"useable" poems
Hear Ye, Hear Ye!
I have never been one to do things usual,
wet down and reusable
straight up delusional,
sometimes confusing all,
middle finger useable.
So juvenile.
Between you and me,
this girl is overly irreverent,
open book intelligent,
in need of saving reverend,
whose arrogant,
most relevant.
I'm typically benevolent.
It's evident I'm heaven sent,
REPENT!
I'm unsusceptible to rules,
except on days like April Fool's.
I'm orthodox, I kid,
you wish.
Unorthodox, reborn,Jewish
Foolish.
I have never been one to do things usual,
Chained up? Refuseable,
tied down and doable,
funked up and beautiful,
French words excusable,
the next line unsuitable.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
**the sighs in our chest that emanate from a different kind of
breast cancer**
wrote these words prior,
then, certainly uncertain of the exactitude of their meaning,
clearly unclear of their useable intention,
yet the too real wrathful sensations
that inspired their caesarian creation,
the sigh's very own exhalations,
floatations devices for the interned-no-longer emotions,
escapees via the crevasses of chest ribs splitting open,
return to glory thanking me for freedom given
let posterior eloquence suffice, let brevity guide
my self's interior diagramming,
lengthy explications and deep analytics, I leave to you,
the astonished medical examiner and the horrified mortician
chest ripped, my hand reinserted, the blighted scourges,
the abscessed cancers, the obsessive relentless cankers,
asking shamelessly why have I returned to the crime scene
*the sighs are air-borne, ready for air plucking,
all cloud seeded, deeded for poets to seize and commence,
to plant and invent, a mountain top trickle to a mighty
river of poems to be recovered and discovered,
unrehearsed and unleashed
but you and I have unwished, unfinished business,
as of yet unwritten, one last poem to honor our
mutually assured destruction,
for this day will be
rewritten differently*
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 10:11 AM UTC
A famous "Barry Hodges" poem!
I was strolling along the Normandy beaches
In the close vicinity of Caen one day
With a very tasty piece of arm-candy to hand
When I found a bleached human femur on the beach.
Oh dear me, what thoughts this conjured up in my brain
As I imagined whose bone it might have been!
Perhaps some pathetic soldier boy landing in forty-four
Who got slotted by a gallant German gunner,
His eyes feasting on the sacrificial cannon fodder
So foolishly supplied for his target practice.
Then, as I grabbed my lady friend's juicy ****
Causing her to turn and sink her tongue into my earhole,
We sank onto the sands in order to sate our lusts,
(enflamed by a very delicious meal of moules marinières
and a bucket or two of well-chilled Muscadet sur Lie)
I thought, what the **** does it all matter?
This is now, and that was then, and this old world
Has become a much nicer place nowadays;
But how mistaken I was in that fond thought;
Oh what an idealist I am in a world of woe.
For, all of a sudden, a contingent of fat dwarfs appeared,
Totally naked apart from their luminous Uncle Sam hats
And the Stars and Stripes hanging from their arseholes;
How I marvelled at their disgusting shapes
(and how surprised was I to find their genitals
were of normal measurements and thus
rather intrusively large by comparison
with the rest of their miniature bodies).
O dear Lord and alleged Father of Mankind
Forgive their horrid ways verily and forsooth.
With a whoop, those demented military retards, [see note below]
The famous 118th battalion ****** Marine veterans,
A contingent of whom emerged from a portable toilet
(which must have been a bit of a tight squeeze),
Chopped my girl-friend up with their bayonets,
Whereupon I crapped myself in terror and pity,
Before retrieving the purse from the eviscerated corpse,
Realizing that her PIN number was still useable
Until 'les flics' discovered her unfortunate remains
After the shore ***** had partaken thereof.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 8:08 AM UTC
She--
Was Hal-f-
Torn.
When carousel
Cabinets; whirled
Ferociously around.
A mouse-
Of maggot--butterflies.
It seethes here...
She-- was just-
Rustling, her carrier-bag.
Weeps.
From useable filaments.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
You unfold my pages softly,
carefully not to tear them up
to pieces that can never be combine.
So if my name suddenly disappear,
if the lights suddenly fade,
if I'm no longer useable,
if my demons suddenly reappear,
would you still take my hands?
would you still hold it tight?
would you still give me your time?
would you still consider to be mine?
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 5:56 AM UTC
Empty like the nail polish you throw away because it's 'empty' but it's not actually empty because there is still some product left in it but it's not useable because it's so dried out and close to the bottom that no one wants to try to use it so they throw it out.
Like me
So empty like how I have no energy to show any kind of emotion anymore but if you dig really deep you'll find some dried up old feelings but it's too deep in there that no one wants to try with me anymore so they just throw me out
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 10:53 AM UTC
this girl dreamed of an open field where she could raise her family
where there's beautiful trees and a nice summer breeze
so she prays to God down on her knees
begging keeps on repeating it never forgets to mention please
out in the streets hustling its frustrating
because here lately baby girl is tired of waiting
her husband don't even know the games that shes playing
days goes bye while he's lonely in bed looking where she should be laying
staying up as the sun goes down
missing the smiles on her face now all you can see is her frown
as this man is tired of bodies being buried in the ground
so he stays inside just because he's afraid to walk around town
one night as he's sitting there wife comes home with the look of fear
he's already hit her and shes ready to disappear
but hes over it and just want to whisper in her ear
i love you but she hates him for all the **** she puts up with here
he knows its coming his mind starts running
he says let me tell you something
he goes evil when his heart turns black
jumps in the car driving like he has got no hope
just wants to slit his throat drive his into the river like its a boat
while he don't look back
he has one last chance to stop by the most beautiful girl
he says look i know im useable girl
beggers cant be choose able girl
im about to hit this tree answer me girl
she says no im finally done
get out of the car your a shooting star but i need to run
so his eyes tear up as he smashes the gas
aiming for the tree hoping to **** his ***
but he gets out blood dripping hes trippin life slipping away
shes dipping while the paramedics are checking to see if hes okay
all he can say, is i love her please make her stay
but shes already in love thinking Ima leave this worthless ***** just where he lay
hes choked up
cant believe him and the love of his life just broke up today
laying in the hospital bed thinking she'll show up instead
after all the blood he shed to prove he was ready to just be dead
but she had to go see someone else to hold her
just to **** with his mind and seem a little colder
but hes getting older thinking **** it i gave everything i possibly show her
but hes the bad guy to bad there's two stories
to bad he's so high so sad that he has to try not to worry
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 10:47 PM UTC
Matter is a reflection of the nameless void.
Our physical bodies are reflections of our selves.
Just as we are products of our environment,
our environment is a product of our minds.
Ungraspable, yet useable.
Invisible, yet all we see.
Matter is the surface of the nameless.
The nameless transcends space and time
and connects all things;
the isolation of separate particular things
is like islands in the ocean;
apparently different, yet linked by what lies far out of sight.
Art is the language of Spirit.
Spirit is the pilot of Matter.
Matter is the vessel of the Namelessness.
Words fall short.
Experience cannot be conveyed.
Words are like signs along the path
but they are not the path itself.
(Ergo you must chose to heed the signs and follow your path)
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 12:24 PM UTC
Into the water she strode, wide eyed as ripples echoed her steps,
Hart beating, eyes streaming she leapt into the arms of an useable love
Arms stretched out far to catch her, protect her with care and calm composure he swept her up at earths surrender
into the arms she’d always loved
Into the depth the lovers fell. Forgetting all rules a wise man once told them, they fell into the deep subsiding water with the ones they’d always loved.
Engulfed not one but two became inseparable in the lovers game, judgment blurred and eyes to see not anyone but this entity, entrapped and falling helplessly into the depth of pure insanity yet happily falling free into the arms of her love.
They Don’t look back or up or forth for taken breath cant be caught, again they fall helplessly her with him and him with she and soon to be submerged in water hart beats harder as time grows faster, they lose track time and in the darkness, the blurs grow darker, sharper, faster and in there minds the lovers laugher, suppress the dangers of deeper water
And so they sink so helplessly into loves addiction, unconsciously, falling through the entangled weeds of the darkest love named insanity.
Weaker the lovers became as harts grow heavy and thoughts grew thick, is this a pure, captured splendour or a disaster occurring through the wick, burning fast through the tether as the lovers get hopelessly lost together in the mist inside there minds forever falling hopelessly free.
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
i don't want to talk about it to
the people who want to know.
i want to talk about it to
the people who don't have to know,
but don't mind anyway.
i want to tell you, actually.
about when i was too lonely
to know what i was doing.
when my no was not firm enough,
was not said often enough.
so they played me,
and i don't blame them.
i was so vulnerable.
so easy to take advantage of.
why not?
i was disposable, useable only for a moment of pleasure.
and it really hurt,
but i just sat there.
and took it.
and now look at me-
fighting flashbacks when a classmate makes a joke about the four letter R word.
crying for no reason.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 11:20 AM UTC
Environmental advice
from a re-purposed hag:
Stop driving cars.
