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cover up dear,you've got to remember the uglies.
she said.
but i strip.
and there is the wind ,
i hear the waves,
what comes will be the rain,
and i want it too,
impale me, strike me,
unleash its fury,
i know its free

i see her still,
backwards hick,
*******.
you do not know me,
you never wanted to
but i bring the uglies to the water
i strip because i was born to be inhabited
you cover me with the lies of your lovers lost
but i will not be defined by your backwards mind
the inverted hope you that you try to rip into me with
i dive into the sea it always welcomes me,
its my lost lover, it caresses me ,
it weaves around the tattered corners of my heart and heals the rough parts
i accept the waves as the rock me and i listen to the tempo and i move with in its embrace
Cunning Linguist Jun 2014
Most urgent:
First we debase this worthless currency,
To usher in impending new world order
Imprisoning the globe
Then bathed in ignorance
(
Fluoridation* retarding cognitive development)

More the merrier but I transcend borders
because my mind has no barriers
Spinning diction with volatile volition
Enchanting your brain into submission

A cheese-grater to the pineal gland
Inhibiting ability to dream,
Impassioned creativity &
inquisitiveness at an impasse,
Expertly contrasting
Inquisition with inability to produce
dimethyltriptamine
Because the pacified sheep
can't sleep away their passiveness
Mass devastation for the kids & family!

Slam it down with a gra(in/m) of (bath) salt
Better yet, sugar and McDonald's
Let Ronald wash your mind in city water
Dang, there's nothing outrageous
about meandering naked
Lusting to eating someone's face
these days, is there?
(Passed out on the asphalt)

Who bares the fault,
Who cares the most?
I know you planned it Mr. President,
take your nuclear launch codes
Atop your throne with your Zionist cohorts
Fake a breath, then flip the switch
Now you am become Death
3.  
2.  
1...
Default the planet

Where's your ******* conviction?
Digest my words and eat your fat *** to death Amerika

Mind your fate
The Devil's gates
Just a step away

So take the chip beneath skin
6 6 6
Pick up sticks,
Gather a whole bundle
& Light yourself on fire (******)

Crackpot conspiracy
How can you not see
Our country's interests inherently
sit in the pockets of Nazis?

Don't even get me started on television;
hypnotized sheep
mass-media gives me aneurysms
Is the Lord truly your shepherd
or do you always stumble so blindly?

Military-Industrial-Machine
Gobbling resources at breakneck speed
CONSUME CONSUME CONSUME
FAT CAPITALIST PIGS!!

You make me feel like vomiting.

Simply waiting for the bomb
to come bump uglies with the ***** of Babylon

NOW WATCH ME GET
~ULTRASONIC~
AS I DROP
ATOMIC ELBOWS
FROM THE TOP ROPE
TO THE THROAT
IN HOPES YOU CHOKE


Leaves a bad taste in your mouth,
did I tell a ***** joke?
(Haha-ha)
GARGLE SOAP *****,
YOUR LIFE'S HOPELESS

If you like beer & NASCAR gimme a hell yeah!*  (hell yeah!)
If you like bacon & pole-dancing gimme a hell yeah!

**** THIS REPUBLIC
DYSTOPIAN,
FLOWING WITH
NECRO-DESPOTISM
A COY ACT OF VENTRILOQUISM,
ON THE WORLD'S STAGE

Tangled like a marionette in its strings,
An insect in spiderwebs
Festering infection
Just keep using band-aids ;)

Take these cocktails
of famine, death, pestilence + plague
Questionably mixed with a little apathy
and self-delusion it's all the rage

The miasma of death
Clung and hung to their silhouettes
like cigarettes
The hands of the clock
tick-tocking away the seconds toward oblivion
In which I carry, reckless abandonment

*insert some wrath of God,
explosions of nuclear & biblical proportions,
then apportion some cataclysm
Sit back,
Listen to the wailing screams of panicking children
******* lay waste to this rock already,
this organic prison
And each and every organism
that dwells within it's ecosystems


All this to bring
A radical new utopia
not for you & me
but them, the Elite
and their heathen families


Behold a new dawn;
On the verge of 100% synthetic conversion
Mind, body, & soul as pawns
Data corrupted, perverted by total divergence
Illusion of free-will ruptured and gushing,
until microscopic then atrophied

Misanthropic singularity
Quantum computing
and nanotechnology
Existentially creating cyborg zombies
& Making gods rise from machines
Kinda deus ex machina style,
But nothing Isaac Asimov could machinate even in his wildest dreams

To me, a fitting end to humanity
The Great White Ape silently weeps
Still waiting for a Messiah
*a refined repost of an earlier draft

If this poem provokes interest I strongly recommend you research the long term effects of water fluoridation, the role it plays in calcification of the pineal gland, as well as the role it played in **** concentration camps.
The **** agenda is alive and well carried out in the 20-21st century through puppet America.
Society is the world's grandest pyramid scheme.
Open your mind, and open your eyes
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Paperclip
Andrew Scott Feb 2013
Maverick ex-cop (Green Beret /Navy Seal /SAS/Ranger)
Twiddle of the fingers to crack a 64 bit hexadecimal code
Shot but can still beat up bad people and run
15 people firing automatic weapons and they all miss
Database that searches the planets population in 2 seconds
And has photos of their children and plans of their building
Regardless of the crime scene sample, always a rare element that pinpoints location
Car chase where a truck can keep up with a Ducati motorbike
Organisations that only employ attractive people in lead roles
Ugly people are tech specialists sometimes allowed to be ‘quirky’
Even the uglies are attractive people disguised with glasses and bad hairstyles
‘I dream of genie’ gendre were they flirt but never get it on, unless it’s a hospital series
Watchable, funny programs that always succumb to sloppy sentimentality
High schools complete with intolerance, marginalisation, bullying, and hell on earth,
The most disturbing and darkest crime sent to titillate mid evening family viewing
Endless humiliation for fatties, chefs, performers, builders, restaurateurs, and troubled teens
Dysfunctional law enforcement agencies that never work together under any circumstances
Enough, if we need this thick coating of unreality, perhaps its time to switch off?
Ciana Mar 2014
We’re all the black sheep in someone’s story.
We’re all heroes, soaking in our glory.
We’re the monsters that hide under children’s beds.
We’re the beautiful presence that rattle stranger’s heads.

Full of pointless egos we are.
Going nowhere for nothing.
Trying to prove what we never knew.

