Paleo poet? page

[Rasputina]

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[Rasputina]

Powdered-egg wigs,
we pirouetted round the Baptist church floors,
passed the gilded food stamps:
sacrificed penny-sweets for Jesus.
Forest-bound, we ran,
sucker-sticks pointed in case of rapists,
squealed on the merry-go-round,
we were only eight, in leather, painted-up-jackets.
Our Wonder Bread-fed uncle
taught us the art of catching fireflys in jars,
our slow cousin, Mary, cussing their burning bodies backwards,
FLYERFIES,
dimming.

Mythological Great-Nana tied a string round a wart,
rubbed that bump with a sharp stick,
buried it under the weeping tree.
String, buried, deep, deep, deep,
only to pop on the toes,
of our uncle,
as he swung, finally free,
on the prison floor.
We processed, mournfully black,
food-stamps in hand,
to the corner-store.
Some of us, sweets in hand, didn't look back.

[Knifegill]

Sitting, Grok see squirrel.
Grok chase squirrel.
Grok eat squirrel.
Not enough food in squirrel.
Hunger.

[Grumpycakes]

Rhyme something. Gosh.

[Rasputina]

Rhyme something. Gosh.

your stick is thick,
yer teeth is long,
please don't tear
my mammoth-fur thong.

[Englishman in Oz]

My balls sit, sweat
swell with good things
I squat and they touch
ground is cold
but nothing much
more than the old
balls hanging

This is the best thing I've ever read. Seriously. Thank you!

[Blackcatbone]

There once was a man named Grok
Who rubbed iodine into his cock
he thought it would swell
and they ladies he'd fell
but he just stained the sheep in his flock

[Luce]

Once I walked into the room
and saw
their fall
and all the grace of their wrapped wings
nothing
-nothing-
could ever mean
I wouldn't eat their bones and skin.


I miss turkey a lot but my supplier died and her nephews feed the beasts corn and soy. This will be a sad thanksgiving.


Luce

[Dr. Bork Bork]

Not a poet, but I do write novels. My first story was published when I was 12.

[Gadsie]

Not very great, but I try to make sense etc.