Some mornings,
I want to leap
from bed:

pluck the eyes
from anacondas,
beat monkey butts
with broken spoons,
and steal flowers
from cemetaries
to warm
the homeless.

But this
particular
morning,

I'd  much rather
stay in bed
with your warmth,
your deep kisses,
your long sighs

and let the anacondas,
monkeys and homeless
fend for themselves.
   ~mce

I swear,
I love
a girl
with
biggg-***
lips.

The kind of lips
that could pull a ****** into
a sanatarium.

I'd go crazy
willingly.

Put me in the strait-jacket
of your mouth.

I'll kiss every crevice because
you've got two anacondas of muscle covering
perfect teeth.

I'll grip the shoulders of your jaw,
as you squeeze me with those
biggg-*** lips
so hard
that my backbones
break.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Or at least that's what is said
But what if your vision is unclear
& your own image is not beauty in your eye
& your self-esteem declines as you get older
You're still ugly in your head
No matter what compliments you hear
& you don't know how to explain your reasons why

Society is to blame
Overly  advertising "skinny" pills or another new diet fad
magazine covers displaying frail & gauntly figures sharing their dieting habit
& there's an unofficial showdown on social media trying to one up your peers
It's become so stupid & lame
People going completely mad
Nothing is being achieved is what I don't get
Unfortunately this will continue on for years

Enhancing your appearance is become quite extreme
Botox filled needles, toxic injections say good-bye wrinkles as well as ****** expression
Button nose or a pointed one, maybe a bump rhinoplasty will quickly fix
Broken, distorted & barely holding on, slowly losing self-esteem
Whatever it takes, anything they can do to receive some positive attention
Showered with empty compliments, their beauty is deceiving & they're covered in lies
**** pumped full of silicone, hard to the touch
Some implanted *** cheeks, now it's massive & anacondas all want to bite
Reality is becoming surreal, dream like hard to decipher the real & fake
A crazed addiction that's just too much
A corrupting epidemic destroying what's right
We need to figure out how to protect the years to come with prevention
Killing this trending fascination of a stupid mistake

We continue to change it, hide it, deny it, maintain it, lie to it, cry at it & accuse it
Everyone has got one, no one is exempt
Year after year it's a bigger obsession
Criticizing & judging what they view is their daily routine
With no plans to quit
Changing their thoughts & mind is something dangerously risky to attempt
Unable to change what they view on their screen
Drifting farther out of any reality
Claiming they're unaware how negativity can quickly poison
In denial that it does any harming
Oblivious to the unraveling image
No longer obtaining any slight speck of your originality
& got caught up in the deadly alluring fascination
For results that were nonexistent
Ridiculously absurd & quite alarming
Side effects include blurred vision, forever tainted thoughts & more unfixable damage

Lost souls, a pointless quest to change what was never wrong
Leaving all those confused & badly broken & a mind almost rotten
A spirit was just no longer there
Emotions shut off & an expressionless face remains
Failing to reach society's idea of "perfection"
Another one gone, that didn't take very long
The light in people's eyes faded & their smiles joined the forgotten
Beyond the looking glass we lost our stare
& our spirit it claims
Nothing is left now but an invisible reflection

Making her senses keen to discern it better , she realizes:
"This giant of a tree, is no less than a wonder"
on it age plays a game different, no one is able to gauge,
ancient times nurtured, wind and rains embraced it tight,
scorching sun, in all his tropical fervor, couldn't daunt it,
eventually sun and the tree must have fallen in love with each other,

From morning till night, this banyan listens to many voices,
long days didn't make any difference, every day is new to it,
the roots searching under the earth, the hanging ones above,
create their own world, the ones below earth search for water.
when they come up in certain places, they look like creatures
prowling crocodiles, reptiles, or even  imaginary creatures, without names

Hang roots defy all rules, prefer the shapes of snakes it seems
anacondas, vipers, pythons or cobras in search of prey.
This banyan is a catalyst,  from bird to humans here,
find a shelter,take rest for varying times. It's Grandma attitude
makes each seeker of  solace and rest go back with happy smiles.

Some times here, a pauper speaks to a pundit, roles get reversed,
experience speaks louder than the knowledge in the book,
the many voices heard under the banyan makes,
one awake, from slumber,  the orchestra of many voices,
builds a music, euphonious in its composition, pregnant with meanings.

I want to see where nice words are used on young ladies.
                      ****** Rome of rude-bred heights from the balcony of the city of dynamite.  The villagers sacrifice their seven pounds of worry, and sleep like children in caves of textile reactors. Souls packed in coins and gasoline sin are sold hot at the bazaar on a University campus in America. What the **** do these lambs do in societal gardens? What the hell do pets know watching letters drizzle from the clouds? Parcel dreams scattered on foster children--I want to know where all our words for niceties went when we paid the women to be young.
                                                                      Devils make knees slick
                                                                   barbwire anacondas bless our country
                                                   write a laugh--write a song--and we will all work it out

                       We--used as a rapier to categorize the salt in vigorous blood flow--the bells, the bells of centuries worth of midnights. I--the edited cobble in roads that precipitation breaks in stride. Hearing the  rambles of lucky men in the next room, but I know young ladies don't kiss and tell to friends they find effeminate, they rupture and explode. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh. And laugh with squeaky voices as true as poetry. Now they mumble till they are paid.
                                       But you--are no *******, just an empty glass with chunks of broken accents skipping deadlines in life, for new deadlines in life. Abstract puzzle pieces resemble therapy that burns the interrupted wick in--you.  
   But as for--them--they--or others--delirium commercializes whispers aching the back of their tonsils till there is no relief, but coin to pay for more coin that will pay for more coin. Relief is in another language they refuse to learn because they are arrogant.

