"circumcised" poems
There goes my ******
Scarring all the good people away
There she goes...
Out of the skirt and into the pants
Given power
But still controlled
Given a job with no promote
There she goes being told
How she should speak and how she should not
How she must look and how she must not
There goes my ****** being forcefully entered
For years and years being circumcised and beaten
And there she goes...being blamed for it all
There goes my ****** being a *****
She has ambition and she has strength
She's got tough skin and all that it takes
But that's just short for...BITCH
And there she goes being stuck at the bottom
Looking up at the top
Trying to break through the glass ceiling
And into the powerful world of Johns
There goes my ****** demanding equal pay
But will the masculine listen to the words she'll say
Maybe one day
Maybe today
My ******
She'll never go away
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
They are silent and beautiful,
gorgeous in in the white halo,
cemented in a beautiful terrazzo,
baring the names of fallen soldiers,
the European soldiers that fell in Wars;
second and first and the heinous silent wars,
i hope this is why they have a proverb; white sepulchre,
only baring the white dead, only chiefs but no dead Indian.
Common wealth graveyards are all over in Africa,
in India , panama , Latin America and europe,
the active fronts in which the allies fought ******
they are beautifully placed in silently posh areas,
in langata when in Nairobi, in Mbaraki when in Mombasa,
in Matisi when in Kenya, In Namusungui when in Lodwar,
They bear horizontal silence with white names engraved
on their beautiful face shouting the glory of European empires,
which provoked the evil sense in the heart of the king's horseman
in Kenya, in the city of Nairobi, to steal the graveyard lands,
he made them his urban home with an uppish courtyard,
for him the dead white neighbours are better than in-corruption.
I walk around the commonwealth graveyards,
in the all quarters of erstwhile British empire,
looking for the names of African soldiers ,
who died in thousands fighting for the queen
the royal bloodied woman of England;Elizabeth,
Looking for the sons of Ethiopia who stood with
the second duce Benito son of Mussolini,
fighting for Hitler,for Shintos in the European war,
i have seen no name of any African,
I have not seen Wandabwa wa masibo,
who was conscripted into the first world war,
Along with his father Biket wa Khayongo,
Biket back after seven years in 1918,
carrying Wandabwa's Belt,
Wandabwa died in the field,
Where was he buried, he is nowhere
Not anywhere among the soldiers in cemeteries,
I have not seen Nasong'o wa Khayongo,
who was conscripted in 1940,
to fight against ******
he was conscripted on his nuptial evening,
even before he had had the first ***
with his new wife, he went away crying,
he never came back, his name is nowhere in the graves
the commonwealth graves that bare names of the fallen,
Fallen soldiers, but they all bare white names in the black world.
you come to Africa, Kenya, Nigeria, Malagasy,Egypt,
whatever the geographies of Africa, and you keep keen,
you hear someone is called Mr. Keya, or Madam Keya,
or you come to Bungoma county of Kenya,
you meet a man that is of the circumcision age group,
Known as Bakikwameti Keya, Bakinyikewi Musolini,
Keya is subverted sound for Kings african rivals; KAR
the African sound for KAR is Keya,
in reference to mass conscription of Africans
into the KAR, to fight ******
A child born during that time is Keya,
A man circumcised during the time
is in the age group of Keya,
A simple lesson in regard to our people,
taken away to fight the colonial power
and left to died and rot away in the bush
with a simple courtesy for ceremonial burial,
that come along with the death of soldiers,
who passed away in the battle field.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...
circumcised: to purify spiritually
On the eighth day,
from my nativity,
circumcised,
as is the custom of my
wandering tribe.
marked thusly,
perma-identity carded,
thusly begins the path,
a pink-bricked road this one,
not to the Mighty Oz,
no phony curtain pulled aside,
where anyone goes to get
spiritual purification
for a price
Ah, you suspected something else,
something explicit,
not me~style,
give you honey,
road provisions,
come along for the observing his
clickety clackty clock
Ready?
For where we venture there is only
one exit,
And you are so not ready - I am who I am and I am
not ready too...
every line an enunciation,
every stanza an annunciation,
Angel Gabriel, a solo duo, unlike
Beyoncé and Jesus
we be on our way to any kind of purity,
poetry can buy
who knows what awaits us,
could be catholic, universal,
even the uncircumcised
get a chance to enunciate.
let me offer a clarification.
proclamations and sensations,
conditions and exploitations,
brown eyed girls, and surfer boys,
functions and malfunctions too,
abbreviations or adjudications,
conjugations in the congregation,
exhumation, the final excommunication,
I shun none,
I enunciate this:
false starts and junction boxes,
too many so so tired,
when can I lay down my shovel
and cease the decreasing deceasing of the body
this day nears complete,
and soon to eat
the last meal,
and still I ask
when can I lay down my shovel,
when will purity be mine,
my spirit's circumstances
repeat the commercial,
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate...
forgive my abstrusion,
my metaphors always offer perfect laxity,
choose the interpretation that pleases most
and my drift is toward the end of days,
when will my brow be a motif of
anointment and crowning head birth?
This is my Enunciation.
I cannot yet lay down the shovel,
and this writ is as of yet, still uncircumcised -
completely incomplete, it will be finished
when the spirit says
you are the purity,
the trinity of two hands holding two others holding two others holding two others and the chain is perfect because
it is broken perfectly, a forever repetitive respective handle with care
process
Forgive my visionary words that
give little clarity,
so summary due you,
This is my
Pronoun citation
I am
I am circumcised, therefore, I enunciate
on my way to the purity of spirit.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:19 PM UTC
I love that Jewish ****
I know it’s better than whatever ****
That you’ve been gettin’
It’s Israeli and it’s rarely being used *****
Just look at you *****
You spent an hour in the shower
Feeling useless
Until you had the realization
That the water’s lubrication’s
Even worse than when you use spit
You know, I’m all about the Benjamins
But I’m chilling on the Abrahams
That’s a little too hasidic
For a person who’s obsessively
Collecting all the circumcised
Erections in this city
‘Cause he’s orthodox, get it?
Aug 3, 2023
Aug 3, 2023 at 7:21 AM UTC
if he is not made of them wholly, branches, he will be soon. they are everywhere, and he steps on them, and they are arms from hell. he wears a child’s football jersey, torn at his size and his sorrow. he reaches into it and pulls out his heart, a red balloon given the what for, inside of which he blows his nose. he returns the heart.
a yellow adherent hangs from both nostrils, as two ropes being cut at and then loosed from his brain. the first keeps an arm from heaven; the second he catches and loops twice to put on his neck. one is never out of the woods here, and he knows it, knows here is Baltimore, Ohio. he has watched the people, some of them, leave; their happiness would be better called remission.
he is giddy when he comes upon a man wearing only a barrel and he tips it with joy and makes better his headway home. the rolled over branches shriek and wake the man who nakedly bails. the branches up their shrieking.
his mother he has no dementia of his time in her womb. why for **** the despondent are given captions like ‘blank look’ he can’t say for in his mama naught but canvassing eyes. she’s what he calls ‘at grocery’, shaking a coffee can she’ll buy because a done melon can’t hold pennies. she often at the neck is saddled with two toddlers but in his projection now there is just one making miracle of not kicking the coffee can into another’s back.
any girl that occurs lets him take her with his tongue only as she seems to know he was circumcised and after that much paddled.
he starts thinking on dad and dad’s laughing when mother’d say boys be home before dog because that’s how it sounded from seizures and of course rock candy in the summer. the barrel splinters beneath him to be forgotten and his legs go to bleeding stilts.
his last things by his face are insufficient; rock candy, barrel, and twin. I talk on the barrel, I don’t need it, not anymore.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
I live in Moshi,Tanzania,
As a child,one day I got lost,
A maasai took me to his home.
He lived at the foothills of the majestic Mt.Kilimanjaro,
His home was a kraal (hut)
made of stone,sticks and cow dung.
I cried for my parents,
So he fed me milk and blood from a cow,
He pierced a hole in the cow's neck,
He put a bamboo and told me to drink the blood,
It was warm but I vomited,
Gradually, I got used to it.
The maasai's way of life is communilism,
Hunting,gathering and raiding neighbours cattle.
Theirs is an age set system for men,
The children look after the herd,
I joined them having fun,
No school, no lessons or homework.
Then,there were the Morans,the youths,
They wore black **** cloths,
Carried a spear in one hand,
Their faces were painted with white ochre.
They protected the clan and the cattle,
From predators and other tribes.
