This is a poem that I recently had to write for class that I thought turned out really well and I felt like sharing

why i am like
the proverbial dust
that just can’t settle
by
leon whyte


last night I had a dream
and Kerouac was in it
he whispered, you and me
are one and the same

he told me that
this land was a body
the highways it’s veins
and we were cocaine
releasing dopamine
through the nervous system

we became libertines
traveling through
bat country,
our burroughesque hell
and our transient flight of fancy

we raced against reality
and time, against poverty
and our own impending insanity
but mostly we just raced

because for us cool cats
life is just a
benzedrine rush.
blurred faces
strange beds
and stranger women

we clung to the road
like an orphaned child
clings to his one
tattered picture of
his biological
mother

after awhile
each new trip became
the junkies latest fix
at first sublime
but never enough,
leaving the body thin
and the soul scarred

if home is where
the heart is
then what becomes
of the homeless?


Anyways I thought it would be cool if any one has written stuff if they posted it here just to see what type of stuff the Obnish are capable of creating.

*runs and hides*

i think an old poetry thread is somewhere on here. or was that back in the cmj era?

cue billy g

In answer to the question posed by the thread title:


Apparently not.

Yes.

No, I won't post anything.

yes.
no, i won't post anything.

I write news copy and ad copy.

But I suppose I could arrange it in stanzas and whatnot.

I'm pretty sure Todd can help you get this published.

catswilleatyou comes to Maine adult-contemporary radio...

Let's take a few jugs of wine down to the river. We'll get naked, and drunk, and read Song of Myself aloud. Dancing is always encouraged.

poetry
is when
my boss asks me
"how are you doing?"
and i say
"i'm fantastic"
and then she replies
"oh my, why?"
so i mumble
"wouldn't you like to know cuntface?"
she says "what?"
so i repeat
"this is like my third cup of coffee"

On Saturday
I went to the Amish
Market
With my uncle
I saw a man
A little older
Than catswilleatyou
Still with the beard
Though
& I wanted to ask
Him to say
"Happy Kwanzaa"
But I
Refrained

LOLZ

i ain't even an amish anymore you guys
job interview thing tommorrow
of course i documented -> http://www.catswilleatyou.com/videos/shaving.html

i dont know what benzedrine is
but i can guess
i think this part is the best

The Danger of Obner

Can'n bitch slaps all who whistle - that's his mantra
Paul Weller will spit on any master of tantra

Promethium, when drunk, will beat in your mug
While Hegel will gladly off your friend's pug

Radcliffe lobs insults that make hipsters sob
Opa will threaten to slob on your knob (if baby-powdered)

Red will gladly smash your nuts in with blocs
While Dana will mock everyone who wears crocs

Dumpjack will drink all of your cheap elixir
As gar steals your sandwich and secretly dicks'er


this could go on but im tired

Only once.

http://www.obner.org/bb/viewtopic.php?t=9256

THEY SEEMED FRIENDLY ENOUGH

Spotted by Billie the Kid
in fall, 1868; he
the most famous example.
Naturally he chose
to keep quiet,
told no one
except a trusted madam
with an advanced case
of the pox.
As she told it
the sky lit up
like a chandelier
and three newt-necked
little men waved and
beckoned. Already spooked
by lawmen and
bounty hunters
Billy kept riding.

And Grady Kinkaid
up in Dawson City, swore
he'd made conversation
with a posse of the little fellers
on a cattle drive
across the Texas panhandle.
They didn't have much to say
and he couldn't
understand a word of it, but
they seemed friendly enough.

There exist scores of similar
accounts
found mostly
in the south-western states,
all of them devoid
of trauma
on the part
of the teller.

No tales of abduction,
no brain-drained cattle,
and in the 1870's,
apparently,
aliens
had not yet
discovered
the
anal probe.

July 15, 2004

No bandage can cover my scars
It's hard living a life behind invisible bars
Searching for the face of God
I'm only inspired by the poems of Nas
Because the truth has carved my life's patterns
The reality of pain, and the joy of laughter
My hopes and dreams shattered
by the miscalculation of my own situation
It's difficult to keep my nerves patient
Facing the forecast of fears
that none of my peers have ever been faced with
I wanna reach the top floor, but I'm stuck in the basement
With not enough juice to burst through
the chains that have shackled my brain
It seems my dreams have carried me to a separate peace
apart from reality
Society is allowing me to grow into the man I'm destined to become
But how can I move when my entire skeleton is numb?
Numb from the obstacles that I've been given
Suddenly the bars connect to walls
and I find myself contained inside life's prison

that slow mo spin around made me wince

this thread will surely end in tears for someone

Tears of laughter.