"allocated" poems
Father could reprogram all six billion of us
if He felt the need, anytime
In fact that's exactly what He did
at Babel when our dodgy one-accord
threatened to bring the end nearer
than the six millenniums of earthtime
He'd allocated for us to seek His truth
He even re-wired Balak for a minute
to hear his donkey speak
and think of the Assyrians that fled
when He caused four lepers to sound
like a mighty mercenary army
coming to rescue Jerusalem
YHWH is omnipotent, like it not
The reason He's not 'interfering' right now
is simply because His plan is dead on time
He intends to blow the chaff from His wheat
The true wheat, His remnant that stays faithful
(through Revelations and the mark)
will form a new constitution when Yeshua returns
for a thousand years of peace on earth
You may think "Oh I'll wait and see
if it's true, like, if the two witnesses
really die and then rise again in three days"
Problem with that approach is simple
You could be brainwashed before then
The neurophone is widely used today
Think of 911, why Bush isn't impeached
and read surveillanceissues.com
Those of us who really care
will continue to bug you and **** your spirit
Hopefully you'll make the right choice
and refuse the mark of the beast
Consider these things while there's time
'After me the storm' won't cut it
There are less than three short years to go
* Gen 6:3 And Jehovah said, My spirit shall not always strive with man, in his erring; he is flesh. Yet his days shall be a hundred and twenty years.
The 120 years referred to here in fact represent 120 jubilees, or 6000 years (2000 from Adam to the flood, 2000 from the flood to Yeshua and 2000 from Yeshua till 2017)
Jun 3, 2010
Jun 3, 2010 at 2:37 AM UTC
There is a young lady called Anna. She is a loner. She lives alone with her two cats. They are her world. I am a cat lover myself and have 2 little cuties in my nest. But these cats are just plain feral. They terrorise the other cats in the neighbourhood and **** in all the neighbours’ garden.
She works Monday to Friday for a recruitment company. She leaves her flat in a purple Mazda convertible which is renowned for being a Hairdresser’s (AKA dumb **** car. Every day she leaves at 7.30am on the dot and every day she arrives home at 7.15pm on the dot.
Once at home she turns on her TV cinema system (sub), just to watch the TV.
*****
At the weekend she also leaves her stinking putrid ******* bags out in the communal hallway.
*****
She ignores her neighbour’s knocking on her door. She ignores the notes that they put through her letterbox.
*****
So as Anna was not willing to speak to her neighbours directly. They had no other way to turn apart from to report her to Environmental Health for playing her TV cinema system (sub) too loudly and also for the disgusting ******* that she regularly leaves out in the communal hallway.
*****
In which she returns the compliment by reporting them (said neighbours) to the Environmental Health for:
1) Shouting at each other,
2) Talking too loudly,
3) Banging kitchen utensils on the floor when she is in her kitchen
How deluded is this *****
At the same time that her neighbours reported Anna to the Environmental Health they also spoke to the Community Support Officer. They advised them to contact the Mediators in their local area. Which of course they did. The Mediators arranged to visit one evening. Unbeknownst to them they parked in Anna’s allocated parking space. Once they had finished with her neighbours, the Mediators returned to their car. Just as they were about to reverse their car, Anna arrived home in her Mazda convertible and blocked them in.
*****
When she got out of the Mazda convertible, with attitude I might add, she asked the Mediators who they were. They then introduced themselves. Once she knew who they were, she invited them into her flat to hear her side on the story.
YES I AM HER ******* NEIGHBOUR AND YES I AM STILL WAITING TO HEAR BACK FROM THE MEDIATORS……
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 11:21 PM UTC
before existentialism, and nietzsche in mind, philosophy was written
or spoken of accepting the socratic rigidity of words,
the rigidity of words known through
the socratic method of inquiry:
the simplest of questions imposed on
the meaning of words; e.g. what is virtue?
but with existentialism this old method
of inquiry, the poised posing bewilderment
lost its quality, in that the new method of
inquiry was given to stress not a method
of questioning but that of ambiguity,
even though this new method that simply
said the reverse of what is virtue as
the preservation of a narrative: "virtue" concedes
many variations exampled true, e.g. -
this dittoing going against - previously said /
as above - became staged against
a brick wall - since this method, the existential
method of brushing aside inquiry and entering
the realm of ambiguity was already present -
the pluralism of meaning found in certain words;
it isn't a question whether red or blue can
be ambiguous, this allocation of noun
and quality is all too pervasive - so when
an ambiguity is allowed to exercise its stressor
posit - the word in question is allocated
a verb orientation in its exercise of use and example,
further diluted by the quantity and lack of example,
and ascribed contorting
adjectivity due to the dilution of meaning: with lessened
recognition of sought out qualification to sentence
an enzymic perfection of: banker and philanthropist,
priest and maximilian kolbe, poetry and lack of envy.
even though these examples are idealistic,
they provide the obvious ambiguity already apparent,
hence the double ambiguity of opposites, ideal opposites.
in shorthand - if socrates were to come
upon reading existentialism - his questions
regarding the virtues would be bound to free floating
terms in the ditto bubbles of flimsiness of non-inquiry -
bewildered by the number of prompts to question,
there would be no necessary ambiguity to many other
terms of inactivity - such as the previously mentioned
red and blue, dog and glue, but too many, it would seem,
should a strict belief in categorising virtue as a noun
but not a verb be kept - for categorisation of such nature
only provides a linear cascade without due action
or cared for imitation - ending with the only chance of virtue
chanced and seen as an unvirtuous person
doing crossword puzzles in silence - and already
virtue's opposite is engaged in defending itself
and justifying its ills by first forcing many synonyms to
cover it in ambiguity, and asserting itself as an adjective
within a noun framework blunt: virtue v. unvirtuous
will only confiscate siamese phonetic mingling to ease the definition;
i guess that's how rhyming was born, the opposite
of alphabetical ordering: a, aardvark the violet's blue
****** a doughnut with you.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
Her clavicle found me weak
Surrendered aside my confidence
Melting into each curve
Found under the sheets
We fell hard into tomorrow
Missing pieces of ourselves
Writing history in the dark
Telling stories about god
And freedom
Two things being discovered
In the gold rush of sleep in our eyes
Fixated upon allocated perfection
Her body spoke to mine
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 10:32 AM UTC
Violence in our hearts
Ignorant vice of our plans
Praising
What we read
What we see
What we hear
Acquiring knowledge we seek
Enriching others' minds
You can't always enlist
Minds are being allocated
Oppressive struggle nurtures servitude
What is your brain being allocated for?
What kind of freedom are you looking for?
Can't be one of us
If you're another capitalist appropriation
Poster child, a temporary venture
Falling in line to become another
Worker or bourgeois hypocrite slave
Isn't that why you study for?
What kind of life are you looking for?
There's no saving your soul
When your freedom depends
On chains of other men's hopes
Fighting to keep yourself, your family
Future generations being born out of you
Out of the venom of oppression and pain
Living life without concern or consciousness
Just the same as living in a prison cell
America, how many inmates do you host?
Security, don't you want a guarantee?
Your family may now have peace
But when you're no longer here, there's no guarantee
Can't be one of us
If you don't join in the struggles of our brethren
Because our security is not guaranteed until they're all free
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
One must believe in something be he misanthrope or gambler
In tomorrows omnicience or the future proof of God
The penance in a drunk's decay sets self destruct's imposer
Wether speakerphone's on disconnect or cellphone's in the bog.
Conveyance of a threat to adherants of St Selfwise
Show athiest's are proof here, in belief of disbelief,
Haunted by the images painting painfull retribution
Picture sympathetic **** star's allocated hand relief.
A moments allocation of a syllogist abstraction
Shows perspective of the calibre we now reserve for Saints
A paradox regarded as autistic fascination
In a one act play of living disregarding all restraints.
Deliberately indicative of fraternal heat's expression
Notebook at the ready and deep frowning at the brow,
Question definition's collage of confusion's contribution
Do we sit it out pretending or just catch the late bus now?
Marshalg
13 February 2014
© 2014 Marshal Gebbie
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
Simply...soothing.
The catalyst in the morning is a carefully created cup of...
Coffee.
With a dollop of delicate dreams,
Atop arduous aspirations.
Locked,
Within lovely lips;
Upon the porcelain,
Peaking with purity.
As clean as...
Apples, being allocated in the dishwasher.
