Oh peanut butter, oh peanut butter
Why must you cause my words to stutter?
When lacking jelly or toast with butter
I long to abandon you for another
And without milk, your flavor stutters
BlockThe words aren't coming
The flow has stopped
The spindle runs thin
The flowers cropped
The letters dropped
Hand on her chest
Wishing she wasn't
Entwined in this mess
The honored guest
To maritial ties
All too late
To bid her goodbyes
StructureI'm not a fan of structured poems, at least
When they're imposed on me, like subtle frames
Of written code which keep each line the same
The trapped voice a bird that yearns for release
Allow the flame to grow, please free the beast
Don't snuff the candle's fickle, frozen flame
Set meter and rhyming, you are to blame
Rendering my creativity deceased
But for you, I'll accept the forms you wish
Consume, swallow words with a grain of salt
My heart, wrapped in paper, I'll give to you
In a stanza, a line, or a swish
Of reason, confining words to a fault
Just don't think you're the only one who knew
Lucid - WIPI'm lying here on a table. Nothing but the sweet hum of machinery, both around and within me. They'd mentioned something beforehand about my hearing. Something about sensitivity that wouldn't hurt in higher decibel ranges.
My hand twitches to touch my new ear, but it remains limp by my side, paralyzed. I think they'd mentioned something about the risk of muscle atrophy in low-gravity environments. Something like that.
I'm hearing my heartbeat now. It's strange to hear such an organic sound in this sterile environment. If I cut myself, would I still bleed red? Or had they replaced my blood with a substitute? Was it still red, or another, foreign color?
With a slight click, a bright light switches itself on from overhead, illuminating the capillaries in my eyelids. Still red...
Squinting, I try to turn my head, but my neck won't obey me. As if reading my though
Ghost of the PastEver been haunted by a ghost of the past? You know, those recurring memories of a time long gone, the ones that float uninvited into your head? Maybe it's triggered by a memento, or a visit to a sacred place, or the mere mention of a name. The moment relives itself in your head, then disappears, leaving you with only a scrap of cloth or a pressed flower to remember.
But what if these ghosts aren't really ghosts at all? What if they're still living, breathing creatures? Maybe you never see them anymore. Maybe you live too far apart. Maybe you see each other on a daily basis, but you both pretend the other no longer exists. Maybe you're enemies, or even friends. Either way, you've both made an unspoken pact to never speak of the moment again. In a vain attempt to smother the memory alive, you flood it with fresh oxygen, fresh consciousness upon which it can feed.
Is it better this way?
PerfectionistsA writer in a group of artists
Is hardly a place to fit in
In a glance, one can admire a picture
But writing takes much longer to sink in
We've all learned our native language
But not all have picked up a pen
Yet sketching is somehow extraordinary
Simply because not everyone can
We can both stare at a vase for hours
Yet come up with an empty slate
And our details of realization
Rarely come sooner, but late
For despite our apparent differences
Our goal is the same: to learn
And only by way of practice
Can this mastery of skill be earned
LifewishA mourning dove hobbled across the road
And I wondered, "Why didn't it fly?"
Does the pleasure of crossing the pavement by foot
Outweigh the risks if it should die?
Maybe the bird remains ignorant
That a passing car could lead to his demise
Unsure of the dangers in the world of man
With no sense of fear in his eyes
Or perhaps he is simply cocky
As he struts across the road in pride
Knowing all vehicles will stop their procession
In order to let him pass by
But I, for one, think he enjoys it
In the way a human walks instead of drives
So the next time you see a bird walking
Maybe you should be the one he walks beside
ScrapVersion 2.0 is ready
The beta is complete
Its release date is tomorrow
And I've heard it will be l33t
This one's fully moddable
No need to deal with flaws
And it's piracy-protected
So you can't break the law
The calendar is built-in
You'll remember all your dates
And the autopilot feature
Will ensure you won't be late
It's compatible with everything
The computer, the tv, the phone
And it'll download all your contacts
So you'll never feel alone
But if you choose not to upgrade
You'll be alienated, at best
Your communication will be archaic
And your accuracy, second-guessed
This isn't really an option
Conform now, or be scrapped
Humanity is overrated
Believe me, the entire brain's been mapped
We've discovered all your problems
And fixed them, one by one
Even those pesky emotions
We've sparked the revolution
NephelaeToday is a sad day.
Why is the sun shining?
I thought the sky was supposed to reflect emotion
Like a heaven-mirror
Answering the prayers of the living
In the form of precipitation
Are the clouds our gods now?
They are notably absent
In this clear sky
An expanse filled with light
Instructions to be a poet.Instructions to be a poet
First of all don't get in a whirl
rhyming is a criminal mastermind
Don't fret if rhymes shoot you down
take revenge and write a line
Reading your rhymes is worse to come
take your time and sing the words
as if you been singing from three.
Number two is here
with one of two statements
Saying you can write care free words
as long as it matters to you
and yes words make up lines
for you to rhyme
so never the less it works
Step three towards a soup poet
or maybe a super poet
is to check the words
before you share
"Tinny Die's" from "Tinny Pie's"
in a family friendly poem of such
Finally four has arrived
and lets keep this one formal
let your creativity grab hold of you
and begin to write
You'll surprise yourself
how much of a rhyming champ you are
so don't hassle
everybody knows their a poet
But for some rather keep anonymous.
God Wants Full Custody!Billboard in front
of the roadside church,
forcefully pulls your eyes back
for a second glance.
I suppose they could say
it's 'Mission Accomplished'
for whoever came up with
such an effective sloganeering blast.
Because the sign says:
'God Wants Full Custody,
not weekend visits!'-
Although I certainly get the point,
I wonder if the slogan-writer
realises just how creepy
that sentiment really is?
...God wants your children,
'cause He's a Father spurned,
so take your medicine, you little shit-
you know your punishment's well-earned!
And when He lets you out of the dark basement,
He's got some Flavor-Aid for you to drink-
so don't ask Him no stupid questions:
Father will always tell you what to think!
After all, He created you,
and He demands obedience,
and more than this,
He requires perfection;
even though humans are flawed
and prone to catastrophic failure,
He can end you in an instant
at His sole discretion.
Sure, you've got free choice...
Free choice to ex
Sharing LoveI want to express things
But the words are all wrong
If you'll be the lyrics
Can I be your song?
Could you be the reason
I feel like a winner
If I get the food in
Can you cook us both dinner?
I know I can’t swim
As I’m frightened I’ll drown
But if you were my lifeguard
I'd never let you down
It’s a wonderful feeling
To know we both care
So when it comes to our love
I think we should share!
Darkly HumorousEvery fandom has fans.
And every fandom has haters.
Some people can handle it.
But I like to handle mine with humor.
Because in a way, it makes me human.
Laughter is what makes us human.
Without it, we'd all be monsters.
Monsters with no sense of humor.
My humor has never been to everyone's tastes.
As tastes, much like flavors..
Are all different.
Mine just happens to be different.
I never take my own work seriously.
The tongue is clearly in cheek.
It's just that others don't catch on easily.
They just need to learn how to laugh.
Were-celebrities, why not?
Vampires who look and sound like Walken? Sure!
Monsters who absorb their victims and eat them? Double sure.
Russell Brand as a villain? Hell yes. Suits him, doesn't it?
Nothing is too insane or too crazy for me.
I like my humor like my movies.
Very dark, mysterious, and a little creepy.
But aren't we all a little like that?
You can't spell funeral without fun.
You don't need BRAAAAAINS to understand my
Racing LazyHe asked for a race I'd accept;
I woke up and saw where he'd crept.
He glanced back at me,
I refused to his plea,
And onto my steering wheel slept.
The Wood Chopperwritten by Paul Brost
edited by Ian Brost
Edited Version: Edited to add punctuation and connect rhyming couplets
The Wood Chopper No.5
Into the Forest, his ax in his hand,
Jogged the wood chopper Jacques, To the land where trees sTand.
Into the Forest - into this wood; -
He wenT To chop trees Like a good wood chopper should.
He chops in the morning, And all through the day,
He even chops Trees When the suns gone away.
No time to resT While trees are sTill up,
He only takes time To drink From his cup.
But when he gets tired He takes a quick nap,
Or iF he gets hungry He eats Flapjacks with sap.
And then he planTs a new tree To Fill in the space
Where once grew the ForesT In sylvanic grace.
Original layout as it appeared in the notebook:
The Wood Chopper No.5
Into the Forest his ax in his hand,
Jogged the wood chopper Jacques,
To the land where trees sTand.
Into the Forest - into this wood; -
He wenT To chop trees
Oh, I can't go to school today.
I've gotten sick in the worst way.
I haven't made this up.
I tell you I'm- what?
It's Saturday? Goodbye, I'm going out to play.
What a foolish writing utensil!
Who would dare make such a pencil?
With the lead on top,
and the eraser just not?
Why, that person is an imbecile.
Lord, as I am about to sleep,
A promise that You must keep.
No more of the nightmares,
But most of all I dare:
From my younger siblings, not a PEEP.
I'm a Nutcase for YouOh what I’d do, for a moment or two
To spend a short moment with someone like you
It’s quality time spent that matters if shared
Some words mean more than others, if spoken with care
I want to be with you, to have and to hold
To love and to nurture a beauty so bold
So I’ll try and try to grab your attention
To be so brash as to break all conventions
I wish you as well could see the beauty in me
But I’m just a nut in love with a fucking oak tree