"chieftain" poems
she ruled kingdoms three
the land were prisoners roam free
she spent her time staring at walls
making worlds which would never fall
the chieftain came in and bowed at her feet
'My Queen,the enemy has left us no option -
surrender or retreat.'
Aghast,bewildered and tensed she paced the court
'Oh dear! did they sink our boat?'
'Your majesty, will you please tell how to act in such a situation?'
'You fool! how am I supposed to answer when I am the Queen of Procrastination!'
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
A jack of all trades and a master of none
That is what people called him
Always tinkering with a smile on his face
Helping others seemed to be his place
So when the last chance came to say goodbye
Many people wondered why
Had such a man as this
Who touched all walks of life
Have to die
As busy as he was he always had the time
To stop and talk with the town drunk
On the corner where he stood
Often about a wonderful boyhood
Then in his pocket he would reach
Without a judging eye
Give the man some money
Shake his hand and say until next time
So when the last chance came to say goodbye
Many people wondered why
Had such a man as this
Who touched all walks of life
Have to die
Always willing to share his skill
If you had the ear to learn
Teaching how to do a thing or two
He would give that value
With anyone who would listen
He would make it his business
To share his knowledge as if he was a chieftain
So when the last chance came to say goodbye
Many people wondered why
Had such a man as this
Who touched all walks of life
Have to die
A husband and a father
His wife and children miss him the most
He was a hero to them
Through his children his story will never end
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 2:03 AM UTC
MESSENGER
Now at the Seventh Gate the seventh chief,
Thy proper mother's son, I will announce,
What fortune for this city, for himself,
With curses he invoketh:--on the walls
Ascending, heralded as king, to stand,
With paeans for their capture; then with thee
To fight, and either slaying near thee die,
Or thee, who wronged him, chasing forth alive,
Requite in kind his proper banishment.
Such words he shouts, and calls upon the gods
Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland,
With gracious eye to look upon his prayers.
A well-wrought buckler, newly forged, he bears,
With twofold blazon riveted thereon,
For there a woman leads, with sober mien,
A mailed warrior, enchased in gold;
Justice her style, and thus the legend speaks:--
'This man I will restore, and he shall hold
The city and his father's palace homes.'
Such the devices of the hostile chiefs.
'Tis for thyself to choose whom thou wilt send;
But never shalt thou blame my herald-words.
To guide the rudder of the State be thine!
ETEOCLES
O heaven-demented race of Oedipus,
My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods!
Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit.
But it beseems not to lament or weep,
Lest lamentations sadder still be born.
For him, too truly Polyneikes named,--
What his device will work we soon shall know;
Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught,
Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back.
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been;
But neither when he fled the darksome womb,
Or in his childhood, or in youth's fair prime,
Or when the hair thick gathered on his chin,
Hath Justice communed with, or claimed him hers,
Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland
Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand.
For Justice would in sooth belie her name,
Did she with this all-daring man consort.
In these regards confiding will I go,
Myself will meet him. Who with better right?
Brother to brother, chieftain against chief,
Foeman to foe, I'll stand. Quick, bring my spear,
My greaves, and armor, bulwark against stones.
4.8k
Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin *** help to mend a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that *** staw a sow,
Or fricassee *** mak her spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro ****** flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 9:37 AM UTC
Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
Of tan with henna hackles, halt!
****** universal **** as if the sun
Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.
Fat! Fat! Fat! Fat! I am the personal.
Your world is you. I am my world.
You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,
Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.
3.1k
When he was a youth of fifteen or twenty,
He chased a wild horse, he caught him and rode him,
He shot the white-browed mountain tiger,
He defied the yellow-bristled Horseman of Ye.
Fighting single- handed for a thousand miles,
With his naked dagger he could hold a multitude.
...Granted that the troops of China were as swift as heaven's thunder
And that Tartar soldiers perished in pitfalls fanged with iron,
General Wei Qing's victory was only a thing of chance.
And General Li Guang's thwarted effort was his fate, not his fault.
Since this man's retirement he is looking old and worn:
Experience of the world has hastened his white hairs.
Though once his quick dart never missed the right eye of a bird,
Now knotted veins and tendons make his left arm like an osier.
He is sometimes at the road-side selling melons from his garden,
He is sometimes planting willows round his hermitage.
His lonely lane is shut away by a dense grove,
His vacant window looks upon the far cold mountains
But, if he prayed, the waters would come gushing for his men
And never would he wanton his cause away with wine.
...War-clouds are spreading, under the Helan Range;
Back and forth, day and night, go feathered messages;
In the three River Provinces, the governors call young men --
And five imperial edicts have summoned the old general.
So he dusts his iron coat and shines it like snow-
Waves his dagger from its jade hilt in a dance of starry steel.
He is ready with his strong northern bow to smite the Tartar chieftain --
That never a foreign war-dress may affront the Emperor.
...There once was an aged Prefect, forgotten and far away,
Who still could manage triumph with a single stroke.
2.3k
How Brave you must be~the squaw exclaimed to the Chief. " Why, I am more than a Brave", the Chieftain quipped.! " Just look at my feathers and the scalps hanging by my side, do they not tell of My many Deeds ? Her reply was a simple ,, "YES, I can see how you have adorned yourself ! " He retorted ~ " And you certainly can't miss all the colors by which I have claimed MY-STATUS ! " The Squaw responded~ "YES, the HUES on you, certainly tell me who and what you are, now that I look closely ! " And he added~ "Look at the careful way in which I have displayed my Collection of SCALPS, Spaced ever so carefully around my waistband ! She questioned further, "Have you ,Oh Mighty Chief, Properly named each of the Scalps , SO YOU won't forget from whence they came ? ? "OH, My Goodness, YES, he answered. "I wouldn't ever want to forget where they came from, SO~I admire each and Call each of them, By Name~ Everyday. "SURELY" She continued, "YOU are much more than any other Chief, and by the way , DO you use Windex or Glass-Plus to clean your mirrors ? ? " HE exclaimed, "I, really don't know what cleaning agent my servant uses, to clean my many mirrors ! BUT, they certainly do shine, when I look into them ! The SQUAW queried~ " BUT what about your shoes, moccasins , if you would, WHAT~~ is that Green-Gooey Stuff all over them ? ? HE-Commented~ " I guess that when I take my mighty steps, toes and feet, IN THE WAY, Fall under the Prances that I make ! ! ? " Then,She asked~ "Do you do your War'Dances often, or just as you are called on, by your mighty warriors ? " AND,,this Brave-Chieftain PROCLAIMED~ "WHY, I"ll have you Know, I do all of these Prances and Dances ~BY MY OWN CHOICE, NO-ONE tells me when or what to do. Except my visits with the Prince of the Air !" The Squaw thanked him~turned~then turned back~Asking " Measured by~ Scalps~Prances and Dances ? ?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 8:11 AM UTC
Dream of life,
A shell of a man,
Walk the world,
A zombie.
Frightened as a cyclopes,
With two eyes,
Making a statement,
For all mankind.
God's little creatures,
Drinking the forest,
Through their feet,
And olde cartoons.
The sands of time,
From the hourglass,
Drain through the,
Hands of the chieftain.
Demons in the fog,
Their smiles luminating,
And made of corpses.
With no where to run,
And no where to hide,
Many people can't explain,
The knife in their hand.
Drained from their lifeless,
And made to dance,
With no sense of,
Remorse towards it.
Nobody tells you how,
Nobody tells you why,
In the wind,
Fish swim in magma,
And frogs have sequence.
They laugh at the chaos,
Hope for the return,
Of their master,
The drained man.
With no emotion,
After a date with,
His drained life.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:46 PM UTC
To my young eyes
To my innocent heart
I remember the world was a blueprint on canvas
It was a dream undreamt
It was a song unsung
As if in a crib, I looked about me at the stars of the cities
Constellations of people hung about
Their wounds and aches, joys and laughter, were the myths
Like the Zodiacs, groups of these people
Could define a person
Yet believing myself undefined, I strode out from shelter
Fearless
Untamed, I ventured to find my purpose
A purpose that would shake the mountain
Rain down the ash of winter
Smother the pits below my dreams
Cull the nightmares that stoke my fears
I waited
I waited, I waited
I tell you the waiting became my purpose
Finally, there, in the clutch of time, I found my calling
I will tell you all of the waiting
I will tell you, don't wait...
Don't wait for the door to ring
or the latch to unlock
Do not wait for the song to play
or the band to sit
Open the door
Be the composer
Be the pilot of your dreams, be the chieftain, be the god
While waiting for what I could be
I saw everyone else become
With the zeal of their hearts
I saw them build, I saw them grow
This one built a nest
That one stitched a doll
Now the doll's a mannequin and my waiting missed the change
I waited for the waiting to end
I waited for the wanting to decide
I waited for foe or friend
I waited until
there was nothing left inside
Where is the zeal of my heart
The timbre of my soul
I lost the sight, the sound, the love
because waiting took its toll...
Jan 21, 2022
Jan 21, 2022 at 8:45 PM UTC
They stared down that fruit
ravenously as junkies
seeking their next fix.
Days they spent
cleverly concealed
high in the banyan boughs
by the jungle home.
Monkey spies peered longingly,
slavering over the scrumptious cornucopia
of fruity delight,
so close.
They watched the white man
devour whole pigs three times
daily. When he ate
he feasted.
This gluttonous absurdity shall last no longer,
claimed the monkey chieftain.
Clang clang, rang the war bells,
and primate warriors gathered,
plotting a master plan,
the "Fruit Bowl Coup."
Gangsters conniving their next hit,
the monkeys schemed day and night.
The fruit shall be ours at last!
The white man's snores rumbled
after lunch. He dazed
in a satiated stupor.
With vine ropes and a leafy gag,
the monkeys stormed in.
A score tied him down,
muffled his pitiful squeaks.
The rest raided,
took siege over the kitchen,
plundering pirates.
They filled their cheeks
and hands with fruit,
then brought their *****
back to the tribe.
They feasted for days
and the white man cried.
Dec 26, 2009
Dec 26, 2009 at 11:23 PM UTC
Spells of chieftain splendor
Bespeaking of loyal grandeur
Now the eye clearly sees without fear
At dusk!
The ancient kingdom of Assur?
A flight in time and space from afar?
Was that ingenious creativity of flair?
Still bids indubitable eternal mystery!
Are clothes on man an anecdote of utter hypocrisy?
Is sarcastic humor a precursor of hidden sinister?
The animals hereof show their ******
Undertone tinges of impeccant simplicity
Stirring poignant Achilles' heel character
As an infant suckling the breast of saccharine nature;
Lo! And behold…
Sage mortals envisage a grotesque quest for a promising stage,
Regnant and dignified?
The new-age psyches’ beatify and feebly beg
"Reform, in fact, is, rather softly, on the win”
The lighthouse flashing against the sleet-blurred fig twig
As every sacred notion becomes an unwavering origin certain,
With no remorse that mankind can now ascertain
The bewildering incarnation of science in religion!
Like a single lily among lilies in a dark dungeon
Great spirits now encounter violent opposition
“Un-awakened Children silently screaming with pessimism”
Hiding within the smooth sacred mask of personality
Yet the fear of “the unknown” silently plays a drowsier symphony
Calling back the violent rays to illuminate a peaceable destiny
Were illusionary realities conform to the whims of a veiled deity,
This goddess!
A mystifying inferno doing its own radiance faster
What a fuss!
So light-footed as love yet so heavy-footed as war
As if to justify the whirling gloom of despair
Like the bleakness of the morning cuckooing rooster
Or the dog which barks at his own image in a pond;
“What startling veneration”
Mortals without remorse still aspire to find
The misplaced diamonds and daffs upon the beamish ground.
Muhumuza Kenneth Ezra.
May 25, 2010
May 25, 2010 at 3:46 AM UTC
Placing my life on a bet
I lay on a motel bed
With heart pounding
And long loud emotional howling
That screams at the ****** inside me.
All throughout the act
I remain ‘inert’
While that pervert!
Gags and squirt.
Forcibly moaning
So as to earn a loaf of bread
for a family whose chieftain is dead.
This is the reason why I lay on bed.
Despite all this they make me culpable
Knowing very well with this I am feeding incapable.
If this is the law then answer me whether in true sense it is justifiable?
My only cry is my body has been taken for far too long
Does anybody want to take my heart along?
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 5:12 AM UTC
The Longest Day
It is Sunday I'm looking out of the window the road is grey as the sky,
so many empty houses, no longer do I hear voices a car stopping
female laughter and the slamming of a car door.
It is said ennui is when the brain is resting, and the Sunday is longer than other days.
I know of a man who built his house on an ancient grave- stones it was strange seeing
those names on the wall, mind he didn't live in the house but in the barn with a mule,
two a cow a dog and several cats.
It was impossible to sleep in the house sighs, knocking sounds and
someone saying “ get me out of here it was all a mistake.” I wonder if the man ever
got to sell his house.
From history, I know of a Viking chieftain got so bored on the day of rest
thinking of *** took out his knife and nailed his left hand to the dinner table,
one can say his brain was over relaxed, pulled out the knife and he denounced this
new faith called Christianity and went back believing in Thor and Odin and not
to forget Valhalla, a place free of monotony.
Feb 21, 2016
Feb 21, 2016 at 5:52 AM UTC
How could I,
The double-faced
WHO’s current leader,
On par with
A chieftain
Brigade general,
Tightlipped attend
My diabolic
Party’s funeral?
Though for
My criminal
Party’s tragic end,
Bereaved,
I have to sob,
I must labor
To garner
The pity of
The credulous, elites
As well as
The mob
Round the globe.
At the same time
Dollars I have
To underwrite
In a bid remaining
Impish junta members
Beef up their might
Armed again
To wage a fight!
After ENDF’s law
Enforcement operation,
“I know not
The whereabouts of
My nephew,
In Micadra’s massacre,
Who might have
Victimized a few!”
Blood is thicker
Than water
Thus about
Genocide victims
Why should
I bother?
By defector as
I’m also
A victimizer.
I forgot
I’ve to seek
A scapegoat,
Though it was
The junta
Who released thugs
And cut throats
Before defeat
So that
They could
Run amok
To wreak havoc
**** & looting—
I will dish out stories
In order hints not
To the gun the smoke!
If handsomely paid
Some media outlets
Could reverse the talk.
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 11:09 AM UTC
chieftain tribal lit--
ripple break, ripple
broke off a steady
circle.
ways of water--and
bouquets of lighting.
my lovelies come quick--
to finish my sentences.
i smear new eyes on their
silver chords, and shout down
what they need to hear.
as morning comes like a tattered
up animal, hiding in plain
sight of the hunt.
angel-scape survived by freedom.
how my town gets down.
May 19, 2019
May 19, 2019 at 1:18 PM UTC
To Rayne
Wishing, four seasons, with treason, appeal sense to vent dents that Autumn
Rain and a waxing Moon argue Orange, awful
approach 2 tokes at the stroke of this eleven O' one
Guns that shoot Roses are love that flew the coop as hopeless
Proton on Neutron lets be Nucleus, let us feel lettuce fetus lust,
Innocence keeping bass as Anger sustains treble. Trust
A Rebel Angel into, a tribe found blades angled like his name is a Misnomer Homer Simpson
figured Gods found in Nature's Odyssey the Iliad as Sedition of traditions and only begs others to get with him, some jagged some jaded these bladed edges aged like scales cowardice feign frail
Manicure Manure nails on nails hands grasping Kale as livers rot like Soldiers on cots
just a dot, a red headdress on roads surrounded by nights sky star lit. Is now the time to form alder hide, or for flight of the quadrupeds instead tread felt as led to find a bed inside throbbing heads hiding amongst stys pigs tower over rats yet behave just in space a time is known as fright
full of Delight tonight, the bottle shattered, dream scattered the dark chieftain's humor as Oliver Hart
wishing, fours ease on, without reason, apples steal the lay on hands heal. I seek
The Rain fail to fall all in September, I guess I'll wait Axis till Axels turn November.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Thud Thud, The Boots of Warriors thunder onto the Boat.
Crash, Waves bang against the mighty longship.
Boom Boom, under the Jarls orders the drums of war sound.
Bang Bang, The mighty ships land on scottish shores.
***** ***** Viking Mail and shields clash with the Claymores of Highlanders
Bam, Bam, The chieftain and the Jarl do battle.
Bounce, the Jarl deflects the massive sword with his steel shield.
Whoosh, the Jarl has fallen to the ground, Will a sword clash with the Chieftains or does the Jarls Saga end in Valhalla.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
The people bore their leader home,
His body now an empty shell,
A clotted mess of blood and loam
From off the field on which he fell.
The day was won but at a cost
That countered victory and reward,
A mighty warrior chieftain lost,
Slain by the stroke of a swinging sword.
Raised up upon his shield of oak
With leather straps and a silver boss,
His corpse draped over with a cloak
To hide the object of their loss.
Those battle scarred and weary few
Processed their sorrow shoulder high,
A sombre column two by two
Beneath a fading twilight sky.
With heavy hearts and heavier feet
They traversed over open ground,
Through swathes of gently swaying wheat
To where their village could be found.
And there amidst those mud daubed walls
Formed into houses round and thatched,
They entered to the anguished calls
Of women as their children watched.
The cries of both the young and old
Rang out as one despairing chime,
To see their man once brave and bold
Cut down too soon before his time.
While dropping down onto her knees,
The weight of grief too much to bear,
The chieftain's love in the night breeze
Knelt silent with a vacant stare.
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 1:21 AM UTC
In the kingdom of Saturday an angel holds nothing,
encompassed by picture frames.
A human trafficker bites a popped Tylenol,
Eviscerates the nightmares that circle his crown.
An optimist puts their hands up,
Envisions a tableau soothed with moisturizer.
A chieftain offers a beer to an orphaned
Child, lush with vermillion blotches.
A physician shrinks down in front of,
A simmered-out wife, head towards the door.
A gypsy considers being alone,
xenophobia resiliently grips her throat.
A mystified boy points to a girl,
Whispers inaudibly “I miss making her laugh.”
A priest begins an unimaginable service,
“My prayer is simple, my dear one,
Live for tomorrow, not yesterday.
Open your hands.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 8:29 PM UTC
A sudden realisation, revelation came to light.
The grass isn't greener on the other side.
He travelled across seas and desert sands.
If only he knew, he had been watering barren lands.
The seeds won't sprout and the roots won't sink.
Nothing he did, will ever amount to anything.
His boots were worn out, blisters and toes showing,
But he trudged, in the dark, sandstorms blowing.
Teary- eyed, sand granules rained fierce on his corneas.
Wandering blind, accompanied by his own fears.
Buzzing in his ears, he no longer hear what's dear,
But what's clear, he gave up on ideals and ideas.
Cause they are not real, mirage in the heat wave.
No corner that he felt safe, so he began to dig graves.
Hid in one, till he was found by a bedouin chieftain,
In that instant, he be doing fist feints,
Caught off guard in an unfamiliar fiefdom.
Like a ****** in the university of Princeton.
He didn't need assistance, but he definitely needed help.
Like a she-wolf, lost, and looking hard for its whelp.
Not soulless, just a soul lost, for many moon days.
With His saving grace, he prayed he will be soon saved.
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 1:42 AM UTC
maxim utilisation does not necessarily
create a symbiosis between
the unitary appropriation of universals
and particulars, old Socrates knew this,
he knew the problem well recorded
by Plato: a rich man can have all the needles
and camels he wants...
maxim utilisation works miracles
for the rich, handy truth being:
i have life insurance and a pension,
but i'm still stuck in a trench with
high-school memories and a house with
20 bathrooms but only 3 bedrooms,
hence i'm the Chieftain of Microsoft...
the rich know the best maxims,
the poor know the best narrative...
i'd rather hear the narratives than the maxims...
maxims are utilised by the rich
in a way that does not allow success,
they speak fluently in terms of success stories,
but they sell them, meaning there's a limited
success rate; meaning their narrative sounds
are a bit like: if i ****** this guy over, and this one,
i cup-caked this one into a half-baked scene;
yep, ****** this one, and this one, and this one,
and this one over twice... but hey! i'm rich!
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 10:20 PM UTC
A genie working on a 9 to 5
Faces telling him to stay alive
Oh no, no!
It is the freakiest show
Their devils sleeping under their bed
But they've got him on house arrest
Oh, why
Are we so eager to try?
Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it bad
Just like your dress this predicament is just a fad
Hey, little gender-bender
Watch for return to sender
Make sure you're by the coast
That's where they'll love you the most
No time for entitlement
Your words are sentient
Trade a board for a pen
We don't need no citizen
I got a secret
I want you to spread it
Play them anything
Show us something
A kid jumped off of the rooftops
To make his way safely to the candy shop
Oh, how
Do people notice a house?
The wise fool begged in the biggest square
They put him in the alley and they listened there
Oh, when
Did they do the "paper-bend"?
Don't mistake me for misunderstanding that you had it all
This crass crusade will surely stop at the nearest shopping mall
Here comes the space heater
With a 9 millimetre
People say he's colour blind
Who's court, his or mine?
The joke from the chieftain
Is that he's a Bohemian
Who you are is never born
Gotta start out forlorn
I got a secret
I want you to spread it
Dance in the streets
Trust your heartbeat
If you are deaf, well, we all feel what we've gotta say
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 7:04 PM UTC
Automatic translation of
An automatic rifle
Goes ratatatatak attack
The field is clear
The ghosts of souls still near
We are A-OK in this situation with this
AK-47
Peace is dragged in the dirt
Rope around her black stifle
**** around her black skirt
A soldier offers her some water
Her struggles refuse to whimper.
A stout blond-haired chieftain
Watches from afar. Red stains
Of pain and blood subdue her
She will collapse within the hour
All she hears is the rattle of the
Blond snake talking to her
Automatic translation of
The automatic rifle
Going ratatatatak attack
Someone attempts to translate
The anger of a Glock:
“It’s just around that block
That you will fall, Peace
Sentenced by the death clock
Mounted on the automatic rifle
But you’ll be A-OK in this situation we have the
AK-47”
Trump(ets) of shame echo around the devastated field
They told the blond chieftain he’ll be lead in track and field
In college. They showed him naked models in lingerie adds
They still show up on his LCD screen in apps
They told him he could buy a revolver for a couple of quarters
So he said “no quarters, please take this batch of Grants”
You are A-OK in this situation with this
AK-47
Automatic translation of
The automatic rifle
Went ratatatatak shot in the back
In between his hatred-filled decaying teeth
The chieftain was staring when she fell, without an ounce of grief
Rubbed in reassurance his bulgy AK-47 for relief
He then came… to the conclusion:
“REST IN PIECES, PEACE”
October 3, 2017
Oct 31, 2017
Oct 31, 2017 at 7:05 AM UTC
A mutated earthling—
From an elitist experiment—
Burst with thorns and limbs,— yet too little to be seen,— That struck mines— Into landslides.
Through and through,— to species and things
A coast to coast hunter— that becomes a Gremlin ********** and thrilled by a prophet, foretold—
"A ditty hatband to put in flute,— is a note of sphere bullets."
For the meantime, hear the Chieftain's announcement:
"The folly is the naked; as the prudent is the masked—
No one should be phlegmatic in this game,—
For all of you should be sensitive— Unless, if you want to be an elsewhere's feast
Do not act— like a pearl with a great price!"
Soldiers cluttered in passageways,— For Pirates are Ubiquitous thieves
An assemble of frontiers hosed and geared— of wrought bodies— with uncertain prone.
In this war, together—
Barricades of water and bricks— Our chances to be unleashed,— From a long concealment,— To be sooner conquerors of intruders' exile.
May 17, 2020
May 17, 2020 at 12:28 AM UTC