January 2012
3 posts
HOWLER
Some will have heard, some won’t have heard; all should have heard. Howlers, four-piece from Minneapolis; nothing new, but better than the rest. Semi-colons aside, Howler’s are the Mark II of the low-fi surf vibe that has arisen in recent times, with the like of Wavves and Lovvers leading the charge. The ‘W’ in Howler elegantly unites the double ‘V’ which seems...
FEELS SHIT TO BE BACK
So, I’ve not wrote on here for a year and a half, in which I’ve passed my first year of university, become captain of the men’s lacrosse team at said university and broken and had my heart broken. I’m still sewing a fresh wound that got delivered to me by the body of an angel, face of a freshly fisted arse hole, so I apologize for any deviation from the egotistical machismo...
BACK
I’m back after a year away
December 2010
1 post
SESTINA OF STUPIDITY AND A RELAXED ATTITUDE...
This cunt has taken me a week to write. It’s a piece of coursework for the creative writing part of my degree. “All I want to do is fuck and look good,” sighed Life to a burka, ebony and cleaning white teeth with a coral petal. “Salmon Rushdie didn’t die for you, whore,” replied :nickname: Disgrace, with tears that stained emerald skin the first shade of grey; the first scene of...
November 2010
2 posts
I COULD PROBABLY GO ON LIKE THIS FOREVER
Who let the flatterer into the gallery, whip bent and tearing paintings from the new ceiling, cast iron shackles arresting the dead bed maid as the salary of feelings is considered - the bed’s lungs won’t last tonight by the filth and bride; poor poet at the pinnacle of passion; fail the dragging of the lake, which hides under fat thighs and cringes at the creaks of epileptic springs.
IT TAKES TWO TO GET FINGERED AT A BUS STOP
Convulsing by sand banks, as castles die, seduced by crimson tendrils and rag-tag charm; the chase that kills the hunter; blundered distance that caresses tear stained, dry cheeks. Vanishing like a cloud, while choking cubes of white sugar, indebted to a bag of unformed chords. Drown in machismo colours as phrases empty the pockets of Us; Cascading rolls of the drummer over lonely sheets and...
August 2010
1 post
POP! GOES OLD IDEAS
I haven’t wrote a poem for about 4 months so this is my first attempt at it.
Paper flowers tied to aching letters, licked and sealed in starless sewers while suits stumble from wine to wire. “Are we sugar lumps in lungs,” the town crier, port and sad, bellows to buttons, torn from suits like eyes and trotters. All this, sung on cloud nights by paralytic pirates at the end of their...
July 2010
3 posts
BASK
Morning all. I’m in the south of France, have been for a week and will be for another two. I look like a well cooked piece of beef. I apologize in advance for the lack of quality this message will hold due to my lack of writing the last few weeks. Well, first thing to say is that I can understand why so many art movements happened in France, because the amount of little bars that flow out...
“It wasn’t a rose in winter
It was a dirty piece of tissue
caught in a...”
– Billy Childish
CHANGE
I’d love something to come and change/shock the art/literature world. Not going to happen though and I’m too lazy to do it right now.
June 2010
27 posts
Mutiny Aboard SS. Heart Attack
“All I want to do is fuck and look good!” Said the wood to Captain Goose, wing on an empty noose, by the bin, behind the blood, between thighs of steel and weeping lice. “Shit stains sip on soda water,” replied sipping on her soda water, trucker clamped, half devoured by Sour Cunt, signing lists on the hunt of the hooker. Lewis Dalton
Reflecting Reflections
Bambi; bootlegged black by a bag of bones amidst fears of gloss and conscious, while tin choirs rape with shaped wire, newly born negatives named: Delicious. Scenes of bone, home to ebony etchings, sketched upon dry plateaus of flakes, left to canker, Je m’appelle cheveux; dark and thick like the yard of black we take. All the mirrors dancers will sing, “Among illusions of cosmeticized ...
nineteentwentyeight asked: This is completely unoriginal, but I truly admire and appreciate your honesty and beautiful words. Your poetry is raw and often controversial but that is what makes it so powerful. Thank you for sharing your words.
NINE TO FIVE IN A DESERTED BEE HIVE
Lobotomy at the bottom of boredom, strangle-/holding obese anorexics with their tendrils tied to lost shipping lanes. Hoarders of half-empty elephants on dull dames, iced up with ignorance, blowing out insults by the picturesque post card of tan grime. I’m executed by the trucker’s bride, left to balance the bar with one eye on the time. The safaris are liberated zoos. Lewis Dalton
UNCLE COTTON BUD
butter lambs steal the sleep of ideas that were, but never are original and the use of soldiers without a war labour softly at conscious and caring apparent aliens are the thieves of time and undiscovered discovery nomadic drunks are essential in their quaint purity of self proclamation hermits wish for butter lambs to become enigmatic, after fleece is shorn and petals are popped; blown...
