The dog has returned to his vomit again, and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire.
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thank you Russell Edson... great poem
The house grows sick in its dining room and begins to vomit.
Father cries, the dining room is vomiting.
No wonder, the way you eat, it's enough to make anybody sick,
says his wife.
What shall we do? What shall we do? he cries.
Call the Vomit Doctor of course.
Yes, but all he does is vomit, sighs father.
If you were a vomit doctor you'd vomit too.
But isn't there enough vomit? sighs father.
There is never enough vomit.
Do I make everybody that sick, sighs father.
No no, everybody is born sick.
Born sick? cries father.
Of course, haven't you noticed how everybody eventually
dies? she says.
Is the dining room dying...?
... The way you eat, it's enough to make anyone sick,
she screams.
So I do make everybody that sick...
Excuse me, I think I'm going to be sick, she says.
Oh where is the Vomit Doctor? At least when he vomits one
knows one has it from high authority, screamed father.
The Ship That Never Returned
On a summer's day while the waves were rippling, with a quiet and a gentle breeze;
A ship set sail with a cargo laden for a port beyond the sea.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
There were sad farewells, there were friends forsaken, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said a feeble lad to his aged mother, I must cross that deep blue sea,
For I hear of a land in the far off country, where there's health and strength for me.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
'Tis a gleam of hope and a maze of danger, and our fate is still to learn,
And a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
Said this feeble lad to his aged mother, as he kissed his weeping wife,
"Just one more purse of that golden treasure, it will last us all through life.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
"Then we'll live in peace and joy together and enjoy all I have earned."
So they sent him forth with a smile and blessing on a ship that never returned.
Did she ever return? No, she never returned, and her fate is still unlearned,
But a last poor man set sail commander, on a ship that never returned.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Fish In A Bowl
Everywhere I go
A thousand faces stare at me
Eating from the palm
A date from hand to mouth
Break a leg!
The shoes are on the bottom
On your way
But the wardrobe always stays wide open
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
Everywhere I go
All bob and weave
Or sew it seams
Aiming low in life
They keep their noses clean
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up
Fish in a bowl
An ordered life from start to finish
And my timing is out
All washed up
Stood on the shore
The wave is over
But Im all washed up...fish!
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Natural Instincts...
urination is always a delight
an act of emptying and this time
when it is over
one feels the happiness of that
emptiness that i have been
telling you
not just the defecation even
but the vomiting of something
poisonous
this is our natural body
it excretes what kills it
what discomfort that has caused
its inconvenient moment
it excludes
segregates expels and
does not want to recall
trust your instincts
when you feel like vomiting it
by all means
vomit, vomit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Mutual Sharing Has Become Effective
What can be said to someone that hurts?
Someone accustomed,
To wallowing away in sludge and dirt...
With given alerts that warn.
What can be said,
To some who struggles?
Toiling needlessly as if a martyr,
Out to prove...
A shackling to a ball and chain,
Is one's mission.
And the one watching this,
Shouting in a voice that has become hoarse...
Becomes just as sickened!
And suggestions from others to quit,
Divorce from it...
Is unbearable to see!
Yet can not leave.
What can be said to someone that hurts?
Someone accustomed,
To wallowing away in sludge and dirt...
With given alerts that warn?
Nothing!
As long as they have someone there,
To witness their despair...
A mutual sharing has become effective,
In the process.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Safe Sex
If he and she do not know each other, and feel confident
they will not meet again; if he avoids affectionate words;
if she has grown insensible skin under skin; if they desire
only the tribute of another's cry; if they employ each other
as revenge on old lovers or families of entitlement and steel—
then there will be no betrayals, no letters returned unread,
no frenzy, no hurled words of permanent humiliation,
no trembling days, no vomit at midnight, no repeated
apparition of a body floating face-down at the pond's edge
poem by Donald Hall
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No Longer Adrift
No longer adrift, I have returned;
Returned to the place of my birth,
The origin of my love's declaration.
I have returned to the sweetfullness
Of timelessness, on nature's breast
Yearned and in mourning, as since scorned.
But I still have my faith, I still have my love,
For the voices they speak to me, through your words.
poem by Harriet James
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Do I Make You Proud?
I gather my hands in clasp like form
Forgive me Father,
I don't know anymore
I stand on a hill
Overlooking my soul
The dull ache has returned
And I can't give anymore
My inward thoughts
Try to find that narrow way
- Thou art my refuge,
- Will thou art be my escape?
And on sunny days
And winding highways
I dreamt all day long of a place I don't belong
But now I try desperately
to keep myself from sinking
Into the black mire and sticky clay,
To keep myself somewhere
Close to You
If you can believe that too…
poem by God Diaries
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I, Centaur (A Fantasy)
I, Centaur gallop on wind and fire
Across the meadows, across the mire
While demons in unearthly rage
Bellow from their burning stage
Curses on them above
“Let Lucifer take you below”
Saddened by some desire
We fall, but not on fire
Heaven help the fallen man
Here I am, I fall where I stand
Listen demons of the mist
I mock you with hand and fist
Come take your bounty fire
I wait for you across the mire
Hordes of hell now gather close
Listen to thy heavenly host
Listen to yon sweet harp play
Now listen to my sharp blade slay
Turn around - run
Cower once more underground
Back across meadow and mire
I, Centaur gallop on wind and fire
17 Nov 1978
poem by David Harris
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Who
(berry blue/rob bowkett)
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life
Theres no use crying, trying hard
What else can I do
But he becomes another man
Another case of fool
Why go on living and giving up
Much more than I receive
Its taken time to realize
But now Ive opened my eyes to you
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life
But who is right, who was wrong
When love just fades away
It couldve been me, it couldve been you
But now I never find out who
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain
Who washed away the colors in my life again
Who left my lover in the rain
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Better don't! ! !
face me tomorrow
when i have washed my face
and removed my make up
my face of lies
Face me tonight and
what you'll see probably never saw before
my face carving on marble
and you'll never comprehends
Face me today
and see my eyes of vulcan
look only to my body
empty and thanked for all this
I am unfilled and full of mist
keeping my silence for such sorrow
so face me the day after
maybe i have returned
poem by Mirna Morgan
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I'm Alive (That Was The Day My Dead Pet Returned To Save My Life)
I was just kicking down the street
And the sun was in my eyes
So I couldn't see the truck
That was sixty times my size
And just seconds off from splattering me
Let me tell you
I was so scared I couldn't move
Like my boots were full of glue
Then I felt a little tug
And I thought of good Old Blue
And he pulled me from that catastrophe
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive
He's alive
I'm alive
I was spitting in the canyon
Near the cliff up on the mountain
When an unexpected sneeze
Hung me in the breeze
At forty five degrees in the sky
Suddenly I felt something
Had me by the belt
And in between my praying
Swore I heard a stallion neighing
Was the ghost of my horse
And I cried, yes I cried
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive
He's alive
Hey, I'm alive
Things were getting gory
Got caught on territory
Belonging to the Crutches
In an alley in their clutches
Looking kind of dismal that night
Well the leader's name was Fats
Swinging broken baseball bats
Things got really frantic
Starting jumping in their panic
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
That was the day
My dead pet returned to save my life
I'm alive, I'm alive, real alive
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
That was the day my dead pet returned
To save my life
Hallucinating billions of rats
Lots of rats
I'm alive, I'm alive
He's alive, he's alive, he's alive
I'm alive, yeah
He's alive, he's alive
I'm alive, real alive
Alive, alive, alive
Alive, alive, alive, alive
Alive, alive, alive, alive
I'm alive
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You can't stop a pig from wallowing in the mud.
Guest
Guest came and returned back
I am unlucky not able to know
And slept.
Guest came and returned back
I lost all the beauty and richness
That I have kept.
Guest came and returned back.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A pig that is used to wallowing in the mud looks for a clean person to rub against.
Frustration
Sorry
a noble sentiment.
Never meaningless.
But incapable
of changing
what is.
Or has occurred.
Useless.
Sterile.
With out integrity sincerity.
Reconciliation fortitude.
Rebirth is stillborn.
Present repository
pain absorptive
wallowing insanity.
Sorry
a noble sentiment.
Never meaningless.
But incapable
of changing
what is now, dark disgusted, manifest.
If it remains
in splendor spite heightened
ignoble glorious dishonourable disapproval.
Glorified sufferance
hypothetical vengeance
self imposed isolation.
Seed genuine germinated
complete compassionate
heartfelt repentance.
Is this then treasured purified
trusted washed clean seed,
phoenix tender love; newly sin free sown?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Several weathers in spring
Several weathers in spring
~
a spring morning began
clouds broke for the sun
and returned to claim the sky
rain fell into a shower of hail
and the wind blew it all dry
the sun returned for a spell
and quickly went away
people spoke of sleet and snow
where it fell elsewhere
I had heard or was told
in the room, behind the window
nothing seemed to change
the temperature was modest
and the air still and dry
it was only the picture changing
dependent on the weather
before the light slowly left
and we returned to the night
poem by Matthew Holloway
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He’s past it
Werner is not unconscious
from drugs and liquor,
he’s past it
and a white ambulance
arrives with a flashing
red light.
He lies on the ground
in his own vomit
and urine
that lays yellow, orange and white
around him
and empty dark brown beer bottles
and a bottle of Johnny Walker
is broken
and the glass
stabs into his arm
and the man
on the label
walks past him
and blowflies
are everywhere on him
and a pot pipe
clings with vomit
to his mouth.
There’s an injection
with the needle
still in his vain
and his eyes are big and grey
and empty without life
while his right hand
clutches a guitar
as if he’s thinking
about the next chord
and there’s tiredness
and emptiness on his face.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Mae, Or Mai
Mai, the mountain of gold
and look at that monkey,
merely sitting on it
wallowing in poverty
for the past 100 years
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Forty-Six & 2
My shadow's
Shedding skin and
I've been picking
Scabs again.
I'm down
Digging through
My old muscles
Looking for a clue.
I've been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could've been.
I've been wallowing in my own confused
And insecure delusions
For a piece to cross me over
Or a word to guide me in.
I wanna feel the changes coming down.
I wanna know what I've been hiding in
My shadow.
Change is coming through my shadow.
My shadow's shedding skin
I've been picking
My scabs again.
I've been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could've been.
I've been wallowing in my own chaotic
And insecure delusions.
I wanna feel the change consume me
song performed by by Tool from Aenima
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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