Use a re-useable bag.
Cook dinner at home.
Adopt children, not pets.
Don't use plastic cups.
Don't eat tuna caught with nets.
Don't toss out food--
it becomes methane gas.
Stop shopping for clothes;
give consumerism a pass.
Wear natural fabrics.
Turn off extra lights.
Use solar cells.
Live the days and sleep the nights.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 12:39 AM UTC
Just as you were coming within the weather changed and out you ran for sunny frolics
without.
The music echoed from a distant window from another world in another time.
I wondered who you were then, the wind carried your essence along but changed you in hidden ways as you came back into focus a stranger thing.
My mind sought stick figures to flesh you out again in the old images of you but none were to be found all occupied with scripted lives ad blinders tied securely. Surely this a vision of things to come.
I wash my hands now.
This is how it carries over to the next eternal.
white smoke as leader in curling wisps of magic sliding under doors and past restrictions into forbidden places to see the useable the occult.
The ticking clock like booming thunder reminds me like sand slipping downward in the hourglass by grain by drop by seconds by the minute.
Clear as the morning chill brings focus and transition to the new day
my will in question
my very essence queried
a distinct sense of reality wafting gently to ground like a bloodhound on task, there will be answers and resolutions
all has been written regardless so we dance.
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 7:06 AM UTC
she's shades of brown
mud near the lake
festering with geese
a scanner that will never scan ever again
a caffenated beverage
she's the wind that makes the doors shake
in the apartment at night
and you swore it was the way
she moved
and you swore it was your psychosis returning
**** not again
she's the grating sound of the indentured laborers doing their thing
at 7 am
she's the smell of your hands before and after you wash them repeatedly and needlessly
she lives in the paper that curls when burned
and in the skin too
she smells like cat litter
and ozone
and she tastes like 9 volt batteries
that may or may not be useable.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
leaving is relative.
"you"is just a view of an elephant
up close.
melt a bit,
then tell the splitting
elegance you'll help it
blend back into the hues
you've given different
pet names to.
headspace.
moon.
deadweight.
truth.
a ruse?
a route?
a mutiny?
a few ravens loot putrification
of any useable patience
in the pay-to-play waiting game.
get over it
or get some beauty sleep.
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
This heart will last me a lifetime
If only because when it fails,
I fail,
But this heart, barely half way through its span is already much damaged,
For whilst the attack that did not claim me
Left no visible disease
The slings and arrows of emotional assaults, betrayal
And cunning, low and savage attack
Have left an invisible mark,
Every selfish unwarranted ******
Leaves a hole which heals slowly,
Oozing my life's essence all the while
Until the damage is patched by a layer of hard scabrous tissue,
A crude patch to mend a hole
Yet limiting the function once there found,
A tiny or not so small area which is not quite the same
And cannot fully carry its load any more,
A small damaged piece of me,
That fails
One such part? Hardly worth the notice and
Already as always forgiven,
But it is not just the one small part is it?
It's a fine network of such holes with the occasional larger ****
Where the stab was sawn and worked and
Widened with savage glee
Yet still healed or healing and still already
And as always forgiven
But the whole of me that part not stiffened and dead
Is smaller now
That shrinkage is not visible to the outside world
Nor will it be yet the shrinkage of useable
Worthwhile working tissue
Leads only one way and at this ever increasing rate
Of damage the end is coming close,
But who cares?
Well no one it appears
Because the attacks and the wounds are neither slower
Nor stopped,
So soon instead it seems
I will,
My heart will
Stop
Stopped
Oct 27, 2021
Oct 27, 2021 at 8:23 AM UTC
Beyond our milky way whats there.
Black is the summary, of all space it's tinted with the sun.
So how is there black.
Black is said to be pure creation, right so as birds and planes are full of flight.
We are here spining on a tilted axis.
And have yet to discover the all of its being.
If a simulation, is pure and high grade depition.
Reason of war, our experience is surprisingly devoted to evolution.
If doors didn't have henge would they be so useable.
Some what confusional I know this is.
With schedule being made and projections of completion becoming done.
We all are organized and fit to handle any task.
Achive we strive to ring the bell at the highest climb.
If all was made and designed what's the fun in the vines.
Optical illusion, the eye's can not figure out.
Why is five colors in different contrast make the eye see shapes.
Oh now two, dimensional objects weave threw space huge compared to 3d.
See in space out of gravity and radiation belts.
Sizes of objects get super sized.
There is no time, no limits no occupation.
In space of all concepts.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 1:24 PM UTC