give it to me baby

Hey, in celebration of all things vernal and all things changing, here is a poem that celebrates to every day turn turn turn, to every season turn turn turn.


the adventures of braggarts

there are no women
who
wear dresses
and pledge
kisses

upon
your brow

you know this
simpleton

and the island
you
grew upon

is just a dust image on
a Polaroid
.

give us some taste
on our tongues
and

we have the night to ourselves

get in a car crash

poems and loems and bloems and hoems

If it rhymes, it's on times. If it's great, celebrate.


the last day of September saw me in my apartment looking at my shoes

I ate a cucumber
and
dreamed of
its children

coming for me
with tiny

eyes;

the last of us dogged
old
sons can

get along okay

if we remember our ceilings cave
in only when we want
them
to

and the abstract of the color red
across a female's
lips is
simply a hand across a thigh.

another day another poem on the roam roam

Hey, for you, a poem, for me, a post. Enjoy the rest of International Poetry Boho Big Bang Post Poem Week. Maybe write a poem on your underwear?


neon

the neon creeps
of no
guttural skills

shout
a lamppost

and lord it
up

with poisoned faces
and

glowing teeth

around the neon
beer
bottle god

and disrobe their artifacts
in
clean circles
of glass

Felix poem for a sluggish Thurs.

Felix the cat
has a boner
on my bookshelf.
I think all those poets are dead.

poem from a lady

Hey guys, here in the body of this post is a poem written by Candyrockstar that she left in the comment section of one of the previous Boho Week of Poetry Lusty Extravaganza. We read and we respond, oh yeah. So any other posters out there, don't be shy to give us a snippet or two. Thanks a lot, Candyrockstar, you are amazing amongst the wreckage of our postmodern fantasia.

Candyrockstar's poem:

i'm just like that tiny black widow

i'll crawl into your bed

take what i want

and leave with your head

without a stir, still peaceful like a prayer

i don't mind

the lack of backbone

or the fact that my love

is only as sweet

as the shapeless webs i weave

or the poison i make you drink

from dripping lips

as i collect your gifts-

your attempts

to calm me down

but i'm not here to listen to your song

of sweet release

you should have known

i'd never let you leave

no one gets away from me that free

Boho C. v. Gold County PM v. Prosody

VS.



Boho rides again
Off into the golden county
Home is nowhere near…
Only the new faces tell us we’re somewhere

Conspiring with the compass
October’s ghost mask appears
Calvary poets labor for language
On the trail toward the end of the night

slow day poetry

Hey fellows, here's a poem I wrote in the damn ACC computer lab (seeing as my beloved internet connection is on the fritz at home). Tomorrow, I'm climbing the Time Warner headquarters and I'm going to pee on top of it! Bastards! Oh, here's the poem.

yesterday

in the creekbed

with

temper tantrums

the god of iron

and the god

of

cotton

spat upon each other

and

cried.

oh mother, come now

to

deliver us the

hawk for

breakfast

and take of our cheeks your

razors and

your wit

Locust Poem

Via candyrockstar prompt I bring you Locust Poem. Keep the comments coming! Also, contribute yr poetry...We are all about community and sharing creative works. -J

I heard about
The locusts
One night
When I was young
A fire was popping
In place of television
And my grandfather spoke of a
Vile plague
For months people cried in tantrums over
An unstoppable
Thick
Moving fear cloud full of sound
Full of locusts
And when that swarm sang their
Clipped songs
Direct from the
Destroyer of man’s songbook
All people had was the power of prayer
&
Petition was thought to be the only solution for
Fighting the invasion
&
Cleansing humanity
From deeds done evil
But then the locusts disappeared
Early
After
Ravaged Mother moaned
Soil death!
Sustenance seed for naught!
Haunted children
Afraid of the locust choir
Hid their tears
And waited

My youth mind
Keeps thinking we are in for plague

the first responsive poem of the week

Hey, Candyrockstar suggested the topic 'shattered glass' in a comment to the first poem of the international boho coco poetry week contest extravaganza (the prize is that you get to read consecutive words structured in aesthetic form and deviation). So, without anymore hullabaloo, here is an entirely original poem (oh entirely!) created with the aegis of 'shattered glass.'

perspectives of a dimension composed of shattered glass

1

the sky is not

of our flesh

but is of our teeth

2

the wrinkles on old mother's

face go

round in patterns

that spell majesty oh

3

lovers young

have scars upon their

stomachs and

throats and kiss there

4

the way home

of honey sunlight stall

we go down

the river with our old bathtubs

and kitchen sinks

5

more of more people

climb atop ancient

skyscrapers and

toss themselves off

gently

6

love waits

in the forest near the

hobo scraps

and the dead

campfire

7

oh my father was his

own favorite

butcher and his back

was

cut with cow

ribs

8

at the top of the world

the telephone man

in black boots reachs

out

9

the musicians that

hide in the brush

oh hiss

come close I must will have

a touch of your

cheek

10

descrying the fire drum

leaves you spent

and you become gold

and you sink

the beginning of poetry week

Hey guys, it's international poetry week here at the blog and to reward you all for your vigilance of the printed (or electronic!) word, we are posting an original poem every damn day! Even better, if you leave a comment to one of the poetry posts, we'll compose a brand new poem based on whatever you suggest and we'll feature it the next day. Holy cow, sounds like a barrel full of monkeys. Also also, if that didn't get you wet enough, then listen to this: just submit a poem of your own in the comment section of a poetry post and we'll feature that snippet the very next day in a post of your own. Jesus H Crikey, doesn't that sound like a peach? Alright, enough with old man Jed Clampet going on and on here. The first post of international Boho poetry week, all for you. Get some.

untitled 4669

sawdust mouth

girl

you careful tooth

around

the open field

but still

find cut glass feet

slop

in the small hours of dusk.

I love

you

oh love

you

copperhead

motor

heart

lozenge figure

raw

gray bent leaf