RealGM WizBoard Poetry, Lyrics, & similar Shenanigans Thread

[doclinkin]

the muse of a yet-to-be daughter (coming soon to a lifetime near you):

internal wiggle, parasite symbiotic
evitable result of the consummate erotic,
internal spelunker steeped in divinity
in constant conversation with two thirds of the trinity
ambassador of angels, irreducibly sublime
though mundane (multiplied > six billion times)
unique inasmuch as she's utterly mine
an essential reduction of genetical lines
impossibly snarled and now entertwined
in a delicate braid of potential perfection
curled up like a cruller or some fragile confection
still gently baking long time in low temps
while I restlessly fidget in the poised present tense
and you gurgle and float in the darkness from whence
all men matriculate, all women descend
from the first 'once upon' to the final 'the end'
still waiting on my happily after
and a probable soundtrack of continual laughter
give or take a few tears here and there

[doclinkin]

Doc's drops:

indubitably: you're entreated not to stop
the knob of the speaker throbs and it pops
as heads bob and nod in utter accord
like souvenir kitsch on the dash of a Ford
skipping hopscotch on potholes:
all higglety piggelty
we been rocking and swaying since the 'hip to the hippetty...'

[doclinkin]

Drunken poem on Friday night/Saturday morning when I was waiting on Metro in Bethesda.

Sweat drips down my brow.
Bald as I am forward I plow.
Love me or heate me here I stand.
Love the love not the demand.
Please take this for what it is,
Not at what is the wish.

I get so blinded in those metro lights
I stopped taking it home, after game nights.
Wish alcohol came .... in time-release
and would just let me go off to do whatever I please.
But sometimes I get off at the same stop as yours,
too bad payback’s a bitch, and she seldom demurs.

Okay play within the theme then. Metro. Or drinking. Or both. I'll go rhymeless on this Metrotextual maundering.

There is a thing, a quality of being
in the subterranean, so deep
like standing in the vertebral column of some impossibly huge pleistocene sea beast
we shuffling parasites, shuttling, rustling, swirling in brownian motion
in overgrowth then swell as the peak hours pass
and we are the fungal growth in it's nerve core, bound to devour it's brain
to doom it to numb hopeless extinction

there is a quality in these tubes
of a hive, honeycombed with dust cavities
with empty tombs of some
a zero-gee satellite core
of long dead hypersleep chambers
now emptied of their restless cargo
and this world soon to succumb to an apocalypse of
astronauts returning home, carrying some infection of vampirism

These tunnels are too clean
these rails are too quiet
this examiner has been discarded
and it just may blow away with the track wind
when the next train arrives.

I reach no conclusion
no certainty
except to say, there is certain disaster here
in the creeping plague of yuppies
that substitute for lifeblood
in the dry veins of this mummified
corpse of a once elegant sprawl

And our ballteam once had a daschsund
fxcking bastards...

-W_T_A

[doclinkin]

I'll probably change the title now and again. So long as I keep a link in page one of the HOF thread.

[Plotintelli]

trash talkin wigglin and walking
dribbling between my shoes.
waiting for the fast lane rolling like a steel train,
just keep it hummin’
to create a shiny new refrain.
‘We up We up' … what’s up ya stanky waste truck,
D-up D-up watchin your splatter get mop’d up,
puddlin like on a rest stop floor.
well you can scream shxt, but I meanin it:
… Santa's slinging his bag
with presents for the peasants
and sass for your crash.
…. It’s time to slamma my jamma home.

[Scabs304]

Hot of the fingertips



SPIRAL STAIRCASE

Clear my mind of all these things.

I can't unravel any of these strings.

Save me from what I've become.

Give me some relief I really need some.

I don't know where I go.

I can't tell myself no.

Shut up and don't listen.

Cleary I have something missing.

The life I will never know.

I'm just trying to catch the flow.

You act like I have rhyme or reason.

There is no change this season.

Where am I when I am here?

Clearly I'm ill equipped with gear.

Stear me and drive me forward.

I don't know what toward.

My mind will come to blows.

You wouldn't know without this prose.

No one sees how I struggle.

Cause the pain I much rather smuggle.

I could waste away any minute.

When I'm done I'm never finished.

.

[Plotintelli]

Out with some old:

Scratching at the walls
the flames burning higher still,
door slammed on my youth

nymph beckons below
one last window smashing out,
I tumble again

desire never bows
until the last curtain call
when truth applauds hope.



In with some new:

“ Invade”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NPIXeNER6As

lyrics © doclinkin
music: iphoned in w/ LaDiDa

Hope you get a good laugh out of it.
Not really my style…
but the machine decided different.
+ Big Congrats on your fam’s shiny new present. !

[Plotintelli]

x'd

[doclinkin]

Heh, nah I like it just fine. Now if you were making money off it you'd have to cut me a slice and give songwriting cred, but as a guy singing into a phone it's pretty funny. Makes me wish I'd edited so the cadence would scan right though.

Suggests a new challenge: poetry as song lyrics. Hmmn. I'll have to see what I can scribble with that as an endpoint.

[Plotintelli]

Yeah, I was feeling the same way about the cadence half way through,
but it's all in good fun, or not worth doing.
Scribble away. It's definitely a natural fit.

I'm playing in a band that may be a bit too industrial for your taste
but we've done shxt from PBS kidshows to Wash. Shakespeare Co. theatre
sound designs so it's just possible we can meet up somewhere you like.
Shoot me an email @yahoo.com and let's continue the conversation.

[MJG]

I am still happy
That Etan Thomas is gone
That guy annoyed me

[doclinkin]

Invade your mainframe Multiply like a virus,
ink up your reeds scribble on your papyrus,
scramble over your sides like somalian pirates,
unscrew your faceplate and tug out the wiress -- [sic]
you'll find i'm inside you, relentless unstoppable,
raw feed indeed, unedited uncroppable
bleed out the edges of the image and continue,
carte blanche ambassador on the list at all venues,
get direct from the chef without checking the menu,
a story with no conclusion don't press continue,
I echo, reverberate, unforgotten within you
a constant refrain,
indelible stain
watch me fingerpaint on the walls of your brain,
dadoo dee dee-- got to hear that shxt again...
dada doo dee dee -- and again and again
dada doo dee dee and again and again...
and again and again and again and again...

==========
re-packed for cadence

[doclinkin]

From teh LeDouchebag thread:

Le BJ's skin gleams
"That's not his sweat," said the ref,
His long tongue dripping

LeBJ's so fast and so strong, he's like a charging bull. It is kind of funny, calling fouls on the china shop.

LeBJ inhaled
The penumbra of the charge
And got two FTs

I'm taking my refs
and my flesh wounds to south beach
such is my birth rite

"Those ain't no tears, nah--
I just play ball so hard I
Sweat from my eyeballs"

Those locker room tears
must surely have come when a
laundry boy fouled him.

[doclinkin]

Placeholder for later poem: Reflections on an old pal seen after 20 years.

Past life regression
like memory suppressed and
then hitting refresh and
unpixelates swiftly: resolves in the frame
the same old dude, face matches the name
strides carward with the old gremlin grin
same sorta way that it was --- way back then
in that old new york frenzy of clatter and din
spent some time to invent some original sin
thought to patent for profit without selling our skin
by the yard.

steps the car
with the half dap shoulder clap inane sorta 'hot damn!"
mohterfxcker you... you mother, holy shxt man
too long -- true, true -- that shxt it has been
since klem and the chiller and the old way it was then
before exodus hence
and wither and wander
and absence makes naught but the mind tend to ponder
what the heart most often forgets if you lets it

Like veterans man, an old soldier gets it
caged animal once, now takes it out and he pets it
the old stresses tamed, trained to trot on a leash
when once was lycanthropic anthromorphic sort of beast
in the ribcage perhaps that creatures heart it still beats
but a sedentary soul sorta sates it
satiates it, sedates it,
perhaps allows through repetition to develop its patience
lets it walk its ten paces inside the cage,
past chapter revised now, its alright turn the page
dude its been what they call a dog's age

(another time alter if I get the minutes, consider it printed if never quite finished)

[ErikChowbay023]

The night sky is laughing stars, while a creamy moon drips dreamlight through my window.

[ErikChowbay023]

He's lost in himself, finding himself in others, forgetting of other's finding him worth himself within himself.

[ErikChowbay023]

Evades to elude deluded to conclude truth: the absence of you Recedes like the tide laws blank do reside, fleeting forms to fill, waiting vanity as pride love is blind if not one-eyed blurry whispered sighs Pristine slate remiss captured in time, pictured this developed as is

[doclinkin]

Erse bryber bard, vile beggar with thy brats,
C*ntbitten crawdon Kennedy, coward of kind,
Ill-fared and dried as Danesman on the ratts, shriveled
Like as the gledds had on thy gules snout dined, the birds
Mismade monster, each moon out of thy mind,
Renounce, ribald, thy rhyming, thou but roys.
Thy treacher tongue has ta’en a Highland strynd
A Lowland arse would make a better noise.

From the flyting of Dumbar and Montgomery. Here. A flyting being a contest of insulting rhyme, well appreciated among drunken scottish poets, as well as Norsemen. (Loki railed against the gods of Olympus in rhyme in one tale). Good to remember that lyrical battling never began and ended with Tupac and Biggie nor Nas and Jay-Z or the real Roxanne or whatever.

[doclinkin]

By the way, evocative stuff E.'bay. Moody.

[doclinkin]

Bump for Monte's cut-ups and found poetry:

The Tao of EG?

I think Grunfeld was the leak to Pete.
When has Vescey ever broken a story?
I think Ernie saw a chance to void
Gilbert's contract, a mistake that blew up.
I understand he can be a snake.
He's less about principle than survival.
He understands his bacon bits
are dangling over the fire right now,
with one mandate: build a dynasty
around a young core.
If he sticks to the plan laid out by Ted
then he may have a chance to keep his job.
Good job so far. Be even better.

Now someone's got to find the WizNasty re-working.