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Sacrelicious Jul 2012
Half eaten corpses
and the monster's
still hungry.

High, as well.

Cast down,
to the brim-******
side of mind.

Hannibal's House Of Cannibals
are out, for a night on the town.

An all you can eat
pedestrian buffet.

Is just a
munch-munch-munch
away.
Mike T Minehan Nov 2012
Whatever you do, keep smiling.
Be nice to everyone and stand up for your rights.
There are many paths to the top of the mountain
but few of them are on the map.
Keep running, never give up,
and watch out for the seriously weird.
Avoid psychopaths, if you can recognize them,
be polite to witches and warlocks, eschew cannibals,
beware of the hippopotamus in heat,
don’t drink the second bottle when dancing the Funky Chicken,
and only massage someone without
pimples or hairy legs.
Never give up and keep smiling.
It's a hard life, it's a beautiful world, life's a *****,
it's great to be alive, life is nasty, brutish and short,
don’t give up and keep smiling.
Everyone is a guru but ignorance is everywhere,
and don't mix hallucinogens with depressants.
If someone tells you that they're honest,
treat them with the greatest suspicion.
Live to the limits, we're only alive once,
and that's just as well, because
imagine if people you didn't like were immortal.
Keep smiling, never give up,
always hawk to windward,
and never leave your underpants or ******* behind.
Everyone's equal but only the strong survive,
especially when they take from the weak
because what you seize is what you get.
The meek shall inherit the earth,
but the earth that they inherit will be of
poor quality with no mineral deposits.
Party lots, work hard, never give up, and keep smiling.
Don't work so hard you don't enjoy yourself,
remember that the bird is on the wing,
then it falls off its perch and becomes
a miserable pile of feathers and feet.
The fast lane is the best lane
but it's very smooth and slippery
and there are no road rules.
Watch out for lawyers. Seriously.
They put the devil in the details
while their hand is in your wallet.
Everything comes to you if only you can wait,
but this takes too long.
Clean your teeth, obey authority,
except for arrogant *******,
and don't forget that love and pleasure are
most important, despite what anybody else says.
When you panic, other people will panic,
which is good, because
in this confusion, you can make your escape.

Mike T Minehan
Sketcher Mar 2019
Hey there Delilah,
What's it like in your ******,
I'm a thousand miles away,
But girl, I smell that **** from China.
Yes, I can.
I've got a nice white mini-van,
Lemme tie them hands.

Hey there Delilah,
Don't you worry about the distance,
I will be there in a jiffy,
Give this song another listen,
I'm by your side,
I came fast and now I'll slap your thighs,
And cover your eyes.

Oh, you've got some nice tiddies.
Oh, I'll give you STD's.
Oh, I'll tie you to a tree.
Oh, I'll ******* till' you bleed.
******* till' you bleed.

Hey there Delilah,
You know my **** is getting hard,
But just believe me, girl
Someday I'll let you out of this here car,
We'll have it good,
I'll have your life, you'll have my wood,
Just like you should.

Hey there Delilah,
I've got so much **** to say,
Why write you ten thousand songs,
When I could rub your **** all day,
I'd rub it hard,
From house, to school, to pool, to plane, to yard,
I'll leave some scars.

Oh, you've got some nice tiddies.
Oh, I'll give you STD's.
Oh, I'll tie you to a tree.
Oh, I'll ******* till' you bleed.
******* till' you bleed.

I wish upon a summer star,
****** strings for my guitar,
I think that's gross so I must be gay,
My friends will all make fun of you,
Degrading lies like, "You're a Jew",
You'll try to run but I will make you stay,
Delilah, I can promise you,
That one and one always makes two,
And two people create the greatest games,
Great ***** games!

Hey there Delilah,
You be good, and don't you diss me,
Cause, you're the sub and I'm the dom,
And you will be history if you do,
You'll end up in some cannibal stew,
The liver to swallow and the skin to chew,
Doing like cannibals do,
Like cannibals do.

Oh, you've got some nice tiddies.
Oh, I'll give you STD's.
Oh, I'll tie you to a tree.
Oh, I'll ******* till' you bleed.
******* till' you bleed.
idk man... just roll with it...
Sally A Bayan Aug 2018
Ask...and you shall be given answers
seek...and you'll be told where to look
knock...say, hello?...hello? hellooow?
a voice named siri replies:
"is it me you're looking for?"
i think,
the eyes, the mind, even the heart, need
clear, goggle-like glasses, for 20/20 vision,
to grasp, to discern,  be forewarned,
not to be overwhelmed by whatever
data unfolds on the screen

they say, there are contrived solutions,
for life's every complication
search engines are accessible to all
just press specific keys, and, Voila!
surf, play...easy games, easy friends
but, can they really answer all questions?
every human question?.........like,
do elephants really cry? how did it occur
that they have excellent memories?
is Timbuktu modernized now?
are there still surviving cannibals?
will the remaining Bee Gees member,
tell us how to mend a broken heart?
do rosicrucians really possess secret wisdom?
what happened to you and me?
how do i save myself from emotional vampires?
how do i cook pad thai?
...and how do i get you out of my mind?
why does the rooster crow after midnight
how does logarithm work with poetry?
do dogs have souls?  do they visit their
masters?....i miss my dogs Misty and Tiny,
...and i miss you...what's wrong with me?
God, why do i even bother to ask?

my goggled eyes are blinded by grief
my goggled mind refuses to forget
this goggled life of mine feels empty
and it has nothing to do with technology...


Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    July 23, 2018
.......not just a silly love poem, my poet friends:))
...a piece that resulted from rainy days, while thinking of wearisome issues on a Monday:-]
...............
Andrew Parker Jul 2018
Bones for Breakfast
July 2014

Bones are like peanut brittle.
Gnawed on til toothless,
by us old mangy mutts.
Tastes sweet tender as a drop 'o dew,
Feels soft in a bride's whisper, "I do."
But speaks crunchy crackles of Tic-Tac language,
instead of ******* out bad breath breathe shards in.