Cats scowl at one in the morning for attention, nails anchored in carpet, the rest of us are tired by the week of spending. They want more, more, more--till the gates in your eyes open.

Anacondas and vipers
are the serious biters.
Cobras and mambas
can create deadly dramas.
Garden snakes and kingsnakes
tooth marks still ache.
Be cautious
or else you'll end up being nauseous.

Like human drones,
They trailed the messiah
From Frisco to Guyana,
In search of Eden
Among anacondas, tapirs,
Diminutive Wai Wais,
And Purple-heart giants....

Where torrential rain
Blasted the ****** soil
Like B-24 bombers
Over Normandy...

And piranhas
Shredded human flesh
To naked bone
In black-water creeks
Coursing through the Amazon...

And a fledging nation
Of less than 1 million
Navigated the treacherous canefields
Of independence...

Why....?

The question lingers
Like maggots on
900 rotting corpses...

Why....?

The answers wither
Like 900 minds mesmerized
By Jim the messiah...

Forfeiting lavish luxuries of freedom
For the Temple's tickets
To a worry-free ride...

To Heaven.

~ Pablo
(#JimTheMessiah)
3/1/2014

Is there such thing as the greatest or are you just the latest?
DNA mixed with chromosomes, little bit of greatness,
Do you have to do it first, or do it better than the first person?
Life is not a game but the experience is in first person,
And the way you could hurt me is zero to none, but in the ways of many,
Hope the number of days I have left is not to shy of many, but I wonder the most all is at what’s the center,
Will you consider this a poem because I press enter? Just a thought, which is a splinter, leading to another moment, hindered, and it hurts like a wound cut open on a subzero winter day,
Blah blah blah, ****, I’m stuck, what should I say......
Looking in the dictionary where words are legislated, a place where black and white has never been so creative, and then I get creative, the piece of paper is landscape waiting for a God to come create it, so I ask God to make my words almighty, Speak it and none shall debate it,
"But watch out for the snakes Ben, anacondas of the drama, please think of relocating, as darkness unfolds, and I know you think I created it and maybe I did but  I...I...I. Forbid",
God Forbids,
I’m stuck again,  wanting to be great, wanting to be the best, wanting to be next, less stressed and Noticed, never did they say that life was no test,  and I hope I never fail again,
Because next time the gun won’t jam again, tried to play almighty and he laugh and said never try to play again, here’s another chance benny man, I hope you plan to win
Thought of death brings fear enough, but when you want to do it yourself, it never re-appears enough; **** right I’m tearing up, only for a moment my chest is clearing up, but when I go to bed at night I think ****, I’m giving up,
I live with what could have been, and now it haunts me, they say the fear keeps you alive but what’s the phrase for when you don’t want to be?
I’m done thinking now, of course of I’m lying,  because if I ever stop thinking of random of stuff, of course I’m dying,
I may never be the greatest, but you know I’m trying, resolutions for the pollution from the voices trying to **** Zion.

Articulate Throwback (Amazing Rap that Doesn't Get Enough Respect)
Fielding an eclipsed Jack the Ripper Sun
Yielding dismissal garish, begotten The Matrix smokin’ gun
Wielding a firebrand skittish
Skills levied an intolerable tax by quisling quoted British
Stunting on heyday levity marksman of primes
Flogged for flagrant dragons sinking nickels and dimes aimed beatific sublime
Flowing like centripetal orbit  galvanized by riddled spirits dashed in secondary impetus of reason over rhyme
Littoral swank partial to Taylor Series of dedications Speak Now peaks livid with fumiducts of crippled sheep blandished for reach
Apologies invited always welcome for a kitsch debased by universal theaters yet united for Payable on Death singing the deceit of receipts impeached
Islanders flooding suicides punning that a sunken treasure is barbs smuggling
Otiose on ribald corsairs blinkered by the rhombos of speculation thunder itself about lightning starts wondering
Where a City by the Bay shining on a Hill of travesties of decay tanks for domesticated Negros that flashbangs got to slay
To the wistful shaken house music garnishing the prey of prayer on heavy pulls of quotable 415 hay-day
The wrinkled stray dog never  far from *****
Slapsticks against the tribunes awaiting for meteoric functions of a recessive allele of a dominant comet
Ludacris flickers dancing in dormant revelry because On Top, Just Let Go..I am honest and On It
To the milk of harvested stars glaring at tankers and garish broken FaceMash scars teetotalers scatter with Thursday crashing into glass shards
Black fame is a white epiphany of infamy designated by name
Of the craven coltish spinsters who market the crackling whiplash of sanity apportioned to the regaled insufflation of blame
Streaky on a jejune Diggity hapless hop of Kumbayas etched by Trailer Park’s scalding flop
Glorifying a Gangester heir to titanic humbled beginnings chockablock divested to Kennedy’s dead Candy Shop
Impressive rags of riches of counterfeit tags blundering with lazy LASER Tag of sharks too bellicose to earn a pitfall pittance of swag
Trippin’ by tripwires too flippant to be flippin’ on known graves sidesplitters of treecheese yaggots grimaced on madcaps of bottlecaps swimming in ether of money too happy for House of Pain rags of gag orders intrepid because some blood is Bad
****** drapes of tapestries too woven on Ducking Badger duck tape
Pretending not even a slightest twinge of celebrity faked is a tantamount affliction to Kobe’s escape
Time to rig the 7/11 notoriety of a caper drawl in Cape Town Blue Sky Action can barely offer scrape
Let them eat cake and heads roll like Nicholas Cage clairvoyant in mystique quaking like a Quaker parody rank-and-file rancid graveyard creep
Cuz the best in the Business evokes singes of Dre grazed persistence a Space Rover rather than a broken-down drive-by Vegas Cheap Holyfield Jeep
Forgeries in trigonometric time gone haywire because ******* of fools is delicious neutered ballistic wrong with elemental statistic
Armed to the Teeth because twinges of righteousness is strongly established because it elevates truces well-predicted
Reckon the self-aware hive jetsetting with Jive warbles of departure yet to arrive
“Talk” of those fewer in knowledge yet living an invented diatribe
Lil Dicky mumbling his churlish codling vendetta
Too petty on the game like a turgid Mariah Carey Christmas Sweater evaporating on benzo bleats because exaggeration is a measuring stick more prone to delusion than the vapid version of Eddie  Vedder
Ripping through seamstresses of time a delope from impoverished cesspool grime
Certainly not swinging with sockdolagers like Musk as UPS owns insider angles about BitCoin riches scoffing at #11 Sublime
I owe respect to an upstart prescience scowling hatched never against fragile egg-shell minds
He’s the predecessor to the Walter White of cesspool inveterate rivets in hulking pretense of a measured stick lying like Tony  Hawk on the grind drawling on videogame addicts lost to numbers like Wall Street bet on fractions divisible like Scarface on cardinal crime
Blip on the WHIP cackles of clever pasquinade owned by sizzurp of Red Wings demolished like Draper balking at the West Coast ****** of East Coast royalty etiolating on Life After Death because of a teased script of March 26th shining bright like nine-inch nails longer than an exaggerated Dicky loving pollution more than Sina Loa loves bricks
Mad respect to juggernaut Michigan flow, but when you henpeck a rooster fewer regaled Ravens start to sing like Tomorrow’s sung by Sheryl Crow
So attack the kenspeckel hiding like sobriety itching to revel
Even the greats are grating despite prestige owned like Steppenwolf inventing Heavy Metal
Yet the raspy dengonin certainly a curtain call for the moribund smooth competition genius but not square to my elevated level
Time to brush aside, politics is a Velvet Morning rather than an Everest scaffold of glaciers divide
Flourishing Eden of a Seattle worthy of treason on rollercoasters yet to ride
The contumely of charlatans berating brassage is a Lie Boring in Federal Way united against prejudices scowling because Qwersy Mencia is too fraught to enjoy the jeers of a tattered Pride
Past-Tense Quinn in his Chauvin Blue Suit is Queer on The Bends
For a better radio the shatter of the quaff is Damon on the mendlatch for the rights of heroism among men
Applesauce is scary when the cooks are too chary for emoluments of cherry-picked vanity inoculated because hackneyed hacksaws aren’t that scary
To a Rush Hour acclaim that owes a Martian a fair-share of the inviolable degrees above freezing that guarantees the Hang Seng
The cretaceous dinosaur livid in the Fields of Dreams lives to the honor of the author rather a subsidiary prosperity rooting for the same exact team
Credit belongs not to slot-machine jibes of Navy throngs because the sealed pedigree of a Potemkin stonewall ravaged an Atlanta March that Richard Sherman found himself wrong
Ripostes of wavered glory serenade Field’s Medal accolades jaunty with brimstone repartee for persecution of Sing-Sang jailed avuncular Dana Carvey
Crumpled in missives etched decisively by Popcorn paparazzi Lee Harvey Oswald Part Three dinging Reagan’s Drugs because belittled Batman and Robin Harvey Dent is on a defalcation spree
Limited by the gambit of orbit I flex space measured only by perception hourglasses mistake for Dewey Decimal ministry
Because mountebanks of the tramontane canard unscrewed by Donkey’s without the triumph of vindicated colts spew the unwarranted without the warrant of upright parlance
Deflecting the useless caricature of Jezebels they barely even know dancing with fisticuffs choleric with jaundiced illuminati chants of an age bracing for the venom of viper’s of gratuitous pretense in violence because the whittled conscience scourges footloose profligacy in dementia that owns probability rather than certainty but doesn’t stand a chance
A billowing toxic fume of a Trojan Horse of galloped complicity of headless horsemen too scared to even pinprick the average Brett Hume huffs like mad wolverines dancing with Buccaneers for the fidelity of bridled brides with a tailored or sloppy groom
Cowering behind plashy starlets dashed for authenticity too soon
The Red Robin Hood ****** of silhouettes of Caste system indecency is reduced to reductivism in peddled paranoia of Randall Graves confronting his deepest specious tomb
To rogue slipshod miracles of denuded ice for Christopher Reeves Wally World White in Simple Jack owleries of confiscated light they caper encaged Caspergers ergotamine flavored favor uptight
Glaring prince dashing Rusty with ***** for Hummers glazed with donut torus hummus swift with reverend repartee
Sunken sleepless abyss ghosts haunt for quaffs evanescent in backbone bliss incurring parted sight for nebbich sprees
Calculated by persnickety prattle brazen with bravado promontory sparked on the flames of an overhyped hysteria ablaze
Raisins aren’t the determinant of a blinkered starstruck page gilded to amaze
Formidable reform conserved against blasphemies of ****
Withstands the immutable geotaxis of inevitable backfires in limited scourges of scorn
Time to sacrifice the badge earn the primacy of trimleggers making a dash rushing for hourglass sand prominent in fiat flash
In a second a trampoline against a specious marvel is a sour remorse of a crusade turning into protection not found in autumn ash
With autarky righteous rain boogies against bogeys of golfers livid with sensational inane
Lunacy predicated on sensational maudlin labors of Genesis 3:16 birth pain
Incurred upon the toil of the lugubrious heights of teachers that defy tribes and stripes
Soldiering for God without even the slightest nefarious mercenary spite
Because Ledgers cannot be mistaken for legends because petty battles Abandoned Pools named were avoided for Nobel Prizes of moonshot fame never King Kong because 24k magic called the Hang Seng  game enter stage right
The thematic liberation of the freewheeler isn’t a combustion of truckers Ruckers allergic to chattered shame
But the time honored Sevendust defies blisters because a brave heroism leaps into legacy vaunted by cheery repute in winning hegemony against rigged fraud in frigid feral tames
I march to an inaugural chance without a chance of quick inauguration because Junetao is a duck-duck-go childish flicker against Amsterdam Vallon besides the church with a touching spectacle of solidarity beyond temporal Anacondas of deserved blame
An ally to the kitsch the prosperity of Nas is afforded to optimism never so fulgurant because of a bewitched Tik Tok twitch
As the true flock regards the true shepherd the guardian of wonder and the captain avoiding Yellow Submarines because Stayin’ Alive is a prophecy not a febrile contagion of germs pitching tents for flukes insistent on incident rather than honorable to Canada Dry on Strike for better than a bubble gum mumble rap of Lil Pump’s pruned humps for a ******* ghost rider rather than a profaned itch
But the camel survives because the needle doesn’t thrive in a world where God is always Stayin’ Alive to strike a pose for the voguest Jive
“The Seduction” lives and the corruption limps with glib bribery fibs because 2 Timothy 1:7 in autarky is a generous rhyme that  gives and gives
In endless crusade to beat like David the ***** of a poker miracle that stars in a showcase of a life of splendor eternal rather than a cursory kamikaze reckless fib
Its time for  abundance of life to be lived fully to truly find riches in the best possible life winsome in discretion to quake and yet remain immune to a Walgreens of Stonewall myth
Cast not the first stone against the immaculate Giant because everybody is shaking to Bond and Saint Joseph’s guarded wordsmith

The glorious morning
The peaceful night
Why anticipate for the paper view fights?
These guys aren’t Mohammed Ali
unless they got better records than I see
He would knock them out like one, two, three
He wouldn’t even have to have his eyes open
But why won’t theirs open?
Oh now he marks his territory for the millionth time
But sometimes you have to reiterate yourself again and again
That’s how he felt
From the days of early youth to the day he could wear his own belt
You can’t surpass him easily
I’m still looking for a contender
You can tell by the looks of the Bartender
Waiting for the old tapes to render
He shakes his head while he wipes off the ***** cups
Wishing he could make up
For his past mistakes
On quitting boxing
His grades were below the Mendoza line
He reassured his Mama that he would be fine
But little did he know this would set him back further than a state fine
Reading between the lines and not over them
He became one of the common crayons in the box
But a little darker than what we hoped for
And now he’s got the memory of the Prison Guard knocking on his door
Letting him know he can come out for recess
But all he wanted was to be the best
He hated the white walls so much he redefine the word detest
He just ended up like the rest
That at that moment, he wished the prison guard would shoot him dead
Numerous attempts of trying to take his gun
The consequences were the antonym of fun
He had miles and miles to run
Before they let him go easy
But that whole time was far from it
He just thought heavily while he heard the horrible sounds
Why do I feel like I deserve to be worse off than the people laying underground?
Will anyone bother to play a game of lost and found?
Just like those kids in those cliché films?
It was great relief to him when he was starting to think better thoughts
But he knew he had a lot of ocean to cover
It was the space time continuum for him
The Enterprise had more to bargain for than the high prizes
Seeing his own waters rise
Not to any of his surprise
He woke up franticly in the middle of the night
Hyperventilating, panicking
Knowing it wouldn’t be alright
The nightmares were wrapped around his mind so tight
It felt like two anacondas gripping him stiffly
He could escape
All those transgressions he made
Were coming back from the graveyards he once dreamed of in his wake
Right from the lakes
He couldn’t even eat the smallest portions of Frosted Flakes
Without breaking down like an old building
It’s thrilling for the mind
But only for it to let it all out
It wasn’t easy to overcome
But it took plenty of years of therapy to rewrite the story that he really wanted to tell
Telling the world how hard he consistently fell
No big deal, just a few scars and small quiet thoughts
But nothing worth a horror plot
It seemed like his worst days were behind him
To take that literally would be logical
A word many of his peers did not understand
They were either locked up or already dead
He overlooked the warnings of his teachers in school
But he just became another victim of Mr. T
I pity the fool, he chose to be an inept tool
Not the dull ones you buy at a department store
But the ones that need repairs and somehow make their way out
With no improvement at all
It can be pretty apparent why our proposed empires fall
The pitfalls can engulf us extremely
If we don’t handle things supremely
If I never had the guidance I received, where would I be?
Not writing these rhymes
Not telling you the times
Regardless of my previous struggles, I think everything will be fine
He went from prisoner to bartender, which may seem like it’s crossing the line
But knowing his past, the way he was doing time
He was just thankful he had a job
Now, who wouldn’t?
That’s the question I want to see answered
It’s going to be crickets for a long time
So I might as well stay here until I hear one
Because there’s no chain to be undone
Nowhere left to run
Let’s rebuild the lives of those who had nothing to begin with
Because if you were put into that place, I don’t think you would handle it too much better than them
Your life is amazing compared to them
But it’s not the cleanest gem
There’s still a few black holes here and there
But you shouldn’t mark out the reasons to care
There’s a lot more wisdom to be shared
The rest is up in the air
I don’t expect anything from the world
But I just expect better from people
That’s what encourages people to become teachers
So you can do better than they ever could
Instead of being caught in the middle of the hood
Being dangerous, mental and misunderstood
That’s the worst way to be as a human being
We’re just looking to help
Hoping to make an impact
More so than a meteor if it wiped out Earth entirely
But these kids do so when they decide to slash a cop’s car tirely
What’s that under your shirt?
A gun?
Well, Momma isn’t going to like this
You should be thrown in jail but I’ll bestow a probation
And an immense amount of community service
This isn’t a play, so I won’t rehearse this
So tell your Momma like it is
And change your life today
Because with this type of activity going on, there won’t be a Sun to look up to
There won’t be a freshly cooked meal by someone who deeply cares for you
There won’t be anyone who can take you to the Zoo
On days and weeks repeat
There won’t be a fresh batch of wheat
Sliced for you
In the requirements that must meet
Or the brand new sheets replaced weekly
What life will I live if I continue to play with fire?
Will I be unemployed and be stuck from hire?
Because that’s what happens when you play with fire
You get burned
Not from these verses
Not from these lines
But the way you go about your actions
You’re paying a permanent fine
That won’t ever wash away
So choose the lighter side today
Maybe people will overlook the bad choices you made today
And go along with their days
Like nothing happened, still entrenched in the back of their minds
Seemingly impossible to find
Going onto their morning grinds
But nowhere close to what you’ll be doing when you pay for your poor choice
The game of chance isn’t forgiving
It will take you over and pay it’s bidding
Keeping the smokers from quitting
The cheating players from winning
The happy pill participants from grinning
And the aspiring cookers from grilling
But I know that’s not the biggest culprit
But as long as I know it
I’m not going to bring it up again
We’ve seen that printed before
My central themes pop out galore
Not giving the other side too much more
Now I’m trying to experiment a little more
And not be the broken tools in those department stores
And trying to find what excites me more
Than the same old drag
That floats in a plastic bag
I’m starting to loathe people who think I’m a couch gag
I’m really not into shows like JAG
They just don’t resonate with me like they should
Some things are triumphant and grab me more than what most things ever could
And I reference them like I should
I don’t always follow the classic formulas
It’s not like I never could, but I see it as I never should

