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sandra wyllie Oct 2023
like eggs benedict, a poached
egg wobbly as it sits. Covered in hollandaise
sauce, spooling on his plate. Spilling
over the sides as he ate! Runny as
his nose the snowy winter he ran

a fever and had a cold. There was a big tear
in her, running like crimson sheer pantyhose,
from her crotch down to her toes. Runny
as the Colorado river. Against the pines

and mountains she's a sliver. Runny as
her hazel eyes. As the tear ducts fill
she cries. It drips like dew drops pearling
on her lips. Runny as drains collecting

all the rain beating down from the sky. Like
the juices in mom's baked apple pie. After all,
she was his honey. But amber sweetness
heated under the fire is hot and runny.
zebra Aug 2016
on the first date
she confided in me
i have a chromosomal disorder, disorder, disorder
i need love and pain strangely mixed together
my elixirs
i suffer reality distoooorrtions
a ghastly Vatican of ****** compulsions
my soul is black matter
my **** a seething cauldron of despicable desire
my *** cries for homicidal cruelty

mold me into a *******
fold me like a two dollar beach chair
the wrong way
tear me to bits
unwind my intestine
eat me like a blood ******* ghoul
make me squirm like an anime victim

i thought oh finally a soul mate
with soul

strange as a Dionysian mad hatter on hallucinogenics
hot girl creeping
grimacing at me
meandering conjurations by ****** contortions
stunning impersonations of a Fellini impaling
shes a famous artist
keeps broodish bowels and blood tampons in stainless vitrines
spot lighted
ready for her debut at the
Museum of Modern Art

she blows torrents of snot like ****
her beautiful desperate tongue searching the upper lip
a salty runny viscoses snack
oozy
finding it finally with her frenetic tongue
feeding her gooey ****
with wet fingers
oh yummy yum goo
up her *** too

first smiling then hideous scowls
exposed teeth
posing with a knife
wana see me cut my self bad boy, she taunts
wana see my impersonation of pizza with extra tomato sauce

blood blood *** in the be in the bed
wipe it up with ginger bread

some how she miraculously bulges her eyes out
then performs, ******* lips as if a minnow in a fish jar

pointing to her ***
giving me that **** hurt me twisted look
how about a peanut butter jelly ******* sandwich
with a side of ****** feet
**** and **** on toes
its especially prized this day of the month
as her **** tears like a vampires mouth, a torrent of blood
pouting **** with white red stained thighs that break a mans heart
*** nothing at all she quips
just a little accident
do you like it?
as she glares like an invitation
to play slip and slide bare foot in her puddle of blood

oh she made me *****
my cherry red **** having a nervous breakdown
from apoplectic horror gasms
a dose of heavens hell

i want her
she is voluptuous like a dozen venomous snakes
copulating in warm soup dark water everglades
she is slither theater

curdling screams
then muggling *******
brought on by the first belly stab
falling to her knees
looking up shocked
mouth gaping
eyes wide
grinning
glance steady
holding holding holding
the belly cut
a cacophonous modern dance of agony
followed by rapturous convulsing *******
that went on and on and on

get a bat she implored

she is a real ******* movie star
the Greta Garbo of *****
a dark jewel
a must have
a hell wife
goddess of dread
a ******* *** genius
my best girl ever

fused by desire
we kissed like **** loving catholic priests
in adoration of their savior
young boy *** castrato hitting the high notes


she looked up with desperation
eyes with glittering tears
and said
are you my black knight?
do you know how to hurt a girl
are you my
Vex Mallus
Dr Satan
Marquis De Sick
Nick Nick
Dark Officer
Remus the Werewolf
Dom Sugar Daddy
Pit Bull
Tommy the Tummy Gutter
5 o'clock Shadow
London Cabby
Amputee ******
Uncle Surgery Gone Wrong
King of the Carpathian Vampires
my sweet kissy Kitten

ooohh yes i said
i am all that for loves sake
albeit twisted
i am what you crave.. your no taboo lover boy
your ******* licking foot slave with a razor in hand
a bubble of poison between my legs
your homicidal suicidal cockealiciousness

she said good,
now that we have that settled
can we go out for dinner
ill be dressed in a jiffy
if i can find my dead skirt
of soft white gauze
with that lovely motif of dread red
and my precious toe tag jewelery
My poems remain explorations of the subconscious ******
If i where a film maker or a novelist  you  would see me telling a story, not judge me, although i admit to my paraphilias  
These poems  are lunar anamorphic streams of consciousness from the deep chaotic subterranean glitz of transgressive  impulses we all share
Read them if you dare...You might find that part of yourself that you don't want you to know about and then again  you may feel more complete some how if you do....I always loved that dark thing that sleeps with in me
yes Sep 2018
My nose is runny
God knows which illness it’s from
My head is hurting
I don’t know how it’s still on
I am still aching
After all the breaking that was done
I am still burning
Oh how the table’s turning

No one had a part in this self rightous suicide
Everyone was afraid of what would be my homicide
It isn’t okay to do
It is terrible if you continue to refuse to conform
You can’t make yourself happy
Just calm down and let us make the rules

My nose is runny
God knows which illness it’s from
My death is coming
It sure knows how to haunt
I am still lying
That I am alright
I am still crying
That they already got a bite

Now I am running
God knows where I am really from
My end is coming
Who Knows if it’s the real one?
I am still dying
But I know how to hide
From the ones who are in control
Who make everything so dull
Johnny Zhivago Aug 2013
Spanish influenza
walking pneumonia
icepick headache
common cold
whooping cough
Diabetes
anorexia
getting old

flat foot
bad back
heel spur
heart attack
spasticus
autisticus
tongue tied
amb(i)dextrous

my weakness
is my forte
my sickness is  my skill
my illness
is my realness
it makes my life a thrill


