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Q Apr 2015
You'd think there'd be words there.
That was a stanza's worth of space.
You'd think there'd be hidden meaning.
But there wasn't. Whoops.

I thought poetry would keep me.
I thought rhymes would hold me.
I thought feeling would guide my hand.
But it didn't. Whoops.

I thought I'd write forever.
I thought my creativity would last.
You thought there'd be worth here.
You thought this was time well spent.

But.

Whoops.
There's nothing here.
Dreamer May 2014
There she goes,
dressed in yellow
wearing a gaudy red cap.
Standing tall,
standing proud,
high on her shiny black heels.
She steps onto that lacquered white floor
As the girls around her
stifle with silent envy.
She leaves her elegant trail
everywhere she goes
when

Whoops!

She broke her little heel.
(Written in 4th Grade)
jeremy wyatt Feb 2011
I woke up this morning, and no I am not singing a blues song....
There is something big and white in a small room
I had a torrid few minutes trying to recall...
re-fri-ger-a-tor
a step forward
ouch! My kneecap hurts, not fun.
I learnt the refrigerator although white
is not as soft as a pillow or a cloud
I managed to make the room safe
by pushing the refrigerator
out of the window.
Whoops.....sorreee!
there is something under it outside, round and red
a volley ball is round and red
but this round thing is gurgling
and very red indeed
except for the things like lips that are going bluey-grey
Wow the world is fun with severe memory loss
and a laissez-faire attitude to exploring things.
Bubby, my neighbor gave me a present
it is heavy, has a handle and a little lever on the side
safe......fire.....safe....fire......
It fits in my mouth, I wonder if ..
BANG!!....
Gale L Mccoy Mar 2018
i defy myself
every time i define myself
just to prove myself wrong
oh, whoops i proved myself right
  
                   i dont know what im looking for
                   but i know it when i see it
                   then i forget to be it
                   oh, whoops i forgot all of it

         i think i know more than i think i do
         never know what to do with myself
         im in several places all at once
         oh, whoops i never moved at all
Larry Potter Jul 2013
I was hungry enough to eat the **** end of a skunk.  I felt like gobbling the whole mound of concrete that is half an hour closer from becoming a part of my room.  Make that a quarter. I guess my tummy has had enough grumbling, like a seething network of volcanoes ready to devour Hawaii.  I am sure as exhausted as a zombie after a “battle of life and death” handling a plethora of carpentry tools which I have managed to rummage from our dismal basement.  I’m quite serious with the phrase “battle of life and death”.  I get to have this Obsessive Compulsive Syndrome which gulps a huge amount of my rhythm compelling me to put things in place especially in my chamber.  At times, a weltered pen could instigate an emotional havoc.  Or perhaps an inappropriate collaboration of curtain hues and mattresses would be ample to spin the color wheel concept out of my brain.  But now, my walls have done it.  Well, it was just a microscopic sight of a divine crevice, but how in the world could that escape my eyes?  Without a second thought, I approved an avid proposal from my subconscious – a full concrete room renovation.  And that’s how it brings me here, smothering the last square inch of the genius blueprint with this porridge of lime and clay, the hell with chemistry!  I have found out that my room has achieved the piquancy of a sizzling summer noon, thanks to the mist of dust and the precipitating drops of sweat that come tingling down my overheating body.  Ah! At least my system tells me that I’m not a promising patient of ****** dysfunction.  When the last patch has been perfectly planed in place, I drew my last ounce of pure strength and plunged into my most formidable bed, congratulating myself for a job well done. Alas! A thirty-minute nap and I’m ready for a superb coffee and doughnut delight.

I woke up from a cat’s screech. I peeped through the window. The nap breaker was a Cheshire, one with a dimmer fur, the stripes of gray suppressing the darker color.  Its tail enjoyed dancing around its rear, connoting either fear or excitement. It sure has a distinctive mischievous grin.  The feline was on the verge of climbing up the roof by jumping from a gutter about five feet away.  It seemed to have slipped but has managed to bring its **** next to the roof tiles. It stared at me with intent, giving me the macabre look from its glaring eyes.  It’s as if I’m being watched, stalked and examined in a way I couldn’t see, bringing me that feeling of guilt, of remorse.  Urgh! That’s why I hate cats.  Though I’m planning to keep one, I’ll reconsider it.  But what pains me more is to discover that my alarm was not able to do the job and so I slept three hours more than planned.  I looked down and saw the city lights flashing one by one, the beams glowing like a barrier of radiance diffusing into the gloom of the night. I guess this was the price I have to pay. I traded my snack with a peaceful hibernation, turning the coffee into a glass of iced tea and the doughnut into a great dinner with me, myself and I.

I have learned to cook since I was ten.  My mother believed that culinary prowess could be inherited from generation to generation.  And so, she put her trust on me and I haven’t failed her ever since.  This gourmet brilliance proves to be very useful at times of solitude when you got bored of ordering other’s recipes and decided to make your own buffet.  I remembered her telling me that all food would taste good if there is the chef’s heart flavored in it.  Cooking is an art, combining the loops and the whoops of seasonings and spices to the medley of meat and herbs.  Tonight, I decided that my dinner would equal breakfast, satisfying the grudge that I got from skipping my  diabetic snack attack.  A beef stew and a side of paella made my stomach die in joy, appeased at last that my gears are energized for my routinely nocturnal bookworming activity.

I normally hide under my sheets at nine but tonight, I shall break the rules. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll fix the rules next time. Just this time to spare for I have gained interest on this book entitled “100 Years of Solitude”, talking about how one could live happily even alone, just by creating the world you have ever dreamed of. Gabriel García Márquez is dumping the “no man is an island” concept which anyway sounds inspiring to me.  Finally, I jumped into bed thanking Him for letting me outrun another day living alone in a comfortable apartment, free from all sorts of vexation.  I wished for a better life at school, which gives me an imagery of dull monochromatic memories.  I am not that famous but I can be someday.

A heavy beam of sunlight pierced through my window, refracting on the ***** white floor and creeping up to the mahogany table just right at the corner.  It intercepted with the glass pyramid and created a beautiful prism that glittered all around my room.  It was a really majestic scenery, one that I luckily happen to see every morning, a good optic background, I guess. Two hours before class time – that’s where my pattern starts.  Take a bath, eat, brush teeth, groom, check the doors and power, then I’m off to go. Everybody follows a certain kind of pattern, that’s for sure. Whether you wear different types of clothes everyday or use competing brands of toothpaste, clothes are clothes and toothpastes are toothpastes.  As humanity finds more and more complexities in life, they become wired to doing the things and involving the events which they think would give happiness to them and simplify their equation of life.

As a proof, there’s Mrs. Lanny Honeycut from the house next door. She usually sprinkles her daisies every ten in the morning, wearing that friendly neighborhood smile. On their patio, you could never miss a day seeing her husband, Mr. Blake Honeycut reading the daily papers with a round of tea, jam and bread spread on his table.  On the busy intersection stands traffic enforcer, Red Mayer, waving his arms to and fro while wearing that aura of valor, never seem to get tired of doing the same thing over and over again. Thousands go out for work and go back to sleep everyday and that's the status quo we're talking about. Even inside the academic arena, you can still hold on to that thought; I mean the size of the population doing the same pattern at the same time – my schoolmates, enemies and… friends? Well, I’m not quite sure with the last one, but it’s this: they all make a fun of me.  They say I’m a dork, a nerd, a geek, a freak, and etc.  I wonder if they mean everything that they say or say everything that they mean.  Either way you put it, I’m not buying it. I am not what they say I am.  I just like being alone and that’s where I do best.

