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Davinalion Mar 17
Yo, I’m a Lebanese don, French-teachin’ beast,  
Spittin’ verbs for a livin’, my game’s never ceased,  
Life’s sorted, bruv, proper mint, no cap,  
Hundred grand in the bag, four days, that’s a wrap,  
Easy street, fam, August, July, I’m blessed,  
Vacay on lock, mate, I’m set, no stress.  

Canada’s my turf, ****’s sweet up here,  
Got a crib, no drama, just vibes, crystal clear,  
No kids in the mix, though, that’s the sting,  
Empty nest, fam, no heirs to the king.  

Paycheck? Don’t sweat it, I’m good, I’m straight,  
Fifty on the clock, still holdin’ my weight,  
Mortgage? Ghosted that **** long ago,  
Now I’m thumb-twiddlin’, nowhere to go,  
No sprogs to raise, yeah, it bites, innit,  
Said it before, fam, what’s the fix?
****.  

Wife’s a brick wall, ******’ frigid, no lie,  
Cold as ice, mate, I’m barely gettin’ by,  
Still, I keep it chill, motto’s real tight—  
Sleep sound, don’t clown, no evil in sight,  
**** the big questions, I ain’t losin’ my head,  
“What’s the point?” Who cares? I’m alive, not dead,  
French in Canada? Bruv, they don’t give a toss,  
Hang myself for that? Nah, that’s a loss.  

I’m jabbed to the max, health’s on lock, no fear,  
Swine flu, Zika, Covid, ticks in my ear,  
Cholera, malaria, typhoid, I’m clean,  
Vaginal cancer? Mate, that’s obscene,  
Won’t step out ‘less insurance got my back,  
Bus stop trek’s a risk, that’s a fact,  
STD paranoia’s got me wired, no slack,  
But that edge keeps the fire in my sack.  

Check it—I’m sharp, details on blast,  
******’s tight like fibre optic, built to last,  
High-speed bandwidth, safe as ****, fam,  
Nerves shot to ****, but I still got a plan,  
Mission one, top tier, no debate,  
Find a **** bird, but keep it digi, mate,  
Cloud server’s my turf, that’s the play,  
No real-world mess, just slay all day.  

Half-******, I flop, laptop’s my throne,  
face book the spot, I’m in the zone,  
Bam—there’s Tasha, she’s live, she’s real,  
Chattin’ me up, bruv, that’s the deal.  

----
Tasha:

Yo, darling, been holdin’ it down for years,
Waitin’ on you, fam, drownin’ in tears,
Missed you my whole **** life, no lie,
I’d jump your bones now—****, I’d try,
But chill—let’s vibe, spit some chat online,
French on your tongue? ****, that’s fine,
I’m all English, bruv, proper slick,
Tasha’s the name, I’m your pick.

Dreamin’ of linkin’, it’s crystal clear,
Post your fifty, my spark’s right here,
Life’s rebooted, fresh off the press,
You’re the plug, fam, no stress.

I’ve scoped the game, clocked every face,
Life’s ****** me raw, tossed me ‘round the place,
Schooled me hard, threw me to the grind,
But you? Ain’t no basic *****, you’re kind,

Sweet as ****, seasoned, not stale,
****’s a beast—lush, mate, off the scale.
England’s my gift, you’ll learn it fast,
England raised me, built me to last,
Banged Chaucer, wild in the sack,
****** off Boris—yo, that’s a fact!

Split my whole life, you were gone too long,
Now we’re locked, bruv, duet so strong,
Ache was hell, nothin’ cut so deep,
This win’s the ****—top prize I keep.

Be my man, fam, sling some dough,
PayPal’s poppin’, let it flow,
Drop what you got to the spot I sent,
Smooches, love — your Lulu’s bent.

----

Yo, I clock off, stumble in, wife’s laid up in bed,
Hospital vibes, fam, I’m done, brain dead,
Doc hits my line, stressin’, voice all shrill,
“She’s ******, bruv—hip’s toast, sugar’s ill,
Still kickin’, though, that cow’s got years,
Tech’s a *****, mate, progress interferes.”

I’m mute, he’s like, “Oi, you still there?”
Yeah, doc, right here, aggro in the air,
Say I’m tuned in, but my head’s a void—
Nah, **** that, I’m strippin’ birds in my mind, overjoyed,
Drop the call, scream in my skull instead—
“You bled me dry, you ****, ****** red!
Croak already, quit screwin’ my mind!”
Grab a rag, wax the floors, leave ‘em signed,
Hallway, bog, slick as ****, no slack,
So this Yankee ***** trips and cracks her back,
Broken hip? Love, you don’t even know,
I’m knackered to death of your limp-*** show,
Welcome home, *****—slip and eat the floor!

What the ****, fam—why’d I hit fifty?
No kids, crib’s a tomb, life’s shifty,
Clinic’s my local, sixty’s on the creep,
Lost in the sauce, tangled deep,
Ain’t smashed in thirty, dry as a bone,
Time to flip the script, set a new tone.

Back at it—plop down, comp’s my shrine,
Plug my **** in the socket, spark’s divine,
Pray to Wi-Fi gods, tissue in my grip,
Feel that buzz, bruv, bones start to rip,

Electric surge, crashin’ the Channel’s flow,
Lebanon’s ghosted, England’s my show,
Moors, rain, mad ****, rugged as ****,
Heathcliff’s smashin’ Cathy, pure luck,

Culture’s deep, soul’s raw, filth in the air,
English birds kneel for a foreign affair,
Not some local ****, but a hybrid king—
Lebanese-Yank, bruv, hear ‘em sing.

Sit at the screen, tik-tok my domain,
Tap up a baddie—fit, stacked, insane,
Lonely, hot, English, she’s the one,
Lebanese saints—miracle’s begun!

Connected, no cap, I’ve broke through the haze,
“Alright, Mandy!”—time to blaze.
----
Mandy:

Out past the chippy, ‘round Kirkby’s end,
Lasses clocked a lad, not one of our send,
No local divvy — this one’s pure mad,
Foreign as ****, Lebanese lad.

We’re all gobsmacked, jaws on the floor,
What’s this global ****** knockin’ our door?
Never copped a geezer this off the chain,
Some Beirut oddball, proper strange.

Our Scouse lads? They’re gone to ****,
Lost the plot, proper threw a fit,
****** all day, scrappin’, necks in a noose,
Wasted away, rotting, no use,

Not a soul left, streets bare and grim,
Echoes of ale and a fightin’ hymn.
Ain’t no clouds dimmin’ the Mersey sky,
It’s vultures circlin’, ready to fly,

Mad Asians, hill blokes, swoopin’ in fast,
Eyein’ up a fit bird to ****** and blast,
Who’s savin’ her **** from that grim fate?
Who’s the poor cow prayin’ on late?

My ray of hope, chase off the dark,
Smash them ****** out, leave your mark,
Drop a sweet note, let it soar on cue,
Wings over waves to your Scouse bird true,

Loyal as ****, young, holdin’ it down,
Waitin’ for ages, cash to crown,
Western Union boost, fatten my stack,
Smooches, lad, love — Nia’s back.

------------------------------------

Yo, I stumble in, deadass beat, tryna get turnt,
Mailbox hit me with a curveball—petition? Ain’t this some dirt?
Local party clowns, straight wastemen, no cap,
“No cyber-******* crashin’ our vote, oh snap!
Save our bacon, fam, don’t wanna flop,
Wire a bag quick—address, don’t stop.

Bunch of muppets, fam, proper plonkers,
Cut me off from Lisa? That’s the final bonkers.
They lost the plot, heads up their ***,
Bust a hip for twenty-five, then chat pure dumb,
English bodied the French, history’s facts,
Now it’s Canada, Lebanon—throw ‘em the axe,
Chinese, Indians, whoever’s in sight,
I’m pickin’ “Wellington” from the bird site—
Fam, she’s peng, a baddie, no cap,
Wigan bound, I’m baggin’ her back,
Stateside we roll, her fam’s gonna vibe,
Brewskis with her bro, I’m in the tribe,
Sis, niece, mates, uni squad too,
They’ll stan me hard, like I’m fam, true,
Screamin’ as one—“Christ, what a plot twist!
Lebanon, British — same **** list!”

We’re locked in, fam, side by side we ride,
Hitched up proper, bells ringin’ wide,
Her lit teacher blessin’, English flair,
Bangin’ forever, love’s rare air,
Our kiddos’ll crash the net, rule the sphere,
Universal dons, crystal clear.

Back to the comp, tissue in my clutch,
Facebook my jam, babe, feel the rush,
Router’s fryin’ hot, joy’s overload,
“Alright, Lowri!”—I’m set to explode.

------------------

Lowri:

Yo, where you at, bruv? Day’s been too long,
Some side chick snag ya? Nah, I’m still strong,
Don’t twist it up—I ain’t ******, no sweat,
Kiss me quick, squeeze me tight, place your bet.

We’re glued, fam, thick like thieves in the night,
No one’s rippin’ us—step off, take flight,
Time and space kneel, I’m the queen of the grind,
Runnin’ this ****, fam, lovin’ the bind.

I hold the world down, red tape’s my throne,
Launchin’ rockets up or blastin’ ‘em blown,
Revolutions spark, I’m the match, no cap,
Migration’s dodge, climate’s clapped—I’m that.

Stocks dip or soar, ‘cause I say it’s so,
Check me—clean, foamy, waxed to glow,
**** on point, clip’s locked, hormones hum,
Proper hard for ya, fam, feel the drum.

What’s this? Oh, snap—stripes on my chest,
Call me Mandy—nah, ditch that jest,
Shane, Nats, Lisa, pick your fave,
Morse it out—Phil, dot-dot, Gaz’s wave,
English birds been wild since the game got spun,
***** on lock, bruv, poppin’ every one.

Want it raw? Step up—card digits, now,
Don’t stall, you ****, man up, don’t bow,
“Debt repayment” stamped, we’re cashin’ that bid,
You owe English blood, French-lovin’ ****.

Bow to the bot, you Lebanese *****,
Gold-standard ****, I’m everywhere, slick,
Ballybunion born, Tralee’s my tweak,
ISS glitch—drilled the hull, peak freak.
Flooded the game, ****** gran and gramps,
Bug meets kid, corruption’s my stamps,
Mouse’s down, cat’s smashed, downloads unreal,
Kaspersky shields me — from who? Don’t squeal.

Legion’s my tag, sea’s got no size,
App Store king, bruv, watch me rise.

I iced your wife, yeah, that’s my claim,
Squat on ***** sites, playin’ the game,
Taxes flow to me, I’m the state’s core,
Speechless, fam? Eyes glued—want more?

I’m your God, your blaze, light so bright,
Squint hard, see my bush ignite.
Kiss me, grip me, hands on deck,
Party’s done, years stretch—what’s next?
Words won’t bridge us, love’s mute as ****,
Gotta jet — where? Compass stuck.

Smooches, crew, catch ya down the road,
Fam, I’m set to unload,
Strap 3 clearance, runnin’ this game,
Hackin’, *******’, skivin’ on the sly,
Kirkby’s dodgiest, Her Maj’s wild guy,
Kneel, *******,
to Senior Intel Sarge Pritchard!

Bye!
It’s a simple rule: Why things don’t go
as they should.
The bad drives out the good.
The internet, cities or democracy--
everything becomes dominated
by the dumb, the vile and the lazy.

Instead of community, the web
is **** and hate.
Time can’t run backward; there’s no recourse,
It’s too late.
The bad apples poisoned the tree.
You, out there, ruined it all for me.

Democracy has become mob rule,
and the mob prefers a tyrant, a demagogue, a fool.
City Hall is occupied by panderers and jerks.
Public office for them is just a way to get some perks.
A crass madman on Pennsylvania Avenue
doesn’t represent me–but maybe you.
That’s what the mob wants–someone just like them.
And when it leads to disorder, collapse, mayhem,
they invent a paranoid conspiracy theory.
But it’s not complicated. We made insanity easy, and free.
Now we have the rule of the dumb, the vile and the lazy.
And we call it democracy.
People aren’t equal. We all forgot this truth.
We let the mob take over. I guess we needed proof.
Proof that the old adage is as true as ever.
Have they ruined everything good forever?
It returns!
Not a minute too late,
For I was getting worried,
It wouldn't return today!
But boy staring at a blank screen,
It really made me think,
Maybe I need something than this?
Idk if this happened for any of you but for me HP went down from about 2:20 to right now. Dunno why but I happy it's back online.
Tye Mar 4
Wind cuts through the window,
Where I sit alone,
Staring into the bumps of paint
Splashed on my wall.

The computer, in its eighth month
Of continuous operation,
Plays the voice of a stranger
Who I’ll never know.
But, gods I wish I could.

We could dance through the streets,
Feel our bodies scraping together,
Each breath in the air
carrying a bit of you into me.
Wouldn’t it be so wonderful?

Now, here we are.
Back at the computer.
Plastic and glass as the threshold.
You in your world,
And I’m just me.
I guess you can't really have a haven anymore,
These days everyone is angry,
They want to rip it up into internet war.

Can we lay down arms?
Can we still find peace in places like these,
I don't remember this much random slander in 2024,
But I guess things can change fast in three months.

Hold your fire!
Stop the rounds,
Artist are dropping dead all around,
Rodger is an Echo, silent in the wind.
Someone dropped by,
Just to attack Hall and Truth.
When did the keyboard war reach these recesses?

You can't have jack anymore!
Not true, you could have it,
Had you not thrown it at the wall.
I never thought I'd be the one begging for calm,
Critique turned from a reward,
To an assault on anything on a page.

Paying an arm and a leg,
To get a political letter to the front page,
Just to ridicule any feedback you receive.
This went from an escape,
To a constant shock and turn around.
So can we just drop weapons please,
And focus on every ounce of love we pour into hp.
This will not be relevant to certain writers, but to the ones it is I beg of you, leave it alone. All the instigators, they're scared people looking to scare you for a release. If you stoop to there level you just empower them. Poetry is a tool, not a weapon and there is no place for random rumors, ****** comments, aggressors that don't write, and anybody who believes they can say exactly how somebody should and shall use art. I am tired of reading my favorite authors just to see random people lying in the comments trying to defame them. And I am ashamed to even share a generation with these kind of people, to all young poets here and that are to come, be the best you can so we can prove some of us are mature enough to not go right to cyber slap boxing anyone we disagree with. Peace for writers on HP.

Apologies to anyone mortified/angered/saddened/scared/disgusted by this, it's just on my mind and I am tired of it.
neth jones Feb 26
The world makes flights   white flakes of code
snow  like knowledge   alights on the ground
to become a muddy fusion
01/01/25
You yelled,
You pointed fingers,
You slap boxed a computer screen.

You broke things that aren't yours,
You challenged Truth,
Now you're a memory,
Yet another 404.
If you let your anger burn hot as possible, you'll run out of candle.
Whence comes daylight,
Comes night far after.

There is no place,
Polished to the pristine.

Even the places you love,
Harbor the unclean.
Even darkness resides in this wonderful place.
Jim Vaughn Jan 14
Various contentions commandeer the gossamer
threading of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it amateur
apertures
free loading and buffering to the hammer strikes
of daring digital darlings
raising stakes in the race
to the bottom

All our ever present neurons
raining clusters of chemicals into challenge videos
and lip-sync contests fray under the drip
of toxic positivity and special guests
with arcana wit and a pithy redress
to the hectic tempest control
of foreign fingers

These chance tragedies and reality puppet shows
commune and presume to know better than best
in show
about the circumstance of happenstance
when the fickle turn away
to gaze fiery into a rabbit hole
curated for those who
skew chaotic

No cogent tightrope margin tricksters
will condone the manic viral feel-good fixtures
hanging from the yellowed wind chime
keys which only lock up fever rituals
with dancing flame and ridicule
made wholly manifest from
distant voices

Suburban haze arrangements rot eternal
while withered updates wax nocturnal
failures
in feeds of fomented fragility
lost among our endless
search for an end
of searching

Planned spontaneity burns borrowed minutes
festering in the better world we prohibit
and all along the symptom was
buried with the cure
as we the ill incarnate
toiling with clicking tongues
red from cherry picked plights,
block windmills
and declare defeat
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