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Kaitlyn Psa Dec 2016
Chem is cruel to my mind
It strips me of my dignity and makes me cry
None of the answers I'm ever able to find
The class makes me lose hope and makes me want to die
It makes me wish for a brain that is not mine
I would say that I am doing okay but that would be a lie
I wish I had not taken chem, for in another class I would surely shine
Chemistry oh chemistry should I still try?
If I accept my failure will I end up fine?
Or will chem consume me?
Body Soul and Mind.
Silly Little Poem About My Frustrations In School! Basically a little rant! Hope you enjoy :)
Jules Jan 2019
what my forays into online dating offered me that wasn’t s*x; european coffee beans, a film camera from the 70s, a workshop on ceramics, chicken parmagiana, bottles of blueberry lemonade, thai food that isn’t spicy, help with calculus homework, notes on gen chem, all the Star Wars movies, a book about magic: the gathering, a ride to an nba game, museum visits, nature walks, impulsive road trips, stories about their exes, silly anecdotes, photos of their pets, quality memes, awkward hugs that felt good.

such small intimacies, never blossoming into something bigger yet still imbued with meaning..

filled with what-ifs, if-onlys, and almosts.
ryn Feb 2016
.
                         
O         
         o       o
O          
                  O      o        
O    
•fill our beak-
er with un-
told chem-
icals•com-
patible  so-
lvents that
fizz... with
bubbles•m-
ix them in to get
the most homogene-
ous of solutions•introdu-
ce heat in the likes of passion
•never a clean reaction, there will
be residue• never right the first time,
failed attempts will be a few......• but once
distilled from undesirable impurity•........then
handle the mixture with utmost sensitivity........•
you'll get a result that can't be bought with money•
because this love in our hearts is the product of



pure chemistry

.
Ken Sheetz Jul 2010
Oh whats this burning behind my eyes
Between these dreams and memories
The only thing that i believe in
isn't the memories
its these dreams
if they were real
it wouldn't have turned out this way
but my eyes are to the future.
that always turns into
this faded present day
it never turns out
your chem trail find
has left you behind
Kopter Zero Apr 2014
Show me your elements, your mixtures, your
Adorable complex surface, Let me
Dive within and soak in your enzymes,
With my only effort being to reach, to
Stretch, to get that most unattainable inner flame
Within, to grasp it and burn myself.
Noor Sep 2013
In a fit of pique truths were written.
In a moment of reflection all was deleted.
Platitudes were written back instead.
Who am I to speak of the dead?

A wife was ungrateful with truth.
Did a pen pal want
what the sacred vows of marriage
Make unacceptable realities?
For whom would I have written? Who would it have pleased?

Staring at a fresh e-mail in humbled wonderment
that someone would give decent pretense to care
I -safely back from war- now ask: what do you want to know?
Do you really want to know?

Is it my place to tell
of seeing a man's insides
on the outside
of a vehicle who's occupants he unwittingly saved
by stepping on the landmine instead?
The mine splattered the survivors' vehicle in red.

Is it my place to tell
Of listening to the medic's confession?
Hearing him speak of tasting the blood in the air
like pennies on his tongue.
There's a tale I haven't heard sung!

I met my Shadow
I embraced him so deeply that I
As I had existed before
Ceased to be.
The naive child thinking it was Light
The Predatory Survivor others (cowards!) may judge as Dark
Were forged together
Stronger perhaps
Time will tell
As the alloy of two selves is unified by a personal hell

Cheering at outgoing steel rain
Laughing after the whizzing of bullets is a memory
Running, racing to donate more blood
Mourning the fallen while bathed in the dim red glow of chem lights
Watching honored corpses loaded in near darkness for their last helicopter flights

Is this what you wanted to hear?

Perhaps you knew.
Perhaps you imagined you knew.
Regardless
For your consideration
Thank you

For your innocent
Well-intentioned
Beautifully petty
Gloriously naive
And honest letters
Thank you.
Truly
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
.i do expect you to become lost in this labyrinth - at least that's what i'd rather say - sleep-deprivation is for "some" reason to escape the mediocre of having catched the "8 hour wink"... or whatever the Minotaur wouldn't call it... because i wouldn't call it a "problem" of "gender-neutral pronouns" either... i would call it a "problem" of noun-acquisition-status of letters; notably in greek and hebrew.

friends of "the" family have been looking
for on fb,
****... the caron S (š) will not do!
i need to use two alphabets that...
did not nurture yiddish into existence!
cyrillic didn't accept hebrew...
it'll have to do...
it wouldn't be enough to simply write
my name in cyrillic...
and no... in hebrew no less!
since the vowels are hidden...
and inserting the proper hebrew vowel...
it still wouldn't matter that...
my surname is missing... the galician germanic
e(ch)lert or the e(sch)lert...
no... but how is one to insert
the right kind of vowel: all in hebrew niqab
harem of diacritical markers subscript...
when... you don't have...
enough letters as nouns as scientific
constants as the greeks... do...
i guess only η (eta) stands out as a sore thumb /
black sheep... but i am bound to be wrong,
in the meantime:
well it's hardly a letter-with-a-noun
inclined akin to alpha (α) -
otherwise all is well...
we use the prefix prime (the grammaton per se)...
and discard the suffix when constructing words...
ergo? a-lpha...
and so an so forth...
till be arrive at...
blasting your ears nearing deafness because:
beethoven's mrs. H is:
music so you have to shout over it!
loud! what?! loud music!
loud music what?! loud music
to shun the "pain"...
oh... see you in one of those classes
when you can write sign-language for the dead
when you've been allowed to write braille!
see you sputnik ****!
yeah, see you deaf in one year divine John!
but you get the promise that's:
not your everyday latin castrato sing-along...
those greeks sure have all the best
science... stabilizers... not a lot of songs
to sing along to... because their letters
are also noun-status: also have noun-status...
otherwise the ol' prefix use...
and the suffix recycling centre...
a word like: matter...
well...
   ματτερ - no... i will not use the greek word...
i'll state... mmm... hm!
mu implies m- and cutting off the -u...
alpha implies a- and cutting off the -lpha
tau implies t- and cutting off the -au...
epsilon implies e- and cutting off the -psilon
rho implies r- and cutting off the -**...
and so... we have the word matter...
and the recycled materials for...
some other words...

hebrews? hebrews do have... noun-status letters...
(א) aleph - what's vogue?
inserting the iota into the omicron that's
the marriage: φ (phi)...
or whether it's the turning of the iota in
the omicron to provide the opening of the door
θ (theta) to see: that light at the end of the tunnel
delta (Δ)... again... it's only aleph we're "investigating"...

the other letter in hebrew with a noun-status?
(ג) g'imel...
another is (ד) d'alet...
(ז) z'ayin...
(ל) l'amed...
(ס) s'amekh... most certainly (ע) a'yin...
(צ) t'sadi...

interlude: what is the distance
between (א) a'leph and (ע) a'yin?
a kametz...

now we can "debate" - noun-status letters...
the greeks are in the same sort of pickle
as the hebrews...
there can be a debate whether...
the greeks have more than:
alpha, beta, gamma, delta, epsilon, iota,
lambda, omicron, sigma, upsilon, omega
as noun-status letters...

why? because it becomes silly...
(ק) qof and (κ) kappa...
(ר) resh and rho (ρ)...
(שׁ) and... well... to be honest...
that's heading into cyrillic territory...
and the caron S (ш)...
given (ס) samekh and sigma (σ)...

this always happens to me when i come
across a hebrew...
even if he's old and riddled with dementia...
i see him with his polish bride
and i see a "romanian gypsy"...
the feeling is... strange...
this hebrew is like an old cousin of mine...
but it's always a touch of magic...

i am not good at solving crosswords...
(כ) 'xaf' and chi (χ) -
perhaps i have exagerrated the letter-as-noun
status on some of this greek and hebrew...
tightly-knit bed-fellows...
as the boasting resounds in the labyrinth
of the rise and fall of the roman empire...
and the barbarian attempts to have
settled the lands near the seven hills...
and revived the eagle...
spec-ta-cu-lar failures!

the germans should console themselves
with having a crow on their marching banners...
and polacks should...
satisfy themselves with the unicorn myth
of an all-white bald eagle... albino eagle...
and so the harry potter: minus ***** 'arry
can have their unicorns, swans,
honey-badgers, welsh dragon,
st. andrew's gryffindors... etc. -

name, a name... i need to... change it...
obviously...
no hebrew vowels will be used...
since... their use... is devoid of what's already
concrete usage of diacritical markers
in established letters...
if cyrillic and hebrew is to be used...
and not greek and hebrew:
because... well thank you for the new testament
riddle... let's move... away...
to "greater" / other... things....

i can't use a kametz alpha
a tzere epsilon
a chirek iota
a cholem omicron
or a shurek upsilon (omega)...
so all the vowels will have to by cyrillic...

my... latin, name?
mateusz konrad... let's drop the surname...
let's call it a game of:
ibn... or ben... matthew son of konrad...
and since i don't have a... confirmation name...
what name? i would have chosen: Isidore...
after the saint of seville...
or... Ignatius (of Loyola) -
the only fun part of going to a catholic school
was... learning about the counter-reformation
and writing an essay about it...
and their library was decently stacked...
so... plus plus...

