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THE PROLOGUE.

WHEN folk had laughed all at this nice case
Of Absolon and Hendy Nicholas,
Diverse folk diversely they said,
But for the more part they laugh'd and play'd;           *were diverted
And at this tale I saw no man him grieve,
But it were only Osewold the Reeve.
Because he was of carpenteres craft,
A little ire is in his hearte laft
;                               left
He gan to grudge
and blamed it a lite.              murmur *little.
"So the* I,"  quoth he, "full well could I him quite
   thrive match
With blearing
of a proude miller's eye,                    dimming
If that me list to speak of ribaldry.
But I am old; me list not play for age;
Grass time is done, my fodder is now forage.
This white top
writeth mine olde years;                           head
Mine heart is also moulded
as mine hairs;                 grown mouldy
And I do fare as doth an open-erse
;                         medlar
That ilke
fruit is ever longer werse,                             same
Till it be rotten *in mullok or in stre
.    on the ground or in straw
We olde men, I dread, so fare we;
Till we be rotten, can we not be ripe;
We hop* away, while that the world will pipe;                     dance
For in our will there sticketh aye a nail,
To have an hoary head and a green tail,
As hath a leek; for though our might be gone,
Our will desireth folly ever-in-one
:                       continually
For when we may not do, then will we speak,
Yet in our ashes cold does fire reek.
                         smoke
Four gledes
have we, which I shall devise
,         coals * describe
Vaunting, and lying, anger, covetise.                     *covetousness
These foure sparks belongen unto eld.
Our olde limbes well may be unweld
,                           unwieldy
But will shall never fail us, that is sooth.
And yet have I alway a coltes tooth,
As many a year as it is passed and gone
Since that my tap of life began to run;
For sickerly
, when I was born, anon                          certainly
Death drew the tap of life, and let it gon:
And ever since hath so the tap y-run,
Till that almost all empty is the tun.
The stream of life now droppeth on the chimb.
The silly tongue well may ring and chime
Of wretchedness, that passed is full yore
:                        long
With olde folk, save dotage, is no more.

When that our Host had heard this sermoning,
He gan to speak as lordly as a king,
And said; "To what amounteth all this wit?
What? shall we speak all day of holy writ?
The devil made a Reeve for to preach,
As of a souter
a shipman, or a leach.                    cobbler
Say forth thy tale, and tarry not the time:                
surgeon
Lo here is Deptford, and 'tis half past prime:
Lo Greenwich, where many a shrew is in.
It were high time thy tale to begin."

"Now, sirs," quoth then this Osewold the Reeve,
I pray you all that none of you do grieve,
Though I answer, and somewhat set his hove
,                  hood
For lawful is *force off with force to shove.
           to repel force
This drunken miller hath y-told us here                        by force

How that beguiled was a carpentere,
Paraventure* in scorn, for I am one:                            perhaps
And, by your leave, I shall him quite anon.
Right in his churlish termes will I speak,
I pray to God his necke might to-break.
He can well in mine eye see a stalk,
But in his own he cannot see a balk."

Notes to the Prologue to the Reeves Tale.

1. "With blearing of a proude miller's eye": dimming his eye;
playing off a joke on him.

2. "Me list not play for age": age takes away my zest for
drollery.

3. The medlar, the fruit of the mespilus tree, is only edible when
rotten.

4. Yet in our ashes cold does fire reek: "ev'n in our ashes live
their wonted fires."

5. A colt's tooth; a wanton humour, a relish for pleasure.

6. Chimb: The rim of a barrel where the staves project beyond
the head.

7. With olde folk, save dotage, is no more: Dotage is all that is
left them; that is, they can only dwell fondly, dote, on the past.

8. Souter: cobbler; Scottice, "sutor;"' from Latin, "suere," to
sew.

9. "Ex sutore medicus"  (a surgeon from a cobbler) and "ex
sutore nauclerus" (a  ****** or pilot from a cobbler) were both
proverbial expressions in the Middle Ages.

10. Half past prime: half-way between prime and tierce; about
half-past seven in the morning.

11. Set his hove; like "set their caps;" as in the description of
the Manciple in the Prologue, who "set their aller cap".  "Hove"
or "houfe," means "hood;" and the phrase signifies to be even
with, outwit.

12. The illustration of the mote and the beam, from Matthew.

THE TALE.

At Trompington, not far from Cantebrig,
                      Cambridge
There goes a brook, and over that a brig,
Upon the whiche brook there stands a mill:
And this is *very sooth
that I you tell.               complete truth
A miller was there dwelling many a day,
As any peacock he was proud and gay:
Pipen he could, and fish, and nettes bete,                     *prepare
And turne cups, and wrestle well, and shete
.                     shoot
Aye by his belt he bare a long pavade
,                         poniard
And of his sword full trenchant was the blade.
A jolly popper
bare he in his pouch;                            dagger
There was no man for peril durst him touch.
A Sheffield whittle
bare he in his hose.                   small knife
Round was his face, and camuse
was his nose.                  flat
As pilled
as an ape's was his skull.                     peeled, bald.
He was a market-beter
at the full.                             brawler
There durste no wight hand upon him legge
,                         lay
That he ne swore anon he should abegge
.             suffer the penalty

