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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Faith
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
The
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
now i know why i might engage with writing obscene
poems, chauvinism included, but still there
is no burning excuse in my mind with the way
western society actively desires censorship of certain
words, i already attributed censoring obscene
words as worse than what this tactic precipitates into:
the apathetic spread of *******, and violence
in general... it crosses my mind that sparring with violent
language cushions people from violet action...
to utilise violent language with that: pardon my French
attitude does more good than evil on the users...
how many road rage incidents could have been avoided
if people were unable to watch their tongue:
somehow we're making language sterile, by actively
pursuing this sort of censorship: which is not even
remotely politically related / motivated, we're bringing
an anaemic status quo in how fluidly we speak -
we desire to not hear the sometimes funny and the sometimes
awful... but we choose to see the god-fearing horrific...
ask any blind-man about music and he'd say:
well, i can dance to it in a nucleus position, centrally
gravitational pull - but ask the deaf man about
what he has to say when seeing **** written to counter
obscenity, as in cartoon-like: f&%£! it's just plain silly,
pocket-sized expression of psychotic behaviours,
rummaging through them i find only one source of inspiration:
the fact that we're in this blind-man's garden of innocence,
somehow dressed in the camouflage of censorship such
a tiny problem, that it does indeed require 23 mattresses
for the princess to not feel the frozen *** agitating her...
this sort of censorship in its application is under
a false sense of purpose, it really doesn't change people's
behaviour for the better, it doesn't pacify them, in does
the reverse: it infuriates, it makes violence more potent...
i'm still trying to figure out why such words
will make our perceptions saintly... unless of course
that's the reason behind them, as way of invoking an
anaesthetic placebo, a placebo that's actually active rather
than passive - presuming the anaesthetic placebo gives
way to an aesthetic active apathy-inducing ingredient...
meaning we can't bare to hear swear words, but we can
gladly watch 20 hours of 20 : 1 ****... censoring **** ****
**** **** will not escape Newtonian physics...
given our current scenario, Newtonian physics is far
more important than Einstein's relativity, i'd hate to be
in denial about cause & effect... as began with Socrates,
i too abhor moral relativism... of course Newton got
the gravity bit wrong, but i like the simpler version...
plus... there was no Romance with Einstein...
no apple, no tree, no Voltaire... meaning we don't necessarily
write history collectively, with all of us starting from
the big bang or the view from the Galapagos islands...
we don't... we continue writing history not from a
collective consciousness genesis... or from the collective
unconscious genesis - that's Jung with his archetypes
(devil, god, wise man, mother, father etc.) rather than
dreams (Freud) - we can chose were to write the future...
it's not so much ignorance as arm-chair intellectualism,
it's not about the safety of understanding something,
but the comfort of choosing to understand something...
which is pretty much to my excuse for my previous poems...
Heidegger... and that concept of Dasein -
i never bothered to understand it to the point of
reacting subjectively to it, by that i mean an interest
in writing about it, an interpolation of the subject with
alternative variations... i objectified it, i also countered it
when objectifying the concept turned out to be an
everyday object, shortening my quest.
the counter? hiersein, i.e. being here, here denoting a
solipsistic classification of awareness with / in the world -
which is basically me in my room, admiring my library,
my record collection, my torn sneakers, everything that
is classified exclusive to what dasein evolves into
when all its grammatical weaving only express a verb,
i.e. concern... so i thought, given this what can hiersein
(being here / nonchalance) actually show me as
my lack of interest in: "changing the world".
it became obvious yesterday, i had a hard time when i
didn't read the day's copy of the times (more on this later),
instead i had to suffice with construction site media,
you might have heard of this newspaper: the daily star,
at 20 pence a pop, you will see what £1.20 makes to
your psyche... but that's basically it, i objectified Heidegger's
concept and made it into an everyday object, in this
case and as the only case available: a newspaper -
and the trick is? well, with a newspaper like daily star
you don't actually experience dasein - it's completely
missing in this style of media, and that's worrying given
my barbaric poetry of yesterday... it's missing, not there,
such object-for-object chirality is what gives birth to
hiersein (being here); but today i returned to my usual
media diet, a flicked through the times and the natural
balance of personal objects and a fresh impersonal object
coexisted - the newspaper is truly the most adequate
compounded expression of Heidegger's dasein -
which i attribute to the constant need to emphasise an
empathy with others... empathising is a neutral form
of sympathising, since sympathy is sourced in shared
experiences: **** victims (e.g.) - therefore empathy is
something that in the ontological structuring of dasein,
which opposes the ontological structuring of hiersein,
which is structured by apathy; there is nothing else for
me to write, apart from the compendium proof
of the disparity of sources, i.e. headlines and subheadings:

- prior compendium -

i will never understand the point of autobiographies,
the majority of autobiographies are written
on a p.s. basis, after the facts / actions,
never immediately, concerning ideas /
solidified thoughts, thoughts condensed into idea
that allow thinking / cognitive narration to
continue regardless with what's being achieved...
i haven't anything autobiographical dissimilar
with something biographical...
Plato wrote that wonderful biography like
Shakespearean theatre, but i guess his critics felt
the claustrophobic tug & pull of mermaids...
still the problem ascends heights unparalleled -
even with ghost writers doing the leg-work...
cheap-buggers never learned to write, let alone read,
and here they are writing biographies...
ah, **** it... they're only sketches... whether biographic
or autobiographic... they're still mere sketches...
if this was the art world the revenue would come
posthumously, when it comes to literacy
nothing really distinguishes poets from
those prescribing pedestrian signs...
the Olympians can moan at the vacant stadium...
that there's a hierarchy in sports,
with the favoured monochrome idealisation
of where the bunny money is in the whirlpool
of the rabbit hole investment: football, volleyball...
but the literary events are the same...
people love to lie that they read the bestseller to
its full extent... but treat books like chairs and tables...
inertia prone half finished, sat on for 2 weeks of
the entire year... the Olympians are very much
like poets, and i care to distance myself from either
demand for more interest being invoked...
i like esoteric sports, i like esoteric writing...
but that's how it stand: poets are Olympians where
novelists are footballers, who retire at 30 and
then think about what to do with their wages
that are 10x higher than the everyday labourer...
start a restaurant, buy a strip of houses in Liverpool
like Michael Owen? good guess, here's to exploiting
youth disgracefully... that's what they're getting,
and these are the dilemma points to consider...
they're the equivalent gladiators of our time,
Rome was just a sleeper before it awoke once more...
but i'll never understand why these
people decided to exploit literature for gain...
all these academics with their pristine purity of discovery
are pacified when dictating print,
what poet, has a chance in hell, to appear gladly
excavated from Plato's cave of television?
about none.
i too was focusing on 20th century literature,
before 21st literature came about...
and i thought, oh god: they're really going to create
a totalitarian democracy, every artist will be
strip-searched for adding cinnamon and chilli to their
writing to bounce away from conformist
sober and sane extraction of alter wordings...
this 21st scene will become polarised...
we'll have the extinction of One Direction over a joint,
while the Rolling Stones drank a keg of whiskey
and pulled off a show... we'll have moralisation
of the fans to subdue the artists, which will mean
no artist will ably create a zeitgeist to rebel... everyone
will suddenly experience a weird sort of communism...
the worst kind... it will mean having
all the mental freedoms without the ability to
economise a coup... basically an inertia, an immediate
fatality... we can't economise a coup...
which boils down to why so many autobiographies
aren't really biographic, but rather consolidating,
by the meaning: autobiographic i intended to relate
the everyday... the most secretive account of life:
the everyday... this is stressing Proust,
even though i preferred Joyce over Proust i keep
the everyday the prime ideal: the only detail,
so that an autobiography can make sense,
automation of writing, like breathing or sneezing...
not some monetary-spinning device 20 years after
the facts... 20 years later you're pretty much writing
fiction... i am all for the biosphere of expanding
Alveoli... but when did you ever read an autobiography
that mentioned the taste of weak coffee
from the Friday of 20th of August 2016? never;
you read autobiographies
like you read self-help books...  waiting for
all that experience regurgitating motivational talk
about reaching a plateau of comparative success...
i can understand autobiographies written by the elders,
i understand biographies written about people
posthumously - but the tragedy is, given the spinning
wheel of money? we're getting "auto" biographies
written toward their 3rd volume renditions of
people aged 30... let alone 40... so much for
western society having the upper hand on political matters...
just saying: sort your own **** before trying
to sort other people's problems...
i could understand if these autobiographies were written
as described: automaton solo... but they're not...
before the compendium it's this everlasting presence
of a desired body of power being depicted:
prior the monopoly of knowledge, there was a monopoly
of literacy... given that 99% of us are literate, it
actually doesn't mean a third donkey's *******
whether we can read, or write, we got shelved in controlling
this once priestly vanity, we got taught bureaucracy alongside...
but the monopoly of literacy is way past us,
we're being convened in the ability to monopolise knowledge,
(oh please, don't let the paranoia seep in,
remember yourself when reading me, once in a while,
i don't drag you to phantasmagorical heights, even if i could,
i'd prefer you being agile in learning how to be bored
than letting your repel the same boredom i too share,
well... but **** me if you want to be the next Lenin) -
and the easiest way to monopolise knowledge? the media...
you basically need a lot of facts, and an evolved version
of dialectics, dialectics being the prime enemy of democracy
(it's not an alternative political model like despotism as
we are held to believe, it's actually dialectics,
suppressing other forms of collectivisation is the one
sure method of suppressing the attempt at dialectics
(individualism) - by making people overly opinionated,
ergo: the inability to engage with opinions, blind-alleys
throughout all plausible attempts to do so) -
so once you have enough facts to fiddle with the Rubik's cube
of juxtaposition, you end up with the ultra-scientific
form of dialectics... the matter of opinion in relation
to truth without a relative uniformity that prescribes
the status quo stasis is a debate about how accurate
we all are: i.e., is that true to the closest centimetre,
or the closest millimetre? it's a bit like watching a Zeno
paradox:
                 10.1                           and 10.01
      which one's tortoise and which is Achilles?
well, you know; ah ****! the compendium of the two
newspapers which got me slightly depressed...

- the compendium -

a. daily star

- B. BRO SAM'S SECRET 'NERVOUS BREAKDOWN'
- Laura & Jason's baby joy
- Robbie (Williams) £1.6M a night!
- BREXIT BOOST ON JOB FRONT
- ANGE DAD BACKS TRUMP
- JR'S wife Linda set to Holly
- Edd's no Beverly Hills flop
(Lana among cow *******)
- LAURA: OUR TINY TROTTS WILL BE WORLD-BEATERS
- FURY AT BAD LOSERS' SLURS
- 'Jealous sis' jibes
- MAKE YOUR KID AN OLYMPICS ACE
- Peaty: I want to be a rapper
- TV girl really ill
- **** SAM, 'ON THE BRINK OF BREAKDOWN'
- COSTA ***** HELL
- CAGING ANJEM WILL INSPIRE NEW JIHADIS
- POG'S LOADED AGENT BUYS CAPONE'S LAIR
- I'll make Kylie a pop star
- JEZ DOESN'T KNOW ANT FROM HIS DEC
- GUILTY OF DEMONIC SAVAGERY
- Great British Rake In
- Britain is *******
- BAYWATCH U.K.
- Va Va Vroom
- JUST JANE: My lover snubs plea to get wed
- HART: I'LL DECIDE WHEN TO GO.

b. the times

- Boy victim becomes a symbol of Assad's war
- US Olympics swimmers invented robbery tale, say Rio police
- Make us sell healthy food, supermarkets implore May (P.M.)
- Lost weekend of the lying best man
- fears over free speech delay law to silence hate preacher
- Met's 'commuter cops' live in France
- Husbands happiest when they earn half as much as wives
- Socialists plot to drive Britain left
- Fake human sacrifice filmed at European high altar of physics
- Officers investigated over ex-footballer's Taser death
- Number of pupils taking languages at record low
   (Mandarin @ 2,849 - % decrease of 8.1,
    alarmingly religious studies 27,032 up by 4.9%
    and psychology of status 59,469 up by 4.3%....
    meaning the mad will soon be diagnosing the sane
   as mad, just because the curriculum said so)
- Top grades add up to 100% at the school for maths prodigies
- Deprived sixth formers thrive on competition
- European students rush to get into British universities
- DVLA earns £10m selling driver's details
- Mystery over Kenyan death of aristocrat
- Journalist who voted twice reported to police for
  'fraud'
- Tomato tax threatens European trade war
- Love story of the Pantomime
- Homeless conmen fleeced widow, 81
- Brownlee brothers at the Olympics...
- Hopeful shoppers give sales a lift after Brexit vote
- MoD guard could be stood down despite terrot threat
- Owners spit mansion after failing to sell
- The job with international appeal: saving our hedgehogs
- Finch warns unborn chicks if weather gets warm
- Migrant violence rises after decline in policing around Jungle
- Longest road tunnel promises a relaxing ride under Pennines
- Mothers step up to drive Tube trains through night
(rowdy teens ageing exponentially on a Saturday night
when not getting a lift, ******...)
-MP's deal with bookmaker to be investigated
- Ebola nurse 'hid high temperature'
- Shoesmith's ex-huspand kept child *******
- Morpurgo war tale springs into life
- Supergran fights off teenage muggers
- IVF is more successful for white women
OPINION SECTION
- Great political fiction is good for democracy
- the BBC is leaving its audiences in the dark
- airline food? just pass me the gin and tonic
- Modern Olympics began on the fields of Rugby
/ greasy polls, holding firm, tongue tied,
  call for compulsory targets to tackle obesity,
second in line, mindfulness course, cost of planning,
puffins v. ship rats.... and all future letters to the editor /
- Moscow presses Turkey for access to US airbases
- Hundreds killed each month in Assad's jails
- Putin bans celebration of defeated KGB coup
(another James Bond movie on the cards,
i'm assured, and with a moral carte blanche) -
Hollande clams Carla Bruni spied concerning his
use of diapers...
- Euthanasia tourists flock Belgian A & E from France,
  where a revival of ****** made people dress shark-fin
  sharp on the catwalk...
- Mosquito pesticide linkage application = intersex /
   East German women
- Haiti cholera linked to Nepalese **** and ***** via
  the
DJ Thomas Dec 2010

Bride of the desert
the indomitable town
Solomon’s Kingdom

            
Lost in history, I wander through a city that was fortified by King Solomon, raided by Mark Antony and ruled by Queen Zenobia who made it the capital of an empire, only to be captured herself and paraded through Rome in gold chains.

Civilisation upon civilisation are entombed within Tadmur; in a huge plain of carved stone blocks, massive columns arched in rows or standing alone, a Romanesque theatre, senate and baths, dominated by a great temple whose origin dates back four thousand years.

Due to a clever mistranslation from Arabic by the euro-centric traveller who ‘discovered’ Palmyra, the city also has a modern name.

Here for millennia, a tribe of Bedu have camped within the folds of these desert steppes and blackened Tadmur’s ruins with their camp fires, to trade camels or herd goats and sheep. Walking the divide between city, desert and the more fertile steppes, I search for their surviving descendants and find a black woven goat’s hair tent with its edges raised to capture a cooling breeze.

Hamed and his sons, huge and wary of foreigners, welcome me to sit within on  carpets and then graciously serve dates with innumerable small glasses of tea. I indicate ‘enough’ in the traditional manner by rolling my right hand and the empty glass. Hamed continues to voice his concerns about the lack of feed for their sheep and the prices achieved at market. I readily succumb to several small cups of greenish Arabic coffee, before being allowed to take my leave.

For millennia the wealth of this city was based on tariffs levied on goods flowing out of the desert aboard swaying camel caravans. Today, these once proudly fierce tribal Bedu no longer breed, train or ride camels.

The Bedu greatly prize their reputation and the respect of their peers. Their traditions are the foundation of these small tribal communities and may predate Islam;  a life now undermined by borders, nationalism, government settlement plans, conscription, war, television and tourism.
                                         *+     +     +      +      +

Black torn empty shells
swept by Mount Lebanon’s shade
Cannabis Valley

As I recall a haiku of ‘images’ of  my very first journey to Damascus, from war-torn Beirut through the lushness of the Bekaa;

in the here and now
a dark suit and Mercedes
cross the Euphrates

Defence Minister, Rifaat al-Assad is in town with his fifty thousand strong Defence Companies, complete with tanks, planes and helicopters.  A coup d’état is in progress to assure Rifaat’s succession to the Presidency of his older brother Hafiz al-Assad, now recovering from a heart attack.

Last year, Rifaat massacred some forty thousand Syrian citizens when he ordered the shelling of the city of Hama. Nobody in Damascus will be underestimating him.

All political and military power is in the hands of the al-Assads and key generals, who command the military and police. The majority of whom are of the Alawite minority Muslim faith from the rural districts near Latakia in the North. Before their revolution, governments came and went in weeks.

My friend Elias is allied to Rifaat’s cause, by simply doing business with the son. Now he and his family share the risks and dangers of this coup failing and stand to lose a fortune. Monies paid locally in Syrian pounds for goods delivered to government agencies.

Elias’s connection with Rifaat and Latakia, as well as his confident presence, humour and love of life, still allows us easy access to the Generals’ Club. Sadly, there is to be no table and floorshow, but a closed meeting with two senior Generals, where we learn that Hafiz has recovered enough to take charge and is now locked in discussions with his younger brother.

The decision is therefore made for us. We say our goodbyes and drive to Latakia.

On Sunday Elias meets his brothers, then with his family, we visit his parents small holding and enjoy a meal together. A wonderful fresh mezza that includes my favourite, courgettes stuffed with ground lamb and rice, in a yogurt sauce. Syrian food is amazingly healthy and my cuisine of choice.

It is a cloudless Monday morning, as I, Elias, his wife and children drive into the docks to board an old 46 foot motor cruiser. Huge cases are stowed as I make my inspection, then start the twin diesels and switch on the over-the-horizon radar. Our early departure is critical. We cast off and the Mate steers for the harbour entrance below the cliffs that guard it. As the Mediterranean lifts our bow in greeting, the disembodied voice of the Harbour Master tells us to return as we do not have permission to sail.

Ignoring the order, I increase our speed through the short choppy surf. We are sailing under the Greek Cypriot flag and in an hour I hope to be out of territorial waters.  At 14 knots we are a slow target.

Fifteen nautical miles from the coast of Syria, I leave the mate to follow a bearing for Larnaca. Elias has opened a bottle of Black Label. I quaff a glassful.

Later noticing a noisy vibration and diagnosing a bent prop shaft, I shut down the starboard engine. Our speed is now a steady 8 knots, so I decide on a new heading to discern more quickly the shadow of the Cypriot coastline on the radar screen.

Midway, the mate and Elias begin babbling about a small vessel ahead and four separate armoured boxes encircling it. Ugly Israeli high speed gun boats or worse, Lebanese pirates. Should they board us and find stowed riches, we will be killed.

Leaving the Mate to maintain our course, I go on deck to play the ‘European Owner’.  The vessel they have trapped is long and lean with three tall outboard motors but no crew are in sight.  Leaving them astern, our choice of vessel now fully exonerated, I and Elias throw another whisky ‘down the hatch’.

With us holding the correct bearing, I ask Elias to wake me as soon as we near Cyprus. Feeling utterly exhausted I collapse into a bunk.  

I wake unbidden, to find the Mate steering for the harbour entrance. Shouldering him aside, I spin the wheel to bring the vessel about. Shaking, I ask them why there are minarets on the ‘church’ and did they not notice our being observed from the top of the harbour's hillock, below which a fast patrol boat is anchored?  The Mate sprints to the Greek Cypriot flag and is hugging it to his chest; Elias wisely prays.

I command the wheel as we motor directly away from the port of Famagusta and Turkish held Northern Cyprus. We later change bearing and pass tourist beaches, it is night fall before we moor-up in Larnaca.
                                         +     +     +      +      +


Later that same year I am called to a last urgent meeting in Cyprus with Elias. He calmly tells me that he will be arrested when he rejoins his family, who have returned to Syria. Elias asks me to take full control of his Cypriot Businesses, then returns home and ‘disappears’ with his brothers.
                                         +     +     +      +      +


Since sacking the two Arab General Managers when they tried to get control of the bank accounts, it has taken more than six months to locate the prison holding all the brothers. We obtain the release of all except Elias, who has been tortured.  We then ‘purchase’ him the exclusive use of the Prison Governor's quarters and twenty four hour access for Elias’s family, nurses and doctors.
                                         +     +     +      +      +


Over the last two years, I have honoured my promises and expanded trade as far as Pakistan. Elias is still imprisoned.
                                         *
+     +     +      +      +
haibun of a late twentieth century travelogue
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
Michael Marchese Apr 2017
Prometheus ignites to spark this
Molotov to make his Marxist
On swine Fuhrer's Faux News tweet
Hashtag it #GorbachevWallStreet
'Cuz Putin's puppet Pinochet's
Whipped Creme de Kremlin's CIA  
From JFK to Allende
Like Russian roulette ricochet
I'll Trotsky through McCarthy's brains
Leave slain these ****** sugar Keynes   
Discred' the Fed’s six-figureheads
With strikes at dawn more red than Debs  
Still breakin' breads with Mulan Bouges
Makin' men of Khmer Stooges
Seein’ Rouge when Al Spans Greens
Potemkin loan wolf ponzi schemes
Who count the sheep like Philippines
Then Black Pearl Harbor GRANMA’s dreams...

Of Marilyn Monroes in store
Just off-shore ****** who **** the poor
A Glass of Steagall's broken trust
Half emptier than bowls of dust
In rust beltways still spewin’ fumes
As factories become Khartoums
No carbon footprint tax the hint
Of Amazon decays in Flint
Just pop the caps and drown in debt
Like Kent State drinkin' to forget
That cuttin’ class engenders race
Leaves glory, gold and God's disgrace
To slaughter Moor than Reconquista  
From Marti to Sandinista     
With Zapata sharin’ crops  
Till my Mexica heartbeat stops

I'm Pancho infiltratin’ villas
The Magilla of guerillas
In the midst of Congolese  
Same colonies, just different thieves
To me, my breed’s of landless deeds
So how you like ‘dem Appleseeds?
FReeducatin’ caves of youth
Fed Citizen’s United Fruit
‘Cuz now my open eye of Horus
Battle cries Grito de Lares
Che is centered in these veins
So my Ashoka takes the reigns
These Iron paci-Fists pack hits
Like Jimi on some Malcolm ****
Still Hajj mirages I barrage
The Raj with sheer Cong camouflage

Deployin' Sepoys on viceroys
And pol desPots’ in the employs
Of Tweedledums who run the slums
With country clubs of loaded guns
These Betsy Deez bear arms to school
Till no kids fly kites in Kabul
So gas-mask your Sharia flaw
I'll Genghis Khan Sheikoun it raw  
'Cuz refugees are rising
And we're anti-socializing
Subsidizing private party plans
Who take commands from ***** hands
These grand old klans coup klux control
Your diamond minds with mines of coal
An oil Standardized existence
Solar powers my resistance

******* sun of Liberty  
My fear itself is history  
Rewriting wrongs of Leo’s creed
In culture’s blood and vulture’s greed
An alt-right/all-white cockpile   
Stockpilin' human capital
In tricklin’ contests over spoils
Of the cotton-ceded soils
Jingos chained to Cruci-fictions
Swallowin' good Christian dictions
I spit Spanish Inquisition
Trippin' Socrates sedition
Droppin' Oppen's fission quest
For "now I am become death"
'Cuz G-bay pigs in-Fidel's sites
Flew U-2's into my last rites

These Saddamites, I smite Assad
Then spread 'em like Islamabad
Convert for-profit prison tsars
From Escobars to Bolivars 
Like currency in Venezuela
Current police-state favela
Where 9/10th's of your possession's
Worth less than your Great Depression’s
Upscale bail ‘em outs of jail
With Dodd-Frank banks too big to fail
Your FDA-approved psychosis
From Campos’ daily dose of
More defense? Here’s my two cents
These slave wages ain’t excrements
So just say no to Reaganomics    
Got us hooked, but not on phonics

Just that Noriega strain
Of Contras stackin' crack contain
Like MAD dogs who trade weapons-grades  
For Ayatollah hate tirades
On “don’t ask, don’t tell” plague ebonics
Drug crusAID Jim Crow narcotics     
Warsaw rats injected, tested,
Quarantined, and then arrested
Guess the J. Arbenz' lens
Still Tet offends their ethnic cleanse
Still Wounding Knees of Standing Sioux
Till Crazy Horses stampede you   
For Mother Nature’s common ground
My Martin Luther’s gather ‘round
Is hellbound sounds of Nero’s crown  
Let's burn this Third World Reichstag down

Vox populyin’ to remove ‘ya
Like Lumumba then Nkrumah
So some Pumbaa kleptocrat
Declares himself the next Sadat
To hide supply-side Apartheid
Increase demand for genocide
So check your factions in Uganda  
Tune into Hotel Rwanda
Come play pirates with Somalis
Then desert ‘em like Benghazis
Thirst for blood so French Algiers  
It boils mine in Trails of Tears  
My destiny unManifest-
Oppressive Adam-Smitten West
So pay your overdues to Mao
I’ll Mussolini Chairman Dow

Then flood this 9th ward Watergate
With killing fields of glyphosate
I'll redistribute IMF’s
With leftist depth so deft it’s theft
I’ll My Lai massacre these lines
With sweet Satsuma samurhymes
I'll make these Madoff Hitlers squeal
With that Bastille New Deal cold steel
Now feel that Shining Pathos wrath
Drop Nagasaki aftermath
On Nanjing kings and dragon’s Diems
With ****** bodhisattva zens
To show you how I pledge allegiance
With razed flags still rapt in Jesus  
Laosy liars pogrom psalms
Can’t Uncle Phnom my Penh’s truth bombs

On heroes shootin' ******
My fix is un-American
Tiananmen democracies
To Syngman Rhee hypocrisies  
Theocracies drive me Hussein
With Bush league’s mass destruction claim
So I dig laissez pharaohs graves
With pyramids of Abu Ghraibs
Then nail their coffers closed like Vlad
I AM THE GHOST OF STALINGRAD
My hammer forged in winters past
My sickle reaps the shadows caste
By pantheons of penta-cons
Whose Exxons lead to autobahns
When liberal Arts of War and Peace in
Free speech teach my voice of treason
“Fascism will come to America wrapped in a flag and carrying a cross”
-Sinclair Lewis
Marshal Gebbie Sep 2013
Social chaos metered out through tiers of population stung
By indiscriminate battle wrought lifeblood, incessantly, is wrung.
Why so the need for Assad’s torch, your Syria so needlessly debauched ?

Nameless causes fuel the fire, Shiite, Sunni intervention. Hezbollah and al Qaeda spew
Vindictiveness to streets of rubble, Toxic, killing vapours stew.
Misery to gasping children, horror in the dying eyes….
Condemnation points it’s staff to you, Assad, where vile blame now lies.
Why so the need for cities torched, Damascus needlessly debauched ?

Inevitably the missiles cometh, raining incandescent death and blast,
International righteousness throws intervention’s unknowns vast.
Why so this need for man debauched, Your Syria, once so beautiful, now scorched ?

Marshalg
Pukehana
7 September 2013
1.

From our
safe windows,
we crane our necks,
rubbernecking
past the slow
motion wreckage
unfolding in Homs.

We remain
perfectly
perched
to marvel at
the elegant arc of
a mortar shell
framing tomorrows
deep horizon,
whistling through
the twilight to
find its fruitful
mark.

In the now
we keep
complicit time,
to the arrest
of beating hearts,
snapping fingers
to the pop
of rifle cracks,
swooning to
the delicious
intoxication of
curling smoke
lofting ever
upward;
yet
thankfully
remain
distant
enough to
recuse any
possibility
of an
intimate
nexus
with the
besieged.

2.

From our
safe windows,
we behold the
urgent arrivals of
The Friends of Syria
demanding
clean sheets
and 4 Star
room service at a
Tunisian Palace
recently cleaned
and under new
management
promising a
much needed
refurbishment.

The gathered,
a clique of
this epochs
movers and shakers,
a veritable
rouges gallery of
ambassadorial
prelates, Emirs and
state department
bureaucrats
summoned
with portfolio
from the
darkest corners
of the globe.

They are
eager to
sanctify
the misery
of Homs,
deflect and
lay blame
with realpolitik
rationalizations,
commencing
official commissions
of inquiry,
deliberating
grave considerations,
issuing indictments
of formal charges for
Crimes Against
Humanity
while
remaining
urgently
engrossed
in the fascination
of interviewing
potential
process servers
to deliver the bad news
to Bashar al-Assad
and his soulless
Baathist
confederates,
if papers
are to be
served.

Yes, the diplomats
are busy meeting
in closed rooms.

In hushed circles
they whisper
into aroused ears,
railing against
Russia’s
gun running
intransigence
and China’s
geopolitical
chess moves.

Statesmen
boast of the
intrepid justice
of tipping points
and the moving poetry
of self serving tales,
weighing the impact
of stern sanctions
amidst the historical
confusion of the
asymmetrical
symmetries
of civil war.

Caravans
of Arab League
envoys roll up
in silver Bentleys,
crossing deserts
of contradictory
obfuscations,
navigating the
endless dunes
with hand held
sextants of
hidden agendas.

The heroic
Bedouins are
eager to offload
their baggage
and share
on the ground
intelligence from
their recent soirées
across Syria.

They beg
a quick fix,
the triage of a
critical catharsis
to bleed their
brains dry
of heinous
recollections,
pleading
release from a
troubled conscience
victimized by
the unnerving paradox
of reconciling
discoveries of
perverse voyeurism
with the sanctioned
explanations
of their respective
ruling elites.

The bellies
of these
scopophiliacs
are distended;
grown queasy
from a steady diet
of malfeasance
an ulcerated
world parades
in continuous loop;
spewing the raw feeds
of real time misery;
forcibly fed
the grim
visions of
frantic
fathers
rushing
the mangled
carcases
of mortally
wounded
children
to crumpled
piles of smashed
concrete that were
once hospitals.

We despondently
ask how
much longer
must we
look into
the eyes
of starving
children
emaciated from
the wanton
indifference
of the world?


3.

From our
safe windows
we wonder
how much
longer can
the urgent
burning
ambivalence
continue
before it
consumes
our common
humanity in
a final
conflagration?

My hair already
singed by the
endless firestorms
sweeping the prairies
of the world.

How can we survive
the trampling hoards,
the marauding
plagues of acrimony
fed by a voracious
blood lust aspiring to
victimize the people
of Homs and a
thousand cities
like it?


4.

From my safe
window I stand in witness
to the state execution of
refugees fleeing the
living nightmare
of Baba Amr.

The ****** of innocents,
today's newly minted martyrs,
women and children
cornered, trapped
on treacherous roads,
mercilessly
slaughtered and
defiled in death
to mark the lesson
of a ruthless master
enthralled with the
power of his
sadistic fascist
lordship.

I cannot avert my eyes
marking sights
of pleading women
begging for the
lives of their children
in exchange for
the gratification
of a sadists
lust.

My heart
is impaled
on the sharp
spear of
outrage
beholding
careening
children mowed
down with the
serrated blades
protruding
from marauding
jeeps of laughing
soldiers.

I drop
to my knees
in lakes of
tears
reflecting
a grotesque
horror stricken
image of myself.

My eyes have
murdered my soul.

The ghastly images
of Homs have chased
away my Holy Ghost
to the safety of a child's
sandbox hidden away
in a long forgotten
revered memory.


5.

From my safe window
I seethe with anger
demanding vengeance,
debating how to rise
to meet the obscenity of
the Butcher of Damascus.

The sword of Damocles
dangles so tantalizingly close
to this tyrants throat.  

The covered women
of Homs scream prayers
“may Allah bring Bashar to ruin”

Dare I pray
that Allah trip the
horsehair trigger
that holds the
sword at bay?

Do I pick up
the sword
a wield it
as an
avenging
angel?

Am I the
John Brown
of our time?

Do I organize
a Lincoln Brigade
and join the growing
leagues of jihadists
amassing at the
Gates of Damascus?

Will my righteous
indignation fit well
in a confederacy
with Hamas and
al-Qaeda as my
comrades in arms?

Do I succumb to
the passion of hate
and become just
another murderous
partisan, or do I
commend the power
of love and marshal
truth to speak with
the force of
satyagraha?

I lift a fervent prayer
to claim the justice
of Allah’s ear,
“may the knowing one
lift the veil of foolishness
that covers my heart in
cloaks of resent, cure
my blindness that ignores
my raging disease of
plausible deniability
ravaging the body politic
of humanity.”

6.

Indeed,
physician heal thyself.

I run to embrace my
illness.

I pine to understand it.

I undertake the
difficult regimen
of a cure to eradicate
the terrible affliction.

This
pernicious
plague,
subverting
the notion
of a shared
humanness
is a cunning
sedition that
undermines
the unity of
the holy spirit.  

The bell from
the toppled steeples
still tolls, echoing
across the space of
continents and eons
of temporal time.

The faithful chimes
gently chides us
to remove the wedge
of perception that
separates, divides
and undermines.

Time has come
to liberally
apply the balm
that salves the
open wounds
so common to
our common
human condition.

The power of prayer
is the joining of hands
with others racked
with the common
affliction of humanness.

Allah,  
My eyes are wide open,
my sacred heart revealed,
my sleeves are rolled up,
my memory is stocked,
my soul filled with resolve,
my hand is lifted
extended to all
brothers and sisters.
Lift us,
gather us
into one
loving embrace.

Selah


7.

From the safe
windows of
our palaces
we live within
earshot of
the trilling
zaghroutas
of exasperation
flowing from
the besieged
city smouldering
under Bashar’s
symphony of terror.

Our nostrils
fill with the
acrid plumes
of unrequited
lamentations
lifting from the
the burning
destruction
of shelled
buildings.

Our eyes spark
from the night
tracers
of sleeking
snipers
flitting along
the city’s
rooftops.

The deadly jinn
indiscriminately
inject the
paralysis of
random fear
into the veins
of the city
with each
skillful
head shot.

These
ghoulish
assassins
lavish in their
macabre work;
like vultures
they eagerly
feast on the
corpses of their ****,
the stench of bloated
bodies drying in the
sun is the perfume
that fills their nostrils.


8.

From our
safe window
we discern the
silhouettes of militants
still boldly standing
amidst the
mounting rubble of an
unbowed Homs
shouting;

Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!

raising pumped fists,
singing songs
of resistance,
dancing to
the revelation of
freedom,
refusing to
be coward by
the slashing
whips of a
butchers
terrible
sword.


9.

From my
safe window
my tongue laps
the pap
of infants
suckling from
the depleted
teats of mothers
who cannot cry
for their dying
children;
tears fail
to well from
the exhaustion
of dehydrated
pools.

10.

From my
safe window
my heart stirs
to the muezzin
calling the
desperate faithful
from the toppled
rubble of dashed
minarets.

We can
no longer
shut our ears
to the adhan
of screams
the silent
voices that echo
the blatant injustice
of a people under siege.


11.

From my
safe window,
I pay
Homage to Homs
and call brothers
and sisters to rise
with vigilant
insistence
that hostilities
cease and
humanity be
upheld,
respected and
protected.


12.

From my safe
window
I perceive
the zagroutas
of sorrow
manifest as a
whiling hum,
a sweeping
blue mist,
levitating
the coffins
from the rubble
of ravaged streets.

The swirling
chorus of
mourning
joins my
desperate
prayers;
rising in
concert
with the
black billows
of smoke
dancing
away
from the
flaming
embers
of scorched
neighborhoods.


13.

From my
safe window
I heed
the fluttering
wings
of avenging
angels
furiously
batting
as they
climb
the black
plumes,
lifting from
the scattered bricks
of the desecrated
city.

It is the
Jacob’s
Ladder
for our
time;
marking
a new
consecrated
place
where
a New Adam
is destined
to be formed
from the
pulverized
stones of
desolation.

14.

From our
safe windows
we peer into
resplendent
mirrors
beholding
the perfect image of
ourselves
eying
falling tears
dripping blood,
coloring death
onto the
blanched sheets
of disheveled beds.


15.

From our
safe windows
our voices are silenced,
our words mock urgency
our thoughts betray comprehension
our senses fail to illicit empathy
our action is the only worthy prayer


16.

From my
safe window
I hear the
mortar shells
walking toward
my little palace,
the crack
of a ******
shot
precedes
the wiz of a
passing bullet
whispering
its presence
into my
waxen
ear.


17.

From my
safe window,
my palms scoop
the rich soil
of the flower boxes
perched on my sill.
I anoint the tender
green shoots of  the
Arab Spring
with an incessant flow
of bittersweet tears.

Music selection:
John Coltrane
A Love Supreme
Acknowledgment

Oakland
2/28/12
jbm
Adam Nahhass Apr 2018
Under torn roofs, on scattered graves,
Assad soldiers celebrate their end of fight!
Adrift, disbelief devouring souls,
We beat the "terrorists", they still cite!
Carrying Kalashnikovs on their backs,
Scared but looting everything in sight.
We won; this should be our wage;
A chance we may lose despite!

In Syria, massacres become a tradition,
Like father, like son! What a plight!
Ben Ali said before "I understood you"
To KSA, he took the first flight.
Egypt’s Mubarak "got your demands"
Later, he stepped down overnight.
In Syria, neither understood nor could he;
Needless to say, he got a green light!

Homes bombed, children sniped,
A Million died, no end in sight!
Bombs are ringing out the windows,
Raining death hunts Syrians campsite!
Assad media alleging a conspiracy;
ignited a war, Oh! Russians delight!
Maskirovka? Outdated doctrine stupid!
Wild bears never again fly-by-night!

In Duma they used chemical weapons,
innocent children suffocated at night!
Foam coming out of their mouths,
Trying hard to breathe at twilight
There Macron looking for proof!
May you try yourself & feel the rite!
Nature disliked, condemned this act, whilst
Arabs upon condemnation, did not unite!

Trump tweeted! Pushed Assad to evacuate.
Russian warships moved away at daylight!
Do send the fleet & honor those tweets!
Think heaven gates are shining tonight.
No behind-scenes deals, no survival.
Take gas killing animal to nearest waste site.
Pardon me if bothered you President Trump
I wrote you coz we don't sleep at night.

#Chemical_Tweets
Written by : Adam Nahhass
April 13, 2018
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it was brutal past these two days,
pedantry and what not,
first came the lacklustre observation
that needed changing given the perfectionism of coining the phrase:
machina non ex ego,
then came the familiar “god” barricaded with
what proper pronoun usage there is
in the omnipresent and omnitempus rubric will allow,
what’s the first person present acquisitive collective of i in latin?
it’s clearly stated that it’s poached egg...
so me and my totem the fox tonight, the streets empty,
november rain warming the air...
guns ‘n’ roses could be playing in the background
and a wedding of trendowata / trędowata
(helen mniszków) / ***** / i.e. ń
where the bride dies on the honeymoon...
once in a honeymoon the blue moon makes a joke...
been here, done that, let’s mash up the tango with the foxtrot
while genuine genesis gets the ****-off-factor thumbs up...
peter gabriel never made it to the pop section of critics...
he remained hidden in the realm of late-composition
of mahler and whoever decided slapping lycra pants on
frying pans was definitely music.
hey, my sarcastic humour is back... which means i’m
sitting in an easy chair, drinking whiskey, listening to music...
no, actually my lower back is aching while i type
on a dinner table chair...
so the pedantic masochism that got me hot & bothered
for the past two days was changing: machina ex non-ego
to machina non ex ego
(it wasn't me... shaggy... who thought up
the need for traffic wardens... penalties for parking
on double yellow... or the one who
required michelin-star dining...
or the one who kicked a sphere into a rectangle...
i'm not the one who can claim
such social engineering... i'm not the one
behind the tomahawk...
or calling the mayan diety of wind and rain
hurakan like the polish aversion of something
behind storms an alt. spelling via huragan)...
god almighty... did you see the weather forecasts for december?
horrific!
nietzsche famously ignored america...
joseph roth didn’t...
now i’m at the stage of stealing shadows, given the theory
of actors stealing other people’s shadows, recipients
of life or not...
the only way to steal shadows from actors is in the cognitive approach...
make complete dumb-arses smart, turn the quote inside out
and forget existential ambiguity of single word meanings...
forget the spoken interpretation of the linear tetramarca (“ “)
ditto with theapprox. markings as solved, due to the explanation:
i think i said... not i think i doubted that meaning originally...
let me just change the spelling of what’s intended...
ah hell with it: “i” is worse than ~i.
this bombing of daesh is going to hurt the west...
i know why... the russians know why...
they’re doing the puppeteer tactic of war...
get a weak ruler on the throne... heat the throne up...
see the wax of the puppet melt...
see... russia sided with the assad regime...
the west didn’t side with anyone...
i can see a moral angle in favour of russia...
it bombs because it knows assad, bashar allah sad...
it wants the old honours back for the kingpin jim yong ping pong uno
(a.k.a. deep-blue-pong solo with a brick wall),
the west is playing english roulette...
it’s still the same wheel of fortune...
but the ***** are bigger... perhaps smaller...
throw a single grain of pepper / salt in for the gamble...
that’s the west for me... ****** **** ignoramus,
the ****** third cousin of the motivational coach of **** bred kim carmageddon:
oi guv! spare us a tickle!
but you know what i really really love... memories:
the time i read of kierkegaard’s faustian theory of dominion,
when a man can turn a bright spark of femininity
into a juvenille gamer too nervous to stop playing a game
and engage in conversation...
god that girl was something... but then she turned into a little
mouse who could pipsqueak the whole truth
under “supposed” interrogation...
you know that abraham came from the city called Ur
which is modern iraq?
no, you see, kierkegaard’s theory of faust, or faustian sexuality
in the book either / or is perfectly matched up
with don juan’s misogynistic polygamy - the village bicycle analogy -
he eventually becomes a conquered piece of meat
once thought to be the hand under the shawl of saint teresa...
the beatles v. the rolling stones?
bob dylan v. dylan thomas?
that quote from the devil’s advocat by al cappuccino:
‘i’m the ultimate humanist,
i’m the hand under mona lisa’s skirt!’
i vow my entry... you can have mona lisa...
my hand went right up under saint teresa’s shawl.
then i get an answer from ol’ pizza pound...
cantos xliii & xliv are undecipherable... until the usura sequence...
but then again...
he does mention a hill in canto xlii...
which could be a metaphor for the salmon swimming upstream
in the river known as writer’s block.
John F McCullagh Aug 2013
The President drew a line in the sand
And said” Don’t you cross this, Assad.”
“If you do, you will be like the souls of the dammed,
In the hands of an Angry god.”
Despite consequence dire (brimstone and hell fire)
Bashar Al-Assad risked the President’s ire.
Will Obama stand down or put boots on the ground?
Oh Valerie, what should he do?
Will the matter be pressed- or the Emperor undressed?
Ms. Jarrett, he’s waiting on you.
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2014
"The global bull market has continued its seemingly relentless advance, unchanged by geopolitical concerns…….."

• The Israeli-Hamas conflict now blazing in Gaza, Palestine, two military forces locked in a deadly struggle to the end, killing and maiming thousands of ordinary citizens.

• Malaysia Airlines flight 17 blasted out of a clear blue Ukraine sky by the Bus surface to air missile
             unleashed by the Pro-Russian Separatists killing 298 unsuspecting, innocent, international travellers.
             Culpability denied by all.

• Anwar Al Awlaki, the American born Cleric, directing clandestine terror attacks and assassination by Al Qaeda beyond the Middle east into Asia and Europe.

• Deposed President, Mohammed Morsi’s Muslim Brotherhood, responsible for terrorist activities including multiple car bombings throughout Egypt.

• President Bashar Assad of the Alawite minority, an offshoot of Syria’s Shiite religion, waging religious genocide against his own nations people
             and now in open conflict with the Muslim uprising Sunni forces of the new Isis Caliphate.

• The beheadings, slaughter and terror unleashed by the Sunni, Isis Caliphate uprising rampaging through Iraq.

• Russia’s sudden invasion and forceful annexation of the Crimea.

• Russia’s brutal pressure on the sovereignty of the Ukraine through its clandestine weaponry supply and sponsorship of the Pro-Russian Separatist Forces occupying the nations East.

The Middle East is now…an Apocalypse.

This epoch of cruel waste
Where man kills man
For God and gold,
For power’s lust.
Where the Sword of Calamity
Wields destruction and death
On those who can least afford it
By they who should never impose it.

In the face of all this …..an unbelievable prioritization with this headline quote from today’s NZ Herald….

“There are financial risks to be endlessly jumping at shadows…to overreact to market noise!"

UNBELIEVABLE!!!!**

M.
Auckland,
NEW ZEALAND
31 July 2014
wordvango Apr 2017
after watching
the videos of children and humans
striving for a breath
their bodies limp
from a saran attack
I would strap my *** to
a cruise missile
after getting a tattoo
all over my body saying
Assad
this is for you!
It was sickening
beastlike satanic
and I cried
my stomach wretched
I shuddered
here this world is
in the 21st century
and  some of us
are still barbarians
I pray
we listen to the
little girl some
call the  Syrian
Anne Frank
my heart breaks
again
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
Negotiating with ******

You can't.
Even if,
He disguises himself as
Bashar-al-Assad,
Taliban,
Al Shabaab,
Hassan Rouhani,
Or that ole mass murderer,
Now not such a bad guy,
We could left him alone,
Cause he didn't have WMD,
Saddam Hussein,
He just mass murdered,
The old fashioned way.

They thirst for the blood of mine.
And when satiated, they will come for you.
There will be no Mass said
Over our mass graves.

Do not pretend to lead,
When all you seek is avoid.
The historians will seek you out
And label you coward, Chamberlin.

Shall we meet at the soccer stadium
Called Ghazi, for some ice cream
And a public execution or two?
Let's make it a woman, for the extra satisfaction?

A perfect place, conducive for relaxed negotiations!

Woe us/me, when our moral compass points only
Downward,
Into the bloodied earth,
Where we will soon enough be buried too.
Here too, many will politely disagree, for averting the eyes is so much easier...negotiating with a murderer, is aiding and abetting. You know Obama is negotiating with Taliban?  When they start killing women again, it will be somebody's else problem?
Elihu Barachel Oct 2015
The Hegelian Dialectic, sounds so lofty and so fine
It's what ISIS was created for, a problem by design
-
The solution was to be, al-Assad would go away
Through ciaos clamor War! A commotion and a fray
-
But according to O's plan, things did go awry
Basher al-Assad, from the North has an ally
-
Upon the stage appears, a man no amateur
The bane of O, bane of O, his name is Vladimir
yokomolotov Aug 2013
While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Ben a homeless veteran of war, had a heart attack, fell from his wheelchair
and died and people stepped over him.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

A forest fire burned in Yosemite National park and Sierra Nevada destroying homes, and
threatening wildlife including 200 year old redwood trees.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Latonya lost her job, and in turn her apartment and in turn the custody
of her children.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Yu fellated a man in a sweaty brothel who was nearly four times her age.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Plant leaked tons of radioactive fluid into the
Pacific.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing

Syrian President Bashar al-Assad used chemical weapons on his own people.

While people talked about what Miley Cyrus was wearing
Jon Po Dom Apr 2017
Hi Syria,

How are you feeling today?
I've heard so much about you
How strong you are
Enduring six years of illness
And counting
Of how high spirited you've remained
Watching children play in the
Midst of turmoil;
Indiscriminate shelling
Heard of the many chemical baths
You've been subjected to
Assad believing you have
Cancerous cells
Needing to be exterminated
Not realizing HE is
The cancer and you;
You the victim
How I wish I could help you heal
From your trauma

Yet I heard an injection
Was given you today
With the hope
The chemical baths can end
Because it is killing you
Slowly rotting
Destroying your body
Taking away your beauty
The side effect of corruption
How beautiful you once were
How long will it take you to heal?
I wish for peace of mind
And a healthy future for you
Syria

From JM 4/7/17
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2015
Recep Tayip Erdogan though Turkish to the core
Has loathing in his Turkish heart, ferocity and more
For the secular insanity’s of Bashar Al Assad
Determines chaos at his border with warring Syria is bad.
With incursions by the Kurdish to the ISIS foe at hand
And the umbrage taken by the Kurds at Turkey’s open border stand,
Where ISIS can permeate both back and forth at will
Allowing freedom for Jihadists, now, to raid, behead and ****.
Europe visualize this menace at their doorstep as a threat
But Turkey, playing both sides, leaves NATO, now side stepped.
Where our friends become our enemies and enemies our friends.
In this Middle East miasma ..... confusion never ends.

M.
27 June 2015
Sharina Saad May 2013
we dont know his name
we dont know his family
the only thing we know
another child in Syria is in heaven now
another mother somewhere is sleeping with tears
another father somewhere is with broken heart
Unknown child was killed today due to Assad thugs
random shelling on Damascus suburb
Al fatihah... Rest in peace.
ConnectHook Apr 2018
Though the chemical gas was a fable,
rebel terror we’ll arm and enable;
we will kick their Assad
with some help from Mossad
and create something TRULY unstable.

Little victims, all Syrian-bred
look pathetic: so small, nearly dead.
Lack of documentation
won’t dampen our nation;
from YouTube to bombing we’re led.

War-hawks pause for no burden of proof.
Show a whimpering child and then— **** !
They, rush in, like a fool
using Trump as their tool.
He’s been militarized. What a goof.
Lots of bad behavior from buffoons and egotists but worth watching:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGumIVGF_r4
Lilly Gibbons Jan 2017
There were many who believed in ideals,
Fretting about in their heels,
With bollards and plackards,
They marched and nattered,
All hell they would repeal.

ISIS let rip in the east,
Fear more important than peace,
Assad called the Russians
We heard the percussion,
Aleppo mourned daily deceased.

The climate was caught unawares,
When it realised nobody cares,
The smog came in strong,
Al Gore wasn't wrong,
When people flirt with despair.

Brexit was no laughing matter,
The public blind to what they were after,
Trigger at the ready,
It isn't looking steady,
For a kingdom with too many actors. 

Trump, we thought at first glance,
Didn't have much of a chance,
But Hilary's scandal,
Left the US at a stand still,
Now the world's in Russia's trance.

Farewell to the icons we'll pine,
Our culture was built on their spine,
Prince, Bowie and George,
With legends we forged
The moments that will surpass time.

Ireland became a haven for a few
Pity there wasn't a queue,
With a fight for corporate heads
Banks left dry and bled,
Tech an oligopoly? Who knew.

Aleppo left drenched with no fate,
The little reaction to late,
UN cries unheard,
Media reports blurred.
It's hard to keep up at this rate.

Silicon Valley is offering free food,
to workers becoming robots or goods,
12 hour days,
extraordinary pay,
But with no creativity they're *******!

Sporting greats made their way to the stage,
this year's Olympics causing outrage,
medals were plenty,
seats were empty,
And controversy graced every front page.

Here we go blindfolded into 2017
Only the wealthy living the dream,
while most young folk,
believe politics a joke,
Tell me, is it time for a new regime?
Adam Nahhass Apr 2018
One early morning I woke up,
things changed, I racked my brain.
No one whispered my name..
I'm a little child, cannot explain.
They came by, calm down baby
you're blessed with angels sane.
Started to realize what's happening!
in paradise think I'm with sis Jane.

With pride and disdain,
I'm going to ignore my pain.
When someone falls, I thought
one would help you get up again!
There in Syria, children gassed;
people around screamed, all in vain
No blood No tears, what a tragedy!
such wounds! we could not sustain!

Down there, friends wander in agony
nobody helps, they just complain.
Children here whisper things like,
a man to avenge us, pull the chain
I took that for a joke and laughed,
others promised time & time again!
They insist. No! This time it’s real ,
Trump vowed to make Syria Spring again.

Like parents at home, we kept dreaming,
there should be sunshine after rain.
Trump kept talking good, singing tweets
vowing to move against the grain,
Whilst behind the scenes, calling Putin;
it won't hurt, he's not Saddam Hussein !
Russians' drama goes on, drawing red lines,
Assad acting to that hollow campaign!

The truth came & falsehood came true;
mental ammunition; faulty with a drain!
A trick, we've been used to down there,
we suffered lies in that "black" reign!
But this time, we felt let down with,
stupid rockets, made "animal" human gain!
Forget our blood, forget honoring words,
pray thee, No Tweets, No offence again.

Chemicals were they, or bombs,
*******! Mist does resemble the rain!
Such a naive world who drinks blood,
the more it hurts, the more they gain
They left that Assad destroying Syria,
while they’re riding the gravy train !!
Won't forgive, Day of Judgment is coming,
Angels here unleash Hell again & again.

- #Chemical_Sighs
- Written by : Adam Nahhass
- April 23, 2018
Paul d'Aubin Dec 2016
Ce si long chemin des Mages

Ils se mirent en route juchés sur leurs chameaux,
pour accomplir les prophéties prolongées par leurs subtils calculs.
C'étaient de fameux astrologues et des savants emplis de bonté, de sagesse et de savoir.
Ils n'avaient pu dresser du Cosmos et du chemin à parcourir que des cartes incomplètes mais se mirent d’accord pour suivre cette étoile nouvellement apparue, déjà annoncée dans les écrits anciens.
Cette étoile se manifesta à leurs longues scrutations du cosmos en brillant avec une clarté particulière dans le ciel des comètes.
Deux Mages partirent de Chaldée, le troisième vint des hautes sources du Nil.
Ils se rejoignirent à Jérusalem dans le palais du roi Hérode.
Leur entretien fut marqué par des échanges de présents, de paroles, de miel et d'observations méfiantes  mutuelles.
Cependant, Hérode, s'enquit avec cautèles du motif d'un si long voyage et demanda s'il était en lien avec cette étrange prophétie annonçant la naissance d'un nouveau-né destiné à devenir un jour le probable roi des Juifs.
Puis il demanda qu'ils veuillent bien lui faire connaître l'endroit exact où était tenu ce nouveau futur roi pour l’honorer à son tour.
Les Mages hochèrent la tête avec gravité et évitèrent de se prononcer sur la demande pressante qui leur était faite.
Puis les Mages prirent congé du Tyran Hérode en l'incitant à préférer la pratique de la sagesse plus que de verser dans l' « hubris » que blâmaient tant les philosophes Grecs.
Dès qu'ils eurent repris leur étrange voyage, le roi cruel rongé, par la peur, ordonna à ses espions de suivre les Mages jusqu'à leur probable découverte.
Bien sûr, les Mages furent suivis par de nombreux espions à cheval mais ils dormaient rarement dans des auberges ou des caravansérails.
Pour éloigner leurs suiveurs, les Mages voyageaient souvent de nuit car les suivre devenait alors difficile.
Et, eux seuls, connaissaient l'étoile messagère.
Plusieurs fois, ils perdirent leur chemin s'égarant entre les monts et le fleuve Jourdain.
C'est ainsi qu'ils finirent par égarer les espions.
Avant de s'endormir ils discutaient des sujets inépuisables des science mais surtout de cet enfant à naître promis à tant d'espoirs, du moins l'interprétaient-ils ainsi.
Ils ne savaient pas exactement quel nourrisson, ils allaient trouver, et qui et ou, étaient et résidaient ses parents.
Puis ils pénétrèrent dans un pays d'éleveurs, de rochers et de grottes.
Certains ont dit que c'était le pays de Bethléem de la tribu de David, d'autres ont rapporté que c'était le hameau lui aussi nommé Bethléem mais proche de Nazareth ou Joseph avait son atelier.
Mais le doute est resté tant les témoignages sont souvent bien difficiles à interpréter.
Ce qui est sûr, c'est que l'étoile messagère devint soudain rouge feu et projeta sa clarté tombante sur la terrasse d'une modeste auberge emplie de voyageurs.
Ils se firent connaître de l'hôtelier et demandèrent que leur soit présenté un nouveau-né qui serait abrité ici.
Jésus, fils de Joseph et de Marie, avait été placé dans une mangeoire servant de berceau dans une chambrette bien chèrement louée.
Mais le nourrisson dormait, le plus souvent, et parfois tétait comme tous les bébés de son âge.
Les Mages furent éblouis par tant de simplicité et d'innocence pour celui qui avait été annoncé par tant de prophéties lui annonçant un si grand destin.
Les Mages se présentèrent aux parents, firent connaître la prophétie, leur donnèrent les présents variés; l'or, l'encens et la myrrhe et incitèrent vivement Joseph à se défier du perfide Hérode mais aussi d'un roi criminel de Cœlé-Syrie nommé Cheb Bachar el-Assad et de son complice, le Boyard au visage anguleux et aux yeux froids d'esturgeon, vêtu d'une Chapka et d'un Kaftan et leur commun admirateur et complice Celte, « Fourbix Fillonix » à la triste figure.
Avec l'or qu'ils leurs avaient donné les parents pourraient se rendre aussi discrètement, le plus tôt possible, dans « le pays des pharaons. »
Ils ne pourraient revenir que lorsque la froideur et la rigidité des membres auraient saisi le corps du Tyran qui avait déjà fait périr sa magnifique femme Mariamne, l’Hasmonéenne et deux de ses propres enfants.

Les Mages comprirent alors que le sens profond de leur voyage était de mettre, à l’ abri, pour le futur ; eux, les hommes de savoir, une famille dont le nouveau-né était déjà, en quelque sorte, déjà un « réfugié politique » avant que d'avoir pu marcher et parler.
Car de tout temps le vrai savoir fut souvent l'un des rares secours des Peuples opprimés par ces tyrans ne vivant qu'entre peur et crimes, selon la très ancienne malédiction de ceux qui usent de ce pouvoir immodérément.
Joseph et Marie, avertis par les Mages et de surcroît par un songe fuirent avec discrétion en Egypte dans le pays de Pharaon mettre Jésus à l’abri de la folie sanguinaire de celui qui transmutait sa propre peur en sang. Plus de deux mille ans après,  les questions presque insolubles de la tyrannie et de l’accaparement de l'argent, de la liberté des consciences et religieuses et du pouvoir ne sont toujours pas réglées.

Paul Arrighi
Jon Po Dom Apr 2017
I'm not pro War
Pro Trump
Pro Assad
I choose no sides
All men
Past, present and future
Have evil within
Power is destructive
I don't have a
Hidden agenda
I'm not looking to deceive
Convince or argue a point
I am pro freedom
Pro expression
Pro peace
Pro humanity
Pro life
In the end
We are all
One of a Kind

JM 4/13/17
I don't know what everyone's opinions on current events are. Mine is peace is the only thing which can stabilize any region. Politics likes to interfere with that process and so I avoid political views. I hope for peace in the world. I'm not Syrian but I'm human. I wish you peace Syria and Iraq. You too North and South Korea. We're all humans. Each one of a kind.
Cedric McClester Apr 2017
By: Cedric McClester

You can blame Obama
For the horrible drama
In Syria, I’m hearin’ ya
But despite your chatter
The truth of the matter
Is it occurred under  your watch
And now it’s on you
And your motley crew

You can say it’s his fault
But you called a halt
To removing Assad
So it wasn’t hard
For him to conclude
It was alright dude
For a chemical attack
Now that’s just a fact

Blaming your predecessor
Is none the lesser
Of an affront
So let me be blunt
If you’re such a tough guy
Then answer me why
It occurred at all
Stop  passing the ball

Any way you slice her
Your spokesman Sean Spicer
Can’t speak for you
He hasn’t a clue
As to how it all works
When the chain Assad jerks
Is yours alone
Now your cover is blown






Cedric McClester, Copyright (c)  2017.  All rights reserved.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
they allowed you your civil war... allow them theirs! about 99% of you are not syrian civilians, and i couldn’t give a half baked cookie’s *** worth of having opinions about that conflict over wine at 5pm... but hey! newspapers sell with opinions about a civilian conflict over there and queries in the dilemma sections of our society: black or white ipod i6scheißex3?!*

atheism and capitalism will never work,
i know that atheism these days is cool,
but it’s signifying a singularity, and individuation process
which only ennobles individuals with their own
theology,
atheism only works in a collectivisation, a communism,
an ant colony, then every individual can exclude their own
theology, their own subjectivity, and become wholly objective...
how did atheism become so popular?
it flourished in a greenhouse effect, in required many
individuals not really caring for a categorisation as human,
which devolved evolution to a edenic stagnation
rather than provide the true basis of evolution - we, as one, did thus.
perhaps the problem is that we didn’t do things on repeat,
and this had to be penetrated by napoleons and kants,
men of individual significant will of exclusive atheism and inclusive humanism,
but the way it’s going, capitalism and atheism only work
in sketch comedy parodies, with the argument against its non-existence
being the most debased interpretation: parasites and insects,
never truer to rom coms or smoothies’ tastes of sultans and pistachios,
it’s always grime **** grime **** grime ****.
how can capitalism incorporate atheism with the endemic selfishness
when atheism is all about selfishness and exclusive collectivisation
of man against ant, lion... owl?
it’s the ordeal of origins having to accept other species as interactant
with me without having to collectively individuate myself with
mr. simon smith happily converting his garage with a loft extension...
atheism in capitalism is fake... what capitalists sermoning atheism
truly fear than the existence of god... is the sort of “non-existence”
of god of the slavic states post world war ii without the marshall plan,
working together... ***** take one step into syria with burger king...
***** take one step with that **** into syria... i swear i’ll rip you to shards
worth an artistic impression of shrapnel intestines and flesh on the cement!
remember how christina invaded england to **** cromwell and ensure peace?
well elizabeth is too old to **** al-assad, and christina never invaded a country in civil war...
who invaded? journalists... on paper... in english newspapers... high & mighty & touchy tough guys asking for “ink” from the innocents.
Keone L Friesen Jan 2014
Hault! For ye who gazed with awe in the depths of humanity.
Hault! For ye who trims the roses of Eden!
Hault! For ye who resights in deep meditation on the top of reeds tower.
Hault for ye who called upon Al-Assad.
Hault I say for vincent lost his faith and so will you!
Hault I say for I love him yet her too!
Hault I say for this generation of ****!
Hault I say for all but one!.
My minds full of ideas
But surely you'll like none
Because they leave the chance of me becoming a helpless ***; for the politict who thinks all must be rich, I think you're a cowardly *****!
When the sun goes down, the moon must rise; and you say this is divine?
Dantes had it! Why should I not!?
Power and freedom is all I want
But to you man of the comittie, I'll do what I want- and I'll have no pity!.
By keone friesen.
Martin Bailes Apr 2017
You all do realize I hope that
Republicans McConnell, Rubio,
Chaffetz, Hatch, & Paul Ryan
all forcefully denied Obama's
2013 request to Congress for
authorization to strike in Syria
after Assad's use of chemical
weapons in the city of Ghouta,
they all answered an emphatic
No! ...

with various shades of political
double-talk, America First, &
"oh look where it might lead"
pontificating & conservative
posturing,

but now! ...

oh now when Trump launches
a missile strike they're all praise
and "God Bless America" &
proud, & pumped & feeling
like real Americans again,

oh good god the hypocrisy,
the shallow interest driven
ethics, the lies, the brazen
pretence & self-serving
awfulness of these cold
calculating humans of
ours.
Matt May 2016
I do not have the land
Nor have I purchased
Enough seeds
To grow my own food

I am reliant
Upon the power grid

I have enough canned food
To survive a month or so

If I did have money
Maybe I would buy
A good amount of seeds

Buy years worth
Of food
That can be stored
For emergencies

I watch the videos
On YouTube
About what life
Is like

In Yemen
Saudi Arabia
Syria
And Iraq

Wow
What a mess
Sectarian violence

Houthis in Yemen
Opposing the government

FSA rebels in Syria
FIghting ISIS
And trying to overthrow Assad

The Iraqi government
Is having to rely upon
Shia military groups
To combat ISIS

These same Shia militant groups
Then engage in sectarian violence
Burning and attacking
Sunni villages

This may cause
Some Sunnis
To become sympathetic
Toward ISIS

This sectarian conflict
Has been around
Since the beginning
Of Islam

A Shiia protester
In Eastern Saudi Arabia
Protests against
The Sunni regime

Despite the wealth of the country
This Shiia minorities
Live in poverty

A few violent protesters
Spoiled their peaceful protests
Now the Sunni government
Considers them terrorists

"It is a war that never ends
Because it has no objectives
Israel's military occupation
Is not an obstruction of peace;
It is the replacement of peace
It is the institution of war
As a way of life"

This quote
Taken from an article
In Quartz magazine
Written by Oded Na'aman
On Sept. 21, 2015

And as I read
About the problems
In the Middle East

I can't help but think
That one day
Some day
In my life

Life will be closer to what
They experience
Then what we experience today

Class struggles
Armed migrants
Angry Jihadists

A Federal government
That uses the state highway system
For transport
Of military vehicles

The markets
Maybe they won't always get
The food shipments

Maybe there will just be rations
Terrorist attacks
Become more common place

U.N. Forces here to help
Maintain order

A strict curfew enforced
Drones flying over suburban neighborhoods

The dollar
Less and less relevant

As the SDR
Of the
International Monetary Fund
Becomes the reserve currency
Of the world

America's military forces
Involved in different
Conflicts throughout the world

In China, Afghanistan and Syria

North Korea brags and boasts
Of its capabilities
Firing a weapon
That takes down
Most of our power

It's okay
Really
We'll get it
Back up
At least some people
Will have partial power

Just keep your head down
And do
As the militant government says

Or you'll be hauled off to some camp

Yes, this is America

And this is the world

This primitive world

Humans have many problems
It's plain to see
Jimmy King Sep 2013
Perhaps
I'm just
Poetically
Exhausted

Everything
I've been writing lately
Has seemed the product
Of one too few cups
Of caffeinated tea

I've written a lot-
About loss,
Autumn,
Syria-
And I think
I've now used tea
As a metaphor
For just about
Everything

But what's done is done
And the seasons are always changing
And the U.S. will attack Al-Assad
No matter how many words I write
And I'll never be able to get
This ******* tea-stain
Off this ******* page
In my ******* journal
And maybe

To get through
The hopelessness
of it all
I should just
Keep writing-
It seems
To have worked
So far
James Taylor Nov 2017
The world of today is as crazy as hell
Over populating cemeteries and prisons as well
I don’t know, can I go for a day or a minute
Without the possibility of another getting in it
I don’t mean to judge, but the love, I don’t see it
Seems we're keen to get it on,  if I'm wrong, then  so be it
Now, if you’re reaching this consensus, then the well runs deep
That the world has its issues and the people got beef

The government getting swoll from the toll off the backs
Of the Johns and the Janes, and the Jills and the Jacks
What we earn in return is a zero and a nothing
As the politicians lie, because it’s all about the fronting
Putting on airs for the world and a camera
Need a glass of water, cause their tongues’ got stamina
Smiling real pretty, cool posing in relief
But, the world has its issues and the people got beef

Oops, did he stutter, when he uttered an explicit
Live at five; another political statistic
**** if we do, **** if we don’t; really
Now, enter Uncle Trump; yeah; this is getting silly
He’s rolling out his plan, but see, the Congress ain’t buying
He’s an amateur, a fruitcake, and won’t stop lying
But, it’s not about you and it’s about me
See, the world has its issues and the people got beef

Who the hell are our enemies; and don’t you understand it
That the Russians and the Chinese are rolling up the planet
Kim is just a fat boy, playing in his backyard
ISIS is so over, and Assad is just a ******
Too much time on the swans and the bulls
When we need to get a handle on the weasels and wolves
The terrorist not withstanding, we’re gotta have peace
Cause the world has its issues and the people got beef

The Chinese are smiling and are as friendly as cobras
Ready to attack, when you bend your *** over
Russians are aggressive, but, sly as a fox
Two-faced as a ****** and  as ***** as socks
Bottom line, I think its time to put faith to the test 
Put diplomacy in a coma, cause it’s time to flex
Raise the bar and push them hard; show we're knocking out teeth
Because the world has its issues and the people have beef

Grab the big stick and leave the Twitter alone
Release the forces, scrap the voices, leave the weaklings at home
The strategies are on point and our forces are primed
Put an end to the posturing and the wasting of time
Time to command, not to pander,  Mr Commander-in-Chief
Cause the world has its issues and the people got beef
wordvango Mar 2016
take into account the entire picture
of the world, men being cruel and inhuman
on the large scale, wars, nuclear annihilation threatening,
genocide most recently in Syria,
in the history looking back
that is what I see, the gas chambers in Germany,
the Congolese under the rule of Leopold,
the Seminole, my peoples the Cherokee mostly dead,
mass murderers, such as
Stalin, Mao, Islam and Christianity,
campaigning slaughter, inhumanity to man,
like a wild animal, the beast is us. Then
let us look at us. We, in our actions, our wanting at all costs to win, our
genetic makeup our striving to survive,
all bred and taught into us just continues it all. And we ask why?
Look at Hello Poetry. For a year a war has been fought. And no one is winning.
But both sides are unable to say enough. To say you too are of my kind, human, And
here, we are supposed to be the best of our kinds, the empathetic feeling ones in this crazy ****** up place we call Earth. ******* it.
Poets fighting each other as reckless as one sided as ISIS against  Bashar al-Assad .  Or Kim Jong-un threatening the world.
I am beginning to like animals
more than people.
They love unconditionally or **** for food.
There is no mistaking, no middle, no rationalizing,
it just is nature. Man is different. He kills because of words and mistaken ideals, no animal does.
Poets , in my ideal, are to use their words for love and peace.
Not mirror the rest of this ****** up world!

— The End —