Losers Can't be Choosers
My love is at stake my brain is in conflict
My rivals are clever my beloved is my force
I am reinvigorated by taking it but intact
I am but just nothing but my stance is source

I believe in fair play I take but my stance
Which is straightforward,frank and straight
You can play tricks but do not take chance
My enemies are in darkness but I am in light

Light dictates me the way to which proceed
I will be the winner and they will be the losers
My love is my quality and my strength indeed
Let me declare the fact losers can't be choosers

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2017 Golden Glow

True equality is what is wished for
But what if you really opened that door
What would be on the other side?
I’m not sure we’d enjoy the ride

Individuality dies with equality
There are no choices you see
If everyone has to have the same things
No one gets to win the brass ring

No more people like you and people like me
If the same is all we ever get to be
The same model car and the same clothes
The same old food in the same homes

The same haircut and the same color
Or we are all clean shaved so much the duller
The same education for everybody
You’re paid the same as anybody

Sports would all end in a tie
If there still played at all… sigh
No more winners, No more losers
No choices so no choosers

There are no differing opinions you see
When you’re a victim of true equality
No reason to strive
There is no ladder to climb

No reward for hard work
Are you feeling the irk?
No matter what, you cannot get ahead
It’s almost as if you are full of lead

But that just it, no ahead to get
When everyone gets what everyone gets
The Thought police are out in full force
No one is married or there is no divorce

No kids at all or everyone has 2
There is no longer me and no longer you
When equal society is the important thing
Everyone gets to feel every sting

Orwellian yes
But truth none the less
The only people different are the ones in charge
While everyone suffers they live it large

They get to decide how much you’re alive
And they can tell you 2+2=5
So how does this strike you?
Will that work for you too?

I’m not a fan
Of this little plan
Because not everyone is the same
No matter what people will claim

We don’t think the same thoughts
We don’t call the same shots
Not even twins are exactly the same
And if we all were, what a boring game

Just a bunch of clones, going nowhere
Just dull and drab, no bling and no flair.
Yet that is what current society prescribes
Even though were all from different tribes

If we ever achieve true equality
Remember sometimes wishes end badly

I have work to do
have work to do
work to do
to do it well I must concentrate my thoughts upon this task in hand
and
I have work to do
to do it is a chore
a bore but beggars are not choosers
just losers
but
I have work to do
to do work at all at any time
is fine for me
on being homeless I could see
the workings of the work
priority
a majority of folk I know
don't go to work
go to work
to work is but another reason to go on
and go on I will
until the work is done
and my Sun sets overhead
and I am dead sure that
it will.

By Nabs

    When I was little, I dreamed of being a princess.
Just like so many others do.

Imagining all the fun we will have.
Of Tea times and dressing in the finest dresses, wearing tiaras, and jewels,
      all day of the week.
              Princesses only seems to dress prettily in the stories.
                
We all dreamt of the same thing,
        Happy endings that always come at the end, cherished and pampered.

        Most of all loved by everyone.

  Princesses were always loved because she was inherently kind. Inherently docile.
Inherently pure and innocent.
              Inherently beautiful.

( Remember, Your purity is your worth)
                  
                            None of them was because
                                  people respected them.

All of them was because
Of their beauty.

      ( A princess have to pamper their self to utmost perfection, your beauty define your worth)

Princess is a symbol of perfection.
                                      Symbol of Divinity.

A guideline for Goodness and womanhood.
                Standards that shaped and pushed them self to little girls to be molded into a perfect piece of art that they them self would rarely get to enjoy.

( Art pieces, after all cannot admire them self)
    
                We have to strive for divinity and no less, because less means
        we will be condemned to be the wicked ones.

( No one bother to tell us that it is unreachable.)

        No one wanted to be the wicked ones because history burned who ever were branded as wicked.

      ( we stood on a world
piled with their ashes
          and everyone will claim it as a victory)

        One of the lesson, that these tale seems to croons that there is no in between for us.
        That there is only two archetypes for girls to grow up to.
The Princess or the Evil Witch.

Choose, the tale seems to shout.
            ( be obedient, be submissive).
                    (Good girls)
                ( Princess lives happily ever after).

(Fight, rebel, speak)
        (Bad girls)
  ( Evil witch will always be burned)
      
  ( This are the endings we have set for you, girls)

          Back then, after going home from school, I would read tales about princesses from all over the world.  
From Africa
                to Europe
                              to Asia.
      I devoured them like they were gospels, Laughing delightedly when the princes save the day then marries the princess, and frowning when the villain managed to defeat the heroes.
Happy endings,
      Happy endings.
( Death, is the only happy ending we will really get)

    I learned that to have a happy ending, a prince need to save me,
                from my self.

( Every princesses need a prince,
for a proper princess cannot save herself.
                
            You need to be saved to be complete)

      My parents called me their little darling princess, Their crown jewel,
              Their most cherished treasure.
They would hug me, clothed me, spun me into a figurine that they like.
Telling me that I am theirs.
Flesh and blood,
              Glittering orbs of red.
                                          Ownership.
Another princess tales, which plot echoes through out time. Beggars can't be choosers.
                              The same way a princess can't  choose anything for them self.

The tale said,
    A good daughter is an obedient daughter.

Shouting and screaming is prohibited.

( Lower your voice,
        princesses don't raise their voice.

They speak softly as soft as the flutter of butterfly wings

            or preferably they don't speak at all.)

      To be a princess, foremost is to sacrifice your whole being,
      To subdued your self
          To stop being human,
                and start being a treasure, a jewel.
Being fought over for the rights of possession.

( Isn't that the most highest pedestal you can put someone to?)

        As I grew up, these tales keep following me.

( Dont run, princesses never run.
                                    They submit.)
Of Snow white,
      Who was treated as if she was only an object of desire after the prince saw her dead in the glass coffins.
( You're mine, you got that?)

Of the sleeping beauty silence,
            that was taken as a consent to ravished her until she woke up because she gave birth to twins.
( Babe, you like this don't you? You have to, you're made for this)

Of the little mermaid plight,
      Discarding herself completely to be accepted on the lands, trading her voice and being in excruciating pain for her prince.
                        The one who will not love her.
( You look horrible in that, change into something prettier and for god sake, put some make up on)

Of Atalanta, who could not escape marriage
              and forced to marry a man she lost a race  unfairly to, because her father decrees so in the first place.
( My princess, you can't be with that person.  
                    They're not suited for you,
                              We want the best for you.
You don't know what's best for you. )
              
Of Bawang Putih and Bawang Merah,
                Echoing the morals, how your beauty define you, how you will be evil if you are less than beautiful.
( She's ugly, that's why she's jealous of her)

Of Putri Hijau ending,
            That to be free from being under the power of men, you have to jump into the ocean.
(You are mine, forever)

Of the archetypes for Good and Evil,
            ****, *****,
                      *****, Saint,
                              Witch, Princess.
( A good girl says yes, A bad girl say no)

How The Tales, often than not,
                          parallel each others, as if trying to drill them self into our subconsciousness with these toxic message.

( Princesses belongs to the people.
                      She never belongs to herself. )

These unspoken rules followed me into adulthood.

            Subconscious message of how to be  loved you need to be less.
You need to submit,
to be obedient,
docile,
pure,
innocent,
        most of all, you need to be beautiful.

      That beauty is how you're going to get your prince. Never it is because your wit, your courage, your wisdom,
what use do you have for them if you don't have a pretty face.

                No husband will find ever find you.

( Remember, wicked ones doesn't have a prince to set them straight.

                You don't want to be a wicked one,
                                                  Now do you?

So spread your legs, and lay down.
Take it. Atta girl!  )

These unreachable standards, bound us the same way they bound people feet to be dainty.
                They are rules for us to be less human, to be a thing.
      A princess, in this world is another term for a possession.

            (There is no such things as an independent princess, object need owners)

The stories always put them in gilded cages.

Once I asked why?
          Why do they need to be caged?
Why can't they be free?
        
The tales said that beautiful things needed somewhere to be kept.

The tales said many thing,
        seemingly innocent but  screaming about our worth, girls worth in the society.

(You need to be pretty for anyone to love you.)

(You're good if you are obedient.)

(You have no need for your voice,
                Silence is the only voice you need.)

(You're made to just lay down and take it.)

(You need a man to complete you
                                      and set you straight.)

(Never be yourself.)

I grew up wanting to be a princess,
Just like many others do.
        What we realized, to be a princess
                                  We have to be a slave.
                                      We have to be dead.

There was a looming darkness that consumed a crimson red sky
The cries of the wounded could be heard as it echoed far and wide
A warrior saturated in his own blood a badge of honor this sweet savage death
He held on with courageous valor until he breathed his final breath
Remembering tender moments of his true love as they quickly began to fade
His heart spilling his life force as it flows from beneath the blade
While he succumbs to an eternal sleep a soft hand embraces his face
Perhaps it is the woman he loves that even death cannot erase
Above the scent of scattered bodies an unfamiliar odor fills the air
Just a hint of mandrakes rises above the cries of despair
A voice the warrior has never heard before comforts him with these words
“No worries my love I am here for you,” but in the shadows he saw black birds
In a daze his eyes caught a glimpse of the woman who had kneeled by his side
An alluring dark angel with her elongated wings spread across the great divide
She wore a golden helmet embedded with dark feathered wings
Her curvaceous ***** shielded with a breastplate designed by Odin her king
The Valkyrie planted a gentle kiss upon the warrior’s lips
As his spirit departed from his body it was captured with a mighty grip
They ascended towards the heavens dark skies on her powerful steed
A mighty dominion of Valkyries trailed behind with relentless speed
To Valhalla is the warrior’s destination another battle he must face
In Ragnarok fighting alongside Odin with departed warriors who were transported to this place
Perhaps it was magic the Valkyries used to enchant the blood splattered terrain?
A slight of hand with a twist of fate the choosers of the slain.
© 4/23/2019

