CREATIVE LITTER

CREATIVE LITTER

I have to blow through
A lot of fuses, and
Refuse a lot, too,
Burning through
Lots of refuse,
Blowing, burning,
And refusing through
That, too,
Then re-selecting, reworking,
And re-tooling
Even previously-refused
Piled-high refuse,
Re-tooling THAT and
Refusing It YET again,
Hoping to eventually
End up with
Any Old Garbage
I can first refuse
Then, ultimately,
If I’m very lucky,
Dumpster Dive
And pick over
A whole landfill of
Scraps Spaghetti Confetti
To discover a tiny little bit
Of infinitesimal filthy dirt,
Soiled then Re-Spoiled
Enough to actually
Be of Any Use.

It’s either that or throw it on
The Giant Heap of Rotting Trash
And let it decompost naturally.


[PS. Where do you think
I found YOU?]

What Do You Call It? Too Old to Know


What do you call Long-term Loyalty
In the Absence of
Friendship and Availability?

I call it:
You may Like me with gestures of kindness,
But your mental distance drains them of Weight,
Turning your Followship into
An empty, hollowed ship
Which doesn’t “float my boat”
Or buoyantly “float in seas”
Only sighted with tools
Designed to scope distantly.

These tools aren’t available to Me,
And neither are You, apparently.
I don’t know why I’m always the
Last One to See such seemingly
Simple and truthful Things.

At least I won’t be haunted by
THE GHOST OF WHAT WAS,
Because The Ghost Who’s Most
Likely to Pursue and Eat
The Scraped and Burnt
Piece of Toast who looks a lot like Me

Is clearly Impressed Easily
By lousy cooking skills and
Solely Verbally-Skillful Attributes;
The latter attributes are the
Only Ones which describe my virtues
Even semi-quasi-authentically.

YouTrue Crime Poetry, Exhibit 41

Guilty of showing off my quick digestion skills again…

A CAUTIONARY TALE: DON’T MARRY ASSHOLES IN DISGUISE

(They have some convincing costumes,
so please don’t start “Poet-Blaming”
for “Victim-Shaming”;
I wrote a poem to honor her,
Which honors more than empty words)

I’m so sorry The Freshest Rosie
Was Bound and Married into a useless posey,
But because she poked so slowly,
She identified her murderer,
And indexed Death’s
Most Pointed Finger
At Her useless excuse of
A lame-ass husband;
He poisoned her with cyanide
And never cared about
The Cars Nearby,
Driving on Ways both
Motored and High.

He might’ve been a Husband, true,
But in my always-humble opinion,
Yazeed’s Phylum is more
Rat than Human.
This isn’t fact nor scarcely truth,
Though I’ll be glad to school
Anyone with less than
Half a clue.
My lessons are so free,
You’ll think they’re a
Dream-come-true.
In fact versus fiction
(Yes, I’m aware of the
Inherent contradiction),
I can only offer a special
Priced at so low a Price
And at CooCoo Crazy Costs
Because I actually talk This Way.
Oh, how it drives me so insane!
But what can I do?
And what can I say?
It Always comes out Rhyming
Any and Either way,
Every nano-momentary passing
Of Every Single Day.

Which Antidote might you advise
To under-dose Demise-by-Rhyme?

THE SONG OF POLITICS IN THE AIR

THE SONG OF POLITICS IN THE AIR

I thought jokes were only ever
Thought, Written, Told, or Spoken
By an Individual-Sized Person,
One accountable for its own voice.

However, Politicians have taught us
We don’t have to Make A Choice!
All of these things can occur in unison,
As well as simultaneously,
More “cacophonous” than “sonorous” or “harmonious”,
If You ask Me, or
According to the Notes I read.
I don’t know,
YOU tell ME:
Do they also sound
Too Stale to Sail
From YOUR Slide on
This Slippery Scale?

Or Perhaps the Work of Stephen King?

Or Perhaps the Work of Stephen King?

This is what happens when you
“Do Poems All Day;”
You come up with Snappy Titles
Which say Your Poem in a different way,
Often removing its jumpy taste
And baking a Better Poem in the end.
THEN, The Poem Mix upon which I depend
Ends up Baking a Better Poem in the end,
And once a Better Poem Mix is found,
And A Better Poem is made,
THIS will be The New Poem Mix
I will choice to bake.

Apologies, Metaphor Her Friends, & More:

THE DEDICATION

THE DEDICATION:
Metaphor is The Meta
I’ve Literally Spent
MY ENTIRE LIFE
Searching Phor;
It was a Quest I was
Glad to undertake
On behalf of Poetry’s sake.

THE TITLE:

MY GRAND TRIBUTE TO METAPHOR
THROUGH THE SIMILE OF
Apologies, Metaphor, & So Much More
(Not than anyone’s ever apologized to me before….).

THE PREFACE AND SYNOPSIS
(Longer than The Execution]

An Indirectly Literal AND
Disproportionate Piece of My
Metaphoric (hypothetic?)
Forgiveness
(I Refuse to grant the Literal kind,
Since I’ve Never been Guilty of Nothing);


But if your Words
Of Sorrow are stale,
No Slice of the Whole
Can stuff Me or THEM
Full of the Stuff of Life!

Hopefully you won’t be overly-startled by my Oxymorons,
Bored by my Clichés,
Nor find my Allegories too obtuse to

Disgrace you and deface you,
Stimulate and Titillate you
Until you Crescendo With
An Overflow of Innuendo
At the Highest Of
All Heights
Ever Achieved
In Your Entire Life.

So why not stick around?
We may go to Ground,
But we can certainly
GIVE IT A Try, and
GIVE IT A Fly,
So, Let’s apply!
It’s a job I can do;
Can You?

THE EXECUTION:

FIRST:
It takes an Adult to apologize,
So you’re already taller than I imagined.

NEXT:
We’re all guilty of limiting our
Fields of vision
To better scope sizes and shapes
In this shadowy cipher of space.

LASTLY:
Please don’t rain on
Anyone Else’s Parade,
Especially mine.
Not today.

And regarding your forecast?
Are you willing to remain at least
Partially Sunny?
I’ll taste you some sweet
If you’ll shine me some sunny.

In fact, if you’ll spare me
A “brief interlude of rain”.
I’ll let you call me “Mama,” sonny.

THE COGNAC:
How was it for you?
Frankly, it was
Way too much like work
To work much like on me.

Three-4-One

Dear Businesses I have Patronized Regularly:

If I hear Another Person Yelling me
They’re “Bringing me Something-for-Free,”
While charging a Monthly Subscription Fee,
And subjecting me to
[Frequent], [[Repeated]]
!Constant Endorsements!,
I shall SCREAM
And Promise To Flee;
Conduct My Business
Somewhere Else.

MY ONLY THREAT?
Bare Finania££y.
MY IMPACT? Nano-Minu$-0ne.
But Most Mucho-Micros I Know In Person,
At least on The Individual’s Basis,
Are the Kind of Folks who are SO MUCHO,
They Mucho ALL Their Micro Group-Impact into A MACROECONOMIC One;
So Please Remember and Forget Me Not.

Signed,
A Merry Band of Nobody
Who won’t Remind You of Her Age,
Just her Loyal Patronage.


A VACANT WASTE OF TIME

WASTING TIME WRITING

This compulsion to “Document My Life While I Still Have The Time
Is a Giant Waste of Time.
People have both Lives and Time, and They can’t waste Either Reading piles of documentation About How I LIVED and SPENT Mine.
Frankly, it’s boring and they don’t have the Time or the Mental Space to waste.
And it’s not as if THEY’RE wasting MINE!
So I’m not Surprised to Discover the Fool in Me Descry
“Writing’s actually NOT
A vacant waste of time.
Nor an empty waste of space!”

And I know it sounds hateful,
But I’m so Grateful
We’re all so Wasteful!
So let’s remain Thankful
We’re a band of “Empty-Vacuum-Burn-Right-Through-You–Despised-and-Wasted”
Merriest of All Time Wasteful Wastrels!

REGARDING HUMOR


REGARDING HUMOR

If You’re Sanguine, you’re good at it; you improvise and socialize.

If You’re Choleric, you’re okay: you’re simply getting childhood trauma off your chest. Since your barbs are so sharp, don’t overdo the snark.

If You’re Phlegmatic, you’re Where Boring starts and Insipid ends, but you’re a most agreeable audience. You perform Excellent Impersonations of Yourself.

If You’re Melancholic, you suck at it; you’re dour and dire and your delivery is catatonically dry.

As for me, I’ve never been a 25% Chance of Anything!

Dirty Confessions of A Useless Shit (💩)


I wish I didn’t give a shit about Other People’s shit.
I know This makes me sound like
An Utter Shit,
But I doubt I’m the first turd you’ve heard of who feels this way,
Especially since being a shit on any given day is the shittiest game a shit should NEVER be forced to play.
Especially the Old Shits.
They concern me almost as much as I Concern Myself!
Here’s the Juicy Shit:
Half the time, I don’t give a nano-shit,
The other half, a MEGA-SHIT!!
Can you believe I do that shit?
When you think about IT,
IT’S Some Scary Shit!

Shit, look at the tine!
I suggest we shit this down and refocus on Useless Shit.
What do you say? Is your mind in the Gutter?
Glad to hear it! Meet you there in 20?
That should give plenty of time
To Get Down and Get On with It.

WHAT TO CALL IT?


SOUNDS LIKE NOISE TO ME

Does it cloy and annoy
When you hear my Voice,
Converting it to Noise?

I ask because YOU equally annoy
With the cloying sound of YOUR voice.

So let’s stay silent,
Call a Truce,
Call a Draw,
Call it a Wash.
Call it Quits,
Call it Whatever,
Just Admit to it

And YOU Call it OFF”!

DATED BUT STILL FLEXIBLE


DATED BUT STILL FLEXIBLE

I can clash with the clatter of consonance and alliterate with the sonorous songs of sibilance.

I can sky myself high in metaphor and literally drop to my knees to kiss the ground.

I bilabial to enfold myself within the warmth of a well-fleshed innuendo as well as be blatantly direct.

So yes, I’m still Flexible.

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

APOLOGY FREQUENCY MATTERS:
BETTER LATE THAN NEVER?

98% – NEVER

It never occurred,
It never mattered;
Your Insignificance isn’t
A Significant Matter.


2% – OLD & COLD

It no longer matters.
We can’t fix the matter.
It once was ALL that mattered
[To me, at least],
But the whole matter
Exited my Gray Matter, so
I won’t weigh the matter.

Businessman Wanted: Blatant Innuendo ♨️

Is it blatant #innuendo again? Or is it the #delivery that’s so blatant?

BUSINESSMAN WANTED

One who does business properly; who conducts business properly.
That’s the kind of businessman I’m looking for.
He needs to have a sharp business acumen, not to mention a big one;
As well as be highly-skilled in business skills,
In all matters of getting down to business and conducting business.