Best Misprint Poems
"Be careful about reading health
books. Some fine day you'll
die of a misprint"
- Markus Herz.
Once,
I had a particular problem;
fear of falling. Desperation
drove me to a library,
and found a book talking about
a cure. It read
"cure for falling......" with some
words missing. I blended
together some herbs written in the book,
which produced a concoction whose
color hadn't been given a name
in the dictionary.
I took the drink and slept.
The following morning I woke up;
dizzy. I felt like a balloon
in space. I was afraid of falling
from my bed. Doubting the cure,
I went through the book in the Internet.
My foot!
It was a re-published version of an 18th century
spell book,
which advised on the cure of fear
of falling in love!
I didn't have a shaman's advise on taking
the nasty drink.
I wish I went through the book my counselor
gave me,
rather than healing myself in a cheap,
costly way....
Contest Finalized: 28/4/2016
Publishing Date: 12/4/2016
Sometimes I feel inhuman, like I am an alien trapped in the skin of *****sapiens, trying to fit in. This attire doesn’t suit me-- every act is pain. I look around… They move through life so easily… I want to scream. I want to find language that they will understand. Can they tell my struggle? Would they love me if they knew? I take a deep breath. I protect my cover and lift these lips into a smile. If I let them in, they will shut me in the dark. All will examine, dissect, gawk over. Some already do.
Don’t worry, I want to tell them. I work for no leader; I am no cancer; I pose no threat. I am just a mutation in the matrix of society, a minor misprint. Homogeneity will seek me out and destroy me… or I will soon myself.
It's the life cycle of every special thing.
I am a misprint,
Ink blot on love,
I remain a maybe
Longing for fact,
No speck of lint,
A hand in glove.
Thunder; a baby
Will only react
When you etch
Parallel clouds,
Whistling on cue
To a dead town.
Dream a sketch
Of silent crowds
Becoming you,
This boiling crown
Chews thought
Into flagellation.
Holes in the walls
To spy through,
Seeking a sort
Of bricked-up sun.
A heaven of halls,
All leaving you.
Alliances and Allies
rebuildig from the ashes
Collission, Colapse
Imprints of trauma linger
Helicopter blades, rushing winds
Precious life hangs in the balance
Newspapers misprint the facts
They hav'nt came up with too many bright ideas
Citizens turn their eyes away from evil practiced
And the Wisdom of the Elders is misapplied
It's distinctive the vibe I feel
Completely underestimated is my heart that fights it all
Humble yet - defying the odds
As Prisoners of War lend strenght to one other
Just in hopes of seeing her face again
Besides the picture they took away and burned
It's a wonder he survived the war and remarkable what a offense can occur
Much paitents is what we must have men
But lets draw straws
On of us must become a spy
and its the bing bang boing but not bong ok nor beng or bung
A chicken diner stream is a recipe of combined cream but crossing a work surface is often best using traffic lights, zebra crossings and highlighted roadway maps. It is imperative to firm a very tight organised congestion. With cups to the left and glasses to the right the secret glow of gravity gravy is smiling at the floor. Yet shudders at the arriving sponge. Nodding. Nimble are the beetle bugs. Ooh a ballroom dancing spectacle for earthworms writing in packeted slices. Wow. Earthly eradication ejecting evil evolutionary evidence. But it could be said that dressing very casually is not the same as dressing in a greasy tissue. Fabulous isn't it? Queen gong on a long skinny street picks up a steeple and canters away. A catalogued misted mispronounced misprint of a moonlit mortal. Brighter is the bay before beauty bathes. And a beating bear brings bassist and bongos. Fantastical notions of a citronella cube. Formations frown upon upside down house bricks. And hot housework in leopard attire.whirling. A bun in a jar is neither a jar a bar or a bream in a stream. Straightforward structure strengthened strategy. And a large-scale looking leaking leaning lover. Haha now bake. Hahaha and bring a small frog and a little linguistic fish. Giggle then. Hehe head hornets. Xxxx constitutionalism z that was p y Q reporting on the corner from the facts. X
Zip Code
Contaminated water
For a few more dollars
Immoral power
Zip Code
Red Zone
No loans
Where are the politicians with a backbone?
Zip Code
Confrontation
Discrimination
Forced incrimination
Zip Code
Dirty streets
Vociferous beats
Too shallow to be deep
Zip Code
Higher prices
Thinner slices
This is a major crisis
Zip Code
High unemployment
Super high rent
What! It’s just a misprint?
Zip Code
Clean streets
Cushioned seats
But they're only for the elite
Zip Code
There’s no injustice
They’re reading books by Augustus
And there’s no need for buses
Zip Code
Prime steaks
Juicy grapes
And clear lakes
Zip code
Well lit stores
Carpeted floors
And Bellhops opening doors
Zip Code
For the poor
Zip Code
For the rich
Separation is designed to stir up contention
Aint that ah.....
Oh how very marvellous then. Synchronised shopping in a ship stream. Level out no lever in a gale. And swarm to sale rails like oversized tanks on waves of euphoric energy excursions. When waving rattles around dressed in a dressing gown or a kimono be wise to put on the correct footwear to adhere to the fashion ignited by the carpet stench. For it is never to be wiped nor adjusted the sofa of steam. Stagnant can then. Fortresses of dressed up closets clamouring for fetish funds to enlighten the brain of benign baked branches. But stem no frozen celery soup in a tight fitting dress. Discos are for dangerous driving doughs. And dough is a dough and a dough means to shape shift and spin into an ever decreasing pressurized paste. Generally speaking a display of distinguished discussion is merely an offsetting of informational ink. Dot then. And forms fake fingers. What is that? A misplaced misprint of an error in a mother tongue. How can that be? Why, one should ask the aisle in the supermarket for they are often very very wise. Simplistic simpletons seek spending some. And the others give give give. And all whirl around in circles endlessly. Round and around. Frighten not a ten inch flea on an amusement park. And please take care when buttering bread for bread can be quite fragile and sensitive to the smears. Thanks very much then. And give a bow to a cup. Hahaha missionary muscle of mussels and rice. Hahahaha melancholic melon moving moodily. Hahaha breast of butter. Culinary cylinder coming. Good good good. Now bake. Great. Xxxxx kitchenette z. This is the p y q reporting on the appropriate discussion for an atomised ant in an apron. Z.
If you're reading this, honey
it means the diner is burning,
It's not a typo or a misprint,
but a message:
Witches are wisdom-embedded
women who have seen worse things
than the business end of a newt's behind
I once made a man cry with desire
on a whim by telling him who he was
at twenty-five, I hadn't yet realized
it's really just a trick of language
to be specific
pick the bits of a person, hanging
like snagged teeth on stems
of last night's arugula
reading their cards like tarot on credit
serve the assessment of them
with a side of sugar they'll call it magic,
make you marry if you're good at it—knowing
when to grind the spices is the icing
sin of men or Saigon cinnamon no matter
witches as women, as wisdom get better
in time, in the garden, in the kitchen
slow-cooking rhymes that melt men's masks
over jasmine rice, like loose meat
so the young girls feeding at our hems
can remember the recipe
The silence of the road
intends to pause the observer’s speed.
Unchanged continuity
had a cubic quality.
Presenting yourself to lick salt
before molestation.
The sanctity
stands violated.
The horror thing looms
large,neatly dressed
dancing in your boots.
The path ends at a tree.
You misprint the name
of a tormentor.
Man becomes a beast
in a love triangle.
Satish Verma
"Adam, you done jabbering?
Quit those lips a flappin'!
And you think I wanted to be stuck with you?
Get a clue! Throw me some Brad Pitt!
In fact, Adam, Ima call you Frank...
because oh MAN you sure do stank!"
"And don't you call me Baby!
He was right, you are crazy!
Thinkin' you're going be sittin' around lazy?
You better get to digging in that ground,
digging me up some food before you get drowned!
And you better do it without making a sound."
"As for that Slinky dude, at least
he ain't got no attitude!
And he knows how to listen to a woman,
'stead of sittin' on his duff chillin'."
And Frank (I call him because he still stank)
Began to see me in a whole new light.
In my beautiful Garden, he has to be taught,
After all, God told me he lacked in thought.
And my friend, the snake, by the way... was a misprint
Author made a mistake.
My friend the snake - there was no evil.
He is around in case I need to get 'Medieval'
on this fool Adam (Frank..who has yet to bathe).
"Now Frank, go to the river and bathe so I
don't have to smell your stink, then you can
come back and apologize. Perhaps then we'll see
if I'll let you kiss my feet."
And that is the story of Adam and Eve,
or Amy and Frank, if you please.
*For my chosen Adam, Frank Herrera.
7th place in the "Eve in Eden" contest by Deb Guzzi.
A. Green
I, (and the missus)
pleased as punch residing
at this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania locale,
(since july first tooth house
sand eighteen), marks one year
and better with (on site
service) wash and wear,
but most irrefutable attraction
comprises rental assistance,
when upon the merry month of May
first, the dollar figure outlay
to occupy a single bedroom
(at this low cost
housing facility) didst veer
dramatically downward
from an initial charge,
sans five hundred, and seventy two unswear
able legal tenderloin monies,
per twelfth of Gregorian Calendar,
when aye didst tear
away the page signaling June,
thine checking account reduced sheer
lee no misprint (to win unbelievably
rosy, piddly, and giddy)
one hundred and seventy
seven buck a roos,
yet lesser benefits appended, asper
this bucolic, diatonic,
and harmonic rear
opportunity to espy
white tailed non *****
yule less doe ting mama
belonging to Cervidae family app pear
ring to take shelter in a narrow
(sunset) strip somewhat near
enough from mine
inside perch oblivious
to this mad capped (Alfred E. Neuman),
who whiz stumping for elections midyear
essentially to reinstate
"FAKE" King Crimson Lear
on the throne,
who strongly objects to killdeer
for eats or sport,
and silences those hood jeer
his reverence toward gentle creatures
including near extinct albino blushing zebra,
hooves warp and weave interlinear
within said (postage size
token) plot here ~ 1+ hectare
secluded upon a tract
off the beaten commercial
domain and glare
with suburban sprawl,
a hop, skip and jump fair
lee quickly disappearing
"in the name of progress"
though vanishing wild
life eyes find endear
ring, though thine psyche
wracked with despair
no matter ample (spacious
free) parking, a clear
bonus as well un
limited water usage
and to top off the list donated
up for grabs non-sellable (stales) breads,
cakes, fruits, vegetables
about twice a week doth appear.
we seen the misprint
with a scream
intense and unlike any other
he belts out something foreign
coke strapped under his placket
adolescent Antichock
Antichock outlandish behavior
sins in and out
comes and goes
one minute gone the next
this guy’s foreign sinful shout out
thoughts still racing about
The Antichock Kid
rare poem misprint
rarely come
a misprint full of worth
up for auction
one say's stolen
Dirty hands or a dirty mind.
A dirty action works behind.
What is different if we blame?
If we favour them who can find?
Criminal elements are our close,
Who has a duty to matter expose?
If a person will hide crime, then
Who will feel in society a shame?
Love and affection has more different?
If a killer’s behaviour is misprint.
To work for peace or preference for selfish,
We need crime to punish without any kiss.
It seems hard to wear a responsibility,
We work to survive for decision ability.
A man can’t control if crime is at home,
A man can control if complain has norm.
a stranger ; waiting for primp&promp(ted to answer
me now----) ......... sporadic alignment through/out
decisions made: (!) nothing left to lose (!)
colliding with static carbonated hurdles, leap, leap-
/ back away you little creep, you sonofabithc
pitiful freak /
first to know, such as addition before subtraction,
reward versus [bad girl]
rich && royal cause trouble; pause for the (de)just
ification of law. goodness is confused- is convinced
it's purpose is To Serve _________ everyone.
they've detonated sense [xxxplosion] "destruction
as a form of creation" , from start to finish & back
again, from yes to no to whywhy not.
crooked posture just has this /tendancy to )( turn
me on, knowledge of ____ inevitability :masochism:;
------[genius,likeme,to revel insuch;capability]