The Web Poetry Corner
DreamMachineThe Web Poetry Corner is a Dream Machine Site
The Dream Machine --- The Imagination of the World Wide Web
Google

The Web Poetry Corner

Alana Naughtin

of

Interlochen, MI, US

Home Authors Alphabetically Authors Date Submitted Authors Country Submission Rules Feedback



If you have comments or suggestions for Alana Naughtin, you can contact him or her at:
NAUGHTINAD@interlochen.k12.mi.us (Alana Naughtin)


Find a book store near you, no matter where you are located in the U.S.A.!


Cerzan

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

Gypsy's Photo Gallery


Flaccid Nuggets

by

Alana Naughtin

Why can't we all
just get along?
I hear your voice, I call your name,
but you disappear behind the flame.
The flames nibble at my toes
like peckish puppies.
Memories
clot and glisten
in the corners of my mind,
like the innocence lost
of finding tampons in my mother's
bathroom drawer...Lo,
the bananas are still too green. IMPATIENCE!!!!
Why?...why?
Redundancy is a tool
I use when I write.
I use redundancy as a tool
to get my point across when
I'm writing...
...
It's called redundancy.
Dusky squirrels fly
across the autumn sky.
Think we'll make it
to the big time,
Mr. Squirrel?
Yes, someday...
The moon wrinkles its pug nose
and winks, chipper!
I dream I am sitting on a train
that rumbles betwixt my thighs,
THUNDER,
and is swallowed
by the gaping maw of a tunnel.
...hmmm.
The conductor is a vampire
who trims his ragged cuticles
and LAAAUUUUUUGGHHHHSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
Ho. Ho.
The heavens are encrusted
with stars
like my grandmother's clip-on earrings.
Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled puppies,
then spread them like creamy peanut butter
on whole-grain toast.
THE PEGASUS IS DROWNING!!(hush my wee one, and give him a hotdog)
Don't give me your
loose-speaking-teriyaki-beefjerky-lies,
little man little man.
Pull up your pants,
and obscure the echoing, resounding baldness
of your carpenter's crack.
This is not a dance parlor.
We dance naked in a pool of A-1 sauce.
I think I need a bikini wax.
The sun descends into your eyes.
I cover my own eyes as
they fall to the ground
like happy blue dust bunnies.
BLOOOOOWWWWW, four winds of Glorious Creation,
and dandle me as if my diaper
were sagging with the Load
of Existence.
Thank you for the stale pork rinds.
I always loved them so...
You whisper to me,
your soul tugging at my emotions
like a tampon string flitting in the breeze!
You clean out my heart
like a festering Frigidaire,
o, how I do languish being your hootchie.
Fly, my narcoleptic fish.


Reflections of Napihed's Image

by

Alana Naughtin

A collaborative poem by Joy Corcoran and Alana Naughtin

I am a leaf
and I float, dreamlike
down the rugged thickness
of Napihed's mighty trunk.
I am a squirrel.
I gather up his nuts in mai hand.
Lo, blessed Autumnal Harvest!
In the words of the Fresh Prince,
I want to give you a verbal massage.
Yes, ring mai bell.
Ring-a-ring-a-ring-a mai bell!
Oh, Napihed, Napihed,
wherefore art thou....damn.
I might get in trouble for plaguerism.
I want to carress your throbbing
opinion.
Lilting pixie songs rise up from the
magical field of happy bluebells.
It makes me dance with your shadow.
The shape of you, so long had I avoided.
I am your lisping pussssssssycat.
Why does lust rhyme with trust?
Can I trust you, my Viking God?
You, who roam the land
with a lust for warfare
a love for bloodshed,
and a CRAVING FOR BOOTY!!!
Heal me, be my saviour.
Let me be your palsey child.
Mai need grows stronger.
Mai flesh grows hotter!
The flames grow higher.
GET THE K.C. MASTERPIECE!!!!
If I am Cool Ranch,
you are Extra Zesty.
If you are Sport Scent,
I am Powder Fresh.
Baby, I love your way.
Every day.
I wanna be with you night and day...
I gotta tell ya I love your way.
Who needs pantiliners?
I have you, now.
You have wings. Shield me.
Soak up my verbal interlude.
I am a kitty cat.
You draw me close like
a full box of Fresh Step.
You keep my feet dry.
Alana and Joys in luszt.
You are the fat little pot of gold
at the end of mai glistening rainbow.
Magically delicious!
I don't care if General Mills sues me.
This is luszt, baby!
You are an ice cold bottle of Snapple.
Made from the best stuff on earth.
I dream of the day I can nuzzle your armpit.
You smell like the overshoe worn on a long,
hot rainy april day by a large man named Bruno.
Let me lick your interjection.
Pick me apart like a crow nibbling hot roadkill.
Napihed, sweet Napihed.
I long to wash your feet with my hair.
... My leg hair, that is.


Grasping the Edge of Sanity

by

Alana Naughtin

My Life foreshadows a nightmare.
My mind has melted from the sun.
My thoughts have risen to hatred,
My body is left to be numb.
Vision is blurred by a stare.
State of mind is only an expression.

Lost in my own mind,in search for a
pathway out, only to find myself running
in circles. Is there a way out of this
insanity? Is there time to stop and rest
my tired and warped mind? I shall just accept
my new state of being and slowly fade out of
sanity till I care no longer.