A thief he was, for sooth, of corn and meal,
And that a sly, and used well to steal.
His name was *hoten deinous Simekin
        called "Disdainful Simkin"
A wife he hadde, come of noble kin:
The parson of the town her father was.
With her he gave full many a pan of brass,
For that Simkin should in his blood ally.
She was y-foster'd in a nunnery:
For Simkin woulde no wife, as he said,
But she were well y-nourish'd, and a maid,
To saven his estate and yeomanry:
And she was proud, and pert as is a pie.                        magpie
A full fair sight it was to see them two;
On holy days before her would he go
With his tippet* y-bound about his head;                           hood
And she came after in a gite
of red,                          gown
And Simkin hadde hosen of the same.
There durste no wight call her aught but Dame:
None was so hardy, walking by that way,
That with her either durste *rage or play
,                use freedom
But if he would be slain by Simekin                            unless
With pavade, or with knife, or bodekin.
For jealous folk be per'lous evermo':
Algate
they would their wives wende so.           unless *so behave
And eke for she was somewhat smutterlich,                        *****
She was as dign* as water in a ditch,                             nasty
And all so full of hoker
, and bismare*.   *ill-nature *abusive speech
Her thoughte that a lady should her spare,        not judge her hardly
What for her kindred, and her nortelrie           *nurturing, education
That she had learned in the nunnery.

One daughter hadde they betwixt them two
Of twenty year, withouten any mo,
Saving a child that was of half year age,
In cradle it lay, and was a proper page.
                           boy
This wenche thick and well y-growen was,
With camuse
nose, and eyen gray as glass;                         flat
With buttocks broad, and breastes round and high;
But right fair was her hair, I will not lie.
The parson of the town, for she was fair,
In purpose was to make of her his heir
Both of his chattels and his messuage,
And *strange he made it
of her marriage.           he made it a matter
His purpose was for to bestow her high                    of difficulty

Into some worthy blood of ancestry.
For holy Church's good may be dispended                          spent
On holy Church's blood that is descended.
Therefore he would his holy blood honour
Though that he holy Churche should devour.

Great soken* hath this miller, out of doubt,    toll taken for grinding
With wheat and malt, of all the land about;
And namely
there was a great college                        especially
Men call the Soler Hall at Cantebrege,
There was their wheat and eke their malt y-ground.
And on a day it happed in a stound
,                           suddenly
Sick lay the manciple
of a malady,                         steward
Men *weened wisly
that he shoulde die.              thought certainly
For which this miller stole both meal and corn
An hundred times more than beforn.
For theretofore he stole but courteously,
But now he was a thief outrageously.
For which the warden chid and made fare,                          fuss
But thereof set the miller not a tare;           he cared not a rush
He crack'd his boast, and swore it was not so.            talked big

Then were there younge poore scholars two,
That dwelled in the hall of which I say;
Testif* they were, and ***** for to play;                headstrong
And only for their mirth and revelry
Upon the warden busily they cry,
To give them leave for but a *little stound
,               short time
To go to mill, and see their corn y-ground:
And hardily* they durste lay their neck,                         boldly
The miller should not steal them half a peck
Of corn by sleight, nor them by force bereave
                *take away
And at the last the warden give them leave:
John hight the one, and Alein hight the other,
Of one town were they born, that highte Strother,
Far in the North, I cannot tell you where.
This Alein he made ready all his gear,
And on a horse the sack he cast anon:
Forth went Alein the clerk, and also John,
With good sword and with buckler by their side.
John knew the way, him needed not no guide,
And at the mill the sack adown he lay'th.

Alein spake f
Seema Jul 2018
Like spools of thread, pilled in the midst
Darkness draws attention to the danger
Up few miles, is that place
Where the sign reads, welcome stranger
Curiosity jumps on each step
As the enchanting forest gets deeper
The sun rays sparkle the early dews
And awakens the sleeping keeper
Birds chattering, singing melodiously
Giant rocks, stand as guards of century
Silent kills the morning songs
At the dark weaved, heavy grown entry
Myth say, it may be a portal to another world
But reports and researchers find it their own way
What's there to be afraid of
Besides an approaching thunder day
A torch in hand, walking cautiously
Humming sound follows through, alerting my ears
Tripping, few times on dead branches
Triggers my lost unwanted fears
It's almost past mid day, but not a single string of light
The passage seems like a hell deep
Strange scribbles on near stones, alert
"Do not fall asleep"
Hours of walking on turns and paths
Tiredness and hunger grasped in well
Don't fall asleep rings in my ears
I was not alone, I could easily tell
Within this labyrinth, mysteries lie of all kinds
An evil crackling laugh, shakes my fears
Looking in the direction of the sound
There is an "it" and it hears
Run out now, my gut feelings kick in
Hoping for sun rays, but thunder beats the sky
Peculiar heavy steps seems to follow
I wish, I could just fly
One exit, echoes another entry
A swirl labyrinth has woken today
Running in circles, lost my routes
I can't find my right way
A small spark of light in a corner
Disguised as the suns ray
Traps my vision to walk forward
Like a poised lucidest prey
What happened next, I do not know
But not alone now, as more walk my way
Finding their own possible routes
We have become abundantly stray...



