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Stu Harley Nov 2018
lord
turn our hearts into shields
let freedom liberty ring
when
justice step
upon
the battlefield again
oh lord
when
the
lamp of courage glow
and
sparkle beyond
the
green hills of Copperfield
and
there
we shall know
I opened an email today. I was told of how I must look "Good" in order to be "Taken Seriously" or "If People wish to Even Take You At All."
Like David Copperfield, The Caged Tiger,  and The Joker.
Placed in "One Big Finale."  The "Entertainment" of this "Show" had started.
The Joker was not like all the rest. He became evil by being outcast,since youth, into adulthood; for scars that were not of his own  doing.
He decided to "Pay Back" The "Normals" in one big "Contest to Win The right To Live and Not for the Tiger to have your "Pretty Little Faces to Maw."
David Copperfield thought he could Escape and to "Save everyone's day" "From the scared up ugly which had made "His own choice to become Evil."
As the judges took their seats, the contest was about to begin.
A puff of smoke, some mirrored tricks, and a flashed destraction and David thought he was "Home Free."
Grabbing for the form in the clouds he thought was the "Joker," he grasped for the capture.
"Poor Magic Boy!" - The Joker sneered as he took his place at the start. To grab some finally deserved spot light and a chance to **** an "Animal with Color that isn't Very Hard to Use for David's Adventures."
Whipping at the beast and working in a wooden chair, finally the Tiger Spoke Out.
"Why must you Human's Use me as a prop? A
Defined Addition as People's Property?"
"Why So Serious? You've got your fame, as Magic Boy's Lackey!"
Swiping the Joker to the ground with one strong whip of his front left paw, he knocked out the Joker, but, he never killed him.
Busting out the door, running for the Jungle.
Words were understood as the "Prop Animal" ran for his freedom.
"What makes me different, Makes Me Strong. I survive not only because of my 'Animal Survival Instincts,' however, the faith and determination to fight for my rights  to be true to who and what I am and to be free."
"Free to  rule My Own Earned thrown in my Rule in my very own  Kingdom."
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
If you don't by know as of yet whom
I refer to as __,
you will soon enuf;

It is rare that I can go there so well, even on occasion for the destructive,
5th dimensional gifts running backwards, Houdini by grave doing back-flips,
for along with the Heart's of David Copperfield types wanting to know how,
can we pick up a few of these tricks, in other lifetimes my type picked up many,
places along of course through Kemet's of Egypt, and not so far back but,
is where I had to go on the endless effort of trying to find the magical child,
already gone by first of memories and I thought woot hoot I could juggle,
the woes of humanity or inhumanity as I see know, you know by;

justification of I don't see any more or less innocence or guilt,
round here but if there is such a great need when I saw it,
and figged I cud get through it, it was love for what else,
could there be and I do, be and fill so much very need;

but X'yzz....ah 'um once there was Shakespeare,
an era wrapping up by befalling heads wanting bread,
of whom exclaimed well if those are their terms and conditions,
'Let'em eat cake' ergo and or our newer foundations; but as far as,
I knew it and I wondered and pondered how why wherefore before,
someone who seems projective of who dare be Queen or Princess,
more than aristocratic, the vine of genetics, KISS keep it simple silly,
why war for this nonsensical stuff;

it's not the decadent decedent's,
but off Divine Spirit;

well money power sure can keep well hidden powers and you can,
hmmm get along for a spell but here a spell there a spell with each castle,
Humpty Dumpty oh well;

but now again is the Globe again along with Life,
the stage we are cast upon truly;

it's time for our own era's Renascence;

but last I knew them truly with all gifts 5th dimensional they and their darkly companions,
too now here they are onto years unmentionable, still can't honor it and I guess they,
just want death, not more than one way about it, they will try to out wait and hate;

hahaha,
but by me I've taught them all they know and no matter who they turn against me,
10k in a court room dey'd not dare a step by one in however remember Howard Hughes,
I would say I do always love and though too I am the one and only and best friend indeed,
even though I know I am the enemy, no matter what they say believe think and even feel,
but I love to play nice like thrice no mines about it,
giving all overly good information,
fairer than fair warnings;

they gather darkly more into about their hypnotic spells castings, kinda crazy all dead set against me, when last to save their own ***'s, there were some identity issues and class type things but they were, known as good in the end and yet we have yet again to begin;

'dey don't know themselves not even by here now this lifetime alone,
black art denialists wooing all about with sugary treaty's they bark bark,
but if they bit the wrong cat here to hard their teeth would fall out;

yet and the roots seeded here now for the better part of the show with new,
edit-eers producers rolling arts in, I know, I will, I can, I see these things always,
before they appear and blood bearing beings near on, ain't willing give or take,
some where and the billions of years the dust rocks and trees already are on;

all kinds of well you know, what we've got going round now along with a time,
to come from the woods of our hidings and out from the fear to be gods birth right,
citizens we played a lot of silly games of peeka boo pretend,
ain't heaven ain't here the list is long,
we know all to well
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
i remember the meningitis scare:
   oh... it was very real...
i guess it was supposed to affect a niche
proportion of the population...

so much for the "scare":
they would vaccinate us in the schools:
since children were more prone
to succumb to: and inflammation of
the lining around your brain and spinal cord...

and all that: press a thumb against
a skin... and if the skin returns to its original
colouring: there's no blemish of applied
pressure... pressing glasses onto the skin too...

the aesthetics have changed so drastically:
what can **** you is so subtle these days...
it's hardly a case of leprosy...
or... eczema of the zombie plague:
or miniature lilal mushrooms growing
out from your armpits:
suddenly breaking into song:
  'steve told us to sing... so we have
sprouted: to sing!'
       no... celeriac sized warts... hell...
i haven't seen any pictures of covid-19...
as i never saw pictures of ebola...

            death has been given: an anonymity...
but what's still kept in reserve?
shingles...
     like: hyper-eczema...
                i'm having to consolidate myself
on the luck of being 30+ and still having...
a skin on my face that i can't peel:
but i'm sure that belzeebub took a dump on...

they're either dead maggots
or dead white blood-cells...
        i guess i have so many of the latter that...
my immune system is constantly
on a over-charge mode...
          
    where are the lilac mushrooms about to grow
out from out of my armpits:
when will death become visible again:
outside her womb:
without any anonymity to behold:
when will everything... "ev'fing"
  return to the obviousness of a guillotine...
a hangman...
      a... hanged, drawn and... quartered?

the improved aesthetics of the threat is hardly
be sitting in an armchair...
welcoming this: paranoia precursor...
there's no phosphorescent yellow-green phlegm
being shot through the air with a sneeze...

i'm quite disturbed about all this...
        "sterility"...
                      well thankfuly i know that
a schizophrenic can't beget a drone-replica:
dead'ed brain: "schizz"... zombie-cult-esque
   brain: riddled with parasites like...
a disciple of burrough's fever might provide:
subsequently... by...
   by caughing a splitting-headache that might:
somehow: "later": arrive at some variation
of bilingualism...
          but never will... perhaps it should...

because: right now: i want to wrong about everything...
i want to ****** with a hard-on of doubt...
and perhaps: tease negation a little...
or rub-rub-'er very much...
but i do: most honestly...
    want to be wrong about everything...
esp. when it comes to...
   the aesthetics of the "problem":
    it's a problem-solution: solution-problem
  quadratic...
           i mean: if it was truly cosmic... and original...
would it really care for much of aesthetics...
can viruses becomes stealth assassins?
   is a virus a misnomer of plague?
or is... a virus a former case of plague...
  that couldn't be: prior... weaponized?
   the rampant exfoliation of: the obliterated
concern for aesthetics...
   oh sure... it's clean cut...
           god knows what happened to those old
curiosities of medicine...

otherwise...

   what will 3 hours spent reading nothing but
Dickens do to you...
me? i "somehow" managed to miss / forget
about a sunset...
   came the night and... yeah: when meningitis
hit...
   and i guess after the mad-cow disease...
break-dancing limp feet cows...
drunk cows... morbidly drunk cows...

      there was always that postcard reference:
now?
you could obviously see the bubonic plague
from a mile away...
you could see eczema...
you can sure as **** see a shingles belt...
        would a virus even care...
to appease the aesthetic concerns of man?
how doesn't cancer do that...
well... i just start thinking about...
the botanical cancer... viscum...
hardly seen in western europe: tree-foundation
societies... etc.
   half an hour on the road outside of warsaw...
that's enough...

oh sure: because of covid-19:
who could, "somehow" forget about...
                  metastatic tumors!
oh the joys of... <cough cough> the carousel
or that ol' chestnut!
            come to think of it...
    would ingesting a tapeworm make thinks and things
more real?
what wouldn't be bad
about acquiring a symbiote these days?
     all: postulations of the mundane...
without yet within the science-fiction universe...
the facts will simply not stand the test
of time... or will... but will be shelved...
given to the bookworms and their placenta
worm-queen...

it's actually becoming a sieving tool for acquiring
nothing lost: of the old mundane...
the sterile aesthetics of the whole under-taking...
it's too: invisible: too pure...
to be... a freakish byproduct of nature...
sending us back in time...
as the original: single-cell organism
about to usurp the crown of creation...

    my list of conspiracy theories begins
with: catcher in the rye "coincidences" and...
that david copperfield sort of *******...
      because if it's not Pickwican...
it's certainly not an account of count
smorltork:
        peek - christian name
                weeks - surname; good, ver good...

otherwise these days:
the intellect has become a sponge...
and the supposed underlying:
because it is "supposed" and there's an
"underlying" aspect to all of this...
that there is a "dialectic" and...
otherwise: the bestest of the best kind
of...            soap...

is it a revival of an "empire"...
when at the height of its decline...
there was that motto:

     panem et circenses...

     what's underlying in Dickensian prose?
well... some of the words used...
i'd sit with a page and check the dictionary
3 times on average...
because there's still that underlying:
we, Britons, prior to the "english"...
the anglo-saxons... are the Afghanistan
oopsies of the ancient world...
there are so many words with direct
connection: etymologically "speaking"
with latin...

now: the bread is still "here"...
   of the 20th century... you could see a ****
coming way back in 1933...
and the communist... whenever that happened...
and you could subsequently trickle the "evil"
archetype into movies... into gaming...
and have people hooked on a bullseye of evil...

now? greyish blips and blobs of
Kantian bureaucracy...
    
o.k. panem et circenses...
looks to me...
like the circuses are long gone...
the bread is still here...
but... of all the seismic shifts this is...
hardly a ffffffffffff-ucking Pompeii!
riddle me this: riddle me that...
what can possibly become so... overly entertaining...
about eating a slice of bread?
why are the vermin: multiplying:
what's with all this: "huddling" at a distance?
need a cape with that: herr ubermensch?

last time i checked: rats do no operated
under herd scriptures...
there's not need for a shepherd...
there is: fire! scramble!
peep-squeak and more!
          
    an impeding confrontation with a pack of wolves...
a vegetarian lion convert...
                 the bubonic plague: lack of aesthetic...
and now this...
this supreme aesthetic of: when the ancient greeks
thirsted to conceive of the existence
of atoms...
          not that i require proof...
what so of circus: though...
      is, this?!

- yes folks... in the current climate of labyrinths...
the Minotaur isn't here...
and we're out of stock on smoke...
and... mirrors...

citations of a possible prediction to allign with
some variation of borrowed horrors:
to usurp the status quo and sentences us for:
there's no "third time lucky" therein...

all that's happened though:
mental people who would never allow
their minds to riddle them...
become claustrophobic by mere thought...
can you?
translate thinking into claustrophobia?
oh god... no... we haven't reached this nadir...
have we?
thought didn't imply θ(ought)!
that erotica of a would be pronoun:
the moral quest...
                  not because i did something bad
in the past...
but because:
i did what others didn't do prior to me...
i ride the wave of what a *******
said to me once:
after an ******:
this is only the second time it has happened
to me: hello ***** envy thrown out of the window!
hello sisters of mercy in some convent
in Limerick!
'allo! 'allo!

beside the moral conundrum of θ(ought): ought i?
this narrative of the ol' 'ed...
is... claustrophobic?
             spread this negation-of-ease further:
dear kin!
   dis- prefix that denotes negation...
ah... and -ease! the suffix that complete the circle:
no contemplation is necessary!

i'm still seeing bread, though...
oh mein gott! die zirkusse! die zirkusse!
what can be done about the circuses?!

people are coupling thinking with claustrophobia...
people are implored to read
for at least 3 hours a day!
a dickens! a tolstoy! a dumas!
and then relax from congesting paragraph strain
and explore the airy side of what was
written into prose and paragraph with
the aid of poetics: that non-exclusivity of rhyme:
always missing... best missing!

i too abhor this synonym:
poetry is what rhymes...
            a set list of: knock-knock jokes...
about as tasteful as...
               roast beef: done well done...
eating the bark of wood:
now that's an adventure!

            or what's... the adjective riddle / riddled...
of: now...
permanent - adjective... these days a host
of "calling scheitmeiser for all his worth"
and what not...      
                               now: the experimental
history of yesterday and "oops"
now: the cameo cinema of yesterday...
and god willing:
you have a "savings account"
of: memories that can...
suffocate the future: the imagining...
of and for the nought of nothing...
the "conundrum": of being...
such and such... and somehow...
retain: personhood...
rather than... a mere... citizentry "status"...
of the ebbing flow of cattle meat and dung:
itsy-bitsy spider teeth itching...
before the bone!
and... after the bones!

load of crock-**** Lombardy is not
Italy... mantra...
and those rites of rats from
the sinking ship that's Wenice...
much too... quasi-important...

      H - surd of a letter...
but the skeleton supposed to behind:
laughter...

the hibernian folk know it...
the english: eh... somewhat...
          bound to θ and bound to φ...
in t'ought... but not in: t'aught...
who needs the apostrophe?
no me: not "you"...
         third: or... θird:
or... ****... or τ(au) says: "herd"...
                             and what's "spezial"...
the surd worth of π (pi)
     in ψ...
                    or      'sychology...
              then there's "all that" with...
chrome: the χ that becomes a kappa (κ)...
but not... exactly the...
the...      ah!                   CHisel!
chasing dog's tails?

                            but a hardy: hibernian:
it's not an F... it's a T...
we have to expose the H-surd! primo
pronto!

    but ψ can afford...
          πσι in that...
                      either the π... or the π...
is treated as a surd..
cited: the whittle canyon of eta (Ηη)..
            ha: if it's a definite article in 'ebrew...
or ha: if... you need a consonant
skeleton... to breathe when laughing...

toes when marching: chin ching chatter...
otherwise "K / kappa" the matter...
taught to think it all but a massive:
****!
   or... a θurd... which is exfoliating in
the gaellic concept of: third...

i'm not from 'ere...
              mind you...
              this is all disneyland for m'eh et moi...
hello whittle atom me...
hello whittle atom you...
hello: hyvä aamu... susie 'ere...
       rakastaa... että ulvonta...
                 "unohti" haukkua:
fins... drawfs... and other whittle people...
eskimos of the "narrative":
   "kaikki alkaen apinamaa"!
    pωl pυt ***...
             and there's "3" of 'em!
exactly... what about the V'em...
             perhaps a F'ought...
      but: V'ere!
            V'em!
                            who the **** gets to
assure me: this language "ving" or "thin"...
sure hands... sure hands...
it's not all grafitti from chernobyll!

and what if... Joycean would 'ave to begin
its pilgrimage toward Dickensian?
this Ezra of ours: what of this...Ezra of
Fahrenheit of "ours"?

           my atom "versus" your... "atomized" man?
my spaghetti english
versus your... i'll sooner choke on ß...
or SuS...
         or SaS
                  SeS...          sayß...
h'american spaghetti english... *** riddled:
ghetto crown-tongue...


me and finding a juggling of chuckles
with: wit... hiding the ha ha...
when θ = τ...
hibernian...
poland the playground of god:
greek... the plaground of men...
esp. those as being cited:
with origin of the barbarian tinge...

  exatly! what of WH when TH are....
thought of "wen":
this grafitti phpneticism...
this barbarism...
no code of "conduct":
what should have:
and did "have": a happen to...
when it came to the ratio
of consonants to vowels...
  of the latter there was a supposed more...
or the latter a less...

    h.i.v. vampirism romances
would have to die...
  a death... most... closely associated with:
psychopaths: or...
the general pathology is: soul-quests...
all "things" considered...
there is no "grand-Σ"
        "past-participle":
of the unconscious-conscious liver...
does the part: actor... functions
of... i robot: you, not here...

the liver does what a liver does:
even if: i r woke...
and i r: sleepz...
               eyes only on when...
orientating myself around:
a failure of a distinct "individual":
moi foie premier...
   moi estomac premier...
and of "me" or... a me...
given that... there's no: "the me"...
            load of ******* and a chewing tube
of "worded"... "circumstances"...
as: "the alternative" to...
sorry... no other alternative...
was... or would ever... be given...
errror message 404 commences: as of: now!

- or... can you?
compensate a word like... draconian...
with a word... the periphery word...
akin to... byzantine?!
the kite's high up in the ******* air
my dear lad...
can you? "compensate" this...
marry of all other:
never-poppin' up 'ins?!

that's one way of minding:
a grey-ginger...
or an albino-masai...
for "good luck"... of all t'ings:
the lerprechaun 'ucking charm brigade!
that's just 'ucking necessary: that is!

as.... the people have already mentioned
their freedom: to cite and keep up to
the rigours of salutations...
they said and they said... and they:
sad but nonetheless: they sad-***-made-"truth"-of...
"it": 'ucking wombat
multiverse l.s.d.: me typing on an old... cranky...
soviet "qwerty" imitation...

the freedom prior to the plague:
i am yet to see...
the **** covid... and the leprechaun...
and the tarantula...
and the... leech...
   **** me: raining cats and dogs:
what a scenario!
     i was supposed to get...
               not leech: not *****...
those fidgeting terse quizzes...
          *****... no... leech... no...
leprechauns: double no...
             szarańcza... old mother-tongue:
ah yes... "these":
                                 locust!

the third of the lard off the herd of the most:
"likely"... nosense to me:
something for you:              up!
otherwise know as:
quiet a bollocking... wouldn't you,
somehow... please... stage:
an agreed to?
               ****'s sake...

  tyrd the triddle twiddle torn und
towing: dublin the sorry-eye: und sore...
you freckled maverick salt
burner you... and... it's a ginger:
stick-prone... keep y'er eager distance...

eh? that's true: is what's through...
**** paddy **** and a poor ******
walk into a bar...
and the bartender is... a kippah-don
of a rastafarian:
the jokes end...
and there was never a conversation
to begin with... ha ha!
now that's a joke... to wake up...
a frankenstein!

      ginger pleb: ginger poodle!
the new africa: the new eskimo...
or... the finnish gateway: etymologically speaking...
an alternative to... *** and...
              the leftover mongols
stranded by the waters
of the empire: receding...
          the...        no: not the croats...
the...
          a very much elongating concept
of pause....
              "d" or the "v" of: v'eh...: the...
the  immortal savages
of: crimea...
      ah yes!
                  those...            tar-tars!
like the tartare steak:
or what was forever available as
the alibi for: sushi!

        because tokyo is just one of those...
forever huan: new... beijing chicken shacks...
and "tokyo"...
or some other anime typo *******...

irish catholic intellectuals...
and... the none existence of whatever
would have required a magna carta:
believe it or... eat **** sort of
mentality...
            the russian doctors
are already abiding to be hunted
if not huddling in churches...
because: co-vex said: co-vid...
co-vid: sharing blockbuster intrusion
pokes was: that last resort to
mortality: and oh...

          this should have happened a long...
a long long time ago...
  transparency tourism...
where you going?
nowhere...
  and "where" is "going"... "nowhere"...
a bit like france... and the eiffel tower...
and there's no speaking french to have
to be resolved...
because like: "**** it" and what?

the ginger-ninja... the ginger-ninja...
the ginger-ninja and...
when the reality of *****...
reaches... an escalation "reality"
of: synonym with... oh god! beards!
ugh!           vot                          ven?!

yep... and the irish were always:
the horse-breeders..
they always were...
always the catholic-intellect juggernauts...
because the hey'talians and
the spoon-innards...
and... mon deu: zee: fwench!
forget the ****** cathos-pathos...
*******-of-os...

and in me:
the gravitas for a disconcerting ambivalence...
almost a compound:
misnomer... but no...
i like the spaghetti though...
yeah: it looks nice on paper...
and off paper...
and anything to cite: the godfather with...
because: boo is a ghost story
that a solo would sell... and ******* like
that...                   yup...
which is a word: to replace the ideal trajectory of:
would be: ghost limb...
james bond...
                          roulette...
you the actors "faking it": no of course...
dylan thomas bob dylan...
"faking it" i.e. stunt actors!
what's "bob": when there's a ******* roulette:
and a devil's dozen of rich, russian...
oligarchal chick... pretending plastic is not...
new world... ******: comb-over...
creaking chair... stlye-on... style-off...
plastico-supermanoh... dynamo-oh-oh...
those "soz" and "whatsevers"...
works well...
the times column...
when your parents are... conscripted...

             mammoth playdough oh oh oh...
irish is cheap...
catholic is cheap-oh...
******...
ha ha... let's not go there...
becauße that's like...
   goldberg variations: the bwv 988 aria...
   yeah: "soz"... but... i'll ******* eat you:
if i have to: for the purpose assigned
to a hard-on... most associated with...
sparrows...
and... the pirates of the confines...
the magpies...
          
             in every period of congregational
"sanity" there's that interlude into:
madness...
howl how! oh dear world of:
that lost appetite of surprise!
        you begin to wither... and die off:
by the slow culmination of hours...
like... a picture to entomb the perfecting
affair of a decaying pear... or apple...
               and...

            and....                 and...
trickling of sentiments...
and sounds...

                           and there are commentaries...
and there are... catholic bishops...
and protestant cardinals...
and ****** popes!             ah ha!
am i to.. truly... die... from laughter?!
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2017
with ref. with the title, i.e. my so called "poems"...
here's to tautology... it's not akin to a wd40,
but it really is akin ub40... white man dos
the reggae... wd 40? it's sometimes called
a paint-thinner...
  ub40? sometimes hailed as a nostalgia machine -
  or as we like to call it: the grey area.
the thing i mean, minus the punctuation rules,
i find to be worth a rocking horse
and an easy chair, and being aged 70 wiithout
allegiance to a crossword...
  i write: the so-called "poems",
when i can leave out the so-called and just
use the punctuation already included.
- there's already a booming industry to tell apart
saying and then writing: allegiance
          and allegience...
  æ.... graphemes aren't the basic
      units of encoded speech... had you noticed
the vowels and consonants? no? i can't do *******
with this tongue-tie other than make
bow-ties and distinctions,
or those halo-like hovering marks
above the letters known as
diacritical marks... and yes, poets
have a fear of the paragraph...
   they prefer to use the cascade verse....
i could write you a David Jacoby narrative,
or what could be worth a Copperfield-esque
cool... because it just happens...
  and i'm there to pick up the pieces
as narrator...
         but then i am of the sort of peoples
that leaves an umbrella / poem in
a crowded place,
and i leave it for reasons that can't be
far from the clerical authority of
a lost package office...
    i leave my **** where the sun don't shine,
i leave it there, just to tempt the kleptomaniac
magpie looking for a silver spoon
trying to shove it up its ****...
         and then fly... thinking it wasn't
tied down by some "obscure" anchor...
        i leave my poems in public
spaces, lest i turn to forget and not forge
a memory concern to conscript...
   a fern akin foliage of the lost tract..
and the needy footprint
needing applause with each step...
     it's no longer a case of London
being place you can be deemed as bored
and worthy of a scaffold to become
siamese worthy of an execution...
     i'm starting to think whether London
is split between Moscow and Dubai...
     and if approaching Kant's
pendulum of a priori and a posteriori...
there's the a fortiori cut in the middle...
pulverising from "a" beginning...
              and there we are, "beginning",
in concreto mort: a-,
    and that denotes: without.
death really has become a shabby piece
of furniture, a joke of keeping morals,
or needing to write a history,
of course, merely as an e.g.,
        and as an e.g. i feel no alliance towards it,
i have no desire to be "seen"...
  in a cafe, sipping coffee...
                      to be part of an insomnia that
cares no more for a a grave than it cares
for a bed, but it nonetheless roused
from each to establish heaven, or at least
dream...
  so i write my poems as if i might leave
an umbrella on a train...
      i call this kleptomania minor -
     i''m actully playing banker with it...
it's never exactly a high street with these
"exfoliations", but an alley...
  and i'm rarely found engrossed in
holding four roses... rather... clenching
four knuckles... don't know, i haven't
seen a man worth a punching bag in a long time...
  unlike my friend, who mistook me
for a punching bag, having seen his father
divorce his mother...
      landing on the moon was a bad omen...
it didn't make western civilisation
more grounded... the Islamic attacks seem to
translate as: stop exporting your "perfection",
stop your post-colonial colonisation!
    ******* never listen... what with Iraq
being a Saudi Arabian proxy-war...
what's with the delusion that the Islamic war
is somehow a unified body?
       Saudis hate the Iraqis and the Iranians
hate the Saudis...
                       the Turks are an anomaly...
except when combined with the Mongols,
situated in Uzbekistan.
the 2003 war was a proxy war...
           i held to account "democracy" when
the people marched, and left nothing
but a balloon pop indentation to be cared for
as effect akin to a stoppage...
       you had the catholics (sunnis) and
the protestants (shia)... they're not a unison
organism... they have had their own shism...
  all i can see is Iran laughing...
i can't hear anything about Shia extremism...
    orthodox Islam seems to be attacking
the protestant uptake of heretical texts found
in Egypt in 1945... it's attacking protestant
incorporation of ancient texts that neither
catholics nor the orthodox could care to accept...
   you couldn't find the nag hammadi
worked on in the underground in either a catholic
country or an orthodox country...
      that quote: you have to be cruel to be kind...
what's happening in russia is a way to say:
we need to keep homosexuality a taboo:
so we can have an artistic source...
    imagine if we gave the people what the west
gave, bypassing it all, given the science...
with a self-inflicted Behemoth idol...
        **** up north: testicles down south...
   for some reason the aylum disappeared...
     well... only because Hippocrates
    said to psychiatrists... you are inquiring into
their ailments without a cure,
                  but a desire for romantics!
well... that's called a singled out view of the world...
and anything beyond that is...
well... the world we live in.
             what is being imported isn't
exactly north african augustine - i don't know what
it is... michael jackon could better explain
his albino theory than i could explain a mirror.
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
upon reading frank o'hara's
getting up ahead of
someone (sun)
, while thinking
the days i spent reading
kierkegaard's either / or
it finally dawns on me -
it dawns on me that the most
benevolent teacher of
composition, is, well, it actually
is quiet simply: the reader;
it's almost odd, that no
"creative" writing workshop can
teach you,
by respecting reading, foremost,
by never the overzealous ****
of "creativity",
even the most debasing critique of
a book can be equilibrated
into, something akin to this;
while somewhere in a distant
future, the next john hinckley or
the next mark chapman,
is found, possessing charles dicken's
david copperfield,
   and not all that holden caulfield
sort of crap.
Cody Edwards Apr 2010
This not quite the underground, but still a strange corridor-
Scurrying in skirts and argyle and
Two-piece research paper suits.
They get together in the new Underground, they
Smoke old memories and sit in a stoner semicircle
To listen to old attendance records.

Humming the anecdotal lark, a man with a  prim tie
Rises and steps into the middle to slam. Over the deafening
Hookah comes David Copperfield.
Hello Voltaire, have you brought your
Reading glasses? The secret anatomies
Held in the inked atomies

Are all we come for. Let us in on this electric
Canvas. Let us paint out plots of plots that
All of us have known,
Around and underneath, and speak out our
Crayon set opinions, to tell the dim-eyed boys and girls
About in detail later. Ooh, say eight o’clock?
© Cody Edwards 2010
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
upon the universal statement:
once upon a time...
and subsequently to end with a universal
statement: they lived happily ever after.

well poet ought to shatter the narrator,
he should never allow the narrator
a narrative so well consistent
as to remember a character's standstill
psychology from one writing session
to the next, in between living his very
eventful life (i don't know how irony
is noted, italics or en-dittoed?),
but moving words about is high treason
against materialism, encapsulated by
the merchants' motto: move a stone
make a penny, move a mountain,
make a fortune. so beautifying language
is so horrid? really? we are all going
to be satiated by a dull numbed expression
like adding numbers, while the birds sing?
poetry is just hushed opera, to appreciate
the birds, and on the odd chance,
a raised human verse sung;
so when i give you examples, i wonder,
will you agree or wilt beside me,
from the italicised introduction,
four examples to invoke particularity / chirality
rather than universalism / parallelism:
a. *breakfast at tiffany's (truman capote)

    'i am always drawn back to places where i have lived,
     the houses and their neighbourhoods.
    "african hut or whatever, i hope holly has, too.
b. the catcher in the rye (j. d. salinger)
     'if you really want to hear about it, the first thing
      you'll probably want to know is where i was born,
      and what my lousy childhood was like, and how
      my parents were occupied and all before they had me,
      and all that david copperfield kind of crap, but i don't
      feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
     "don't ever tell anybody anything; if you do, you
       start missing everybody.
c. steppenwolf (hermann hesse)
     'this book contains the records left us by a man whom
      we called the steppenwolf, an expression he often used
      himself.
     "pablo was waiting for me, and mozart too.
d. don quixote (cervantes)
      'somewhere in la mancha, in a place whose name
       i do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago,
       one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on
       a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.
       "vale.
the ninth gate is truly a film about bibliophiles,
and the alley where i popped open a beer bottle
while two lovers kissed waiting for me to
craft a scene as if a forbidden love was revealed to me,
and indeed it was: no dread of jealousy at not
being coupled, but all the same, hatred
invokes apathy, it cannot claim platonic pathologies
of lovers (first), poets (second) and sibyls / prophets
(third)... hatred is tiresome, it walks no thirteenth mile
the same day, and when hatred exposes apathy
it is assured: apathy breeds no pathology,
love on the other hand breeds a lacerated maggot pit
of pathology; whereas atheism just breeds factual
reevaluation and constant reinterpretation
without proofs, theism plagiarises, and wants
to prove... really really prove... and get *******,
or at least roman catholic castrato songs to boot...
pure narration? just now, you spotted it?
poetic digression is the only way a poet can
become akin to a narrator in the medium of fiction,
poets digress... fictional narrators are all bound
to the titanic... on course for unchangeable history...
poets digress to create their own narrative.
so to begin with (need to ***, need to ***, will
i survive the wording to the end?)...
the generic and easily analogous once upon
a time
is akin to an open field... many directions,
much open space, many congregational opportunities...
in the end few books of fiction are finished,
too much inanimate details and symbols,
not enough images, books without pictures
are stupid, as alice would have said...
slowly but surely the readers drop off,
a bound book with a thread of silk that acts
as a bookmark end halfway through the thickening:
undercooked pasta, raw tomatoes...
but the process from the beginning to the end
makes the acre of gold-simmering wheat
turn into a pinhead...
writers forget the element they're writing
parallel to is claustrophobia, i know,
how can a phobia become elemental?
people get killed, that's the foremost proof for me...
narration in grand novels is a bit like
a growing bulging claustrophobia...
the acre of a wheat field becomes a box-room...
and as this happens the paradox emerges:
we all wish to embark upon a and they
lived happily ever after
, but we're given
a once upon a time, in reality we begin
with they lived happily once,
and end with it was once the case...
i figured i did the worded arithmetic better
in my head a few minutes prior...
but then i became bothered by julien torma's
words. who was julien torma,
he was a would-be-poet on the fringes of the Dada
movement: Dada being like black panthers
and big lebowski movements against the war in
vietnam, although more to do with world war i,
let me cite him just so you get a feel...
lyricism: a venereal disease.
             a poet who is preoccupied with
poetry is a shopkeeper.

on the second point... i think he's more of an antique
dealer, but never mind that,
i get the point, and i don't mind what he minds,
i find any if all poetic endeavours a futility,
but i rather write a poem to be discrete and actually
read fully / contently / due course to express
the way a poem is written with ensō fluid
spontaneity: than oblige myself to write a novel:
better a stack of stones dismantled from a pyramid
shape than a mountain never climbed;
as i told you, poets can't narrate, they can digress,
and poets aren't like writers of fiction,
they can't latch themselves to the narrowing
from acre of field to a box, or a room,
they can't grasp claustrophobia as the drive
for that perfected the end, it's impossible...
they're always shrapnel narrators, a free moment,
a guess; as the paradox of writing dramas,
they're written because they're intended
for what the populace expresses: an uneventful
life to the limit of the total of all predictability:
death - dare not tire of boredom, keep it
like a constantly stretching rubber band, and then
death comes... SNAP! cushion cosy on that morphine
are we?
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
writing poetry can be rather humbling,
you have to bow before the traffic wardens,
pat the backs of bus drivers,
it is a humbling art,
               there's no real canvas,
and in the digital age: there's not much ink.
you have to humble yourself
             in ****** terms: great if you're a woman...
oh ****... if you're a man...
            and you can't seem to ever become
"the artist" -
                           poetry on the side is
acceptable, but poetry written with the aghast
missing: but i'm also a plumber - is
   another conundrum -
                so yes, poetry is a bit like
telling Picasso he can sit among the 5 year old's
  exhibition of their crayon masterpieces -
it's truly humbling...
                              sexually it's like
being impotent or at the very least: castration,
and never mind you actually obtaining
a castrato voice for the Vatican choir...
                truly is: a humbling experience.
  the philosophers attacked, then the psychiatrists,
and the novelists just wrote a paragraph
            and that was that:
the hand moves, the clock ticks...
                       poets are leeches, the end, and a happily
ever after.
                   it truly is a cenobite affair -
or as one says it: a tad bit monkish -
                                 now, plot a monk in
society: what do you get? oh sure, fervently wanking
myself to sleep, been doing it since the age of 8
before i could produce the *****:
         it's subliminally muscular orientated -
nothing about the ****, let alone the jazz...
   you bothered? i'm not bothered... you bothered?
    i'm not bothered...
                       and where (if not in poetry)
would you find no characters and an uninhibited
narrator who said: well... **** David Copperfield
and Jane Eyre - i'm going solo...
                    and i know, i have my little
soppy story... who doesn't?
                     but the choke / joke of the matter is...
being exposed to solely happy stories doesn't
make you happier -
                                according to Nietzsche i
have no shame because i exploit my experiences -
that too... why keep a private life sacred when
it's burdened not by the shadow of a tree of
knowledge... but a crucifix?
                          also a tree... oh look! he's waving
a hello! god knows how he did that!
that trick is better than that walk on water...
i'm all beetroot flustered with my cheeks grin-pink.
           sarcasm... or, the way to write
the less humbling sort of poetry... or to escape
musicology (namely rhyme, or the one note song
by Tenacious D) using a rickety raft that
poetry is... get the humours in,
   **** the furies,
           **** the fates...
                               ensemble: F... is a holy letter...
now the chance to hypnotise someone...
             and whoever said fairies gets a bonus...
   but it is, truly, humbling...
   sexually it's like this motion toward the trans
movement - chop my ***** off insert a pseudo-****
and job done... inject the right amount of hormones...
grow a beard... and Thomas' your uncle...
   of Bob... or Sinjit... or whoever taught you
the joke in mathematics class when describing
infinitesimal calculus (Herr Crickmore,
former trader / broker)                                      -
(oops, left the hyphen wide)                   never mind,
but the thing is... even though poetry
is a humbling experience...         i find novelists a bit
like lumberjacks...    they're hacking a tree,
and they're hacking and hacking a tree...
                 and they keep hacking the ****** tree
until a tree becomes a five-hundred page bestseller
   and about 1000 boxes of toothpicks
   and 2000 boxes of matchsticks (roughly, jokingly,
because it's probably more) -
                well sure...
                     i don't write poetry to entertain,
or to: "voice my concerns" -
                         i have very little care for the former,
and even less care for the latter -
            i have no idea why there's so much
patting-on-the-back for essayists and novelists -
       one clue gives it away:
                   they write so much... because they
could speak for so long without enough lubricants
akin to whiskey or water...
           silence? well... that's an altogether different
lubricant...as it is: i hate character constructs -
   and i hate an even blander narrator -
poetry is a humbling experience: after all, they treat
poets as if they're ******* when "serious" trades
provide for society -
                                    and you know why the mentally
ill sometimes **** people? the same reason as the above
stated... the populist medical pyramid is there...
i walked past a pyramid today, well, a scrap of it:
raising money for cancer patients...
                    reality? 19 pence drugs to preserve life
are scraped because *** drugs are more necessary...
never seen people have more fun...
          but all other ailments?
  too weird... too science-fiction... don't exist.
        well... ain't that nice... cancer gets the priority
and all the glamour of advertisement and
oh god... all that running the mile for charity in pink...
   with Stephen Hawking levitating waving
a telekinetic chequered flag at the finish...
            but the rest of humanity's ailment?
imaginary - or at least that's what it feels like.
if there was ever a pyramidal indentation in
humanity's perception, there's one now -
a hierarchy - as with cocktail parties and the glamour
of the *******-in-a-monkey-wrench literati dinner parties -
             well, those pyramids are well and truly
    ingrained in our minds...
                  and i thought that the point of hierarchy
was bound to how many holidays you took
   and what sort of television you owned...
guess not...                            but always, always!
    always that need to reach for a hierarchy...
                 and who were the first to voice their
concerns? the melancholic -
   5 in 1, 5 in 1 year asphyxiated at York University...
    and this is not the Homeric kinds...
                      all the time i'm
turning the huh? of the perplexity of existence
           (because, to be honest,
i don't know what life is: not thinking and cocktail parties?)
              d'ah ****?
                                   sure, the old testament
said enough about the voice in the wilderness...
well... try finding a wilderness i'll find you
a nursery rhyme: Ol' McDonald had a farm...
        time to see where that voice once found
in the wilderness went... oh look...
                                     it's no longer a voice...
and it's not in the wilderness: or the farmyard...
              it looks like it turned into
a thought                                                  in the abyss.
Jay Jimenez Feb 2013
Laughter
as we watch our comedies on
nbc nightly tuesdays
Ben and kate
two broke girls
what the ****
As a secret slaughter goes on
And the genocide of a million minds
happens without us evening knowing what's going on
we laugh and we laugh
as our children get fater
our oceans get dirtier with foriegn oil
our earth aches in pain
our tv keeps distracting us
as the sun is waiting to explode
I hope a solar storm happens
so it knocks out every network
so our minds are free
and then maybe we will look outside our window again
maybe then we will see what is truly going on
the true terroism is just a click away
Fox news and media flaunting there depression pills
and the main predator is these pharmaceutical companies
telling us were sick and need help
so we rush to get the fix
when really its a sick twisted david copperfield trick
but whatever
let's keep watching 30 rock and snl
as our lives slowly fall into a hell
a living hell
a living comedy
what a disgrace
what a waste
take a look in your community
poverty is next door
its funny how we think were so safe
in america were like a mouse in a maze
cept there is no exit
were trapped
were trapped
not me I free my mind
and spread the word
threw words and writes
because if anything
Ill make this right
ill carry on the fight
ill make it right
and ill open that door
to shine light into this blind folded world
Jordan Robertson Jan 2014
Broken thoughts, Broken promises.
I remember you promised you'd be there.
The toxic waste
That leaks from your heart and mind
Poisons my remaining self-worth.
My sense of self validity
Vanishes.
Like a Copperfield canary.
You were my other half.
Now my circle of trust
Is simply an open parenthesis
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
poetry written in English
just reminds me of
agent orange in Vietnam:
               or the anorexic
   tailoring of some city-state
fashion week -
            twenty girls
     to one Mongolian yak;
it actually sounds as horrid as it sounds...
premature depression of
its users... when old age should be
reserved depression...
    their old age has dementia
reserved for all its worth of accomplishment...
   sadness in youth when old age should receive it...
and dementia in old age when
                youth has nothing demented to give...
only another imitation of Catcher in the Rye
or a David Copperfield -
                   or the faking of cult:
  when old age should deem itself sad,
it's their youth that's sad...
   and its elders demented -
                    because its youth
can't allow old age to fathom sadness of an
all encompassing accomplishment;
                 my excuse is?
   i never ventured into colonialism -
                  i can't, by reason, integrate into
using the tongue completely -
            for i have no tattoo that says:
slave owner no. 10256901 -
              or no ****** guilt at not doing
the better runner from King Fuji-Moochou
   of Ivory Coast selling me to the pink pimple-skinned...
   **** me... it's great not having that sort of guilt
imbued in me grappling with history,
and the first offender: **** Germany as the
prime excuse making me pristine, holy
by comparison... ha ha! as if! Mao killed off
   many more than you care to believe.
                  all i have is Lithuanians telling me:
you ****** us over... while i ask a Lithuanian
girl to kiss me in a pub... and she does...
             oh god... sanctus polonius pseudo israelii.
oh how dreams don't come true
you sighed deeply into the night

looking at me like some sort of resolution had arrived
i was not there to wash away the life you had known
i chose to make life better for each of us

that was not going to happen

my life plan was to live
your life plan was already in shambles

there was no blue print
no scale model
just ideals

long dreamt ideals of who i should have been for you
you said i lied to you
that you were disillusioned with the idea of who i was

am i Copperfield?
there were no smoke or mirrors
only your addiction and vanity

Houdini?
i never tried to escape
into the countless bottles that accumulated

Blackstone?
i only tried to put you back together
every day after you tried to tear yourself and us apart

the magic was all around us and some days you even saw it
most nights you cut right through it

if i was your illusion
then you became the analogy

you might be my 1 great love
but you will never be a mistake

nothing hurt more than the words in your eyes

you said you became poison
was i the catalyst to that transformation

there is talk of mole hills now

then you spoke of our dreams

i even made the purchase
you finally broke me

there you were
moving brightly down civilized lane
basking in the glow of someones technicolor dream
was it even yours?

you finally sold it to me and here i sit
thinking of all those dreams

i
never
dreamt

missing things only you could have fed me


i have a mirror now
and i find myself looking

you tried to fill the ever growing void deep in me

i failed you

because the only things that kept me going
were the things you hated most

i feel the void and i feed the void
but it is sated because it is me
not something coerced into belief
neither is it a curse to which i was bequeathed

the void was here before you
the void will live beyond me
i will live before it takes me
  
yet as i go about those days
etched on the back of hand
will be the broken vision
of that life plan
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
i still managed to catch a whiff of britpop...
i was going to st. augustine's
and all the boys were all about the oasis
look... so ben sherman shirts...
          never tucked into the trousers...

but this was in the 1990s...
             of course the celebrations were short-lived...
sooner or later a prog variation of brit-pop
had to come about with radiohead...

i kind of skimmed over the early stuff...
there, there - from hail to the thief is my stand-out
track...

having just watched a movie about
the iceman... a one ryszard kuklinski -
well... if the icecream truck:
mongrel dutch-irish and this one ******
would never make into the guinea club...
or the elder fathers of zion...
guinea? seems i was misinformed...
rome's best wops... or donatello goombah...

i'm having trouble with all these
anglo-saxons slurs...
     back in dandy ol' england...
             it's not a great period piece:
happening right now...
to be in the protected class of citizentry:
no mosque... oh hell:
protected status with a falafel?
exactly... where's the falafel?

             but from the movie... wow...
it is: but it isn't... a racial slar...
the one word from skiing these oomp'ah-
loomp'ahs *** 'ight...
                        
and in mewwy ol' england i come across
the natives... almost for a second time...
not the same sort of natives
i met prior to my 1997 / 1998 interlude...

perhaps 7/7 happened?
                      i really don't know...
                  but no great cultural export...
no oasis was sang on the continent
after oasis songs were sung...
it's not like kasabian made it into that
transcendental meaning on offer...
    
      hey! variations: pollack!
   paul-lack! st. paul's lacking? what?
a head... in athens... ah ha... dry martini of
a joke...
    but who am i?
        profession? pole / paul...
       ******* in my spare time, jackson jr.,
because... it's hardly a slur...
it would be a slur if i were called
a *** or a goombah...
the anglo-saxons wouldn't exactly
the rooted natives...
but they would...
it's as if expected:
from speaking latin and the eagle-fetish
to brewing cappuccinos...

a dutch-irish... well a dumb pollack joke...
yes... and now that the virus is caughing
via the retards in the supermarket isles
or licking ice-cream / toilet rims...
i guess an honest workforce is...
something to be less ashamed of...
compared to this ****** nation of:
the readily to be exile puke of reason...
"of their own"...

               i seem to have elevated my...
concern for words...
     i have just started to read my Charles Dickens...
and relying on Monday
to eat a more delightful roast dinner:
i says... it taste better... because it's not
a Sunday... it's a Monday...
plus... the roast is not exactly a roast...
it has some elements of bleau at the center...
because... you can't expect three
people to eat that much meat in a single sitting:
given the recipe for those yorkies from
ol' grandma of a james martin...

100g of flours, 4 eggs... circa 200ml of milk...
salt, pepper...
the dough is left in the fridge for an hour
at least... the yorkie trays are put into the oven
at 220C with the oil...
while the tatties are browning and the beef
is readying itself for the abstract
of my mouth... and the cubism of my ***...
pristine squeeze...

        if only in h'america...
            what wouldn't a norman davies call
the polacks if not industrial albino (s)*******?
then who were or would be... eire-
just -ish?
                         but the new continent:
i'm toppling down into the torso of a well-off
snowman built from an avalanche...

if there were britons here prior...
which includes the welsh and the scots...
and those people of Shropshire...
and those botanical tsars of Kent...
whoever these people are...
the noble barbarians...
   the better of vikings with no fjords
to revel in farming on?
   maybe those kind of people...
that sort of the native...
oh god forbid i should entice the cosmopolitan
brood to enter the debate...
not in the heart of the matter: come york
and its shire...
                      some longshank hobbit might
just pop its head up to high and kiss
a guillotine!

if there were the anglo-saxons...
    eh... some of us came... settled...
we wanted to... find... the englishman...
circa... 1860 - 1950... that sort of timeframe...
i guess we finds him...
question is... czy ja jestem, lecz czy on?
that's a good question...
is he the host and i the parasite...
well... funny that...
he isn't a body...
                       he's an oak that was uprooted
from somewhere among a many many
pines and birches in the eastern provinces
of this continent...
and moved... into a garden...
lurking: shadow... hunched crow
and some other hideous comparison...

am i the parasite? what host of a mind i did
acquire: who's me...
or i am him... then i'll drift into the other
trench and i'll tell the germans
that they're fighting anglican saxons...
what? yes i'll tell them...
they're not lutheran saxons...
they're anglican saxons...

              how? they have a monarchy...
a crown, central...
no petty princes bound to a federation...
i have also some across the modern natives...
the alt-right and the ethno-nationalists...
apparently: i'm not in the club...
how could i be...
i overheard them talking about...
electing a monarch...
election of monarchy...
    well... no point investing in the gene pool...
last time that was tried...
was in the guise of the polish-lithuanian
commonwealth...
the brothel of kings...
some were hungarians, some were "germans"...
some were even swedes...
the aristocracy elected a king...
a john lackland sorts from across europe...
until their big brother richard
or some variant of Otto or the proper didlo in
hand charles gustav would...
appear to wrestle with his baby brother's:
"betrothal" - evidently thart's one for the misnomer
and inversion...

the anglo-saxons as they were to be later known
as... no point beating about the bush...
but... i have measured myself against
these other inhabitants...
the welsh, the scots, the irish... and... well...
i'm not here on part of a conquering army...
my fellow countrymen are just about overwhelmed
by enjoying 100 years of privy
and freedom... little much of good will that do them...
a half-bred popular opinion:

that i hide my language in the freedom
i allow myself within english...
i'm here for the Dickens and the sunday roast beef:
and the yorkies... and the haggis and the neeps,
the mashed and roasted tatties...
and the black pud'...
            i'm not here to see how far west my ***
will point while bowing toward mecca...
if you don't mind me saying...
like i am not here for that kippah u.f.o.
ghetto of Golders Green...

                    i'm not here for a Marx on loan...
i'm here for a... "hashtag"...
   eh... the saxons have their unifying:
nomadic perspective to mind...
it's not like the saxons were not liked by...
say... the pomeranians...
   or the swabians... or the brandenburgers...
the saxons: semites of the north...
pseudo-vikings wishing for the proto- prefix...
well... are the modern saxons...
saxons? the saxons ****** off to england...
later ****** off to build the british empire...
i'm sure... the modern "saxons" are just
that... brandenburgers... some swabians...
the germans that stayed and were the enemy
under kaiser wilhelm...
that great... grandson of queen victoria...

yes... that war wasn't the war to stop all lineage
in-breeding... because...
it would take whittle adoolf the failed
art student to wake up the petty-bourgeoisie...
fully donned in khaki...
  and in hugo boss schwarz...
               and in... gulag grey-leash... of the wehrmacht:
of course...

    but anglo-saxons are, and were...
and there's this... grand ethno-etymology...
         listening to the natives...
   codes: white-genocide... ethnic displacement...
let me run back and check the state of affairs
in mother russia and ******-land...
polonia (in latin)... oh right...
i just heard... that a woman in russia...
university educated, a doctor, no less...
also believes that churches should be exempt from
restrictions on social gatherings...
because they are holy places...
and... viruses... in their primitive square / rectangular
modes of abstracting vectors...
or de-abstracting for a better cushion
of solid ground made... also have...
a sense of a higher-beings modus operandi
when plagued with doubt, or denial...
the virus knows what's scared to the russians...
too bad for all those russian buddhists...

dunno... what european are the westerners
worried about?
                         i'm here on "holiday"...
to read my Dickens: finally! it only took me
20 odd ******* years...
and my sunday roast on a monday...
   if there came a wave of anglo-saxons...
while the pomeranians stayed strapped
to the holy german empire "thing"...
and because there weren't any anglo-bohemias...
or modern anglo-czechs...

i'll branch out anyways...
                to the "greater" picture masquarade...
i'll be an anglo-slav if...
     and... oh look! they're here already...
i'm an anglo-slav... among the other minority
of the afro-saxons...
            
after all... there are tiers to migration...
there's that tier of polacks moving with the government
during the "affair" of circa 1943...
the no. 303 boys...
    and... after that? no one from ******-land
wanted to come to britain... h'america...
the golden retreiver...
               given the cold war... de facto:
to the antonym of the mensa harvest...

i came in the 1990s...
******-land and the other 8... joined the already
failing european union in 2004...
hmm...
          well... you did get that cabbage plucked...
that carrot too...
from... the sort of people without tic-toc
who... would rather **** braincells with a *****
after a god's monstrous maxim...
while i started sweating from my armpits
hunched with these words...
enough of braincells to ****...
not enough imaginative in a quasi-vivo state
of... the cannibal narcissus...
attention spans a week's worth of
goldfish adventures... licking ice-cream
you won't buy...

                            then again: a lacking paul...
is an otherwise over-eager pauline...

even if "we" were to become fully "integrated"...
like hell i was giving my mother tongue up
after that 1997 /1998 interlude...
i still wouldn't be able to teach my father the english
they speak: peppered with nuance from
the old mother grammar...
too bad... but the pronunciation is spot on...
i don't know why i should feel obliged to
the ******* on the cross to feel "circumcised"
for... his labyrinth...
      i couldn't teach my father better english
than the english already spoken: among the natives,
for the natives...
at home... mother is the cue... tongue
and everything otherwise...

we'll sample with the natives their delight in
minority cuisines...
but come monday... esp. a monday...
after a lunchbox worth of food of a sunday
feeling lazy... well... it just tastes better when
it's not... predicated on a riposte of...
conventions and harangue of: past-participle
expectations...

that sentence is littered with misnomers...
to add to the... otherwise... bland... talk...
correct... talk...

                   but i really couldn't teach my father
better english...
i have made this language sacred in my own
right as... both parasite and host...
interchangeable... of course...
eh... master and slave dynamic doesn't really
get me all hot and bothered...
i much prefer the lessened hiararchical nuance...
the co-dependency the symbiosis...
of a parasite and a host...
after all... it would seem the head of the pyramid
is a... fungus infection of the brain...
or at worst... a placenta martriarch of
a family of tapeforms: where, otherwise...
a foetus should be...

                i'm not into boot-licking...
but... if the anglo-saxons used these isles
as a spring-board to forever imitate the children
of zion...
i'm just the leftovers...
           the anglo-slav among afro-saxons...
the "great replacement"...
  woe'woe'woe... and that's a word that
should devolve into a calm down / halt insinuation...

who came after 2004... the people who didn't see loopholes
and wouldn't be seen gambling...
the sort of people that would most certainly
go back to the ***** and: the law & justice party
embrace...
   the xenophobic extracts of:
                        the impossibilty of the red sea
parting story... since they would never be the ones
there...
              that grey area...
like i am a grey area to them...
given... how many times did i want to spend
a summer at the ****** version of Woodstock...
Pol'and'Rock at Kustrin?
         lack hell i am...
   i'm confined to my little abode of folklore
anglo-saxony...
             rather: not having played the boogie man
from an 1960s period piece of:
vaginal and viagral expectations...
or... that thing known as brit-pop in the 1990s...
or... i've passed through york...
on my way to edinburgh...
           but yorkshire... beside the yorkies...
spuds? they call them?

         maybe... i'm counting 7 x 5cl to leverage
me at half a 70cl... but... looking at
what 35cl looks like turned into dosage...
i'm seeing more... than half an empty bottle...
i'm seeing the bottle as half full...
i guess this "predicament" came from
alcoholic slang and... positivism...
it's hardly optimistic... given... it's only
a perspective on only one bottle...
and there's still that sea to drink!

                      well... that's that... it was a most
enthralling ride back toward a square-root of 0...
much appreciated...
       now i'll just turn to the bed and the cushion
my head rests on...
and tell myself:
           this person was never born...
nor will his words take to boast about...
          a nativity play...
                 nor a pride in Shakespeare...
       it's one thing's worth a good reading...
quiet another... to treat it as an enzyme for
the collective: a catalyst...
to "re-invent" the wheel... as it were...
i have given birth... to perhaps...
the greatest thing i could "steal"...
         then again... i am very much...
                         exaggerating...
  but this was not born from the ****** ethnicity
of some european island folk...
  it was born on the continent...
   and it was somehow lived in and with...
never allowed to exfoliate into a courtesan...
annoyance... i gave it a limbo cage
both the host and parasite could enjoy...
after all: this language is a parasite...
i acquired when integrating...
    i am the host...
the parasite can dictate what it wants...
a blank page to exfoliate a boquet(t)e with / in...

it would most certainly appear more
orthographically sound: if boquete had an added T...
well... some will cite Shakespeare the first of and
the end of... what's defined as Ęglish...
i like to think of the... "subtle" master...
     i somehow knew it was in him...
after watching the film-adaptations... not good enough...
not having read David Copperfield...
a brush with J. D. Salinger and all that
holden caulfield Son-of-Sam sort of crap...

             i guess you just have to age a little...
a little is never greedy... and pounce on that great
big peacock playing: the pink elephant in the room!
that's me... Dickens wasn't impossible
to "unsee" or "not see"...
                                  i just needed...
the right sort of hashbrown sort of nudge...
enough organic encounters with yorkies...
baked tatties... h.p. brown sauce and enough baked
beans...
  yep... now i'm ready...
                  it's time to gently slide away from
Macbeth... and into Dickensian prose...
the Pickwick Papers is as any good place to start...
all the better: since it came highly
recommended why i was still in high-school...
all those... ****... 18 years later.
TheConcretePoet Mar 2021
one's security with insecurity is a crippled crutch of illusion

forgive me, i'm too terrified to expound

i fear waking up in this land of confusion

explaining away misery is an unforgettable sound
I.
I contemplate nom de plume (a).
The nomenclator (b) pax (c) kiss of peace (d) .
Coddle (e) the dowry (f) , the dowsables (g) pas de deux (h) .
Fill the kyack (i) with tidytips (j) from California , that land lease (k) .
No irrational number (l) , reality two (m) .

Definitions:
(a) non de plume - pen name.

(b) nomenclator - a book containing a ciollection of lists of words or names .

(c) pax - from Latin pax vobis (peace to you) or pax vobiscum (peace with you). A pax is a liturgical object used in the Middle Ages and Renaissance for the Kiss of Peace in the Catholic mass . It began to replace the actual Kiss of Peace in the 13th century .

(d) Kiss of Peace - An ancient traditional Christian greeting.

(e) coddle - treat in an indulgent or overprotective way .

(f) dowry - property or money brought by a bride to her husband on their marriage .

(g) dowsables - obsolete word for sweetheart or lady love .

(h) pas de deux - a dance for two people , typically a man and woman . A duet in ballet.

(i) Kyack - a packsack to be swung on either side of a packsaddle . Two connecting sacks .

(j) tidytips - an annual wildflower native to western North America .

(k) land lease - leasing the land upon which a tenant may own the home but not the land .

(l) irrational number - is a real number that cannot be expressed as a ratio of two integers . A number with an infinite number of digits .

(m) reality two - Jen Oliver Meiert - two realities . One is the physical reality . And the other is psychical reality .


II.
Fatten on krass (a) and farina (b) , fanfaronade (c) , mordancy (d) , honey and beurre noir (e) on toast .
Nothing to ambsace (f) !
The guidon (g) carried by a guidon betraying the one ,
"one's fancy" only to be crushed by a juggernaut (h) . . . promace (i) .


(a) Krass - German for gross or coarse .

(b) Farina - name in the U.S. for milled wheat .

(c) fanfaronade - arrogant or boastful talk .

(d) mordancy - a biting or caustic criticism .

(e) beurre noir - French for black butter .

(f) ambsace - the lowest throw of the dice .
Something worthless or unlucky .

(g) guidon - a pennant typically attached a pole that narrows to a point or fork at the end . A standard for light calvary .

(h) juggernaut - huge and overpowering force .

(i) promace - animal tranquilizer .


III.
Could I quintuplicate (a) the subdebutante (b) becoming tag end (c) ?
Would I cozen (d) the bulblet (e) from the branch Circe (f) ?
The Elaine (g) of long ago evanescent (h) my Hesperus (i) friend .
To Hesperides (j) especially , the Jinni (k), lowball comedy (l) .


(a) quintuplicate - fivefold . To multiply by five .

(b) subdebutante - a girl in her mid teens about to become a debutante .

(c) tag end - the last remaining part of something .

(d) cozen - to trick or deceive . Obtain by deception .

(e) bulblet - small bulb produced on a larger bulb .

(f) Circe - Goddess , nymph , enchantress or sorceress of magic . Daughter of Helios and either Oceania or Hecate . Able to change people into animals with potions or incantations .

(g) Elaine - the women of Arthurian legend who died of unrequited love for Lancelot . From Greek , a girls name meaning "sun's rays or shining light" .

(h) evanescent - soon passing out of sight , memory , or existence . Quickly fading or disappearing .

(i) Hesperus - the planet Venus . Evening star .

(j) Hesperides - legendary garden found at the western extremity of the world that produces golden apples . The nymphs that with the aid of a dragon guard the garden that grows the golden apples .


(k) - Jinni - also Genni . In Arabian and Muslim mythology the intelligent spirit with less ranking than an Angel that can appear in human or animal form for the purpose of possessing humans .

(l) lowball comedy - a deceptively crude comedy with underlying meanings .


IV.
My Maginot Line (a) , my Magen David (b) . . . before you board mae west (c) .
The squirting sea cucumber .
The Sammum Bonum (d) goes .
It's Watch Night (e) like a watch pocket (f) .
Zombism (g) we have digressed (h)
The incunable (i) mickle (j) , the  micawberish (k) pentagram (l)
exposed .


(a) Maginot Line - weaponized concrete fortifications built by France in the 1930's to keep Germany out .

(b) Magan David - originating from Medieval
Arabic literature . A hexagram (overlapping equivalent triangles) that was used as a talisman on protective amulets and was known as the Seal of Solomon . In the 18th century it was adopted by Jewish interest as the Star of David .

(c) Mae West - Personal flotation device (PFD) , life preserver . First inflatable life preserver created by Peter Markas in 1928 .

(d) sammum bonum - Latin . From Rome's greatest orator meaning 'The highest good' . Virtue .

(e) Watchnight - a service also called Watchnight Mass is a late night Christian church service . Held on late New Year's Eve . Also called Freedom's Eve service , a celebration and remembrance of the Emancipation Proclamation (enacted January 1 , 1863) which freed the slaves in the Confederate States during the American Civil War .

(e) watch pocket - extra fifth pocket on the right side of blue jeans made for a size 16 pocket watch .

(f) Zombism - the Kongo and Kimbundu system of religious rites . Characterized by worship of a snake diety during Voodoo rites .

(g) digressed - leave the main subject temporaryly in speech or writing .

(h) incunable - a book , pamphlet , or broadside ( a critical response) printed in Europe before the year 1501 .

(i) mickle - a very large amount .

(j) Micawberish - resembling the character of Wilkins Micawber in the Charles Dickens novel
David Copperfield . Especially optimistic to the point of being irrisponsible .

(k) Pentagram - five pointed star used in ancient Greece  and Bablyonia . Which is used today as a symbol of faith by many Wicans and said to have magical powers and associations .


V.
While the rabalo (a) swims the tropical seas
succes de scandale (b) .
While the Exmoor (c) ponies exert , ****** (d) in-and-out (e) .
And the Langur (f) from Laos
lies lethargic , drinking meadowsweet (g) ale .
The Nereids (h) tease and pase (i) in polyrthym (j) .


(a) Rabalo - common snook or sergeant fish .

(b) succès de scandale - a success due to notoriety or things of a scandalous nature . Public controversy .

(c) Exmoor - an area of hilly open moorland in west Somerset and north Devon in South Wales England named after the river Exe . Ancient royal hunting grounds .

(d) ****** -  Queen of Asgard and wife of Odin . Stepmother of Thor and adoptive mother of Loki .

(e) in-and-out - copulation

(f) Langur - long tailed aboreal monkey with a characteristicly loud call .

(g) meadowsweet - or mead wort is a perennial herb that grows  in damp meadows in Europe used to make medicine .

(h) Nereids - In Greek mythology the Nereids are sea nymphs , daughters of Nercus and Doris and known to be friendly and helpful to sailors .

(i) pase - a maneuver with a cape used in bullfighting meant to get the attention of the bull .

(j) polyrthym - a rthym which makes use of two or more different rthyms simultaneously .



VI .
The enchantress in a jaded jodhpur (a) .
So kitsch (b) with the live stream (c) mouth .
A menu (d) with folded mantis hands , a Nazarene (e) .
An à outrance (f) , an abstraction (g) .
***** envy (h) , reach-me-down (i) , rest house (j) south .
The simoon's (k) coming , simon pure (l) in simony (m) .


(a) Jodhpur - also called riding breeches . Tight fitting trousers that reach the ankles ending in a snug cuff worn primarily for horse riding .

(b) kitsch - German meaning ****** art . Excessively garish or sentimemental art usually considered in bad taste or lowbrow .

(c) live stream - to stream digital data . Data that is delivered continuously and is usually intended for immediate processing or playback .

(d) manu - (Sanskrit) is a term found in Hinduism . In early texts it refers to the first men , (progenitor of humanity) .

(e) Nazarene - native of Nazareth . A member of a group of German painters
working mainly in Rome who from 1809 sought to revive the art of Medieval Germany and early Renaissance Italy .

(f) à outrance - exorbitance .To the limit .

(g) abstraction - freedom from representational art . Dealing with ideas rather than events .

(h) - ***** envy - the supposed coveting  of the male ***** by a young female according to Sigmund Freud .

(i) reach-me-down - second hand clothing

(j) rest house - shelter for travelers especially when there are no hotels available .

(k) simoon - a hot dry dust-laden wind blowing in the desert , especially in Arabia .

(l) simon pure - untainted purity or integrity . Absolute pure , genuine or authentic . Also used negatively as pretentiously or hypocritically pure .

(m) simony - the buying or selling of ecclesiastical privileges . Such as something spiritual . Taken from Simon Magus
(Act 8:18) who endeavored to buy from the Apostles the power of conferring the gifts of the Holy Spirit .



VII .
Come Nisus (a), Lord of misuse.
With your Ibizan (b) hounds
and ewer (c) .
Your ebulient (d) ectomorphic (e)
mentality .
Board a carrack (f) to Chad breastbeating (g).
Put your thoughts on skewer (h) .
While seeking an essoin (i) , flannel-mouthed (j) idyllic (k) .


(a) Nisus - Greek mythology , King of Megara , son of Pandion of Athens . When King Minos of Crete beseiged Megara , Nisus's daughter Scylla fell in love with Minos . She betrayed her city by cutting off her father's purple lock . The purple lock of hair held magical powers if preserved . Nisus was killed and became a sea eagle . Scylla later drowned , said by the hands of Minos and was changed into a sea bird pursued by the sea eagle .

(b) Ibizan hound - named for an island off the coast of Spain . Ancient breed of hounds once kept by the Pharoahs around 3400 B.C.

(c) ewer - a large jug or pitcher with a wide mouth used for carrying water for someone to wash in .

(d) ebulient - cheerful and full of energy . Archaic - of liquid or matter boiling or agitated as if boiling . From Latin ebullire - to bubble out which is the stem of the word Bullire which is the ancestor of the word boil .

(e) ectomorphic - body having a build with little fat or muscle and long limbs .

(f) - Chad - a landlocked country in north central Africa . One of the poorest and most corrupt nations in the world .

(g) breastbeating - a loud emotional expression of remorse , grief , anger , or self recrimination .

(h) Skewer - stick or metal pin used to hold meat .

(i) essoin - old English . An excuse for nonappearance in court .

(j) flannel-mouthed - smooth and persuasive in speech in order to deceive or manipulate .

(k) idyllic - extremely happy , peaceful , or picturesque .



VIII .
Through the eyes of yashmak (a) ,
below the eyes of  yarmulke (b) .
Whey-faced (c) tunneled half-caste (d)  in a white haik (e) .
Genuflection (f) to Baal (g) , Jehovah (h) .
A docudrama (i) , carbunckled (j) .
As the cross hair sweeps
across professed
liturgist (k) .


(a) yashmak - veil concealing all of the face except the eyes . Worn by some Muslim women in public .

(b) yarmulke - a skull cap worn by orthodox Jewish men or during prayer by other Jewish men .

(c) whey-faced - pale , especially as a result of ill health , shock , or fear .

(d) half-caste - a person whose parents are of different races in particular a European father and an Indian mother .

(e) Haik - a large outer garment or wrap typically white and worn by people from North Africa's Maghreb region .


(f) genuflection - lowering of one's body briefly by bending one knee to the ground . Typically in worship or as as sign of respect .

(g) Baal - was a title honorific meaning "owner" , "Lord" in the Northwest Semitic languages spoken in the Levant during antiquity . From its use among people it became to be applied to Gods of fertility , weather , rain , wind , lightning , seasons , war , and patron of sailors .

(h) Jehovah - a form of the Hebrew name  of God . Means  "I am that I am" or "I am the one who is".

(i) docudrama - a dramatized TV movie based on real life events .

(j) carbunckled - to make painful , sore , or irritated .

(k) liturgist - one who practices liturgy . A form to which public religious worship is conducted . In ancient Greece a public office or duty performed voluntaryly by a rich Athenian .
jeffrey conyers Aug 2014
I might not be God.
But I have ways to give you blessings.
I can make your wish come truth.

Sure there are limits.
Especially if they are dealing with death.
But anything else.
I can make your dreams come true.

No, I'm not David Copperfield or Houdini.
But I do deal in their form of reality.
Where we twist things around to appear real?
I can make your wish come true.

If it love you need.
Then call on me.
If it dreams of truth.
Then come my way.
I got the strength to make changes.
KV Srikanth Mar 2021
The Beatles
with their Staple
Abbey road and Apple
Took the world by storm
Listening to them became a norm

Allman brothers
With or without Duanne
Greatest guitarist of all time
Second In that line
Every chord and riff
Rock music bliss

Jethrotull farmers name
Century later adopted the same
Progressive rock band
From England
Worldwide name and fame

Grateful dead a lifestyle
Following them a matter of pride
Defenition of Counterculture
Ken Kesey and Acid trips
Different music  at different gigs
Live concerts filled the year
From the Vaults into the Hearts

Every fans first doorway
Plant and Page gifted
Song of the century
Rendered with no hurry
The Stairway to heaven
Rock music destination
Nine Albums of Led Zeppelin

Music band called
Themselves The Band
Cover of Time Magazine
Represented  of the Rock Scene
Last Waltz on Thanksgiving
Their Music still ringing

Santana name and Band
Guitar his magic wand
Black magic woman
The world fell for that one
Added the Mexican blend
Helped create A legend

John Mayall ear for music
Matched ear for talent
Godfather of future legends
In his line up at the same time

Walt Becker and Donald Fagen
Rock and Jazz band
Steely Dan
Used Sessions musicians
A  musical revolution
Antiheroes of the Seventies
Christened by the Rolling stone magazine
Two against nature
Album of the year
Grammy in Order

Slow hand and Eric Clapton
Names dont go hand in hand
Greatest guitarist of the generation
Clapton is God
Phrase invented
Headlined many a group
Blind Faith Cream to name a few

Traffic Quatret
Band dissolved
Music evolved
Break up in line up
No low in music flow
Winwood and Capaldi in tow

Emerson lake and Palmer
Formerly of The Nice King Crimson and Atomic Rooster
Isle of Wight
Showcased their might
Together for the decade
Their albums  the most bootlegged

No Record collection devoid
The Albums of Pink Floyd
Every Studio Albums sold
Multiple platinum to behold
Live Concerts and Lighting
Divine in music and vision
Most popular in Music history
Their position in the charts
Tells the story
Made their date with history
Berlin wall a sign of division
Their song the Anthem of Unification
Popularity and longevity
A very few can hope
Change of tastes in
Generations fewer can cope

Creedence clearwater revival
John Fogerty and his brother
Joined hands with two other
War in Vietnam
Protesting in Album form
Words mightier than Swords
Lyrics heightened Crisis
Washington's biggest
Musical nemesis

Crosby Stills Nash and Young
All star team of talents
That sung
Dallas Taylor on the Drums
Dream team of Music
Created Classics

Justin Hayward and his Flute
Together formed the Moody blues
Anyone in love and suffering
Found their feelings expressed in
Nights in white Satin
Played in every household
Across the Globe

Best Drummer seated
Difference between two beats
The fastest
Keith Moon and The Who
Loudest Band in history
Equipment destroyed after
A new legacy
Greatest singer in Daltery
Greatest Bassist in Entwhistle
Lost Moon lost their muscle

Rainbow theater Concert
Earned them the Guinness record
Globes loudest band
Psychedelic and Progressive
For decades active
100 million records worldwide
Gods of heavy metal
The pride for any record label
The music of Deep Purple

The power trio
Formed in Ontario
Rush the band
Complex and fantasy
Hand in hand
Every member A winner
Every poll on Every Book
Proficient with Instrument
Volume of their talent
Topped the charts
Captured hearts
Active for  years
Till tragedy stuck Peart

Jefferson Airplane
Before name change
Summer of love
Defined by
Surrealistic Pillow
Headlined Woodstock
And Montery pop
Every list by Rolling Stone magazine
Names carved for eternity

Uriah Heep
Fictional in Copperfield
Written by Dickens
Real in music
Formed in England
5 decades and 24 Albums
Strived for originality
Showcased their capability
Arena sized stadiums
Still filled to capacity
45 million records
Enduring popularity

Eagles from California
Critical and Commercial
Success in their formula
Top of the Charts and Grammy Awards
Back to back
Very few can hope for

Drummer and Bassist
Names combined
To name the band
Fleetwood Mac
Albums and Singles
Topped the Charts
Both sides of the Atlantic
Covers of their songs
Made many Superstars
Performed together on the occasion
Of the inauguration of
President Bill Clinton


Jim Morrison the lizard king
freedom for humanity his dream
Voice and rendition a class apart
Every song an anthem
Kindred spirit at the very core
With Ray Robbie and John formed The Doors
Yo I told yall once more, been braced for war, even the score,
Shots like in da battlefield, high rising feel,  move like an eel, with the steel,
****** face from the Copperfield, let's keep it real, I appeal,
To the masses, check the horror glasses, hits beyond Classics
Cassius, disastrous, yo I'm straight hazardous, flows serious,
Haters tryna serve us, never nervous, keep a maxed out surplus,
Plus I got girls on the bang bus, who could rush us, out touch us,
Yo, I'm flipping birds without touching skies, stay wise,
Vigilant true gangsta militant, stay beyond magnificent,
Got a chase for money Manhattan, see what's happening,
Stay cappin', third ward coast rappin', so quit ya yappin',
Flappin' about nia this is the souf, so watch where ya peck ya mouf,
Haters fronting, and stunting, ain't no future in it, steam out Bennets,
Matrix with the blades, creamed out escalade, soufside fade,
Razor blades, sitting on the side of my gums,under my teef,
Shine up the christ reef, sit like an indian as chef, stress relief,
I'll leave ya stiffer and deader, than the winter leaf, peasants,
Become deaths residence, my gun distance, stay with the quickness,
Answers with the Iversons, yo who's liver sons, step to the don
Yo it's big pun, capital punishment, break the establishment,
Suckas got me bent, never been pent, to a magazine green,
Leaves I fiend, to keep my thoughts clean, no evil supreme,
Catch the dream, shakes from the microphone Hakeem,
Aim at ya peen, see what I mean, scope with the laser beam,
It seems dreams, are shallow I broke the battle, snitches tattle
I make like a snake and rattle, wait for bite pitch the might,
Dolomite any girls without using fright, game latex tight,
Iight, yosef only telling ya truth,no lies see the biblical eyes,
Close with the evil disguise, broke the celibate ties sighs,
Giving by the godly oddly shape my ology, it's my psychology,
Cant stop wont stop, til I'm the cold yard top, giving drops,
Unexpected, ya unprotected once I was resurrected, disconnected,
Off the face of the earth, my birth I knew my infinite worth,
Stay rowdy puff the green, make it cloudy, like chicks bowdy
Howdy howdy, word to this white henny good and plenty,
Sticks to stones break bones, word to the Houdini clones,
Magic I own, phone home sucka you dead amongst the battle zone,

Whaaaaaat!!
Yo yosef shall prevail, my lyrics even froze up hell,
Listen to the real, third eyes i frail,
Only to the knowledge,
I keeps it real,
Soulful samples, you can feel,
I make magic ****,
Like Copperfield, take shots at me, only to reflect off of me,
These haters,
At best demoniators, im the numerator, cash capers,
Make girls catch the vapors,
Its like the temptations,
Nineteen sixty four, my girl its my world,
Let the ball of confusion swirl,
Off my finger tips, see how many can hit with the hallow tips,
Catchin' a death grip from the words, off my lip,
Ya know i keeps a fat spliff, like Eazy, to Bone thugs and harmony,
Say yall harmonizin',
But just fantazin, let my vocals to the anayzlin, suckas aint wise and,
Kin to Solomon,
Many wives lived many lives, through ****** ******* and fies,
As time flys, and the many pies,
That baked in rhe oven, tryna up my grubbin', minus the lovin,
Listen well, the stories never fail,
Yo yosef will always prevail,





Pre-ignite the pyrex, my flows tighter than latex,
Say yall aint feelin' this so next,
Off the hit list, try to throw in ya diss, and I'll just take a ****,
Off the Hennessy i kissed, dismissed, the critics,
Spittin' gimmicks and mimics,
Dont even add up,
As i lay low in the cut, all my real brothers know what's up,
Its all love, caught the flash from up above,
Yo it be god's son, racking in the doves,
Clear the tears off they eyes, now Prince gave me the wise,
Now im the master, making slaves what a disaster,
To the record companies, tryna **** me after,
I turn into Iceberg, **** throwing up the bird, and what ya heard,
My soul blacker than a terd,
And slicks gettin' serves,
Fools shootin' but aint gotta lotta nervs,
I must be absurd, cuz i take blunts stash with mad herbs,
Blue lily power my devour, rhymes off the top every hour,
Dont need a rehearsal, **** going commercial, make my own expos,
Shut down the doors,
Im ******* like Rae and Ghost mixtape surfacin' the shore,
Continue gettin' mail, make ya melons swell, time movin' like a snail,
My styles never stale,
I told y'all well, listen Yosef shall prevail,




Music ya can ride by, dont let them haters slide by,
I give em, something shocking,
Electrify,
Decalcify ya soul, im old school like rock and roll,
Gangsta of Love, Chuck Berry Stroll, front page articles,
Im in ya face so,
They hand me, two out of five mics, **** em i know i blessed it right,
They put me in the top last, blast
That's okay, we still millionaires,
Without the flash,
I put em cask, from the words ya won't heal no time fast,
As i take another **** Buddha, with my hand on my girls ******,
Who the sharpshooter,
Without the practice, my lyrics soak up ya soul like a cactus,
Who could out mack this,
Yo when my bullet splits, it no shell, i wont fail,
Yo big Yosef shall prevail
Lucanna Oct 2018
I  am
a soaking secret at best,
Drenched in affliction
I am
a ghost gripping your shadows,
Hunting for the sun
All the while
You are
a voyager
Seeking hands under tables,
Locked doors,
Alleyways,
Elevators,
Vague descriptions and
Protective platonic stances
You are
a true modern day Columbus,
You find me, a flat dimension of self.
You are
an alluring Copperfield,
Hiding my declarative "no's" under hats
and turning them into whispered "yes's"
Your audience in awe
Unaware of what they are actually applauding

You are
sawed in half
"This can be enough," I tell myself

It isn't.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.    i was right about no. 10,044...
turns out the solution was, always going
to be
:

6   4   5   1   2   7   9   3   8
7   8   3   5   6   9   1   2   4
9   1   2   4   8   3   5   6   7
5   2   8   7   1   6   4   9   3
9   7   4   3   5   2   6   8   1
3   6   1   8   9   4   7   5   2
2   x   7   6   3   5   8   1   9
1   5   9   2   7   8   3   4   6
8   3   6   9   4   1   2   7   5

muttley *** heath ledger's joker...

or?

    hmm...
  
     general giggles in England -

belgians in the congo:
and you would... trust...
these ******* chocolatiers...
to import, anything but coco?

yes, all inclusive moving parts...
but i'll still never know
why: jane austen,
rather than mary shelley
is the face on the 5 quid
Australian style banknote...

can't convince me,
won't convince...
read some alternative Joyce
with Beckett...

mary shelley should
be on the banknote...
counter to pride & prejudice:
i.e.?
   pomp und umstand;
way past "discussing"
british imports to the U.S.,
how about in reverse?

bruce springsteen's
born in the u.s.a.
  versus billy joel's
      we didn't start the fire...

a snigger, is an asthmatic's version
of a short breath,
but also providing laughter...
     but when you can't help
doing something:
you don't let it implode into
a cordiality nonsense of having
neighbours...

  god... i love the language...
but having acquired the ***** up my ***
type of mannerisms...
boils the brain right from inside
the cranium...
              and i feel for the english...
which begs me to wonder...
so there's a british olympic team...
there are the rugby british lions...
but then, when it comes
to football...
there's the welsh side, the pict side,
the english and the nord irisch side...
enlighten me,
when this bit of bollocking
starts to make sense, if "sense":
if anything at all,
deviating from david copperfield.

nope... never read Dickens...
and don't expect to die
having read any of it...
      "sorry"?
   see... i hate english mannerisms
sometimes, love the language,
would die for it, having used it so
much, overtime over
                the heimatspreschen...

always the snigger...
never... the over-iterated gasping
of vowels...
  dissociated from consonants...
after all... within the tetragrammaton...
H - is a loose noun...
more... a sigh or a laughter crutch.

one's a vowel herder...
the other?
        a vowel disperser.
We living in the times, of demons breeding, new ***** for seasoning,
No rhymes of reasoning, I sense a case of cold death breathing,
Amongst the curse lands, snake with bands, tryna buy every island,
But earth ain't for sale, see my thoughts failed, where reality sailed,
So many frail, scared to let their souls outta jail, this ain't another fairytale,
How many doing Gods will, I hold my sword, high prepared to ****,
Vengeance, for my past peers, shedding tears at the Capitol Hill,
Them lizards cant feel, no pain only blood and war, equals more gain,
And I done came, from rags to ***** riches, avoided the sin of stitches,
Switches, I lay to keep my thoughts on, once I become Darkseid, I sight on,
The easiest target to write on, put heads on Shaolin gongs, ring the alarms,
Snake a charm watch the belly dances, of sirens form, swarm of harms,
I stay close to the ghost farms, eyes of a lighted shadow, fifty foot halos,
Squaring every angle, brothers of Hades and Raphael, doing spiritual fills,
Im rodney, turn dangerous in these fields, harder than a blue bill,
Born in the land fills, where all the lands is fill, with hate of blood spills,
Cursed by my own will, how can I be saved, if I'm playing like Copperfield,
Submerged my thoughts, into another dimensions, locked in suspension,
Everybody turned Christian, from a rotted planned expedition,
I felt wisdom peeped in, chipping off the scholastics of Solomon,
Cant be born again, into an earthly human, if I'm already born,
My only next birth, is out of this earth, grazing the multi universe,
One need not be David Copperfield,
nor a card shark/sharp, scrutinizing
random display codified
computer algorithm doth yield.

The chance to "win"
may appear tubby zero
analogous finding a diamond
in the rough, even
with help of
a heartfelt superhero

nonetheless toil away, asper
setting suitable ***** work,
and **** sombrero
just so to avoid,
the virtual sun
shining in eyes, and affect

a fin guard hand sum
swagger that Cicero,
would be fain to boast
whereat sportsman/
woman ship touted
from one coast

to another for playing
fair and square
as with a ghost,
but essentially nobody,
but yourself dost host,
which one person team,

(thou self) essentially most
ideal match, when testing layout
random shuffle computer
program did post,
and no matter experiencing
cerebral neurons sizzling
like fifty shades plus

of gray matter roast
ting like chestnuts
on an open fire
envision accolades huzzahs,
and special toast

ye give yourself,
no matter stiff odds
stacked against thee,
and feel a bit whooshy
washy outsmarting the

game coder despite yar *****
feeling comfortably numb,
with tingling sensation,
no matter squishy
tissue being pinched with

all out effort of most pushy
fan (again your sole self),
who succeeds as best
groupie getting mushy
timidly asking yourself

for an autograph,
and lastly taking a selfie
posing incognito with a
note tory us whig  
outlandishly bushy.
Fools spitting bars with no feels claim they real
Tryna play gangsta with the mass appeal
This Copperfield will give em a new feel shield
Emotions makes for the most commotions
Slow sips of the poisoned potions oceans
Of thoughts deep cuz I was brought coastin'
In Atlantis star Galaxy came outta spirituality
In the forms of humanity now i see treachery
Rising before me black skin equated to black sins
Peeps still buying lies to believe in im giving
Nothing but the raw truth see my demonic troops
The goetias gave me  Solomons seal sigils
See the black sequel never ends so pretend
That we dont exist or problems arise risk
Why is it ever time i try to find myself
An adversary always after ya health my wealth
Was bombarded then discarded parted
From history but my real ****** know the story
Tryna brainwash white wash our history
Everybody knows Eygypt is black as can be
Just look at the walls of phoroahs legacy
A beautiful goddess black Nefertitis babies
Look like me im coming at Cha Cleopatra
Even made Caesar fall to his knees in pleas
Couldn't help he got lost that black *****
So bad he didn't even see his best friend
Plot the the killer theme it ain't a dream
I'm preaching the facts cold dominant tracks
Step into the booth where history formed at....

Yo let's take it backkkkk


Thy kingdom come thy will be done slums
Dont want none what's a snare to a drum
All you get is beats like when my heats
Tapping spines sounds the flatline cold mind's
Of a serial killer hawks the thriller fill ya
Coal mind's with the flawless diamonds
**** what Simon seys **** chasing dead pres
They all slave masters plot the disaster
Trillion dollar industry folks looking musty
Tryna keep clean I see the grand surpreme
Of evilness that rings sings and binges flings
Caught the bees sting took it like man understand
This for my future and unknown fans
I speak facts **** all them gun bars and play
Im a real vet say what the **** I wanna say
Darkness preys upon the light showcast sight
Brailled the non-believers become bleeders
To the afterworld lives put up for silver and gold
Metals watch the blooming rose peddles
Out of the cracked concrete settles mettles
The universes spreading curses worsest
See the pain empty out the closest Black Moses
Burning bushes talking with the spiritual judges
Tryna heal without the crutches clutching
My mind its hard to define chakra realign
Numbs the kind im a new grand design
Taking it back way back when we used to rep black
Push back caps snaps jersey spitting cold raps
Corner blocks hustler fiends guns drug smugglers
I'm just a juggler tryna weigh my options
And miss the captions of a rerun the news run
Chaos laid daily **** its dark even when its
Sunny outside homicide cries as a soul searches the sky
I'm not fly guy not from Bedstuy but I put stys
To haters eyes double your visualize
Break the ties fools building empires I demise
Im the emperor y'all inferior bow to your superior
Link with Nas Escobar real ****** puff cigars
While y'all punks puffin' cigarettes I lay bars ya won't forget
Super threat a cold with my Cannon set
I'm Htown bound this is my sound fools drown
Tryna hang with the flow my pistol love to show
Another sucka mislead over the spread bread
But all he got was bullets that fed into his head
You scared **** right he fled made a jump for the feds
I play my skills low so check the smoke I blow
I disappear reappear my steel Copperfield
Makes hataz run out the atmosphere
Here me clear my dear I have no fear
God gave me his speer cuz I'm **** near
On the edge of death I playwright the black Shakespeare


Aiyo I lay paragraphs that make ya head hurt
Make a woman squirt yo that's Gods work
I'm Noah I'll show ya an Arc my flows art
Michaelango with these chrome pistols
Paintin' ya facials to a mural blood on the ceiling
The lyrics is penicillin give chumps a fillin'
This is just a low dose of ******* ritalin
We knock out middle men break the connects within'
Sniff drugs from Peruvian made me born again
Naw I'm just kidding put in my bidding
Haters be listening but no ears appealing
Scared of the massacre witnessing
I'm bringin' that real hip hop **** extended clips
That'll make ya hip hop **** becoming a crip
Leaking blood now that's gang banging ****
Sips of Hennessy above the fifth spirits lift
My mind body as well as soul unfold the scrolls
A demon intervention my ambition switching
Position so I can hit the vocals on tracks
It ain't about paper stacks the man in black
I'm K with the K putting ending add another K
That's Three Ks triple ****** lyrical burglar
But can't lock these bars up I'm corrupt
Fools spitting the same ol stuff shut up
And stop tryna act tough before you get *****....
Destination soldiers holding boulders
Colder bullets causin' tap dancers
Prancer cant go against a gun romancer
Chance ya bets black rap chancellor
****** war student stay beyind prudent
Laying the trident flows posideon
Over the airwaves brains began to graze
Summer time was made in the winter
Off the gun line kosovo rhymes en Fuego
El ***** swinging pistols with a cup of joe
Slow mentals open doors of hell pours
Church is the earth pores bloods explore
All over across the lands prices high demand
Stock numbers most folks love slumber
Dead walking deep wide awake but sleep
Braille to the instincts that creep weap
Once the wrath has begun word to Dogons
Slayin' corporate dragons from another eon
Let's talk gangsta **** prison Monopoly
Watching how the cops be watching thee
Living under the gods spell wicked cartel
I wasn't made to sell nor post bail
Only way im free is be in a casket jail well???



Bruce Lee lyricist flows exorcist
Scaring the **** out of a weak diss
Not even a snake could hiss dismiss
Fools talkin' trash but they can't dish
Out they own fish i attack them critics
Made for poster gimmicks mimics
Dont make it off of my blocks rocks
Go hand in hand in all states pocket Glocks
Street stocks aint where its at matter of fact
Its on a street with no walls hidden stalls
Holding my ***** the last curtain call
Black Jesus murdering Ceasar's
Infamous teasers become believers
Once the guns burns out the bleeders
End recievers watch me dig out their divas
Polygamy origami my salami mommis
Holding charge to my tommies
Grimys don't dare glance a chance
Dance in the moonshine drinking moonshine
Laughing out loud souls bawling loud
But the physical is painless souls stainless
Like my Copperfield use mental bullets
To shield out the emotions Neo matrix
Let's face it most really basic lace it
Stashed the cubans with hash off the dash
Let my thoughts crash then reconstruct the flash
Back memories one to my unharmed armies
Five star general true black Washington
Ball room full of champions and made dons
Check the Fred Sanford hat with the golden brown bats
Sitting out like I'm maxed bets over Jacks of all trades
Tirades streets I serenade made ya girl fade waves pomade
Blue magic fantastic broke from the tragic of heavy statics
Watch the burns lay more bars than taverns see my guns
Amazing blazing like purples tapes gazing htown showdown
Shaolin linked with the south park coalition clink sink
My thoughts deeper than a submarine black
Supreme human being still reigning as king touching
All hearts soul darts none could part feeling the charts
52 weeks 365 days a year even leap years I draw tears
From the clouds of thunderstorm broke the charm
Silence the pharm alarms blows like sounds of Islam
Desert sharp pierce the bark trees to bred my mentality
In actuality check my locality next to the space age scenery
Cosmos traced like octimos promo cashing portals
Copperfield ya grill see the how the hairs drill past the roots
Appeals I'm so real I'm so in love with the wings of a dove




Its blood money tryna get to the pyramids eyes stys
Slys from the wise I took notes from hells advice nice  
Devils playing advocate to heavens faith relate wait
My skills tryna make mills but I jumped over mass appeal
Rather be gangsta like scar miss the white cream seems
Only the fakes get the sting part of the outside rings
Make my own strategize hate through loves crate
Buried my tears long ago once I learned to let go
Over the pain that drains souls to the very essence best
Presences held from fleeing the past futures is presents
Gifted eternity pass the love ology base head psychology  
It's crazy off the rip slows sips so I can take mental trip
8 dimensions 7 demons 6 Angel's ready to strangle
Humanity to another angle degrees fall on your knees
Watch for the skeez no tease super pump soakers squeeze
Better be on yours Qs to Ps let the souls genuine deeds
Feed those in needs I'm here to payback diamondback
Cutters hiding in the gutters milking cows with no udders
Sa Sa Ra Nov 2012
If you don't by know as of yet whom I refer to as X'yzzzzzzzzzleeeping, you will soon enuf; is rare that I can go there so well even on occasion for the destruction; 5th dimensional gifts running backwards Houdini by grave doing back-flips for along with the Heart's of David Copperfield types wanting to know how can we pick up a few of these tricks, in other lifetimes my type pick up many places along of course through Kemet's of Egypt, and not so far back but is where I had to go on the endless effort of trying to find the magical child already gone by first of memories and I thought woot hoot I could juggle the woes oh humanity or inhumanity as I see know you know by justification of I don't see any more or less innocence or guilt round here but if there such a great need I when I saw it and figged I cud get through it it was love for wat else could there be and I do be and fill so much very need; but X'yzz....ah 'um once there was Shakespeare an era wrapping up by befalling heads wanting bread of whom exclaimed well if those are their terms and conditions 'Let'em eat cake' ergo and or our newer foundations; but as far as I knew it and I wondered and pondered how why wherefore before someone who seems projections of who dare be Queen or Princess, more than aristocratic the vine of genetics KISS keep it simple silly why war for this nonsensical stuff; it's not the decadent decedent's but off Divine Spirit; well money power sure can keep well hidden powers and you can hmmm get along for a spell but here a spell there a spell with each castle Humpty Dumpty oh well; but now again is the Globe again along with Life the stage we are cast upon truly; and it's time for our own era's Renascence; but last I knew her truly with all gifts 5th dimensional her and her darkly companion too now here they are onto 22 years and still you can't honor it and I guess they just want spouses dead not more than one way 'bout it they are try to out wait and hate me; hahaha but by me I've taught them all they and know matter who they turn against me 10k in a court room dey'd not dare a step by one however remember Howard Hughes I'd say I always love and  though too I am your one and only and best friend indeed even I know I am your enemy, no matter what you say believe think and even feel, but I love to play nice like thrice no mines about it and give all overly good information and fairer than fair warnings; and they gather darkly more about into their hypnotic spells castings, kinda crazy all dead set against me when last to save their own as'ses the're were some identity issues and class type things but they were known as good in the end and yet we ajve yet again to begin; 'dey don'y know themselves not even by here now this lifetime alone, black art denialists wooing all about with sugary treaty's they bark bark but if they bit hte wrong cat here to hard their teeth would fall out; yet and the roots seeded here now for the better part of the show with new edit-eers producers rolling arts in I know I will I can I see these things always before they appear and blood bearing beings near on ain't willing give or take some where and billions of years the dust rocks and trees already are on; and all kinds of well you know  what we've got going round now along with a time to come from the woods of our hidings and out from the fear to be gods birth right citizen we played a lot of silly games of peeka boo pretend ain't heaven ain't here the list is long we know all to well
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
h'americnas are also quietly
"evolved" as savages...
the part of an equation
with: something missing...
like: are we hiking
in bahamas?!
        americans
are the most savage people
to speak of,
wet socking phellatio
all the ******* time...
show me barbarian and
i'll sport you an image
of Idaho!
mm mm Minnesota blue!
blue blue on the catch phrase
henry gimmick
you ******* ****-brick ****-load!
              last time i heard americans were
savages...
               scoot **** and minors
on amphetamine alliances...
  pimped up broccoli flurries...
stage a **** excited and you have me in:
abandon.
                americans were always **** faced
velvet smearing chimp donning
jersey hippy junk-**** logicians...
i'm a savage, said by a *******
leprechaun....
savage...
                    savage?!
          breed more of these, types...
     we're anorexic without 'em!
******* duck-treading tow with trot
h'americans!
gluttonous ******* wet worth a whip
shy and grotesque and all the more
soggy...
          lazy ***** one calls them...
              something equivalent
to a david copperfield being skimmed through.
i was never left the most
impressionable regarding this:
fungus super power...
grown on ****, grown into a stench.
So many tears so many fears through these tattoo tears
I wish you could here my pain sighing from the rears
This atmosphere ain't nothing but hell as it appears
As I steer hatred wheel still tryna survive my black will
And I'll still be ready for my body to chill suckas always ****
The real anytime you speak on the real man of steels
Put my faith in Copperfield instead of the Gods who feels?
No mercy no pain author of confusion mayne pain
Seems to follow us everywhere we go I cant grow a muscle
Same movements sun tzu mentality residence hesitance
Cuz the deaths distance is killing me tryna see the eternity  
Will they bury me a g or will they let me die a soldier easily
In the battlefield see the ****** tunnels my vision funnels
Life and death been ******* since the beginning they winning
No matter through goodness or sinning I'm still pending
My skills to a broken feel no more can we be real pills
To **** to meditate a conscious the nonsense so intense
Straddling the fence tryna hop over the deaths residence
But it seems so attracted fear seems attracted to success
How can i be blessed when everyday I'm faced with new stress
I guess the bigger the pockets see how they change the topics
Focused on my prophets this the life of yosef through the devils optics
Cant stop it I shook the cane bit the ways of the enslaved man
Who are we? We dont even own thee ourselves weighing curses
Over the same scriptured verses when will we see the hearses
Thousands of flowers weaping souls in the hour ready to shower
Fake love ain't no love no peace just the belly of the beast
I was release now i got peace holding a ****** swords
Listen to the words and stop nodding ya head to chorus
aforementioned author born
February 7, 1812
the long deceased (centuries) storied author
I toot and trumpet virtual horn
accompanying pet rooster
first thing in the morn.

Greetings mutual friend,
hard times dash Great Expectations
in this Bleak House
whereby battle of life ensues
when Sunday chimes
from Master Humphrey’s clock
somber american notes
invoking overshadowing doom
from young gentlemen:

Oliver Twist, Nicholas Nickleby, Barnaby Rudge
Martin Chuzzlewit, David Copperfield
and Young Cricket on the hearth Little Dorrit
collaborated on Pickwick Papers
with dombey and son detailing
how I (a haunted man/
ghost’s bargain) alias Mudfog
self absorbed in his Old Curiosity Shop

hunted down by boyhood days
(akin to an endless Christmas carol
frieze as child’s history)
now a  thick dust covered holiday romance
memory portraying this signal-man
(according to George Silverman's explanation)
eerily similar to
the mystery of Edwin Drood,
exiled after his trial for ******

birthing three ghost stories
inhabiting a haunted house
affecting the young couples lamplighter,
an uncommercial traveler
evidenced by pictures from Italy
prone to speeches, sketches
by Boz and his lazy tour
an oft repeated Tale Of Two Cities
best read at dusk.
Mateuš Conrad Oct 2018
i need to eat something,
and drink some more...
political opinions?
oh...
    i'm supposed to give
a **** about some
David Copperfield
type of *******?!
really... i am?!
           i said i wanted
to eat something.,
and refill on my
    "angst" of a debilitating
addiction...
no... not going to happen...
whenever i heard
that the whole point of
migrating, and
integrating into a culture...
is forgetting the language
you said your first MA MA
syllables in...
no...
when said culture tells me...
that sort of *******?!
with the Rotherham **** gangs?
*******...
you tell me the next
"ingenious" innovation....
around language...
i'm telling you!
learn French!
you ******* imbecile!
no?!
     no... you don't dictate to me
my linguistic parameters!
no, you don't!
    teach me a second time...
no! teach me a second time!
pretty **** jb
attempting to integrate
the Pakistanis...
you want to worry about them
for awhile?
no? i'm sure you don't...
then watch me attempt to give
a ****...
with my current use of your
native language...
  i'm so ******* eager
to give a ****!
born February 7, 1812,
whose living descendents
I would be thrilled to befriend,
hence if anonymous reader
by some genetic fluke
linkedin to said
prolific storied author
please kindly reciprocate.

greetings mutual friend,
hard times dash
great expectations in this bleak house,
whereby battle of life ensues
when Sunday chimes
from master humphrey’s clock
issue somber american notes
invoking overshadowing doom
from young gentlemen:
oliver twist, nicholas nickleby, barnaby rudge
martin chuzzlewit, david copperfield,

young cricket and on the hearth little dorrit
collaborated on pickwick papers
with dombey and son detailing
how I (a haunted man/
ghost’s bargain) alias mudfog
got self absorbed in his old curiosity shop
hunted down by boyhood days
(akin to an endless Christmas carol
frieze as child’s history),
now a thick dust covered holiday romance
memory portraying this signal-man

(according to george silverman’s explanation)
eerily similar to the mystery of edwin drood,
exiled after his trial for ******
birthing three ghost stories
inhabiting a haunted house
affecting the young couples lamplighter
an uncommercial traveler
evidenced by pictures from italy
prone to speeches, sketches
by boz and his lazy tour
an oft repeated tale of two
cities best read at dusk.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
a mongrel breed of... davy jones' theme...
and something from...
conspiring with... a hellraiser: music box...
in between these... and...
     none... of these...
and as ever...
all that... within the practical english...
of some sort of an assurance...
crippling the "lad" from essex...
            the desires to scream
impromptus...
allocating all that matters
as making a napkin
of a punctuation:
or the reverse... you partied:
i would be cited:
no go...
                no go not because
it was:
bull-whip-and-boring-crap...
sort of an: "affair"...
           that party soon turned up
as having its party-shorts...
sodden... with devolving
into: overtly-impressed...
roller-skating vigilantes...
assortment of batmans 2:0...
'two-point ohs":
hardly the ratio...
            well done: cheerio... *******
& anon.
         here, i... to grieve...
the sound of... creaking:
measured... widths and lengths of
wood!
     begone! for what "good"
could ever... "happen"...
this is no other friday, nor the 13th...
nor "good"...
            this be... "the friday"?

what god makes himself:
repugant... annually? or for that matter...
what demigod...
no longer once a year...
but: for... every... single... *******... year...
since!
until... somehow... that payot grows
an eye... at the end: tip-off a zappa
far right congregation: "well done"...

concert: a trumpet was about
to be smuggled in...
a kangaroo... was... limerick in
limbo... for the pouch...
the confines of being: sentimental...
the Congo... this...deity of Cain...
this...
          shadow teasing crescendo...
O! what... norms are to be
kept intact.... and all those...
to be later bound to having been...
excavated...

silence is my worship:
silence is my crown...
silence is my jury...
silence is my "agony aunt"...
              little late: come the boom!
i die: my glorification of relief...
i leftover.... boliersuit...
iz whatz we make cull of...
the... retards at the shooting lounge
of limp-**** hard-ons...
there's this... seance of erotica...
that... has a knife:
because it always wishes for a limp ****!

patriot of the 22 January 1863...
i've seen the thieves...
the photographs taken...
        a woman is to be compensated...
one is running cresendos
of rolling hamsterwheels in her head...
another is...
making details of scourging:
from a details in picture into a word...
because: of what: is a ghost...
to be fathomed as: somehow... a detail?

i do want to see h'america...
the h'america of cain...
                no other!
america is the playground of cain's spawn:
son of sam...
       david copperfield...
catcher in the rye: sort of leisure activity
worth of *******...

              CA-IN!
your little affair with: h'america:
the disney the anti-thesis ofSiberia...
       give me the grizzly bear first...
then equip me with a kissing through
to a killing spree: sort of equipment!

then... only then...
call me... retardo: espressro: limbo-fucktardo:
sr.! o'k'avvie?!
**** 'ebrew hoarder...
what excuse is there: for a "minority"...
given the existence of israel?!
i see none...
and in seeing none...
is that: auschwitz: tel aviv welcomes you?!
Though written three hundred
and sixty five days ago,
the following poetic commemoration
doth not warrant any modification.

Said prolific author born February 7, 1812,
whose living descendents
I would be thrilled to befriend,
hence if anonymous reader
by some genetic fluke
linkedin to said
prolific storied author
please kindly reciprocate.

greetings mutual friend,
hard times dash
great expectations in this bleak house,
whereby battle of life ensues
when Sunday chimes
from master humphrey’s clock
issue somber american notes
invoking overshadowing doom
from young gentlemen:
oliver twist, nicholas nickleby, barnaby rudge
martin chuzzlewit, david copperfield,

young cricket and on the hearth little dorrit
collaborated on pickwick papers
with dombey and son detailing
how I (a haunted man/
ghost’s bargain) alias mudfog
got self absorbed in his old curiosity shop
hunted down by boyhood days
(akin to an endless Christmas carol
frieze as child’s history),
now a thick dust covered holiday romance
memory portraying this signal-man

(according to george silverman’s explanation)
eerily similar to the mystery of edwin drood,
exiled after his trial for ******
birthing three ghost stories
inhabiting a haunted house
affecting the young couples lamplighter
an uncommercial traveler
evidenced by pictures from italy
prone to speeches, sketches
by boz and his lazy tour
an oft repeated tale of two
cities best read at dusk.
Ryan O'Leary May 2022
.                    Nature Lies


         Chameleons camouflage

                 cuckoos cheat

           Copperfield conjures.

         Truth is for the religious

             the working classes

        and unquestioning minds.

       He who believeth shall be

          saved, but propaganda

   deniers, are d,ooo,ooo,ooomed.

— The End —