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"brokers" poems
‘…. and now, here’s Rick with the latest Market news…’ ‘Val, trading was very brisk today, with a number of influences that set the market off to some defined trends and statements. Of course, the Human Virtue Exchange always seems to rely on the volatility that resides ‘between the ears’ as noted by the veteran brokers on the floor, but the sharp ranges of prices offered versus profit taking has set the bar very high in the relative value of Basic Human Virtue. Now to the numbers: Courage [WHOME], Patience [PP], and former market darling Perseverance [GULP], all varied widely today on news from Washington that their value was doomed to fall in the light of the expected growth of Persistence [IAM] which history has shown to be a marked drag on just about everything. Outside of the self –efficacy bazaar, old standbys Ambition [HVY], Curiosity [WDF], Industry [HAHA] and Temperance [BFD], continued their free fall into uncharted areas of cost and return. Some analysts feel these virtues could be a real bargain in the future despite their history of poor performance. Could a comeback not seen since collapse of the Protestant Hypocrisy Era be in the works? We’ll see as the lack of movement in the Kindness-Generosity-Forgiveness-Compassion Index [FARAWAY] leads many to believe that the end of Politeness [UPYRS], Un-pretentiousness [ME-ME], Self Control [NWAY] and Sportsmanship [LONGONE], may lead to a complete miss-understanding between casual market players and devotees to the cause. The ratios cannot lie. But without a doubt, today’s big winner was Self Respect [YUP] which jumped and amazing 40 points before active trading ceased at the bell. So people feel real good about themselves for reasons that cannot be explained by the Ego File Indicator alone; this causes this reporter to predict that Naval Gazing [MOM] remains a ‘Hot to Trot’ stock fund and the Vanity market is always a good bet. Now, here’s Carl with today’s Human Emotion Exchange report……’
0
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
jimmy-tee
Two Forms of Nonsense
‘…. and now, here’s Rick with the latest Market news…’ ‘Val, trading was very brisk today, with a number of influences that set the market off to some defined trends and statements. Of course, the Human Virtue Exchange always seems to rely on the volatility that resides ‘between the ears’ as noted by the veteran brokers on the floor, but the sharp ranges of prices offered versus profit taking has set the bar very high in the relative value of Basic Human Virtue. Now to the numbers: Courage [WHOME], Patience [PP], and former market darling Perseverance [GULP], all varied widely today on news from Washington that their value was doomed to fall in the light of the expected growth of Persistence [IAM] which history has shown to be a marked drag on just about everything. Outside of the self –efficacy bazaar, old standbys Ambition [HVY], Curiosity [WDF], Industry [HAHA] and Temperance [BFD], continued their free fall into uncharted areas of cost and return. Some analysts feel these virtues could be a real bargain in the future despite their history of poor performance. Could a comeback not seen since collapse of the Protestant Hypocrisy Era be in the works? We’ll see as the lack of movement in the Kindness-Generosity-Forgiveness-Compassion Index [FARAWAY] leads many to believe that the end of Politeness [UPYRS], Un-pretentiousness [ME-ME], Self Control [NWAY] and Sportsmanship [LONGONE], may lead to a complete miss-understanding between casual market players and devotees to the cause. The ratios cannot lie. But without a doubt, today’s big winner was Self Respect [YUP] which jumped and amazing 40 points before active trading ceased at the bell. So people feel real good about themselves for reasons that cannot be explained by the Ego File Indicator alone; this causes this reporter to predict that Naval Gazing [MOM] remains a ‘Hot to Trot’ stock fund and the Vanity market is always a good bet. Now, here’s Carl with today’s Human Emotion Exchange report……’
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27
234 You’re right—”the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”— ‘Tis Costly—So are purples! ’Tis just the price of Breath— With but the “Discount” of the Grave— Termed by the Brokers—”Death“! And after that—there’s Heaven— The Good Man’s—”Dividend“— And Bad Men—”go to Jail”— I guess—
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8.1k
Emily Dickinson
You’re right—”the way is narrow”
234 You’re right—”the way is narrow”— And “difficult the Gate”— And “few there be”—Correct again— That “enter in—thereat”— ‘Tis Costly—So are purples! ’Tis just the price of Breath— With but the “Discount” of the Grave— Termed by the Brokers—”Death“! And after that—there’s Heaven— The Good Man’s—”Dividend“— And Bad Men—”go to Jail”— I guess—
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13
Bricks and mortar, steel and boards, Phone poles lined with power cords, on Pothole streets, where engines roar, 'Neath smoggy skies, where jet planes soar, Where penny merchants peddle wares, And news reports pretend they care, Where vagrants sleep, and children stare, And people work for lives not theirs, That's life in the jungle, adrift in the herd, Where terrestrial beasts envy free flying birds Where the pundits stand polished, and speak empty words, And the artists paint portraits, while posted on curbs, Where the men push carts, full of empty cans, And the women spend paychecks, for spray-on tans, Where the truckers drive loads, 'cross a thousand mile span, To appease the great gods of supply and demand, Asphalt and tarmac, girders and glass,   Terrarium trees in cemented sod grass, Ripe with the stench of exhaust fumes and gas, As the choir lines up for the 10 o'clock mass, While the brokers all scream, at a packed stock exchange, As the veterans in wheelchairs sit begging for change, That's life in the jungle, it's just a big game, But remember you're playing, lest you go insane.
0
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 11:01 PM UTC
iliveinyourhead
Life in the Jungle
Bricks and mortar, steel and boards, Phone poles lined with power cords, on Pothole streets, where engines roar, 'Neath smoggy skies, where jet planes soar, Where penny merchants peddle wares, And news reports pretend they care, Where vagrants sleep, and children stare, And people work for lives not theirs, That's life in the jungle, adrift in the herd, Where terrestrial beasts envy free flying birds Where the pundits stand polished, and speak empty words, And the artists paint portraits, while posted on curbs, Where the men push carts, full of empty cans, And the women spend paychecks, for spray-on tans, Where the truckers drive loads, 'cross a thousand mile span, To appease the great gods of supply and demand, Asphalt and tarmac, girders and glass,   Terrarium trees in cemented sod grass, Ripe with the stench of exhaust fumes and gas, As the choir lines up for the 10 o'clock mass, While the brokers all scream, at a packed stock exchange, As the veterans in wheelchairs sit begging for change, That's life in the jungle, it's just a big game, But remember you're playing, lest you go insane.
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24
1 Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation; Into the school where the scholar is studying; Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride; Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain; So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums—so shrill you bugles blow. 2 Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets: Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds; No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—Would they continue? Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow. 3 Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley—stop for no expostulation; Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer; Mind not the old man beseeching the young man; Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties; Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.
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4.8k
Walt Whitman
Beat! Beat! Drums!
1 Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation; Into the school where the scholar is studying; Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride; Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain; So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums—so shrill you bugles blow. 2 Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets: Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds; No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—Would they continue? Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow. 3 Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley—stop for no expostulation; Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer; Mind not the old man beseeching the young man; Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties; Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.
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24
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH.  ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER. BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME. ........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
0
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
warner-baxter
SPAMMER SMACKDOWN
**IMMEDIATELY PLEASE REMOVE ALL OF MY INFORMATION FROM YOUR DATA BASE FORTHWITH.  ALSO, ADVISE ANY AND ALL CONTRACTORS, SUB-CONTRACTORS, AGENTS, SUB-AGENTS, AFFILIATES, PARTNERS, COLLEAGUES, ASSOCIATES, CLIENTS, WEBMASTERS, WEB BASED LINKS, WINKS, TWINKS, COLONEL CLINCKS, BOSSES, CO-WORKERS, EMPLOYEES, VENDORS, SUPPLIERS, SALESMEN, ASCCOUNT REPS/EXCS, ACCOUNTANTS, BROKERS, CO-BROKERS, HACKERS, SLACKERS, WHACKERS, JERKS, PIMPS, HOES, HOBOS, BUMS, DERELICTS, DEGENERATES, DOPERS, DEALERS, TWEEKERS, GAMBLERS, RAMBLERS, SOLICITORS, SIDEKICKS, COHORTS, WINGMEN, WHEELMEN, LOOKOUTS, OUTLAWS, IN-LAWS, RELATIVES, FIANCES, GIRLFRIENDS, BOYFRIENDS, FAMILY, FRIENDS, ENEMIES, EVIL NEMISIS', CANVASSERS, INQUIRERS, QUEERS, QUEENS, COWBOYS, KINGS, **** DRAGS, HAGS, HETEROS, HOMOS, TONY ROMOS, FEMALE IMPERSONATORS, (PRE OR POST) MALE IMPERSONATORS, ***** ***** VAN ***** **** VAN **** LESBIANS, LIARS, BUYERS, CRYERS, CIGAR SMOKERS, CARPET MUNCHERS, RUG RATS, TODDLERS, TEENAGERS, YOUNGSTERS, SENIORS, SUCKERS, TRUCKERS, MOTHER shut yer mouth, LAW MAKERS, LAWYERS, ATTORNEYS, JUDGES, POLITICIANS, PECKERWOODS, LEADERS, FOLLOWERS, DISCIPLES, PROPHETS, EVANGELISTS, SAVIORS, SINNERS, SAINTS, SOOTHSAYERS, MEDICINE MEN, GYPSYS, TRAMPS, AND THIEVES, WITCHES, WARLOCKS, VAMPIRES, LYCANS, ZOMBIES, WAR MONGERS, PROTESTERS, SOLIDERS, GENERALS, GOVERNORS, PRESIDENTS, PATRIOTS, PACKERS, LIONS, BEARS, BROWNS, BLACKHAWKS, REDWINGS, RIGHT WING, LIBERALS, OR LAW BIDING CITIZENS, THEY ARE NOT TO CONTACT ME AND LOOSE MY NUMBER. BUT IF YOU SEE MY MOM, TELL HER TO CALL ME. ........................................................................BA-ZING....................................................................**
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4
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name! Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient; I see that the word of my city is that word up there, Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and wonderful spires, Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships—an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded, Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies; Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d; The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers—the river-streets; Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week; The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses—the brown-faced sailors; The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft; The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in the river, passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide; The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes; Trottoirs throng’d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and shows, The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating; A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men; The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves! The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the city of spires and masts! The city nested in bays! my city! The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after death to be with them! The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!
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4.2k
Walt Whitman
Mannahatta
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name! Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient; I see that the word of my city is that word up there, Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and wonderful spires, Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships—an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded, Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies; Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown, The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas, The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d; The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money-brokers—the river-streets; Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week; The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses—the brown-faced sailors; The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft; The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in the river, passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb-tide; The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes; Trottoirs throng’d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and shows, The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating; A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men; The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves! The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the city of spires and masts! The city nested in bays! my city! The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after death to be with them! The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!
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24
Blessed  with matchlessly magical Parents, Their supremely good, serenely happy raising, design our thought processes. Their loving, comforting storytelling skills, leave indelible footprints  and heartprints. Thankyou God for this Benedictory Love!!! Blessed with a bombastic Brother, self-styled natural, perennial itinerant, Sentinel of sisters life-long. Sentiments flow unabatedly, for our illustrious, boisterous beloved younger. Thankyou God for this Blissful Love!!! Blessed with delicate darling Sister, who wears expressions benignant perpetually. Wiitty, gritty, easy-going habitually. Evident protected favourite of all surely. Fondest moments born in her queenly company. Thankyou God for this Harmonious Love!!! Blessed with solicitous Husband, His silent romanticism, macho protective ways, smoothen tumultuous paths. Terribly correct and sober better half, Brokers peace, plots life's happiness graph. Thankyou God for this Angelic  Love!!! Blessed with an endearing Child, Whose arrival, auspicious, momentous and miraculous, Rearing the divine and sublime born, definitely, a definition for the guardians. Our child, our panacea, promise of better tomorrows. Thankyou God for this Supreme Love!!!
