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NGUS'S ******


YEAH IT'S FUN TO SEE ANGUS'S AC/DC'S ******
HE FELT HE WAS WEIRD, BUT ALSO FELT QUITE COOL
CAUSE AS HE DANCES HIS COOL DANCE STYLE
OFF WENT HIS PANTS TO SEE HIS COOL JOCKS
HE PARTIES UP, YEAH HE PARTIES DOWN
AND HE PARTIES RIGHT WHERE ANY CONSERVOS FROWN
AND IT'S COOL TOO SEE ANGUS'S ACCA DACCA ******, YEAH
YA SEE HE TAKES HIS HAND AND RIPS THE SHIRT FROM HIS BACK
AND THEN SANG OUT THE FLAMING WORDS, WE GOT THE JACK
PLAYING WITH HIS JOCKS, THE ACCA DACCA JOCKS
RUNNIG AROUND SINGING HIS HEAVY METAL SOUND
PRETTY COOL, FOR A ACCA DACCA SINGER LIKE HIM, DUDES
NOW HE IS PLAYING THE GUTAR WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE
AND AS HIS ****** LOOK COOL INDEED
COOL INDEED COOL INDEED COOL INDEED
ANGUS YOUNG IS MIGHTY COOL INDEED
SHOOT TO ****, WE BREAK NO RULES
I DID BUT ONLY THE MORALIC RULE
ANGUS'S ******, OOPS HIS JOCKS
GO HOME AND READ FOX IN ANGUS'S ******

YEAH IT'S FUN TO SEE ANGUS'S AC/DC'S ******
HE FELT HE WAS WEIRD, BUT ALSO FELT QUITE COOL
CAUSE AS HE DANCES HIS COOL DANCE STYLE
OFF WENT HIS PANTS TO SEE HIS COOL JOCKS
HE PARTIES UP, YEAH HE PARTIES DOWN
AND HE PARTIES RIGHT WHERE ANY CONSERVOS FROWN
AND IT'S COOL TOO SEE ANGUS'S ACCA DACCA ******, YEAH
YA SEE HE TAKES HIS HAND AND RIPS THE SHIRT FROM HIS BACK
AND THEN SANG OUT THE FLAMING WORDS, WE GOT THE JACK
PLAYING WITH HIS JOCKS, THE ACCA DACCA JOCKS
RUNNIG AROUND SINGING HIS HEAVY METAL SOUND
PRETTY COOL, FOR A ACCA DACCA SINGER LIKE HIM, DUDES
NOW HE IS PLAYING THE GUTAR WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE
AND AS HIS ****** LOOK COOL INDEED
COOL INDEED COOL INDEED COOL INDEED
ANGUS YOUNG IS MIGHTY COOL INDEED
SHOOT TO ****, WE BREAK NO RULES
I DID BUT ONLY THE MORALIC RULE
ANGUS'S ******, OOPS HIS JOCKS
GO HOME AND READ FOX IN
YEAH I LOVE ICE CREAM
AND I LOVE LIFE GOING ON ADVENTURES
I LOVE CONCERTS, I HEAR CANBERRA
SAYING, LET'S PUT ON POISON CONCERT
FOR BRIAN ALLAN AND AC/DC CONCERT FOR
BRIAN ALLAN AND TWISTED SISTER FOR BRIAN ALLAN
YEAH, I STILL LOVE HEAVY METAL MUSIC, BETTER
THAN THE ARMY, I LIKE LIVE CONCERTS
I THINK IT'S RATHER GRAND
HEARING, THE CROWD YELL ANGUS ANGUS ANGUS
LIKE THE ****** BURGER ANGUS
I ALSO HATE DAD'S VOICE SAYING YOUR LIUKE ME AND MUMMY BRIAN
I LOVE HEAVY METAL AND I AM HEARING THUNDERSTRUCK AT PRESENT
I AM NOT LIVING IN THE PAST
I AM LIVING IN THE PRESENT FOR A PRESENT
I PREFER HEAVY METAL, I ALWAYS LIKED HEAVY METAL
BETTER THAN THE ARMY, I KNOW THEY ****
BUT WHERE'S THE THRILL, HEAVY METAL MUSIC IS SOOOO COOOOOL
LET'S PARTY PARTY PARTY ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT
I WILL CLEAN MY HOUSE LATER, AC/DC ARE MORE IMPORTANT MATE
BEING COOL IS MORE IMPORTANT AT PRESENT
I LOVE ACCA DACCA, THEY ARE ****** RADICALLY AWESOME DUDE
HEAVY METAL GOES UP, HEAVY METAL GOES DOWN
HEAVY METAL IS PLAYED NICE AND LOUD
AND THEV SCREAM OUT TO THE REAL LIFE CROWD
YEAH ACCA DACCA ARE COOL
WE ARE GETTING RID OF DADS OLD FOGIE
LIKING MY LITTLE CLEANER 24 HOURS A DAY
I KNOW I MIGHT HAVE WANTED THAT, TIMES CHANGE, DUDE
ACCA DACCA ARE RAD
David Nelson Apr 2010
Jocks

While lovely Eileen entertained us all,
with her wonderful words of lace and satin,
it made me want to answer the call,
make guys proud, like General Patton

the guys wear jocks to cloister their tools,
the perfect size so hard to find,
need to protect those precious jewels,
from errant kicks and grabs from behind

most are just elastic and cotton,
some are furry you get from **** shops,
absorb the sweat they smell quite rotten,
pick up with 1 finger or handles of mops

the backs are weird like gives you ******,
when grabbed by the band and yanked real hard,
guys in gym like to snap like frozen veggie,
then try to get you on their dance card

cause now you can sing those real high notes,
your face quite large like you have the mumps,
squeal like girlie man being attacked by goats,
don't bend over you expose those rumps    

but it is important to protect your package,
keep is safe for your favorite gal,
not real good to have swollen sackage,
not even if choice is a guy named Hal

Gomer LePoet...
ryn Dec 2014
It was those blue eyes, sparkling with words
I dreamt about reading but believed it impossible
Too beautiful to be seen with nuclear nerds
In my breakable beaker, you'd never be soluble.

A mismatched juxtaposition, atom for atom.
Even if I permutate, molecule by molecule.
We could never have struck stable equilibrium,
I could never escape the premise of ridicule.

Spent too much time postulating the unknown
Spent far too long balancing tricky equations
Head dug too deep to realise a factor that had grown
An external variable that had encroached with similar intentions.


My hand slipped from the scale when your finger touched my own
I forgot the words "controlled reaction", momentarily
Seeing goosebumps on your skin, and other bumps now shown
I gently pushed your wayward hair behind your ear, daringly

A moment frozen in the range of sub-zeroes
Dare I forgo the mandatory steps and arrive at a conclusion?
If I do I'd garner the title, "the nerdiest of all heroes!"
My "spidey-sense" failed me this time, and awarded me with a "fist-meet-face" reaction!

Happened in a blur, nanoseconds that sang in mock.
What was it that left me in a twirl?
Propped myself up to see the wrath of a crimson-faced ****.
All fists, no brains who yelled, "Hands off my girl!"


All this hilarious yet passionately painful hullabaloo
Let me drop the beaker of sodium in the zinc basin
Forgetting not to get it wet, the moment, clearly now unglued
When suddenly, "BOOM" it sounded like a pending cremation

Jocks, and nerds, and screaming cheerleaders
Hit the ground like a lunchtime scene from downtown Baghdad
And Blondie whispers in my ear, like a gypsy mind reader
"Maybe we should cool it, for I am in love with another lad"

Her words hit home and burned like The Lindenburg on fire
Amidst the fracas, cracked voice stammered to mask my bruised latent ego
"Nothing improper... Just an attempt to save your locks from the Bunsen burner
Science is my only love, just so you know"

Thanked God for my eyes and the need for correction lenses
Those thick convexes made it easy to not reveal
Steadied my frames and packed in hasty pretences
Accusing eyes followed as I exited the room with tears concealed...


