HEY MAN, MY POEM WAS GOOD! :fuckyou:

hah yeah it was

:mad:
mine was okay at best!

I like to eat an orange
With my friend George Malakornge
So juicy sweet
So good to eat
An orange with George Malakornge


I swear I was just learning how to play that song 10 seconds ago. Crazy.

PROPER NOUNS DON'T COUNT! :mad:

YOU DIDN'T SAY THAT! :mad:

I read something somewhere that had a bunch of stuff that could be pronounced in a way that worked, like with "silver" and "purple" and "month" and stuff, too. Gotta find that.

Orange
Door hinge

Could work.

i sitll think chlorine rhymes

...okay, i'll give you that much.

Fuck yeah! I've been a big promoter of the orange doorhinge rhyme for fucking years... and now, a poem


The batteries drum on like all her button-breaking, zipper-pulling,
pill-induced motions,
Stuccoing the arch where our abdomens meet,
making fresh renovations to cast rehashed shadows
on that sickle-celled square
where black-jack sax beggars still beg to the beat,

motioning the space-time frieze.

She is time herself because time herself
has stepped outside
for a cigarette, a comma, and a petty manicure,
tapping pink fingernails to the beat.


But what color will her cuticles be
when maggots lap at her feet,
when coffin-colored cubicles
have all but torn her dainty hands apart?


Mushroom cloud blue
and then time will cease.

But, still, I am willing to cough up a roll of quarters
just for her,

my
my
my

Vending machine girl:

Concessions for a longer life.

That's jazzy, baby... :cool:

i like it.

I'm going to write a spontaneous poem and dedicate it to top 40 squeeze, simply because its going to involve washington square park

My prayer wheel's spinning in Washington Square Park
The piece at the end of the chain to keep it going
Is pointing at everyone around me
Three Frenchmen and one Frenchwoman
Singing passionately along with the street choir
Every word of "Ground Control to Major Tom"
The choir themselves assembled from what
Must've been a who'dve thunk it meeting of the minds
Not one of them lives less than
A subway ride from the next
But they've all met up near the northeast corner
To remind us how great those top fourty songs really were
"It was just my imagination running away with me"
And someone walks up and asks me what I'm holding
"It's a prayer wheel, it's got prayers inside and out
And if you keep spinning it its like yr saying them
A thousand times each time it goes around"
He asks me if I've read some piece by Ginsberg
Tells me "most of us Black Folk don't know Ginsberg
But I studied them all!" and just then another
Man walks by yelling at the top of his lungs
"Play some real black music!" and the two of us
Laugh as the weight at the end of my
Prayer wheel made out of bone
Points at him too.

Gay gay
What did you say?
Gay?
No you said poof.
Poof poof can you hear me?
Yeah?
QUEEN!

this one makes me dance

I'm glad I'm not on the list.

less talking, more poems

Why?

bump

Because lists are arbitrary, and poetry should not be a competitive sport.

Hear, hear.

Damn man, thanks for the dedication. I like this poem bunches.

I forgot that I had posted my poem, and am only seeing now that a couple people really dig it... So thanks to everyone for the praise.

some untitled shit:

Riddles about street walkers and their dirty quims tempting the corrupted youth who hang in the deathclock of media's mask.
blank checks donated to life and taxed for war, theres still more dead than there are one dollar bills.
Life is hard but it does not deserve biographies of those who stole it and those whom own it, and those who destroy it.
we are animals,
sound is sound,
nothing more.
we are being, all else is nothing.

amen

this is really, really impromptu and not well thought-out, but . . .


man is not capable of thinking having thrown his mind on the floor to feed the rats and other predatory beasts (politicians demagogues the catholic church and the seventytwovirginsreadyfordefloweringinthenonexiste ntafterworld)

yet it is only the thinking man who will win the world his happiness and him
self

eg

newton aristotle jefferson galileo and all the other intellectual Giants of human history were assuredly deaf for if not they could not have helped but failed to hear their
own
drummers

for they would be drowned out by white noise

top 40 squeeze : in response to your rep.

any kind of danc eyou want man

A piece of a poem about war...

Excuse the soldier
Excuse the president
War is in their job descriptions
And they've got families to feed
And they'll have to live a thousand lives of suffering
If their actions are tainted by greed
Excuse the radio-listening family man
He's only paranoid that his seed
Will be swept away in a nuclear tidal wave
His love of the easy life is excusable
It's impossible to say "I don't want to be care free"
And it's difficult to know what care free means
Excuse the commentator who sees the same things
In two different words: "governments" and "countries"
And thru years of reading newspapers
And gazing at soulless maps
Forgot that the people on the other side of the border
Are the same as you and me
Excuse them, but do not excuse yrself
When you see misery manifest itself on TV

Hunter's game is almost over
as he creeps about the clovers
he's looking for the biggest catch
since last tuesday, so long ago
release the tension, release all of it

So now he's underground
he should've known beforehand
hindsight is the greatest blessing of all
too bad it's useless now

Hunter's game is almost over
so close now
sight undone by new obsolescence

Eyes only in the way and taking up space

Get them out of the way and defeat all evil.

Poetry is gay
Poetry is gay.
I slit my wrists about emo shit
cuz poetry is gay.

and so; apparently; are you! :)

Arr, t3h clever you are. Have a cookie, smiling ass.

People who use gay out of context like you are fucking stupid.
And i don't even write poetry.

I try to fuck the stupid often. and making assumptions over the internet is gay.

Thanks, Decimaster321... I'll have it with my milk...

Lol cum isn't milk, stop being a whore

word!

Let's keep the poems coming... coming...

*Breaded*

If I could have I would have breaded
her innocence,
Gotten all sticky in her yolk,
her runny sometimes bloody
yolk,
Wrapped her in eggwash
and breadcrumbs,
Baked at 350 for 40,

Watched her slip off the bone.

Would've Could've Can't Won't.

So now she's got raw chicken lips
puckered like sashimi side

And I'm battering
a million wives

Just to thicken the sauce.

A quick ditty that could probably use something at the end:

I am an imperfect being
I planted tomato seeds when I was seventeen
But didn't get rid of the weeds
And now I don't have my own fruit
To eat and share with friends
I'm nearly twenty two years old
And I still haven't learned
How to touch my toes
Even though they tried to show me
When I was in Elementary school
I never bothered to reach any farther
Than I could already go

leaves fall like rain
onto concrete below
swept around your feet
they hurry and twirl
like eager dancers
en dedans pirouette
clockwork and trim
angular, bleeding edges
fall
and crumple
onto
earth
broken
dirt
heaps
burn.

Ageless dreams of men slowly carved to the retina of society.
Women in tattered dresses of charcoal walking down the street in their might.
All the children playing with the ball made of rocks and metal and the lost of imagination.
This all in the world within the haze of angelic towns.

Gay this, gay that, gay, gay, gay. Ever read Peter Pan by J. M. Barrie?