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K Mae Jul 2013
Daz
Dying Embers
sometimes Daz-zling
then a Shadow
Not seen with searchlight
Transmuted again ?
Pass by citizen
don't look left or right
Keep those drip dry eyes straight ahead
A tree? Chop it down- it's a danger
to lightning!
Pansies calling for water,
Let 'em die- queer *******-
Seek comfort in the scarlet, labour
saving plastic rose
Fresh with the frangrance of Daz!
Sunday! Pray citizen;
Pray no rain will fall
On your newly polished
Four wheeled
God

Envoi

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Get it out with Optrex
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
.one of the great dissatisfactions of life: dreaming... which makes me suspect of the anglo-saxons and their subsequent branches of sub-ethicities... they dream... they have recurring dreams... lucid dreams... i find that slightly suspicious... i rarely dream and if i do dream, the dreams are so bogus or so uninteresting that they make no sense to: "interpret" them via any freud-cubism schematic - that a woman's sun hat implies: the depth of ****** and promiscuity, or some otherwise bogus stretching it mate, really stretching that analogy... but why do the anglo-saxons have such lucid dreams, even recurring dreams? are they descendants of joseph: der traumgehhilfe? last time i had a dream? oh... family invites me to say, three memebers of the family don't like me... **** the rest of the family with a knife, a gun and a baseball bat (somewhere in south east asia)... a few of the killed members run into the street to die... i somehow pick up a kalashnikov and shoot the murderous 3... then i jump into slender boat with a motor with 3 or 4 women... 'jesus'... and i escape the scene of retribution sailing to... cambodia! **** me... even sylvester stallone or jason statham or arnie wouldn't star in a movie as b-movie as this... but anglo-saxons seem to have the most vivid dreams... two good examples: h. p. lovecraft and william burroughs... is dreaming a form of escapism? if so, then evidently i'm quiet content with reality... like today: too much pop psychology, too much self-help guru mishmash, too much advice: not enough stories... video streaming a game being played... etc., so i retreat, even from modern music, into? here's a beginner's guide list to medieval music:

       1. qui habitat in adiutorio altissimi
       2. da pacem domine
       3. agni parthene
       4. dum pater familias
       5. chevalier, mult estes guariz
       6. virga iesse floruit
       7. walther von der vogelweide's
                 palästinalied
       8. codex buranus no. 179:
                     tempus est locundum
       9. non é gran causa
      10. herr holger
      11. herr mannelig
      12. die eisenfaust am lanzenschaft
      13. meie din liechter schin
      14. under der linden
      15. mayenzeit one neidt
      16. mönch von salzburg (das nachthorn)

   why would i have stopped at merely
Orff's reading of Carmina Burana -
                 sure... that's the entry point...
   but the radio only plays o fortuna till
the cows come home in a full-moon lit night...
yawn...
    if only: fortune plango vulnera,
      veris leta facies, omnia sol temperat,
     floret silva, or... or!
   a monk's love song for the queen of england -
were diu werlt alle min:
              were diu werlt alle min
              von dem mere unze an den Rin,
              des wolt ih mih darben
              daz diu chunegin von Engellant
               lege an minen armen.

but no... it's o fortuna or nothing from that album
on the radio...
    i get it, great song...
   but why is auld lang syne only sung once
a year, on new year's eve?!
              
as with women, so with music, one simply tires of
contemporary examples: not exactly the music
but the lyrics behind the music...
                        music will never change to appease
the brute and the beast... but modern lyricism
is just agitating... it exhaust with its choice
of subject matters...
                                and by the looks of it...
    i spend too much time with music to find myself
in needing the comfort of a woman's voice,
a cuddle or relationship or whatever you want
to call it from now on...
           i am wedded to three women that will
never materialize: Euterpe, Sophia and Amber...
and all the better...
                                i could never wallow in what's
currently being wallowed in...
by some who have these recurrent dreams
and are unable to stop them from recurring...
hence my suspicion with the anglo-saxon traits
of vivid dreaming: this cruch of relying on dreams...
of so easily being ***** by celesto-cerebral powers
that impregnate their sleeping heads with
these realities that only exist in the mind and
a sleeping mind at that!


(nb. not proof read, apologies in advance for any mistakes, upon rereading will correct if any appear - or i'll just keep them...)

