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Julian Jun 2018
The ******* of embezzled glory staunchly defend their counterfeit stature by defalcating the public trust of industrious societies governed internally by compunction and sabotaged externally by the tempests of acerbic fate met with inclement aleatory convergence. To supply a society with ingenuity without being complaisant or officious with unctuous pleas to the overlords we must fashion a new vogue that taps the bustle of giants and aggrandizes the margins to oversee their own creative destinies with scaffolded arrangements of titanic promise and justifiable fluidity to conquer the blinkered dogmatism of a dissolute chastity to inveterate apocryphal tenets of factitious but unmerited perspectives. Democracy crumbles when the convenience of sensationalism supplants the resolve of those that fossick hidden wealth and promulgate validity instead of undergirding pomp with precarious prevarications of duplicitous omission guarded gingerly by the gatekeepers of a ****** sanity that whitewashes the discussion with invented hobgoblins and purblind catharsis. To defeat simplicity and enshrine byzantine elegance as the paragon for voguish commentary rather than abide by a bowdlerized decorum for appeasing simpletons with divisive balkanization through identity politics we can overcome the impediments to human progress that are engineered to persist because of the inertia of the listless and the stubbornness of doctrinaire politicization and invent vivacity and festivity anew. We need to divorce ourselves from pedestrian quibbles of hero-worship that endanger the vitality of the common discourse because of fastidious pedantic disempowerment that ravages us with debased dreams by underscoring nuisances and tolerable nightmares that emasculate the virulence of the liberated individual and subvert his ambitions to contend with a picaresque world of limitless promise and self-motivated internal wealth.
      The bane of modernity is how chary the world becomes because of fractured histories intersecting with controversial destinies and the antidote to that poisonous self-defeating self-censorship is the audacity of brazen challenges to expurgation through assiduous resourcefulness and delicate diplomacy in wrangling controversies with outspoken courage rather than whispered resentment. Temerity waged in inclement circumstance is justified and curiosity stoked by lambent flames of fulgurant individualism should be fortified to the extent necessary to conquer the feckless spoilsports of unctuous puritanism and institutional obedience. The quacksalvers that blather about inconsequence strand the imagination in a desiccated desert that is ostracized from the palettes of the artistic whim to wield efflorescence rather than squander life in pursuit of perfunctory lucre or tenuous solidarity around banal idealism promised by social justice warriors that forget the biggest war being waged on humanity is on the ingenuity of the common discourse and the liberty to opine about real issues rather than saccharine conventions of emasculation through linguistic imprisonment and epicurean slavery to fashimites who relish the buzzword but never the enlightened audience that scoffs at feeble attempts at cultural commentary like Childish Gambino’s “This is America” music video. This particular artifact is a demonstration of how childishly fickle the plebeian mentality really is, stitching together a bricolage of violence to engineer controversy and serenading it with the most banal music imaginable and exhorting people to herald it as a high artform while inundating the world with unimaginative comic book movies and Star Wars rip-offs because of the lucrative business of formulaic replication. “This is America” should be regarded as a parody of itself because of how hackneyed its design is and how cacophonous it sounds and mocks its audience with lowbrow tactics of adding tinsel to trash and marketing it as the glory of tatterdemalions rather than the refinement of true cinematic achievements that have been relegated because Warhol’s Campbells-Soup-consumerism trumps true belletrist in the public view.
        Cultural watersheds punctuate our history with salient achievements in experimentation, but the formulaic profiteering of buzzword sensationalism and yellow journalism and the ostentatious glorification of promiscuous boasting and fancy cars tantalize the mice to continue playing slot machines rather than penning a novel or doing something promethean. The world scoffs at Trump but ignores the bigger institutional caveats that endanger us much more than a pragmatic albeit unconventional pontificator who is complicit in constructing a false narrative to enslave mindless people to fret about eminence rather than delight themselves in the consequential nuances of established refinement that used to serenade the world with flourish and spectacle. The world kowtows to the crusade against flavor-of-the-week enemies of the liberal-conservative syncretism because it has been conditioned to believe that synthesis is the only logical solution for the polarized worldviews of churlish people that become parvenus not on their merits but on their marketable pitfalls and their public foibles. Peccadillos are more important to people than virtues and this makes society morally bankrupt if we loiter around Astroturf causes that have been infiltrated by corporatism and venal debauchery and acquiesce as disempowered gossip hounds that hunt in packs to find jest in aberration rather than achievement in self-created narratives that defy the stupid purblind boorishness of the mainstream media and its haughty liberalism or the persnickety condemnation of priggish conservative moralities that had an expiration date 50 years ago. Who the **** cares about transgender-touting-gender-fluidity quidnuncs and the snooty obsession with lurid personal endeavors of reputable people that made minor ****** transgressions in a world policed by wide-eyed feminazis that seek to ransack men of their vital virulence to spotlight their unjustifiable oppression. Women are oppressed but the carnal nature of their calumniation and their vindictive powers of persuasion are deployed with such vehement vigilance and such distaste for the majority that the world relegates itself to quibbles of celebrities rather than substantive issues. There is a systemic feminization of society occurring that seeks to demarcate despotic uxorious pleasantries as an incarceration of vocal dissent against supercilious women and their tamed men that slavishly grovel in repudiation of anything prickly.  Men historically have oppressed women but the solution to this quandary isn’t a reverse discrimination where the minority concern is spotlighted as a majoritarian issue that overshadows the disproportionate nature of our society where nominal accreditation is afforded in a non-meritocratic way to absolve people of their carnality and demote the vigorous defense of human liberty as secondary to compromise solutions that appease more people than they offend but simultaneously result in suboptimal conditions that reward arbitrarily coachable people while jettisoning anyone witty enough to be capable of insubordination of a hedonistic epicurean world obsessed with appearance and ravaged by the decadence of formulaic profiteering at the expense of originality and true promethean art that is herculean enough to defy hackneyed tropes and siphon the best elements from a piecemeal world variegated with complexity but stifled by fomented hatred.
The solutions to these problems is to create a watchdog group of artistic critics who become eminent and ubiquitously heard enough to offer creative consultation to the artistic endeavors that we consume and the music that is curated for fastidious ears that crave euphonic originality rather than the banality of easily dovetailed bass-heavy cookie-cutter garbage and the gaudy tactics of talentless rappers whose swagger derives from  the intersection of opportunism and the divestiture of an industry that rewards gloated supercilious epicureanism and meretricious marketability. Am I the only one jaded by second-rate superhero movies that infest the cinemas that borrow from Michael Bay while thrusting pulse-pounding but narratively bankrupt movies down the throats of consumers that might prize the cinematic originality of the heyday of filmmaking? Is it always high art to invent controversy that is witless or half-witted just because it will create buzz? Shouldn’t we condemn the laziness of society in acquiescing to the penury of the modern cultural narrative which belabors the dead horses of racism and sexism ad nauseum? Shouldn’t we fight the war of against inequity through legislation rather than hibernating about scandalous eminence and testy malfeasance?
          Liberty should be championed above all else and we are turning our backs on the future unless we muster the resolve to diminish the sway of the common narrative and aim our spotlight at consequential endeavors rather than the tropes of prosaic and pedestrian bastardization of art and culture. We need to fight artistic laziness which has ravaged our culture and castigate the tactics of wannabee celebrities that use lurid tactics to attract an audience by bedizening themselves with Pyrrhic ostentations and rampant fakery to create more melodrama in a world that needs to be less histrionic. YouTube celebrities swarm us as they get high on ******* and lean-- at our expense-- and vandalize property and convincing nine-year-old’s like Lil Tay to flex her money like it is infinitely renewable in a finite world where all our attention is wasted on artless artifice of less talented people that know how to engineer a ruckus by strutting themselves beyond all decency and selling out to a corporatist nightmare of enslaved convenience. We need to be more vocal about the dissolution of artistic merit and the formulaic repetition of successful formulas that jade us and make us yawn about another retread of a previously successful idea that is milked to the point of cruelty.                                                         ­                       
       Let’s change the narrative and focus on creating true art rather than reacting to the meretricious tinsel of the vogue consensus which is so impotent in its ability to rivet audiences because it has become so notoriously lazy. Fight laziness in art, dismiss your news feeds, be resourceful, seek true happiness rather than find yourself hoodwinked and duped by the idea that Trump is the most important issue or getting caught in thought loops and brooding about sexism and inequality. Let us strive to be egalitarian but within limits that would also appease hominists rather than just the hypertrophy of the leftist narrative that seeks to cage us with the doublespeak of complaisant conformity.  Reject the unctuous charlatans that pretend priggishness when their banausic purpose is barbaric but beguiling to be a lullaby for laggards. We need to fight for the future of civilization rather than hobnob with convenience and loiter around decrying false perpetrators rather than systemic injustices that could otherwise be rectified if enough people fought for it. We can invent a future that is a great festivity serenaded by cultivated artistic refinement and forget about the trifles that divide us. United in ambition and fueled by ingenuity we can defeat artistic laziness and be resourceful with how we decide what is newsworthy. Spurred by the argosy of proactive motivation we can change the world in a substantial way by deciphering the subtext that governs the world. The subtext is everything!
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
Before all of this, even after all of this, I will forever be a patriot.
Before the poet in me matured and I started talking like a parrot,
The dogs of war barked and I climbed exile's fence on my own
And there I have dwelled, with nothing tangible to bring me down.

I have been on this fence so long and I will remain there forever!
Especially since the premature child is still in the incubator.
From this vantage point, I have learned never to trust any politician
I've always looked at them with mistrust, disdain, and suspicion,

Before all of this  and before I ran and climbed the exile fence,
I was once mercilessly flogged, dragged and made to dance
By drugged up and coerced child soldiers with a rubber cable
They tied and spread me like a dog on the market table
I watched as innocent people were killed with a rusty knife
There, I vowed to become a fence dweller for the rest of my life!

I've been a patriot all my life but I have done it from here..safer.
From here I have seen blood spilled, hearts broken, hopes dashed,
progresses stalled, mullions embezzled, promises broken, lies told
people changed, games played, party surfed, interests prioritized.
And from this vantage point, I have learned never ever to trust any politician
I have always been right...though I have looked on with disdain, suspicion,
and operated with caution but through it all, I have remained a true patriot and a fence dweller.

.✍️©️✍️IvanBrooksPoetry.✍️©️✍️
''Fence dweller'' was a phrase I coined in justification of my neutrality and abstinence from politics in my homeland, Liberia.This piece encapsulates a fringe of the story of the ****** civil war, carnage and horrible things that we saw and had to endure as a people and nation.
Julian Apr 2019
The inaugural bang swiveled with the vacant expressions of a muted feral crowd indignant about ethnic identity and swift in the recourse of tyrannical thugs pandering withered abuse

I solemnly abided in a chirpy itinerant glower against the exclusive system for stranding the disintegration of lyrical integrity for the Potemkin cheers of the culmination of too many jeers

Withered words for the abeyance of silence I incurred with wistful pleas for resurgent clarity beyond   sheepish fears

So I loitered in the evanescence of words..

Watching with alacrity as the strident ignorance of grafted wretchedness writhed its last mustered exsibilation at the sound of windbags bloviating beyond prodigal extravagance without a visible tweeted word

I measured my pause…..as I considered the heft of poignant exposures to a dismal serenade of miscegenated politics and garbled breaths of wheezy mendicants seeking participation in the trophy of smothered compliance

But I marveled simultaneously at the extinction of the shriveled crowds as they sized up the minutiae of wastrels glamorously inviting a frozen recapitulation of sorrows borrowed and wasted on minced platitudes that swindle still the votive confidence of regimented sympathy pretending empathy for soured hearts professedly defiant at their bereaved will

My pulse I clocked at 120 as I wondered where on earth the 140s and 150s have frittered their patience on with such brazen alacrity for the garish snarl of a sojourn into the ineffable effrontery of aureate mutiny against the tyrant of deaf spoon-fed indignation without the luxury of shared ignominy of memorable cadence for frippery in sparse blurbs registered in braille rather than brawn

Then I remembered my vociferous persnickety temperament and the curdled hatred of procrustean swan songs to an etiolating standard of ethical entanglement in aloof issues delivered with a decisive swoon too swift in earnestness to outfox with a quipped rebuff or a calculus of classical spoof

Then I wondered with a problematic but inherent prolixity…..
I too could adorn the adoring moon with a lyrical lampoon geared for a clockwork punchline or a winsome rebarbative tune….OR…. enchant with an incisive acerbic rant about how pasquinades outstay their welcome because of the clambered insistence of happenstance years ago in a blinkered mirror but never rehashed too soon

But where would affection heap its laurels if I dared to swindle the spotlight away from frisky poetasters who proved a renegade inspiration for fluttered triumph in a seaside tragedy only the crestfallen waves of pestilent Idiocracy could steal from my outstretched tenacity in verse and verve

Boom went a fulmination of hatred at my labored words! And then I swerved to avoid potholes of tenuous gainsay…. and other miscreants littering the world with misappropriated labels for laments belabored with publicity for displaced enmity distilled from a cauldron of mismatched ignorance….tethered to the vagrancy of gripe plucked at the ripe time for a twenty-dollar prize give or take a dime

But that dime separating 1990 from 2010 meant more than anything to a life littered with hallowed word crimes…. against the sanctimony of syncopation with cheap bleats too arrogant to be sheepish at the lavish indulgence of the marginalized wines…. brewed in a castle flickering on fiat worth rather than the simplicities of minutes of warbled time

So I currently warp minds with the proctor of a gamble too garish to finesse the quicksand of attrition but jaunty enough to bypass the limitations of a linear self-referential memorial about the circular nature of irony espoused by divorced rhymes

Now I stand ascendant….waiting for the retinues of retinas to absorb the wavy rigmarole of the serpentine pathways carved beneath the buzzwords of race and division and towards soldered unity with a human race beyond racism…. and a class divorced from socioeconomic crass division

Just then I arrived at serenity…. as I realized that the BAR exams that encage so many aspirant hearts are counterfeit in the court of the highest judiciary art that believes that insidious artifice is an embezzled venture of frolicsome guttersnipes wallowing in division can never revive a lifeless heart…. even if quick-witted credentialism rattles the slaves to vapid artforms that any humanism would never deem smart

Ditch the agitprop as a human frailty indentured to endure the curated disease without a cure to make the snollygosters in Washington ever so cocksure with their cockalorum disregard of the palatable consensus to make news real again….Finally for the fraternity of an enlightened human race in a benighted world of trendy fatuousness that infests the planet with the debauchery of glorified urchins jerking the levers with severed brevity to promote infectious foofaraw with cultural indemnity

I leave you with this

What is ornate complexity without the luxury of concerted beatific bliss that the parsecs that flummox your minds throb vehemently with cohesiveness in my internal design are not remiss

And remember the benighted standards of kitsch for the kitchens of penury bewitched don’t stand a chance against the overriding itch to vanquish mountains one after another to cross them off the list
Julian Aug 2015
The haystack is the needle and the iceberg is compact
Scions of attrition tremble before the contract
Jaundiced world-weary tears lament the frailty of days and the evanescence of years
Senescence a cruel destruction, distracting garish comfort escorting the fears
Displaced and forlorn love beckons a second chance
Itinerant hopes know no commitment to simple embezzled parlance
Of dice and kin, nepotism’s high-roller antics are the linchpin
Frittered patience staking its bets on internecine dynamics of skin
Affirmative traction of disenfranchised hopes rests on fallow seasons
Traduced mirage tantalizes until the activation of regaled treasons
Shock wed with dismay appoints the tutelage of prestidigitation
Juggled triage aborts an unborn reason and anoints intimidation
Aliens flummox the borders to enlist a new world disorder
Trailblazers succumb to lawlessness and for every dollar gained we lose a quarter
Chaos checkmates as power rests from decrepit hands foisting the meretricious brand
Cattle scorched and sheep scattered as the broken hourglass can no longer count sand
Time toppled serenaded by applause canned
Toppled pyramids blind the eye of providence in the hour of unheralded prominence
The terror of history unfurls the efflorescence of piracy as ghosts work to subvert the invisible hand
Next dictums emerge that say supply on command, and entropy desecrates the land
Phone home to arm the putsch, clone home for aliens we push
Revisionism subverts the instruction of years and empowers the apotheosis of fear and the fourth ***** of George W. Bush
Dynasties envy the anonymity of a bald-eagle cabal of skinhead guffaw
Irascible genocide cavorts under the premise of shock and awe
The lullaby of morons is flinching assent to the supremacy of the unelected and unassailable tyrants
Discarding covenants on the principle of principality and counting on every knight to become errant
Pyrrhic victory of the perverted cross corrals the flock
Openly announced secrets enable the aliens to dock
At the port they are greeted as the victors and granted not only amnesty but indemnity
They brandish the unprecedented concept of an enumerated infinity
To amuse the zero-sum victory they author a new history of utilitarianism dethroning deontology
To the future readers they make contrite apologies
But when the races of men are annihilated by the evil Zen boasting of its utilitarian ken
The rubble of time cannot ascertain exactly how or when
But on the dreaded hour the virus will conspire to elect the most reproachable power
When panic reaches crescendo all the sugar in the world cannot but help to taste anything but sour
Abort the tyrannical machine no matter how convincingly it preens
No matter how much bunkum elevates the enchanting prevarication while concealing the affairs behind the scenes
Voting for balkanized splinters designed to weather the winter sustains the monopoly of sophistry
Ballyhoo saturates the airwaves and suddenly catcalling becomes gallantry
Tune out the pulpit, divest the culprit and impugn systemic venality
Dismantle the verisimilitude of shadows and hoist a giant mirror to reflect stark realities
Cue the curtains fall, the specters grow tall, and the clout is daunted by establishment doubt
The skeletonized truth severs the root but the behemoth armed to the teeth wages a bout
Cartels conspire with arms and fire and resurrect stodgy tenets to prowl like an army of vampires
To feed a fatuous superstition and to empower a censorship of convenience to enthrone a dark empire
Cunning preponderance enlists divisive shills to let the ghastly thriller exact its thrills
Occult obscurantism funds the vulnerable and tramples over the outspoken to actuate its will
Hopes dashed, stocks crashed and strife abundant
Generational dissonance revokes the incumbents
Chapter one of this unsung war come and gone
Stay tuned for the next addendum to see what is lost and who has won.
Cunning Linguist Aug 2018
My trap tags don't expire  
I'm an arsonist for hire  
on these bars
Watch me spit fire, yuh

Got a grill in my mouth
& a grill on my porch  
New balance on my feet,  
In my kitchen selling work  
Got grass like I'm dirt
Hit the gas like I'm first
Eating *** with a thirst
Thots be scary go to church
Give that ***** heckin hurt  
I'ma dawg ripe from birth  
Yes I'm bound to rule the Earth
And I'll pillage til it skrrt
-Bet you ain't gon take my turf
'Less you finna prove that worth
Satisfy the ladies aye
my **** got 1 inch girth

& I'm all
Foaming from the mouth like she rabid  
**** yo ***** leave her shaking,
steady rabbit
Only *** wit gold
Cos' I don't believe in average
I'm a savage with these lavish roasts
so toast to this y'all napping, woah

Gimme  t h i c c  bone  
-I'm here to cuck ur *****
I Go Donkey Kong on em
wit bana-na clips  
Mushrooms down the pipe,
Now watch me all-star this ****
Leave em duckin runnin huffin
when tha muh ******
hammer hit boi

Ball so hard I got u trippin'
Spitting triplets in the kitchen
-To watch the world burn  
Is my muh ****** mission
Be shifting these gears
like transmissions in a sentence;
Remix it to ignition, straight
dunkin on y’all *****-***

Light me up that's what's up,
bruh you real *** vintage
Try and step to me,
catch you sleepin with those fishes
Throw bows with the flow
man I do this **** for fun
Dabbing every day
just stir the *** to color up

I'm on another level
Mine down on the nether
architect if ever
clever big-bro pullin levers
Embezzled Denny’s rhymes
Just to peddle to the metal  
& I'm never gonna give
Until I hit that ****** threshold yuh  

Flexin on these spades
When I play that ****** trump;
If you got no brain
Then I'm ganking all your junk
kickin in yo grave
Push up daisies in the trunk
I'm literally insane
u don't know about dat funk yuh

Blizzard **** a hipster *****  
Scissor kick your gizzard slick  
Crave attention slit my wrists
Iced out and I'm ****** lit

Like ah **** got that gas
check my Auschwitz
All about the offense
When I’m toxic wit that nonsense
Coursing through my conscience
Looking for recompense;
Like hollerin at a deaf *****
Or knocking over blind kids

I'm in that hearse
smokin herb
swerving verses
Turnin words
Like its a curse, ya
I'm getting tired of metal and poetry if you can't tell expect more obscene rap I hope offends. I'm gonna record this soon and will post link when I do
Dr Sam Burton Oct 2014
Saturday is back

for you and Jack

So hurry and pack

Nothing to lack

Or forget something on a rack

Or in a sack

Eat Big Mac

Get some nicknack

Sleep in a shack

When it is black


Sam





Today is Saturday, Oct. 4,the 276th day of 2014 with 89 to follow.

The moon is waning. Morning stars are Jupiter, Mars and Uranus. Evening starsare Mercury, Neptune, Saturn and Venus.



In 1922, Rebecca Felton, a Georgia Democrat, became thefirst woman to serve in the U.S. Senate.





A thought for the day:



It's hard to beat a person who never gives up. -- Babe Ruth



QUOTES FOR THE DAY:



Avarice is the vice of declining years.

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

Beauty is but the sensible image of the Infinite. Like truth and justice it liveswithin us; like virtue and the moral law it is a companion of the soul.

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

By common consent gray hairs are a crown of glory; the only object of respectthat can never excite envy.



George Bancroft





Fortunately,psychoanalysis is not the only way to resolve inner conflicts. Life itselfremains a very effective therapist.



Karen Horney



"If you always do what interestsyou, at least one person is pleased."



Katharine Hepburn



"Keep love in yourheart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.The consciousness of loving and being loved brings a warmth and richness tolife that nothing else can bring."



Oscar Wilde



POETRY



Last Night



Michael Broder





Idreamt of making sense,
parts of speech caught up in sheets
and blankets, long strips of fabric
wrapped loosely around shoulders,
goblets, urns, cups with unmatched saucers.

You were there, and the past seemed important,
what was said, what was done,
feelings felt but maybe not expressed,
signs randomly connected
yet vital to what comes next,
to a coming season,
next year's trip to Nauset Beach.

I woke up wanting to read a poem by that name,
and I found one with a lifeguard's chair,
a broken shell, gulls watching egrets,
home an ocean away.


About this poem


"I wanted the poem to enact the dream it purports to recount. If dreamsare wish fulfillment, then this dreamer yearns for some kind of cognitivecoherence. The s ense the dreamer seeks turns out to be nonsense, and yetpoetry finds a way of making it s ensible after all."
-Michael Broder

About Michael Broder


Michael Broder is the author of "This Life Now" (A Midsummer Night'sPress, 2014). He is a freelance writer and lives in Brooklyn, N.Y.

*
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization,whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience.


(c) 2014 Michael Broder.
Distributed by King Features Syndicate





HEALTH and BEAUTY TIP



Applying Moisturizer

When applying moisturizer as part of your daily routine,make sure not to use it directly around your eyes -- this skin is more likelyto retain fluid, and moisturizer will make the under-eye area appear puffier.But do remember to use some on your neck and throat; skin can become dry there,too.



JOKES



Lawyer Joke



An American attorney had just finished a guest lecture at a lawschool in Italy when an Italian lawyer approached him and asked, "Is ittrue that a person can fall down on a sidewalk in your county and then sue thelandowners for lots of money?"

Told that it was true, the lawyer turned to his partner and started speakingrapidly in Italian. When they stopped, the American attorney asked if theywanted to go to America to practice law.

"No, no," one replied. "We want to go to America and fall downon sidewalks."



Pregnant



Seven months pregnant, my hand on my aching back, I stood inline at the post office for what seemed an eternity.

"Honey," said a woman behind me, "I had back pain during mypregnancy. I was bedridden for four months because my baby was sitting on anerve."

Then the man in front of me piped up....

"You'd better get used to it now. Once those kids get on your nerves, theycan stay there till they're 18."





Parole Board

The Bureau of prisons just announced the release of a serialbank robber who had looted over 30 banks before his capture.

The parole board says he is completely rehabilitated and has found employmentat his home in Prague.

Yes, that is correct...

They were able to right a bad czech.



Quick Funny or not so funny



I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day but Icouldn't find any.



Bad Timing



A parish priest, Father O'Brien, was being honored at adinner on the 25th anniversary of his arrival in that parish.

A leading local politician, who was a member of the congregation, was chosen tomake the presentation and give a little speech at the dinner, but he wasdelayed in traffic.

Sooo.....Father O'Briend decides to say his own few words while they await thepolitician's arrival......

"You will understand," he said, "the seal of the confessional,can never be broken. What is confessed in there to me, is never repeated on theoutside. However, I got my first impressions of this parish from the firstconfession I ever heard here.

Realize, please, that I can only hint vaguely about this, but when I came here25 years ago, I thought I had been assigned to a terrible place.

The very first chap who entered my confessional told me how he had stolen atelevision set and, when stopped by the police, had almost murdered theofficer. Further, he told me he had embezzled money from his place of businessand had an affair with his boss's wife. I was appalled. But as the days went onI knew that my people at this congregation were not all like that, and I had,indeed come to, a fine parish full of understanding and loving people."

Just as the priest finished his talk, the politician arrived, apologized forhis tardiness and then started in on his speech.

"I want to thank you all for letting me say a few words this evening inhonor of Father O'Brien. 25 Years is a long time. In fact, when he arrivedhere, I had the honor of being the first confession he heard at thiscongregation."

Now that is bad timing.



Have a very niceSaturday!
Candy Noire Aug 2014
Find a moment in which the world stops
Becomes idle for a second
Gives space to a dying mind
The membrane of a society
Driven by illusions
Is it all a façade?
The wicked ways we count our money
As if it was worth more than our soul
Worth more than sacred bodies
The wild girls tamed by the men
To close their mouths and hold their tongues
Powerless, hands bound by the ropes of promises
Promises wider than oceans
I swim deep in them
Never satisfied by a life in cold captivity
I insist these doors are left open
Submissive, obey the quiet mouths hard actions
Aching for touch, aching for love
This pretence I figure
To be a shell of what it is in books
An empty box
Embezzled with jewels
Is still an empty box
Your touch remains empty
Your heart turns it’s back to me
Turns it’s back to the warrior girls
With eyes bright with fire
Now eyes dark with ash
Now ask yourself
When did you lose the fight
Against dismissiveness?
Abandoned by the hunters
But the fights of women outweigh
Those of man
Disregarded as merely an object
But do not be fooled
My roar is louder than the thunder of a storm
My bite is harder than the sting of a hand against a thigh
My heart is larger than the mountains you can climb
My words are powerful they can break your spine
My love is fierce, as ferocious as I.
I wrote this based around love and the idea that men are seen as the main power in a relationship. Women are taught that *** is their identity when really there is so much more to them, so much power and soul that stands them apart.
Ignatius Hosiana Jan 2016
Maybe this is our opportunity to finally see change
we've endured a system archaic and strange
we've watched the world revolve quicker than us
because we are stranded while the rest shift on the wheels of revolution
maybe this is the time you made that resolution
to constantly remind your brother and sister
Father and mother that that position needs a new sitter
maybe this is the time to say enough is enough
however much it instills in you fear, however tough
maybe it's the time we finally say to hell with the past
because like they say to stone nothing is cast
and the only thing that doesn't change is change itself
otherwise for how long will one old man exploit our insecurities?
For how long are they going to tell us that change is unsafe
A different time a different king even the monarchs say
what are we saying in our deafening silence today?
maybe this is the time to tell even the most ignorant by the country mile
that only and only a different king will dry their tears and give them a smile
we've been told he's the only man with foresight
come on,how are we to judge the rest without chances
for so long change has been a distant vibration along the threads of time
and opposition to conservatism a crime
maybe it's time for that to change too
and guess who can do that, only me and you

maybe it's time to flip the page for this great country to start another chapter
And it doesn't have to be all smooth a flow to happily ever after
Let other dancers step to the podium
and only then can we judge their dances
maybe it's time to another hunter we handed the arrow and bow
maybe now is the time for a different color on the rainbow
It cannot forever be a constant yellow
for even God saw however beautiful they look
the skies shouldn't always bear a sparkling mellow
sometimes the sky is cloudy, orange and most times blue
maybe it's time like I clearly think from my own view
for as a generation we are being denied the opportunity of comparative history
what will we tell our children happened to democracy
where did we throw, they'll ask all the resilience and efficacy?
maybe it's time to get back our country from the liberators
who use the same cuffs of the past regimes to manacle this country
and have since grown tall and firmer than palm tree
we have watched them wallow and buzz for so long
but for an idea whose time has come nothing is that strong

maybe it's time to save the embezzled donations and every single grant
a time to say confidently "to Hell with the tyrant"
maybe it's a time to be the change we want, the answer to all of our questions
and shove those that think we can't
maybe it's time to go past the roughing waves of conservatism as they whirl
maybe it's time to save our lovely nation
for at the moment, in very wrong hands lies the Pearl.
My country has everything, but Democracy
And without real Democracy everything is nothing
A dark shadow
has been cast upon your heart,
a friendship has come apart.

Memories now destroyed,
lost are the amable words
once spoken,
all in vain,
your heart is broken.

Lies replace the truths you held onto,
precious time you invested has been embezzled - ripped off you.

Trust was swirled up,
it was carried away
with the wind on a cold, cold night,
your crying eyes were forced
to see reality in a bright
new blinding light.

A new lesson
has been painfully learned,
the silver-lining is a new beginning...
You are free of a false friendship -
you do all of the agonising,
and the winning.

You hit rock-bottom
when you got off on top.
Yes! It's their loss!
But it's you that tumbled and fell
from a very steep drop.

~Loss and gain,
love and loyalty
in vain.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Faulty was that one who said
Our life is on the line
I'll stay until the day does dawn
No apprehension ever will spawn

That day was hellbent
At arriving precisely on time
Checked its wristwatch twice a jiff
And stretched its bulging spine


He knew about his upcoming service
Ah! But he didn't commit
I stay in victory, drunk of absinthe
Let alone the clutches of a dim-wit

Rapture called when I wasn't listening.
Rapture wants the cash I had taken
Rapture took away my identity
For happiness is an embezzled entity


I pity anyone at all
Without the nerve to live
If you don't believe in anything at all
You'll never acquire true pith.*

The exactitude of my expectation
Should not have vexed my reaction
I expected it. I saw of life's dark truth
I knew I'd pay in full.
P S Bravo Dec 2011
He turns his head and watches the Sunset in the west.
The last of the days light broken up into rays and beams by clouds and mountains.
The dust has settled.
The moon has risen.
And the stars glisten.
A days end embezzled by men and women who
take the nights breath away for their own pleasures.
How they forsake each other without understanding that we really do love one another.
For love is not bound by words and action but by the silent meddling of the heart
where it's only interference is the reality that we are forced to succumb to;
the real world.
The world of men and women
stealing days for the sake ideas.
Burning the nights up with incandescent glows and unnatural woes.
A world of wants and desires never met
but always sought after.
How we detest ourselves.
How we loath each other;
forgetting that it's not so bad.
It's really not so bad.
We are all lost children yearning for affection.
Mothers praying for their sons and daughters.
Soldiers in the heat of battle.
Ships lost at sea.
The hapless smiles on orphaned boys and girls in a big empty vast universe.
But the Sun still rises to the east,
and his head will turn again to greet broken Sunbeams and scatted light.
The birds will chirp.
The cars will start.
And we'll steal the day again.
All together now.
All alone.
Erin Melody Jun 2012
with jealousy,
the water memorizes the embezzled sky
and copies it with every spark.
the insects have awoken
rising from their grasses and bark.
with a pulsating surge,
the night breathes.
smitten with the silence, the birds
are sighing, killing the quiet.
this is where the night lives,
this is where it waits.
with the joy of a child, the twilight
bursts across the horizon
killing the fear of darkness.
wildflower fumes intoxicate the air,
vanquishing inhibitions and disguising them
for romance.
the night is wild with static,
but there's nothing to fear.
Davina E Solomon Sep 2021
The dough is molten at oven spring,
like a prayer to the historicity of things ..

Have we not imagined yesterdays
in the ritual of bread ? While our pasts

lay embezzled, on the tongues of men, the
sentiment of centuries colluded in germ,

echoing through heirloom remembrances
those floury philosophies of change.

While I stretch dough to gaze past
a windowpane, as far back as Khorasan ..

they were other names then, another
elasticity in time. Faith is a memory

of settled people in lands of milk and
honey, where every drought, every flood

spawns a new religion .. and the wheat,
always begs the same old question:

Are we there yet, in the fertile crescent
of opportunity ? The grains haven't changed

in their stolid countenance - long, subtle,
germy, cosseted. In the granaries of kings ..

they are willed by royal decree, never to die
in an eternal future and like humankind,

who score bread in the cuneiform of hearts,
grain is always thirsting to seed the land.
http://davinasolomon.org/2021/09/19/incandescent-bread/
Liam C Calhoun Jul 2015
I extolled them as they went about their
Menial tasks in suits of silk;
Sunday bests amidst the concrete, the earth,
The broken shards of
Bamboo splintered skin, hiding interiors
                          And further, the broken mirrors of
                          The broken memories of the
                          Broken histories upon the
                          Broken backs become names wrought ancient.
Though further from fractured, a family calls,
Beholden to the absolute intent, but one wish –
Eternity amongst the bountiful brethren left behind
Atop tea-brimmed Mountains and a
One malevolent, revered benevolent,
Mao.

One more saga prerequisite this newer dynasty red –
                          Witness the
                          Wives huddled plowshares,
                          The daughter scribbled arithmetic
                          And sons assumed thrones to legacy.

I scrutinize soiled  – smoke amid pear peelings,
The dirtied – unscathed and archaic,
So very fatigued – just one more nail,
For his eternity, with scratch and
Sliver of blood, a sanctity upon chin
                          Beyond cradled hammer,
                          Hand hugging thumb,
                          Thumb beyond nail, iron or the
                          Heart impaled homesick;
But I and hand asserting tie, freshly pressed,
Almost gleaming with an embezzled prestige –
Born unto Arcadia, a puzzle near complete
Continued to run, with only second’s pause to admire,
So very far from the fields of, “father,” or first blink,
While Sunday’s best weep, work and wither.

This man with joint autographed, “end,” and
                          Soon to be mound, history wrought dust,
                          A chipped Henan ceramic
                          And hours in attempt to breach;
                          Behold the back of Chen.

*The title of this piece was inspired by observing constructions workers wearing suits we'd typically wear for an interview. That being said, my venture in China is near an end - years in the making. What's next? Ecuador? Japan? Morocco? Montana? Either way, I could never thank China enough for all that'd become naked before I and my pilgrimage christened, "world."
Gifted soul
🌜moon willow🌳
my ripple my stone
your blue lagoon
here in my inland sea
Only misery and pain
greedy green mates came.
Unsalable virtual lovers àim
flowed distant partners were.
In the power of one
you complete me my
transformer perfect mate.
In this world a mystery you are
a little bit mine, and in another
world you are my exclusive all
my everything.
In this our power of one.
we exist as stones thrown
into each others pond
see our ripples, your ink in gold.
Everything changed
❤️and nothing no thing is ever the same.💔💜💞
~~~~~~~
Mr. and Mrs .Andrews
🌜treasure loot all embezzled was😩
https://youtu.be/h1mRkzTOuzk
shåi Apr 2017
my body
covered like ivory
richest of all man's desires
a disarray of
such wet dreams

my skin
delicately with
each fold and crease
a mark of unfathomable
beauty

my lips
love back
harder than any love
you give
like a silent
symphony,
whispering

my voice
speaks in the tongue of love
its native language
and only one its
ever known

my face
a ornate mask
i can be any
fantasy,
just for you, baby

my eyes
embezzled jewels
construed upon
a woeful heart

hands
hard as nails
cared for like
a trough of crystals

forever yours
so effortlessly,
unknowingly,
*i have lost my true humanity.
i wrote this poem after a movie entitled the skin i live in
K Fitzgerald Aug 2014
my fingers are scarred with the snap
of war's bitter teeth; they have
sunken in and dragged, sunken in
and dragged me out until i have
touched my heart's heels to every
battlefield-- made me a canopy to
encompass every blood-embezzled
decade. i have made myself a
hideous phantasm of Vietnam,
a tattered, frayed mountain-scape of
blue-belled America, a depthless
sea in which my brothers boiled.
i still hear bombs when i walk
sometimes, in the dripping black
of the nighttime sky i see the way the
mortars ripple and burn. but i have
never found another stretched-thin
soldier, with artillery rounds cradled
in their chests like i. i have been stumbling
and crying across the earth's crust,
screaming,
DRAFT ME
FIND ME
DRAFT ME--
finally the draft plucked me up and
brought me to you.
in you i have found the brother i lost
at sea, the lover boy of 19th century,
and the one i held close to my chest in
Vietnam. let me touch my hand to
yours and remember; i know i
will feel all our old words course through me,
all our ****** teeth and
crying eyes and
all the times we touched
brought back to
this moment.
past lives again.
All my life my parents always told me to dream big.
As a kid I thought to China, I could dig.
But the critics in my head keep my dreams little.
Getting tired of these mental monsters making me feel belittled.
In my dream it seems like the pest knows whats best.
All their words and whispers make me wanna second guess.
To stressed and caught up in outsiders looks.
Feels like I embezzled the thoughts, of invisable crooks.
Thought I could beat kung foo when I grabbed the pebble.
But the monsters and the crooks made the whole idea disheveled.
They eroaded my motives of keeping the real me open.
I feel the claws of the monsters on the back of my neck strockin'.
Thinking to myself I'm the only victim they've choosen.
Letting the whispers and words get into my emotions.
If only I were deaf maybe I wouldnt be the one they've choosen.
Connor Smith Nov 2012
Time so fleetingly chastises the womb
Wherein all life's illusions swoon.
Embezzled like spring's petaled earthen love
The art form's swallowed once famine's begun.
 
Extruded through shapes devoid of angles
No more will the process be found to dangle
Above heads of ravenous vultures. Now
The swine submits before the sow.
 
Who now does this frame become,
when all the insides and colors run?
How did once this child breathe, 
Before smooth skin had turned to leaves?
 
In all the time it took to capture
The memories here, and there after
Sunrise form and Sunset break,
Years elongate by Eternity’s wake.
Tapering off of life
On the whim of a nerve
What I see
What I feel
What I may or may not know
What may or may not be true
Embezzled me
Took me for a ride
Turbulent conjunction of the mind

And now
What I see
What I feel
What I never knew
Has taken my life

(C) Tiffanie Noel Doro
Laurie Fisher Oct 2011
Like a bird in the sky, flying high
Or a fish that swims in the waves of amber
Don't wanna be locked in a chamber
Don't wanna be stuck in a tank; a lower class rank
Don't wanna be held down, told what to do, does anyone happen to feel this way too
Brings a tear to my eyes, my soul full of fears.

I seem to disappear in this dangerous world
stuck in the middle and the fault is my own,
just apart of this life's stepping stones, no one around me, day dreams,
and thoughts of how things could be, but then I'm shaken awake,
and from my mind there embezzled, Try to get away,
but to this life I am glued, its my independence day, it will be pursued!
Shall I be your kin?
Void of choice ‘for
Thou are chosen
Love does not befit me
For I am only fifteen
And you, man of god,
Is six-hundred-and-sixty-si..
Nay Fifty

Christened and praised
Your lessons be paced
Whips when enraged
Your holy spirit I *******

Father, Does the feather features of my upper lip
Besiege you?
Does the pale hair
On my male chest
Deceive you?
I do not see you as
An equal
I see you as evil
My pubescent sense
Does not allow me to
Laugh out loudly at the irony
This is not my mouth, see
I cannot speak
I am not me
I am sodomized

Wistful I wish you
Would become ******
Wish my lips grew fanged
If my jaws could dismember
I’d pull you bare with bound wrist through
The bank

Pitiful
my knife will kiss you,
I thank you for every crystal
From your bleeding hands
This will do
This I will remember


Lord, why have you left him?
I thought a life in the lords light
Was to the betterment of man
And mankind
Not the remembrance of
The sins of bitter men
Guide them

O, Lord
When Chastity turns nasty
Do thou turn the other cheek?
Or chastise and despise the animosity?
Dozily
Lord, why do you test me?
Lord, have you left me?

He has come in again but
The doors open suddenly
As I look back in awe
A light shines in
A shock settles
A shadow in the door
Pleasant perfumes meddle
With the wretched room
A sense of hope

A sense of security embezzled
More abuse of my vessel
A second coming
Confronting
A poor response from the Lord
I turn my other cheeks
Raise my chin
I detest a morning sun
Come
mvvenkataraman Jul 2013
You have wrongly taken my funds
In life you will face only sharp bends

Due to this loss, I am shattered
My concentration is scattered

My heart is very sadly bearing
A place in Hell you are earning

You will be by sorrow attacked
Your joy will be by fate hacked

You will suffer sheer sleeplessness
Your mind will acquire helplessness

Placing you in a drum with oil
God will start to terribly boil

As you have caused me tears
Your eyes, Angels will pierce

All your hopes, God will dash
As you have embezzled my cash

To be tortured, you will be led
God will **** your blood

You will be alive cruelly buried
As you made me feel worried

Never think you can escape
Your stealing is in God's tape.

mvvenkataraman
As a cashier if I lose money, That gives me the worst agony, As my confidence is murdered, Fearing is by me considered, Those who take my money wrongly, Must be punished strongly.
stiletto quill Apr 2019
combustion was concealed
as flashes of despair,
created plaque throughout
bruising memories.

catastrophic events
euthanized rational thoughts,
as grinning cheeks sparkled
upon dawning drizzle.

dejavu sprinkled sunshine
on a fainting glow,
as the moon smiled in
devious nightmares. .

pergatory a permanent domain,
sleeplessly engaged with ghosts
haunting her final dormitory.

life embezzling imperfections,
death welcomed infectious diseases.

limbo remained faithful
between pulsating beats,
while inhaling peculiar oxygen
embezzled immortality.

pulsating heartbeat expired,
long before the coffin nail
unearthed its final target.
qu
Debbie Taylor Mar 2016
We are South Africans
   We live in a real live circus

The Clowns run around acting serious
   just one look at them walking proud
      and the World laughs out loud

The Chimpanzees run amok
   Their handlers ail of Culture shock

Chasing Trapeze artists round the ring
   Men on stilts are finally suffering

The Lions have sold their claws and roars
   For a few extra child subsidy encores

The Tigers crouch in fearful shame
   The latest casualties in the Blame Game

And the crowd just stares on dazzled
   As everything fails, likely embezzled...
A little too vivid
Apologies if I offend...
Leydis Oct 2017
I've already written the saddest verses.  
I have woven in letters the pain of the human experience,
the sorrow of the destitute,
the despot isolation of the elderly,
the impotence of the farmers whose land has been pilfered.    

Yes Neruda,
I've already written the gloomiest verses.  
My ink has voiced the disdain towards the indigenous people.  
How the innocence of our dear children has been embezzled.
How they have violated the existence of women,
and their body is the gold currency exchanged in human trafficking.  

I have written verses about the autocracy of democracy,
about black diaspora,
of hunger and greed,
and that which degenerates the Earth,
the perdition of human kind,
but of him...of him,
I have not been able to shape the verses that
can highlight the majesty that he is.    

I have written euphoric couplets,
sonnets of passion,
of unbridled desire,
yet,
there are no jingles to describe the verb in his kiss.

How do I write that there is divine healing in the warmth of his arms?
I don't know how to describe the synergistic links when our eyes are meet.    
I don't know how to tell him that I love him!
I don't know how to explain that my body still contours to the thought of his name!

There are no verses that describes the
sound my heart disembogued since he is not with me.  
I can define a star, infinity and the universe.  
I can impart on things I have yet to live,
I can even articulate the faith of the atheist...,
But the simplicity of his being,
I do not know how to profess it,
Nor can I transfer with eloquence.

I don't know how one speaks when one is mute.  
I don't know how the blind can experience the majesty of colors.
I might have written verses that enthused my brothers,
Yet, my hands, my heart and my ink
don't know how to describe the fundamental... his love!  
The verse that he left me,
the consonants and the alphabet of beautiful experiences
that eloquently wanted to construct the most beautiful poetry.  

But, it cannot  happen,
my word, my verse and vocabulary have left with him.  

Sir Neruda,
there is no saddest verse
than realizing…………
your love has left you.
*******************­********************­*********
Ya he escrito los versos más tristes.
he tejido en letras el dolor humano,
la dolencia del desamparado
del aislado anciano,
la impotencia del campesino al cual,
sus tierras le han robado.  

Si Neruda,
ya he escrito los versos más tristes.
ha estampado mi tinta la falta de respeto al pueblo indígena.
Como han robado la ingenuidad de la niñez querida,
como han violado la existencia de la mujer,
como su cuerpo es la moneda de oro intercambiada en la trata humana.

He escrito versos sobre la autocracia de los liberales,
la divagante diáspora del *****,
del hambre,
de la avaricia,
lo que degenera la tierra,
de todo lo que pierde a un ser humano,
pero a él…a él no he podido plasmarlo.

Si, ya he escrito coplas eufóricas,
trovas de la pasión, del deseo desbocado,
mas el verbo de sus labios
ese no sé cómo tramarlo.

¿Cómo escribir que en sus brazos hay sanación divina?
No sé cómo describir el enlace sinérgico cuando nuestras miradas se cruzan.  

No sé cómo decirle que ¡lo amo!
no sé cómo explicarle que ¡lo extraña mi cuerpo!
No hay verso que describa el sonido
que prorrumpe mi corazón desde que él no está conmigo.

Si, se hablar de estrellas, de infinidad y del universo.
Se narrar de lo que no he vivido,
incluso, puedo acertar en una rima la fe del ateo….,
más la simpleza de su ser no sé cómo profesarlo,
como transferirlo en palabras que tengan sentido,
no sé cómo se habla cuando uno está inmutado.
No sé cómo el ciego puede acertar la magia de colores.

Pueda ser que haya escrito versos que conmuevan a mis hermanos,
mas mis manos, mi corazón y mi tinta no saben
describir lo más básico…¡su amor!
El verso que me ha dejado,
las consonantes y el silabario
de bellas experiencias que elocuentemente
quisiera confabular en la prosa más bella.

Pero, ya no se puede,
es que mi verbo, mi verso y vocabulario
con él se lo ha llevado.

Don Neruda,
no hay verso más triste
que cuando tu corazón realiza
queamor de tu lado ha marchado.

LeydisProse
10/2/2017
https://www.facebook.com/LeydisProse/n
PUEDO escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.

Escribir, por ejemplo: "La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos".

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche inmensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos
           árboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis
          brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque éste sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.


Pablo Neruda
Cole Nubson Oct 2014
The barrier between our body breaks the distance.
Buried beneath the yellow bench, my love for your instance.
Your braided hair is blinded by the white moon.
A blurry background filtered, embezzled with a borrowed afternoon.
Euan Dixon Sep 2015
I was in a car crash two years ago. Fell asleep behind the wheel.
In the morning, all I could help thinking, was that if dogs go straight to heaven, there must be a reason why cats have nine lives, as if Saving Grace allowed for eight more chances of redemption.

8. It was a frayed wire beneath my feet. An old friend, knocking on my door. As I stepped forward, I felt the hard embrace of cold fury. Blue light coursing through me as my veins spouted fire, the feeling, like the bite of a needle. I watched as my eyes opened like Lazarus, so close I could touch it, this power, the thrum of a muscle car.

7. Seven is never as close as we like, and with Seven days until Sunday, my rest, is not yet at hand. Seven, is not quite Heaven and lasers just aren't as fun when you have seven thousand volts coursing through you. Muscles contract to a shape so obscene.

6. As this count down clock ticks past I find myself desperately searching for a way out, a green wire that I can cut, freeze myself in this moment and retain some dignity. It’s hard not to realise with a giant six stuck on your forehead that your hair, and your appetite are both commodities that are slowly being embezzled away. Lock your doors for time steals everything from you. Hide your face before you lose your smile and each time you look into the mirror, take heed that this might be your last, don’t be surprised when you forget the colour of your eyes. It’s funny, that this titanium armour of numbers can be so easily chipped away, it was nothing but a puddle this time. So much liquor poured down my throat, it only took a little water to close it off.

5. When should I understand that life isn’t guaranteed yet? Am I completely out of my mind to ignore grace and drive blind? My arm, after repetitive failures, reaches out into the night, trying to grasp hold of a lifeline. Supplicating the Sky, pleading it to save itself from me.
The only difference between an addict and the one who is drowning is that the one who is drowning knows it.  I will drink the sea until I become it. Lighthouse beacons glisten on the shore, these streetlights blur past me to yank sleeping eyes from attending the oncoming traffic.

4. I’m beginning to see this dance for what it is. Serene in my confidence I have done this act before, played superman for so long, kryptonite has no affect on me. I breathe in the rush, the adrenaline pumping, fear shooting from my fingertips. How can I not be blessed when I know the euphoric glory of Zeus’ bolts?
Lightning struck the fear of God into my system.

I guess I wasn’t fearful enough.
The next day Death issued a warrant for the vehicle I was driving. An eighteen wheeler driving past me, thank god for anonymous bail outs, blown rubber wrapping around the axle a semi and a snow bank of uncertainty reminding me that I only have two lives left. It’s amazing just how graceful Grace can be crashing, with no safety net. A 4,000 pound pirouette pulled to a stop by a curb. I don’t know how much longer I can play this game of Roulette.

I’m sick of being this dying star hanging in the nightscape. I want to shine again.
To learn what it’s like to love un-encumbered. To look in the mirror and see my own face, to know that we may have nine lives, and one chance.

And now I get it, with headlights approaching, that dogs may go straight to heaven but we cats, must earn our place.

And I pray, that before I reach ten in vain, my guardian angel, might throw away her abacus.
Sam Feb 2018
An illustrious rose she arose from fields dystopian.
Concrete tapestries a gallery of desecrated art.
She bless a soured dream, 
willing colour on a scene
tainted monochrome.
She's the contrast in the weavings of fine art,
nexus that binds together delicate prose;
sole reason words morph effortless.
Energy tantamount to a thousand suns
and a gleam just as potent.
Thievery at play, usurped my heart;
embezzled like colonial gold,
hauled from the shipwreck of me.
Stephen Parker Aug 2015
Great Grandfather's clock strikes midnight
through the drawn curtains
a glint of moonlight peeps
the lacquered surface glows with
the light of another day's shadows,
twilights that faded over distant vistas,
blipping echoes from searching sonar
that beam only faint pulses
off the embezzled panels,
invisible forms in the dust specks
whose true essence remains trapped
in the hollowed pores yielding only
the residual, a genetic bond
forever cached in the organic fibers,
hovering in a dark corner of the room
over relics that reverberate each chime
brandon nagley Jun 2015
As I poised the deserted western valley's,
Ten thousand feet above the billowing vapor,
Cactus to make as friends along the desolate berth,
I felt the curse......

Not just any old bane,

Yet as I glared off into the perception of that timeworn Gaia,

Between the red rock basin's,
I was vigilant of the indigenous people's indignation,
As I saw them, on horseback and bare foot tracking,
The backs marked by sweat, as tis their eye's spoke of prophecy
By blood and anguished expertise!!!!!

Their spirit was mighty in warrior sense,
No recompense should they gave, nor any to return the favor!!!
They yelled out to me ( Weeping willow) "you are welcome to be among us young one", as this voice quavered and cracked I replied in most happiest form,
" I see thou brother art porous"
As we both met eachother in the in-between down below the bottle shaped precipice!!!!!
As at the moment,
I gave them mine only water to help them extend their journey's!!!
I felt their longing,
Their yearning's rip me as mine soul became a joint dual to their own,
("Ourn province was perverted")  the chief said in an almighty thunderous inflection,
As in his shadowed reflection,
I saw all direction and ley-lines cross on the map of his face!!
("Ourn children and women were embezzled ") he mumbled amongst dusted breathe,
I gave him all I had left,
Also the crest from the falcon on hand.....
("For these strange swain have lost their own ways, and hath gambled with our's" ) in a fleeting tone of words he gave so vibrantly.....
As a moist tatter fell from both ourn facultie's,
We cultivated eachother in brotherly philosophy proficiency,
And I was high to be amongst their primordial efficiency,

The Superior with his Turquoise chaplet on
Had given me a serpent shaped prudence receptacle
As his espial he gave as exceptional spectacles!!!!

We blended as one beatific vertebrate!!!!

As they galloped off chanting consecrated hymn's,
I went mine own way,
Preaching and teaching,
Giving love as one teething,
Whilst the one's who lost themselves were still sleeping!!!

As I awoke them by the farsightedness of that wargripped forefather who had just split me,

I saw mineself in the middle of that boomtown,
Feet in motion,
Rain dance to glorious sound!!!!

With a squash blossom necklace to sway to mine neck!!!!

I had shown something new to these newly come arrivals,

"Something these people were once thought to think was " brutish animal behavior",
Now has embraced this sacred rain dance.....

As I continued to foxtrot,
Gravel and clay upon mine face
That serpent shaped box

The people of the metropolis had rollicked right aside me!!!

As they began to tear down the fences,
The trenches
The steel towers they have polluted with!!!

They put aside their guns
Made music with deity drum
And encamped the fire to hear me!!!

As it wasn't me who spoke......

Tis,
The map faced chief all along!!!

As a harmonious peace crept the red bottled cliffs!!!!!!
Kayla Kiley Sep 2014
The clouds wrapped the sky into a gray earth. Pounds of my heartbeats scattered, matching the rhythm of the thunder. "Protective" laced your being. I drowned in what was once a puddle of your affection. As the rolling thunder spoke, your soothing caress spoke louder. I was content. He was special. A man who was masked by masculinity. I saw through his frame. Yet he joked and told tales, he yearned to feel a certain touch.
    
     It was early in the afternoon one day in a house my father could not afford. My father buckles me in my car seat. Irritated, as any other toddler, I kicked and screamed. I had a constant desire to know where my mother was. Unaware, I was on a new journey without her. Settling in the curiosity, I fell asleep in my car seat. I dreamt a sweet dream of being back home with my parents.
   At my age, I am now aware that my mother had left me. My father had dropped me off at my grandparents. They became my guardians, and I loved them. Restless nights haunted my toddler soul and bones. I cried myself to sleep in my grandfather's arms, rocking in a rocking chair. I dreamt a sweet dream of being back home with my parents.

     He was around the age of thirteen. Embezzled in basketball and video games, he was happy. The parents divorced years prior. Yet, his mother and father occupied him with gifts and gave attention.
   It was a weekend in the month of February, his birthday weekend. He was due to visit with his father. He was disappointed to acknowledge his father's car to never show up. His mother smiled, sadly. "He will come next weekend, sweetheart." Next weekend turned into the next month. The next month turned into the next year. The next year turned into five years, where he had finally returned..

     We swallowed abandonment to have never been digested. I twirled in the absence of my mother's departure. He caught the hurt by the neck and turned it inwards.
  He understood my grief, I understood his resentment. The mutual pain outlined the shape of us.  He nurtures my softly vacant heart, while I paint him pictures of new perspectives.
Robin Carretti Jul 2018
My happy shoes shined on him
    ((Sherlock))
The ladies "Joy" locked
The grand one
And the only rare one
Orient Express me
diamond locket (Moon Wee)
The constellation all he

Inside escapades
starry eye clues
In the wax of the candle
  Taking a tour
Madame Tussauds
His beat thousand times
of her hourglass
crystalline sand

Stepping up engraved words
"I Love You" grand slam home run
my freedom to love him back
So I will be (Dawn) set me Grand-don't
slam my door the most expensive
horse-shoe

You got to be like a quicksand
Like the good-luck
Lotto-La La land
((Cinderella)) her Grand
Godmothers washing her floor
Her Grand finale Bella- Bella
Grand Meatballs vacation

High figuration the divination
The grand valuation of my cash diet?

Aim for the sky awe-inspiring
Cry Baby grand piano lordly concession
That's a riot comedy club of Moms
The milky monumental complexions
Robin flies  the Grand Marnier
we are family all International
Take all my ancestors
and first class kins
wipe my business
shoes give me__?

The whole works
"The Shoe Shiner"

The grandest times of sins
But we tweet in other
languages baronial
The grand thousands of human
mind like snowbirds sensational

Beach-homes waterfronts especial
All in variation harmonious
vacationers with their
Blue sky fancy poodles
Eating like birds chow- fun noodles
The Grand Hotel nest or maybe give
peace a chance John at a glance

We love the Floridian Fort Myers
The birds of 'Paradise"
 The flow of our pulse
lovebirds -R- something else
She thinks she is a step up price
Queen of Gracy Kelly

Oh! the hummingbird made
a grand slam harmonious
Go, Mustang Sally, the grand tally
That Grandeur "Red Riding Hood'
The goods her diction lucky night wolf
..... flight taking off pompadour "Rose"

Stepping up with the computer clicker
My mouse students theology
The goals phycology exceptionally grand
Like the statuettes to be kissed the Godly sand

How do we milk the whole cow?
Everything got sacred somehow
Where is our justice we need it now
Throwing white rice "Carolina" is ever finer
at traditional wedding turns dark matter  
How much more to sacrifice?

Oh! fiddlesticks, Christian Louboutin
Oh! Christ or her Manolo Blahnik
designer shoes she is as grand as a beatnik
((Faith)) taking one step passionately
The two terror twins think divinely
Taking the grand finale spiral staircase

Stepping on someone's toes or the
saying anything goes
Are butterflies they really free?
How much time do we have when
we cannot see any more beauty


Or catching fireflies Queen bees honey
Uncle Sam has our money this is the
'United States'.

Oh! No Webmaster, the romance booster
What a grand resister the greatest temptation the lover.

More hugs I will always love my Mother
she brought me into this world I felt grand
we only get one to observe another gifted hand
To be served engaged with each other
Picturesque goldmine
Valentine the plateau
A+ binge that cute chocolate
brown pups living
in the Chateau
The New Jersey ((Coolest Diners))
White china or Wedgewood or Crystals
Is always a grand invitation
Exchanges superb catnaps
you took a bite poison Apple
Meet the new modern
(Snow White) on the website
could see through her sumptuous clicks
Apple of first-class grandest school books

 She got an F for failure
I rather have the totally cool grand lecture

Stepping on someone's lap-(top) by the nook
What a **** "Hell-(Bottom)" he's super grand
but overcooked did we not see to look?
Having the grand finale snow wonderland
of  penguins
  (The North Pole) her gift that's another story
her nails the grand castle like no heaven
on earth glory

Old Meiser's square dancing pole  
How the world treats us and don't you dare
cross me my journey begins

((It's Totally Grand))
"Thousand Islands" with one step pickup your dog litter!!
The  waves so grand on the shiny white pearl sand
The purple rain Prince your divine love for
Passionate purple Irises tall and lean asters.

Oh! Jack in the slot Vegas box
the Philippine dictators' wife, 3,000
shoes embezzled
Whoa Oh! No 10 billion
the women that live in her shoes.
The *** in the City Carrie designer shoes.
The New York state of mind and Rome
3.5 million what a riot?

Her lips will chew to travel like the looper
So clean as mint lotto gum when the
dictators' wife bought 2,000 chewing gum
That is something to be grand about
(UFO) understatement- frilly- outstanding
in her "RV' Robin vitality stepping on victory
Her home the ATM my lordly place
The galloping gourmet in the
Galley the kitchen
The grand trophy ((Hollywood)) wife loves
chef knives LOL
This is a comedy did you ever accidentally step in **** not realizing it in the grass people need to clean up their act we need to know all the stories so many facts  get your coffee how do you like it hot boiling or scorching like mud stop being so comical Road runner how he shines in his Beamer. That Oh! Sit color hummer lets just get our frustrated our on the New hot drummer with the College girl what a stunner
JK Cabresos Feb 2015
my heart was embezzled
by these emotions,
I became dumb,
couldn't tell people
what's wrong

my eyes are parched,
no tears at all;
I'm incarcerated,
stuck in this puzzle
I can't solve

I feel loved and unloved
every single day,
I just want to see the world
without heart breaks

my treasure, someday,
might vanished,
throwned in the depth
of the ocean,
where no map
can find it

I'm helpless, with some
of these useless emotions,
I feel loved and unloved
every single day
Lewis Sep 2020
The gods they yearn for mortal malice
For the heartbreak and bittersweet
A god cannot win nor lose
pining for mortality like a child at the windowsill

While gods wage war with fire and stone
Undressed heroes embezzled in golden lights
They know that forever is an enchantment
For a memory holds no power in a life without death
Even stars flicker into darkness
Life cannot be sweet without the wrongdoings of time
Like the sourness of an unripe berry
And the death of a fallen chrysalis

Time electrifies love
Pricking it into existence through forbidden kisses and secret notes

that's where true beauty hides
One must lose to know it is love
Kyla Mae Pliskie Apr 2014
Blank stares have embezzled every ounce of elation I’ve contained, through rigid terrain, I attempt to look up. The mirror echoes my mistakes and I can’t recognize myself through pupil size and bolder vessels. Just tell me it will be okay. I’ve driven my lessons out of open ended sentences and pushed myself to the depths of this ashtray. Where’s the separation? Charges keep adding to the receipt still stapled to my side and I’m opening wounds I’ve wrought hard to sew shut. You can’t teach the ignorant, and the ignorance trumps rationality. Formalities in my fraudulent appearance. I can’t scream it. You can’t hear it. I am simply alone, and this tower is crumbling slow. This is what I chose, as if that makes it any better. Stormy weather can **** and this hurricane has me lifted, if I plummet, will I care? Will I even blink when I shatter. Just a pitiful creature contorted on the concrete with secrets left to die in the wind. I’m screaming at her to wake up, to force some insight through fuzzed up brain cells and alarm bells, but it’s lingering in the air like secondhand smoke. Only those around her are left to choke on its’ tragedy. She’s eating me alive and I can feel my body parts deteriorating leaving ghostly images to haunt my already afflicted eyes. If I stare at the sun, maybe I can catch a part of it. If I break myself, I can break her too. These ruins are the apartment where I have really been residing and time is only making it worse. Feed me my own soul, I need to breathe. LET ME GO.
Norbert Tasev Jan 2021
Loneliness-seeking shock flares up daily in the trenches of my deserving face! In my brain, harsh thoughts strike a pinch: what a horrible joke every single charm-smile, art-liver-like mimicry stray look! When the immortal Universe sins with glittering stars - the happy destruction of fearful momentary moments may be the most important thing! Your budding vortex, my pathetic attachment to Being turns you into another world and your watchful gaze is crushed into millions of shards by the bitter loneliness of uniqueness!
 
The unconditional, gloomy nightmare of the Night is ingrained among my sighing bones; tearful and weary tears of my eyes are embodied in unshakable figures! "You wake up so many blind dark, many sparkling pills, in the shadow of a wounded Spirit, because there can be little vi kiss medicine for my wounds!" Between the flames of my hidden demons and my digestive Hyena hells, I still live persistently! I am a punching, drooping wanderer, I can hardly want to find my place many times, and my mood - which will one day click out - started to suddenly turn rancid!
 
I would call on my immortal Beloved, only to be able to listen forever to the courage-pouring, lily-loving voice of the south company, the chirping of his silky ***** as a tannin — and I still couldn't solve the big riddle: Who is the goddess on earth?! Until the bleeding twilight bleeds on the web of embezzled minutes: What else can I have to do with the Savior Light at all?
doodlechick97 Oct 2015
The queen of hearts
did make some tarts
On a bright summers day.
The knave of hearts
stole those tarts.
Took them quite away.

He took the embezzled tarts
to a lovely three of spades,
whose smile made his day.
The queen of hearts    
had learned the truth
and her heart was torn apart        
over a knave full of youth.

Brimming with anger
the brokenhearted queen
ordered the ******
of the knave who loved another.
If he did not love the queen,
his head would careen
and topple from his neck.

And so it did.
And the queen of hearts was made heartless.

— The End —