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multi sumus Apr 14
Wraithed in aggrieved ambivalence [.‎]

                       Sublimating We these...Cognitive denizens

(hnf)   As if by suasion alone one could convoke and vanquish such a decadent bedlam [.]

...Come now
            Shall We reminisce of Our, Gathering [؟‎]

Cowered at the gates

Disheveled...lorn [.]

Was it not you who beckoned [؟‎]
Imploring ministration [؟‎]

Ataraxia proffered, And through affliction you concurred [.]

As for such a time

   Accoutred, By this...
   Festering reservatory [.]

                      Did. We. Not. Console !?

                  ­            PROSELYTE!

your depuration inane...For We are...(hnf)

               Stigmata unto thy pneuma [!]

Terry O'Leary Jan 2014
as the PROPHETS of profits, WE lead and WE’re fair
while WE’re living the life of the poor BILLIONAIRE
– silver yachts, pearly castles, cash (plenty to spare) –
with the world on OUR backs... ah! the burdens WE bear!

being HAVES (not the have-nots) as nature decrees
means WE’re certainly the better (they’re vermin on ******).
if they pray for a lift in their dark fantasies,
WE just kick ’em downstairs, get ’em off of their knees.

yes, WE offer great jobs (much too busy OURSELVES!)
for maintaining the toilets, restacking the shelves,
and WE teach ’em to fear god and play with the elves,
thus dispelling ideas where the dark demon delves.

though they build mighty bridges, twin towers and more,
peddle pizzas and popcorn, sell guns door-to-door,
still they gotta have BOSSES to tell ’em the score
else WE’d never be needed, WE’d thrive nevermore.

when OUR profits are plunging, they do their part too
for they dine on the dole! yes, no hullabaloo!
soon OUR fortunes  redouble, rebound and accrue –
since WE fare well without ’em, WE bid ’em adieu.

’stead of wishing for welfare and standing in queues
or parading with pickets (look! holes in their shoes!),
they’d be better off scabbing to save union dues.
while WE whistle and warble, they’re singing the blues.

whether heroes or hoboes, like spiders and lice
they just crawl all around us in life’s paradise,
but WE’re patient, big hearted and oft sacrifice,
spewing charity, kindness (though each has its price).

if they’re beaten or punctured or suffer assault,
are unhealthy or crippled or walk with a halt,
or ******* or helpless, it’s all their own fault –
just like US they should worship the DOLLAR exalt’!

protesters and loud mouths, you’ll find ’em aplenty
some older, some younger, the worst not yet twenty.
they’re shameless and brazen (unwashed, soiled and scenty)
impugning the prestige of brave COGNOSCENTI.

if they’ve got clashing colors (or shades in between)
or opposing beliefs in the hidden unseen,
well, WE’ll always exploit it, deflecting their spleen,
for with god on each side, would WE dare intervene?

WE maintain many methods to keep ’em in chains –
daily rags and the tube spin OUR circus campaigns:
“to pretend you’ve a voice”, an announcement explains,
“you can vote and decide on which ONE of US reigns”.

OUR policemen protect US, they stay on the ball
(they arrest ’em, no questions per law’s protocol,
and then jam ’em in jail with their backs to the wall) –
if you’ve lucre for lawyers there’s justice for all.

down the ROYAL road of justice WE march all alone
– WE condemn their defiance, set ways to atone –
since WE’re sinless, unsullied, WE cast the first stone
(while WE cloak REGAL fetor with eau de cologne).

politicians, bald bankers, grand idols galore,
attend meetings, fete banquets in which they explore
how to rid US of rodents (the weak and the poor) –
well, just round up the riff-raff, dispatch ’em to war!

ah! OUR wars are, well, just...... just a thing of the past
........... and the present............... and future... WE sure make them last!
if they frown as they gaze (Armageddon!) aghast,
then WE smile back with pleasure, OUR treasures amassed.

useless ranting and raving (in rags, when they’re clad),
leads to losing their teeth (my! their gums are... egad!).
WE’re unselfish, indulgent, WE’d never be mad
if they drowned in the sounds of themselves feeling sad.

as the paupers are princes in midnight’s domain,
they have pipe dreams to lose, certainly nothing to gain
if they’re hoping OUR fortunes will wither and wane –
for “WE’re here by god’s will” as WE often explain.

yes, they wish to be US, with OUR wisdom and grace,
keeping up with ol’ CROESUS, maintaining the pace.  
but perverseness or rancor? they’ll see not a trace –
for WE hold ’em at bay with a fist in the face.

