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Array ( [sid] => 102638 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => this place [time] => 2005-08-04 10:45:26 [hometext] => [bodytext] => i enjoy my wheels out by the lawn,
my rug, my book, "The flora, fawn";
they each pertain to memories
of sedated, drooling enemies-
my cliches, stuck where'er they'd hit
an abstract poetic, slick with spit
would fill the failure's eye with rage
since talents sought were weak in sage.

Show not tell.
Orate, don't yell-
despise, deride the flow'ry smell
of twee-wee whymes and la-la chimes
the amateur's embabbled crimes
of which this verse is justly cursed
with vulgar jingles, interspersed
between the cracks of priceless facts
in thinking, metered feet through tracts
of spondee trochs. and sagey Kochs
"thy sponge doth dry thy windosil, where sponges sponge thy POT-plant spill"
and septamEEter's murken lochs
in hypermetric, egocentric
Dr. Seuss' - mad, MAD eccentrics!
Mad! Eccentric!
Maddity Bad! Maddity Bad!
The Muslims in Hyderabad
are coming for us upon our bus
to bomb our dreams - our hills of beans
that in the end, when this place falls
will echo light in cliche's halls
of heaven and hell, where Buy & Sell
will break the bank and crack the bell
for whom it tolls; for all mad souls-
I'm Maddily-Mad, oh doodily-doo!
I've heard the their forum's falsers, true
in the dripping of aprons
of big, angry matrons
they'll ascribe the failures of heaven
to you.

doo-dee do.

i enjoy my wheels along the hall,
the echoes of their madding squall.
The cell door bars I's disregards
for mirrors mind their cold steel scars.
and lo! unto the teevee room
where dribblers dribble and gurners loom
like monkees in a cesspit band
that punctuate with ampersands
the convicts scripts and cryptic tricks
escape the women!
Streak with sticks!

But all I do is stare and wish
that Tree came back to admoNISH
all these hateful hurtful thoughts
about my neighbours' mental cots.
I wish i wish i wish i wish
i wish i was a littel fish
and this is what i'd wish away;
the currents of another day
in here the blue doom,
of another poet room,
streaking the walls with faeces. [comments] => 2 [counter] => 201 [topic] => 76 [informant] => mr_jeremy [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 4 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => obsession )

this place

Contributed by mr_jeremy on Thursday, 4th August 2005 @ 10:45:26 AM in AEST
Topic: obsession

i enjoy my wheels out by the lawn,
my rug, my book, "The flora, fawn";
they each pertain to memories
of sedated, drooling enemies-
my cliches, stuck where'er they'd hit
an abstract poetic, slick with spit
would fill the failure's eye with rage
since talents sought were weak in sage.

Show not tell.
Orate, don't yell-
despise, deride the flow'ry smell
of twee-wee whymes and la-la chimes
the amateur's embabbled crimes
of which this verse is justly cursed
with vulgar jingles, interspersed
between the cracks of priceless facts
in thinking, metered feet through tracts
of spondee trochs. and sagey Kochs
"thy sponge doth dry thy windosil, where sponges sponge thy POT-plant spill"
and septamEEter's murken lochs
in hypermetric, egocentric
Dr. Seuss' - mad, MAD eccentrics!
Mad! Eccentric!
Maddity Bad! Maddity Bad!
The Muslims in Hyderabad
are coming for us upon our bus
to bomb our dreams - our hills of beans
that in the end, when this place falls
will echo light in cliche's halls
of heaven and hell, where Buy & Sell
will break the bank and crack the bell
for whom it tolls; for all mad souls-
I'm Maddily-Mad, oh doodily-doo!
I've heard the their forum's falsers, true
in the dripping of aprons
of big, angry matrons
they'll ascribe the failures of heaven
to you.

doo-dee do.

i enjoy my wheels along the hall,
the echoes of their madding squall.
The cell door bars I's disregards
for mirrors mind their cold steel scars.
and lo! unto the teevee room
where dribblers dribble and gurners loom
like monkees in a cesspit band
that punctuate with ampersands
the convicts scripts and cryptic tricks
escape the women!
Streak with sticks!

But all I do is stare and wish
that Tree came back to admoNISH
all these hateful hurtful thoughts
about my neighbours' mental cots.
I wish i wish i wish i wish
i wish i was a littel fish
and this is what i'd wish away;
the currents of another day
in here the blue doom,
of another poet room,
streaking the walls with faeces.

Copyright © mr_jeremy ... [ 2005-08-04 10:45:26]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: this place (User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on Thursday, 4th August 2005 @ 02:57:26 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

The-brokn-rose, claps his hands, oh this was a truely excellent poem, loved all of the words you used to describe what was going on in it, a truely fantastic write. SLipSiX.

Re: this place (User Rating: 1 )
by AnOreo on Thursday, 4th August 2005 @ 05:55:57 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

i personally come from a muslum background and i don't like the fact that you gave into the sterotype that muslums are terorists... but i like the rhythm

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