|liverless nun and the metaphysical conceit and the yellowish sun.
Butchered the nun, ate liver;
under querulous sun.
A frosty brow frowns
and falls onto the metaphysical
yes, the sun.
it groans like a tambourine
and shits out daylight.
frosty brow, though,
thinks "what the " "" !"
and sort of writhes like a waitress
on the top of her little order-book.
and the sun
is kind of yellow
like a pigeon is kind of pigeon-ish.
22 Apr 08
Rated 10 (9) by 2 users.
Active (2): 10, 10
Inactive (4): 6, 6, 10, 10
(define the words in this poem)
(50 more poems by this author)
(4 users consider this poem a favorite)
Add A Comment:
I Love You.
Why are you using a semi colon end of line 1? It seems out of place there. Lines 9-12 don't seem to fit at all, especially the 'fucking fuck' (are you a writer? Surely you can find other words that work!) and 'sort of writhes." I've never seen a waitress writhes over her order book.
The sun is kind of yellow, I think. Are you being non-committal on purpose for some reason?
This reads as if you wanted to post something, jotted down some bizarre thoughts and called it a poem. Did you have an intention in the writing or just stream of words?
The first line is for shock value? I work with nuns and didn't care for it. There are some good lines here, but unfortunately, they don't connect. Are these some random thoughts put to paper (or computer screen?)
I'm sorry that I sound so harsh when I comment. I have to do it on the run, between tasks at work, and there isn't always time to be sweet. I'm sorry, I really do wonder what you have in mind. I'm trying to expand my poetry reading, to try to understand more avant-garde kinds of things so help me out if you can, okay?
I really dig L's 6-8. There's something in those lines that's beautiful somehow. I don't care too much for L10 though. All that profanity just throws what little poetic hope there is for this poem out the window. I'm not big on poetry and profanity unless the profanity has a purpose and can lend to the poem somehow.
So weird and awesome.
ok, kids, is that better then?
Just try and think of it as being on the surface, that there is only the surface. Hmm, shouldn't be too hard now should it?
hmm, tricky one, trickster.
you got my brow frowning and it's
on the floor now, metaphysically.
thanks for your poetry, by the way.
Why not "frosty brow thinks, sort of writhes like a waitress...etc..." I just think the whole "friggin' frack" robs the poem of its true abstractedness and funky beauty. :-)
yeah, i think so.
If I'm trying to think then my head can't be empty.
I like "fucking fuck", leave it be. :)
i think this poem escaped from the zoo.