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MY FROG MASTERS

How thoughtful were the rainfalls
To water our gardens and flowers
The flowers spread wide garments
To celebrate their terminal beauty

The joyful frogs occupied my pond
To orchestrate their vocal prowess
They taught me to take blind leaps
Like lightning bouncing in the skies

Squatted, stretched, beeped down
I was a millstone on the pond floor
My slippery pond mates wondered
How soft I was in the maritime arts

Mortally rescued in a muddy mood
The clouds sent in rescuing showers
To confirm my firm loss to the frogs
Like a grain of salt cast into the seas


673. MONEY BAGS IN THEIR BODY BAGS

The money bags shopping for their body bags
Waggled through the makeshift supermarkets

Their ancestral homes they plotted modernity
Like the general gathering fine forces together

To the villages they made to return with pride
Like pregnant elephants caught up in the mud

Their desolate villages are deep and sickening
Glowing flamingly in the crucibles of local gins

The dusty and gravy pathways are like furnace
Burning the leather off from their frozen souls

Traditional birth attendants cut off their cords
And zipped the money bags in their body bags

674. A GLORIOUS DAY

The new day spoke powerfully
Like a war making superpower
And his voice roared forcefully
Like the skies forced to shower

The sunrays came dynamically
Like love responding to silence
Beauty crawled in submissively
Like the mixed arts and science

One eagle soared energetically
Like lions feuding in the colony
Far clouds relocated peacefully
Like souls betrayed to harmony

The breeze sighed thoughtfully
Like horses galloping on the lea
Inspiration unfolded thankfully
Crowns monuments with a pea

675.  THE FOG BANK

The sun had gone to pay our bill in the fog bank
The world foggily crawled into the strong rooms
Darkness demonstrated her strong mindfulness
Provided for the strong gale with lurking shrieks

The black paint billers snowballed to our dreams
With the bill of exchange for wild sunny excesses
Ghostly bats emerged with the bill of indictment
In demonstration of our acrophobic dispositions

We packaged the sunrays for our folk memories
To reassure the day of our eternal followerships
We cherish our follow-throughs in our dark beat
To usher the sunlight out of the hollow fog bank

676. THE PROTRACTED INTERNECINE FEUD

These things had happened before we were born
Like sulphur deep into our fresh hearts they burn
Now we stumble on the bumpy terrains in horror
Like one frightened by ghosts in a standing mirror

The internecine feud has razed our men of valour
With their carcasses dumped in their cold parlour
Our community cattle graze in the barren pasture
Like the unrepentant sinners awaiting the rapture

For our plight the once glorious sky is grown pale
Like the ***** fetching territorial waters with pail
The storms have rolled off the catalogues for rain
All our efforts to mop up the mess end up in vain



677. THE AREA LEADERS

They cracked coconuts on the heads for the crown
And embraced our days with their castaway pollen
Sadness and sorrow have dyed our garment brown
With the strongest song sung when night has fallen

These are the blinding dusts from our barn’s grains
They breed cunning serpents in the soft pasturages
They are failed cargoes on our broad societal trains
They dedicate our common committee to outrages

Now our days seek deliverance from their tentacles
Like the colourful fields immersed in gloomy beauty
They play our eyeballs with the stenciled spectacles
With our consciences to sight and found us off duty

To rescue us the colossal clouds were born gadarene
Our communal life was willed to pageants of gaieties
Then moonlight stories held us for a larger gathering
Now all the objects we sight dress up like cold deities

678. THE LAST DESCENDANTS

The rapacious thunderstorms ***** the skies for their tears
The hot embers were born to glow mourning the late forest
The moon crawled out of the blue like a great grandmother
Cuddling her descendants wrapped up in her ancient shawls

The wild waves were weird weavers weaving withering wails
The captioned wigs gyrated on stunning shoes upon auctions
The little creatures crouched in primeval baskets of the night
To gnaw at the generational tubers in the creative farmlands

The dazzling specimens of dentitions relaxed in water basins
Like bright red artistic architectures on potent ocean boards
Golden hearts glow in the threatening prisms of the furnace
As beautiful sunset defines her beauties in her nightly corset

It had been a sweet pill for the past descendants to swallow
Depending on the colonial masters for loaves, lore and lures
Our creativity had been packaged in their mortal depravities
Like the tranquil days resting sorrowfully upon the dark oars

The centenarian thunders downgraded our minute whispers
We had been kept upon our toes by the eternally sworn foes
At last our worthy artworks have worn their wormy catwalks
The refreshed dawns greet our easting days in their greenery



679. VICTIMS IN THE VALLEY

The victims in the dark rally
Caged, dried and browning
Therein their meanings tally
With waves born drowning

In the depth of a cold valley
Horrible nobles are cultures
Like pilgrims in the dark alley
Willed to ravenous vultures

The victims all robed in tears
With hearts like potter’s clay
For pains they have no fears
Only mimed games they play

For victory awaits the victims
Alien to a blind mimed game
Glorious are eternal rhythms
For death Christ died to tame

680. THE GIANT SCARS

These are our giant threatening scars
Engraved on our demonstrative heads
Our sympathies crawled on superstars
Weeping for us on their moonlit beds

They threatened us with nasal sounds
Like thunderclouds seasoned to burst
For us their galleries are out of bounds
Behind the iron bars plagued with rust

Our patience passed their wildest tests
Like the lions roaring in the thick jungle
On the heart of the Lord our faith rests
Like numbers posted on the right angle

681.  A LADY

In a lady’s handbag
Is her hidden hunchback
Stuffed with her heart ache
For the pains relieving groom

In a lady’s tender smile
Is hidden miles of similitude
Marked with the zebra crossings
For the ever winning marathoner

In a tender lady’s heart
Is hidden her cowboy’s hat
Soaring within the white clouds
To soothe the earth with the latter rains

682. BRING BACK OUR GIRLS

Bring back our homesick girls
Their vacant cradles are bleeding
Bring back our innocent girls
On the chariots of fire descending

Bring back our suckling girls
Their feeding bottles are weeping
Bring back our infant girls
Their mothers’ ******* are heavy

Bring back our harmless girls
The united universe is thundering
Bring back our dewy girls
In the sharp sun rising in the skies

Bring back our beautiful girls
Like light plucked from darkness
Bring back our glorious girls
Aboard the shore-bound waves

Bring back our worthy girls
On their fresh faces our lights seek to glow
Bring back our living girls
Our fountains of joy are bubbling to burst

For our returned girls the skies shall bear
Roaring rivers, singing seas, chiming clouds
With gongs and songs, pianos and praises
Dulcet dulcimers and documentable dances
With healthy hymns and eloquent embraces
All nations shall into a common cathedral flow

683. ****** GENEOLOGIES

They electrify their demonic high tables with old fears
Only their ****** genealogies are bookmarked to reign
The sight of their portables whetted our eyes to tears
We are reinforced by the clouds born to the later rain

Our skins have renovated the sickening cattle wagons
With our dreams flying upon huge smokes in the skies
Beneath their tables we abridge their creaking jargons
Upon their floors with our generational landmark tiles

The dew drops dropped like old crops upon our brows
To soften the veils falling to the flaming edged swords
The flaming hearted sword of the penetrating sunrays
Born to pluck us alive from our hotly bandaged bruises

684. LET US SPEAK UP

The light is climbing downstairs
And danger is sprouting abroad
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light is melted on the glades
And terror grazing our eyelashes
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light is late and lately buried
The mourners are on danger list
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

The light has divorced the grave
Her grave clothes are dew dyed
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

Silence is a forgotten tombstone
Lost in the din of cold morticians
Our feet are listening for a word
Let us speak up lest they go deaf

685.  THE SUN

The sun smiles on all prescriptively
Like the waves spreading on shores
The green grass glows descriptively
Like the full moon upon dark sores

The sun is a tailor fixing the buttons
Preparing the sky for incoming stars
Like the weaverbird weaving cottons
To conceal the day’s damnable scars

The sun is a marker on diurnal pages
Tall grace he bestows on the flowers
The sun retains his graces for all ages
Bees and butterflies are his followers

Our common laughter is endangered
When sun bows down in big setbacks
All mortals have the starlets fingered
When the night comes on drawbacks

686. UNTIL HERE

(For Lou Lenart and his team)

Their floods came seeking Jewish bloods
Like streams they roared for our dreams
They emerged as columns of soldier ants
Like whirlwinds they zoomed towards us

Until here we were crumbs for the reptiles
Until here we were like airborne cloudlets
But here the sudden change unveiled to us
From here the elusive victory embraced us

With skeletal jets we fought like bold lions
Soared like eagles and spoke like thunders
We conquered columns of invading armies
The bleeding armies turned back and blank

From here we turned from victims to victors
From here enemies’ defeat our greatest feat
Upon this memorable bridge it all happened
Victories leapt upon our pool like joyful frogs