this is but a simple exercise...
first the name in cyrillic...
there will not be a full name in hebrew...
which i'll probably lace with greek...
and it will still make all the more perfect
sense... should it be transliterated back
into anglo-ßaß...
yeah: why i don't have a girlfriend...
with these sort of interests?
i guess an hour with a *******
once a year is enough for me...
and for womankind in the hospice of omni...

just following the laziness
of the russian visa authorities are the embassy...
they didn't translate mateusz into matvei
or konrad into: Дракон...
мат-вей...

these are the sort of idiotic tier-1 level
кaцaпс... working in the russian embassy in Loon'don...

because i was never going to be the матвей
who'd **** an илoнa like the 300 deadly mongrel
saracren mameluks or the spartans... no...
i counter the 7 headed beast on her
with every ****** in that one night
i was making my final goodbyes...
but keeping the mikhail bulgakov novel...
through a repose in Warsaw and...
i finished what, "apparently" i wasn't supposed
to finish...

and she is one of those troubled girls...
every ****** partner that meant anything to her...
she will have a tattoo of that lover
on her body... i know my place on her body...
it's on the right shoulder-blade...
the tattoo is of a dragon...
i know because i've met girls like her...
elsewhere...

even as i was being driven home after taking
my mother for her rheumatoid arthritis check-up,
blood test, x-ray... and the pakistani cab-driver
was talking about all the precautions he needs
these days: video ahead of the bonet for insurance
policy... a camera looking in...
and audio recording on his smartwatch...
because what he said... didn't surprise me...
i once picked up a spanish girl - Tamara in a club...
and she decided to take me home
for a one night stand...
as we were approaching the house she was
sharing with three homosexuals
she decided to jump out of the cab...
and make a runner... i calmed the cabbie:
i'll pay for it...
we tried to later **** the hetreosexual way
with her calling me angel because
of my "erectile dysfunction" under the bed sheets
in that putrid smoke of cocoon ***...
like the birth of a rancid moth embryo and
choking from the heat of dust and alcohol
and... what i am alluding to is that some girls
do jump out of cabs to avoid paying the fair...
i knew what the pakistani cabbie was saying...
she owed him 40 quid...
he filed the whole thing to the police...
she accused him of ****** assault...
the story would have fit...
she run from the cab when he tried to sexually
assault her... but... he did have
that audio recording from his smartwatch...
in the end the girl was fined 700 quid...
which is nothing... compared to...
what's that called in h'america? a false accusation?
slander?
i know that girls jump out of cabs...
to avoid paying the fare...
i drove with one... who did just that...
i guess she was so used to this act that she
forgot i was sitting next to her...

- all the *****... but then all the chem-soup
post-psychiatric *******?
the ***** i can stand...
the pills are just tasmanian devilish when
it comes to catching the perfect
battery insomnia recharge...
and always meeting and respecting
the elder of the group darwinistic:
prat pact... a hebrew...
there always needs to be a yew
a *** in the equation...
no... not some english society
uncle tom worth of a high society rabbi...
i mean a jew that will support
west ham... because...
it's an irrational team...
it can fathom beating chelsea (A)...
but then... "forget" to win against...
for god's sake! Norwich (H)!

i know! i know! joseph conrad took his place!
here's my part anagram!
Mатвей Дракон...

the near non-existent diacritical presence
in the english language...
well... no "surprise surprise" if...
you're starting with
и (i) or rather (ı)...
and what's being the flock of salmon
up the river, being caught?
the j but not (ȷ)... imagine my... "surprise"
that the russians arrived at...
и and ı - in tow... ȷ and the й...
the breve...
parabolla or... my eyes only see
the microscopic details when someone
will simply slurr?

- borrowing from yesterday and...
in the early night of winter standing
in the garden with four potatoes
and something else...
looking up at the sky...
i am used to seeing unusual "things"
in the sky -
i'm not unusual when it comes
to having seen a u.f.o. - fluorescent
and squid like in colour -
but i'm also the sort of person that
would carry a few beers for such
spontaneous encounters -
rather running around like a raving
lunatic armed with a camera
filming the whole thing...
i have no proof: i hope my words are enough...
and if they're not?
well... if it can be seen with a naked eye -
i don't need to blink via a technological
feed and argue about: quality of the picture...

but even i wasn't ready for...
what i saw today...
those are roaming stars? aren't they?
and i really did forget to count how
many moved in the same direction
askew - one by one with equal distance
between them - before the distance between
extended - there must have been more than
10 - i'd say there were around 20!

is this always how things are -
when one contemplates the tetragrammaton?

part anagram? well because the russian
do have a version of the hebrew matisyahu...
but they do not have the german conrad
in their language...
probably as to why the germans do not
really have... a yuri or nikita in their language...
nikita after all sounds more feminine than
masculine - anyone could with hindsight
speak of mr. rocketman's lover of
the same same... as not some russian beau
example of the fairer ***...
but a comrade khrushchev...

- and why wouldn't i call those russians
that work in the russian embassy in Loon'don
кaцaпы? for one... they just type letter for letter:
a mateusz / a matthew is a мaтэусз...
for all "legal" purposes...
they already have the сз = ш...
bureucratic purposes...
and no wonder some are like:
how do you say that?
too many consonants some add...
and i really did think that all of us were
allowed to be fully literate...
that's not the case... blowing my own horn...

having a wet ***** over: because i like my given
names... perhaps that's why i didn't want
the confirmation option of being allowed
to change any of my given names: legally...
to one of my own chosing...
when i was 15 / 14 i didn't even known
or think about a name like Isidore...

when the german name became coupled
with a hebrew loan...
otherwise the russian with the first
being an anagram... drakon -
Mатвей Дракон - it's just a name -
it's my name - what's in a name is what's
precisely not in anonymous names
.666 handles and avatars on the internet...
i can own my face - and i can own my name...
because - i kind of like it...

again: on in russian can the west slavic
C be distinguished from the K... Ц -
and back into the cyst of the western lands...
Ç or what came with sigma's tail...
it's so... boring... to have less the different
sounding letters - given no diacritical markers -
and only the "exotica" of spelling -
all the metaphysics in the world combined
and concentrated in greenwich...
but no real orthography...
i could begin the day by bemoaning this poverty
of the english language...
oddly enough as both the outsider coming in...
the immigrant who became a citizen...
and as the insider coming out and coming in
again on that expatriate spectrum of
working from the thesaurus: IMMIGRANT...
for all the beauty of Macbeth...
i can have to ruse myself to bemoan
conventional english... the formal english...
the antithesis poetica...

but i do somewhat "know" why it's called
a tetragrammaton...
i wouldn't classify any of the letters that make it up
as noun-worthy letters...
the kametz (a) and the tzere (e) are nouns...
and letters... but you don't see them when
the hebrew doesn't exfoliate and is left
crude with "missing vowels" for the gentiles
to read...
saying that... calling ה (he) a noun is pushing it...
as is calling ו (vav) a noun...
or י (yod) - although...
the yod could be allowed a noun-status
as... an apostrophe... or a version of the caron -
but the remaining letters of the tetragrammaton...
are "syllables" in that they are consonants...
and when the tetragrammaton comes face
to face with noun-status letters of its own
universe: g (ג) gimel, d (ד) dalet, z (ז) zayin -
l (ל) lamed, s (ס) samekh, ц (צ) tsadi -
resh? shin? the gates are open to allow the question
in... but when...
there's also siamese Adams aleph (א) and Ayin (ע)
being and nothingness respectively...

what could Islam possibly offer me...
intellectually?
when i once asked a muslim what...

alif, lam, meem                                      meant...
he replied... only god knows...
so i thought... only god?
i must have been talking to one of those muslims
who have arabic overlords...
before they can catch a whiff of the almighty
blah'llah...
ا, لَـ, مَـ
again... greek only touches upon...
the initial - the medial and the final
version of sigma...
isolated you would see the capital sigma...
Σ - which could also be treated as the initial
letter - given that the σ looks more like a medial
form - although it's also initial -
whereby ς is the final form -
almost like the english: 's... apostrophe s -
which could be claimed to be an article of possession...
or the plural article when the apostrophe
disappears - or when the ς altogether disappears
when: the possession is plural:
a teachers' strike... e.g.

no not with a fatha - we have our own diacritical
markers... thank you...
but good question...
so... why is the meem written in an isolated
form in the word - yawm (day)...
but not in a final form?
but i do not write in a squiggly line in this digital
arena... perhaps my language looks simply
written... oh yes, the aesthetic of the arabic script
is always stressed...
but even the hebrews think like the greeks
and the latins... in a way...
nothing has to flow in one river-wry format...
there's no isolated letter... of a letter -
as there's no initial no median and no final
form of it... but there is a "question"
of the hiding of vowels...
for gentiles and muhammadians alike...

- perhaps some will call it the trans-community...
there was once a dead poets' society...
evidently with the rise of de-transitioning...
there's now a nag hammadi library society...
circa 1945 when this library was left unchecked
in the hands of: the children
with too many toys and too many sandpits...
probably that one neu-mecca of san francissco...
at least the dead sea scrolls:
that were unearthed at about the same time...
treated the hebrew far better than
the nag hammadi library treated its children...
and why the former power, the vatican,
didn't step in... to control these text...
as they flew out on a *****-nilly without
herr zensor... herr inquisitor...
i will never know...
the scouts of medicine left... black holes
of having advanced in the field of anaesthetics...
too many toys for the the children
with too many sandpits...

