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Ben Jones Mar 2013
There's an item that's truly essential
Of a roughly cylindrical frame
It's a marvel of modern invention
And a legend it duly became
It surpasses the birth of electric
And eclipses the slicing of bread
If it wasn't for this innovation
Then I think I would surely be dead

Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Stick with me
Fix my wardrobe
Effortlessly
Hold up the curtains
Wax my thighs
Gaffer-tape Gaffer-tape
Improvise

It's useful for picking up hamsters
And it serves as a passable tie
As a gag for a amateur gangster
Or the crust of a blueberry pie
For a mite of podiatry pleasure
You can use it for mending your socks
If Pandora had come up against it
Then she'd never have opened her box

Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Holding fast
Adhesive savior
Unsurpassed
Smooth as mirror glass
Diamond tough
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Marvelous stuff

It's bringing our nations together
And it's holding them firmly in place
You can use it to pull back your wrinkles
For a genuine Hollywood face
It'd surely have saved the Titanic
And they took seven rolls to the moon
Keep it near and be calm in a crisis
And predicaments inopportune

Oh, Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Mending sails
If you're tired
Of hammering nails
Buy some now
It's a thing to behold
Gaffer-tape, Gaffer-tape
Solid gold
Onoma Oct 2013
Mangled skirmish, of bespeckled olive-green
serpents.
Their sinuous anarchy runs cold upon her
skull.
Caravaggio, you immortalized the *****,
immured her, hermetically sealed her within
that shield.
Her reflection was at once the face she
never saw...******, she...then beheaded.
I notice you've even painted the shield the
color of her serpentine locks.
Serpents registering her ontological shock--
retentive, entwining, dangling in an odd
curl here and there.
Blood spurting from her almost indiscernible
neck, as if to draw a passable neck of blood,
almost like rays of blood, Christ's pierced side.
Her eyes seem so determined to chisel their
way out of stone, reconnect her head to her
body.
Her face is stunning, an excruciating ferocity
bulking stiff, slightly opened mouth about to...
explode out of her eyes.
Eyes hissing downward, sideways--there in the
pitch black glint of them...a primordial drama
to be continued.
Perch on their water perch hung in the clear Bann River
Near the clay bank in alder dapple and waver,

Perch they called ‘grunts’, little flood-slubs, runty and ready,
I saw and I see in the river’s glorified body

That is passable through, but they’re bluntly holding the
pass,
Under the water-roof, over the bottom, adoze

On the current, against it, all muscle and slur
In the finland of perch, the fenland of alder, on air

That is water, on carpets of Bann stream, on hold
In the everything flows and steady go of the world.
Aaron E Oct 2019
If you're gonna be lonely,
maybe learn how to cook.

Parade the smoke to the rafters
after doubting the book.

Alert the parents in vowing the earnest
salt in the brook.

A fervent effort relays to bacon kisses you took.

Brine is cheap,
and on days like this
find a Mrs. or friend,
apply the bread crumb crisp.

Buy the egg to allure.
confide that "this might miss."
If not to them to yourself.
Try the odd light whip.

Find a guide or a dozen.
Fire doesn't necessarily deny the pleasant after math.
Passable dishes levy comfort on cold nights,
dying for treasure dancing in the lights,
and forming function digging diamond from plastic wrap.

"I could serve a candied berry
pair it fairly cold below a lighter cream."
See the finer things elaborate below the theme.
Mise en place allowing,
yolk to heat,
folk wreaths are crowning.

Found a leek to brown,
found out what friends to feed can mean

Be the barer
taste your food
silk confections
social fruit
Buck the system
Find connection
tuck the mood in
ginger root

get your list out
pay it forward
take the order
grab a whisk
make an impact
Pleat the border
break the silence
wrap a gift
JM Feb 2013
"Write what you know."

I want to write about
beautiful things,
but I only know
ugly.
Ugly hearts and stone blood.

Fetid loyalty.

I want to write about a love as pure as honey,
but all I know are the poison-tipped thorns of betrayal.

If I could put the right words
in the right order
at the right time
and explain what it means to lose you,
nobody would care.

I'd like to write about
my happy family,
laugh filled birthdays
and joyous gatherings,
but I only know
fractious,
secretive,
*******.

I want to touch another soul
make a connection with my words
share a part of my self
and help someone in the process,
but all I have been taught is
taking
keeping
lying
hiding
running
ruining.

I would love to write
like Pablo,
of wheat
and bread
and fields that don't weep,

but all I know are
desperate fumblings
in ******,
beer soaked bathrooms,
back alley
drunken
*******
by black
barely passable trannys,
diseases and
barely consensual bloodstains.

I cannot speak of such things.
It's bad enough I think about them,
even worse I write about them.

I write what I know.
am i ee Jan 2016
feets of snow
building

quiet muffled walk
high red rubber boots
sinking deep into
freshly falling snow

wind whips snowflakes
swirling about
stinging bare face

a local police suv
scurries by
sign the road is passable

no other movement
bright lights all about

soft white sky
dark bare trees
sillhouetted
against encroaching
building
white backdrop

bushes bend
heavily under
boughs laden
with many many
little snowflakes
hovering on branches
together

it is a blizzard celebration!

wind dances
swirling and singing
roaring and biting

snowflakes spiraling
and dancing
so so very free
racing across
the sky and the
earth
happy to be out
happy to be free

the dark night
owned by the
ones who
live free & wild

in ever eternal delight!
st64 Jun 2013
peace
please



private property..
intruder hurtled over
seeking who knows what
screaming obscenities

perfect pitch..
find little solace
but by going within
hide well beneath veneers

possible perfection..
but with one
so* very far away
loss near calamitous

pardon presumption..
get over discomfort
pick up sad face
work with it

passable poetry..
may reveal a layer or two
if the inner eye ready
shove preconceived away

puerile pretence..
try to prove points
only to efface the truth
lose bits of the light

petty prisons..
all just deadly excuses against living
get locked in by the self
unlock the cell, throw key away

please..
peace




S T, 12 June 2013
when we expect nothing, we won't be disappointed :)
C E Ford Jun 2023
The apartment is messy again.
A never-ending pile of clean underwear,
stained laundry,
and in-between pieces
toeing the line
between passable and gross.

it's not that it's bad,
it's fine.
it's enough to get by.
like wheat-based cereal
and watery coffee.

I guess this is our life together
jumbled and messy,
with piles of good intentions
and tomorrow projects
but that never quite find
their way
into a proper time
or place.

I look out the open window
for an answer,
a sign,
some kind of assurance
that this time is different
and this place is where
I'm finally supposed to be.

But all I see is grey.
No thunderclaps
or burst of lightening
or enlightenment
come to me.

You blow out
the lit candle
on the coffee table,
its smoke
curling itself
into question marks
that dissipate
as quickly as the rain.

Maybe tomorrow
will hold more answers
or more sunlight
I can use to see
our path forward.

But for now,
we'll go to bed
in crinkled sheets
and warm promises
for the day yet to come.
What do you do when you're in-between a warm and an open space? An adequate embrace of familiarity and the longing that things will get better?
What do you do with the realization that you're nostalgic for a version of your love you've never felt with your hands?

You write it in a poem. And hope the rest works itself out tomorrow.
Edna Sweetlove Jan 2015
The sun, a blazing circle of celestial fire
Hangs low upon the horizon,
Its fiery glory reflecting orangely
On the wind-whipped, blue-green sea.
  
The late afternoon sees my love and I,
Arms and legs entwined, ******* naked on the beach,
Rapt in appreciation of that blest moment
When sun and sea join in mystic communion.
  
And yet, all is not golden:
When one mentions the word "legs"
Once is certainly grammatically correct, yet
One does not convey the true situation to the reader.
  
You see, my lover is the sad possessor
Of a fifty percent deficit in the podial department,
Whilst I have a full double complement.
And thus to so-called act of generation
(Most times mis-named, for which I thank the gods)
Is a feat requiring great dexterous equilibrium.
  
However, my love's club foot (speaking candidly,
An admitted visual defect most times)
Now comes to the rescue of Eros' urgent needs,
With the aid of a little mutual ingenuity.
  
Balancing carefully on my dear one's abbreviated podex,
Supported carefully by the discarded surgical boot,
A passable **** can usually be achieved.
Only the halitosis appears irremediable.
Winter Silk Aug 2014
I heard your life's been hard,
you're counting the welts on your soul.
You've played all your cards,
working towards no specific goal.

You're texting for hours on your phone,
Yet you still feel so alone.
You can eat at work or school,
But you're never really full.

Well, guess what?
Inspiration's knocking
So don't be door-locking
Here's some light to keep at bay,
the demons that chase you night and day

Let's start.

I believe everything turns out well in the end.
If it's still sour, then it *
isn't the end.

The sky is never the limit, you will reach your dream soon.
If the sky was the limit, why are there
footprints on the moon?

There's always a way to stand out, and not to be just "passable"
Remember, every great achievement was once known as
impossible.

There will come a day when you can't open up your eyes,
*
But what matters is what you do until that day arrives.
Every time I see a depressing quote here, I have two choices.
Feel down, or get everyone up.
I choose the latter.
He takes your breath away, he steals the night before you, constricting your sight and your eyes, he lies, next to you but his mind is a seafare away, in fact his presence is valid only by the point you feel lost and dejected, hands rejected. He moves in your head, your head, he waltzes in slow motion, grasps at straws, gasps for air, because you drown in his heavy stare. A thing of beauty, you paint him a picture in your mind, he takes control, changes the colours of the mood, lost you find yourself to be.

Two feet on the ground, the stars collapse and combust under the pressure of his gaze. He holds your hand, your hand is not your own, it is fragile as glass, an extension of your heart, your head, your head. Can you move your feet? Step, two, three, four. I am lost in your smile, it steals my eyes, stings to the touch, cold as the ice I walk upon. Are you there, where is he, going? He laughs and dust settles, He laughs and you are mute, he laughs with her mouth wide open, he will steal your breath. He wears a novel in the brim of his hat, he wears a footprint on her hand, he walks, he talks, he moves, in a language unknown to me. You lie still, belie me, tread a little carefully, dance a slow jig to my music. Listen carefully for I will say this only once.

Do not hold my hand, my words are dissatisfied with the mark they make. A beauty unsurpassed, sur-passable by my standards. Do not make me a mirror, I have no vision left to see, my head that you walk in, is running away with time. Smile, you make me. Tear your gaze from mine, I lose you, you are somewhere else, not here, I am blind, dumb, deaf and numb. Forgive me, if I know not what to say, sometimes I can do nothing but think analytically. Your touch mystifies my soul, I lose all sense of control, with no reproach I start again at the beginning. Of time.

An introduction to me is to be made. He is a thief by only the most awesome standards. Your muscles contract as his words, her mouth moves to yours. The taste of air, is sweet on your palate, shapes are made by candlelight, his scent is of positive delight, he feels like the night. Dark, endless, fulfilled by the moon. Delighted by the sun, you go on the run, not looking back but you drag your fingers behind you, longing to let go. Ready for the show, you undress with minimalist perfection; you take all but his direction, and watch for his musical face. Nothing is something, when it is not even there, because you can feel it, and you don’t even need to see what I mean to understand. By my second hand, I unwind.

I am not here, I am not there, I am not, anywhere. He seeks me out, I hear him call. I hear him shout. Each movement is a ripple, I feel him like a butterfly in my hair. Turns my head, makes me cry, makes me wonder why. Each breath tells a story, each kiss is a new chapter. He will write you a novel in a night-time of passion without a desperate loaded ending. He will whisper your name so that it no longer sounds like air through his pursed mouth. Blondie plays in the background and the candles dance in tune to the beat of the song. You move your fingers like they need to grasp his words. And nothing comes to your touch. Drowning in happily ever afters, forevers and forget-me-nots, love becomes a thunderstorm in a teacup....
Sam Oct 2018
Maybe,
            you’re still visible.

When you smile, just wide enough, bright, and --
your eyes glaze over, just a little. ever-present, the red-rimmed edges.
Your posture is good form. Back straight, shoulders pulled, and -- rigid.
too rigid. so when was the last time you let down your guard?

You seem perfect, darling - you seem fine.
except the moments that you freeze, stuck still, can’t move,
when no one’s looking.


Because the people who would have noticed you --
who would have seen you,
                                                  Did see you,
falling apart at the seems,
hands shaking and gulping unsteady breaths,
head spinning when the world wasn’t
desperately alone and wanting not to be --

                                                         ­    Are gone. Again.
                                                         ­                               There’s no one there.

Months ago, almost a year now, they found you.
{Your soon to be, family, of 9 friends.}
Not impressive in the least,
                          almost completely faded into the wallpaper,
                                             utterly breakable, utterly close to broken,
                                                         ­                                         utterly alone.
And they gave you
                                    hands,
                                                   stories,
                                                                ­   lifelines,
                                                                ­                     and hugs.
Resumed you back, to a more bearable way of living.
                                                    ­ And you were so, so,
desperate -- so you
stayed, against your better judgement --
you watched, and you learned.
                         How to hide things, your secrets.
                         How to lie, and do it brilliantly -- always only to protect.
                         How to fake being fine:
                           trying to hide tear tracks? -
                                 rub your eyes with cold water, just say you’re tired
                                 (it’s always true)
                           make other people believe you? -
                                 lie by omission, and avoid the word fine
                                 (use synonyms)
                           panic attacks? -
                                learn your signs, nearest places no one will go, and when
                                 (and walk, then
run)
                            who to trust? -
                               the ones who stick close. the ones too much like you.
                               (the ones who see
you, always, visible or not.)
but also:
How to let other people orbit around you, and not just orbit them.
How to throw caution to the wind and say,
I love you, permanent or not.
How
nothing lasts (but you knew that), but
sometimes, somethings, are still worth it.
And how to breathe again, a little bit more easily,
bit more like you used to be able to.


It falls apart spectacularly (the kindest way imaginable), with
goodbyes,
        i love yous,
              i’ll miss yous,
                        stay in touch,
                                 a plethora
of hugs (you used to flinch away from).

And being alone is so
hard -- however did you stand it?
there’s a gaping ache, of loneliness,
                                                               l­onging,

                                      of missing, in your chest, you can’t quite identify --

you just want a hug,
                                       someone’s arms around your shoulders just to
ground you,
Just a laugh, or a smile; a friendly face,
just someone, just anyone --
                                                         ­       your closest lifeline lives sixthousandsevenhundredandeighty
                            ­                                    kilometers away.

it’s one of your further away friends, who tells you,
If you feel homesick, you know, that makes sense
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world

                                                              It makes the air around you go still,
                                                                ­               makes your breath pause.
you thought home was a place.
and if home was a place, well,
you’d never have one.
                                                  so however did you end up
                                                 with nine, whole, pieces of it?

                                                with something like a family,
                                              even if you can’t say it aloud?

So that’s why
           There’s a constant, thin, circle of red, around your eyes,
           Why you’ve once again forgotten how to trust,
           Why you’ll stare off into the distance, just for a beat,
     your stream of conscious
                 I miss you I miss you I love you I miss you
                     brought back up to the surface.
But it’s also:
Staying inside when it rains, and pours,
not going out and getting drenched
because you want a tangible reason to feel miserable;
Actively trying to sleep, at halfway decent hours,
because maybe, you can.
because you might be an insomniac, but
you never tried to stop it;
And eating, whole, actual, proper, meals,
no longer skipping, because it may taste like nothing
but there’s no longer the nausea.
A few steps in the right direction, perhaps.

You have so many self-destructive tendencies; habits, now,
  and no one but you to stop them.
and it would be so much easier, to not.
to let them all devour you, because
                                                                ­ you’re not all that terrified of them
and you should be.

So instead, you’re trying. Your damndest.
                                                      ­            Because your friends taught you,
how to piece yourself back together,
and to try to keep living.
and you owe them enough, to do your utmost,
to keep yourself as intact as you possibly can.

You aren’t great, and
You aren’t fine,
despite a passable impression.
                         You’re alright,
                                                Because, you’re trying,
I miss you, I love you, I miss you, I miss you
                                                And, slowly, you’re getting there,
Maybe, someday, you can make yourself visible again.
                                                         ­                                        Homesick, or not.
         you’re alright.


         You’re alright.
I never knew you could miss someone so much, that you'd do just about anything to see them again.
On the verge of tumbling,
I suddenly remembered how I disliked the act on fumbling.
Would I break my face?
Or would I get up again, always wary of when the next fall would take place?
On the verge of tumbling,
I suddenly remembered how I disliked the act on fumbling.
Would I break my face?
Or would I get up again, always wary of when the next fall would take place?
JAM Feb 2014
It ain't alwayls all good     in hollywood
I think you got the lights and cameras     misunderstood

Your either rich and famous or your broke and nameless

If you find treasure there, make sure and claim it

I would if I could    but I'm sinking on a ship just off shore
All from doin no good     and takin' a sniff of somethin' too pure

Everything in between is just ways to the mean
And every other thing just might seem, like a golden light beam
Givin' me the light thats green,    but it's the red light I shoulda seen
Now I'm at a crime scene    lookin' at a body as its soul leaves
watch them clasp for that last breath then I feel deaths cold breeze
I realize I should've stayed at the party
At Corey's
maybe even had someone hide my car keys

Now the police
Are gonna check    My blood alcohol content
There gonna search my car next,  
find the pills,powders and forged checks
What can I do now      except.....
Run! ....  Run! Run!
3 min later I'm hidin' in a   tree fort
K -9 scratchin at the   tree bark
Cop lights shining through the two   by fours
Head for the hills head for the forest

Its all the bad decisions that brought me here
The thoughts in my head and words in my ear
Escaping capture doesnt mean I'm in the clear
I'm probably gonna spend the entire next year

Trying to shoulder the bolder
That already ran me over
Shouldn't have let those ashes smolder
cause the heat just made things colder
Keepin up the run just to be run over
Theres no beat or instrumental to be sung over

Clearly you've run into you .... Into you, into yourself
Oh ****! Me runnin' in to me my own worst enemy
How shall I now procede, I cant move I can't speak , what the **** is wrong with my two feet?

Who knows....

I still Would   Never, never, never

I would never change a thing! I could never change a thing!
I wont rearrange extract or change a ******* thing
I will never change a thing! I could never change a thing!
Not one thing in my life
I'll still die laughing
Even if I die tonight

I will continue
To misuse
Abuse the excuse
Just to refuse
The fact that I even tried to make an excuse

I called it a reason cause I was reaching
Fell to short to excede my own region
Vultures in the sky watchin' me lie half alive still bleedin'

I don't know if I'm gonna make it past this one
Either shes about to sing or the fat lady already sung
Everything I had tied together has come undone
Under one thunder proof roof in a thunderstorm

But I can't complain, I love the drama, I love the rain
I love the electricity of the lightning makin' this blood pump through my veins

That's why
I...
I would never change a thing! I could never change a thing!
I wont rearrange extract or change a ******* thing
I will never change a thing! I could never change a thing!
Not one thing in my life
I'll still die laughing
Even if I die tonight


Ok, okay
Next test, the next step, the best relief of stress
Except this is not a passable test
But the only way to move on is to accept
The fact that I might be a devil's reject
I take a moment let myself level and reflect

Ok, Got it....

I have....

No jack,no bean stalk, no golden eggs
Just me, my talk, my walk on both my legs
No tricks, no gimmicks, no magician with cards already positioned
I will attempt to fix but not relinquish the hand I've been given
Cause no matter what this mother ******' world keeps spinnin'

And I'll say it again...

I would never change a thing! I could never change a thing!
I wont rearrange extract or change a ******* thing
I will never change a thing! I could never change a thing!
Not one thing in my life
I'll still die laughing
Even if I die tonight
ONE:

It's like sitting there and explaining how to you everything works
painting this picture in reverse I have to rehearse
and practice and rehearse and practice

TWO:

imperfections affections towards perfection
in the one thing, reason, I can't sing freely
Just let me be. I have to practice
because that's, that is, what is, what's make perfection
stabilization.

