"aristocratic" poems - Hello Poetry

"aristocratic" poems

Dostoevsky dreams And Pushkin lines And rhymes... Like Bolshevik bullets Tear into me Seething Hot sleep! Dead Tsars and Anastasia Mean nothing to me But I miss them Sometimes... Aristocratic nonsense But tiaras are pretty With diamonds shining In a Russian night As kulaks die The diamonds glitter A worthy reminder Of a beautiful time When debutantes danced And the little Tsarina Could dream in peace

0

Mar 24, 2019

Mar 24, 2019 at 11:56 AM UTC

Dostoevsky Dreams

Dostoevsky dreams And Pushkin lines And rhymes... Like Bolshevik bullets Tear into me Seething Hot sleep! Dead Tsars and Anastasia Mean nothing to me But I miss them Sometimes... Aristocratic nonsense But tiaras are pretty With diamonds shining In a Russian night As kulaks die The diamonds glitter A worthy reminder Of a beautiful time When debutantes danced And the little Tsarina Could dream in peace

Continue reading...

Only on me, the lonely one, The unending stars of the night shine, The stone fountain whispers its magic song, To me alone, to me the lonely one The colorful shadows of the wandering clouds Move like dreams over the open countryside. Neither house nor farmland, Neither forest nor hunting privilege is given to me, What is mine belongs to no one, The plunging brook behind the veil of the woods, The frightening sea, The bird whir of children at play, The weeping and singing, lonely in the evening, of a man secretly in love. The temples of the gods are mine also, and mine the aristocratic groves of the past. And no less, the luminous Vault of heaven in the future is my home: Often in full flight of longing my soul storms upward, To gaze on the future of blessed men, Love, overcoming the law, love from people to people. I find them all again, nobly transformed: Farmer, king, tradesman, busy sailors, Shepherd and gardener, all of them Gratefully celebrate the festival of the future world. Only the poet is missing, The lonely one who looks on, The bearer of human longing, the pale image Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world Has no further need. Many garlands Wilt on his grave, But no one remembers him.

0

9.5k

Only on me, the lonely one, The unending stars of the night shine, The stone fountain whispers its magic song, To me alone, to me the lonely one The colorful shadows of the wandering clouds Move like dreams over the open countryside. Neither house nor farmland, Neither forest nor hunting privilege is given to me, What is mine belongs to no one, The plunging brook behind the veil of the woods, The frightening sea, The bird whir of children at play, The weeping and singing, lonely in the evening, of a man secretly in love. The temples of the gods are mine also, and mine the aristocratic groves of the past. And no less, the luminous Vault of heaven in the future is my home: Often in full flight of longing my soul storms upward, To gaze on the future of blessed men, Love, overcoming the law, love from people to people. I find them all again, nobly transformed: Farmer, king, tradesman, busy sailors, Shepherd and gardener, all of them Gratefully celebrate the festival of the future world. Only the poet is missing, The lonely one who looks on, The bearer of human longing, the pale image Of whom the future, the fulfillment of the world Has no further need. Many garlands Wilt on his grave, But no one remembers him.

Continue reading...

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide, He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside; He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair, With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear He was very poor and humble and content with what he got, So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot; Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain, Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain. Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief, And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef, Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night. 'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend, To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end", For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse. Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate: 'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate, And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day, Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."

0

8.4k

A B 'Banjo' Paterson

A Dog's Mistake [In Doggerel Verse]

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide, He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside; He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair, With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear He was very poor and humble and content with what he got, So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot; Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain, Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain. Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief, And instead of bringing actions he brought half a shin of beef, Which he handed on to Fido, who received it as a right And removed it to the garden, where he buried it at night. 'Twas the means of his undoing, for my wife, who'd stood his friend, To adopt a slang expression, "went in off the deepest end", For among the pinks and pansies, the gloxinias and the gorse He had made an excavation like a graveyard for a horse. Then we held a consultation which decided on his fate: 'Twas in anger more than sorrow that we led him to the gate, And we handed him the beef-bone as provision for the day, Then we opened wide the portal and we told him, "On your way."

Continue reading...

There are many definitions of pride, All in which, are perceived from a side, Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise, However, it’s all contrary to me, Pride isn’t something relating belief, It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time, Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined, I can’t respond to a situation, There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain, I am beyond interpretation, I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain, Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus... Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,” AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros, Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent, “They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces” That’s Magic? The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is, Say “attract it,” Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic, Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic, Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual; A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic, Bring back the art of holographic, I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic, I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it, As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic, Freedom of speech, “But I don’t like your words, sir” Freedom to be, “Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir” Being discrete, “He’s not in my position, he must concur” Oh, What is believed? They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most- Too much pride will **** a man, By picking a side he’ll lose a hand, If using his pride he’s sure to win, If losing his mind; insane a friend, Clueless of time; he’ll never die, Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.

