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The Goddess of the Moon dethroned; hark, she strikes-
the hunter she remains.
Her next prey she takes,
setting him among her hounds.

“Forth!” cry she, and forth he go,
Frenzied in rage by the mistress.

The former prey, his escape near completed
but new hound upon him set,
the wolf, he is, and he is wounded
escape he make, it not be yet.
His wounds, to which he may have attended
And made his life profuse in ecstasy,
But alas, new hound upon him baited
Pinned is he now, below his maw.

“Forth!” Quoth she, the former Prey overtaken,
Cruel arrow strike among the vitals,

Even further crippl’d be he.
Set upon by hounds and jackals,
Escape he makes,
Seems but an impossibility.

He crieth out in pain and lashes out at cruel once mistress,
Turning upon a cur, once friend
“Did I not at once befriend you?”
“Aye,” say he, “but attack command doth my mistress send.

A cruel beast am I, to be obeyed by none,
Once wild but contained now among her fleet.
Bewitched by her bait of comfort,
and tantalizing cuts of meat.”

Onward flees the former,
Set upon by pack and foot
Running from his love, now fallen;
Goddess of the moon; now mortal.

He stumbles forth weak and wounded,
But laughs with sick incredulity,
“I fear, my friend, you hath been tricked,
Nothing but pain and woe await for thee.

Although I am hurt and heavy,
My escape I make, and too my recovery.
Although I have not a place to run,
My defenses shall I prepare for thee.

And once her arrows no longer find me,
Her frustration mounts forevermore,
For I wert the one to she denieth,
The quarry escaped from her bitter clutch,
Her rages shall fall upon you, the silent,
Innocent cur, bewitched in her trust.”

An arrow flew and missed its mark,
And former prey made his escape.
Domestic cur sat now puzzling,
Would there ever come a day?

“Cur!” she cried, the brazen huntress
What fault is it that he hath escap’d?
Would you not have him captured for eternal torture,
To please thy mistress forevermore?”

He looks upon her with woe and worry,
“Why him doth you desire so?
Wherefore his eternal torture
Do you desire him to be in constant throes?

Thou hast me now,” he cries despairing,
“Canst thou be sate, is this not enough?
Must his pain you also seeth,
To satisfy your sickn’d mind?”

“You are my hound, dearest of course,
But one of many I am afraid,
This one cleverly hath escaped,
If not possessed, he must be slain.

No wild coyote may treat me so,
For Artemis, am I.
No one may disrespect the huntress,
with flashing teeth and golden eye.

Forth! I say, forth, go onward,
In pursuit may you him follow,
For my arrows are not enough display
Of the pain deserved him so.”

Here the cur sat wondering,
Lost among his mistress’ hate,
He began to puzzle her condition,
And if her rage would ever sate.

“Doth you not hate him?
He is mine enemy, this is for sooth.
Thereby the ‘proximation,
Should he be yours in truth, in truth.

Let your rage boil up,
Your hackles slacken,
Your saliva build,
This wild beast hath defamed your maiden!

Your beauty, your treasure, your master and mistress!
Go forth young hound, go forth and be vicious!
Tear him apart, rip him asunder!
Have ye no doubt, and make you no blunder!”

And thence stood the hound,
The Goddess’ new prey,
He ran after the wolf,
With little heed.

His doubts now removed,
His blood now aboil,
His frenzy at max,
He set to his toil.

He would now find the wolf,
And pin him down so,
Allowing his maiden to deal that finite blow.
John F McCullagh Jan 2012
What happened on Weehawken Heights,
that warm midsummer’s day?
There are several versions of the “truth”
but none for sure can say.

The Principals were both well known:
Hamilton and Burr.
Aaron Burr had made the challenge,
Hamilton would not demur.

Hamilton choose pistols as the weapons
Then Burr proposed the site.
Per the Irish Code Duello
It was all proper and right.

Dueling was illegal,
so the Seconds looked away
so they could plausibly deny
that they had seen the fray.

Each man walked off ten paces,
and Mister Pendleton yelled “Pre-sent”!
Most think that Hamilton fired first;
wide and right, his shot was spent.

Aaron Burr was deadly accurate:
His shot, its target found:
Alexander Hamilton, wounded,
swooned upon the ground.


“this wound is mortal, Doctor.”
was all Hamilton could say.
They bore him to the City where
he passed on the following day.


Aaron Burr also fled the scene,
evading prosecution.
He had “Full Satisfaction”,
this hero of the Revolution.

What is full satisfaction
when Burr’s Star was past its season?
He never more held public trust,
indeed, stood trial for treason.

A person can be haunted
by a ghost that none can see.
Burr’s brilliance had been blighted
by a sort of infamy.

Towards the end of his own life
Burr said of his enemy:
“{Had I known}The world was wide
enough for Hamilton and me.”




On July 11, 1804, Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr fought the most famous duel in American history. These two heroes of the Revolution were political enemies and Hamilton had done much to exclude Burr from the Presidency and from the  New York  governorship.  Burr,feeling he had been defamed by Hamilton's published remarks demanded the "Full Satisfaction" of a duel.  My account generally follows the account of the historian, Joesph Ellis. Any errors are my fault. Any items in quotes are words ascribed to these two famous individuals.  Aaron Burr never after held public office and eventually stood trial for treason for his alleged attempt to set up an independent country in the territory Jefferson purchased from France. After several years living in France, Burr returned to New york where he faded into obscurity. Alexander Hamilton is buried in the churchyard of Trinity Church in downtown New york.


Towards the end of his life, Burr remarked: "Had I read Sterne more and Voltaire less, I should have known the world was wide enough for Hamilton and me."[35]
Yenson Aug 2019
What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
Hey, listen now

You can't be wrong and get right
No matter how hard you may try
Anything that is in darkness, must come out in light
For you can't be wrong and get right

Now if you tell a little lie and think you get away
Cheat a little bit, then you will have to pay
'Cause when you think it's peace and safety, my friend
Sudden destruction's your end
Met this easy chick that don't **** ****, she a no brainer
I said **** my duck and she said "What could be lamer?!"
Defamed, I went home cried and smoked some ******
Watch teletubbies in my ****** like my last name was schiefer

I went to bed and heard a scream
like R.Kelly I peed my sheets
Turns out the ****** was laced some sort of hallucinogen
I'm worried that in my bloods a carcinogen
decided not to worry cause whats the point
We all die so chill and roll a joint
I'm hitting my stride here ja feel?
He saw her drop a wallet and nobody saw it
He returned it without her seeing it and she was glad
there was no thank you, no need to feel indebted to, no need to reciprocate, no belittling of the effort to not feel grateful, no aggrandizement of the effort to reward overly to the point of removing, no self-praise----all just a quiet act of kindness
but then someone did see him and blamed him for taking it in the first place and not only was the act not appreciated but it was scorned, misinterpreted, misunderstood, confused, defamed and finally ******.  When kindness is ****** could there be any greater crime?  The act was kindness and nobody understood it, and everyone jumped to conclusions, and everyone found one reason to **** for another reason, and nobody took the extra time, caring, compassion, and thoroughness and patience and love it would have taken to find out the truth---so the the greatest crime prevailed---far greater than the act that was understood to be the "justifiable damnation", but isn't it always the breeding grounds for justifiable damnation when conclusions about the biggest things in life are so quickly assumed to be true when they aren't.  Reverse the crime with patience, love, understanding, caring being thorough, being careful, and remember the act of returning the wallet held such integrity that your shine will show the light to everyone else sooner or later but your light will forever shine regardless so don't unjustifiably **** yourself either---love yourself---and thank you for returning the wallet
Dr Sam Burton Oct 2014
What a shame
When someone loses fame
For doing nothing
Because of a shortcoming

For days, he was liked
Taken care of and prized
But once he had to be away
Got forgotten and castaway

He was called a liar
To be put on fire
He was blamed
Accused and defamed

For, frankly speaking, no reason
Yet he was charged with treason
Days ago was a family member
Now he's put at stake of timber

Indeed, very odd is man
When he is subject to ban
When jealousy driven
And heart-striken

Lucky is a freeman
Who refuses to live in a can
Lucky is the man
Who is not fried on a pan.

Sam Burton(C)







Today is Friday, Oct. 11, the 284 day of 2014 with 81 to follow.

The moon is waning. Morning stars are Jupiter and Venus. Evening stars are Mars, Mercury, Neptune, Uranus and Saturn.
In 1845, the U.S. Naval Academy was formally opened at Fort Severn, Annapolis, Md., with 50 midshipmen in the first class.

In 1886, Griswold Lorillard of Tuxedo Park, N.Y., fashioned the first tuxedo for men.

A thought for the day:

We all should rise above the clouds of ignorance, narrowness and selfishness. -- Booker T. Washington


Quotes for the day:

A good traveller is one who does not know where he is going to, and a perfect traveller does not know where he came from.

------------------------

All women's dresses are merely variations on the eternal struggle between admitted desire to dress and the unadmitted desire to undress.

Lin Yutang

"What seems to us as bitter trials are often blessings in disguise."

Oscar Wilde

"It takes but one positive thought when given a chance to survive and thrive to overpower an entire army of negative thoughts."

Robert H. Schuller

My boyfriend and I broke up. He wanted to get married and I didn't want him to.

Rita Rudner

It is only by following your deepest instinct that you can lead a rich life, and if you let your fear of consequence prevent you from following your deepest instinct, then your life will be safe, expedient and thin.

Katharine Butler Hathaway


TIVIA


What made Lucky Lindy so special?

Charles Lindbergh was not the first man to fly the Atlantic. He was the sixty-seventh. The first sixty-six made the crossing in dirigibles and twin-engine mail planes. Lindbergh was the first to make the dangerous flight alone.

Can your brain hurt?

Only figuratively -- Pain from any injury or illness is always registered by the brain. Yet, curiously, the brain tissue itself is immune to pain; it contains none of the specialized receptor cells that sense pain in other parts of the body. The pain associated with brain tumors does not arise from brain cells but from the pressure created by a growing tumor or tissues outside the brain.


Where can you see a lot of magnets?

More than 7,000 magnets are on display at the Guinness World of Records Museum and Gift Shop, located on the Las Vegas Strip. The exhibit is a portion of the more than 26,000-magnet collection of Louise J. Greenfarb, dubbed "The Magnet Lady," whose accumulation was designated by the Guinness Book of World Records as the world's "Largest Refrigerator Magnet" collection.



Poetry

Evening Star

Edgar Allan Poe

'Twas noontide of summer,
And mid-time of night;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale, thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves.
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold- too cold for me-
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turned away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.


Vocabulary

Strudel

noun

: a pastry made from a thin sheet of dough rolled up with filling and baked

Example:

Strudels are usually made with high-gluten flour to increase the malleability of the dough.

"The Supremes belted out a song on the radio, their voices as smooth and flawless as the ribbon of cream Kirsten poured from the pitcher onto her father's strudel, and the whole house smelled cheerfully of pork and spiced apples, laced with a note of butter. — From Rebecca Coleman’s 2011 novel The Kingdom of Childhood



Health and Beauty Tip

Mineral Water for greasy hair

If you have oily hair, use a shampoo that contains zinc. It's okay to condition if you feel you need it -- just don't use it on your roots and scalp.


JOKES

Funny News

From the Churchdown Parish Magazine:
"Would the Congregation please note that the bowl at the back of the Church, labelled 'For The Sick,' is for monetary donations only."

-o-

From The Guardian concerning a sign seen in a Police canteen in Christchurch, New Zealand:
'Will the person who took a slice of cake from the Commissioner's Office return it immediately. It is needed as evidence in a poisoning case."

-o-

From The Times:

A young girl, who was blown out to sea on a set of inflatable teeth, was rescued by a man on an inflatable lobster. A coast-guard spokesman commented: 'This sort of thing is all too common these days.'

-o-

From The Gloucester Citizen:

A *** line caller complained to Trading Standards. After dialling an 0891 number from an advertisement entitled 'Hear Me Moan' the caller was played a tape of a woman nagging her husband for failing to do jobs around the house! . Consumer Watchdogs in Dorset refused to look into the complaint, saying, 'He got what he deserved.'

-o-

From The Barnsley Chronicle:

Police arrived quickly, to find Mr Melchett hanging by his fingertips from the back wall. He had run out of the house when the owner, Paul Finch, returned home unexpectedly, and, spotting an intruder in the garden, had visiting Mrs Finch and, hearing the front door open, had climbed out of the rear window. But the back wall was 8 feet high and Mr Melchett had been unable to get his leg over.

-o-

From The Scottish Big Issue:

In Sydney, 120 men named Henry attacked each other during a 'My Name is Henry' convention. Henry ****** of Canberra accused Henry Pap of Sydney of not being a Henry at all, but in fact an Angus. 'It was a lie', explained Mr Pap, 'I'm a Henry and always will be,' whereupon Henry Pap attacked Henry ******, whilst two other Henrys - Jones and Dyer - attempted ! to pull them apart. Several more Henrys - Smith, Calderwood an! d Andrew s - became involved and soon the entire convention descended into a giant fist fight. The brawl was eventually broken up by riot police, led by a man named Shane.

-o-

From The Daily Telegraph:

In a piece headed "Brussels Pays 200,000 Pounds to Save Prostitutes": "[T]he money will not be going directly into the prostitutes' pocket, but will be used to encourage them to lead a better life. We will be training them for new positions in hotels."

-o-

From The Derby Abbey Community News:

We apologise for the error in the last edition, in which we stated that 'Mr Fred Nicolme is a defective in the police force.' This was a typographical error. We meant of course that Mr Nicolme is a detective in the police farce.

-o-
From The Guardian:

After being charged 20 pounds for a 10 pounds overdraft, 30 year old Michael Howard of Leeds changed his name by deed poll to 'Yorkshire Bank Plc are Fascist! *s.' The Bank has now asked him to close his account, and Mr *s has asked them to repay the 69p balance by cheque, made out in his new name.

-o-

From The Manchester Evening News:

Police called to arrest a naked man on the platform at Piccadilly Station released their suspect after he produced a valid rail ticket.

-o-

An Austrian circus dwarf died recently when he bounced sideways from a trampoline and was swallowed by a hippopotamus. Seven thousand people watched as little Franz Dasch popped into the mouth of Hilda the Hippo and the animal's gag reflex forced it to swallow. The crowd applauded wildly before other circus people realized what had happened.

-o-

An elderly woman at a unit for sufferers of senile dementia passed round a box of mothballs thinking that they were mints. Eleven people were taken to hospital for treatment.

Confessional Etiquette


The new priest is nervous about hearing confessions, so he asks an older priest to sit in on his sessions. The new priest hears a couple confessions, then the old priest asks him to step out of the confessional for a few suggestions.
The old priest says, "Cross your arms over your chest and rub your chin with one hand."

The new priest tries this. The old priest suggests, "Try saying things like, 'I see,' 'yes,' 'go on,' 'I understand,' and 'how did you feel about that?'"

The new priest says those things, trying them out. The old priest says, "Now, don't you think that's a little better than saying, 'Whoa... What happened next?'"

So Funny

A guy purchased Willie Nelson's hair for $37,000. ***** removed his braids and the guy bought them for $37,000. This is the kind of decision you make after spending the day on Willie's tour bus.

David Litterman

Did you hear what happened to Willie Nelson's hair? They sold it. There was an auction this week and a pair of Willie Nelson's braids sold for $37,000. It's a good deal because each braid has a street value of $80,000.

Jimmy Kimmel

Quick Blonde Jokes

Q: Why did the blonde keep putting quarters in the soda vending machine?

A: Because she thought she was winning.

Q: Why did the blonde take 16 friends to the movies?

A: Under 17 not admitted!

Q: Why did the blonde bake a chicken for 3 and a half days?

A: It said cook it for half an hour per pound, and she weighed 125.


Have a very nice Saturday!
Graff1980 Dec 2014
I raise my arms, and they become wings. White, black, and brown feathers flutter in the breeze. My eyes lose their white and brown color to become coal black. Hands up; the bullets fire. I will never fly.

I play war, fighting off imaginary enemies. The airsoft gun threatens no one. It is only and extension of my imagination. Childhood, safe until I feel the bullets pierce my skin without a single warning.

I run in fear for my life. Breath ragged, time’s jagged line red with life’s energy. My blood becomes street art.

In frustration I raise my voice. Tired of getting singled out. Tired of being black while walking with my hands in my pocket. The air will not come, this time I did not, could not run. Please, I can’t breathe. Day becomes night but that is nothing new to me and mine.

I look back in time. See the strange fruit with bitter juices dripping down the tree. The wind is not strong enough to move me. My family is not allowed to take me down just yet. Weird white sheets laugh and dance protected by their anonymity. The police don’t bother seeking justice for me.

With the modern age, you’d think we could be better. Cellphones, and judges robes, internet tv shows, twenty four hours new coverage that shades and paints A hundred different stories daily. Another dead man defamed in the court of public opinion. Another victim blamed. Another crime left unnamed. Another murderer not blamed. ******* ****, things really haven’t changed.

I walk home from the library, light skinned, these are not my sins. However, I can see the sorrow and the tragedy. I feel tears falling for all those families. Not my kin but then again when I search within they are my brothers and sisters.  A dark anguish clouds my senses. Seeing other human beings in pain causes me pain and it is worsened by the lack of compassion of my peers. I hear lies like he was a ****, or dodges like he had a criminal record. But he was human flesh like my flesh and now his death is a black hole of grief and rage.

Silence is a prison of reflection, iron bars of sorrow built upon more sorrow. I cannot speak clearly enough. I question what right I have to say these things. However, they are spoken from love, hope, and a desire to see us aspire to be better. I guess that is all the permission I need to say that any injustice bleeds us all of our dignity and humanity.
Ja Jul 2016
Trolls and moles, this way did pass
But they can all, kiss my ***
I’ve neither maligned nor defamed
And am surprised, to be blamed
But, I bear no malice or intent
I’m only left, with this putrid scent
BOEMS BY JA 576
Glenn McCrary Oct 2012
As the hail makes love to the streets
I query its vendetta with I
What had I done to be defamed
By such unforeseen chagrin

The sound ‘tis the ****** of the horizon
Echoes that of a violinist scarred by ****** mortification
The harmony plays in quite a lovely manner
Could hook one quickly if not careful

Appeased I sit in a wooden, black chair
And saturate in fine rock refrains
A pacifying compensation if I may say
A scripted version of hell
Armed with knowledge
of any given set of rules,
One inherits great Power:
arbitration of One's own

Be well-versed
enough to be able to subverse
any and all obstacles, however adverse,
and, moreover, to be able to transverse
thyself (and, by extension, thy universe!)
perchance edified by some means of verse,
(but not necessarily: bask in the diverse!)
during this sacred and fleeting saga of the converse
called Life: denied, defamed, and defiled by perverse
and attenuated souls; true cowards: unwilling to traverse
their own inner darkness, rather opting for the reverse:
to turn themselves schismatically and indefinitely averse
to the divine, ineffable, and limitless inverse:


So this plea, please:


Just be you,
let them be them.
Let me be me,
and let her be her.
Let him be him,
just let us be us.
Just let us.
Lettuce.

("Why he talkin' 'bout lettuce now, mommy?"
"I guess he just think he funny, the fool!")



Look, point is:

You are you and I am not,
and I'm okay with that.



I am I and you are not,
and I'm okay with that.


I hope you feel the same.
If not, by me it's coo',
yet I jus' gotta say:
I pity the foo'.


Bask in the holy beauty of this Life
while you still have the chance.
Truly, Solace awaits those who are willing to face this unchangeable aspect of this Life:

Diversity is the nature of this Universe;
the Void is One is Two are Three are the Ten Thousand
(et cetera, blah blah blah)
Get over it and strive for balance.
Maintain balance.
Create it.
Be it.
Be able to lose balance and find it again and again and again...
Be it.
Be you.
I'll be me.
I'll try, at least.
I hope you do, too.
I mean, I hope you try to be you,
not that you try to be me..
'cause that's for me to do.. not you. that's..
oh jesus, here we go!

Foremost,
One must harmonize with One's own Godself.

Nary another
can or will do that for you,
nor shall ye for any other.

So, whatsayeth thou:
let's just try
and we'll see just what we can do.
I'm optimistic,
albeit a sign of weakness in such a needlessly vampyristic world.




Please,
heed my verse
should ye be so apt,
or, rather:
inclined!






Thank you for reading.
Blessings upon thy Path.
I hope this makes even just half as much sense to fresh minds as it makes to me right now.

Words are constrained to interpretation,
but therein lies much of their magic.

I wouldn't change it if I could.
--


"******'fuckidyfuck! It's five in the ******' mornin' already‽‽
I been writin' n' editin' this ******' ******* for an hour now‽
Jesus Christ!"

"Whuddup, homeboy?"

"I got work at ******' ten a.-******'-m.!!"

"God-****! You so ******, yo.
Huh, ***** t'be you, foo'!"

"You tellin' me‽ Shiiit.
Look, Jesus, bro, I got a favor t'ask ya:
So, I know you all, uh- real nice an' all,
an' I ain't tryin' t'take advantage a that immaculate ****,
but, look: I drank a lot a water, 'n I got plenty left, but uh-
I could really ******' use some medicinal miracle wine right about now!"

--
PS: Profanity in the notes field ain't explicit, so it would seem.
In keeping with the allusion at the beginning of this piece:
Knowledge is ******' Power, y'all!
-
Now it's five-*******-thirty-
make that five-*******-forty-five in the morning.
Oh, the afflictions I incur in the name of this silly piece of scripture.

Still no miracle wine...
--
Seven o'******-clock rolls around with the epiphany that my lazy and crazy self can get me my own ******' wine! Expedite the whole debacle a little, y'know?

--
Seventeen-*******'-fiddy-one and I just got off work; ne'er got me wine,
but surely ein bißchen Whiskey!
Los geht's!
David Barr Jul 2014
Signals are indicative of current warnings, just like a beacon of light which penetrates the abyss of parliamentary speeches which are designed to evoke contemptuous laughter.
Such animated gestures are not dissimilar to crumbled biscuits which are catapulted before throngs of anticipatory populations.
However, there are varying degrees of rectitude, where the graded fraternity assume grandiosity as they lodge in the fabric of society with loyal deception.
Lurking in the esoteric shadows with the adorned regalia of blatancy and defamed characters - our captors are hidden in plain sight with political sanction.
Gestures are a form of non-verbal communication, where specific messages are planted in anthropological soils with intended purpose.
The churl in spirit, up or down
  Along the scale of ranks, thro' all,
  To him who grasps a golden ball,
By blood a king, at heart a clown;

The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil
  His want in forms for fashion's sake,
  Will let his coltish nature break
At seasons thro' the gilded pale:

For who can always act? but he,
  To whom a thousand memories call,
  Not being less but more than all
The gentleness he seem'd to be,

Best seem'd the thing he was, and join'd
  Each office of the social hour
  To noble manners, as the flower
And native growth of noble mind;

Nor ever narrowness or spite,
  Or villain fancy fleeting by,
  Drew in the expression of an eye,
Where God and Nature met in light;

And thus he bore without abuse
  The grand old name of gentleman,
  Defamed by every charlatan,
And soil'd with all ignoble use.
Julian Nov 2016
Palimpset prowling on the husk of beleaguered Rome
Aflame from Nero’s tenuous but tenable throne
Swiftly spoken with a singed hourglass and whispered sand
Crafty spacecraft are majestic more than 100 grand
Morpheus enlists the denuded Agent Smith
To swarm the battalions of celebrities that possess and trip
Upon the threaded needle of threadbare convention of betokened appreciation
Every rapport and every fleet dives beneath plumbable detection
So neutered brain damage became a rummaged adage
That too many whack-a-moles are sutured beyond the crisp package
Whet the craven set and propagate waves of earthquakes that strut
The mother of nature is ******* when profligate danger is a defamed ****
So in amphigory and honesty I have become the omphalos of sincerity
I arm myself with brandished personage and speak openly with great integrity
But to brag of how much witchcraft and wizardry exists in this green village
Is to invite a locust swarm of bad mascots and misnomers readily pillaged
So warm with the dawning sun, writhe with the diurnal pun
Cloister the Kloosters and Clooneys with dreaded Harry Dunne
But to relapse into the purview of insanity seems beyond the most lame duck profanity
Because reality conflated with virtual presence is a tantamount inanity
I emerge strong and gilded with every fluttered birds chavish splurge
As magnates that magnetize wealth and glitz are present and observed
But yet they are disbelieved by the concealment of truth and the obfuscation of beleaguered doubt
Swank and squalor rarely combine but when they do they obliviate all winning streaks in a route
A route that spans the gamut between stimulants and stimulations
A career path that looks upward at gainsay and gained elations
The sprawl of profiteers like me will be requited with the passage of years
The forced segregation is the totality of malfeasance and the sum of none of any fears
Only the rebarbative consequence of the giant tortoise and its Vuvuzela cheers
In a degraded state of annoyance that ESP conquers doubt with bionic ears
Lisp on the curb, wretched on the stomp, racism is nothing but masqueraded insecurity poised as self-doubt
Debited to each creation on a variegated piebald wrinkle on an extended litany of lies
Crips and Bloods become Croods and Oilers that are so U.N.-refined as an expedient for wise demise
To scourge the requisite harm of religions endangered by a patchwork of State Farm
To rinse the sour sins of aboriginal boomerangs that switch a bit patchy but always charm
To the knowledge of good and evil we have found again a permissible fruit in an opportune time
That erasure of the reverse course of sin to righteousness finds sublime
But Judah and Israel rebelled on principles and principals
Idolatry in schools is expulsion of nothing other than the voguish dismissible
We recrudesce in this time to an aborning erratum on a parchment of time
That claims hypocrisy in its stodgy restriction of suburban muses crooning originality on wine
Serendipity floods the proud with the avarice of bricolage clamor excessively loud
It extorts the simpleton to belief without understanding or disbelief without doubt
Return to the Jedi of the nomadic tribe of weathered clout
Clippers that sail and sprint through time where stragglers pout
For in every endeavor of this corporate oligarchy our choices are constrained
Our voices are transmuted into simplicities that own our narratives of a raillery train
And every squeal of rustbelt friction is voiced on simplistic fiction
And every majesty is unheard because of the pollution of abrasive friction
So I speak with the scourge of fish and the novelty of clones
I teach and desist sometimes because my eyes were never affixed to any throne
But I am reminded that a rap sheet is Wrigley and Chicago is Piccadilly
Your guess is as good as mine about where a Grand Elect Knight begins really
So to the insurrection of idolatry of a scarred past we have a supplanted Friday blacker that **** and smog until we need gas masks
Such a salesmanship is required to penetrate the desired, even when Iron Man and I are simultaneously wired
On the Iron in the Front Seat that derelicts the panache of the proud intellect because of languor fired
Women titillate themselves on the jeers of hollowed husks of conformity
They intrude with persnickety restive restriction because of arrogated authority
Such a negative bear must mean a positive bull, but **** is easy and blips are cool
That RADAR’s WHIP detection scrawls a deadened earth deracinated from considerations of thinness and girth
The Dickens of Charlie Brown is worth more than just a single smirk
So to those women that skimp on my exultant smile and my delicate words
Lady Gaga has written too many songs about your personal rejection which is patently absurd
Rays of thespian cordiality winnow the borderline between flicks and literary finds
Directors and directives sort an assortment of philosophies in the alcoves to which many are blind
But if to hear the chatter of a fresh tomato never spattered
Pallor and weight, thickness and cheddar grate, inconsequential when you are elite and of a winning fate
So finally ditch your zany attempt to maroon me as a victim of puritanism’s puny ideals easiest to conflate
I have the winning brand and proper package to balance the Libra Scale weight and wait
To those dismissive urchins of passive standards it is finally time to consider and deliver on that luscious date
Al Mak Poetry Mar 2018
You have no chance to rewrite your story
There is no way to erase mistakes
You can eclipse your shame with glory
But your faults will always rise the stakes.
You can’t escape your past and reputation
They both will chase you to the day of doom
And your tears shed in lamentation
Will not dispel the reigning sceptic gloom.
Do things of which you’ll never be ashamed
Be kind. Be grateful, generous and honest
Mean deeds will hurt you first, getting you defamed
The noble ones will make of you the greatest.
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Loss
LossOne persons answer to deaths finality
Nancy what do I do I had things to write that I wanted to show you. The flame of your life dwindled to a flicker and then only a glowing ember. Now all that remains is the coldest coal nothing of your beauty and resonating life to earth shows there is no place to rekindle the glow the life you did show. Like a candle in a dark room all the burning finished but the day is so far away. In this dungeon darkness to sit alone unutterable words bind the tongue as strong as deaths cruel unyielding grip. All that is left all that anyone can do is speak to your memory. I know it is not as strong as death a body without breath my defeat the impenetrable veil all semblance of human emotional depth it repels without effort or mercy. Only Saul pierced the pall of this blackest wall spoke to one through evil device to great the cost for briefest utterances he lost it all. I want the peace we shared in common those days without end so cluttered and full with bits and pieces of life that we both shared and knew in detail. Strangers left outside the circle of our hopes and dreams now I to face a barricade the first parameter the mist of gray sorrows dark lined and drawn face. The second mythical beings that taunt with illusion and promise that evaporates at the feeblest attempt to get your attention. You fall to the ground the most familiar and comforting knowable existence then you convulse at the knowledge this is where my friend is defined defamed a better word she walked on the soil she ruled earth and sky like a gull playful exciting your eyes always filled the air with contentment. There was the airy feel that nature was dancing to an enthralling tune that you alone could hear and as you passed you would offer your hand and then two would swirl seemly even able to captivate the wind. Where can you replace the irreplaceable the grave bares this truth and comfort one of our own has found peace among the thorns man’s life is short and full of trouble only a vapor to be consumed. I guess that is the great rub as William so eloquently stated it. There is this rock hard fact determination is birthed at life’s going before we can be as the willow bent by every breeze our heart our limbs react to regret with a stiffing resolve we will go forward they are honored as it should be but by God’s unerring hand we will sacrifice on this damnable altar of pain to speak to act in accordance with their cherished memory that knows no bounds we the keeper of the flame the body grows old but the spirit ever renews. It isn’t cheap tears sorrow the legal tinder you present buying them back from the abyss never wavering you keep their lives not in dark foreboding corridors by sorrowful disdain but in living streams ever coursing. Through knowing and holding to the promise. “I go to prepare a place for you”
Critter Khan Nov 2011
Lost in a petri dish
Alone with a wish and a can
A list of excuses and a spinning thirst
First and foremost insatiable
The parasitic host of the ball
Falling in a familiar black swirl
Alight and ashamed
Defamed and demoralized
Dancing in divine depravity
An imp to the flame
A slave to the golden glow
Hal Loyd Denton Nov 2011
Loss
One persons answer to deaths finality
Nancy what do I do I had things to write that I wanted to show you. The flame of your life dwindled to a flicker and then only a glowing ember. Now all that remains is the coldest coal nothing of your beauty and resonating life to earth shows there is no place to rekindle the glow the life you did show. Like a candle in a dark room all the burning finished but the day is so far away. In this dungeon darkness to sit alone unutterable words bind the tongue as strong as deaths cruel unyielding grip. All that is left all that anyone can do is speak to your memory. I know it is not as strong as death a body without breath my defeat the impenetrable veil all semblance of human emotional depth it repels without effort or mercy. Only Saul pierced the pall of this blackest wall spoke to one through evil device to great the cost for briefest utterances he lost it all. I want the peace we shared in common those days without end so cluttered and full with bits and pieces of life that we both shared and knew in detail. Strangers left outside the circle of our hopes and dreams now I to face a barricade the first parameter the mist of gray sorrows dark lined and drawn face. The second mythical beings that taunt with illusion and promise that evaporates at the feeblest attempt to get your attention. You fall to the ground the most familiar and comforting knowable existence then you convulse at the knowledge this is where my friend is defined defamed a better word she walked on the soil she ruled earth and sky like a gull playful exciting your eyes always filled the air with contentment. There was the airy feel that nature was dancing to an enthralling tune that you alone could hear and as you passed you would offer your hand and then two would swirl seemly even able to captivate the wind. Where can you replace the irreplaceable the grave bares this truth and comfort one of our own has found peace among the thorns man’s life is short and full of trouble only a vapor to be consumed. I guess that is the great rub as William so eloquently stated it. There is this rock hard fact determination is birthed at life’s going before we can be as the willow bent by every breeze our heart our limbs react to regret with a stiffing resolve we will go forward they are honored as it should be but by God’s unerring hand we will sacrifice on this damnable altar of pain to speak to act in accordance with their cherished memory that knows no bounds we the keeper of the flame the body grows old but the spirit ever
Shruti Atri Jul 2014
All good is lost,
And we pay the cost,
As we watch our country burn;

A shadow up ahead,
In the path we now tread,
A molester at every turn.

A haven for girls,
Kept decked up in pearls,
Now amused as they stand defamed;

What change came about?
How sick can a man turn out?
The law keeps the culprit unnamed!

Hurting another with such fallen grace;
Leaving her in pieces, feeling disgraced:
Soiling her form, her mind, her life;

It disgusts, hurts and saddens the soul,
A father, a brother, a friend played the role:
Shattering her dreams, her goals in a strife.

Tainted now in the darkest of shades:
Her life is lost, a future fades;
Faith is a myth, humanity a tale.


She's hardly alive, like the waking dead;
*And though she weeps on her poisioned bed,
She will live on bloodless and pale.
I wrote this more than a year back, on reading about a 5 year old **** victim.
I was pushed to frustration when I tried to Google through the News to read the whole report about the case...and found that on entering '5 year old' in Google search, the very first suggestible search read, '5 year old *****'.
It was really shocking...after all the progress in information and research and all this development in infrastructure and industry throughout all countries, have we returned to being barbarians on the moral front?!
Please know, that I acknowledge the fact that only the fairer *** is not exclusively a victim here, it's astounding to look at the number of cases where the roles are reversed...that just makes it all a whole lot sadder...
Hal Loyd Denton Jan 2012
Over view to a ****
I will start with a question do you think someone could sell you on killing yourself? Your answer an emphatic no think again
Every Christ less grave attests that it can be done everyone without Christ and his spirit will be raised in incorruption and will
Suffer the second death its happing wholesale we have neighborhood watch programs in the physical realm they are effective
Not so much in the spiritual the devil goes about seeking who he may devour everyone is prey including you and I not much watching
going on I truly doubt that there isn’t a family that’s not effected by drugs or other deadly attacks what are we waiting for how
Much mayhem and destruction must come to pass the word says they watch in vain if God doesn’t keep the city.

Two stories are being written in parallel one is in blood the other in deceit two came from heaven one’s message go live show
That you care that you are there the other go and lie use their weakness to bind them ready them for the burning all strata of society
Is susceptible great and small alike all end in the same net. One would be known as a man of sorrow his identification with your pain and
Suffering know not that there is a high priest that passed into the heaven that can be touched by the feelings of your infirmities
The other works without end to cause you to enter a path that has no way out all ends in disaster and sorrow that’s the sorrow he
Knows he knows it all together he is the master creator of it ****** suicide addictions marriage failure his prints are all over it
The other leaves evidence too his tears and the beaten tattered almost unrecognizable dream that he carries of you what you should
And can be love rushes in only to see you blindly walk away with two killers yourself and the devil while the soul is whipped defamed
Marred past recognition it must have your permission to grow and live you stand like the operator at the irrigation gates two streams
Made by two different ones already mentioned one bubbles and gurgles like hot tar he knows a lot about hell fire this stream is filled
With every conceivable filthy immeasurable disgusting bad habit depraved desire known to man you deny bible truth church
Attendance and God’s people bur when you look in the mirror you only see what the enemy wants you to see by blindness delusion
Smoke and mirrors of the craftiest con that ever lived all the while the other stream we are washed by his word by his spirit and the
Gifts of that spirit holy living mercy abundant grace love without end what a person you are capable of becoming but only you can
Open the gate to let righteousness and goodness grow and flourish the spirit of Christmas touches so profoundly honors him that
Knew not sin he had one purpose in life go to be the just and true sacrifice that God could except cover you once and for all in pure
Sin destroying sacrificial blood in this life free from wickedness go set in his presence that where the other one‘s defeat lies if you
Only looked into what you’re really missing you ever sat anywhere and felt waves of love touch you in the deepest depths of your soul
He says he will bare you burdens’ and that his yoke is easy the only way you can even come close to understanding is think how you
Feel when your spouse or child or parent touches you with their love now multiply that into infinity and you will know how much
Jesus loves you he is able pour that right into your heart after a bit it flows over and starts touching your friends and loved ones
You knowingly would not instruct your children to do wrong but actions speak louder than words you don’t have time for God
Your children would have a great time over coming that obstacle, a manger a cross an empty grave is his earthly present to you at this
Time of honoring him the empty grave allowed him to say I will send a comforter to you before long he is going split the clouds if you
Say to no to the other one today you will fly to that glory land home every dream and longing you have ever known waits just inside those
Pearly gates
Danny P- Jan 2014
Gracious angel, held just past my reach
I remember running wild with you, at the beach.
Extravagant white dress, manicured tresses,
That you let the water touch.

Fallen angel, at my feet,
I remember you begging to finish me.
Enough black lace, curls around your face,
That you let defamed hands touch.

Weeping angel, at the stairs,
I remember you saying you never cared.
Simple jeans, hair lost in the breeze,
Which the waves of my love couldn't touch.
Halie Harris Apr 2012
It hurts so much that I could cry--
I could die
asking "why"
was it all a lie?

You had my heart inside your hand,
yet demand
to leave a brand
for my soul's command?

I danced foolishly to your song
while all along
it was wrong;
now caught in pain's throng...

You held my gaze, so hypnotized,
my demise
by your lies
I never hypothesized.

Yet you can say you're not to blame
for your game
that profaned
my heart, now defamed?

Somehow you say: "Why can't you see,
it can't be--
will never be.",
after deceiving me?

Why would you play such a facade?
No laud
for such fraud,
your judgement was flawed...

Tell me why I cannot be mad,
not glad,
and so sad--
does that make me bad?

Why?
I don't understand,
what I've done wrong
to deserve only your guise,
my shame,
and this mute plea;
now crushed in your wicked maw,
left lonesome and mad...
Sum It Jan 2014
Act Anonymous
Put on the mask of your true self
Jump of the window and-
Talk with strangers

The true color of humanity is shining-
under the rags of the dumping site
where the dogs of the heaven made are-
mating . the cycle must - go on!

Needless to say,
the mask-
is the true identity

The star dust nebula swirling around
under every passing wheels
gives me chills under my anonymity

Still under the watch of divine intervention

and under the subject of my free will
"Please god close your eyes"

on the ride
i meet strangers with smile and
humans who don't care
there are turns of wormholes
and strong pull of black holes
the star dust nebula strikes again but-
its just a ride.

take a break now. the red signal means it.

-
-
* Break time Story*
Here is story I wanna tell . Just to keep you occupied.
I once met me on the turning of time travel.
I was horrible human because I defamed love for god
and few centuries ago, I was celebrated engineer
I happened to create the god. that was it. its a ride.
-
-
-

honk the horns mr. my man! start your engine, kindly.
Move on forth.
I have strangers to meet because they are with smiles.
Smiles.
"Kids sure are growing larger these days!"
"Drug abuse is hardly seen!"
"My eyes view only opaque haze...
from the awing abundance of trees!"
"Not a soul took their life this year!"
"And not one harassed for being queer!"
"Bullying?
What is this word you say?"

"My son is not known for
deceiving tricks,
or time spent in various prisons!"
"My daughter is not known
by her shade of lipstick,
in fact, when she speaks
everyone listens!"

"Not one reason to lock your door!"
"Avarice defamed, people are content with less,
rejoicing graciously for!"
"Did you hear of the major contribution
Of food for the poor?"
"I took a moment to watch water drops glisten"

"Predisposed judgements?
Don't make me laugh."
"Ink on the skin is an expression,
and a craft!"
"Those holes in their skin?
That just means they seek more!"

"It never occurred to me
To speak not the truth!"
"My government provides safety
without being uncouth"
"In fact, the president's never aloof
He's stern in his convictions!"

"Our troops have returned
from what they're calling
'the unnecessary war!'"
"BP oil are hanging their heads
to the floor!"
"And all marine life scrambling to shore,
don't worry, with this sanctuary, we be hoof"*


These things were heard on opposite day
And unless thoughts stray
They'll remain this way.
Don't let it waste, or let it fray
Because it matters right here, right now
Today
Written at 3:11 PM July 1st, 2014 by Christopher Polizzi (THE Apache Tomcat)
Faith Rex Aug 2012
Truths twisted for the conveniece of others
all assumed trusts abondoned
much invested, non respected much love given but nothing back
when will they see how horrible they are
when will they see what they have done
they know not of any other who has ever done what they have
making up stories in their heads
and saying it so much to themselves and others that they believe its true
phone calls of deception, testimonies of lies
framed, defamed and misnamed
one little voice believes
even in the face of all so knowledgeable
one lttle voice knows the truth
thank you little voice
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2017
when reading spinoza i find that:
  the mere word god is the best lubricant
to utilise when structuring language -
since god: remains in the domain
of language, and this language is
bound to thought, rather than
lunatic procrastination of prayer -
thought is not a duty: it's a leisure...
which is why i find atheists so pedantic
and pseudo-atheists even more
pedantic demand a genital sphere
of god - a word, or rather, a noun
that gives origin to all other nouns...
and if i were to truly make a "******"
distinction, after the difficulties or reading
two or three germans,
    this dutch jew is like what a woman
might think when moisturising
a baby's *** with ointments or
powder...
                  all i have is a rod -
and my child is in the crevice of a grave,
and if it ever has a womb to
insist upon, it's my mind -
the womb of man is his mind which
extends into the grave -
  and from the grave the child
answers...
which is why i have no affiliation
with living authors, none...
        reading spinoza after having
finished reading heidegger is like finding
the most unimaginable ease -
to read heidegger or kant
you have to be an atlas -
but when spinoza writes:
   it's like watching an autumnal leaf
tornado down to the ground -
spiralling in a ballerina poise -
    only when the truly difficult has
been carried, is the apparently
  "hellishly" difficult all the more
easier to be carried across the valley
of shadow, grit grime and gangrene...
   yet if we do share genitals as
what they are intended for:
  then man also possesses a womb:
the mind...
  the mind in man is the equivalent
of the womb in womb...
yet the difference is:
each of man's children is born of
death - a still born excited by
a dancing partner of your ego engaging
with it, lost, abandoned, hushed:
dusted over...
  never will these children
     feel the touch of oils upon their
buttocks, only haemorrhoids from
sitting on cold gravestone marble...
   and can you just imagine as to how:
the birth of man takes so much longer
than the biological birth of man
via woman?
                sometimes it takes a near
estimate of 2000 years to give birth of
man,
  or it takes 2000 or so years to finally
cut off the umbilical chord feeding
the *******, given archaeological findings
in egypt, and abort this ******* child...
to spare: the good man, joseph.
      yet the ease with which spinoza
nonchalantly uses the word god,
  un-found in modern atheists,
  who constantly barrage the word with
hurdles, obstructions,
   the mere mention of the word
without a suggestion of a being / non-being
ever being made convincing -
  it's simply a word that glides across all others,
obstructing the mere use of the word
suggests a belief in a being,
  rather than a fluidity of the language -
i'm actually surprised why atheists
do not consist of merely stutterers...
      a word among words does not
just happen to convince me to imagine -
yet if all casualness of the word is
curbed, and we are dealing with people who
actually use the word to imply:
   some concrete, aren't we really dealing
with atheistic hysterics?
                just a few aphorisms of
spinoza and you start to walk on water...
i think in the inverted circumstance of
not possessing a womb,
   but sharing opposite genitals to a woman,
hence i must possess the opposite
of a womb... i too must accommodate
a fetus of some sort...
    sure, it's dead, but with each dead
fetus in the womb of my mind -
  i bring about a morphing of the dead into
living, like frankenstein (mary shelley,
probably the only woman that i respect) -
i revive it, it morphs, i die, someone else
picks it up, morphs it...
   abortions are not as bad as when you
think about it masculine terms:
how people are ridiculed, defamed,
             misinterpreted -
e.g. heidegger being a ****...
        that sort of **** breeds my fancy
had i the wealth of my childhood uttering
the words: imagine impregnating a woman
with wolf *****...
   i'm pretty sure i said that...
                 or male ***** with
a chimpanzee...
                       auschwitz seems pale by
comparison...
                         but god almighty,
spinoza is dancing in my head -
   he's punching, kicking like a woman
would say when the fetus is near maturity -
obviously a man's version of the womb
does not breed in situ amphibians precursors
of mammal,
but then we're less the missed
connection of the ape, and more?
  A ******* WHALE!
                     whales are mammals...
and are we not the titans of this world?
    and does not this neurosis of using
the word god not begin with:
curbing the enthusiasm of giving oaths?
that the now apparent desert plains were
once great mountain ranges?
what, they're ******* with the big bang,
i'm ******* with geology...
   the great mountain range of Gobi -
the Saharayas (sahara,
  like the Himalayas, once upon a time) -
and so the ancient egyptians "thought":
****! mountains used to be here!
  let's build a nostalgic piece of architecture!
wa'h la'h! you got the ******* pyramids of giza!
they're were write about something,
their dreams reconstructed a very, very
ancient piece of fact:
there was no reason to build
mountain like structures in a desert,
unless they had been faxed by their ancestors
the intuitive speculation that the deserts
were once mountain ranges, eroded by:
millions and millions of years...
                         welcome to porta stella.
Ash in my fire
Harness my desire
Cool my flames
This kind of martyrdom has caressed my soul
And at times i wish to be defamed
As insane as that sounds
The solid ground upon which I was standing has been shaken
Transfixed into a new vessel's identity dreaming
I wouldn't be lying if I said that I wish to run screaming
Though with the upgrades coursing my system redeeming
This thought is but fleeting
I wish to know,
do you see this flow clandestine in the making?
With only ephemeral woe,
the words I chose to toss on throes
can only meld into this conviction
For I must confess i look best unkempt
I feel that scruffy look whispers my hidden contempt
This life's diluted, sweet smiles all the while twisted and bent
Don't fret emotions spent now my dearest of loves
I hear a sigh from my brethren above
As they watch me write lines on parchment
inclined to my predisposition
Listen to me now dear, it is not conditioned
and the furthest from fiction
As pretentious as it sounds
I get shivers
With simultaneous joy
As I see your eyes glisten
Written before the last wall was disestablished
Julian Mar 2019
Flippant polymaths exude the frippery of travail for lapsed inordinate surgical gains in temporal but temporary acclaim that owes its provenance to the gullarge accentuated by the guttural tempests of silent windfalls that wrestle with sharks and snarky cagamosis with pilfered fame without rulers for rules that own the profligacy of a cineaste game

We cannot surpass our talents with ease when the treecheese of inevitable distance between equipoise and insanity is a tantamount inanity of prolixity for the sake of freedom rather than servitude to the slow meandered steps of trudged verbigeration that needs to be exorcised from the seat of authority for the plodding inconvenience of time earned that shakes the listless yearning people who lie and spurn

Demagogues are trifles because they are anoegenetic and care not for the abligurition that consumes the energy of a dismal life lived on fringes rather than reaped with grimaces for binges that continue to absorb the painful pangs of twinges that hedonists are of interest

We cannot exorcise the demons that give stygian weight to exchequers beyond the gamut of money but rather the currency of velocity of thought that owes its weight to weightlessness of spaces between the spacious and the limited tract of isolative territory that many mendicants looking for sustenance travail in insolence and in perjury of their solemn duties for self-serious honesty they lack a vista to see their crimes as more than just a pettifoggery of disputatious wranglers that wrench and then contemn the objects of their moral scruples to contend with nothing but the vacant expanse of a limitless injury for a momentary slip of cultivation and countenance

Frippery is hard to cobble with lapidary wit because succinct grievances are fallow ground for the permanence of atrocity and the temperance of felicity to conform to the desiccated pathways of limpid but livid excoriations of willful ingenuity met with aleatory rambles that sprawl incalescence with words as a dying occupation that is resurrected from the abeyance of its pragmatic utility to distinguish class from crust.

The triadic fatuousness of snarky sharks recruiting the gullarge of paranoiacs to deputized alacrity lead many strident vocations astray as they pilfer the nullibiety of spectral ignorance and defy the gravitas of the primiparas of a swollen technocracy, an outrage that scarecrows with prevenance have adumbrated against with strident accelerations of sublime velocity

So we swim in perilous straits against the demiurge of inclemency in fated rittles for the turpitude of wraiths and engineer every aborning day a new foofaraw of unalloyed atrocity
Now more than never should be deployed to ensure that the castigation of scoundrels and guttersnipes that exert a rip tide to those stranded on the shores of littoral desiccation might find the pristine beachgoing public an amenable treat proffered by exorcised sheepishness in reiterative bleats that quarkswarm only the antinomy of sentient masteries by shoveled civilizations proctor to horological insistence in design

So we designated an abeyance of heydays to create a rippled nostalgia that creeps in the winter storms that singe even glabrous ignorance with the twinges in absentia of the regal crows that circle the sun as the sustenance of the alighted moon as we reach for the heaved Richter teeming with ablution for venial commination of prolix croons that exert a Palo Alto rhyme

Phenomenological fields distal to the cephalocaudal origination of limber and the ironic counterpoint to that strife in excess rather than dearth of the henchmen behind the exchequer showcase that fluid thoughts surpass the limits of the dentistry of cosmetic cosmology simultaneously a scientific boon but a coarse albatross

We are criminals in a world stranded by ****** apostasy because of the sincerity of minstrels meets plodding human ignorance as exemplars rather than the apotheosis of divine excoriation of wastrels and flattybouches who webdoodle their way into the extinction line in some computer file swiped from eccedentesiasts who often in uncouth barbarity forgetfully abide without the temperance of floss

So what are we to make of magisterial wits of wiseacres who pilot tenable objectives like Indiana Jones flexing his comical whip when the gunfire of cacophony inundates our ears with a lisp of cockalorum imposture rich in chewing tobacco and its ungainly gripes and tenacious grip

Should we seek salvation from the treecheese of arboreous terrain amenable to the newfangled windfall of agricultural whims that dare now with caprice but not quixotic disdain to reconfigure the parsimonious levered engagement of melliferous fungible transaction between sabbaticals and chief financiers dubbing the vociferous limn of the primeval fulgurant incandescent ethereal quips?

We strive for palaces issued with dimes, dozens and scores of retinues that retain the patina of sophistry as the gullarge makes the vangermytes cozy in their defensively mechanized citadel buffered against the unheralded malversations of mammon intersecting with primordial chemistry that give the philanderer a guise of philanthropy despite professed gainsay that perjures because hucksters are winsome with fiduciary risk

So we calumniate with lapsed puns and Potter’s Spells as we dredge the indemnity of bustling heydays that extend beyond the bailiwick stated because of the prolonged trace of nostalgia that frazzles our voluntary expeditions with misanthropy as each libertine instinct becomes subject to stop and frisk

How to balk at such a garrulous repartee as proffered by swanky intransigence that shakes it off in a quaky town that hates the Swift refrain that endangers the fatalism of recuperated foresight borrowed from the armamentarium of corrupted killjoys who swim in a dalliance with the itchy myths that drift from powerlessness to voguish debauchery of insouciant internecine fringes frayed by the tomes that decry Stygian drift

Shiftless and rooted in rintinole absolved by plackiques that enchant the voyeurism of repined squalor of industrious frippery deracinated from the aureate complicity of largesse calibrated to mobilize the skittish mercurial yuppies to a dance with divestiture, taxes and an earthen death, we sprint the evergreen mile toward the scrupulous invention of enthusiastic euphemisms arbitrated by the procrustean silt of the leaky faucet of enigmatic timelessness etched by chiselers to beat “Us and Them” and warn the vanguard of the front rank about the thespian rift

Exhaustive rescue squads prepared for the dearth of monetary heft in times of perilous drought denigrate the authors of famine to the indulgent parents of inordinate sabotage of narrative for riskless arbitrage that is the outrage of sciamachies between platonic indifference and the tantrums of the feckless in the dangerous hearth of the cavernous wilderness of limitless imaginations that stagger so far beyond orbit they become satellites to vagrancy and whittled paragons too distant to dissolve in the ethereal chemistry of incalescent uproar sadly flanged by the Dopplers of ephemeral fate

Squandered by the desuetude of a snarky intervention I issue invective at the proctors of deafferented limbs for barbarous swine meeting expediency in demise, bemoaning the placid distaste of rectified cries that issue candles for each acrimony beyond the permutation of the staid inflexible limit of 88’

Bashfully we careen through argosies of curiosity to fossick the stalactites of timeworn intuition and reckon with their converse ironies that drip faucets of mildew that remain hidden unless poked by plucky flashlights to inspect the paragon of erosive filigrees of a bewildering paradox of polarized design that one meets the ceiling at inception and the cousin strives to clamber empty space to know with faint certainty the bulldozed irony of superordinate coexistence

Now we return to the majesty of a spurned wiseacre that evades the snappy parlance of a wrenched friction between the physical and the metaphysical elements that constitute a commensurate reality so supernal that its ostentation creates lifetimes of reiterative growth that spawns crimson red and bloviated blues to find a fulcrum of balance between the malversation on one hand of criminal sinister machinations and on the other hand the execrable self-righteous ignorance of a hidden vehicles of dexterity that are subsumed by a subtlety of legislative graft that owes its forbearance to the sanctimony of perseveration without the laurels of persistence

Now we wed the concepts between the ambidexterity of a monolithic titan who wanes rather than waxes himself because his glabrous head already exposed requires nothing new because the empire that struck back is denuded by the thorny imbroglio of a sunken Rose

Timmynoggies are perfect for haberdasheries of saccharine and glib excellence as measured by the ****** cacophony of unmerited applause that strains the resourcefulness of the silent mastery of magistrates in mellifluous alcoves surrounded by the soundproofed rigors of an execrable dereliction wilt into the imaginations of the few that watch movies with errantry rather than pleasantries of gaudy nonsense enchanted by a striptease of the wanton zeitgeist that some balk at but everyone knows

Time earns the spangled banners of sloganeering because of the fastidious creations of pole folders that maneuver between quips borrowed from antique movies and swindled affectations of yearning of many of all fears inevitable with the malevolent passage of the technocracy from cheers to vehement inveighed jeers

We should fear the watershed because it necessitates the evaporation of winsome ambition and implores the subservience of a guiltless fascination with abominable regress concomitant to the acceleration of money preceding a whipsawed downfall ensured by the funereal spates of requiems to oneironauts who plunged to their deaths on headlong flickering whims past the craggy landscape of lunar concordance and through the abeyance of qualms to flabbergasted self-importance in the eradication of provident fears

Memorials exist encoded in the temporal twinges of agony that straddle the cardiovascular throbs of impermanence that sweat with each simple beat to blather about the repetitious nature of a livid nature scrambled in exodus of the emigration of senseless blather to the subroutines of regimented sleepless paragons of travail in every pedestrian feat accelerated with each passing foot traversed by vigilant and eager feet

Tempests crowd the cluttered hamartithia of dredged incompetence leading to the foreclosure that precedes the simple derelictions that amount to grievous uncertainties that squawk in the plumage of the frippery decay of an autumnal fall from gracile riches landlocked without room to sprawl rigged against every track that is a surefire gleeful keepsake to meet, greet and serenade the claques adorned with the monikers of the Greeks

Trembling beneath the weight of mellifluous sauntering dingy designs that exude the anguish of our provident but incidental remonstration against the plodding indifference of the artistic clerisy we sputter against intransigent annulments of the emotive human engine calibrated with creaky pistons that rumble with furor of abrasive protest in timely haphazard elemental designs for vanguard ears

Tridents shed the fossicked leaves that are divisible by two but not inevitably glue that solders the identities of people congregated around a situation of gleeful sprees rather than wistful regress into a temerity without regret that gets dangled in the purview of the spiteful wings of armies that drawl when they sing vapid songs for vaped bongs but not the soberly cheers because of the deafening din of conformity oblivious of the honorific crescendos that still peak after so many restless years

Confederates line the avenues of bustling caverns of cumulative human disdain so willfully flouted by the wrenched corrosive frictions of vibrant deformation of the cultural narrative that encapsulates the collective bubbles chewed and jettisoned like bandied candy and then defamed without justice because  hurricanes churn up the reclusive emergence of protective vanity chased down as a sunken cost for a siphoned glory of tribal pride despite the strictures of logic

Creeping with insistence is a subaudition of governing gravel that entombs many steadfast lies that embodied people living delusory lives under a paradigm that has been subverted by the feats of science into a morass of irrelevance and the chances are many of those so deluded still breathe the air now more polluted but balk at the memories of the fallen passengers on the convalescent train that accelerates sunblind but respectfully toward a systematic engrossment of swollen intellects whimpering about the tautologic

We finance our prescient rodomontade with rodeos equipped with zany clowns who spurn the tridents of Poseidon because of the iridescent gloss of sheepish and flippant zealots who churn against the wrestling match of televised irony with accentuated eccedentesiastic disdain amended by a tolerable diversion of ennobled gallantry zip-zagging among the many valid quodlibets and missing the mark entirely on purpose to vacate the possible raillery of those who balk at time’s chosen serpentine tracks because of limited pedagogical tracts

So lets solder a forceful brunt against the senseless regalia of modern omphalos and return to the plenipotentiary fields of resourceful human inquiry into the chagrins outmoded by convenience but amplified in vociferation by the prosthetic extension of a grangull humanity outfoxing itself into a zugzwang inevitable in the future with collateral losses because of senseless invidiousness orchestrated by the immiscible dermatology of divisive facts often about race and ineluctable tax

We conclude with the optimism that refineries become gentrified by the superlunary squadrons who bask in beatific beams of anonymity and that the pollution preceding our evolution is just adventitious rather than central to the amelioration of wavy screens ennobling so many upstarts to teach themselves the majesty of lucid dreams and to capitalize on ludic ideals divorced from the urchins of radical idealisms that ironically poach rarefied air with smug pollution of narrative scares

Without trepidation we can muster the largesse of civility to create a progeny that has a recursive progeny of heirs that defiantly imagine a world bereft of specters of the soporific imagination enforced by the lapidation of insight from termagants who stride with ursine acrimony naked bare and envision a global meliorism that is careful, picaresque, pragmatic and filled with meritocratic care

With those ornaments of an aureate measure in mind


We leap beyond the enumerated infinity in time's proper design
Cat Fiske May 2016
bad designs have already been built.
on the verge of collapsing from all the guilt.
aged and longstanding no wonder we face the inevitably,
as what has been built will now dwindle away as ironically,
wilted petals will do the same,
disintegration of what we had is defamed,
a shattered frame never goes addressed,
with too many problems we just left,
but I guess maybe it was best.

we lost everything,
and still never learned anything.
we have nothing left to say.
just the rusted frame like our doorway,
we don't have to knock to be heard.
but watch your step so nobody gets burned.
because it hurts as memories flood in,
making you cry as tears scorch your skin,
you begin wondering what could of been.

and then you stop,
and drop into the doorway as you take the mats spot,
your the one fading into the wreckage,
sinking away fast before you can find a new direction.
Shattered and vanishing away,
but you never left the rusted doorway,
your looking to escape the battered zone,
you know your grown,
enough to handle the pain on your own.
beans Jan 2013
So the time has now come
It's over for you
You're gonna be gone
And there's nothing to do

You always loved hate
You never were known
To be the very best
And you've certainly shown

That your evils and wrongs
Can never be ceased
Always turn the living
Into the deceased

And though it's amoral
And never corrective
I fell it's important
To be reflective

Of a dead lack of mercy
And an ignorance of shame
So that you may be ended
And formally defamed

So here I stand
And not a moment too soon
A squeeze of the trigger
You begin to swoon

You buckle your knees
And fall to the ground
I rise up and scream
"Eternally bound!"
A ridiculous "hypothetical positioning" poem that I did in 10 minutes. The context is - a man is confronted by a significant criminal who attempts to ****** him, but the criminal is killed instead - the man views his action as a regrettable but necessary serving of justice. Not a particularly deep one, rather modest on the quality. Oh well.
Simpleton Mar 2017
You are like a viral infection
That just won't go away
My heart heaves
Like there's a bird in my ribcage
It's soaring upwards aiming to release through my throat
Forcing me to stifle the words that want to escape
I'm falling in the dark
But does it matter if I'm blind?
You're no good for me
I can feel myself fall
From God's graces
With you I am alight and it doesn't hurt
But when you're not there
I wash myself several times
The smell of guilt seeps from my pores
And I know that you're not mine
The skin which you worshipped
Burns in shame
I can feel my heart ready to burst
Out of pain
But mostly fear
Of the wrath of karma
That will surely lick the heels of my fate
The curse of a woman whose been defamed
If this is the nature of mankind
To crave the poison for ones own destruction
Then oh how I wish, you truly were poison
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2016
the Übermensch anomaly was short-lived
in Europe, it was never going to be an
idea with a survival instinct for longevity
in Europe, just like Copernicus became
defamed by Galileo...
the Übermensch idea was prescribed to America,
what with their Superman and Batman,
and Spiderman... Nietzsche didn't
include America for a reason, you could
speak of Emerson as the zenith of American
intellectual output as the reason,
but that's hardly a reason...
tourists to the Caribbean will know,
Americans think they're super-human...
i hate the American accent, it's like a mosquito
buzzing in my ear, i just call them
the spaghetti swindlers of tongue, gluttonous
harp players... and because Nietzsche didn't
mention America, America is his most fertile
and therefore most arable landmass...
i mean... Nietzsche reached pop culture status,
just because he didn't mention American culture
in his writing... and that's how the Americans
see themselves, the righteous inheritors of
the post-**** mindset... Übermensch Staaten Amerika...
hence the reason they're on the gold medal leader boards
at the Olympics... i.e. if those ******* aren't doped
then i'm doped...
not doping athletes makes chemists redundant,
dope the whole lot of them, let's make it fair.
yes, i know it should have been written as staaten,
but i like my diacritical arithmetic, and given the
umlaut, i count that as a hidden extra a... so from
staaten into stäten;
oh yeah... and **** your "perfect" teeth;
or the Penguin cover for Philip K. ****'s
man in the high castle, the red & white stripes
with 50 swastikas.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 2016
when god heard Lennon sing "Imagine,"
it/he/she filed a complaint
with the Human Rights Commissions,
a grievous hurt claimed,
needing omission,
hurtful words, the spirit opined,
his repute, civlly defamed

a direct attack on his divine permissioning
and though his unverifiable existence,
a poor excuse for such a
sid vicious exercise
re his persistence,
he needed humans

the song to excise,
punishment suitable be arranged,
to assuage his hurted feelings,
canons of political correctness
demanded it be whiteout erased
as if history did not matter,
those visible  tracks of his trade

no atheist or agnostic here,
having had too many disputations,
face to face confrontations,
about the damnable ironic games
It plays upon "his" human dolls,
by this manic~depressive curmudgeon,
from up above & his vapored flighty humors,
sans rationality,
for god was supplied with omnipotence
but too minuscule an impotent allotment
of the untold power of the
sensibility of the five mortal sensible senses,
the all-in reasons or rhymes,
the electric grid
making humans superior, the ability

to imagine

Imagine a power
so wonderful,
an all-in everything

I am God of myself,
when I imagine

Imagine I wrote this


and then,
         I did

imagined that your crinkly eyes laughed
when your read this,

and then,
         you did.


imagine that
Sunday 7:38am
J Mar 2017
The worst thing my parents ever taught me
Was to worry what other people thought of me
The worst thing to tell a child with anxiety

At the time I didn't know that it was wrong of me
To accept the burden of responsibility
For strangers who only saw a part of me

I shouldn't have put them before the thought of me
I didn't know it would be the lobotomy
That kept me hiding in my room for 10 long years

I didn't know it would ****** my autonomy
That you can't fake it 'til you make it if your introspection is an autopsy
That you can't **** a part of your soul

With whiskey or with *******
With bleach or box cutters
With street drugs, with a blind eye

Jesus loves all of the little children
And the church loves all its little saints
But when we express our love not with words but with paints

When the checkmark just doesn't fit the box
And our expectations weigh like chains on the children we so claim to love
They are slaves

To the 9 to 5 domestic gods that clash like thunder every night
Too absorbed in their own fight
To see the fear inside your eyes

Slowly wearing down the fire in your soul
With the grit of their need for control
Teaching you how to be the best version of them

The one they didn't have the guts to master on their own
Abandoning the flower children with the starry eyes
They once claimed spoke their deepest truths

Trading in the wild spirit in their currency exchange
For your future
So they can be so comfortable on their thrones
While they forward the blame to a new address

The hordes of walking dead they left behind
Carrying the consequences
Rejecting all the that we were handed

Gaslight me on fire again
So I can shoulder all the hate that tried to smother my spark
Like your right to be comfortable trumps my right to be here

I didn't ask for this
So when you call me by my new name
Remember all the times you tried to tame me

All the times you defamed me
While telling me stories of a God of endless love
You can't take the perfect mess that you've created

And make a masterpiece, because I am one

We are made of star stuff
And I'll be ****** if I deny the perfect love I was promised
just because for once you didn't get what you wanted
Written Mar 15 2017
Ayeshah Mar 2018
To any who'd reads,sees,watch,listen&run tell THIS: I'M at A Place IN MY LIFE WHERE I AIN'T CHANGING FOR U & NO one else. Ppl You don't change for anybody else and if you can't or WONT rock with how I am then don't ******* rock with me for anything else! Deal with me how I am not for what you "think& thought" you could change me into. I got kids grown *** and not so grown *** kids and grandkids babies, I got bills u don't pay & don't care nothing about.I got mental issues on top of some other ******* issues and some more ****; SO IF MY *** TRYING TO SHOW U IM A GO AND GROW WITH U & FIGHTING RIGHT NEXT TO YOU & I'M IN THE TRENCHES WITH YOU, WHILE HELPING yo *** CULTIVATE THIS ****- WE CALL FRIENDSHIP ROMANTIC OR PLATONIC ETC- then yo *** better not ever a day in yo life use me or try to run game on me! I'm going to love you regardless if YOURE RIGHT OR WRONG. IM A TELL U WHEN YA WRONG & yo u better tell me { NOT IN PUBLIC} EVEN THEN I GOT U BOO, BUT IF U KEEP UP THAT ******* AND IT AFFECTS ME OR MY KIDS AND all of OUR WAY OF LIVING OR hinders me from"MAKING A LIVING"; I will definitely DISASSOCIATE MYSELF FROM YO LIFE 100 %. EVERYONE knows me knows; I DON'T DO DRUGS & don't go round no one WHO does, not judging & I don't think I'm better THAN anyone too flawed to even ever compete... MY ONLY SO CALLED HABIT IS CIGARETTES, OF WHICH I GOT THE PATCHES FOR & SOMETIMES I LIKE TO DRINK MY WINE & WATCH NETFLIX- CHILL WITH whomever, BUT MAINLY BY MY GOT **** SELF. WHICH TOO, MOST KNOW I DON'T EVER REALLY MIND BEING OR DOING STUFF ON MY OWN! SOME PPL AIN'T GOT TO HAVE ME CUZ IM GONNA ALWAYS HAVE ME MYSELF AND I! I WAS BORN ALONE, IM GOING TO DIE ALONE &IT MIGHT BE NICE TO HAVE SOMEONE HOLD MY HAND AS I GO WHEN I GO. BUT BABY if you think or thought  I'd change for you this is your ******* wake up call! Listen; I've been in and out of foster care& group homes and in them; I was SEVERELY ABUSED, put down assulted and defamed etc. This ain't no sob story; been married a whole heep of times and went through similar **** like foster care etc with them so called men & was talked about like a dog & sometimes worse from so called family wether foster or blood etc. Ppl turned on me ,  believed lies & gave up our long standing FRIENDSHIP. I have been homeless and well off ; never rich{money wise} and have known struggles. I am sure many have similar stories; but this here is mines, I've danced on a pole and I'm not ashamed, I've worked in what I considered so called "Cooperate American", nursing& legal FIELD'S too
(white collard,blue,pink throw ups & more) lol and been to college many times. Im told by a a few psychiatrist that I'm a borderline genius but even Einstein couldn't tie his shoe without help! I have PTSD plus much more.SEEN DEATH &LOOKED IT RIGHT IN ITS FACE . WATCHED THOSE I LOVE&LOVED GO HOME TO GLORY - SOME OF EM WERE FROM MY WOMB.BEEN jumped stabbed shot at etc; I don't ******* scare easy baby and yo race don't mean **** to me unless it's you of whatever race color & Creed that's trying to do an injustice towards ME!So take me as I am or ******* delete me block me and or cut me off & outta yo life;CUZ I AINT CHANGING FOR YOU & NO one else!
© 2015-2077 by Ayeshah K.C.L.N.
All rights reserved.®
No part of this may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,without prior written permission of Ayeshah K.C.L.N

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