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Oct 1, 2020
Oct 1, 2020 at 2:06 AM UTC
gapretos
WHOM WE LOVE AND LIVE FOR !!!
Blessed  with matchlessly magical Parents, Their supremely good, serenely happy raising, design our thought processes. Their loving, comforting storytelling skills, leave indelible footprints  and heartprints. Thankyou God for this Benedictory Love!!! Blessed with a bombastic Brother, self-styled natural, perennial itinerant, Sentinel of sisters life-long. Sentiments flow unabatedly, for our illustrious, boisterous beloved younger. Thankyou God for this Blissful Love!!! Blessed with delicate darling Sister, who wears expressions benignant perpetually. Wiitty, gritty, easy-going habitually. Evident protected favourite of all surely. Fondest moments born in her queenly company. Thankyou God for this Harmonious Love!!! Blessed with solicitous Husband, His silent romanticism, macho protective ways, smoothen tumultuous paths. Terribly correct and sober better half, Brokers peace, plots life's happiness graph. Thankyou God for this Angelic  Love!!! Blessed with an endearing Child, Whose arrival, auspicious, momentous and miraculous, Rearing the divine and sublime born, definitely, a definition for the guardians. Our child, our panacea, promise of better tomorrows. Thankyou God for this Supreme Love!!!
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29
The result of privatization Is a loss too great to bear Government bowing to Industries Leading us towards despair Industries teach our children Whatever whim they choose While government stands in shackles It'll happen while we snooze Gamble with Social Security Until there is nothing left The brokers will have the money While leaving us all bereft Take elderly off of Medicare Give them a voucher instead When the market costs too much Who'll pay for their hospital bed? When people remove a government What will come in its place? The wealthy, the prideful, the arrogant Will take charge of the human race Didn't we fight for our freedom To break from the monarchy? Privatization rules through business For the elite to rule with greed
0
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 6:31 PM UTC
julia-mullin
Privatization
The result of privatization Is a loss too great to bear Government bowing to Industries Leading us towards despair Industries teach our children Whatever whim they choose While government stands in shackles It'll happen while we snooze Gamble with Social Security Until there is nothing left The brokers will have the money While leaving us all bereft Take elderly off of Medicare Give them a voucher instead When the market costs too much Who'll pay for their hospital bed? When people remove a government What will come in its place? The wealthy, the prideful, the arrogant Will take charge of the human race Didn't we fight for our freedom To break from the monarchy? Privatization rules through business For the elite to rule with greed
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24
Panasonic and Sony beeping in custom made Reid & Taylor pockets. A trade for a Rolex throned on his wrist in lieu of once existent dreams, in now hollow sockets. Adrenaline pumping before high stakes meetings and brunches. Calculating the dose of his choice of drug, penthouse suites and timeline crunches. Dizzy with ambition, painting ******* bleached canvasses. Narcissistic laughter aimed to beguile others, he, for whom his relaxants are stresses. Dealing with the Devil himself, power tainted and ill-gotten, the realization that humans are not beyond sale; in markets, mergers and acquisitions. Recessions, Inflations, cruel overdoses of risk, of danger unspoken. And when he surfaces again to consciousness, profits, losses both taken and broken. Lost in the sewers filled with; stock brokers and agents alike: the pawnors, a haughty expression with green bills, to score his ecstasy, capital owners. Another dollar, another hit never enough to sleep remembering the day. A Corporate ****** scouring for riches, a high, a trance not soon before long will sway.
0
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 9:04 AM UTC
Solembum
Corporate ******
Panasonic and Sony beeping in custom made Reid & Taylor pockets. A trade for a Rolex throned on his wrist in lieu of once existent dreams, in now hollow sockets. Adrenaline pumping before high stakes meetings and brunches. Calculating the dose of his choice of drug, penthouse suites and timeline crunches. Dizzy with ambition, painting ******* bleached canvasses. Narcissistic laughter aimed to beguile others, he, for whom his relaxants are stresses. Dealing with the Devil himself, power tainted and ill-gotten, the realization that humans are not beyond sale; in markets, mergers and acquisitions. Recessions, Inflations, cruel overdoses of risk, of danger unspoken. And when he surfaces again to consciousness, profits, losses both taken and broken. Lost in the sewers filled with; stock brokers and agents alike: the pawnors, a haughty expression with green bills, to score his ecstasy, capital owners. Another dollar, another hit never enough to sleep remembering the day. A Corporate ****** scouring for riches, a high, a trance not soon before long will sway.
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28
The Market crashed as the people dashed All the banks closed down The people frowned Natural disasters were all around Stock brokers quite literally took a dive Many people died On the day the earth stood still The daily grind The worry over bills Was replaced with the need to just survive Some people rioted just to get something to eat On the day the earth stood still Some people screamed While others cried Some people looked down looking for someone to blame Still others looked outward and sought ways to help out Some people banded together to keep each other and their neighbors alive Some people looked up While some people prayed for wisdom for themselves and others to get through this trial Some people looked within only and felt all alone Still others thought of this as a test of their will On The Day The Earth Stood Still I wonder if we were faced with this crisis would we stand together or fall apart ? perhaps the answer is found already in our hearts If we are lacking a strong network of family and friends Now is the time to start We don't want to be found slacking if the world falls apart Sometimes things happen in a blink of an eye It might be best to get ready just in case No time left for slacking if The Earth Stands Still
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Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 1:04 AM UTC
ButterflyAnn
On The Day The Earth Stood Still
The Market crashed as the people dashed All the banks closed down The people frowned Natural disasters were all around Stock brokers quite literally took a dive Many people died On the day the earth stood still The daily grind The worry over bills Was replaced with the need to just survive Some people rioted just to get something to eat On the day the earth stood still Some people screamed While others cried Some people looked down looking for someone to blame Still others looked outward and sought ways to help out Some people banded together to keep each other and their neighbors alive Some people looked up While some people prayed for wisdom for themselves and others to get through this trial Some people looked within only and felt all alone Still others thought of this as a test of their will On The Day The Earth Stood Still I wonder if we were faced with this crisis would we stand together or fall apart ? perhaps the answer is found already in our hearts If we are lacking a strong network of family and friends Now is the time to start We don't want to be found slacking if the world falls apart Sometimes things happen in a blink of an eye It might be best to get ready just in case No time left for slacking if The Earth Stands Still
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35
after witty humour, which spawned slapstick... slapstick can only spawn the last of the known humours... the offensive type, the 'get me out of this straithjacket of everything's fine apathy,' the ugly humour... rude humour... i take oaths humour... i rather write a swear word to oil up than degrade myself with thesaurus usage humour. why is poetry such a ***** of coding daily activity... who needs poetry if the everyday is intact? atheism didn’t **** god... it merely killed the logic of myth.... atheism is far worse than mythology... it just regurgitates facts to make you submit to them without the necessary philosophical awe of finding them interesting... poetry isn’t dead... it’s a ***** which is worse than death where i come from... there’s ezra with his fountain comparison: ‘i ****** in it... and put pigmenting chlorine in it - you **** in it... streaks of blue... i think that’s called cubism in france.’ did i say alcoholism was engineered by the nazis for the bomb sarcasm? cheap humour you say... ah well slapstick was invented after sarcasam... i heard the new best anti-ageing cream was butter rather than l’oreal - there are too many stages in the differences of women, i quite like the summer spring autumn winter thing going... it’s like this thing that’s happening right now... christian nations censor words... like **** cultish **** of the brothel... and islamic nations invoke words... like kefir (sour milk, not quite youghurt), dawah... adhan salat abraham... one party censors words for excess ***** saying: ‘we don’t like swear words in accomplished spelling, we like dyslexia and **** teen **** graphic...’ sounds about right... the other party says: ‘we hate censoring ***** words, that’s doubly censoring, censor ***** words get more dirt out of it... we invoke the power of arabic to teach koran latin for the knobs!’ problem sorted... we’re all power brokers of spelling / punctuation / arithmetic - that’s what i don’t get, the ratio of the two languages... all you have in the digits A to Z is spelling and punctuation... but what you have in the digits ZERO to NINE is so much more... is grammar a castle that’s keeping certain functions out? in mathematics you have +, x, obelisk, -, square root, etc. but in linguistics you have this permament reminder: SPELL RIGHT FROM WRONG AND RITE FROM THONG. well... ****** me timbers... i think i just spotted a lumberjack chequers tweed jacket.
0
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
a lumberjack chequers tweed jacket
after witty humour, which spawned slapstick... slapstick can only spawn the last of the known humours... the offensive type, the 'get me out of this straithjacket of everything's fine apathy,' the ugly humour... rude humour... i take oaths humour... i rather write a swear word to oil up than degrade myself with thesaurus usage humour. why is poetry such a ***** of coding daily activity... who needs poetry if the everyday is intact? atheism didn’t **** god... it merely killed the logic of myth.... atheism is far worse than mythology... it just regurgitates facts to make you submit to them without the necessary philosophical awe of finding them interesting... poetry isn’t dead... it’s a ***** which is worse than death where i come from... there’s ezra with his fountain comparison: ‘i ****** in it... and put pigmenting chlorine in it - you **** in it... streaks of blue... i think that’s called cubism in france.’ did i say alcoholism was engineered by the nazis for the bomb sarcasm? cheap humour you say... ah well slapstick was invented after sarcasam... i heard the new best anti-ageing cream was butter rather than l’oreal - there are too many stages in the differences of women, i quite like the summer spring autumn winter thing going... it’s like this thing that’s happening right now... christian nations censor words... like **** cultish **** of the brothel... and islamic nations invoke words... like kefir (sour milk, not quite youghurt), dawah... adhan salat abraham... one party censors words for excess ***** saying: ‘we don’t like swear words in accomplished spelling, we like dyslexia and **** teen **** graphic...’ sounds about right... the other party says: ‘we hate censoring ***** words, that’s doubly censoring, censor ***** words get more dirt out of it... we invoke the power of arabic to teach koran latin for the knobs!’ problem sorted... we’re all power brokers of spelling / punctuation / arithmetic - that’s what i don’t get, the ratio of the two languages... all you have in the digits A to Z is spelling and punctuation... but what you have in the digits ZERO to NINE is so much more... is grammar a castle that’s keeping certain functions out? in mathematics you have +, x, obelisk, -, square root, etc. but in linguistics you have this permament reminder: SPELL RIGHT FROM WRONG AND RITE FROM THONG. well... ****** me timbers... i think i just spotted a lumberjack chequers tweed jacket.
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50
On the massive Shoulders of Microsoft are... Children's games Search for names Weather reports Scores for Sports Travel news Rythmn & Blues Hotel prices Adult Devices Chinese Quisine Night Scene Machine Screw's High Heeled Shoes Butter Knife Future Wife Candy Crush Makeup Blush Family Tree Spending Spree Natural Pearls Web Cam Girls Rental Hall Disco ***** Dance Clubs Irish Pubs Paternity Tests Financial Invests Mortgage Brokers On Line Poker and, so much  more.....JMF 2/21/15
0
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
ShamusDeyo
Internet
On the massive Shoulders of Microsoft are... Children's games Search for names Weather reports Scores for Sports Travel news Rythmn & Blues Hotel prices Adult Devices Chinese Quisine Night Scene Machine Screw's High Heeled Shoes Butter Knife Future Wife Candy Crush Makeup Blush Family Tree Spending Spree Natural Pearls Web Cam Girls Rental Hall Disco ***** Dance Clubs Irish Pubs Paternity Tests Financial Invests Mortgage Brokers On Line Poker and, so much  more.....JMF 2/21/15
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31
Get impassioned, get informed, get involved, because our ignorance makes us impotent, irrational, idiotic invalids, incapable of inquiry, and strips us of our individuality. Time to step up and take back what's yours. Hedge fund managers and securities brokers hold a cumulative trillion + dollars in assets. While you're living on minimum wage, working 2 jobs, struggling with job security, or drowning in student debts; they rake in 9 figure incomes by gambling with other people's money, and get tax breaks that come out of your pocket. Your voice is not insignificant, you are just as important as the people you idolize. Believe in yourself and extend it to others. We are the collective majority, and we have been conned. Together, we have the power to make a change for the better, so spread the word, and tell em you heard: get impassioned, get informed, get involved.
0
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
iliveinyourhead
A Thought (Expanded)
Get impassioned, get informed, get involved, because our ignorance makes us impotent, irrational, idiotic invalids, incapable of inquiry, and strips us of our individuality. Time to step up and take back what's yours. Hedge fund managers and securities brokers hold a cumulative trillion + dollars in assets. While you're living on minimum wage, working 2 jobs, struggling with job security, or drowning in student debts; they rake in 9 figure incomes by gambling with other people's money, and get tax breaks that come out of your pocket. Your voice is not insignificant, you are just as important as the people you idolize. Believe in yourself and extend it to others. We are the collective majority, and we have been conned. Together, we have the power to make a change for the better, so spread the word, and tell em you heard: get impassioned, get informed, get involved.
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1
addressing my southpaw weakness... don't know... my left hand is a bit... weak...    started to train it...    by extinguishing cigarette butts on each other knuckles... have two vacant slots to fill... and plenty of whiskey...        why?   i paid my Shylock...   i was **** with the Gorbachev **** on my right shoulder blade... now comes the fun part! the lesson... of boxing, with not boxing gloves! i want the middle finger knuckle to... hurt... the... the most... like Tom Waits' circus narrative...   **** these teenage girls cutting... how about their start burning themselves, with hot, metallic objects? how's that? less blood!    ha ha!                  two knuckles down... two to go...     i'm giggling with anticipation... while, i, eat, the, pain! ha ha! who gives a **** about predictability, preachers / theologians or stock brokers? so who? the Turkish barbers, the English tailors, the French chefs?!       who?               the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire, let the ************ burn... we don't don't need no water let the ************ burn, let the ************ burn...       i'm a simpleton... catch the genie... catch the lamp sort of scenario... otherwise?   bon voyage / bon soir /     mon amí!    god, i hate the french!          it's like... you want to lick them... face to face... and then... punch them...         my type of ****** nationalism! comes the third knuckle... and the cigarette... it will be put out onto! - like an interrogator might... you show the victim undergoing the torture, with yourself prior...    and then?   torture the **** out of them! ha ha! i.e. who's the buckle, who's the knuckle, and who's the knee?! oh please! please! don't mention the oysters of the elbow! have some common decency!
0
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:52 PM UTC
removed.polaroid-scrabble
addressing my southpaw weakness
addressing my southpaw weakness... don't know... my left hand is a bit... weak...    started to train it...    by extinguishing cigarette butts on each other knuckles... have two vacant slots to fill... and plenty of whiskey...        why?   i paid my Shylock...   i was **** with the Gorbachev **** on my right shoulder blade... now comes the fun part! the lesson... of boxing, with not boxing gloves! i want the middle finger knuckle to... hurt... the... the most... like Tom Waits' circus narrative...   **** these teenage girls cutting... how about their start burning themselves, with hot, metallic objects? how's that? less blood!    ha ha!                  two knuckles down... two to go...     i'm giggling with anticipation... while, i, eat, the, pain! ha ha! who gives a **** about predictability, preachers / theologians or stock brokers? so who? the Turkish barbers, the English tailors, the French chefs?!       who?               the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire, let the ************ burn... we don't don't need no water let the ************ burn, let the ************ burn...       i'm a simpleton... catch the genie... catch the lamp sort of scenario... otherwise?   bon voyage / bon soir /     mon amí!    god, i hate the french!          it's like... you want to lick them... face to face... and then... punch them...         my type of ****** nationalism! comes the third knuckle... and the cigarette... it will be put out onto! - like an interrogator might... you show the victim undergoing the torture, with yourself prior...    and then?   torture the **** out of them! ha ha! i.e. who's the buckle, who's the knuckle, and who's the knee?! oh please! please! don't mention the oysters of the elbow! have some common decency!
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73
Saved myself with realm coin Went for the long con with put options Eschewed sold short term gain Let them railroad me with true colors Finessed my coalition willingly Painted a big picture expressed scope With mass appeal diverse production means Bred loyalty from salt of earth devotees Ends justified by all’s fair politics Power brokers stole my ideas for venal exploits Then claimed execution on midgets’ shoulders Made low hanging fruit that much more demanding High bar gymnastics twisted words blanched of meaning Model workers did lords’ bidding beyond expectations Barely rewarded with subsistence’s mounting debt to society Paid on inmates’ backs embroiled in endless energy wars
0
Oct 3, 2013
Oct 3, 2013 at 10:58 PM UTC
jeff-barbanell
Art of the Deal
Saved myself with realm coin Went for the long con with put options Eschewed sold short term gain Let them railroad me with true colors Finessed my coalition willingly Painted a big picture expressed scope With mass appeal diverse production means Bred loyalty from salt of earth devotees Ends justified by all’s fair politics Power brokers stole my ideas for venal exploits Then claimed execution on midgets’ shoulders Made low hanging fruit that much more demanding High bar gymnastics twisted words blanched of meaning Model workers did lords’ bidding beyond expectations Barely rewarded with subsistence’s mounting debt to society Paid on inmates’ backs embroiled in endless energy wars
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16
it took him two hours to count the bills; would you believe that? hihihi global network brokers state's attorneys distributors transnational trucking not to mention the containers entrepreneurs like him timeless my dear! he descends from a lineage of cold-blooded hawk-eyed eager men quite brutish well but who wouldn't fight for money? you see? moreover as far as i'm concerned we are talking about a well established name here; engraved above monuments nationwide you mustn't worry good people clean reputations don't look behind you don't mind the reflection don't try to feel the hole in the back of your head it's just your blood it will be over you have to die now
0
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 7:45 PM UTC
maxneumann
CRyME
it took him two hours to count the bills; would you believe that? hihihi global network brokers state's attorneys distributors transnational trucking not to mention the containers entrepreneurs like him timeless my dear! he descends from a lineage of cold-blooded hawk-eyed eager men quite brutish well but who wouldn't fight for money? you see? moreover as far as i'm concerned we are talking about a well established name here; engraved above monuments nationwide you mustn't worry good people clean reputations don't look behind you don't mind the reflection don't try to feel the hole in the back of your head it's just your blood it will be over you have to die now
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37
I know a lady who waits Down on Wall Street, Snaps her fingers At brokers And licks her lips for Madoff. She adorns her body With black lace and feathers, An elaborate facade to lead her men astray. She whips her hair and Cackles at passersby, Opening her rouged mouth wide, Singing verses without pitch or rhyme. She yearns for the NASDAQ To touch her, Waits ardently for grease ***** to Work their magic. She gives willingly, Unabashedly talks ***** to men in Tom Ford. This lady I know asks For trouble. She is The ***** of Wall Street, A slave to modernity, Snapping her fingers at Cadillacs And bending over for Madoff.
0
Jul 7, 2011
Jul 7, 2011 at 9:42 PM UTC
john-david-morris-meriwether
The ********** of Wall Street
I know a lady who waits Down on Wall Street, Snaps her fingers At brokers And licks her lips for Madoff. She adorns her body With black lace and feathers, An elaborate facade to lead her men astray. She whips her hair and Cackles at passersby, Opening her rouged mouth wide, Singing verses without pitch or rhyme. She yearns for the NASDAQ To touch her, Waits ardently for grease ***** to Work their magic. She gives willingly, Unabashedly talks ***** to men in Tom Ford. This lady I know asks For trouble. She is The ***** of Wall Street, A slave to modernity, Snapping her fingers at Cadillacs And bending over for Madoff.
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25
When I was 18 I learned a lesson in jewelry: A pocketwatch that taught about loss that was never mine to lose. I borrowed the euros I paid for it. Most loss is something felt by ranchers and bankers and stock brokers. Because they own the things they have. You are not mine and so I cannot lose you. That's free sadness and free happiness, too.
0
Jun 28, 2013
Jun 28, 2013 at 8:12 PM UTC
carly-two
Checkpoint Charlie
When I was 18 I learned a lesson in jewelry: A pocketwatch that taught about loss that was never mine to lose. I borrowed the euros I paid for it. Most loss is something felt by ranchers and bankers and stock brokers. Because they own the things they have. You are not mine and so I cannot lose you. That's free sadness and free happiness, too.
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11
Hope is dangerous Perhaps that's why it hangs around on street corners And in doorways Waiting to waylay me as I pass through To get my morning coffee I've been fighting with Hope But it doesn't fight fair It has a shiv that cuts deeply into my heart And the parry fractures on my ulnae Say more about its victory over my defenses Than these inadequate words ever can. Hope has a rap sheet a mile long And when it comes knocking, Part of me knows it would probably be better To turn out the lights and pretend I'm not home But I'm recklessly unafraid. And the danger excites me. And I climb on the back of Hope's motorcycle Not caring that he's taking the curves too fast And I let hope sneak me out of the house in the middle of the night Running away together into the night Knowing full well that when the morning comes, He will be long gone. Hope has me sitting in this car in an abandoned shipyard Waiting for the drop Believing, against all sanity, that you will show up To make the exchange To continue the deal. Hope is reckless and fearless Hope is the explanation behind every one of these scars I haven't seen you in a long time, but Foolishly, I still believe in your promise And soon, the court date with Hope will come And my love for you will stand trial Though it's never been anything but innocent, I know I would be found guilty, time and again Hope blasphemously sits in the judges chair Feet up on the railing As he waits for you to show up and swear in. Hope brokers back-door deals with me in the passenger seat Leads me down dark alleys at 2 in the morning Making promises nobody could ever keep He keeps my bank account at an all-time low He holds the gun to my ribcage in the tattoo parlor and asks, one more time "Will this save you? Will this make you free?" Hope is an exercise in flirtation with disaster Except that Hope doesn't know how to flirt, Doesn't do anything halfway - It becomes an exercise in falling in love with disaster Finding beauty in the broken things. I'm begging you - I know Hope is dangerous But please don't tear him away from me Dear god, please. Because if you leave this time If you fail me now If you walk away, he walks with you. Despair becomes my only company And though dangerous, Hope is exciting Despair just hands me the bottle of tequila And shaking his head knowingly, tells me To drink until it's empty To say goodbye to you and Hope The only way I can
0
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
hannah-a
The Only Way I Can
Hope is dangerous Perhaps that's why it hangs around on street corners And in doorways Waiting to waylay me as I pass through To get my morning coffee I've been fighting with Hope But it doesn't fight fair It has a shiv that cuts deeply into my heart And the parry fractures on my ulnae Say more about its victory over my defenses Than these inadequate words ever can. Hope has a rap sheet a mile long And when it comes knocking, Part of me knows it would probably be better To turn out the lights and pretend I'm not home But I'm recklessly unafraid. And the danger excites me. And I climb on the back of Hope's motorcycle Not caring that he's taking the curves too fast And I let hope sneak me out of the house in the middle of the night Running away together into the night Knowing full well that when the morning comes, He will be long gone. Hope has me sitting in this car in an abandoned shipyard Waiting for the drop Believing, against all sanity, that you will show up To make the exchange To continue the deal. Hope is reckless and fearless Hope is the explanation behind every one of these scars I haven't seen you in a long time, but Foolishly, I still believe in your promise And soon, the court date with Hope will come And my love for you will stand trial Though it's never been anything but innocent, I know I would be found guilty, time and again Hope blasphemously sits in the judges chair Feet up on the railing As he waits for you to show up and swear in. Hope brokers back-door deals with me in the passenger seat Leads me down dark alleys at 2 in the morning Making promises nobody could ever keep He keeps my bank account at an all-time low He holds the gun to my ribcage in the tattoo parlor and asks, one more time "Will this save you? Will this make you free?" Hope is an exercise in flirtation with disaster Except that Hope doesn't know how to flirt, Doesn't do anything halfway - It becomes an exercise in falling in love with disaster Finding beauty in the broken things. I'm begging you - I know Hope is dangerous But please don't tear him away from me Dear god, please. Because if you leave this time If you fail me now If you walk away, he walks with you. Despair becomes my only company And though dangerous, Hope is exciting Despair just hands me the bottle of tequila And shaking his head knowingly, tells me To drink until it's empty To say goodbye to you and Hope The only way I can
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64
No one ever asked me if I wanted to be shackled, instead of being free no one ever asked, but decided anyway to turn and bolt the open doors tie me to the dusty concrete floors and work me to the bone. No one said,you'll never own a home and if you do we'll steal it back and mortgage you instead, one day we'll all be dead 'so what's the rush?' is what I said. Brokers in the token towers endowed with powers beyond our 'ken' and if or when they do decide to let the status quo remain the status quo will automatically, register it as another of the same old krap it's something else that they'll steal back. I've got to tell you, that I'm pig sick of make it fast and spend it quick and sod the rule of law it never did apply , to the hotshot, potbellied, suited city guy who has his eye on articles one to five and in any case will most definitely survive against the odds by burying away us poor sods in backroom books,stirred slowly into microfilm by corporate crooks who cook away as if each day a different menu was on sale. Beyond the pale where riders sit and watch the scenes unfold, and it is foretold that judgement day will wash the wicked clean away and save the righteous. Yes, well don't I just believe all that another bunch of total krap. The pious in their pious world could not foresee that greed alone would be the fall of man..and in the fall,where man has done it all and nothing of it done remains the register clicks on two more games to play one tonight and one the day to come a bonus ball for everyone except Mario because he's on heroin,you know it,I know it the moguls in the mighty towers blow coke into their nose and they know it too. Not a thing I want to do should I do, would I if I could do,do? I wonder where it's written that we have to go there to get back and if we go why don't we stay one day we'll all be dead. A thought as going ,when to bed arrived in and another trial that I survived through one more dish of microfiche that never swam in any sea and small as anything you see or smaller for all that a status bit of *** for tat and let the gnats and hounds of titled lords and ladies give the peasants rampant rabies, who cares but the undertakers undertaker,the sombre funeral formulator? and I don't give a ****
0
Jul 12, 2013
Jul 12, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
john-edward-smallshaw
Hopscotch
No one ever asked me if I wanted to be shackled, instead of being free no one ever asked, but decided anyway to turn and bolt the open doors tie me to the dusty concrete floors and work me to the bone. No one said,you'll never own a home and if you do we'll steal it back and mortgage you instead, one day we'll all be dead 'so what's the rush?' is what I said. Brokers in the token towers endowed with powers beyond our 'ken' and if or when they do decide to let the status quo remain the status quo will automatically, register it as another of the same old krap it's something else that they'll steal back. I've got to tell you, that I'm pig sick of make it fast and spend it quick and sod the rule of law it never did apply , to the hotshot, potbellied, suited city guy who has his eye on articles one to five and in any case will most definitely survive against the odds by burying away us poor sods in backroom books,stirred slowly into microfilm by corporate crooks who cook away as if each day a different menu was on sale. Beyond the pale where riders sit and watch the scenes unfold, and it is foretold that judgement day will wash the wicked clean away and save the righteous. Yes, well don't I just believe all that another bunch of total krap. The pious in their pious world could not foresee that greed alone would be the fall of man..and in the fall,where man has done it all and nothing of it done remains the register clicks on two more games to play one tonight and one the day to come a bonus ball for everyone except Mario because he's on heroin,you know it,I know it the moguls in the mighty towers blow coke into their nose and they know it too. Not a thing I want to do should I do, would I if I could do,do? I wonder where it's written that we have to go there to get back and if we go why don't we stay one day we'll all be dead. A thought as going ,when to bed arrived in and another trial that I survived through one more dish of microfiche that never swam in any sea and small as anything you see or smaller for all that a status bit of *** for tat and let the gnats and hounds of titled lords and ladies give the peasants rampant rabies, who cares but the undertakers undertaker,the sombre funeral formulator? and I don't give a ****
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40
Uncle Sam reclines and unwinds In his Adirondack chair The Statue of Liberty reminds the Mater at Arms Of the time when he was put in a peyote trance It was only then he caught on He rammed his head against his headboard every night Wracking your brain, trying to wrap it around the concept of the excommunication of those who have had their mouths washed out with soap There will be no fanfare for the stray lambs They are only meal tickets for the clergy Concord grapes and word of mouth Raise the question, "what is in a hot dog?" Don't latch on to me after I dance with you into mad denial under a brass florescent chandelier in front of all the stock brokers and shareholders I'll dismantle your silver lining with a spork The  cow pies disappear due to erosion It's good to see you, I didn't know burlap sacks were all the rage right now Stencil your name on it for good measure How do you feel after your ego death?
0
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
tommy-johnson
Kundalini
Uncle Sam reclines and unwinds In his Adirondack chair The Statue of Liberty reminds the Mater at Arms Of the time when he was put in a peyote trance It was only then he caught on He rammed his head against his headboard every night Wracking your brain, trying to wrap it around the concept of the excommunication of those who have had their mouths washed out with soap There will be no fanfare for the stray lambs They are only meal tickets for the clergy Concord grapes and word of mouth Raise the question, "what is in a hot dog?" Don't latch on to me after I dance with you into mad denial under a brass florescent chandelier in front of all the stock brokers and shareholders I'll dismantle your silver lining with a spork The  cow pies disappear due to erosion It's good to see you, I didn't know burlap sacks were all the rage right now Stencil your name on it for good measure How do you feel after your ego death?
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17
The Red Sea! It lay like a distressed soul, unsettled, deserted and restless; On its tile-paved shore, I leant against a lamp post, in the desert land; Women in burkas busied themselves with their kids and picnic baskets; While cats searched voraciously, among the rubble, for the left over bones. On my left lay Sanaa, the once upon a time city of Shem, first-born of Noah, Whence Queen Sheba embarked in all majesty with gifts for King Solomon. And far, beyond the saltiest swelling Red, lay the darkly exploited continent. Now, a warm gust of wind slogged its way into my lone distraught self. Tides heaved, flickered their wet tongues across the rubble, and licked me, Then withdrew themselves tired, but again and again returned half-heartedly With much salty tears and sweats of ******* and sufferings of bygone ages: The assorted agonies of the Mediterranean, the Indian and the Pacific deeps. Through the dull splashes, waded to me, Moses and Aron and the Pharaoh; They said: “Visitor, listen to the voices of the depths!” And I heard well The abysmal rattle of chariots, wheels and bones, uncarbontestably ancient. And in the splash of the Red, I scarily tasted the tears and blood of torments. Then they cautioned me: “Beware of the pseudo-democrats and pseudo-reds: The gunpowder brokers!” and quoted: “In this world, you’ll have troubles.” And now, the Sea sounded: “Sorry my dear son, I’m here to bear all these.” I sighed in pain, but the Sea, through the burning lamp posts, smiled at me.
0
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
john-kuriakose
THE MOMENTOUS MEETING
The Red Sea! It lay like a distressed soul, unsettled, deserted and restless; On its tile-paved shore, I leant against a lamp post, in the desert land; Women in burkas busied themselves with their kids and picnic baskets; While cats searched voraciously, among the rubble, for the left over bones. On my left lay Sanaa, the once upon a time city of Shem, first-born of Noah, Whence Queen Sheba embarked in all majesty with gifts for King Solomon. And far, beyond the saltiest swelling Red, lay the darkly exploited continent. Now, a warm gust of wind slogged its way into my lone distraught self. Tides heaved, flickered their wet tongues across the rubble, and licked me, Then withdrew themselves tired, but again and again returned half-heartedly With much salty tears and sweats of ******* and sufferings of bygone ages: The assorted agonies of the Mediterranean, the Indian and the Pacific deeps. Through the dull splashes, waded to me, Moses and Aron and the Pharaoh; They said: “Visitor, listen to the voices of the depths!” And I heard well The abysmal rattle of chariots, wheels and bones, uncarbontestably ancient. And in the splash of the Red, I scarily tasted the tears and blood of torments. Then they cautioned me: “Beware of the pseudo-democrats and pseudo-reds: The gunpowder brokers!” and quoted: “In this world, you’ll have troubles.” And now, the Sea sounded: “Sorry my dear son, I’m here to bear all these.” I sighed in pain, but the Sea, through the burning lamp posts, smiled at me.
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20
50’s beach party complete with twitchy go-go dancers leather jackets and old Plymouths sand kicked in the faces of squares as little Suzie Goodtime roller skates across the parking lot picket fences shift from white to orange and pink as they capture the sunset on a perfect American day – free lovers swing signs written in crayon attempting to challenge the establishment create world peace through **** abuse and music in the park subjugated and relegated to building a retirement platform aged hipsters look at faded photographs imagining a time they changed the all – blown out coke head bent on disco ***** and easy living watches as Miami explodes CIA operatives feeding high grade dope to low rent projects in an effort to funnel money and guns into the Middle East – gas wars and brokers as billionaires death to glam rock and hairspray the rise of bling and swag selfies take center stage unabashed introversion as the skies are geometric grids and the crops **** pollinators – looking over a lifetime of altering perception and changing habits the habitual nature of humanity shines as a solid base from which all else stems forced to recognize my own place in the septic tank I stand as an observer and documenter cleverly bending the woes of the world into words for the lost –
0
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
s-lyman-temple
a look back
50’s beach party complete with twitchy go-go dancers leather jackets and old Plymouths sand kicked in the faces of squares as little Suzie Goodtime roller skates across the parking lot picket fences shift from white to orange and pink as they capture the sunset on a perfect American day – free lovers swing signs written in crayon attempting to challenge the establishment create world peace through **** abuse and music in the park subjugated and relegated to building a retirement platform aged hipsters look at faded photographs imagining a time they changed the all – blown out coke head bent on disco ***** and easy living watches as Miami explodes CIA operatives feeding high grade dope to low rent projects in an effort to funnel money and guns into the Middle East – gas wars and brokers as billionaires death to glam rock and hairspray the rise of bling and swag selfies take center stage unabashed introversion as the skies are geometric grids and the crops **** pollinators – looking over a lifetime of altering perception and changing habits the habitual nature of humanity shines as a solid base from which all else stems forced to recognize my own place in the septic tank I stand as an observer and documenter cleverly bending the woes of the world into words for the lost –
Continue reading...
41