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Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
i can't believe i'm giving advice...
this is not what, alexander dumas
taught me via athos...

   the best advice,
         is to not give any advice
...

but seriously...
you want to peer into devices,
whether static,
or mobile,
   and you're not wearing sunglasses?
esp. at night?

   where's your western version
of the niqab?!

    you can prop up the shady
gemini, on the tip of your nose...
so your eyes, can actually peer
into the night,
and the social lighting -
of street-lamps,
  and the stars...

but then peering into the tablet,
or a laptop screen,
you're wearing sunglasses...

unless you're like me...
perched with a folded foot,
sitting on it,
with the other dangling off
the windowsill...
   and you find yourself
catching colours in the night,
with the pair of sunglasses
having, made the slide
to the tip of your nose:
so your eyes are actually visible
to the onlooker...

    templar chants:
   mozart who?
                    beethoven who?
classic.fm will not even play
any christopher young:
so why should i even "think",
but most assuredly doubt:
that they might even entertain
the "idea" of playing
  a śpiew templariuszy?
we could debate...
whether that ought to be -
  śpiew templariuszów
            i.e. - of, the: templars...
-ów is this, kind of distinction...
     -y is... a distinction
   only encompassing
of - the given content.

both are terms: invoking the plural -
not... of a templar -
          but of templars...
****! i studied chemistry and
didn't get a job in the industry...
what, do you think,
the remnants of theory,
have remained, imprinted on me,
if i do not create an Ar to mean
argon, or Na, to mean sodium?
   cheap-**** poetics?!
   champagne, ******* literati
bozos?!
                               nein!

- but honest to god,
   if you're not wearing sunglasses,
and peering into any version
of a computer screen?
      welcome to anti-Poseidon's
eye-sight underwater,
give or take 5 to 10 years...
    a bit blurry, a bit:
"all over the place" -
        myopic... you name it...

i'd probably be allowed to peer
into the sun, with a naked eye,
and experience less
damage to eyesight,
than peering into Beelzebub's
pixel phantasmagorical circus
of what, we might call:
the alternative junkies...
                      of information...

- and how many middle aged
men, or women,
will confine themselves to read
philosophy in retirement?
        1%...
   and they'll have an audience
of one, by then...
namely their shadow...

                   "speaking" the truth...
can i just be lazy and avoid
the exercise of the tongue
within the confines of the h'american
standard, and exercise my right:
to write about it?
  by writing i mean:
a delaying tactic...
    a... filter mechanißation...
    why bother speaking -
attracting bothersome flies?
   can't people employ covert methods
of establishing "knowledge"?

     i can't even explain why
people require the right to speak so much...
i go to an Essex market,
and hear the freedom of speech
plainly...

  2 f'er 'un bunch ah bananas!
   'un pund... *** yer bunch ov bananas!


so...
    the problem being...
     how can you...
actually sell... an idea?
when the original "idea" sold...
is the tornado of the monetary,
trans-valuation of all values concept,
within the tornado,
of the use of money?

what idea is actually left, to sell?
an idea is non digestible...
   it's certainly without an implementation
parameters of a spoken of: so
of spoken, translated into an implemented
guarantee...
          voluntary ingestion...
         but crafting a monetary
spin-off of an idea...
      philosophy is not exactly
the sort of originality of a physics eureka!

whoever these modern, "philosophers"
are?  
              they, clearly claim to have
read a lot,
  but forgot to realiße that they...
  "think" like the ancient greek sophists...
    rhetoricians: who would be better
off teaching rhetoric,
rather than focusing on...
  or rather stressing...
    the ontological digestion of ideas...
which are: neither bought,
nor sold...
                  
              perhaps i've entertained,
or rather: perhaps prostitutes entertained
my presence...
     but i do know: what *******
the mind, looks like!
                 i know what the new form
of begging looks like...
      some think that prostitution is bad...
but have these same people,
ever introspected an opinion,
concerning what: ******* the mind
looks like?
    
            not really, no.
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
A special Christmas tree
Back home in California we would go to Disney land for Christmas we stayed right across Katella the street that runs in front of
Disney we stayed at the Anaheim Hilton Anaheim in German means home and we purposely asked for the fourteenth floor I loved to
Set that high and look out those floor to ceiling windows and type away that and on stormy days hideaway all day just watching the
Beauty of the blustering wind and the effects it would have on the grounds far below a tiny taste of heaven there was another reason
For requesting this floor the hotel was so dark on that side and we would put a small Christmas tree in the window how it glowed
Others like ourselves some much father from home than us could see this little twinkling tree in the whole of this black glass wall gave
Those a sense of home and their tree back there where ever that was we bought cable car decorations from San Francisco other
Christmas items were on the table when the maids came in they had a nice showy display a comforting scene to enjoy, the in God we
trust coinage is the universal way of saying thanks Abe and Hamilton are always welcome and really say have a great Christmas.

I’m not turning morbid but if you come to our home there is no outward evidence of Christmas it just any other day except the
Sacred honoring of his birth its not our choice it’s the hand life dealt us but I have a tree more beautiful than any great conifer of this
Earthen wood can produce the lights are the main attraction although the tree holds its own this town this life has very dark spots
I relight them at his special time these lights glow with familiar smiles faces filled with joy they come back from a far away land they
glow so white no need for diminished power from this earth they are glory white but as gems they come in all colors and sizes like a
Conjurer magician with a toss of his hand this wondrous spray of color gently falls in all places on the tree and of course the very top
Holds the star that represents the star that stood over Bethlehem you will probably recognize some of these gems by name there on
My tree for different reasons her are a few of their stories and names and who they are to me Clint my grand pa for many reasons
But especially this one I was four I was in the old white School house and I heard the story how he used to walk two miles to school
In the snow they couldn’t afford proper shoes so he wrapped his feet in rags he did this but it didn’t continue I guess just to cold the
Reason I know it didn’t continue at sixteen he went with me to city hall to get my driver’s license now an old man I had my heart broke
As I watched him sign with an X my heart just broke again the tears flow anew he is the gems that are extra special I call them my tear
Washed ones my dad is included he couldn’t read or write but he read the bible though haltingly three times asking me what words
Were Gary M. was another we were in eighth grade he couldn’t read simple words like at I would rather someone beat me with a
Board than see others suffer or be laughed at he was smart as a whip on cars his future was with his hands I know I’m A godless animal
But Gary took care of the guys to big for me I took care of those my size except for these two gems I was helpless one a student the
Other teacher I watched them both cry openly from the treatment they received one asked supposedly by an educator and principal
To quit school he was too much of a drag on the other students helpless against him and a teacher I respected did respect the others
Who hurt jerry C. physically got to experience how it felt to kiss the side walk at high speed that’s where I put them and other acts of
Vengeance they had coming now the teacher he was a preacher and math teacher I set their daily watching these bozos misbehave
Taunt this man until he cried in front of the class and right there he gave up his teaching job if I had a gang behind me like Butch H.
There would have been a whole class bawling he resides on my special tree I can’t tell you where they belong. I guess this goes along
In that vein this will have to serve as the tree stand do you know you can smile to much in this world I worked up north on a line in this
Factory and this Mexican what’s with these guys well this one proved to be deadly he glared at me and asked why do you smile and
Laugh all the time I thought man what kind of sad life is he having a pretty sad one the day I was on another assignment this same guy
Stabbed a kid right in the heart killing him instantly and blindness settled on everyone standing there no one saw a thing I will repeat
I’m a coward that’s the outer pen you push through the inner gate and you will face a bull, this guy walks free to this day if I was there
He or I would be dead most likely me he waasn’t just a kid I had an advantage over the MP waving a forty five in my face he was tall a and thin as a pencil
You don’t poke a bull with a pencil and you don’t try to whip me with a forty five like I’m a piñata he would have eaten that forty five
He had the teeth for it his problem he hated gringos but he only had a fist full of hate I had a whole body and life full of hate I walk
Slow talk slow but in a fight they had this saying in the service the quick and the dead he would never have seen what hit him but I
Hated self not him it feels better setting her than in Leavenworth. Sorry went from the tree stand to showing my roots I don’t do to
Good in some respects but depending on how hard you’re backed up against a wall the harder the better I look.

It takes many sides of a person to make a life I will soften with this gem’s story this is my crippled lighted gem my Grandma Denton
I never seen her when she wasn’t in a wheel chair I fixed this by observing her one sister in particular she was the same size and beautiful I
Transposed grandma onto Rosy and truly experienced all that was missed by the prison that was her wheel chair I have a picture of a
Native American woman dancing the shawl dance I just substitute grandma in her place and she made up the rest she set there I stood
By her side she took me with words to places and wonderful travels we had the greatest times now she holds a special place on my
Tree others on this tree is found in fathers’ story, solo flight, life force, lost friend a blend of people and nature’s monarch Imposter a
nation defined and many others enjoy his birthday season.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
english humour?
       they call it black...
             black as in: i 'aven the foggiest...
sure... it's witty, but up to
the point where slapstick origins
do a dodo and ******* into nothing
while at the same time inviting canned laughter...
               it's black humour they say:
what... you mean bile?
                  now ask a pole about
humour... and he'll be like:
         i'm flying a kite over auschwitz...
i can't believe it's two things at once:
   a "tourist" attraction for some...
                an islamic deterrent, for others.
sure... we can fire up the ovens once more...
             it'll be like that scene in the hobbit
where a few dwarfs started to imbue
life into the abandoned mine of the lonely mountain...
see... that's the thing with english humour,
in that it's black... in that it's too intelligent,
which makes a lunatic laughing for no
perceptible reason...
            enigma jokes... you know the kind...
       but a comedy that forgets itself, having
origins in a schadenfreude... well, it becomes
desperate... it's gagging for an auxiliary settlement
to be staged in the first place:
  canned laughter, enforced laughter,
                  the tyrannical face of western humour:
***** you better laugh! or i swear i'll do
      sum-fin                    nah      sss    tee... tea...
                ty           ti      taikwondo,   taekwondo?
eh?
                   this is starting to look, very much
like kabbalah for the party kids...
                 let's levitate an inch above the alphabet
and **** around with syllables...
         chi       chai                 china       chichen itza
chicken eats ya                 oh you... yes you.
       that's the thing though:
   translate humour from poland into english...
                             it's night... and it's foggy...
             and there's no moon...
                         or crescent... of that northern
star that sometimes aligns itself
        when there's a crescent and you think:
turkey!            no! no!                         pakistan!
                           pompous bozos...
     but this magazine is funny...
   first they write an article that's sorta related to
serge gainsbourg - and then onto
                the doctor who tweaks the faces
      of millennials
-
                and i'm thinking: did i suddenly get something
wrong?
            what a horrid piece...
                   it's journalism, for sure...
   but i'm thinking: the stepford wives...
                  austin powers: fem-bots...
                                ex_machina robot *** slaves...
no, nothing else...
              let's just say i'd sooner find a £110 an hour
bulgar ******* in her 40s more desirable
          than these women think they'll become...
                odd, isn't it?
                             so you pay ten quid to enter
the brothel... and there they are: sitting pretty
                               and all the more intimidating...
a £110 an hour beauty...
                and then this drops into my lap...
an article about my generation bracket doing
  all this fancy **** with bough-toxicity that leads
neither to the roots, nor to the drowning-man's
arms of branches trying to cuddle or at least
                          allow birds to perch on them...
  now i'm really going to have fun with this...
                  pinch of malice, dab of a rotting corpse
of a fox... hey presto! you're in essex,
                                   with the cliche of oranges.  
                        poo poo pout! ooh!      
                              **** underwear or a diaper?        
as random as you can get...
                           but you know what this boils
down to? obviously on a serious note...
    it's whether you care for darwinism or
etymology more.
                         i'm pretty sure the monkey and
the man will lead        (led) - leash - huh? -
           lee lee....                    le!             ole!
(acute e missing, couldn't be bothered inserting it) -
     it's almost like bypassing the whole genus
concept... of family traditions...
   e.g. the family ****.... the tradition? sapiens!
  i wish that was true...
                            how about proto erectus?
or    mono erectus?
                              darwinism has become such a yawn
after it became a form of cultural indoctrination...
    honestly... i rather go to a zoo and watch
a monkey scratch it's ***... sniff it's hand
and then scratch it's head...
                   so yeah... etymology...
     i just spent the afternoon shooting words out
of my gob, going: well... that's funny...
          a dog with three legs, go!
       w                ł
  
                          v                ­        there...
    you'll get v'eh (fff'uckers!) joke łen sum' fin
                     really 'appens...
             and ven... you'll be like:  please me sir...
         m'ah  łoman -            went into labour...
        plus there's no concept of v in polish (st. paul
on a leash) -
                      there's w = v
               there's  ł = w
                                                       and there's u.
back to the botox beauties...
                                          at £110 an hour?
these bulgar women? (they're not *** slaves
if they get paid) -
                               what's the difference?
   they're mandible...
                              like play-dough...
                                like clay... you can mould them
into an ******... these instagram perfectionists?
         why would i want to **** a porcelain girl?
i'd be scared to **** her thinking i might break her...
   but back to quasi-etymology, that's quasi
for a bilingual fascination...
                   winda (v) = lift... so no, it's not windy
        when govinda yawns... qui?
     wróbel (v) = sparrow...
                      or...          in the russian currency...
     hold a sparrow in your hand? you're... a ******* millionaire!
               tulipan = tulip
                        tu (here) is where you impress your lips -
    and that is an actual conjunction, i.e. tu -
                                       róża = rose
         hmm... maczuga! maczuga = bludgeon...
      wω                             buttocks, with a missing H:
                               or wow or: woah!
        curve 'ere v(u)               ******* sharpenings 'ere ω(w).
honestly, i still think that there's been a diacritical
****... two proofs:                 i          and             j.
         that's ****... it's presupposing that ι (ιota)
                            needs a diacritical mark hanging over
it, a bit like damocles' sword....
        just hanging above it on a single hair of
a horse's mane... i'm guessing it's also called:
                                                      pre­cursor of the violin.
but if you really want to pronounce an acute z (ź) -
      you'll have to use a syllable from the word euthanasia.
oddly enough, when in st. petersburg
   i didn't spot a single mcdonalds...
                       it's like this odd feeling that you're
in a chiral environment, being used to seeing this
  outpost in little england...
                   and they don't really drink coca cola either...
they drink this carbohydrate drink called квас (kvas -
    western slavic?                    acid) -
           and eat pancakes with orange caviar...
black caviar? that's for the opera people who
  nibble on it on canapés... orange caviar is
                for the no nonsense people.
Donald Durham Oct 2010
I lie on an endless sea
Floating in circles of thought
Drifting on an eternity of feelings
Projecting on to an astral plane
My human emotions of fear and doubt
But longing, nay needing
What was given to me
At the explosive moment
When the soft Sayers of love and destiny
(who sit in waiting below bozos trademark
and above the triangle point of bone
at the bottom of the face)
Is finally and intimately
Introduced to the most exquisite
Opposite that sits in the
Same position as its opposite equal
And the muscle behind the spoken gates
Of anticipation is so energized with passion
They can no longer be held at bay,
Break free from hiding and searching
For reciprocated passion and
Emotional electrocution
And no, never, is there foulness
In the bitter morning cigarette
That pays homage between the lips
So proportionately perfect the introduction
Of unspoken breath between two sets
Of sayers, freezes time forever in a
Block of eternity called oblivion
Where everything that had ever happened
In time, from the big bang,
To the very second before,
Compressed collectively, pale in
Importance to this single solitary moment
Of forever.
I am a lost boy in this kiss
Where am I in this overload of
Sensory bliss
From the smell of her
As she washes over me
To the feel of her face and hair
As it glides through my fingers
Like wanderers on a pitch black night
Who need no light and
Require no map
For this is where my fingertips
Were meant to be
And they play the role, they were made for.
Then breath is held,
For it is no longer as important
To draw air into my lungs
Since I must already be dead
Because surely nothing else could be
As beautiful in my life as this, forever,
And when lips are ultimately
And unwillingly parted
And eyes are opened to what was
Lost and forgotten
In the stopping of time or
Was it lost in the meaningless of time
Whatever the case
My eyes have been opened
Not only to a more splendid sight
But to insight
An internal collection of every magnificent
Painting ever painted, and every
Wonderful word ever written, and all
The exquisite expressions ever spoken,
And every passion felt by those
Acutely intuned to their sensory system.
Alas, every magnificent, wonderful, exquisite
Occurrence was only a minor player
In history, until mankind's existence
Came to a ******
With but a kiss.
I am a river of everything
Of all that is wonderful and beautiful.
This is a story of a kiss
Just that one syllable
Alone and isolated in the expanse of
Larger words
But a kiss, this kiss, the first and only
Kiss ever
Is more important then words
Can say or express
With their limitations to coherent thinking
And more meaningful the my mind
Can comprehend in its broken down
Simplicity
A kiss
Nothing less
But everything more
A kiss to end all kisses
The envy of all other kisses
A wonderful, beautiful kiss
A kiss.
©Donld Durham 2010
Kaitelka was in the Equinoctial Aftó, she bathed but always oriented herself as an Argonaut star bathing in the Aegean while waiting for the ******* of Áullos Kósmos. Between both Aulos and Citara, she modeled the auletic- citaristic, in glimpses of her Psychic Trisomy.  In effect of the existence of an extra chromosome in a diploid organism 158, for a number of chromosome fifty-four, instead of a homologous pair of chromosomes. From this position she was limiting her chromosomes of normality in the genetic proximal when entering the bay of Skalá that she was waiting for her native, where the art of navigation danced in the nitrogenous water that brought her from Skalá; from Eleios-Pronnoi, about 39 km south of the main city on the island of Argostoli, in southern Kefalonia, on one of the Ionian islands of Greece. From here, mimetic was thrown towards the art of the unknown sea, collapsing and disoriented by its territorial similarity, and maritime per se of its Otolith that brandished it in dual places of Ionian-Dodecanese geography, following the semiotic songs of Leiak that emerged from the auletic to infer Ballenid genera, which acted precisely between the island and the Bay of Patmos with the same name as Skalá.

Kaitelka's Vernarthian tenor carried her behind her with another Ballenid, this one carried the Demiurge Ezpatkul, with his prominent Augrum or Gold teeth that rotated on the backs of all the borer beetles, being Scarabaeidae that delimited towards a dialectic, and paraphrase of a qualitative satirical one, especially in the form of Vernarth's sub-mythological subgenre. To commend all the hypotheses of this whale, it sang with the native cephalization ultrasound, where it continued to harmonize media in its cranial cavity, and in the muzzles of its larger fins that transmitted waves of parapsychological regression towards Vernarth, parodying the transparent sendal ballads that it made. with his transit through the water, however, not having members that strengthen his controversial cetacean passerby by waters of a melodious literary language, such as a great inspirational propeller, and satires that host greenhouses in most of the jubilation, related to rudders that furrow his verbal poetry, easing restrictions, and possessing the genome that was deprived him in his gestation, of a maternal expropriation victimized with fears of an end, and Apocalypse hungover by the sea and freshwater. They piloted their heart valves, mere and Dantesque with Zeusian buttress spauto, muddled and bundled in their bombastic myocardium like omitted ships without ever lifting anchor and setting sail, a very brief tulle of water satirizing formula additions, and a piece of dull wood on its spur that was It bore like a whale, it was carrying its weight in a literary category where there is no way to test it. Without hindrance, she laughed alongside the breakers in the manner of a belligerent tendril in thick keel skins, dramatizing him and perhaps delaying the investiture of Vernarth's Himation Proskynesis, peering jocularly and foreshadowing his encounter with her. Her chains were Caucasus icebergs, demystifying seasonality by residing linked to a single Down Whale destination, ******* with her dorsal to exhale genome rearrangements with Cinnabar, refining hormones and stereotyped whale chromosomes.

The concordance of the Satirical subgenre, and the polarized gender correspondence inanimate Kaitelka, usurping the intentionality of the sub-mythological drama, in two roads of Skalá that appeared to lose the standard of their ears, in tragic representation versus the comedian staging, harbinger of an interlude between two areas that struggled to have it directed towards three comedies that plunged into three tragedies, missioning the furrowed features of the ideals of survival, with preceded parables of the psychic-linguistic being, due to its canonical supernatural modality by blending itself with disciplined domains. Of a rhetorical poetics, rectified in religions that grant Orphic and messianic structuralism; foreshadowing the hymns of Orpheus in the Bible, and metaphorical in revealing divine truth, accessible only to spirits worthy of it. The purpose of metaphor in her poetry has the deciding function of the ineffable of thought, through simile, comparison, or image.  Song and poetry, song and prayer, prayer and ritual forming an inseparable phrase of meaning in it, impossible to differentiate in the biblical psalms themselves. The penultimate of them recalled number 149, being a hymn destined to accompany the dance; "Make melodies for him, with drums and lyres." It is known that the classical instrument of Orpheus reaches the level of the sacred in biblical texts. Psalm 150 contains an orgiastic ending to a symphony, in the description of the instruments that accompany the word and the voice that praises God, with sermons from Kaitelka blooming from an oceanic being and printing songs of the subgenre, without blemish of sub- mythology and the unconfessed proceeding. The comical exaltation of him recreates aspects of great joy, for those who feel vibrations under his belly in his orphic water, portraying semis or semiotic cathartics of their own trisomic roots, in an effort to decode drama, for intermezzos of the mythological subgenre. Borker with his sword Mythos interpreted the story of Kaitelka when he told her about the melting of Horcondising, seeing in them friendly glaciers that included her within the storytelling of provinces that sensitize the culture by rebirth on spherits and plasma hematocrits, for an apologist that admits inanimate corporality actor. Its genesis is Bereshit, "which names and does not start", from the undervalued parashot of the gods and kings, commanding them ibid to the inter-dogmatism that it contributes in its credit reserve, in large consortiums besieging colonies by the southern seas of the Borker  Nótos. "Evil tears their veins heal their goods and relegate the forgetful in the tradition of existence alongside the demiurges, incontinent to their ills that enjoy making creation sleep, soothing it in innocuous myths that are often more than a truly supernatural!

Helios went out to the road by the west and not by the east, in the nascent instant of the ectoplasm that revealed micro satires that led to the station of the hero who lives hidden, behind the proscenium of cultural and religious intimacy, Kaitelka plunges a few meters below the Aegean where he was already arriving, and he can realize that he did not see marine species around him, only beams of light that distorted his view of those who flatter him on a descent? Underwater a mythical mission wailed on dry surfaces, and the phenomena of the underwater stones were relaxed before any reflection of the veracity of a myth of expression in the mouth of a fish, brushing against systematic hermeticisms of what was infinitesimal. All this dialectical journey towards inevitably alternating molecules of his genome, to re-establish himself in his hybrid status upon reaching Skalá, here he would have to use his two neurochemical brains for a mortal instinct that does not die inside the mouth of a whale but in interrogation. …?  Based on Leiak's sexagesimal nanoscale extension, endowed with a fractional comparison that collects mythologies within them, for the uncertain truth. The only burden of etiological myth in Kaitelka is a consequence of her suffering, which is offered in psychic trisomy, for being **ized by three chromosomes, disorganizing her reality as a specimen that unfolds as a congenital disease.

Kaitelka says: "Who am I and where do I come from? I am reaching the floodgates of my lord Vernarth, and I can see that I am reborn in his astragalus and honeysuckle, which tell a story ****** under the tripod of Herophila.  Authoritarian truth that will bow before the pig to become, smelling here the tragic essence in truths that are hidden in symbolic denial"

Kaitelka is instituted a few miles before she begins to navigate in a zigzag, trying to condense forces for the origin of her ethereal, with sarcasm techniques that the self encourages to plunge into diluvian tears and moan in the scenarios of uncertainty, in the judgment of pouring out real myths, transposing its flow in the destination that is flooded in imprecise gestures and between cries with super sounds that lifted it on the swells, and these, in turn, were shedding the mystery Masken by raising water concentrated in onerous polymorphology. With joys and hilarious meltdowns on the mountains, she approached everything when she reached the pleasant Skalá, escaping from the cosmogony that bound her ungraciously on the light water, overflowing towards the very origin of a Vernarthian deity, in pasts and futures that do not intersect in the radial of its origins. The sky proclaimed laughter and mimicry gestures that adhered to the vitrifying phenomenon of past-present pashkien images, ready to lightning that heals the invalidations of walking on disturbed waters, a dipsomaniac leitmotif in early Christian justice. Kaitelka sins irascible, violent and proud, urgent and judicious, but conciliatory despite carrying a cross and a harpoon on her back. She will remain Kaitelka Down, but Patmos will arrogate her Thracian gift from her Orphic origin to her, for purposes of radial preeminence in the Ballenids that hoist sacred sites. The adventure prescribes a univitelino twin, but when she goes beyond the hirsute destiny of her Iliad, she begs to go transforming into a rainy sphinx on the thick bronze roof when the coins are broken, towards a seduction stop that is enthroned in the gloom of the minotaur, in the numinous hands of a daffodil and on the face of the Epsilon. Or crawling in mitral of valvulopathy with the carriage messengers, with the swans or pigeon birds; perching on a wreath of roses and myrtles that surround her red bozos. Almost always appearing undressed next to her escort, usually more than multiplied towards her, with the amazement of her animal consorts, which are dolphins, and Thracian pigeons, a priori of being covered by the Pythia of Delphi that is migrating in murky triumphs of the Achaemenides in Gaugamela.
Equinoctial Aftó by Kaitelka
Remember that we
Are all Bozos on this bus
Laugh, that's the ticket!
brandon nagley Feb 2017
Americana, fair Madonna, tell me what's become of you; star's so bright, your war's are polite, as your ripped flag's red, white, and blue. Oh bountiful cities, mountain-told villages; starlit pillages foreshadow your deathly paths. Some books hold secrets, while cake candles burn tricks to cigarettes of nuclear blasts! Afterthought you are oh country tis of thee; so blessed in your filth, your kilts are images of projected misery. Find an Alcove you castleview kings; your tongues will soon be silenced to the non-mindsense you care to bring! Resemble with eachother patriarchs of hatred; national to all stations, you are the one in control. Forget what mother told you? Did you already sell your soul? Instant inhumanness; gratitude for filthiness, they feel for girly magazines. Rescind your rhetoric you false entity of enemies kings. Perch behind the clouds where the guard's can't get you; where pharaoh's confront you, only God knows all time! Subjection to viewest bozos behind bar-reason rhymes. Where are you angel of light? I see your face; or have I taken your place?


©Brandon nagley
©lonesome poet's poetry
©prison poetry
One of many poems written in my past during a year of prison time. Much time to write behind closed walls and old medieval bars.
I actually switched out the real word to bozos in one of the lines, lol I originally used a-holes but whole word I took it out because I dont like cussing but prison wasn't easy peazee ():
John F McCullagh Jan 2015
Registrations are way down at Clown Colleges today.
No one wants to scare small kids for the peanuts that they pay.
Older Bozos are alarmed that no one is enthused
to follow their profession and try to fill their shoes.
Sales of makeup are way down, ditto for funny clothes.
And vendors can’t remember when they sold their last red nose.
When the one ring circus comes to town clowns will be hard to spot
The clown cars that they used to drive are rusting on the lot.
The reason for the scarcity is obvious to me;
All those with clown potential serve in Washington D.C.
RaNdOmPoEtRy Mar 2014
I sit here bored out of my mind
Wondering how can I quietly waste time
Everyone still working on their test
Trying so hard to do their best

A whole group a idiots are right behind me
They won't Shut Up! with their laughs filled with arrogant glee
And one of those bozos stole my chair
Now my friend is all alone, with those idiots back there

My friend and I stare awkwardly at each other
Then we look away
Than we glare at one another
Than our heads turn astray

I keep looking at the clock
As it slowly ticks
Three hours more
When will time move on

My chair is so hard
My **** has gone numb
My foot just fell alseep
Man I have to ****

I hate this stupid pathetic test
I wish it could just go away
I'm going to try my best
So I don't have to redo this stupid aims test
Kaitelka was in the Equinoctial Aftó of Áullos Kósmos IV after geomancy was oriented as a star Argonaut bathing in the Aegean while waiting for the ******* of various sectors of Áullos Kósmos. Between both Aulos and Citara, she was modeled with the aulética-citarística, glimpses of her Psychic Trisomy. In effect of the existence of an extra chromosome in a diploid organism 158, for a quantity of chromosome fifty-four, instead of a homologous pair of chromosomes. From this position she was limiting herself with her chromosomes of normality in the genetic proximal, upon entering the Bay of Skalá, which was waiting for her native again, where the art of navigation flourished in the nitrogenous water that brought her from Skalá; from Eleios-Pronnoi, about 39 km south of the main city on the island of Argostoli, in southern Kefalonia, on one of the Ionian islands of Greece. From here, she mimetic, she turned towards the art of the unknown sea next to Wonthelimar who endorsed her with his favorite, collapsing and disoriented by their anti-gregarious territorial similarity, and maritime per se the Otolith that brandished him in dual places of Ionian-Dodecanese geography, following the semiotic songs of Leiak that emerged from the aulética to infer Balénid genres, which acted precisely between the island and the bay of Patmos with the same name as Skalá, to meet everyone and be a participant in the construction of the sanctuary.
Kaitelka's Vernarthian tenor carried her behind her with another Ballenid, this one again carried the Demiurge Ezpatkul, with his prominent Augrum or Gold incisors that turned on the backs of all the borer beetles, being Scarabaeidaes that were delimited towards logic, and paraphrase of a qualitative satirical, especially in the modality of the subgenre, and sub-mythology of Vernarth. To commend all the hypotheses of this whale that sang with the native cephalization ultrasound, where it continued to arrange means between the middle and in its cranial cavity to the percentage of the world map, with the muzzles of its larger fins transmitting waves of parapsychological regression towards Vernarth, and parodying the transparent cendal ballads that he did with his passage through the water, despite not having members that strengthen the controversial cetacean passerby by waters of a melodious rhetorical language, such as a great inspirational helix, and satires that house greenhouses in most of the jubilation, akin to rudders that I furrowed in his verbal poetry, easing restrictions, and possessing the genome that was deprived of his gestation, of the maternal expropriation, victimized with fears of omega, and of Apocalypse hungover by sea and water candy. They piloted their heart valves, mere and Dantesque with the Zeusian buttress spauto, muddled and bundled in their bombastic myocardium like omitted ships without ever lifting anchor and setting sail, a very brief tulle of water satirized aggregates of their formula, and a piece of stony wood on their spur he braced himself like a mammal, he was carrying his weight in a literary category where there is no way to test it. Without hindrance, she was hilarious next to the breakers in the manner of a belligerent tendril with thick keel skins, dramatizing him, and perhaps that would delay her in reaching the investiture of Vernarth's Proskynesis Himation, some looked out jocular and foreshadowed to meet with her. Her chains were Caucasus icebergs, demystifying seasonality by residing linked to a single destination of Balénido Down, ******* with her dorsal that exhaled rearrangements of the Cinnabar genome, clarifying hormones and stereotyped balenid chromosomes.

The concordance of the Satirical subgenre, and the inanimate polarized gender correspondence to Kaitelka, usurping the intentionality of the sub-mythological drama, in two Radas of Skalá that appeared to lose the standard of their ears, with tragic representativity versus comedian staging, heralding an interlude between two areas that struggled to have it directed towards three comedies that pounced on three tragedies, missionizing crossed features of the ideals of survival, with parables preceded by the soul-linguistic being, due to its canonical supernatural modality when it was mimicked with disciplined domains after of a rhetorical poetics, rectified in religions granting orphic messianic structuralism bis of the equinoctial aft; foreshadowing the hymns of Orpheus in the Bible, and metaphorical in revealing divine truth, accessible only to spirits worthy of it. The purpose of metaphor in her poetry has the deciding function of the ineffable of thought, through simile, or in comparison to imagining. The song is one poetry, and the song such a praying too, prayer and ritual forming an inseparable syntagma of meaning in her escaping from Arbela's zither, impossible to differentiate in the biblical psalms themselves. The penultimate of them recalled number 149, being a hymn destined to accompany the dance; Orpheus says: "make melodies for him, with drums and lyres." It is known that the classical instrument of Orpheus reaches the level of the sacred in biblical texts. Psalm 150 contains an orgiastic ending to a symphony, in the description of the instruments that accompany the word and the voice that praises God, with sermons from Kaitelka blooming from an oceanic being and printing songs of the subgenre, without blemish of sub- mythology and the unconfessed proceeding. The comical exaltation of him recreates aspects of great joy, for whom in his Orphic water, he feels vibrations under his belly portraying cathartic and semiotic of his own trisomic root, in an effort to decode drama, for intermezzos of the mythological subgenre. Borker with his sword Mythos interpreted the story of Kaitelka when he tells her about the melting of Horcondising, seeing in them friendly glaciers that included her within provincial storytelling that sensitizes the culture being reborn on its spheres and plasma hematocrits, for an apologist who admits acting corporality and inanimate. Its genesis is Bereshit, "which names and does not start", from the undervalued parashot of the gods and kings, ordering them from the ibidem to inter dogmatism, in which it contributes in its credit reserve, in large consortiums besieging colonies by the southern seas of the Nótos of Borker. "Evil tears their veins heal their goods relegates the forgetful in the tradition of their existence alongside the demiurges, incontinent to their ills who enjoy making creation sleep, soothing it in innocuous myths that are often more than a supernatural truth!

Helios went out to the road by the west and not by the east, in the nascent instant of the ectoplasm that revealed micro satires that led to the station of the hero who lives hidden, behind the proscenium of a cultural and religious intimacy, Kaitelka plunges a few meters below the Aegean where he was already arriving, and he can realize that he did not see marine species around him, only beams of lights that distorted the view of those who flatter him on a descent? Underwater a mythical mission wailed on dry surfaces, and in the phenomena of the underwater stones, they relaxed before any reflection of the veracity of a myth of expression in the mouth of a fish other than Theseus, brushing systematic hermeticisms with the gloomy and infinitesimal. All this dialectical journey towards inevitably alternating molecules of his finite genome, to reestablish in his hybrid status when arriving at Skalá, here he would have to use his two neurochemical brains for a mortal instinct that does not die inside the mouth of a whale, but in the interrogation after being swallowed…? based on the extension of the sexagesimal nanoscale of Leiak, equipped with a fractional comparing that collects mythologies within them, for the uncertain truth. Kaitelka's only etiological myth burden is a consequence of her suffering, which is offered in her psychic trisomy, for being bastardized by three chromosomes, disorderly the reality of her specimen that unfolds her as a congenital disease.

Kaitelka says: Who am I and where do I come from? I am reaching the floodgates of my lord Vernarth, and I can see that I am reborn in his astragalus and vines, which tell a story ****** under the tripod and vapors of Herófila. Authoritarian truth that will bow before a pig to become, smelling here in the tragic essence, and in truths that are hidden in its symbolic denial?
Kaitelka is instituted a few miles before she begins to navigate in a zigzag, trying to condense forces for the origin of her ethereal, with sarcasm techniques that self promote her to blink in deluded tears and moan in the scenarios of uncertainty, in the opinion of pouring real myths, transposing its flow in the destination that is flooded in imprecise gestures and between cries with super sounds that raised it on the swells, and these, in turn, were shedding the mystery Masken by raising water concentrated in onerous poly morphology. With joys and hilarious meltdowns on the mountains, she approached everything when she arrived at the pleasant Skalá, escaping from cosmogony that linked her weightlessly on the light water, overflowing towards the very origin of a Vernarthian deity, in pasts and futures that do not intersect in the radial of its origins. The sky proclaimed laughter and mimic gestures that adhered to the vitrifying phenomenon of past-present pashkien images, ready to lightning that heals the invalidations of walking on troubled waters, a dipsomaniac leitmotif in early Christian justice.
                                            
Kaitelka sins irascible, violent and proud, urgent and judicious, but conciliatory despite carrying a cross and a harpoon on her back. She will continue to be Kaitelka Down, but Patmos will arrogate her Thracian gift of her of Orphic origin to her, for purposes of her radial preeminence in the Ballenids that hoist all the sacred sites. The biological diagnostic prescribes an univitelino twin whale, but when she goes beyond the hirsute destiny of her Iliad, she begs to go transforming into the rainy sphinx on the thick bronze ceiling as she breaks in the minting of the coins, towards a stop of seduction that enthrones in the gloom of the minotaur, and in the numinous hands of a daffodil on the face of the Epsilon. Or crawling in the mitral and in her valvulopathy with messengers, carriages, and with swans or pigeon birds; perching on a wreath of roses and myrtles that surround her red bozos. Almost always appearing undressed next to her escort, usually multiplied in excess towards her, with the amazement of her animal consorts that dolphins are, and Thracian pigeons, a priori being covered by the Pythia of Delphi that is migrating in the murky triumphs of the Achaemenides in Gaugamela.
Áullos Kósmos IV
Caídos sí, no muertos, ya postrados titanes,
están los hombres de resuelto pecho
sobre las más gloriosas sepulturas:
las eras de las hierbas y los panes,
el frondoso barbecho,
las trincheras oscuras.

Siempre serán famosas
estas sangres cubiertas de abriles y de mayos,
que hacen vibrar las dilatadas fosas
con su vigor que se decide en rayos.

Han muerto como mueren los leones:
peleando y rugiendo,
espumosa la boca de canciones,
de ímpetu las cabezas y las venas de estruendo.

Héroes a borbotones,
no han conocido el rostro a la derrota,
y victoriosamente sonriendo
se han desplomado en la besana umbría,
sobre el cimiento errante de la bota
y el firmamento de la gallardía.

Una gota de pura valentía
vale más que un océano cobarde.

Bajo el gran resplandor de un mediodía
sin mañana y sin tarde,
unos caballos que parecen claros,
aunque son tenebrosos y funestos,
se llevan a estos hombres vestidos de disparos
a sus inacabables y entretejidos puestos.

No hay nada ***** en estas muertes claras.
Pasiones y tambores detengan los sollozos.
Mirad, madres y novias, sus transparentes caras:
la juventud verdea para siempre en sus bozos.
jeffrey robin Mar 2013
So I pushed
"Write a poem"
Thinking the **** machine was
Gonna write  a poem
And then this **** page comes up
Like I'm supposed
To write the
**** poem!
-
What the ****!
-
Well a course I could write
A ****** good poem!

But for whom

You out there!
YOU!

A buncha bozos sittin around all night
Tryin to get laid
N then beatin up on yer partner
Iffn they want out sometime?
---
Give me a **** ****** break!
/:/
I mean

Where is Shakespeare
When ya need him, right?
__

O. K.
-- here we go--
::
We are lovers let us go
Into the pure hearts' true dominion

We'll light the way for every soul
Upon the path of god's creation

We'll make love on all street corners
We will storm the palace walls

We are the masters of all that matters
The mistresses of eternal law

I in you and you in me
Our presence is eternal peace

Every man thus is saved
Every child thus is graced
////
There ya got it
One more stinking poem!

Now how do I turn
The ****  machine off!
Mateuš Conrad Dec 2019
⠞⠕     ⠇⠕⠕⠅         ⠊⠎        ⠞⠕     ⠝⠕⠞        ⠁⠇⠺⠁⠽⠎      ⠎⠑⠑
god, you really have to have tender finger tips to read braille... forget about learning to play the guitar... good luck being both blind lemon jefferson and a reader of braille... to look is to not always see... that's the braille translation...

attempting to learn "morality" from
gentile, circumcised men...
probably as useful as the translation
of st. peter into the embodiment
of van gogh...

               aren't these new moralists...
supposed to be less of guru
              and more the mediator?
don't they have,
"something", missing?

              i know of one "thing"...
        of course jerking off while taking
a **** is "disgusting"...
all this: save zee vest,
       blah blah...
               but i'm hearing it from
circumcised men...
at least in the old times,
circumcised men were granted
their circumcision, if, and only if,
they succumbed to strict obligations
of a religious nature...
given, that i'm not circumcised?
what's stopping me?
  i take a ****, i subsequently ****...
every single time,
it's almost like a post-hibernation
bear unclogging its **** duct,
to allow for an agitated waterfall
of digestion being revived...

           but... the "moral" question
of circumcised men, h'american men,
telling me, it's b'aaaah b'aaaah bad to
******* while taking a ****
looking at still images of fine renaissance
art encompassing ******...
  circumcised men...
                  if you had any *******
left in you, you'd know...
      i could tell you of circumcised men
who ****** off 20 times a day...
which is slightly pointless...
given...
            eh... the ******* is supposed
to be allocated to that sort of act...
and all the women are not circumcised...
hence the web cam earnings...

      ******* ******* *******...
maybe the whole idea could come about...
when a man is about to get married?
what's the ring about?
how about... how about...
a man consents to circumcision,
once he's about to marry...
   how about that?
                  and they're saying
abortion is bad...
   how can a baby consent to circumcision?!
the perfect marriage gift,
tying the knot,
          the next time i hear
a circumcised man's sort of *******,
the sort of ******* that circumcised men
give, without being able to have,
to have, to have given consent to their
circumcision?

                  i'm out...
                            it's just refrigerator
background snooze,
    ambient noise...
                blah blah this, blah blah that...
so...
        a woman can have both
the pleasures of jerking off,
but also the ***,
while men is, not supposed to have
the pleasures from jerking off,
and only the "sporadic" sense
of ***?
          great! gimp suit that ****** up...
he's about to become the next torpedo!

sure thing, if among the sort of people
that will guarantee you a spouse,
even if it's your ******* cousin...
   religious rules...
            but what the h'americans failed
to acknowledge...
   eh... circumcision...
   and whatever is left of secular
pseudo-religiosity of values?!
            
           at these moments i know i'm being
flamboyant and aversive...
i have to be: i can't listen to yet another
circumcised ****-whistling clarinet player
to save me...
          i'm sorry that you entered
the world of snippet!
   but please... the ******* is not
some "spare" part...
         no ***** pokey no ***** poke-'em-on...
no diddly...
                    but to be at the mercy
of women?! for the "added" pleasures
of phallus where the skin is pulled
back and is suffocating your "maiden head"?
seriously?!
              
          i'm sorry... unless the man is donning
a kippah... i can't listen to the *******
of circumcised men...

few drinks later, and a labour of minutes
that expand into the night:
nope, i still don't get it...
the sunday times news review,
sure, sure: that's fine...
         philip lamantia?
       no?
         i remember this one cucumber cutie...
spanish... lived with 2 faggy-bottom-blues
guys... went to the notting hill carnival
with her... samara?
    anyway, limp-****,
under the bed sheets:
cocoon *** under the bed sheets...
   tamara!
              
        well at leat with the bulgarian
prostitutes, two rules:
dimmed lights, no socks...
third rule: shower first.

          and i too brought a shrimp
to settle with on a swing...
swang like a ***** in bull's worth
of a saddle...
i smiled, till my mouth broke,
and i filed for:
           aesthetic surgery...

easy head, easy, easy as while drunk...
so much! cascade of being
                  de-armored...
      like the inflection of the exoskeleton
of an insect...
        
again: who are these, these,
circumcised men, shouting their moral
authority?
isn't the ******* supposed to imply:
a chanced rekindle of the sort of
puppeteering associated with
one child "policy" of men toying
with g.i. joe?! no?!
oh well...

            first i grew the long hair...
don't worry, i didn't turn trans-gender...
more a mosher, a metal-head...
a pig's-thick-skinned-novelty
of the banging cranium...
    shaved... then grew a beard...
relapse!
                   oops!

but there's still the, "problem" of
circumcised men spewing righteous maxims
akin to a t.v. evangelist's list of demands...
eh... women are the truth...
since they so rarely eschew it,
into the public forum...
           i can lie,
    i can tell the truth,
point being: i am not bound
to allocate myself to either...
the beard replaced my ambitions
to learn playing the violin...
point being: i can fiddle both!

            shrimpy! hey shrimpy!
bozos buggot beggar boo!
ooh yeah... now we're spreschen!

circumcised men talking to uncircumcised men,
while entertaining the lifestyles of
uncircumcised women,
"fwee" vank videos...
                               "extra" skin a pleasuredrome
in some parts... castrations,
     circumcisions elsewhere...
boy! good foot strutting child soldier
elsewhere!

  h'american circumcised men's arguments...
if i don't sniff my itchy finger-tips,
and don't sniff out tobacco;
who needs the opinions of circumcised,
secular, men?
                  
          i need a beard,
to hide my chin...
              i need a chin...
        to find the scimitar shaped moon...

circumcised gentile christians:
sorry... i'm tired,
i'm tired of the atlas pose...
i'm tired of only one man in existence
ever having existed...
   i'm tired of hey-zeus! being
compared to the vowel-catcher
of the tetragrammaton...
tonsure, kippah?!

                             the nag hammadi library
emerged in the year: 1945...
and still people... and still people...
****'s sake for sure:
the pagan nazis would have never
bombed st. peter's...
as they would have never
burned down the library of alexandria...
but the monotheists did...

  i spew i spew i spew...
              you know how insulting it is,
you were educated in chemistry?
here you go,
go back among the offspring of
the most irresponsible of people...
         oh you can have children in your
mid 50s...
         i'm not exactly sure what they'll
become...
            dr. who who's who wannabes...
certainly not usain bolt contenders...
even with basic arithmetic...
   hell... let's have them, let's pride
ourselves on... everyone sacred...
window-licker sacred society of
the enforced samaritans!

               the evolved "circumstance"
of a game of hide & seek...
               well... there's plenty to hide,
but not that much to be bound
to the desire to seek.

                                   savvy?
Yenson Jul 2022
He was a quiet gentle man
not known to swarm around with friends
these types are usually pampered softies
the thieves and their street gang posse thought
once we put the squeeze on him he will soon scamper
no big deal, we'll sort him out sharpish

so Chris the mother crook said
we are going to put nits in your head
Joanne the mad daughter said
we will bug your head
even the wife warned
they are going to do your head in

then the thugs and hooligans said
we are going to drive you paranoid
now if they were smart they should
have stayed shtum and retain the element of surprise
but hey, to them this was going to be short
sure the man can last a year

what a joke semi-illiterate playing trick or treat
gas-lighting by simpletons and dolts
bulky laden transparent grape-vines
inane crude antics by boring twarts
countless nonsenses by nonsensical dross
so contemptible as to be laughable

what's there to be paranoid about
I've not stolen nothing nor harmed anyone
I can stand up to close scrutiny and I do
the lies smears and slanders are lies smears and slander
I can look anyone dead straight in the eyes
and let the maddened crowd craw and make their dramas
I am still here and my head is not done in
jimmy boerstler Dec 2015
lovers of love
trying to find the key
of perpetual motion
of perpetual people
   losing and winning again
    crying in the mist of it all
      laughing in your sleep
        thinking mostly
           "what in the world "
           " what in the world "
feelings that over-ride
  your concepts
  images that can't be defined
  people that weigh you down
  clowns of all description
  clowns in many disguises
  clowns with make-up all amiss
  bringing you chuckles
  for no apparent reason
sadness of a clown's song
horns that will always be flat
sighs so deep, so forbidding
teachings from another time  
     too many "Bozos"
     to many big shoes

          cast your lashings away
             and set sail for the moon
                it's waiting to greet you
                   again............................................................­.......
Leydis Oct 2018
Anoche te sentí tan cerca,
fundida en remembranza,
la frustración me llevaba
a besarme a mí misma.

Sentía tu aliento en los bozos de mis brazos,
mis ojos cerrados perdidos en tu regazo,
en ese tiempo donde éramos amantes,
mi boca babeaba de tanto rebose,
mi famélico cuerpo perdido en tu siembra,
en tu tierra mojada nutriendo mi binza,
esperando que la cosecha brotara en tu boca.

Anoche tus labios mordían mis huecos,
rellenándolos de desquicia y arrobamiento,
mi pellejo temblaba de tanto esparcimiento,
deslizada sobre mi cama, con tu nombre y sin recurso.

Tus voz transportándome a tu guarida,
invitándome a circular la duna de tu piel anguila,
desnudar con mis labios tu madura exquisitez,
desvistiéndote una y otra vez, desordenando tu rigidez,
hasta que mi boca lograras despertar las gulas de tu ser.

Anoche mi cabeza te tomo de rehén,
me perdí en todos los sabores de tu ser.
Anoche sé que escuchaste mi llamado al universo,
mi boca sin saber besaba tu centro,
agitados respiros deshilaron mis sábanas,
perdido el control - me mordía y pellizcaba,
llamaba tu nombre, recordaba tus pampas.

Anoche recordé tu desenvoltura
al recorrer los alcores de mi cuerpo,
todas esas elevaciones, todos esos deslizamientos
por las vías de nuestros cuerpos,
sentí el calor de tu  boca susurrarme;
- - ¡te puedes rendir, haz llegado a la cumbre!

Quede confundidamente extasiada y en silencio..,
abrí los ojos para realizar, que acabamos de hacer el amor
aunque no estés a mi lado.  


LeydisProse
10/17/2018
https://m.facebook.com/LeydisProse//
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2022
some thoughts come to my consciousness completely
uninvited, like this one,
the history of Poland, whether the historian
Norman Davies likes it or not,
i just put on a bathrobe to cover the hoodie i'm
already donning, the cold can make a man: mad...
i mean forget literature, forget all that soft cushion
*******... perhaps you can stand the heat:
what? modern white women and their
anti-racist ****-buddy "rhetoric"...
   i guess someone missed the cultural revival
currently happening in Europe, for the people...
by the people... the resurrected herr mannelig myth...
TROLL... no... originally it wasn't some
dip-**** teenage boy going rampant on
the internet... it was a woman "clarity" of form...
an ugly woman... but i still stand strong in
demanding what my: p.b.u.h. grandfather recited
to me once... no woman is ugly,
she's just neglected... i stick to that rule...
but... but...if i'm scratching my head...
scratching my nose... stroking my beard because
i can't scratch my chin...
thinking about transgender women as...
fuckable... show me your hands...
please just show me your hands...
  so we're a knuckle short...
you'll pass...
  butch wannabe in his mother's cardigan...
to the Russians with you...
from World War II stories... those dogs will
**** anything than moves... dogs
******* dogs, ******* pigs...
women... imaginary women,
camels etc.,
            
     sure my vice is... i drink... but plenty
of sober people have...
horrid sober thinking "patterns"...
i drink because i don't relax when thinking...
it always has to be this effort to
scribble down something....
i used to relapse into the comfort of "cognitive
narration"... these days i'm finding myself
within the confines of making: postures...
when  football match is taking place...
my role? my role is to posture...
to look masculine...
to look authoritative...
to... make me fear me...
to.... you want a plum eye... sonny?
it's... to be honest... a ****** game to play...
but i enjoy it...

   but i drink... the cold makes me mad...
i need some whiskers some amber to keep me... sort of...
sort of... sane...
what was i about to "talk about"...
oh, right, constellations...
the transcripts...
this might take a day or two...
depending on how one: feelz...

"fun" some things, feelz, or other, can you even
begin to imagine... Africans...
singing gospel... having the exfoliating moment
in time... without... being exposed to the English tongue?!
would we ever escape the *******
violins... trombones... deaf Beethovens...
no use of drums...
wait... sorry... you're not deploying
the BASS guitar?!
could you ******* sing to your highest possible:
potential in... ******* SWAHILI!
d'uh d'uh dum'da'rah'd'um you probably couldn't...
you came up... with the antithesis of
classical music via jazz...
you came up with... the blues...
******... you came up with: the blues...

it's almost like the Marcus Garvey movement...
never, *******, happened...
you're still going on about
******* these anti--racist white chick-ah-doodle-does...
no, not "those": does... like sort of:
"dudes"! do-izzzz...

IMPORTING ******...
WALKING... ******...
good to know: dough down to the ratio of:
the dodo birds still walking, about,
admiring the liquorice...
a man must admire the liquorice...
the star of Anise...
or... hmm... voice, my, "concern":
how to punctuate to give off
a rhetorical ambivalence...
        
but come on... jazz... would it have come out
of Africa?! on a per se basis?
Bonya - Fatoumata Diawara -
ignorant Africa-Americans...
    thank god i don't belong to any of the western
European peoples...
i don't remember: perhaps i don't have
to... the Russians might have had an Empire...
but it's not like the Kazakhs are talking about it...
let's get on with it...

but these Africans in America...
have they ever talked to an actual African?
sorry... but yeah...
your tribal leaders sold you you...
you were tall, fit & readily made available to work...
you were a commodity...
worth much more than a north eastern European
Serf...
       last time i heard...
you picked cotton... it's not you were...
mining coal... now you're rapping and plasying
basketball... you invented jazz... you came up with
the blues... you created the antithesis of
classical music... white women are flocking
to your ***** with their anti-racist *******...

fair enough... only the rare specimen from your women
i find attractive... but come on...
Arab women have fat hands... come to think of it...
ha ha... "think": i'd rather **** a trans-woman
than... any woman: to begin with...
unless she's a *******...
black women can, will, do, walk the streets
at night, and no man will bother them...
you want the inverted ego-tripping when it comes
to cucks? modern *******...
all that... black men ******* white girls?
yeah... i... em... i don't want to touch black women..

black women, arab women...
they have... fat... peasant fingers...
huge hands... i have big hands...
but tell you what...
some of these trans-gender specimens...
oh... ooh... they'd be a treat in world war I trenches...
so... if... this is coming across as one of those...
Malcolm X attack: retractions...
i, i think it sort of is...

   i'm not their father, i'm not their brother...
but i do ******* know when i meet an African
and when i meet a displaced African...
it took me enough to befriend some macaque monkeys
to stop the Kenyans from shooting slingshot pebbles
at them... as i fed them tea bags and bags of sugar...

it's like: if there's an insult, "insult", pending...
black boys willingly ******* white girls, regarding all
that **** that's available...
insult... let's procreate to give us a 2nd Brazil...
post-racial south American hoopla!
o.k., black boys wanna **** white gorls...
but... what... if... i... don't... want... to... ****...
black... girls?!
  what then... you're going to...
   invest ****** pills in my would-be *******
to sort of self-medicate ****** myself
with having to **** someone i don't to... ****?!
sure... great compliment for the white girls
getting jazzed up...
but i'm pretty sure the black girls are suffering...

oddly enough: i'm for racial purity... so, that...
the blacks can survive... or... **** it...
let's all just mingle and become pseudo-Egyptian
copper-skinned
Indian sub-continent... type of brazen...
bozos... we can have that... pretend Arab...
pretend Spaniard...
           one side keeps pushing... another side will...
thankfully...
the Russians are always there...
never disqualify the Russian...
he's always handy... god forbid calling the Deutsche-mann...
n'ah... that Schwab of a mann is long gone...

it's like to reiterate... German was probing Poland:
give him up! we know he's in there!
Russia was like: give him up! we know he's in there!
the Swedes came! give up him, we know he's in there!
the ******* Ottomans' came!
give him up! we know he's among you!
i don't think the Mongols cared, but, they came,
regardless...
so Nietzsche came, so Marilyn Manson, came...
like i said... almost two centuries' worth of
character assassination...
a case of a stolen identity...

                in all fairness... no game, not fair...
tomorrow i'll... hardly reconsider...
it's all...                       "oops".
Yenson Oct 2019
Slander and Defamation ran it
holding firmly to each other yet not breathless
they both filed a long list of Reports and allegations
They didn't fool me one bit as I stood watching them in action
Were any of theses falseness be true I'd have been on the first plane
out of the Country......

Though they didn't fool me
they certainly fooled thousands of others
for I lost my job, friends, good name and stainless reputation
I did not run away or leave town for I had done nothing wrong
So I stood and watched the charade for without crime there's no guilt
the innocents do suffer......

Hey, Malice swaggered in
it moves with a lot of family all in different guises
they were rampant and efficient and so very active in action
watched them in action and saw how contagious they are to so many
to one without malice its so difficult to reconcile the proliferation thus
this was an eye-opener......

Envy and Jealousy charged in unashamedly
my! these bozos are sonafabitch heavies with mad green eyes
cold, psychotic, unreasonable, totally heartless they eat everything
incapable of reasoning they waded in causing maximum damage s
alien and unfamiliar to me, all I could do was try to reason with them,
It merely made matters worse, but it wasn't my problem......

Aha! Hate ******* in pathetically verbose
here came Big Daddy of them all, the undistinguished leader
septic ally radiating and totally neurotic, arrogant, dumb an stupid
it galvanizes this festering putrid disgraceful defaults of asinine meets
sickly pontificating shameless it falsified, lied, corrupted and slime
Hate was challenging but I stood faced on not intimidated......

These are formidable adversaries no doubt
to which millions of people have fallen prey to
but find me and see a clear conscience and a positive mind
to be robbed, then subjected to threats and intimidation by thieves
who invited all above as willing accomplices and henchmen to aid
Condone wrongdoings if you like, but I stand and will stand.....
Yenson Mar 2020
The gangsters of Crimson
tell us please about this Doubts malarkey
oh you Guvnor of the Eat End Mob

ye Gotcha, come listen..matey

we ain't Crooks, Con-artists and Extortioners for nothing
we are smart cookies, been in this game all our lives
listen matey, hear me
know what we said, slander is the main leveler
That patsy we have the contract on
the man is as straight as dye
innocent as the day is born
never did a thing wrong, no dirt did we find on him
decent nice upright upstanding fellow
as nice as apple pie and iced cream

But he had the gull to diss our trade
yes we are thieves and crooks and all time rotters
but he said he would expose us after we robbed the ******
others don't say ****, just claim insurance and shut their gob
but not this sunshine, the ****** called us out
he din't pay protection money
then moaned when we rob him blind, now he gets the treatment
don't mess with the Guvnor ye Mr Righteous

We have ways, first thing is to discredit the ******
its Character assassination, public humiliation, we ruin his life
so we slandered him from here to Timbuktu or where the darkies are
we told high tales and hyped the hell outta that patsy
you know how good the ******* are in spreading malicious gossips
we paid their leaders and sent them all out
wow! did they do a good job or what. it went down a treat
the punters swallowed every word, every defamation stuck like glue
even his mother would find it hard to love him
hahaha...think he could stand up to us

after all that malarkey and mud throwing
we now have to stalk and hound the ****** and make him loose his mind
Now listen here, you just can't go to the stupid punters
and say, hound that man, they ain't that stupid
so you give em a good story, nice fake news in juicy wrapper
you create a false scenario, nice word eh, got that from the TV
anyways, you sell the dopes some fake scenario
then tell them you are controlling the mud splatter royal star
tell the dopes anytime they see him they must do this or that
you get the demoralising mob trolls to write dirges and *******
till the day is long, tell them they are putting doubts in his mind
planting seeds to haze, hanker and give the ****** grieve
cause they are confusing him, as well as invalidating the c--t

You see bozos, what we are doing is relentlessly mobbing him
getting at him, snipping and chipping away, wearing him down
make him feel the whole world is against him
leave him isolated, friendless, hounded and helpless
we must make him **** himself for he is a non-criminal grass
and that's how we sort those goodie two shoes out
we poison their world till they poison themselves
we use the punters to drive him insane

Ah, clever or what, who says crooks and villains aren't clever
we are manipulating the stupid masses and they are eating outta our hands
we make them believe false scenario, get the numpties to do silliness
watch how they go for it, all convinced they are doing solidarity
listen my son, the only education you need is no ******* university
come learn from us, the people or punters, call em what you will
are as dumb and brainless as jellied eels
You steal their brains and their stupid minds
an tell them you are teaching them how to **** royal mind
they can't wait to cast 'doubts' on fuckall nothing doing

We know the game, we know the punters
that poor patsy hasn't got a chance
I tell you what though
this contract is the hardest we've ever done
we've put this ****** through the mill for yonks
given the whole nine yards and more to push him over the edge
Yet, the ******* still stands, laugh and even talk back
******* heck, this man must be an alien.......
the dirty poet Jan 2023
MOM
the patient is quadriplegic
he has epilepsy, cerebral palsy
seizures, chronic aspiration
and he's blind
but mom has it down
she's always been on top of it
from day one (24 years ago)
why mom isn't running the world
instead of these evil bozos is beyond me
Yenson Jun 2022
And oh! what a jolly laugh we have
tis ever so amusing
the dumb gaggle of lifeless unwashed
with roasted heads
presenting their one read and try-again
versions of events
our dear apostles of cockney tea-leaves
led by Macafferty Capone
who stated we are going to eff him
and put lice in his head
go forth she ordered and do his head in
oh how we laugh
as first class scums and feeble dumdum
unwashed and semi-illiterates
troop out with fervour and dedications
in the poetry campaign
of a-holes with psychedelic delusions
and triple Fs in grammar
and so we have the debacle of bozos
retards and the worthless
pitting non-wits with a Rhodes scholar
who also happens
by providence and sublime endeavour
to be a philosopher
and a brilliant refined and shinning Prince
Oh wow, tis ever so amusing
And hahaha, what a jolly laugh we have
More grease to unwashed elbows, methinks, they are doing their best but their chains too tethered and it holds them back though some have congenital dullards syndrome. Viva the psychics...hahaha . Wonder when they are going to do the beheading at the Tower bit....hahaha
Disposition tilts dogma of poetaster
elicits, nevertheless adopting role jester
trending toward vagueness exhibited
by Addams family uncle Fester.

Yours truly makes exception to his
preference for law and order, viz
sanctioning upheaval particularly
avast mayhem curried kindled, biz
zee ness linkedin courtesy divine ****
hard re: coronavirus (COVID-19).

Oh...just a slight digression duration
approximately no longer than left
middle, or... right third eye blind blink
a show of hands via augmented and/or
virtual reality who recall children's pink
cuss Zuckerman lyrics, I roundly think

nonsense verse skidda marinky dinky ****
though a curmudgeonly fella, a catchy tune
me and the boys (at taproom) sing up drink
dated to more apropos synchronize Asia *****
lets the sunshine, thru trumpeting don vizier
touting America upon self destructive brink

allowing, enabling, and providing participation
within convenience er... rather forced lockdown
yet safely and soundly sequestered blame ratfink
microscopic organism (alluded 17) lines above
pitching capitalistic qua Laissez faire economy.

Accordance to crude Dickensian nostrildamus
whose predictions noted for reference to nose
everything about hmm... sax and violins crows
excitedly (pretend ye did not read orgasmically)
as United States of America pushed to breaking
into bajillion pieces metaphorically, aye suppose

executive, judicial, & legislative colluding bozos
feigning, grinning, hobnobbing... arrogant beastie
boys and goo goo dolls sporting snazziest custom
tailored (swiftly) made harried styled fancy clothes
at taxpayers expense of course, but more important
exerting Republican driven power to deprive Negroes

constitutional right to vote
namely i.e. disenfranchisement
especially upcoming 2020
presidential election woes
rendered manifold times
more challenging populace
up in arms vehemently

protesting prolonged quarantine
scrawling, sketching, &
striking garish noir
artist's rendition arrows
(albeit broken) corruptly,
lamentably, pathetically politicos
hell bent upending cradle holding
what dead souls Lord Knows...?

Analogous whim didst flit hither
and yon to & fro within
noggin (mine), the following
representation you envision
whereby governmental representatives
dead set declawing,
maiming, née destroying
Bald Eagle Great Seal symbolizing
The eagle head turned

towards olive branch, on right side,
to symbolize preference for peace.
In beak, eagle clutches
a scroll with motto E pluribus unum
("Out of Many, One"),
The Olive branch and arrows
denote power of peace &
war which exclusively vested in Congress.
The American Library Association
      implores cognoscenti tubby alert
for impersonators, who
     call themselves Ernie and Bert

     took a page from Sesame Street Playbook
oft times accompanied
     by a Soundcloud of dirt,
boot none other then Pigpen,

     (who worked for Peanuts),
     and pay-dirt, though
     dismissed, cuz he did not exert
true grit, plus more seriously scandalous

     sordid details suppressed kept from press,
     (which scurrilous breach of conduct)
     involved said scallywag
     violating more than flirt

discovered in prurient compromised activity,
     where his skin flute encircled,
     with an ambrosia girt
transgressions possibly affected

     public television station benefactors,
     and sterling reputation of bottom line, nor hurt
locker talk (albeit via exaggerated mainly
     to make a profit) sounding proper

     sanctimonious Cliff (hanging) notes,
     asper faux expected by
     a "FAKE" trumpeting prophet,
     sans motley crue comic
     stripped of more'n
     motion picture PG ratings,

hence future lurid, graphic,
     banal, ampersand
(&) dressing room banter
     muted, disallowed, and banned

so storied characters birthed by Charles Shulz,
     (who passed away prior to near canned
aforementioned indiscretion debacle)
     returning amidst fanfare hoopla

     much as possible grand
jour "Making Peanuts Great Again" hand
diddly restoring full metal paperback jacketed
     glory and apple pie order land

ding rebirth of cherished popular iconic
     easy to digest bookworm feed
which unexpectedly, inadvertently,
     and horrifyingly

     brewed ferocious breed
on par with the Alaskan Bull Worm,
     whereat armed guards
     strategically stationed

     at libraries entrances indeed
aware voracious young readers,
     would pay no heed
to any obstacle, and such unstoppable

     ravishing knowledge
     hungry kids did exceed
capacity security details dashed away,
     faster then Clifford
     the big red dog re: oh speed

wagon in toto (oz suppose)
to escape paginated bound woes,
but especially to flee bozos
not tubby confused with Bezos -
     (the richest cat on Earth),
whose cashiered spigot flows
née  gushes without any need to faucet.
Bozos is a mirror man
Samcro2 of a tearful ******
Appearing sacred
I fear he clearly has
My ultimate devotion
For steering man
Into the fearless plan
Of collaboration
Drifted mix with labor
Feeding present past and yet to be created man
We made this man
The safety hand of my well natured
Breath to save the land
From destruction and create amazing
Image of our great love in hand
The toll of bloodshed is done
Once you love this man
His chest
Is nature..  further compass
Into worthy draft
Of furniture recrafted
Refurbished to be inherited
For comfort ***...
As Trump learns fast...
The term of ****** has to be dirt
To worms to feed
The seeds we plant
In fertile earth
To learn these man ways
Deluded and re turned to burning plants
Like time in courage
With Ariel in earth
Of gravity
Search for bezos in space
He will save the earth of man
Or I will burn this ******
Determined...
Half cooked earthly scam
Of platta over pluomo
Mercury... steady Freddy
In your Celsius smell
The birth of famine
Till collapse of military
Has been handed to the aid
Of Africa..  to build further
Grants
So aids is curbed... like side street
Concrete... here's the
Further stance
Of earth one chance
Bezos making pesos.
If you fuckaround with
Him ill burn my Freddy hands
And turn dreams into
Facing Jason with machete mask
That concludes
Elm street night mares...
Now give Jeff his chance
And ill let him **** me
I'm already Cummings in
My slutty pants

— The End —