Our captain, Sir Sergei McGrundy
lost us in the Bay of Fundy.
All the fish from coast to coast
only knew what he would boast.
A harpoon here, a lobster there,
Sergei went where none would dare.
More than detested, he hated land-
one eye; one hook; one hand.
Much respected and very feared
McGrundy's presence was quite revered,
but drunk one night upon the deck
he simply tripped, and broke his neck.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Red Wine Jet Pack
Let's take a red wine jet pack
and screw all the renaissance painters
at once,
make a big red stain
on all their art.
That would be funny
but I'm sure someone
(I don't know who)
would just make such a fuss
and far too much of one.
So their detergent
can be a deterrent
against a wounded,
quivering beast.
What a bitch, what a feast.
and screw all the renaissance painters
at once,
make a big red stain
on all their art.
That would be funny
but I'm sure someone
(I don't know who)
would just make such a fuss
and far too much of one.
So their detergent
can be a deterrent
against a wounded,
quivering beast.
What a bitch, what a feast.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I Wish I Could Speak Like He Did
If I could speak
I wish I could speak like he did-
he spoke on highways and
in tall grasses that our
teachers couldn't even see in.
He could grab a naked audience
and dress them in his words-
he'd clothe them in anecdotes
and commas and jewelery
then tell all the jewish mothers in
town that he was better than their
sons. And oh,
did they cry,
But boo-hoo,
any mutt still cries
bow-wow to any bitch
that passes by.
Hello. Just say,
hi.
I wish I could speak like he did-
he spoke on highways and
in tall grasses that our
teachers couldn't even see in.
He could grab a naked audience
and dress them in his words-
he'd clothe them in anecdotes
and commas and jewelery
then tell all the jewish mothers in
town that he was better than their
sons. And oh,
did they cry,
But boo-hoo,
any mutt still cries
bow-wow to any bitch
that passes by.
Hello. Just say,
hi.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
My Death and My Lady
My lady can mourn
upon a blackened veil,
or if it be in spring,
upon a gloomy sail.
I have seen a beating
and contimplated in strife,
but jabbing in jest
I was gutted by a knife.
The only gift I'll offer,
upon my word is told;
love your lady forever
and never be too bold.
upon a blackened veil,
or if it be in spring,
upon a gloomy sail.
I have seen a beating
and contimplated in strife,
but jabbing in jest
I was gutted by a knife.
The only gift I'll offer,
upon my word is told;
love your lady forever
and never be too bold.
Monday, May 11, 2009
IIVII
cr ashing s ticks on c rumbl ed br ick s
m y ma son's ma de of s tone
a bi g r ed ho use on m y ba rn d oor
c reak ing hi nges on a ro tti ng f l oor
m y ma son's ma de of s tone
a bi g r ed ho use on m y ba rn d oor
c reak ing hi nges on a ro tti ng f l oor
Agatta
Honky-tonk spit girls swing skirts ruffled for miles
while I see hidden treasures tucked away in sleeves
like the heel toe boot shot stuck between their teeth.
Rotten tabacco luck
shinning off rubber skin-
layers of sweat dosed with sand
chilled straight to a
long shit dog bone mile.
Come.
while I see hidden treasures tucked away in sleeves
like the heel toe boot shot stuck between their teeth.
Rotten tabacco luck
shinning off rubber skin-
layers of sweat dosed with sand
chilled straight to a
long shit dog bone mile.
Come.
Hidin' Out in the Big (Fuckin') City
Pt. 1
If its brown its wood,
if its green its good;
you can take it, you can break it,
you can pudding and pie,
you can lie in bed all day
and watch your life pass by.
Pt. 2
If its brown its wood,
if its green its good;
you can take it, you can break it,
you can pudding and pie,
you can lie in bed all day
and watch your life pass by.
Pt. 2
The Kirrujong of Carrapace
was disgraced upon his face,
but the man forever in black
could never bravely attack.
So begone his broken gun,
all together his hope had run.
Warhead Sour
The darkness can scare me
and kid me in the night,
a robin will turn a nest
then petrify in fright.
A widow fled, she wept,
then cried around a tear;
the end is nigh, it will never come,
but soon the end is here.
Or is the near so back, simply,
that someone cried their own,
or did that person in vain
simply die alone?
and kid me in the night,
a robin will turn a nest
then petrify in fright.
A widow fled, she wept,
then cried around a tear;
the end is nigh, it will never come,
but soon the end is here.
Or is the near so back, simply,
that someone cried their own,
or did that person in vain
simply die alone?
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Greek
Questing rivals forcing spear embankments
through rusting juts of tin-iron armour,
reddish bearing china-men
fluttering flags through frumious fields, forged by farmers.
Now bare soil lays acid with dead clay
since men and women trudge day-by-day,
but only women forge silver and golden children
out rainforests and jungles of fertility
once brotherhooded by stringish cloaks.
Now riff'd by saws and chains and quadr-o-peds
that maim and rip and roar and tear and scream through
inglorious vines all seething in playgrounds of
dreamless thought once pursued by nightmares of love
but now just impressured by an emotion
lacking in such things as
overdrawn, unremaining, irregardless, remissing
bliss.
Gama Patre.
through rusting juts of tin-iron armour,
reddish bearing china-men
fluttering flags through frumious fields, forged by farmers.
Now bare soil lays acid with dead clay
since men and women trudge day-by-day,
but only women forge silver and golden children
out rainforests and jungles of fertility
once brotherhooded by stringish cloaks.
Now riff'd by saws and chains and quadr-o-peds
that maim and rip and roar and tear and scream through
inglorious vines all seething in playgrounds of
dreamless thought once pursued by nightmares of love
but now just impressured by an emotion
lacking in such things as
overdrawn, unremaining, irregardless, remissing
bliss.
Gama Patre.
Mr. Know-It-All
My methodical way of vocation
is to disseminate past parables.
Destitution is not one with my lexicon,
for you see, filled with erudition I am.
Thus, utter not what abides my way,
for benightedness
is not one of my attributes.
Word.
is to disseminate past parables.
Destitution is not one with my lexicon,
for you see, filled with erudition I am.
Thus, utter not what abides my way,
for benightedness
is not one of my attributes.
Word.
A Breaker Female
She breaks the female,
in the rolling foam that crashes;
in the burning amber flashes
She breaks the female,
in the darkened veils that shatter;
in the sand and earthly matter
She breaks the female,
in the empty swollen fields;
in the sky that never yields
She breaks the female,
in the broken mountain pass;
in the hollow of a rotting ash
She breaks the female,
in the heart of a mossy stone;
in a soul she does not own
in the rolling foam that crashes;
in the burning amber flashes
She breaks the female,
in the darkened veils that shatter;
in the sand and earthly matter
She breaks the female,
in the empty swollen fields;
in the sky that never yields
She breaks the female,
in the broken mountain pass;
in the hollow of a rotting ash
She breaks the female,
in the heart of a mossy stone;
in a soul she does not own
Polar Wear
There's a polar bear in a hawaiian shirt
who wished he were on a beach.
Now living in the Arctic
wasn't a smart pick
since there's none around he can reach.
The sad part is for the polar bear
the distance between is quite a rift,
and the only way
he could ever stray
is by continental drift.
who wished he were on a beach.
Now living in the Arctic
wasn't a smart pick
since there's none around he can reach.
The sad part is for the polar bear
the distance between is quite a rift,
and the only way
he could ever stray
is by continental drift.
Revelance
she is beautiful
her lips
her hands
(touch her hair)
her words
she says
she's never bare
but I can see
everywhen
I stare.
her lips
her hands
(touch her hair)
her words
she says
she's never bare
but I can see
everywhen
I stare.
Zacharia
There once was a man named Zach
Who lived in a tiny tin shack.
He was there forever
And now he's no clever,
So he walks with the blades on his back.
Alone one night he decided to do,
"I'll put my head on top of my shoe!"
So when people passed
To take a glance
He could say, "I am just like you!"
Who lived in a tiny tin shack.
He was there forever
And now he's no clever,
So he walks with the blades on his back.
Alone one night he decided to do,
"I'll put my head on top of my shoe!"
So when people passed
To take a glance
He could say, "I am just like you!"
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Was or Wasn't
So oft man thought there was
That never he thought there wasn't.
But when he found out wasn't was,
And was wasn't,
He wasn't as he was.
That never he thought there wasn't.
But when he found out wasn't was,
And was wasn't,
He wasn't as he was.
The Prisoner
A man sits chained
Facing a wall
And no one else is there
No one at all.
He sits at the end
Of an unlit cave
Separating himslef;
Somewhat of a knave.
And he says to himself,
"Those are real"
As shadows pass by
From the cave mouth's reel.
He is chained at the wrist-
Self inflicted, no one knows,
But the scar underneath
Ever bleeding always shows.
Then one day
Like any other
A boy came in
Simply to bother.
"Why is it, man,
Freedom you block,
Shut up tight
With a cold, hard, iron lock?"
The man turned to speak
But he could only squint,
A lifetime passed by
Burnt out like a flint.
He cannot see the light
So he will turn away
Like Judas from Jesus,
Always leading himself astray.
A man sits chained
Facing a wall
And no one else is there,
And that is all.
Facing a wall
And no one else is there
No one at all.
He sits at the end
Of an unlit cave
Separating himslef;
Somewhat of a knave.
And he says to himself,
"Those are real"
As shadows pass by
From the cave mouth's reel.
He is chained at the wrist-
Self inflicted, no one knows,
But the scar underneath
Ever bleeding always shows.
Then one day
Like any other
A boy came in
Simply to bother.
"Why is it, man,
Freedom you block,
Shut up tight
With a cold, hard, iron lock?"
The man turned to speak
But he could only squint,
A lifetime passed by
Burnt out like a flint.
He cannot see the light
So he will turn away
Like Judas from Jesus,
Always leading himself astray.
A man sits chained
Facing a wall
And no one else is there,
And that is all.
A Woman
A red-haired seductress
Presented at my feet,
So willingly spared
And spread open to greet.
Like a thorn in my side
She bites it the same,
Promiscuously flirting
Not hiding her shame.
The whole night we fumbled
But climaxed together;
Dripping from heat
And soaking in pleasure.
In late the morning
She leaves half-dressed,
And turning her head
She asks, "Impressed?"
Presented at my feet,
So willingly spared
And spread open to greet.
Like a thorn in my side
She bites it the same,
Promiscuously flirting
Not hiding her shame.
The whole night we fumbled
But climaxed together;
Dripping from heat
And soaking in pleasure.
In late the morning
She leaves half-dressed,
And turning her head
She asks, "Impressed?"
Born in the Ground
What if I were born in the ground,
Would I make a noise-
Could I hear a sound?
Maybe I should smile with glee,
Plant my seed
And make a tree.
Maybe I might bust a leak,
Spew like a fountain
And make a creek.
Maybe I'll just laze around,
Just sit in my grave
If I were born in the ground.
Would I make a noise-
Could I hear a sound?
Maybe I should smile with glee,
Plant my seed
And make a tree.
Maybe I might bust a leak,
Spew like a fountain
And make a creek.
Maybe I'll just laze around,
Just sit in my grave
If I were born in the ground.
Why I'm here, man
My name is William Shea and I present to you my blog of poetry and writings. I am simply setting up this blog to get creative feedback from any readers out there. Any critisism is good critisism so please feel free to comment on anything. Thanks and good reading!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