Although bones may break,
become buried under archaeologists' noses,
slip through crevices cracked and crumbled.
They were once anything but brittle,
covered only by skin yet to be bruised,
backs yet to be battered,
blood yet to be spilled,
faces yet to witness the history yet to be written.

I do not believe we are supposed to eat bones,
but we break them down into shreds of paper-back tidbits,
consumable by children during the snack time called 'history class.'
Our teachers are creating cannibals,
consuming culture on textbook platters,
but pay no mind while wearing bone bibs,
they leave out the thickest cuts of meat and just eat the ribs.

History is a living thing, dressed to deceive those who blindly believe.
I remember reading George Washington's claim to fame,
"I did not chop down that cherry tree."
But Mr. President, what about your enemies?
Because every revolution needs people to die for the revolutionaries.
Ain't that a sweet piece of cherry lie pie?

I learned Genghis Khan sure got it on with many women,
but didn't read about Alexander the Great's great ***,
much of it involving a same-gendered mate.
Wait, was that a mixture of patriarchy and hetero-normativity?
Words that weren't worth the pennies to print?
Who hired these fact checkers for the publishing industries?
I'll give you a hint,
Learn who has the most to gain from condemning intellectual content and corrupting it with a corrosive lack of social conscience.
As textbook reps tell professors, "Buy our books with cute new features."  But since when was that what made good teachers?
And so, these chapters get served to us on poo poo platters,
passed off to be refreshing as fresh mint pours in for corporations like Pearson Education.

I surveyed the lay of the land in Egypt,
purveying the literature of pharaohs.
Pyramids meant to portray a portrait of powerful people,
not a foolish riddle.
"Who built them," we ask.
But not of curiosity for whose backs broke building.
Its whose bones mummified beneath are made into mythological creatures along with Sphinx features.

I was taught the Holocaust was a unique horror story,
along with the catch phrase "never again."
Yet those 600 pages neglected to educate about the "re-education campaign" against the Cambodians.
Where was I to learn of the Rwanda civilization's tensions and exterminations?
Perhaps those pages were buried in the mass graves and dirt ditches, deserted and desecrated like the indigenous individuals we now call Native Americans.

Tell me more about art again.
It conveys a message about the historical humans experience,
but I think that message got lost sometime in the Renaissance Period.
When men had beards and wore colorful clothing,
but now that is either unprofessional or deemed gay as a bad thing.
When women were depicted full-bodied as that meant social status,
but now they are painted in photo shop with air brushes and slimmed slick.
We've created a glorious new empire of gastrointestinal bypass Groupons, and have either **** out or surgically removed all the bones we swallowed to get here... So, who's ready for lunch?
tues.
exhausted piano teeth mozart pere
gnashing slashing sound barrier
stretching zoology beyond the bird
cannibals in the a-z azimuth

weds.
mirage of red awnings all-night resort
cannibals in the azimuth stairwell décor

thurs.
cold as leprosy embraced
yet somehow curled

fri.
frail departure voice to ****
height hair duck drake
cold as geology young rocks flame
(hidden within the blink of eye)
Spenser Bennett May 2016
Three sugars. No cream.
Stuck inside a 4 A.M. Dream
And there's nothing I can't do
Is the sky really black or just dark blue?

No cars, no souls save preying police
Their lights burn red and scream, "Freeze!"
And the night obliges
For it is not so mighty

Glass half full, still starving
Clouds overmind work their sky carving
Of all my favorite fluffy animals
Are vampires iron deficient cannibals?

The sun soon breaks like an egg on the edge
And the dream skitters light spiders from my head
Eyes pressed to withered pillow sheathing
Is this morning or deeper evening?

Am I waking from the dreaming
Or am I sleeping next to coffee steaming?
zebra Feb 2019
palace of lights caved
blooms through the body
like reality pitted against a comic book
not knowing where life came from
not knowing how it will end
food tubes or road ****

is creation substance-less?
24 carat nonsense,
or pure wisdom?
perhaps bad therapy
for lab animals
and store front dummies

monkeys shudder at needles
unless candied with a heroine syringe
chemistry a science of belligerence and euphoria
pleasure before despair
and than a sea of pain

and a ****;
impaling her

the lushly contoured female
a frictionless exchange of power
for ******* ecstatic death
as her eyes bob and flutter
like cascading echo's

my birth tarot card
**** of swords
her favorite when I push through her
like blood bubble gum
b l o o d b u b b a b u b b le g u m

a **** cathedral of lights flicker spit
guttural diphthong
like a vipers castanets
uterine fire bursts like an appendix bomb
her **** a zoo
******* z o o

i am peanuts worms and hay
her face a mask to hide behind
breath play
sibilant ****
specter or nightmares
shadows and villains aphrodiac

gagged and drugged
hot ***** bound
a big eyed ****
s l u t l o v e

*** cannibals turn me on
her ****** a goddess
a Russian roulette
for shtttty kisses
sploosh
she shot me

cuckoo spit
k o cuck  k o  k o o
twizzles willie milk
in a drowning
moss draped moon orifice
under a shattered zodiac

wrapped in tentacles of night
she turns me on
xyloolyx Dec 2014
yet another year zero
reinventing the squeaky wheel
constrained writing just for kicks
reviving a tragic hero
tabula rasa and leaky spiel
trained for fighting prickly ******
hollowing future and reticulating splines
swallowing nature then duplicating rhymes
only a blank drawing
at a bank withdrawing
funds splashing down like acid rain
workers trashing town with great disdain
fluxing bureaucracy
with ad hoc hypocrisy
go country for old zen
and then
shot glass shopping sprees
statues with haunting verdigris
from target to target
the stupid (never forget)
airport shuttles and toxic puddles
epic riddles while popping bottles
thrusting bodies and a fruity box
alternating current and topic drift
trusting hotties with shuttlecocks
baiting adherent with basic *****
eating that dog in a bar by the ditch
bar all rowdy with many shots taken
beer hall drowsy as closing time looms
far too loudly with identity mistaken
the band had us frankly and amply forsaken
awakening in a ditch as the a-bomb booms
a thousand soldiers ready for battle
at town's end with less depleted morals
worried about the deleted portals
we buried hell well without the cattle
no more long weeks of slicing ****** meat
origins about which they should not care
oh to sell knockoffs to the rich elite
hear their yells and use an odd nom de guerre
the profit and the revenue forecast
**** on the new road
the prophet and the parvenue act fast
pill for the wet load
he had dropped the load leaving pungent smells
in the dark it glowed and lit the deep wells
launching a rocket every four hours
we encounter yet more perplexing times
measuring success with fewer metrics
punching the clocks in tall black towers
changing the locks and the warning signs
altering quarters with newer ethics
cannibals watched while we profusely bled
fine forget it forget it forget it
ingest the capsule to induce the sweat
just relieve don't botch
figure figure figure
don't bereave think scotch
ticker ticker ticker
sounded like it came from someone shady
getting beat to end with some other blend
year to date murders now about eighty
yet today's statistics lie and pretend
fudging the digits to fake the assent
so what happened last week stays in last week
all of those painful jarring sights and sounds
making it all seem to look rather bleak
kept sly with pennies and kept shrewd with pounds
on alibaba we will not delete
separated heads from dark desert towns
metropolis with millions of dark souls
lighting up papers for a rapid trip
necropolis with brilliant harkening trolls
fighting the power in order to strip
their medals that they never earned at all
writing this line here and ******* the fall
straightforward message from a plain green rod
a photographer in obscure disguise
throw him into the main canal and nod
the coffee shop looks banal with just guys
losing interest quick and wanting to dip
touching that shiny pink wide-open clip
unknown underground studded with diamonds
mind-blowing trap sounds burst from the caliph
volume gets higher and heads start to ring
they came in sequence and then came silence
waking up confused in a condo lift
taking refuge in an ugly building
just invited myself into your home timeline
somewhat sublime reciting trifling rhymes
alter rhyming scheme to eschew couplets
now fully mobile and automatic
pentameter schemes and android tablets
tents and suburbs that look quite nomadic
recruited minions for the rebellions
human microphones sans inhibitions
quicken resistance to the man's big plan
invoking the crowd to buck traditions
spell that with an accent with great élan
broken mobile phone texting hexagram
a rapid drop in communication
a postal service mailing vexing spam
token for transit lost at the station
we can no longer go back to the farm
here in the city living these last days
sounding the airhorn and the fire alarm
seahorses as fish and whales as mammals
hard to keep track here of various things
went to the desert and smoked some camels
patient zero died sounding the alert
some will paint dark scenes with exigent themes
paintings so dire that your eyes avert
inverse distance decay in the network
old flags questing through the flood and tumult
of course these rhymes make them go **** berserk
losing sight of sites that house the occult
refusing to eat and wanting to drink
these words resonate with all those who think
utopia fell soon after completion
never understood humanity well
rationality ends with deletion
all the fine stuff just goes to *******
humans emitting alienating vibes
they form foul cliques like pups from putrid tribes
three ships all wrecked up in some unknown land
divulging harsh things and eating raw food
far too many times getting shunned and booed
had all my writings fully blocked and banned
still no dumb luck yet after x decades
recalled old friendships that have long decayed
more constrained writing that will make them groan
some will even see the trail left behind
writing all of this mostly in e-prime
punctuation-free zone made just for fun
lighting dark alleys with a mobile phone
some get all the love while others get none
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch ditch
glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch glitch
kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch kitsch
stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch stitch
twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch
yesterday's blunt stunt went to the gutter
no regrets no threats no whatever man
just like autechre and that song flutter
forget the police just rave on til dawn
**** how darkness has lasted this **** long
ominous songs here still pumping along
exponential sneers and the obscene scene
existential fears lit up with benzine
socially-accepted narcissism
honest thoughts here treated with cynicism
forget all -isms / go back to the scheme
spending days like these sniffing naphthalene
won't dwank to the masses or kiss *****
temperamental peers can go live that myth
experimental stage done and over with
(pause)
*
* *
*

✝ gone to a higher place ✝
Frisk Jan 2016
Chloe's POV:

2 Days Before -

“If I find you camping, I swear to god, Chloe ******* Price –“ Rachel challenges, “– I’m drawing blood. Don’t grin at me. I’ll leave you for the vultures to snack on. Maybe for cannibals too.”

“**** me with a plastic light up gun? How threatening.”

You know when you’re listening to the instructor reciting the rules for the game of laser tag for the nine thousandth time, and there’s the teenager ******* around in the background with guns? That’s me and Rachel, who holds a gun up to my face and makes a reference to the Star Wars Family Guy episode where the storm trooper pretends to shoot down passerby ships by saying, “Pew, pew, gotcha!”

Both team vests, red and blue, are occupied so it’s a full game. Even though we were one of the last people to come in, we managed to get opposite colored vests. Rachel is on the red team, while I’m on the opposing blue team. Only natural since the vest matches my hair color.

When the instructor opens the door, the crowd piles out into the room booming Irresistible by Fall Out Boy. Rachel and I are one of the last ones out, holding our guns up towards the sky as we walk in feeling like we’re walking away from a huge explosion acting like we’re James Bond. As the vocals of the song begin, the red and blue vests come to life beginning the game.

“Pew, pew, gotcha!” Rachel coyly replies, rushing off as my vest dies.

Insert groan here. I roll my eyes, darting quickly after Rachel as my vest comes back to life. Rachel ducks down behind a purple glowing pillar, holding her gun out from behind it to shoot me as I come up the stairs. “Your shooting is so messy, you idiot.”

Someone takes out Rachel’s vest, and my vest is taken out immediately after hers. What a way to start this game. “******* it.”

“Have you even gotten anyone yet?” She yells as she darts off.

A group of kids in red vests come upstairs. I shoot at the vests from the second story, and they glance up angrily at me as their vests die. They invade my hiding space shortly after, and I’m forced to flee over to the other side of the arena into one of the walled-off areas with a hole to shoot out of, specifically for campers and for recharging vests. Immediately, I crash into somebody who drops their gun and grabs my arms instinctively because of how hard I slam into them, pushing me back gently. “Are you okay?”

The short-haired brunette girl I run into is drop-dead gorgeous, freckles peppering her cheeks. As usual, I don’t think before I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Woah.”

“You’re making this too easy for me.” The girl comments, shooting out my glowing blue vest quickly after grabbing her gun and steps around me to find another hiding place. *******, I think, what hierarchy of angels did you come from? Why didn’t I notice you before I walked into this laser tag room?

Right. Because I’m on a date with Rachel. Or at least, I’m trying to convince myself that’s what this is. Five days ago, Rachel kissed me while she was drunk mostly because someone suggested the Pocky game at Dana’s nineteenth birthday party. I can see Rachel’s face coming closer to mine as she chomps down on the chocolate Pocky sticks oblivious to the closeness that I was to her face, and I feel her lips crashing with mine for a split second. It feels like I give her the entire world in that kiss, but she pulls back like it was nothing.

How am I the only one who remembers that?

I have to retreat from my camping spots a few times, but I get enough vests taken out that Rachel is guaranteed to say something like, “Oh, you got a pretty good amount of people in this round.”

Ghost by Halsey starts booming through the arena, and practically everyone must be thinking why a song like this is playing because it's slow at first but it reverberates through the bass.

“You’re camping too? You must be bad at this game.” Brunette-haired princess holds me at gunpoint. "Any last words?"

Again, I don’t think before I speak. "You're hella cute."

The brunette girl's vest dies as I shoot at her immediately after, and she shoots mine out shortly after hers turns on. Her doe-like eyes are staring at me angrily in a playful manner, yet also glistening like stars. There's something about her that makes me feel like she sees a universe inside of me.

The music briskly cuts off, and everyone stops in their tracks and fumbles out. Rachel and that girl get lost in the red and blue blur of lights as the arena starts emptying.

It isn't until I come outside that I find Rachel holding a slip of paper. "What was your name, Chloe? I was Rocket, and I got eighth place."

"Starlight, I'm pretty sure?"

"You got seventeenth. Knew it." Rachel joked. "You were camping."

Focus on the here and now, Chloe. You have to ask Rachel about your relationship with her. Stop procrastinating. Rachel's face drops in confusion as I drop the bomb on her. "Can we talk?"

Max's Journal:

2 Days Before-

Wowser. Felt like just yesterday, I got an email for my acceptance into Blackwell Academy on a scholarship. And now I’m an adult, graduated, with a potential photographer job under my belt.

With events such as graduation, it should feel vaguely melancholic but Blackwell Academy is an eye-catcher in my resume. My dexterity with analog and digital cameras catches the eye of a professional photographer named Jack Rousseau working for Hot Topic, and he asked me for an interview. ME.

When I got the email, I practically leaped into Kate’s room gushing over this rare opportunity to work with a professional. I think Victoria overheard me loudly discussing this to Kate, because she was giving me the stink eye all throughout my ceremony from the other day. Whatever. Victoria will eventually earn her spotlight…in hell. I snorted writing that actually, and blushed furiously remembering I’m on a pretty packed bus. Probably got people looking at me like, “Is she okay?”

The first thing my Mom does when she sees me is give me a bone-crushing hug, and compliment my outfit even though it’s a tank top with a large dream catcher printed on the front with my loose green jacket overlapping the shirt with the sleeves pulled up to my elbows. She asks about Mr. Jefferson, and I think I over emphasize how I’m his star pupil. I’m pretty sure Mom gets it after trying to explain that to her several times.

The house smells like spaghetti, and I’m already drooling like a baby when I walk through the front door.
Then Mom randomly hands me a 50$ bill, and tells me to go hang out with one of my Seattle friends since I must miss the crap out of them.

I accidentally say, “What the hell?” in front of Mom. Funny thing is, she doesn’t wash my mouth out with soap. I must be too old for things like that. Maybe this is what a perk is of growing up, I think.

“Come on, go have fun!” Mom practically pushes me out the door, not before letting me have some of her World-Famous spaghetti. Mmmmm. As I jump into my Mom’s vehicle, I realize I don’t know where the **** to go or who to contact so I head to the first place I can think of: Laser tag.

As I sit out in the parking lot, I text Kristen or Fernando to see if they want to hang out here. Usually, Kristen will text back immediately but there’s no response. Fernando seems to be busy, so I head inside myself and buy myself a wrist band for laser tag alone. Who says you need to be with other people to have fun? I’m an expert at laser tag. They call me the best shooter in the northwest.

The instructor looks overwhelmed at the thirty or so people flooding the room, and attempts to talk at the loudest pitch possible to get everyone in the room to listen to the instructions. Of course, there’s giggles happening somewhere over all of these tall and short bodies so I get the jist of it: No running, pushing, fighting, and yelling. We all know there’s running and yelling going to happen.

As I run in, I immediately head for the stairs as my rest vest turns on. Someone shoots me from behind, and I notice it’s a group of kids. Then I decide to camp out in a corner, at least, until I get caught.

I bring out my gun and shoot out three blue vests on the other side of the laser tag arena. The air gets knocked out of me, plus my gun flies out of my hand as someone falls into me. My hands instinctively grab their arms, pushing them off me when I glance up at her face, suddenly startled.

“Woah.” She says, and I feel like lightning passes through both of us as I let go of her arms.

Immediately, I shoot out her vest, rushing off to find somewhere else to hide. My body is racing with adrenaline, and it’s a little hard to concentrate on the game because I’m trying to look for blue hair. In this packed arena of thirty people, it’s easy to get lost in the blur of red and blue lights. It’s easy to see the lights blend into purple.

It’s ironic when Ghost by Halsey starts playing because the first few lines is literally making me think of blue hair: “I’m searching for something that I can’t reach. I don't like them innocent. I don't want no face fresh. Want them wearing leather begging, let me be your taste test. I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies…”

****.

I find her tucked in a corner, mimicking me. And she’s gorgeous. I’m not sure why I am looking for her, but I am. “You’re camping too? You must be bad at this game.” I jokingly hold her at gunpoint. “Any last words?"

What comes out of her mouth leaves me off guard. “You're hella cute."

My vest goes out as she shoots me, and I shoot her back giving her a playful glare. And then something happens between us again, and it’s that jolt of lightning passing through both of us. The music cuts out, and I tear my eyes from the stranger and run out of the laser tag room by myself.

Once I get outside, I check my texts from Fernando and Kristen. Since they’re not replying, I decide to head on home, but my heart is still beating rapidly in my chest. And I’m not sure if it’s because of the game or blue hair.
Marigold Feb 2012
These harmless cannibals leave no scrap.
Torn bone from seam.
They smile and warmly embrace you.

Old friend, you are opened,
And a myriad of dark constellations are revealed from within.

Perhaps you'll find some peace.
Sean Critchfield Aug 2011
Maybe. Maybe I said it. Maybe.
Maybe I said, “I love you.”
And maybe. Maybe. It was too soon.
And maybe you panicked or I panicked or we panicked.
And maybe we should have waited longer.
For a lunar eclipse to kiss and whisper it under.
Or at least at the top of a Ferris Wheel.
Even soft neon lights of a gas station before a road trip to say… Disneyland would do.
But maybe.
I didn’t wait. And I said it the first time it bubbled out of my chest like mercury and tried to force itself out of the corners of my eyes, shining like mirrors.
And  maybe we panicked.
And maybe you’ll decide to take some time.
And I’ll think it’s a good idea.
And you’ll get around to painting your bedroom walls blue.
And I’ll finally finish that replica of… Big Ben.. made from… toothpicks.. or some ****..
And you’ll get that job for that network.
And I’ll decide to be a carnie, because my feet have always felt so much better on the road.
And you’ll laugh.
Just maybe less…
Or not as hard..

And I’ll learn to roll cigarettes and run the Ferris wheel. And wind up with an eye patch from a freak dart accident in a pub in Scotland. And get sun leathered skin. And road earned muscles.

And I’ll master all the rigged midway games.

And you’ll have a better time in France than the last time and make it back to Greece to see the oracle. And learn to play the violin.

And I’ll develop a keen sense of when to pause the Ferris Wheel to leave the couple at the top just.. one.. moment.. longer..

Or at least secretly teach him how to throw the dime to win her the really big ******* Snoopy.

And I’ll wonder if you ever wake up and look for me.
And you’ll wake up sometimes and look for me.
And I for you.

And maybe I’ll get self absorbed and write the rest of this poem from my perspective.
But probably not.
And maybe one day I’ll go to the fortune teller to find out how you are. And where you are. And you won’t be far away. But I won’t want to intrude.

And then the fortune teller will tell me not to play the game where you knock the milk bottles over anymore because fortune tellers say weird **** like that sometimes..

And maybe I’ll listen..

And maybe I won’t.

Maybe one day, I’ll forget and teach the nerdy highschool kid how to beat the milk bottle game so he can get the frosted mirror with the cheesy rose and the word ‘LOVE’ in cursive for his girlfriend, because *******, sometimes you have to help the underdog  get the girl.

And maybe the gypsy will be right..

And those bottles.
At that moment.
Were some kind of cosmic key.

And as they topple over, all hell bust loose and pours violently out of the mouth of the bottles.

And demons flood into our world in waves.

(And if she kisses him at the top of the Ferris Wheel? Totally worth it.)

And in time, the world would have to notice.

What with the Leviathan coming out of the ocean and the dead rising from their graves and the four guys on horses and all the pesky locusts.

And did I mention the Zombies? And the vampires? And the Vampire Zombies?

And who would have thought that the adorable little fairies would be carnivorous and cannibals and just plain mean?

And maybe it would attract the attention of Aliens. And that U.F.O. you saw that one time in Texas. And maybe the U.F.O’s would attack and fight the Leviathan, which would be kind of bad ***.

And the zombies would fight the vampires and the vampires would fight the zombies and the Vampire Zombies would fight themselves and the Zombie Vampire survivors would find that they had a distinct taste for Soy.

And maybe us carnies would have enough experience with sledgehammers and haunted houses that we’d be rather good at fighting zombies. And I’d be particularly bad *** because of the eye patch and leathery skin and hand rolled cigarettes that I chew on more than smoke. And maybe I’d go lone wolf and ride a motorcycle. Which is also kind of bad *** and I’d do okay considering the apocalypse and all because honestly?

I’ve never been all that scared of ghosts and devils. And the UFOS are busy with the Leviathan and their really is only four of the horseman and we keep a professional distance just the same and the locusts and the fairies are at war, besides locusts don’t bother me, save for the noise.

And look..

I guess what I am really saying is this:

I think maybe I could survive.

And I think maybe I could rescue you.

And maybe we could fall in love.
Bob Horton Aug 2013
From one lunatic to another
One poet to his friend
We said we should go sailing
Ended up sinking in the end
They said that we were mad
And maybe they had spoke the truth
But the way in which they put it
Was so terribly uncouth
So we left them on the shoreline
Waving backwards with relief
We would ride the incandescent waves
So set in our beliefs
That we would reach the other side
We would become the pioneers
We would find the favoured winds
Across that ocean of our fears

We put out of the harbour
Put our faith into The Boat
We paddled with our hands
And handed our trust to The Boat

But now we’re shipwrecked on a coastline
Full of cannibals and rats
We wanted to put a dent in history
But we’ve barely made a scratch
We went exploring on the island
This unfamiliar place
Got lost in a simple jungle
Brushed away the green disgrace
We found a village of the natives
But we had to pass them by
We wouldn’t sell our heads for hunting
We’d rather run away than die
We found an orchard in the mountains
On a fragrant afternoon
But the fruit it was forbidden
Now we’re servants for the moon

We left home making sense
But just found madness on The Boat
We sailed after our dreams
But just found nightmares on The Boat

They say it’s an affliction
When the moon is shining bright
But to me it’s an addiction
And a goddess given right
To wear left handed trousers
And be gracious in defeat
They think we’re being honest
And we are: that’s our deceit
We wander in the meadows
Softly howling at the sky
We tie ourselves to trees
So we can safely learn to fly
I’d say that I’m a better man
Than I ever was before
But I’m still here on the wrong side
Of that ol’ asylum door

We came here wanting answers
Left our questions on The Boat
We came home with the tide
But left our senses on The Boat
Thanks to Alex Patterson for Inspiration
Joy Ann Jones Sep 13
Asylum



In the madhouse
on beds of daggers
we slept like crickets
chirping to ourselves
while they tried their best
to make us cannibals.