THREE:

I know you know he knows they know
just know that knowing is knowledge
passable shareable keepable loseable  
be responsible
Onoma Dec 2012
The plaintive surround can rinse
the deep space crush of Hubble's
score.
A fast-paced bandit's sable cloth
homing the absurdum of a priceless
presentation...eyes unawares wending
brilliant ways abruptly announced.
The common Light is not passable--
but is in love with eyes...the holy of
holies--rarefied districts commencing
willful overexposure.
ANTLIKE STRENGTHS
A poem by Tricia Hague-Barrett 1993

An ant carries its large load across the cracks
in the path on its way homeward
Nothing gets in its way
Nothing prevents him from succeeding,

If only I could have seen the end in the beginning
where struggles are frequent but passable,
testing but not breaking my resolve to give in
to the desparate feelings of loneliness, tiredness.

Ant-like, I too have to learn to carry the heavy load,
The Teaching load, the Administrative load,
carry it across potholes, ditches, mountains
and through distant valleys of calmness.

Turbulent tests, stumbling stones,
each there to guide me along the way
Like guardian angels, each one
Heralding the Dawn of a New Day.

Ends.
(C) 1993
Moriah Jean Jan 2011
I need a sedative.
Desperation never looked good on anyone.
But when I show a little skin and do my make-up just right,
I can make it more than passable.
I can make them fall in love with the way my body becomes music, and my hollow gaze, and my photo-shopped smile...
All before they even know my name.
Not that they will ever care to know it.

My emptiness is unbearable.
And my heart is running away with my mind,
So they can live in train cars
Or abandoned warehouses
Or maybe a nice treehouse somewhere.
If they're smart, they'll see the world before settling down.

Meanwhile,
What's left behind is walking along the streets in quiet neighborhoods,
Humming sad songs that sound like hallelujah and empty orchestras,
While the rain melts me into the cracks in the sidewalk.
I'll be nothing at all by morning.

I'm not a real girl anyways.
I'm a memory box.
Keep your best of times tucked away in me.
I'll gather dust in the garage, or the attic, or the basement.
Or maybe, if I'm really lucky, a shelf in your room,
Where, at least occasionally, you'll glance at me and smile.
But even that is aiming pretty high.
© January 8th, 2011 Moriah Jean

Tomorrow is my 21st birthday.
Terry Collett Sep 2013
She sits on her bed
brushing her long brown hair
with the brush
her mother gave her.

She has had a bath,
needed after being
with him,
the way he was,

and for so long.
The bath so relaxing,
the water just right,
being able to lay there,

water over her,
suds from the borrowed
bath stuff( Gabrielle
need never know),

she feeling the water
fondling about her *******,
washing him off,
dissolving him

in the suds.
She brushes him out
of her hair,
each long stroke

and a bit more of him
is gone.
She stops and thinks.
Mid air the brush

and hand stay.
Was it always that way?
No, there was a time
when seeing him

was a pleasure,
she actually used to get
excited when he
was to come,

actually looked forward
to his presence,
his love making,
the things he used to do,

the way he did them.
Now, she dreads him
being there,
making love to her,

his fingers in her hair.
She brushes again,
downward strokes,
takes out the knots

that gather at the ends.
Was it ever love?
Was it other than physical?
Just a game of the ******?

She puts down the brush
and gazes at herself
in the old fashion mirror.
Still passable,

still presentable,
still has it in bucketfuls
as he used to say.
But, no,

she supposes not,
never really got to her heart,
never quite made it that far.
Liar, she tells herself,

you loved him more
than any other,
used to lay awake
at night thinking of him

and his next call,
it wasn't just *** after all.
No, I suppose not,
there was that strong

element of love,
that other than just
the physical,
other than the ******.

But that makes it worse
not better,
the fact I loved him once,
she tells herself,

takes it deeper,
takes it to the core
of the heart,
that place where each

string of nerve,
each particle of being
is torn open
like a ripe fruit

and ****** dry.
She's just had ***
with him,
just the physical,

just the lying down
and taking it bit.
Now, she loves him not,
the lying, cheating ****.

— The End —