©sim
Spilling imagination. Fiction.
Michelle M Diaz Jan 2015
Money makes the world go round
if you don't have enough, debt gets pilled on
if you have too much, your spending goes crazy
just the right amount and your stable
but it seems more and more people don't have enough
money makes the world go round
but will there ever be peace?
When will everyone have food on their table?
When will everyone be able to support their families?
When will the world finally learn the money can't possibly make the world go round?
Such an unstable business, money is
yet we all need it to survive.
It drives people mad
People get greedy
people get needy
people don't need money
they need love
they need to work hard
they need to eat
they need to survive
Alessander Dec 2016
This is to all those misfits

To the Romeo car-washing in Inglewood inlets
To the Hippy selling crystals on the Venice boardwalk
The Magician swallowing 8-***** at the Huntington Beach peer
The Rapper selling CDs in the Ranch Market parking lot
The **** tatting in a makeshift garage
The Poet slinging chapbooks at cafes and rec centers…


Not androids pontificating from lecterns
But grimy roots burrowing deep
Seismic rumblings toppling down
Insured ivory towers
Smashing pilled-paradigms beneath Docs
Hustling and slinging
In the forbidden outshacks of civilization
In tents, over barbed-wire, beside shards
Desperate and burning
For neither Truth or Beauty
But for LIFE

They do not tap wrists
No,  they thump chests
To feel it beat
To feel it rage
For fugitive fugues
For new eternities

They embrace
******* romance
Graveyard necromance
The holy hunger for change
Defying commercials and charts
Shivering and howling on streets
Waging guerrilla war
Liberating cubicled-hearts
Jared Eli Oct 2013
I'm obsessed with the vision's edge
How we look straight but there's always a sideview
Looking right through
The glass of a picture frame
The image splattered my name
On every newspaper, a cheap kind of fame
The sideview shows the real me
The kind of person who I'd be
If I'd sent this body out to sea
In that funeral pyre blazing to the sky
Mom and Dad think that I'm too young to die
But you're never too young to be that one guy
Your friends see on the tv with a nice little snippet
Of how you hated your thread so you got up and clipped it
But your parents will talk to the reporters and flip it
Say you were so great, so happy and nice
Always the one to give the good advice
The one crossing the street as you looked both ways twice
And the truth is you were already cold as ice
You tried to cry out but they nodded with grins
And they looked at you pondering and stroking their chins
And in this situation there's no one that wins
Because there's always a bridge or a cliff to jump off
When the stress level rises set off by a cough
Or you just up and choose to dive into the trough
And get eaten by pigs, digit by digit
And since you don't give a ****, you don't even fidget
When they bite off your legs and leave you a ******
But size doesn't matter, you're dead in a few
And it's not as if you have to choose what to do
In the end your fate is just pay per view
Because you'll be there, it's you that is dying
But the life negation requires none of your trying
So you can sit back relax and just watch it
There's more than one way so it's hard to botch it
Your death is the end, because there's nothing else to it
You once had a life but you up and you blew it
There was **** to be done but you just said "***** it"
And it's true, it's your life, and you have control
But before you eat lead, put the thought on parole
Give yourself minutes or days to rethink
A miscalculation of that size would stink
Set up some goals, some silly, some not
Of things to accomplish before you hit the black cot
Where they stick all the toe-tagged
The black-bagged
The life-gagged
The death-filled
The over-pilled
All those singing from their throats
Bleeding like goats
From the knife wounds like Abraham
Would've done in just seconds, ****
But the voiceless have no spokesman saying
"Hey world, there was no point in staying!"
There's always a point, and you've just got to find it
Once you do, wrap your mind and bind it
Obsess yourself with the point of staying
Remember the steepest price you'll be paying
Sometime in the future, but now be braying
The call of the stubborn, those that won't leave
The ******* with something in which to believe
I'm one of those ******* and we need more members
To warm up the cold of Depression Decembers
Obsessing about the vision's edge
The only thing that kept me on the safe side of the ledge
When I was seconds from falling down
The sideview turned my *** around
Gotta find the source of the curious periphery
Curiousity killed the cat, but the sideview saved me
Allan E Bartlett Jan 2012
keeping warm by that old stove
kicking back shots and
always a beer in hand
we lived as if nothing could
ever matter for nothing ever
changed the same man sleeping
at six or seven having passed out
from half-a-days work
and a hard days drinking
sitting around there for warmth
some kind of something men
don't often talk about much
women there were hard to
find, not for lack of trying
they just always seemed so
out of place when they
did actually appear
extending the night was
the main concern making
the most out of the ample
time given to us
trying desperately to squeeze
out juice from every instant
with anything free at hand
retreating back to sofas
for sleep waking up with
head aches intolerable beer cans
all around going hard because
there was no where to go
debasing our minds with the nights
succulent spoils tabbed pilled or
powder madness feels like sanity
at the right moment
knowing full well it can't
be caught as it slips
through your fingers only
to be inhaled the following
friday then blown away
once again at day break
a perpetual mind ****
was the goal with actual
******* just secondary reasoning
living to forget what it
means to be alive in
this world where identity
has been distilled to mere
pages in an infinite book
that doesn't really exist
what  else to expect from
shattered youth abused mainly
by design but also by choice
you could class it all up
increase the age and ornament
add black books, black dresses
black ties champagne & chandeliers
still dormant at its core
as time passes and falls apart
the fire still there burns
even in museums at midnight
Dionysus consumes Apollo
so warm your hands for as
long as you can it
only grows more insipid
increasingly cold and bitter
both the truth and the liquor
till everything’s but a pause and black
2010
Iz Jun 2023
Oh I think it was a Tuesday
You were sleeping
In almost the highest spot in the building
Your ghosts never disturbing
The seams of your dreams
Oh what a day to ignore the mourning

I awake since Monday
Stitch my jeans for they keep
Falling apart by the knees
I try to hide the pink and purples
Of each thing pretend I don’t need

Then out of something I can’t dream
I see this red all around me
maybe I should gather my things
But instead I throw them out on the street

I burn in the building
Just to slip out of sighting you
So I start to
Transform in my dorm
Catch the flame and let it
Cool me
Oh how I used to be boiling
Steaming I see the leaves and grass
Oh I think you would call this crass

Now you are just so worried
That all this ash might
Color your back
So you speak your to forest of agrees
Until you see the fire of me

I so welted so red
So sore so losing
So much breath
I think you cheated
But you just took the steps

So I let the piece of me be last
thing you feel of me
I make you choke
then you speak
About how I
Hurt you

But somewhere
maybe a kitchen maybe the stairs
There were pages written by you
Pilled up but there’s only one
You wrote it mostly for fun

See it was so late
So late
That I would calll it Mourning
you were writing
By the light of the candle
Because electricity is just so boring

So at 4:49am on Tuesday
Maybe morning
You
Left the stair
Left the light and the pages there
Then when to sleep
Without a single worry
It's 3 P.M, Sitting, staring at the reruns of Jeopardy and Seinfield
a microwave steak and some potatoes
sit gingerly on the tray, crunchy and frozen....

It's 5 P.M., a bottle of room temperature beer
cuddles itself around my hands
some potato chips spread across my lap.....
the television remote and I sit inches apart
yet, the separation feels like miles

It's 7 P.M., cold, rusty water pelts my naked flesh
the bath towels feel like steel wool
every little fiber, scratching and tearing at my skin
the soap is as tough as rubber......

It's 9 P.M, bed bugs have swarmed my mattress
scratching and biting, I smash one and a million more follow
some are flat and dry and some explode with leaking blood....

It's 11 P.M. I slip into my dungarees, there's a ***** spot
in the middle of the seams.... my shovel is rusty....
the van leaks exhaust and it bleeds gasoline

It's 1 A.M., I gaze at the tombstones and they gaze back
a foggy midst looms from the hills, it's raining....
a flash of lighting strikes, bright as the sun itself
thunder rumbles the earth.....

It's 3 A.M., strolling by the red light district
a back alley *******, no condoms....
ten dollars for one hour, twenty for two
I only have five.....

It's 5 A.M. the sun begins to rise
beer bottles pilled at my door
saliva, drying at the seams of my mouth....
back into my bug infested abode.....
Left Foot Poet Apr 2014
watching her deep water,
pilled sleeping,
her chest congest,
her cough, orange,
clockwork regular,

watching tv,
an old Law & Order fav,
major crimes gets an
innocent man freed from jail

watching me
in the tv screen reflection,
write bad poetry,
and laughing at his own hair,
rebelling in sticking up shapes
that would make Einstein jealous

occurs that this mot not
multitasking, that multi-inaccurating

Nope

multi-sensing, multi-asking
for
moments of quiet crumbs,
of seconds of satisfactory,
merely passing unpadded grades
would be sufficient

life needs no cogent reasoning,
no over arching philosophy,

but if Sheldon were to
find the unifying string theory
that could tie and string these moments
together,
that would be most excellent

cause "whatever"
just don't quite cut it
as a way,
a purpose to exist,
but moments like this
do
Pen Lux May 2010
electric wheel chairs and electric wires in your brain,
blood filled clouds shower on the insane.

unfinished projects pilled in your garage,
the pain in your spine could use a massage.

ribbons glue head to neck,
they connect like a child's
cheek and a mothers' peck.
tiny hands
full of life
and unstructured strokes
soon to be a house
full of unknown smokes.

these lights are painful,
                                                 like cold sores
and it hurts to kiss,
                                                  and it tastes like dirt.

I've read your books and I know your worth,
but now you're discolored, and your heart lost its beat.
and you're freezing, slowly, and becoming a piece of this earth.

I feel so alone, and I miss those beats.

Is it sad
that I can still smell you in the sheets?
FC Azaele May 2021
Paperworks and junks pilled into mountains
on top of my ruined desk
“I wonder what had went wrong
for me to stack up such a mess?”

Indolent, Oh! so petulant!...
But still I digress
Saying I didn’t have time
To sort out the cluttering hefty mess

Jesting around with the things that avert my gaze,
Such a child I was,
I paid no mind to it all day

But...
Night came too soon,
and instantly I say...
“When will I ever sort out this mess?”

Perhaps never, but still I say
“Someday, okay?”
Hip Hip Hooray!
Akira Chinen Aug 2014
It had the smell of love
It had the hot sticky sweat of love
It had the urgency and reckless
  passion of love
It had that god awful feel of love
It had the perfect illusion of love
But the madness was missing
And without the madness
  there was no music for their
   demons to dance to
No moon for their monsters
  to howl at
It was just flesh pilled on top
  of flesh
Loneliness dressed up in the
  guise of love
Imitating love, moving like love
But never falling like love
Never tempting that danger
Never tempting  madness
Never tempting the promises
  of forever
Never tempting true love
Brandon Sep 2011
There’s too much you in the world
Capitalistic ****
Running around
Buying and stealing
Material possessions full of transgression
But I digress because this isn’t really anything
But a test for the best to accomplish
The end result is said to have some underlying meaning
But the end result has been fabricated greatly
Deep in some office shed
We shed the light away from our prying eyes
Always keeping silent
The new discoveries that take away from the almighty dollar
And keep the fat cats in Washington wealthy
Keep laundering their ***** misdeeds
But the suits keep getting more expensive
And the poor get pensive
Wondering what they’re doing wrong
Trying to make ends meet
And put food on the table for a growing family
Of twelve or more
Of twelve or more
The way the holocaust looked
With dead and starving
Pilled high as Buffalo Mountains
And the TV is switched to the news
But there’s nothing new to hear
Here is always what’s pre-approved and sugarcoated censorship
Prove to be abundant in thousands of tentacles
From the octopus of government and social media
You are a trend that is replaceable
And if you stand against their collective
You will cease to have ever existed
Hayley Neininger Apr 2012
I tried to describe you to someone
The other day
At a loss for affectionate nouns that
Would string together adjactives
Of how much I miss you.

Words sat deep in my lungs
And puffed out squeaky and small
Smoke-tainted coughs
Laced with conversations we had
When I first put that smoke there.

Words pilled up at the base of my gut
Twisting my insides the way you said
Yours did when you thought of planets.
Words that if formulated in my mouth
Would tell you I would ****
Just to be a moon circling in your orbit
Picking up rocks of you
You thought had fallen off forever
And were meteored through the universe.

Words that you once spoke to me
At night on a bench
Carried in my moon-hard
Lungs as smoke
That when I speak of you
Heat me thaw.
Tommy Johnson Jun 2014
The backseat driver's lips began to chap
And his jaw locked
Thank you Based God

The people pleasers asked to hitch a ride
They had no mode of transportation
And the lack of communication coming from the backseat driver was concerning them even more

I thought I was about to be bamboozled when they started to clean the interior

I decided to pull over and check out an antique store on the side of the highway

They had used toothpicks used by President Eisenhower
The word "Anagram" in all upper case letters made of lacquered balsa wood

While we were there I tossed out all my unpaid speeding tickets  

Then I saw a sign the said "Continental breakfast $2.50!! 3 miles thata way!!"

I zoomed to the diner and ordered that continental breakfast for the backseat driver, the people pleasers and myself

We each received one coffee, one buttered roll and one danish

We all had the same irritated, sour look on our faces

We flipped the table in disbelief

Attacked the waiter and held the innocent patrons hostage with a fully loaded sling shot
And demanded the cook whip us up a gross of spinach horderves

As we left the back seat driver called shot gun
So we all pilled in with our horderves
And I gunned it to 95
The backseat driver held on to the "oh **** handle" for dear life as the people pleasers cheered me on with their mouths full

On to Massapequa
Hayley Neininger Apr 2012
I tried to describe you to someone
The other day
At a loss for affectionate nouns that
Would string together adjactives
Of how much I miss you.

Words sat deep in my lungs
And puffed out squeaky and small
Smoke-tainted coughs
Laced with conversations we had
When I first put that smoke there.

Words pilled up at the base of my gut
Twisting my insides the way you said
Yours did when you thought of planets.
Words that if formulated in my mouth
Would tell you I would ****
Just to be a moon circling in your orbit
Picking up rocks of you
You thought had fallen off forever
And were meteored through the universe.

Words that you once spoke to me
At night on a bench
Carried in my moon-hard
Lungs as smoke
That when I speak of you
Heat me thaw.
April Watson Apr 2013
Mom
Through thick and thin, through loss and sin
You held my hand and encouraged me to look within
You're the one that knows me as I've always been
You've kept me together throughout every weather, acting as my safety pin

We've had out ups and definitely our downs
Needed more than books as pick me ups to turn around our frowns

When I pilled high molehills into mountains
You helped me knock them down to size again

You're the smile behind this ongoing uphill mile
You're the laugh that revives my hang on for a while
You're the encouraging words behind every verse
You're my compass for every course.

You are most importantly my mom
Who is approaching an age where the years are not as long
You're turning an unspeakable age
Finishing an ancient chapter, turning a desolate page

There is one last thing to say
An obvious, over used cliche,
So here, without anymore delay, is your...

Happy Birthday
Happy 48th Mom!
brandon nagley May 2015
They ****,
They Mame,
They steal,
They play,
They laugh,
They covet,
They test
Hell as an oven!!!

They backstab,
They backbite,
You pulleth and grab,
They moan in delight,
They cheat,
They lust,
They thrive,
Of bones and of dust!!!

Their uncharitable,
They murmer,
Their a narcotic using world,
Their explorers,
Their punks,
Their freaks,
Their madmen,
Their geeks!!!

Their warlords,
Their pacifists,
Their hatred,
Is all nonchalant!!!!!

They get high to get what they want,
Their complainers,
Their lazied!!!
Their pilled out,
Junkies,
Crazy!!!!

Their low,
In disguist,
They use perfumes of sixty dollars of more!!
A delightful expensive musk!!!

Their cheap,
Penny pinchers
Their losers,
Their winners


Their warriors,
Their jocks,
Taking selfies of shame,
Of perverted stuff!!!

Their tounges are asps,
Their hands are weapons,
They'll meet you in hell,
I looketh forward to heaven!!!!

Their babies,
Scaby infested,
Some get off on ***,
Others love molestation!!

Their racists,
Their rapists to!!!
Of mother earth,
And mankind's tombs...

They turn on each other,
Sister and thy brother,
They gaze in mothers purse,
As with dad arguments stay cursed!!!

They are disobedient,
Disloyal in their love!!
No god do they worship,
Just Shaitan's to Satan's club!!!

They eat on organics,
They eat pesticide!!
Some live on freely,
Others seek thy easy way out(suicide)

The have no one to turn to,
Except their vain imaginations,
Their nonhumble,
Proudfully tumbled!!!!
Their fall is bound to occur!!!!

These are the humans!!!!

Welcome to earth!!!!
Kelsey Bohn Jul 2014
parties, drinking, hating one another
these are teens lives
but not mine

yes I like to have fun
but I want more than wonder if boys like me
drinking till I don't know where I am

I want long walks, deep talks
world travels, music shows
book pilled up to my nose

I want more than the average teen
and I am so happy for that
April Watson Jan 2013
You know my faded legacies.
You know my long forgotten glories.
You know all my tall tales and never ending stories.
You know me and the air I breath
The I's from which eye see.
The warm heart from which I bleed.

But you see only the image I let you see.
You can't see that the air is choking me.
That my stories lack a silver lining.
You've forgotten that my eyes are no longer shining.

You don't know that this heart is the reason that I'm always denying.
You recognize my voice but you don't hear the words I'm saying.
You won't hear the words I'm praying, the words that keep me lying.

You see my smile but not how broken it's become.
You'll never see the seems threatening to come undone.

I'm bursting, bursting with secrets,
Secrets screaming my truths with all the proof of my weakness.
I'm pilled high with tears I refuse to cry,
All I've ever done is turn a blind eye.
Mutasem Amayreh May 2014
It Would Be a Cold Day in Hell
by Mutasem Amayreh

You heard my story
Tongue-tied
My crowning glory
In a World-wide
Eye-folded
Yet in a cottage
tied
One day
The owner scolded
The bushy eyebrows
Frowned
On the scent of treason
Yelped the hound
During the peak season
Different colored Inks spilled
One iota of sound reason
The Mantle it pilled
What follow that I
detest
While sight-blinded
Began the Rorschach test
The process, long-winded
I didn’t hesitate
That one-sided picture
Of the issue
Started to imitate
Composed a tissue
of lies
Didn’t freak
Cut my ties
Promised Ink won’t leak
Believed the wiseacre
That talent spotter
Never become a risk-taker
But a life-long voter.
This poem speaks of the feudalistic political systems that dominated the Arab World for tens of years and still are! It also sheds a small amount of light on the still prominent atmosphere of a large proportion of intellectuals trying to accommodate to such a humiliating living suppressed by voracious systems.
Having spilled their ink for the first time, they, intellectuals, got confronted by these systems, ‘Began the Rorschach test.’ During this confrontation, they denied what they first thought of as revolutionary ideas, and so started to imitate the systems’ story about what is happening in their societies. Moreover, they isolated themselves from their societies, ‘Cut my ties’ and promised not to allow their ink to spill again. They gave up risking their lives, and pledged allegiance to these systems.
Kristin Kepner Sep 2015
While you sleep
Counting sheep
The dreams you keep
Pilled up in a heep
I will let the tea steep
As you creep
Still breathing deep
Jonah Lavigne Feb 2014
I know what it is
All the *******
Pilled  up inside
Cramer in to a bottle
And shoved down my throat
But I did it to myself
I put it in the bottle
I shoved it down my throat
I caused it all
The bottles cracking
But I seal the cracks
Because I don't want to hurt anyone
Some of it leaked through the cracks
I say things
Things I would never say
To my brother
To my sister
To my mother
To my friends and family
I seclude myself from them
I stay away
I lock myself in my room
And I sit there
I could **** myself
But I can't put that guilt on her
Her, the love of my life
The one I might lose
The one I want to keep
The one I can't lose
My insides burn
And my heart
What's left of it
Is falling apart
I'll do anything to keep her
I'll do anything for her
But I've said that
A million times before
I'll let her choose
I can promise her anything
But it's her choice
BB Tyler Feb 2017
palpable tension
in the bank
tellers rolling eyes
and rank and file
of stinking
value
pilled high

the sighing why?
and a mile of road before us

getting to the point
is a round about way
of feeling something
Baqir Talpur Nov 2018
Some where between the perpetual isolation
that we created in the name of personal space.
The wounds that were never healed,
Because they never received the ointment of attention.
The misunderstandings
That pilled up into a giant rumpus,
And ignited the dubious disposition,
turning the intimate conversations into constant fights.
The love that we lost,
To the demonic darkness of our egoistic nature,
Still exists,
But only in the fragments
Of some moth-eaten memories.
Phil Nov 2012
It's hard,
and I know none of you deserve it
I should probably send a card
its not that I am pilled up in a ton of ****

Life is fine,
my only problem are parents that I don't deserve.
Hopefully, the sun will shine,
and maybe there is some love between us I can preserve.
The greatest parents on Earth are mine,
they are just trying to show me the best was to traverse.
To bad I've been taking wrong turns since two thousand and nine.

Unfortunately, I do not feel bad,
it has given me time to think...
all about what I have had,
the strong loving link
between me, ma, and dad.
Beginning to believe I belong in a room walled with pads.

I do love you,
that is true.
Who knows if we will ever work out issues,
if I cried about it I would waste a box of tissues.
Problem is when we talk all of our lines are reused.

We fight all the time,
not sure if it is a crime.
I don't need someone's two sense, I need advice worth at least a dime.
Not sure if I can think of any more rhymes.
I didn't want to talk just yet because I was not sure what to say.  I decided to try and put some of what I wanted to say into words before we spoke.  After a month I know it will be we are worried sick then yelling for not working on contacting you, then for all the **** I have not done.  I did not mean to not talk to you for so long, but it happened.  I though about a lot of stuff during this month of being cut off from any real technology besides an Ipod.  I found that writing is helping.  I love reading and I thought if I read I should be able to write.   It lets me think about what I will put down before I actually say it...because when I talk I just say the first thing that comes to mind.  I realized that I am going to be working 60+ hours a week for at least 15 years.  I realized that I am probably not the lawyer or doctor you wanted me to be.  I am more like Anthony Bordain, easiest way to show who I am...minus the coke and dope (please believe me on that, I have seen what those two things have done to really good friends of mine and their family, i.e. Russell, as much as I love him and now he is finally getting better.  The worst I will do it not call for a while.)  It is hard because my friends out here at not like my friends back home in Jersey (now spread across mostly the east coast, some farther in land) and my "family" from Providence.  They knew when I wouldn't talk to you and make me call you.  Here, no one cares, people like to keep things bottled up, and I am not really sure who to talk to. because unfortunately I know you may just criticize me in a "nice" way and I don't want that.  This is my first Thanksgiving I am missing, and it is a weird feeling to not eat a lot in my house then go drink in the shed.  I am thankful for my parents that love my too much, a family that I never remember how much they care, a place that at some point I know I can return and be loved even after all the mistakes I have made and will make.  I am thankful for finding the things that make me happy food, friends, family, reading, writing,, and music.  It is what makes me me, and that is also what you made me, for 18 years, and it shows but people don't see because they do not know you.  Dad, we look exactly a like, right down to where a rock hit us on the top of the head and making us go bald.  I think about everything I left behind when I raced out to Denver for something that was awful.  I am thankful for my opportunity in KM Concessions.  I am thankful for being on my own and figuring out who the **** I am.  I found out I am a bad son, brother, grandson, and friend.  I probably seem self absorbed because I never call, and never write.  I do truly miss you, and think about what I do to you emotionally every day I do not call.  I apologize to you and every one that is close to us, but I am not sure when I will change.  I am a stubborn *******.  One thing that will never change, not matter what is that I do love you, more then I can tell you for some reason.  You are in my thoughts every single day.  I will never forget all the love , help, and everything you ever gave me.  All of it undeserved because I am not the perfect son.  I am a mess up and that is why I cook.  When I look back I will wish I could do it over, but I will do it the same because I hope when I do finally grow up I hope to be at least half the person either of you are.  Your warmth, love, and care.  Things that I always took for granted.  

Please don't think this a cheesy **** up, it is a scatter brain of thoughts that are true.  Things that I have trouble saying but think them everyday.  I wrote them, I love you, Happy Thanksgiving.  You should allow Doug, Sean, John, Dave, and Mike drink in the Shed  it would mean a lot to them.  It is our yearly therapy sessions, maybe why I have so much floating up in my brain.  I love you, not sure how to make that sound more powerful then those three little words.
Echo Bay May 2014
I am sitting here, the sun spilling through the window, blinding me.
My back pressed to the couch,
My neck twisted in pain, staring at the rows of books
Pilled high on one another
Feeling sober.
My eyes quickly roam the books,
taking in the authors' names  
I eagerly search the name
Impatiently anticipating it
Four times I come across it,
Micheal, Michael, Michael, Michael!
My eyes brimming with tears that spill each time.
What's in a name? As Shakespeare's Juliet explained:
If a rose should be called another name, would it not smell just as sweet?
If you were called any other name Michael, I guess I'll be just as bitter over you.
Pent-up love, for someone who doesn't love you.
cora May 2014
Haze covers her eyes.
Masks her from seeing anything that is too bright.
Weight pilled on her chest, so much that she is barely breathing.
Barely moving..
She wishes to scream but the pressures to much
and no one would hear her anyway.
She feels like she's drowning...
and although she knows how to swim
the water has the upper hand...
Even though she's barely living
and there are hundreds of people around... no one seems to see
and she likes it better that way.
If no one knows they won't treat her like a freak
if no one knows she has the upper hand
As long as no one knows she's free to pretend.
She's not okay, but she hasn't stopped breathing yet.
pluto Dec 2018
Bonds of paper pressed and folded
Bringing with it such paper planes accurate
Dipped quills, ink splattered across the white ream
Lanterns lighting, defeaning silence of the whispers of the wind's realm.

Entrusting aflame candles, flewn for enlightenment,
Trembling with the breeze's whistling accompaniment,
White as newborn clouds, creased lines across it's edges,
Books pilled up with history and insights, torn pages.

Storms swirling ever so swiftly,
Drifting folding paper dancing to the wind gracefully,
Following the rhythm of the hurricane,
Remaining resilientㅡ free from stabbing pain.

Tint overflowing each ream precisely,
Tainted with dreams crafted so idly,
A little push, realising grip,
A wish fleeting away, once one to keep.
Oprah, Winfrey, pilled up  fat, grotesque, painted, eyes bulging so far out they’re almost leaving their  unbearable  bloated sockets,
twitching in orgasmically ***-deprived, relished childhood trauma convulsions.
Her  toneless limbs jiggling independently, marionette-style,
puppeteered by the corporate machine that let her birth Dr. Phil. Right there on the stage in all of its grotesque, ******, umbilical glory.
The doped up  brainless sock puppet she is, shrieking again
into the mic, goes gobs of  spittle
flying onto the front row , veins pulsing, trying to warn America about
these supposedly pandemic-level
teenage *** acts.
Every day some new hallucinatory contrivance
based on underage ****** needs
(the needs of the audience, not the supposed perpetrators).

The "rainbow parties" that never happened.
Alleged lipstick “epidemic” she’s describing is projected on the set like a grotesque, fluorescent slideshow.
Kids with rainbow-stained lipstick-smattered penises,
PTA moms wet and shrieking in jealousy,
moral panic levels off the charts.
Checking under their seats for free *** toy goodies.

The children!
Oh, the children!
Whoever shall save them? The poor innocent oversexualized children !

Wait, what? What are they doing now?
Cut to kids eating Tide pods, huffing ****** fluids, peeing in Jenkum bottles,    Cutting freon lines, riding elevators on top,
dying of meningitis ,   satanic panic repacked church lies.

As if the Tiger mom world itself were actually collapsing under her hysterical, warped, unrealistic, and utterly sensationalized quasi-conservative lens.

After all, her opening act was straight out of The Dark Crystal.

The grand     doilied skeksi         decrepit animated skeleton queen                                           ................................      (fanfare blares)

                                Judge Judy!               (  Rises from the deep)
her crypt desecrated...

   Unholy powers erupt.     Gavel lightning apocalypse raging beside her. ( Notice how like a Skeksi  she doesn't have any ears, but she obviously doesn't use them anyway. Her mind's already made up before the whole show begins.)  

                      And now  a  word from our heartless corporate sponsors .    Bass Pro Shops  ads play , followed by catheter adds and gun show spots...  The show fades back in  and  the  living room darkens  into abyssal sad lonely silence . The T,V, god flickers  on brainwashing away all thought and individuality .

Fat greasy shameless Walrus mustache of projection now known as Oprah's baby...

                        Dr. Phil,
... well, he unctuously slides across the set in his stolen Scarecrow used car salesman polyester Frankenstein suit,
repeating the grotesque ritual lines.
Behind the scenes, Rush Limbaugh masturbates his mental pull string.
And of course, out spews his catchphrase:

"You are fat!
You are ugly!
You are stupid!
And you are gay!
And that's why nobody loves you.
Admit it!
Admit that yer gay and you hate yourself!!"

And in the moment of ******, IT transmorphs,
spinal ridges straining and cracking,
human form melts,
face elongates,
eyes bulge,
skin wrinkles into leathery, vulture-like textures.
His torso hunches,
ribs jutting grotesquely,
spine contorting like a broken marionette string.
Limbs wiggle independently
like he’s got a dozen "Grand Ole Party" puppeteers fighting for control,
except he’s still tethered to Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh’s umbilical cord as it runs back into Oprah's unused, abandoned ******.
Ghostly, corpulent waggling hands behind the curtain, twisting him into submission, laughing with their hollow, gassy whispers.

Suddenly, Dr. Phil melts completely and rears up as Judge Judy—but not the human one. This is the skeksi-Judge hybrid: ****-backed, beak-faced, leather-skin gleaming, clawed fingers gripping the gavel
like it’s the source of all earthly justice and bile.
Her eyes burn like a thousand angry American flags on the 4th of July, grease-fried hate dripping from her every twitch. Back it turns into doily-adorned, hairsprayed perfection, nightmare desiccation... that could only dominate as... *** *** ***

Judge Judy-skeksi!

The seemingly ageless, eternal, hate-filled windbag of injustice. ****-backed, vulture-faced, robes fluttering, crackling with electric American ***** housewife wrath,
striking lightning into the pastel Sunday school conversation sky.
Praise her lord; he speaks to her directly, and, well, apparently
"W" Bush too... remember... it was God that told him, he said.

Behind the curtains, unseen yet omnipotent, the two-headed hate blob that is
Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh, waggles a wet-slapping colonialist ******* of capitalist greed.
A now corpulent wraith of power and self-righteous, uneducated spite,
it squelches, turning knobs,
ashing its cheap cigar, it continues to pull strings, gurneys creaking,
laughter a vacuous shitstorm across the stage.
America cheers, unaware of the puppeteer,
and the nation, hypnotized, bows still,
loving, worshipping, repeating her hysteria,
while the gavel strikes, the lightning arcs.

Remember, it's all
"for the children!"
"Oh, the poor children!"
Whom all they want is to be left the fu@# alone by these twisted, sadistic, effed-up garbage human beings that simultaneously claim to cherish and love them, yet blame them for unreal atrocities they never even committed.
" calling out the whole fraudulent pedestal system that gave someone like  that bloated self important vacuous  wind bag  with NO  discernable skill,  no pedigree or accreditation, no real substance, and zero accountability a perpetual microphone and  every  stage to preach that mind numbing baseless nonsense from....            It was her show feeding America this sweaty fever-dream of teenage depravity that didn’t even exist. She made a career off painting a satanic **** in every high school locker room. That was her bread and butter.   ...     And the fact that it was almost every **** episode? That’s the formula: invent a panic, scare the parents, rake the cash.

— The End —