.english black humour is peppered with sarcasm,
english humour is sarcasm...
watching the gaelic version
is like watchings the irish try to be subtle by being rude,
doesn’t work... normas proved it defeating the saxons...
and subsequently the celtic brides roared in encore!
it really doesn’t work... the polish fraction of me still intact
to remind me of the biology that still works served
the reminder: polish history is still orientated
on the european continent, eastern europe
is not a segregated "continent" that might contend
with england and france being ante-antarctica...
never engage a celt with british humour for guy fawkes or anyone
else in the missing ditto;
celtish or cultish... i never quiet know...
enter the celtish brides... encouraging the advent of copulation
and the excesses of tax to build linear ceramic imprints
of broken bricks, that made it into ratio of
the chiseled brick worth a heavyweight contention with
heated mortar dough; oh right, pooh bear you're offended...
deal with it! unless your uncle is denoted as
adolf ****** and you want him resurrected!
shakespeare never wrote the play: the merchant of mecca,
did he? poor shylock... i was almost caught in admiration
of what english students at 16 thought of that national pride...
known as the *****-bride to **** for an A at a-level.

they still sound out of breath,
out of anything,
esp. words...
they all sound to totem no animal
rather than an ****
which in ceramic wilderness
sounds like wild ****...
where’s the monochromatic monotone
of the drunken sailor going by the name
of st. peter?
fisherman turned sailor... that’s a first...
why didn’t jesus pick barabbas rather than judas?
was it cain that got in the way?
i bet it was. well nox awaits both thief and murderer...
those engaged with rabbanic arts
tend to treat dreams less seriously...
and those that don’t tend to treat dreams more seriously...
those that treat dreams seriously endear the sole
escapism of reality quite seriously...
and for those that don’t... well... there’s the zodiac algebra
and that’s right for a mummified expression
that was bandaged into a circumcised *******.

p.s.
rhyming poetry has spawned the most pointless
ibhibitions of rhythm poetics,
all the current poets sound
    verärgert... exasperated...
    is everyone seriously a ******* goldfish
catching their breath a second time?!
you want to know the most fun thing
i've ever did, today?
i started to tickle my maine ****'s
inner ear with a chicken's egg...
he raised his paw,
he tried to scratch himself...
"something" there was a schizophrenic
violing playing in his cranium,
rather: the temple of his ear...
i was lucky in having to: kitzteln (titillate)
him with an egg...
a chicken abortion i'd probably
consume come tomorrow's breakfast
hour...

             he felt it, the giggles...
the giggles from annoyance being rubbed
the "wrong way"...
so much to say about a woman
whom i attempted to pick a nose
in earning affection of seeing:
the "green fairy" take a ****,
take to farting, breaking the magic of
the feminine persona of "unfathomable" /
unfailable...

            genius: an egg inserted
into a cat's ear to tickle... eating an abortion
the next morn...
                                    all the woes
of the world seem so insignificant when
you buy into feline idiosyncracies...
after all... there's no leash...
no kaganiec...
             there is no stipend associated
with the timing of walkies...
cats are perfectly disorientated by
their own selves: or rather,
their senses...

              you learn atheism from people,
but?! you learn solipsism from cats!
you learn atheism to sound
intellectually superior, sound,
"sensible"...
solispsism you learn from cats...
god or no god...
you are first, you are the last,
while god? "someone" in the middle...
can god be associated to pronouns?
or is god a pure noun: excavation
machina pro grata?
well... if god was ever a person,
being, anti-tool...
wouldn't "he" be a persona non grata?!
well then!
  machina pro grata:
                the noun spin "mr."...

man was never in search of god:
the objective reality remained true as
it always remained...
man was forver bound to the search
of god: via the subjective
personification of said "object"...

      how do you think the muslims
deal with this conundrum?!
they think they are gratifying everyone
else with an objective reality
of god, while they themselves,
with the polytheistic splinter of the gods,
are themselves searching for
the subjective reality of their god...
a person, a personality...
to the muslims their god speaks
the same objective truth as the sort
of truth a pagan might adhere to...
they want to know: a person to speak to,
rather than an object they can throw...

