Writing : Plight of the Poet: June Edition

I have a couple of poems out. Duotrope says 9 days eta.

Took out a title loan on my station wagon so I can buy an adequate amount of champagne.

It's most likely ~9 days til I find out they've been rejected. But I'll take that as a "good luck."

Welcome, Kat! 

I've never done poetry but love playing around with it here. It feels safe to post here, and I like seeing what others write. hope you keep it going.

.

Solve for X

X + Y = Z + A

J.Y., I think I drank for you last night before reading this thread. Sorry about the rej. 

When I die, I want to be buried on the internet —
woundedknee.org.

Let's build a house, so we can fill it with assholes;
a house so big, you can only see it from space.

Apart from these ideas, I only ever just had one other one:
to break into a grocery store
and then steal all the crackers.

Why crackers, they would ask,
when there's beer and ground beef?
You'll get it, I'd say,
when you come to the feast.
There'll be music and dancing,
and the funniest person I know will be there;
but the crackers, my friend,
will be something to see
indeed.

^ nice

You bringing out a new monthly prompt, JR? Also, did I miss the poll for the November entries?

Fair enough. Open season for December might be a good idea.

Also, the quotes month for Flash Me was always just for the shits and giggles, something WAR themed that gave me time to plan for the New Year. I never intended to do a poll for that one.

Babies die in halls

Kid hits his darkest moment

A nation pauses

This is too long to qualify for the competition, but I felt like writing more than I should

When silence is red

When red eyeballs crawl through

alleys, 

ricocheting tears spotting their skin,

silence echoes from blown houses, 

too terrified to feel.

When alive is a term for

light bulbs, 

crying over those who´s lungs are ash, 

who is answered numerically, 

though we´ve forgotten how to count. 

While fires lick the tongues of our cities, 

igniting like only clenched hands can, 

those fingers are handcuffed and battered, 

in the name of our homeland pride. 

Then the war bleeds with its absence, 

though the word peace tastes foul, 

because eyeballs will always remember, 

the smell of a breath gone out. 

Sounds like a plan. Great initiative with this competition btw 

Jolt:

We caffeinate

so we're not late.

We penetrate.

We procreate.

We caffeinate.

We penetrate.

We procreate.

We decimate.

We are stagnate.

[I've never won anything before.
What do I do?
Answer: act like an ass.]

First, I'd like to thank Jonathan for typing a bunch of shit online.

Next, I'd like to thank everyone who realized they couldn't possibly compete with my poem-skills; who decided it'd be better to "sit this one out," sparing us all the embarrassment of "congratulating" them on their "valiant" (but obviously futile) attempts to make this into a real "contest."

Finally, I'd like to thank my parents for copulating, and God for allowing them to do so under His auspices.

"Wiz-eye Caliph"