Pieter Meyer
**ryn
You may have read this before as it is a repost of my collaboration with the witty and incredible Pieter Meyer. He seemed to have gone missing, along with the poem. So here it is... Hope you enjoy it
Dan O'Neil Mar 2015
This is Not Glandular - Dan O’neil


I don’t use excuses. I never liked them.
The people who say “they were born this way”.
Husky….Stocky…. Big-*****…
Let me start by putting your minds at ease.
This is not glandular. So, i am not a fat man..  
I am a FAAATT man. And i am **** proud of it!
I am proud of this body.
I chose to be this size.
Chose a body as BOOMING as my voice ,
with the softness to counter my sharp tongued words.
Chose puppy cheeks,
so my grandma will always have something to pinch.
Chose hands that look like hot-dogs glued to a baseball,
because thats really funny to picture.
I chose to be a mountain of a man,
just incase any ladies were feeling adventurous
and wanted to hike to the summit.
Trust me, this is not glandular.

I chose this body because of the women,
because the ladies love the funny fat guy!
Because any girl who won't take me if i'm fat ,
is not anyone i'd want if i was thin.
Because I am 230 pounds of cuddling,
bearing down on you like a force of nature,
and there is NOO escape from my snuggling.
Because i am a teddy bear,
whose heart is on “E” and desperately awaits the next woman to refuel him

I chose this body because of the FOOD.
Because there are 6 meals in a day.
Breakfast,brunch,lunch,siesta, dinner ,and the taco bell drive thru.
And theyre ALL the most important meal of the day.
Because just like lonely , ***** ,and angry. We all get hungry.
Because my mom told me that some people show love by cooking.
So i got cookies instead of hugs, meatloaf instead of kisses.
And fried spaghetti sandwiches, replaced bedtime stories…
And i cleaned my plate every time because it was all i can do to say.
I love you too.
I mean i never knew my dad, and Rick.
Rick was never the hands-on step father.
Unless you consider the occasional slap on side the head.
So food became my surrogate fathers. Kernel Sanders and Chef Boyardee
Became my models for manhood.
Which explains my obsession for weird hats..

I chose this body because of 7th grade PE
Because if just one fat guy is confident when changing clothes
it makes others more confident, because dodge-ball is a ****** sport
so who cares if i get knocked out first? Running the mile is TORTURE!
But so are the jokes.. If the fat guy can't finish.

I chose this body,because other people not liking my body is not a good enough reason for me to change it.
So to the bullies, the lunch ladies , to the women who NEVER gave me a chance.
And the football coaches who berated me with insults. To the jerks and the jocks
And the doctor who joked when i stepped on his scale. To Rick and Kernel,
and ANYONE who ever used F A T as an insult. You can do what i did for the last 2 decades.
of my life doing. YOU CAN EAT IT.

Because i love pies,  i love hamburgers ,french fries ,and lobster, and deep fried twinkies
I love me some rice-a-roni and salisbury steak, microwaved burritos ,
cooler ranch doritos and ice-cream , the kind that you push that had Fred Flintstone on it.
I love cake. I love everything about who i am and the life i get to live
No. This ..is .. not ..glandular. Its just fat .
And for the first time in my life. Im proud of that.
tonight we gather
to mark a
commencement day

four decades on
from a late June
afternoon

exchanging
embraces and
bon voyage wishes

departing a grand
chandeliered Rivoli
embarcadero

bound
to glorious
destinations

our bold sails
welling with
youthful
exuberance
in pursuit of
dreams
and intrepid
endeavors

our life
journeys
are blessed
with rich
abundance,
the grace of
challenge and
the gift of days

this evening
as we reconnect
to share the joys
and wisdom gleaned
from well lived lives
we will also celebrate
in multicolored splendor
the lives of classmates
who have commenced
journeys to other
destinations

though their
earthly sojourn
is complete
passed friends
remain alive
in our memory

surely the spirits
of the beloved
will walk this
room tonight

forever young
their quiet presence
will gently touch
tender hearts

they’ll appear
as they once looked
on their finest day

and as we relive
the bits of our lives
we shared with
one another

we may feel
the grasp of a
warm hand
as we once did
during that
snowy evening
west end walk

we’ll dance with them again
around Tamblyn Field bonfires
gyrating in a shared
ecstatic ebullience

we’ll applaud most likely
to succeed lives
most beautiful smiles
and crack up
to the hilarity of
class clown jokes

we’ll taste the kiss
of an after dark
Lincoln Park
rendezvous

groove to the
rock steady
beat of a
bad company tune  

we’ll submerge again
in a Yellow Submarine
to embark on an epic
Greenwich Village
journey

we’ll roll down
the shore on old
Thunder Road
windows open
hair blowin
radio blastin

we’ll taste the sweet sip
of Cherry Cokes
and Root Beer floats
at Roadrunners

chasing lost love salty tears
spilled over ***** upperclass home boys
and the soft blush sentiment of a
first French kiss

wouldn't it be nice
to swoon to the
fantasy and
winsome yearnings
of favorite
summer songs

filling our head’s
with mind
blowing collages
starring
team mates
drama club
second takes
heady chess club
checkmates

we’ll marvel at the disruption of
premillennial breakthrough science projects
created by pocket protected slide ruling
entrepreneurial math wizards

we'll recall droll gossip
by drab hall lockers
dim gym showers
awkward dances
Yippie people power

patriotic assemblies
cool sharp dressers
right on brother
Que Pasa lil sista

rock and roll album covers
Simon and Garfunkel poetics
Go Go Boots kickin
FM radio psychedelics

Midnight Confessions
emphatically blared
from the cafeteria jukebox
Civil Rights, Earth Day
and righteous
anti war activism

tribes of hoods, Ra’s,
jocks, artistes and tie dye hippies
everything is groovy
lets get a sandwich at Ernie’s

first carnal explorations
Moody Blue Tuesday trysts
man could she speak German
boy do I dig her dress

we did hard time together
at split session detention centers
ate chocolate chip cookies
cracked up to Mr. Thomas’s
Ides of March tragedy

took first tokes and
sips of Boones Farm
we partied hard
and did no harm

admired academic brainiacs
and the civic commitment
of student govie reps
shut down the gubmint
was never a threat 

basketball rumbles
Bulldog football
**** Ludwig soccer teams
nimble cheerleaders

leggy majorettes
kick *** marching band fanfares
compelling masquer presentments
Park Avenue wayfarers

they were
crew mates
on The Soul Boat
rode shotgun
to Midnight Rambler
Doobie Concerts

cruised hard in
the Root Hog
Rat Raced Louie
in tiny white Pintos

we booked
many a mile
with our lost
friends

on the road to
this evening

authoring
volumes of
fabled odysseys
and fantastic
recollections

their stories
are our stories
telling our stories
keeps them alive

some may say
gone too soon
but the measure of
a well lived life
is not counted
in days, nor
accomplishments

but how one has loved
and how much one was loved

quietly there
always with us
forever to be
a wholesome
part of us

as the brothers
from Cooley High
would say

lets tip a sip
for the brothers
and sisters who
ain’t here….