We all want to be with the stars.
Heading somewhere to be something.
Trying to find the easy way out,
knowing that riches are for few.

In truth we are the ugliest of ugly,
full of scars and broken hearts.
Hiding behind thoughtless minds,
giving the illusion we want a beginning.
Trying to maintain crumbling walls,
screaming over the masses for something new.

For the world, for the world we are strangers from afar.
Gaining a closer look, we are conniving yet convincing.
Trying to avoid falling into the darkness,
we feed from light which is you.
Caro Jun 2020
Haven’t you heard
The howling’s on tap
Even the birds bump
uglies and love a night cap
Uglies? Why uglies
I think I disagree
With that phrase entirely
Some transparent ploy by the religious patriarchy
I guess we don’t bump uglies
But it rolls off the tongue
Either way
Thump and bump
Smush and ****
Hillbillies and heretics and hummingbirds and Haye’s
All have to howl
Then heckle the other
For doing the same  
So please for the love of
Patricia who can’t say ‘*******’ and the Preacher’s daughter down the lane
Lets just agree to oust ****** shame
neth jones Mar 2022
The great gaudy flage is screamin' blood in the streets
                                          loose yawn of a gob on him
                                              all bombast n' swagger
he makes a barrage of nuisance
     channels through the public
         and scatters a juggler's performance spot
                  lobs away his change hat
then, roughly over the cobbles  
                                        he hoicks a resuscitation doll
         and stamps down a posing boot
                                                 on the 'defeated form'

an unprepared scoop of tourists
a pause for silence and begins a rant
a great performance
of well harassed combustion :

"i smear to god all the phalluses
      [he roars, all saliva]
i smug to god
             a full jug of uglies
tug on       [makes the hand gesture for male *******]
i **** off the forger
would slug it in the mug
                          if it ever did form a tissue oath
took a plug at some drunk straggler
called the baffled *** 'god-father'
            and spate spume on his fallen anatomy
[with one hand he indicates the mannequin at his heel]
       amen ******* !"

he bows
a long quiet
some people clap awkwardly
two police officers appear and hook him by the elbows
(it has been this show before)
alex Feb 2016
twenty two, twenty three, twenty four

hours in a day

like the white rabbit,

we watch time and stay at the bay.



ten, eight, six, four

words like ‘it’s not good enough,’

or maybe just simple and badly-woven adjectives,

sometimes it makes us feel blue.



thirty, sixty two, countless

nights spent dreaming with open eyes

but all that comes are unkind;

worse than reality’s piercing swords of ice.



yellow, red, blue, nonexistent.

what we know is counting down

to the day the string snaps

the insides spilled; to everyone, its uglies shown.



three, nine, twenty seven

years spent as busy as a cat on a hot tin roof;

the forgotten summers fell into piles of ashes,

yet to our bars of efforts, everyone stays aloof.



one too many times

it happens.

one too many days we thought

**** it up.



(so we did.)



six,five, four

ages we were taught numbers and their orders.

nowadays, **** it up and

count sheep throughout math.
reposted from my blog, one of my recent favorite pieces honestly.
Alliesaurus Aug 2012
Weather whethers whither wow?
Picture Oregon Trail, version 2, the runaways.
A little banjo with your standstill open plain,
always waving wheatgrasses,
beckoning with wide fingertrails.

I tried to ford the river,
but my ******* oxen died.

Each breath worse than the last,
feeling filth in my bones,
dysentery behind every accidental shotgun wound.
What do you do when you know two right answers,
when everything feels correct?
Multiple choice,
multiple guess,
multiple uglies.

You touch my stereo,
volume and fingernails tune.
Wrote while listening to the self-titled album by the Lumineers. Public draft.
Alicia Nov 2018
i’m no good, femme fatale
i bring hand grenades to dinner dates
beauty icon — kiss my cyanide flavored lip gloss
let’s bump uglies, ******* & rat poison
leave this world left hand *******
right hand intertwined in yours
i’m in a damaged goods costume
take away some letters, my clothes
and i’m just dam good
leaving you on your knees, begging to fix me
begging to **** me
I don’t follow the rules
I use my mouth on you
opened up and emptied out
just to fill me up... with your blood
femme fatale, equipped with fangs
and the ability to not give a ****
an ode to the ***** i used to be, rip


this is more of a spoken word poem
Cunning Linguist Sep 2017
Muthafucka I squall,
**** with me.
Bawl so hard, aneurysms burst;
Call it apoplexy
Uh, ***** I rage!
With the squad in the whip
Yeah we goin places, ayye

Up to the trap.
Insert rap
Got the gwap
We in the kitchen cooking crack
I'm like assuh dude. Nomsayin?
This wordsmith, *****
I'm wild & sign my autographs with crayons

I'm stimulated got my face wrung.
Getting my sip on,
***** what the **** u trip on?
Ugh.

Worry about whats in my drink I'm lit for days son!
Its been a grip;
U Catch me slippin'
I'm out this *****,
Dont gotta stay long

Whip that yayo,
White like mayo,
Rhymes on fleek -
****** your fleet,
cops on my payroll

Sick of the same ol'
Every day yo.
PC ******, cut yourself
Mainline some Drano.

Fire to the rock, then I'm stone cold!
Slurrin my words;
Got the glock in my holster
Uh, & fam I'll flash my **** at your home girls.
No **** to give lit 24/7,
You want that beef I got it kosher (skrrr)

I got the sheets and the lotion
& the bud I got is om nom
U cause a stink, I got commotion
don't wanna face
that skunk ****,
That **** is potent

Mixed some jet fuel in my lean -
Now the fire I spit
Is hot enough
to melt through steel beams
Rap game's fake,
I devastate
March to the guillotine -

Don't hesitate its make or break
I smoke the dankest memes.

Ugh.. I'm 100 about that hanky-pank
uh. & U won't find me
where that loud pack ain't.
Pop these shots off
Go bang-bang
I rep these streets,
Bleed OG
Whilst floppin' my dang-lang.

You scream you got racks
But your ****'s old.
No slack you're broke -
***** whack bro.
You've sold your soul
Blood inks the contract tho
& I'm Diablo.

Headfirst,
Victims from this wicked verse
Burst into flames
Inside this wretched furnace
Super earnest,
This my sermon,
Y'all gon learn this
I'm that serpent
******' sinister minister
Mr.-*******-Your-Sister
I slither in it a little
Now I'm in utero, for real tho

Til I'm old and withered,
And my body's brittle
With a 40,
I'm in my underwear
Wheelchairin' round
Screaming
I am the liquor!

It dont get no sicker,
So just come bump to this -
All the uglies in the world
To violate with my fists.
Fulfilling all my deepest
Darkest wishes

I'm vicious.
Some say I'm savage;
Wreaking havoc,
Combustion proliferating the madness -
Ashes to ashes
As the blunt makes some passes
2 lit 4 life
consciousness starts to lapse fam

Faded/

Stay lit through the day trip
Not enough,
where the plug is?
Attractin' wealth
stack em hundreds
Slander me hold your tongue,
***** 'fore I cut it...
fresh prince, catch my lil' smith
im going west son,
railing through the clips
get rekt'd check your privilege
White as ****, zen master flux
**** I'm killin it Reid-Dickless.
Quit your *******', I'm in the kitchen whippin' it chu see the flick of the wrist?

My attempt at being intentionally dumb af/mainstream rap nowadays
Pretty girl Apr 2016
I feel so out of place I do not fit in
In this hole I could never win maybe everyone else gets the joke always out never in
evey time I step outside I feel the need to hide
why?
We are all uglies wandering this world apart but together
don't you feel this weather in your head?
Storms of emotion
Control them and you have passed
Conquer them and you have found the key to being human
living with feeling is strictly forbidden but I was always a rebel
(Now words written some months back more urgent then ever)!

Trumpet call to action,
sans barreling totalitarian
tilt per prez zee dent shill faction
already wrecking ball -
even without Miley Cyrus - got traction.

Das boot Trump out-
(oust him to) Mexico or Waterloo
lip smacking gangs eagerly await
bully in White House and true
as Reince prescience fore tells poe
whit yawl get lucky strike
if keep Taj Mahal shaped shoo
fur deux hundred daze
starring scary motley crue.

╰☆╮I'm royal heir to peace mongering hoarders,╰☆╮
which comb hen might handy when borders
hermetically sealed, per heil hit lore
caw zing a furor with his stark orders.

Gestapo Re Don Dint (doomsday)
I dont wanna don a quack dynasty outfit,
or that of wood chucker
but...holy *******
kudos to heckler, who deems
steam roller Trump as one mean trucker.

Thus - for umpteenth attempt to post
with noah intention
to induce rabid reaction to roast
my *** (albeit scrawny just to be cheeky),
I duck rye America will burn like toast

if.... mister money bags reaches
full term finish line of presidential electorate,
he doth stick out pudgy leatherneck
with reassurance,
sans hiz safely guarded golf coast.

My anti Donald trump screed
WE MUST DO MORE THAN YODEL LOUD: all agreed
out....out...get...lest cruel nightmare har reed
thru legislation - ding ****
the witch's dead donald drake...freed

bigotry, derogatory hate, hence
out...of...here...without...his...coat...indeed
of...armor, nor golden golfing irons greed
dilly bought with monies usurped
unpaid/underpaid migrants MUST NOT heed
no passivity, who rightfully
feel indignant and teed.

I dune hot condone political measures
paws sauté fracas mane lion kapo - louse
jabbering indiscretion via his blouse
zee and breezy haughty snub nosed
air audacity, haughty, and superiority
on par with Doctor Zeuse
herewith continues poem,

I dashed off ala hill a re: huff - to douse
Auld don self serving trumpeting and gel lee
joie de vivre dystopian *******
inducing nostalgia fin d siecle
Barack Obama utopia of yesterday
now 45th lacking prez cred,

he doth thrive to squeeze gnarly paws,
around world asper hobnobbing
with bigwigs snatching grab-bag to carouse
invariably sparking angry birds viz
puffin that retweet his sewerage bilge -

strike horror tummy senses -
for antithetical opinions heed espouse
based on scary political fracas
and ominous nightmare whar mo' will grouse
to obstruct Trump accessing black keys to arouse

looming presidential nightmare
became real - gruff louse
he crushes sacred freedoms,
whence civilization goes off bluff
analogous to a rabid Tom cat
terminating the life of poor ole Mickey Mouse.

DUCK AFTER DUMP PING THE DON
air ring ma thoughts - no matter aye ham
juiced one twenty first century mwm ape
serves as genuine s cape
to fly (during pitch

black hours of night) and escape
burning effigies, where his jumbo jet,
a sonic boom stick bewitching like Snape
temporarily tough feign ruffled feathers sans ****
pay shuss selfish lust, when world
slides down behavioral sink into Old Rotten Gotham,
where he twill jape
at distant outlier from madding crowd a gape.

At sheer inanity trumpeting strumpets donning innate
prejudice and senselessness purr
blind faith toward self avowed demigod --
seize ***** viz Cesar

his hair coiffed and puffed like it whir
wind blown kickstart ting mobs to stir
paying bodyguards
to evict ruckus-causing murmur
oh...how the masses will let this country.

Go to hell in hand basket
and rack up stratospheric global debt
cause zing this one measly mortal male to fret
that totalitarian rule will force every man,
woman and child to march....het

two...three...four, while the billionaire
turns a third blind eye speeds away
in his foo fighter jet
argh...heavens to Betsy DeVos,
how did fickle finger of fate let

this pompous ***
vacuum majority votes across world wide net
to finagle vox populi,
and groom hooligan nasty ruffian thugs
with smashed face doughy as smart putty pet

bump ping uglies henchmen bedlam set
to create their own version of the tet
offensive, despite croup
bawling ashen faced deportees,

whose tears sentence innocent to po' ver tee
branding indiscriminately vet
so culled unwanted ill eagle "aliens"
labored with nose to grindstone

fingers to the bone vainly,
their American dream parched whence whet
long story short - pondering
rental circumstance will equal net

zero importance, and will be upended if this ret
chad, ewol, googly-eyed, gastronomic,
narcissistic bullish don will set
the spark for world war three -

via gone ah re: ha...ha...ha...to all vet
tureens within American crucible melting *** -
with backs whet
unless....Katrina and the Waves,
superman or Sabrina can oust him yet.
Riq Schwartz Mar 2012
She took a hundred candles
and burned them all to stubs
to watch the life go burning out
of each and every one.

And once she took a person,
and meant to light their heart.
She missed and lit their lungs, instead.
Now they speak flaming darts.

