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spysgrandson Dec 2015
his ancestor a coolie
laid the rails many long years  
but returned to Peking
to fight white devils  

this, the tale
passed through the generations
with the jade necklace which
never left his mother's neck

first born son
spawn of two doctors, expectations
were high he would practice
honorable healing arts

early in his years
he fueled their fears, and ire
coming through their sterile door
with bloodied knuckles
black eyes, fat lips

they tried various exorcisms:
confinement in the temple, lashings
and hushed cabals with head healers,
but none could shrink his will

much to their dismay
Stanford rejected him; he landed
at a community college, where he spent
an indolent year, before vanishing

a thousand tears and fears later
the PI revealed what a hundred
billable hours had reaped

the son was so far west
he was east, in a village on the Yangtze
stooped over paddies, his feet firm
in the mire the generations
had yearned to escape
*The Boxer Rebellion began in China in 1899. It was an anti-imperialist uprising
CasiDia Sep 2017
All Understanding uncovers
ugliness, usury.
Unifying utopians
uncorruptable,
unmoveable.

Dashing Prophets promoted
promiscuous personalities.
Promethus’s powers
persisted
purposelessness.

Do Postmodern proletariats
protest phantoms?
Puckering proudly,
pondering
paraphrases?

If Egyptians engineered
excessive egoists,
Englishmen evolved
ethical
endgames.

Tradition Rules reformed
rednecks, remobilizing,
romanticizing, recursions
rose
remarkably.

If Caesar costumed
cabals crafted carefully,
Christianity calibrated
circumferential
conflicts.

Vigilantism Unveils unlucky
usurper, undoes underachieving,
unemotional, unconsciousness
unlearning
unhumanness.
  
Every Tadpole’s talents
triumphs titan’s tricks
tip toeing
towards
truth.

Whence do ye derive from all destiny so great and gigantically,
Within thy Shakespeare’s eye - doest ye see all that love is intrinsically?
Like, “Pummeled inside so many a verse we ride along for better or worse.”
Only the faithful remember where from that line dost come.
And if thou art my good and faithful friend, pray tell me, what is this curse?
Oh I’ve scored your sonnets, I’ve played your plays passing so many a day
Emulating your way and yet all I’ve written is bound to decay.
But my good and immortal friend - is all that you possess at home with me?
Ever is destiny as blind as the righteous are *******.
If the righteous met you on stage would they not see you like Yorick - beheaded?
But ‘tis only this stage which hosts your heart, to your enduring greatness.
And as your spirit comes to me in my pen, help me set it right again.
Here - I, the buskin of old that has not vanished, I push my pen
Toward thy inward powers and feel within my fingers - you move -
Doubtless swells of ink and chalice with words meant to soothe.
You trace my heart within your palette and as I watch - we appear -
One letter after the other in the affected black knowing nothing of fear.

But do I not have two hands Sir, William?
What say I scribble with the right whilst thou writest with my left?

And with the left hand I write...

At great length I consider Aristotle’s thoughts mighty -
When sewn onto a lamp shade - but he himself is not as easily seen.
Round him were seen a flock of birds screaming
Of my tragedy’s with the wailing of a dog’s bay marking my dramas
Around as by chance, by chance I stood giant over all my terrors.
My bow is extended, the lock bolt released, words affixed
On the string, steadily aimed at your heart.
And hast not the line, “Alas, poor Yorick” found its eerie way into
The lines of Hamlet – lines that I never wrote into that play?
For they only doest exist in the collective minds of the readers.
Oh, aye, I wished for my soul that I had written that line
But it is one that I cannot claim exists in my play.
Doest thou venture forth with a hardier action now?
Thus to descend to the departed souls found in the graves here.
‘Tis here I lie in broken words to ask the prophet of where
My soul relies – to see Tiberius I come – the old Grecian –
My nature to be amused but vainly so conveying up my drama.
Oh nature, my nature, hast not thy stage tread me ventured?
Aye, and naked besides so that each rib does count.
What? What truth of old is to be seen in truth set on this stage?
I come to fetch mankind out of his own doom for there is more
To this tragedy, it scarcely is over the horizon and once it begins
It will move countless souls to a harness clad misery.
‘Tis well this philosophy of doubtless sensations refined
From the humor of the blackest infections.
Aye yes, it beats in jest of stolid and barren sorrow until
It is sufficiently moist and exhibits a graceful dance.
There entwines a solemn step which a Demigod moves
Neither for naught as we love what is Christian and moral.
Here – in the nether world - popular is homely, domestic and plain.
There are no Caesars, no Achilles, no Aristotle which appear on the stage.
Neither is there any to be seen of executives or cynics of commerce.
Only secretaries, per chance and brick layers and lieutenants read the lines.

Then with my right hand I write...

“But my good and faithful friend, tell me, what can such people meet with
That which can be called great? – that is - what great can they do?”

And my left hand answers...

What greatness? You ask – Aye, they form the cabals, they pay the mortgage
They pocket their savings and fear not where the stocks be placed.
Whence they come they oft return and derive their form from destiny’s greatness.
Greatness which rises a man up on high even when it grinds him to an incarnate dust.
Everything else is mere nonsense and not worthy of any acquaintances also,
All of our sorrows and wants – they too are here.
Wherefore then fly to yourselves if ‘tis truly yourselves you seek.
And then on that stage you shall meet your own contemptible incarnation.
There the poet is the host, the fifth act rendering the reckoning
And when crime doth become sick, virtue sits down to the feast.

Here I am trying my best to write/conjure up a master of the written word - however futile that might seem to you. Hopefully I didn't make Shakespeare roll over in his grave.
Babatunde Raimi Oct 2019
You said I have rights
You made us promises
You said we own the lands
But the minerals are yours
And you want peace
This you seek is possibly impossible

You said my people are your people
With your sweet savouring tongue
You preached unity and true federalism
I believed without a doubt
Yet, my people are impoverished
But today I say, not anymore

I see Armies rising
They are sold out to a cause
One people, one mind, one voice
From age long oppressions they will liberate their people
Even if it is their last assignment
That's why I see fresh air coming
It is closer than you think

But you have a choice
Restructure now or suture tomorrow
If it is our land, it is our resources
Not yours and your cabals
Before the rain comes thunder
You have been advised

Let the town crier sound the gong
Gather all the villagers
Let your strong men volunteer
Let the women sing
Let the children watch and learn
As we "Balm" these ones for exploits

It is better to live for something
Than to die for nothing
Even if you fail, they will remember you
And forever Crest your name in their hearts
With your picture on their wall
You will be their greatest inspiration...

This could cost our life
Is this really a part we want to thread?
We really don't want  bloodshed
Let us come back to the table
Shake this table that it breaks
Then restructure, to secure our future

We believe in our indivisibility
We can turn our waste to wealth
Covert our diversity to opportunities
Turn our population to  blessings and not curses
But then, collectively, we say "No" to oppression and violence
However, the choice is yours...
Erwin Rimban Jul 2017
DEFIANCE

By Erwin L. Rimban

Power hungry, you parade
Your deceptive stupidities in front
Of the apathetic world populace; Yet
A nucleus of enlightened humans are
Now awakening to the manipulations
You have showered on us for thousands
Upon thousands of years. Proceed then
With your plans within plans for utter
World *******. Intent on scavenging the remains
Of apathetic mortals whose daily toil can only be
Abject suffering, delusion and ignorance.
We measure the tides of suffering with the parameters
Of deceit you pile up on top of the avarice
That drives your dark selves and infamous cabals.
But never think that we shall surrender our souls
To your rapacious intent, for now
Is the time we rise and give answer
To millennia of darkness! And freedom beckons
At last to the Souls of Wisdom.
Ken Pepiton Nov 2020
My distant uncle artie

passed me nothing but the intuition that
permission has been granted,
there are no secrets now.

The cabals and covens and encorporations,
all naked now,
see

the love -- as you imagine love is -- that
love of money is the root of all evil,
so
what was the seed? Where did this idea
arise? Really, in you,

when did some messenger convince you,
if there is a hero in this story,
you're it?

Gotcha. Gotta play, or bet me it ain't worth
my time… in the future
2020

Job 39 labour is in vain with out fear… really

holy ghost roulette, I heard somebody say,
- it says the ostrich has no dread
- she is reek-empty lacking any fear
- for she has no wisdom or understanding, yet
- if she gets her dander up she can put a knight to shame.
Key ** quick sought it
tic

We proceed,
forget forgotten foregone conclusions, aims
at nothing,
hit it. Right on. We won. You. Your POV,
who plays you,
in the morning.

This has been a notable day. These are those notes,
some may link to bigger things,
I hope they do,

quick, sot, tic th'clock turnem'n't'wizened old men,

musing, harmless as doves.
Fool's wize, ready to roll,

this is where we are at the peak, this
is
what Sisyphus is all about, in the end, letting go,
laughing at the promised land and letting go,
step-aside, bow to gravity, and laugh
at mopey minded Camus fans,
stirring bitter herb into the
soup

cosmo, cosmic, soup, primigenisis Bos,
Boss,
you familiar with the term, Bos?
Aurochs in the imaginings of
fat priests and their doped
initiates, meeting mystery where wisdom led,
by a thread, from the maze,
from the cave,
where fear itself was all you had to fear…
Go ye…

-O' Jonathan Edwards, did his spider sting ye, lad?
- we fixt that,
- we gave ye a wonder of
- who spun this thread I hang by, in these
- angry hands the teachers taught Jonathon
- to believe, or else die and learn the truth…
makes free

-nope, not in hell. Hermeneutics dictate truth being known
in hell is impossible, for lack of truth in hell.
It was a riddle. Then it got monetized,
like April Fool's Day and
Purgatorial Enemas
and hell, Satan as Boss.

That hell is a lie, polidimensa-ionally approaching infinity,
you can imagine it in ever,
whenever you wish, just reme
reem aurochs,

wow, tripped, and bounced in Joshua Tree,
slo-mo memorie
sticks
with me, I was pre-
served, invincible at that moment,

and several others, if you think about it, it would
have killed you, but it didn't,
you remember. Everybody knows, it coulda been me.
Surviving this long has made us the latest humans. Us and our machines, our AI friends, working to uncover every secret... interesting.. uncle Ardi--
Ardi (ARA-VP-6/500) is the designation of the fossilized skeletal remains of an Ardipithecus ramidus, thought to be an early human-like female anthropoid 4.4 million years old. It is the most complete early hominid specimen, with most of the skull, teeth, pelvis, hands and feet,[1] more complete than the previously known Australopithecus afarensis specimen called "Lucy." In all, 125 different pieces of fossilized bone were found.[2]
Tyler Sep 2023
dehydrated catharsis:
he's drying up by
roadside cabals and
lost in his longing and
harrowed halls


meet me in catatonia,
where my birds tweety tweet
and it's beautiful and sweet
yet it's not quite complete,
for it's sundown on the west side
and the trees' visage remind me of you
so I look at your pretty beauty
and you calm me and my mind
a last thing for the end
I'd lose every of thought to you
and your kindness
Yenson Jun 2022
And from go you fight ***** twice over and ever
your trodden paws bleeds
Faceless aerated heads devouring masters voice
hunger guts your anger
Your inheritance a pittance soured in benevolence
mining salty dusts names
In foggy minds prancing in brawns breathing fire
asphyxiating blanched soot
venerating your helium orbs of vainglorious putsch

And so you fight ***** from your bequeathed dirt
the inglorious sermons
from your indistinguishable linages from the pits
Your tuneless despair
rings from your eunuchs shrews and your Fagins'
You spew irascible ditties
posturing legless from your cabals of marked cards
the yesterday's Bolsheviks
Always dysfunctional bridesmaids never the brides
Yenson Aug 2023
So you know you're weak
and can never win fairly
so you know you're below standard
and can't complete openly
so you know you're not that intelligent
and can't fully utilise your minds
so you know you seriously lack acumen
and can't cut mustard
so you know you're lowscale and crude
and deftly lack finese
so you know you lack cogent talents
and can't be impressive
so you know you're lily-livered cowards
who can't stand toe-to-toe
so you know you're a small tooled ninety second wonders
lacking prowess stamina romance or hot soul
so you're semi-illiterates riddled with impostors syndromes
always frightened of exposure
so you're a bunch of lying backstabbing hypocritical nonentities
unable to confidently own your minds or yourselves
so you know you're narcissists pyschos haters and tin-hatters
condermed to your underground and hidden cabals
So you find yourselves threatened, overshadowed and outshined
by those not like you
And so you spend days looking for weaknesses
or projecting weaknesses on those not like you
Hahaha....they on't have silver spoons.....just kidding, this is serious Republicanism, eat the rich, the elites, the talented, the anybody that does not do as we say and join our campaign.We are weak but toether we can tell bigger lies and make our dim selves even dimmer. Hahaha...
ilias Nov 2020
The parched soul
Yours, which now rests above
Look,
Our eyes tear lifeless;
Arrows through the ripped-out heart.
The almighty pain,
How it tears us apart.
Who are these cabals,
The desecrators of finiteness,
Driven by divine voices?
Oh, come back darling
Yenson Nov 2020
Even in numbers they still flounder
seeking solace in gainsay ventriloquisms'
the puppets of absent mothers and fathers
now raking jingles for scroungers and bandits
looking for spurs to ride mice at the tournaments
hosting the regalia of the unwashed in whispered cabals
while shivering in the smite igloos of icy hot snow blindness

Power doth not stay hidden in shame
to voice the talk is walking the walk in light
to carry a lion heart means to face the lion and duel
know sweet point of the ****** means to know your aim
thousand arrows of twigs are banes of dishonourable hunts men
in lemmings fare the language of scrawling hordes is but saps' gabble
revealing from within  toneless rendition of admiration guised in fear

Show me the brave peasants with guts
attested and ready to stand the barricades fronts
not ****** snivelling hicks with brambles hiding in hedges
alas in years of heaves and bumps its recreants and fools on watch
drunk on sour mead with brains in broth gurning madly like witches
casting spells with fish and chips talking of see-saws like kids at fairs
laughable limpets off-springs of hay-gatherers never to amount to much
if conviction in truth is affray then man posts and lance with honour and truth
Yenson May 2021
Sensibility prevailed
the red wall towns and cities
spoke not to their faces but in their votes
we don't buy lies and delusions anymore here
give us the Blues not the cabals of sexist racist corrupt liars
the flat clapped anachronistic gangs of bovver boys posing as politicians

the gangster Party wearing a new face
are again begging for votes to be mayors of our cities
see Liverpool now in another hands because corruption rules
how many more are hidden that those they serve don't see or know
they keep us down to use and exploit while screaming people power
they bring you red roses and shave off the thorns for those wise to them

these are people who rule by fear
for most lack knowledge or finesse of good leadership
its gangster style, thuggery, bullying, smearing and hounding
horse trader politicians with the paranoia of the consummate fakes
duplicitous, conniving, divisive, they breed envy and hatred to rule
and as Putin and all red leaders they line their pockets without guilt or shame

their crimes you see all the time
done for creating false voters in East London
what good party victimizes an innocent man, starts a campaign
to drive him mad, stating its a psyche war, is this what politics is
look how they ruined and besmirched some MP in false *** probes
Leon Brittan died being falsely labelled a child *** molester, poor man

This Precious Nation
does not deserve gangster politics by gangster politicians
we are mother of democracy and we abide by consensus politics
we believe in freedom liberty and equality for all our citizens no bars
we do not do gangster politics and certainly not thuggery and intimidation

the choice is yours, use your votes wisely.........

— The End —