God bless
Godspeed
enjoy the evening
vaya con dios mis amigos

Music Selection:
Pat Metheny
Mas Alla


RHS 74
Class Reunion
Elks Club
Rutherford
11/29/14
at the track today,
Father's Day,
each paid admission was
entitled to a wallet
and each contained a
little surprise.
most of the men seemed
between 30 and 55,
going to fat,
many of them in walking
shorts,
they had gone stale in
life,
flattened out....
in fact, **** it, they
aren't even worth writing
about!
why am I doing
this?
these don't even
deserve a death bed,
these little walking
whales,
only there are so
many of
them,
in the urinals,
in the food lines,
they have managed to
survive
in a most limited
sense
but when you see
so many of them
like that,
there and not there,
breathing, farting,
commenting,
waiting for a thunder
that will not arrive,
waiting for the charging
white horse of
Glory,
waiting for the lovely
female that is not
there,
waiting to WIN,
waiting for the great
dream to
engulf them
but they do nothing,
they clomp in their
sandals,
gnaw at hot dogs
*******,
gulping at the
meat,
they complain about
losing,
blame the jocks,
drink green
beer,
the parking lot is
jammed with their
unpaid for
cars,
the jocks mount
again for another
race,
the men press
toward the betting
windows
mesmerized,
fathers and non-fathers
Monday is waiting
for them,
this is the last
big lark.
and the horses are
totally
beautiful.
it is shocking how
beautiful they
are
at that time,
at that place,
their life shines
through;
miracles happen,
even in
hell.
I decide to stay for
one more
race.

from Transit magazine, 1994
Mike T Minehan Jan 2013
She is equipped with sensitive *******
and those other secret places
that ladies give out as prizes
to deserving guys as long as
they adopt the right disguises
of gods, gurus, intellectual giants,
goats, children, father figures, macho brutes,
sugar-daddies, supermen, seminal vessels,
house-repairers, jar openers, jocks, hate objects,
handy shoulders to cry on, emotional support systems,
sensitive, intuitive, yet strong silent types
who can also pay the bills,
tall dark and handsome total strangers,
toy boys, clowns, jugglers, jokers, millionaires,
wood choppers, ******* removers,
bottomless reservoirs of reassurance
or just plain spunky studs when the moon is right.
In fact, anything but woffly wimps.
Oh God, no.  Anything but woffly wimps.
Yes, but what about stoic, steadfast SNAGS,
you know, the Sensitive New Age Guys
who won’t face-shift for a ****?
Yes, well, let's try to sum all this up here right now.
I think that the woman is dripping
with a brimming reservoir
of luscious and sensitive resources on tap for  
the man who can figure out her cosmic kaleidoscope  
of swirling dreams and desires,
which is definitely not to say she can’t be totally independent.
Although please don't be confused.
Friendly boy-next-door types who are handsome,
aren't too hairy, who like to laugh, who have a boyish braggadocio,
who are students, who appear to be intellectuals,
who are not nerds,
and who can **** it in the kitchen, who  can be oh, so cool,
who can convince a maiden that she is in distress,
and is in need of rescuing, while he has
a swaggering hard-on will do, too.
Oooh. You devil.
And if you think this poem is misogynist, misanthropic or myopic,
well, I’ve been around and by now, well,
I really should be panoptic
because I’ve seen all the fads,
and really, it’s sadly too bad
about those poor old
earnest SNAGS.
But you know what?
I don't think I understand anything, because
I'm really a victim of worshiping women.
I'm bedazzled and as blind as the next man, and
yes,
I'm just happy whenever I'm with them.
Yes. A complex topic, this one...
Melanie Dunn Sep 2010
In reality everyone judges.
So caught up in their name brands.
Whether or not we hold our grudges,
Labels are for soup cans.

We assume that everyone we meet fits a certain frame,
It's easier to do this, so that we will understand.
But once you get to know someone, your first impressions' put to shame.
Because labels are for soup cans.

Smart kids are nerdy and will never be intimate.
Popular kids are jocks and girls with fake tans.
Then there's the rebels who take risks and think nothing of it.
But labels are for soup cans.

In reality everyone judges,
But again, labels are for soup cans.
This was just a silly villanelle.
Telia Aug 2014
I'm considered to be nerdy
Awkward, not flirty.

They call me gay,
Because I Cosplay.

I must be a dork
Because Zelda's my lord,
And she's way cooler than any sport.

Could someone love me?
That couldn't be.

I watch too much anime,
And BBC.

I praise The doctor and Spock.
Even Sherlock.
Cause in my opinion
They're better than jocks.

Being nerdy is quite fun,
But you make me sound dumb.

We're accepting and caring
But please stop staring.

Am I making this boring?
Don't start snoring..

Just give me a chance.
I'll make it last.

We could play Skyrim or league.
Wait, don't leave!

I can be cool,
Just like you!

I can calculate big numbers in my head,
Or make a fortress out of my bed

I can be an ork, elf, or spy.
Just as long as it's allowed by the die.

I can cast spells online.
Don't worry, you'll be fine!

I can role play to the extreme!!!
That's right, I call it d&d.;

I'm proud to be a geek.
Yes, we're very neet!

We know our facts!
We're anime maniacs.

I'm good at mtg!
It takes skill to be like me.

I'm cool I tell you!
I'm grand.

But at the same time,
You don't make me feel great.

I'm a loser,
A dork

No, I don't like baseball, football, or hockey
I can't bench and I don't lift.

But I go to some pretty intense parties...
On Xbox.

My heart is bigger than my head..
No, not literally.

I'd bring you a rose
And write you a poem

You'd be my Rory.
This isn't the end of the story.

I'd love you more than
video games, Star Wars, and D&D.;

In the end,
You're always my MVP.

You don't have to lie,
I know you'll decline..

but my feelings won't change.
They'll always be the same.

Maybe I'd be cool..
If I were with you.

But that'll never be
Because you fail to see OTP.

Then again,
It's all good in the end
Because..

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Manga costs less
Than dinner for two.
Micheal Wolf Nov 2013
What a guy!
What a player!
On the field he was the slayer
The only son, the one to watch
The one who others tried to match
He had the looks and physique
A grades at school for all to see.

Now he pays a heavy price
Drinks Jack Daniels every night
For all his life he was pushed
To be valour dictorum in the year book

He had problems so deep inside
He didn't want footballers thighs
He wanted silk and lace with heels
Not the college football kit
If he could have what he dreamed
He'd be a cheerleader on that field

A as a boy late at night
He gave his mom a real fright
There he was in her clothes
His father beat him and killed his soul

Years went by and James was wed
So he wore his wife's clothes instead!
Till one day he bought his own
Shaved his legs and went out alone
He bumped into a group of jocks
Who beat him beacause he wore a frock

Now in the mirror he has scars
That match the hundreds still inside
For James outside to all of you
Was Jayne inside and then showed you

But now at 50 for him to late
To be reasigned and be just Jayne
Times have changed and so have views
If he wants to let him wear Jimmy Choos
So if any friends I have Called John
Wants to be simply Joanne
Let me know asap
We can celebrate with a drink.
Disgusted at a story I read about a tortured soul.
Humanity needs a good kick and not this way.
at the quarterhorse meet
at Hollywood Park

around 5 p.m.

if you are sitting at
ground level

in the
Pavilion

the track appears
to
be

above you

and

in the strange
shadow-
sunlight

the silks
are
so
bright

the color
is
like

fresh paint
on
canvas

and

the faces of
the
jocks
look

heroic.

it's a
grand
time

then

a perfect
and
peaceful

photograph

dream-
like.

such small
moments

keep

people
alive.

such small
moments

so
large

when

it

all

comes
together

and

hold­s.
Ignorance is bliss,
really,
more like Stupidity.
an aspect,
benefiting a person,
like cold sore,
irritating,
an annoyance,
peevish to your life.