One time she took to drowning
in oceans vast and deep.
But she is dreams, and dreams don't die,
so she just fell asleep.

When she would sit up lonely
and watch while all the rest
would lay, and dream, and breathe, and stay,
then, gorgeous she was left.

As she would search for beauty
from uglies, odds, or couths,
she oftentimes would find herself
and still not know the truth.

I watched her light a candle
and burn it to the ground,
then say that hers was not the hand
that scattered flames around.

I watched her light a candle,
then try to blow it out.
But she inhaled, and now instead
shes left with burning lungs of red.
Her words, still burning in my head,
I recognize when late, in bed
my candle won't go out.
Kida Price Mar 2013
I pride myself by my addictions.
The deaths I should have had would make me immortal by default.
And still, I breathe and scoff at it's lagging effects.
You can't have me.
I lay awake alone and thoughtful,
I answer your call at a moments notice.
I leave you be whenever you're done and continue to indulge my thoughts,
You can't have me.
I mark myself as a timeline is marked with lines and events.
My scars could tell a story that I would only know the punchline to.
I color my skin with fantasy and ink to hide the other uglies I make,
You can't have my stories...they're mine.
If I were to smile upon greeting then I would have already lied to you.
If I were to kiss you then you would have fallen.
I pride myself by my addictions and you cannot be one of them.
You can't have my love.
I'll give you a laugh and company without expectations of it being returned.
I'll give you my time and a kind deed or two.
I'll give you a friendship and a wall to hide behind.
Just be warned, you'll want more
And I will not oblidge.
You cannot want me because I don't want you.
Or anything.
I will not take your sympathy or your truth.
I will not take your heart or your push.
I will take your body and your smell
But ******* was never love
And shame on you for not knowing the difference.
I can take your ****** but You can't have my trust.
Now you turn to me with inclinations that I have misled you.
The hurt on your face leaves me annoyed and impatient.
The effects of my drug and my addtictions take hold
And I leave you talking to a corpse that has no use for words.
The dead are silent and patient and will never talk back.
They always wait their turn and never take it.
They limply create a warm illusion
But they're colder and colder with each toss of sound.
You cannot make me warm...the others guys took it from me long before you.
So let it take me back into the ground.
Leave me buried and I'll leave you alive.
A fair trade in my book.
The moment you try to be my savior
Will be the moment I will become your destroyer.
You cannot have my soul, it was mine to lose in the first place.
a m a n d a Nov 2016
the rejects.
the uglies.
the fatties.*

slightly u n d e r
and to the left
                     of the mainstream

dug under a little,

|grooving at our own pace|

pulling at the roots.
Dr Strange Dec 2014
Why can't the rain be seen as beautiful
Like it asked to be the symbol of depression
Why does the world see it as being the dark Lord of the night
As if its dropping are toxic waste ready to burn us all away
Why must the rain be viewed as pure ugliness
As if what it has done for us mean absolutely nothing
Doesn't it mean something
It has watered the crops that feed us
Gave us hope when none existed
But instead of being praised like it should be...
It is viewed as the god of destruction just like its counterpart fire
Another understood element
Rain...they sing songs about it
Wishing it to go away
Disgracing its name
Again calling it,"destruction"
But the way I see it...
Us being humans have no right to be calling anyone destructive
We have caused more destruction than rain could ever imagine
So in my eyes...natures eyes
Rain is beautiful and it is we who are the uglies
IF YOU LIKED THIS CHECK OUT THE REST OF THE COLLECTION AT #naturesings
sun stars moons Jun 2014
if pretty people
can be this miserable,
I can only imagine
how broken up
the uglies must be.
I am so sorry
that we live so
differently.
Lily Feb 2017
When I die,
Do not talk about me
Like I am the most wonderful person
To have ever graced this Earth;

Instead, tell them I am mad.
How my ***** nails dug ugly scars
Within my dark, burning soul
Fed with rage uncontrolled.

Tell them I am selfish.
With an eye for love I have not
That my heart rejoices but in sorrow
Only coldness and loath would grow.

Tell them I am broken.
That these crevices that he left
In the regions of my heart
Will not ever heal completely again.

That I walked wide-eyed yet half-awake
Torn between the fantasy of his lips so sweet,
And the gleam of his pointed teeth.

Tell them all my sins.
My uglies.
My glories.
And only after that,
That then,

Maybe you can tell them I was beautiful.


©Leigh
Feb. 14, 2017
YES, I am back. But only for a while
Silver Knight Jan 2015
Why can't the rain be seen as beautiful
Like it asked to be the symbol of depression
Why does the world see it as being the dark Lord of the night
As if its dropping are toxic waste ready to burn us all away
Why must the rain be viewed as pure ugliness
As if what it has done for us mean absolutely nothing
Doesn't it mean something
It has watered the crops that feed us
Gave us hope when none existed
But instead of being praised like it should be...
It is viewed as the god of destruction just like its counterpart fire
Another understood element
Rain...they sing songs about it
Wishing it to go away
Disgracing its name
Again calling it,"destruction"
But the way I see it...
Us being humans have no right to be calling anyone destructive
We have caused more destruction than rain could ever imagine
So in my eyes...natures eyes
Rain is beautiful and it is we who are the uglies
If you would like to see poem by me that are not about nature feel free to visit my other account. Sir Poet
Destani McKee Apr 2015
Her parents thought she was a failure. Her classmates thought she was a freak. Society thought she was ****** up. Her best friend thought she was amazing, and beautiful. Everything her best friend said to build her up was destroyed a million times over. For every 'beautiful' she got 10x more 'uglies'. For every 'wonderful' 20x more 'failures'. Her best friend could never keep her up for long. So he girl fell. Down, down, down. Into a pit of darkness. She couldn't get out of it, so she ended it. The pain, the sadness, the darkness. Now she's floating on clouds, looking down at the friend she left behind. Watching her break, crash, and be consumed in despair. She weeps, knowing she should be down there helping her. But she can't. All she can do is watch as her friend prepares the chair, and hangs he rope. Watch as her body swings, and her soul flies up to join hers. Two girls-broken beyond belief. Forgotten and abandoned by the world. Truly tragic.
February 28th, 1968 marked the date
Boyce Brandon Harris
(my octogenarian widower father)
purchased a small tract of land
  
constituting shadowed sliver
once hailing, hallmarking, harkening,
glorious vast "Glen Elm" estate,
which circa 1910 encompassed

a hundred plus acres of woodland
Pooh would Winnie
(including a pond frequented
by migrating Canadian Geese)
eventually zoned for commercial,
  
industrial, and residential development
(all in the name of productive land use)
particularly put into motion
courtesy Donald J. Neilson,

who transformed expansive woodland
rivaling shutterfly
sprouting like mushrooms towed stools
booming explosively

after ample precipitation
little houses on the hillside
little houses made of  ticky tacky...
popped up overnight

transforming landscape
displacing flora and fauna with vinyl city
(minus spit of property papa bought)
manicured bumped uglies with wild wisp

reduced pristine niche leftover jot haven
squawking disoriented geese instincts
thwarted, where drained wetlands
a Arcadian past suburbanization

overlaying (palimpsest like) rural setting
trademark bucolic print Currier And Ives  
stock in trade signature prints
landscape sparse human population
  
country aire sprinkled with family farms
fresh dairy, produce, vegetables
butchered animals free ranging
without synthetic injections

nostalgia faintly recreated here
Highland Manor Apartments
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
a slip of country revered

against a Paul Ling urbanization
nothing appears familiar
retracing roadways now major highways
frequent moments breeds alienation
familiar ground confusing, frightening, and perplexing.
Pretty girl Oct 2016
I am a young woman with a body below average in a world full of super models and good looking people. I don’t know why I can’t just accept the fact that im unattractive and move on… try to live a happy life. I obsess over every little space… every crevice.. every centimeter. Anything that is me i cannot enjoy. My mind is an ugly gutter filled to the brim with words like knives that dig in. I would never speak the things i think out loud. Never would i ever say something so nasty to someone i care for… not even someone I hate because i know this constant stream of lyrics i sing to myself could be enough to push anyone over the ledge. Brush it off at first. It didn’t really hurt. But every day filled with self inflicted pain.. mean mind games. It can ****. Why have guns when our mouths are perfectly capable. Shiny uglies and crippling kisses goodbye don’t count as ******… it was just a game to play alone. How many calories can i not eat? Im so ******* unhappy.
wordvango May 2017
from bumping uglies to
changing diapers warming formula
to cleaning *****
watching every move
the evolution
of shaking the tree of life
to see what fruit falls
out
to making sure they have apples
or oranges along with cheese
sandwiches a bit of chocolate
in their pail as they board that bus
going off to adolescence
where the latest shoes become a two hundred dollar
necessity
the latest Apple phone or I-pad or drone
then prom night and it is all going so fast until
you find that letter they send on Father's day or your Birthday
saying how good their life is
and you smile
knowing that is how the circle comes around
and then next thing you know
the grandchildren are here
and your wrinkles and double chin grin
with pride
finally realizing
what it is all
about, as they leave two babies with you
on their date night. And you are happy as all get out!
Steph Wams Jun 2020
Take the mask off when you speak to
me.
I know what you are.
No need to sugar coat those words for
me.

You're a monster, beautiful and scary
and 'twisted' into an elegant knot.
You don't have to hide from me.
The hiss when you talk is enchanting.
Don't be shamed your just like
me.

Those pointy horns create a gorgeous silhouette and
Those terrible thoughts pulsing through that deformed skull of yours.
The ones that can't be revealed even in death.
Say them. Converse with
me.
Forget the pleasantries, the politeness say them to me in your crooked way.
let us exchange our terrible thoughts.
let the world grimace and ostracise us.

Don't try to be like them
we're outsiders.
Destined to spoil there pretty picture.
Mutants. Uglies. Nut-jobs.
Destined to waltz on the edges of society.
Hanging, on loosely to our humanity.
They don't understand our song.

We'll make our own world.
Where our thoughts are so  free, they fly through  the streets.
Where we love to love and  we love too much.
Take if off, we have each other.
though a might bit out of vogue
   years after chart topping renown came
since attainment sans high water mark of fame
one combination amongst, who made a name
for himself countless other scenarios
   could be drafted incorporating addressing same
song titles arranged in an alternate combination
   from the GREEN DAY audiofile playlist,
   hoop fully you get my aim.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As an atypical GREEN DAY fan, when exorcising
mailor daemons along the boulevard of broken dreams
easily misconstruing myself as just another American Idiot,
who mentally, frantically, emotionally veers away from
painful memories linkedin with when September ends.

This mid dull aged mwm accidentally poured 409 in his
coffee maker as proof positive that he iz a basket case.
All the time now (and for about the previous 1000 hours)

carousing Fitbit gremlins housed inside luckless oaf release
trigger, where 21 guns fire banking, bidding, bumping
uglies good riddance to this atheist. Jesus of suburbia waits
with waxed wings, when I come around to recant my ******
babble (attempting to appear as resident of Bend, Oregon.

This faux gad shill Norwegian bachelor redoubt patriot)
indicative of mine sigh lent kickstarter impression that
casts me as off kilter (psychologically), when I strive
to affect the to become welcome to my paradise. This
vantage point (especially atop Mount Everest) offers

the longview sans the big bang theory, where a deafening
cosmic blitzkrieg taught scattered mortals the best way
to know your enemy amidst camouflage, espionage,
hostage taken, yet key modes to keep still breathing
(soundlessly) without being detected.

Minority held opinion if flapjacked, highjacked, kidnapped,
await an opportune circumstance before thrusting out
your thumb vis a vis *** pen to reach sought after
destination (i.e. Lillies of the fields) hitchin' a ride
ideally before experiencing a 21st century breakdown.

While stranded amidst Foreigners, (who exhale Earth,
Wind and Fire) donned as Goo Goo Dolls), perchance
some buzz feeding, gabbing human Beatle browed
Beastie Boy, who doth sport Hair re: Kinks, a patented
trademark of The Village People) will trumpet.

Heed call to arms, via revolution aery radio broadcast
thru the Smash faced mouthpiece of a Ludicris Prince
too dumb to die. Meanwhile Straycats (on the outlook
page number two:

for a stray heart, and potential mate fo Cinderella)
slink into a Soundgarden sanitarium remaining stock
still as Indigo Girls doppelganger. Pseudo surveillance
(controlled by an AC/DC Lumineers progressive Tumblr
Youtube filmed vanity fair, yet essentially shape
shifting ing flickr ring into a tiffany shaped lamp

adorned capriciously, elegantly, garishly invoking
kooky, loopy, lubriciously monied popinjay. Soliloquy
spiel squawking prurient mumbling Jeeves only adds
further confusion to an otherwise totally tubularly
uneventful Rainbow coalition gathering.

This impromptu razzmatazz inadvertently manifests
into a state of the art IdentityGuard espying anyone
with an aim to **** the Dee Jay. He rose from the ranks
as a working class hero, and under the private tutelage
of Saint Jimmy elbowed sought out top honors to be
the ring leader for the upcoming Macy's Day Parade.

This honorific guest feted endowed duty stipulated
that Geek Stink Breath be remedied with any reason
able over the counter breath freshener. Once outfitted
for this fountainhead title (where Atlas Shrugs before

moseying off to Buffalo) hopefully locates whatser
name (an awesome bejeweled charming dame with
a Heart of Queen Latifah). Many admirers and suitors
of said Mademoiselle reckon she ranks as Last of
The Mohicans, as well The Last of The American Girls.

She (this Lady GaGa holds out against pledging her troth
at the countless hot-mails knowing full well, that
nice guys finish last. Oft times behavior of this
Super ***** ping Cheap Trick playing Jewel

appears as a walking contradiction, though nobody
ever faulted said Uber Lourdes for remembering
the forgotten twittering Mama's and Papa's,
whose influence 2,000 light years away prompts
even the staunchest cynic to claim west assured,
cuz East Jesus Nowhere to be found.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2020
how unfathomable to be unable to listen
to new music...
              i sit and want to rearrange
bob kaufman's poem
  o-jazz-o war memoir: jazz...

      samsung + google chrome
doesn't like bitchute...
   i have been unable to watch a video
of weeks...

lenovo + google chrome
doesn't mind bitchute...
         well... it's not terribly important...
i have installed pale moon
but i'm being terrible lazy
and... i'd only invest in a VPN
to get masterchef australia (.au)
                     recipes...
                  i can mash up: punk
a steam-roller forward...
   it's not necessary...

but i will not rearrange that bob kaufman
poem...
           a little bit of rereading
the brautigan sonnets...
honest to god:
   when knausgård finally came...
i was relieved from having
to shove my eyes my tongue
my brain my: casually automaton
not-thinking
    away from american poetics...

i aspire to return to:
the i, maximus poems...
         because i've been a good boy
and i didn't visit the brothel
because even at 34...
well... you just tire of ***
because so many others seem
to have progressed to the higher
acts... protagonists in b.d.s.m.
role-playing... candy-torture...
something? opaque?

the book is dear... nearing 40 quid a pop...
i will only make
peace with american poetry on
the promise of reading the maximus oeuvre
(i have to insert the name,
like a junction - delight in calling
it the M25 around the home counties -
the bloated A406 teasing Ilford:
orson... ****... not welles...
charles olson!)

    acronyms in the vocab or...
dropping names... voluntary work...
departed and death's hyphenation:
assured - by - a designated project...
it's not a thought-out complexity...
it... either rains... or it shines...
it's either a night with a lonely
dog barking... or... it's a silent night...
perhaps a cricket... or some far away
cushion of traffic monotone humming:

like a refrigerator: the avant garde
of music: white noise...
but always the welcome wind...
either the earth's yawn...
  or the cavern solid depth of ****...
which is... not the passing of wind:
but... luck... in a more... eastern tongue...
teasing the geography of
little moscow i.e.: minsk...

well of course nothing spectacular
is happening...
beside reading a newspaper in
the morning... a few essays in the afternoon...
sitting and contemplating:
a platonism of homosexuality...
at home... teased by genitals...
as from an early age...
when a foreign body fiddled with
my possessions... a toy...
but now... a 60 year old craftsman...
perfectionist...
   a plumber but most necessarily: irish...

what's in english TH and in greek Θ
is also F            and also: alTHough...
                                   is also THat
             is also THorough...
is a surd isn't a surd...
          is -gh deaf...
                                   etc.
          irish? well... t'ought...
                                   t'is...
                  t'ou(gh)t...
                       target tatties: bomb-zickle-bomb-zarch...

such a loaded word: ****-eroticism and
platonism:  bias for commeradry
because there's a higher tier
of friends with "benefits"

          it's a terrible tango this very tease
of greasing a gauge:
time flows through the impersonal squadron
of perchance...
      
as ever: there comes a moment of
completing disbelief:
       in what makes one churn
the advent of the democratic voice...
put simply: i don't believe what i'm writing...
nietzsche is forever only a teenager
fanboy...
          how anyone could get away with
that sort of: sorrow of my own
inability to loot a blank...

                 if this was written
with a conviction in fwench or spanish...
a distant russian...
but it's only a tourist english of some
****** immigrant...
             i should somehow will myself
to write in mutterzuerst:
             zunge von tod... a chicago glamour
glistening in my mind...
h'america can capsize and retain its
20th century's mythological "geography"...
  and "history"...

i don't think the eyes would be of any use
when seeing anything anything more
than the letters and later the words
and later the sentences of noting
the hebrew junction...
         i'd like the literal fetish...
because a literal reading would allow me
to focus on dreaming up the impossible...
not reading the ol' bib'complica-ca'tion
into a poetry exhaustion of:
metaphor and the philosopher's stone...

the guitar lick of sowing the solo...
invitation to giving diacritical stressors...
whereby rhythm is noun...
whereby rhythm is sentence: judge jury
and executioner...
    
to drink! it's all about drinking and not
******* your pants...
it's about the mea culpa and
shooting yourself in the foot... or not...
i'd love to make william burrough's narrative
into a ******...
although i much disagree to
the detail of the life behind the sacred
pax of jeez and juicy juicy dorothy...

lullaby or an alibi...
       lullaby or an alibi... much contested:
of the satellites of the soviet
picturesque: because there's only
genius to work with around
the culmination of events...
for all that's recurrent of the 20th counting
nil and the flowering feud of
the "most"...

                  such a pressure to
somehow find some variation of "anew"...
for the best in poetry... the h'americans
siding with...
the iron curtain and now the silicon
curtain and the lessened tensions
of a: would-be-bomb...

            mr. clear stick figure of:
the oppenheimer...
        who was hardly a pope or a bishop
and there was never a reconquista
of such loot...
   but this current inversion
               of pennies from niqab:
and there could only be an unfathomable
triad - snot, phlegm and salt...
i find myself suffocating to
transcend while the metaphysical
ogling of an oasis...
contesting with sardines...
an antithesis claustrophobia...

               borrowing scent and the pristine
mini-skid-alongs of
churning umbrellas into skirts...
and all those cliches:
best to forget the existence
of the mind... better to reflect...
on the banjo and some walter skinz:
   or... herr im schwarz...
that best ******* of a german
forgotten "soon" with no inclined
to a borrowing of a son...

had i written the most spectacular freefall
bonanza... lucifer loots out
all other useful nouns on the dole...
there must be a boa architect and a
familiarisation with choking
on a peanut...

               best pleasing a hinterland of:
impromptu...
these khaki shoes these khaki shirts...
these mustard green trousers...

             it's impossible to write when one
is still a s schoolboy with a robert pinksky
attention to detail:
pauper... european...
the myth of and if... someone should
keep a calendar denying the sun...
that the moon can also shape itself
toward a frigid

that there's a mongol and he's
not a chinese or a thai or a japanese
culinary invitation...
that i somehow have to tattoo my mind
with such details...
because my skin is best sacred
by not being "scarred" by idiosyncratic
details of SE664397B...

the currency of youth in england
is still composed of a "memory" of Hastings...
such an inglorious battle...
given the norman archers...
and the tumbleweed of flesh of the saxon
protectorate desiring a towing
of a downward ***** of:
the confessor's epiphany...

  dear edward dear little england...
prior to ambitions of empire...
and that zenith...
dickens... jack the ripper...
jester jane... mr hyde...
   it's like... shakespeare is no necessary
rubric: 2 + 2 = 4 new yorker
sauvage...
                              
it's such a currency of suffocation
to have to tow... a height...
the variation of stink....
               a broken bone...
squeezing a delight...
             a marrow juicing of a rattling of
bone...
       procreative on the strategy
of instigating chimes:
variations of skinning wind teasing...
        
my my... it all looks just as plentiful and
as about right... as the currency
invested in a slavic discoteque...

            slaves the partner to
the germs; on high minded peoples
are the hybrids of a sa xony:
modulated to an export..
and an island home...
                 riddle with a homage
to having encountered an ancient:
    "amore" and "psyche":
                       belittling this quest
for taming haggis afghanistan.

HAZE HER - an all female...
pretend... football league sq...
gets a happy sancho ****-virulence
of "hope"... stages a ****...
the group accepts the "nuance"...
the media subsequently deals with
the wound and some maggot...
festering...
i grieve for the 19th century romance...
when... and... where...
women could be adored...
rather than abhorred...
as these... butchers' off-cut sludge...
and slices...
these: me no toy not 'appy...
'appier in bangkok kwing...
   und a lesser queer...

       procrastinating over
fraternity videos...
            because... i am... a sadist...
but because this requires a sadism...
i also have to watch these videos
as a *******...
that famous plumber!
that famous... the "fiction" of fame...
as one... that assures one a permanent
check-mark of continued work...
it's not an Elvis fame...
it's not... rising **** of the new
yearning *****...
it's not a fraternity side-project of;
all are inclusive in...
a game of shame...

    i once enjoyed 1970s *****
cinema... monica rocccaforte style
italian flicks...
    ava lauren ***
         shyla stylez... follow through:
grown attires a ****** readied
exclusivity...
but... what i'm seeing?
that's just ******* base... crude...
juvenilia inc.
              a specctacle
of a suffocating sparrow:
to aid the progress of science...
like ego is the holier than thou
makeshift pilgrimage & pilgrim...
as the dust settles...

the scent of watermelon and of strawberries...
******* with sorority pledges is...
if one could... wish for...
the concept of *******...
and... the delight in teasing a glug
of an oyster... one would... always...
shy with a hope for...
an arabic sensibility...
but one never does...
       one always expects...
russians in afghanistan...
and a miracle of iran to counter...
the ottoman plebs...
given their byzantine inheritance... etc.

one of those impossible tasks
of jerking off while drunk...
with an impeding "hangover" of...
a... "delight"...
in how... ******* can feel...
synonymously akin to scalping /
extracting the *** from new yorkie...
the kippah from
a bar mitzvah...
         a pleasure from an agony...
a pair of eyes from a niqab toll
of *******...
a toothless:
      toothless bake relief...
       a nugget... a toothpick woo..
  watching agony ****
that's not italian 1970s classic...
it's not this belgian sour fetish...
it's this crude: women also play
soccer and toy with game-think...

           it was ****... whenever it wasn't...
and it wasn't... ever...
you can disguise a drunk with a *****
and a pair of *******...
but a drunk impregnate-
              sapphire: blue orb or:
orc stipend...
   which revels in turning chartreuse
into a moss ****** and...
itch...
           that's how i party...
a colour is beside a mere identifiable
word... it's also a sensation...
which... colour can muster...

******* of the sheiks' limbo...
what are these martyrs' promised?
can't they... "somehow" satisfy themselves
with what can already be given...
weißhuren: beruhigendzerbrechlich...

nein mehr meine mutter:
        tod die mutter von alles!

what are these presumptions these assumptions
these decadent dubai posits of camel jockey bribes?!
******* indolent question...
cold warsaw slab.... the farao island "gills"...


festmahl von freur!
                    hören der wind!
conceive a flemish inquiry with
anatomy to mind...
                     ich bitten die meer...
                             pflege für mich...
alt-mutter-meer...
              
                    schoß von und walfisch!
a bangladeshi will cite:
camel jockey and sand-******...

white *******...
      i don't have the heart...
to juice on the hex...
                        
sport akin to *** is for the "uglies"...
as a man... unfathomable...
because "******"...
and the "inconvenience" of
baking... leotard game of gym / ballet...
covert homosexuality...
the whole biological female... ***...
orientation... bypass... wizard of oz...
no thanks... menopause...
new age ******-sadism...
the next earned puppy...
ms. is not a mrs. bovary...
my ******* grandma...
              i'm not gay... just covert...
              sorority ***** vids...
and... auschwitz maiden voyage *** teasers!

like... ich wantz...
         i wollen: ein schälen...
       all remains a chemistry in german...
all is an anatomy in: pennywise
the wicked... puff... and curious candy...

candy kept cain perfect
of h'american'ah...
like some abilist abel... ****-somewhat-"wit"...
no...
no glue for a new, new...
it's the same old... salem witchy-witchy...
dutch lisp...
some better than before belgian congo...
the diamonds! the diamonds and cochccies!

we are weeds in the garden:
the shadows brood concerns first...
the glistening soft affairs
of village people having
to export themselves
to a grandiosity of lunatic stakes
in urban pointers of credulity and concreteness..
i want to call it the death
of a sparrow...
the annoying rebirth of a magpie...
the limbo of a gravitating
silver spoon as the best prized
mythos...

calls a substitute a mother-in-law...
some variation
of a pick-me-up
Beirut granny; boom para giggles
hint.
wordvango Jun 2016
let's snort something
then sit you on my face
later we can churn butter
assault each other
bump uglies
test the suspension
on the old Dodge dart
shift it into high
make  it all the way
home,
slide safely,
head first
Curtis Jones Jul 2017
In Front of This Crowd

This is it.
I’m up
Here I go in front of this crowd
As I'm prepared to pull the best performance of my life and distract myself from the fact that my lunch is about to leave my stomach!
Wait…
Did… My stomach just rumble?
Did my… mic just catch that??
Great…
Not my best first impression....
I try to recover as quickly and swiftly and smoothly as possible
But I'm back to fumbling and stuttering and I drop… my… notebook.
GREAT!
I sneak a peek at the crowd and I see some snickering.
Some impatient stares, half of them even mixed with anger.
Some gave a sympathetic nod to continue
I stammer a quick apology and continue introductions
All the while thinking “This is just the introduction…”
As I clear my throat some more, I hear a couple of hecklers boo me.
I even hear one say “Either get on with it or GET OFF THE STAGE!”
Another member of the crowd shushes the heckler, “Give him a chance! You might upset him!”
But it was too late.
I'm not sure what clicked within me, but something ignited within me.
Something that makes me want to prove the hecklers wrong.
No. To shut them up!
Next thing I knew?
I close my eyes,
Took a breath
Looked at my notebook
And spoke.
And I continued to speak and read aloud the scribbles in my notebook that only I understand.
Words that slip out of my mouth like a thief in the night!
Suddenly, the crowd wasn't there anymore
It was just me
Me and my reflection
The same reflection who is my biggest fan and my biggest critic.
The same reflection whom I practiced with day and night.
Yes, that same reflection that I stare into since as far as I remember!
Yes. That reflection,  whom I nodded to in confidence and who nods back as to say “you got this.”
And the words continue to spill
The crowd suddenly filled with ooh’s and aah’s.
I’m back on earth
Back In front of this crowd
But I continue to speak
Speak with hurt, heartache, joy, pain, laughter, tears, inspirations and frustrations that has been haunting me my whole life
I continue to speak
Despite the fact I'm nervous
I continue to speak.
Despite the fact that there are butterflies bumping uglies in my stomach. (Which, by the way, I would highly appreciate if they stop that.)
I continue to speak!
I continue to speak for the most painful, grueling,agonizing, longest 3 minutes of my life!
And then I'm finished.
I finish speaking as I take a leek back to the crowd
Some speechless.
Some have their mouths wide open in awe
Some are even smiling.
And then the crowd applause
I stare in awe of what just happened.
What I just done in front of this crowd.
And then I snap out of it
And quickly blurt out
“Thank you! Be sure to follow me on Instagram at writingsilhouette! That’s W R I T I N G S I L H O U E T T E at instagram! BYE!”

By: Curtis “Sillo” Jones
Niel Nov 2020
Love is a sickness and I may be clinical
Even without a point of reflection
Extending further, further still
The echo breaks my feelings into shards of glass
Frightening me dearly, the sharpness nauseating
Paling energy and it’d be refreshing to cry
             But weakness shames in this alleyway of
              fiends
And my friends are angels, I cannot grasp
     Glimmering pasts and greeted headings
  These corporate meanderings prescribed
                                         surely is no cure
Because these cruelties extend to all possibilities
   And uglies the flower, the exquisite of being
   Why you leave.. The little self leads
             Endless mirrors pushing you back
to bask
in offline and/or
     online friendship
like quaffing from flask
with no deliberate intent
     to antagonize nor mask
any hidden agenda -
     quite challenging task.

Thus, i turn question back 2 u
per what spurred
     posting/responding too,
and might there be interest
     with me - n average hue
man male - hoping 4  
     acquaintance brand new
from - this bard

     of schwenksville - matthew
***** older buck
     haint gonna byte
so...no need to take fright
     i scout cyber seas donning
     virtual webbed wide
     wet suit to brook
     a female friendship countless

     adult oriented web site
up prefer venues left
     of political right
and absolutely
     positively unquestioningly
     without subatomic
     particle of interest
than please just respond

     albeit, and try to be polite...
good morning, noon, or night
quite
right
2b guarded when acquaintanceship
     begins out of sight
whereby data bits
     bump uglies and grind
     thru information super
     highway somewhat tight.
Ma arch bald
     dingbats fingas clip by

     at greased lightening speed
justa friendship this
     poor fella doth need
an accommodating gal
     to offer a lead
mien eyes not purposely heed,
nor any greed
from stall huff

     eyeing in sects less marriage
     this guy wants 2b freed
with no malice this
     super tramping wordsmith
     of inxs ac of dc
     charged cheap tricks,
     sans done ***** deed.
This impersonator

     sometime bard of yore
admits to his apology
     if taken totally abominable
     like bar rammy aback
     to proposition with
     carnal desires in store
and ideally match deeds
     e-z with these words

     towards strong desire to adore
forsooth naked realm
     to allow noggin to bore
together in close syn
cop yule lay shun couplet core
and would gently encourage
     newfound muse
     to let me dip quill in iambic

     pentameter du jour
from a wordsmith
     who shies away
    drinking *** or smoking *****.
Now with a zing
i step into digital xing
via summit fall low wing
written jest to byte

     tongue in cheek
unsure if phone here will ring
or unexpected
     gold plated invitation
     after the yodeling ding
in an effort to hear pleasant,
     yet discordant musical
     ka – ching

for cherished pennies, nickels,
     dimes, nickle back
     et cetera from heaven to bring.
Twiddling 2 opposable black bird
     shaped green thumb
     me schmart simian Semitic ****
     gets comfortably numb
quaffing humongous

     amount of ***
while downing
     sesame street pudding
     made of pureed plum
like jack in the corner
     boot my luck more glum,
and despite ****** stubble with here
     and there a stale crumb
this dabbler in words
     haint no ***.

— The End —