They lived in a circle of huts called manyatta.
After being circumcised the Morans were taught the art of warfare
The bravest warrior got to wear the feathers of an ostrich.
The senior morans could marry and settle down,
The Moran who jumped the highest got the best girl.
The Laigewenanis trained the morans to be warriors,
My maasai was a laigwenani,
Like all maasais, he was tall and lean,
He wore a bright red shuka cloth with black stripes,
A red tartan blanket was slung on his shoulder,
He always held a long bladed stabbing spear,
His long hair was tightly braided,
He had ochre painted on his body,
He had no children and treated me like his son,
He would take me to teach the morans about warfare.
But,he had to take the permission of the chief, the Laibon.
The Laibons were the chief religious leaders,
They settled disputes,
They decided when and on whom to attack.
Luckily,after two months my maasai and I had gone to a game reserve for hunting,
A game warden found me.
He alerted the police and I was taken home safely.
But,I missed my maasai and their pastoral way of life.
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
The second poem in the series by my alter ego, Count Orlok the wicked Vampyr
O how the moon peeps out gaily from behind a pink cloud,
Its light shining wanly on the grave of my fat neighbour,
That ugly old **** Bert Higgenbottom, follower of silly old Jesus,
As my vampyr fangs glisten in the ***** moonlight.
Ding! **** The midnight bell tolls like the clappers
And I rise fully ***** to begin the horrid task
Which I have been putting off for months:
The ritual defilement of his mouldy corpse.
What a shock to discover his nightdress-clad body
Lying next to his collection of Doris Day LPs;
Thus I turn the putrid plump corpse over carefully
Before sodomising it with my mighty circumcised ****
Yucch! It's a grim job but someone's got to do it.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:31 AM UTC
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.
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 9:51 PM UTC
my father was a
veterinarian
a lazy one at that
and when I was born
he simply stood by and
watched as my mother
circumcised me
with a carrot peeler
the trauma left its mark so to speak
mom and dad split up
when I was five
she ran off with the butcher's wife
he patented universal acid
a liquid that no container can hold
we don’t talk much these days
and the earth is slowly dissolving
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Here we are again, in the deathmask of the city spinning.
The circumcised sea with its crocodiles and scars.
Never is the onrush of blood so violent the falsehoods
of the sky that drip neon on our heads
from desiccated clouds so true
This is the wild:
To the clusterfucked and cloistered swimming
in their bowls of soup and the scuttled
shells synchronous in their bass pulse beeping
to the blackhats who don’t believe
their messiah will ever come because they hear
the trump of doom every second of every day
yet they still stomp in their flatbeds for joy
and the prismatic dead who drag themselves from
their gurneys to march through the alleys
like tuskless elephants shoving their fingers
into the sun’s fumarole determined
to disintegrate into a mist of Krylon and copper
where we carry our concrete world slung
over our shoulders and the ravenous
moon in its ellipse above beached night heaving,
eyes curling in their sockets like gunsmoke smoldering
hearts humming like taut snares beheaded fish
in front of us, beheaded bodies behind us
I drag mine along by the hair.
To the children and the panhandlers who greet
the lion like hello kitty
and the skittish magnetic few in their
lightning-spaded furrows
on the ecliptic chained but leaping ever farther
and higher like the wrecking ***** pendulum
and all the naked lost milling among the mummified
tenements, waving Geiger counters before them
as they wander the sweaty street holding their heads
high as they grind flesh against flesh
pulverizing themselves into rubble
measuring the toll of time by destruction
drinking in mercury and hard water and
shrapnel and gamma and fire and gold
to them I say:
turn your hourglass on its side turn
your hourglasses on their sides
then acknowledge me so I can die in peace.
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 4:35 PM UTC
the pro-anti-abortion argument:
so the tissue argument doesn't count?
so...
once the ***** leaves the body
of a male....
it is the sole possession
of a female?"
sign me up for euthanasia...
please! send me to
gaßkammern!
might as well cut my testicles off!
employ me as a *******
castrato for holding the harem
***** free...
so i can't *********
did i forget my napkin,
or did my bride forget her *****
just asking...
so...
as long as my ***** remains in my,
or on a tissue, flushed down a toilet...
but them she takes over
the ownership?
she gets the bigoted bargain
and bias?
