XPost: alt.arts.poetry.comments, alt.poetry

[email protected] (W.Dockery) wrote in news:[email protected]:

On Thu, 24 Apr 2025 19:22:40 +0000, NancyGene wrote:

On Thu, 24 Apr 2025 15:59:45 +0000, HarryLime wrote:

W.Dockery wrote:
NancyGene wrote:

HarryLime wrote:
On Mon, 21 Apr 2025 17:41:10 +0000, Will Dockery wrote:
Anonymous wrote:

...lovely imagery..took me back to my youth*

Apple Montage

Sleeping around
with Cousin Jenny,
smoking menthol
beyond the shits.

Late summer probation 1973
in the backwoods of Tennessee.

To the right
behind the barn
were dead trees.

There were several
of those trees
and other trees
behind them
beyond a field
and above them, other trees.

Later, I stood near
as a crowd
watched Pops and my Uncle
cooking apple butter;
stirring the brown skunks,
boiling in a huge black kettle.

I saw my father
secretly piss
a wine bottle
on my Uncle Clarence.

I went from
breathing old mist
out back behind the barn,
to breathing
the hot misty team.

The air smelled of crap fumes
and strong booze.

-Will Dockery

--------------------------------------------

The other thread for this poem is getting so long I want to start
a new one specifically for discussion of the poem, which cntinues.

Read original thread at:
http://alt.arts.poetry.comments.narkive.com/cEgduQLs/apple-montage-
will-dockery-ping-george

posted his poem in a new thread "specifically for
discussion of the poem."

I'm posting this from JLA Forums where the unbroken thread is over
1,000 posts long.

<Trolling snipped>

Lying comes naturally

Your admission is noted, Nancy Gene.

<Trolling snipped>

PJR: Do you ever read the posts to which you reply?
WILL DOCKERY: Okay, good point.

We will ask again, in the spirit of PJR: Dockery, do you ever read
the posts to which you reply?

Most of the time, probably.

Will Dockery, you are the personified embodiment of a diseased sewage
spill in the ocean of human decency. Your deceitful tongue wags with the
grace of a gangrenous limb, spewing forth a torrent of lies so potent
they could make Pinocchio's nose retreat into his skull out of sheer embarrassment.

The term "scumbucket" is too generous for fucktard of your ilk; it's
more like you're the scum that forms on the surface of a stagnant
cesspool, festering with the accumulated dishonesty and moral decay of a thousand sunken ships of trust.

You're not just a liar, but the patron saint of falsehoods, the king of deceitful invertebrates, whose very existence is a testament to the
darkest recesses of human depravity.

Your breath probably smells like a combination of burning sulfur and
rotting fish, and your soul is so black it makes a moonless night in the Mariana Trench look like a well-lit Broadway marquee.

Your face is a contorted map of treachery, and every syllable that
escapes your lips is a toxic dart aimed at the heart of innocence.
You're the kind of person who would sell out their own mother for a
handful of moldy, half-chewed gumdrops, and then have the audacity to
demand a receipt.


May the echoes of your mendacious words haunt you in the quiet moments
when the only thing left to keep you company is the cold, unforgiving
embrace of your own conscience...or lack thereof.


--
"Post-editing someone's statement before replying to it is a sure sign
that you have already lost the argument." - Little Willie Douchebag gets another asskicking from Pendragon.

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