"tutorial" poems
Sitting in our tutorial
Just me and Nick
Both surreptiously
Watching the seconds tick
"Kevin", Nick pauses,
I'm glad he's got something to say,
"What's it called when girls ****
OK, wasn't expecting that...
I ponder for a second
To consider my response
I'd quite like it if I don't have to say the word 'wank' myself
Or any synonym.
Fortunately, spurred on by his youth,
Nick saves the day:
"Is it called *********
"Yeah I think either one would do
Now let's get back to this history,
Where did ****** bomb in 1942?"
So the lesson continues
Just Nick and me
Both surreptiously
Massively relieved
PS
Strictly speaking, 'fingering' is when someone else's hand is involved.
'To finger oneself' is the equivalent to ************
I have no regrets that I failed to make this distinction at the time.
Part 2 (a few weeks later)
"Kevin, this might sound like a funny question, but
Have you heard of a ********
Me: "er...No"
Dec 29, 2011
Dec 29, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
After comparing lives with you for years
I see how I’ve been losing: all the while
I’ve met a different gauge of girl from yours.
Grant that, and all the rest makes sense as well:
My mortification at your pushovers,
Your mystification at my fecklessness—
Everything proves we play in separate leagues.
Before, I couldn’t credit your intrigues
Because I thought all girls the same, but yes,
You bag real birds, though they’re from alien covers.
Now I believe your staggering skirmishes
In train, tutorial and telephone booth,
The wife whose husband watched away matches
While she behaved so badly in a bath,
And all the rest who beckon from that world
Described on Sundays only, where to want
Is straightway to be wanted, seek to find,
And no one gets upset or seems to mind
At what you say to them, or what you don’t:
A world where all the nonsense is annulled,
And beauty is accepted slang for yes.
But equally, haven’t you noticed mine?
They have their world, not much compared with yours,
But where they work, and age, and put off men
By being unattractive, or too shy,
Or having morals—anyhow, none give in:
Some of them go quite rigid with disgust
At anything but marriage: that’s all lust
And so not worth considering; they begin
Fetching your hat, so that you have to lie
Till everything’s confused: you mine away
For months, both of you, till the collapse comes
Into remorse, tears, and wondering why
You ever start such boring barren games
—But there, don’t mind my saeva indignatio:
I’m happier now I’ve got things clear, although
It’s strange we never meet each other’s sort:
There should be equal chances, I’d’ve thought.
Must finish now. One day perhaps I’ll know
What makes you be so lucky in your ratio
—One of those ‘more things’, could it be? Horatio.
3k
“There's loads of boring stuff. Like Sundays and Tuesdays and Thursday afternoons. But now and then there are Saturdays.” ~ ‘Doctor Who’
People think that Tuesday afternoons are boring. These are the type of people who get up at three-pee-em on a Saturday afternoon then pa-a-a-arty all that night.
I don’t get on with these people.
No, for me, Tuesdays are glorious. Tuesdays are ‘me’ time.
Tuesdays are full of art, like French and English and cinnamon lattes in Costa as I read a book.
Or I write.
I create some poetry or prose – nothing spectacular but something that means I’ve said something about the world.
Then, sometimes, the afternoon is empty.
I don’t have a tutorial, I don’t have work and I don’t have people. I can just bake and dance and sing without having to pretend.
I love Tuesday afternoons.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
my nap py roots are a natural root to the tree of life.
i dare not damage my sources to the source of light.
afro made all strong and sturdy,
a sprinkle of all that is worthy.
a sign that i am everything and i exist.
stop bleaching out your blackness.
i insist
that you cherish your being like you cherish material possessions
& feed into obsessions of your ego that knows of nothing else.
only mirrored image self,
detrimental to your health.
only focused on appearances and features.
beauty industry focal points
with tutorial teachers.
influencers influenced by ingenuine sources,
no natural resources.
your reign has been challenged.
may the best man be exalted.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 6:11 PM UTC
Sometimes,
when the face in the mirror isn't who I want it to be
and those thoughts,
those ******* disgusting worms crawling out of my brain,
to simply drive me insane
I think it's subconscious,
I never quite think it,
before the thought is reaching my hand
A little mascara
brush through my hair
(I want to feel pretty
again)
A dusting of powder
touch up my chapstick
(this face
THIS FACE ISN'T RIGHT
THIS ISN'T THE PERSON I WANT TO BE-)
-
It's ok to be.
-
Switch up the perspective:
I Will fix my issues,
one brush at a time
A swipe of lipstick
layer eyeshadow
Please don't clump, mascara
Add some concealer
(I NEED TO FIX
THE VOICES IN MY HEAD)
Some brow gel
Some eyeliner.
Top it off
With a
[[I hear voices say,
voices far away
"say cheese!" click]]
I-
I'll be O.K.
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 12:57 AM UTC
I feel like God hates me
Or stopped caring
Ceased to provide
Left for good
And now I'm left here to straighten myself out for better or for worse
I've met people who feel the same way
Who surprisingly have the pincushion audacity to put all the blame of their misfortunes in the absence of the omnipotent one
I just feel abandoned they feel betrayed
Maybe he makes a chump change commission on every life he guides to a certain point then leaves them stark naked at the haunting hour
I know all the preachers and secular teachers lie through their teeth
They win the merit-less hoax award by a landslide
They have no consideration of for the people they mislead or the ramifications their poisoned sermons causes
They use emotionally charged language to increase the parish's numbers
They're terrified of God, they live in fear
And see carpal tunnel as a punishment for ************ and wish blindness upon all those who partake
There is shared consensual hiraeth between those who have been through an invasion of privacy and the trespassing of private property
They want their rights and their guns back
They want their personal space
They retreat to their happy place
Let's go back to the Pantheon of lactose intolerant divine idols
Of epileptic godheads
Who's line of work is about incubated pie pans
Can you make a tutorial that summarizes the resounding reduction of options using nothing but euphemisms?
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
rows of two!-three!-four!-boys-bloc-king-the-cor-rid-or
will soon be gone
and the RHYTH-mic-tick-tock-of-my-leg-BOUN-cing-on-the-floor
will be no more
it's fresh cadavers wrapped in string
it is a joyful gospel hymn
mourning the best and worst of youth
(those shiny kids who'd first walked in
with all the grace and all the poise
of hatched arachnids missing limbs)
but what of "her" – you know her name –
that overfed, reptilian thing
who shed her hair and scratched her skin,
cursing the odds at Him upstairs, demanding He re-shape her?
some say she cried herself into extinction
– sailed away on a crimson tide –
balking at the trauma of being seen
(enforced, cursed vulnerability
in being known to man).
the rest knew better;
they were voyeurs in this
fruit-carving tutorial
on 'how to grow up':
STEP 1) consider all other alternatives
2) take the scalpel and initiative
3) before adrenaline gives way to doubt,
turn the flesh-vessel inside out in a cocoon of your own creation!
while organs may rupture and it aches like you've skinned yourself alive (good for her, setting herself free!) you'll look cuter in the class photos and has you-know-who... finally... shifted the weight?
4) breathe through the blood loss and searing pain
5) notice
you
can
breathe again.
at this point, does it matter that it aches?
May 10, 2019
May 10, 2019 at 9:50 AM UTC
Not going out tonight
Staying by myself it's fine
Reminiscing about our lost flame
Perhaps just a tutorial to the main game
Listening to the wind whistle your name
Looking at the clouds coming together to form your face
Apr 15, 2022
Apr 15, 2022 at 3:38 PM UTC
Step 1) Speak any language you want.
Helpful Tip: When men die, it doesn't matter what language they speak because all screams sound the same.
Step 2) Worship any god you please.
Helpful Tip: When men die, it doesn't matter what god supported them because all men fall the same.
Step 3) Pull the trigger.
Step 4) Win the war.
Step 5) Lose your soul.
Step 6) Let time pass you by.
Step 7) Forget the lessons history taught you.
Step 8) Repeat.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
I have loved this time spent and shared
with you, said some things that meant
something to me, and read some beautiful
thoughts and words said by others.
Frankly this thing, this site can become
down right addictive, and before we know it
a whole day is shot, we might even give up
needed sleep to pursue it.
Like any addiction it needs to be controlled,
taken if at all, in small doses and that then
is my intention.
For new and old friends, I treasure your
warm embrace and no doubt I shall return.
There are other things I must and wish to do,
and as in all matters, I peruse everything in moderation.
Hugs of friendship to all, keep writing, be happy.
Thanks for the tutorial on Poetry communication.
I very much enjoyed it.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 1:48 PM UTC
i walked up the drive,
and was reminded
of how little attention
i actually paid to the place
when i had the luxury
of being there.
i never walked the drive,
far too lazy.
just twice,
once there, once back,
two separate occasions.
both at night,
both with company.
i debated hitchhiking,
still lazy.
i picked someone up once.
a third year choreographer.
she was late for a tutorial
and smelt of alcohol.
everyone i walk past has grey hair.
i look out of time.
two years late.
there's no room now
for an art student with a suitcase.
i walked the halls again,
because the door was propped open,
framed with familiar white handprints,
that fit comfortably under mine.
it smelt just as i remembered,
musty, and comforting.
with the paint still peeling on the stair rail,
from where we'd sat for hours,
pulling it off in strips.
i wrote a letter to my room.
the room in which i fell in love,
lost my mind,
and changed my life.
it's just a room.
just a place,
a space.
but so much was shared,
with the air in there.
and i can't explain the relief
that it isn't in rubble.
i hitch hiked back,
or i'd have missed my train.
a lovely man picked me up,
and i felt the drive from a car,
how i remembered it.
we talked about the place,
about it what it did.
he was as upset as i was.
he was the type of person
i'd forgotten existed.
someone who wasn't one of us,
but understood our loss.
a stranger on the street
who felt what i felt.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 5:40 AM UTC
Universal unction
A beatific box
Friction in the function
A tutorial. A talk.
We winnowing the worship
We wiser for to seek
Here harrowing through
Hardship
We winkle out the "weak".
How holy is the hilltop
Which cannot help at all
How horrible the House of Pride
Which cannot help but FALL.
Please pray for persecution
Let them not stay their hand
GOD BLESS the repercussions!
The ground on which to stand.
I beg that I won't barter
Without nor yet within
I pray that I won't falter
I'll stand against the sin.
For the Church as it emerges
From underneath the waves
Surfeit in the surges
Gamboling in her grave
Wreaks havoc on true holiness
Divides doctrine "uncouth"
Gutting out the Bible
Laying waste the TRUTH!
The "Universal Union"
"All for one, and one for all"
"All roads lead to Rome"
How the mighty fall!
There are, in truth, just 2 roads
At the tolling of the bell.
The narrow to eternal life...
... *and the broad road straight to
HELL.*
SøułSurvivør
(C) 10/31/2017
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 5:16 AM UTC
how have there been nights creating space
a vault of valued silver neck---lace play button play to me
toy tutorial: how to choke me and it is hours after midnight
i am alone in my room uncloaked my pictures upon tiny tiny windows i like to lick the blood out of the slits
grow slimes after midnight like a snail click click the right things and sadden
can i sink my fangs and hydrated as it is
a wet house all of the wallpaper ruined of bottles and of men
i hate that feeling when i put my head down and that is the last thing there is nothing nothing no struggle no bodies and legs
all anger aside i must admit
me all nails and fury me all small fit below the waist die gaily then
has anyone read anything on free will or has anyone stayed or left or has anyone survived can i lend out my own copy of free will two pages high look up the line across my back have you tried to follow me before foresting in motion
**** me in my feelings i have been begging the new moon for a new moon but IT HAS NEVER APPEARED BEFORE ME
IS THERE ANYONE I CAN HIGHLIGHT IN PURPLE AND OR IS THERE ANYONE I CAN PUT MY BACK AGAINST WHO IS WILLING TO LAY A FINGER ON ME
AND I FEEL BETRAYED should i always be banned
me me in shadows i am aware i have gotten dark i have not given permission for deep-rope-denied-roulette-gratuit-whir-phantasma
EVERYONE ON THIS SLUMP STAGE IS HIDING THEIR FINGERS IN MY MOUTH ONE TO ONE TO ONE I CAN NEVER SEE THE FACE THE FACE HURTS TOO MUCH IT IS THE RED FILTER THE EXPENSIVE ONE AND I CANNOT USE TOO MUCH OF IT IT FALLS BEFORE ME I BREAK MY KNEE-CAPS THANK YOU THANK YOU IT WAS WONDERFUL
my name is ssssss-sweetness all of a sudden
i stand before you and i am so mad i want to break your face-jaw neck-jaw your everything-jaw my name is pinky pinky and mutilation is satiric and narcissistic GO BECOME SICK OF IT AND I WILL SICK AND **** YOU AND THE HINT IS IT WILL CHANGE NOW THE SMELL IS AWAITED and the blood will be beautiful
and will be replenishing i give me another three months do you like my invention please jealous you until you open again
the demon does not possess me and does not wish to thus i received
in a letter from hell thank you thank you it was miserably ethereal
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 7:15 PM UTC
I don't want to be someone who's easy to let go of. I don't wanna be the lesson that everybody learns after they leave; i don't want to be the reason why they shouldn't have done their mistakes because, i know, there will always be someone they could treat fragilely. There will always be someone they could treat better - the way they didn't with me.
I want to be the one who they could treat better. I want to be the correct one after every lesson and mistake.
But sadly - or thankfully, i'm not.
And now, people go run their lives to live them correctly, to pursue their loved ones because they know what they did was wrong; they learned a lesson.
And that is, sadly, because of me.
And i, god forbid, will always be the tutorial;
i will always be the lesson;
and i, will always be the perfect mistake.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 2:24 AM UTC
Welcome to me too.
Thanks for coming in high-altitude, if you're really into them.
There are new-tutorials, and I'm not going to need one.
Why not do the news? I love plain and simple.
Free-market sloping losses will do this;
because of bipartisan politics.
Luyendyk news is crowded by Audi's and by partisan politics;
I don't like my partisan politics.
Star tutorials are tutorial-soon.
This is a new tutorial for my into being given to the jury
in tutorial.
People present their uh dreams,
and a jury room is like love;
a little atmosphere me in a circle,
meaning we are (he is) related to the moon .
I'm the serving the Newburgh tutorial right now
around this one:
The new green play I'm into.
This one’s just a little on the Brumbies
cuz glass needs it to learn.
I am the circus mom pursuing your doom;
a mistaken rampant around jug-glass John,
inputting the bar’s shiny leading to the bottom-thanked step.
Number one is singing your doom on.
Be an unloaded nerd, like a dump truck dumping dirt into our hearts
while holding the whole lamar,
and perfecting the bar starting with p.
Put on the range
near the whole ecosystem in a in a bubble.
Second thing you gotta do is earn it,
you do this, but we plan to our dirt up to nine innings.
love things American
like me
in the new godliness.
99 dramas trapped under so now I'm a real utah zombie,
and lines,
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
"I learned in from Oprah. Every year you put your clothes facing toward you
in your closet, and you put them back facing away from you.
and by the end of the year, you know which clothes you don't wear
and you can throw them away."
I listened to this announcement from my authoritative boss
with a look of horror and disbelief
I must have looked like he just said:
"Every day I forget how to tie my shoes,
so I look on YouTube for a tutorial."
I know now, that look I gave, must have said everything
and I said softly, "You mean, you don't know?"
And he must have felt like such a dork in my eyes
and what man wants to feel like an attractive woman
thinks he's a dork
He must have shriveled inside, first with self hatred
and then furious, tumultuous anger, a tornado of
recrimination and fury, carrying houses and cows and trucks in its wake,
and aimed directly at me
I need a poker face
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 5:35 PM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Every aspect of what reality doesn't have to end up in flames,
Lying to ourselves about what we really want in life and what it could gain,
You might ace the test , you might new car, but what do you think is real,
Simulations been proven in time , over and over , as long we know we'll be fine,
Let go of the past mistakes,
Let go of earth as it breaks,
In the mind,
The shell will crumble from behind,
The skull where it is too divine,
Guess it's where I'm headed,
If it's a good direction,
Can't ruin my sessions,
If I sleep better maybe it'll blossom,
Talking about the pineal,
The flames still burn without any
Tutorial.
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC
If pain was a friend instead of a burden
– if I could make peace with the unwelcome
– if perhaps I could see her as a teacher,
not in a lecture theatre (distant and with sharp echoes),
but in a private tutorial with soft furnishings
and perhaps a vase of flowers.
– If her lessons came with handouts,
exploring, with pictures, the reason for the searing,
the overwhelming
– but no,
my pain is that annoying parent on a pointless trek,
refusing to stay silent,
incessant in her insistence
that we can’t part ways.
Jan 31, 2023
Jan 31, 2023 at 4:19 PM UTC
What is the point of a game?
Ask yourself
To win? To have fun? No point at all?
We all play the game
Simply for different choices
Without a choice, we must play.
Press start
Take 18 to 21 minutes to learn how to play
Maybe less
You might give up before 18
Sad right? It happens.
Tutorial ends, time to play
Take the next 60 minutes to actually play
Maybe less
Again, some may give up before the end
Maybe the power cuts off
Forced to stop playing
Game ends, how'd you play?
Did you try to earn the most money?
Did you play and just have fun?
Did you spend it teaching other people how to play?
I just finished learning how to play,
I choose to have fun and enjoy the game.
How do you want to play the game we call life?
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 4:31 AM UTC
How to put your emotions in a box and lock it.
First step,
Find directions to the rabbit hole.
Follow it deep into its darkness,
Make a trip out of it.
Second step,
Remember salvation is found,
At the bottom of a bottle.
Spoiler alert...it’s not water.
Third step,
Get ****** up,
Look in the mirror,
And question this thing staring back at you.
Fourth and final step,
Repeat,
Repeat until you hit rock bottom.
That’s where you find freedom.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 10:52 PM UTC
We met in the midst of dust motes floating around the old chalkboard-classroom of University Hall. You introduced me to Amber – your close friend, I thought – and your thirst for after-tutorial Starbucks between 11:20 and 11:35 a.m. After all, what did it even matter to be five minutes late to class when we will all one day be so; what did it even matter if none of it ever really does when the curtain drops, when the record ends, when the symphony of consciousness rises to a close. So you went for Starbucks, and I walked to lecture alone – vying for that front-row chair so that I might ease the pain in my hips – and watched, noticed you in the months afterward, through red winter parkas and brown spring attire – until we met again in the odorous lab of second-year microbiology, and you drew me into your world of friends, of housemates, of late-night wine and cheese gatherings – until my heart – that soft, useless thing – quickened its beat upon hearing your stories of ex-crushes and Halloween near-hookups with a would-have-being-a-bad-decision girl. You drew me into you, you: an everyday girl, who in my daydreams was hardly so; I latched onto you and pulled myself out of that dark, solitary hole – because you were there, you were there, you were always there. I let myself be swept away by that river of friends, of daydreams, of late-night phone calls about life, the universe, and your complaints about organic chemistry. I turned a blind eye, because the illusion was far better than the solitude, better than watching my life collapse again into that small, small state. I let slide it all: the apathy, the sleep abnormalities, the ****** innuendos, until I texted you a few nights ago, two minutes into a rising panic initiated by the realization that my ex had killed themselves – a discovery that later proved to be untrue – and you replied with laughter and an inability to help. You just don't know; you just don't see that to complain of your ex-girlfriend's low libido is a reflection on you, not her, or even the two of you – so I put down the phone; I ignored the messages for a day, then two, and my world changed, opened anew –
I can live without you.
Jun 14, 2019
Jun 14, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
She's a fragrance
Bottled in my mind's
Peripheral scribes.
My tutorial on how to stand
And my spine is giraffe's neck or,
Fixed-be-not, the Pisa Tower.
And I'm bound to be lower
But she hits my back and stirs me forth.
Liquid paper, solid gold
She's a gas of dizziness,
Though a simpler boy
You could never find on earth.
She's a quarrel in a body,
Younger muse for my hoorah.
Like the Russians say,
Blood and milk. However, in the case,
Porridge and strong coffee.
My perfected
Oh, my tailored
Healthy diet for the mind state.
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
in these days of sheltering on the isle-of-isolactation,
a place amazingly located just ‘bout everywhere,
staying occupado is muy importanto
taught myself Latvian, can identify a thousand Avian,
can vacuum the house in ten minutes flat,
can count my steps mentally walking from the bed
to the kitchen and on the way back again, detour via the den
when I get really bored, sneak away to grab the laundry
from the dryer, I’m on fire, desirous of my sanity, fold them twice,
so they’ll be enough nice to meet her exacting standards,
going directly into her highest level, Type A, storage drawers
but hit a snag, on certain articles of activewear, not to mention
you know, the unmentionables, which don’t present corners or angles
to lend novice folders directional cues, cannot even determine
which is inside out, or outside out, with too many bedeviling straps
too proud to ask for directions, after all I am a grown man,
checked youtube buddy, they had no clue, unless it was a tutorial
on how to remove them bodices from them body, which I will,
study later...but I winged it except for those couple of items
which I hid under her too many bed pillows!
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 5:54 PM UTC
The race to create,
Toe to heel,
Blamed on the strangest of scapegoats.
The race to create,
Genetic disposition,
A tutorial of the soul.
The different three legged race,
Wanting to be a dog and howl,
Like so many maniacs have done before.
The race to create,
Becomes the race to destroy,
To conform while being interestingly malleable,
The race to create,
Ultimately is the chance to forget,
To sleep consciously through an unutterable awakening.
That race to create,
Binds us all,
Never felt so intrinsically absurd and profound,
So human it makes me want to puke honey
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:42 PM UTC
The stroke of thine quill, twas well felt by he
In its ink, one did utter a free spree
One admits, to the phrasing of *******
Maybe, one twas ill advised, in act
For this notation, had a harsh impact
A valuable lesson, twas taught to me
That being, be much more thoughtful of he
Using that term, has left a very big hole
Communication lines, all stalled
Two persons, isolated and walled
An intemperate lash, won me no friend
The past error, of quill is very clearly seen
One had so awfully, vented one's spleen
Of this tutorial, I'll e'er comprehend
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC