#vulgar poetry

[pipoehija]

[mekanikaltrifle]

tbh the survival of small languages and dialects of all stripes is deeply important to all our cultures-- and I don't mean this in a weirdo blood-and-soil nationalist way-- because it helps to keep different ways of thinking and seeing alive. Often, languages come with their own perceptions on time and colour and days and night, anything they could possibly have. Major languages too, but the smaller ones are always at risk of being lost to time... and with them go the context, the meanings and the different perspective that its individual speakers could have had.

For instance, in Scots, there's a fundamental minor difference to time and how it relates to the individual compared to standard English. In Scots you can often hear folks saying phrases like 'that's me away' (or awa' in very broad Scots, pronounced a bit like awah), when you're looking to leave a place. Taken literally in English that would be incorrect, as you are not in fact physically leaving, and it's not like you're watching your own body wander off out the door. However, in this case the 'what is about to be', and the 'what is right now' are functionally the same thing. Time becomes a little malleable in the Scots way of looking at it.

Of course this is hardly the only example and I am sure people can add their own examples of similar but... it's interesting to think about, isn't it? How your language approaches both the physical and the abstract, and how its constructed your brain to think. Because language physically shapes your brain, and knowing more is always good for the old grey matter.

[motheyesofnight]

(from "An Intruder")

but it is the process that leads the direction of the result

the choice of words cannot tell everything and the delusion

that you're holding something in your hands makes you most vulgar.

[deadpanwalking]

A Cooking Egg by T.S. Eliot

    En l'an trentiesme de mon aage     Que toutes mes hontes j'ay beues

Pipit sate upright in her chair Some distance from where I was sitting; Views of the Oxford Colleges Lay on the table, with the knitting.

Daguerreotypes and silhouettes, Her grandfather and great great aunts, Supported on the mantelpiece An Invitation to the Dance.

. . . . .

I shall not want Honour in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney And have talk with Coriolanus And other heroes of that kidney.

I shall not want Capital in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond: We two shall lie together, lapt In a five per cent Exchequer Bond.

I shall not want Society in Heaven, Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride; Her anecdotes will be more amusing Than Pipit's experience could provide.

I shall not want Pipit in Heaven: Madame Blavatsky will instruct me In the Seven Sacred Trances; Piccarda de Donati will conduct me …

. . . . .

But where is the penny world I bought To eat with Pipit behind the screen? The red-eyed scavengers are creeping From Kentish Town and Golder's Green;

Where are the eagles and the trumpets?

Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps. Over buttered scones and crumpets Weeping, weeping multitudes Droop in a hundred A.B.C.'s.

[hersurvival]

The first break up,

Fifteen,

He exploded,

Called it quits

He used to draw my portrait,

Write me sappy poems

Then he tried to get me back,

Said he could protect me,

Told me I was too weak,

Too broken,

Prophesized I'd become a whore without him

Before I told him to fuck off,

I let him be the first to bed me

My own cruel way of returning his poetry

[livingcuttingboard]

I am what these small minds and broke backs and tough hands

Fear

I am the whisper amongst the village crowds,

I am the intrusion in the peacefulness of a cemetery,

I am the black rot that rips away the innocent,

I am the stagnant water, which ranks of poison,

I am the child stealer,the oath breaker,the demon maker,the pariah, the sinner, the whore, the unholy,

Your God has hurt me so,

Your God has named me so.Your God has made me so.

Yet you came,a halo on your head, stagmatas tainting your hands, an echo of pituful prayers spoken to the lonesome walls of a shroud to your voice,

And your God seemed merciful.Oh, so loving and kind and grand and so owned and so cherished.

And you have led me,

You, like your shepherd, have walked a path I could help but try and follow.

I trudged,I walked,I stayed and listened and cried in the rhythm of a song that was not venom but golden and sweet.

Like you,Golden and sweet, honey-like

I am not honey,I am not sweet and golden and loving.

I am what your God used to be.

Perhaps he did make me in his image,

Perahps he made you in his image too,

But he is an old thing of skies.And he is grand,

And he is loving,

And he is venom,

You are the sweetness of him,

You are the gold of him,

Scraped off his skin, you are the goodness of him,

I am what was left,

I am the hate of his bone.

I am the rage of his flesh,

I am the burning of his blood,

And I am salt, and your a honey,

Those are not flavors to be mixed,

They are to stay away, as tradition tells me,

Tradtion is what you worship,

Tradtion is what I abhor,

For if not for it, we would have been

A whirlwind of taste,

Intertwined and strong,

I have always been weak in mind.

You have always been weak in flesh.

 

We could have been strong, my honey

Only tradtion forbade us  

[maribellablack]

*******

He's an artist, who lives on intimacy and

shares some of its sweetest parts with me,

I am an open book he likes to read and be so

gentle with... I'm so weak for his touch,

Mother Mary!

He's insane and drives me crazy, too...

He's an artist and he paints me with his hips,

pressed onto mine,

His fingers explore every inch of me so

delicately, his lips travel everywhere while

leaving traces of marks and bruises on my

skin,

He's an artist and he covers me with his body

paint, so beautifully...

in his eyes, I have no imperfections and even if

somehow I find one, to him I'd still be perfect,

as I'm an art, his sacred creation and all my

flaws are flawless to him...

• Poem by Maribella Black

**********

Side note: I may or may not have written this in freezing cold while I was enjoying my cigarette and was listening to the Arctic Monkeys... somewhere in the middle of February... 💌🕯

[bills-bible-basics]

POTTY MOUTH -- a poem by Bill Kochman A poem by Bill Kochman. Visit my poetry page at https://www.billkochman.com/Poetry/ to see all my poetry, along with related Bible study resources, all in one place, and organized by poem category. Thanks! To see other poems related to this one, please go here: https://www.billkochman.com/Poetry/index.html#Cussing-Swearing "Be Slow to Anger" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse127.html "Be Slow to Speak" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse129.html "Cussing" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse408.html Article: "Stop Cussing! Be Not Conformed to This World!": https://www.billkochman.com/Articles/cussing-1.html "Christian Servant's Attitude" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse012.html "Blessed Are the Meek" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse525.html "Be Examples to Each Other" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse149.html "Christian Servant's Attitude" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse012.html "Blessed Are the Merciful" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse480.html "Love Forgiveness and Mercy" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse022.html "Love: The Greatest of These" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse346.html "Love the Unlovely" KJV Bible Verse List: https://www.billkochman.com/VerseLists/verse521.html https://www.billkochman.com/Blog/index.php/potty-mouth-a-poem-by-bill-kochman/?feed_id=23467&_unique_id=63c6951bf2b1f&POTTY%20MOUTH%20--%20a%20poem%20by%20Bill%20Kochman

[ulkaralakbarova]

In the wake of a freak accident, Lance suffers the worst tragedy and the greatest opportunity of his life. He is suddenly faced with the possibility of fame, fortune and popularity, if he can only live with the knowledge of how he got there. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Lance Clayton: Robin Williams Claire Reed: Alexie Gilmore Kyle Clayton: Daryl Sabara Andrew Troutman: Evan Martin Principal Wyatt Anderson: Geoff Pierson Mike Lane: Henry Simmons Bonnie McBon: Mitzi McCall Jason: Jermaine Williams Heather Johnson: Lorraine Nicholson Morgan: Morgan Murphy Bert Green: Toby Huss Jerry Klein: Tom Kenny Make-Up Woman: Jill Talley Himself: Bruce Hornsby Newspaper Vendor: Krist Novoselic Limo Driver (uncredited): Bobcat Goldthwait Dr. Pentola: Tony V. Ginger: Naomi Glick Dan Spencer: Dan Spencer Peter (as Zach Sanchez): Zachary Vitale Jennifer: Ellie Jameson Chris: Michael Thomas Moore Metal Kid: Ray Buckley Nosy Neighbor: Rebecca Erwin Spencer Nosy Neighbor: Cheri Minns Nosy Neighbor: Zazu Mabel: Mable Mae Dr. Dana: Deborah Horne Bruce Hornsby’s Mic Stand: Riley Dean Stone The Fighting Pug: Zoe Film Crew: Screenplay: Bobcat Goldthwait Executive Producer: Edward H. Hamm Jr. Executive Producer: Jennifer Roth Producer: Richard Kelly Producer: Sean McKittrick Producer: Tim Perell Producer: Howard Gertler Director of Photography: Horacio Marquínez Editor: Jason Stewart Production Design: John Paino Set Decoration: Rachel M. Thompson Costume Designer: Sarah de Sa Rego Makeup Artist: Danyale Cook Makeup & Hair: Jennifer Popochock Makeup & Hair: Cheri Minns Makeup Department Head: Dawn Tunnell Key Hair Stylist: Akemi Hart Sound: Dan L. Brock Sound Designer: Lisa K. Fowle Dialogue Editor: Harrison Meyle Visual Effects Coordinator: Ian T. Barbella Visual Effects Editor: Dylan Highsmith Visual Effects Producer: Mark Kolpack Costumer: Teresa Purkiss Costumer: Nikki Paulson Costume Assistant: Katy McPhee Original Music Composer: Gerald Brunskill Movie Reviews:

[josieescobapoetry]

Vulgär und abstrakt

Mehr Scholastik?

Digga, keine Ahnung.

Man hat doch Ängste und so.

[pipoehija]

[skilasophia]

The Ozempic Bar

100% dark chocolate Tastes like ass; Makes me shit out my ass Constantly, so much I

Can't move from the toilet seat Because there's so much Sludge splattering in the water, Ricocheting onto the sides, Sticking there indefinitely until

My dude friends' piss removes my Body's grime, or when I clean my Studio before my girlfriend stays The night (or when I can't sleep)

Wouldn't recommended the snack to Anyone, except if their dying wish is to Die while having a squeaky clean colon.

[motheyesofnight]

(from "Blue Blood") I loathe people who raise their voice only when they're in the crowds. They have the red blood, which simmers only in the dark. And you have to face them almost every night, unless you have the sufficient territory. In front of your tiny tight place, they resonate with the vulgarity and cruelty of life, always spitting their red blood. It's like a real hell, honestly.

[thebotanicalarcade]

n68_w1150 by Biodiversity Heritage Library Via Flickr: The Garland of the year, or, The months: their poetry and flowers : London :Marcus Ward & Co.,[1873]. biodiversitylibrary.org/page/58434948

[whats-in-a-sentence]

It struck some as an age of vulgarity, a world, one poet put it, where

. . . residents from raw estates, brought down

The dress straight miles by stealing flat-faced trolleys,

Push through plate-glass swing doors to their desires—

Cheap suits, red kitchen-ware, sharp shoes, iced lollies,*

Electric mixers, toasters, washers, driers—

A cut-price crowd, urban yet simple, dwelling

Where only salesmen and relations come.

*Popsicles.

"Why the West Rules – For Now: The patterns of history and what they reveal about the future" - Ian Morris