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Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
Initially she began contacting me over the course of a year or so and increasingly over the last few months she started visiting me, helping me, caring for me and occasionally employing me in different ways.

She’d just had a break up a few weeks before, explaining that things hadn’t been right in the relationship for some time!

She presents herself as respectful, thoughtful, gentle, kind and considerate and after what seemed to be a very short length of time; unexpectedly declared that she had feelings for me; regarding love, admiration, desire and some other adventures.

She then began to bombarded me with love talk; occupying around 70% of my time gaining my trust, I was swept off my feet; she took a great deal of interest in me, learning everything about me, what I liked, where I would go, always asking what I was thinking feeling, how she could help and I was flattered and she was charming, though a little awkward at times.

As our friendship grew she started sharing her back story, including some tragic life experiences; she vilified her past lovers, and ex-partners and branded them as crazy, or bitter liars and troubled souls; slowly gaining my sympathy, whilst securing my allegiance, and keeping me on side; keeping me close; drawing on my compassion loyalty & trust!

During intimate moments she would sometimes seem a little awkward, false, over enthusiastic, or a little insincere and I made allowances for this given my knowledge of her backstory. Re: (The tragic life events & experiences)

She began to choose and buy me clothes; outfits, take me shopping, gradually altering my outward image and appearance.

She introduced me to her friends; but was careful to keep me and them at arms-length, I realise now that she was building an alternative profile of me in their minds and that the people she introduced to me rarely exhibited the behaviours or characteristic that I was led to expect.

She soon started to embroil me in her own rituals and compulsive behaviour’s, explaining that tasks needed to be performing in very specific ways to prevent her getting distressed!

She made many promises : ‘The hook’ It was my expectation i.e. waiting for some of those promises to materialise that kept me hanging on; This increased her control and exited her too. (None of her promises came to fruition!)

She gradually had a hand in almost every aspect of my life i.e. my home, my work, my friends, family, my finances, the way I dressed, the food I ate and many other things besides, much of which I didn’t realise until our relationship was finally over.

She often took immense pleasure in duping, individuals or companies out of something through theft, shoplifting, or getting something for nothing, a profiteer, a chancer!


To question or challenge her authority would result in seeing her façade slip and watch her decline into meltdown. It's at that point, she would lose composure, and I would see her irrationality come to the fore; revealing the real person underneath; childish, contrived and very fragile; It’s as if control is the glue that holds her together, without it she just falls apart, during this time she can’t be consoled and it’s impossible to calm this escalating situation; in fact at this point that she would attempt to regain control by ‘gas-lighting’ me, she would distort the truth; who said what; in an attempt to damage my self-esteem, to make me question my own mind, my words, my intention and any actions, apportioning blame, pointing fingers, making me feel guilty, use rejection, or using hurt, sorrow, tears, shame and even threaten liable or legal action, and then use *** to pacify or regain control over me and my actions.

These episodes would appear often; though irregular and without provocation, I would always be deemed at fault! I found silent compliance was less stressful than engaging in discussion.    

She never took responsibility or made any apologies for her conduct.

She would set me tasks and go out a lot and lie or bend the truth as to where she had been; I never challenged this behaviour!

When the relationship was finally deemed over! I was both devastated and relieved.


I began to see my new position in the cycle; as she immediately begin to vilify me in order to give credence to her new backstory, I felt very confused, disorientated and emotionally fraught, shell shocked! questioning, how much of our relationship was true and how much was a lie? For everything I thought I knew was now knitted together with a very complex web of loyalties, lies and half-truths.

Her pattern of repetitive and controlling behaviours have seemingly remained unchanging throughout all her relationships!; (I know! as I was contacted by many of her previous partners and other casualties since I shared this account.)

Within two weeks of being apart she told me that she had fallen in love (My replacement) someone she’d had her eye on for some time, some-one she admires, someone kept in the background, a friend a mutual acquaintance, and thanked me for bringing them together.
The grooming of her new lover would have come about in exactly the same way as previously described. It's her M.O. (Her pattern of behaviours, her techniques have remained fixed.)

She’s incredibly self-conscious, her biggest fear is that other people will find out about her true demeanour, her image and appearance is everything to her. She's afraid that people will shun her for being so very different. She is a wolf, that’s not a malevolent creature par-say; but you don’t want to be her pray.

Full circle:
I too have joined the ranks of the discredited; labelled a liar, troubled, bitter and crazy. (I Know this because secretly contacted members of my, family, friends and some fellow musicians; and they shared these conversations with me.) I suspect that she may even attempt to vilify me with authorities or threaten some form of legal action; as she has to others in the past!

I'm still drawn to her despite my knowledge of her sociopathic nature, and all the things that go with it, her charismatic boldness, her ****** power and her Svengali like intelligence.

I’ve had to block all means of contact and cut her off entirely to curtail my pathological interest, for despite everything that’s transpired, her lies, her infidelity, her deceit and appalling behaviour, I feel no malice towards her; quite the opposite, I'm drawn, intrigued, bewitched, beguiled by the person hiding underneath the façade!

Now the dust has finally settled; I’ve somehow remained sound of mind, and I don’t feel guilty anymore; I’m aware that I’ve been manipulated into thinking and acting in ways that don’t truly represent my character; and that I’m just one of many people seduced by a sociopath.

She’s just another natural human variant , an attractive person devoid of empathy for others, that’s developed a narrow set of skills and mirroring behaviours, that allows her to blend into mainstream society in order to feel safe, secure and in control.

She would have preferred to keep me hanging on, like many other dependants, adding me to the hareem; a bank of beguiled individuals that she occasionally calls upon to perform simple tasks, or to simply monitor and re-assess her handwork.

The last time I saw her she opened with nervous politeness and finished with veiled cruelty, I left feeling drained, uncomfortable and quite fazed.

I’ve written this account to help further understand what had transpired during this complicated relationship, I’m not sure publishing this account will be useful as to others.

But I’ve not mentioned any names; and at any rate the next person targeted; will ignore any pre-warnings as just bitter ramblings, and most individuals are driven by the natural pursuit of love, *** and romance rather than following advice of some seemingly bitter ex.

Bittersweet! The reason you and I might attract the attention of a sociopath is because we shine like stars; stars are both attractive and further enhance the image and status of the sociopath and the people around them; a sociopath will orbit a shiny star and use its energy to slingshoting into a larger more attractive orbit, either stealing a bit of its shine or destroy it in the process; To these people love, *** and desire is simply a tool for manipulation and gain.

Expect high drama.
She loves to watch you *** unstuck!
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
I'm calm, I promise
Just don't convert me
Just please be honest
And don't desert me
I'm lost in obsession
In all directions
Will you be laughing,
When I lose possession?

My heart's fading
But there's no answer
To all my waiting
It's like a cancer
That now controls me
It's gaining power
I'm fading slowly
Under desire

The night's a weapon
I use against me
It leaves impressions
On me gently
And when the morning
Comes in higher
Without a warning
Comes desire

If I'm still waiting
When you find me
No escalating
Just please come find me
When it's over
All of this waiting
All this desire
Is never fading
Edna Sweetlove Jan 2015
O how I recall with joy a visit to Jackson, proud capital of Mississippi,
The land of the fearless fatties, the glorious land of the uber-obese,
A paradise enjoying amazingly high blood pressure and diabetes rates,
Thanks to the greed and gluttony of its 'proud-to-be-portly' inhabitants.

How delightful to stroll along its leafy boulevards, admiring the advertising
For junk food shops: "Super-Size Your Deep Crust Giant Pizza for only $1!"
"Real Men love our Emperor Size Cheeseburgers, King Size is for Kids!"
And "Come Try Our All Day Giant Breakfast with Triple French Fries!"

How enchanting to see furniture stores offering discounted extra big sofas,
Builders and carpenters with their cut-price floor-strengthening deals,
Tailors' shops with their displays of buffet pants and elasticated jeans,
Realtors promoting houses with double porches and wide internal doors.

And, O the trailer parks, those truly splendid residential areas,
With their giant size immoveable vehicles with spacious entry portals
To allow the immaculately dressed residents to carry in an armful
Of multi-packs of chocolate iced crème flavour filling Krispy Kremes.

But most wondrous of all, the myriad rival Pentacostal Chapels
With their guaranteed reinforced concrete padded sofa-pews
And their portrayals of plump Jesuses to make the fatties feel at home.
And all those "funeral parlors" with their gaping super-wide caskets.

How I loved the blinking stares of the sleep-deprived bible students
As they staggered out of an architectural wonder of a chapel,
Bleary-eyed after an all-night bible study session, and all eager
For a healthy breakfast of a dozen flash-fried sugar encrusted "donuts".

I was there in this glorious world centre of ever-escalating obesity
With my latest gorgeous lady love (at only 140 pounds and five foot two,
possibly the slimmest woman in the entire Jackson Metropolitan Area)
And we decided to try some good ol' Mississippi fine dining as a treat.

Holey Moley! What a feasts on offer: pan-fried catfish, deep-fried catfish,
Steaks the size of an encyclopaedia and all accompanied by unlimited fries!
Sweet potato and pecan pie with butter, sugar, eggs and extra cream,
And Mississippi Mud Pie with its chocolate crust and sticky chocolate filling!

(The chef de cuisine in our upscale diner told us that Southern cooks
had created this wondrous dessert because its sophicated ingredients
were available cheaply and the recipe required only minimal culinary skill,
and what's more it came with a treble serving of supermarket ice cream!)

We declined the bottomless cup of watery coffee with compulsory sugar
And enquired if we might have a bottle of his finest wine. Quel faux-pas!
The dear fatso was mortified and told us his was a Christian establishment
And strong drink was frowned upon. Did we think he was a degenerate?

That night we lay bloated like beached whales in our tasteful motel room
(its bed reinforced with ferro-concrete to deal with the horrid possibility
that any gargantuan visitors might wish to copulate vigorously);
Oh how we burped and farted, longing for a dose of bicarbonate of soda.

All good things come to an end so, after a nessy session on the toilet
(we filled it thrice), we bade farewell to the desk clerk and sloped off.
"Be sure y'all come back real soon," he declared, patting his fat gut,
"Cuz you both sure do look two real skinny Limeys, ya hear me?."

As we drove out of this elegant city that steamy Southern summer morn
In our rented 4X4 super-strong chassis Land Rover, how we smiled
At the scene outside Walmart where the special offer of the day
Was five pounds of free candies with every single assault rifle sold.

But alas! And alack! Tragedy was not so very far away that day:
Some corpulent teenagers toppled off the sidewalk under my auto's wheels
In their indecent haste to take advantage of the latest McDonald's bargain:
A quart of complimentary Dr Pepper's with a whole oven-fried McTurkey.

Oy! What a horrid mess my fender made of their pudgy, mottled flesh
And how wise we were to speed off before the cops arrived
At least, we avoided being beaten us to a pulp for being leftist libtards
Come to laugh at the dear redneck ways south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
Alice Burns May 2013
We've had a turbulent journey together
And as he pushed the bike, slowly did his hand release me
Riding the crashing waves I admit my struggle
And my childish naivety gave passage to worser threats
Yet still he stands there, waving me on my way
Even to this day, despite questionable confidences, I still turn
And still he stands there

A rebel I didn't mean to be, but I am cursed with escalating emotions
Or maybe he would say a blessing, to empathize and find strength
As memories haunt me at night, teaming with those of ill will
The sensitivity he passed on to me prevails, Innocently I am slowed
But my wheels continue turning, and my heart stays true
Though my eyes and ears remain obstructed, my heart makes a turn
And yes, he still stands there

His presence unpurposefully commands attention
And his knowledge, he gives without catch
I understand the wars he must encounter, and yet he stays calm
Giving peace to the tide, he offers nothing, but gives everything
I unconditionally love him
I honestly hold respect for him,
He indirectly teaches me
And fuels me with his love

In this moment, I turn back, not for fear of falling,
But to wave back to the man who let me go
He is no longer there, standing firm in his spot
No
My friend, my father, he rides by my side.
Nathaniel morgan Dec 2014
Adolf ******
Watch this page
"******" redirects here. For other uses, see ****** (disambiguation).
Adolf ******

Adolf ****** in 1937
Führer of Germany
In office
2 August 1934 – 30 April 1945
Deputy
Rudolf Hess (1933–41)
Position vacant
Preceded by Paul von Hindenburg
(as President)
Succeeded by Karl Dönitz
(as President)
***** Chancellor of Germany
In office
30 January 1933 – 30 April 1945
President Paul von Hindenburg (until 1934)
Deputy
Franz von Papen (1933–34)
Position vacant
Preceded by Kurt von Schleicher
Succeeded by Joseph Goebbels
Leader of the **** Party
In office
29 June 1921 – 30 April 1945
Deputy Rudolf Hess
Preceded by Anton Drexler
Succeeded by Martin Bormann
Personal details
Born 20 April 1889
Braunau am Inn, Austria-Hungary
Died 30 April 1945 (aged 56)
Berlin, Germany
Nationality
Austrian citizen until 7 April 1925[1]
Citizen of Brunswick after 25 February 1932
Citizen of the German ***** after 1934
Political party National Socialist German Workers' Party (1921–45)
Other political
affiliations German Workers' Party (1920–21)
Spouse(s) Eva Braun
(29–30 April 1945)
Parents
Alois ****** (father)
Klara Pölzl (mother)
Occupation Politician
Religion See: Religious views of Adolf ******
Signature
Military service
Allegiance German Empire
Service/branch Bavarian Army
Years of service 1914–20
Rank
Gefreiter
Verbindungsmann
Unit
16th Bavarian Reserve Regiment
Reichswehr intelligence
Battles/wars World War I
Awards
Iron Cross First Class
Iron Cross Second Class
Wound Badge
Adolf ****** (German: [ˈadɔlf ˈhɪtlɐ]; 20 April 1889 – 30 April 1945) was an Austrian-born German politician and the leader of the **** Party (German: Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei (NSDAP); National Socialist German Workers Party). He was chancellor of Germany from 1933 to 1945 and dictator of **** Germany (as Führer und Reichskanzler) from 1934 to 1945. ****** was at the centre of **** Germany, World War II in Europe, and the Holocaust.

****** was a decorated veteran of World War I. He joined the German Workers' Party (precursor of the NSDAP) in 1919, and became leader of the NSDAP in 1921. In 1923, he attempted a coup in Munich to seize power. The failed coup resulted in ******'s imprisonment, during which time he wrote his memoir, Mein Kampf (My Struggle). After his release in 1924, ****** gained popular support by attacking the Treaty of Versailles and promoting Pan-Germanism, antisemitism, and anti-communism with charismatic oratory and **** propaganda. ****** frequently denounced international capitalism and communism as being part of a Jewish conspiracy.

******'s **** Party became the largest elected party in the German Reichstag, leading to his appointment as chancellor in 1933. Following fresh elections won by his coalition, the Reichstag passed the Enabling Act, which began the process of transforming the Weimar Republic into the Third *****, a single-party dictatorship based on the totalitarian and autocratic ideology of National Socialism. ****** aimed to eliminate Jews from Germany and establish a New Order to counter what he saw as the injustice of the post-World War I international order dominated by Britain and France. His first six years in power resulted in rapid economic recovery from the Great Depression, the denunciation of restrictions imposed on Germany after World War I, and the annexation of territories that were home to millions of ethnic Germans, actions which gave him significant popular support.

****** actively sought Lebensraum ("living space") for the German people. His aggressive foreign policy is considered to be the primary cause of the outbreak of World War II in Europe. He directed large-scale rearmament and on 1 September 1939 invaded Poland, resulting in British and French declarations of war on Germany. In June 1941, ****** ordered an invasion of the Soviet Union. By the end of 1941 German forces and their European allies occupied most of Europe and North Africa. Failure to defeat the Soviets and the entry of the United States into the war forced Germany onto the defensive and it suffered a series of escalating defeats. In the final days of the war, during the Battle of Berlin in 1945, ****** married his long-time lover, Eva Braun. On 30 April 1945, less than two days later, the two committed suicide to avoid capture by the Red Army, and their corpses were burned. Under ******'s leadership and racially motivated ideology, the regime was responsible for the genocide of at least 5.5 million Jews, and millions of other victims whom he and his followers deemed racially inferior.

Contents
Early years
Ancestry
Childhood and education
Early adulthood in Vienna and Munich
World War I
Entry into politics
Beer Hall Putsch
Rebuilding the NSDAP
Rise to power
Brüning administration
Appointment as chancellor
Reichstag fire and March elections
Day of Potsdam and the Enabling Act
Removal of remaining limits
Third *****
Economy and culture
Rearmament and new alliances
World War II
Early diplomatic successes
Alliance with Japan
Austria and Czechoslovakia
Start of World War II
Path to defeat
Defeat and death
The Holocaust
Leadership style
Legacy
Religious views
Health
Family
****** in media
See also
Footnotes
References
Citations
Sources
External links
Ashley Chapman Mar 2018
Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
DO YOU LOVE ME?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape
And
       uSwipe
       uSwitch
       uSave

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
YOU LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
ASH FREE

How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Canada Water, Southwark.

Lit and digital and LCD:
        
  ALL CHANGE, PLEASE.
  THIS TRAIN TERMINATES HERE

A few automated steps, and:
       Southwark,
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

DO-MI-NA-TION
DEATH FREE
DO-MI-NA-TION
FREE ME.

To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
YOU LOVE ME, RIGHT?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
DEATH FREE.
LOVE!
BE,
WINGS FREE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL

One more stop:

       New Bond Street.

GET BEYOND
DESIRE,
BEYOND THE LABYRINTHEAN LIE,
CONSUMER, DIE!
BE
MATERIAL FREE.

Last stop:

       No-name, this one:

BE:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL.

SAY IT:

     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
     DEATH FREE.
     LOVE!
     BE,
     WINGS FREE:
    
     WE ARE:
     SU-PER-NA-TU-RAL
Dedicated to Steven Hawking, RIP, this poem is designed to be read to a live audience. To this effect, it was performed at the Hundred Year Gallery in Hoxton, London, and has been altered considerably ahead of being performed at The Mediterranean Cafe, Berwick Street, in Soho, London. All welcome, March 28th at 7pm.
Deity Oct 2012
I'm the villain, but how was I supposed to know he had a wife and two children. Twenty-three years of marriage and she contemplates her happily ever after coming to an end……after a miscarriage, another child's death, 23 anniversaries, and 23 year old twins. My sugar daddy lead a double life, but how, how, how……was I supposed to know that he had a wife? It should've registered to me how he always wanted to skip out of town, but how could he lie to his goddess and not see her standing before him in her wedding gown. She hates me……She hates me and I don't blame her, if she decides to **** me and him both, I hope they don't tame her. When this woman walked in with her husband's **** inside of me I felt a rush of excitement, rode him harder and looked her in the eyes as I did it……painful mistakes you make when you're *** addicted. They'll think about how Dad's fake girlfriend is younger than them, but they won't understand, she'll wonder why he stepped out on her with a stripper young enough to be their resting daughter………as she thinks of a backup plan. I know this is wrong, but I might be in love, and this is strong. There's black and there's white, and grey will never be right. But this grey is my sin escalating to a whole new level, I can't leave this man alone………for I am his cruel devil.
Miss Dan Oct 2013
Like an onion, I had layers.
And you peeled me away, one at a time.

One layer off.
You saw my favorites.
The food and drinks I crave for.
The wall paint I wanted for my room.
The perky dresses, nail polish, knee-high boots.
And the spot I always prefer to be- on the front seat.

One layer off.
You saw my hobbies.
The words I stitched together.
The stars that formed our zodiac sign.
The wallclimbing, badminton, volleyball.
And the guitar strings that strum our lullaby.

One layer off.
You saw my dreams.
The plane ticket to Paris.
The thrill of a bungee jump.
The candlelit dinner, fireworks, dancing fountain.
And the license as a medical physician.

One layer off.
You saw my strengths.
The smile behind the false judgements.
The tears I fought back with pride.
The temperance, confidence, adjustments.
And the self-love I have strongly magnified.

One layer off.
You saw my insecurities.
The missing dimple on my left cheek.
The pimples on my forehead.
The bitchface, fierce stare, strict walk.
And this prominently thin-but-tall body figure.

One layer off.
You saw my regrets.
The kisses I could have refused.
The friends I thought were true.
The false assumptions, unmet expectations.
And the trust I gave to the wrong person.

One layer off.
You saw my secrets.
The punches I had to take.
The bruises I covered with my sleeves.
The lies, frustrations, disappointments.
And the brokenness suppressed in my memory.

The last layer, off.
You saw through me.
The anxiousness escalating slowly.
The exposure feeling uneasy.
I felt stripped, explored, unguarded.
And in my nakedness - you had to choose:

To love or to leave me,
For who I really am.
Nathan Squiers Jul 2014
Look, I was gonna go easy on you not to hurt your feelings, but I’m only going to get this one chance!
Something’s wrong… I can feel it.
Just a feeling I got, like something’s about to happen… but I don’t know what.
If that means what I think it means, we’re in trouble—big trouble—and if he’s as bananas as you say I’m not taking any chances!

(You are just what the doc ordered)

I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They said I write like a monster, so call me scribe-star,
But for me to write like a beast means I’m a demon at least;
I got a devil kept in my pocket,
On my shoulder’s when I rock it.
Talkin’ of killin’ and of thrillin’; won’t stop it!
Write a demon doorway, now knock on it!
Ever since the dark days when I’d just lost it,
Way back when the world would pace and chant “Nutcase!”
I’m a ******, but I’m charming;
Yes, a crude, rude dude, but I’m still disarming.
Using syllables to **** ‘em all with this
empowering empire of powerful vampires.
The writer-type clackin’ back with typewriters, like way back, right?
Clackity-clack!
Rockin’ stack after stack, clackin’ out more attacks,
Ideas tacked out while hacks hack out their crap (but ******* spew **** all the time),
so I perform written parkour tricks so you’re not bored; strike a chord.
Show you Stryker’s tortured life of suicide ‘n strife turnin’
to strength and a fiery passion burnin’ while readers’ guts are churnin’—
teary eyes all burnin’.
Their fears are returnin’ from a story I turned out when I got turned on
to my own life.
Now I drop F-bombs;
exploding real-life scenes—
these ain’t your G-rated dreams, so take your outdated themes—
It’s the **** I’ve seen; don’t make me obscene.
I’m mean, I mean, it’s my means to screen a scene between a matte sheen.

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
Now here I am again for another rap talk, rap talk…
They ask me to thaw out these oily blocks called ink-wads, ink-wads.
There’s a body in everybody , but not all bodies have a brain that makes them feel sane.
Like a train—just the same—
Might be runnin’ but we still cast blame,
The loading docks of our thoughts; they’re locked-up in a box,
And they’re stackin’ up like blocks
That turn the stacks to empty tracks (****!)
Trainees blame their brainees when it’s not easy training brains, see?
But the boarding isn’t boring—training brains; not trading pains—
Remember: the station’s self-exploration!
Me? I’m a hodgepodge! From train station to abandoned lodge;
Bully dodgin’, fully locked-in when I freaked out, fattened-up and then I geeked out,
Told “keep it down” but then peaked when I peeked deep down.
Creepin’ up, now, and keepin’ up (WOW!)
I swear it up and tear it up scribbled swords,
And now I wear awards for slingin’ words;
Offered praise; a chance to forget about the craze that once darkened all my days,
But I write that way—say “that’s okay ‘cuz it helps me write this way—each and every day!
And hacks think I act this way just to seem this way, ‘til come the day when the cray-cray takes the doubt away.
Demon obsessed? I’m possessed! Can’t own what you don’t possess!
“Hey, devil-lookin’ boy!”
So ***** for my honey I’m rockin’ horns, look here boy!
A Literary Dark Mass-acre,
Like the devil laid waste to a church on the page, looker boy!
They got a gold star, and a high five,
Felt so alive to see their own scribes make it to Momma’s fridge, ****** boy!
Hey, schnook-ah boy, looky here, looker boy,
I’m held up by The Legion, book-it boy!
Had to push for every word—every page—had to swallow all the rage,
Now you want out of your cage, schnook-ah boy?
I’m legendary—literary—and you’re literally just a *****, little boy!
So sell out while I’m bought out, ******-boy!

‘Cause I’m beginning to feel like a write god (write god).
Can all the readers out there who think I’m right nod, right nod.
The way I’m burnin’ through these pages, call me Dark Lord, Dark Lord!
But they’d rather burn my books, so start a fire war, fire war!
Can’t get it through your head? Words are more than Edward! He’s dead! WORD!
Let me drag you off to meet Dracula; take you back to the dawn of the dark lord, yea?
Fast forward to the foreword where the F-word’s “fangs” (you’re welcome);
This is my Hell, come! Be free!
Part Morningstar; part Morpheus! I throw up a kiss and jot down the kills like they’re red-apple pills.
Go ask Alice back at my palace what you should read to feed your head.
Sentence structure so smooth they call me FE-line, and my cat’s got better plot lines,
That the hacks will all call “sublime” (it’s “sub-fine”)
But me?
My **** scenes are brutal,
And my romance? Not frugal. I don’t saturate—I arrogate—
But I don’t condemn my characters to *******!
I wanna make readers care—if readers dare—
To connect and feel and follow where they can find some hope and power there.
While also giving them a place somewhere that isn’t here—though filled with fear—
A place where they don’t feel jeered or feel weird.
Horror ain’t just movie monsters, or gore-****** scopin’ sponsors!
You speak French? C’est de la merde, monsieur!
You look unsure! But I have the cure in the written word!
And though you once were achin’ for a rockstar author cravin’ bacon,
The role has since been taken by your man, Squiers.
And like a pair of pliers, I can reach into readers’ brains and cross all sorts of wires!
I’m settin’ cranial fires behind the eyes of all my buyers!
And while I’m growing Ghost Riders—ridin’ shotgun on the bullet-train ‘tween the pages—
There’s a horde of haters harboring growing rages
With a narrow gaze of who scribes pages.
They say I can’t write ‘cuz of my tattoos or my gauges
So allow me to assuage this: y’all can’t cage this!
If you don’t like it, let me show you where the grave is!
You’re well-aged, but I’m ageless!
Like the undead through the ages!
And like Shakespeare took to stages you can find me where the page is:
I’m hip to a script, I’m at home with a poem and feeling groovy writin’ movies; and I’ll be EZ on your TV.
You write normal? **** being normal!
What a novel theory! So very dreary!
Why the **** are they so leery, they say “Writing fear? We don’t want to hurt no feelings.”
Feelings? Setting up ceilings! Just more limits! It’s life! Live it!
Set the roof on fire!
Plot is getting hotter than a 24/7 squatter on a ***** channel!
So what if some **** gets a hair up ‘er ****? Don’t make it ****!
They wanna say “Hey you, we’re here to stifle!”
‘Cuz I mentioned rifles? Do they really want to trifle?
So I say:
“Better bring a sweater ‘cuz this thriller’s gonna chill ya—sure hope it doesn’t **** ya—and ya gonna get’a fill o’ all the ***** that I don’t give, ‘cuz I don’t live to let ******* quip or give me lip about my lit.
I’m entertaining and elating and also demonstrating how devastating a stream of escalating scenes can be so penetrating—although frustrating—to a mind that’s celebrating what it means to be vacationing between the pages; wading through the stages of a war that forever wages; meditating through the escalations now that they know what TRUE rage is!
“Oh, he’s too ******!”
That’s right! Ain’t right. That’s life: not nice; it’s strife.
It’s not just me; it’s we.
I just found a better way to show it:
Monsters that aren’t monsters;
Abuse put to good use; bred virtues!
“I don’t know how to plot plots like that;
I don’t know what words to use.”
Did it really never occur to them that to read a book—just to take a look—and THEN take up the pen?
You read King if you want to be king, strictly speaking.
A writing mind that isn’t a reading mind is a weakling; a weak link.
I’m a scholar—not a bawler—so I’m a flyer where there’s fallers;
Raised on Goosebumps and Creepy Crawlers so I’d Stine while others whined.
Got a dark side, but that’s The Dark Side on my side; counter haters with my Vader:
“I would be your father… but your dog beat me over the fence.”
No offense. Pretense: incorporate comedy and film; common sense.
Suicide pushed aside, though I still burn inside. **** myself on
the page each day so my readers can feel what it’s like to be alive.
It’s okay to hide.
Only your own devil knows what’s inside.
I own mine; he’s my co-pilot when I write. My demonic side; my demonic scribe.
Flipping my words to the birds—‘cuz, you see, that’s how I wing it—and flipping the bird while I throw down and sing it:
“Tiger, Tiger, burning bright,
My words are my roar and tonight I write!”
The fights are in your sights like you were seated inside a movie theater;
You’d see Xander and Estella—wouldn’t you want to meet her—
Have a front row to the creatures in a feature presentation…
But ‘til then
Eat some Rice An’ read a piece by a man who
Had an “Interview with a Vampire”—
I’m a fiction author, why would I lie to ya?
Prince of lies? I ain’t Satan!
Close friends, but I’m Nathan.
Judged for appraisal—I’m priceless—I’m  nice: no; charming: yes.
Got a razor-sharp and Shining wit like a crown left
on a King… but not.
Why be a left king, when I’m a write god.
So I did a lyrical re-write of Eminem's "Just Lose It" that wound up being pretty popular, so when I heard "Rap God" for the first time I knew I had to do the same. While I hope it's entertaining on its own, I think those who have heard the song will enjoy that I remained true to the source material in terms of flow, rhythm, and syllable count (Marshall Mathers is really quite an astounding wordsmith in his lyrical writings).

Hope you enjoy ^_^
aviisevil Jun 2018
Gandalf: a character ( wizard) from the legend that is lord of the rings


he was walking past the useless lake on a breezy autumn day when the gust of wind brought with it the scent of a thousand abandoned garage bags littering the corner of this semi unorganised semi-civilised halli part of a mega city.

his home was about three thousand kilometres away and a dozen hundred dialects removed from where he chose to pursue his 'higher' education.

a term he took literally and to heart.

he was almost always high, if that's what you call being semi awake and always clawing somewhere deep, both mentally and sometimes even physically.


but as soon as the cacophony of a thousand different bad smells hit his soul, he knew the trip was over.

he jolted back to existence from an escalating thought process leading him to the discovery of a new and a better universe.

he took a deep breath and immediately regretted his decision, almost screaming in horror.

and while he was battling a lost battle trying to defeat an invisible and impossible to contain force of population and pollution,

his smoked eyes latched onto a figure emerging from the corner of his smoked eyes.

he suddenly realised where he was. and it wasn't where he thought he was about two seconds ago.

leaf-less and life-less trees stood where he could swear was just an empty slightly orange and red sky a few milli moments ago  

the lake had turned from blue to a shade of green or was it still blue ?
he wasn't interested at all, so he just gave up reasoning in mid-process..

what difference does it make ?

but suddenly his mellowed mind  realised the threat, and his attitude changed from i-don't-really-give-a-**** to oh-****.

there was something else there too, and he, like a ******* cat- turned around just in time to see what it was,

and the time stood still. he couldn't believe his eyes.

it was    gandalf.

**** it. he was sure. ******* gandalf.
with a ******* stick, his beard and that grey whatever. gandalf.

he took a deep breath again. it didn't hurt as bad as before. maybe it was growing on him. he took another breath just to make sure it wasn't. it wasn't.


and as gandalf started becoming bigger and bigger, he could see his mighty white beard dancing in the wind more clearly. he could sense his aura radiating a wonderful positive force that was almost impossible to describe with a naked eye and with an F  in communication skills.

gandalf was finally a stone throw away from the boy. he could throw a stone at him. he could but he wouldn't. no, he thought about it but no. it wouldn't make sense. it was too insane of an idea too. he wasn't yet ready to accept his true human nature that enjoyed the absurdity of violence.

though he was a hard-core stoner.  ah irony and puns.


instead he took the more scenic route and almost mumbled " gandalf?! what?!?! "


it took the old white man a second to register but he managed a sudden " gand elf, what?!? "

it wasn't awkward yet. but it was india. so it kinda' was.

the boy almost trained in apologising professionally and profoundly, mumbled " oh, no.. I'm sorry.. I just.. you know.. there's this .. dude.. people do cosplays now.. and I was a little high... ahem.. I mean I was thinking.. I mean I saw.. you.. I mean, I swear you're looking like a ******* gandalf.. I mean gandalf ?!?! "


another gust of wind and they both frowned.

gandalf responded " who .. what the **** is gand elf ?!?!"


the boy " he was supposed to be a dwarf like something.. but he become a wizard and tall, you know .. fought a dragon.. and rode giant birds.. ?!?! "


not gandalf " what the **** are you talking about, what is wrong with you, you're not making any ******* sense and I, I'm .. hey, you see.. just saying, I'm very good at making sense, that all "


the boy " so you like a ******* teacher or a .. scientist?!? "


not gandalf? "ummm.. well you can say that.. something like that "


the boy " what do you mean, for all I know you could be a perverted ******* who also happens to wander the woods doing weird cosplays and killing people. "

not gandalf " the ****, kid ?! jeez.. simmer down.. that TV is insane, you guys ******* love it.. **** man.. I should have stopped that from happening... " and on went the strange man


the boy " wo.. wo.. whoa.. wait, you're talking like you better than us. stopped it ?, you got money to do that ? but you don't look like someone who can pull that kind of strings... I can imagine you more like pulling strings on a broken hand down guitar on some shady corner of an immaculate subway."


strange man not gandalf " well, in a way I am .. I am everything and everyone" he whispered..    a satisfying smile almost breaking out


the boy " the ******* mean ******* ?!? "

this was too much for the old man who was just having a walk and minding his own business

he whispered more angrily his time " oh you punk, you little punk I'll tell you! I'm ******* god, you **** .. yeah, **** it.. I'm not even kidding.. I'm ******* god, yeah!... **** it *****!. "


he took his hand and pointed to the sky and the clouds parted.


the boy couldn't believe his eyes, and almost suddenly the clouds began to form a shape.

he couldn't make it out at first, all he could see was that the old man who claimed to be a god, drawing something in the air.

he looked up and finally realised what it was.

God was drawing a giant duck in the sky.

and as he was staring up in a mixture of disbelief and horror,  the old man spoke loudly " that's you.. you sick ****.. it's your little duck. "


old-man-now-god-went on "... I mean it looks like a big duck 'cause you couldn't see it otherwise.. but drawing to ratio... it's your little duck.. and the whole world can see it now.. and they know it's small.. and not as big as it appears because it had to be big enough for everybody to see.. "


the boy was now going insane. anybody would. people just don't turn up, part clouds and draw ducks in the sky.. that doesn't even happen in movies.



the boy went on- a little horrified of what he had just witnessed " what kind of a god are you, I mean... what in the god's name was that ? how did you do it. ?"


God responded with squinty eyes " which part of i-am-a-*******-God did you not understand.. you.. you stupid mortal. "

from the depths of darkness a flicker of light emerged in the boy's mind, and he realised something very important..


the boy " hey, you can't be god, god won't ******* curse! he's god. " screaming cautiously at the stranger...


God had heard petty arguments and had gone through all that phase of  people taking some time to turn around and warm up to the idea of the literal god in front of them, he'd been over that all his life.

but this was the single dumbest thing he had ever heard since he made the decision to create the universe in a hurry.

God thought to himself " I should have paid more attention. meh. "

one more thing- the boy went on " why are you a he ? not a she ? I mean if you're a god why be ... I mean an old man with a stupid beard. why not somebody hot, and cool... and with a nice body and a face... slightly better... or maybe much better..  you get the point, right ? I mean.. you're god, right ? "

God just stood there and soaked in his own filth.

the boy went on hysterically " oh my... did you hear my answer even before I said it ? did you ? I mean can you ?... and did you ? or was it you that gave the answer.. 'cuz if you made the universe.. you made me too, right ?. "


God was annoyed. like really annoyed at this point and he blurted out " you think I made you ? you think one fine day I woke up and I thought to myself.. oh! I've created this beautiful but empty place full of darkness and the cold, spectacle of fire dancing in nothingness- breathing life in ***** of all kinds circling around the stars and what not.. and you think I was like 'what am I missing ?'... oh yes, right! I'm missing one ungrateful ******* snake with a little duck. "


the boy stunned " God ?!.. No, **** no! "

god almost curios " why would you say that. why did you even speak , why! "


the boy " my duck .. you know.. ain't that ... small. "



God almost smirking " shut up, *****. "


the boy " oh, yeah.. right you... really know how to abuse your own species. jeez. "


God " I didn't make you ... I ******* dropped my dope in the ocean once and you ******* things came out of it. "

he went on " I thought you'd die on your own but nah.. life's too nasty.. ugly and ... you know... it's.. admittedly... quite beautiful. "

time stood still as soon as he said that.

and it was a beautiful moment. both god and the boy trying not to turn red or cry.



" but the sad part is.. " God whispered with the love of a thousand cuddling pandas " you guys found me, I mean... oh my God! that brain thing really worked ... extraordinary! my subordinates tell me ... very expensive.. err... I mean to design... "


the boy " people work for you ? what ?! that's like.. you have a staff ?!.. weird. "


God " *****, i'm ******* god.. I don't have a staff.. I ******* make the staff. and no that's not even an iota of weird.. but you know what's weird ...truly weird, a fact so crazy that it'll blow your mind and give you enough wisdom to tear through the fabric of the world I've made and undiscover all its secrets, science and gossip?!  "


the boy was now as curious as a teenage boy in teenage, he replied " what?! tell me.. is it here on earth ?!"



God " yes, it is my child.. indeed it is! such joy!... and it is also right here where we stand. "


the boy's mind went into an overdrive.. maybe this was all his design.. the almighty has come to show him the path.. out of these woods he's lost in.... and also a path of divinity and happiness.. and also he had watched Bruce almighty a dozen times or so... he was ready.


almost in a poetic voice filled with a general sense of elation.. the boy asked god " tell me.. please what is it pleaseeee ? "


the god smiled, in a way only a father smiles to her new born daughter.. knowing she's going to be paid less, has to go through the cycle of being temporary insane every month ( or that's what female's had been telling him .. it doesn't matter.. you a guy.. you see a woman in pain.. you *******... that's 10 hours of her ******* the life out of you. and you still wouldn't be a good listener or attentive according to her even if you give up in the 9th hour.

the boys repeated desperately " what is it! I'd be a good boy but please tell me pleaseeee! "

and the god smiled. he smiled and pointed to him. " that there , that is it.. that ugly ******* little duck of yours. "


and immediately burst into a laughter more grandeur than any sound in the world. I mean right after radiohead but whatever.


the boy saw his finger and tried to trace it's path. and almost in a moment.. it was over.


he had lost it- he screamed at the creator " you think you can make fun of me 'cuz you a big guy ? you think you can make fun of me because you're the most powerful thing there is and can literally turn me into 50 hands and no ducks... just living life in pure agony.. " he trailed off looking a bit distant towards the ending..

God " jeez. kid. you don't have to be so dark and imaginative unnecessarily.. see, okay I'm sorry... I hurt your little heart...which by the way I have made and do own the materials to.. and that's why you're alive... basically all of you and everything.. now to think of it.. it does make me a big guy... or more than that... but that's not the point. "

he went on " the point is i should've known better... because you know I made it all.  even the concept of being better..  booom! blows your mind ain't it.. chuck it.. and the point is.. I should've known better, so I'm  sorry!.. you can tell people I said sorry but they're not 'gonna believe someone like you "


the boy " **** do you mean someone like me?! " back in his form


god " oh you know... someone with a small...... ******* duck !"

and the god fell down laughing hysterically and immediately as soon he said the words..

rolling all over the soft grass and the boy's face.


the boy had enough- he screamed " **** like you can spend two minutes being a human... who's to tell you didn't have a small duck and then just made yourself one big enough " his voice trailing in the wind


god hadn't been spoken like this since the invention of languages.. oh how much he despised languages..a ******* constant annoying noise in his head specially the bengali.. **** them.

God spoke back " oh, so you think being a snake is better than being the almighty ?! "


the boy " I'm not a snake.. I'm a human.. what school did you got to ? "

God " you can be a ******* rock for all I care ... just be nothing.. you know.. instead of being everything.. the idea of it... it's is rather.. you know... so beautiful. "


and at that moment the boy realised that even god wasn't immune to something that he didn't know.


the god " I'll do you a deal, you be two seconds in my place and I'll be two seconds in your place... and then we'll know.. I'll know the fear of being nothing and you can know the escatsy of being everything. deal dawg ?"


the boy " but.. like two seconds .. awful less of a time to enjoy any kind of escatsy "

God " running late, mate. "


the boy " okay okay.. let's do it "



God smiled a bit and immediately a giant light came down from the sky roaring with a thousand thunderstorms...

wind was growing stronger by the second and it was almost impossible to hear anything... or analyse anything for that matter...

God screamed at the boy " it's going to go in your *** and out of your mouth.. and your soul will be passed to mine.. "

the boy screamed back in oh-my-god-that-face horror barely making any coherent sense.


God rolling on the floor laughing
" jeez. I'm kidding you punk.... that face tho.. so woke.. so woke..."

it took some time but he picked himself back up and screamed at the boy " it's going to happen... three..two.. one.. " and boom


the boy felt what can only be described as the best ****** anybody has ever had.


the god felt like what can only be described as the hardest kick to the nuts in the history of universe.

two seconds after... bam! everything stood still.. like nothing had happened.


both stared at each other for a while..
God went first " so, ... ?! "


the boy " yeah. "


God " pretty tense...yeah.. *******.. I mean.. God!.. you guys are awful to be.. it *****.. I gotta' change that thing... you know... about people taking their own life... and going to hell... I get it... I mean..  yeah.. you know... like whatever."

God went on " how was yours. "

the boy " yea.. pretty chill.. ... "

God " that it, boy ?! "

the boy " yeah. .. mostly "


God " hmm.. woke.. woke... so were you clever enough to do something for yourself ? "

the boy " oh..yeah..pretty much.. nice cars and girls.. stuff.. " his voice cracking with a very refined i-don't-give-a-**** attitude


the wind was still now. butterflies were flying between the blooming flowers and singing AC/DC for some reason. it was pleasant.


god snapped his finger once and said " so.. yeah i should go now... apparently somebody's supposed to take a picture of me in the sky.. gotta flex up.. chow~ "


God snapped his finger a second time and lo behold!  like that he was gone ****!...


the boy stood still for a moment longer. he smiled and walked away.




(4 days later...)



god was in the alps...looking out of the large window wondering how dreadful it is to be human..  

and as he was crawling in and out of different dimensions he smelt something. something interesting.


it was alcohol. ( he's god so it's very easy for him to figure out such little things.)

so he went over the fancy bar and poured himself some *****.. " ah potatoes.. at least they turned out to be just right.." he thought out loud.

and then he proceeded to drink himself to death.. countless times. 'cuz he could do that. he was god.


over and over again. glass being neither full or half or even ******* empty.

drink after drink. and soon late enough he went into a deep slumber because of course god loves a good sleep. who doesn't ?


he slept through the entire life span of many insects and until the breaking dawn.

the first rays of the sun hit the mighty alps as well as the face of this almighty being on a white bed in a red hotel by a blue lake who had forgotten you do your own curtains in the human world.

his first thought was to destroy the sun- it took a lot to not lift his finger.

slowly but surely he regained his infinitum consciousness, and got in touch with the multi dimensional universes sprawling all over every  second in past and future simultaneously... but **** that 'cuz the head ache oh! so painful.. almost made him forgot he could just not want it and it won't happen.

God did not enjoy most human banalities.. but he did enjoy a rather a peculiar one...even more than drinking and kissing death. the one of peeing.

and he had to ***. bad.


God, with a hint of a smile lifted his finger and boom he was right by- where the deed is done in a civilised community. he imagined what would people think if they came to know why he's always more often than not a 'he' than a 'she'.

he was in his stark boxers, standing almost naked with a smile on his face enjoying the rush.

pink floyd started playing out of the thin air. an autumn's calm spread through the veins of this sudden universe. I kid you not, shahrukh khan was there with his arms wide open.

slowly the god began the almost holy ritual.

pull down the garment. admire. take it out. admire. do the deed, keep admiring. put it back. sigh. very well organised and neat.

so god took a deep breath, looked at the alps one more time, looked down with a smile on his face, and slowly pulled down the garment... his consciousness in a rush.

and then god screamed. there was a duck.
I don't think it's your average run of the mill tale. there should be more than what's meeting the eye usually.
The curtain on the
CPAC convocation rolls back,

as the revolution
in Tahrir Square boils.

America’s theater
of deadly political

absurdity commences;
to witness demagogues

recite holy scripture to
evangelize a religion of war.

A heavily invested
audience marvels

at the marionettes
pirouetting on strings

jigged along by hands
of invisible puppet-masters

donning dark masks of
clever 503C llcs

disguised in self serving
hues of red, white and blue.

This grand folly of masquers
conceals a fatal pantomime,

a cast of reactionary characters,
Neo-Conmen auditioning for

the leading role in a lurid play
of a deadly nation projecting
a dying imperial preeminence.

The martinets engage zero
sum games where the victor
belongs to the despoilers,

and the merchants of death
richly confer multimillion dollar
reasons for being, underwriting
the gilded egos of candidates

and their infatuation with the
vanity of feigned power.

These master rhetoricians
skillfully lather up the crowd

by pandering to basest
xenophobic nationalist
instincts and fantasies
of laissez-faire proclivities.  

Slathering on the partisan
pretense in layers so thick

a master chef, armed
with the sharpest Ginsu Knife

couldn't slice a hock tip
of blood red meat

hurled into the crowd of
gobbling Republicons

howling and yodeling
it’s derisive acclaim.

The rankled party line,
gibberish talking points

are hammer blows of
incessant propaganda,

so cocksure that any room for
doubt is crowded out by the

phantasmagorical McMansions
of hyperbole they ***** in

the pliant minds of their
gibbering minions.

The candidates preening for
president show off their

falangist affectations
in eager duels of oratorical

one upmanship; constantly
jockeying to outflank their

other Neo-Conmen opponents,
always concluding their brutish

diatribes with a solemn
denouement of a Republicon

psalm ending with a
Holy Hosanna Hallelujah

to the Ronald Reagan
Heavenly Buddha.

Punchline of the holy Amen
“what would Reagan do?”

to remind the faithful
to remain the faithful

bearers to the fiction
of dead Reaganism.

Evoking anything
Ron and Nancy

induces sanctioned
comportment of a

slow simmering
******* eubellence

providing a welcomed
relief of repressed
libidinal energy.

The mention of Goldwater
sends GOP acolytes to

pause in reverence,
envisioning Barry and

Ronnie looking down
from heaven upon the gathered,

inciting immediate ruminations
of falling dominos and

the viability of a
tactical nuke strike

against Ayatollah’s
underground
uranium factories.

The host of Neo-Conmen,
new age Falangist pitchmen

belch from the dais,
in ever increasing alacrity,

the stirring drum beats
and slick videos,

of glorious warriors
winning the battlefield

with the rippling glory
of the Stars and Stripes

flowing in a continual
loop behind them.

Romney,
Bachmann

Gingrich
take center stage,

goose stepping
to the roll of piercing timpanis.

Words slither
out of their mouths
like poisonous snakes.

Lies, hiss through
their teeth.

Open mouths
expose Black Mamba
fangs, dripping with venom.

Eyes squint
as their reptilian brains

implore the besieged
to flee from the
light of truth.

Seeking refuge in fear;
yet on the ready

to coil and strike;
while trembling

in ignorance,
exalting loathsomeness

worshiping violence;
they remain

poised to unleash
first strike armies;

boastfully evoking moral
platitudes of Bush Doctrine
prerogatives.

Trembling in ignorance
worshiping violence

exalting fear,
these dogs of war bay

to unleash armies
against the

Godless apostates
that threaten

to expose the
stasis of their

Capitalismo-Judeo-Christian
view of the world.

They have hijacked
the great faith traditions

to serve a narrow
political aim

and relish any
opportunity to

demonize Islam
in service to their lies.

Watch as they
they crouch down

on the dais to
open the nest

of vipers welling
deep within the
bowels of their souls.

They find relief
by excreting their

spawn of deadly asps
into the veins of

cable news networks;
scoring political points

with the terrorized
children of Faux News

capturing battalions
of straw men villains

to rise atop meaningless
straw polls.

They agitate for a second
American revolution

by injecting the venom
of fear and lies

into the body
politic.

Ron Paul
stands alone,

perplexed why
American's love

war as much as
they hate civil liberties?

Cheney and
Rumsfeld brood.

The people of
Iraq and Afghanistan

fail to embrace their armies
of liberation that run up

unfortunate collateral damage
body counts required to sustain
the American way of life.

Ever the defender of
democracy and liberty,

Gingrich slams Obama's
condemnation of Suleiman

"hes an able diplomat."
Gingrich  forgot to add

that Suleiman is a
skilled torturer and

an able tyrant any self
serving democracy would
be proud to call ally and friend.

Cheney and Rumsfeld
remain flummoxed.

Their armies of liberation bogged
down in the marshy Blackwaters

of intractability;  trying to solve
the conundrum of the diminished

equity returns of asymmetrical
warfare.  Spinning the math

to justify building aircraft carriers
to **** a gnat.

The families of dead soldiers
surround them and wave dime

store flags hoping the plastic
eagle remains fixed atop the pole.

Perpetually smiling
Michele Bachmann
raises the specter
of Muslim Brotherhoods
taking over Egypt.

The persecution of Christians
and the escalating war on

Christianity have the Crusaders
up on their seats waving Excalibur
once again.

Gingrich pink cheeks
flush with the cash

of a Zionist casino
entrepreneur

doubles down, stacks
his chips high.

“The Israeli Embassy
in Cairo was overrun
by angry mobs.”  

“Is this a precursor of
cancelling the peace treaty
signed with Sadat?”

“The pullout in Iraq hands the country to
radical Shiites effectively handing our
hard won victory to Iran.”

“Israel is threatened and will not
permit Iran to acquire nuclear

weapons. A nuclear empowered Iran
will not stand!”

“We mustn't let do nothing Obama
threaten the safety of our good ally
Israel.”

CPAC willingly holds the deadly asp
to the breast of a proud nation.

Urging, coaxing it to gently sink
its teeth into the sacred heart
of our dear republic...

John Lee ******
Crawlin King Snake

CPAC 2011

Matthew 23
Brood of Vipers


jbm
Oakland
2/10/11
life nomadic Jan 2013
A moment is never singular, exactly;
nothing on This Earth lasts, obviously.
Yet People still search to locate a focal point,
identify the axis, ground the spar tree.
Molecules have been examined down to Music;
infinite harmonies taking perceived shape,
Each element ever-changing as our senses are tuned.
Particles are waves of color, our own hand turning the kaleidoscope.

But our mind's-eye has been clouded;
Selfish fear of inconvenience escalating,
leading us all to the cliff of catastrophe.
Inching feet-forward hover over black air;  the void right there.
Regretful feet-backward discover lost ground,  toes grasped by gravity into falling gravel.
Stilled to painful awareness, but at least to finally see

Ancient Sequoia,
giants rooted in misty epochs,
wizened moss-covered faces sleepily meditating
under their own constellations turning.
We hated their shadows, felled them for the void, stole their place in the heartbroken sun.
Our vain history in tiny arrows obscures their rings of years like graffiti.
But in the hushed forest remaining, sheltering treasured few seedlings 6 inches tall,
One breath in lasts a season; one breath out purifies the years
with timeless patience for you as well.

There's no need to hurry;
wishes already happened when they are dreamed.
time was measured to distract.


A Humpback Whale arrives to calve in sanctuary’s dawn.
Still water, then her nose appearing,
then her monumental presence rising like a building;
then her entire whaleness levitating on her tail for a moment in our thin world.
Only faithful joy has that kind of power.
Then arching to fly,
and slamming, bursting, the surface for the generations to hear and feel.
She fills an ocean with her soul, a year with one song.
She is alive today, escaping slaughter
After swimming through the blood of her family spilled by our grandfather's harpoons,
Even with all the seas poisoned and starving,
Swim in the echoes of her call; she loves completely.


Keep no tally from the intangible past,
forgiving is possible.


Swimming Penguins
Birds evolved to fly in ocean.
Wings to flippers, feet stepping clumsily from water.
Yet eggs must still nest, their babies still breathe.
Safety is the very precipice of existence, on bitter ice at 60 below,
Sheltering their young clustered from blistering winds,
fasting from sustenance,
While heaven’s glorious Aurora flame silently over their winter dreams.

Extremes reveal the Sacred, but we’re confused.
Fear mistakenly chained with control; but both dissipate with acceptance.


A Serotinous Pine there,
Where winter snows soak into thirsty soil but relentless summer sun bakes motionless
Every plant a tinder held close to conflagration,
in a season's Russian roulette of forest fire.
This pine seals precious seed away from every spring’s promise,
lest burning destroys every one.
Only searing heat during torched consumption triggers the last gentle act,
At the knife’s edge of death itself,
opening cones of seeds.
Fluttering down to new life on the other side of time.
Tiny bright green amid black ashes.

This apocalypse was our contrivance, but so is the word.
Beginning of the End or End of the beginning, all the same.


So what then are we, on This Earth?
Cerebral Creatures, Storytelling Animals,
Minds created to sense spiritual constructs.
Living is the method of our creation,
Sheltering each other from inherited trials
With contrived joys and sufferings distracting each other
From the abyss both sides:
Soul freezing fearful cold of the Empty Void and consuming fire of Electric Chaos.

In the End, our sacrificing gift,  greater than ourselves,
for our children,
is God.
.
.
I already wrote this in two parts, but I've been working on and revising them to bring them together better.
.
Copyright © 2012 Anna Honda. All Rights Reserved.
Shofi Ahmed Aug 2018
Alexander of Macedonia this time
won’t U-turn from the might Gangaridai.
At the bubbling edge in the Indian subcontinent,
one would dare, taking his last plunge,
believing it here the proverbial Well of Life!

Yet Al Khwarizmi will discover the algebra,
drawing from ‘nothing,’ purely untouchable:
The Zero from the Indian pole.
Not a digit, not a number on its own, yet it’s all.
Every number jumps up in the zero loophole!
Then the whole number bows down into decimals,
escalating the hunts of the 1.618 golden ratios.

Plough through at your own pace
for the uncharted water, for ab-e-hayath.
Sip in a drop of elixir in this secured zone.
Sylhet is in the core, is written in stone.

What do these mean? I too wonder
down the line, I was intrigued by the Arab
and Indian tectonic plates’ slow dance.
Both rolled out, hugging each other
Then the Makkan soil lying at the heart of earth
gets exposed, with Sylhet’s soil it pairs up!
360 Sufi dynamos, mathematically a perfect circle,
find the match giving a perfect heads up
laid on the nine yard show the whole box of wax,
simply inking the vivo jump on the storylines.

What’s under the tectonic-rug at the bottom of the earth?
Shush softly, whisper—the heavens might hear it out!
Hold on to the least bit, it could be all one wants.
The earth, the ocean, all started with a drop of water!
Let alone any well, which way did this original matter,
the first, primeval drop of water stream down
Has this alleyway been exposed here, or in Paradise?
Then how can we say we don't have a secret for Paradise?
Sylhet is regarded as the spiritual capital of Bangladesh.
Angie Sea Nov 2012
How intimate this is
to bath with another
the wetness of me
surrounding you
with the wetness from the shower head

I brought you up
as you lifted me out
wanting this upon the floor
I whispered no with my fingers down your back
and you leaned me against the wall

The glass in the room
seemed to echo my moans
the acoustics so gentle
as our bodies beated out the rhythm
of an escalating in and out

We were building up a sweat
from the steam and our heat
and in heat we were
for I came as you were in me
and you kissed me then

My fingers through your hair
and my walls vibrated
as you came into me hard and spent
I felt it all in me
How intimate this is
For "Let's Not Have *** in the Bath" by Jake Pearson
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/lets-not-have-***-in-the-bath/
PoetAnon May 2018
The worst part is
I loved you back
Adulterous affair,
Absolutely abominable!

Maybe you didn’t mean to love
Me, the girl inside
the young woman’s body,
you only thought you knew

Flirtatious banter
once hinted at thoughts

Unsayable;
Intelligible abyss once linked
unsuspecting minds;
Understanding so
Deep, so
Accidental.

Praise me, praise me.

Be careful,
Time is taking over,
How could you, you fool
You can't beat the clock!
You're in love now.
Did you intend for this?

But was it Me you sought to love?
Or was it just my body?
The thrill of the ilicit,
The power
Over a child?

Origins unknown

Grown out of your control.
Say goodbye to reason
I’m your master now.

What’s happening to you?
You’re afraid and I, well
I am the child
who will destroy you

Words, your last weapon
Escalating, no wait, stop
You’re killing yourself.

It's too late
I tried to warn you
You failed me, embarrassed
Me.

I egged you on.

I loved you back.

I’m sorry.
#MeToo
Reflections on my confusion and guilt after I reported my university professor for sexually harassing me.
Alexandra Nov 2011
Laying naked in my bed,
I’m thinking about you
And all the raunchy things we do

Hot sweaty skin moves rhythmically against the satin
Craving one another’s touch
So overwhelming it can sometimes be too much

Beginning with a tender stroke,
Escalating to a choke

Still full of heat and untamed desire
I yearn for you to take me higher
Away from my reality to a place of instinctual bliss
Where nothing is more satisfying then your ardent kiss
Nick Durbin Sep 2012
It’s like spreading your arms in hopes of flight –
Catching the wind and holding it just right…
Every subtle gust grasping your body like a sail,
Winning the battle against gravity without fail,
Fighting through the impossibilities, the improbable,
And entering the realm of weightless freedom - unstoppable…
Soaring above the clouds of an orange sky,
On passed the day and into the night we fly –
From here to the moon and beyond the stars,
Floating through the cosmos - leaving the world afar…
Gliding passed this adventure like an epic dream,
Not bound to conventional rationality, or so it may seem…
We find each other dancing amongst the clouds,
Circumnavigating the universe like gods, reckless and proud –
Revelations of astronomic proportions are manifested…
Escalating our feelings, as we now become more invested,
An Armageddon of emotion, epically destroying the world; vying,
For your love – for my Darling, your love? Well, it’s like flying.
Wrote this for Amber, she is my ray of light.
The immense striking letters
of the gazette’s front page
make me almost cross-eyed

My mind is going to explode
in the images I have seen in the television

Boom!

When will the politicians
be weary in stealing
the wealth of the country?
Millions of pesos were caught
in the centre of the golden sea

Can we only find it from other countries?
Is that the main reason
why Filipinos are migrating:
to find source of much bigger income?

I am thinking about them
together with their bosses
with heavy iron hands
I believe crime rate is escalating...

...the crime that can grab you
24 hours a day
Can we still smell the tainted odor
of pictures of the street children...
children who beg for a piece of bread?

Mr. President, where is the promised straight road
you are pointing at?
Why can’t we see it?
Is it crooked?

Why is it that these are
the ONLY stuffing of rumors?
Why can’t we focus onto a bigger
and wider problem of our country
and even around the world?

Perhaps above all issues,
this is the only concern
that is not yet trending in Twitter

So, I just boasted it to my open-mouthed puppy...
“If I will be the President of the Philippines,
I will focus first on ENVIRONMENTAL ISSUES.”
Suddenly, Bruno’s saliva dripped.
Why is environmental issue the least priority?
Run Jul 2013
In the dark
In the cold
In the sheets
I scroll through
The pictures

Pictures of words
Pictures of quotes
Pictures of people
Pictures of drawings
Pictures of memories
Picture after picture after picture

I scroll
Faster and faster and faster
Each swipe getting more vicious
Than the last
Until you could hear the tap
Of fingernails
On glass

The strange gripping
Sensation
Intensifying
With each flying
Image
Angrier and angrier
Annoyed and irritated
Frustrated and confused

Then I come to a stop
At a quote
A short one
By Stephen King
Small white font
On a pale blue-green wall

"Monsters are real,
Ghosts are real.
They live inside of us,
And sometimes,
They win"


And I know
This one
Already
Has
anastasiad Jun 2017
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https://www.rebeccafashion.com/blog/Show-Off-YourPersonality-With-Glueless-Full-Lace-Wigs/ glueless full lace wigs
Sally A Bayan Dec 2014
Five-thirty AM.
Hustle 'n bustle
b e g i n s....
........footfalls
running  u p
and  d o w n
the  stairway
......stomping
.......catching
..........fidgety
elevat­or........
...........voices
...r o a r i n g
s h o u t i n g
...c u r s i n g
.....f a l l i n g
......wavering
....an endless
........series of
..........sounds
..........scaring
......escalating
scaring   even
more.......then
slowing down
hushing..........
fading.............
....filling hours
....til footsteps
...............start
........returning.
Night  comes,
g­reeted, with
Tchaikovsky's
c o n c e r t o ,
bright  lamps,
muted sounds 
.......of spoons
forks....knives
against plates
...tingling dies
giving  way to
tea cups, wine
...........glasses.
........and when
dinner's done.
:::::::::::::::::::::::
when all are in,
when  all have
settled   down.
::::::::::::::::::::::::
n o i s e s........
....are no more,
~~~~~~~~~~
swallowed, by 
the spreading
........Dark.......
:::::::::::::::::::::::
Late nights.....
.....p e a c e.....
a  soft  silence
wall lamps are
mellow-lighted,
...some voices
loud.....others
vaguely heard,
some....fading
into..the..night.
:::::::::::::::::::::::
:­::::::::::::::::::::::
Shortly...........
the rush shall
re commence.
Those   heavy,
loud  footfalls
will    a g a i n
.......t e r r i f y
the old  ones, 
with  t h e i r
......fear of.....
:t h u n d e r:

Up.......down,
down.......up,
........nonstop
shaking........­
floors...........
........ceilings
down..........
..........belo­w.
::::::::::::::::::::::
::::::::::::::::::::::
The HALLWAY
....is a straight
Path, a  world,
With  its   own
Moments.....of
b l u e..s k i e s
.l i g h t n i n g.
..........and........
...r o a r i n g...
:t h u n d e r s:
::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
***...we all have our own hallways,,deep within.***
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2019
love between poets: “who will be between the sheets next week
when I’m gone,” she lets sigh-escape,
as she watches the backyard paradise parading landscape
of animals before the bay, perfect day sure to come,
her new pets obeying the early morn sunrising awakening call
to rise, everyone playing~parading, before her royal summons,
no coincidence, finger-of-god, two by two

this while I’m kissing her neck,
my arm around her *******,
and the he-intent on slip sliding down
to the small of her back,
obeying his innate,
worship worshiping and giving up,
all he’s got intense intently contentedly

unfazed, unphased,
non-nonplussed,
he’s been interrogated before,
heart is pure he answers:

next weekend when you are back in situ,
thousands of miles away, airplane housed for hours,
writing poems of love from the lost and found,
recalling this exact moment,
how I worshipped your presence,
and these words:

You will be with me in every breath,
our sheets will radioactively emit
ions and molecules of our scent combined,
and present as present  your perfume can be,
elicited, elixir, you and me combinant

she turns from the bay-view,
the animals who now mutually
worship her adoration,
watching, focused on us as observers,
she lifts me up and smiles,
replying

“oh my lover you’re the cad of cads,
king of the baddest poet-lads,
the gist of what is wrong with the best of men,
her, pressing me hard to her chestnut hair chest,
she, falling down into my eyes

take me back to bed, liar,
let me add to my aroma,
to ensue, to ensure you will miss
the best love
you had partly, insufficiently, and unhinged
completely

I’m your lassie, you my lad,
my king of cads, my lover poet,
thief of my poems and my secret speech spells,
escalating senses of one’s imaginings”


and,
along came the rest
of what was freely given,
for love between poets
man and
a woman,
is a someone, somewhere,
sometime summertime
thing

I will still smell you in my
heart, and send to you ballistic missives,
words to explode your tear ducts
when you rest in sheets that met me,
when you’ll know me by my odors,
cry out loud so that you’ll scare our animals,
no matter how many tides wash away our residue,
you will never unknow and be forever unprepared
for my return,


even though we will be each, a thousand unwritten poems away...
I long for the animal you hide
Won't you come out to play?
You won't know unless you've tried
This space is safe, promise it's okay

I am going to leave my mark
One way or another
Raw untamed fervid spark
It is you I am going to smother

Let the voracious hunger mount
Escalating each minute
Primal breathlessness paramount
You are your own limit

I'm not going to make love to you
I utter rather sweetly
Neither am I going to *******
But own you...... completely

I want to tear you apart
Don't make any sudden moves
Pulsating beat of your heart
Every inch of me approves

I want to forget my own name
While I'm busy moaning yours
I promise to start quite tame
Until you are out of your drawers

My body I do herby bestow
Let me show you how
I whisper in your ear and let you know
The time is Now
Valsa George Dec 2017
In the wild confusion of my life, I saw your face
A kind countenance making bright my days
Through rugged tracks when I stumbled along
I felt an unseen hand holding me strong

When bewildered by the horrid scenes of death
You assured that life extends beyond mortal breath
When lost in the dank and dark alley of wickedness
You diverted my steps into the well lit path of righteousness

When I gloated over my own trivial accomplishments
You reminded me of my littleness through mild chastisements
When I lost myself in the grip of vanity
You opened my inner eye to restore my sanity

When tossed by the currents of fiery storms
Lord! You made me seek the safety of your arms
When drowning in the sea of escalating pain
You sustained and strengthened me and kept me sane

Many got wiped out from the face of the Earth
Without seeing the New Year’s birth
Thank you for allowing me to see this glorious dawn
‘Extend your hand’, I pray, for me to hold on!

Make me feel, you are there in every rhythm of my life
More when life becomes burdensome with problems rife
Over the arid deserts and the stormy turbulent sea
I pray to be by my side as an abiding presence, piloting me

My Lord! Without you my life will be in peril
Never let me fall into the snares of the devil
Do not desert me, stay by my side now and ever
Be my guiding light and sanctify my every endeavor!
I thought I shall start my New Year invoking the blessings of God

Prayerful wishes to all my HP friends for a Blessed New Year of Peace , Hope and Cheer !
Lost is the African pride
Gone are those who could ride the tide
Left are those who drown beneath the wave
Prone to dehumanization because of greed

I see burning buildings
Mutilated bodies
Escalating violence
And social unrest

Lost is the Spirit of Ubuntu
Left is a society deprived of its integrity
Selfishness and poverty is at the core of our society
Is the real Africa lost to antiquity?

Crime is rife as people strive for a decent life.
A decent life earned through decadence
Should we stone foreigners because the government is failing to provide employment?
Or should we burn down buildings so that our voices can be heard?

I am ashamed of the profanity we breed
It’s a calamity for us to be xenophobic
It’s a taboo for us to call Africans foreigners in their motherland.
It’s not who they are.
It’s not who we are
It’s not who you are
It’s not who I am

Together we are the Africa that has survived slave trade
The Africa that has survived apartheid
The Africa that has survived colonization
The Africa that is surviving westernization
We don’t fight for employment
We create employment
We don’t breed resentment
We translate sentiments

Let us evoke the Spirit of Ubuntu
And let’s behave like men not animals
Let us ignite the Spirit of Ubuntu
And let’s stand like men immortal
The Spirit of Ubuntu is what separates us from animals
Terrorism shouldn’t exist in Africa
It’s a disgrace for us to be unethical
Xenophobia shouldn’t be heard in Africa
Animosity is not our portion
If Africa is united it can outgrow the nations pampering it with lies and donations. RIich people don;t need donners they need planners and executioners.
Travis Barefoot Sep 2015
With much protest and annoyance
Backed up to a marked wall
Gauge joy with graphite lines
Escalating in modest steps
Time passing without haste
Lines increase inch by inch
And before you can grasp the moment
Little joy grows up
danae charles Nov 2013
My mind is slowly beginning to collapse
As I go into a state of distress
I enter my pensive zone
Which is the only way I seem to clear my mind

I hear your offensive tone of voice
So I hinder your aggressive words
That some how always gets to my brain
And torments the remaining of my fragile ego

You have jeopardized every piece of my heart
But I let you do it just because
I can't stand the perception
Of you dismissing my existence

We provoked each other into anger
And it keeps escalating to something worse
Our dissensions are unbearable
So we need to replay our
Sunrise of desired conceptions

I escape my afflicted realm
Where you once invaded my blurred memories
Wishing you were in my presence
I reminisced on some of our happy hours
Thinking it would return
Not noticing the trickles of water
Concealing my vision
Rhinestone Kelp May 2012
Mint spreading in elegance.
Some divine blanket of taste in the soft vert.
What meadows of limestone growing
tusks and a peppermint hair!
Verdent tastes of beaming echoes,
Bouncing off the walled caverns,
Body and soul.
Radiating vieled ripples.
The mountain's roots in caverns carved,
the speech of silent wind within,
inscribed on the hollow shell
of a white turtle from the deep lakes.
Waves form energy suppressing noise,
leaving keratin quiet.
Coral growing body soul,
maintaining vibrations of mossy
touch and taste.
Rhinestone tongue of night
Diamond sky.
A granite vineyard in the clouds, and
pitch shaped into a tower,
the glassy eyes of dawn and dusk.
Vespertine.
Translucent dreams.
Bamboo chins translucence,
Escalating moonstone shadows,
fingers spread in wide stretch,
ephemeral hollowness,
of everlasting happy spices.
Fingers locked in thin ligaments,
stones nestled in the crabgrass burrow,
moles' eggs in the nutmeg painting.
Luscious browning melange.
Quartz upon the wave-struck ridge.
Puffs of gray magical,
escaping cavern's entrance,
filling the air with
a fragrance uncompared
and bringing to the stomach,
a funny, fuzzy, filling feeling
called munchies!

*Written by: Simon and Lotus
zebra Jan 2019
a carnival of hords in withering grass

the high priestess tongues the beast

wet mandible
on a dragging
death gowned doll
like a cyclone coils paradise

trans mutative
prismatic unfurling's
passed bones of confusion

passed scorched refuse
of radiating spiraled phantoms

the more gods, the more demons
battle angel symmetries
in Taoist jaws  

  galactic lurking's
into parametric infinities
escalating war like cloud light
rush glittering arms of affliction

exhalations like upleaping sail fish
drizzle sooty rain
shellacking tinsel rhinos
on hieroglyphs of the barbarous

a transfixed guttural prana;
apostasy
between advances and retreats
in chimeras earth quake palace  

death: a new begining.
I bring my facilities to mix upon a dream, the concrete, and the thunders of spirit

An exploration of duality, fragmentary existence, creative destruction , and spiritual healing through the ascent of life force
If only


we could start off with

some horrific argument,

the emotion subsiding.

We would curse less and less.

Words would fall back into our mouths.



Nothing to be forgiven or

forgotten

because it never quite happen.

We would hold each other

comforting hurts that

would always undo themselves.



Each kiss would make us

a little more giddy and

every day

you really would look

a little more pretty.



The way we touch

would be a sort of

un-touching

that would redefine anticipation

Every ****** intensifying,

escalating into that first feel,

first taste,

first breath of breathing



and then

finally

we would

walk backwards,

away from us,

it would feel

like we were

approaching something though,

like we might

care for one another

one day.

We would go away dreaming

the parts

we hadn’t quite discovered

before losing sight of one another

without any of the hurt or

remorse.



We would still be perfect somehow.

Loving in reverse
instead of backwards.


Michael L Sutter
they hide their sadness differently
each filling their emptiness with

never ending
waves of poor choices and
escalating consequences

he will never find relief in memories
of better times of kind words of moments shared under the moon on a hill where time and again they danced in and out of each other

she will never find relief in a bottle or a twisted piece of cellophane chasing the ghost of better times of kind words of moments shared when their souls and bodies were bare and there were no conceits or pretensions or sarcasms

of a time when they were the world

and the world was them

so they continue to chase
their relief in the wrong directions

when they both know that the
solution is asking to be found

So instead they'll forever carve each other's
names into their

very last

bare

inch of bone
Read the three part discussion on Sadness here:

https://hellopoetry.com/collection/31132/sadness/
the tears won't stop forming
my heart won't stop hurting
I'm loosing my mind
because I'm loosing you.
my flesh
my blood
my sister.
****** is the kidnapper,
it took the shine out of her eyes
and made her feel "better".
it handed her a needle and spoon
and told her
'I am what you need'
is love not enough to stop the pain from escalating?
were my tears false evidence that I actual care?
this drug took away my blood
my flesh
my sister.
this drug ripped apart our family
our flesh
our Jessica.
and now all we are left with are
our grieving souls
wishing to give her a second chance at life.
Megan Hundley Jun 2012
It must be the silence.
riddles on the other line-
rise of breath, slow muted sighs
raw red ripples
what are your rhythms
to me

I whispered for bravery into swollen knots of a weeping willow
sweeping scarred strength rough on my pulse
revealing to the roots my daily face to face with
not knowing
and the belief that I can wait

as a coo soothes a napping field
rocking, deep in care free slumber-  
I feel you too
will someday brush across my cheek, careful
sending troubles with a hush
quiet as the day shy's it's gaze to the night

There will always be a pause
escalating expectations, suspended seconds
when the door heaves closed
and I'm tugged into innocence
clutching the air for a blankie, holding close
the possibility everything will be alright

I keep a wilting daisy on the floor beside my bed
dampened by the shadows, colored by my eyes
it will dry completely, defeated on the carpet
yet there will be more
and I will always fill the vase with water
for a friend
Masego Pitso Jan 2019
The streets are tattooed with potholes and the sidewalks are covered in broken glasses.

Our bodies are demolished and stripped off from all integrity and decency.

The road to having crisp air, diluted wars and unpolluted humanity is foggy. It fights off all good fortune like a new born baby counting his seconds on earth.

We belong to the categorised society, the one that's heart beats with sorrow and skin is impregnated with melanin.
The nation is an equation, divided, torn apart like an  old cloth with stains of dried up blood.

It's ******* are dry , wrinkly and contaminated .The painful strokes on our backs are escalating. They walk towards our chests ,ooze in blood and opens themselves up to beg for mercy.

Mothers with squirming innocence on their backs. Their home is built of threats and poverty . It holds on for dear life during the winter and breathes relief during the summer.

The children's appearances are misleading. They are all bony. Their eyes are tucked in deep into their skulls like the home of a porcupine. Turning nothing but a blind eye to the inequality and pain that they hAve to endure.

Fathers partake on a journey to seek for the daily bread. They embark on the beast of Hope. He breathes steam and his skin is coated with the color of the sun set. His feet are inclined to the railway.

It bends and runs to a place of hope. A place where the  only purpose a male child lives for in our country.
The tools are weeping and begging for a taste of water.

Their skins are suffocating. And howl for a glimpse of fresh air.
But rest is a luxury that the tools rarely taste.

A luxury men wish for day and night.. under the red acres of the sun and when the skies weeps sympathy for it's  fellow brothers.

We are entitled to the misfortune and great grief. Poverty is our clan name. It walks with us daily , under our feet that's embroidered with blisters and  broken heels. Cuts as deep as the Kimberly hole .

We are the black endangered mammals with nothing but equality to fight for.
Glenn McCrary May 2014
"There's a masquerade in all of us. And to be invited is the greatest invitation of all. There are no masks, and there are no faces, just the barest of raw, gnawed-on bones.”~ Jade Day



[Do decides to take out his cell phone and begins filming the two girls; Unknowingly the girls continue to pleasure each other.]


GIRL #1: Ooh, please don’t stop babe. Ugghh that feels so good!

GIRL #2: Don’t worry darling I will never stop. As long as time continues to exist I will try my best to keep up.


[Do continues filming the girls as they continued eating each other out. Spore, Gum and Sweat sneak up behind Do. Spore slaps Do on his back.]

DO: Ow! What the hell was that for?

SPORE: Come on Do. You know that what you are doing is wrong and completely illegal. Would you want someone to film you while you are having **** time?

DO: I honestly can say that I am no where near eligible enough to provide an answer to that question.

SPORE: Okay, but would you?

DO: I wouldn’t give a ****.

[Gum and Sweat both laugh hard at Do. Sweat gives Do a high five.]

SWEAT: Ha ha. You know Do the coolest thing about you is that you keep it real. You don’t ******* around like some of these other fools around here.

DO: Thank you, Sweat. I try.

SWEAT: No problem bro.

GUM: Spore you really need to get a grip. What’s the danger in a bout of harmless fun?

SPORE: Depends on what level of danger we are talking as well as your definition of harmless.

GUM: I’m stumped. I’ll get back to you later on that one.

DO: Hey Sweat! I am getting some incredible footage over here bro!

[Sweat takes a few steps closer to view Do’s live camera as he is filming. The girls are moaning wildly as they are about to reach their climaxes.]

SWEAT: These girls so make me want to take a few licks ha ha.

GUM: I totally agree with you dude. This session is escalating very quickly.

[The moaning between the two girls became increasingly louder.]

GIRL #1: Oh my god! I think I… I think I’m going to ***!

GIRL #2: Come on darling let’s *** together!

GIRL #1 & #2: Ugh, uugghh, UUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!


[Do, Gum and Sweat start snickering loudly. Do ends up laughing so hard that he starts gradually swaying around and losing his focus with the camera until finally he hits the ground with a loud thud. The girls both jump in shock as they attempted to cover their upper body features with their hands. Both girls frantically struggled to pull up their jeans and put their shirts back on.]


GIRL #1: YOU GUYS WERE FILMING US? WHAT THE **** DUDE THAT IS SO CREEPY!!!! ******* PERVERTS!!!!!

GIRL #2: WHO THE **** ARE YOU GUYS? WHO IN THE HELL GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO FILM US?

DO: Nobody gave me permission to film you. Me and my friends happened to hear you guys moaning from where we were sitting and decided to find out where it was coming from and then we found you two. It turned us on so we decided to film you. The real question though is who gave you permission to have *** on public property in broad daylight in public?

GIRL #1: Look we were ***** okay? You don’t think that being sexless in an asylum for six months will increase your hormones? You kids have got a lot to learn.

GIRL #2: Yeah, you kids need to experience life on a grander. You need to live a little.

GIRL #1: Hey you in the white jeans! What’s your name?

DO: Who me?

GIRL #1: Yes, you!

DO: Oh, my name is Do. Do Nino. What is yours?

[The girl slowly walks up to Do in a very **** manner until she is within close proximity of Do. She pressed her body against Do with her lips less than an inch from his. She was staring deep into his eyes as in a **** whisper she recited her name]

GIRL #1: Mon nom est Alice. Alice French et la jeune fille derrière moi est mon ami Anna Sharp.

[Anna waved as Do smiled back at her in return. Do felt the warmth of Alice’s breath hit his lips.]

DO: Those are some **** names for women as attractive as yourself.

ALICE: That’s what they tell us.

[Alice had ***** blond shoulder length hair with blond highlights. She had gray eyes with a slender body and sleek hips standing at about five foot nine. Anna had jet black hair with electric red highlights. She had more of an fitness build as beneath her top she had a beautiful six pack as well as some considerably muscular legs. The detail of the muscles showed in her arms. Anna also wore electric red eye shadow complete with lipstick of the same color. Alice leaned in and abruptly began passionately French kissing Do. She then attempted to grab Do’s cell phone out of his hand while doing so. Do caught her trying to steal his phone and pushed her off of him accidentally brushing his hands across her ******* in the process.]

ALICE: Don’t be shy. Go ahead touch them. Feel them. Let them blow your mind.

[Alice whispered sexily in Do’s ear as she proceeded to start trailing her lips down his neck in a series small, light kisses as Alice attempts to grab his phone once more. Do’s breathing rate begins to grow heavier. Do gently grasps Alice on both sides of her upper body.]

DO: What are you trying to do?

ALICE: Oh, nothing. I’m just feeling a little ***** still after my steamy little session with Anna.

ANNA: And may I say she is definitely an acquired taste. Active ***** goers would know what I am talking about.

[Do, Spore, Gum, Sweat, Alice and Anna burst out laughing.]

ANNA: Anyway there is this new club opening up on January 31 called Hyper.***. All of you are invited.

ALICE: Also since you will be with me and Anna you will receive free entrance admission, free vip admission and free drinks all night. We know the club owners.

ANNA: Remember this offer is exclusively for you only and can be revoked at any time. We don’t want you going around blabbing to everybody about it because we will take away your privileges just like that.

[Alice and Anna both snap their fingers as a gesture to justify their statements.]

ALICE: Be there

ANNA: Or be square

[Alice and Anna slowly walk away. Do and his friends take a brief look at his business card.]

GUM: This club sounds very interesting. I can’t wait until opening night. What’s today’s date?

SPORE: January 17

GUM: Ok so two weeks then. I’m so totally pumped for this. How about you guys?

SWEAT: ****, this club sounds like it’s going to be bad ***.

DO: Hell yeah, bro. I’m looking to get laid that night.

SPORE: Boys. You guys are so typical.

SWEAT: To say men are typical is to say nature is questionable.

SPORE: Pretty much.

GUM: You’re so weird Spore.

SPORE: Weird but classic. Controversial yet fantastic.

SWEAT: You can stop now, Spore.

[Spore flips Sweat off. Sweat laughs in response while returning the gesture.]

DO: Hey look guys!

[Do spots another cell phone laying in the same spot that Alice and Anna were having ***. Do walks over to pick up the phone and turns on the back light sliding the screen to unlock it. He finds a video on the screen and decides to press play. The video showed two guys fighting. One had short, wavy, red hair, a white t-shirt and leather jacket with leather boots. The other guy had short, curly, black hair, a white shirt and some white jeans. Spore, Gum and Sweat gather around Do to view the video.]

SPORE: ******* Do! I think that’s you and WiFi.

GUM: Who’s phone is that?

DO: It’s Alice’s…

[Do feels a sudden tap on his right shoulder. He looks over his shoulder and turns around to discover that Dr. Nightmare was standing right behind him.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Come with me.
Shelby Hemstock Jul 2013
The first birds sang,
Welcoming the morning light
While simultaneously singing
Goodnight to the moonlight
Salutations from the crashing of tides,
Waves lugubriously swaying
Goodbye to the stars that died
The moon has went away
And now is the suns turn to play
Clouds proficient and prompt
Part ways for rays to shine through
Grass meets the morning new
With a sprinkled shower,
Fresh droplets of dew
An hour of rush,
The breeze blows into town
Shakes with the brush,
The leaves tremble by the touch of the gust
The shiny yellow toy in the sky
Reveals itself and brings joy to the land
Its common fellow
Replenishing regards to the ground
Once charred by lightning at large
Flowers bustle to bloom,
The scent of pollen
Fills the wilderness room
Rivers race frantically down stream,
Until rindling off and becoming
Unwildly mild
Glistening glaciers gracefully
Fall into the frigid frozen sea,
Escalating to a depth where
Only darkness can strive to be
All that it can't see
This is where quakes occur
In the trenches of the mariana deep,
And this happens
All while I'm asleep
Wajid Doumani May 2014
A rampaging torment flows
with every passing wave,
escalating regression
and stockpiling the rage.
Clarity, now a fading memory
wilting in the shadows of a cave.
The price of congenial lunacy,
satisfactory for those who enslave.
A "shawty" poem.
Miss Ana Jun 2018
does the inside of your head
ever feel like a radio
thats constantly changing
stations
with lots of
static
and all the stations are
bad thoughts
that are strung together in
a sort of continuous narrative
of constantly escalating
fear
and
compounding dread?
intrusive thoughts
John Hulse Nov 2011
Quick Ways of describing the moon with a poetic aptitude of felicity.

The silver glow struck my eyes, flowing through my body, making me stand in awe underneath itself.

The natural lighthouse guided my way through the haze, releasing my inner imagination.

The white hue echoed through the clouds, lighting up the stagnant air.

The whispy clouds covered the moon in a thin veil, concentrating their efforts on dismissing it's effort to shine.


Quick ways of describing the sun

The fiery ball of death awakened our planet with life, turning fire and flames into rivers and green grass.

The light felt warm against my skin, as I laid there, feeling the warm sun, trying to fathom the vast distances that lied between it and us.

The destroyer of worlds, the hellfire from above, the golden globe of hope and all things that are good, the ambiguous sphere of giving... The Sun

The Sky would not be blue, nor the grass green, nor would the cacophony of cold harsh winds batter against your house, as you sat reverent of the warm sphere, watching it's pubescent sunrise and it's aging sunset, as you behold, the greatness of the sun.


Quick Ways of describing the Universe

The bright stars shined through the sky, escalating man's need to know, to explore, pushing him to release his inner genius and become great.

The firmament sits there, a endless black chalkboard, smeared with nebulae and brushed with black holes, and glittered with stars.

The Earth sat there alone, waiting for consolation, waiting for a spark, and then she opened her eyes, and all the Universe was bestowed upon her, burning beauty into her brain and soul.
st64 Jul 2013
blinded by startling light,
can one really
see?


mild visions sitting in the dark corners
of shame
strong options flying about
in wild abandon
demanding resentful attention
no epiphany on the steep edge of nerves
just constant and silent grating
escalating the fatalistic complexion
of old wounds
seeping through the rotten bandage
of sickening pretense
rank blood-clots scream such fine expletives
your curling toes may not cope with


which one is chosen..?
dual visions
of life and death
opponents on the same board
no coercion in choice
neither works solo
third option hides
beneath the burning scales of judgment


live through life and death
cut through the slices
of pain
even serrated wedges are better managed
than large edifices


yes, far better to
CRE8 options
than swallow the superb crap that Life shoves
just, who in hell said:
there's only one way...



visions can be
overturned*




S T, 9 July 2013
now, see here: have a jolly time, man.

irony: how we fear options, even when they gloriously exist!




sun-entry: "light of the moon"


live
by the light of the moon

afore ye know it:
without any ceremony
you'll just nod off
for good
then, nicely
they'll try to wash the death-stink off you
and carry you off ...
roll you in some rosed-up rags and
maybe cover you in some splinters of wood
dump you in some deep hole
where they'll scatter some sad words
over your sorry carcass
saline petals, maybe
and think of you
once a year

hence:
to live FULLY by the light
of
the moon..
gotta be
worth living for


(fear not that
that moon will shine
on that patch of ground
anyway :)

— The End —