This topic contains 11 replies, has 0 voices, and was last updated by  ArmorWraith 5 years, 5 months ago.

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    Good one Rom! Here is a poem I made many years ago when I worked in the produce dept. of a grocery store. It’s called “Ode to the 3ed man.” In produce there is the guy in charge,then the 2ed man,but all the real work gets put on the 3ed man.This is his story.

    On a cold and misty Sunday morn
    I uncover the rack and put out the corn

    I cull the tables and check the dates
    But the funnest thing still awaits

    Retrimming the lettuce and pulling the old mushrooms
    I think the floral lady will be here soon

    Look closely at the leeks and the swiss chard
    Don’t forget the endive or the rhubarb

    The beans the beets the dill the bok choy!
    The cabbage the carrots the pears the savoy!

    The curry the rosemary the sage the thyme!
    The mint the okra the lemons the limes!

    I blue-band some bananas and make some cabbage cuts
    It will be a while before we get in water chesnuts

    I wipe out the scales and clean the floors
    I cut the melons and scrub the doors

    Always waiting for that next big raise
    Working salad bar just for the pay

    They split my days off whenever they can
    This is the story of the third man



    pastor of muppets

    I have a whole 3 ring binder of stuff I wrote in high school laying around somewhere, if I come across it I might post some of it here.



    A poem about dying from someone who ain’t lyin’.

    Have you ever heard the death rattle?
    It sounds like a thick wet snore
    It sounds the same if you live to one hundred
    Or die in the guts and the gore

    Don’t smerk when you see the eyes roll back
    and the face slowly pales
    Nature has a very strange way
    Of balancing her scales

    Be kind to the helpless and the weak
    Don’t bring them any shame
    If you start to see the feeble as inhuman
    Then you become the same

    It might be quick if you die in battle
    Reduced to cannon fodder
    Or it might take eons; time has no meaning
    When you breathe like a fish out of water

    When your old and gray and the ego’s gone
    And you can only stand with a cane
    You might forget who you are
    Cuz something’s wrong with your brain

    If you find yourself in a hospital bed with a morphine drip
    One thing is quite certain
    The sheet that covers you might as well be
    Called the Shroud of Turin

    As the end draws near you might squirm and choke
    And do the dance of death
    Then lurch to one side and soil yourself
    As you take your final breath

    And so you pass on with a jerk and a shudder
    Your eyes open wide
    The nurse the next morning says with a mouth full of toast
    The guy in room six has died




    The Day After Christmas

    This poem is gross and morose. Don’t read it if your easily sickened, no one will call you a chicken. You might feel sour for an hour then feel the need to take a shower.

    Twas the day after Christmas
    And all through the apt.
    Something smelt foul
    Like someone just crapped

    The couch is messed up
    The door off it’s hinges
    All hell breaks loose
    When I go on these binges

    Beer cans strune about
    A roach in the ashtray
    My world is dirty
    And foggy and gray

    The shades are drawn
    Aspirin in hand
    I haven’t got out of bed yet
    I don’t even try to stand

    My latest girfriend is long gone
    Her perfume still hangs in the air
    Time for another STD test again
    Do I even dare

    My skin feels oily and cold
    I taste my rancid teeth
    Last night would have been fun
    If it weren’t for a couple of queefs

    I think I’ll stay in bed all day
    There’s no rush or worry
    And try to figure out what happened
    Cuz my memory is a little blurry

    I say with conviction that this is pure fiction. I have no addiction or affliction. It may sound a bit down but that’s common when this time of year rolls around.
    In the spring I will write things with less sting like clowns bounding around town
    or sunshine and puppies and rich white yuppies.




    They clip your wings and tell you to fly.
    They want you to soar ever so high.
    But the truth is.. my little ones gather round
    They just want to make you look like a clown
    a decrepit and foolsih chaotic being, a victim of ones circumstance
    they feed you the feelings the wishes and lies..

    but in the end.. they clip our wings.. and no one flies

    so join me in this fight for soul
    evil never tires and never grows old
    join me children and listen deep
    see the truth to how it creeps
    beware the voice that mocks you in the dark
    and harken not to thine foolish heart
    join me in the good fight
    this battle will test our might

    its fangs are bared
    its breath is hot
    its long creeping tail garners invisible rot
    from its mouth dark deeds are hurled
    it pounces it leaps, its wings unfurled
    lets conquer strengthen devour!
    seize the chance this is our hour!

    afford hellish blaze unto the tyrannic evil and purge this world!

    all is not lost, gather round
    fly fast, fly far
    let all hear this sound
    the sound of death of the evil one
    let the trumpets rebound
    for he is dead
    swallowed by the ground

    look up my children and you will see
    heaven in utmost splendor and glory

    I wont bow, not one knee
    for to hell my sins do carry me




    You are there, and here is me. This is what we call reality.
    Somewhere harketh a dying crow. And for all his trouble he has to show,
    Nevermore it did shout! Death spasms, its wings are wildly grotesquely flapping about.
    We stand there and listen to the crow…. just you and me,

    and truly wonder if this is gods divine reality.







    LAPPY I LIKED THAT POEM!!! Stop deleting your stuff, its good. 🙂










    Who are you, do you really even know?
    Parading through life, more downcast than a crow.
    Look to the sky, what do you see?
    Endless stars going on forever into black eternity?
    Grab my hand dear friend, hold me quite close.
    Ill show you the way I envision the world, our life, which is truly quite so splendid and grandiose.

    Think not of a broken heart as a curse, a wild raging furious inpalpable fire.
    ..But your chance, your gamble, to find the one person of your true desire.

    Think not of depression as pain you envelope, a dark lonely place where dark thoughts elope.
    ..It is your nemesis, which youll overcome, trust me, I have confidence in your hope.

    Think not of failure as a train off its track, a path without direction, a plan without tact.
    ..Success is measured in much more than pride and gold, it is memories and dreams made real, when withered and old.

    Think not of shyness as a disease, it is simply action well thought, before you do as you please.

    Think not of death as a cruel tyrant who your life he doth rend, but rather an adventure, beyond the journeys end.

    Think not of material things as a means to an end, they do not accompany you like a good friend.

    Through these examples I hope you have learned. Life is a matter of tipping the urn.
    This world is truly a realm of shadow. So I plead you brighten your light. Never surrender, and fight the good fight.
    Turn things around this way and that, examine things yourself, even if accepted widely as fact.
    It is human to err, yet I wonder is it so bad to do? Isnt it a way to become less of a fool?

    So friends I say thank you and have a fruitful day, carry these lessons, be on your merry way.
    My point is not to preach or to plead, it is to give you new eyes, to help you succeed.




    Here we are so deep. I clip your wings, the flight is too steep. The heavy burden you bear, is no longer there. As we stare at the silvery moon, we wonder, was it our fate to be doomed? In solice we will rest, and far off at the mourning kings behest. Theyve lost their straightline way, an eloquence that has been under constant belay. With this morning dawns a glorious age, one of hapiness sadness and rage. Harken not the dying crow, nevermore it croaks, before taking the final vehement blow. In its final death throes, all it will see is worry, hate, sadness, anger and its pitiful woes. For a crow has no soul, it realizes this, as it grows cold.





    Your gun is empty, your shells are spent
    Bow down on your knees your frame must be bent
    Under the authority of order you must bow
    I command it, right here, immediately, right now

    But sir I am but a father protecting my estate
    How can I support my family at this tax rate?!
    I shouldered my gun and did what I must
    Leave my body here to wither to dust
    Know one thing sir this isnt the end
    More will come like me, no need to pretend
    You have won a small victory, a campaign of fear
    But I warn you sir, your end is drawing near
    Ideas dont die, they just take a new form
    They rise from the ashes, like a phoenix reborn
    This sir is a land of free choice
    A land which people of all walks can lend to their voice
    Most here have simple dreams such as I
    Raising a family properly before the day that I die
    They are hardworking people making an honest days pay
    Who are you sir to take that away?
    You tout things like fairness, equality, and care
    Yet you sir display none of that standing pompous up there
    You say such things, that life should be fair
    All the while taking much much more than your share
    You live off me, the simplest of things!
    All the while reassuring me were living like kings!
    Whats worse, you then accuse me of being too rich
    Well let me tell you something you son of a bitch
    I work hard towards my goals,desires, my dreams
    Ill be damned if some politician rips those out by the seams
    We built this country to keep men like you at bay
    Many a men, the final price they did pay, in order to keep my country running that way
    I do not forget the reasons they gave, courageously marching towards shallow graves
    It was to ensure me and my family were never to be slaves
    Yet you sir through trickery, flip flopping, and fraud
    Have besmirched my countrys good name, acting a fool both at home and abroad
    I tell you sir that this will not stand
    There are still many who refuse to eat out of your hand
    This commerce and trade you have grabbed by the hilt
    By citizens, and families, these establishments were built
    Your ways are twisted, your logic is flawed
    You deny my children seminal things like religion and their God
    History sir is quite clear on what to do about men like you
    I believe the last one killed many a Jew
    They strung him up high, an example he was made
    The people he killed seen through his little charade
    Your not much different than him are you now sir?
    Taking my livelyhood and wealth leaving me a cur
    In your little world you make the rules by which you play
    But I warn you again sir, lovers of freedom and justice will keep you at bay
    They will rise once again, like so many before
    Ready and willing to knock down that white door


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