THE GUILD OF THE BACK BLADE
Bandits drafted in the foxes field, while blind guards yell the names of stoopers. A four gallon barrel of coal to gorge on magpie mountains;
who really cares for the thrift o’ thieves? Temptation exposing herself as hooker - no, lover. Yet wily as a self birthed coyote. Lewis Dalton
SMOG AND SMEG
throats like voting, untrusted by the crows who spiral to London. London. London. her smog engulfs pleasure as neon’s light appauls the shepards and their flock. with backs turned, they lick glass spiders - stone spawn - trusting hungry swine to tend to da kine shapely hips and knives, parasites and brine. negro imitation with live alarms to enrich rois faux below deception. seas of...
SELF BIRTH
Magpies stealing from the womb, masters in the craft of draft; from shades to Hades hair-net ‘til sailors do part with wives and ghosts shows breasts at the cir- cus and circumcision, by grace of fisting popular- ists. Anti’s dead; so are you. Lewis Dalton
REWRITE THE BIBLE IN THE BATH
Parched flower of the prairie, wilting upon an orphaned passion as an empty quiver appeals to the reader. Idiotic. Pathetic.
Bamboozled by the birth of an elementary bed-bath, Tundra’s wealth hails cancer. Butchered by the writer; inchoate and barren.
“Dear reader,” screams Ink, down the wall of a vile cubicle. “Don’t try to analyse my grace; demote your liver to critic and drown.”...
PRETTY NEW ART
Spread cunt; curtailed by the poppet farmer; fluffy and frolicking in whiskey wisps that float freely. as Shuttlecock and battle-door are shattered beautifully by pink, petals popped by forceful love . Rapists realize modern art; red, semi-colon, raw; semi won’t do to create this new art . Nameless, tooty-frooty nature in kitten form and cutey fur; notions of lovely, little dreams....
DUTTY WHINE
Women who can do this; challengers against me or REAL women
AMERICA ARE SHIT
All you Americans. Haha. You are terrible at football, it’s just that our goal keeper screwed up. Had that not of happened, I’d have won money tonight. Sigh.
Sexless Saturday
citratedebetaineingrenadine:
Taste thunder
Hear me hallucinate
Licking your lust
Touch and tense
Watch me wander
See what you’ve done?
This is about me.
MONTPELLIER; BREEDER OF DELICATESSEN
Sand waves remember drops of the sea as the shaved head of Father Time pops to show a haven of pearly petals. “Look, West”, translated East, excited. “He brings nests of puzzle pieces”. But, by the side of the thirty first bisous. West; perfectly proportioned past pains parallel to plaintive peasants par- -ading by town, We Feel Pretty Good. Lewis Dalton
MODERN SINS 3 - CARING 1
Under commit to eight hour ‘left, right’ while unsightly neon lights entice Green’s lawn to the carousel, trussed in white night; the height of un-commissioned female parking.
Tailor feeding tubes to where vacant legs arrive, crudely grafted through lewd, Duvet; soaked with mold, lube and Newly Weds, before balloons woo faceless virtuosos. Oh? … Oh? Sabotage uncut cartels with naked ...
DEATH OF SOBRIETY
Quaint, as crimson tipped syringes foxtrot petal tiled clouds; meek droplets of haze, weary of alarming the hinge’s mound. Spittle, caked in soft old lace, blessing a sienna canvas; couplets of beads caressing the arch of unblemished Innocent’s face.
Wallow; sloshing gently through motions of slurred cadences; rolling gold photos into moist, anecdotes tailored around you.
Three cardboard...
La baiser, Et puis après
Eat the lung of your adopted sun, under ebony skies and incest highs, as menstrual knives take fecal lives. Your rape, Imposer Tape, you’re not slim; like blind firewall fucks, behind dead hookers; wet dreams tail crooks like me. *aw shucks* Lewis Dalton
GUILTY GANGS GLARE GOWNS
Guilt, betwixt the wick and the Golden Fleece,
as novels shear sheep and bleed blemishes
over uncut cocks that tear at the seams;
And, Oh and Like blessing hiking blue thieves,
who cherish the stitch work and bottle the
Knees by the piano’s teeth, by the black farm. Lewis Dalton
DOG ON BLANKET
Candles vomit beside the march of cleavage and valor, as Compassion enslaves Responsibility; stray. Tundra’s cancer enclaves lit’rature; trumpets acclimate wounded chords at Voltaire’s cum-guzzling tea-party. Estranged limpets hollow out each stanza, entrenched by nonsensical verse and geometry. Fools hate complexity. Lewis Dalton
BUTTERFLIES DIE AS EASY AS WOOD
Deck the halls in silent whispers, in patch work elegance, Fore the pinnacle in passion arrives and floats like concrete. Her serrated tongue - a blessing born of ghosts unto this accident. Wile, to blemish the gloss of our comfortable life, Our dancing curses and an untangible affection towards ‘kicking and screaming’. She peels back the torn flesh to reveal their reflection, yet the scribes...
BED TIME
Maiden whore married to the legions, fresh pink, petal led, wings spread. Spot light screams and soothsayers missing raw fists; hammer led, joy dead. Lewis Dalton
ACID JAZZ AND AN AXE WOUND
Open up my ribcage to display a paint palette, adorned with the crimson of navy and green of the through. Eloped to the stained bone of the you as it blinks, eating sand and caressing hymen in lazy fits of ripe dismay. We appreciate the hiss of wind that flutters through the wound in the throat, a cloak of hazel; dry; net. Don’t whistle without a care, we’ll die and so will...
AN IMMEDIATE POEM
I write better than Ginsberg Bukowski Tzara Arp Schwitters Kerouac Burroughs Apollinaire. Jealous?
ALL DRESSED UP AND READY TO GO
I want applause. I want bottles of acrid beer. I want a collection of bored co-eds. I want a deprived chaton to demolish. I want elegance deluded by adolescent energy. I want to fumigate everyone for the best friendship. I want gonorrhoea fuelled acrobats in flight and gagged. I want humidity gone from the Earth, faded in and out with helium. I want ignorance. I want jalapenos on Iraqi...
“We have not learned anything
We don’t know anything
We don’t have anything...”
– CZECH FREEDOM POSTER (via ethercult)
AUTONOMOUS
I just wrote this. It’s all true and my brain is seriously dead. This last couple of hours have sapped everything from me, leaving this as a present. It’s autonomous drivel. I advise against reading it.
This poem is the work of an empty, autonomous mind, that has applied for over fifty jobs today and now feels like the inside of an endless depiction of the Pope’s eye lid being...
May 2010
15 posts
This dude wrote a song about my girlfriend....
POEM
I’m currently writing a new poem. I tried not to use obscene language as a lot of my work is getting rejected for it, even though it isn’t just to shock but fits with the whole contradiction of the poem. Anyway, the word cock has slipped into the first stanza. Sigh,
NATIONAL PRIDE
Any more of a self delusional joke? Just spoken to my mother about ‘Great’ Britain and alas, she has an older generation’s, (in my opinion) idiotic attitude. We’re a country raped by most; Romans, Anglo Saxons, Vikings, Normans, etc. Yet still our country is great? We’re not even our own people! We’re bastard children. The Brythons are dead. They were the...
doema asked: Wow your words are so powerful! (Even though you talk about serious topics.) Where did you learn to write like that?!
PRETTY NEW ART
Spread cunt; curtailed by the poppet farmer; fluffy and frolicking in whiskey wisps that float freely. as Shuttlecock and battle-door are shattered beautifully by pink, petals popped by forceful love . Rapists realize modern art; red, semi-colon, raw; semi won’t do to create this new art . Nameless, tooty-frooty nature in kitten form and cutey fur; notions of lovely, little dreams....
DOG ON BLANKET
Candles vomit beside the march of cleavage and valor, as Compassion enslaves Responsibility; stray. Tundra’s cancer enclaves lit’rature; trumpets acclimate wounded chords at Voltaire’s cum-guzzling tea-party. Estranged limpets hollow out each stanza, entrenched by nonsensical verse and geometry. Fools hate complexity. Lewis Dalton
burmesejorjiapits asked: trust me when i say - that words your like yours should be blessed with great pay - oy fucking vey - what i wanted to say was that i admire your blunt approach and (if you've read me you know that words are my favorite) your language is raw salt laced with venom, a truly salacious read. but friend please do lend a welcome ear to this lowly tiger pit.... you write with such an ascetic tone...
REJECT
Ok. I’ve just had a poem rejected from a submission I made. I wouldn’t usually have made this post, as I get stuff accepted and rejected all the time, but the reason they gave me was quite comical and reason enough to share! ^_^ “Many thanks for submitting your poems to Prole, unfortunately we did not find them strong enough for inclusion. Sorry to disappoint. We do admire your...
6 FOOT ASIAN
Blister on my thumb from writing too much. Sigh. Fair enough, Hitler was an influential character in history, but he didn’t mean enough to cause me to rub the skin on my thumb to a fleshy bubble! So, this summer… I’m off to CMARfest in Germany. It should be a splendid time. Then, I arrive on the shores of France to rape and pillage, I shall only be raping and pillaging one...