Face it, honey,
you’re as fake,
as your personality.
You’re plastic,
I could melt you,
if I truly desired,
setting a lighted match,
to your artificial body.

Please, take some advice,
lay off the make-up,
you look like a clown,
maybe a *******.
Tanning is acceptable,
but looking dark orange,
is outrageous.
There is no need to look,
like you just rolled in bag of Doritos,
that’s Snooki’s Job.

There is more to life,
besides appearances,
waking up like P. Diddy,
sweet heart, don’t like be Kesha,
it’s ******.
Partying is enjoyable,
but not necessary every night,
consisting of drinking,
frat boys, jocks, pretty boys,
saying “oh my god”,
or “I broke a nail”,
and precarious ***.

I know you were raised with Barbies,
but you don’t have to be one.
Barbie is a piece of plastic,
containing no originality,
with an unfeasible body,
and isn’t real,
much like yourself.
Stop with the act,
no one wants to be,
around a person,
who is often intoxicated,
narcissistic,
and a ditzy *****.

You can be a girly girl,
but be genuine,
stop being a follower,
if everyone jumps off a bridge,
then you’ll be splattered,
upon the ground with them,
no use to anyone.

My words are probably useless,
going right through the holes,
of yours ears,
attached to the plastic head of yours.

Anyways, I tried,
as excruciating as it was,
to reach out to you,
who are living this life,
of alleged greatness,
more like a travesty,
in my eyes.

Hopefully, you’ll change,
wake up from this social stupor,
become yourself,
regain your individuality,
and cease to be,
a Barbie doll.
Haley Vlietstra Oct 2010
Funny men in tall chef hats
Marching about so wildly
Stone soup and humble pie
Main course and dessert delight

Give me a dose
And that girl two
Vanity, her dream come true
Narcissistic uncaring and cold

A mid-evil blunder
So daring and bold
Spoiled brats
And rotting Brauts

Sugared too sweet
Not telling the truth
The gossip
And all

The Court jester
The village idiot
He sinks to the bottom
She cheers to the top

It's amazing the wonder
The high school scene
The many things
That relate to its sheen

The short stout bakers
Making profit from weakness
Some goods so smooth
Some just the opposite

The geeks and nerds
Hackers and slackers
Jocks with jerseys
And rebels with rock

Serve up course two and three
Let's make it a festival
Just you and me
Vanity and sheen

Were just getting started
This is high school
This mid-evil concert
For four years we live it

A new melody
A new song
It's not the end
But the struggle

Is on.
I wrote this my freshman year about 4 years ago now.
I'll settle for the 6 horse
on a rainy afternoon
a paper cup of coffee
in my hand
a little way to go,
the wind twirling out
small wrens from
the upper grandstand roof,
the jocks coming out
for a middle race
silent
and the easy rain making
everything
at once
almost alike,
the horses at peace with
each other
before the drunken war
and I am under the grandstand
feeling for
cigarettes
settling for coffee,
then the horses walk by
taking their little men
away-
it is funeral and graceful
and glad
like the opening
of flowers.
lotus lord Dec 2014
They think just cause they play sports there the best of the best

But truth be told there just ideots
They make fun of people and get away
They only play so the girls will be all over them
And to they can sleep with them all

But truth be told I would go near them cause there just bad new

And I know not all them are like this
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
I really like Christmas
It's sentimental, I know, but I just really like it
I am hardly religious
I'd rather break bread with Dawkins than Desmond Tutu, to be honest

And yes, I have all of the usual objections
To consumerism, the commercialisation of an ancient religion
To the westernisation of a dead Palestinian
Press-ganged into selling Playstations and beer
But I still really like it

I'm looking forward to Christmas
Though I'm not expecting a visit from Jesus

I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun
I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

I don't go in for ancient wisdom
I don't believe just 'cos ideas are tenacious it means they are worthy
I get freaked out by churches
Some of the hymns that they sing have nice chords but the lyrics are dodgy

And yes I have all of the usual objections
To the miseducation of children who, in tax-exempt institutions,
Are taught to externalise blame
And to feel ashamed and to judge things as plain right and wrong
But I quite like the songs

I'm not expecting big presents
The old combination of socks, jocks and chocolate is just fine by me

Cos I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun
I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

And you, my baby girl
My jetlagged infant daughter

You'll be handed round the room
Like a puppy at a primary school

And you won't understand
But you will learn someday

That wherever you are and whatever you face

These are the people who'll make you feel safe in this world
My sweet blue-eyed girl

And if, my baby girl
When you're twenty-one or thirty-one

And Christmas comes around
And you find yourself nine thousand miles from home
You'll know what ever comes

Your brother and sisters and me and your Mum
Will be waiting for you in the sun

Whenever you come
Your brothers and sisters, your aunts and your uncles
Your grandparents, cousins and me and your mum

We'll be waiting for you in the sun
Drinking white wine in the sun

Darling, when Christmas comes
We'll be waiting for you in the sun
Drinking white wine in the sun

Waiting for you in the sun
Waiting for you...
Waiting...

I really like Christmas
It's sentimental, I know...
Tim Minchin
White Wine In The Sun lyrics
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCNvZqpa-7Q
Deborah Downes Oct 2016
I stare at the television news....

Assaulted by violence
Stunned by the inhumanity of a
Godless society

I listen to the radio....

Embarrassed by ads that tout
Promiscuous pleasures
Outraged by the thinly disguised
Decadent discourses of the shock jocks

I read the newspapers and magazines....

Cuckolded by corporate America a
Loser in the games politicians play
Violated
Shamed
Cheated and
Betrayed

I try to turn it all off….

but like a bitter pill the distasteful images linger
nor can I go along with eyes shut and ears muffled
living
or not
in a padded room of my own making

I cannot function without information….

tho my senses are
Wounded by the
Brutality of the media

I yearn for thoughts to ease my distress....

like a mother’s soft whispers to her crying baby
like the beauty that shines from faces that know love

I don’t want the perception of reality that the media rapes me with....

I want the truth revealed by God in His creation
Musicgurl97 Jan 2014
one of these days im gonna fly.
fly away from this small town with jocks who take life for granted.
fly away from the people who hurt me.
fly away from judgement.
fly away from disapproving stares at the grocery store.
fly away from my parents arguing.
fly away from my brother's drugs.
fly away from my too busy schedule.
fly away from stress, from obsession, from therapy.
fly away from all that is wrong-with me, with my family, with the world.
oh yes; one of these days you will watch this "tortured soul" fly.
and when im gliding you, i wont be flying.
ill be soaring. and all you will do is gaze, open-mouthed and amazed at the simplicity beneath my wings
Muggle Ginger Mar 2013
Reese’s Pieces are for people who
Are used to picking up the pieces
Of broken hearts
But they still want to make it
A good experience
Smiles that look like peanut butter
And kisses that taste like chocolate

Butterfingers are for the kids who
Are used to being picked last for
Everything except to cheat off of
In math class
They’ve grown accustomed to
Not being thought of

Popular kids like the M&Ms;
Because in the end
What else do they have except
For the stories of muses
And the parties they attended
One-by-one they picked apart
Everyone who didn’t act just like them

Pop Rocks are terrible and
So are Peppermint Patties

Crunch bars and 100 Grand’s
Made the jocks think they would actually
Go somewhere and do something
With their lives
Hope comes in strange forms
Monkeys don’t know the difference

