Love was in the air when he laid eyes on her.
Childhood; elementary and even high school with her.
Walking towards her, he greeted her.
Anxiety spiraled as he hugged her.
Conversation grew deeper as he sat with her.
Wanting to get closer because he was falling for her.
Another woman called pausing the time he was having with her.
Knowing he had to answer; he stepped away and spoke to her.
She stated that something wasn't quite right with her.
She said that her stomach had been bothering her.
Now he's thinking back if he came inside her.
Thinking if she lied to him about her tubes being tied within her.
Does he blame himself for listening to her?
Knowing right from wrong and yet he can't blame her.
Does he blame the devil for allowing him to be intimate with her?
Is he not a human that makes mistakes just like her?
Begging God to make a way for him and her.
Asking God to forgive him for committing the sin with her.
God said, "relax my son, you were only dreaming of her."
You call this poetry
I'm sorry I must confess
Your recent work
Why, it's a complete mess
Your rhymes aren't good
The story's not compelling
Where's this going
There's really no telling
You think it's clever
I don't mean to criticize
But your latest poem
Put a hurting on my eyes
Are you embarrassed
You didn't print your name
But this looks familiar
So I'll guess just the same
What's that you say..
Oh my, can that be true
No wonder I recognized it
The poet's me and not you
Contest: Linda's "A Poem Not Entered Into A Contest #13"
Poet: Lyric Man
Mornings are dreadful time in life unless waking beside gorgeous woman hopefully
a not married one husbans can be such a downer.
And when ya wake to a warm beautiful creature by your side.
And the first thought that comes to your mind is i wonder whats for breakfest.
Then ya probaly cant read the menu to start with and desserve
to have a oversized weight lifter re arrange your ribs.
Im a southern man once means several things non of which means im normal.
And this morning finds my yerning for a trip and widespread mischief.
My amigo had vanished after are trip south of the boarder I remember saying
to myself as i watched him running naked across the dessert being chased
by the flying monkeys he was surley seeing after his consumption of a foreign substance
There goes a fine american.
I would have ran after him but but i didnt want thoose things to turn there attention to me
I herd they had a thing for southern actscents.
And theres nothing worse than a bunch of horney flying monkeys trust me
Ive delt with this problem befor.
and being it was happy hour i knew my slightly insane amigo would understand
in all his naked glory.
Besides I left him some sneakers and a sixpack.
And kept his credit card for safe keeping.
Naked men have no place to keep credit cards and I figured he was in no state to handle
So as i sit behind the wheel ready to to get lost in the madness of fast food and
the ant hill of insanity that is wall mart i turn my thoughts to vegas.
For where would a lost nude slightly insane person run to and feel at home.
I had turn the music up to drown out the sound of whoever was in the trunk.
I figured if i had put sombody in there in a drunken moment.
It had to be for a good reason.
And so with slightly hungover mindset are road begins.
and so with that do the games also.
And i figured hanging around with a cops wife wasnt the smartest idea.
That and im allergic to bullets.
My muse and 16 year old spirtiual advisor had phoned me to say that.
I probaly needed to Invest in the spirt of Jack Daniels today.
And hey she had went to church more than once so who was I to argue.
With a five five spitfire by the name of tinker.
so with A unknown companion in the trunk not helping my hangover i was off
to the races Untill next time kiddies.
Adios and im off to find my amigo.
Madness, the Hatter blinks.
Madness, Oz's link.
Repercussions of concussions.
Madness was Portnoy's complaint**,
Madness must reciprocate!
Hallucinations filter by....
Leary* winks at Dali's eye.
A house lands on Dorothy's thighs...
Chicken Little wanders by.
"Madness," Hitler's honcho’s sneer.
Madness splices genes with fear.
"Lobotomize!" becomes the cheer.
Kellogg’s* enema's find waiting rears.
"Are you the ass? Or is it me?
Have I ears and a nose? What do you see?"
"Hehawww," said Pinocchio's friends.
"Heeehaw," said Darwin* back again.
Round and round went Steven Hawkings*.
"Madness," said Lenore's raven* squawking.
"Madness," said Einstein* in a blink.
"Reciprocate!," said the missing link.
Reference Poem Knock Knock by The Archaic Poet - topic madness
* Art by Salvador Dali
* Portnoy's Complaint by Phillip Roth states
if you know you are crazy than you must be sane.
* Timothy Leary explored LSD and other hallucinogenic drugs.
* Kellog [of cereal fame] proposed enema's as the cure to
all health ills, plus loads of sex!
* Darwin proposed man evolved from apes.
* Edgar Allen Poe was mad when he wrote The Raven.
* Einstein had aspergers syndrome a type of
* Steven Hawkings is a wheelchair bound scientist who autism.
extrapolates on the edge of mathematical reality.
I do not know?
There you go again doing things that you are not suppose to be in and then you look at
me like oh i'm so sweet if you only knew I can be a freak without showing it. Here they
go listening to the rumors but i'm your friend so in the end I know that they are true.
How could you do that with him and her and they were on the ground you were pretending to
pick up gum? You need to be safe, making out with strangers girl I aint no saint but god
what are you doing? I don't want to see you years from now telling me you got aids, I
worry about you and I feel like your special so I even wrote about you come on look how
much you mean to me. You like him I get it but how many other guys have you liked in the
past. He's your only, he's a phony make sure he's not just in it for the prize because
girl you never know some guys are. It's the truth and you need to listen, I don't mean to
sound bossy but soon enough your name is going to be posted on all the bathrooms walls.
Telling things that you haven't even done yet. But you will front about it, Lie again.
Telling everyone it's happened how do we know what's real or fake. I love your
personality I wish I could steal it, Your loud, and flirty, daring and smart girl you got
too much heart to be showing it to everyone who wants a sip. this is for all the nasty
girls out there who think I don't know what i'm saying just ask anyone of them who are
dead now or are on the streets prostitiuting. Don't be afraid to be a freak it's healthy
but sometimes it's better when it's secret closet freaks have more fun.
On entering this contest I have to admit
The fame it will bring me when I push "submit"
Is all that I'm after - my name in bright lights
The kind of attention I earned with my writes.
I used to get noticed for walking in late
To school, then to jobs, and even for dates
My family picked up on my one loud defect
And thought they could fix me - no disrespect.
They told me that dinner would be served at five
When seven was really the time to arrive
Two hours they gave me to help cure the curse
But of course I found out and the problem got worse.
Right now I'm supposed to be cleaning my room
Instead, I am writing, ignoring the broom
My shrink says that tardiness is a cry for attention
I'll clean my room later for an honorable mention.
So you want to get to know me, ok, well here goes.
Most of it's in my poetry, but I may have left something out, who knows?
For the last twenty years, I've been wearing Nike high tops that are black.
They're alot easier to clean then white ones, that is a definite fact.
My friends all seem to like me, and I greet them all with a big smile.
I've met alot of them through a life of partying, but now thats been over for awhile.
My favorite book is the bible, because whenever I read it I learn something new.
My favorite movie I couldn't really tell you, since I have seen oh, quite a few.
My favorite song is from Tim McGraw, it's "Live Like You Were Dying"
In a funny kind of way it refreshes my soul, and I usually end up crying.
Favorite singer I don't really have one, so I guess it would have to be myself.
Because I just love it when I sing all the words, and don't need anyones help.
My hair is a dirty blond thats straight,short and very fine.
It doesn't have a single curl, and I know it's all still mine.
My favorite shampoo is Pert, it leaves my hair so silky smooth.
With the fine and thining hair that I have, it's the one I prefer to use.
My favorite food is pizza, but fresh baked bread is my favorite smell.
If I had a food I'd eat everyday, that is the one that would put me through hell.
I have everything I need,with only a few things that I dislike.
The only thing I want or really need, is the love of my loving wife.
Contest:All About ____???
“O commercialized corporate franchise”
Thou that holds illusions in selling lies
Max out your credit cards
Lenders be holder’s lords
Forfeiting all bank notes as owner cries
“O commercialized corporate franchise”
My babies wonder about Christmas guys
My babies’ futures be scared
Must obey corporate lords
“O thou commercialized corporate lies”
Just commercialized greedy Xmas rush
Souls like zombies of the corporate thrust
The X of the Christ
O Love’s sacrifice
“In commercialized corporate we trust”
For Commercialized Humor contest
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire
This's the world of dreams and
Where I think ev'ry that reels,
After a thousands times,
would as same beliefs things
Is it a mere dream?
In late December I'm snuggled here in bed
Resolution making whirling in my head
There are those pounds I wouldn't miss
But if I don't lose them I'll just be pissed
To study French would be cool I'll bet
Heck, I haven't even mastered English yet
I really vow to spend much less on shoes
Scratch that..make it - much less on booze
I really need to spend more time with friends
Naw, to many with whom I must make amends
Forget it-I think I'll just go back to sleep
And just use last years list I didn't keep
For Carolyn's Resolutions contest.
Ain't a word, you said.
but it takes a daring gust
for things start to be.
Satan in my bowels
All I can say is 'ow'
Cringing and churning
My biscuits are burning
I’m praying for relief
Some sort of lanolin leaf
Wondering why I wasn’t born
Before the devil had horns
Squatting in the bush
Mourning my tortured tush
Asking when trees portend
Charmin is our friend
So if you hear me cry
Shouting Jalapenos must die
Remember that camping is fun
Except when nature’s on the run
They tried to make you go to Rehab...
Shoulda' packed your bags ta' Rehab...
is a spoon
that you can bend
with your mind.
It depends on psi
X or Y
a paranormal opportunity
or a wild talent
of psionic penmanship .
Stare at the pattern
on the handle
as you imagine
either roses or unicorns
are emblazon here.
So much the better
as your mind
bends the words
and the metal obeys...
Spoon begins to tremble
there is no knife
to run away with.
like an empty plate.
a bent spoon
with squeezed letters...
For thoose of you who may not know.
Just call me gonzo I write the absurd for life is insane and sometimes
it takes a madman to speak the truth so very clear.
I write for the broken vacant faces that have lost all hope.
To the dreamer who's well is slowley running dry from everyone
telling him to stop wasting his time.
I write like a endless highway fueled by whiskey and wild women
every adventure leads to pain but life is pain and i love in spite of it.
I thirst for every unseen mile the desert my brother it's people dwell
in the spirt of the west the opium parlors and brothels spirt still linger.
I write with a hint of danger and a promise of disaster.
Im a blues player whos trying to out run the devil.
Im a outlaw riding to cross the border a woman looking to the
empty range for my return.
I write because I breath in a world were the creative air has gone
The bottle sits apon table and I welcome any strangers company
I just rather that stranger be a warm woman instead of a
unfriendly amigo who is a little jelouse.
Write to be more than just part of the highways landscape.
Some may call me crude crazy insane some even vulgar and
liar and thief.
But aside from thoose compliments.
No matter what you may call me.
Dont ever forget to just call me gonzo.
hell was other
wayward wit and
the green of life,
until the light
was left to right,
hell was other
fraught with that,
that we applaud,
aimless aims and
the truth in truth
we soon forgot,
hell was other
I am looking right at you and you don’t even know it.
I will deter your intent and throw you off a steep cliff.
But in the air will be my snuff and gruff you can sniff.
Eventually I will have some sort of mercy of just a bit.
Surely we are above empowering manners of tat for tit.
Maybe I’ll light a scented candle and blow you my whiff.
Or maybe I will strand you grounding your bones to stiff.
Opposed or decomposed and still composed I won’t quit.
Inside or out,
I’ll throw down.
I am the clout.
Don’t mistake my identity,
Either or, it’s your eternity.
® Registered: Ann Rich 2009
Any pretty woman turned his head
He liked them all so it is said
Then one day to his surprise
They no longer caught his eye
His sexual desire totally died
I wish the world was made of cubes,
Four flat sides and a top ~
For I cant stand the slippy things,
That tend to slide or flop.
From piles of paper falling down
Upon my dirty floor ~
To odd shaped bottles and fans I have,
Like one gigantic junk drawer.
But if the world was made of cubes
sitting in neat stacks ~
Then things would not fall over things
And this place wouldn‘t look like crap.
In my quiet times I often try,
To remember places I've been.
To recall folk I have passed by,
And sights that I have seen.
There is nothing wrong with my mind,
Sometimes my memory is quite refined.
I think it's filled over many a year,
With so much junk, nothing seems clear.
So, I made up my mind to write it all down,
To recall it all caused me to frown
It started like I was in the dark,
A memory flared, I was in the park.
That day in the park was just the lever,
I found my mind was as good as ever.
Tho' times and places got out of line,
I wrote it all down, now wasn't I clever!
I'm nearly at the end of my story,
A journey I'm glad that I took.
For my grandsons to read in years to come,
I'll call it Granddads Book.
© Dave Timperley 2012.
not sure how she got here
only know she needs to leave
underneath the stranger
my arm numb; asleep,
mouth a desert.
a hundred dead cigarettes dance my tongue dry
princess of night
exposed by light.
get me out of this;
another dreaded morning mess.
along with my will.
I swore never again;
the lie is half the thrill.
I needed some time, some space to think
And it was either take a walk or drink
And since I knew drinking would solve nothing
I put on my shoes and I started walking
The wind blew the chilly air
Through my unkempt locks of hair,
But I hardly felt the biting cold,
Walking with memories warm in my soul
The street was dark, cold and silent
It was funny the places where my mind went
While I slowly walked across the blacktop road
No destination in mind where I would go
It's funny the things you will remember
I recall a day in mid-December
And how suddenly, nothing seemed the same
After that man at the door called my name
I followed him into a secluded office
Where he would tell me his diagnosis
And suddenly I felt my beating heart
But the rest of the world had just stopped
I felt a hand in mine get tighter
I don't think the room could have been quieter
I shook my head in total disbelief
Too numb to feel anything, even grief
The question asked, "What does this mean?"
But the answer didn't mean anything
My head too fuzzy, my thoughts too jumbled
I turned to my love to speak, but mumbled
I don't remember what else he said
Because of the swirling thoughts in my head
It took three days before I could even think
Which led me to tonight: walk or drink
So I walked and I thought and I truly remembered
Dreams of the past, love treasured forever
Friendship and laughter, sorrow and pain
As though I was reliving my life over again
Little things that I'd sorely taken for granted
Things that didn't happen the way that I planned it
Promises made and ones that were broken
Love that was shared, love still unspoken
The frosty air filled me with a sense of renewal
Inside my soul was fighting a duel
The angel, the devil, both battling demons
Inside of myself I fought to redeem them
I don't know who won the ethereal battle
And I'm not sure right now it even matters
Where once I believed everything for a reason
I'm finding that harder and harder to believe in
I'm stuck in a puddle of mud,
unable to make a quick decision...
whom should I choose from among
others who have been so noble and kind?
More than a name comes to mind:
Linda, Carrie, Deborah, Catie, Rhoda, Danielle, Charmaine and Karen...
please don't be envious if I choose Carolyn!
You all are beautiful sweethearts, and I wouldn't sell you for a song!
After my day closes in, I check my soup mail...and there they are
those wonderful names flashing on my computer's screen,
and dazzling like precious gems in a crown! Many more should be
mentioned, highly praised and underlined with a marker:
Andrea, Emy, Joyce, Constance, Iolanda, Elaine, Laura and Carol.
One thing I can attest, nobody is greater than the other,
because they all have captured me as I have caught butterflies
with features so distinct and feminine as heroines of modern times!
Carolyn, be dazzled and feel proud, if not hysterically happy;
and if my choosing is fair, why should there be any contention,
or envy among them...I am pretty sure that they have secret admirers,
who in the same manner of awe and respect, constantly worship them!
Cheer up ladies, I have mentioned you all in my praise poem,
but only one gets this special rose...I hope they will send yours today!
I love you all as I love Carolyn for her honesty and graciousness,
then why don't you congratulate her and deepen your admiration?
My praise poem is dedicated to Carolyn Devonshire
living in Florida, USA
the pain of being human
can be negated
in a steady supply, i might add
there is nothing worse
than waking up
out of beer
and being human
I do not know?
I hate it when I'm
told to do
This damn thing
And I hate it
When I don't do it
And am made to
feel a rat!
So what is it that
I hate much more
To do or not to do?
The former is within myself
The latter within me, too!
Here’s what I’m thinking now
at the end of the world:
There are no atheists in foxholes—
no theists in politics.
If knowledge is power,
and power corrupts,
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero?
Does it matter that I didn't’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
There’s a poetry reading tonight
whence I’I'll chide other poets
who don’t sit alone.
I won’t bring up death
but I might have to breathe,
even into a mike
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo
maybe even a wince or two.
Just maybe I’I'll talk about love
and how following your heart is like following a dog—
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs).
But how many times have I used that line
since the story I wrote about you,
a witty and sexy and fictional you?
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you.
I won’t recite it from memory
because I don’t think about you that much anymore,
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me,
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes?
I don’t remember your eyes
except they are blue.
And I don’t remember you,
not even when I smell cucumber and apple,
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed
or when you walk through the door
happy to see me;
even then I don’t remember you.
Does it matter that I don’t love you?
Would it have mattered if I did?
How about a few one-liners
for the end of days?—
Depression is self-awareness,
which you’d know if you were;
I need Ritalin to listen to you,
Lithium to hug you,
Viagra to feel you,
and Valium to sleep.
All you need
is me standing there, waiting at home
with turns of phrase and word plays
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand
but want to buy as much as I can
and how I love celebrity gossip
and detest poetry slams
and find rhyming trite
except when I am.
Hypocrites can still be right,
which you do understand
because you nod at my nonsense
about fighting the man.
But now, at the end of all things—
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read,
and you’re just sitting there, smiling
asking me to pass the bread.
A is for apathy, “You all know you are!”
B is for itching, “Why can’t I have a car?”
U is for the umbilical cord. You never cut from Ma.
N is for neutral, “Why should you take a stand?”
D is for dependent, “Hey, one always needs a hand!”
A is for angry, “Well, why the hell shouldn’t I be?”
N is for nostalgia, ‘cause in the past we’re free.
C is for the ocks ;) who run the whole damn show!.
E is for euthanasia, “When your old just GO!”
And all that spells abundance, in case you could not tell?
Or went to school in Texas and never learned to spell.
I turned on the water sprinkler under the Weeping Willow
A fine stream it did spray
The tree was lacking the nourishment that it gets from water
For it has not rained much in many days
As I was working in my kitchen and viewing the scene
Along came a male Red Cardinal
On a rose bush he did preen
Just close enough to the water to receive a fine spray
When he was water coated, he flew away
Up into the Weeping Willow and puffed his feathers out
Shook his tiny body as a dog after taking a bath
Then he sat in the Weeping Willow and rested for a spell
Before he had time to dry, a Black Bird
Landed on a Weeping Willow limb
Just close enough to the spray to get his shower today
Very intelligent these birds of the yard
Knowing how to refresh and clean their feathers
Sometimes I wonder if they are not more intelligent
Than some of the humans that have big brains
And fancy hair....
(I'll call it free verse for no other reason than I don't know where else it would fit.)
I’m a man
In case you couldn’t see
I don’t use the word “poopie”
And I’m addicted to TV
I’m a man
Who doesn't have time to bleed
But who still has compassion
For blind, busty women in need
I’m a man
Who isn’t defined by “it”
Though affectionate enough
To scratch a public itch
I’m a man
Driven by real adventure
Falling asleep on the sofa
Still wearing my dentures
I’m a man
A wild stud in full bloom
Waiting in the Jacuzzi
Picking my Fruit of the Loom
I’m a man
Who hates to be mean
Crying in the bathroom
When it’s time to clean
I’m a man
Nothing more or less
A mountain of masculinity
Who never ceases to impress