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there stood the queen
in her dressing gown
upon her face she wore
a very long frown

for she had lost
her diamond and ruby crown
she hoped it would be found
before sundown

she called Scotland Yard
to search every locale
as without her crown
she'd be an unadorned gal

inspector Jones arrived
in his ex-army jeep
telling the queen
that he'd catch the thieving creep

he thoroughly combed
every inch of England
he even looked under
the white Dover sands

a lady in central Manchester
gave him an address
saying that a felon in Soho
had the crown of queen Bess

high and low in the streets
of Soho he did look
to find this most
cunning and stealthiest of crooks

by a measure of luck
he found him sitting on a park bench
he was talking to
a criminal associate named Roger Dench

the inspector seized the felon
and cuffed his hands
saying pilfering won't be tolerated
in any part of England

at Scotland he grilled
him for information
about the queen's crown
which he pinch without hesitation

some three days later
he fronted an Old Bailey judge
who sentenced him
to sixteen years of jail drudge

overjoyed was the queen
to have her crown back
she could now wear it
to The Ascot Race Track

the inspector was knighted
by good queen Bess
as he was a fine man
at the detection profess
I need to be enriched on a Tuesday afternoon
I may begin to lose my grip if it doesn’t happen soon
The drama club was my first choice, little actresses and actors
But clearly I was overlooking certain other factors
They all think they’re DeNiro, Kiera Knightly, Judy Dench
But they’re so bad that all they do is make my buttocks clench
They constantly repeat themselves digging ever deeper
It’s a shame they have the acting talent of a railway sleeper
There is so much over acting, extra cheese with all the ham
But they like all the attention so no one gives a ****
The play’s a melodrama, a very moving tome
But I’m only moved to tears because I’m desperate to go home
I just have to tolerate it for a few more painful weeks
Despite the fact it grates on me each time one of them speaks
A soon as they perform I’ll be free of these woodentops
I’m actually counting down the minutes til this torture stops
I am so bored of hearing about Maria Marten dying
At least when she takes her last breath, I can finally stop the lying
Yes you heard me, all this time; I’ve lied just like a pro
I’ve told each and every child in here they’re vital to the show
I’ve told them their performances will make their parents proud
Despite knowing that their only talent is in being loud
There’s no way I could tell the truth, I won’t crush all their dreams
I know they’ll all learn soon enough that life isn’t what it seems
What sort of teacher would I be to tell them that they’re crap
To say their acting talent won’t ever put them on the map
To tell them that they have more chance of flying to the moon
Than of picking up a golden Oscar statue sometime soon
So I shall grit my teeth and paste the smile back on my face
And pretend that I’m in rapture at their lack of skill and grace
I shall say congratulations every night that they perform
And I’ll stand and clap for each of them until my hands are warm
I’ll do this all but don’t be fooled I really won’t enjoy it
I’ll be seething all resentfully as through each show I sit
I will forbear for two more weeks, just fourteen days of pain
And then I’m never coming near this drama club again
Next time I’ll pick more wisely, think more clearly before choosing
Or I suspect it’s more than sanity that I’ll be loosing
My grip on that is tenuous to say the very least
And working with these divas has woken up my inner beast
I think I’ll try a nice relaxing book or homework club
Or perhaps I’ll save us all the stress and just go down the pub
Yes… that’s what I’ll do
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2021
even i'm surprised at my palette...
i shouldn't be enjoying this...
this being a Bohemian absinthe liquor...
some strange pellets at the bottom
of the bottle... coming in at 60% proof
(read, past participle, i.e. "red":
not, reed, to)
my guess was... coriander seeds...
but no...
        it tastes like absinthe does:
few things put me off... easting or drinking-wise...
szechuan pepper: certainly turns me off...
the spice with the added tongue numbing...
evil food ingredient in the wrong hands...
but... aniseed? **** me... even i'm bewildered...
why do i appreciate this flavour?
well... it's absinthe...
it's a long way away from herr whiskers
and ms. amber of the whiskey...
or sweeter, finer than silk:
the greatest thing to come out of
the u.s. of A... bourbon...
this Bohemian absinthe "liquor" has all
the aniseed: Annie... not ANY: seed...
but an added twist...
the bitterness of an IPA: indian pale ale...
bitterness... that's another dimension
i appreciate...
mr. Joshua was defeated by a Crimean
Cossack... a balance of racial-baiting
has been achieved...
long distant cousin... actually:
no cousin at all...
   one's a Slav the "other" (me) a Slav...
lost the supposed attached E...
Germs & Germans in Berlin...
in London... once upon a time...
i much prefer etymology to Darwinism...
i like the history of words...
"like"... faux pas...
        ooh! ooh!
touchy-feely...
           my ooh to your: ouch...
lick some ice...
        it's an implosion of the burning
sensation...
humanitarian aid for
lobsters... it's apparently humane
to freeze them... first...
rather than boil them: outright...
and such are the concerns of English politicians
these days...
if i were asked... relatively speaking:
freezing something: alive...
is... more time spent on the same sort
of agony jested with boiling them
outright...
the usual Hapsburg absinthe: 90+% proof
tended to be sweeter...
i even allowed myself the whole
ritual of soaking up a cube of sugar
with the "stuff" and setting it alight...
i'd roam in havoc while displaying this
burning sugar-cube to
inanimate things in the kitchen:
catching a 2nd tier better shift at
proofing myself for bones & tendons:
and... ****** expressions that
i could turn into cold lamb poker...
etymology rather Darwinism...
Darwinism is big in the Anglophone sphere
of the world...
it's like... Copernicus in Poland...
a... an... ahem: a "national treasure":
a bit like Judie Dench...
but outside? history killer theory...
like: living in stasis: living with static...
from the ape to the current man:
the same old boorish ******* excuse:
but it's the 21st century...
                                                    and?!
everything was to be solved in...
the, 21st century?
everything was to become apparent...
clearer... rainbow lights flickers: "better"?
the excuse of all excuses:
but it's the 21st century...
it's a century not distinguished from
all the others that have passed...
well... there are some additions i wasn't
expected... electric bicycles...
moi... i like the idea of generating my own
momentum... it's not enough
to just press a foot on the peddle
of a oil drinking dachshund / horse...
i'm Pontius Pilate when i'm on a bicycle...
i've washed my feet clean on the matter
of having a carbon footprint...
count one of my awkward farts
as loosening up constipation:
not one with the cow brigade...
holidaying?
Havering County Park...
trees... forests & ****...
deer... foxes... horses...
the one time i visited Kenya i lounged...
and fed greedy macaques bags of sugar
and tea... and we lounged on the balcony
while security guards on site aimed
at them with slingshots...
- hardly think that the piano (only)
rendition of Wagner's:
Valhalla: the gods' entrance into...
is somehow anaemic...
then again... if Chopin or Debussy
or Satie were to be orchestrated...
just this once piece...
it's not anaemic... it's profound:
as ever a piano is... crashing down
in metaphors... it's not Ysaÿe
with his violin... you'd need a Westminster Bridge
for that, mate...
and a stray cat to keep you company...
you can reduce a Wagnerian
symphony to a mere: ahem...
ridicule on the piano...
but you can hardly make a Chopin out
of a Schopenhauer (shopping hour,
joke... like there's no joke: ha ha,
to begin with)
- my my... what happened
to these native folk... who told black comedy
jokes... it's like... they have been
stripped bare-back backwards....
and can't tell a saucy... acid proof joke
these days!
ah: i guess the imagination also dies...
a certain death: not the sort of death
associated with memory:
that fickle creature to begin with...
i guess it comes with the grounds to
make one's effort in...
the dodo undermining project of
the most schematised of men...
i guess i'm trying to posit a +1 scenario...
in a way that... Bukowski was chased for not
gearing up to the suicide squad while
Edward Hopper spent his days...
******* joyfully in Mexico...
- one of my pet peeves is...
how the English shorten names...
Edith becomes Edie...
Abigail becomes... Abs...
Matisyahu... Matthew becomes... door...
Matt...
Peter becomes Pete...
Thomas becomes Tom...
Jacob... well i like this one...
Jakub in ****** becomes Kuba...
you could even write this in katakana...
i abhor how the English shorten: "pet"
the most crucial nouns associated with a person...
i like the fullest of the full of the noun...
like... an apple is... not an app...
start off with yeast: end up with the Zeppelin:
ist...
for ****'s sake!
i'm chasing Zeppelins in my mind...
all the psychopaths are already leash-free...
i'm the schizoid... "problematic": üns...

your language is all tatters... tartan...
churns & chores...
if i were a closest neighbour:
geographically or / and historically...
a Spaniard... a German...
a Fwench-man...
ha ha... English being so unanimous in the lingua
franca domain could be obliterate
on the focus of nuance...

you can: rather: you could have had all the pride
that comes with the implosion of Empire...
but...
no luck... no here: not right now...
how the cards folded how...
so little of England actually remains at its
epicentre... das kapital...
frivolous women who... can... will...
cats have it all...
i like these bonsai specimens...
a dog is a creature most associated with men:
i don't like leashes...
cats allow me the leisure of:
no walking the **** out...
no leash... why would i want a substitute for...
ahem... "company"?

Edith should not be Edie...
write me that one... phonetically...
E-D... ****'s sake Edith!
Abigail becoming: Abs... is it... "cute"?!
i like the name: Abigail...
why a shortening "comparison"
with a six pack of Fosters?!
not matched up to a 6 footer of prospect
dating material of a man in the torso region?
- i abhor this sentiment in English...
shortening names...
one wouldn't shorten the noun:
trousers... trou?
pet names me not like...
apes are for us!
       Darwinism didn't simply bother a vanity
of man, according to Freud...
while Marx based his ideology on...
Hegel's lecture notes.. it's not like
he read the phenomenology of spirit...
                          Darwinism for me kills the concept...
nay! more the concern for history!
Darwinism doesn't **** off a human vanity:
what does Darwinism present:
everything has a purpose..
nature abhors vacuums..
physics, satellites... Newtonian projectiles
might like them so much...
in nature everything has a purpose...
there is no "room"... cube worth of "thought"...
how romance biased to suppose:
Devonshire had anything original to
posit... Darwinism in a nut-shell:
nature abhors vacuums
all is used to use...

what's allowed in the Anglo-sphere Empire
implosion: dicta...
curry curry curry...
we're all supposed to taste the food of
a superiority complex... prior to what happened
when Genghis Khan reached...
Crimea?!
squint eye:: BAL-WA-RUK...

i have here... a list of ingredients of the absinthe
i'm drinking


my foremost mistake was...
associating females within the confines
of deities..
i sketched them...
one: young... peering into a mirror
seeing herself old...
some others... i didn't have a **** of envy
for i sketched them...
too bad..

like the mythological drive for the will
of the Nazis...
sourcing their fakery in Scandinavia...
me?! Aryan... Samaritans...
pleb as whole...people most grieved...
start to chant in katakana...
in a makeshift of...

no... purely...  consonants...
the vowels extend the breath...
the consonants give base...
CHANT CHANT CHANT...
  
the list of ingredients of "that" Bohemian absinthe...
i'm aiming for the coriander pellets...
no chance: ****'s sake:
i'm not reading Czech... no ******
with a second name like
Conrad....
   how about Lothar....ever... would?
yew...

              awry: you: this... yew... yes?! no?!
whichever... right about... now!
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2021
rearranging a rubber- band on my right
hand for "something" that
comes close to a golf handicap...
this "something" is actually more
tangible, though...
to... make the sensation of
sinew more prominent - like an exoskeleton
variety of a visible: contradictory sinew
that does the opposite of
what's already in place: by restraint...
- i hate golf...
i also hate typing-slow....
when you can't type without having
to look down at the keyboard...
why? it's basically underappreciating
the genius of the man
behind: qwerty... christopher latham sholes...
to me? herr c. l. s.
is leagues above the person who
eroded our brains with...
the alphabet...
why wouldn't you put all the vowels
first... and the consonants later?
maybe the alphabet learning should be
rearranged toward
the sequence:
q w e r t y
or...
   q a z
      w s x
          e d c
the rearranging of the sign of the cross
done by catholics... left to right...
otherwise the orthodoxy of right to left...
but why still bother
with the standard alphabetical...
as long as you remember / use... all the letters...
you stack up 26... what's so terribly
important about x y z...
   e f g... h i j...
         k- l, m, n, o p...
let me sit here... an fester on a wound...
let me keep rancid chicken meat
in my fridge long enough...
can you ever begin to fathom the perfumery of:
how meat can give off whiffs of
rancidity?
it's so specific... it's unlike... what national
treasure... dame Judy Dench said...
in chocolate (show-lo'ca)...
ooh... your cinnamon is rancid...
it's chilly powder...
         rancid meat: esp. chicken...
it has an almost acidic whiff about it...
i can still see the doctor... crow pecking at the keyboard...
armed with only two index fingers...
while here i am... utilizing almost all of mine...
sure... the space button
to catch a reel newspaper style "paragraphing":
columns... rubrics... sudoku being done
my "tired" bones of pinky ownership...
- such that each time i take a bicycle
from havering-atte-bower...
into the grid...
of... Loon'dune...
  who's who when having asked for Lee's...
Da'Un!
           the apostrophe cipher...
an intra-verbum pause...
    otherwise? down...
at best English is written as an approximation...
Fwench is worse...
that much can be said...
they leave their letters at the altars
of Moloch before this grand **** of
infanticide... Guld'An: not Gul'Dan...
if i had eyes worth of ice...
and a heart that throbbed wit
guilt... my eyes would not be the colour
of jade to begin with...
while my heart would not be...
the project of one man...
i desire to steal st. paul's cathedral...
i will not be able
to stick a river into the Thames to turn its...
by way... a river with a tide?
where is the cut-off point
between river water and the sort of water
that makes it... undrinkable?
before the salt settles the last hurrah?
if it weren't chicken scratches that might make
a summary of the solo project of scribble with
the one hand... a handwritten river
as hard to decipher as mandarin hieroglyphs
at times...
spawning an trans-generational
itch for ulterior usage of chop-sticks:
mostly used in the pit of the abacus...
you don't have to be prescribed
the alphabet...
you unfathomable you: you don't...
i see someone, able as i am: to use the arrangement
of two hands before a keyboard...
without looking down...
as a tier above the need to arrange
an alphabet like it might imply:
historical significance?
after a while... that sooner than later
disappears...
the alphabet is lost... when having to arrange
words...
what is the point of keeping the need
for the alphabet... my hands are my eyes...
when i sit down to type...
looking at braille might seem more
important by now...
i don't need the alphabet...
well... i might need it...
but learning it is obsolete...
            unless invested in via: vowels first...
consonants later...
vowels? ** in the realm of d.n.a...
      consonants? XY... ergo?
           vowels are female...
consonants are male...
             no one bothers these days... with these
stalemate concepts of pedagogy...
what philosophy isn't... pedagogy ought to be...
and what is philosophy?
freely available inquiry for those who
want to ingest it...
pedagogy is prescribed learning...
whereas philosophy is without a curriculum...
what is pedagogy? it's primarily: curriculum!

people most close to me once, upon,
a time... hoped... that i might succumb to
becoming a teacher...
i have a Leibniz-complex...
i'd sooner be a ******* road-sweeper than
custard my brain into a role
of overt-demands of responsibility...
******* mother-goose tribunal weighing
on my shoulders... no!
but i like the idea of detailing minor...
revisions...

the alphabet "concern"? using an anecdote...
in a car, with a friend... listening to his father
scold him for not remembering the alphabet...
so not remembering the alphabet is worse
than... not remembering the spelling of: remember?
the alphabet is beside the "hands that see"
argument of qwerty...
there is no "logical" argument for it...
to lodge A first... what about...
that curiosity exclamation marked and mark
and worded: huh? with a scratch of the head...

by the way... isn't the H sometimes
"ghosted" / i.e. surded?
in cockney it 'appens all the time...
i know i'll be robbed of something...
maybe this whole: this is the body of Christ...
i'll be cannibalised for the greater good...
maybe i'll end up with a *******
temple cult of "******" methuselah ladies on
the prowl...

and if i throw another tongue into
the equation: a latin scripted zunge...
will there be a need to throw all ambitions at
the ******* Mandarin like we're the second
coming of the mongolian golden horde?

London: loon-dim... or loon-dune...
i can expand the hell i like...
language is a dog... it obeys me:
i don't obey it... it's my ******* servant:
punctuation: girth of collar
and length of my leash!

i'm almost thankful that English... as a language...
is unlike all the other inheritors of ancient Latin...
you wouldn't see cappuccino anywhere in
neque enim tu es anima tantum,
sed anima corpus circumferens: corpus autem
non potest simul pluribus inesse locis...
Erasmus...

oh don't worry... if i bother... otherwise:
you'd think they'd prescribe us learning a feather's worth
of Latin while the "tide" receded...
back to the old ******* of nation,
tongue... giraffes... glaciers and graffiti...

while we're still rearranging alphabets,
while doctors peck blind at the keyboard...
write... sow: slow... index... primo!
because? cloud of a b c d e f, g...
  why put vowels so randomly arranged
within the confines of: primarily consonants...
it's not like a *******
schematic of 1 1 1 1 1 9 1 1 1
    9 9 9 9 9 9 1 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9
   vowels are... numbers are integers...
period...
    math like jurisprudence:
a ******* theausaurus game... word for word:
counter a word: hide a word... hey presto!
a "new" word...
oh, right... a vowel is an odd "number"...
a consonant: an... "even"... ahem... "number"...
since you can
cut up a S and get... E S or S (ee)
but when you cut up an A
you get... i... irrationality: "irrationality"...
diacritical markings... ą... oh that blessed
breath of things having automated odds-on ****...

breaking of bark...
timid squalor of meow...
all in disarray...
the politics of the sexes... of course:
tantamount...
there was a moon landing... haven't you heard?
this miraculous foresights of
post-subjectivity?

i scream on silent while you children
i given their hail mary / iron maiden
silent, treatment....
congested a best **** please....

i'm starting to get my "mojo" back...
perhaps my vocabulary to boot...
isn't enough... it's never enough...
the Leibniz-Complex is detailing
the afterthoughts of succumbing
to the status of: "librarian"...
or that one kind wonder of
a Portobello St. book on the broke...
hoarder of... "illicit" meteorogical oops
hey presto: there's a daisy.....

it's so much less presto when someone is
also a hey presto! who done it...
the cat takes 'ickles for its nap...
i bone, marrow and that's "fat"...

seagulls in essex?!
that the dead are reminder....
you remember me deaarest ol' ****...
i too tow a love for life....
it's no most importantly "you"... though...
there stood the queen in her dressing gown
upon her face she wore a very long frown
someone had stolen her diamond and ruby crown
she hoped it would be found before sun down

she called Scotland Yard to search the entire realm's locale
as without a crown she'd be an unadorned gal
chief inspector Jones arrived at Buck House in his ex-army jeep
telling the queen that he'd catch the theiving creep

he thoroughly combed every inch of England
he even looked under the white Dover sand
a lady in central Manchester gave him an address
stating that a felon in Soho had the crown of queen Bess

high and low in the streets of Soho he did look
to find this most stealthiest pilfering crook
by a measure of luck he found him sitting on a park bench
talking to a criminal associate named Roger Dench

the inspector siezed the felon and cuffed his hands
saying that looting wouldn't be tolerated on British lands
at Scotland Yard the crook was grilled for information
about the queen's crown which was pinched without hestitaion

some three days later he fronted an Old Bailey judge
who sentenced him to sixteen years of gaol drudge
overjoyed was the queen to have her crown back
whereupon she wore it around the Ascot Race track

chief inspector Jones was knighted by good queen Bess
cause he'd been a fine detective of profess
bennu Jan 2021
Dindle, dindle
Moffy harat--
Sopol washay kivy Karrem...

Haloolay, binsweepbmigoo!
Dashal lats a hamy dreamdrop.

Ash laren ta wa hoofy morden,
Anwal op tot gooris mork

Hing, sweech, dench, boon:
Ommay carse a see-tee korbin.

Ommay narch a long bingboon.

Ommay larse a leech, leechy bimbat a sa tarray en flelnflap.

Acatosteh.
Qualyxian Quest Jun 2023
With the Light comes the Shadow
Dark and cold and lonely
Gandalf the White
Frodo goes forth groanly

I'm on the Dublin bus
Young couple speaking French
Judi Kemerait
Dame Judi Dench

Am I an Irish rebel?
In my bipolar mind
Spoke of Bobby Sands
I wanna travel blind

1989
I play Rattle and Hum
1992
Father Greeley where I come from

                        The Angel!
Qualyxian Quest Feb 2023
I don't believe in Western Civilization
I'm also South and East
I lived in the Nordic Lands
He said Ray Charles was a Beast

My sons live on Arapahoe
The Seminoles did resist
The Trail of Tears, racist fears
Flowers on her wrist

Chicago means stinky onion
The NeoCons did leave a stench
My friend is Judi Kemerait
Don't know Dame Judi Dench

America is racehate
Bad schools, nuclear war
I have to wonder, dear reader
Have we been here before?

           Forgotten lore

— The End —