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-->In the past

Martin Luther King Jr
Antonio Gramsci
Were waging a fight
For the observance of
Their likes' right,
Also like Frederik Engels
Crossing-floor or
Transcending class
There were some
Who were struggling
On the side of
The oppressed mass.

Making
Proletariat internationalism
Their intent
The likes of Che Guevara
** Chi Minh ,Castro
Proved freedom fighters
Beyond the perimeter
Of their continent.

A selfless sacrifice
Was what
They were expecting
As a price.

Like Mandela's stance
"Lick not your wound"
Was what  was deemed
Sound.

Unity, genuine democracy and
Freedom was the catch word
All in one tied
By a political cord.

-->  Currently

So called politicians' intention
Is towards themselves
Drawing attention.

Fabricating a political tension
Deconstruction history
And dishing out
A scare-tactic fiction
They bring into play a given
Ethnic or religious
Group's ,once up on a time,
Suffered lance,
Their hidden selfish agenda
To advance,
Rallying the mob truth
And fiction that
Fails to balance.
Moreover for fishing
In troubled water
A hotbed they give a chance.
Optimizing own benefit
Is their price.

Self-seeking,
Triggering ethnic-conflict
Many societal-harm they inflict.

They adore blood
To flow like a flood.

Disintegration and hate speech
Is what they preach.
"Chase that religious group
And that race!"
Is what
They expect  credulous
Followers to embrace.

Machiavelli is their
Political bible
To translate into action
They make a dabble.
To a phony politician who said it is political science I learnt but who is evil head to toe
Ken Pepiton May 2019
to me? Real with a certified S.King filtered -ly mod,
by god,
as the oh myers say. On Writing sans Shining.
Needful fiction,
Liars prosper. Okeh. Thus,
the poor we have with us, always.

Truth t' tell.

Entshallah allathat, OMG samesame
good mastah willin' creeks don't rise

Do the work. Come Sunday, someday,
we, all us, say.

You ever finish your own work one day and jest

sit back lax - lacks a daisy, taken easy,
laxative action,
gut synapse
synch-up, cinch that saddle on my wildest
old Nightmare, beat my plow
back to a oil drum,

set some feats t'dancin' in some ol'lady minds.

old man's angels seen t'be jiggin' on
the head o' some pen
in the hand

worth two in the bush.

Who know what ever mean, okeh.

period. point made signal.
that was said and it's writ.

set it aside, let it dry

crumble to dust and be scattered to the five great gyres
to settle
as sands
ifiable quant, to mortal mind, weighable
any worth assigned as
sought or ought,
a grain,
a mote,
as seen with five gee augmented
lenses
prestandards beeing raised in the buzz
from Utah

as an erranded boy's sail bike lifts into if
from the saline shore.
Bike tires adhered to passive-ly

by molecular
memories of being
in truth, as if
once and ever,
salt of the earth, see in the distance,
Lot's wife

as tiny as can be

Na and CL, for ever,
deja wuwuish it were possible… dream… or die…

no don't. There is a reason. I for get it can not right now but these
keys can be

used right by the sober one in the batch.
God, I love this process. This is the work. Living.
You can do it as long as you can pay attention…

selah

then it, the algorithm, I'll go rhythm, pauses,
Spelchkovian spells masters seem sorry we ever agreed she'd
leave me leavened as dust
lying around
on white linen
in the streets of Laredo, as cold as the clay,

back in the day,
we sang that song in school. We sang
in movie theaters, along with a
bouncing ball and other people,

big bio jump here. My step-brother was murdered,
and it never seemed relative…

my father married a wombed man with one leg,
whose family sang along with Mitch,

and played Spit in the Ocean.

Such experiences ificate possibilities few knew
some survive.
There could be a contributory flow…

This ever lasting book of life.
See, a shore, sand bar
snag a thought rainbowing true to you

hang-ups from way back

Any boomer bubble popped too soon. Manifest at will.
P-pickup from scratch and
make a point
to infect the next pun unknoticing kid,

old -time slow hand-eye coordination special ed, Big Ern,
kicking chalk dust in far right field, noticing
patterns
in the leftmost vector straight home--

grand children, for the joy of knowing they happened,
caused,
to all outward appearance,
by my survival of several unbelievable

periences ex nihilo only
if "It don't mean nothing".

link link link something has broken, what do we con tribute tributary flow
too dammed salty, got to puddle around

waiting. waiting. waiting for one point
to be made
edged on all angles, to each mea culpa assured
quantifiability of reason,

inquizical sequence surpast
glistering

whetted and furbished for ever,

the keenness
the cut, precision decision

and how swiftly forms the scab,
a touch,

capillary seals, the grain, at HD,
one pixelish crystallin charge

change that,
by taking thought. It does nothing to your stature,

think allusive butterflies of lifenshit

it gets tiresome. A body wants some rest from ever
meaning ever and never was known
or heard
a dis cora zone age word, like

troglodyte or luddite Denisovan bracelet breaker,
ropemaker union with certain silky
threads
to which a little leaven always sticks
as would caterpillar spit.

Meandering, right, it's the play. My role.
I manifest the dance
as seen on the surface, from Jim's POV,

then my own POV,
then my own rivers of no return,
tribute

'ary a day goes by I don't re call that feeling,

flow is moving paster and paster the walls are
higher
shade deeper
colder'n'hell fersher, rapids.
Ah,

Kern River, I remember this.
Almond trees, Columbus clouds…
Hey, readerman, paperbackwriter wannabe,

we survived. What'sa-hell, right's right.

clap. there is a - an  STD joke there.
But those aren't funny

right,
standup guy says right's right, does a
Johnny Unitas stiff arm
and gets a case of
clap from the left, worse than meaningless

neo **** non clapping on the right.
Repent or perish.
****** if it don't feel good to say that.
It's true, once you know,

Gertrude Stein, I got it from her. Lesbian Jewish leaven
in passover brownies dipped in Mogen David,
she made me stand and say a rosary.

By any other name,

a rose is a rose and so on
it's like when the universe sends little blue men in cheesehead hats with...
clues from the fat guy on the subway in Heroes... "Do the Work. make war not art... life is a sequel we already got paid for. Maybe." I just learned hp stars out *** not if spelt o*m*g
Brynn S Nov 2018
What has literature become?
Mockery of the new age
They spit on the graves of former writers
They take their names and drag it through mud
Disgrace, distaste
Nothing fuels the flame
The elusive spark as died
We all try to grasp at fame
Only few may succeed
In comparison we falter
We are the ****** ones
left to pray at the alter
Amanda Oct 2018
I am underneath this mask I've made
Down below the smile shown
World within is stony and dim
Think you know how it feels to be alone?

Take my place for a single day
You will realize your life is sweet
There's always effects from mistakes repeated
You have a house to ease your feet.

Breathe me slow, inhale my thoughts
Only I could invade your mind
Occupy another brain for a brief stay
Enough time to leave battles fought behind.

There is no escape from this pain
Don't know  what to say when friends ask
Continue to carry on like I'm okay
Hiding beneath my delicate careful mask.
It's hard to be real when fake is all you know..
Justus Aug 2018
Sitting down
Investigating the dimmed glow of my golden soul
A hint of apathy darkened my mind and caused my psyche to cease to grow
Maybe it was because of all the weight that I agreed to hold
In order to further expand the frame of my enlightened mind
I delve into the depths of my thousands of manifested sides
Leaving my mark through those that I connect with
Mortality and eternity coincide
Just me being fake deep.
Brent Kincaid May 2018
Donald Twittler, not a pretty picture
Sees himself as some kind of king.
Makes constant promises,
Doesn’t know what integrity is,
His word really doesn’t mean a thing.
Donald Twittler reveres Adolf ******
Wants a Nuremberg rally of his own.
He craves mass adulation
From a battered nation
From the mistakes that are his alone.

Donald Twittler phones from the *******
Rages  online in the middle of the night.
Each complaint anyone makes
He claims they’re all fakes
As if he's ever known wrong from right.
Donald Twittler, the personification of a drifter,
Has no relationship with the truth at all.
Don’t bother asking why;
He’s the best his Dad could buy,
And he’s never had to be on the ball.

Donald Twittler, a slimy sort of critter
Gets climaxes from national attention.
He has never had morals;
Buys his way out of quarrels,
If he had a soul it’s far beyond redemption.
Donald Twittler, thinks he’s better than ******
And we should all kiss his big fat ***.
More than half of us disagree
And urge him to quickly flee
Because most of us would just as soon pass.
Brent Kincaid Apr 2018
He has a degree in bait and switch
He’s a devious, deceitful sumbitch;
He’s a human hound dog,
A trash talking fat hog,
Ready with a phony smile
And he has been for a while.

Happily taking britches off of *******
If she’s not too fussy with her *****;
Because by gum and dagnab.
That’s the first thing he’ll grab.
As crazy as a lifelong ******
He thinks a nice guy is a loser.

He reverses what he says each day
And if you catch him he’ll always say
He blames it on Obama and Jews,
On Democrats and fake news.
He changes his mind on a whim
Thinks nobody is as good as him.

We need to mention how ugly he got.
His appearance seems to be all rot.
He’s made of pure grease
That keeps him so obese
Still he claims he is as trim
As guys half the size of him.

He got started by his daddy’s dough
Back a flashy half century or so
He has very little taste
Most of his life was a waste.
Every business he touches
Ends up walking on crutches.

Why is his image with so secure?
He’s not a decent man for **** sure.
An adulterer and a predator
Treats his wives like competitors
Who are blocking his limelight
And should be hidden from sight.
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