Pulp Poems - Poems about Pulp

We all need sun, O white pulp Pineapple and soft light, mango Me first, then the policeman, then Solène, We need a long Brazilian nap, in Bahia or on the fine sand of Copacabana. The tanned skins are full of secrets, Vitamins, pulp and sunsets The tanned skins know our defects, The erotic dreams, you liked so much, I pray my Sweet that...

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Here I am at the crossroads Staring blankly at the inky dark sky Beaten to a pulp and helpless By forces of darkness Here I am lying in the pool of my emotions Clutching at every straw To maintain sanity and stability Here I am a victim of a system That dehumanises her own Here I am cloned from...

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It comes wrapped up in clear mylar, like the ones comic people use, insides faded, creased and yellow, big red letters boast of the west, small rips and tears from ancient hands, and the collectors before me, does not detract from the image: Cowboys in bold, pulsing colors, pistols blazing, horses rearing, sweet girl taking cover behind. Inside the paper, yellow-brown, brittle and has a smell...

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Say You know what they call a burger in the future What I can't believe it's not a burger Because it ain't got no meat or cheese in it It's a bun but that ain't bread as we used to know it either With some or other kind of meat substitute as the burger And the side's have gone as well And don't even get me...

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I've had enough of the usless drivel, hypersenitivity and endless snivels We're more fulfilled I hear so often, yet the fruit on show to me seems rotten! A girl of 9 cut down by a gun, floods of drugs; engineered and spun..' Borderless war, we're doing well.' No father's for many; childhoods of hell.) Mothers are sidlined, (the state...

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How can we spend our entire lives with people who despise our poetry it doesn't make sense to expose the pulp of our souls to complete strangers but that is what we're forced to do because the people who love us the most can't stand the texture or the taste of our inner beings - We're just flowers to them something to keep them...

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a pulp paradox one million matchsticks from one tree and one matchstick burns one million trees 2019 August 19 *3rd Place* Tree Themed Haiku ~~Tania Kitchin...

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IV. As the werewolves all funneled to that narrow gorge, the brush was pulled away, revealing a cannon’s bore, the beasts were to furious to see they were caught, Bob pulled back on the cord, fired silver grape-shot. Small spheres of silver shot out like a big shot-gun, carpeting the eight monsters in their frantic run, the beasts were thrown backwards, the...

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III. He wore a necklace made of dozens of vertebrae, whether they were human or not, nobody could say. Rick looked down at the dead man but still showed no fear, said,”Tell me why we shouldn’t just kill you right here?” Several thugs stalked forward, Sol shifted his aim, said,”They may get me but you will die all the same. There’s no...

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II. When drinking one noontime broken Bob got a glance at one of Rick’s men, a thug named Dorado Vance, but what caught his attention was the bastard’s hat, in the stage he had seen the miner wearing that! Stumbling from the bar, a quick path did he beat, could it be these banditos were also the beasts? The though of such...

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I. Bob Harney was riding upon the evening stage, worried they’d not reach Pelltown before light did fade, he hoped they didn’t have to spend the night camping out, they’d heard the Arapahos were raiding around. The others in the stage gazed out on the sunset over Colorado mountains, it stole the breath, even when it went down, backlit peaks in dark...

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Pulp fiction had nothing on him. He was a man’s man. A protagonist of his own making, self-reliant, and self-assured. Marlow kept his wisecracks to the bare minimum when meeting a new client. Dames were not as compliant as they used to be, and they carried their own derringers now. More dangerous than ten years...

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fresh pulp of orange score slice peel from bitter rind — eyes and nose sweet sip 3/12/2018...

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are you a robot? does your mouth flap open and closed, but you are somewhere completely different guts i feel a stir when Im present vodka flavored kindred harsh like my wake up injured ego still mint i profess prone particularly to the idea of kinship yet i must break away from the school, regrets are for simple fools I didnt want to think this way i found...

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I like my orange juice with pulp So every time I take a gulp I swallow strands of fruity flesh, Pretending that it’s just-squeezed fresh. When all that pulp is strained away, It loses some of its cachet. What Nature’s chosen to produce, In fruit, should show up in its juice!...

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