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Author Topic: the poems thread  (Read 254178 times)

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preferpencil

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #60 on: August 07, 2007, 11:50:57 AM »

clomping down the wooden
stairs,
she'd lifted her bosom
in the perfect snap
of her thin-fingered
chin.

she explains in comma.
"she doesn't feel.
can't feel and won't
show and i can't
emote what isn't in
this deck of cards...
and why i'm departing
from our new dog."

and in my tux,
i showed up with full
stampedes of what i
felt and how i began
the square know
of feeling as lost
as the felt
emote
in the skip of my song...

and we felt together.

and it was emotional.

and in her lack of patience.

for the lack of my cells.
and the knowledge
of my dust scent.

she left me.

talks to her ex.

and has married a Prick.
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guuurrrrrllltakeiteasy

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #61 on: August 07, 2007, 12:09:54 PM »

VAGINA!!!!!!

so exotic. with such flabby soft pink lips with a moustache and beard so thick like the amazon forrest. it's oblivion I say. some are grey and some are white, but they're just old like the moon and about to be blown away with the wind. Dusty vagina. i can blow into it and give a girl heart problems. or I can hear it queef and echo my name: BLLLLOOOOoooOONNNddEE RedHeeeeAADd.
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preferpencil

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #62 on: August 07, 2007, 12:19:46 PM »

"highlights" of what i've read...for me. for ME. everyone has their spots.

JacksBrokenHeart--"I have learned to love the somber crumble that shrinks the hollow in my chest" <<just part of why i always want more from you. :icon_king:

Tash--"...But my mother keeps telling me To keep that nickel between my knees..." :glasses9:

colordeaf-the entire poem shows the efficacy of repetitious themes that smolder all subjects. O0

BlondeRedhead--"wisdom teeth know-it-all" <<just a tidbit of something very large. "Blue Skies" has a last line to Lick for...

myfavoritethings--"The train trumpeted in my empty crotch rocketed out and back into the black..." alliteration and imagery ahhh.  >:D

suzy.sacrilege--I AM thanking you. ;)

symbolnutball11.11.11 and in.fin.mk--even sweeter darling. somewhere, no matter if it's in the beginning, middle, or end, i feel it. never sure where you'll put your mark. :happy11:

Rob--"An Observation" of course you know I was smitten with the beginning of the end--"others are hairy..." :icon_king:

gargantuan--hallucinatory surrealism with equal parts pinches and kicks. "float like Christ" Brava! --bring on the whole epic. those who love poetry can digest it, and should.  :headbang:

ThirtyWhacks--the last stanza of "diseased" and "saturated in my own filth"--ehh. no worries about the formatting absence. you're right inside the misery i wash... :o

OhtheInnocence--"An eerie comfort waits in the notes and marks inflicted upon the past tombstones, inclined to the side, just a bit."--just one moment my mouth opened. you know what i think. ;)

Kenny Wisdom--that was the best title for the most obscene poem i've seen in some time...

LonesomeOrganist--"your mannequin" made me have a seizure every 10th time i read. do it again. :tongue7:

MaChao--give me another pack of the Winstons young Buck. coming back is both vengeance and kindness. master baiter. :-*

smerfgoddess--Death by Blackhole--yes. yes. jesus doesn't know about black holes, "she" appears to be in one. :)

lunazuga--a love poem for the lexicon of love poems--the last line is a needed and prized ending to the sway of doubt and infatuation. :love3:

Jason Wakefield--"...Of disgrace, of inflated shit, with Missappropriations of my segregation..." you've got a very deep bucket to stir and pick from. (cunt and cockroach already commented on)  :violent1:love this.

Larry--"Steps" --you have a shitload of patience and I wonder how long. "but it's your foot in my mouth" <<love this stanza repeat. "only to cry it out later in bitter waterworks" --beauty. and. your mother. our tears.

Devery--"playing the branches like a conductor..."<<entire stanza was my shower today. "until it touched the sky and came into us" <<it just kept getting better. for Carole Anne, you are holding all her Mother was and will be. What can I possibly say about Daphne? "wooden" again. "The Ghost"--my god you are moving like lightning. and finally. "last breath"---I'm honored beyond what I can tell.

Now. More. From all of you. And thank you. You may not know me, but "you bet your life" --it's me.
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Devery

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #63 on: August 07, 2007, 12:21:04 PM »

Devery. You really are in deep shit.

Oh, dear.    :hiding:
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gargantuan

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #64 on: August 07, 2007, 02:56:09 PM »

Nonsense
I have spent the past
seven days

submerged in
music video soup.

Canceled checks that I had written to the cable company
knowing full well
that I would be canceling them the next day.

A heap of pebbles had formed themselves into a perfectly symetrical face.

Ha Ha...
-----------
One Line Poem
Upon the shugged shoulders of the earth, we waltzed.
-----------

Horrible, Cynical Poem #27

Little kids annoy me,
they always act so dumb.
I wish instead of people,
they were dried up blobs of come.
----------------
You are inside the snow globe that your grandmother turns upside-down on Christmas.
Let her, let her, settle down.

Throw your indecisiveness into the hearth,

and keep us so very very warm.

------------

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Wayne

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #65 on: August 07, 2007, 08:46:13 PM »

Here's a poem about rape

Your mom has many, but you have none.
If you don't press charges, i will give you one.

This is a fucking stupid place for the poetry thread. 
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preferpencil

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #66 on: August 07, 2007, 10:56:16 PM »

Rape is sooo funny. I hope, Wayne, that was an attempt at a joke. but you are whatever you are...

Ting?

and so as the Arctic
heaved itself Fire-Green,
 the Other
was seen through a
broken spotlight,
half her face dimming
again, but a bet placed...
 for one second
the realism of a heroine
that was pushing the car
sideways.
  electric-sliced bread
again.
It and It... had shared the
pristine purse and tokens
of why

Ting saw her feet
shuffling now in golden
flannel boots
across that field to meet.
and how, in the room
of a smoldering
ember,
of a cable hitting the car
in jerks of tenderness...
a recall of the Butcher
was had.

Ting was spreading those
thin fingers again,
escaping the space
and the blanket the
Owl had discretely left
on the passenger seat,
before lifting back
on the cape
of a red dwarf's hood.
friend or foe, it gathered
weeds and whipporwills,
throwing
them at the top of a
rope.

a phantom riding fast.

from the ballpoint trunk,
the ballpark ruins of
a desert.

not a swirl or concoction
but memory.
her husband was a meaty
Man of clubbed and
neanderthal propensities.
once the finger had split,
She had run as a youth
to the chapel.
to find him leering over
a bed made of straw
came as no surprise.

lying before the altar
and having the indoctrinated
prayer set loose against
stone that never molded,
the sadistic God and
benign Grace fought
and neglected
children
like hospital band-aid
kits.

the meandering blood
pulsing from Ice to Heat
was symptom and particle
to the debt she owed
the rest of the raped--
the village brewing about
in anarchy and purple-
painted swingsets.
orange seesaws.

what witch had provided
no roots to till?

Ting knew the girl in
the balled-up trunk was both
Self and Echo beckoning
her backwards to the
sweatshop, where
one window tried to open
and failed.

shoulder to shoulder
and elbow hitting elbow,
Ting sewed in the place
of pennies
and back arches...
when the fire had started
and the conglomerate
trampled,
she now realized she had
dove

flown into the brick
just as in the chute
just as the golden footed
heels slowed her progress
to the fateful kiss that
once
trusted
and forever waited
on the bend of a plank,
and the boredom

of hotel rooms at
3 a.m.--
her smokey whores lined
up like postcards for
Christmas,
and it was Christ
or the tide.
the pull of Zuess himself
into the woods.
disguised as the Corporal.

She ignored the thump
of the girl's ginger fingers
as the driver, the pimp,
tossed a crack pipe
at her.
and Ting's first instinct
was to
hang it on a line to dry...



I dunno Devery. Bad headache tonight. I went-i-don't-have-a-clue. so of course you weren't in deep shit. i am, seeee? angel<<yes. I am the Virgin. errrhaha.
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preferpencil

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #67 on: August 08, 2007, 11:12:09 AM »

a horse fly has bitten
and it made a stain
on the finger.
Brash with an exceeding
slowness and vacuous
needle...

so pardon me.

practicing magic with
the mongoloids,
the retards
and mentally challenged
requires a disregard for
spittle on your lace,
paper towels for pee.

pissy pants.
"everybody knows" the dice
were loaded when Hitler
took the 1 year olds,
joking into the gas first.

embarrassing to have Aryan
blunders twirling on a stick,
like herring and blubber
candy...particularly
when continents are to be
shoved about like trinket
key chains.
the land-shove is history
in full
Waltz steps.

try teaching 9 nails into a
baggie
with your infant.
only the ultimate toy is 100
pounds larger
and 100 pounds quicker
at throwing
snot on spasmatic
floors.

there the color was green.
just like the institutional
flounce
and peacocks let go
for the 8 dollar an hour
club to take in...
calculators
determining benefits--

your retirement from it
under indefinite
pontifications of grey...

behold the magic
from one year of matching
red on a red board
meant for plywood fires.
behold the small price
of clothing
when just one "freak"
triumphs on its rocking
puzzle...

-------------

the agnostics never burned
the heretics...
the aetheists were scorched
in their honest heresy.
the retards had long served
as botched signs for
weather tips
in some past "indian" tribes.

sitting by the side
of a Mother,
enchanted with drooped
eyes and button-sand
frets to play with...

these old same tribes.
some bartering for fur and
others confronted with a
single
man nodding in forlorn
feathers(?).
despondent with
small pox quarry blocks.
and recollecting the
blood stains from
the furtive, no...
syndicate file folder
of vanishing the basic
9 nail
congratulations...
this india was no
india.
mongoloid in adequate
tobacco harvests
however.

9 nails in a baggie.

every time a cog
with peccaries or cows
shifts into gear and
craved the New Land
du jour,
the ensuing losses are
Past genocides of
self-important
retards
pressuring the congenital-
splintered factions of corn,
and eventually
assimilated, absorbed-cotton,
 necktie-bearing
 craftsman.

------------------

natives gave and give in
 like the
need for amniocenteses
Now
when the bulb of
a sonar diaphragm.
yes, diagram as well, reads:
"bonus oblational fuck-up"
without one fundamental
chamber music segment
 for the
chest walls...

be prepared for what you
can't want
don't treat
and wish was in a coffin
before a mysterious flood
caught the gene stream
and plucked out its
eyebrows.

--------------------

and so it's said he was called
King Philip.
the first to dress in European
drag although the skin
was red
and polarized from
"true promises"

--a governor had made
a "brotha" castrated and skinned
 alive,
having a party watching
this kin of land eat its own
flesh.

Ben Franklin himself
would feel the pressure to raise
the price for indian scalps...
and He Did, like everyone else.
and He wrote some splendid
mysoginist
sayings--as well as early birds.
i like to call him "fatty"
and think him progressive
in a well-educated graduation.

except for the scalping inflation,
he liked to have the ladies
sit on both of his laps.

but he was the same kind
of fart.

mind you.
Bacon is the same flavor.
and i'm saying the rest,
as well as a certain person.
so don't pick on someone
your own size...
out of time and robbed of
a defense
just like the mass attacks at
night.

just like the 80 indian heads
placed precisely
on the poles in Manhattan,
where a woman had the joy
of her life...
taking a bag of 9 nails.
and kicking those heads down
the streets.

oh my. perhaps the best soccer
game ever.
and on the New England
colonization suntan,
people waited after Philip's
ancestor
had helped them learn

how to put 9 nails in a bag--
now do it again.

---------------------

he put up a good fight.
his head ended up on a pole.

and why this is as popular
as incest
is still beyond my studies,
and a vanishing
tribe-willingness

to have spittle on lace.
mucous in shoes.
and the alarming success

of 9 nails in a baggie.

------------------------

all the fighting nations
grabbing pie
just like now.
and always a good idea
to throw more weapons
into the middle

of 9 nails in a bag.
80 heads on stakes.

watch the blooming
Politics
hide their diets.

all of them needing
training...

and i've only got 2
nails

and one baggie

for practice.


--------
my poor indian King Phlip,
grandson to the chief who
saved the Pilgrims.
outnumbered and gunned
as it always is
as it always was.

your skull displayed
in the End.
like a dead deer in a
pick-up truck
or hanging skinned
on a basketball goal,

your wife and son were sold
into slavery.
so no chance for their own
brand of soccer.

being sold to the West Indies
was an act of merciful God
according to the white
faces peering up your
nose...

the Pilgrim mongoloids
somehow had 18 nails
and two baggies.
and other tribes failed
and signed-on --

just like now.
just like now without
the stakes for heads.

perhaps we should get
an amnioscopy.



------------------------------------------------------------------------
i should have cut this off earlier. but i need to mix it up. sorry, folks. and btw. all the historical facts. Bennie. True. Before the "American Revolution"-King Philips' War was the bloodiest...Rock on dead peeps. Someone researched enough for me. "but i don't gotta no nails Jean.je-ja-jannifer." you can't forget this sort of love-thing. and i think all casinos should immediately pass Go--
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Mandolin Rain

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #68 on: August 08, 2007, 11:22:05 AM »

my cards were read
our relationship is
complicated as many are,
but we see each other the same way

slayer returned for a brief moment
only to cause aches
and pains

it's not a sin
maybe that's why you're
too welcome in my arms

when our middles touch
the feeling is welcome
your arms feel so strong
and so comforting

is this real love
or just practice for the real
thing

you're too far away
i'm too young
you're too involved

i go back to the day
when we first met
in my mind every single morning
and every lonely night

i wish your arms were still around me
holding me tight
you're the reason i'm still here

the love my heart holds for you is
like nothing i've ever felt before

the family loves you
even the skeptics

my best friend is in love with you.
i love you too.
her reasons and mine are much the same.

i need you
you want her
she craves you

your other half is missing
and her
and i
are too alike.

you pull me in for a final hug
telling me to "keep in touch..."
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gargantuan

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #69 on: August 08, 2007, 12:27:54 PM »

preferpencil, that last bout of words was intense, and I will sadly admit I read only various stanzas, but...

I like a lot of the language itself (im a huge fan of putting words together based on how they sound).. as for your exact meaning.. I'm lost, not that that's a bad thing.

I'll retry it later.
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armyoflarry

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #70 on: August 08, 2007, 12:47:47 PM »

Nine nails in a bag indeed. Pencil, my how you have grown? I  :love5: all over the place.

Winder

spring-loaded
waiting and building
counting the time

release me (not yet)
life gets in the way
of living

the strain must be showing
the lye is covering
winder is my name

action hero of in-action
superhuman do-nothing
blender for a heart

a spring busted out
i blast sideways
and take out the bad guy

accidental idol
right place (wrong man)
take the credit

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guuurrrrrllltakeiteasy

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #71 on: August 08, 2007, 02:17:46 PM »

I'm trying to find a better title for this one:

Drumming In the Park
take a sip & feel the back of your mouth on fire
just sit back for awhile & hallucinate yourself a dream
all your friends don't seem the same as they were 10 moments ago
they're confessing their deepest darket secrets & the whole world ain't listening
they tell that they love me but it can't be true
but if i said 'i love you' back it'd be a blockbuster hit...couples would rent it, families would rent it, perverts would want it
just to see if what they were missing was really worth it
so as i sit on the cold ground, green gras
smelling herbs burning in the air filling my lungs with such exoticness
i can feel the drums beating in my veins -- the whispering and chanting getting LoudER
when the feeling finally dissipates into nothingness i am only left with a vague memory & a song stuck in my head.

it's actually a song, and it's on youtube. I don't like it THAT much, but it's quite good enough for me.
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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #72 on: August 09, 2007, 03:29:48 AM »

"highlights" of what i've read...for me. for ME. everyone has their spots.

JacksBrokenHeart--"I have learned to love the somber crumble that shrinks the hollow in my chest" <<just part of why i always want more from you. :icon_king:

ThirtyWhacks--the last stanza of "diseased" and "saturated in my own filth"--ehh. no worries about the formatting absence. you're right inside the misery i wash... :o

Haha, Im not sure if it's a compliment, critique or a burn o_O But I'll take it any way i can get it. Im not a miserable person, really. I'm just inspired by things that deal with that sort of thing. Oh, what a fifteen year old mind can do to you, hey? I'm impressed that you wrote something about everyone!

Your poetry is amazing. Everyones is in here. Especially that Vagina poem by Blonderedhead. Gave me a chuckle.
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mangosta

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #73 on: August 09, 2007, 11:21:23 AM »

I wrote this for school last year and thought it was kinda funny, so I'm posting it. We were given an outline of some sort, but I don't remember it. The teacher was kinda shocked at some of the references, and that someone my age could write this. I had a bunch of idiots in my class though. XD

"Where I'm From"

I am from mother's nest, impatience, and empty revelations
Crossed fingers, soggy shoes, and static electricity
I am from music you've heard so much that it fades into the background
From screaming inside for your next cigarette
And dancing while waiting for the toilet

I am from grafitti and all that it implies
From sunglasses and hats, pregnant cats, and friendly alleyways
I am from food that makes you say, "I don't want to know."
Too many shoes, and bright orange polished toes
From books about being everything and nothing all at once

I am from cult movie heaven and movie quotes leaking after every word
From in-jokes and small-town-folk, and poster-covered walls
I am from $3 vintage everything, itchy coats, plastic rings
Hugs that seem to last forever
And hugs you wish happened more often than never

I'm from the art that I never submitted crying out in some hiding place
From someday I'll save the human race
I'm from "I'll be famous" and "I don't give a damn"
A new favorite band every day of the week
And any excuse to not wear shoes on my feet

I'm from confusion and writer's block
Doubting yourself and unmatching socks
I'm from wondering what could be, would have been, will be
From sneaking out late, and leaving early without a note
And hoping someday I'll sail the seas on a boat
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Rob

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Re: the poems thread
« Reply #74 on: August 09, 2007, 11:34:59 AM »

That is from awesome!
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Everybody dies
Frustrated and sad
And that is beautiful
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