<{Baba^Yaga}>
on i would have you by silvertongueddevil
11 Jan 2004, 12:32 PM
Very good.
Running out of stuff from 2002!
Bling bling prose, I like angle with the parenthetical sober commentary.
Out of 02 stuff? Good time to get bold would be my guess. as if my freight train could be considered bold. ha!
This looks like villanelle material to me.
How about a self censored (pose)-the frozen mouse.
I mess with legos. I decided to make a forward-engined spacecraft. I had never seen one, excepting the pod-racers of course. I'm rather happy I decided to go "wierd".
Let me guess? this is in 'other' because your poetry is daring! Your fruit gun metaphor for a cock sandwich with a side of date rape brisque was riveting.
lol, this is a rearing angry crack pipe in the face of crack!...?
I wrote about a train.
To Baba:
Man! a Ginsberg fan! I wasn't even thinking of cock sandwiches, but I guess it works for a poem about a Ginsberg fan. Truthfully, I was going to call it a "pimple" just for fun, but the OED didn't have a definition.
People like you and middenHeap show up, and I feel flat out stepped on. *races toward liquor cabinet*
I see.
This is not your average sunday night on the 'ranker.
Wow--who are you? And do you know they'll never let you publish stuff like this? The internet's the only place you can find good rhymes now. They *gestures OUT THERE* think we're crazy.
This is wack. Good, yeah. And pretty true. But wack subject matter. Sorry to sound so prudish. I really am. The sorry college-educated PC part of me wants to say you should badmouth white people a little too to even it out. Or if it's supposed to be ironic ('please mr. man') then make it more obvious. The rest of me says screw it, it's the internet. Let your free flag fly. Like I said, it's pretty true.
Spuna
Spuna.
Once in Vancouver I was working late in my office on Main Street, and I heard two drunks arguing. Not unusual for 3am Sunday morning, but, bored & needing a break, I went to the window to watch. In the sodium light before the store selling motorized wheelchairs and colostomy bags two stocky swarthy men argued. They stood close, as close as lovers or as friends when they are drunk. They looked alike, the way life-long friends look alike, or like lovers, or brothers. Their arguing escalated, and then abruptly the one shoved the other. He stumbled backwards, slipped and fell into the plate glass window of the medical supply store. He slid flat to the sidewalk and lay still and his blood ran away from him down the wet sidewalk and onto the road. I called 911 and went downstairs. The paramedics came and worked on the unconscious man. The other man knelt beside him and wept, "My brother, my brother." Three policemen held him back so the paramedics could work. When they had pressure bandages in place they loaded him in the ambulance truck and drove away. The other was taken away in a police car. He curled up, foetal in the back seat, uncuffed. The blood had run all across the street and down the hill, black in the peach-coloured light, and a firetruck came in a few minutes to hose it away.
Now piss off.
What's up freak?
Is it appropriate to post other people's poetry on pomeranker? I don't think so, even if it's credited.
When the thingy spawned inside you, what did it spawn with? I think a word is missing...