The nuns were worse than
lawyers, praying like accordions,
tracking their sins into our soft
wax skulls, wheezing like roosters
when one of us cried, laying the greasy ribs
of Jesus on our plates.

They kept you behind
door number six. I'd go to you
with a stolen key, when the noon
smelled bright as carnations,
when the nights were
more purple than the jacarandas.

You spoke of your father
dead of snakebite,
a clockwork marvel with
his million-dollar suit of skin,
of your mother
with the viper between her lips.

I remember your kiss
astringent with reason
as bitter lemons, and the way
your hair blew back from
your dog-brown eyes like poisonous
smoke from the oleanders.

I thought these things
as beautiful as angels
whispering in the dahlias
when I was lost in the asylum,
when the doctors did all they could
to see that we ate each other
down to the bone.


April 2022
Inspired by the words of Federico Garcia Lorca, and a dream
Carlo C Gomez Mar 2020
It goes without say

marrying into a family of cannibals

is not a good idea

your first argument as a couple

might not go so well
Shane Hunt Sep 2012
Like leftovers from an extravagant meal,
I thawed my heart and put it on her plate-

I'd hoped it would sustain her.

It was rejected with vigor.

She infers that she's toxic:
spoilt soil at a nuclear blast site.


I'm starting to suspect the offering itself was necrotic.
Stephen E Yocum Sep 2013
For several weeks,
I'd been staying there,
Near a tiny village
on a tropic Island
not quite a mile square.

Encircling this place,
water so blue and clear,
As to render you mute,
Even produce a tear.

Mitchener was right,
His tales were true,
The South Pacific is,
indeed heaven so pure.

The people residing,
Once fierce and frightening,
Even Cannibals they were,
Turned docile and friendly,
Embracing a perfect stranger,
Like a long lost, family friend.

Those native people,
to this very day,
Proved to be,
Some of the best
I ever encountered.

In spite of our
language barrier
One old man, age 87
Was in particular,
A special friend of mine.

His few bits of broken
English though meager,
Always delivered,
With the utmost,
Vim and Vigor.

My Fijian I must admit,
Was assuredly not the best.
But as people do in that
situation, we smiled a lot,
Nodded our heads and
Pantomimed the rest.
Though that sounds
a little convoluted,
Strangely enough it suited,
we seemed to get the gist.  

One eve around sunset,
This old Gent and I,
Sat side by side thinking.
Watching water and sky
changing colors,
Way out into infinity.

We stared in silence,
Until the sun did plunge,
Into the darkening Sea.
All alone, just that
Aged fellow and me.
Watching a sunset
Beyond supreme.

The old man stood,
Nodded his head,
Pointing with his chin,
In clear indication,
That I should follow.
Which I did without,
The slightest hesitation.

In no time at all
We worked our way
Round, to the opposite
Side of the Island.

Where upon our arrival,
At the edge of the water,
The old man squatted,
As both of us reclined
Crossed legged in the sand.
And in all that time, still not
a single word was spoken.

After some minutes,
As darkness descended,
Low on the distant horizon
An amazingly huge, irradiant
full Moon, began it's glorious
Ascent.

I had all my life,
Seen that same moon,
From places all over
The globe, and yet,
This one bright yellow orb
Did steal my breath away.

At that moment for me,
it was easy to see, why the
Ancient's held the Sun and
the Moon as sacred.
How else would a person
Living then possibly explain,
Such Heavenly projections?

About that same time,
the old fellow sighed,
Indicating his own,
enraptured amazement.

With liquid eyes,
He turned to me.
Pointing out towards,
That uplifting glob,
And simply, softly said;
"America, You own the Moon."

Even after my friend stood
And silently departed,
I sat transfixed, motionless,
Watching that moon to its zenith.

Where upon, sheer elated emotions,
Of this my journey of self reflections
Began to sink in and I started to cry.

There are times is one's life,
When lessons are taught,
When almost no words
need to be spoke

And the best teacher's are
our own Brain and Heart,
Comprehending, embracing
Life's numerous shared Lessons.
Three months in Fiji 1972
The week before this occasion, I'd
learned form the Fijian School Teacher
on the Island, that three years earlier
an American Peace Corps person had
come to the Island. He having been only
the 19th "White" person, to ever visit there.
This fact being dually recorded, assessed
and verified by recollections and "memories
of the Old Men" on the island. (memories
being their best calendars of noteworthy,
or oral historical events) I was then, the
20th such visitor recorded.

The Peace Corps guy brought a small
generator and upon a white sheet, hung
between two palm trees, a film projector
displayed the first ever moving pictures
many of those young and old 289 souls
had ever seen. Color Pictures of American
Astronauts putting Human Kind's, first
ever foot prints on to the surface of the moon.

"You own the Moon". Is how he saw
it, viewed it with his own eyes, perhaps
that was how they all believed it to be.
As in you go there, you claim it, just as
his ancestors had done 1200 years before
finding and claiming that little island.

