Poetry competition CLOSED 16th October 2016 7:39pm
WINNER
JohnFeddeler
JohnFeddeler
Poem of the Month
Poetry Contest Description
Monthly Facebook Feature
Once a month DUP will host a competition for a "Poem of the Month" to be featured the following month on the DUP facebook page. This month's will be featured in November. You have two weeks to nominate one of your favorite poems by a DUP poet! No DUPLICATES. If someone nominates the same poem the entry will be deleted. If you like it that much wait and vote for it! Comp runs for two weeks followed by a week of voting!
And GO!
And GO!
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/17607-let-me-squeeze-you/
by CruelHandedWriter
Let Me Squeeze You
No drink necessary,
only a glass of water
and a few cigarettes smoked
one after the other
until the room is grey
so my soul grows
happy in its colours.
Let me squeeze you.
Every tear that lands
upon these unforgiving pavements.
Every teenager turned away
from education towards crime.
Every young mother
with a black eye,
and especially that child
who takes memories of fists
to the playground
that you and I know
as life.
Let me squeeze you.
Let that quick burst
of serotonin remind you
what it could feel like
if you hadn’t done
what I have done.
If you did not do
what I often do.
If you weren’t going to do
what I will eventually do
once again.
Let me squeeze you.
I will probably never
know you,
that keeps me going
most of the time,
but some things need
to be passed on.
Whether it be a knife
to your throat
or a limb to a passer-by.
Whether you drown your dog
or send wifey down the stairs.
Stop.
Stop before that is all you can feel.
Show me your actually reading this.
Stop, come here.
Let me squeeze you.
Written by CruelHandedWriter (Panama Judas)
by CruelHandedWriter
Let Me Squeeze You
No drink necessary,
only a glass of water
and a few cigarettes smoked
one after the other
until the room is grey
so my soul grows
happy in its colours.
Let me squeeze you.
Every tear that lands
upon these unforgiving pavements.
Every teenager turned away
from education towards crime.
Every young mother
with a black eye,
and especially that child
who takes memories of fists
to the playground
that you and I know
as life.
Let me squeeze you.
Let that quick burst
of serotonin remind you
what it could feel like
if you hadn’t done
what I have done.
If you did not do
what I often do.
If you weren’t going to do
what I will eventually do
once again.
Let me squeeze you.
I will probably never
know you,
that keeps me going
most of the time,
but some things need
to be passed on.
Whether it be a knife
to your throat
or a limb to a passer-by.
Whether you drown your dog
or send wifey down the stairs.
Stop.
Stop before that is all you can feel.
Show me your actually reading this.
Stop, come here.
Let me squeeze you.
Written by CruelHandedWriter (Panama Judas)
Anonymous
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/222058-whore-of-exquisite-sorrow/
whore of exquisite sorrow
she sees things that were never imagined.
she witnesses poetry that I have not written.
in the deepest night, when even the stars are not
awake, she lies in bed with her eyes closed & her
mouth open, because she tongues the air & believes
that she is tasting me.
I, a knight in tattered armor, am there, penetrating
her tender barrier with the vile rush of desire, & the
breeze that the ocean blows through her open window
cannot extinguish the heat of our lovemaking.
in my days of monsoons & desert winds, I’ve walked on
the dark side of beauty, & I knew not where my passion
would take me. when I needed sustenance, I drank
whiskey; when I needed comfort, I embraced harlots.
but she taught me that love begets sex in a way that sex
does not beget love. she beseeches me to hold tightly to
those transgressions that embellish my stories, though
my art remains unrequited:
‘the whores that are in your heart, keep them there,
for they are the martyrs of your poetry.
and your poems are whores.’
of all that is beautiful, the hideous things
are the most exquisite…
Written by JohnFeddeler
whore of exquisite sorrow
she sees things that were never imagined.
she witnesses poetry that I have not written.
in the deepest night, when even the stars are not
awake, she lies in bed with her eyes closed & her
mouth open, because she tongues the air & believes
that she is tasting me.
I, a knight in tattered armor, am there, penetrating
her tender barrier with the vile rush of desire, & the
breeze that the ocean blows through her open window
cannot extinguish the heat of our lovemaking.
in my days of monsoons & desert winds, I’ve walked on
the dark side of beauty, & I knew not where my passion
would take me. when I needed sustenance, I drank
whiskey; when I needed comfort, I embraced harlots.
but she taught me that love begets sex in a way that sex
does not beget love. she beseeches me to hold tightly to
those transgressions that embellish my stories, though
my art remains unrequited:
‘the whores that are in your heart, keep them there,
for they are the martyrs of your poetry.
and your poems are whores.’
of all that is beautiful, the hideous things
are the most exquisite…
Written by JohnFeddeler
Anonymous
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/250516-the-cell/
The Cell
it was my fault i suppose
inquisitive fuck that i am..
recklessly engaging in these
late night roamings..
through the catacombs
of your literature..
lost in the labyrinth of your words..
so what else can a man do
but lick the walls of your poetry
to divine the deeper meaning behind
your scripture..
am i being too forward?
well whatever..
you mind fucked me
[vaingloriously i might add]
and didn't even have the courtesy
to apologize..
you were shameless in the renderings
of your soul..
so therefore..i am blameless in what
i say in regards to you
what's even more fucked up is..
i can't even name this thing
between you and i..
cuz you're over there
in west bubblefuck
and i'm somewhere in Brooklyn..
creeping in your blind spot.
nonexistent. .
imagination is power right?
so with that in mind
i can freely acknowledge
that i know your poems ain't got
shit to do with me
but it was you who decided to post online
and allow me a taste of your spices
while unknowingly exploiting
my unspoken vices
i know it wasn't your intent
you just wanted to vent
your nocturnal throbbings
for some dude i could give
two fucks about..
but still...
you ensnared me all the same..
nahhh..no need to name names..
cuz to me
poetry is secretly a game of
spin the bottle..
you got my mood swing
on full throttle woman
yes you do..
and it's all my fault
cuz in the end
i didn't have to open your vault
and spread wide
the thighs of your
verbs and adjectives
and submerge my thickened thoughts
into your inkwell
well..here i am
damned to these reoccurring
mental orgasms
inducing my pen into sporadic spasms
spilling ink in such a juvenile fashion
hoping my passion will find its way
into your inner chasm..
leaving chalked outlines of my essence
as you inhale the evanescence of
your mystery man
...
no...
there's no history between you and i
and there's no need to say hi or bye
nor do we ever have to meet..
cuz at the end of the day
it's poetry..
and i'm perceptive and honest enough
to keep everything
in its proper perspective..
Written by Naajir
The Cell
it was my fault i suppose
inquisitive fuck that i am..
recklessly engaging in these
late night roamings..
through the catacombs
of your literature..
lost in the labyrinth of your words..
so what else can a man do
but lick the walls of your poetry
to divine the deeper meaning behind
your scripture..
am i being too forward?
well whatever..
you mind fucked me
[vaingloriously i might add]
and didn't even have the courtesy
to apologize..
you were shameless in the renderings
of your soul..
so therefore..i am blameless in what
i say in regards to you
what's even more fucked up is..
i can't even name this thing
between you and i..
cuz you're over there
in west bubblefuck
and i'm somewhere in Brooklyn..
creeping in your blind spot.
nonexistent. .
imagination is power right?
so with that in mind
i can freely acknowledge
that i know your poems ain't got
shit to do with me
but it was you who decided to post online
and allow me a taste of your spices
while unknowingly exploiting
my unspoken vices
i know it wasn't your intent
you just wanted to vent
your nocturnal throbbings
for some dude i could give
two fucks about..
but still...
you ensnared me all the same..
nahhh..no need to name names..
cuz to me
poetry is secretly a game of
spin the bottle..
you got my mood swing
on full throttle woman
yes you do..
and it's all my fault
cuz in the end
i didn't have to open your vault
and spread wide
the thighs of your
verbs and adjectives
and submerge my thickened thoughts
into your inkwell
well..here i am
damned to these reoccurring
mental orgasms
inducing my pen into sporadic spasms
spilling ink in such a juvenile fashion
hoping my passion will find its way
into your inner chasm..
leaving chalked outlines of my essence
as you inhale the evanescence of
your mystery man
...
no...
there's no history between you and i
and there's no need to say hi or bye
nor do we ever have to meet..
cuz at the end of the day
it's poetry..
and i'm perceptive and honest enough
to keep everything
in its proper perspective..
Written by Naajir
deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/247237-whats-your-number/
what's your number?
i.
there is no way to know
that some people fit together
and others just don’t
when your only experience
is not fitting together,
and there is no way to gauge
your value, your worth
when your only experience
is being blamed by someone
who can’t face their own
ill-fitting skin.
ii.
but back to the first love, the catching-up
of the body with the mind,
the oldest candle held in silent vigil
somewhere in salty Fairfield air
smiling under weary, knowing eyes:
it ended with a kiss on the cheek
and a trimming of the wick.
iii.
we come to grips
with who we are,
who others are,
who we are with others,
and then who we were
and who they were.
maybe we don’t have
such strong grip after all
on who we can be.
I’ll take that to my grave.
iv.
sometimes
you just get the urge
to build a wonderful sandcastle
even though you know
the situation will always kill a sandcastle,
baking it til it collapses under its own weight.
sandcastles are only ever built
in situations which cause their explicit demise,
and they are always the most beautiful
at the instant before they fall
jarred awake by a 3am phone call.
v.
I don’t know where
the acting started
and where its other end hung colloidal in the ride,
biking down Commonwealth for the ten-dozenth time
in search of parts that intercalated seamlessly,
ignoring that they didn’t make any sort of bigger picture together.
it was always going to crash out of solution
but the keepsake photo of a suspension
always looks like a beautiful, opalescent solid.
I’ll always be nostalgic for laying on docks.
vi.
—my pillow floats little ragged edges of the scent
of someone I don’t want to remember—
vii.
and on,
viii.
and on,
ix.
and
Written by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
what's your number?
i.
there is no way to know
that some people fit together
and others just don’t
when your only experience
is not fitting together,
and there is no way to gauge
your value, your worth
when your only experience
is being blamed by someone
who can’t face their own
ill-fitting skin.
ii.
but back to the first love, the catching-up
of the body with the mind,
the oldest candle held in silent vigil
somewhere in salty Fairfield air
smiling under weary, knowing eyes:
it ended with a kiss on the cheek
and a trimming of the wick.
iii.
we come to grips
with who we are,
who others are,
who we are with others,
and then who we were
and who they were.
maybe we don’t have
such strong grip after all
on who we can be.
I’ll take that to my grave.
iv.
sometimes
you just get the urge
to build a wonderful sandcastle
even though you know
the situation will always kill a sandcastle,
baking it til it collapses under its own weight.
sandcastles are only ever built
in situations which cause their explicit demise,
and they are always the most beautiful
at the instant before they fall
jarred awake by a 3am phone call.
v.
I don’t know where
the acting started
and where its other end hung colloidal in the ride,
biking down Commonwealth for the ten-dozenth time
in search of parts that intercalated seamlessly,
ignoring that they didn’t make any sort of bigger picture together.
it was always going to crash out of solution
but the keepsake photo of a suspension
always looks like a beautiful, opalescent solid.
I’ll always be nostalgic for laying on docks.
vi.
—my pillow floats little ragged edges of the scent
of someone I don’t want to remember—
vii.
and on,
viii.
and on,
ix.
and
Written by mjs211 (MikeTheEngineer)
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/162053-no-fucking-where-in-particular/
No-Fucking-Where In Particular
I'm contemplating the veins in my wrist.
And cold metal in my mouth,
And grabbing the wheel out of his hand.
And swimming so far out in the ocean
I don't have the strength to make it back.
I'm riding a train
Headed southwest
Never planning on getting off.
Just looking out the window,
Endless sky and mountains and wheat fields and telephone wire.
Bouncing gently to the beat of the wheels gripping the tracks beneath,
Speeding into oblivion.
I'm tending the counter
Of a coffee shop with no customers.
A pit stop off a desert road
No-fucking-where in particular.
©Tanzen Lilly 2014
Written by TCLilly (Odette)
No-Fucking-Where In Particular
I'm contemplating the veins in my wrist.
And cold metal in my mouth,
And grabbing the wheel out of his hand.
And swimming so far out in the ocean
I don't have the strength to make it back.
I'm riding a train
Headed southwest
Never planning on getting off.
Just looking out the window,
Endless sky and mountains and wheat fields and telephone wire.
Bouncing gently to the beat of the wheels gripping the tracks beneath,
Speeding into oblivion.
I'm tending the counter
Of a coffee shop with no customers.
A pit stop off a desert road
No-fucking-where in particular.
©Tanzen Lilly 2014
Written by TCLilly (Odette)
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/125190-where-the-real-fuckers-burn/
where the real fuckers burn
women
like to use ‘em up like cheap cigarettes
burn through ‘em in a gulp of life
leave ‘em knowing they got lit and tasted
leave ‘em legs apart and hammered
leave ‘em ruined for the good guys
those smiling cockless fools
nothing fucks a woman harder
than a bad man demanding
what they always knew they’d give
hell
it’s a good kind of evil
leaving smoking hoof-prints in bedroom carpets
giving ‘em growl and fuck-love
making the pain beautiful
pussy-poet monster
fuck ‘em wide
and wake ‘em in the morning
with strong legs and strong arms
put a wide hand on her pussy
bite her sweet neck
growl filth in her ear
drive away pushing burnt fuel through too-loud open pipes
with empty balls
and stories of twitching heaving cumming quim
then stink of dirty sex all day
walk into a room
know I’ve got that scent on me
fuck-pheromones
playing to the pussy-nose of the next one
to her ancient urge
to take the seed of the destroyer
to be bent over by the big-dog
yeah that’s what I was made for
not that other love
the long afternoon couch-cuddles shit
or one-woman living
was never carved for it
used to ask hard questions why
tried to fit into that one-cunt box
but
fuck that idea
fuck that cage
fuck that kind of lie
I am the one they think of
while their good-guy fucks ‘em
the same old way
on the same old bed
with the same old cock
I’m the hard grin and stubble
yeah I’m the trouble
they’ll open to
while you’re away
I’m the idea they’ll wank to
poontang pounding hot-rod king
who fucked your woman
when she wanted it nasty
and trust me
I did you a favour
if you don’t have the balls
to die alone
like I don’t have the balls
to not
cos your blood-thirsty woman needs both of us
so yeah I am the heat of right-fucking-now
the fire of the new
no care for cost
will know it as I’m fading
will pay for my sins that way
will do it smiling hearty
as the floor opens up
taking me home
to where the real fuckers burn
Written by Deathproof
where the real fuckers burn
women
like to use ‘em up like cheap cigarettes
burn through ‘em in a gulp of life
leave ‘em knowing they got lit and tasted
leave ‘em legs apart and hammered
leave ‘em ruined for the good guys
those smiling cockless fools
nothing fucks a woman harder
than a bad man demanding
what they always knew they’d give
hell
it’s a good kind of evil
leaving smoking hoof-prints in bedroom carpets
giving ‘em growl and fuck-love
making the pain beautiful
pussy-poet monster
fuck ‘em wide
and wake ‘em in the morning
with strong legs and strong arms
put a wide hand on her pussy
bite her sweet neck
growl filth in her ear
drive away pushing burnt fuel through too-loud open pipes
with empty balls
and stories of twitching heaving cumming quim
then stink of dirty sex all day
walk into a room
know I’ve got that scent on me
fuck-pheromones
playing to the pussy-nose of the next one
to her ancient urge
to take the seed of the destroyer
to be bent over by the big-dog
yeah that’s what I was made for
not that other love
the long afternoon couch-cuddles shit
or one-woman living
was never carved for it
used to ask hard questions why
tried to fit into that one-cunt box
but
fuck that idea
fuck that cage
fuck that kind of lie
I am the one they think of
while their good-guy fucks ‘em
the same old way
on the same old bed
with the same old cock
I’m the hard grin and stubble
yeah I’m the trouble
they’ll open to
while you’re away
I’m the idea they’ll wank to
poontang pounding hot-rod king
who fucked your woman
when she wanted it nasty
and trust me
I did you a favour
if you don’t have the balls
to die alone
like I don’t have the balls
to not
cos your blood-thirsty woman needs both of us
so yeah I am the heat of right-fucking-now
the fire of the new
no care for cost
will know it as I’m fading
will pay for my sins that way
will do it smiling hearty
as the floor opens up
taking me home
to where the real fuckers burn
Written by Deathproof
Anonymous
Goddess within
She touches her body
A palace of blood and bone
Sacred structure embraced
By silken café au lait
Invisible traceries of pure love
Travel through and through
Intrinsic and innate
Yet also fusing
Repairing that shattered and scarred
Broken long ago
Still settling in place
Her mind
Sacrosanct treasure
Undergoes most delicate
Extensive, condign
Of those repairs
Here, self-love is the foundation for what must be infused
The very breath she takes is naught for which to be forgiven
A strong sense of self-worth in the admixture, tis a critical component
The very space she inhabits within the world is no cause for guilt
Compassion for self, this too must be added
Tis acceptable, nay, essential to be kind to herself too
She caresses her mind with words elemental
Words she has sorely needed to say to herself
For none other can effect this work
None other can do this no matter how they've tried
Tis her journey
Though others will be crucial oases
In this wilderness
This is hers
And so it is
The goddess lives within…
Written by Savaja
Published 7th May 2016 11:36pm
She touches her body
A palace of blood and bone
Sacred structure embraced
By silken café au lait
Invisible traceries of pure love
Travel through and through
Intrinsic and innate
Yet also fusing
Repairing that shattered and scarred
Broken long ago
Still settling in place
Her mind
Sacrosanct treasure
Undergoes most delicate
Extensive, condign
Of those repairs
Here, self-love is the foundation for what must be infused
The very breath she takes is naught for which to be forgiven
A strong sense of self-worth in the admixture, tis a critical component
The very space she inhabits within the world is no cause for guilt
Compassion for self, this too must be added
Tis acceptable, nay, essential to be kind to herself too
She caresses her mind with words elemental
Words she has sorely needed to say to herself
For none other can effect this work
None other can do this no matter how they've tried
Tis her journey
Though others will be crucial oases
In this wilderness
This is hers
And so it is
The goddess lives within…
Written by Savaja
Published 7th May 2016 11:36pm
LOVE
Is the pail
And Beyond
It is rain water
It is the moon in the pail
A reflection of the heavenly
It is moon herself
And it is the light on the moon
For it is the sun and all suns
Born and yet to be born
Again (again)
For love is the mother and the born
For love is insightful
For it is the teacher
For love is wakeful
For love is the teacher
For love is delightful
For it is the teacher
For love is faithful
For love is grateful
For love is the teacher
For love is beautiful
For it is the teacher
But above all
Love is painful
For love is the teacher
It is butterfly
It is lake
It is the butterfly on the lake
It is the word said
Unsaid and incapable of being said
Before which there was nothing
But a yearning which imploded
In mega-antigravity and inevitably
Exploded with a BANG
The biggest bang
And it sounded like love being made
( in a small space )
Both Inner and Outer
A squealer a creamy dreamer
A screamer
Oh LOVE
Live love
Love life
For love is you and you evolve
Evolve love
Revolt and love
Revolve love
Relove a love that's revolving
Vault your fears and love
Vote for a love insoluble
But above all LOVE
For know Now
Nowhere is there nothing
And All Ways love
Written by whale
Published 3rd October 2016 12:18pm
Is the pail
And Beyond
It is rain water
It is the moon in the pail
A reflection of the heavenly
It is moon herself
And it is the light on the moon
For it is the sun and all suns
Born and yet to be born
Again (again)
For love is the mother and the born
For love is insightful
For it is the teacher
For love is wakeful
For love is the teacher
For love is delightful
For it is the teacher
For love is faithful
For love is grateful
For love is the teacher
For love is beautiful
For it is the teacher
But above all
Love is painful
For love is the teacher
It is butterfly
It is lake
It is the butterfly on the lake
It is the word said
Unsaid and incapable of being said
Before which there was nothing
But a yearning which imploded
In mega-antigravity and inevitably
Exploded with a BANG
The biggest bang
And it sounded like love being made
( in a small space )
Both Inner and Outer
A squealer a creamy dreamer
A screamer
Oh LOVE
Live love
Love life
For love is you and you evolve
Evolve love
Revolt and love
Revolve love
Relove a love that's revolving
Vault your fears and love
Vote for a love insoluble
But above all LOVE
For know Now
Nowhere is there nothing
And All Ways love
Written by whale
Published 3rd October 2016 12:18pm
Mr. Hyde
I’m an observer of people, yet I go unseen
At first I took it as an affront, but then saw it my strength
I bear witness to those around me
I see as they scatter about their lives
Thinking about the errands they have to run
The person they have to see
The one they are trying to avoid
The person that they hate
People miss the world around them
If they would only stop to look
Through the dirt and the muck there is beauty to behold
But few stop to look
Or care
Drowning in their selfishness they pass by their brother
The man who they could feed
The woman they could console
The child they could inspire or teach
But no, life goes on only for themselves
I pity those who go on blindly
It wasn’t until I could see clearly that I truly saw
The freedom that came I cannot describe
It was almost too much for me to contend
When you cast all restraint away you have nothing to lose
You are made invincible to those in your path
Worry consumes them and holds them a captive
If only they knew they held the key
For mine is in my hand and with no one else
The master of myself is just me
I’ve seen you, you know
Don’t think you’ve escaped my notice
You are just as lowly as all the rest
Too busy living your own life
Your own time
Your own rules
Living in your own fantasy
I’ll see you soon enough and I’ll set you free
Just like all the rest
I’ll cast your cares aside in the street
Right along with the blood in your veins
It’s only when enough of you have been relieved of your cares
That the rest of you will set them down on you own
It’s a public service you see
What I’m doing in the street
It’s something I’ll be remembered for through eternity
The work I did
The freedom I gave
Courtesy of Mr. Hyde
Written by ReflectionOfMe
Published 4th October 2016
I’m an observer of people, yet I go unseen
At first I took it as an affront, but then saw it my strength
I bear witness to those around me
I see as they scatter about their lives
Thinking about the errands they have to run
The person they have to see
The one they are trying to avoid
The person that they hate
People miss the world around them
If they would only stop to look
Through the dirt and the muck there is beauty to behold
But few stop to look
Or care
Drowning in their selfishness they pass by their brother
The man who they could feed
The woman they could console
The child they could inspire or teach
But no, life goes on only for themselves
I pity those who go on blindly
It wasn’t until I could see clearly that I truly saw
The freedom that came I cannot describe
It was almost too much for me to contend
When you cast all restraint away you have nothing to lose
You are made invincible to those in your path
Worry consumes them and holds them a captive
If only they knew they held the key
For mine is in my hand and with no one else
The master of myself is just me
I’ve seen you, you know
Don’t think you’ve escaped my notice
You are just as lowly as all the rest
Too busy living your own life
Your own time
Your own rules
Living in your own fantasy
I’ll see you soon enough and I’ll set you free
Just like all the rest
I’ll cast your cares aside in the street
Right along with the blood in your veins
It’s only when enough of you have been relieved of your cares
That the rest of you will set them down on you own
It’s a public service you see
What I’m doing in the street
It’s something I’ll be remembered for through eternity
The work I did
The freedom I gave
Courtesy of Mr. Hyde
Written by ReflectionOfMe
Published 4th October 2016
Anonymous
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/180842-i-thought-shed-be-safer-underwater/
i thought she'd be safer underwater
she had a walk on her
an ass orchestra
that dilated my pupils
started givin me blemishes
one on each side of my brow line
the first time i saw her movin that thing away
made me a hill climber
a tenth degree
engaging in acts they don't have names for
on the internet yet
my wallet in her purse
the 2 chains to my belt loop
across her back
left the icebox open
with the pitchfork below her belly button
still i always thought
a text message askin
"why do you even have a cellphone if you never answer?"
was rhetorical
so i never answer
she should have believed me
when i said i make a lot of mistakes
but i know
monsters are very real
alive and well
not on tv
but in dreams that do come true
the souls of bank managers
SSRI brand names
retirement homes,churches
lil paper packages of beautiful brown sugar
tomorrows on the other side of romantic promises
things you see in you looking out of empty parking lots
Do you string yourself up preemptively to save her a murder?
Kill anyone,
who lies about loving you before you make them honest?
sing drawn to tune by tooth and claw
the shadowier side of the mountain in sunrise
sky eyes
one pale baby blue named
don't you dare say we are the same
i will hold you
close
down
scared, helpless in river silt
with just the pressure of my breath
until the last
rise and fall of yours
Written by johnrot
Published 16th October 2014
i thought she'd be safer underwater
she had a walk on her
an ass orchestra
that dilated my pupils
started givin me blemishes
one on each side of my brow line
the first time i saw her movin that thing away
made me a hill climber
a tenth degree
engaging in acts they don't have names for
on the internet yet
my wallet in her purse
the 2 chains to my belt loop
across her back
left the icebox open
with the pitchfork below her belly button
still i always thought
a text message askin
"why do you even have a cellphone if you never answer?"
was rhetorical
so i never answer
she should have believed me
when i said i make a lot of mistakes
but i know
monsters are very real
alive and well
not on tv
but in dreams that do come true
the souls of bank managers
SSRI brand names
retirement homes,churches
lil paper packages of beautiful brown sugar
tomorrows on the other side of romantic promises
things you see in you looking out of empty parking lots
Do you string yourself up preemptively to save her a murder?
Kill anyone,
who lies about loving you before you make them honest?
sing drawn to tune by tooth and claw
the shadowier side of the mountain in sunrise
sky eyes
one pale baby blue named
don't you dare say we are the same
i will hold you
close
down
scared, helpless in river silt
with just the pressure of my breath
until the last
rise and fall of yours
Written by johnrot
Published 16th October 2014
once the story's written
overnight flight, 7 hours to fly back home
been two weeks away
to a place where the beds and liquor are cheap
two weeks away from my life
to a kind of waking dream
now ended
it’s after midnight, the plane somewhere over Australia
I sit half awake
my mind wanders, breaks the rules, gets to thinking about her
one of the good ones who come and go
the good ones, the ones that get in
the ones who leave something
it’s easy to remember the sex, 2 weeks of it
the after-coffee breakfast head
gifts that last as long as they’re given
and other things about that, the way she fucks, to say it that crude
I liked that she dies in it
my ego, must be, to watch her mind give way to her body
the change on her face, to watch her eyes as they rolled
when she left the sweetness behind, got that other look to her
sometimes all the way to a bitch-wolf snarl
she took plenty too, made me fight the good fight
honestly wanted to fuck her to a standstill
somewhere in it give her a hard edge to the softnesses
to make us stick
don’t know what that means, but that’s the way I like it
a touch of fight-fuck
a woman who can lay that way, strong enough
who knows her body, trusts
felt my dick get up for her memory
had to adjust my jeans, rearrange myself in the seat
thought about that some more, but nothing going anywhere in memory
so left that all behind
thought other things, like what makes a woman fly half the world
to meet a man she knows only by his keyboard kiss
figure it must be the stories, her living her own dream
flew to meet the story she’d built up in her head, just like I did with her
wondered about that, about her own flight back
what it must be like to be her, flying back to her life
her own memories with her, of meeting a shadow
someone that writes a version of himself
believes his own bad press
I laughed in to the plane window
women know plenty
so she would have thought the usual things;
the disappointments we always bring, some surprises, and flesh and blood
who doesn’t stay solid like words on a page, but changes
gets drunk, sober, tired, grows weaker and stronger
pretends he knows but knows he doesn’t
laughed again
cos that won't be the half of it
words on a page
voices in the air
cuddling in the dark
it’s all the same
no one ever really knows anyone, all shadows
thought about that awhile
how much I can know of her, from two weeks together, her away from her children
probably got more attention than she'd give any man, in her real life
so she has her own fictions
thought about that a long time
an hour before the plane landed I pulled out my journal
figured I’d get a few memories down
the bits I usually forget;
bar names, hotel names, lakes, sunsets, volcanoes
then thought about writing the leaving
wondered about that, why that matters
then decided it didn’t, left it unwrit, let it fade
and then was vain enough, in the half-light, to wonder again what she saw
decided that didn’t matter either
can’t write my story in other peoples eyes
only matters that we were there
and if we got something of whatever dream we were chasing
well
that’s enough
Written by hemihead (hemi)
Published 7th October 2016
overnight flight, 7 hours to fly back home
been two weeks away
to a place where the beds and liquor are cheap
two weeks away from my life
to a kind of waking dream
now ended
it’s after midnight, the plane somewhere over Australia
I sit half awake
my mind wanders, breaks the rules, gets to thinking about her
one of the good ones who come and go
the good ones, the ones that get in
the ones who leave something
it’s easy to remember the sex, 2 weeks of it
the after-coffee breakfast head
gifts that last as long as they’re given
and other things about that, the way she fucks, to say it that crude
I liked that she dies in it
my ego, must be, to watch her mind give way to her body
the change on her face, to watch her eyes as they rolled
when she left the sweetness behind, got that other look to her
sometimes all the way to a bitch-wolf snarl
she took plenty too, made me fight the good fight
honestly wanted to fuck her to a standstill
somewhere in it give her a hard edge to the softnesses
to make us stick
don’t know what that means, but that’s the way I like it
a touch of fight-fuck
a woman who can lay that way, strong enough
who knows her body, trusts
felt my dick get up for her memory
had to adjust my jeans, rearrange myself in the seat
thought about that some more, but nothing going anywhere in memory
so left that all behind
thought other things, like what makes a woman fly half the world
to meet a man she knows only by his keyboard kiss
figure it must be the stories, her living her own dream
flew to meet the story she’d built up in her head, just like I did with her
wondered about that, about her own flight back
what it must be like to be her, flying back to her life
her own memories with her, of meeting a shadow
someone that writes a version of himself
believes his own bad press
I laughed in to the plane window
women know plenty
so she would have thought the usual things;
the disappointments we always bring, some surprises, and flesh and blood
who doesn’t stay solid like words on a page, but changes
gets drunk, sober, tired, grows weaker and stronger
pretends he knows but knows he doesn’t
laughed again
cos that won't be the half of it
words on a page
voices in the air
cuddling in the dark
it’s all the same
no one ever really knows anyone, all shadows
thought about that awhile
how much I can know of her, from two weeks together, her away from her children
probably got more attention than she'd give any man, in her real life
so she has her own fictions
thought about that a long time
an hour before the plane landed I pulled out my journal
figured I’d get a few memories down
the bits I usually forget;
bar names, hotel names, lakes, sunsets, volcanoes
then thought about writing the leaving
wondered about that, why that matters
then decided it didn’t, left it unwrit, let it fade
and then was vain enough, in the half-light, to wonder again what she saw
decided that didn’t matter either
can’t write my story in other peoples eyes
only matters that we were there
and if we got something of whatever dream we were chasing
well
that’s enough
Written by hemihead (hemi)
Published 7th October 2016
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/251819-full-journal-collection---exhibit-d/
Full: Journal Collection - Exhibit D
we're crashed now
perfect in the half-light
midnight, half-asleep affection
a leg over
hand to chest -
the heat takes it right out of you
fucking like that
soaking wet
getting loud, trying
hard enough
not to startle the Germans next door
growling low, blood coursing
could feel the power rising in him
twisting hands through my hair
taking what's his
even though we both know
he was all mine in the taking
and we'll just have to argue that again
after coffee in the morning
we had a long day
a good day
ending in the hush of a Hindu temple
rain pummeling
then gently dissipating into the arenga roof
and he found out great things, asked questions
became proficient in aspects of the island's economics
while i bravely staved off small children
sent to rob us blind
in 22 different languages
the clouds gave up and glowed as i watched him
handsome, composed, watching it all
storing, analysing all his gathered information
began to understand better his process
that i've been gawking at from half a world away
wondered what he thinks of us
if we're even on the same book
if he'd already written one in his head
with an uncharacteristic filter on humanity
and how much better was it
than this one
then he kissed my shoulder
muttered something about
"you got robbed"
asked if i'd remembered to put on sunscreen
decided it didn't matter if he'd written
just another one
into the story in his head
we're all sailing our own
into oblivion anyway
and if we're lucky
we end up naked in morning half-light
coconut coffee in the works
and at least twenty seconds
in the eyes of one
who makes everything
smile
Written by Jestalessa
Published 9th October 2016 4:35pm
Full: Journal Collection - Exhibit D
we're crashed now
perfect in the half-light
midnight, half-asleep affection
a leg over
hand to chest -
the heat takes it right out of you
fucking like that
soaking wet
getting loud, trying
hard enough
not to startle the Germans next door
growling low, blood coursing
could feel the power rising in him
twisting hands through my hair
taking what's his
even though we both know
he was all mine in the taking
and we'll just have to argue that again
after coffee in the morning
we had a long day
a good day
ending in the hush of a Hindu temple
rain pummeling
then gently dissipating into the arenga roof
and he found out great things, asked questions
became proficient in aspects of the island's economics
while i bravely staved off small children
sent to rob us blind
in 22 different languages
the clouds gave up and glowed as i watched him
handsome, composed, watching it all
storing, analysing all his gathered information
began to understand better his process
that i've been gawking at from half a world away
wondered what he thinks of us
if we're even on the same book
if he'd already written one in his head
with an uncharacteristic filter on humanity
and how much better was it
than this one
then he kissed my shoulder
muttered something about
"you got robbed"
asked if i'd remembered to put on sunscreen
decided it didn't matter if he'd written
just another one
into the story in his head
we're all sailing our own
into oblivion anyway
and if we're lucky
we end up naked in morning half-light
coconut coffee in the works
and at least twenty seconds
in the eyes of one
who makes everything
smile
Written by Jestalessa
Published 9th October 2016 4:35pm
Monachopsis
The feathers split
from beyond the grave,
dipped their inked tips
into the river, shadowed
the wanted with blessings
they picked from a dream.
They wrote of their mothers
where once they lived,
their chins dripping
with heaven
stabbing
the virgin perfection
of every syllable;
a bitter call to arms
in the dim light
of sorrow.
They were born
of the fire
of the insufferable cruelty
of man and his demons,
each one a name
each one a face
that worshipped fantasia.
They lay in the hair of her;
dark moss on the cave wall
etched in their secrets
as they crawled
from face to oblivion
they breathed their insanity,
wove madness into veins
where once there were only
strange little birds
singing desperate lullabies
to her Father's eyes
as he slept.
Written by Miss_Sub (- Missy -)
Published 11th July 2015
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/210144-monachopsis/
The feathers split
from beyond the grave,
dipped their inked tips
into the river, shadowed
the wanted with blessings
they picked from a dream.
They wrote of their mothers
where once they lived,
their chins dripping
with heaven
stabbing
the virgin perfection
of every syllable;
a bitter call to arms
in the dim light
of sorrow.
They were born
of the fire
of the insufferable cruelty
of man and his demons,
each one a name
each one a face
that worshipped fantasia.
They lay in the hair of her;
dark moss on the cave wall
etched in their secrets
as they crawled
from face to oblivion
they breathed their insanity,
wove madness into veins
where once there were only
strange little birds
singing desperate lullabies
to her Father's eyes
as he slept.
Written by Miss_Sub (- Missy -)
Published 11th July 2015
http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/210144-monachopsis/
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Drugs Poems » Tequila And A Monkey
 Unapprove Image
Tequila And A Monkey
He said it best
when he questioned her
affection for his "keyboard kiss"
& the bastard
threw the real life, at the page
what would it be like
with children
with the nine to five
with the tar from the street life
coming out
pumping volcanic molten lava
where blood used to dwell?
I'm nursing a Mopane worm
keeping it drowned
using a monkey's powder
to keep the balance
solid
I know; I said, I wouldn't
it is monday after all
God when
the deathly deafening silence
hits this house
like a cricket-less acoustic science
A man has to rely on
the sounds the bottle makes
when it hits the table
Three quarters of the liquid shakes
Thank god the boss
interrupted the elbow movements
making the brain feed it's
imagination
But that's over now
I have time
time to tell a woman
time to tell a woman, she's turning my tar
into blood
time to tell a woman, she's turning my pump into a heart
time to tell a woman, I've waited for her to get home from work
(I don't know how far work is, or if it's needed)
I do know, I made excuses of it
An excuse to make this worm swim
quarter way down the bottle
An excuse to slap three
bags on the cover of an Agro CD
An excuse to blast death metal at my neighbour
fuck him! He should kill silences too
God knows he has good taste in music
I make sure of it
My mind wonders back to my watercolor
canvass of an old spirited soul
with gifts of real value to give
I stare at the pressed metal ceiling
trying to figure
trying to figure if this is me
trying to figure if this is me
living a bastard with a princess's poetry; or
if this me finding my own real life poetry
For now
for now this me is living the poetry I know;
for now this me is living a dream;
living a dream
I took six years to write
The worm is lying in the dry
bottom of the
cold
empty
bottle
I'll say "good morning"
later
x
RevolutionAl
deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/9142/
Drugs Poems » Tequila And A Monkey
 Unapprove Image
Tequila And A Monkey
He said it best
when he questioned her
affection for his "keyboard kiss"
& the bastard
threw the real life, at the page
what would it be like
with children
with the nine to five
with the tar from the street life
coming out
pumping volcanic molten lava
where blood used to dwell?
I'm nursing a Mopane worm
keeping it drowned
using a monkey's powder
to keep the balance
solid
I know; I said, I wouldn't
it is monday after all
God when
the deathly deafening silence
hits this house
like a cricket-less acoustic science
A man has to rely on
the sounds the bottle makes
when it hits the table
Three quarters of the liquid shakes
Thank god the boss
interrupted the elbow movements
making the brain feed it's
imagination
But that's over now
I have time
time to tell a woman
time to tell a woman, she's turning my tar
into blood
time to tell a woman, she's turning my pump into a heart
time to tell a woman, I've waited for her to get home from work
(I don't know how far work is, or if it's needed)
I do know, I made excuses of it
An excuse to make this worm swim
quarter way down the bottle
An excuse to slap three
bags on the cover of an Agro CD
An excuse to blast death metal at my neighbour
fuck him! He should kill silences too
God knows he has good taste in music
I make sure of it
My mind wonders back to my watercolor
canvass of an old spirited soul
with gifts of real value to give
I stare at the pressed metal ceiling
trying to figure
trying to figure if this is me
trying to figure if this is me
living a bastard with a princess's poetry; or
if this me finding my own real life poetry
For now
for now this me is living the poetry I know;
for now this me is living a dream;
living a dream
I took six years to write
The worm is lying in the dry
bottom of the
cold
empty
bottle
I'll say "good morning"
later
x
RevolutionAl
deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/9142/
