"facto" poems
See those red windows by Midland Park
Where the schoolyard stands empty in the frozen dark
See that Neon motor in 21st gear
And the only question is "why are we here?"
In memory motel with unchanging rates
I still see the Moon Glow in your face
By the edge of the stream with bread in hand
Two doves chase the wind to a foreign land
As our voices are carried to a teenage past
In naïve reclusion we knew couldn't last
With a palette of hate I still can taste
I still see the Moon Glow in your face
Weathered storms on a Parisian stage
The book can't be written unless you turn every page
On a worn out, de-facto, company car
The diamonds will promise to make you a star
In sovereign rule of my mind's estate
I still see the Moon Glow on your face
On Ebony's wings coming down from the sky
Miracle rides close behind
The waves from Mexico have long since passed
No moment is forever and it won't be the last
With ocean eyes and a passioned embrace
I still see the Moon Glow in your face
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:23 PM UTC
A mere trifle, this thing that troubles the lid.
Forever in fear, unable to compose
Vision stoops to comprehend this failure,
Pride doesn’t.
A glimpse of blindness,
With the ardor of helplessness.
De facto, it is in the eyes of another
Where you were mistaken.
The red in between
Defining ties of the wicked, wise
In stupor and pain, in insomniac lethargy
The poisoned gaze, returns quietly.
Sun shades, remember
Anger cheats as much as it destroys.
The flaming ash of a cigarette,
Another excuse for a Gimlet.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
I am clueless as to how I have dug a hole in this concrete ground, 60 feet deep. The dust I’ve been choking on does not bother me no more, layers piling upon my lungs like snow upon an exposed carcass. The slightest upheaval of my chest and tingling in my lungs reminds me that I still breathe. I’ve met scaffolds of bones down here. As I stare into their hollow sockets, I could never figure if they were ever esurient for something I held. They taught me how the ocean is never blue but only a de facto reflection of the sky. They said many mistook the sea for the sky, but never once mentioned the salt that contaminated their lungs- the impetus that drove their feet 60 steps into the waves. A reconciliation it must have been. I doubt it made any difference, when their hearts were bleeding out; a pity it doesn’t make it any lighter. Down they sank.
I wonder if I mistook these soils for the sky. As I looked up, I realised that the sky only seemed further away. There’s something peculiarly comfortable down here, the little bumps on the walls and contours of the craters looked like jawlines of a new-found friend. The sun is so blindingly high in the sky. I preferred how sometimes I could see the man in the moon- shadows cast by imperfections on the moon’s surface. In the vague moonlight and scrawny silhouettes, the fact that the moon always has a dark side makes it tangible a thousand miles away. Sometimes, I lay on this wooden receptacle discovered upon excavation and gaze at the empty skies with my friend as he tells me what lies outside this trough. Happiness is a pack of hungry wolves and when they are done, you are left with only your marrows. I see things clearer down here, than above where they are smothered by smoke from the trees they burned to the ground. Sometimes the skies are dark with no hint of dusk, sometimes the sky is filled with white nebula; but most of the times, the days are shorter than the nights. But it never gets any darker down here.
I figured I could never mistake this hole for the sky. I was just chasing these broken pieces like I used to chase happiness. I have no idea how I’ve gotten this deep while trying to pick up these pieces that I don’t recognise. But the struggle tells me it’s real, and the pain keeps me awake. They say if you spend enough time with someone, you will fall in love. I guess that’s what happened between sadness and me.
I’m staying here.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 4:09 PM UTC
The fakeness of fake reality
is in reality ...
fake
and is of no consequence.
If you, in reality,
are fake
the consequence of the fakeness
is - your reality,
Ipso facto, this consequence,
your - fakeness
should cease, in reality
or - prepare for consequences
which - in reality - won't be fake.
The Fakeness Of Fake Reality Michael C Crowder 17th March 2019
Mar 18, 2019
Mar 18, 2019 at 8:43 AM UTC
There is a tendency among
those poets who may be very young
frequently to put in verse
those foreign phrases, or much worse
the now dead words of oh so ****** Latin
to boast of classrooms that they’ve sat in.
