Go to page:

Throwup a Story

Gearigon
Gearigon
Cognitive Ignition
Lost Thinker
United States
  profile   poems   message
Joined 22nd Feb 2015
Forum Posts: 43

Could be good, bad, ugly, happy, or sad.  But at the end of the day, its the stories we leave behind, that people will remember.

 I'll start:  My "Christian" school took me to Flagstaff Arizona 1 year.  Because the wise men decided a town that stood 10,000 ft., in the air on a mountain, when it's a 100 degrees, would be an awesome place and time to gather.
 My little brother and I ran into a scary looking biker, and started talking to him.  We were weird like that.  Anyway, I don't remember much of the conversation, but I do remember the story that biker told us.
 "I was laying on the beach on the East Coast, and I watched as the sun came up over the horizon.  I decided then and there, that day I wanted to watch the sun set on the West Coast, before the end of that day.
 "So I hopped on my bike, and went full throttle.  When I got out of the Cities, I drove over 300 mph on the desert hardpan, just off the side of the road.  The Cops couldn't do shit, i wasn't on a road.
 "I made it to California, just as the sun touched the horizon, and sat on the beach and watched the sun set."
 True or false, it made 1 hell of an impression on 2 young boys.

clewluss
clewluss
SMOOKY
Thought Provoker
  profile   poems   message
Joined 22nd Apr 2014
Forum Posts: 237

true.

poet Anonymous

<< post removed >>
Astyanax
Astyanax
Ceejay
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
9awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 23rd Feb 2010
Forum Posts: 748

Grown-ups know everything

One October evening a long time ago, when I was about 9 years old, I was playing out with my friend, John Flynn, when he suggested knocking on someone's door and running away. I said I didn't want to do it, but he went ahead, knocked on a door and disappeared down the street. Since I hadn't knocked on the door, I saw no reason to run away, so I leant nonchalantly against a lamp-post opposite the door. Eventually a man opened it and looked at me. 'Who knocked on this door?' he said. 'I don't know,' I replied in all innocence. 'A boy did it and ran away.' The man looked at me very hard and said, 'I know who did it,' and slammed the door shut.
I was amazed. How did he know John Flynn had knocked on his door?

lepperochan
lepperochan
Craic-Dealer
Guardian of Shadows
66awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 1st Apr 2011
Forum Posts: 13456

can't do this story justice so deleted to try again

Grace
Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
110awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 14346

A long time ago, I had a close friend who had one  deformed leg. I was three going on four and he was four or five. We used to chase each other round and round in his adopted parents yard. He hopped mostly. He used to follow me home and his mother would fetch him everyday from our house.
One day I went to his house and no one was home, so I went home. I waited for him to visit me but he never come. Then several days later  I heard my parents say he had gone back to his real parents, who lived on the other hill.
It was quite a way to walk for me, but I did. I brought with me a comb of ripe bananas for him. Very heavy as it was as big as I was. I made it after a looong walk. On that hill side were three houses and in the middle was his real parents'. I went up the steps and saw him lying on a white bed, so still, in a mosquito net. I went near him but some adults carried me away.
I didn't understand why, but in my culture, children were seen not heard...so I left my bananas at the door, rested on the steps for a while and went home. I was very sad, as I didn't understand why they wouldn't let me play with him anymore.
Later I was told that he died. So I thought if I died too I would get to play with him. But i didn't know how to die as I was just  three years old going on four. I slept and slept but I always woke up...so after a while, I gave up. His name was Marius.

bromosapien
bromosapien
Strange Creature
United States
  profile   poems   message
Joined 23rd Oct 2017
Forum Posts: 2

I worked at a deli for a summer. It had the normal set up. Display case and behind that was the counter with the slicers. Off to the side and around back was the sink and freezer area. So one day I'm walking from the back room to the front. As I'm turning the corner, I couldn't get a very good look of the person. All I saw were dark blue jeans, a  red flannel filled by meaty shoulders, and a close crop hair style. So I naturally said "can I help you sir". I said the phrase while walking. By the time I finished the phrase, I no longer had a side view of the person. As realized I was standing square in front of a manly woman, I freaked out, said sorry, and ran in the back and hid for ten minutes. Until I knew she would be served by someone else and leave

Grace
Grace
Idryad
Guardian of Shadows
110awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 25th Aug 2011
Forum Posts: 14346

A long time ago when I was maybe three or four years old, I saw a woman dragging a girl my age along the path through our rubber plantation. They did not see me, as I was seated under a bushy bush playing by myself. The fascinating part was the girl was dressed in a pretty gown and looked quite foreign. Then they disappeared into the distant. The interesting part was the tall grass and shrubs did not move or rustle when they walked on it pass me. Were they spirits? Who knows. But it stayed in my mind.

rosegold
rosegold
Thought Provoker
United States
3awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 12th July 2017
Forum Posts: 58

I drove to the beach one night around 2am to clear my head. I was walking along the ocean strumming my ukulele and humming to myself softly. The beach was empty, the moon bright - it felt like a dream.

I came across a fire pit with coals still red and hot. The warmth enticed me and nobody seemed to be around... but as I approached, I noticed a homeless man propped up against the opposite side of the pit. He was missing a leg and lay under a blanket leaning against a backpack. I turned around but before I could leave, he spoke to me.

"Little girl... wait." I stopped, awkwardly, and he continued. "I heard your music... then I saw you and couldn't believe it. I thought you were an angel..."

"Oh," there was a long pause before I started to walk away. "Sorry."

"No, don't," he pleaded, "stay and sing me a song."

I don't know why, but after a brief thought I came close, sat on the edge of the fire pit, and began strumming a simple tune. When I starting singing, the man's old face wrinkled up more than it already was, and tears slid down his cheeks.

I finished the song and fidgeted with my jacket, not sure what to say.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I'm always alone... I've never had a soul so beautiful as yours reach out with care to one so ugly as mine. Maybe you are an angel."

"Well... I should get home." I suddenly felt tired and uneasy; I wished I was back in my bed. The stranger told me his name was Jerimie, and made sure to spell it out for me carefully. I then nodded and left in silence, walking back along the shore the way I came, this time with my uke hanging by my side.

I thought about what happened all the way to my car - then, driving home, I blasted music and tried to clear my head again. I struggled to stay awake.

The next morning, I remembered my peculiar adventure while eating breakfast. I was confused as well as shocked that it had slipped my mind. As I ate my cereal, I told my mom about a strange "dream" I'd had the night before...

poet Anonymous

Emily Dickson Without a Title

He said it wasnít important really
but a way to get back at those sarcastic hypocrites
was to stand proud and yell
ďStill have neater handwriting compared to their favourite artist
so I donít see how me and any hater
have the same losers rush
In school, Iím good at English
They asked for permission to build a shelf to place me on
Then struck me violently
when told they could
if they didnít screw it up!Ē
Now he wanders along his poetic hallways
wondering where he went wrong
Maybe some day he will get it right
arriving and never came to run
Although, he should
seeing how humans treat each other
Whatís to be expected of treating different an alien?

poet Anonymous

Saturday, 29th February 2020

Once upon a time in Northampton General Hospital, I helped two people; told the drinks woman that Micheal, beside me, usually has a small flask of cold milk. He couldnít have told her, because he was asleep when she came round, and looked like she was just gonna walk away without calling out to him. Derek, on the same ward, over in the far right hand corner, he was waiting ages for a piss bottle, so I got up, gave him one, and pulled his curtains across so he could do his business.

Valeriya
Valeriya
Valeriya Long
Fire of Insight
United States
4awards   profile   poems   message
Joined 1st Jan 2020
Forum Posts: 705

I was visiting my great aunt in El Paso Texas she had just undergone a double mastectomy which for a young girl of ten years old was horrifying It was a butcher job poor woman. My mother had taken us across the border into Mexico  to buy avocados. Upon returning the guards at the border would not let us bring the avocados with us We had to sit and eat every avocado before leaving my mother was not going to give them up.  Once arriving back at my aunts house I went for a walk my stomach full of avocados I needed to move After turning the corner furthest from the house I saw a man standing in the snow pants to his knees masturbating I was scared and ran to tell my mom I ran the wrong way which forced me to round another block as I came around the next corner there was the same man standing in the snow masturbating again.  I made if home wondering what was going on this old man could not have made it as far as he did Was it a masturbating ghost my imagination? I will never know

poet Anonymous

. . .

poet Anonymous

There was one time, at Nicoleís party, where I was the only one that had a good time; being on the floor and throwing up. Everyone else was weak.

poet Anonymous

I really likex.       The style some poets have on DU.
Thereís different.     Amount of spaces.      Between words::::::
random shit)))) thrown in that doesnít need 2 b there

But weíve all left school now
Xxxxxx it donít matter one bit

Go to page:
Go to: