Rot

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

Here it goes . . . Off I go:

Below you will find your feet, but below this thread you will find three poems from my book "Rot". It is my intention, come Monday, to then post a poem a day from the book. This experiment will last until you get bored with me. So, my last poem will probably be posted on Tuesday. As has been previously posted, if anyone would care to have their very own copy of Rot, PM me with your address, measurements, turn-ons, favorite Star Wars character (I suppose the last two may be duplicitive), daily caloric intake, and whether or not you believe love can keep on moving in both directions. If you would like your copy to be personally bound in cow bladder and inked with the mucous of my tuckus, then delivery may be delayed a few days.
I have about 20 books left, and would prefer to keep a couple of my own . . . you know . . . in case I run out of toilet paper. The pages are surprisingly soft.

Thank you for your graces; consider yourself warned.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"Fun"

has yet to play with me.
it is like an estranged father
who has bastardized me
and left boredom to mother me.
i often go and search for Fun,
but i think it’s hiding.
when i go to the mall,
Fun isn’t there.
when i prance nakedly through church,
Fun isn’t there.
when i staple my hand to that homeless lady’s breast,
Fun isn’t there.
maybe my Fun has been kidnapped.
maybe my Fun is being held against its will somewhere
and that’s why i can’t find it.
yeah.
i bet that’s what happened.
my Fun was kidnapped by some smiling freak.
well, i guess i’m gonna have to hunt this freak down
and chop him up into iddy biddy bits
to get my Fun back.
but what does this freak look like?
where does this freak live?
oh, well.
i guess if i start chopping up people,
i’ll eventually find that freak.
then, and only then, will i have
Fun.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"The Keepsake"

my baby is smiling
the candles splash light
onto his face
glowing waves
drown the shadows
keeping the face
pure and clean
the face is the only thing
keep it fresh
keep it sweet with
his sweetest smile which
branded bliss
onto my soul
when I saw it
I had to keep it
was quick to keep it
keep the smile now
as it was then
pure and clean
but purity decays
and clean fades
his face is paler than yesterday
it must stay preserved
so the skin won’t
blacken and crumble
so the flies won’t
come to feast
I’ll keep it iced
I’ll keep his smile
alive


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"I, mite"

i f.
whether

through a
natural
transmogrification
of bone and lip, or

through
astronomical alchemy

or simply a curse,

I awaken to take the form of a man-sized mite,

I would not curse, or
blame my moon, or bone

I would
rise,
piss,
dress,
brush
my
teeth, and eat everyone I saw

later that night, I might watch M*A*S*H.

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

I apologize for any confusion, but the books are FREE

I seek no monetary reward for this. Just knowing that I'm potentially polluting minds is reward enough.

My supplies are limited, though. I suppose I could take it to Kinko's and make some more copies if demand exceeds supply.

bambi girl

i like the imagery you used in these poems....very descriptive.
i liked 'the candles splash light'....and lots more but thats my fave one!

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

I lied. I couldn't wait 'till Monday. I'm suffering from premature poetry.

"Homeless Love"

Summer dumpster sex is a blissful adventure.
Dilated diapers and moist French fry containers
announce a putrescent essence for our venture
into tongue-thick embraces. My teeth contain her

Gasps and laughs as she grasps my mouth in hers. Bird shit
icing cakes the corners of our bed chamber, and
among our sheets: cantaloupe skulls, pork bones, egg piths.
Still, all I smell and taste is her. She takes my hand

Licks off the dirt, the day, halts me in this turning
world. There is no trouble here; no hurt, shame, or law.
Just recycled love from two fresh blossoms burning
in their own simple fires and not sweating at all.

I nibble a kiss, breathe her in, and softly say,
"Thank God the garbage man isn't coming today."

setaside2

I swear. It's like reading Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and Calvin and Hobbes, watching them meet in a back alley and come to a violent understanding. Whilst philosophy may prevail, somebody died to get it there. LOL killer. No pun intended.

Genius.

I can never remember if the 12 syllable program is in the sonnet family or not... but it doesn't matter. A technicality of technique.

Thanks to YOU for posting your rot.

seta

FancyFacade

youre a very talented writer..thanks for sharing

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

Originally posted by FancyFacade
youre a very talented writer..thanks for sharing

And you're a very talented reviewer

Thanks for sharing.

mookie d

when the going get weird...the weird turn pro. I'm glad I'm not the only twisted bastard on this board. Viva la Radar!!

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

Preach on, Mookie D. Preach on.

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

"De cries me"

De
spair

is repaired
i'm broke

it stands on my welcome mat
it only comes by on its birthday

i am well-bred
to give of my bread

empty myself into its empty hands
and watch it feast on my eyes

(De
corates
De
cay)

i will cut off its head
to make room for the

body

bed of angry grapes
whining in the rape

a bloated
rope
around my brain
aborted
hope
to pull the pain

(De
stroys
De
light)

pray that someone close will die
just to have a sane reason to cry

(De
signs
De
feat)

i cannot loathe something that
just wants to live
that is a nobler goal than i have

(De
vouts
De
vils)

it is my shadow
the brighter i get
the blacker it burns

it is the cancer
that aides me

it is my stage
where everything is

LOVING PARENT: How are you?
me: (aside) dead. (to loving parent) fine, thank you.
LOVING PARENT: Would you care for a soda?
me: (aside) i'd prefer cyanide. (to loving parent) yes. thank you.
LOVING PARENT: What are you doing this weekend?
me: (aside) plan on drowning in the missouri. (to loving parent) oh . . . nothing

De
cries
me

i can hold it in my hand
while it holds me in its fist
while i hold it in my head
while it thinks about me
standing on its welcome mat

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

"A Pain in the Grass"

Satan is stretched out as the grass . . .

and I can't get the lawnmower to start. He keeps growing and growing and nibbling off my Nikes with his stemmed molars and masterly licking my toes so that I have little choice but to tingle and to numb and to forget my feet as they dissolve into his digestion. I keep pulling tugfully on the ripcord starting string thing to the mower, but the motor only snores and keeps napping. And now the grass routes its root into my internal pudendal artery, and I can't help but pee as I hang from the handle and pull on the damn cord to pulse the damn mower but the damn thing is damned. And when Satan slips up to my urine-ripened undies, I hear a tumultuous tempest of "Uuugh! His piss tastes like shit!" Then Satan sickenly unascends and vomits forth my thighs and feet and Nikes, and retreats under the ground, leaving me to kick the kaboodles out of my damn lawnmower.

My neighbors think it's strange that I now mow my yard by pissing on it.

coleen

Originally posted by Radar(Baba)O'Riley

i cannot loathe something that
just wants to live
that is a nobler goal than i have

(De
vouts
De
vils)

it is my shadow
the brighter i get
the blacker it burns

seriously potent stuff right there.

sultryevening

"Below you will find your feet, but below this thread you will find three poems from my book "Rot". ""!!

I like you, your silly!

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

"I like you, your silly!"

Awfully nice of you to say, sultry . . . I think

jlfinhiding

can't fuckin' wait to get it in the mailbox!

radar, you rock!

too much talent.....how long have you been writing?
I suppose it 'just comes out that way'.....usually those who are this talented dont' even have to TRY.....I envy that!

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

Originally posted by jlfinhiding
can't fuckin' wait to get it in the mailbox!

radar, you rock!

too much talent.....how long have you been writing?
I suppose it 'just comes out that way'.....usually those who are this talented dont' even have to TRY.....I envy that!

Great. I have my first stalker

I'm pleased that you're pleased. Truly. My cheeks are exploding from blushes. It is foolish, however, to think that I don't have to TRY. It all depends on the amount of LSD and Cheetos, actually. But not cheesy poofs. Never cheesy poofs! Oh, those things make me angry! I hate 'em! I hate 'em! I hate 'em! Those soulless fiends!

It took me six years to write Rot.

Thank you for your kindness . . . now, that'll be $16.98

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

"what I learned at school"

I saw a little
toddler
toddling around campus. his teeny
fingers fixed
around mother's pinkie
like shark teeth.
his other hand
strummed
his lower lip
-plip-plip-plip-
until it dangled dry.
he wore
chubbiness under his clothes.
snuggle-cuddle-skin: softer than a
marshmallow's kiss. his smile
melted every
frown, warmed
every
eye.
the ends of his lips
held up
his peach-cobbler cheeks
and baked them with
a glow that could humble
the dawn.
a blue-leaf forest floated
in his eyes.
clear. forever.
each blink
glazed slowly across those eyes
as if the lids were savoring the slide.

I
sat on the grass
as he passed
and
wondered what a
shotgun blast
would do to him.

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

"AD D2"

what's this poetry doing in my underwear
I
don't think it'll eat much I:m glad
I
am sad because now
I
can hate the sky is a freckle on my cheek last week
I
bought three cents worth of sense for two dollars my old
neighbor grew thorn bushes out of her eyelashes
I
couldn't get my money back new sentence new opportunity
to be vague my life is rife with strife which made me knife my wife
I
put commas in my nose to slow down the sneezing I:m writing
in the first person because my author doesn't know what I:m
thinking there's nothing else to say so I:ll fart

I
just wrote the sweetest sentence so be thankful I erased it
my life is rife with strife which made me shit
I
already said that

setaside2

Radar, you twisted fiend you, again you amaze me. I hold forth on the Johnny the Homicidal Maniac reference but now happen to add a little Hunter Thompson into the mix as well.

You have the lyrical gift. No matter how dark the stripe. hee hee. I always always enjoy reading your work.

seta

Radar(Baba)O'Riley

Originally posted by setaside2
Radar, you twisted fiend you, again you amaze me. I hold forth on the Johnny the Homicidal Maniac reference but now happen to add a little Hunter Thompson into the mix as well.

You have the lyrical gift. No matter how dark the stripe. hee hee. I always always enjoy reading your work.

seta

(dofs cap, bows humbly) 'Tis most kind of you, noble poet.

However, YOU have the lyrical gift. I have more of a maniacal gift that I use for good.

Hope the PJ Poetry Press works out somehow. I've been impressed with the quality and quantity of stuff that's been posted here, and would love to see it squished together into some gooey casserole jam-like substance.

Sharon_Hearts_PJ

Originally posted by Radar(Baba)O'Riley

Thank you for your kindness . . . now, that'll be $16.98

wait, now i'm confused....i could've sworn you said the book was free
lol. jk, of course.
i like your stuff, Radar. truly. it's wild. and it's within the boundaries of my attention span!

now before you say anything, MarcUS, you know i love you and honestly adore your stuff. at least, i HOPE you know that.