fuckin lapdogshttp://i41.tinypic.com/nn88rp.jpg
― unregistered
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Friday, 2 July 2010 02:24 (thirteen years ago) link
fuck is such a coarse wordthat should be seldom heardwhen language offers fine delights like quim and felch and turd.
― tomofthenest
You remove your clothes:fatty tanned skin blobs all aroundas you lie on the deckI crya seagull hands me a requiem for mercywritten in Lichee juice
― Latham Green
Mariana Revisitation
I want to ignore disaster.
Or no, not ignore it, but fondle its corners absentmindedly.
Thus, an abandoned Key.I create a sculpture in sandI call Katrina: a child’s doll,a filthy toothbrush, an oily splintered drift.
You admire my work and smoke.Over luxury homes, a blimp swims.
These are not scenes of passion.The pills are wearing offand crowds gather around our stunned bodiessuddenly clanged on turf.
The closest we will ever come to touching,I hunt the ditches outside of townfor an ending to embrace.Tiled slickness speaks an evasion,my saliva full of ass, it isn’t yours.A whore died and you died with her.My fingers curl in your curls,the closest we will ever come to touching.
I fall asleep on the turnpike.
Smears of blood like morning,saming tangles on every line.You never answer me,the trees are drowning my views.
A character does not possess his or her own nature.Your muteness is complicit, the contrastto my lush movements towards your inner thighs.We keep getting high over and over and over,synthetic twinklings no use any longer.
I want your soul. I need your soul.A mondegreen. Utterly right. Safe.Like our backs turned east to watchthe sunrise.
― the table is the table
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Friday, 2 July 2010 02:25 (thirteen years ago) link
Heavy Metal GodThey talk about Himlike he's an old man, withered body ---- so tired from creating Earth, animals, the genre formerlyand simply known as heavy metal but now varied asdeath metal, technical metal, math metal, Scandinavian melodicEurovision-tailored horror pop --his eyes are dim and he sits on mountaintops a lotpromising transcendence.Or maybe He is actually a She,flowing long blond hair I imagine much like a Lady Godiva,her breath smells like chocolate liqueur likelazy Sunday morningsEarth goddesses read Tikkun Magazine,contemplate World Peace,in grace.Kabbalists, working from scripts saythat you can't contemplate the unknownunknow the known the unknown the beyondthe limits of human language the grasping ofverbs and nouns to delineate spaces that cannotbe grasped somewherethat isn't therethat isn't anywherethat isn't isn't.Whatever.That gives you headaches to consider and anyway,I have a competitive theory.
― Mordy (edited for length)
For My Murdered MotherMy eyes are your eyes facing the wall, my tongue a failed version of speech. First the voyeuristic slipfrom their nets, then iron turns thedick hard. Everyone loves a war hero.Evangelical, I lecture the livesof saints and do not cry, last in a long line of hardhearted boors.Near the harbor, ropes tighten around the throat of a woman.Ice cubes rattle in glass bottom boats filled with drowned drunks.It's so Tussaud, or de Sade. You remove your wig & dirty habit.Denuded, you embody your worst aspects; distant, annulled from duty.In pushpin bullpens cops 1) square off,2) make rancorous tally of your worth,3) reek of coffee and metallic sweat.They teach me how to rank the dead.Now I live in your endless trunk,walk the tall cold halls of its arms and legs, a new kind ofmissionary possessed with new strength. Each blind day I wake to trawl this rich river of blood for my concerns are of the body.
― Edward III
Macaronium
This city's so much ugly furnitureI may not rearrange, nor haul off, allto nether Nederland gladly sent. SoI seek to set myself apart, once more gothere, where my heart blows my bloodmore forcefully, and it settles best. It'll be Just me, gone to that all-not-city of the world,a well-favored place that we hairless beastslet grow with less of grubbing, less of grab.In my mind's ear already the hermit thrush islarking at dusk, a low-note to start; it's held,then frisky, darting and jubilant up the scale.There will be dust at my feet, and stones, for this is the true setting, and the trees shall get more stark as daylight further cocks its hat.That creek's less brutal than it sounds. The night'sodors businesslikely sit at home, changingonly inasmuch as I exchange my place. I wish.I wish. I wish. I wish. I wish. Love catches at me again and the frets of love. Out there,The empty, awful earth awaits me still. For all of that I do rejoice. Perhaps I'llsend you some paper boats. Perhaps not.
― Aimless
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Friday, 2 July 2010 02:26 (thirteen years ago) link
Freon Day
A dog in heat, a dog in heatWhat you want is beneath your feetIt’s out on the corner or in the streetYou find it sweating beneath your sheetA winning song, a winning songA thousand splits in the cosmic throngYou can’t feel out ______ for which you longThe shape and the number both feel wrongAn empty bed, an empty bedA dizzying fracture is blaring redAnd blue, Don’t take me, I swear insteadI’ll do whatever you left unsaid
― Abbott
Space Tourism
I see ya jogging 'gainst the traffic for yr physical fitnessHigher than the satellite dish on the Eyewitness VanCatchin' as catch canBeating down the doors of the rock climbing centerYou get returns on investments, you're no longer the renter classFuck the unwashed massBut one day you will FLY FLY FLY past the lumpenWith your energy beverage and the U2 pumpin', manCatchin' as catch canCatchin' as catch canDoing timeOn the inclinesThe pan pipesAnd the wind chimesEverything you have is nothingYou're a hollow pumpkin hullIt's not enough to own an islandWhen you're as old as Jethro TullWhen you're as rich as Rupert MurdochAnd the dirt can't hold you downGravity means nothin' to yaHot air balloonsAre the saddestClownsCountry clubbin' in the city, separated from the freewayPeering up the arching pylons like a veteran with a signFermented clementineIn space you don't haggle, you can take it by fiatGetting to yes is no way to do business, manCatchin' as catch canCatchin' as catch can
― get bent
Amnesia
I can count the seconds Since you went awayI can count the timesI begged you to stayI can count the timesYou put me in my placeI can count foreverBut I can't recall your faceWho were you to me?Who was I to you?Staring out the windowStaring out the doorStaring at the ceilingStaring at the floorStaring at the photographTaking all the blameI can stare for hoursBut I can't recall your nameWho were you to me?Who was I to you?
― HI DERE
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Friday, 2 July 2010 02:27 (thirteen years ago) link
The Lucubrations Of Luca Brecel
drown down from the bedroomno sensation, subaqueous when all playthings are denseanchor-strewn baize mentor stumble then glidelike leaving a nesttonight only one boy bears the tridentone boy falls to restsilt-settle acrylics cold effluvium spin across in shadow-congressor tidally backand inside each droplet is a god particle instantly vanquishing itselfas it disappears into holesdug by methane worms or oil workerslined with nets to catch bathyspheresand return them safely to the sea-bedtonight only one boy napsand flicking his nap are anglerfishthe shade of red you can’t seebecause it’s pressurised blindnessmarking dreamy channels in the deep green with a child’s taut assurancehe joins shots for thishidden ecosystemfragile to the softest kickbroken at chalky baize mentorfriend or cue for insomniasurface, O championand let the strands of kelpspill from your shoulders
― acoleuthic
We never go downtown
I need cable internet accessso I can look at more furry porn, is what I eventually said,because the landlord saidhe kind of wanted to know why there was a bucket truck instead of the sun, something of the divinein this exchange, like realizing suddenlyyou are indifferent to Godin the middle of an orgasm.And then, I think, a moment of silencebefore grinning at the weather,small red birds and water everywhere, what a planet,but cold cocksmy fuzzy thoughts with his talkof snow and late winter-bums shit everywhere, what a disaster,so let's just wipe our nosesand think about where does that shit go tobecause a man who, you know, likes to watchdudes dressed as animals get it on, well,maybe he thinks in a different waythan I do, maybe he knows things. But really,I don't know, so we just wipe our nosesand stare enigmatically at the bucket truck.Sometimes I see other people wipe their noses on their sleevesso now I look for the residue on most everyone and everythingbut it's not always the thing you think it is is the thing, so sometimes you've got to really think about it. He's thinkingand then he says, far off someplace,they actually make that stuff, well, I always knewthere was a market.
― casual rigmorale
Cherish your fingersFor they may be your lastCar doors slam!Trunks slam too!Alligators don’t regard humans as preyBut I wouldn’t stick my leg in there
Pancreas Cancer effects 5 million children each day.
― CaptainLorax
i placed a vote but good work all imo
― ,,,,,,eeeeleon (darraghmac), Friday, 2 July 2010 12:56 (thirteen years ago) link
no stanzas for me
― (e_3) (Edward III), Friday, 2 July 2010 13:37 (thirteen years ago) link
I actually had a dream last night that the table is the table had written a brilliant collection of poetry. I can even still picture the cover.
― jaymc, Friday, 2 July 2010 15:51 (thirteen years ago) link
I haven't actually read anyone's poem yet besides the short jokey poems
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Friday, 2 July 2010 21:18 (thirteen years ago) link
lol, I just misread something in Abbott's poem as "cosmic thong"
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Friday, 2 July 2010 21:39 (thirteen years ago) link
common mistake
also lolled at cosmic thong until I realized I misread
― (e_3) (Edward III), Friday, May 21, 2010 2:42 PM (1 month ago) Bookmark
― (e_3) (Edward III), Friday, 2 July 2010 22:02 (thirteen years ago) link
Acoleuthic, please post your other poem. I still want to read it. Heck, if anyone has a poem they want to share this is a better place than any
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Saturday, 3 July 2010 00:04 (thirteen years ago) link
OK, as you asked...
― so you want Mark Ronson to cry into your ass (acoleuthic), Saturday, 3 July 2010 00:16 (thirteen years ago) link
Sips of Raki
tonight with lemonadecovenant love-coloured steep to taste then aniseed shard sward-swarm of tender tongue
liquor your giftmy tonic bead together skinsalt-sweet once more I throng myself your bodygridiron
from bubbled intercoursereflecting geometryshard invites more sipsyou’re tasted norvibrantly recalled
its guile is time’s thudon drunk knowledgeglass and lipalong aerial bond whichflights every lick of love
drinking to moistenall that’s chappednow chair-slumped manwhose fake leather clings to your humidity
should next wind bringslow-cooked juicesyou slew yourselfgulf-kissed with a gustothis raki is not
the above purely for ornamental purposes - please do not let it sway your vote ;)
― so you want Mark Ronson to cry into your ass (acoleuthic), Saturday, 3 July 2010 00:17 (thirteen years ago) link
That ornamental poem has prominent knucklebones.
― Aimless, Sunday, 4 July 2010 19:00 (thirteen years ago) link
Oh, and here's a nonsense poem I wrote, just by-the-by
JL ETOV
Rever of seoTru OY! FolortNoces ol' L Lah! Su OY!JL ETOV! ton Odu OY! FI!
― so you want Mark Ronson to cry into your ass (acoleuthic), Sunday, 4 July 2010 20:43 (thirteen years ago) link
It must have taken real fortitude to eschew rhyming that one.
― Aimless, Tuesday, 6 July 2010 05:39 (thirteen years ago) link
tough decision here tbh
― (e_3) (Edward III), Thursday, 8 July 2010 21:36 (thirteen years ago) link
Bert Parks to thread! We need someone who can sing the theme to the Miss America pagent with suitable crooniferous stylings.
― Aimless, Thursday, 8 July 2010 22:28 (thirteen years ago) link
Automatic thread bump. This poll is closing tomorrow.
― System, Thursday, 8 July 2010 23:01 (thirteen years ago) link
voted - found it QUITE an easy decision in the end - there's a pool of about 5 from which to choose a serious winner IMO
― so you want Mark Ronson to cry into your ass (acoleuthic), Thursday, 8 July 2010 23:43 (thirteen years ago) link
i'm gonna vote when I can focus on reading better, but I better vote soon
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Friday, 9 July 2010 02:08 (thirteen years ago) link
Automatic thread bump. This poll's results are now in.
― System, Friday, 9 July 2010 23:01 (thirteen years ago) link
I broadly agree with the general trend of the results, except for my poem accidentally getting top billing, and acoleuthic's poem getting shut out.
― Aimless, Saturday, 10 July 2010 00:38 (thirteen years ago) link
nah it's fine, post 3 poems and nobody will vote; a lesson that has been learnt before (plus neither have been my best)
voted for table fwiw, dude has skillz
― RIP la petite mort (acoleuthic), Saturday, 10 July 2010 01:03 (thirteen years ago) link
congrats to the triumverate
I agonized over table vs casual, glad I went with the darkhorse tho, poems about furries require care & recognition
― (e_3) (Edward III), Saturday, 10 July 2010 01:54 (thirteen years ago) link
Would have voted Hi Dere but for got #^_^#
― serious nonsense (CaptainLorax), Saturday, 10 July 2010 01:59 (thirteen years ago) link
oh hi everyone, thanks for many kind words said about my...er...words. fwiw, i didn't vote? reading over all of them again, i think i'd go with "We never go downtown." but my moods change a lot, thus explaining why i didn't vote in the first place.
― The Portrait of a Lady of BJs (the table is the table), Monday, 12 July 2010 17:08 (thirteen years ago) link
i regret that i totally dropped the ball this year on the contest, but i only just recently finished a thing -- just wanted to throw a link to it here as i feel like sharing.
(i'm just posting a link because of gratuitous m/m non-consensual sexual content; consider yourself trigger warned)
SAINT SEBASTIAN, PRAY FOR US.
^^ please note that each line of the poem is an anagram of the title
― lene lovage (elmo argonaut), Saturday, 7 August 2010 03:55 (thirteen years ago) link
strong work
― stuff that's what it is (bernard snowy), Saturday, 7 August 2010 04:01 (thirteen years ago) link
That is fucking incredible.
― spanikopitcon (Abbott), Saturday, 7 August 2010 04:04 (thirteen years ago) link
Awesome. Am I correct in presuming that you only used letters that were in the title?
― jaymc, Saturday, 7 August 2010 04:07 (thirteen years ago) link
the lines (and title) are all anagrams of each other
― lene lovage (elmo argonaut), Saturday, 7 August 2010 04:08 (thirteen years ago) link
so yes
― lene lovage (elmo argonaut), Saturday, 7 August 2010 04:19 (thirteen years ago) link
!!!!!!!!!!
― let it sb (acoleuthic), Saturday, 7 August 2010 10:21 (thirteen years ago) link
probably a good thing for purposes of vote-spread that you didn't submit that one
game = raised
is ilx user casual rigmarole a lurker? i like his one
― thomp, Saturday, 7 August 2010 10:26 (thirteen years ago) link
also elmo is next level
That is one of the most incredible things I have ever seen. And yes, I'm a lurker... most of the time! *slinks back to cave*
― casual rigmarole, Sunday, 8 August 2010 22:41 (thirteen years ago) link