"apache" poems
In my mind, I raced against time
I smoked peyote with the Apache
I chased Kangaroos
Through the bush with the Aborigine
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I outpaced time
I drew cave art with the Neanderthal
I climbed to the top of the mountain with the Sherpa
I hunted seal out on the frozen tundra with the Inuit
All the while
...I searched for the power within me
In my mind, I eclipsed time
I wrote poetry while under the tutelage of Langston Hughes
And I created visual greatness while apprentice to Gordon Parks
I even stood on the wall with Che' Guevara, like a Sentry standing watch
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I turned to face time
I wrote an addendum to the Emancipation Proclamation
And I saw the ugly truths
Of freedom's farcical Declaration
All the while
...I continued searching for the power within me
In my mind, I embraced time
I sought to free my nation from the pandemic perils of *******
And I prayed that we Americans would be free of
The snares of racial and economic divide that still has us chained
I did this while searching for truth, in this, our most tenuous hour
...then empyreally, God reached for me, touching me, and I finally found my power
* Reprinted from 'Exegesis a Decade of Poetry by Mekael'
© July 14, 2009 by Mekael Shane
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 2:28 PM UTC
I keep falling in love
with my mother,
I dont want to hurt her
-Of all people to hurt.
Every time I see her
she's grown older
But her uniform always
amazes me
For its Dutch simplicity
And the Doll she is,
The doll-like way
she stands
Bowlegged in my dreams,
Waiting to serve me.
And I am only an Apache
Smoking Hashi
In old Cabashy
By the Lamp.
6.7k
Scorpio ♏️
~~~~~
Scorpio needs the healing of Aquamarine
Charolite, Turquoise, Malachite or Emerald
Obsidian Black , Golden Topaz and Boji Stone
Ruby, Lapis Lazuli,Green Tourmaline,Kunzite
Peridot , Rainbow Moonstone, Rhodochrosite.
I know of Variscite Hiddenite n Apache tears.
Or Herkimer Diamond ,Hiddenite , or Variscite
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Written by Philip
December 22nd 2018.
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 2:34 AM UTC
Let a joy keep you.
Reach out your hands
And take it when it runs by,
As the Apache dancer
Clutches his woman.
I have seen them
Live long and laugh loud,
Sent on singing, singing,
Smashed to the heart
Under the ribs
With a terrible love.
Joy always,
Joy everywhere--
Let joy **** you!
Keep away from the little deaths.
4.5k
.simone biles (the gymnast)...
miles davis (the trumpet guy)...
must be black privilege;
wasn't there a movie...
starring
woody harrelson
and wesley snipes?
you sure?
i thought it was
called: white men can't jump...
sure as **** ****** can
sing church gospel!
how's that for
privilege?
if you're going to
culturally box, and repeatedly
punch below the belt...
you're quiet likely going
to get a reaction...
i have an acne wart growing
on my *** the size
of a cauliflower,
it's itchy my brain,
it's differentiating between
agitate and: lying back...
i guess the excess of...
look... you may have
the excess melanin...
i have lactose tolerance...
we're even?!
no?
so how come some smurf,
some European hobbit
shackle your N.B.A.
Goliath(s)?!
explain that one to me...
if these people were so
cock-unsure...
how they **** did they
tame the Zulu Apache Goliath
bodybuilders?!
what the ****
i already said, and it was proven...
IQ...
i don't like it...
but i'm pretty sure that
the whites **** more people
in terrorist attacks than...
camel-jockeys...
it took 3 or over three...
to perform the Bataclan Massacre...
three... the third of the IQ
that required a Breivik...
130 in France...
dissociated among 3 attackers
that gorged on testicles after the spree...
fun, fun fun fun...
like: you're trying to say that without
irony...
and how many in Norway?
77...
i only look at the IQ of killers...
so... what's the ratio?
77 / 1
130 / 3 = 43...
like i said... low IQ...
you really want your little
racial insurrection?
you'll have it, don't worry..
i'll just the narrative...
must be black privy...
if you can mash up a jazz compos.,
right?
crackers read from
a prepared script...
you ******* just, "improvise"...
rapping contra talking...
**** come to think of it...
******* boys took it too far from
your Oreos...
like... too much drums...
not enough wind, or strings...
too much drumming...
pulverizing the ears
with drum & bass and what not...
if i wasn't deaf prior,
i'm deaf by now;
******* boy to Oreo woo-oo-oops
boy;
same **** different cover.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
"Medium" sized button-up
Tommy Hilfiger fits me big
As if it were an extra large
I don't mind
I like it.
Green.
Darker than grass
Completely green, painted by an
Indigenous craftsman
From New Mexico
The Apache,
My Fathers.
They painted red flowers.
With orange stars in the middle,
Scattered randomly
Perfectly
Throughout the long sleeve button-up Hilfiger
The pattern: Strange looking
Orange flowers
Geometric
I wear it
'Cause it reminds me of her.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
Around the world swinging my hips, A hula hoop queen
Wrapped up in our nation’s flag I’ll be your American dream
Microphone miss superstar, shake the feathers in my hair
Honey you’re my favorite audience, you know I love it when you stare
Late night rooftop philosopher, tell you everything on my mind
Lover archeologist, boy you’re the best thing I’ll ever find
Little baby human canvas tattooed up my wrist
Turn into a woman fast when you grab me for a kiss
Vroom Vroom Racecar driver when I follow you up north
Lit up your sky fire works on our first July fourth
Princess of the gas station, buy me cherry gum
Lighting up my cigarette, won’t forget to spark you one
You lived a world of black and white, and that is not a lot so
I’ll bring in my vibrant reds, you got yourself Picasso
I know I scare you at most times, but never should you quiver
For my king at his request, the queen is sure to deliver
Apache chief rain dance girl, my tribe calls me brave heart
But I’m not always so courageous; I’m just trying to be smart
I’m thinking with my heart so fast the pumping blood’s still blue
But it beats, and I do all these things, I do them all for you.
Sep 2, 2012
Sep 2, 2012 at 7:17 PM UTC
9th Floor:
Good for views in real terms equates as multiple times the number
of floors of glares on the stairs, some less random and aggressive as others
Some from young lads
Some from their mothers -
Who’ll squeeze their ******* for a fiver, but its more for inside her -
It’s always an Apache tunnel of prickly vibes and jibes with little to say
And neighbours who turn out to be mental,
Found in the gutter, covered in butter
and thankfully sectioned later that day
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 10:28 AM UTC
back in the days, tales from lauderdale...
yakuzzi gang from oakland park, 308
nightly waves flowin' thru brain channels
the traitor of my memories will judge me
no other day, 38ers, toni der assi, stoogie
two existences, eager brothers at arms
shake em the shake, rip and run, zippas
platin zippos, trip-apache, brave bear
the tents of the past remain as debris
as long as doom's grace feeds us lust
struggle on, lights out, turn me on, baby
shivering is the silver sun at dusk here
and gangsta poets speedin' thru alleys
fat **** frank oversees all oceans, inc.
friends at the thames, partners in crime
the green shining, ultra fresh scent, yeah
bodegas are useful for distribution
nevah, tho', enter these places at night
brooklyn heights, floor 64, 65 & 66 locked
merciless fred, sumptuous leather jacket
cuban necklace jeezy boostah, spiderman
dead blueline pitbulls, ****** cages,
rageful is the age of ours, my friends
sunday's dawn opposes my design
in the corner of my room, hidden
Jun 10, 2021
Jun 10, 2021 at 7:57 PM UTC
The slant-eyed
giant hunter
people of Tsul Kalu
came in peace
To become
the central universe
Cherokee white elders
hereditary priests
teaching peace
Winged rattlesnake
constellation
of time untime
Singing the death song
Sacred spirits
animal, plant, herb and tree
The wheel
what is, will be
(*The ancient Chinese were
the greatest astronomers.
Later in the 1400's their
massive treasure fleets
mapped the World
The Yuki, Navajo, Apache,
Yuchis, Ming ** Melungeons,
Shawnee (Oceanye ** Sioux,
Cree Ojibuwa and Moskoke
have Chinese ancestors
some claimed to be Chinese
European explorers told of
elders speaking Chinese
ancient Chinese artefacts
and wrecked junks seen
History as taught might
be but a fairytale*)
Aug 12, 2010
Aug 12, 2010 at 5:07 AM UTC
‘Why ask’,said the field mouse to Hedgehog
Who scuttled along softly on four short legs
Wearing a bobble hat made of apache wool
‘I don’t know but truths must be brought on.’
‘Yes’, said Mousey as it perched with fairy
In the brown bed filled with green cuttings
For only here with my friend is the world’s
Beauty allowed a sharing heart and voice.
So take me into the garden with pink roses
Growing one with up turned bright bud
Shoes holding tightly your peering down
Fills out the future with seeded windmills.
Love Mary x
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 2:49 PM UTC
for Thomas Raine Crowe
...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.
NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
I have recently created these new translations of Native American poems, proverbs and sayings ...
What is life?
The flash of a firefly.
The breath of a winter buffalo.
The shadow scooting across the grass that vanishes with sunset.
—Blackfoot saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
Speak less thunder, wield more lightning. — Apache proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The more we wonder, the more we understand. — Arapaho proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Adults talk, children whine. — Blackfoot proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Don’t be afraid to cry: it will lessen your sorrow. — Hopi proverb
One foot in the boat, one foot in the canoe, and you end up in the river. — Tuscarora proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Our enemy's weakness increases our strength. — Cherokee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
We will be remembered tomorrow by the tracks we leave today. — Dakota proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
No sound's as eloquent as a rattlesnake's tail. — Navajo saying, translation by Michael R. Burch
The heart is our first teacher. — Cheyenne proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Dreams beget success. — Maricopa proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Knowledge interprets the past, wisdom foresees the future. — Lumbee proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
The troublemaker's way is thorny. — Umpqua proverb, translation by Michael R. Burch
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 6:33 AM UTC
THE DREAM CATCHER
(A RED INDIAN LEGEND)
* By Raj Nandy*
The continent of North America during those
ancient times,
Were inhabited by various Red Indian tribes.
The Delawares, the Mohawks, the Choctaws,
The Dacotahs, the Omahas, the Blackeet,
The Camanches, the Ojibways and the Apaches!
They inhabited the forest, the prairies, the marsh
lands,
The great lakes, the mountains and the fen-lands!
They lived close to Nature and honored their Gods,
With the spirit of Nature all thing were fraught!
If we recall the story of "MacKenna’s Gold",
The ‘Shaking Rock’ and ‘Canyon del Oro’,
Of human greed, - breeding death, and sorrow!
Which in celluloid has often been shown and told;
Yet none could take away that Apache gold !!
Today I narrate a legend of the ancient
Chippawa tribe,
About their "magical net" for a peaceful night!
An old Medicine Man of this tribe,
Wove a ''magical net" with fine gossamer strings,
To catch the dreams as they float by!
He hung this net above the bed up high,
To filter the dreams as they float by,
During those darkest hours of the night !
This wondrous net trapped all bad dreams,
Letting the good ones pass through its netted
seams!
And as the bad dreams got entangled in the net,
The good ones descended upon the sleeping bed!
So should you come across this 'magical net',
Never argue about its price, -
Just buy the one for your bed size!
Then hang the net high above your bed,
For there is nothing to be afraid!
Since dreams shall never ever cease,
Have sweet dreams always, with a good
night’s sleep!
- by Raj Nandy
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 1:05 AM UTC
Used to smoke a pack a day,
now it’s just two cigarettes
in the evening time,
when the lady is in the shower
and after the ******
has been smoked.
I sit on the ledge of our patio,
legs stretched out
Exhaling long trails of smoke.
observing
the busy apartment complex.
Mainly blacks & Mexicans
with a dash of Apache Junction
white trash.
Two girls
in their early twenties
sit on a bench in the little courtyard
talking loudly.
gesturing wildly
about some ***** neither can stand.
Purple lightning flashes overhead,
illuminating
the courtyard.
Then it begins to sprinkle
And then it starts to rain.
A woman walks down the stairs from her apartment.
She’s barefoot and smiling,
head tilted up towards the sky,
taking in deep breaths
of the good rain smell.
I imagine she’s been waiting for this.
Waiting on the rain.
In her apartment.
It’s really started coming down.
She couldn’t light her cigarette,
the rain was dropping from everywhere.
Two children
run and skip down the sidewalk
with their mother running close behind.
Her arms, both of them,
full of mail, grocery bags, and a baby,
yellin at her kids,
“hurry, hurry, hurry up. C’mon, the mail is getting wet and I got Netflix
here, ********* move your *****
A man in a motorized wheelchair
Emerges from one of the halls
across the courtyard.
I watch his electric chair
buzz by on the sidewalk.
He was going for a full lap
of the place it seemed.
When he passed me, I saw
droplets of rain
breaking on his face and streaming down.
Grinning ear to ear
he winked one eye at me.
made me smile.
This is Arizona.
Rain in the summer is a gift.
Means a lot to us. All of us
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
saying **** off* seems so much more
easier when you're petting cats....
they just say it for you...
there he is, Quarus,
the operatic singer nearing sunset,
200 variations of a mulling of meow,
i end up calling him Orbison Rufus,
the ginger Roy of Peckham -
he basically meows lazily like Roy
singing... as said / i.d. (id est): the umbras
or umbrellas - counting the shadows'
version of Apache's yawn: ah-woo ah-woo
ah-woo nagging the reflex...
gave them the yawn and gave them 1950s
America... Billy the Kid talking to the king of
Specs... hank marvin.... cheese grater
with those teeth... dozen cows buckling with
the herding in while the dog carved a feel
for religion in the translation of the Vatican
from coliseum into football requirements...
the movies were great in the 1950s, just after
the technicolour... petting cats was never such a thrill...
the operatic meow, onomatopoeia from echo
in a cave to knock-on-wood...
200 variations of the knock
and 12 whiskey shots downed
while playing poker... 12 cowboys
1 Milwaukee and 30 Turks... classic Tarantino...
i said the Apache yawn... i never said giving
out smoke signals...
Quarus my ginger is demanded as having laughed...
he's Roy Orbison with the meow,
pretty much lazy...
looks like a murmur when he tries singing,
pretty woman, trolling down the street,
Gucci, Chanel, and everything in the scrapheap of lobotomy,
as is Paris necessarily mentioned: chiselled
white collars... Roy knew before Elvis...
the trick came with sunglasses,
and the gluttonous slur of the half-opened mouthing
for subsequent mouthing it off...
no amount of cheese in French could ever
charter the success of the cheeses added to cheeseburgers
with the milkshakes, which were plainly Dutch
laughing cows named Novices....
quick-melts and some said:
dreadlocks of string-yellow Gouda pulled
for a hippies' worth of Chinese chugging down
a pint or two, for worth of gag and the slim mascot;
the Chinese never taught Cannes arithmetic
of the thumb through to pinky...
i don't know how they taught counting
with their complex ideograms, they never taught
arithmetic give their encoding...
they taught pure math.. they never taught the simplest
of assurances... meaning so few of them became bankers.
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 11:21 PM UTC
I am not Indian. I am Gitxsan
I belong to a territory, I am Gitxsan
Like my ancestors before me.
Before contact with people from other lands, We are Gitxsan
I do not know this word Indian
Maybe the word is from faraway lands
Maybe they will be proud to be called Indians
Like I am proud to be called Gitxsan
This land is Gitxsan, She cares for her people
We are Gitxsan
Who are these new people
That accept that title of Indian
From someone far away that doesn’t see,That they are Gitxsan
Their territory is 1 mile by 1 mile , They live by their territorial rules
Given to them by eyes that do not see
That they were once a proud nation
Of Gitxsan
Give me a card that says, I am Gitxsan
And I will be happy
Let my children of mixed blood Also be happy to be
Gitxsan
It is not for your unseeing eyes or uncaring heart to say
Who in my family is, Gitxsan It is in their hearts to be Gitxsan
Gitxsan is not just a word
It is the land, the people, the language, the animals and the spirits
I stand proudly beside the Hopi, the Apache, the Sioux, the Cree, and all other nations labelled Indian.
I am Gitxsan.
Wogalwil
Edward Green
Feb 5, 2012
Feb 5, 2012 at 7:11 PM UTC
Santa Claus is 100% pure love
his heart does not divide
the starved and homeless man with his tin cup
from the wealthy politician in his black limousine
nor does Santa ever blame
the frightened small town girl
who paints her lips and struts unsure
down hard dark streets
Santa Claus remembers his own mother
and weeps for the lonely karma of octogenarians
diapered in wheelchairs along fluorescent hallways
abandoned by the ones they birthed
our great elf winces every time
he feels the crocodile's fearsome jaws
drag the wildebeest down
while the zebras flee
he prays relentless sailors
stop harpooning the great breaching whales
and hears the grasses scream
when bloated oilmen pound holes
in the prairie dog's kingdom
he regrets that schoolteachers lie
about what a great man Columbus was
and why the Sioux, the Apache and the Arapahoe
were incapable of evolution
he knows you don't need a bicycle helmet
to ride downtown for ice cream
knows our legal system is for sale
knows surfing is Neptune's brave ballet
Santa delights in the spiritual joy emerging
when patients see angels hovering everywhere
before doctors scream psychosis
and numb what they do not understand
with sad needles and leather restraints
his reindeer are the dreams of the spastic child
who knows he will never run
his sleigh a zero carbon emission vehicle
and his great heavy bag carries
the sweet prayers of the Jew, the Christian
the Muslim, the Buddhist, the Hindu
the Gnostic, the Wiccan and the existential humanist
on the night before Christmas
Santa dreams that all the cars and trucks disappear
and every freeway grows trees and flowers and grass
where everyone chats and meanders and strolls
and vendors sell SnoCones, apple juice and pears
because Santa Claus is just doing
the one thing he knows how to do best
on a long winter's night
to bring some light to a world
that races toward extinction
while the butterfly sleeps with the lizard
and the children still believe
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******** on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
Open eyes
With sun's rise
Rouge roused room
Four by six box
Satin lined
Episcopal ritual,
Bury the dead
Mother, Father
Don Apache garb
Hymnal hummed
Candle lit
How could nature see this fit
Suspended
From casket
Rise
And rise
And rise
Above autumn leaves
Struck with vigor
And love unobtained
Taunting with every flick of the wrist
Breeze blows through hair
I rise
And rise
And rise
Far above atmospheric scene
Aesthetics please
Sculpted by hands pure and clean
Mountains and sea
Gifted unto me
Love unrestrained
Rise
And rise
And rise
Celestials gleam
Forever in a day
A glimpse I've obtained
Descend
And descend
And descend
To gift bestowed
To forest spring
Nestled in
Mother's green
Descend
To casket
Forever in sleep
Forever in dreams
Open eyes
Rise
And rise
And rise
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
Vocabulary
Bears imagism
Foundation
Imagery
Amplifies eloquence
Apache's tear
Metaphors
Stabilize meaning
Plausibility
Allegory
Visualizes enigma
Sammi Poe
Mar 17, 2012
Mar 17, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC
It was Saturday,
And you said God was with us.
So, we drove as fast as possible-
Into blistering orange and purple,
Into the death of the sun.
Because we knew he was, just as well as wasn’t.
There was sweat on your chest,
And on mine two black handprints of mud.
You called me your Apache warrior.
I made fierce stabs at sol, spears tipped with glass.
I did not **** the fire, only scared him away for a cycle.
In ecstasy you asked if I’d like some-
Fearful to step past my father’s drugs I shrugged you a no.
Sold you the same line from dreams before.
I don’t like being in heaven and hell at the same time.
To which you replied with hollow eyes to hell with heaven.
And together we cried ponds in the parking lot of Wal-Mart.
Beseeching the dams not hold,
Hoping we could wash it all clean.
It was Sunday,
And you said that god was dead-
We danced in the street, maniacs,
Exposed flesh and drumming war cries.
Busted open the fire hydrant and nursed,
Hysterical for love and peaceful tomorrows,
Crusaders of regrettable intentions.
And then your mother called and you had to run off to church.
During this fifth year you were enlightened.
Many people feel that upon reading a book or two.
Labeled me wrong, you of course playing the protagonist -
I didn’t see it that way.
I wasn’t keeping any type of score.
Still bear chested, scowling at king sun,
Howling to mother moon, dressed in pale luminous silk,
Knowing she would never howl back.
With duly noted precautionary tales in mind I set forth-
To coastal plains lush with life,
Trees hiding the cityscape.
Stars sending light at a glacial pace,
Eroding corneal muck.
You had left three sheets to the wind,
And I was inside my own mind without.
Skies bled crimson heat,
Leached from me that passion that once held steadfast
And it was pleasant at best.
But, I am no martyr.
Revitalized in my own indulgences,
Slept till Saturday when you returned-
The world making right again.
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
This offends me as a vegan transgender hipster democrat voting Native-American-Indo-Chinese socialist anarchist hybrid illegal alien agnostic-atheist Germanic social engineering major dropout who only vapes fair-trade organic non-GMO decaffeinated French-pressed compressed and hydrated extra-skim grass-fed only protein soy breast milk on the regular and does Hindi Kama Sutra naked crossfit hot yoga 5 times a week. And frankly, since I am also a non-binary tri-gender genderqueer male feminist and I identify as a proponent to legalize cannabis and a Rastafarian, pansexual, genderfluid, Apache helicopter beta mutt of mega multi alpha beta gamma delta omega combo god of hyper death who's adamant about polygamous polyamorous relationships with an pure-bred alpha chihuahua which helped me cross the border of Mexico to let love trump the hate and get a job 3-D printing pink ***** hats all day. My dog also walks me to the local skate park and doggy styles me, while my gender neutral photographer neighbor takes pictures and sells them on the dark web antifa site and if you find that weird you're an ignorant arrogant homophobic gender-assuming globophobic bloodthirsty bacon-loving gun-toting cis-gender pan-sexual patriarchal incestuous sexist racist white-privileged misogynistic populist biased objectified white-privileged anti-communist **** indoor tanning Cheetos cheese-puff-loving republican.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
I think of mountains
the way they climb for the sky
losing their way through clouds.
Looking up I never know if they reach the top
or if they see me way down here?
Some kind of ant, I dig for rocks
a pocket full of turquoise blue
a miner for Apache jewels
exposed by red dust winds
as the day chips away
and carves a night
into black obsidian.
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:51 AM UTC
you can never under-estimate the humanity
of one example,
as you already exampled undermining
the humanity of "you", or whatever choice
of pronoun that befits your idea of superiority -
as said Japan attacked, China retaliatory -
Mongol kept apart - bereaving Scandinavia
bereft due to the European ploy fancy;
you can never under-estimate the humanity
of one example,
as you already exampled undermining
the humanity of "you", or whatever choice
of pronoun that benefits with your idea of superiority -
as said Pearl Harbour: war against war
rather than war against society - indeed modernity
with the man in the high castle rather than
i'm the king of the castle - whereby the softened
consonants rather the hardened vowels -
ð adjacent of j - verifiable ðe- or -dje,
dje - or thus extreme English definite articulate of θη -
i won't give you answers, forget it ****
i don't have a lifetime or likened vein of thought -
variations of f and some vowel, θ- e-i -φ - gobble up
a blah... due to η we endow θ with a calibre of vowel necessary,
fully... eta is like a missing diacritic on emicron, shortened,
ah **** epsilon - one and the same...
still involved, softening, duck-quack-and-feather cushioning,
i admit it's regardless of being 90 years of age
skipping rope and boa entanglement to myth
in memory of a life actually lived -
the stink of my great-grandmother's apartment
the coal-set-piece of what could be a baking oven...
the whole place was scented in ferns...
i don't know why, ferns, it was just ferns...
it wasn't Parisian perfumes, it, was, just, ferns...
it was't the next trend of clothing, it was just fur,
you watched your neighbour's television because
you didn't have your own... ferns! ferns! ferns!
the myth told to children about a golden fern leaf,
the myth of Gutwin and the bee that stung my shin -
it's so long ago, i wish it remained,
all i have is America i'll never see, ever hear,
ever touch, America is just an advert, it's nothing,
all i have is America i'll never savour, ever feel,
ever know, it's just abstract, all i'll get from America
is Apache alcoholism as worth writing about
rather than taking a selfie... and that's about it...
otherwise i'm left with kardashian celluloid -
globalisation really has made London a village
and Abridge a capital.
Jul 5, 2016
Jul 5, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
with a billion Chinese and Indians
on the tally... i think it's hardly worth noting
the individuation process the West has adapted...
who needs another Kurt Cobain brain in
spaghetti splatters on the wall? there's a billion of each...
a ******* billion! heath ledger and daniel johns
(i would be a freak having released
something like frog-stomp in my teens,
i would be, playing the mongolian harmonica)...
but there's a ******* billion of each,
Taj Mahal saved them when the western
oozy saw the scalping technique...
so did the curry recipe...
i'm an alcoholic like the rest of them...
Apache eagle feather how how hush
(dog bark interlude)... nonetheless, we're taught
to individuate, to state a difference worthy of an
advert... any other slogan not ending
with -Pepsi and you're ******* Chinese to me...
Hong Kong double-decker buses and Karate! Ha Ya!
chop... or sushi, whichever bruise to add to the skin
of Copernican for the sundown and plum.
no, the point being drummers are wacko,
having to process individuation
would never instil me having a potential to
number a Mongolian horde... i wouldn't have cared...
if only ****** suggested.. if only ****** suggested....
i too would be a bleached Eskimo.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:59 PM UTC