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POETRY 12-04-02

Every time I look on the newswire and there's not a goddamned single poetry article on there, I'm a-gonna post more like this.
Cleaning: A haiku
by clamydia

I need to clean up My fucking disgusting house Cuz it is filthy

My cat house: A haiku
by clamydia

My house smells like cats Cat PISS to be more exact I will clean it up

Flowers: A haiku
by clamydia

Flowers don't smell like My fucking disgusting house Cuz it is filthy

Beer: A haiku
by clamyida I did not clean up My disgusting house tonight I drank beer instead

okay okay okay! 14.Dec.2002 14:32

sheesh

no need to get nasty...
okay okay okay!
okay okay okay!

. 14.Dec.2002 15:04

.

.
.
.

Toxiccity 14.Dec.2002 15:06

Zerzera

Order. Pollution.
I can't see
I can't breathe
I can't think
Of a solution

Nights are bright
And hardly quiet
No sacred sleep
No sacred silence
When stars are meek
In human science

Who took away my stars?

Over Pollution
In my eyes
In my nose
In my ears
In my mouth

My toxic brain
Bleeds toxic strains
Of poisonous thought
My world is pain
When wrong is right
And day is night

Will I avenge my scars?

Z

Slam 14.Dec.2002 21:19

ME

Worker bees can fly away.
Even drones can leave.
The queen is their slave.

lamb cutlets 14.Dec.2002 23:06

shep-herds pixelry

lamb cutlets
lamb cutlets

God is dead 15.Dec.2002 10:44

me

GOD IS DEAD...
He was killed by our lust for possesions
by deforestation and our smith and wessons
by tanks and bombs so big they can blow holes in the sky
by the glowing black boxes that fed us our lie
by kakies and double caf coffees
by the nuclear waste flowing under the 7-11
if god wasn't dead he would'a takin' us to heaven
but we shanked him in the back when that motherfucker wasn't lookin'
now every damn things been plundered and tookin'
in his place we put bill boards for as far as the eye can see
33 percent more free, my breath is now fresher, new and improved, poppin prozac to handle the pressure.
it's megaopalises and superhighways flooding with SUV's
it's wall to wall suburbia where there once stood trees.
but the talking heads at 11 said it'll all be OK
"god isn't dead he's in Palm springs...golfing with OJ"

timeless 15.Dec.2002 17:35

j.d. whiskey & associates horseradish@tobasco.org

"seeks plenty
by keeping the cupboards
bare
accepting only
what he
needs right now"

What morose shit is this? Posted on the front page no less.. hm.

This isn't your average S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder) not a hint of joy is to be found so I'm guessing what we have here is the "Cointelpro poets of indymedia"

You heard me. Not only is the spook's job to spy and misinform, their job also includes sending off really bad shit like this butt nasty poetry to put people in a funk. The Man, at his best (worst!). Motherfuckers, we're on to you.

Here's some real poetry:

I Hear America Singing
by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter's song—the ploughboy's, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing—Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day—At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

i'm guessing 15.Dec.2002 18:57

blah de de blah de de blah

you failed reading comprehension.

Drug Raid at 4 a.m. 15.Dec.2002 20:23

GRINGO STARS gringo_stars@attbi.com

BY JELLO BIAFRA

sheets off
flashlight in your eyes
freeze!
guns in your gut
strip down body search cough up or stomach pump
to fight the war on drugs you must give up your rights
you blink, you die
i hate you more than my job

drug raid at 4 a.m.

random neighborhood sweeps
copters break up house parties
zero tolerance for pot
easier to get hard stuff
costs over 3 times more to keep an addict in jail than to treat those trying to quit
but no drug war funds for clinics

no! stop! please! no!

drug raid at 4 a.m.
Drug Raid at 4 a.m.
Drug Raid at 4 a.m.