Jacky had a tiny voice,
a voice
like a whistle.

But she carried
Julian
like she was holding
goodness
and those tiny arms
had veins
in anacondas.

"There's my little man,
my little soldier,
my little hope."

Julian
giggled in twinkling spoons
and vivid joy,
the joy of a mattress
of Jackie's love.

Jackie wore like
a thousand wraps,
applebottoms
and chucks
clinging
to the
soles.

But she loved
Julian
and took him in her arms
when he screamed.

With that tiny voice
she sang
and made ice sculptures
out of the cold blocks
of his hunger.

As I wonder, I conjure a monster with this wand and my honor.
I ponder how you can squander my genre, I'm lava.
Anacondas to lamas, venomous, I'm black mambas.
Garfield comma lasagna, that's pasta.
Comets comment on the trauma after I bombed ya.  
***** iguana after the ***** in the Bahamas.
In the cabana like Osama, hide and seek, trying to avoid the drama.
but my Pride hunts and peaks when I speak,
A void, this is the 3Y3 of the BLitZ3D SAGA.
Blunts of kief while I reap, hydroponic droid.
Quick like Raffekie but I lead like Mufassa.
I'm Scar to hyenas, and yes I am Luke's Father.
Hiatus, I'm too high, I am a Sky Walker.
Hydra made, I claim Dark Mage
Use 3's when I write, and spell magic with a K.
Your gana need to come harder.
This is Tree times 3 vs Special K.
Said **** it and versed myself 3 ways that one day.
It was MagiKal, see the intentional K?
Savage truth, My pills red.
Down the rabbit hole, I'm here to stay.
Reach out an ravage your ankle.
Pull you in, M.I.B. I'm Agent-K.
Mage In Black, Dark Arts,
Matrix word play, not an absurd grey.
Prometheus, I am Predator,
A.I., I-Robot, I Am Legend,
Will Smith, Independence Day.
Annunaki I am a descendant.
The First Demi they selected,
Earths representative that slays.
An entity,
When they spoke of god, what they meant was me.
The incarnation of uncertainty.
Hell bent on carnage, feeds on false beliefs.
"The Scripture", "Birthed from the streets."
A reputation you cant tarnish.
I don't expect relief.
Mercy is for the weak.
I'll die standing before I ever drop to a knee.
The first to leap.
I AM BLitZ3D.
THIS IS TH3 3Y3'S OF TH3 L3GACY THAT IS M3.
"E.T"
"A Lion, A Demon, A Creature Of Myth, An Alien Being"
Plasma is on the page but ET's not bleeding.
Thats just my pen leaking, Kracken ink can be misleading.
Submerged marines, Titanic icebergs, Atlantis reemerge on my command , sorcerer supreme, Gigantic knights Converge,
Looped in a green screen dream sequence scene theme,
"The Sheep Will Always Scream"
Eye of the storm, I am Dopamine
I am dope, I mean. Am I not dope man?
I am the dope man to the feigns
(To Be Continued...)
- See more at: http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/blitzed/1722009/#sthash.zRxiJxNK.dpuf

the beauty of the amazon its river big and wide
lots of jungle trees with animals locked inside
jaguars and monkeys and there are lizards to
many plants of wonder that are nice to view
there are anacondas  roaming wild and free
this one of many snakes for all the world to see
a picture to behold a gift from up above
the beauty of the amazon is something that i love

Woke up shaking and screaming trying to save you from the beast that lured into into a dark room while no one else was aware of anything around them hyped on pills and ***** even you unaware of what was going to happen being invisible and helpless while you throw away your life is something nobody wants to dream I woke up angry that you came back upset because of it afraid it was true and i dont know im unsure and don't want to know if anacondas are as fearful as they say i dont want to know if you did feel the painful bite.

Out of the door, and a right turn
I take the asphalt intersection at the diagonal,
As nobody is driving past just now.
The path is muddy where the sidewalk plow
Was misaligned all winter.
The paved bit remains hidden under
A shoulder-high mountain of icy snow.
Mostly clear footing the rest of the way,
The warmer spring days have melted so much.

Next past the elderly lady's place
Haven't seen her little dog in a while.
I suspect he has met his end, as he was on a bit too.
Not long until we'll have forgotten that he ever was.
He seemed to bring some comfort to her
As he shuffled along the perimeter of her yard.
She'd sit on the porch, and smile if you said hello.
Him off his leash, but disinterested in most things
Beyond the boundary of his shrinking universe.

Past a church and its adjacent oft-rented hall.
Here all manner of gatherings during the week,
Bring people by foot, bike and parking-space filler.
I've only been in there for occasional elections,
When cardboard boxes emblazoned
With yellow check-mark logos
Collect a sample of hopes and worries
From those of us living nearby.

Across to the next block after the spot
Where the writhing roots like slow-motion anacondas
Had once lifted the sidewalk
And grabbed at your toes as you'd pass.
It was finally re-paved the year before last.
Or was it the year before that?

On the next block, past the house
Of a recently-retired couple
Recently clerks in a government office
Where at once disinterested and annoyed
They'd awaited a smoke break, and a pension.
On the nice days now they sit smoking
And often offer a smile
While they drink glasses of red wine
On a raised front step that reaches
To the edge of the sidewalk,
As if the pub patio at the next street
Was now close enough to save them the walk.

Finally is a new complex of four units,
Before we reach the busy street.
This one was built just recently
And employed an innovative new scheme.
All concrete and sheet-steel forms,
It came together slowly
As builders seemed unsure how the system
Was supposed to work.

The units are all occupied now, top and bottom.
The below-grade residents, haven't deployed
Their freshly installed blinds since arriving.
Denizens of the sidewalk pass the large window
Where all their worldly possessions are displayed.
They seem to lounge in the adjoining room, mostly
Hypnotized by the large panel on the wall.

Their driveway crosses the sidewalk here.
And it was dry and clear all winter.
I saw the builders installing the snake-like tubes
Of a snow-melting driveway heater.
All winter it liberated the residents from the chore
Of being outside, away from their TV.
And from piling themselves a mound of icy snow
And from later watching it slowly seep away
As the warmth of spring seeps into the sidewalk.

The missionary wiped the sweat
That formed small beads on his sunburnt brow.
Never had he thought that learning
A language would be so hard till now.

But learning a language and studying a culture
So very different from his own,
Deep in the Amazonian jungle--
A damp and brutal climate zone--

Were challenges that he was eager
Because of his Christian faith to accept,
Even though he had to watch out
For poisonous creatures wherever he stepped.

His goal: to learn the language there
In order to translate the Holy Bible
So he could teach the truth as he knew it
To various peoples, godless and tribal.

His dual role as a servant of God
And graduate student studying linguistics
Opened his mind and heart to embrace
The people's diverse characteristics.

Constant threats were jaguars, insects,
And anacondas in the river,
Along with shifty river pilots
Transporting goods to trade or deliver.

After years of being there
And putting up with a bare subsistence,
He pondered why his ideas among
The people were met with such resistance.

Occurring to him suddenly
As an epiphany, he had to face
The fact that maybe he had been
Peddling his goods in the wrong place.

Why did he need to fix the people?
They were fine just as they were.
If he tried to change their beautiful
Way of life, what would occur?

They had faith in themselves and lived
Without worry, fear, or despair.
He was imposing his own concept
Of truth on them. How unfair!

Questioning his own ideas,
He clarified his own confusion
And saw that life without absolutes
Was one way to see through delusion.

How ironic! He'd gone to Brazil
With good intentions, though smug and prim,
To try to convert the people there;
They, however, converted him.

-by Bob B (12-3-17)

°Inspired by the experiences of Daniel L. Everett

Ink on paper is not enough
Neither will articulation
I'd end up making everything minuscule
Showing only a glimpse of my true colours
In fear of you noticing how am really feeling
But in this very moment I could care less
If a stranger asked I would let it all out
How you and yours broke me
I thought you were different though
Doubted it still
But believed it yet
Unlike theirs yours was a slow snithe
Nearly harmless and mild from afar but
Brutal and heart throbbing up close
Most of them meant nothing to me
You meant everything to me
From their unfarthomable cruelty I got stony broke
But yours' sin is of ommission
Those words you forgot to say
The actions you held back
Though you didn't do anything
The pain surpases that of a wrist slit open from one end to the next
It goes deeper than that of an up close bullet shot from a .44 calibre
I feel it stronger than the breaking of a pure ******
I know how it feels not
But I swear
Labour pains got nothing on this feeling
I remember the first time I got broken
I was only a little girl
It didn't hurt much then
I didn't understand much anyway
And I loved him not
Another stranger came sometime after
I wasn't that broken then
He picked the largest intact piece
Shoke me till I choked
On my guts
He let go and I dropped
And yet again I broke
3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th time
They kept coming
And everytime
I was left in more pieces than the last
And everytime the pieces got smaller and smaller
Around the time I met you,
They were invisible to the naked eye
You probably don't know this
But you put them together
I wasn't picture perfect
But atleast I had all of me in one place
In total silence and reservation
I watched you
You loved me right
Queen status you gave me
Like I was a priceless pearl you would look at me
Held me with reverence beyond that of a glass
With a passion so strong you'd kiss my forehead
Aligned all you words in perfect motion always,
Always careful not to touch me otherwise
I should have suspected then
No one is that perfect
Yet still
I doubted you not
I really have no one to blame
It was I who gave you my hand
I openend my heart
All of my trust I gave you
Closed all pores for dissapointment
Blinded both eyes
You led me on
And like a fool I followed
As if that wasn't enough
At the very end I gave you a knife
A weapon for my own destruction
And with my hands I covered yours,
Carefully aligned my left breast
Looked deep into your eyes
Slowly we directed the knife straight into my heart
I hugged you tight
Pushed myself straight into your hands
So we be careful not to miss
Yet still
I don't want to believe you Azrael
I still hope that you be Michael
If you broke me yet again
Am afraid it will be my last
I look around and I see your kind
Huge teethed monsters
Read to gnash
Anticipating anacondas
Ready to swallow
Humongous dinosaurs
Ready to crush
Then I stare back at you
I know yall are one kind but
Still I hope
That your kindness be kinder
Though you take their form sometimes
Other times you are good
A bitter sweet irony
Its like constantly going back to an abusive lover
The pain yet the familiarity
I really don't know which you is going to win
Ultimately
The bad or the good?
But I pray it happen soon
Because my hope has reached just the end
And am that kinda person
Most patient
But when I decide finally to care not,
The blink of an eye
Is a duration ample

I wake up and run
Phrases and moments echo all around me
Slither and crawl like the anacondas I dreamed of
In my windowsill as a child
Flying high and wrapping around my ceiling
I get back in touch with the little girl I once was
As to stray away from the bitterness.

Polka dot dress
Mama twirled me all around Alabama
My brothers friends chased me
But really, I chased them
I dreamed so high so free
Grew up with a black eye
A black eye of rebellion.

I don't know why people gotta be so cruel
But they send goodbye hand emojis
And act as if we all meant nothing
But I ain't got no part in it all
My art transcends toxic human interaction.

I blanket my eyes wide closed
With nothing but blackness
At night, because its the only way to silence my mind
My thoughts, my inner demons
A strong voice makes me think differently
He doesn't play devils advocate for
Dice and rats
He does it because he has everything
To fight for.

9am
I've already been very productive
I sway and curly my octopus hair
Who knows what today will be like
But lets strive for goodness
A stealthy, relaxed partnership
My eyes take up more and more space
I release ill feelings
Let em' hate
Because they only wound their own hurting hearts.

May.
Its May
I thought deeply in the shower
As tears wanted to erupt
I have so much to pay for
And so much comes
I rise and rise
As Maya Angelou would advise
Dear woman
Above
The flames
The sea
Above it all
Not with my nose upturned
But with humble heart beat.

the beauty of the amazon its river big and wide
lots of jungle trees with animals locked inside.

jaguars and monkeys and there are lizards to
many plants of wonder that are nice to view.

there are anacondas  roaming wild and free
this one of many snakes for all the world to see.

a picture to behold a gift from up above
the beauty of the amazon is something that i love

My thoughts sometimes wander to places I’ve been:
in my imagination, to places never seen.
With no restrictions, and no baggage to pack,
in an instant of time, I can go and come back!

I will close my eyes then clearly visualize
any scenic beauty: there’s no need of eyes.
Leaving the real world, be it ***** or grim,
I can gaze on wonders, whatever my whim!

I’ll sometimes greet old Friends to say Hi:
so great to see them again; glad they dropped  by.
The moment, though delusory, remains enthralling:
perforce it is short; with other demands calling.

I can join boyhood heroes of adventure tales:
sail the oceans seven, under billowing sails.
Fly through the heavens, in a hot air balloon:
returning to earth with a bump: all too soon!

I can fight anacondas, with my bare hands:
join expeditions to far off foreign lands:
Chat with tribal leaders, to right all wrongs;
or enjoy a camp fire to sing rondolet songs.

I’ll invent devices to benefit all mankind:
add new medicines: they’ll be easy to find.
Concepts are endless for inspired creation.
Imagination wholly sufficient for total expiation.

Our wandering thoughts, emanating from dreams,
allow us great freedom to manufacture schemes
whereby exotic worlds and situations are close to hand:
for in an instant of time, we depart to another land.

So wander at will to wheresoever you’d go:
Travel quickly as light beams, or travel slow!
You’re free to go whither, and where so ere  you choose,
with no cause to worry, for you’ve nothing to lose!

Rhymer  June 30th, 2018.

Peanut the orangutan is an orphan.
He was rescued, recovering fast.
Although, he refuses to climb trees and is anti-social.
This would mean he can’t survive in the wild.
After a long physical checkup, the vets concluded that his problem is nothing more than mental.
The baby misses his mother.

A man who lived near the Amazon forest vanished.
They soon found his body, inside an anaconda.
This is rare, because anacondas do not typically go near human.
It is however understandable; the anaconda’s home is destroyed and is forced to nest near the village.
They killed the anaconda regardless.  

It was a national discovery when they found a white tiger.
The majesty of such a mutation.
God’s gift! The scientists exclaimed.
They studied it, documented it, took pictures.
When the scientists were done,
The white tiger was famous worldwide.
It soon became a prized rug on someone’s marble floor.

gavin mccinnes watching videos
of soldiers being reunited with
the children...
            sure, sure...
my father was part of the equivalent
of the queen's guard...
tall, handsome,
the perfect lookie-lookie
for the role of paying the state
the due salvage of a precursor
tax...
       back in Poland...
grandfather was a M.P.O.:
(well, if the h'americans are going
to play the whole,
acronym game, why, don't i?)
      military police officer...
these men, remember a time...
when men went into the army,
i went into a university,
like **** that helped my expectation
of expecting morale...
        doesn't really matter
even if you studied chemistry...
this, ***** infested ****-hole
of an institution,
this congo infested plague-lands
of traveling riddles
  of ***** hair anacondas...
      no... a man is no man,
unless he's ejected from
    the extended lyceum paraphrase:
i.e., study the humanities...
        but then came the grand
merger...
   the humanities suckled
on the **** of (leak, not leek)
of the sciences...
         apparently chemistry became
equivalent to: tender hands,
ready and readied to play
the piano...
  raised by my father
to the age of 4, interlude,
of the economic migrant,
                "reunited" aged 8...
running up to him
when getting off a coach
at Victoria coach station...
mixed emotion...
i was hugging a "false" entity...
    i acted...
           i was left with a phonecall's
worth of voice,
notthing more,
therefore?
           i distanced myself
from the disauthenticity
           of the experience...
aged 4, through to the age of 8...
presents...
that's all i received from my father...
aged 6 through to 8...
a devil's mask from Warsaw...
and a ***** alsatian
for a "sister"...
and a dobermann for a
brother...
raised by a grandfather,
a steel-worker...
who also became a violent
alcoholic once he retired...
saw my grandmother
being thrown into a door
ending up with a broken arm...

        then the 8 year old me
being thrown mute
into a primary school,
one word of english
              that stuck through?
clown and,
pajamas...

        i don't actually have any
association with the ******
nationalists of the current
narrative...
     i have nothing to relate to...

             i still did up
my dementia riddled alcoholic
grandfather's kitchen,
painted the walls,
put on the new floor...
painted the shelves...
   whatever...

             i am: detached from
a galvanized resurgence culture...
      am i, "sad"...
                my childhood is best
associated with a house,
a jew married a ****** woman,
tsarina,
   she housed around 20 working
men in her house she decided
to share with a man, woman,
child complex worth of family
and her own children...

            pwetty pwetty people...
the "troops" coming back home
from a pointless war...
and then economic migration...
which is always the subtle
variaty of conflict...
            guess the Marshall Plan
made it as far as Sveeden,
but the communists
  taught us the delayed sense
of pride...
      not entombed in a trans-national
debt call...
    as if i own
some ******* h'american my
                       bone leading unto lead...

bone leading unto lead...

            then of course the cherry
on the cake...
   En-g-land...
you must of course include the
subscript's worth of H
in that "solitary" g...
                           giggles to no R-trill...
     bilingualism is
the new schizophrenia...
              but that's: hey...
                          are you o.k.?
      no bruises, no plum kisses on
your arms?
well... what's there to worry about?
            
    so i'm detached from any racial
identity,
pronoun bleach politics surrounding
"correct" grammar usage?
why... wouldn't you
expect some die hard
                 loose canon shout:
SALVA!
              hell,
some people thought i was naive
aged 21...
           looks like...
            some people are late bloomers...
and expect the platitudes of ageing
to be the standard norm bearers
for their illusion of:
by calm of miracle we came,
by calm of fate we leave;

         yeah... tell that to monsieur charon;
i'm dancing with an old devil,
   whatever i managed to sniff out
of judaism:
   and 'ere we have...
a brat of a religion,
Islam... throwing a ******* tantrum...
at times, if really would
require to smack this little
              futility.

Icarus has flown tonight and his feathers are wet and melted. Into the Guadalquivir, his body falls next to last nights forgotten chicken nuggets and remnants of a botellón. Mistakes and anacondas make their way to the river to feast on the flesh of the fallen fowl.