**** me...
i'm sure a Rabbi would argue
that a 16 year old
is always ready...
because... given the current
secular year p.s. a.d. that's always
true...
so i can't...
**** off...
wait a minute... but i haven't
been circumcised...
look at me! woo woo!
next time i *********
into a woman...
i'll secure some wolf ***** into
a syringe...
and then implant a
Frankenstein experiment into her...
my...
didn't a woman, epitome...
make a case for desiring vampires
& werewolves?
**** it...
let's make josef mengele
2.0,
i'm ready...
i'm craving for the laboratory...
but... clearly... you're not...
given...
can a woman really claim such
ownership?
i must make an equal claim...
whatever i *********
into a tissue and flush it down
a toilet...
has to become a pseudo crocodile
child of the deep...
if only i was born in the end of the 19th century...
my Auschwitz would have looked much
more differently...
i would have attempted less twin experiments...
to curate a cure for the Siamese...
i would have injected women
with wolf *****
such a mild,
childhood fantasy...
and people worried
about the treatment of
heretics by the church in
the Renaissance;
if i were the primordial evil
of the 20th century...
i'd pocket my concerns...
where i began the 21st century with.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 10:56 PM UTC
Stand fast therefore in the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled again with the yoke of *******
2 Behold, I Paul say unto you, that if ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing.
3 For I testify again to every man that is circumcised, that he is a debtor to do the whole law.
4 Christ is become of no effect unto you, whosoever of you are justified by the law; ye are fallen from grace.
5 For we through the Spirit wait for the hope of righteousness by faith.
6 For in Jesus Christ neither circumcision availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision; but faith which worketh by love.
7 Ye did run well; who did hinder you that ye should not obey the truth?
8 This persuasion cometh not of him that calleth you.
9 A little leaven leaveneth the whole lump.
10 I have confidence in you through the Lord, that ye will be none otherwise minded: but he that troubleth you shall bear his judgment, whosoever he be.
11 And I, brethren, if I yet preach circumcision, why do I yet suffer persecution? then is the offence of the cross ceased.
12 I would they were even cut off which trouble you.
13 For, brethren, ye have been called unto liberty; only use not liberty for an occasion to the flesh, but by love serve one another.
14 For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this; Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
15 But if ye bite and devour one another, take heed that ye be not consumed one of another.
16 This I say then, Walk in the Spirit, and ye shall not fulfil the lust of the flesh.
17 For the flesh lusteth against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh: and these are contrary the one to the other: so that ye cannot do the things that ye would.
18 But if ye be led of the Spirit, ye are not under the law.
19 Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; Adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness,
20 Idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies,
21 Envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past, that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.
22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,
23 Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.
24 And they that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.
25 If we live in the Spirit, let us also walk in the Spirit.
26 Let us not be desirous of vain glory, provoking one another, envying one another.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:17 AM UTC
2nd to rise, she enquires
you ready for coffee?
it's only 6:22am
if you're having, I'm having...
she quiet disappears
thinking coffee's coming,
when to this layabout,
it occurs,
she's making
coffee in the ****
get up, make myself presentable,
track her,
the coffee aroma pulsating,
radar signal emitting
sure enough,
coffee in the ****
grinding, dripping...percolating
but what I see is
contrast and
definition
appliance white
stainless
steel chrome gleaming,
walnut wood cabinetry warming in
Vermeer sunlight window in-streaming,
a Chagall and Botticelli duet,
freshly filtered
thru a Manhattan sky
and flesh,
freshly filtered
flesh
is not a Crayola color,
or
if it is,
it's more a spectrum,
than a single shade
but this moment morning
flesh is more realized,
as if recognized for the first time,
by a newborn old timer,
who senses the
comprehension tension of circumspection
circumcised differentiation,
flesh knowledge gradation gained
this poem,
a first attempt at
painting a ****
in words
appreciating task enormity,
for there are currently
insufficient words,
too many striations,
all cannot be straitjacketed to the
vocabulary palette
this then,
but my first definition of many,
of
flesh
so many canvasses,
so many undiscovered shadings
awaiting
****** recognition definition,
composition
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:27 PM UTC
This ******* heart beats thrice per second
Pumping in and pumping out the black tar from my lungs.
If the body is a temple,
Then I have abandoned mine
No one now kneels in this void.
Baptized in whiskey,
Circumcised with a machete.
It’s no coincidence that,
I was born on the full moon
In the midst of a hurricane.
Learning how to eat with no spoon
But this is who I am.
We each have a cross to bare
Mine’s just covered in scalpels
Sharpened bread knives,
That draw wrinkles on my face.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
Grown my beard long enough,
time, now, to
announce to the world,
the demands of the new Caliph:
First a rider on raiment -
of black be your fashion.
Then, in the name of the Lord
the most merciful,
We demand razors!
Yeah we need more of them -
for shaving our underarms
and other sacred duties outlined below.
We demand brides!
We can knock at your censured
doors at night:
for faithful brides and
infidel ****** for pleasure.
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Madam, may I ask,
is your modesty circumcised?
In the name of the Lord, most merciful,
Can we have more watches please?
But mannequins, they must be covered.
And when we huddle the infidels
in trenches or behead your sons
please, we do so in but peace!
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
.*thank god the English girls were into Pakistani boys... i'm literally off the hook... not that i was expecting to bang one of their hoards of spending outside a male sensibility of earning money... thank god i can double up with not being circumcised.... phew... uninhibited listening sessions to early Madonna, like some Duran Duran fetish... make-over death-metal... bass, man, the bass! the 80s snared the mark... woah woe... oh woah... so is there something to be bothered about? no? wh'aaah don't you use it... wh'ah'ah'ah'ah'ah... this is the part where i pretend to give a **** right? so i basically get to **** an oyster or a chattering clam? which one is which one is where i get reminded that i originate from eastern Europe, whereby eastern, Europe, is around the Urals, knee deep in **** in Russia? Copernican antithesis or something?! oh, don't let me down... i'm trying to get into the groove... you have your commonwealth fetish party, i'm the damaged goods guy... i'm the guy who'd make a great dog-leash companion but a ****** father.... well... don't know about a father, more like a ****** boyfriend... thank **** i'm not the sort to mind myself as: the desired goods; it's like... holiday... for 71 years; give or take; **** if i was the person, deluded, about fulfilling the role of a partner... no... that was never going to work... i'm out... the end... a big NO NO... i'm ******* listening to Duran Duran... if i had a girlfriend, she'd be in her late 40s for fuck's sake!*
not a lot of birch trees in western
europe, eh?
plenty of oak filled forests...
not many pine tree forests?
sure...
east meets west;
back east an oak tree
was... UNESCO...
western Europe...
not so many pines...
are there?
don't lie... i know there
aren't...
and there aren't as many
marshlands...
with marsh reeds....
in western Europe...
the air is variant in terms of
the perfumery...
but sure as ****
a lack of birch treets...
and certainly the oak
overcomes the pine tree
in terms of counted density.
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
tell me the color of your *******
tell me the length of your ****
tell me the way your **** tastes
and if your legs shake around my head
tell me if you're circumcised or not
tell me if you like pain
tell me if you're wet
tell me if you're *******
you're *******
you're *******
and I've got my tongue licking like a dagger up your walls, finger scraping
and I've got my legs wrapped around you while I'm rubbing your *****
cosmo never told you how I like the face you make when you say my name
and I'll tell you if
I'll put my tongue where you want
so long as you say my name
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
*the aerodynamics on that **** past the **** **** me... miles davis on the trumpet! followed up by john coltrane on the sax.*
sure... it's like egg-friend rice, of any kind replicable...
but this is hoisin sauce, and soya sauce...
jumping at each other in the mix...
or that's: half an hour, sitting on the window-sill,
sitting on my foot folded, massaging my ****
thinking: there's bound to be a few more
inches' worth of **** stuck up there....
c'mon heel! massage that **** a bit more,
if we get a few more farts out... we're bound
to get the **** out too!
that's the funny thing... you can have a lodged ****
but then you can also **** and the **** doesn't
come out...
how do farts byspass the ****
that really is, a weird question...
it's a bit like comparing it so psychiatry...
all these thoughts (farts) keep coming out...
past this thick fudge-berg lodged in my head (the ego)...
how did they ever bypass that shit-berg's worth of contemplative
and monetary's unit worth of reasoning about,
in the first place?
well... if you're going to circumcise people...
might as well call the **** the mind...
and make fun out of circumcised freud...
better now? ah hmm mmm?
farts the thoughts, thoughts bypassing the lodged
in **** turd's worth of ego...
surely if there's aerodynamics... there must be some
sort of cognitive-dynamism... a bypass...
people love to simply call it ignorance...
but it's not...
oh, lookie here... fits neatly, right into my trouser pocket;
what was it?
farts, thoughts, ego, ****
well.. you know... some of us like the idea of shortcuts.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 5:21 PM UTC
The Umbilical cord is cut upon .... first breath.
Separating us from mother;
Pushing us to thrive in a manner outside...
Maternal internal cannibalistic vampirism.
Circumcised upon ****** classification.
Separating us from father;
Peeling away the skin,
Exposing the core of the apple.
Hair is pruned.
Separating us from the psyche;
Leaving us in the dark,
Like a shadow without a heart.
Held up by our foot.
Strung like a pretzel;
Smacked by the tune of historical blood,
Claiming degrees of separation.
We deny...
We are
(Mother and Father...
God and Devil....
Creator, Perpetrator,
Anti-Violator and Master Manipulator.)
Adam, Eve, Snake and Apple.
--Marie Moldovan ©️ 2020
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 1:00 AM UTC
import: the northern tongue bespoke of the didgeridoo with the larynx as akin. północ ze mną... reszta gnije! a ja w twym oku jak dziób kruka wydłubie prawde raz - kraka - raz jeszcze na pokaz chociaż raz! bo ze mnie nie kura... jeno kruk! czemu? bo ty swym tłumaczeniem grzechu równasz gniew naprzeciw: w okolicy reprodukcji z tłumaczeniem orgnanizacji społeczenstwa jako wedle znaku (=) ktory też jest równaniem jako krzyż... a wiec jest naprawde wiarygodne to aby kontynuować wybaczanie niby grzechów i tak naprawde praw w rubryce niespełnionych pierw zamiarów?
why then peer into the past without imagination,
and try to peer within the present with memory,
surely the present will not conjure any memory
had the opaque past any imagination,
i’d swear the burnish bush be nothing more
than what could be imagined,
not excess of skin on my phallus
as the shaft known as the female circumcised bit...
but i guess truth sidewinds while lies have the fortune
of walking a straight path into nowhere...
if there is imagination in the past i find it hard
to conceive phonetic images, i.e. letters being allowed in there,
and if future forsee such circumstance
i find it hard to let the future project images
as recognisable without a - z being recognisable first...
in order that they might be used... in order
that they might be used for ignorance’s sake if only that...
man remembers skeletons easier in terms of usage
rather than fully embodied canves of a van gogh
to say **** all... as most men do,
dating their mistresses for the first time in art galleries;
the fault of the past is that in terms of imagination it
cannot be re-imagined... but the future can be twice
remembered... given holocaust deniers...
simple... it can be simply denied because
what imagination would have conjured
reality conjured too much iron acidity of what went on;
please be intelligent when you read this,
i don’t have many readers and it’s already insulting
to ask my readers for intelligence; sorry.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 9:08 PM UTC
The world would be a better place if'
If three out of five women weren’t ***** around the globe
If 103 million women in Africa alone weren’t circumcised
And didn’t have to mutilate themselves in order to attract a husband
If 20.9 million plus weren’t sold into *** trafficking
If women and girls didn’t make up 98% of that number
If men didn’t make on average $7,000,000 more than women in their lifetime in the US
If one out of every six of American females were not *****
If they weren’t told
“It’s your fault”
“What were you wearing?”
“You must have provoked him”
“What are you complaining about? At least you had ***
If one of every forth woman didn’t experience domestic abuse in their lifetime
If every 15 seconds a woman is saved from battery rather than experiencing it
If the 16% of seats in congress stood equal to the 51% females make up for in the population
If 73% of girls under the age of 13 didn’t want to change an aspect of their physical appearance
And if that number didn’t raise to 90% by the time of adulthood
If girls weren’t told “think like a man!”
If “running like a girl” meant to run the fastest you possibly could
If there wasn’t a national debate on what women can or can’t do to their own body
If girls weren’t sent home because her shorts were too short
But boys can wear a shirt saying “Cool story babe, go make me a sandwich” without anything being said
If girls could venture alone at night
Without being scared of the men hiding in the dark
If we got over this notion that cat-calling should be regarded as flattery
Rather than a threatening presence by an unknown man
The world would be a better place if
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 7:46 AM UTC
For I would that ye knew what great conflict I have for you, and for them at Laodicea, and for as many as have not seen my face in the flesh;
2 That their hearts might be comforted, being knit together in love, and unto all riches of the full assurance of understanding, to the acknowledgement of the mystery of God, and of the Father, and of Christ;
3 In whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.
4 And this I say, lest any man should beguile you with enticing words.
5 For though I be absent in the flesh, yet am I with you in the spirit, joying and beholding your order, and the stedfastness of your faith in Christ.
6 As ye have therefore received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk ye in him:
7 Rooted and built up in him, and stablished in the faith, as ye have been taught, abounding therein with thanksgiving.
8 Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.
9 For in him dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead ******
10 And ye are complete in him, which is the head of all principality and power:
11 In whom also ye are circumcised with the circumcision made without hands, in putting off the body of the sins of the flesh by the circumcision of Christ:
12 Buried with him in baptism, wherein also ye are risen with him through the faith of the operation of God, who hath raised him from the dead.
13 And you, being dead in your sins and the uncircumcision of your flesh, hath he quickened together with him, having forgiven you all trespasses;
14 Blotting out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, which was contrary to us, and took it out of the way, nailing it to his cross;
15 And having spoiled principalities and powers, he made a shew of them openly, triumphing over them in it.
16 Let no man therefore judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of an holyday, or of the new moon, or of the sabbath days:
17 Which are a shadow of things to come; but the body is of Christ.
18 Let no man beguile you of your reward in a voluntary humility and worshipping of angels, intruding into those things which he hath not seen, vainly puffed up by his fleshly mind,
19 And not holding the Head, from which all the body by joints and bands having nourishment ministered, and knit together, increaseth with the increase of God.
20 Wherefore if ye be dead with Christ from the rudiments of the world, why, as though living in the world, are ye subject to ordinances,
21 (Touch not; taste not; handle not;
22 Which all are to perish with the using;) after the commandments and doctrines of men?
23 Which things have indeed a shew of wisdom in will worship, and humility, and neglecting of the body: not in any honour to the satisfying of the flesh.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:29 AM UTC
Searching through my circumcised conceits
ransacking allegorical nature
a more outlandish metaphor
alluding to your eyes glistening,
Though Shakespeare, were he to hear,
would revolve over over again
in his graves, may he feel free
to make jokes of.
I say with poetic assertion
confidence, no other allusion
would come closer to truth,
to my purpose, than me saying,
your eyes contain the sparkle of ten million diamonds:
they are far
far brighter than any sun.
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
we hang on to that ****** thing
hoping it will bring
us luck
does it?
does it?
the **** it does.
shove it,
don't hang on
don't love it
In these vaults where faults are bound to overwhelm me
the Skipper's all at sea and we are all alone
a helmsman with no land or home to tide him by
a reason only if to
if I want to
want to
die or why it has to be this way?
An Oracle would bid me sit and say.
'why hang on at all
Rome built in a day will fall'
it all takes time.
Time is just a cross to bear
a watch to wear,
a moment
dare we look?
dare we
do we give a **** about that thing?
what thing?
I've moved on away from that thing
that thing never did me good
I thought it would,
at one time
I thought the World was flat
that thing
circumcised my brain
colonised my train of thought
I need a ripcord
a Gordian sword
I found it in the word.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
I ran out of oil so I went to find more
this is what happened when I opened the door
A gentle transition had welcomed my feet
I was now walking to the sound of a beat
The pulse made its way to the top of my head
readied my body as if stringing a thread
Stitched up together with hands at my side
the air I inhaled procreated my guide
Infancy spread throughout my whole being
and with eyes circumcised I began seeing
Aged just enough by the end of each day
to comprehend that which no one could say
Treading along as the hours threw clocks
it was time in the form of stumbling blocks
Wearied I'd grow and I'd take up my rest
on things to which only my soul could attest
The process by which my flesh was restored
and freed of the ghosts that my temple would hoard
Then finally lightness had sprung in my step
and I returned home, to that one I had left
What I'd forgotten was now all I knew
the oil I'd needed adorned my own room
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 7:31 PM UTC