And as always, the school is crowded with busy people rushing through the corridors. Others are beating the deadlines while some are happy they could breathe for another break. But no matter how busy everybody could be, there is always a time spent for “information dissemination” or chitchats. But only this time, the topic discussed is the same.  I could hear it on the entire campus, everywhere in the perimeter. Another student in the university is missing leaving no trace of existence.  It’s been going on like this for over two months now and the university council has taken their best courses of action to unknot this mystery while campaigns have been running on TV’s and vigils were spent. Not that I don’t care but it seems that this is also happening to other places, I mean, this is not the only school where maniacs could exist and become professional serial rapists in the making. By the way, this is already the 12th case on the record. Weren’t people overreacting to the issue? Isn’t the case overrated? Did they reject the possibility that these people ran away because they got pregnant, messed up or something like that? Soon, the university area was covered with security troops roaming around like a swarm of bees, buzzing and sometimes boozing all the time.

I guess that’s what happens when you hang out too much with friends who are just jesters plotting your own jeopardy. I don’t think it would be good at all to be bothered with things like that because sometimes, it’s also useful not to have any use at all.  Like the king being admired by his kingdom amidst his sloth and compromises.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not friendly anymore. Actually, if it happens that I got company, I would magnanimously offer a treat at my place.  But the thing is, who would likely do that? I’d cross my fingers on it.

Wishes do come true even for a loner like me.  I think I have a fan. No, that would be too sublime. She’s hot and she’s hotter when you’ll know she’s so cool. Quite a paradox, but that’s just reality.  We came to know each other on our lab class. Her name’s Athena, fitting for her twisted logic and good humor. It makes me burn a lot of calories when I talk to her more than a 5-mile marathon could squirt. We were lab partners and we get along well. I just couldn’t figure out where she got the courage to befriend me. I do regard myself as unwelcoming species, but I might work on it when someone tries to knock the door. We juxtapose ideas. Yes, that’s what makes our conversations spin like a merry-go-round. But we enjoy it nevertheless, evident by the crescent smile we both generate out of the craziest topics in store. Once, she interrogated my way of settling wars with enemies. Well, I told her it was my habit of treating them to my house and giving them souvenirs to show how sorry I could be. She snickered and her eyes glowed like the Andromeda and her face shun the whole universe. Oh, I can do this all day long, if only I got hold of time and space.

Today, she asked me if it would be okay if she’ll stay at my place till nine when her dad could be home and she would be able to call her and ask to pick her up. She reasoned out that otherwise, the night would be scary because she’ll be alone in their house, no company, no security. I was puzzled how the thought of being alone could scare her. It is like freedom from any constraints, no ties, and no limits. But I couldn’t blame her. She’s too fragile, too vulnerable to handle it with herself.  With the speed of the light, I accepted the favor.  Well, that goes even without saying.

It was past six thirty when we arrived at my immaculate apartment. It’s great to be an“ OC” sometimes, I said to myself.  I thought of a winner dinner, one that would make her visit worth reminiscing. I preferred Italian.  I cooked her lasagna and drenched the dinner with sherry. We talked a lot until we run out of resorts. I guess she planned it, or I planned it, synergy perhaps.

The clock ticked nine and there’s no sight of her father’s getaway car. But there’s no sign of worry in her countenance either. I surmise it didn’t reach her inkling yet to phone her dad.  She was busy dissecting my kitchen and living room with her very playful eyes. That doesn’t trouble me though. That’s just as instinctive as any other first time guest could get. She grappled her attention on my antique collection of prehistoric movies, like the Scarlet Letter, The count of Monte Cristo and the likes. She happened to love them too. Well, that makes her more beautiful to me, other than the satin white dress she wears. Suddenly, she got the impulse of going to my room. She said there’s nothing more exciting to see than a gentleman’s bedroom. I startled from the request, but before I could say anything, she leaped straight to my chamber with the gestures of an imp. It’s weird to be in this kind of circumstance because I don’t often invite a lot of visitants to my room. I ain’t no hotel crew, bowing down and waving his hand to the chamber’s destination and leading the VIPs to their cabins. Yet this time, it’s the other way around: it’s my cabin.

But now it’s too late to stop her. She molested the **** and I giggled for some reason. Finally, the door opened a crack and a bend of light escaped from inside. She stepped in, and I followed. She was filled with awe not because my room is all made of gold nor did it resemble a royalty’s den. It was the exaggerated neatness and order that greeted her. In some unknown vortex of my deepest imagining, it made me feel like I’ve been through this instance before. The flashback is not so vivid as it appears, but something tells me this isn’t the first time. Deja vu could be working on it, I infer,although I don’t really believe in those forms of conceptualizations. Perhaps it’s the sherry’s spell infiltrating my mental prognosis. But something, I guess, isn’t really right.

I caught her opening a red box that was hidden behind my cabinet. I tried to steal it away from her but she fought back and it came tossing down the floor. Numerous items spilled from the case. A purple head band with the glittering initials ANNE, a ruby embedded bracelet, and a Nokia handy phone exposed the secrecy. This isn’t going to go along well and fine, I guess. A strong surge of desire came from my core. It tried to envelop my entirety and control me like a lifeless puppet. I felt the tip of the pyramid glass in my hand and I succumbed to lose my consciousness.

Morning came and it felt better than ever. It was a ***** Saturday. There she lies beautifully on the deck, like an immortal bud of red rose trapped in golden amber. The cellophane fits her well, and there’s no doubt she’ll be complaining anymore. I already prepared a cozy place for her deep sleep: A 5x2 feet wall engravement which I was busy molding last night. It wasn’t easy making her go to bed but still it ended up smooth and sound. I helped her get up and fitted her in place.I turned on the radio as I reached for my dear carpentry tools. The news was still nailed on it. But this time, the missing case struck for the 13th turn. Ahh, the hell with society! They never really get a way to deal with it.

I was busy patching the last mound of concrete that is half an hour closer from becoming a part of my room. Make that a quarter. I guess there’s no end to this divine crevice issue. It must be following a pattern too. But I can handle it, thanks to this vicarious personality. I wonder if I could get the chance to invite another visitor in my place. But if I do, I would certainly offer the best treatment they could ever have.
Azad Akkash Apr 2015
To Jody;
My five years old friend and nephew

I put down the telephone,
entering a nap of elation,
till the echo of your sweet utterance
On the back of expatriation's wind
Swims away, dims.
By then, medusas of melancholy with their thick sorrow
fill up my throat
and my heart
would blindfolded fall on the knees and
die down…

With good and bad big wolves
tracing lost children or stuffing shaking goat kids into their paunch.
With ravenous bears, malignant hyenas
and crude giants,
garrulous  gracious squirrels, laborious ants
and active voracious hares.
With them, the two of us
had upholstered the land and sky of the wonderland,
and with their voices and whoops all,
we had irritated the dreamland's walls.

No matter how many times
we were building the villages for stories of straw, furze sticks and bricks,
I would only visit your house of mattresses and pillows.

Only for you,
I did revived the dead wolf
in order to revenge the "predatory" lumberjack.
With no regret I kept sending "wolfy" to the roasted chicken's shop
to defeat the hunger,
So that he won't eat the trapped little girl.
And before your smile,
the wolf in walrus moustache would play with the girl till daddy comes and takes her home.

And you are …
popping out, never closing the wide eyes of yours,
waiting for grandpa to take us to the village.
Up from the houses' roofs,
with Qarmeetlak's1 rabbits,
beyond the barbwires and in secret,
we stick the tongues out to the Turkish barracks.
Along with goat kids,
in tracking smugglers' traces,
we fool the landmines,
sneak to the other side of the border.
With smiley faces and hidden bleats,
We ****** the poppies and the grass that grow out from the edges of spring and the craters.
We hide from smuggler's ghosts who
in the  labyrinths of landmines
because of the unclaimed hands and legs are grabbing the collars.
We taunt the jackals' yowling and the patrolmen.
And in front of the rumbling sky, we do our best to look prettier;
Isn't  it "God taking photos of us"?
And like coward puppies we flee and go back to the safe village,
just before the dusk's winds could carry our smell to the angry spirit of Salan2
who is scouring the Kurmanj's Mountain3,
pursuing his endless vengeances.

