#loot
On our differences,
the powerful capitalize,
creating the “Us versus Them” paradigm,
and cutting us to size.
“Divide and conquer” is
their modus operandum,
swinging our emotions
like the oscillations of a pendulum.
Science and arts are the restoring forces
that bring us together,
and strive to lighten our burden
down to the weight of a feather.
Artists show us the beauty of the world.
Scientists help us understand the world.
But the forces of division are mighty.
Divisions lead to war,
a most lucrative enterprise,
with fortunes to be made,
and power to be gained.
Love leads to material loss.
To love is to put the welfare of others first.
Who would do that?
Only fools and dreamers, they claim,
unaware of the human shark
going for the kill,
under the cover of the dark.
The victim’s loss is the victor’s gain,
who, when fully satisfied
feints friendship and peace once again.
But only for a short while,
until the next war
promises a bigger loot by far.
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 1:02 PM UTC
Open your eyes.
True love in heart.
Love matters most
People muster much
Truth integrity a must
firstly sought in self
Ofter found in few
Truth is love's root
True lovers fruit
Without your loot
still love of thee abounds
besides the sinking boat
thine treasures scattered yee
for mine delight to find,
Enamoured.
Adventure plotted for us
In turmoil flight indeed.
Fame and great fortune
Invested misfortune
reigning over reason
clueless as my prison
lure's dance in song
our best love honeypot
arrived for us in rhythle.
Habré tus ojos
darling, beloved.
~~~~~~~
By Karijinbba
7-4-2021
Jul 8, 2021
Jul 8, 2021 at 8:33 PM UTC
it's a bone dry west
for a cool east summer
i'm steeple chasing baby
from a derby to a dungeon
orange cones on the left
bright beams on a Hummer
i'm flicking off the bird
from nevada to wyoming
get this load off my chest
it burns April like a stoner
i'm a bayou baby
from the streets of magnolia
Jan 29, 2019
Jan 29, 2019 at 9:30 PM UTC
(cuz ma life iz such a drag...
this **** kin “FAKE” hemp
pyre aye roll out to you dear reader).
As a double jointed mathematical abbot
and amateur chemist
specializing in cannabinoids
my favorite delta-9-tetra
hydrocannabinol (THC),
isolated and synthesized in 1964
weeding thru bathroom rag
while athwart the *****
i.e. measuring adequate perforated
square roto root er, sans
regular toilet tissue paper
prior to completing important
private business matter
on the sacred porcelain chamber ***
Mary Jane made a token appearance,
and boy she looked smoke kin hot
asking if I wanna marry (Jane) her attired
in drag at a joint where Billy Bong
banged on by the hands of
a phenomenal drummer
taut as a hemp knot
with music in his blood
while blowing fractal rings – holy Scott
the immediate utterance,
and rather creative bon mot
found me stock still like stone wall Jackson,
who unfortunately got deprived a hit,
nonetheless got shot
unwittingly by his own (confederate troops),
whose demise an awful blot
per southern cause during
the Civil War and if anachronism
to receive medicinal aide available
instead of primitive treatment he got
(as well other wounded soldiers
of misfortune on the battlefield),
whose faith the any almighty power
could do little to save their roach invested lot
yet availing my imagination
to twist time like that Mobius strip
mortally wounded rebels and Yankees
free from facing death on a cot
might be successful hemp
entrepreneurs cultivating a little spot
of land hemp would outstrip cotton
as king as export to trot
orange you glad I avoided
the analogy with a kumquat?
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 1:26 AM UTC
Can't
I can't kiss ***
Must be something i ate in class
Or was it mother's scalding tongue
That'd scorch ya just for fun
Or maybe brother's saucy mouth
That'd shake ya 'til all the loot fell out
No I can't kiss ****
Can't figure out this stuff
You might call me a brat
Say I'm a loud whiskered alley cat
But it could be that bull in ****
Dying for just another hit
Whatever it is
I can't seem to kiss ***
And if I did now I'm done
Maybe it sounds crass
But god help me
I'm no good at kissin' ***
I might get hell for this
An
You might think I'm takin' the ****
But I just don't have that kinda class
I just can't
I can't kiss ****
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 6:13 AM UTC
Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.
It's like half past ten PM
While it's true I've never been
the bread winner
I still wake and bake at dawn
Although, I'm losing sleep
They can see a tired person
hurting from existing as an
addictive personality
Although I'm losing sleep,
I'm positive this is the first
time I've felt fulfilled
since the last time
Believe me, my instruments are mine
when i'm the instrument - ally
conditioned queen
Believe me, my work is justified
when all it is, is time ill spent
in the end
Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.
Look at the
rewards
roll in
Oh yes, oh
yes, oh
yes, oh
Blue, purple,
and gold,
my goal
My
crucible
My
crucible
Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.
Oh joy, oh
joy, oh
joy, oh
How come in the meaning I'm promised new?
When you're my sole believer, what can I do?
What can I do but shoot and loot
til I become your monument?
Oct 12, 2017
Oct 12, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
sometimes you enter the maw of the beast;
severed heads lie around still watching,
and you march forth into the bowels of hell
fighting off fears, horrors and demons
own and foreign
for the ultimate prize
taking home the devil
Jun 13, 2017
Jun 13, 2017 at 3:16 AM UTC
Though I splish
Though I splash
*** I drink so fear my wrath
Behold my mate
Behold my captain
Cutlasses ring and we are laughing
Pity me not
Pity the foe
Sink him to the godless unknown
Plunder the hold
Plunder her chest
Strife we be so do not rest
Sink the English
Sink the Spanish
We rule here so we **** them
Free we are
Free we be
A lavish life is the one for me
If I am hanged
If I am dead
Fear not mate I swam to land
Cut your foes
Cut their friends
We rule this kingdom
In the Queen Anne's Revenge!
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
If it was for me.
It could be meant to be.
There's a chance for you and me.
Asking her for a dance,
Is like counting the stars by hand.
Asking her for her hand,
Is a one-in-a-million chance.
If fairytales did exist, won't you stay and reminisce.
Counting days that we'll miss.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 11:28 AM UTC