Long Pop out Poems
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Now for the final act,
I go over to the broad
lying on the floor
quivering,
grab her by the restraint
and prop her up
so she can watch the show ,
bending down to her
I skillfully
slice away
her eyelids,
she mustn’t miss
any of this.
I kick her mate
into the middle of the floor,
snap my fingers
releasing him
then step on his back
and bring his right arm up
and start twisting it,
as it comes free
my ears pick up
on the horrific howl
being projected
into the atmosphere
by me
drowning out all sounds.
To calm myself
I start gnawing on his arm
with her watching
the whole while,
time for the feast to begin,
slowly I step down
on his head,
I can feel the bones
in his skull start to separate
and as his eyes pop out
the resistance is gone
and his brain
squeezes
out the top of his head.
I turn and stare
at my last toy,
blood and tears
marring her face,
this is gonna fulfill me.
getting down on all fours
I crawl over
and start eating
her left calf,
her rasping cries
drift into my ears
like a dirge
being played
for the recently dead.
I work my way
up to her thigh
then the other leg,
then to her belly,
now in a total frenzy.
I force myself
out of my feeding
and look down
at what’s left
of this pathetic wretch,
I retract my claws
and place my hands
on her cheek and chest
releasing
the glorious rot
that exists within me,
that is how
she shall spend
her last moments,
decaying
in a pile of herself.
Standing
I brush off my coat,
turn to the closest
bloodstained wall
and with a tendril
scribe
“The taste of the masses
has quenched me,
but woo to those
who disturb my slumber
with their malice
to society,
my next message
will be written in their blood.”
As I head
out the door
I hear a cell phone ringing
too bad
the dead can’t answer,
the tale they would tell
could crack the heavens.
I made a covenant with my eyes,
Never to look lustfully at the thighs,
Not to look suggestively at a lady,
Not to admire her pulchritudinous body,
What has happened now..,
I find myself sinning in a row,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
I assured myself not to utter,
Anything of romance as it would be bitter,
I promised to see all ladies as my sister,
Never to seduce,allure them, but sisterly utter,
Everything has changed,
Satan,his angels have my mind mingled,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Whenever I see a lady,I become hot,
My eyes see a beautiful lady,a sister not,
They conjoin the brain to admire,
I find myself salivating, and a phone number, I acquire,
I say I will text her bible verses,
But the conspiracy in me bring love advances,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
At times,am sitted planless,
A lady passes,my eyes pop out in questness,
They make me call the damsel,
Witnessing as I prepare my journey to hell,
Instead of preventing me from sinning,
They always see every skirt stunning,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Enough is enough,am damn tired,
Females have nicknamed me a sex bud,
A womaniser is my new noun,
Leave alone seductor which is my pronoun,
Can't I not live in peace,
Or are they a necessity for being at ease,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Eyes have produced killer kings,
Made them sin with rings,
Are they not eyes that made king David,
see Bathsheba full with beauty gravid,
And conspirated to make her husband killed,
As he enjoys what his eyes reaped,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
How I wish my eyes be lustfulless,
In every last they see,ugliness,
In every skirt around,tightless,
In every girl child creations, bootyless,
For every thighs seen,smoothless,
And for an engagement with my brain to sin,cordless,
Am selling my eyes ooh,come buy them naah!
Dear Lord, I know have sinned greatly,
Fallen short of your glory broadly,
I beg for another chance,
To revive and change for once,
Help me God,let me be prayerful,
As I train my eyes not be lustful,
Am selling my eyes ooh, come buy them naah!
PoetIgweee
River Ethiope has swallowed another big
fish
River Ethiope has swallowed another big
fish
She waves her tail large the size of her
teeth
River Ethiope has swallowed a big
fish
Her hungry is a mystery
feed
Her fangs cold like her broad
hips
She is a regurgitating
beast
chews her cods
slowly
she raises her prey up down
up again and down then up
the third time and. finally chews
after some days in the belly
vomit it prey
stiff
stilled
ill
many forgotten souls lie beneath her. deep
River Ethiope has hijacked another student
Like a hawk she dives prickly
On its prey at a glance sweeps like cyclone and steals
At the brink
of her mouth another
Final year scholar she drinks who
Gone to be with the swim
is gone into
thin air only to be seen
days later on
top of her skin white, stiff still
Eyes pop out.
River Ethiope is a. beast
She never get filled
River Ethiope is found in Niger Delta area
Located in Ethiope East, Delta state in Nigeria
This poem is based on a true life story
With close personal experience
In my university days,
Delta State university , Abraka
5/6/2020
when they met
the discussion went as such
a.“do you see yourself having
children?”
b.”no. there are far too many things
that i want to do in this life. a
child would just complicate matters.
besides, the responsibility! i can
barely keep myself together, much
less prop up a kid emotionally,
financially…ugh, and the worry of it
all…no way. not for me.”
a.”so glad to hear you say that. i
thought i was the only one!”
and one thing led to another,
the birds hung out with the bees &
during the time spent,
she found herself missing that time
of the month,
so, without his “permission,” she as a
free & independent woman,
made a choice.
yes, a choice, her choice,
had been made.
somehow, and though she forgets now
that she is alone again & he is long gone,
the information regarding her choice
came out---
either he caught on, via his own
investigation, or it spun its way out in
an argument, during the inevitable souring
of the may to december.
the calamity that ensued
was unexpected, to understate his reaction
immensely,
for it seems that this wannabe father in
disguise, was just saying what had to be said
at the time,
to get in said lady’s pants,
so that the bees & the birds could hang out,
as they do.
he threw a little fit,
like a child on the playground
who got his ipod stolen &
was running round with tears in his
eyes, hoping that mommy would
come & save him---
“why didn’t you discuss this with me?!!”
he pleaded,
then in his after-school-special sort of
manner, he
got on his soap box & told her how such a
decision should include both the prospective
mother figure &
father figure---
but in the end, when he got down, he realized
that the future son or daughter which he had
led the whole world to believe that he DID NOT
want,
was now gone forever &
so he had to take his 40-250 million sperm that
would pop out of him the next time he got some &
walk back out into the dating world again,
this time with the foreknowledge that
a woman doesn’t have to figure out what he is
really thinking,
just because he wants her to & that
her body is
HER BODY---
period.
dear ms.
roman catholic
secretary sebilius---
are you aware of what you have done to the young women
living within the borders of the
empire, today?
are you aware that your
delusional
christian
“ethics”
have led you to stand in front of young women the nation over &
assert that they NOT be allowed
control of their bodies
in this supposed
“land of the free.”
as representatives of the empire maraud the earth
speaking on behalf of the “freedoms” that women have here,
the drug plan b is stopped from being readily available to
young women &
the fact that we all make mistakes
that we all have impulses from which if we are lucky
we can only learn from in
retrospect,
this is all thrown to the side.
rather,
mr. obama, who “was not involved in the process” of
reversing the FDA’s approval for plan b to be sold over the counter
now marches in line
following mr. bible-beating-bush
in the attempt to gain support from pro-lifers everywhere
by speaking of his own daughters
as if they will ever face the same struggles as other young women
in the same way.
as long as believers in this country have any sway
they will beat their drums as loud as possible
in hopes that all will get in line &
pop out kids like a pez dispenser
regardless of what the financial situation might be
in which a young single mother might have to raise it
regardless of whether a father is present or not
regardless of the young woman’s own future aspirations might have been
before she made one impulsive mistake
for which she now must abruptly halt her life completely
for the sake of
one
more
body
on
this
overpopulated
planet.
it’s obvious that women need a
plan C---
they need to be able to circumvent these legal proceedings
which aim at nothing more than stifling their ability to
gain agency in a world that is STILL
male dominated---
but as such a practice might be unsafe or harmful
they continue to suffer
oppressed within the so-called democracy
where their opinions are supposed to
matter.
a
choice
is not a
decision
that others make for
you.
there are those that think they have a
one-on-one relationship
with the faces on their screens,
they draw conclusions from looks that
they give the camera & things that
are said in fleeting interviews---
these individuals secretly want to be
on the other side of the screen,
standing in front of the mic &
not behind &
when they get a bit too engrossed in their
delusions,
they start to speak about
performers as if
they knew them, as if they knew what it
was like to live a lifestyle, as if they
had an idea as to what it was like to
devote all the energy &
torment to the art &
to swim in it,
to walk in the fire---
with all the habits,
with all the self-destruction that comes,
with all the rage,
with all the attempts at
obliteration, with the great great
egos, with the narcissism that
chews away the structure of the
body, with the reflection in the stream
just begging you to
drown
down
dead &
these people praise
all their lil’ fictional characters
when their favorite performers
hang up the drugs,
they close their squinted eyes &
hail the images of the characters from
their lil’ fictional books,
when they feel that their favorite rockstars
are “healthy” now,
because, quite frankly,
they have become mundane, spent &
useless.
i want my favorite artists bleeding,
i don’t know about you---
i don’t give a **** if they get happy,
if they find the “one” &
they pop out a few rugrats,
move up to the goddamned country &
place their guitars, their paints,
their PC, electronic boards, etc.
all up on the shelf so they can
waddle round
for a restful walk in the grass---
their art always begins to suck
once they start to bathe in their
wealth &
they always start to bloat out & get
fat,
once they replace the drugs with
“love”---
how easy it is to forget the terrors
that you began to speak out against,
how easy it is to lose grasp of that impetus
that made you scream in front of a
mic in the first place,
when no one questions anything you do
anymore &
the red carpet gets rolled out
even if you are just going to take a
****.
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
Duct Tape Will Fix Most Anything
By Elton Camp
It’s one of the most versatile products I’ve seen
Duct tape, whether it’s gray, brown or even green
Any cracked tiles you don’t really need to replace
A bit of sticky tape will hold them right in place
Is your radiator hose getting about ready to burst?
It won’t, as long as you wrap it with duct tape first
And if you’ve got a slit in your car’s vinyl seat
A piece of duct tape will close it up ever so neat
If your throw rugs are always trying to scoot around
Duct tape the bottom to keep them were they’re found
It will hold electric extension cords down to the floor
So that you can walk and not trip over them any more
It’ll also hold electric wires together after a splice
Wider than electrical tape so that it work so nice
If the rearview mirror should try to drop from the car,
Duct tape will keep it from drooping down quite so far
If your brother’s visiting child is noisy as well as cute
It can work quite well to put the odious brat on mute
An envelope it will seal up very secure and tight
In case the taste of glue isn’t exactly your delight
It will easily close up a partial bag of potato chips
In case the bag isn’t one of the type that zips
If the batteries in the TV remote control pop out,
Duct tape will safely hold them in without a doubt
And anytime that your shoe laces happen to break
Just keep your shoes fastened with some duct tape
If the dryer should leave some lint on your clothes,
Don’t need a brush, duct tape works better than those
If your old car has, in spots, completely rusted through
Then some pieces of duct is all you need to make do
If the heel of your sock has grown a lot too thin,
Duct tape will make it just like new once again
If suspicions of your wife’s trust you have felt
Then it will make an emergency chastity belt
But one thing the manufacturer truly does feel
Is that any leaking duct work it won’t much seal
October 30th, 1863
Halloween eve, before the clock turned the day- almost midnight.
The moon just right, full, and nearly hidden behind a thin layer of dark grey cloud. A perfect day for a walk through the cemetery, I thought. Minding my own business, keeping quietly sound, I walked gingerly around all the burial sites reading the etchings inscribed in the stone by the survived loved ones. Wilfred White- 1862-1882 "Here he lay- R.I.P." is all it read. Another-
Dorothy White- 1865-1882 rests beside her brother.
Behind them- two stone nameplates embedded in the ivy-covered dirt. Belonging to- Wilfred White Sr. and beloved wife Emily.
Suddenly, a voice...I heard. The sound of shoveling soon began to echo causing my knees to shake uncontrollably with every scooping sound. A screeching sound that of a chalkboard rose the hairs behind my neck. With the clouds, now completely gone, and the sky even darker, something very scary almost made my eyeballs pop out of their sockets. The moon and stars completely faded out of sight and the sky was pitch black. The shoveling continued and the screeching got louder. My curiosity could bear no more, I had to walk through and around the graves to get to the corner of the yard where the old beat-up cottage sleeps. That is where I heard the noises come from. As I got closer, I saw an old man with a shovel in his hand. Through the filfthy window of the creepy looking cottage, I saw two children playing tic-tac-toe on a chalkboard. Then, out of nowhere, a humped black cat inched slowly towards me, with every step he took did I become more terrified. And I thought It was a perfect night for a walk through the graveyard.
I was wrong. In fact, I was dead wrong.
So, I did the only thing l could do...
I disappeared and went back to rest again...
beneath the stone dated 1862-1882
~The ghost of Wilfred White
A Ghost Story Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Angela Tune
1/8/2022
Wouldn't you rather~
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
Maybe shoot yourself in the head?
Over my dead heart, I'd never want to be a zombie like you.
The sight of your limbs are rotten all the time.
All synonyms say of you looks like a 3 legged swine.
Go ahead and do us all a favor,
hide and stash yourself away from all your neighbor.
I think I'd rather have my eyes stuck with glue
So I won't have to look at you
When it comes to family friends, you ain't got none.
You're always gonna be called the lonely retarded one.
Who could ever love a face like yours.
not even your mother see's pass your gores
No need for privacy when you pee
Go ahead and take a leak and drown yourself in the sea.
Don't think for one second you are irresistible
Love making with a zombie is impossible.
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
The time to kill yourself is at hand.
Slicing your wrist is what we recommend.
Cut your tongue off, don't want to hear you squeal.
Blood all over, your face is no big deal
A sword or machete will only pick up the pace
I wanna see your guts pop out your mid-waist
Contaminated objects is a must
Anything to remove your face of disgust.
The easy part is the best
Once you are gone we will all feel blessed,
The flaw of your existence
Is what keeps us all in distance
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
Close your eyes and die
No one wants to hear you cry
You said you wanted to be loved
believe me~ you're better off unloved
I say do yourself off
Anyways you've always had it rough...
Go ahead and scream
This is not a dream
Now see how you make me feel
All I want is for you to end your ugly ordeal.
I will praise this day of course
Knowing soon you'll be a rotting corpse.
happy valentine ~ TO: All My DEADBEAT X-es from Texas.