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Yenson Aug 2018
Build me a slow boat to Timbuktu via China
Heave down a fleecy cloud and let me float to Nirvana
Hunt me a unicorn and let me ride to the Enchanted Forest
Find me a giant eagle and let it lift me to Outer Mongolia East

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'

Show me a Church and I'll show you a hall full of Sinners
Point out a wife and I'll reveal a liar and a fake and none dimer
Call a Doctor and its a Monster who betrayed the Hippocratics
That Government Boss is a cruel heinous snake without ethics

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'

See that Preacher and see a spineless hypocrite back-stabber
That lover was nothing but a sick deranged false **** twister
My dear acquaintance a heartless corrupted shyster unhinged
A Newsagent full of pitiless, gloomy, vile, psychotic joy-suckers

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'

That friend of years a bloodsucking Judas who betrayed and stole
Uncles who rained terror with sadistic pleasures in parts unwhole
Show me nieces and find two-faced ******* with poisons in veins
Neighborhoods full of silent killers and Rapists of truthful genes

'please don't me leave here amongst demons with human faces'

A vicars' daughter wielding angst axes better than a viking
The pathetic Moors zombies tearing flesh on masters beholding
The dead-eyed Arabs salivating madly or at daggers drawn
Contemptible Men-kids with pin ****** used as King's pawns

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'

Build me a cottage in rolling green fields with blue skies
Find me a fair maiden with a true heart and warming smiles
Show me a place that holds fairness and justice real and dear
A world with humanity we're all sisters and brothers for care

'please don't leave me here amongst demons with human faces'

copyright@LaurenceA.9th August2018
Brent Kincaid Feb 2016
I truly fail to understand
Why it’s gotten out of hand.
It seems so very odd
There are so many God
Is supposed to have ordained
Some aren’t even trained.
There is an absolute dearth
Of an actual true rebirth
In the revivifying blood of Jesus.
It’s almost like allergic sneezes.

Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.

We are becoming overrun
With an ecumenical kind of fun
In which before we can holler
Another puts on a backward collar
And starts tell us what to do.
When the rebirthing is through
They are on their park soapbox
And ******* about our Xbox;
Telling us what we should watch
And the coffee in our coffee klatch
Is unGodly because Jesus never drank it.
Makes me want to grab and spank it
Before it multiplies. Jerks, those guys.

Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.
The party starts at ten to three.

On the second floor,room twenty two
two vicars who had come down from Crewe were wondering just what to wear, to the shindig going on down there.
They collided,both decided to put on crimson frilly frocks,this was not a 'do' for cassocks or for smocks.

Room forty four up on the forth,was Lucy Ann,a double barrelled name of course,a horsey type who came by invite to liven lively up the night.

In number ten slept teacup Ken,who had never once imbibed,the porter was slipped a twenty,but was bribed to keep his big mouth shut, as ties were cut and Ken found Zen in a brandy glass,
and discovered parties were a gas.

The police arrived to room fifty five and found Miss Sterling doing the jive around the severed head of Fred the cook,
poor Fred never had any kind luck.

There is no escape from the party at Lancaster Gate and those who come are those who'll die
but the party is so flamin' good I'll try to sneak in,got to take a peek in room number twenty seven,where it's said,that the lady there can show you several kinds of heaven before you meet your doom.
Got to get in, get a room,check in time expires at noon.
I shall no doubt expire,naked by the fire in
room, one o one.
And now... The coming of the Pleaidian
order. Some call it call it the Second
Coming. The rapture or ascent to
heaven. It is said that in the
constellation called the Seven Sisters,
the planets are highly advanced. There is no money, pain, suffering, division or
confusion. They use tubes to travel
much like railways. The influence of the
Pleaidians on Earthlings has been long
imposed, from the Yahweh
Consciousness (The Deluge times) to the Messiah Projects. On Earth the public receives the picture
spread by the holders of the Media. In
truth there is a psychic war that has
been going on for millenia. From the
time of the gods down to present
human idols, be it Kings, presidents, athletes, celebrities or politicians and
vicars of religious institutions. With the Matriarchy uprising, men have
been have faced with a destructive
challenge. It can be said that men have
done women a lot of harm and it is
now their chance to hurt men. But then
that is vengeance and not justice. Which brings us to factions
representing Councils positioned in the
Galactic Federation of Councils. There
are forces of Light and there are forces
of Darkness. Which would be apparent
with the way things are on Earth. You have the Dragon Queen network and
you have Daughters Of MA and time-
travelling agents. There is a chaos
manipulated from above. There is a
divine connective power of ******
*******. This power creates a third energy which can be used for good or
evil. Which is important for dark
magicians to increase their power and
effect psychic manipulation. This power is encouraged to be kept at
a low-vibrational frequency, hence
have we lust. With lust the bond of love
and its frequency is affected. And
hence we have meaningless
relationships, heartbreaks and separations. This is because ******
******* at high positive-vibrational
frequencies will create an energy that
will uplift the consciousness of the
planet Earth. This is only half the story. That's the
metaphysical perspective. With
Capitalism on a high and matriarchy-
vengeful rising men have been feeling
the pinch. This is because the point is to
keep us apart. Money makes relationships very complex. This is why
nowadays there are more women who
love money rather than love itself. You
can imagine how it must have been
done behind the curtains; you put
members of influence on the forefront and you dress them up, teach them
how to think, behave and carry
themselves; these members become
prototypes for multiple avatars. Yes
brainwashing techniques, put women
under sync mode and simulate behaviour and then this builds a
consciousness. It is said that when the
human hybrids were made by the star
people; genetic engineers, they were
implanted with crystal chips,
programmed to make us intolerant of each other. Back to the consciousness,
with women already wearing a deep
hollow wound of being mistreated and
dehumanized by those called men;
different forms of zeitgeist can be used
by the powers with a promise to heal those wounds. So woman would now become the
new enemy of the two sexes. In the
future men would have a *** change
just to have the benefits and the right
to feel human. Now, these avatars
would be recruits of The Association, unknowingly, they called them
working girls. The order was basic,
wear the suit; make-up, loud colours
and tight clothes and market yourself
through the various social portals.
Every weekend a working girl would get free drinks, drunken *** (if she
wanted), she'd have a bf just for
security, and then stand in's for basic
expenses; food, cosmetics, hair-do,
and clothes). At the last levels of her
missions, she would choose a tamable guy who can afford her, this guy
would be too submerged in his ego to
what's coming. To secure the deal, the
objective is to have the guy impregnate
you. Then it's pretty much inevitable
from there. She plays good wife for a number of years, brings children, not
too many though, then when she is fed
up comes the divorce and alimony.
Done and dusted; game won. The game was fair in the beginning for
it was intended for bad and abusive
men but then it got corrupt and it
spread from world capitals to citcies
down to towns and even developing
rural areas. To make matters worse, the recruits were now found in girls who
were only in high school. The vision
was to tame girls from an early age to
use men as *** slaves and money
outlets. This was the order of The
Association. Vengeance or Justice? Or just plain manipulation. The
John Donne  Jan 2010
Satire III
Kind pity chokes my spleen; brave scorn forbids
     Those tears to issue which swell my eyelids;
     I must not laugh, nor weep sins and be wise;
     Can railing, then, cure these worn maladies?
     Is not our mistress, fair Religion,
     As worthy of all our souls' devotion
     As virtue was in the first blinded age?
     Are not heaven's joys as valiant to assuage
     Lusts, as earth's honour was to them? Alas,
   As we do them in means, shall they surpass
   Us in the end? and shall thy father's spirit
   Meet blind philosophers in heaven, whose merit
   Of strict life may be imputed faith, and hear
   Thee, whom he taught so easy ways and near
   To follow, ****'d? Oh, if thou dar'st, fear this;
   This fear great courage and high valour is.
   Dar'st thou aid mutinous Dutch, and dar'st thou lay
   Thee in ships' wooden sepulchres, a prey
   To leaders' rage, to storms, to shot, to dearth?
   Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth?
   Hast thou courageous fire to thaw the ice
   Of frozen North discoveries? and thrice
   Colder than salamanders, like divine
   Children in th' oven, fires of Spain and the Line,
   Whose countries limbecs to our bodies be,
   Canst thou for gain bear? and must every he
   Which cries not, "Goddess," to thy mistress, draw
   Or eat thy poisonous words? Courage of straw!
   O desperate coward, wilt thou seem bold, and
   To thy foes and his, who made thee to stand
   Sentinel in his world's garrison, thus yield,
   And for forbidden wars leave th' appointed field?
   Know thy foes: the foul devil, whom thou
   Strivest to please, for hate, not love, would allow
   Thee fain his whole realm to be quit; and as
   The world's all parts wither away and pass,
   So the world's self, thy other lov'd foe, is
   In her decrepit wane, and thou loving this,
   Dost love a wither'd and worn strumpet; last,
   Flesh (itself's death) and joys which flesh can taste,
   Thou lovest, and thy fair goodly soul, which doth
   Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loathe.
   Seek true religion. O where? Mirreus,
   Thinking her unhous'd here, and fled from us,
   Seeks her at Rome; there, because he doth know
   That she was there a thousand years ago,
   He loves her rags so, as we here obey
   The statecloth where the prince sate yesterday.
   Crantz to such brave loves will not be enthrall'd,
   But loves her only, who at Geneva is call'd
   Religion, plain, simple, sullen, young,
   Contemptuous, yet unhandsome; as among
   Lecherous humours, there is one that judges
   No wenches wholesome, but coarse country drudges.
   Graius stays still at home here, and because
   Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws,
   Still new like fashions, bid him think that she
   Which dwells with us is only perfect, he
   Embraceth her whom his godfathers will
     Tender to him, being tender, as wards still
   Take such wives as their guardians offer, or
   Pay values. Careless Phrygius doth abhor
   All, because all cannot be good, as one
   Knowing some women ******, dares marry none.
   Graccus loves all as one, and thinks that so
   As women do in divers countries go
   In divers habits, yet are still one kind,
   So doth, so is Religion; and this blind-
   ness too much light breeds; but unmoved, thou
   Of force must one, and forc'd, but one allow,
   And the right; ask thy father which is she,
   Let him ask his; though truth and falsehood be
   Near twins, yet truth a little elder is;
   Be busy to seek her; believe me this,
   He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best.
   To adore, or scorn an image, or protest,
   May all be bad; doubt wisely; in strange way
   To stand inquiring right, is not to stray;
   To sleep, or run wrong, is. On a huge hill,
   Cragged and steep, Truth stands, and he that will
   Reach her, about must and about must go,
   And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so.
   Yet strive so that before age, death's twilight,
   Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night.
   To will implies delay, therefore now do;
   Hard deeds, the body's pains; hard knowledge too
   The mind's endeavours reach, and mysteries
   Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes.
   Keep the truth which thou hast found; men do not stand
   In so ill case, that God hath with his hand
   Sign'd kings' blank charters to **** whom they hate;
   Nor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate.
   Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soul be tied
   To man's laws, by which she shall not be tried
   At the last day? Oh, will it then boot thee
   To say a Philip, or a Gregory,
   A Harry, or a Martin, taught thee this?
   Is not this excuse for mere contraries
   Equally strong? Cannot both sides say so?
That thou mayest rightly obey power, her bounds know;
Those past, her nature and name is chang'd; to be
Then humble to her is idolatry.
As streams are, power is; those blest flowers that dwell
At the rough stream's calm head, thrive and do well,
But having left their roots, and themselves given
To the stream's tyrannous rage, alas, are driven
Through mills, and rocks, and woods, and at last, almost
Consum'd in going, in the sea are lost.
So perish souls, which more choose men's unjust
Power from God claim'd, than God himself to trust.
kirk  Mar 2016
Wanks A Lot - 2018
kirk Mar 2016
Being called a ****** is something I don’t mind
In fact it's really okay and it's rather kind
I don't think it is offensive or even a sick joke
What’s a man supposed to do without a **** to poke
Okay he could stick his **** between two bits of Spam
But he really needs a hot moist **** to be a real man
If her *****'s on the blob he could settle for an ****
The ******* of both these holes simply is pure class

There are guys who prefer a **** and like a manly ***
A tighter hole maybe prefered to make those fellows ***
To **** a bloke if you're straight is an equivalent to a slum
Or even a taboo ****** act like ******* your own mum.

Manly ***** and dangly parts are really not for me
I don't bend to hairy **** it's not where I would be
Girly ***** and smoother bums is what I want to see
I'd rather **** my own **** than **** a guys jacksy

Pulling a huge Horses Plonker only fools like Rodney Trotter
Or Blind Wizards with broken glasses like Harry ******* Potter
Don't **** on your **** to hard you may just *** a cropper
Especially if you ***** up in a helmet belonging to a copper.

I would never bash the bishop what would the churches say
To find me with a spunky hat and that their faiths turned gay
We don't want ***** clergymen who **** on the silver tray
Vicars ******* choir boys keep those cassock fanciers at bay

I would'nt choke the chicken because I don't think I could
But the staff at Kentucky Fried Chicken they probably would.
They would lick your ***** up because its finger licking good.
And use their special wipe up towel to clean up your manhood.
With its lemon fragrance you will have good smelling wood.
Around your shaft and helmet and beneath your ******* hood.

Would I ever yank my plank like the pirates of the seas
The extention of my log when I'm on my ******* knees
My hand around my fishing rod and giving it a squeeze
Using a hand action to squeeze out my cream cheese
*** is flowing down my shaft like honey from the bees
I'll keep pumping on my rod and creaming in the breeze

Have you ever seen those fellows praying down at the synagogue ?
From their own expressions they've been flogging their own log
Take a look at their robes the bottom stained with their eggnog
Either that or they have been ******* some old scruffy dog
I don't think that they bothered their heads are in a fog
With all that ******* worship they would **** a big fat hog

So I'm slowly warming to it but maybe when I'm ******
And I can't get no ***** and its the last thing on my list
I may take myself in hand my **** clutched in my fist
Then I may consider having a swift one of the wrist
If you end up watching then please excuse the mist
I'll carry on with the hope that my **** gets kissed

Because Wanking is an activity that in all honesty all men do
Something that comes to hand when you can't get a good *****
When your **** gets harder and we think of god knows who
We grab our piece of man meat and imagine that *** stew

I'll  have to keep on wanking I can never get enough
Off all that lovely ***** because finding it is tough
Nothing is more satisfying than diving in the ****
Legs open wide will always be something I will stuff
Instead of wanking I would rather stick it up your chuff
But I'll probably end up looking  a bit scraggy and ruff

So I will keep on going until my **** is old and worn
With all that ******* wanking whenever I get the horn
Popping my sweet cornels just like children of the corn
Watching ****'s and ******* or granny ******* ****
J McDevitt  Sep 2013
Untitled 4
J McDevitt Sep 2013
An unholy night,
these two know those nights well,
it’s raining God’s blood
‘to the cracked gates of hell.
The demons are out,
the lechers and fiends,
a good chance to rob, ****,
and listen for screams.
The Vicars head’s been cut off
on Joralemon street.
And such Neck-rophilia
seems just shy of obscene.
But that’s not why these two
are out on this night;
They want little kids
to make Angel’s delight.
You’ve never heard of it, have you?
It’s quite delicious in fact.
First they start off with the skin
from their ungrown, weak backs.
They’re peeling away
where their wings would soon grow,
but made too sore to fly
they fall down below!
And so catch them the wings,
shave them into a cheddar,
oh, but if it’s a girl,
make sure you be-head her.
Then break the legs like wishbones
and twist off the feet.
Make sure to save all that,
sssllurrrpp, succulent meat.
Last off’s the marrow
de la moelle épinière.
Get every last drop,
And let sit in stale air.
a friend of mine popped in the other day
to have a chat
we got to talking about the town's past history
and more especially about one of the Church of England vicars
she had a litany of information
relating to his many female conquests
he'd been playing around
quite a lot during his period
as the local rector
one day he was caught inside the church
with his pants down
he was administering
to one of his female parishioners
behind the altar
the fellow who used to do the light maintenance
was most astound at seeing such close contact between
the vicar and a member of his flock
a few days after this occurred
the Bishop of the diocese informed the vicar
that he was going to be sacked
for his indecent conduct within the walls
of a place of God
the female parishioner
was given her marching orders
by her infuriated husband
my friend and I like talking about our town's past history
as there are some events
which are truly worth recalling  
to memory
In the chapel of the glitter ball
in the hall of the dance machine
I am the suburbanite alone, a
dream on a white

On the steps to the crypt where many
angels have slipped on the wrappings
of condoms,
the silent ****** plays.

The vicars in hobnails prey on those
who travel high trails,
like vultures from the mission and
there's a ****** of churches all flocking
as one to ****** the kindness that once
flashed in the eyes
of his son.

**** them with kindness his Highness demands
but his blindness defeats him and the white horse
will only meet him
half way.

In the chapel of the glitter ball where we
see nothing but the diamonds fall and in
the hall of the dance machine his Highness
becomes the Queen.

It's all alter it now and we'll take refuge somehow
in the flower of the sixties
where 'please please me'
was an anthem for young men.

I can't see, but I think that suburbia's a skating rink
and we are the skaters darting away from the sharks
to be eaten by alligators, or
to be saved at some cost by the one on the cross where each point that he points to
is a station that I've been to.

So I shuffle the view and turn the glitter ball on
and everything's gone
like it used to be
except for me.
Where the sky is as wide as the smile on your face..and white clouds interlace with the heat from the sun.
Where the fun in the day is found in the words that you where you'll find me.
Just to be..
..near.. you.
..The things that you do.

And when the darkness comes which it always must.
Where love and lust are deaf and blind.
I shall find..
..that inner strength..
..go to any length
To see you shine..
..Be mine

At the start of it..part of it..for a bit is tough so take the rough with the smooth..
Suffer bruised Egos along with bruised shins..Life's little banana skins have a way of making you slip.
If you just rip into her day..there's no way she'll say thanks.
But if you like driving those sorts of tanks then join the armed forces..
It's horses for courses..
Ships for the seas
Vicars and teas..
..She's..........your go out and buy her a gift..give her a lift..wait at the factory gate at the end of her shift.
Do everything well
Don't sell yourself short
If you're caught unawares..the only way out is to face down hostile stares.

Just look to her smiles and your troubles are already miles away.
Call her to hear her say
"So glad you are mine"
Look in the mirror and see..
..yourself shine.
..Be mine.
If there's a God up there
he must be sleeping and
keeping the best bits
'til the last,
But there's a new Master,pumping
out verse on a second hand ghetto blaster,
I heard it at five from the
newscaster and the pastors are checking the terms of their contracts,the vicars have packed up and gone off to Butlins,saving some sins from the high church,Jehovah is perched on the bed post,hosting a party fresh in from the West coast,toasting the end of the East side,
I think the newscaster lied.
Prabhu Iyer Jan 2015
The air is wet in the moist tears of the sky
vacant, and full of the fragrances of the hill flowers

Lone bird flying tither, looking for shelter.

adorning her forehead dishevelled the clouds
Looking confused, Phantasm woman hair
the early crescent moon  looking lost,

Long travelled, when the soul longs for home,
there is none but the parnaked sky. Some warm clothes
familiar arms, a favourite soup. mirages a thirst.

When all is lost, there is hope. There is soul.
Wide earth, Call upon your vicars,
to learn your language and to be as you are,
to sing with the echoes and vanish with the shepherds.
I come here in homage, find me a home,

staring at the floating lamps dotting the dusk
distant hamlets in salsa with the stars.

Alight, for here, the bus stops.
Series inspired by the life of this remarkable hermit-woman:

Will explore difficult questions of our modern lives; Deliberate use of disjointed Surrealist constructions, to convey the mood.

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