skonen_blades: (Default)
Is the Lord of the
Rings trilogy better than
Game of Thrones? Rather.

George RR Martin
A hot air balloon on fire
A sunset of fail

Our middle ini-
tials are the same as Mork from
Ork’s laughter. Ar! Ar!

Winter’s been coming
For 21 years! Climate
Change will get here first

Winter? More like Spring.
You now have an allergy
To writing your books

I’m so glad to meet
You George. Now I can see what
Writer’s Block looks like

The only thing we
have in common. Neither of
us write anymore

I bet on the Starks.
If you have too much Bran, you’ll
End up on the throne.

I’m dead so I can’t
Write anymore. What the fuck
Is your excuse George?

skonen_blades: (hamused)
I love Granville Street
clubs on a Friday night. They
are a cure for hope.

skonen_blades: (hamused)
We tried to fuck the
Earth. It turns out that she is
Not that into us.

skonen_blades: (hamused)
With all the condos
Going up, I feel like I
Live in East Vanish

I feel like the in-
vestors in East Van have a
strong commercial drive.

First the artists move
In, then the artists are forced
To move out. Progress.

The East Van cross marks
The spot where this neighbourhood
Has been crucified

skonen_blades: (hamused)
The Grand Canyon used
to be a river and my
heart used to love you.

skonen_blades: (hamused)
In Stephen Harper’s
Canada, surviving is
The new flourishing

If you are a bad
Parent, it doesn’t matter
What else you do well

You don’t think that you’re
Beautiful. I’m here to tell
You that yeah, you’re right.

(This was written specifically in response to a rash of poems from men giving permission to women to feel beautiful. It’s become a bit of a trope. So I set it up to be one of those poems and then pulled a switcheroo. It looks a little mean-spirited on the page so I thought it could use a little backstory)

We all have too much
Love. That’s why we keep spilling
Into each other

The third world corpor-
ation lie: It’s not slaver-
y if you pay them.

Sometimes I feel like
The imaginary friend
Of a child long dead

Being the life of
The party ends up killing
Too many people

skonen_blades: (hamused)
Hearts are parachutes
They open when they're falling
To make landing safe

skonen_blades: (hamused)
Dad's a magician.
He turned into an empty,
cold hospital bed.

skonen_blades: (hamused)
My penis is spam
There is so much of it that
It clogs your inbox

Her strapon was so
Long that it turned my innie
Into an outie

Sometimes my magic
Wand shoots a patronus in-
To my underwear

Your vagina is
like great literature and
My cock’s a bookmark.

skonen_blades: (hamused)
April 30/30


Is it an earthquake?
No, it's just an elephant
Skipping rope outside

Octopus high five
If it had human fingers
A high forty

A blind porcupine
Thought that he had a girlfriend
It was a cactus

I like telling jokes
To hyenas because they
Laugh at anything

Do not argue with
A zebra. They only see
Things in black and white
(props to Erin Kirsh for help with this one)

skonen_blades: (Default)
Why we fall in love:
Cupid doesn't shoot arrows.
Cupid pulls carpets.

skonen_blades: (Default)
Vancouver’s weather
Is fit for a king because
It reigns all the time

skonen_blades: (Default)
I'm getting very behind on these. But I'm going to go down struggling.


Blame me. Blame me hard.
Blame me all over my face.
Blame me all night long.

skonen_blades: (Default)
The past is a sea
That swallows up all of your
Dirty bad secrets

skonen_blades: (didyoujust)
Shaved Rapunzel's head
but not her pubes. Most painful
rope ladder ever.

skonen_blades: (dark)
My penis is spam
Inbox vagina-clogging
forgettable meat

skonen_blades: (Default)
Love is a weakness
When I fall in love, it's when
I've lost my balance

skonen_blades: (Default)
Waves lap at the shore
The world's largest animal
Licking the coast smooth

skonen_blades: (Default)
Jedi masturbates
without touching his penis.
Force chokes the chicken.

Candy cane penis
Spurting eggnog and ribbons
Christmas is coming.

my apologies. : )

skonen_blades: (slam)
Tonight I won the annual Haiku Deathmatch. This makes two years in a row. YAY! Tight races all. I didn't bring the dirty as much as last year and the judging was different thanks to the amazing work of Chris Gilpin so I think it made for a more varied show. See for yourself.

Here are my winning HAIKU!


Against Tristan De Plume:

You have huge balls, man.
You are self-centered. You are

Ten copies of me
Having sex with each other
A dopplegangbang

This haiku has sev-
enteen syllables. One for
each inch of my cock.

Against Daniel Mark Patterson:

Harry Potter’s wand
Dumbledore’s penis. Both saw
A lot of action

Hermione Gran-
ger rides Ron Weasley like a
Nimbus 3000

Captain Picard has
Sex in three stages. Make it
So, engage, and come

My daughter’s soft voice
Is made of little keys that
Whisper through my locks

My baby daughter
made a onesie out of the
skin of Chuck Norris

Against Sara Bynoe for the championship:

You break my heart, love.
Every day. Because my
Dad would have liked you

We pay for all of
Our oil with a percentage
Of your young people

Auto fellati-
o. He died of carbon mono-
xide poisoning

Slingshot around the
Sun to nineteen ninety-five
Murder George Lucas.

Robin leaves Batman.
Is homeless. Has to make ends
Meet. Becomes Swallow.

Superman’s penis
Shoots indestructible sperm
Kryptonite condoms

Giant meteor
Hits planet Earth. It puts the
Die in Dinosaurs

One hundred poems
With no repeats takes about
A year and a half

My skin is too big
Like a child attempting to
wear his father’s suit

War is a gun big
Enough to fire small cof-
fins made for children

I think when we are
At our loneliest, we are
At our most common


However, and perhaps more importantly, tonight was a big milestone.

Big Poppa E, a poet down south, came up with a challenge to poets three years ago. He bet that a poet couldn't do a hundred poems in steady competition or while touring without repeating him or herself. This was a nudge towards poets that write four good poems and then recite those same four poems over and over again in competitions for half a decade or longer. It's common.

So tonight, even though it's taken me a year and a half, I hit 100 poems with no repeats at the Vancouver Poetry Slam. All poems were done on the Cafe Deux Soleils stage.

Not bragging here but right now, I'm first in points during this summer season. I was second going into Team Finals last year and I was first the summer before that, proving that I scored high and placed well with brand new material every single slam for a year and half.

It can be done, poets. They weren't all gold but I'd say I'm proud of over half of them. And fifty poems I'm proud of is still better that four.

I challenge all the poets out there to hit a hundred. It's a fantastic thing to do.

But enough about me. Back to the regular shenanigans



skonen_blades: (Default)

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