red line on the side
of the measuring cup and
everyone has a cell, a credit card,
and a measuring cup
<•>
here I stop can’t finish
someone missing alerts me
to their real worlds troubles
making my complaints super superficial but
the silent running of the stilleto
cuts shallow
repeated hourly
the cut color,
pitch black
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Money is the need of life
Everyone loves this, either mother or wife
Yes, it is very lovable-
Why not, as it gives us respect and make us able
We can buy every precious thing
And some say, if you have money only then have “Honey”
We can by-pass any law and order-
Using money and speak louder
But money cannot replace truth
Yet it can hide it on mysterious earth
It cannot make us to sleep
But it can make us to weep
Money is the dust of our hand
Which will be washed away when we wash hand
Money can make us respectful
But it cannot make us truthful
Money should not be treated as everything
Or we will miss truthness of worldly things
Everything should not be done just for some money
Or we will miss love of others, which will make us funny
Earn money don’t pride of it
Love money don’t do crime for it
Or God will make distance from you
You are his only son, is the truthest truth
Money is not life but life is money
The tour of life is very “Turny”
Humanity is the first duty of ours
Search for truth and get success in yours Life’s Tour
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
Topsy turny
Broken
Confused
Empty, shattered, hurt, abused
Love sick
But searching
Broken hearted with a grin
Trying to fix the bruises
With the pleasures of sin
Playing hokey pokey
Jumping in and out
****** up mental
Needy soul
Aching lonely heart
Comparing every savior
To the source of my demise
Trying to find another
That sees me with his eyes
Trying to find another
To hold me in his hand
Shove me in his pocket
Take away my grin
Trying to find another
To treat me like he did
Though everything he gave
Brings me back to here
Broken
Shattered
Lonely
Searching for a dove
Aching for a pleasure
Heard someone call it love
Brushing off the good ones
Causes they’re not like he was
Holding on to hope
While playing blind to just
Being happy
Being free
Sharing in a world
That brings me so much pleasure
Where I am understood
Where I am respected for simply being me
Where I can see me in his eyes
And he sees him in me
Searching for a token
Trying to survive
Trying to escape him
Trying to let him die
See he’s no longer with me
But I feel him deep inside
Saying as long as I’m within you
You’ll never be alive
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 2:11 PM UTC
I want you to take a globe
spin it as hard as you can
like you would spin me around with your twisty turny words
and when she slows down I want you to focus on that country
tell me what you associate the third world country with
do the battles between your head and heart sound and feel as similar as the countries in constant battle?
I bet you could tell a lot from the way the dirt pavements look in the back roads of the capital
they've seen fear, blood, sweat and death
much like you, except you haven't seen death except for the light your soul once had before you let your heart take over your head
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
You are in my stomach
A topsy-turny rumble
I can't swallow away.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
I run through my thoughts again and again.
As I wait in line to complain yet again.
The waiting room is empty and I sit here again.
You call my name and I walk back into this twist turny hallway into your office. You asked how my week was so far and i get quiet.
This is the loudest moment of silence I've ever encountered.
I can hear my heart beating fast and I can hear me swallow hard.
My thoughts are getting louder and louder, shouting at me to just tell you the truth.
Instead I tell you its been good with a fake smile on my face.
You asked about my mom and I change the subject, again.
I asked you if it was wrong to be hit.
I looked down at the floor, listening to you ask the same question over and over again.
Until I burst into tears and say never mind. It doesn't matter, but it does matter because I could've helped myself from a lot of heartache if I would've just told you.
Now I lay here wishing I could go back so I can just complain, again.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 6:12 AM UTC