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Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
. you're using all the right words: for all the wrong reasons... and let's face it: if women own the monopoly on reproductive avenues... then men hold the ego-key, to slot their presence, through a door, that curbs or gives allowances, to what is thought... *** was nether a transluçent enterprise... oh look... the Roma sigma pops up... dire straits: de profundis - money for nothing riff - boogie boogie... milkshakes from the 1950s 'n' all... you know what my biggest pet peeve is? the englih language imitating ancient Latin, i.e. not applying diacritical "punctuation" markers to close in on syllables and make the language atomic (i.e. H is hydrogen, He is helium)... **** me... the same Brits who lived in the 19th century, are not the same Brits living in the 21st century... no wonder the fertility rate is s ****** low.... try ******* an english bride... no thank you; i'd rather **** a female gorilla.

the milkman passes my house
at, circa, 3am...
see the van skid around the bend
up the hill...
            
i listen to music at volumes
equivalent to my father working
the construction site -
i'll be deaf by the time i'm 50...
     and guess what:
                  for the music i'm listening
to? it'll be worth it...

dittoing out:
   have the criticism of post-modernists
ever suffer?
doubt: doubt, is the modern
relief from existentialist
    negation...
  
why is doubt being attacked?
doubt is half than that outright
******* of denial
proposed by French existentialists...
doubt is good in that it's
tornado of emotions,
you want to imitate Christ on
Golgotha?
  you doubt, and achieve the pinnacle
of the passion...
you start negating?
     you're, nowhere...

    on your own...

came the noun-phobia of philosophers -
the tinkers and tailors
of a.. what seems to be:
a noun-phobia
  guaranteed with fog...
   and thing..

  the term
  "thing" presupposes
the supposition of tree...
     which subsequently serves
the proposition: let's hide in it!

      philosophy and its infamous
noun-phobia -
               thing...
           and it's nihil...
  its nothing...
      
                 a ******* cul de sac -
     epigram -
       of quasi morse encoding -
     braille to boot -
September is coming -
           van Morrison (moondance) -
hiding autumnal chill -
           pan-Europeanism:
proto-"africa": either in Hindustan -
or Siberia;

suppose a moon, suppose a shadow by
candlelight, some edgy urban solo -
as a bricklayer i could raise kids
and crux on a woman -
          chicken / doctoral itching with
a blunt nail are called scratchings -
       hand-writing:
             less digits in the digital
formatting - and more
calligraphy...
                      the rotten handwriting
of general practitioners...
     Hippocrates might have made an oath...
but in terms of a handwritten cipher?
no clue...
               the canvas of a monkey
onomatopoeia within the confines
of a custard of a lexicon...
   a mouth thus opens -
a month begins -
instead of a tongue ejected from
the ivory temple -
  a sludge crescendo of a quasi
                 cascade of sludge gluing the
whole theater into
a replica of a Russian drinking game...

....                 ⠞⠓
          ...     ⠑⠁⠑
     ...           ⠞⠑
    ............                  ⠞
...                      ⠥ ⠎
     : : :           -  ⠎          
   ........ : ....           ⠕?

100 wolves of the continent...
for, but 1, fox,
of the English isles...
   i'll settle for that ratio...
and then i'll bite to ensure
a signature!

  howl all you want...
but have you ever found seagulls
annoying up the river?
more annoying than magpies
or crows?
             the wolves can howl
all they want..
ever endear the ear
to hear a fox "laughing"?
   no?
  might as well listen to me.
i cradle that sound,
above the chariots
of a human newborn...
        i grieve!
   i am... sombre gsture...
    a past, a passing,
a future, a wicker man within:
torch...
   banquette of souls!