And just in case you’ve never heard ‘em,
Let’s reduce a few to ad absurdum.
It was amore a prima vista
until he left her for her younger sister
for, after all, who could resist her,
so moving on to secunda vista
he took that step and boldly kissed her,
behaviour that is hardly utopista.
The trouble with modus vivendi
is that it sometime rhymes with eye
but there are those who don’t agree
and think that it must rhyme with tea.
Who cares? It’s all the same to I.
Or should that be the same to me?
You may say it is not de rigueur
that I defend with so much vigour
what surely is no more than hubris
that I attribute to Confucius
for he surely ha detto tutto
albeit un po convoluto.
And everyone’s heard of carpe diem.
If not, then I have yet to see ‘em.
But I prefer to seize a waist
which may be thought somewhat unchaste
though far more likely to have shocked ‘em
would be to carpe in the noctem.
Perhaps you think it’s ipso facto
that I’m intolerant of lacto
unless it comes directly from the breast.
I think it’s better that the rest
of this is left to your own opinatus
for which I offer no blank cartus.
Then there’s the modus of my own vivendi
that I indulge in cacoethes scribendi
the itch to write for which I daily
scratch myself or play my ukulele
which is my form of modus operandi
before I pour myself a king-size brandy.
And thus we leave this boring dull citare,
by this time you have certainly grown quite weary
of any further venture into tedium
Or as ***** Harry might say, fac ut gaudeam
For after all a day senza sunlight
Might altrettante facilmente be night
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 6:15 PM UTC
They wanted a curriculum vitae
In absentia
I decided to ad lib
Ad nauseum
Ipso facto, lie and deceive
Exaggerate, mislead et cetera
Hardly a bona fide
Modus operandi
They caught me in flagrante delicto
Requiescat in pace, (RIP) my chances
Now I'm persona non grata
Mea culpa
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Sloane swallows.
***** is ****
I execrate extraterrestrial.
We are all kaput to conk out.
Pollyanna is singular hanky—panky.
Little green men are unpatriotic, perverted and naughty.
I verily don’t grease a *****
Oojakapivvycum.
If you are amphibious that means you are an effervescent ventriloquist capable of
Cannibalism, cannibalism and cannibalism.
The fluid inside the android is so gothic and naff
It is knock—kneed in the face of flashing **********
I do not feel that I am on the shoulders of cobber doggies.
I am protoplastically lassoed abutting penetrating vampire and pervert
That penetrate ***** creature.
I have pricked little green men myself and taken pleasure in it.
It is only with the help of bad hair days of groupies that I have not been in Sing Sing.
We are all sadomasochistically decomposing in a heap of our own meconium.
I bore stiff to outstrip yours truly as much as I have room to swing a cat from Ku Klux ****
But I am as complicit in the android’s ****** abuse as it were android ***
Little green men ***** me as I ***** myself.
I ***** bug—eyed men’s ******* types as I have perpetually vomited Molotov cocktail.
I smell little green men’s filth televised on their ******* types.
I feel like I am inside a crust of cancers who delight in smelling others bonk upstairs,
Ad hominen id. Ex post facto,
I am too much of a dastard to throw cold water on myself.
I coagulate gungily to my menstrual gibbering ******
Castrating anti—Semite to flash me abutting crème de la crème.
Strenuously, my ***** gluts under one’s nose because that is all there is.
Mar 21, 2010
Mar 21, 2010 at 6:27 PM UTC
AMERICA, THE BEAUTIFUL?
