How did it feel to be the chosen
one - the soul food of France?
How did it feel when you, all thimble
and nimble were caught in the
web of François Mitterand's last supper?
O how wrong and righteous François
must have felt after tasting
your forbidden notes!
So terrified your friends and family
must have been to watch you get rapt
from a god and then ceremoniously
plucked to perfection? Did you, little
Ortolan, chirp to mum and pop and assure
them your saintly assumption would
not go unnoticed? Or did you have
a frog mired in your throat? Were you
little Ortolan confused, when
you - a prized obsession - were
An American Theory is 'Speared' by JoeDanielz, literature
Literature
An American Theory is 'Speared'
The mastodon rib leaves the once
cherished model with nowhere to go.
(give him here) the lively manican
has been pantsed and now we must
reclothe him. (how shameful)
[yes, do get a handle on your
personables] (to wear undies or
not to wear undies that is our
question) applauded the curator
*shakespeare would be proud*
(now let us begin) one holds his
appendages and scuttles him
heavenly while the other grabs
for his brand new trousers.
(how shiek) [how debonair]
interrupting the undulous affair
the arbitrator procures - what in the
name of samuel clemens are you
doing here? - reluctant, but inevita
On my way to the
city market i went
past the curb where
we met your mind.
i got a salmon sandwich
on two sesame seed
slices of bread. no
mayo, no change.
cashier said:
have you heard?
when i turned i
saw your face on a
milk carton. 2 percent.
i'm glad they were trying
to preserve the pith of
your smile. i opened
the door to your
refrigerated hell, and
upon closer palpation,
i noticed you had
my dollar in your
pocket, and i liked it.
------------------------
Revision Below:
En route to
city market
i went past
the curb where
you met god.
got a salmon
sandwich on 2
sesame seed
slices of bread.
no mayo,
i met this guy called god. he sat next to me and my pint. he was gangly and dressed in a long beige bath robe, and had an unkempt beard. the slob. he sat in the right and i in the left, inquired about my family and i about his, but wouldn't shut up about his son. "the one and only" he says. i asked him how his son was doing, and he said "o, nothing between him and heaven." then like a seventy year old nun in the 60's he told me i ought to go to church more often. with all this religious talk i figured him a priest, but he said he lived upstairs. what kind of priest lives above a bar? i paused. well, maybe that does make sense after all. so i
Don't You Mean Deterred? by JoeDanielz, literature
Literature
Don't You Mean Deterred?
What happens to a dream demurrred?
Does it implode like a puffer fish
Or will it sub-serve you like a
Kempis? "Aren't we supposed to alpha-
betize and desiccate them into manila folders?"
Wouldn't they just dry up like a raisin then?
Oh no dear, that's resin. Doesnt a dream
demurred grow wrinkled and absurd like
losing one's youth? Or won't a dream
demurred ferment and perturb? You mean like
two pervs playing grab ass in someone's
front yard? No, but maybe it forms a
moldy skin like a brick of colby-jack
that's been left out in the Sun for way
too many days.
Or does it expire?
Words on the table spill like milk,
Listen, "the mitochondria are the cells'
power station. "We're rusted and rustic
and fat in a corrsett."
Those loose laces around your mouth
Are our doctrine of truth.
I say, "Grant an idea or belief to be true"
As in, La Sein is not wet?
La Sein, La Sein, La Sein
Let this, be our doctrine of Ruth.
"Dear sir, I must say the
intellectuals here are more off
hand and irreflective than thought"
Pipe down boy! We only use them as a clock,
Thus regulating the length of our lecture, so
tick, tock.
She had braided hair,
skin that sags and bags
beneath her bruised eye.
Her feet are a silted tribute
to Gia's nurturing clap
She hides the criminally insane
Who hoard all the acorns for
fear of an unfruitful winter
She shades the lost shepherd
"When he has left a baby lamb for veal"
But if you softly glide your touch all
along her flesh you may feel the brail that'll
tell you when her leaves may fail.
We were under sky lit trees focusing
on the flowers and weeds. We thought of the
blue collar bees who, swallowed whole the nectar from
mother nature's bosom, and secured
it in their pockets for change.
We saw white collared ants hauling their ill and
demented away from the hill, leaving them
to be caramelized in the palm of the Sun.
There were leaves weeping in fear
from the darkness that has now disappeared,
mountains obstructing our view of any escape.
And you who stood there with your hair taut
back, opened your loose banana pealed lips and let out the words
I fear most, "I really quite like it here."
I'm black toast and tolerant,
crispy on the outside but
fluffy in my insides.
I'll accept eggs and ham or
you can carpet me with jelly or jam
-However, I don't take kindly to butter-
And not to taste crude, but
should you choose not to
use any of these foods,
I should warn you:
I shall be in the nude.
It creeps and it crawls all along the alley lanes
It strangles and it brawls
When it sneaks out into the
Halls. It sucks in its gut and puffs out its cheeks
Just so that it may blossom into a costume.
"She's been laying here for days"
-She's been troubled in so many ways-
A locket without a portrait and a
Watch that's afraid to tell time.
"Youth in all its wretchedness"
I must live beyond my means.
It seems, but another has gotten her
Bedroom walls painted black and now there's
No way we may ever paint it back.
How did it feel to be the chosen
one - the soul food of France?
How did it feel when you, all thimble
and nimble were caught in the
web of François Mitterand's last supper?
O how wrong and righteous François
must have felt after tasting
your forbidden notes!
So terrified your friends and family
must have been to watch you get rapt
from a god and then ceremoniously
plucked to perfection? Did you, little
Ortolan, chirp to mum and pop and assure
them your saintly assumption would
not go unnoticed? Or did you have
a frog mired in your throat? Were you
little Ortolan confused, when
you - a prized obsession - were
An American Theory is 'Speared' by JoeDanielz, literature
Literature
An American Theory is 'Speared'
The mastodon rib leaves the once
cherished model with nowhere to go.
(give him here) the lively manican
has been pantsed and now we must
reclothe him. (how shameful)
[yes, do get a handle on your
personables] (to wear undies or
not to wear undies that is our
question) applauded the curator
*shakespeare would be proud*
(now let us begin) one holds his
appendages and scuttles him
heavenly while the other grabs
for his brand new trousers.
(how shiek) [how debonair]
interrupting the undulous affair
the arbitrator procures - what in the
name of samuel clemens are you
doing here? - reluctant, but inevita
On my way to the
city market i went
past the curb where
we met your mind.
i got a salmon sandwich
on two sesame seed
slices of bread. no
mayo, no change.
cashier said:
have you heard?
when i turned i
saw your face on a
milk carton. 2 percent.
i'm glad they were trying
to preserve the pith of
your smile. i opened
the door to your
refrigerated hell, and
upon closer palpation,
i noticed you had
my dollar in your
pocket, and i liked it.
------------------------
Revision Below:
En route to
city market
i went past
the curb where
you met god.
got a salmon
sandwich on 2
sesame seed
slices of bread.
no mayo,
i met this guy called god. he sat next to me and my pint. he was gangly and dressed in a long beige bath robe, and had an unkempt beard. the slob. he sat in the right and i in the left, inquired about my family and i about his, but wouldn't shut up about his son. "the one and only" he says. i asked him how his son was doing, and he said "o, nothing between him and heaven." then like a seventy year old nun in the 60's he told me i ought to go to church more often. with all this religious talk i figured him a priest, but he said he lived upstairs. what kind of priest lives above a bar? i paused. well, maybe that does make sense after all. so i
Don't You Mean Deterred? by JoeDanielz, literature
Literature
Don't You Mean Deterred?
What happens to a dream demurrred?
Does it implode like a puffer fish
Or will it sub-serve you like a
Kempis? "Aren't we supposed to alpha-
betize and desiccate them into manila folders?"
Wouldn't they just dry up like a raisin then?
Oh no dear, that's resin. Doesnt a dream
demurred grow wrinkled and absurd like
losing one's youth? Or won't a dream
demurred ferment and perturb? You mean like
two pervs playing grab ass in someone's
front yard? No, but maybe it forms a
moldy skin like a brick of colby-jack
that's been left out in the Sun for way
too many days.
Or does it expire?
Words on the table spill like milk,
Listen, "the mitochondria are the cells'
power station. "We're rusted and rustic
and fat in a corrsett."
Those loose laces around your mouth
Are our doctrine of truth.
I say, "Grant an idea or belief to be true"
As in, La Sein is not wet?
La Sein, La Sein, La Sein
Let this, be our doctrine of Ruth.
"Dear sir, I must say the
intellectuals here are more off
hand and irreflective than thought"
Pipe down boy! We only use them as a clock,
Thus regulating the length of our lecture, so
tick, tock.
She had braided hair,
skin that sags and bags
beneath her bruised eye.
Her feet are a silted tribute
to Gia's nurturing clap
She hides the criminally insane
Who hoard all the acorns for
fear of an unfruitful winter
She shades the lost shepherd
"When he has left a baby lamb for veal"
But if you softly glide your touch all
along her flesh you may feel the brail that'll
tell you when her leaves may fail.
We were under sky lit trees focusing
on the flowers and weeds. We thought of the
blue collar bees who, swallowed whole the nectar from
mother nature's bosom, and secured
it in their pockets for change.
We saw white collared ants hauling their ill and
demented away from the hill, leaving them
to be caramelized in the palm of the Sun.
There were leaves weeping in fear
from the darkness that has now disappeared,
mountains obstructing our view of any escape.
And you who stood there with your hair taut
back, opened your loose banana pealed lips and let out the words
I fear most, "I really quite like it here."
I'm black toast and tolerant,
crispy on the outside but
fluffy in my insides.
I'll accept eggs and ham or
you can carpet me with jelly or jam
-However, I don't take kindly to butter-
And not to taste crude, but
should you choose not to
use any of these foods,
I should warn you:
I shall be in the nude.
It creeps and it crawls all along the alley lanes
It strangles and it brawls
When it sneaks out into the
Halls. It sucks in its gut and puffs out its cheeks
Just so that it may blossom into a costume.
"She's been laying here for days"
-She's been troubled in so many ways-
A locket without a portrait and a
Watch that's afraid to tell time.
"Youth in all its wretchedness"
I must live beyond my means.
It seems, but another has gotten her
Bedroom walls painted black and now there's
No way we may ever paint it back.
John Doe, admitted three days ago.
Said hello, then said he had to go.
In his pockets -
A key
Two twigs
A spoon
Three candies and
A bag of blue berries.
It was my impression
That though his possessions were
- Fairly odd -
You'd know John Doe as a good man
Mysterious maybe
Serious, only slightly, but
Delirious - more than likely.
Despite such delirium
I know John Doe to be
Completely free.
Though, he was admitted only three days ago
I can say his sense of life
Is all I strive for.
Whenever I ask him:
"John Doe, where do you intend to go?"
He always replies:
"To the sky, to the moon, but mostly
Wherever the wind will
I've been raised and have lived my entire life in Wisconsin, and over the years it has become a place of great inspiration to me. Writing, to me, is both an inlet to the mind and a way to understand it. So often, I write to explore that idea and what it means to be human. I hope that you enjoy my work and be sure to let know what you think.