Kangaroo love story -Ryan the Writter

terrible is the mind that drives
into oncoming traffic, ruining lives
until, by fate, something, someone
brings my life some meaning, and maybe some fun

I created a visual for those who can't read
It should be obvious which cartoon you need
by looking at the clouds facial expressions they show,
the ideal place in life you need to go

An Unsettling Poem - by Jon

Here I sit before electric light
Baffled and muddled upon this sight
A note of history recorded on my bar
This set my mood and emotion off par
For now I realize, crinkled and tossed
Evidence of self abuse, and something lost
But if incidentally the course and intention untrue
A splash or sputter upon my keyboard it flew
One click on the mouse, one stroke of a key
My flesh now defiled, my spirit debris
And this becomes my realization today:
There is a price when my roommates use my computer to play.

My eyes burn like mamas din din -- Brody the Writter

My eyes are burning like mamas dinner
ouch

Who will stop this madness, who will pee on the jellyfish sting
Who will pay the parking stall attendant so we can all go home
Who will scoot over on the couch so I can sit down

There's a Baby carriage rolling down the street
I would stop it, but my eyes are burning and I can't see very well

Dear Poetry Gods -- Brody the Writter

In my organized community, there has entered a women. She is a poet and knows it. People pay her for her poetriess forming of words. I being the curious cat am interested. How hard is it to write a good poem. The answer: quite.

I am by no means a poet in any fathomable way. I am a writter of words; however, by this I feel I should at least attempt to construct a poem.


I leave for you "The Poem of Someone Telling Me About You, And Me Telling You What They Said":


Someone told me
That you lived your life on the edge of a knife
Like the cats screaming at the dogs between them
Not a concern or a cry
to give
to anyone
to ever live

Your a soul bleeder with his hat on the rack
A life taker taken the shirt off my back
A misinforming informant with your news come a storming
Wearing down your nails just trying to bore us

Bad news don't break you
But good news don't make you
It's a common misconception that feeds your infection
A common person searching for ressurection
And you've got it all,
and your all is their nothing at all
A warm blanket to soak up the water

pebbles and rocks to drag you down
to the bottom of the paragprah
the bottom of your head
to rest a little longer
to the bottom of your raspberry fruit stand

Plumes and plods to connect the dots
Of flying tree rabbits under swirling banana clouds
Filled with sweat ice creamy treats
Filled with hard hitting hammers and straight striking bows
And arrows to strike straight the apples among monkeys têtes
pillow lungs and ringy dungs, with bleeps and bloops among you
Wippy dipp do goes the marching sight of steel swords and knights

The Lonely Butterfly Hunter

As if the flowers weren't flickering between the flaps of butterfly wings. As if there wasn't time to document the colour pattern. The lonely butterfly hunter removed his rusted white butterfly net in twitching eagerness to catch some ignorant little butterflies. Butterflies.
(Swoosh!)
One swipe of the net and one disappointing miss.
Pathetic butterfly hunter.
(Swoosh!) Pathetic.
(Swoosh!)
Butterfly hunting is difficult and it doesn't help that the butterflies are ignorant.
(Swoosh!)
Yes. The Butterfly hunter all at once stoled three little butterflies from the freedom of their Butter Flight. Three Pathetic Butterflies.
ButterFly hunting is difficult and it helps to use a large lightweight butterfly net.

The butterfly hunter took his butterflies home. He put them in his mixing drum and stirred them into a pulp. It was only natural that he put two slices of bread in the toaster. Then he spread the fly butter on the toast and topped it off with raspberry freezer jam. The spoils of a successful lonely butterfly hunter.

Over - ryan

the great sands of time
blow with furious intent
this blog is dying

Wanky Blankets -- Brody the Writter

Wanky Blankets
Wanky Blankets
Wanky Blankets

There are Three Wanky Blankets
There are Three
The Wankier The Better

A rock
Another rock
Two rocks spotted
More rocks must exist, but where?

Wanky Blankets and rocks and stuff with things

a shepherds dream is of the masses
ill drink to the one who is thy neighbor
He goes with the crowd
He eats the masses
I am dead

haiku -ryan

sitting in my chair
I wait watching the world pass
procrastinating