on why most poet’s brilliance isn’t discovered until after they die
September 26, 2008
our words as awesome as they may be
the pages we color with melody
nothing we do will ever hope to seem
as poetic as passing to death
most permanently
au wiedersehen
September 10, 2008
Stormed shadows crawling
Across nearly frosted lawns,
The passage of time.
inspiration - once a necessity, now a mere luxury
August 22, 2008
mud
sweat
beers
the many words they help to conjure
rides and runs and
bitter cold
with blue sky - and snow
benches dedicated only be filled with you
- together
street lamps lonely and frozen
out of place
off the grid
mysteries
water balloons shot at distant trains
epic battles with snow balls
with fevers
overheating and overeating
the “phew!”
the proud
the in-betweens
and you
muse you are and muse you do
now life can be lived without you
because if your sole purpose in life is to produce cotton and you don’t - consider your life a failure
July 31, 2008
whether you are aware or not
my ability to write
epic poetry of love and life
has been reduced
to that annoying little whine
coming from the breaks of a ‘57
chevy station wagon
stacked with a whole house’s
worth of furniture
mattress
desk
rocking chair and all
up to the top of the
cottonless cotton tree
and almost as sad
haiku about people writing poetry as comments
July 10, 2008
are you serious
writing poetry as if
comments aren’t ’nuff
things that made us famous, but you’re still nobody
June 18, 2008
all too many people
shy away from the topic of poo
out of fear of offending
their mothers reading
their works when they finally
publish their own book
someday
the sieve can address it all
from rape to cannibalism
when we want to say pants
we say trousers
if i say trunk, i mean both
the ass of the car
and a garment to cover your ass
whilst you swim
i have boldly gone where you
have not
the deep has never challenged me
hover, and hold
squatting will keep you from having
to squeeze
but dont fall in
or you’ll become famous
you nobody.
sometimes the reason your poetry sucks is the etymology (eat, my, logic - literally) of the words therein
May 6, 2008
billy the kid next door
rueben the sandwich i love
but my oh my i despise the rye
billy rueben makes me baby yellow
frank billy’s dad
incensed how i feel around him
why are stupid people so mean
frankincense fit for the king of kings
poe was dark and filled me with fear
tree three stories high i climbed as a child
till i fell and hit my tailbone but did
no lasting damage to my bottom
poetry ideas not prose but we dont know why
anyway
frank is totally incensed at the beautiful words
billy could use to write poetry about his awe-filled
thus making it beyond aweful
regular rye wrapped rueben
Roger Mugs
rcribay
Ned
timsaslacker
joshuagrace
Julio Chapluzki
freakynewchild
Poeta Maximus
David X. Hugo
