all of a sudden passion suddenly

[butters]

I get chicken wings stuck in my gullet
stones of cliches stuck in my craw
I really don't know if I can do this
This new poems anymore
Absolutely fucking brilliant

A breath of shit on a sun shiny day
is known as compost
it makes the flowers of May
bloom
like an idiot from Atlanta

take a break
go back to the start
create

shit is such an ugly word
but i see you've heard
it makes the gardens grow

so mary mary
a li'l contrary
there's e-value to be found in
pyramids

 

[vrosej10]

I get chicken wings stuck in my gullet
stones of cliches stuck in my craw
I really don't know if I can do this
This new poems anymore
Absolutely fucking brilliant

A breath of shit on a sun shiny day
is known as compost
it makes the flowers of May
bloom
like an idiot from Atlanta

Bumma. it seems like all the bull that was exploding around here has resulted in a rain of bullshit. We will just have to push through.

 

[vrosej10]

mediocrity machinates against us
more resiliant than brilliance
more pervasive than sarcasm
it paints the walls beige, missing a few places
parallel parks at a eighty degree angle
managing to get your coffee order wrong—again;
it doesn't give a rat's about your aggravation
it just shrugs, wanders off saying
'what can you do?'

 

[twelveoone]

I've got shit on my shoe
from dancin in pastures
shit on my shoe
from doing reviews
a writer's block
that's impacted

I can't even squeeze zout a haiku

 

[sweepthefloor]

I've got shit on my shoe
from dancin in pastures
shit on my shoe
from doing reviews
a writer's block
that's impacted

I can't even squeeze zout a haiku

I got an alphabet enema, and a nasogastric tube drainage bucket filled with yesterdays letter shit. It stinks.

 

[SeattleRain]

too wide
the holes in this screen shaking it all through
what did you expect from all the stretch and snip?
we pour ourselves into piles of rubble
indistinguishable from common gravel
because we are
common gravel

under foot
what a relief
not trying to shine or levitate
not to desire being the one dropped in pocket
worry stone promise stone corner stone
date carved they believe it will freeze the day
we were constructed

 

[twelveoone]

I got an alphabet enema, and a nasogastric tube drainage bucket filled with yesterdays letter shit. It stinks.

was the bag warm?

 

[butters]

LOST

the dead list
the missing list
grow with each hour
each day
he checks the lists
adds another photo
a smile to break his heart
a wave

he sits on steps
gathering snow
a bowling alley with row upon
row of uniform white
like pins all knocked down
waiting to be stood again
a silence of machines

 

[Angeline]

Even ants can suffer.
Do you think
sometimes our Lord
has a bit too much
to drink and crashing
down upon his table
cracks the plates, twists
that laughing universal
masque to tragic groan,
calls for another
glass until the sea unfolds
itself and we are tossed
into perdition or worse,
something less?

The colony's a mess.
Who cares about the ants,
the roads they build
so carefully, the children
in their nursery and all
their labor, shelter, food;
the haven of their world
is crushed so easily.

It's child's play,
a footprint left so carelessly,
the echo of a voice
that called once upon
some random,
sunny day.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Even ants can suffer.
Do you think
sometimes our Lord
has a bit too much
to drink and crashing
down upon his table
cracks the plates, twists
that laughing universal
masque to tragic groan,
calls for another
glass until the sea unfolds
itself and we are tossed
into perdition or worse,
something less?

The colony's a mess.
Who cares about the ants,
the roads they build
so carefully, the children
in their nursery and all
their labor, shelter, food;
the haven of their world
is crushed so easily.

It's child's play,
a footprint left so carelessly,
the echo of a voice
that called once upon
some random,
sunny day.

oh wow!

 

[darkerdreamer]

I gave the surgeon clear instructions
to keep my wisdom teeth before I went under.
When I came home I added them to the acrylic box
above my fireplace with my kidney stones,
with the shriveled husk that was my umbilical cord at one point.

I'm hoping to build a better man with the pieces they remove.

 

[SeattleRain]

something about starch and press that makes me want to
rustle you up, untucked, pillow muss the tea tree slick
over lunch break something about that power suit
makes me want to strip you down to knees
leech your boardroom power as my own

not a bitch crime we all know you want the chance
to be knocked low, to not be the one with the agenda
the rein strained knuckles
even barefoot I grow the tower of stilleto
but it never lasts
showered and straight already my charge seeps
scanning out the next source

but perhaps a healthy snack of white tee stained denim
brow sweat texture while I ride the high wave
with something left over to give
redistribution of wealth
power doesnt talk it snickers

 

[SeattleRain]

okay I confess it was me,
I left the cake out in the rain

intention:
distraction

baby tells me mama wear the
pink shirt and pulls a necklace over
my brown sweater trying to pretty me up

they can tell, can't they when
their parents stop
snuggling vigorousily after bedtime
when the avoidance begins
the baggy layers, furry legs, faded
paints and brushes

"remember when dad brought you the flowers?"
he is three and somehow he knows
remind her why she painted toes
said yes to red wine
when love checked over resentment
when denial shaded guilt
when the actress played the part
slut switchstuck in the on postion


good lord this sucks.
I suck
did I used to be able to do this?

where are my tigers? they used
to sneak from closets and
tease out meaning and even clothespins
could carry a tune

gone like the scent of you
showered down it is all too real now
the metaphors do not work
it is too fucking real

what happened to my fantasy
triggering the cascade like
sophmore biochemistry
whre are my tigers
my red eyed tree frogs
pairs of wild boar
lone elk

this sucks
this fucking quest for sanity
beginning to think
it is not worth it

I never liked it clean
Ever

still don't maybe I am old enough
call it a life
hopeless case why change it up now

guess the disease is not worth the poetry

 

[twelveoone]

okay I confess it was me,
I left the cake out in the rain

intention:
distraction

baby tells me mama wear the
pink shirt and pulls a necklace over
my brown sweater trying to pretty me up

they can tell, can't they when
their parents stop
snuggling vigorousily after bedtime
when the avoidance begins
the baggy layers, furry legs, faded
paints and brushes

"remember when dad brought you the flowers?"
he is three and somehow he knows
remind her why she painted toes
said yes to red wine
when love checked over resentment
when denial shaded guilt
when the actress played the part
slut switchstuck in the on postion


good lord this sucks.
I suck
did I used to be able to do this?

where are my tigers? they used
to sneak from closets and
tease out meaning and even clothespins
could carry a tune

gone like the scent of you
showered down it is all too real now
the metaphors do not work
it is too fucking real

what happened to my fantasy
triggering the cascade like
sophmore biochemistry
whre are my tigers
my red eyed tree frogs
pairs of wild boar
lone elk

this sucks
this fucking quest for sanity
beginning to think
it is not worth it

I never liked it clean
Ever

still don't maybe I am old enough
call it a life
hopeless case why change it up now

guess the disease is not worth the poetry

I awake, a snake on the gravel
diamonds in my hair,..................diamonds everywhere, .......................Come along baby, just laugh with me
What do I see?...........................red to blue, red to blue, red to blue,
I ain't goin nowhere...................white lights, red Rorschach on white line

If I could just roll over.................red to blue, red to blue, red to blue,....just laugh with me
and not see the stars tonight,
....................................................and turn the radio off.

 

[SeattleRain]

no envelope necessary

colonial alchemyst squeezes diamond dust
from anthracite enough powder
to roll roll roll on down with laughter and glitter
everywhere

metal to gold, metal to gold ink blots melt
like a wax seal pressed with quarter note patterns

lifted from paper
it's all stellar, baby
don't deny it
they are still there
somewhere pressed between two thousand
and
four

I awake, a snake on the gravel
diamonds in my hair,..................diamonds everywhere, .......................Come along baby, just laugh with me
What do I see?...........................red to blue, red to blue, red to blue,
I ain't goin nowhere...................white lights, red Rorschach on white line

If I could just roll over.................red to blue, red to blue, red to blue,....just laugh with me
and not see the stars tonight,
....................................................and turn the radio off.

 

[twelveoone]

something random happens
something random always does
and above in the transom
Vasistas
a planeload of wild boars
so it is springtime
springtime once more
i see through the transom
the orange light of morn
of a shiny sherbet sky
and i fell like i is reborn
as an acid hippie
and listen to the warm
thumping tones
of Ummagumma
and just like the cover
we's the same just rearranged
in endless mirrors
i think i'll go out to the moors
and dig up another tannin man
and think about my life boggin down

ps there are no new poems

 

[twelveoone]

The problem with poetry

is the problem with D-bags
is the problem with the digital age
is the problem that everybody's a poet
want's you to read their bloody mess
and not get their fingers wet

now if I was bald headed
I'd get a Pulitzer prize
for this

 

[shefer]

like it

 

[butters]

The problem with poetry

is the problem with D-bags
is the problem with the digital age
is the problem that everybody's a poet
want's you to read their bloody mess
and not get their fingers wet

now if I was bald headed
I'd get a Pulitzer prize
for this

you been peeking at the GB?

apart from that, the sentiment is terse verse... dipping me fingers.... yep, it's wet alright. *name that bodily fluid? maybe ichor...* i see vultures gathering.

 

[SeattleRain]

truth is somewhere between parchment
and papyrus sweetness in my green tea
we water it down water it down to
bed late darlin' used to be those late night
inspiration, expiration my love my love
my mind fuck love dry as brittle paper my
corpus collosum flaccid, shrivled and
neurons sputter over parched myelin

we forget destination follow
left left right crosswalk lights
give us another option,
run
like
hell

 

[SeattleRain]

pharmacist pulls my refills before
I have a chance to introduce myself

somehow he twitters on about
carls jr, or is it carl's jr? who the hell
would pluralize a god given name
Johns Hopkins? Yes. That is him.
Wrote me out a script back in 1945
cervical cells scooped and cultured
damn thing never died

unlike me
four times I heard
HeLa no one told anyone
what He or La sang out the do re mi
of this my last song

 

[SeattleRain]

heels, over clicked
with a one-two-three waltz
Mathilda take me home
railroad bridges, broken we
skip the ties hope
for the best

dishes clatter n the kitchen
I hear them over the line
Kiki and mom recite Chars latest inspirational spoof
and a toddler waddles through with his first word
chocolate chip

it is a trouble shoot
two doves down and three more clicks
I miss you. Miss the ancient
horsetails spreading like bamboo along macoby creek
miss the crawfish and casual
conversation, not the milestone
he walked, he called, did you get the plane
tickets yet I miss the dishtowel banter the
points out the window
bluebirds have come back
to build new nests in houses
dad built
God is good
all is right with the world
if only it were a little bit smaller

 

[girlsmiley]

I'm a beginner guys, take it easy please


You don't want me to?
You don't want this too?
Lay there and feel me?
You want it where?
There.

 

[girlsmiley]

I thought about taking all the question marks out. Saying that, if there are other examples of my thought without the question marks, or with less, they would be more than welcome.

Or anything one may have to offer on my thought.

I've had one poet in mind since I was young - Sam Hunt. Listening to his soothing voice. Reminds me of Bob Dylan.

 

[OT]

happy-dance ringtones
bring news
as shrill as the old wall phone