Poem-A-Day: Day 383

Reversals

Draw, O coward!

Was it a car, or a cat I saw?

A level, a
Civic
Racecar.

Able was I, ere I saw Elba.

Madam, I'm Adam,
never odd or even,
no lemon, no melon.

Rise to vote, Sir,
live not on evil.

Did I level? I did.

Sexes
level.
Eva, can I stab bats in a cave?

No, in on ion,
rotors as rotor, 
radars as radar,
sexes
level.

Sexes
tenet,
solo stat solos.

Madam, I'm Adam,
a man, a plan, a canal: Panama.

Poem-A-Day: Day 382

So Now What?

Self righteous us
selves write up
said right stuffs,
shelved right up
saint night scuffs.
On the verge of night us
only surge the righteous,
of we, purge the nitrous
or the dirge self righteous
orders were left pious.

No more the night,
not, or foresight
nods more than fright
needs scores and cites
normal things right.
Out on the town,
Orion’s stars shown,
or won some frown
overtly down
on some thing, two
whole things not done.
Who drinks that drone?
Whales sing, act none
whoring cats some
whetstone scat drawl.

When did the end occur?
Wrens died therein, or were,
where does the rain order
wonder? They ran under
wind, or the bland thunder.
Homage to the sky,
home again they spy
hoping to deny
hope. Things do reply,
honoring those that sigh
at the self righteous
ambient right left
and bend sent night rifts.
Are we left righteous
answers quest by self
taught wondering relief?
To what stirring wet life
tears wandering souls right
towards bereft and live
tombs? Wards, they left and lie…

Poem-A-Day: Day 381

Abject

The wailing darkness
Relies on the abjection
For feeling human

Poem-A-Day: Day 380

The Simplicity of Ones

one word then the next
not one means more
than two sounds
all have like minds
when put side by side
the words scream for life
they scream to be
they want life
or some like face
that can be washed clean
the filth of dirt wiped clean
to leave a shine
the sun’s shine
light streams from words
and oft strives for more.

Poem-A-Day: Day 379

Fart Mass Lectern

the ardent artifice of art attacked by asses,
rejects represented by the reprehensible;
two twits, or twats, trifle over the trash,

the fucking filth fresh from the fantasy of failure,
or overdramatized overreactions of other offenders
regurgitating the repetitious retch of retardation.

take time to trust the thoughts of literary testament,
hear the haranguing hurl and honor the whole heart,
eat everything encompassing the earnest, erstwhile

all artists ache at the other angels attacking art,
slithering snake swine, shitting shiftless swearing
at simple sincerity, squabbling sense over sentiment.

Poem-A-Day: Day 378

to the a-hole at taco bell
(head up yer ass)

to the asshole at taco bell
who was,
who was at the ordering kiosk
for more than six minutes?

to the asshole at taco bell
taking orders,
taking orders for other people
over your cell phone.

to the asshole at taco bell,
pull in,
pull in and park
and write down the orders next time.

to the asshole at taco bell,
and then,
and then get your lazy ass out
of your fucking car and go inside
go inside,
go inside and take care of business,
you stupid ass dick hole.

to the asshole at taco bell,
why the fuck,
why the fuck would you
keep a bunch of other people waiting in line
waiting in line,
waiting in line while you order fifty bucks
worth of shit food for you and ten other people?

to the asshole at taco bell,
have a little,
have a little courtesy
for the entire world around you.

to the asshole at taco bell,
better yet,
better yet, do everyone a favor
and pull your head out of your ass, and look
and look,
and look around before doing
what obviously comes naturally to you next time.

asshole.

Taken from a Craigslist ad

Poem-A-Day: Day 377

Crazy Urges

The urge sets in again,
tapping unknown things
and drawing on the instants
that cause man to be creature.
There is some enchantment,
something artificial
about the whole process,
the urge of playful magistrate.
The attack is taken to heart,
and tap dances mythic things,
rarely dropping the manual
but making magic happen.

Poem-A-Day: Day 376

Sle...

one last breathe before...
one last dream before...
one last...
one...
oh...