look at these two slogans: let's make America great (again)!
complimenting the English variation
let's get our country back! ring any bells? i guess you must
have heard one or the other as an English speaker -
it's hardly surprising - the English Prime Minister singing
a little toodeloo then uttering the word right upon
reentering number 10 - shambles ahoy! every rat and
mutineer bailed - we're in free-fall, Trotsky had it coming,
this guy hasn't - hardliner but a bubble-gum tongue -
it stretches like a joke my English teacher said:
how was copper wire invented? hmm? two Scots
tugging and pulling in opposite directions a two pence coin -
for all their worth, they joked the blond quiff of
both Boris and President Donald Yeltsin - where one
gets drunk on egoism, the other just gets drunk -
even though they don't like him in Scotland, they sure as
hell bought the slogan like a Big Mac - the problem is
there's a zenith, and then a necessary decline -
you can reach the zenith of breaking the 100m sprint,
but then a stock-market dip (necessary) -
much of Britain's exit from the European Union was due
to the campaign trail of the Doodle T - the best politician
i assume is the one that enjoys the most prodding jokes,
which also means the majority of votes,
jokes and votes walk hand-in-hand - people don't want
leaders, they want caricatures - after all, the little existences
have to matter with a joke in the Oval office.
i can't imagine the unholy alliance of feminists running
the place in the west - Theresa May in England,
Hilary Clinton in America, Angela Merkel in Germany,
Ms. Le Pen in France, the Polish prime minister
Beata Szydło - it has to look like a 2nd Cold War scenario,
a break from World Wars... Putin and pukka Tyson Trump
on the other side, macho v. macho - man talk and
the ultimate bromance. i know that Nietzsche referenced
genius too much, assuredly i hear that a lot too around
here with child geniuses storming around for silverware -
children geniuses and not original? so technically you're
talking about data storage in porridge - trained monkeys,
right? those children will be scarred for life as if they
saw their parents ******* - what sort of genius is a genius
if he doesn't work from blank but is there are a memory
gimmick to boost hopes of curing dementia?
philosophy doesn't do geniuses, it does things like Spinoza,
solitary wanderers, loners - outsiders and mesmerisers,
there's no genius in philosophy - there's only solitude -
granted that an open-minded psychiatrist is a modern subplot
in not reading philosophy - where is the ultimate source
of compassionate solely theory based (anti) psychiatry?
in reading philosophy books rather than exercising authority /
abusing it - R. D. Laing is a perfect example -
who wrote after reading philosophy books - i mean read them,
in the English speaking world i recommend reading
the works of the anti-psychiatric movement of the 1960s,
which was much bigger than the Beat Movement - obviously
not as dazzling, but with poetry you're imitating Philippe Petit
(film, the walk) - i watched it and my legs experienced
needles, and a firm assertion of gravity and the location
of the floor - films like that are worse than horror -
you share the heart of the original, but given it's Plato's cave
we're talking about representing the events, you realise
that no matter how much you want your shadow to be
Philippe Petit, you hear from the outside world, your legs
are firmly on the ground - basically: **** that - men are not
born equal, they have to live by principle to be at least moderating
their excellence into a respectable cohesion (democracy) -
quiet simply juggling their strengths with their weaknesses -
man is not born equal, he was to strive for equal measure -
when subduing their strengths and when exfoliating them -
no man is born equal, as no man is an island - the two synchronise.
(i'm deliberately masking what's coming)...
but there is genius in philosophy - but only in one area of
interest - religion... we know that popular beliefs are
grounded in plagiarism - the Trojans became the Romans
via the accounts of Virgil, and we know the Trojans in
becoming Romans plagiarised the Greek polytheism -
Zeus became Jupiter, Poseidon became Neptune,
Cronos became Saturn, Hera became Juno, Aphrodite
became Venus... etc., it was done to mimic the Greek heart
from the defeat at Troy, to invoke a heart that overcame -
every pauper and every king would identify with
this pluralism - but a second plagiarism had to come -
it was prophetically echoed from approximately 2000 years -
the Greeks later plagiarised the Hebrew concept -
the monotheistic concept, yet because their thinking
was so advanced (or so they thought) they dismissed the
sects of the Pharisees, the Sadducees, the Essenes and
the Zealots... their hero was their antagonist - and nothing
of their learning was actually work their concerns since
they boasted of their Aristotle and their Plato and their
Socrates - the peddle-stool effect appeared -
but what if a Latin man (well, these letters are Roman) were
to say - never mind the son, how about the father?
in Christianity the father is rather anonymous in his
omnipresence etc. - but let's assume on the biological tenet
that we are referring to the old testament god -
would we want to plagiarise the Greek plagiarism of
Hebrew? i already mentioned the four prime canons as
imitations of the tetragrammaton - of course they're
intended to not be identical accounts, but there must be
two that are mirror images - i.e. referring to h      &      h
of the tetragrammaton - if there are no two mirror images
then we are bothered - i can see why the Greek mind thought
that Y refers to a convergence, a mother, a father, a child
and the entry point to the gospel: a genealogy -
Y being representative of a convergence - past and present,
following through - this is all about first impressions,
from what i can remember and regurgitate back -
in Catholic school we were taught by majority the gospel
of St. Mark - the others were discredited -
i can't tell you if there are two identical gospels (or at least
with very little variation between them) - what comes after
them is what comes after all essences of religion,
bureaucracy - imams and priests, yoga teachers and
whatever it is that comes with religion for the common man,
but in the new testament this is the essence, a shady
reinterpretation of the tetragrammaton - but a Latin man
who didn't bother to attribute symbols with nouns,
but made his alphabet musically orientated for the
castrato and the choirs to come - a (alpha) b (beta)...
o (omicron / omega) it became obvious that the four letters
arranged as so with missing Adam and missing Eve
would provide more than just four interpretations of
the same event / person - for when a Greek has to cut off
-lpha from a to attach it to another letter to create meta,
the Latin man has only to cut off less, perhaps dentistry's
ah, or otherwise cut off -ee from b... the world is full
of such possibilities, and this is the only area where
genius can be applied to philosophy - the genius of
philosophy is within religion, and nowhere else -
of course mind that i don't identify myself as one -
i treat genius as an angel or a demon, that fairy-tale
race of creatures that whisper into your ear - markedly
geniuses are more powerful in demanding an individual
rather than clones of the individual, e.g. Mohammad
and Muslims, Jesus and Christians... which is why i suppose
the genius of Moses also allowed others to write on sacred
paper, but of course excluding Malachi for falling into
heresy with a polytheistic concept of reincarnation, not
oddly enough Malachi's was the last book before the two
major strands of his heresy emerged like Behemoths.
Red Starr Jan 2013
Hummingbird whispers
Hang in the air
I sit alone with a daz-ed stare
Alone, but voices all around
They suffocatingly surround
I hear hums of hospitals
And whispers of home
I don't speak hummingbird!
I scream in the air
Just leave me alone
And let me drown
Drown in my black cloud filled with rain
This skin is numb and craves only pain
They stand there glancing with sideways eyes
Speaking their language
Planning my demise
Don't they understand?
I want only one thing
To erase the black cloud by filling it with pain
Pain, I can handle, pain, I understand
This black, numbing cloud makes no sense to me
If I could just be left alone to cut it free!
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
one of my cats - bonsai tigers is such a recluse -
for the 24h in a day she could spend 28h sleeping,
and not be seen apart from taking
a princess dump and eating like a gargoyle...

my room always fascinated her -
i guess she like the smell of books -
and the chair - for the past few days:
her "modus operandi" for whatever else
happens in the day...

i turn on the computer... start typing...
there she is, geared up, agitated -
doing her little pagan prayer: standing on
the hind legs - outstretching her front legs
and paws - and then moving them in an amen
clasp up and down -

i once overheard "someone" instructing her...
the voice wasn't human -
the words weren't human...
i'm under the impression that she was told:
get him away from typing...
as if now she wants all the attention...

one of the last stumps of the old dwarfs is almost
out of the ground...
but this one is a beast -
           it grew into a heap of concrete where
the old fence posts were...
you can't dig this sort of roots' head up
with a tiny shovel - a tiny one handed gardening
fork... a hand-saw... a blunt axe...
a hammer: when needing to hammer the axe
in...
              one of the roots took forever...
tomorrow i'll take out the guns of navarone...
a hammer drill and an electric saw...
i'll turn these concrete blob into dust
and chew into the roots with electric eels...

