"weasels" poems
Hey let's play a game!
Post a video on the internet of it just for the fame!
Or maybe, let's play for fun.
And in the end we'll see who has won.
How about some Black Ops, maybe Resident Evil?
Or how about some Conker's Bad Fur Day multiplayer? Cause we can both be robber weasels.
I really like pokemon, also it's all about that Mario.
The greatest character in Mariokart is always going to be Wario!
I'd love to fight you on some Tekkon 6
But maybe I'll let you pick the game, or we could just draw sticks.
So here I made a little cup filled names of different games.
Just draw one Popsicle stick, and see which one of the names is on it.
That way we make this quick and easy
And can get back to our videogames!
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
I said...
Ribbons lemon chewing gum
Daisies dandelion
Button teabag souvenir
Cheese cake Uncle Brian
Pepper buses diary
London *** Nantucket
Leaves carrot underwear
Ten piece bargain bucket
Raisins phone apple pie
Sock key Zanzibar
Duvet sausage dinosaur
Peanut bumper car
Mouse banana chicken wing
Fleas vermilion
Elephant soda stream
Stoat pavilion
Moose flower stickleback
Garlic salted butter
Taco dragon paper cut
Poison pizza cutter
Sandwich Batman coffee cake
Vaseline grape snow
Golf ***** haberdashery
Weasels tally-ho
:o)
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
This plot of ground
facing the waters of this inlet
is dedicated to the living presence of
Emily Dickinson Wellcome
who was born in England; married;
lost her husband and with
her five year old son
sailed for New York in a two-master;
was driven to the Azores;
ran adrift on Fire Island shoal,
met her second husband
in a Brooklyn boarding house,
went with him to Puerto Rico
bore three more children, lost
her second husband, lived hard
for eight years in St. Thomas,
Puerto Rico, San Domingo, followed
the oldest son to New York,
lost her daughter, lost her “baby,”
seized the two boys of
the oldest son by the second marriage
mothered them—they being
motherless—fought for them
against the other grandmother
and the aunts, brought them here
summer after summer, defended
herself here against thieves,
storms, sun, fire,
against flies, against girls
that came smelling about, against
drought, against weeds, storm-tides,
neighbors, weasels that stole her chickens,
against the weakness of her own hands,
against the growing strength of
the boys, against wind, against
the stones, against trespassers,
against rents, against her own mind.
She grubbed this earth with her own hands,
domineered over this grass plot,
blackguarded her oldest son
into buying it, lived here fifteen years,
attained a final loneliness and—
If you can bring nothing to this place
but your carcass, keep out.
2.4k
between giggles, toys and text messages,
dolls emulate strippers and **** stars;
~ did you know...?
between lights-out and sunrise,
sleep-over tongues and pubescent fingers linger
down-low deep into the night;
~ did you know...?
between the final whistle
and the minvan-drive home,
men and boys mingle naked
in shower stalls
eye to eye-ball;
~ did you know...?
between study hall and midnight,
the temperature in boarding rooms
rises like butter beans and burritos
baking prurient pies to last
a lifetime
or 2;
~ did you know...?
between the clean wedding and nasty divorce,
covers are blown
like crack ho's
hustlin' for a hit,
exposing every vice
and the woeful frailty
of man
~ did you know...?
between birth, puberty and death,
humans emulate dogs,
weasels,
and fleas;
~ did you know...?
~ P (#Pablo#DYK)
(8/10/2013)
Aug 10, 2013
Aug 10, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
we all remember
where we were
watching the towers
burn and fall
knowing that things would
never be the same at all
disbelief at first, or
had an action movie
slipped into the news
no, it was real
and then twenty years
of vengeful repercussion
of military posturing
of suffering for many
we watched
the baddies being painted
good and evil
being redefined
virtue confused
impotence and power
conflated
lies and spin
consecrated
truth
alternated
idiot rich guys
promoted
tax for the poor
promulgated
democracy
desecrated
climate destruction
accelerated
by denialist
complacency
inequality
more concentrated
goodness and morality
infiltrated
by posturing political
pus weasels
venal vultures
of self interest
grasping for
short term dominance
and then ..
complacency pervaded
as absurdity
was accepted
as our new state of normal
and the height
of compassion
was owning a dog
and tut tutting
as refugees marched
across our news screens
and now we
bemoan being isolated
from being contaminated
we are mostly relegated
to stay in our mansions
while dinner is contemplated
have you been vaccinated?