Were you aware that our nation opposed Haiti's revolution for democracy in the early 1800s; that our nation's war against Mexico that began in 1846 resulted in our taking half of Mexico for ourselves; that our nation defeated Spain ostensibly to liberate Cuba, but actually established a military base on the island and furtively gained de facto control of its puppet government; that our nation seized Puerto Rico, Hawaii, and Guam; that our nation had fought a brutal war to subjugate the Phillipines; that our nation had opened Japan for trade with us with threats and gunboats; that our nation created an "Open Door" policy with China to exploit it economically; that our nation engineered a revolution against Colombia to create the nation of Panama so we could build the canal through it; that our nation sent 5,000 Marines in 1926 to Nicaragua to counter their democratic revolution; that our nation in 1916 intervened in the Dominican Republic for the fourth time; that our nation in 1915 intervened in Haiti for the second time, and so on. Imperialism, not democracy, steered our nation's decisions and movements.
Did any of you learn about, let alone study extensively, any of these flagitious Ameican acts and policies as you sat and squirmed in your high school American history class? My surmise is that you did not. But I bet you were required in at least one of your classrooms sometime between 1st and 12th grade to stand at attention, as it were, and recite the Pledge of Allegiance as you saluted the flag in the corner. My riposte: What does it matter if our flags are waving, if our spirits are flagging?
Epilogue: Most importantly, never forget that it was the two evils of slavery and genocide that propelled our nation into what once was the most influential nation on Earth.
Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
Jun 26, 2020
Jun 26, 2020 at 8:52 PM UTC
Before I know you
You are already there,de facto
But to me, you didn't exist
Now I know you
You know me
We coexist
But before you know me
I was't even there in your mentality
We are both present and absent from reality
It all boils down to quantum mechanics.
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
*We lose so much talent to addiction
Some of you may not care, but I do
This is my tribute to them*
**Alan Wilson
Canned Heat
Jimi Hendrix
The Jimi Hendrix Experience
Janis Joplin
Jim Morrison
The Doors
Brian Cole
The Association
Billy Murcia
New York Dolls
Danny Whitten
Crazy Horse
Gram Parsons
The Stooges
Gary Thain
Uriah Heep
Elvis Presley
Gregory Herbert
Blood, Sweat & Tears
Keith Moon
The Who
Sid Vicious
*** Pistols
Lowell George
Little Feat
Jimmy McCulloch
Wings
John Bonham
Led Zeppelin
Darby Crash
Germs
James Honeyman-Scott
Pretenders
Pete Farndon
Pretenders
Paul Gardiner
Tubeway Army
Gary Holton
Heavy Metal Kids
Phil Lynott
Thin Lizzy
Andrew Wood
Mother Love Bone
Brent Mydland
Grateful Dead
Steve Clark
Def Leppard
Johnny Thunders
New York Dolls
David Ruffin
The Temptations
Kristen Pfaff
Hole
Shannon Hoon
Blind Melon
Bradley Nowell
Sublime
John Kahn
Jerry Garcia Band
Jonathan Melvoin
The Smashing Pumpkins
Billy Mackenzie
Associates
West Arkeen
The Outpatience
Nick Traina
Link 80
John Baker Saunders
Mad Season
Bobby Sheehan
Blues Traveler
Wes Berggren
Tripping Daisy
Allen Woody
The Allman Brothers Band
Carl Crack
Atari Teenage Riot
Layne Staley
Alice in Chains/Mad Seasons
Kurt Cobain
Nirvana
Dee Dee
Ramones
Robbin Crosby
Ratt
John Entwistle
The Who
Howie Epstein
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
Jeremy Michael Ward
De Facto
Tim Hemensley
GOD
Dave Schulthise
The Dead Milkmen
Rick James
Kevin DuBrow
Quiet Riot
Ike Turner
Gidget Gein
Marilyn Manson
Jay Bennett
Wilco
Michael Jackson
The Rev
Avenged Sevenfold
Paul Gray
Slipknot
Mike Starr
Alice in Chains
Amy Winehouse**
*We are not bad people, we just have bad ways
Yet, not many understand*
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
All perish whence they quest for immortality,
Such foolish dreams will result in fatality.
Critters struggle in nets of ersatz reality,
Hormonal clashes unbalance our morality.
Under the influence by budding, ravishing thyme,
Oft' that sunny beam leaves me doing pantomime.
Chaste clues and envy droughts left me mellowing,
Such pain ipso facto I can't kiss this porcelain.
My seat of notions drives me to calculate,
While undead, fatigued, I falsely formulate.
Floundering in viscous fluids, I am drowning...
My verdant sail is half-mast: lonely, frowning.
Within moon-lit meadows, shadows flow cursively,
Beyond the kaleidoscope lay a rustic key.
Beg you pardon the rust and blackened fissures,
Pardon those slights to open eternal treasures.
To crave two heart beats align in synchrony,
To sluice my fingers through the strands of memory.
Embracing silvery asps soaring on the breeze,
My sight spies thy adieu and I shatter apiece.
Un-writing errors, distantly, unstumbling,
The abyss: now a star, wings unfurling.
'Tween the heavens fell meteoric golds,
Sinusoidal cascades of such sublime codes.
Traversed steadily upon the gilded firmaments,
Was so small, blind to the unseen monuments.
To be offered aristocratic absolution,
From my humble plebeian resolution.
I am sublime. 'Hold my dichotomous, nay,
Such cantankerous introversion within, eh?
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 3:40 PM UTC
I see you blinking
in the summer sun.
I take you drinking
in the gutter slum.
You sit there
and you read your poems
and you stare where,
you stare where you should just go!
No Morse code! No Morse code!
Gotta find three of these-
three of these that fit...an angel couldn't laugh-
I would laugh! I would laugh!
No Morse code!
I figure the fragments are all black;
I figure the fragments are all
stagnant and all black!
No Morse code! No Morse code!
Ex facto!
I see you blinking
in the summer sun.
I take you drinking
in the gutter slum.
You stare where...
and you stare where...
Sep 5, 2012
Sep 5, 2012 at 10:19 PM UTC
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
Water. A profound subject. Of which, we are all expert. Therefore, I permit myself to write upon it. Water. When I offer you Sparkling, Still or Tap, think carefully for the path to happiness is confusing, you can be mislaid, strayed, betrayed if you imbibe the wrong path.
The definition of each is not my responsibility. Like poetry,
drink what you will from each, but drink you must, pas de choix (which is sparkling for no choice).
Getting drunk on the wrong water is very bad. You have washed your system out, after flooding it. Give an engine the incorrect quality of oil, and it will grind itself willing, having been tricked, into emoting itself into gear lock suicide.
Now go back to the first line, and star(t) over, because you are no longer silly but afraid, and that is the proper way to be when first cog-nizant that this is an earnest subject and you are a fool.
So I ask, not again but for the first time,
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
You say. You are. Poor. Tap is the only option.
Save the environment from plastique explosives.
Clear as colorless water (another sujet, for another self important foolishness) you lie. Is Sparkling and Still not found naturally, while Tap is unnatural-now water transmogrified by rust pipes, fluorescent fluorides, that when drunken, tap you out and for which, You pay heavily when the water bill comes?
What am I?
Your cheek!
As a ****** passenger-reader-human unsurpassed. So typical.
My credentials?
I am human-reader-passenger-voyeur so ***** your impudence!
I am still, but underneath,
I am effervesceing, like the band,
whose goth I am too,
but don't be an idiot, for
all we know,
is tapped into us and out of us
from birth ~
until death/
Was there water in your mother 's body when she breast fed you, was there water in your formula? Was it organic (idiot), from a crystal spring from polluted China,
and isn't it tool ate (auto correct for too late) now anyway?
So I rescind the question,
for we are provisioned but poisoned long before we have adult cash or credit card bills to answer properly this waiter's question,
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
(Nonetheless, if you have progressed to this sad conclusion,
as I wait upon you and,)
Your Reply,
**Water is the clear space that surrounds the letters and words
We write, thus all words float to the surface on your unique percentage of body of water, that oils the brain.**
Ergo, Ip So Facto,
I, the waiter *** writer,
already know.
Now start from the top,
Again, yes,
And answer me,
Sparkling, Still or Tap?
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 9:48 AM UTC
Filha, filho, Filhos…
Quando me levanto com vontade de ver alguém com seu sorriso, não escolheria mais ninguém senão tu…
No mundo que Deus nos deu não existe puro e imaculado amor igual ao teu.
Depois de tanto tempo de vivências, compromissos, viagens pelo mundo fora sempre tive presente a dádiva de te ver nascer e crescer em sabedoria.
Tu sim tens a magia da lua comprometida com um mundo feito de bem que parece ao mesmo tempo teu e de mais ninguém….
No coração tu tens a doce melodia das harpas de Jacob, nas mãos a gentileza de quem faz tudo com mestria e exatidão. Tantas filhas, filhos nascem pelo simples facto de o homem querer se multiplicar, procriar…
Tu nasceste por um terno amor, por uma vontade que dois seres tiveram em elevar na terra através da matéria o poder da alma.
Neste mundo de injustiças, guerras económicas, sociais, políticas nascem todos os dias filhos, filhas com leveza e amor de dois seres. Tu, hoje fizeste me pensar na abundância que Deus nos dá, nas oportunidades que muitos não têm, nos que sofrem por não terem filhas, filhos…
O ciclo da vida me ajuda a amar, a compreender e a tolerar quem não consegue sentir força
Para caminhar e fazer uma descoberta diária da beleza da vida e da companhia de nossas filhas, filhos….
O meu legado não teria sentido sem ti, o meu ser nunca seria completo em harmonia com o Deus criador. O nosso futuro quer filhas, filhos melhor do que nós pais que tentamos apreender o constante evoluir da sociedade humana.
Não poderia deixar de estar grato a Deus, meus pais e meus antepassados pelo que me deram e continuam a dar. A vida de todos nós seria muito melhor se a nossa preocupação fosse dar sem lembrar e receber nunca esquecendo.
A ti nem sei que dizer… sei que nunca vai haver nada que por ti me faça desfalecer. Por ti se cair vou pedir a Deus que me ajude a erguer…
Victor Marques
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 6:24 AM UTC
NOT LOOKING AT OURSELVES
August 7, 2009 - Damascus
Ayad bin Izzet
Why is it so hard to think of ourselves?
Why is it so hard to change bad habits that seem to possess us?
It seems to be a near certain fact, that humans do not like to think of themselves; certainly, very few seriously, deeply think about themselves. Who asks himself: “How do I look like to people?” “How do I sound to people, when I say this and that?” “Why is it people like certain aspects of my behaviour?”
When you open up such a subject to people in general, it is common to hear: “Look, I don’t care what people may think of me”. But an answer like that will not help you go far in this world. You do need to pay attention to what people think about you, otherwise you will be, de facto, behaving like a tyrannical dictator – you are, in effect, alienating and restricting the advancement of your varied self interests.
Why you ask me?
Because we all need people if we are going to succeed in our professional and social lives. Without the agreement of people you cannot succeed, unless if your work can survive within a hermit’s context.
So why are people so antagonistic to change themselves?
I think that for people they are scared of thinking about themselves because they fear what they might find out the nature of what is existing within themselves.
Another reason, is addiction. A person may simply be compulsively addicted to the harmful personality he has – yes, even if he knows that his personality is harmful to his own self interests.
I talk about this subject because we all do need to change our selves, our personalities - since all the troubles of our entire lives emanate from one source: we dysfunctional humans!
Where else do they come from?
And yet, anyone who has ever tried to explain to another person their faults will surely go nowhere. No one is interested. I know one lady who I call the ‘Pharmacist’ because she lovingly showers everyone else with advice, while she herself cannot bear to hear one word with respect to her faults. And then, as the years passed, I came to realize, why all people are basically ‘Pharmacists’!
People have an obstinacy that harder than leather, colder than an icicle; we simply will not improve, as human beings, if we remain this determined not to reform our minds.
And there is nothing else to add on this sorry subject.
How pathetically sad.
A fine epitaph on Humanity’s grave.
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 8:02 AM UTC
The Comeback snapped the ball
and looked desperately for somebody open--
I stood in the endzone
franticallywaving my
handsjumping
sporadicallyyy
HEY! I'M OPEN!!!
With an eye-roll hardly concealed
within a muddy helmet,
he begrudgingly tossed me the ball--
The buzzer sounded
and the fourth quarter ended
just as the ball was in my sweaty clutch--
But the visiting team had already clapped
each other on the backs and
my team waited for me in the
locker room
smelly and defeated.
Alas, I was the most distressed,
standing on the field alone
with the winning boon
a moment
too late.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
<|>
“***IF we are each created in His image,
how glorious is the diversity of our deities***,
*each of us a tiny drop of paint on a tableau
of a small planet, insignificant but
uniquely beautiful intelligent species of godlike creatures,*
“deities~human”*
<|>
wise enough to know mine philosophical shortcomings,
for they are many,
insufficient wisdom, more than sufficient laziness,
but sometimes even the o b v i o u s
strikes a rhyming chord,
even so, delving into God’s image
is for the foolhardy,
ergo ipso facto,
I am that,
that fool
but the boundaries of common sense poetry,
offer healthy delimitations,
and as rhe day wanes, eyes go blurry,
I am content to laurels~rest:
I do not count the times,
I’ve called out my beseeching deities,
I do not count the numbers of names,
we have designated and available for them,
or how many I’ve employed, and which replied
or the varied shapes they assumed,
to get my attention,
but this is a poem,
cannot leave you hanging,
if you paid your dues for joining me this far:
the due is due you:
them
(their ONLY pronoun),
keep their answers
short and oft inexplicable,
yet strangely satisfying,
for being a deity
they employ common sense,
and the answers frequently found
on a list of Frequently Answered Questions (FAQ‘s)
the most common response,
“but you already knew that!”
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 8:26 AM UTC
It was social experimentation
To be locked away, windowless
Four walls, perpetually fixed
- as his figure in a lightless room
Ears removed, mouth sewn closed
Eyes blinded, no light, no sound
Muted humanity, no dignity
He happened upon a laughing child
before the procedure
and that sound echoed inside
Deep within his bowels it reverberated
Through his blood
Distorted in his stomach
Youthful innocent laugh,
it grew monstrous
It began to talk
and the beast within was personified
Day one he lost his mind
Day two was still day one
(how irresponsive time becomes)
Day three the laugh became a growl
Day four the voices started
Day five in absentia
Day six he was done
Day seven, bizarre interim
- that between life and death
Profoundly lost in swingin' psychosis
Met by the devil in detailed cerebellum
Watched memories deteriorate
like some reel-to-reel burning, spluttering
His wife now only a hydrogen hallucination
Do you, the reader, know true loneliness?
The observation deck was packed on day eight
Muted, yet guttural screams of anguish
from deep within his throat
Were haunting reminders of the damaging effect
of psychological studies and the fragility of humanity
The cataract voids in his stoic face
they betrayed fear, and begged captors
for some respite from this hellish dream
Until in a tormented blinded haze, the voice was clear
His ears still dead, though this voice was true
Spoke but three subtle words
The subject experienced simultaneous neurological
Joy and fear
He had heard the de facto vocalisation of some supreme
he spoke them aloud
his only utterance
and the teary eyed scientists gathered
sterile needle
no words
dead.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 11:04 AM UTC
Taunting
Teasing
Has become de facto
Flirting
Coquetry.
I'm gonna hit on you
I'm gonna smack you a kiss
I'm gonna crush your lips
You don't need a haircut it's perfect
You're such a hot mess
I hate love you.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
FRENCH KISSING ON VENUS(A little nonsense )
Just coming to life.
Was up til three.
Playing silly sods.
Hopped into my baby son's spaceship.
Found myself on Venus.
Don't know how I got there.
Maybe I was seeking love.
Venus has a purpose, in matters of such trivia.
In the silly world of love.
Met a few Venusian chaps.
Funny things they were.
Their hands were wandering everywhere.
Too many of them you know.
Far too many hands that is.
One went in for a French kiss.
Guys from Venus like to kiss.
His tongue was very very long, with it my tonsils tickled.
Irksome tongue, it made me choke.
Ipso facto, that mega tongue, made me rather sick.
That rampant guy from Venus, well he ripped of all my clothes.
Used them as a hand kerchief, on which he wiped his runny nose.
Somehow.
Method as yet unknown.
Landed outside my front door.
What a shock that was.
For my poor unfortunate neighbours.
Who saw all my naked bits.
A weird situation, created by a kiss.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
The Dark Pariah and The Mouth Breather went to go get a jump start on their blackmail and their payback
All the kissup's
All the suckup's
Who think they're the best thing since sliced bread with the crust cut off
Who pick on people's foibles and leave their self-image in shambles
Not to mention all the narcissists who claim to have coined certain phrases we all use, then pucker up to the ***** of those who can keep up with the Joneses
They were going to make this world go belly up
Remove all of the potholes and speed bumps in life
The Dark Pariah wrote his plan in chicken scratch
And The Mouth Breather wrote his in calligraphy
The Mouth Breather's plan was to kick start a new denomination of hero worship
All followers must give themselves rug burn and stick up three banks in thirty minutes then put their plunder in the collection plate on Tuesday mass
The Dark Pariah's plan was to create music to their ears
That would make them hopscotch off a cliff and free fall to their deaths
This was part and parcel for his sham to exact his vengeance
But ipso facto they never followed through with their plans due to sheer laziness
And now they're both dominated by remorse and online FAQ's
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
El amor es una cosa muy bella
es una cosa que no entiendo
sobre que no puedo poner mi dedo
de que quiero correr por miedo
pero, la felicidad en mi corazón solo puede correr en un dirección
a ti
No tengo la decisión
Había hecho para mi
¿Por quién? No sé.
Tengo miedo, sí,
pero solo hay una mujer a quien quiere correr
y es tú
solo tú
La verdad en mi corazón es objetivo
¿Mis temas? subjetivas
Quiero su amor, solo sus abrazos, solo sus besos
Solo tú
Habías robarlo a mi corazón,
no sé cómo y no sé cuándo,
pero lo tiene
¿me gusta que lo tiene?
Si, tengo miedo, pero es un facto
Mi corazón es contigo.
¿Puedo decirte todo de este?
No, no puedo, hasta que estamos casados.
Aug 20, 2010
Aug 20, 2010 at 2:22 PM UTC
I was a shadow
then
a silhouette
( all that's
in the universe
is a process)
I dissolved
into mist-
next
I dispersed
transformed
into a vapour
then
disappeared
nothing
I became
nameless
from nothing
there could not
be anything
a state
of emptiness
in space
nothing
can touch
or capture emptiness
as it's not there-
and ipso facto
it's beyond
death and decay
at the beginning
I had no form
I was nothing
now the process
has taken its course
and I return
to nothingness
and being nothing
is to be
in timelessness
and lastly
eternity
is that state
that brings
the demise
of time
and temporality-
that which at the start
was nothing
returns
to its source
the Universal Nothing.
Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 9:19 AM UTC
****** Come back,
you faithless little cock-tease, Muse,
you maddening author of my abuse.
Please don't amuse yourself this way.
I know it's love-hate,
de facto, inchoate.
But don't you know I seethe for seed
and writhe to write?
I love you, Muse.
There must be some mistake.
So end this wretched heartache
and for art's sake,
light my ******* fuse!
Mike T Minehan
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
He smashed his toy gun in seventy four.
Desperation - his face soured.
The shopkeeper knew he was more than kaput
and as for missing the xmas disco ~
he world never walk under the moon of love
from that day beyond.
The bullies had ran their cause
carefully formulating the groundswell.
Who were they his enduring question?
.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC