Archive for the ‘Bad Poetry’ Category

10.21.2015

do you ever catch
the hint of
something human
caught in
the glint
of another
creature’s eye
something
meek and humble
within their iris
crying “i know you
brother;
we’re the same”
and do you notice then
just moments after
that that thing you
thought was human
wasn’t really human
at all
but rather a snag
in the thread
of a rare, fine fabric
running through
all creatures
and all things
and that that
beast
sees itself
also
in you

eo

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 1 Comment »


10.05.2015

anxiety is merely
spiritual nausea
caused by an over
abundance of
too rich
distraction
from the sky
and from the trees
and from the fact
that our time
here on this
mossy wet
marble
is ephemeral
and all
too brief
and truthfully
all about lying
in the grass
and boning
anyway

boy did
we lose
the plot

eo

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 97 Comments »


9.20.2015

how would you
describe your
velocity

like the way
the sky looked
in an old
polaroid
you saw
in a bin
in a flea market
once
and almost bought
but couldn’t find
a quarter

or like the
way your
childhood
house used to
smell
after you’d returned
from a long stay
elsewhere
inert but charged
familiar and haunted

or maybe like the tone of
voice an old teacher of yours
had when she told your
fourth grade class
we’re all just apes
wrestling with the curse
of consciousness

do those moods
those colors
those sounds
touch upon your
velocity
or are they off the pulse

let me tell you about
a separation i felt
a broken continuity
i perceived
between my youth
and whatever you call
being twenty-seven

it was yesterday
the sun was setting near
the mountains
and mexican music
played from
some faraway
unseen
place

a breeze blew
through me
and a black cat
stretched
on the lawn

you know the feeling
like you could walk the street
forever and be
happy
like if someone asked you
the point of life
you’d say this walk
this mexican music
this breeze
this light

and i knew then
that to die
tomorrow or
in seventy years
was really the same
difference

two
simultaneous
moments
in the span
of all time

even my birth
i was already a
ghost

and i felt grateful
and i felt small
and i felt ten thousand feet tall
too

and suddenly
i knew
my velocity
just for an instant

though words wouldn’t
due
to depict it

EO

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 3 Comments »


9.16.2015

Two days
             ago I woke
                          up to find blood
on my pillow –
                          mystery blood. There was
no evidence
             of a struggle. I don’t
                          remember shaking
so much that I could’ve
             bitten my tongue like
                          some sort of lost
                                       in the
                                                                                  night
LA street cat, who madly
             unfurls fur balls
                          from the back
                                                    of its throat
while making that wretched
             baby crying,
                          close to death
sound that keeps me awake.

 
Had the blood
             come from my mouth?
What’s wrong with
                          my mouth?
What‘s
             wrong with
                                     my mouth?
No cuts or nervous,
             middle of the
                                                                                  night
anxiety attack cheek
                          bites. That is
             certain. I checked
                                       in the mirror –
pulling my mouth
             apart looking like
                          some sort of acerbic
                                       large mouthed bass.
             no bites
                          no hooks
                                       no gills.
Dried blood
             and rust look
                          the same.
In the end,
                          the mystery blood
was of no real
             consequence, which
lead me to denounce
             any and all worldly
                                       or other worldly meaning
it may have had,
             as I simply accepted
the fact that it was my heart
             trying
                          and failing
             to escape
from my chest like
             some sort of chained
                          and shaking
                                       dog trying to
             drink from a just out of reach,
yet overflowing
                          water
                                      dish.

GY

Posted in Bad Poetry, Gabriel YOUNES | 47 Comments »


9.11.2015

There is a man in
Sioux City,
who collects Bibles
and pamphlets and prayer
books. He even steals
music books
from the back of St. Vincent’s
pews – the St. Vincent
on West Elm Rd.
just south of town

         19 copies of the Torah
         12 copies of the Old Testament
         7 copies of the Heart Sutra
         6 copies of the Satanic Bible.

Out of his entire collection
the man points to a children’s
“My First Bible”
that was printed
in 1992 as his favorite. Bought
at a 2005, “mom cleaned out the attic”
garage sale
for the low
price of 50
cents. He likes to think
the purchase
was made possible by a loss
of faith
or some sort of dark
night of the soul.

         3 copies of Analects of Confucius
         7 copies of a Pro-life Pamphlet on The Adoption Process
         1 copy of a How To Manual on Performing a Bris
         14 copies of The Book of Mormon

The most rare
text in the man’s possession
is Father Maloney’s
missing sermon
journal, which he keeps
hidden away inside
a slit in his mattress – It
makes him feel
warm to know
that he sleeps on top
of an entire
congregation’s
inspiration.

GY

Posted in Bad Poetry, Gabriel YOUNES | 55 Comments »


8.31.2015

it’s really

only a matter of

time
before
someone
periscopes
a spree killing

i’m surprised
it hasn’t
happened
already

to be honest

i hate to be
morose
but i’m a product
of my time
a reflection of my
brand

maybe
poetry isn’t suited to
such wickedness

maybe
that’s what social
media is for

if the astroid was coming
and there was nothing
we could do about it
which comedian would
have the funniest
pithiest
tweet

or would everyone
just
finally shut
the fuck up?

EO

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 1 Comment »


8.19.2015

ok let’s open on the five little fat children
now cut to the sausages
shot 125 i think it is
the one with the picnic table
that’s the one
now close on mom’s mouth
enjoying sausage
nice
ok now cut to ice bergs melting
the archival stuff
sad hungry polar bears
penguins
ok cool
splice those in there
ok now cut to some riot stuff
the streets of ferguson
angry blacks
stone-faced honkey cops
cars on fire
that kinda thing
you know what would be really interesting
just for one frame
let’s throw a diseased animal in there
like a cow almost dead in the dust
in pain
squealing like a pig
no not a pig
a cow
just squealing like a pig
can we find something like that
check the library
wowowowow
that’s something
that’s it
pop that baby in there
ok we’re at fifteen seconds, huh
this feels like maybe a good time
to use that isis stuff
hold on that ak-47
now cut to the child cradling the bomb
cut back to the fat american kid with sausages
now let’s cut between them really fast
kid with bomb
fat american boy
bomb
boy
bomb
fat
KABOOOOOOOOM!
fuck yeah
now fade to ebola ward
superimpose petri dish germ animation
now fade to wall street
fade to a man jumping from a building
fade to cash dispensing from atm machine
more cash
more cash
faster faster
fasterfasterfaster
ok lets transition to that slow motion shot
of the farmer’s face superimposed
over the american flag
let it wave
look at it wave
great
wow
ok cut to
uh
cut to 9/11
kennedy in dallas
michael jordan crying with the trophy
more fat kids
now cut to space
cut to deep space
cut to the big bang
cut to white
bring up logo
tyson meats
incredible

eo

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 39 Comments »


8.18.2015

saw
straight outta compton
tonight
at the arcadia
california
amc
in the westfield
shopping center
which felt
antiquated
ancient
somehow
like a time machine
to 1997
where everything
smelled of auntie anne’s
pretzels
i saw it
with a friend
i’ve known
since i was
6 or 8 or
maybe 10
we used to
take the bus to
the mall
straight outta elmhurst
when we were 12
and buy dishonorable
shit at spencer’s gifts
and bad cds
at sam goody
this is not what
black compton kids
were doing when they were 12
unfortunately
not much has changed
for black america
n on the way home
from straight outta compton
at the westfield mall
in arcadia
california
we reflected on
how quaint
and cute
and defanged
everything eventually
becomes
how fuck the police
almost sounds as
archaic
as rock around the clock
almost
and how
the black
LA raiders
baseball caps
and the black
starter sweatshirts
are a pretty
sick combo
plus
ice cube
used to be so cool
what happened
and
someone really
needs
to write
a fuck the police
for today
we need it so bad
because seriously
fuck the police
god only knows what that
song would be called
or sound like
it should be barbaric
and ruthless
and like the blue part
of a flame
and it should not sound
quaint or defanged
or sterilized
at least not for another
two and a half decades
i wish i could get
arrested for my
art

eo

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 1 Comment »


8.12.2015

in the school yard
where you fought
the black kid
because he had shitty
sweatpants
and you were seven
and considered the
effort noble
and where you
licked sally [redacted]’s
face after a dare
though you knew
in the pit of your
boy belly
that it was more than
just that
you later sat
much older
on the monkey bars
there
and wept
for some obscure sorrow
even though you were happy
and stoned
and it was snowing
and you were soon
to be married
and you had just decided to
name your unborn daughter
expected next month
judy

eo

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | No Comments »


8.09.2015

ur an airplane
                        turbulent

            glimpsed
            from the

                                      ground
where it reads
            swift n true
                                                      (like a
dart)

careen
ing

              e f f o r t l  e s s l y

through the    –   sky

resolute
            steady &
exact

unwavering!

in the blue
in the blue
                                                        in the blue

(and with white too)

above the water

eo

Posted in Bad Poetry, Eddie O'KEEFE | 15 Comments »

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