#rulers
Some grey hurdle in your empire-
building poured an oaken drink
and asked you what’s the endgame,
peeking out to see rose death, spread shameless
‘midst the masses, boulder-swept,
alive with anguish. Feel the days press on,
your causes, cookie reasons,
fill with fortunes folded by
men no-percent alive.
You dopes
demand our castles, greasy chips
smear eb’ny heads on which would rain
your landing – Guess who’s strong. Guess who is
tempered, battle-evened error modes
of robed dictators, falsehood-seeking tenets
of demise, long-startled, dancing
over scrapped-together rinds
of valor.
Robed in beech dissent
like quibbles: do we spill blood best
from jugular or vena cava?
Millions distant, dead.
How do you like ‘em? Force inspires romance
never shallow, hoisted up
the pole. Fireworks like grape shells starring
every goal: this cycle brought
to you by bombs & stripes that started
from discussions, oaken drinks
in quiet chambers, warm and dry
from toes to anguish on your aura,
glory getting by.
Nov 21, 2025
Nov 21, 2025 at 4:29 PM UTC
If readers were made rulers
Their knights would wield pens
Their wars fought on paper
And their subjects imaginary
Nov 20, 2020
Nov 20, 2020 at 11:20 PM UTC
I remember my place,
the one you promised me
You were going to shower me with jewels and royalty. While I danced for you in that throne room.
My kingdom has gone dark, somehow you left me,
yet we are still the king and queen of a miraculous tragedy.
Sep 24, 2020
Sep 24, 2020 at 8:13 PM UTC
'twas a time of risk
to rule the throne,
foreign skies stole his queen,
framed mischief in the shape
of her childbearing hips,
spun a web as thick as thieves,
went for broke with the catapult,
and sent his merry dreams
up in smoke.
'twas a time of risk
to wear the crown,
arrows to cleave thy heart,
jealous siblings in want of their own
ruby covered kingdom,
pushing thorny daggers
into one's side.
where kings die first
they drink from the poison cup,
tell all thee faithful villagers
only two weeks more
until the clouds lift,
and their precious queen
shall return to re-pollute their minds
with a new philosophy,
a new misogyny:
women's hatred of women,
killing her daughter's father
for a song and dance,
and the outside chance
she can ride on top.
there the lingering scent
of betray, dismay, this day,
and a closing ******
will reach over the castle wall.
on some besotted morning,
painted as the saccharine sky,
she'll wave at Jehu's returning chariot,
and he will press her handmaids
into service by having them
toss her to the dogs.
May 6, 2020
May 6, 2020 at 10:45 PM UTC
upon a branch a pair of doves sit
and doesn't bend the branch a bit
it doesn't for being light and easy
no cares weighted responsibility
be weighted by gravity pins us tie
to earth for we're not meant to fly
as human wears heavy the crown
of ******* of the appointed one
crooing on a branch the lovers sit
the branch they sit don't hurt a bit.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
I was preapered to fight all my life, but against who? Brave beast like soldiers that are match to no one or just plain cowards?Why would I waste my time on these humorous synonyms, that cant even survive a day without aplause and their ego stroke.
Its funny, its humorous but its the harsh truth,I think you would die of laughter if I told you that they arent just your neighbours, but the rulers of this world. Brittle as nails, efficent in their work as snails, Its not even enough to call them natures biggest fails.
We laugh at our own despair, but it's funny how some things never change, we are all slaves without any chains.These charlatans found a way one day, to control us without any brute force, but by their brain.And here we are today, some are on the streets begging for bread,some live their lives by a comercial tread.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
Beggers cant be Choosers,
Winners won't be Losers,
Early birds can't be Snoozers,
Dont'ers won't be Do'ers,
More or Less but jus not Fewer,
Ugly is ugly.. It won't get Cuter..
If it's Old, it ain't getting Newer,
Roses are red &
Violets are Blue'er,
If you give them an Inch..they will take the whole Ruler
This world is Cold
And just getting Crueler .
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 5:04 AM UTC
damage has always been your forte -
an expertise,
your recalcitrant venom.
you annihilate
before they could burn you
and your fortress is painted
in a deep, metallic rouge.
you wear the word 'vicious'
like a crown;
loyal weapon tucked neatly in the
taverns of your mouth.
you are adroit with words, after all.
such a fine weapon,
such a clean cut.
realms bow down, subjects to terror.
sweet vilification's best served
in your court.
not one soul would dare to beard
the lion,
no single breath,
shall make your empire topple.
the caucus adjourns; your grip is slipping
you may be the head,
but we
are
the
body.
your realm will rot
from the inside.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 11:42 PM UTC
Dumb Streets stroll along with brains of blitz
to an evening ritual of bathing with blood
where young smiles melt away and tears dry out,
guilty die and so do the ones who dare to doubt,
audience calls it the crowned fool’s supper
but our fool names it ‘Blooming of the Juniper’.
Dumb Streets poke their pride with ***** knives,
scoop their brains out for the queen of beehives
and surrender their soul for a single penny
which leads them to a war-zone surrounded by jinni.
The poor souls mustn’t retreat to the fool,
who’d treat them as his supper or a war-tool.
Dumb Streets fed-up, riot with sullen spirits,
they burn bridges and **** the fool’s puppets.
The supper gets heavy as the days go by,
our fool feasts on rioters who’ve sworn to die.
Soon the puppets disappear into thin air
and leave the palace for rioters to spare.
Dumb streets have our fool as their supper,
sink their shelters with wine and clutter,
but fail to notice uprising of another fool
who’d played leader of fish in the pool.
Shower mercy O! wise Fool upon your streets,
preach the dumb, who wonder what he eats.
Mar 26, 2018
Mar 26, 2018 at 2:24 PM UTC
Control the guns. Or unload on one. Under the hopeless sun. Or control the shooters who stole his future.
Patrol in stupor when the gaping hole is super. Rolling in supras.
Holding and maneuver, round the bend. Good lord, glad I found the pen. But white men found the pen. In there, Black men down and spent. And they're wasting away in the pen. Write a letter to their friends. Either their behind the bars, or drinking in bars, or rhyming these bars. Spit it like I got tobacco juice in my mouth. Another shooting in the south, while I watch from the couch.
Kendrick said we gon be all right. And I'll believe him, when everyone has the same rights. When the white man know wrong from right. But just because you're light in your skin, it doesn't mean you're gone from light. Let this song break fights. Still though, as long as we're nice, you'll still invite us to smoke bongs and pipes.
But when the summer heat scorches the streets and the Porsches, next to the fortress with the smooth grain porches, you will ignore this. Warning shot coming at you, hot enough to light torches. I wake up every day thinking life is gorgeous, but at night I still walk like the tortoise.
No more of this.
Blood spilling on the pavement, now you wonder why I lounge in the basement. They say practice patience. They say keep waiting. They say there's saving. Pop a pill, forget about life, start raving. Po-po after the po, so send Edgar Allen Poe with a raven. Calling us kings, like this Game of Thrones, but this war is ancient. God vs. Satan. Medusa vs. the Maiden. Neo vs. all the agents.
Take hits before I escape to the matrix. Tired of eating fake **** Make spliffs, out of makeshift wooden ships, that Cuba Gooding Jr. Gripped. Won't take lip, go and save it. Why are they loved and we hated?
Emotion flowing from the mac and the healing potion flowing from the track. Go in the back. Put the slow motion in the stacks, the records from class, tethered in snacks. America's anger is growing in fact, because every one knowing life's back. Shoot the body and throw it in the back. Fiction, or reality? Turn on the television, that has driven your vision to a complacent state of living. And you wonder why we're so forgiving?
But we're never forgetting. This here is armageddon. This is how life be when karma getting to be like, getting to be like, getting to be like fatal. Like Cain did abel. Death, or disabled. Missed the fable, because I kissed the label. Then the bottle, as I went and risked the stable. Now I'm gathering my crew and we're ****** and a holes.
Hear the shot ring from Baton Rouge to Chicago. Thinking about becoming a florist. Foreigner in this land of tourists. Listening to beats from Morris. Joshua hit me up for the chorus. How many black Americans need to die? If it were white people, would you ignore this?
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 5:14 PM UTC
Granite washed in gray day's light
From fresh yellow hills to shrouded night
The wings of an angel stretch far and high
Atop each, a bird has time to bide.
Greens of white and black and blue
Keep still in the winds which sing so true
Plump summer leaves fall out of air
And tumble onto a fox's silky hair.
A lute strikes hidden melodies
Like hummingbirds sing, mellow and free
In a castle made of washed gray stone
A king yearns for his long-lost home.
Fountains of youth spout looking glasses
Into which priests shout to the masses
Words of love and hypocrisy
That cage sick cherubs who've never once dreamed.
Pillars of stone and lush green patches
And cigarettes lit by inch-long matches
Time bends far and tastes so sweet
For those who plant enough trees to sleep.
A tall green tower climbs over mountains
A prince's curse it gladly renounces
Around it, houses broken and bent
By war-torn rebels who won't repent.
Gardens never seemed so small
When charlatans crowd their purple halls
And somewhere far, an ancient says,
This would never pass unnoticed were I not dead.
Cities of tombs and streets without light
Fall slowly into an unsavory night
Moss grows swiftly on age-old tombs
While sirens sing immortal tunes.
Jul 1, 2016
Jul 1, 2016 at 9:09 AM UTC
The screen is our religion,
dreary eyed and mouth wide open we are absorbed into the graphics.
Swirling around us on the the Tv plane are the stories,
“breaking news” we are breaking ourselves,
because the tendrils come shooting out and grasp our brain feeding us poison.
Our soul carers called the democratic love playing dress up,
a wolf in sheep's clothing,
and while they play we are neglected,
bad parenting.
We don't get to play,
we are the ants,
in systematic order, we provide,
the only time we get to play is when we retreat inside our mind.
Then we become the stereotype “ignorance is bliss”
while the world falls to pieces, is it because we voted for this?
Maybe.
We are the ones in control and yet we have no power,
we lounge inside, the clock is ticking by the hour.
The world is broke with each secret kept,
each person pretending that its okay,
while the connected, open minded ones feel powerless and hide away.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
I bet Bilbo Baggins
Would laugh at the self-proclaimed;
tragic-melodramatic
Ass-backwards actors
Who proclaim with a loud verse
Recited, and well-rehearsed
But in secret their hearts doeth curse
The Creator; of Universe.
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
There are those who
despise tight spaces
who hate confinement
at least in their own basement
There's some truth
I concur
I need room
not some gloomy tomb
still there are some
who are confined
by the dust below
and the clouds above
they desire
the width of the equator
and claim
the height to the stars
but in the end
with all man as a subject
with majestic skyscrapers
and treasuries filled to the brim
their death creates borders
implodes skyscrapers
and loots the coffers
alas, as they started
in incubators
they remain claustrophobic
in coffins
the world is not enough
because we are not enough
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC