Post a Poem... (yeah really)

[HeuristicMonkey]

I only cry when it hurts

​

I only cry when it hurts

I know that you some times cant see that happening

In real time, circles like eyes reeling and wheeling

Theres no tears decorating my instant misery

Im not wearing them on my cheeks like medals

For centuries and parades

In real time, my face was transfixed

My vocal abilities ceased

The mumbles and humbled entrenched noise

Flowed like stuttered hypocracy from trembling lips

“Its okay… I understand…” I said

In real time



That was a lifetime ago and

Im still a wreck of what I used to be

Time is a charlatan that destroys

A beast of regret, surfacing and shaking its head

Ear to flapping ear

An animal covered in mud and smiling

And always comes up clean

Everlasting and long after Ive gone

It still hurts, Time will 'See you next Tuesday'

 

[HeuristicMonkey]

I am Me (work in progress) - Dell MacTaighain

I am Me [full stop]
In all the world
there is no one else exactly like me
Everything that comes out of me
is authentically mine because
I alone
chose it
I own everything about me:
my body,
my feelings,
my mouth,
my voice,
my words,
all my actions
whether they be to others
or myself
I own my fantasies,
my dreams,
my hopes,
my fears
I
own my triumphs and successes,
I
deserve all my failures
and mistakes
I
Deserve each kiss
Every I love you
Because I own all of me
I can become intimately acquainted with me
By so doing,
I can love me and be friendly with all my parts
I know there are aspects about myself that puzzle me
other aspects that I do not know
but as long as I am friendly
and loving to myself
I can courageously
and hopefully
look for solutions
find out more about me
However I look
and sound
whatever I say
and do
and whatever I think
and feel at a given moment in time
is authentically me
If later
some parts
of how I looked,
sounded,
thought,
and felt
turn out to be unfitting
I can discard
invent something new for that which I can
see, hear, feel, think, say, and do.
I have the tools to survive,
to be close to others,
to be productive
and to make sense and order out of the world of people and things outside of me.
I own me,
and therefore,
I can engineer me.
I am me,
And,
as a work in progress
I am Okay.​

 

[NickUK]

American dozens: remembered curses from the playground – by Katherine Dunn

your mother is probably the only one you’ve ever known
who really wanted to kill you
and your mother stopped cars on sunset boulevard
by the length of her legs and the magyar in her cheekbones
though she claimed it was just good posture

and your mother married five handsome men
but swore she only did it for the money
and your mother made ships out of pine cones
and guns out of milk cans
and no human male was calm within fifty feet of her

and your mother told wild stories at the dinner table
till you were cramped and leaking with laughter
she said stalin died from eating two whole chickens all by himself
but she ate only wings and necks and the pope’s nose

and your mother called you ‘dove’ or ‘childy’ and broke your nose
and put your baby brother in the hospital with a fractured pelvis
and your mother dragged you through bean fields and dreams
and turned the hose on bill collectors

and your mother could curse
and your mother stole proudly saying “it’s not dishonest, it’s resourceful!”
and your mother the teetotaler
ran a desoto full of booze into dry counties to buy christmas toys

and your mother ran a red light in a strange town and got the arresting officer
to pay her rent
and your mother fed you, all one winter
by drawing portraits of albert schwietzer with black crayons on old pillowcases
and selling them to suckers

and your mother forgot toothbrushes but taught you to make slingshots
and keep your distance in a fight
and your mother didn’t really care if you went to school
but she told you you were god and rubbed your face
in raw beauty three times a day

and your mother knew if you got hurt even across town
but it never worried her
and your mother made pie out of one saltine and a raisin
and your mother singed her eyebrows scooping you from a fire some claim she set
and drew them on with maybelline forever after

and your mother ran off with a new man and did her best to leave you behind
but you hitchhiked after her
and your mother wore you out with switches, broom handles, belts
and her paralyzing tongue
then snatched your ass from the draft board and hid you for a whole war

and your mother sliced off the top of your skull with her terrible love
and poured in the charred sludge of hate
and there was never a dull moment

and your mother suspects you of plotting against her
and she’s right

 

[HeuristicMonkey]

The things unsaid and remain to each other By Dell MacTaighain

The modern voter
is that person sat alone
near to you in a pub,
despair in their powerless eyes,
muttering "Is this it...?"
These bills and arguments and lies

The modern politician
He/She is the one
on the other side of the bar
VIP section for the night
drinking Champagne
and clinking glasses
with CEOs and lobbyists
and future Lords & Ladies
cheque in pocket

All blind to each other
the table in the lounge suite
dusty and rarely used unsweet
unless for drunken romps
with knickers and flies pulled down

never utilised for talking
circled and full and sharing
Where's the caring?
At which point is the line crossed?
When words need to be born from
shadowed lips
Finally fly their humble nests

 

[HeuristicMonkey]

American dozens: remembered curses from the playground – by Katherine Dunn

your mother is probably the only one you’ve ever known
who really wanted to kill you
and your mother stopped cars on sunset boulevard
by the length of her legs and the magyar in her cheekbones
though she claimed it was just good posture

and your mother married five handsome men
but swore she only did it for the money
and your mother made ships out of pine cones
and guns out of milk cans
and no human male was calm within fifty feet of her

and your mother told wild stories at the dinner table
till you were cramped and leaking with laughter
she said stalin died from eating two whole chickens all by himself
but she ate only wings and necks and the pope’s nose

and your mother called you ‘dove’ or ‘childy’ and broke your nose
and put your baby brother in the hospital with a fractured pelvis
and your mother dragged you through bean fields and dreams
and turned the hose on bill collectors

and your mother could curse
and your mother stole proudly saying “it’s not dishonest, it’s resourceful!”
and your mother the teetotaler
ran a desoto full of booze into dry counties to buy christmas toys

and your mother ran a red light in a strange town and got the arresting officer
to pay her rent
and your mother fed you, all one winter
by drawing portraits of albert schwietzer with black crayons on old pillowcases
and selling them to suckers

and your mother forgot toothbrushes but taught you to make slingshots
and keep your distance in a fight
and your mother didn’t really care if you went to school
but she told you you were god and rubbed your face
in raw beauty three times a day

and your mother knew if you got hurt even across town
but it never worried her
and your mother made pie out of one saltine and a raisin
and your mother singed her eyebrows scooping you from a fire some claim she set
and drew them on with maybelline forever after

and your mother ran off with a new man and did her best to leave you behind
but you hitchhiked after her
and your mother wore you out with switches, broom handles, belts
and her paralyzing tongue
then snatched your ass from the draft board and hid you for a whole war

and your mother sliced off the top of your skull with her terrible love
and poured in the charred sludge of hate
and there was never a dull moment

and your mother suspects you of plotting against her
and she’s right

This is comedy, biting poetry at its best - great post Nick

 

[Blankgeneration]

Rated good



The staff are a bunch of sadists,

in a job where they are meant to care,

nobody bothered vetting,

it's just like Passolini's film Salo round here



We can't speak of what happens,

whilst we are dragged by our hair along the floor,

kicked into the bathroom,

locked and chained in fear behind the door



The police were slow off the mark,

took them three years to act,

meant to serve and protect,

not drag their feet and turn blind eyes to children beaten blue and black



My friend said "I smear fairy liquid,

over my legs, my arms, my face,

it is the only time,

that I ever feel safe."



Swung by the ankles,

booted in the gut,

locked outside naked,

punched till my eyes were shut



The gas pipeline company cashes in,

sixteen percent profit,

yet us the vulnerable children,

and forced to languish in ice cold baths of sh**



A caring soul pleaded to management,

was told "Cruelty is a matter of perception,

total abuse and neglect of children,

is our policy, motto and direction."



Ofsted inspectors heard complaints,

came and had a look at the torture and blood,

paid off and on the same page,

rated this Guantanamo Bay for children "good".​

 

[angelo]

The scent of heaven between a horses ears
Not been in the saddle for years and years
How good it feels feels riding free
The wind and the horse guiding me
Over fields and tracks
Breathing in peace on our hack.

Never thought I'd get back on
Didn't trust my leg was strong
But thanks to such a brilliant horse
My riding is now back on course.
Synergy between horse and rider
My horsey aims will be getting higher.

In the saddle I am confident and alive
Enjoying the tempo of his stride
Over a log or over a fence
My fear is gone from this day hence
Thank you Ross, my new found friend
I never want our rides to end.



(I used to ride, work with horses, gave up (for good I thought) a few years ago after breaking my leg and needing surgery.
Found Ian Starks Equestrian Centre and fell in love with one of their horses. Ross, a 15.2 coloured cob, who is an absolute dream to ride. Rediscovered my passion for horses.)

ain't Google copy and paste wonderful lmfao

 

[angelo]

The scent of heaven between a horses ears
Not been in the saddle for years and years
How good it feels feels riding free
The wind and the horse guiding me
Over fields and tracks
Breathing in peace on our hack.

Never thought I'd get back on
Didn't trust my leg was strong
But thanks to such a brilliant horse
My riding is now back on course.
Synergy between horse and rider
My horsey aims will be getting higher.

In the saddle I am confident and alive
Enjoying the tempo of his stride
Over a log or over a fence
My fear is gone from this day hence
Thank you Ross, my new found friend
I never want our rides to end.



(I used to ride, work with horses, gave up (for good I thought) a few years ago after breaking my leg and needing surgery.
Found Ian Starks Equestrian Centre and fell in love with one of their horses. Ross, a 15.2 coloured cob, who is an absolute dream to ride. Rediscovered my passion for horses.)

ain't Google copy and paste wonderful lmfao

 

[HeuristicMonkey]

ain't Google copy and paste wonderful lmfao

?

 

[WebWitch]

There’s been a murder, a woman was killed,
found in a bathtub, partially filled.
A pair of policemen went into the house and questioned the poor woman’s spouse.
He’d just come home from working all night and found her like that, a terrible sight.
The younger policeman looked on with dismay.
He’d never forget that terrible day.
He saw the young woman from behind the door and empty milk cartons all over the floor,
Scattered strawberries, slices of fruit, and spoonfuls of sugar and honey to boot. ”Who could have done this terrible thing?” His voice had a horrified, pitiful ring. ”Just look at the clues,” replied Sargeant Miller.
”It looks like the work of a cereal killer.”

 

[Blankgeneration]

Hoffman's grey sponge flood





Fear ligaments, ooze orgasmic dance,

flatulent liquidators, osmic overtures dilettante,

fortitude lapidescent, octastich omits diethylamide,

fuddled lallations, obganiate ochlocracy diatribes,

frontal lobe, oval organic demarcation,

flashback laminations, overcold oblique disintegrations,

farrago looping, oncogenesis oculiform delirious,

firmament lysergic, omophagy oneirodynia deleterious​

 

[Blankgeneration]

Question slime

Phone for tickets,
get your mugs on TV,
sit there like sacks of sh**,
clapping hands sporadically

Opinionated yorping,
most are sat there gawping,
the audience of moronic **** shafts,
can't be wrong

"You sir, the brain dead at the back".
"It's those green buggers to blame!
Send the buggers back!"
"That's intergalactic hate mate, intergalactic hate"

"I think blah, blah, blah"
"Please don't interrupt aphid brain."
Token panel mouthpiece says "We stand for the oppression of anyone we deem lower than us."
Cue the boos and claps

A provocative fucker pipes up,
"You are too stupid to comment on this"
whining sounds and some begin to hiss,
"Keep it civil, next question please."

The stench of self interest hangs heavy,
"What about me, myself and I?"
"To hell with their nest, I want to line mine.
It's survival of the richest, let the poor rot and die"

"Sorry that is all we have time for,
please join us next week,
in another sh** hole city, village or town,
full of knee jerk reactionary morons."

Phone for tickets,
get your mugs on TV,
sit there like sacks of sh**,
clapping hands sporadically

Opinionated yorping,
most are sat there gawping,
the audience of moronic **** shafts,
can't be wrong​

 

[HeuristicMonkey]

Homelessness by Dell MacTaighain

I have a glass
It is my glass
You have a glass
It is your glass
Together we made another glass
for those without one
until they had their own glass
Then the glass is free
to be empty till filled again
Think outside the glass

 

[WebWitch]

I’ve fallen in love with a man with one eye.
I knew from the start. It was plain to see
That this wonderful man had an eye out for me
He’s charming and witty and jolly and jocular Not what you’d expect from a man who’s monocular.
Of eyes – at the moment – he hasn’t full quota But that doesn’t change things for me one iota.
It must be quite difficult if you’re bereft.
If your left eye is gone and your right eye is left.
But he’s made up his mind. He’s made his decision. He can see it quite clearly in 10/20 vision.
He’ll not leave me waiting, not left in the lurch If he looks slightly sideways he’ll see me in church.
I’ll marry my true love who’s gentle and kind.
And thus prove to everyone that loves not quite blind. —

 

[Blankgeneration]

Intelligentsia gone wrong



We intelligentsia,

live up the arse,

of ourselves,

everything ordered,

on neat little shelves,

contempt for everything,

with which we don't agree,

all that displeases us,

we drown in the sea,

with utter contempt,

and damning critique,

what we create is sacred,

everything else it does reek,

we don't don't need to learn,

for we know it all,

and pride to us,

never comes,

before the fall.

But are we human?

Does anyone know?

We don't really care,

because we are God,

in our show,

and legends in our own minds.

​

 

[WebWitch]

Do you carrot all for me?
My heart beets for you,
With your turnip nose
And your radish face,
You are a peach.
If we cantaloupe,
Lettuce marry:
Weed make a swell pear.

 

[HeuristicMonkey]

Athoroughlymodernpoem by Dell Mactaighain

 

[HeuristicMonkey]

Intelligentsia gone wrong



We intelligentsia,

live up the arse,

of ourselves,

everything ordered,

on neat little shelves,

contempt for everything,

with which we don't agree,

all that displeases us,

we drown in the sea,

with utter contempt,

and damning critique,

what we create is sacred,

everything else it does reek,

we don't don't need to learn,

for we know it all,

and pride to us,

never comes,

before the fall.

But are we human?

Does anyone know?

We don't really care,

because we are God,

in our show,

and legends in our own minds.

​

Nice pen

 

[Blankgeneration]

Nice pen

Thank you!

 

[Blankgeneration]

Cheerful thoughts of the dead


To ensure yourself a full,

captivated crowd,

always write for morons aloud.


Perusal is the act of thinking,

with another's mind dome,

instead of with the richness of your own.


We enunciate things that are to self, detrimental,

stay silent on things, which may make us a laughing stock,

because there, effect's tick quickly follows cause's tock.


Forte flames and strikes the bulls-eye,

that no one else can hit and burn,

genius immolates the bulls-eye, that no one else can discern.


The triple jump of truth,

teased and mocked, inimical cruelty,

then finally accepted via credulity.


Nooses in the wind blow back and forth,

between agony and ennui,

life, perpetuity.


Happiest moment for the cheerful,

is falling asleep,

unhappiest moment for the miserable, is awaking to weep.


Every waking a spit of birth, with every morning a spit of youth's breath,

in every day a taste of life, with every sleep a taste of death.


Which causes more suffering to your human mind and soul?

The thoughts of death and finality's unwanted wealth,

or your actual death itself?


Love is an illusion of endless torment and danger,

boiled down to coital instinct, so the species can perpetuate,

romantic sparks are just the will to existence of unborns to repopulate.​

There is nothing to be found in this World, it is filled with misery and pain, if you escape, monotony lays in wait, evil rules, stupidity beats the loudest drum, fate is unrelenting cruelness, and all of humankind is pitiable scum.

Nobody is ever happy, but we strive to find it,​

we seldom reach the destination, when we do we only find disappointment, your life was nothing more than the current moment always disappearing, and now it is over.