modern poetry when performed is ****,
it all sounds the same...
that overtone of exasperation...
me? i'm not speaking...
itchy finger-tips: idle hands:
the devil's due...
      i'm not speaking among these
youths... it's like that h'american beauty
quote...

ricky fitts: but it helps me remember...
i need to remember...
sometimes there's so much beauty in the world,
i feel like i can't take it,
     and my heart is just going to cave in.

lester burnham - whatever he said
about the balloon not being filled with helium...
but with all the bureucratic custody
via custard like some zeno paradox
of a tortoise outrunning achilles...
               the beauty can remain...
to enchant the easily impressionable...
after all: you "only live once"!
the beauty will always remain...
hence the seasons...
               but there's only one
impressionable aspect of this reality...
the thought you leave with...
the thought, implying:
the lost aspect of a moral (th)ought
to be envisioned in it not being
sentenced to a maxim
    or a proverb...
                       or a lesson...
after all... once man grows old:
he's no longer fond of learning,
but overtly eager to teach...
         i'm neither... 33...
who am i to learn from or teach for?
teaching by mistakes?
       no one really teaches by example...
unless on a pure technical canvas
associated with a trade or a tool...
which life is neither!

what is the west selling as their... "capitalism"...
their next ponzi scheme of "made in... chi'nah?!"
this, this is capitalism?!
i remember days when gap shirt
lifted the words: made in canada....
quality... would last you 20 years...
the wool wouldn't thin, the colours
wouldn't fade...
                    capitalism my ***, these days!
i came to the promised land,
i remained: with broken bones
            and ****** make-up tutorials....

for all the belief in man,
and this, non-existent fear of god,
savvy,
      upon the sacred altar of
the debauchery of prometheus,
upon the sacrifices of a.i. atlas...
upon: will electricirty ever replace fire...
who stole the rod of zeus
beside promothian thief who came
back with the eternal fire of Odin?
who?!
my kindred: alas!
                     and to what end?!
to the end without any surprise...
for the cosmopolitan cul de sac:
screaming at a brick wall pretending
to talk to one one but brick!
    
  i too visited: Krzyżtopór, in the village of Ujazd,
   Iwaniska commune, Opatów County...
how... the categories congregated
with implosions to make a ground:
specific...
  what would be the categorical imperative
for the congregative consumate
orientation of said narrative?

     even my grandfather remembers
the famous debackle concerning
Alfried Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach...
i do come from a family
of metallurgy... or coal-mining...
  both as true as these coal-riddle hands
supposing ink in pixel...
  
come on... the Schwerer Gustav?
the gun of all guns?! the one with the sort
of recoil that demanded train lines
to incubate the impact?!

modern, spoken, poetry, bores, me...
it's simply exasperated...
  exasperated by rhyme,
exasperated with rhyme,
exasperated outside of rhyme...
i'm listening to clones...
i don't won't to write modern poetry,
simply because:
i will not recoil with a take
on modern poetry...
  i don't do exasperated...
as much as i adore olivia gatwood's:
manic pixie dream girl...
yes, a ref. to the garden state movie...
the shins: new slang...
yeah... i did that **** in edinburgh...
climbing the scaffold...
erected around new college...
dancing on the roof with myself at night...
watching the *****-bank fluoride
white above the firth of forth one night...

but that's what i find really evil...
you know how in the movies,
the actors and actresses brush their teeth...
but never rinse?!
instead? keep that toothpaste in their mouths?!
******* never rinse!
that's evil... i'll tell you:
brush witha  pea-sized dollop, then rinse...
all the movies you see will never show you
a person rinse their teeth after brushing...
you should look into rinsing...
and? you'll never lose weight by going
to the gym...
you'll get stretch-marks, for sure...
there are only two ways to lose weight:
bicycle or swim...
swim or bicycle... better... both!

going to the gym will not help you...
you'll need plastic surgery!
but hollywood movies are evil this way...
they portray people washing their teeth
without spitting out the excess toothpaste
and not rinsing their mouths...
with water...

            who does that?!
hollywood is the next dentistry monopoly?!
pea sized amount of paste,
at the end of the day will do,
and then please spit,
then rinse with water...
don't just do what hollywood bad teeth
brigade do...
keep that paste in your mouth
like car battery acid / fluoride!

   pea sized brush once a day,
spit, rinse... slide your tongue over
your teeth to feel the sheen of
           ivory mingling with glass.

i hate modern poetry, why is everyone pretending
to be asthamtic, exasperated, out-of-breath?
with the same punctuation "all of a sudden"?
**** if i'm going to speak,
i'm not speaking...
             not in this climate...
edinburgh 2006...
  that's when i wanted to speak...
but then my eyes stole my tongue and told me
to listen.
i've been listening every since...
and...
i haven't even registered one hearing
of an echo since then.

For many years you proffered friendship, albeit now, in disguise
For all that time, I held in trust, the warm expression in your eyes,
You claimed you worked hard, by my side, to help me build a dream, a cause,
And in return I gave for you sir, this understanding without pause.
The legions of referrals then, I steered, deflecting to your say
And trust, invested mightily, gave you the right to have your way,
Dependence there, a factor, over many years support
Now the barefaced lie revealed, the friendship, friend, was but a rort!
Revealed, you milked it all for gain.  Revealed, You snickered at my pain,
Laughed aloud, you played the fool and laughed outrageously, so cruel.
It robbed me of all self regard, a comrade’s mantle caste in lard,
I cried and wept for what was lost, then sat and quietly counted cost.
Betrayal, cold, lies on the shelf, to know thy foe… reflects thyself.

Marshalg
Pukehana
14 November 2013

Basil is a fruit bat
Who flies through the trees,
And flying is what fruit bats do
With the most consumate ease,

He flies until he comes to
The place he's looking for
Where the figs grow in abundance
And he feasts till he can feast no more.

Now I wonder what then happens
When nature's functions call
And when he's hanging upside down,
Where does his wee and poo all fall?

Tom Higgins 12/05/2014

We yield for funeral processions;
not for the living,
skulls and bones;
sells just as much as *** these days.
Our shiny teeth;
buried in the fruit to our gums,
vve glorify this dovvnfall:
consume,
             consume,
                          consumate.

Slip the knife in to feel incredible
Uppity old fiend
Consumate and scheme
A ragged representation
Reveal yourself offscreen
You ain't all what you used to be.

Dopamine disconnect
Reprint the picture
Surrealist architect
Initiate surrender

In my game everything goes a little better
In my life victory taste a little bitter
Im far too cold to care about the weather
I guess god is right and i am just a sinner

I hope you leave so I can start to miss you
Fearing the world is a step too far
I like to live in a special place of solitude
I guess it helps to wonder where you are

When will the rain come and segrigate
The orgin and the man so intertwined
When did the hateful consumate
I guess i'll leave my identity in mind

And when the times comes
Dont get me wrong, i hope it does too
And when the last chime rings
Dont get me wrong, i hear them too
And when the lights start flickering
Dont misunderstand my state of mind
And when someone comes looking


I'll drag my nails acrost the chalkboard
So i can stay here forever, and create clever pictures

the cicada's have begun to emerge
after seventeen long years as a dormant miner

they arise, pushing through seveteen years of dust
and compounded muclch, breaking out into a brave new world

and for seventy two hours, if they are lucky
they seek to mate, to consumate  to extend their species

some become garish decorations on truck windscreens
some become exhibits in a small boys jam jar zoo
some become waylaid and sing their cacophonial opus
on barren concrete patio's
some become Sunday dinners to peckish nestlings

some succeed gloriously, then die happy
some don't...succeed...and die wondering

but apparently seventeen years ago...
a lot succeded...
if the booming base opera being performed
is a gauge of the primeval drive of the cicada

it is summer eve in the burbs
and the living is..... noisy....

She is the water bearing spirit
near the lake at night
Combine this mild duality
to trickle down and decide.

What trusty steed to ride upon
What unwritten creed to follow through
To follow a path rarely walked along
with such blessings from a single few.

A connection split by folicles
Words spoke and motions methodical
Cherished cohabitation and
an Astonishing Conflugration
That rewards our Versimilitude
with love.

My four hands can guide you
my steady minds can show
Though i carry less than water
My true passion is to grow.

My mild to frank multiplicity
Your Bold and cautious stance
to consumate our loves authenticity
I'll, for you, rarely take this chance.

I was walking down the aisle.
Nervous as can be.
On the arm's of the person standing next to me.
Leading me to the person.
Who purposed to me?

I just could feel my knees just a shakening.

Soon I was standing before the person.
Who would soon be my spouse?
Listening to the minister's lay out the vows.
As my hand sweat.

I know my soon significant other hands must be half wet.

I just know my knees just a shakening.

I know I barely heard those vowful words.
Do you take__to be my?
Forvever more through sickess and health.
Cause I know it's that only.
Because we have no wealth.

And then the minister turn those vows around.
Do you take___to  be my?
I was so nervous I couldn't look him/her in the eyes.
Until the ring hit my hands.
And I bursted into a smile.

My knees was still a shaken.

Oh, I'm wondering now about tonight.
When we must consumate it.
Will my knees still be shaken?

Or will hours later I'll be smiling.
I just hope I don't faints.

She fell in love with the man we called husband
We were all part of her love story.
As she walked towards her future and
with watery eyes turned to wave us goodbye
we sealed her fate with cries of "don't worry."

"He's a good man and he'll take care
of you and the babies you will bear.
In five years time you will get used to
The rhythm and pressures of marriage.
Be like your friend, Ta Sallah...three children and counting."

She fell in love with a man she called husband.
Did she or we assumed, planned and gave our blessing
To what she considered a curse and prison.
They said they found him naked and unconscious
Hoping to consumate the union which he had bought.

The doctors wondered why his daughter was huddled in a corner
But the riddle was solved when she was named as one of the wives.
"He was biting me," she said in between sobs.
The poor thing wasn't even mature enough to understand foreplay.
She was not in love with the man we called husband.

He lies unconscious on a hospital bed while society ridicules her for her actions.
Now, he's the victim and she's the criminal.
He took her innocence yet all you see is a wicked woman.
There lies your mistake...
She is the infant bride of a bearded old man.

The Person who provokes thought
should brace for an onslaught/
I know thats what I said
Ten thousand hours I practice patients/
Now I'm weightless/
Was a slippery ***** thus I stuck to the basics/
This Express I deliver the Galaxy Ispaceship/
My literature literally comes from the lesson of Thoth/
Scholarship cold calls
At least thats what I thought/
At most I didn't think/
Wim Hof
An idiot servant at being an idiot of course/
The source combined it/
The science in God
Gods in the Science/
Engineered every mind at its finest/
Resolve Nothing to prove/
I was intelligently ignorant
I didn't know what I couldn't do/
Such bliss
Some one stop please stop me/
Im off in a corner trying to understand fibonacci/
Lock key and throw it/
I'm not leaving this ** room until I know it/
Pardon My French
If you notice/
A consumate contemplater yes I lament/
OK i'm bracing.

Watch out for the sharks.
They've evolved behind closed doors
And walk the streets
Without you even noticing.
Their killer teeth hide
Behind a dentist's *******
And their fins are hidden
Under designer threads.
They learnt from the wolf
Who has hung up his
Woollen overcoat
And passed the baton.
Watch out for sharks
They're the consumate liars
Who believe their own crap
Watch out for sharks
We're just little fish
In a dangerous pond

Flaws don't give birth to people
Mistakes can't go into labour
Hatred can have spawn
Judgment can't consumate

Labour is what brings life
Labour pulls an idea into existence
You are not born for the knife
You are not born to give up on the distance

Your are not born of a flaw or mistake
For you were not mistook
You were labored for
You are not your flaws, but you are your laborers greatest creation!