Poem-A-Day: Day 375

Hello Oh No

hello
hello
hello
hello
oh hell
oh hell
oh hallow
oh hollow
oh hell
oh hello ha hallow
oh hell oh ha hollow
ho hollow hell
oh ho no holy hell
no hollow hell no hallow
ha no hello oh hell hollow
halo no no hollow no hello
oh halo oh hello ha hallow
oh no no halo no hello
hell no oh no hello hallow
hallow hollow hello oh hell
no ho ho ha hello oh halo
hello no hallow oh hell
hello ho oh hell halo
no ho hallow hell
oh hell no halo hello
on no halo ho hollow
no hollow now halo
halo hello hell no
no neo no halo no hello
ha no hell neo hallow
no no hell hallow neo
neo no hell no hollow
oh hello no neo
new neo no hello
hello ho ha no new
oh no hell neo
hello no new hollow
hollow no neo
neo no hollow
hello new neo
hallow no neo
new neo oh
oh hell
oh hallow
oh hallow
no new
no new
oh neo
oh now
oh no
oh no
oh no
oh no

Poem-A-Day: Day 374

Sonnet #67 (Erasures)

Spending time dreaming
in subconscious science,
I see strange gleaming
champions of reliance
boasting tender thighs
that bring the dead
surprise behind eyes
not easily misread.
It’s demanding capture
is dark black
despite rapture
near and back.
   Nothing’s done
   but one.

Poem-A-Day: Day 373

Lucky Thirteen

Deftly joining signals
And moving one genome to the next
Creating symbolic life

Poem-A-Day: Day 372

Drop the House

Death and two blank stares
Sharing terrified beauty
Over one last drink

Poem-A-Day: Day 371

Sonnet #65 (Doing the Cha-Cha)

Chacmas chase charismatic chafer chains,
childishly changing chaffers chaffering
cheap chauffeurs chastising checkbook chaplains.
Chronic chromatic chrysalis chugging
chlorinated chum, choline chopstick chords
Chopin chose chimerically. Chilly
chimney chimes choral, chirping church chalkboards
chaste, cheerless characters chancing cheeky
charming chalets. Champions challenge chefs,
chatting chela cherry chilis, cherished
chicken cheeseburger chiffonades, chilled chaffs,
chard chickpea chocolate cheesecakes chow charmed.
Choice children charge charitable chiffon
chariots, choosing choice chemise chignon.

Poem-A-Day: Day 370

Lost in Translation

Tear a fried purse son
low sting roves off tries,
stain tingling earring,
wading fur lie for deaf
two leaf foyer,
end eye four err.

Ear won scarred main
tryst acute is town gout,
bout fines kin to heart
fertilize hat pre seed,
sewn ewe, ewe ates
fir hurt a comb.

Cheat us knot comb,
naught atoll, witchy seas
end Kant dine eye,
yetis days in grease,
wand here rink
wit ought tame.

Poem-A-Day: Day 369

Fecallatio

The disconnect of damnation
standing knee deep in ilk
no more unctuous than the diarrheic.
Shit smeared hands slapping
at skin, slipping off skin
leaving the lasting streak reminders.
The raw submissive hatred
gone savage, relinquishing blasts of sly
fecal smatterings of drastic fight.
She said she said. see saw shit,
and all over, it seems all over shot
through the sea stroke saviors shilling.
Somebody swallowed the sick filth,
the feltch left over from the last
nights spent dining out at the hearts top.

Poem-A-Day: Day 368

Broken Echoes

The moon is howling mad again
with a grin half devilish,
and I am an astronaut scamming gems…

scamming gems…

scamming gems…

scamming gems…

scamming gems…

and I am all for naught again,
scrambling fanatic wind-brush spats
on sun deft mountains scam…

mountains scam…

mountains scam…

mountains scam…

mountains scam…

gentle rock formation gleaming gems,
and I am aches and knots 
wincing in the light and glow shuns scams.

Poem-A-Day: Day 367

Hot, Hot Heat

Poem-A-Day: Day 366 (One Year Anniversary)

Everything is Everything

Everything is everything
is everything in the world.

My eyes blister in the sun;
 the blast of hot polarizing ideas
  blaring opinions screaming silent cacophonies.

It’s an action gone sanctimonious;
 an acquiescence to simplicity in sentencing,
  acquittal from having to sense tension otherwise.

Finally eyes don’t consign
 to drowning under swathes of limp dick
  drifting shiftless, drinking up the sanctity of horror.

Because the waves crush
 the warping minds of jealous scores
  worshipping the few free senses left to snatch.

Everything is everything 
is everything in the world.

In the high spirit shock,
 oft haranguing the nightlight towers
  home to clever lechers belting swansongs.

What was right here once,
 some rough blow lifted shit left
  regaling the glasses all left half full, half empty.

All that glitters cannot stay
 while gleefully repeating nature’s greatest.
  Glad it knows green has left room enough for gold.

There’s no right in changing,
 so “Respectfully Declined” has remained
  rooftop sanctuary carrying calypso rhythm madness.

Everything is everything
is everything in the world.
Fuck the world.

