fhamideas 17h

(Inspired by Kendrick Lamar)

Whacked or weepiness?
Sing if you know this,
Well~ yuh, yuh.



Hey, I recall when every months with zero-balance-curse,

Therefore I live my life with what I fit, but today I’m so pissed,

When everyone gets what their want; In fact, I never wish,

I choose drink mix while you choose Crème de cassis to rid live’s blemish,

Son, the richest man never get outta debt hub,

Duh, compare to you with just one luckless credit card?

So let’s be rich with heart and do something bigger than Tesla,

Do read on my blog, then write it down or by heart at least,

Zero-to-the-hero, hero-to-the-pro punk,

a person who used to be dumb, dumped in the scum junk,

now 6 figures in the bank, I still like yesterday’s punk,

If you got this in the bank, promise to be like an old punk,

my life’s better than my virile,

my future promise me how I rolled,

Hey Mount. E, wait for me to reach your highest spot,

but I’m just play cool to it, cuz you know



Beast’s humble,

Sweet lown,

Be hierodule,

throw your crown.

Stay creative - http://fhamideas.com/2017/11/21/finding-ideas-that-help-your-creativity/

There was a young lady, Marie
who'd steal, no profit, no fee
take from the rich
with nary a twitch
spreading the wealth, sea to sea

Just think, if the rich gave, we all could be millionaires!
Yeah, right ;\
Doruk Jan 7

I woke up to go to work
To make my boss rich,
To make him make his boss rich,
To have the biggest boss making government rich,
To help the government train soldiers,
To have them fight with other soldiers,
To collect all the tears their families drop,
I thought, eating my breakfast.
Sipping my tea that I made,
From tears.

I wrote this a while ago when I was making a project about capitalism. It worked, I guess! :)
Originally mine. Translated from Turkish and wow! This is way better than the original.

Looking for Wealth and seeking quick Rise,
A man of spice sought old man's advise.
That trader crossed desert crossed river and Land.
Reached Forest, searched trees as suggested old man.

But found fruits and trees  the useless stone,
But what he was searching, spices were none.
Being frustrated returning after home,
He asked Man wise what wrong I have done?

The Old Man smiled said Road was so long,
Your idea created distractions thousand one.
Spices not there  but sparking stones,
Precious than herbs, were infact diamonds.

Wealth can be made not only from the spice,
Diamonds were there, could given you a rise.
But thinking was faulty, in method a glitch.
You are defeated  by idea of your rich.

Ajay Amitabh Suman

All Rights Reserved

Isn't this bed narrow?
How it creaks when we kiss, caress, undress!
And let us not tell fibs: my wallet is often empty.
You'll find few pennies in there.
And yet
if you put your hand on this beating heart
you'll feel how rich we are, darling,
rich! Beyond the businessmen and bankers.

Peter Balkus Dec 2017

The real name of this country
is Shambles And Shame,
nothing United about it,
nothing really Great.

Politicians, their careers
is what really counts to them,
they don't care about you
standing in the rain.

They don't care about you,
sitting on the bus,
stuck in daily traffic;
they don't care about us!

Or when you suffocate
on the underground, squeazed,
they don't think about you,
they don't know you exist.

They never worked hard
in their glamorous life,
they never lived to survive
on borrowed money and time.

And when they have a chance
to make a change, help us all,
they sell our souls to the devil,
saying it's their souls.

Shambles in the newspapers,
shambles on tv screen,
shambles in Parliament...
shame that what's shammy wins.

The real name of this country
is Shambles And Shame,
nothing United about it,
nothing really Great.

Isabel Nov 2017

Suburbia; picket fences as white as the faces that live behind them. Rows of houses. The balustrades made of privilege, leading up to the verandas of entitlement. Semi-detached houses, almost too close for comfort. Discord versus conformity.

In their own little worlds, unaware of the squalor on the other side of town. Otherwise aware but unconcerned. Their suburban paths paved in a circle so they stay, their children stay, and suburbia is never empty. Constant noises. The whirring of toy cars being controlled with remotes, (exactly like the people who are oblivious to the fact that suburbia is attempting and succeeding to control and mould them into perfect, upstanding citizens) doors sliding, the murmur of voices,

“mum pass us the salt please”
“can we get some ice cream?”
“I’ll be home before the street lights turn on”.
  
Behind the cloned houses all made from the same stencil, are partners barely tolerating each other. Smiling at the neighbourhood get together's behind undisclosed differences. Poise and status. Stand tall. Nobody can know.

“Merry Christmas here’s a camera!”
Home videos. Grainy images, recollections.
“I remember that! You tripped over right after I finished recording!”
“It was my first time on roller skates give me a break”.

Video tapes and cassettes turned memory cards and USB’s, scattered with chunks of suburbia. Purposeless clips of picket fences, swings and gates being brought to life by wind.

A man is trying to grow grass in his new front yard but the birds keep eating the seeds. He digs up the dead grassy patches and starts again. A monotonous cycle like a drum rhythm with no end in sight.

Suburbia is a ritual of routine. Everyone gets what they want. Daddy can buy them a car, a house, friends. The whole damn world, you can have it your way. Upturned noses and superiority towards the people living in filth and squalor, they could help them, they have sufficient funds to lend, but choose to do nothing instead continuing to scrutinise them and place themselves on a higher pedestal.

Children grow up in sheltered suburban lifestyles blissfully unaware of what really goes on. Homophobic jocks and flirty dancers are born. Living apart from their nearby communities,
decaying away in studio apartments and cozy bungalows, watching some reality tv show, filmed in America, and footy games on their 55-inch television screens. Eating organic strawberry and coconut gelato and still thinking that they need more.

Some stray from the paved path of concession and “have it easy’s” and the ‘other side’ leaves an impact on them. Gratefulness, compassion, understanding. “Better go back and tell your friends, it’s not so scary down here in the ghetto huh” Race, social and working classes. Segregation is back with a vengeance, though it was never really gone, was it? Only covered up with some form of guilt and then continued by white supremacy.

When someone different comes along, someone who isn't on one of Cosmo’s diets, someone who doesn't wear heavy makeup, or is a size eight or below, someone who doesn't live in a palace made of dreams, someone who must truly work hard if they want things that aren’t necessities. How do they respond? They shun, they backstab and they gossip whilst sipping exotic wine from crystal glasses on their freshly manicured suburban lawn.

Unquestionably sheltered from the world of hate and love they have to find themselves through material objects, careless people and careless, empty conversations. What they truly need is conversation that doesn’t notice or need status, background, or possessions. Lemonade stands and garage sales. One man’s trash is another man’s suburban treasure.

Numbing. Overwhelming. Rumours and lies. They can recognise every face they walk past on the footpath, and they know that every face will recognise them back. I suppose if their face is known, their mistakes are easily remembered.

Vines begin to grow and engulf a half-stained deck weathered and worn by the hot sun. Whispers and disgruntled sighs fill the street as the suburban mums express their distaste towards the house down the road with its paint peeling fence and overgrown shrubs riddled with weeds.
“That house brings down the whole street I reckon. I wonder who lives there”
“I heard that it’s an old lady that got sick”
“Yeah, I heard that her husband left her for some young woman. Imagine that!”
“Well I would leave too if my garden looked like that. Gardens show pride and they represent your personality. I wouldn’t want to get involved with them”

Flesh is flesh. There is no separation between that body and the next. No one will ever view your life the way you view it so why bother trying to provoke your neighbours and make them think themselves inferior? Repress the mask, be yourself.

Make suburbia change for you.
Suburbia; houses designed to look pleasing. Families fit like puzzles, on the surface. Mother can drop off her youngest, complete chores with her eldest and be home in time for her favourite shows.
Ritual, routine, clockwork.

Vexren4000 Nov 2017

Your fast cars,
And fancy clothes,
Will not keep you company,
Or save you from the hands of the reaper.

©BAS

liv Nov 2017

i could be the poorest person on earth
i could be homeless under a bridge
but dear as long as you're by my side
so long as my heart is fuller than my bank account
i may as well have won the lottery

you make my heart full.
Stephen Gospage Oct 2017

It started with a humming sound;
To be precise, a long loud bass.
It pummelled the surrounding ground
And shook the boutiques selling lace.

In groups of ten, we clear up rubble,
Which no one asks us to explain.
The rich remain inside their bubble;
Sometime quite soon they’ll feel our pain.
For tomorrow, or the next day,
The whole thing may start up again.

I know the rules;
I play the game;
It’s not my fault;
I’m not to blame;
I feel no shame;
And yet I know

Things will never be the same.

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