Kit-Kats are for the hipsters
Talking a little too loud about mustaches
Listening to music that nobody knew
Grouping around vegan lunch tables
They would break off one by one
When another clique accepted them

Anything made by ***** Wonka
Was a favorite of the kids who
Knew who they were and
Weren’t ashamed

After all, what does candy say
About any of us
Clothes and shoes
Were only disguises
To hide us from the world we
Desperately wanted to fit into
If you had a Five Star notebook
Started mattering a lifetime too soon

When I step into the convenience store
I picture the kids that I know
Because of the candy they ate
I regret having such a sweet tooth
To pick apart kids’ lives
With nothing to satisfy the bitter
After-taste of social humiliation
kirk Oct 2018
Who owns Jack Jones, is he part of your clan?
Does Mr Jones actually exist, is he a real live man
Why does he resemble Boyd, is this part of his plan
Jack is such a manly name, but so is Phil and Stan

Don't use "Boy" within your name, you'll impose an adult ban
Boyish names are not much good, there not like John or Dan
You wouldn't call grandfathers boys, or say girl to your nan
Stop abusing ol' Jack Jones, and avoid Boyd if you can

Boyd is easy to avoid, its easier than we thought
An alteration has took place, but that's what Boyd has sought
Elusiveness is not too smart, because already you've been caught
We've worked out who Jack Jones is, and it accounts to nought

Your lacking iron clad alibis, nothing is set in wrought
It's criminal to own Jack Jones, so please would you abort
No rights to use another name, your being a bad sport
Is Boyd considered as a name, or is it "boy" for short

Intellect is not too strong, that's only what you think
Using an alias is unwise, if you show a photo link
Why bother changing to Jack Jones, how low you gonna sink
Your mother's been kept in the dark, about releasing your white ink

Is Jack Jones the one, who's been sinking in the pink?
Wasn't it Boyd's low ***** count, that went inside the mink?
You are skating on thin ice, when there's cracks in the rink
Just who owns Jack Jones, when Boyd's back from the brink

Identities are broken, just what did you think you'd gain
Your just a ******* imbecile, to think you'd relieve the strain
You can't hide yourself away, you must be quite insane
It's not as though your mother lives, in germany or Spain

Everyone knows who you are, it's in your face and plain
It is just pathetic to make Jack Jones the main
Jack Jones is just too common, you should try a name like shane
Just don't **** about with names, or Jack Jones will be jocks Jane

Your ashamed of what you've done, you try to skulk and hide
You didn't mind the ******, or having your fun ride
Be a man and not a "Boyd", it's time to turn the tide
Come on Boyd you did not avoid, legs that were astride

Morality is in pursuit, but you have no sense of pride
Who's Jack Jones supposed to be, now  sperms slid down the slide
Other aliases may exist, do you have bits on the side
Or are you only interested, when things are open wide

Is Jack Jones the father, or is he born from rubber clones
Boyd is the spitting image, he's been seen on mobile phones
Hostile namesake takeovers, do you have *** slaves and drones
There's no sense in your deception, because this isn't Game of Thrones

We don't want identities stolen, you borrow names like loans
Jack's already being used, it's a name that someone owns
Maybe names can hurt you, as well as sticks and stones
So cease in your activities , you don't know who owns Jack Jones
This poem is dedicated to Mandy who influenced its writing
high school *****
there is NO doubt about that.
there are bullies
there are jocks
there are band nerds
and then there is you.
it feels like everyone hates you,
at times.
but it does get better.
life goes on
and you will forget,
forget about
the bullies
the jocks
the band nerds,
and every other high school
*******.
Harsh Dec 2013
If we lived in a non-judgmental world,
where social norm were a blank slate
free of preconceptions and expectations,
a world in which it was traditional to be liberal,
what would you do?
Would you work this hard or drive fast cars?
Would you read 50 Shades of Grey in the train?
Would you still cry in the rain?
Would you be outgoing or spend more time alone?
Would you laugh at funerals and never mourn?
Would you wear your pyjamas for Sunday mass?
Would you identify yourself with the working class?
Would you use two forks or wear socks with flip flops?
Would you avoid dating jocks?
Would you take up smoking or marry young?
Would you tattoo your face and pierce your tongue?
Would you work as a stripper whilst being a nun?
Would you form a jihad against wars and guns?
Would you become straight, forget how to pray
or wish your first born son were gay?
Would you ever fake an ******
or admit you like it rough?
Would you follow the stars and lucky charms
leaving all life's decisions to luck?
Would you believe in evolution and gravity,
or argue we're heavy people with sticky feet?
Would you avoid salad or order tofu?
Would you try to go up a dress size or two?
Would you give to charity or take up a sport?
Would you sell your house and buy a boat?
Would you order expensive wines or
write poems that did not rhyme?
What would you do?
Perhaps you simply wouldn't have a clue,
for we appear to have forgotten how to be true.
So when ever a Miley comes like a wrecking ball
we unite to share our disbelief and loathe.
As we did to Snowden and Jesus Christ,
we mock and torture and crucify.
The UN, CIA and the Vatican unite,
to teach us how to lead our lives.
For when someone somewhere breaks a norm
that someone somewhere has formed
it has become a universal priority
for the former to be conformed.

Perhaps in this non-judgmental world,
we might decide to start judging each other...
This poem is the sole property of me and cannot be copied or used without permission. [Copyright G.H. Rodrigo 08/12/2013]
high school *****
there is NO doubt about that.
there are bullies
there are jocks
there are band nerds
and then there is you.
it feels like everyone hates you,
at times.
but it does get better.
life goes on
and you will forget,
forget about
the bullies
the jocks
the band nerds,
and every other high school
*******.
high school *****
there is NO doubt about that.
there are bullies
there are jocks
there are band nerds
and then there is you.
it feels like everyone hates you,
at times.
but it does get better.
life goes on
and you will forget,
forget about
the bullies
the jocks
the band nerds,
and every other high school
*******.
The hamster walked alone broken hurt and on the verge of ending it all.
The streets of Hello were empty as the head of the *******  who created it .

He just couldn't take it anymore school was driving him nuts  his family were insane and there had to be more to life than sitting in his room on weekends listening to ****** music writing angst driven poetry and ******* to internet ****.
Anymore viruses and his computer was going to be more infected than Katy Perry's rancid crouch .

All hope was lost when he saw it in the parking lot a van  with the words M.R  Gonzo's  advice and free clinic walk-ins and homeless nymphos welcome  .

It sort of looked like a old bookmobile and smelled like a ******* or something that had died in a ******* .

The young misguided hamster figured what the **** did he have to lose so he knocked on the door .
It swung open as a cloud of smoke poured out the door it looked like a scene from towering inferno or Willie Nelsons tour bus  .

After hacking up half a lung and getting a contact high a face of true poetic brilliance emerged from haze of smoke .
And the young hamster was looking straight at the  one the only the often perverted cult leader of Hello Gonzo.

Hey there amigo **** bud you don't know how glad I am to see you come the **** in .
Saying the that the living legend Of Hello grabbed his school book and vanished into smoky hollow .

The kid sat there awhile not knowing if he should run or follow this nut job .
Well that is until a hand reached through the fog and pulled him in.

What the **** kid your wasting a great buzz you know how long it took me to get this bake going in here have a ******* seat.
The inside of the place looked like some cross between a Pub and a bad seventies ****  minus the  ugly chicks with cracked out faces and Chewbacca between there legs .

