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Yenson Dec 2019
Fresh from Elementary classes
in the Urban Ghetto Comprehensives
the zero minded ragamuffins and one parent urchins
stuttered they were playing mind games and NLP manipulations
I asked the pathetic witless simpletons to explain all about it to me
" that's silly "
they replied,
"how are we supposed to know, when we have no minds of our own
we just do as they tell us,
we are never taught to use our minds
just another brick in the wall....."

That's the way its always been......!!!
Boris Johnson....Eton, Oxford University, *** laude Student
Scholarship winner. Someone please explain why the Elites and Ruling class are always highly educated and always end up superior to the commoners. Do they know something we don't know, afterall we are the majority and majority always win or are we only capable of obstructing only one black man. Why are we always losers? Anyway back to the Revolution, solidarity comrades....Down with the Black Prince!!!
Hey, lets get him to **** a sixteen year old girl...!
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2019
for you, of you: you’ve been between my ears

close enough to being on my mind,
almost the same thing,
though that’s unfairly inequitable, we both agree,
for when in an ear one opines, too oft it escapes
out the other side, only a tree ring mark left,
someone was here, present

as for the Confucius confusion in

ok, who’s writing this poem to whom,

cause it’s never clear between us
who is
asking the questions,
since the answers come
demanded and undemanding,
fomenting newer questions and follow through,
before, as well as,
‘please sir, may I have some more?’

the mutualizing game tasking begin-began-begun,
for this, our lovely crazy teasing of our-thing, ago began,
don’t recall who or how intimated-initiated
this oil drilling exploration,
who is the annointer and who is the annointed,
who seeds the plants, picks the fruit, and who
gets paid with cloves of poems, by the bushel

you say I’ve been on your mind,
which we now have both pointed out
is somewhat extraordinary since,
the sight lines are drawn through
long distance cloudscapes that travel
through underground cables,
making everything said,
fallow and rich-ending, deeply frustrating,
impossible to see the outcome

clouds usually imaginary, (not like now),
making visibility normative poor,
unlike the real ones I’m flying at the moment through,
ensconced in front row seat 1F, heading northwest passage,
passing by so ridiculously close to where
you are minding the soil,
as I am
mining your soul’s soil, tilling it between the ears,
of you, by me, for us, and the excited sadness
makes me happy and yes, inequitably, again,
hopping-mad

because your breadcrumbs and dark Swiss chocolate bars are
scattered and defaced, bitten and chewed, lovingly licked melting,
we who cover our tracks too well;
but what I do have, makes me ravenous,
having read all your poems,
in random order and then one more time,
sequentially

I see your history, near escapes and resurrections,
in fine grained moody minutiae punctuated by huge gaps in between,
that we must cream fill with clouds of wondrous loving curiosity,
a torture so exquisite, only the gods could have invented it like
Sunday Night Football,
and crazy sayings,
like I love you too...

been on my mind and I imagine you
hot and sweaty,
bent over, aching tired, from
picking weeds (gotcha),
when sudden one of us stands up straight, back aching,
screaming out loud
this is crazy, and follows up with
a *** Darius type proclamation,
who’s writing this poem to whom
issued to the upwards-skywards,
but addressed to ourselves,
the poets

as we search clouds by the thousands,
is that you in that cloud, in that poem,
I look down thinking that, that must be,
the plot of green and dusted light brown ground
where she has gone into hidey-hole hiding,
disappearing for months at a time,
before arising for the sticking of me
in the sticking place,
wounding me fresh with brand new poems
scandalous and imaginous,
and our imaginations are both
too skilled

so here I close, overwritten, overridden, too long,
overshot my imaginary bounds, so one
pulls down the shade over the oval window
through which too many great stories have commenced,
and ended

the thick cumulus shouting
as we look up
as we look down,
saying “enough, you crazy people,
your poems tell too much,”

perhaps, find me in that
next bite of herbs buttered,
and then ask (of course)

who’s writing this poem to whom?

then breathe out, exhaling me a
breath-poem up above, to where I’m hiding
just as I, am sending one to you,
earth falling from thirty thousand feet,
coming to rest on your mind,
in between your ears,
friend

<>

8-6-19
somewhere in the sky, clueless, heading north by northwest
rgz Apr 2019
I want to smother you
with my pillow hands
suffocate your skin

Scoop out your eyes
so you see no evil
blind you from all sin

I'll wrap you in chains
secured to my heart
control your brain
take away your dark

Twist your words
around my tongue
scratch them back
in your back
verbatim

I could cut you up
so you fit in my pocket
bleed your soul
into a precious locket

Smash your skull
to ease your mind
clawing my way
to your insides
cute aggression is that thing where you squeeze a kitten so hard its eyes pop a little because it's just so magnificent
yeah, that thing
Brawlstarsmann Mar 2019
When you are at a swimming pool, and you see a dog, you know that it will be pushed into the pool by a cat.
then it is frowning, like grumpy cat
and humans are laughing
and it goes on youtube
and you've been framed
here comes the dosh £$€
hahahahahahahahah
Masha Yurkevich Mar 2019
You've made me
speechless
and made my day.
YOU
are the reason
I'll be smiling
today!
Masha Yurkevich Mar 2019
I'm sorry.
I think you've
make my day so bright,
I going to have to
wear sunglasses
so I don't lose
my sight.
There really are some special and bright people our there!
Masha Yurkevich Feb 2019
I'm sorry,
I shouldn't
have judged you
without knowing what
you've been through.
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