7 thoughts on “VOMIT MCFUCKFACE CANCELS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH”
I have a full time JERB working for THE MAN, keying AZ tax returns for rich fucks in Fountain Hills who name their kids Talon, Boston and Cannon (I shit you not) so I'm TOO FUCKING TIRED TO FIND POETRY FOR YOU PEOPLE EVERY FUCKING DAY. (Sorry, but this shit-tasm has made me cranky.) Anyhoo, here's something I wrote a few months ago:
When my mother wept
Without making a sound
When the earth shook
And cracked the ground
When the bullets hit
And the bodies dropped down
When the cop flipped his lights
And circled ‘round
When the girl gave up
And started to drown
When the knife fell
And the blood turned brown
When the tsar spat
And gave up his crown
When my mother wept
Without making a sound
When the rope circled
‘round the neck it wound
When the boy went missing
Until his bones were found
When the flowers withered
On the burial mound
When the unbroken circle
Went round and round
When your mother wept
Without making a sound
When the last leaf fell
And spun to the ground
When the poet died
Without any reknown
When a word like death
Became just a noun
When all of our tears
Weighed less than a pound
When the very last circus
Skipped your town
I have a full time JERB working for THE MAN, keying AZ tax returns for rich fucks in Fountain Hills who name their kids Talon, Boston and Cannon (I shit you not) so I'm TOO FUCKING TIRED TO FIND POETRY FOR YOU PEOPLE EVERY FUCKING DAY. (Sorry, but this shit-tasm has made me cranky.) Anyhoo, here's something I wrote a few months ago:
It Wasn’t Supposed to End Like This
When my mother wept
Without making a sound
When the earth shook
And cracked the ground
When the bullets hit
And the bodies dropped down
When the cop flipped his lights
And circled ‘round
When the girl gave up
And started to drown
When the knife fell
And the blood turned brown
When the tsar spat
And gave up his crown
When my mother wept
Without making a sound
When the rope circled
‘round the neck it wound
When the boy went missing
Until his bones were found
When the flowers withered
On the burial mound
When the unbroken circle
Went round and round
When your mother wept
Without making a sound
When the last leaf fell
And spun to the ground
When the poet died
Without any reknown
When a word like death
Became just a noun
When all of our tears
Weighed less than a pound
When the very last circus
Skipped your town
When all mothers wept
Without making a sound
-n[g]c
Whoa.
Nice work. And definitely not 🎶the song of the poet who died in the gutter.🎶
Like a casserole,
Trump is layers of garbage
baked into a man
[See more here]
Kathy Fish Collective Nouns for Humans in the Wild
https://jellyfishreview.wordpress.com/2017/10/13/…
I think he put his foot in a bucket.