There's now proof, that a Russian flesh-eating cannibal is in the good old US of A

He would offer you toxic ingredients, including gasoline and lighter fluid, I'd say

But, because its tell-tale scaly sores, are similar to another well known leacher

They initially played down concerns, saying, "they're not seeing signs of the creature"

My boyfriend had maggots coming out of his leg, after a recent foreign scare

I know people don't want to hear stuff like that, but it is really happening out there



Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three

Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul

Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free

Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all



They fall to the charlatans, that promise you a crystal ball

A little at first and then some more, that's for sure

It will make you snap, give you curls and dance you a little twirl

Star gazing thru the sun ray and day tripping into a wayward night

That's why if you use crocodile juice, it will do more than shake ya loose

Destroying our souls, creating huge holes and build mountains out of moles



Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three

Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul

Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free

Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all



Mr Jeffrey Vint has become less popular among his abusers

I say, "they're all losers", but I guess, beggars can't be choosers

Some mother's even gave birth with two thumbs, but those babies are now total ****

Others think the monster could be at large, maybe roaming your neighbourhood  

Put a stop to this croc's chomp, before it destroys everything in the swamp

Get your doctor to prescribe a stronger drug, to conquer that evil imposter  



Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three

Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul

Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free

Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all.

sister sinister
mister sinister
sinning through the day
no work and all play
living today, leaving behind
a trail of breadcrumbs too close to mine
the birds pick and choose and I am left a loser
thanks to sinister games and pleasure
the crumbs are gluten-free, but the bread devours me
I am baked, no candied apple tree, not if no one waters it
retracing my crumbs is impossible when birds are pick-and-choosers
better to use inedible yarn perhaps
then getting lost in a labyrinth of hopes that trap me
would be fine if I could find a fine line to walk
but I would only trip as the bull feasts and talks with it’s mouth full
if only I did my research, I could teach a preacher
to ****** a bull and bind him, burn his trail of crumbs behind him
Even then my crumbs would turn to ember
My next loaf won’t finish baking until September.

When I was young
I learned how to dive into my emotions
I learned how to wrap myself
in my regret and fill myself
with relics of isolation,
I learned that my tears
were to be compared to the bottom of the ocean
for both the saltiness
and the amount of them.
I learned how to cheat my way
into straight A's
because suddenly I wasn't at the top of the class
I was diving to the bottom,
with the druggies and the criminals.
I learned how to move my fingers
along the fret board of another man's "love"
and how to make him sing louder than a microphone
would ever allow for
I learned to dive into what most would consider immorality.
I learned to inhale whatever I could,
tobacco, ***, and whatever lingered in the oxygen in between
and I learned to dive through the labyrinth of smoke
that it would produce.
I learned to steal for what I needed
because I didn't have the money to eat lunch
or for new clothes
I learned to dive into the world that I'd scoffed at
a year ago
the world of the beggars and the choosers
the stealers and the 'losers'
called out by self-proclaimed winners.
I learned to trace raindrops on a window
and recite my dreams in the form of broken hearts
and song lyrics
I learned to dive into myself.

Begging you to love me
Choosing to never love you

(As Distinguished by an Italian Person of Quality)

I

Had I but plenty of money, money enough and to spare,
The house for me, no doubt, were a house in the city-square;
Ah, such a life, such a life, as one leads at the window there!

II

Something to see, by Bacchus, something to hear, at least!
There, the whole day long, one’s life is a perfect feast;
While up at a villa one lives, I maintain it, no more than a beast.

III

Well now, look at our villa! stuck like the horn of a bull
Just on a mountain’s edge as bare as the creature’s skull,
Save a mere **** of a bush with hardly a leaf to pull!
—I scratch my own, sometimes, to see if the hair’s turned wool.

IV

But the city, oh the city—the square with the houses! Why?
They are stone-faced, white as a curd, there’s something to take the eye!
Houses in four straight lines, not a single front awry!
You watch who crosses and gossips, who saunters, who hurries by:
Green blinds, as a matter of course, to draw when the sun gets high;
And the shops with fanciful signs which are painted properly.

V

What of a villa? Though winter be over in March by rights,
’Tis May perhaps ere the snow shall have withered well off the heights:
You’ve the brown ploughed land before, where the oxen steam and wheeze,
And the hills over-smoked behind by the faint grey olive trees.

VI

Is it better in May, I ask you? You’ve summer all at once;
In a day he leaps complete with a few strong April suns.
’Mid the sharp short emerald wheat, scarce risen three fingers well,
The wild tulip, at end of its tube, blows out its great red bell
Like a thin clear bubble of blood, for the children to pick and sell.

VII

Is it ever hot in the square? There’s a fountain to spout and splash!
In the shade it sings and springs; in the shine such foam-bows flash
On the horses with curling fish-tails, that prance and paddle and pash
Round the lady atop in her conch—fifty gazers do not abash,
Though all that she wears is some weeds round her waist in a sort of sash!

VIII

All the year long at the villa, nothing to see though you linger,
Except yon cypress that points like Death’s lean lifted forefinger.
Some think fireflies pretty, when they mix in the corn and mingle,
Or thrid the stinking hemp till the stalks of it seem a-tingle.
Late August or early September, the stunning cicala is shrill,
And the bees keep their tiresome whine round the resinous firs on the hill.
Enough of the seasons,—I spare you the months of the fever and chill.

IX

Ere opening your eyes in the city, the blessed church-bells begin:
No sooner the bells leave off than the diligence rattles in:
You get the pick of the news, and it costs you never a pin.
By and by there’s the travelling doctor gives pills, lets blood, draws teeth;
Or the Pulcinello-trumpet breaks up the market beneath.
At the post-office such a scene-picture—the new play, piping hot!
And a notice how, only this morning, three liberal thieves were shot.
Above it, behold the Archbishop’s most fatherly of rebukes,
And beneath, with his crown and his lion, some little new law of the Duke’s!
Or a sonnet with flowery marge, to the Reverend Don So-and-so
Who is Dante, Boccaccio, Petrarca, Saint Jerome, and Cicero,
“And moreover,” (the sonnet goes rhyming,) “the skirts of Saint Paul has reached,
Having preached us those six Lent-lectures more unctuous than ever he preached.”
Noon strikes,—here sweeps the procession! our Lady borne smiling and smart
With a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart!
Bang, whang, whang goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife;
No keeping one’s haunches still: it’s the greatest pleasure in life.

X

But bless you, it’s dear—it’s dear! fowls, wine, at double the rate.
They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passing the gate
It’s a horror to think of. And so, the villa for me, not the city!
Beggars can scarcely be choosers: but still—ah, the pity, the pity!
Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with cowls and sandals,
And the penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the yellow candles;
One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles,
And the Duke’s guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention of scandals.
Bang, whang, whang goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife.
Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!

Sitting, restless

In this changeling

Sensation

Of freshness and renewal.

Running

Rat on a wheel.

Each passing day

A different way

Of feeling,

An altered state of mind.

Seeking

To find

A man within the boy.

Hoping to see

The real me.

Alive and kicking.

Hot flushed, this post determined puberty

And the desperate need to feel.

An urgent angst to Be.

Short fuse and temper flare.

I’m not really there

Yet still somehow

Everywhere and

Everything;

Else breathing.

Dysmorphic chest

Heaving

Exigency

In this

Juncture

Soul puncture,

And bloodied bandaids

Cast off

My heart

Once worn on my sleeve.

I am finger skin,

Flesh and nail

Torn

And jagged edges

Peeling.

Perplexity kneeling,

I am deeply lost inside of me.

Begging to be found.

Compund; unbound.

They say that beggars can’t be choosers

Only losers left to dreaming.

They also say

That I may be a dreamer

But I’m not the only one.

I will come undone in this undoing.

Eschewing

A life lived unalive.

Slow unravel

To once again

Begin

To belong in this

Skin

Stitched bleeding riches

To my bare and brittle bone  

He is not alone

I feel him

Running

Waiting

Sating disquietude

With an attitude

Unshackled

He is not running

Rather feet flying

A rat inside

A wheel.

EDNA: Hello there, Dan my dear, please take a seat, but before you sit down, just let me put a plastic sheet over the chair.

DAN: Thank you so much, Mrs Sweetlove.

EDNA: Now, Dan, please tell me why you are known far and wide as Dan, Dan, the ***** Old Man. How did you come to acquire such a salubrious soubriquet? Don't spare us any of the more sordid details. My readers are all agog.

DAN: Well, there are three aspects to my dirtiness. Firstly, my sanitary arrangements and personal hygiene. How can I put this delicately? [scratches head in puzzlement and several lice are dislodged, much to Edna's distaste. She squirts them with super-strength LICEOKILL.] To be blunt, Edna, I don't wash much and I very seldom change my clothes. This means I smell quite strongly. And, as you will observe, my skin is quite grimy and unpleasant to behold; the boils and sores are not attractive to many people.

EDNA: Fortunately I am afflicted with a rather bad head cold at the moment, so I can't really whiff you too strongly. However, I can see your skin is disgusting and your clothes are a total disgrace. Tell me, is there any particular reason why you are so careless of your hygienic duties?

