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The *** with match, lit the fire
scolding kettle with burnt goaless ambition.
claiming snobbish golden prowess
paid in wanton , savage, screaming tuition.
"It is I" said ***
"Who has sent aromas of worlds
preperations in lifes gluttonous lust
smiling rewards genorously hailed
with slothed culanary trust..."
"tis true" whispered kettle
"It is I, the ***,
forged in iron clad
who in laborious toil
so generously cast my sweet savory scraps
amongst your soot and soil..."
"tis true" hissed kettle,
"For I, the ***,
adapt in multiple arrangement
of compliment and comfort where you lack
with singular solitary function
wailing, seared and scarred in black..."
"Tis true" whistled kettle
"I, the ***,
filled in glorious substance and magnificant sustenance
praised in lifes delicate, vital, victuals and viands
in with which I do enhance..."
"Tis true" howled kettle
"Yet it is I, Kettle,
in further fashion of design
than copious function in fare
do not heed your song and dance..."
"Blah" clammered ***
"For it is I, the lowly kettle,
sing to each melodious morning
to begin the days
unknown magical soaring..."
"Pishaw" growled ***
"It is I, kettle,
bestowed in somber, modest truth of fact
nakedly express that
you too, my dear ***
are simply black..."
"humbug" steamed ***
*** humbled... kettle mumbled...
"It is in each honorable day
we serve our distinguishable stay
in detectable unadorned identicle way.
"Tis true" said ***...
Nikkie Jan 2021
A watched *** never boils.
But when the heat is too high, the *** boils over.
Then again, when the *** is empty and sitting on
a burner, cold to the touch, it serves little to no
purpose. Why don’t you add something to the ***?
Why is it just sitting there? What are you planning to
do with it? Are you planning on adding your own
special recipe to the ***? Are you adding a unique
sauce to it? Are you going to add water to the *** and
allow it to simmer? Or you going to add a secret ingredient
to the *** that you don’t want anybody to know about?
Is the *** going to yield a hearty meal? Is it going to be food
for my soul? Only you know what you want in this empty
***. I can’t add to, or take away from your *** Because it
doesn’t belong to me. I feel like you want to add a piece of
me to your ***. but a part of you is afraid of how the finished
recipe will turn out. How can you be afraid of an empty ***?
Why aren’t you adding your favorite foods to it?
The *** can’t produce empty contents.
LjMark  Jun 2015
The clay pot
LjMark Jun 2015
Over half a century I've been here.
I remember in the beginning,
I was so shiny and new.
Like a finely painted clay ***,
molded from the very hand of God.
Made a man on the outside,
with strong legs like a *** needs,
to stand full and steady.
Over years of self abuse, the *** cracked,
It fell to pieces, broken and almost destroyed.
Then a hand reached down from heaven,
and picked up the worn down broken pieces,
forming and creating them anew.
This time the *** was smooth and delicate,
intricately carved with the finest tools,
and layered with the purest gold.
Fit only for a Queen, the *** held the finest spice,
and only the most feminine of parfums.
The clay *** had found its true purpose,
Its special place in the world,
as it had always dreamed and longed to do.
The beautiful clay *** lived forever,
and blessed all who touched it,
With its new found beauty and life.

by Lj Mark 2015
ConnectHook Sep 2015
[Infernal Dialectic of Ongoing Struggle]

Spoke Mao Zedong to Kim Jong Ill:
We languish here in deep red hell—
Let us confer and analyze
What factors revolutionize
The contradictions still.


Replied Lil’ Kim: The running dogs
Beguiled by class and capital
Have overdrawn and overspent.
They bank on debt, and make lament
And flounder in their fogs…


Kim chee does stink, but tastes so good
Do have some more, oh comrade Mao.
Fermented cabbage goes so well
With Hennessey and blondes (in hell)
when
Juche’s in da hood!

The Fearless Leader (now a shade)
Responded thus: Just give them time.
Our doctrines spread, their God is dead
Their sons shall sing ‘The East is Red’
Our party’s got it made.


Ill Kim displayed a wicked grin:
Our rocket-launches make them fear
They scold and cluck, and then they duck
While Hillary tries to pass the buck
I think we still could win…


The Chairman thought and sipped some fire
in communistic reverie, and feeling very clever, he
Replied to Ill: This place we’ll fill
with dead reactionaries still—
fifth columns to inspire.

Now let the thousand flowers bloom
And let one thousand thoughts contend.
Remember **? Remember ‘Nam?
We triumphed over Uncle Sam—
He’s limping toward his doom.


A wizened ghost now drifted in
Because his name had been proclaimed
A wispy beard (as yet unseared)
Revealed the mastermind once feared:
Old Uncle ** Chi Minh !

** **—old friend! Draw near! Draw near,
Spoke Mao: In solidarity
We hail your work upon the earth
You showed them what a war is worth
You’re always welcome here.


Ill Kim and I were wondering
How best to make the forward leap—
conspiring ******* their cow
and smoke their duck and drain their sow
while they are buying bling.

** Chi, old warrior, why the frown?
Upon your wisdom now we wait.
The forces red you bravely led
You staked your claim until they bled
And brought their nation down.


Old uncle **, the sage revered,
did smolder with his cigarette.
Viet Cong thought is hard to grasp
It slithers like a jungle asp…
** paused and stroked his beard:

You speak without the people’s light!
I criticize in strongest terms
Your revolutionary thought.
We need to ask our friend Pol ***
How best to steer this fight.

Such gradual change, a halfway measure
stalls the Bourgeoisie’s demise.
Our true Khmer Rouge was not a stooge
of Kapital. His fame was huge
for plundering their treasure.

True, he had to purge his nation
such is revolution, gents…
The traitor classes see the masses,
through reactionary  glasses.
Death or re-education!

We ought to sow his rural seed
for pure agrarian reform.
The bodies in the rice can rot
to fertilize the harvest plot—
the people’s mouths to feed.


When Pol *** heard his tactics lauded
he flew in to join the jabber:
Take a tip from Kampuchea!
Listen well and I will teach ya!

Kim and Mao applauded.

City folk are useless eaters
glasses-wearing foes and cheaters!
let them slave – and always save
their corpses for the fertile grave
Until they love their leaders.

From the barrel power grows—
(I don’t mean kim chee barrel, boys).
Now learn my way.We’ll have our say
Their weakened states will wither away.

The Red dictator rose.

Prepared to ramble on for hours
(the way Fidel so loves to do)
Pol ***’s harangue now fired the gang
like rockets falling on Da Nang
emitting sparks in showers.

Hell is known for lack of stasis—
Sudden throes of quaking fire;
fitful flares from from Satan’s lairs
and constant similar affairs
the population faces…

Thus Saint Pol ***, still naming names
along with Mao and Kim-Jong Il
while ** Chi screamed, and then blasphemed
were swept en masse, and unredeemed
into the surging flames.

Yet still they plotted in the blaze
with dialectic deviousness.
Philosophizing, strategizing
stinking sulphur brimstone rising;
ghosts in the yellow haze . . .

        ☭ END ☭
http://tinyurl.com/q6uyx34

COOKING ***
I looked around me
everything was dark
as if my own eyes where completely shut,
that the would had come to an end,
my eyelids where very heavy
like I had a sleeping spell on me,
I was seeing things that were given me
very bad dreams;
the stars are all on dim
while they skip around the sky,
upon the sea, I seen the reflections of he
standing over me;
the colored moon beamed upon the land
upon everything my eyes could see;
I tried so hard to open my eyes
But I couldn’t it was as if I was dead,
I dreamed many dreams in my head
I see things of an ancient time,
I felt I have been bond to my bed;
As if I was quite insane of true madness,
In my mind, I seen different set of eye
Looking back at me from another time,
I see slaves dancing around me,
Crying out to a king that stands before me,
The sky was dark; the fair is hot;
I could see a big cooking ***,
Words of their time wasn’t of mine,
you could feel the evil all around;
While the anger browed in the ***,
Words of truth wasn’t in their mouths,
Lies and so much hate with not faith,
Witches are casting out their evil spells,
Giving a queen a life of a living hell,
Their face turned to me
as I started to scream,
I seen many things that come to me
like something of darken dreams,
they were very old holding no youth,
I forget your name they would say
In a cloud of smoke;
Frogs are being tossed in the old cooking ***,
a chicken tongue, black bird eyes,
bugs of the desert land,
the thunder in the ancient sky roared while
the storm moved on by;
I see holly ones being persecuted;
The words of accurate knowledge
Was told to never be promoted on the land
Where the old witches stand
on blood, stained sand, that was a command,
words of truth are forbidden;
enemies casting names of thee into the *** of hell
while some where rings a bell;
bodyguards taken the prison ones
out of the cage; those who has lost their way,
ravens are flying around to eat up on the dead
the ones who has lost their heads,
words of temptations of the flash
dancing around the cooking ***,
my body started feeling cold
I didn’t have no more control
While lies where being told,
My eyelids where heavy as they could be
While I was cast into a deep sleep.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery
Jasper Emerald Aug 2020
The flower *** looks pale and dry today
The summer breeze hasn't really been friendly
Each petal from within its shell drops gallantly like a fallen hero
Even the fragrance has fled the air

The cracks around you is intriguing
It tells a story we can never relate with
Even as we watch you sit in gloom
Every scratch unintentionally placed
Each wound a hurt to remember

Dear flower ***
Who hurt you this bad?
Who tampered with your beauty?
And undermined your fragility
A pain so deep, worn and paraded with scars

Dear flower ***
How tender the memories of your making
How Terrible the length of your days
Each passing age comes and goes fearfully
What can we do but sit and watch you tearfully

Dear flower ***;They have defiled your glory and stained your image
Dear flower ***;They have penetrated and left you void
Dear flower ***;They have shamed you and kept you soiled
But who shall we point the accusing fingers to?
If not the enemies of your beauty and pride

But dear flower ***,the deed is done
The damage is open for all to see
No one will look your way again
No one will fight to possess you
There's no remedy to your pain
And No answer to your unending prayers.
So goodbye dear flower ***
The trash awaits you even though it hurts.
There lies a hidden message within this piece....only the sharp ones can figure it out. The flower *** actually describes something else in this context. Can you figure it out?😜
COOKING ***
I looked around me
everything was dark
as if my own eyes where completely shut,
that the would had come to an end,
my eyelids where very heavy
like I had a sleeping spell on me,
I was seeing things that were given me
very bad dreams;
the stars are all on dim
while they skip around the sky,
upon the sea, I seen the reflections of he
standing over me;
the colored moon beamed upon the land
upon everything my eyes could see;
I tried so hard to open my eyes
But I couldn’t it was as if I was dead,
I dreamed many dreams in my head
I see things of an ancient time,
I felt I have been bond to my bed;
As if I was quite insane of true madness,
In my mind, I seen different set of eye
Looking back at me from another time,
I see slaves dancing around me,
Crying out to a king that stands before me,
The sky was dark; the fair is hot;
I could see a big cooking ***,
Words of their time wasn’t of mine,
you could feel the evil all around;
While the anger browed in the ***,
Words of truth wasn’t in their mouths,
Lies and so much hate with not faith,
Witches are casting out their evil spells,
Giving a queen a life of a living hell,
Their face turned to me
as I started to scream,
I seen many things that come to me
like something of darken dreams,
they were very old holding no youth,
I forget your name they would say
In a cloud of smoke;
Frogs are being tossed in the old cooking ***,
a chicken tongue, black bird eyes,
bugs of the desert land,
the thunder in the ancient sky roared while
the storm moved on by;
I see holly ones being persecuted;
The words of accurate knowledge
Was told to never be promoted on the land
Where the old witches stand
on blood, stained sand, that was a command,
words of truth are forbidden;
enemies casting names of thee into the *** of hell
while some where rings a bell;
bodyguards taken the prison ones
out of the cage; those who has lost their way,
ravens are flying around to eat up on the dead
the ones who has lost their heads,
words of temptations of the flash
dancing around the cooking ***,
my body started feeling cold
I didn’t have no more control
While lies where being told,
My eyelids where heavy as they could be
While I was cast into a deep sleep.

Poetic Judy Emery © 2017
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Judy Emery
The world is one big melting ***, made of beautiful people.  As the *** is being stirred, they go deeper and deeper.
The world is one big melting ***, that finally bring people together.  They are all of one temperature, in whatever type of weather.
The world is one big melting ***, no matter the color of your skin.  After all you are mixed together, cleansing prejudice that's bound within.
The world is one big melting ***, letting off all unnecessary steam.  Once this melting *** is done, people want be so mean.  
The world is one big melting ***, it is just about done.  Be prepared to see the outcome, as people become as one.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing
PeacockBrain  Mar 2012
Pot.
PeacockBrain Mar 2012
Sitting on the ***
Want to smoke some ***
Grow pretty flowers in a ***
Eat soup straight from the ***
Top*** now! Just..Top***!!
9-26-11
Tap Head  May 2017
Tin Pot House
Tap Head May 2017
I live in a tin *** house
with clatter and clutter
and not an ounce of living space
my tin *** house is sad and sorry place.

Junk piled on furniture
and muck on the walls,
my tin *** house doesn’t get
many visitors at all.

The fence is falling down,  
the flowers dying in the heat.  
My tin *** house is such a mess,  
a tip could not compete.

The spider’s webs’
are the only thing that grows
and from the taps,
it's only cold water that flows.  

So yes, my tin *** house
is a sad and sorry place
and my tin *** family
is in a sad and sorry state.

— The End —