#phony
Oh no, they see me
They'll soon know me
They'll know I'm only
A one trick pony
A phony
Full of bologna
No one below me
So
No one to hold me
To the business end of accountability
Ignoring any responsibility
So I fly free
With no pilot license on me
Obviously
And predictably
I did what y'all we're waiting to see
Sorry y'all had to wait endlessly
I hope y'all where more entertained than me
Sorry that me is all I could be
©2024
May 24, 2024
May 24, 2024 at 5:50 PM UTC
I've shut down so completely it's profound and I've now lost touch with reality
What I want to be and what I'll never be eventually co-mingle and become one entity
The blasphemy, the phony sanctimony and hypocrisy blast from me
I try awkwardly to juggle all three, run 'em up the flag pole, wait and see
Hear ye, hear ye...another blunder here for your amusement, come see
Woe is me! An empty plea for pity ******* by a request to be put out of my misery
It's plane to see, at least by me, that I'm my own worst enemy, I'm no friend to me
Bad karma stacks rapidly atop the early onset of senility
Losing my mind was an inevitability but that was my only company
...now it's only me...
The notion that behind every smile you'll find your happy is, in it's self, a fallacy
©2023
Dec 13, 2023
Dec 13, 2023 at 6:23 PM UTC
Let me guess...
She's your favorite person;
she helps relieve life's burdens;
she's the one you text late at night,
and you think she's absolutely perfect,
right?
You made up some metaphor
to make her blush more than ever before.
And she's the one you'll dream about
because it's her whom you love now.
Jul 19, 2023
Jul 19, 2023 at 1:52 AM UTC
Little divested flower,
Shame— how you break with the peak of light.
A blossom they might think,
You're still a phony stick.
Is it guilt filling the scene?
Or is it just the sunbeam?
May 13, 2022
May 13, 2022 at 2:24 PM UTC
Everyone wants to be a revolutionary,
a hero, a martyr, or more.
Empty minds seeking an empty prize,
of fame and boundless glory.
Everyone wants to be a wiseman,
without searching for the wisdom.
Everyone wants to break free,
from their phony societal prison.
Everyone wants to be loaded,
without having to earn the dough.
A tax or two will surely do,
those ***** capitalists will eat crow!
Everyone wants to change the world,
without having to change themselves.
Everyone wants everything,
except to be ourselves.
Jun 30, 2020
Jun 30, 2020 at 1:16 PM UTC
1
Borrowed boots carried him lightly
To the Mule Neck Glade
Where the dawn star rising
Cut like a damascene blade.
2
Borrowed boots carried him lightly
To the Mule Neck Spinney
Where the dawn fire’s reflection
Burned like an acid Jinnee.
3
Borrowed books carried him lately
Through a mare’s nest of days
Till the cryptorium’s meek updraft
Smashed his kennings to a craze.
4
Burrough’s books stick like court plasters
To the Tourette’s sufferer’s face
Where irruptions of night terrors
Stitch their goggle-eyed trace.
5
Bare bones faithfully uncovered
One last forgiving needle
Our final view upon Ascension -
The Analysis of Beetles!
Mar 9, 2020
Mar 9, 2020 at 1:07 PM UTC
-->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.
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 10:50 AM UTC
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, *** 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
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 7:10 PM UTC
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
Nov 12, 2018
Nov 12, 2018 at 12:03 AM UTC
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.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
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
Aug 14, 2018
Aug 14, 2018 at 11:49 PM UTC
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.
May 9, 2018
May 9, 2018 at 6:51 PM UTC
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.
Apr 21, 2018
Apr 21, 2018 at 11:27 PM UTC
How can you
Let him do this to you?
So many lies
You fail to see through!
You insist on being
An incredibly stupid pigeon!
You don’t make sense,
Not the tiniest smidgeon.
You ******* when Clinton
Got a simple office beejay
But now you let Chump
Grab crotches along the way.
You turn a blind eye
When he steals from us daily,
And let him ruin the US
And continue pillaging gaily.
How can you
Let him do this to you?
So many lies
You fail to see through!
You claim he’s Christian
Though he acts like a true pagan;
You accept his KKK crap
And reject Hawking and Sagan.
You let him do things
That remove other politicians
When he should be
The point of many petitions.
You insist on being
An incredibly stupid pigeon!
You don’t make sense,
Not the tiniest smidgeon.
You parrot his words,
But his talk is completely bogus.
You holler and howl
And you think you’re fooling us.
But he is a charlatan
And often says what he means,
Then tells lies you like
And shoves them in between.
How can you
Let him do this to you?
So many lies
You fail to see through!
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 3:23 PM UTC
He’s a refugee of sorts
From society’s glitter gutter.
His nouveau riche attitude
Show in every word he utters.
That is where he’s from.
He’s nothing but glitter litter.
If he doesn’t get what he wants
He’s ****** obnoxious and bitter.
He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.
His daddy bought him toys
Of the fanciest richest kind.
Dad didn’t care what it did to him.
He must have been blind.
He ruined the boy with money
Buying his way through college
So that when the boy left there
He had style and little knowledge.
Daddy gave him a nice fortune
To start off his spoiled whelp.
Son was never really good at much
But having a few million helped.
The kid liked glitz and glamour
And especially glittery women.
One after the other he used them
And never really got smitten.
He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.
Now a few children later
They have become a bother.
They keep needing things
Like money from their rich father.
He wonders where they got
That sickening greedy habit.
He’s fears if they can get
His gold they'll surely grab it.
He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 3:38 AM UTC
The Talking **** is babbling
He’s not quite capable of reason.
He’s busy patting his own back
Every day, every month and season.
The Talking **** is assuming
As usual that we can’t think.
But we know for a certainty
That a talking **** still stinks.
The Talking **** is promising
All the miracles he will perform.
He’ll take credit from others
After all, that’s his norm.
He’ll put down the good efforts
Of those who came before
Who actually did the good work
While he worked on his golf score.
The Talking **** is not required
To make very much good sense.
He has his Nazis beside him
And a crowd of the politically dense.
He says what he knows pleases
Those who are not quite bright.
He chants the hateful dogma
Adopted by fools on The Right.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
Art is dead
Sold out and bought
The artist is dead
Killed by a golden weight
But the artist is now rich
It only took him an hour
To build a house with no foundation
only a week to sell the deception
Wait, where is his skin, did he not shed the white?
It lounges in the shade under a redwood tree
But what does it do, it cannot just sit all the day
It does far more than just become part of a portrait scene
But no one sees him, after all he is just a hollow skin
Struggling to pick the right word, or phrase that completes his fragment
Why does it take him months to complete, why does he not sell for profit?
How do you sell an apology? Can our souls be bought now at market?
He takes long
Because he cares
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:12 PM UTC
All this phony propaganda,
Media only spake to annoy ya,
Total delusions of grandeur,
Switch off! It disappears!
Manipulating, muckraking propaganda,
Phony emotional blackmail to annoy ya!
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
C'est la guerre, c'est la guerre,
Who's being manipulated, him or her?
How do you spell futile?
Give up bullying meanwhile,
C'est la guerre, c'est la guerre,
Who's being manipulated, him or her?
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 2:09 PM UTC
Everything he says
Comes out backward.
Nothing about him
Is really straightforward.
It’s like he came here
From Bizarro World.
Both of the forks
Of his tongue are curled.
He makes our lives
Like a lower rank of hell.
You won’t want to buy
A single thing he sells.
You can figure out
This reptilian guy
Just expect everything
He says to be a lie.
If he says it’s a nice day
Run for your umbrella.
At all possible costs
You should avoid this fella.
And if you know someone
Who tells you he is nice
Run as fast as you can
From them, take my advice.
He has never been honest
He has never even tried.
You’ll quickly lose count
Of the times he has lied.
If you think for a second
That he cares about you
Believe me when I say
It just cannot be true.
Because the only person
This guy loves is himself
And he doesn’t give a ****
About anybody else.
Not his family, nor his wife
Please be a believer.
In truth, he doesn’t really
Love himself either.
His whole world is backward,
What he hates describes him.
He tells about how he is
So handsome and slim.
But actually he’s a tub of lard
And socially quite awkward.
But he doesn’t realize it.
He is, after all, himself:
Mister Backward.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
All the words you say should be listed as a crime
You can't seem to think and talk at the same time.
You babble like a brook after a horrendous flood
And look like an aging cow chewing her cud.
Somebody should have slapped a muzzle on you
Slapped your big **** a time or two.
If lying cost you money, it would be a great joke.
We'd all feel better and you would be broke.
You're a big fat liar,
Seldom speak the truth!
You're a total spoiled brat
Have been since your youth.
You've got a lousy rememberer
But a very strong forgetter.
You will always tell the lie
When the truth might fit you better.
If words made things happen
You might have a chance to be
The big shot you think you are
Instead of the reality.
You're a tinhorn snakeoil salesman
Like they had in olden days.
You long ago discovered that
Lying far too often pays.
You owe all your successes
To the fact that people trust.
They see a man in a costly suit
And they let him go for bust.
But, bust almost always
Means for anyone but you.
You only ever make a dime
If too many of us are coocoo.
You're a big fat liar,
Seldom speak the truth!
You're a total spoiled brat
Have been since your youth.
You've got a lousy rememberer
But a very strong forgetter.
You will always tell the lie
When the truth might fit you better.
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 2:57 PM UTC