"exported" poems
Only fifteen,
He is only Fifthy,
He, her cake eaten,
Her Grandfathers peer,
the Child Fears, that man is so Filthy.
Poverty is the biggest SINNER.
Orphaned,
Two little heads, 10 and 5
Dependant on this 15 year old mother-sister
AIDS is the killer.
Those groaning two little stomachs need a
filler.
Now destitute,
She drops out,
Looks but cant find work
Whites say experience lacks
Spotted by a mercedes benz driving
malechavaunist
She is robbed her innocence
to put food in the table.
Now one day,
The mother-sister never returned,
Exported to Mexico,
Shes been sold.
As a **********
*** slave,
They made *** tapes
The man called the woman by parts of herself.
When she cried.
"Shut up, you ***** You miss mama *******
Tapes
Sold online.
Be acknowledged
These kids grew up with Aunt
Biological parents deserted them
just when the young were toddlers.
Their mom in Gauteng, a Fan of ***********
..........just one day whilst watching **** on
You tube she saw a child with a face like hers
Blinked her eyes, looked again
Her baby
Her baby is a **** star.
Called the mercedes benz driving old man...
how could he have known?
He was never there.
oh He Sold her.
They recognised their child from ***********
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:32 PM UTC
*at night you can spot him strolling the pavement,
the modern archimedes, with a bottle of bavaria beer,
using his cigarette lighter to detail the bottle cap
with one smooth use of leverage, as taught
by paul the ex-convict, the hopeful dub-step d.j.*
the 19th century had its pan-slavism,
but given there’s a union between the germanic people
and slavic people while mama siberia is
left behind freezing,
outside with the big bad wolves and bears -
having exported serious existential literature
of doom and grooming gloom to scandinavia,
the balkan slavs still uncertain, rejected in favour
of the bulgars and the romanians,
i can mention the northern slavic trans-slavism,
not quiet trans-gender, such a linguistic surgery of the soul
requires little details like:
my point was proved about the up-turned nose in england
concerning public intellectuals... they do great cornish pastry
and music anyway, let the french do the thinking
and find joy in it -
plus reading philosophy books
in english is like pulling your teeth out, standing in a bucket of
ice cold water with someone setting fire to your hair.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 9:00 AM UTC
California gold-rush blues
Got you pretty thirsty
Where's tank girl when you need her
Saliva thick
Lump in throat
Tongue swelling
Neck swollen
Can't breathe
Drowning
Shrinking skin
Hallucinations
Eyelids crack
Tears of blood
Leather-purse face
Amputated lips
Nose withered
Eyes trapped
We're all exported and exploited
Sold sanely cheap
Used how the rich see fit
Dead in one week
Ecosystem crashing
All for their mansions
Filled with rooms they never use
Profit ******
We see oceans through our windows
97 percent
97 percent
3 percent for you and none for us
Little boy is drinking bubbles
But it ain't champagne
It's dead dogs and fetus juice
Dog dogs and abuse
Where are the wetlands
Where are the holy springs
Soon we'll all be Atlantis
Just another lost city
Soon we'll be living
In underground caves
Like cowards
We all want roses in our garden bower
But the best heroes
Might as well be slaves
Global desert
Without rain
Green turns yellow
Here come the earthquakes
****** forest
Rest in peace
They erected cities
In your memory
Cartels and shades of grey
Vivendi, Veolia
Machines with no soul
Privatizing blue gold
In their corporate quads
Woe to WTO
The new colonialism
Coca Cola 7-Up
Sorry but your time is up
Destroy everything you touch
When it's gone
Get up and leave
Destroy another planet
**** and conquer
SLAPPing silly pointless fools
Transporting silly tools
Shooting all the people's people
Got to pull up the roots
Bullets through lace curtains
Has a ring to it
You spineless cruel leaders
With your oil rivers
Well you've made a rival now
World map's changing underground
Alternatives are scarce
Purity is all but lost
Path of least resistance blocked
Metamorphosizing clocks
Circulation down the train
Don't drink the red water
Just pray for rain
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 2:20 AM UTC
Got that feeling in the gut?
Tummy stuck deep in a rut,
try and think of other things,
not of spewing up my ring.
Bleugh!
Give up almost right away,
cannot fight or hide today,
belly brewing like a storm.
Here it is, thick and warm.
gruggle (sound effects)
Tastes real bad up the wrong end,
whizzes round the toilet bend.
Like Senna and that Alain Prost,
my tummy has the last riposte.
Wuk, wuk, wurg.(I am NOT anorexic)
Shall I try a biccie now,
maybe milk out of a cow,
perhaps a swig of orange juice?
Whats the point, it's no use.
There's a demon in my guts,
giving duodenal butts,
feel it having so much fun,
did it get in through my ***
Have to get the pills in soon,
hope that I can keep them down,
sat here shaking like a jelly,
heres some more, wow that was smelly!
Since I came here past the border,
exported with my gut disorder.
Need a rapid puke solution,
to end my Solway Firth pollution!
Dec 13, 2010
Dec 13, 2010 at 10:13 AM UTC
Because of you
I'm all here
Buried all the pains
Dug a new chapter
Imported new feelings
Seeded hope
Exported all the grievances
Took hold of the promises
Watered the heart
Cementing the broken pieces together
Laminated the smile
And on the wall I nailed it
Began a tireless journey
Wishing for the best
Trusting the eyes
Enjoying the sweet melody
A lullaby I need for a lifetime
Remember those days?
Acting silly and stupid
The ignorance we entertained
The confusion we embraced
Embroidering the hatred
An the mist of pain we got lost
Turning our backs on each other
Anger reddening our eyes
Silence that became a graveyard
Silence that almost murdered our hearts
Intoxicating our feelings
Destroying the taproots of our future
I remember that days
Buried now
Now I smile
For we hold it
In our hands we are molding it
Together moistening the clay
That long ago cracked
With no hope of being a palp again
We have it
We repainted the wall
A new dawn of hope
A beginning of a new chapter
The chills of winter all gone
Summer says hello
With its rain we will puddle
In the mud together
Yes the mud of love we will ***** ourselves
For we buried the past
Oct 8, 2021
Oct 8, 2021 at 5:32 AM UTC
As the world defends itself from the anxiety of death,
a wind-caressed woman waits by the water,
and signals for silence, unceremoniously.
Waiting for the blood-banks to breed ideals --
which will, inevitably, be exported --
that will turn Natives into faceless, finger-painted
neo-orphans of the broken nuclear home;
old souls, convinced to be the youth in revolt,
and to be the scrambled egg individuals of a melting *** that disguises uniform for diversity.
Her lavender dress dribbles the spiraling air, as the copper dust swims by her ankles, knees, and thighs.
I do not remember when she told me that everything we do and say is a defense-mechanism,
distracting us from the fact that one day we will die and be as imaginative as the roles we give ourselves,
as the people we think blend into us,
and as the gods we use as an alternative to a morphine drip.
I stood by the bad river, knowing that all of my attempts at being more than what I was,
was my grasp at an out-of-reach eternity,
and a dream of a humanity that could be affected by one person.
I do not remember when she told me,
"All of our attempts at progressing,
is our way with dealing that we will someday die
and may not have been successful at living forever."
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
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
Gather up, all you roaming and innocent true eyed youths,
the bells that chime the maturing of years will dictate.
And our minds, even in dreaming, are flashing,overloading,constantly ON.
Burning ourselves back towards the sediment,
back towards the eve of light and the horizon’s sweet ascent,
the hope of the bettering of Man (Woman, Child, Subject, Dependent, Enemy, Statistic)
to be played out by actors unsure all over again,
Plot, attempt, market research, unlikely success, unforetold rapid decline
Walk on down that road.
Twenty-Three years of Searching and Bafflement
I still walk on down that road.
The air smelling of leaking chemicals of exported decorative garden plants
the odd fir tree to remind me of a progressive upheaval.
I’ve read about Everything, I’ve sought out Everything; I’ve tried Everything
And yet still unsatisfied.
And yet onward I trot....
Left with the only things I still enjoy doing
Reading, writing about reading and writing about life
listening to music (Both new and the old, same old...cycle ending cycle re-entering brainwaves)
Thinking about ******
and occasionally enjoying non-self centered ***
(Giving, once in a while, such unexpected joy, and who’d have thought?..)
And always at the back of my head
wondering how if I could get hooked on some supposed poisonous deity
Billfold notes stained ******* or some equally widely condemned non-popular pariah seal
And if I managed not to impoverish myself and become alienated from friends and family
And the moral majority
Then perhaps I could evolve to enjoy even that.
What is pleasure and its pursuit if not some guarantee of routine?
So I continue walking down that road.
Away, away, soon to return another day
Fresher (hardly) enlightened, the same...
and still I cannot recommend to myself
anything else but walking.
For to which valley the wise one goes, who knows, who knows......
Turn left, turn right, only the principles of geography can begin to decide fate.
(Though I would suggest bringing an umbrella, every now and again, just in case....)
To search for others, who would bring a chance of difference, on that self-same route
who share jokes about this one man...
Who was walking down that road.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 9:15 AM UTC
I’m not a higher caste-class-Hindu-male,
I cannot be a mute spectator
with a censored mouth and
I don’t want to be a part of a
********* history
that plucked eyes, chopped limbs
and slashed throats.
I want to tell my tomorrows that
I believed in tolerance, patience
And human rights.
Now that makes me a rebel,
An anti-national, a threat!
That’s reason one- I’m disqualified.
Tell me the meaning of life, justice
and freedom my brother
We were the promises of Independence,
The revolution that taught the world-
Ahimsa.
I don’t like vegetables, orange-vegetables
my land exported
and we got back bananas from
the celebrated republics.
The meatless days left me hungry
I decided to fast, I got jailed
And I know someday these man-eaters
Would hang me.
I don’t speak Hindi, I have no money
I dared to educate and I’m a girl
Now that makes me disqualified.
I need a moral certificate, approval
and a stamp
Just because I have men friends,
I wore lipstick and jeans and I danced.
I’ve to pay a fine, apologize
and spill tears
Because I proclaimed myself a feminist,
A thinker, a dreamer.
Dear society, let me add some more,
I bunked all my moral education classes,
I’m an atheist and a post-modern
Daughter.
I’ve friends- **** hetero and bisexuals
And I eat beef, lamb and pork.
I’ve a tan skin, a flat nose, tiny *******
and a beer belly
I laugh loud, cry and yell at times
And I know there are people out there
Who wants to throw stones, cut my-
body parts and exhibit my remains in a museum,
They need to execute this handicapped
Because she asked too many questions.
Don’t offer me your chocolate-justice
to be denied the next appropriate minute
‘Right’ can never be a synonym to ‘legal’.
So that makes a wrong-carriage
or abortion.
I know I’m disqualified
Now it’s time for the execution,
Hang this heretic!
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 10:53 AM 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
danke, und scheiße geruch um beachten! (if ungrammatical then ensure you do not waver to correct me, but speak as correctly as possible and leave me to my insolence and gratify my mistake as championing your correctness, at least thus i'll be glad to make you see what i too wanted to see with my imperfection the suggestive).
western society has taught me
that i'd be better off
not having educated myself -
and that reading philosophical
books is considered a mental illness;
such heightened literacy rates
i almost clamour to buckle
in marking journalism a synonym of propaganda.
no, of course i'm not happy where
i live, i what's deemed a civilisation or
an exportable social model,
a place where you say the word Kierkegaard
and people think you've said gonorrhea,
so the French kiss outlasts oral *** -
tongue here, tongue there, tongue up your ***
you're a credible ****** should it matter,
while all the menial tasks for the unruly
have been exported to made in China -
i ****** Poland for ever wanting to join
the E.U., thank god they didn't adopt the failed
Euro currency - the diversity of the project
would always fail - no slingshot Indians
or bow & arrow akin mattered
when the other Indians gave us the Taj Mahal...
wise too i would be as an Ewok... and a Vindaloo...
wait a minute, why am i writing
like a reformist coloniser? i've been duped!
i learn the english tongue i suddenly
become nothing less than a coloniser myself;
might as well be a viking in york
or a norman at the battle of Hastings!
otherwise i'm a concubine on a mechanised
dildo-throne while the irish are Yuppie
with psychos of american Wolf St. scenarios
awaiting the 1980s discography of
a lucid John Peel commentary.
Apr 23, 2016
Apr 23, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC
the Webster's, the Merriam's,
residents of the Oxford
say not,
an exclamation or a noun,
but an action,
a doing word,
not so much...
as a poet~sorcerer
digressing rules,
is my input
appetizer,
poems, my exported
entrées
all posted to be
dessert
for all the sweet tooth
parts of you
all to
feast on this
process,
when I
hallelujah you...
"Praise the Lord"
the translation literal
but sojourn herewith me
for a few extants,
together, let's
invigorate, expand the
understanding of an ever expansive
definition...
if I ever fall out of love,
with natural words,
can no longer
hallelujah/scribe
to memorialize
why we claim,
we are alive....
hallelujah's
praises
for you all the
master designers'
praiseworthy creations,
an extension of themselves,
they said
in each human
godlike spark
hallelujah installed
there is nothing more
godlike
than being
human,
so when I
hallelujah
I praise each and everyone
it is a mixologist's dream,
some of it a
thank you,
some of it a
your welcome,
all of it a
celebratory exercise,
in appreciation,
of the finery of what we can
be
come
greater
through
the words
of our blood
transfused
Oh!
act out Hallelujah,
write it as if you must
urgent do
Hallelujah,
do it
not just now but,
Selah!
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 5:18 PM UTC
The miraculous Quinoa has been exported out of the local market.
The westerner deems this as their super deed.
The idea that the Inca finally died at the grocery shop
grew root,
furnished beneath the serving glare of the exceptional crocheted beards.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 8:40 AM UTC
Rivers flow
Humans grow
Stars glow
Humans blow
Toxic waste
Air pollution
Humans haste
Perfect solution
Beggars hungry
Homeless ****
Humans angry
Robbing wills
Bullets fired
Tanks raged
Juveniles hired
Humans tagged
Terrorists warns
Lives lost
Families torn
Priceless cost
Lust gains
Humans pained
No brains
Love insaned
Lots learnt
Media zooms
Orders sent
Countries doomed
Hunger peaks
Children sick
Humans weak
Diseases leak
Money priority
Humans exported
Marking territory
Guns imported
Humans kidnapped
Women rapped
Lives begged
All taped
Tears lack
Government slack
Manics back
Terrorist attack!!!
©sim
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 7:00 AM UTC
My eyes are a constant glitter when such dreams
pop up. It's nice to feel that way again, still,
after the endless march of time separates the wheat
from the chaff. Guess which one am I:
the one that doesn't get exported, which makes sense
because
My eyes are a constant glitter when such dreams
pop up. It's nice to feel that way again, still,
after the endless march of time...
And what exactly is that glitter?
Stars? Ghosts? Memories?
Or the final flicker of a bedroom light bulb.
Or the last swipe of now-dark screen.
Or a distant goodnight from chaff to
wheat; fertile land to barren desert, yet
still planting himself to the irrigated seas
of Spring, where burning sun was still growth
and when one looked forward to growing up
like this.
Winter has never felt so warm.
Nor wheat and chaff so warm
and and
like the thoughts of you and me.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
china: never put all your eggs into one basket. true that, we gave more riches to china than anyone could have thought, riches that aren't gold or diamonds or champagne bottles or restaurants with £500 a head meals or a grand fashion industry with designer labels... we gave them the single most important of the riches: work.
odd, isn't it, back then it was work,
but the steel industry
is collapsing in the west with
cheap chinese steel, cheaper even
than the indian steel...
manufacturing jobs are gone,
obesity is on the rise because we have
no ****** outlets, only the hamster
palaces of treadmills and weights...
and that's counter-productive it would seem...
all the menial jobs were exported and
in came bureaucratic jobs and fancy ponce
jobs of the office dealing with branding
and aesthetics... making a brand of yourself,
getting paid a million quid to post a video
of eating a tablespoon of cinnamon or
a whole jar of peanut butter...
the jobs that created the gigantic market
place by feminism... i know women did the heavy
duty stuff like making shells...
but that was during world war ii...
i know they're capable... but why suddenly
clap and applaud where there are female
engineers on building sites... but no female
bricklayers? such a successful theory?
women soldiers but no female bricklayers?!
might as well say that i'm the broken outdated
robot in the dungeons of a ***** bank.
- everything now has a sticker: made in china...
made in china... vietnam... etc.;
obviously i'm stating the obvious -
but there's a slight warning floating about
the place... erziehung macht frei (education
sets you free) does not mean: go to university
get a degree... it's the persistence of education,
education becomes like working,
there's no achievement basis...
good example, i got a degree, but **** all work
in my desired education training -
they're not even employing people
with chemistry degrees in places where,
technically, chemists are intended to be...
poetry became the only option, the last
resort... not for therapeutic reasons either.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 11:40 AM UTC
Psychiatry sat America on the couch
And said Tell me about yourself.
America was referred to by the World Caucus
Who had to stage an intervention
Because they feared for America
America was getting out of control.
Staying out late at night in other countries.
Getting drunk on oil.
People warned, All this oil you like will lead to fire
And burn your chest.
Being told to leave and refusing to do so,
Saying This isn’t colonialism.
This is nation-building
Finally getting kicked out and told never to come back.
Throwing Democratic and Republican Parties alike into a mess.
The world caucus was worried
So they referred them to psychiatry.
America tried to explain itself.
Tried to justify
Saying, I stand for freedom
Psychiatry replied, Maybe it is better to sit down.
America continued
I said in my birth certificate that all men are created equal.
Psychiatry answered
Frowning,
Yes but not blacks
Or women,
Or Native Americans
Or even white men without land.
So that all men, was really all men who fit a certain profile.
What men did you actually mean?
America stammered.
But we changed!
Psychiatry scolded
You needed to have the most awful fight
That nearly destroyed yourself
Killed many of your relatives.
Before you could see those of a darker skin as equal
And even today it is so bad it is called America’s original sin.
But that is neither here nor there.
Continue.
America then waved its hands
Started rocking back and forth
And intoned.
I fought in the War to End all Wars.
Then after that in the most modern war
Then in the Cold War
Then the War on Terrorism
And I never received a piece of land from any of them.
Psychiatry replied in a stern tone- You were not supposed to.
You can’t congratulate yourself on an action you should not have done anyway.
The world applauds your sacrifice.
Now what you are doing is not so much sacrifice
But compulsive behavior.
Because you have been at war so long
You forgot how to make peace.
Be honest, you are not at peace with yourself
Because you cannot fight everyone you have a disagreement with.
And saying this is nation-building
Was the same as calling the Trail of Tears relocation.
Slave-owners Mistaken Founding Fathers
The Civil War The War between the States
And religious discrimination- the rightful exercise of war power.
Don’t you see that the relabeling you have done to yourself
You have exported to the world.
But the world will not put up with it.
So what are you going to do.
America said, I might need a follow-up session.
Psychiatry said, Good.
© 12 minutes ago
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
At the top of a rocky hill
Overlooking Plymouth Sound sits a Fort big and round
Known to the locals as the Royal Citadel
The Fort protects Plymouth Sound and all the citizens that live
and work around.
Originally designed by Sir Francis Drake and funded by taxes on pilchards exported by sea.
With walls 70ft high and host to 113 guns, the Citadel protected Plymouth for over 300 years and was home to the naval military.
When I was young annual Military Tattoos were held
Every child in Plymouth seemed to attend transfixed by the smart men all in time, marching and playing their drums and pipes.
Now the Citadel proudly sits on display but sadly has no role today, no tattoos or music of the night displays.
By 2024 the Plymouth Citadel will be no more
Three hundred years of history will be replaced by housing much in need but sadly no longer will it have a military history
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 5:25 PM UTC
i get the idea against collectivism,
sure, all the arguments against
cultural marxism...
but what cultural darwinism
is proposing is: #solomonsharem -
you really think someone is
going sit there and play the mongolian
harmonica and no react
from the unconscious depths of gorilla?
all the basic and the most fulfilling
work was exported to the chinese anyway...
why **** we have a fashion
industry!
lovely!
i'll just turn one tier
softer from transgender and become
transvestite!
i ******* loath western
society... perverts r us...
i'm trying to figure out
why i'm living here...
well... one answer is: john paul zee zwei...
slobbering ********** that didn't
think of conjuring: pope emeritus.
kurwa! emertyt! spadaj!
they don't know he's a joke in the west,
and a saint in the east...
god: please! an early death!
and disney after this life!
it just comes after they tell you:
you're **** at ******* ***** hammer those nails in
proper...
that's when the gorilla in man gets ******
he's like:
****** wanna start somethin'?
oi! antifa! this chimp is telling us
we can't ****
wanna smash his libido?
and the antifa peeps go: uh, dunno... but, like, whatever,
i'm keen on hearing some sort of sound:
can't play the clarinet after all...
but then you wait...
the cultural darwinists getting divorced...
it was really nice, having had *** with
her... for about 3 months when i was 21...
we almost got married...
thankfully she was the one who proposed and the one
who broke off the engagement...
well yeah... it's the 21st century...
it's not even freudian these days:
it's not a phobia of being castrated:
it's non-literal but metaphorical castration...
which makes it doubly real.
yada yada yada... ping pong... forrest gump.
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
INTELLIGENCE IS A SCABBY INFECTION,
INTELLIGENCE OUTSIDE OF MENSA
(THE I.Q. H.Q.) SHOULD BE TREATED
WITH SUSPICION,
INTELLIGENCE IS A DISEASE IN
WESTERN SOCIETY, INTELLIGENCE
IS COUNTER-MATERIALISTIC,
NO CASE FOR PRODUCTIVITY,
HAVING EXPORTED ALL OF IT
ALONG WITH THE DOZEN AMPUTEE LIMBS
TO CHINA...
AND AS THE MUSLIMS CONQUERED WITH EASE,
SO THEY SUCCUMBED TO DEBAUCHERY
OF THE BLACK GOLD....
THANKFULLY I WENT TO A *****
BEFORE THE EASTERN EUROPEAN BROTHEL
OPENED ITS TSUNAMI OF LIES AND DECEIT...
BUT AS ONCE WE WATCHED THE ARABS
CONQUER WITH VERY LITTLE BUT SAND,
WE SUBSEQUENTLY WATCHED THE ARABS
BECOME BARONS AND DUKES OF DUBAI...
DEGENERATE SCURVY PASSERS-ON THE DISEASE...
it's basically watching retards grow impotent
rather than indolent... or maybe both...
lazy Arab *** in Niqab because the sugar levels
got the better of them, with both men and women
wearing extra-size napkins... Saudi Arabia
being the joke of the entire Muslim world:
welcome to the equivalent of the Vatican;
it only takes one schism to make it all a load of
chirping charged-up ********
i'm just surprised it came so early, well, not really,
given most terrorists think they're directly
descendent of the prophet... who turns out to
be a patriarch - given such father-son obedience and slaughter...
can these Islamic terrorists please defend either
prophet or patriarch, because, by the looks of it
they're more inclined to defend the latter status than the former;
whatever, the once agile Arabs with their simple
Koranic sense of belief are nothing more than
overweight diabetics these days... you could skewer them
and rotationally fry them like swine.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 1:03 AM UTC
*the internet... give me a break... i'm trailing on lost bookmarks and postage-stamps, ************ i'm trailing, i'm making up time, the invention is new, i'm making the most of it, you start telling me it's like the wild-wild-west and... well... don't know, i'd be praying to be employed as a cowboy.*
hard time killing floor always excavates the best in me,
never mind Howlin' Wolf or Jay Lee, or the deafman
and Muddy - blind Willie Johnson and Delta Bob...
there's just too much humanity to encapsulate it all;
and perhaps that's the foremost sadness,
a sadness that states: too many of us to choose an idol,
and choosing an idol crucified won't help either
even if literate with the Bible or not;
Jehovah's witnesses won't help you either,
the scourge comes
lessened in magnitude of leper's locust;
you go be on your way politicising
the African demise, but i got to celebrate
that from the Slave trade...
agonising memories of Mozart and Beethoven,
the blues, then jazz, then the **** fuck-burger Elvis,
go back and moan me a blues than you politicise
in a baptist church blind to archaeology of 19 45;
some too said too often the Olive Garden and
the historian Josephus making it contemporarily true;
sing me the blues man exported, than this Ivory Coast
enigma crucibles of what i too would moan about
concerning noble birth; and that too, with inverted commas
gladly forgotten given the silken shawls;
TELEVISIONS AREN'T CAMPFIRES YOU YO-YO *****
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 2:07 PM UTC
In a degree from a travelling tree, stands a tree of knowledge.
Created from minds of many, descriptions and paradigms, from the brains of men.
The sacrificial tree yields her wares, so the learners can learn.
Children in classes of mischievous masses,the old women who struggle to read through thick glasses.
The joy of the word, is spread by the tongues, of many in difference, all over the world ,their joy exported a passport of paper.
With open borders, travel allowed, take it for granted, the world.
Now it's a smaller place.
The crumpled up newspaper left on the chair, made of paper,keeps us aware.
Trials and tribulations, all duly noted, discarded and dumped, hopefully in the recycling bin.
LIVVI 2014
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
In the shadows, it's waiting
A vessel of deceit, a heart that's hating
The truth is hidden, the lies are revealed
In the box of lies, the secrets are concealed
I'm searching for the answers, but they're hard to find
In the maze of lies, I'm losing my mind
The box is whispering secrets, a siren's call
But the truth is elusive, and I'm bound to fall
Can you hear the whispers, in the dead of night?
A voice that's calling, but the words ain't right
In the box of lies, the truth is distorted
But the secrets are hidden, and the lies are exported
I'm trying to escape, but the box is locked tight
The lies are suffocating, and the truth is out of sight
I'm searching for a way out, but it's hard to find
In the box of lies, I'm losing my mind
In the shadows, the box is waiting
A vessel of deceit, a heart that's hating
The truth is hidden, the lies are revealed
In the box of lies, the secrets are concealed
In the box of lies, the truth is distorted
But the secrets are hidden, and the lies are exported.
Apr 16, 2025
Apr 16, 2025 at 11:56 AM UTC
I met you here,
in this nowhere.
Between us was
a world made
of a single
held breath
& we unfolded
it so carefully.
Then we
exported
hundreds of
pages, fragile
& subtle,
& my poems
released their
grip on sorrow.
Blue gardens
in your smile,
sun's epochs
in your laugh.
There are no
sane words to
describe you.
Ropes of
champagne,
thickets of joy,
moon-pure,
hazeled Pisces,
canyon of
ravishment.
Our cheeks
ached
with bliss.
The world only
makes sense
through you.
Your hand-cut
bangs and
slender neck...
Something knocks
over in the night -
it's my soul.
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 8:45 PM UTC