re:Verse - Neoetry

French articulationista Jean-Paul-George Ringeau is a multi-award-winning phrasician who just happens to have a pre-warmed seat on the board of literary cool at re:Spectacle. Each week, the man the world knows as the ‘Grammar-Head Sharque’ sneaks us a filthy glimpse through the peep-hole of poetic prowess as he brings to our attention some of hottest word-smut from the alternative poetry scene.

This week, a selection of the most cucumber-temped ‘graphs from the ‘S’words in the Stone’ club in Faceborough:

Fidgety Tactile

I'm Fine

I hate myself.
I love myself.
I hate myself.
I love myself
I cannot decide.
What do you think?
I do not care.

Nips

From out of the brain came a song.
Could I imagine it?
From out of the mouth came a word.
Could I taste it?
From out of the heart came a feeling.
I am numb.


Jestl-Pan Offenkocker

Die, Crow, Die

A solitary blade of grass
Alone since the fire
The fire

A lonely child
Orphaned by the fire
The fire

The fire

The fire

New life from whence nothing was

No A Ho Say

I am the swollen palms of life
I am willing to accept a world of strife
I do not clean behind my ears
I have not done so for many years

I forgot to tell you about my face
I like your fastness, your excellent pace
I am fond of underwear with lace
I would like to cuddle you.
Embrace.

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re:Verse - Neoetry

French articulationista Jean-Paul-George Ringeau is a multi-award-winning phrasician who just happens to have a pre-warmed seat on the board of literary cool at re:Spectacle. Each week, the man the world knows as the ‘Grammar-Head Sharque’ sneaks us a filthy glimpse through the peep-hole of poetic prowess as he brings to our attention some of hottest word-smut from the alternative poetry scene.

This week, a selection of the most baby-skinned verbulars from the ‘Statemental’ lounge in Fudgeworth.

Banbury Darthwent

Conception

His watery hands spill forth flowing fast past the brass teeth,
Fast legs soon make light work of the past.

His fiery adolescence flashed past her darkened view ports,
Now her velvet walls gushed foreign tears at last.

After the white rain splashed only lonely silence followed,
No rouge, no light, no question, just pain.

The hands fly, the pages flip, the seed begins to stir,
What’s ma name? what’s ma name? what’s ma name?

Lozenge

There he stood
Oh shining stallion
Proud as the night
A face like winter

Here I stand
On the edge of society
Filled with opinions
Not one of them mine

Throat hoarse
Throat horse
Throat hoarse
Throat horse
Throat hoarse
Throat horse
Throat hoarse

Wh*re.

Claudio Van-Schmitt

Foreign Lands

They shuffle forward like a magician's cards with legs
Zut alor I hate this!
Like sheep with no posture
Like buffalo with hideous deformities
I am but a forgotten wave
Approaching the beach of conformity

Untitled no. #

I am not
What I am
Because yam is a veg
Youth say 'leg'
They forget to end

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