The morning dew outside,
Is like the boy inside
Who'd cried.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 10:51 AM UTC
old school game
like saying exactly how i feel
when i feel it
not waiting the allocated amount
of time before responding to texts
to feign aloofness
making out outside like
when i was 17 at my parents house
afraid of getting caught
with enough surrounding trees
to obscure vision
oblivious to the freezing
nature of this rain falling upon
our skin, it's slick against
my fingers, the perfect complement
to lips connected, the sound
of rain in the background, the feel
of it falling from the brim of baseball cap
(i'm wearing one for some reason?)
the taste of peach (it was apples before)
the fumbling of hands against clothing
(where before it was inexperience,
now the cold hinders movement)
your stunted giggles as my tongue explored
the movements in sync shortly after starting
this dance feels familiar
like slow song, hands on hip
nostalgic yet current
it's something i never knew i craved
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 11:07 PM UTC
Foolish Iniquity ensued by sensation,
all to which led to such a foreboding culmination.
And what was the interpretation?
The evaluation of pure desolation derived from wickedness,
and destruction caused by commotion produced by the most riveting of distortions.
Her visage was more than what my aim wanted.
However, when she took me in,
I was more than just delighted.
Had she not known that I was peasant compared to her royalty?
Yet, my loyalty far surpassed our incongruity.
But my days had never left without a urge of urgency.
And for that, scrutiny had to take place.
And when I noticed the connection to the King,
my words I began to be misplaced.
Her heart chasing down the stairs of emotion.
Commotion awaiting at daybreak.
Her heart is still mine, to date.
The king's tyranny fell alongside the shores of his own
consequence; decadence.
And thus, the many people were saved
and no one ever complained.
For it wasn't the relationship that was aimed,
it was for the timely-tamed.
My reward was given for my works,
And a stab to the heart around lurked.
And subjected I was to my own powerlessness,
All because of my decadence.
In pain I awaited for my death,
But to no avail.
Was I ever so frail to even care?
I was granted another chance to redeem myself.
My heart so gracefully allocated to the night.
A chance to shed light to those within the purest of darkness.
My actions were not for naught, forever in my might.
They were all freed by me,
Yet, imprisoned I will forever be.
To show the way, if need be.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 12:28 AM UTC
From the kid killed in front of the bodega to all the women being ***** along with police brutality
Someone’s playing Thanos because we’re dying off rapidly
There won’t ever be a food shortage because half the population is gone in an unknown fatality
When will we see the end to this
Millions billions and trillions of dollars dumped into our military but there’s still no sense to this
But this is the make America great country that I’m living in
How can hell be any worse than the one we’re living in
I’ll probably see more people dead than I’ll see graduated
There’s polar opposite feelings when death certificates and graduation certificates are allocated
Never catch me outside in my house is where I’ll be located
The blocks getting hot and only by the guns that inhabit them
And it’s all fun and games
Until police brutality or false identity gets you killed and your life lives on through people that have inked your name
And no matter how many memories you had with them it’ll never be the same
Because their watching over you at a height no mortal man can obtain
I’m not trying to be a pastor trying get people to follow the words I preach
I’m just praying the ones I love stay safe in these summer streets
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 1:32 AM UTC
.i come across objects that, being inanimate... somehow impose on the inanimate conviction of stasis... faking their inanimate ontology... in stasis... becoming animate... smiling... and... for all the oddity... i feel... slightly bewildered by the welcome... like i'm expected... like i'm welcome... just prior to death... i know where i am being allocated a home... and.. its a home, which foundations are focused upon the virtue of... patience.
but i've seen faces!
carved into stone!
**** your rationality!
**** it!
let it die a nice, solemn death
of being reprimanded for
deviating
from the scholastic bedroom
antics... of:
revising rubrics...
i care as much for it,
as i might care for...
whatever the **** it takes
to conjure up a turd's worth
of custard...
let's see the ******* ice-berg...
then, only then...
will i bring out
the ******* Titanic!
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 11:29 PM UTC
Shepard in a field,
crucified upon a wooden fence
Your grieving flock was scattered
worldly
Liberty's book was swiftly plunged into
the blood of bigotry
Fascism laughed in tones of red, white and blue
Land where our fathers died
Land where our bigots hide
I say to you Amen...
I love Jesus;
you must too
resounded these hollow
words
Hate is now the doctrine
intertwined morph-boiled into fear and hate,
being poured over enlightenment
in destruction of green lands
engulfing
youthful sprouts
in destructive steamy waters
The book of Leviticus
is the demise of reason
fractured from critical thinking;
allocated to the current pulped-swine,
swaying in hypnosis listeners of these pulpit-swine-beasts;
they embark with twisted trepidation's disdain
Shepard in other fields of life
into brute submissions
you will succumb being baptised
in your own red pools,
being smitten by the pulpit-swine-listners
of ancient prophets
The dirge, the slow dirge is heard
throughout our delicate land
Ooh sweet brilliant Oscar, we still suffer
as you had
my brilliant Irish lad
I love Jesus
you
must too
My country tis not for me
sweet land of bigotry
to thee I sing, to thee I sing...
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 6:57 PM UTC
d y i n g
seems like
the greatest
perhaps, the
eventual epitome
of the finest
taste of ecstacy,
if you'd be
allocated
this slice
of heaven
with
m e
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 2:46 PM UTC
I used to fall asleep at night
thinking about your hair
how it looked like
trees, chestnuts, branches
allocated enough so that I
could loop them into braids
wide enough to drape
like a curtain for eyelids as
eyelids are for sockets
when thin skin does not hide
sun from my pupil’s range.
I used to believe I could kiss
the very lip of it, smooth
and forgiving when I
palm some locks out of place:
I used to believe no one
would bury it with you when
you follow your grandfather
onto the meniscus of
afterlife
and I used to believe I’d
receive a phone call
then a paper bag on our
balcony with a note that says:
she loved you
keep her hair in a vase by the
bed so you can sleep again.
I used to believe that your
roots and leaves could never
discover death, rather
would twirl and twirl and twirl
around tear-ducts like a hedge
to disappear the darkness
and sponge midsummer’s rain
with a honey-colored braid.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
sweet dreams to the dismal things
on the shores of an apocalypse
perhaps we are day-dreaming
breathing in these noxious fumes
consuming our own impermanance
is it ignorance of law
or the lure of the commons
that has doomed you
to inhaling all this perfume
threads of light scintillate the moon
an uncommon fuse
forged between your heart and the sun
so come dance and drift
in between rifts of space and time
that melancholy face
oh how i’d love to hold it in my hands
and stand up against you
i never stopped to over-stand you
don't think about it just let it out
before it consumes you
as fast as a spray from a humpback whale
the powers are receding
and we are needing to refill our cups
brunt and blunt like coconuts
what a stunt you pulled
how did you know
that they'd let you get away with it
its phenomenal the mood you instigated
a repatriation of the delegated fields
free of spite and allocated yields
until we became two foolish flowers
that now must die
in order to perpetually bloom
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 5:06 PM UTC
Soft subtle touch
clutches from back to front
About face switched place
in role reversals
Airways are open
Feel a rawer version
of your person
Entrust this thoughtful lust
sought from top to bottom
Moving in sync as your
yearning burns
Deep frictionless sin
lived within bare skin
Born below the belly line
Sing as bells ring
Breathe in the aftermath
This beauty won't last
May 16, 2020
May 16, 2020 at 2:53 PM UTC
breathe your allocated breaths
gently into space
touch softly your surroundings
and expand peace
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:13 PM UTC
What makes up a thought?
The script in italics?
The emotional voiceover?
How do you define a thought?
"the action or process of thinking"
That is it's literal allocated form, a
string of letters, used to show a
multitude of meaning.
Break
It
Down
Thought
Thinking
Sentences
Words
Letters
Alphabet ( the basic elements in a system that combine to form complex entities)
Symbol
Emotion
Rational
Moral
Hormonal
Genetically engrained
How do you describe thought?
I cannot leave things unsaid
And yet,
there is no way to say them, without
telling a half truth,
an attempt,
A Lie.
The things I've left unsaid
For fear of seeing them wrong
Litter my memory
Incomplete songs
Poems
and hidden fears
not far behind
Once un-winded, they are still
as encrypted as before
Even to me
half formed
So, instead of half truths,
I shall tell half words
I love you
Perhaps
Not always
One day
One day perhaps I will try to tell
But, before then, I'll be human
and tell Half Words
Leaving my trust in things
Louder than sound.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 3:42 PM UTC
"Having turned the machinery of the Gov't into
a corrupt process of getting bad press made on
his political opponents, the Bidens, by buying
false investigations on them by multiple Gov'ts,
must be impeached, now", say Dems, the people.
The impeachment investigation has received much
evidence to support it, yet, Rumputin/vlad-
the-impaler, who were illegally installed into
the Blackhouse after the 2016 election, are
stonewalling numerous other subpeonas, requests.
People have seen evidence of Donald's demanding
false investigations of the Bidens be started by
the Ukrainian President in exchange for already
allocated by Congress 1/2 a bill in anti-tank
'javelins', but not the unreturned voicemails
detailing his desires for the same 'quid pro quo'
by him to other nations, here's some. The Donald,
'Hi President of Ghana, I've heard you have some
hellified kool-aid, if you investigate the Bidens
we'll buy 100's of tons, awaiting your call.'
'Yo, yo, yo, President of Liechtenstein, just
calling to let you know if you liechten the Bidens
and find some dirt on them, we'll buy a hundred gross
of your steins, this is time sensitive, top secret,
so get back to us a.s.a.p., pppppllllleeeeeaaassse?'
''Sup, President of Guyana, must be hot in Africa,
too bad for you, all kidding aside, I hear you guys
have the best kool-aid to die for, if you investigate
the Bidens and find dirt on them we'll buy 1/4 of a
bill worth. Limited time offer, bro, sooooo holla.'
'President of Hungary, I've heard you guys are always
Hungary, so, if you want a 1000 tons of food 'b' alls you
have to do is investigate the Bidens, find dirt on them
and provide it to the Steve Bannon set-up Hungarian fox
news who'll broadcast it globally over the next year.'
The atrocities of it all is all the people can say. Does
this feel like a Greek comedy/tragedy to anyone else? A
quickie impeachment to cover-up the bigger Russiagate one
that indicts the whole of the republican conspiracy, just in
time for vlad, etc., to hack our next presidential election?
Oct 4, 2019
Oct 4, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
Today I’ve decided
To rush my weeks no more
I’ve chosen, from now on,
To be happy…
When-ever I am
No more depression on Sunday
Dreading Monday
No more “Can’t wait ‘til the weekend!”
While in Wednesday’s traffic jam
Because for each of us
The moment will come,
When we’ve consumed
Our respective allocated days,
That we will leave this life
With what may possibly amount to
No drama… Nothing exciting
A singular non-event…
Merely go out… quietly
No glorious blaze…
You see…
I’ve had an epiphany...
I don’t want to find
That when it’s my time
My last thoughts are of all the things I
Should have done
Like
Hugged each baby
Especially when life was crazy
Been a little less busy
Had a hellava lot more fun
Made more recitals
Missed more meetings
Told more jokes
Gave more enthused greetings
Asked “How are you doing?”
And actually waited for the reply
If you were doing well… Rejoice
And if you were doing poorly…Cry
With you…
I still have time…
To stare into the fire
Crackling in the fireplace
To kiss his neck while he’s sleeping
And take in his much loved face
To rest my hand upon his wrist
While we’re riding in the car
To laugh ‘til I cry at his made up songs
To accompany him
By guitar…
I’ve always wanted to learn to play guitar…
So today
I’ve decided
To rush my weeks no more
I’ve chosen, from now on,
To be happy… where I am
And live each day
Maybe not
As if it is my last...
But possibly
The day before
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 9:25 AM UTC
hey little one
i see you sitting
over there
on the fringe
of society
i see behind your
smile
to the tears pooling
in the corners
of your eyes
little one...
it is ok to be
so scared
life is a big thing
to undertake
yet you have to
take a step
and join the fray
little one
sitting quiet in
the shadows
waiting for
your spotlight,
your allocated time...
your little ray of sunshine....
little one....
i see you there
waiting to be told
but you gotta
make your own stories
and create
your own fold and creases
in the game of paper
and life's origami leases
give it time
give it time
i promise you, little one
you will find
your way
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
Mankind seemeth to forget
The judgement that he shalt mete
In this life;
Shalt be allocated ten fold
The next.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Our eyes are different
our minds so similar
Hearts struck from cliffs
of porous stone
how can you change
what you are after?
At breakneck speed
it is roll or run
My guise is significant
Adaptations adequate
In founding, proscribed
By a burrowing throne
Allocated empathy
Out of arbitrary agony
The suns of our comforts
Can boil your bones
Remember the wild call.
The earth between your toes
How nature allows us
There's no wrong way without a road
Internalize those symmetries
That form a greater whole
We are each what God sought
When he swore and broke the mould
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC