Every day I got a new set of problems
Can't figure out just how to solve em
Each day I find new ways to dodge em
But they keep coming back
Full circle revolver
What's a dollar to a billionaire
Spend all there money on diamonds without a care
Yet none of them seem to be happy
Rolling in cash yet smiling so sadly
Here I am waiting from cent to cent
Trying to afford food gas and rent
But at the end of the day
I can rest easy
Satisfied
Indefinitely ok
Is it the same for you mr. Billionaire?
With your fancy car ladies parties
In the designer clothes you wear
But what I see
All around me
Is beauty in simplicity
Beauty in the struggle
The empty pocket pit
Living off that next pack of Ramon noodles
Pressing on
Never settling
Knowing that your day will come
Because happiness isn't about the things you acquire
It's about the love you spread
The good you transpire
the universe returns to you
Threefold to fulfill selfless desires
Sometimes in wealth
Sometimes in power
You lose yourself
Forget To stop and smell the flowers
But I'll hold my head high
Through the hard times
Wait for the good
Gaze at the stars
And feed my head
With all that's left
The beauty in everything

The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer will.i.am and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*bitchesgetleid”.

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses

you're the boxspring billionaire of feel-good
saving up your love for a rainy year,
scrounging and saving every fleeting smile and shallow kiss and
miserly, hunched over with the weight of your own suffering and despair,
each scrapped-together pile of crumpled-from-your-pockets shreds of I.O.U.s and featherlight touches.
too afraid to leap and risk, you'll never grow or invest your affections into the stocks of Lisa and George LLC, or Francis and Kelly Inc.
so your love is bound to crumble into fragile dust, the fruits of your labours withering into mouldy piles of seed, stem, and flesh.
the could-have-been and might-have-grown dying, before even living to flourish and erupt into glorious blooms of the strikingly ethereal and otherworldy.
but not for you, not ever for you.
you're the boxspring billionaire of feel-good
and you'll burn before planting your love.

The love pretty please
wait for my
Cherry baby on top
Not some love O-Oreo
I could scream beguiled
Both twirled in swirls
Bavarian cream

Love has torn at the seams
Bad dream hot hit
bounty hunter
Bunny ears of the hop heart
it skips divine lips like a light tower
No other apology cries the thunder

And wait a **** minute
O-Oh-Yes where's my tip

I am not your second
fiddle of stunts
The romance of philosophy

We can fly higher
than anyone
will ever be

The Outgaze O hearts
of symmetry
Being told about their love
or other peoples fun
Twilight apology Wolfin tie outrun

Love O Apology light my pleasure
O on Overdrive no time for the
S letter-word SOS seizure
How many love gestures
of psychology

Love word *O love
to Outlive
your treasure
Being psyched for physiology
Feeling mighty good right now
Don't blow bubbles like their
stars* of trouble

A few in the A-New heart stays
ever so blue few Good Men
Perfect Zen thumbs up
His or hers how cute
the words up
The Buddha says
Love is a
spiritual existence

The herbs body rubs
Going to the Hubs
Behind all your apologies
Wearing the new Doctor scrubs
Love house of Labs resistance

The morning glory September
rise and stretch your
overworked wings
Believing never comparing
to another love
It's your love

Or very O for outstanding at the utmost
So incredible the feeling
       Loveology
There's absolutely no apology
The love surrender lion and tigers
So bearable

Her turn like a Turnup
Up close nose smells the rose
Picking love out pulling
the weeds
Her red  embarrassed face
of the radishes
The Shy bush compared
to the O outgoing love
A hint of red delicious apple
Buzzing around the
Mulberry Bush_
Big Ben London
O Sweet Lord of magic singing
*Rosebush* fresh lemons
George Bush Patriotic
Chilean Sea Maiden Bass
Love ******

VIP pass especially with love
Here it is his loves
A spinning wheel so dizzy
London foggy she is the
product of the  flower *****
Like a carnival cotton candy
What a head rush
Another apology and a big push
Those hummingbirds of sweet soul
But something ambushed
She got a lump of his
crab meat cheek crush

Getting over someone never to see them

*Picking out all the petals of the rose when she was with him*

How many apologies open heart surgeries
Apology on hold like a new series
*Wake up "O" my muffin*
Cheers to the world of Oats
Fingerpicking Cheerios
*Don't give in  get to know him

Giving/InWay*

New love *Caved In*
His way per click day
High payments to pay off

BMW Billionaire Man wilted
Love head Beamer
Be_ My__ World the dreamer

That love pain injury, going faster
Strong love never to lose her
Like cancer Santas Deers love prancer

Fine tooth comb
Negative force to succumb

Capitulate
Artsy wings to meditate
She is destined for something
So articulate
Can this be a painful love of fate?
She succumbs to the time given in
To her O Lord temptation
Words stand alone planet of people
Hearing the real voice no recording
From here to eternity the blasted phone

The Love O not to outwit just sit
And lift your gravity of love
Round earth or your flat on the ground or above
someone knows your true love

*She is combing her hair Silkience Queen of the Divination

Barrels of oil painted smooth in acryllic
fill up the cracks with a feeling
spit out the money to feed the machine

Fair if it's toiling kids
draped along spoiled villians
immersed to serve the version of a billionaire's dream

eat the rich

Try me after I've been taught
I could've bought my chain

I would've lost my name

I should've dropped my shame facade
to play the game

We grew the youthful breath of heaven from the clay beneath our bones
imbued and innervated

aided you and drew the oath to play within the zone

circle reverie treasury burdens
bury the feathery,
herding squarely to fame - put on a show

eat the rich
dare me

you and yours invaded
bated breath had sung belated effort, whistle "death has reared it's head
at our expense so grab a sword.
We can war this **** straight out of this ole ditch
and fix whatever ***** gone wrong with it
with grit and sense

and build a fence"

Forget the soil your roots are grown in,
if you want to.

bask in shadow
of the weight of trust and decency
impeding our advances to your winner's table
fabled robin hoods with internets

guess who's deft enough let you know through every filter
left for us we may upset your dinner guests

let em know what's on the menu

eat the rich

let em know

The irony in learning
how to burn the fuel that kills you
after all the warning signs were there
sound familiar? it's a slog

burnin up, they'll crawl around
and find a meal on common ground
try the light show one more time
maybe that'll work

"The serfs are like a herd you see
they can't be riled along without a sermon
Burden them with silks and styles
worry them toward money piles"

Remind them of the fire they've been turning

Analogies aside I must abide by me and mine
but I've still got my eye on anything
...concerning

eat the rich
with discretion I guess.

Mumbai is rich, Mumbai is poor.
Mumbai is fast, Mumbai is slower.
Little bit sweet, and little bit sour,
Sometimes it’s hot but not too more….

Mornings are energetic and evenings are electric.
Noons are lazy but Nights are crazy
And any one you ask he always say “M busy”
Dude, life in Mumbai is not so easy

There is lot of Masti with little bit of Maska
Welcome to the city that can’t live, without Bollywood Chaska

From cooker whistles to the traffic jam horns,
From steaming tea kettles to breaking nut-betels
From telephone rings and doorbell brings.
There are people connecting through Blackberry pings

Where there’s little time to spare for kids
People here spend their lives on bids
Here you actually pay your travel fare by meter
But milkman mixing water is not a cheater!

Sev puri and bhel puri are all Mumbai chaat
Relishing it with spicy chutney is no easy art
From pop-corn to ice-cream, all sold on cart
Mumbai o Mumbai, you’re always close to my heart

Where local trains usually run on time
And violently rushing for a seat is not a crime
Here 3 PM for lunch and 12 AM to dine
People face hardships, but still say “it’s fine”

From Mt Mary in Bandra to Mumba Devi in Town
And ISKCON in Juhu to Haji Ali in Mumbai’s Crown
Faith runs deep as the Arabian Sea
But people don’t hesitate to pay early darshan fee.

Marathi, Punjabi, Gujarati and Bengali
Everyone forgather celebrate Id and Diwali
Holi is colourful and Christmas is cheerful
Spend some time here and your life will be un-forgetful

Billionaire to baggers, all found in this city
Be careful dude, this place is a bit witty.
Overall this dream-world is huge but pretty
Mumbai o Mumbai you’re wonderful city.

as the PROPHETS of profits, WE lead and WE’re fair
while WE’re living the life of the poor BILLIONAIRE
– silver yachts, pearly castles, cash (plenty to spare) –
with the world on OUR backs... ah! the burdens WE bear!

being HAVES (not the have-nots) as nature decrees
means WE’re certainly the better (they’re vermin on ******).
if they pray for a lift in their dark fantasies,
WE just kick ’em downstairs, get ’em off of their knees.

yes, WE offer great jobs (much too busy OURSELVES!)
for maintaining the toilets, restacking the shelves,
and WE teach ’em to fear god and play with the elves,
thus dispelling ideas where the dark demon delves.

though they build mighty bridges, twin towers and more,
peddle pizzas and popcorn, sell guns door-to-door,
still they gotta have BOSSES to tell ’em the score
else WE’d never be needed, WE’d thrive nevermore.

when OUR profits are plunging, they do their part too
for they dine on the dole! yes, no hullabaloo!
soon OUR fortunes  redouble, rebound and accrue –
since WE fare well without ’em, WE bid ’em adieu.

’stead of wishing for welfare and standing in queues
or parading with pickets (look! holes in their shoes!),
they’d be better off scabbing to save union dues.
while WE whistle and warble, they’re singing the blues.

whether heroes or hoboes, like spiders and lice
they just crawl all around us in life’s paradise,
but WE’re patient, big hearted and oft sacrifice,
spewing charity, kindness (though each has its price).

if they’re beaten or punctured or suffer assault,
are unhealthy or crippled or walk with a halt,
or ******* or helpless, it’s all their own fault –
just like US they should worship the DOLLAR exalt’!

protesters and loud mouths, you’ll find ’em aplenty
some older, some younger, the worst not yet twenty.
they’re shameless and brazen (unwashed, soiled and scenty)
impugning the prestige of brave COGNOSCENTI.

if they’ve got clashing colors (or shades in between)
or opposing beliefs in the hidden unseen,
well, WE’ll always exploit it, deflecting their spleen,
for with god on each side, would WE dare intervene?

WE maintain many methods to keep ’em in chains –
daily rags and the tube spin OUR circus campaigns:
“to pretend you’ve a voice”, an announcement explains,
“you can vote and decide on which ONE of US reigns”.

OUR policemen protect US, they stay on the ball
(they arrest ’em, no questions per law’s protocol,
and then jam ’em in jail with their backs to the wall) –
if you’ve lucre for lawyers there’s justice for all.

down the ROYAL road of justice WE march all alone
– WE condemn their defiance, set ways to atone –
since WE’re sinless, unsullied, WE cast the first stone
(while WE cloak REGAL fetor with eau de cologne).

politicians, bald bankers, grand idols galore,
attend meetings, fete banquets in which they explore
how to rid US of rodents (the weak and the poor) –
well, just round up the riff-raff, dispatch ’em to war!

ah! OUR wars are, well, just...... just a thing of the past
........... and the present............... and future... WE sure make them last!
if they frown as they gaze (Armageddon!) aghast,
then WE smile back with pleasure, OUR treasures amassed.

useless ranting and raving (in rags, when they’re clad),
leads to losing their teeth (my! their gums are... egad!).
WE’re unselfish, indulgent, WE’d never be mad
if they drowned in the sounds of themselves feeling sad.

as the paupers are princes in midnight’s domain,
they have pipe dreams to lose, certainly nothing to gain
if they’re hoping OUR fortunes will wither and wane –
for “WE’re here by god’s will” as WE often explain.

yes, they wish to be US, with OUR wisdom and grace,
keeping up with ol’ CROESUS, maintaining the pace.  
but perverseness or rancor? they’ll see not a trace –
for WE hold ’em at bay with a fist in the face.

WE’re la CRÈME de la CRÈME, yes! the proud UPPER CRUST,
and OUR clothes are the finest, OUR hair never mussed –
WE imbue ’em with piety, duty and trust
and they’re fed bread and water (if feed ’em WE must).

but they’re thieving, aggrieved, want a piece of OUR PIE
and request WE endure ’em, see EYE to black eye.
since they live in OUR land where OUR strict rules apply,
they must feast on the crumbs that We cast to the sty.

though OUR largesse and bounty WE don’t mean to flaunt,
yet the pittance WE pay ’em they surely can vaunt –
salty peanuts and pretzels (what more could they want?)
thereby keeping their kiddies so healthily gaunt.

yes, there’s room for the rabble (the back of the bus)
’cause WE treat ’em like equals, so what’s all the fuss?
all can rise to the top (yes! it’s always been thus),
to the suites in OUR penthouse (to sweep up and dust).

while OUR CHILDREN have tutors, the finest of schools
(being bred for the forefront, THEY’re nobody’s fools),
their own school of hard knocks teaches: “follow the rules”,
building brawn ’stead of brains and broad backs strong as mules’.

and to keep ’em in line (to ensure WE prevail)
WE now monitor phone calls and read all their mail
(civil rights? what a notion! at best a detail!)
and if worse comes to worst...... well...... guantanamo jail!

WE’ve OUR quandaries and questions and headaches full blown
(like deciding design and decor of OUR throne...
whether diamonds or rubies... to gemstones WE’re prone) .
when WE deign to appease ’em, WE chuck ’em a bone.

now you know all OUR problems, OUR pains and travails
– like preparing foreclosures, evictions  and sales –
but WE’ve no need for worries or gnawed fingernails,
’cause WE’re sailing OUR yachts through tempestuous gales
(with them bailing OUR banks when OUR stock market fails)
sipping daiquiri sours, champagnes, ginger ales.
:-)

She, "City' cafe cat
But we would do
anything
for a cup of coffee right?
Where not the punctual
calendar girls day or night
The territories

(My Heaven's) steep spoon swirls
How it became the show
Guys and Dolls
Coffee of diaries souls
How a fortune of words
can burn a cup
One sip out of you just ****
At least my flavor trip
I did a lot of long walking
Sipping below his sea level
Hialeah slim blend
The firelight is
glowing
 Beloved by brown warm eyes firefly
This one is the long
sip to meet him bewitched

The Spanish fly
always on his cup trim
More Sambuca  Italian coffee
but why is this so long_
mouth stretching
Another long wait
To get the creamy shining
Knight
My light long
way home
Queen bee cream and
sugar delight, not honey
cleverly cupped
international trip money

The charming Knight
Over the coffee feeling
  camelback
She brews her
fulfillment
he massages her skin
On the fortune road
coffee beans "Parliament"
One long sip enjoyment
Brown leaf so Autummy
That long trip something
is falling
Good body flavor his calling
She neighed into
his love fire dim text
The desire long
extension
all wired

I just want — to — hold you — Egyptian

King with her cherries bing
I never heard of that coffee?
Got like jewels shall bling

One big fortune her vocal chord sing
we work harder to be more
golden winning goes to ___

The winner holding beans
Eyes of fortune Emmy fascination
(Sweet Carolina) honey so much more
blossom into her coffee such luster
bean amazingly guilty hey buster
Feeling so fortunate
how he reads into her expression

The Lord is my shepherd is coming
but hesitancy in her response
Then the next kiss would be with
her coffee embrace could he afford her
Also, her Sophia seduction like
styled camped
Safari how coffee became
the love cure for illnesses
how it healed hearts and asthma

(Her Vows) desireable boiled bows
Buganda Kingdom
I love you in the morning shore

What an obsession fortune beds
of Coffee, fingertips trailed to him
because he couldn't let her go
completely loving coffee and she

He cupped her in his
broad shoulders so he
Let’s be creative and
think of fortune names

Fortune:

Richest self-made millionaires
the rim of my coffee cup

I see a fortune flowing one long
trip faces glowing

Howard Schultz Forbes fortunes from scratch
I guess he saw his beans clearly no eye to patch
So the name like "Starbucks"
Knocking on heavily cup the
woodpecker chucks trip of coffee perks
That billionaire
secrets
is Facebook
Mark Zuckerberg
entrepreneur what a face
nothing more just faces
Will I get an idea the way they do?

Let’s open the (Gate Bill)
micro-soft computer,
French roast bold what was
really told
Hungary England how he
survived the **** Budapest
now he trying to save
other refuges with 500 million

Like her tiny cup of Turkish
heavy sediment Istanbul
Oceans storms her Grecian coffee
Also, her mind was dazzled but rambled
by the intruder
Leaving her all different coffee flavors
Like a fortune of familiar words
One knowing about coffee?
The “Spicy Taco” I felt I was in a
spiritual environment
of the Mecca in the holy city
Stephen when he went to her place
he would try so hard to protect her

Seeing the fortune coming inside the
amber water fountain
She knew his (Grecian Island)
flavors so well
with cardamon meet lovely (Cinnamon)
The coffee so sinfully the game
backgammon and chess

How love came in many Cafes parades
of the New Orlean Carnival
the Turkish armies "Parisian ****"
women and Men
Robes Pierre French revolution
What an evolution world cafes
Long ago far away 1600 Pope Clement
V111 pleasure full cup of Turkish coffee
very popular business thinkers

One golden ticket most expensive coffee
(Starbucks) the trip of a lifetime
(Cafe Nero)
Please bow to (Grace Kelly) coffee
Princess of Morocco how people
are looking more exotic back
in fortunes bed and ***
One long lie what to be said
Doing the Egyptian coffee dance
Exotic love Islands and France
How she Sophia waited for him in
bed nakedly the "Egyptian silky"
love sheets pour the crystal eyes
milky
((Fifty flavor))
shades of coffee her
eyes opened he
saved her with her
special blend
The depth of loving his hands
melted inside of her coffee
He was her love intruder
sending
her all his coffee flavors
For an instant, their eyes
met like the grains
of heat, she was drowning
in his honey brown depths.

I am Lex
And I am Alexandra.
I am not “baby” or “darling”.

I have more flies in my house than friends.

I am eighteen years old
But I feel as though the number should have an extra zero.

I am a student in more ways than one; of school, of the universe, of the stars in the night sky that I used to swear you hung all on your own for my eyes-
my gray-blue eyes with specks of yellow light around the pupils that make it look like I have always just been dancing in the street lights.

My pupils expand like black holes when my serotonin levels even out.

I am so short that I could pass as a pixie.
Five feet and one inch of metaphors that are so deeply rooted into my bones.
My ribcage knows truth like you placed it in my lungs for me to breathe in.

My hair is so indecisive, it changes colour biweekly.
I was born blonde.
My brother was born blue with a cord around his neck.

Every night before he goes to sleep he asks me to scratch his back.
I am older than he.
I feel that I am older than most.

I like old things.
If it’s not broken, don’t fix it.
I need someone with an old soul, I’m all Elvis and vinyl and Marilyn Monroe.
I could listen to Paul Simon’s “Live Rhymin’” on phonograph until I drop dead.

I wish it were winter all year long
But I don’t like being cold.

I collect tattoos like fireflies in mason jars.

I’m on pills that are supposed to make me happy.
I don’t think I’ve been happy since 2009
and I miss Her every day.

I’m more scared of life than death
but I no longer want to embrace dying.
Sometimes you forget to breathe just for a second, and then you realize
what you would be missing.

I think my depression is sort of like that.
It’s like being a bird and you’re the only one that can’t fly.

Nonetheless, I wish for stillness.
For peace, for fun in flatlines.
I wish for summer days by the lake
and no cell phone service.

I yearn for California.

I love reading so much that if I got paid for it,
I’d be a billionaire by now.
If you look into my eyes you could probably see traces of Sylvia Plath.

I wonder sometimes why she stuck her head in that oven.

I like vegetarian sushi, so basically just vegetables.
I was a vegetarian for a long while but then I decided that I wanted a hot dog.
I still regret that sometimes.

I’m afraid of frogs but nothing else.
I like to watch scary movies with the lights off.
I love to sleep, but I’m an insomniac.
And most of the time Melatonin doesn’t even knock me out.

I don’t believe in God but I believe in ghosts.
I don’t believe in hell but for Her sake, I hope there’s a heaven.
I believe in science but the class makes me want to rip my eyes out.
Except if it’s astronomy.

My parents usually depress me.

I believe purely in art.
Give me art or give me death.

I want to be a poet.
I want a living poet society.
My name is Lex
And this is 2013.

there is an American billionaire
who looks quite flamboyant and debonnaire
he was leading the race
for Republicans’ ace
and ******* his competitors everywhere
(unfortunately)

I

What new element before us unborn in nature? Is there
        a new thing under the Sun?
At last inquisitive Whitman a modern epic, detonative,
        Scientific theme
First penned unmindful by Doctor Seaborg with poison-
        ous hand, named for Death's planet through the
        sea beyond Uranus
whose chthonic ore fathers this magma-teared Lord of
        Hades, Sire of avenging Furies, billionaire Hell-
        King worshipped once
with black sheep throats cut, priests's face averted from
        underground mysteries in single temple at Eleusis,
Spring-green Persephone nuptialed to his inevitable
        Shade, Demeter mother of asphodel weeping dew,
her daughter stored in salty caverns under white snow,
        black hail, grey winter rain or Polar ice, immemor-
        able seasons before
Fish flew in Heaven, before a Ram died by the starry
        bush, before the Bull stamped sky and earth
or Twins inscribed their memories in clay or Crab'd
        flood
washed memory from the skull, or Lion sniffed the
        lilac breeze in Eden--
Before the Great Year began turning its twelve signs,
        ere constellations wheeled for twenty-four thousand
        sunny years
slowly round their axis in Sagittarius, one hundred
        sixty-seven thousand times returning to this night

Radioactive Nemesis were you there at the beginning
        black dumb tongueless unsmelling blast of Disil-
        lusion?
I manifest your Baptismal Word after four billion years
I guess your birthday in Earthling Night, I salute your
        dreadful presence last majestic as the Gods,
Sabaot, Jehova, Astapheus, Adonaeus, Elohim, Iao,
        Ialdabaoth, Aeon from Aeon born ignorant in an
        Abyss of Light,
Sophia's reflections glittering thoughtful galaxies, whirl-
        pools of starspume silver-thin as hairs of Einstein!
Father Whitman I celebrate a matter that renders Self
        oblivion!
Grand Subject that annihilates inky hands & pages'
        prayers, old orators' inspired Immortalities,
I begin your chant, openmouthed exhaling into spacious
        sky over silent mills at Hanford, Savannah River,
        Rocky Flats, Pantex, Burlington, Albuquerque
I yell thru Washington, South Carolina, Colorado,
        Texas, Iowa, New Mexico,
Where nuclear reactors creat a new Thing under the
        Sun, where Rockwell war-plants fabricate this death
        stuff trigger in nitrogen baths,
Hanger-Silas Mason assembles the terrified weapon
        secret by ten thousands, & where Manzano Moun-
        tain boasts to store
its dreadful decay through two hundred forty millenia
        while our Galaxy spirals around its nebulous core.
I enter your secret places with my mind, I speak with
        your presence, I roar your Lion Roar with mortal
        mouth.
One microgram inspired to one lung, ten pounds of
        heavy metal dust adrift slow motion over grey
        Alps
the breadth of the planet, how long before your radiance
        speeds blight and death to sentient beings?
Enter my body or not I carol my spirit inside you,
        Unnaproachable Weight,
O heavy heavy Element awakened I vocalize your con-
        sciousness to six worlds
I chant your absolute Vanity.  Yeah monster of Anger
        birthed in fear O most
Ignorant matter ever created unnatural to Earth! Delusion
        of metal empires!
Destroyer of lying Scientists! Devourer of covetous
        Generals, Incinerator of Armies & Melter of Wars!
Judgement of judgements, Divine Wind over vengeful
        nations, Molester of Presidents, Death-Scandal of
        Capital politics! Ah civilizations stupidly indus-
        trious!
Canker-Hex on multitudes learned or illiterate! Manu-
        factured Spectre of human reason! O solidified
        imago of practicioner in Black Arts
I dare your reality, I challenge your very being! I
        publish your cause and effect!
I turn the wheel of Mind on your three hundred tons!
        Your name enters mankind's ear! I embody your
        ultimate powers!
My oratory advances on your vaunted Mystery! This
        breath dispels your braggart fears! I sing your
        form at last
behind your concrete & iron walls inside your fortress
        of rubber & translucent silicon shields in filtered
        cabinets and baths of lathe oil,
My voice resounds through robot glove boxes & ignot
        cans and echoes in electric vaults inert of atmo-
        sphere,
I enter with spirit out loud into your fuel rod drums
        underground on soundless thrones and beds of
        lead
O density! This weightless anthem trumpets transcendent
        through hidden chambers and breaks through
        iron doors into the Infernal Room!
Over your dreadful vibration this measured harmony        
        floats audible, these jubilant tones are honey and
        milk and wine-sweet water
Poured on the stone black floor, these syllables are
        barley groats I scatter on the Reactor's core,
I call your name with hollow vowels, I psalm your Fate
        close by, my breath near deathless ever at your
        side
to Spell your destiny, I set this verse prophetic on your
        mausoleum walls to seal you up Eternally with
        Diamond Truth!  O doomed Plutonium.

                        II

The Bar surveys Plutonian history from midnight
        lit with Mercury Vapor streetlamps till in dawn's
        early light
he contemplates a tranquil politic spaced out between
        Nations' thought-forms proliferating bureaucratic
& horrific arm'd, Satanic industries projected sudden
        with Five Hundred Billion Dollar Strength
around the world same time this text is set in Boulder,
        Colorado before front range of Rocky Mountains
twelve miles north of Rocky Flats Nuclear Facility in
        United States of North America, Western Hemi-
        sphere
of planet Earth six months and fourteen days around
        our Solar System in a Spiral Galaxy
the local year after Dominion of the last God nineteen
        hundred seventy eight
Completed as yellow hazed dawn clouds brighten East,
        Denver city white below
Blue sky transparent rising empty deep & spacious to a
        morning star high over the balcony
above some autos sat with wheels to curb downhill
        from Flatiron's jagged pine ridge,
sunlit mountain meadows sloped to rust-red sandstone
        cliffs above brick townhouse roofs
as sparrows waked whistling through Marine Street's
        summer green leafed trees.

                        III
                        
This ode to you O Poets and Orators to come, you
        father Whitman as I join your side, you Congress
        and American people,
you present meditators, spiritual friends & teachers,
        you O Master of the Diamond Arts,
Take this wheel of syllables in hand, these vowels and
        consonants to breath's end
take this inhalation of black poison to your heart, breath
        out this blessing from your breast on our creation
forests cities oceans deserts rocky flats and mountains
        in the Ten Directions pacify with exhalation,
enrich this Plutonian Ode to explode its empty thunder
        through earthen thought-worlds
Magnetize this howl with heartless compassion, destroy
        this mountain of Plutonium with ordinary mind
        and body speech,
thus empower this Mind-guard spirit gone out, gone
        out, gone beyond, gone beyond me, Wake space,
        so Ah!
        
                                        July 14, 1978

Millions of babies watching the skies
Bellies swollen, with big round eyes
On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts
Noplace to **** but sand channel ruts

Millions of fathers in rain
Millions of mothers in pain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of sisters nowhere to go

One Million aunts are dying for bread
One Million uncles lamenting the dead
Grandfather millions homeless and sad
Grandmother millions silently mad

Millions of daughters walk in the mud
Millions of children wash in the flood
A Million girls ***** & groan
Millions of families hopeless alone

Millions of souls nineteenseventyone
homeless on Jessore road under grey sun
A million are dead, the million who can
Walk toward Calcutta from East Pakistan

Taxi September along Jessore Road
Oxcart skeletons drag charcoal load
past watery fields thru rain flood ruts
Dung cakes on treetrunks, plastic-roof huts

Wet processions   Families walk
Stunted boys    big heads don't talk
Look bony skulls   & silent round eyes
Starving black angels in human disguise

Mother squats weeping & points to her sons
Standing thin legged    like elderly nuns
small bodied    hands to their mouths in prayer
Five months small food    since they settled there

on one floor mat   with small empty ***
Father lifts up his hands at their lot
Tears come to their mother's eye
Pain makes mother Maya cry

Two children together    in palmroof shade
Stare at me   no word is said
Rice ration, lentils   one time a week
Milk powder for warweary infants meek

No vegetable money or work for the man
Rice lasts four days    eat while they can
Then children starve    three days in a row
and ***** their next food   unless they eat slow.

On Jessore road    Mother wept at my knees
Bengali tongue    cried mister Please
Identity card    torn up on the floor
Husband still waits    at the camp office door

Baby at play I was washing the flood
Now they won't give us any more food
The pieces are here in my celluloid purse
Innocent baby play    our death curse

Two policemen surrounded     by thousands of boys
Crowded waiting    their daily bread joys
Carry big whistles    & long bamboo sticks
to whack them in line    They play hungry tricks

Breaking the line   and jumping in front
Into the circle    sneaks one skinny runt
Two brothers dance forward    on the mud stage
Teh gaurds blow their whistles    & chase them in rage

Why are these infants    massed in this place
Laughing in play    & pushing for space
Why do they wait here so cheerful   & dread
Why this is the House where they give children bread

The man in the bread door   Cries & comes out
Thousands of boys and girls    Take up his shout
Is it joy? is it prayer?    "No more bread today"
Thousands of Children  at once scream "Hooray!"

Run home to tents    where elders await
Messenger children   with bread from the state
No bread more today! & and no place to squat
Painful baby, sick **** he has got.

Malnutrition skulls thousands for months
Dysentery drains    bowels all at once
Nurse shows disease card    Enterostrep
Suspension is wanting    or else chlorostrep

Refugee camps    in hospital shacks
Newborn lay naked    on mother's thin laps
Monkeysized week old    Rheumatic babe eye
Gastoenteritis Blood Poison    thousands must die

September Jessore    Road rickshaw
50,000 souls   in one camp I saw
Rows of bamboo    huts in the flood
Open drains, & wet families waiting for food

Border trucks flooded, food cant get past,
American Angel machine   please come fast!
Where is Ambassador Bunker today?
Are his Helios machinegunning children at play?

Where are the helicopters of U.S. AID?
Smuggling dope in Bangkok's green shade.
Where is America's Air Force of Light?
Bombing North Laos all day and all night?

Where are the President's Armies of Gold?
Billionaire Navies    merciful Bold?
Bringing us medicine    food and relief?
Napalming North Viet Nam    and causing more grief?

Where are our tears?  Who weeps for the pain?
Where can these families go in the rain?
Jessore Road's children close their big eyes
Where will we sleep when Our Father dies?

Whom shall we pray to for rice and for care?
Who can bring bread to this **** flood foul'd lair?
Millions of children alone in the rain!
Millions of children weeping in pain!

Ring O ye tongues of the world for their woe
Ring out ye voices for Love we don't know
Ring out ye bells of electrical pain
Ring in the conscious of America brain

How many children are we who are lost
Whose are these daughters we see turn to ghost?
What are our souls that we have lost care?
Ring out ye musics and weep if you dare--

Cries in the mud by the thatch'd house sand drain
Sleeps in huge pipes in the wet ****-field rain
waits by the pump well, Woe to the world!
whose children still starve    in their mother's arms curled.

Is this what I did to myself in the past?
What shall I do Sunil Poet I asked?
Move on and leave them without any coins?
What should I care for the love of my *****?

What should we care for our cities and cars?
What shall we buy with our Food Stamps on Mars?
How many millions sit down in New York
& sup this night's table on bone & roast pork?

How many millions of beer cans are tossed
in Oceans of Mother? How much does She cost?
Cigar gasolines and   asphalt car dreams
Stinking the world and dimming star beams--

Finish the war in your breast    with a sigh
Come tast the tears    in your own Human eye
Pity us millions of phantoms you see
Starved in Samsara   on planet TV

How many millions of children die more
before our Good Mothers perceive the Great Lord?
How many good fathers pay tax to rebuild
Armed forces that boast    the children they've killed?

How many souls walk through Maya in pain
How many babes    in illusory pain?
How many families   hollow eyed  lost?
How many grandmothers    turning to ghost?

How many loves who never get bread?
How many Aunts with holes in their head?
How many sisters skulls on the ground?
How many grandfathers   make no more sound?

How many fathers in woe
How many sons   nowhere to go?
How many daughters    nothing to eat?
How many uncles   with swollen sick feet?

Millions of babies in pain
Millions of mothers in rain
Millions of brothers in woe
Millions of children    nowhere to go

                                        New York, November 14-16, 1971

I met Al at Menningers.
We were both patients there.
We were both on Men's Work Group.
The more I got to know Al, the more I
liked him. When we both got out of the
hospital, we spent time together.
He bought a farm north of Lawrence
and began farming organically, unusual
for a guy who grew up in Sutton Place,
one of the most expensive places to live
in the world, smackdab in the heart of
Manhattan, NYC. His great-grandfather
was a partner of J.P. Morgan. His father,
who owned five mansions around the world,
chose the one in Virginia in which to blow
his brains out against the wall of one of the 23
bedrooms. Al was up at 6 every morning
in his overalls to begin driving his tractor
in the fields and didn't stop until the sun
went down. You'd never know Al was a
billionaire, unless you became a buddy of
his, which I did. He was a bit eccentric person
at times, however. For example, he enjoyed
buying mostly classic foreign cars which he
had fun driving around for a few months,
then driving each into the field next to his
small house and left them there. From time
to time I'd drive down from Topeka to his
farm, then the two of us would go to a
steakhouse just outside of Lawrence, then
eat and chat. Al was one of the nicest guys
I ever met.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I came here first, so stay back
The words of a tyrant
I can't let you sleep on my pillow
I don't care you made it
This land is mine, I don't share
I don't help no Muslims nor no Mexicans
How could you say we're the same race?
I'm white and you is black
I've set my streams to greatness
They'll flow with blood, I know
Even though,
My strength will shake the world
I'll wreck the ships they sailed
And anchor mine safely, with no fear

I wish
I had the cure
for broken-heart
outbreaks.
I’d make billions.
It’s pervasive & so widespread,
like an epidemic,
I’d always have sad-customers
to feed my bank account.

We sat upon our hands
and watched the world go by.
Counted the seas and lands,
measured from ground to sky.
The ownership was not fair,
potential to be a billionaire,
without setting up a trust
gold can't stay but can it rust?

Life grows from a seed,
we take inventory and stock.
It's more than you'll need,
who sold the last free rock?

They plant a waving flag,
and make the ground their own,
they saw those who held just a rag,
and told them it was now on loan.
When will they tax the air?
Potential to be a billionaire,
who even signed the deed,
to sell the world for greed?

Both money and tree;
they share a shade of green.
This world should be free,
who sold the last free scene?

We sat upon our hands,
and watched the world go by.
Raked in the dollars from sands,
and made money by making trees die.
We did nothing but stare,
potential to be a billionaire,
who even decided the price,
and then doubled it twice?

Now borders and walls,
on lands we all should own.
Tax lakes and waterfalls,
and see how their stock's grown.

I ask you poet
Whom do you worship?
Where does your souls eternity stand right now?
Broken? Despaired! Pained? Sorrowful? Burdened? Seeing all the chaos in the world and yet don't know where to turn or whom to turn to, OK you can flip to the next poem if you'd like that speaks of worldiness, *** maybe, lust, hopelessness, a state of being lost. May I ask you? What gives you pleasure in this world? Idols? Things of gold, such as statues? Jewelry? Maybe dope? ***? Maybe video gaming, escaping anyway possible in food? By beating your loved ones? Or abusing those whom love you? Maybe cutting yourself? As many here do, they cut to feel alive. Do you? The thought of not living there where all hope is gone, unseen and lost? Wanting to give up? What you don't know or may have turned a blind eye to by so called ( fake pastors, religious nuts, Jesus freaks whatever you wanna call them.. Yes! There are false pastors for money, and Greed's purpose... As what you may not truly understand is this world isn't just physical, revelation 12:3-4 States Satan and 1\3 Of gods once good angels as Satan him ( Lucifer) was also a high or one of highest angels ruling over other angels.... Revelation 12:3-4 speaks of Satan and one third of the angels who were kicked out of heaven. Satan in other words wanted to play gods role.Luke 10:18 sais this. ( And he said unto them, I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.” )
King James Bible. There is a literal battle here poet whoever reads this for your soul. God wants you to come to his son Christ who said ( I am the way truth and the life, NO MAN comes to the father but by me) John 14:6 ... Christ offers salvation and hope to the whole world. As there is no life in Islam, nor Buddhism, nor Hinduism, nor all these other false ways and false ideologies of the world. Christ is the only one to have claimed to be gods son. As what you didint know. Christ was sent down to a ****** called mary, scientists now have a word for it where mothers literally have children by miracles of not having a man enter into them sexually at all. God put his son Christ who always was from the beginning before the foundation of this world. That's why us Christians also call God the great I am. Meaning he always was and will always be. God sent his son Jesus Christ. Also called in Hebrew original tongue. Yeshua ha'mashiach-. Meaning Jesus the Messiah or anointed one . Christ came in the flesh in the form of a man. To be sent here to teach everyone to love one another. And that he was the way truth and the life. He literally healed the sick, he healed lepers . opened eyes of those without sight and without hope...he was who he claimed to be . he came to die for me and yours sins... As the gospel in the Bible States..Romans 5:12- 12 Wherefore, as by one man sin entered into the world, and death by sin; and so death passed upon all men, for that all have sinned: Adam and Eve sinned against God, in the garden of Eden where scientists now know just about the location of the garden... Sin passed down to all mankind. Our bible teaches. Romans 3:23- 3For all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God; so I tell you friend to friend poet to poet... No good works will get you to heaven as the pope falsely preaches of the Catholic Church. Why works won't get you to heaven? Ephesians 2:8-9 main verses.( 8For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: 9Not of works, lest any man should boast. 10For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.) Notice how it sais for by grace you are saved through faith? Meaning by grace of God if you accept Jesus as your Lord and messiah and Savior personal Savior not some far away man. Or myth. A personal Savior you can speak to in prayer and hes always there for you. Also notice it sais ( it is not of yourselves, meaning you can't save yourself neither can works you do good on earth. It also said not of works, that any man should boast??? Boast showing off pridefulness. Buy through christs shedding of blood on the cross, we have redemption through that blood if we accept him or not. I'm sure you've heard from worldly religions and one world together we are all children of God? False lie! Fact is were yes all created by the same God. Though we don't all worship the true God we should be and wonder  why our lives and your lives are haywire? We are children of God ONLY through the adoption of Jesus ( meaning coming to him as your Savior you are adopted as gods chosen and children... Christ btw spoke more on hell then he did heaven. Though here's what he said on heaven. (
1 Corinthians 2:9 - But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. ( meaning in life, and after death in heaven.)
John 14:2 - In my Father's house are many mansions: if [it were] not [so], I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.
10 And he carried me away in the spirit to a great and high mountain, and shewed me that great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God,

11 Having the glory of God: and her light was like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal;

12 And had a wall great and high, and had twelve gates, and at the gates twelve angels, and names written thereon, which are the names of the twelve tribes of the children of Israel:

13 On the east three gates; on the north three gates; on the south three gates; and on the west three gates.

14 And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and in them the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.

15 And he that talked with me had a golden reed to measure the city, and the gates thereof, and the wall thereof.

16 And the city lieth foursquare, and the length is as large as the breadth: and he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal.

17 And he measured the wall thereof, an hundred and forty and four cubits, according to the measure of a man, that is, of the angel.

18 And the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass.

19 And the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones. The first foundation was jasper; the second, sapphire; the third, a chalcedony; the fourth, an emerald;

20 The fifth, sardonyx; the sixth, sardius; the seventh, chrysolyte; the eighth, beryl; the ninth, a topaz; the tenth, a chrysoprasus; the eleventh, a jacinth; the twelfth, an amethyst.

21 And the twelve gates were twelve pearls: every several gate was of one pearl: and the street of the city was pure gold, as it were transparent glass.

22 And I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it.

23 And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.

24 And the nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it: and the kings of the earth do bring their glory and honour into it.

25 And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day: for there shall be no night there.

26 And they shall bring the glory and honour of the nations into it.

27 And there shall in no wise enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie: but they which are written in the Lamb's book of life.

( revelation chapter 21) speaking of the new temple God will literally bring down to earth that's already In heaven until after Armageddon where he brings down a new temple from heaven already ready and made to go for his chosen and believers who accept Christ Jesus.

And many more verses... Which btw just type in near death experiences on youtube see the thousands of REAL results of many whom have died meaning brain dead, heart dead both, no just one issue wrong. Both things dead some people for minutes, some for hour to hour and half. All telling you same things they saw in death. The tunnel of death. One way leading to heavens gates where there are literally pearlescent gates, and a door you pass through into gods throne room and huge place. They all describe how everything's living and alive.. There is pure joy there and peace. ( as bible speaks, the peace of God surpasses all understanding) told by a black man who's story in famous on CBN and world news. As thousands of others who match the same accounts yet may all be different in forms alll conclude who they saw. Jesus Christ, literal angels by thousands who sing and praise God all the day because in heaven there Is no time clock or time in human level. You know not time. For our bible teaches... 2 Peter 3:8 ( 8But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. 9The Lord is not slack concerning his promise, as some men count slackness; but is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.) Notice how verse also sais God is long-suffering toward us meaning suffering in patience willing that NONE of you should perish in a real hell Christ spoke on dozens of times, but that all ALL should come to repentance. By accepting Christ as Savior and your messiah and turning from your old ways which I'll tell you as a Christian not one Christian is a saint or perfect. Though word tells us we are to be perfected in Lord Jesus meaning working on self to be as Christ was... Holy. I am a sinner like all the rest of human beings in this earth. And daily Christians must work at doing God's will, and yes takes practice patience and work. Though Christ and God his father gets you through any trials you face and tribulations. 2 Corinthians 1-
1/Blessed [be] God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and the God of all comfort;2- Who comforteth us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted of God. Christ came and was scorned, mocked nby the scribes and Pharisees  of his day even though the Jewish Torah spoke of their coming messiah and the world's coming messiah. Though they rejected him as told in old testament they would do, he came preached love, to forgive another always!!!! Always no matter how many times one wrongs and hurts you. And as all say who die and meet God on his throne in a LITERAL heaven, seeing God on his literal throne, and seeing Christ his son, they always come back to say the same thing from death experiences, people will say I'd watch all hundreds of vids as I have..  Christ either told them to go back to earth thir job wasn't done from stuff needing changed in the person's life... These are accounts from Muslims, atheists agnostics, hateful people. Many ex terrorists from middle East. Many Buddhists , Hindus and people from All backgrounds and beliefs will say same thing... Christ told them to go back to love one another... To change things... That HE is the way truth and life. And no man ones to God but by him. And noone gets to heaven but through Jesus the Messiah... They also say God the father said the exact same to them. To tell humans to love one another...as Christ will tell them in dozens of accounts, dozens!!! Tell my people ( Christians ) I'm coming back soon. Or tell them I'm calling them up soon.... Meaning rapturing up his Christians before the 7 year hell called tribulation on earth! When the Antichrist makes fale peace deal between isreal and Palestine. And the world will cry peace and safety! Peace and safety then will sudden destruction come upon man as a woman with child. Spoken in bible. As antichrists peace deal is mentioned in Daniel 9;27 27(And he shall confirm the covenant with many for one week: and in the midst of the week he shall cause the sacrifice and the oblation to cease, and for the overspreading of abominations he shall make it desolate, even until the consummation, and that determined shall be poured upon the desolate.) He shall ( Antichrist will) make a false peace deal giving isreali land over to the Palestinian people who have no claim on that land... As even a Saudi prince cams out to say Palestine doesn't own Israeli Jewish land. But the Jews do through Abraham Issac and Jacob!!! Media mainstream news tells you none of this why? Their ran by 6 elite companies who run all news stations. As Rockefeller ( billionaire elite) has his hands in most politics TV news everything you watch and read is controlled by him, the cia. And false reporting. all for the love of money and greed they lie to the American public and world. I suggest anyone to look up the RFID chips matching Antichrist mark of the beast that will be coming money system, also healthcare info. On one small tiny microchip placed in the forehead or right hand to. Spoken of in Revelation 13 which btw It's already being tested in the forehead in monkey heads in labs. And chips are being bought sold and put into USA soldiers, high officials for money. Ignorant people who have no idea what the chips are are literally PAYING to have them placed in their right hands!!! Continue at bottom....

We daily toil, spoil and sometimes boil
Yet it’s still not enough
We cry, mourn, **** and curse
Cause we couldn’t get enough of it
We frown, hide and tell lies
Because we think we don’t have what others think we have in abundance

Call it dollar, name it naira
Whether pounds or shillings
Yen or euro, money or gold
It’s still not and will never be enough

Everyone wants to be a millionaire
The millionaire wants to be a billionaire
The billionaire wants to be a multi billionaire
From the poorest to the richest
We are all searching
For that piece of paper and metal that is never enough

Like the ground that is never tired of feeding on us
So we daily feed on money
And still yet want more money
For we can’t get enough of this thing we love so dearly


It is never enough
And will never be enough
For it was meant never to be enough
So give what you can
Save all you can
Eat what you can
And thank God for all you have

an average human creature should such a mythical exist
in a lifetime will celebrate about 2,200,000,000 heartbeats,
billions of heartbeats per minute (I prefer moment)
but like everything so essence human there are
those very few heartbeat moments,
the ten or twenty maybe forty total in a lifetime
that you total truly remember,
recalling the cream and sauce,
swell and the hell,
of the pounding so slow so hard,
each one a volcano of
a moment until that day
you don't remember-anything

when she said yes and you're shaking and beating in a
*****-tonk rhythm cause you were heart undressed unsure
and truly afraid of a rejection that makes a heart stoppage
disallowing visions, to be exponentially happy future imagined

you're feeling your heartbeat
in your knees going weak,
when the doctor says:

congratulations healthy swell
and/or
some years later,
I'm so so truly sorry, hell

when they hand you a long handle shovel no instructions needed and that scoop of earth weighs two tons and the sound of slow reverb in your head hurts like hell and you lack the strength to move and they move you aside quiet gentle like
but inside the temple of the two headed hydra-heart,
it's the rock and roll of slo mo, the violin crying, the drumming of
heavy metal chords plucked so slowly, it's you froze screaming

a billionaire of heartbeats you are,
but only ten or twenty maybe forty total in a lifetime
you total truly remember with the perfect clarity and
forever renders into your own unique orchestral symphony,
your true net worth, the stripes you wear
upon your shoulders skin,  
the tune when you hear it and melts you into rigidity

you fall to your knees wherever you are,
that is where you will find me,
just listen for the cars horns blaring
cursing the man lying in the street, re-listening to
ten or twenty maybe forty heartbeats total in a lifetime

you alone total truly that concert set recall and
the win-loss record inherent, inhiment,
in both of them, tears and the rents, all there in the tunes,
of forty beatings you took,
somehow it feels like here is, there was,
the answers to
where is shelter for the heart,
the answers that have gone and come and gone and someone says,

I don't feel a pulse

If Trump wins a second term,
Apparently, he has a plan
To make the multi-billionaire
Elon Musk his number-one man.

Musk in a Cabinet-level position?
People might say, "No big deal."
Think about the consequences.
Come on, people! Let's get real!

The following is one idea
That Elon Musk is recommending:
Cut the federal government.
Good-bye, discretionary spending!

To carry out his plan we must
Expect a hardship, he adds. But hey!
That is very easy for
A billionaire like him to say.

Many leading economists
Who hear Trump's plans tend to agree
That his proposals would really crash
Our current booming economy.

Musk with all his secret ties
To Vladimir Putin is also suspicious.
No wonder his election support
For Trump has been so overambitious.

Republicans will do away,
With needed regulations and let
All of us see the removal of
Our basic social safety net.

Trump and his billionaire amigos
Think their schemes will be a plus.
Maybe it's good for lining their pockets
But NOT good for the rest of us.

-by Bob B (11-1-24)

This page contains several double limericks, a rare triple limerick, and a new version of the double dactyl that I invented, called the "dabble dactyl."



The Platypus: a Double Limerick
by Michael R. Burch

The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******.
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?

The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he’ll score
with a passing duck or ******.



The Better Man: a Double Limerick
by Michael R. Burch

Dear Ed: I don’t understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I’m brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!

Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who’s dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!):
since he’s plagiarized Unknown, I’ll wager!



Hell to Pay: a Double Limerick
by Michael R. Burch

A messiah named Jesus, returning
from heaven, found his home planet burning
& with children unfed,
so he ventured: “Instead
of war, why not consider cheek-turning?”

Indignant right-wingers retorted:
“Sir, your pacifist views are distorted!
Just pull the plug quickly
on someone who’s sickly!
Our pursuit of war can’t be aborted!”



These poems form a double limerick:

No Bull
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a multi-pierced Bull,
who found playing hoops far too dull,
so he dated Madonna
but observed, “I don’t wanna
get married . . . the things she might pull!”

So this fast-thinking forward named Rodman
then said to his best man—“No problem!
When I marry Electra,
if the ring costs extra,
just yank a gold hoop off my ****, man!”



I once provided the second stanza to a famous limerick, turning it into a double limerick …

A wonderful bird is the pelican;
His beak can hold more than his belican.
He can hold in his beak
Enough food for a week,
Though I’m ****** if I know how the helican!

Enough with this pitiful pelican!
He’s awkward and stinks! Sense his smellican!
His beak's far too big,
so he eats like a pig,
and his breath reeks of fish, I can tellican!
—second stanza by Michael R. Burch


The next two poems form a double limerick with separate titles:

Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch

Hawking’s "Brief History of Time"
is such a relief! How sublime
that time, in reverse,
may un-write this verse
and un-spend my last thin dime!

Time Back In!
by Michael R. Burch

Hawking, who makes my head spin,
says time may flow backward. I grin,
imagining the surprise
in my mother's eyes
when I head for the womb once again!



This is another double limerick with separate titles:

Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?

Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch

Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!



Not all double limericks are light affairs:

Self Reflection: a Double Limerick
by Michael R. Burch

for anyone struggling with self-image

She has a comely form
and a smile that brightens her dorm . . .
but she’s grossly unthin
when seen from within;
soon a griefstricken campus will mourn.

Yet she’d never once criticize
a friend for the size of her thighs.
Do unto others—
sisters and brothers?
Yes, but also ourselves, likewise.



Triple Limerick: Attention Span Gap
by Michael R. Burch

What if a poet, Shakespeare,
were still living to tweet to us here?
He couldn't write sonnets,
just couplets, doggonit,
and we wouldn't have Hamlet or Lear!

Yes, a sonnet may end in a couplet,
which we moderns can write in a doublet,
in a flash, like a tweet.
Does that make it complete?
Should a poem be reduced to a stublet?

Bring back that Grand Era when men
had attention spans long as their pens,
or rather the quills
of the monsieurs and fils
who gave us the Dress, not its hem!



Officious Notice: I have invented a ***** nonsense form: the "dabble dactyl." A dabble dactyl starts out like a double dactyl, but forgets the rules and changes horses midstream. Anyone who prefers order to chaos should give the dabble dactyl a wide berth and also not sow any wild oats.  Otherwise, “A little dabble’ll do ya.” — Michael R. Burch



Double Dactyls
by Michael R. Burch

Sniggledy-Wriggledy
Jesus Christ’s enterprise
leaves me in awe of
the rich men he loathed!

But why should a Sadducee
settle for trifles?
His disciples now rip off
the Lord they betrothed.



Donald Dabble Dactyl #1
by Michael R. Burch

Higgledy-Piggledy
Ronald McDonald
cursed Donald Trump, his
least favorite clown:

"Why should I try to be
funny as Donald? He
gets all the laughs,
claiming upside is down!"



Donald Dabble Dactyl #2
by Michael R. Burch

Wond’ringly, blund’ringly
Ronald McDonald
asked, “Who the hell
is this strange orange clown?”

“Why should I try to be
funny as Donald? He
gets all the laughs,
claiming upside is down!”



Donald Dabble Dactyl #3
by Michael R. Burch

Piggledy-Wiggledy
45th president,
or erstwhile manse resident,
perched on a throne

of gold-plated porcelain
matching his orange “tan,”
bombing Iran
from his twittery phone?



This famous limerick inspired my Einstein “relative” limericks:

There was a young lady named Bright
who traveled much faster than light.
She set out one day
in a relative way,
and came back the previous night.

I recently learned this poem was originally penned, in a slightly different version, by Arthur Henry Reginald Buller; his limerick appeared in Punch (Dec. 19, 1923). I find it intriguing that one of the best revelations of the weirdness and zaniness of relativity can be found in a limerick. I was inspired to pen multiple rejoinders:

The Cosmological Constant
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein, the frizzy-haired,
said E equals MC squared.
Thus all mass decreases
as activity ceases?
Not my mass, my *** declared!


***-tronomical
by Michael R. Burch

Relativity, the theorists’ creed,
says mass increases with speed.
My (m)*** grows when I sit it.
Mr. Einstein, get with it;
equate its deflation, I plead!


Relative Theory I
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein’s theory, incredibly silly,
says a relative grows, *****-nilly,
at speeds close to light.
Well, his relatives might,
but mine grow their (m)***** more stilly!


Relative Theory II
by Michael R. Burch

Einstein’s peculiar theory
excludes all my relatives, clearly,
since my relatives’ *****
increase their prone masses
while approaching light speed—not nearly!


Relative Theory III
by Michael R. Burch

Relativity, we’re led to believe,
proves masses increase with great speed.
But it seems my huge family
must be an anomaly;
since their (m)***** increase, gone to seed!



The Heimlich Limerick
by Michael R. Burch

for T. M.

The sanest of poets once wrote:
"Friend, why be a sheep or a goat?
Why follow the leader
or be a blind *******?"
But almost no one took note.


These are limericks of the singular variety …


Caveat Spender
by Michael R. Burch

It's better not to speculate
"continually" on who is great.
Though relentless awe's
a Célèbre Cause,
please reserve some time for the contemplation
of the perils of EXAGGERATION.


This is another of my scientific limericks …

Parting is such sweet sorrow
by Michael R. Burch

The universe is flying apart.
Hush, Neil deGrasse Tyson’s heart!
Repeat, repeat.
Don’t skip a beat.
Perhaps some new Big Bang will spark?


Low-T Hell
by Michael R. Burch

I’m living in low-T hell ...
My get-up has gone: Oh, swell!
I need to write checks
if I want to have ***,
and my love life depends on a gel!


ANIMAL LIMERICKS
A much-needed screed against licentious insects
by Michael R. Burch

after and apologies to Robert Schechter

Army ants? ARMY ants?
Yet so undisciplined to not wear pants?
How incredibly rude
to wage war in the ****!
We moralists call them SMARMY ants!


Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: "I’ll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I’m dressed.
I wouldn’t change even one spot!"


Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride?"
"Nevermore!" bright-eyed Raven replied.



The Dromedary and the Very Work-Wary Canary
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can’t sing,
but now, here’s the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry!"


The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch

The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his *****, boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!


The Trouble with Elephants: a Word to the Wise
by Michael R. Burch

An elephant never forgets
and thus they don’t make the best pets:
Jumbo may well out-live you,
but he’ll never forgive you,
no matter how sincere your regrets!


The Limerick as Parody
Marvell-Less (I)
by Michael R. Burch

Mr. Marvell was ill-named? Inform us!
Alas, his crude writings deform us:
for when trying to bed
chaste virgins, he led
right off with his iron ***** ginormous!


Marvell-Less (II)
by Michael R. Burch

Andrew Marvell was far less than Marvellous;
indeed, he was cold, bold, unchivalrous:
for when trying to bed
chased/chaste virgins, he led
right off with his iron ***** ginormous!


Here's a limerick about one of the universe's greatest ironies: the lack of rhyme words for "poetry" and "limerick." I almost solved the latter, but fell a bit short:

Shelved Elves
by Michael R. Burch

I wanted to rhyme with “limerick”
and settled on “good old Saint Slimmer Nick”
about a dieting Claus,
but drawing no “ahs!”
I glumly rescinded the trimmer trick.


To show the flexibility of the limerick form, it has often been used for political purposes, and to expose, satirize and savage charlatans. Here are are two such limericks of mine:

Baked Alaskan

There is a strange yokel so flirty
she makes ****** seem icons of purity.
With all her winkin’ and blinkin’
Palin seems to be "thinkin’"—
"Ah culd save th’ free world ’cause ah’m purty!"

Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Burch
from Signs of the Apocalypse
all Rights and Violent Shudderings Reserved



Going Rogue in Rouge

It'll be hard to polish that apple
enough to make her seem palatable.
Though she's sweeter than Snapple
how can my mind grapple
with stupidity so nearly infallible?

Copyright 2012 by Michael R. Burch
from Signs of the Apocalypse
all Rights and Violent Shudderings Reserved



I have even written limericks about religion, mostly heretical limericks:

Pell-Mell for Hell Mel
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a Baptist named Mel
who condemned all non-Christians to hell.
When he stood before God
he felt like a clod
to discover His Love couldn’t fail!


Why I Left the Religious Right
by Michael R. Burch

He's got Jesus's name on a wallet insert
and "Hell is for Queers" on the back of his shirt
and he upholds the Law,
for grace has a flaw:
the Church must have someone to drag through the dirt.



Ribbing Adam
by Michael R. Burch

“Dear Lord,” fretted Adam, depressed,
“did that **** really rupture my chest?”
“Yes she did,” piped his Maker,
“but of course you can’t take her,
or I’d fry you in hell, for ******!”



There was an old man from Peru
who dreamed he was eating his shoe.
He awoke one dark night
from a terrible fright
to discover his dream had come true!
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch


There once was a poet from Nashville
which hockey fans rechristened Smashville,
but his odd limericks
pulled so many weird tricks
his pale peers now prefer Ogden Gnashville.
—Michael R. Burch


There once was a poet from Tennessee
who was known to indulge in straight Hennessey
for his heart had been broken
and cruelly ripped open
by an ice-hoarding Dame of Paree.
—Michael R. Burch


Here's one for the poets:

The Beat Goes On (and On and On and On ...)
by Michael R. Burch

Bored stiff by his board-stiff attempts
at “meter,” I crossly concluded
I’d use each iamb
in lieu of a lamb,
bedtimes when I’m under-quaaluded.


Here's one for the Flintstones:

Early Warning System
by Michael R. Burch

A hairy thick troglodyte, Mary,
squinched dingles excessively airy.
To her family’s deep shame,
their condo became
the first cave to employ a canary!


Donald Trump Limericks aka Slimericks

Viral Donald
by Michael R. Burch

Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
That pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.


Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"


Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch

Humpty Trumpty called for a wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Now all the Grand Wizards
and Faux PR men
Can never put Trumpty together again.


White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch

Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
“How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!”


15 Seconds
by Michael R. Burch

Our president’s *** life—atrocious!
His "briefings"—bizarre hocus-pocus!
Politics—a shell game!
My brief moment of fame
flashed by before Oprah could notice!


Trump’s Golden Rule
by Michael R. Burch

Donald Trump is the victim of leaks!
Golden showers are NOT things he seeks!
Though he dearly loves soaking
the women he’s groping,
get real, 'cause he pees ON the meek!


Cancun Cruz
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a senator, Cruz,
whose whole life was one pus-oozing schmooze.
When Trump called his wife ugly,
Cruz brown-nosed him smugly,
then went on a sweet Cancún cruise!


Anchors Aweigh!
by Michael R. Burch

There once was an anchor babe, Cruz,
whose deployment was Castro’s bold ruse.
Now the revenge of Fidel
has worked out quite well
as Cruz missiles launch from his caboose!


Canadian Cruz
by Michael R. Burch

There was a Canadian, Cruz,
an anchor babe with a bold ruse:
he’d take Texas first
and then do his worst
to infect the whole world with his views.


Eerie Dearie
by Michael R. Burch

A trembling young auditor, white
as a sheet, like a ghost in the night,
saw his dreams, his career
in a ****!, disappear,
and then, strangely Enronic, his wife.

Fortune named Enron "America's Most Innovative Company" for six consecutive years, but the company went bankrupt and vanished after its accounting practices were determined to be fraudulent.


The Vampire's Spa Day Dream
by Michael R. Burch

O, to swim in vats of blood!
I wish I could, I wish I could!
O, 'twould be
so heavenly
to swim in lovely vats of blood!

The poem above was inspired by a Josh Parkinson depiction of Elizabeth Bathory swimming up to her nostrils in the blood of her victims, with their skulls floating in the background.



***** LIMERICKS



A randy young dandy named Sadie
loves ***, but in forms reckoned shady.
(I cannot, of course,
involve her poor horse,
but it’s safe to infer she's no lady!)
—Michael R. Burch


There was a lewd ***** from Nantucket
who intended to *** in a bucket;
but being a man
she missed the **** can
and her rattled johns fled, crying: "**** it!"
—Variation on a classic limerick by Michael R. Burch


Here are three "linked" Nantucket limericks of mine, forming a triple limerick:

There was a coarse ***** of Nantucket
whose bush needed someone to pluck it
’cause it looked like a chimp’s
and her johns were limp gimps
who were too scared to **** it or **** it.

So that coarse, canny ***** of Nantucket,
once ****-shaved, decided to shuck it
—that thick, wiry pelt
that smelled like wet felt—
and made it a toupee for Luckett.

Now Luckett, once bald as an eagle,
like Samson, stands handsome and regal
with hair to his ***
that smells like his lass,
but still comes when she calls, like a beagle.
—a triple limerick by Michael R. Burch


Shotgun Bedding

A pedestrian pediatrician
set out on a dangerous mission;
though his child bride, ******,
was a sweet senorita,
her pa's shotgun cut off his emissions.
—Michael R. Burch



Untitled Limericks

There was a young lady from France
Who’d let cute boys poke in her pants:
They'd give her the finger
Where she'd let them linger
because that's the point of romance!
—Michael R. Burch


There once was a girl with small *****
who would only go out with young rubes,
but their ***** were too small
so she sentenced them all
to kissing her fallopian tubes.
—Michael R. Burch


A coquettish young lady of France
longed to have ***** men in her pants,
but in lieu of real joys
she settled for boys,
then berated her lack of romance.
—Michael R. Burch


A virginal lady of France
longed to have a ménage in her pants
but in lieu of real boys
she settled for toys
& painted pinkies to make her bits dance.
—Michael R. Burch


A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
Frenched me a kiss;
I admonished her, "Miss,
you’ve left me twice tongue-tied, for shame!"
—Michael R. Burch


A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
gave me a kiss;
I lectured her, "Miss,
we haven't been intro'd, for shame!"
—Michael R. Burch


A germane young German, a dame
with a quite unpronounceable name,
French-kissed me and left my lips lame.
I lectured her, "Miss,
That's a premature kiss!
We haven't been intro'd, for shame!"
Michael R. Burch


Four Limericks  plus one Lead-In Poem

Updated Advice to Amorous Bachelors
by Michael R. Burch

At six-thirty,
feeling flirty,
I put on the hurdy-gurdy ...

But Ms. Purdy,
all alert-y,
kicked me where I’m sore and hurty.

The moral of my story?
To avoid a fate as gory,
flirt with gals a bit more *****-y!



Mating Calls
by Michael R. Burch

1.
Nine-thirty? Feeling flirty (and, indeed, a trifle *****),
I decided to ring prudish Eleanor Purdy ...
When I rang her to bang her,
it seems my words stang her!
She hung up the phone, so I banged off, alone.

2.
Still dreaming to hold something skirty,
I once again rang our reclusive Miss Purdy.
She sounded unhappy,
called me “daffy” and “sappy,”
and that was before the gal heard me!

3.
It was early A.M., ’bout two-thirty,
when I enquired again with the regal Miss Purdy.
With a voice full of hate,
she thundered, “It’s LATE!”
Was I, perhaps, over-wordy?

4.
It was probably close to four-thirty
the last time I called the miserly Purdy.
Although I’m her boarder,
the restraining order
freezes all assets of that virginity hoarder!



Teeter Tots
by Michael R. Burch

For your spuds to become Tater Tots,
First, artfully cut out the knots,
Then dice them into tiny cubes,
Deep fry them, and serve them to rubes
(but not if they’re acting like snots).



Golden Years?
by Michael R. Burch

I’m getting old.
My legs are cold.
My book’s unsold and my wife’s a scold.
Now the only gold’s
in my teeth.
I fold.



Trump Limericks aka Slimericks



The Nazis now think things’re grand.
The KKK’s hirin’ a band.
Putin’s computin’
Less Ukrainian shootin’.
They’re hootin’ ’cause Trump’s win is planned.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump comes with a few grotesque catches:
He likes to ***** unoffered snatches;
He loves to ICE kids;
His brain’s on the skids;
And then there’s the coups the fiend hatches.
—Michael R. Burch



Trump’s Saddest Tweet to Date
by Michael R. Burch

I’ve gotten all out of kilter.
My erstwhile yuge tool is a wilter!
I now sleep in bed.
Few hairs on my head.
Inhibitions? I now have no filter!



the best of all possible whirls, for MAGA
by Michael R. Burch

ive made a mistake or two.
okay, maybe quite more than a few:
mistakes by the millions,
the billions and zillions,
but remember: ur LORD made u!

where were u when HEE passed out brains?
or did u politely abstain?
u call GAUD “infallible”
when HEE made u so gullible
u cant come inside when Trump reigns.



Scratch-n-Sniff
by Michael R. Burch

The world’s first antinatalist limerick?

Life comes with a terrible catch:
It’s like starting a fire with a match.
Though the flames may delight
In the dark of the night,
In the end what remains from the scratch?



Time Out!
by Michael R. Burch

Time is at war with my body!
am i Time’s most diligent hobby?
for there’s never Time out
from my low-t and gout
and my once-brilliant mind has grown stodgy!



Waiting Game
by Michael R. Burch

Nothing much to live for,
yet no good reason to die:
life became
a waiting game...
Rain from a clear blue sky.



*******' Ripples
by Michael R. Burch

Men are scared of *******:
that’s why they can’t be seen.
For if they were,
we’d go to war
as in the days of Troy, I ween.



Devil’s Wheel
by Michael R. Burch

A billion men saw your pink ******.
What will the pard say to you, Sundays?
Yes, your ******* were cute,
but the shocked Devil, mute,
now worries about reckless fundies.



A ***** Goes ****
by Michael R. Burch

She wore near-invisible *******
and, my, she looked good in her scanties!
But the real nudists claimed
she was “over-framed.”
Now she’s bare-assed and shocking her aunties!



MVP!
by Michael R. Burch

Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
make it cute and okay
to write KKK
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Will Ohtani hit 65homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
prove the nemesis
of white supremacists
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Will Ohtani hit 65 homers,
win the Cy Young by striking out Gomers,
cause supremacists
to cease and desist
while inspiring rhyme-challenged poemers?

Keywords/Tags: limerick, limericks, double limerick, triple limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, doggerel, humor, humorous verse, light poetry, *****, ribald, irreverent, funny, satire, satirical

These are couplets written by Donald Trump and limericks and other Donald Trump poems "care of" Michael R. Burch (please note that these are parodies) ...

Not-So-Heroic Couplets
by Donald Trump
care of Michael R. Burch

To outfox the pox:
off yourself first, with Clorox!

And since death is the goal,
mainline Lysol!

No vaccine?
Just chug Mr. Clean!

Is a cure out of reach?
Fumigate your lungs, with bleach!

To immunize your thorax,
destroy it with Borax!

To immunize your bride,
drown her in Opti-cide!

To end all future gridlocks,
gargle with Vaprox!

Now, quick, down the Drain-o
with old Insane-o NoBrain-o!

Keywords/Tags: Donald Trump, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, humor, Clorox, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, mrbtrump, mrbcouplets



What REALLY Happened
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump lied and lied and lied.
Americans died and died and died.



Grime Wave
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is ******* crime ...
unless it's his own grime.



Trump Love
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump "love" is truly a curious thing ...
does he care for our kids half as much as his bling?



Tangled Webs
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Oh, what tangled webs they weave
when Trump and his toupée seek to deceive!



No Star
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump, you're no "star."
Putin made you an American Czar.

Now, if we continue down this dark path you've chosen,
pretty soon we'll all be wearing lederhosen.



Raw Spewage (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a political sump pump!



Green Eggs and Spam
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I do not like your racist ways!
I do not like your hate for gays!

I do not like your gaseous ****!
I do not like you, Crotch-Grabber Trump!

I do not like you here or there!
I do not like you anywhere!

Your brain's been trapped in a lifelong slump
And I do not like you, Hate-Baiter Trump!



Apologies to España
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

the reign
in Trump’s brain
falls mainly as mansplain



Stumped and Stomped by Trump
by Michael R. Burch

There once was a candidate, Trump,
whose message rang clear at the stump:
"Vote for me, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!,
because I am ME,
and everyone else is a chump!"



Humpty Trumpty
by Michael R. Burch

Humpty Trumpty called for a wall.
Trumpty Dumpty had a great fall.
Now all the Grand Wizards
and Faux PR men
Can never put Trumpty together again.



The Hair Flap
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

The hair flap was truly a scare:
Trump’s bald as a billiard back there!
The whole nation laughed
At the state of his graft;
Now the man’s wigging out, so beware!



Roses are red,
Daffodils are yellow,
But not half as daffy
As that taffy-colored fellow!
―Michael R. Burch



Trump’s real goals are obvious
and yet millions of Americans remain oblivious.
—Michael R. Burch



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



The Ex-Prez Sez

The prez should be above the law, he sez,
even though he’s no longer prez.
—Michael R. Burch



Quite Con-trary
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trumpy, Trumpy,
fat, balding and lumpy,
how does your Rose Garden grow?
“With venom and spleen
and everything mean,
and my gasket about to blow!”

Trumpy, Trumpy,
obese and dumpy,
why are your polls so low?
“I claimed I was Cyrus
at war with a virus
but lost every time to the minuscule foe!”



Piecemeal, a Coronavirus poem
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

And so it begins—the ending.
The narrowing veins, the soft tissues rending.
Your final solution is pending.
(Soon a portly & pale Piggy-Wiggy
will discount your death as "no biggie.")



Viral Donald (I)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump is coronaviral:
his brain's in a downward spiral.
That pale nimbus of hair
proves there's nothing up there
but an empty skull, fluff and denial.



Viral Donald (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Why didn't Herr Trump, the POTUS,
protect us from the Coronavirus?
That weird orange corona of hair's an alarm:
Trump is the Virus in Human Form!



Red State Reject
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

I once was a pessimist
but now I’m more optimistic,
ever since I discovered my fears
were unsupported by any statistic.



The Red State Reaction
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Where the hell are they hidin’
Sleepy Joe Biden?

And how the hell can the bleep
Do so much, IN HIS SLEEP?



The Final Episode of Celebrity Apprentice President
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald
said to The Donald,
"Just between us clowns, your polls are too low!"
So The Donald thought hard
then said to his pard,
"It's because I'm a martyr. The world must know!"
Thus Eric Trump jumped
from his obese Trump ****
to declare the virus a "hoax." (End of show.)



modern Midas
by michael r. burch

they say nothing human's alive
yet the Hermit survived:

the last of His kind,
clean out of His mind.

they say He relentlessly washes His fingers,
as dainty as ever, yet the smell of death lingers.

they say it sets off His corona of hair
when He blanches with fear in his Mansion Faire.

they say He still spritzes each strand into place
though there’s no one to see in that hellish place.

they say there’s a moral in what He’s become
as He fondles gold trinkets and cradles His john.



Mother of Cowards
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

So unlike the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to land,
Spread-eagled, showering gold, a strumpet stands:
A much-used trollop with a torch, whose flame
Has long since been extinguished. And her name?
"Mother of Cowards!" From her enervate hand
Soft ash descends. Her furtive eyes demand
Allegiance to her ****'s repulsive game.

"Keep, ancient lands, your wretched poor!" cries she
With scarlet lips. "Give me your hale, your whole,
Your huddled tycoons, yearning to be pleased!
The wretched refuse of your toilet hole?
Oh, never send one unwashed child to me!
I await Trump's pleasure by the gilded bowl!"




Toupée or Not Toupée, That is the Question
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There once was a brash billionaire
who couldn't afford decent hair.
Vexed voters agreed:
"We're a nation in need!"
But toupée the price, do we dare?



Toupée or Not Toupée, This is the Answer
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Oh crap, we elected Trump prez!
Now he's Simon: we must do what he sez!
For if anyone thinks
And says his "plan" stinks,
He'll wig out 'neath that weird orange fez!



White as a Sheet
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Donald Trump had a real Twitter Scare
then rushed off to fret, vent and share:
“How dare Bernie quote
what I just said and wrote?
Like Megyn he’s mean, cruel, unfair!”



Raw Spewage (II)
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
is a chump
who talks through his ****;
he's a garbage dump
in need of a sump pump!



we did not Dye in vain!
by Michael R. Burch

from “songs of the sea snails”

though i’m just a slimy crawler,
my lineage is proud:
my forebears gave their lives
(oh, let the trumps blare loud!)
so purple-mantled Royals
might stand out in a crowd.

i salute you, fellow loyals,
who labor without scruple
as your incomes fall
while deficits quadruple
to swaddle unjust Lords
in bright imperial purple!

Notes: In ancient times the purple dye produced from the secretions of purpura mollusks (sea snails) was known as “Tyrian purple,” “royal purple” and “imperial purple.” It was greatly prized in antiquity, and was very expensive according to the historian Theopompus: “Purple for dyes fetched its weight in silver at Colophon.” Thus, purple-dyed fabrics became status symbols, and laws often prevented commoners from possessing them. The production of Tyrian purple was tightly controlled in Byzantium, where the imperial court restricted its use to the coloring of imperial silks. A child born to the reigning emperor was literally porphyrogenitos ("born to the purple") because the imperial birthing apartment was walled in porphyry, a purple-hued rock, and draped with purple silks. Royal babies were swaddled in purple; we know this because the iconodules, who disagreed with the emperor Constantine about the veneration of images, accused him of defecating on his imperial purple swaddling clothes!



Twinkle Wrinkles
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Twinkle, twinkle, little "star" ...
Trump, how we wished you blazed                 afar!

Twinkle, twinkle, Groper-Cupid ...
How we've wished you weren't so stupid!

Twinkle, twinkle, Man-Baby "president" ...
In truth you're just the White House resident.



Americans have the opportunity
to greatly improve their community
with votes a-plenty
in 2020.
Dump
Trump!
—Michael R. Burch



Joe Biden, Joe Biden,
our future is ridin’
on you defeatin’
and hidin’
that cancerous lump
called Trump.
—Michael R. Burch



The Perfect Storm
by Michael R. Burch

Stormy Daniels
is Trump's worst nightmare—
a truthteller,
a woman without fear,
full of *****,
unimpressed by his junk,
that he can't debunk.



Aftermath
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Carmen Yulín Cruz is a hero.
Donald Trump is a zero.



15 Seconds
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Our president’s *** life—atrocious!
His "briefings"—bizarre hocus-pocus!
Politics—a shell game!
My brief moment of fame
flashed by before Oprah could notice!



March for Our Lives
by Michael R. Burch

It's not a moment,
it's a MOVEMENT
created to save
innocents from the grave.



Tweety and Pootie
sittin' in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G!
First comes love,
second comes marriage,
third barechested weasels in a White House carriage!
—Michael R. Burch



Three Trump Valentine's Day Poems

1.

If you're tall, blonde and pretty,
I'll grab your kitty.
If you're dark-skinned and short,
It's time to deport!

2.

I'll secure your southern border tonight,
as long as you're wearing white!

3.

If you're not
as hot
as my daughter,
beware;
prepare
for the slaughter!



Why did Trump endorse Roy "Score" Moore when Nostradumbass claimed he "knew" the Sludge Judge couldn't win? ...

Predators of a feather
flock together.
—Michael R. Burch



Kneeling Verboten
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Colin Kaepernick took a stand by kneeling;
now Donald Trump is reeling
as the NFL owners he implored
lock hands with the players he deplored.



How the Fourth ***** Ramped Up
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump prepped his pale Deplorables:
"You're easy marks and scorables!
Now when I bray
click your heels, obey,
and I'll soon promote you to Horribles!"



Trump Trumps "We The People"
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump fired Comey
to appoint a *****:
some pawn in his Kamp
with a big rubber stamp.

Out the window flew freedom!
Rights? You don't need 'em!
Like Attilâ the ***,
Trump answers to no one!

Do you think you have worth?
Trump makes you his serf.
He's your Lord and your Master:
you elected DISASTER.



Pass the Hat for the Fat Cat
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you're a Fat Cat,
vote for an Autocrat;
otherwise, stick with a Democrat ...
or get ready to pass the hat
for yourself,
doomed by that strange little pixie-fingered orange elf.



****** Assaulter-in-Chief
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump Bozo
bopped Bill Clinton Clown on the nose: “Oh,
I’ll trump your cigar
with my groping, by far,
when I bounce interns on my Big Pogo!”



Trump's Donor Song
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

(lines written after it became apparent that Trump is not
"draining the swamp" but stocking it with his crocodilian
donors and political piranha)

christmas is coming, the Trumpster's purse is flat:
please put a Billion in the Fat Cat's hat!
if you haven't got a Billion, a Hundred Mil will do.
if you haven't got a Hundred Mil, the yoke's on you!



Alt-Right White Christmas
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump's dreaming of a White Christmas,
just like the ones he used to know
when black renters groveled
or lived in hovels
while he laughed and shouted **-**-**!



*******
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Trump
Is a chump,
He’s an
Orange Heffalump.
His hair?
Made of batter.
His brain?
***** matter.
His “plans”?
A disaster.
His “position”?
Your Master!



Fool's Gold
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

THE DONALD has won (so we're told).
If it's true, worthless swampland's been sold!
But who were the buyers?
Poor folks who trust liars
and pay through the nose for fool's gold.



Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Agent Orange is full of bunk:
Tiny-fingered, he claims a big "trunk."
And his "platform"? Oh my,
I think we'd all die!
And he can't even claim he was drunk!

NOTE: Donald Trump claims that he doesn't drink alcohol, except when he partakes of Holy Communion. However, Trump insulted the body and blood of Jesus Christ when he spoke dismissively of his "little *******" and "little wine." He claims to be a Christian, but also said that he never asks God for forgiveness! Is he punch drunk or just pulling our legs about being a Christian?



De-Bunko
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There's something I'd like to debunk:
the GOP's not in a "funk."
The Donald, by choice,
is its unfiltered voice.
Vote for someone who's sane, or we're sunk!



Fooling Around
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Ronald McDonald Trump-Bozo
cried, “Clinton Clown cheats with his yo-yo!
He plays fast and loose!
It’s clearly abuse!
Whereas broads love to bounce on my pogo!”

BTW, it's amusing that Rudy Giuliani is now Trump's surrogate, defending him from accusations of ****** assault and other improprieties by scores of women, when in a 2000 "Mayor's Inner Circle" video, Giuliani in drag had his "*******" schmoozed by The Donald, after which Giuliani slapped his face and called him a "***** boy." Obviously, Giuliani was well aware of Trump's reputation for grabbing and groping women without bothering to ask for their permission! Trump's outrageous behavior was a running joke among alpha males in his circle. In 1993, fellow bad boy Howard Stern asked Trump directly: “So you treat women with respect?” Trump answered honestly: “No, I can’t say that either.” And hundreds of chauvinistic public statements and tweets by Trump confirm that he doesn't treat women with respect, or minorities, or anyone that he considers "weak" or "overweight" or "unattractive."



Trumping Tots
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

Things that go bump in the night
fill Herr Trump with irrational fright;
his brain hits the skids;
he shrieks, "Ban dark kids!"
Where's his self-lauded "courage" and "might"?
Is cowardice Trump's kryptonite?



Trump Explains Why His Hair Looks Like ****: It's Been Bleached By Drool
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

"Although my hands are quite tiny,
I have an enormous hiney;
so I stick my head in,
predicting I’ll win,
while everyone kisses it shiny!"



The Name and Blame Game
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

If you have a slightly offbeat name,
you'll be de-planed, detained, restrained, defamed.
Supremacists know pure white names are best,
so be prepared to prove you're among the Blessed.
(Woe unto those who fail Trump's Litmus Test!)



Trump the Game Plan
by Michael R. Burch aka "The Loyal Opposition"

There once was a huckster named Trump
who liked to be kissed on the ****.
He promised awed voters
if they'd be his promoters,
he'd magically fix up their dump.

Now the voters were dreaming of Ronald
and hoping they'd found him in Donald.
And so, lightly "thinking"
after much heavy drinking,
they put out, as if they'd been fondled.

But once he'd secured the election
Trump found his fans cause for dejection.
"I only love tens!"
he complained to his "friends,"
then deported them: black, white and Mexican.

Thus Donald fulfilled his sworn duties
by ridding the land of non-cuties.
Once the plain Janes were gone
he could smile on his throne
surrounded by imported beauties!



Egad,
what a cad;
the Orange Heffalump
scowls when he sees
a baby bump!
Like the Grinch who stole Christmas
(but every day of the year),
The Donald eyes happy
mothers with a leer!
―Michael R. Burch

NOTE: Donald Trump actually body-shamed Kim Kardashian for having a baby bump, saying that she was "large" and ought to watch the kind of clothes she wears in public!



Donald Trump Campaign Songs

Christmas is coming!
Tycoons are getting fat!
TRUMP says, "Take a ****
in some beggar's hat!
Beat him to a pulp
then run him out of town
if he dares object to
the MAN with the GOLDEN CROWN.
And if you're not a Christian,
nothing else will do!
But if you're just like TRUMP,
then may TRUMP bless you!
―Michael R. Burch



SANTA CLAWS is coming to town!
He sees Spics when they're sleeping
and Blacks when they're awake!
He knows that Whites are always good,
but dark skin is God's mistake.
So if you're some poor orphan
with slightly darker skin,
BIG BROTHER will be WATCHING
all blacks and Mexicans!
―Michael R. Burch



Poets laud Justice’s
high principles.
Trump just gropes
her raw genitals.
—Michael R. Burch



Dark Shroud, Silver Lining
by Michael R. Burch

Trump cares so little for the silly pests
who rise to swarm his rallies that he jests:
“The silver lining of this dark corona
is that I’m not obliged to touch the fauna!”



Zip It
by Michael R. Burch

Trump pulled a cute stunt,
wore his pants back-to-front,
and now he’s the **** of bald jokes:
“Is he coming, or going?”
“Eeek! His diaper is showing!”
But it’s all much ado, says Snopes.



Mini-Ode to a Quickly Shrinking American Icon
by Michael R. Burch

Rudy, Rudy,
strange and colludy,
how does your pardon grow?
“With demons like hell’s
and progress like snails’
and criminals all in a row!”



Christmas is Coming
alternate lyrics by Michael R. Burch

Christmas is coming; Trump’s goose is getting plucked.
Please put the Ukraine in his pocketbook.
If you haven’t got the Ukraine, some bartered Kurds will do.
But if you’re short on blackmail, well, the yoke’s on you!

Christmas is coming and Rudy can’t make bail.
Please send LARGE donations, or the Cause may fail.
If you haven’t got a billion, five hundred mil will do.
But if you’re short on cash, the LASH will fall on you!

Keywords/Tags: Trump, Donald Trump, poems, epigrams, quotes, quotations, Rudy Giuliani, Ted Cruz, Cancun, Christmas, evil, democracy, coup, treason, treasonous, coronavirus, president, poet, poems, poetry, heroic couplets, couplet, humor, humorous, Clorox, Lysol, disinfectants, light verse, parody, satire, America



In My House
by Michael R. Burch

I was once the only caucasian in the software company I founded and managed. I had two fine young black programmers working for me, and they both had keys to my house. This poem looks back to the dark days of slavery and the Civil War it produced.

When you were in my house
you were not free—
in chains bound.

"Manifest Destiny?"

I was wrong;
my plantation burned to the ground.
I was wrong.

This is my song,
this is my plea:
I was wrong.

When you are in my house,
now, I am not free.

I feel the song
hurling itself back at me.

We were wrong.
This is my history.

I feel my tongue
stilting accordingly.

We were wrong;
brother, forgive me.

Published by Black Medina

Keywords/Tags: Race, Racism, Black Lives Matter, Equality, Brotherhood, Fraternity, Sisterhood, Tolerance, Acceptance, Civil Rights



Instruction
by Michael R. Burch

Toss this poem aside
to the filigreed and the prettified tide
of sunset.

Strike my name,
and still it is all the same.
The onset

of night is in the despairing skies;
each hut shuts its bright bewildered eyes.
The wind sighs

and my heart sighs with her—
my only companion, O Lovely Drifter!
Still, men are not wise.

The moon appears; the arms of the wind lift her,
pooling the light of her silver portent,
while men, impatient,

are beings of hurried and harried despair.
Now willows entangle their fragrant hair.
Men sleep.

Cornsilk tassels the moonbright air.
Deep is the sea; the stars are fair.
I reap.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly


Published as the collection "Not-So-Heroic Couplets"

"CHOSEN AND HEAVENLY ELECTED"

Colorful balloons, chilly sunny sphere. Princess  lady Temi Otedola rebirth, ➕ 1⃣ today. She made it through the womb to a billionaire life. Chosen and heavenly elected. Happy Birthday Teddy mama, here are mine wishes to you. A salubrious happy filled life of peace. Happy Birthday mama Teddies.
#c9_fm

March in the streets
But I urge you beware
They’ll still butcher the sheep
With the arms that they bear
Private properteers part with
No slave cropper’s share
So this Northern aggression's
Like Freeman’s red scare  
All the colors of wind
Through the head-shavers’ hair
The Guevara adventures
These pigs wouldn’t D.A.R.E.
The Arabian knights
In the grand wizard’s lair
The denaturalized dreamer’s
Recurring nightmare
Of the Stalingrad ghost
Still witch-hunting like Blair
The projects to the precincts’
New modern welfare
The post-trauma disorderly’s
Empty screen stare
The savages they thought
Were waaaaayyyy over there
The debt clock ticky tock
In the heart of Times Square
The 1st world problem-children
Who commonwealth care
Because some barely EAT
And we’ve so much to spare
But these cowherds still like their calves
Medium rare
And the bulls try to sell you
Their laissez-faire snare
Till your trapped in a minimum cage’s
Last prayer
And the only escape
Is upgraded software
Like automaton autobahn’s
In disrepair
In this fascist facade’s
Fragrant breath of fresh air
Just as toxic as stocks
Of the mock billionaire
So I shock ‘em like Tesla’s
Bolt-action Voltaire
And I leave it to you
To go **** it out there

Protest it.
Unless you employed by the government.
Rules are totally different.

If officers violate the laws they serving to protect us.
Stand up for your rights to protest.

We in America not one of that dictatorship country.

Why?
Do people feel athletes can't protest?
They go on strike for various things not right to them.

Not one stated the protesting the anthem.
Not one.
They protesting injustice.
And rightly so.

So fans are mad than many probably never saw the youth that protested in the sixties against a war.
Whether you agree or don't.


Always stand up for your rights.

So a so-called billionaire never paid taxes and won't reveal his income tax forms using idle threats.
The only one filling the role of kiss-up is the owners.

Without comprehending, if there is a sporting showdown the most likely won't win.

Most likely to be the losers when Coke, Pepsi, Nike, Papa John and host of others clients profits fall.
A business suffers highly when there no solution solved.

Most fans that go to a sporting event are a great majority of whites and be the ones crying the louder.

If ever done wrong and need attention to get people on board.
You protest, you stand up and stand out.
A small church pastor rose to be great by taking on a segregated system.

The only one mad about tearing segregation is who?
The race need not be mention for a majority hardly stand up for anything.
Well, unless it's the NRA.

Even with violence in school from high powered weapons.
There they go defending the NRA.

And the weapons they protesting against isn't truly needed unless you at war.
But they standing up for their rights.
So players, stand up for your rights.

For CBS/ESPN/ABC/NBC stands to lose too.
If a majority of players stand strong against wrong.

Somehow I know, I
Will be a millionaire; I
Am Aquarius*

© Ali Qureshi

First things first I gotta paved the hearse
I'm digging an early grave hopin' my soul be saved
Father tell.me why? You forbid us no one to trust
Real friends turn to bustas jealousy keeps me strapped with my four five its only way to survive
Will.I stay alive?? And make Heaven or stay in Hell
Resurrected in Satan's cell tell me am.I wrong
For hangin' with homies on the block
Drinkin' Old E to Hennessey slangin' that rocks
Stashin' loot in my socks
I had no choice to options minimal what else can I do?
Since the system is crooked I'm.crooked black
Why every crime is related to Blacks
When the biggest culprit is America I'm tellin' ya
Stay loadin' the magnums put in the air self made billionaire we ballin' climbed our way to top no fallin',
Its survival of the fittest from city to city
**** nation touchin' the hearts of newborn
Leavin' wicked souls torn I was born
For this ludicrous I'm crazy the world don't phase me
I'm trying to stack gs and grow my imagery
In a major way **** what a hater gotta say
I'm feelin' like Marley blazin' the blunts gettin' deadly
Aim my trigger steady
Crack open hearts of the Capitol hill Romanian Babylon you know the deal??
So many buried without tears so many livin' in fear
I'm.coming back harder than Malcolm X **** stardom
And if I die tonight no one will give a ****
Until they cremate me throw my ashes in the sea
Publish me and make a buck muthaphuck
My enemies that try to keep grips on me
I'm worm my free the Prince is back strategize my every move
No rules to follow just more slugs to borrow
Killin' the systems as moves I got **** to prove
Settin' all.my demons trapped in me free
Can't help it its the **** n Me

I bathed in a billionaire's bath
And the bubbles were soft as currency.

the middle commonplace
     poor dears
weak of voice
          making minimum wage
for all the
      billionaire
investors making up Wall street
          holding in servitude
   the poor dude
trying to pay his
         child support
with no health care
    when he gave
his sanity in Iraq.
or the single mother
         sharing with the desolate faces
the disgrace of
     going to the food bank:
           the land of the free
home of the brave
           has turned into the home of the rich:
oligarchy entrenches,
          that is why
i gave up
    a long time ago.
I looked back,
    once there was a middle
class.

I just got back from a movie

“The Social Network”

about the guy who founded facebook
or rather
how he founded it
and how now
he’s the youngest billionaire
in the world
and probably
(and don’t fact check this on me,
I’m too lazy to use google)
the youngest in
history

it was a simple idea

connect people
with
people

we all do it every day
but never like
this

and now he’s a billionaire
going to rule the world one day

probably

and this was six years ago
that this all started

the facebook

which every single person
from here on out
will use at some point
in their life

magic
magic
magic
and here I am
looking at it happen
wondering how it happened
thinking about how I,
in some form,
could do it
myself