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Miles of highway pass me by.
So many beautiful places.
Yet apon nights reflection I cannot even try.

She waits down near that red Georgia clay.
So many names to recall.
But only one brings a tear to my eyes to say.

Jasmine scented dreams hang like spanish moss
in my mind.
My soul does linger apon a southern shore
for the one I could never leave behind.

Ive travled the four corners
From the lights of Vegas to isolation of planes Montana.
I can forget all but my sweet savannah.

People many inviting yet none lure me to stay.
All night dinners frequent flyers.
loving like madmen only to vanish with the day.

We are pirates of land.
Giving all sacrfice the soul.
The tramps of being in demand.

Should I stray to oceans view.
Cocktails by the beach front bar.
Taste of peach mixed with strawberries and bannana.
So sweet to the taste apon painted lips.
But none can ever quench the thirst.
For the sunset of savanna
John Cena Jul 2017
urgot, u big oaf
do u want to eat another bread loaf?
ur just so fat
i hope ur not a democrat
because this spider
might cryder
if u dont hug janna
with a bannana
soraka is now sad
and that is bad
league of legends is gay
but we play every day
Kenna Oct 2012
The petals, lovely as red violet gossamer sheets, tumble down
The plant, livley as a deep red carpet, haunts us
It whispers to me
The petal hits the ground and the world draws one, collective, wistful, silent breath
The thorns protrude like spears through a wounded man; with malice
They warn me
A sweet leaf crinkles a shade of brown no leaf should be
It flits down
My head spinning
The leaf hits the ground and the dizzy pleasure is overwhelming

She cuts and gnaws and breaks through the stem.
"Mommy will like it, Mommy will be happy"
Mommy is happy, happy her daughter killed.
The flower, in its last deperate gasp calls to me, it screams to me
it pleads and begs
then wilts
The most beautiful corpse
It hangs supended in the cage of one young girl's hand as its comrades continue to be uprooted, finding home in the mass grave of a crystal vase.
What a funeral, all the family gathered around these warriors, yet the family ignores these limp soldiers.
Then the next day, these majestic martyrs no longer seem satisfactory and their processtion of far off glory marches away,
to the bin, where it finds home amongst bannana peels and
last night's
dinner
Silent Breaths is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
betterdays May 2014
little man,
you have had such
a big day.
all those questions
you ask,
all that playing you do
you did.

a lot of growing
and showing,
nana how big your getting.

kindy today,
cheese ****** for lunch
and baby cannonballs
(black grapes).

after that,
we visited friends,
walked to the rockpools

snacked on apples
and milk
lots of hugging and laughing tickling and giggling.
to smile so hard,
must take lots of effort.
no!

then to eating,
that big, yummy dinner
of macaroni and cheese,
must of worn you out.
even after that,
baby, bannana split
you're not tired?
oh!  it is just your eyes
that are getting sleepy

now to leapad learning and choosing story books lots of things,
ticked off your list

now it's bathtime,
my friend,
splashing and bubbles,
shampoo and rinse.
then some time with humf  and hoot.

cuddles with dadda,
kiss for nana,
story and song,
then, my big boy,
bed is where you belong.
all night long.
mwah from mumma.
australian translation:
****** =sandwich
humf = furry little monster tv show, gentle love each other messages
hoot = tv puppet presenter,
aqua blue and purple owl. takes kids through go to bed routines... helpful to calm little fellas down
i think thats about it.
grey May 2018
When all I see is darkness,
Your my light,
When all I see is hate,
Your there to be my mum and love me,
I love you,
Your the one who went through the pain so I could be born,
I'm more than thankful,
So with this poem,
I hope you understand how much I love you
When I'm a teen,
I might act as rude as others do,
But no matter what others do..
I will never hate you,
Your amazing,
And ...
I'm weird,
So are you,
I love you...
but your always gonna be the crazy funny mum you are,
I'M A BANNANA
YOUR A BANNANA
WERE ALL BANNANAS
I HAVE NO GRAMMER
ilovemum
Kelly Selvester Dec 2009
The double decker bus rolled across the road,
sweaping around the bend at an alarming angle.
I leapt from my seat and flew across the floor,
sliding to a hault amidst laughter and cheers.

That journey sent me spiralling into danger at work,
almost slipping on clowns bannana's and custard pies.
They always seem to have the last laugh I think,
whilst I step out of my big shoes into the arena.

The rush of wind blew overhead as they walked,
throwing themselves into open hands, ready to catch.
I tried that once a long time ago when I was stupid,
but even I needn't tell you the unfortunate outcome.

Leaving them in the hands of fate I wandered willingly,
to the only place where wildness couldn't be contained.
The place I worked day in, day out, through good and bad,
shifting the dirt of the ones who shine the brightest in the circus.
(C) Kelly Selvester
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2022
articles like this really **** me off...
my father is a subscriber to The Times...
personally? i think that Monday ought to be treated
at a media / journalistic sabbath...
nothing ever happens on a Sunday:
what's there to write about on a Monday:
for a Monday... all the newspaper editions
are always the slimmest on a Monday...
it's like... take a hike, won't you?
the best day to read a newspaper, most definitely
a Sunday... it comes with all the cultural reviews
some recipes... a culmination of a week
or even a month... the news review and
the editorial comment sections are best on
a Sunday... why not print anything on a Monday?!
- and it's always on a Sunday that
i find all the juicy bits... the one day in the week
but the current month... bad timing...
either i watch the FA cup / the six nations
or i read a newspaper / the newspaper magazine
while drinking two bottles of 8.2% cider....
well, sure... with beer when you raise the game
to Carlsberg's Special ******* Brew that
comes in at 9%: it's an ugly affair... you start
squirming asking yourself: are you *******
a lemon?! but "alas"... it's cider... so it's almost like
drinking ****-poor diluted wine...
but it makes some agonising articles:
mostly written by women... a tad bit... more...
bearable...
         mainstream media is out of touch...
someone has already said it, someone is already
saying it: someone else will say it later on...
oh i'm big on the female-centric pieces of
the newspaper: forget all that objective journalism,
cold, hard, male: give me the facts and... *******...
no no... as a reader i'm also a weaver...
i like to spin a counter narrative in my head...
The Sunday Times STYLE magazine...
   Dolly Alderton speaks to a rising star in
pop music... a Self Esteem - formerly known
as Rebecca Lucy Taylor... oh, right...
so like Prince... or Michael Jackson:
the guy formerly known to be black? cool cool...
you can check her out...
music sort of akin to spoken word poetry:
whatever the hell that means... no, not Kate Tempest
style... again: spoken word poetry?
oh, right, i'm more into composition than
performance so this is: written word poetry...
fair enough...
   i'll sooner be found dead than performing my word
in the current climate... 'said a poopy word!
cancel him!' no thank you,
i still have a head ******* on this neck
on these shoulders... i'll wait for the jazz to calm
the **** down... i'll probably be an irrelevant
relic by then, hopefully mummified like
Lenin... you never know...
hmm... Rotherham-born... 35...
and what are the chances that...
you know... Rotherham... Pakistani grooming-gangs...
only yesterday my company employed
20+ Pakistani zombies that probably sprouted
out of cousin-on-cousin *******...
dull... zoned-out... glassy eyed *****...
what are the chances?
they looked... well... less sinister more murky...
slimy...no... not slim i.e. slimmy... slime-e...
slimey... i know, it should be written slimey
and not slimy... which sort of implies slimmy: slimming...
no no... so of how you'd write: smiley...
slimey... makes sense...
i'll just verbatim the headline...
(she really looks like a Marilyn Monroe doppelganger,
voluptuous, vivacious, all the required va va voom
of a woman)
   MEN ARE REALLY SCARED OF ME...
last time i checked... there's this ****** proverb
that states... fear has large eyes...
guess what... only yesterday i saw those large eyes
of fear when the four of us were outnumbered
by about 30+ screaming chanting taunting drunk
teenagers / football hooligans at a match...
i must have been squinting or something...
in this profession (of stewarding) i hear a lot of macho
bravado about smacking some...
very much aligned to the narrative borrowed
from the film: Rise of the Foot Soldier...
Essex gangland... blah blah br'uh...
                                       o.k. we get it: you have an erecticle
dysfunction, need to compensate by going
to the gym to increase your muscle mass...
modern films... hell...
they used to be great... up to the point where
they made it adamant that they were also
advertisement flicks... zooming in on products...
worn by characters in a no-plot scenario...
usually watches, electronic products...
food brands, restaurants...
it's like capitalism selling itself to capitalism...
what a hyper-inflated word...
which word? capitalism... i mean... i was born
in a former Soviet satellite state...
n'ah... it wasn't so bad... "my" people sort
of went along with the Russian influence:
when the art of metallurgy was still in "fashion"
in Eastern Europe, but it's not like we took
the Bolsheviks that much seriously than "we" did
the Nazis... after all: funny fact:
it took **** Germany AND Soviet Russian
to conquer Poland than it took **** Germany
to conquer France... Napoleon must have been
turning in his grave...
    i don't think men are scared of women...
personally i like to think of them as timid little
creatures that... OVER-ESTIMATE
their worth, confidence,
                              looks, worth...
                availability... as a man that knows how
to cook, as a man that does all the house chores...
and all the man *******...
oh, right, today... one of my cats did a ****-poor
job at taking a ****...
she managed to plough out two blobs from the "cuvette"
and leave them sitting pretty on
the matt beside the "cuvette"...  
   yes yes, i know, it's a misnomer... read some Wittgenstein...
i'm thinking in ****** while writing in
English... the word is originally French...
blah blah... i lied to little Freddy / Reinhart about
the origins of the word haemorrhage -
one of the words for his school spelling exams...
i said: oh... that's Latin... i'm kicking myself
over the etymological falsity i passed down on to him...
yes: it's Greek...
from HAIMA - blood (noun) &
                         RHEGNUNAI - burst (verb)...
so then i lifted her up and sniffer her...
oh jeez! Louise! **** this ****... i'm not having some
stinking cat walking about my house...
meow meow... ******* horror movie meow...
well you should have taken a **** better!
scratching, a proper bite at the hand!
into the shower with you! washed her from all the
stink... petulant little **** of a cat that she
was she managed to come across as penitent
when i shampooed her and the water was running
down her spine... ha ha...
so much for a maine ****... more like a rat now...
wrapped her up in a blanket put her
on my lap and watched about 20 minutes
of Liverpool's struggle with Birmingham City in
the FA cup...
                  then ****** off on my bicycle for some
whiskey and turkey stakes for the cats to eat...
wait... didn't i once feed Quorus a fish eye,
while filleting a trout? oh yeah... i did...
that was fun to watch... i sometimes catch mosquitos
by the legs and feed them too...
- do men can possibly fear women?
plainly, on the outright? i very much doubt it,
like Bane said in that opening scene from
Christopher Nolan's Batman movie:
this is no time for fear, doctor... that comes later...
how women have churned out a complete
lack of perception misguiding initial attraction
for fear... it's like they have no clue about how
men behave... when they're attracted
to women... "unconscious" curiosity is not
a fear... a woman is still somewhat abstract...
hell: to me she's forever an abstract...
i don't have the practicality of a man that might
gamble, take the plunge...
impregnate one...             last time i heard
it was considered a bad idea for a man to be
present at child-birth... women should take care
of women's "issues"...
ooh... i'm scared of a woman
but not a ******* tiger? logic paradox...
i'm scared of a puddle but not the raging sea!
how did women conjure up this
invulnerability? too many boy bands in the 90s...
too many male feminists?!
- and then the Sarah Everard ******...
men are scared of women... BOMBAST egoism...
no, not scared... just a case of men
scrutinising: is this going to be worthy?
tying the knot... getting up at 5am, coming back
home at 8am and getting nothing
5 pieces of sushi to eat... the house in a turmoil,
the kids growing up feral...
is it... worth merely the looks?!
the looks, right now? i mean... she's going to
be a ******* granny in about 20 years
if she's already a single mum aged 39...
is it going to be worth it?
or... if she's in her 20s... what's her boredom
spectrum, does she need to be on a ferris-wheel
all the ******* time or can she take an hour
of reading beside a fireplace and the deafening silence...
can she handle Mistress Death?
has she been to a funeral? has one of her grandparents
died?!
right...                    yeah.... scared of a woman
because of her good looks...
                scared akin to: what are the chances
she's going to go on a cosmopolitan safari
of **** given the current influx of black walking
****** of migrants on dingy boats...
what are the chances of her becoming a liability
rather than a partner?!

- - - - - - interlude - - - - - - -

****, where was i? oh man, i really love listening
to garbage... no, not literally...
the band... stupid girl, i'm only happy when it rains,
#1 crush, dog new tricks...
i never thought i'd find a recipe for
pasta and smoked salmon... lucky me...
so ******* simple... onion, sour cream,
some tomato(s), two tablespoons of capers,
lemon juice... pepper... chilly flakes...
preferably the Korean ones that also act like
turmeric - i.e. they colour the food...
smoked salmon added at the last minute...
some slices reserved for garnish to make
the dish look more appealing... and obviously
dill... to be honest: a lot of dill...
what did i watch? Beijing Winter Olympics...
why are they so racist?! joke... seriously
that's a joke... why are, why oh, oh my god why
are the winter olympics so racist?!
no winters in Africa?! maybe?!
no ******* snow... what are they going to
do... surfing on the dunes of Sahara?!
ha ha... it's untouchable! i love it!
but what i don't love... why didn't all the countries
simply, outright, boycott Ch-ch-ch-I-n'ah?!
why indulge them as if nothing *******
happened for the past 2 years...
i mean... the Soviets were boycotted back
in the day when people had... ***** for brains
and brains for *****... but these days?
even the **** are ******* labradors lapping up
any attention going their way... ******* silly *****...

plus, the Olympics per se...
there was always equality when it came to sports...
not popular sports like rugby,
football or boxing, i give you that...
sports for rich men and silly little ***** to drool
over status...
but real sports... unattractive sports,
unpopular sports...
we're not going to have a pay gap debate
when it comes to professional tennis...
women only have to play a maximum of 3 sets...
men? 5 sets... how long did that Australia Open
final take, to get finished? close to 6 hours?
right...
     what wage gap?
well, at least in the Olympics a man has
to run a marathon... a woman runs what? half of it?
no no... ***** is running the ******* marathon...
hundred metres? she's running the hundred metres...
obviously she's going to be slower...
that's not my problem... but even saying that...
i enjoy female tennis more than the men's...
i don't know... they moan more?!
or perhaps my generation, the millennials
produced 2 of the 3 greatest players in: whenever...
so... maybe it just a got a bit ******* boring...

oh, but i'll be boycotting the current Olympic
games in Beijing... it's not progressive enough,
there are not enough... what's that ******* acronym...
B.C.I.W. - black, coloured, indigenous, women...
i don't know what the state of the current
alphabet soup of acronyms from H'america is at...
****! **** ****! pump snow to Africa!
get some ice! let's get a bobsleigh team going!
******* Wankees and their currency
of current rotten ideas!

ha ha: it's already served to me on a silver platter...
all i have to do is drink a little and stew and spew...

sure, it's only going to be a soft boycott,
i just watch those games,
pointless... thanks for the pandemic,
no thank you, otherwise...
i sort of feel sorry for the athletes being so compliant
with the narrative...

oi! Ummah! where's you suicide squad from
Saudi Arabia's elite breaking into
the concentration camps where
the Uyghurs are being sentenced to unspeakable
horrors? oh sure... attack the West while
seeking proselytes, but don't care about
your existing Muslim community...
i see a third breaking apart of Islam...
i don't know why i see it... but this will not be
along the lines of the Sunni and Shiah...
this might actually involve the Turks...
i see the Turks as a third, separate,
branch of Islam: even if they're not already that,
where are your little ****-pants blow-themselves-up
rather than fight, fighting for your Ummah
in Ch-ch-ch-I-n'ah?!
                                   oh right, nowhere to be found...
too busy kiddy-fiddling English girls
in Rotherham!
      ******* degenerates!
i'm fuming at the teeth: and they have the *******
audacity to lecture me about, principle?
racists too... they think very little of the Chinese...
as Muslims... the "master religion"
the "master race"... ******* camel-jockeys...
the whole entire rest of them!

- the temperature in the house dropped to 17 degrees...
ooh, a bit chilly... wrote my father's invoice,
took out the garbage, ****... forgot to take out
the dwindling yellow tulips, will do, next week...
received an email that i passed my NVQ for role
as steward... well great... pressed play on
the thermostat... waited as i did all of that...
oh my my... it's getting hot... ran up to my bedroom
to turn it off... it read... 18 degrees...
wow! wow! imagine what one degrees Celsius makes...
i never thought... well: i never thought that
could be possible...

- - - - - - - - end of interlude - - - - - - - - - - -

i must have finished writing about the previous
article, since, i took time for an interlude of...
what was already stated...
                           this second article... i have to begin
with a rubric, oh yeah, it's sourced:
   ONS, UN, relate.org...

rubric, i.e. a list and it's as follows (leaving the approximation
words aside):
1. 1 in 7 people in the UK living alone by 2039
1. 61% of single women say they are single-happy
  compared with 49% of men
            (men, if they lie, are good at it,
   good enough to become serial killers;
    but women? they are compulsive,
which does't necessarily translate as them being
                       good at it; they're usually not -
they're spastic-fantastic sort of clumsy, at it)
3. 1 in 6 of British people believe in the concept
   of "the one"...
4. 10% of Brits enjoy the **** to the ****
with the chicken; 13% in the wake of the fine fine
MADE IN CHINA whatever-it-was don't
feel ready for intimacy...

               oh sure... the hypochondriacs have
finally been found... i was wondering why they /
where they disappeared to... but now they're in plain
sight... with their secular makeshift niqqabs...
i like this transparency... it's good for an apparent
"schizophrenic" to start to feel more comfortable
in his skin... then again: thank you China...
i can now clearly see the neurotics and the hypochondriacs...
the little people on the spectrum of the asylum...
no... the micro-aggression crowd...
no... not the raving lunatics...
the cult of the moon crowd...
the ones speaking to their shadows... taking
selfies of their shadows... haunting graveyard type
of crowd... thank you... i can see the mice...

5. 25% think they are out of bedroom practice, antics...
well, d'uh... 8% are more open to same-*** relationships...

  yeah, i was thinking that... maybe it would be easier
dating a man... but he'd have to be Greek...
and be learned in... classical thought from ancient
times when pederasts where accepted
like modern Pakistan freely welcomes paedophiles
as long as they do it to English girls... that sort of, "thing"...

i abhor the western concept of dating...
i might have been on a date once...
yeah... i was on a date once...
we went to an art gallery,
to the cinema, to a restaurant...
then we started dating, we were in high school...

after that? i was already ******* her
when she asked me to take her to a sea-food restaurant
for clams, oysters and mussels...

dating... oh, right... that one speed-dating event
that made me look like an ***...
dating... is that like... the Chelsea flower show?
you know... where you go to see flowers
but can't pluck any for a bouquette
to take home? it must be like that...
i wouldn't know... ****** off to the brothel
early... found a stone in the shape of a heart
on the pavement once...
called it my own... never looked back...

   just to make sure... i treat oath words very much
akin to superlatives - i know they're not superlatives,
but in the sense of keeping a modern
narrative... they're pretty much akin to being
treated as such, as, i dare say,
punctuation marks without actually being punctuation
markers... they allow for a flow of ideas,
for a flow of a narrative...

cuntish ******* filth if you ask me:
but i do wash my teeth on a regular basis
and i do eat healthily...

6. 1 in 10 Brits is burned-out by dating...
   & dating apps...
                                       don't know... never used
any... i'm still archaic in that i still have
a Facebook account...

7. 71% of men feel a pressure to be in relationships
compared to 58% of women...

as the list goes on... am i, supposed to feel, surprised?!

8. a 16% increase in those living alone...
9. 1 in 6 between the ages of 45 & 64 live alone
10. 48% of "singletons" (women) feel a pressure
to find a partner based off of their social
relationships... men work, together...
******* socialising... ******* with the banter...
the chit-chat... what are we doing,
where are we doing it, how long will it take?
base... women do all that private revelry *******...

11. women are more likely so say that a relationship
is unsatisfactory...  
              well... yeah... look sharp, Sherlock!
Watson's coming! ******* plonkers for plumbers!

12. there are three other facts, but they are
citing **** without numbers...
so... i'm not going to bother... based on feels...   yawn...
it's much easier to just recite lyrics from
the Garbage song: Stupid Girl...
you pretend you're high,
you're pretend you're bored,
pretend you're everything,
just to be adored...
and what you need, is what you get...
don't believe in fear...
don't believe in faith,
don't believe in anything,
that, you can't break...
stupid girl... stupid girl..
all you've had you've wasted...

oh, my god, is it my job to warn them off?!
HE will ask: and how ws your life...
i've lived with cats enough time to know:
and HE will ask... never mind: it be be a SHE...
and IT will ask... and ask... are you
awake... as if... implying: do you think you're dead?!

the rest of the article...
the pinnacles of female freedom...
i'm not going to cite them they're disgusting....
she goes through *******
cosmic concepts and premonitions that
are less grounded in the sands of Arabia
by a horses' hoof than a camel "toe"...

these wankers want to come up north and
dictate the ******* rules...
dictate this... change my ******* mind!
******* plop of a soppy **** that you..
quasi-***** seem to be...
kiddy-fiddlers... you soppy losers...
cousin-*******... camel-jockeys...
weak... quasi-men...
men... sort of...

          i'm not going to go through her article...
she's a sorry *** loser
by the standards expected of men...
no sorry... kind ***...
men band together....
  all as one... or none: to begin with!
and you women, think,  "think"...
you can somehow infiltrate our ranks...
what? you gonna bake me a bannana loaf
worth of loaf..
with all the pecan / walnut "trimmings"...
girl... you're having a ******* laugh...

i'm not reading through this *******...
you want me to bite someone's neck?
no one has yet seen how feral i can could become...
at the job...  i could just roll my eyes back
declaring nothing but sclera...
again: why are women even involved
in this sort of *******?!
why?! are?! you? *******!! here!! ypu,
******* useless, *****?!

i'm here to pick up a fight...
but here you are, pretending to be
a ******* grandma... and that's your excuse...
*****, i hope you get your head sorted,
get punched.... silly ******* cucnt...
oh right... my excuse among the football
hooligans... i'm i woman!
don't touch me! i'n your sister, your mother...
this **** is going to boil...
you tell me that ****, one, more,
******* time... i'm going to 'ed in yurr
******* grandm'ah...!
i know these *****... women are playing
a tight game...

esp. when you... ***** yourselves......
Rotherham didn't ******* help...
you ******* cheap **** ******...
i keep tight, silent, because...
i've been to brothels... but this ****...
i'm not even English... this... sort of hurts...
it, can't be, allowed, an outlet,
via... football, matches...
no, mate, no!

   your sister has been suckered into *******
this... sickle- cell anemia sort of *****
from Pakistan...
oh don't worry about theit race...
they don't have a skin tone...
their skin tone... if any:
cant's miss 'em... slimey *****...
olive oil slimey...
in-bred looking *****... *****-eyeds...
sorry... some people just look
******* clueless! period!
like they're out of "the game"...
they're gone... they're meat for the machinery!
the end! sorry... stop sopping:
no one's special!
weird like... Frankenstein looking
at the monster he created... seriously?!
i, made... that? oh, **** me...
better **** it... but wait...
oh... a chance he might transcendent me...
no... not with these kiddy-fidddling Pakistanis...
chances are... the ******* 4 seasons on
the continent of Antacrtica!
O'Reily Jul 2014
Bang on the vingt a round of liquor with a flavour of talent,
Submerged in an atmosphere with warm friends spirited by a Sunny Benidorm.

Sonny Jim, beach bar bikini slim,
Music from the seventies&eighties;,
Sun beaming a view of a rock horizon
wedged in a silver cloud lining,
Wide-screen panoramic source by a Kopparberg.
The cool tip of an ice berg,
Sun burst that if only time could stand so still,
That mixed fruit cider below a mountain glass of ice that could never melt a feud of alcohol sworn in to your mouth,
Echo voices a speed boat speeding around #by a coated bannana boat of dare makers predicting a riot,
Now I leave this and go with my mind dripping, resting, sitting here in Utopia Benidorm addressing peace and quiet.

O'Reily@14072014
I never thought but I always assume that a perfect moment in your life could be so memorable I think that goes with any special poem you write.
Adam Childs Mar 2014
I am the foolish clown
Clumsily tripping through my life
Stumbling in public
Befooled I am
By my silly big shoes
Slip on a bannana
The whole world a laughter
Big buttons , bonkers hair
How do I dare
But I always need to share

Isolated I feel , Encaged I am
For this is the circus
Ring of my life
As the world is my audence
I am incircled with their laughter
Long lines of cackling heads
And long pointing fingers
Stare ,
layer apon layer
Filled up to my ceiling
I need a way of dealing
With these heavy loads of laughter
Painted on me like plaster

As I shade my face white
To hide my red flush
Painting a great smile
To hide my hidden hurt
But tears betray me
As they spill my make up
For I am the capital
Of false welbeing
My humilated heart
Bursts and springs
Into a torrent of tears
My eyes seek the ground
Away from the world
While my body embraces
A waterfal shape
For I am the new Niagra

As a young clown
My many tears held
In my giant belly
Fall and drop away into
An ocean of compassion
Where the love for the world
And myself are found
As I grow older I realise
There is nothing more
Healing than the laughter
Of your silly self
As my giant hollow belly
Resonates with a cackling Echo
As it becomes a cathedral
Of consuming Laughter
As I always laugh harder
Holding the world in my belly
A feathers tickle turns me to jelly
It laughter becomes my
Fulfilling devotion devotion

How they hold the center stage
While spreading their
Compassion an laughter
How I wish to understand
The tears and Laughter
Of a BEAUTIFUL CLOWN
I hope this works I have been wanting to write about a clown for a long time
betterdays Aug 2014
here i am,
cold winter,
sunday morning...high.

my drugs.....
a predawn lovefest
lots of, little boy
giggling n' smiles
bannana berry pancakes,
made by my satisfied guy.
blucat purring at my feet.

and the sun,
lazily peeking in

god i love
the sunday morning high...
and no hangover neither....
betterdays May 2014
taken back today,
to a time of ignorant simplicity,
of sunday afternoon's fluid routine.
the venue might change,
but not often the steps;
an early bath to wash one's hair.
a take out feast of chinese for tea,
followed by chocolate icecream, in a bowl
in front of the old boxy tv.

we three, two big brothers and me.
lined up acording to age. waiting,
for walt disney and his wonderful world,
to take the tv's stage,
we would watch the play unfold.
enraptured one and all.

for mother dear,
a hour's peace,
mostly, but not always,
free and clear,
of squabbling brawls.

if we had been good,
we often times could,
cadge some extra time.
to see the bannana splits, have their funny fits
and laugh at the weird cartoon bits.

then time to brush those teeth,
and into bed to read,
quietly, for an hour.
a goodnight kiss,
and tucked in tight.
to sleep away,
the dreamless night
we have begun this tradition anew, with Tod our son, we watch all three of us (and sometimes N
anna)"the little prince" and then dinner and bed....
it is a simple thing but there is much communion and joy in it.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2017
ha ha! white priv? what about these black girls blasting more sensual song than a fat girl might in opera? i.e. blasting out the sensual, soul-fathomable sounds? white privilege? the **** is that? what about black priv? no black priv? really? so why these black girls singing double the standard, solo, of a choir of white girls? blah-ha-ha-ha!

not that i get to excuse myself
                                          that often,
but if i did, it would begin with
i'm beezee....
no, i'm not selling
      fake *fabergé
eggs or rolex
wristwatches...
     **** me, i could do a whiskey
or a beer commercial,
   but then i'm no
  jean-claude van damme,
jenny and clarra will sort you out,
and yes, to me sweden = roxette
minus abba...
although i could be doing
all these things,
     orio orio oi oi!
      kil'oh a'f a bannana bunch,
two kil'ohs fo' a fiver!
              i could be doing that...
but then i can't stop laughing
writing this *******,
  not that it's fake,
   it the fact that it actually is,
   it was a magnetic approach
to the late existentialism
    accent of heidegger's dasein...
it has a place...
        no matter what the being
is about...
     at least it conceptualises
a sense of gravity, a grounding...
       a drag to the source effect...
beginning with kant's concept of 0,
namely 0 = negation...
    and heidegger's
         fetish for dasein avoiding
a worldview...
       what dasein is, will always be
newtonian,
       a worldview? alway in the hands
of the einstein correction...
       newton could never be a globalist
that einstein became...
   but look at it this way...
  the re-emergence of israel is *******
fascinating...
          2000 years of there-abouts
of the "idea" of a state having a clearly
stated dynamic of government and borders...
  ******* lazy leftist donning
   a keffiyah / shemagh /
niqab / whatever party-dress
                         at the laundrette...
              my country was sold
by the aristocrats to three factions,
the prussians, the russians and
  the austro-hungarians...
         it wasn't invaded, it was sold,
thrice dissected... thrice!
                that disney movie about
a ugandan femme chess champion?
          **** me, i dig short hair on a girl...
          war dogs? great movie,
best movie i've seen in years.
        the last king of scotland?
tell me you wouldn't want that
   cadbury flesh in your bed at some
random point in your night?
   well **** me, if i were hanging on flesh
hooks from my **** up,
    sure, i'd call a scandinavian ******
                     working in saudi arabia;
yep, tears go into a bucket denoted by (a),
   and male arguments / words go
  into a bucket denoted by (b)...
       the rest?
   well **** me, hopefully a good pop
song.
ZACK GRAM Aug 11
Is it a pear?
Is it pecan?
Is it orange?
Is it apple?
Is it coconut?
Is it lemon?
Is it lime?
Or
Is it bannana?

Maybe its a maple!!!

Either way...

It survives to feed-
It sprouts-
Grows big-
Blossoms-
And bares fruit...
Only to wither dry and die...

Sounds pretty Biblical to me!!!

Because do people...
Grow?
Nurture?
Water?
Pick?
Feed?

Thats a life for me...

Maybe thats why...
People learn,
Grow,
Work,
Spread,
Then die!!!
Life at its best

— The End —