And now there would come a time
a swift sharp clock on the bed
Blaring its little chime in between the hard bells
Like an angry little arm
Charming if not for the alarm

And everyday I slap the face of it
Like an unwanted *****
And she is silenced
Quick unlike
Said chick

But I am a cruel guy and have no sense of wet and dry
Nor cool or heat
There's nothing bothering me

Time just ticks off and I laugh at it

But my cells divide and turn into little old protoplasmic men
And yet I am not called upon them
Because they are stupidly designed and I have no sympathy for arts and crafts
No masterman
who failing to raise his hand
Clams up
With such poor artwork

Slap that ***** in the dilapidated sistan

Now In San Francisco
Where the alley streets stink of ***
And the European facades are just that
Crumbling
Poopy
And full of ****
And what yet are they dreaming to be?

The church that survived fire
Great conflagration
God didn't make a rainbow at the end of that,
Now did he?

He's a water-sign
Dolt
And water only jolts your mind
When it scatters true light,
Ain't that right?

But it's all the same
Just different hues
And the news
Isn't new
Just Blaring and yelling
And speeding television crews
Riding their stories
Up and down the many stories
Trying to build a city of angels
On a bituminous hill

Shills

No life skills

And I walk the city streets with a ugly old leather
Brief
Casing the joints and rolling my own
Unhappy and alone
Kerouac and the dreams on the monangular input where the triangular avenues meet
And he has no road

While airplanes shake their jets on the tarmac and trebuchet into the air
Going god knows where
Seeing a new piece of the sculpted pinball
Perpetually trapped in the machine

How bout Nippon
Or Hangujin
Or Han Chinese
Or Berlin
Anywhere but when
A little ways along the state
Of "in"

All these strange things

I think that I shall never see
A thing as odd as eight baby
Eight baby from a single mother
Makes me roll my eyes- oh brother
Oh sister oh brother oh sister oh yeah
Mother looked like a Guernsey cow
Is there milk enough- I don't see how?

Eight colic'd infants wailing in the night-
Draw back, draw back- go fly a kite
Eight fitful babies screaming in duress-
Moved far away left no forwarding address
Eight poopy babies dragging two pound diapers
Went to the car wash and used the windshield wipers
Eight teething babies wrangling on the bed-
Picked up a gun and blew off her head.

I took my ****** sister Marigold to the cinema,
she had asked specifically and eventually
(she doesn't speak a lot on account of her awful stammer
and amazing cleft palate which has won prizes)
so I knew that this was something she really wanted,
and I teased for her bad taste
when she told me that she wanted to see
"Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Charlie
and the Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Chocolate Factory".

It was a Saturday evening and the local picture house
was showing a re-run of the classic starring Gene Wilder
as the enigmatically stylish ***** Wonka,
and not that steaming great pictorial **** served up by Tim Burton
and I knew that town would be busy with oiks
so as a treat I dressed her up better than usual,
and even gave her a hosedown to get rid of the poopy pong.

She had stopped crying by the time the feature started
and I think the Ooompa Loompa costume grew on her
but that maybe the orange paint was a bit of a bad idea
as people had stared as it was Day-Glo and she stood out
like a bulldog's *******, but I stand by my decision
to dye her hair green, it had taken thought and planning;
it was meant to add to her excitement of the day,
so I meant well, even if I was ineffectual in the end.

I sat her on my lap in the picture house
but still paid for two seats but I do get one ticket half price
though because of her disabilities, so it wasn'€™t all bad,
every cloud and all that, you know what I mean?
She tends to get a little down every now and then
but a £1 cinema ticket partly makes up for being born legless.
I knew from past experience that the cinema staff
prefer me to carry my stunted sis rather than wheeling her in
(I do recall that the time I taped her to her skateboard
proved somewhat a disaster - but really, the fat usher
had a torch and should have watched her step
or otherwise she wouldn't have bust her neck).