Till the break of day,
with your slim clever squirreliness,
out of the branches of the most interlocked sorrowful stories,
you were shaking the attached laughs and guffaws
on the  hair of the deceiver Ashrafieh and the grumpy Sheikh Maksood's4 night.
Eventually, in taking its revenge,
the night would stuff you in a small basket and throw you away into the waves of sleep and dream
accompanied with all that eager to see the giants' kingdom and the mice's storehouses,
squirrels' village, their dances and bridals,
the departure will lead you to the waterfalls' cliffs of a dreamy sparrow's new day.
With the beaming love out from our eyes,
you dry up your tousled feathers and
take into the open.

Nevertheless, how simple-hearted the lies were when I kept telling you:
"Dog is a dog, a wolf is a wolf and the kitty is a kitty, and what are we, my Jody?
We are humans!"

I didn't want you to know
how in the world, could a dozen of
rabid armed dogs
smash down the door
and out from your eleven months old eyes,
with a persistent thronged barking,
they did take your dad away to the deepest liars of the ranch of malevolence,
introducing him to all kinds of animality.

How might I explained to you
why in the world, they reduced 'dad' for you
to that thing which every month
from behind a doubled bars
keep sending you a tearful laugh?
Why did they minimized the ancient capital for you into
both of the Political Security Branch and Siednaya's Jail5?

Your fingers had just started taking to writing and drawing.
You had just started
cantering your own stories
along with unsaddled breezes' foals
when herds of jackals with dark mouths
deported 'your Azad' into a fool refuge.
Again,
they
made
you
an orphan.

Inside the brushwood of the story and the wilderness of the epic,
since neither your fingers have become able to rise the sign of victory correctly,
nor could your throat match the letters of 'Kurdistan' properly,
whatever cave you step in,
no matter how shiny is the globe in the witch's hands,
she would never be able to tell you,
these lacrimatory mist and clouds,
with the emerging of every spring,
from which valleys of the ranch of malevolence  
did they come to overflow the Kurdish neighborhoods.
How did they vilely with no permission go up to the third floor
in order to join you in a poisoned feverish soiree.
And since when
the creatures of darkness
that they had brought
have been grazing their hyenas
among our fresh hopes.


Hence…
when I tell you that
I'll come back with the snowfall,
it is nothing but a lie!
When you ask me to come back in summer
in order to hang on my back
and swim together
along with the little fishes,
such an imagination!
When you are not sleeping in my empty bed anymore
Intending to let my pillow and blanket await for
my return,
only a childish dream!!
Yet, when you
in the sweet and soft Afrini accent of yours
say to me
'Ozod, I mithed you thoo thoo thoo much',
my heart
would blindfolded fall on the knees and
die down…

Azad Ekkaş
Roni_alend@outlook.com
Erbil: 3-1-2011
1-The village that Jody's family decsends from. It is located on the very Syrian Turkish borders.
2-  A traditional hero of the region.
3- Kurds in Afrin district in the remote north western corner of Syria call their region the Kurmanj's Mountain
4- The two largest Kurdish neighborhoods in the Syrian city of Aleppo.
5- The largest political and militaty prison in Syria where Jody's father was imprisoned. It is located in namesake town near to the Damascus.
Shrek Ogre Sep 2014
Poor dolphin
with no fin
finn the human
come to rescue him
attaches new fins
now he can swim
go back to africa
whoops wrong poem
Storm Jan 2015
I seem to have slipped,
My mind has missed a beat,
For what happened today,
Was quite a simple feat.

The odd pairs of fandoms
Are not spoken of, at best
Alas, I love one of them,
But should have given it a rest.

The pair went into my grade,
A short story that I wrote.
It was all nice and dandy,
Until I almost had a stroke.

My teacher saw my ship,
And looked at my confusedly.
All I knew to do,
Was apologize profusely.

She didn't quite understand it,
But grade still turned out well.
Ah well, it's not horrible,
But class may now be hell.

If you ship an odd couple,
Do not let it show,
Because fandom and reality are quite different,
Trust me--I should know.
This is a true story. Odd ships in fandoms can often lead to interesting situations...I regret nothing except including it in said short story >_>
Bunhead17 Nov 2013
[Intro: Honey *******]
You ******* ******* stink
Go take a ******* shower
Schwag. Asian *******

[Verse 1: Honey *******]
******, I ain't got time for a stupid broad
Cause bro I'm 'bout to beat a ***** and probably lose my job
****, I'm a bubble
Listen, *****. I tell you cool it off
Cause acting smart'll get you deaded
*****, I rule the spot
Now, homie, I ain't ******* down to catch a charge, bro
Now her body found the same place she had parked, bro. (Whoops! [x3])
I forgot my ******* ride for me
Cause these ******* that drive for me
Are these ******* flying for free
I gain mine. There's a difference. You remember that
Cause I'm always hungry for the **** that I ain't never had
This here is baby food and be all like, "*****, **** a snack! "
See ****** who said I'm crap is asking me to hit 'em back
*****, **** that!

[Hook x2: Honey *******]
Now, I ain't got time for *******
If I ain't getting mine, then that's *******
Why you all up in my face with this *******?
Ew. *****, you smell like *******

[Verse 2: Honey *******]
Oh, here I go. There they go in this here game again
Now these ******* praying they gon' never hear my name again
But look, I'm a stay around even although they acting like I can't
I don't sleep at all cause it'll always be my time again
That means I work hard, homie. I don't play around, dawg
Better cut this ******* or your face'll meet the ground, dawg
But after all, it's for the haters and the groupies, though
Find me at the studio
The smart ***** with a stupid flow
**** delivery. Got fans who in the dance
Now my enemies got plans
They just searching for a chance
**** friends cause I'm married to the music
*****, cause I gained the world and die before I lose it
So cool it

[Hook x2: Honey *******]
Now, I ain't got time for *******
If I ain't getting mine, then that's *******
Why you all up in my face with this *******?
Ew. *****, you smell like *******

[Verse 3: Tyga]
***** back, back. Why your *** so flat?
Tell your best friend I want that
I don't pretend, *****, and I don't act
Why you all up in my chat?
Telling people that you know him
If I lend you all on my back
Criss-cross, you wiggedy-wack! (Aghh!)
Duplicating my racks
Introduce you to my life
Yeah, my gold heavy metal
You can't rock out on my level
Yeah, yeah. That's a red Ferarri
And I'm dancing with the devil
***** testing me, you get answers
**** a ***** quick fast, like cancer. (Aghh!)
(Well, well) Make a ***** rubbin money on my **** till it swell, swell
And ya money, money shorter than a elf, elf
And I keep cool J's like LL
(Hell yeah) I don; t wanna start nuttin' *****, lemme finish
All in a ***** net ***** mouth like a dentist
(Dennis) Rodman. Come on, come on
*****, is you with it, with it?
Cause I ain't

[Hook x2: Honey *******]
Now, I ain't got time for *******
If I ain't getting mine, then that's *******
Why you all up in my face with this *******?
Ew. *****, you smell like *******
I love this song! "*******" by Honey ******* ft. Tyga #last kings
Simon Soane Jul 2013
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
thankfully not in a medical way
i don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazey bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts,
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
I say work i'm not even gonna give 50% percent never mind double
but i'll stay just below the warning threshold so i don't really get in trouble,
i do see my sick days as extra days of annual leave
but my bums on my seat most of the year and at least one Eve.
I'm always ducking and diving, i hide and they seek,
but i hit my targets every week.
They can say put down your pens,
strip your pencils of lead,
you can't stop me writing in my head
But you'll sometimes dictate what time i go to bed.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
Nearly every road i walk down i've got a ***** cat friend
there meowing never drives me round the bend
but if me owing then just a letter i'll send.
I’ll rescue  spiders from the bath, without any exception,
But I’ll clean their webs and evict them when I have a house inspection.
Giving up pork, on a parity with pigges at last
But then i broke my faste with bacon for breakfast
Watching lambs a gamboling there frolicking is fab,
but i'll see you on a plate later if i'm craving a kebab.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
Money and the capitalist structure baffles, no thanks, no ta
but before i go out a quick sub off Ma and Pa.
I'll pay for a taxi, i don't care about the amount,
while checking fervently the statement from my bank account.
Cash cannot be eaten it just gets you into Eton
but i'll rifle through my pockets for pennies to get an eat on
i don't adore you, i'll say your the means to an end
but then i spend some more and ask for a lend.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
I'll say anarchy  is everywhere, petition and abstain
then  read in the late edition who i think should take the reins.  
I scream smash the system without any regrets
but then start stubbing out where they deem no cigarettes.
I'll say **** big business they are always looting tons
while cutting out Asda coupons to get the soup with croutons.
i'll say **** materialism, to that i am adverse,
"ohh if you want to get me some trainers Mum can you make em Converse? "
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
One Saturday i found it hard to move
crying out for water, more than needing food,
stomach emptier than the packets in my pockets
Early winter scribble
spoiled by the ripple of rain,
deadened and dull
on a precious day,
the time I crave
passes through a husk
full of caves.
Each inhabitant curses
and burns
the stagnant soil under their feet,
I want something to eat.
I need to drink.
The cold slab of sink
lures flesh to rest,
unsatisfied
with retched offerings
flung from a scorched earth
so next Friday, a few beers and l I’ll hit the hay
Ten beers later, where’s the MDMA?
And my staunch resolutions go up my nose
Chatting through the night, striking a pose,
Music accentuated, stars sparkling hard
World’s discussed in magic back yards,
Focused and fraught in tumultuous thought
Ten cigs in an hour
An hours too short,
As the morning comes, I start feeling a mess
It slowly disintegrates the treasure in my chest,
Feelings of strength crumble to a feeble frame,
Spears in my head, WHOOPS I’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
You’ll stop this time, I curse and lecture,
Two bottles down next Friday etc etc,
I’m a schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember an uneventful Tuesday when i wasn't working
belly full of rice
and i saw you twice,
two times a day,
on a day in lieu,
time stood still,
smiling at you
i thought i'm gonna have to write about you,
so i park myself in a bar after a joint in Netto carpark
and start using words to build an arc
and if you you do wanna walk in two by two,
can i walk in with you?
Is it this green ride that's getting me high
or the regret i seen in the gleam of your eye
that as soon as we said hi we said bye,
as disappointed as the catcher when he dropped the rye.
If i may be so bold,
if you were cold
i wouldn't hail these stones
i'd pummel Jack Frost until he knows he's lost,
i'll leave all the lights on to hasten global warming
make Obama declare winter a season of mourning,
If you met an iceberg of Titanic  proportions
i'd cut through it quicker than the Ripper does back street abortions.
If you were in prism
i'd try to unrangle the science of triangles
so i could build you a pyramid with all the right angles,
my stomachs in knots;
the most tranquil of tangles.
Then i saw you get out of the lift
and i wanted to play you a rift
until you exposed your midriff
because you set me adrift from chains and shackles
my mind goes crazy and fills with cackles,
i crackle with lightning, my energy heightens
my heart tightens
and not cos of cholesterol
cos i think you're special
and celestial!
I got dreams from naught, my head feels taught,
i prised a lesson from your eyes,
love is the greatest prize.
But now that's gone, all things
pass evolution in transience
faces that were everything lost to balance
blue it merge
but seldom a residual surge
and your bark today was worst than your bite
it said something softly,
i sow the seeds for the sycamore trees
we can carve our names on next summer.
Under an endless stretching sky
you wrote you
and i wrote i,
the lights in our eyes don't lie
they are gateways to the suns inside,
our hearts couldn't hide from this brightening tide.
I'm a Schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember this guy from work, cooed to me
look at the **** on this page 3
he drooled over Nuts magazine like he belonged in a zoo
i bet he frequented strippers too.
He said seen this clip, it's ******* great,
it ad turn a couple of queers straight
it was these two twins with rouge lips being rude,
the way she chomped on her like food
and they defo loved it,there is  no doubt
it's just just ***** Eskimo ******* kissing snouts
and sharing with her sister the joy of getting licked out.
Wonder how they looked in the family car?
giggling about some exciting destination,
like all kids displaying a lack of patience,
“are we there yet” chorused with glee and duality,
dressed in the same clothes to ensure parity.
Ice cream for tea.
Maybe they might be way into drugs
or addled with addiction
lacking hugs
and sore from the friction.
Not liking the glare
feeling scared.
maybe?
He said nar they love it up them baby.
But then,
i have it
about 3 or 4 times a week
after the 5th time of hitting snooze,
or a heavy night on the *****,
or sometimes no beer,
even after a sonnet of Shakespeare
a sudden urge comes over me,
GET THE LAPTOP!
GET THE *******!
Then it's
Japanese teen lesbians spitting,
finger ******* wearing mittens,
****'s ******* Britions,
oap creampies
***** covered eyes
***** flicking,
extreme suction,
**** destruction,
Captain Birds Eye gobbing
Batman ******* Robin,
A ten inch plumber ******* in a kitchen sink drama
Robert de Niro unpeeling Bananarama
Marty doing the Doc
a gimped up Kirk whipping Spoc
Rita  ******* Norris
Gail licking Fizz
Sally doing Dev
and Kevin doing ki.............Kevin, get out of the room.
Back to
a **** doing a ******
a pre op pleasuring granny
two ***** one *****,
then i chuck my muck all over my tunic
flip over and continue reading The Female ******,
I'm a Schizophrenic Hypocrite,
i've gotta split.
Paul Butters Aug 2015
Season of sun and sand and sea,
Holiday time for you and me.
Daylight right ‘til ten o’clock,
Don’t forget to wear sun-block.

Sitting idly reading Keats,
Watching kids with buckets and spades;
Sparrows with their frantic tweets,
Flying high above the glades.

Oh it’s great to be so free,
No more snow or ice for me.
Even mugginess is okay,
So long as it’s warm throughout the day.

Swimming in that so cool pool,
Sure beats sweating back in school.
Summer is my favourite month,
Whoops my rhyme-scheme just went Whoomph!

Nothing rhymes with month you know,
But let’s forget about that snow.
Let’s laze instead on lawn or beach,
And keep a beer within our reach.

Paul Butters
Homage to John Keats.
sometimes I think
there might not be a tomorrow
so my time can't be wasted in any established institution.

whoops, there I go, wasting.  
whoops, there goes the future.

band together,weird brothers.

a half assed attempt from one of us equates to a hundred ten percent from one of the others.
but what difference would it make?
there's like, a hundred million of them &
only one of me.

we're already snuffed out by the numbers.

so we throw ourselves off track; it's some what hypocritical - but hey -
at least we're following our hearts
or whatever *****
we think is the most vital.

simple existence is the biggest shame.
for the love of god.
you'll rot if you stay for the spindle,
drilling yer spiel & teething on the tiers, stagnating in the famous cesspools of shalott.
settle in, ferment to liquidity.

Imma just watch yall
waiting for the day
your stocking feet curl up &
die beneath the mortgage,
leaving the zirconia slippers
of a dream seeing red.

be clean
be neat
be nice
be right
be alive
& smile
but not too much.

that's the tell to tell em
something's up,
the specimen are not disrupted
or adapting to challenge
of being ******
with these conditions.
they appear to be happy.


too happy.


something's missing.
"...The world is full of educated derelicts...." -Coolidge.
Clinger Peace Jun 2015
I felt like
Writing something that
Made no sense at
All
Yeah just words that bubble in my
Brain
No I’m fine
Close the door
Whoops
Piano and a ding
Pretty lady wanting to have a fling
No no no
Please leave me alone
I have no words
That you’ll like
I may say things
But they are lies
So I won’t let you enjoy them
I’ll whisper them to my soul
And comprise
All the things I did
I am not great
Nor beautiful
But you are
You all are
You are wonderful children walking
Talking
And smiling
I once drove and passed out
On the side of the road
Because
I hadn’t slept in days
I almost left school
But instead was sent to a hospital
For cuts
And blood
My neighbor found me
He was a young boy
Asking if I had boo boos
The cold floor and nothing in our pockets
They took everything in that hospital
They took our sanity
And our love for what makes us
Us
We got let out
And went our separate ways
But they all died
Within that year
So now
When I hear talk of mental illness
Or someone
Pretending
To have one
Thinking it’s cool
Or whatever
The ****
They
Do
I think of my friends
In the pond
Frozen dead
Or in their bed
With needles injected into their skin
Sure
It’s all in my head
But I live there
My head is my home
And your head is your home
I don’t know
Junk garbage and drive away
I felt like writing something
That doesn’t make sense
And I did
Because I don’t understand
What is happening
But I hope to help
And make you smile
So you can at least have some joy
Some joy
Which was robbed
From
Me
I’m sorry
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)

Here is a toast for valentine
Valentine in all seasons perennial
Where angst of money for love  
Cradled utopian capitalism,
It is once again in the city of Omurate
In the south most parts of Ethiopia
On the borders of Kenya and Ethiopia
Where actually the river Ormo enters Lake Turkana,
There lived a pair of lovers
With overt compassion for one another
The male lover was an origin of Nyangtom,
A cattle rustling Nilotic kingdom
While the female lover was a descendant of King Solomon
The Jewish children which King Solomon aborted
Because their mother was an Ethiopian African
They now form substantial part of the Ethiopian population
Their clan is known as Amharic, they speak subverted Yiddish,
These lovers were good to one another
Sharing secrets and all other stuffs that go with love.

Both the lovers were fatherless
They had lost their fathers through early death
They only had the mothers, who were again sickly
Their mothers coughed a whole night with whoops
And when in the wee of the night, when temperatures go low
The mothers breathe with wheezing sound
Like peasant music from African violin,
They didn’t eat with good appetite
They always left irritating chunks on the plates,
But they all puked mucus from their mouths
And of course with a very sickening regularity.

The menace of sick mothers intervened with love freedom
Among the inter-compassionate lovers
They did not have time for real active love
I will not mention recurrent missing of ceremonies
Fetes that are bound to go with valentine day
The lovers were bored to their teeth
They don’t knew when gods will come to unyoke them.

Especially the male lover, was most perturbed
His mother looked sorriest
With a scrofulous look on her old aged African face
She looked like a forlorn erstwhile cattle rustler
She ever whined in pain like a trapped hyena
Her son the male lover even began apologizing
To the female lover for such environmental upsets
Hence an African proverb that;
No love is possible with impaired judgment.

One day in the wee of the night
With no electricity nor any source of light
Darkness engulfing each and every aspect of the city
Confirming the hinterland of Africa
The female lover woke up from the sleep
And she never heard the usual wheezing breathes
That her mother often made in such hours,
Feat of suspicion gripped her
She jumped out of her bed to where her mother was
On feeling her, she found her dead, cold like a black member
She was already past the rigor mortis stage of death process
African chilliness had frozen her like a poikilothermic creature.

She wept but not in the uproarious groan
In that instinctive Jewish shrewdness
She did not announce nor inform her lover of her mother’s death
She only washed and groomed the cadaver of her mother
She made a headscarf around the head of dead mother
She even placed reading glasses on her face
On her mother’s dead torso she wrapped a dress
The most expensive of all bought from Egypt,
In the same wee of the night
She carried cadaver of her mother on her shoulders
The way a poor Nigerian farmer would carry a stem of banana
And walked slowly by slowly for a distance of a hundred kilometers
Down ***** into Kenya towards the city of Todanyang in Turkana County
Todanyang was a busy city, but silent and minus people in the night
The king of this city was called Lapur the son of Turkanai
And the law that Lapur passed in this city was archaic
It was; an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a Jew for a Jew
A pokot for a pokot, a samburu for a samburu
It was simply the law with nothing else
Other than clauses of measure for measure
And clauses of *** for tat instantaneously administered,
On reaching the market she placed her mother standing
Being supported on a sign post at the bus stage
In pose similar to that of an early morning traveler,
She sat a side like a prowling spider awaiting foolish fly
They way an African ***** exposes its red ****
And when the hen comes to peck
It traps and closes the head of the hen
Deeper into its ****,
At that bus stage there was a hotel
Owned by a Rwandese refugee
From the foolish clan of the Hutu
He had ran away from the genocide
In his country, he was also the perpetrator
And thus he was a runaway from the law *** hotelier
His name was Chapuchapu, meaning the quick one,
When Chapuchapu opened the hotel for the early customers
The female lover walked into the hotel
With innocence on her face like all the Jews
She placed an order for two mugs of coffee
And two pieces of bread
When Chapuchapu had placed food on the table
The female lover shrewdly instructed Chapuchapu
To go and hold the hand of the woman standing at the sign post
To bring her into the hotel for morning tea,
Chapuchapu in his unsuspecting charisma
With a mad drive to make money that morning
He dashed out as instructed with his foolish notion
That the customer is the queen, which is not
He grapped the standing cadaver with force
On pulling her to come along
The cadaver tumbled down like a marionette
Everything falling away; headscarf and glasses
Chapuchapu was overtaken by awe
The female lover was watching
Like the big brother in the Orwellian satire, 1984.
When the cadaver of her mother fell
She came out of the hotel
Screaming like a hundred vehicles
Of St John Ambulance
And two hundred Kenyan vehicles of fire brigade
And three hundred Kenyan cash transfer vehicles,
She was accusing Chapuchapu for being careless
Careless in his work that he had killed her mother,
Swam of armed humanity in Turkana loinclothes
Began pouring in like waters of Nile into Mediterranean
Female lover improved the scale of her screaming
Chapuchapu like a heavyweight idiot was dumbfounded
Armed people came in their infinite
Finally king Lapur arrived on his royal donkey
That his foot soldiers had only rustled
From Samburu land a fortnight ago,
The presence of the king quelled the hullabaloo
The king asked to find out what had happened
Amid sops the female lover narrated how
Chapuchapu the hotelier had killed her mother
Through his careless helter skelter behaviour
The king sighed and shouted the judgment
To the mad crowd; an eye for a……….!?
The crowd responded back to the King
In a feat of amok value;
For an eye you mighty Lapur son  ofTurkanai,
The stones, kicks, jabs began rainning
In volleys on an innocent Chapuchapu
Amid shouts that **** him, he came here to **** people
The way he killed a thousand fold in Rwanda.

The sopping female lover requested the king
That his people wait a bit before they continue
Then the king waved to the people to stop
Chapuchapu was on the ground writhing in pain
When the King asked the female lover what was the concern
She requested for pay from Chapuchapu not people to **** him
Chapuchapu accepted to pay whatever the price that will be put
Female lover asked for everything in hundreds;
Carmel, money, Birr, sheep, goats, donkeys, cows
Name them all they were in hundreds
Chapuchapu and his family were saying yes to every demand
And they rushed to bring whatever was said
The payments exhausted Chapuchapu back to square zero
The female lover carried everything away
The cadaver of her mother on her shoulder
She disappeared into the forest
and buried her mother there.

When she arrived home she found the male lover
He looked at her overnight change in fortune in stupefaction
He didn’t believe his eyes, it was a dream
Sweetheart, where have you gotten all these?
Questioned the male lover
Sweetie darling there is market for dead women
At Todanyang in the Turkana County of Kenya
I killed my sickly mother and carried her cadaver
As a trade ware to Todanyang
Whatever I have that you are looking at is the proceed,
Can my mother fetch the same? Asked the male lover
Of course yes, even more
Given the Africanness of your mother
African cadavers fetch more than the Jewish ones
At Todanyang market,
The male lover was now overtaken
By strong urge for quick riches
Was not seeing it getting evening
That day for him was as long as a whole century
He was anxious and restless more tired of a sickly mother
When evening fell he was already ready with the butcherer’s tools
He didn’t have nerves to wait till the wee of the night
As early as eleven in the evening he axed his mother’s head
Into two chunks of human skull spilling the brains in stark horror
Blood streaming like a rivulet all over the house
The male lover was nonchalant to all these
He was in the full feat of determination
To **** and sell his mother to  get the proceeds
With which he could foot the bills of valentine day.

He stuffed the headless blood soaked torso
Of his mothers cadaver in the sisal bag
He threw it to his bag
And began going to Todanyang
The market for human dead bodies
He went half running and half walking
With regular whistling of his favourite poem;
Ode to my Jewish lover
He reached Todanyang in the wee of the night
No human being was in sight
All people had gone as it was late in the night
He then slept in the open with dead body of his mother
Stuffed in the sisal bag beside him
Wandering night dogs regularly disturbed him
As they came to bite at smelling curdled blood
But he always scared them away.
As per the male lover he overslept till five in the morning
But when he woke up he unhesitatingly began to shout
Advertising his ware of trade in foolish version;
Am selling, the body of my mother, I have killed,
I killed her myself, it is still fresh, come and buy,
I will give you’re a bargain price,

When the morning came
People began crowding around him
As he kept on shouting his advertisement
Also Lapur the king came
He was surprised with the situation,
He asked the male lover to confirm
Whatever he was shouting
The male lover vehemently confirmed,
Then the law of an eye for an eye
Effortlessly took its course
Lapur  ordered his people, in a glorious royal decree
To stone the male lover to death
And bury him away without ceremony
Along with his mother in the sisal bag
In the wasted cemetery of villains
The same way Pablo Neruda
Had to bury his dead dog behind the house,

On hearing the tidings
About what had befallen her lover
The female lover had to send out a long giggle
Coming deep from her heart with maximum joy
She took over the estate of the male lover
Combined with hers,
All the animals and everything she took,
She made her son the manager
The son whom she immaculately conceived
Without any nuptial experience in the usual Jewish style
And their wealth multiplied to vastness
And hence toxic valentine gave birth to capitalism
James Floss Mar 2019
1.  Shoot *****
2. Ski
3. Free-dive
4. Sky-dive
5. Vote Republican
6. Eat raw fish
7. Play naked volleyball
8. Eat haggis
9. Walk on coals
10. Yodel
11. Visit Somalia
12. Jell-O shots
13. Learn Klingon
14. Fish
15. Sell *****-wigs
16. Drink Genesee Creme Ale
17. Run a 5K
18. Pay mortgage
19. Divorce
20. Shoot ******
21. Go to Tupperware party
22. Drink Gatorade
23. Visit Poughkeepsie
24. Tend bar
25. Serve on a ******* trial
26. Eat glass
27. ****
28. Trump rally
29. KKK rally
30. Watch Sally Fields in The Flying Nun
31. Attend a MegaChurch
32. Listen to Death Metal
33. Watch American Dad
34. Moonwalk
35. Eat brussel sprouts
36. Watch Fox News
37. Turn 20
38. Turn 30
39. Turn 40
40. Turn 50
41. Turn 60
42. Turn over in my grave
43. Eat a tern
44. Teach Fall term
45. Terminate a solemn vow
46. Take a vow of silence
47. Disavow core beliefs
48. Operate a snow plow
49. Forget that I do know how
50. Insinuate
51. Dissemble
52. Lie, cheat and/or steal
53. S'Mores
54. Wet my bed
55. **** my thumb
56. **** a duck
57. Watch Little House on the Prairie
58. Rent a yacht
59. Not rescue animals
60. Not neuter pets
61. Not give to Food for People
62. Not appreciate Public Radio
63. Not appreciate Public Television
64. Knot like a Boy Scout
65. Play Parcheesi
66. Pay credit interest
67. Feign interest
68. Pinterest
69. Instagram
70. Eat spam
71. Exam cram
72. Karaoke
73. Jet-ski
74. Snowmobile
75. Pretend what the ******* are going on and on about matters (whoops; that’s number 67)
76. Blame my parents
77. Not take responsibility for my choices
78. Invest in oil futures
79. Renege on promises
80. Waste my time listening to telemarketers
81. Waste my time listening to zealots
82. Waste my time listening to racists
83. Waste your time
84. Waste my time, I hope
85. Not seek truth
86. Not seek answers
87. Not be authentic
88. Not be xenophobic
89. Accept lies
90. March lockstep
91. Buy the latest and greatest
92. Be consumer extraordinaire
93. Not be present
94. Not be conscientious
95. Not be good to my fellow human beings
96. Consume too much
97. Waste too much
98. Boast too much
99. Post too much
100. Not think about consequences
101. Not be me
Alexis Martin Aug 2012
the realization
that it was never really love
but it was just an idea
a seed that was planted
beneath infertile soil
with the hopes of a harvest
bringing color and beauty
luscious and full
but you see, my dear
a garden can not grow
without being watered.
Renée Casey Feb 2019
i exposed myself
opened wide the curtains
showed you my body
my desire
and, accidentally
my heart
Bee May 2018
No matter how many people I talk to
No matter how many times I remind myself that you don’t like me
You still find your way back into my heart
Crammed into my every thought
I can’t escape you
But, then again, I don’t want to
Joshua Haines Apr 2014
If I want to die, I'll do it myself
I'll save a kid or some **** and make it look like I died a hero
But nah, I had a death wish.
Didn't any of you know?
I said it probably forty-million times.
It's cool the kid is alive, though.
And it's cool that this all rhymes.

Tell the kid while I convulse, choking on blood that  I said,
"Eat your vegetables. Stay in school. Being in love is really cool.
It's okay to be alone. It's okay to be afraid. Don't make the decision I made."

Then play some surfer music and have him stand in front of a projector,
projecting video waves and dreams, as they start to dance.

Honestly.
If I wanna die, it's by your side.
But you're gone.
Away.
It was too hard, and you're afraid.
I'm afraid, too. I don't wanna die.
But this isn't living, what I'm doing now.
It's survival, and it's just
blood and bone.
Eat and walk.
In a crowded room, alone.
Smile and talk.
I can't feel. I can't feel. Keep saying it: I can't feel.

But I feel it all, and if I want to die then it's by your side.
If I wanna die, then I want to talk to you before I go.
If I'm going to die then it's because it's hard to cope
knowing that I love you, and you love me, but you don't wanna anymore.
So I don't wanna anymore, anything.
I don't wanna be here.
I don't wanna be anywhere.
I don't wanna be.

I dream a lot now, more than before.
Reality has become the compass to a draining nothingness,
and I don't want to stick around.
Either way, I'll dream or think of nothing, and it couldn't be that bad.

"No one is worth taking your life over."
"It gets better."
"What if she wasn't the one?"

How do you know how I feel?
What if it doesn't?
What if she was?

Can I bathe in nihilism or is that too transparent?
Should I shake the salsa in the silver room of the Lisbeth Salander character arch or should I be in the ark, two by two, with Noah?
At least I'll be able to feel, taste, see the shine, relate to another's pain, realize a life, be next to one meant for me in the shelter of doom and eventual hope, and be with a man with as much certainty, perceived as crazy or brilliant as me.

Can you walk home to me?

To know that what I knew is what I may never know is something I don't want to know, and something I'll always know could be something I live for and by, and that's all I knew before and now I know nothing but that.

If I wanna die, then it's knowing you as I walk to you or you walk to me, in depth, in death, in soliloquy.

The crumbling clock is my hoarder as it keeps everthing I don't need like memories, future events, and times and dates for places I don't want to be.

Is it too much to want to be a fly on the wall that is smashed?

I've never been so lost.

"Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic. Don't be so dramatic."

Okay, thanks. Now I can think of that, and what else is wrong with me while I feel lost. So lost, and unlike ever before if I ever was lost before.

What do I even say on my note?

Ooops?
Whoops?
My bad?
It's never enough, isn't it?

If I could wrap your sorrow around my lungs to where I could only breathe your sadness as I give you my hopes, joys, and everlasting essence to fuse with you as you feel complete, I would, I have, and I lay empty.

Is this enough to say?
Do you get my point?
warthogs for men singing amen
i ink my scars with a ball point pen
buffalo grass and ******
they want *** but won't die
i want *** but it's not me
they tell me that I'm pretty

i smoke **** in a blazing forest
i feel as rubbery as a curious tourist
and plenty of coke goes in my nose
i bleed headaches, when it rains it snows
i'm dreaming of a white christmas, i suppose
with my squad when i don't want to feel alone

i make lies but can't hide like room raiders
i cut up coke for all my haters
with a side of oxy
tells me that I'm foxy
right before he knocks me
my brain goes on high alert
i can ******* stomach
because cake was yesterday's desert

i say that we're proxies
i take the red pill
some like oxys  
some like bikini ****
some nights aren't so chill
some brains are mentally ill
but he doesn't like to feel, y'feel

tell me if you want a
*** flavored banana
a broken heart from havana
or to drink my coke flavored blood
dragging me through the mud  

whoops
son of sam
touch my **** like we're not fam
drug me if you want to slam
my head off the coffee table
i'll choke on fear until i'm not stable
i pretend i'm in a fable
this can't be real
does he not feel

break it off and shove it down my throat
cut me into pieces
make a blood moat
oak splinters suffered through winters in my spine
find you in jail and you ask if i'm fine

i break off rhymes like i break out grams
shaking because of a spiked promise
i wish i wasn't here
i wish i wasn't here

sham in the garden of clouds. when you '****' you want people around
when i cry, you hear no sound  

buffalo grass and ******
they ******* but ask why
my box in their face
i don't want to be in this place
Alice Burns Jun 2013
I've fooled myself all along
My written word, although genuine was manipulated
My honesty, used as a disguise for my trickery
Unknowingly I was becoming a prisoner of my mind.

I've been waiting all this time
My corpse like body silent and still
Boredom crept in, and impatience questioned
What am I waiting for.

I should know now that thoughts, however positive, have no effect
As momentary pleasures traps others
I had trapped myself in that prison with my own thoughts
I am good, I have good intentions.


Yes, my own mind had me cheated
I see now as I sit empty handed, rotting in my place
Empty hands, yes here are hands that can touch and hold
Time to stop thinking, use these hands and grab eternal pleasure.
July 4th is a Holiday filled with celebration,
Complete with BBQs and Fireworks
And exclamations of "Happy Independence day"
But people seem to fail to add the asterisk at the end
The hidden meaning, the fine print, the text between the lines if you will.
Because July 4th is not everyones's independence day.
July 4th only signifies the independence of a particular group of people
A group of people who fought for their freedom, but didn't allow it in their own back yards.
When these people were out celebrating their independence, my ancestors, my family, where in fields, working, in houses trying to stay alive
My women trying to stay away from their masters ****** them-
Whoops, sorry, I meant "Celebrating."
So what reason do I have to call July 4th my independence day?
If anything, my independence day is December 16th, the ratification of the 13th amendment
Or Juneteenth
Or January 1st, the day that the emancipation proclamation was ratified.
So while everyone else is celebrating the New Year, I think about what else that day has brought
Brought about the freedom of a people, my people.
Made them citizens, made them real, made them free.
Well, kinda free.
We've come so far.
And of course, I am not trying to blame white people today for what happened in the past, they should not be held accountable for the actions of the people from whom they've descended
But instead I want my black brothers and sisters to think, to remember, where we are coming from.
So yes, I hope everyone has a happy independence day*
Just keep in mind that it's not mine.
Eleanor Apr 2014
**** my eyes hurt so bad
I don't know why I am not glad
I hated thefuck word glad
Why thefuck can't I eat you,
Man
Man, why
the ****
are you
a man
¿
James Floss Aug 2018
I know some folks
Some new most old
Keeping logs swirling

It’s a balancing act
Lots of plates spinning
Whoops! Stretch right!

***** fall
Plates crash
Notes fall flat

Oh! Look over there!
Thank you, magicians!
TAH-DAH!

Take a bow,
Sis, bro, boom!
You got the room!
Seán Mac Falls Oct 2013
On my garden lawn,
A croquet field of red *****,
Whoops without mallet.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
I hear dead silence
in this empty room of mine
& I'm craving those sloshy sounds.

They're the finest sounds I know
next to her heavy breathing,
skin slapping mine
& tender screaming.

Whoops,
I must be dreaming
about her again,
what a mess.

She's so fine.
Brianna Hayley Dec 2012
you were curling my hair around your fingers and laughing at the shape of them
  or maybe you were just laughing at me,
         I’m not sure.
and then I told you I loved you and you smiled—
                  ok that didn’t happen—
what happened was you pulled at the curls you just made in your own hands
until they weren’t attached to my head anymore.
     it didn’t hurt, I think.
    and then you put them in your pocket and ran away
                                  and then you fell and she picked you up and put you in her pocket and ran away too.
then you came back and said whoops, sorry but you still didn’t give me them back
         I don’t know if I even want them back.
on the way to the place with the people and the things in the car you winked at me
or maybe you had something in your eye,
but I smiled and you said that’s fine so I cried for a little and then it was just us
but I was still scared she was going to put you in her pocket and run away again
     but you told me not to worry.
and then we were swimming in the pool
but then I looked down and it wasn’t a chlorine-colored blue
  it was red like the sun at sunset but it wasn’t sunset and there was no sun;
      I felt ok but you didn’t and you pulled a knife out from under the pillow—
               the one in your room—
and that’s when I finally realized you were going to be the one to **** me
and I also realized I was ok with it
because better you to **** me than some other shmuck,
you know?
      the only problem was I wasn’t the first one you killed,
or it should have been a problem,
or rather they all said it was a problem;
but it wasn’t.
and then we were rolling around in the grass,
and I lost an earring and you said whoops, sorry and I kissed you anyway
               but you didn’t kiss me back
but you pretended to and that was alright so I went with it
      but then you didn’t want to go all the way and I was ****** but pretended I wasn’t
and then you said shhhhhh and then you grew wings and flew away
and left me there for the birds to eat
while she grew wings to be with you so you weren’t alone.
and then we were sitting on your porch swing and it was swinging slowly
and you looked straight into my eyes for hours while I talked about nothing
but then you started to talk about something
and then I got really happy
and then we started swinging so fast that we were in the sky,
         but we weren’t, really.
and then she stopped the swing and picked you up and put you in her pocket and ran away again.
     this time you didn’t come back.
then I turned into ***** and told you I was ok with it.
                   and then I cried.
               and then I woke up.
jeremy wyatt Jan 2011
Part of my throat just fell out.
A bit from the back, I have no doubt.
Been feeling something bad down there.
When it fell out, it made me swear.

Put it quickly down the loo.
What the hell else can I do?
A ****** great big lump of me.
Nearly choked, spat my tea"

A cough of blood, a messy splat.
Yes pointy finger, I'm a Welsh ****!
Now just a little blood and stuff,
" Ok body, I've had enough."

I've cut and broke and bled so much,
What next, a piece falls of my crutch?
Reckon singing tore it out.
That last rendition made me shout!

But I will admit that I do fret,
My throat shouldn't go down the toilet.
Odds teeth, my body threw me a curved ball tonight. Well, more like a bit the size of the end of my finger, ugh feel traumatificated, but still alive, result!
L B Feb 2017
She let the tape go—
on record
one evening for an ordinary hour
Five years later, we play it back
for laughs after dinner—then as now

“Remember how the stove door screeched
at the house on Olive Street?”
And our voices!
Phoeb’s, lighter–tired
wrapping the nine’s tables in elastic yawns
like flash cards in a rubber band
“Phoeb, your pitch changed so—
while  I turned...”
to run water in the tub
lamenting the **** of Two
in frenetic escape of hands
Unruly!
Running rebel taunts in Time’s strict face
who would not dare disturb her dawns
only mine—
Roused by the first round of another day’s
ring of twelve
digits that insist
like uniform with apron waiting
on ironing board that’s never folded

Now the **** of Two cries out
Exultant!
of success in *****
Then, Oratorio for Soap!
The splashy version
with endless bubblings of “Rocky Baby!”
and obbligato of “Where’s Shampoo?”
in jubilant glissadal plunge
an octave through vocal whoops!

…I had not thought
she hardly talked
but sang and squealed or whined in tunes
Her voice lay open to her soul
a roost of piercing humming birds
small of words
but filled with sweet and want
incessant wings and things to say....

How could we have forgotten?

“Are these your boots?
Your clothes laid out?”
From sound and talk, we still can hear
frost phantoms
in winter window rattles—then as now
And Phoebe remarks how one voice
didn’t change though—
“Still talking to herself”

We laugh
and let the tape go....
This is one of those poems I'm so glad I wrote because no photo or recording could ever capture this memory as well.
Christine May 2010
I was taught to idolize women
And the female *** in general
From a young age.
I don't think my mom ever realized
That that was what she was doing.
But that's what happened.
And now I do exactly that.
I see beauty and intelligence in women
Easier than I do in men.
In my mind, men are always second best.

Maybe that's why I question my sexuality so much.
JJ Hutton Feb 2013
six-inch heels abandoned
in lampless corner       grimy pennies embedded in carpet

rent's due

wedding band girl "fab polka dot frocks"
waterfalling past knees        outta place
on casino bus destined for rest under Ft. Worth stars
now, now    ******* borealis speckled dice

true love waits

socialite lip balm and bourgeoisie hips compete
in bidding war over which black face triggerpulls
which black face eyes the ground
passerby the red light      the green light
all night diner    egg on chin   coffee-stained porcelain   teeth

"I forgave, I think. I forget."

crowded and paranoid in the left lane    the right lane
empty and weak and surrender and soiled underwear in ammonia nursing home
children is a word     time is a lie the polka dot and the interstate ain't selling
divorce the consequence of acoustic shadows

reblog   undo   #sotrue    reblog

living through x-ray radiotherapy the dotted gown
never the veiny calves or the blush or the eyeliner
somewhere in North Texas shawtys are in the club
shawtys are backin' it up    shawtys are dropin' it down

hit me+hit me+hit me=blackjack mishap

the marvel of the wind and of wind turbines
cognac decade brides     the epitome of class and natural elegance
standing like oil derricks and treated like oil wells
so secretive and philanthropic

this taxon remains nameless

casino turned dance hall   dance hall   skinny ties still a thing
this wine is good. is it a merlot?    no.    this is purely recreational
for birthdays   for weddings    and Ft. Worth missionaries
10-50 passengers   we've got 53, no 54 #hahahaha #whoops #party

who needs unprescribed drugs? me, me (!)

decomposing mascara sweat on brow the interstate no longer lit
polka dots has got the suicide by Manet pulled up
on her iPhone the financial stress   which shudders warm-blooded moms
on her lips    every mother a librarian   every mother a swing-pusher

but digression    next to bitterness   the lowest sin

edging the cultural gateway of the old west
miracles in and miracles out of tradition following
the slender bends of middle ancient Trinity River
children a word   pattycake a game

and time   time a lie we left to museum panoramas
skaldspiller Feb 2017
Last night I told you I loved you
because the feelings built too high
And I
had been trying to let you say it first
So it wouldn't hurt if you didn't reply
But as I was laying in my bed
my heart was beating fast in my chest
And i could no longer swallow
my esophagus was full up
to the brink
and you were already asleep so
I wrote
All the reasons why
and that i didn't expect you to reply in kind
and i pressed send
i cant remember exactly when
you became the keeper of my heart beat
but i felt you should know
it rest in your hands
Update: you replied in kind
Joshua Haines May 2014
Caged organs never sounded so beat
Bone marrow around the brass meat
I'm a toxic lover with love around my waist
And afraid of poisoning, as you taste waste
Cleaning toxins out of my sheets with chemicals.

(commercial break)

Ay-yeah-ya-yeah-yeah
Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-wa

Breathe me all the ways to stay away
Blood on bathroom tiles that run for miles like crimson Niles
Just stay

Ay-yeah-ya-yeah-yeah
Ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay-wa

(Okay, we're back.)

Coals in your cold coat holes
I know you're happy now
I hope you're warm with fingers intertwined
within the future in your ribcage
feel your organs to know you're alive
your heartbeats beat because of a stolen car.
I feel-

(change the station)

Drive me, my baby. I'll turn you out in time. Don't you recognize
you're the only thing I want in sight. I could change your-

(change the station)

You're the one for me. You are my-

(change the station)

I hope you like it like you love it when you should like it because you love it without liking it with loving it within loving and without loving with love and without like because liking is love and love is liking what is liked to be loved within and without. Here's God with the weather.

(change the station)

Green and cotton, that's a lovely chair, I could make love from over there
without a percocet. Un-un-un-un.
Touch the eyes that boil within; you find me nice but I'm not applicable
because I'm a lonely boy without a dog.
And I,
am
God.
And I,
am
God. Nod.

Sugar sweet, silver sweep,
I could touch you in familiar places in unfamiliar ways
I get lost in the boulevard of a sweatshirt
And I,
am
without.
And I,
am
without. Route.

Mhm, that's not a smile,
that's a thirty-foot crocodile
waiting to take a chunk outta my heart.
Art-Art-Art-Art-Art?
******* in separate dreams with the same meaning,
blood boiling in coffee pots and soldiers
without a cover.
Tame me like a child in uniform, from the universe.
Cake drugs like it's an icecream cone. Jesus loves you.
**** in another room
to feel the same.
**** in another mindset
to feel sane. Train.

I'm not a river of veins suffocated by milk skin,
to be without a busted lip is to be kissing without pain.
And to be your God
is to be ******* insane. ******* in a bathub.

Mhm,
you're a painting within a crooked house
inside a straight housewife's flamboyant blouse.
You're sippin' on God and Orange Julius
without a straw.

Ripping out red ribbon rays from rayon replays of a river in ruin
really what did you expect to do with that sort of information
I could cancer caulk chalk with every other walk
to seal your home without home inflammation.

Jesus on a candle clock, with a nail in each hand of the hour
I feel nothing but sugar shame when I sail past his shower.
And I,
am
without remorse.
And I,
am
without remorse. Force.

Candy-coated ***** candidly corroding colored coats into capes
callously creating cowardice,
can you be more?

I have a way to remove myself from great events
and a way to sell lies wrapped up in honest packages.
To be without and which way would you run with me
if I were not a twenty-three
in your eyes,
meteorological decline.

And the winds
carry
me home.
And your eyes
carry
me home.
And your lips
carry
me home.
And your hands
carry
me home.
Home again.

(change the station)

Bone marrow
in my back
touch me, I wanna feel
Give it up
Give it up
I want to make love in love
I want to die and donate
a part of myself
my backbone, lack thereof

(change the station)

Tie a noose around a highschool grad
attach to a college rule to rule how to think the same
because a couple of IDs and free games
help you understand how you understand how you understand
how you understand how you understand how you understand

Dreams.

Whoops.

****.

Two twenty-three inside a church for me because God doesn't have
a responsible doorman, just an abused son and a plot-hole plan.

(change station)

Save the opera for the quiet drinks
I wanna think, I wanna think

(change station)

Sonic tendencies
suicidal sound
My heart is left in a bone,
bone marrow
I'm a broken calcium stick
surrounded by health
I waste away
Waste away for you
Oooh,
I love.

I tried to stay my overstay.

(change the station)

Bronze your lips, I want to kiss you green.
Wait. I could be the best.
Don't walk too far because it feels like walking away.

(change the station)

Super fast
in the past

— The End —