Long Nill Poems
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Hit Repeat
Written by Rebekah Shipp
June 6, 2016
When this sick beat drops
And you find yourself lost
Bass ALL up in your ears
And your eyes start to tear
When the treble pops your lid
It’s Casablanca all over again
Cause all I hear you sayin is “here’s lookin at you kid”
It’s too fast
You too fast
Flying lyrics off my tongue too fast
Suddenly I’m on your mind in a flash
Suddenly you know I’m here to last
It’s so much fun
Rhyming on my tongue
Like Celeste be sayin’
You better run, run, run
Throwing lyrics so quick
You must be stunned
Go, go, go, you got this son!
So please don’t fight
You know I’m right
I throw ‘em so swift
I’m outta sight
I must be tight
To the left & to the right
Everybody hold on with all your’ might
Cause it just might be
That thing you see
In the rear view mirror, Listening
Staring back at me
Whispering
We try so hard to keep it clean
We Riled up
Toasted up
I’m in your mouth
You know what’s up
So shut up
With that bass in your truck
Tryin’ to drop some bars
With your face in the mud
So please say a prayer for me
At night before you go to sleep
Before you drift & start to dream
Please plug me in and hit repeat!
So listen up carefully
we rollin up & down these streets
your bars are droppin to your feet
You know you can not count on me
Cause I’m the one
I’m still not done
Beats blazin on you like the sun
Yes I have won!
Now you have gone
deep down inside you still want some
Now lets try this one more time
Cause I am yours and you are mine
You think you Cash, then walk the line
Just like in time
As fine as wine
I keep on goin side by side
I keep on goin
Rhyme after rhyme
This is crazy
I can’t stop
I hit the mike
As his beat drops
I hit the stage as my flow rocks
I hit the page
My pen won’t stop!
What?! What?! How can this be?
He does it so dang naturally
His bass so sick
His bass so ill
My eyes wide open
Body chill
I call it null
He call it nill
I call it shrimp
He call it krill
I call it pane
It’s window sill
Now don’t you fret, I got the bill.
And now we done with this at last
It always ends up with a crash
And you got mad cause you got trashed
And now you sad cause you ain’t fast!
Don’t be sad…
TwentyFabelThree
TwentyFabelThree
Viewpoint Of The Fish
.<
Invariably life is surmounted and over come with obstacles designed to amuse
the abusers among the men the users of the clay to mold the old and make them
pay for unimagined hurts inflicted by society when for all the world to see the hurt
inscribed on them my enemy is nill and voided null and jointed separately
intended to become a monument of mediocre missing intentions faltering
commotions ending in so much incidental indentations of the misery of
man. "Well-informed people know it is impossible to transmit the voice over
wires and that were it possible to do so, the thing would be of no practical
value." - Editorial in the Boston Post (1865) This has always been attributed to
Thomas Alva Edison what he Rally said was this “To invent, you need a good
imagination and a pile of junk.” Referring of course to the poetry list of the
CharlaxAndroidSevenOne. The small boy was angry at us the fishermen we two
were men and strong and using bits and pieces of the little ones to catch some
larger for the skillet to add to beans we needed FISH and not just minnows we
could eat. “The fish feel pain” is what the boy said “just like humans do.” “NO”
both the eye and my friend agreed “they do not feel the same as you as eye as
we.” My friend became morose and actually tossed his minnows back and eye
grabbed all my pieces of the fish that eye was using just for bait and tossed as
far into the pond as fish could fly away from me the boy was not so easily undone
and mollified he wept and my friend tried to help him to get over it and frowning
eye was sorry for the day and beans we ate and beans we stayed and then eye
dared to make the complaint. “BOY is crazy we need to eat.” If you want to add to
this meal old man just go to the field and gather up some green onions eye have
plantered them in haste but they are long enough for yew to eat today. Hurriedly
eye rushed between the raindrops to get at the vegetables and then we
smashed the beans and made them into refried. The onions we ate as aside
dish was full of skillet mess
wait
my fabels is long but iff ewe love mee ewe will go now to part two
Overdosing (rather binge reading) thesaurus...
Imagine if ye will
earlier one blustery February sixteenth
two thousand twenty one,
yours truly experienced atypical thrill
perusing pages of heavily laden word book
marking where I leave off reading
courtesy no frills inked quill
(sold to yours truly courtesy original
big bird on his deathbed)
plus jotting down page number
so mundane effort to marry me interest
with me lingua franca (English language)
neither void nor nill
aforementioned laborious literary task
persevered despite forgoing
eating and sleeping might kill
(reading every last word)
hoop ping diligence improves vocabulary
making me maxillary stronger
no matter chronological years
considered smidgen whipping
over third scored Sam Hill
Earth orbitz around nearest star
traveling at (pun one mach two)
warp speed amidst escadrille
whereby accompanying aircraft
eventually zooms into Brazil
housing disproportionate Amazon
rainforest biome encompassing
6.7 million square kilometers and shared
by eight countries.
Even before (the square root of 3844)
years ago exiting the womb
Logophile mine self anointed
nom figuratively feathery de plume
no matter mine cranium
ready to explode ka-boom
I continue to parlay mental energy
like some garden variety harum scarum
and jam additional minutiae
(at thee expense not preserving sanity)
despite very limited (maximum) headroom
to decrease hydranencephaly
the whole hare brain scheme
rigged up with shunted
(think chutes and ladders) flume.
One definite lament
until death doth do me proud
constitutes deficient intelligence
genetically (father) endowed
imbibing cerebral thirst for knowledge
constitutes the lack of photographic memory
nsync with fifty plus shades of gray matter
ofttimes smoldering like dark storm cloud
to retain information I read aloud.
Quite an exciting
(seat of pants) life I did asseverate
less to impress any anonymous reader,
whose interest I did pique and captivate
versus (verses crafted) more so to delineate
quirky passion (couched as poetic endeavor)
inexplicable how to formulate
though no justification be given
hoop fully only kudos to generate.
Laying in the bed beside you, early morning light,
cascades into the window banishing all signs of
night,
your sleeping frame presents to me an appetizing
sight, I'll wake you up as only I can do, with sheer
delight.
You're underneath the comforter because of
morning chill, I gently ease it off prepared to give you
more than thrills,
your sexy thighs define mine eyes they're slightly
parted still, I drape your legs across my shoulders,
zero movement; nill.
My face descends your waist I breathe in deep your
sweet'ning air, the peaches that I plan to eat secrete
a sweet'ning flair,
that trickles just a little we can race, I'll meet you
there, my tongue becomes The One like Neo
leaping through the air.
The 1st lick stirs your body lightly, is this just a
dream? Your womanhood's dessert I'm talkin
peaches AND the cream,
which seemingly's inviting me to your forbidden
seams, you moan and then it's quiet, I call THAT a
silent scream.
The shock is wearing off and now the sound starts
coming out, your legs are softly tremb'ling as my
tongue moves all about,
like surgery most certainly but this aint nip and tuck, I
introduce my special skill, I call it 'lick and suck'.
This means that simultan'eously my tongue as well
as lips, are working hard in tandem to dismantle
your defense,
just like a potent passing game I'm rackin up the
yards, I throw to 2 receivers that'll make you scream
for God.
See now that's what you're doing as we're entering
that stretch, the sun is shining bright outside and yet
you're soaking wet,
sook sookie not a rooke status labels me a vet, I
spell the alphabet which makes you gush all on my
neck.
I latch on like a newborn baby latches on to feed,
you're sudd'nly strong as 20 men, I guess that's it
indeed,
you look at me astoundingly not knowing what to do,
I wink an eye and wipe my mouth, good morning to
you too.
I can only imagine how n'ice e-z floe...
Tubby in the calving throes
breaking free and clear
shepherding, milking, and honing
rambunctious as bovine bris
versus being stymied courtesy
cow - wordly bull aiming writer's block
for drought of creativity.
Asper this instance,
when a dearth of ideas
like a charred bait oven
finds me (a Brahms man) looking Bach
at drawing board and/or the clock
as if inspiration
can be found teasing out
whimsical child like spontaneity
recalling hickory dickory dock
rather than exacerbate
mental paralysis, akin
to an invisible vice grip,
which tension eventually
far worse than bill
lee esse ness, which former
grips with irony my chin,
I try release -
singsong restraint and chill,
ready to whip out power drill
not surprised finding sawdust,
viz of course after numbing skull
sticking head in deep freeze
or mounting temple
on dry ice, without
receiving nary a cavil
lack of creative noggin fill
intense concentration
invariably heats up "thinker"
as if being scalded,
skewered, sussed out
on a barbecue grill,
(which fixed attention),
never ever engenders
positive flow of ideas,
but absolutely ideal
for reducing a molehill
from a mountain dew,
nevertheless within ma mind,
before long prolonged
cessation to brainstorm induces ill
humor succumbing into
torturous mental state
(fall of the cider
house rules usher),
non poe whet
tick dark age,
whar ah felt jill
ted loom min hated
with panic ready to kill...
mice elf (cue Stuart Little),
cuz dem lil
cerebral cogs and wheels
malfunction for more'n a mill
yen times prompting
to scout graveyards
for fresh corpse, and lovely bones
if results rendered nill
jet over to Doctor Frankenstein,
even if aye gotta
hightail to Trans sill
vein ya, unless....
perhaps ye kind reader twill
donate yar viable gray matter tummy
(right after ya die) denny ya will
almost be him morte till!
How... Floe N'ice Tubby In The Throes...
(breaking free of writer's block)
Asper this instance,
when a dearth of ideas
like a charred bait oven
finds me looking Bach
at drawing board and/or the clock
as if inspiration
can be found teasing out
whimsical child like spontaneity
recalling hickory dickory dock
rather than exacerbate
mental paralysis, akin
to an invisible vice grip,
which tension eventually
far worse than bill
lee esse ness, which former
grips with irony my chin,
I try release sing restraint and chill,
ready to whip out power drill
not surprised finding sawdust,
viz of course after numbing skull
sticking head in deep freeze
or mounting temple
on dry ice, without
receiving nary a cavil
lack of creative noggin fill
intense concentration
invariably heats up "thinker"
as if being scalded
on a barbecue grill
(which fixed attention),
never ever engenders
positive flow of ideas,
but absolutely ideal
for reducing a mole hill
from a mountain
nonetheless within ma mind,
before long prolonged
cessation to brain
storm induces ill
humor succumbing into
torturous mental state
(fall of the cider
house rules usher),
non poe whet
tick dark age,
whar ah felt jill
ted loom min hated
with panic ready to kill...
mice elf (Stuart Little),
cuz dem lil
cerebral cogs and wheels
malfunction for more'n a mill
yen times prompting
to scout graveyards
for fresh corpse, and
if results rendered nill
jet over to Doctor Frankenstein,
even if aye gotta
hightail to Trans sill
vein ya, unless....
perhaps ye kind reader twill
donate yar viable gray matter tummy
(right after ya die) denny ya will
almost be im mort till!
analogous to expending precious Air Supply
embellishing, modifying, revising, et cetera
a poem crafted about fourteen months ago.
I take stock and revisit good ole days of yore
quite conscious undeclared state of war
prevails within body (Electric
Light Orchestra) of troubadour,
whereby creative juices did perforce pour
forth as if sung by one man koor;
now he haply seated at his Macbook Pro
today April 29th, 2022
accompanied with Christopher Robin,
Winnie the Pooh, and Eeyore.
Since January thirteenth of this year
(two thousand and twenty two),
yours truly suddenly feels
long in the tooth, i.e. auld,
he whose decrepit body and
gnarled hands ice cold
senility and senescence doled
rigor mortis virtuous vice grip extolled
coronavirus (COVID-19) motherlode
courtesy geomorphology dynamism fold
analogous to discovered vein of mined gold
grim reaper with scythe doth silently infold
(in Old English, scythe spelled siðe)
ore yonder church bell knolled
anonymous beat nickles less,
dime a dozen, day late
and dollar short sexagenarian
dropped out of Culture Club
(any strong resemblance between said poet
whose Grateful Dead head lolled,
and once living person purely coincidental)
death and decay, I lichen to mold
meself finally nill and void nolde
of unwanted excessive fleshy flab
scant personal possessions outsold
to highest bidder polled.
Dead weatherbeaten and fatigued soul
with absolute zero regret
no longer being alive,
immortality impossible mission to connive,
especially when endurance and stamina
took kamikaze nose dive
formerly earthlinked buzzfeeding
desiccated honeycomb hive
in tandem with former anxiety riddled psyche
need no longer worry
his existence perfect example
how hardship did misthrive
death be not proud penultimate quest
since adolescence (think anorexia nervosa)
he did (unsuccessfully) strive.
O Mnemosyne repugn thy persistent nilling
Shield not thine fenestella from my tarantistic spirit so earnestly
yearning
Lift thy scialytic veil and evince those furibund relics from Lethe's depths.
Memories of mother's soft serene womb
Now to me doth arise
Relics once lost to this humble gerontion
Now arise--feeling the sublime comfort
The caring and secure feeling--weightlessness,
Floating in mother's secure inner chamber
Occlude not this noetic myrmidon
Jape not and render a nisis with alacrity genteel.
O Mnemosyne jounce and
Dive through the seiche of Lethe repugning.
Anon, bathe me in myriad visions revealing.
Now is revealed the conception.
What a most magnificent memory!
A silent beautiful explosion of myriad colors
Streaming to and fro rapidly and slowly all
At once--awe upon delightful awe
Vocabulary:
Mnemosyne-Gr. Myth-the goddess of memory; repugn-to oppose/resist; nill-v.t. arch.-to be
unwilling; fenestella-a small window opening in an altar allowing relics within to be
seen; tarantism-nervous disorder characterized by mania for dancing and music;
scialytic-adj.-dispersing or dispelling shadows; evince- to show in a clear manner/to
manifest; furibund-adj.-rare-filled with or marked by rage or frenzy; Lethe-Gr/Roman
Myth-river of forgetfullness; gerontion-Gr.- old man; occlude-v. to shut out/obstruct;
noetic-Gr. Phil.-adj.-of or pertaining to intellectual or rational activity; myrmidon-
loyal follower; jape-v.-to jest/jeer/mock; nisis-n.pl.Latin-exercise of power in acting
or attempting/an endeavor; jounce-v.t. & v.i.-to shake or move roughly up and down/jolt;
seiche-n.-rhythmic occilation of water above and below the mean level of lakes
Go to "Gallery 4" at: http://groups.msn.com/hart2/shoebox.msnw for more poetry by Mr.
David Hart
The pain the curse called cancer or mildew let us pray a prayer for you
Now spirits behind this curse we petition the root every root to meet the truth.
Cauldron of witchcraft cooking the flesh of others we dismiss the powers that be and replace the plant that is planted by the sea tree of life upon every flesh to be healed if Jesus Christ our friend is real dismantle every hand of witchcraft every threat to life for we shall not die but live we will see this request happen by the power of the beaten stripes of our precious Lord a command is made and by his grace Lord give us this day our daily bread your words will never pass away heaven and earth may not stand. Still, we stand on this rock the name that is above all names and all things come forth and present yourself in this room now every spirit behind this cancer comes out every root every power of cancer leave as we place our spiritual hands on the pain and take a breather spirits dismantle the anchor's vehicles malignant tumors all demons involved in this sickness we rebuke you before the judge of all judges in the book of commands we command you to be plucked out of the earth and be planted in the sea you must obey nill and void yourself now to every evil growth dry and die in the name of our beloved Jesus Christ any and all satanic instructions to the body be dismantled this nanosecond all the poisons you gave and fed a spirit of death is charged in the presence of our all-seeing Great trinity God give it up evil spirit through the mouth or through the nose just a sneeze or through the tears of another Holy Ghost fire hotter than hot burn away every cancer cell we claim this already done our decree our petition before the Kingdoms table is granted! Amen and Amen!
for now please imagine generic
fairy tale characters
analogous if you will
to possessing physical, livingsocial,
and three dimensional
corporeal form (at least until
the end of this poem), and compared
to computer generated imagery
makes this request rill
lee not that impossible,
far-fetched, or difficult,
and most likely already
a done deal, hence nill,
null, and void might
stop the average
Joe, Jack or Jill
dead in their poetic iambic feet,
but would defeat
the purpose i.e, kill
and bring to abrupt violent end
my (very questionable)
"FAKE" purpose plus,
disallow me to distill
crazy literary whim of mine swill
culled via injecting
lifelike characteristics
into morality tale creations,
perhaps first heard
as nursery rhymes, drill
ling moral, perchance told
to your own chill
darn in tandem
with Cain and Able
by the likes of
Aesop, Brothers Grimm,
or Greco-Roman myths assume
Chicken Little, Casandra, and the Boy
Who Cried Wolf maybe
owned reason sound ding doom
and gloom alarm, and ignored
at their own peril,
when subsequent "FAKE" fume
issued turned out to be bigly,
yuge fire and fury
actual threat didst loom
(way before Trump
coopted those elicit terms),
and truly aye wonder
no lawyer got
called for said room
errs, which revision would
make them more apropos
for today and tomb
morrow, when generations
of future boys and girls,
yet tubby conceived
in the womb
hence law suits would result
into bajillion dollars
costs would zoom.