Poem-A-Day: Day 365

Dried Up

Middle school memories
and the same damn results.
One more loser
wrapped in trails of filth,
trails leading nowhere
but the same reflection of memory.
The black cloud followed,
manifesting luck into nothing
but drummed up busts.
The wellspring of magic is over,
washed up before it began,
and the wishes are all that remain.

Poem-A-Day: Day 364

One On One

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01100111 01101001 01110100 01100001
01101100 00100000 01100111 01100001
01111010 01100101 00001101 00001010

01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000
01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000
01110110 01101111 01101001 01100011
01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011
00100000 01110010 01100101 01110000
01100101 01100001 01110100 01101001
01101110 01100111 00001101 00001010

01100101 01101100 01100101 01100011
01110100 01110010 01101001 01100011
00100000 01110000 01100001 01110100
01110100 01100101 01110010 01101110
01110011

Poem-A-Day: Day 363

Sonnet #64 (I'm Catching the Drift)

When I count clock which says time,
and is born courageous descended in horrible night;
when behold the premium of last the violet,
and enrollamientos of sand, all the o'er silver plated with white;
when the trees I am high see sterile sheets,
which another time of heat made to the house the herd,
and summer's what is green installed very for in top in the sheaves,
mentioned the coffin with the white and thorny beard, 
alors thy beauty the question; I there is,
these thousand between waste of time must go,
since the sugar refineries and the beauties themselves give up
and dies also quickly they see others to grow;
and nothing against Time the scythe can make defense except what is pure,
for brave man him when it takes thee consequently.

A Babelfish translation in triplicate of Shakespeare's Sonnet XII

Poem-A-Day: Day 362

Four Steps

Poem-A-Day: Day 361

Historically Treated Modern Losers

HTML
Head Thoughts on Art /Head
Body Center
Not much separates
the autistic from the artistic.
Nothing but a typo.
But the same can be said
of yearning and learning.
/Center /Body
/HTML

Poem-A-Day: Day 360

Grammar Exercise

If I knew you were
Telling me to stop, then we’re
Right where we should be 

Poem-A-Day: Day 359

Hallow Scene

The scream crafting scene
Lasting just one more weekend
Extending seasons

Poem-A-Day: Day 358

Stopwatch

Terrified glory
Showing no signs of stopping
Only blowing up

Poem-A-Day: Day 357

Babel 64

If j'saw by Time;
AG sunk the defac' hand;
D, the rich proud l'cost;
buried age outworn.
If will sometimes be high,
the revolutions see I down-raz'.
D, and eternal slave of yellow copper
at deadly rage if j'l'saw flared out l'increase.
Ocean advantage in the kingdom of the edge,
and firm triumph of the ground of aqueous drains
larger shop, each mark with loss,
and loss with the shop.
If j'saw such l'exchange,
conditions or l'to decaimiento confounded conditions;
Hath the m'ruin,
rumiar,
so scholarly,
a will become this mark on my love to eliminate.
This thought is as qu'death.
He can not select,
but cries,
in order to have that one,
bent,
in order to lose.

A Babelfish translation in triplicate of Shakespeare's Sonnet LXIV

Poem-A-Day: Day 356

What Remains

"Bernadette!" he cried
Into her sunken eyes, but
She sat there listless 

Poem-A-Day: Day 355

Sonnet #63 (Misunderstandings)

Against my love Shelby is. I am now
what time, since your is Hans crushed in the store.
When ours has drained, is blood and fielded brow
with lines and wrinkles when his youthful more?
Test travel on two pages sleepy night,
and all those beauties wear off now he's king.
Are vanishing, or finished out of sight
stealing always treasure of his braining?
For such a time do I have forty-five
against consenting age is cruel nice.
Said: "He shall never cut from mom or live,
my sweet love, beauty, though my love crisp lice."
Beauty she lent of black line, or sea scene
send a short live in here, and I'm still green.

A Voice-to-Text translation of Shakespeare's Sonnet #63

Poem-A-Day: Day 354

Miscommunicated

the founder of the hum hum,
and an awkward snow of me
washing gently on the horizon;
buzzing burns on brick walls.
she looks down from century,
wishing she could open the door for me,
but it's over and under alarm.
the screens rattle through arrange sleep,
and it seems there's nothing more,
nothing, nothing left to say it all.
seth, the last of some sort,
dear no serious, not laughing no less,
french fries bangalore,
but she doesn't know
new windows os. what's the subtle d e
analyst quit of online stores?
where is the wind picks up consultants now?
get my car incentives
as she sleeps, sunlit from the trees
was crackling movies.

A speech-to-Text Misunderstanding