No my old, long departed mentor,
we all own the moon.
Third Eye Candy Mar 2012
The Record Store died and the windows, some broken; held the light of day in transparent
tangles, sharp cracks in spiky slabs of glass. Red splints... fissures of bluish tint, silver yellows
glint in shifts, misfit prisms.
An old poster roasting an English Invasion,
facing the setting sun's horizontal furnace. Here and there,
the odd box, coats of dust, strips of beige tape; these
huddle in long shadows of analog. Looking in -
hands on either side
of your father's face,
you can almost see hipsters thumbing empty bins, like
bowling pins in an empty lane.
Bowling pins wearing scarves.

I shuffle my pod and rock on.
Allen Wilbert Dec 2013
Just My Job

I chop off hands, I chop off feet,
I'm the kind of guy, you don't wanna meet.
I chop off legs, I chop off arms,
if you wanna help, I'll take turns.
I chop off *****, I chop off *****,
I freeze the parts with ice cubes.
I gouge out eyes, I chop off ears,
don't worry I use sanitized sharp sheers.
I cut out your kidneys, I cut out your liver,
Cannibals pay me good to deliver.
I chop off your *****, I cut out your heart,
then put them all in a shopping cart.
You may ask yourself why cannibals,
because they eat humans, like we eat mammals.
I peel off your skin, then chop off your head,
they eat your skin with some mayo and bread.
The payment plan is very well,
if it wasn't, I would never sell.
Times are tough in this recession,
please don't get the wrong impression.
This has become my career and passion,
sorry that I show no mercy or compassion.
I lure people into my home,
started with a salesman selling chrome.
Jehovah Witnesses are easy victims,
I guess you can say I have serial killer symptoms.
I sell the blood to all the hungry vampires,
if you could only read my secret diaries.
If anyone you know is considered missing,
it's because of me going fishing.
Cannibals give me a people list,
I'm doing Gods work with a twist.
Ten years and going strong,
I guess, what I'm doing is wrong.
People please don't judge what I do,
or my next victim, could be you.
James Nigh Nov 2011
i’m not afraid of blood and guts
but am of the notion of separation
perspicacity’s domain is under my shoe
where adoration once lived
but it was late on the rent.

the doubts recede back into the ontology they sprang from
a paradox not unlike verbiage and emotion
tied together with razor wire and feathers.

i’m playing a hand of poker
where the cards are made of shame, disgust and jealousy.
the king’s looking at the queen with disdain
and furrowed eyebrows
he plans on uxoricide in her sleep.
it’s her fault for not saying “good night"
when i drew a pair of aces.
the jack and the joker are plotting raiding the medicine cabinet tonight.

but chemicals have failed us.
everything has.

we only find solace in the prayers of children
and the rain.

comforts that we once cherished
now have sharp teeth
and will lacerate you
before the sun sets.

a sick kind of lycanthropy
turns ex-lovers’ blood
into gasoline.
but we still sat on the porch and drank it
as solar flares bounced off our hips
and turned altruists into hypocrites
sweet, honest mistresses into liars
and vegetarians into fire eaters.

not much of a difference, you say?
well, the jacks have turned on one another.
it’s a battle of epic proportions
and the queen woke up just in time to slay the king.

the kingdom is in chaos.
while we weren’t looking
the peddlers turned into cannibals
and the priests now feast on peace
and tranquility.

a young, beautiful maiden
asked me to dance in the street
but i said it was too loud.

our imaginary children have been forsaken
by forgotten gods
and the beautiful music we were going to dance to
is just static.

was it always this way?
maybe we were just blinded by wanton hopes and long abandoned desires.

or maybe the king really killed the queen.

it’s darker now
and the sheep have turned in.
so have the cats and dogs and birds and plants.

but i’m still playing poker
and the static fills my head
bereft of any plans of retreat.

pride is not without a mighty downfall
nor is confidence without cracks in the tinted glass.

we all fall down.
some just more than others.

but you can only dig your hole 6 feet until the dirt comes back on top
and sometimes you can never clean it from under your nails.
and it is sentient.
it patiently collects there for days, months, even years
until it decides to strike
enveloping and suffocating
in a whirlwind of pent up rage and violence.

the children are gone
the laughter is gone
and the joy too.
the birds are without song
and the trees are without leaves
and love does not stay.

she has given up the fight.

i walk to the window.
it’s pitch black
because there is no moon.
it has deserted me along with all my
friends, lovers, acquaintances and guardian angel.
i think they’re all at a bar
making jokes and laughing at my expense.

it’s absolute zero outside.
i’m insulated by bitterness, sarcasm and apathy.
the girls stay warm
in facades
of trust, loyalty and love.

i sit back down
to play another hand
but something happens.

the kings, queens and jacks
are whispering and conspiring
shifty eyes, toothy grins
and all.

as i flip through them,
they begin making small paper cuts on my fingertips.
it doesn’t bother me
at first
but before i know it
they are moving up my arms.
not pain, just stinging.

then i’m in a state of complete paralysis.
i can’t brush them off or run outside.
i’m laying on my back
on the floor.
every time i muster a laugh
they go deeper.

they’re at my shoulders now
working their way down
at a 45 degree angle.

i know where they’re headed.

i forgot my heart is by my knees
but they can smell it

they keep working down my body
and each cut hurts more.
by the time they get to my thighs
it’s excruciating.

i mentally scream
for a God
who isn’t there
but i have a plan.

two more seconds
and i will will my heart
to stop beating
my lungs to stop pumping.

i begin to fade out
and my last vision
is one of them
maniacally frenzied
and beating at each other
in the air.

then

just blackness.

the abyss is looking back at me
and it doesn’t like what it sees.

i have saved my perfect mistake for last.
Joe Roberts Jun 2012
The sharks can smell the blood I bleed,
those vultures know I'm here,
the vampires feel the life in me,
the cannibals are near.
This poem is about feeling hunted and having no allies.
Kyle Kulseth Oct 2012
Under alcohol umbrellas
We'll seek shelter from the snow
This street is icing over
Sliding sleet beneath our toes.

This place keeps getting colder,
They predicted our bad luck
But the globe is growing warmer
Choke me down, I'll get choked up.

It's like Wharton is your neighbor
And McCarthy shares her bed--
     We've got plenty Pretty Horses
     But no Room, here, for Old Men

Tickers spit out headlines
Half of us can't even read.
But the other half's no better,
     We're cannibals eating dreams.

So you'll keep your smoke and mirrors.
And, reflecting, stifle coughs.
Operate under assumptions:
Overrated's good enough.

But I'm taking bets, suggestions,
And donations, West to East.
So, from minor indiscretions,
     I might try to beg release.
Diamond Sodhi Jul 2013
You, Me and the Pink Panther
Also the Mouse in the nest
Eating rubber ***** and drinking chlorine.

Write your Message on the water
And the Moon will tell me
Or let the gravity show me.

The music is tired,
It wants to rest on a glacier

The Perfume is stinking
And the Ink is dying a sad death

Beauty is only history
and time is a mere thought
French is 7=6
And We are floating in a space YET TO BE FOUND

Darkness is made up of too much light
Feelings are Mad Cats now
Now Blood is not Holy

Mistakes are Teachers
And the Computers are tired
They Need a Saridon

Faith now doubts its existence
Leisure can't find time
Colors mean an ugly shade
And Freedom is within narrow confines

Right is now measured by the Wrong
Tears have no place to fall
Words have NO MEANING AT ALL
SENSITIVITY is 'the' disease of Heart

Where Life means a tiring Break
And another child is blessed with Life of Pain
All Undefined shall now die

Motives are the modern vowels
The Crowd is lonely
The World has got pimples
Girls have become Pungent
And Conscious is in Coma

Life crawls under the shadow of past
And Hope for the Future
No One Lives for Today

Mushrooms and cannibals have become Friends
Selling Potato & Mutton Soup
All Needles are telling a lie
The Evil has got Hemophilia

Pride is at the mercy of Shame
Depth is triflingly shallow
The unsaid is still waiting to be heard
While the Expression is feeling Stifled

Blind is the Sight
Dreams are no longer fantasy long
And Deceit is the Common Salt

Happiness is rocking against Triangles
Now Headaches can be tasted
And Sorrows have a Flavor

Money is Dumb, Dumb, Dumb
Love will be born only after death
Only the Weeds on the Graves are Thinking

Chocolates are biting the children
The Heat is turning White
Crosses have become circles
The Roads seem to have lost their way

The Rat-Racers are wandering in the Labyrinth
Its Only Exit being Locked
Silence is beginning to make Noise
And the Earth is planning a Rescue from Humans
glass can Feb 2013
The curtain opens, and I am lit alone.

Chagrin is my monologue.  

On opera balconies, giggling wraiths shield themselves from my humorless improvisation.
Served on a platter, I am on stage, eyes squeezing out precious salt, holding my hands over my red-tipped ears as they still roast from the taunts of my imagination's cruel gossips, who sit, deliberately carving into my breast, intending to cut out my breath. Jabbering, with ***** claws clasping at tarnished silverware.

I stammer and my throat begins to hang itself with a velvet string and cat-gut noose.

I sweat, clothed by the filth of makeup, menstrual blood, and leftover food stains. Palms held up, dramatically surrendering on the condition that mercy be extended, for they have seen my miserable condition and that it is me. The cloying stench of uncertainty and greasy hair envelops me.

I cannot kneel, for the coals on which I stand,
make me suffer more from the pressure.
No water in my heels to soothe this felon.  

I cannot provoke or endure, my performance is to be left early. Hume would not grant me fame.
If you have a heart, do not waste ink or time or money on me. I am a clot of blood, clogged in the sink. I will die in a ***** bed and no one will care, not even myself.

I just wish it will be swift and fleeting if it is painful. 
Hoping harder, I am not remembered as a miserable girl, the way I am.

So, sing violins, and let me swing for the cannibals.
Mona May 2016
Paramedic 1:

"He's losing so much blood."

Paramedic 2:

"It's a miracle if he can make it past this."



Saturday night, and I'm in the back of an ambulance,
But not in soul, just in body, oh and in the company of so many wires,
I can't tell where they end and where I begin,
But the paramedics say there was a tragic accident and some flying tires.

We reach the ER, my stretcher is flying on the white tiles,
And soon enough I'm greeted by more wires than I can count,
They're saying that they want to hear my heart,
So I'm opened up past layers of tissues and my heartbeat is playing aloud.

I'm somewhere in a circus, learning how to walk on a tightrope,
One arm on the verge of life, the other on the verge on death,
And my feet are stronger than they've ever been,
I'm not afraid of the fall, I'm afraid they'll see the mark I've had since birth.

And they do, I see it in the face of those people wearing white scrubs,
Their faces become the color of their operating room attire,
They don't know what to do with me,
As they come to realize what's got me here is not the flying tires.

They see my heart, a land that is home to no one,
Yet a massacre is taking place between the northerns and the southerns,
A border holding together the mismatched territories,
But there is no compromising between two armies this stubborn.

Each side wanting to flood the other, wanting to conquer,
And the small canal that was once an uncharted place of peace,
Is now holding a rowing contest to the mind of the victim - me -
Who will reach it first and incorporate their power with claws and teeth...?

It was the time to surrender, ending all attempts at making amends,
And watch cannibals sailing in rivers of blood,
They think each accelerated beat is a new victory,
Yet it was a far away cry from it, it was a new tear, a new cut.

And when each side invades the other, they claim it as their own,
But they are only emigrants thinking they can reconstruct a desert,
It was only a land of chaos, they themselves have caused,
Where was once life flowing in veins, is now where resources are tethered.

And with no winner, the end approached,
The curtains already sweeping the ground,
Doctors wiping sweat from their foreheads,
Letting the hospital gown cover the battleground.





Paramedic 2:

"Maybe there's a wife we can call, to you know ... deliver the news..."

Paramedic 1:

"It appears, he just went out for a drive in the middle of the night, with no phone or ID... not even his driver's license..."

Paramedic 2:

"Maybe it wasn't even his car..."



THE END

— The End —