DAN: Well, I see it as a vicious circle. If I were to take a bath or a shower, I would only get ***** again quite soon. And anyway, getting dressed again in my old clothes means any olfactory benefit would be negated. Again, if I were to put on some clean clothes, they would only be rendered odorous by my unwashed body. And defecation and urination tend to get your lower parts ***** two or three times a day anyway, even if you wipe thoroughly which I don't. So what's the point, unless you want to waste all your life on synchronising cleansing activities? Also, between you and me, I quite enjoy the stench of my own unclean body. And it has several benefits: I always get a row of seats to myself at the cinema and I normally have no problem with queues when I go shopping: people tend to give way to me as a mark of respect.

EDNA: And the second aspect of your dirtiness?

DAN: May I talk to you freely about ***, Mrs Sweetlove?

EDNA: Oh yes, be frank! [nods eagerly] Be frank!

DAN: Well, let's put it like this: I am not very particular when it comes to ***. I can honestly say I have never ever turned down a ****** approach of any sort. I am, of course, bisexual and when I feel like a bit of impersonal *******, I nip down to the public lavatory in the park and have some there. What I normally do is wait by the ****** and whip out my grimy, stinking **** and flash it whenever someone comes in. I don't care who it is. What does it matter? Most people run away in horror, a few attack me and shove my face down a pan, but one or two let me **** them.

EDNA: What sort of people would that be, dear?

DAN: Usually tramps, the short-sighted, people with no sense of smell, degenerates, psychos, masochists, you know. A reasonably varied selection. Buggers can't be choosers. Who cares anyway? I've been arrested by the cops a few times, but they don't like to put me in their nice clean police car, so they usually let me go with a bit of a thumping. Which I quite like anyway, although it's cost me several teeth [shows hideous maw of rotting stumps].

EDNA: And how about when you feel like a little bit of the old hetero rumpy-pumpy action, Dan, my love?

DAN: To be honest, I don't get much rumpy-pumpy, even though that's probably what I'm most famous for. Speaking candidly, not many women fancy anyone as filthy as I am, even lady tramps have to draw the line somewhere. So I tend to have to be a bit pushy when I feel like a bit of female company. What I usually do is lurk around girls' schools, ladies' gyms, ballet dancing classes, hockey grounds, netball pitches, the park where the young mums push their babies' buggies, anywhere really where you get women and girls in reasonable numbers. When I see someone I fancy, which is anything female between sixteen and the grave, I just drop my pants and show them what I've got down there. They scream a bit but I can usually get a quick one off the wrist before they've run too far. I've been arrested a few times for that too, but it's a hazard of the game of love, I feel.

EDNA: [gulps excitedly] I think you mentioned three reasons why you are known as a ***** Old Man par excellence......

DAN: Yes, well the third one is a bit more personal. You see, I have a very sensitive stomach and I often get very bad indigestion, which means I **** and burp a lot. And I frequently ***** too, as you can see from the state of my trousers - this is probably a reflection of the fact that my kitchen is crawling with rodents and insects large and small. And did I mention this last bit? I really like eating my own snot in public [voids nostrils onto grimy paw and gobbles product thereof].

EDNA: I'd like to thank you, Dan, for sharing your opinions, emotions and ambitions with me and my readers here today [switches off tape recorder]. You truly are an unusually repellent *******. Get out of my lovely house.

*[END OF INTERVIEW]

Arresting artificial bloom from a  make believe garden,
Oh! magalomaniacal face of ill gotten glamour,
ribald queen of the kitsch, with endless variety in store,
age, cannot wither your, unmistakable garish taste-
or sadistic delights, each you do organize is outrageous,
than the one before, no doubt, how do you manage?
                  
I'll forget all those in an instance, but, that kiss, oh! that,
the one you gifted, to show you were pleased utmost,
stealthily away from the eyeshot of your posse of lovers,
other cannibals and party animals, under the darkened staircase,
was the last godforsaken straw;
 what a poor camel can do? if you so desire,
beggars, never were the choosers, you'd tell yourself,
in a self congratulatory note,
                      that much I am aware, my dear tormentor!

Wandering around
Nowhere to go
Nothing to hide
Empty

No one wants to help
Think I'm gonna hurt them
But, they are so wrong
Just searching for acceptance

And a place to sleep
A warm place
With a soft, comfy bed
And maybe a pillow or two

No one wants to help
Think I'm gonna hurt them
But, they are so wrong
Just searching for acceptance

And some food to eat
Preferably some home-cooked
But, I quote:
"Beggars can't be choosers"

No one wants to help
Think I'm gonna hurt them
But, they are so wrong
Just searching for acceptance

Maybe a bit of money
No, I'm not gonna buy *****
And no, I don't smoke
Just want to get to a long lost relative

But

They think I've got some hidden agenda
To **** them daughter
Or suddenly pull out a gun
Maybe run away with stolen goods

I think dogs hate us...

... we have ALL the food!


10W
Soul Survivor

I sit, awaiting the apocalypse,
Knowing Its already Here -
I sit, awaiting a sign from Above,
In the form of the wind blowing
Or a smile from a child passing by -
I stand up, knowing my time has come
And I march down to the office
Of the biggest suit-wearers in town
And I tell them why I think they're the Devil
Disguised in masks of well-intentioned men
And all they do is kick me out the door,
Without a single "Hello" or "Goodbye",
Indeed I was right - they are the Devil -
The lawmakers, man-made war declarers
Suffering because they've got too much greed,
Still thinking it's more money that they need -
Indeed their fruit contains rotting seed,
But only Time will tell
Whether they'll drop the bombs or not,
On their own people
From metallic birds above,
Not the Holy place,
Just a faceless face -
Video-controlled drones flying flying flying
Crazy-eyed maniacs
Miles away
Safe in their cushioned bunkers of first-world luxury,
And they say its okay
They say this is their day,
And thus they drop their bombs
On their own people,
Family,
Miles away -
So far away that they won't be forced to see the blood,
And they'll never hear the children cry -
And I'm here,
Sitting,
Wondering why,
Wondering how,
We, as a species, ever became so ****** insane -
And I realize in the silence of my own questioning
That I'm not one of them -
For I am my own man,
I am my own soul,
I am a child of God,
Allah,
Buddha
Krishna
Jah Jah,
Ra,
Jehovah,
Yahweh,
And I know I've got a right to be here,
And nobody is going to take that right away from me,
Except the Universe that made me -
For these bodies are just recycled dirt,
But these souls are eternal beyond worth,
And nobody will take that away,
Especially not the whiskey-drinkin' cigar-smokin'
Legal pimps of legislature,
Declared messiahs by illiterate masses,
In the same sand dunes that they come from -
But there's a fox amongst the chickens -
The Devil, so they say -
And that fox is running wild, rabid with fear and hunger,
Ignorant of the beauty of Life -
Unaware of Eternity,
Of God,
Of the One Love that brings Everything Together,
And again, I don't know why or how,
It just is what it is,
And I'm blessed to know I'm not one of Them -
Because I once was,
And they're still me,
But I've woken up,
And I have learned to see -
We're always free,
No matter the hour or town or name,
We're always free,
And we shall always remain free,
For we're all creations of the Universe -
Almighty in the Eyes of the Infinite,
And we're free to do as we please -
But if I may beg of thee,
Be wise and listen to the wind,
Choose yer path according to the Sun,
And not of Man,
And though I know beggars can't be choosers,
But I can still pray,
And thus I shall -
I will continue to pray until this body of mine fades back into Time,
Because we're always free,
Yes,
We're Always Free,
We're Always Free.

I awoke to my conscious talking me today.
She said: "You were talking in your sleep again, when will you learn?"
I apologized.
Then I asked her, what I said.
She refused to tell me.
She said: "Your subconscious is a dangerous being, I'd rather not make them mad."
I left it at that.
I don't think I want to know.
I just wish I could rest when I need to.
Even my sleep seems to come with interruptions
I wish I could tell you all that I think,
but there aren't enough minutes in the day,
to explain.
I wish I didn't have to have these conversations,
constantly having to remind myself who I am,
and why I'm worthy.
Trying to shut out my disappointment in myself,
I carry it like a bag of bricks everywhere I go.
If I could I'd build a house with them instead,
to protect me from my thoughts.
I tip-toe around every word that comes out of my mouth,
trying so hard to make sure it sounds exactly like I need it to sound.
Kicking myself for the stupid things I've said,
the stupid outfits I've worn,
the stupid mistakes that I've made.
I've heard some of the things said about these other people,
the ones who wore their hair wrong,
or made a stupid joke,
but,
when I'm not around I must be "other people" too, right?
My conscious tells me to cut it out.
She tells me:
"Life is worth more than the things you've said, and the way that you've looked.
It's all the sunsets you've watched,
the stars you've gazed at,
the people you've loved,
the people who have loved you.
This life is worth more than the things you say in your sleep.
The things you want are not tangible,
they can't be held.
You want to look in the mirror and smile at your reflection.
You want to wake up to someone who sees the stars in your smile,
especially since you can't see them yourself.
You want to love everything,
beggars can't be choosers and you know this.
You have to love it all,
which is an impossible task I know,
but it's worth a shot.
Maybe if you tried just once,
you could let me sleep without any interruptions."

we are beggars
we feed on scraps and wear tatters
we have nothing that matters
in this world
we cannot be bold
they say
"beggars can't be choosers"
we can prove them wrong any day
we didn't choose to live like this
we were forced to do so
corruption and lack of proper governance
we were the first to burn in the furnace
of human misery
no government makes us their priority
please pay attention to us
even we want to see our kids
board a school bus
and make a fuss
on which phone they want
even we want to flaunt
our cars and houses
we are beggars
and we want to live better.

They say beggars can't be choosers
And truer beggars there never were
Blessed with able minds
Bodies
Souls?
Lively and lithe, blessed by chance
Complaints for your coil;
an affront to existence!
Breathe easy, it's what we have
Stardust and daydreams,
pandering --
benefactors of infinite fortune
The stars have graced you
(once!)
with immutable form
So find grace.

black-eyed child of the morning
sings blue-eyed hymns in the afternoon,
chokes on black water at night
pouring from the ceiling
depression waterboarding her small cheeks.

black-eyed child of the morning
paints red smiles on her thighs
running down her knees
heaven on her mind
looking for the tormentor in the ceiling.

blue-eyed child in the afternoon
lets sunshine soak up her irises
turning the light rose-colored
laughs drunkenly just under the
feedback
lies in bed and finds worlds in her mind
stroking their edges
closing her eyes

black-armed child of the night
resurfacing at last
shaking on the mattress
talking
screaming
to her thoughts
telling them to stop
trembling under the black water ceiling
crying because she's suffocating
begging because there is no choice

black-eyed child,
blue-eyed sometimes...
beggars can't be choosers

People run and cower
From the true answer.
Drugs possess strange power,
They're life enhancers.

Countless hours,
Broken dancers,
Life turned sour,
Lost luck chances.

Drugs are riveting,
Minds are opened,
Perspectives pivoting,
Instincts awoken

What's never listed
And never spoken
Suddenly, it's tossed
Into the ocean

Of our minds,
Swirling potions,
Drugs are not kind,
Changing emotions.

People take
This strong control
And in some cases,
Their sole goal

Becomes a fate
Many people know.
All they seek
Is this control.

Pursuing control,
Many live by this.
Drugs and their tolls
Help provide bliss.

Control over what you feel,
Opened eyes and comforted minds,
People accept this generous deal,
Despite the consequences felt over time.

Manipulating drugs,
A victimless crime,
Claims users as victims,
At once or over time.

The effects can wow,
They can be sublime.
They make life better now,
But not over time.

Tolerance grows,
Excitement fades,
People become dazed,
Over time.

People take them,
Wrong or right,
To their extremes,
To maximize delight.

Excessive consumption,
Across a fine line,
Promises great risk,
To which many are blind.

Dismissing the truth
And hating the source
Is a just move,
But not a wise course.

Life enhancers,
Life ruiners,
They're one in the same
Though many choosers,

Either love drugs,
Or deeply hate them.
Arguments against either side,
Are sadly wasted.

Both sides
Reveal so much,
Like heat and cold,
They hurt to touch.

I love pleasure,
Oh so much,
But excess pleasure,
Fear is made of.

Within drug feelings
Lie sensations
Which contradict
Any meditations.

Why would I live,
With such a bore,
When I could be high
And get so much more?

Would would I fly
On drug fueled planes,
When normal plights
Offer so much to gain?

It's not as instant,
It's not as strong
But patient wishes
Last so much longer.

There's only one,
And what I choose
Goes in my body,
Is mine to prove.

Something exciting,
Something new,
Never hiding,
Wild and blue.

So if these drugs
Are life enhancers,
Can we demonize them?
Can this seed be planted?

Will we all become
Clear eyed and sober,
Thankful the drug storm,
Is finally over?

Take what's good,
Take what's evil,
All that we could
Derive from people.

Make the solution
Into a new mix
And maybe then,
We find a fix.

The danger they feel,
The societal death wish,
May die sooner,
If only we listen.

Give people things
They wish for,
But remove the danger,
And once this chore,

Is taken care of,
Harmful no more,
Drugs can be loved
Without the horror.

The powers at play
Are beyond what I know,
But this civil war,
Hopefully will slow

I remember
The tasteful sips
Of our young
Teenage lips

Before the tongue of men
Had slithered its way
Drinking sweet lust
Until none remained

I remember
Timid trembling hands
That took what was given
With need,  not demand

Before beggars
Were choosers
And winners
Became losers

I remember
A December
When our warmth
Was enough
When a boy and I
We're young
And made love

It's sad to say this
We live under umbrella terms
On some kind of spectrum
Abiding by Murphy's law
Being read our Miranda rights
Numbers on a scatter plot
In other words it's an open invitation
For one trick ponies
To sideswipe us
Knock us for a loop
Knocking us down a few pegs
Making us a laughing stock
Sieg heil the zeitgeist
Study the hermit's manifesto
It speaks of finicky beggars
And groveling choosers
Honor slayings
Oscar-worthy faked *******
First rate blood baths
Second rate novelty acts
Bending over backwards
And knee **** reactions
Cooking up something abominable
Having it hit the fan
To ensnare and entrap all who are near
Hot off the knock-off stenograph
Tack on another ten thousand years
In other news...
       -Tommy Johnson

I'm "going hard" no I'm not alone
Ain't found a place yet to call my home
I'm hungry call me an animal
Looking at humans like a cannibal but I ramble though
leave your thoughts jumbled in your cantaloupe
I've lost hope for the past because it our future
Living in a world among leeches and moochers we call them losers, dead beats and abusers
Funny how beggars can't be choosers
But I write to save the world you see
I may not seem phased   by all this gravity
So let me put this weight on you
What can a no name writer do
Write on brother and sisters
The pen is my weapon
Paper that ammunition
Make an impact on a million lives is the mission
So I take shots here and there daring and dizzy
Put my words on this paper could it be that easy?
Sticking to the grind till they miss me

I lay awake in bed holding my breath
grippin the sheets feeling close to death
Dreamin a world without you will have me feeling helpless and worthless less of a human being.

You make me better
I wish I known you sooner, I woulda never had let you get hurt,
having ya feelings growin in dirt,
like other losers.
on my knees tellin beggers cant be choosers,
on my knees with a promise ring tellin at least my love wont bruise ya.

Cause people took you for granted,
but no longer will you need a fistt,
all will you need is your lips cause ima have your hand in something to be,
future maybe?? Have another baby?
its crazy but thats life, when you pushin up daisy.

Mamita im lazy,
but my heart is not, it stands on two feet while holding its own just like you baby, it wants you as its crown.
So you can be held on top.
On top of my world and on my mind,
cause thats where you are in reality almost all the time.

Pardon my feelings that grow ahead of time, pass the ceilin thats just life on a heart monitor,
always on a thin line, cause you take  my breath away , barly breathin.

So dont mind my-
my sweet Dear, i only fear for for my heart to be taken or mistaken for something its not so I reveal my soul to you, cause thats all i got,
you on my mind alot and i think?
see I cant stop!
I dont know why? Ima hot head , with you in my mind im hot
in the skys like a star that been shot,
and the heat is commin,the hots for you have me burnin,

and im alil concernin i hope im not being played cause then  from this will, you defeat its purpose, and ima be back at square one again,
feeling worthless,
i open my self ahead of time,
so i pull open the close curtains so,
you can see thru my eyes in time you will know for certain,
that i am the realist! but i am not all perfect,
im just ahead of the curve like script cursive.

By: Emmmanuel jv Hernandez
7/6/13

It took a lot for me to learn
To not speak in absolutes
Statements that climb ladders
But quickly fall in chutes
Sentences that build you up
Tall enough to fall flat on your face

Beggars become choosers
Quitters become losers
Nobody likes a quitter
Not with that attitude

I will never
I will never say never
I will never say never again

Greetings from us at Homeland Security.
We hope you had a pleasant journey.
But keep in mind there's no guarantee
That you won't exit on a gurney.

You should love our border camps,
Which are still progressing in stages.
We have “subdivided rooms.”
(We don't like to call them cages.)

We strive to stifle criticism.
Please ignore our critics' lore.
Doesn't everybody love
To camp out on a cold, hard floor?

We provide you with a blanket.
What? One is not enough?
Crowded rooms should keep you warm.
Exposure to germs will make you tough!

Lest you feel our detention centers
Are too uncomfortable or stark,
We leave the lights on for twenty-four hours
Daily in case you're afraid of the dark.

What? You say you need a doctor?
Come on, beggars can't be choosers.
Toothbrushes? Toothpaste? Soap?
Those are just for wimps or losers.

We all want your stay to be
Just as pleasant as we can make it.
True, some have died, but they’re
The weaker ones who cannot take it.

If your kids were taken away,
We don't mean to disrespect you,
But since only God knows where they are,
Then we'll let God reconnect you.

Locking kids in windowless
Warehouses in our recollection
Is a way to offer the kids
Security and protection.

If perhaps you’re seeking asylum,
One little thing might give you pause:
The president is working on
Ways to change asylum laws.

We know the whole idea of camps
Polarizes, or causes a schism.
In figuring out what to call them,
We prefer the euphemism.

So, enjoy your stay until
The powers that be decide your fate.
If you’re lucky, you’ll get a shower
During your long, protracted wait.

-by Bob B (6-24-19)

Ignite the fire in your heart to burn more brightly
Let my sweetheart to give air to increase it slightly
Love is in pursuit of beauty to cater for it very rightly
Accompany me on path of love hold my hand tightly

Come on do not be behind otherwise we will be losers
Let be more forthcoming on way of love to be choosers
I love your image your curves and all your features
In the pursuit even if we die we will be love martyrs

My sweetheart we have been made for just each other
We will manage and jump over from bolder to bolder
Let us cross all avenues and horizons in real love fervor
Love is a real booster under all circumstances it is power

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

In an attempt to reclaim my sanity
I sit and listen attentively to the whispers of the cold wind
It's rather stormy for the month of may
But beggars can't be choosers
I would have chosen a bright clear skied day
Instead of wet and windy sky of gray