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JLB Jan 2012
Power pulsating between my legs
Irrational intrigue  between my ears
Alacrity asunder between my ribs
-Heretical human blender-
Serving up cleverly crafted cocktails
I am
Spouting sureness from between my lips
I am
Stirring in sweet sultriness
Soliciting sour sabotage
Submerging you in salty squeamishness
-Colloquial courtesan, curtly castrating consumers-
Inebriating you equally with inevitable irrationality
Welcome to my "Reader’s Digest"
Prepared especially for you with my psychologically indigestible
Swetank Modi Oct 2014
My eyes are too big
I am one with the desserts
Now I must digest
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I was listening to a poet
reciting his poem “Times”.
He was pondering, could
it be like this and that?
Suddenly my cup of tea
happened to taste so sweet,
made me wonder why
wasn’t it such an edgy,
a while ago any time
before now just as tasty.

Where on a stony thorn
was it stuck this long?
It had to bloom just now,
so sweet a rose!  
No one predicted whether it
will rain or not, it just drops.
The sun, shedding clouds,
suddenly swims so low!

Pondering me, I could
then only digest it
accepting a truth:
It doesn’t matter when
the bees love to come out,
sit on the rose and fly.
For the time, its best bard
only sings on time!
A Stair Step May 2018
We meet at the park
for the first time,
a rhyme in real life,
same insecurity,
same purity
in our
hope,
different stories,
which lead us
into this spine rhyme.
So much we decline,
this moment clearly is
a strategy to cope
with our loneliness,
to forget what a mess
we are, a *****
and would we start
to think, we'd fall
in a blink,
sink in old
patterns of
destruction.
But we sit down
in the meadow,
have our poems to hold onto,
leading us through the fear of being nothing
of interest.
We already know
we have that in common
and I start and share something,
but you don't know what to say,
nervous you find safety in your own,
read what has left your heart,
as you were sitting
in your quest
to digest
what
was.
And the nature becomes silent,
cause everything starts to listen,
smelling some glimpse of your
wisdom, you start whispering,
the attention makes you uncomfortable,
though you just cause
the surroundings'
concentrating.
Time still,
and I tell you
and we share our thoughts,
now that we both felt the force,
the whole afternoon
reading
our life
and
the unfilled parts.
Feels good,
no one walks away,
out of awkward unpredictability.
No condition to be worth
the way between now and future.
And it happens,
like it happened long ago,
in different stories,
the colors around start to shine again,
you reach out to hold my hand,
further diving, imminent.
Wilt thou love God, as he thee? Then digest,
My soul, this wholesome meditation,
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on
In heaven, doth make his Temple in thy breast.
The Father having begot a Son most blest,
And still begetting, (for he ne’er be gone)
Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption,
Co-heir t’ his glory, and Sabbath’ endless rest.
And as a robbed man, which by search doth find
His stol’n stuff sold, must lose or buy ‘t again:
The Son of glory came down, and was slain,
Us whom he’d made, and Satan stol’n, to unbind.
’Twas much that man was made like God before,
But, that God should be made like man, much more.
scully Sep 2018
I want to write about what hurts because I think it will
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on
A page then they will be easier to digest.
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands. Right now, I feel
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time,
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
I should write
About how we've said goodbye so
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues.
I should write
About how I lied and got away with it,
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame.
I should write
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.
I've never had anything to die for.
I should write about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to write about how
The love didn't save us.
I don't write about letting go as much as I write about
Holding on, and I want
That to change.
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it.
The next poem I write about you will be
About me. About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.
`
E li za Sep 2016
So young He engraved the Law in your fledgling heart
Covering your mind with the depth of His wisdom
Tell no language exist that could translate its art
Hopeless to assess its perfect scale and freedom

The Law is His breast milk you sip fervently
Howl in agony, your stomach digest it not
Fathom submission, son of debauchery
To merely **** is short; apply what has been taught

Sets of teeth sprouted in your gums like white pebbles
Overdose with confidence, sleep without a sword
Stars in woods they seem, Alas! Wild, wild eyes of wolves!
Fight the fine fight of the faith, shine light of the world

A state of armed conflict, His Law against your Flaw
Just streak of insanity in the family
Epitome of cross swords yet who will win in awe?
Glitch in your body, vow in its supremacy
Michaela Tripp Mar 2013
We live in a world filled with stereotypes.
Stereotypes that make us ashamed of who we are.
There’s a woman in my neighborhood who wears tight clothing and high heel shoes but that doesn’t mean she’s a ******.
There’s a boy in my class who listens to rap music and wears baggy clothes, but that doesn’t mean he’s out on the street selling dope.
There’s a girl in my class who rarely says to words and get’s straight A’s, but that doesn’t mean she’s a goody goody.

People ask us all the time of who we think we are,
but it doesn’t matter to them because before we can even digest the question and regurgitate the answer they have already made their mind up of who they think we are.

Some people are considered a brain.
Some a trouble maker
or a ****.
A princess
or a ******
But the truth is we are all smart, just in different ways.
Everyone of us has some athleticism in us.
Everyone one has gotten into some trouble.
We have all had are princess or prince moments.
And everyone of us is weird,
some people are just better at hiding in it.

You remember my neighbor I told you about?
She dresses like that, not because she is trying to sell herself
but because when she was younger she got bullied and no one ever noticed her because she never had designer clothes because her mother had no job and her father left when she was 4. And ever since then she made herself a promise that she would make sure people noticed her.
And that boy with the baggy clothes?
He wears those baggy clothes to cover up the cuts and bruises his father comes home from the and had one to many drinks.
And the girl who get’s straight A’s and doesn’t say much?
She get’s those straight A’s because if she doesn’t she gets a straight hand across the face and she doesn’t talk because she has sever anxiety.

So the next time you point and laugh at someone remember that they’re 3 fingers pointing back at you.
And the next time you assume something about something remember that when yo assume yo make an *** out of U and ME.
SassyJ Apr 2016
In tunnelled darks, pastes of reminisce
Outward disjoint points to irrelevance
Spooned and coned in cold mountaintops
The darks of sorrows and trails of struggles

Persistence patterns of self satire in gloom
Sunken in identity crisis of broad oceans
Stormy seas spotlighted by beatific stars
Trajectory of spilled ice in recurrent motions

A mere past cocooned by fears and tears
Clouded in thoughts that cruise and decline
Greyed white imprinted by sudden sadness
Madness echoes on arched ancient bricks

Checkered maniacs of fulfilled passions
Filed and iced in cased prolific memories
Cascades of sunshine tickles to warmth
Orchards of glow that bloom and grow

Picked, ticked and unpacked from boxes
Attacked, nurtured and stored in bliss
Eventful lessons unfolds in untold augury
A mission as the known permeates and fade

Windowed eyes all line up in parade
Mirrored lights digest the haunted haste
A stranger to self, an ally to another
A dance of bright entwine a twist of blur
Darks and lights ........
For audio follow:
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/checkereddarkslyricalpoetry
no direction, dressed in distress
suppressed by excess of regret
expected infection, hard to digest
a left mess that's best to forget

projected wreck is yet to accept
object of the reflected effect
where defective breath has wept
i rest in the echo of my neglect
DaSH the Hopeful Jul 2014
Too much on one plate

For a four course dinner date with death

Its getting late and I still can't digest her inevitability
Amoy Feb 2018
Midnight!
Midnight!
Midnight!

The burning sensation of those word were hard to digest
Sorrow, Tear, How ugly can I be
Black is Beauty I say…to whom they say

Midnight! Midnight!.. you are as dark as Midnight
I'm haunted by those words, As they stuck to me like fresh sap from a tree..
I’m drowning, I’m drowning, I can’t get free, those words will forever trail me..

They trailed me; they jarred me, Blackie Tutu! Blackie Tutu!
How can kids be so cruel using skin color as a tool
I held my own and stayed cool for I knew has long I was in this school my fate was doom.

Pickey-Pickey head! was the melody of the song
I listened allowing the word to sink into my soul
The beat made me sick and I knew this one would also stick
I Looked up to the sky wondering why
No! No! No! Woman don’t cry
Be an African and hold your pride…

Hands by my side, I held my head up high
I found the fight within me, Stone faced Killer bee
I faced the music and it set me free
On the attack I had them flee…using word to conquer thee
I carried on knowing freedom wasn’t free and then
Like bolt of lightning it occurred me  
To defeat them I had to BELIEVE in ME
Sara Kellie Jul 2018
You're trouble, you're toil.
Yes, trouble and toil.
With you I think I'll bring to the boil.
A pinch of salt and a teaspoon of oil
but not too much, your taste it'll spoil.

I'll take off your beard.
To eat that would be weird.
But gristle that makes your knees
into crackling . . .
. . . oh yes please.

With mint sauce on each cheek,
two kebabs that are seekh.
Not keen on the chin
so I hope you don't mind,
that goes straight in the bin.

Chop, chew, swallow and digest.
Can you guess which part
of you I like best?
It's your nose that I grate
all around the edge of my plate
and because I've asked "Please"
that you try not to sneeze.
It makes a much better garnish
than parmesan cheese.

Savoury poetry by Kaydee.
I'm just messing now.
Jowlough Oct 2010
by Alvin Guanlao (Bold verses) - Joseph Juatco (Normal Fonts)



Digest

Do you want me to say oblivious?
I didn't even know what it means.
let's try the word conspicuous,
Its meaning is more obvious than it seemed.


I'm a word carnivorous,
meticulous on what i eat.
I'm poetically omnivorous,
Digesting what i see.


Now don't be suspicious,
I'm good in playing words,
You know I can be as righteous,
just as you looking like a ****

Or am I just too ambitious,
I think I am trying hard,
I wanted this write to be sumptuous,
Oh please don't disregard!
(c) Oct 3 2010 Guanlao -  Juatco
Scott M Reamer Apr 2013
Man life know just set eyes way like young world soul day hunger space mouth earth thoughts ignorance blind things mind knew final moment human creation kind creatures souls high forgotten dream love spoke self existence face holy deep bound think home void say surrender ear forever called held ephemeral red state end shall heed hope edge living waking fall sea wake garden need February thought past wanderer got men page colored tepid terrible **** proudly untitled features point painted faceless box forgot render wild spring splendor  handfuls looking half brain lost torn ancestral  unseen vision inner summer honor mister owned banner save today fear groans wasn't smoke  street fable strange year contrast black years  able pain body spoken word known motion  palpitate reeling nature culture disclaimers  cancer beg attentive frames ****** base profound double remember wholly finger death token  cries continue folk oh fishing form broken true  divides spread ah twas away breathe wait warning hallowed wish closer lens turn eye live  constant current author hung theory dangle  bramble chemical new force changes adderall  anymore giving beneath possess pardon commentaries eternity internal walk reason  long change does idea glimpse consciousness  wandering simply wonder physical dreams war  sleep told rest benign prior begging truth little  2012 born tale crow bowels allegory animal rule  exasperate making horse curse hands ones read  rearrange capture doing command fail awake  aperture seedlings shift steely sir nap spead ****** demons slits clever telling loud spits la-la-di-dah killing slip game reflected nameless ask  lovers rabid bear salivate plunder shameless  famously savior mint rides menthol bully fate traded melodies play misunderstand mammals gentle witless fine utterly savage silt tongue-less  dirt dilutes pure non-sensory taste briefly ravage dismember it''ll shedding ruined curtain  knots offers plot fulfills munificent two-act  relegates boxz bug altruistic wintergreen tossing  callously guise grovels one's singers treachery ashes mid-life mutter fashion parading  ambiguity separatist liars staple steeping neath  guidelines scoffing stitch moans civil wrote  Fictitious undoing fables table effigies serve  sonnets staged remark psalm swoll praise harken  beggar verse bread lines heavily electricity detection snow sack-happy preaching credit  spotted wicked best gravity gun campaign owe  barge choir revelry celebratory satiated sinking  headline pack hound persistently propaganda  gentlemen excluding diminished ******* run idles  occupied levies wolfishly honestly misinformation cuba vehemently dumb grace spectator erasing  toned sage crowded secrets inter-connectivity  loaned prayer hymns grave mistaken magnified  vandals selective jump leak escapes says minister  buckle mass honesty shut tar children's hats  monument doping long-lived electrical ladle  exaggerated cartoons address seconds cool cradle bleak yang's mind-framed hypnotic  walker caps folly treble claim streaks mixtures  swelled interstate elapse teasing spoon mobile  succulent witchcraft borderline fatal 99 temple stacks sups plastics creeps neurotic ills tossed  meek sipping old crack interlock wax alleyway  coughing blown freak clock birthdays societies  slow flashing viscous candy argument toothless  pills cerebral rapt wall bisect lives wheezing  photo kid starter foiled pair saturated self-castrating pre-packed naked uncertainly pill  used came chaos coated reprisal fells wrack  irreverent mirth sickly disinherited proudest  collate wheeze appearance palette disharmony  discontented bastardized emotive bio inhale diction beat spoiled reclamation loudest tempo  totally disembodied matte imperfect shells flat  struck sounding imparts flak origin severance remarked bone walls snared leaflets mocking  hot scripting adjective noun agape seemingly  resistant gawk calamity passage paintings wind  trashcans signings sits cheap makers poetry persist scrap slipping individual talk wonders  leaving questions fold actor fancy parchment  fates engenders flown jaws stripped longer music  sacrifice fakers book boldly frown sigh atop patient hang trade occupation blows spectacular  whispers worthy backward waving certainty danced suppose needn't ‘drawkcab’ second-guessing  boys forget marched motto heads tightly lies two-tone earthbound harp twice turns goodnight  lying ***** internally indiscriminate nickname  drunk convictions myth steep  in-consumption  fitting artist **** universal sick expressions bad  du spell melody big siphon proud learn sprawls song spastic something temperaments utter check  fissures stomp totality blend definitely thrall sing rug voice shade pestilence ties commiserate round devil steady brains emotional certain gate  suckling gates dearth decay weight bounce pound  carrier pangs glass startle contest earthen web  tug pressed air patience flush amassed guest gone apprehension staring empathize captain believe fading in-perceivable deathbed guarder makes surrounds scatter drooling ebb blink cob tome  venom near door lair derision draws host stairs scent parts curiosities spider webbing surprise wares tips stepping ascetics starkness realize picture surroundings dictations grand pillars  deaf limited comparisons greet visual residents  personal settings dismiss alien law stability common earthly shiftless places prelude  understanding mosaic keen trifling embodiments  geared inception whisper visible jowls kiss murky  puddle rank dawn dichotomy single faithful fraying pays tailor veil climb mores pence whim  breath wellspring samara god stony pear  shadows fruiting forebodes moonlit looming  shown passed bog gold wracked faint tongues  noble preachers mirror shifting layered depth  threads jungle narcissus bemused seamstress self-worshiping architect's wore slumber anomalous  opened barren seam lip caustic scene coupled brick gardener's clenches -with forms idle breed  embodied lore starving empathy design illusion  tree coat fabricate lucid mason scatter-all  narrative seeking imbued 16th shivering chemicals 17th 15thrisk improperly dare  deliberate plan purge try brought chapter speed  aide utmost spirit leading intervention felt  recall recent advent sincerity times diary  lackluster piously lasting happy holding hear  stem tasteless whimpers wet spine monstrosity  dripping causes position quite softly claws pallet  answer digging tearing beast satiating circle breaks skips redwoods beckoning rotted hushed  gray lapsing monoliths deities creborus  imbuement hand stroll paradigm rendered chorus shy whispering forest residual tension  surrenders tolerance lull anew sentenced  bearing tide birds dirge divergent rim joined  cogs wood hesitant mist emergent towering offer  awareness confinement inverted faultier stowed  plane sanctified blanketing trusting memory fossil flash twists laden self-indulgent fleeting invitation agony grip shore impetus lingering  crows promise gift union swallowing endless floor supposed ecstasy sensory intent  psychotropic cradling placement interned  jagged connectivity exchange congenial begun  summons singular spiral assumes ambient reciprocates re-entry fruition reached aggregate lifetime limbs birthed instinct  frightening tarry proper entire light  boundaries innocence pursuit ago discover left  youth's unknowing sacred time place meager  simple fact cast ceaseless wide-eyed literal  apparent coincidence create boldness morphed  crooked kempt mere stumble buried shutter fairy  pivotal definitive months worth shear ambition sound required journeyed self-reflections title  facets vague restless intimation gut wanderer's  leap motivate path account boy soon bears faith  question tripped reasons uproot awaited confronted days step heal provocations wisps crushing transcend chronicles instance  directness raw drove occurrence objective-less  real enters slightest confident nondescript  typify  foreshortened interment paradox bitter heart  devoid jeopardy angry sensation confidential guilty arrogance mercy compliance reprieve  vincent deadening factual sign emotion awe  inhibition shackled butterflies absence actual sciences acknowledgement violent stagnant  spiritual American doors roots lack matted fore  gestures society cause streams intensity hair impossible discord lonely hearts resounding  jest  what's flavored pains closed toxic contented  happenstance scientific knowledge yeah  wizardry shaking stifled withdrawn bloom  jitter dreads settle asocial hulton make  predisposed figurative reflections demeanors  wondered affect hulton's projected sense  morning industry arrays ghosts feeling  certainly endomorphic where's partially wrath  passer mornings jovial unease advertized asking  trash onward wished tempers media mentality connect pasts sharp-toothed scramble great colours trial test salvation continually lent  degree secretly subjection social waned  disconnected colors grimly intellectual civilization cash trading baffling particular  digest myths monumental ending seasons winter  repetition introducing agent everlasting  shoulders delivered honestly-- possession funny  continence history unsightly function suffering propulsion profession divulge familiar tugs era  importance capability perpetuation spite inventory words entirety leveling fray insight  date record continues writer getting evermore fellow tongue possessions identical proof accuracy education similar sack admittance  favor unravel conveyance guilt gives beginnings  predicting audacity definition bobby heady eaters frameless learned release stone grandeur sang  speak molds sleeps split built seats people folded  sheer pour evoked playhouse liquid boring  tellers frayed stark walked reality pleas doth  preformed shows beak pride squawks opinions  greatest bold stunning sightings he'd loudly slain  sunk watch legend precipice theater deeper compound commentator civility justly silly sin  reverent seen prophetic moral confounds notion  lacking explain attempt prolific viral estrange proclivity scorn hide blur pious strung eden's  horror cut skin arch cruel twig mother vile  pass lend woods peach shrunken trail man's canopy worn 434 eat warm limb familiar father delete.

You are what your reading lady. Now would you hold this gun?
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.                                oh, have you heard of that
the times headline?
        visas for men who force
teenagers into marriage
...
some Bangladeshi beauty,
aged 15...
had to marry a 30 year old...
god... i'm loving this
"enforced" celibacy...
      i get to see as many buckling
horses, broken jockey necks
and broken horse legs as
i might, and do, digest...
   but my ethnicity is":
vermin...
   guess a ******* **** wrote
that piece... then
his compatriot ***** 10 english
damsels... my bad...
i'm in the wrong...
                                    oops?
now you've tangled yourself
with a quasi Mongol,
                      a wels catfish...

i hate, hate, the english bourgeoise...
notably?
   because they "think" all slavic
migrants are builders!
the english bourgeoise... what's that
word?
             flagellation?
no.. stripping of the skin, exposing
the muscles... with sushi precision
of remaining intent...
     the home office turned a blind eye...
oh... are there any adherents
to the Bangladeshi culture
working in your "MI5" environment?
sure as **** there are example...

now bow over the erected excess of
a ledge, drop your undergarments -
and let's... penetrate...
    why expect ***** from the English,
given their current success
of defending homosexuality?
    see how many existential inclusiveness
you have with that,
with homosexuality as the norm...
ahem...
               so why were the asylums
abolished?
   the humanity revision tactic...
stigma...

    over in england...
someone who's bilingual is, somehow,
magically, a: "problem" -
somehow bilingualism is a problem
(unless you have a foreign accent) -
bilingualism is, "apparently",
                 schizophrenia!

well.... d'uh! it's poetics,
   i am closely associated to the metaphor,
but it is only a metaphor...
beyond that?
                 let's see...
  how you'll play along to the future...
           YE, ******'... *****!
oh wait... i'm not the former
British Raj...
                        seems the second world
war didn't start, when the british
decided to side with the Poles...
    and my fetish for using the german
tongue?
    ****... the jews received their
back-logged payments...
the Poles didn't even receive a Marshall Plan...

look... communism worked...
   for one generation...
and communism will always work,
for one generation...
  and there is a place for socialism...
it involves a one generational lifespan...
post-war dynamics...
  and that's it!
               you need socialism
in the most extreme scenarios -
notably - post civil war...
                 notably Syria...
one generation's worth of socialism,
and then people can revert back
to capitalism,
   but socialism... is a safety economic
mechanism in the most extreme
cases of it, requiring implementation...

it's effective, in a constrained time-frame,
it's actually necessary -
given the civil war...
how is a Syrian butcher, supposed
to trust a Syrian cobbler -
when mediating trust,
   with foreign investment firms?
no... socialism is an expansive
format of mediating solipsism -
to reengage the collective -
in what becomes individualism -
from a solipsistic genesis...

   socialism can't be made critical
as a competitor system...
a fail-safe mechanism...
   in extreme scenarios -
post scriptum civil war,
  post scriptum a foreign invasion
recanted...
   there is no place for capitalism
in such places...
   but it's only with worth of
exercise, within only one generation...

my grandfather is the perfect
example...
   he and his school comrades,
cried, when Stalin died...
             it (socialism) has a place
in this world...
         in the most extreme scenario...
post scriptum an aftermath of war,
whether by foreign proxy
engagement, or by internal civil
unrest...
       socialism needs to be allowed
the time frame of, only,
               but one generation...

and then capitalism can allow
equilibrium...
              
            critique of marxism always
seemed to be an "antisemitic"
critique, misplaced, while also allowing
the posit of Engels -
          
one generation -
     and then people can ease in competition -
but there has to be a mediating
time-frame, in the most extreme case
scenarios -
   civil war, or foreign military investment
in a power-overthrow...

yet capitalism still has problems...
neutral problems to me minding them...
primarily the convenience /
inconvenience of
                      the surplus economy...    
capitalism is still learning
from the clown, as to how to juggle...

you seriously can't call one system
pristine, holy, while calling another -
which has lost the status of competitor:
unholy, heretical, lost...

   socialism has a use...
              capitalism via the Marshall
Plan hasn't exactly saved west western Europe...
the nations that inherited
the self-determination of the soviet
mind-set?
     and not U.S. money?
   hear of any terrorism within
               their tribal confines?

i wish the Syrians a generational
gap... of socialism...
afterwards? as much capitalism
as the Syrians can invoke...
   but not, not until
    there is a guiding socialist generational
gap, to get them,
back to the glory of the former
Damascus.
Hayley Coleman Dec 2014
My hands grasp onto unsure objects
Fighting the past and barely handling the future
And I feel sick.
I feel sick each day
Each morning
Each evening
Each conversation
Each cigarette.
I cannot digest this,
Nor can I digest the food on my plate,
Or the information thrown at me each day.
I am lethargic and boring,
Lame and confused,
Tired and constant,
There is no change.
I fear routine but
Also fear change
I am fickle.
I am boring I am selfless
I am selfish I am sure
I am distant
I am clingy
Like the shore.
I pull you in when I need you
Push you away when I don't
Cry when I am uncomfortable
And turn dark and I am cold.
I grasp onto unsure things,
Hoping I will gain control.
Control is not in my control;
However,
I will try and grasp onto these feelings,
Write about it and wither in self pity
Only to realize
I can only control the words
Escaping my chapped lips.
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January
        17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go **** yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I
        need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not
        the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back
        it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical
        joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday
        somebody goes on trial for ******.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid
        I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses
        in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle
        Max after he came over from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by
        Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner
        candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Business-
        men are serious. Movie producers are serious.
        Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of
        marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable
        private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour
        and twenty-five-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of
        underprivileged who live in my flowerpots
        under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers
        is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that
        I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly
        mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as
        individual as his automobiles more so they're
        all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500
        down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Com-
        munist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a
        handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
        speeches were free everybody was angelic and
        sentimental about the workers it was all so sin-
        cere you have no idea what a good thing the
        party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand
        old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me
        cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody
        must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen.
        And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power
        mad. She wants to take our cars from out our
        garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Readers'
        Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia.
        Him big bureaucracy running our fillingsta-
        tions.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read.
        Him need ******* *******. Hah. Her make us
        all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in
        the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes
        in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and
        psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

                                Berkeley, January 17, 1956
Ksjpari Aug 2017
One of the resourceful books unbeatable;
Children’s love, care and comfort biddable
Is none better than Reader’s Digest – capable.
Articles, reports, jokes and anecdotes audible;
All are present in it; all are undoubtable.
Changing the mindset of students capable
Is a new, systematic thing coachable.
Changing the world and its cannibal
Into the virtues and values bindable.
Explaining itself if anytime culpable;
And so is famous for being countable.
Teachers, parents, students ennoble
Reader’s Digest for not being enfeeble.
Leaders or followers who are like a crucible
Change their minds and be bendable.
Behaviour and conduct – key undoubtable
Will keep you atop, elevated, lofty and able.
I am developing a new style of writing poetry where ending words of a line rhyme with one another, at least in last sound. I named it Pari Style. Hope readers will like it. Thanks to those invisible hands and fingers which supported and inspired me to continue my efforts in my new, creative, artistic and innovative “Pari” style. Thanks for your inspiring, kind, soft fingers.
Love is when you can't control your fast beating heart
Your sweat from the stress
The amount of words you can't digest
And the physical excitement from your body.
Louis Brown Mar 2015
Should I still stretch

For new proverbs

And hope they never age

Thought old truths fade

Each epoch's dawn

And worms digest each page
Cunning Linguist Aug 2015
Through a crowd
of homeless Vietnam war vets
Betcha I'm textin looking for more ***
From ****** galore
Open the back door and explore

Wreck that ***** (then I'm on to the next)
Next level ****, I'm on one at best
Deftly slip a little in your sister's sip
Now I'm caressing her *******
Hoping and praying my conquest ends with ******!
Yes, I confess I'm grotesque,
but I have finesse
I play that ***** like a game of chess

Bare witness -
I only ***** with the fattest of *******
Robbed a ******'s V-card
Now I'm charged with theft

I'm possessed and I have Tourette's
Ingested some drugs at the playground
Now I'm getting undressed
Digest my suggestive rhymes
I'm just a poor kid repressed
Manifest my pervertedness
My mind is a mess,
a nest
of enmeshed ******

And I obsess for excesses of distastefulness

It's disgraceful
My biracial angel
When I go directly from **** to ******
- In the blink of an eye
My *** game is fatal
Robbing the cradle & writing fables simultaneously
Screaming banzai!
Whilst I swan dive
straight into your ***** hole
& disable it

I'm insatiable,
Your mind is impregnable
Cause the impeccable mental images
I paint aren't erasable
Incomprehensible and intangible
Yet undeniable, I'm a despicable imbecile
Gazing in the peephole
Took a blindfolded stroll
down ***** lane and I'm on patrol
for an ocean of blowholes hundredfold

At the club so I dropped a bunch of Ecstasy
Take my shirt off so the ******* can all laugh at me
Tryna get the best of me
So I spite them out of jealousy
And absently drift away
through my mind to pornographic fantasy
My rhapsodic masterpiece
A mental form of ******
Getting busy in the squishy
til I'm dizzy in the hizzy
Swag, I do it valiantly

Turn it up this my jam
~Little ditty, bout jackin Diane~
Still a pity, too bad she's a man
Greasy ***** slap your eggs on my ham
If you'd prefer,
I might lend you a hand
Ram bam
bite the pillow I'm coming in dry
Don't be shy
Turn down for why
Either way have you in chains
by the end of the night

I'm a nemesis
***** slapping feminists
For emphasis
Hit em with a left fist
catching equal rights and ****
Yes I reek of cannabis
Can't handle bars I spit
Snide *******,
blame it on my pride and prejudice... ugh

I'm just a ******* egotist
An unrepentant hedonist
Check out Cunning Linguist
He da hypnotistic lyricist
This is my hypothesis
Maybe I'm just a nihilist
Detonating bombs
Catch me on the terrorist watchlist
Yes my words are devastating
But in your mind are resonating
Penetrating brains til it all begins disintegrating

I'm plastered
Falling over backwards
Mental state is fractured
Now watch me while I stagger
Tell your mother run for cover
Finna kidnap her


Pop pop
Got this **** on lock
Seeing double vision
Catch me jizzin in my sock

Steady speaking nonsense
Nearly unconscious
Bailing from the cops man
Too much Dwayne Johnson
***** have the nerve to call me obtuse
I be that Mr. got ***** the size of grapefruits
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
.good, send me to prison, dox... whatever... with my knowledge of obscure Islam... i might make some friends; come to think of it, i will be saved, from perpetuating this quasi St. Augustine soliloquy.

if there are these... young men...
of combat age...
  almost ready to play the pawns...
"eager" soldiers...
what the **** happened
to the women of fertile age?
frozen their eggs,
gambled biology
and gave birth to a down syndrome
expose aged 40+?
i too thought,
that Zeus could, but never would,
**** Hera...
  instead, seeking concubines,
to provide humanity with
the myths of the demigods.
so men... of fighting age...
    and... a ******* walrus harem,
with women,
of a fertility age...
supposedly, miraculously...
  "missing"...
throw me a danish, and a glass
of milk...
i need a laxative...
     to digest this piece of info.
as a man:
i'm done, defending the most
obscure existentialist statement
forced upon me...
      within the confines of:
cue: woman...
         i'm a dodo adherent...
and if there is no dodo
excavation to fulfill a continuum...
luckily...
i'm not some idiotic geneticist
spectacle of fanaticism:
ich sterben, alles nutzen...
         herr junggeselle Kant...
what are my genes,
as a worthwhile impetus?
        to procrastinate before
the altar of procreation?
               i thought that western
society pledged its allegiance
to "individualism", solipsism, autism...
         why should i pledge
an alleged alliance to a future?
       oculus per oculus...
     who are these people,
hardly dictating me, and more,
"persuading" me...
   to invest in this... project...
this...
first a celebration of independence,
and then, a shackling of
said independence,
  into a familial rigor, and discipline?
so said first...
   but not said first,
invoking the unsaid second...
   hitlerjunge...
             so said unsaid second...
people can have their global
speaking tours...
  i have gnat of an english neighbor
to deal with...
  who took the authoritarian
alternative... just shy of...
telling me when it was appropriate
for me to take a ****...
given, he, aged 50+ and his bride,
40+ gave birth, to a, ******* ******!
- at that age....
passing on the, "genes",
let alone "memes" (is no longer an
option):
                   but surrogate
parenting, in the form of adoption,
is...
  but of course, the neighbor
owning to his own business,
will receive the front of the parental
frustration, of a people,
too old, to receive the status
of fatherhood / motherhood...
more like... papa-grand-p'ah
and mama-grand-m'ah...
      i know my boat has already sailed...
i never wished to travel to las vegas
to take a gamble...
     why would i enforce some
obscure fatherhood desire
onto a woman, who has clearly
not established herself,
well enough, into 20+ years prior?
Gita Ashok Oct 2011
A widespread condition
related to nutrition
is lactose intolerance
that is in essence
the inability to digest and assimilate
the milk sugar-lactose-the substrate
that is acted upon by lactase-
the specific enzyme
over a period of time.
This may happen suddenly
and generally
at any age most unexpectedly.

Lactose intolerance
is caused by the absence
of the enzyme lactase
that breaks down lactose
to the simple sugars-
glucose and galactose.
The condition may be
secondary,  congenital,
or developmental.

Secondary lactose intolerance
invariably has its occurrence
related to a gastrointestinal infection
and its disappearance
is linked to the causative factor’s correction.
This type of intolerance-
(certainly a nuisance)
is reversible
if we are a bit careful.

Congenital lactose intolerance,
an inherited form of intolerance,
is a rare genetic  abnormality
that one can unearth
soon after an infant’s birth.
This need not cause any fear
as it lasts only half a year.

Developmental lactose intolerance
also known as primary  intolerance
is one wherein the enzyme synthesis
is progressively less
during childhood
and this persists into adulthood.

Gita Ashok
24/10/2011, 2 pm
Robert Napper Jan 2015
Letting go can be tough
Perhaps the harshest measure
Many times we will face
Changes that last forever

"What if I'd done this?"
"What if I'd done that?"
Questions to go unanswered
And irrelevant to the fact

The adoption of acceptance
Is your only quest
The only option to be alloted
Now swallow to digest

Observe the tremble in your hands
Your eyes begin glistening
Your heart is in your ears
But who's the one listening?

As it courses through your veins
Something celebrates in your heart
Every storm runs out of rain

The Truth in you prevails
As you begin to emerge
Once again to raise the sails

You've let it run it's course
You've stopped the irradic spinning
Focusing on the Now
Every breath a new begining

The only stake it has claimed
Is to your education
Simply a reminder
Of life's continuing alteration

To err is only human
And Forgiveness is Divine
You, they, deserving or not
Just turn the coin to see the shine

Yes, we have a choice
To see the brighter side
We don't have to dwell
In the illusion of The Lie

Just as it came
Let it go with an ease
Accepting what it WAS
Join your Self and thaw the freeze

It will come again
Your Knowing, now a weapon
It has lost the ferocity
Sanity no longer threatened

You can call it thick skinned
Or unwavering balance
You can call it indifferent
I will call it an Allowance.
LaNita Oct 2014
I've been focused on nutrition
sense before recognition
of a requirement of nutrients
for my life.

I eat for nutrition
I shunned the processed
chemical ick
a lifetime ago it seems
no longer remembering the taste
of chemically created
food stuffs.

though I know if I were to get a taste
it would satisfy my buds
they were made with my buds
in mind
hijacked my senses
lied and lied and lied
told my body it didn't need
nutrition
that is could live off of
intuition
and stuff in boxes
and bags
and cans

I've become my own food processor
now
I have mouths to feed
now I know what to feed
and where they make feed from
so we stick to the grass-fed

I'll teach them how to eat
even before how to read
its just how I see it
once that sugar laden
red
chemical construction
touches their lips
they will instantly desire more
Twain and Fitzgerald
will take them longer to digest.
so these are my priorities
now.
I am a nutrition seeker
a truth seeker
and I believe I come from
a line of healers
all who knew nutrition
is the key to life,
here.
the basic building blocks,
the amino acids
of life,
here.
when you're nourished
it all makes more sense
but stay out of those center aisles
their chemical composition
is too dense
my kidney could no longer clean
the code of food stuffs.

My strong little kidney
I'm so proud of it for
releasing its grip on its twin.
it wasn't for us anyways
Ayad Gharbawi Dec 2009
THE STORY OF SARA

OR A REFLECTION ON OURSELVES

Ayad Gharbawi

Chapter 4: THE HALLOWED PURIFICATION PROGRAMME




  One night, Omar began to thunder on:
  "No more of the disgusting concepts and ideas created by the Pigs! We should eliminate from our minds every single Pig that is influencing you, and I must say to you all, that I'm not seeing any progress."
  The audience suddenly went all quiet.
  Our leader was not satisfied with our emotional progress.
  We were not purifying our minds in a manner and speed that was satisfactory to the Great Noble Leader Omar.
  "I am looking at you all. I see you; yes, I, Omar, see each one of you. Your eyeballs seem to me to be unsure of what's behind them – I mean, your brains."
  Omar's voice began to talk in a tone that was almost a whisper, whilst the vast audience strained their ears to catch his every precious word.
  "And inside your brains lies our minds. Well, I'm talking about your minds, my friends. I'm not seeing progress. Yes, you do this riot; you **** this Pig; you burn this Pig school – and all of these acts are crucial to our holy cause. But, what about you yourselves? What about your own minds? Maybe you, too, are tainted with some of the Pig mentality yourselves? Now, how about that? Yes? What do you think?"
  The audience gasped.
  Omar began to raise his voice again.
  He was taunting this audience.
  Mocking them.
  Sarcastic.
  "Why, you really are telling me, that you think and feel and believe, that you have the right to **** Pigs?"
  At this question, Omar stopped.
  The audience gasped louder.
  I knew what they were thinking.
  Is our Great Noble Leader questioning our faith in him and in the cause itself?!
  He screamed, almost blowing away the microphones!
  "Why, who gives you the right to be soldiers in this unforgiving, merciless and ferocious war we are waging every day against vastly superior forces? I'll tell you 'who' gives you that right."
  The audience waited in tense anticipation at our leader's answer.
  It was so silent in this vast stadium, you could hear a pin fall.
  "What gives every man, woman and child the right to be a soldier in this brutal struggle is when that soldier has the purest heart and mind. It's as simple as that. And to be 'pure', my friends tonight, is the one who has not a shred, and does not have one ounce of Pig matter. That's right, you heard. Pig matter. Any dog that has even a fleeting Pig thought, is a Pig him or herself!"
  The audience now began to whisper among themselves.
  They seemed to be receiving the light from the words being delivered by Omar.
  Many were saying among themselves, that, 'Yes, we do have Pig thought and ideas and emotions and feelings in our hearts.'


  Omar continued, in a soft voice, after allowing his audience to digest his last words:
  "Yes, that does come as a surprise to you, doesn't it?"
  "Yes!" roared back the audience who now fully submitted to his question and answer.
  "So, I ask you – who are you?" he screamed!
  And the crowds immediately screamed:
  "Pigs! Pigs! Pigs! We are ***** Pigs!"
  Again and again, the crowd seemed to be going a little bit hysterical.
  Some began tearing off their clothes, as if they were trying to 'cleanse' themselves from their Pig thoughts!
  "That's right!" screamed back Omar, furiously and wildly staring with those maniacal eyeballs, like some trapped, ferocious animal, at his audience:
  "Why you yourselves are Pigs! That's right! Come on now! So, what are going to do about you? If you give yourselves the 'right' to **** Pigs, then why don't I have the same 'right' to order my best elite troops to **** you too?"
  "Save us! Save us!" screamed back the audience.
  "Save yourselves!" Omar screamed right back.
  "We are filthy! We are Pigs!" the audience began to insult themselves in all sorts of words and phrases.
  At this point, Omar was shrieking!
  "That's right! You are filthy Pigs yourselves, aren't you now?”
  The audience continued to scream and you couldn’t understand what they were saying anymore.
  Omar went just as suddenly silent.
  He just looked at his followers, and allowed them the need to express themselves.
  After some twenty minutes o this chaotic screaming, Omar became impatient and quickly motioned his followers to be quiet.
  Silence.
  He continued, with a soft tone:
  “So, I hereby announce the following."
  Once again the entire audience become tense.
  What was Omar going to order now?
  "I hereby allow you all, and I mean all our soldiers and not just those sitting with me here in this stadium; I order all of our soldiers to purify themselves of every Pig matter. You will have three months. And then, after that term ends, we will establish courts, to decide wether you have succeeded in cleaning yourselves from these cancerous and murderous feelings and emotions you have. Our courts and our hallowed judges will next decide, case by case, wether you are clean or not!"


  Later, when it appeared that our mostly pathetic, ***** and sick 'soldiers' were simply unable to cleanse their minds from the Pig establishment in three months – since they had no instructions or guidance - Omar, in his eternal grace, patience and humanity, decided to help them, by allowing classes to be held where one teacher would help each and everyone to 'cleanse' themselves.
  Personally, I thought that our Great Noble Leader was decidedly wrong in being so gracious to these so-called soldiers, because, in my opinion, this lot were not worthy of being in our party, and they ought to have been immediately expelled.
  "But, Sara," Omar would gently explain to me in his humble office, surrounded by his most trusted officers, "if we were to purge every undesirable element in the party, I would be left with practically nobody!"
  I took in his gracious words. and then thought about it.
  Why, he was correct, yet again, in his thinking!
  Indeed, if we did purify our party from the filthy ones, we would be left with little more than a handful of true, faithful and clean combatants and that, obviously, meant our self-destruction!
  "You're right, Sir; as usual, I think too hastily. That's why you are the only leader for us; my God, if I, God forbid, were leader, why I would have destroyed the party and our eternally holy cause years ago!"
  "Indeed, indeed, my dear," Omar softly said, but he seemed to have already forgotten my words, and, he was already somewhere else, thinking deeply about another problem.
  And so I, of course, went silent, so as not to disturb him.


  "You know what?" suddenly he asked me, his eyes sparkling with passion.
  "Yes, Sir?"
  "These 'classes' I was talking about. You've studied psychiatry, and I believe that we must use psychiatric methods to purify my subjects."
  Suddenly a strange feeling overcame me; I found the word describing the party members as 'my subjects' a little bit odd.
  Also, didn't Omar call psychiatry a Pig subject for all those years? Indeed, he said everything they taught us at university was evil, and that even the institutions of universities were dens of evil. And, yet, now, he was asking me to help him using what I was learning from my university days?
  "Yes, I can see the path I am talking about Sara. We need to get psychiatrists, like yourself, to tear out, yes, tear out, the filthiness in our party members."
  Suddenly, he got quite excited by his visions.
  "That's right, my dearest one, Sara. Yes, and I appoint you to supervise this programme of purification. That's right, and I shall call it by its simplest name, the 'Programme of Purification'!"
  Suddenly, I got excited as well, forgetting my previous disturbance.
  "That would be such a heroic move on your part, Sir." I gleefully told Omar.
  I feel that not only was he the saviour for our nation, but that he was also a personal saviour for myself.
  "Yes, I see my vision where it is leading us to. My dear Sara; you will set up these classes and you will bring the psychiatrists and you will purify the ***** elements in our classes."
  I got nervous again, for I just realized the magnitude of the job Saviour Omar was demanding I do for him!
  "And therefore, I Omar call for an immediate ceasefire against all Pigs!"
  Everyone in the office stood there in a state of shock!
  A ceasefire against the damnable Pigs?!
  Holy Omar could, of course, read our faces and smiled.
  "But Holy Sir," one officer softly asked, "how can we have a ceasefire against the most evil forces in the history of our country?"
  "And, Sir," asked another officer, "if we stop our eternally pure and humanistic battle against the disease-ridden pigs, wouldn't the latter take that as a sign of weakness on our part?"
  Next, saviour Omar raised his hand.
  Everyone went silent.
  He looked at us.
  There were no words from his mouth.
  We waited humbly.
  Geniuses take their time to formulate the right structure of words, not because they don't know what to say, but they do so that we fools can understand what they have to say.
  It is out of concern for us.
  Omar finally spoke:
  My clean, pure soldiers. We must declare a ceasefire, for I have no other choice. As a humanist, how can I allow impure elements from our party to fight and **** Pigs, when they themselves are still 'impure'? Where is the morality in that?"
  Suddenly, I couldn't help but feel such fanatical love for this man; I can only describe his man and his words, as pieces of Heaven coming down to us inferior beings, and if we are decent, then we must grab every shred and piece that he utters, so we can, in turn, save our impure souls.
  "Beautiful thoughts indeed, my Gracious Leader!" I said.
  Then I turned to the listeners:
   "What's wrong with the rest of you? If, one of our 'own' party members was impure, then by what right does he and she have to fight and **** Pigs? We must cease all out activities, until we have a purified party! It's simple and obvious!"
  Thereupon followed silence.


I was speaking the obvious.
  Finally, a voice spoke:
  "So, how exactly are these psychologists going to 'purify' the 'minds' of our party members?"
Good question – one that I had not thought about.
  Indeed, how, and by what means, were we going to purify the undesirables?
  And then, just at the right moment, Omar spoke his words:
  "Yes, that is a great question. There's no use giving orders that no one knows how they are to be carried out. You see, it will not only be the job of psychiatrists who will purify the filthy ones. No, we will force the filthy ones, to ***** out every filthy thought, feeling, and idea; and we shall make sure that all these impure thoughts and feelings and convictions will be screamed out of their minds."
  At that last phrase, once again, I found myself pausing and thinking, what an odd thing to say!
  I got lost in my thinking.
  After all, Omar always, and I mean always choose his words carefully, for he would always make it a point to be so careful with the choice of his words, so that his credibility would never be in doubt and so people do understand that that he means exactly whatever he says.
  I must confess, I was completely confused.
  On the one hand, I had such deep reverence, complete love and a total need for Omar, and then, there was a part of me, that simply didn’t understand what he was talking about!
  I remembered, once more, how everything was so nice and easy and simple with Tony.
  But, I assume, that Tony was a general doctor, whereas Omar was a surgeon, and so, with Omar, we had to face a far more complex situation.
  "What do you mean by that, Sir?" asked one of the officers, waking me up from my thoughts.
  "I mean, it shall be the duty of every party member to purify every other party member. We must all be psychiatrists! This will be done, of course, under the supervision of the leader psychiatrist in each class. He or she will guide you, as to how to get every party member to rip out every Pig attribute in our party members. It's as simple as that."
  At that, Omar gestured to indicate that the meeting was over, and so we left.
  I kept thinking that his idea was, I'm sure, utterly brilliant, but how in practice were going to do this?


  He left his office far too soon.
  We had too many questions to ask, and yet, by leaving us, Omar was, in effect, giving us a 'programme' to do, but without clear, precise orders.
  So, how were we going to carry out his orders?
  What did he mean that 'we must all become psychiatrists'!
  That was absolutely absurd!
  Untrained people cannot simply 'become' psychiatrists, even if they are 'led' by psychiatrists – or to use Omar's words, to be 'guided' by psychiatrists.
  So, Omar's idea seemed to me, to be really a recipe for a catastrophe for our party.
  The more I thought of it, the more I found my mind asking myself the question: why was Omar insisting on this 'purification programme' in the first place?
  Couldn't the party and its members simply continue the struggle, without having to enforce this ridiculous programme?
  And didn't Omar realize that his insistence on us carrying out his orders to do the purification programme, was going to cause absolute chaos, disruption and ultimately mass desertions and expulsions from our party?
  In other words, Omar's sudden 'need' to 'purify' our own members seemed to me to be a self destructive act that would seriously damage the party.


The ceasefire announcement was barely noticed by the Pigs – which came as a shock to many of us.
  The government didn't seem to actually care at our ceasefire announcement.
  Indeed, the Pigs declared that what they termed as the 'social troubles' was, in effect, 'over' and so, therefore, the country could breathe a sigh of relief, and people could now be 'happy'.
  I didn't believe what the government was saying.
  I was of course nauseated by the hypocrisy of the Pig leaders, because, their pronouncements were lies, as usual, and they would of course, continue their merciless war against us, while we had to cease our fire.
  Yes, Leader Omar was probably correct, but I was **** frustrated, because it seemed to me, for the first time since I joined the party, that the Pigs may now well win the struggle.
  It was obvious to me!
  For how on planet earth could we 'win' a war, when we were not allowed to fight, while the same eternal enemy would continue his war against us?!
  Also, to be very honest, I'm not sure that we could 'purify' Pigs in the first place.
  It seemed to me to be a contradiction!
  I would simply have to swallow whatever Leader Omar ordered us to do.
  God knows, he's proven to be correct every time before, and maybe, he will confound us once more with his superior wisdom.
  Have faith, Sara, have faith!
  Never question the Great Leader, for he is superior to all of us; after all, that’s why he’s the ‘Great Leader’ in the first place!
  Keep the faith!
  How can we understand what a su
Compromise and decay are difficult things to digest. Striking like gravity on the spine, slow and sure. They are as inevitable as my need to avoid them. All the lust, passion, and greed I wish to swim in for an eternity dies with the same cancer that eats my body away. The maggots, flies, desperation, and despair, all attack me simultaneously and with an unstoppable desire to thrive on my remains.

They are relentless and I am not.

Make like a good boy and lie down, ready to decompose with acceptance and grace. I'll place a bag on my head for decency and my wallet on my chest for convenient identification. Perhaps some intelligent future civilization of the cockroach's descendants would like to know about my sad demise. I know the humans won't.

"Misguided", they will say. "Not enough Jesus in his soul to beat back the demons", will say the child ******* priests. Spit on by a hundred million naysayers, in between their ******* and repenting. Given billions of one star reviews because zero stars isn't an option. Oh , I miss the the maggots, the flies, the devastation, and the despair. They were my enemies, and now my only friends.
ln Jul 2014
Boeing 777
MH17
17/7/14.

“ Most of the passengers had no race,
But today they gained a nationality.
Today, we are united in grieve. “

Tragedy struck again,
One strike after another,
One blow after another.

Today, we lost 295 people,
Out of a grand total of 7.046 billion people.

To an individual,
The figures may mean nothing,
Comparatively.

But as a nation,
This was a hard one to accept.

How do you digest the fact that
295 people lost their future,
Overnight.

How do you digest the fact that
295 people are gone just like that.

How do you accept the fact that
Your country is falling apart,
Slowly,
But surely.
The Triumph of Wit Over Suffering

Head alone shows you in the prodigious act
Of digesting what centuries alone digest:
The mammoth, lumbering statuary of sorrow,
Indissoluble enough to riddle the guts
Of a whale with holes and holes, and bleed him white
Into salt seas.  Hercules had a simple time,
Rinsing those stables:  a baby's tears would do it.
But who'd volunteer to gulp the Laocoon,
The Dying Gaul and those innumerable pietas
Festering on the dim walls of Europe's chapels,
Museums and sepulchers?  You.
                               You
Who borrowed feathers for your feet, not lead,
Not nails, and a mirror to keep the snaky head
In safe perspective, could outface the gorgon-grimace
Of human agony:  a look to numb
Limbs:  not a basilisk-blink, nor a double whammy,
But all the accumulated last grunts, groans,
Cries and heroic couplets concluding the million
Enacted tragedies on these blood-soaked boards,
And every private twinge a hissing asp
To petrify your eyes, and every village
Catastrophe a writhing length of cobra,
And the decline of empires the thick coil of a vast
Anacnoda.
          Imagine:  the world
****** to a foetus head, ravined, seamed
With suffering from conception upwards, and there
You have it in hand.  Grit in the eye or a sore
Thumb can make anyone wince, but the whole globe
Expressive of grief turns gods, like kings, to rocks.
Those rocks, cleft and worn, themselves then grow
Ponderous and extend despair on earth's
Dark face.
           So might rigor mortis come to stiffen
All creation, were it not for a bigger belly
Still than swallows joy.
                         You enter now,
Armed with feathers to tickle as well as fly,
And a fun-house mirror that turns the tragic muse
To the beheaded head of a sullen doll, one braid,
A bedraggled snake, hanging limp as the absurd mouth
Hangs in its lugubious pout.  Where are
The classic limbs of stubborn Antigone?
The red, royal robes of Phedre?  The tear-dazzled
Sorrows of Malfi's gentle duchess?
                                   Gone
In the deep convulsion gripping your face, muscles
And sinews bunched, victorious, as the cosmic
Laugh does away with the unstitching, plaguey wounds
Of an eternal sufferer.
                         To you
Perseus, the palm, and may you poise
And repoise until time stop, the celestial balance
Which weighs our madness with our sanity.
BoaN May 2019
Everything is so easy to digest now;
What seemed furious is at ease now.

Everything is so easy to digest now;
Why did it happen this way is understood now.

Everything is so easy to digest now;
When did the bond break, is considered now.

Everything is so easy to digest now;
Where bond was made is destructed now.

Everything is so easy to digest now;
Who became your everything is again stranger now.
vircapio gale Oct 2012
what did it take for me to miss those days?
crawling breathless,
stomach nails for breakfast, ventricles of rust,
pounding on my ribs with any upright task
from soaking bed delirium,
corroded mind and eyeballs
tortured falun dafa tears
stinging on the walls a glowing red,
my branching veins encasing me in flaming
paths of mystery: to live or die, to try or fail
at simple efforts
--never gone without, since infanthood--
to stand itself a tissue horror
bathing in the needles of another lifeform's hold on me,
that spiral nesting multitasker
legions in the joints,
invading forces claiming spinal tower-riches
as if my thoughts will be my last,
originary flickerings of self, sacked and razed,
the burning out of novelty for bottom emptiness
and only sympathies malinger there--
yet vaster frame invisible to healthy eye emerged:
a sea, empathic with my prior paths from health diverged:
adrenal waves and dolphin plays of other air ensouled i purge
with cascade urges tension mixing universal breath
of statements, fears and wry coercings not to think of death
or tempting near the abolition of a system *****
for all the benison it's bound to store for years
of hiding blind and uttering the shield-word
of our sly, superficial, group-stock lies,
to have us screaming at each other out of only kneejerk love
a mask of fodder from our young dogmatic wanderings
they burn and burn and choke like spirochetes themselves
while shoving under family rugs the truth

cicada shells clung eerily against the burls and branches
of a monumental tree itself a deathly symbol bare of green
like ornaments of rhythm upsurge birthing into death digest
the exoskeletal remains, under finger crunched as
up the bark i climbed
to view what death had taken value on for me, and balanced
up atop the hill of faded names i yearned the meanings of,
and in the clouds
a part revealed
a sunny mist,
to paint me colorful again--
and in that mood a hail began to tick on forest floor:
the brittle dead a singing whisper flaking brown
on brown, on earthy brown to gather white within the paper nooks of leafy drums

how whimsically to service death
anon anon for now they're always lying there
across the road atop the grave hill,
from other species hunted here
but this, that time it was a carved skull
hacked or sawed but yards from peaceful temple yard
another, cleaner omen skull had led me there,
ochre red with emerald mold
the cranial pale divided stop and go
and led me wondering within the stream
to notice other signs i half-expected mystically:
surreal blood abundantly with vulture feathers carpeting the scene:
a stag with missing brain, missing hind and organs
chosen how, i'd never know
--i saw the arrow though, a barb of certainty--
and old fur, gray and white, a timely passing then,
to make of gore a sacred right,
and in hale ignorance i prayed like only atheists can pray
with self-disclaiming smirk but
humble authenticity of unknown forces
biding in the impulse-meaning-gathering of earth,
now memory to glean and hold to live in me
Devashish Kumar Mar 2015
Let me tell you something.
Something which may seem
Difficult to digest
Or counter-intuitive.
Your enemies are your best friends.
You must be wondering
What the hell?
But seriously your enemies are your best friends.
No one helps you more than your enemies.
They think of you better than anyone.  
By being on lookout for
Your slips and weaknesses,
They always keep you focused-
Always at your toes.
They help your realize your true potential.
They bring out the best of you.
They never let you dawdle.
They never deceive you
Or blandish you.
They reveal your loyalties.
Above all
Nothing beats the pleasure of
Beating your enemies.
Don’t all these make them your best friends?
Cunning Linguist Jun 2014
Most urgent:
First we debase this worthless currency,
To usher in impending new world order
Imprisoning the globe
Then bathed in ignorance
(
Fluoridation* retarding cognitive development)

More the merrier but I transcend borders
because my mind has no barriers
Spinning diction with volatile volition
Enchanting your brain into submission

A cheese-grater to the pineal gland
Inhibiting ability to dream,
Impassioned creativity &
inquisitiveness at an impasse,
Expertly contrasting
Inquisition with inability to produce
dimethyltriptamine
Because the pacified sheep
can't sleep away their passiveness
Mass devastation for the kids & family!

Slam it down with a gra(in/m) of (bath) salt
Better yet, sugar and McDonald's
Let Ronald wash your mind in city water
Dang, there's nothing outrageous
about meandering naked
Lusting to eating someone's face
these days, is there?
(Passed out on the asphalt)

Who bares the fault,
Who cares the most?
I know you planned it Mr. President,
take your nuclear launch codes
Atop your throne with your Zionist cohorts
Fake a breath, then flip the switch
Now you am become Death
3.  
2.  
1...
Default the planet

Where's your ******* conviction?
Digest my words and eat your fat *** to death Amerika

Mind your fate
The Devil's gates
Just a step away

So take the chip beneath skin
6 6 6
Pick up sticks,
Gather a whole bundle
& Light yourself on fire (******)

Crackpot conspiracy
How can you not see
Our country's interests inherently
sit in the pockets of Nazis?

Don't even get me started on television;
hypnotized sheep
mass-media gives me aneurysms
Is the Lord truly your shepherd
or do you always stumble so blindly?

Military-Industrial-Machine
Gobbling resources at breakneck speed
CONSUME CONSUME CONSUME
FAT CAPITALIST PIGS!!

You make me feel like vomiting.

Simply waiting for the bomb
to come bump uglies with the ***** of Babylon

NOW WATCH ME GET
~ULTRASONIC~
AS I DROP
ATOMIC ELBOWS
FROM THE TOP ROPE
TO THE THROAT
IN HOPES YOU CHOKE


Leaves a bad taste in your mouth,
did I tell a ***** joke?
(Haha-ha)
GARGLE SOAP *****,
YOUR LIFE'S HOPELESS

If you like beer & NASCAR gimme a hell yeah!*  (hell yeah!)
If you like bacon & pole-dancing gimme a hell yeah!

**** THIS REPUBLIC
DYSTOPIAN,
FLOWING WITH
NECRO-DESPOTISM
A COY ACT OF VENTRILOQUISM,
ON THE WORLD'S STAGE

Tangled like a marionette in its strings,
An insect in spiderwebs
Festering infection
Just keep using band-aids ;)

Take these cocktails
of famine, death, pestilence + plague
Questionably mixed with a little apathy
and self-delusion it's all the rage

The miasma of death
Clung and hung to their silhouettes
like cigarettes
The hands of the clock
tick-tocking away the seconds toward oblivion
In which I carry, reckless abandonment

*insert some wrath of God,
explosions of nuclear & biblical proportions,
then apportion some cataclysm
Sit back,
Listen to the wailing screams of panicking children
******* lay waste to this rock already,
this organic prison
And each and every organism
that dwells within it's ecosystems


All this to bring
A radical new utopia
not for you & me
but them, the Elite
and their heathen families


Behold a new dawn;
On the verge of 100% synthetic conversion
Mind, body, & soul as pawns
Data corrupted, perverted by total divergence
Illusion of free-will ruptured and gushing,
until microscopic then atrophied

Misanthropic singularity
Quantum computing
and nanotechnology
Existentially creating cyborg zombies
& Making gods rise from machines
Kinda deus ex machina style,
But nothing Isaac Asimov could machinate even in his wildest dreams

To me, a fitting end to humanity
The Great White Ape silently weeps
Still waiting for a Messiah
*a refined repost of an earlier draft

If this poem provokes interest I strongly recommend you research the long term effects of water fluoridation, the role it plays in calcification of the pineal gland, as well as the role it played in **** concentration camps.
The **** agenda is alive and well carried out in the 20-21st century through puppet America.
Society is the world's grandest pyramid scheme.
Open your mind, and open your eyes
http://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Paperclip
Among the hills a meteorite
Lies huge; and moss has overgrown,
And wind and rain with touches light
Made soft, the contours of the stone.

Thus easily can Earth digest
A cinder of sidereal fire,
And make her translunary guest
The native of an English shire.

Nor is it strange these wanderers
Find in her lap their fitting place,
For every particle that's hers
Came at the first from outer space.

All that is Earth has once been sky;
Down from the sun of old she came,
Or from some star that travelled by
Too close to his entangling flame.

Hence, if belated drops yet fall
From heaven, on these her plastic power
Still works as once it worked on all
The glad rush of the *******.
AM Jun 2015
I’m afraid of height
But you lifted me up
Until my fears disappear
I guess you’ve placed me
So high—too high
That my brain
Is unable to digest
How high it was
Nor ever process
How painful it will be
When you finally
Letting me go
King Bacon Oct 2014
Once upon a time, a long time ago
There was a little boy with a grimy flow
I used to hear him rap in Chicago everyday
And this is what I heard him say…….

He say **** like, he be like….

Ah! and I'm a ******* biter
The size of the incises inside ya might surprise ya
You might need rewind to decipher my cyphers
Ain't nothing on this world worth more than my saliva
I go so hard when I'm flowing
So cold my flows frozen

I'm a rowboat rowing in an open ocean
And I'm hoping, to blow up with no promotion
But dam, those explosions are so slow motion
So, I need some honey bees to pollinate my money trees
Cause fuckery of companies, accompanies that come between
A couple bucks and me, turned my orange juice to Sunny-D

Hide the cash for food stamps, no way i'm funded publicly
I'm hungry, but not for sandwiches I'm ambitious
A panhandler with gram plans and last wishes
Ask for the last table scraps you can't finish
Sell em back when you digest, and I repackage it

Abracadabra, I'm an alchemist, my magic tricks are acting as contaminates
I damage this establishment
They enacted bans on urban camping
If you ask them how they sleep at night the answer is
Happily on mattresses

— The End —