Sep 11, 2021
Sep 11, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
How beautiful the sunrise when it came ,
for I had waited so long ,
In vain,
how lonelineses. sweet tears I feel ,
down my cheek so bitter the pain .
Yet I walk were emporers once stood ,
Londiniam lies abandoned .
the Classis lit long since sailed ,
their. Masts beat against the wind .
The river Thames glistened from the morning sun ,
Past it’s banks and statues of gods ,
Monuments to Caesar and suns of the gods lie face down in the sun
broken in two ..
Why should I return for there is nothing here ?
And yet ,
the girls with yellow hoods shunned by the graceful good ,
call me back with their come to bed eyes .
and here I am ,
with ladies of wanton jewelled hair .
For now the Tudor warehouses of
Commerce swell what was once forgotten.
Matchsticks piled one on another ,
and look at them all too full of pride ,
to stupid to see .
Women with weasels in their hair ,
So elegant and fair ,
for the ladies in their yellow hoods say “ beware “
Now the suns rays that lie low ,
a ball of red ,
were quiet embers burnt and flowed ,
Only to find that ,
her Queen awaited
the suns rays of majestic glory ,
as if all of England looked to its shores .
her Golden Hind .
Monsters of the deep ,
Dragons ,
Serpents. ,
Demons from hell itself ,
yet
the evil seas could not swollow this ship ,
or return it’s bounty to whence it came ,
and the women with the yellow hoods hid their faces in shame .
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 3:12 PM UTC
A weeping walking stick
Carved with love into a marionette
Brought to life with a magic wand
Kicked him and ran away
Had him thrown in jail
Swatted away the chirping insect
Fell asleep by the fire
Woke up with my feet scorched off
He freed
And fashioned me new feet and fed me a pear
Books for my first day
Traded for ticket for the show
Earned five golden coins
Hung upside down by a fox and a feline
The enchantress saved me and tells me not to lie
Robbed and thrown in prison
Bailed out by a chicken farmer
Watching out for weasels
And given my freedom
He’s not home, he made a boat to search for me
I must find him and throw myself into the sea
Hard work has brought me flesh
Now I’m on an island of careless fun
I begin to resemble an ***
He hawing off a cliff
Swallowed by a fish only to find him
We are safe but he is sick
The enchantress comes once more
He is well and I’m a real boy
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 6:32 AM UTC
Here’s to girls who laugh at your jokes
And don’t want you to **** yourself.
Here’s to the grind, and all it’s soul-sucking.
Here’s to weasels, and
Possums and rodents of all sorts.
Commence, the hallucinations of
Cream-colored wheat fields, and
Their straw guardians,
Harkening to the inept and
The inadequate, to try their product.
It’s why their older stuff is better,
It’s why the alternative is the standard,
Because you’re too **** much
Like everybody else,
And inside, it’s killing you.
Like every spelling mistake you
Forgot to correct, and every
Fallen soldier, with pop-top wounds,
Whose blood, you never lapped up.
Buzz-to-Buzz.
You can’t play the victim, when you’re
Already the villain.
And the “S” on your chest doesn’t
Stand for your name.
You can try, but anyone with
The good decency to wear
Sunglasses can see through you.
And then the acid kicked in.
And
The amusement park of your
Unimaginable, becomes obvious.
And there’s a leather belt wrapped around
Your restrained eyes, lest their be any
Burglars, out to climb through those windows.
When you’d rather scar up your
Arms than let them be the
Better half of an embrace. When the
Clouds are a few more shades of
Gray darker than they were the
Day before. When your life is as
Disposable as your coffee cup
Or your college education,
Come find me.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 10:58 AM UTC
I found five weasels in a wood,
Five grey kits so fierce they stood,
in challenge on the timbered trail,
my urgings all to no avail.
They held their ground as if to say
This darkling path on which I stray
Is weasel-wood, a tracking ground
Where silent death waits all around
And, transgressing here I truly fear
So ends my trekking here this year.
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 9:47 PM UTC
Rippling down the stream
Of many peoples consciousness
An effervescent future life
Stripped of this abhorrent distress
A future filled with study
Free for each and every human being
A world with no false borders
A world with far less disagreeing
And a universal language
Forged with available technology
That translates in real time
Enhanced with anthropology
Giving us a precise understanding
Of how each other achieve solutions
A pragmatic communication
Circumnavigating ****** revolutions
We would calculate the earths resources
And how to evenly distribute them
Then we would dispose of pointless cash
Like ill people dispose of phlegm
Our centralised political weasels
That do far more harm than good
Would be replaced by microchips
Programmed to not be misunderstood
It is an interesting proposal
To those with a humane conscience
But to those smugly enjoying advantage
I guess it is annoying nonsense
So we must wait for millions to be displaced
For total world economic collapse
The greedy spoilt brats will listen then
Or will they continually relapse?
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 11:59 AM UTC
Today I have to wonder
about people once again
some live to cause trouble
while others live to win
why is what your neighbor does
any business of your own
unless it interferes
with property that you own
I find life is hard enough
without the extra strife
of having people accusing you
wasting a lot of time
vindictive little weasels
surely you will pay
for all the trouble that you cause
Karma works that way.
we've been at the bottom
of that barrel
of which you speak
only to rise above
expectations we exceed
then all the thanks
the world gives to you
can easily be summed up
but really seeing the picture
is hard when your hung up
bent on the destruction
of characters that you don't know
just to feed some jealous need
like a hog stuck at the trough
those whom you hold close
will soon turn on you
it's just the nature of the game
the piper calls the tune
So even in my anger
I still feel sorry for you
for having to be such a ****
afraid of name being known
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 9:00 PM UTC
Hello Poetry; we meet again
my bored, unenthusiastic but sympathetic friend
Why is it you never seem to like what I do?
The rhymes, the rhythm structure, the ideas I write for you?
Or maybe, in my haste, maybe I've miscalculated
Maybe, it's actually me that feels discombobulated
I have had times when I've struggled with what I've written
I always die a thousands deaths, before I'm smitten
with how I might have dotted the i's, and crossed the t's
I'll hide behind furniture to be sure that no one sees
lest they lambast my catastrophic grasp on diction
With god's help I'm sure I'll conquer this terrible affliction
and actually construct a poem I'm happy with
Here are the laws, I'll live by, forthwith,
1. don't write about your pet hamster, no one cares
2. and you should probably steer clear of international affairs
3. remember no word in the English language rhymes with 'month'
4.
5. always know your subject, inside and out
6. Do weasels have noses, or do they have snouts.....?
**** you can't even write out a set of rules
You; You have no friend in anyone that won't suffer fools
gladly, but sadly, I have another idea
another lacklustre shot at being sincere
I hate this vicious cycle,
hate every single bit
but yep,
I'll get my pencil,
grab some paper,
then just
sit
Nov 14, 2012
Nov 14, 2012 at 8:09 AM UTC
We are sorry but the physical(campus) flat earth school is closed on account it was pushed over the edge of the Earth by 5 sasquatch(bigfeets, squatches, skunk apes), a wooly mammoth, and Mothman. We asked superman for help but he was in physics class on another planet.
Just read this and we will send your PHD. Congrats!
fill my feet with air
put me on a square
use our soles for patches
i think we make great matches
how's a compass work?
what's a compass for?
what's another dimension?
what's behind this door?
get me off this plain
toxify my brain
use our bones as easels
paint pictures of the weasels
how's a paintbrush work?
what's a canvas for?
what is inner descension?
who's inside that door?
---------------------------------
des·cen·sion
/dəˈsenSH(ə)n/
noun
1.
an act of moving downward, dropping, or falling.
"a smooth descension back down"
2.
a flock of woodpeckers.
Sep 18, 2021
Sep 18, 2021 at 7:20 PM UTC
Modern man unpacks his woes
He'd have us call it progress
The way back to our cave is paved
Several million ante-deluvians
drowned under the same delusion
How high do you need the ziggurat?
Asks ****** at Babel
Time wasn't ripe back then for God
He disabled their default accord;
their demon intent to destroy His plan
Three thousand years it's taken to regroup
Time enough for His time to be right
For the time of the end of the curse
So please, can the clever caveman thoughts
next time you imagine shuttles in space
a reflection of how superior we are
He'd downgrade us again in a flash
if it wasn't just about the time
we get to blow ourselves up anyway
Wiseup weasels, remember the reason
our playpen was restored in seven days
from Lucifer's null and void revenge
We have seven milenniums to learn to love
To take up our parts in Father's plan
or blow away like the wind
Six of them are practically over
Six billion souls in six thousand years
Created on day six, the number of man
We're at point six point six point break
Day seven's about to dawn.
The number of perfection and rest
Tormented earth groans anticipation
Mushroom clouds and lawlessness
pose no threat to YaHWeH's timeline
Null and void is on His Just In Time list
Every eye will see Meshiach come
Every knee will bow for
The Ancient of Days
Sep 28, 2009
Sep 28, 2009 at 12:01 PM UTC
1 mouse lived in the forest with
2 pieces of cheese to his name.
3 days before his hole was to be dug, his
4 whiskers quivered with anticipation so violently the
5 friends who shared his burrow were tickled mad by the happenings and found
6 weasels to eat various parts of the mouse in the hopes of making still his
7 days that remained before the farmer would have killed him anyway with his trowel
How cruel the world can be to a poor little mouse.
Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 6:35 PM UTC
My hand rests here upon this blank form
the pen nuzzled, cozy and warm between index and thumb
and I but await, the form that it should bear
The little para-sail of thought that swiftly entails
By draft of conscious reason the play, the lines
That shall stem and grow upon this paper.
Sometimes, I am not here at all
It's like a vagrant character takes hold this form
and drifts the banks of faded memories to etch but theirs to mine
Till ink flows like a non stopping spicket, pouring out
Soon digested to the whole phenomena I lay blank
Like pagess upon which the words desire to embrace.
Little child like figures wave between the interplay
This game of margins and thought, marbles clutter
where the revenue of the flow but draws
Upon these hopscotch and I caught the weasels
momentum springs but it's eternal sight
to peer over and across the facade of time
And jots a line or two of verse.
Here, Aye here is the bereavement of the writer
who's image fades to the mighty word
and pounds ever so deeply the elemental cries
That reason holds no power here.
I chuckle at the notion that ever befalls
some faded harmony of a promised bliss
that vanishes amidst the shadows of night
To leave but it's haunting cry.
There I peer down the lane of the centuries
Those famous writers and scribes of literature's ghosts
That forever within our minds haunt us to the passion of a word
And leave us but whole and naked to the deliverance of truth.
I wonder how their pens but scribbled
How they filled their own inconsistencies and ravished the thought.
Alisdaire O'Caoimph
Mar 19, 2011
Mar 19, 2011 at 8:21 PM UTC
Fear is all consuming
A black hole in space
Slowly ******* me in
Swallowing my entire being
Fear is constant
It changes forms often
Shape shifting all the time
It is tricky and cunning
It weasels its way in
To every facet of myself
Fear is panic
The overwhelming feeling
feeling that your heart has
Made it way to your throat
Your palms are clammy
the anticipation of tragedy
That all dwells in fear
No hope of an end
No promise of a resolution
Fear is all consuming
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:51 AM UTC
Hallow halls of brain disconnected dimly lit dare to jump to a lily pad funk
Trees lit with firefly lights where sight is not important only touch
Memories burn like a candle that keeps you down wihs you down makes the mind recoil in terror
Stolen artifacts from the depths of the widest lagoon sleep is only temporary only a nuisance
Tight fitting hearts hot from the weight of love hot from the tremors of betrayal
She cried so much and I was not even angry I was not even upset I was not even angry
Humor weasels its shaking little body into my mind into my skin and I am then dead
Anchors fall from floating pirate ships clad in an armor not of this era not any better
Not any better
Not any better
Not any better
Clicks dancing underneath a starry night head back sand hot kisses wet water rough
I have forgotten what it means to not have the weight of life keep me down
Throw me down to the rocky bottom shores where liquid lava is the source angelic *****
Lady soaked in a hot foamy mist moves through the shadows searching for Her prey
Me not minding the chase as Her face flickers in the feigning mind game of the moon
Together through this off-tune mother's will mother's need humans tripping sneezing
Questions two dots two eyes a mouth that is cracked glistening with snow that scrapes
If I end up in the loony bin I would be happier then working as some *** salesmen
With no stick and berries
There would be sherries living like an ant atop his little ant hill
Frolicking to the madness of the moves of men in higher power but with no sense at all
They never fell from grace for the case they stood upon was made of platinum
Made from the bones of God
Made from the gold of Aztecs
Which was first dipped in their pure and imprisoned blood
Made from the tears of the arch angel at the moment of his untimely death
Made from the shards of metal chipped from Poseidon's trident
Made from the ashes of Vesuviu's people, God takes no prisoners
For we are born here, we are born prisoners
Made from the dew off a bucks back, they are scared, I am scared
Made from the apple core of a child's story of lore
Made from the poison which was never made
Made from the mystery of love, from the mystery of man's pain
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 6:00 PM UTC
On last night's news I heard
of an engineer named K_____ who
invented the microchip and changed
our lives. How the chip now contains
a billion circuits which I still don't get
but what I do perceive is this engineer's
(a man modest in pride, fame and wealth)
achievement of Teilhard de Chardin's vision
of a world that is one organism and a single-
minded mankind.
Also mentioned
were Edison, the Wrights and Ford,
oddly not Einstein, Galileo, Copernicus, Newton,
Hamilton or Jefferson, Christ or Buddha,
or the unknown gatherers and traders
who invented agriculture, money.
8,000 generations and each individual
an experiment gone well or wrong, a chance
to respond with love or grief to the universe's effort
to extinguish us.
Family of weasels, young ones playful.
One reference says they're vicious murderers,
killing for sport. Absurd, I think, in the wild.
Another clarifies they eat ½ their body weight daily,
extremely active, high metabolism, hunt all their caloric needs
before eating. And, like the raccoon, ferocious defenders
of their young.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
I sat next you,
watching you search for God
3,000 miles in limbo
hoping you didn't find
the mumbo jumbo I did
when I really thought about dusty books.
You asked for weather updates.
Please.
So I whispered in your cemented ears,
'cause you can't see a ******* thing
but progressive buildings.
It was as grey as the inside of your eyelids, anyway.
Right when I walked in,
my face went dead pan
with your fresh decision to die.
Anyway,
I sat.
I whispered.
It was fine.
I spectated on our situation.
Your sweating breathes,
my sweating eyes.
We're natural.
We don't matter.
Emotions are natural.
They don't matter.
When the dusted books disintegrate,
and mumbo jumbo weasels from
that little pocket most have cemented shut,
we'll feel much better.
I do feel much better.
Feel freely
fall freely
observe in captivation
stay here, while there.
Purpose
has only brought stress.
Try absurdity.
Try reality.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 8:11 PM UTC
The world of today is as crazy as hell
Over populating cemeteries and prisons as well
I don’t know, can I go for a day or a minute
Without the possibility of another getting in it
I don’t mean to judge, but the love, I don’t see it
Seems we're keen to get it on, if I'm wrong, then so be it
Now, if you’re reaching this consensus, then the well runs deep
That the world has its issues and the people got beef
The government getting swoll from the toll off the backs
Of the Johns and the Janes, and the Jills and the Jacks
What we earn in return is a zero and a nothing
As the politicians lie, because it’s all about the fronting
Putting on airs for the world and a camera
Need a glass of water, cause their tongues’ got stamina
Smiling real pretty, cool posing in relief
But, the world has its issues and the people got beef
Oops, did he stutter, when he uttered an explicit
Live at five; another political statistic
**** if we do, **** if we don’t; really
Now, enter Uncle Trump; yeah; this is getting silly
He’s rolling out his plan, but see, the Congress ain’t buying
He’s an amateur, a fruitcake, and won’t stop lying
But, it’s not about you and it’s about me
See, the world has its issues and the people got beef
Who the hell are our enemies; and don’t you understand it
That the Russians and the Chinese are rolling up the planet
Kim is just a fat boy, playing in his backyard
ISIS is so over, and Assad is just a ******
Too much time on the swans and the bulls
When we need to get a handle on the weasels and wolves
The terrorist not withstanding, we’re gotta have peace
Cause the world has its issues and the people got beef
The Chinese are smiling and are as friendly as cobras
Ready to attack, when you bend your *** over
Russians are aggressive, but, sly as a fox
Two-faced as a ****** and as ***** as socks
Bottom line, I think its time to put faith to the test
Put diplomacy in a coma, cause it’s time to flex
Raise the bar and push them hard; show we're knocking out teeth
Because the world has its issues and the people have beef
Grab the big stick and leave the Twitter alone
Release the forces, scrap the voices, leave the weaklings at home
The strategies are on point and our forces are primed
Put an end to the posturing and the wasting of time
Time to command, not to pander, Mr Commander-in-Chief
Cause the world has its issues and the people got beef
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
What a crazy thing!
It is almost infectious.
Pulling at my insides,
Throwing my emotions out of wack.
It could be used as a form of torture.
It weasels its way into my mind,
my heart,
my bones.
Muscles are stretched in unfamiliar directions.
A burning, a yearning for more.
It builds in the pit of my stomach.
It is infectious.
This place breeds the infection.
It grows like a mad mans craze.
There is no place to run,
no place to hide from the contagion.
It surrounds me leaving no escape.
I wait for the infection to spread,
to take over my body.
The endless happiness envelopes me.
All that remains is a diseased body
left behind by the infectious World of Disney
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 5:13 PM UTC
The storm rages on,
As the girl stares beyond.
A ship that is sinking,
Full of weasels and sods.
There's no room for sharing,
Or to be open minded.
Instead your voice is lost,
In a box we're confined in.
The waves grow stronger,
Wearing down the seams.
Worrying whose side is worse,
Rather than calming the seas.
An abundance of bickering,
Yet a scarcity of repairs.
A ship forever sailing,
Fueled on internal affairs.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 12:08 PM UTC
When we're tired we sleep
And when we sleep we dream
And lately i keep seeing this dog
Can someone tell me what it means?
He's a little Akita hound
Pointed ears and scrunchy nose
I named him Tanuki
Because he looks like an undersized fox
With no weasels to hold
He's little, tiny and loyal
But only exsists in my head
He loves snuggling by me, apparently
He's loves nodding his head
So why do i keep seeing this adorable dog
As i hover over the cliff of sleep?
So can someone please tell me,
What do my dreams mean?
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 8:31 AM UTC
My dear Madame manager,
When you walked in the room,
you saw we went hostile
on the company balloons.
I'm sorry to say
It wasn't so funny
Costing a dollar
And $0.10 worth in money.
We didn't mean harm
in picking on you.
Even though it was fun,
we acted like poo.
And so, I apologize
for pranking at large.
You're a wolf among weasels.
Glad I'm not in charge.
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 6:51 PM UTC