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wow, when you finally think you have seen all the linkssss!!!
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| st3nc |
and realize someone is showing off their neato online poetry....
smfh so sorro peoples, but cmon lets with it i dares ya bitch
looking at the shapes outlined by the dark
i wrote this on my tablet, sitting in a park
taking drags of meth, rolled in a blunt
checking the time on my watch, whoa what a sick junt
i snapped back to the moment, just when i saw
someone was jacking my shoes and a bird didnt even Caw
i didnt give a , i had to pee
so i drummed through some more songs, hummed onward with luck
this trash that spews from my lips, worse than rum, hash and
i created this poem to be free
goddamn, maybe it will pull-up
also poetry, poetry sites, and anyone affilited with that gay lmao |
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| dj_alfi |
i liked the two first lines 
rest of it was meh |
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| st3nc |
*looks at watch*
sigh, i hated the whole thing |
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| st3nc |
after a long breath, between falling drifts of snow
i opened my notebook to reveal something sifting, and heard a song
low to the ground was my position, to light a smoke
and i took one look in her direction, shapes in the ground as it grows
all i wanted was to lock eyes with her, since the grapes picked, sew
maybe i will see her again, even the mirror does not know
who could kill time like us, fill effort in my bow
the memories were worth it, the warmth of her shrine is my tow
strokes rippled through the past, allow my fire to blow |
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| phyrrus |
Sexual Tourism
Primary Objective Number One,
Reports indicate,
Has incurred a string of successive failures
To which I attribute the scene before me:
That familiar American whiskey
In a strange Brazilian airport--
11AM.
ed (non-fortunately) and
Floored by fluorescent ceilings
As tremendous self pressure seals
Packages and sells
The fourth wall, enclosed.
When your inner actor emerges with
The Carioca dawn in one hand,
Will you use the other to redraft
The Producer's script,
Or become His right hand man
As He strokes It with the left? |
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| st3nc |
midnight approaches, dawn settles in bed
the twisting machinations of clocks keep ticking
verbose nettles are blown throughout my shed
time turns the face toward my light, and echoes
underneath the trouble, and going toward something stable
i lurch and groan, establishing reconnections, abuse
saliva is formed and i kindle the bonds of humanity
thought and form shape my body, but the doubt never leaves
the idols of the past help me claim the purest form of my presence
...
i'll read urs later
whipped that up without thought brehs |
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| aNYthing |
Here I sit all broken-hearted
Came to but only farted
Sent from srussel's iPad, on the john |
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| EddieZilker |
Once upon a potted plant,
upon a potted plant I sat.
Sitting on the potted plant,
upon the potted plant I sat.
Try saying it as fast as you can. :p |
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| st3nc |
perhaps peaceful, hidden sorrow
deceitful, not remorse, i will write today, which is tommorow
going through the motions remains to be seen
although from the past, it was stolen, and mean
potions of life, cast from oceans, vapers rise, like this stain
a lapse of judgement is not my emotion, there is still
hidden choices of life, people to call a friend, sometimes
underneath it all she sees what I am, and runs, always in the fall
mills turning to bring power, deeds of time, men and fun
the city of the world that sleeps, eternal, warming in the sun
she reads with patience, cadence, yet still runs
maps toward my being, and essence, will leave trails and forwards
if she reels me in, does it lessen what is done?
i hope to answer the doubt but never doubt the fun
:eek:
:rolleyes: |
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| st3nc |
mood: grey
time: early evening, night
energy: maximum
This Is How Poems Get Re-Written:
everyone wants to love, wants to think, options
we all count the blinks, love all the stops and
the brunt force of mountains, shops, will be nothing
comparing the love between, without, options
wanting more, seeing less, and taking it all
blessing the moment, not loving, at all
nothing but shopping, shipping was paid, we sit all day
as the drinks increase, and I quench, so does the maze
you can program life, and read all the books
I hold something, it has been ripped free, took
sorry for keeping you late, thanks for the look |
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| st3nc |
mood: yearning
time: late afternoon, early evening
everytime i look at that chair in my room, i feel something
nothing from this lair, that would consume, yet it is there
always I try to glance back at the thought, and often
plumbs plucked from my lost and the forgotten
it may be that I see a vision or a form
would you recognize the difference, even if the chair was worn
setting these thoughts aside, I look after myself
yet I have yet to meet a room, a shelf, or else
that does not make me feel something else
what I feel is apparent, apparently I only keep to myself
so I will slant more, combine, and polish my wealths |
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