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there was a little owl a wise old owl was he
and a choir master he just long to be
with his little baton he would wave around
keeping them in time for a perfect sound

he gathered up his friends  to learn them all to sing
happiness and harmony all his friends would bring
there were little rabbits  some squirrels and a hare
lots of different birds all of them were there

owl began there practice underneath the moon
till they got it right and everyone in tune
they praticed every night and even through the day
singing to the music as it began to play

now they all were ready there pratice was complete
and in a choir contest they would all compete
they began to sing to the waiting crowd
owl he  was so happy and very very proud

the crowd they all stood up and shouted out for more
a choir such as this they never saw before
owl he won the contest delighted now was he
now a choir master like he longed to be
To find joy in life
To be a difference
Find the reason to smile
Be a spark to ignite

But you hold your walls up
Build your defense
Pratice your cries of innocence

Your view of life is skewed
But you bicker and complain of your past
You taught me everything

And show me
What not to become
DC raw love Dec 2014
what do you think about a poet who writes
about how depressed they are
about how lonly they are
about how heart broken they are

but yet has,
two kids
two dogs
a beautiful husband
drives a Lexus
goes to soccer pratice

has a very large checking account
forget their savings and retierment
thats beyond belief

eats caviar
has diamond ear rings
a rolex
travels
and lives a great life

whats up with that ****
this is true i've met one
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
i mean, that **** is weirder than the scots deep-frying chocolate bars (mars, mianly, even though i think snikers would taste better), or slices of pizza; yeah, and they say: euro-trash... how much more ****** can you get?! i don't even want to know what the irish culinary fetish is; it's enough knowing that the thai like deep-frying locust.

i never understood it, this english "thing",
there is probably no nation in the world that has
a compulsion to mix two carbohydrate heavyweights...
heavyweights?
         pasta... bread... rice...
                 crisps...
          so i was reading the yesterday's newspaper
and this recipe was included in the magazine:
      pasta with beans and pesto...
sounds good enough...
but i read into the recipe...
          400 grams of linguine,
                       300 grams green beans,
        200 millitres basil pesto
                    freshly grated parmesan...
and then it hit me:             *1 large potato
cut into
                     1 centimetre cubes...
    but now i'd be asking americans to: not bother
getting a passport...
      in school i watched the english lodge crisps
         into sandwitches...
     this is the most oddball of all current nations...
who the **** combines two heavyweight carbohydrates?
they even have this standard of lodging chips
    into buns...
               like my father once noticed on the building
site, this black guy, stuffing a banana peanut-butter
            and some bacon into a sandwitch...
              fair enough if you lodge a plantain into
the mix... but a banana?
              about as weird as the english
                     using crisps + bread... or pasta + potato.
having a glimpse at this pratice,
seems more fascinating, than, say, spotting a yeti.
WILLIAM WORTHLESS  May 2014
words
sometimes the words you want to use. just wont come to mind
you end up in a muddle and words are left behind
things you want to say  gone now from your head
so you just try to improvise with different words instead

you pratice what you want to say. but the words all come out wrong
so you make them up as you go along
but the words i love you. these you dont forget
these are always there  and words you dont regret.
Alex  Sep 2019
Resentment
Alex Sep 2019
Pratice what you preach
Loving all those you meet
Enlightenment is what we seek
Accomplishing such a feat
Solidifies bonds strong as concrete
Everyday has trials never admit defeat

How do some uphold positivity
Everywhere seeing endless possibility
Live life without a pinch of animosity
Pacing through the day catatonically

Maybe I'm the one who's wrong
Edging more towards where I belong

Feelings of uselessness
Intruding my consciousness
Never receive any compliments
Delivered only empty promises

Mental status: ready to immolate
Yes I'm mad at the world, even irate
Selfish people should face expropriate
Eventually will come time to arbitrate
Leaders now distort and obfuscate
Free yet forced to be subordinate

-Ajm
Last one I think.
Alex  Sep 2019
The Codex
Alex Sep 2019
Pratice what you preach
Loving all those you meet
Enlightenment is what we seek
Accomplishing such a feat
Solidifies bonds strong as concrete
Everyday has trials never admit defeat

How do some uphold positivity
Everywhere seeing endless possibility
Live life without a pinch of animosity
Pacing through the day catatonically

  Maybe I'm the one who's wrong
  Edging more towards where I belong

   Feelings of uselessness
   Intruding my consciousness
   Never receive any compliments
   Delivered only empty promises

    Mental status: ready to immolate
    Yes I'm mad at the world, even irate
    Selfish people should face expropriate
    Eventually will come time to arbitrate
    Leaders now distort and obfuscate
    Free yet forced to be subordinate

-Ajm
Hidden in plain sight.
Descovia  Feb 2019
MAGIC
Descovia Feb 2019
I've rolled da dice
Since my youth
Life's hard but
I never let it slide
As an excuse!
These two faced ******
Will never see the way
WITHOUT THE EYES of truth!!


If you froggy, betta jump
In the game...
LET ME LOOSE
In the booth!
If we lit
Then flame on!
We are burning
The roof!!
I set it off!
AUTOMATIC
Like an addict
With the habit
Let me have it!
With that touch Of magic.
..I can reverse this curse
That made it all so tragic
Cut the line of madness
To end the screaming sadness

****** be bumping
that noise on the book

****** be bumping
that noise on the net

If you smooth

Then it's a BET

Put that on your set
Haha


If you wish, for me it's pratice
Sweep you rats under the rug

Count the money as it comes
Hiding benjis under the mattress...

Adding on to the game
never subtract ****!

We can go head to head

Neck to neck

Back to back
on the attack like titans!
You don't stand-ah chance
Unless you with that lighting!
None of you ready to
Flow with that MAGIC
Do you want that static!?

Speaking from a wise soul
With the advantage...

What more can I say?
My words slay
With my word play

Off I spray  like an AK

Mayday! Mayday!

I hear them say!

"That I am Blessed! "

(Whoo!! Preach!)

Keep the demons at bay
So I must pray,
their for their soul
Its the only way
Because ******... be going
NUTS like its "Payday"!!

I am hitting you...
With the combined force
Of fallen loved ones
With the ones you did wrong
Better manage, this hard hitting force
Causing immense damage!!

**** it!
Put the game
In a neck lock!
Khabib!!
Not aiming to take out
Your entire team.
****** be messy
Batman can't
Fight alone to
Keep the hood clean!

My heart is light
But the darkness
On the other side
Will strip your soul
From your very dreams!

If you CROSS anyone
I LOVE by any means!!
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
only the english are applied to this "sentiment",
well, let's call it an honest observation:
only the english are capable
of making philosophy a pompous endeavour,
i guess that's because they are
pompousness best exemplified -
     they always considered themselves
the belly-buttons of the world,
far beyond the talk of hemispheres,
their's was always the greenwich meridian:
here is my, year 0.
              why should philosophy ever
become a pompous endeavour?
       was it ever?
                only the english could think
of philosophy as a pompous endeavour,
but there's nothing pretentious hinged on
the shoulders of philosophy...
   philosophy at best, is idiotic...
          or at least: the highest form of acting,
the sort of acting that says:
well... it's hard to play a mr. bean,
it would be much easier to play someone
with at least three dimensions,
   akin to a blackadder - cunning and
intelligence you can anticipate and play
with... but idiocy or faking it, well,
that's a hard gig to pull off...
                         since that sort of comic idiocy
is anticipating you, like a god
before an altar... rather than you investing
time & effort into prescribing the populace
with its exitence, staged.
          it's always harder to play
the idiot, than it is to play the manipulative
member of an intelligentsia...
in summary, two equations:
if sophistry = the study & pratice of rhetoric
then philosophy = the study & practice of dialectic(s);
i'd say it's harder to play the idiot
than it is to play the grand "intelligent"
rhetorician...
         in the latter you really have to try,
in the former (example) -
   the idea toward such a will is to avoid
trying... faking becomes
   more tiresome than actually trying;
ah yes, in conclusion:
     dla boga ból,
      dla diabła: nuda

    (for god, pain,
               for the devil: boredom).
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
/                          metallurgy heritage...

yeah...

  that part...

  after being displaced from

a city renowned for its

metallurgical expertise?

   i guess that's "me",

drinking whiskey

   after being overprived
by the sri lankans...

     feeding a theory of
easing the joint of a scissor
"handibook"...

  how?

   applying a cigarette lighter
to the joint...
    doing much more than
a WD40 pary of oil might...

fire: to metal...
   is what a kennel does to a dog...

only last night i wish
i folded my pratice belt into
a liquorice sized twirl into my pocket,
and while katie talked to me,
showing off her tattoos,
and that ******
with the tog started mouthing her
her off with filth!

that moment,
as i did go blind with her...
if i was your atypical man...

the belt, out from the trouser pocket...
snap, whip,
   at the unfolding...
   then wrapped around
my hand like a boxing glove...
and then the thought:
   i should've become a bus driver
type of scenario...

    maybe that's why katie
kissed my clenched arm after i kissed her,
and later her forehead...

i was this || away from violence...
i was ready: if i had the belt in
pocket against the ****** shouting
filth!:

   first the dog...
                             then you!

had i belt on me lodged in
my pocket like a liquirice snack...

     snap! of leather against
the cement...

   and then a hebrew tefillin
wrap for a boxing glove...

         whoever that **** of a *******
was...
   he has to thank katie for
me to attempting a discussion
with him...

        i wish i had my leather belt
in my pocket at the time...

   i'd be like:

   excuse me katie...

     i have to provide transcendetal
                dentistry
              to some "lucky" *******.

i want to fight to the point
of giving myself a plum beneath
the eye-socket!

   lo! behold!
                    "proto-" picasso!

but i really want to buck-silly
against a male's piece of
buttocks...
    
               like a homosexual
might bypass it,
                              doing ****:

albeit...
  with a face.

sorry katie...
                     i wish i had my belt
at me at the time we talked...

  snap, curl, snip...
  and the "fake" boxing glove...

                 apart from fighting him
and him calling 999...

        i was dying to wrestle with the dog
on the leash,

   at least attempting to convert
                                              allegiance:

the pain aspect was always
subsidiary: given
   the over-arch of a conversation with you...

art gallery contra
         tattoos on your body?
                               the latter;
it's just so... "queasy"-edible!

            i so wish i had my belt coiled
into liquorice imitation piece
in my trouser pocket at the time...

         you knot that part of you
when your knuckles feel itchy?!
and there's an adequate face
to punch?!
             and then there's a poem
having missed the utopia of scenario
you later explain?!

    **** me... almost like a perfect
sunset!

   seriously though...
    cigarette lighter,
                 rusty scissors...
   heating up the joint?
                         who needs WD40?

katie... i'm sorry i didn't have my belt
with me, and didn't bunch that
"tom king" out.

               but you, and your body,
are a tate modern.
ou

— The End —