687.  JOY UNLIMITED

The fledging sun offers its rays
And the rays offer golden trays
For our joy a platform to spray
Rowdy paratroops like thunder
To scoop roses from pure oasis

Our joy is ripe upon celebrations
Our celebrations with decorations
Decorations with documentations
Documentations for all generations
Generations in our joyful habitations

688. ANOTER RAINING DAY

The dark clouds are wandering river basins
Spiral bounded by breakable outer casings
The rivers and the seas display empty cups
For the swift blessings descending the tops

The rains come as defense troops’ missiles
And the drowning lands look like imbeciles
Now we are groaning in the watered claws
With the liberated scales marking our flaws

The retreating clouds crawl away in a belch
Dumping the missing cargoes on the beach
The winds bow in a state of shock in a cord
Praying and fasting for a visit from the Lord

689. GRANDMOTHER

Grandmother, please wake and get up
The sky is quarreling with her husband
Soon they will spill their freezing sweat
On our bodies for us to catch dead cold

Grandmother, please sneeze not louder
The sky and her husband are quarreling
Soon they will send old floods like gales
To sweep mankind away from the world

Grandmother, you are everything I have
My moon, my sun and my morning stars
Provoke not the couples with your cough
Lest they refill their greasily wraths again

Grandmother, the big reptiles have come
With their lethal grandchildren following
They are laced with secret burial shrouds
With sympathetic tears tearing their eyes

Grandmother, I kiss you a shaky goodbye
With broken pains roaring within my soul
Grandmother, where are your groundnuts
To conduct my solo heart as you sing away

690.  A NIGHT WALK THROUGH THE FOREST

Lured away on an alluring dream by fables
I trudged along the grassy paths with fears
Upon my steps spilling the prevailing dews
The shadows bowed their heads in silence
Like the soul issued with a death sentence

The night crawlers emerged above boards
Throwing light upon contrary communities
In their hearts and eyes were painful tears
Crawling down their exaggerated eye *****
Like a handbag filled with rotten cosmetics

The shadows were bold animators’ shelves
Stage managing the horror motion pictures
In the ghostly commodities I met wild hosts
Lifeworks evaporated from my fresh breath
Like foreign tragedies in common comedies

The sorrowful shadows cast away their veils
Like the candles letting go of the weird wax
Sadly I sat in the sack for conflicting fetuses
Another sun appeared like a serial divorcee
Counting the testicles of another naked day

691.  SUBJECTIVE SUBJECTS

The sad sun descended upon her haunting melodies
Reeling from mysterious layers for electoral riggings
To harden the flowerbed for flower girls born tender
Disenfranchised voters came weeping in barren polls
Dressing the blank nest for the fat electoral parodies
With the mourners the faulty bells they came ringing
Like the angry water castigating a ****** port fender
And the smokes climbed upon their wide aerial poles
Arching over the emptied shelves with liberal singing
They subjected their subjective subjects to all objects
Cunning Linguist Oct 2013
Intrusive thoughts
Enamoring fiend
Amidst an enchanting euphoric rapture
my apotheosis complex washes away
like knives to my throat
in a deluge of familiar burning healing

How I crave to abdicate Self
Oh unrelinquishing,
(r)
                          e  lusive Soul;
       (c)
Abandoning me to languish
In this castigating material existence

Slowly
                                                  feeling
My faith wavering
Withering                                                        
                                                  to the point
of nihility

Layer by layer
Shed my illusions
Shatter my Ego
So maybe I'll realize
Real enlightenment

Because I stopped caring for humanity ages ago.

If misery loves company
How can even I feel lonely
Alone to my thoughts
In a crowd of my peers?
Just keep up appearances ;)

You all look so oblivious with boxes over your heads...

Obscurely I yearn to be lucid
But instead am welcomed
by livid disdain

I just want to watch the world burn
An inferno; more ****** to churn
for my every advance she spurned
don't object my grotesque romance
or squander it in a moment of happenstance;
rather, project a mental image by perchance
Of me pursuing an remembrance
of the past,
in the present; instead of looking forward
to the pen I wield in hand;
Dubiously proclaimed mightier than the sword
Began as a companion to "bewilderment"
Decided to make it a stand alone piece. Love to hear your interpretation :)
Deswer Jan 2012
This poem is going to be a lie
He tells himself
Writhing in tantalizing filaments
The bright asphyxiation drawing him closer and closer
To this
An ideal
Of the perfect truth
Told out in unwritten song
Painfully typed words
A clever shower of meteors
Belittling the dangerous craters on the surface
The danger of tripping and dying
Not withstanding what we know to be
A falicy
My multilingual interpretation of her feelings
Old testimonies heard in the court
Of the already guilty
This poem is a complete distortion of facts
My trivial response to empowered individuals
Standing on my Adam's Apple
And beating on my lungs like drums
Rhythm meaning honor
And the attention of the onlookers meaning
The inviting glow
Of the fireplace.
She sat down next to
That night
That town
That unfamiliar castigating of a child not belonging to
You
Or her
Or the abyss
"Unbelonging"
"Inbelonging"
Not.  Yours.

The wordsmith falters
Checking his math
Calculation, equation, kiss on the cheek
For luck for death
For the noose to slip, lovingly
And gently to the ground as the trap door swings open
A great, open toothed smile
Laughing at silence
BARBARIC to interrupt such delicacy
Straining to look into my eyes
She whispers low
I want to find a home...
And i tell her, with my heaviest conviction
"No home is."
Which could mean anything.
This poem is a verisimilitude
A lie about a truth
Which, again...
Could mean anything...
WordsOfLoved Jun 2013
As the clouds clear away, the grass takes a drink of the new found water
the air smells of crisp oxygen and the land brightens its glow
the pond ripples as droplets from this dead tree fall down into the water, ever so slightly breaking the surface
I sit here, in the dead sturdy branches of this tree; overlooking the entire landscape that is before me
letting out a long held breath, I let my imagination wonder
as I vacantly watch the little droplets plummet into the pond I find myself wondering what it would be like being that delicate drop of rain
castigating down to the vast world of water,  finally becoming part of something bigger, disappearing forever, fading away into everything around me
With a sigh I let my thoughts wonder elsewhere, unsure of what my imagination can dream up next, but I let it run free and wait with anticipation. . .
after what seems like ages I realize that the clouds are back
the dark, menacing clouds
thunder rumbles so hard I can feel it inside my chest, shaking me to my core
I should leave. . .
But I don’t
I always seem to stick around for the bad stuff, before I can get my train of thought back, it starts
hitting me like small daggers
the cold little droplets pierce my skin and sting as if they were fire
It falls harder, gradually picking up speed
eventually the lightning starts,
now I regret staying
but alas
I still stay
I watch as bright instantaneous flashes of light crash to the ground, forcing entry into the earth’s surface, damaging the lovely landscape one strike at a time.
eventually the storm beings to calm, as do my thoughts
when the storm is long gone I find myself watching the little droplets plunge into the pond again everything is has returned to being peaceful
with every droplet that falls, so does my anxiety and my perception of time
KM Ramsey Apr 2015
I look forward to seeing him everyday.

What is this torture?

How do I stop castigating myself
and throwing myself prostrate
on the burning coals
those spitting embers
spider web cracks
spreading like contaminants
foreboding of the epidemic to come
intricate designs carrying grave warnings.

I tremble.

I have never trembled before.

Not in response to the mere
idea
that image in my head of
his arm tenderly around my shoulders
to shelter me from the inevitability of the future
the dancing spectre of his face
lingering in the goose flesh
that breaks out like a cold sweat
when my heart aches
and my mind cries out in anguish
at the terror and sheer immensity of
that crushing longing.

Never have I wanted so wantonly
a wildfire consuming
ravaging every inch of my world
reducing me to a snarling beast
bared teeth
hair standing on edge to lash out
the power of the entire universe
pulsing through my veins.

A mother’s love pales
to the ferocity of my fight.

I have nothing to lose
I have seen the mountaintop
I have seen the destruction
the darkness and storms which
lie ahead for the burning chasm of
pain and beauty and love
that is my very essence
and I must continue
I must go there and know
that I can survive the gale winds
and the pelting rain
slapping my face
with a lace glove
as if that could somehow insulate me
from the sting of your absence
and the looming murky world
that you leave in your wake
expecting my gratitude
for the silt and dust that hangs around me
whose hollow presence
doesn’t keep me warm at night.

I feel my control
slipping through my fingers
the sieve through which my power is filtered
and I am left with only the dregs
why did you have to come here?

Why did I listen to your whisper
to open my eyes and
see
and have your face be the first
image haloed in the sun’s glorious offering
of light
bathing my retina in the warm liquid matrix?

How long could I have held onto hope
that two parallel lines
could one day diverge from their path
their arrow-straight shot to infinity
and converge
to know that touch for even a fraction of
a femtosecond?

How long will I continue my self deception?
To listen to the dulcet tones of that uninhibited
purr in the back of my mind
which exists outside of knowledge and logic
inhabiting the world of unmentionable desire
a longing that I suppress
a wanting that I can never trust.

Crumbling facades and fading frescos
are all that lie ahead
as time’s march crushes all dreams
under its steel-toed boot
stealing everything away from me
until I subsist on arid dust
and musty, time-worn clocks.
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2016
<>
"I am learning a little—never to be sure—
To be positive only with what is past,
And to peer sometimes at the things to come
As a wanderer treading the night
When the mazy stars neither point nor beckon,
And of all the roads, no road is sure"

Experience by Carl Sandburg

<>

summarizes my life, the fits and starts,
at every fork, the wrong road taken

and I lean back,
pensive from my shame,
knowingly confessing
that I would make the
wrong choices again

maybe, sadly, most likely...

the maps they provided early on,
were ok, but I never lived
on their edge,
never went far enough,
warned off,
all bordered in the red of
"go no farther,"
so stuck to the worn and grooved paths,
ventured out,
but retreated to safe center court
covered with the wounding cuts of
self-castigating tears,
for my lack of courage
and the waste and burdens
engendered permanent

maps for me,
are now no longer necessary,
for any road of mine is
closer my god to thee,
and my notice that
"the-show-is closing"warning
is a nearing destination,
slips quietly into my back pocket

now, I permission routine
to drive my simpler life,
where easy, gentling kindness
of the usual, the regularizing
steady as she goes,
are my comfy shoes upon
to tread the familiar road of surety...

that sates but doesn't fully satisfy

for the harsh hanging judge,
my resident permanent
on the top floor of my brain,
sentenced me as a young man
me to life imprisonment
in my very own self-built
asylum insane,
where all the tempting ladders were
maps that led to
This Way Out

was so fearful
to grasp and vault
from the top rung to
the uncertain pleasures
of the unknown of the other side

only here,
in the paths of my poetic words
do I venture across boundaries
and back over lines
that dare and
dare not
be refused

the great exposition
the great expiation
the great explication
of one man

words are my living will,
my testament,
my behests, my bequests,
my medals of discourage and
urges not followed,
tarnished but worn proudly

left to my
children's children
as a lesson plan
of one man

of a life poorly well and almost lived
these words are the rebar to build,
to cartograph,
to illustrate
new maps,
better ways,
signed posts
to take the risk of writing,
go gadget go abroad,
create new poems, new styles,
better than those
I that live~leave-left rightly
behind for
fellow travelers,
grandchildren,
who will - who must!
use them
to unmake the errors
I herein freely confess


12:07 Sunday July 10th of his sixty fifth year
ponny jo Sep 2014
Fall to be
Life, a sea
To freely see
So calling me
Feeling leaves
Crunching frees
When, but tithing
The freest breeze
Is but every,
Astounding thing
Maybe a remedy
Cradling dreams
glowing streams
Foggy sheens
Making these
Diamond seams
Echoes seem
Frailer things
Which beauty brings
Castigating, floating beings

Though without,
The warmth they bring
Though within,
Melodies teem,
with no strings
Welcoming.

I was glad
Just to have seen
Dhimss Aug 2020
Stranger behind this digital veil,
I am assuming this is another one of
Cupid’s play
Tell me, is this just another summer fling
Or do I anticipate it to be a real thing?

Will you detest my individuality?
And try castigating my intellect?
Or,
Would you be my Prince Charming,
the ones only found in books?

Would I hear guitar strings strum,
As love crawls in to find its way,
Even then,
Would it, be love?

Could we possibly Make up to the distance?
The warmth, the fireworks of each other’s presence
Amidst the epidemic that has interfered

Would we  Rave endlessly?
Talking all night,
Choosing each other
Over Morpheus’s arms.
Obsessing over little that are suddenly cute

Would we look deranged, with a constant smile?
Hushed voices, muffled giggles,
Lost, chuckling into our phones.
The very type I’ve always made fun of.

Would it be a Disney movie?
Say, a tad more magical?
Could I really judge you,
with a mere photo?

It could be the a summer drizzle
Or go down the drain.
Farce and adherence
Have been my metier
Assuring amazement
To be mundane.

Dear new immigrant,
Enrolling for my heart,
Hoping you’re the yin,
To my yang.
one other poem
Jabbering Ignominious Hypocrite Gabbles - against the backdrop of gross unbridled viscous wracking zealotry bruiting extinguishing inherent national trust...  

Poetic Introduction:

I wax and wane rhapsodic
plus prosaically politic
aware severe erosion
of American democracy
over run by narcissistic
over stuffed ego-freezer,
whose vocabulary
extremely laconic
foe swash buckling braggadocio
commander in chief
not gun shy
to brandish (hugely
bully like) jingoistic
tirade unleashing horrific
banshees more'n 10, 000
foo fighting maniacs
(nemesis of liberty) fatalistic
to sanctity of
United States democracy
throw back at him bigly,
his woeful treachery,
quasi xenophobic, tragic,
and lunatic bred anarchy!

Each ticking second of every single day, the pensive, doughy face execrably debased “dunderhead” criminal commander in chief (trumpeting acrimonious, calumnious, egregious...yakking), while donned in gay apparel) trumpeting lunatic, jingoistic, ideology imbues heretic catalysts.

Thou art unduly seething, quaking, and oozing mercurial kindling ideological glommed ethos of mine. These atrocious blaspheming, castigating, denigrating, excoriating, fulminating gross humiliations imply jerkiness, kookiness, lunacy.

No! Not for one more term can this acidulous, indecorous Mandates need outspoken politicians quickly removing this utterly vile wicked Xerses.

Thus spoke Zarathustra (without blandishment) to me, a gluten and monosodiumglutinate free, NON-GMO non-alarmist, nonestablishmentarian, nor ham aye a nihilist.

Yukon just **** sitter me a copacetic, energetic, ironic language lover (English is ma lingua franca late mother tongue), who waxes poetic, but tall so one babbling, creaking, and dabbling dis arming marine naval (gazing) scrivener expressing stance toward thee present lord save us (Te Deum) included despite admitting to espouse atheistic tendencies.

This “FAKE” president aces at blabbing acerbic, caustic, empathetic, fatalistic hoary jabbering mishmash!

I aim to affect a chain reaction while this paunchy dumpling remains in office, whereat he flirts, debases, colludes, with amoral, diabolical, execrable horrible ingrates.

His see-through debonair, imposter nuanced orbit poseur quite revealing sans, (inviting guests, sans agents provocateurs to join his all-star ensemble of mailer daemons, lampoon kickstarting imps of the pervert further underscores this delusional faux equalitarian huckster as an unqualified commander in chief!

A flourishing gesticulation (hocus – pocus) kindles, flickered and evinces braggadocio. This pantomime a charade, facade, inlaid limp odiousness. Via compounding gall, he makes official indiscriminate ******* legislation all the exempting himself and kin.

Smug slinking, sneering, sporting antics attempt to cocoon diabolical, horrible laws (automatically abrogating, evading, flaunting every decree, whereat he affixes his signature). This absolute zero with dangerous liaisons significantly, knowingly, and increasingly shortens the metaphorical burning fuse.

He sets the figurative and literal global shaky sphere stage setting off a global conflagration. If privy with box office seat, you will rub shoulders with guest appearances sans, worldwide webbed sheep in wool clothing faux allies.

These Janus faced grungy beastie boys, cagily, edgily cadge facile self-possessing knack to acquire fruitful knick knacks (paddy whacks give their dog a bone), which forsaken good and plenty treats blithely, blindly, blandly exchanged at the emotional, financial, and spiritual expense of American taxpayers.

This collusion to fiddle (while Rome burns), gamble and mollycoddle with turncoats actually, demonstrably, generously favors these chameleon nemeses.

Poetic Polemic Bookends this rant:

Though poor (financially),
this figurative anchorite
doth no longer
wanna feel powerless
against bicameral blight
thus approaching 2020 election...
uneasily doth excite.
Lifeblood of democracy hemorrhaging
ousting the "FAKE" president only recourse
to staunch impending grim demise,
since forefathers drafted
United States Constitution
ratified more'n two centuries ago

hoi polloi must take to the streets
denouncing severe curtailment
impinging sacred freedom of speech
linkedin with paramount bedrock provision
accessing unvarnished flint ****** "truth,"
nonetheless commander in chief

he quakingly, staunchly, vociferously...
excoriates, lacerates, repudiates...
one damning hermetically sealed,
iniquitous airtight, vacuum packed
flagrant misuse of power,
(not to mention nepotism)

invidious, insidious, injurious... infractions
incontestable, incontrovertible, contemptible...
significant melange in führer
re: hating deplorably
crooked basely barren
factual exposé after another,

deft correspondents all not quiet
along western front
(I heard Maria - mull remark)
bring "to light" execrable,
lamentable reprehensible...
gross transgressions

commander in chief
significantly overstepped
Pulitzer prize winning
prestigious storied publications
scathingly trounced, pillaried,
lambasted, insulted, denounced,

butchered, critiqued, demonized,
fricassed, gored, humiliated,...
pummeled, quartered, reviled
courageously expounding fiend
ensconced within his Taj Mahal

impregnable donjon, whereat he trumpets
laurels asper, nonpareil administration
laying groundless accusations
baring his white fangs,
twittering, naysaying, mocking.. supreme
renown gifted by "honest Abe"

recalcitrant commander in chief,
who refutes objectionable
dogged investigative journalism
every step of the way,
where dedicated news gatherers
risk life and limb

firing line reportage troopers
ferreting (foxlike) he/she
doth gopher precious nuggets
uncover alarming undisputable details
impossible to refute raw bits
agent provocateur freely colluding

immediately hashtashed poppycock
smarmy, snooty, snappy
beastly capital one ogre
blatantly castigating diligent endeavors
oblivious pie in sky
delusional egotistic haughtiness
bobblehead vilified by silent majority.
Deepti S P May 2020
People with phantasm,
Castigating and nitpicking over tiny details,
Not judging the verity of the status quo,
Are those who don't see the truth.
We have to come across judgmental  and opinionated people in our lives.They actually don't see a situation through our eyes.They easily jump to conclusions without evaluating the truthfulness of the situation.Perception differs for every individual.Real people are least affected by it because they don't have an image to maintain.
Finds psyche cinched eyes all a blear
analogous to horse like bridle
comfortably numb seat
atop wooden back chair
affixed (with no rhyme, nor reason),

ready to go nuclear
I sit here...just oon billie leave hubble lee
idle experiencing side effects of bugbear
awash with fallout, sans
this mortal suspecting unfair

desecration cursed like Pagan
infidel locked in total kombat warfare
this catatonic state equated with vamoose
"we don't want your poetry here!"

Absolute zero comprehension
why yours truly barred -
that vague message crystal clear
instinctively intuited,
asper Facebook moderators

countless virtual poetic groups air
that contents of material
I post inappropriate
without any explanation, where
yesterday, or a few

days back first one site,
did set in gear
now countless numbers
discriminate eyes fear
every attempted effort of mine
finds me targeted

within virtual crosshair
for no specific reason,
an appreciable despair
wells up, hence...
this respectable chap, now

wonders if legal
measures possible, here
or even worthwhile, mud dear
cyber friends, and nary a blues clues
thus this missive doubles

as plea to challenge unfair
retaliatory bias, cuz deliberate care
perspicuously lack opprobrious words,
castigating, incriminating, lampooning...
thus aye no obligation for me to repair

any person, whose being criticized, since
most often poetic contents directed at me
unaware of any crime to tear
into characterization courtesy of
virtual masochistic emasculation,

so...rather than ignore
this virtual snub, the near
next ideal action on my part
constitutes asking advice

versus burdening conscience
as rotten offal neckwear
thank you for reading this unbear
rubble syncopated expression of woe.

NOT “FAKE” POSTSCRIPT:

those parties disabling my freedom to share
choosing to restore access or glare
at non offensive material, BUT ye may very well hear
from legal representative, cuz this good fella
learned that keeping mum,
an albatross I don't need, noe want to bear!
At 1330 hours (indicated
courtesy notification slipped under door
less than twenty four hours)
hence foretold ill fate
by property (crooks and quade) management
the head honcho zaftig, ******,
(who replaced the warden)

and Rich (BOLD FACE
text mode) the snitch
at Highland Manor Apartments
re: looming eviction implication
cuz yours truly and the missus
out of compliance
namely unkempt living space
within the walls of apartment b44.

after residing within
said low income facility
going on six years July first
two thousand and twenty three,
we experienced ongoing contention here,
which palpable tension
crackles, pops, and snaps
across the webbed wide world.

Courtesy social media platforms
in tandem with reputable poetry websites
allows, enables and provides
analogous soapbox to vent
after above identified triumvirate
done scrutinizing, interrogating, castigating...

Me and the missus
immediately sprung into action
rather each of our separate nervous systems
underwent uncontrollable bouts
of expansion and contraction,
(where we both
made a beeline for the bathroom)
analogous to severe toothache
necessitating oral surgeon extraction.

One month later - March seventeenth
signals the re: visitation of inquisition
(cue ominous music)
obscure artificial illumination
looming dark shadows
presaging worse fate than death
rivaling close encounters of the third kind
outer limits of the twilight zone
monstrous sinister forbidding shapes
blotting sunlight plunging
highland manor apartment in total darkness.

Hence aforementioned feeble SOS
cuz our rented one bedroom unit
b44 not in ship shape,
thus me and the wife
not happy campers
possibly forced to live in a tent
among bunch of other homeless people
along skidrow,
thus fruitless effort to yield
and appeal to top banana
figuratively precariously perched
on horns of dilemma

spurred me to posit supposition,
whereby sympathy for the devil witnesses
greater likelihood versus wordsmith
unsuccessfully, nevertheless creatively
blindsiding anonymous readers
spellbound to empty ***** nilly
bajillions of dollars
from their pocketbooks
and mail blank checks to yours truly
before coming to their collective
sense and sensibility bound
with pride and prejudice.

The following paragraphs yielded after Google search undertaken to elucidate reader with (our) low income housing facility.

Section 515 Rural Rental Housing
This property has received funding in part through the Section 515 Rural Rental Housing (Section 515) program. Very low, low, and moderate income families, elderly persons, and persons with disabilities are eligible to live at this property. Persons or Families living in substandard housing have priority for tenancy.
Section 521 USDA Rental Assistance
The property participates in the USDA Rural Development Rental Assistance program. This rental subsidy, available only to USDA Section 514, 515 and 516 properties, ensures renters only pay 30% of their adjusted income towards rent. USDA Rural Development Rental Assistance may not be available for all units at this property.
Dal90 Sep 2020
Nobody can tell me the internet isn’t anything but anxiety-inducing
Scrolling for days hunting for the many ways
To be vital, to be liked, to be followed, to be adored
By the faceless masses that you wouldn’t look at twice in the street
And isn’t that the key?
To find self-freedom and the confidence to be
Anything you want to be without all those despising eyes
Castigating and spreading lies that they don’t have to answer for
And where’s the justice in that?
But equally
Why does it affect us so much? Why does it get under our skin
If we really know it doesn’t mean a thing
It shouldn’t force us to change our very core
The deep-rooted feelings we’ve so far successfully believed in
Because in the long run
People respect honesty and truth
Even if it means we end up living in a conflicted dystopian world
It’s better than a self-created unsustainable make-believe ******* fantasy
And yeah,
I’m well aware that sounds crazy
But I’m here to tell you
It’s fine to spend hours in aeroplane mode
In the aim to find salvation in time spent alone  
I honestly believe the world would be in a better place if we all lived that way
But what do I know?
Of course
I know nothing at all
newborn Jun 2023
i’m wearing shades of lavender
shades of misery
despair, impaired

you aren’t mine
because i took your smile
packed it inside the trunk of my moving vehicle
that i can’t even maneuver
if our paths became photographs instead
i think i would miss you the best

i know intentions fade
and spirits degrade
hope in a vacuum
****** out of reach
the stars are calling
and the seas are swallowing
a dog with a bone
in love with the hand that feeds it

i need you
my piece of evidence
that all this happened
and you didn’t hate me
i know my friend is crazy
why can’t this hate around envelop me
and spit me out because i don’t want to doubt i don’t want to hate anyone anymore i’m not an unforgiving soul
send me away, for the palace in the hills
contagion in its clearest form
don’t take over

you aren’t mine
she isn’t kind
the rainwater is intricate and doesn’t mean any harm
rushing towards a form of civility
follow me

i lie
so others can like me
there’s this tendency
that i can’t tell her that she’s wrong
i don’t want to hate anymore i don’t want to foam at the mouth with greed with repulsion at anything
for you to be a fly on the wall, at that sick carnival
humans always fail to forget the remnants of such a barbarous past

i don’t have you
you aren’t mine
possession of you
must be some kind of fantasy
rambling
such a lurking fear

but i don’t want to hate anymore go to a gravesite pray for their souls i don’t wanna pump hate into this world i don’t hate anyone i just want to be alone

i need to put an end to it
disconnect the waters to your faucet
make you start crying because of all you did
a dog with a bone
castigating the hand that won’t feed it


it’ll be such a glorious execution
to the desire that i have to let someone know they are wrong. i’m trying. everyone deserves love.

5/31/23

— The End —