    let's interlude -

   touko "tom" laaksonen -
    how can people "do" sober
           when entertaining such
extravagances....
        is it empathy, or sympathy?
            in the name of the either,
with either being the sum
of what wll never be a sum
allowance,....
     to gain from...
                  why not
       ****-ease up the ****
    for a zeppelin-esque
                            bomb drop -
(minor the Nagasaki) -
                    and hand-piked ****
with the cusp of your hand -
         throne of thrones -
  flagship?
   "king of kings":
  like ****...
  the holy trinity of
       the no. 1, as the no. 2,
   and subsequently the no. 3:
**** (father),
       take a **** (son)...
            ******* (the holy ghosts)...
king of kings,
never sat on the throne
of thrones...
   i always hated "artists"...
    painters -
   plagiarists -
      cheque sketchers...
             plagiarists...
         ******* indentation
from holding a pen to add to having
exposure to a grammatical examination...
       quality cinema:
panorama take on a versus of
heavy editing...
                     and there was a time
frame to encompass dialogue...
      somehow it fits:
the verbal myopic -
            the entire pre-
& post- canvas of a blinking eye...
   always the question of the
pre-industrialißed sketch;
words predating metaphor
akin to  -
  words versus metaphor
in genesis -
   format? anecdotal.

      in writing:
            by one hand alone,
made into two...
        my, my...
  what a ****** self-portrait
"assumption"...
        a self-portrait...
a wish for color,
with nothing to show,
but the relief of encompassed bones;
that become a disembodied
skeleton - minus a purpose
of tendon attachments...

∟          "contra"    Δ          -
equilateral my ***...

            a few days spent within the confines
of a Promethean *****,
     there be, elemental insomnia
of an electric bespoke...
if Prometheus stole fire,
who, in in all for ****'s sake
stole the saber of Zeus,
the thunderbolt -
electricity, who?
who craved the insomnia?!
             this Frankenstein-esque
insomnia-zombification -
             white as is white:
with all the dermatological
copper take on broken shins...
         should ivory coco -
come between piglet *** copper
auburn in terms of autumn...
******...
             *******!

take your ****** *** elsewhere,
and then... start spelling
it with a missing G...
when citing Niger...
  you do the double dip of the NBA...
you count the second dip...
why do i love Batman as the best
superhero?
  not of his superhero powers,
he has none...
          his enemies are
the only interesting
counter-factoids of
having implemented an existence
for.
   there is no exacting of
a superhero,..
   but there is enough
to mind an antithesis...

          tylko wieśniak
by wydział film w tym,
          bo sie nie rusze -
    cegła, kamień -
       pień - mur -
           i by mówił - w tym
co zamarzło -
          to co ostygłe -
    w co z tym samym -
        meine filmisch -
      i skakaniem świec -
   od i na nagim cieniem -
   pytać nad pyche -
       tanz! tanz!
                 moje iskry słów...
   sto! i lat,
    o wielbłąd churem o
grzbiet da, i da,
       iskra; alfabetu!
    bogiem impromptu
o czym warty: -gień.


- suppose a moon, suppose a shadow,
by candlelight - within the confines of
mercury - that quickened silver -
some edgy urban solo -

      as a bricklayer or a cobbler  -
shoes that deviate from ushering
an echo -
          i could raise children and keep
a woman: only if she decided
upon not allowing me
a leash -
            what a saddening affair
of minds and freedom...
           chicken doctoral -
i don't know: vanity of the impossible
mortal gain...

    the monkey onomatopoeia
    within the confines of a custard
of  lexicon....

          that Victorian image proof
source of envisioned Braille in
the confines of a primate...
  
handwriting:
itches, scratches, chicken esque
clucking... which is what
handwriting looks like these days,
what, with the coding...
    semi plumber,
half the electrician...
  and certainly null when it comes
to calligraphic invigoration...

- homosexuality was always a contingency
escapade to release suppressed yearnings -
a sudden but a non-fulfillment questioning
celibacy...

               you can enforce curbing homosexuality,
but then there are two outlets...
the perversity: or the question...
of Ayn and Sophia...
                          
        greeks ****** the hebrews in the hole
without an outlet - zee heed: with a missing A...
      Ayn - Aleph -
                    twin Adam -
          perhaps a Siamese abomination...

mind you... the forbidden fruit?
sounds more like... the forbidden flesh...

thee burdensome walking
the already burdened earth: as the fruit,
somewhere between the flesh of man's last predator,
contained, on land, and his hidden desire
for revenge and introspection,
a denial of commonality and shared purpose -
thou shall not consume
that which also hunts you -
little or no concern with equal
     measure of forbidding, that which you pet...
the forbidden "fruit",
in between the flesh of a sabertooth tiger,
and Cain's fruit of famine and incompetence:
               cannibalism...

   and why would you think about
drinking a ms. amber with pepsi...
pepsi! to coca -
and not slide in a slice of lemon
while you're at it?
  terrible mistake...
       well... one way to get y'er vit amins...

        and why is it that all the best
movies these days are about homosexuals?
the dutch girl for starters...
   me, drinking, watching t.v.?
either **** good drama,
a western,
   or a movie about a *******
homosexual...
          did i mention that i think that
homosexuality is an auxiliary escapade plan?
natural, of course,
    but i'd hate to have to life
a doubled up life -
then again...
     perhaps i would...
           me? i have a new girlfriend -
Sophia - and her ****: Philip -
           so am i expected to make demands
for the child they might end up
called Ayn, or Aleph?
                - the Wahhabi hypocrisy
    concerning music, or rather, censoring it...
but... but i thought the adhan:
the call to prayer: was sung,
rather than abiding by the catholic
credo murmur?
     no?
                         my bad... you know better...
i'll send you a postcard from
the Galapagos Islands,
if i find the time, to find:
    that 4th dimensional concept doing
the trigonometric shoom! elsewhere -
on a tangen "bias": **** knows where -
like a comet - missing a tail -
shoom!                                       gone.

shrapnel:

            not enough thrills for a hard-on...
... images... drawings...
   apparently fine art is not enough
stimulation to ******* to for these Arabs...
****? .....   in general?
cartoons.... cartoons of women....
   ... because?
well... apparently the niqab...
  extends beyond the realm of...
  readily available attire...
            women on the street?
   pornographic "actresses"?
                       you see the cartoon?
it's all ******* ******...
                  oh don't get me wrong...
amy adams?
  buff as an exploding Hindenburg...
    the pale ginger - milchskin...
                - unrelated:
   how about i sneak a skunk into
        a coco chanel perfumery -
while advocating that people will still
call it a: scent just shy of roses and strawberries.

- people have heard of incels -
but have they heard of Vcels?
    huh?!
   yeah, yeah... voluntary celibacy -
i know what a ****** sounds and looks like -
and, to be honest?
   there's hardly any rhetorical ***
involved -
         a bit like jerking off...
              monkish chants -
Byzantine -
     the fear of man,
   when his own inability flourishes:
     in a woman...
                          
these acts have become well trodden...
so well trodden that i'm
authentically surprised that anyone
would still goosestep them into
their mundane plagiarism's existence...
    replica invigoration:
turns out...
    
   zeit ist nicht gerade, aber
kreisförmig
...

                              touko "tom" laaksonen...
i.e. tom of finland...
   question: you think a macron over
one of those As
                     would do the trick in terms
of spelling correction?

  touko "tom" laaksonen...
you seriously can only watch European cinema
while drinking...
    again... invigorating the english language:
one baby step at a time -
a simple grapheme -

    the vater's S Z interchangeability -
   synchronised contra synchronized -
    settled -
    synchronißed -
                       sometimes the slithering S
of a snake -
   otherwise the rigid totem with
a torso of a zebra...
                     hardly a major investment -
but when i see English having moved
from the Elizabethan Shaky Steward of
thou etc. -
       imitating ancient Latin -
    coordinating the Greenwich study of
dyslexia...
            Joyce...
              no diacritical application?
   hell...
                 might as well release a bull
into a China shop...
                 or a rottweiler into chicken shack...
still... why is there an orthographic aesthetic
in practice, hovering over I and J,
  when there's no difference, as suggested
in CAPiTAL letterIng?
                                       ah... i see...
the english "think" they can bypass the para-
frontier, and the orthographic frontier
and race down to the metaphysics...
        first?
   you explain why it's i and not ι,
  and why it's j and not ȷ.
Dave Gledhill Jan 2014
I'm troubled by a broken tune,
that can't keep time and loops too soon.
Like Christmas in the heart of June,
each summer's heat a curdled moon. 

It's not that I keep glancing back, 
or wander down well-trodden tracks,
I've raged against a wall of facts,
interrogating every crack. 

Yet still I feel its tender bass
and scrawl each lyric on my face.
I've copied out each line to trace 
the meaning of this groundhog chase. 

No matter which new route I choose,
this labyrinth seems short of clues.
There are no shields or string to use,
just an ageing bard that strums the blues.

And now begins another dance,
the waltz of sighs and askew glance.
It's orchestra tuned up by chance,
with instruments of circumstance.

And so returns the song's refrain.
Its endless echo back again,
to score my steps while I remain, 
a different man, who's still the same.
Her glowing silver hand,
Grasping desperately at

Shreds of brocade silk,
Glittering in the moonlight

Disappearing into the moonlight
i wonder whose hand you envision in your mind...
(@shimatsukki)
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2018
.why? why?! why would i even be, remotely,
concerned?
    esp. with a story from yesterday
akin to that of a feminist poster being
taken down, that read:

    woman
        women
    noun
   adult human female

because some, sorry... i love the word:
****** / doctor "thought" the word:
woman was endangering
transgender people...
                                                 wow!
looks like the homosexuals are on the attack...
can you be a misogynist and a homosexual,
simultaneously? well... apparently you can!
bravo! encore! encore!
    so should i be bothered when such antics
are taking place in: of all places, Liverpool?
**** it, i'm going to have a beer and watch
the sunset - or at least that's what i thought
a few hours prior.


the **** was i doing, watching channel 4
news?!
      i do remember watching it...
why was i watching it?
     for all it's worth...
                they do a pretty solid job,
**** me, they even reported on Iranians
using instagram...
                        gotta love the Shiites...
probably my favorite Muslims...
   given their Persian background -
proud face, like those native Americans
in the film hostiles:
   proud faces...
                        well... if you're going
to root for someone, root for the "underdogs"...
those Persians were never going
to bow down to the camel jockey Arabs,
sure as **** they wouldn't, and didn't...
ah ****...
  that's the problem with drinking,
and writing at the same time...
   in vino veritas...
     shh... it's a secret...
                    one downfall of drinking
and writing...
                      hmm...
                         ­     really hard to tell a lie...
by god it's hard to tell a lie
while drinking...
     why? there's no fun in telling a lie,
spinning a fictive narrative,
marketing character understudies or
fan-bait...
                a bit like:
Chopin...
                     versus a ******* orchestra...
(yeah, sorry about that...
   oath words, i swear,
   are compiled in the category of and:
i.e., they're conjunctions...
   otherwise i'd stutter, or something much
worse, like a writer's block & ****)...
wait...
   what was i going to say?
ah!
   channel 4 news... sure... it pure left,
globalism, multi- blah blah blah
and further blah to the nth term...
i couldn't believe it though!
   obviously the two stories were going
to be spoken about side by side...
     first... the second arrest of Tony Robinson...
apparently yet another, or another yet:
contempt of court...
     scenes from the Old Bailey...
and, d'uh, obviously,
   Jeremy Corbyn opening a placard of
a sq. dedicated to the far right
    "terrorist" attack on... ***...
  can't remember her name...
    Joe... hey Joe... where do you think
you're going with that gun?
Janie's got a gun...
                   this **** never gets old:
Chris Rea: Josephine...
       i send you all my love,
  and every single step i take
i take for you...
i would never believe that so much of
Van Morrison has that many
  jazzy accents in the oeuvre...
moondance:
   and a crisp, cloudless early
afternoon illuminating the birds,
the blues of flowers and the contract
of the about to shoot
  into embers of होली Holī
envious greens...
turmeric, chilli powder,
     cumin, fading cardamon,
garam masala,
                      coriander...
cinnamon,
           then the masalas:
   tandori, achar, tikka....
    then korma and the sri lankan
powder...
blue indians have their celebrations
in spring,
  i'm about to spectate the celebrations
of autumn... win win...
but that's still not the point...
channel 4 news...
  oh ****!
  Gavin!
   Gavin Mcinnes!
    **** me!
          hmm...
   love the tartan suit...
******* looks plush!
about as much style as matt preston
  (from Australian Masterchef)...
**** it,
   i forgot which of the chicken
wings recipes i am supposed
to make tomorrow....
                               *******!
the Azerbaijan recipe, or the...
oh ****... o.k. i can tell the difference
between the porcelain of the Japanese,
and say... someone from Thailand...
whatever... i'll cook something anyway.
Sally A Bayan May 2017
(haikus)

eggs aren't done yet,
deep frying oil sizzles loud,
my eyes meet pale red,

i anxiously taste
Korean strawberries......but,
..........eagerly, i sniff,

home smells of....fried rice,
garlic...coffee...petrichor,
sweet scents...wafting 'round.


   (10w)

youTube plays
Moondance by Van Morrison
shoulders sway...fingers tap.

i glow...while singing
with Don Mclean's
Starry Starry Night.


strangers knock, looking for never-heards,
at six AM?
very extraordinary!

then guards
warn us of strangers,
a bit too late!

clatter of china says,
table's ready...
wait...
rain is pouring!

where're you,
Creedence Clearwater?
have you ever seen the rain?

gosh....the dogs again!
...chased away
both cat and kittens :-(


     (14 lines)

the table...now speaks loudly
of perfect sunny-side-ups
mushroom omelet with sliced sausages
there's toasted bread......fried rice,
and fried plantain bananas, too,
all steaming hot......the aroma
......of arabica........brewing...
the many unexpected moments
that keep popping out of the blue
create a palette of bright colors
and moods for this new day...
i await more of these "unexpecteds,"
this  flow of eclectic poetry
really knocks me off my feet :))


Sally


Copyright April 23, 2017
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
(one Sunday morning in April)
Marian Jun 2013
Soft rays of light
Dance tenderly in my room at Night
Casting shadows on the ground
And on the floor of my bedroom
Late at Night the Fairies dance
In those rays
The caressing breeze
Waltz through the treetops
While streetlights like crystals shine
All Night long
Little owls in the trees
Hoot and call to each other
Crickets, katydids and tree toads
Sing late at Night
In the softly stirring breeze

**~Marian~
Don Brenner Oct 2010
The moon doesn't seem so far away
when I lay in midnight grass with you.
I want to reach up, flick it,
and play pinball in the stars,
or better yet put it in my pocket
along with Mars and gift them to you -
intergalactic stress *****.
From above we probably look
like a capital M cut right down the center
in two symmetrical halves.
I wished upon a star
that you would grab my hand
like I know you would
if we took off into space.
If I could take you anywhere
I would take you to Mercury
where we could reach out
and touch sunspots.

But I can't
and you're suspicious of me
because you don't even know me.
Maybe, though, one day
you will wrap your fingers
around my palm
and squeeze ever so lightly
like you would hold a mouse
and ask me my favorite song.
2009
Sinai Jul 2013
On some days she dances
and sings
it sounds terrible,
but it looks sweet
and careless.
She holds me and calls me
her sister-figure,
and I just follow her
with my eyes and
hold on to the moment
with every muscle that I own.

Some days her eyes remind me
of the last time I saw him.
They're not hers,
and she does things that nobody
understands
and she scares me.

Some days she breaks down
and lies crying
and screaming
next to our feet.
And she lets us touch her
to pick her up,
and for a moment I see her
as she is.

She is a lot of things.
Just as crazy
as unhappy.
aj Mar 2016
under pearls by the water
trickle down the tears of an angel's
daughter

in the forest deep below
resting her head on an earthy pillow

the animals guard and keep her safe
shine and pray the light away

the moon is her companion
for it she dances
the sun comes over and delightfully prances

in this finest hour
the world is no longer ours

a union of more than two
a trust greater than me and you

the sky cracks open and screams  
the dance is no longer for thee

maybe she was a little too free
perhaps the forest stifled her pleas
freewrite
rk Jul 2020
if it takes 28 days
for skin to renew,
then i have been
13 new versions of myself
since i last felt your touch.
each day gets longer,
yet i still hear your name
in the ocean waves
and your moon soaked kisses
still keep me up at night.
Tanner Angelo Jan 2014
Salmonella sunset
  sets the scene for
moondance morrey
     into the mystic
Fool's ghouls haunt sunken treasure
Sworn protectors of
      the damages
      better undone
      Mandela's dead
Deaf men didn't get the message
"                                           !"
    a sad song it was!
Counting the days
        One a finger
waking up it's the same scene
           the world
That strange place
you Left behind
pigeons in the streets singing
"tomorrow will be like today!"




*and when that foghorn blows
I will be coming home
gs kerr Jul 2011
the moon is dancing
a wolf and a tree
each star is a moment
a truth and belief

this story's not written
the lights are the words
constructing each paragraph
outlined in verse

i open my heart
with fear and for chance
two atoms collide
we share
one slow
hypnotic
waltzing moondance

im told that im heavy
in heart and in tongue
but when my heart opens
it shows truth, not a gun
Katzenberg Nov 2014
if i die young
walled apart of her
when all journeys are over
and my hands are closed

i'd call for the love of loss
and lose everything i held
for i am one soul
residing in this dying case

wether i live or leave
you'll stand on the other shore
looking at me, and be
static as your moondance, witch

your fest is my birthday
„Dreizigte April, mein Schatz"
the cats still pray for me
but who pray for them?
Stu Harley Sep 2018
once
upon a time
a silkworm
decided to
weave a burgundy red dress
for
a Moondance
You’re exactly like the moon
With all its different phases
The moon that’s tattooed on your forearm
The moon that’s covering your paintings
And just like the moon
You are bold and apparent
With certainly nothing to hide

But although you’re this way
You’re still so far away
To truly understand you up close

So I lie awake sleepless
Because the moon’s made of secrets
As it sits alone in the sky

And now you’re waning and whining
You’re fading, you’re dying
As the sun tries to take over the show

Glowing palely, you shine
As you live for the nightlife
You’re high and you’re faded again

We moondance
We’re kissing
By daytime you’re missing
The light breaks the morning horizon

So by the light of the moon
I’ll see you soon
Living at night because you’re a beautiful sight
But by the time I see light  
I’m just another admirer with drowsy eyes
Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
The Planet hell caught my ear
That of 12 years old
For mezzo nor soprano
A singer of classical genre

The riff and drum were a beautiful trance
Of Ever dream and Moondance
The dead boy's poem wept
The albums forever kept

I sang with you
Your Ghost Love score passed in the night
The wishes on notes
for she, he wrote

I found my path, when all seemed lost
To Mozart, Carmen, Tosca
A hand to the path you lead
Tear ashes upon my bed

I wished for the night
For every song that healed my plight
Years gone by from January to December
My olden day Nightwish I adore and remember
Stu Harley Mar 2020
the
wide eyed sleepy moon owl
took
the chance
to
perform
the
sacred ritual
when
the
moondance
Greenie Aug 2014
lately ive been feeling a bit blue
moondance on my own  ===  just one shadow the light does skew
ive cracked my wrists, and I cant seem to figure,
stare dumbly down, aching to feel what once was vigor
but whats strange this time, is the space between
the humorly disgust for them who did once upon me === preen

guess im on my own now
love you Ari.
Mike Adam Apr 2016
Out of the blackness
milky-white eminence rises
omphalos umbilus of the world
dripping venom and solace
in equal doses

Is not creation myth
of sunrise or moondance
****** charge of being
connection of ether
asserted from nothing

Uncoiled sss thick body
glowing colour grey
black edged scales
vast hood of metallic
green lozenge flanked
by blind yellow flash

Out of blackness the
milky rainbowed cobra
source of destruction
of chaos of growth
I sat down to work
until the moon
kissed me.
Then we
danced!
Ursula Wolf Sep 2021
Moondance on Your skin,
Your hollow love that I still grab on
Dancing in the water of faith.
Splashing,
Rising,
Fighting against the sand
On the core of our heart.
The dark waves crawl into you
And take you to deep disappearance.
The memory of you left the stars behind,
Which still haunt me
When I fall into the Ocean.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
comes the love, that loves to hate: then comes the hate, and the camembert; just like they do korn's a.d.i.d.a.s. and bryan adam's summer of '69.

