philthD's 50PoWriMo

i haven’t got time or spare brain capacity to do a NaNoWriMo, but i figured that if i can write a poem and two-thirds each day then i can write 50 poems in the month of november. please help by suggesting titles for poems for me.

a contribution to the last barman poet project

i am the world's last barman poet
i see the survivors drinking the fallout cocktails i create
all seven of us stinking - getting something i found or ate
the "sex in the shelter"
the "schnapps" made from melters
the "vermin hammer"
the "worm-a-jammer slammer"
i make things with sludge and soot
the "glowing squirrel"
the "three-toed foot"
i make drinks so sick and scuzzy
the "iced wee"
the "kami-khasi"
the "orgasm"
the "death spasm"
the "singer pore slime"
the "digger lime"
comrades, you're just devoted to ever liquid i've thought of
but if you want to end it
why don't you just drink the water

passed-up passport to the past

and we watched the sunrise over once familiar streets
aged now by the seeping spread of the suspicious stain
of progress
revelling in reliving familiar defeats
former glories insignificant as that tribute you're
always lacking
earth has moved three thousand million miles through space since then
doors to every moment past are locked never again
to open
leaves us wandering all night like vagrants - i say when
packing everything we own to carry to the future
let's travel light


[for glyn, sort of]

"are you happy?" asked arcadianlady

three small words in a simple sentence
in an empty ocean of context
my first reaction was to jump on the defence
"of course i am" my next
reaction was to focus on the worst
of my sorrows. i was left perplexed
that these thoughts - though diverse
were similarly diiferent from the real
world - each a simplistic and perverse
narrative of how i feel
each its own pretense
hidden behind its own spiel

how often do i stop and wonder if i feel happy?
how often do i stop and wonder if i feel?
how often do i stop and wonder?
how often do i stop?
how?



i used to have so much sadness that it defined a part of me
a portion that feels empty now it's dissipated
i have so many blessings and so much to rejoice in
why is it so rare to be elated?
how do i compare with those apart from me
where are the statistics collated
my mean state equates with what others are voicing
if i eschew what's skewed and weighted

exophilic

nobody ever had a crush on me

noone ever passed me a note
noone ever wrote me a poem
noone ever looked away hurriedly
     embarrassed to meet my glance
noone ever learned my details
noone ever followed me around
noone ever ran away
    when they saw me see them see me

noone ever carved my name with a compass
     into their desk
          or their pencil case
               or their bleeding flesh
noone ever sent their friend
     to tell my friend
          to tell me how they felt
noone ever fantasised about me
noone ever imagined marrying me
noone ever dreamed about me holding them in my arms
noone ever wondered what they could do to make me happy

noone ever spent an hour
     staring at my thighs
          trying to remember
               every subtle curve
                    desperate to never forget

nobody ever had a crush on me


until the subject of my most secret
crush began to stalk
me all over the internet
and hanging out and drunken talk.
she stole me and she stole my heart
she wrote songs about me too
i should have told her from the start
the way i felt - she always knew

she
make me
feel so lucky -
imagine if nobody
ever loved me