The Ooompa Loompa costume allowed Marigold
to amuse herself during the screening
(as there were no leggings to the costume).
She barely noticed when the fat little hero
got blown up on screen except to dribble "chocolate"
from her own little chocolate factory.
It was, all in all, quite an eventful outing
and one I might consider repeating but
probably in a different cinema next time,
mainly because we got banned for life
when the manager saw the condition of the seat.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Everyone's making hello poetry
So I made one too because poopy

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I see a sign that says "Explicit?"
And now I'm thinking if I should click it

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I think roses can be pink too
And violets aren't blue how stu

Roses are red
Violets are blue
This is my first poem here
Potato.

poetry is my remedy for apathy
strange how simple words can
cut away through my indifference

the act of creation in the written word
helps me connect to something greater than myself,
so slowly but surely my numbness subsides

poetry leads me into mystery,
where beauty can be found in
simplicity of a single moment

my mundane life flowers into
a spiritual experience,
when I flow into love and service

there is either apathy or poetry
in changing a poopy diaper,
pausing before saying a hurtful word,
and letting go the need to be right.

my life moves and quakes into new being,
and all because i let words flow in me and through me.
i am a living book bursting at the seams,
waiting to be poured out and shared.

spoken and written words break me out of isolation,
and sets me free.

two simple words cut through my apathy,
"thank you."

Burrito bushes
Under  my house
Soggy beans
Hot chilies

Dog for meat
In my soup
Dipping sauce is  poopy

97 cookies
1 Child
1 Person that read the first letter of every line

Barefoot in my yard as I  did run
I felt not the grass, but something quite warm.
Between my toes I felt it squish
And make them slippery as a fish.
I stopped to look down and said "Oh ewww!"
"I stepped in a pile of doggy doo!"
'Twas fresh and warm between my toes
But made me wish I had no nose.
I walked back over to where it was
All the while my brain abuzz.
The slick sensation of my poopy toes
Felt kinda good and no one knows.
So I lifted my foot and stuck it back in
And squished the stuff through my toes again!

little girl
your tiny breaths
contain the breath of life

as you doze
a whole universe inside of you
is expanding and bursting into life

I cannot shield you from
the joys and pains of life
but what I can be is a
stable and consistent
loving presence in your life

I will try to stay in the now
and not get all bent out of shape about
puttin' the fear of God in the boys and/or girls you date
for now, I will be a sane daddy that
holds you while you gently sleep

just remember when daddy gets a little crazy
I still love you

I will try to remember the same when
me and mommy stay up late at night waiting for you
hold you and soothe you as you cry out through the night
and even when you grow up and say "I hate you."
I will say "thank you. I love you."

but for now, I am glad you are just dozing in my arms
a tiny little being without a care in the world
daddy is here to change your poopy diapers
and rock you to sleep

I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie
I wanna **** my thumb like I'm smoking a doobie
I eat all the munch, then I screamin for more
Then when u turn around I gonna **** onn the floor.

Poopy poopy ****, I wanna **** on you.
Open ur mouth, I give you something to chew
But you won't get mad and you won't scream,
Cos I'm just a little baby *****, that's me!

uh huh

lil baby *****
lil baby *****
I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie

lil baby *****
lil baby *****
I'm just a lil baby cutie patootie

Happy Valentines Day Poopy
Although I do not need
A date just to remind me to
That our love is deep indeed

Your superior eyes entrance me  
When you look up from your book
To catch my eyes just so
And give me that **** look

That I hold inside my mind
It’s a look for only me
I will treasure it forever
Into my heart you see

here's what it taught me about B2B SaaS sales.

