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Seán Mac Falls Jun 2015
Loudest ones getting
Golden rings are lost to them
Shouts in a tin can
IMAGINE an HP without all the TIRELESSselfpromoters !!
Beautiful !
AA Phi Sep 2013
first,
a raccoon wrapped within its own intestine.
the asphalt is its grave; i swerve to miss it.
we shared the same air, maybe even a
common ancestor.
someone moved too fast to care.
its the ones with
fast cars and slow minds
pretty faces and ugly intent
artificial kindness but genuine hate
i'm not your friend
just a similar sense of self
it is
fat priests playing golf
lottery ticket paradises
restaurants
embellished mechanized slaughter
fake laughter and even faker love
shopping mall environmentalists
lexus-driving christians
paychecks, TV, lawn mowing sundays
drink yourself to death
please.
the least among us in control
deprived of the mind
the stench of their egos
and their hypocrisy
the gasoline, the cash, and the forced smiles
as i write people die
children die
i'm like many
the fool who knows
but does nothing
the one who doesn't know
that's the good person
the moral person.

second,
a rant, a ******* rage
the days are stale, self-actualize, the Earth remains the same
dry and motionless
middle-class frustration, planetary confusion,
the ***** of the Earth,
capsized like dying branches
in a wal-mart state of mind,
stupid slobs, rodent minded social egoists
over-organized, clean freak object fetishists
the evolutionary dollar sign
they bay at the moon, it's made of cheesecake
phase transitioning,
you blood clot, Earthly blood clot,
you don't know art
now there's ancient blood on my hands
smokeless, plantless, Earthless blood
detached from Gaian consciousness
stain on the mind
confused, clogged pathways,
clogged with
self-righteous mind flood
piles of ***** tissue,
waning and waxing
force feed me your ******* please
because i have no idea how to answer
in this cultural blood bath
it is the
end of time
the end of mind.

:aaphi
Sandra Martyres Apr 2013
Something snapped within her that day.
She felt a bullet go through her head,
Killing her spirit instantly.
Shock gripped her and she stood frozen
Until salty tears flowed freely.

She wondered, if her tormentors,
Those miserable egoists,
Understood the extent to which,
Their insensitivity had
Robbed her of her natural armour,

Standing outside in pouring rain,
Without raincoat or umbrella,
She was drenched almost to the bone.
Then looking to the heavens, she said
"Lord, I pray that this too shall pass"
Jacob Ekirapa! who killed you?
Your body was found puddled,
In blood that oozed out behind your head,
In your car you slept humble as in life,
Gorged in a trench downslope Kanduyi,
You were smiling in death as you ever did in life
Mindless to the murderer’s lethal object that crushed
Your head from the nape, an early a shot to the realm of deads,

Your Life in Lodwar City was Godly and peaceful
Serving God via varsity teaching as service to mankind
You quarreled not but you ever oozed intellect,
The Turkana chicken that roosted in your hearth you never
Went foxy to un-feather, deep in purity, a godly conscience,
As colleagues and friends were on a pageant of amorous mighty,
In a rampage, chasing women, money and Tusker at costs possible
Within the range of snobbish freedom that Lodwar-heat allowed,
Then you beautifully pitched and harvested a job at home,

Only to work at home with vintage discipline,
Serving the County people, Bungoma of your birth,
Least in your ken that the owl is ogling at you
With the certain lust of death, it killed you whole-meal
As if it has never killed, as if it has never killed, as if...
Killing you was the apex of glory for those that fear a spark
Of talent, discipline, brilliance, ****** hygiene, generosity and
Technical competence in the nerves of a youth which you evinced,

Jacocb Ekirapa! Who killed you?  was it a man or a woman?
Did the Bukusu people **** you because you are son of a Teso?
Or the a Teso killed because you had a job and then becoming rich?
The accident theory was a smoke-screen, to throw us off-sleuth
You killer hides behind a stage managed crush of your new car,
God could have allowed dialogue between the dead and the living
For you to tell me the man who killed you, why he killed you and how,
You are a friend that death robbed me, leaving me in a lurch of full despair,
In this world that is full of gossipers, sadists, bigots, wrys, sardonics, waifs, saddos,
Thieves, stooges, copy-cats, tribalists, self-congratulators, killers, egotistic egoists,
Making me now a neurotic listologist, but all in all, your death hit me hard below my belt,
Like the lunch treat of full Tilapia and Ugali you often did to me in the Oasis of Lodwar town,

Life on earth is a precursor of death, and death a harbinger of eternity
An obvious quoith for the arrow of your soul, truly, amid the 24 elders of heaven,
An obvious station of your un-blemished soul, Godly defiance to the folly of your killers,
Stupid, imbecile, idiotic, buffoonish black Africans that killed you, their own Sun, educated son
They **** a milch-cow that saves them from kwashiorkor, marasmus and poverty, a black man is comfortable in despair of poverty where voodoo looms, but not in a clime where young-men are schooled, clean, educated, employed and rich-a promise of tomorrow,
They killed you but forgive them, they also killed Ken Saro Wiwa, Stephen Adongosi, Steve Biko, Martin Luther King, Jacob Juma, John Kituyi, Meshack Yebeyi, Dr. Masinde of Kanduyi-thence, they are like that, they **** their own solutions only to fall back into mire of poverty-these black idiots,
By Alexander Opicho
(From Lodwar, Kenya)
This poem is written in memory of my intellectual friend, Jacob Okisegere Ekirapa, he was killed in August 2015 by being bitten to death and left in his own car in the road-side gorge at Kanduyi, along Nairobi –Kampala road, his killers have never been known, but work-mates and tribesmen from Teso community, Bungoma County are the key suspects
CasiDia Sep 2017
All Understanding uncovers
ugliness, usury.
Unifying utopians
uncorruptable,
unmoveable.

Dashing Prophets promoted
promiscuous personalities.
Promethus’s powers
persisted
purposelessness.

Do Postmodern proletariats
protest phantoms?
Puckering proudly,
pondering
paraphrases?

If Egyptians engineered
excessive egoists,
Englishmen evolved
ethical
endgames.

Tradition Rules reformed
rednecks, remobilizing,
romanticizing, recursions
rose
remarkably.

If Caesar costumed
cabals crafted carefully,
Christianity calibrated
circumferential
conflicts.

Vigilantism Unveils unlucky
usurper, undoes underachieving,
unemotional, unconsciousness
unlearning
unhumanness.
  
Every Tadpole’s talents
triumphs titan’s tricks
tip toeing
towards
truth.
W A Marshall Sep 2014
by: W. A. Marshall

There was rawness
in the air
silent trees
and turning leaves
up there -  
a misunderstanding
of wounded egoists
in red gold wrappers
against measureless blue
nothing could stop her now
from shifting her messengers
knuckle white meat
little rat feet
crackling their collection
of bits on tree twigs
dropping mortars
on my metal roof
like sporadic gunfire
reminding me
of scrap heaps
that lay stone cold  
under condensed
damp days  
but gently near
this internal junction -
being intimate
with a mortal sunset
when my exceptional
summer is gone.
My thoughts today as the smell of seasonal change occurs. There is no stopping her.
Karan Sherwal Aug 2018
Welcome to this side where,
I went maybe a mile there
Saying to build a trust,
I’m having molten Rocks in my crust.
So dark, thick & flamy !
Everyone’s there to blame me.

Fighting with my own self,
Dwelling upon these dreams of divine encounters.
Arises a question everytime I stuck or parallel thoughts?
I tell myself, it’s alright!
Good lad !
Keep your Hunger at it’s peak
Thy soul is Honest,
         Shall not be weak,
god himself set his eyes upon you, Truths like
Sky as well as sea is blue.

Now I think of my curses, oh ?
Because I can write verses after verse.
About me, myself & I,
Don’t talk about the egoists of thy.
Honestly, I was afraid while writing this.
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2017
i really came late to this party...
                                                    honest to god,
youtube was my h.m.v.,
   my field of strawberries,
a few bushes filled with berries,
i had to become a cultural
forager - nay, a ******* burrower!
a mole aiming blank
into new music...
         but then a recommendation...
hmm...
   what's this?
******* are in full swing!
   they're already moved into bitchiness...
never argue with a drunk woman
when you're drinking a pint
with an heavily autistic-man...
or offering a cigarette to a homeless
person you've met before,
sitting down on the pavement
with him, asking him: you doing o.k.?
ooh noo noo... not in a irish pub
do you get to argue with a drunk
irish woman...
you just wave you hand and say:
i'm not going to argue with you
like some ******* jedi mind trick
with a stormtrooper...
why bother the hassle?
   i don't even know how to haggle
to buy something at a cheaper price!
ooh, but blood's boiling...
it concerns two "characters"
millenial woes contra sargon of akkad...
and this is the ****** bit
that probably annoys everyone...
really? numbers?
    (i'm siding with the former):
these mundane egoists really care
about numbers?
    how about giving them
an auschwitz tattoo? cover them at
the end of each month, with how many
new subscribers entered their ranks...
that'd be fun...
  what?! we're number-centric...
   numbers tell us unfathomable
secrets of those in the minority of
a few...
    oh yeah... i really see a lot of views
concerning heidegger...
           nietzsche?
       i think he's been *****-slapped
and dipped in wax and set alight by
the mob... basically over-quoted...
  basically senile, basically less the case
for pondering, and more of
shock-value: provocation teacher tactician:
yes yes... teacher of tactical provocation.
          i'm trying to keep the lowest
imaginable profile at this party...
  i missed the s
yeah... the scots always seemed the most
continental in their approach to "things"...
    of all the tribes on these isles...
   the scots are probably the most prone
to engaging with continental thought...
   the english? head up uncle sam's ***...
welsh? head up uncle jack's ***...
                 irish? head up uncle sam's ***...
norther irish? dunno...
           peter neeps & mary tatties
    on the quest for the holy four leaf clover?
     don't ask me...
but like i said... i really, really came late
to this party... thank god it has distintegrated
into an **** of brutus et al. - i.e.
back stabbing and *******...
           'cos' conversation... sorta dried, up!
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2022
hmm... come to think of it, is dyslexia a truly unique
phenomenon bound to the English language,
or could it be stretched toward the French tongue?
i don't know... but i've never heard of a dyslexic ******:
i have heard of a ****** with terrible orthography skills...

well i do speak a barbaric language, there is a clarity of
letters and syllables where i come from,
there's none of that sort of *******
that: is written THOUGHT but is said:
F... FOUT... that seems about right...
              it must be a French "thing"... maybe that's
why i never learned it... that phonetic dissonance
of writing one thing then speaking another...

sure, very barbaric of me for clarifying what's
written and what's being said...
French is bad, English is also bad...
German just compounds their words
to make them appear chemistry dictionaries...
maybe why English still retains the Pomeranian
aesthetic of compounded words,
akin to hydrochloric acid... oh! wait wait!
where's the hyphen?! ****! where's the hyphen?!
why isn't it hydro-chloric acid?!
Oxford, wake up... please do, when you do:
let me know...

oh but i'm writing this without expecting any change...
the people, so far, can, simply, *******...
i don't actually mind... all these "objections" are
for my own personal amusement...
i like minding these things without actually worrying
about them to the point of changing them...
like... i'm not going to read anything concerning
English thought... philosophy, etc.
beside Newton & Hume... no, not even Locke...
i don't know why... perhaps the roads are the best
in Europe... perhaps the English are a people that are
the most practical and don't necessarily have to think...
let them speak: ******* love to speak...
but thinking is not really their hard-on point
of concern...

the English are a practical people...
but it infuriates me... Charles Dickens... what orthography?
you're not using diacritical markers?!
that's just a nicer word: a misnomer of calling
a spelling mistake a: spelling mistake!
******... Charlie: yo! ******!
you have, your having paranormal, your metaphysics...
you don't have ORTHOGRAPHY if you don't don't
have diacritical markers...
for example, can you hide an H within the word:
SHARP? can you? let me help you out...
       ŠARP... see that?
see how i hid an already surd of a letter that's H?
ask a Heb... Hebrew... one arm of the tetragrammaton
is a surd: vowel receiver... the other hand
is the basis for the definite article and laughter: ha ha! ha!

but like i already commented to someone before:
living in England among English girls...
****** this that number and so many... none of them English...
well then... they must prefer their anti-racist preferences
of Pakistani men that might groom them...
Pontius Pilate pose... what?!
my hands are tied...
free will, no?!
                        and all i ever wanted was to be loved by
a woman... given the current climate...
can i get a cat instead?!
i'm not going for android ****-buddies...
down to the brothel... once every half a year...
or whenever i feel like it...
when, i, feel, like, it...
not when she's expecting me to be turned on...

that ship has sailed and the last time i heard:
it's sinking...
mein gott, these supposed alpha male **** boys...
you know how hierarchies work on the ape level...
right... on the human level a woman will walk
up to me and tell me: can you please take care of
"Andrew": he seems to be wandering off...
i don't need to earn an x amount of money to keep in
mind: we're here to prevent another Hillsborough
incident, aren't we? i usually receive glum looks
looks that read: i'm just here to get paid
i have no duty to uphold... well **** me...
alpha male... this Greek alphabet soup that became
doubly exemplified with the Covid delta...
omicron... what ******* letter are we on
in the hierarchy of men?
what letter are the women on?

             the way i see it: ensure everyone is included...
esp. the ******: fringe-bracket...
i'm not even a ******* supervisor but i'm asked
to be mindful of other people...
what the **** do we do, except, for the best part...
loiter? pretend that we're doing something...
8th February... Fulham FC vs. Millwall...
i'm gagging to be pitted against the Millwall fans...
i want to show my teeth and rolls my eyes back
to show nothing but the whiteness of my sclera...
hopes are high: expectations are low...]

NO, **** FOR  FREE?
NO! YOU IDIOT FUCKINBG...
WANKERs! *******..
****** CRAB CRAB SCRATCHERS...
alpha male **** boys... does *** have to be on
my mind so-much-so-frequently than is expected?
do i have to harbour this fluorescent
insomniac libido, do i have to play along
to the gimmick of a Duracell bunny?!
come, on! i've checked out modern ****...
it has gone so bad that i'm actually looking up
vintage 1970s Italian ****...
i don't watch the modern stuff... it's ugly... it's perverse...
once upon a time there was a feeling
of art around performing *** for an audience...
these days... ugh... all that gagging all that slobbering,
spit... *** has become: truly... unappealing...
what i do with prostitutes looks and sounds better
than the **** i sometimes encounter
then subsequently quickly turn off: because, it's,
a ******* TURN OFF...
the more liberated people became the ******* ***
they tend to perform...
and i implore my readers to transfer having
read some Marquis de Sade...
but this stuff... if women want to be ****** like they're
being ******... with no pseudo-Tantra escapades...
no... i'm not doing that...
give me a Turkish prostitutes that is still the only
woman in the vicinity who knows a little
about setting boundaries and i'll take that...

*******, once upon a time... had an allure...
these days it's just block-a-chop
see you at the butchers' market...
let's chop up some pork 'ops...
   it's ******* disgusting... no wonder i don't want
to watch it...

imagine getting your kicks off listening to
portrait of m.r boogie - christopher young -
from the movie sinister... imagine yourself being good...
seeking out... an archetypical role of / for evil,
because... the current state of affairs of "evil":
is... somewhat mediocre... tame...
tame by the comparison associated to the mid-20th century
Germans, or the isolated instances of Wankee
individualism stressed by that glorious bunch
of psychopaths...
    
modern *******... for, ****'s, sake...
i have to dig out old Italian ****** to get a thrill
of how ******* doesn't have to be all about
a teenage girl with down's syndrome slobbering
and crying out her mascara... or that everything
that's heterosexual is **** related...
can i please just ******* on my bicycle,
feel the cold wind, feel the cold?
can i please just do that?!
******* so old it sort of reminds you
of a period of cinema best associated with Singing in the Rain...
when the talkies first came in, the jazz singer
and what not... i sometimes watch *******
so old that they have "dubbing": voice-actors that
compliment the *** workers since
the *** workers have terrible sounding
onomatopoeias when they ******?!
that's how far back i'll go, because this modern crap...

sure... i do have a fetish for...
gloryhole bukkakke thrills: Robespierre would have been
so proud... less decapitated heads...
more de-membered phalluses...
squirting out yoghurt juice... anonymously...
i can't say i'm even into the lesbian ****...
modern ****... alias of too much blah blah...
mommy this, daddy that...
there is just a massive undercurrent of ****** running
through it... i feel sick...
talk during *** is already bad...
i was tested at work concerning this...
the women i work with asked me whether it was...
ahem... "polite" to refer to someone as "daddy" during
***... you're ******* kidding me,
was my reply... not the exact words but,
ergo implied... who talks during ***?

you want a slobbering ****** at the end of your
popsicle... drooling spit, gagging... crying mascara tears from
the ******* or do you want something sensual?
this modern crap is... i'd rather watch a horror movie...
at least seeing makeshift conjuring of a monster
would give me more... erm...
"whereabouts"? but people, do this ****, to themselves...
no one forced them to do this...
they do this of their own accord...
i'm happy that i'm not earning the sort of money
that might associated with being tempted by
gynocentric broads...

i'm free... i don't need a validation mechanism...
having enough *** is not a social status...
i frequent the brothels whenever i feel like it...
if having *** implores me to think that
i am living a completed life... seriously?!
   how much VIAGARA are you popping?!
how do you deal with the expectations...
i consider the concept of the Greek alphabet soup
according to... brotherhood...
these part "alpha" **** boys know ****...
can you be part of a group, including the ****** males...
can you keep them accommodated?!
no one is stepping out of line,
someone is in control: even though they are
hierarchically below some supposed said: "supervisor":
some senile ***-whip?
yes? no?!              well then...
are you talking with everyone on the ground...
everyone o.k.? it's all Indiana Jones happy for all?
yes?! no?!

alpha buck ****-boy deluxe...
if ******* women was my sole modus operandi...
why would i custard my head thinking about
Newton?!
that's all there is? *******... erm... would be nonces...
existence... can, be, orientated... around...
the... non-existence, of, women, should, such, demands...
be, made, necessary!
you know what it takes?
just look at an old woman...
a woman you could never, possibly,
be attracted to...

she most probably has her "****" sorted...
time, the balancing aspect of all things...
why the Greeks never associated some demigod
to time: perhaps they had... but i'm just too lazy to know of him,
her... it...
i do have a concept... the rich thinking that
they own everything...
there is a Hadean Debt...
you, do, know, that... this life is on loan?
right?! and the resources you're using...
you, didn't... generate, yourself?
so you do know, there's a Hadean Dept?!
the debt owned to Hades?
you do, know that, no?

you didn't create the coal...
you didn't create the atoms, nor the wind...
people have become as sloppy governing people
as they have become...
having... unaesthetic ***!
what am i even writing?
        bet keep this within the confines of having
written too much, i'd appreciate it immensely
that people do not reach this rambling episode...
of course i'm not going to delete it...
but it's hardly anything worse than tabloid journalism...
sure, i sometimes turn on the ramble-mode...
how would you feel...
being 35 and unloved?
           there would be some venom in your words...
Teutonic monk song can only get you
this far, after a while a sleeping beast comes
to the fore... wounded, proud -
i can see old age and it's not a pretty picture:
i'll sooner do off with myself than reach that
rubric... there's no competition when it comes to old
age... i'm not sticking around...
i've already located the crux points on my body
where the arteries are... a sharp stab of the knife...
in my right armpit... just above the right side
above the collar bone... i'll bleed out...
unless... drinking takes me sooner...
**** this *******...
    i'm done with playing nice: although i'll still
play the nice... but not being loved by a woman...
take me! mother, sea!
take me! in a storm!
               take me, the night! let me marry death!
fickle peasant girls that might subsequently
require a plumber...
in my age gap that's all that's left...
single mothers... who were the fathers?!
if there was... ha ha... one... i'd be surprised...
worthless alcoholics... maybe i should have taken
the approach i took to my maine *****...
two of them... i once found a hot **** in my bed...
o.k. changed the sheets... beat both of them:
who done it?! who done this loaf of scrappy peanuts
in my bed? meow! both received a beating...
second time... caught in the middle of the act...
ah... you little *******... you're going to ****
where you're later going to sleep?!
smack... smack... later washed him,
wrapped him up in a towel and mummified him...
"mummified": tied a bathrobe really tight around him
with clips... sat him on a table in the garden
while hanging up the washing...
maybe i should have slapped a woman once or twice...
maybe then they might have stayed...
i feel ill thinking that this might have been
the correct modus operandi...
even though i smacked my cats about for *******
in my bed... who's in my bed, right now?
the two cats i smacked about for ******* in my bed...
well... one of them did... now we're pals...
i sit on the windowsill, he sits on the windowsill...
we greet each other with a head-****...

it's sad, though... to keep a woman one might have
to resort to mild violence... slap her a little...
oh **** me, no... no...
   i'd rather be a monk...
i don't do well around fickle creatures...
you're either part of a legion, a cohort... or you're a *******
rebellious outlier that can be duly ignored
and disregarded...

esp. with the modern ****... i don't watch it...
i have to sieve through and find the classical
1970s Italian ****... when *** was a joy
and not an endurance test for gagging *******...
no... just... no...
            even with prostitutes i do my best
to be tender... this current bollocking works ill on
the eyes... right... so a Billie Eilish tells you that she's sick
of modern ****...
i'm a "nobody" and i can tell you the same...
so much heterosexual *** orientating itself around
****...
can't i just poke an oyster?!

then again: do i have to always be *****? do i need
a libido insomnia on top of an actual insomnia?!
what am i, a ******* Duracell bunny?!
jiggy-jiggy-jog-on-constant-hard-on-androidd?!
maybe the "alpha male" **** boys can play that role...
solipsistic vectors of this world: egoists...
make sure they get pampered first...
but try to get as many normal people and weirdos
on your side to satisfy a service...
      of sure... those **** boys will be right up there
in authoritative roles trying to make everyone inclusive:
never demeaning the presence of creature less than they...
yeah...

          they'll be up there... alpha male **** boys...
pistons... clogs in a vaginal machine...
   not much to go around being an artist,
or a plumber, let the dust settle... until it can be governed
by a next whirlwind.
Joseph Zenieh Oct 2019
I WONDER HOW THEY CAN.
A girl that does not know the trip she has in life
for me is like a bud forced to a world of frost.
I look at her and think of what her road will hide,
which makes my heart go soft and rue the heartless world.

I yearn to catch her hand and hide her from soft rain.
It's head can't keep straight up under the weight of dew.
I seek a way to hide her where it's safe and warm.
I cry when l see her with thornless stem she stands.

How can cruel egoists pluck her for just a smell
and throw her in the mud to face that fate alone?
Am l a stupid man or are they made like beasts
whose hunger has the word to **** the frailest lamb?
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
____________

— The End —