...Put it back where you  didn't find it...
I didn’t steal it, I just stopped it from being yours.
Well, that hippopotamus isn't just gonna FLOG itself !
You shut my mouth.
You were like that when I got here.
Yes it isn't.
It's always not in the last place you look.
hey, this actually does taste like chicken,
(rubber chicken.)
Ah, you didn't need ALL those fingers any way.
No, no ! I'm stupid.
The boss loves it when I do this, watch .
you meant that fire?
No man is also not an island.
The giants stand on MY shoulders,
except on Tuesdays.
Never on Tuesdays.
Can you please NOT do that some more,
right over there.
Oh, I'm sure he was just born that way.

Well, that’s what I would have said, if I hadn’t already said something else.

If all you want to do is hear yourself
Are you so unattractive that you can't stand to  look in a mirror
It seems that is all you really want.
No empathy no desire to hear what anyone else has to say.
Did you think you had something to share with the world anyway?

Do you even try to put meaning or depth into the stupid words that you write and post on here?
If you do, then why are you so incapable of making things any more clear?
If all of your posting is not even a complete sentence, it's less than 10 words.?
That's not even poetry for poetry nerds.!
And you're trying to say it's some deep esoteric lesson about your half wit brain and your half baked life.
While your kids hate you and why you have no wife.
Strife, strife and more strife.
Or God better yet tell me about Israel, like I'd give a **** !
Tell me about how in love you are with your mostly naked. carpenter, ***. idle God.
Please ohh please compare someone else to a rose. Ohh god, please do it. Just tell me about how wonderful their complexion is..
Better yet, don't even speak English and take your half baked kooky ideas and try to make some kind of sense out of them when we can all clearly see that it's not your first language. Yes, please do more of that..
Take some bizarre headline. headline from a tabloid magazine and twist. ing and twist it through some pharmacology that you're prescribed that you're either undertaking or overtaking.
Insist on your own brilliance and your credentials as some lofty vantage point to **** all over the rest of us from..
I have nothing of import or importance to say, but just post a bunch of crap on here anyway..
Never take an art class. Don't read a book. Have no friends at all. Don't even run your **** past anyone, or even ask
"   hey, do you remotely think that I even have a semblance of the talent required to be a poet? "
You've never been a poet before. and you just woke up one day and told yourself that you are one.
You've never written anything before
. You've never been published before.
No one's ever asked you. Hey, boy, I sure do like those random words you string together.
This is what you get when the only requirement is an Internet connection..

The Bespoke *******-Punching Apparatus: A Scrolling Sonnet of Pain and Prestige

Behold, dear friends, a sight so rare,
A marvel of craft, a punch with some flair!
Not just a tap, nor just common strikes,
But tailored pain, bespoke with spikes ?.

levers, knobs,  gears so bright,
It measures your jewels for the perfect smite.
Crafted German care  from hands most skilled,
For those who seek their torment and must be fulfilled.

It has a sign above, for all to see  it twinkles proud,
you'll want one too but for now look at  me .It Flashes with  wisdom, bold and loud:
"You're almost there!" it scrolls with glee,
your knees will buckle,  while yearning to flee.
Oh  the joy, the joy there will be.

"Believe in yourself!" the message insists,
As the metal fist curls up its wrist.
A countdown begins.
Crowds will draw what did you choose.
You can't do it wrong there is no way to loose.

Don't be caught last in line .
Get yours first.
Don't be left behind.

For the highbrow type, a touch of grace,
Gold engravings etched in place.
Perhaps a monogram?
A family crest?
A symbol of honor upon one’s chest.

And should you opt for fine décor,
A velvet lining?
A marble floor?
Let not your suffering be too plain,
Let taste and wealth enhance your pain!
Extoll your wealth for all to see.
Look what I spent on my ***** punching machine.
They aint given these away for free !

Customization, Because You Deserve It!

Why settle for standard when you can refine?
Adjust the force! Set the design!
From "playful tap" to "instant regret,"
Each punch is precision—you’ll never forget.

Some want leather, some want steel,
Some want a setting called "The Eel ?"
For the sentimental, engraved with care,
"Hang in there!" flashes to all in mid-air.
Oh the laughs.
the office fun.
Even ***** with no *****
will surely want one!

A haiku option? For Doc and his Ilk.
A Shakespearean verse?
Perhaps a joke to make it  all worse?
" Just like mom used to make"  
red dots slow scrolling
bleeps in  delight,
As your  pain begins and last through  the night.

The Art of Encouragement, could scroll in  it Lights.
Anything  you'd like.
It's bespoke after all
In all of its rights.

"You snooze, you lose!"—in ominous glow,
Or  here's lookin at you kid" right before the blow.
"Champions are made, not born!" how quaint!
A message of strength... just before you faint.

For pop-culture fans, a classic tease,
" Thank you sir, may I have another."
You may indeed.
"Viddy well little brother. "
It's yours after all send any message you like.
Maybe something for the boss or landlord
or the sullen little tike.

Oh, but beware the tech that malfunctions,
Scrambled words, ominous junctions.
"Maybe next time..." it flickers low,
As steam and sparks begin to blow.

And who, dear friends, maintains this beast?
A sage? A monk? A mad-eyed priest?
No, just Jeff, the intern schmuck,
Who’s stuck in a job with zero for luck.

So step right up, embrace your doom,
Let old-school Led lights your fate illume.
And should you cry, collapse, or fall,
It's just the evolution of competition
after all.
Flex those bad boys and your wallet at once
Come up with your OWN witty scrolling slogan
don't be  a dunce.

blood spurting
hot and red draughts
flesh and fat quivering

Pain and shock beyond reckoning

suffering

smoke and screaming death

shattered teeth and twisted fingers
scrabbling

mute screams
on knees
staring blankly
into
the
sun

Were you born in America?
Did you go through our joke of an education system?
Did you complete American high school
have that experience?

If not,
whatever education you did receive
doesn’t mean anything to anyone.
Probably not even yourself.

Why is this reality?
The entire world wants our Hollywood.
The entire universe dances to our music,
bleeds for our fashion,
our trends, our desires for technology.

It’s our approval that they all crave,
you all help us to create.
That’s why these aren’t tens of thousands of dollar industries
they are billion dollar global industries.

Thank you, China, for sacrificing YOUR children
so I can NOT buy one of your slightly "better" iPhones.
Thank you, Mexico, for without your $0.75 an hour,
our whole economy would collapse.
You were never born to be cool or to "get it."

And if you didn’t have THIS.
OUR upbringing, not yours
if you didn’t have this opportunity,
you will always, always be an outsider looking in !
You will never FULLY or truly understand
almost ANYTHING of relevance or importance.
That’s only part of the reason we don’t want to share anything with you.
yeesh.


Regardless of how many movies you think you ‘get,’
or the off chance that you may actually read anything
or have picked up a book
not very likely unless you’ve been incarcerated.

Oh, don’t worry, though
we are building a prison for YOU.
After all, we incarcerate more people than the rest of the world combined.
Please stop your ****** jibber jabber and get back in line.

It must have started with the radio, right ?
Because I just don't see how books could have done it.
The plays of Shakespeare and others
they don't feel anything like what is happening now.
Art has been reduced to a product since, who?  The first ?
Buddy Holly?
Dressed, measured, Berry Gordy-fied, then packaged and sold with no regard for its substance. (A little old white lady actually came up with most of the stuff Berry stole from her.)

Do we just need something to consume so badly that we will consume anything? Or create something supposedly new just for the sake of calling it new?

To try and capture the energy and emotion of music—with heavily distorted guitars, not just thrash or metal.
The failure of poetry in that regard. No matter what you write , or how you write it, It just can't do that.

When we look at what mediums we use to express what ideas.

Now think of it like sculpture. It’s about what is absent as much as what is present.
And we know that it’s NOT a motion picture.

We don’t put our ear to a book.

( So many years on stage, trying to convey different ideas to an audience. I’ve seen incredibly talented people play to a bar or club with nothing but empty seats. Conversely, like great poets and writers, I’ve seen talentless hacks. Idiots. Complete jokes. Vacuous, hollow windbags—like Taylor Swift, Britney Spears, Justin Bieber. I could go on and on. Pretty much every single K-pop band in existence.)

( I would rather drive a slow-moving chainsaw into my eye sockets than admit that could even possibly be close to something like music. That’s how disgusting it is to me.

But that’s not what I came here to say.)

The idea is the expectation of the medium.
Do we know or truly respect its limitations?
If so then why the constant comparison ?

This is the betrayal: not just of the artist, but of the medium itself. Music should shake the soul.
Poetry could cut to the bone or elate ,enlighten etc.
Art should leave something behind—a wound, a revelation, a moment that lingers long after it ends.
Something.
Anything.
Other than “Gee, I’d like to bang that.”
And yet, here we are, watching the weightless and the witless take center stage, their noise drowning out what was once meant to actually communicate
to
endure.

Do we fight against the tide, carving meaning into a world that often refuses to see it?
Or do we simply create,
knowing that the truth of the medium
the essence of what it was meant to be
will outlast the frauds who cheapen it?

( It's not all aliens Giorgio Tsoukalos ) Please someone forward this to him.
Not All Aliens
A people lost, or their story drowned,
Their cities burned, their knowledge ground.
Forgotten hands, forgotten lore,
Their world it was, but is no more.

They say it's aliens, every time,
Warping space and folding time.
Space is not like fabric to bend and fold,
A fairy tale believed, once told.

You can't just bend it then expect
That it would snap right back
The whole idea defies logic and physics,
And is just plain whack.

To claim that calloused hands could never raise
The stones that stand, the lost stairways,
The doors to nowhere—yet there they stand,
A mystery men set in rock and sand.

Just as they built, they thought, they planned.

You pretend they warp and bend and break through time?
That’s more than craft—it’s grand design.
To twist the void, to bridge the stars,
Would take more fuel than fuels are.

To transfer energy to matter means
Why need anything but exploration?
Why wait till we can defend ourselves?
Why the hesitation?

If nothing more than to observe,
Why the visitations?
Don't presume to have the answer
Or lord some false pretense,
When in reality, none of it
Would make the slightest sense.

To be they would require a world exactly like ours.
The odds say no.
A copy Earth? A twin in space?
Same pull of tides, same moon in exact same place?

Same burning sun, no more, no less,
Same speed, same distance,
Exact same gravitational resistance.
Same atmosphere, same air,
Same day and night cycle to produce
A skin so smooth, so fair.

The air must match, the tilt, the spin,
The mix of gases held within.
One shift, one slip, it all would fail,
Life’s balance set upon a cosmic scale.

The monoliths, the stones we carved,
Were not by hands from worlds afar.
No ships, no greys, no cosmic guests,
Just beating hearts, mighty minds, and broadened chests.

OUR ancestors, yours and mine,
Not aliens, not magic, and not divine !