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Invasive maneuvers
reprisals, unrest
parched repercussions
defiled battle quest.
We are the pawns,
slaves of the universe;
baby makers, builders, drilled in reverse.
for the rich we become a new silken purse.
We sing and we dance,
get ******* for no money
while they salivate over the scent of new money.

The young and the strong
are among the most prized, ,
confused and abused they don't realize
that no one will come to answer their cries.
Do they think, no they dive off the brink
and slowly flounder or drown 
digging grubs from subterranean ground.

Knuckled under, we hunger
a beast that grovels and gropes
the emptiness eating away all our hope.  
No heroes unsung
to feed what we crave
all are beaten down
there's too few who are brave.

While the old folks get strung
with a life taking needle,
the sick cry out loud
until their mewling grows feeble.  

Lies swept under the rug,
can you feel the tug?
It stands to reason,
equality is dead
now it's power and politics
and the rich interbred.

The menial man is the ox of today
a senseless illusion
as he kneels to pray.

We have no control
although we think that we have
the rulers in government
judge us and laugh  
Behold the matrix
it's here and now,
and we are the animals pulling the plow,
scraping for scraps with rough blackened nails
and small slurps of liquid from rough metal pails?

Beware the wind whispers

as cities fall down and we march to the beat of
maniacal clowns.
Enjoy what you have
before the world turns gray
it's not real life that you're living,
but dreams slipping away.
Terry O'Leary Jan 19
.              <Once ShallowMan had dared to question>
              <FactoidMan’s sublime suggestion:>
“With a little predigestion
all my Facts compel ingestion
helping shallow decongestion.”

                               “FactoidMan, take no offense,
                               I know your knowledge is immense
                               amidst your store of Facts quite dense,
                               yet still I’m hanging in suspense
                               about your unassumed pretense
                               and if (or not) your Facts make sense.
                               What say you, sage, in your defense?”

“My Facts are self-sustaining views
supported by my mighty muse;
if disbelief is what you choose
just listen to the gull that mews,
eructing fake and faulty news.”

“My Facts are meant for one and all”
              <cried FactoidMan within the stall>
“I plop them out and when they fall
(yes, be they large or be they small)
they leave all witnesses in thrall.”

              <Then FactoidMan informed the crew>
              <(you know the ones, the chosen few,>
              <who try to twist his Facts askew,>
              <subjecting them to peer review>
              <which puts them in the waiting queue>
              <for litter to be hid from view):>
“Well Facts are Facts, yes that is true
so don’t be sad and don’t feel blue
when sitting dazed without a clue;
once more, that’s why I’m here for you.”

“For in my wisdom you may wallow
if you simply seek and follow,
chew my Facts, then gulp and swallow,
stuff your soul, now blank and hollow.”

                               “But FactoidMan, I fail to see
                               the emptiness inside of me”
              <said ShallowMan with modesty>
              <and cert’nly not hyperbole.>
                               “You’ve filled me with a potpourri
                               of concepts bathed in harmony
                               all self-contained and error free
                               (adjudged by you, the referee,
                               with whom no one could disagree
                               and still remain your devotee).”

              <FactoidMan may steal a stride>
              <with Miss Direction at his side>
              <to conquer, baffle or divide;>
              <she sometimes slyly serves to guide>
              <us on a roller coaster ride>
              <through subtle logic simplified>
              <and fuzzy Facts unverified.>

“We’ll make you guys sit back in wonder
stealing all your blood and thunder
when you’ve found you’ve made a blunder,
thrusting you to realms down under
dank defeat, dun dirt and dunder
(pseudo-logic’s would-be plunder,
Miss Direction’s torn asunder).”

                               “Do Miss Direction’s humble graces
                               pivot progress towards new places
                               into which loose logic races
                               (hinged on fundamental bases
                               counter argument outpaces)?
                               And what about the other cases
                               tied with loose ends time unlaces?
                               Just *******, reason soon erases
                               leaving lumps or tiny traces
                               in the gaps and other spaces?”

“Yes, Miss Direction will confirm
my wisdom hides no wily worm,
though simpletons will surely squirm
with Facts they fail to disaffirm
within the short or longer term.”

“She can lecture, you can learn
about the twists at every at every turn
in arguments that you should spurn
when served an ace but can’t return
without disgrace and ego burn
that leaves your ashes in an urn.
(In case you listen, you’ll discern
that winning spins are my concern.)”

              <Well ShallowMan was full of stunts,>
              <posed one more question which confronts:>
                               “Although your data sometimes blunts
                               the points of other’s arguments
                               your reasoning quite oft affronts
                               when based on claims  that logic shunts.
                               Well, won’t this break your covenants?”
              <Then Miss Direction screamed at once>
              <that “ShallowMan’s a silly munce”.>

“But that is neither here nor there”
              <said FactoidMan with scant a care>
“for ShallowMan may often err:
without my Facts, he’s not a prayer,
so should believe and be aware
that truth is mine and never dare
to think new thoughts (and so despair).”

              <Then FactoidMan revealed a frown>
              <in which a pompous smirk could drown:>
“Yes, ShallowMan’s a depthless clown
who must look up for seeing down;
he lives his life in Flatland Town,
his thinking cap’s a dunce’s crown.”

              <But ShallowMan took no offence>
              <though things were getting kind of tense>
              <(with some regrets for being dense)>
               <and answered in his own defense:>
                               “At times credulity replaces
                               rationality in cases
                               where belief in faith’s the basis
                               (filling holes with empty spaces)
                               voiding proofs that logic traces.”

“Does logic really play a role?
It’s certainly not the aim or goal!
Instead, to wheedle or cajole,
while using Facts which I control,
is somewhat simpler on the whole.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, it’s now so clear
                               the reason why we need you here,
                               protecting from the puppeteer
                               who pulls our strings to interfere
                               with Facts of yours we should revere,
                               and paves our path with morbid fear
                               our straight and narrow bent may veer
                               from certainty you hold so dear,
                               rejecting theories which cohere,
                                ensconced in science, so sincere;
                               and all be ****** should doubts appear.”

“ShallowMan, if you’ve conflictions
owing to your mind’s addictions
to subconscious maledictions,
due to doubt in old convictions;
tell me now of your afflictions.”

                               “FactoidMan, I must confess
                               I understand you more or less
                               though subtleties provoke distress,
                               and even more your fine finesse
                               inclines to make my mind compress.
                               Forgive me now my cheekiness
                               in asking you for some redress;
                               although you’ve certainly gained success
                               convincing others, nonetheless
                               my valuations retrogress
                               to untold depths of shallowness
                               the more your reasons (which impress
                               onlookers with your cleverness
                               at citing Facts, most referenceless)
                               dissolve like dragons in Loch Ness.”

              <Well FactoidMan must simply smile>
              <(and sometimes chuckles for a while)>
              <when ShallowMan acts infantile>
              <and won’t attempt to reconcile>
              <those Facts that rhyme like truth and guile.>

                               “I know that all you say’s legit
                               though oft your Facts sound counterfeit
                               and leave my dawning mind unlit
                               (just feeling like a retrofit).
                               But, on the whole, I must admit,
                               a mental fog’s a benefit;
                               when eyes are closed and hairs are split
                               expressions vague, I might submit
                               although the Facts don’t seem to fit!
                               Please help me once to cope with it.”

“Oh ShallowMan you’re so amusing
when my Facts you find confusing;
you’ve no profit when refusing
simple truths of my own choosing;
bathe in wisdom I’m suffusing
when awake or else while snoozing.”

                               “Oh FactoidMan, ’twould be a sin
                               to mourn for thoughts that might-have-been
                               if you had had more time to spin
                               some arguments to underpin
                               conclusions bringing much chagrin
                               to those who try to do yours in.
                               For yes, it seems your notion’s thin
                               (though acrid, sweetened up within
                               a grain of salt called saccharin).”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you must have known,
I’d find your mindset set-in-stone
when claiming notions underblown
(especially those I call my own)
ignoring all the Facts I’ve shown,
a lapse to which you’re plainly prone.”

                               “No, FactoidMan, I’m not disbanding
                               your contentions so outstanding
                               (even though they need expanding
                               for a thorough understanding);
                               with some polish or else sanding
                               (you know, somewhat less demanding)
                               they might make a model landing,
                               lack of catwalk notwithstanding.”

“To answer you I’ll write a ditty
getting to the nitty-gritty,
oh so lofty, oh so witty,
where the Facts shine, oh so pretty;
if you’re lost, then more’s the pity,
tell it to my subcommittee,
‘Miss Direction’s Detour City’.
Now it’s time to feed the kitty.”

