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|Your favorite poem|
What is it?
|Posted On: 11/22/2010 3:49AM||View viscera's Profile | #|
Not really safe for work.
There once was a man from Nantucket
Whose male reproductive organ was so long he could suck it
He said with a grin
As he wiped off his chin
If my ear was a woman's genitals I could **** it!
|Posted On: 11/22/2010 4:43AM||View Bacchus's Profile | #|
I have a lot of favorite poems, but this is one of them.
Women Are Hungry
by Dominique Lowell
Women are hungry. They be hoes. They be sittin on
your stoop waiting to drink your beer. Eat Your Food.
Suck your male reproductive organ. Women are hungry. They need your
favorite shirt your leather jacket a house and a car
they just neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed .
And they wanna tell you things. Pretty little things
about the light in your eyes and the feel of your thighs
they wanna shave your balls. Wanna know all your
masturbatory nightmares, about every clit you ever
licked every bum you ever eyed so they can slice them
all to ribbons. They’re insatiable envelopes gawking open mouthed
must have must have must have it you now
need your sperm need your job need space. Need more
impossible paint for another impossible face. Blackened
purple eyes and concrete shaped nails. Puffy crimson
lips. The beaten look, that’s it. Already been hit.
Well feed me. Feed me beer and cigarettes and dead idols
who make me feel like I might have a reason to die too.
Give me war and Coca-Cola and the promise of another
American Chance. Give me another good song to dance to.
Tell me I’m not fat. Tell me my mammary glands are jewels, my
nipples gumdrops. Tell me we can pay the rent tomorrow.
Tell me we are just like John and Yoko, only I get to
die first o.k.? I get to be the one they light the candles
for in Central Park, o.k.?
**** Women. They are such ****tish catfight evile ****es
every one of them. Beware. Beware. They know what they
are doing. Does that scare you? Are you scared?
Women are hungry. Hungry for balance. I been called a
whore so many times I guess I am one. And it’s not you
personally I want anything out of it’s the world. The
world owes me big time. The world leaves me hungry.
|Posted On: 11/22/2010 6:53AM||View viscera's Profile | #|
Born like this
As the chalk faces smile
As Mrs. Death laughs
As the elevators break
As political landscapes dissolve
As the supermarket bag boy holds a college degree
As the oily fish spit out their oily prey
As the sun is masked
Born like this
Into these carefully mad wars
Into the sight of broken factory windows of emptiness
Into bars where people no longer speak to each other
Into fist fights that end as shootings and knifings
Born into this
Into hospitals which are so expensive that it’s cheaper to die
Into lawyers who charge so much it’s cheaper to plead guilty
Into a country where the jails are full and the madhouses closed
Into a place where the mbumes elevate fools into rich heroes
Born into this
Walking and living through this
Dying because of this
Muted because of this
Because of this
Fooled by this
Used by this
****ed on by this
Made crazy and sick by this
The heart is blackened
The fingers reach for the throat
The fingers reach toward an unresponsive god
The fingers reach for the bottle
We are born into this sorrowful deadliness
We are born into a government 60 years in debt
That soon will be unable to even pay the interest on that debt
And the banks will burn
Money will be useless
There will be open and unpunished murder in the streets
It will be guns and roving mobs
Land will be useless
Food will become a diminishing return
Nuclear power will be taken over by the many
Explosions will continually shake the earth
Radiated robot men will stalk each other
The rich and the chosen will watch from space platforms
Dante’s Inferno will be made to look like a children’s playground
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
Trees will die
All vegetation will die
Radiated men will eat the flesh of radiated men
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
Rain will be the new gold
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.
Written by Charles Bukowski.
—-Melanin-Enhanced Individual edited this message on 11/22/2010 9:10AM
|Posted On: 11/22/2010 9:05AM||View Melanin-Enhanced...'s Profile | #|
|Posted On: 11/22/2010 9:07AM||View Melanin-Enhanced...'s Profile | #|
by Sylvia Plath
What a thrill ——
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of hinge
A flap like a hat,
Then that red plush.
The Indian’s axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they on?
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
Kamikaze man ——
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Darkens and tarnishes and when
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump ——
|Posted On: 11/25/2010 8:34AM||View viscera's Profile | #|
The Raven, man
I’ve heard so many, it’s just its flow..
|Posted On: 11/25/2010 4:04PM||View KING KING KING K...'s Profile | #|
|Posted On: 11/25/2010 4:09PM||View Chuck Diesel's Profile | #|
Chuck Diesel Posted:
Here Chuck, I wrote a poem for you. It’s a haiku.
|Posted On: 11/30/2010 6:58AM||View viscera's Profile | #|
Has to be Solitary Reaper…. or.. The Road Less Traveled By
|Posted On: 11/30/2010 7:55AM||View Aurum's Profile | #|
”...And so it came to pbum that the Countess, who once bathed in the rejuvenating blood of a hundred virgins, was buried alive…And her castle in which so many cruel deeds took place fell rapidly into ruin. Rising over the buried dungeons in that god-forsaken wilderness, a solitary tower, like some monument to Evil, is all that remains.
The Countess’ fortune was believed to be divided among the clergy, although some say that more remains unfound, still buried alongside the rotting skulls that bear mute witness to the inhumanity of the human creature.”
|Posted On: 11/30/2010 2:26PM||View iDavid's Profile | #|
|Posted On: 11/30/2010 3:25PM||View Melanin-Enhanced...'s Profile | #|
That is where the concept came from, but actually it is from Diablo 2.
|Posted On: 11/30/2010 3:33PM||View iDavid's Profile | #|
viscera Posted:Your yeast was thriving
But now it has subsided
Thank you Monistat
|Posted On: 12/01/2010 12:55AM||View Chuck Diesel's Profile | #|
|Posted On: 12/09/2010 12:40AM||View viscera's Profile | #|
|Posted On: 12/09/2010 1:00AM||View viscera's Profile | #|
To a Squirrel at Kyle-na-gno
Come play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I’d a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is to scratch your head
And let you go.Bill_Murray_Fan_7383 edited this message on 12/09/2010 1:30AM
|Posted On: 12/09/2010 1:29AM||View Bill_Murray_Fan_...'s Profile | #|
Waiting for the fish to bite.
Or waiting for wind to fly a kite.
Or waiting around for Friday night
Or waiting perhaps for their UncleJake
Or a pot to boil or a better break
Or a string of pearls or a pair of pants
Or a wig with curls or another chance.
Everyone is just waiting.
|Posted On: 12/09/2010 1:06PM||View iDavid's Profile | #|
Last Night I Drove a Car
not knowing how to drive
not owning a car
I drove and knocked down
people I loved
...went 120 through one town.
I stopped at Hedgeville
and slept in the back seat
...excited about my new life.
|Posted On: 01/05/2011 7:10AM||View viscera's Profile | #|
big love for this, 2nd best Plath poem fo’sho. I do a pretty fab Plath impression and all.
but maybe Sunny Prestatyn/The Whitsun Weddings by Philip Larkin.
|Posted On: 01/06/2011 10:36PM||View lolbronnih's Profile | #|