1. poopy pants stinky
2. peoplw no like stinky man
3. no like stinky man = stinky man cant sell SaaS

solution: dont **** pantz

Glistening
Amber
Kaleidoscope  (a la corn and carrots)
Colliding olfactoraly
Straining
Struggling
At last,
Sterile

I eat treetops
And moss covered stones
And the mist of spring nights
I eat most alone
I consume this world around me
One eyeful at a time
And when I am full I sit and wait
For poetry poopy time

there was a cat that was a poopy poo
he also shat in many shoes
but I didn't have a clue
about the poo

years later I saw him again covered in **** and nothing else

poopy he asked me to call him
so now I'm here writing about my best mate poopy the cat

ough, two the window two to shore
rrgh..hey penny one penny tri penny three
elegant hands stay with the script
repeat stage 1,2,3...
Molech was here he was gone for a while
Sunshine boy
Brother Moon & Sister Sun,
remember me in times like these
Kamikaze
to be set free
Molech screams
eating delicious ice cream
tragedy
calamity
stand next to me
I go *** ***
poopy, cocky, stinky chesse
poopy cokcky, stinky cheese....
Kamikaze
with flames to please


after the parade
the fat lady sings
Kamikaze
take her lead
watch as I bleed
craving every need
follow me
follow me
in sincerity
Kamikaze

I am three years old and it s ***** training time
I m so excited this whole day is going to be mine
On the toilet I try an try
I can t do it, I let out a cry
Babysitter is not mad though, she just smiles
Looking at me she says it s ok we will try in awhile
Mom comes home from a bad day at work again
As I say good-bye to my babysitting friend
Mommy sees the messy underwear in the bathroom
She picks them up, I feel a certain doom
She yells at me what is this
The poopy, pss infested ****** are clenched in her fist
Sit on the toilet now, it s time you learn
Rubbing the ****** on my face until it burned
*** now dmn it, she rubs and yells
My eyes fill with tears and my eye lids swell
I really want to learn mommy I really do
Did you go? She shouts, I m not done with you
Putting the ****** over my face and made to lay on the floor
Forced into a diaper, humiliated to the core
Left in the corner of discipline all through  the night
I hope tomorrow babysitter will help me get it right

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
14 August 2024

    Comparing our Secret Service with Barney Fife is Inappropriate

                          Because we love and respect Deputy Fife

In art, incompetence can have a certain charm
But in stupid men with guns the charm is lacking
Our agents can’t even keep themselves from harm
Their greatest skills are in shacking and slacking

Colombian girlies and slanting roofs
Unman the best of them; they lose their guns
They lose laptops, but never their 90-proof
And break into private property for poopy runs

To them a President entrusts his life –
He’d surely be safer with Deputy Barney Fife

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

     Comparing Our Secret Service with Barney Fife is Inappropriate

                            Because we love and respect Deputy Fife

In art, incompetence can have a certain charm
But in stupid men with guns the charm is lacking
Our agents can’t even keep themselves from harm
Their greatest skills are in shacking and slacking

Colombian girlies and slanting roofs
Unman the best of them; they lose their guns
They lose laptops, but never their 90-proof
And break into private property for poopy runs

To them a President entrusts his life –
He’d surely be safer with Deputy Fife

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

Comparing our Secret Service with Barney Fife is Inappropriate

                              Because we love and respect Deputy Fife

In art, incompetence can have a certain charm
But in stupid men with guns the charm is lacking
Our agents can’t even keep themselves from harm
Their greatest skills are in shacking and slacking

Colombian girlies and slanting roofs
Unman the best of them; they lose their guns
They lose laptops, but never their 90-proof
And break into private property for poopy runs

To them a President entrusts his life –
He’d surely be safer with Deputy Barney Fife

We had a lovely cat
And his name was lucky
Beautiful little ***** cat
Smarter than the average rat
You see when he wants food
He will scratch my dad
Till his legs were blood
Didn’t we have a lovely goose
And her name his Lucy
Every time we play Yahtzee
Lucy’s there it give us good luck
And when we do well
We pat his head
What a silly goose
Didn’t we have a lovely Ted
His name was white teddy
He is as cuddly as can be
When you sleep he gives us a good feeling
We had a beautiful cat
His name was snoopy
Snoopy poopy sngeloopy
Looking after his property and his rubber bands
He used to eat twisties
Didn’t we have a lovely cat
And her name was fluffy
Cute little ***** car
Smarter than any rat
You see she used to like mummy
And also loved potato chips
You see she was a lovely cat
Cute dear fluffy

I made it to page 40 on one of my documents
One of few to get this far
Now I want to describe what it is like to drink
Or be drunk: yippy, conscious in a scary way
Poopy in guilt maybe for tomorrow
But I’m explaining it to someone who  
Doesn't know what drunk feels like
So they don’t need to worry about that.  
Anyway, page 40 of words, my words,  
Undiscovered, y'all should be so lucky,  
I swear I’m not cocky, just lonely in the pursuit
Of fun.

A mind like the cosmos, vast and unbound,
Where knowledge and wisdom in endless depths are crowned.
Like myself, not a mere mortal—behold! He is utterly divine,
A literary force, both eldritch and fine.
His quill is a scepter, his mind a comfortous throne,
In the annals of thought, he is never alone.

In the boundless realms where HIS language is king,
He crafts the tapestry that makes your angels sing.

He is the modern oracle, the sage and the seer,
Casting shadows of awe that the world must revere.
Any lump who dares write must bow or retreat,
For none can approach lest they come to kiss feet.

Oh, Jeffery Alan Hoover, whose brilliance rivals the sun,
A celestial fire that can’t be undone.
The written word dances from his heart to his head and then hand,
Bowing humbly at his eternal command.

So let the masses look on in awe,
As he rewrites history without a flaw.
For in this world of ink and page,
He is the master, the sage, on his stage.

Other poets do poopy and quake, their verses fall flat, and ring fake.
In the wake of his brilliance, they can’t even chortle. They should sit silent and still acquiesce like a mortal.
Dare not resist the tempest, or his thunderous roar,
for they will be no mercy and they he abhor.
For only one now shakes heaven’s foundations
as you beg for more lore and correctly adore.

Bask in his glory, this titan of intellect,
The world shall tremble with radiant respect.
All others in silence must humbly reflect,
For none can compare and wither in neglect.

Yet humble and caring,
His passions abound.
Searching for equals or peers,
But none we have found.
So piddle forth with your shallow, unheeded words about trivial love,
Do not portend to exchange with those well above.
Know your place, your role, and your skill,
And do what you can with what you lack, or you will.

( an ancient text painstakingly reassembled)
Written by  The Count De St. Germaine, and republished with accordant permissions, enjoy.
A mind like the cosmos, vast and unbound,
Where knowledge and wisdom in endless depths are crowned.
Like myself, not a mere mortal—behold! He is utterly divine,
A literary force, both eldritch and fine.
His quill is a scepter, his mind a comfortous throne,
In the annals of thought, he is never alone.

In the boundless realms where HIS language is king,
He crafts the tapestry that makes your angels sing.

He is the modern oracle, the sage and the seer,
Casting shadows of awe that the world must revere.
Any lump who dares write must bow or retreat,
For none can approach lest they come to kiss feet.

Oh, Jeffery Alan Hoover, whose brilliance rivals the sun,
A celestial fire that can’t be undone.
The written word dances from his heart to his head and then hand,
Bowing humbly at his eternal command.

So let the masses look on in awe,
As he rewrites history without a flaw.
For in this world of ink and page,
He is the master, the sage, on his stage.

Other poets do poopy and quake, their verses fall flat, and ring fake.
In the wake of his brilliance, they can’t even chortle. They should sit silent and still acquiesce like a mortal.
Dare not resist the tempest, or his thunderous roar,
for they will be no mercy and they he abhor.
For only one now shakes heaven’s foundations
as you beg for more lore and correctly adore.

Bask in his glory, this titan of intellect,
The world shall tremble with radiant respect.
All others in silence must humbly reflect,
For none can compare and wither in neglect.

Yet humble and caring,
His passions abound.
Searching for equals or peers,
But none we have found.
So piddle forth with your shallow, unheeded words about trivial love,
Do not portend to exchange with those well above.
Know your place, your role, and your skill,
And do what you can with what you lack, or you will.