Poetry for the masses

[Picodiribibi]

Will Call

It seems the bridge is full today,
so full I cannot cross:
Who are these pricks who bar my way,
this throng of well-dressed dross?

They're standing still, they do not move,
my patience starts to fail;
and so I give a courteous shove
and send one o'er the rail.

Excuse me sir and ma'am, I say,
oblivious they nod,
and, elegant, are swept away
off once familiar ground.

And, thus, I make my way across
the splashing, turbid flow,
until, at last, the final toss --
at last, I'm free to go.

 

[Tathagata]

go with god my son

 

[anonamouse]

don't let me stand in the way.
Excellent stuff!

even form-fitting

 

[Tzara]

Let me echo Trotsky, PD: This is excellent stuff.

It's kinda got an Emily Dickinson groove, I think. Funky, in an Amherst way.

 

[Aztek Pagan]

Devil’s Ball

Won’t you take me tonight at the Devil’s Ball?
Whispering in my ear, “This won’t hurt a bit.”
You burn my flesh to feed one and all.

Dead on my feet at the Devil’s Ball,
Opening myself up to you as we dance.
Oh god let this broken heart be a symbol.
A symbol for the love that was wanted, but forsaken.

Let this heart beat no more.
Let this blood carpet the floor.

Darkness rises up in me and speaks out to the world.

“Welcome to the Devil’s Ball, where everyone is encouraged to dance and more.”

My feet moving to the Beat...Beat....Beat of a dying heart like a bass drum.
Dip and bow, world spinning, dip and bow.

Sign on the dotted line, giving everything to the Devil’s Ball.
Hoping to throw the dice and cheat the house.

My soul was lost at the Devil’s Ball.

 

[Aztek Pagan]

Bloodstained Bed

Bloodstained Bed

I am sorry.

For the pain you had to live through.
For the hurtful words he screamed at you.
For the nightmare you had to live through.

Day in and day out, your life was just a crap shoot.
Throwing the dice, hoping he would be nice.

Living life in fear for your life, the tension so thick it could be cut with the knife.
It was like there was a noose wrapped around your neck,
Which he used to pull you back in that painful wreck,
You called your life.

I couldn’t stand to see you cry,
Couldn’t understand how you could get by,
On little more than hateful words and tearstained goodbyes.


But its over now, I couldn’t help you find your smile.
The violence went on and on for days and miles.

You’ve gone away from me and I can’t follow
No hope for today, my heart’s bleeding for tomorrow.

I can still hear your voice echo in my grieving head,
Crying my eyes out,
My Baby was taken away,
On a bloodstained bed.

 

[Sara Crewe]

go with god my son

That line always makes me think of, "...these are not the droids you're looking for..."



Good thing priests cannot read minds.

 

[FifthFlower]

Underestimating the masses

Will Call

It seems the bridge is full today,
so full I cannot cross:
Who are these pricks who bar my way,
this throng of well-dressed dross?

They're standing still, they do not move,
my patience starts to fail;
and so I give a courteous shove
and send one o'er the rail.

Excuse me sir and ma'am, I say,
oblivious they nod,
and, elegant, are swept away
off once familiar ground.

And, thus, I make my way across
the splashing, turbid flow,
until, at last, the final toss --
at last, I'm free to go.

Nice anti-mass poem. I think the third stanza should be tossed over the rail with the rest of the masses. Most of the masses I ever met would likely do the following if I started tossing them off the bridge.

Now after tossing one or two,
The masses grabbed my ass
And tossed it with me down below
Where monsters burp and goblins blow
A noxious, fetid gas.

 

[Picodiribibi]

Nice anti-mass poem. I think the third stanza should be tossed over the rail with the rest of the masses. Most of the masses I ever met would likely do the following if I started tossing them off the bridge.

Now after tossing one or two,
The masses grabbed my ass
And tossed it with me down below
Where monsters burp and goblins blow
A noxious, fetid gas.

Tzara nailed it: ED is in my head. Right down to the sprung rhyme in the third stanza (it really needs to be there). I think, however, the Belle of Amherst would frown on my use of "prick"; eh, that's the word that popped into my head when it actually happened so I went with it. What can I do? Unlike Emily Dickinson, I'm a vulgar person. God bless Robert Burns.

And Stevie Smith, I love her light-hearted irony.

So there you are. The poem's a silly, amateurish, imitative exercise based loosely on fact. There's no need to get all Christina Rossetti on my ass, FifthFlower.

 

[Aztek Pagan]

Once I was feeling a little jaded

Modern Plague

I am a modern day plague on the raw chapped ass of society.
I am a force to be reckoned with taking those that follow with me.

I live life by myself, for myself, needing only myself.

I once had a leech attached to me hand and hip.
She talked so much, she couldn’t shut her lips.
She sucked so much I had to have her surgically removed.
Then my life began to improve.

A modern plague on man’s consciousness.
I am the tumor they found growing in your brain.
I am responsible for all your aches and pains.

You entered my world like a dream.
Changing my life and giving me hope for love it seems.
Then spoiling like milk on a sour stomach.
I puked you up like a poisoned sandwich.
Spilling you out on the ground,
Looking like I was giving birth to a thousand baby snakes.

I am a modern day plague that will change you.
That will mold you.
That will turn you.
Into someone you never thought you could be.
I love this because I hate you. I will turn you against yourself.
All because you teased me.
All because of the pain you caused me was real.

At night when you pray to God for help,
I am the one that hears your sobbing cries.
The hope you gave me influenced my dreams of tomorrow,
For happiness I could only borrow,
Leaving me in a life of darkness and sorrow.
So I thank you in your dreams,
Listen to my words for they are more than just lies.
They are words to live by.
They are words to die by.
They are my final words of goodbye.​

 

[unpredictablebijou]

Pico:

not to be selfish, as I know some folks have real lives and all, but I personally have not seen enough of you on this board of late. It is nice to see you around.

bijou

 

[twelveoone]

Tzara nailed it: ED is in my head. Right down to the sprung rhyme in the third stanza (it really needs to be there). I think, however, the Belle of Amherst would frown on my use of "prick"; eh, that's the word that popped into my head when it actually happened so I went with it. What can I do? Unlike Emily Dickinson, I'm a vulgar person.

might have changed the tone of Wild Nights

Wild Nights--Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile--the Winds--
To a Heart in port--
Done with the Compass--
Done with the Prick!
Rowing in Eden


Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor--Tonight--
In Thee!

 

[foehn2]

that's the best poem you've ever written.

 

[Tzara]

Tzara nailed it: ED is in my head....

I may be my age or the fact that I watch the commercials on ESPN, but ED makes me think of Viagra, not Ms. Dickinson.

 

[Angeline]

Will Call

It seems the bridge is full today,
so full I cannot cross:
Who are these pricks who bar my way,
this throng of well-dressed dross?

They're standing still, they do not move,
my patience starts to fail;
and so I give a courteous shove
and send one o'er the rail.

Excuse me sir and ma'am, I say,
oblivious they nod,
and, elegant, are swept away
off once familiar ground.

And, thus, I make my way across
the splashing, turbid flow,
until, at last, the final toss --
at last, I'm free to go.

It stands the Yellow Rose of Texas test.

And ditto Bij's sentiment: it's nice to see you posting again.

 

[Tathagata]

Father Inn was a beefy bloke
Who went around half cocked
He loved to hum a hymn or two
And for this he was defrocked