Poems about trainers



№ 1191691

Suicide trainers

Kiss my sorry ass and imagine
A differential. divide it by two,
See? this will give you the
Circumference of existential
Convulsion; you will see past
The freaky book you can't read
For lack of knowing and how
Absurdism scares you if you
Believe it. that's why you dropped
The Myth of Sisyphus part-way
Through cuz what came to mind
With all the drippy Dali-mentalscape
Spa of shread-dread WHATSyness!
Was Camus coming to so many a pessimists
Ending he had to turn it last second to say
'but in the end, we must assume that
Sisyphus is happy' and all you see in your
Minds-eye is pursuit of this absurdist
Paradise for nervous thought-drawn chain
-smokers is a gun to your head with one
Last glance at the ocean.


suicide,  trainers.

Author: softcomponent
+0-
Date: 21/03/2020

№ 1169903

There Was Once An Old Man That Walked With Strident Gait and He Had Wild Facial Features and I Saw Him Everyday As I Walked To School But We Never Spoke and I Sometimes Still See Him, Walking Passionately and Wearing Bright New Trainers...

Support your local drug dealer, kill your local poets
Protest the local governance
And burn your houses to the ground

We don't need them anymore, not where we're going

So rise to your feet and sweep away the apathy
This is a call to arms, your swollen scarred weather-beaten arms
Take your loved ones and dispel your desires
The Id and Ego will die soon
And we can bury them beneath the beetroot
Blood red desires of the human psyche dissipate
All your instinct are an lies
Here in lies,
A truth you despise
Oh, the world in your eyes
After death, again we can rise



Author: Reece
+0-
Date: 01/03/2020

№ 499636

Gold Trainers Dixieland

You just don't notice
The wrinkles an' lines
She's covered them in fun
Coz her easy smile
Will her airbrush be
Until her race is run

Gold trainers
Worn with blue jeans
Are the icing on the cake
As she boogies
With her old man
With the bar-room in her wake

An' the dixie-band
Don't miss a beat
Black jeans, black shirts, deep south
'Cept the double-bass
On whose poker face
Someone's stuck a smiley mouth

And the clarinet
Awaits his cue
Eyes shut in swaying bliss
While Goldie,
She's gone freestyle
And the front-man gets a kiss

So the trombone slides
An' the susa-phones
Just as cool as a cu-cumber
And the 'Judges rocks
As the chorus rolls
ВЂњYour Age Is Just A Number”


gold,  trainers.

Author: David Tollick
+0-
Date: 02/07/2018