Category Archives: experimental

Larrydavidian

Posted on by under experimental, humorous

A branch off the Jerry tree,
a chip off the ol’ block;
curbstomp your enthusiasm

If a fire started, I’d wait and see how it developed first. Hear me out, okay? Wouldn’t you find it awkward to call the fire department and have them come out with trucks and hoses and bells and whistles and all… if it turned out to be just a small fire?

Ah, I mean, you know. Like the tiny flames just fizzling out on their own and you, lord of the idiots, standing there like a putz waiting for a brigade of firefighters. Like yeah: way to go, dipshit. Nah, I’d be a wait-and-see kind of guy. A waiter-and-seer, that’s me.

Anyhoo, the other day. I’m at the laundromat, there’s a full drum of tumbledry just sitting there. For 30 minutes straight. I disapprove. Then this woman comes up – finally – and checks the laundry… then starts another tumble with the same batch!

NOW I DEEPLY DISAPPROVE. Yet say nothing. But I did think to myself: “You know, we’re living IN A SOCIETY!”

“Whaddya want me to say?
That things haven’t worked out like I planned?
That I’m struggling, barely able to keep my head above water?
That LA is a cold place even in the middle of summer?
That it’s a lonely place even when you’re stuck in traffic on the Hollywood freeway?
That I’m no better than the screenwriter driving a cab, the starlet turnin’ tricks, the producer in a house he can’t afford?
Izzat whatcha want me to say?

WELL I’M NOT SAYING THAT!”

That Feeling You Get

Posted on by under experimental, short stories, solemn

That primal feeling you get when you’re walking back to your bed from a nightly trip to the bathroom or the kitchen. Sure, you know that one. We all do.

You are a rational 21st century person who does not believe in supernatural terrors, who doesn’t check for monsters under the bed, who ain’t afraid of no ghost. And yet, you cannot help but slightly look over your shoulder. You cannot help but walk at a slightly funny angle so you could jump around more quickly to fend off that small sliver of hell that lurks in the dark corners of your eyes. That beast, that terror, that formless torment that you somehow know is coming at you any second now. 

I mean, you know there is no one and nothing there. Never has been, never will be. And you know, beyond any reasonable doubt, beyond any instinct stirring your soul, beyond any synapses silently misfiring in your brain. You know all of this.

And you also know that even if that nothing that lurks there would one day be a something that lurks there, it would in all likelihood be something wholly unmenacing. Something listless and undangerous. 

A timid little mouse. A faint breeze from a window left open. A feeble wraith, risen from a tepid well of some mundane malice. Casper the friendly fucking ghost.

And yet. 

In your mind, you know something else as well. You know against your better knowledge; you hold a conviction you cannot let go. Your lizard brain is screaming: it’s saying there’s a threat to your life and soul behind that slightly ajar door that you pass, that unseen and dark corner of the room that you must walk by. 

It is the night, there might even be others living with you in the building… and still you cannot shake that primal fear.

You know.

You know what I speak of. Don’t you, my friend?

DON’T LIE to me. You know goddamn well what I speak of.

Song Lines That Remind Me Of You

Posted on by under experimental, non-rhyming, poetry

“There might be ones who are smarter than you,
that have the right answers, that wear better shoes”

“Al le my gemoedstoestand so blou
sal ek altyd die berge kan onthou
Die poel water weerkaats
die flitse die riete
die beloftes van liefde
wat die wolke geheim hou”

“It’s an unspoken heartbreak, a heartbroken handshake
I take with me where I go”

“Slow it down, Angie, come back to bed”

“It’s better to feel pain than nothing at all
the opposite of love’s indifference
so pay attention now: I’m on your porch, screaming out
and I ain’t leaving till you come downstairs”

“There’s some things that I should never”

Songs quoted are, in order of appearance:

Bloc Party – Sunday

Fokofpolisiekar – Prioritiseer

Passenger – Patient Love

The Lumineers – Slow it Down

The Lumineers – Stubborn Love

The National – I Need My Girl

All song lyrics have been used under the principle of fair use and with utmost respect to original authors. I do not claim any copyright on individual lines nor suggest original authorship of them in this instance. If you wish to have your original content removed from this work, please contact me at wroteapoemtoday@gmail.com to request for the partial or complete removal of your original content. Thank you to all the original authors for creating art that has inspired me, moved me and mattered so much to me in certain times of my life.

Fridge Magnet Poems

Posted on by under experimental, non-rhyming, poetry

 

 

I got these word fridge magnet things from the office a while back. Went to work with them, composing and compiling stanzas from them, seeing what I could come up with using a preassigned and limited vocabulary. It was pretty interesting, actually! Anyway, here’s some of the stuff I’ve liked enough to keep on my fridge door for some time now.

what_they_have_said

i_live_away

the_quick_sky

urge_love

goddess_delirious

Second to Last Day

Posted on by under experimental, humorous, non-rhyming, poetry, short stories

I went to get a sandwich and coffee;
the barista won’t look at me,
gazes at the sandwich (chicken caesar)
and mutters: “Four ninety”.

Hey, I’m over here, so how about screw you?

Her spoken afterthought: “Anything else?”
I want coffee but still say “nah”.

It’s my second to last day before holidays. I’m still here.

I pass a maintenance guy. His reflection looks back at him from the maze of glass doors he is cleaning. Then I realize it’s no reflection but another guy talking with him, joking with him, mirroring him.

Damn, I give way too much credit to the glass doors of this world.

I head for escalator. This woman walks diagonal to me. I think: “oh shit”. I begin to see a pattern emerging here, detective Columbo.

I reach the escalator first. Feeling her behind me, tailing me. Spy stories, eh.

I make for the door, push it and not hold it open for her. I pretend I dunno she’s there.

It ain’t the first woman I’ve pretended I didn’t know was there. I was there, now I’m here. How about trying to be less of a dickhead every now and then?

On the street, she passes me by and becomes the one pretending she don’t know I’m there. My my, how the tables have turned.

(Actually, if I’m honest, I don’t know if it was the same woman.)

My breath steams as I exhale. As I walk the street up to the office. It’s 3.5 days till midsummer. So in conclusion: fuck!

P.S. I wrote this down in the bus, some old dude sitting next to me. If he saw what I was writing, he must’ve thought “this guy is hella weird”.

But still here, man. I’m still here.

Voluntary Full Disclosure

Posted on by under experimental, non-rhyming, poetry

My favorite color is blue, my least favorite color is brown
My favorite person in the world is none of your fucking business, my least favorite person in the world is oooh apathy and indifference I dunno too many to choose from I suppose
My favorite team is Arsenal F.C., my least favorite team is FC Barcelona because fuck dynasties
My favorite pope is I don’t have a favorite pope, my least favorite pope is all the reactionary turds to have held the office and the funny hat that goes with it
My favorite kind of thing is a shirt that sees thru just ‘nuff to show her underwear, my least favorite kinda thing is foolish pride

My favorite town in the world is Ghent, my least favorite town in the world is ummm I dunno maybe nnnaah really dunno
My favorite person to have sex with is yo momma, my least favorite person to have sex with is yo daddy aaah what an obvious joke
My favorite number is 2 followed by 10, my least favorite number is nnnnnine
My favorite book is From Here To Eternity by James Jones, my least favorite book is Dan Brown’s Hidden Symbol or Secret Symbol or whateveritwas
My favorite beer is pretty much most beers when I’m in the proper mood, my least favorite beer is Bishop’s Finger because that stuff tastes like cabbage, yo

My favorite English word is “vicarious”, my least fav English word is “fav”
My favorite German word is “Selbstvernichtung”, my least favorite German word is “doch” though I can live with it
My favorite food is spaghetti bolognese, my least favorite food is some milk-based vegetable soup so repugnant I haven’t bothered to find out the English word for it
My favorite song is “Friend of Mine” by The National, my least fav song is prreeetty much anything of the mediocrecore shit In Flames have been churning out in recent years
My favorite adult playground is London, my least favorite adult playground is Helsinki

My favorite artsy playpen is Berlin , my least favorite artsy playpen is there’s no such thing since artsy playpens rule by default
My favorite American prez is Clinton, My least favorite American prez is Dubya
My favorite Ameri-prez I can’t really have a proper opinion on is LBJ, my least favorite Ameri-prez I can’t really have an opinion on is any segregation-supporting dickheads in case there were some
My favorite sex position is every position, my least favorite sex position is are you stupid or what it’s seeeex just enjoy it
My favorite car is who even has a favorite car I mean you just drive it from A to B, my least favorite car is your car you keep spouting on about even when nobody clearly gives a flying fuck

My favorite rapper is too many to name, my least favorite rapper is ahdunno Lil’ Jon maybe pretty overrated, you know
My favorite painting is “Nighthawks” or maybe “American Gothic”, my least favorite painting is “Mona Lisa” yeah you heard me it’s boooringsauce
My favorite real fake real fake real star is Lana Del Rey, my least favorite real fake real fake real star is Lady Gaga hey your schtick got real old reeeeal fast
My favorite Latin word is you know what fuck this shit, my least favorite Latin word is did you not hear me I’m done with this one null and void over n’ out go home nothing to see here police line do not cross no comment as of right now ok clear the room this press conference is over

Fuck da Pulitzer

Posted on by under experimental, humorous, non-rhyming, poetry

Anyone who’s ever braved to pick up the pen and write something
– for realz, like –
has at some point concluded that *everything* they write is shit.

Imagine Shakespeare throwing his quill around,
rocking that ruff look, screaming:
“Shit shit shit! Fucking fuckety fuck!”

But hey, fo fuckin’ shizzle,
just keep doin’ yo’ thug thizzle, Billizle.