"banknote" poems
all these european
charities are insulting
africa; i've been to kenya
(yeah, talked with one bartender
about the import of timber from ghana),
i've seen a fat person,
a fat woman to be exact:
all these charities are
killing pensioners by harassing
them to give money...
all the money invested in
charity companies goes
for bureaucracy,
these western charities are
insulting african nations...
they have a civilisation you
know... i'd rather ****
on a ten quid banknote
and eat it than give it to
those vultures.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 11:04 AM UTC
since i turned into a nocturnal creature i’ve changed a bit,
i started the theological arithmetic:
(right hand) thumb, index, middle finger(s) -
january february march,
ring, pinky & pinky (left hand) -
april may june,
ring middle index (left hand)
july august september -
thumb (left hand) thumb and index (right hand)...
of yes, intelligent design...
now make a hole using your thumb & index finger,
then ensure your thumb goes in & out from that whole...
like god, say: oh **** i forgot the piston!
guess what’s the slang term for a russian in polish?
kacap.
guess what’s the slang term for a german in polish?
szwab (shvab) /
i know, i too wish it was sax...aphone.
guess what’s the slang term for a dwarf in polish?
karakan.
but i said, there are really two branches from the 20th
century growing into the 21st century,
there’s the proustian branch that’s a cul de sac...
and there’s the joycean branch, that leads to ezra pound et al.,
finnegans wake (which i have read) i can a 50p with an invention
of a terminology: uncoded phoneticism, i.e.
alpha bravo charlie delta echo, only because:
prirates’ aye, eye and lie and high sounded pretty much the same
even though they were spelled differently.
uncoded phoneticism means you use a coding of language
from thought / silence in a way that elevates it
from the standard usage, from novelty interests
of a righteous narrator crafting new characters...
of course your writing will appear chaotic... but in reality
it will not be... trust me... i simulated paranoid schizophrenia
for seven years... fooled three psychiatrists
and regained a chance to provoke.
nicholas ii is smiling at me from a banknote i own,
and i have a kopek’s worth of currency from dostoyevsky’s times.
Dec 4, 2015
Dec 4, 2015 at 7:52 PM UTC
*and i too thought the english banknotes were big,
but by god... have you seen imperial russian's
banknotes?! you could wipe you entire **** with one.*
no, i don't own an imperial russia's
banknote,
or a kopek dating pre 20th century
that Dostoevsky might have used to
gamble,
no, i don't own an imperial russia's
banknote with tsar Nicholas the 2nd's
face on it;
you can rob me all you want,
i think the banknote to be cursed...
a cursed luck of lost reason and logic...
but when i look at that all familiar face
and stare into the ageing face of elizabeth the 2nd...
i see papered ****** gravitating
to forfeit a chance of excelling in Olympics...
Olympics indeed, of muscles turned
into oyster mush... about to be exercised
in breathing exercises of forgotten
oxygen toxins...
no... i don't own imperial russia's banknote
with Tsar Nicholas 2nd's face on it;
i did tell you my maternal great-grandfather
spoke 7 languages, didn't i?
only bothersome and subsequently fake
nobleness stresses its point...
the true aristocrats suffer with enforced
ailments that only breed an exaggerated libido,
to quote myself... *i'd **** anything that moves
within the framework of the trinity of mouth
**** and **** my ******** are always
goosebumps frolicking to a tingle and i
just want to relax with an unloading of the content,*
i didn't read marquis de sade for no reason,
other than the quoted bibliography of
the marquis himself, having read books
using only one arm, with the other...
"making bookmarks", ha.
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 6:15 PM UTC
I sometimes recite my love as charity….
For:
No stretch is too exhausting, no pull to hard.
No banknote is precious nor does a penny equal one.
A penalty is just a random,
With no intent or harm,
And a kiss is not just a mild affection ,
Nor a hug, cuddle or gentle touch
Equates to little or nothing or none.
Anything I do, is big and strong.
Everything I own,
To my small hands,
Stretch marks, belly
And weird feet.
He sees nothing but beauty, and not only of that of
Skin deep.
And I have learnt this lesson from charity,
Love is boundless, a fortified state
Of being connected 100 percent.
An eye for an eye,
Quotes the bible, I say –
An eye for a body plus surplus.
For love is seeing a grain,
And tasting the whole field.
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 9:58 PM UTC
It’s early,
shutters yawn open
drawing in an already spirited sun.
I reluctantly roam
an unchartered narrow maze
of whitewashed walls.
Fingers squeeze
a mint mil Pesetas banknote
and list, written in my mother’s
stern and starchy hand.
I am the outsider,
inside and out.
I inhale
pine dust, bins and septic tanks,
I exhale
a huff of childhood hopelessness.
Shadows startle me
with machine gun Catalan.
I didn’t hear the rumble of the water truck.
Didn’t look right when I crossed the road.
Didn’t thank the stranger who saved me,
until now.
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 10:09 AM UTC
poetry was hushed
or ushered out from being compared
with philosophy,
well... bye bye systematisation
leave you to it...
it's hardly an art, given it only uses
two extremes that can't be defined
as colour, but more or less x-ray vision...
i know... so much colour and so
much perfumery surrounding
me that i wish to not replicate...
hence the stance...
important dates like the battle of Hastings
(1066), or the great fire of London (1666) -
such importance goes hand in hand
with being up-to-date for a quiz show,
alt. to knowledge? quiz or trivia.
poetry is that: it's the sole mediator
of history and journalism,
entry of Darwin on a 10 quid banknote,
poetry has to marry someone else,
it can't be stuck in a rut with pompous philosophy,
and it's too crude to munch off a sharpened flint-stone
(Flintstones? Hanna-Barbera?! **** off)
of Pythagoras' cubism - cubism, you sure?
only cubes herrscht? well hardly,
Marilyn Manson is still an introvert anomaly
in Essex amongst the zombies... as i heard in
a HMV, one of the last strongholds of the
mutilated high-street and the death of
the postman profession... they're going, those postmen,
you hear? among the carrier pigeons
shot down dead! unlike Sartre i'm making a claim:
evolution precedes adaptability... essence indeed first
and existence last...
and with regards to poetry, that great mediator
of journalism and history...
ten sixty six mattered as much as today's article
headlined: GAMBLING ADDICT 'DIED OF SHAME'...
hmm? it does... you can just immediately pick
out the correlation for a national egoism.
if it weren't for skin-heads the metal rock enthusiasts
would have been called meat-heads for head-banging
too much: smooch smooch (x x in slang).
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 6:53 PM UTC
Sarah Mclachlan - Plenty - the one time you told me
i was Eastern European, of long-forgotten Europe....
and you were Irish, then i knew.... time to breed
a knuckles's hello.... should i really mind reality?
you, godforsaken paddy skin-head?
throw a ******* paddy / potato
at me i'll get clued in at where
Chelsea gets tribalism of Hammer-smith...
oh lucky you, the Irish tentacle...
maybe the next Irish in me ought
ti dance the ******* leprechaun dance
for new years'... cos' that had to be minded
in newspapers...
i'll the be ****** of goth to mind
enter the dragon, starring the ill fated Brandon...
an you be the anonymous *******
pardonable journalist with angst prescription
when mommy ****** the
milkman and daddy said: huh?
or shave my head and become a fake *******
or the atypical Irish-head...
some said Celtic, but some said: Sale-tick-ticking-blah...
the meat-heads bashed their heads together...
wedlock northern:
every Mc-Noodle.
later read Mac. tosh
or Celtic
in the Glasgow curriculum, as said: Mac. arched Ranger...
for the clover leaf brigadiers
aye... spoon the
shovies! banknote worded:
two pence a punch...
some call it a London mo-cheese-sum
(mohican - heir to a higher phrasing: cannot but
will do) - and so the Australian banknote came
sooner than the migration points system:
as ever, plastic first, spooning baked beans
and later the "trouble": as Glasgow estate shimmered
the saying: concrete does two blues,
Hertfordshire horseradish:
alter. marketed green slime: or: guacamole...
god, i wish i was soppy sometimes...
at times when it was least
explanatory to mention Vaughan Williams...
perfectly now...
snotty curiosity ever went as far as
a hanky... or later read: a chappy chopping
wood with echo, blistered with
e-oh e-oh and the faked yawn, done, repeatedly,
for purpose of a masquerade:
or Apache tribalism etiquette
saying: oh... h'allo'h h'allo'h h'allo'h;
pompous blues and said Peter to mind
while some geezer did the beat
for the slang while regurgitating an attack
of the Zeppelins.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 11:20 PM UTC
with a radio less things move, less distractions, added focus, you can conjure pseudo-telepathic tendencies to things, but of course objects don't move, but imagining that they do is aimed at probing more and more subjects, cognitive archaeology - a beautiful name for your own personal addition to the whole architecture of a person.
so with memory, otherwise named cognitive archaeology -
i think Walt Disney was a pauper in this realm,
archaeology prizes pity pennies worth of ceramics at
the time of their display, but in a dusty trench
museum materials... most of van Gogh was worth
toilet-paper at the time, then the numbers came
with Don McLean - it was worth it for that kind of love;
but truly, the richest man on earth is a man
who doesn't escape using his imagination,
but the man who escapes using his memory -
no fake images are materialised, nothing Mickey about it...
it's tartar steak materialisation, the mandible bits -
few beautiful people know how to use -
like i said before, i have absolutely no imagination,
but i have a banknote of £1,000,000 worth's of memory
to cash-in every time i invest in a regression of my
cognitive affairs in the current stasis of squash *****
lazying in cold rubber not ready for hot soft play with;
people imagine too much, imagination telepathic -
a pathological stance given the curriculum -
no pathology is expected from being apathetic,
as in: no god from atheism - yet people curse apathy
as the lowest ebb of the feeling, humanising man.
better to remember yourself than imagine yourself
otherwise (from what you are now).
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
*well, death isn't going anywhere, it's there, if you think talking about it is taboo, censoring it is normal, trying to rationalise death with thoughts of suicide is morbid, you're really on your way to a neo-stalin system of censorship... what if thinking about suicide is a coping mechanism of having to rationalise death per se, to rationalise mortality... who are these secular gods hiding behind curtains of theory?! who are they? what if thinking about suicide is thinking about death itself? where is this Stalin of capitalism?! where is he?! i need a word with him - because if i can't have the freedom of thought i have no extending freedoms to participate in life - a cog in a clogged up mechanism... but let's not get all hot and bothered and frantic... no, seriously, where's this shady Stalin who doesn't have a podium but a puppet theatre? i know, words like capitalism are grandiose, almost cryptically absurd, as is the word bureaucracy... too many people depend on it... but the french absurd philosophers were given the freedom to wonder about suicide as a way of consolidating mortality... we're not immortals... why aren't the english children given that freedom of such bewilderment, instead reduced to self-harm as a way to paradoxically alleviate the contemplation of mortality, with the thought of suicide as a coping mechanism of the ****** inescapable fact?! hide the cemeteries and i'll agree.*
a funny article in all honesty,
entitled: stressed, depressed,
lonely and anxious. is your teenager ok?
i remember when i was one,
yeah, i have a life,
a bottle of whiskey to finish,
see you 70cl under the sea
of what used to be the shoreline
or a table - you can never take a medium
too seriously, i mean, what painter
would take a blank white canvas seriously?
if he did, he wouldn't have painted on it,
but writing to get +1 thousand
hits of readership? what a weird mathematical
need of voyeurism, you see no **** no ***
no shower scene... you're just addicted to
numbers, and they're not even your savings
increasing for a place in a care home...
oh pooh pooh a tear... fragile souls of
passing on resentment... hey! i'm in the queue
why you barging in? i only have
a can of sardines and a bun to buy...
you have a full trolley of goods for
a family the size of Lichtenstein!
but i get it... europe's disneyland is switzerland,
all the death rides you can imagine,
esp. with an imperial russia banknote with
tsar nicholas ii on it, i'd get a pass on every ride!
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
Once upon a time
A heavy banknote in the pocket of a pant,
heading to the laundry, mocked a coin.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 10:13 AM UTC
*if the essence is a tongue, and the existence is a jaw... and that's mandible... it can cushion revisions, it won't exactly rebel against any revision, given the user is conscious of it being necessarily revised - or Darwinism in the linguistic realm - obviously less spectacular, but also less time-consuming - history looking forward, not back, not back to the regression forwarding an infinitude plateau of being perplexed by **** similis - you think bonsai felines would look at tigers in the same way that we look at the range of monkeys? probably not - petted and content - god and the simplification of thought, agile in the domestic and professional playgrounds - a one dollar banknote slogan.*
drevo rather than drzewo - meaning wood,
or the alias timber - sounds more Czech
and therefore, most probably, softer -
well, it actually means (etymologically speaking)
simply tree - but take the stress away
and write drevo (you can plaster in the double
v for the same effect - sound wise it might be
a uu, which ends up being an upside-down m,
but optically it's a double v - warily conscious
of the venture, Yoda, i am) - the freedom from
accents in writing spurred on countless interpretations
of English, but only in London, or the acquired
wee-chip-on-the-turban by Edinburgh Sikhs.
so it is: using English to cut off unnecessary stresses
in Polish, and likewise vice versus (rather than versa)
adding the collective European stresses to the 51st ßtate tongue.
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
such a curiosity....
worthy of nothing more...
than a postscriptum...
i hallowed,
and i implored...
what, reply, was i given?!
what reply, was
i... given?!
the reply you know
adequately... deserve!
like the bloodhound
gang song...
the roof, the roof,
the roof is on fire,
we don't need no water
let the ************ burn,
burn ************ burn...
what?!
you want me... to do what?!
i wan capital punishment...
drop the wankers off
in the middle of Siberia...
or the Sahara...
what?!
what? you want to... justify
the liberal arguments
of aa posteriori freedoms?!
you read a philosophy book,
and some other books
in between over three years?!
you want to talk about
a priori freedoms...
and the justices of p.s.
a posteriori "freedoms"...
no...
no...
you're not part of me...
you're a ******* ant-farm...
your liberalism is a cancer...
it's politico selection...
it's couner Darwin...
it's... unnatural...
what you're offering
is counter biology...
whatever...
i stopped caring a while ago...
let me just get drunk...
eat my sobering meal
before falling asleep...
no... you don't matter...
just mosquito opinions...
and the odd bite...
**** it...
i'm doing the
Pontius Pilate at this moment
in time...
i don't care because i, really
don't want to know!
p.s.
Mary Shelley should still be on
the fiver banknote,
above the consideration
of / for Jane Austen...
just saying.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:38 PM UTC
*populist poets... you 'erd 'em? young girls donning pissy pants... they think populism is a "revelation" of reciting pop media... how about the linguo my pretty dear? how about the lexicon my prettiest of dears?! you integrated to the point of surprising the locals with their own idiosyncrasy? no... get's the vote! ha ha ha... n'ah, just kidding... throw 'em overboard! populism, what a horrendous word.. it should be digested with a gall-bloom of absinthe... populism is one thing, then another when it just plagiarises today's-i.e.-being-yesterday's-news tosh: and me just bought me a ferrari, gearing up for: a major twist in the whole tale, the spoken word of the hero of the tale: a mustard gas **** i'm not even aiming to be funny, first of all i know that i'm not funny, second of all i know i'm pathetic... wishing i played the banjo at an irish jig or a bagpiperpipipipe pict kaylee.*
ah, poor, queenie - there she is again,
her face on a fiver, a tenner &
the twinkle toe twenty banknote,
is like a face of a "celebrity"
pawn on the headline page of
a tabloid newspaper -
given the rich, given the poor,
her face on a banknote has become
just as much as a "celebrity"
on a tabloid newspaper -
given the rich, given the poor -
ornamental, and sometimes,
if begging for "writing material":
a shit-smeared toss-off;
my my, i have to add,
isn't the concept of money a jesus
quote and pontius pilate's gesture?
i wash my hands clean!
give due to caesar, separate to
the dues unto god...
well... here's my abel's share of
"concern" (english existentialism
should have mentioned the inverted
commas as: too lazy to look up
a thesaurus entry) -
**** me, that's yard irish;
well... better sink with the rats,
than swim among the sharks me says,
at least we gets our nibbles,
on the way down!
now i'm real gnashing my teeth
to excite the frickin' appetite!
Sep 21, 2017
Sep 21, 2017 at 8:21 PM UTC
they're so ****** proud of
the theory, that
they even have his face
on a banknote... an insurance
claim that states
that this version of
atheism will sell - because it's
oh so ****** *ahoy mirage
of a ship when trapped on a desert
island* sensible!
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 9:16 PM UTC
ever pay close attention to that
steve bannon speech at
the oxford union...
no?
what do you see...
if you've ever seen the film
the enemy of the state
you'd spot the cameo gorillas...
so... this is what...
"freedom" of speech looks
like, these days?
i need four wing-men,
i need four bouncers
to protect me deviating
from a freedom of thought?
**** me... that surely
must cost an arm 'n' a leg...
i'm no exactly rich,
i can't afford either
the freedom of speech,
or a judicial process...
so... i'm mute...
i write... sure...
but how can i speak,
when freely speaking
is an entitlement that
requires four bodyguards
to guard me,
in the ******* oxford union!
eh?!
freedom, "freedom" of speech...
if that's what this,
"freedom" looks like...
can i veto it, i don't want
it and i certainly don't
want it protected...
let's learn: telepathy...
let's run... wild!
frankly i rather think...
what?
my writing was dropped
into a public domain...
did i earn the 20 quid
banknote i found on the street?
did i learn of a person's
personal finances,
outside a bank-machine
where someone dropped
a bank statement?
this isn't talking...
this is an extension of thinking...
i don't have the sort of money
to "freely" speak...
i'm no steve bannon,
courted by four bodyguards...
at, of all places...
the ******* oxford union...
what are we talking about?!
sure as **** not thinking.
Nov 22, 2018
Nov 22, 2018 at 10:12 PM UTC
a 1992 film? **** me, what could it be?
oh wait, i know...
white men can't jump...
they should have a sequal to that ****
titled, black men can't swim...
or at least give them a slot
in the para-olympics. **** you!
how about you jump into a jacuzzi
with a bunch of japanese macaques,
and take baby steps... like... treading water...
white boy over here,
can float in a swimming pool,
fully extended, lying down...
like a full-fat piece of ****
i fuck-as-hell someone has the ***** to make
a film, entitled black men can't swim;
**** just sinks... or belongs with
the para-olympians from kazahstan
with... hopefully two legs, and one arm;
yes! yes! it would be ****** to compete
with an anchor's worth of torso, and no limbs.
well... they can run... for sure...
all the excess ******* endowment the white
girl like to exploint for one night stands...
well... a massive buttocks as shown by
black girls... **** me... that'll get you
sprinting, up to the speed, of a cheetah!
you really need buttock fat to move
those legs like that...
wait wait... why are all the kenyans
and ethiopans, the anorexics of the black
species?
every time i watch them at the olympics
i'm starting to imagine the holocaust,
cocentration camps, jews, picking up pebbles
and rocks, and saying:
this ought to be a coin (pebble) and this
out to be a banknote (rock)...
i'd love to write something on l.s.d.,
but this is already equivalent to l.s.d.
big *** big ****
run forest! run!
fair enough for the trans-ethnic one-night
stands... if i could do it with a black girl with a tiny
*** a white girl can do it with
a massive elephant trunk...
i'm not bothered... i got my ***
&... my sense of humour.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:57 PM UTC
it's one thing bragging about your hardware,
but quiet another bragging about
your handiwork -
i always had *** with an air of suspicion -
i was always keen to spot the actress
enthralled in Onomatopoeia -
but only after seeing the agonised
look of a ********** post-orgasm that
any cock-vanity that was there dissolved
like something in an acid bath...
her soft howl expressing pain -
getting pleasured on the job...
that's what has to be celebrated about
prostitution - the clarity of the sterility
membrane -
you're going to have to pay for
something, in the end,
might as well skip the chit-chat,
and stop pretending that there's a "thrill
of the chase"...
the type of no ******** *** with all
its pristine carnality is what's
authenticity looks like;
surprising, eh? finding yourself demeaning
a ********** salting a deep rupture of flesh,
the sort of wound that aches the most -
giving pleasure -
no six pack, no **** o 9 inch long -
you realise something at the end of it:
they don't actually know what they want,
i've lost a need for a jane austen take on things,
pride & prejudice is dead,
all that's left is ridicule & contempt...
and the crown of english humour:
sarcasm...
i'm still sure of the fact that
it ought to be the visage of mary shelley
on the fiver banknote...
a very fine but nonetheless
the rarest kind of female beauty -
intellect like a bull-terrier's jaw grip.
god, why did she have to give the best
blow just before we broke up?
mind you, the strangest pleasure bound
to a pain, as the eldest of the **** ****** at it
as if skinning it, at the same time.
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC