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a poet in the city (Free verse) by Bill Z Bub I heard God's wife
panting
beneath the winter
weeds.
But I couldn't see a thing.
And some Flower,
I could smell her I'm sure it was her
that exotic purple scent.
and a Lizard King eyeballed me as he waved
his arms erratically, trying to sort
out his multiple personality
disorder.
Further down,
A Cranky Gentleman mumbled something about
cigarettes and the moon
and the proper way to drown.
But nobody saw me,
So I walked on into the city.
Up the ladder:
Apocalypse
Down the ladder:
Meditation 01
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 6.0
Posted: January 10, 2003 7:31 PM PST; Last modified: July 8, 2003 10:23 PM PDTWeighted score: 5.119203 Overall Rank: 5732 Comments:
my last three poems are genius. 7.
And you're also a FUCKFACE
i think he's gone now.
CONVENE IN THE CHATCAVE FOR AN EMERGENCY DEBRIEFING.
BRING SPARE BRIEFS.
disney land.
Yes, you were drunk. And it shows.
Your seminal work I was captivated and in my opinion deserving of a top 15 place ...easy, well done you have my maximum respect. *10*
Above the waist she's pretty, but she's got too much junk in her trunk. I think the main thing is the editing. I've read some very good things but they're drowning in butter, and I can't appreaciate the subtlities. Perhaps it is just a matter of taste.
Butter, eh?
Since I've discovered this site, I've been writing like mad. I've been throwing up the stuff I see potential in to see what others think. Eventually I'll pare them down to the essentials, like I have with some.
Or I'll just toss them and start over. I think I may start writing prose.
Writing is everything. I too have been writing like mad. Crayons and pencils; anything handy, including napkins and junk mail envelopes. The potential is you, bottom line. Tell me a story. I am so hungry for a good story. Poetry has become somewhat a relic. My good sweet William, your heart, your heart is alive with it, so tell me everthing, let's go for a ride.
First of all get rid of anything that can not transend For example Kindergarten Computers? Too much yours and yours alone. Anything that has the word 'of ' in it needs to be carefully scrutinized. No ' of's ' if possible. and also should be eliminated "there's nothing to it" is a beautiful line I repeat it to myself like a prayer "Even on the news I look for them Feet up on boxes I am paid to be opening A click through 100 channels Maybe But I doubt it". Write your prose. Give me your sugar.
Very nice,
but I'm not paid to be opening these boxes. But still... hrmmmm.
Story is all.
Golden waves in the Fall. Dark sugar, thick and sticky sweet like yesterday, I just need to get laid. That is all.
I like the first half a lot.
i'm sure you are talking about dahlia, because they come in rally cool purply colors. zinnias don't smell, and are usually red, orange, yellow, or pink. usually. so, if they had a disceranble-to-humans smell, it probably would be reddish.
now lilacs and buddleia, those are some purple-smeeling flowers. thanks for the compliment.
I know two things about flowers: jack and squat. Thanks for the info. :)
Then again, purple is the color associated with sex as are exotic things. An since it says "exotic purple scent" it could just be your own pheromones at the site of her that you smelled. So long, as she finds being sexy a positive it could be a compliment to who ever your sweet little flower is.
din't - is this a new word or a typo? The last part sounds like you could rap it. Are you one of those hard hittn' street poete's?
Question...Cunt bandaid? answer...that tampon stuck to the 'small' of your back (i can sense that you have some blockage there). DON'T REMOVE IT THOUGH! it's dangerous a bit 'leechy'...you'll have to burn it off with the power of W-ASS-P poetry. therefore, point your mouth at it (rotate your head 180 degrees first) than speak. any utterance, preferably a sonic chirp (that's where you go off formalizing the dot to dots between senti-mental poets, pimples, street poets etc. I feel very confident that the drift from your mouth will free you from this parasite that's reverse nipple tweaking you currently...gamble on your sonic chirp. consentrate.
ohh guess what i had for dinner tonight? that's right. bitch. The big BM with a tossed cock salad. scrumptious really
What am i chopped liver? i've read this before though, correct..this edit's clean. nice onee
chopped liver? what makes you think yer not there?
Amusing, but I confess myself a tad dissapointing that's it's not the spoof of the old hippy song the title leads one to expect. You know -- 'Where have all the poets gone, long time passing, Where have all the poets gone, long times ago?...'
Good execution of the subject.
Stanza 3 is hilarious my pants i have truly pissed.
This is a real feelgood poem for the reader, an indulgence of humour and damn fine poetry. ( that gods wife gets about in tributes dont she) =============10
You and Intransit are similar in style, just thought i'd mention it before i run like a gibbon and shout red nose day.
Lol, a good way to show the kids how to compliment and still retain your own and aknowledge theirs without seeming, weak. Good one.
all gone. new clothes. new shoes. Leo, do you still need me?
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And I had my heart set on a dancing hut with chicken feet, but ostrich legs shall have to do.