"export" poems
Flashback to as far back as the mind goes,
Masculinity is mighty and feminism is flawed,
Man is right and woman is wrong,
Boy is strong and girl is weak,
I’m a gentleman as long as I’m on top,
She can’t speak unless spoken to,
No place for women at the pulpit,
Men can’t learn from lesser beings.
Flashback to four years old,
The first time he was told,
Homosexuals will burn eternally,
Because they’re *******
He said God doesn’t love them,
They’re an abomination to creation.
Flashback to age twelve,
Welcome to the USA,
Export the Mexicans,
Eliminate the rag heads,
Burn the gays.
Flashback to seventh grade,
She left him for her,
The hate talk convinced him,
All gays were wrong always.
Flashback to freshmen year,
It was Halloween,
Debate class in the morning,
She was dressed as a nerd,
But obviously that so wasn’t her,
Because she was Iranian,
He asked where her turban was,
Said her outfit wasn’t complete without it.
Flashback to the close-minded, conservatively, homeschooled child,
Racism was as familiar as his father’s laugh,
Sexism known like the scent of his mother’s casseroles,
Ignorance was his bestfriend,
And hate pumped through his veins.
I don’t know if right wing racist remarks are forgivable,
But the one he was bred to despise showed nothing but forgiveness.
The Iranian girl shed tears,
Which caused him to shed his foggy lens,
For the first time, he saw his own sins,
A joke rooted in hate hurt an innocent girl,
An innocent tear hurt an ignorant boy,
I am an ignorant boy,
I felt her pain,
I stabbed myself with shame,
She befriended me,
She forgave.
Flawed people produced twisted identification,
She isn’t the Iranian girl,
Just a person.
Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light,
Christian, Atheist, Muslim,
Left wing or right,
Straight, gay, man, woman,
Irrelevant.
Mexican, black, dark skinned, or light,
Christian, Atheist, Muslim,
Left wing or right,
Straight, gay, man, woman,
Human.
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 3:01 PM UTC
Alone into Rainy, twist a Dai clove, pattering rain, wind lingering foot Yuhuan, lengthy dark gray rain curtain hung plaintive, oblique rain splashes dusty track marks, those rainy season, those day's dependent, those nostalgic every night in this late spring rain, scraping completed my cold lonely, rain turned into a long and narrow alley Resentment, thwarted flows into atria, cool diffuse through the apex. Do not turn around in your mind of the day, I count, chatter thoughts of you, and for your Ai resentment, Acacia entanglement, filled Chu pain, no know what to say, but unfortunately does not help, once the owner of the rain falling, once clouds drifting sea oath, I never touched your warmth, sigh Lane is a rain: Wife - Why shallow edge. (yiwu export)
Came alone intersection, waving a monotonous right hand, held in our left vague shadow, the breakdown of the raindrops bounce dust, Red rain, your shadows, swaying like a willow in the rain erratic, like a hard rain exhibition wings flutter Ling heavy, like rain, pedestrians hurry hurry ...... once Pengguo footprints Bingqing appearance of your hands, had led a faint in the rain blessings Juyi Peng broken tile rain dream, comfort our goodbyes, we pay homage to the past. Acacia is the way the dust, whisk Yang is confusion of resentment, lost pain.
This year's rainy season to refresh my mind, I view Acacia dream dreams, the pain, resentment cut into the rain, stuck into the soil; tears into the hands of deep stone, sank; to have a bunch of rendering painful injury worry text buried in the memory, so that resentment heart of the sea to swim, let the pain out of the bone marrow, dusty track once marks, wound treatment desolate, firmly stand in Kuwata, enterprises no longer envy sea water. (yiwu export agent)
Let love and hate, love and hatred, grace and resentment, thinking and pain in the rainy season falling, drifting in the rainy season. I left alone a pool of water, the flow of soulful call. (Yiwu buying agent)
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:03 AM UTC
Weeping Zaire, her Bleeding Flannel blew
Over the Land this Serenity bequeath
What happened, then, to the Children you knew
Took out their Armites; And shot Mercy beneath
Salt from their Riches they greatly export
And infected your Brothers in the Dark
With Mums, Flesh-Spermed Tales of Horror consort
Lost all but their Shelled Samples in the Park
Our Dear Hands sprout! And cry to Heaven's Name
Asking the Saviour when this Madness ends
As the Radio's Red Tape is all just the same,
All just Light-Shows; But very few Amends.
These Congo Apes weep black at the Event
Not just the Brother; But Habitat meant.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
a lupine prayer
to bear and bull
cry wolf
cry wolf
cry wolf
now look into his eyes
until you think like I do
and then take a desperate man
for his last penny
(finance options available)
go long on a cheeky Nando's
followed by
no
inflation
constant
expansion
short the small print
and profit from the fight
against pollution by
investing in the future
but as returns don't come cheap
diversify and purify the self
the Ganges is so polluted
it has gall bladder cancer
the main economic indicators
are telling us that
inflation is set to jump, while
British statisticians are optimistic
that the housing ladder
will continue to defy gravity
as it is an export barometer
with a blue eyed quant inside
crying wolf
crying wolf
cry wolf
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 3:05 AM UTC
this isn't ugly
i have my business with you
where we sell emotions
and get taxed for our intimacy
at the hotel rooms
and the cafeteria
when we export our mood..
...
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:20 AM UTC
I ordered this, clean wood box
Square as a chair and almost too heavy to lift.
I would say it was the coffin of a ******
Or a square baby
Were there not such a din in it.
The box is locked, it is dangerous.
I have to live with it overnight
And I can't keep away from it.
There are no windows, so I can't see what is in there.
There is only a little grid, no exit.
I put my eye to the grid.
It is dark, dark,
With the swarmy feeling of African hands
Minute and shrunk for export,
Black on black, angrily clambering.
How can I let them out?
It is the noise that appalls me most of all,
The unintelligible syllables.
It is like a Roman mob,
Small, taken one by one, but my god, together!
I lay my ear to furious Latin.
I am not a Caesar.
I have simply ordered a box of maniacs.
They can be sent back.
They can die, I need feed them nothing, I am the owner.
I wonder how hungry they are.
I wonder if they would forget me
If I just undid the locks and stood back and turned into a tree.
There is the laburnum, its blond colonnades,
And the petticoats of the cherry.
They might ignore me immediately
In my moon suit and funeral veil.
I am no source of honey
So why should they turn on me?
Tomorrow I will be sweet God, I will set them free.
The box is only temporary.
3.8k
_[northern hemisphere: on a beach above the 50th latitude at the end of winter]_
_(Winter-export)_, the beach frosted by fingers of polar constellations. It’s too cold to walk without huddling, but we do it nonetheless, because we only have one more night together. Your frothy hydro-rhythm spears into pith, irradiance; I breathe again, deeply. _(Thick lips; quick still-hunt.)_ I rivet fronds of dependence into the seams of your boreal palms, never planning to return the floating colony of barnacles I promised I’d throw back; you, never planning to catch the sun bored through salt spray, clasping crisp foreheads, stitching on glistered lips and froze-shut lashes. And on a day when you didn’t rise early enough, I was left out in the water until my chest was steeped deep in ice over the thought of losing you. _(Glimmering isle)_; my hair disheveled in sea-foam. Annular light. You pushed me in, and I relented. My isotherm sent chthonically. But you, in your legendary mantle, adapted my eyes to see the light hidden deep within your belt; such pinks and fuchsias I have never seen before, suddenly inverted. At absolute velocity, I cut my foot on sea-glass, bleeding blueshift, aligning to the colours of the zenith. You take me back to the starry house and we struggle with your parallax, a nadir inseminated on the celestial pole. _(Parsecs quaking.)_ You whisper, I’ll heal you. I’ll heal you, only if you let me. Only if… you let me… Over and over and over until it’s as mundane as the crashing coast, and unrivaled, I concede to everything and wake up deep in redshift, the whole universe escaping, warmth-ribbons suffocating the abyss: without you, alone on the ecliptic at last. In the spring-sinking, you order me a silver sword, sharp in starlight; to remember you. You stand a guardian, beyond the sun, flinging tiny ice-hot rocks _(freighting gemstones)_; King of the Heavens. I submerge myself into the bathic depths, skulking in aestival despair, as you trade the night for day. Little do you know, my resurgence is also in your hands.
_[i watched Orion slip from view every night this spring. No doubt he’ll return next winter... it’s sad losing a friend like that, for so long]_
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
these 21st century writers / poets,
think they'll make cheap
thrills, and a load of bucks
playing computer games
at the same time:
i'll be found as a suffocating
salmon in their writing:
boy play the game,
expect prodigious output
when your father becomes
an art dealer rather than
a market-stall merchant;
irish idoot:
listen, your father approached
my father when my parents
were taking canadian friends
to the opera: you were a pristine
stoner... and i a damnable drunk...
like i said... you ******* leprechaun...
king's insult when trying to turn
a european into an african
ready for cotton picking of an export;
i took pity on james joyce...
you didn't... you didn't even read him.
Feb 6, 2016
Feb 6, 2016 at 6:13 PM UTC
Booming Rhetorics (Spoken Word- Freestyle-Dramatics)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
==Booming Rhetorics ==
by
Checkered Darks
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
(Copy the link below to your browser)
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/boomingrhetorics
Human nature itself is a smash of contractual responsibility. A splash of rights afloat as we sink in our psychological rooted moral panics. All I see is a cascading titanic of ventures our mislaid adventures one after another. The criss cross of chains, we bonded in tax measures, reserve treasures...... It's not my leisure I beg you don't make your pleasure.
I sink in pressure, resolving Karl Mark ideology of conflicted power. Is it our born nature or nurture to live in a world of social polarisation. A pole to pole, a tug of war. Each owning and holding a rope.Is it our task to cage in boxes, fencing notions of inequalities within our society. Is it our right this notion Bourgeoisie and Proletariat.
Help me out as as I wade in the swampy lowland. Treading through and through, head afloat, the submerging walk me to the shores..... Help me find my way through this dark tunnel. Help me see the light, let the sun ray penetrate my blight.
In our dichotomy of democracy we have made it right. A rolling ball of ........
1. Stock them high sell them cheap is the order of the day.
2. Social warehousing of merging demand and supply chain.
3. A disintegration of socialist entrepreneurship.
4. Re-distribution of Export Production Zones in marginalised countries.
5. A surge of capitalism on this patch we call the universe.
6.Conortions of monopoly colluding sustainability.
I pass this ball to you. As the industrial revolution fades and debates of "STEEL" revolves.
My Speech is a mere consideration, our contradiction. The contractual complications that we have grounded and granted ourselves as humanity. My voice is an exchange, my gift, a cloud of thoughts, an arousing hope our haunting costs.
Apr 4, 2016
Apr 4, 2016 at 6:19 AM UTC
August before the arrival, cloud water hearted, Yula drift, long Sasa, Laji a monk's footsteps, I walk alone, walk in July.
Breeze disrupted my thoughts, I will stand in which to stay, at what station will also continue to drift, but life was however, learned to understand life, to understand life, learned in this way and the way the landscape room becomes indifferent, learn to be a wanderer. (Yiwu export)
Standing on the junction of the season, I do not know the years makes us hurry, or we go hurry.
Earth road, Journey, life mountain water a ride a ride, who can use words of happiness and sadness to resist the pace line prime years. I like the night, a person can go to find quiet in the memory, to the longing to stray, along the way, seen the earthly noisy, bustling seen the world, I think I should be quiet, give yourself a little heart lake, let my heart sink to the bottom of the lake, guarding a suitable melody, so that I can put down his heavy heart. Let yourself get a little dry soul to rest, get a little water moisture.
How many nights like repeat such feelings.
I do not know, tonight the cold moonlight cut the silence who dream? (Yiwu buying agent)
I do not know, who are independent of Migiura up for ages?
I do not know, a cappella blowing a flute in the moonlight hurt much Red?
Youth wind gently blowing, will we gradually grow, gradually happiness, sadness gradually, gradually, we are lost.
Our short life is to experience something, meet some people came. Some encounter in life, like gentle wind, snow, like (yiwu export agent) purity, should meet, then please cherish each other, give each other a warm smile, a warm hug, Xiangxi too, cherished, Should really gone, maybe not leave any regrets, I remember your world I have been to in my life have your shadow. Vicissitudes of time to write more than just wandering, there was a Shizumori, a quiet beauty. Sketch moonlight, I write and draw, describe all the thoughts became a ****** pieces of painting, set into roll of a roll, hidden in the depths of my heart, you can go to wait until spring, waiting to all things prehistoric, waiting for the world to the next reincarnation.
Life, melodious, memory or stranding, go learn to really make a person do a lonely wanderer. I was alone silently took years before the trip, like the horizon of their Su Yi Strider, became a vagabond, wandering around the world.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
partying is better than sitting at home like a parents boy
i like parries in every single way
i like kids who party despite what their parents say
you see they drink alcohol and get drunk and they are having fun
their parents are talking if they are the only ones to be young and dumb
why can’t we party, it’s fun and cool, why not
i want my own stories to tell my grandchildren rather than just telling your stories
i know you had fun, so why can’t i, i deserve the right party mood
cause all young dudes wanna party
i like partying watching the footy yeah
c’mon dudes pour some ***** on me i am cool
get into some trouble with me, but not bad trouble
make sure nobody spikes your drink, ready to party right
i like partying in every single way
with victoria bitter and carlton draught and a jim beam, how cool
so c’mon dudes pour some bourbon on me and let’s party on
i think parents are the biggest hypocrites on earth
they party really bad but they hate us doing it
i like to party, i like i like to party every single day
with a west coast cooler and a bottle of scotch with coke, how cool
i know we feel like vomiting and we sometimes feel sick
but we need to understand what goes on in the club
yeah, the good times, and there are plenty of them
who cares how bad your hangover is, think of the good times
i like partying because for a young dude it is pretty fun
there will be people who yell at you, but you should think of the people who don’t
i will take a sip out of a jug of beer and someone yells at me
but i don’t complain because i like to PARTY real hard
i remember my friend at school used fosters as his first beer
my first beer was export light, in the kiddie section of the supermarket
XXXX was my first beer i got ****** on and i enjoyed that a lot
and if your hypocritical parents force you to stop partying
say to them, get a life, we are the future of this world
i like partying every single day
i used to buy beer out of every ounce of my pay
bills were being paid, but i was to young and cool to care
but you change but there is one thing for sure
i will never stop being a party dude
i am not a hypocrit, never a hypocrite, but i am not a parent either
and i party while i say, PARTY ON DUDES, and never give in to what conservative parents think
PARTY ON, and say ROCK AND ROLL PARTIES TO THE RESCUE, dudes
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 6:46 AM UTC
Beturikeš sleep in the middle of Germany. USS, Romania, Serbia, C. Using Maccaro Maguinda. Green Turkish Arabic Italian Export Marks Marcus Germany Roman legends are amino acids. 1 edition of "Beritania'amino Nā'akika -'amino Nā'akika ... which, to see Nikki, Pompey, Ram Lambinue Mont Blanc NJAC (Mont Blanc), Tiripolisa, United States, Brazil, China, Hawaii, United States "In Somalia, United States of America, Romania, Serbia, Romania, sad, knowing in the USA, Diego has lost the wall," meaning "landlords are Arab, Arabic Arno'ōma'oma'o , German, Thai, Italian लौरा LGBQLig Rich Roman Mount Cay England, United Kingdom, Romania, Science NJAC sufficiency, 11 new cases in my new Mont Blanc, Luembanii Hawaii American Tripoli Brazil, Uganda, Romania, Spain, Riya, Somalia, November, Switzerland, Germany, and now it is an adult man acid , Nā'akika D. was unhappy, sound United States, and Romania Purgatininigi -... "This popular Christian Democratic International, United Nations General Assembly, United States Marinca, Romania, Serbia, Roman race. Mango Mango lamp. Green Apap, Arno, Albanian, German, one Italian लौड़ा बक Light, Real Estate in Thai. In the Roman Empire I Pelekāne'amino nā'akika lock in the UK, "no idea" Hey, Romania, Luembinnogo Mont Blanc Custom NJAC (Mont Blanc), Brazil, United States Tripoli China, Hawaii, Uganda, Romania, Spain, Italy, Somalia , November 11th ... - Laws Act, Germany, Law on Germany, Now A Man, 'Amino Dictionary D. On the contrary, a spokesman for the Roman Latin America, the former Romanian-American ... even "Christian" has never been a Christian.
Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 5:12 PM UTC
The speckled puffer fish was a greedy scavenger
a greedy thing with no agenda but to grab the hook
I used to hate to touch them.Big black eyes staring
Huge gopher teeth bare and sharp.
I was Huck Fin Carribean
Bare foot and rural as heck
Dirt ring around my neck
The dusty roads
humid.
The sweltering heat and the river would meet us
in the mangrove Forrest as we walked the
Picado road to river's edge.
A cranky dory sat tied of
for our convenience with a paddle or two.
We pushed of and fought the tide
to get us safe to the other side.
Aunt Doris would stand with'
arm akimbo a cigarette burning
between index and middle
a tiny smile stayed put.
The Muttruce , as we named it
Flourished because no one would eat it
so the river teemed with catfish and puffy.
we did not eat catfish either some cultural bias. Lucky cat
but that bias died when the market for him found Belize.
Scary little blacked eyed buck toothed *******
Dont know if they are on someones menu now.
They seemed a bit scarce last time i fished.
high priced export on the orient express I guess.
Price of popularity is no privacy
eaten to extinction.
Head up , eyes open
mouth closed.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 10:57 PM UTC
1183
Step lightly on this narrow spot—
The broadest Land that grows
Is not so ample as the Breast
These Emerald Seams enclose.
Step lofty, for this name be told
As far as Cannon dwell
Or Flag subsist or Fame export
Her deathless Syllable.
1.7k
alt. i.e.:
never give a monotheism to
the egyptians -
those ******* pseudo Nubian
camel herders know
jack-shit about
the value of encoding
sounds (can't match the mandarin,
their pictographic
became extinct like
the neanderthals) - or to put it
for a milder palette: here's
Ra's rhubarb... and here's
Gengen-Wer... now
match-up the rhino horn
to the donkey's tail
and the elephants trunk
with five blindfolded men...
they should be happy to have
a logic named after them,
happily dancing into Egyptology...
you get the picture,
i know the Mamluks defeated
the stinking horde of Genghis...
but i'd hardly think it necessary
to export Islam into africa to
get some sense on the matter -
look what happened when
christianity was exported from
egypt (the nag hammadi library
found by a shepherd in Osama's caves);
exporting Islam into north Africa
and hence further west
created the Shiah schism where
Islam belonged (in the east);
beware the setting sun;
believe me, it's personal, i'm not
******* on or burning flags
for the Cairo taxi driver to mind...
this is bedroom secrets' anathema.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
the blatant frustrations of live feed editing.
enter the tablet, joystick free, one touch games,
quiet interesting that it’s so hard
to get a gaming addiction with such games
as candy crush soda, family farm,
bubble witch 2...
you will not see an adrenaline tornado on these
platitudes, no movie like involvement,
no plot... just time contraints, money constraints,
the adequate reflection of life: hey mort! when you coming?
hey forthnight debility cheque! when you coming?
(i too thought tetris originated in japan,
but it was actually of soviet design!
so in conclusion: games designed to be as reflected
by someone doing a crossword - i'm crap at
those, being bilingual is obstructive -
i'm in constant translation mode looking
for picturesque synonymity - or doing sūdoku -
which i'm not too bad at.)
a bit like that jesus debacle, so gott insisted on giving
proof of his existence to a baby... bad move...
the kid grew up in a bubble and thought he could do anything...
elijah just said to the priests: but if your god doesn’t exist,
what’s the point of having you? later he repented
on mt. sinai where god was but a whisper...
like the whisper of the dream of what rome was at first:
a republic. i believe in republicanism, i don’t believe
in that shamble that’s known as democracy, and is currently
the biggest export from america... exported to usurp
other nation’s republicanism - the elders of afghanistan
will never be modern family mr. jason wordsmith and
mr. jack wordsmith, raising an adopted / surrogate mother’s
kid... not in a million years... nor will revised buddhism
in western europe ever be original shinto of japan...
not in a million years... we’re not a monochromatic people.
back to jesus: there’s not one shred of christianity in
jurisprudence (philosophy of law /
etymology: prudence of having a jury) - but when you’re faced
with an enemy who’s a lawyer, and has connections...
and you’re a poor idiot who was forced into a paranoid schizophrenia
simulation for 7 years... you don’t set out to attack
and get compensation like that woman schopenhauer pushed
down the stairs... you set out to prove god -
and subsequently leave the ******* in his own waiting
line for karma - i hardly think there will be an oliver twit
in him to ask for some more.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 2:20 PM UTC
Sky is pitch and crystal cloud
Wild figures languor on the dusty ground.
Eight pairs of darken haloed eyes
Strike the blue to blacken.
Bring the night.
And bring the work
The work by voice and light
Work with reddened hands
And verbal glance at a
Smaller place that must
Be walked: a faster pace
To lose the mortal race.
Mellow hours decay with gracelessness
That cannot be dreamed
On April nights no one in the road
Can be exempt. Nothing is exempt
At the stroke of the hour.
A step cracks in the deep
In those woods with painted fronts
A step that eats a flower
Sending up devotions.
****** rocks the riverbed
Hums a note in the still.
White shoes in black line
Mechanical clarity, footfalls.
Frissons from foreshadowing
A judder and a burial.
A burial in white.
It reeks of adrenaline, God's own ketamine,
Is sundered somewhat by a Sunday.
Sunday suit and six strong suitors
Following suit to the spot
No one could say. Still, the air
Is too hot with electricity to suffer it.
Tomorrow we can say
That we all knew the night's dread
Export, but for tonight we pray
Our lambs are all a-bed
And not a one of them
Is dead.
No one taught Ophelia to swim.
The hateful eating orange of dawn
Mocks her slow and stymied progress.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 2:51 PM UTC
So I’m Now An EXPONENT...
of Rhymes That Are POTENT... !!!
No Numbers or Quotient...
Can Limit Their Motion... !!!
INFINITE Like The Ocean...
Or Big Swarms of Locust... !!!!
FOCUSED On SHOWING...
How My Thoughts Be Flowing...
With Notions of Motions...
OVERTHROWING Like Boulders...
Dropped Onto The Shoulders...
of Those Who Are COLDEST... !!!!!!
When It Comes To Them Showing...
More Love For Life’s Soldiers...
YES Those Who Have SOLDERED...
This World For These... JOKERS... !!!
Who Deal In LOW Quotas...
of Hope For... Young Voters... !!!
They Make Things Seem HOPELESS...
But... NOT To EXPONENTS...
of Flows That Are FAULTLESS...
Because They’re NOT JAUNDICED... !!!
They’re STRONG NOT Distorted...
So... Do NOT Export Things...
Like Drugs For Those SNORTING... !!!
Exponents Be FLAUNTING...
SKILLS That Are DAUNTING...
To Those Who Be Courting...
Ideas of... SLACK Talking...
Or.... Lyrical WARRING... !!!!!!!!
Because They Are DEEPER...
Than.... Manic Street Preachers... !!!
What We Do Is Teach Ya...
Like... KRS Teachers... !!!!!!!!
Through More Than Your Speakers...
Exponents Like These Do Not Fear Disease...
Because Our Beliefs Supersede What Is Deemed...
To Be PURE HONESTY By The Powers That Be...
We REJECT... FALLACIES...
But Acknowledge That Grief...
Is Something That’s Seen …
FAR TOO REGULARLY...
By People … BENEATH …
All These HIGH Flying THIEVES... !!!
So RECOGNISE THIS... !!!
Exponents of Lyrics...
Who Write Things Like This... !!!
Are Clearly What’s Known...
As... ABOVE The AVERAGE... !!!
ARROGANCE Is DISMISSED....
But We REALLY FLIP SCRIPTS... !!!
Because......
Whether WRITTEN or SPOKEN...
When Poets Start Flowing...
And Their Rhymes Start GLOWING...
As If They’re... ALL KNOWNG... !!!
Then You KNOW You’ve Read Words...
From... One Of Those KNOW As...
..... " The REAL EXPONENTS ".....
Aug 26, 2020
Aug 26, 2020 at 2:10 AM UTC
It's raining heavily
Little pea is lonely
Once upon a time
A farmer harvested peas
There is group of four peas
They are so friendly.....
It's raining heavily
Little pea is lonely
Then all peas are grown up
They are plucked of from plant
They group is opened and spread
Then one little pea fell far away
It's raining heavily
Little pea is lonely
Then the whole peas are packed
And sent to export for countries
Then the other three peas felt sad
To miss ther friend......
It's raining heavily
Little pea is lonely
After a week there were heavy rains
All the city got destroyed
Then the single pea is found
To a beggar in the street...
It's raining heavily
Little pea is lonely
Then he harvested with single pea
And made a crop with it......
He sold them for demand
And became a billinear
It's raining heavily
Little pea is lonely
Then that single pea
Became a golden pea
Which a beggar to billinear
........never give up..........
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 5:29 AM UTC
Arctic air ,
a Canadian export,
not ledgered in any book of trade,
replaced hunger as the body's sole attention.
There will be time for additional Canadian exports:
wheat, canola, eggs, bacon, beans, potatoes...
But the temperature plunge
routed the homeless last night
from their million dollar bridge encampments,
scattering their shanty collective,
into a forced survival march to heated shelters.
"Praise the Lord. Praise the Lord.
Come in my children.
God loves you."
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 6:17 AM UTC
i love how after 70cl of whiskey my
metabolism is up and running -
i know, egoistical self-indulgent crap,
but it works! i get to say **** you
to 99 people and say: come on in
to 1 - but that doesn't even
matter, given the circumstance
of the 1 being a schizophrenic;
but hey! i grew a beard
after all, being post-25 years of age,
so a fully grow Amazon on my cheeks
and chin, a welcome reminder of:
the Aztecs played football too,
but it was more like
****** of San Francisco mixed
with golf mixed with netball
mixed with the ailing N.H.S.
chanting: god save our bed-shitting queen,
god save our precious artefacts from
Hindustan. and Gobi the cabby from
new Delhi -
god save our... a round of pints for the lot
of us! way-hey! charging into crusades with
a jaguar export from Germany under
the slogan: Vein Diesel biceps-flexed:
too fast, and two of each:
that'll be a pistachio - say it as meaning
lime green, go on - oi! ******
who's that Russian hooligan with pistaccio?!
one keg-pouch over here must have minded
the safety-belt limit
prior to a heart-attack and you're giving me
all Abba lip-sarge and surging...
gimme gimme a man at half time...
two pints and a burger in and i'll be
juicing up a saxophone for a crescendo better than
this one...
well... it was lovely to meet you, send my
best regards to your mother, a sincerely;
i swear to god, when i'm done, the only
person you'll be phoning will be your mother.
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
Is it just imagination, or
Is Wal-Mart running out of
**** to put on their shelves?
I swear.
(And I intend on cee-ceeing
Elizabeth Warren with this.)
So, you want to do something
About inequality in America?
So, you want to give the working stiffs,
A Fighting Chance,
Is that the name of
Your book, Senator Liz?
I’ve heard it all before:
It’s Hope & Change Redux, Babaloo!
(And don’t get me started on Osama Obama.)
Here’s my plan:
You go aisle to aisle in any Superstore
With a little notepad and pencil.
Every time you see some
Large plastic piece of ****
Realizing they sell
15 million of ‘em every year,
All made by some Dink-Chink in China.
QUESTION: So, what do you do, Mr. Policy Wonk?
ANSWER: Federally-subsidize the
Building & Operation of a plant
Manufacturing that **** right here in Detroit.
Or Atlanta, or Hartford,
Cleveland or Fitchburg,
Or even Oakland,
Where San Francisco poor continue to squeeze.
(Don’t get me started on Urban Gentrification.)
Trust me on this:
AMERICAN JOBS
Will deodorize everything that
Stinks about The Economy.
“Capital Flight Gone Global:
Invest where Labor comes cheap.
Export those American jobs again & again.”
QUESTION: What’s the difference
Between a middle-class person
And a poor person in America?
A middle-class job,
********
But I digress.
I was sharing an observation:
Wal-Mart’s shelves are
Not as luscious, as they once were.
Gaps left for
PINEAPPLE CHUNKS,
With only CRUSHED PINEAPPLE
Cans in stock, e.g.
So much for that On-line,
Real-time,
Instant supply-chain,
Super-duper
Inventory system, Mr. Walton.
Arkansas wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
Was it Mr. Sam?
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 4:39 PM UTC
Rangers edge of the city
August before the arrival, cloud water hearted, Yula drift, long Sasa, Laji a monk's footsteps, I walk alone, walk in July.
Breeze disrupted my thoughts, I will stand in which to stay, at what station will also continue to drift, but life was however, learned to understand life, to understand life, learned in this way and the way the landscape room becomes indifferent, learn to be a wanderer. (Yiwu export)
Standing on the junction of the season, I do not know the years makes us hurry, or we go hurry.
Earth road, Journey, life mountain water a ride a ride, who can use words of happiness and sadness to resist the pace line prime years. I like the night, a person can go to find quiet in the memory, to the longing to stray, along the way, seen the earthly noisy, bustling seen the world, I think I should be quiet, give yourself a little heart lake, let my heart sink to the bottom of the lake, guarding a suitable melody, so that I can put down his heavy heart. Let yourself get a little dry soul to rest, get a little water moisture.
How many nights like repeat such feelings.
I do not know, tonight the cold moonlight cut the silence who dream? (Yiwu buying agent)
I do not know, who are independent of Migiura up for ages?
I do not know, a cappella blowing a flute in the moonlight hurt much Red?
Youth wind gently blowing, will we gradually grow, gradually happiness, sadness gradually, gradually, we are lost.
Our short life is to experience something, meet some people came. Some encounter in life, like gentle wind, snow, like (yiwu export agent) purity, should meet, then please cherish each other, give each other a warm smile, a warm hug, Xiangxi too, cherished, Should really gone, maybe not leave any regrets, I remember your world I have been to in my life have your shadow. Vicissitudes of time to write more than just wandering, there was a Shizumori, a quiet beauty. Sketch moonlight, I write and draw, describe all the thoughts became a ****** pieces of painting, set into roll of a roll, hidden in the depths of my heart, you can go to wait until spring, waiting to all things prehistoric, waiting for the world to the next reincarnation.
Life, melodious, memory or stranding, go learn to really make a person do a lonely wanderer. I was alone silently took years before the trip, like the horizon of their Su Yi Strider, became a vagabond, wandering around the world.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
Jack jumped last night.
We might have expected it
had we not been so unsuspecting.
Those blue periods of his,
I'm sure you've witnessed one,
were walled in somewhat by the
swelling tides of years
and years
and years.
When they came, they were
quelled by the very occasional red mark.
These punctuations
when they mercifully visited
would open doors for him, in
which our brother, neighbor,
father discovered strange liquid
tendencies to ailing strength.
Too many blank-out nights
could find him and his new
battery bickering the old childhood
verses. Too many four-of-the-clocks
would cue the choragos his
specter-critic's eye to deign a
Plan on our friend's blue
stationary.
A smile might have
mailed it straight ahead.
Perhaps it was last week when the
boat met the shore, some heinous
delivery of packaged, patent-business
sealed reformation, salvation.
In the midst of his violet smile
the cogent steam engine had a chute
into which it might heartily crash.
However it came remains to be seen.
What we have all seen this morning
remains our family's chief export.
Jack jumped last night.
He ascended the hill with his red hands
full of ****** punctuation marks, and
he spouted full-rehearsed
all those lines he'd learned in
grade school. Like a prolix
Gertrude complaining of her thirst.
And with the singularity of purpose
that haunts even the sharpest eyes,
he completes the trek to his three-foot tall Kusinagara
with his asthma wrapped around his neck.
Victory is a queer bird. Its song is never heard
the whole way through.
He breathes in weightlessness,
regains his bearing and waits for the
lines to quiet down. No one should leave
in the middle of a recitation, regardless
of the quality. At last, "Richard Cory"
reaches his terminal syllable and
our dearest man searches for his place in the music.
And it's just a minute,
just a minute,
just a minute,
jumps.
Jack jumped last night
Just as he said he would,
And had we heard him say it
We'd have thought "He could. He could."
Feb 24, 2010
Feb 24, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC