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mr. iD

Whip batteries at it

Don’t like it

grab it

Attack it

Got an itch, scratch it

See a mole, whack it

Hear a joke, laugh at it

Then steal it

Take credit for it

Take it

Put it

In a vault and latch it

DON’T GIVE IT

HOARD IT

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newborn’s song

I have a son; no daughter yet.

How long until we’re finally met.

What ancient jug will fill with water,

when child born, bear no regret.

If one is sea, and other land,

the first is heart and other head.

Fate will land a chancing blow,

a favored child will surely grow.

Existence be a fickle game.

If time should stop and never change,

a soulless fraction stood unsolved,

resumed amidst the newborn’s song.

 
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Posted by on June 24, 2017 in poetry, Uncategorized, writing

 

F*CK your lawn

Overgrown you say?
Flowers, though wild, do not appeal
to your pristine senses?

I say,
maybe you’re wasting time
trimming your grass
daily.

Hmm?

I say,
maybe your yard,
your stupid yard
is boring
and lacks personality.

Hmm?

And maybe,
the ecosystem, living
under the ice
in my
above ground pool
is far more humane
than the chlorine factory
you keep in your backyard.

Hmm?

And maybe,
my bushes have
too many limbs,
no symmetry to them
at all,
but yours
piss me off
with their sculpted form.
Your vanilla arrangements
ain’t got nothing
on my
Rocky Road.
Bitch.

 
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Posted by on January 17, 2014 in cynical, poetry, Uncategorized

 

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#basketballdiplomacy (a haiku by j. witcher)

Kim Jong Un and you

share the same regret, Dennis.

You weren’t in Space Jam.

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2014 in funny, haiku, poetry, random

 

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A False Need

I see your face through distorted, sepia-toned, trans-dimensional drifts, and I can’t tell if you’re a boy or a girl, and I can’t see how old you are or what you’ve become, but I know you’re there.  Somewhere.  You exist to me in the here and now, I love you so very much, and if I could just find that wormhole that would suck me in and bring me to you, maybe that huge void that’s been with me all along would make sense.

I was meant to be your savior, your lifeline, your friend and guiding light.  I would teach you the meanings of the words nuance, relativity, acceptance, and discernment.  I could give you the gift of music.  I could teach you how to dance, ultimately giving life and purpose to your every movement.  I would tell you it’s all in the wrist, keep your eye on the ball, just let if go, you’re better than that.

But is that how it would be?

More likely you would learn from me what everyone learns from everyone else;  propriety, limitations, regulations, the value of a dollar.  That false premise that you exist independently of those lesser creatures and archetypes.  You would have to be someone else when you’re with me and I would willingly accept whatever character you created for me.  If you showed me something genuine and imperfect, or something less than angelic, I’d extend to you a stoic, passive, smirking rejection.  And it wouldn’t make sense to you until you reach the retrospective haze of your mid-twenties.

But at the apex of your soul-searching you would find my legacy…

Extended to you, bequeathed to my possession, would be my void and need to create an existential crisis.  And the cycle perpetuates.  Feel my anxiety, you little clone….

 
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Posted by on January 10, 2014 in poetry, prose, random, writing

 

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to keep my word – per tenermi la mia parola – să mă țin de cuvânt

i LOOVE this poem

valeriu dg barbu

Trilingual text: English, Italian and Romanian language

Today seemed to me to be crippled absolutely everything
the children went with a smile supported on crutches
even a stray snowflake descended on crutches…
birds away – apparently the commas… ran between words
with bandages waving instead of the wings
even the sun has glued a patch on the chin…
until you
she came
and has healed my fears, the ghosts and the promise
(made by myself in the mirror) that I will be the best
But now I’m limping, though unjustified, in some way like a tic
I try to keep my word … with both hands

Image

created by Tom Flemons

Oggi mi sembrava storpio assolutamente tutto
i bambini andavano con il sorriso nelle stampelle
persino un fiocco di neve randagio discese con le stampelle…
uccelli in lontananza – apparentemente virgole scappate via tra le parole
sventolavano bendaggi invece di ali

View original post 143 more words

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in poetry, shared, Uncategorized

 

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#Neuropathy

All Aboard the S.S. Lazy Boy, your T.V. tray frames your World,

And the Wires snake every which way, Electric Blanket choking you.

Like a caterpillar wasteland on the Shag-rug carpet, Down there

Trinkets you could never find, Enough Metal to Transmit a Radio Broadcast

What kinds of creatures dwell in the dusty corners?

How many cobwebs does it take to frame a home?

We’ll never, never see the boldness of recovery,

Until the demon leaves the Hold.

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in poetry

 

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The adventures i’m not having

envious of the people giving early morning airport rides, morning cups of coffee, battery stockpilers for all the Playstation Vitas they never intend on playing, warming up the car people, cinnamon toast crunch eating bottom liners

watching the headlights and the tail-lights from the helicopter viewpoint, early morning commentary, politico, buzzfeed, NYTimes hating relevancy giving folk, pausing for the moment of silence, The Lord’s Prayers, Matthew 3:16 Stone Cold Stunners

expressway taking, Exit 14B taking, carpool lane taking, toll booth workers, the luminescent vest wearers on their short days, the primetime Youtube watchers, NSFW means something to them, people who like sports for normal reasons

people on probation, people going to funerals, people on drugs that are prescribed to them for whatever reason, people who take naps at the same time every day, people who go to Denver, or Portland, or Austin, or whatever place no better than here

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in poetry

 

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This is the story of an hour of my life

I watch Fox News when It’s 4 am

Mario Lopez speaks to me about espresso machines and I can’t help but think there’s a reason for this…

I tried to write something meaningful

It sounded like shit and the furniture commercials kept invading my thoughts and I thought to myself “THANK GOD FOR BOB’S DISCOUNT FURNITURE”

The truth is, I don’t want to write

The truth is, I want the courage to go outside again

The truth is, I play records just so I can tell my kids one day “I used to listen to records”

The reality is, for the first time in a very long time I’m physically ill and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s BLOOD in my sinus cavity and I’m legitimately afraid to go to sleep.

The reality is, I’m the guy who takes my Penicillin with a hard swig of Mayflower Golden Ale.

That’s the only thing that defines me right now

Now it’s 5 am

 
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Posted by on January 9, 2014 in poetry, Uncategorized

 

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