The Ark Man

He sits alone in a park
Just surrounded by the dark
He can not hear the dogs bark
Cuz he is busy building a Poetry ARK!

Yes, to save all the poems in the world
One man will let his madness unfurl
Armed with a laptop and an internet connection
He will rebuild ARK of Poetry after damnation

With a poem a minute, he's a man with a mission
His blog is eats up words as they get written
This man don't care if his words are being read
I say again, this man has madness in his head

So, night turns to day and still this man writes
With forces of law and sleep this one man fights
The cops take away his laptop and throw him in jail
Now he writes on the walls, every hour without fail

But how will he post those poems on his blog?
----
Woah Man Woah!

The Bottles Of Frustration

She is drunk
On some vile liquid
again
And there is a dick-tionary
of big-ass words
in her brain

She got fucked
when she was drunk
So that late she could
write poetry about it

She hates the sex
but loves the pain
like all stupid poets
she too is fucked in the brain

Misandrist*
Drunk
Poet
Sore
In the head
and down there.

(someone who hates men)
---
I do not know about anything else but reading this blog beats reading the dictionary! But seriously, one time inspiration for me to write. One amazing blogger+poet, who I guess I have just offended.
Oh well, not the last, not the first.

More coming your way! Get in line, bitches!

hello?

is this thing on?

Let's take a lil break!

Have a kit kat buddy! This is break time.

This is one of those rare non poem posts on this blog, that make it through when I have to say something to YOU!
So, in the past few weeks we have written a lot of poems and the weird this I have been noticing is that this blog is getting a LOT of keyword hits, there has been a poem down there somewhere about it. But keyword hits mean zilch, because there is no way of knowing that those people have read it or not, did they find the poems nice? or worse? or whatever.

Keyword surfers never leave comments. So, if you are one who is reading this right now, prove me wrong!

Anyway, to the fact of the matter. I was sitting in office and thinking, which I do very rarely, I think all Constant Readers know my aversion to thinking, dangerous thinking this...animal called Thinking. But then, I thought, and I thought about poems on the blogs. How many of them are saying what they want to say? Because, somewhere between the lines, the meaning is getting lost [not passing judgment on anyone,  just my observations]. Because from where I see it,  people are writing poems for the sake of writing poems, or do they really have something to say?

Personally, I do not like the cliched stuff 'out there' I mean come on, I'm reading your blog, give me something that will make me go WOAH! or make me laugh, or make me cry, or make me smack my head on the keyboard and die bleeding on this one. Surprise me, amaze me, disgust me. Don't give me something same like 1000 other places on the www, please, pretty please with a cherry on top!

FUCK! Some of the poems out there leave me numb. Where is the feeling? So,uhm, well, I'm going to do something about it. In Rhyme. In all good fun though. Fun like, poking you in the kidneys with a poison coated sharpened lollypop.

There shall be Poetry. About YOU! Oh fuck yeah, now won't that be funny! Won't be taking any names here for protecting the privacy of the bloggers. But come on, nothing like a friendly dig on you, heck if you can guess the poem is about you, maybe get it framed and hang it on top of your bed!

Right, so to sum up. I do not like some of the poems out there and I'm going to make fun of them. In Rhyme.

See you tomorrow, get your guessing cones out of the cupboard and let's have some fun!

(:

YBMMSBILP

<b>Your Blog Makes Me Sleepy But I Like Your Pain</b>

Your misery turns me on like a zing
And I want to rub salt in your wounds
Pain can be a really funny thing
As long as it's happening to you

I see your words of apocalyptic pain
I read you bitch and read you complain
But all your moaning is in vain
Cuz you don't know, your God is insane

Frankly honey, ranting on a blog isn't going to help
What you sucked and who you fucked will send you to hell
I will not be wrong in saying you are halfway there
Don't scream 'Help!' in my face, :) I don't care!

I'm not sorry that I find your condition funny
Like a shark attack on a beach that is sunny
Your words are boring and you make me sleepy
I read your blog to fall asleep, now ain't that creepy?
-=-=-=-=-=-=
I want to love you madly.

The Hits

It does not matter
If I update or not
Cuz' the hits keep on coming
Like flies on rotting shit

Like vultures on a camel carcass
Like boys after a single girl
Like America after oil
Like people looking for poems

Poems about monkeys
Poems about getting fucked in sleep
Poems about being eighteen
Poems about telling someone to fuck off

I do not know these people
These people do not know me
But they come looking for something
And that is what surprises me

Because I can understand people looking
For poems on monkeys
But a poem on tankman?
Is there someone out there so bored?!

I guess there is, cuz that keywords hits my blog everyday
In different sentences, in different ways
Still people do not bother to stop and say
Hey man, how you doin, i digg your poems everyday

-=-=-=-=-=-=
Statcounter rulez!

This Again The Same

History fucking repeats itself
Old doubts will always linger
In the back of your mind
And hit you in behind
-when you are not looking

Old enemies are never really dead
They have their guns aimed at your head
You can show them the finger
But they will shoot you point black
-when you are looking in the wrong place

Ex-partners still have your cell-number with them
The  ass-es don't know the meaning of 'fuck off!'
They write your number all over the internet
And you get calls from random horny men
-when you are updating your blog

Old sins will come back to haunt you
Each good deed left undone
Won't it be fun, walking in the sun
Laughing at crying at what you have done
-when you should have been doing others.
-=-=-=-=-
Ok, fuck it. This too will come back to haunt me someday.
Anyone made any sense out of it?

The Poem That Is Not

The Poem That Is Not

and now, the world slowly dissolves
in the space between a blink and a tear
everything has ended but there is
just us, you and me

and now, maybe we can talk about philo
or how the movies of our lives were too short
or religion if you like
or maybe we'll just look
at each other

and now, we have all the time
that we never had earlier
we can be here with each other till...god knows when
and then maybe sleep a little

oh i will Not talk about monkeys if you say
but can i talk of the tankman anyway?
if not him can we talk of Nothingman
the pearl jam song, we could never understand.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
This is how poems should not be written.

To explain, this poem is about four different people, three verses for three girls that I value a lot in my life, and the fourth one, is for you dear reader, because, well, you had it coming! :D. Just visualizing the end of the world with my favorite people.

The Shark Of Imagination

The Shark Of Imagination


Crack them finger and them ringers.
Fuck all the hype and get ready to type

Swim in the ocean where words are the fish
Sift out all those ideas and all these
There are no oysters or pearls to be found
Just an abundance of fishies all around

Watch out there's a shark
and it is coming for you
This is sea, not a park
No one can hear you cry buhoo

Ok, the shark is gone now
You can continue to fish
Whoops! The shark chops you in half
Your legs are gone, all that's left is a scarf

This is what you get for swimming in a mad ocean
This is mad country some call it Imagination
Rhymes pretty well with the word Desperation
And no one really knows of your situation or condition.

---
Weird did I hear you say?
heh, nah.

The Last Tank

The Last Tank On Planet Earth

Rolling down the hills
Mowing down the trees
Scaring away the birds and bees
And the monkeys

The last green monster on planet earth
Is a tank born of death's hearth
Inside the tank the Tankman drives
Everyday they want to kill him, he survives

The monkeys watch from trees up above
Their little hearts full of hate, as they fuck doves
The Tankman hears the doves cry out
The monkeys know, and joyous they shout

But the plot to lure Tankman out does not succeed
Tankman eats doves for dinner, he knows that they bleed
The monkeys now look for something else to eat
The last tank on earth drives out in the heat
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The first thing I find funny is how everyone matches 'above' with 'love' or 'dove'. The vision here is a world destroyed and taken over by trees and monkeys, a futuristic jungle and the Tankman is the lone tank driver left in the world, and he has vowed to avenge humanity's death from the monkeys. The monkeys on the other hand are way too many.
Here, Tankman fouls another foul plan of monkeys to be 1up on him.

The Battle Continues.

Who The Fuck?

Who the fuck am I?
A wallet full of money?
A boy who is funny?
A bucket to dump your shit in?
When things get shitty and runny

Who the fuck am I?
A promise for the future?
A messiah of for the nature?
An "I love you too" saying fuckhead
When you need your comfort?

Who the fuck am I?
A shoulder to cry on?
A shoulder to put your gun on?
A weapon for your final plan
When shit hits the fan?

Who the fuck am I?
A fubar storyteller?
A poet who is so full of shit that his eyes are brown?
A writer earning his keep by writing stupid shit?

Who the fuck am I?
Who the fuck am I?
Maybe all these things and more
Cuz if not these, then what? I'm not sure
Am I me anymore?
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Existential Dilemmas...because for a writer to write, conflict is necessary. Happy people seldom create good art.