Having a clear out of first lines for poems I shall never write.

[illetteratolettore@mastodon.uno]

@brianbilston Gonna feed them to an AI or two and make a song

[thejikz@infosec.exchange]

@brianbilston
In the vaccum between when and how, I squat.
I saw a curiousity then, and now, I thought:
A free line or five or ten about chow, or nought
Why not add to them while I drop trow, on pot.

Cheers!

#poetry #shitpost

[ticho@mas.to]

@brianbilston
For that was the winter we listened to Enya,
that was the winter of our discontent.

(I myself am a big fan of Enya's music, for the record.)

[gillinger@mas.to]

@brianbilston
Ode to Disastrous Taste.

Me and you in matching tank tops
On the march to Ban the Bomb,
Early seventies brown and beige were
Worn by you with such aplomb.

I thank you!

[justbr0wzing@mastodon.world]

@ticho @brianbilston maybe more of a disc content then?

[swggrkllr3rd@mastodon.world]

@lachlan @brianbilston Think I saw that in a movie.

[rvedotrc@tech.lgbt]

@brianbilston It's been a while since I wrote any poetry, and this probably demonstrates why that might be a good idea.

[tattie@eldritch.cafe]

@brianbilston
I am a bowl, chipped at the rim
A hairline crack running down to the base
Can I still contain all you ask of me?
Popcorn: yes, tomato soup? I don't know
Shame on me, if I were to leak and ooze
Staining your fingers tomato-orange
Would your face twist in disgust?
Would you throw me out with the trash?
I have beauty still, and my shape yet holds
Place me on your table, a centrepiece
I am not too broken
To be there
To hold
Your love

[slowtiger@berlin.social]

@brianbilston

I see you forgot the fabric softener again
I'm not angry, just disapointed
I will just look without speaking
at the trousers, standing in the corner

(this of course is an echo to "Lederhosensaga" by Börries Freiherr von Münchhausen, https://krautjunker.com/2023/03/20/lederhosen-saga/, as a child I already had memorized the refrain "Geschlechter kommen, Geschlechter vergehen, hirschlederne Reithosen bleiben bestehen")

[slowtiger@berlin.social]

@brianbilston

That my dear, is a diphthong
to keep your fingers clean
just grab the chipth with the thongs
and dip it in the thaltha.

(Title "The lithping Mexican")

[annasaultron@nerdculture.de]

@brianbilston

Oi! Oi!

Oi!
Oi?
Oi! Oi!!
OI! OI?!
OI?!! OI!!?
Oi! oi...
oi oi..
oi... oi?!
OI!!!
oi? oi???
oi!!!
oi... oi?!?
Oi?
Oi??
OI?
OI!!
OI!!! OI!!!
oI... Oi...
oI...
OI...

Silently they wept.

[superflippy@mastodon.xyz]

@brianbilston Today we shall make strudel
from the last of the flour,
then journey forth into
an uncaring world
together.
Solidarity.

[isol@mastodon.au]

@brianbilston

Aussies instinctively see 78 as two thirds of a SECOND line.

[rentalassistance434654@mstdn.party]

@brianbilston https://findyourhouse.godaddysites.com/

[dusk@todon.eu]

@brianbilston

Ska

Oi Oi!

Pick-it-up pick-it-up

Never stop skanking, rude boy

[markmason@mas.to]

@brianbilston
Please don’t do that it’s disgusting
Was what they used to say
When I did that thing I used to do
to make you go away
But years have passed and
We are cast
in different roles today
So now you do it with me
And I like it more that way

[joejoetom@famichiki.jp]

@brianbilston

Our love is a broken oatcake
Today we shall make strudel
The sky is darkening, and yet the dove
Doth barely resembleth a poodle

[garthderby@mstdn.party]

@brianbilston

I see you forgot the fabric softener again
As my socks crackle down the carpet in the hall
And as for the blanket upon my favorite chair
It’s caused the cat to stick upon the wall.

[netraven@hear-me.social]

@brianbilston

Where have you been?
This is unbearable—please don’t go yet. Please don’t leave.

I keep replaying it; I keep seeing it; I keep hearing it.
I remember Newport; I remember Pagnell; I remember the bowl with the chipped rim—
and I hate that I remember it so clearly.

We said we would make things right this winter, and you listened, and I listened.
But today the questions won’t stop: why now, why like this, why again?
The sky keeps darkening—again and again—and I can’t tell if it’s the weather or me.

I saw Carter. He called. I didn’t answer at first.
I tried to steady myself, but the bleeding wouldn’t slow, and I was afraid to ask for help.
I kept thinking, stay, just stay, and then the thought broke in half.

I loved you—still do—and I hate how quickly love turns into something sharp.
I forgot the simplest things; I forgot what I meant to say; I forgot what I promised.
And then I remembered, all at once, and it felt worse.

Please don’t turn this into another unfinished goodbye.
If you can, come back. If you can’t, at least tell me the truth.
Do you remember?
Or am I the only one holding the chipped pieces and calling them a whole?

[mdm@mcnamarii.town]

@brianbilston

"I am a bowl, chipped at the rim
Never to be filled up with cereal again by him
No more will I be filled up with Captain Crunch all the time,
He really should grow up and pick a different kind"