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"chimpanzee" poems
Discoboli of African poetry has now sparked above aphasia The aphasic silence today breaks eardrums with cacophony Of the world audience in the by standing duty of workshop tubes, Executing poetic experiment on the origin of **** poeticus To link the archaic baboonish proteins to the black chimpanzee Cradling African man, the sire of all and their poetry. That when the Chimpanzee blood we poured Into the African veins of vena cava and aorta, Feeding the heart with viscosity of nutrition, And the Chimpanzee blood fell into deadly Tomperousness like Shakespearean impetuosity Once seen in Romeo and Juliet, giving timely Birth To untimely half the yellow Sun That juxtaposed planet of poetry Behind the star of tribe as a priority Condemning to stark oblivion all the fated, in full uniform of tribal dimunitions, or mimesis. Ever predated on when tribes form nations. A time to try the chimpanzee blood in the veins Of white humanity, battling cynosure Historically evinced in Antony and his father, Or Tybalt and Mercurial of mercutio, Or Macbeth and counterparts Or Hamlet the Danish and the inheritors of his mother, As the white blood cells of the white blood, Militantly attack the white corpuscles Of the misfortunate chimpanzee, Converting the later into A chewer of misfortune.
0
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:55 AM UTC
CHIMPANZEE BLOOD INSIDE AFRICAN VEINES
The markets up, the Markets down For weeks it just meanders. Alas, my stocks are always down Each time I take a gander. GM, Lehman, Citicorp My broker bought for me- And you can guess the net result- IHe bought a yacht, not me. Those friends who don’t avoid me Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch. I don’t turn things I touch to gold I turn gold into rust. I’d heard dart tossing Simians Can best the S & P So I went to the Zoo this March to consult a Chimpanzee. He took the chartt, he threw the dart And picked a stock for me- And now I’m getting margin calls because I bought BP. He seemed the sage of Omaha before he ruined me. I should have tried Orangutans And paid their higher fee. They wanted five bananas My monkey worked for three. But now I’m bust because I used the discount Chimpanzee.
0
Dec 18, 2011
Dec 18, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
Monkey Business
there was a teddy bear he had a barbecue invited all his friends there quite a few a little fluffy cat and a chimpanzee a soldier in a uniform very smart was he there was a little owl and parrot to gathered all together for the barbecue teddy did the cooking burgers in a bun everyone was happy having lots of fun when the party ended they all went away and thanked the little bear for such a lovely day
0
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 1:48 PM UTC
teddy bear barbecue
Today a year is over Today a year I see Today I remembered the day I married a chimpanzee I’m not sure if it was love at first sight But somehow we were smitten Our fate was in the stars And that’s where it was written People were always curious And they wondered how it could be That I had fallen in love With my darling Chimpanzee His undying love for bananas And hanging by the bars My chimpanzee was always hyper And loved to drive fast cars Sometimes things got difficult And sometimes we’d disagree It’s kind of frustrating when you are arguing And all he says is “oo oo aa aa eee” When we’re on holiday He’d pack his suitcase tight With bananas and oranges And all sorts of monkey delights Although his monkey quirks Sometimes make mad I knew what I signed up for And sometimes it also makes me glad He takes the time to listen He takes the time to be A good loving husband Even though he’s a Chimpanzee My Chimpanzee husband is awesome And he’s the best for me Today we’re eating a banana cake As we celebrate our anniversary.
0
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 3:21 AM UTC
I Married a Chimpanzee
I've got a Chopper, You can have ****** *********** with it if you like It's got a trug, a Jew's harp that rattles the windows And creatures to make it mosey around crack I'd stretch jeans cheesecake abutting you if I could, but I used plastic toast You're the kind of ***** that thrusts into *** my bodiliness I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I've got a disguise it's a torso of a Irish bull There's a slit high up the skirt Miss World's bra-burner and gross I've grappled page—3 girl for bouts If you think Miss Universe could spasm creamy then I guess Mr Universe should You're the kind of ***** that slides in with my wads I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I **** a chimpanzee and he hasn't got a stage—door Johnny I don't copulate why I cock—a—doodle—doo him Gerald He's inseminating à la carte geriatric but he's a voluptuous chimpanzee You're the kind of ***** that stuffs *** my gallons I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I've got a Welshwoman of pornographic Casanovas Here a Don Juan, there a Lothario, prognosticators of obscene persons of opposite *** sharing living quarters Beg a bonk if you be on heat, they're on the back of the ***** You're the kind of ***** that spasms indoors using my lump I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I **** custom—built dead men of doo-wop passages Incognito Muses, faceless ching, most of them are Barbie Let's **** into the odd kitchenette and **** landlady creature
0
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 3:46 PM UTC
Chopper
I've got a Chopper, You can have ****** *********** with it if you like It's got a trug, a Jew's harp that rattles the windows And creatures to make it mosey around crack I'd stretch jeans cheesecake abutting you if I could, but I used plastic toast You're the kind of ***** that thrusts into *** my bodiliness I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I've got a disguise it's a torso of a Irish bull There's a slit high up the skirt Miss World's bra-burner and gross I've grappled page—3 girl for bouts If you think Miss Universe could spasm creamy then I guess Mr Universe should You're the kind of ***** that slides in with my wads I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I **** a chimpanzee and he hasn't got a stage—door Johnny I don't copulate why I cock—a—doodle—doo him Gerald He's inseminating à la carte geriatric but he's a voluptuous chimpanzee You're the kind of ***** that stuffs *** my gallons I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I've got a Welshwoman of pornographic Casanovas Here a Don Juan, there a Lothario, prognosticators of obscene persons of opposite *** sharing living quarters Beg a bonk if you be on heat, they're on the back of the ***** You're the kind of ***** that spasms indoors using my lump I'll swag you Joe Soap, lock, stock and barrel if you rut slags I **** custom—built dead men of doo-wop passages Incognito Muses, faceless ching, most of them are Barbie Let's **** into the odd kitchenette and **** landlady creature
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26
You ever wish that you were a wild animal? Sounds a bit indecent, but reckoning the sense of freedom, order, and understandings ;then, you'll look at it through a bird's eye Doesn't it seem like animals have no issues at finding their purposes? They seem to know exactly what is it, in which what they are living for Oppose to us humans, they seem to be less frightened by death Do you think animals have religious beliefs? Some divine stranger they must let control their life. Or are they responsible enough themselves? And/or only have faith in what it mean to live ...Just live The things in which they used to do is still their tendencies today. Give me one lion that don't hunt anymore? One pack or tribe that is ran by female? One chimpanzee who think swinging from trees is out of style? One shark who think blood is disgusting? I never met a gopher who wasn't hip enough, who didn't "dig"; digging wholes Every cat I know rub their skull, ribs, backbone, tailbone and tail; in one motion against other creatures for what I figure as comfort. Shepherd, Yorkshire, or hound; however, they all get on the mailman's nerves Humans... We just seem lost Not knowing where we belong Steady trying to figure out right for wrong Attitudes always going up or down Need to much to crack a smile The slightest ordeal can make us frown A successful human is visioned as having access to the whole world Do you ever see a honey bee left behind in a swarm? Or a polar bear climbing a tree when it's warm? Their world has no critics No trends No high expectations Just eat, sleep, and **** Is that it? Or there's more to it? Two separate lives But I'm influenced
0
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC
Animal Kingdom
You ever wish that you were a wild animal? Sounds a bit indecent, but reckoning the sense of freedom, order, and understandings ;then, you'll look at it through a bird's eye Doesn't it seem like animals have no issues at finding their purposes? They seem to know exactly what is it, in which what they are living for Oppose to us humans, they seem to be less frightened by death Do you think animals have religious beliefs? Some divine stranger they must let control their life. Or are they responsible enough themselves? And/or only have faith in what it mean to live ...Just live The things in which they used to do is still their tendencies today. Give me one lion that don't hunt anymore? One pack or tribe that is ran by female? One chimpanzee who think swinging from trees is out of style? One shark who think blood is disgusting? I never met a gopher who wasn't hip enough, who didn't "dig"; digging wholes Every cat I know rub their skull, ribs, backbone, tailbone and tail; in one motion against other creatures for what I figure as comfort. Shepherd, Yorkshire, or hound; however, they all get on the mailman's nerves Humans... We just seem lost Not knowing where we belong Steady trying to figure out right for wrong Attitudes always going up or down Need to much to crack a smile The slightest ordeal can make us frown A successful human is visioned as having access to the whole world Do you ever see a honey bee left behind in a swarm? Or a polar bear climbing a tree when it's warm? Their world has no critics No trends No high expectations Just eat, sleep, and **** Is that it? Or there's more to it? Two separate lives But I'm influenced
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36
there was a teddy bear he had a barbecue invited all his friends there quite a few. a little fluffy cat and a chimpanzee a soldier in a uniform very smart was he. there was a little owl and parrot to gathered all together for the barbecue. teddy did the cooking burgers in a bun everyone was happy having lots of fun. when the party ended they all went away and thanked the little bear for such a lovely day
0
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
teddy barbecue
Our closest living relatives, This ape is big and strong, Long arms to gently sing or carry, Walks on upright or on fours, Its expressive face pierces my core.
0
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 6:23 AM UTC
The Chimpanzee
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my  absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also. Romantic Moment After the nature documentary we walk down, into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark. It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock, holding hands, not looking at each other, and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to ***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail. If she were a female walkingstick bug she might insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage, and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores. And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive tongue three times around my right thigh and pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond and I would know her feelings were sincere. Instead we sit awhile in silence, until she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas, human males seem to be actually rather expressive. And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive enough credit for their gentleness. Then she suggests that it is time for us to go to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
0
Oct 24, 2018
Oct 24, 2018 at 3:14 PM UTC
Romantic Moment by Tony Hoagland
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my  absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also. Romantic Moment After the nature documentary we walk down, into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark. It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock, holding hands, not looking at each other, and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to ***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail. If she were a female walkingstick bug she might insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage, and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores. And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive tongue three times around my right thigh and pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond and I would know her feelings were sincere. Instead we sit awhile in silence, until she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas, human males seem to be actually rather expressive. And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive enough credit for their gentleness. Then she suggests that it is time for us to go to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
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29
Where's your lady? asked the chimpanzee the bear looked askance the tiger growled zebras rolled macaws looked in trance. Where's she your lady pretty queried the lone rhino it's not good this solitude roared the lion with raised eyebrow. Did you lose your way this November day when the sky's blazing blue this fair weather you aren't together how come asked the shrew. Your face it shows shouted hippos this fine day of November boars did grunt scowled elephant you're lost without her. They were so true alone at the zoo emptiness surrounded me daylight though gold sky blue bold I roamed unhappily.
0
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 9:13 AM UTC
Today I Went to the Zoo
Cat call in the distance at three am Someone far away is hot And someone far away is ***** Decisions made with beer goggles As you half-sleep in a bubbly, pleasant haze There’s more evidence for evolution Than skeletons and theories I think as I hear a college girl Shriek just like a chimpanzee Below on Spruce Street Far away noises sound so close They are inside my tiny flat Invading How frightening it would be to venture outside so late On a saturday night And soak up the stupidity Violence at the slightest provocation Passive-aggressive friendliness Walk past a bar Would I make it home alive? The city lights cast a morning glow on the trees and the now-grey sky It looks as if the sun is rising But, no, I’m still here in my warm, fluffy bed Half-asleep, half-awake like most nights When will I escape this vampire’s schedule? I long for the early mornings of my youth Seven am, the darkness lingering Birds chirping, parents yelling, Reading on the school bus Innocence, naïveté, thinking life was so difficult then But it wasn’t That was just the beginning The **** population skyrockets after two am Because nothing good happens then Birds, maybe robins, singing at four am Everything is backwards at this hour And so much more frightening Terrified of even leaving my room Down the dark, empty hallway Maybe I’m just jealous I wish I had some friends to be stupid and drunk with Some men and boys too Even just some alcohol A cold glass of beer To help me sleep To taste So bubbly and bittersweet Pop with a punch I must imagine my glass of water as a mug of beer And hope...
0
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 5:33 PM UTC
Beer
Cat call in the distance at three am Someone far away is hot And someone far away is ***** Decisions made with beer goggles As you half-sleep in a bubbly, pleasant haze There’s more evidence for evolution Than skeletons and theories I think as I hear a college girl Shriek just like a chimpanzee Below on Spruce Street Far away noises sound so close They are inside my tiny flat Invading How frightening it would be to venture outside so late On a saturday night And soak up the stupidity Violence at the slightest provocation Passive-aggressive friendliness Walk past a bar Would I make it home alive? The city lights cast a morning glow on the trees and the now-grey sky It looks as if the sun is rising But, no, I’m still here in my warm, fluffy bed Half-asleep, half-awake like most nights When will I escape this vampire’s schedule? I long for the early mornings of my youth Seven am, the darkness lingering Birds chirping, parents yelling, Reading on the school bus Innocence, naïveté, thinking life was so difficult then But it wasn’t That was just the beginning The **** population skyrockets after two am Because nothing good happens then Birds, maybe robins, singing at four am Everything is backwards at this hour And so much more frightening Terrified of even leaving my room Down the dark, empty hallway Maybe I’m just jealous I wish I had some friends to be stupid and drunk with Some men and boys too Even just some alcohol A cold glass of beer To help me sleep To taste So bubbly and bittersweet Pop with a punch I must imagine my glass of water as a mug of beer And hope...
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51
The markets up, the Markets down For weeks it just meanders. Alas, my stocks are always down Each time I take a gander. GM, Lehman, Citicorp My broker bought for me- And you can guess the net result- I’m broker now, not he. Those friends who don’t avoid me Say I’ve reversed Midas’ touch. I don’t turn things I touch to gold I turn gold into rust. I’d heard dart tossing Simians Can best the S & P So I went to the Zoo this March to consult a Chimpanzee. He perused the chart then flung a dart to pick a stock for me- And now I’m getting margin calls because I bought BP. He seemed the sage of Omaha before he ruined me. I should have tried Orangutans And paid their higher fee . They wanted five bananas My monkey worked for three. But now I’m bust because I used a discount Chimpanzee. I might have dodged a massive loss And profited besides Had I but heeded the baboons’ Sell signaling behinds
0
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
Monkey Business ( March 2009)
Thunder over Karl Marx’s grave here comes night running at me with scissors dangling sellotape half finished art projects still weigh heavy on your mind like all those missed opportunities, a C should have been an A. Pastels not paint. The smudged trail of a finger across ****** feelings which surface back to tentative fumblings with a sister’s friend’s Barbie the smooth plastic bendable limbs the positions configured with a one armed Action Man eagle-eyed and watching and if I ever feel down if I ever feel low I think back to a story I once read about a woman who had her face ripped off by a chimpanzee and as she screamed the chimpanzee leapt up and down primitive rage grinning. Not a pleasant sight I can imagine but when I feel down, that’s what I think about, a woman and a chimpanzee ith a face hanging from his primate fangs.
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Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 5:04 AM UTC
the karl marx art project
Imagine yourself intertwined with an anteater, an octopus & a chimpanzee all at once in a room with soft lighting, beaded curtains, vanilla incense burning & Barry White crooning under a full moon.
0
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Imagining An Animal ***** House
I have been insulted for sharing out my peasant songs, pataphorical poems, on the table of the cultural patriarchy the insults have come in a serial flow into my dark soul a basin of condemn, it began as my duty to take my poetry to the bottom of African latrine, followed by volley of insults like ; cerebral panicking insensitive idiot, a gifted ******** of arsolian poetry One other contumely went aboveboard to announce me a better dead ****** i wondered how much one can **** without erstwhile duty of creation, now i have been condemned in starkness, to be a beautiful walking ghost of William Seward Burroughs, Uhm! folly of eugenics, No! i am wrong, this accolade, i seriously decline to take, my innateness is not wounded at all, by anything near to genetic disorder, i am only conscious of my luckless past, of Slavery,colonialism,wars,re-colonialism Then poverty spiced by open ridicule , And partly trenchant and half-honkey tease firmly fuelled by racial intolerance, i have now been mistaken in awry, to be a looming ghost of William Burroughs, and i am not i am purely my self, without imperious wide blood any where in my by black veins, i may easily have chimpanzee blood, Flowing turbulently through my vessels, but no tincture of white blood in my zoo, Burroughs broke his virginity with a ***** i have remained a ****** for three decades, As African virgins marry only virgins, Burroughs was the king of underworlds; chasing lessbian prostitutes and gays, to quench his mad erotic appetite the turf in which i am a better sham, Billy was a serial criminal, ever on the run, my soul is clean as new pin, in fact gorgeously dressed in the unique royal attires of as a Bristol pin merchant, Billy worshiped crime and drugs my piety is anchored on freedom of all, Billy went to Latin America for ***** i have been there to mourn Gabriel Garcia, the Nobelite who was alone in deathly solicitude Billy never lifted a finger against tyranny, my arsolian poetry is center-pieced on nothing, other than African chantings for liberty, freedom for the white and black peasants perhaps to unyoke themselves, from the yoke of vicious human avarice.
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Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC
MY SOUL IS ANTITHESIS TO THE GHOST OF BILLY BURROUGHS
I have been insulted for sharing out my peasant songs, pataphorical poems, on the table of the cultural patriarchy the insults have come in a serial flow into my dark soul a basin of condemn, it began as my duty to take my poetry to the bottom of African latrine, followed by volley of insults like ; cerebral panicking insensitive idiot, a gifted ******** of arsolian poetry One other contumely went aboveboard to announce me a better dead ****** i wondered how much one can **** without erstwhile duty of creation, now i have been condemned in starkness, to be a beautiful walking ghost of William Seward Burroughs, Uhm! folly of eugenics, No! i am wrong, this accolade, i seriously decline to take, my innateness is not wounded at all, by anything near to genetic disorder, i am only conscious of my luckless past, of Slavery,colonialism,wars,re-colonialism Then poverty spiced by open ridicule , And partly trenchant and half-honkey tease firmly fuelled by racial intolerance, i have now been mistaken in awry, to be a looming ghost of William Burroughs, and i am not i am purely my self, without imperious wide blood any where in my by black veins, i may easily have chimpanzee blood, Flowing turbulently through my vessels, but no tincture of white blood in my zoo, Burroughs broke his virginity with a ***** i have remained a ****** for three decades, As African virgins marry only virgins, Burroughs was the king of underworlds; chasing lessbian prostitutes and gays, to quench his mad erotic appetite the turf in which i am a better sham, Billy was a serial criminal, ever on the run, my soul is clean as new pin, in fact gorgeously dressed in the unique royal attires of as a Bristol pin merchant, Billy worshiped crime and drugs my piety is anchored on freedom of all, Billy went to Latin America for ***** i have been there to mourn Gabriel Garcia, the Nobelite who was alone in deathly solicitude Billy never lifted a finger against tyranny, my arsolian poetry is center-pieced on nothing, other than African chantings for liberty, freedom for the white and black peasants perhaps to unyoke themselves, from the yoke of vicious human avarice.
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58
Monkey Monkey : Part Two Apes are our equals, So set free our people! Let them find the freedom they have never had. Let them live once more in paradise. Treat them as you would a man. The chimpanzee is just like me. I think I’m related to the monkey in this theory. So set the Baboon free! Plant a tree! Build a home and tear down your zoo. Let my people be with their own; Not just here to entertain you. The monkey mind is the equal of mine, They have such ingenuity. The monkey mind is free, compared to mine, So set my people free! Lock us up in your cages, or let us become free. Let us be free to *** wherever we please. In this concrete jungle of yours, we can no longer await death. We can no longer live here, in such a filthy mess. Set the monkey free from captivity! Let it do as it wishes and it will make itself happy. (C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
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Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 8:31 AM UTC
Monkey, Monkey : Part Two
There inside the chamber sits, Awaiting patiently; Gathering discourse and their wits, To match with Chimpanzee. Primate statues loom the loft, ‘Mongst whitening Baboons; Fidget in their seats too soft, Indifferent of this room. For ghosts of former nobles peek, In shame, as they observe; The power of the abject weak, Enable them to serve. Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves, As peacocks flaunt their fan; Gorilla preens, while tries to quell, With gavel in his hand. Chimp arises, intently poised, To embellish his appointment; Words rehearsed to fill the void, Deliberate and pointed. For he, and only he, shall reign, While rendering his will Upon the reaches, lakes and plains; ‘Pon feather, fur and gill. Yet irony betrays this horde, Of chosen beasts that thrive, Who seek to witness own accord, On who should live or die. Baboons and the Chimpanzee, May climb to endless heights, Gather fruit from tops of trees, And relish in their might; But those who scrounge upon the ground, Or forage in the sea, Cannot relate to this debate, Nor self-idolatry. So this becomes an exercise, In futile words exchanged; In bartering the truth for lies, Leaves jungle quite estranged. Such is then, the sacrifice, That satisfies this troop: Lions shall compete with mice, For homeland and for food. This seems just, this seems right, So pleased to then arrive, To alter former terms of plight, Ensure the like survive. Commune must have order, Compliance is then deemed; Life must have its borders, Confining self-esteem. Parrots flee to bring the news, Of brighter days ahead; While creatures of the air and blue, Fear the distance spread. Content to reconvene again, As this is their employ; Govern those outside the pen, Such honor they enjoy.
0
Nov 14, 2010
Nov 14, 2010 at 6:08 AM UTC
Congress
There inside the chamber sits, Awaiting patiently; Gathering discourse and their wits, To match with Chimpanzee. Primate statues loom the loft, ‘Mongst whitening Baboons; Fidget in their seats too soft, Indifferent of this room. For ghosts of former nobles peek, In shame, as they observe; The power of the abject weak, Enable them to serve. Parrots cackling ‘mongst themselves, As peacocks flaunt their fan; Gorilla preens, while tries to quell, With gavel in his hand. Chimp arises, intently poised, To embellish his appointment; Words rehearsed to fill the void, Deliberate and pointed. For he, and only he, shall reign, While rendering his will Upon the reaches, lakes and plains; ‘Pon feather, fur and gill. Yet irony betrays this horde, Of chosen beasts that thrive, Who seek to witness own accord, On who should live or die. Baboons and the Chimpanzee, May climb to endless heights, Gather fruit from tops of trees, And relish in their might; But those who scrounge upon the ground, Or forage in the sea, Cannot relate to this debate, Nor self-idolatry. So this becomes an exercise, In futile words exchanged; In bartering the truth for lies, Leaves jungle quite estranged. Such is then, the sacrifice, That satisfies this troop: Lions shall compete with mice, For homeland and for food. This seems just, this seems right, So pleased to then arrive, To alter former terms of plight, Ensure the like survive. Commune must have order, Compliance is then deemed; Life must have its borders, Confining self-esteem. Parrots flee to bring the news, Of brighter days ahead; While creatures of the air and blue, Fear the distance spread. Content to reconvene again, As this is their employ; Govern those outside the pen, Such honor they enjoy.
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60
genuine anger, that implodes? kinda makes         you sleepy. been listening to too much      lindsay ellis: drinking... in vino veritas verbatim...      ghost writers?! you have to be kidding me...       kovalski! - yes sir! inquire about the *bookovski           method*! - the hyphen is counter to the concept of a prose narrative in paragraph form, translated into poetry: fwee! fwee!      jittering away, like a sparrow might! **** me, does anger make you sleepy... if anger implodes...      that's like...    the...                  ultimate          sleeping pill; it's a friday? some *****      taking place in central london? thank god i'm not thinking about picking up and marrying the scrap-heap of counter incels. all i seriously wanted was to become a bus driver, the route 5...                        **** anger is so exhausting when it implodes and does, but "doesn't" have an outlet...                you don't teach kids martial arts by kicking one of them in the *****         and watch them curl up like an oyster exposed to electricity asking, or rather, demanding: is there a kojak, a liver, a brain, and an altogether in there?!    like an echo into a cave... imploding anger:   makes you sleepy...      like the adversary of adrenaline... or the emperor's throne room scene music... oh look...                            yet another yawn attempting to lodge itself into the gob of a chimpanzee - caught on camera, "supposedly" laughing; then again... it would refer to the: bankrupt broadcasting corporation, given: sheeee shaville; well... a sort of... oops?! don't worry, you have ******** it's like the new niqab... seems a bit... pointless to ********** if you've been circumcised.
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Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
anti-aphrodisiac
genuine anger, that implodes? kinda makes         you sleepy. been listening to too much      lindsay ellis: drinking... in vino veritas verbatim...      ghost writers?! you have to be kidding me...       kovalski! - yes sir! inquire about the *bookovski           method*! - the hyphen is counter to the concept of a prose narrative in paragraph form, translated into poetry: fwee! fwee!      jittering away, like a sparrow might! **** me, does anger make you sleepy... if anger implodes...      that's like...    the...                  ultimate          sleeping pill; it's a friday? some *****      taking place in central london? thank god i'm not thinking about picking up and marrying the scrap-heap of counter incels. all i seriously wanted was to become a bus driver, the route 5...                        **** anger is so exhausting when it implodes and does, but "doesn't" have an outlet...                you don't teach kids martial arts by kicking one of them in the *****         and watch them curl up like an oyster exposed to electricity asking, or rather, demanding: is there a kojak, a liver, a brain, and an altogether in there?!    like an echo into a cave... imploding anger:   makes you sleepy...      like the adversary of adrenaline... or the emperor's throne room scene music... oh look...                            yet another yawn attempting to lodge itself into the gob of a chimpanzee - caught on camera, "supposedly" laughing; then again... it would refer to the: bankrupt broadcasting corporation, given: sheeee shaville; well... a sort of... oops?! don't worry, you have ******** it's like the new niqab... seems a bit... pointless to ********** if you've been circumcised.
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70
1 Why was it that Tarzan only did one loincloth wear? answer: there was no clothes-shop there 2 Do you know Tarzan had a terrible phobia? if you must know---it lasted for a long while- a strong swimmer he was but devastated by this condition as once he was nearly swallowed up by an 8-metre crocodile 3 Bringing home Cheeta the naughty little chimpanzee was the idea of Jane who said to Tarzan--we had enough of each other-- without Cheeta we would go insane! 4 Why was it Tarzan and Jane didn't raise a family? they were fighting the animal-poachers all day long--too busy! 5 Of course Tarzan and Jane lived together in the tree they needed no beds but were content and happy
0
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC
HUMOUROUS/FRIVOLOUS POEMS (The Tarzan Series)
Hello there my ******* friends ******* chimpanzee keyboard slamming  Children of The Machine Mirror effect I see said the Poor and the Gentry But guess what guys the sun inside is still burning for a touch of your Hellopoetry
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Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
If i was smart id grab ya wid-a title-eh?
~*~ Rising from the earth, like the native Comanche. He’s really quite dandy. Introducing... President Chimpanzee. So fierce and strong, like a banshee— but brave and cute, Like little orphan Annie. No, his name’s not Randy, or Sandy, or Fannie, or Mandy— get it right! The name’s, Chimpanzee. You may find him with Andy, eatin’ nanners in the pantry, but no need to get antsy— He’s not getting handy with granny! I mean, come on— he’s a chimpanzee! Oh, that fuzzy man candy. His ideas—so fancy dancy. Building a democratic jungle of equality. A born leader like King Ramsey! Did you forget him already? You know the dude... Chimpanzee. So, get up, America! Stop playing with your testies. Pull up your pantsies. Go gather all that you can see, and put them in a frenzy— with definite intensity, For the grandly, swanky, vigilante, Yankee, of Miami. Give us liberty. Give us... President Chimpanzee.
0
Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 4:31 PM UTC
CHIMPANZEE FOR PRESIDENT
When you make a Chili dog you never Forget to slice the onion Into translucent white Slices and make sure Your mustard is dotted With brown flecks Make sure you have a tall Frosty beer the color of October sunsets Lay back in a chair And kick your feet up For me When your song comes On your headphones Dance like a chimpanzee Amongst Ikea furniture for me Don't think of me When the sky is stained Pink orange and aqua Think of something better Something that is real Something whole That doesn't want what Everyone else wants it To want When you stand next to My coffin Throw an orchid for me Or whatever flower is Cheapest because honestly I don't know what you're Throwing Make sure the soil is Heavy and wet Make it clump over the Cross I didn't want On the top of my Pine box Make sure you think about How roots and grass Will grow through me Eat me and grow Without a thought If nature ceased to Persevere Humanity would be Absurd in its Reckless building Destroying and poisoning When you look at my Pine box think about Repetition and death Think about moments Of brilliance and the years That beat them back Remember that hollowness Is its own form of substance Most importantly Remember that a chili dog Needs onions And that one day Your corpse No matter where it lays Will fertilize future life And the circle eats its own tail Its own tail Its own tale Surrender your meager twitching To the echoing riff of the complete Watch yourself dissolve Into the void's cast shadow Let your panic be snuffed By the beating of bees wings And the sorrowful violin Of crickets legs At dusk
0
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 8:54 PM UTC
Chili Dogs
When you make a Chili dog you never Forget to slice the onion Into translucent white Slices and make sure Your mustard is dotted With brown flecks Make sure you have a tall Frosty beer the color of October sunsets Lay back in a chair And kick your feet up For me When your song comes On your headphones Dance like a chimpanzee Amongst Ikea furniture for me Don't think of me When the sky is stained Pink orange and aqua Think of something better Something that is real Something whole That doesn't want what Everyone else wants it To want When you stand next to My coffin Throw an orchid for me Or whatever flower is Cheapest because honestly I don't know what you're Throwing Make sure the soil is Heavy and wet Make it clump over the Cross I didn't want On the top of my Pine box Make sure you think about How roots and grass Will grow through me Eat me and grow Without a thought If nature ceased to Persevere Humanity would be Absurd in its Reckless building Destroying and poisoning When you look at my Pine box think about Repetition and death Think about moments Of brilliance and the years That beat them back Remember that hollowness Is its own form of substance Most importantly Remember that a chili dog Needs onions And that one day Your corpse No matter where it lays Will fertilize future life And the circle eats its own tail Its own tail Its own tale Surrender your meager twitching To the echoing riff of the complete Watch yourself dissolve Into the void's cast shadow Let your panic be snuffed By the beating of bees wings And the sorrowful violin Of crickets legs At dusk
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77
Take a group of chimpanzees used to swinging through the trees, and sit them down at keyboards in a row; lots of paper, lots of ink, lots and lots of time, I think, and what the theory says I’m sure you know. Yes, along with all the junk, all the gibberish and bunk, somewhere there’d be the full works of the Bard: As You Like It, Cymbeline, Richards 2 and 3, the Dream, though Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, might be hard. But I’m sure the little blighters would get on fine with *Titus Andronicus*, The Taming of the Shrew, The Moor of Venice (that’s Othello), the other Merchant fellow, and Antony and Cleopatra too. The Winter’s Tale would hold no terrors, nor The Comedy of Errors, and Verona’s Gentlemen would turn out right; Love’s Labour might be Lost, or it might be Tempest-tossed, but All’s Well That Ends Well, even on Twelfth Night. Lear, King John, and Much Ado, Henry 4, parts 1 and 2, Henry 5, and 6 (in three parts), Henry 8, Troilus, Timon, Measure for Measure, Pericles (a neglected treasure) and how Romeo and Juliet met their fate; all the Sonnets, and the **** of Lucrece* (typed by an ape!) and if they worked for ever and a day they could fit in Julius Caesar, that Coriolanus geezer, the Wives of Windsor, and the Scottish play. I grew more and more excited – even thought I might be knighted if I could be the one to make it work. But to realise my dream I had to try a pilot scheme, to prove I wasn’t just a reckless berk. I bought one chimp from the zoo - didn't have the cash for two - and gave him a typewriter, just to try for a short while. Well, a fortnight was the time-scale that I thought right. You see, I’m quite an optimistic guy. Now everyone who heard of my project said, “Absurd!” when I told them of my striking new departure. “Get a chimpanzee to type the works of Shakespeare? Oh, what tripe!” Still … he did produce the works of Jeffrey Archer.
0
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
Testing a Theory
Take a group of chimpanzees used to swinging through the trees, and sit them down at keyboards in a row; lots of paper, lots of ink, lots and lots of time, I think, and what the theory says I’m sure you know. Yes, along with all the junk, all the gibberish and bunk, somewhere there’d be the full works of the Bard: As You Like It, Cymbeline, Richards 2 and 3, the Dream, though Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, might be hard. But I’m sure the little blighters would get on fine with *Titus Andronicus*, The Taming of the Shrew, The Moor of Venice (that’s Othello), the other Merchant fellow, and Antony and Cleopatra too. The Winter’s Tale would hold no terrors, nor The Comedy of Errors, and Verona’s Gentlemen would turn out right; Love’s Labour might be Lost, or it might be Tempest-tossed, but All’s Well That Ends Well, even on Twelfth Night. Lear, King John, and Much Ado, Henry 4, parts 1 and 2, Henry 5, and 6 (in three parts), Henry 8, Troilus, Timon, Measure for Measure, Pericles (a neglected treasure) and how Romeo and Juliet met their fate; all the Sonnets, and the **** of Lucrece* (typed by an ape!) and if they worked for ever and a day they could fit in Julius Caesar, that Coriolanus geezer, the Wives of Windsor, and the Scottish play. I grew more and more excited – even thought I might be knighted if I could be the one to make it work. But to realise my dream I had to try a pilot scheme, to prove I wasn’t just a reckless berk. I bought one chimp from the zoo - didn't have the cash for two - and gave him a typewriter, just to try for a short while. Well, a fortnight was the time-scale that I thought right. You see, I’m quite an optimistic guy. Now everyone who heard of my project said, “Absurd!” when I told them of my striking new departure. “Get a chimpanzee to type the works of Shakespeare? Oh, what tripe!” Still … he did produce the works of Jeffrey Archer.
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54
in land of fantasy so very far away a place were all the toys would come out to play they would play together happy as can be in this land so faraway full of fantasy there was a teddy bear he wore a nice bright suit and a spotted tie that made him look so cute a little marching soldier drumming to a beat and a little panda who was very sweet a funny little tortoise with a great big smile a little chimpanzee and a crocodile pretty little parrot colored red and blue a singing little bird and a cockatoo they all played together having lots of fun in the land of fantasy underneath the sun then when they got tired climbed in to there bed getting lots of rest for the day ahead.
0
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
toyland fantasy
I WAS! DESIGNED! IN CALIFORNIA! MANUFACTURED IN CHINA! I WAS! DESIGNED IN CALIFORNIA! MANUFACTURED IN CHINA... that's all the U.S.A. seems to be, an advertising conglomerate, oink oink it's like three blind men and Donald Trump: one touched his egoistic ******* impression and said it was the Mississippi mud-hole Riviera, another touched his overweight cheeks and started to chuckle while calling ************ a bulldog salivating with the cheeks choke on chuckles you chimpanzee: chuck chuck, whatever onomatopoeia five cents spare... and the last blind mind touched the over-comb quiff... and he said: by god! the wind hairstyling grass! while the Russians sold off Alaska historically, and are selling bits of ******** Siberia bit by bit to the Chinese, evolutionary implementation of Pan-Eskimo... you need eyes like slits akin with excess camel eye-lashes to survive the cold... like i told you, Russia will end up shrinking into a border enclosure limited to starting between Belarus (the ******* Tsarist **** bags) the Baltic states and Ukraine and ending at the Urals.
0
May 5, 2016
May 5, 2016 at 4:48 PM UTC
a bruce springsteen song