then the waiting process -
i will have to burn the soil...
        either with vineger or salt or i don't know...
i'll get some proper gardening chemical
that will treat old roots like weeds...
until the wood becomes brittle and...
a future source of nourishment for new
growth...
   and the dwarf apple trees grew...
while bonsai tigers cackled-esque at the birds...
eyes growing tired into a murmur of
itchy blinking...

took a coffee break and... thought apps...
and technology...
   not much thinking in all honesty...
at 34 i should be somewhere in this field...
working on some minor detail...

they can have ****** recognition technology...
but they don't have an app
that allows you take a photograph of a flower
to subsequently let you know the name of it...
they have an app that listens to a song
on the radio... and hey presto!
you have the name of the song...
          but there's no app that has a honing
microphone... after all: a camera has a zoom...
why isn't there a honing microphone?
there's no app to record a bird song...
to subsequently: hey google: listen to this...
what bird is that?

well... good to know that i still have
some interest in that... give him 3 minutes
and you're listening to spy cables
from a mr. starling...

            it's not even beautiful as vivaldi
would make it appear in the imitation game...
it's a binge on mathematics... or the thought
that comes with it...

       how the old tongue came about,
as revised to latin standards by methodius
and cyril... i too met a greek once...
from Thessalonica... in Warsaw...
       astounded as to why my english was
so good...
                then again, one has to wonder
why the czechs did not succumb...
"succumb"... nor we their neighbours...
to...

how Ⰰ became A... was it to become T?
well... not if Ⱅ (T) was to be... W?
none of these letters could be "simplified"...
with the exceptions of 'b': Ⰱ that became Б...
'm': Ⰿ that became M
           'p': Ⱂ that became "p": π
       but even the glagolitic entry i'm reading...
Ⱋ: is supposedly symplified by щ...
   i'm not buying that...
                  i could be wrong that...
    Ⱎ was and that ш is... a letter intact...
                 or that Ⱇ was and that ф is...
and that it wasn't the greek φ...
well... ш + ц = щ - šarość + č = ščerość
                   (greyness + ch-                       +
                                             -atter ≠ honesty)
yet how many words can begin with щ / šč-?
quiet a few... ščekać! to bark!
                                    look... i too have my:
tail: bąk - bumblebee...
          or perhaps how Ⰶ became ж...
or }I{ / >I<                                   Ż / RZ / Ž    
if you have a caron...
                        and know why horseradish
goes well with beetroots for a salt "puree" side
dish...
              a problem from the start of day
rubric!

     infinity                           |           nothingness
noun                                                    noun
infinite                                              nothing
adjective                                           pronoun
          ∞                                                    0?
                                                         or   √-1       i
     ~                                                 last time i heard
         ÷                                               0 = negation
                                                        so much for Kant
                                                   and subsequently
                                                         so much for ¬
                                                               likewise...  
        ∃                                                         ∄                                                    

and this toiling with the grammar...
             last time i heard these terms:
cis-                          trans-
         the conversation was central to
chirality of chemical compounds...
well... cis-trans isomers: would i have dreamed
of chemistry being so popular among
grammatical anarchists?
                                          no... it's not about
chirality...

once upon a time a language so simple:
so brittle - so accessible -
            i would strain myself on the definition:
it better rhyme...
then came the drastic oops...
           even if it rhymes...
so what it rhymes... if it does not hold ground
for lyricism to take root!

      who is to keep hold of this brute this
language gott: gut: this alles gute?
               tweak that with a sly umlaut over
a yo-yew-you? yarl!
                 who else sings?
                    the three witches: thane...
of glamis - cawdor...
                                    borrowed time from the graeae...
or at least the tongue...
the eye-shared went missing when
nine cyclopses jumped into the couldron...
the tenth: offside or the racous...
                             perhaps even: nobody...        

since why would i come with all these gifts?
what if i took your two heads away...
what ιf: ȷust lιke that! eh?
                              where are your: "dιacrιtιcal"
markers... ιn a language wιth no orthography!
there's only... the straιtȷacket of metaphysιcs
beιng exhausted: yet agaιn!

at least between a ȷ and a j there's a raa'
and a zaayn involved... please don't mention laam...
( ر ) and (ز ) respectively...
                            ( ل )...
                                          must we always learn
about the romans?
                         mr. starling sang came noon...
while i was drinking my coffee...
no app for the recognition of flowers...
plenty of ****** recognition technology in place...
no app for the recognition of bird songs...
plenty of songs archived and a honing
microphone for the telephone to pick up on
and recognise...

my song would have been much simpler...

/
meie, din liehter schin
und diu kleinen vogelin
bringent vrouden vollen schrin
daz si willekommen sin!
ich bin an den vrouden min
mit der werlde kranc
alle tage ist min klage
von der ich daz beste sage
und ir holdez herze trage
daz ich der niht wohl behaage
von den schulden ich verzage
daz mir nie gelanc
also noch genuogen an ir
dienest ist gelungen
die nach guoter wibe lone
höveschlichen rungen
nü han ich beidiu umbe
sust gedienetunde gesungen

                                                    /

as i recall... i am supposed to have a date
with a medieval germany...
a romantic germany...
     perhaps even a romance of europe
in general...
           solely on a lingua primo basis...
                history... after the mass graves
at ypres...
                           even a *** would agree
with... there's a romance
and all that was shumann and was...
              how or why the prussian became
in charge of the german people...
the same prussians...
the same baltic prussians...
the same baltic prussians that
the teutonic knights of bavaria etc.
waged a crusade against!

                      even in england certain histories
of this continent are off limits...
so much for having learned
of edward the confessor's existence...
or the medieval genius that was
philip II augustus... the capetian...
                           so much: and thus mr. starling
sang for me...
midnight came and i started looking for
my shadow to take to bed -
steal him i will / had to from
            the harem of the candlelight.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2016
grew my hair too long, watched it get cut and
all the snippets
fell to the floor,
decided my hair had not been
long enough
started all over again,
longer longer deeper longer,
pasting the snippets together
hoping the parts are greater than the
hole I am forever filling with
Haagen Daz vanilla buttermilk,
wise choices of words,
the satisfactory completion
of finishing and the joyous anticipatory
of starting all over again

undecided if today will be
a day where I tend my love, or,
need more being attended to

every poem I every writ
is just a
snip snip snip
of instant instances seconds capsulated
that run on into one long sentence my
gorgeous blonde 5th grade teacher, who had a crush on me,
(and vice versa)
would red ink wink critique as a
run on sentence and I could not agree more

snip snip snip
becomes a life
of one run on sentence to living larger and longer,
want a becoming life,
life becoming comely,
only commas and no periods,
period

exhausting the indecision of living
so pasting snippets seems more manageable
but not so much fun, indeed, in deed,
too much **** work, this cutting and pasting,
so gonna give you the rough and tumble of my words
as they pour out and as long as they keep coming back,
I'll keep on pouring and ******* and godpraise
this word well that runs dry never

my poems are not too long -
if you have learned to taste wisely -
how to taste gloriously languorously language

my poems are not too long,
life is too short to leave all these
demoted spaces of empty,
in between the raging and the loving,
the aching, fretting and the heaven sending thrills
of thanking the powers to be for everything
I got blessed with,
even my curses are just the flip side of*

snip snip snip

so much from just one cup of coffee


<>
six minutes of Aug 13, 2016 life, something you might call a
snip snip snip
SIP
Mahdi Dn Apr 2014
Glaring eyne art thine
Flaring they are; Daz'd I am.
Soothing ludene is thy tone.
To hear it; is to roam
Inside my head, like I am home.
Thou art the fountainhead of dark waters
Atop thy head, eternally it falls.
Thy arch shoots me happiness,
I shall not dodge. I shall not!
-Mahdi Dn.
An expression of feelings towards a special one, through a practice of archaic English.
Skendong Sep 2014
Will Big Halo go crazy, freak out?

Like a ****** on wheels rolling down the Alps?

***** Tiny Youth’s brave be under the pavement?

We huddle for position as eyes form a circle,

On the grounds of the ‘Imperial’ two feared ***** meet.

Shells will settle this war.  Smoke!

The Tiny Youth draws:



“Your half mast pants waiting for a flood?

And your shoes are holy like the Bible.

Are they four stripe trainers, rip one off!

Then they might pass for Adidas.

Your neck collar is ***** like a **** star.

Is that a sheep bursting through your old padded coat?

So home take your smelly **** and stitch it up…”



“Me await a flood?  Yeah, your’e right.

Though the nylon gathering at your feet

Shows it long passed.  Your tight nylon pants

Stuck up your cheeks – Barry Sheene skids in your brief!

Your brief ‘s skiddy and dangerous like an ice rink!

So skate your brief home and scrub Daz in the sink…”



“Your head is tough like a coconut.

And that hair is rougher than a ghetto!

Knocking out teeth on afro-combs, and

Your skin bumpier than gravel stones!

Your face is dark like Darth Vader.

And did Moses part that gap in your teeth?

I smell the cesspit pooling from your mouth

Take your scent to the sewer

Where your bad breath belongs…”



“On your head sits a drenched black poodle.

And your skin is tougher than Bruce Lee.

That face is rounder than a full waxed moon and

Your skin is dry like sand.  Your teeth resemble

Mouldy cheese and your breath is even badder

Than ******!  So take your moon face camouflaged

As an eclipse and hide on the dark side equator…”



“Your mother is *****, paid every Tuesday,

The post man drops the wages in her sack.

And your father is a dosser, lazier than dole,

Drinks beer, forces farts with remote

His all day role!  And that shack you live in is dusty.

Dustier than a speedway track.  So take your

Double-barrel nostril nose and go do some hoovering up…”



“There are cracks in my shack, on the ceilings, on the wall,

I will fill them with polyfilla, when I see your mother -

Scraping that cake off her wrinkly crinkly face.

And your bald headed father reminds of a Buzzard!

Searching for carcass on the African plains!  Your’e

Soft and boring like porridge.  So in your lunch box

Pack your cheesy snack lyrics

And go hold down your snake of drool – fool!”



The circle stays silent.  We dare not laugh!

At exploding shells on full hardened *****.

Mr Brown, adjudicator, judges – and declares!

Slowly raising the arm of the winner who bops

And breaks the circle, fifty pats on his back.

The shelled **** leaves with Jack.
John F McCullagh May 2013
At Hagen -Daz it's free cone day
and you should see the line.
It stretches for two blocks or more
in fashion Serpentine.

Those in the loop
will get a scoop
of premium ice cream.
Though payments not required-
it does cost them their time.

For the store it's not a total loss
to give free cones one time.
Its advertising you can't buy
to see those folks in Line.

The sun is bright, the air is cool
most pleasant by degree.
So many people wait on line,
but there you won't catch me.

Its not that I don't like ice cream-
My girth show that's a lie.
It's just there are much better things
a poets hands can try.

I'd write a song, record a score
If I am so inclined
or steal a kiss from my lady fair
since I am not on line.

The years are ever shorter now
and shorter still my time.
Let others waste this precious gift,
whilst i enjoy this wine.
worst  title ever
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
.for two days a song was haunting me, seemingly unheard before, hidden in the deep recesses of my mind - unrelated by sound or memory... yet burning itself a presence regardless of my faculties... restless... i had to take a walk through bedfords park, havering country park and hainault forest country park - through sun and rain and two bottles of wine... twice seeing bambi and at times scuttling like a rat / misanthrope from the unusual traffic of these parts... to finally find peace... Borodin's prince igor!

there's just enough of gloating to have to muster...
before some grander detail has to take form:
i've been trying to capture the song
i want to listen to: but it's hardly a genesis
of an #A... or... whistling...
             kik kershaw's the riddle?
                         it's not - now that the hindsight ("spoiler")
is presented... it wasn't a bach aria:
or a batCH... well: who's the good surd?
'ere boy... vat's a good tau: ba'ch...
     the would be baчelor: j. s. baχ...
                            a juggling act of... less than...
what james joyce's finnegans' had to offer:
and more: the diacrcrcr-detail-of-antics...
       pop sort of reference points?
                   would they be... if they weren't...
for the per se reasons?
                  details are in the noumenon -
that... axe-folding: exfoliating lesser demand
for: **** in machina...
                                      the sort of details
that mind: the over-simplified woman...
and... the terrible complicated seance of...
when witches were detailed about...
their broomsticks were to be replaced with...
vacuum cleaners... terrible details of
"unnecessary" complications...
man of science man of technology man
of engineering and man of mathematics...
much later... the man of linguistics and...
the troop of ballet dancers... the choreographers
and the composers...    

i have taken enough days to gloat...
working an addiction in reverse...
a bank-roll filled with: plenty of nicotine...
and chem.,
           just waiting for the completed
day... an exercise in language:
and jack daniels bubblegum:
pale blue... blueberry images... gluttons
of colour: those pearls...
back to music... back to music...

   i wanted: rather than tried...
to fathom a pause in the construnction
of the res cogitans: with the usual
punctuation markers...
it's hardly a semi-colon...
          a full-stop... a comma or a full-stop...
hardly the detail of syllables
with diacritical markers...
    hidden letters...
rare in english that sheer and chisel
should come together...

i was thinking of a punctuation marker
to block of all narrative...
not a mere punctuation marker -
not some apostrophre...
                precursor to the possessive article:
's..              's...
even the russians do not have
what i already have...
         namely... дж...   джик is an approximation...
something is hidden within...
dzik itself (boar)... dzikość - wildening...
        a lost attribute for the civilized man...
   дж is... slightly off from the intended:
   дз - while ж (rz or ż-art - joke) -
              is... well... it appears...
but is a few letters apart...
       for example in: drzeć (tear - ter:
not tier - nor teer - backwards to forwards...
latin diphthong of æ) -
                        to tear paper into pieces...
   a tear ran down my cheek...
   to have read: rather than... to simply: read -
and... the reed - a stalk of a bulrush...
               the eastern lands...
                      synonyms and two best known
aliases: the birch tree and the bulrush wetlands...

this is the only best: approximation
of a song akin to Borodin's prince igor...
that can't be hummed... unless heard proper...
not from an abstract of memory...
conflation of adjectives?
abstract is more an adjective than a noun...
for this presentation...

      hiding letters like a good 'ebrew...
           surds detailed with apostrophes...
mollusk legs... exercised...
  a day later and the extreme cigarette high
is "missing": not found...
   щыт "vs" szczyt / ščyt -
                 no less congested than:
                                       dość! enough!

from the initial fascination of working
english into greek...
                     things had to translate themself
into "mordor" regions: Ruś, Krym, Tartar...
the Caucaus...
                        and the Turkic dwarf plebs
of mythical Constantinople... takeover...

- with thinking i wanted to capture:
res vanus: the empty thing...
       a synchronised: symphony of...
with what's being emptied...
while at the same time... with what's being
filled...
the years passed when pacing
with a heart of a turtle...
compared to... the heart of a mouse...
i call it: no known noun...
              to think is to have the heart
of a mouse... easily agitated...
no room for lost narratives...
      hell: better still... without haikus
and all those condoms of denial and...
delayed view-count murmurs...

          a case of: res cogitans:
a thing most animate...
a case for: res vanus:
   aa thing most inanimate...
         it's... a slingshot... a strain on purpose...
it's an incremental addition of purpose...
it's a punctuation mark akin
to: lost the linear...
up toward the copernican east we go...
and then back toward the flat-earth
project of... being able to read a map:
topography... without: the need for 3D:
3D the copernican: it's all very imaginary...
vector alpha:
points beta and gamma...
to find punctuation: a silence...
a bit like... finding gravity...
which isn't a sound... but if it was...
it would be... the sound of falling rain
on leaves or lead plating of a roof...
or... the sound of recycling...
of water... in a waterfall...

by now all the ******* readers have
disappeared... there's no more...
instagram haikus in the system...
there's the drone drill sequence...
a very distant humming sound...
perhaps an impromptu crescendo of
variations of a cat's meow...

absolute: total: шит... more like шитышит:
    шыт if i was... to be honest...
   sheets of paper... floating about...
                    well... i too once thought:
those russians... with they cyrillic...
but no diacritical markers...
      well K in a mirror: ж...
                      no one told me about brining
mirrors into the project...
     sh-ch-
sz-cz-                щыт - height: well... zenith...
bl-ы'h bl-ы'h: blah... blah...
       it's a letter: the russians call a "sound"...
like the english should start calling
the letter "g" or the "h" a >sound<:
surd...    an apostrophe: gnome: 'nome...
gnosticism: 'nosticism...
                                 'alf the 'arvest...
prop'er: cockers and pouch of punches...
   very ******* irish sober to me...
brings all the harlequins and loon'doon'ish
to the backyard for:
                   milch-schütteln-und-schäkel...

and then i return the cork back onto the corkscrew...
as i pa'k - my... packaging... CCCP... comrade...
the folded soviet shop...
don't worry terrible ivan... there's a new shop
in town... the iron has morphed into silicon...
see-through curtains and...
this virus... did more damage...
than any... brave lion of the jihad would ever...
circumstance of the affairs of westminster bridge...
they would "epstein" one through
one in a while...
                 to **** chicken the populace
into a cucklicking KKK strut dance of:
burning hoods and bras and crucifixes...
and ******...
                              conventional... formal...
language usage? please reserve that for...
the golf course and business talk...
                write? write what? a kandinsky?!

yes... a big hello ******* from
tiktok and twitter...
1 minute videos and... 180 characters...
         i feel constrained... claustrophobic...
if... i can't write an imitation Dickens chapter...
1000 words is ******* lemonade...
2000 words is... regurgitating a day's worth
of a newspaper... saturday edition...
which includes the editorial and the magazines...
3000 words? a truly rare thing...
      given that... conjunctions and their details
are not counted: ' - is both an apostrophe and a surd
letter... t'at all depends: on the "v.a.t."...

the whole point was...
finding excuses to write about quitting smoking
are other... they were all fine: crack ******* smoked
when the levels of nicotine were dropping...
the upper body was exercised...
but the legs weren't... mollusks and oysters for *****...
or... toes...
to count... oysters for toes...
but when the legs have been exercised...
and a balance has been reached...
there's little to gloat about... about...
quitting smoking...
there's a need to say: the glory of the tongue
and its palette when walking...
the budding beauty of things surrounding me...
all blushing envy of the green...
  self-respecting green and its almost
teasing green phosopherscent insomnia
in the rubric of the sun: next to wake...
next to hide... a bud of bishop hues...

insomnia green of the forest...
                     poor bambi (x2)...
                    zinfandel rosé!
count! syllables! nurse! scalpel!
zin!-f'ah-del... rou-s'eh...
                              oh remind me of the night...
and the forest... the blinking moon
by count of clouds obstructing its glee...
turned into a melting moon...
spray-painted over the leaves with
its last will of agitated: clingy mercury tinge...

the debate: "debate" wasn't about...
i took 3 days to gloat about quitting smoking...
there are more important affairs to mind...
notably! notably?

example!

la traviata is an opera in three acts by (giuseppe) verdi
set to an italian libretto by francesco (maria) piave
                                                 (verbatim: i.e. borrowed)...

there... they cite... the composer...
    who doesn't need a first name, since: verdi is...
synonymous with verdi and opera composition...
but...
         yeah... you need to mention the first name
and the surname of... the libretto: francesco piave...
the opera...
      music... and... the words...
well so much for the music...
but... last time i heard... a violinist holds...
a violin and a bow...
                         what's the opera singer
to hold? the melody? no! he needs to hold...
words...

   today i passed a family in the forest...
a mother, a father... two children...
                   and a grandfather...
maternal / paternal... i don't know...
i was already on my second bottle of wine...
the woman asked me:
   'will we get back to the car park if we turn
around on this route?'
        i was already eyeing them with
a curiosity prior...
i uttered the words... 'you should...'
          not... 'i hope so... since i'll be
testing that question'...
or 'you will...'
                           several minutes later
in my own solipsistic interlude...
            you should... i swear to god...
sometimes i say something and can't
see letters behind the sound...
      like: i shouldn't really see: meow...
behind the sound a cat makes...
since... a cat doesn't just make an: ego sum: meow
universal statement...
there are variations...
    'you should'... i repeated...
slightly drunk and... whatever... i didn't see
any letters in the sound i made...
           for once... not the last time, though...

to abide in such joys from a past -
chevalier, mult estes guariz -
                 to cite charmlemagne and prince rolo:
the scandinavian convert -
who's (whoz: not who is) descendents
were the morphed vikings: the normans...
who conquered england...
        since the predecessors couldn't...
walther von der vogelweide:
                    palästanalied...
all through the german autobahn...
                   the word... AUSFAHRT!
the lands owned by the lithuanian who
married: and by marriage became converted...
from the last pagan prince of europe:
enclosure rhapsody of caged
elephants: prior: mammoths...
  the estonian bulwark...
von meer zu meer (von baltisch zu schwarzes meer)
these jagiełło platitudes of envy... chełm...
      sch'war'zes...

begotten not made: blistered...
the scarf of colour to capture the frenzy of
autumn... a shawl best worn to...
loot the colour and suffocate the subject
with: no past a dream and a dream
without rucurrence...
to borrow from the past as much
if not more from fiction!
to say: once they pickled Barbarossa...
come the third crusade... disgruntled oath-breakers...
sought the prussians...
and the lithuanians... and all that land
to the east...
had they only known... what the prussians
would make of the absence of the saxons
of the pomeranians and the bavarians...
i wasn't there... no...
but a romance is a romance is:
here's to... no ode to a ******* sailor:
capn' ahab... or the rodin instruction
knee deep in the mud at ypres...
or the mass-graves of german youth
or: how kaisser wilhelm and that in-breeding
crew of familial ties tore europe
on the altar of the bull...
before this bourgeoisie whittle adoolph HIT!
came about and charged the former
bitzmarck ***** and the elites with...
eh... the story is so told and so old...
"they" couldn't fathom the middle-project
of the khaki and ******* not coming
from their... high-brow... aristocracy...
better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven...
choir boy whittle adoolph said:
i'll borrow the schnurrbart from chaplin...
after all... with a surname like mine...
a ****** or a chaplin is no... WIN-D'SOR!
yes... apostrophe 'ere if not to hide a surd...
it's to elevate punctuation...
for the sake of syllables... the hyphen is not
enough... vowel catcher tetragrammaton
invocation! the first arm of the god:
the second arm is for: ha ha ha! laughter!
cynic and satyr!
            eh... let's leave the stoics to their
love of labouring over the fate of oysters!
protestants and pre-destination-alists...
clarvoyant calvinists!

                         from the decadence of a "lost"
empire... what "pseudo" history is to be
resurrected... romanced...
the angevin empire?! that there is a past...
the "lesser" dream...

a patrick and andrew a george...
and ef bwy newid troi (he who...
altered path) -

troedfilwr - petty velsh:
quasi-silesian / kashubian / little warsaw
of the "bigger picture" masovia...
CAPital neu...
          
- ever write something...
at a snail's pace: crow pecking...
because a moth has just flown into your room...
and... unlike... holding a seashell to your
ear... to find the ivory shore...
and the details of false echo of... galloping
waves...
you clench your hand...
and hear... fluttering... like the sound of...
desperately falling rain..

madame butterfly is an opera
by (giacomo) puccini, with a libretto
by luigi illica and giuseppe giacosa

the magic flute, k. 620, is an opera in
mozart to a german libretto by
emanuel schikaneder:

           der verk is in the form of a singspiel:
singing and spoken dialogue...
my demise: the awe... interludes of...
theatre... in an opera!

               rushing rushing and... kandinsky
the colt serenade kind...
  with... canvas... and an auction house
of reserve that... fridge magnet enterprise
of a single mother of... 6...
              
you couldn't get an opera...
working from the carmina burana...
the... libretto... thankfuly...
constricted the music...
you'd only get what you already have...
a medley... opertics instead of an opera...
sketches of an opera...
    the whole custard mess...
the rhubarb the rasberry "finicky"...
         the Goliards and the... gonnards...

               were diu werlt alle min
               von dem mere unze an den Rin,
               des wolt ih mih darben
               daz diu chunegin von Engellant
                lege an minen armen


the quid pro quos and the... anon. circus
spectacular sheen!
  
  what is the composer without the libretto?
the violin player has his violin and bow
attached: like some... frankenstein's take
on an elaboration of an autumnal fallen:
leaf of: a "false" limb...
dire desires for a lingering crescendo...
of a piece... without an overture...
bothercome children and the good life...
nothing worth clarifying the nouns:
to a supper... a goodnight...

                       bedtime with nabokov?
my take... well... it becomes apparent...
when... the local... easily accessed by the many...
avenues of love... are exercised...
what remains? taboo...
and once the taboo is... investigated...
invested in... well then...
there's that all overpowering tease of
thought not materialised into a will...
a 14 year old girl... below the mark...
she's 16 and i'm 18...
and i'm not her... cousin and this is not
israel...
                  after a while... the only *** available
is... the forbidden type...
and there's... so much freedom in
what's forbidden... when it's only thought...
the complex: θ(ought) complex
that becomes φ(inking)...

              the moment "she" starts to
perceive the mirror...
       and you're looking into the concept
of time and of glass...
  
but then... there's... the libretto... and the composer...
the rare event of: richard wagner...
where there's a schizoid... bilingual...
"in theory": der kommissar working 7/11
on the advent of: neu-muzik zu kommen!

  queen of the night aria contra...
my sleeping karma - satya - ahimsa...
that one: "last" cigarette...
me... a wife and a child...
        tidy... if i only aimed at...
the fraction to no effect...
the wife and the sole child...
i'd be doing all the proper details...
a wife and... the hungarian model...
of at least: towing 2...
      hardly an embitious venture if only
towing the holy trinity of:
fake hey-gay-zeus fake myriam fake josephus...

not looking for queen of the night aria...
   nor satie's gnossienne no.1 sampled...
ezio bosso - under the trees...
           vittorio monti
jean-paul egide martini {/^.5.p 6^)_(0$drd...
toast!
it was... bothering me... started last night...
took 6 rough miles to get the tune
out from my head...
into a coffin... of sorts...
it was... borodin's prince igor! all along!

p.s. re-flex: the politics of dancing...
       duran-duran: the reflex; ******-pointer-ler;
h'american pie contra dad:
   the gay bar: electric sexes und siebens:
hefyd...                         deutsche bankschisch...
zeit (time) and the ruschischen:
              цeit... always conflated as...
indistinguishable by a ****** / lithuanian...
           цeit - bißcuit... crumble: чarcoal...

hey presto: a *******... voilà contra eureka!
Robin Carretti May 2018
We look like bowling pins the same old boring things how does fame reflect on all of us like the strike went out we are having a girl night out

Morning to morning
Buellers day off
But Crueler did
777
Hillary Huff
Puff unlucky
Wolf hurting
Minty Clean
Mournings
Waking up mean
Minty Pearly whites
    *    *    *

Hawaii lava
Drained her
Used her up  
The next Diva
She's raining
mad
Hey Mo
hallelujah!!
to our wives

You will
remember
our names
$    $   *
The rest of
your life
That setting
on the
(F)
(A)ring
(M) finger
reset (E)
The game= fame
timer

Your meeting
The fame
drive
Fox Five
You dive
Minty
Mind of
MoJo
Warriors of
the bounty
JoJo
The
Gods when
you need them

Presidential
Trumpet
comments
$   *   &
Don't get
your spirit
down to
be busted

Not to be trusted
The game
sharper
Never stoop
lower

Move your
body like you
never danced
get your palate
wet and drenched
You could tell a
person by what
they eat but
fame is
not a taste
that's always
sweet
You feel the
side effect
be exhilarating
F-Fun A-Ambition
M-Minty E-Eternity
His humanity switch
Turned off

You're visualizing
Or he's criticizing
The white shirt
crispier laid out
on his sleeve

But Meany
Just a tad
snappier
The camera
moves closer

The fame is the
crucial time
Ritual you pray
Day by day
Singing
courthouse
Judicial
Fame so primal
Fame should
be better
training

America going
National
Just stop
complaining
Her fame is
turning
hot furnace
His face is
looking
muscle stiff
Singing on
a Cliff

Whats on my stove
Your heart didn't
crack my love

He will never
come back
Like my lover
vanished
Meany Pino Mo
my fame list
Having a drink
lime twist

So Lovie and dove Vee


The fame chair
Lyrics
overdressed
My nails
graphically
cool art
but forever
splitting

My mind got to be
The underdressing
The big fame
Over-dying
Is anyone so
amazing
out there!!
My body
pushing
Am I overreacting
Birds chirping

There Meany Mo
  singing
Catch a tiger
by the toe
Like a peeled
banana
I left so quick
I split
His Pomsky
The sky
I will fly higher
than I ever will
Not the minty
motels
First class hotels
All models  
the ordinary people
Meany  Minty Mo
Hostel

Hagan Daz
Morsels
ice cream
they made it

"Cherry"
Baby top
Fame can be
so hostile
Going, East Windsor
The Westside story
Other people
are living in
Ramble fight
missiles
When you're a
Jet mobile
Fame starts
at birth

Fame ET
earth
Oh! Eeee T
so alienated

My cubicle
Meeting every
September
Taylor me Swift go
Racoon fur
November
The sugar
more ******

MoJo JoJo
riot
Let go of my
Eggo singers
with Ego's
Going to freeze block
I need a diet tick tock
Rolex
Time flies with
company
The Vex
Fame-***
That fame clock is not
controlling me

Taking in
my ownership
Eeeny Meany Mini Mo
Give me a Bellini
sandwich
** **
What a fame her
lips
Powersuit baby
blue tips
The lucky strike
Personating
copying her
lips singing
Dusk
Wake up
Dawn a task
Reading (He's) snoring
Changed singer wife
of Frankenstein

She had a date
with the brain
Sickly Green Minty
** Mo please no
Jerry Seinfeld taking
an NY train
Coffee cars and fame
The money is not
everything
One fame step
beyond
And fame takes
you so out of touch
from reality

Your comfort zone
Twilight zone sanity
We will never be over
And fame will
never stop

Even a tombstone
The singing heart will live
on beating
But how we hold
that closeness
to our mothers

Overthinking of our time
and time after time
Where did it go-
?
Fame will teach us all lessons make a change. Whether it's a good change or bad
Remember we are all talented so just relax find your Meany Minty Mo go mad
kirk Oct 2017
What the hell has happened to the adverts on our TV screens?
When Our teeth shined with Sensodine, Colgate and Mccleans
Kinder made surprising eggs and Heinz Meanz tinned Baked Beans
Fairy Liquid lasted longer, houses cleaned with Mr Sheens
Daz Automatic, Surf and Ariel washed clothes in our machines
Which brings me to that buff hunky guy washing Levi jeans

