Write a Spontaneous Poem
 

Arbitrary

The humidifier runs constantly like a Kenyan in Boston. I scratch my bare stomache as I gaze blankly into my LCD screen, looking for it but I cannot find it. It is not on my screen but in my head; but I still search for it on the screen. How futile it is.

Times strolls by as if Jack the Ripper was casually strolling past Big Ben and I know I shouldn't be up this late. Just like last night, and the night before that, and the whole goddamn summer. I glance at the unmade bed and pause to ponder if I made it up for the whole two months I've been back living with my parents. I do not know.

Sometimes I wonder if I could have enjoyed grade school more than I did. Because college is the best thing that ever happened to me. I anxiously await the day that I move into my house with my other four friends in Urbana. That die sun will shine down upon the rooftops as I unload my life for nine months.

But, I wonder. Will I be doing the same thing that I am doing at home? Staying up late for no reason at all? That question makes me smile. Why would I ask myself something I already know.

Still awake at this time
should be up at nine
What the fuck
at The Cellar I'm stuck

The valley looks like a matted green carpet.
Rolling hills and gentle nubs.Inlets and black bear cubs.
I am looking down with a birds eye view. Nautres tapestry.
It's rivers running yon. I yawn. Up at the break of dawn.

Spiders in the Cellar
 

A week ago
a spider bit me
right between the eyes.
My eyes swelled shut,
my head swelled up
to twice its normal size.

Two nights ago
a spider bit me
right between the thighs.
My butt swelled shut,
my c*ck swelled up
to twice its normal size.

Last night
I heard a voice
coming from the cellar.
It was my wife,
singing,
"Need more spiders."

Bombs and lolcats poem
 

I are serious cat
I know where it's at
The troll I mean, I know he lurks
He sneaks, he spies, he eyes, he jerks.
He not cheezburger
So hold the workz.
He haz bucket
The bucket iz lost
I are serious cat
I know what it cost.

each one is exponentially better than the next!

Better than the next? Oh, so the first is by far the best, eh, fresh? :p Ah, just kiddin'.


_____Oh, happy cellar

_____Bastion of beauty and wit

_____Friendship always found

Okay, since its spontaneous, it doesn't have an ending, it's just two verses. Can't come up with the end without giving it more thought.

Tell me more, while I
memorise, your eyes,
Each
laughter line
and the way that
you smile,
for

I can see, that the night
is almost at an end,
The bar
is emptying
And the taxis are
Gathering
Force.

Every time I feel enlightened
Or even slightly cool
I find myself being weird and frightened
And knowing I am a fool

She sleeps by my side
still
after all these years I want her
still
more beautiful in my eyes today than yesterday
still
I can't wait for morning, breakfast brings new love
still
still she is the ache in my heart
I am in love
still
all that I need from her will never stay
still
new love every day blossoms out of old
old that lives
still
my love

Just a couple of min and I only came back and added the last two lines.

now this was spontaneous
 

What I give
You take
What I dream
You fake
When I cry
You breathe
When I need
You leave

Life Lesson
 

Did you not like my poems? :(

Shawnee -- I thought of that while riding my motorcycle in to work this morning. It was intended to be ironic, and zen-ish.

I like your poem, and DanaC's, but I was trying to avoid commentary.

I was kiddun'. I really liked it! Very zen-ish.

The lips that you find
With no teeth behind
Though mute, are unkind
When they prey on your mind

No Need for a Title

I look once more
Back to the Cellar's door
But still I can't find
A poem that doesn't rhyme
Like mine

It doesn't have to rhyme!
Couplets are predictable and benign

New age expression
Are far more poetic to me
But well who am I to judge
I major in leisure studies

(i know there are other non couplets other than mine posted, just generalizing oops :( )

Hark! Tis not true that
only free verse carries the mystic artistry
you seek.
As I listen to the summer staccato of rain
I find pretention.

He bought some liquid paper.

I'm so ashamed
of my short attention span

I have short attention spam

oh and a lisp

Here I sit
One night more
My bed unmade
My eyes are sore

What a bore
my life is dull
I need something
to sooth my skull

In this weather
Your head is probably
killing you.
Here in my separate world
I can feel the muscles
bunching up at the base of your neck
and I would call you but you're probably
doing something
important.

Tonight I will
trace the patterns of
stress and stormclouds
across your wide back.

are you coming home?
it's late and im all alone
are you coming home?
you have sins to atone

i have to work late again
don't. just leave now
i have to work late again
don't. come home now

I really really really want to.
I really do.
really.

Once upon a look at the sky...
And a chat with the moon
And a chill of the night
And a tear of the loneliest heart...
A voice became clear to me
So fine it almost melted
Upon the heat of my trepidation
So lovely I almost went blind
In a flash of white light
Like shock upon my skin
Like madness in a storm
Like cream floating to the top of my tea
You appeared.

Spontaneous
 

This is a spontaneous poem.

We develop patterns,
doing things because we do those things,
thinking things because we think those things.

It's hard not to say the things we've said before.
It's Wednesday, so let's eat Prince spaghetti.

We're just being who we are.
It takes too much creativity to be someone else.

It takes too much energy to be spontaneous.
This is not a spontaneous poem.

Through oxidation
or fermentation
A pile of sawdust bursts into flame

also

Mary is gone and all that remains
is a charred ashen outline,
a shrunken skull,
and a portion of her left foot

there was once a man from Nantucket...

The world's oldest man has died
Long live the world's oldest man

It's raining today
and I don't mind
I know tomorrow
the sun will begin to shine

Your not here
and that's ok
I like being by myself
it gives me time to think

Ketchup in my cleavage
Ketchup in my cleavage
Why oh why is there ketchup in my cleavage?

It rolled off my fry
Took off on the fly
And now I ask why
Is there ketchup in my cleavage?

Could it just be fate
Saying I shouldn't've ate
But the fry tasted great 'cept for
Ketchup in my cleavage.

I guess I shouldn't care
Because the Big Guy upstairs
Made it miss my outerwear
That ketchup in my cleavage.

S'pose I'll take a clue
That fries ain't no stew
Next time I won't do
No ketchup in my cleavage.

Pictures, Shawnee, where are the Pictures?

Words alone don't tell the whole story.

LOL...was hoping for something like:

Wish I had a fry
Cause hey, I'm just a guy
And I'd sure like to try
That ketchup in your cleavage.

:lol:

hahahahaha sweet

I love that, Shawnee! It made me laugh. :)

Thanks Dana and case. I'm not sure where that came from, but it was fun writing it. Goofy stuff! :)

I was going to say something like:

You got catsup on my cleavage!
You got cleavage on my catsup!
Two great tastes that go great together.

But I thought that that might be rude.

Harry Potter in my hands
Wishing he would make a stand
Vanquish Voldy finally
Until then I will follow he
Through the pages, by his side
Wand in hand, stride by stride
When at least the final page appears
And hearing things I don't want to hear
The book is done, the story told
And Harry Potter, my heart has stole

You're twisted into in my DNA
Everything from my skin down aches for you
Would an X-Ray show your shadowy presence
Lurking under my bones?
Are you here in my chest
While my breast burns for your touch?
The very water in my pressured brain
Or sprouting fine hairs in my lungs?

Your absence is killing me,
Hurry up and introduce yourself, please.

Daily drivings make me think
About what I'm supposed to do
And then I lose track
Of what I should be doing
And then I wonder
If I should be doing that thing at all

Wow SG - I just read this....its awesome :)

In this deep dark hot
I burn
Crawling agony
Black piss
Wretched skin
The thing you think you love
is gone
an aching husk
here
calls for you
to love me
back
to
life
again
worthlessly

We weave
Fibers of grief and glee and
Pain and pleasure and
Vexation and constancy.

We twist
Licorice sticks of tribulation and fortune and
Affliction and substance and
Torment and mirth.

We writhe
In motions of love and hate and
Hope and despair and
Tolerance and prejudice.

What a cruel trick parents play on their children.
Birthing them, nurturing them, raising them, teaching them.
Encouraging them, challenging them, cheering them.
Misleading them.

"It will be all right." when it is broken.
"You can do it." when you can't.
"I know, I know." when I don't .
Lies.

"I love you."
The only truth.

i am waiting
there is no time
there are many who write
there are some who rhyme
there is a presence
feeling about
i know not what i am sure of
i only know there is doubt
sometimes in the morning
when the earth smells so sweet
so little time for reflection
must get out on the street
to the place of employment
do what has to be done
always feeling the pressure
always under the gun
can't wait to leave in the evening
hating the slugs up ahead
finally at home in your castle
feeling the warmth of your bed
repeating the same thing each morning
doing the same thing each night
ask why the cycle keeps repeating
saying i don't know it just seems right

wow. that's really good.

i cant even sit here in my room and type into a quick reply
a simple, sweet spontanious lullaby
youve sucked it all right out of my limbs
the are limp with dissapointment.

i thought that rhonda burne was right
that if i gave thanks for you every night
you'd appear on the scenes
stepping out of my dreams
but the universe must have forgotten my address.

just one hour of the day
with you
is what i need to stay line
in this world, oh girl
cause you're the only one i need
one hour is all i really need
say you will stay with me forever
tonite
cause i love you
my feelings are true
can't you see
that we were meant to be

im a dipstick shitlick
look at me LOOK AT ME
look away i make you sick

im a dumptruck assfuck
hate me hater HATE ME
pity me for my bad luck

your the WORSTest im the BESTest
say my name my name is _________

given the circumstances
the only way in
is out
given the circumstances
the only way to hold on
is to let go
given the circumstances
the only way to have it all
is to give everything

J--

Would you mind turning down your signature about seven or eight notches?

TIA

Yours,

Can I second that request? It's your right of course to have what you like there, but it's a little like getting shouted at every time your post comes up. It kind of detracts from your posts a little imo.


Oh btw, LOL Flint.

I just posted this on AG
 

the fat lady sings
the fat lady flings
poo in your face
a shoe in the space
that you call your anus
this thread is heinous
if we hacked you to pieces
nobody would blame us

__________________

...it was in response to a thread that irritated me.

this is fun
 

You may ask, why are my poems so mean-spirited? Let's say, for the sake of argument, that one of the moderators actually moderated around here a little (fat chance) and :::flips a coin::: Bruce called me out. I'd say:

ding-dong dildo my name is Bruce
and I know the truth, but I wasted my youth
on bible-thumping and goat-ass humping
I spend my days conclusion-jumping

Curious. What would you have him moderate more of?

your butt?

ok I'll answer for you.

How about bad poem writers attacking others. Stupid thread writers attacking others and dumb clones with even dumber answers and people who just can't seem to grow up.

dumb

i knew you'd get all bent about that. I was gonna say 'your face' but i thought that was a little too harsh. i figured if i said 'your butt' that you might get the joke and laugh with me. (ps...I'm Flunt)

ease up, cookie.

here's a poem about taking the heat:

roses are red, violets are blue
take a joke, you crazy slut.

[quote=lumberjim;381875]i knew you'd get all bent about that. I was gonna say 'your face' but i thought that was a little too harsh. i figured if i said 'your butt' that you might get the joke and laugh with me. (ps...I'm Flunt)

oh I knew who flunt is and all your other names. I know your M.O and your car saleman tactics.


take your alter egos and shove them up your ass please

you are fucked up in the head

you project your obssessions and irrational fears

I am sick of you and people who think like you. Liers and freaks.