Champs got that swagger,
I can tell you that.
No wait.
Champ's got THAT swagger.
The kind that just hits you
and you're there lost for words.

Champ has a way with words.
He can keep you engaged for hours.
He can talk about any subject you you want.
Keeps you thinking about life, love, and everyday problems.
He just makes you melt on the inside.
Every time we talk its a treat.

Champ knows how to treat people.
He knows the right way to treat a girl.
He doesn't take advantage or argues
or needs his way to be the right way.
He can just go with the flow
Just wants everything to be calm and stress free.

Champ's the best at handling stress.
He could be hit with 25 different daggers
and not even break a sweat.
Everything he says he will do
gets done.
No excuses.
He pushes his mind to the max.

Champ's got a mind of his own.
Not the kind that can never be changed,
but the kind that you want to have change yours.
He's been through hell and back
and has stories to prove it
but he will never show it.

But champ does has a way of showing IT.
What I mean is

Champ's got a body.
No doubt about it.
The kind of figure that should be on billboards.
But you just want to keep it to yourself
so no one else knows how special it is.
The kind that you can just lose yourself it.

Champ has a way of making you lose yourself.
Its just when everything mixes together
he just has it all working for him.
Champ's got that swagger
and there's still no doubt about it.

A new day, press play, a challenge for one.
Solo for I, never won.
Spawned like magic, 100 people? That’s tragic.
Less would I prefer,
From the bus, I jump and glide
From the wailing heights, I go to a bush and hide.
Found a camp, a player I’ve tramped,
One closer to being a champ.

Many people less, beginning to stress,
Loot everywhere, what a mess!
In this battle, I thought I would be fine,
But in the distance, I saw a white line,
With the numbers of sixty-nine,
A soccer skin! A soccer skin! Oh God, oh why?
Building fast as the speed of light,
All I knew that it could be a hard fight.
Because, with death in my mind, I didn’t know what to do,
Thoughts boggled up, like the texture of goo.
I placed a trap on the wall of wood,
I waited suddenly, wondering when they would,
Yes! I caught them with my trap!
One closer to being a champ.

Found a vehicle of an interesting shape,
Bouncy like a ball, all around, on the landscape,
A Baller! Yes! Now I’m glad,
But no need to use it, I got a launchpad!
However, I could bounce around, Boom! Bam! and Pow!
Then I could tell them, “who’s laughing now?”
However now, I’m in the final two,
I shot his build down, if only he knew,
Now it is over, show off with a ramp,
Now I’ve become the champ.

Soundly trounced
the beaten man
warily offered
his shaking hand
to the victor of the bout
from the start
there was no doubt

That he would fall
this day it seemed
a shame for all
who'd come to see
the champ reclaim
his title belt
one more time
we all felt

The Champ had won
so many times
you had to know
there'd be a time
when along would come
a newer face
knock him down
take his place

His fans belief, unwavering
his character,  unsavory
but that's what it takes
if your to be
the champion of
your childhood dreams

He taught the kids
and played the roll
took their papers
and signed them all
a champ and a star
he felt like a king
he reigned supreme
in the squared ring

But when he was
alone at home
all he sought
was to drown
all the sorrows
he'd been through
kicked and teased
like a fool

If the kids
could see him now
curled and lonely
in his shell
would they then
ask him why?
could he answer
and not cry?

Then came the day
of the title match
he knew within
it was his last
he'd make a show
for his fans
he'd even do their
favorite stance
the time had come
to pass on
the title of champ
his time was done

After the show
sitting all alone
thinking of all
that he had done
in walked a kid
and before him he stood
and  said
you are still The Champ
in my book

Boy,

She's
got you
all *******
again.

Just.
Bound.
Once more.

To her
infernal-eternal,
heart breaking
beauty.

Witch, she possesses.
you,
to play the pawn
in her *****'s game.

Like a champ.

But will you really be winning?

When you find all-o-those,
***** little secrets.

She has hidden in her black-lace-*******.

To come in like a champ
means to come out like a champ
To come in like a whimp
means to come out like a champ
No matter what
come out looking like a champ
and no one will know the difference

Clarifying failed. Spelchek is not on strike.

{clear ification, an ionic bond be tween me and thee,
alienated mind, not mined, crafted
from tactics and strategies
beyond chess.
Player One,
1980's era
jewish-geek-mid-pubesence-kid-level,
proceed with caution.
This trope has trapped many a curious child.
---
Now, enter the old ones,
Grandfather taught uncle chess so well
he went to the state tournament in Kayenta,
and a grandma was
state-champ-bare-bow-in-the-rain-shooter,

these, now must learn

minecraft on x-box to be considered
for the real life role of

good at games grand parents
from the time right after atom bombs kicked up dust
places dust had not been in a very long time and
as the dust began to settle

some dust mights was cationic.
Negative bits, they became embedded in the code.
Bumps, fering, coming together
just a knot in a string,
attracting anionic curiosity might

round and round phorward ferring to be
a thread to tie my heart to yours

like twisted Pima cotton thread,
that I pulled from an old sweatshirt
to tie a crow feather in this paho of words filled with old jokes

Making this clear would belie the entire story AI and I know true}

truth is. we agree. no capsokehspaceasneededcommasetal.
caps okeh space as needed commas et al
go.
Did that work? That line

subject of this act fact done, agree to follow,
and I may lead and be

not you, me, dear reader, I mean first true

there is no any if nothing is. So simple some say its sublime beyond the spectrum of ones
and zeros thought on off probably

either or any time time can be accounted for

wouldn't you take a

thought,  nothing,
as it is commonly said to be understandable,

the state of not being, imagine that

the state of not being we negate in being,
unless you are mad and are lost in a whirlwind
such as such voices have been said to

have twisted into threads as
wicks for our lamps
turn floating on
golden oil twisting
wickered into wickering wee shadow fibers
on the western wall for legends to sprout from.

Wickering mare over there, expands us both by my hearing her
you had no idea she was near enough to hear
time is no barrier in actual ever.
What phor can contain me,
whispered my whimsy

Imagine she spoke,
what would she say for what reason
would she say

good good good, I feel good, ha,
I am right, by accident. ever body can feel this good.

good is good.
good is.
Sam Harris, agrees, good as far as good goes, is good
in every vecter from now

the terrain does exist, beyond the moral landscape, to

true true
trust me, I been there.
Been there done that was inserted into the vernacular on my watch,
first summer post war.

matter must not matter as much to me as it does to thee, nestypass? no se?

All jewish boys have chess move metaphors.
(a phor is for containing,
bearing
meta,
everybody knows, like metaphysics,
after physics in the stack of stackable metadata)

OHMYGOD THE IDW circa 2018 -- who knew I ate this **** up?

[the old code calls for excretion of digested material
from which meaning has been extracted in the idleword accounting processor:
literal
<pre>what if utterance=****, then **** haps, no else then</pre>]

Did that happen? One of my friends told me that happened in Florida, the whole world turned to ****... for lack of a nail a kingdom was lost, they say, little foxes spoil the grapes,
hung chad ex
cuses...

Pre-expandable ROM, not magic. tech,

pre-infinite imagination? impossible.
and nothing is what is impossible with good as god.

Is there no perfect game?
is the game the session or the life of the user
offline

rerererererererererereroxotoxin, poison pen
ideal viral umph exspelliered
up against the wall

reset. We

kunoon albania omerta oy vey, who could say?
one way better, one way not? quark.
up or down, with variable spins, who can say?

Life's right,
yes. but mo'ons of other something must have been for higgs to ever matter

and it does, I got commas, from 2018.

Are you with me? This is that book I told you I had access…

You or some mind other than mine owned mind, where
my owned peace rests in truth,

otherwise, I know every any or else in the code since I can recall,
in time

if this were a test I swore to take to prove to you
the we can be me in your head

phillipkdicktated clue

if you don't know me by now, maybe we should stop.

Temptations are times. Time things. Time spans, yeah, like bridges

or portals, right
The Internet in One Day, Fred Pryor Resources,
Wu'wuchim 1995.

Ever, not everish or everistic or every, but ever
body knows,
but you.

Catch up. We left all our doors blown off, once we learned that we could blow our own doors off,

there are no open sesames or slips of leth or sibylets

shiba yah you knew all along there was a
song she sang all one and we watched it morph
before our very eyes

alone.

The magic stories words may contain, may bear, we must agree

more than we may know, by faith, metagnostic as we see

the sublime gift of the magi
become clear und

be und sein sind both trueture same tu you, we agree.
But. Lock here, no pre 2018 editing codes

validate past last go.

MY LIL CHAMP

Wishing you all the very best, my Lil Champ.

Please keep your spirits high, not damp;

Because I wish to certainly see you on the ramp.

Know I, you couldn't attend your camp;

But do you will well; cause you are my darling champ.

Stand you will first, this I affirm, with a signature n stamp.

Darling there is no one like you; even if search they with a lamp.

Please drink enough water so that you don't get a cramp.

Pray, then just do your best. You will definitely be on the ramp

Once again, all the very best, my sweet Lil champ.

Blessings n best wishes
Dae n Ma

Crash
Amnesia blaring in your ears.
Piano running through its arpeggio
as you hear muffled questions being
shouted from a distance.
Take off your helmet.
Remove your ear buds.
Open your eyes to a disgusting amount of dead valley sky.
It's time for you to sit up.
Engine still puttering like a champ.
The stranger mutters something like,
"That's a lot of blood. Are you ok?"
Stifling ***** and a laugh you reply,
"Feelin' fine. Never better."
You notice that he's still in his car.
He didn't even roll down his window fully. This is the extent of help or empathy you've come to expect.
The taste of iron fills your mouth.
You spit. Crimson.
You smile. Fake.
You wave him on.
It's time to work. It's a process.

The love of a female fitness champ and a male bodybuilder
It all started at Everlasting Gym
Two members that were their own sparking gems
Jane, a Fitness Demonstration champ and a beauty in the face and slim in the waist
John being a Male bodybuilder who is a novice bodybuilding champ and muscles defined in vascular as a road map
The magnifying glass in bringing love close
The muscles that entertain in being most
Two Dum bells seemed to form a heart overhead when two champs kissed
It was a muscle thing blooming into full swing
An exercise pair that normally perform on stage, but went further in their own amaze
Jane and John became Husband and Wife
The moment wasn’t wasted in being a couple for life
Posing was transferred to chores in being married
This is the responsibility that it carries
Well John and Jane continued to be fond of each other
Far more than lifting weights, their love was strong for another
Exercise with a different blend and a chosen soul mate at the end.

there was a little dog a boxer dog was he
hoping maybe one day a boxing champ would be
he began to train with weights and a rope
to be a world contender was his only hope
he did a lot of jogging and little run
training very hard he enjoyed the fun
now the dog was ready and in the ring did go
ten rounds was the distance he took it nice and slow
he was doing well the crowd begin shout
then one mighty blow his opponent was knocked out
dog he was so happy a champion was he
held his belt up high for everyone to see
he was very proud his dream it had come true
now goes down history like all the boxers do

there was a little dog a boxer dog was he
hoping maybe one day a boxing champ would be
he began to train with weights and a rope
to be a world contender was his only hope.

he did a lot of jogging and little run
training very hard he enjoyed the fun
now the dog was ready and in the ring did go
ten rounds was the distance he took it nice and slow.

he was doing well the crowd begin shout
then one mighty blow his opponent was knocked out
dog he was so happy a champion was he
held his belt up high for everyone to see.

he was very proud his dream it had come true
now goes down history like all the boxers do.

there was a little horse a lovely chap was he
and he dreamed that one day a race horse he would be.

running round the course at his fasted speed
beating all the rest this little racing steed.

he would have a jockey riding on his back
with his racing colors riding round the track.

he would try his best and use his fasted pace
heading for the finish line he would win his race.

this is what he dreamed of and he long to be
a little racing champ for all the world to  see.

there was once a dog the boxer type was he

and a sporting giant he just long to be

in a boxing ring fighting with rest

he would be the champ to prove he was the best



he went down the gym doing different things

lifting up the weights swinging on the rings

doing lots of skipping and some jogging to

doing all the things that the boxers do



now the dog was ready. his fighting could begin

stepped into the ring hoping he could win

then the bell it rang they began to fight

leading with the left then punching with his right.



his opponent began to tire and began to slow

dog he saw his chance and gave a mighty blow

his opponent he went down and was counted out

he wasnt getting up again of that there was no doubt.



dog had won the fight now the champ was he

he held up his belt for everyone to see

his dream it had come true a boxer now was he

along with all the greats just like he long to be

J'observe depuis mon télescope
Au-delà des nuages
Ta photo qui sautille
Et je suis les courbes, les points et les lignes
Et je trace des figures imaginaires
Les constellations
Et soudain tu apparais
Endimanchée
Pénitente
Ultra Violette
Souriante
Entre deux ciels
Tu me fais signe
Et m'invites à danser
Et je te suis comme ton ombre
Je retiens mon souffle
Je plonge dans le mandala
De ton champ de Cinabre
Je viens à tes côtés
Je m'ancre à tes eaux
Je suis ton lama, ton gourou
Et toi tu es ma parèdre, ma  bouddha
Ma dakini souveraine
et je te déshabille en dansant
Et je déboutonne une après l 'autre
Les étoiles couleur aubergine
Qui composent ta constellation.
C 'est une constellation disparue
Que seul moi puis voir.
Il m'arrive à l 'oeil nu de t'apercevoir
Au détour d'un rêve comme en cet instant précis
Et la musique résonne si forte dans l 'espace
Je vois tes lèvres bouger mais je n 'entends rien
Mais soudain tes yeux hurlent
et tu me clignes ton nom en morse :
dash dot dash dot
dash dash dash
dash dot dash dash
dash dash dash
dash
dot
C, une longue, une brève, une longue, une brève
O, trois longues
Y, une longue, une brève, deux longues
O, trois longues
T, une longue
E, une brève.

there was a little turtle and he loved the sea
and a surfing champ he just long to be
riding on the waves on his little board
and be a surfing champ that was his reward
he bought himself a board and surfing suit
now he was a surfer and he looked so cute
went down to the beach to the local race
standing at the start turtle took his place
he took the biggest wave the biggest he could find
jumped on to his board and left them all behind
turtle was the winner his dream it had come true
now he was the champ just like he wanted to

there was a little dog a boxer dog was he
hoping maybe one day a boxing champ would be
he began to train with weights and a rope
to be a world contender was his only hope.

he did a lot of jogging and a little run
training very hard he enjoyed the fun
now the dog was ready and in the ring did go
ten rounds was the distance he took it nice and slow.

he was doing well the crowd begin shout
then one mighty blow his opponent was knocked out
dog he was so happy a champion  now was he
held his belt up high for everyone to see.

he was very proud his dream it had come true
now goes down history like all the boxers do

When does the
champ know that  
he doesn’t have  
It anymore?
Is it after that
first loss to a
*** he should  
have knocked out in
the second round?
Is it when his body
doesn't do what
his mind tells it
to do?  

His punches are
slow.
His legs are
weak.
He once was one
of the greatest.
Iron Mike, they
called him.

He loses to an
overhyped cute
boy with little skills,  
and blonde curls.
It was brutal to watch.

He was king of
the jungle in those
early Brooklyn days.
Old lions don’t just
wander off and die
alone.  
They get killed and
eaten by  
younger lions.

After this charade,
I hope the champ
hangs up his
gloves for good.

there was a little turtle and he loved the sea
and a surfing champ he just long to be
riding on the waves on his little board
and be a surfing champ that was his reward.

he bought himself a board and surfing suit
now he was a surfer and he looked so cute
went down to the beach to the local race
standing at the start turtle took his place.

he took the biggest wave the biggest he could find
jumped on to his board and left them all behind
turtle was the winner his dream it had come true
now he was the champ just like he wanted to

salle de concert,
salle des corps transpirants & glissants
salle de semi à poil
comment tu t’appelles ?

champ de Mars,
champ des conneries & des concessions
champ de refus
tu m’avais manqué

coin de la rue,
coin de sms à la con
coin d’attente
ne m’appelle plus jamais


taxi de Paris
taxi de vulgarité
taxi de fatigue
je vous vire à cause de ces mots


taxi de St. Germain
taxi de Charonne
vous êtes lesbiennes?
taxi du vieux pervert
embrasse-moi juste une fois

nuit de jeudi
nuit de j’ai trop bu
nuit quotidienne
*j’attends demain

Its difficult to miss you baby. . .
I am a losing champ. . But i don't want to lose you now
. . My dreams are leaving me . . Still u r with me now. .
Every moment tries to **** me hard. . Even i want you forever baby. .
your memories r dumped into me. .i still need your presence for my perfection. .
O baby. . o baby . . o o baby
Fighting for you with my heart. . O. . O. . Don't want to lose you baby. . .  
Reminding my lovely dream. . But i don't want to forget you. .
Its difficult to **** my heart. . . . please heal my heart. .
O baby o baby o baby o baby. . .

there was a little turtle and he loved the sea
and a surfing champ he just long to be
riding on the waves on his little board
and be a surfing champ that was his reward.

he bought himself a board and surfing suit
now he was a surfer and he looked so cute
went down to the beach to the local race
standing at the start turtle took his place.

he took the biggest wave the biggest he could find
jumped on to his board and left them all behind
turtle was the winner his dream it had come true
now he was the champ just like he wanted to

La prudence est bonne de soi,
Mais la pousser trop **** est une duperie :
L'exemple suivant en fait foi.
Des moineaux habitaient dans une métairie :
Un beau champ de millet, voisin de la maison,
Leur donnait du grain à foison.
Ces moineaux dans le champ passaient toute leur vie,
Occupés de gruger les épis de millet
Le vieux chat du logis les guettait d'ordinaire,
Tournait et retournait ; mais il avait beau faire,
Sitôt qu'il paraissait la bande s'envolait.
Comment les attraper ? Notre vieux chat y songe,
Médite, fouille en son cerveau,
Et trouve un tour tout neuf. II va tremper dans l'eau
Sa patte dont il fait éponge.
Dans du millet en grain aussitôt il la plonge ;
Le grain s'attache tout autour.
Alors à cloche-pied, sans bruit, par un détour,
II va gagner le champ, s'y couche
La patte en l'air et sur le dos,
Ne bougeant non plus qu'une souche :
Sa patte ressemblait à l'épi le plus gros.
L'oiseau s'y méprenait, il approchait sans crainte,
Venait pour becqueter ; de l'autre patte, crac,
Voilà mon oiseau dans le sac.
Il en prit vingt par cette feinte.
Un moineau s'aperçoit du piège scélérat,
Et prudemment fuit la machine ;
Mais dès ce jour il s'imagine
Que chaque épi de grain était patte de chat.
Au fond de son trou solitaire
II se retire, et plus n'en sort,
Supporte la faim, la misère,
Et meurt pour éviter la mort.

Hey! Lil Champ
Don't you recognize me?
I, who gave you so many candies
Hey Lil Champ
Don't you remember someone
Who played and hopped with you
Everytime, Any hour
Hey! You mustn't drain me out
From your memories
From your dreams
From your rides
When you committed a mistake
I was the one who was always scolded
When you dared to complete a challenge
I was the one who became your ladder
Don't you remember at all
Not even a bit
Why are you dumbstrucked?
Please, say something
Do you remember me?
Won't I be sorry?..

Avec mes premiers droits d’auteur je m’achèterai une vieille maison à retaper
Longeant une petite route déserte au milieu d’un champ immense
Je ne sais pas qui retapera ma maison
Je ne mentirai plus oh non jamais plus
Mais j’aimerais que l’ivresse me vienne plus vite
Comme ce mur blanc salement tacheté de jaune
Je voudrais tout couvrir, effacer toutes les traces
Ne plus penser à toi
Mais te dire à quel point tu m’as troué le cœur
Te tordre le cou devant un parterre de gens débiles
Oui
Je ne veux pas penser à la mort de mes parents
Encore moins à leur folie
Même si je sais, je sens qu’elle approche
Je me vois bien crever toute seule comme une vieille conne frigide entourée d’une centaine de cadavres de lapins dans cette vieille maison que j’aurais achetée avec mes droits d’auteur
Les gens je les déteste, ils ne se rendent pas compte du mal qu’ils peuvent faire
Ne se rendent jamais compte de rien
Non
De rien du tout
Pourtant
Je sais que ces trous du cul ont mal eux aussi
Je sens d’ici leur souffrance
Sous leurs mensonges et leurs faux-semblant je sens leur douleur d’inexistence
Mais moi vous savez
Je ne sais pas pour vous
Mais moi
Je veux juste écrire
JUSTE ECRIRE
Que mes parents demeurent immortels
Et aussi un peu d’amour charnel
Juste
Une fois
De temps à autre.

                                                                           …/…

Avec mes premiers droits d’auteur je me suis achetée une vieille maison à retaper
Longeant une petite route déserte au milieu d’un champ immense
Mais comme mes parents sont morts et que je suis une vieille conne frigide qui n’aimera jamais un homme autre que son père
Personne n’a retapé ma maison
Vieille maison qui tombe à présent en ruine
Dans laquelle je m’effondre
Jour après jour
Minute
Après
Minute

Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose

California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise

Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore

The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky

Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod

Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise

Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed

Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge

Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung

Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV

Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind

Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)

Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!

Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85

The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll

Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!

Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ

Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track

Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch

A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel

Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died

Sunrises and lemon juice
Sunsets and tooty fruits
When life gives you lemons, drink their juice
When life gives you fruits, relish the juicy fruits.

Heart gets broken.
And tears flow with all words unspoken
Sunrises and sunsets are simply the signs and tokens
To stitch your pieces and create an embroidery from the heartbroken.

Life goes on. No matter what life offers on the shelf,
Just be a champ and believe in yourself!

there was a little horse a lovely chap was he
and he dreamed that one day a race horse he would be
running round the course at his fasted speed
beating all the rest this little racing steed
he would have a jockey riding on his back
with his racing colors riding round the track
he would try his best and use fasted pace
heading for the finish line he would win his race
this is what he dreamed of and he long to be
a little racing champion for all the world to  see

In the red corner - me
in the blue corner - life

this isn't a fair fight
there was no sparring or training
I had to come out swinging right from the bell
absorbing every jab that life throws

just waiting for the knockout punch

still dancing and going toe to toe
throwing haymakers left and right
I try to keep my guard up
hoping somehow to win by decision

side-stepping punches
ducking and weaving
uppercut uppercut uppercut
I dropped my guard, and there goes my mouthpiece

ding!

saved by the bell

I still have a few rounds to go...

"you win some,
you lose some"
says the boy
who's never lost
one ******* thing
in his ******* life.

Ping Pong World Champ Andrew Baggaley,
Wow that lad can really play.
Dethroned the “King” who came from Russia,
Then 1966d that kid from somewhere near Prussia.

there was a little horse he dreamed of having fame
to win a big horse race where he could make his name
he began to train and run around the course
training everyday to be the fastest horse

round and round he went preparing for his race
with his little stop watch checking on his pace
now the horse ready for his racing day
soon what he had dreamed of would be underway

he went down to the track to his starting stall
waiting for the starter to give is starting call
now the race was on horse he took the lead
running like a train very fast indeed
no one else could catch him he was far to fast
racing on his own as the winning post  went past

now he was a champ he had made his name
the fastest horse alive in the hall of fame

Every time I touch a controller
I set a new highscore
I said a new highscore.
Look out behind you, *******.
I capped that ***;
You should've watched your back.
Now I got an L-shaped block
Watch as I drop it in that L-shaped slot.
Haters gotta throw the blue turtle shell,
Because they can't keep their kart on Rainbow Road.
Donkey's going to throw some barrels at me;
Don't worry princess, watch me jump.
I promise I won't get hit, not even once.
Hey there champ look right here;
I just stuck a plas grenade
On you right ear.
Lucky shot? So you say.
Still watching me tea-bag you
From the grave.
Pilot Wings, Punch-Out, Mario
Madden, Sonic or GTA
It doesn't really matter
The number of pixels we play.
D-Pad or joystick,
Night or day,
It doesn't really matter how you play,
Put me on tron I'll blow you away.
Turtles in Time:
You take that next slice.
Even blindfolded your no match
For my SuperScope.
Tony Hawk, what a joke!
In Pacman or Galaga in space
Even with the Kunami Code
You've got no hope.
So the next time you hear
Scorpion yell "Get over here!"
Have no fear
A Sonic Boom will soon be there.
Busting out Atari's Pong?
Noob, I'll pwn you
One-thousand to none.
Hell, not even Parapa the Rappa
Can touch my rhymes.
Read those initials
That score is mine.
I said read those initials;
That score is mine.

O Golden Hair, My Friend

Kitty kitty
So fluffy
So witty
So unbearably pretty.
Stay away from
The city,
My kitty kitty
It'd be such a pity.



Hussanara

This is my mango.
There are many like it,
But this one is
Mine.
Without me,
My mango is useless.
Without my Mango,
I am useless...



My Sweet Wonderful Mary

Dark dim witty kitty
Trailed into New York City
With bad intents inevitably
Bad.
Through Earth and lake committing
All its great natural giving
Forced utter pain incoming,
Dad.



Lord (Religious readers please take no offense again the writer was not quite there)

God is a champ.
The bearded light upstairs.
He's cold and he's damp
Like fresh lumpy pears.
Won't one, if you dare,
Stick your hand in the air
To clamp
Like bears?
He's a scare of
Puny people
With long ginger hair.
Whose souls the cannot
Go in there,
The holiest of despair.
They all run through his stare
Of bulging eyes he got!

Anyone want to translate that one? I sure couldn't.

Who Am I?

I am a boy and a man.
I am a son, a brother, a cousin, a nephew, and a grand child.
I was a boyfriend, a fiancé, a husband, and an in-law.
I am a bachelor.
I am surrounded and abandoned.
I am a family man and a loner.

I am a homemaker and a handyman.
I wear the apron and the tool belt.
I am a neat freak and a slob.
I am an amateur contractor and a contracted amateur.
I am a dumpster diver, a recycler, and a decadent waste.
I am a glutton, a scavenger, and a scrapper.

I am a friend and an enemy.
I am fun and an annoyance.
I am a lover and a hater.
I am creepy, cruel, and harsh.
I am tender, loving, and inviting.
I have a foul mouth and tender lips,
Drenched in jagged, soft-serve words.

I am a painter, sculptor, draftsman, sketcher, character designer, photographer, graphic designer, fashion designer, kitbasher, customizer, and crafter.
I am a reader, a writer, and a poet.
I am the Jail Baby, Ryan & Lisa, The Phoenix, The AntiFather, and The HEYMAN!
I compose symphonies of visual and intangible imagery.
I bring form to thought.
I destroy,
I create.
I am an artist.

I am a geek, nerd, freak, and otaku.
I have been punk, goth, prep, white trash, and metrosexual.
I wear glasses,
But only as a sick joke.
I am beautiful and ugly,
Clean and *****.
I am unique.
I am predictable.
I have changed, but am still the same.

I am a techie,
An electronic ******.
I am cutting edge and old school.
Digitally signed and sealed.
I am analog and obsolete.

I am an adrenaline addict.
I can chill, maybe slow,
But never relax.

I am blue collar, tradesman, and service industry.
I am peon and ****** on.
Oh, but I have done the ******* too!
I have been hired and fired,
Bought and sold.
I have worn the uniform,
I have said, “**** the man!”
I am the proletariat,
I am in charge.

I am a student, dropout, and teacher.
I am class clown and teacher’s pet.
I have learned, forgotten, and taught,
But never learned my lesson.
I don’t listen to what I’m told,
But always do what I tell.

I am a genius,
I am an idiot.
I have intelligence, but often lack the intel.
I am naïve, but wise.
I am right and wrong.

I have philosophies and ideas,
But no religion.
I have desecrated and blasphemed,
Prayed and praised.
I have lusted, envied, and coveted.
I am guilty and innocent,
Pure and soiled,
Good and bad.

I am a driver and a passenger.
I am an explorer and a shut-in.
I am wild and free,
Caged and stifled.
I was warmly wrapped in my blanket,
But burned through it.

I have rode, climbed, and conquered.
I  stood still.
I jumped in.
I have fallen and been defeated.

I have been abroad,
I have been nowhere.
I have drifted.
I have settled.
I have led and been led.
I have been in and out,
Here and there,
Around and AWOL,
On the run and trapped.
But, not everywhere.

I have applied,
I have procrastinated.
I have worked my fingers to the bone,
I have slept it off.

I have fought and fled.
I have quit.
I have endured.
I am a winner and a loser,
A champ and a chump.

I am fake,
I am real.
I have lied, cheated, and stole.
I have been honest, fair, and generous.

I am selfish and selfless.
I am a gift giver, gift wrapper, and gift taker.
I am a thief and a philanthropist.

I am insecure and confident,
Confused and absolutely sure.
I am proud and ashamed.
I am complicated and convoluted,
But simple to please.

I have blind faith and guarded suspicion
I have secrets,
But lie rarely.
I accept everyone,
I trust nothing.

I have pointed the finger,
Only to turn it on myself.
I have held grudges and forgiven.
I have trusted and misguided.
I have been Judas and Jesus.

I am a maniac,
I am sane.
I have been strong and weak.
I can keep it together,
But prefer to break it apart.

I have bled.
I have healed.
I have been abused and neglected,
Coddled and protected.

I have been kissed and punched;
Hunted, wanted, and arrested,
Ignored, overlooked, and invisible.

I have loved and lost,
Lived and learned.
I am a soldier of misfortune and opportunity.

I have blended in.
I have stood out.
I have stood up.
I have backed down.
I have been backed into a corner.
I have all the space in the world.

I have seen, interpreted, and perceived,
I have ignored, dismissed, and been blind.
I hunger, want, and need…
I am satiated and content,
But never at peace.

I have been misunderstood and underestimated.
I have been put down, put up, pushed away, and let in.
I have been known,
But never entirely.

I have raged, cried, smiled, trembled, and laughed.
I have been depressed.
I have been happy.
I have been suicidal. I have felt death.
I have been lost and found.
I have been broken, then fixed,
Stitched, yet glitched,
Scarred, but whole.
I am alive.


I took the chance,
I let the moment slip.
I walked the straight and narrow,
I ran down the road not taken.
I dream; some whole, some shattered.
I go with the flow, but don’t let the waves take me.

I am shards and reflections,
Machinations and reactions.
I am translucent pieces and parts,
Assembled and disheveled.
I am the big picture still focused on the details.

I am the sum total of heredity and experience.
I am not,
I am more.
I am everything and nothing.
I am a walking contradiction.
I am human.

I tried to be you,
But didn’t know what that meant.
I am me,
It’s all I know.

Who are you?

MY CHAMP

My champ you always were, and will continue to, so remain

It seem may weird to some, or say they, I am insane;

But until my breath last, upto the end, you will, alwayssss my champ remain

Unassuming, simple, never ever money minded, was this legal luminary main;

Always stood up for truth n justice my Dad, tho' a legal legend, you were, with us, so simple n plain

With those great values, we match cannot; but many, we imbibe n have retained

May Mom n You, in heaven, to higher realms continue to progress, rise to higher plains.

Happy Father's Day Dearest Dad, we love and respect Mom n you.

Lovingly yours
The Motashaw Siblings n your grand kids.

Armin Dutia Motashaw

I.

Ô vous, mes vieux amis, si jeunes autrefois,
Qui comme moi des jours avez porté le poids,
Qui de plus d'un regret frappez la tombe sourde,
Et qui marchez courbés, car la sagesse est lourde ;
Mes amis ! qui de vous, qui de nous n'a souvent,
Quand le deuil à l'œil sec, au visage rêvant,
Cet ami sérieux qui blesse et qu'on révère,
Avait sur notre front posé sa main sévère,
Qui de nous n'a cherché le calme dans un chant !
Qui n'a, comme une sœur qui guérit en touchant,
Laissé la mélodie entrer dans sa pensée !
Et, sans heurter des morts la mémoire bercée,
N'a retrouvé le rire et les pleurs à la fois
Parmi les instruments, les flûtes et les voix !

Qui de nous, quand sur lui quelque douleur s'écoule,
Ne s'est glissé, vibrant au souffle de la foule,
Dans le théâtre empli de confuses rumeurs !
Comme un soupir parfois se perd dans des clameurs,
Qui n'a jeté son âme, à ces âmes mêlée,
Dans l'orchestre où frissonne une musique ailée,
Où la marche guerrière expire en chant d'amour,
Où la basse en pleurant apaise le tambour !

II.

Écoutez ! écoutez ! du maître qui palpite,
Sur tous les violons l'archet se précipite.
L'orchestre tressaillant rit dans son antre noir.
Tout parle. C'est ainsi qu'on entend sans les voir,
Le soir, quand la campagne élève un sourd murmure,
Rire les vendangeurs dans une vigne mûre.
Comme sur la colonne un frêle chapiteau,
La flûte épanouie a monté sur l'alto.
Les gammes, chastes sœurs dans la vapeur cachées,
Vident et remplissent leurs amphores penchées,
Se tiennent par la main et chantent tour à tour.
Tandis qu'un vent léger fait flotter alentour,
Comme un voile folâtre autour d'un divin groupe,
Ces dentelles du son que le fifre découpe.
Ciel ! voilà le clairon qui sonne. À cette voix,
Tout s'éveille en sursaut, tout bondit à la fois.

La caisse aux mille échos, battant ses flancs énormes,
Fait hurler le troupeau des instruments difformes,
Et l'air s'emplit d'accords furieux et sifflants
Que les serpents de cuivre ont tordus dans leurs flancs.
Vaste tumulte où passe un hautbois qui soupire !
Soudain du haut en bas le rideau se déchire ;
Plus sombre et plus vivante à l'œil qu'une forêt,
Toute la symphonie en un hymne apparaît.
Puis, comme en un chaos qui reprendrait un monde,
Tout se perd dans les plis d'une brume profonde.
Chaque forme du chant passe en disant : Assez !
Les sons étincelants s'éteignent dispersés.
Une nuit qui répand ses vapeurs agrandies
Efface le contour des vagues mélodies,
Telles que des esquifs dont l'eau couvre les mâts ;
Et la strette, jetant sur leur confus amas
Ses tremblantes lueurs largement étalées,
Retombe dans cette ombre en grappes étoilées !

Ô concert qui s'envole en flamme à tous les vents !
Gouffre où le crescendo gonfle ses flots mouvants !
Comme l'âme s'émeut ! comme les cœurs écoutent !
Et comme cet archet d'où les notes dégouttent,
Tantôt dans le lumière et tantôt dans la nuit,
Remue avec fierté cet orage de bruit !

III.

Puissant Palestrina, vieux maître, vieux génie,
Je vous salue ici, père de l'harmonie,
Car, ainsi qu'un grand fleuve où boivent les humains,
Toute cette musique a coulé dans vos mains !
Car Gluck et Beethoven, rameaux sous qui l'on rêve,
Sont nés de votre souche et faits de votre sève !
Car Mozart, votre fils, a pris sur vos autels
Cette nouvelle lyre inconnue aux mortels,
Plus tremblante que l'herbe au souffle des aurores,
Née au seizième siècle entre vos doigts sonores !
Car, maître, c'est à vous que tous nos soupirs vont,
Sitôt qu'une voix chante et qu'une âme répond !

Oh ! ce maître, pareil au créateur qui fonde,
Comment dit-il jaillir de sa tête profonde
Cet univers de sons, doux et sombre à la fois,
Écho du Dieu caché dont le monde est la voix ?
Où ce jeune homme, enfant de la blonde Italie,
Prit-il cette âme immense et jusqu'aux bords remplie ?
Quel souffle, quel travail, quelle intuition,
Fit de lui ce géant, dieu de l'émotion,
Vers qui se tourne l'œil qui pleure et qui s'essuie,
Sur qui tout un côté du cœur humain s'appuie ?
D'où lui vient cette voix qu'on écoute à genoux ?
Et qui donc verse en lui ce qu'il reverse en nous ?

IV.

Ô mystère profond des enfances sublimes !
Qui fait naître la fleur au penchant des abîmes,
Et le poète au bord des sombres passions ?
Quel dieu lui trouble l'œil d'étranges visions ?
Quel dieu lui montre l'astre au milieu des ténèbres,
Et, comme sous un crêpe aux plis noirs et funèbres
On voit d'une beauté le sourire enivrant,
L'idéal à travers le réel transparent ?
Qui donc prend par la main un enfant dès l'aurore
Pour lui dire : - " En ton âme il n'est pas jour encore.
Enfant de l'homme ! avant que de son feu vainqueur
Le midi de la vie ait desséché ton cœur,
Viens, je vais t'entrouvrir des profondeurs sans nombre !
Viens, je vais de clarté remplir tes yeux pleins d'ombre !
Viens, écoute avec moi ce qu'on explique ailleurs,
Le bégaiement confus des sphères et des fleurs ;
Car, enfant, astre au ciel ou rose dans la haie,
Toute chose innocente ainsi que toi bégaie !
Tu seras le poète, un homme qui voit Dieu !
Ne crains pas la science, âpre sentier de feu,
Route austère, il est vrai, mais des grands cœurs choisies,
Que la religion et que la poésie
Bordent des deux côtés de leur buisson fleuri.
Quand tu peux en chemin, ô bel enfant chéri,
Cueillir l'épine blanche et les clochettes bleues,
Ton petit pas se joue avec les grandes lieues.
Ne crains donc pas l'ennui ni la fatigue. - Viens !
Écoute la nature aux vagues entretiens.
Entends sous chaque objet sourdre la parabole.
Sous l'être universel vois l'éternel symbole,
Et l'homme et le destin, et l'arbre et la forêt,
Les noirs tombeaux, sillons où germe le regret ;
Et, comme à nos douleurs des branches attachées,
Les consolations sur notre front penchées,
Et, pareil à l'esprit du juste radieux,
Le soleil, cette gloire épanouie aux cieux !

V.

Dieu ! que Palestrina, dans l'homme et dans les choses,
Dut entendre de voix joyeuse et moroses !
Comme on sent qu'à cet âge où notre cœur sourit,
Où lui déjà pensait, il a dans son esprit
Emporté, comme un fleuve à l'onde fugitive,
Tout ce que lui jetait la nuée ou la rive !
Comme il s'est promené, tout enfant, tout pensif,
Dans les champs, et, dès l'aube, au fond du bois massif,
Et près du précipice, épouvante des mères !
Tour à tour noyé d'ombre, ébloui de chimères,
Comme il ouvrait son âme alors que le printemps
Trempe la berge en fleur dans l'eau des clairs étangs,
Que le lierre remonte aux branches favorites,
Que l'herbe aux boutons d'or mêle les marguerites !

A cette heure indécise où le jour va mourir,
Où tout s'endort, le cœur oubliant de souffrir,
Les oiseaux de chanter et les troupeaux de paître,
Que de fois sous ses yeux un chariot champêtre,
Groupe vivant de bruit, de chevaux et de voix,
A gravi sur le flanc du coteau dans les bois
Quelque route creusée entre les ocres jaunes,
Tandis que, près d'une eau qui fuyait sous les aulnes,
Il écoutait gémir dans les brumes du soir
Une cloche enrouée au fond d'un vallon noir !

Que de fois, épiant la rumeur des chaumières,
Le brin d'herbe moqueur qui siffle entre deux pierres,
Le cri plaintif du soc gémissant et traîné,
Le nid qui jase au fond du cloître ruiné
D'où l'ombre se répand sur les tombes des moines,
Le champ doré par l'aube où causent les avoines
Qui pour nous voir passer, ainsi qu'un peuple heureux,
Se penchent en tumulte au bord du chemin creux,
L'abeille qui gaiement chante et parle à la rose,
Parmi tous ces objets dont l'être se compose,
Que de fois il rêva, scrutateur ténébreux,
Cherchant à s'expliquer ce qu'ils disaient entre eux !

Et chaque soir, après ses longues promenades,
Laissant sous les balcons rire les sérénades,
Quand il s'en revenait content, grave et muet,
Quelque chose de plus dans son cœur remuait.
Mouche, il avait son miel ; arbuste, sa rosée.
Il en vint par degrés à ce qu'en sa pensée
Tout vécut. - Saint travail que les poètes font ! -
Dans sa tête, pareille à l'univers profond,
L'air courait, les oiseaux chantaient, la flamme et l'onde
Se courbaient, la moisson dorait la terre blonde,
Et les toits et les monts et l'ombre qui descend
Se mêlaient, et le soir venait, sombre et chassant
La brute vers son antre et l'homme vers son gîte,
Et les hautes forêts, qu'un vent du ciel agite,
Joyeuses de renaître au départ des hivers,
Secouaient follement leurs grands panaches verts !

C'est ainsi qu'esprit, forme, ombre, lumière et flamme,
L'urne du monde entier s'épancha dans son âme !

VI.

Ni peintre, ni sculpteur ! Il fut musicien.
Il vint, nouvel Orphée, après l'Orphée ancien ;
Et, comme l'océan n'apporte que sa vague,
Il n'apporta que l'art du mystère et du vague !
La lyre qui tout bas pleure en chantant bien haut !
Qui verse à tous un son où chacun trouve un mot !
Le luth où se traduit, plus ineffable encore,
Le rêve inexprimé qui s'efface à l'aurore !
Car il ne voyait rien par l'angle étincelant,
Car son esprit, du monde immense et fourmillant
Qui pour ses yeux nageait dans l'ombre indéfinie,
Éteignait la couleur et tirait l'harmonie !
Ainsi toujours son hymne, en descendant des cieux,
Pénètre dans l'esprit par le côté pieux,
Comme un rayon des nuits par un vitrail d'église !
En écoutant ses chants que l'âme idéalise,
Il semble, à ces accords qui, jusqu'au cœur touchant,
Font sourire le juste et songer le méchant,
Qu'on respire un parfum d'encensoirs et de cierges,
Et l'on croit voir passer un de ces anges-vierges
Comme en rêvait Giotto, comme Dante en voyait,
Êtres sereins posés sur ce monde inquiet,
À la prunelle bleue, à la robe d'opale,
Qui, tandis qu'au milieu d'un azur déjà pâle
Le point d'or d'une étoile éclate à l'orient,
Dans un beau champ de trèfle errent en souriant !

VII.

Heureux ceux qui vivaient dans ce siècle sublime
Où, du génie humain dorant encor la cime,
Le vieux soleil gothique à l'horizon mourait !
Où déjà, dans la nuit emportant son secret,
La cathédrale morte en un sol infidèle
Ne faisait plus jaillir d'églises autour d'elle !
Être immense obstruée encore à tous degrés,
Ainsi qu'une Babel aux abords encombrés,
De donjons, de beffrois, de flèches élancées,
D'édifices construits pour toutes les pensées ;
De génie et de pierre énorme entassement ;
Vaste amas d'où le jour s'en allait lentement !
Siècle mystérieux où la science sombre
De l'antique Dédale agonisait dans l'ombre,
Tandis qu'à l'autre bout de l'horizon confus,
Entre Tasse et Luther, ces deux chênes touffus,
Sereine, et blanchissant de sa lumière pure
Ton dôme merveilleux, ô sainte Architecture,
Dans ce ciel, qu'Albert Düre admirait à l'écart,
La Musique montait, cette lune de l'art !

Le 29 mai 1837.