- because i would rather the fascination
with a language... than its immediate...
polyglot acquisition and use...
if i put my head to it... perhaps i could
speak the 7 languages my great-grandfather spoke
before jumping into the Niagara Falls
leaving a postcard sent...
but when i peer into the details...
i quiet like these two trenches of mine...
this english this canvas and my eye toward
the east and the south and semites...
just because english is a language without
diacritical markers...
a language filled with metaphysical dialectics:
but missing any mention of orthography...

a hebrew might hide a vowel...
and write only consonants on street signs
for a gentile to read...
but then the gentiles' languages morphed...
and a vowel became distinct...
there is A that begins the word: ah-men...
but there's also an A that is invoked with a tail
to point and identify a tree, an oak:
dąb...
so much for kametz being hidden...
if there's no 2nd tier "complexity" of kametz...
but there is one for the visible...
A - vowel - a vowel with a tail...
but without a name -
as all letters are - whether vowel or consonant...
in the litany and choir of the castratos
of ancient Rome...

pause with me...
what music are you listening to?
i'm listening to... years of denial - burning sun
(veyl channel) - 1,319 views...
i like to... find the better alleys of my entertainment...
as i can't hate kevin spacey...
not because of kevin spacey...
but because of lester burnham...
or more to the point...
why thomas newman reminds me of a...
reincarnation of Satie...
not a Chopin or a Liszt virtuoso of the piano...
not a when a hammer strikes
a line of 88 nails...
but when a butterfly chances the here and there,
on a shy-loot of a beauty of scarce sounds...
just the same of nostalgia for this era of
movies borrows me from out any new
suspence... as that sort of nostalgia creeping
into people born in the 1960s who truly
admire h'american movies from the 1950s...
even i am to blame when i feed
a nostalgia - more to the point for the technicolour
acryllic glow akin to...
richard quine's 1958 bell book and candle...
but of course scandinavian existential cinema
of a Bergman would be in black and white...
black and white photographs...
but if we're talking movies?
Undogmatic & Kernfeld - thought experiments...
Amanti d'oltretomba (1965)...

i will have to refine the greek to hebrew to greek
similarities...
an Ezra Pound can hide behind counting
matchsticks and reading into chinese ideograms...
when lo and behold! some japanese *******
comes up with a minimalism of the on'yomi...
or perhaps japanese is a language
that fuses elements of braille?
no point question the matter since
the mongols famously didn't come over to Japan
to add to the already Mandarin caste of
the kun'yomi...

but no... these greek letters are nouns...
even though π is equivalent to understanding
the wheel a posteriori: as a circle -
prior to there was only a wheel but no
knowledge of the dynamic of the radius,
or the diameter...
but it's still a prefix weak hardly a noun...
alpha and beta are nouns because they
denote something - prefix category shared -
but... the alpha and the beta male...
even gamma rays...
what's that? π-networks of coming back
to point (0, 0) in terms of:
no more than three powers of seperation between
you and some random from hugh yawn'khh?
my bad...
but η, μ, ν, ξ, π, ρ (ρ requires delta epsilon
and sigma to imply island of Rhodes)...
τ - but this is not China and tau is not Tao...
to tow is... to tow...
φ, χ, ψ... these could be names...
but ψ is like a crucifix for psychologists...
so these are... but at the same time:
are not names...
working from Latin, "borrowed"...
A (or aye)... B (queen bee)... C (i çee)...
D (dye or dry or d.i.y.)... E (eh? vowel catcher
arm no. 1 of the tetragrammaton)...
surd if the other arm... most notably in gujarati...
or not...
but this leftoever ancient Latin:
                                sing along! sing along!
a, be, cee, dee, e, ef, gee, h "hatch" / hay,
i, jay, kay, em, en, o, ***, que queue cue,
Ar, Tee, U, Vee, ekhs (x), why (y), zee or general Zod /
Zed... etc.
do i remember the "correct", french pedagogic
sequences of: letters of the alphabet?
i thought the whole "game" was about
the lexicon? and the lexicon within the lexicon
of the correct spelling?
are there 26 letters in the english alphabet?
there are! mein gott!
do i have to monkey-play-me-harmonica -
monkey-play-me-the-acordeon and tap to play
the drums... really? now?!
there were never going to be any alphabetical
sequence of events...
if i can remember that there are 26 letters:
the order of the pedagogues doesn't matter...
the lexicon matters... one's own vo(gue)-ca-bu-Larry...
short of Lawrence...
and shouldn't i give up my Lawrence Vogue...
i will certainly to remember to give
the "correct" order of what begins
with abc- and ends with -xyz...
this is the inbetween...
please see fit to spot a sparrow or a typo...

becuase if the british are to be proud of their past...
proud in the sense that it is...
fermenting and all this decline of the west "thing"...
of the people that has to "somehow" welcome
a revival... кaцaпы (plural of кaцaп)
is a racial slurr - designated for russians...
by those who had a pseudo-isarel interlude...
of what was known as the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth - of the last european pagans -
who didn't become the prussians
and made the bavarian spirit rigid
and militaristic...

i find this part of history... rather... infantile...
i have been taught a version of history
through the lense of infantalism...
perhaps science-fiction was the serious medium
of literature after all -
all of the past - if it is to be called a past -
is prescribed by zeitgeist -
my contemporaries' suggestion to be an infatile dream!
it must be a version of infantilism!
at least: that's my response in relation to:
the past having any aspect of being worth
celebrated...
me struck dumb being coerced by a...
genetic archieology of a past...
what some of the current people invest in...
mirror mirror: on no wall beside
mirror mirror: my face...
speculum speculum: well! there's always history
as etymology!
i don't like the word faciem...
where does visage come from?
oh... right...

quest to perfect the algorithms to escape
the everyday speculum was prime suspicion:
to speculate...
i guess any search engines requires:
etymological root...

mirror mirror: my void eating face...
my pulpit of vanity -
my valley of aeons...
my detail of the smirk the demonic glee...
of your most greyish glee...
of no concern for celebrated beauty...
or at best: no beauty to be exemplified
and stealing memory having invested
in the memory of cinema...
mirare mirare: comesse vacare visage meum...

now that's rather different...
isn't it? a history lesson with...
a stress for a post-scriptum in-and-out
"epilogues" (misnomer) and a return
from the trivia interlude back into the narrative...
only with an understudy of etymology...

who do i look like? some ******* ***
who would use such a ***** word as epistemology?
"epilogue" is a misnomer in the context when...
there was never a justifiable metaphor...
a misnomer is a metaphor:
for the **** by the ocean of the shore
in the vicinity to claim town status - Dover -
albino cliffs: more or less...
epistemology is a word most frequently used
by people... who read to people...
encyclopedic entries... cyclopes reading...
all that matters is the cwowd: which is the Velsh
variation of: that already numb-R lost trill
of tarantula bit anglo-ßaß...
which didn't require zeppelins or h'american
spaghetti accent westerns of draw and drule
and drawl...

such a minor racial slur when it comes
to the russians... soviets or red barons...
you must have never visited Moscow or St. Petersburg...
**** the right sort of ******-up russian girl...
and... if you're lucky!
she's take you to... the russian versailles!
Peterhof -
the racial slur stills remains...
a thank you matka rosiya...
satellite son over 'ere: the bellowing from Berlin
is like a sudden plague of hyenas attempting...
no... the foxes are imitating the hyenas...
which is which or rather: which is why?
a mutual agreement: reciprocated...
a great a great much decent ****...
for both of us...
the memory still feeds me...
oh no, it doesn't haunt me:
it feeds me... i could only find replicas
in brothels... i would never dare usurp
this catherine this tsarina of my memory...
i would never dare invest my personality in someone
else... she can be married her... 3rd time...
and this might be her 10th repentence...
of an 11th lover...
on this sinking ship: Potemkin i go as one -
reincarnation or no...
i still don't believe: this hindu myth of:
only a fixed number of people were every to be
born... and the rest are the harsh realities
of the base focuses of animals...
as we somehow drag these n.p.c. mysterions with
us... whether strangers or fathers or mothers...
are you not attached to your grandson:
dearest "catherine"?

such is the tyrany of the hindu polygamy
trans-temporal polytheism...
a diadem with a mouth for an eye...
and an eye for a mouth: or what better way
to salvage this grief of being only being 20 and 21
when having met and having to vow to
allow ourselves our each his and her seperate
lives...
at least some people call it:
the house of lords... and the house of commons...
on a much grander scale...
oh i'm pretty sure tsar (ras)Putin is much amused...

as i am now speaking with a borrowed tongue:
someone lent me a tongue -
i desired to speak with it -
imagine this complete lack of horror with regards
to being lent -
when reicarnation comes to the fore...
i agree: with "him": a most disagreeable
metaphor for... whatever it is the hindus truly believe
to be: the most humane form of
being allowed a human: self-consciousness
and a relationship to all those teenage
*****-dear-diary entries of... precursors
to the menapause and... the blue blood gremlins
of the big pharma pills-down...
the big pharma *******...

unless asked... always in uniform before your "majesty"...
as with any decent *******...
god forbid one of them thinks i'm jesus christ...
come back...
but never with these... grey-area maidens...
this "tool" will not be aroused
on the simple signature end contract promise
of: he made it to the finish line of a one-night stand!
where's the finish line of a one-night stand?
the next day? the *******, the *******...
her ******? at least the new generation
have the... cipher password for sexting...
or whatever has become of a good old fashioned
**** your brains out?
via you **** a plum sore tattoo into my pelvis
with your coccyx like a well balanced
african body of ivory beauty?!
you know the type... it looks like butter
in moonlight... like... what's the point of a niqab
in africa?! it's already... a warewolf has come
among the wolves...
and how i miss you, i esp. miss you when
i sit on my windowsill and listen to foxes
mating...
how those ******* squeal yank and bite nothing
but bone having omitted both the flesh
and the fur!
i miss you the most when i sit at night -
and listen to foxes mating;
after all... this is essex... this is england...
foxes at around 1am are my cognac...
beside ms. amber: and you know you'll also
be ******* her when i've had my fill...
but oooh... look at me: oooh...
gravy...
but i've watched! crows don't attempt fucky-fucky
tow-dollar sucky-sucky bangkokh style
during the die... all that is black that's worth
the crow is done in the night...
perverted pigeons during the day!
****-*******-me-into-a-voyeurism of their
greedy insect esque antics of coo coo...
then jump onto the rucksack of a female...
and all those beta-male pigeons... and that: huh?!
moment of bewilderement when he "thinks"
he has cooed like an alpha...
only the memory of you...
and all the prostitutes after you...
which always made imagining ******* you again
all that more simple; there was no кaкaшкa
with them to begin with.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2018
the second phase of marxism is:
why do people enforce Hegel
to commad, when neglecting
Kant?
              i find Kant to be neglected...
of all schwabe...
     bewildering: like admiring
a yoyo sling...
             if there ever was
a dialectical materialism,
  capitalism is profound,
in that it killed communism when
communism was a premature
death -
            too young to
match up to the relieved serfdom -
yet communism will continue
to subvert,
           it will sentence
the subconscious with a tease -
said poet - said terse -
       otherwise the scaffold!
dialectical materialism has
morphed into
dialectical historiology -
        could it be an exclusion
of space? by comparison
the 20th century is absolute
in these times, its not relative,
yet relativism pervades
the narrative...
            we always and always
have lived in absolute times,
the allude to relativism
in a framework of temporal
affairs will never achieve
spatial democracy,
   untied from the spaghetti past...
love it or loath it,
         the 2nd phase of
the: ignoring Kant while
fervently adamant concerning
Hegel trusts what is
already apparent:
journalism is a trans-categorical,
szubrajce!
                journalism's primo
concern is the loser white
living with his parents,
little do they know of the investment
paid by the man who
entertains being patient...
journalists,
the ones who send their grandparents
to homes for the elderly,
quack out a Bulgarian **** joke
by now...
   a baby is far from an Alzheimer -
rotten memory,
   rekindle imagery of
lost years...
ensure that memory is
a citadel, and not some
     meagre fancy worth the pillage;
of those who find thought
least entertaining,
find morality the hardest
the fathom -
for the said concern,
lacking a mediating ought -
principle theta;
buckle on the P -
boss around a cleavage,
       pardon, rho alt romeo,
ultimatum grzechotnik...
   rattler... god i hate crosswords.
- because of journalism
history has become irrelevant...
   i hate journalists,
journalists are to me
the grand inhibitors of
what's necessary: inhibitions...
the journalist is the new Jew
to me...
         a leech, a parasite,
akin to the parody of a kiss
under a mistletoe...
  ever set foot on Slavic lands?
ever see a tree, plagued by
a mistletoe?
  mistletoe is a parasite...
yet you kiss beneath it,
cranium above myrhh's worth
of crown...
         jemioła,
ever see a tree riddle with this
parasite?
  as i once said:
the cancerous man better
invite the sight of the botanical
cancer akin to the mistletoe...
  only in Slavic lands,
akin to mole mounds
   (maulwurfhügel -
germanem, faust, chem -
czyli chmiel; zdrowo)...
and yet the social norm is
to kiss beneath this botanical
scurvy...
             easier seen
on a botanical body
than on a heaving gloat -
          yet have you ever seen
mole mounds, or mistletoe
on a tree in its wintry skeletal
form?
          what a sad sight...
but a sight kept, as reminder...
western lands do not
allow such trivialities -
quasi-germanic Gaels -
               akin to the labours
of the mistletoe -
sometime mistaken for
abandoned nests of migrating
birds -
   man lost,
in the advent, atomising
the percularity of swan
and stork nobility -
namely monogamy...
             feeble man knows not
the sixth sense bypassing
sight of ghosts:
   fickleness -
     and chance of adequate
temperament stagnate-:
for the exploration of
the civilised caste.
         mistletoe is a botanical
parasite...
              in the wild i've
seen it green on branches
of birches and oaks -
while the host hibernated
the parasite grew...
    yet this kiss-me-lovely
parasite never managed
to bind itself
to the acidity of the pine,
the evergreen, the prickly
needlework of insomniac
tree...
              and they
make amends with a kiss,
under a parasite...
     how horrid wild
mistletoe is,
        perverse,
nonetheless,
  what else to comfort a cancern
patient with,
  if not a tree labouring
with a likened strain
of excessive bulge?
o, right...
  dialectical materialism has
been replaced by
dialectical historiology...
        at least the 1st tier
achieved something akin
to competition...
the second tier of communism
is merely confusion...
   economical model intact...
yet talk of ****; thoroughly.
Adriean New Aug 2014
Teacher lectures.
Talking students.
Busy hallways.
Quiet librarys.
Running in gym.
Crying in chem.
Numbers & letters.
Words in a book.
Lockers slamming
& jamming.
Study.
Stress.
Test.
School.
I'm in school.
Juliana Apr 2021
X Paper two—peer edits
X Chem homework
X Read paper 1, 2—for annotated bib  
X Bio notes
    Read book—your favorite, snuggle up and drift away
X Bio Exam
X Bio reading 1, 2, 3
X Chem notes
    Read Book—the one on your shelf for ages
X Chem reading 1, 2, 3, 4
X Write paper one—second draft
X Bio homework
    Write book—this has been your dream since you were a kid
X Write paper three—first draft
X Write poem—last thing before bedtime
(lines with an "X" should be crossed out instead of the "X")
Owen Phillips Apr 2013
It's all gone out of me, the hammer falls and I'm not ready to answer
Trembling, weakness supporting a tub of jelly
The pollen-filled air flies past like the
Pelicans at the edge of the harbor
Taking us gliding for an unpleasant ride
Down the corridors of plastic colors
Through the one word answers that bubble forth from
10,000 years away in hyperspace
Where the mechanisms of language become so convoluted
That they disappear completely out at the vanishing point
Coming up behind you again to drag you into that smoky allure
You remember hating and pinching your nose from
And hiding in the car, but the new fear is of becoming addicted to it
Just like your addiction to ego games and
Intellect, just like your addiction to pleasure and constant validation

The validation's there in the eternal self, they say
But I'm an intellectual
Too impatient for meditation
And lost along the way to enlightenment
That I truly want,
But then I'll never have it if I continue to live this way

It's wilderness calling from a tame fool
Sticking up for you the overgrown horoscope signifies
The shapes of skydives,
He comes in and out of our dull lives
And there's an electric current that solidifies between
Him, Us, and his music
Iron rods jutting up from scorched earth
A broken paradise
Crumbling in a whisky tumbler
Blackened by fiber filters, creations
Unlocked by flowing ontological
Caricatures, open wounds gnashing
At attention-seeking osteopaths
Fortune seekers clamber down
Soccer field bleachers,
Somebody lost his sneakers in the woods
Once there was a set of barbells along the trail
We fell in line and started
Counting each other
One by one it seemed like the green apples would never fall
It was up to us to wait for the shower
It would feed our kin
We'd begin to rise up together
But it could never keep up with our pen
We wanted the ghosts to follow us and overtake our mortal foes
But we couldn't command the armies of the dead
We derive all our pleasures from films and campfire stories
We contrive our adventures but we wait for them to happen to us
We take a passive role in finding love
And it blinks lights at us across suburban streets through windows in the dark
The mind begins to writhe with new memories it composed of old
An idealized time of a child with the perverse mind
Of a hogtied adolescent
Guessing that the course of existence
Isn't determined by the speed of your calculations
Testing the warm water on a naked toe
We could dive in and forget to breathe
And the water could carry us forever
Alleviating gravity
All the obstacles we perceived in past lives
Remain with us like
Chimney swifts on the bottomless April days of a
Klu Klux **** telephone operator
Who believed in the spirit and the holy ghost
And burned a quiet altar to Satan's minions every Sunday night
Drinking nail polish and
Obscure references to the films of the
Ancient Greek philosophers, who
Saw the medium as a means to a message
And patronized the elitest filmmakers to study the ancient Runes
And reveal their findings to a power-hungry public
That would not outright reject it
But that would have to follow it down the rabbit hole
Through the wide mouth of the trumpet around brass fixtures
And into the tight hot moist mouth of the trumpeter
And the elemental warriors would strike oil beneath the whole affair
Ending the time we spent hoping for any entertainment to create itself before our barren psyches
Busying ourselves with incomprehensible tasks and letting our indolence take the reins until we found our heads again out there amid the vapors of
New car chem trails and old railroad bunkers where spruce and cedar grow through cement earth, they force apart the ground with just their roots

We weren't ready to keep watch the following weekend but we
Had no choice when the government bond expired
And we had only technological solutions left to hope for
And wrongly we abandoned our research posts to fight the enemies
With giant weapons and uncreative slogans
Our drummers played so fast we marched along and killed all that remained in record doubletime
Rendering the events of that victorious day immortal in the ingenious accounts of
Philosopher/poet/historian Michael Jackson
Who gave one final performance
To save himself from what must not be
Alex J Feb 2012
Funny thing how forgetful we are.
Mind drifts off and so does the consciousness.

The history of the world and the life age of a species can be lost at the blink of an eye.

Funny how emotions work just like memories.
With the blink of an eye, you'r there in my mind.

Haunting me like a lost soul. I can't escape.
Your essence around me, engulfing me, choking me.

She says "Its dead."
But as a matter of Fact,

In the end,
So is everything else.
Mike Bergeron Sep 2012
You know how when
You put a kettle on a stove,
Maybe for tea
Or something else maybe
You get the kettle
To put on the stove
And you put water in it
From the tap
Or if you're in
The inner city
Then maybe from
A jug
From cvs
Or rite aid
I don't know which is closer
To your kettle
That you're putting the
Water in
To put on the stove
But the tap smells funny
And tastes like minerals
And artificiality
So if you have a bit of money, Maybe an on-tap
Filter or brita
You turn the little
**** on the front
Of the oven
And you hear
The distressed, hurried
Sound of a component
Desperately trying
To do its job
It seems like forever
But it's just a couple
Seconds
The spark catches
The gas
And glorious blue
Energy leaps out
And causes
Instant condensation
On the side of the
Kettle you've filled
With water
And put on the stove
And then
Primordial chemistry
As old as old
Changes ****
Around inside
No time
For a chem lesson
Just listen
And then after a few minutes
A blast of
Piping hot
Shrill
Pure energy
Explodes out of the top
In an earsplitting
Harried call
To you to let you
Know the kettle
You put on the stove
Is now ready
For you.
All that pressure,
From so much activity,
Before you even
Turned the heat on
You walked around
Gathering materials
And moving about
And all the calories
You burn thinking
About it
And then the
Thermal activity
Which is breathtaking
In its simple
But ever so complicated
Perfect order
And predictability
And all of this simply
Amazing process
Culminates
In one constant,
High energy geyser
Of released pressure.
This is equivalent
To the results
Of one thought
About you.
What a life
As a kettle.
Yea.
Josh Otto Dec 2011
Dear Ms. Di Prima,
I really,
Really,
Think that Alchemy—Alchemy--Al-Chem-EEEEE
Is a
Nifty
Topic.
But,
My mother has a ring
Of gold.
Standard Gold,
No lead. None.
Or had,
Until our house was
B-R-O / K-E / N
Into
By some lowlife scumbag with
Too much ability
And
Not enough intelligence.
With Alchemy
I could make a shitload
Of Gold (wasn't that the point?),
Provided I had the
Lead,
And not that
IMPOSTER
Crap in pencils (Graphite. My childhood was a shambles.).
But it's only valuable
Because
We're willing to pay so much.
Like with Diamonds.
Or Japanese Akita.
Or Wagyū.
It's not a lie.
Just a trick.
Making you think you want things that you don't need because it helps someone else who you've never met make more money than they'd ever be able to use in a legitimate way
                                   (HOOKERS AND BLOW).
All of these things are synthetic.
With the exceptions of
Gold
And
Graphite.
So,
       Maybe,
                      Alchemy did work out alright,
Just not in the anticipated way.
We can make all sorts of things.
But they become coveted only when they exist.
Just ask Swipey McStickyfingers.
It actually wasn't gold.
You just got a bunch of painted junk,
And passports.
No rubies.
We weren't international crooks,
Renowned and beloved
By jealous zealots.
It was purely sentimental.
But you can't understand.
You can't fondly look at the earrings as the last reminder of a deceased parent.
You can't flip through the identification booklet and be flooded with memories of your first trip out of the country.
You ******. You can't even cash the savings bonds that were bought to put someone through college.
No. He got a box of documents and some cheap jewelery.
But still. Probably called for celebration. A successful heist
Because his brain is still in his head.
                                                           ­     We create people as well as objects.
                                                   ­                                       Ms. Di Prima,
In the end,
      Some people will always be
     Clasping *******.
The form of this poem is all messed up. The lines are supposed to be jagged and all over the place, like Mallarmé's UN COUP DE DÉS.
jdmaraccini Apr 2013
We are not the voice to elect a king
We are anonymous

I am not the one you want to convene because I question everything
I am just a voice of honesty as degenerates overtake my home
Life in the wake of calamity cast on a pile of bones
It’s the new order of the ages, welcome to the end of days

The beast controls our lives impeding our ability to thrive
induced into a system designed for wealth, power, and lies
A price is paid for not conceding to an affirmation worth repeating
as I join the enlightened ones and wage a massive war
A circularity that deviates from its path is not a circle anymore

They will invoke internal and external threats
then establish many secret prisons
Slowly restricting the freedom of the
Press while surveying ordinary citizens
Chem-trails from government jets
will be dismissed as urban legends
Mandatory vaccinations
designed to lower urban intelligence
Radio-frequency identification chips
mandatory for men, women, and children
Man-made global pandemics
separated for segregated sterilization
Espionage becomes the new word for criticism
And dissent will be the new word for treason
In the name of self-preservation
they will subvert the rule of law

We are broken beyond repair, slaves for all we have
As they divide our families, we ignore another false flag
As history repeats, we are kept under control
But we are not the voices to elect a king

because we are anonymous
© JDMaraccini 2013
Michael DeVoe Mar 2011
Two years ago for lent
I gave up lying
It lasted
Two weeks
So in the spirit of honesty
I wanted to set the record straight
This might just be for my benefit and you might not get anything out of it but
I’m a liar
Always have been
And I’d like to shed some weight
So here goes

The first girl I ever kissed was Ashlynn (I forget her last name)
There was tongue
I was 13
It was truth or dare
I know
It doesn’t count
I kissed ten more girls playing truth or dare between Ashlynn Iforget and my first real kiss
My first real honest to goodness no truth or dare kiss
Was the day after junior prom
We woke up in each other’s arms on the couch
Stared at each other for hours until she finally kissed me
We kissed for six hours
My lips chapped
That lasted a year and a half
She had my baby

When I was in fifth grade my neighbor and I broke my parents antique glass table
I told everyone I just sat on it
I really body slammed my friend on it

To everyone I’ve told I don’t like dogs
I kind of like them
I don’t want one
But I kind of like them

When I spent the first year of my son’s life 350 miles away at a better job
Building a better future
I was really running away
Though to be fair
I didn’t know I was lying ‘til I came home

To Emily (I forgot her last name) from Corvallis
I am not a bio-chem major with a minor in French
Though I do dream of owning a vineyard in the south of Spain

Also to Emily Iforget
I was not just staying in my friend’s storage closet…that was my room

To sergeant Roscoe
My wife was not pregnant

I don’t put dates on anything I write
Because I secretly hope when I die
Someone will take the time to read it all and try to organize it
So they’ll have to think about me longer

To all of my female friends
I am a very good listener
I am a great shopping buddy
But I have had a crush on each of you at some point
Some of you knew that already

My *** number is higher than I tell people
I really want to try out for American Idol
I kissed a boy
And I liked it

To every homeless man ever
I do have spare change

To you-should-know-who-you-are-if-you-hear-this
Yes those were my underwear
And yes I did have *** with your sister

Mom I took a twenty from your purse when I was 16
Dad I stole $100 bucks once

I only cried four times during The Notebook not six

And I wouldn’t break up with you if you cheated on me
Because without my lies I have the self esteem of an Olsen Twin alone at a stranger’s house party

The only kegger I ever went to was my mom’s 50th birthday party.

I have lied a lot
Often without realizing it
Sometimes it’s on purpose

Some of them don’t make sense
Like lying about wanting to go bungee jumping…I don’t…I once said I did

Some are for your benefit
I did not want seconds of the first dinner you ever made me that **** was gross

Some are for my benefit
I really didn’t love you

Some I will never get
I am too afraid to call my best friend because I know he’ll forgive me
And I don’t think I deserve it

But that last thing I’d like to be honest about
I hope one day I love myself enough
To stop saying
I’m 6’2”
A collection of poems by me is available on Amazon
Where She Left Me - Michael DeVoe
http://goo.gl/5x3Tae
Big Virge Aug 2020
Ya Know I've Heard It Said By Older Heads...
COMPETITION Is Part of Human STRENGTH... !!!

That's TRUE I Guess But Now Detect...
Competitions NOW Have Got DEFECTS... !!!
And DON'T Give Wealth To Humanity's Health... !!!

I'm Older Now So See Just How...
Competitions... DROWN...
Because of CLOWNS...
Now CLAIMING Crowns... !?!

As If They're... KINGS... ?!?
When They're Just.............
COMPETING... WEAKLINGS... !!!!!

Like Heads NOW Kicking Lyrics...
That LACK The Depth And Slickness...
In Verse BIG VIRGE Be Bringing... !!!

My Poems Leave Heads RINGING... !!!
Because My Words Keep STINGING... !!!
Like Cobras That Be... SPITTING... !!!

In The Faces of FAKES Who Just Can't Take...
STRONG BRANDS of SHARP Wordplay... !!!!!!

They QUICKLY Run For Cover...
When They DISCOVER The Rocks I'm Under... !!!

Cos' My Venom EXTENDS...
... PROBLEMS For Them... !!!!!

Because My Chem'... HITS Ventricles...
And Blends To FEND Like Tentacles... !!!!!

That STING These Kids Like JELLYFISH... !!!!!
A... " Man o War "... For SURE... !!!!
When I HIT Shores Competitors ROAR...

"Okay Big Virge, No More, NO MORE !"......

Or Like DURAN... "No Mas No Mas !"

When I Start To PEPPER...
Their Head Like... LEONARD...
Cos' I'm The... Sugar Ray...
Wordplay... HEAVYWEIGHT... !!!!!!!!

TOO HEAVY To Be Found...
On... ANY Dub Plate... !!!!!!!

My Competition Dissipates......................... ..............
And Disintegrates Because They're AFRAID...
of The Kind of Wordplay I Choose To DISPLAY...
... That DESTROYS These FAKES... !!!!!

Competition They CLAIM...
To Want... ALL DAY... !!!

Til' I STAKE My Claim...
To Enter... CENTRE STAGE... !!!
And HIT LAME BRAINS...
With My... MIND SPRAY... !!!!!

I DAMAGE These FOOLS...
Just Like... " JERU "...

Compete With... WHO... ?!?
I'm The Doctor... WHOSE...
Competitive Words Have BIGGER BOOTS...
Than... COMPETITIVE JERKS...
Whose Verse... Lacks Worth... !!!

COMPETITIVE Dudes...
Who Were Born To LOSE... !!!!!!

I Compete With... ME...
NOT GLORY Hunting Freaks... !!!

Because...

EVERY TIME I Rhyme Alphabet Letters...
I'm Trying To BETTER My Form of VENDETTA...
To STAND For... MORE...
Than THESE WHORISH Trend Setters... !!!

I'm A VERBAL GO GETTER...
NEVER Late But... FOREVER... !!!

A Man Whose VIEWS...
COMPETE To... CONSUME...
VOLUMES In Rooms...
Who CHOOSE To REFUSE...

WORDPLAY I USE...
I'm A Bit... " CONFUSED "... ???

When It Seems They CHOOSE...
To BELIEVE It's... COOL...
When These FOOLS Exude...
SO MUCH... ATTITUDE...
About... " How They DEFEAT ! "...

EVERYBODY They Meet...
When It Comes To... FREESTIES'...
That They KICK Over Beats... !!!!!?!!!!!

They're QUICK To APPLAUD...
These... Lyrical FRAUDS... ?!?
Who COMPETE To Hear ROARS...
When They're... Treading The Boards... !!!

COMPETITIVE... Actors... !!!
Kind of Like An X Factor...
For... Wannabee Rappers...
Who … LACK The Bite...
of..... VELOCIRAPTORS...... !!!!!!!!

As For The... Gun Clappers...
They Take JOOK' Like SLAPPERS... !!!!!!

When... Like A SLACK Gangster...
They Get SHOT In The CRAPPER...
Cos' Their **** LOST It's HAMMER... !!!!!!

I Make These FOOLS... " S T T T TAMMER "... !!!!!
When I Utilise... GRAMMAR...
That HAMMERS Like BANNER... !!!

OKAY I Mean... THOR... !!!
COMPETING... Fa' SURE... !!!
When It Comes To A Cause...
WORTH... FIGHTING For... !!!!!

I COMPETE On... Spirit Levels...
That DISHEVEL These DEVILS... !!!
Who... CLEARLY Seem To REVEL...
In Being Given... MEDALS...
For NONSENSE That They PEDAL... !!!

Like PRIEST My HEAVY MENTAL...
Is How I... BURN And SETTLE...

Scores With... BROADS...
I Mean... GIRLS Of Course... !!!

Who... CLEARLY LIKE To See...
THESE Gangster Wannabes'...
COMPETING For Their *****... !!!!

NO MORE Do I CONCEDE... !!!
To PANDER To Their Schemes... !!!

My Competition FEEDS...
OFF MORE Than They Could Be... !!!!!!!!

My Competition NEEDS...
To Make A... BETTER ME... !!!!!

NOT To PROVE To... " Peeps' "...
That I'm BETTER Than Jay-Z... !?!?!

I'd RATHER Be... " The V "...
Whose VENDETTAS COMPETE...
AGAINST The... Powers That Be... !!!!

And FIND A... HIGHER Mission...
Than Being... SOLELY DRIVEN...
To Fighting For... A PITTANCE... ?!?

In PETTY.............

……. " COMPETITION " …….
I was never one to believe that an artists' work should be something to be placed in competitions. People either like what you do or they don't ....

Voting on art is Hardly Ever, Objective .....
jonathan valonis Nov 2010
Ah that feeling,
Of hopeless glimmers,
A blank star,
A void stance,
In a space,
Journey through time,
Spectacular new sites,
Distance simply strung,
Across the dark,
Blanket of warmth,
Vision of light,
Fading with tears,
Raining beautiful rainbows,
Smiling with joy,
To dark despair,
By the menace,
Empty and hallow,
Bringing painful sorrow,
Taking rather borrow,
Buying not sharing,
A helping hand,
Knowledge well hidden,
An esoteric given,
Nothing in return,
Just to them,
Is corpses decaying,
Another ***** opportunity,
To magnify profit,
From the return,
Of newly born,
Slaves of society,
The common denominator,
Underlying embellished truth,
The cunning sleuth,
Has hidden dreams,
That brings fear,
To all them,
Us standing tall,
Proud and mighty,
Not falling down,
From scare tactics,
Antisemitic prophetic pathetic,
Attempts to capture,
Our soul again,
To strand us,
Here once again,
To work eternity,
All of us,
March for them,
We will work,
Together that is,
As a team,
We can stop,
Every single one,
Since we control,
All of them,
Market money religion,
Government jobs abroad,
We work them,
Stop being sheep,
Following bo peep,
Off a cliff,
Remove and uplift,
This poor foundation,
Of bad fundamentals,
Before we are,
No longer mentally,
Challenged buy this,
Story of racist,
Scary disappointing place,
Gun toting fascist,
Gangs of masochism,
Atheist a religion,
Our sins forgiving,
Forgetting friends families,
Sheltering ourselves in,
Materialistic meaningless gems,
Gas guzzling cars,
Driven by comical,
Nonsensical unpractical commercials,
Of inferior technology,
Waste products increase,
Buy the demand,
Mass production toxins,
For the air,
To breathe taxes,
The mindless soul,
Drifting into oblivion,
Not self destruction,
Instead unmoral corruption,
Now full cure,
Now full heal,
Still feel sick,
Now need rest,
This is not,
A game attest,
Before hard reset,
Need to reboot,
Not blindly salute,
A flag waving,
Unwavering biased judgment,
Claiming land over,
Those who opposed,
Their fastened weapons,
Iron and bronze,
Steel to gold,
Anything deemed precious,
They will take,
Rocks to drugs,
Food to bugs,
Grass to rugs,
Swept underneath unnoticeable,
The untrained eye,
Awe and surprise,
The attack here,
Will go unseen,
Like the chem-trails,
Released upon us,
Vaccinations we need,
That carries aids,
Strands of ***,
Water we drink,
Contaminated with e.coli,
To the plastic,
That causes cancer,
Aluminum cans causing,
You to forget,
Alzheimer to prevent,
Train your brain,
To learn everyday,
Along with stopping,
Cruel and unjust,
Punishment to others,
Whether you like,
It or not,
We are related,
We are one,
We are looking,
For our self,
We should help,
Realize we are,
Simply one self.
Majd Al Deen Aug 2014
P1
There once was a guy
Who once had a guild
And that guild was built
With seventy head

That guy once guided his guild
Where grey lands were filled and built
He held down his sword and belt
Screaming out loud while moving his head
"Where gold is we land and dig"
"Where glory is we put our head"

There once were guides
Who helped that guild
Finding grey lands
That filled and built

One guild guy had wrote and read
His name was "Chiny Chem Ded"
Other guild guide was in the lead
Where war is you hear " Belly Den Deed "
End of part 1.. please tell me does it worth to continue writing it ;-)
Tim Bustin Jun 2014
How do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
I hate thee to the co-ordinate y
My soul exists, and so begging to die
In revising chem, maths and more all days.  
I hate thee more than the universe size
If Olber’s paradox was somehow true.
I hate thee freely, as men fight Mech 2.
I hate thee purely, as they waste their lives.
I hate thee with a passion put to use
Poetically procrastinating you.
I hate thee with hatred I cannot lose
With my lost UMS – hate thee with breath,
Pens, tears, of all my strife – and, if God choose,
I shall only be free when I’m with death.
a parody of “How do I love thee” by Elizabeth Barret Browning
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2020
chem. soup brain... or Brian...
no song of no more new to come,
no new song of all that's to come,
no bride of either westminster
or wandsworth or walthamstow...
not within the confines
of the ****- burnings of the dolphin
skins of the yorkie-pies
of the ol' shire... coal-mined veins
from no, to no lesser Silesia...
among the Picts... dear widow
of London that's the current spirit
of lemon-suckling brine?!
oh my dear, what no aloof...
shying from the haggis, from the neeps!
the tatties!
and the myth of the deep frier
marzipan...
the fidget of the fudge explorers
of the Rhine of Yer **** Messieurs!
come to think of it...
i came to england as a fleabag of
eastern europe with a nietzschean moustashe
i borrowed and burrowed from and into
my father dear...
but when in SCOTland...
i arrived as a Dane...
this beyond past comparison arrival
willing to... **** a lass beside her senses
and her geography...
and in that... all was made sane...
because i see no reason to believe
these metropolitan daughters and sons
of fairies...
should they still exalt the ghost
of shakespeare...
and his art a mode of transcendence...
when all his works require!
actors!
the gob and goblet with my tongue
pickled in it like
the body of frederick barbarossa
arriving at Jerusalem...
London: the Salem of my Trials...
will ever and forver old Burns make
a speech: to later sigh...
because the English girls from Leicester
and Norwich arriving in Loon'don
will make it plain and far...
we from the foreign lands:
from the countrtyside will but and but
and but some more!
dear starlings pure... please! recite me some
of your love of Shakespeare:
as long as it rhymes... it's poetics;
ticks... those lesser tapeworms off...
here's a better terminology concerning
a cow-bell... roy orbison will never be allowed
to reign over the status of a black sabbath riff...
but...
he has the rest... nazareth and...
flea of the dog...
royal scots dragoons: this unison of
a non-continental aspect of land...
these isles...
and the english swans these english girls
will have to return,
cite their sonnets and never lend themselves
to "anecdotes" from the plays...
what did i say?
it is worth as much a misnomer
as it is worth a metaphor...
because for all of Shakespeare's worth...
he too would gladly rest,
his final sentiment via Bach's rolling technique...
should it be, when it is already well known...
no one recites a sonnet by a Shakespeare
when old Hogmanay is over...
when St. Sylvester's is celebrated...
and never this, very english... cold-ce
firecracker fore-warning the:
part and parcle of Guy Fawkes' night
of toy-terror...

what words and what words aren't...
and then those words better sung?
of never have,
of never heave...
of never baron over: of never "steve"
(stephen's claim and rite)...

so much for Shakespeare's sonnets...
when come new year's eve
and all that resounds...
is auld lang syne...
and all sing to embrace...
and none sign to what's...
nonetheless later sung...

was man ever to fathom being
so disillusioned to early...
to early as to catch a prosper from
the scent of thyme?
i can't stomach the recitations
of Shakespeare...
they sound to me like a clogged toilet...
i do not require a new recitation...
i require the proper reincarnation
plumber for this gobshite blockage
of what doesn't require to be ******* out:
re- again re- again re- again
and once more until another ted hughes
calls it: an "event at Wimbledon"...

**** it... yes... it was Primrose Hill...
unlucky for me... the Prussians never made it
into the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth...
nor was there a deluge to recount
on the canvas of a Bayeux Tapestry....
but sure as Sherlock ******* Holmes knows
his Watson...
cite and recite all the Shakespeare pedagogy
all you want...
the man would prefer rotten cabbages
to be thrown at the stage than having to endure
the immortality of a Bach...
esp. when... the words of a scotman are
sung come the eve of a new year's day...

by abide the Roud Folk Song Index...
this poo'em will too, not disappear as frequently
as the next to "new" viral video...

if only i wandered as far among
the Welsh... perhaps...
among the Richards of Little Ireland
and all the clever deargfriochta!

what's there to compensate with?
Southend... Colchester... Clapham Junction...
Prince Irvine of Clemence & Chelmsford...
epilogue of Epping -
as glutton Loon'don and...
fair well... bride Bethlem...

a song to not having parted...
a song to not heaved a last farewell...
a song for yesterday...
a song for: everyday!
a song for the domesticated dog...
and never the abides of a lost
leash that also calls itself a dog in horse-ridden
stirrups!
a song to bypass Leicester,
Doncaster, Newcastle, Carisle and...
the lesser domains of Hadrian's scare...
those BIG in domine dominos of history...

my putrid lot to have to remind...
it's not Shakespeare that's sung...
come the advent of anewed...
bubonic Edinburgh...
or how the first skyscrapers were born...
how the first bridges were raised
over no river or any manner
of a body of water...
how i came across my first
scottish "witch" and even if she was
the 2nd or 3rd Fiona...
i didn't fall in love with her...

old clinginess of a mythological Kiev...
somewhere between
Warsaw and Moscow...
yet again... it would have been
better that i return to the squalor of...
forget me to remember:
London 20th century 90s and 80s.
Zach Sanchez Feb 2011
Eyes that give
half recognitions
with almost
audible clicks
and the universal
amp that is
the human
ivory smile,
drives it home.
Deaf hands moving
with blunt precision,
fumbling for alarm
clocks, bra hooks,
chem notes and
silent red cups.
Doing essential jobs
that essentially
involve doing
nothing.
A private passenger jet flies on by, and past,
- leaving lethal chemicals, so, high up in the sky
- to be breathed in by your' and my own gasps;
- it causes each & every one of us to, slowly, die.
It's all been decided by some ole' greedy guy
- sitting in a golden office, so, high up in the sky.
An' he has an air filtration system, of course;
- for, he doesn't need his throat feeling hoarse.
Though, it seems it's fine if it's you or mine..
- oh yes; he's guilty of such a dastardly crime!
He kills all our mothers - and kills all our fathers..
- oh yes; he is, truly, such a sinister monster!
He'll **** all our siblings and **** all our children;
- his mission is a cruel one of killing off millions!
We have no way to stop what is being displayed;
- he's a master of evading all those he betrayed.
February 14th, 2017.
Blue Flask Jul 2015
You have the most disturbing eyes I've ever seen
across the room
across the world
eyes illuminated by only the lamp
and the screen
you look me dead in the eye
and you scare me
the intense you give me
I barely hear the words
you look into me
to far
too ******* far
this isn't like the rest
stupid infatuation
this is fear
I'm afraid of you
and I don't know why
Circa 1994 Mar 2014
Why did you feel like you had to prove something to everyone? Innocence isn't bad you know. You were going to wait. But you were just so **** eager to prove your point. Perhaps a bit of it was spite. You felt over sheltered, so you overcompensated.

You have bad hair and bad taste in boys.

Still you shouldn't have broken up with him via text. Twice.
Making the third time by phone call wasn't a bad idea.

You have small *****. Get over it.

Stop being so insecure. Do things by yourself. You’re prone to codependency and neediness is not a good look for you

Invest in a pair of cute thigh highs. Delete your ****** blog. Get your eyebrows waxed (it doesn't hurt that bad).

While I have your attention - DON'T ******* FAIL CHEM!!! You end up retaking it with the same teacher whose face resembles that of a rat.

Enjoy being a social butterfly because it'll get old quick. Also beer is gross so you didn't miss much at parties.

*You'll grow into your skin.
jeffrey robin Feb 2014
In the wild free ghetto night

Where would ya wanna be but here?

With god and the angels and love so bright!

I walk these streets in complete  awe

I'll be here walkin in a thousand years


••

Baby rockin in the cradle

Cradle rockin on the window sill

So very high above the street

••

Hey hey mama here come Jesus

Got a sack a loaves and fishes

Jes for you

••

Ain't lynched a cowboy from this tree in 100 years

But it gotta couple a negroes back in '63

••

Help help!!

I ain't suffering from affluenza

& I need some bad !

••

My face !

And most a you ain't seen it!

OH MY GOD!

••

A street lamp  is a beautiful symbol
Of

Somethin

                                            ­           (Over there -----

In the dark

By the alley where the stained old newspapers blow
Round and round

And little ragged boys curl up to sleep

••

Star light star bright

Thru the chem trails of the night

••

I mean

In the garden of Eden before the apple eatin

Didn't adam at least think eve had a cute ***?

••

In college we were supposed to write an essay on the differences between bein a priest and a professional wrestler but I couldn't think a nothin

••

In the wild free ghetto night

Where would ya wanna be but here ?

All the angels child bright

God is seen on every EYE

not afraid to shine or cry
Olivia Mercado Feb 2014
This week I will pull off the impossible
I will write the greatest cases ever written
I will pull up my GPA
turn in the greatest transcendentalism essay you'll ever read
finish my APUSH
pull off wonders in AP Chem.
Ah, the life of a student
in a highly competetive, tightly-knit arena
going for the win.

Little things like drama
and social tension
just seem to fade away when you reach out
higher, harder, faster
Research, speed drills, caffeine
Lose weight, forget to eat
Gain weight, forget to sleep
But I feel fantastic.
No more emo *******
finally, after too long, I am *passionate.
raw with love Apr 2014
i think about the girls
in my class;
the one we have
an inside joke with,
tho we have nothing
else in common;
the one who plucks
my eyebrows
and asks me for
advice and
help with homework;
the one who thinks
i'm a nice person;
the one to whom
no one else is nice;
the one who likes
to hug me all the time
and calls me a friend;
the one who adores
chanel and likes
to talk to me
sometimes and sits
next to me in chem class;
the one i used to be friends
with but we fell out
though we still talk sometimes.
i think about
the other girls
from the golden five;
the two who are
inseparable and
nice to me and
understand me somehow;
the one who
shares my fandoms
and i can vaguely call
an actual friend;
the one i grew up
with who drools
over tom hiddleston
and sherlock and
books with me.
i think about
my literature teacher
who told me
she loves me
and about my
english teacher
who hugs me when
she's proud of me.
i think about
all the other teachers
who call me
exceptional.
i think about
the boy who used
to be my best friend
for two years
but we drifted apart
and yet he'd still
call me if he needed someone.
ithink about
the girl i stalk and
whom i send sweet messages to.
i think about
T. whom i love dearly
and V. whom i love dearly
and N. whom i love dearly
and M. whom i love dearly.
i think about my
sun and stars
who breathes for me,
my knight,
my heart.
i think about
the boy i love
and how even though
he said goodbye
he's "not indifferent"
(and about a promise
i made),
and about his mother
who adores me.

i think about my
mother who loves me the most
about my father
who calls me
princess
about my brother
who pulls my hair.
about my grandparents
and aunt and cousin,
about my mother's
best friends.

and then
i ask myself
"if all these people
are going to cry
if i happen to die,
if all these people
will lose sleep
and scream into
their pillows at night
and ask themselves why,
what does it matter
that i
don't
love
myself?"
Sam Mar 2017
Slats
Salts
I have Salt
Salt Salt Salt
Salty Salt
*for Chem
+Inspiration+
Tribute to a good friend of mine
RIP our minds in AP Chem
brandon nagley Jan 2017
As an inexplicable soul,
Trapped behind bar's
Of the flesh;

I awaiteth to break
Out of this worldly abode;
Where mine wing's canst fly
Far away from this nest.

In a white robe to be dressed,
In a Faraway home; soaring
Peaks O' unknown,
How the flowers
Impress.

None shackles to mine feet,
Nor any chem trailed air;
Just the sound's that
Surround, their word's
To flow through
Mine hair.

I'll use gold to write with,
Silver to create its depth;
O' I wilt cherish the saint's
Of gods endless breath.

Rose petals to be the paint,
As the petals never die,
Nor shalt the day turn into night,
God is the sun, the moon,
The light.

I'll gaze the foreign, strange
Sights, being no less
Important, I wilt sing
With the flowers, as
they'll appreciate my
Purpose.

©lonesome poet's poetry
©Brandon nagley
inexplicable: unable to be explained.
Awaiteth:await.
Abode: place of living, home.
Mine: is my in archaic form.
Canst:can.
None: no.
Chem trailed air : chemtrails, the forty plus chemicals our u.s gvt drops on us daily using commercial and military jets they poison us also the trails cover up (planet x, nibiru) dont know what thAt is look it up.
Wilt:means will.
jeffrey robin Oct 2010
in
"tolerable condition'"

i wander...
....amongst
homeless people and stars

paved roads
Golden
(dental fillings flashing)

*******..
......f--cking   horselike
and gilded laughter

strained people
(ornamental)

CORPORATION
................................­..........wars

if i was a black man
..................nee "*****"
......................nee "niggra"
............
..............................nee "human being"
...................................................
......­.......................

(if i was)

as

alien space/time ships
golden with Gold
...........................money

..........................­nee "mammon"
.......................nee"evil"
...............nee "devil"

float
serenely complacent

like
.....................chem-trails
like
..........­.............politicians
like
..............televisiom
like
...do­pe

thru our

VANITY
----------
----------
----------

enough!
no mas!

bulls--t!
bulls--t!!
bulls--t!!!

enogh!
no mas!

BULLS--T

nuclear explosions
explode

core of being

LIGHT

REAL

NOW

-------

YOU!!!!!!

come from out the
glory

of a tongue

up your a---hole.....

into the world
I Anonymous Feb 2018
the clock is ticking
and i am very afraid
afraid to live
in a world where i probably won't see my old age
in a world where nuclear war, global warming, and people killing innocent children is all the rage
for about a week
until the news has a new obsession to seek
the clock is ticking
and my heart should at the least drop in fear
when i hear that another massacre had occurred
with 17 victims. hashtag MSD strong
just give it a month, the news will move along
the clock is ticking
and at six years old we should not be reciting our abc's
as we hide where a bad man cannot see.
I thought that everybody was welcome at school
why can't the man with the toy gun can't come in too?
the clock is ticking
and what the hell is wrong with your generation?
instead of address the problem you train us to solve it by hiding under tables

if my friend can take one look at his campus and infer
in the event of an armed intruder,
the juniors would be the first to go
and uh oh there's no escape from the basement classrooms
because to them, the media is only fake news.
the clock is ticking
and i should be worrying about what i'm going to wear tomorrow
or if that boy i pass by in the halls will notice me
I should be staying up all night studying for chem
Instead of sobbing under my sheets at 1 AM
worrying if this day is going to be my last.
or if a gunman were to come he'll just walk past,
maybe forget why he's here or maybe he'll just disappear into thin air.
the clock is ticking
and i will not be silent.
because valentines are for chocolates and candy hearts
not the feeling of your soul get ripped apart
you knew this boy,
he might not have been your friend and to be honest you suspected
that he could be your end
the clock is ticking
and i will not be silent
because at concerts all you need to hear are beating drums
not the beating of your racing heart
as bullets reign from up in the sky, you sang of God only moments ago so why
is He punishing us like this?
The clock is ticking
And I will not be silent
because clubs are partying hard and spending the next morning in the bathroom
not cowering with 22 others in a bathroom stall
waiting for the gunfire to come to an end and you only came to have a nice night with your girlfriend
and you can't tell if this is her blood or yours
the clock is ticking
and the glass walls are shattering.
but my bullets are words
and i will not go down in silence.
Cover my nakedness
Forget any truths
Let me not have questions
Or freedom
Sacrifice me from thought
Implant me in false religion
Give me politics to argue
And stare at others in envy
Let us photograph French deities
And live in corporate stress
Please take away my family
And keep the twenty four hour drugstores
Rain down with chem trails
And I will believe area fifty one is not there's
Hide in fables
Suppress true knowledge
Let philosophy become an aborted word
And abort those who can't afford your tax
Hunt down free thinkers
How dare them
How dare them question
The cowards that sold the world
Matt May 2015
Spraying chem trails
Aluminum and Barium too

The globalists hate me and you!

Turn off the television
The flicker rate
Designed to keep you in a hypnotized state
Making you more susceptible
To buy products
From obnoxious ads

Tune in to real life Americans
Anais Vionet Sep 2023
They say we’ll get a hurricane,
that they’re calling hurricane Lee.
Probably later this week,
and it’s a category 9 at least.

Some are saying prayers, but I say:
Why’s God sending it here?
Someone must be sinning a LOT.
Hey, don’t look at me - I’m not.

You’d think that would affect our classes,
that maybe we’d get hazzard passes,
for assignments that are due,
but nope, it isn’t true.

“I don’t want to hear excuses,”
my chem professor said,
“the only acceptable excuse is,
that you’re dead.”
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
yeah, imagine that,
walking into a room with 20+
strangers eager to numb-your-prostate...
li'ill ol' me, mind you,
walked into a brothel with 10+
prostitutes and lazily said:
can one of your girls pick...
then tha taboo quote came out
from the most mouthy one
of them: you can't do that!
that's against our dogma!
fine! you'll do, since you're so
******* mouthy...
oh the freudian madonna-complex
is real... very real...
you go to a brothel:
you know what you're getting...
and you know what the end is...
how can man ever retrieve his
objectivity when there's
the existence of an object
(money) that morphs subjectivity?
one man finds wealth in being poor,
another man finds poverty
in being wealthy...
huh?
            but the madonna-*****
complex ought to be the currently
discussed zeitgeist...
the oedipus complex is so
20th century, so wilhelm ii...
   freud has to evolve beyond
the oedipus complex, and into his
lesser known "space-time"
   madonna-whiore complex -
otherwise? i'll discredit him
                through & through!
oh you think it's funny?
that i can get an *******:
no problem with a ******* -
but at the same time have
trouble getting an *******
with a "sanitation" worker of
the ethos of ***?
              common women
don't turn me on...
               they're boring
as **** to me... but with prostitutes?
let's just say that it
has never been a 1986 challenger
or a 1968 apollo 6 attempt
at "getting *****"....
  oh freud is alive and kickin'
but not in the current frame of
being worth interpreting -
oedipus died with wilhelm ii...
given the current post-feminist
deconstructionism of the male psyche
using the... JESUS!...
of the nag hammadi library...
well... we're right on time with
the 20 clowns packed into a mini-cooper
and the grand: circus elephants
blowing-up balloons show!
                               ta(h) da(h)!

— The End —