The Poetry Collection, Vol. 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poems (to be pronounced "pohms") from the gloaming days.

Submitted: August 22, 2013

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Submitted: August 22, 2013

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The Poetry Collection, Vol. 1

 

 

 

A Collection of Poetry

by Stephen Kibler

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hadgefence

 

Drinkleberry, brewhorned from the

entire sausage-faced incredibles,

Shothoused and shifting down the cramtots to,

through my interest-choosing, the doorknock harshly.

From the inside, still, above, more.

Hadgefence.

Working officely stadgewise in the

Tuesday across the lawn.

 

Stillmore, hadgefence.  Stillmore.

 

 

9/1/98

 

 

 

 

Ad infinitum

 

A ham sandwich

would do

nicely

right about

now.

 

With cheese.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10/9/98

 

 

Pavewise

 

Middlestone haverforded through

the blowtorched, ashen fir. 

Almost Pavewise, bubbleburst hamper

down minus Cedarish sycamores.

Brook Hollow, Stonebirch.

I think the cromebot tomorrow –

Three hours.

Next stop:  Stone Hollow.

Pavewise.

 

 

 

 

 

9/28/98

 

 

Ubermachen

 

Pooping cruddily through the a-wipe factory,

Horace browned beyond the afterwards.

Soon -- dropped, stocked, and floored --

he blousingly dripped underneath

insofaras

the sternly shaken.

Poopily shaken.  Underfaced.

Stampled.

 

 

 

 

 

10/29/98

 

 

 

 

La Universidad

 

Gloria

esta

en

la cocina con la cinema.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

10/29/98

 

 

 

Toledo

 

You are crapping the fuck out of me,

You shit-faced fuckers.

Jesus (Fucking) Christ.

You can shit the fuck out of

My ass, for the love

of fuck, you fuckers.

When the shit did the

goddam ass-wiping bakery

put the fucking fuck out

on this shit?

Those fuckers are fucked,

for shit’s sake.

Holy Fucking Toledo!

 

 

10/30/98

 

Rex Lexicon

 

Chilling the slippery slope,

Becky clipped the cigar

And poured the Scotch.

Fraternite pour les femmes.

And Lexi, of course,

For the ladies.

Lexi, Scotch, and a big, fat

Short Skirt to bear.

Making partner – winky.

Making Partner – drinky.

Giggle, giggle, wap.

Gurgle, gurgle.

 

 

 

 

5/6/99

 

Nil Carborundum Illegitimi

 

Hard-pressed for

anxiety

I do my best

to stodge the

hodgery.

And wait, throughout.

The piddle-kund grow and dominate

septum and sleep alike.

 

And so I remain

Pinned to the glass.

Dodging daft.

Cheating chaos.

Slipping the wherewithall

to complain under the

fat, balding pig

who continuously wastes my free-time.

Under the door.

Slipping.

Mincewise,

Bouncing.  Pounding,

but discreetly, as ordered.

Suggested.

I am in need of regruntling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

4/23/99

 

Ode to Dale Carter, No. 34,

 Formerly of the Kansas City Chiefs

 

Millions of dripping with fudge

Came through the clothes line,

Speaking of pomegranites.

And little, purple flowers.

 

Forearm:  smashy.  Nibble, nibble.

Now Crush.

Dripping with fudge-colored blood.

Stains,

once.

Now green.

And yellow.

Mostly orange.

 

 

2/18/99

 [SMK1]


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