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"dutch" poems
White folks: pack your bags and go. Our nut-brown world is quite offended. Make your shame-faced exit NOW, And leave your mansions unattended. Wait—before you pass the doors, It's time to settle ethnic scores. No more ragtime Minstrel Show. Our Moorish Science took it down. Black lives matter. White, less so— Now move your pale face out of town . . . But first, shell out for racial shame Caucasian losers of the game. Cultural pride is ours alone: Kings and Egyptian queens we were. The glories of our race, well-known Bedazzle in a darkened blur (Clear to Africa's descendants— Puzzling to you white dependents). Blackness lent your world its light, Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers. Scandinavia grew bright Under our beneficent powers. Negroes gave your blondes their beauty; Helped those Norsemen shake their ***** The Seven Wonders of the world: We built them all. No vain conjecture Dims our banner, black, unfurled, Above eternal architecture. Arts and knowledge gained from us Are what we threaten to discuss. We invented math and science Which you robbed from Timbuktu. Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance Caused Old Europe to renew. All our treasure that you plundered Testifies: your days are numbered. Classics of our Greeks you stole: Philosophy was never yours. Shame upon your racist soul; For Bach and Mozart both were Moors. Misappropriated treasures call for ruthless hard-line measures. Latino fate falls next—but, where ? Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ? Orientals everywhere: Choose your side and join the fight. Blackness rising! Late the hour; Heed your call to fight the power. Crackers need to check your race— Stop rooting for that ****** clown. Rednecks all up in our face; Racist throwbacks got us down. But as your statues bite the dust Your light goes dark (you know it must). So move on out, oppressor, thief. Long have you held our nation back. In some white galaxy seek relief— But here the light itself is black. Stars are racist. So is the sun. Now let God's great black will be done.
0
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
connecthook
Betting on the Races
White folks: pack your bags and go. Our nut-brown world is quite offended. Make your shame-faced exit NOW, And leave your mansions unattended. Wait—before you pass the doors, It's time to settle ethnic scores. No more ragtime Minstrel Show. Our Moorish Science took it down. Black lives matter. White, less so— Now move your pale face out of town . . . But first, shell out for racial shame Caucasian losers of the game. Cultural pride is ours alone: Kings and Egyptian queens we were. The glories of our race, well-known Bedazzle in a darkened blur (Clear to Africa's descendants— Puzzling to you white dependents). Blackness lent your world its light, Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers. Scandinavia grew bright Under our beneficent powers. Negroes gave your blondes their beauty; Helped those Norsemen shake their ***** The Seven Wonders of the world: We built them all. No vain conjecture Dims our banner, black, unfurled, Above eternal architecture. Arts and knowledge gained from us Are what we threaten to discuss. We invented math and science Which you robbed from Timbuktu. Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance Caused Old Europe to renew. All our treasure that you plundered Testifies: your days are numbered. Classics of our Greeks you stole: Philosophy was never yours. Shame upon your racist soul; For Bach and Mozart both were Moors. Misappropriated treasures call for ruthless hard-line measures. Latino fate falls next—but, where ? Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ? Orientals everywhere: Choose your side and join the fight. Blackness rising! Late the hour; Heed your call to fight the power. Crackers need to check your race— Stop rooting for that ****** clown. Rednecks all up in our face; Racist throwbacks got us down. But as your statues bite the dust Your light goes dark (you know it must). So move on out, oppressor, thief. Long have you held our nation back. In some white galaxy seek relief— But here the light itself is black. Stars are racist. So is the sun. Now let God's great black will be done.
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60
Dope, money, and hoes [x9] [Verse 1: Da$h] Ain't write it, thought of this when I was drunk driving Like I had a license, been swerving through the intersect Just to make the ******* wet, breakfast: yac and cigarettes Feds about the only threat, spit nasty like my throat is strep She working at the pyramid, shake her **** for some bucks from Tut Pharaoh to the marrow, Cleopatra roll my dutch Dour blunts they double stuffed, got a ***** stupid chopped Used to squad these faggots' wives, the ******* that I used to pop Wear the **** I used to cop, respect your elders lil ***** Ain't even of age to drink, I get your ** to buy me liquor 'Linquent **** I live for it, they tryin but might die for it These drugs got my brain, money got my mind finding fun in crime ******* love my rhymes, to be honest I love their mouth at campuses Looking for talents just like I'm a college scout Ask her what she shout, I’m ashin' her on the ******* couch [Verse 2: Da$h] Dope, money, and hoes, getting dope money from shows She sniff her coke then she blow, **** it, I don’t judge it though Sugar free, no love for sure, just put 'em on Sepulveda Benefits and bank rolls, all a ***** really want from her And when she bring it back, call my brother hit the trap Invested in a couple packs, will probably see a couple stacks from what he talkin Money hulking like Bruce Banner Panarama day dreaming, While she downin' my ***** on camera Life's in action, piping, smashing whatever you call it Smoke a 'Port and I'm off but they ******* think I lost it And my dog facing blunts while I feed my pups bath salts Infiltrate my castle, take your face like it's a mask boss Pass raw flesh and bone, money long like small intestines Homes I'm taking breakfast, long as getting checks involved H´z ***** Cause if you ain't know, AraabMuzik
0
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 12:16 PM UTC
Bunhead17
Dope, Money, and Hoes
Dope, money, and hoes [x9] [Verse 1: Da$h] Ain't write it, thought of this when I was drunk driving Like I had a license, been swerving through the intersect Just to make the ******* wet, breakfast: yac and cigarettes Feds about the only threat, spit nasty like my throat is strep She working at the pyramid, shake her **** for some bucks from Tut Pharaoh to the marrow, Cleopatra roll my dutch Dour blunts they double stuffed, got a ***** stupid chopped Used to squad these faggots' wives, the ******* that I used to pop Wear the **** I used to cop, respect your elders lil ***** Ain't even of age to drink, I get your ** to buy me liquor 'Linquent **** I live for it, they tryin but might die for it These drugs got my brain, money got my mind finding fun in crime ******* love my rhymes, to be honest I love their mouth at campuses Looking for talents just like I'm a college scout Ask her what she shout, I’m ashin' her on the ******* couch [Verse 2: Da$h] Dope, money, and hoes, getting dope money from shows She sniff her coke then she blow, **** it, I don’t judge it though Sugar free, no love for sure, just put 'em on Sepulveda Benefits and bank rolls, all a ***** really want from her And when she bring it back, call my brother hit the trap Invested in a couple packs, will probably see a couple stacks from what he talkin Money hulking like Bruce Banner Panarama day dreaming, While she downin' my ***** on camera Life's in action, piping, smashing whatever you call it Smoke a 'Port and I'm off but they ******* think I lost it And my dog facing blunts while I feed my pups bath salts Infiltrate my castle, take your face like it's a mask boss Pass raw flesh and bone, money long like small intestines Homes I'm taking breakfast, long as getting checks involved H´z ***** Cause if you ain't know, AraabMuzik
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33
The tide collects it all by morning; The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path. The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away Before they wiped the sand from their shoes. Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem; An underground microcosm; A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned. Memories of those years - although some expired, The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells, Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends. I never before understood what I was holding on to. Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop   A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later. I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside - Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime. At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl; The one every boy has or has had that sticks; Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes Things simple if only for her complexity; The one that never fails to bring upon digression when Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note, I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets. This one doesn't stir the joy of the others. This one I wish would dissolve; An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood. Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof. The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the Heat of the sun were everything. The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory; A lingering grain or two to drag you back. I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.
0
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
leigh321f
Faded Firsts and Firelogs
The tide collects it all by morning; The drama and the ***** napalmed across the path. The scenes at second warning for most had been swept away Before they wiped the sand from their shoes. Empty cans of Dutch and Tuborg slouched on the dunes Are tight-lipped about the Velvet Strand's secret ecosystem; An underground microcosm; A peripheral cluster of seething emotions drowned. Memories of those years - although some expired, The vestiges take pride of place - hold a cosmic clump of smells, Tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends. I never before understood what I was holding on to. Winters down in the shelters nearly killed us but we Huddled through the cold, lit cheap firelogs and Found our oblivion. It didn't take much for me to develop   A stagger - tolerance for a lot of things was learned later. I narrowly recall my first taste of poor judgement and Hazy-headed stargazing. Six cans of Stonehouse Dry cider - most of which ended up on the hillside - Was a ridiculous endeavour that will always be sublime. At the heart of it, I did it to impress a girl; The one every boy has or has had that sticks; Who holds your firsts and your hands and makes Things simple if only for her complexity; The one that never fails to bring upon digression when Pens are involved. Revisiting reminiscence on a jarring note, I think of my Junior Cert exams and a cross-dressed man Exposing himself to two uniformed boys behind the public toilets. This one doesn't stir the joy of the others. This one I wish would dissolve; An ugly, awkward blotch on a childhood. Luckily fondness trumps disgust when recalling that place Because of sunrises and sunsets absorbed from the roof. The Summers spent jumping the gap and drowning in the Heat of the sun were everything. The fugitive sand between our toes and under finger nails Became an accepted nuisance, a part of the territory; A lingering grain or two to drag you back. I miss waking up with the smell of last night's faded fire.
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39
New Year's Day 1:16 AM and my body is weary beyond time to withdraw and rest ample room allowed me in everyone's head but community calls right over the threshold drums beating through the walls children playing their truck dramas under the collapsible coatrack in the narrow hallway outside my room The TV lounge next door is wide open it is midnight in Idaho and the throb easy subtle spin of the electric slide boogie step-stepping around the corner of the parlor past the sweet clink of dining room glasses and the edged aroma of slightly overdone dutch-apple pie all laced together with the rich dark laughter of Gloria and her higher-octave sisters How hard it is to sleep in the middle of life.
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10.8k
Audre Lorde
The Electric Slide Boogie
New Year's Day 1:16 AM and my body is weary beyond time to withdraw and rest ample room allowed me in everyone's head but community calls right over the threshold drums beating through the walls children playing their truck dramas under the collapsible coatrack in the narrow hallway outside my room The TV lounge next door is wide open it is midnight in Idaho and the throb easy subtle spin of the electric slide boogie step-stepping around the corner of the parlor past the sweet clink of dining room glasses and the edged aroma of slightly overdone dutch-apple pie all laced together with the rich dark laughter of Gloria and her higher-octave sisters How hard it is to sleep in the middle of life.
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26
The Japanese attacked British and Dutch colonies In southeast Asia Japanese landed on the southern island of Mindanao And the west coast of Luzon On the 24th of December They landed on the east coast of Luzon The allied forces withdrew to the Bataan Peninsula For three months they held the Japanese troops On the Bataan Peninsula On the fourth of April Allied forces were attacked again Five days later the allied forces surrendered Of the 12,000 Americans Captured on Bataan Only a third survived the war
0
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 7:46 PM UTC
MattG
Japanese Blitzkrieg
The Japanese attacked British and Dutch colonies In southeast Asia Japanese landed on the southern island of Mindanao And the west coast of Luzon On the 24th of December They landed on the east coast of Luzon The allied forces withdrew to the Bataan Peninsula For three months they held the Japanese troops On the Bataan Peninsula On the fourth of April Allied forces were attacked again Five days later the allied forces surrendered Of the 12,000 Americans Captured on Bataan Only a third survived the war
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16
Hello Chicago Flat carpet-town of corn meal steel spears at the northern junction of Cahokia and some unknown dream No lillies grow here sir, no tulip fields though there are many Dutch a little up north Wisconsin, dontcha' know? Family blood rains through the Chicago river named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder wanders with the roaming buffalo I sat at the top of Sears (Willis) Tower and peered into the foggy distance and made out the shores of Michigan through Indiana the leftover rains of a continental freeze churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries and bowels of today's earthly body And when we drove in from O'Hare in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways counting down the streets thinking maybe they'll go all the way to Mississippi just a long row of Concrete I saw the brick tower of a decrepit Frito-lay plant where they cooked their corn and potato into succulent can't eat just one little snacks for the whole of america to enjoy in backyard barbecues and convenience stores and grocery outlets All across the planet Now with the trucks they come and go up to and whizzing past Chicago on to greener states with greater relief with hills and lakes and winding streams Different sections of the sculpture Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts quaking and breaking into tiny stones a monumental David cracked in the gallery bird **** corroding the silicates unpolished and immortal words Chicago! oh you mighty city you built from sod and sweat and dew of new morning I see your towers you dreamer, you But your towers are in Dubai, and Shanghai now The world moved on and forgot everything about that magnificent mile burned to make you earn new toys and fancy things from far beyond your winding river streams But you didn't die amazing, how much they tried to rust you out to bleed you dry no, Chicago, you keep your ***** rivers flowing all the way to the Mississippi flanked by modern Roman concrete all the way to the great green sea out into the puddle that surronds the Amerigo Chicago don't you give up that river dream
0
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
TimelessWave
O'Chicago
Hello Chicago Flat carpet-town of corn meal steel spears at the northern junction of Cahokia and some unknown dream No lillies grow here sir, no tulip fields though there are many Dutch a little up north Wisconsin, dontcha' know? Family blood rains through the Chicago river named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder wanders with the roaming buffalo I sat at the top of Sears (Willis) Tower and peered into the foggy distance and made out the shores of Michigan through Indiana the leftover rains of a continental freeze churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries and bowels of today's earthly body And when we drove in from O'Hare in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways counting down the streets thinking maybe they'll go all the way to Mississippi just a long row of Concrete I saw the brick tower of a decrepit Frito-lay plant where they cooked their corn and potato into succulent can't eat just one little snacks for the whole of america to enjoy in backyard barbecues and convenience stores and grocery outlets All across the planet Now with the trucks they come and go up to and whizzing past Chicago on to greener states with greater relief with hills and lakes and winding streams Different sections of the sculpture Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts quaking and breaking into tiny stones a monumental David cracked in the gallery bird **** corroding the silicates unpolished and immortal words Chicago! oh you mighty city you built from sod and sweat and dew of new morning I see your towers you dreamer, you But your towers are in Dubai, and Shanghai now The world moved on and forgot everything about that magnificent mile burned to make you earn new toys and fancy things from far beyond your winding river streams But you didn't die amazing, how much they tried to rust you out to bleed you dry no, Chicago, you keep your ***** rivers flowing all the way to the Mississippi flanked by modern Roman concrete all the way to the great green sea out into the puddle that surronds the Amerigo Chicago don't you give up that river dream
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81
I keep falling in love with my mother, I dont want to hurt her -Of all people to hurt. Every time I see her she's grown older But her uniform always amazes me For its Dutch simplicity And the Doll she is, The doll-like way she stands Bowlegged in my dreams, Waiting to serve me. And I am only an Apache Smoking Hashi In old Cabashy By the Lamp.
0
6.7k
Jack Kerouac
149th Chorus
I keep falling in love with my mother, I dont want to hurt her -Of all people to hurt. Every time I see her she's grown older But her uniform always amazes me For its Dutch simplicity And the Doll she is, The doll-like way she stands Bowlegged in my dreams, Waiting to serve me. And I am only an Apache Smoking Hashi In old Cabashy By the Lamp.
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18
the people whose job is to understand the multiverse can't figure this world out rid·dle                      ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun:   riddles 1.                                 | a question or statement intentionally           phrased so as to require ingenuity     in ascertaining its answer or meaning,                typically presented as a game; a person, event,   or fact that is difficult   to understand or explain. "the riddle of her death" [puz·zle ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present: puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle: puzzled; gerund or present participle:                                              puzzling 1.                          cause (someone) to feel confused because              they cannot understand or make sense of something: "one remark he made puzzled me" synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,        bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;         faze, stump, beat, discombobulate "her decision puzzled me" perplexed, confused, bewildered,        bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,                              nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;              flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,              discombobulated "a puzzled look on her face" baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic "his explanation was rather puzzling" antonyms: clear think hard about something difficult                    to understand or explain; "she was still puzzling over this problem                      when she reached the office"      | [      ] think hard about, mull over, muse over, ponder, contemplate,                                      meditate on, consider, deliberate on, chew over,                     wonder about "she puzzled over the problem"   solve or understand something by thinking hard; synonyms:                       work out, understand,    comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,    make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal:                figure out "she tried to puzzle out what he meant" noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles 1. [                 ], [           ] (                 ); a game, toy, or problem designed     to test ingenuity or knowledge; short for jigsaw puzzle                    (see jigsaw) a person or thing that is difficult to understand or explain; an enigma: "the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox" synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,        conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;                      "the poem has always been a puzzle"   late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin: synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,       unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,                        quandary; informal:       stumper "an answer to the riddle"                    verb/archaic verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles; past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;          gerund or present participle: riddling 1.             speak in or pose riddles. "he who knows not how to riddle" solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone). "riddle me this then" Origin Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion, conjecture, riddle’;   related to Dutch raadsel,    German Rätsel,      to read
0
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 12:19 AM UTC
johnny-noiπ
1. [Linear Z]
the people whose job is to understand the multiverse can't figure this world out rid·dle                      ˈridl/noun: riddle; plural noun:   riddles 1.                                 | a question or statement intentionally           phrased so as to require ingenuity     in ascertaining its answer or meaning,                typically presented as a game; a person, event,   or fact that is difficult   to understand or explain. "the riddle of her death" [puz·zle ˈpəzəl/verb: puzzle; 3rd person present: puzzles; past tense: puzzled; past participle: puzzled; gerund or present participle:                                              puzzling 1.                          cause (someone) to feel confused because              they cannot understand or make sense of something: "one remark he made puzzled me" synonyms: perplex, confuse, bewilder,        bemuse, baffle, mystify, confound;         faze, stump, beat, discombobulate "her decision puzzled me" perplexed, confused, bewildered,        bemused, baffled, mystified, confounded,                              nonplussed, at a loss, at sea;              flummoxed, stumped, fazed, clueless,              discombobulated "a puzzled look on her face" baffling, perplexing, bewildering, confusing, complicated, unclear, mysterious, enigmatic, ambiguous, obscure, abstruse, unfathomable, incomprehensible, impenetrable, cryptic "his explanation was rather puzzling" antonyms: clear think hard about something difficult                    to understand or explain; "she was still puzzling over this problem                      when she reached the office"      | [      ] think hard about, mull over, muse over, ponder, contemplate,                                      meditate on, consider, deliberate on, chew over,                     wonder about "she puzzled over the problem"   solve or understand something by thinking hard; synonyms:                       work out, understand,    comprehend, sort out, reason out, solve, make sense of,    make head(s) or tail(s) of, unravel, decipher; informal:                figure out "she tried to puzzle out what he meant" noun: puzzle; plural noun: puzzles 1. [                 ], [           ] (                 ); a game, toy, or problem designed     to test ingenuity or knowledge; short for jigsaw puzzle                    (see jigsaw) a person or thing that is difficult to understand or explain; an enigma: "the meaning of this poem will always be a paradox" synonyms: enigma, mystery, paradox,        conundrum, poser, riddle, problem, quandary;                      "the poem has always been a puzzle"   late 16th century (as a verb): of unknown origin: synonyms: puzzle, conundrum, brainteaser, problem,       unsolved problem, question, poser, enigma,                        quandary; informal:       stumper "an answer to the riddle"                    verb/archaic verb: riddle; 3rd person present: riddles; past tense: riddled; past participle: riddled;          gerund or present participle: riddling 1.             speak in or pose riddles. "he who knows not how to riddle" solve or explain (a riddle) to (someone). "riddle me this then" Origin Old English rǣdels, rǣdelse ‘opinion, conjecture, riddle’;   related to Dutch raadsel,    German Rätsel,      to read
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74
the dutch colony ascended on our shores replacing traditional african education on culture with teaching slaves how to pray we saw the deterioration of black schools and state-mandated segregated curricula whites being taught better than blacks who was only destined for subservient jobs policies of apartheid birthed the bantu education and later forced us to learn languages which was not our native tongue the youth could no longer be silenced soweto uprising saw them dying for the cause we have protested throughout the decades silenced by the apartheid government simply ignored with Mandela’s release we saw liberation, freedom, democracy and a single education system, we were finally equal however the legacy of black inferior education left a deep scar which has still not healed our parents not able to give us the education they were denied now students are holding the government accountable who promised free education for a vote the movement trending as #feesmustfall anger expressed by burning premises, striking and rioting i believe in the cause but who are you really hurting? why destroy the very universities that you are fighting for?
0
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
JanJac003
#feesmustfall
the dutch colony ascended on our shores replacing traditional african education on culture with teaching slaves how to pray we saw the deterioration of black schools and state-mandated segregated curricula whites being taught better than blacks who was only destined for subservient jobs policies of apartheid birthed the bantu education and later forced us to learn languages which was not our native tongue the youth could no longer be silenced soweto uprising saw them dying for the cause we have protested throughout the decades silenced by the apartheid government simply ignored with Mandela’s release we saw liberation, freedom, democracy and a single education system, we were finally equal however the legacy of black inferior education left a deep scar which has still not healed our parents not able to give us the education they were denied now students are holding the government accountable who promised free education for a vote the movement trending as #feesmustfall anger expressed by burning premises, striking and rioting i believe in the cause but who are you really hurting? why destroy the very universities that you are fighting for?
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26
Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Santa had another noted name, He was a simple man Called Nicholas living for no fame. He was a Christian. His parents died, when he was still young, In a village of Greece. Thinking of Jesus, his thoughts he strung To help poor kids in peace. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Under Diocletian he became A Bishop in mission. He was imprisoned, and put to shame. He changed the tradition. In time, St. Nicholas' life and deeds Have become a story. He was a helper of those in needs, A man in the glory. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Nicholas became Dutch Sinter Klass, But children changed his name. The Bishop's red cloak changed with time's glass In cloths for Santa's fame. On that day, kids wait for him to come In spirit of giving, The Christmas tree looks no longer glum And it looks like living. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Down the chimney comes Papa Noel Quite slipping and sliding. From his sky with reindeers and sleigh bells Just gnashing and gliding. Spreading stardust glittering at night He brings presents for kids, They pray and sing in the Divine Light. Then, to sky his sleigh skids. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins.
0
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
marieta-maglas
The Legend of Santa Claus
Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Santa had another noted name, He was a simple man Called Nicholas living for no fame. He was a Christian. His parents died, when he was still young, In a village of Greece. Thinking of Jesus, his thoughts he strung To help poor kids in peace. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Under Diocletian he became A Bishop in mission. He was imprisoned, and put to shame. He changed the tradition. In time, St. Nicholas' life and deeds Have become a story. He was a helper of those in needs, A man in the glory. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Nicholas became Dutch Sinter Klass, But children changed his name. The Bishop's red cloak changed with time's glass In cloths for Santa's fame. On that day, kids wait for him to come In spirit of giving, The Christmas tree looks no longer glum And it looks like living. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins. Down the chimney comes Papa Noel Quite slipping and sliding. From his sky with reindeers and sleigh bells Just gnashing and gliding. Spreading stardust glittering at night He brings presents for kids, They pray and sing in the Divine Light. Then, to sky his sleigh skids. Refrain: The legend of our sweet Santa Claus In December begins Up on the rooftops, when eight strong paws Make sounds of reindeers twins.
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57
Some Jamie snugly in me hand, A cause for celebration, Today, I found me promised land: The home of Irish nation. I dyed me hair shamrock green, I made me teeth look orange, (A spliff of Carroll's in between) A sliver of Dutch courage. I mingle with the leprechauns (A shamrock on me chest) Not in a thousand years gone, I’m messing with the best. Atop the jolly rainbow, In hand – a *** of gold, Revering, till I find me rest, The stories I’ve been told.
0
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 2:49 AM UTC
timmyshanti
Paddy
Some Jamie snugly in me hand, A cause for celebration, Today, I found me promised land: The home of Irish nation. I dyed me hair shamrock green, I made me teeth look orange, (A spliff of Carroll's in between) A sliver of Dutch courage. I mingle with the leprechauns (A shamrock on me chest) Not in a thousand years gone, I’m messing with the best. Atop the jolly rainbow, In hand – a *** of gold, Revering, till I find me rest, The stories I’ve been told.
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16
Remember, The Olympics Not for Politics, but sport Leaders of so many countries Choose to use this to distort The reason all are gathered To present their efforts best Not just for Queen or Country But to continue with their quest To achieve a brand new standard A true Olympian at heart It's time for the worlds people To come together, do their part We all cheer for our countries But we should put them on the shelves For the next two weeks in London Cheer on the athletes, themselves Today I am Canadian Tomorrow maybe, Dutch American and English And French...well not so much Albanian, Croatian Serbian as well I will cheer all the worlds athletes And I will be the first one who will yell When a record does get broken Or a personal best is set If a time gets smashed in swimming Or a ball goes in the net My country is my favourite But, whichever flag's unfurled For the next two weeks in London I am a citizen of the world I will sit here on my sofa Acting like I'm on the bench and I'll cheer on all the athletes But...I won't cheer for the French!!
0
Jul 28, 2012
Jul 28, 2012 at 8:04 AM UTC
roger-turner
Olympic Spirit
Remember, The Olympics Not for Politics, but sport Leaders of so many countries Choose to use this to distort The reason all are gathered To present their efforts best Not just for Queen or Country But to continue with their quest To achieve a brand new standard A true Olympian at heart It's time for the worlds people To come together, do their part We all cheer for our countries But we should put them on the shelves For the next two weeks in London Cheer on the athletes, themselves Today I am Canadian Tomorrow maybe, Dutch American and English And French...well not so much Albanian, Croatian Serbian as well I will cheer all the worlds athletes And I will be the first one who will yell When a record does get broken Or a personal best is set If a time gets smashed in swimming Or a ball goes in the net My country is my favourite But, whichever flag's unfurled For the next two weeks in London I am a citizen of the world I will sit here on my sofa Acting like I'm on the bench and I'll cheer on all the athletes But...I won't cheer for the French!!
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36
Rice cakes! **** Rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch! Rice cakes for breakfast! **** Don’t they have anything else in this house? house after house we’ve lived in Nihon* and all we get to steal from our honorable but ignorant human hosts is rice cake and more rice cake... I hate living in Nihon! You know, I hear the Dutch and the British and the Americans give cheese to their mice even on their ships - but rats! - what do we mice get in our honorable land of the rising sun? Rice cakes! **** Rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch! Rice cakes for breakfast! **** Look - I don’t know about you - but I’ve had it! I’m leaving Nihon forever and I’ll jump onto one of these ships that now more commonly visit Nihon’s shores and end up in Britain or Holland eating cheese and live on a Mouse Cheese Pension maybe for the rest of my life, O cheese! cheese! - rather that, you know than rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch! Rice cakes for breakfast! And what are you so composed about? Lying there on the floor, looking so pleased with yourself - are you coming or no? OK...you stay here and join some Zen temple and eat vegetarian rice cakes all your complacent and placid life - but I’m going this very night to the West to feast and dine on cheese, like an English gentleman perhaps, all my life...
0
Nov 14, 2011
Nov 14, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
raj-arumugam
rice cakes or cheese?!
Rice cakes! **** Rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch! Rice cakes for breakfast! **** Don’t they have anything else in this house? house after house we’ve lived in Nihon* and all we get to steal from our honorable but ignorant human hosts is rice cake and more rice cake... I hate living in Nihon! You know, I hear the Dutch and the British and the Americans give cheese to their mice even on their ships - but rats! - what do we mice get in our honorable land of the rising sun? Rice cakes! **** Rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch! Rice cakes for breakfast! **** Look - I don’t know about you - but I’ve had it! I’m leaving Nihon forever and I’ll jump onto one of these ships that now more commonly visit Nihon’s shores and end up in Britain or Holland eating cheese and live on a Mouse Cheese Pension maybe for the rest of my life, O cheese! cheese! - rather that, you know than rice cakes for dinner, rice cakes for lunch! Rice cakes for breakfast! And what are you so composed about? Lying there on the floor, looking so pleased with yourself - are you coming or no? OK...you stay here and join some Zen temple and eat vegetarian rice cakes all your complacent and placid life - but I’m going this very night to the West to feast and dine on cheese, like an English gentleman perhaps, all my life...
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39
The Dutch brought art, mud and dirt of the Kathmandu heartland, With cigarette smoke clouding the air, and pizzas in the oven. Not overcooked, no medium rare, slight rounded, man-made The ambiance was now of Rembrandt and Van Gogh, Yellow with the hint of light. Perhaps coffee, perhaps tea. And delight in a conversation of philosophy. Maybe you'll pay, maybe me. The open doors swallow in the air of the monsoon, with the enigma of ever binding books who stuck to the wall Like wall flowers, some folded papers like petals of an unbloomed bud. They all had smells better inhaled with tobacco smoke. The music played, and people dance within the security of their thoughts, The shelter for their thoughts, the flaws of their speech. Memories,pure and bright radiated from the lamps above the bar, Lights which come to us only in fallen stars, but wishful thinking is dangerous. Hence forget it like Dutch forgot the wars. Memories are made here, where the humidity is heavy from the perfume of heavy smiles, or folded chins and forheads from a chess game. Not hidden, no worries, around the corner. But yet again man made.
0
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:32 AM UTC
baskothewise
At that cafe, Amsterdam
The Dutch brought art, mud and dirt of the Kathmandu heartland, With cigarette smoke clouding the air, and pizzas in the oven. Not overcooked, no medium rare, slight rounded, man-made The ambiance was now of Rembrandt and Van Gogh, Yellow with the hint of light. Perhaps coffee, perhaps tea. And delight in a conversation of philosophy. Maybe you'll pay, maybe me. The open doors swallow in the air of the monsoon, with the enigma of ever binding books who stuck to the wall Like wall flowers, some folded papers like petals of an unbloomed bud. They all had smells better inhaled with tobacco smoke. The music played, and people dance within the security of their thoughts, The shelter for their thoughts, the flaws of their speech. Memories,pure and bright radiated from the lamps above the bar, Lights which come to us only in fallen stars, but wishful thinking is dangerous. Hence forget it like Dutch forgot the wars. Memories are made here, where the humidity is heavy from the perfume of heavy smiles, or folded chins and forheads from a chess game. Not hidden, no worries, around the corner. But yet again man made.
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21
It's unfortunate that Parisians Are very hard to bear, In terms of flash obsequiousity, They drive me to despair! And patience is an attribute I don't profess to have To mercifully administer When accents veer to Slav. Baltics look like jellyfish, The Germans are obscene And loud and overbearing But the Swiss are very clean. Italians are a swarthy lot Who gourmandize on food And sacrifice their suavity By being impudently crude. The Spanish are no better, In fact they are probably worse, For obsessing in the blood sports I actually rate them in reverse. Starchiness is British They're convoluted to the core, The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen Aspirants flock to it no more. The Yanks are looking slightly crass Whilst fighting foreign wars, Their pinky held up squeaky clean To call "foul" to China's flaws. China sits inscrutably Holding all the cards Waiting for the moment To strike beneath the guards. India and Pakistan Are squabbling like kids The uproar over Kashmir Rates them lower than the Yids. The Yids are walking tightropes With Iran's nuclear ****** Whilst currying Yank approval, Eventual bombing is a must. The Dutch behave so anally They're always proven right When faced with rigid negatives They blanch with haunches tight. But not the Argentineans They love to dance and flirt, To chase the senorita Cavorting in the scarlet skirt. The South Pacific's wallowing They're adrift from World affairs Oz's self preoccupation Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares. Africa's way past comment Lost to heat and dust, Warfare, **** and pillage And the rest decayed by rust. Eskimos are OK Clean living on the ice The population static, Zer-O pollution's nice! Marshalg @theGate Mangere Bridge 14 April 2009
0
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 12:08 AM UTC
marshal-gebbie
Eskimos are OK!
It's unfortunate that Parisians Are very hard to bear, In terms of flash obsequiousity, They drive me to despair! And patience is an attribute I don't profess to have To mercifully administer When accents veer to Slav. Baltics look like jellyfish, The Germans are obscene And loud and overbearing But the Swiss are very clean. Italians are a swarthy lot Who gourmandize on food And sacrifice their suavity By being impudently crude. The Spanish are no better, In fact they are probably worse, For obsessing in the blood sports I actually rate them in reverse. Starchiness is British They're convoluted to the core, The Old Boy system's lost it's sheen Aspirants flock to it no more. The Yanks are looking slightly crass Whilst fighting foreign wars, Their pinky held up squeaky clean To call "foul" to China's flaws. China sits inscrutably Holding all the cards Waiting for the moment To strike beneath the guards. India and Pakistan Are squabbling like kids The uproar over Kashmir Rates them lower than the Yids. The Yids are walking tightropes With Iran's nuclear ****** Whilst currying Yank approval, Eventual bombing is a must. The Dutch behave so anally They're always proven right When faced with rigid negatives They blanch with haunches tight. But not the Argentineans They love to dance and flirt, To chase the senorita Cavorting in the scarlet skirt. The South Pacific's wallowing They're adrift from World affairs Oz's self preoccupation Mirrors Kiwi's vacant stares. Africa's way past comment Lost to heat and dust, Warfare, **** and pillage And the rest decayed by rust. Eskimos are OK Clean living on the ice The population static, Zer-O pollution's nice! Marshalg @theGate Mangere Bridge 14 April 2009
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64
She wears t-shirts of the Beatles And she loves the Rolling Stones She wakes up to David Bowie And she dreams of the Ramones She goes out to dance clubs nightly Till her ear drums both get blown But, she has a deep dark secret That her friends will never know At night when she is by herself When the room is nice and dark She slips beneath the covers With Johann Sebastian Bach She's a closet classic ****** And her name is Amber Clark She just loves orchestral music The rock and roll is just a lark Her friends think something classical Is something for your folks They cannot play an instrument They cannot read the notes They think that  chamber music is What people play on boats But she has a deep dark secret She loves the stuff that Chopin wrote At night when she is by herself And her friends have gotten ****** She slips beneath the covers And she listens to some Liszt She listens to it many times In case there's things she's missed She's a closet classic ****** She has "Baroque" upon her wrist She listens to the music That her friends like to be cool If she told them what she listens to They'd laugh her out of school So, when they go out  clubbing She will join them as a rule But...ah that deep dark secret This girl is no ones fool She listens to Beethoven And she knows each piece by heart She knows where one bar ends And another one will start She can play most every instrument And she knows most every part She's a classic closet ****** But she still knows Boyce and Hart She has cds in her library And most sit there untouched When her friends are gone they don't get played She doesn't like them much She would rather hear a symphony By a composter who was Dutch But there's that deep dark secret And she won't use it a crutch At night when she is warm in bed She listens to Mozart She needs a little Nacht Musique To open up her heart It's a piece that sets her mind a blaze It hits her like a dart She's a closet classic ****** And she keeps her worlds apart By day she sings Bruce Springsteen At night she listens to Composers that her friends don't know They're so old they're new So she keeps her world a secret For she knows what they would do If they found she didn't know Where were you in sixty two But at night she is a ****** And she listens to Mozart She needs that piece of music To shoot an arrow through her heart Eine Kleine Nachmusic She conducts every part She's our Closet Classic ****** shhh.....the song's about to start...
0
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 11:35 AM UTC
roger-turner
Closet Classic ****** - (The Street - poem 4)
She wears t-shirts of the Beatles And she loves the Rolling Stones She wakes up to David Bowie And she dreams of the Ramones She goes out to dance clubs nightly Till her ear drums both get blown But, she has a deep dark secret That her friends will never know At night when she is by herself When the room is nice and dark She slips beneath the covers With Johann Sebastian Bach She's a closet classic ****** And her name is Amber Clark She just loves orchestral music The rock and roll is just a lark Her friends think something classical Is something for your folks They cannot play an instrument They cannot read the notes They think that  chamber music is What people play on boats But she has a deep dark secret She loves the stuff that Chopin wrote At night when she is by herself And her friends have gotten ****** She slips beneath the covers And she listens to some Liszt She listens to it many times In case there's things she's missed She's a closet classic ****** She has "Baroque" upon her wrist She listens to the music That her friends like to be cool If she told them what she listens to They'd laugh her out of school So, when they go out  clubbing She will join them as a rule But...ah that deep dark secret This girl is no ones fool She listens to Beethoven And she knows each piece by heart She knows where one bar ends And another one will start She can play most every instrument And she knows most every part She's a classic closet ****** But she still knows Boyce and Hart She has cds in her library And most sit there untouched When her friends are gone they don't get played She doesn't like them much She would rather hear a symphony By a composter who was Dutch But there's that deep dark secret And she won't use it a crutch At night when she is warm in bed She listens to Mozart She needs a little Nacht Musique To open up her heart It's a piece that sets her mind a blaze It hits her like a dart She's a closet classic ****** And she keeps her worlds apart By day she sings Bruce Springsteen At night she listens to Composers that her friends don't know They're so old they're new So she keeps her world a secret For she knows what they would do If they found she didn't know Where were you in sixty two But at night she is a ****** And she listens to Mozart She needs that piece of music To shoot an arrow through her heart Eine Kleine Nachmusic She conducts every part She's our Closet Classic ****** shhh.....the song's about to start...
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80
In Latin, verging on double dutch, names for psychological disorders are sheep in wolves' clothing, let me resort to plain language; invited to her harem, a rare privilege, quickly I found she has, what I would happily  call, "Manic Obsessive Lingerie Acquisition Disorder"
0
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
k-balachandran
Lingerie psychosis (MOLAD)
In Latin, verging on double dutch, names for psychological disorders are sheep in wolves' clothing, let me resort to plain language; invited to her harem, a rare privilege, quickly I found she has, what I would happily  call, "Manic Obsessive Lingerie Acquisition Disorder"
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4
On the front porch of this Colonial, Its there I long to be, because, It could speak to all the memories, when the blue door was red. Memories, those that were good and not so good. My mom’s bleeding hearts, framed the garden entrance, Joined by legions of Dutch Iris’ and Peonies, The lot of them, were a happy bunch when the summer rain fell. The sun room on the 2nd floor was my much loved space. It was there I tried writing prose and poetry, And in the winter, the birds would come to the frosted window, I’d place some popcorn on the window sill and sing them a song to warm their hearts. The two enormous Maple trees, would reach out with loving arms, Nurturing birds, squirrels and me in 62….. the day Norma Jean died. It was there in my room, in the early morning, you could hear the Hudson River Barge blow its horn. It gave me such a reassurance that everything would be ok. Thank you for the warmth you bestowed and for the spirit of Dr. Early, Who would join our family in evening hour, when the fireplace roared.
0
Oct 3, 2018
Oct 3, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
kurt-carman
When the Blue Door was Red
On the front porch of this Colonial, Its there I long to be, because, It could speak to all the memories, when the blue door was red. Memories, those that were good and not so good. My mom’s bleeding hearts, framed the garden entrance, Joined by legions of Dutch Iris’ and Peonies, The lot of them, were a happy bunch when the summer rain fell. The sun room on the 2nd floor was my much loved space. It was there I tried writing prose and poetry, And in the winter, the birds would come to the frosted window, I’d place some popcorn on the window sill and sing them a song to warm their hearts. The two enormous Maple trees, would reach out with loving arms, Nurturing birds, squirrels and me in 62….. the day Norma Jean died. It was there in my room, in the early morning, you could hear the Hudson River Barge blow its horn. It gave me such a reassurance that everything would be ok. Thank you for the warmth you bestowed and for the spirit of Dr. Early, Who would join our family in evening hour, when the fireplace roared.
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18
sing me your inspiration, so that words may blossom through the rings of the tree in my paper. gift me your passions, so that pathways may carve through inked rivers and graphite daydreams. paint me your love, so that I may palette your rainbow and color my canvas with my favorite colors of you. the soft pink of the inside of your lips, and the offset grey haloed through your eyelashes. tiger lily freckles framed by sweet peach and wallflower blushes. rainfall wrists and dutch cocoa silk. all my canvas needs are the colors of you.
0
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 11:04 PM UTC
mika_rae
colors of you
sing me your inspiration, so that words may blossom through the rings of the tree in my paper. gift me your passions, so that pathways may carve through inked rivers and graphite daydreams. paint me your love, so that I may palette your rainbow and color my canvas with my favorite colors of you. the soft pink of the inside of your lips, and the offset grey haloed through your eyelashes. tiger lily freckles framed by sweet peach and wallflower blushes. rainfall wrists and dutch cocoa silk. all my canvas needs are the colors of you.
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24
This Letter Poem WM is dedicated to Mr. Williamsji Maveli, our Masterpoet. Why a dedication to him? These initials WM are his names. Accidentally also the initials of the first name of our Dutch Crown prince Willem-Alexander. The second initial is of his wife's first name: Máxima. I want to write also about our Royal Family, since our Queen of the Netherlands Beatrix will abdicate next 30 April 2013 and at the same time Willem-Alexander and his wife will be crowned as King and Queen of the Nederlanden. Now you know a bit about the Dutch Royal family. Today Her Majesty Queen Beatrix is still Queen of de Nederlanden till next 30 April 2013. These humble verse is for you, Williamsji. Please, enjoy! Thank you for your attention.  Sincerely, Sylvia Frances Chan. **************************************************************************************************** This letter W stands for WILLIAMSJI and the next letter, an M for MAVELI This W par accidence is also the first letter of our Crown prince WILLEM-ALEXANDER on next 30 April WILLEM and his époussée, his wife MAXIMA will be crowned King and Queen of Neerlandica Usually our country is called Nederland the foreigners call it mostly the Netherlands the tourists a many of them prefer to say Holland with your permission, this dedication, if I may can also be used as introduction, what do you say? WILLIAMSJI is the first name of our masterpoet he creates poems mostly about sensuality entwined in beauty, eroticism and love when you'll read his poetry you wouldn't see all those I've written about him above Instead you must use your rational ability in the lines throughout his verse you won't find, of course not, all that worse instead, you will enjoy all the beauty of his master's talent writing about sensuality His family name is also beautiful, MAVELI well known as the masterpoet Williamsji Maveli both are his true names belonging to Mr. Maveli this M reminds me of MáXIMA, Crown prince Willem-Alexander's wife in optima Now you know why I dedicate this poem to you your initials are quite the same as Willem and Máxima WM is Williamsji Maveli the famous poet WM is also Crown prince Willem-Alexander and his wife Princess Máxima Still one thing hasn't been told today the 27th April is Willem-Alexander's birthday he has become forty six years old a good father of three daughters, all their first names begin with an A princess Amalia, Alexia and Ariane their grandma is Her Majesty Queen Beatrix she will abdicate after three and thirty years of reign Dear Mr. Williamsji Maheli, our masterpoet your initials WM are exactly the same as our Crown prince Willem-Alexander and his beloved wife Máxima that's why I present this humble dedication to you today as a small Dutch presentation © Sylvia Frances Chan 27th April 1967-2013 Crown prince Willem-Alexander's 46th Birthday
0
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
sylvia-frances-chan
WM, a Dedication
This Letter Poem WM is dedicated to Mr. Williamsji Maveli, our Masterpoet. Why a dedication to him? These initials WM are his names. Accidentally also the initials of the first name of our Dutch Crown prince Willem-Alexander. The second initial is of his wife's first name: Máxima. I want to write also about our Royal Family, since our Queen of the Netherlands Beatrix will abdicate next 30 April 2013 and at the same time Willem-Alexander and his wife will be crowned as King and Queen of the Nederlanden. Now you know a bit about the Dutch Royal family. Today Her Majesty Queen Beatrix is still Queen of de Nederlanden till next 30 April 2013. These humble verse is for you, Williamsji. Please, enjoy! Thank you for your attention.  Sincerely, Sylvia Frances Chan. **************************************************************************************************** This letter W stands for WILLIAMSJI and the next letter, an M for MAVELI This W par accidence is also the first letter of our Crown prince WILLEM-ALEXANDER on next 30 April WILLEM and his époussée, his wife MAXIMA will be crowned King and Queen of Neerlandica Usually our country is called Nederland the foreigners call it mostly the Netherlands the tourists a many of them prefer to say Holland with your permission, this dedication, if I may can also be used as introduction, what do you say? WILLIAMSJI is the first name of our masterpoet he creates poems mostly about sensuality entwined in beauty, eroticism and love when you'll read his poetry you wouldn't see all those I've written about him above Instead you must use your rational ability in the lines throughout his verse you won't find, of course not, all that worse instead, you will enjoy all the beauty of his master's talent writing about sensuality His family name is also beautiful, MAVELI well known as the masterpoet Williamsji Maveli both are his true names belonging to Mr. Maveli this M reminds me of MáXIMA, Crown prince Willem-Alexander's wife in optima Now you know why I dedicate this poem to you your initials are quite the same as Willem and Máxima WM is Williamsji Maveli the famous poet WM is also Crown prince Willem-Alexander and his wife Princess Máxima Still one thing hasn't been told today the 27th April is Willem-Alexander's birthday he has become forty six years old a good father of three daughters, all their first names begin with an A princess Amalia, Alexia and Ariane their grandma is Her Majesty Queen Beatrix she will abdicate after three and thirty years of reign Dear Mr. Williamsji Maheli, our masterpoet your initials WM are exactly the same as our Crown prince Willem-Alexander and his beloved wife Máxima that's why I present this humble dedication to you today as a small Dutch presentation © Sylvia Frances Chan 27th April 1967-2013 Crown prince Willem-Alexander's 46th Birthday
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60
you draw your self hatred out like a kid draws out small pictures and play double dutch with the hands on a clock, knowing how unsafe it is out there, flirting with death and flicking me off when i wrote out the reasons why you should stay, that this autumn fallout is only a misconstruction of your mind's witching hour, that dystopia won't linger and utopia will be home soon, it will blossom into your lungs and turn the simplicity of your broken soul into something completely quintessential and complex, like an origami rabbit, i fold my sharp edges and twist myself to be malleable and secure for you, maybe i'm not too certain of myself or you, but i'm not too certain on a lot of subjects, i'm worried of being thrown into the arsonist world you started, covering up the sky with black dense fog, the type of fog that would happen only in dangerous wildfires i'm a controlled wildfire, but i let my fire spread just to help control your fire - kra
0
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
screampoetry
origami rabbits
you draw your self hatred out like a kid draws out small pictures and play double dutch with the hands on a clock, knowing how unsafe it is out there, flirting with death and flicking me off when i wrote out the reasons why you should stay, that this autumn fallout is only a misconstruction of your mind's witching hour, that dystopia won't linger and utopia will be home soon, it will blossom into your lungs and turn the simplicity of your broken soul into something completely quintessential and complex, like an origami rabbit, i fold my sharp edges and twist myself to be malleable and secure for you, maybe i'm not too certain of myself or you, but i'm not too certain on a lot of subjects, i'm worried of being thrown into the arsonist world you started, covering up the sky with black dense fog, the type of fog that would happen only in dangerous wildfires i'm a controlled wildfire, but i let my fire spread just to help control your fire - kra
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14
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces, excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter, ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, **** "cleaning up ferret excrement": mid 16th century: from French excrément or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;                              act of defecating; a contemptible or worthless person; something worthless; garbage; nonsense; "this book is **** unpleasant experiences or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year" things or stuff, especially personal belongings;           "he left all his **** in my apartment"                              events or circumstances; _"some crazy **** went down last night"_ any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good **** good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: ***** past tense: ******* past participle: ******* past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat; past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ******** expel feces from the body, soiling one's clothes as a result; expelling feces accidentally; very frightened. tease or try to deceive someone or thing. "I **** you not"                    exclamation                    exclamation: ****         [exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance] Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’   of Germanic origin; related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb]; _The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;             *********** from Greek κόπρος, kópros—excrement    & φιλία, philía— liking, fondness, also called scatophilia or ****        [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces], is the paraphilia involving   ****** arousal & pleasure                        from specific feces; meanly,                 his mother said,   _u can drink my *** but don't eat my **** then she **** & *** & the boy drank but when he put the warm **** to his mouth, she slapped it out of his hand & yelled, I told u not to eat my **** & the boy began to cry & feeling bad his mother turned to let him lick the bowl &    rim the moist wet hole between        her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade & chocolate chips,     sometimes it was more like sweet sherbet; but she never hit him again & he's been eating her **** ever since; now, his wife lets him drink her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
0
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
johnny-noiπ
nolite, manducare, matris, stercore
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces, excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter, ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, **** "cleaning up ferret excrement": mid 16th century: from French excrément or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;                              act of defecating; a contemptible or worthless person; something worthless; garbage; nonsense; "this book is **** unpleasant experiences or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year" things or stuff, especially personal belongings;           "he left all his **** in my apartment"                              events or circumstances; _"some crazy **** went down last night"_ any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good **** good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: ***** past tense: ******* past participle: ******* past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat; past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ******** expel feces from the body, soiling one's clothes as a result; expelling feces accidentally; very frightened. tease or try to deceive someone or thing. "I **** you not"                    exclamation                    exclamation: ****         [exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance] Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’   of Germanic origin; related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb]; _The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;             *********** from Greek κόπρος, kópros—excrement    & φιλία, philía— liking, fondness, also called scatophilia or ****        [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces], is the paraphilia involving   ****** arousal & pleasure                        from specific feces; meanly,                 his mother said,   _u can drink my *** but don't eat my **** then she **** & *** & the boy drank but when he put the warm **** to his mouth, she slapped it out of his hand & yelled, I told u not to eat my **** & the boy began to cry & feeling bad his mother turned to let him lick the bowl &    rim the moist wet hole between        her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade & chocolate chips,     sometimes it was more like sweet sherbet; but she never hit him again & he's been eating her **** ever since; now, his wife lets him drink her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
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53
Ever had the feeling of being trapped in a glass box with the air slowly running out, with every breath? In sun, rain, snow and storm, the box gets dark or warm but what you can do always remains the same. Have you just simply wanted to walk away or break free? To travel the world taming Lion cubs and petting great white sharks? To wake up to a sunrise in a Dutch farm and watch it set over the Mediterranean sea? To teach children in Thailand or India? To salsa on the streets of Mexico or be blinded by the lights in Dubai? Have you ever wanted to be border-less? To not be punished for being born in a country where the sun is hot and people are poor? Have you ever just wanted to work, get a place, pay taxes, and not ignore the growling of your stomach so your 5 pound takeaway stretches over 3 days postponing the date to buy the next food stock? Have you ever wanted to check your bank account without having your fingers crossed, because even though you know the exact balance you hope by some miracle it will be more? Have you prayed for immigration to back the hell off leaving you to make a living without risking deportation? Have you ever got tired of playing by the rules when the Albanian Mafia and Walmart makes more money per hour than what you'd make in a lifetime, or two? With heart aches and emotional games, and attending Sunday mass becoming more of a cliché, with rejection and doors closed, at the cost of owning a brown passport, with your head spinning and back against the wall, have you wondered what life wants from you at all? To all the women being trafficked for *** and the children slaving away spinning Persian carpets, tonight it's too cold to snow outside my glass box. Inside, it's too sad to cry...
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Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
harsh
When the going gets tough
Ever had the feeling of being trapped in a glass box with the air slowly running out, with every breath? In sun, rain, snow and storm, the box gets dark or warm but what you can do always remains the same. Have you just simply wanted to walk away or break free? To travel the world taming Lion cubs and petting great white sharks? To wake up to a sunrise in a Dutch farm and watch it set over the Mediterranean sea? To teach children in Thailand or India? To salsa on the streets of Mexico or be blinded by the lights in Dubai? Have you ever wanted to be border-less? To not be punished for being born in a country where the sun is hot and people are poor? Have you ever just wanted to work, get a place, pay taxes, and not ignore the growling of your stomach so your 5 pound takeaway stretches over 3 days postponing the date to buy the next food stock? Have you ever wanted to check your bank account without having your fingers crossed, because even though you know the exact balance you hope by some miracle it will be more? Have you prayed for immigration to back the hell off leaving you to make a living without risking deportation? Have you ever got tired of playing by the rules when the Albanian Mafia and Walmart makes more money per hour than what you'd make in a lifetime, or two? With heart aches and emotional games, and attending Sunday mass becoming more of a cliché, with rejection and doors closed, at the cost of owning a brown passport, with your head spinning and back against the wall, have you wondered what life wants from you at all? To all the women being trafficked for *** and the children slaving away spinning Persian carpets, tonight it's too cold to snow outside my glass box. Inside, it's too sad to cry...
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