Winalot and Pedagree where good food for our dogs
Robinson's Jam old icon was mascot Golly wogs
Fudge fingers where just enough to give our kids a treat
Not even a Black Hole could eat three Shredded Wheat
Gillette was the best shave, that a man could get
Happiness was achieved, with a cigar called Hamlet
Surfing was the mark of a man, the fragrance of Old Spice
Brut had an unbeatable smell even Henry Cooper smelt quite nice
You know when where Tangoed when your slapped in the chop
Magic begun when we heard the fun of Snap Crackle and Pop
"Hey I'd love a Babycham" in that cool smooth cocktail pub
Biscuits had a lot of chocolate when you joined their Club
The Honey Monster told his mummy to tell us about the Honey
Taking it easy with a Caramel from that **** Cadburys Bunny
Leonard Rossiter and Joan Collins had Cinzano on a plane
The secret lemonade drinker sneaked downstairs for R Whites again
If you know what's good for you, you would eat Weetabix
Chimpanzees did all kinds things for the taste of PG tips
Turkish Delight had eastern promise her hair he had to stroke
You where in love for the very first time when you drank a Coke
If you had a Mars a day we where helped to work, rest and play
A secret agent risked everything because the lady loved Milk Tray

The quest of a silent messenger in case you had forgot
Seeking for the timeless taste of the larger of Lamot
Carling had the three in one with the cowboy in the west
From love songs to soap powder Black Label was the best
Searching for Fly Fishing  J R Hartley got downhearted
Good old Yellow Pages is where he should have started
Garath Hunt had Nescafe he shook the coffee bean
With Una Stubbs and Sarah Green and even Diane Keen
The cute Kid with the glasses he was strong and tough
The Milky Bars are on him, the best where good enough

What do we get on our screens in our modern time
All of the ads are terrible their broadcast is a crime
All you are providing is the same old ******* grime
Ramming the same thing down our throat like an hourly chime
Its the same as TV programming there's nothing that is prime
With all the cheap reality shows there boring and just slime

What is it with the crap Go Compare to many in this set
The PPI's and Clear Score there all a public social threat
Too many online Bingo sites it seems they took all they could get
All these loans and gambling its no wonder people are in debt

Cillit Bang it sounded good when used by Barry Scott
Boy that stuff can't really work cos he had a ****** lot
I don't think it was all that good and not so very hot
If its in the cheep shop I may give it a small shot

The Gtech cordless vacuum it simply has no class
With its 40 minuet run time I think id rather pass
It doesn't seem that powerful I know this may seem harsh
Break free from the Gtech Air Ram and ram it up your ****

And all those crap insurance ads I really do despair
Especially that ******* opera singer singing Go Compare
With his stupid ****** false moustache, Tuxedo and black hair
Get rid of this obnoxious guy and nobody cares where

All those ****** ******* adverts they have on nowadays
nothing like the larger ads or the man with the milk trays.
all you get is insurance ads none of which that pays
or loans that you don't ******* want or any of their strays

Get rid of all these ****** ads put them on the shelf
I don't mean to appear arrogant, I could do better myself
Stop melting our minds, we cant shield our minds in stealth
To many poor folks sat at home with messed up mental health
All you execs make millions your only interested in wealth
And reinstate some proper ads stop thinking of yourself

So bring back all the old ads they where more amusing
Inventive and informative more things for the choosing
Not like they are today all boring, some confusing
Monotonous and self obsessed you only end up snoozing
Always going with the flow with all the same ads cruising
Come on all you ad execs its the public that your losing
Commuter Poet Oct 2016
Go
Flo
Rip
Lip
Wiggle
Tiggle
Smash
Dash

Groove
Move
Hup
Pup
Slide
Ide
Dive
Clive

Push
Nush
Tickle
Lickle
Love
­Dove
Bounce
Ounce

Daz
Jazz
Big
Dig
Slip
Pip
Trip
Hip

Hop
Pop
Grind
Mind
Telly
Belly
Hell
Tell

Oz
Loz
Stone
Bone
Big
Wig
­Tic
Nic

Danny
*****
Granny
Manny
Wimp
Imp
Rib
Dib

Dace
Mace
Lace
Race
Fire
Ire
Flat
Face
1st October 2016
if i say to you magada what does that mean?

it means you’re our true queen.

if i say magada three times what does that mean?

it means we have to give you our love.

so who do you think your speaking to?

the queen of china 🇨🇳

no, it means you’re speaking to the queens’s child ( la ta la ah la ma)

the german mafia tried to take my sword ⚔️ i decided i’d had enough

i took all 6 heads of the men who
wanted my life who came to my door.

i demanded all the swords ⚔️ of the famine, they were my favourite swords ⚔️ china sent me my swords

emaculate was my favourite  🗡

kim’s favourite warriors are repunzal, earthquake, farner, bolo, drew and daz.
Paul Hardwick Feb 2015
Come on baby
lets simmer and shake
every body doing the comercial break
come on baby hear that jaz
I am dancing all night
for I know my underwaer is whiter than white
for I washed it it in DAZ.
True story  P@ul.
John Bartholomew Dec 2022
Awake with no memory of where nor how
Ah, home sweet home
That cab driver, please take a bow
They come in patches of time
Of where
Of when
Of go on then, just pass me down the wine
Sporadic I think is the word to use
Of who I spoke too
Of who I copped off with
Of who I abused
And now I look down to a mess of lettuce and kebab
At the time, the best I'd ever had
Stained on the bedsheets, mum'll whip out the Daz
And now to celebrate the night with a touch of self pleasure
Locked door leisure
Release from the tethers
Just roll me in feathers
As I grab that reliant sock to wipe up the measures

Madame Palm (and her 5 lovely daughters)

JJB
#sorry
#notsorry
#yeahsorry
Delton Peele Nov 2021
Ok ,....
Heir millena's
Daz you mean?
Mine hair ?
My tooth ,
Oouf!
Ima dumkauf...
You mean my poetry.... .
Ok dankeshane.
For being so kind .....
To read my rants....
Doesn't rhyme
I know ...
But it's sorta short
.

— The End —