              <Well FactoidMan’s concluding quip>
              <to give advice and hold his grip>
              <(by letting words of wisdom drip)>
              <displayed adroit one-upmanship:>
“Hubba hubba, ching ching ching,
now I’ve taught you everything
without a hook, without  a string;
you needn’t clutch, you needn’t cling,
just bow instead and kiss my ring.”
Terry O'Leary Jan 19
.             <Well, ShallowMan’s ne’er at a loss>
              <for voicing shallow thoughts that gloss.>
              <With trenchant wit he reaps the dross>
              <when seeking sense in applesauce.>

              <But to his aid flies FactoidMan>
              <who always has a Fact at hand;>
              <with him, who needs a whether-man>
              <to answer “if?” or “but?” or “and?”?>

“Oh ShallowMan, let me explain
the Facts of life to you, so plain,
yet flush with truthful thoughts arcane.
When understood, you won’t maintain
that callowness you think urbane.”

                              “Oh FactoidMan, give benedictions,
                              save me from all contradictions
                              with your knowledge, no restrictions
                              finding Facts, avoiding fictions.”

“Well, when in doubt, you always may
request my help to find your way
through shades of black and white and gray,
and from the Facts you’ll never stray.
Yes, ShallowMan, I’ll make your day.”

                              “Since yesteryear I’ve wondered why
                              I’m served a piece of humble pie
                              whene’er attempting to descry
                              just what’s a Fact, and what’s a lie,
                              and which be Facts one can’t deny.
                              With candor, can you edify
                              me with some recondite reply?”

“Well, as you know, my Facts are Facts
which naught nor nothing counteracts
and things that do, mere artifacts
in dim myopic cataracts.”

“A lie’s a thing which disagrees
with Facts I utter, if you please,
and hides the forest from the trees
ignoring all my verities.”

“And this reminds me of my youth,
with axioms defined as truth
which I selected as a sleuth
(abetted by a sweet vermouth);
I being now so long of tooth,
to contradict me’s hardly couth.”

                              “That certainly helps me clarify
                              whom I can trust: yeah, you’re the guy!  
                              Now, furthermore I’ve wondered why
                              the moon can’t fall and clouds can fly.  
                              What’s called that law those facts defy?
                              And mightn’t I just give a try
                              to make a guess to verify?”

“If you link your facts to law
(ah, please excuse a gruff guffaw)
you’ll certainly flaunt a flimsy flaw
that strains belief and breaks the straw
of what you’ve heard and thought you saw.
(I‘ll leave you with some bones to gnaw
that leave you holding me in awe
when once you’ve grasped and gasped ‘aha’).
So tell me now your ideas, raw,
but keep it short, your blah, blah, blah.”

                              “Umm, could it be just gravity
                              (well, something like a theory
                              that some call Relativity)
                              which pulls the apple from the tree
                              and puts a strain upon my knee;
                              or is that fact absurdity?”

“Ahem, a theory’s just a theory,
not a Fact, it’s all so eerie,
something which should make you leery
as explained until I’m weary.”

                              “If Relativity’s a theory,
                              and a theory’s not a Fact,
                              is it a fiction I can query
                              when I’m falling, ere I’m whacked?”

“Though theories might be based on Fact,
a theory is, in fact, not backed
by any cause, effect or act
which might be salvaged when attacked.
For you, this Fact may seem abstract,
plumb depths where shallow thoughts distract.”

“Yes, what goes up must soon come down
is quite a Fact of world renown.
But theory’s just a heathen gown
to deck the ***** King in town,
and when he falls, he breaks his crown
which leaves him wearing but a frown.”

“It surely should be obvious,
the property of Heaviness
(like Godliness and Heaven-ness)
defines the cosmic edifice,
refuting Newton’s flakiness
and Einstein’s spooky emphasis  
on space-time’s 4-D flimsiness.
Yes, Facts like these are copious
(I count them with my abacus);
to argue would be blasphemous
displaying mental barrenness
about the push and pulling stress
when bouncing ***** rebound, unless
one views elastic laziness
as evil Satan’s stubbornness.”

                              “Well now I think I understand,
                              that gravity seems somewhat grand,
                              but’s just, in fact, a rubber band
                              that stretches through our earth-bound-land
                              constricting us when we expand.”

“Yes, ShallowMan, you finally got it,
just as I’ve long preached and taught it.
I’m so happy that you’ve bought it.
(Not a question nor an audit -
you’re so shallow, who’d have thought it?)”

              <Once ShallowMan dipped into science>
              <seeking FactoidMan’s alliance>
              <gaining, hence, a strong reliance>
              <on the Facts and their appliance,>
              <justifying strong compliance,>
              <turning down those in defiance.>

                              “Hey, FactoidMan, another topic
                              leaves me reeling, gyroscopic,
                              dealing with the microscopic
                              in a world kaleidoscopic.”

                              “Within the realm of vacuum loops
                              Dark Energy in quantum soups
                              of anti-matter sometimes swoops
                              across inflation’s Big Bang stoops
                              where space-time ends and matter droops.
                              Do you believe, or just the dupes?

“It’s nothing but a passing phase,
(a theory that in fact betrays
obscure occult communiqués
that fevered fantasy conveys)
of those who thump creation days.
Just check! The vacuum state portrays
perfection in your shallow ways
reflected in that vacant gaze
you cast upon the dossiers
of all my Facts that so amaze.”

                              “And what about the quantum theory?
                              Particles not hard but smeary,
                              just like waves? It’s kinda eerie!
                              Facts could not be quite so bleary
                              leaving Bohr, well, sad and teary.
                              FactoidMan, just tell me, dearie,
                              what the Facts are, bright or dreary.”

                              “And then again what are those holes
                              (as black as ravens bathed in coals)
                              wherein the past and future strolls
                              exploiting fields that Higgs controls
                              beneath the shady shallow shoals
                              between magnetic monopoles.”

“The science lab’s a ‘fact’ory
concocting stuff that cannot be
(like unknown realms and notably
those tiny things NoMan can see
with ***** eye on bended knee
neath microscopic scrutiny)
and claim they’ve found reality;
they call their god a ‘Theo’ry
(a fig-ment of the Yum-Yum tree)
that leads them to hyperbole
about the singularity
that’s dipped in dazed duplicity
denying all eternity.”

“Here’s my advice that seems to work:
ignore the ones with ‘facts’ that lurk
behind their ‘proofs’ (which always irk),
and being challenged have the quirk
of stepping back within the murk
(indulged, I chuckle, smile or smirk).”

              <Now ShallowMan is quite content>
              <receiving FactoidMan’s consent>
              <to quibble and express dissent>
              <as long as keeping covenant>
              <with fingers crossed and belfry bent>
              <when viewing Facts in sealed cement:>

                               “The Facts you give me circumvent
                               those ‘truths’ your chuckles supplement;
                               although they might disorient
                               they can’t be wrong, I won’t dissent,
                               just using ones which you invent.“
“(No need of source in that event).”

                               “Your wise advice is simply sound
                               in cases where a game is bound
                               to parcel points out round by round
                               or else on verbal battleground
                              where know-it-alls are duly crowned.”

              <Though ShallowMan is kinda slow>
              <he still takes time to learn and throw>
              <his facts and theories to and fro,>
              <amazing facts which seem to show>
              <that theories sometimes come and go,>
              <returning strengthened with the glow>
              <of new found facts (for which to crow)>
              <that fill the gaps of long ago.>

                               “Oh FactoidMan, just tip your cap!
                               I’ve found a piece to fill the gap
                               that simplifies a mouse’s trap:
                               if triggerless, it still will clap
                               to give the mouse a mighty zap
                               that makes its tiny back bone snap.”

                               “With mousetrap type simplexity,
                               reducible complexity
                               helps arguments’ duplexity
                               with twists of crude convexity.”

“Ha-ha! That serves to prove my case:
for each gap filled, two in its place,
each growing at the doubled pace;
for unfilled gaps, I’m saying grace
(they help, indeed, for saving face)
Trying to get out of neutral....
don't know whether I'm in first or reverse...
Terry O'Leary Sep 2018
You failed to take your Drone Control Command Kit
as you hurried  off at dawn for work this early morn.

Unmindful, I mistook it for a fancy Xbox game contraption,
so commenced a match of Shock and Awe to while away the time
and with the joystick, hot and pulsing, quickly opened fire
at some evil  bad-guy villains lurking down below
(nearby, a bus with random kids
confused, in fear and hiding).

Left quite a bit of childish crimson carnage flowing
on congested streets inside a city storming
somewhere…
thank goodness, very far away from here.

Please forgive me, for I think it was
your very last remaining
smart-precision missile…
yes, that pretty one you’d kept so long,
and meant to use some day to sanctify
a humble wedding-day reception…
but as you know I've always had a hang
for children's senseless macho playthings.
Terry O'Leary Mar 2017
While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught,
from branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought,
your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots,
with dangling pearls and diamond studs in dripping crimson clots,
midst gaping wounds and bulging eyes like fouling apricots,
for wrapped like rope around your throat’s the Reaper’s grim garrote.
"It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." (Matthew 19:24)
Terry O'Leary Mar 2017
A leprechaun looking for gold
'neath the shimmering shamrocks of olde
      (with the luck of a Gael)
      found ten bottles of ale
somewhat green as if covered with mould.

;-))
Terry O'Leary Mar 2017
That crude-spoken Sovereign commands a big stick,
runs the world into ruins, once our bailiwick.
Questioned why, He grins grimly, pale lips slightly pursed:
"Vindication? Straightforward: It's Me and Me First".

(To mesmerise people He’s conjured His spells
with the pride and the power that Lucifer sells –
using tricks of the trade, evil voodoos well-versed
well engendered His mojo: "It's Me and Me First").

His friends (not His foes) form the skeletal men
along trails of dead ends (for they're armed once again)
and they're counting the bones of the bodies dispersed
by His bombastic lyrics: "It's Me and Me First".

The crater walls crumble, the dust drapes and smothers,
as drummers drown screams in the dreams of the others –
while beating and throbbing, like red veins aburst,
bleating echoes redouble: "It's Me and Me First".

A warrior departed to fight for His flag
and returned as a body brought back in a bag;
alas, such are the stories of soldiers coerced
by the Devil's damnation: "It's Me and Me First".

Beneath His thick thumb, the deprived do and die,
when subjected to whims, promised pie in the sky –
yes, His heavy hand rules, and the weaklings be cursed
for accepting His sermon: "It's Me and Me First".

He's minding our business by forging fake fears
and He'll serve and protect as the bogeyman nears
by ensuring our phantoms and fantasies nursed,
smirking: "why should you worry, It's Me and Me First".

The media moguls flash news so fantastic –
their hearsay on Honcho's forever elastic
with doctrine and hogwash and hype interspersed
'twixt the dictums of **** and of "Me and Me First".

The masses partake in His royal cavalcades
giving chase to the hearses in midnight parades
through the catacomb caves where we're falling headfirst
down the bottomless pit of "It's Me and Me First".

The children in ghettos, like ***** mutineers,
vainly venture to flee before youth disappears
but their ship's on an ocean that can't be traversed
for their sails line the abyss of "Me and Me First".

While His Highness drives oxen, He's sipping champagne
thinking "each shares a trough so that none need complain",
but the water hole's drying, we're dying of thirst,
so says "sorry you guys but It's Me and Me First".

A drifter once hinted behind weary tears
"overall the world's dying or so it appears";
He replied with a flash and a sudden outburst:
"yes, but who really cares when It’s Me and Me First"?

In Great Again moments we get the DT's
from His paranoid penchants, quite like a disease,
one which spots us, then rots us, then worse comes to worst
when He utters "just Trust Me: It's Me and Me First".

When profits are plunging (approaching the pits)
He won't give up the ghost or start calling it quits,
instead purges our pockets; again reimbursed,
says (re-groping His kitty): "It's Me and Me First".

The King condescends to a sharing charade
by dispensing desserts at the penny arcade –    
yet while crawling for crumpets, the crowds are dispersed
being slogged by the slogan: "It's Me and Me First".

When faced with the facts, He's the Greatest denier
that global abuse means all life may expire –
He scoffs at the thought that it can't be reversed,
says "it's not about you, no: It's Me and Me First".

With profits performing, He smiles, misinforming  
- of weather that's warming (whilst whirlwinds twist, storming),
- of jungles conforming to nature deforming,
- of bees no more swarming, thawed glaciers transforming
bold mountains to molehills on sand bars submersed –
can the earth persevere when: "It's Me and Me First"?

                        EPILOG
If you're feeling unsettled, there's no need to fret
for it's all a delusion, and lest we forget
He repeats His old mojo (a line well-rehearsed):
"just like almighty Yahweh: It's Me and Me First".

                      EPITAPH
The remains of the deserts and wasteland lie here
where the vacuum implodes and the silence is sere
when retelling the tales of the sagas immersed
in the mythos and legends of "Me and Me First".

The stone statuettes (swapping vain epithets)
consigned rational threats (those that wisdom begets)
to their nothingness nets spread in dank oubliettes,
losing aberrant bets with no real regrets
(scorning pale silhouettes that the conscience besets).

Nonetheless, when the cosmos and chaos conversed
they but hee-hawed the hubris of "Me and Me First”.
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