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Sal Gelles Feb 2014
falsehoods spread like wildfire;
spreading like disease, consuming
every speck of hope and dreams,
leaving everyone emptied in the end.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
.a very prominent interlude of bitterness - something that needs to be drank as an antidote of the aftertaste of a brothel... bourbon - sickly-sweet bourbon of a brothel... otherwise the best beer on these isles: the original stout: st. guinness - second, 13... hop house lager by the same culprit... i don't know about you but a regular IPA doesn't float my boat... stale pale ale of 3 day old sputnik ***** excavation of bio-matter living off of iron shrapnel and termite ****... let's not go over-board with the bitterness of fenugreek seeds added to a curry... but... a hop lager is not an indian pale ale... because? well: because of the excited circumstance of extra bubbles! once upon a time that horrid absinthe period... last time i checked i became the st. peter of the drug details... ***** tells you too many truths come the moral-hangover the next day... but ms. amber in her guise of adele bloch-bauer by klimt: take her for a whiskey, take her for a bourbon... a chanel no. 5... or a brandy or a cognac... please excuse me from drinking the ales... goldwasser: athens, sparta, venice... dan dan Danzig... i'd call the genesis of world war II to be... that envy of the city-state... the little cosmopolitan high-heavens of a concentrated locum... of affairs of both tourism and the subsequent merchant class... that Danzig didn't belong to anyone: not really... does it even matter now? the current city-state model is... don't bother filtering the excesses... it has to become diluted... you'll find pockets of concentration near them... yes... homogenous... therefore solaced by that fact alone... only teasing incorporating outside influences... it's not going to be a replica venice or danzig... for that you'd need a window... st. peter designated the window into europe as a capital with an access to the sea... not land locked... even though i'm pretty sure that moscow has a river running through it... jump-start the window: a capital by the sea... hey presto! a window: the baltic sea into europe... words that become apparent: microcongestion of undigested souls... a schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... another foot in reicarnation... lob it or nutmeg the footie: it's a particle when observed and a wave when not observed... an orbit for the schematic... but a cloud when getting into the nitty-gritty details: specifics oblong... misnomer... if my ******* into a tissue, subsequently flushed... then a baptism of a shower... is not a genocide? then... bullseye... the ***** that made it into the ****... it's an abortion mid-week... i'd count that ****** come a certain count of months... otherwise... well... there's that cat of his... one foot in limbo and one foot in reincarnation... wasn't it the western exhausted theological mind: from that god of the omni- litany looking toward the budding-ha-ha? abortion... prized ***** makes it to the egg... ah... ****** from the argument of effort... me and the basic schematics of genocide... otherwise: schrödinger's cat... one foot in limbo... one foot in reicarnation... better still... Farinelli! drop the ******* don a niqab! the muslims and an eye-fetish... mind you... i do have a hand-fetish... "fetish"... i can count five of hers and only four of mine... fingers! unless she is a proper Arab bride with roots of synonyms in the Ukraine... and she has butcher's hands... hot-dog fingers... and a kardashian thick-*** that is just readied for a 12" dung-digger of ******... while at the same time... breaking the floral patterns of a porcelain geisha's... "missing tongue O"...

manícorona: peanut-crown!

               in between the hype and...
in between the trough...
and the happy pigglets of prop
and grandour...

little charlie little dervish of
a dar: gift...
                        win-win scenario...
i'm worried about...
constipation...
           terribly bothered...
                    
         but there's also the fact that
i haven't seen a dentist for...
a donkey can count a decade:
at least that's my hope...

my tooth filling has become lose...
having finished with yesterday's
etc. i tried to fall to sleep...

the pain came as a blunt object
in need of sharpening...
it wasn't a sharp object per se:
to begin with...

the radio was off...
the dream of falling asleep to the sound
of rain like it might be
a song off the cure's disintegration
album: lost...

                 i concluded:
it must be a dream...
how else explain this trivial pain
of a tooth when all the bones lay
intact in a body in an impeding grave?

to have been lullabied by a trivial
pain of a loose filling...
                   i'll give it until monday
to check a dental clinic...
i'll wait... because:
god only knows i am bound
to learn something new from
this crazed - infuriating pain -

          but at least that has
constipation covered...
    fear not: ****** **** of the golem heights!
no chelsea smile up your alley:
any time soon...

        the crown virus...
sooner or later: yes my liege...
yes my sire...
i'm sure the africans will... jump the queue...
we've been raising money for
a malaria vaccine...
i'm sure they'll be quick-on-the-mark
to raise money for the crown-virus
epicenter! europe!

oh... come come... komme komme, meine liebe!
it's true!
the europeans will be fundraising
money for malaria...
while the africans will be fundraising
money for the peanut-crown virus...

or... i like that one quote i heard,
"somewhere"...
   a stewardess asks a mother whether
or not her son would like some peanuts...
the mother says... he's allergic to peanuts...
he's allergic to maize... air...
glutten... ******* haribo gelatin and all...
he's allergic to hiccups...

                           there's a winking match
involving imitation chess between
the very sick psychiatrists
and the mildly sick schizophrenics...
a bilingual comes along into their foray...
and asks: who's multiplying
and who's in charge of division?
all a splendid metaphor... wouldn't you agree?
there... metaphor...
already the focus is gone... splinters...
some go to metaphysics,
some go to metaphors...
some go to orthography...
some go to: telepathy...
        some go down the para-
hello, my name is Norman...

         it's natural then... darwinism in action...
hold a peanut to a crowd of
people allergic to peanuts...
the joy of cashews...
the joys of pecans...
   cashews, pecans, brazilians...
macademians... hazels and waldorff's...

no other feeling...
like a ripe hop lager in between
a bourbon's drip drip drip...
      
                   horrid breaking up an already
comfortable ideology... isn't it?
when something like this speaks for itself
and the "lamm von gott" is brought before
the altar...
                           darwinism sings!
sings! like the brian jonestown massacre...
this is my body... my peanut...
brought to a cult of peanut-allergy-riddled
anemics and haemophiliacs...
        
the darwinian ideology fizzles out...
when it's not longer looking up through
the telescope of a primate's ***...
but looking through the form most primodial...
i've been gardening for the past week...
i've watched an earthworm here...
an earthworm there...
        life without eyes without ears
without music... but this idiotic god-given
impetus, imperative, "will": "freedom"...
virus... crown virus...

sooner or later we'll all be kings and queens,
sneezing and waiting for the entire
small intestine to come out of our noses
like glue: glut and gelatin pieces
wobbling where once bones stood
to be later broken...

a beer in between these slugs of bourbon
will do just that...
all good when it concerns
of apes and men...
           the similarity greatly helps...
but of course we'll borrow from other
skeletons...
                  no one ever heard of a headache
from having "too much"...
i.e. od przybytku: głowa nie boli...
o ale boli boli boli...

      constipation...
            the peanut crown virus...
and a loose tooth filling...
                ***** blondes and "how many"
light-bulb jokes it would take
for a tsunami of bleached ***** hairs to turn
into a happy cousin itsy-bitsy:
a spider cravat... what else?

otherwise history...
   either a wet-dream or a castration...
              or the bull wrestled by the horns...
or a dog wrestled by either kicking it in
the ******* or wrestling with its mandible jaw...
echoes of warriors...
warriors and pirates... the lesser muscles
of a farmer? a blacksmith?
              either a wet-dream or a castration...
lost avenues of "heroes":
all leading to: up my ***... otherwise known
as my original churchill's V...
the welsh longbow men: ditto the fwench...

such a shame that so much of history
is to be filtered when the children learn of it...
and whenever returning to it...
it's as stale as an antique's roadshow...
or it's: skimmed over...
whatever natural selection gave...
i don't know whether it's natural
to witness this historiological selection...

some would say:
too much of a congested toilet: n'est-ce pas?
too many of the dead are still haunting us...
natural selection contra:
historiological selection...
                             the ape versus the virus...
it is over-inflated...
where are the boils, the blisters...
the glutton spew of ****?
                              
                     this is... it?
panic riddled neurotics?
   so... so... twiddle-thumb-twiddle-toe...
where are all the psychotic:
airing of the soul examples?
smoke and mirrors...
   if i see a *****?
   i'll let you know!
          we'll huddle and watch
tom hanks win an oscar for
Philadeplhia...
                          show me a *****
******* a zombie...
         this, this grand disguise as flu...
it's almost a precursor
to a greater joke...
       of... phantom limbs that
had grenades worth of champagne
bottles being uncorked as
the origin of the demise of...
if only they named the ship Prometheus...
Titanic is so general...
     Atlas... Hyperion...
                  Oceanus...
                                   you can't expect
to keep an adjective as a noun: afloat...
or could have... could you?

but about time you listen to all the darwinists...
when the seas are: a'rough...
ask them about not looking up from
that telescope via a monkey's ****...
about the darwinism of a...
very original... very basic: a first...
first in line end result...
that might have been us...

                 tough luck bringing
no wine and no bread...
to the congregation...
nut-allergy riddled whisperers and soon-enough
to be drop-off counts of: the sieve...
the peanut! crown - and:
if only it was as simple as a reconquista
of what the goths left behind having
stalled spain's worth
and having died off in north africa...

now's the time to stop looking through
a darwinistic: famous detail of:
the peeled banana on the inner-sleeve...
the root or yellow...
teasing you unpeeled for all that was
the velvet, the velvet and the underground...
a very pushy bladder...
i mean: fickle bladder little gremlin
with a yappy-yappy for a mouth...
and it's not the sort of mouth that echoes:
hungry! hungry!
the sort of mouth, though...
give it the plumber...
                          
        how very pedestrian of me.
Jonny Angel May 2014
I'm gonna take a hit,
wait...........................
............................­......
..................................
.......................­...........
that's better,
hold on,
I need some cashews
..................................
......................­............
..................................
yum,
gonna turn the lights down a bit
now,
hold on.....................
yum,
another handful of nuts
..................................
.........................­.........
..................................
gonna brush my teeth,
wait...........................
..........................­.........
...................................
that's better,
just a sec,
I want some more cashews,
hold on.......................
....................................
yu­m...........................
feeling sleepy...........
whew,
thanks for hangin'
with me
while I ate a few nuts,
good night man.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
beyond the whiskey
and the beer drank along the familiar
path, with memory stressed
as to no accomplished ego coupling,
drunk indeed,
but rehearsing the familiar path
that thought de-activates
and there's less of identifiers required.*

in terms of gambling,
in familial setting,
betted:

watford (21-20) home to newcastle
(5-2), QPR (6-5) against wolves (9-5 to win),
barnsley v. rochdale (draw at 11-5),
chesterfield v. millwall (to win, 11-8),
oldham v. bury (draw at 21-10),
port vale v. bratford (home-side 8-5),
coventry (13-10) away winning against southend (13-8),
plymouth (11-5) against bristol rovers (evs),
accrington (13-10) against exeter (13-8) too,
manfield (6-5) winning against luton (9-5),
portsmouth drawing with oxford united (21-10),
wycombe with leyton orient (11-5) too,
yeovil beating crawley (13-10),
dundee utd. losing to kilmarnock (11-5) -
scots wish me luck,
motherwell drawing with ross county (19-10),
brochin losing to aidrie (11-10),
montrose winning over clyde (9-5),
hamilton losing to edinburgh's hearts (6-5),
finally...
burnley overcoming derby (13-10).

if i got all nineteen right, i betted 2 quid
and won a million,
split it down the middle with my father,
bet for two quid, quid each, half a million each.
my father is a cautious gambler,
bets spare change to get pennies for a million
exchange, i only desire serious alcoholism,
i am a true scot between the two pulling
two pence apart to create copper wiring,
scots are the jews of the north, after all:
i don't gamble, i play chance,
the chances of me being prophetic about five
football scores will be a, a ref. to the guinness book
of records.

i aimed high today, feminism still hasn't the foggiest
of house husbands, lazy lions,
it's still thursday pay-cheque day for the women,
i can cook a killer korma (added late
grind cashews), and a serial killer kashmiri masala curry,
organic chemistry experiments 12h a week will do that to you,
you'll enjoy cookbooks more than chemistry textbooks,
too many esters i say, spices v. perfumes, your choice
the pakistani in my off-license looked amazed i was wearing
hindu perfumes after having cooked a meal he could
recognise that wasn't a concentrate of strawberries:
find a needle in a haystack, yes... find a berry in a haystack...
no.

i love hindi cuisine, much aroma that deviates from
what europeans claim to be aromatic:
pig sweat and oxen salivate a taste for synthetic
odours when an analysis of cardamon justifies aplenty
likewise: what opens necessary porous areas
of the skin as necessarily sweet
does not necessarily invoke a sweetness for the tongue
to match: fat cows better than anorexia voodoo
of *******-champagne girls i'd tell you.
A ballet of branches upon towering trees,
reaching (ever so) tall, above his head:
are mirroring his thoughts with ease
on this (ever so) dastardly dreary day.

"Oh, Creator! Come strike me dead!
I am ever so afraid, of what I wish to say:
t'whom the woman I dream of before
- and after I lie and wake in bed."

To be rejected by his dream queen
is, surely, his soul's damnation!

"Maybe-deep in my dungeon, I should stay
and get ever so high in euphoric elation-
yes! dragons in my kitchen, I should slay!
God! Do I wish to see her face?!"(Yes!)

It may be his last chance to be blessed-
by all of the beauty that she beholds:
within her body, brain and being.
He's feeling fairly stressed
because he doesn't fit most social molds-
but his wish: her and he,
t'wards the western sun, fleeing.

He's going to grab the rope of his dream
(Yes!)
and, to her, it won't seem- like much;
(No!)
what she can't see, is the rush-ed blood,
(Oh!)
so warm, circulating amidst his heart.

Oh, how this could be the start-
of a drastic change in outlook- view!

If only he had the nuts, to ask out you!
April 6th, 2016
Hersch Rothmel Jun 2013
some people choose to eat their nuts in big old handfuls
some people nibble and nibble so they don't run out
some people only like peanuts, cashews, or almonds
but when you eat your nuts you use a spoon, no doubt

who knew a spoon could be used to munch on some nuts
we all thought it was weird when Mr. Pitt used a fork for his candy
who knows maybe your art form will catch on
and eating nuts with spoons will be dandy so dandy

I guess it makes sense when the nuts are honey roasted
All that stuff can get kind of messy
But even if their salted I don’t think its called for
To use a spoon for nuts is so unnecessary

Why don’t you put your hand in the bag
Or just dump them into your palm
Are you pretending its cereal
Or is it to work out for your arm  
either way I’d like to know more about your weird way of getting
some nuts from the bag to your mouth is so breath taking

who knew a spoon could be used to munch on some nuts
we all thought it was weird when Mr. Pitt used a fork for his candy
who knows maybe your art form will catch on
and eating nuts with spoons will be dandy so dandy

When you share nuts do you make people use your spoon
or must they have their own at the ready
While on a plane I saw a woman eating nuts with a spoon and it inspired me to write this
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
well... i'd call this self-medication, or at least some sort of
"understanding" of what happened to me.
            people who i tell that it happened to me,
are still deluded in "thinking" that it didn't.
      you know how painful a brain hemorrhage
can be?                      well... it's fat oozing blood,
and it's not as painful as breaking a bone -
                                       but it's an exquisite pain;
this is why i write, like i said once:
my life's so ******* boring, that i just had to write about it;
and that really makes sense, because the writing
potential is, inexhaustible.
           but that really made me think about something,
namely the treatment of having suffered
                                                  a brain hemorrhage.
physiotherapy aside, i wanted to concentrate
                         on a cartesian model with regards
to the problem... the    mind vs. body,
                              or not necessarily the vs. but
the dualism / dichotomy.
                    physiotherapy treats the body...
but that's because physiotherapy only treats the body,
rather than the brain itself; and i'm guessing:
     all that idle chit-chat fusing comfort with hope.
the actual brain though? it's not actually treated.
physiotherapy doesn't treat the "mind" (i.e. brain) -
because it only treats the body.
               now, you see, i thought up a solution to treat the brain...
by the way: it worked with me, i don't know
if it might work with other people.
            the premise is...         brain is fat-electric, right?
      it's not a muscle, it's not a bone, it's not cartilage,
it's not fibrous collagen (tendon),
            it's fat... which is why omega-3 is really advocated
to be ingested to keep it healthy (the brain),
   as are nuts... brazil nuts, hazelnuts... cashews...
but i'm thinking about treating the brain,
       not outside of physiotherapy, but as including it -
well... the brain... fat-electric... synapses and lightning...
once again, this is a trial & error effort to consider...
     how about... simply pulverising the brain with loud
music, using headphones? **** me... that's a real frankenstein
move... using electricity to, how to say it:
         dry off the blood that spilled out of the brain?
since isn't that a way to somehow treat the brain
         while at the same time treating the body?
         you use electric currents of music blasting from
headphones to, dry off the blood that has just oozed out...
       you could have periods of physiotherapy...
but also periods of someone lying down, with headphones
on, and listening to their favourite music, really loud,
to rejuvenate the electric fat, that the brain is.
in the anglophone world we're already talking about
   nietzsche's fear: imagine talking for the whole of mankind...
so if we're already doing that in a cultural darwinism,
and that only means numbers and abstracted individualism,
what could possibly go wrong with this sort of experiment
i'm proposing?    a few people would go into seizures
and die... listening to their favourite music?
      i mean... birds singing? that's ****** annoying...
the only bird i can stomach is a crow - simply because he's
not adamant on expressing: oh it's spring! it's spring!
well... you know... just an idea... but it might work:
pulverising the brain with electricity... and that's not to say
it's the psychiatric sadism of e.c.t. (electroconvulsive therapy),
because what i'm suggesting is bypassing the bone structure,
and heading into soft tissue, using music,
                    to pulverise the brain with loud music.
song of choice? kmfdm's megalomaniac, or juke joint jezebel.
Oh come hither to me
My sweetest honey roasted peanut lips
Your almonds I will nibble
You won't be able now to sleep
Let me crack your  perfect pecans
I will walnut you away
I will **** away your cashews
Lick all the salt away
I will ****** all your Brazil nuts
They are most precious I must say .
Yes I have gone completely nutty
What more could I say .
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
I never want only two,
three scoops for me,
double cherries on top
of each one,
pistachio,
chocolate
& vanilla.
Spill some nuts,
crushed cashews
all over the place,
I'm going to dig my face
into this delicious dish.
Gaye Sep 2015
It was 3:30 in the morning
The aunt died, heart attack they said.
I only have a pale memory of her
The pink-house, protest and abuse.
Grandfather plucked us from there
the next day
The pink hibiscus my mother planted
did not depart.

She is dead today
I went to see her in black clothes,
The house, an empty aluminium box-
With kids playing ‘ring around the roses’,
Uncles debated politics and aunts gossiped
And some moaned inside.
I waited outside with few strange women,
They asked me questions
plenty of them
The anti-social me smiled.

The morning was usual
Mother made noises in the kitchen
with her steel plates and old radio,
Father forgot the fish on his
green kinetic honda,
Cats had a feast that evening
I did yoga, read newspaper and did-
not take a wash.

The dead body arrived late noon
in an ambulance with her expatriate son.
There was a sudden burst of cry-
inside- her daughter and grandchildren.
She looked like the fish to me,
The fish my father brought that morning
from the market, cold and dead.
Her daughter’s cry reminded me of-
an elapsed day in my pink house.

My father kept pink flowers on her feet
and prayed
I did not move, sat with the same chitchatting
women
The chanting became loud and it reverberated.
The body was finally taken to the fire
My mother came late, she wept.
The body burned down in minutes,
Dear relatives decamped.

I sat on the same chair
with my cousins
drawing the family tree, locating stories
and laughed over family jokes.
Then we sat tight lipped with brandy fumes
and cashews.
I came back home with my father
in the green kinetic honda,
I looked for the fish and the cat
I could not find both.
Skogen Feb 2011
I don’t know what it would be like but a man can dream,
I want to go grocery shopping with Jeandar, you know like a team.

She could drive and I would ride,
Backseat buckled bags by my side.

Where do you want to go?
Natural Pantry? Fred Meyer? Costco?

Ok well we’re gonna go get some healthy food,
Now taste this codliver oil come on don’t be rude.

Here take this bottle of oregano,
It’ll make your skin glow, dontcha know?

Can you go get the milk,
and I mean soy and it better be silk.

I’ll be in the vegetable section,
checking some asparagus for defection.

We’re not gonna get bread here,
We’re going to great harvest for real stuff dear.

Before we go grab a thing of cashews,
oh yeah and some vitamin-D too.

Have you been taking your vitamins?

Hey call Ivory and ask if she wants some treats,
We can find her some healthy snacks to eats.

Have you eaten dinner yet?
a place at the table we can still set

Make sure you wash your hands now,
That’s something I won’t disallow.

Goodnight, drive safe, call me when you get there,
Jelly Quest Oct 2019
We talk about a lot of stuff at 1 AM
About cashews, and trident gum,
Melatonin pills, cheap thrills,
The shallow hills of kids like us.

How I biked away from my house, or
how you drove in circles
to meet me at the library

Because the wrong direction, at the time
seemed right. I told you “yeah, it’s on the way”
but you knew something was off

We talked about how you slept
on the beanbags, how you blushed
and became upset when I told you
how very much you meant.

I made you smile
Looking like a fool
Wishing for me

But then again,
I never got the chance,
Out of cowardice, perhaps, when you walked
To your small red car.
So much depends on a small red car.

We hugged and you sheepishly walked away.
Something rested on the edge of my lips;
You seemed like you were so close, and yet so far.
The Forest May 2013
snooty
   blue tinge
agony

  burning
of  
the brain
thoughts-mouth

   this is the
doom of
the Perri Perri
almonds and

    cashews
if only they weren't so more-ish
Lyn-Purcell Aug 2018
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ'✿⊱╮
Small, sweet milk-white squares
Fresh fruits and nuts chopped
Hazelnuts, pistachios,
cashews, dried cherries
Honeyed-almonds, crunch
So toothsome
Yum!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Eighteenth Epulaeryu! ^-^
Been a while since I had some good nougat, I love when they add more dried fruits such as apricots. They're my favourite.
My sweet-tooth continues to rage, lool!
Lyn ***
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2016
aimless ruminations
(this is who I am, this is how I write)

<>

" I couldn't work or get ready for a piece of work
from a city base, from city life.
I need deep, deep quiet and a landscape too
that I can be absorbed into.
So much of the work is in the process of
aimless rumination
in which things may or may not take seed."

Daniel Day--Lewis

<>

just past six pm,
early but late, on a finely finished Friday,
long after-the-noon-hour,
the sun, presentable, clothed, well established,
high enough majesty in the hued blue sky

(all the orange pinks of  sunsetting soon to come but as of yet,
still guests of prior poems)

all around surround, the essential quiet,
essence of demure, parfumerie of the bath oil of
wind and wine, woman, a pacific stillness,
a soft sloping declension into the purity of just breathing

(well graced to prepare us for a slow descent into the soft richness
of a black ermine fur, a royal, star-studded night sky robe,
come to envelope, lit by jeweled sparklers of white dippers flickering)

but not yet...

O Magnum Mysterium!^
O Great Mystery!

a matin motet for a choral of four voices,
served up as an afternoon gift to us,
a present from the 16th century,
a tonal harmony of sweet majesty,
fills the sunroom atmosphere end of day musicale,
where we sip a Provence Rosé drink the music,
thoughtfully munch upon its pianist-accompanist,
slightly salted roasted cashews

punctuating the natural silence,
small bites of crackling noises,
planting the seeds of the nut tree in our bodies,
and licking the dead sea salt crumble, that moistens lips for licking-living

these then are the flavors of the moment,
quiet simple poignant pink and tawny tan of
clearly colored perfection

of earthly and earthy life tastes,
warmed salty sweet, from which all drawn to drink,
a celebration of the coordination of the sun outside,
the sun inside us,
sustaining, melding a harmony of soaring quietude

<>

ashamed, to have this spoil,
for just us two,
wondering why I,
why am I, compelled once more
to write of this Eden,
that so late in life I've come to cherish
as a rejuvenation, even satisfyingly sufficient
as just a bridging continuance between the speed bumps of...

of this time and place, I write once more,
surely not to flaunt, surely not to arouse,
somehow to share and tame
our crusted residues from a work week's enslavement,
end the drip of marking minutes, until to here, return,
where there are only tributes,
and no tribulations

but with you here, as well

how many times can
one mediocre poet write
of the same scenery,
the precise light, the my-oh-my-sky,
and not think, wish repeatedly,
as I do,
how I wish you were here,
all our dear ones,
to share the sharing

come sit beside us,
let I,
your faithful Sancho Panza,
pour your wine, remove thy scuffed shoes,
pull open the curtains, gift you the certains
of the great goodness of this garden,
give guidance to the yellow orb on how
to best warm the tarnished, slow eroding, river plain of
undernourished souls

let me bring you the readied ink utensil,
place in thine hand, the thin sliver of tree,
feed you, feel you feeling the felling blush of the grape skin,
all warm softened and proper chilled,
for receiving the new born fruits of inscribing

let all enfold, as we sit beside you,
watch with unconstrained delight,
as you too,
understand the addictive compulsion of this moment,
of this place and time that demands,
requires of you,  
not to justify existence, nay,
but to be absorbed,
but be come part and parcel, a resource,
grace this place and time by your hand,
elevate our existence

& write write write...


<>

always here, upon all this,
in this more or less, precise time and place,
doth nature beg me ruminate

permit eyes to inhale absolute aimlessly,
taste the floral glories, kiss the Roses of Sharon come to lavender bloom,
think deeply about nothing, and for anything present,
be concucopia bounty-full forever grateful

coming now to this our ending,
moved along by the gentling means of holy water sanctified tides,
the slow march of the sky's mentoring friends,
my aim, my ruminations, pointedly aimless,
my hands flowing, my eyes, purposedly never keener,
culminating in this so faintly heard,
nocturne of the absolutes of perfect...


<>

gifted to all my friends here,
poets who have happily transgressed into
kind caring friends


and also,
one gone missing,
Harlon,
who was, by his skill at praising this Earth's excellence,
was appointed by Nature as its very own poet laureate


7/29/16   6:06pm
Shelter Island
^ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7ch7uottHU
Robyn Kekacs Oct 2011
I wish you loads of fortune
Cashews
And grains of salt from foreign grounds

I wish you mobility
Through a sky not travelled by
I wish for you to dream and fly

Enjoy the fair food
Like it's wine
I wish for you to pass the time
With humble thoughts you won't admit
Abandon the life to which I couldn't commit
To which I fix that, bit by bit

And last of all
I wish you immaturity
The ability to love and lose, to lick you lips
To close your eyes
And choose

And I wish there was a better way
If common sense can't mend the break
Love like this is far too light
So I'll sit knee deep and drunk in history
Stroke blonde hair, and curse all night.
Michael Ryan Jul 2015
How to imagine a poem--
when you speak those lines
do not say that you are dying or inlove,
but describe the way it's happening.

Death/Sad.

There's a noose around my neck
the rough fibers are digging in
reminding me of my fathers hands--
when I was eight years old
as he strangled me to sleep.


My helium light in the corner
begins to flicker as it always does
when there's a thunderstorm,
even as my world fades
I know it's sunny skies today.

Love.

There's a difference between smiling
and the way your lips slant upwards.
They remind me of my favorite nuts;
cashews are the happiest of all of them
the only ones able to make a smile
that puts all others to shame.

Nature/Happy.

As hydrogen and oxygen combine
making my sweet abode the ocean--
I sift saltwater side to side in my mouth
as I attempt to draw the air into my lungs.
Fish were born to exist here
where I am lucky to float in their home today.

End.

Poems are the hidden lizard in your back yard
that always seems to be there watching you--
or the pesky neighbor cat which hangs on the fence
riskily tightrope walking to sneak upon it's prey.

**...The meaning is always there, but sometimes it's difficult to see...
I don't know why I wrote this, I was just reading people's poems and that's the thing people do the most when they write instead of describing they are always telling.  Show me your feelings, I promise you it's safe to do so.  (there are many things that could be fixed to make a more pleasant poem, but as usual I am too hhmm fickle to do so, hah.)
Robin Carretti May 2018
We are stuck  in a turmoil
Her pantry
All red tape
Her can good's
on him?
It's my pleasure,
And he's as painful
Spinning wheel seizure

So tinny
tiny Tim foil
Long neck-------- giraffe
Life too short he's the
end of the kabob stick
My pleasant passenger
is lovesick
Mom's lips he rattles
His eyes of the
snake
Like Arby's smoked ribs
So pleasantly
on his tab
The Webster hub
passenger drinks
Pub

Bet Ya baking Trump
truffles hum?

((Nescafe Escape))
Carmello  latte- James
Bondman another passenger
Mr. Sandman twins
of duct tape
it says

((Where I End))

Where I begin
her money vault

The piano player
Billy Joel the strangers

My own flesh
and blood
Cousins and
Arsenic and lace
poison

Threw them
over the threshold
Elvira siesta greyhound
My pleasant
passenger

Secretly pulling teeth_

mistletoe at birth
Caught in his fire
from Bruce
Springsteen
birth

The messenger
singing
Fiddler on
the roof

Matchmaker
make me a
(Outer Rim)
space station

The orange juice
his
Pulp Fiction
The argument
Please let there be
Yankee fans
Take me out
Don't  ball me out

The game with my nephews
Buy me some cashews
and
Crack-Up Jacks
My pleasant passenger
I don't care if
he ever comes
back
Mary Mack dressed
in maternity black
The funeral came with her
right-hand
messenger

Newborn
life assignment
Bravo applaud

Not everything is
so pleasant
Contradicting
My pleasant
passenger
Couldn't
comment nothing was delicious----?

Rebirth reassignments
Come at me
consignment place
Second hand or
twice around
Another passenger
coming to town
I screamed he
had no face
bandages

Robin Hoods**
The passenger gobble up
seconds poor our goods__--
The first rich
Why can't everything run smooth and pleasantly a home run or how girls just want to have fun. There is a dark side taking the pleasant passenger ride
Aaron LaLux Sep 2019
Lost,
amongst the chaos, caught outside with a long way to go,
calm,
within the center, inside everything comes 360° full circle,

call it a circle but it’s more of a spiral,
careful don’t want to hurt you when I go ******,
but the truth is the first rule of nature is survival,
chaos outside crack pipes alight demoralized fools act suicidal,

see healing can help but it can also hurt you,
especially if you forget your virtues,

trust me you must be occasionally criticized passionately,
for acting out irrationally if not you’re not living your truth,
too caught up in your own closed captions to actually,
see passed the rose glasses that skews your worldview,

out past curfew brazenly making your way merrily,
down that yellow brick road until you stub your toe I told you,
healing can hurt you if you forget your virtues,
still you choose to refuse the truth shown in your own show,

okay your choice to choose now without further ado, the news,

this just in, we’re all caught in whirlpools,
drains all clogged with heirlooms,
energy vampires virgule our virtues,
as slashed wrist fill bathtubs, pills lay on pillows in bedrooms,

these cities are pretty venues for gritty citizen cesspools,
sporadic & magic with hearts as dark as our issues,
no Jim Henson only thuggish muppets wretched henchmen,
puzzled puppets & sketchy Skeksis from The Dark Crystal,

it’s a bizarre & awkward Little Shop of Horrors,
a smorgasbord of unordered  hors d’oeuvres served cold,
& you’re confused of course because you didn’t order more,
plus it smells horrible oh well it’s only the first course,

anyways what’s on the menu today,
in this Showroom AKA Stolen Souls Salesroom’s display,
****** Nephews that resist rescue,
plus a side of drunken Lethargic Legume pate,

in other words intoxicated obnoxious Obscene Family Beans,
that are nostalgic for forgotten things that’ve long gone away,

& what have you on menu #2,
Locobutt Coconuts, crazy nuts Loony Tunes that lack values,
in other words hardheaded tropical crazy assed loons,
animated guys that apply topical gravy acid to cashews,
excuse me, did I offend you is that why you gave your opinion,
well opinions are like ******* & I’m sorry but I didn’t ask you,

I’ll harass you, if I want to, & harass her *** too,
I’m lampooned, lampin’ on a lagoon in a pontoon,
going gorillas, with my baboons in the full moon,
hope to not get harpooned too soon high as a kite at high noon,

call me Sun, or Sultan,
everyone is overdone, it’s insultin’,
brainwashed, & super spun,
the buzzer buzzed, the ***** laundry’s done,

hang it out to dry in the breeze,
air it out the window for everyone to see,
then look up at the sky, & tell me what you see,
one life at a time out here in San Franpsy, thunder & lightning,

here in San Franpsy, the sky, has a reddish haze,
smoke from Ukraine, magic mushrooms & acid rain,

we have all types of weather here in San Franpsycho,
slash your wrists just to check your vitals,

San Franpsycho, ******, psy-trance,
that Psy guy, with his Gangnam dance, dance monkey dance, strung out junkies, self made flunkies,
& 3rd rate rejects with a 2nd chance,

computer programmers,
digital techno gods,
programming the New World Order,
Zuckerberg & Steve Jobs,
& yeah the equation is way off,
but somehow we’ll even the odds,

even when Silk Road is taken down,
at the public library by out of town Federal Agents,
the caterpillars still make silk from mother’s milk,
still there are celebrations without any occasions,

from Hiroshima to Fukushima,
laughter from the hyphy hellish hyenas,
belly of the Beast ****tting out diarrhea,
hey anyone have any memories for my ongoing amnesia,
or maybe some anesthesia for this creative creature,
jeez I can barely breath I need to leave but,
I’m disorientated deliriously stumbling around this arena,
where I was just served a subpoena to answer to Jesus,
but I’m not ready to leave just yet, enjoying the scenery bruh,
we’re all portraits portrayed in The Great Life Galleria,

& I’m enjoying the show laughing madly like the hellish hyenas,
tip toeing on eggshells a tipsy bombed out bombshell ballerina,
as if it’s all good ‘cause I haven’t seen a real life Hiroshima,
washing down a divine diva’s cleavage,
with medical marijuana margaritas,
shouting out “Eureka”, struck gold & made a deal with Jesus,

Christ, or Jackson,
like Mike, or Michael,
The mirrored man is the boogieman, nothing’s normal,
****, it all goes down in San Franpsycho,

thee end, is coming soon, do what you have to for survival…

They say, thee end’s coming soon,
thought there was more to say,
really though,
how much more can we say?

Lost,
amongst the chaos caught outside with a long way to go,
calm,
within the center inside everything comes 360° full circle...

from THHT3: Dark Lights | Bright Shadows
available worldwide: 9/9/19
Thoughts?
Josh keller Feb 2019
Scorpion, scorpion, who brought the pen
The tip of its tail, the needles sharp end
Poisonous dagger, To write all your wishes
******, soiled, bundled up tissues
Issues and cashews and nuts
Insanity.
Rhinoceros, rhinoceros, have you the tusk
The one on your nose, the jungled rough musk
Broken and bleeding torn from your face
Now beautiful laced girls
Discover your pearls
Thieves.
Fathers and mothers, did you bring the child
Shattered, broken, seen with both vile
Bangs and pangs broken dishes, birds sang
That night along with the screams
Did you believe
Destruction.
Artist, artists, have you the pieces
The ones of your life, sadness, defeation
The black strokes, lonely tokes
And pills and late sat to smoke
What does it all mean, by life
Uninspired.
Dictators, dictators, did you bring your people
The hobbled and squabbled, who prayed in the steeple
Who hung from the rafters, and rang with the bells
For whom it tolls, well, no one tells
And lost citizens
Vanish.
Butterflies, butterflies, did you keep your promise
Mottled, and bottled, spread across lawn mist
To be beautiful, shiny with no varnish
Your caterpillar state should not tarnish
The wings you have now
Growth.
Children, children, did you steal the money
For xanax, tricks, and acid, your'e funny
Brain dead generation
Same dread, memorization
Of all the dead jokes
Sad.
Villagers, villagers, did you burn the witch
The bloodied open stitch
That tore the wound of the town
And they all began to drown
In truths they didn’t like
Characters.
Kitten, kitten, did you trick the boy
Into finding your, mangled, ticked, body
Squashed, splattered, with marks in your back
Circled rocks, flowers, hit and smack
The dirt down flat
Betrayal.
Conscience, conscience, did you make me feel that way
For something I thought, for something I might not say
For something I did, and something I am
Why do you threaten
Why do I listen
shiver.
Ghosts, ghosts, do you really terrify
Blankets, and behind walls spy
Sheets, and bags of treats
You saw it all, naked
Through the clear square wall, sacred
Innocence.
Creatures, creatures, you dwelled in the cave
Red, glowing eyes. Blue burning rave
You crawl out at night
To get a good sight
Of all of the people passed out drunk
loneliness.

Beware this place.
Alin Jul 2015
I eat cashews for breakfast
and all kinda luxury nut mix
Kookoolookuu

and all the jealous chicky chickens
at the backyard cluck cluck bra:

“We  shall also laugh...
when it’s thanksgiving time”

Poor pulltiepullies
they are so stupid
I wanna Hop Up on them
they do not know how to
Impress!
miserly is their earning
after daily laying &
they gotta yearn for a
thanks giving!
for good  grain  
yeah
for good grain
like mine
yeah
like mine
KookooLookuu

Oh only if they could fan out tails beautifully like me
Oh only if they could gobble so loud like me
they need no-nothin then
to get
better grain

It’s eventually give and take - Yeah
Give and Take

but Now
I have to badly  
Eject
...
KookooLookuu!
a song for an ignorant turkey - ignorance in general
Dakota J Dawson Mar 2018
I want to drink
Until the end
Of forgotten time

Let there be
A funeral fire
Withhold the time capsule

Rustic sounds
Should accompany
Alternating live music

Wood is warping
Bathroom darkening
It all stinks

Reeking of vanilla musk
Some savage old lady
Must have been here

I continue to drink
Without expiration
Giving into temptation

Wine contains a nutty
Whimsical flavor
Reminiscent of cashews

Salted just right
Stored on time
Purity in taste

Test has been passed
No more whims
Just explanations

For why I drink
Trying to write
Avoiding sobriety

Wanting ***
Confusion of the soul
Fusion for sanity

Sunday spreads
Wicked wings
Evil erosions

Condemning my being
Into ice
Deafening to my eyes

Plastering the pole
But in suspense
Avoiding the crowd

Can I possibly contend,
with a biscuit?
Perhaps not
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2021
i've cooked plenty of curries in my life
(in the back of my mind there's this mainstream
narrative that comes to the fore
with buzz-words like: "cultural appropriation"...
so i can't cook a curry for myself
i need someone native of the "concept" of curry
to cook it for me? the use of cumin, coriander seeds...
star anise... cardamom pods is off-limits
for me? like donning a sombrero?
i hate acronyms but, in this instance i'll just
keep it short and shrimp-y i.e. w.t.f.?!)
but what i recently conjured up has become
a... revelation...
i know that the taste profile of some Asiatic
people: the Chinese love their dichotomy of
sweet & sour... as well as sweet & salty...
come to think of it: i like those profiles too:
salted caramel is the next big taboo topic?!
the first proper revelation came to me via...
refika's lavash & hammered beef recipe...
she's on youtube: it's so **** when a woman
as voluptuous as her knows how to cook...
plus the ol' raven hair: beyond that...
it's not that she knows how to cook:
i can trust her to cook...
    not that i was willing to make lavash from
raw goods... i can buy that...
the genius is instilled in the marinate...
what was it...
oh hell... my beard is itchy... i guess at the mere
thought of eating this dish...
sea salt, pepper, lots of peppercorns...
fresh garlic, fresh rosemary (thankfully i have
a garden and i have rosemary in it)
dried chillies (whole or flakes)
olive oil, white wine vinegar...
into the pestle & mortar...
the beef thinly sliced then marinating for
15 minutes at best: the vinegar tenderising
the meat quicker...
fried for 2 minutes or whatever time it takes
until you see the meat pouring out the most
hidden blot clots...
but beef & rosemary?! huh! who would have
thought... i certainly wouldn't have...
sure... LAMB & rosemary...
but beef?
oddly enough the meat works just as well
when topped with English cheddar...
you don't need a Turkish cheese...
but that's not even the end of the story...
of the lavash wrap...
it's the side dish...
the onions! slice the onions into crescent moons...
squeeze them to get the party going...
they must be red onions... some salt...
some more white wine vinegar & let them pickle
for a while... after the "while" add some
sumac (i also add some gochugaru chilli flakes...
for colour and tingling buzz)
SUMAC... topped off with some fresh parsley...
i could be writing about my escapades
in the brothel... but this is so much better...
what's ***? meat you can't eat...
at the end... it's meat you can't eat...
tease it, nibble it: but you're not going to eat it...
i very much like the ethereal nature
of cooking: it reminds me of the time i studied
chemistry in Edinburgh and conjured up
Esters from scratch...
Esters? oh, those scented compounds used
in the perfume industry...
yet today i came across an even bigger revelation...
Indian cuisine? done... Chinese... no problem...
the number of curries i made in my life...
eh... ha...
            hell: even the Hungarian goulash
for a massive potato "pancake"... garnished
with something sour... cabbage most likely...
or at least a coleslaw to off-set the smoky-paprika
taste...
green peppers a must...
of course you need some sprinkle of paprika
on the lavash wrap-up...
for colour: to "combat" the "insanity"
of cheese... & some extra pepper....
& rosemary...

well you can't exactly call a stew a curry
a sauce or jue... it's not  juice if it's a juce...
some "chew"...
esp. not in the Persian cuisine...
pity me at me at my self-wallowing in being
cosmopolitan on the outskirts...
i'll take one step into the night
and i'll be met with the resounding
presence of foxes...
i stopped being bothered about BWV 988
being just a cliché...
which it of course is...
so many pieces of classical music were once
beautiful...
now... in the gulag of the muzak...
they have become: morphed...
hardly stand-alone pieces of music...
moonlight sonata being the "other" over-emphasis
of needing to match-up to the demands
of / for mass consumption...

i hope this doesn't read like some foodie
blog... every time i want to replicate a recipe
i have to scroll down through so many
self-congratulatory deviances
from the narrative... none of these food blogs
seem stressed about giving out
what's needed:
the list of ingredients... eh... the methodology
doesn't really bother me...
i always miss the click-of-the-button
where i can simply get to the knitty-gritty...
there's always "some story"... some care to grasp
at some "authenticity":
it's almost like rereading Wittgenstein and
his focus on tautology!

come to think of it...
i watch out for tautologies...
like i watch out for metaphors and misnomers
and the... ahem "air quotes":
you can't stretch it as far as a metaphor?
then we'll be stretching it into a misnomer
status...

FESENJAN...
it's not like the Persians were not knocking
at "our" doors since... perhaps time immemorial...
what about that off-shoot tribe of Aryans:
the Sarmatians settling in the basin
of the Vistula?
funny... the concept of the Aryans...
that the Germans espoused it...
while... historically... never mind...

it's not a curry! it's a Persian stew...
i couldn't fathom it at first...
you make a walnut paste...
you toast 'em...
salt, pepper, sugar...
some of the usual suspects appear:
like cumin...
cinnamon...
    but then you get:
pomegranate molasses...
and fresh pomegranate seeds to garnish... with...
you also use fresh parsley instead of coriander...
only one tablespoon of tomato puree...
some ground almonds...
a pepper: which, along with a can of
chickpeas somehow, "somehow" managed
to disappear in the sauce...
garlic... sure... ginger? no...
onion... yes...

         i knew that Persian cuisine tickled
the sour fancies... but i never knew to what
extent! zest of a lemon: juice of a lemon...
no aubergine... this time...
turmeric: the peasant's version of saffron...
no difference... you can sprinkle some of that
anti-bleach magical dust and it works
just as well as a pinch of saffron...
but we're talking about the sauce...
cinnamon i already mentioned:
even though you can use acacia bark as
a substitute... pepper: already mentioned...
honey...
imagine my shock: no mention of a canned
lot of plum tomatoes...
******* roasted walnuts...
pomegranate molasses...
tomato puree...
ciućpajza...

this wasn't a curry... walnuts, though... when roasted?
ahem... "cultural appropriation"
of the Indians using cashews... & almonds
in their Korma... but walnuts?!
hey presto... some Turkish ingenuity combining
beef with rosemary!

is my native tongue a dodo lingo?
i'm just... wondering...
perhaps with the omnipresence of English
we'll all be savvy cosmopolitan nomads
by the end of this century...
i still manage to squeeze in a word:
or two... into my currency of the current:
lingo... but... the point
of: no one's speaking it beside me...
it's not a rhetorical question...
it's not even a question to begin with /
per se... it's a... vague obligation to:
some mustard seed metaphor sort of "power"...

youtube used to be such a fun website...
until the wallets started rummaging
hyping up...self-tutorial videos of make-up:
cover-up...
it used to be (this)... now it's... )this(...
sure... don't blame women...
it's not like Helen wasn't fabled for gearing up
a thousand ships...
Eva Braun wasn't Jewish... no no!
she wasn't... wi- do you really need the suffix
-nk?!

a grammar school playground filled with only
boys... hey... presto!
a girl comes in...
        what's going to happen?
the worst things... imaginable...
i'm giving birth to a shadow...
she's curious about giving birth to the gambit
of: more time... please...
i can be done with all of this spectacle in
a moment... she needs this misery to continue...
come to think of it...
i don't think the supposed
"forbidden" fruit of Eden did anything to Adam...
i think the fruit was a placebo...
he just towed his ******* ******* along
to experience the wind & the dangle...
whatever the metaphor of Moses implies...
ignorant of dinosaurs?!
seriously...
there's a talking spine of a t-rex...
there are the crocodiles of the Nile...
there's the imagining of a large fire-breathing lizard:
a dragon...
oh sure... the idea of dinosaurs wasn't somehow:
unconsciously implanted into us...
dragons precursor the discovery of dinosaur bones...
don't they?! don't they?!
imagining dragons precursor our discovery of
dinosaur bones!
no?! no?!
hell-oh... Pandora... how's tomorrow?
oh, right... can't say... just like today then?!

since the usual quest of bypassing the atypical
gatekeepers has been... quenched...
i'm no Tolstoy...
western democracy is worried about democracy
per se:
ooh... something terrible is bound to happen!
some terrible has been happening since
time immemorial...
it's only inflated:
in a society bound by glorifying sociopaths &
psychopaths...
the fakery escalates... so much of this culture
is bound to celebrate: hardly the opera singer...
hardly the poet... forever & until more
the Thespian... you know what happens to a culture
where only one art-form is given:
too much attention it deserves?
there was that period of time when
poetry was celebrated... when the western
letf-oids seemed rather... refreshing...
what now?

           let's go back to civilisation based on
the motto: we need carrots!
we need cabbage! we ******* need root vegetables...
oh forget the fruits...
that's not important for us...
winter is coming: a warm winter...
to borrow a phrase:
how can there be any hyperboreans:
what eternal sunshine?
i think of an eternal night...

               when i think of the wind:
there's not one... there are 8...
the wind from the north... south...
the wind from the north-east...
the wind from the south-west...
i count 8 winds... if there aren't 8
then we have a lemniscale...
a lazy: reclining 8... or a beta metaphor: B...
no?
the origins of numbers are all Hindu?!
sure... the letters too?
i can... rewrite the origins story
of numbers using only Greek or Roman letters...
with hindsight it doesn't punch-up
but... proud retardations of borrowed
cuisine aside...
L: 7
4: G
      mirrors! mirrors!
9: P
8: B
1: I(ota)
3: E
2: Z
5: S
6: b...

we didn't march across the *******
Siberian tundra
arriving at the Caucasian
peninsula for no ******* reason?!
we also managed to drag along the tribes
of Mongols... Turks... that settled in this grand...
continental funnel...

i learned "numbers" from Sanskrit...
i suppose the letters too?
like... ooh... i love how Hangul was
conjured...
   Sejong the ******* Solomon...
Abraham... St. Cyril...
   i always thought that Cyrillic script
was a cheap-*** variation of Greek...
sorry... it looks: looked:
will forever look: sort of shabby...

this time round: the devil didn't come round
with either fire or sulphur...
smoke & mirrors...
smoke & mirrors: Kowalski!
Arcassin B Jan 2015
By Arcassin Burnham

Being 18,
Would be,
So hard,
Without you,
I don't know what to do,
Skies were gray but you turned them blue,
Like the ocean Tasting cashews,
And,
Hoping I could get a car,
So I could ask you,
Do you wanna go on a date?
She's hella faint,
Long enough to feel the restraint,
Get it, gotta love her more,
Stuck to me like yellow and blue paint,
Hoping mom gets the house by then,
Suppose to be moving in palm coast city,
I will be summer so I won't put on an ugly sweater then,
Being 18,
Would Change,
My life,
In,
A whole new way,
This is my year that I come back,
So i must say,
July 1st will be end of all poverty babe.
Yeah
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
i dare say, silent movie in the genre of horror?*

Sven and me, no, not Geoffrey or Norbert,
Sven, the coconut,
donned a red woollen glove on his coconut
scalp and told him: you're a cockerel alarm
clock from now on; Sven liked it,
i told him: you're not a bowling ball,
you've just chewed cashews
in your mouth socket, and now the
undigested pulp; if not then off to the
bowling alley with you - ah my sweet
tropical island smurf / cannibal necklace
skull of a little monkey of imitated kindred
physiognomy, oh pooh bear, pooh.
Sajini Israel Mar 2018
HELP! HELP!! HELP!!!
Am lost in the cosmos,
Surrounded by darkness in a terrain I can't explain.
'lead me through the night' I could only yell.
The more i yelled the fainter my reverberations struck my ear.

Should i turn to the left or to the right?
My weary heart spoke in protest.
The thought of my predicament made me feel dizzy.
Twas a long night filled with despair.
I could only feel the stings of some silly insects and hear the sounds of some happy crickets.
All around me I could Perceive uncertainty.

I waited for hundreds of hours for day to come,
But time proved to me that I was in a zone of perpetual darkness.
I looked to the skies all my eyes could find was a thick dark cloud.

Days rolled into weeks.
Though i lost track of time,each second seemed like a million years.
At this point i had lost strength to speak and my vigour was at its brink.
Turning to my left i could see a shadow of a stone.

I gazed at the atmosphere in admiration,
As i saw darkness being overtaken by light.
In a matter of some microseconds a star appeared and dominated the galaxy.
Hurray! It was a northern star.
Its brightness was unique in that its radiance produced a fragrance of calmness and serenity.

As soon as i could find my pouch,I began to move in the direction of the Star.
It led me through the grass lands and savannah there I settled and ate some cashews
Gradually we entered into a rain forest.I stopped by a river flowing eastward from the savannah to drink some water.
Step by step I kept trailing the star till I got to my abode.
The northern star stood at my roof and shone forever.
Ben Mar 2016
I’ve been known to steal
The cashews out of nut mix
I’m quite the *******
Robin Carretti May 2018
How come you
dance so_ good
Don't do a Tina Turner
Table dance on me
Whats love got to do
with fads
Never know what you
had_

Fads Like P-op-Sugar
Lads Like Laptop- sister
Austrian lads
Alice-y Mads

A spoon full
of sugar
helps her
meds go
down
Jewels 4 Julie in the
most delightful
way
Dogs named
Andrews those
honey cashews

She pops
crackle Rice
crispies
For her Nephews
Over-sugared curfew
Julia Roberts her
business flew
Perk up (Pretty Women)
Not!! first class?
Money VIP Pass
Cafe hot and
boiling
His temper bad
habits spoiling

You cannot buy
a girl
off with
((Pricetags))
The ending
with no
friends so sad
Beginning

Sugar is your
poison that depends

No, I love you
Valentine cards
No hello and regards
Go Cincinnati
Rock and Roll
Hall of Fane*
Fads **** and Jane
spots her men
Her engraved
hands classical
Vivaldi opera
Pops with Pavarotti
To the love wall
Sweet Sardi
Please  no
Godfather Gotti

The Godmother
tutti fruity

Or Sardinia
Miami Beach
Pop  bikini's
Come together
words Beatles
I want to hold your
_?

Talking heads
Caramelly popcorn
Christmas ghost past
Talking to herself
Will this love
ever last
Like a hard toffee
She could soften
any hallway

Harvard Men
Freshman
Chewing fad
of spearmint
Gum
No etiquette
Men of bourbon
Spicy sweets
Ladies festive
turbans
Hotel tons of sweets
At the Marriott
Sweet Brandy doll
Marionette

Raw or
Angel equal
brown sugar

The finest of crepe
Suzette like a sequel
All fads of sweets and never is it my time to rock my beat Please Pop some sugar my way
kirra Dec 2020
need I say more
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
earlier in the day i dropped into the local co-op for
two ciders and some cheap white ***...
jeez... like ******* on a star anise...
or eating a tablespoon of cinnamon with some
sichuan peppercorns: tong- 'umbing...
cheap ***** alcohol... no wonder it's a cringe fest...
sooner me: ******* a lemon - gratified than
this terrible escapade...
some five hours later i dropped in (again)
for two pints of milk...
first time round she was gearing up to her shift...
automating: hello, thank you, would you like
a receipt, would you like a bag...
have a nice day... paid by card...
oh i wasn't going to let her get away that
easily... for a cashier... god... what a lovely sight!
a sight before Picasso's **** with cubism...
hair done in an onion fold... or however
Shiva does his bun of hair...
such a lovely sight...
that running joke about how copper wire was
invented: two scots arguing over a penny...
the englishman has the least amount of money
in his wallet... since he'd sooner pay for a 90 pence
bottle of milk with a debit card than
cough up a piece of metal with ol' Lizzy's
effigy on it...
    i rummaged the house for a pound:
of value... not of weight...
        upon payment i placed the pound sort of:
"funny" into her hand...
some strange sort of magic: tensed muscles...
excessively protruding knuckles without
a fist... whatever it was... i managed to steal her
eyesight... she gave me a 10 pence change
and eyed me with those most feline sort of eyes...
darting with mascara and auxiliary enigmas...
blue... green eyed boy meets a blue eyed girl...
immediately that same pull...
like when my cat started to pronounce her hind
when being groomed...
those eyes are an anchor... i'm sinking...
what day is it tomorrow?
                   good on me for having a bicycle
and not a car...
no m.o.t., no road tax... no insurance...
  plus in London with the "green" congestion
charge creeping up to include the A406...
tube... bus... train... bicycle...
i'd sooner get to Hyde Park on my bicycle
than if i left the house and used public transport...
hell... i could have asked: fancy a quickie in
the Bower forest... midnight... the moon ought
to be ******...
all this from... placing a pound coin funny on
her hand... jeez... i must have touched some nerve
ending... woken up a nervy octopus...
her pupils started to squirt ink all over me
while i ended up walking home with two pints
of milk and an イレズミ that not only covered
my back but my entire face...

summa summarum...
me &... dating? when i can excavate so many words
from a meeting of eyes that entwines for
about a second and as briskly: feverishly
disappears: i wouldn't want a profile debauchery...
uncomfortable meh and & oh sows...

... eclipse mount gay Barbados ***...
a *** so refined it can be drank solo... straight...
better than mr. whiskers & ms. amber...
*** so good... it tickles the left side of my brrr
ain...
my nose and makes my moustache into a frizzle...
moustache: mouse... t'ache: take...
moose: t'ash...
on point with the katakana:
five free standing vowels
but only one consonant...

                 no ideograms... almost Hangul...
not as compact: terrible in terms of punctuation...
lower case upper case: non-existent...
oh and if you were to throw in
that who shebang when katakana is discarded
and hiragana is employed: interchangeably...

agreed... you ought to have an ideogram
for... say... red squirrel (somewhere):
risu aka... or aka risu...
                                       リス赤
a bit like... our, western, ******* by comparison:
emoticons... eh... a little bit less of everything...
but i will not have the same fascination
with ideograms like Ezra did...
however complex the skeleton...
what comes at the end of the complication
is still somewhat of a shared sound...
shove shoe into shackles...
call it: foot... if you'd like...

but ideograms and... say... traffic lights...
prompts... surds... almost...
see green: go! *******! go!
amber... gamble...
red... stop! stop!
why isn't green replaced with blue?
blue i.e. go water go!
perhaps because if it were blue...
in direct sunlight... it would not be all that much
visible?
i don't know i don't care
for once i don't want a scientific explanation...
science was fun... no... since chemistry and the thrill
of alchemy has... been exhausted...
toothpaste... shampoo... we're good to go...

back to the chemistry of the kitchen...
just wait while i drop a black cardamom grenade
into the the topic of cooking up
a biryani... "risotto"... you'll be gagging for
a sip of Laphroaig...

i need to visit the brothel...
hmm... i just read this one article in the printed press...
losers... losers everywhere...
as a fatalist: winning is hardly: winning...
losing is a de facto: delay button:
buttoned up tux... smart penguins one minute...
choking seagulls the next...
that i read the printed press: in paper...
well... with all the weekend magazines...
art critics... t.v. critics... restaurant critics...
fashion...
i like to read what solipsists read...

"incels are crackpots and not philosophers"...
james: not the Marriot 'otel...
i was going for a joke...
an incel, a jihadi... a don juan walk into a bar...
into a nunnery...
better still... an incel, a jihadi and...
jimmy savile walk into an orphanage...
at least one walks out an Abraham...
is that even a joke?
who's winning? status...
they're still going on about the fate of Afghanistan
like it matters to them: not being Afghans...
oh how the women will suffer!
Louis... calm Louise...
it's not like the rest of the... Ummah cared that
much about Afghanistan to begin with...
the fleabag riddled infested cave dwelling
cousins of... an idea that is now...
the absurdity of Dubai...
a bit like my romance with the Scots...

what about the jihad that ought to take place
to... free those Chinese Muslims
in the indoctrination camps?
no jihad for the Uyghurs i suspect...
evil west... blah blah... ******* blah...
i'm going to slobber on that f- and subsequent blah...
for m'ah UMMAH!

- i almost forgot how much fun it is to cycle from
outer London into... a tourists' paragraph...
gall: i was, oh i was... so so... amazed...
by the sights!
my favourite sights...
stern suited "alpha" males of Bank
through to the sugar babies of Oxford St...
if one oriental chick didn't take a fancy
at this "viking": flash her knickers:
Rolling Stones?! where?! where?!
i would be surprise...
through little Sri Lanka through
to an even bigger kaput: of Islamabad...
sorry... but coming to Marble Arch...
those drums... those red flags with Arabic script...
m'eh... some holiday... Dickens was cited...
i got off my bicycle and fell on the greener
than grass symptom of.. something...

lay there... caressing what somehow would
have been a beard... or the top of my head...
oops... gravity and this bulging sack load of:
running dry the project of society...
amphetamine charged:
running dry on dinosaur-juice!
drums & the whole celebration...
i almost picked up a raven feather
i almost pulled out my makeshift
hand-pistol and pulled the trigger at the audacious
drummers...

it's their own: you know... Hyde Park is...
living the livid part of...
all is the living the livid part of
Hazlitt wrote a book about it...
containing hatred: with proper categorisation
of where to deposit the required effort...
well... a momentum ******* like
no other! contempt breeds contempt...
if i am a "westerner" deemed contemptible
by these... sophisticated:
people... cave-dwelling folk... discovered
fire... by way of the Quran... no worries...
i'm just waiting for the invasion
of the Polacks... hell... i'll see what the Russians
are up to... ***** chess ***** chess...
literature... knee depth: alias: no need
to bother...
contempt breeds contempt...

otherwise London looks pricey...
i still like to be the tourist on a ******* bicycle
ever now & then...
CS2 *****... those cyclists are like
pedestrians... let me sing joy in clinging
to proper traffic... trucks... buses... HUVs HGVs...
whatever... that overpass over the Bow roundabout
just gleamed: it SCREAMED! i'm empty... ride me!
so i did...
ha... a man and his bicycle: too bad
it wasn't a horse...
to hell with the car... me: i peddle... i generate my own
momentum...
head full of cashews...
enough pressure and the proper sort of attire
of the tire... cwunch: rrrrr-everse...
a puddle of gangrene meddling in oats on
the pave-                           -ment...

quintessential 1990s song...
crowded house: take the weather with you...
or the Afghan cave network...
which might make the Mexicans shy up:
sober... ******* spastic fantastic:
straight line dig...
but not the flea-infested last cousins
of the Ummah... beginning with
Dubai... of course the Muzzies have
no problem with their brethren sitting on
dinosaur juice... wasting it...
cities in the desert!
castles in clouds!

daffodils on make-shift islands in the middle
of the Pacific: watch the Taiwanese blush...
best to look the part...
status: WINNER... whiner...
appearances are everything...
the devil didn't come with fire & sulphur...
he came with... smoke & mirrors...
gesticulating: like Lee Evans...
this... elbow... doesn't... "row" / "work"...

spaz fantasticsch...

people take photographs of themselves:
no one ever hardly has their picture taken...
onanism par with the monobrow of
that... quizzical "Quixote"... of the haxan
brush strokes... never mind...
spot the alpha male spot
the eye-blinders!
om om... mega mega: *****-****-show:
best perform... in latex and no ******:
snooze the *******... please... ha...
ah... hmm...

we through with the greek alphabet?
no beta orbiters?
good to know some people managed to...
sort life out...
they kept busy... out of every instance:
a persistence... hey presto!
post-existentialism!
no no... we're done with concerns...
we're going to do a magic carpet ride...
right now...
conventional use of language is alreaady
too busy with journalistic antics
keeping up with the rubric...
2 x 2 =

          bring me fire! it's time to learn from
Islam... well... if the Mongols are not willing
to plunder one more time...
for a surname in Pakistan being: Khan...
but... the genes... being diluted thus...
no sign of lemon ******* sputnik in the eyes...
well then...
inter-racial breeding...
it dilutes itself after about two generations...
it's a nice idea...
landlocked in mirrors...
guess the time: call it sea...

mind you... "you"?! i was boggled down in this...
times cryptic crossword no. 28,058...
i'm terrible with crosswords...
looks like the grandfather of
sudoku died... マキ (aerials... ki... key...)
       カ (k'ah... i can almost see the ア...
but Shinto emoticons help me... i can't see the...
K's at)...
               Yi: jaw dropping: jittering: alias
for a gloated in giggles Jinn... drunk sober
on gin...
that's Yi: Ye! not an upper-case Greek:
by the gammon load... pierces pearls...
and skin so... troublesome it ought to require...
dying the hair: PINKSCH...

maybe just maybe i'm terrible at crosswords
because i'm entrenched in bilingualism...
suppose i give you a clue...
then the whim...

      not British, Weimar dramatist is
genuine...
                      ECHT...
that's einz? the one time a german will utter
the letter Z like it's not a slavic C
via the cyrilic ц?
    *****... probably works miracles
where otherwise **** ought to do...
            
some script - girl mostly follows it...
   ITALIC...

conjuring ghosts seems to be a science:
by comparison...

ECHT EIGHT EXT... yes.. i have Eaten...
have i ate? yes... but am i late to
whatever is happening in ol' Liban?
no... i'm pretty sure to be on time...

i'll cycle through to central London
once more... come tomorrow...
i'll hijack Brick Lane...
by pebble by pebble
and make it near impossible to cycle
a road-bike on cobwebbed streets..
because of the 23cm wheels...

freezing point: if i had children...
such are the latitudes of joys...
the best thoughts come:
but i will not be deserving a funeral...
there will not be a procession...
i'll simply... tidy up...
i'll disappear...

for a while i imagined myself
the speed demon stabbing myself
in the neck... in the thighs...
anywhere available to make a relief
of the suckling oysters to the female
genitals...

oh cruel cruel nature...
why so unforgiving... ha... ah ha...
so realistic... so... intrinsically: charged...
fickle wording: pudding...
my half cleft hiding position
in the ***** of the hardest 'ock... roar...
akimbo one calls it...

Faroe Faroe...
       greyish skid... "jeg" blomstrer...
"den": vilje... henge...
hen-gh'eh...

              i love women... but it's a terrible
"idea" to **** a ******...
i prefer prostitutes...
not that i have lost anything...
or gained anything...
is it anything nothing more or less...
anxious western beta orbiters looking for
a hook-up...
i don't want to be a banker...
i don't want status...
i don't want the world...

            none of this envy churning crap will
work on me...
whatever the size of the harem...
between you & me...
David or Solomon?
David... for defeating Goliath...
and writing the Psalms...
of course Solomon is the king of Envy...
king Solomon:
la Rachefauc...

                   le rachelacaut

la rochefoucauld... Solomon...
wisdom or a man... arrayed with keeping
a harem... anyone could be wise...
if he had... entry to pillow-talk...
wet-a-*****... in a harem...
oh **** me... all the wisest hebrews
gesticulate...
by the signs of the cross...
rabbi i... please do not put my name down
on the future plundering:
this here: "reserved" whiskers... ahem...
whizz...                      -dom....

HAUSÉ....

honest­ly? the Cyrillic alphabet?
looks like cheap-****...
it's somewhat Greek... but...
but... it's a work-around...
i can work with it... what are my alternatives?
******* Glagolitic Croat?

— The End —