0

Aug 14, 2018

Aug 14, 2018 at 5:30 PM UTC

There are many definitions of pride, All in which, are perceived from a side, Notable opinions indeed when we’re addressing the dogma that arise when mind project words that express one; wise, However, it’s all contrary to me, Pride isn’t something relating belief, It can’t be put aside if it’s beyond side; choice/time, Egoist defined when declined, rejoice inclined, I can’t respond to a situation, There’s no resolution when living unconditional and uncertain, I am beyond interpretation, I do not allude in illusions and wonder why they’re certain, Abracadabra Hocus-Pocus... Omm, “This State Farm jingle isn’t workin,” AHP; “Magic”; Ouroboros, Analytical Hierarchy Perspective on Serpent, “They have power; They influence the course of events with supernatural forces” That’s Magic? The law of attraction; influencing life with thoughts; Quantum Mechanics, Force is, Say “attract it,” Demographics defining diplomatic, power be to the tree that’s aristocratic, Problematic if geographic determines what’s democratic, Tragic when ethnography constitutes what’s archetypal and habitual; A classic ritual opposite of obsolete; of course bigotries automatic, Bring back the art of holographic, I’m leaning back like Crack if it’s dogmatic, I do not understand how we understand species before intelligent and acknowledge intelligence like we never had it, As if dyslexia was a natural condition; as if this ability was somehow previously hidden so with awareness became magic, Freedom of speech, “But I don’t like your words, sir” Freedom to be, “Those are not the clothes I prefer, sir” Being discrete, “He’s not in my position, he must concur” Oh, What is believed? They’re obligated to assumptions, so they infer most- Too much pride will **** a man, By picking a side he’ll lose a hand, If using his pride he’s sure to win, If losing his mind; insane a friend, Clueless of time; he’ll never die, Til P take a Ride, and replace his pride with another man’s.

Continue reading...

*She got star dust sprinkled evenly Within the shorelines of her ravishing eyes And stardust, pristine naïve look benignly Creasing her soft supple aristocratic face no need to accessorize Her posture upright and poised Elegance, charm and grace effortlessly effused By her, emotional hazards posed By a presence so spell-binding, one will be amused At the hypnotic effect experienced by All and sundry Though she turns a blind eye A scathingly sultry look suddenly evident on her sweet face turned sour She undoubtedly is a toxic flower.*

0

Jan 15, 2014

Jan 15, 2014 at 9:37 AM UTC

*She got star dust sprinkled evenly Within the shorelines of her ravishing eyes And stardust, pristine naïve look benignly Creasing her soft supple aristocratic face no need to accessorize Her posture upright and poised Elegance, charm and grace effortlessly effused By her, emotional hazards posed By a presence so spell-binding, one will be amused At the hypnotic effect experienced by All and sundry Though she turns a blind eye A scathingly sultry look suddenly evident on her sweet face turned sour She undoubtedly is a toxic flower.*

Continue reading...

*i once had a girl from poland over, gave her the tourism of london, a daughter of my mother's friend.* i suffered sun stroke one day out with her, blonde hair and all, i was bound to feel the cold shivers, went to a party with a school-friend of mine and her... i was left in a bed shivering, he later said he didn't want to say it but did, that they kissed... like i didn't know the shorthand for oral *** now i'm drinking a beer, write one poem weeping, another like this one laughing prior, slapping myself in the cheek... two slaps to the face i didn't receive from prostitutes **** your moral relativism, you people only know that theft and ****** and **** are equal in the cauldron of einstein's space-and-time, i accept physical relativism, but i loath moral relativism, it's like giving an umbrella to the man under a champagne waterfall - and an anorak to a man under a waterfall of cow **** - yep, slaps outside the brothel, the kind women became knights' sparring partners for the oath undertaken, it was a practice among knights to get a handkerchief to ease the sting later... but when prostitutes don't slap you for trying to sort your life in order to provide, you sort of become two knights, twin siamese, you slap yourself because all that st. thomas gospel wisdom went into sex-augmentation procedures and cheap cancer victims with pill-for-pill profiteering... leisurely ladies of societies made rich by easy money, watching operas but still preferring to notice what their neighbours were wearing, the peasant snobism who are more distracted by what others wear rather than the music... a herd of wilder-beasts could ease out more tears at an opera than these "precious" ladies of the new post-aristocratic society of easy money... you drink beer, laugh, slap yourself silly on the cheeks for more laughter... your brain becomes a monkey in a cage gone mad rather than turning docile... so she came over and enjoyed my company, spotted a fox in an alley to a surprise... but then i got rudely told that oral *** was a kiss... well **** me there's a cataphract - let's ***** slap him silly so no byzantine philosopher cared to exist.

0

Mar 31, 2016

Mar 31, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

the 2nd age of chivalry

*i once had a girl from poland over, gave her the tourism of london, a daughter of my mother's friend.* i suffered sun stroke one day out with her, blonde hair and all, i was bound to feel the cold shivers, went to a party with a school-friend of mine and her... i was left in a bed shivering, he later said he didn't want to say it but did, that they kissed... like i didn't know the shorthand for oral *** now i'm drinking a beer, write one poem weeping, another like this one laughing prior, slapping myself in the cheek... two slaps to the face i didn't receive from prostitutes **** your moral relativism, you people only know that theft and ****** and **** are equal in the cauldron of einstein's space-and-time, i accept physical relativism, but i loath moral relativism, it's like giving an umbrella to the man under a champagne waterfall - and an anorak to a man under a waterfall of cow **** - yep, slaps outside the brothel, the kind women became knights' sparring partners for the oath undertaken, it was a practice among knights to get a handkerchief to ease the sting later... but when prostitutes don't slap you for trying to sort your life in order to provide, you sort of become two knights, twin siamese, you slap yourself because all that st. thomas gospel wisdom went into sex-augmentation procedures and cheap cancer victims with pill-for-pill profiteering... leisurely ladies of societies made rich by easy money, watching operas but still preferring to notice what their neighbours were wearing, the peasant snobism who are more distracted by what others wear rather than the music... a herd of wilder-beasts could ease out more tears at an opera than these "precious" ladies of the new post-aristocratic society of easy money... you drink beer, laugh, slap yourself silly on the cheeks for more laughter... your brain becomes a monkey in a cage gone mad rather than turning docile... so she came over and enjoyed my company, spotted a fox in an alley to a surprise... but then i got rudely told that oral *** was a kiss... well **** me there's a cataphract - let's ***** slap him silly so no byzantine philosopher cared to exist.

Continue reading...

Dear Sabah, For the past forty-four days I have been waking up at dawn so I can reap sunlight the way an old peasant in a jasmine farm does. My brother said he might have seen sunflowers but he never saw suns flowering; “the sunlight you reaped is useless” he said “why are you collecting it?" My grandfather collects stamps, my mother collects china sets, my father collects rare books, my uncle collects money, and my grandmother collected hearts. “Because I want to be like Teta”, I answered him. Dear Sabah, I have been waking up at dawn, and I can assure you that they lied about dew being playful. Dew doesn’t slide on a rose petal the way a child does in the park. Dew sits still in an ungenuine grace the way an aristocratic woman does in a third cousin wedding; Dew is my aunt Fatima in her brother’s wedding. However, they didn’t lie about how early birds get the worm.. This morning, I saw a bird eating two worms, and the eldest of my cousins cutting off his brothers’ allowances right after taking over his father’s company. Dear Sabah, I read in The Little Prince that people like watching sunsets when they are sad; that he watched the sunset forty-four times in one day when he had a fight with his rose. So for the past forty-four days I have been waking up at dawn and morphing my notebook into a camera lens. I now have 44 synonyms for your name, and each evening, I read the scribbles of morning I managed to pluck: fresh, fragile, blue and pink hues, childlike, clean grass, birds chipping, family… Dear Sabah, This morning, when my uncle told us how his son is now running his company, my 11 year old brother asked me if our family is a monarchy. “No, Hady” I said, “our family is an Arctic morning; for six months straight it is a cold dark environment, and for the other six, the sun doesn’t set.”

0

Oct 15, 2018

Oct 15, 2018 at 6:21 AM UTC

Suns and Daughters.

Dear Sabah, For the past forty-four days I have been waking up at dawn so I can reap sunlight the way an old peasant in a jasmine farm does. My brother said he might have seen sunflowers but he never saw suns flowering; “the sunlight you reaped is useless” he said “why are you collecting it?" My grandfather collects stamps, my mother collects china sets, my father collects rare books, my uncle collects money, and my grandmother collected hearts. “Because I want to be like Teta”, I answered him. Dear Sabah, I have been waking up at dawn, and I can assure you that they lied about dew being playful. Dew doesn’t slide on a rose petal the way a child does in the park. Dew sits still in an ungenuine grace the way an aristocratic woman does in a third cousin wedding; Dew is my aunt Fatima in her brother’s wedding. However, they didn’t lie about how early birds get the worm.. This morning, I saw a bird eating two worms, and the eldest of my cousins cutting off his brothers’ allowances right after taking over his father’s company. Dear Sabah, I read in The Little Prince that people like watching sunsets when they are sad; that he watched the sunset forty-four times in one day when he had a fight with his rose. So for the past forty-four days I have been waking up at dawn and morphing my notebook into a camera lens. I now have 44 synonyms for your name, and each evening, I read the scribbles of morning I managed to pluck: fresh, fragile, blue and pink hues, childlike, clean grass, birds chipping, family… Dear Sabah, This morning, when my uncle told us how his son is now running his company, my 11 year old brother asked me if our family is a monarchy. “No, Hady” I said, “our family is an Arctic morning; for six months straight it is a cold dark environment, and for the other six, the sun doesn’t set.”

Continue reading...

Hail to Thee, Immortal Three Knowledge we sing on laud Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates Philosophy, to be human awed Teach through time, consciously Nod not, what others fraud Socrates taught, Divine Being God not of brutal Athens’ passions Entity of Beauty, Truth Seeing Goodness unseen in day’s fashions Soul for unalloyed agreeing Lessons humanities’ compassion Talk eternal justice, everlasting life Socrates’ Sovereign Right of Reason Clearly mind deceived sense’s strife Invincible perfection be God’s season Thus, our key to knowledge ever rife Priests who find this, absolute treason No church or Socratic school A barefoot man roamed to teach Socrates mocked for looking a fool His speech not one to simply preach Plato witnesses a martyr’s drool Cruel hemlock, words did so breach Handsome aristocratic youth Plato Followed Socrates’ Eternal Wisdom But soon to find his own credo In Medara to find Euclid and freedom Egyptian geometry to provide dado To Plato life, expression; not a system Eternally an artist, Plato did develop Philosophic circle in Academus groves Bring Athens, world knowledge envelop Discretions of sensations, be not oaths What man may be, an animal jealous Plato’s allegorical cave found in droves As Plato once be Socrates’ disciple So too, to Plato would Aristotle be Passing comprehension archetypal Successions of genius’ visions do see Aristotle taking it step further, as vital To science of hands-on discovery And this is where we see a parting Of two distinctly opposing philosophies Plato being at odds, with science starting Aristotle’s truth, finding no apologies Things not happening by chance imparting Frivolity of duopoly, dichotomy to Socrates But a new era has surely now dawned Science exploring an invisible atom And the seen and unseen correspond So to Aristotle’s, Plato’s, Socrates’ datum Brilliant new philosophies have spawned An abstract notion of conceived stratum

0

May 9, 2016

May 9, 2016 at 12:09 PM UTC

Hail to Thee, Immortal Three Knowledge we sing on laud Aristotle, Plato, and Socrates Philosophy, to be human awed Teach through time, consciously Nod not, what others fraud Socrates taught, Divine Being God not of brutal Athens’ passions Entity of Beauty, Truth Seeing Goodness unseen in day’s fashions Soul for unalloyed agreeing Lessons humanities’ compassion Talk eternal justice, everlasting life Socrates’ Sovereign Right of Reason Clearly mind deceived sense’s strife Invincible perfection be God’s season Thus, our key to knowledge ever rife Priests who find this, absolute treason No church or Socratic school A barefoot man roamed to teach Socrates mocked for looking a fool His speech not one to simply preach Plato witnesses a martyr’s drool Cruel hemlock, words did so breach Handsome aristocratic youth Plato Followed Socrates’ Eternal Wisdom But soon to find his own credo In Medara to find Euclid and freedom Egyptian geometry to provide dado To Plato life, expression; not a system Eternally an artist, Plato did develop Philosophic circle in Academus groves Bring Athens, world knowledge envelop Discretions of sensations, be not oaths What man may be, an animal jealous Plato’s allegorical cave found in droves As Plato once be Socrates’ disciple So too, to Plato would Aristotle be Passing comprehension archetypal Successions of genius’ visions do see Aristotle taking it step further, as vital To science of hands-on discovery And this is where we see a parting Of two distinctly opposing philosophies Plato being at odds, with science starting Aristotle’s truth, finding no apologies Things not happening by chance imparting Frivolity of duopoly, dichotomy to Socrates But a new era has surely now dawned Science exploring an invisible atom And the seen and unseen correspond So to Aristotle’s, Plato’s, Socrates’ datum Brilliant new philosophies have spawned An abstract notion of conceived stratum

Continue reading...

*"Veuve Clicquot" is French for "The Widow Clicquot".* They say that Madame Clicquot would dance in the vineyard, They say she would run and jump and crush grapes Under her pale, white, aristocratic feet, Then one day she came back home, Pale feet stained red, Ivory robe stained red And she saw her husband, Red face drained white. They say Monsieur Clicquot became an alcoholic, And she came back and saw him hanging from a vine. He let it grow in the farmhouse for two years, It climbed, it climbed, He climbed at tied a noose, Made a sickly green, thorny loop. The Veuve Clicquot gave up red wine, Moved South, Remarried, Started growing champagne-- You can't tie a noose with champagne vines.

0

Nov 26, 2014

Nov 26, 2014 at 5:44 PM UTC

The Widow Clicquot

*"Veuve Clicquot" is French for "The Widow Clicquot".* They say that Madame Clicquot would dance in the vineyard, They say she would run and jump and crush grapes Under her pale, white, aristocratic feet, Then one day she came back home, Pale feet stained red, Ivory robe stained red And she saw her husband, Red face drained white. They say Monsieur Clicquot became an alcoholic, And she came back and saw him hanging from a vine. He let it grow in the farmhouse for two years, It climbed, it climbed, He climbed at tied a noose, Made a sickly green, thorny loop. The Veuve Clicquot gave up red wine, Moved South, Remarried, Started growing champagne-- You can't tie a noose with champagne vines.

Continue reading...

Useless Money I often get petitioning letters so many people trying to find a place to live and only receive a bitter refusal and see their children die of thirst and hunger. I wish to help them, but no money in the world is enough to stop this flood of humanity seeking a haven flotsam, the wreck of the unfortunate and we can do nothing but look another way. Overwhelmed by the misery I can do little about, but the woman from Myanmar who won a medal for her tenacity, choose not to speak. The friendly Buddhists are killing Muslims in their midst, they have become refugees; the woman from Myanmar is voiceless. She, the upper-class daughter of a Burmese general Who aristocratic behaviour impressed us deeply, But I ask why she is staying silent now.

0

May 21, 2015

May 21, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC

jan-oskar-hansen

Useless Money I often get petitioning letters so many people trying to find a place to live and only receive a bitter refusal and see their children die of thirst and hunger. I wish to help them, but no money in the world is enough to stop this flood of humanity seeking a haven flotsam, the wreck of the unfortunate and we can do nothing but look another way. Overwhelmed by the misery I can do little about, but the woman from Myanmar who won a medal for her tenacity, choose not to speak. The friendly Buddhists are killing Muslims in their midst, they have become refugees; the woman from Myanmar is voiceless. She, the upper-class daughter of a Burmese general Who aristocratic behaviour impressed us deeply, But I ask why she is staying silent now.

Continue reading...

. what's the difference between thieves, and magicians? not much... both have quick hands... and an awake, yet asleep public communal presence... the thief has a public of the victim, and the c.c.t.v. "stage"... the magician? has a public of the crowd, and the "dajjal" stage of a camera replenishing a concept of: not enough public... thieves and magicians are bedfellows... you allow one to flourish... the antithesis will come along, and in an indiscriminate fashion... allow the "magic" / "thieving" to take place... what is a magician, a public figure... compared... to a thief? i can't see the difference... the audience was fooled by the magician... the individual was fooled by the thief... are they... so much unlike each other? magicians can own a theater stage... thieves, sometimes... just sometimes... own the, basic... pointlessness of english c.c.t.v. mechanics, to make police officers make: a follow-up investigation... oh, but i have genius interrogation practices... no one wants to listen to... like 10 hours straights of listening to stefan molyneux... or 48 hours, sleep deprived... listening to BBC 24 hour news reels... that **** could crack anyone... what the americans did to the Iraqis? last time i heard... they blasted the slayer oeuvre down headphones into their ears... Americans... feeding conquered Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre? BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE! and didn't the encore come? ******* retards... crows feeding seagull chicks with sinew and regurgitated scavenger meat! if only they played them some Bach... i'm pretty sure... the Iraqis would still be left... disorientated... but the American army "interrogators"... ha ha! played them the slayer oeuvre! WEE-TARDS! anyone... and i mean anyone: will relieve themselves as being "tortured": doubly charged up, and ready to ingest hyper-coffee in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic of ingesting amphetamines (pervitin) - night-raids... the londoonoirnischt blitz, sloth krieg... ya ya yawn... urgh... burp... and always... those poncy - english, gay, aristocratic men... and their... psychotropic women... so what's the difference between a common thief... and a spectacle magician? one "owns" cctv footage, the other owns a stage... yet both share a: quicksilver take on, what cannot be interpreted in either handwriting or stenography... hmm... can't be sure whether both could be considered legal.

0

Jul 31, 2018

Jul 31, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

thieves & magicians

. what's the difference between thieves, and magicians? not much... both have quick hands... and an awake, yet asleep public communal presence... the thief has a public of the victim, and the c.c.t.v. "stage"... the magician? has a public of the crowd, and the "dajjal" stage of a camera replenishing a concept of: not enough public... thieves and magicians are bedfellows... you allow one to flourish... the antithesis will come along, and in an indiscriminate fashion... allow the "magic" / "thieving" to take place... what is a magician, a public figure... compared... to a thief? i can't see the difference... the audience was fooled by the magician... the individual was fooled by the thief... are they... so much unlike each other? magicians can own a theater stage... thieves, sometimes... just sometimes... own the, basic... pointlessness of english c.c.t.v. mechanics, to make police officers make: a follow-up investigation... oh, but i have genius interrogation practices... no one wants to listen to... like 10 hours straights of listening to stefan molyneux... or 48 hours, sleep deprived... listening to BBC 24 hour news reels... that **** could crack anyone... what the americans did to the Iraqis? last time i heard... they blasted the slayer oeuvre down headphones into their ears... Americans... feeding conquered Iraqis with a slayer oeuvre? BRAVO! BRAVO! ENCORE! and didn't the encore come? ******* retards... crows feeding seagull chicks with sinew and regurgitated scavenger meat! if only they played them some Bach... i'm pretty sure... the Iraqis would still be left... disorientated... but the American army "interrogators"... ha ha! played them the slayer oeuvre! WEE-TARDS! anyone... and i mean anyone: will relieve themselves as being "tortured": doubly charged up, and ready to ingest hyper-coffee in the form of the Luftwaffe tactic of ingesting amphetamines (pervitin) - night-raids... the londoonoirnischt blitz, sloth krieg... ya ya yawn... urgh... burp... and always... those poncy - english, gay, aristocratic men... and their... psychotropic women... so what's the difference between a common thief... and a spectacle magician? one "owns" cctv footage, the other owns a stage... yet both share a: quicksilver take on, what cannot be interpreted in either handwriting or stenography... hmm... can't be sure whether both could be considered legal.

Continue reading...

Must be from France , western European . Dedicated equestrian , painter and poet . Aristocratic by blood , proper family . Well educated in all the facets of life . Regal as the diamond jewels of the tiara worn like a crown . Long black hair waterfalls over her shoulders . Rose red lips that beg to be kissed . Perfectly structured cheeks And the round innocent eyes Of an angel seeking wings to fly . And if the eyes are the windows to the soul let my ship sail on in Seeking safe harbor within Sneha's eyes .

0

Feb 6, 2015

Feb 6, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC

South-by-Southwest

Must be from France , western European . Dedicated equestrian , painter and poet . Aristocratic by blood , proper family . Well educated in all the facets of life . Regal as the diamond jewels of the tiara worn like a crown . Long black hair waterfalls over her shoulders . Rose red lips that beg to be kissed . Perfectly structured cheeks And the round innocent eyes Of an angel seeking wings to fly . And if the eyes are the windows to the soul let my ship sail on in Seeking safe harbor within Sneha's eyes .

Continue reading...

God **** will you all stop with your pseudo-intellectual ******** please You're killing me So busy trying to fit fancy vocabulary Into the structure where your heart should be! There's no heart I see, and **** you with the argument That swears are not intelligent At least they invoke some sort of feelings Instead of 18 stanzas of irrelevance Your aristocratic airs are pathetic and irreverent Come back down to earth now, you drink coffee like the rest of us Another armchair poet pizza stained can stand among the best of us I want to feel the pain you try desperately to convey Not spend 20 minutes looking up definitions in a dictionary I want to know who you love and why Describe the scene around you at the moment that your friend died Stop it with your intellectual ******** please Simply describe to me how your heart did bleed Upon the lack of the presence of your lovers touch You try too hard and harp too much

0

Aug 1, 2018

Aug 1, 2018 at 11:12 PM UTC

Hey poet, you're not that smart

God **** will you all stop with your pseudo-intellectual ******** please You're killing me So busy trying to fit fancy vocabulary Into the structure where your heart should be! There's no heart I see, and **** you with the argument That swears are not intelligent At least they invoke some sort of feelings Instead of 18 stanzas of irrelevance Your aristocratic airs are pathetic and irreverent Come back down to earth now, you drink coffee like the rest of us Another armchair poet pizza stained can stand among the best of us I want to feel the pain you try desperately to convey Not spend 20 minutes looking up definitions in a dictionary I want to know who you love and why Describe the scene around you at the moment that your friend died Stop it with your intellectual ******** please Simply describe to me how your heart did bleed Upon the lack of the presence of your lovers touch You try too hard and harp too much

Continue reading...

All perish whence they quest for immortality, Such foolish dreams will result in fatality. Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality, Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality. Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme, Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime. Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing, Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain. My seat of notions drives me to calculate, While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate. Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning... My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning. Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively, Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key. Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures, Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures. To crave two heart beats align in synchrony, To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory. Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze, My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece. Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling, The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling. 'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds, Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes. Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments, Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments. To be offered aristocratic absolution, From my humble plebeian resolution. I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay, Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?

0

Sep 22, 2010

Sep 22, 2010 at 3:40 PM UTC

Dichotomy of Insanity

All perish whence they quest for immortality, Such foolish dreams will result in fatality. Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality, Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality. Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme, Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime. Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing, Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain. My seat of notions drives me to calculate, While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate. Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning... My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning. Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively, Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key. Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures, Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures. To crave two heart beats align in synchrony, To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory. Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze, My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece. Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling, The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling. 'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds, Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes. Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments, Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments. To be offered aristocratic absolution, From my humble plebeian resolution. I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay, Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?

Continue reading...

i'm just bored of having to feel what other people feel, limiting the realism of things, a woman with a child's severed head in moscow is sensationalism to them, but when they get a mild reality, Kashmir chilly on the palette, they make cheap Monty Python jokes to scare the facts away... the so-called satire that requires canned laughter; was given a library of 25 philosophy books, not one of them by an englishman, went as far back as the greeks, i guess the version of english egalitarian was not worth a communism, somehow the two synonyms became antonyms... 25 volumes of philosophy, not one english philosopher... the english intellectualise: i.e.: regurgitate facts.... the english do not philosophise, i.e. instead they cite facts... they're intellectuals by rite of citation, the citation of facts, they can't philosophise i.e. not cite (facts)... they intellectualise, they cite and recite facts with a dogmatism that fears a demolition and no rekindling of interest... to philosophise is to avoid citation: to work from nothing, the english cannot philosophise because they intellectualise and by intellectualism they cite and recite facts like an ave maria pi = 3.14... Galileo's spectacles... etc. the english cannot philosophise, they're just intellectuals, they cite and recite facts, they cannot engage from non-citation or non-recitation of a fact, like a greek might ignore a stone and fool himself claiming it's nothing, the english cannot allow a confiscation of a subject and treat it as nothing, it would not make sense as to why charles i was the precursor of the french aristocratic en masse meeting with the guillotine if darwinism wasn't discovered on the islands of Galapagos... although i beg to differ with a thought on Gauguin and the islands of Tahiti: make a turtle yawn and you'll jinx yourself a blessing to live to be one hundred years old.

0

Feb 29, 2016

Feb 29, 2016 at 10:49 PM UTC

removed.polaroid-scrabble

Darwin Galapagos / Gauguin Tahiti

i'm just bored of having to feel what other people feel, limiting the realism of things, a woman with a child's severed head in moscow is sensationalism to them, but when they get a mild reality, Kashmir chilly on the palette, they make cheap Monty Python jokes to scare the facts away... the so-called satire that requires canned laughter; was given a library of 25 philosophy books, not one of them by an englishman, went as far back as the greeks, i guess the version of english egalitarian was not worth a communism, somehow the two synonyms became antonyms... 25 volumes of philosophy, not one english philosopher... the english intellectualise: i.e.: regurgitate facts.... the english do not philosophise, i.e. instead they cite facts... they're intellectuals by rite of citation, the citation of facts, they can't philosophise i.e. not cite (facts)... they intellectualise, they cite and recite facts with a dogmatism that fears a demolition and no rekindling of interest... to philosophise is to avoid citation: to work from nothing, the english cannot philosophise because they intellectualise and by intellectualism they cite and recite facts like an ave maria pi = 3.14... Galileo's spectacles... etc. the english cannot philosophise, they're just intellectuals, they cite and recite facts, they cannot engage from non-citation or non-recitation of a fact, like a greek might ignore a stone and fool himself claiming it's nothing, the english cannot allow a confiscation of a subject and treat it as nothing, it would not make sense as to why charles i was the precursor of the french aristocratic en masse meeting with the guillotine if darwinism wasn't discovered on the islands of Galapagos... although i beg to differ with a thought on Gauguin and the islands of Tahiti: make a turtle yawn and you'll jinx yourself a blessing to live to be one hundred years old.

Continue reading...

ARISTOCRATIC CHRISTMAS The goose was plucked for Christmas Not a feather was in sight The butler cleaned the silver Cook baked with all of her might The aristocrats in the morning room Sipped a sherry or two Whilst waiting for their dinner It was the thing to do All dressed in their finery The children there as well All except for Grandpa (The stories he could tell!) No one alas was listening And no one noticed there He’d on one foot a slipper And the other was quite bare. Below stairs was quite hectic Upstairs all serene And all along the passageways And sometimes in between Servants rushed as servants do To make things run with ease Tending fires fetching things Aiming just to please And Grandpa sat and nodded His head sank on his chest He remembered long ago The Christmas he’d thought best With one foot in a slipper The other one quite bare He waited for his dinner Sat there in his chair And soon the gong it sounded Its boom rang loud and clear They all trooped in the dining room With those they held so dear The table was resplendent The glasses gleamed and shone The cutlery was sparkling The goose it weighed a ton The master carved the mistress smiled The children looked in awe The butler served the vegetables (Cos that’s what they are for) The pudding was amazing The brandy sauce was ace They ate and ate until alas No more could they face All except for Grandpa He was sat quite still And no one noticed him not there As they all ate their fill With one foot in his slipper The other one quite bare. On Christmas day he died alone Sat there in his chair. © Pamela Brooke 2009

0

Nov 28, 2011

Nov 28, 2011 at 9:32 AM UTC

ARISTOCRATIC CHRISTMAS

ARISTOCRATIC CHRISTMAS The goose was plucked for Christmas Not a feather was in sight The butler cleaned the silver Cook baked with all of her might The aristocrats in the morning room Sipped a sherry or two Whilst waiting for their dinner It was the thing to do All dressed in their finery The children there as well All except for Grandpa (The stories he could tell!) No one alas was listening And no one noticed there He’d on one foot a slipper And the other was quite bare. Below stairs was quite hectic Upstairs all serene And all along the passageways And sometimes in between Servants rushed as servants do To make things run with ease Tending fires fetching things Aiming just to please And Grandpa sat and nodded His head sank on his chest He remembered long ago The Christmas he’d thought best With one foot in a slipper The other one quite bare He waited for his dinner Sat there in his chair And soon the gong it sounded Its boom rang loud and clear They all trooped in the dining room With those they held so dear The table was resplendent The glasses gleamed and shone The cutlery was sparkling The goose it weighed a ton The master carved the mistress smiled The children looked in awe The butler served the vegetables (Cos that’s what they are for) The pudding was amazing The brandy sauce was ace They ate and ate until alas No more could they face All except for Grandpa He was sat quite still And no one noticed him not there As they all ate their fill With one foot in his slipper The other one quite bare. On Christmas day he died alone Sat there in his chair. © Pamela Brooke 2009

Continue reading...

Hindsight blues, I'm tangled up in you but you can't see through the overgrowth - Thick bristles and whistle blowers, Tell me your perception of me. Let's laugh together at the discrepancies, Don't expect more from me, You know me better than that, aristocratic nature, I hate where you come from, That comfortable turf. I can't be myself in your world, Solipsism - listen we can only shine on reflection vision and that takes more than you or I alone. Still tripping, Tangled up in you.

0

Oct 27, 2015

Oct 27, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC

Hindsight Blues

Hindsight blues, I'm tangled up in you but you can't see through the overgrowth - Thick bristles and whistle blowers, Tell me your perception of me. Let's laugh together at the discrepancies, Don't expect more from me, You know me better than that, aristocratic nature, I hate where you come from, That comfortable turf. I can't be myself in your world, Solipsism - listen we can only shine on reflection vision and that takes more than you or I alone. Still tripping, Tangled up in you.

Continue reading...

What was once thought of as meaningless, This has become the pedestal, It is now heralded as the voice of the generations, Can it be so easy to corrupt, Now a society watches in wait for what the end will bring, Popcorn and soda in hand at overpriced locations near you, We love to see how stupid we all are, Talk show hosts hit the streets and ask them, ***** watching the tube laugh and criticize, The mass media keeps us scared and uninformed, We’d rather be socially accepted than question, Socially unaccepted question, however important they may be, Now people all over the world are fed up, Revolution is sprouting clipped wings, Still, as though the blinds are shut in the window, The daily grind continues as if nothing is happening, As if we are powerless and are obligated, Drink your drug, don’t pay any attention to what that noise was, It’ll all be over soon, And you’ll soon understand what it meant to be, Outside the cage, you’ll be second-class, For the very first time, hard but free. You couldn’t ask for more America, If you don’t like the way things seem to be heading, Do something about it, be heard, think of others, Don’t let anyone stop you and take care, It’s perfectly acceptable now to hate ignorance, We can now prefer to search for the soul, Rather than the TV guide, We can now talk about things that matter, Rather than the latest re-make of a movie, We now have the power to abort the path, That ignorant, fat, rich aristocratic liars have led, We’re going to blaze our own trail, In the name of the past intellects that now shutter, Let’s get back to it.

0

Nov 15, 2012

Nov 15, 2012 at 11:47 PM UTC

What was once thought of as meaningless, This has become the pedestal, It is now heralded as the voice of the generations, Can it be so easy to corrupt, Now a society watches in wait for what the end will bring, Popcorn and soda in hand at overpriced locations near you, We love to see how stupid we all are, Talk show hosts hit the streets and ask them, ***** watching the tube laugh and criticize, The mass media keeps us scared and uninformed, We’d rather be socially accepted than question, Socially unaccepted question, however important they may be, Now people all over the world are fed up, Revolution is sprouting clipped wings, Still, as though the blinds are shut in the window, The daily grind continues as if nothing is happening, As if we are powerless and are obligated, Drink your drug, don’t pay any attention to what that noise was, It’ll all be over soon, And you’ll soon understand what it meant to be, Outside the cage, you’ll be second-class, For the very first time, hard but free. You couldn’t ask for more America, If you don’t like the way things seem to be heading, Do something about it, be heard, think of others, Don’t let anyone stop you and take care, It’s perfectly acceptable now to hate ignorance, We can now prefer to search for the soul, Rather than the TV guide, We can now talk about things that matter, Rather than the latest re-make of a movie, We now have the power to abort the path, That ignorant, fat, rich aristocratic liars have led, We’re going to blaze our own trail, In the name of the past intellects that now shutter, Let’s get back to it.

Continue reading...

"I tell you I won't have this room!" snorted the aristocratic lady to the bellboy who was conducting her. "I refuse to pay decent money for a pigsty such as this! If you think-" Profoundly disgusted, the boy interrupted. "Get in, mum. Get in! This ain't yer room. Can't ya see it's an eluvateer?"

0

Jun 10, 2013

Jun 10, 2013 at 1:05 PM UTC

"I tell you I won't have this room!" snorted the aristocratic lady to the bellboy who was conducting her. "I refuse to pay decent money for a pigsty such as this! If you think-" Profoundly disgusted, the boy interrupted. "Get in, mum. Get in! This ain't yer room. Can't ya see it's an eluvateer?"

Continue reading...

Invoices received. Aristocratic atrocities of hypocrisy Thier voices mock & decieve Place thier stock in your creed Cash your check and then leave No wonder you don't believe! Through this; What has been achieved? Wheres your heart? On your sleeve?! If life is pain, whats it mean to relieve?! "HERE! just take (2) aleve, And when it's over you'll see What I need you to be." -thee enemy

0

Nov 30, 2014

Nov 30, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC

The Charlatans host

Invoices received. Aristocratic atrocities of hypocrisy Thier voices mock & decieve Place thier stock in your creed Cash your check and then leave No wonder you don't believe! Through this; What has been achieved? Wheres your heart? On your sleeve?! If life is pain, whats it mean to relieve?! "HERE! just take (2) aleve, And when it's over you'll see What I need you to be." -thee enemy

Continue reading...

A gate into the world has cracked. Light flows into the youngs' eyes. Stumbling using their large feet, The eyases stare into their falcon's shadow. Born into a world, born into their nest, Along a cliff where they'll spend their youth. 40 days they'll spend here. 2 months they'll be dependent on their falcon. The tiercel will be fierce. He will protect his offspring. The falcon will nurture. She will feed her offspring. But all must leave the nest. Twigs, dirt, and dead vegetation, No longer can contain the eyases. They fledge until they're confident. Avid hunters and brutal slayers. Beaks covered in blood were once creamy young. They patrol the skies as kings. They're "of noble birth; aristocratic".

0

Sep 11, 2013

Sep 11, 2013 at 3:31 PM UTC

A gate into the world has cracked. Light flows into the youngs' eyes. Stumbling using their large feet, The eyases stare into their falcon's shadow. Born into a world, born into their nest, Along a cliff where they'll spend their youth. 40 days they'll spend here. 2 months they'll be dependent on their falcon. The tiercel will be fierce. He will protect his offspring. The falcon will nurture. She will feed her offspring. But all must leave the nest. Twigs, dirt, and dead vegetation, No longer can contain the eyases. They fledge until they're confident. Avid hunters and brutal slayers. Beaks covered in blood were once creamy young. They patrol the skies as kings. They're "of noble birth; aristocratic".

Continue reading...