WE’re la CRÈME de la CRÈME, yes! the proud UPPER CRUST,
and OUR clothes are the finest, OUR hair never mussed –
WE imbue ’em with piety, duty and trust
and they’re fed bread and water (if feed ’em WE must).

but they’re thieving, aggrieved, want a piece of OUR PIE
and request WE endure ’em, see EYE to black eye.
since they live in OUR land where OUR strict rules apply,
they must feast on the crumbs that We cast to the sty.

though OUR largesse and bounty WE don’t mean to flaunt,
yet the pittance WE pay ’em they surely can vaunt –
salty peanuts and pretzels (what more could they want?)
thereby keeping their kiddies so healthily gaunt.

yes, there’s room for the rabble (the back of the bus)
’cause WE treat ’em like equals, so what’s all the fuss?
all can rise to the top (yes! it’s always been thus),
to the suites in OUR penthouse (to sweep up and dust).

while OUR CHILDREN have tutors, the finest of schools
(being bred for the forefront, THEY’re nobody’s fools),
their own school of hard knocks teaches: “follow the rules”,
building brawn ’stead of brains and broad backs strong as mules’.

and to keep ’em in line (to ensure WE prevail)
WE now monitor phone calls and read all their mail
(civil rights? what a notion! at best a detail!)
and if worse comes to worst...... well...... guantanamo jail!

WE’ve OUR quandaries and questions and headaches full blown
(like deciding design and decor of OUR throne...
whether diamonds or rubies... to gemstones WE’re prone) .
when WE deign to appease ’em, WE chuck ’em a bone.

now you know all OUR problems, OUR pains and travails
– like preparing foreclosures, evictions  and sales –
but WE’ve no need for worries or gnawed fingernails,
’cause WE’re sailing OUR yachts through tempestuous gales
(with them bailing OUR banks when OUR stock market fails)
sipping daiquiri sours, champagnes, ginger ales.
Dave Gledhill Aug 2018
The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.

Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -  
between the rocks that form his cage.

His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.

Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…

Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,  
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.

Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.  
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep

“Is this victory, or defeat?”

Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.

Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -  
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.  
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.

Yenson Jun 23
Unstable rabble
ill in mind, body and soul
unfulfilled and desperately unhappy
fearful always, insecure, lacking and inadequate
skeletons in cupboards, shaming secrets hidden aplenty
false, fake, white-washed and all semblance soulless nonentities
vacuous sad pathetic weak and academically challenged majority
ignorant belligerent bellicose cowards, drunkards n mob shysters

rise, rise. rise
jump, jump. jump
do the twist n put the boot in

stand up and bellow
you can't loose your chains
your self loathing is too great
your shame and pains hurt all the time
you are reminded of your insignificance always
your helplessness and your weaknesses shames you
you always have to fake it, scrape, beg, borrow and steal
the aggrieved spectators as talents, wealth and the ritzy drive past

rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the locomotion and spread the ****

scream and shout
hurl slander and lies
fight like cowards and bully
get badass and wicked and mean
get ****** angry and get ****** even
leave your bacon butties and fry the greedy pigs
forget your chips and come chip the brains of the tyrants hogs
put down those pints and lets keep this momentum of hate alive so

rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the stoning and lets move like Jagger
SATIRE: For the many, not the few, If you dare LAUGH at any single word or prose in the inspirational poem you are a Class-traitor and you would be reported to the Stasi Apparatchiks who will make your life a living hell and you will wish you are dead, it goes without saying that you will also never **** again in your life for the Stasis will make sure that you will never have a partner ever again. You have been warned, this is a serious matter and solidarity is our salvation. Now, go do your duty and find a rich person to burgle, taunt, torment, harass and hate with all your cowardly energy, you loonies, pinkos, sados, weirdos, stinkos commies. Remember, a single smile from you and its hell for you all, go ask that Purple rain **** about it.
Ylzm May 19
So blind, the blind despairs.
So wicked, ***** grieves.

So indistinguishable from evil,
their judgement of evil, truly just.
So indistinguishable from their ruthless enemy,
the utter destruction decreed shall befall both suddenly.

The aggrieved weeps.
The wicked hardens.
Wickedness upon wickedness.
Endurance beyond Lot's,
given, the righteous' lot.
SJG Nov 18

Oh, a mystic dive into the night wreck,
Long lowering into the sea at night,
With the ghost of old Europe rifling by.

And the monster at the bottom of the ocean
Is already defeated. Don’t worry, child.
Just count forty-thousand sheep and go to sleep
Under the protection of the all-night light.

Don’t let your bad self sidle by.
Learn to love that guy.

And don’t feel depressed unless you feel depressed;
Sometimes the mornings are the worst first thing
But there’s always the worst second thing
Or the worst third thing around the bend, friend.

The terrorists of theory are standing by high windows.
The palaces excommunicating weirdos,
Their loose tongues waggling gospel fire.

And, man, keep stepping on toes.
You’re an ambulance waiting to happen.
You’re so ******* fine.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’ve gotten so far.
Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’ve gotten so far.

Trapped in a body that doesn’t matter.
Junk shop clothes will still be with you
When you decide to get fatter.
Your frozen pizza will thaw.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’ve gotten so far.
Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’re getting so far.

Bureaucrats of the revolution and poor technicians of desire,
The fascist in me is deader than ever, a hearth without fire;
And whatever’s left, a lit candle melting into a pool of hot wax
Under a furious sun.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’re getting so far.
Don’t let me down. Come back around.
You’re getting so far.

Escape the tyranny of morons,
With their cheap seated beliefs,
Their dog whistling and dead eyed truck rallies.
Their provocations veiling their mothers’ scorn.

Just learn that nothing here matters.
Winning or losing does not matter.
Don’t be swayed into that violent mob.
Don’t take the bait of despots in flux.

Don’t let me down. Don’t let me down.
You’re going so far.
Don’t let me down. Come back around.
You’re going so far.


Marx and Beckett held my head,
And placed nice clean sheets on my nice dry bed.
And they read me a story, but I fell asleep;
Oh, my baby doll darling,
Oh, the things you won’t keep.


A crack. The smashing of skulls on silver platters.
The sons and daughters of hungry ghosts in the half-light
All roughed around and battered.
Big ideas rain upon a helpless little fawn.

Don’t cry, because Argentina’s on camera.
She’s lovely and you’re flattered.
She’s lovely for all time.

Plastic shovels degrade on a rocky shore.
Are those phantoms upset that they must walk
These silent coastlines forevermore?
Did extinction come because we were evil,
Or did it come because we could not believe
In good or evil anymore?
Where will poetry stand in the fire, the front or back?
Should poetry be retrieved by inhuman hands?

I love my family.
I love my friends.
I love the people who told me,
It doesn’t matter where you stand in the end.
And if I could, I would make a living
From celebrating them.
And if I could, I would take this blow-up pulpit to sea,
Then sail it to Sacavém.

The image of reality projected everywhere
At the expense of reality itself.
Casios mass-produced in factories; songwriters as well.
And if you’re unfortunate enough to love me, baby,
Then poke one or two more holes in your belt;
Because I’m as good as words.


Angeles, yours to keep,
Mountain high, river deep.
Try holding on to nothing,
But nothing slips.
Oh, Angeles, more than this?


I draw a chalk circle around me.
I think of a number.
I see your face in the flames.
I give that number to your heart.

When that ghost flies into the room,
We’ll have some words.
We’ll talk until our positions oppose
Our original sides.

We’ll talk about going back in time
And living again as a boy.
We’ll talk about becoming so mean.
We’ll wonder if our beds have been made,
And how we’re both more or less already dead.

Already dead. It’s buckets of fun.
Already dead. It’s the grasping of something
That can not be stowed.
Already dead. The falling of the moon
And the disintegration of the sun,
And of course, the neutral snow.
Already dead. Already dead.


So, tank up. Get right.
That shining colossus in the sky
Has faded from sight.
And what’s art – your concerns?
Whatever ails or aids you,
Use it tonight.

Sheep’s liver. Beef tongue.
The gall bladder of a particularly aggrieved foal
Flops out into an otherwise deserted field.
And what’s us? Who’s they?
Don’t relate because they relate to it,
Or pretend to, or whatever they say;
Don’t jive around the issue in fear of shame;
You love some of music and you love some of life.

They said they had the inside lane over me,
I’d like to see them try.
They, like I, are caught in the status machine,
And nothing’s worthwhile until its monetised.

If you want to be oblique, be oblique.
Be cryptic, distant, formalist, and insane.
Your heart is a yolk? That’s cool,
My heart’s a yolk as well and framing it that way
Makes me feel swell.

They presented the wrong hypothesis over me;
I couldn’t write.
They, like I, buy and sell ideas until the ideas
Bend to the realm of most money;
Ain’t that nice?


Try to make ends meet. Every star is dying.
And the word on the street is a whole lot of crying.

Sample the fauna
With norma-sub-a-culture.
New ways of living are gross;
But the way things were ain’t exactly great.
Licking dinner plates.
Tickling the ivories until our fingers lock shutter shut.

Looking into your eyes was like a present
A birthday present from a ghost.

An idle fancy
Of a beautiful twisted fantasy.
A gun in the mouth.
A toothpick in the back pocket
Of a diabetic pig.

Love lights shine from heaven;
Seven operators (seven!)
Going wherever the Svengali goes.
Oh. Oh. (Oh.)


Made a killing in the post taste years,
My fears were their fears,
My qualms were their qualms
And we would quash them collectively
While I received money.

Now, my observations are the wall.
My ideas are what the latest ****** keep kicking against.

But once I was beautiful.
Once I was right.


And the garden will speak its last rites
And I almost won’t cry.

And the sadness will be like compost
With roses growing so bright.

And the gate will be fixed
With a fresh lick of paint alright.

And on each other we shall depend.


Stuck watching the same fifteen minutes of Ice Station Zebra,
Waiting for the future, waiting for the future to call around again.
A temporal nostalgia, a frozen dream,
Every image could be our new best friend.

And I lie awake in Ice Station Zebra.
And I lie awake in Ice Station Zebra.


Hey, green eyes. Hey, dark blonde hair.
You can lie as long as you mean it, I guess.
You can walk yourself down the aisle,
And you’re better marrying yourself alone.
Start dreaming again. Start dreaming of the sea.
Start dreaming of a head free of loose fuzz
And faceless waste.
Start working because you’re getting old.
Start floating fascinated by hummingbirds.

I wanted to see you because I wanted to see,
I wanted to see you because I wanted to see,
I wanted to see you because I wanted to see you alone.


Say what it is.
Say the fragments as they go.
Up the tube to the watching room you never see,
But it’s another somewhere at least.

And while hell is winning,
The autodidacts have no place to begin;
Their frames of reference shaking in the wind.

And while hell is winning,
The future and the past are two open empty doors;
The ghosts of your life blow wilder than before.

Drawing an incantation across the boiler room walls.
The echo of activity upstairs,
Does not interest me anymore.

And while hell is winning,
We mannequins look blankly to our feet;
Amongst the carnage of the abattoir floor,
The ghosts of our lives whirring louder than before.

And while hell is winning,
Capital is all that stands, and all our states care to defend;
The ghosts of our lives speaking loudest in the end.


I heard the Parisian intellectual wing
Are holed up in their lamp-lit rooms
With no way out,
Just writing screeds against the structural failings of reality.
And sometimes, some nights,
They catch their reflections beneath their mirror lights,
And they don’t, they don’t see themselves quite right.

Adopting a higher law can be fatal,
Especially in the throes of a manic episode.
A fear of music may be well-founded,
Particularly in drawn out gentrified scenes
Where they’ve up-hiked the entrance fees for dreams.
Dreams. Dreams from racketeering ceremonies.

They’re kissing up the neck of the wreck with too much feeling and poor working memory.
They want him crossed beneath the legs and nailed to the waves, my baby.
They’re thinking it might be fruitful, at least cheap,
To grind us down until we’re enough to keep
With the dreams of ******* ceremonies.

Death by longing loves
With not a positive alternative to hold you back.
Just crack your whip against the pavement
Like you’re in the midst of an August heatwave.
Language of bad descending dreams.
Word sudokus for the kings and queens
To glance over stark intentions and starker mistakes.

I heard the medical world could: Knock. You. Out.
So take whatever’s left in your purse and spend it on Saturdays.
Adorned by candle light, hope those lost coastlines
Will see us right. I love you. I love you.
I love you like a tundra waiting for acid rain.


How’ve you been holding, my baby?
Haven’t seen you much here lately.
The news all the time tells me lies upon lies.
And it’s not like I believe,
It’s more that I don’t care how or why
People far away congregate to do everything aside from what’s right.

And suffering? Where should it all go?
Industrialists drown the world in exchange for gold.
Oh, so you already know, huh?
It doesn’t matter when, and it doesn’t matter if we stay friends,
Because I love this place like a house party
Where the hosts struggle to have fun
Because I’m one of those guests that nobody really knows
And stays way too long.

The hosts all the time tell me lies upon lies,
But my taste in music is better,
And I’ve read more into the literature
Than a cursory glance through the introduction
Or a retweet of a paragraph stolen from context
To impress a girl living three seas away.
The hosts all the time tell me lies upon lies,
But I love this place because I’m still its baby,
It hasn’t been so sweet on me lately;
Its hosts all the time tell me lies upon lies,
But I know what is wrong and I know what is right.
And I love this place like only a failure can,
I love the quiet before everything bad which happened happens again,
And it’s back to breathing uneasily in the dark
For another couple hundred years, Sam.

The future’s pulling into the station, Bambi.
Promise never to leave without me?


Gauge the temperature, Bambi;
What did you have in mind when they were reading
Your last rites from previous scenes?
There is a community our algorithm recommended
If you’re tired of keeping it all in.

You thought art would break the shackles of youth,
Not another something telling you what to do.
Artless writer who never learned to sing, oh-oh.
You’re not a monster. The public can sing along.

Where’s your side-eye, Bambi?
Did it turn its gaze back on you?
You could be working for 26 hours a day in the ideology mines
If any of this mattered to you.
You’re not a monster. The public can sing along with you.
You’re not a rock star.
You’re the gravedigger, exhumer, recently fired hip priest, oh-oh.

I heard back from Yale, and the sleeping demon has bones,
The sleeping demon is not pleased with you.
The seven-headed beast is dead-drunk,
And the ***** of Babylon is wondering where in hell you’ve exactly gone.

You thought art would break the shackles of youth,
Going by what the Ferris wheel told you.

You ain’t a lifestyle. You ain’t here to be placed in a scene.
Beneath better work is something like this.

You are expectations too stupid to ever stand.
I understand!
You are expectations too stupid to ever stand.
I understand! Oh-oh-Oh.


I thought the future would be
Standing in queues for the groceries
On the peaceful side of town.


I opened a black hole into my room,
Ephemera came pouring out too soon.
I don’t know what is wrong or right
But still, I try.

Eagle feathers around my head.
Two rebellious springs sharpen my bed.
I don’t know how to get through this alive
But I still try.

The fear of the love, the fear of the light.
The fear of the love, the fear of the light.
Big Virge May 23
It's HARD To Stay ... " Cool " ..  
When Police ... Act The FOOL ... !!!  

They're USING ... " The Bomb " ...  
To ... Make You BELIEVE ...  
That ... WE ... DON'T Belong ...
So ...  
Let Me Explain ...  
Why This Will Bring PAIN ...  
To ... " Asians and Blacks " ...  
Again and AGAIN ... !!!!  
It Was ... Saturday ...  
A Nice ... SUNNY Day ... !!!  
I'm ... Driving My Car ...  
But Stopped For ...  " Rizzla' " ...  
As I Get Out ...  
I See The POLICE ...  
I ... LOOK AT THEM ...  
Cos' They're ... WATCHING ME ... !!!  
Two ... UNIFORMED  Women ...  
With A PIG STENCH ... !!!!!  
EXACTLY The Type ...  
That ... Make Some Fists CLENCH ... !!!!!  
But ....  
Let Me Move On  ....  
I ... Walk Out The Shop ...  
Get Back In My Car ...  
But .....
My Car Has Been .... MARKED .... !!!!!  
My Friend ...
Who Was With Me  

Said  ...  
"V you've been clocked ...  
The guy on the corner  
said, Watch For Those Cops !"  
He Saw Them ... " Converse " ...  
and YES ... Something WORSE ... !!!
They've ...
Turned The Car ROUND ...  
They'll Be Back Round The Block ... !!!  
You'll ...
NEVER Guess What ... !?!  
But ...
When I Pulled Off ...  
The Cops Were ... " IN TOW " ...  
My ...
Friend And I Sat There ...  
And Said ... " HERE WE GO !!! " ...  
I Turned Down MY ROAD ... !!!  
Which ... Knocked Them ...  
.............................................                    ­                

                                      OFF Track ... ?!?  
I ...
Pulled The Car Over ...  
To See Them ...
... TURN BACK ... !!!
And That's When I Knew ...  
That These ... " Dumb Girls in Blue " ...  
Were ......
Coming To QUIZ Me ...  

And ...    
Dish Out ABUSE ... !!!  
I Drove To ... MY HOUSE ... !!!  
and Parked RIGHT OUTSIDE ... !!!  
Then Me and My Man ...  
Jumped Out Of My Ride ...  
Then Slowly .................................................................­.. They Came ......  
To Play The ... " Old Game " ... !?!  
"Your car is a rental ?"  
"In Fact, it's a lease !"  
This is where I ...
Started Getting AGGRIEVED ... !!!!!  
"I must be too black  
to drive a Mercedes !"  
"It's a random check sir,  
calm down will you please !"  
"Not when you've stopped me  
down My ******* Street !  
I've lived here for years.
You've got a **** cheek !  
We had been advised,  
when we parked down the street,  
that, you had decided  
to try it with me,  
well now that you have,  
of course i'm angry !"  
It Simply ... Has Taken ...  
ONE ... Muslim Jamaican ...  
To Get The ... " Old Bill " ...  
To Put Blacks THROUGH THE MILL ... !?!  
If This Was A Movie ... ???  
Try THIS For A Title ...  
" VIRGE KILLED The Old Bill " ...  
Now ... Killing AIN'T Right ... !!!  
But ... Why Should I Chill ...
When They Treat Us Like THIS ... !?!    
Man ...
I've Had MY FILL ... !!!!!  
Two Minutes of Silence ...  
Has NOT Given Guidance ...  
To People Who Say ....  
" Let's STOP All This Violence !!! "  
There's Science BEHIND ...  
These Acts of ... DEFIANCE ...    
Behind ....  
" Certain Doors " ...  
They Plan ...  
CONTROL of ... "The Ethnics" ... !!!!!  
Their Plans ARE UPSETTING ... !!!!!  
cos' Stories They're Telling ...  
Are TRULY ... PATHETIC ... !!!  
But Let Me Get Back ...  
To These Two ... Female FOOLS ... !!!  
Who Think They're  ALL THAT ... !!!  
Cos' They're Now ... " Girls in Blue " ...  
I Have A ... " Disabled Bay "  
Outside of ... My House ...  
So ... Hear What They Did ...  
To Prove They Had ... CLOUT ... !!!  
"You're parked in a bay,  
with no badge on display !"
"My mum was disabled !  
She's Dead Now Okay !"  
She Issued ... " A Ticket " ...  
As We .................................................. Walked Away ......................  
I Said ...  
"Issue The Council !l  
It's them who should pay !  
They know my mum's dead,  
but they've still left the bay !"  
She Said ....  
Nothing Further ...  
What More Could She Say ?  
My Friend Said To Me ...  
"Pig two asked his name !"  
I Said ....  
"She's a Pig !  
A Pig Has NO SHAME !"  
The Point of This Prose ...  
Is Simply ... To SHOW ...  
" The Plan " ...  
Is In Motion ... !!!  
They've Put Out ... " The Notion " ...  
That Blacks Make ... BOMB POTIONS ... !!!!!  
We're ...

"under it" ... now ... !!!  
From ...
Driving On Streets ...  
To ... London's Underground ...  
WE ARE Now ...  
... " The Ones " ...  
They're ...
Going To HOUND ... !!!  
EVEN If We ...  
ARE Making Them ... POUNDS  ... ?!!!?  
I'm SICK of ................................... THE STENCH ............. !!!!!!!  
I Sense .... " Something SMELLY " ....  
It's CLEARLY ... The Pigs ...  
and ... What's On YOUR TELLY ... !!!!!!!
This Story Just PROVES ....  
That  .......  
" They're At It Already ! " .....
I still have the ticket the policewoman wrote, to this day, and never received any notice to pay, nuff said.

However, different times as they were back in 2K5, as the times move on, the plan of division of people, is moving along, so it feels like the same ish', just a different pong, sadly ....

Can't we all just ... Get Along ... ???
(I say sarcastically !!!)

— The End —