Ummm maybe I should leave .
The kid said scared of this scene and the mad hatter of a person sitting with a stiff drink in hand a umm well lets just say a herbal cigar in the other .

Bud you need to relax I tell ya  I got the munchies from hell .
With that said he took a bite out of the text book.
Jesus Christ this **** tastes more and more like cardboard dude I aint paying for this ****** .

Umm I'm not a pizza delivery guy and that's my math book ******* .
Yeah of course I knew that im just ******* with you sparky .
Okay man fifty bucks .

What?
The young hamster was convinced this guy was totally insane .
Fifty buck's for what ?

Duh Fifty for the **** ******* what you really think anyone would come here for ******* life advice from me?
I mean sure I'm ******* awesome as **** I do great drugs I drink more  than a fish and chicks dig me I mean sure you don't see any around that's just cause there on a break man I'm kind of finding myself .
You know just me my drugs and the wilderness .

Okay that explains why this place looks like you live in it there's a stack of **** movies that looks like you raided a wharehouse and your parked in a vacant lot in the city.

Yeah well least Im not some kid selling terrible pizza's that taste like paper oh yeah your late bud so this ones on the house .

I'm not a pizza boy you crazy old ******* !

Taking a long pause the artist formerly known as Gonzo was dead silent .

You have a point pizza boy who am I kidding I live in a kickass converted bookmobile  where I basically sell dope  to little ***** looking to get high and hopefully get to see some ******* in between
and you my wise public servant of terrible tasting pizza are yet living a existence of misery selling **** for us stoners to stuff are wasted faces with.

Dude are you ******* nuts I'm not a pizza delivery boy I'm just a young writer looking for advice .
The  young hamster went into his whole tale woe how nobody liked him and he was being picked on by ******* jocks who seven years from now would working the same dead end job as himself jerking off to old game video's well the ones that didn't make it to the NFL and had super model ****** blowing them while they watched old game videos that is .


He rambled on as the wise slightly ****** and definitely drunk wizard of Gonz pretending to care and listen  much like he did to chicks he was trying to get lucky with.

You know Gonzo your really ******* weird but man I feel better .
I bet you were once just like me a outcast loser wimp who was deeply sensitive  and yearned for the love of another.


He just stayed silent  sitting across from the table a wise man hidden behind dark glasses and  madness .

So what do I owe you man ?
Umm Gonzo  man are you lost in thought or something ?

The young dork had just bared his angst ridden soul and now he thought to himself **** man I think it was to much for him no wonder he's gone insane from listening to my ******* .

It felt like a hour as he kept trying to get the poet known as Gonzo to respond .

He was about to get off his **** and shake him when a noise more fowl than Justin Biebers  voice broke the silence .

It was the biggest and longest  **** he had ever herd and smelled almost as bad as gonzo's demented long winded jokes .

Finally he showed signs of life oh dude I forgot to tip you so sorry **** I had the best  sleep of my life your better than listening to the newest Taylor Swift cd  hell I was like in a coma dam did you **** in here I swear you kids and your silly pranks it's okay kid I swiped your wallet.  
You wont believe the **** I can pull when your asleep.


So you mean this whole time I been spilling my heart out to you thinking we were really becoming friends you were ******* asleep!?

Like a drunken baby after a good binge  in the trailer park amigo .

**** this !!

With that the young miserable moody *** teen hamster was gone and again gonzo was left to his thoughts to reflect on maybe he should have.
Aww **** that **** he said and cracked another fifth of bourbon and turned on some first class **** I'm talking bout the evening news hamsters get your minds out of the gutter.

Sure life can be total **** look at mine it's like a landfill of ******* crap.
But instead of being emotional *****.
I do what any grown man who lives a mobile bar does   .

Drink my liver silly and party my **** off writing ****** misspelled things to make people laugh and get hamsters to show me there ******* duh I'm just like Shakespeare  minus the talent and funny dungeons and dragons voice .

Until next time kids stay crazy.

Gonz
Cassiel Moore May 2012
1
It was the last thing the two
Would have expected. After all
What spoiled kid goes off to
College and expects to fall in
Love. Especially with his roommate.
Justin, as fate would have it, turned
Out to be just that person. He had no idea
What his freshman year would entail, it was a new
Beginning. A step away from the overbearing parents
And steady line of police officers questioning his
Under age intoxication. But not now, now it was just
Himself and his roommate Lucas. Lucas on the other hand
Saw things differently. He was no rich boy that went to college
Just for something to do, he had worked all through high school
And even now, just to get here. He was strong and tall, with muscle
Definition that didn’t quite put him in the ranking of a
Football player, but he wasn’t one to back down from a fight.
He didn’t like to fight, although he had been in more
Than he cared to remember. His blue eyes so intense
That they seemed to look through others rather than at
Them, and he kept them hidden behind glasses, just as he kept
His face hidden under a mess of shaggy black hair that
Was barely enough to tie behind his head. Yet it was
Enough to keep him out of the jocks way who thought
He’d be a good fight, and out of the professors way
Who knew he was brilliant despite his slight **** appearance.
Justin couldn’t have cared less what Lucas looked like or
Where he came from. He was just his roommate and they
Got along. Being the star of the swim team kept him busy.
Too busy for real women, not busy enough for videos.
With a flawless physic crystal clear green eyes, and short
Golden waves that seemed to rest perfectly on his head,
He could have his pick of any of the college cheerleaders.
Yet he found himself without time, sure every once in a while
He would call Lucas to tell him he needed the room for
The night. But it wasn’t often. More commonly he found
Himself with a bottle of whiskey, a freshly rented rated X
Movie and Lucas doing homework in the other corner.
Whiskey was the cause of it. At least on some level, that is
Until the two roommates realized what fate had planned.
2
Justin came in from his usual Friday night swim practice
To find Lucas in his usual spot in front of his  
Laptop. He threw his duffel bag onto the floor by
His bed and went to the mini refrigerator for his
Chilled bag of Doritos and his pint of whiskey.
The bottle was already half empty and another bottle
Was in the freezer to replace it. Lucas had needed to calm down,
From what Justin didn’t know.
He tried to strike up a conversation with the slightly tipsy boy
But nothing but a grunt in response. He simply rolled his eyes and turned on
The new ***** that his buddy in the swim team had given
Him. “Turn that **** off,” Lucas had barked from his computer
Desk. The smell of whiskey had dripped off of his breath. Justin
Didn’t think much of it when he had emptied the half bottle
And opened up the second one. “Calm down dude,” he grumbled.
“I’ll turn it off.” Obediently he did before nearly falling down on his bed with the bottle in his hand. “Why don’t you put the books down and come over here and
Have a drink with me. You never drink with me.”
Lucas eyed him coyly and nodded his head. He took the few
Steps over to the bed and crashed down on it face first.
“I try not to drink around you,” he mumbled against the neck of the bottle.”
“Why not?”
Lucas looked at him closely, studying him for a moment before he answered.
“I’ll need to drink more before I ever get into that,” he
Slurred before taking another long pull from the
Bottle. He handed the bottle back to Justin and smiled as
He drank the last shot from it. The two of them were drunk, drunk
Enough that if they hadn’t woken up as they did the next day,
They never would have believed it.
Justin didn’t like Lucas’s answer, so he pressed and he pressed
And he pressed until Lucas took a drunken swing at him.
He missed but the fight was on. The two half naked men went
At it and began to wrestle on the floor. It wasn’t until Lucas
Came out on top and placed his lips on Justin’s did Justin
Realize why he didn’t drink around him. The blonde swimmer
Resisted for a bit, not wanting some queer on top
Of him. But after a moment, he didn’t mind.
In fact, he began to enjoy it.
It wasn’t until the sunlight shone in his face the next
Morning did he remember any of what happened. He found
Him self and Lucas stark naked in his bed with only the muddy
Blue comforter around their waist. His head had been on his
Roommate’s chest which rose and fell softly with his even,
Deep sleep breathing. His black hair lay across the pillow
He usually drooled on at night, in a way that was so ****
Only he could have done it. No woman could manage that.
Lucas’s glasses sat on the TV stand in a way that
Clearly reminded him of how he had thrown them up there
In last night’s display of passion. But it was Lucas, he had never been
With another guy, especially like that. Suddenly a voice rang
Through his thoughts as he looked over at the slowly awaking
Man below him. “Oh ****,” he muttered half awake, but fully
Aware. Justin’s mind began to clear as he looked into those
Intense blue eyes. “Don’t worry,” Justin said unmoving.
“I’ll pick up some more whiskey tonight.”
Alexis Apr 2014
She would
Carefully apply her makeup
Everyday.
Do her best to look good.

People would say she was vain.

But the truth was,
She wasn't.

Neither was she trying to
Be pretty and popular.
Neither was she trying
To attract the jocks.

She wanted
To be noticed
By the loner, the nerd,
Whose face
Was buried in his books.
Wrote it for the sake of writing it. Will probably change it sometime.
Of Mice and Men along within
Grapes of Wrath Steinbeck be ******
Lenny's rabbits...
What The Bleep Do We Know many runs never end
Of Lenny Bruce a scatological truth
Shock-jocks take clothes off
For censors ships to ignore the shore
Sycamore trees set Lenny Kravitz musical muse at ease
Now whom is the grounded man that lives loves laughs
As if a sailor on a sea of fate with flag at half staff
Know way one passion sit back relax
Seize the big-fish as they attack
Love love love knows know lack
Like **Lenny Supak
Sarah Ellis Apr 2011
Working at the amusement park is a grand old time.
There’s nothing like having to hide
In the ticket booth when you wanna smoke a joint
So your boss doesn’t find out and fire you.
Every ride has bright, multicolored lights
And this is how I waste my time away.

The closest bathroom is half a mile away,
Those Porta-Johns are full all the time
And always smell like Marlboro Lights
It’s where those teen brats like to hide.
A kid always asks for another toy gun from you
And immediately bends it all out of joint.

Jocks, barbies and snotty kids mill around this joint,
Throwing all their money away
Buying more and more tickets from you
Screaming, complaining, cheating all the time
And there’s no good place to hide
With all these obnoxious lights.

They’re poor substitute for big city lights,
They only illuminate this cheesy joint,
Don’t even let ***** gutters hide—
I’m surprised they don’t want to look away.
Cotton candy disappears in your mouth every time,
But you think it’s worth it, don’t you?

The only boy who ever liked you
Works across the park, beyond the lights,
But you miss him waving at you every time
Because some skeez is yelling, “Let’s blow this joint!”
And a mom drags her eight kids away
Screaming, “One more word and I’ll tan your hide!”

Why do the five-year-olds always play hide
And seek in the Fun House? “Hey, you!”
Where the hell are your parents? Go away!”
Finally Anna, who manages mini golf, lights
A gloriously white-papered little joint
And we smoke until closing time.

This is where I hide, and yet these lights
Are poor substitutes you know, for home, the joint
You tried to get away from, before you wasted your time.
aviisevil May 2014
Even the air breaks down to sing
As a noise cracks open his skin
No escape even though bell rings
He's trapped with me within
There's a smile on my face,
As he struggles to breath
Maybe today is my day
He won't yell at me to leave
Enlight me with your words,
Poke me where it will hurt
Tell me I am so insane
Look in my eyes, i'm so deranged
I brought my friend along
I caress and it breaks in a song
This class is 'gonna be so long
Now it's your turn to be wrong
All my rage I brought for you
In Every hour that you wasted
My grades were never so high
In every question I ever tasted  




I climb on he pulls the ladder
There's evil in this weather
Every problem has a solution
In equations of blood splatter

Every answer will now be better
Never Mind that evil proffesor
Every derivation has an outcome
On the strings of blood splatter




I will replace ink with blood
And smear it all across this page
Write a hundred times 'i'm so bad'
And all across your ****** face
Tell me to stand up, I dare
Pick me to be your little *****
Make me understand why I care
I learned with precison to slit
Your hands inside my pants
My hands on your throat
No fun for you today
Today you'll take my load
Tell me i'm ****** one more time,
And I swear it won't be neat
It won't be neat anyhow (haha)
But you sure don't want to repeat
Wherever this lesson may lead
My Mind will now be freed  
From your books and grip
I'm no more just a bad seed




I climb on he pulls the ladder
There's evil in this weather
Every problem has a solution
In equations of blood splatter

Every answer will now be better
Never Mind that evil proffesor
Every derivation has an outcome
On the strings of blood splatter




This is beginning to feel like,
It's 'gonna run for-ever
A never ending lecture
With me and my gun together
And i'm 'gonna stab everyone now
So much for being the loner
Them cheerleaders and jocks
Even the **** addicts and stoners
Lesson of life from the dead
Final chapter of their semester
Now's the time, i'm 'gonna start
Pay attention to the professor
I'm 'gonna show you how to die
And everyone will score an 'A'
Be on your knees, there's no god
I'll **** the ones first who pray
It's so much more fun than maths
Don't you agree my dead friends
No more science and history  
For you'll be history in the end





I climb on he pulls the ladder
There's evil in this weather
Every problem has a solution
In equations of blood splatter

Every answer will now be better
Never Mind that evil proffesor
Every derivation has an outcome
On the strings of blood splatter



as I pull the sweet trigger,
vibrations through my veins
kiss my pretty *******
I remember every name
A nice way to let it all out
As they scream and shout
I'm 'gonna be on news momma
And you'll tell them all about,
How you never knew who I am,
Who I was, no more a man
A rock and black metal fan
A ****** no one could understand
For every ghost who feels weak
I'll show them who we really are
As another town falls asleep
I'll wake up in someones heart
I'll be on the front page,
I'll be the talk of every town
A curse kept in the closet
That every few years come around




I climb on he pulls the ladder
There's evil in this weather
Every problem has a solution
In equations of blood splatter

Every answer will now be better
Never Mind that evil proffesor
Every derivation has an outcome
On the strings of blood splatter
Notes (optional)
Wuji Mar 2012
Pumping iron,
Sweating blood,
Gritting teeth,
Plays in mud.

Macho man,
Athlete of space,
Needs to win,
Every race.

Loves his body,
Masturbates all night.
Looks straight in the mirror,
**** to his own sight.

Goes to the gym,
To wallow in sweat.
Work out, work out, work out,
NOT BIG ENOUGH YET.

Can't stand them,
We all call them jocks.
Self centered ignorant *****,
Wish they could **** their own *****.
Cannot stand them.
Maddy Nov 2012
“High school is the best years of your life”*
Well if that’s the case then hand me a knife
If this is as good as it gets then I’m *******
I’m just being honest; I don’t mean to be rude
But I dream of a day without teachers or books
Or jocks and cheerleaders and their **** good looks
I’m done with the stoners, the losers, and geeks
Thank God this whole thing will end in a few short weeks.
Bex May 2013
Mirror mirror, on the wall
Who’s the most rebellious of them all?
Leader-types?
Jocks?
Cheerleaders? Oh my…
Or is it the band nerds?
Or the kids in the corner getting high?
Nowadays it’s cooler to take the non-conformist rout
But then that becomes conformity,
Not rebelling to any degree
If we are all going against the grain,
What is a non-conformist?
A drinker?
A smoker?
An artist?
A musician?
Somebody trying to be different?
But then people think
Drinker becomes a bad influence.
Smoker is automatically a grimy kid.
Artists are too dramatic.
Musicians symbolize arrogance.
Different becomes attention seeking.
There really are no true rebels until you look at those quiet observers
The kids who refuse to drink,
Smoke,
Act out,
Draw attention to themselves
They become rebellious
But only by not rebelling
So do these things make me a rebel?
Or do they make me Me?
Now do we see the flaws  
In our society?
He came unbidden one frosty night
To the village of Barkly Chase,
He didn’t look out of the ordinary
But carried a single case,
The empty cottage of Peggy Sykes
Had been rented once before,
The neighbours watched as the Wizard walked
Right up to the old front door.

‘He’s going in, it’s as sure as sin,’
Said the Widow Marx from her blinds,
‘I’ll tell old Mrs. McCafferty
He’ll be playing around with our minds.’
She’d heard a wizard was headed their way
From Jenny, the Witch of the Moor,
And had bought up seventeen toilet rolls
From Rafferty’s village store.

‘What would you want with seventeen rolls,’
Said Ethel McGurk with the gout,
‘I don’t, it’s part of my strategy,
I’m going to drive him out.
There isn’t a store in a couple of miles
And they’re not delivered ‘til June,
We’ll see how long he can go without
When he’s bursting his balloon.’

The women cackled with evil glee,
They thought it a perfect plan,
‘We’ll see how his spells will help him out
When he has to use his hand.’
‘He’ll not come near, I can tell you that,’
Said the ******, Hazel Pace,
‘If he so much looks, I will knock him flat,
I’ve got fifteen cans of mace.’

The Wizard stayed for a week, he did,
And never came out the door,
The week turned into a fortnight, and
He looked like staying for more.
‘He must have been constipated,’ said
The Widow Marx to her friend,
‘He probably had a roll in his case,’
Said the woman from Brissom End.

Excitement grew in the village square,
‘His washing’s out on the line,
I’d never have looked but I saw it flap,
It’s a most mysterious sign!’
They held their breath at the news from Beth:
‘There are demons all over his jocks,
And you wouldn’t credit the Wizard’s gall,
There are magic stripes on his socks!’

A month went by, and the women pried
At night when his lights were out,
They’d peer on in though his curtains,
Widow Marx and the one with gout.
‘He’s got himself a computer thing
Those ones that glow through the house,
And he’s keeping a little familiar there,
I heard him call it ‘The Mouse’.

They lifted their skirts in horror, and
The ****** had jumped on a chair,
‘Those magical mice are demon things
And they climb up everywhere.’
‘This Wizard’s going to be hard to crack,
I thought he’d be gone by now,
He has to be brewing a terrible spell,
We have to find out, but how?’

The Wizard went for a walk one night
When he thought to get some air,
And Hazel Pace jumped out of a tree,
Poured honey all through his hair,
The Widow Marx had a besom broom
And beat him over the head,
‘We know you’re plotting the village’s doom,
What about this, instead?’

The Wizard packed up his single case
And left the very next day,
All the women hung on the gate
And shouted ‘Hip hip, hooray!’
‘We beat the Wizard, we saw him off
With his spells and his little case!’
But they wonder why there isn’t a man
Within miles of Barkly Chase.

David Lewis Paget
elle Mar 2012
The funny thing about life
                                              Is how we all have different perceptions and opinions
                                                        ­                                                                 ­                      On the same topics

But ha,
Nowadays we've all got to be nonconformists
Rebellion is tricky thing to master
To go against society is pretty much impossible
When the rest of society goes against itself
So those who rebel against the normal
Are so numerous that rebellion has become normal
conformity so to speak,
Has been lost in the eyes of adolescence
And blinded by the ideas
That being yourself
Is mainstream
But be different
But that's too average
light in the prism of teenage life
Is bent to show illusions and be deceptive
To tell us its accepted to be a unaccepted
Lets head back to the time where preppy cheerleaders and brain-dead football jocks
Ruled the hallways
And il-pubescent  band geeks were shoved into lockers
Like in the movies
Where only real society is existent
Kagami Oct 2013
Throw a tomato! They're squishy...
Snails are too though, but you can't
Toss them too well.
You could use them like a baseball?
"Hey, batter batter. Swing!"
Touchdown!
But...
T
H
I
S
Isn't high school.
And we aren't jocks.
We just throw cabbages and rotten potatoes
Po-tah-toes.
Tomatoes.
To-mah-toes.
Lets call the whole thing off...
Hey, this is kind of fun! :D
Nadia Dec 2013
I will never get married because marriages don't last.
Being a product of divorce blows big chunks all the time.
You tell your parents how you feel and they say
"we will discuss it dear" but they never do it.
My mom was always on her cell phone talking her
tmi friend who tells all  and how she and strangers
she meets placing personals have fun in her boudoir.
Don't reach for a thesaurus means her bedroom.
It's gross trying to get ready for classes and hearing
your mom talk about *** and big **** plastic surgery
she wants to get to keep her girly figure right and tight.
I got body image issues due to her can't stop looking
for flaws and wrinkles ******* mental complexes.
Need therapy much dumb and vain mother?
Could be why dad found a younger version of you
in evil ***** clone he lives with who loves his fat wallet.
No way can that someone with a hot *** want his
gray hair with more than one bald spot and flabby abs.
He works out but he's got a *** that quit even when
he spends hours exercising at the gym and dancing
trying to be my age saying old **** getting jiggy with it.
I think **** me now when he says that and I hate my life.
I feel messed up in the head because my parents hate
who they are and I hate myself most days because that's
what I learned from them. Should I go out and have
*** with as many men as mom and her friends? Should
I meet guys off the internet like mom now does? Should I
meet a man who will take care of me like the woman
dad is with who loves his fat wallet and great job
and be the kind of woman my dad likes? Would dad
be proud if I wanted surgery to get huge ***** like vain mom?
Would mom care if I had *** with a guy in the back of
his pick up like she bragged to her friend about? Would
my teachers care if I sat in the back and cheated like the
girl who gets answers from tests in exchange for quickies
in cars during lunch. She is tardy for the party and class
a lot. Teachers don't notice what's happening in schools
and they don't freaking care if I study my *** off
to get the same grades and I don't sleep with all the jocks.
Maybe I should because I'm messed up in the head at 18 and
nobody cares about me but me and that's a short list.
Have friends but they have some of the same body
issues and mental ones like me. I'm messed up in the
head because I get accused of having *** and I'm still
a ****** but thinking about giving up the goods to
the one I met through personals. He wanted to cmid and
I proved I'm legal. On the fence about giving away my
virginity. Too ****** bad my mother and dad are
busy and have mental issues and have no time for the
girl they dressed up when she was a tyke but forgot about
when she needed a training bra.
I don't have a problem with
hipsters, goths, jocks,
skaters, rockers, preps,
farmers, plumbers, executives,
Blacks, Hispanics, Asians, Caucasians,
gays, furries, bronies,
foodies, junkies, abstainers,
republicans, democrats,
atheists, monotheists, polytheists,
etc.

People are people.
So, why begrudge them that?

I do, however, have a problem with mean, hateful people
who's greatest joy comes in a form of shadenfreude.

Be who you are,
but don't impose your self-image onto others;
impose others onto your Self with a healthy dose of salt.
You may learn a thing or two.

Live and let live.

— The End —