Trying to fight this
bronchitis
gangrene
runny nose
frostbite
tooth decay
hat hair
broken bones

bed bound
shell-shocked
flea ridden
sinusitis
cholera
dropsy
eliphantitis
out-all-nightis

wom­b fever
winter fever
black water fever
remitting fever
ship fever
jail fever
camp fever
or schizophrenia

scarlet fever
tuberculosis
American plague
rock n roll
Wheezing
Paralysed
Got gas
In both holes

rabies
scabies
rickets
and SARS
man flu
bird flu
swine flew
from Mars

multiple sclerosis
tennis elbow-sis
stomach ulcers
and leukaemia
night blindness
hypothermia
lung cancer
sickle-cell anaemia

French pox
Lockjaw
Polio
Gout
Nostalgia
Dropsy
Knocked right
Out

Stuttering
Bellyacher
Anti-social
Leprosy
Sleep walker
Sleep talker
Absent minded
OCD

Tourettes, ****
Pyromania
tonsillitis
Conjunctivitis
Food poisoned!
Warted over
My Psoriasis
(Will I survive this?)

Measles
Malaria
Meningitis
Migraine
Scrum-pox
Worm fit
Water on
the brain

apparitions
seeing things
rattly chest
bad breath
la duzi
tormentation
inflammation
black death

measles
malaria
migrane
mumps
leprosy
lice and
leg bone
lumps

kleptomania
bubonic plague
black *****
feeling ****
bone shave
falling sickness
wanna stop
just cant quit

Huntington's and
Parkingson's and
Hare-lipped
Hay fever
Typhoid fever
Glandular fever
Night fever
And Hysteria

intellectual
dyslexia
dysfunctional
family
cancer crab
stillborn twin
bad blood
epilepsy

Parking spot
disabilities
all the wounds in
all the militaries
pity thee with
lost agility
lost babes or
infertility

ear infection
starvation
Hepatitis
E to A
smallpox
chicken pox
cow pox
what a day

tuberculosis
stuttering
panic stricken
star struck
scurvy
shingles
headless chicken
bad luck


paranoid
in the void
premature
*******
stomach ulcers
feeble pulses
chronicled
*******

autistic
gallstones
double-jointe­d
wrists and knees
consumption
bad digestion
quinsy palsy
ticks and fleas

amnesia
typhus
amnesia
heart failure
radiation
cholera
amnesia
bad behaviour

Hypochondriac?
By gosh, no!
Poorly are ye?
‘Fraid so.


nostalgia
        suffer me
wanderlust
suffer me
insomnia
suffer me
loneliness
let me be



god
complex
mother
complex
father
complex
ego
complex

­

its complicated
im superior
its complicated
im inferior
its complicated
im a short man
got ingrown hairs
got a bad tan



im suffering
ocd
im suffering
obesity
im suffering
jealousy
xenophobia
and nosebleeds



stokholm
syndrome
toxic shock
syndrome
got it down
syndrome
irritable bowel
syndrome

yellow nail
syndrome
stevens-johnson
syndrome
restless leg
syndrome
shoulder-hand
syndrome

lambert-eaton
syndrome
mi­ddle-lobe
syndrome
mobius
syndrome
pickwickian
syndrome

post rubella
syndrome
riley day
syndrome
straight back
syndrome
ulysess
syndrome



alcoholics
we are prone
drug addicts
we are prone
mind benders
we are prone
fortune spenders
we are prone



My illness, my illness
My illness is my realness

*Pick it up
Tide it over
Fight it off or
Cave in

Save it
Suffer it
Pass it on
When its Raining

bleed him
restrain him
shave his
head

he went from being
quite well
to being quite
dead.
unfinished but did you bother to the end?
Chalsey Wilder Apr 2014
Rain water soaks us
Runny mascara, but you still think I'm beautiful
Lips so soft
Lips so sweet
We're pressed up against each other
Bare chest to bare chest
You on top
Me on bottom
Hips locked in place with the other
Warm soft sweet lips slowly caressing my body, my lips and my neck you **** on
Soft gentle hands caress my ******* thoughtfully
Finally, her lips reach my thighs, I, trembling with lust and fear
I was scared and she knew it
Her hands and lips touched me
*So softly, so gently
My first erotica poem. Hope you like it.
It is not about me though. I'm still a ******. Comment what you think about my poem please?
Thank you.
Allen Wilbert Sep 2013
To expel intestinal gases through the ****.
The definition makes it sound kinda heinous.
Whether you pass wind or pass gas,
either way it comes out your ***.
Farts are loud and some silent but deadly,
you can make it sound like a medley.
Farts are cool and sometimes funny,
lookout for ones that become runny.
Some like to **** in your face,
it may cause pink eye,
and sting like mace.
Farts can smell and usually bad,
must be a duck, says your dad.
I have farts that never stink,
although some were on the brink.
Dog farts will make you take cover,
the smell lingers and starts to hover.
Woman never ****,
but watch out when they do,
it can be brutal,
once their comfortable with you.
If in certain places you must hold it in,
farting in church is considered a sin.
A good **** can make you feel good,
its part of life and fully understood.
Every **** deserves a smile or a giggle,
don't forget to give your *** a shake or a wiggle.
For ones who think farting is disgusting,
I bet your ******* needs a good dusting.
Della N Alcorn Apr 2014
Dipped in milk

Or eaten plain

Chocolate like silk

Cookies&Cream;

Peanut butter

****** Butter

Oreo's

Who to blame

Sneaking in the night

Only for a bite

Sweet and touchy

Creamy and crunchy

Let the sugar rush come

Oh, now hand me a tum

Upset tummy

My nose is runny

What's this i hear?

I can't take sweets as I please?

Oh, come on...

You can't blame the cookies!
This is really childish, so sorry if you don't like it.
Lin Cava Nov 2010
Such a lovely ring, she said.
It even looks good on my ugly hands.
As if those hands were lacking.
As if those hands –
hard working hands –
Bore no beauty of their own.

My mother’s hands,
That held the soap
To scrub my baby toes;
Whose hands were there
To show me how
To blot my runny nose.

Those hands that later
held my hands
And patiently did teach me
How to tie my shoes -
Then held them once again
To coax and guide my own
To write my cursive name
Until the time when I alone
Could do the very same.

My mother’s hands,
That fed me,
And tucked me in at night;
Who touched my fevered brow
And soothed away my fright.

My mother’s hands,
That all my life
Gave comfort, care and hope.
And when my children came to be,
I watched my mother’s hands -
a new grandmother’s hands -
Touch my children, tenderly.

My mother’s hands,
Yes, weathered by their toil,
The fingers wide,
And aged with years –
and just like her,
Still sure and strong
Yet gentle as they ever were.

My mother’s hands –
She looks, and says they’re ugly
But I don’t know what to say.
For when I see
My mother’s hands
It’s the beauty of
The love they gave,
Assuring strength
And constant grace
All held within
My mother’s hands.

Lin Cava©
Creative Commons Copyright
Terry O'Leary Dec 2015
1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.
Mike West Aug 2012
Oh my little piece of poo,
How much that I do cherish you.
A texture like that of sticky clay.
With an aromatic, stiff bouquet.
I can roll you into little *****.
And stick you to the bathroom walls.
I can shape you any way I want.
And get some more with a little grunt.
If I want you a little runny,
I use prunes to fill my tummy.
"Add some color." did you say?
I'll just eat corn and peanuts. Yay!
Want some green, some red, some blue?
A box of fruitloops, that'll do!
If I want you a little lumpy,
I'll eat raw carrots, their kinda chunky!
Playdough can't come out of my ****,
And I can't make playdough with my gut.
Most people flush you far away.
But I recycle! With you I'll play!
So here's to you, my piece of poo.
Thank you so much for just being you!
TheTeacher Oct 2012
I see her often ....struggling all alone.
A diaper bag, pocketbook and the baby.
The look of distress on her face as she pushes the stroller home.

She raises her child all by herself.
Her pockets are not overflowing ....which means she's lacking wealth.

She shuffles off to work each day.
She's wondering when they will increase the dollars in her pay.

Single mom to some, Superwoman to her kids.....no regrets, it is what it is.

How I admire her strength and drive.
She's strong during the day, but at night she cries.
This is not the way it was supposed to be.
My child should be seeing double not just me.

Her mind is steady racing, but this is not a race.
The thought started here and now it's in a different place.

The sacrifices and staying up late when her child is sick.
She's snapping pictures at Christmas time as her daughter opens presents left by jolly ole Saint Nick.

She's thankful for this precious jewel that she must shape and shine.
Smiling as she puts her child to bed, because she has to be at work by nine.

There's always something to be done, so there's not much time to sit.
This is a full time job and one which she can't quit.

The cooking, the cleaning and washing clothes,
she's looking for some tissues so she can wipe a runny nose.

She thinks she's a single mom, but that's not entirely true.
The Lord is guiding and assisting ....pulling her through.

Keep your head up and don't let anyone or anything bring you down.
A queen's crown belongs on her head.....not upon the ground.

A dedication to the single mother's........Thank you for all that you do and have done.
there was a little hedgehog he caught a summer chill
he had a runny nose the poor chap felt ill
he began to cough and then began to sneeze
then his little chest it began to wheeze
he felt really poorly so he went to bed
curled in his blankets to rest his poorly head
next day he woke up he he felt as right as rain
the hedgehog he was happy he was well again
Connor Reid Apr 2014
A duality of elan vital, two people
Spectres of emotion
Intertwined by a fuselage of bruised skin & tendon
Tissues become orbital, gushing towards grafts
Helixes of snot, **** and lymph
Boy & girl
As they embrace the animating principle and eachother, they fuse
A one piece tapestry adorned seamless with no hem, beginning or end
Always was, always is
Patiently turning to liquid as their being unzips
Lying figures of runny makeup and genetic *****
Quintessence, a texture of synaptic potential
Corpus Callosum
An entirety of self, lost in imbued disintegration
Theory of mind, looped & bound
I will water the thought
Roots envisaged in dystopian amygdala
Piercing data packets with a frost-like intensity
Forgetting our obsolescence moments ago
A neuron dipped in nylon
Theta waves and the non-euclidean crux of dissociation
Ghosts in the machine, your macro god
The sympathies of fractional distillation
Digitised/assimilated unto the nanosphere
Cold hands and brass backs galvanised in oscillated tears
Commodified, sold out and bought
Stretching, from purple, white and black
slowly losing its colour, amorphous in shape
brushed across a smudge, ambiguously chromatic
Monetised flesh god
An eternity bathed in starlight
Cutting an incision in the sky to allow entropy
Divided dimensions of energy
Fleeting and intangible
No longer a delirium of seperation
All semantics become light
As a rusted vehicle passes overhead
And all the worlds questions fade out of existence
Flutters of red tape and foregone growth of practice
Sinew flayed, integrated towards information
Our minds shared
In circuits and resistors
Photons and electrons
We radiate
zebra Jun 2019
could it be a *******
like cotton buds
from the ***** flower

a witched river
under dark clouds
of brooms that don't fly anymore
maybe in need of an upgrade

perhaps a spell of weaponized winds
with insinuated floating ghouls
shaking their lopsided claws
under blood orchards
and diagrams of grief
as they follow their noses
looking for *****

*******; the scent of vivacious
zyzzyva
loving oozing laughter
thirsty skin
needles too
**** heroine stuck on toe picket fences
mimicry of ducks blood butter
like a crime scene of kisses that went to far
eggs and runny yokes left puddled on a thigh
the ****** burps Pans milkshake
*** legacy legs
lookin for love

auto asphyxiated in a closet fringy and hanging with a hardon
lost eyes and drool
somewhere in Thailand
after spicy noodle soup
and a Tsingtao


hurt me
hurt you
i'm an evil boweval
a Zyzzyva come to love you
JaBrea Patterson Nov 2014
Sometimes it hurts so much not to cry when you have to hold it inside you and it hurts so much to be in a crowed room
and you have to hold it in because if she sees you
crying she'll know it's because she stomped on your chest
and caused your heart to deflate like a lazy balloon and
in that moment you feel so alone and
empty
and so you start to cry.
And everyone consoles you and pats you on the back and tells you it'll be okay
but this isn't what you wanted
it wasn't supposed to happen like this
"no no no leave me alone
just stop
I'm fine I have allergies jesus."
And crying doesn't fit your aesthetic,
emotion doesn't fit your aesthetic,
love doesn't fit your aesthetic. So you get your **** together.
You go to the bathroom and you wash your face and you get your **** together and you fix your makeup
because runny mascara does not fit your aesthetic
and neither does
heartbreak.
I wrote this in the bathroom of a school dance I went to last year after my crush rejected me.
sandra wyllie Dec 2023
like sap from the maple
tree. You tapped into the core
of me. I poured myself out
to you under skies of cornflower

blue.  Runny as a stuffy nose,
the kind you like to blow. Pushed
out like a sneeze. You always were
a tease. Runny as dripping ice

cream from a sugar cone, sticking
to your hand, in your lap I land. Melting
as the April snow. Runny as shampoo
in the shower, down your face

across your chest, your back
and legs, a foamy dress. As I swirl
my way down the drain I'm less
and less.
sandra wyllie Mar 2024
like a poached egg,
dripping yolk upon her
plate. Painting the plate gold,
like the yellow from a rainbow,
till she’s tossed in the dishwasher
with the folks, knives and saucers.

She's Runny
like a nose drooling
from a cold. Dabbing the tip
with a cotton handkerchief,
till her sniffer looks like a clown’s
fire-engine red and round.

She's Runny
like a watercolor bleeding
in the rain. Swirling blue,
purple and green before she's
time to set. She's ugly,
when she's wet.

She's Runny
like mascara
in black rivulets on
her face from weeping
like the clouds. She looks
like a racoon in the middle
of the afternoon!
emma louise Feb 2015
I sleep on white bed sheets
with the windows open
so the breeze can brush my face
and the rain can fall on my lips.
I sleep in the gray half-light that
washes the color from my walls.

My skin is bare, fingers tangled in
the blankets, hair drying in the
same air that dries the dew
off of the leaves.

Get drunk on dreams
crumple the sheets
ice packs and underwear
poetry, bracelets, books.

I sleep with tearstained cheeks
swollen eyes and a runny nose
and bite marks in my mouth.
I sleep with a heavy heart
and fingertips on fire.

Dizzy, fuzzy eyesight
and fantastic scenarios
played out like film in my head.

I sleep in the warmest
and coldest room of my house.
I sleep under quilts and blankets
curled up against the cold,
and I sleep naked
with the air warm against my skin.

I always sleep with a book
at my bedside
and the drapes opened
so I can see the stars.

I sleep through sunsets and sunrises
and lightning that cracks open the sky.
I sleep through delicate snowstorms
and hazy summer smoke.

I sleep by myself
and I seize the quiet
as a moment of my own,
not shared
not secret.

I sleep for life and rebirth
and tranquility,
for peace and second chances.
I sleep for mornings.
Megan Parson Dec 2017
Brighter than Rudolph's red nose,
My nose, like a traffic light glows.
Santa could hire me you know,
As his coach man I'd love to go !!
Traffic stops when I cross,
Puzzled police are at a loss.
"Oh, those signals", they say at last,
By then I'm gone real fast !!

Winter haunteth the place I live,
Not a ghost. (Ghostbusters do forgive)
Tissues like snow, dot the floor,
What's in them, I don't adore.
If only this was Charlie's Chocolate factory,
Where snow resembled sugary gallantry !!
Maybe Santa loved Winter no more,
Instead it entered through my front door.

Homeless Winter, thou gifted me cold,
And cold, a runny nose.
I'm grateful, for I am bold,
And gifteth Winter, poetry and prose !!!
Advanced Merry Christmas !!!!
Wrote this while I had this cold, I guess t'was a story that had to be told !!!
Forsaken, ******* in the cold,
eating each other, lost
runny noses,
complaining all the time
like so many
people
that we know
Ma Cherie Jul 2016
As the snow flies
on a cold and grey Chicago mornin'
A poor little child is born
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

And his mama cries
'cause if there's one thing
that she doesn't need
Is another hungry mouth to feed
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

People, don't you understand
the child  needs a helping hand?
Or he'll grow up to be an Angry Young Man someday...

Take a look at you and me
are we too blind to see?
Do we simply turn our heads,
and look the other way?

Well, the World Turns
and hungry little boy with a runny nose
Plays in the street as the cold wind blows
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

As his hunger Burns
So he starts the roam the streets at night
And he learns how to steal
and he learns how to fight
In the ghetto

Then one night in desperation
A young man breaks away
he buys a gun, steals a car
he tries to run
but he don't get far
And his mama cries

As a crowd gathers 'round
an Angry Young Man
face down in the street
with a gun in his hand
In the ghetto
(in the ghetto)

As her young man dies
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
Another little baby child is born
In the ghetto...
( in the ghetto )

His mama cries
in the ghetto


Elvis Presley....was to me a very beautiful poetic sad soul, wanting to shake the world up....gone too soon doing things he did not want too in the end. XO

Cherie Nolan
There is a version of this online that is sung with his daughter that literally gave me chills... I sang this from memory so I hope it's right!

https://youtu.be/hUIYONgjaoU

It was difficult to write link above in case you want to check it out!
Mike West Oct 2012
Diaper duty's not that bad.
The first few months go well.
Baby doesn't go that much,
And the poo does not yet smell.
When baby's very little,
And gets fed only milk
Baby's little excrement
Resembles brown mustard 'til...
Baby starts to grow a bit
And so does baby's poo.
The food they eat is more complex
And they poo much more like you.
Changing baby's diaper
Becomes more interesting.
And the smell that baby generates
Starts your nose to sting.
You learn real fast which foods cause
Your nostrils so much gloom.
And which of baby's foods are safe
And don't cause deadly fumes.
You also learn what kind of foods
Make baby's poo too stiff.
And what makes their poo so runny
They could poo through a sieve.
So take care of little baby
And always feed them right.
And be sure to check their diaper
Before turning out the light.
Ma Cherie Aug 2016
She don't like her eggs all runny
she thinks crossin' her legs is funny
she looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter bunny
she's my baby
I'm her honey
Never Gonna Let Her Go

He ain't got laid in a
Month of Sundays
I caught him once
and he was sniffin' my ******
he ain't too sharp but he gets things done drinks beer like it's oxygen
and he's my baby
I'm his honey
Never gonna let him go

In Spite of Ourselves
we'll end up sitting on a rainbow
Against All Odds
honey were the big door prize
We're going to spite our noses
right off of our faces
there won't be nothin'
but a big ol'  Hearts
dancin' in our eyes

she thinks all my jokes are corny
convict movies make her *****
she likes ketchup with her scrambled eggs swears like a sailor when
she shaves her legs
she takes a lickin'
she keeps on tickin'
I'm never going to let her go

He's got more ***** than
A Big Brass Monkey
he's a whacked-out ******
and a love bug ******
Sly as a fox
crazy as a loon
when payday comes
he's howlin' at the moon
he is my baby
and I don't mean maybe
I'm never going to let him go

In Spite of Ourselves
we'll end up sittin' on a rainbow
Against All Odds
honey were the big door prize
we're going to spite our noses
right off of our faces
there won't be nothing
but big ol' Hearts
dancin' in our eyes

In Spite of Ourselves

Written by John Prime
Cherie Nolan- A favorite wedding tune
I couldn't do any better this song to me is perfection, I couldn't say more... so fun and poignant... :) Song by John Prine and Iris DeMent see https://youth.be/fRb1h989_jk adorable video! For a couple who married today and my good friend Angie. :)
Madness Viarti Mar 2015
Black Kitten,
Ugly Kitten,
Unwanted, and unloved,

With matted fur,
Wide eyes of stone,
Once, you were beloved,

Black Kitten,
Ugly Kitten,
Your nose is runny and red,

Your paws are too small,
Your tail is patchy and wet,
You're too thin, but perhaps with a bit of bread..

Black Kitten,
Ugly Kitten,
You tried to follow me home,

My home is too small,
Money is tight and hard earned,
My heart is unwell, but I cannot simply let you roam..

Black Kitten,
Ugly Kitten,
You didn't care,

I was the curious thing,
The one to stop,
And scratch behind your ears, your life has never been fair..

Black Kitten,
Ugly Kitten,
Your walk is much too slow,

Fumbling one way or the other,
Tripping over your paws,
Getting distracted by the spiders, but soon, you'll grow..

Black Kitten,
Ugly Kitten,
I stopped,

And carried you home.
zebra Dec 2018
my eyes
tongues of desire
a soft gauze
upon drenched red silk

stigmata
a river of marrow

flower of blood
creel of moist honey
hold not yourself apart
I kiss your wound
bell moon
crescent ravine, dark tears
like a spay of stars

arched spine
your raised ****
like scrambled eggs
curves to the heavens
a steep canyon aching
weeps blue darkness
legs wide in souls shadowed grove
tattooed pistols and knives
pierced by my autograph
for every letter, scimitars plunge  

jeweled ******* ringed
sweet tarnished petal
gashed mouth; flower de luce
memories that burn
blotted like an eye in ink
to fly winged *******

your face
hieroglyphic of weird
crimson smear; cackle
with feet below hell

wanting to live
like fire in the sky
hot witch riding a broom handle *****
scummed mouth

the world soul destroyed paradise
and your form
hideous kisses
falling red ribbons
i am puddled;
a runny yolk
shameless for your open hollows
the abstraction of desire in the realm of the senses
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
The wallet where the hidden secrets are to be believed

The boy, a lap climber of some renown,
Age, could have been six or seven,
Had a favorite cliffside to ascend and ride,
When done, down to earth, slide.

Up he would go, on a treasure hunt,
A game to play, called pickpocket,
On a forest of a man of coffee smells and a tickly goatee,
Hamburg born, a man who actually wore
a homburg hat on his head.

First the glass case, the snappy kind,
From the snap, crackle and Pop days.
Inside a cloth, good for emergency cleaning of
Runny noses when it was crying time.

Into the crevices and pockets, he dug and delved,
Jangly keys guaranteed to somehow disappear,
A silver and gold fancy pen and pencil set,
A money clip, folded papers he didn't understand.

But the bonanza, the jackpot was the wallet,
Finding pictures of himself, asking the goatee,
Slyly, smiley, all grown up likely, kiddingly
Who's that?

Between the pictures of him and his sisters,
Was a weird discovery, five twenty dollar bills.
His money was in a clip, so these twenties
Had no earthly purpose being there.

There is nothing more unstoppable than the curiosity
Of children under the age of ten,
So a grand inquisition of nagging began,
Centering on the age old torture tool,
Why?

Goatee said someday you will see men,
Lying on the street, some with hands outstretched,
Some, hands beneath, hidden neath their legs.  
They won't smell as good as you,
They may even be a tiny bit *****,
with no bathtub to play in.
When you should see such a man,
If he asks or not, our job is to give him
One of those special notes.
When its your turn to have wallet,
You will understand better.

Dissatisfied was the explorer,
The words did not fully explain,
Why this money was different from all others?
Upon these five bills, were hand written bold
Three words, which he could read.

God Bless You!

Goatee smiled and hugged me that hug,
Where you can't breathe and its a-ok,
But please be quiet now young one...

This poem a total fantasy.

Someday Izzy and Alex will be forward scouts,
Investigators and detectives with prying frying fingertips.

If they get to Poppy's wallet,
Between the pictures of them and the West Coast team,
There just maybe, five folded twenties,
Magic marker signed, but not by a Treasury official,
With words of a similar ilk.

If they should inquire what's the point,
Poppy might answer them with one particular
Poem.
Created on October 20, 2013
Fought
One, Twenty-two skidoo.
Cantankerous mad filamous

She,
That of her,
Me.

Piñata, stretched balloon
Over my big fleshy
******.

Tea and cakes,
Painted my nails
Painted my lips
Like candy.

Gold trinkets,
Pour like mercury out of my ear.

Ouch! I cried
My feet in hot sandy
Dreams.

Flying peacocks tickle
My *****.

Oranges roll on chalk board tables
Over stale rye bread.

***** dribbles out like mucus
And a runny nose.

Toilet paper and rusty water.
******* on you.

Stocking lover.

Fetish cover.

Woman pusher.

Mellifluous ****.

Look at my skin.
Pink, beige, peach, red
Porous, greasy, bacteria ridden hide.

**** me like seppuku,
Smother, suffocate me with
Red jelly jam.

Lubricate your finger with black
Cancerous ash.

Stick it in my naval,
Unravel my umbilical cord
Like so many filaments of my heart.

Tear your flesh
You auto *******.
Rip your liver

And force feed it
Corn and maize
Hay and grass

Emory my nails against
Red barn walls
Until bare skin fundamentals

Kisses with salty lips
Inflame my ravishing
Pig stomach.

Kick my shin you
Everything,

Wake up you stupid
*****.

Void can be blue skies,
Oceans call for suicide.

Kiss me with delight,
Raspberries tattooed
In my *****.

Strawberry cream
Vanilla, milk,
Ponderous infinity,

Cotton, dough
Honey and sage.

Caustic gastric
You and not me.

Feel my legs,
Touch my thighs,
Lick my lips,
Give me anything
Not direct.

Tie me up in complexities.
**** my head up.
Put me in a dream,
Make me happy.

Blair Butterfield 2004
Micheal Wolf Apr 2013
Can there be any doubt in a mind that knows
In thoughts aloof beyond our scope
Professorial peaks and highs
Paused words and thoughts sublime
Intellect that's a world away
From you and I day to day
Well that's you who ponders and petulates
It's more like ****** and Norman Bates
Because dear proff you're a total ****
A higher education ****
Emeritus wizard oh high priest of thought
Who reads the Times, what else of course!
You graze upon its every word
Like a runny smelly sloppy ****
So there you have it professor ****
A tribute to you the legal ****
No better than any other man
You worthless piece of human spam
A tribute to a total *******
Jay Feb 2014
There once was a man whose name was Moonie
He was a very handsome man
His skin was sun kissed, dark like a brown bears fur, soft like a baby's curl
And oh, the way his hair curled
Moonie had hair that grew outward instead of downward
His smile was as white as the snow capped mountains
His heart as warm as the coast of Australia, all year round
He smelled like matches and Dark Horse cigarettes
Like everything warm
He dressed like a professional troublemaker
His laugh came from his stomach when he laughed real good
And I've never heard him laugh bad
He loved like a father
Protected like a brother
Teased like a sister
And worried like a mother
He cursed like a sailor
But only when he was angry
Moonie had a fuse so long that if you lit it in January, it would take a whole 365 days for him to explode
But by the time 365 days past it was a matter that didn't really matter anymore
He had a mind like a turtle
He thought thoughtfully, slow and subtle
But he spoke like he knew every wonder of the world
He kissed babies and broke bottles on the backs of ships carrying soldiers off to war
Even though he was confused about what they were fighting for
Moonie spoke of peace and of hope for future souls
He loved everything from the edges of the universe
To the coral that grows in the deepest of the oceans coves
Moonie met a girl, who brought a whole lot of sunshine to his world
She made the lips of his mouth curl
Upward, it was a beautiful sight, especially with teeth that white
Moonie met a girl, he swears by the stars that she is incredible
Magnificent
Wonderful
Beautiful
Terrific
He says she makes his heart 10 times larger, like it's flowing out so much love that it makes his nose runny,
He calls her Sunny

There once was a girl named Sunny
She was a very beautiful girl
She had curly brown hair that fell just short of her shoulders
Skin that was kissed by the angels themselves
If you believe that kind if thing exists
She dressed like an artist
The kind that like to paint masterpieces
With every curve of the brush
She smelled like summer, like home, like sunshine peaking through rain clouds
She planted roses for those she lost,
In hopes of continuous growth and beauty
She spoke with the authority of an officer
But also with the gentleness of a butterfly
Her personality was layered like a Russian doll
And as you opened up every part of her she grew so very small
But not small in the bad way,
She was wise like an owl
But she was happy like a child at play
She cared like the ocean cares for sea creatures that swim in its depths
She cried like it was always rainy season
She laughed with a sadness in her eyes that was easy to detect
But she was happy
And she loved a man named Moonie
And he made her happy
And she swears on the rings that circle Saturn
That he is the most beautiful man on the planet

Sunny and Moonie lived together in a cozy home by the ocean
Where it was never too hot or too cold
They had a beautiful garden, that sprouted all different kinds of things,
Pumpkins that grew tomatoes
Watermelon that grew on trees
Potatoes that grew above the ground
Flowers with yellow stems and baby blue leaves
Beautiful birds flew around, bluejays with mocking jay wings
Their family was the world around them and they wanted and needed for nothing
Moonie was so happy
Sunny was so lovely
The things that they did, how incredibly they lived
How wonderful life had become
When moonie and sunny both lived as one

Then one day when Moonie was down by the beach
Sunny was in their little green house, fast asleep
Moonie slipped on a snail shell and fell into the pretty sea
When it got late Sunny worried and went to see
She called and she called
Moonie was nowhere to be found
He had fallen asleep forever, in the ocean's underground
The sharks and the octopus found Moonie and buried him deep
The sea urchin said we must bring him back!
But the turtle insisted that we must let him sleep
The flounder found Sunny by the shore and they brought her the news
The look in her eyes was as if her heart had been bruised
She look to the sky as dark clouds rolled in
The raindrops dropped to the rhythm of the tears on her skin
Her Moonie was gone forever in the ocean blue
She threw herself into the ocean saying take me with you
The flounder, the turtles, the mer-people and creatures of the sea
Tried to stop her from suffering the same fate as her dear Moonie
But she would let them save her as she fell into the deep,
Whispering, I love my Moonie and my Moonie loves me
She sank and she sank
She fell and she fell
She floated right next to her love
In the oceans pink sand
The most beautiful death in all of the land
Moonie swore by the stars that his Sunny was magnificent
And Sunny swore by the rings on Saturn that Moonie was the most beautiful man on the planet
They died together but they're souls rose separately
Moonie rose for the night
His love rose for the day
Sunny became the Sun
Moonie became the light that snuffed out the darkness of that day
And as they lived in their respective spots in the sky
They saw each other from time to time
They might have been punished for loving too much
Or they might've loved so much that the universe needed them to take care of us
For the Moon now takes care of the oceans tide
And the Sun takes care of you and I
I think Sunny and Moonie had it right
Even though they no longer see each other everyday,
their love is something you don't have to look so far to find
Maybe that's why you sometimes find the Moon and the Sun in the same sky
They're so close to finding each other, but they have so little time
Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.  I sit entranced by the rhythmic force of the cargo train rolling by.  This is the third train in 25 minutes, and with each pass, the sound of the heartbeat steals my attention away from the drunken chaos around me.  I glance at the north wall where a small, golden, shadow flickers with each pulsation.  Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.  Deh-bee.   The cargo train seems to disappear as unexpectedly as it arrived, and now I am pulled back into the scene around me – drunk, rowdy bar-hags and middle-aged men with bellies expanding at a rate too fast than can be restrained by their tucked-in Milwaukee Brewers t-shirts and their ******* Green Bay Packers jerseys.  I re-focus my attention to the crew with whom I share this table.

The CEO’s.  How is it that God blessed me with such an opportunity as to break bread with these four great, inspiring, and humble men?  NO WAY IN HELL is this a coincidence - this is undoubtedly God’s work at hand.  Our waitress walks quickly by, and I notice the uncomfortable glance she casts in our direction, her eyes focused on Vince’s t-shirt that reads in large, red letters, “CEO. Christians Encouraging Others.”

Vince. Boisterous and fearless, he can be relied upon to know everything about anything, and for the benefit of all within ear-shot, he never shuts-the-****-up about his faith or about those who lack it.  Thank God for Vince because without his leadership during our five-hour drive here, I would know nothing about tire pressure, ideal gas mileage, ****, the meaning of great music (a.k.a. R.E.M.), or how to deal with nagging kids. He is a truly model Christian, taking every opportunity to remind us of our calling in this world, passionately ending most conversations with, “This is Satan’s domain - the end of the world as we know it.”  When we were one hour away from the campgrounds, Vince disproved my previously-developed theory that he could not possibly be any more of a puke.  After making sure he still had everyone’s attention, he pulled out his favorite hat and enthusiastically adjusted it on his head.  Featuring another clever acronym, the oversized, navy-blue trucker mesh cap accented with gold rope trimming proudly sports, “C.I.A.”  Christian in Action.  

I share a cabin with Vince and these other heads of households.  These fellows come here once a year “to get away from the wives.”  One of the other fellows with whom I have the pleasure of sharing the cabin is Paul.  Paul forewarned us that he suffers from irritable bowel syndrome, a claim substantiated by the bag of “**** powder” that he proudly held up in the air during the ride here for all to see.  My brother Tom also comes along in order to partake in the outdoor activities, trip paid in full by my older brother, Richard, who has financially supported Tom for as long as Tom has been able to utter the words, “I can’t afford it.”  Thanks to ****’s Christian generosity, Tom’s soul has been saved along with all of Tom’s money as his mortgage was paid off over a decade ago.  Unlike Tom, **** is a tortured soul who suffers from PTSD.  He is also a recovering (to be more accurate, “recovered”) addict, having been cured “just like that” (snap!) when he found Christ in the 70’s.  

Deh-bee. Deh-bee. Deh-bee.  Another cargo train…  Why did I agree to this?  The waitress comes by again, this time with our food.  “Thanks, doll,” Vince says with a wink.  Embarrassed for her, I look away, staring once again at the flickering light on the north wall.  My gaze is suddenly disrupted by the steamy, ivory dish of food placed in front of me.  French fries, bathed in a lake of runny ketchup, sit enticingly in the middle of my plate.  To the left are mountains of milky-white coleslaw, and to the right sit boulders of golden-baked cod stacked one upon the other, towering high as if built to honor to the gods.

Without hesitation I grab the pale, cloth napkin and blanket my legs.  I find myself clenching the sparkling fork as I drive it into the base of the cod shrine.  Ketchup runs everywhere, and as I lift the bloodied mess above my plate, I become too distracted by the sound of Vince’s voice to notice that the cod never makes it to my mouth.  Vince stops and stares at the blunder of food now back on my plate, laughter erupting from the bowels of his cholesterol-encased belly.  

Debbie. Debbie. Debbie.  No train.  I look down at my plate again, the contents of my plate further bathed in ketchup.  My appetite is gone.  All I can think about is that frigid November night two years ago when I found her lying dead, body still warm, in our gazebo. When I saw the back of her head all over the floor, I knew it was too late.  “Debbie and I were going to go out for fish that Friday, but I didn't get home early enough…”  I hadn’t realized that I said anything aloud, but the sudden silence around the table quickly awakens me to reality.  

With a mouth full of chewed cod, Vince looks intently at me and raises his arms. “Man, don’t let him trick you!  He’s out for everyone, and he’s toying with ya.  Shoo him away. Christ is in you. This is Satan’s domain, and he’s messing with your head.”  

His voice trails off as my mind wanders back to that night.

“Greg, are you listening to me?  Cast these thoughts away, man!  The devil is trying to ensnare you. Call upon…”

“Hey, Vince.”  I cut him off.  “The other day I saw this sign in front of a church, and your hat just reminded me of it. The sign said, ‘It’s hard to stumble when you’re down on your knees.’  You know why your hat reminds me of that sign?  

"Let me tell you, Vince.  Let me tell you why your ******' hat reminds me of that ******' sign. Cause your hat says, ‘C.I.A.’”

Vince, silent for the first time since I’ve known him, responds to my comment with a blank stare.

“C.I.A.  ****... In… ***…  Get it?  You see, you’re never going to stumble, Vince.  You’re already head down, on your knees, taking it hard in the ***.”
Thank you to my wife for your patience in editing this piece for me.  I love you, Hannah Klein.
Sharde' Fultz Aug 2018
Quiet crickets.

Quiet light of moon

Quiet cars along the road
--Go'n be home soon

Quiet AC on too late
Quiet humming charger in the outlet
Quiet bathroom 'cross the hall, water dripping from the faucet

Quiet floors while set'ling in
You're too old for all that whinin'
Quiet creatures awake before the sun
The signals when it's shinin'

Quiet indistinguishable shadow still yet so foreboding
Oh, you're just a pile of clothes that I never got to folding

Quiet drafty window singing with such vigor and such soul
Catch a chill from that night air
Might catch a runny nose

Quiet thoughts-that handsome stranger, worries, deadlines, dreams, 'n stuff
Quiet bedtime playlist streaming
Clearly you were'nt good enough

Quiet poem bursting from me my
Admonition of defeat

quiet quiet.

too much quiet-

quiet, would you let me sleep?

2:46am 8.30.18
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2012
I will not die for you
Woman fey of flesh and home,
I linger but to see you unfrock
The holy, set rogues to roam.

Why should I thus be consumed
In breath like coldest fire?
Shape of rising waterfalls
That state, I surely do not desire

The downy *******, the runny skin,
Spark of cheek, notes of hair in shower,
The gliding step, the gusty tone,
Fools have died for much less a dower.

The lancing pools, the hemlock mien,
The highland sheen, the dawn-bird voice,
The Safire eye, over step of pyramid
Merlin gave Arthur a safer choice.

I will not drown for you,
Flood of hair, red as the lye
In parted Jordan, that sea, not me,
Shall pine as ever, slowly dying.

Your healing humors, your subtle sovereignty,
Your blood, noble as seven-seas are blue,
Little mirror who paints the sky,
Though nearly, I will not die for you.

— The End —