headphones elevsate the "idea"
of past girllfriends,
the exes, the *** ss, ss, sassy
*******...
  one?
   i just keep laughing and grinning
till me cheeks hurt like
someone completing the tour de france...
believe me, everyone seems
to hate phil collins -
but that song *sussido
?
she's her...
     you really think i was going
to yong-yong twirll a yoyo
   when citing her name?
   all she said:
   you me, & my younger sister...
a desert island...
              **** me she didn't
throw her mum into the mix...
1980s twice over...
                   i couldn't be happier...
the mere idea shakes my bones
to a moondance...
i know phil collins
is some sort of target practice,
some sort of bulls-eyes
to reach toward the indie heights
of mogwai...
        or whatever you want to call:
keeping it just appropriate
lonesome...
                 and that means, what?
candy crush saga with prozzies?
ain't you the classy buck!
    never mind that,
every time the headphones
are equipped i know i'm
at the house where the party is at...
please forgive my phil collins
like...
          you only get ****** trans
music in brothels anyway...
   and that's only the bulgarians
transitioning to romanian babes...
but this one girl...
forget it... she's gone...
mother of three, and all the more
readied to be done aged 80...
i'm actually praying for the end
aged 45...
                come on...
given the 80s: sussudio?
               the only make-up i wear
is yesterday's hangover...
flanked by rugby puffs under the eyes...
so i am,
"technically" seeing doughnuts...
        and yes, the shrunk bladder...
why is it that no more adventure
comes from travelling to the land
of thai... than it is,
having found adventure in the land(s)
prescribed?
         but there are the giggles,
rather than the moans...
and there's her younger sister,
and thank **** not her mother...
that would be thrice as weird...
                  but there's the smile,
a lost, and ever forgetful claim to
a memory...
          lost in the tract of passing time,
and chasing ambitions,
of ******, through to girlfriend,
through to lover, settling in
companion / mother, the retired aged...
how gracious,
   to be fed lost ambitions
as a persistent narrative
  of any if not every lack of
                                         "thought".

those that savour the upkeep of spring
and the eternity of it,
stretching into both spring & autumn,
care to keep their hearts
as patrons of atlantis:
the ice-bergs:
        so little above the water,
                yet so much below, in the depths;

only those born as the sole inheritors
can claim an understanding of solipsistic
endeavours...
               that the kindred of the chinese i am
and by that: worth of a certain zeitgeist:
i am too...
                   how can solipsism be explained
by people who grew with brothers
or sisters?
         how can it be, and then degraded
into a psychiatric embrace?
      who are these freaks, these western
socio-political-pathogens?
                         these diseases?!
i don't like them...
                  i'd only think once
concerning exterminating them from
the temple of thought:
they just stink the ******* place out...
   i don't want them here...
they belong on the crucifix of rhetoric...
they really require their tongues
to be crucified, mutilated,
        chased, and extinguished!
Tyler Aug 2023
someone to dance with,
I can't wait to make love with you tonight.
        Just watching you be you.
        We wanted some romance
   but all we've got is love.
Your eyes are like the stars up above,
   one more moondance,
  could I make some romance to you?
You're too good to be true
won't take these eyes off of you,
enchanted, entranced,
the top of my love list
Kurt Philip Behm Jun 2022
California Dreamin…
Momma Told Me Not To Come
By The Time I Get To Phoenix
Will Anybody Really Know What Time Has Spun

Hotel California…
Its Chain Gang wearing thin
Searching for an American Woman
Blowin In The Wind

Bill Bojangles Robinson…
preaching Fire And Rain
New York’s A Lonely Lonely Town
dragging Ball And Chain

Summertime Blues and Porgy’s drowning…
Riders On The Storm
Layla kisses Judy Blue Eyes
Stairway To Heaven scorned

Woodstock and a Big Bear Scrambler…
Who’ll Stop The Rain
Don’t Think Twice this Hard Day’s Night
Eli’s Comin again

Hey Jude, Moondance is calling…
It’s Too Late says Ms. King
Yesterday’s Hound Dog barking Crazy
—the Purple Haze begins

(Rosemont College: June, 2022)
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2021
Basketball tonight
Alien t-shirt
He needs a little space
I lose in 21

Moondance in the air
I stop on my walk home
Mysty Mayhem plays
Southern moon, Southern sun

She has Batman socks
The Dark Knight Protector
I listen for Chicago
Her soulful set is done

Train tracks on my left
Silent cemetery
Tallahatchie Bridge
Happy Warrior fun
    
            Tomorrow
             Irishman
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2021
Basketball tonight
Alien t-shirt
He needs a little space
I lose in 21

Moondance in the air
I stop on my walk home
Mysty Mayhem plays
Southern moon, Southern sun

She has Batman socks
The Dark Knight Protector
I listen for Chicago
Her soulful set is done

Train tracks on my left
Silent cemetery
Tallahatchie Bridge
Happy Warrior fun
    
            Tomorrow
             Irishman
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
.out comes the golden serpent - with hands of dripping copper and honey... sprinkling kosher salt wherever he goes; of course prior to: mr. aenemia and vamp. goes through a rotten stage of: scortched porky pink... it does take a day or two... for the suntan to even itself out.

the joy from a well exerted body
with paid debt for a day's worth
of life...
    laying the foundation of a new shed...
tossing a tonne of gravel...
mixing cement like bread dough:
3:1 parts - sand:cement...
and some water...
        to the consistency of ****** dough...
come the sunset and the skull's
moondance...
   the warming sensation of a newly
acquired suntan: above the elbow:
having rolled up the t-shirt "sleeves":
do i could get that:
mr. romania primark buff look...
rather than a farmer's suntan below
the elbows...
                 as for the mind...
currently pickling in some bourbon...
relaxing...
     not agitating any grand
exploration - come to think of it...
an honest's day of labour:
   of work that can be done -
    all work... beside those sadistic
arbeit macht frei labours...
or work for competition...
work in the fresh air...
      to plough the field...
         to build a house... to set
a foundation for a shed...
to wait for tomorrow... and put
the actual shed up...
                 if in england the house
is a castle:
why so few leave it for the labyrinth
of the garden?
claustophilic chickens...
hardly a castle: more
like a t.v.-zombie
                        chickenshack...
no point being "smart" about it...
there's enough grace in just
being grateful...
for honestly paying the debt for
a day's worth of life:
                to whatever god or devil;
well... i'm going to hardly
pay homage to the sun...
       that said... so much
                 for the heliocentric
"revolution"...
           what has changed?
i don't think much...
the world still goes on in its usual
geocentric theatre mandate...
          who needs to look for aliens
"elsewhere" in that copernican "n.e.w.s."
of aimless direction...
when the aliens are: thankfully!
tiny creepie-crawlies...
                       right here now:
scuttling along to find rotten wood,
shade and the confines of hades...
perhaps... sometime this week...
i'll pay homage to that route i walked
once before... beginning from...
lower bedfords rd (through bedfords park)
out on broxhill road...
then through B175... at pinewood road
(across from orange tree pub)...
through havering county park...
across the river Rom...
and into hainault forest county park...
popping out at A1112... and then either walking
back to collier row... or getting the bus
back...
    one day... this homage will
have to be paid.... but not tomorrow...
some other... sunny day;
so much for the over-inflated
               value of love and ***...
when manual labour in fresh air...
and taking... a pretty long *******
walk will do... just about as much.
Qualyxian Quest Aug 2022
Basketball tonight
Alien t-shirt
He needs a little space
I lose in 21

Moondance in the air
I stop on my walk home
Mysty Mayhem plays
Southern moon, Southern sun

She has Batman socks
The Dark Knight Protector
I listen for Chicago
Her soulful set is done

Train tracks on my left
Silent cemetery
Tallahatchie Bridge
Happy Warrior fun
    
            Tomorrow
             Irishman

— The End —